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ENTERTAINMENT FOR MEN DECEMBER 1964 • $1.25

AYBOY

easoni Greetings! ҰЙ gala Christmas Ж” à «Фе»

with bounty for this morricst off months yalctide fact and
feton бу Inn Shaw, James Baldwin, Bertrand Russell
Ian Fleming, Frederic Morton, Lawrence Durrell, Gerald
Kersh, Ray Russell, Joseph Wechsberg, Jules Peiffer, Jean
Shepherd, William Svensen and Josph Wood Kruth
High Hefner exchanges views on the sexual revolution with

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PLAYBILL о ess msome олтол, the Playboy Femlin, proves a perky holiday pen pal in bidding the

reader welcome to our gala Christmas Gift Issue. We think it's a splendid Santa's sack burgeoning with
festive goodies, starting right off with our lead fiction, Once, in Aleppo, by estimable American expatriate Irwin Shaw, who has
lived in Europe since 1951. Shaw, currently in the States researching a novel to be titled The Uncaged Man, tells us that the
exotic background for Aleppo is still fresh in his mind although it is 20 years since he was there, during a World War II s
in the Middle Fast, where he originally conceived the idea for this rollicking, amoral and outragcously witty yarn—as a relief
from the conflict around him. He's finished a new novel, Voices of a Summer's Day, whose publication will be followed by Love
on a Dark Street, a collection of short stories which will include Once, in Aleppo and two other tales originally published in
rLavnoy— Tune Every Heart and Every Voice and Noises in the City.

Frederic Morton attributes the inspiration for his moving tale Velvet and Apollo to “а fat Hollywood-shirted gent who stood
on the Qucen Elizabeth’s sun deck one hot August afternoon. The ship had left the dock an hour before. The gent, explaining the
wonders of New York Bay to an Englishman, pointed to the Concy Island parachute jump and said, "Thats the amusement park
over there. There you've got the beach.’ And then, with a satisfied glance at the lofty breeze-swept solitude of the liner's sun
deck: ‘Must be a million slobs out there today.’ This sentence, of course, really meant "Ном fine that we, the elect, are here.’ Being
awfully subject to human nature sometimes, I did not protest against the sentiment. Only minutes later did it come to me that
1 had spent some of the finest summers of my life
being a young ‘slob out there’; that I was de- т) сенне РӘ
basing a very valuable memory fund by sub-
mitting it so passively to а contemptuous
cliché; and that if ever I became an ex-slob T
would also have become an ex-writer, And so,
asa kind of moral therapy, I sat down and wrote
a story about Coney Island.”

December's sci-fi scarer The Mission debuts
Hugh Nissenson in our magazine. ason,
who covered the Eichmann u for Commen-
tary, was a recent Wallace Stegner Fellow at
Stanford University, will have a collection of
stories, A Pile of Stones, published by Scribner's
early next year. Of The Mission Nissenson says:
“Just about the first story I ever wrote, in the
summer of 1946, was about a group of savages
in a world devastated by atomic war. The Mis-
sion is the first science-fiction story I've written
since then. I like to believe my technique has
improved, but my inspiration to write it, a
profound horror at the prospect of such devasta
tion, remains the same.

PLAYnOY regular Bernard Wolfe's movietown
milieu serves once more as the stage for a come-
dic collection of Hollywood characters in The
Dot and Dash Bird. Bernie has in his hot little DURRELL SHEPHERD
typewriter at present the final stages of a new
book, dn Exaltation of Grubs—"exaltation" being his group term for Flick City hacks, of which the hero of thisissue’s story isone.

Another fictive nugget in our December bonanza is Gerald Kersh's taut spine tingler, The Hunters. Kersh, whose novel 4
Long Cool Day in Hell is being published in England next month, is hard at work on what he calls a “major novel—that is to
say, a great big thick novel—but I'm afraid it won't be boring enough or amorphous enough or disillusioned enough or snide
enough to be hailed as the greatest." In the offing is a trip to Great Britain, his native Jand which he has not seen in ten years, to
do a book on England Revisited. Quoth Kersh: “I shall approach the white cliffs with something of the trepidation of a man who
has a date with his first love after a long separation.

Englishman Lawrence Durrell, whose Alexandria Quartet won him world-wide literary acclaim, re-introduces herein his
bumblingly antic antihero, Antrobus, whom pLaynoy readers first encountered last December in 4 Corking Evening. This time
around, in Sauve Qui Peut, his British Foreign Service fouler-upper is enmeshed in—among other harrowing misadventures—a
Kurdish circumcision ceremony.

It is with pride and pleasure—tinged with a very real sadness—that we present in this issue the last interview granted by
Tan Fleming. The association between Fleming and praynoy w: nd felicitous one. We were the only magazine to print
before book publication the adventures of his fictional alter cgo: His last two best-selling novels—On Her Majesty's Secret Serv-
ice and You Only Live Twice—were serialized by us; his short stories The Hildebrand Rarity and The Property of a Lady also
appeared first in PLAYBOY. It seems fitting, therefore, that Fleming's final James Bond adventure novel, The Man with the
Golden Gun, completed only a short while before his death, should also be slated for initial publication in praynoy, It will
appear early in 1965. The late creator of the irrepressible Bond was engagingly candid with our interviewer who, decply
moved by the author's death, writes from England that the always thoughtful Fleming graciously informed him, after reading
a copy of the interview, that it was the best that had ever been done with him.

Among our far-flung Christmas contributors is the Negro's most eloquent literary spokesman, James Baldwin, whose solil-
oquy, Words of a Native Son, presents a psyche-deep revelation of his own creative processes. Baldwin has taken up residence
in Istanbul to work on a new novel and prepare the screen treatment of his play, Blues for Mister Charlie.

All proceeds from the sale of Sir Bertrand Russell's writings, such as the contentious British philosopher's indictment of the
East-West ideological battle of words, Semantics and the Cold War, in this issue, and his recently published book Unarmed Vic-

s a close

lory, eoo the Bertrand Russell Peace Foundation, a cause to which Lord Russell has devoted virtually all of his time in his
later years. More of Sir Bertrand's writi е been published in rLAvnov than in any other American magazine.

Joseph Wood Krutch, author of this Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Unhappiness, has achieved fame in a number
of fields —as an editor (Marcel Proust's Remembrance of Things Past), drama сүйіс (for The Nation), writer (he authored the
National Book Award-winning The Measure of Man) and naturalist (The Voice of the Desert and The World of Animals).
An Arizonan since 1952, Krutch will be doing an NBC-TV color special on the Grand Canyon this winter, has just had pub-
lished If You Don't Mind My Saying So, а book of his candid and sometimes crusty essays, offers as a qualification for his
PLAYwoY piece on the current downbeat trend of the arts the information that he was once numbered among “The Sad Young
Men'—and has been getting more cheerful ever since.

Joseph Wechsberg. author of the Gallic wormwood The French Myth, tells us: “I've lived in France on and off since the gay
Twenties when I studied at the Sorbonne and also played the fiddle in doubiful Montmartre clip joints and later on the ships
of the French Line. I think 1 learned more in Montmartre and on the ships th the Sorbonne. I was very much in love with
France, but its not quite the same France anymore.” Now living in Vienna, Wechsberg has recently been published by Little,
Brown—The Best Things in Life, and a trenchant chronicle of an East German odyssey, Through the Land of Eloquent Silence.
The arresting illustration lor The French Myth was executed by young New Yor t work for PLAYBOY

os ha

(The “Noble” Experiment, December 1963) won а Society of Mlusurators Award. One phase of France that has shown no signs
of deterioration is handsomely illustrated by erayvoy's LeRoy Neiman, as he takes his Man at His Leisure sketchbook into the
dazzling precincts of Paris’ lushly femaled Lido night club.

By now, our regular readers have come to know and appreciate Jean Shepherd's traumatically uproarious trips into his child-
hood, and this month's long voyage home, Waldo Grebb and His Electric Baton, should further enhance Shepherd's reputation
as the Gibbon of the Midwest. Jean is about to begin work on a film documentary for Louis DeRochermont dealing with teenage

social problems, and has completed a new LP,

KERSH IVERSEN SAW Jean Shepherd at the Limelight, which will soon

be released. He's also hard but happily at work
nces for PLAYBOY-

Humor in another vein—Muacbeth the Knife

—comes to us from PLAYBOY'S own Ray Russell.

When his avantBard "musical," Come to М.

My Melancholy Dane, appeared in an earlier is

sue, eminent Savoyard Martyn Green applauded

it and suggested, “Let us have some morc—say,

Macbeth.” Herein, Russell's concurring offering.
These Shakespearean spoofs scem to be the fruit

checkered past
his acting 6 Chi-
cago’s Goodman Memorial Theate his

musician days (Ray st the
Chicago Conservatory, where he wrote both the
libretto and music for an u ished opera, called.
Serooge, based on Dickens’ A Christmas Carol),
A tongue-in-cheek take-off on Dickens’ classic
is W m Iversen's The Christmas Carol Caper.
Bill, who had his share of magazine rejection
slips in his early freelance days, has turned them
to profitable advantage in this yuletide Tiny-
Tim-foolery. Iversen reveals that he has yet to
receive an editorial rebuff with the succinct
comment “Bah, humbug
Jules Feiffer, PtAYBOY s cartoonic social com-
mentator extraordinaire, whose Hostileman
begins in this issue, has recently returned to the States after participating in the West Berlin Cultural Festival, writes that his cur-
rent offering is the development of a longtime idea that he'd previously been unable to exp: a resentment against the one
dimensionality of the "victim" in cartoons, Says ЕейТег: “I feel that the typical ‘victim’ is presented as inept and innocuous and
that this picture is incomplete, since it omits how the character pictures himsell." When asked if there was a parallel to be drawn
between Walter Mitty and his creation, Feiller replied: “While Mitty has dreams of grandeur, Hostileman has dreams of revenge."
Several months ago, Editor-Publisher Hugh Hefner was invited by a major New York radio station, WINS, to participate in a
round-table discussion on American morality and the sexual revol "man O'Connor, Rabbi Marc Tanen-
baum and Reverend Richard Gary. This month's Playboy Philosophy con тогу exchange.
Capping our Christmas Gift Issue in properly festive style із Baker in the Boudoir, a bedroom-based peektorial on cinema sex-
pot Carroll Baker: Reader. tes of the Decade: Five Yuletide Vaca-
Lions, a quintessential quintet of swingingly offbeat avenues for yearend escape from kiddies, rec-nosed bell ringers, slushy streets
and commercialized compulsive Christmas spirit; Playboy's Christmas Cards, а hall-dozen impertinent missives to a varicty of
unsuspecting addressees; still another videopus, Around the World with Teevee Jecbies; Food and Drink Editor Thomas Mario's
holiday guide to not doing it yourself, The Catered Christmas Affair: Merry Christmas. ше gallery of unusual and attrac-
argess [or giving and А vnov ably nifty for Gifting the
Girls; Harvey Kurtzman and Wil дегу Little Annie Fanny in a farout brief encounter as а bare-asıroneue; a fetching double-
page Var Word Play, Irom Robert Carola's live-letter office; thful multiplicity of cartoons.

Allin splendiferous eye-grabbing bag of Christmas enticements to make this уше a rewarding one. As our Femlin on
the cove son's Greetings!”

MORTON RUSSELL

Choice, the ravishing results of our poll for the top Pla

suggestion

PLAYBOY, DECENDER, 1954, VOL. M, NO. Iz, PUBLISHED MONTHLY GY нин PUBLISHING CO., INC., IN NATIONAL AND REGIONAL EDITIONS. PLAYBOY
BUILDING, 232 E. OMO ST., CHICAGO, ILL, SOSIN. SECOND CLASS TOSTAGE PAID AT CHICAGO, ILLINOIS, SUBSCRIPTIONS. IN THE U 5 , $8 FOR ONE YEAR,

Who knows as much about scotch as the Scots?

We English.

The Scots distill Haig—
we jolly well drink Haig.
Of hundreds of scotches,

Britain’s largest seller

is Haig.
(at Christmas, too.)

Revlon guide to girl-giving .

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14 ‘Aquamarine’ Carolers—disarming little
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15 ‘Intimate’ Fragrance Candle —in a gold-tone
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PLAYBOY

Larges: P. 197

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vol. 11, no. 12—december, 1964

CONTENTS FOR THE MEN’S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE

PLAYBILL. .. =. = " 3
DEAR PLAYBOY. meme 2 zei
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS... ` > 27,
THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 79
PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEEOOK—travel PATRICK CHASE 85
THE PLAYBOY FORUM a 87

THE PLAYBOY PHILOSOPHY —cditoricl HUGH M. HEFNER 91
PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: IAN FLEMING —condid conversation 7
GIFTING THE GIRLS ROBERT L. GREEN 108
ONCE, IN ALEPPO-fiction....... IRWIN SHAW 112
THE CATERED CHRISTMAS AFFAIR—food & drink. THOMAS MARIO 118
WORDS OF A NATIVE SON-—soliloquy...... JAMES BALDWIN 120
THE CHRISTMAS CAROL CAPER—humor........ WILLIAM IVERSEN 122
BAKER IN THE BOUDOIR—pictorial = 127
THE FRENCH МҮТН— ері; JOSEPH WECHSBERG 137
SAUVE QUI PEUT—fic — LAWRENCE DURRELL 139
THE HUNTERS—I GERALD KERSH 143
WORD PLAY—satire _.. ROBERT CAROLA 144
HAPPINESS IS JUST A THING CALLED JO—playboy’s playmate of the month... 146
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humer. 154
WALDO GREBB AND HIS ELECTRIC BATON—memoir.... JEAN SHEPHERD 157
THE LIDO —man ot his leisure. B LEROY NEIMAN 158
THE PURSUIT ОҒ UNHAPPINESS—opinion _ -JOSEPH WOOD KRUTCH 167
FIVE YULETIDE VACATIONS —travel 169
SEMANTICS AND THE COLD WAR—opinion.......... BERTRAND RUSSELL 175
VELVET AND APOLLO— == FPEDERIC MORTON 176
PLAYBOY'S CHRISTMAS CARDS—verse. JUDITH WAX ond LARRY SIEGEL 179

READERS’ CHOICE—pictorial. и — — . 183
THE VIRGIN'S CUP—ribald classic. s" aasan РЕТОН 195
MERRY СНЕІЅТМ А5:—; БЕ 197

-HUGH NISSENSON 207
RAY RUSSELL 219

THE MISSION—fiction..
MACBETH THE KNIFE—satire.

ON THE SCENE— personalities. ee 224
THE DOT AND DASH BIRD—fidion.. BERNARD WOLFE 227
AROUND THE WORLD WITH TEEVEE JEEBIES—salire 230
THE PLAYBOY ART GALLERY—humor. nn JIM BEAMAN 253

JULES FEIFFER 256
HARVEY KURTZMAN ard WILL ELDER 287

HOSTILEMAN— satire.
LITTLE ANNIE FANNY —sotire

HUGH м. HEFNER editor and publisher
А. С. SPECTORSKY associate publisher and editorial director
ARTHUR PAUL ат! director

JACK J. Kesse managing editor VINCENT т. TAJIRI picture editor

SHELDON wax senior editor; FRANK DE BLOIS, MURRAY FISHER, MICHAEL LAURENCE,
NAT LEHRMAN associate editors; RONERT L. GREEN fashion director; DAVID
TAYLOR associate fashion editor; Toms мањо food & drink editor; PATMCR
СНАЗЕ travel editor; J. PAUL GETTY contributing editor, business & finance;
CHARLES BEAUMONT, RICHARD CEHMAN, PAUL KRASSNER, KEN W. PURDY cOnlribuling
editors; ARLENE Bouras copy chief; RAY WILLIAMS assistant editor; NEV CHAMIER-
LAIN associate picture editor; NONNIE NOVIK assistant picture editor; MARIO CASI t,
LARRY CORDON, J. HARRY O'ROURKE, POMPEO POSAR, JERRY YULSMAN slaf] pholog-
raphers; stax MALINOWSKE contributing photographer; FRED ctaser model”
stylist; REM AUSTIN associate art director; RON BLUME. JOSEPH PACZEK assistant art
WALTER KRADENYCH art assistant; CYNTHIA MADDOX assistant Cartoon
Jons Mastro production manager; FERN Н. CANMANN assistant. production
manager; vat PAPPAS rights and permissions » HOWARD W. LEDERER advertising
director: LL advertising manager; JULES KASE associate advertising
manager; SHERMAN REAYS chicago advertising manager; josten GUENTHER detroit
advertising manager; NELSON FUTCH promotion director; DAN CZURAK promotion
art director; HELMUT LoRsCH publicity manager; BENNY DUNN public relations
manager; ANSON MOUNT college bureau; THEO FREDERICK personnel director; JANET
PILGRIM reader service; WALTER HOWARTH subscription fulfillment manager; ELDON
SELLERS special projects; ROBERT PREUSS business manager & circulation director.

I love watching him
get dressed
in the morning...

The cold shower. The leer. The shirt Jack's their man. Absolutely. An and hover over a hot stove. This is
that’s ready to take on the world. ivy-covered stubborness about the the way mornings should be...in love
Every thing he does is exciting. roll of that collar. A sneaky vanity in love in love.

Other men are so dull. So invis- about that tapered fit. Sass. Spirit. .
ible.But Jack swings into ashirtlike Red blood. VAN HEUSEN
that as though it were a battle flag. Gosh, I feel sorry for all those 41 Zyounger by design

Good old Van Heusen 417. nice little ladies who get up at dawn yen teen seat van owen in

“тт че «ан

"n 4

Nöthing de quite measures up

gu инт) Асы WHISKEY - 86.8 PROOF
КЕ & SORS INC., кошш.

DEAR PLAYBOY

БІ ADDRESS PLAYBOY MAGAZINE * 232 E. OHIO ST, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 60611

LADIES’ DAY
William Iversen’s The Pious Pornog:
raphers Revisited. in the September
PLAYBOY expressed my own sentiments
completely, and I must admit only а
man could describe the women’s maga-
zines so hilariously.
Mrs. В. Burna
Manhattan Beach, Califor

Anyone who thinks that the national
women's magazines are pornographic
really jumped the trolley tracks. A wom.
an has a right 10 the biological facts of
life dealing with sex, childbirth or physi
cal disorder. It doesnt make апу
difference whether she gets these facts
from a dry medical treatise or from an
article written in the form of a conve
tion between doctor and patient. Many
women are too shy to discuss such prob.

lems with their family doctors. Women's
magazines perform a valuable function
if they encourage women to discuss their
міну

intimate problems. Mr. Iversen is
of the puritanical attitude Mr. Hefner
has fought against with such courage.
Normally, 1 have a great deal of respect
for Mr. Iversen's opinions, but this time

—ugh.

Sol Buchman
Bronx, New York

Re Mr. Iversen’s The Pious Pornogra.
phers Revisited; 1 wish to say it was su-
perlative. Neyer have 1 read a funnier
description of the articles on sex that
abound in the ladies’ periodicals. Iver-
sen had me laughing most of the time.

Andrew Romanowski
Fort Gordon, Georgia

Re The Pious Pornographers Revisit-
cd—a finer spoof of modern-day coquct-
tishness 1 have yet to read. 1 laughed
myself silly

Mrs. Ellen Rhudy
Baltimore, Maryland

DEVIL WORSHIP
PLAYBOY readers and students of the
human comedy, rejoice! Grover Dill

and the Tasmanian Devil is but another
fine example of the Jean Shepherd gen
ius. He is as discerning and amusing in
the pages of PLAYBOY as he is on his

nightly WOR Radio session. Is it being
too greedy to ask for more?
Brian Barker
Brockville, Ontario
Not at all, Brian, See “Waldo Grebb
and His Electric Baton” elsewhere in
this issu.

IVY BELEAGUERED

Paul Goodman should certainly be
commended for his fine article The
Deadly Halls of Ivy which appeared in
your September issue. Even thou

his
thoughts and writings may possibly be
hopelessly “utopian” 10 the mass, the
context itself can serve to motivate the
individual

Jim Cummings

Plymouth, North Carolina

Congratulations to Mr. Paul Good-
man on his outstanding article The
Deadly Halls of luy. Unless colleges and.
universities allow students to associate
themselves with society and the world
“outside.” they һауе cheated them.
Schooling and higher education in par
ticular—should give a student a chance
to we his initiative, not only scholasti-
cally, but emotionally and socially as
vell

Pedantic education alone сап be dan-

gerous, and it is not sufficient to prepare
a student for the future. A student must
learn to take his place in society during
his school years. There must be a place
for individual initiative and intellect.
There is no such thing as a "typical stu
dent,” and there never will be. When
there is a coalescence of a good academic
education and an education that pro-
vides for individuality, identity and crea
tivity, then you will have men and
women better prepared for whatever the
future holds.

As Emerson saic
in colleges

he things taught

d schools are not an educa-

tion, but the means of education.”
Robert H. Johnson
Western Kentucky State College
Bowling Green, Kentucky

Paul Goodman's The Deadly Halls of
Ivy aired some musty tweed. His succinct
remark, “They would thus avoid the
present absurdity of teaching a curric-
ulum abstracted from the work in the

A
man’s man’s
fragrance

BY REVLON

COLOGNE, TALC, AFTER-SHAVE,
SOAP, SPRAY-DEQOORANT BODY TALC,
ANO PRE-ELECTRIC SHAVE.

feld and then licensing the graduates
to return to the field to learn Ше ac-
tual work . . .” is a just and provoking
indictment.

Certainly—and regrettably—some of
his ideas are “utopian.” But if the
academician grits his teeth and takes
heed, some of that becalmed gulf be-
tween student and teacher may be nar-
rowed, Lively discussion lies close to the
heart of what both teacher and taught
earnestly seck and too seldom get.

Wayne Scott
Houston, Texas

PLAYBOY

I should like to congratulate you and
Paul Goodman for his article The Dead-
ly Halls of Гу. Y agreed with everything
he said, both from observation and схр‹
rience. This first rebel voice could be the
start of a more sensible school system for
North America.

A. J. Hollis
"Foronto, Ontario

aul Goodman's The Deadly Halls of
Tuy deserves high praise, if for no other
reason than that it offers a needed voice
of dissent from the current viewpoint
that “college is for everyone” and from
the academic by-products of such а view-
point: namely, vicarious teaching v
dosed-circuit TV, large dass sections
“taught” by graduate students, and
boards of regents that hire a college
president in order to have a high salary
public relations huckster (which posi
tion, of course, usually elicits little com-
plaint from its holder).

However, the “reformation” of our
colleges will not come easily—at least, so
long as higher education is treated and
ready... managed as just another form of big

awe BOI. E

et distant when, for example, Harvard, Chi-
= cago, UCLA and Rice will be listed оп
the New York Stock Exchange, and
> scholarly journals and learned papers
will be replaced by the financial page and
the stock ticker).

The difficulty of reformation is in-
creased by certain facets of the colleges
themselves: Try to find any academic
justification for bigtime athletics (in
spite of pious protestations by certain
university presidents); try to break the
hammer lock held on prospective public
school teachers by various departments
of "education"—beuer. yet,
priced. football coach
tual of his sport, or at
pt a logical discussion with a profes-
sor of “education” on the intellectual
necessity for his departments very exist-
ence on the campus.

As Goodman correctly points out, the
student arriving for the first time in a
college classroom does not enter a new
stage of his life—at least not insofar as
lemic environment is concerned. Aft
er enduring the infinite rigors of “tre
man orientation week,” he finds himself

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beset Бу just another series of rooms ful-
ly equipped with armrest chairs, lec-
terns, maps and blackboards; nor does
he find any radical difference in the per-
son of his teacher, for the very same man
(or his near twin) cajoled, browbeat and
gave him assignments in high school.
Hence, the disillusionment begins to
take hold of him
What Mr. Goodman proposes is tan-
talizingly hopeful. But in order to re-
move, or even avoid, the dangers of
“deadly ivy." our entire educational or
ganization would need some radical vivi-
section, if not outright demolition.
Unfortunately, this does not seem to be
tlie case for rhe ncar future, unless a few
more Goodmans in influential stations
speak out—or unless a few institutions
have the courage to hire a Goodman as
president and a Goodman as dcan, with
perhaps a few more "good men" to work
in the classrooms.
Warren K. A. "Thompson, Instructor
Deparunent of Philosophy
and Religi

Seguin, Texas

Once again Paul Goodman demon
strates that he is one of the very few
commentators around today who has а
‘ational

comprehensive grasp of the edu

ituation and is able, with schol

briery, to advance sou

als for its amelioratio
Trevor J. Phillips. Instructor
Foundations of Education
Bowling Green State University
Bowling Green, Ohio

I was very impressed with Paul Good-
man's The Deadly Halls of Ivy in the
September issue. It is enlightening 10
find, in this day of the college boom,
someone with the perception to point
out the fallacies of our education system.
Neal Roth
üusburgh, Pennsylvania

ROHEMIA REVISITED
I must tell you at once how moving
id beautiful was Ben Несс» memorial
to Maxwell Bodenheim [Letters from Bo-
hemia|—something Га always hoped Ben
Hecht would do, since he was in a better
position to do it than the rest of us.
By an extraordinary coincidence, 1
obtained a copy of the September
eravnov on the very morning when
1 had myself just sent off six of Bogie's
letters (to me) to Jack В. Moore, who
is doing a biography of Bodenheim.
Max was an unforgettable character,
and I was always extremely fond of him,
although I regret to say that when I
moved to England in 1922 1 somewhat
lost touch with him. Hecht’s por
is invaluable in restoring, for a gene
tion who never heard of him, a unique
figure in American lette

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Ive just read Leiters from Bohemia
by Ben Hecht in your September issue
and it stirred dark memories of my own
encounters with Max Bodenheim. He
was a gaunt, pale specter of my youth, A
man so deliberately hateful that he
evoked pity rather than anger. I always
suspected that his savagery was only his
chosen defense against a world that
made a daily game of finding new ways
to reject him

Tt was 1947 and I had just run away to
Greenwich Village—17 years old and
awed by the world of pocıs into which I
had descended. Max was still the shining
light of the Raven Poetry Circle, а
group of aging bohemians who met in a
strange loft on Mineua Lane surround.
ed by the uappings of secret Druid rit-
uals which I never understood. Among
them he was often soft and gentle and
warm. And the highlight of those meet-
ings was always when he took the center
of the floor to recite his verse in a voice
that was deep and thrilling . . . "Night
is a big black man with little silver birds
in his hair . . .” Yet each of those meet-
ings seemed to have the same ending.
Someone Max hated—and he hated
many—would enter and he would
begin a venomous tirade, gradually draw-
ing everyone in the room into the quar
rel. IE his victim were small, like little
Joe Gould, Max would become physical.
епшаһу Frank McCrudden, the head
of the Ravens and one of Bodenheim's
dearest friends, would enlist help and
send the poet hurtling out the door,
wailing a stream of invectives. I never
saw Max leave anyplace—party or bar-
room—voluntarily. He was always being
thrown out.

1 was thousands of miles from the Vil
lage when Max was murdered. When I
returned, most of the Ravens were dead
or gone. But Ben Hecht had written a
liule play about Bogie and financed it
into a small off Broadway theater. It was
a chilling experience to sit in the half
empty theater and see him come to life
in. Hecht obviously knew and under-
stood him better than all the others.
He a big man to be able to main-
long interest and friendship
with such a difficult character.

The strange climate of Greenwich Vil-
lage is perhaps best explained by the
fact that a spiteful, tormented Failure
become famous there solely on the
strength of his total inability to find
ceptance as either an artist or a human
being. Bodenheim produced a legend to
be envied by all other misfits. He set out
to fail completely and in a life of styl-
ized contempt he triumphed. 1 wish that
1 could also have known Ben Hecht.

John A. Keel
New York, New York

Praise be to the September issue of
»LAYbOY for containing Ben Неби re

markable portrait of Maxwell Boden-

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heim, a little masterpiece. Both men
were my friends and Hecht was for years
my colleague. I am delighted to have
this definitive record of their assoc
one of Ben’s most poignant reminis-
cences. You do the memories of both
men a fine service in publishing it.

I liked both men, Hecht and Boden-
heim, very much. Bogie, who loved sym-
pathy, used to show up at parties, and in
the old Cov IcGee bookshop, with
his arm in a sling, claiming to have a
broken collarbonc; but it was an old gag
and only strangers fell for it. I remem-
ber him best, indeed, with a bandaged
arm, smoking a corncob pipe, and wear-
ing an old overcoat with the collar
turned up, waiting for somebody to ar-
rive—somebody who never came.

He was a slim, blond genius, as I re-
call him, with blue eyes, pale yellow суе-
lashes, and hair like a mop of wet hemp.

was at once mocking and in-
iating. I admired his poems, many of
which he showed me in manuscript, and
thought of him as the Frangois Villon of
our group. At all times he gave a better
impersonation of a tavern poet of genius
than any other poet I have ever known.

But there is little I сап add to what
Hecht has written about Bogie. Thank
you for giving me an opportunity to re-
call our association. I did not know him
as Hecht did, and for this I am some-
times a little sorry and sometimes glad.
Hecht has caught him to the life and, I

k . His portrait is а
ing and a notable
n to the history of a strange
figure in our literature who may well bc-
come an American legend.

Vincent

rrett.

Critic, editor, author Slarvett has over
one hundred books to his credit, on such
diverse subjecis as Ambrose Bierce and.
Sherlock Holmes.

MILLER MAIL

Re the September Henry Miller inter-
view: I have never before read a line by
ihis gentleman, and so my comments
will rest entirely on what he has chosen
10 tell me about himself. T learn that he
is a very able writer and knows exactly
what he thinks about himself, his writ-
ings and his world. These are good qual-
I gather that he has made a great
deal of money, and is having a very good
time, and is not in the least concerned as
to the eftect of his writings upon the
people who read them.

This, of course, is not considered a
criminal attitude. There are countless
millions who seek their fortunes and give
no heed to their consciences—if they
have any. We are living in a world with
thousands of millionaires and millions of
paupers. Miller lives in that same world
and, being a highly intelligent man, he
must know all about it. I write as a man
who has devoted his life to denouncing

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that social crime and seeking ways of
ending it. My dear mother told me that
when I was six years old I asked: “Mom-
why do some people have to be so
poor while other people аге so rich?” 1
have been asking that question of the
world now for 80 years—and no answer
from Mr. Miller.

He is famed for his sex books, and he
preaches pr ity. As a man who has
known true love all his life, I tell him
that he has missed the best thing that
life can offer, and I pity him sincerely. I
pity still more the young people who
read his books.

Upton Sinclair
Monro ifornia

T agree with everything Henry. Miller
says concerning us unfortunate writers—
of course. (I suppose every other writer
will agree with him, too.) I read
books in the European editions, long be
fore they were published in Ameri
His writing is truly marvelous, sharp
and shining. But he makes such a hell of
a lot of brouhaha about sex!
Mr. Miller is quite wrong in bla
prissyism concerning sex on Anglo Sax-
om mores, It all goes back to those robust
old boys in the Old Testament, who
knew a fine girl when they saw one and
knew when it was right to lay a hot little
hand on her and when it was not. All re
ligions, ancient as well as modern, had
their sex taboos—so do bush tribes in the
world of today. There was never a Fine
Free Time concerning sex in any cu
ture, whether in Ghaldea, Judah, Philis-

Ча, Arabia, Greece, Ewuria, Rome, or
you name it.
IE N Miller—that truly splendid

wishes to observe real pur
n all its dark, stern, repressivencss, espe
cially wich regard to sex, he ought то visit
Russia. 1 understand they have all the
penalties and all the taboos of all the re
ligions, ancient as well as current. They
make the Puritans look like gentle old
souls full of sweetness and light.

Taylor Caldwell
Buflalo, New York

EXTRA POINTS
As one of Ole Miss’ most enthusiastic
l fans, let me thank and con-

car [Pigskin Pre-
view, PLAYBOY, September 1961]. While I
will admit our schedule some in-
stances has not been as strong as we
would like, John Vaught has done an
exceptional job. For 17 years, from а
male student body of about 3500, and
Imost exclusively Mississippi boys,
Vaught has consistently fielded superior
teams, No coach in the country is more
deserving of the honor of Coach of the
Year than John Vaught.

Lauch Magruder, Jr.

Jackson, Mississippi

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Brown (Number 80) assisting Bill Clay
(Number 32) on one of the plays. И you
would look a little closer at the picture
you will find Al Brown stand
sidelines rooting for the tcam.
Steven Gordon
Brooklyn, New York

The “assis” being given Mississippi
wingback Clay in your September issue
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unless my eyes deceive me, Brown is
standing on the sidelines.

Edward D. Muhlfeld, Publisher

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dio and Television Service for the line
programs produced in cooperation with
Mr. Anson Mount. These sports pro-
grams, related to Playboy's Pigskin Pre-
view of 1064, were a signal addition to

: AERTS pre-season football programs.
der Frank E. Kimberling, USN
Armed Forces Radio & TV Service
New York, New York

PLAYDOY IN PAKISTAN
While on a short tour of duty in Ra-
walpindi, Pakistan, I was a guest of two
American officers, a lieutenant colonel
and a captain, their bachelor digs.
After a wild-boar supper I noticed the
latest PLAYBOY on a coffee table, And
h the burka-clad Pakistani women in
d, I cautiously asked what they did
with ӨШ rravuov magazines. This
brought an outrage-tinged, astonished re-
My God, man! You don’t throw
увоу away in Pakistan. You include
them in your wil

Harry W. Hunt
APO, New York, New York

YIDDISHE MOMMAS
I found September's How to Be a Jew
ish Mother the funniest artide 1 have
ever read. It was so good that 1 made my
mother read it. After reading it she sat
back and said, "Maybe it is possible
about some mothers, but not me.” But
you have planted the seed of doubt in
her mind. Does she or doesn't sl
Paul Kreisman
Bronx, New York

Dan Greenburg's September essay on
Jewish mothers and mothers in general
struck startlingly close to home—my
home, that is. Yarmulkes (skullcaps) off
to Dan on this frank and amusing and
amazingly accurate exposé for which my
own mother must have surely written
the dialog, story line and case histories.

Tke Stein
Chicago, Illinois

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PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS

ell, gentle readers, we've made it
W through another harrowing year
of celebrations, fetes and galas—some of
daylong duration, othas of Sunday-
through-Saturday length and still others
which lasted the month round—all of
them validated, verified and authenticat-
cd, so help us. And don't think it's been
easy. Our innards were put through a
wial by fire, having to survive Interna-
tional Kraut & Round Dog Week, Poul
try Day, Spanish Green Olive Weck,
Asparagus Weck, National Macaro
Week, Have a Bacon “Ball” Month, N
tional Pickle Weck, National Peanut
Week, Honey for Breakfast Week and
National Pimiento Week. We were a
prime candidate for National Indigestion
Week or, worse, National Hospital Weck,
and wished devoutly that we had avoided
them all in favor of National Poison
Prevention Week or Self-Denial Weel
during which we could have prepared
ourself for Silent Record Week. We felt
the icy fingers of winter as we shivered
our way through the Fur Rendezvous,
National Fur Care Week, National Fire-
place Weck, Frozen Potato Month,
Break-a-Cold Month and the Ice Worm
Festival. We were torn between Humane
Sunday and National Insect Electrocutor
Week. Our indecision made us an un-
willing celebrant of National Procrasti-
nation Week. We were [urther warned
about our indecisiveness when Return
the Borrowed Book Weck rolled around,
and lest we were tempted not to take that
week too seriously, there was Police Week
to remind us of the consequences of un-
returned tomes. We would really have
sunk to the depths of despair if it hadn't
been for Save the Pun Week, American
Comedy Week, National Smile Weck,
National Langh Weck and the pick-me-
ups of National Tavern Month, South
Pacific Beachcombers Week, and what we
took to be a 24-hour period filled with
Indian cedysiasts—Cherokee Strip Day.
After throwing ourself overenthusiastical-
ly into Let's All Play Ball Weck, we could
barely wait for Chiropractic Day. We

were so busy celebrating, our work fell
off and we found ourself taking more
than a passing interest in National Want
Ad Weck. But we have since discovered
a seven-day span to which we will devote
our undivided attention next year; we
tend to combine business and pleasure
during National Rabbit Weck.

Titillating blurb from an ad in The
New York Times for an "unexpurgated"
LP dramatization of Fanny Hill: “Thrill
ing performances by Four Great Stars on
Four Sides!"

Social Progress Depariment: The Wall
Street Journal reports that under an old
Texas law that permits a bankrupt
person to retain a few tools of his trade,
his wagon, his carriage and two horses
a recently bankrupt Texas insurance
man was allowed to keep a desk, a swivel
chair, an electric typewriter, a `64 Cadil-
lac Coupe de Ville, a horse trailer and
two registered quarter horses.

Sign of the times seen outside an In-
dian village on Florida's Tamiami Trail
GENUINE SEMINOLE INDIAN BLANKETS—
A.C. оқ DG

Love and Knishes, a Yiddish variety
revue marqueed on New York's Lower
East Side, boasts "an allstar cast of
American-Jewish performers" (hat in-
cludes, we noticed, а landsman by the
name of Barry O'Ha

га.

We deplore the editorial bias of а те-
cent news story from The Press of River-
side, California, which stated that. “A
conservative estimate is that the names
of a million children are on the mailing
lust of the pornographers.”

In our morning mail the other day we
spied one of those squarish, hand.
addressed envelopes that customari
contain the tissuelined wedding
nouncement of some distant and dimly

remembered relative in rural New Eng-
land. Instead, we found the following
message impressively engraved on the
enclosed card:
The Telephone Company announces
that in accordance with our new conven-
ient All Number Dialing System, your
new number is 58995218352274061, Arca
Code 8153900627, and that due to in-
creased business prosperity making possi-
Ыс more investments for more profit, we
аге able to announce a rate increase.”
This is the best we've received so far
from a new line of gag announcement
cards currently making the rounds. A
firm belicver in missive retaliation,
quickly deduced the identity of the
sender, armed ourself with another card
in the series, and shot it off posthaste
to the culprit’s home address. It read:
“The Park Commission wishes to an-
nounce that your back yard has been se-
lected as a game preserve and that the
first shipment of 500 buffaloes will
rive at your home Tuesday at 3:45 a.m.”
We have a feeling the linotypist was
trying to tell us something in the follow-
ing notice, which appeared in The
Washington (D.C.) Daily News: “Girls
who would like to attend dances, sup-
pers, swimming partics, etc, scheduled
at various military installations here d
week may call CO 5-5735 for particulars.”
To judge from a sign spotted in the
window of a hardware store in Spearfish,
South Dakota, noteworthy social trends
are afoot in rural America: BUY Your
WIFE A RAKE

Refreshingly candid want ad from the
classified page of the Miami Herald:
“ATIRACIIVE young waitress to serve mis-
sile men. Fish, ball, make moncy. Cove
Restaurant, 744-9505.”

Bargain hunters arc hereby referred
to a Montgomery Ward ad from the
Albuquerque Journal ollering fireplace

PLAYBOY

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MOVIES

Tan Fleming is gone and lamented, but
the movie adventures of James Bond for-
tunately continue with no sign of letup.
For Goldfinger, Guy Hamilton has taken
over the direction from Terence Young,
who did a soso job on Doctor No and a
superb one on From Russia with Love,
and, if anything, moves Sean Connery
through his outrageously improbable but
кашу suspenseful seriocomic ordeals at
an even more frenzied pace. This is tingly
we pick up Bond in
him to Miami
Beach (a number of The Playboy Club's
own Miami Bunnies are decoratively scat-
tered about), where he first encounters
that nefarious 14-carat heel, Auric Gold-
finger; next to England for weaponry
outfitting, then to Switzerland and final-
ly, for a pulsating showdown, to Fort
Knox, where the biggest caper in all
history is almost pulled off. There was
nothing niggardly about the imagination
of Flen „ and here the script and di-
rection have matched it step by step.
More, the yarn has been updated in line
with advances in science and technology.
The laser beam had not yet been invent-
ed when Fleming wrote Goldfinger in
1959, but we think he would have ap-
proved Bond's nearly being sliced in two
by the use of the deadly beam, and his
sense of luxury might well have been
pleased by the Aston Martin provided
Bond for wacking the murderous gold
machinator and his sinister North Kore
an henchman, Oddjob, who uses his
razoredged bowler to cut down adver-
cs The car is bulletproof, radar
equipped, has hubcaps that sprout tire-
slashing knives, lays down a smoke screen
or an oil slick, and has concealed m;
chine guns fore and aft. Its cornering
ability is, of course, impeccable. But de-
spite his lethal land yacht, Bond is taken
captive before he can fully appreciate the
charms of Shirley Eaton and Tania Mal-
lett, both done in horribly and much too
soon. However, he is eventually consoled
by Honor Blackman as Pussy Galore,
Goldfinger’s Lesbian lieutenant who de
cides she'd rather switch than fight when
she comes to grips with Bond. Gert Frobe
is hissingly villainous as Goldfinger, Har-
old Sakata is stoically terrifying as
Oddjob, and Sean Connery remains su-
premely self-assured, even when warned
that he might be replaced by 008, a threat
which, in light of the wildly successful
series, has about as much chance of being
ried out as his enemies’ plow.

BB's latest film offers Bardolators yet
another opportunity to view Ше specta-
cle of their heroine cavorting in the alto-
gether in wide-screen color. Contempt,

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however, counterpoints fleshly considera
tions with artistic pretension—which,

unlike Bardor's clothing, doesn't quite
come off. In the pantheon of Bardot
flicks, Contempt will be enshrined on
several counts, chief among them that it
marks Brigitte’s coming of age as an
actress. Almost as important is that Con-
tempt marks a significant attempt (on the
part of New Wave director Jean-Luc
Godard, of Breathless) to exploit the
wide screen as a distinct cinematic genre,
rather than treating it simply as a reg-
ular-sized screen that has been stretched.
(In one memorable scene, the camera
pans slowly back and forth across
a table lamp from Bardot to Michel Pic
coli as the two engage in an extended
conversation.) Based on a novel by Al
berto Moravia, Contempt shows how one
wagic action on the part of a struggling
screenwriter (Piccoli) drives his wile
(Bebé) to infidelity with an American
film producer (Jack Palance) and ulti-
mately to death. The film had censor
problems before it was licensed for show-
ing in America, a reflection not of the
naughtiness of its nude scenes (confined

almost entirely to Dardor's backside),
but on their inordinate length. ‘The film
opens as the camera pans protractedly
over BB's prostrate form; subsequently

it lapses imo what producer Joseph
Levine boasts is “the longest bedroom
scene ever filmed"—a tedious 35 minutes,
in which the characters do a great deal of
walking around but very little bedding
down. Viewers looking for Bardot will
get а lovely eyeful; but those seeking
anything much deeper will be perplexed
or disappointed.

The Pownbroker, based on the first-
rate Edward Lewis Wallant novel, is a
corrosive film about a former Polish pro-
fessor, a bitter survivor of the Nazi
death camps. who now owns a Harlem

pawnshop, through which drift an as
sortment of junkies, pimps, whores and
other les-thansavory specimens of big-
city humanity. Sidney Lumer's direction
best yet, although a mite hoke

is hi
times,

s he mingles sweaty Harlem real-
ism with flashback scenes from the tor
tured past of the pawnbroker, who lost
his whole family in the camps, who was
forced to watch while his wife was violat-
cd by Nazi officers, who witnessed his
best friend's death аропіс on the
barbed wire of a concentration camp.
АП this, thrust from his mind by force of
will, is returned by the daily violence on
the Harlem streets. His sense of isolation
begins to give way, and when his young
Puerto Rican assistant dies in the shop
attempting to protect him from hood-
lums, his former feclings, both painful
and human, mark a symbolic return to
life. Rod Steiger should certainly be in
the running, come Oscar time, for his
passionate pawnbroker performance
Jaime Sanchez has fine moments as the

A BRAND-NEW 4-RECORD ALBUM—

Fifty-Seven Folk Songs & Ballads

BY AMERICA’S MOST FAMOUS FOLK SINGERS

SENT FOR TEN DAYS’ LISTENING
WITH PRIVILEGE OF RETURN

MONAURAL: #11.95 e STEREO: 513.95

(Plus a small mailing charge in each case]

The usual list prices of an album of comparable quality
and content are: Monaural 519,92 * Stereo $23.92

PLEASE nore: All orders will be billed in two installments; that is, half
the total charge (plus postage and handling) will be billed with the
album, and the remainder a month later. If you prefer, you may,
of course, pay the full amount when you receive your album.

AMERICAN FOLK SINGERS
AND BALLADEERS
Traditional Songs and Ballads Ж Folk Hymns and

THE SINGERS AND THE SONGS

en N Special Veris Бис || Spirituals Ж Blues, Bluegrass and Country Music
Silver Dagger Boll Weevil Begin to Fall “BY THE PEOPLE WHO KNOW THEM BEST, LOVE THEM BEST,
Mary Hamilton І Know Where Im Тһе Banks of АМО SING THEM BEST”—JOHN M. CONLY mo =
Babe, I’m Gonna Goin’ Marble

Leave You Special Delivery My Ramblin’ Boy
Matty Groves Blues HEDY WEST А PRACTICAL AND ENJOYABLE EXTRA . . . all

the words of all the songs are included in a
handsome brochure, along with notes about
their sources, history and background.

Devilish Mary
If I Had a Hammer
Hold On

Sometimes I Feel

The Brown Girl
Cotton Mill Girls

ERIK DARLING
True Religion
Woody Knows

Nothing re Ure NEWPORT FOLK FESTIVAL ARTISTS
Fod Child CLARENCE “TOM” ASHLEY, CLINT HOWARD, MISSISSIPPI JOHN HURT
AINT MA FRED PRICE ond DOC WATSON See, See, Rider
JACK ELLIOTT ПНЕ ноого SINGERS The Old Account Was Settled Long Аво Stack O Lee.

Roving Gambler
Diamond Joe

ТАМ and SYLVIA
When First Unto
This Country

Ула I’bon vent

ТАМ and SYLVIA
Un Canadien Errant
BESSIE JONES, JOHN DAVIS and
THE GEORGIA SEA ISLAND SINGERS
My God Is a Rock
in the Weary Land

CLARENCE “TOM” ASHLEY, CLINT HOWARD,
FRED PRICE, JEAN RITCHIE, DOC WATSON

Amazing Grace

MAYBELLE CARTER

The Storms Are on the Ocean

LESTER FLATT, EARL SCRUGGS and the

Houston Special
Туе Been Working
on the Railroad

МІКЕ SEEGER
Little Moses
Young McAfee on

RAE the Gallows FOGGY MOUNTAIN BOYS BROWNIE McGHEE and SONNY TERRY
rede aper Salty Dog Bl Long Gone, Long Gone

С.С. Rider THE WEAVERS rein ы

Ella Speed Woke Up This Jimmy Brown the Newsboy DOC WATSON

The Greenwood Morning SAM HINTON Groundhog —
Side Below the Gallows Starving to Death on a Little Orphan Girl

Jesus Met the Tree Government Claim DOC WATSON with CLINT HOWARD
Woman at the A-Walkin’ and I'm Just a Damyankee end FRED PRICE
Well А-Та I Had a Bird

^Way Downtown

OME TIME AGO, The Classics
Record Library, a Division of
Book-of-the-Month Club, Inc.,
set out to assemble a representa-
tive collection of folk music
sung by the finest folk artists of
our day. The Vanguard Record-
ing Society gave us carte blanche
to select the best performances
available from their wealth of
recorded music. We were also
permitted to draw upon their
collection of performances re-
corded at the famous New-
port Folk Festival last summer,

The result is an album of au-
thentic songs and ballads-folk
music that is “perhaps the most
endlessly enjoyable art there is,”
according to music critic John
M. Conly. Because this brand-
new album is available only
through The Classics Record Li-
brary and not sold through retail
stores, the Book-of-the-Month
Club is pe: ing interested col-
lectors to listen to the records at
home and, if not fully satisfied,
to return the album to the Club
within ten days, without charge.

7143.12

ies send me on album of AMERICAN FOLK SINGERS AND BAL-
LABEERE in the regular LP (monaural) version, and bill me at
the special price of 11.95, plus postage and handling. This is
payable in two equal monthly installments. If I wich I may re-
turn the album within ten days and be under no further obli-
gation.
ГГ Check here if instead you want the sterecphonic ver-
sion at the special price of $13.95, plus postage and
handling. This is also payable in two equal monthly
installments and the same return privilege applies.

Pal release
Address...

City...

PLAYBOY

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spirits served On-the-Rocks. .. (The whiskey, vermouth and

raise high the root beer, bartender! cherry merely go along for the fun.)

The four recipes above are only to whet your appetite. For the
whole story of what Angostura does for food and drink, send

for your free copies of The Professional Mixing Guide (256 great
drinks) and The Angostura Cook Book (48 delectable pages).
Write: Angostura, Dept. P, Elmhurst, N. Y. 11373.

Puerto Rican lad, and young Thelma
Oliver exudes feline sexuality as a teen-
age Negro prostitute. One of the most
] American efforts of the year.
Anne Bancroft can do по wrong, but
she might have done better in The
Pumpkin Eater if director Jack Clayton
had not tried for so many subtleties and
had allowed her to bite deep into her role
of an olten-manied woman who, fearing
the world of adult responsibility, shields
herself from it with an overtly reasonable
facsimile: continual childbearing and
rearing. Clayton and screenwriter Harold
Pinter have obscured the clarities of Pe
nelope Mortimer's fine novel, on which
the film is based. We get far too many
moody glimpses of Miss Bancroft's face,
long Antonionilike fixes on furniture and
brica-brac, and precious little story-
which has to do, us far as can be figured
out, with Anne’s marrying for the third
or fourth time and adding to the popu-
lation explosion when she discovers her
ingrained inclinations to
ward infidelity. Peter Finch plays this
chap, a successful writer but a weak sis-
ter otherwise. When Anne is made sterile

fog clears for a splendid scene or two,
and in these moments Miss Bancroft
stands revealed as а superb acu
James Mason is brilliant in the small
role of a conscienceless seducer; when he
and Miss Bancroft have tea together,
as she considers a bit of infidelity herself,
atmosphere crackles with sexual
innuendo. There are lots of kiddies
around, most of them the progeny of
Anne’s former husbands, and we can't
help sympathizing with Finch’s urge to
get away Пош it all.

The main joy of Joy House, an oll
made for MGM by René

аз a screen. beauty of rare appeal.
just right for this Neo-Gothic tale of а
young seducer (Alain Delon), who has
job as chauffeur in Lola's musty
g bent on
patching him. His interest in his mistress
increases when he learns that she has in-
herited the villa and the Rolls from
a murdered husband—and that ihe
murderer is hiding out in the house. And
doesn't complicate things enough.
Jane Fonda, Loks poor cous
in, cooking and cleaning on the pr
making eyes at the available m
watching for her own chance to inherit
the property. Believability this film does
not have. What it does have is trickily
esting direction by Clement, under-
keyed but seductive performances by the
Misses Albright and Fonda, and surpris-
ingly high-spirited playing by Monsieur
Delon. He makes no attempt to hide the

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PLAYBOY

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matching. Nail Satin and
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when it comes to gifts of fragrance—every
woman loves them ... pure spray Parfum
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this luxurious collection called the Fra-
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PLAYBOY

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trocious English, but he gets away with
it completely. And be surc to note such
technical details as photographer Henri
Decae's lighting of Lola Albright.

In Hollywood they say: "He who re-
makes a classic ma mess of it." The
rule has not held true for Martin Ritt,
who, in re-creating The Outrage [rom
Akira Kurosawa's masterwork, Rasho-
mon, has come up with a strong, bold
film. With the aid of adapter Michael
Kanin, he has transformed the legendary
Japanese story by Akutagawa into a tale
of our Wild West. (Any similarity to The
Magnificent Seven, Yul Brynner's West
ern-dress rehash of another Occident
prone Kurosawa classic, The Seven
Samurai, is purely coincidental.) The set
ting in this latest sword-intosix-gun opus
is the Southwest in the 1870s, where a
Southern colonel (Laurence Harvey) is
taking his bride (Claire Bloom) overland
to a new homestead. Their trip is inter-
беген rupted by the bloodiest bandit of the
Bulldog Shape itory (Paul Newman), who ties up

Bloom, and then, so he
says when captured, arvey. The
bandit claims at the trial that his sexual
prowess so enraptured the lady that she
wanted him for keeps. The lady stands
up for her basic loyalty and modesty.
The husband, speaking conveniently
through the lips of an old medicine man,
sees himself as a noble fellow who has
been mocked and betrayed. And a pros
pector who happened to be nearby (How-
ard Da Silva) says he witnessed a charade
of cowardice, fear and bombast. Paul
Newman has an actors field day as the
growling bandit; Claire Bloom subtly
manages to suggest four different fem-

inine moods; and Laurence Harvey is
Relief Grain better than usual, possibly because he's
ша tied to a post and gagged for most of
the picture.

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Paddy Chayefsky has gone in for some
deep-type thinking in The Americenizo-
tion of Emily (based on the William
Bradford Huie novel) and, while h

à
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stretches of humor, it is muddied up

tempt to prove that if we had

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Ka woodie of he argument i James Garner as 8
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те wi sets SS to {250 U.S. Navy with the World War П mis
ion of “liberating” for his admiral.
Garner manages 10 procure nylons, Her

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s his WAAF driver, who likes the
idea (at first) of having a cowardly
boyfriend, since she has been widowed

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of lighter in accordance with written guarantee.

What to do with your After Six tuxedo between weddings

(

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Wear it to your next convention. Р | Ж
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Wear it when the invitation says “Dress Optional.”

Everyone will think you’re handsome.

Wear it to have your friends over on Saturday night.

Everyone will think you’re rich.

Wear it in a diner at 2 a.m. 1

Everyone will think you’ve come from somewhere important and exciting.
Wear it to your next club party.

Everyone will think you’re going somewhere important and exciting later.
Wear it on vacation. Just sit there in the nightclub and smile mysteriously.
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Wear it to the opening of an art exhibit.

Everyone will think you're a patron.

Wear it to the office Monday morning. To hell with what everyone thinks.

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the admiral he serves (Melvyn Douglas)
cracks up and assigns him to produce а
Navy public-relations film showing that
the first dead man on Omaha Beach is a
sailor. Naturally, Garner himself be
comes the first man on the beach. What
ай this proves is hard to pinpoint, main-
ly because Chayefsky’s mind has а tend-
ency to curve under the strain of an
. On the other hand, the movie dis
some admirable curves thrown by a
s of lively girls who hop in and out
of various beds, all doing their bit for
the War effort. Julie Andrews is nice,
Garner is OK, Melvyn Douglas is first
rate as the nutty admiral, and Keenan
Wynn contributes a rare bit as Navy
cook turned combat photographer.

All These Women is hardly worthy of
Ingmar Bergman, who, turning to color
for the first time, has made a pettish com
edy about an elderly genius cellist, the
women in his life and a predatory critic.
The stylized farce has the critic visiting
the old fellow's magnificent estate, at
tempting to blackmail him into playing
his own dreadful composition, and mak-
ing a fool of himself chasing after the
oddball females who dwell in the estab-
lishment. The girls are played by ve
an Bergman actresses E Dahlbeck,
Bibi Andersson, Harriet Andersson and
Gertrud Fridh. No use mentioning who
plays the cello, because he’s never seen
full face. Wh puts the film beneath
Bergman’ dignity is his obvious attempt
to pillory the critical fraternity—which,
come to think of it, is sort of ungrateful,
considering how loudly they have beat
the drum for him. The critic (Jarl Kulle)
is a foppish fellow whose eyes bug out
every time he sees Bibi, Harriet or Eva
He peeks through keyholes to spy on the
private life of the genius; he even dress
es up as a girl himself hoping the old
man will take him on his knee and
confide some tidbit of autobiography. If
the goings on sound like nonsense, that's
mainly accurate. Bergman's bleat about
the sad life of a genius has it that the
poor guy must suffer from the many
women who want to get close 10 the
creative fire, the managers who exploit it
and the critics who cheapen it. Beneath
all the folderol, the master director is
taking himself totally seriously, and what
could be more deadly to comedy?

THEATER

The putupon dairyman, Tevye, is
blessed with five unmarried daughters, a
nagging wife (“I haye something to say
to you,” she announces. “Why should
today be different?" he replies), a nig-
gling patch of land in the dirt-poor
Russian village of Anatevka, and a lame
horse. So he pulls his own wagon, and
complains directly to God: "It's no shame
to be poor, but its no great honor
either." What keeps Tevye going is Jew-

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ish tradition, for, as he says, “Without
uadition, life would be as shaky as a
fiddler on a roof.” Fiddler on the Roof,
E Sheldon Harnick-Jerry Bock musi-
is nor that shaky, even though the
(ors by Joseph Stein, out of Sholom
Aleichem, is predictable (one daughter
gets married, them another, then an-
other), the second act sags, and some of
the music jars. But Jerome Robbins
thumping choreography is authentically
ethnic, and, above all, the heart of the
show is Zero Mostel—and there's no
sounder heart on Bi y. In choppy
clothes, he

гуе. Mostel is
a fat, funny man; but unlike most fat,
funny men, he is blessed with an
economy of gesture and emotion. He
can—and does—stop the show with his
little finger. He never lets Tevye be-
come sentimental, yet he is powerfully
affecting. He never lets him become a
buffoon, yet he is hysterically funny,
whether listening silently as Motel the
timid tailor summons up the chutzpah
to ask him for his eldest daughter (be-
hind his back, Mostel’s hands secretly
pirouette, longing to reach out and
throttle Motel); or dancing gracefully—
he is one of the most graceful men on
the stage—with his wife, for the first
time; or crooning like a synagogue full
of old men; or just standing sull trying
to таке up his mind: "On the one
hand!” he declares firmly, then pauses
and adds hesitantly, ". . . on the other
hand." When it comes t0 measuring
Mostel, there is no "on the other hand."
At the Imperial, 249 West 45th Sweet.

In Je h's Traveler Without
Luggage, an amnesiac war veteran, played
by Ben Gazzara, is confronted with
his past, a terrible assortment of mis-
deeds; He thr best friend down
a stair well because the fellow made a
pass at Gazzara’s mistress, the upstairs
maid, and he cuckolded his older
brother when he was off at the front.
йлеп the option to accept or reject
himself, Gazzara opts out and chooses
instead the past belonging to a rich, no
ble and unblemished Englishman, with
no relatives except one small boy, and
therefore no one to fling a nasty past in
his face. All of which gocs to show tha
uthor Anouilh also has a blot iu his
past. Twenty-seven years ago, long be-
fore Becket, Waltz of the Toreadors and
his other international successes, he
wrote a bad play, now produced for the
first time in the U.S. When it came to
ing up this part of his past, Anouilh
ercised G: 's choice
and nixed the exhumation. Traveler is
of interest mainly to sch
theater. Anouilh’s later
в the search for ja
for simply melodramati
purposes. What holds attention is
the playwright’s wit, but his machina-

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But even on that simple-minded (for A-

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Sand he oe eae ees HUNE Observers of the beatniks, as they
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SHALIMAR BY GUERLAIN

PLAYBOY

4 long suspected. that their noisy
confessions bore the brand of an inno-
сепсе and giggly irreverence that might
be called inverted all-American. This
impression is confirmed on comparing
them with the real thing—Jean Genet,
an authentic Dante of the inferno of our
modern moral underworld. Genet is not
a tour the realm of poverty, prison
and perversion; he lives there, and sends
out hotly eloquent messages from its

а depths, as he did in his recent Playboy

` WI Ha Interview (April 1964). InThe Thief's Journal

i пеп уоп те a Grove Press), he explains forthrightly that

“betrayal, theft and homosexuality are

the basic themes of this book. There
. is a relationship among them which,
lighter and have Do pec а
ognizes a kind of vascular exchange be-

tween my taste for betrayal and theft

and my loves,” His loves are thieves and

to beat all this competition quias КОПТО СЕП pits ere) dis
working of his lust involves not only the

flesh of other men but their behavior

outside the bedroom: "If he was the
IM splendid beast gleaming in the dark

of his ferocity, let him devote himself to

sport worthy of it. I incited him to

theft." No detail needed to convey the

animal functions of his outlaw life is

nie d h h 1 omitted, and, indeed, where the situa-
you ave to do more than s ей | sin ce ase u ie

-- Genet's imagination does the rest. Yet
sense that the author is
x for the sake of schoolboy shock,
ing up outlawed language for the
ng how much can be crowded
onto a printed page; Genet is, rather,
making myth and art of degradation and
disease and lust, searching for his own
morality through the very process of
ble into all
ty's opposite.
“This journal,” he insists, “is not a mere
literary diversion. The further I progress,
reducing to order what my past life sug-

...or like Colibri
gests, and the more I persist in the rigor of

You can’t misfire with Colibri, Tt always | Composition—of the chapters, of the sen-
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Bloom, all-American basketball player,
'. Larner's book bounces around like
a loose dribble, in а gimcrack Joycean
stream-of-consciousness mélange of un-
dergraduate p y, alcohol, v

dope, gratuitous s y
obscenity—sans plot, sans characte
Ыр except

chap?—is evidently supposed to
represent that weary cliché of current
letters, the hugely talented but corre
spondingly ected soul Тоо fre-
quently, however, the clichés are in the
writing. In a single half paragraph. de-
scribing sexual failure, one poor s
“withers on the vine” and “folds up like
an accordion,” while the lady i
tion, ly "limp as a dish

on at last "with an enigmatic s
Larner's aim, it seems, is to ©
ons for

Bob Cousy фаш
у, how come only si
well, that Cuban crisis, you
know!”) Humor is now and then a saving
grace, but too often falls to an adolescent
level: a dance band called “Megaton
Maniac and His Hydroheroin Heptet,
or a film named / Was a Teenage Ped-
стаз. The book's them:
"Loves what dings God's dong
douches the cosmical chimney st
The Delta Prize was to be announced a
year ago, at $5000, then was withheld
with the ante doubled when nothing
worth while was submitted. At a cool
ten grand this isn't an
donation.

{о doubt William (Naked Lunch)
Burroughs had to write Nove Express
(Grove Press) the same way some’ ol us.
from time to time, have to belch. The
Әз, ERRE E “Heal; rem
siderable relief. But whereas your run-
ofthemill belcher turns aside and
decorously covers his mouth, Burroughs
gives forth for all he's worth and expects
his ejected wind to be snilled, bouled
and registered at the Library of
gress. To
madness. It is a pastiche of evred Eliot
(“Put on a clean shirt and duck through
narrow. streets") and spilt Spillane. Bur-
ghs is mime of all styles and master of
none; he affects Kafka's surrealism,
Joyce's word-murk, Hemingway's
and Tonesco’s scorn of bourgeois trivia.
‘This last is genuine, If the book
said to be "about" something, it is about
the squares who have inherited the earth
and are now idly bearing witness to its
destruction. Hiroshima and Nagasaki
are frequently invoked. The “Nova
rently represents this planet's
ructure, One of Burroughs’ fa-

ALLAN SHERMAN / ARTHUR FIEDLER

The masters of musical satire take
an affectionate poke at Prokofieff,
Brahms, Beethoven & others

It was bound to happen! The top musical
satirists of our time have joined forces in
a lively new album that plays fast and
loose with the music of the masters.
Recorded "live," this high-spirited spoof
includes Sherman's hilarious parody of
“Peter and the Wolf" (which includes such.
items as Beethoven's Fifth Cha-Cha-Cha
and Aida in Dixieland) plus the fresh and
funny d of a Symphony." And Allan
makes his conducting debut here in a
slightly swacked rendition of "Variations
оп How Dry I Am." It's all great fun — as
13,227 listeners who heard these selec-
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vorite phrases is “wounded galaxies,” and
he seems to be saying—or rather screech-
ing—that our planet is on a collision
course, with a bunch of cutthroats at the
controls and the squares, or "marks,"
going along for the ride. None of this is
original, but it is declaimed at a dizzying
speed in a head-splitting key. Burroughs
writes the way a baby cries—to get
attention.

The reason for the failure of Conver-
sations Nelson Algren (Hill & Wang)
is unwittingly revealed in the intro:
duction by H.E.F. Donohue, who
taperecorded most of these question-
and-answer sessions between Algren and
himself. Says Donohue: “He [Algren]
checked the finished manuscript. But it
is my choice . . . when awkward ques-
tions are permitted to stand next to fool.
ish answers. These blemishes . , . have
been retained because an attempt has
been made here to present the thoughts
and feclings of one of America’s best
writers in the form and style of his own
speech.” After reading this book, we'll
stick with Algren's thoughts and feelings
in writing, thanks. His responses to Don-
ohue's questions come as either short,
unrevealing phrases or long, unrevealing
monologs. Here is Algren at his most
communicative under Donohue's typical-
ly astute questioning. "o: You couldn't
get out on bail? ALGREN: Well, I had no-
body to bail me out. о: What was the
bail? Remember? ALGREN: No. I didn’t
have a lawyer, no bail was set...
@ And there was no public defender?
ALGREN: Yeah, they gave me a defender.
9: But you couldn't get bail? Did they
offer you bail? ArcREN: Well, I didn't
have a defender until I was tried. Noth-
ing was said at the time. о: They said
you would sit here and wait for the
judge? atoren: Yeah. The time was very
dificult to pass. There was nothing to
read. о: You were twenty-two? Twenty-
three? atcreN: Yeah, there was nothing
10 read. We argued a lot. Q: What about?
ALGREN: Oh, just about everything, every-
thing there was to argue about," Dono
hue's interrogation produces a rambling
biographical sketch that is intended to
cover the writer's youth, service іп
World War II, his euchredom at the
hands of Hollywood, travels in the Far
ast and his thoughts on American poli-
tics, society and writers. И Algren ap-
pears half-witted, perhaps it is due to the
fact that Donohue’s bumptious question-
ing technique turned him inarticulate
with amusement. Typical questions
How old were you when you stopped
being a virgin? Do you want a million
dollars? What would you do with it? Do
you think life is hard? Why are we in-

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volved in the Congo? And so on and on,
in this talk on the mild side.

In France, it is illegal to live ой the
carnings of a prostitute, according to a
law of April 13, 1936. In World War I,
Hermann Göring shot down 22 Allied
planes, and won the Iron Cross, Second
and First Class, the Zachring Lion with
Swords, the Karl Friedrich Order, the
Hohenzollern Medal, also with Swords,
and other honors. бе/ше Ше Kalbsbrust
should be accompanied by a Labastide-
de-Levis, from the Gallic hillsides of
Tarn, of recent vintage. Fifty thousand
tons of gasoline were available in France
in 1941, as opposed to three million tons
two years earlier. If all this sounds as
though it belongs in some sort of alma
nac, it does—but it is also to be found in
the new novel by Richard Condon, an
Infinity of Mirrors (Random House). Con-
don, author of that remarkable tour de
force of the sexual-political imagin
tion, The Manchurian Candidate
switched his sights to the reality
modern European history, circa 19
1944, detailing the story of a beau-
tiful French Jewess married to a Na
officer, and the fabulous imagination is
shoveled under bı that rescarch. 1t is
a classroom cliché that a single scene, in
the hands of the right author, can illu
minate an cra in ways that no mass of
facts, dates or references to real people
Condon's Nazis are stereotype
perverts and boors, and his key figures
are scarcely fleshier. At the end, the Ger
man husband is made to repudiate the
Nazi ethic, not out of any moral percep-
tion, but only because his own half- Jew-
ish son has been killed, and thereafter
the plot deteriorates into melodramatic
revenge over this and an attempted rape
of the wife. In a front-cover blurb, Con.
don's publisher calls the book “truly im
maybe he was impressed by
ovelation that Heinrich Himmler
was once a fertilizer salesman.

“It is tempting.” observes Егіс Bent-
ley in The Life of the Drama (Atheneum).
“to see the history of drama since the
17th Century as a steady decline.” He
does not wholly resist the temptation
The gist of his argument in this provoca
tive book is that today’s naturalism,
which claims to give us a faithful re
flection of ourselves—banal though we
may be—is actually less “realistic” than
yesterday's high tragedy or low comedy
In our dreams, Bentley points out, we
tend to be a good deal more violent,
more melodramatic and even more hero.
ic than in our waking hours. Hence:
“Once we realize that we dream most of
the time, we have to reverse the conven
tional view and declare our lives are dra-
matic after all." Thus the soaring rhetoric
of a Sophocles or a Shakespeare, which
raises all the ultimate questions with un-
ashamed candor and invokes all the flam-

ing emotions, scems to Bentley more
appropriate to the theater than the “nat-
ural” but grubby dialog of an Odets.
Bentley is for honest, tough-minded
drama. He attributes the decline in the
Fifties of Chaplin, the Marx Brothers and
W. C. Fields to “the age of phony serious-
ness. There was too much aggression in
[them] for the age of Rodgers and Ham.
merstein, Norman Vincent Peale and
Dwight D. Eisenhower." True farce is
aggressive; true tragedy is violent, "Ihe
opposite of tragedy,” says Bentley, “is
not comedy but Christian Science" —that
is an evasion of death. But if Bentley
scolds most modern playwrights because
they dodge the crucial issues, he praises
the few, like Ionesco and Beckett, who
do not. Beckett's despair, his sense of
life's meaninglessness, is the real thing,
Bentley tells us; we all share it. “You
into a theater where
БЕЛІ and the ghastly de
spondency will cut into you like an icy
wind.” And in Beckett's power Bentley
finds cause for hope. The theater has not
reached the end of the line; for deep
despair has obviously not defeated a
man who can still write about it, “A
work of art,” says Bentley, “is organized
and rational, a victory of the human
spirit in the highest sense ... a sign
that despair is not at the whecl but that
a man

The Act of Creation (Macmil
Arthur. Koestler's
of the creative process as it pertains to
humor, science and the arts. The book
is, by and large, solidly constructed, care-
fully presented and exasperatingly dull.
The exegesis is dear enough. Koestler
argues that the creative act is first, last
and always the product of "bisociation"
—a word he has coined especially for the
occasion. Bisociation is thinking in two
t frames of reference at once—
combining them so as to come
up with a surprise. A joke, says Koestler,
is an instance of conflicting bisociation,
when two systems or rules meet head on.
Example: "A convict was playing cards
with his jailers. On discovering that he
cheated, they kicked him out of
Convicts are punished by being locked
up, you sce, but cheats are punished by
being let out. The two rules conflict, so
we laugh (perhaps). Newton's apple and
Archimedes’ bathtub are more compli-
cated examples of the same process
making a discovery by combining two
scemingly unrelated subjects. And essen-
tially the same thing, says Koestler, "ap-
plies to the discoveries of the artist who
makes us see familiar objects and events
in a new, strange, revealing light. .
Newton's apple and Gczanne's apple are
discoveries more closely related than
they seem.” (The title of Koestler's fa-
mous novel, Darkness at Noon, is evident-
ly a short, sweet example of bisociation.)

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Having set forth his theory early in the
game, Koestler proceeds to spin out end-

aborations on the theme. He finds
nces of bisociation practically every-
where—in Copernicus, in Picasso, in the
collective unconscious and (citing Kóhl-
er's Gestalt experiments) in chimpan-
zces. He seems under a compulsion to
tell us all he knows, which is considera-
ble but not always relevant. Discussing
the scientific method, Koestler alludes to
the process of elaboration and
verification as “the long donkey-work
following the brief flash of insight.”
Koestler’s flash of insight is his concept
of bisociation; the rest of the book is
donkey-work.

Take the costume off an actor and
nine times out of ten little is left but
ge day fect. The tenth man is John
Barrymore, What's left, 22 years alter his
death, is the Barrymore legend, 100
proof and almost entirely true, Hollis
Alpert has now poured that heady libi-
tion into The Borrymores (Dial Press).
It's a big, handsome volume, enriched
with 77 well-chosen photographs, evoca.
tive of an extravagant era. John Barry-
more was an alcoholic Peter Pan—he
never grew up. He was bom into a
weird world of wardrobe-trunk adults
and died 60 years later in a rolling fog
of childishnes. Between the first and
last curtains he acted brilliantly for 30
years and as well as he could for 10
more. The Great Profile went on his first
drunk at 5, was с;
14, was seduced by his stepmother at 15,
seduced a woman twice his age at 17,
and was an accomplished barfly from a
25 onward. He was embroiled with his
second wife, poet poscur Michael Strange,
at 38, had a breakdown at 39, thought of
leaping into the Seine at 40 but climbed
Mont Blanc instead, and had what a
doctor called an “alcoholic wetbrain" at
51. The following year was busy—he
drank perfume and coolingsystem alco:
hol, hired a Madras brothel for a week.
broke his nursc’s nose, and рамей one of
daughter Diana's schoolmates. Cruising.
to the finish with three divorces in hand,
he seduced and married teenage Elaine
Barric, made Bulldog Drummond mov
ies, kept on guzzling, and died—ap
propriately cnough—in Hollywood. But
whereas John was raw moonshine, broth-
cr Lionel, sister Ethel and the dutch of
Barrymore grandparents, cousins and
aunts which Alpert has added to his con-
coction were pleasant and, by contrast,
dull, more like a pousse-café, And as John
would have pointed out sternly, even the
best pousse-cafés cloy alter a while.

ht in a brothel at

‘Thomas Berger's Little Big Man (Dial
Press) is an outsized, loose-gaited, tongue-
incheek narrative purporting to repre-
sent the autobiography of onc Jack

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Crabb. Dictated in the 1950s when Crabb
is 111 years old, it touches upon virtually
every critical episode in the history of
the frontier—in every one of which, it
develops, Crabb played no mean role.
He practices Ше art of gun fighting
with Wild Bill Hickok; he hunts buf-
falo and is infected by the Pikes Peak
gold bug: he resides in a Cheyenne
tribal suburbia, along with squaw and
three sisters-in-law, owing husbandly ob-
ligations 10 all four; he exchanges shoot-
ing words with W: rp ("You just
spoke my name." "I dom't know your
name. All I donc was belch.”); he perpe
trates bunco schemes and poker cons,
and is the sole white survivor ol the Bat-
tle of Little Bighorn. Berger has men
interlaced this richly improbable plot
with outrageous path crossings and coin-
cidences of the classic picaresque novel
s well. “Sue Ann?" cries the prostitute.
“But that’s my mother’s name . . . Then
you are my Uncle Jack!” “You better
get your dress back on,” says Crabb.
What Berger has contrived, of course, is
a frontier-style tall story to outtall the
lot of them. Yet in shooting holes
through the whole раззе of saddle-weary
clichés, he has also managed to tran-
scend them magnificently. More often
than not, we find Crabb among the In-
dians, and it is their story Berger really
cares about. He gallops clear of the
il romantic distortions—Berger's red-
ink, for example, yet are proud
human beings, often absurd, always dig
nified. And for all the comedy, Berger's
hoked-up portraits of Hickok and Custer
seem uncannily real. The book's conclu-
sion, re-creating Custer’s Last Stand,
reeks of gunsmoke—or maybe it’s Indian.
The only thing we crabb about is that
death interrupts our hero's shamele
lying when he is recounting his ex-
ploits of 1876. His report on the 1881
gun fight at the О.К. Corral, say, would
probably have been a lulu.

Psychiatrist Eric Berne has committed
a hanging offense. In Gomes People Play
(Grove Press), he has suggested that
grownups grow up. To Dr. Berne, all
the world's a stadium and most of its
men and women youthful games players
who were taught the rules while making
their first mud pies. Quickly they
ped the object—to avoid real partic-
ion in life. Therapist Berne hopes
that even a champion neurotic may dis-
card his games if he can be brought to
realize he is playing them. This cleans-
ing action transports him into a state of
psychic grace, free of rationalizing self-
destruction. Borrowing his literary form
from Stephen Potter, our Hoyle of the
psyche explains the mechanisms of such
tragicomic ploys as “Wooden Leg" (1 do
those terrible things because of my prob-
"Now I've Got You, You Son of a
Bitch” (pouter waits gleefully for victim
to slip, then strikes with self-righteous

fury); and “бес What You Made Me Do”
(husband and wife argue at bedtime as a
way of avoiding sex without having to
admit they want to avoid it). These
games can be rained out when, for exam
ple, a Schlemiel can't get a Schlimazl to
make a twosome. Schlemiel, who thrives
on fervent forgiveness, spills his drink
on the rug, smears anchovy paste on
the sofa, then knees the hosts wife in
the groin as he rises to apologize. The
hosts game-canceling line is; "Tonight
you can embarrass my wife, ruin the fur-
niture and wreck the rug, but plea
don't say "m sony." H games co:

14
really be washed out so simply, the

Wooden Legs would eventually stop

crying in their beer and face themselves.

But Dr. Berne himself notes sadly that

few humans can resist an invitation to

sit in on a game. For every Schlemiel in

the world, somewhere a Schlimazl is
iting.

DINING-DRINKING

Time was, and not too long ago, when
a hamburger, soggy pizza or some Sen-
ator’s favorite recipe for succotash was
standard fare atop Washington’s Capitol
Hill Now, at last, the Hill has a res-
taurant making a supreme effort to
achieve elegance and superb cuisine, It
is The Rotunda (30 Ivy Street, S. F), claimed
to be a million-dollar investment, and
well it may be. Once an old warchouse, it
is now the refuge for weary legislators and
knowledgeable Washingtonians who seek

relaxed dining away from the omn
present camerx-toting tourists. Once

past the heavy, inlaid door, one can
either descend a winding staircase to the
main dining room and taproom or step
up to the lushly furnished, low-ceilinged
а Room. Seating only 80, 1
Scala is paneled in Philippine mahogany
with rich tapestries and colorful crested
shields adding tone to the dark wood.
Downstairs, one enters a Renaissan
world. There are alcoves along the walls,
ined-glass windows and richly carved
banisters and railings. The furnishings
are heavy and ornate but comfortbl
led off from the dining area, the
taproom is dark and its decor, as in the
other rooms, is rich but not overpower-
ing. The brothers Ermanno and Henry
Prati, also proprietors of the popular
Aldo’s and Channel House elsewhere in
Washington, are involved in this ven-
ture with Robert J. D. Johnson. Erman-
no explains the brief Continental menu
quite logically: “A few dishes, well pre-
pared, is our aim." Some of the French
cuisine understandably shows a fine Ital-
ian hand, but the Roman specialties are
choice. For our visit, the appetizers were
Shrimp Provençal and Escargots Bour-
guignonne. The Long Island Duckling à

HOME BARTENDERS’

Make this simple test for improving drinks

Your choice of a basic liquor greatly influences the taste

of any drink you mix. Prove it yourself this easy
way. First, pour a jigger of Bourbon or Scotch
over cracked ice in a short glass. Sip it. Now
do the same with Southern Comfort. Sip it,
and you've found a completely different kind
of basic liquor. This one actually tastes good
right out of the bottle—with nothing added. No
wonder a switch to this smoother liquor makes
so many mixed drinks taste much better.

WHAT SUGAR IS BEST

Use finely granulated sugar.
Confectioners’ sugar (often
called “powdered”) is not for
drinks. Dissolve sugar before
adding liquor.

WHEN TO SHAKE, WHEN TO STIR
As a general rule

STIR drinks made only

with clear liquors.

SHAKE drinks made with
hard-to-blend ingredients like
fruit juice, eggs, or cream

+ + « and shake hard.

FOR SUCCESS: ALWAYS MEASURE
Never mix by the “eyeball”
method-not even a highball,

The best drinks are the result of
exact measurements of the

CHILL YOUR GLASSES finest ingredients,

For better drinks, chill
cocktail glasses by
filling with cracked or
shaved ice, Mix drink,
dump ice, dry glasses,
pour in drink.

Basic measurements :
pony —1oz; 1 jigger — 11⁄ oz.
dash — 4 to 6 drops.

WHAT IS SOUTHERN COMFORT?

It's a special kind of liquor. In the days of the Old South, a
talented New Orleans gentleman was disturbed by the taste of
even the finest whiskeys. So he “smoothed his spirits" with rare
and delicious ingredients... and Southern Comfort was born.
The formula for this 100-proof liquor is still a family secret,
but millions have discovered its pleasure. Try a bottle. We
think you'll like what it adds to your drinks . . . old ones or new.

Southern Comfort®

It's easy to improve even the simple drinks

First mixing rule: Don’t skimp on ice. Drinks should be cold.
And ice should be fresh. Old ice absorbs refrigerator odors and
tastes. Especially for the drinks listed below, use the best liquor
you can afford. Remember these are for people who appreciate
a fine liquor's true flavor. Surveys show, for instance, that over
half the users of Southern Comfort enjoy it in these drinks. . .
because its naturally rich flavor is so good by itself.

ON-THE-ROCKS & MISTS:

On-the-rocks: Pour a jigger of liquor over two ice cubes in an
Old-Fashioned glass. To improve it? Use three smaller cubes;
the drink chills faster, tastes better. A twist of lemon peel adds
piquancy. For a mist, fill your glass with finely cracked ice.
Many say this slight dilution frees even more of the flavor.

HIGHBALLS: easy to make, easy to ruin...

Easy to make: A jigger of liquor, ice, soda or water. Easy to
ruin? Yes! Soda, dry or sweet, should be top quality, and cold
(it holds carbonation better). Instead of faucet water, often full
of chemicals, try bottled spring water. Now, try this . . .

COMFORT* HIGHBALL: 1 jigger (1% oz.) Southern Comfort
Twist of lemon peel or juice of М lime (optional) * sparkling water
Pour S. C. over ice cubes; add lime or lemon; fill with water, stir.

Just as easy to improve famous cocktails P

PLAYBOY December 1964

MANHATTAN

COMFORT*
MANHATTAN

k жә —
mee
—
— Hu x
— = MM

Easily mixed cocktails give you time to mix with guests!

ROB ROY COLO TOOOY
% jigger (% oz.) Italian % tspn. sugar • 1 oz. water
(sweet) vermouth 2 oz. Scotch or Bourbon

` ра i 1) so Stir sugar with water in Old-Fashioned glass.
5 ااا‎ Add ice cubes, liquor, twist of lemon peel.
Stir with finely cracked ice; > ith Sout
strain into cocktail glass. Serve SALES тт бәлесі

with a twist of lemon peel. RUM SWIZZLE

Juice % lime • 4 dashes bitters
2% oz. light rum * 1 tspn. sugar

ORY MARTINI

1 part French (dry) vermouth
Н Міх in glass pitcher with

A parts gin or vodka plenty of finely cracked ice.

Stir with cracked ice until chilled. Stir vigorously until mixture
Strain into pre-chilled cocktail glass. foams. Serve in double
Serve with green olive, pearl onion, Old-Fashioned glass.
or a rwist of lemon peel.
M DAIGUIRI

BLODOY MARY Juice % lime or % lemon * 1 tspn. sugar
2 jiggers tomato juice 1 Neger (1% oz) light rum
V jigger lemon juice Shake with cracked ice until

Dash Worcestershire sauce shaker frosts. Strain into 54
1 jigger (1% oz.) vodka cocktail glass. AL

Salt, pepper to taste. MARGARITA
Shake with cracked ice; 1% oz. white Cuervo tequila
strain into 6-oz. glass. % or. Triple Sec

1 oz. lime or lemon juice

Gun Moisten cocktail glass rim with
ii x Li
1 part Rose’ 4 Белі u vodka fruit rind; spin moist rim in salt.
DAI Sua me, Mice Shake ingredients with
Shake well with cracked ice. cracked ice. Strain into glass
Strain into pre-chilled glass. and sip over salted edge.

„OBOMFO

DAIQUIRI
A champion drink served at Sun-lovers’ choice at the
Jack Dempsey’s, New York Luau Restaurant, Miami Beach
¥ jigger (% oz.) Southern Comfort Juice % lime or М lemon • % tspn. sugar
¥ jigger Bourbon * % jigger water 1 jigger (1% oz.) Southern Comfort
Pour liquors over cracked ice in short glass. Shake thoroughly with cracked ice until

Add water; stir. Top with twist of lemon peel. shaker frosts. Strain into cocktail glass.

PLAYBOY December 1964

COMFORT* OLD-FASHIONED COMFORT* SOUR

TOM COLLINS
ltspn. sugar * % jigger lemon juice
1 jigger (1% oz.) gin, vodka, or tequila
Sparkling water

Dissolve sugarin juice. Add ice cubes,
liquor. Fill with sparkling water; stir.

HONOLULU COOLER
1 jigger (1% oz.) Southern Comfort
Juice % lime * Hawaiian pineapple juice
Pack tall glass with cracked ice. Add lime
juice, S.C. Fill with pineapple juice; stir.

COMFORT" COLA
1 jigger (1% oz.) Southern Comfort
Juice and rind of%lime • cola

Squeeze lime overice cubes in
tall glass. Add rind, Southern
Comfort; fill with cola. Stir.

For a Cuba Libre, use light rum instead of S.C.

GIN RICKEY
Juice and rind % lime
1 jigger (1% oz.) gin
Sparkling water

iw?

Squeeze lime over ice cubes in
8-02. glass. Add gin, lime rind;
fill with sparkling water. Stir.

Mix brandy, rum, Scotch, Bourbon rickeys the same way.
Or, ring in a new rickey flavor with Southern Comfort.

COMEORT*

'N TONIC

Mix great long drinks with these short steps!

MINT JULEP

4 sprigs fresh mint = 1 tspn. sugar

Dash of water • 2 oz. Bourbon

Chill tall glass. Crush mint, sugar in water;
pack with cracked ice. Pour whiskey almost
to top. Stir until glass is frosted.

For a julep worth a mint in flavor, use S.C., no sugar.

SCREWDRIVER

1 jigger (1% oz.) vodka

Orange juice

Pour vodka over ice cubes in
6-oz. glass. Fill with juice. Stir.

Southern Comfort instead of vodka
gives a screwdriver a bright new turn.

GIN 'N TONIC
Juice, rind 14 lime * 1 jigger (1% oz.) gin
Quinine water (tonic)

Squeeze lime over ice cubes in
8-02. glass. Add rind, gin;

fill with tonic. Stir.

Vodka "п tonic:

use vodka instead of gin.

THE ALAMO
1 jigger (1% oz.) Southern Comfort
Unsweetened Texas grapefruit juice

Pack 12-ог. glass with cracked ice.
Add Southern Comfort; fill with
juice. Stir. A drink you'll remember!

TEMON
2 COOLER) il

ry msn dT

Mixed at Wilbur Clark's Desert
Inn & Stardust Hotels, Las Vegas
ljigger (1% oz.) Southern Comfort

Juice, rind % lime (optional) * quinine water (tonic)
Squeeze lime over ісе cubes in 8-oz. glass.
Add rind and S.C. Fill with tonic, stir.

Scores with sportsmen at the
EI Mirador Hotel, Palm Springs
1 jigger (1% oz ) Southern Comfort

Schweppe's Bitter Lemon

Pour Southern Comfort over ice cubes in
highball glass. Fill with Bitter Lemon, stir.

PLAYBOY December 1964

COMFORT*
COLLINS

SCARLETT
O'HARA

Bowifuls of party-tima cheer

..for special о ons

COMFORT* EGGNOG

1 gt. dairy eggnog mix

PARTY PUNCH

17. Bottle (fifth) Southern Comfort
4 oz. Jamaica rum
1 cup (8 oz.) pineapple juice

1 cup grapefruit juice • 4 oz. lemon juice
2 qts. champagne or sparkling water

Pre-cool ingredients and mix in punch
bowl, adding champagne last. Add ice,
and garnish with orange slices. Serves
25 . . . and puts punch into any party!

ANNIVERSARY PUNCH

í 7 Bottle (fifth) Southern Comfort
1 cup (8 oz) cranberry juice
3% cup lemon or lime juice

1 cup (8 oz.) Southern Comfort dash Angostura bitters e 1 qt. sparkling water
Nutmeg 2 qts. champagne
Pre-chill eggnog mix, Southern Comfort. Pre-cool ingredients; pour into punch
Blend in punch bowl by beating; dust with bowl over large piece of ice. Add
nutmeg. Serves 10. Traditional holiday champagne last; garnish with deco-
eggnog will reach new heights of flavor. ratively-cut fruit slices. Serves 20.

Save over |5 on these Southern Comfort Steamboat Glasses
Each set a $7.95 value. Save $4.45 per set on handsome blue and gold basic glasses.

(See picture on following page)

( Print your name and address.)
Order items desired by letter and
send check or money order to:

Dept. 64PD Southern Comfort Corp.,
1220 N. Price Rd, St. Louis, Mo.63132

A. LONG DRINK GLASS

For Collinses, coolers, highballs . . . any tall favorite. $350
Set of 8 glasses (12 -oz. size)

B. OOUBLE OLO-FASHIONED

All-purpose! Highballs, on-the-rocks, even coolers. $350
Set of 8 glasses (151/;-oz. size)

C. ON-THE-ROCKS GLASS

For on-the-rocks, mists, popular "short" highballs.

Set of 8 glasses (B-oz. size) PLUS matching 5250
27/:-ог. Master Measure glass... all 9 only

D. ON-THE-ROCKS STEM GLASS

New shape for on-the-rocks, other "short" drinks. $350
Set of 6 glasses (7-oz. size)

E. MASTER MEASURE GLASS

This versatile single glass enables you to pour all the
correct measures. Marked for % oz. (1⁄4 jigger); 1% oz.
(jigger); 2 oz.; and 2% oz. SOLD ALONE 506
F. "STEAMBOAT" NAPKINS

Color-mated to glasses, say “Smooth Sailing.”

Two packages of 40 each $1.00 value, only 256

Offers void іп Ga., М. H., Pa., Tenn., Texas, Wash., and Provinces of Ontario and British Columbia.
The folowing appearing herein are all trademarks, service marks. or both, and are used with the permission of HMH Publishing Co.. Inc.
PLAYBOY, PLAYBOY CLUB, KEY, RABBIT HEAD DESIGN, and BUNNY COSTUME.

SOUTHERN COMFORT CORPORATION, 100 PROOF LIQUEUR * ST. LOUIS, MO 63132

PRINTED IN U.S A.

BARMATE

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VOrange offered its sauce in a carved
ресі boat alongside, not over, the fowl.
Before serving, the duckling was seared
over flaming Cointreau. Our companion
chose butter-tender Tournedos Rossini
whose flavor was immensely enhanced by
the sauce and mushrooms. Coffee and
flaming desserts—Cherries Jubilee and
Brandied Peach Flamb pped the
repast. The Rotunda's wine list is ex-
tensive. ‘There is dancing from 9:30 to
1:30 weekdays, 8 to 12 on Saturdays.
Open six days a week from 11:
until 2 A.M. (until midnight on Satur-
days), the Rotunda is closed on Sundays.

RECORDINGS

A highly pleasurable aural experience
awaits on Nancy Wilson / How Glad I Am
(Capitol). The girl with the golden voice
tees oll the LP with her hit title ballad
and goes on to cover such delights
a brace from Funny Girl—People and
Don't Rain on My Parade: a pair of An-
tonio Carlos Jobim melodies, The Boy
from Ipanema and Quiet Nights (Corco-
vado) and a hall-dozen other goodies.

Nancy is ultrafancy throughout,

Peggy Lee / In the Name of Love (Capitol)
rates as onc of her best in a long time.
For one thing, her accompaniment is
provided by a crew ol first-line jazzmi
a number of the arrangements are by
either Billy May, Dave Grusin or Lalo
Schifrin, three of the best of the chart-
makers; and there are a near-dozen tunes
of an almost uniformly high caliber,
among them: The Boy from Ipanema,
Shangri-La, When in Rome and Theme
Jrom “Joy House.

Jackson: Vibrations (Atlantic) proves
again that the longtime Playboy Jazz
Poll-winning vibist performs admirably
outside the context of the Modern Jazz
Quartet. Here, leading a large group on
six of the offerings, and backed by a
rhythm section on the title tune and Mel-
ancholy Blues, Jackson is a stonewall of
technique and inventiveness whether the
mood be indigo or sunny. Tommy Flan-
қап» piano and MJQ drummer Connie
Kay add much to the proceedings.

Ben Webster, that indefatigable titan
of the tenor sax, continues his blithe
course through jazz history with See You
at the Fair (Impulsc!). Fronti quartet
(Hank Jones and Roger Kellaway share
the piano chores, Richard Davis is on
bass, Osie Johnson on drums), the а
less Webster breathes new life into Over
the Rainbow, Our Love Is Here to Stay,
Stardust and Someone to Walch over

Me. as he proves once again that he is
perhaps the most melodic jazz practi-
tioner extant.

Everybody Knows / Steve Lawrence (Colum-
bia)

and everybody knows his vocal
bilities, which are very much in
evidence on this LP. From Toots Thiele-
mans’ lilting Bluesette through the soul-
ful Don't Let the Sun Gatch You Crying
on to the Lawrence Gormé-penned Can't
Get Over the Bossa Nova, Steve is in full
command—except for Yet... I Know,
а hysterical French import that should
prove as popular as hoofand-mouth
disease

A fine "live" Miles session at Juan-
Les-Pins has found its way to vinyl on
Miles Dovis in Europe (Columbia). Heading
а quintet made up of George Coleman
on tenor, Ron Carter, bass, Herbie Н:
cock, piano, and young Tony Williams
on drums, Miles is in splendid form on
a pair of standard—Aulumn Leaves
(which can be banal as hell in the wrong
hands) and Cole Porter's All of You—
and three jazz originals

A refreshing change of pace, This Is
Now! / Hank Jones (ABC-Pa
the stellar jazz pianist disin:
slew of antique rags, polishing
them to a gleaming luster and offering
them with surprisingly little “moderniz-
ag” His laissezfaire policy is a wise
one. The rags have an appeal far beyond
their value as jazz museum pieces. There
is а vitality, a basic straightforwardness
that holds the listener. Drummer Osie
Johnson and bassist Milt Hinton ebulli-
ently enter into the spirit of thc occasion.

Color us disenchanted. Barbra Strei-
sand / People (Columbia), the latest LP
from the hottest female property in show
business, goes over with a whimper, not a
bang. The material is not to be faulted.
It includes the title song, Supper Time
from Irving Berlin's As Thousands
Cheer and Don’t Like Goodbyes from
the Arlen-Gapote House of Flowers. But,
with the exception of the deliberately
paced, Happy Days-styled Fine and Dan-
dy, that tendency toward nerve-jangling
frenetic h we have mentioned in
the past is still very much a part of Miss
Streisand's bag of tricks.

Even if you already have a complete
recording of the opera, a wise investment
would be Carmen (RCA Victor), with
Leontyne Price, Franco Corelli, Robert
Merrill and Mirella Freni as the prin-
cipals. Miss Price gives an overpowering
performance as the cigarette girl that
Corelli and Merrill are hard put to
match; what would be considered super
lative interpretations of their roles under
ordinary circumstances suffer by com-
parison with the Price

adeur of

, she will!

a very persuasive fragrance for men

Cologne, After Shave, Tale, Shower Soap Bar, Gift Sets
Caryl Richards, Inc, New York, М.У.

PLAYBOY

Sony adds ап exciting
new dimension to home entertainment
for less than $1395°

Now, from World-famous Sony, the perfect
Playmate for your record player—the new Sony
model 250 solid state stereo tape recorder. With
a simple, instant connection to your record
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track stereo recording and playback 10 com-
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Stereo receivers, or live from microphoncs—61⁄4
hours of listening pleasure on one tape! This
beautiful instrument is handsomely mounted in

For lite

Iure or name of nearest dealer wrine to Superscope, Inc., Dept. 12, Sm Valley.

a low-profile walnut cabinet, complete with
built-in stereo recording amplifiers and play-
back pre-amps, dual V.U. meters, automatic
sentinel switch and all the other supcrb features
you can always expect with a Sony. All rhe best
from Sony for less than $139.50.

AVAILABLE SOON: A sensational new develop-
ment in magnetic recording tape, SONY
PR-150. Write for details about our special
introductory offer. (Sorry—only available to
Sony owners.)

Herbert Von Karajan is the conductor
of the Vienna Philharmonic with the
Vienma State Opera Chorus and the
Vienna Boys Choir in attendance

The Happy Horns of Clark Terry (Impulse!)
points up the impeccable таме Terry
brings to both the trumpet and the
Flügelhorn. Felicitously surrounded һу
such exemplary sidemen as Ben Webster
and Phil Woods, Clark, in an outing
dominated by Fllingtonia, is splendid
throughout.

Reissues of more than passing inter
est: Djengo Reinhardt end the Quintet of the Hot
Club of France (Capitol) features the incom.
parable French guitarist in material
pressed during World War II, after vio-
linist Stephane Grappelly had left for
gland. This group lacks some of the
original quintet’s unique flavor, but the
luster of Reinhardt’s guitarwork is not to
be denied. 4 Gerry Mulligan Meets Johnny
Hodges (Verve), part of a Mulligan Meets
22. series, is one of the best; both
Johnny and Gerry are the supreme
lyricists of their instruments. The half-
dozen tunes that make up the session are
originals presented in the relaxed, clar
ion style that is the hallmark of these
stalwarts. § In the Beginning / Milt Jackson /
Sonny Stitt (Galaxy), cut in the late Forties,
represents the fledgling musical flights of
the MJQ's superlative vibist and the
Charlie Parker alto disciple. Stitt at the
time was very much under the Bird's
wing, while Jackson's vibes technique
was still in transition. Even so, there is

much of merit on this LP, including
some beautiful balladic work on Body
and Soul and Stardust. 4 The Best of

George Shearing (Capitol) is a pleasant re
minder that, if Shearing is not the
world’s most inventive jazz pianist, he
does rate as a consistent performer with
a high polish and an enthusiasm that is
transmitted to the auditor. Gleaned from
sides made with the quintet, strings and
Latin rhythm, the LP is smooth, unpre
tentious and thoroughly digable. 4
Jozz Impressions / Vince Gueraldi (Fantasy)
is the early Guaraldi Trio, which really
doesn't go back very many ye
quick rise to fame via Cast Your Fale to
the Winds predicated this reissue so
as to give his first recordings a wider
audience. The set, which includes Yester-
days, Willow Weep for Me, John Lewis
Django and a rare Billy Strayhorn item,
1 Flower Is a Lovesome Thing, proves
the regrooving of Guaraldi a wise moye,
indeed. 4 Followers of Johnny Mathis
should two-LP Johnny
Mathis / The Great Years (Columbia) which
contains past performances of such as A
Certain Smile, Misty, Love Look Away
and Tonight. § Further reprised vocal
ists: The Hits of Jo Stafford (Capitol), which
contains the moving Yesterdays, Georgia
on My Mind and Come Rain or Come

Vince

appreciate the

Great moments in history

... happen only once...are gone in an instant. So preserve
them in movies fora lifetime. ГІ And with the SUN GUN" IT
movie light by Sylvania, making home movies indoors is as easy
asthrowing a light switch. Just attach it to your camera.

Turn it on. And start shooting. L] Indoor scenes spring
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heavy, cumbersome bar lights.
The SUN GUN II movie light is a
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movielight. ГІ No movie camera is
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light. Stop in soon for a demonstration
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SYLVANIA

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GENERAL TELEPHONE a ELECTRONICS Or |à]
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PLAYBOY

English Leather’

..*the ALL-PURPOSE MEN'S LOTION, $2.00, $3.50, $6.50
...*the ALL-PURPOSE SPRAY LOTION $5.00 (refill $2.00)
the PRE-SHAVE LOTION, $1.50.. .*the ALL-PURPOSE POWDER, $1.50
the DEODORANT STICK, $1.00..."the AEROSOL DEODORANT, $1.50
the SHOWER SOAP ON A СОКО, $2.00..."GIFT SETS from 53,00 to $10.00

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MEM COMPANY, INC. 347 Fifth Avenue, New York

You've got the edge . . . with Edgeworth

Men who have the edge on life, the born winners, are apt
to go for Edgeworth. Its winning blend of cool-smoking
Burleys smokes even cooler with the exclusive texture of
Edgeworth Read dy Rubbed. Never a bite from first light to
last fragrant puff. Get the edge on pleasure. Get Edgeworth.

THE HOUSE OF EDGEWORTH
Larus & Brother Co., Inc., Richmond, Va. Fine Tobacco Products Since 1877

Shine; Julia Lee ond Her Boy Friends
tol) wher
belts the lil Size Papa, Gotta
Gimme W ” Got and You Ain't
Got It No More, 4 Chet Baker Sings
(World-Pacific) echoes the Baker pipes of
1954 when he put together a string of
splendidly delineated standards. In addi
tion to the regular quartet on the orig
nal etching, the guitar of Joe Pass has
been dubbed in to give greater body to
the backgrounds

irs Monks Time/Thelonious Monk (Co-
lumbia) proves a tantalizing tour de
force. The Monk is a jazz school unto
himself: his solo tracks of Memories of
You and Nice Work if You Can Get It
have their roots in ragtime, while the
group ellorts, Shuffle Boil in particular,
are avantgarde delights. An unexpected
bonus is tenor man Charlic Row
whose work up till now we have nej
lected; he can be mellifluous or driving
acrity.

ру discovery is A Rare Live Record-
ie Holiday (RIC) made up of
Lady Day's appearances at George
Wein's Boston night club, Storyville, in
the 1950s. Billie had just the hollow
husk of a voice left, but she had lost
none of her emotional involvement with
her material. Such well-known Holiday
ballads as Lover Man, Them There
Eyes, Strange Fruit and Mise Rrown to
You are welcome additions to Billi

nyl memori;

For those who think of the 12-string
guitar as а country-and western instru-
ment, 12-String Guitar! Great Motion Picture
Themes / Joe Poss and the Folkswingers
(World-Pacific) will come as a pleasant
surprise. Pass, a rapidly rising force on
the guitar scene, has John Pisano’s
rhythm guitar behind him as well as the
drums of Larry Bunker and the bass of

charlie Haden, Included among the

themes: Gharade, Carnaval from Black.
Orpheus, Wives and Lovers and Call Me
Irresponsible. In toto, an unusual and
successful recording.

Nat King Cole / My Fair Lady (Capitol)
finds the ubiquitous balladeer enmeshed
in a Lerner and Loewe score that is
decidedly not his cup of tea. "The veddy
British flavor of the lyrics becomes ludi
crous when voiced by Cole (the effect is
the same as Rex Harrison singing gospel)
Only on the moving Гое Grown Accus
tomed to Her Face do Cole and My Fair
Lady have a common meeting ground

We ordinarily don't dig sampler LPs,
but The Definitive Jazz Scene / Volume 1 ([m-
pulse!) is an exception. All the tracks
are of previously unreleased items and
some of them are pure gold: Golc-

м à
qus ND Ever pull out a little

GET PY slip from the pocket of

*a new purchase? And
pe Í whoin the world the
number is? To stop the spread of anony-
mity, London Fog reveals
all: 1 on a slip means
Thelma Runkles who has
checked our Maincoats
longer than any other
examiner on our London-
town staff.

Called *Grandma" by
the crew, Mrs. Runkles has
bright, glittering eyes that
miss nothing. She studies
the stitching and snips any
stray threads. Pores over
the fabric for the vague:
defect. Scrutinizes all
seams. And when the last
little detail is explored
places her stamp of ap-
proval in the pocket of a
perfect Maincoat.

Mrs. Runklesis one of twenty-eight fas-
tidious examiners. And if your London
Fog fits as if it were custom tailored for
you, feels crisp when you flip the collar
and looks trim, orderly and handsome
while it stands up to a cloudburst, pull out

theslipfrom yourpocketand give creditto
Bessie Bailey #2, Delmore Applewhite
#3, Barbara Murray #4, Naomi Boyce #5,
Augustine Braxton /6, Virginia Dailey
#7, Olivia Jones #8, Janie Eubanks #9,
Dora Lee Shelton #10, Hazel
— Lindsay #11, Rosemarie
Midget #12, Thelma Baker
#14,Dessie Hall#15,Mildred
Moss #16, Katie Graves
#17, June Mathias #18,
Idell Davis #19, Margaret
„Jackson #20, Mary

AM jd ines #24, Pecola
~S 7 Odum#25,Geral-

2 жу. dine Mickle #26,
` ThelmaMack#27,

Elenora English
#28, Josephine
Giordano #29, or
Myrtle Clark #30.
Mrs. Runkle’s current
concern is the Dalton with
new splitshoulderin our exclusive Calibre
Cloth of 65% Dacron* polyester and 35%
cotton, fluoridized with ZePel With zip-in
Supra-Alpacalining,in natural,olive,black
or mica. For about $55, your #1 coat.
London Fog Baltimore 11, Maryland.

THE TWO MISSING ONES ARE— ALMA JOHNSON #22, WHO RETIRED ALONG WITH HER NUMBER, AND #13 (WE LEAVE NOTHING TO CHANCE).

PLAYBOY

WATCH
WHAT
BLACK WATCH
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FORA

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By PRINCE MATCHABELLI

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man Hawkins work on the Shelly
Manne-led Avalon and with Duke El-
lington and a small group on Solitude:
Clark Terry's Hammerhead Waltz; and
a lyrically beautiful performance of a
seldomheard Ellington composition,
Single Petal of a Rose, by Ben Webster.
Count Basie, John Coltrane, Charlie
Mingus and Terry Gibbs are also on
hand.

Mozart / The Complete Flute Sonatas / Jean-
Pierre Rampal / Robert Veyron-Lacroix, Herpsi-
chord (Epic) falls lightly and delightfully
on the ear. The French virtuosi have an
estimable rapport with each other and
with the composer who, it should be
noted, was all of eight when he wrote
the sonatas.

Command Performance! / Les & Larry Elgar?
Play the Great Dance Hits (Columbia) is a
nostalgic offering. The Great Dance Hits
have nothing to do with the bird, the
frug or the watusi, Rather, they en-
compass the likes of Sentimental Journey,
Tuxedo Junction, Jersey Bounce, ad in-
finitum, all of which the Elgarıs deliver
with a high gloss and an empathy for
their material which communicates itself
to the listener:

tle 39, United
ember

publication: pLAynor. 3. Frequency of issue

Monthly. 4. Location of known office of

tere or general business offices of the pub-
232 E. Ohio St., Chicago, Ill. 60611
id. addresses of publisher, editor,
ng editor: Publisher and Editor,
Ohio Si, Chicago,
k J. Kesic, 300 N.
Owner: HMH Pub-
232 E. Омо St., Chica
ind addresses of stock
owning or holding one percent or morc
total amount of stock: Glenn L. Hefner, 192:
N- New England, Chicago, HL, H
Hefner,

Arthur
klon
Burt
Wilmette, TIL 8.
Known bondholders, mortgagees, and other
security holders owning or holding one per-
cent or more of total amount of bonds,
mortgages or other sccuritics: None. 10.
Average no. copics each issue during pre-
ceding, 12 months: A. Total no. copies
printed, 2,677,162; В. Paid circulation, (1)
To term subscribers by mail, carrier cle
or by other n 586,714, (2) Sales th
agents, news deu
C. Free distribution by mail, carrier delivery,
or by other means, 9598; D. Total по. of
copics distributed, 2,300,770. Single issue
nearest to filing біліс: A. Total no. copies
printed, 2,803,414; B. Paid circulation, (1)
To term subscribers by mail, carrier delivery
ог by other means, 617,605; (2) Sales through
agents, news dealers, or otherwise, 1,886,400;
С: Free distribution by mail, carrier delivery,
or by other means, 8586; D. Total no. of
copies distributed, 2,512,591. I certify that
the statements made by me above are correct
and complete: Robert S. Preuss, Business
Manager.

КИП

NATURE SLIDES

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PLAYEOY

any algum is a thoughtful gift; Ан angel aleum ıs a compliment.

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THE FOUR
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SYMPHONIES

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Beethoven: Violin Concerto in D Major
Nathan Milstein
Approximately six dollars

Brahms: Four Symphonies
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Approximately twenty-four dollars

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THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR

WI, girlfriend, who is a prude, thinks
it’s scandalous that J don't wear any un-
derwear. I say it’s my business, Who's
right—K. L., Juneau, Alaska

I's your business all right, but how
do you keep warm during those six-
month winters they've got up there? And
if your girl's a prude, how'd she find ош?

AA former college classmate and frater-
nity brother of mine is a dentist, just set-
ing up a practice. He is a well-trained,
competent practitioner, and occasionally
T've referred friends to him. This is the
problem: A divorcee es
mine, on my advice, saw m
an extended series of special work, and
then disappeared—without paying а
$1200 bill. Since then my friend has
been anything but friendly, and when
1 saw him last he suggested. that 1 pay
him—at least at cost—for the bill this
broad ran up. Should IE—T. M., Denver,
colorado.

No. Youre not a collection agency,
and you're certainly not responsible for
the unpaid bills of your deadbeat ex-
girlfriend. Your recommendations to
your dentist friend were simply a friend-
1у gesture—which you might reconsider
before repeating.

F have been going out with a psychiatrist
for two months, 1 went to bed with him
for the first time a week ago—and since
then, not one word from him. (All right,
I don't expect Lawrence Welk serenad-
ing me beneath my window the mo

ng alter or any little mementos from
Tillany's, but don't you think Im jus
tified in expecting at least one call?) Is
dite any way ұша (сай hin wirhent
making a complete tool of myself, or do
all you men of the world think 1 should
just accept the fact that he found the
whole experience unsatisfactory and de-
cided to ross me cut of his little black
book? I must admit, I'm not the world’s
most exciting creature, but mo one
complained before.—C. B., New Or-
ns, Louisiana.

Since no one has complained. before,
relax. Your erstwhile headshrinker may
be the kind who enjoys the chase more
than the trophy. If so, that's his hang-
up, not yours, Don't bug him with
phone calls, Gul you wight drop him
a nole recommending he see a good
psychiatrist.

lea

ММ... may I wear a boutonniere with
a business suit and what kind should
it be?—A. B., Chicago, Illinois.

IVs appropriate any time before six. If
you're slimly built with a narrow face, а
small boutonniere (preferably a bache-

lor’s-button) is best. For a fuller face on
a fuller frame, the carnation (deep red
only) is appropriate. Bear in mind, how-
ever, that unless you have the bouton-
niere bearing, you run the danger of
looking like а road-company Clifton
Webb or a displaced floorwalker.

О. of my friends fancies himself an
ї connoisseur. A few years ago he be-
an—in a small way—acquiring paint
Since I know something about art,
he solicits my opinion on each new pur-
chase. And since the paintings are al.
ready paid for by the time I sce them,
my usual response has been polite ap-
proval—though my real feelings are that
they range from bad to heinous, and
that my friend is slowly erecting an un-
paralleled artistic monument to bad
taste. Recently he stepped up his buying,
and Im getting ngly uncomfort-
able. Am I justified in tell him I
think his collection stinks?—T. J., Stam.
ford, Connecticut.

There's no sense in fracturing the
guy's feelings by pointing out his bad
laste at this late stage. Your best reply
would be one couched in judiciously
hedging language, such as, " Well, it’s not
particularly my kind of art. but if you
like it, that's fine.” In our opinion, you
should have leveled with him from the
start; when someone respects your judg-
ment enough lo solictt an honest opin-
ion, give it to him.

Bam co-owner with another American
girl of a small but lucrative café and bar
in haly. I have been having a serious
affair with one of our patrons, a man
who is all I've ever wanted, and who
anis to marry me—but on the condi-
tion that I buy out my partner, since he
thinks threes а crowd even in business,
My gitlfriend enjoys the life and our
work here as much as I do, and I haven't
had the heart to tell her of my guy's de
mands. What do you think I should do?
—B. N., Turin, Italy.

Explain the situation to your gòl
friend and give her a choice: She can
either buy you ош or be bought out. If
you're as serious about the guy as you
say you are, you should be willing lo
face the prospect of giving up your cafe,
since we assume you want the man move
than the business.

[| find that a disappointing number of
American girls expect men to keep on
dating them, solely for the pleasure of
their company and an occasional kiss or
two, I have neither the time, the money
nor the inclination for such p

atonic ar-

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rangements. Yet, too often my attempts
to progress past the platonic stage are
met with the old stand-by parry: “You
men are only interested in one thing.”
My question is: What is a reasonable
number of times to date a girl before
one can expect to receive his just re-
ward?—J. W., Washington, D.C.

We suspect that the reason you've en-
countered so much difficulty in finding
willing bedmates lies in your single-
minded approach, Girls are bound to
react defensively when you start tele-
graphing that “OK, baby, let's make it"
feeling every time you take them out. 1f
you project the idea that she “owes”
you some loving just because you've
been dating for a while, you'll continue
to strike ош more often than not. In-
stead, why not try to convince her that
you're interested in her personally—not
just horizontally. It's certain 10 improve
your current batling average.

Em inking of having a few friends
over for a bit of yuletide wassail, and Га
like to save myself the trouble of taking
individual drink orders by serving some
kind of community punch. Апу sugges:
tions?—B. A., Flushing, New York.

Our favorite holiday cheer is Swedish
glogg, a spicy Scandinavian polation
served piping hot. For a dozen thirsty
revelers, mix two fifths of burgundy or
claret, a cup of sugar, 32 whole cloves
and 16 sticks oj cinnamon in а commo-
dious saucepan, and bring to the boiling
point. Reduce the flame, simmer five to
cight minutes, then stir in two cups of
good brandy. Ladle into mugs garnished
with a few raisins and almonds—and
God rest ye merry, gentlemen!

AA few weeks ago, on а business
ati, I was having an ci

ning cocktail in my hotel room with an
old girlfriend. Our conversation was in-
terrupted by the house detective, who
knocked loudly and insisted on being
admitted. I let him in, and, as soon as he
saw that we were enjoying just drinks
and conversation, he apologized for the
inconvenience and departed. Now I'm
wondering, first, if I should have let him
in, and second, if this invasion of a
guests privacy was legal or justified,
Needless to say, it cost the hotel a cu:
tomer.—]. S., San Francisco, California.
You were right in letting the detective
in, since vejusing him entry would only
have resulted in a scene that could have
embarrassed both your friend and your-
self. Though the hotel management is
legally entitled to right of access provid-
ed there's good cause to suspect law-
breaking, the hotel guest is just as
entitled lo be protected from an in-
vasion of his privacy. We don’t think
this is worth taking to court, bul we

would certainly let the hotel manager
know why you won't be staying there
again.

V; it ever proper to wear a chesterfield
coat with a sports jacke А.Т. De
шой, Michigan.

Since a chesterfield is a dress coat, it
should not be worn with casual clothes.

who works in a huge down-
town building, and the nature of my job
requires that 1 ride in Ше elevator a
great deal. ‘Thus my question: Is it rude
for a man to leave an elevator first when

there are women behind him? (Many
times I have to fight my way out
through men who apparently feel it

would be poor manners for them to
exit in front of me.) —U. B., New York,
New York,

Irs foolish jor men to block ап ele-
valor doorway while waiting for mem-
hers of the fair sex to snake their way
around them. In a crowded elevator,
those in front, no matter what their
sex, should step out first.

may seem like an idiot question
ad you probably won't be able to

answer it—but it's а matter that’s been
bugging me for weeks. I was at a party
with my girl and two other college

couples We were sitting around the

fireplace and I said to my date suime-
thing inane like, “Be a doll and kiss me

now, honey.” The other two guys looked
at each other, smiling broadly, and then
one of them said, “Oh, be a fine girl,
kis me right now, sweetheart!" And
then they both burst into gales ol
laughter. 1 was sort of miffed and said 1
didn't see what was so funny. One of
them repeated this sentence and then
said. “Well, you have to be a science

major to understand the joke.” The
other guy agreed, and neither of them
would explain. 1 was embarrassed

1 dropped it, but it still puzzles me
makes me, an arts major, decl sq
What has science got to do with
anything? —P. D., Ann Arbor, Michi

The phrase that was supposcd 10 be
so hilarious is a memorizing device
called a mnemonic; The initial letters
of the words are the alphabetical desig-
nalions of the relative temperatures of
stars, Scientist and sci-fi writer George
Gamow invented this mnemonic, and
Science writer Willy Ley pointed out
its major weakness: In normal speech,

the sentence would probably be spoken
in ascending order of heat, whereas the
progression O, B, A, Е. G, K, M, R, N,
Š is in descending order of stellar tem-
peratures. We hope this sets your mind
at rest—and that you got your kiss.

Ham boarding with a family that in-

BUDGET RENT-A-CAR
PRESENTS THE DO-IT-YOURSELF
STATUS SYMBOL FOR PLAYBOYS

(CLIP HERE)

(PASTE HERE)

AUTHORIZED SIGNATURE

8 рл 5726

4
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NORMAN R TISSIAN

E THE FIRST on your block to own a Budget Rent-A-Car Credit Card. And don’t

be well-bred about it! Show it around. Mention it a lot. When your Budget bills
come, compare them with your friends’. Be smug about the money you save.

For instance, tell what you paid for a Chevrolet Corvair Monza. $5 a full 24-hour day
and 5c a mile. “That's all very well,” your friends will say, “but what about a Chevrolet
Impala? What do you say for that?" Then let them have it. Ready? “$7 a day, 5c a mile.
And buy only the gas you use.” That’s when you smile.

If you want to rub it in, you can do so by telling them
that your insurance is the same and that your car has
radio, heater, seat belts... everything theirs have.

Then watch their status shrivel before your eyes. `.

* (DRIVE OUT HERE) 4
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Budget® Rent-A-Car Corporation of America M
35 East Wacker Drive, Chicago 1, Illinois

Gentlemen:

J^ BUDGET.
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Name.

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so please send me a Credit Card Title

а mih
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Budger® Rent-A-Car Corporation
of America — coast ко coast and
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[ ] I can't help it! Even with my
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Budget Rent-A-Car, in its 6th successful year, will consider ар

in your city, write Mr. Jules Lederer, President, Budget Rent-A-Car Corp. of America, 35 E. Wacker Dr., Chicago 1, Ill. A B

PLAYBOY

No slide projector
ever looked like

this before

It’s the dramatically successful Sawyer's.

Shows 100 slides non-stop with new
circular tray. Takes regular trays, too.

Can even show up to 40 slides without
a tray.

No other projector, at any price, does so
much, so well.

From less than °55. Deluxe Rotomatic Slide
Projector shown, less than 120.

cludes a daughter with whom I fell in
love immediately. My problem is that

she thinks of me as a “brother,” and I
find this situation unbearable. How can
I get my me: -B. L., Saint

Louis Park, Minnesota.

She'll probably continue to think of
you as a brother as long as you're living
under the same roof with her. Moving to
another place would be a smart move;
then start dating her as you would any
other eligible young lady

Ш recently found myself in a minor ar-
ment over the meaning of the phrase
bottled in bond." My friend claimed
it’s an index of whiskey qu; while I
said it merely involves storage of hooch
and has nothing to do with quality. Who
was righe?—T.K., Fresno, California.

You were. “Boltled in bond" on a
whiskey label simply means that the dis-
tiller has agreed to store his booze in
bonded warchouses—thus avoiding hefty
Federal excise taxes until he's ready lo
sell. The law requires that to be eligible
for such preferential tax treatment,
whiskey must be at least four years old
and 100 proof, but these factors alone
don't guarantee quality.

Um engaged to marry a girl who is all I
want in a wife. Her parents, while not
wealthy, are well off. When cach of her
ree older sisters married, her father,
arm and generous man, gave
weds a fat cash gift, followed
up periodic
I assume he plans the same for us, and,
quite frankly, I would rather not accept
the money, Not that it wouldn't come in
handy: It’s just that in the long run I'd
rather have self-respect than dough.
What are your feelings?—J.G., New
York, New York

А cash gift, if it's forthcoming, will be
simply а wedding present. We have
nothing against wedding gifts. and in
this instance feel that you would be in
sulting your future father-in-law by re-
fusing what he offered. Of course, after
you're married, you would be justified
in refusing additional largess, if that is
your preference, but we fail to see how
your self-respect is jeopardized if there
are no strings attached to the moola.

ly with additional presents

AU reasonable questions—from fash-
ion, food and drink, hi-fi and sports cars
lo dating dilemmas, taste and etiquetie
—will be personally answered if the
writer includes a stamped, self-addressed
envelope. Send all leiters to The Playboy
Advisor, Playboy Building, 232 E. Ohio
Street, Chicago, Illinois 60611. The most
provocative, pertinent queries will be
presented on these pages euch month.

VOL. II, NO. 53

) Шішіш Club News

SPECIAL EDITION

YOUR ONE PLAYBOY CLUB KEY
ADMITS YOU TO ALL PLAYBOY CLUES

DECEMEER 1964

GIVE THIS CHRISTMAS’ MOST WANTED GIFT:
PLAYBOY KEY + CHAMPAGNE + ART PRINT

ALL THREE FOR THE PRICE OF A KEY!

TOP GIFT FOR TOP MEN ON YOUR LIST |

CHICAGO (Special)—Give the most exciting Christmas present
your friends and business associates will receive this season—give
the Playboy Triple Gift holiday package, a repeat of last year’s
Sensational offer. Here's what the lucky man will receive:

1. HIS PLAYBOY CLUB KEY, The famous silver symbol of the
good life opens the door to every Playboy Club in the world. Ten
are now open and several premieres are planned during 1965.

2. A BOTTLE OF PLAYBOY'S
FINE CHAMPAGNE. Upon
your friend’s first visit to The
Playboy Club, a beautiful
Bunny will serve а bottle of
Playboy’s champagne at your
friend's table, with your compli-
ments, He'll begin his life as a
playboy in our famous festive
atmosphere with a sparkling re-
minder of your good taste.

Keyholders: Dial a Bunny
For speedier Triple Gift
shopping—dial a Bunny
and order keys by phone.
(Area codes precede

3. LEROY NEIMAN PRINT.
At the same time, the Bunny
will give him a richly colored
20” x 30” reproduction of a
LeRoy Neiman original. Award-
winning impressionist Neiman,
whose works ere an essential
part of Playboy Club decor, has
been well-known to PLAYBOY
readers (Man at His Leisure,
story illustrations, fashion
spreads and Femlins) for ten
years. The Playboy Club collec-
tion includes 150 Neiman oils.

$25 TAX DEDUCTION

А 825 Playboy Club key, given
аз a business gift, is fully de-
ductibie under current Internal
regulations.

Revenue Service
Тһе rules allow a deduction of
$25 per recipient for as many
such gifts as you give.

Each time your friend admires
his beautiful print, he'll appre-
ciate your faultless choice in
selecting his Triple Gift,

PLAYBOY CLUB LOCATIONS

(Clubs Open—Baltimore 28 Light
St; Chicago 116 Б. Welton

innatt 35 E. 7th St Detroit
uv E RES
Bunny Bay. Ос!
West Indi

New keyholder offers playmate a champagne toast beneath LeRoy Neiman oil.

KEY PLEASURES IN PLAYBOY WORLD

Each gift key, and the cer-
tificate entitling recipient to
champagne and Neiman print,
is mailed with a Christmas card
hand-signed with your name.

The Playboy Club Triple Gift
unlocks all Club privileges—the
pleasure of relaxing in one’s own
Club; man-sized drinks served
by beautiful Bunnies; choice
steaks and buffet platters for the
same price аз а drink; outstand-
ing entertainment; subscription
to vip, the Club magazine.

Май to: PLAYBOY CLUBS INTERNATIONAL

Gentlemen:
Here is my application lor

the state of Florida,

</о PLAYBOY Magazine, 232 E. Ohio St., Chicago, Hlineis 60611

This offer definitely will not
be made after Christmas. Orders
received up to December 18th
will be filled in time for the new
keyholder to use his key during
the holidays. (He'll love ringing
in the New Year at the Club.)

To order Triple Gifts, use the
coupon below. (Keyholders may
Dial a Bunny). And if you aren't
a keyholder, this is the offer for
which you've been waiting! Just
check the special box for your
very own Playboy Triple Gift.

ГТ Triple Gilt order only O personal Triple Gift only [ personal and Triple Giftorder |
Tull payment must accompany this coupon, Playboy Club keyholders may charge to thei
hey. Triple Gill Keys are 325. except for residente within 75 t

деге keys are $50. (Minimum age for Key privileges is 21 years.)

miles от Chicago or within.

phone numbers.) 1
ran "404 5254625 Ё ОШ Nen ork 8E КИРИНИН b onea l
BALTIMORE . .301 УЕ 7-1111 St. Louis 3914 Lindell Blvd. LETTER & NUMBER. | I
BOSTON . 1.617 5367900 ۹ s y RAE €
CHICAGO 312 WH 4-3010 ica Motor Inn: Boston Si Fark MILAN Oe І
CINCINNATI ЗЕЛ ЫЙ Square; Los Angeles 5560 Sunset Веч І
DETROIT . .313 962.0011 BASE en = IE
JAMAICA . ...Огасаһезза 222 X І
KANSAS CITY... B16 HA 1.5080 MM Utt personal Ti Gt key orly. you read rot copiste tis porion == |
LOS ANGELES 213 657-5050 - -- == I
MIAMI. 305 751-7543 The bucky new sevnoiser ie entier | SEND TRIPLE GIFT KEY TO (PLEASE PRINT
NEW ORLEANS: .. ‚504 523-5001 ed a 1
NEW YORK . .212 Рі. 2-3100 At the present time, state laws allow
PHOENIX .. .602 264-4314 ustoredeem champagne and Neiman CITY ZIP COOE І
ST. Louis.. ....314 OL 24700 О т те. те сі ск оз І
SAN FRANCISCO..415 YU 2.2711 РОА fC Semi Triste Oil to recipient

land Jamaica. Certificate may Ba rw |Ë O nash toreesant Тара GM personaly. Send ekat and umlaned I

We will confirm your
order by mail.

deemed any time during 1965 in his
travels to any спе of these Clubs.

Use separate sheet of to order additional gift keys.
О Check here И you wish only information about The Playboy Club Triple Gil

203 |

——————r EEE

No Scotch
improves
the flavour
of water.
like Р
Teacher 5

«2%
$ ТЕАСНЕН 5
Ona? HIGHLAND

Tp.

PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK
BY PATRICK CHASE

ANY SELF-RESPECTING sybarite learns ear-
ly to seck out the spectator pleasures of
honparticipant sports, thus acquiring out-
door enjoyment without undue exertion.
While others labor on ski slopes, the
truly sincere sloth will be relaxing back
at the lodge or attending the February
Deep Freeze Little Le Mans which pits
sports cars at speeds that hit 125 around
the twoandonchalfmile ice course on
frozen Stillwater Lake in Pennsylvania's
Pocono Mountains.

The social life of the horsy set is open
to the practicing idler in Ше balmy
sandhills country of North Carolina
without resorting to post-equitation lini-
ment. You can watch point-to-point
races at Southern Pines in mid-January,
sponsored by the Moore County
Hounds; or use a jeep to follow fox and
drag hunting thrice weekly here and at
Tryon in the Blue Ridge foothills. You
can watch die hunting dogs work out in
January at the Pinchust Field Tr
and Southeastern. Brittany Field Т
over the famous Pinehurst courses which
also form part of the big hun
serve for quail shooting. Re
food and drink at rustic Pine Crest Inn
in Tryon and at Maison Henri с
dancing, the Pine Room of the bi
both at Pinehurst. For a change of
pace, winter-warm Pinehurst and South-
ern Pines, between them, boast ten great
IShole golf courses, many designed by
the Scottish specialist Donald Ross.

Made to order for imactivists is the
hoomanawanui, or takc-it-casy spirit, of
All the savvy man of leisure
to Makapuu
fan slopes

need do is saunter over
Point, where an ancient L

gently into the sea. Here, at the base of
cliff where King Kamehameha I
beached his war canoes, a coral lagoon

displays the underwater life of offshore
Hawaii—visible from the surface and
from glass ports underground

Back in Waikiki, you can relax in
the Tapa Room of the Hilton Hawaiian
Village Hotel or the Monarch Room
of the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. Both of
these rooms put on excellent shows and
serve gourmet dinners. The entertain-
ment is standard Hawaiian, but Ше per-
formers are all authentic islanders rather
than mainland enter ing like
Hawaiians.
тег across the Pacific, inactivists
are carefully coddled in Hong Kong (see
Five Yuletide Vacations, page 169) —
thanks to rickshas for padding about
town, and ferries scurrying among the
237 islands of Hong Kong's bays.

iners ma

many visitors restrict their touring to
Hong Kong island and to Kowloon on
the mainland without ever enjoying the
other islands. Yet а ten-mile ferry run
will take you to Lanto island—whose
well-equipped Silver Mine Bay is a fa-
vorite swimming spot for hip locals. Peng
Chau, on the ferry route to Lantao, is
noted for its bustling market and, partic-
ularly, for hand-painted porcelain. Still
another huge island is Lamma, whose
Picnic Bay is much favored by yachtsmen

The Portuguese island of Macao,
where widespread gambling at two ca
sinos is all that’s left of its lurid repu
tion as а vice center, can now be reached
by hydrofoil from Hong Kong. Macao's
casinos feature roulette, chemin de fer,
пете et quarante and baccarat, but for
the time being, fan-tan and ku sek (high
low) are the popular games in addition
to mah-jongg- which is far too fast, as
played by the Oriental gamblers, for any
Western participation. The idea in fan.
tan is to watch the croupier count off
white buttons four at a time from a pile
on the table: You bet on whether he'll
have one, two, three or no buttons left
at the end. Minimum bet is one Hong
Kong dollar (about 17 cents U.S). Ku-
sek is a form of three-dice craps.

Hong Kong is still essentially a Chi-
nese city. It is notably colorful in Feb-
ruary when the Chinese New Year is
celebrated for four solid days—96 unin-
terrupted hours of revelry. (But be
warned that all the stores are closed
then.) One novelty: Chinese chacha, the
specialty at the Highball night dub.
Along with the dancing here, enjoy shao
hsing, a sort of Chinese rice wine served
hot. An additional selection of lively
night spots worth putting on your itiner-
ary includes The Den, which is designed
to look like a posh opium hideaway, and
The Eagle's Nest, a swank, penthouse
supper club, both at the Hong Koi
Hilton. For a Far Eastern interpretation
of rhythm and blues, try the new Presi
dent Hotel's Firecracker Room, and for
good western jazz, the same hotel's Lotus
Grille. Traditional dance music is fea-
tured at the new Mandarin Hotel's The
Button, a rooftop supper club. Finally,
for plain unabashed girl watching
mesmeric sport in Hong Kong, where the
ladies all wear slitskirt cheongsams—try
the Paramount or the Majestic, both of
which feature afterdark entertainment

that is lively and nonstop

or further information on any of the
above, write to Playboy Reader Serv-
ice, 232 F. Ohio SL., Chicago, Il. 60511. ED

Mark П“..
for the Male Animal!

Over 100 rare essences and oils combine
to create this uncopyable blend, The same
exciting fragrance flows throughout all

Mark II toiletries. Mark 11 is delightful to
the man... irresistible to the woman near
him. Shave Lotion, $3.00, Shave Creme, $2.00
and Hair Creme (not shown), $2.00 plus
tax. Other Mark II products up to $2500.

MARK OF A MAN

PLAYBOY

Putting these custom-matched components in a portable
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The Exponent 4/40, in a padded, leather-
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to: Sylvania, Dept. FL, P.O. Box 7, Station
С, Buffalo, N. Y. Look for your Sylvania
Dealer in the Yellow Pages. Sylvania Home
Electronics, Batavia, N. Y.

ба ff elegance

THE PLAYBOY FORUM

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

FOR THE BIRDS

We have just finished reading your
Playboy Philosophy in the September
1964 issue. On page 73 of this issue Hef-
ner quotes Minnesota's sex statute as
reading: “Any person who shall carnally
know any animal, bird, man or woman,
by anus or mouth, or voluntarily sub-
mits to such knowledge . . . is guilty of
sodomy ..."

Not being very imaginative, we ask
you how in hell can a person be guilty
of sodomy with a bird?

Marshall Abbate
Bernie Davis

St. Michael's College
Santa Fe, New Mexico

With a bird, it’s difficult to be guilty
of much else. The size of the bird is
vital, of course. The story is told of a
British soldier during the Boer War
who was court-martialed [от having had
carnal relations with an ostrich, When
the military tribunal, after rendering tts
verdict, asked the prisoner if he had any-
thing to say before being sentenced, the
unfortunate fellow cried: “If Га known
you'd make such a fuss, I would have
married the bloody bird.”

AND THE BEES

In the latest installment of The Play-
boy Philosophy, Mr. Hefner mentions
nd quotes from the Minnesota statute
against sodomy. The statute includes
human beings, animals and birds in its
list of forbidden objects of lust. I would
like to point out that they һауе for-
gotten fish, snakes and plants, and sug-
gest they do something about so glaring
an oversight, before this thing gets out
of conuol.

Whitley Strieber
Austin, Texas

And what about the bees and flowers?
How many innocent children have been
given their first taste of the erotic in the
wanton tale of this illicit duo, that passes
everywhere as early sex education? Busy
as а бес, indeed!

ANUS ONUS

In following your series of editorials,
The Playboy Philosophy, 1 have been
impressed that you have taken the long-
awaited initiative in attacking America's
abnormal preoccupation with so-called
ions,

sexual de
During my internship, I was asked by
a patient to give the medical contraindi-

cations to rectal intercourse with her
husband. [Contraindications are physio-
logical symptoms that might make the
act inadvisable.) I had no formal
formation on the subject and referred
the patient to the hospital's resident
phy He sent the woman to Psychi-
y for an immediate mental evalua-
tion. The psychiatrist was not impressed,
commented that the referring physician
should have his sexual insecurity evalu-
ated. The patient had undergone a total
hysterectomy at age 34 which left the
ina severely shortened. С
ly. both husband and wife experi
severe pain with normal intercourse
Following this incident, I made sever-
al inquiries to other physicians who
likewise had no answers. Two days later,
I was called to the medical director's
office, having been reported three times
for having 7. bnormal interest in
unusual sex practices.” His suggestion
was that I do an intensive study of the
medical literature and othe: lable

revealed
virtually nothing. The scarcity of litera-
ture was striking. Only a few paperback
books contained even the amount of in-
formation that the child at puberty re
ceives from his peers.

The American physician has been re-
luctant to study and treat sexual devia-
tions hecause of the stigma which would
be attached to him, severely compro-
mising his practice. Moreover, many
physicians are so involved in psychosex-
ual uncertainty themselves that they are
extremely threatened by the patient
whose sexual history involves other than
procreative coitus.

John S. Doe, M. D.

San Francisco, California
P. 5. Not unlike other physicians, I don't.
mind expresing controversial opinions
so long as nobody knows they are mine.

SEX WITHOUT LOVE

I was recently given a few back num-
bers of PLAYBOY, and so 1 have had the op-
portunity to read Hefner's Playboy Philos-
ophy. and 1 would like to comment upon
it. But first let me express my congratu-
ions; Your magazine is excellent, con-
aining everything that might be of
interest to the urban male. I was really
surprised to find the articles on so high
an intellectual level, because whenever
PLAYBOY is mentioned in the Hungarian

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press, it is referred to as pornographic.
Such a statement is ridiculou:

Hefner's Philosophy is highly interest-
d I endorse it with but one excep-
Sexual intercourse without love
cannot ever be as satisfying and fulfi
as a sexual relationship based on a firm
emotional foundation. Sex without love
is in most cases degrading. As a gynecol-
ogist I must regard Hefner's Philosophy
as very selfish. He treats everything from
the viewpoint of the male. He says sur-
prisingly little about the question of
contraception, which is one of the most
important factors in marital and extra
marital life, and he seems to have com-
pletely forgotten the interests. of the
female and what an unwanted preg-
icy means for her. Here in Hungary
опе can very easily get rid of а
nted pregnancy because aborti
al; but 1 know how different thi
are in the U.S.

L. Zelen!

Assistant Professor of Obstetrics
and Gynecology

Szeged, Hungary

Thank you for the compliments on
the magazine; it is gratifying to find the
tastes and interests of the “urban male”
so similar the whole world over. We're
not surprised that the Hungarian press
is hostile, however; for PLAYBOY is, after
all, an elegant, full-color promotion on
the benefits of a capitalist economy. We
hope the back copies you were given in-
cluded the issue of March 1984, which
featured a pictorial tribute to the girls
of Hungary and the other Iron Curtain
countries; feminine pulchritude certain-
ly knows no political boundaries.

On the subject of sex without love,
Dr. Zelenka, we both agree and disagree.
Hefner has previously stated his belief
that sex is more satisfying and reward-
ing when it includes emotional involve-
ment and commitment; but we do not
concur on the idea that when love is
absent, sex “is in most cases degrading.”
Casual sex may not be the best sex, but
й is better than no sex at all.

The references to unwanted pregnancy
and the selfishness of the male imply
sexual irresponsibility, but one of the
primary principles of “The Playboy Phi-
losophy" is that man is responsible for
his actions—which include sex, of course.
There is no disagreement on Ihe с:
treme importance of contraception;
questions on birth control and abortion
have already been discussed in “Forum,”
and Hefner intends lo devote an entire
installment of “Philosophy” to each in
the future.

It is natural for wtAvmov to treat
everything “from the viewpoint of the
male,” because the magazine is edited for
men, bul that doesn't mean, ns you
stale, that Hefner has “forgolten the in-
terests of the female.” For one female's
opinion on the subject of sex without

love, see the following letter.

In the August 1964 Forum Mike Burrill
asked Hefner to say something about the
need for emotional involvement in a

“e

ination of the statemeni
supplied by others,” here is my contribu-
tion: The most satisfying sexual inter-
course I have ever had was with a man I
was nor in love with and about as unin-
volved with as one can be under the cir-
cumstances. He also did not love me. We
did respect each other and enjoyed a
good rapport, but no rcal basis for a per-
manent relationship existed other Шап
the happy bedtimes. He was charming,
romantic, sensitive, graceful and thor-
oughly competent! I spent several me
orable nights with him, and do not feel
that the superficial quality of our emo-
tional involvement detracted from their
intrinsic goodness.

(Name withheld by request)

Fort Lauderdale, Florida

THE PURPOSE OF SEX
1 always find The Playboy Philosophy
ng and thought-provoking, but

good. In a section titled "Sex and Mar-
Hugh Hefner correctly states,
“The marriage license . . . becomes а
church-state sanction to engage in sex.”
Perhaps it could be called a Passport to
Pleasure.

However, with or without the for-
mality of the marriage license, Hefner
has grossly misinterpreted the modern
Christian viewpoint of the sexual act.
Only a narrow-minded 19th Century
Christian would say that the sole pur-
pose of the sex act is procreation

We believe the sexual experience to be
the physical representation of the total
commitment of onc person
other. The pleasure of the se:
then supplements and, to a larger extent,
sure obtained when a
and woman dedicate themselves
to each other. Without this dedi
act becomes an act of passion,
with one or both partners acting as a
pleasure machine.

Mr. Hefner mentions, in another sec-
tion, that existing sex laws infringe on
our freedom, but he neglects to mer
that moral freedom
out moral responsibility.

Hank Winkler
Allegheny College
Meadville, Pennsyly

Hefner's reference to procreation as
the sole purpose of sex was part of an
explanation of the historical origins of
our sexual mores and not an expression
of any contemporary religious view.

But now it's our turn to be confused.
At the end of your description of the
sexual experience, as you believe it
ought to be, you state: “Without this

dedication, the sexual act becomes an
act of passion, with one or both
ners acting as a pleasure machin
we find ourself wondering: What is
wrong with passion? Sexual passion, thal
is. And what is wrong with one or both
partners acting as a pleasure machine?
Preferably both, we would think.

The closing suggestion—that Hefner
has failed to mention that moral fı
dom necessitates moral. responsibility—
is, of course, untrue. The interdepend-
ence of freedom and responsibility hay
received paramount attention in the
“Philosophy.” Sometimes, however, when
а person says moral responsibilities, what
he really means is moral restrictions.

No Catholic theologian has ever writ
ten, as Hefner claims, that the "sole pur-
pose of sex is procreation would
be animalism. Canon law is quite explic
it about matrimony: “The primary end
of matrimony is procreation . . . the sec-
ondary end is relief of concupiscence."
No double talk, no sole purpose here,
but two.

Reverend Malo A. Topmiller
, USN (Ret)
паройіз, Indian
"Ever" is a long time, Father. Gon-
temporary canon law is, as you say, quite
explicit on the subject. But this is not
the canon law of the medieval Church.
In that period of extreme antisexuality,
sev and sin were almost inseparable —
even within marriage; and it was the
pleasure of sex that was considered most
sinful. All noncoital sex was forbidden,
and so was any variation in sexual posi
tion, since variety could add spice to the
wooing. The sole justification and pur-
pose for the sexual act was procreation:
The current. Catholic concept of pri-
mary and secondary ends actually
evolved directly from this earlier, more
severe Church dogma of the Middle
Ages; and the codes have more in com-
mon than their ancestry. For, while the
Church now recognizes a secondary end,
or purpose, in sexual gratification, this
end is not permitted to exist except in
conjunction with the first. Noncoital sex
play is now allowed, between married.
couples, for example, but not by itself:
it is only considered moral if the inti
macy is culminated by the primary end
of coitus, with the opportunity for con:
ception. This insistence that the one
end always be accompanied by the other
—that the individual cannot partake of
the pleasures of sex without ofjering the
possibility of procreatton—is also ve-
sponsible, of course, for the Roman
Catholic position on birth control.
Similar questions of sex and religion
are discussed in the installment of “The
Playboy Philosophy" in this issue, in
which Hugh M. Hefner exchanges views
with a priest, a minister and a rabbi.

ISOLATION OR PARTICIPATION?

Rather than denounce Hefner's Play-
boy Philosophy for criticizing certain a
pects of the Catholic faith, I would
commend the man for his attempt
awareness. While fellow Georgetown stu-
dents Parry and May [The Playboy Fo-
rum, May 1964] do have the right to
oppose views put down in the Philos-
ophy, they went out of bounds in ad-
vising its cessation. Such attitude
displays both a narrowness of outlook

nd a failure to comprehend their own
Church's present emphasis on re-exami-
nation and dialog.

"There are numerous books and mag:
rine articles written by Catholics attack-
ing such theses of exclusive orthodoxy. I
should like to quote from one article by
Professor Leslie Dewart which appeared
in the April 3, 1964, issue of Commonweal

ine: “It is the very eccle
of the faith [Catholicism]
which justifies dissent and makes it valu-
able. For the collectivity of the faith
docs not imply immutability and fixity.
On the contrary, we have recently—espe-
cially since Newman—begun to realize
that the Christian doctrine precisely be-
cause of its sociohistorical dimension,
truly and fittingly develops in time. A
sketchy acquaintance with the history of
Christian thought and doctrine і
enough to suggest the riskiness of assum-
ing that the common current opinion at
any given time is the only orthodox one.

"Ehe real danger, then, which ry and.
е mentioned, is a tend-
ency to ignore or a refusal to reflect to
isolate oneself from society and, by so do-
ing, avoid an interaction of ideas. As
shallow and superficial as they might con-
sider The Playboy Philosophy, the fact
that it produces response and reactioi
certainly indicates such an effort should
be continued. I doubt anyone would
consider illu-
sion) mo ble than participati
and perception. As Irwin Edman wrote
in his Philosopher's Holiday: ". . . Out
of a conversation new insights emerge
nd ... old ones become clarified.” Is
this to be so dreaded?

"Thomas V. Merle
Georgetown at Fribourg
Fribourg, Switzerland

BILLY GRAHAM’S CESSPOOLS

I'm taking this opportunity to add my
voice to the thousands of others in
praise of PLAYBoy, I am especially en-
thused with the editorials Hefner is writ-
ing. Although I am a rancher and not a
profesional letter-to-the-editor writer, 1
wish to bring up a point in regard to
censorship.

І quote the Omaha World-Herald,
dated September 13, 1904
ord throng of 26,000, Е
Graham said
courts of

moral decadence of the nation. Their
decisions, he said, are allowing ‘our
newsstands to be filled with books and
magazines more filthy, dirtier and more
depraved tha hing Sodom or Rome
ever knew.

“Our courts

re going to have a

lot to answer for at the judgment of
God,’

he shouted. The Reverend Mr.
m hammered hard on ‘immoral’
шиге, which he called ‘a moral cess-
pool flowing down the streets of our
cities,” "We have laws to protect citizens
anst open sewers, but we have no
Ws Now to protect our young people
inst moral sewers.” To a udience
dominated by young people, the evange-
list gave advice on courtship and mar-
riage, He said God has a husband or wife
picked out for everyone ‘if you will wa
patiendy on Him,’ He said that under
such circumstances, there would be no
separation or divorce.

Being a church lay speaker myself, I
for one can't agree at all with Mr. Gra-
ham. I appreciate God having helped
me pick out my wife, but I do feel that I
had the final vote. And, should my wife
and J decide that we no longer desire to
live with cach other, our divorce will
have no bearing whatsoever on our faith
in God.

I pity such smug rabble-rousers as the
Reverend Mr. Billy Graham, who think
that the courts should rid our society of
these "moral cesspools.” Why, shucks,
most any ol’ “cesspool” editor should
know, as you do, that censorship is im
posed by the mayor and the police chief
—not the courts!

J. Tipps Hamilton
Kirley, South Dakota

THE WABASH BANNING BALL

On July 15, 1964, I climbed (with v
cose veins and acrophobia protestin
the third floor of the City Hall in Muncie,
Indiana, in order to view a film concern-
ing “obscene” magazines shown by the
mayor to approximately 50 people. The
whole bit was sadly amusing; grown peo-
ple fiddling with “perversion” while
Rome burns, as it were. At any rate. a
committee was formed at that time. Sev-
eral of the service organizations have
shown the film and a few letters about
1he subject have since appeared in the
local papers. In a letter I wrote, pub-
lished by the Muncie Evening Press, I
made several points that should be of
special interest to fellow rrAYBoy readers
who live in areas where pressure is
brought to bear to try to keep the maga-
zinc off the stands. I stated: “The people
of Muncie and surrounding commun
ties have been asked . . . to come forw:
with a standard of moral conduct, for
the purpose of guiding magazine s
men in making a selection for the cit
of this area.

"[Some people] would very
gree with

ikely disa-
standard I might set: that is,

if 1 would care to involve myself in fan-
tasy of this sort. Any other individual
would find his suggestions subjected to
much controversy in this circumstance.
Standards set by organizations, the
Ihe Delaware Country Club? D. A. R.
The Elks? My church? Your church?

“During the four decades that 1 have
purchased magazines from drugstore
racks, a wide selection has always been
of more interest to me than a sparse sup-
ply of hand-picked issues.

“The ‘sick minds tha
ual deviations’ are
Immature minds
individuals who have not been allowed a
free choice. A free choice allows us the
opportunity to find, for example, that
Mad magazine, which is published as a
comic, has more literary and news value
than a ‘newsmagazine,’ which is patheti
cally comic. It is needless to worry about
‘perversion’ adversely affecting the hy-
pothetical ten-year-old who normally
finds such activity at least rather strange
in participating adults, and mostly funny
and sick.”

Mrs. G.F, Polsley
Muncie, Indi.
The film you viewed was “Perversion
for Profit,” distributed by the Citizens
for Decent Literature, that band of ded-
icated zealols who attempt to stamp out
smut by looking at il. Unreconstructed
libertarians like yourself are invaluable
to every Hoosier who would prefer to see
daylight зает than the searchlight of
censorship gleaming through the syca-
mores.

JUDGE DENOUNCES SERMON

The following article, which appeared
in The New York Times, displays a pai
ularly refreshing state of mind for
police magistrate, and perhaps Justice
Caped deserves the Philosophy leather
bound not only for his legal interpr

ution but for the courage to defend
himself publicly against the intolerance
of representatives of his own Church

Roman Catholic priest was cas-
tigated here [Port Chester, N. Y.) 10-
day by the village police justice for
a sermon that criticized the justice's
acquittal of a “girlie” ma
vendor on a pornography charge.
Police Justice Dominic J. Cape
himself a Catholic, said that the
Right Rev. Msgr. John J. Corrigan
of Our Lady of Mercy Church had
been ignorant and irresponsible in
last Sunday’s sermon. He demanded
an apology. No comment was avail-
able from Monsignor Corrigan, who
was reported to be out of town.
Displaying stacks of letters from
irate parishioners of Monsignor
Corrigan, Justice Capeci said it was
“most unfortunate that Monsign
Corrigan has urged his parishioners
(concluded on page 211)

gazine

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This Christmas give a long
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Give Pall Mall Famous Cigarettes. PARTICULAR

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Outstanding—and they are mild! PEOPLE CONGREGATE"

x “Ж быз» обаве улат жт.

THE PLAYBOY PHILOSOPHY

the nineteenth part of a statement in which playboy’s editor-publisher spells out—
for friends and critics alike—our guiding principles and editorial credo

IN ANY SERIOUS ANALYSIS of the sexual ills
of society, it is necessary to consider the
historical link between sex and religion.
For, the late Dr. Alfred C. Kinsey ob-
served, “There is nothing in the English-
American social structure which has had
more influence upon present-day pat-
terns of sexual behavior than the reli-
gious backgrounds of that culture.”

Some of the comments and conclusions
in previous installments of this editorial
series have prompted an occasional casual
reader to protest that The Playboy Phi-
losophy is opposed to the basic Judaco-
Christian heritage of America, although a
considered evaluation of our views would
confirm that we have consistently direct-
ed our criticism, not at organized rel
se, but at the antiscxual clement
it.

It would be a mistake to think of The
Playboy Philosophy—or the American
Sexi Revolution, to which we have de-
voted so ch attention—as reflections
of a conflict between the secular and
iterests in society; for ап in-
creasing number of the clergy of various
denominations are expressing concern
over that part of our religious heritage
that has, for centuries, emphasized sex
primarily as sin and, in the most extreme
form of Puritanisin that has so influenced
our Anglo-American culture, has opposed.
almost every kind of pleasure as immoral
and against the will of God.

A great deal has been written about
the moral transition taking place in
Amcrica; what has been mentioned less
often is the related social and sexual rev-
olution that is occurring within organ-
ized religion itself. Instead of simply
damning this trend toward a more per-
missive society—in the absolutist "thou
shalt not" tradition of the past—many
contemporary churchmen are beginning

them,
supplied by recent philosophical and

n the light ef new knowledge

psychoanalytical insights.

As a result, while some reject The
Playboy Philosophy as “immor:
ligious" and "unGodly," our
tions of the modern moral mili
welcomed in many ecclesi.
id some of the mest positive, percep-
tive, and certainly most weleome re-

editorial By Hugh M. Hefner

sponses to our writings have come from.
dergymen.

As indication of such interest, we have
been invited to lecture at several reli-
gious institutions, seminars and meet-
ings; The Playboy Philosophy has also
been the subject and source mate
a number of religious debates,
groups and even sermons—some critical,
but many of them favorably inclined to-
ward much of what we have had to

A [ew months ago, we accepted an in-
vitation to participate in a religious
round table that was broadcast over radio
station WINS in New York. The pro-
m is a weekly, Sunday-evening series
entitled Trialogue, in which а Roman
Catholic priest, a Protestant minister
and a Jewish rabbi d
bate various subjects of significance and.
interest to society. The panel proposed
10 devore four separate, hourlong ses-
sions to “The Playboy Philosophy" and
“The American Sexual Revolution
subjects with which we are certainly well
acquainted and about which we were
pleased to express opinions.

We found this opportunity to ex-
change points of view with distinguished
representatives of America’s three major
religious faiths a unique and unusually
stimulating experience, and the response
to the programs prompted WINS to re-
broadcast the entire four-week series
gain this fall. Because of the religious
implications in so much of what we
have been writing in the Philosophy, we
believe our readers will be interested in
the ewpoints expressed; so
much so that we are devoting the De-
cember and January installments, in
these special Holiday Issues, to an edited
transcript of the interchan

Our fellow panelists were Father Nor-
man J. O'Connor, Roman Catholic
priest, well known for his interest in and
association with jazz, for many years the
chaplain to Boston University, currently
Director of Radio and TV Communica-
tions and Films for the Paulist Fathers
in New York City; Reverend Richard E.
Gary, Episcopal minister, graduate of
Yale Divinity School, since 1956 the min-
ister to St. Mary's Church in Manhattan-

and de

various

ville, highly regarded for his social work
as a member of the Department of
Christian Social Relations of the Episco-
pal Diocese of New York; Rabbi Marc
H. Tanenbaum, widely published and
influential Jewish leader, with a master’s
degree in Hebrew Literature from the
Jewish Theological Seminary of Ameri-
ca, formerly Executive Director of the
Synagogue Council of America, current-
ly Director of The American Jewish
Committee's Interreligious Affairs De-
partment; and Murray Burnett, moder:
tor of these round-table discussions and
our host.

THE SEXUAL REVOLUTION

BURNETT: Good evening. The pro-
gram is Trialogue and I am Murray Bu
nett, your host. Trialogue attempts to
bring to bear upon the leading issucs of
our times the thinking and wisdom of
men trained to deal with our deepest
needs, They will talk about these things
that are truly important to all of us. The
program is presented by the Public
Affairs Department of WINS, in coop-
eration with the Archdiocese of New
York, The American Jewish Committee
and The Protestant Council of the City
of New York. I would like you to meet
tonight's panel. They are: Father Nor-
man J. O'Connor, Rabbi Marc Tanen-
baum, Reverend Richard Gary and Mr,
Hugh M. Hefner—and, of course, it is
hardly necessary to say that Mr. Hefner
the Editor-Publisher of rrAvnov maga-
zine and president of the Playboy Clubs
and the whole Playboy empire.

All right. This evening we are going
to talk about an apparent revolution
that is taking place in America. A revo-
lution in the area of sexual mores and
attitudes. The mores are changing —for
better or worse, depending on one’s
point of view—toward sexual behavior,
knowledge of sex and dissemination of
information about sex. And in PLAYBOY
gazine, Hugh Hefner has been wi
ing The Playboy Philosophy, which
deals very strongly with this sexual revo-
lution. Now, let me start things off
tonight with a question about the statc-
ment I have just made: In your opinion,
gentlemen, arc we involved in a sexual
revolution?

O'CONNOR: Let me take the first crack

PLAYBOY

O'CONNOR: But where is this taking us?
What significance does this so-called
sexual revolution have? Will it be last-
ing, or is it just a cultural fad that will
change in the next ten or twelve years?

—_ e

TANENBAUM: 1 think everything that te-
lates io the sexual life in America is
going through this transitional slage. All
oj our traditional perceptions are under-
going a radical re-examinalion.

I fecl we've been caricaturing
ылувоу a little. But I also felt, in doing
my homework for this discussion—read-
ing your "Philosophy"—that you were
caricaturing religion a little.

“Қ”

EENER: What I have written in “The
Playboy Philosophy” is an expression of
my own quite deeply felt beliefs; and I
held most of them several years before Г
ever thought of starling PLAYBOY-

at that. I think, first of all, there has
been immense amount of discussion
about it. I notice the Rabbi is scanning.
a piece in a recent issue of Time maga-
е called al Revolu-
tion.” I think there are a tremendous
number of publications which we now
sce on the newsstands that are address-
ing themselves іп some fashion or anoth-
er to the problems of, or some aspect of,
the sexual world, There has been a great.
deal written about the college girl and
sex... Гуе forgotten the title of the
book . . .

BURNETT: It is called Sex and the
single Girl . . . or maybe you're think-
ig of Sex and the College Girl...
O'CONNOR: It Sex and the College
Girl, I believe

BURNETT: Albert Ellis has now writ-
ten a book called Sex and the Single
Man and I'm thinking of writing on

entitled Sex and the Mass Media.
O'CONNOR: Well, I wonder if what
жете facing isn't so much a revolution
as a kind of re-examination. A revolu-
tion, to me, means a complete. change,
an overthrow, an entirely new wav of
doing things. I think we ought to keep
in mind that down through the long
years of history, the sexual standards of
the Western world have swung from
onc extreme to the other—from a very
puritanistic view to a very lax and lacka
daisical view, if you want to use those
expressions. And in our own present mo-
ment, what we are prob:
examining something which the Western
spent too much
time on in the past. As a consequence,
what we have is not a revolution, but a
good reconsideration or review of it.
TANENBAUM: here is, without ques-
tion, a much greater openness now, on a
subject that has previously been taboo
or prohibited. But we are presently
undergoing a number of very profound
selfexaminations—on many aspects of
our total life and our total situation-
brought on by the new conditions in
which we live. We are re-examining the
sources of our religious commi
our political life, of our econom
the whole world in which we live
being subjected to radical re-cxami
tion—so it comes as no surprise, to me at
least, that we are re-examining,
basic way, this most profound feature of
man’s survival and his happiness.
BURNETT: But, Rabbi. you .
TANENBAUM: What I'm getting at is
that there have been almost polarized
ways of looking at the sexual life of
Western mankind in the past. There was
the pagan outlook, which prevailed up
until the Third and Fourth Centuries
in which man felt very close to his natu-
ral impulses and indulged himself ac-
cording to his appetite; and then, I
think in reaction to that, there was the
whole Pauline-Augusi in view of de

bly doing is re

nii
world has not really

п а very

al and retreat from sexual life. Much of
what we have inherited in the Western
world represents a constant tension be-
tween these two views,

In our own time, I think it has been
y a puritanical view—particular-
ly in America. And now we have a reac-
tion against the basic assumptions of the
whole Puritan experience—as reflected
in the Protestant mores, by and large, of
this country. These mores are now D
subjected to profound examination
BURNETT: Reverend Gary came alive
when you mentioned Protestant mores:
and Hugh Hefner is waiting to express
an opinion .. .
GARY: Well, I would like to get our

guest into this at a fairly early point.
And my question has to do with the
connection between our — presently

affluent society and the emergence of
new freedom in sexual relations. I won
if there isn't a connection between
interest in what we call the fine
ss of Tife—new acquisi new lux-
. new leisure time, all this sort of
ind our interest in sexual free-
dom. Does that make any sense?

HEFNER: Yes, I think it docs. It scems
10 me there's a definite connection, and
that they are all associated, in one way
or another, with an increasing concern
over—and searching for _ personal iden
tity. Га like to say, incidentally, that I
tee with what has just been expr
and with something additional that is
implied, I think, but has not been so

y Whatever we call it sex.
revolution or reexamination of our
al mores—society is in a state of sig

ficant sexual transition; but it is less a
nge in behavior—though there m
little of that, too—than a change in
titudes toward the behavior. It is, it
ms to me, a rejection of our Puritan
suggested by Rabbi Tanen-
a transition from guilt, shame
and hypocrisy to a new honesty, а new
permissiveness, a new willingness 10 talk
about sex in a frank and open way—
a freedom to examine, to express, to

enjoy...
O'CONNOR: Let me ask you a ques-
tion, You mention а new honesty aud

openness in talking about sex, but I
wonder if this is the actual situation,
this is really true I am a part of a gener-
ation that grew up in what you call [in
The Playboy Philosophy] “The Age of
the Common Man,” with which I thor-
oughly disagree—but, in any case, this
was the late 1930s and everybody was ad
vocating proper sex education in the
home. What was supposed 10 happen
was that parents were going to tell their
children all about sex within an
phere of the family—the facts about sex,
and the proper purpose of sex, and the
real philosophy of sex was to come out
of all this. Well, now we have reached

stage in society where sex is a very prom-
inent factor in American life; but I find

mos-

‚ in general, few parents ever got
ound 10 this sex education in the
home—even though the home may have,
prominently displayed on the cocktail
table, “The Second Sexual Revolution,”
under “Modern ing.” in Time maga-
zine: m е copies of PLAYROY; may
have copies of McCall's, and other maga-

with articles about problems
in them. With all of the attention sex is
g in publications today, I won-

der—in your experience, and in the ex-
perience of the rest of you, as well—
whether it isn't si subject that fails
to receive proper attention in the home.
I wonder whether this continuing dialog
about sex that is going on in the mass
media isn't way beyond what exists with-
in the average American family.

HEFNER: Quite possibly. But to whatever
extent this is true today, it is a reflection
of the sexual sham and shame of a gen-
ion ago. 1 would certainly disagree
with any suggestion that the late 19305
was а period of sexual enlightenment in
America; there may have been some
terest expressed in sex education, but it
was minimal, for the Thirties was a time
of extreme antisexuality. A 1937 issue of
Life magazine was banned in a number
of communities across the country, be-
cause it included an innocuous article
about childbirth; the debate over sex
education in the Thirties concerned the
propriety of telling children they weren't
delivered by the stork.

Lhe roots of this sexual revolution
we've been talking about may go back
several decades, but the period of real
transition has just begun. For that rea-
there able difference in
erations
born little more than 20 years apart. If
there is a lack of communication on the
subject of sex within the home, as you
suggest, I think we would agree that it is
the fault of the parents, not the chil-
dren; the problem persists to the extent
that these parents, being of that older
generation, still suffer from the sexual
suppression of their own childhood. For
the results you're looking for—any real
improvement in the interpersonal rela-
tionships between parents and children
—we'l] have to wait another generation,
until the children of today have become
the parents.

BURNETT: Hugh, how are the atti-
tudes of today so very different from a
generation ago? A little earlier Father
;onnor mentioned the book Sex and
ollege Girl. I've read it, and 1 didn't.
find much difference between what was
that book and what I remember

about my days in college. And they go
back a little.
i T

HEFNER: nderstand you correctly,
you're g you didn't find much
difference in terms of the behavior that
was reported?

BURNETT: Or the talk that goes on.

HEFNER: Well, the talk and the behay-

ior are two very different things. The
human nature of man—and, consequent-
ly, his actual sex behavior—changes
much les than societys attitudes to
ward the behavior, not only generation
by generation, but century by century.
And talk—or communication of any kind
—is less a reflection of what men do than
what they think about what they do.
‘This confusion between activity and
attitude sometimes prompts the sugges-
tion that there really is no sexual revo-
lution taking place in America today,
because people have always known about
sex; and they are doing pretty much the
same things today as they did yesterday.
Yes, they probably are; what is changing
is society's attitude toward what they are
doing, accompanied by a new willing-
ness to accept sex in conversation, hu-
mor, books, films—in all the arcas of
personal and general commu
"The new morality is especially obvious
in some of society's most popular forms
of mass communica n the books
that we banned as obscene a decade ago,
Шат are today best sellers; in the unprec-
edented sex ness of our current
cinema: in the subjects regularly dis-
cussed and dramatized on television that
would never have been permitted on
pie TV. radio
BURNETT: You're absolutely right.

SEX AND ANTISEX

O'CONNOR: But where is this taking
us? What sıgnihcance does this so-called
sexual revolution have? Will it be last-
ing or is it just а cultural fad (hat will
age within the next ten or twelve
years?

HEFNER: I think it will last. I think . . .
TANENBAUM: Before we ask Mr. Hefner
to explore that question, though, 1 won-
der whether we shouldn't clarify what
I think is a comradiction in our discus-
n. We're saying that human nature
persists; that is, that practices remain
the same. So what we're doing is simply
talking about them more, and presum-
ably finding greater freedom of expres-
sion. But I wonder if this is really true.
One of the reasons for the greater aware-
ness about such things is, 1 think, that
we're woubled by them; we have prob-
lems; and the problems are, in some
ways, quite different from what they've
been in the past.
BURNETT: What problems?
TANENBAUM: Well, for example,
is not unrelated to the problem of
ly life: nor is it unrelated to the emer-
gence of a teenage culture, which is very
self-conscious sexually. Now aren't there
changes in patterns, for example, in the
lives of our teenage children: the insist-
with which some parents push

ence
their children prematurely into adult-
hood; the often erotic, quite compulsory
patterns that are imposed upon adoles-
cents, with early dating, champagne par-
ties, dressing little girls in adult clothes

and make-up, so they seem more sexual-
ly attractive? Then there is the greater
rate of divorce in this country, which is

ry often related to problems of adul-
tery and extramarital sexual relations.
Now, things are either different from
what they were in the past, and we are
concerned about that difference, and are
tying ло define that difference in order
to understand it and come to grips with
it: or else we are simply si

greater attention on such matters, be-
Cause we have шөге mass media covering
these subjects than ever before
leisure time avail
don’t think the latter is the case.
BURNETT: Mr. Hefner didn't say 0
TANENBAUM; Т didn't say that he did, but
there is an arca of possible confusion
here, 1 k, and some clarification
might be helpful before going further.
BURNETT: | thought he made a very
good point. In response to my request
for some evidence of a change in socie-
ty's attitude toward sex, he mentioned
our mass media: A discussion like the
опе we are having here this evening, for
example, would probably not have been
llowed on the air 20 years ago:
zine similar to rrAvnov would not have
been permitted on the newsstands:
Ulysses was banned. He made this point
and. I think, he made it clearly and
correctly.

HEFNER: 1 think, however, the Rabbi
has introduced some interesting new
questions that deserve attention.
O'CONNOR: But before we get to t
may I ask a question. Mare? I'm wonder-
ng, is sex а reflection of the problem, or
is sex the problem? So that, for instance,
when the parent is worried about the
nee of the Beatles in his teenage
ad I find that the “teenag-
er” in this particular instance is cight or
nine years old . . . (Laughter)

And isn't рілувоу occupying some-
what the same relationship? The con-
that sex has become an outlet for
endous amount of inner frustra-
nd irritation, and annoyance, and
tiredness, and feelings of inadequacy іп
socer nd, therefore, we are now talk-
ng a nd тоге...
BURNETT: ng it less and
less?

O'CONNOR: Which is another part of
the problem, too. But there's the talk
about sex, without the facing of the prob-
lem inside.

TANENBAUM: Well, let's let Mr. Hefner
answer this, because I've been impressed
by the number of things that he's written
about this, in what I consider to be a
very serious examination. What's your
reaction, Mr. Hefner?
HEFNER: I would agree
think Father O'Connor
here—that whatever problems we face in
society today, and they are certainly
multiple—sex, and this new examination

with what I
is suggesting

PLAYBOY

and emphasis upon, sex, is not a
cause, but an effect; I would also agree
that sex is often misused by emotionally
disturbed members of society, who are
unwilling, or unable, to come to grips
with other inner stresses and frustrations.

I do not believe, however. that a
more sexually permissive society—and
PLAYDOY, to whatever extent it assists in
the trend toward greater sexual freedom
—adds to these problems. Just the oppo-
ite; for it is not sexuality, but am
sexuality, that causes greater Frustration
and suffering. If sex, and the more ром
tive attitude expressed in PLAYBOY re-
garding sex, can—as Father O'Connor
says—create an outlet for a tremendous
amount of inner frustration, irritation
and feelings of inadequacy, then this is
just one step in the right direction. I can
only see it as a help, rather than a
hindrance.

I'd like to take a moment to clarify, if
I may, the apparent cause of confusion
referred to a minute ago by Rabbi Tan-
enbaum. When I said that nature
persists, while custom changes, and con-
trasied behavior and attitude, I assumed
it was understood that I was referring,
nply and solely, to sex behavior—not
the secondary patterns of social behavior
that may be associated with courtship,

and differ from culture to culture, but
the relatively constant activity itself,
that Dr. Kinsey and his associates have

turned into statistics for their reports.

As both Rabbi Tancnbaum and Fa-
ther O'Connor pointed out at the beg
ning of this discussion, Western society's
attitude toward sex has varied widely
through the centuries; my point was sim-
ply that man’s actual sex behavior has
not had the same tendency to fluctuate,
because it is linked to an innate physical
This is not 10 suggest that social
ions and taboos cannot sig-
ntly affect personal sex behavior;
we all recognize that they can and do.
But it is precisely because what is in-
volved here is an attempt to control a
natural stinct, that excessive sex
suppression wreaks such havoc. If you
suppress one form of sexual release, be-
custom considers it socially ur
desirable, man’s innate sexuality will
express itself in another, frequently far
less desirable, form. The notion that the
уу sex drive can be sublimated through
an aesthetic interest in the arts, literature
or some similar form of creativity is as
bsurd as a suggestion that we might do
away with hunger or thirst in a similar
way. The problem will not disappear; it
must be dealt with. And hopefully, in
the future, it will be dealt with ration-
ally, with compassion and insight,

"The point I was making earlier, rela-
tive to all of this, is that the present situ-
ation is the same as in centuries past:
The sexual revolution represents less of
a change in behavior than a change in
society's attitude about the behavior. And

there is, incidentally, actual scientific
evidence to support such a conclusion.

One of the more interesting results of
the Kinsey studies was a comparison of
the sexual behavior of men and women
born in each of the decades since the
turn of the century. The statistics were
consistently similar and in many in-
stances almost identical, for members of
the same sex, and the same social and
educational level, whether they were
born before 1900, between 1900 and
1910, 1910 and 1920, and so on. In con-
trast to this relatively constant personal
moral behavior, we would all agree, I'm
sure, that in the last half century the
United States has undergone a remarka-
ble change in public morality.

I ce with the concern Rabbi Tan-
enbaum expresses over false teenage
values, the marital unhappiness that has
led to i
and the numerous similar problems of
identity and adjustment that are so
much a part of our society of the Sixties.
Once again, however. I do not believe
that we tend to increase such social
through our quest for a new morality
based upon honesty, understanding and
reason rather than hypocrisy, supersti-
tion and ignorance.

As society becomes continually more
complex, more automated, more imper-
sonal, more conformist, there is increas-
ing reason for concern over the loss of
personal identity that people have inevi-
tably suffercd. If this wend is to bc oflsct
in the future—and it must be, if we
are to survive as a free society—it will
require a tremendous emphasis on the
importance of the individual and on
those things that give a person a sense of
identity and individu . Sex is one of
the important ways in which such per-
sonal identity is established.

PLAYBOY AND THE NEW LEISURE

O'CONNOR: I would like to ask you, Hugh,
in terms of this, what do you feel is your
contribution with rrAvmov magazine?
HEFNER: This may take me back a bit
to the question Reverend Gary original-
Jy asked—about the association between
sexual freedom and the affluent society —
that 1 didn't have the opportunity to an-
swer fully.

PLAYBOY was originally conceived as a
magazine of entertainment for the ur-
п man. Part of that entertainment ex-
ists within the pages of the publication
itsel{—the fiction, articles, cartoons,
humor and pictorial features that are
simply there to be enjoyed; and not
frequently, with our nonfiction, to edify
and provoke thought, too. The other part
of our emphasis on entertainment is to
be found in the service articles, features
and columns devoted to the pleasures of
leisure-time activity and the accouter-
ments, the accessories that are a part of
good and gracious living.

PLAYBOY was not planned as a publica-

tion for the idle rich, so much as in rec-
ognition that with the prosperity of
post-War America, almost everyone
could have a piece of what we described
as the playboy life—if he were willing
to expend the necessary effort. In this
sense, from the very beginning, we were
giving the word "playboy" a new and
broader meaning than it had had in the
past.

We explained what we meant by a
playboy in one of our earliest issues: He
isn't a wastrel or a ne'er-do well; he
might be a successful business executive,
a man in the arts, a college professor, an
architect or an engineer. What sets him
art is his point of view. He must sec.
life not as a vale of tears, but as a happy
time; he must find pleasure in his work,
without regarding it as the end and all
of living; he should be an alert man, an
aware man, a man of taste, a man sensi-
tive to pleasure, who—without acquiring
the stigma of the voluptuary or the dilet-
tante—can live life to the hilt. That, we
said, is the sort of man we mean when
we use the word playboy.

1 consider this an cxtremely positive
statement—positive for the individual

nd for society, as well.

For the individual, it is all very much
tied into the problem of identity that
was mentioned before. Man has trad.
tionally found an important part of his

r increasingly mech
т, many jobs have be-
come so repetitious and impersonal that
they no longer serve this end. Increas-
ingly. establishing the individual's image
in society, and his sense of self, will
become the function of our avocations,
as well as our vocations, I think, be-
cause more and more people’s work will
cease to serve as a satisfactory source
of identity, and the ways in which we
n our livings will require far less
imc in Ше coming era of almost total
automation.

We all recognize, I'm sure, how all-im-
portant a satisfactory sense of identity
to the psychological well-being of the in-
dividual; and so the ways in which a
man spends the leisure, or nonworking,
part of his life are going to have an im-
portance in the future that they have
never had before. They may well mean
the difference between our continuing to
enjoy life as individuals in a free society
or turning into a nation of automatons,
as unthinking, impassive, imitative and
mechanical as the machines we have
built to serve us.

PLAYBOY's editorial emphasis on the
pleasures of leisure living can thus be
seen as serving a decidedly worth-w
end, I think, And society benefits addi-
tionally by our emphasis on the advan-
tages of [ree enterprise, the coverage
cn to the creature comforts and good
life that are available to a majority in

(continued on page 212)

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PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: IAN F L E M I N G

in this final colloquy, the late creator of james bond discusses his life and loves—and his legendary hero, 007

Since Edgar Allan Poe invented the
modern detective story with “The Mur-
ders in the Rue Morgue,” expert practi-
tioners of the form have known huge
audiences and heavy material rewards. In
this procession, the late Тап Fleming,
creator of James Bond, secret agent non-
pareil, will long hold a prominent place.
His publishers have sold 30,000,000
copies of his 12 books in 12 years—give
or take a couple of million. There are few
literate communities in the world, from
Hong Kong to Helsinki, in which he is
not being read today. Even those who
read only Yiddish or Siamese need not
be deprived of the pleasure of his liter
ary company—though Fleming himself,
at the age of 56, died of a heart attack
late last summer, not the first he had
had. He had known for some lime that
he had little prospect of a long life. Yet
even in the four hours belween the onset
of the attack and his death in а Canter-
bury hospital, he managed to maintain
the image of urbanity that distinguished
him: En voute to the emergency ward,
he told the ambulance attendants that
he was sorry to have had to trouble
them. It was something that most Eng-
lishmen of his class would have said,
almost pro forma, but it was also very
James Bond. There is no doubt that his
own character, and the one he had creat-

“The reason I pay so much altention to
minutiae in my books is thal these things
excite and interest me. 11 amuses me to
tell people what my favorite foods are,
and liquors and scents, and so on."

ed, were intricately interleaved in Flem-
ing’s mind.

Despite, or perhaps in part because
of, his enormous popularity, the literary
establishment took little notice of Flem-
ing during his lifetime, and not much
more at his death. In general, their judg-
ment of his worth may prove to have
been deficient, for he may still be
read when novelists presently of some
stature have been forgotten. He had an
orginal view; he was an innovator. His
central device, the wildly improbable
story set against a meticulously detailed
and somehow believable background, was
vastly entertaining; and his redoubtable,
implacable, indestructible protagonist,
though some thought him strangely flat
in character, may well be not so much
the child of this century as of the next.

Several months before his death,
Fleming consented to our request for an
extended and exclusive interview. Our
interviewer says of their meeting:

“Не invited me to pick him up for
lunch at his London office in Mitre
Court, a byway between Fleet Street
and the Inns of Court, which is io
say, between the worlds of British law
and journalism. The reception room was
presided wer by a pleasant and serene
woman whose manner was not unlike
Мз Miss Moneypenny in the Bond

“My job with Naval Intelligence got me
right into the inside of everything, in-
cluding all the most secret affairs. 1

couldn't possibly have had a more ex-
citing or interesling War.”

books. She showed me into his inner
office, a sedately elegant study draped
and carpeted in wine red, neatly stacked.
with galley proofs and immaculately fur-
nished with a gill-framed mirror, brass
penholder, ashtray, cigarette lighter and
crimson letter boxes. A black Homburg,
а tightly jurled umbrella and a dark-blue
Burberry raincoat hung from hooks on
the bach of the door.

“As I entered, Fleming тозе from be-
hind a massive leather-topped desk to
usher me to a сһай--а tall man, lean,
tending to be florid, wearing a navy-blue
suit of typical British cut marked by one
eccentricity: cuffs on the sleeves; light-
blue shirt and black-and-white polka-dot
bow tie, knotted with offhanded Church-
Шап. looseness, We exchanged pleas-
antries. He was suave, amused, sardonic
—but one sensed that he was kind. More
than others, the Englishman reflects his
station in life with his air, attitude and
speech, and one versed in these matters
could place Fleming instantly апд accu-
rately—as Eton and Sandhurst, inherited
money, government service, world travel,
social assurance. He hadn't married until
he was 43. Mrs. Fleming was Anne Ger-
aldine Charteris, former wife of Lord
O'Neill and of Lord Rothermere, owner
of London’s Daily Май

“After a few minutes of amenities, we

“I didn't intend for Bond to be a partic-
ularly likable person. He's a blunt in-
strument in the hands of government,
Нез got his vices and few perceptible
virtues ехсері patriotism and courage.”

PLAYBOY

left his office and repaired next door to
EI Vino's, a venerable Fleet Street grog
shop where one may drink from the
wood instead of the bottle. 1 felt like
having a whiskey and water, but in def
erence to my companion's standing as a
gourmet, decided instead on an amontil-
lado. His own choice rather shook me:
brandy and ginger ale. Afterward we
went for lunch to the While Tower, a
deservedly reputable London restaurant
where we shared a superb meal wilh ex-
cellent wine, and talked of what came
into our heads, for rapport; we were the
last to leave the place, at around three
o'clock. We declared our mutual case and
made another date for ten days hence in
Mitre Court, where we concluded the
interview.”

PLAYBOY: It is the belief of some psy-
chologists that neurosis is a necessary
concomitant of the creative drive. As a
creative writer, do you agree?

FLEMING: I think that's perfectly true.
I think that to be a cr ve writer or a
creative anything else, you've got 10 be
neurotic. / certainly am in many re
spects. I'm not really quite certain how,
but 1 am. I'm rather melancholic and
probably slightly maniacal as well. It's
rather an involved subject, and Fm

afraid my interest does not go
deeper than the realization that the
premise does apply to myself. Possibly
it all began with overprivileged
childhood.

PLAYBOY: According ío published biog-
raphies, your well-to-do family had high
hopes of launching you on a distin-
hed сагест in the military. After put
you through Britain's exclusive
st Academy they learned of your
inue decision, upon receiving
your commission, to "pack it in.” What
made you change your mind?

FLEMING: 1 didn't take up my comm
sion after Sandhurst simply because they
had suddenly decided to mechanize the
army, and a lot of my pals and I decided
that we didn't want to be glorihed ga-
rage hands, and that the great days of
the cavalry regiments were passing, or
shortly would be ended forever—no
more polo, no more pig: g and all
that jazz. So a lot of us, having taken our
commissions, just gave them up. I was
born in 1908; this would have been
around 1925, and disillusionment of that
kind nd kinds more severe—was com-
mon then, as you know. My mother was
infuriated. My father had been killed in
the st War, and my mother felt ге.
sponsible for imposing discipline on me
all
doing splendidly. She insisted that 1
must do something, something respect-
able, and so I opted for the Foreign

and on my three brothers, who w

Office. I went abroad to learn langu
I went to the University of Geneva
the University of Munich. I don't think
of myself as a linguist, but I know
French and German very well, because
one must if one has any serious inclina-
tion toward the Foreign Office. You have
to have French and German first-class
and one other language partially, which
in my case was Russian. My languages
are all that remain to me of my original
education.
PLAYSOY: Apart from enabling you to
sprinkle your James Bond books with
foreign terms and bits of conversation,
have they proved valuable to you?
FLEMING: They are a tremendous ex-
tension of one's life generally, whereas
all the other stuff I've learned algebra
and trigonometry and all that—I've com-
pletely forgotten, and as far as I know.
none of it was ever of any use to me at
all, ny case. But having languages is
a tremendous help. You've got to live
abroad for two years at least to learn a
language. When I came home, I took the
Foreign Office examination, but 1 passed
seventh and there were only five vacan
cies, and that was u
So I started looking around for work
that would fit in with what talents and
bilities I possessed. АШ J had done up
to that time, aside from a great deal of
studying, had been to begin collecting. I
had decided, after concerning myself
with first editions for a time, that I
would collect books that signalized а
righrangle turn in the world’s thought
on any particular subject, a book of per-
manent value in the the
world. I began to think through every
human activity, from art to sports and
physics and whatnot, and with the help
of a great friend of mine who is still my
bookseller, we got out a tremendous list
of the great books of the world since
1800, which we arbitrarily decided (o

history of

make the starting date. They go from
Karl Marx’ Das Kapital to Ely Culbert-
son's first book on contract bridge, which
changed the bridge-playing world—books

on everything, the invention of mecha

devices of every kind, of the miner's
lamp, radar, billiards, every kind of sub-
ject. This collection gradually got up to
about two thousand volumes, all first
editions, all in the best possible state,
and today it is one of the most valuable
private collections in the world. Tt was
considered of such importance that the
Bodleian Library at Oxford cared for it
during the War. It’s now in storage wait-
g for us to get into the house we're
building near Oxford, where I can have
а proper library, which I've never had
before, Incidentally, mixed up with that,
1 later bought a small magazine, The

Book Collector, which is now probably

the leading bibliographical magazine in
the world.

PLAYBOY: You were saying you were
looking for a job.

FLEMING: Yes—and finally 1 found
опе. Because a man called Sir Roderick

Jones, who was chairman of Reuters,
s a friend of my mother's, 1 went into
Reuters. the great international news
agency. Т stayed with them for three
years and had the most exciting time of
my life, because in those days nows-agen
cy work was like a gigantic football
match, and Reuters and the Associated
Press, of America, were a part of th
Allied Agency group, and there were free-
hooters such as United Press and Inte:
tional News who were tying to break
nto our territories all around the world.
We had some superb battles in С
and Russia, and so on,
highly enjoyable. It w Reuter's that
I learned to write fast and, above all, to
be accurate, because in Reuters if you
weren't accurate you were fired, and that

was the end of that.
PLAYBOY: Would you do all this
again?

FLEMING: Well, the world being as it
was in the 1980s, 1 would do the same as
1 then. But today, with the world as
now, I must say, I really don't know.
what I'd do. Г travel enormously, find
some sort of job that would take me
round the world, and round and round
and round it, and I should think I
would probably go back to newspaper
newsman, 1 should
her a different article from
his counterpart of a few decades ago,
although the effort is the same. Now-
adays, of course, one’s so hamstrung by
trade unions and that sort of thing that
some of the fun's gone out of the game.
In those days the paper came first, the
story came first, you were out to beat
hell out of the opposition, and the pay
and the hours of work meant. nothing.
ОГ course, for that onc must be young
and strong and, I suppose, romantic; it's
different matter if one's fifty-six and
has a wife and child.

PLAYBOY: What took you from jour
nalism into Naval Intelligence?
FLEMING: Well, when I left Reuter’s, I
did a period ity [London's busi
ness and financia] district] as a partncr
n the firm of Rowe and Pitmans, one
of the great English stockbroking firms,
extremely nice fellows. It was a very
pleasant sort of City club—they’re sti
great friends of mine today—but I got
ather fed up, and The Times gave me a
1 correspondent’s job to go to Mos
cow on a uade mission. When I came
back from that in about March or Apri
of 1939, suddenly I began to hear funny
little questions being asked about me;

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PLAYBOY

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friends would tell me that so-and-so had
been asking about where had I been.
what did I know, and so on. This turned
out to be a quiet casing for a job in Na
val Intelligence: and the reason was that
because, of all people, the governor of
ihe Bank of England and the head of
Baring Brothers, a very big merchant-
banking firm in The City, had been
asked to find a man of abont my age
with good languages and some knowl-
edge of The City, which in fact I hadn't
got at all. In any case, it ended with a

Iuncheon at the Carlton Hotel, with the
Director of Naval Intelligence, Admir

J. H. Godfrey, still my warm friend, and
a couple of other very quiet characters
n plain clothes. and 1 suddenly found
myself in the Admiralty with an honor-
ary rank of lieutenant in the Royal Na
val Volunteer Reserve, and put down as
Personal Assistant to the Director of Na-
val Intelligence. I stayed in that job
throughout the War.

PLAYBOY: What were your duties?
FLEMING: My job got me right into
the inside of everything, including all
the most secret affairs. | couldn't possi-
bly have had a more exciting or interest-
ing War. Of course, it's my experience il
Naval Intelligence, and what I learned
about secret operations of one sort or
another, that finally led me to write
about them—in a highly bowdlerized
way—with James Bond as the cenual
figure.

PLAYBOY: Did you really settle on the
name James Bond, as reported, because
you'd been reading a book by a man of
that name, and you thought it sounded
"suitably flat and colorless"?

FLEMING: Yes, thats absolutely so. It
was James Bond's Birds of the West In-
dics, a famous ornithological work, and 1
wanted my hero to be entirely an anony-
mous instrument and to let the action of
the book carry him along. I didn't be
lieve in the heroic Bulldog Drummond
types. I mean, rather, I didn't believe
they could any longer exist in literature.
1 wanted this man more or less to follow
the pattern of Raymond Chandler's or
Dashiell heroes—believable
people, believable herocs.

PLAYBOY: One reviewer written of
Bond, “He is the bad guy who smoulders
in every good citizen.” Do you agree
FLEMING: I don't think that he is neces
sarily a good guy or a bad guy. Who
is? He's got his vices and very few per-
ceptible virtues except patriotism and
courage, which are probably not virtues
anyway. He's certainly got little in the
way of politics, but I should think what
politics he has are just a little bit left of
center. And he's got little culture. He's a
man of action, and he reads books on
nd so on—when he reads anything.

Hammett's

I quite agree that he's not a person of
much social attractiveness. But then, I
didn't intend for him to be a particular-
ly likable person. He's a cipher, a blunt
instrument in the hands of government.
PLAYBOY: You've been quoted as sa
ng that you don't like Bond personally.
Is that true?

FLEMING: Well. Туе lived with him
for about twelve years now, and we've
been getting into decper and deeper
trouble together. So I've come to have a
certain sympathy with what is going to
happen to him, whatever that may be.
PLAYEOY: Do sometimes feel
you are Bond, and Bond is Fleming?
FLEMING: No, Bond is a highly roman
ticized version of anybody, but certainly
nor L and I certainly couldn't keep up
with him; I couldn't have even at his
age, which is, and has always been, in
the middle thirt He's a sort of amal-
gam of romantic tough guys, dressed up
in 20th Century clothes, using 20th G
tury language. I think he's slightly mor
truc to the type of modern hero, to the
commandos of the last War, and so on,
and to some of the secretservice men
Гуе met, than to any of the rather card-
bow dy heroes of the ancient thrillers
PLAYBOY: Do you consider his sexual
prowess, and his ruthless way with wom-
even among com-

that

en, to be true to lile-
mandos and secretservice men?

FLEMING: Naturally not; but we live
n a violent age. Seduction has, to a
marked extent, replaced courtship. The
direct, flat approach is not the excep-
tion: it is the standard. James Bond is a
healthy. violent, noncerebral man in his
middle thirties, and a creature of his с
1 wouldn't say he's particularly typical of
our times, but he is certainly of the
times. Bond's detiched: he’s disengaged
But he’s a believable man—around
whom | wy to weave a great web of ex-
citement and fantasy. In that, at least,
have very little in common. Of
course, there are similarities, since one
ites only of what one knows, and some
of the quirks and characteristics that I
give Bond are ones that I know abou
When I make him smoke се ciga
renes, for example, it's because I do so
myself, and 1 know what these things
taste like, and I have no shame in giving
them free advertising.

PLAYBOY: ip the goldainged cig-
агецез ol Balkan and ‘Turkish tobacco
mixed for Bond by Morland's of Gros-

Includi

venor Street?
FLEMING: Certainly. Why not?
PLAYEOY: Isn't th: njudici
conspicuous brand for a secret
be smoking?

REMING: Of course it is. No self-respect-
ing agent would use such things. He'd
smoke Players or Chesterfields. But

athe

isly

at to

the readers enjoy such idiosyncrasies,
and they accept them—because they
don't stop to think about it. The secrecy
of my secret agent is pretty transparent,
if you think about it even brielly. But
the pace, the pace of the narrative gets
onc by these nasty litle corners. It's a
sleight-of-hand operation. 115 overpow-
ering the reader. You take him along at
such a rate, you interest him so deeply in
the narrative that he isn't jolted by these
incongruities. I suppose I do it to demon-
strate that I can do it.

PLAYBOY: Why do you pay so much at
tention to minutiae in your books?
FLEMING: The main reason is that these
things excite and interest me. I'm ob-
servant, I think, and when I walk
down the sweet or when 1 go into a
room, I observe things and remember
them very accurately. It amuses me to
use my powers of observation in my
books and at the same time to tell peo-
ple what my favorite objects arc, and my
avorite foods and liquors and sc
and so on. Exact details of individ
private lives and private tastes are ex
tremely interesting to me. I think that
even the way in which a man shaves in
the morning is well worth recording.
The more we have of this kind of de-
tailed stuff laid down around a cha
ter, the more interested we are in him.

I make notes of such details constant-
ly: I write down my thoughts and com-
ments and 1 note menus, and so forth.
Tve just ten down something I
picked up in Istanbul the other d

Now there is no more shade.” This is a
Turkish expression, used when a great
sultan, like Mustafa Kemal, dies. The
general cry of the people was “Now
there is no more shade," which is rather
п expressive wat now there is
nothing to protect us, now that the great
man has gone. I write things like that
down and often use them later on in my
books.

PLAYBOY: Of course, you have rese;
done for you as well.

FLEMING: Yes, but generally only after
I've written the book. After Гус finished
a book I realize that I've bee: athe:
vague or thin on some topic or other,
and then I go 10 ıhe right man and try
to get the true gen out of him and then
rewrite that particular area.

PLAYBOY: Are you interested in the
skills of individual specialists? Would
you, for example, go out of your way to
meet Chic lord of New York, who
kes custom-tailored revolver and pis-
tol holsters for the New York City police
and the FBI?

FLEMING: Quite honestly, the whole
question of expertise in these matters
bores me. Obviously, T want to know the
facts. H a Gaylord holster is better than

wri

For 172 Christmases, the cologne from Cologne
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The first Chrieimas 102 vemember
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1792. Thinking back, it's remark-
able the way things have changed
since then.

Still,some things haven'tchanged
a whit. Even in 172 years.

For example, 4711 Cologne's orig-
inal secret formula (the gift of a
Carthusian monk to his friend Our
Founder) has been stubbornly kept
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tampered-with.

(A refreshingly stuffy state of
things in this day and age of New!
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So4711 is still a refreshant cologne,
not a perfumed cologne. Which
means (fortunately for The House
of 4711) that it may be used both
by men and women.

To cite a few examples:

Men like 4711 as a bracer after
shaving. Women, as a lightly fra-
grant freshener, one that won't in-
terfere with a perfume or perfumed
cologne.

Both like it after a bath or shower,
or as a brisk freshener now and
again through the day.

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especially when done up in a 4711
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The House of 4711 for Christmas?

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The House of 4711

PLAYBOY

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

LAIMANT

COTY

102

a Berns-Martin, I want to know about it,
but there my interest rather ends. How-
ever, I'm not a bad shot; in fact, 1 shot
for Sandhurst against West Point at one
time. And just to sce that my hand isn’t
trembling too much. I like to have 2
shot at a tin can or something now and
again,

PLAYBOY: How about hunting game?
FLEMING: No, I’m not keen on killing
things, except to eat them. We have big
bush rats in Jamaica, and one time when
I'd lent the place for a bit to Anthony
Eden, he couldn't sleep, they made such
а racket scurrying about, and a number
of them had to be shot by his private de-
tective, which I didn't like. But to go
back to the matter of expertise, I've
been pestiferated ever since Sports Zllus-
trated ran that article about Bond's
weapons: you saw it, I'm sure—the one
which told how I'd been persuaded to
take Bond’s .25 Beretta away from him
and make him use a 7.65mm Walther
instead. That idea had originated with

Geoffrey Boothroyd, a genuine expert,
I've

and since the article appeared
had hundreds of letters from w
on maniacs and they are man
they're terrifying—and Boothroyd gets
all those letters sent on to him. I never
look at them: he deals with them himself
or he doesn't. I wouldn't dream of at-
tempting it. Fm just not sufficiently
experi
PLAYBOY: Speaking of firearms, does it
amuse you that your imaginative device
of Bond's permissive double-0 prefix—
licensing him to kill—should be taken
so seriously by your readers when, in
fact, any intelligence agent may find it
necessary to kill in the line of duty, and
to that extent might be considered to
have the right to do so?

FLEMING: Well, though this was purc-
ly a fictional device to make Bond's p;
ticular job more interesting, the double-
0 prefix is not so entirely invented as all
that. I pinched the idca [rom the fact
that, in the Admiralty, at the beginning
of the War, all top-secret signals had the
double-0 prefix. This was changed subse-
quently for the usual security reasons,
but it stuck in my mind and I borrowed
it for Bond and he got stuck with it.
PLAYBOY: Is there, in your opinion,
any such thing as the proverbial perfect
murder?

FLEMING: Well, no technique, T should
think, is more deadly and efficient than
that employed by the gunmen of what
its proprietors so amusingly call the
Cosa Nostra in America, where a man
may be sent all the way from Dewoit
to kill another man sitting in a bar in
New York and walk away with no de-
monstrable connection with him. That is
a near-perfect type of killing—the sort of
killing that the secret services do, partic-

ularly the Russians, who've been pretty
keen on it in West Germany. Their
latest gimmick, the cyanide gas pistol,
which is more or less a water pistol
filled with liquid cyanide, is a par
ularly good stunt, because a man
be killed while, say, climbing stairs, and
when he's found, the cyanide has dissi-
pated and leaves no trace. It’s natural 10
assume that he has had a heart failure
climbing the stairs. But you've got to
have a lot of nerve for that sort of thing,
and whatever it is that enables a good
killer to function also scems to defeat
him in the end. The killer's spirit begins
to fail, he gets the sced of death within
himself. As I wrote in one of my books,
From Russia with Love, the wouble with
a lot of hired assassins such as the Rus-
sians use is that they feel rather badly
when they've killed five or six people,
and ultimately get soft or give them-
selves up, or they take to drugs or drink.
Tt would be interesting to conduct an
inquiry to determine who was the great
est assassin in history—who was, or who
is. I have no particular candidate. But
they all do grow a sort of bug inside
them after a bit.

PLAYBOY: You've been criticized for being
“obsessed” with violence in your boo!
Do you feel the charge is justified?
FLEMING: The simple fact is that, like
all fictional heroes who find a tremen-
dous popular acceptance, Bond must
reflect his own time. We live in a violent
era, perhaps the most violent man has
known. In our last War, thirty million
people were killed. Of these, some six
million were simply slaughtered, and
most brutally. I hear it said that I invent
fiendish cruelties and tortures to which
Bond is subjected. But no one who
knows, as I know, the things that were
done to captured secret agents in the last
War says this. No one says it who knows
what went on in Algeria.

PLAYBOY: You said a moment ago that
professional assassins "grow a sort of bug
ide them after a bit" Does that in-
clude Bond?

FLEMING; Yes, it docs disturb Bond to
kill people, even though he continues to
get away with it—just as he continues
to get away with driving conspicuous
motorcars.

PLAYBOY: In recent books you've had
him driving a supercharged Bentley. Why
did you pick this particular car for him?
FLEMING: І probably chose the sup
charged Bentley because Amherst Vil-
liers was and is a great friend of minc,
and I knew something about it from my
friendship with him. I put Bond into a
Bentley simply because ] like him to use
dashing, interesting things.

PLAYBOY: Do you share his taste for
exotic cars?

FLEMING: Yes. I'd like to have a super-

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PLAYBOY

charged Bentley myself, but nowadays—
Ттп fifty-six, after all—I like a car I can
leave out in the street all night and
which will start at once in Ше morning
and still go a hundred miles an hour
when you want it to and yet give a fairly
comfortable ridc. I can't be bothered
with а car that needs tuning, or one that
lll give me а lot of trouble and expend-
iture. So I've had a Thunderbird for
six years, and it’s done me very well. In
fact, I have two of them, the good two-
seater and the lessgood fourseater. I
leave them both in the street, and when
I get in and press the starter, off they go,
which doesn't happen to a lot of motor-
cars. Now, the Studebaker supercharged
Avanti is the same thi
soon as you get out in the morning; it
has a very nice, sexy exhaust note and
will do well over a hundred and has got
really tremendous acceleration and
much better, tighter road holding and
steering than the Thunderbird. Excel-
lent disk brakes, too. I've cut a good deal
of time off che run between London and
Sandwich in the Avanti, on braking
power alone. So Im very pleased with it
for the time being.

PLAYBOY: Unlike Bond, you say you are
bored by guns, and you don't drive
exotic vintage car. Do you share, at
least, his passion for casino gambling?
FLEMING: I do like to gamble. I play
bridee for what might be called serious
stakes. I like chemin de fer. I play at
clubs here in London, private clubs.
And I may go to Le Touquet. places like
that on the Continent. I like to think
that I am reasonably competent at the
gaming tables—we all think so, I suppose
—but still, I win as much as I lose, or a
bit more. I like that, which I suppose
demonstrates that I am not a true com-
pulsive gambler, because the compulsive
gambler doesn’t care much whether he
wins or loses. He is interested primarily
in the "action." I remember one occa-
sion on which I very much wanted to
. I was on my way to America with
the Director of Naval Intelligence, Ad-
miral Godfrey. We were in Estoril in
Portugal, and while we were waiting Гог
transport, we killed some time in ıhe ca-
sino, While th 1 recognized some

п agents, and I thought it would
lliant coup to play with th

am,
them, take their money. Instead,
of course, they took mine, Most embar-
sing. This incident appears in Casino
Royale, my first book—but, of course,
Bond does not lose. In fact, he totally
and coldly vanquishes his opponent
PLAYBOY: Casino Royale, and all of
the other Bond books, have been written
at your home in Jamaica. How did you
happen to pick the West Indies as a
creative hideaway?

104 FLEMING: I first went to Jamaica on a

Naval Intelligence assignment around
1942 to meet with my American opposite
numbers from the Office of Naval Intelli-
gence to sce if we could do something
about the U-boat sinkings in the Garib-
bean. 1 stayed in the good old Myrtle
Bank Hotel. and it poured every
—and I loved every minute of it.
Id never been in the tropics before
and I thought they were wonderful, as 1
suppose any Scotsman would. I was de-
termined that at the end of the War I'd
come back and find a plot and build a
house and live in it whenever I could.
It's worked out like that. When I went
back im 1946, 1 borrowed a car from a
man called Sir William Stevenson, who
was chief of our intelligence service in
the States during the War: he had a
house in Jamaica and I went round and
finally I found this disused donkeys’ race-
course by the sea. I bought the race-
course and I built on it a square of a
house which I had designed while I was
working in the Admiralty during the last
two or three years of the War, looking
forward to something more pleasant
than the V-Is and V2s. And I go there
every year during January and February
and a bit of March, and the whole
thing's been a great success. [ts by а
little banana port called Oracabessa, and
the house is called Goldeneye, a name
I chose.

PLAYBOY: Why?

memng: I had happened to be read-
ing Reflections m a Golden Eye by Car-
son McCullers, and I'd been involved in
an operation called Goldeneye during
the War: the defense of Gibraltar, sup-
posing that the Spaniards had decided to
attack it: and ] was deeply involved in
the planning of countermeasures which
would have been taken in that even
Anyway, I called my place Goldeneye.
The alternative choice was Shamelady,
which is the Jamaican name for the sen-
sitive plant, the one which curls up
when the leaves are touched. When I
and a friend inspected the plot, we
looked over the edge of the cliff, and
there was the most beautiful naked Ne-
gress bathing in the waves, so I thought
that Shamelady would be a good name
for it—the whole thirty acres were cov-
h the plant—but it would have
a little bit too fancy. In any event,
the house has be
you said, I have written all my books
there.

PLAYBOY: Do you spend most of your
time there at the typewriter?

FLEMING: By no means. I get up with
the birds, which is about half past seven,
because they wake one up, and then I go
and bathe in the ocean before breakfast.
We don't swimsuit there,
because its so private; my wife and I
bathe and swim a hundred yards or so

а great success. As

'e to wear

and come back and have a marvelous
proper breakfast with some splendid
scrambled eggs made by my housckecp-
er, who's particularly good at them, and
then I sit out in the garden to get a sun-
burn until about ten. Only then do I set
to work. I sit in my bedroom and type
about fifteen hundred words straight-
away, without looking back on what I
wrote the day before. I have more or less

thought out what I'm going to write,

and, in any case, even if I make a lot of
mistakes, I think, well. hell, when the
book's finished I can change it all. I
think the main thing is to write fast
and cursively in order to get narrative
speed.

Then, about quarter past twelve, I
chuck that and go down, with a snorkle
and a spear, around the reefs looking for
lobsters or whatever there may be, some.
times find them, sometimes don't, and
then I come back, I have a couple of
pink gins, and we have a very good
lunch, ordinary Jamaican food, and 1
have a siesta from about half past two.
until four. Then 1 sit again in the
garden for about an hour or so, have
another swim, and then I spend from s
to seven—the dusk comes very suddenly
іп Jamaic: t six o'clock it suddenly
gets very dark—doing another five
hundred words. I then number the
pages, of which by that time there are
about seven, put them away in a folde
and have a couple of powerful drinks,
then dinner, occasionally a game of
Scrabble with my wife—at which she
thinks she is very much better than I am,
but I know I'm the best—and straight off
to bed and into a dead sleep.
PLAYBOY: And you return to England
in March with a completed manuscript?
FLEMING: Except for minor revisions, yes
PLAYBOY: How do you spend the rest
of the year?

FLEMING: Commuting between Lon-
don—where we have a very nice little
house—and the country, where 1 keep a
small but comfortable flat on Pegwell
andwich: that's in Kent. I work
the “Fleming Two-Day Weck,” which
means that I try to spend at least four
days and five nights in the country and
only two nights up in London, because 1
don't like big towns. Generally I come
up on Monday night and I go down
again to Sandwich on Thursday morn-
ing. with any luck.

PLAYBOY: What do you do with your timc
in the country?

FLEMING: Well, I get up late, about half
past eight or nine, have breakfast, coffec
and a boiled ege—three and a half min-
utes, not three and two thirds, like James
Bond. I read newspapers and deal with a
certain amount of mail and Шеп I go off
to the golf course; the one I play on is in

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Sandwich—the Royal St.
course known to a great many Ameri
cans, and one that Bobby Jones and all
the great men have played: Jack Nick-
laus won the Gold Vase on that course
three or four years ago. And I meet some
friends there and we have a drink or wo
and lunch and then I go out and play a
tough game of golf for fairly high stakes.
foursomes generally, not American four-
ball, bur cach pair hitting the ball
turn. And we laugh a lot and it’s great
fun. Then I go back home in the eve-
ning and sit down and have a couple of
very powerful bourbons and water:
ice and read awhile, and then I have
whatever my wife has decided to cook
for me and J go straight off to bed.

PLAYBOY: And when youre in London?
FLEMING: In London we have. as I
id, a very nice little house—but it

hasn't got any trees around it, which 1
would like, and I would prefer 10 live
higher up. somewhere like Hampstead
on the heights above London, with birds
and wees and a bit of garden. But my
wife, who likes to entertain, feels that
this would be 100 far from the House of
Commons for our friends to come, and
altogether too suburban. In any case, I
get up in the morning about the same
time as in the country, have the same
breakfast, and at about half past ten I
drive to my office, where my secretary
ail ready for me. which I cope
then dictate a few letters.
Then I correct some proofs or go over
ever I happen to be working on at
the moment and have lunch with a
friend—always a male friend: I don't like
having lunch with women—and perhaps
I go to my club, Boodles, or the Turf,
where Т sit by myself and read in that
highly civilized privacy which is the
great thing about some English clubs.
In the afternoon T have more or less the
same routine correcting proofs. I go
home and have three large drinks and
then we cither stay in for dinner or
have people in, or go out: but more of-
ten we have dinner together and go to
hed.
PLAYBOY: Your books were often among
those at the bedside of President Ker
nedy, who pub) nsclf
enthusiastic Bond fan, He was even
to have considered Bond his favorite
fictional character. Did he ever tell you
why?
FLEMING: No, he didn't. In any case,
1 don't think Bond was President Kenn
уз favorite fictional character: T think
he was his favorite adventure character.
But I think perhaps that Bond's sort of
patriotic derring-do was in keeping with
the President's own concept of
ance and courage and grace u

adur
der pr
trangely enough, many

politicians books. 1
think perl ns like
solutio ig properly tied
up at the end. Politicians always hope
for neat solutions, you know, but so

ely can they find them.

seem

PLAYBOY: Do you have other admirers
among world figures of major stature?
FLEMING: I don't know, really. For one,

I don't believe Mr. Khrushchey is one
of my readers, and we haven't met. I
do have among my memorabilia a short
typewritten note from Joseph Stalin,
ned in his hand and, I think, typed by
him as well, saying that he is sorry, but
he must decline to be interviewed.
PLAYBOY. It was Stalin who organized
SMERSH, the Soviet counterpart of Ше
Gestapo, which served as Bond's adver-
several of your earlier books.
What made you decide to abandon it in
Thunderball for the ideologically un-

aligned gang of international conspira-
tors which yon call SPECTRE?
FLEMING: ] closed down sMersit, al

though T was devoted to the good old
apparat, because, first of all, Khrushchev
did in fact disband swrasm himself, al
though its operations are sull carried
out by a subsection of the К.С. B., the
Russian secret service. But in that book
— think it was Thunderball that I was
writing at the time of the proposed sum-
mit meeting thought well, it’s no good
ning ta make friends
ns. T know them, T like
them personally, as anyone would, as
пуопе would like the if he
new them. I thought. I
go on ragging them like this. So I in-
vented SPECTRE as an international crime
organization which contained elements
of sMERSH and the Gestapo and the
Mafia—the cozy old Cosa Nostra — which,
of course, is a much more elastic fiction-
al device than suERsH, which
fictional device, but the real thing. But
that was really the reason I did it, so as
not to rag Ше Russians (00 much. But if
they go on squeezing oft cyanide pistols
in peoples faces, I may have to make

them cosa mia again.
PLAYBOY: Mystery writer Raymond
Chandler has said of you tes

more correctly, neatly, concisely and viv-
idly than most of our ‘serious’ novel-
5.” On the other hand, New York
Times critic Anthony Boucher has said
that in his view you write "monumental-
ly badly." Do you have any comment on
these conwasting appraisals?

FLEMING: 1 dare say Ray Chandler
said that because he was a friend of
mine. As for Anthony Boucher, he’s nev
er liked my books, and it shows what a
good reviewer he is that he says so. Oth-
ers. happily—such as Cyril Connolly —
think otherwise. There is no doubt, how-
ever, that I-and even Anthony Boucher

— should write bener. There is no пор
g well. I wry to write neatly
ad vividly because I think
that’s the way to write, but I think
large amount of that comes. as I said
earlier, from my training as a fastwriting
journalist, under circumstances in which
you damned well had to be neat and
correct and concise and vivid. I'm afraid.
I think Reuter's training was much more
able to me than all the reading in
nglish literature I did at Eton or in
Geneva or wherever
PLAYEOY: You have
write unashamedly for
true?
FLEMING: Yes, it is. I
moncy—but abo for pleasure. I'm very
glad that people say kind things about
my books—because, naturally, if they
didn't say so, I shouldn't make any mon-
and consequently 1 shouldn't enjoy

id that
money.

you
Is that

do write for

i enjoymei
hievement,

t is certainly a very
even in the fairly
ature that comprise
ng. But it's true that I write
е capacity—or at least I
think 1 probably do. If I really settled
down and decided to write a War and
Peace among thrillers, if I shut myself
up and decided to do this and nothing
else, I dare say 1 might bring it off, if
such a thing is possible. There's a great
deal of violence and sex in all great
novels, so I dare s
the modern үсіп I n
succeed.

But Im more
than in cerebration,

interested in

action
nd I should think
that the great War and Реасе thriller

would be more likely to be written by a
man like Graham Greene or Georges
Simenon, because either of them would
do it more truthfully and accurately
than 1 ever could. I enjoy exaggeration
and things larger than life. It amuses me
to have a villain with a great bulbous
head, whereas, as you know, they're gen-
erally little people with nothing at all
extraordinary-looking about them, Then,
too, I'm afraid 1 shouldn't be able to
write in sufficient depth to make this hy-

pothetical thriller stand up classic.
PLAYEOY: Why not?

FLEMING: I'm too interested in surface
things, and I'm too interested

xa fast pace, in writing at speed.
ГІ shouldn't have the patience
to delve into the necessary psychological
introspection and historical background.
But in Ше end, I must say, I'm very hap
py writing as I do. And I greatly enjoy
nowing that other people, quite intelli-
gent people, find my books amusing and
entertaining. Bur Im not really

prised. because they entertain and a

me, (00.
EB

sur-
ise

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PLAYBOY

108

GIANG THE CIRE

Above left, clockwise from noon: Gootskin-covered gome chest, with roulette set, chess pieces, from Rigoud, $250. Mother-cf-
peor! opero glosses, by Dunhill, $40. Toble lighter in brushed-sotin-silver finish, by Colibri, $20. Cigorette cose in soft leother
lined with pure silk, includes Ployboy Lighter, by Ployboy Products, $é Above right, clockwise from nine: Old-fashioned French
telephone, by Continental Telephone, $62.50. Hand-woven wig of 100-percent humon hair, with vinyl cose, by Foshion Tress,
$199.95. Hand-painted Mexicon spoon mirror, from Dunhill, $15. Clock rodio, by Elgin, $42.95, Below left: Reproduction of Mo-
zort music box, by Rigoud, $350, AM/FM, FM stereo rodio-phonogroph, by Phonolo, $199.95. Below right, clockwise from
noon: Nylon umbrello, by Polon, Kotz, $10. Brozilion joguor bog, $152.90, ond jockey-style hat, $8650, from Abercrombie
& Fitch. Mirondette portoble tope recorder, by Allied Impex, $169.95. Belgian linen transport cose, from Dunhill, 532.50.

for a golden yule: a guide for guys on pleasing their playmates By ROBERT 1. GREEN

BEFORE MAKING his presents known, the gift-wise guy secking
10 carn ls as a Santa extraordinare will observe the
golden yule of giving: Know thy lady fair. For every Christ-
mas belle worth ringing is cast of a different precious mettle
and has her own striking timbre of individuality: She'll be
ecstatic over any trifle that could only be hers. But she'll
think more of the gift than of the giver, no matter how ex-
want it is, if it doesn't combine imagination, creativity
nderstanding

ata, and stay afloat during the an-
nual Chrisumastidal wave, if you introduce method to the
year-end madness. First, this is the time of year to update
your уше log, weeding out the losers and shuffling the rest
by category. From the general—the chic, feminine type; the
competent business girl; the lithe limbed healthy outdoor
girl; the acsthetic-intellectual type; or the tantalizing child-

ciated with the subject of your conversation might be ap-
propriate. If she's been a longtime, but casual, acquaintance
—and you want to keep it that way—choose from a wide ar-
тау of impersonal gifts, such as luggage, handkerchiefs,
clocks, canclies, food, cigarette accessories, books, prints, rec-
ords, umbrellas, costume jewelry, wines, liquors and liqueurs
If you'll be spending the holiday with her, then you'll want
to buy something that balances luxury with intimacy: special
le-to-order items (a tailored suit, a hat or a robe), some
thing in sterling silver, a piece of original art, or a lush se
lection of lingerie or negligees (normally, however, you don't
provide cover for the terrain unless you've already recon-
noitered it).

If she has a taste for the deluxe—and what girl hasn
you'll score high with jewels, furs or perfume—lor example,
а flacon of Jean Patou Joy, or an exquisitely packaged scent
by Prince Matchabelli or Lanvin. If your romance is seri-
ous and youre willing to spend seriously, consider fur:
"Think mink, chinchilla or sable—if you're able. If not, furs

that are less expensive, but impressive nonetheless, include
jackets in wildcat, South American lamb, pony,
ed muskrat and black or red fox. Other gifts of garb
combine fur with fabrics may be even less costly, but
t as glamorous: A pair of good examples are a gabardine
trench coat lined in mink or lynx, or a fitted wool coat lined
leopard. Then there are the n uch as a black
fox or sable muff, or a leopard ascot and hat. If she already
has a fur to keep her warm, you may want to give her an ac-
cessory stich as a red fox hedspread, leopard car rug, or a
tiger skin to be used as a wall or floor covering.

To engrave your image into her personal picture, send
something that clearly indicates an intention of sharing: an
imported espresso machine, with a pair of demitasse cups and
cers: an excellent champagne, with two choice glasses; two
ved fruit knives, with a note promising that you'll bring
the peaches; a pair of ducats to the theater.

If you have already left an impression on her conscious-
ness, and want to evoke images of retroactive sharing, favor
her with a gift reminiscent of your past activities together.
Have you gone to the ballet ensemble? Then give her an
elegant set of pearl opera glasses. If you were recently
caught in the rain together—and made the best of it—com

memorate the occasion with an umbrella. Do you and she
play word games? Then give her a giant game treasure chest,
If you share music wherever you go, buy her a transistorized
FM/AM portable, or a radio/phonograph console for her
apartment. If she squeals with joy when you take her photo,
buy her a camera—and for an added kick, shoot something
that has special meaning for her and leave it in the camera
development.
jeves that the way to your heart is through your
stomach, then help smooth her way with a complete spice
collection; or an out-of-print cookbook; or a copper coffee
y of an endless variety of ser i

chafing dishes, hot plates, vegetable warm
butter melters, pepper mills, salt shakers, serv
crs. Or surprise her with some professional kitchen tools,
such as a porcelain double boiler, an asparagus steamer, a
duck press or a Georgian porcelain mold. If she often enter-
tains formally, then choose from among the fine china and
silver shops in town for a set of Baccarat stemware, Geor-
1 silver serving spoons, Crown Derby dinner plates, or
Spode dessert plates.

If her tastes tend more toward the cultural than the culi-

sauceboats,

Above left, clockwise from noon: Capricci perfume in cut crystol deconter (11 ozs], by Nino Ricci, $175. Chanel No. 5 per-
fume (4 07s, by Chanel, $70. Intimote sproy mist (2 ог), by Revlon, $3. Mother-of-peorl compoct and lipstick cose, by Мох
Factor, $10. Bain d'Or bath зоор in swan dish, by Lenthéric, $2. Possession perfume, from Fronce (2 ozs.), by Porfums Cordoy,
$35. LAimont perfume, from France (2 ozs, by Coty, $35. Above right: Red fox opera cool, by Max Bogen, $1000. Below left:
Yorkshire puppy, from Studded Collor, $200. Oval shoped peridot ring with 5 diomonds, by Star Ring Co., $49.50. Below center,
clockwise from noon: Royol Crown musicol jewel box, from Thorens, $80. Simuloted-pearl necklace with oval moonstone clasp,

by Richelieu, $12. Colendor pocket watch, 14k, by Jules Jergensen, $175. Octogonal bracelet wotch and matching ring, 14k, by
Eric E. Siebert, $654. Cigorette lighter, 144, by Dunhill, $165. Wrist wotch, 18k, by Elgin, $495. Below right, clockwise from
noon: Shooting jacket, $35; slocks, $19; kit fox reversible coat, $500, oll from Abercrombie & Fitch. Speedfit laceless ski boots,
by Henke, $69.50. Motorcycle, 55cc, four-speed tronsmission, 200 miles per gallon, weighs obout 140 pounds, by Yamcho, $285.

109

PLAYBOY

110 owner of a new ca

‚ then please her musical ear with а
classical guitar, a complete collection of
Beethoven's piano sonatas by Schnabel,
some archive waxings of Bessie Smith,
Bix Beiderbecke, Billie Holiday: or flat-
ter her artistic eye with a Degas pastel, a
by a local painter, a membersh
п art museum; or gratify her literary
taste buds with an antique bound set of
essays, a series of subscriptions to “little”
wines, poetry recordings Irom the
Library of Congress, Richard Burton's
cently recorded rendition of Hamlet.
15 she dedicated to fashion? Then give
а ser of subscriptions to the world's
ling magazines of haute couture. Is
she devoted to skiing? Then get her а
new ski outfit, from parka to Bogners,
nd an invitation to spend a long week-
end with you at some favorite ski haunt.
Is she a hellion on wheel: y her
a Honda, Vespa or Yamaha motor scoot-
er in her favorite color,

Does she come on as a femme fatale?
Then send her a small crystal chandelier
for her bathroom, panels of Sadic
Thompson beads to hang in a window
or doorway, an Oriental incense burner,
a Bale a theater coat covered with
jewels, a Chinese brocade coat, cut glass
decanters for her dressing table, a mobile
champagne cooler, a monogrammed vel-
comforter, a tufted hassock or a
quilted bedspread.

If she's addicted to the archaic, you'll
find a bonanza of boons in secondhand
bookshops, auction galleries, resale stores
and other repositories of the antique.
Try to locate a perfume bottle with a
al crest on it, a wine decanter with
ly date, a jewel box with a secret
compartment, the Ith edition of the
Encyclopaedia Britannica.

Extremism in pursuit of the perfect
present is no vice. If she’s a way-out girl,
gether a way-out gift, a gallon of
her favorite toilet w
watch, an enormous standing salad bowl;
а complete selection of Hermès gloves in
every shade of brown from off white to
oll-black, a tiny portable typewriter, an
indoor herb garden, an oversize brandy
snifter filled with a complete selection of
textured and patterned stockings from
Dior.

If you want to impress but are
under duress, you can bank on the
happy fact that most women are very

label conscious. A chiffon scarf from Nei-
man-Marcus, a deck of cards from Cartier
or a silver bookmark from Tiffany may
have more meaning than a costlier gilt
from a popular department store.
Moreover, a relatively inexpensive
gewgaw that reflects your understanding
of her interests and drives will be worth
more than an oil-well decd. If she's a
carcer girl who just moved up to her own
private office, give her a leather corre-
spondence portfolio with her name and
title engraved on it. If she's the recent
give her а gold ig-

nition key. If she's studying voice or
drama, a tape recorder will make you
sound just right to he

Sometimes а man’s offering to his
yuletide belle can ring falsely, thereby
eliciting not peals of joy but reverbera-
tions of reproach. Good intentions alone

will not prevent this, but planning and
common sense will. For example, a little

patory thought will caution you
not to buy billowy wardrobe items for
a gal who lives in a miniature efficiency
apartment. Or not to give clothing that
requires extraordinary care to a girl with
а limited budget. š tact

п of her ap-
—eg,, electric razors,
ws, glamor courses, exer-

few oth
mind: Don’t select decorative gifts that
will clash with her present furnishings—

a folksy Pennsylvania Dutch settee will
hardly be appreciated if she surrounds
herself

with pieces style Marie An-
If you're giving jewelry, don't
vied away and buy her a diamond
ring unless you're prepared for the per-
пепсе it implies; a jeweled lipstick
case, pin, brooch, compact or bracelet
will tell her how much you care, without
indicating that you're reddy to throw in
the sponge. Don't try to impress her
with your own intellectual. accomplish-
ments by throwing cultural curves at her
—in other words, if she doesn't care to
read anything deeper than women's
zines, don't give her the complete,
untranslated works of Marcel Proust
Don't cop out on the selection of a
gift by sending her a gilt certificate—
thats almost as crass as giving cash. If
you're boxed in by circumstances, how-
ever, and must do it, then do it with a
Пай: Rather than presenting her with a
certificate for a hat, ask a top-notch mil-
liner to deliver an empty hatbox with a
note from you saying that you'd like her
to have a arisen designed expe
for her. Or have her

lor, with a note indicating BEDE
worn on a suit he has been commis-
sioned to create for her.

A final don't: Don't hamstring your-

self wih don'ts. Your own instinct
should tell you what's right and what's
not. Do observe several simple shopping
rules—these will make the difference be-
tween enjoying or exhausting yourself.
You're no doubt tired of hearing ad-
vice to shop early and stay far from the
madding crowds. Old as this counsel
may be, it’s perfectly sound, and we sug-
gest that you heed it. Add to it the
following tips: Friday is the best shop-
ping day; rainy or snowy days are excel-
lent; the carly hours (before 11:30 A.M.)
can’t be beat; do your shopping alone,
for mobility and casy decision making.
It's especially important to shop салу for

custom-made or monogrammed gifts. Be
sure to have, on the other hand, а boun
tiful supply of baubles, such ss ра
perweights, Florentine leather. boxes,
silk squares, handkerchiefs and the like,
as a turnabout reserve against those last-
minute presents you never expected.

You'll save time, no matter when you
shop, if you carry your own personal
cards to go along with your gift packages.
Also take a couple of pens. Unless you
charge everything, carry plenty of small
bills and change: пр the exact
amount at cach counter saves time.

Many men avail themselves of the or-
ganized personal shopping services
offered by top department stores and
specialty shops throughout the countr
Cha
will go over your gift list and then ac
company you through the store while
you make your selections. Other stores
cater to male shoppers by setting aside
separate areas for them. Surrounded by
gifts for women, the man is invited to
relax while a skilled salesperson helps
make the right choices for each girl on
his list. Often, models are on hand to
represent the different types, both as to
personality and physical proportions.

IF you require assistance, but prefer to
shop in stores that do not offer these s
ices, look in the classified pages of your
phone book for a professional shopping
service. For a fee, they will do every
thing from selecting items to having
them wrapped and delivered.

Almost as important as the gift itself is
the wrapping, A beautiful job, whether
done by yourself or a service, с
10 enhance the beauty of the gift. For
routine presents, of course, you can uti-
lize the routine ribbon-round-the package
service at the sales counter, but your spe
cial gifts require special wrapping serv-
ice, which can be found elsewhere in
the store. The charge is nominal, and
you can choose between telling the
wrapper what you want—to impart a
personal touch—or relying on her (usual-
ly good) judgment.

TE you don’t trust other hands with
this important job, you'll find ample ma-
terials in department. stores, paper-sup-
ply houses, fabric stores, stationers (Гог
gold, red or blue notary seals) and florists
(for unusual ribbons). If you do the
ap cach
gift on the day you buy it; it’s no fun
facing a mountain of unwrapped pres
ents on Christmas Ev

Having found and bound just the per-
fect presents for your ladies fair, it is
best to deliver all but that one most spe-
cial gift on Christmas Eve or earlier.
Then you can relax for a war
toast with your chosen one, content in
the knowledge. as you face a new year,
that, having freely given, you shall

freely receive.

ng, knowledgeable consultants

chore yourself, it is wise to w

n winter's

WHAT SORT OF MAN READS PLAYBOY?

А young man groomed for success whether he's in the fray of business day or in cool command of an
evening encounter. The man who reads PLAYBOY puts his cash on the lines—the men’s toiletries lines,
for example. Noted for his good scents, he realizes that being well turned out can mean the difference
between а nod and a nay in business deal or social maneuver. Facts: 76% of PLAYBOY's male readers
use after-shave lotion, a percentage twice as high as the national average; 55% of PLAYBOY's male
readers use cologne. (Source: PLAYBOY Male Reader Survey by Benn Management Corporation.)

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thought it was our duty to bring the Word to the Heathen and before the Heathen started pushing
the Word back down our throats.

...

The main avenue of Aleppo was shining in the sun. The afternoon siesta was just over and in the cafés
men in fezzes were sipping tiny cups of syrupy coffee. A fat Turk with a mustache, half awake, sat and sleep-
ily pulled аға hookah from time to time. When three or more flies congregated around his mouth, he would raise a
sleepy hand and whisk them away unmaliciously with a fly whisk.

Stanford Lovejoy, in his pressed white suit and sun helmet, strolled slowly down the shady side of the street, smi
ing gently at the flickering life of the desert city. He was a small, quiet man, and every time he walked through
the town, among the swift, dirty children, the tiny dancer-hoofed donkeys under their burdens of alfalfa and water-
melons, the tall, slender Arabs with their shining white nooses, striped with black braid, a pleasant little tingle
of adventure rang through his blood. How far, the song sounded subconsciously in the back of his brain, how far I
have come from Vermont.

He had just finished a year of teaching English to Arab children at the Mi
feeling a decent thrill of accomplishment each time he opened a class and
looked at the polite and eager faces, heard the low Eastern voices say
“How do you do, Mr. Lovejoy?" with the ineradicable granite twang of
his own Vermont caught forever in them. He never had any trouble in
class, such as you might expect in young boys’ classes back home. He was
small, but he had a deep, impressive voice, and a high-domed and impres-
sive forehead, [ull of authority. He looked as Samuel Johnson might have
looked as a young man, but secretly hoped that one day he would look
like Sir Walter Raleigh.

How different from Vermont, the chant went at the back of Lovejoy's
head. When he had finished taking his M.A., a relative in California had
offered Lovejoy a job in his cement plant, with a good salary to begin
with, and large chances of swift advancement, Lovejoy had nearly accepted,
but the opportunity to come to Aleppo had presented itself, and he had
written his cousin a graceful note, declining the kind offer.

“Any man who prefers Syria to California and Bedouins to Califor-
ns," his cousin had written, “has forfeited all claims on my sympathies.
I will not repeat the offer. Yours truly . .

The letter had shaken Lovejoy a little, but since coming to Aleppo, he had never regretted his deci
learning Arabic, and the mysterious and complex ways of the Middle East. Around him stretched the old fields of
history, cultivated by men dead thousands of years; in timeless circles spread the desert, the Persian mountains, the
miraculous valley of the Nile. To the cast lay India . . . Great events were brewing and there would be a great place
for a man who knew the language, the silent and inscrutable people of the Arabic-speaking world. Lawrence had
started һ no more.

Lovejoy turned into a little bookshop. On sale were old copies of Life, Look and The Saturday Evening Post, two
aveled sets of Dickens, a great many books by Н. С. Wells. Victor Hugo, Colette and Michelet were available in
агре quantities in French, beside piles of secondhand novels іп 12 languages.

On the wall hung seven rugs which could be bought for a reasonable price.

I was there, too.

She was іп a corner, her pale blonde head bent over an account book. Each time he looked at her, Irina’s frailty,
her demure and troubled beauty, struck at Lovejoy’s heart all over again. He walked softly up behind her, engrossed
in her accounts, took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

Irina jumped back hurriedly. "Stanford," she said, her voicc small and musical and Russian among the dusty
erature of six languages. "It is not to be done!"

“There's nobody here,” Lovejoy said, smiling softly at her.

“Somebody might make an entrance.” Irina looked fearfully at the door.

“What if they did?
knew it would happen

ion School and he couldn't help

on. He was

" she wailed mu

ally, turning away, hiding her face. “You do not respect me anymore.

into the dusty syrian city wheeled those simple, high-spirited american boys—and lightning struck everyone in sight

113

He stopped when he reached the
crowd and smiled. It was a street enter.
tainment. Bat it was like по street
nment he had ever seen. Two
burly men with bare knees,

bicycles. A third man, rather small, but
Iso in a football jersey, with а small,
mangy monkey perched on his shoulder.
stood to one side holding a third glitter.
ng bicycle. On the backs of all the
jerseys, which were deep green, was
written, in gold letters, "CAFE ANATOLE
FRANCE, 9 PLACE PICALLE." On ће front
of the jerseys of one of the giants was a
large number 95, such as football players
wear. On the other large man's jersey
was the number 96. The man with the
monkey wore a simple zero on his chest.
And the heads of all three men were
haved absolutely clean, their heads shin-
ing like light globes in the brilliant sun.

The two performers circled tightly
around in front of the café, their front
wheels revolving double-jointedly іп
their sockets, the spectators sighing po-
litely and admiringly. The sweat poured
down the cyclists’ faces and stood out
like Seckcl pears on their bald white
heads as they pumped away widely and
good-humoredly.
Number 95 leaped off his bicycle,
whipping it debonairly at the third little
man with the monkey, It crashed with a
light scraping sound against the little
man's shin and he winced in pain, but
held on and smiled mechanically at the
audience. The monkey gripped his car
for better purchase.

Number 96 kept circling easily over
the flagstones. his bare knees and the

PLAYBOY

m of the bicycle flashing dizzily
in the sun.

“Alles Hed Number 95, a
strong, booming voice. He stood with
arms outstretched. wide. rippling and
powerful in his green jersey against the
background of slender Arabs.

Lovejoy took it all in with puzzlement
and delight. The East, he felt, full of
rich surprise.

“Ready, Roland?” shouted imber.
95, as though his partner was hard of
hearing and a quarter of a mile off.
cady, Saint Clai hoarscly bel-
lowed Number 96, putting on a burst of
speed.

"Allez!" called 95.

“Allez!” replied 96, racing wildly past
the shrinking Arabs, dazed by the speed
and sound of the Occident.

95 tensed himself and suddenly was
hurting through the air. He landed on
90% shoulders, his arms spread, swanlike
and triumphant.

For Christ's sake, Saint Clair," said
96 loudly, pedaling fiercely to keep the
curvetting bicycle from tilting over. “My
са

The audience broke into applaus
116 three lite seminaked children d

dangerously close to the rushing bicycle
before they were pulled back by their
elders.

Allez!" called 95 in the fog piercing,
prairiecovcring voice.

"Alles" replied 96, and almost quick-
er than the eye could follow, 95 had
made a desperate and amazing reversal
and was standing on his head on 96%

head, his huge, meaty legs arched and

rigid, pointing beautifully toward the
brazen blue desert sky.

Bravo!" called Number Zero coolly.
"Bravo!"

The crowd rustled with approval and
Lovejoy applauded. 95, still rigid and
head down, h his feet describing а
dashing arc against the Syrian sky,
looked at Lovejoy. grinned, winked, and
on the next шір around ihe square,
called to him. “Hi, Bud. See you right
after the show at the Franco-Syrian Bar."

Lovejoy smiled shyly. pleased and em-
barrassed to be noticed by one of the
artists. A moment later, w amazing
leap. 95 hurtled to the ground, arriving
there upright, resilient, smiling. 96
vaulted off his bicycle and they both
stood there, bowing. The ith wide,
friendly grins, they went through the
crowd passing out postcardsize photo-
graphs of themselves.

95 gave one to Lovejoy, patting
heavily on the shoulder as he did so.
Lovejoy looked at the photograph. It
one which had caught the two dare-
devils at the very apex of their perform-
ance, 95 standing on his head on 96%
head, with a background of large cumu-
lus clouds. “Roland and Saint Clair
us,” the legend read. “Around The
World On Two Wheels. Ambassadors of
Good Will. Daring!!! Extraordinary!

While he was looking at the photo:
graph, the Calonius brothers mounted
their bicycles, took the third bicycle be-
tween them, with the monkey riding on
the empty saddle, and sped dashingly
down thc streci

"Four piasters, pleassse,” Lovejoy
heard a voice say. He looked around.
mber Zero was standing there, a wor-
ed look on his face, hand outstretched.
Four piasters, pleasssc," Number Zero
repeated.

For what?" Lovejoy asked.

For the photograph of the dai
lonius brothers, pleassse.”
Zero had а liquid Balkan accent and а
harrowed Вай face, full of the sor-
rows of a land that had known only
wars, famines and disloyal kings for
1500 years.

“I don't want a photograph of the
Calonius brothers.” Lovejoy said, trying
10 hand the postcard. back.

“Impossible, pleassse.” A further shade
of sorrow fitted across Number Zero's
face, like the flicker of a 's wing, and
he put his hands behind his back so that
lent could Lovejoy place the
ph in his hand. “Once accepted

B
Number

—finished. Four piasters, pleassse . .
His face was stubborn, despairing, dark,
under the shining bald scalp

Lovejoy took out four plasters and
paid him and put the photograph neatly
n his wallet, as Number Zero went on
to the next customer. There was a slight
argument, Lovejoy noticed, but Number
Zero got his four piasters there, too. But
across the square, at the café tables, a
sulky and violent look was coming over
certain powerfully built possesors of
photographs of the Calonius brothers
and Lovejoy moved on down the street.
not wishing to become embroiled in
what he recognized as an inevitable
clash between East and West, with the
West heavily outgunned.

The three bicycles were leaning
against a table and the two Calonius
brothers were seated, sull sweating.

Roland was booming.
"ar once more, I break

"you step on my
your ankle."

"Hazards of the trade," S
shouted angrily.

“Don't give me hazards of the trade!”
Roland leaned across and stared bitterly
imo his brother's eyes. “Watch where
you put your goddamn feet!" The mon-
key pulled at his leg and Roland tilted
his glass over and drenched it with beer.
The monkey scrambled miserably back
to the bicycle saddle, and both brothers
roared good-humoredly and ordered
more beer.

“Pardon me, gentlemen .
began.

“If you're an American,” 95 said, ^
dow!

“Tm an American.”
it down!” 95 waved for more beer.
"That's what 1 thought when I saw you.
Je hard to tell, upside
He Jaughed heartily and nudged
Lovejoy as though he had told a dirty
joke.

“What do you th
manded 96.
"Extremely . . 2
"Never was a wheel act like it," 96
said. "We absolutely defy the laws of
22. Where's that beer?" he bawled in
French at the small, dark waiter, who
n off hurriedly.

"Nice little town you got here,” 95
said. “What's the name of it aga
“Aleppo,” Lovejoy said.

leppo." 96 said. “Is that much out
of our way?"

"Where're you going?" Lovejoy asked

"China," both Calonius brothers an
swered. “Wheres that beer? Thei
voices clanged along the tables and
through the café and all the waiters
moved faster than they had moved in 15
years.

Well . Lovejoy began

My names Saint Clair," 95

"Saint Clair Calonius. This is Ro
(continued on page 174)

int Clair

. 4" Lovejoy

of our ас?” de-

“I understand you've been a bad little girl... !”

117

PHOTOGRAPHY BY J. BARRY O'ROURKE AND LARRY GORDON

While his catered dinner is in full swing—as the meat, fowl and seafood buffets are eagerly sampled—the host relaxes with guests.

food & drink By THOMAS MARIO

SHEER NUMBERS aren't in themselves a guarantee
that a party will be a howling hit. But for mou
ing a yearend saturnalia, a crowd of upwards of
a dozen or more well-matched pairs is just about
big enough to be unbridled in a civilized way.
However, it should be kept in mind by the host
who wants to have as good a time as his guests
that there's a certain point beyond which party
planning should be turned over to the pros. The
caveat is a very simple one: If the party’s guest
list goes above a score of people, call a caterer.
егег» are masters of movable feasts, Ап ex-
perienced caterer is always happy to listen to the
most inquisitorial host, confer with him, guide
him and even on rare occasions yield to him, pro.
vided the host accepts the caterer's guiding philos-
ophy which, stated briefly, is: Don't do it yourself.

Holiday catering has gone through a predicta-
ble evolution. The formal dinner is now as ex-
tinct as the velvet tablecloth covered wich ostrich
feathers. One of the nicest things you can say
about any holiday party is that it turned out to
be a ball. But the planned ball in which nymphs’
skirts always got caught in pashas’ swords is, for
all practical purposes, also extinct. There are still
overpoweringly opulent parties, although they're
increasingly rare, like the Phipps Long Island de-
hut last year which featured 19,000 flowers stuck
into chicken wire that was run in gracious curves
all over the place, and buffet tents whose silk lin-
ing a neat 55000 for the single fete. At
the opposite pole in styling was the Reiuman par-
ty in Cleveland which followed the in Val-
ley Kennel Show. Here guests were served from
sleek robot vending machines which supplied, au
the mere touch of a button, dry martinis, cold
brook trout with pink mayonnaise, Chablis
Grand Cru '61 and (continued on page 136)

THE CATERED
CHRISTMAS
AFFAIR

a don't-do-it-yourself guide to being
a guest at your own holiday fete

тей and white wine for any buffet . .
=<

seafood platter of lobster and crab...

caviar surrounded by black olives

asparagus

cheese and fruit for dessert.

FM INVOLVED IN something rather dangerous; 1 think its always
dangerous for a writer to talk about his work. I don't mean to be
h about his work
nd—be

coy or modest; | simply mean that there is so m
that he doesn’t really understand and can't unde
comes out of certain depths concerning which, no matter what we
think we know these days, we know very, very little. It comes out of
the same depths that love comes or murder or disaster. It comes out
of things which are almost impossible to articulate. That's the
writer's effort, Every writer knows that he may work 24 hours a day,
and for several years; without that he wouldn't be a writer; but
without something that happens out of that elfort, some freedom
which arrives from way down in the depths, something which
touches the page and brings the scene alive, he wouldn't be a writer
It’s dangerous in another way to talk about my work, because I'm
a novelist and as I'm writing this I'm publicly involved in a Broad
way play, and the record of novelists who have managed to write
plays is so extremely discouraging that I won't even go into it. But for
some reason I know I had w do the play. I have written one play
before, I have had to re-examine that experience lately because it
arned out to be important in a way that I didn't re the time
1 wrote the play after I finished my first novel, when 1 knew I had to
write something, but I knew I couldn't write another novel right
away. I thought I would try a play. It took about three years to do
and we produced it at Howard University. 1 was very casual about it.
1 went down to Howard about a week before we were supposed to
open, saw the play, and almost died. It was the first time 1 realized
that speeches don’t necessarily work in the theater. I was suddenly
bombarded with my own literature, an unbearable experience. I
had to begin cutting because I realized that the actors could do
many things in silence or could make one word, one gesture, count
more than two or three pages of talk. I began to suspect. and this is
what I'm struggling with now, that the two disciplines—the disci
pline of writing a novel and the discipline of writing a play—are
so extremely different that it would have been luckier for me,
terms of the play, if 1 had been a violinist or a guitar player or a
rock"n'roll singer or a plumber. My chances of writing a play
would have been better if I had been in any of those professions.
Here's what I’m trying to get at when 1 refer to the two dis
ciplines. Every artist is involved with one single effort, really, which
is somehow to dig down to where reality is. We live, especially in
this age and in this country and at this time, in a civilization which
supposes that reality is something you can touch, that reality is
tangible. The aspirations of the American people, as far
can read the current evidence, depend very heavily on thi
tangible, pragmatic point of view. But every artist and, in fact, every
ige or speech can go,

usc it

s one

concrete,

person knows, deeper than conscious knowl
that beyond every reality there is another one which controls it.
Behind my writing table, which is a tangible thing, there is a
passion which created the table. Behind the electric light you might
be reading by now, there was the passion of a man who once stole
the fire in order to bring us this light. The things that people really
do and really mean and really fcel ате almost impossible for them to
describe, but these are the very things which are most important
about them: These things control them and (continued on page 168)

WORDS OF A NATIVE SON

soliloquy By JAMES BALDWIN

the eminent author discourses on his writing, his

тт Jouth and the universality of the race problem

122

STANLEY B. MANLEY ASSOCIATES, INC.
Representing All the Arts—Since 19611
Midtown Towers Bldg. New York, N.Y. 10019

Mr. Charles Dickens
48 Doughty Sucet
London, England

Dear Mr. Dickens:

Sometime last winter I happened to catch a per-
formance of the Broadway musical Oliver!, which I
have just this week learned was initially bascd on a
property of yours called Oliver Twist. First off,

I would like to say how immensely I en-
joyed the show from start to finish. The
music was catchy and tuneful, and
the production was at all times
first clas, though I couldn't
help feeling that the producers
might have gotten a lot more
mileage promotionwise if
they had capitalized on
recent American dance
trends and called the
show by the second

half of your original

title, which, as you may
recall, was Twist!

But second-guessing
a winner is of no
profit to either of us. NN
The point is to make | AS
sure that your future
representation in the
United States will be
of such a caliber that
these things will be
thought of to begin with.
Which brings me to my
main reason for writing to
you at this time.

A few nights ago I came
across another property of
yours called 4 Christmas Carol.
Having nothing to do for an hour
or so, 1 started to read it and got so
when 1
came to the Tiny Tim bit 1 honestly
cried. Ordinarily, I wouldn't admit such a
thing to anybody, but I feel I must.
n in this case so you will appr
this property has affected me. It is exactly the type of
warm human story that 1 would welcome the oppor-
y to handle. In this regard, I would be interested
wing if you have ever considered making it into
al along the lines of Oliver! I should think it
would not be too difficult for you 10 do so, if we could
arrange to have Dave Merrick or somebody take an
option and supply a couple of good top-drawer music
and lyric writers to fly over there and develop it with
you. I have even thought of a working title which 1
hope you will like: Tim!

Without wishing to presume anything at this point
1 should also tell you that I have made a few in-
quiries, and was surprised to learn that you are not
being currently represented by anybody here in the
States. With the idea of furthering your career to the
best possible advantage, I am therefore privileged to
offer my personal services, as well as those of my
office and associates. In fact, I have already discussed
A Christmas Carol with the young lady who handles
our literary 1 to sec if the story couldn't be
booked as a Christmas special in one of our large
American magazines. She seems to be under the impres-
sion that the theme is too well known to arouse
much interest, but my feeling is that there is
nothing like a familiar theme when it
comes to winning audience acceptance.
Tam therefore having fresh copies of
your story typed up at my own ex-
pense, so 1 can personally sub-
mit this property to some of
our leading magazines and
see if we сап pet any nib-
bles on which to proceed
further.

In closing let me say
that I hope these plans
will meet with your ap-

and that 1 will

very near future. In
case yon are wonder-
ing where 1 got your
address, I should ex-
plain that my secretary
found it in ıhe Brit-
ish encyclopedia. They
really must love you
over there. Most writers
I know are having a hard
time keeping their names
the phone book!
Cordially yours,
Stanley B. Manley, President

E
musical production, 1 will first of
all send it to The New Yorker, which
originally published the Gene Kelly stories
about Pal Joey, and carries tremendous weight
prestigewise with New York theatergocrs.

THE NEW YORKER
25 West 43rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10036

Mr. Stanley B. Manley
Stanley B. Manley Associ
Midtown Towers Bldg.
New York, N.Y. 10019

tes, Inc.

Dear Mr. Manley:
Thank you for letting us see the enclosed story, A
Christmas Carol, by Dickens Charles. It may interest

CHRISTMAS
CAROL
CAPER

humor
By
WILLIAM
IVERSEN

what would happen if scrooge, bob cratchit, tiny tim & co. were peddled in today’s magazine market place?

с author to know that we were not totally unap-
preciative of its many revealing insights into the
reer dilemmas of the lower management man, Bob
па found much to admire in his deft
Scrooge. the enlightened
conservative. Regrettably, however, many
of us felt that Marlcys Ghost never did quite ma-
terialize а threedimensional character, and the
story failed to gencrate the sort of enthusiasm which
would justify our devoting an entire issue 10 its
publicati
It is truc that we do, on occasion, allow a story to
begin mediately after "Ihe Talk of the Town,"
and wend its way to the back of the book, where it
will trickle out, quietly and ambiguously, among the
oneineh restaurant ads. Our willingness to suspend
ordinary space limitations has been admirably
evidenced, we think, in the case of such dis-
tinguished fiction pieces as Raise High
the Roof Beam, Seymour, and the
never-to-be-forgouten Carpenters
an Introduction. But, unfortu-
nately, we must recognize that
Dickens Charles is no J. D. Sal-
inger. Nor сап he seriously
cl ао be John O'Hara,
John Cheever, John Updike,
Peter De Vries, Shirley Ann
Grau, Santha Rama Rau or
Maeve Brennan,
The fault, we suspect, lies

in Mr. Charles’ self-imposed humor
commutment to the most obvi- By
thestricalism, | combined.

a almost embarrassing
erness to entertain and inform
his readers. In time, perhaps, he
will develop the kind of feeling for
life's elusive litle nonhappenings,
and the sure but quiet grasp of muted
detail, chat will gain him acceptance with
our editors. It is my personal feeling that
he would do well to begin by avoiding the use
of such absurdly overdrawn names as Scrooge, Fezzi-
wig and Cratchit.

Condescendingly yours,
Meriwether Proudfoot
Editor's Editor

NLEY В. MANLEY ASSOCIATES, INC.
Representing All the Arts—Since 1961!
Midtown Towers Bldg. New York, N.Y. 10019

Mv. Charles Dickens
18 Doughty Street
London, England

Dear Mr, Dicke:
The attached is a Fotofax copy of a letter from
The New Yorker concerning your story A Christmas
Carol, If it isn't exactly а rave, they at least recognize
that yon have a great theatrical potential, which I
sincerely hope to exploit in every possible way.

THE
CHRISTMAS
CAROL
CAPER

WILLIAM
IVERSEN

Don't worry that they got your first and last names
reversed. This was the fault of my secretary who
copied them off the card in my alphabetical client file
which lists the last names first. The error has been cor-
rected, and I am sending the script to Good House-
keeping. This is an extremely fine magazine which
caters to the kind of warm homebody суре who can
perhaps appreciate a human story of this kind.
till hoping to hear from you regarding your con
ued representation by this office, 1 remain,

Your friend,
Stanley B. Manley, President
Stanley B. Manley Associates, Inc.

GOOD HOUSEKEEPING
57th Street & Eighth Avenue
New York, N. Y. 10019

Mr. Stanley В. Manley
Stanley B. Manley Associates, Inc.
Midtown Towers Bldg.
ew York, N. Y. 10019

Dear Mr. Manley:

We are sorry to be return-
ing the enclosed manuscript.
of A Christmas Carol, by
Charles Dickens. Though the
story is, at times, quite mov-
ing. and points a meaningful
a
lear, a bit too male-oriented

for our femi
is not that we object to ma
oriented stories as such, any more
Шап we object to ghost stories
or Christmas stories. But the com-
bination of a male-oriented Christ-
mas ghost story would be likely to
alienate more readers than it could ever
hope to please.
It has been our experience that women
prefer stories with wh identify personally
—but never in such a way liten or depress.
If we were to publish a ghost story, the ghost would
to be of the harmless pixy sort, whose mischievous
ks would serve to bring about some change in die
story's characters, and help them to lead happier, more
secure lives. In our w, however, it would be im-
possible for an host to cope with the
appalling immaturity of Mr. Dickens’ male characters.
Scrooge, the typically selfish old bachelor, suffers a
change of heart toward Chrisumas that renders hi
all die more incapable of accepting the mature т
don't know how long I've
he boasts. "E don't know
anything. I'm quite a baby. Never mind. 1 don't care.
Fd rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop! Hallo here!”
Reading this, even the least perceptive of womi
realize that Ebenezer Scrooge does not w.
He wants a mother!
Even more exasperating is the frighteningly juvenile

п must.
it a wile.

125

behavior of Bob Cratchit. Surely you
must agree that any responsible husband

nd father in the 15-shilling.a-week
bracket might find something better to
do than go sliding on the ice “at the end
of a lane of boys, 20 times, in honor of its
being Christmas Eve.” and then go rac-
ing “home to Camden Town as hard as
he could pel, t0 play at blindman's
buff’!

On the plus side, we might say that
Mr. Dickens’ idea of serving goose, in-
stead of the usual Christmas turkey,
strikes us as truly inspired. “There nev-
er was such a goose . . .” he writes, іп
the sort of mouth-watering prose that
calls for a two-page color spread. “Its
tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness,
were the themes of universal admira-
tion.” For us, the whole story came alive
at this point, and we could only regret
that Mr. Dickens had not seen fit to ex-
pand this theme into an article for
“A Christmas Goose for All the Family!”

Of the younger Cratchits, we liked
Tiny Tim best, and were quite moved by
his earnest piping of “God bles us every
one!" Until, that is, one of our editor
readers pointed out that Tiny Tim's
blessing is giv the form of an after-
dinner toast, when the family is seated
about the fireplace drinking some species
of “hot stuff from the jug.” Checking
back a few pages, we then noted that
Bob Cratchit had compounded this mix-
with gin and lemons,
эшасй it sound amd sound and put it
on the hob to simmer." This, of course,
put Tiny Tim's blessing in a new and
rather unwholesome light. Quite ob-
viously the child had been drinking, and
the story's basic message was completely
negated by ıhe fact that it had been
prompted not by the Christmas spirit
alone, but by one or more tumblerfuls
of Bob Cratchit’s boiled martinis!

Regretfully,

Gladys Guernsey
Associate Assistant to
Fern O'Hare Coombs

PLAYBOY

STANLEY B. MANLEY
ASSOCIATES, INC.

ng All the Arıs—Since 19611

Midtown Towers Bldg.

New York, N. Y. 10019

Represe

Mr. Charles Dickens
48 Doughty Street
London, England

Dea аг Charles:

You can't win
* And the attached letter from
Good Housckecping just goes to prove it.

Never once did it ever occur to me
that this was a story about cooking.
rhaps the “goose” line might be good
jon, but I
has been
126 done many times in the past, and your

is strong enough to get by without
having to rely on blue material.

ince the story seems to be male
it on True
nd PLAYBO ntime, don't
be discouraged. I still have tremendous
faith in this property!

ley B. Manley, President
Stanley B. Manley Associates, Inc.

TRUE
67 West 44th Street
New York, N. Y. 10036

Mr. Stanley B. Manley
Stanley B. Manley Associates, Inc.
Midtown Towers Bldg.
New York, N. Y. 10019

Dear Мате

Christmas or no Christmas, the Dick
ens piece just doesn't have the husky all-
male clout that this man's magazine is
looking for.

As all you agents should know by now,
True has built its rep оп good gutsy
action pieces and hard-hitting exposés
with a strong male slant and strong male
ters. Everything in True is true,
se True is published for true male
guys who have no time for hokum and
malarkey. True rcaders like straight true
talk and clear true writing. Dickens
writes with a forked quill Hi is
pantywaist, and his story wouldn't stand
up under the ques g of a rookie
cop.

Where are his facts on this alleged
ghost business?

Who saw these apparitions besides old
man Scrooge?

Lets have some specific

es. Names.

Who killed Jake Marley, anyway? Isn't
it possible that old man Scrooge slipped
a shiv into Marley in order to get sole
control of the company?

Another thing. Who is the ordinary
active male guy supposed to identify
with in this thing? A half-baked old
murder suspect who's ready for Medi
care? A le Jame kid who has never
heard the thunder of an ice pack break-
ing up under him, or squinted down a
bluesteel gun barrel at а rogue elephant
in rut?

Dickens doesn’t expect the average
true male guy to feel buddy-buddy with
Bob Cratchit, does he? If so, he’s got
some mighty great expectations which
he'd better shed, pronto. For our dough,
Cratchit is a henpecked choke-up who's
i| to even ask the boss for a raise.
‘The sort of chump who sits home feed-
ing the guppies when the marlin are
ng and the tuna are hitting the
hooks in sixes. Color him yellow, and
lers call this thing by its true name:
The Pipsqueak Papers.

If Dickens would like to make it into

this man’s magazine, he might try giving
us the real true story behind a scene he
now kisses off in passing: “Built upon a
dismal reef of sunken rocks, some league
or so from shore, on which the waters
chafed and dashed, the wild year
through, there stood a solitary light-
house...

“But even here, two men who watched
the light had made a fire, that through
the loophole in the thick stone wall shed
ош а ray of brightness on the awful
sca. Joining their horny over the
rough table at which they sat, they

ished each other Merry Christmas. in
their can of grog: and one of them—
the elder, too, with his face all damaged
and scarred with hard weather, as the
figurehead of an old ship might be—
struck up a sturdy song that was like a
gale in itself.”

This is one of the few spots where
Chuck doesn't sound as though he's com-
posing thank-you notes with a large pink
plume. For a change, he's writing man-
style, a real ball pen. Though we

offer him an assignment on this,
night come up with a real solid True

fils en
Bash in degrees cant ) Has
there been a wreck on those rocks lately?
Who are these hornyhanded men? How
did they come to fall in the can of grog?
Are they swimming, or just treading
? How did they dispose of the lig!
[ies bodye Why did they kill
him, in the first place?

In answering these questions,
shouldn't feel that he has to pul
ment worki
since True is edited for true
guys—some of whom are pretty slow
readers. In some cases. our December
issue might not get read until the fol.
lowing fall, when we true active male
guys go out in the bush for bear. The

TSE A ат
talks or thinks much about anything. We

just sit out there in the bush with our
bear guns loaded . . .
-. reading True.
Yours Truely,
I. Hardy Strong
National Open Champion Editor

smelling grizzly

PLAYBOY
232 east ohio, chicago, illinois 60611

ley Associates, Inc.
town Towers Bldg.
New York, М.Ү. 10019

Dear Stan:
We have read Charles Dickens 4
Christmas Carol with considerable savvy,
(continued on page 134)

BAKER IN THE BOUDOIR

~+ hollywood's hottest sexpot poses at her intimate ease for an exclusive playboy pictorial 0&3-

Carroll Baker on nudity: “I see nothing extraordinary about removing my clothes for the cameras.”

lamboyant film impresario Joe Levine i
rabbing Carroll Baker was perfect for the part of the Harlowesque Rina in his movie version of Harold
Robbins’ passionate potboiler The Carpetbaggers. Its staggering box-o! ceipts are a tribute to Levine’s
acumen and the somewhat more elusive qualities that have made Miss Baker first in the running for the title
of U.S. sexpot queen. Neither the most amply endowed physically nor the most gifted dramatically of the
current crop of distaff film stars, Carroll is nevertheless being touted Бу moviedom's drumbeaters as the
American girl most likely to succeed Marilyn Monroe z mbol supreme. It is a role in which
she has been inextricably entwined since she played the pre-Lolifa nymphet in Elia Kazan's lensing of
Tennessee Williams’ Baby Doll. It won her an Oscar nomination and a sudden, unexpected reputation as a
living synonym for sensuality. / і 1 j ۴ е bought back her Warner
Brothers contract when the studio kept coming up with facsimile Baby Doll roles. It wasn’t till four years

Practicing what she preaches, Carroll poses fetchingly unfettered for this special PLAYBOY pictorial.

after playing the thumb-sucking seductress that she accepted the facts of filmic life, did an abrupt about-face
and became a studio publicityman’s dream. Her dress, or lack of it—on and off screen —has turned the
onetime Actors Studio hopeful into a “hot property.” In her recently released Station Six—Sahara, Carroll is
once more the sensuous child of nature I ng out the animal in her male co-stars. Upcoming is Sylvia,
in which she plays a well-to-do authoress who has made her way in the world asa prostitute. When showman
Levine staged a gala wingding at the Beverly Hills Hotel to reveal his plans with Paramount for the filming
of Irving Shulman’s Confidential-styled biography, Harlow, he coupled it with an announcement that Carroll
Baker had been cast in the title role. Miss Baker, true to her current fashion, was chauffeured on stage at
the luncheon in a block-long 1932 Isotta Fraschini limousine and emerged from its luxurious depths clad in
a skintight, plunged-to-the-navel satin gown modeled after onc of Harlow's, her eyebrows penciled à la
Harlow's, and wearing under her gown exactly what had been under Harlow's—a sunny dispos

PHOTOGRAPHED EXCLUSIVELY
FOR PLAYBOY BY FRANK BEZ

Barely bedded doum,
Carroll cavorts for the
camera, happily aware

of her billing as a

movie star sextraordinaire.
With “The Carpetbaggers”
breaking box-office

records, and sexy screen
roles in “Sylvia” and
“Harlow” upcoming, Carroll's
cinematic aura of sensuality

is burning bright.

131

Baker on society: “All our barriers are breaking down . . . Ihe world is preoccupied with sex
and I guess Рт a part of my lime . . . I don’t understand people who object to screen realism?

PLAYBOY

134

CHRISTMAS CAPER

not to say savoir-faire. To set the scene
for a leisurely and insightful appraisal
which would give Dickens his due, we
decked our posh editorial pad with
holly and Myrile, hung Myrıle's nylons
by the chimney with care, and flicked
the stereo switch for Cannonball Adder-
leys dulcet discing of Handel's Ghrist-
mas Cantata. With a golden puddle of
Courvoisier sloshing around in a crystal
brandy snifter, our cuffless trousers break-
ing deanly at our shoe tops, and our
jacket sleeves tailored to show precisely
one half inch of shirt cuff, we зешей
down in the urbane anticipation of
digging a new master of the merry ma
cabre who might rank with such hip
PLAYBOY practitioners of haut horrific
tion as Gerald Kersh, Charles Beaumont,
and those ofttimes sinister Rays—Brad-
bury and Russell.

Truth to tell, though, Stan, Charles D.
and his performing spooks just didn’t
swing for us, Marleys Ghost, with its
clanking chain of cashboxes, came across
like the Spirit of Friendly Finance, and
rkle-eyed, cheery-voiced Ghost of
mas Present whose “capacious
breast was bare, as if disdaining to be
warded or concealed,” reminded us of
nothing so much as a photo session with
shy Jayne Mansfield. In a word, Charlie's
specious specters were about as frighten-
ing as a bedshect оп a broom, and we
wound up ouija-bored.

Distegarding the spook-opera format,
which could be traded off for two blue
immies and half a box of Good &
Plenty, we must still fault Dickens for
failing to provide a leading male char-
acter with whom a knowledgeable, up-
beat chap like us could feel any real
rapport. Bob Cratchit, alas. is a dreary
Dagwood type who is so hopelessly un
formed that he serves gin toddy in с

admittedly, an alert urban
a wifle young, and the much-
touted crutch bit soon becomes a

пісар, we can't see why the dickens
lie couldn't have spared us the sym-
pathy sticks, and fixed it so the lad
could buzz around in a little Austin-
keeping with
cu, perhaps—two

Lambrettas.

If Charlie would like to take a crack
at pulling this one out of the pool, he

i oot all the way and lose
a lot of the greasy kid stuft by making
Scrooge a younger man. Personally, we
rather liked the old boy, and couldn't
help fecling that, with a litle help from
The Playboy Advisor, Ebenczer could
really swing.

Should Dickens decide to try for a
straight flush, with Scrooge as his top
card, we would be pleased to consider
the result, but would strongly urge that

(continued from page 126)

he discard or clarily several passages
which American readers are apt to mis-
construe. Such as, for example, when old
Mr. Fezziwig is described as having
"laughed all over himself, from his shoes
to his organ of benevolence,” and when
Dickens gocs on and on about Scrooge's
ing Marleys face in the "knocker."

We know he's referring to a door knock-
m. but a confusion of multiple
ngs needlessly beclouds the para-
graph where Ebenezer looks behi

mea
d the
door and secs nothing "except the screws
and nuts that held the knocker on, so
"Pooh, pooh!” and closed it with

We were also given pause by the
revelation that the reformed Scrooge
ad no further intercourse with Spirits”
(a possibility which had hitherto never
even occurred to us), and were further
nonpluscd when Ebenezer made the
party scene at his nephew's pad and
found “His niece looked just the same.
So did Topper when he came. So did the
plump sister when she came, So did
everyone when they came. Wonderful
party, wonderful games, wonderful
unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!”

If Dickens r mns that it was
thar kind of a dolce wingding, we'll de-
fend his ri; һе means
10 convey the idea that these people
merely arrived at the party, he ought
w undouble hiis cntendrest

Impeccably yours,
Innes Canby
Best-Dressed Editor of the Month

MEMO—
m the desk of Stanley B. Manley!

Dear CI
but Fm te
1 was out three days with a heart mu
mur and when your script came back
from pLaysoy she took it upon herself
to send it to True Story because her
mother reads i

t be downhearted because of these
les always darkest
before a storm! As always,

les; Pardon the informal note,
porarily between secretari

Stanley
P. S. The first three letters I wrote you
were returned marked UNKNOWN, so you

better check and sce that your name is
on the mailbox.
TRUE STORY

205 East 42nd Street
New York, N. Y. 10017

nley B. Marley
ley B. Marley Associates, Inc.
Midtown Towers Bldg.
New York, N. Y. 10019

Dear Mr. Marley:
1 have just read

ares Dickerson's

beautiful and touching story, 4 Christ
mas Carol, and hope you will tal the
author how enthusiastic I am about his
work. He certainly can write!

As far as this particular story is con-
cerned, however, I feel that a few ıninor
changes would be advisable before 1
recommend it to our Senior Associate
Chief Editor, Dolores Weed

То begin with, all True Story stories

must be written in the first person, and
preferably from the woman's point of
view. But I shouldn't think that a writer

of Mr. Dickerson's talent would find it
very difficult to simply start at page one
and rewrite the story as it might be told
in Mrs. Cratchit's own words. The only
drawback here is that Mrs. Cratchi
seems so pathetically unaware of her
many problems and the agonizing trag-
edy of her life. This would have to be
corrected, of course, and Mr. Dickerson
might begin by stating the main problem
in his title. For example, if he decides to
play up Tiny Tim's disability, he might
very well begin with a good forceful eye-
grabber, such as “My Child Was Born
!" or “How Can I Tell My
Son?—HE Is INCAPABLE OF MARRIAGE!” If
the latter title is used, I think it would
be wise to make Tim a hopeless para-
lytic, since he now seems to get around
pretty well on his “active little crutch,”
and could probably adjust to the physical
side of marriage without much difficulty

My own feeling is that Mr. Dickerson,
would do bcuci tu stick to the more
usual lovechild theme. This could be
worked out quite easily by making Tiny
Tim the result of Mis. Cratchit's one big
extramarital "mistake"—a source of end-
less remorse and guilt for which she has
been amply repaid by the tragic fact that
her love child, Tim, was born crippled
during a most painful breech delivery.
In order to justify her infidelity to Bob,

it would be only natural, I think, to
make h

т the unwilling sex target of her
nd’s lecherous employer, old Mr.

(r sINNED—to Save Му Hus
d's Career!” or, perhaps, "How Ca
1 Tell My Husband? AM тик MOTHER
OF HIS Bosy son!”)

This, of course, would provide a much
stronger motivation for Mrs. Cratchit’s
refusal to drink the Christmas toast
which Bob proposes to the health of his
sexcrarcd employer. ("1 Love мү mus.
BAND BU Hate His Boss!”) Since Mrs.
Cratchit and all the children do even-
tually drink the toast, and continue 10
drink all during the family festivities, 1
cannot help hoping, moreover, that Mr.
Dickerson will see the wonderful op.
portunity he has to give us a truly dif
ferent kind of Christmas story based on
the problem of group alcoholism. (“Even
Santa Won't Come to Our House—My
WHOLE FAMILY DRINKS!”)

Whichever approach Mr. Dickerson
chooses, I'm sure he will not overlook
(continued on page 252)

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“Kind of

PLAYBOY

136

CATERED CHRISTMAS

strawberry pots de creme.

In the recent history of holiday parties
Шеге was an era in which everybody
stood up. To sit down and eat or drink
pegged you as amediluvian. After a
while the inevitable counterrevolution
set in. Practically all at-home parties 10-
day are a conl m of the stand-up
and sitdown techniques. Guests help
themselves and arc helped at bountifully
stocked buffet tables. Bar waiters circu-
late among both sitdowners and stand-
ees. The informal wall table and the
light movable chair are indispensable for
easy conversational islets and for keep-
ing hot food and coflee on an even keel.

Menus, too, have matured along with
the more relaxed party mood. The
whole capon can still be seen resting on
its pedestal, glazed with chaud-froid and
honored with truffles, but alongside it
are countless slices of the same family of
tender capons on slices of crisp French
bread, Cold roast suckling pig is the
same crackling brown it was in the Gay
Nineties, but it is now carved so that por-
tions of it can be picked up and eaten
with the fingers. Miniature chicken drum-
sticks are maneuvered with the aid of
paper chop holders. Open and closed
sandwiches, formerly the ensigns of aft-
ernoon tea parties, have been completely
rehabilitated h sliced rare beef ten-
derloin, baked Smithfield ham and
smoked turkey that are less pretentious
but infinitely more satisfying than their
soft forebears.

Hosts in search of caterers are usually
guided by the oldest and most dependa-
ble of media—word of mouth. Some ca-
terers are justly renowned for their pasta
dishes. Others are luau specialists, There
are hors d'oeuvres monarchs and canapé
czars. Don't hesitate to ask a caterer
which dish he considers his finest opus.
Ask him, if possible, for samples. Many
rers have stashed away in their refrig-
mors or freezers specialties like beef
Suoganoff. Caterers are usually more
than pleased to display their china, sil-
verware, linen, chafing dishes and other
components of their mise en scéne. Nat-
urally, no caterer will be able to snap his
fingers and produce an instant 12-pound
cold stuffed Jobster in aspic while you're
his reception room. But many
of them keep on file a gallery of colored
photos and slides of their decorative
culinary art.

Prices for catered affair l, of
course, depend on your locale and your
caterer; but one can figure on a mi
mum charge of about $8 per person f
a simple dinner (including drinks and
hors d'oeuvres) on up to 516 per person
for the caviar route. In terms of time,
temper and money saved by not having
to make all of the arrangements yourself,
it is a sound investment.

If its your first adventure in large-

(continued from page 119)

scale regalement, you'll want the caterer's
counsel оп how many celebrants your
aparunent or town house сап com-
fortably hold for party purposes. To est
mate how large the party roster should
be, caterers will often send an advance
scouting party to survey your pleasure
palace. Generally a room that can accom-
modate 50 people comfortably at a pre-
dinner cocktail party will have a capacity
of about 25 for dining, drinking and
dancing. In estimating the possible num-
ber of merrymakers for a sit-down affair,
allow two linear fect of table space per
person. In warm climates, terraces are
often put to use. An adjoining study can
sometimes be opened as an extension of
the main party room, but the best parties
are those that are nor fragmented too
noticeably. Caterers will always advise
you, whenever there's Lucullan feasting
or dancing, to plan on rolling up the
rugs moving objets d'art out of th
ie of fire and puting the great
Dane temporarily in exile and on leash.
Folding banquet tables for the buffet as
well as dining tables and chairs are part
of the caterer’s equipment. When the par-
уз over, he'll restore every last heirloom
10 its original spot.

There are, of course, all kinds of food
shops with mountains of factory-frozen
canapés, meats cooked and carved by au.
tomation and stereotyped salads that
you can order by phone for immed
delivery. But the fine master caterers are
a different breed and a limited oligarchy.
During the holidays their calendars
are particularly crowded. You should
therefore shop early or resign yourself to
doing more of the work than you'd like.
In most big cities there are agencies ready
to supply bartenders and waiters for pri-
vate blowouts. If your party happens to
be comparatively small, and you're lim-
; your menu to cocktails and one
superb hot dish—a curry of crab meat,
for instance, which comes from your club

butler, dispense the drinks from your
own bar and the food from your ow
chafing dish.

Before a caterer talks about food, he'll
1 10 know what type of party you're
ng, since the menu, drinks and table
rangement will depend upon the type
of wassailing you've planned. Cocktail
parties need a certain food and drink
ambiance, cocktails with dinner another
holiday suppers still another. A good ca-
terer will know that the clear turtle soup
which way perfect at midnight should
yield to a bubbling hot onion soup when
the first cold rays of the sun appear at

break. Though a caterer is basically а

тезі; ant, his
are more re-
ginative than thei

restaurateur without a
chefs, barmen and wait
sourceful and i

counterparts in restaurants, because
their experience in dealing with a variety
of hosts and hostesses in every possible
stamping ground has made them so.

Outstanding caterers not only are spe-
cialists in dealing with contingencies,
but seem to welcome the challenge. In
the early part of the century, the cater-
ng firm of Louis Sherry on Fifth Av-
enue didn't blink an eye when the elder
J. Р. Morgan asked for a catered party to
be served in a special mansion rented for
a conference іп San Francisco. Sherry’s
chefs, bartenders and waiters in a solid
phalanx, together with their accouter
ments of chefs knives, copper pans,
casseroles, linen, silver and glassware, е
trained for the West Coast precisely one
month before the festivities occurred.
Today, if you're celebrating in a ski
chalet, there are caterers who will trans:
port, if need be, an electric generator and
a portable water tank. If the room you've
set aside for guests’ coats is apt to be filled
with ermine and mink, they're prepared
as а routine matter to provide a private
detective for custodial service. If you
happen to have inherited from a dowager
aunt enormous silver candelab:
antebellum style, they'll take it to
silversmith who will remove the tarnish
from every last whirlycue and return it
terers have deli
г to parties on other con
ms. They've airexpressed blue point
oysters from the Auantic to the Pa
and Olympia oysters from the Pa
the Atlantic.

The only assignment some caterers
turn over to the host is the buying of
liquor. Local beverage laws sometimes
don't allow the caterer to furnish the liq
uid life force of the party. If this is the
case, it means turning up trumps for
your bank balance, since the boule or
case price of liquors bought at package
stores is a modest fraction of the stand-
d bar charges. And if your package
store's manager is any sort of a reasona
ble chap, he will give you credit for any
unopened bottles you return after the
ball is over. As part of the caterer's en-
tente cordiale, heil advise you how
much liquor to buy and his enlighten
ment is infinitely more valuable ih
that of your friendly neighborhood bai
tender. In estimating quantities of hard
liquor, you shor
ounces per drink; a fifth of liquor will
furnish 13 drinks, a quart, 16, For the
usual dr arnival, you should be
prepared to serve three t0 five drinks per
reveler.

The caterer, of course, will supply
the bannan and bar waiters. Barmen
who work the big-party circuit are them-
selves invariably teetotalers on the job
Seldom, il ever, will it be necessary to
post a guard on your liquor stores, or to
tally the drinks on paper and measure
the balance of liquor left in each boule

(concluded on page 264)

THE
FRENCH
MYTH

opinion By JOSEPH WECHSBERG
a disenchanted francophile finds the famed gallic effervescence gone decidedly flat

THE FRENCH MYTH is

France's. great. civili
structible as the beautiful French
landscape, as enticing as the lovely
women of Paris. The myth has been
cherished by generations of tough,
strong Americans who become soft
and sentimental at the mere mentio
of France.

Briefly, the myth goes like this:
France is the country that invented
aning of charm and chic, cl
nd sophistication, the bri

nce of Gallic logic and the

rtuosity of savoirvivre, a land of
noble chätaux and history-steeped
battlefields, of poets and painters,
wines and perfumes, grande cuisine
and haute couture, where lovemak-
ing and enjoyment have become
bstract sciences: а dise where
everybody would like to live if he
didn't live elsewhere.

Like most myths, the French myth
is part truth and part fancy. Age has
mellowed it like a great с
made it part of an i
folklore of the good th :
Jefferson called France everybody's
“second choice.’
traditi
the French (who still remember les
Boches), have a proverb that to live
well is to live “nie Gott in Frank-
reich” like God in France.

The good Lord must have been
in a particularly happy mood when
he created la belle France, a rich,
beautiful, blessed country. It has
conquered all who went there, peace-
Іші travelers and armed wa

cidentals, Puritan Anglo-Saxons and
melancholy Slavs. When I studied in
Paris 38 years ago, the

students from Indochina and Japan,
Eastern Europe and America, from
Аһіса and Tahiti. Some came to
1he Sorbonne for education and oth-
ers went to the Folics-Bergere for а
different sort of enlightenment. In
the gay Nineties Maxim's was the
rendezvous of the cancan crowd,
nd in the really good old (pre—
World War 1) days when people
paid their bills with gold coins and
taxes were a favorite joke, France
was the hub of the civilized world.
Where did Russ nd dukes,

SET
HMAT
HTYM

PAUL DAVIS

h lords, American
go when they were bored and had
money to burn? Ti nes,
Biarritz, Deauville, bien sir. And
when they talked of Ше arts, they
thought less of Renoir and more of
the posters of Toulouse-Lautrec.

"Phe posters may be slightly passé
now, but the wistful image hasn't
changed. Paris is still the great
dream and number-one sightseeing
spot for American schoolteachers,
German Sozialtouristen, and British
bus passengers—the new traveling
classes. People in the far corners of
the world dream of an afternoon at
a French sidewalk café, a meal at
that small bistro. If Toulouse-Lau-
tree were sull with us he would
probably be p: g in St-Tropez
and Megève, but his theme would
be the same, because it is French and
eternal.

But behind the France everybody
knows —cither from personal experi
ence or from the posters of Air
France—the beaches and bikinis,
Bardot and boudoirs, Louvre and
Notre Dame, the cellars of the
Champagne and the sun-drenched
villages of the Beaujolais, Auteuil
and Cannes, Maurice Chevalier and
Yves Montand—behind this France
there is another France which is
less known but just as real. The
France of grimy coalmining towns
in Lorraine, of gray industrial towns
in the north, of silent villages with
empty streets and dark houses whose
ters are down all day long, of
suspicious petty bureaucrats and
dissatisfied people, of people com-
plaining about the high cost of liv-
ing and farmers revolting against
their government. The little people
of France who say “un petit vin,"
“un peut café,” “une petite amie,
It's always un petit this and un pelit
that. Many Frenchmen who travel
and know the world are getting а!
noyed by this petit-bourgeois tend-
сасу toward pelitness,
auon's mentality doesn't
change overnight or even over a
century. For every Frenchman who
is the embodiment of degance and
poise there are ten people who are
narrow-minded and suspicious. As
to the famous Gallic charm, I know
it mostly (continued on page 142)

SAUVE QUI PEUT no man alive can claim that antrobus ever shirked

his duty, although in this case he would rather have been eaten by wolves

ҮЛҮ

EDWARD GOREY

fiction By LAWRENCE DURRELL

WE pues Antrobus, employing the
sobriquet of the diplomatic lower eche.
lons) are brought up to be resourceful, to
play almost any part in life, to be equal
to any emergency almost—how else could
one face all those foreigners? But the
only thing for which we are not pre
pared, old man, is blood.

Blood?

Blood!

Mind you, I am thinking of exception-
al cases, out-of-theway incidents; but
they are not as rare as one might imag:
inc. Old Gulliver, for example, was in.
vited to an execution in Saigon to which
he felt it was his duty to go. It affected

him permanently, it damaged his con-
centration. His head is quite over on
one side, he twitches, his ears move
about. Unlucky man! I cannot claim an
experience as radical as his, but 1 can
speak of one which was almost as bad.

Imagine, one fine day we arc delivered a
perfectly su
on which we read (with ever-widening
eyo) the following text, or something
like it:

nd
эу.

His Excellency Hacsmit Bey
Madame Hacsmit Hacsmit Be
fully invite you to the Joyful
cumcision of their son Hacsmit

Hacsmit Abdul Hacsmit Bey, Morn
ing dress and decorations. Refresh-
ments will be served.

You cin imagine the long slow wail
that went up in chancery when first this
intelligence was brought home (o us
Circumcision! Joyfully! Refresh
"By God, here is a strange lozenge-
shaped айат!” cried De Mandeville,
and he was right.

OF course, the embassy in question
was а young one, the country it repre-
sented still in the grip of mere folklore.

But still I mean . . . The obvious thing
was to plead (concluded on page 196) 339

,'2014D sanau рат. DUDS
‘paq оу od 7,uop am fy |
Aappuaq сар ‘kos (әң)
pua mouy not '244,,

142 war which brought them dcfe

FRENCH um. (continued from page 138)

from books, p the. perform-
ances of French artists, but it is rela-
tively rare among the populace, and I
say this after spending some good years
between the two World Wars in France.
Nowadays visitors will find the famous
charm а very thin veneer that scratches
off easily, even in expensive hotels,
restaurants, stores where you might ex-
pect to see smiling faces. Don't.

The other France is the France of
Flaubert’s novels and Fernandel's. mov-
ies, of gossipy old women dressed in for-
bidding black, of distrustful villagers. Tt
a land of strict morals and ironclad
conventions. Foreigners rarely see this
France though they may drive through
ir. The automobile acts as a powerful
isolating agent. In the other France
there is more gold per capita Шап іп
any other country on earth. Frenchmen
don't trust their governments or their
bankers. They haven't forgotten the Sta-
visky scandal. In a village in Alsace I
once talked to ап old woman whose cit-
izenship was changed five times since
1871 though she had never gone farther
away than ten miles. She'd been, in turn,
French and German and French and
German, and when 1 saw her, she was 85
and French, and she hoped she would
die a Frenchwoman. She had confidence
only in two things—the good French
earth and the good gold coins which she
kept buried in the earth behind her
house. Im sure even Finance Minister
Valéry Giscard d'Estaing couldn't tell
the exact amount of France's “hidden”
gold reserves.

Unlike the United States and Great
Britain, masculine countries represented.
by Uncle Sam and John Bull, la belle
France is an exwemely feminine country
whose symbol is Marianne, who has a
woman's privilege of being capricioi
and unpredictable, exciting and annoy-
ing, and always a little sphinxlike. Mari
anne is a very complex woman, and her
special representative before God and
the world is a very complex man.
Charles de Gaulle represents both the
Elysée, the elegant residence of French
presidents, and the tiny village of Co-
lombey-lesdeux-Eglises, where he lives
in feudal isolation, revered and remote,
chronism that could exist only in
nce, where the future is always mi
gled with the past.

Colombey-lesdeux-Eglises consists of
two pri streets crossing each other
at che typical, acacia shaded French vi
lage square. In front of the village
church stands a small obelisk with the
names of the dead of two wars. That,
100, is typical. In Colombey one out of
every fiftcen inhabitants lost his life in
la Grande Guerre which is, naturally, the
First World War. To the logical French
there was nothing grande about the last

de-

ion y have
only in the past few у merged from
its aftermath—thanks to Colombey's first
аш

The windows of the cheerless, gray
stone houses are closed, but from behind
the dark curtains people peer at yo
The ancien combattants—in every vi
lage the old veterans are а powerful
pressure group—call De Gaulle "mon
général” when they sec him Sunday at

ights, a tiny bistro with bad food, and a
branch of a savings bank that opened
only Sundays from 9 to 11. After Mass
people go to the bank to deposit their
savings. Everybody is very secretive
about his savings but knows exactly how
much the neighbors have. There are the
curê and the postman and the notaire
nd the baker and the épicier who is
proud because Madame la Générale
sometimes comes to order some stuff.
‘The General never descends into the vil-
lage. Even in the dark years when he
the forgotten man of France he would
stay in his big house at the outskirts of
Colombey, brooding and dreaming
about la gloire and la patrie, while
the governments in Paris toppled and
France's prestige declined.

De Gaulle has singlehandedly changed
this picture. France is a great power
again. He gave his countrymen pros.
perity, self-respect, an atomic force-de-
frappe, and he may even give them a
sense of self identification. In France one
always heard that the Algerians were not

French, the Corsicans were not French
("Corsica . . . forms an integral part of
France, ms The World Almanac),

and certainly Ше members of the French
community were not French. The Mar-
seillais are above all Marseillais, the
Lyonese are Lyonese, and do the Pari
sians consider themselves. French? Cer-
ainly not, they are Parisians. Even the
people in the small villages are first of
all citizens of their village, and the fel-
low from the next village doesn't be-
long; he certainly isn't “a Frenchman
In Switzerland I once heard the story
of the people of Ernen, an old village in
the Valée de Conches, who refused to
permit their gallows 10 be used for the
execution of an outsider because “the
gallows are for us and our children.
Not surprisingly, 1 heard a similar story
п a small village in the Auvergne.

The French myth is backed by solid
facts. Western civilization owes an
enormous debt to French culture. G:
tronomy, elegance, haute couture and
diplomacy are French arts. Brillat-Sa-
varin calls cooking "the most indispen-
sable art.” France is the only country
оп carth that has institutes devoted to

the serious study of food and wine, with
no commercial strings attached, such as

des Gastronomes and the
Academic du Vin de France. France pro-
duces a different cheese for every day of
the year, and at least ten different wines
to go with cach cheese, and both the
cheese and the wines are better than
other country on earth. Frenchmen,
ized people, have always considered
their great chefs more important than
their politicians and millionaires, and of
course they are right. Today French
cooking has become synonymous all over
the world with good cooking.

The French are coolheaded realists:
Instead of trying to make friends among
other nations, they influence them. Eng-
lish may be the language of world com-
merce, bu still the language
of diplomacy. "Today the blessings of
French culture have a more far-reaching
effect than the efforts of British traders
and American do-gooders. In terms of
gross national product, the French now
spend twice as much on forcign aid as
the Americans. The influence of French
schools and institutes is strong im the
Near and Middle East. "The Americans
send us Cadillacs," a man in Beirut told
me a “the
cultur
and political control over their former
possessions in North Africa and else
where on Ше continent, but they keep
intellectual and cultural control there.
They have good relations with Ben Bel:

asst Algeria, and кош
Тоше Guinea. When the
national interest is concerned, ihe

French don't bother much about senti
ments or ideologies. De Gaulle's goal is
of the "third force" in the
s gonc systematically
after his goal since he came 10 power.

On the European Continent the
French now play first fiddle and skillful-
ly keep the powerful, prosperous West
Germans at the second stand. It’s inter-
esting to see the Americans and the
French operating in a neutral country.
(where 1 write this) the Amer-
ns have a large “Amerika Haus”
which is popular with students from the
Middle East. "Is warm and pleasant
and, besides, you always meet someone
there who shares your dislike of the
U.S.” one of these young cynics told
me not long ago. The French opi
differently. Their lycée is the best school
in town, spreading the tenets of French

ed in Paris two years
after the Revolution that made public
ction "common
The 1946 Constitution
“free, secular public edu
levels" a state responsibility. The smart
French spend ten percent of their nation.
al budget on education. At the Sorbonne
l learned that the mere acquisition
(continued on page 238)

nd free for all cit-
made

THE HUNTERS

in the singularly arranged mind of each of them, there was no room for doubt his enemy was as good as dead
fiction By GERALD KERSH

IN THAT BITTFR COLD, water turns to dry dust for the lightest breath of air to play with. There is no landscape and
there are no landmarks. A hillock of powdered snow ripples and flattens; the ripples coil and convolute, and all
in half an hour you have a head of hair, a brain, the helix of a freakish ear, a diagram of unearthly trajectories,
and at last a pure valley virginally ridged.

Here, 29 of the 32 winds blow from the south toward the Pole, and they make chaos. Hence, when day broke.
the man called Josef who had been stalking his enemy around the base of a high hill discovered that he was lying
opposite him at the rim of a bowl of ice 500 yards in diameter, scooped even and delicately stippled and burnished
by some whim of the night wind.

Josef. though one of those born marksmen who point a gun as an ordinary man might point a finger. was
somewhat nearsighted, He aimed by a certain combination of intuitions rather than by vision, as all great shots
must do at long range: They must perceive rather than see; they must sense where the target is likely to be by the
time a plated pellet no bigger than a cigarette butt has traveled its ordained distance. Josef knew that the cye is
fallible. He depended upon a sort of diagnostic guesswork. Although he wore thick (continued on page 156)

salire By ROBERT CAROLA WORD PLAY

more fun and games with the king’s english in which words become delightfully self-descriptive
SSS

GARAGRAPH UWAVES

FIVE cENSIBRED

"ОАА УИ ELEVATE

ANGZE NN IW

MIS ING

SEGREGATION

Re INVEGRATION

our gifted december playmate is a hearth-warming bundle of beauty

and аш happiness is just a thing called jo

148

Jo's radiant appeal has earmarked her far several video modeling assignments. "I used to feel guilty about relying on my
looks for a living," she admits, "but I've learned that the best thing to do when oppartunity knocks is open the door.”

T WOULD BE EASY to mistake December Playmate Jo Collins for an aspiring film s

the attributes necded to play the role: classic features,a disarming smile, talent, ambition—and a ге-

cently acquired Hollywood address less than a block from one of the major studios. But there the sim-
ilarity ends, for our 19-year-old Miss December refuses to be typecast as just another Hollywood hopeful.
Instead, she’s determined to earn credits on the legitimate stage, and hopes to be Broadway bound before
long. “Hollywood is just the first step—a sort of temporary stopover—in a long-range carcer plan of mine,"
raven-haired Jo reports, “Since 1 graduated from high school in Seattle last year, things have been progressing
much more smoothly than I had anticipated. 1 managed to get in a full season of summer stock up North,
including two leading roles at Portland's Civic Theatre; then worked my way through modeling school in
Los Angeles as a part-time secretary, and landed a terrific TV contract for a series of new car commerci:
which 1 nearly lost when 1 let it slip that I used to be a drag racer.” With a few more video spots, Jo figures
she'll have enough in residuals to finance a trip East, with a little
left over for drama lessons. As she told us: "I belong to a small
acting group here in Hollywood, and we try to get together at
least three times a week—but I've really got my heart set on study
ing with a more professional unit, such as Lee Strasberg's Actors
Studio in New York.” In her off-hours, when she's not decorating
her new studio apartment or spinning her stockpile of Dinah
Washington records, this 36-24-36 package of holiday cheer prefers
an aquatic setting. “Sailboats—and the fellows who own them—
are my weakness,” Jo confesses. “But I'll settle for something less
fancy, like surfing at Malibu; just as long as I'm near the water.”
For a more revealing study of Jo's aquabatic accomplishments,
this month's centerfold takes you poolside.

let, since she has all

s—

PHOTOGRAPHY BY MARIO CASILLI

Riding the Ferris wheel at Pacific Ocean Park, Jo's wide-eyed exuber-
ance proves that she’s “still just a kid at heart. On days when | model
chic fashions, I can't wait to get home and jump into a pair of jeans.”

With a friend, Jo takes the first downhill plunge on the pertes roller coaster with relative aplomb.
"That first drop is always the most thrilling and the most frightening," our wind-blown Play-
mate said after her ride. "It's sort of like making your opening stage entrance; you hear your
cue, for а second you're paralyzed, then you deliver your lines and everything's fine again.”

As part of the preparatian far her Playmate phato, Jo gets into the swim of things and supplies her
awn preliminary dunking for the shot—a chore this charming aquanette found delightful. "Nobody
hos ta tell me to jump in when | see a pool,” says Jo. "This is the easiest assignment I've ever hod."

PLAYBOY’S PARTY JOKES

Motto seen on the wall of a women's exec-
utive club: FAINT HEART NEVER WON FUR, LADY.

The best gift for the girl who has everything
is a topless bathing suit to show it off.

The prosecuting attorney's voice reached fever
pitch as he cross-examined the young male de-
fendant: “You mean to sit there and tell this
jury that you had a completely assembled still
on your premises, and were not engaged in the
illegal production of alcoholic spirits?”

the truth,” answered the defendant.
acquired it as a conversation piece, just like
any other antique.”

“You'll have to do better than that,” sneered
the prosecutor. “As far as this court is con-
cerned, the very possession of such equipment
is proof of your guilt.”

"In that case, you'd better charge me with
rape, too,” the defendant said.

‘Are you confessing to the crime of rape,
young m nterrupted the judge.

“No, your Honor,” answered the defendant,
"but I sure as hell have the equipment.

Our Unabashed Dictionary defines masochist
as one who would rather be switched than
fight.

The newly ordained young priest asked his
monsignor а favor: Would the older and more
experienced man audition the young man’s
andling of confessions, and give him a candid
critique? The monsignor agreed, and at the
end of the day called the priest to give his
verdict.

ite good, on the whole,” he said. "But I
do have a suggestion. I'd have preferred to
hear a few more “Tsk! Tsk! Tsks!’ and fewer
"Oh, wows!

Lots of girls can be had for a song. Unfortu-
nately, it often turns out to be the wedding
march.

We overheard an Indian matron explaining
the facts of life to her daughter. She pointed
out: “Stork not bring papoose, it come by
beau and error.”

Our Unabashed Dictionary defines score pad
a bachelor apartment.

An irate carabiniére was in the process of ar-
resting an inebriated young Roman who de-
cided to take a nap in the middle of the Vis
Veneto. “It's my duty to warn you,” he said
sternly, “that anything you say will be held
against you.’

"Sophia Loren,” whispered the drunk, and
passed out.

The manufacturer of a well-known tonic for
people with “tired” blood received this testi-
monial from a little old lady who lived on a
farm in Tennessee: “Before taking your ton-
ic,” the woman wrote, “I was too tired to hoe
the fields or pick the cotton. But after only
two bottles of your delicious mixture, I've be-
come the best cotton-picking hoer in the
county.”

Our Unabashed Dictionary defines strip poker
as a card game that begins according to Hoyle
and ends according to Kinsey.

Then there was the fellow who got badly
scratched up fighting for his girl's honor. She
wanted to keep it.

In the presence of a client he wished to im.

press, a high-powered executive flipped on his
tercom switch and barked to his secretary:

Miss Jones, get my broker!"

The visitor was duly impressed, until the

secretary's voice floated back into the room,

loud and clear: "Yes, sir, stock or pawn?”

Heard а good onc lately? Send it on a postcard
to Party Jokes Editor, PLAYBOY, 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.

“This looks like a good place!”

155

PLAYBOY

156

HUNTERS (continued from page 143)

spectacles, tinted blue against the snow
blink. and used a rifle with nothing but
a common aperture sight, he was almost
inevitably deadly even at twice the dis-
tance that separated him from the other
тап. If that man kept still for only
three seconds, Josef knew that he could
drop his bullet somewhere between
the man’s shoulders as he lay pronc
on the ic

Even in clear weather a man half a
thousand yards away and standing
upright is scarcely a quarter of an inch
tall, looked at down a rifle barrel over
open sights. At a thousand yards that
same man is a conjecture. Josef, a
theoretician of the long shot, could pin-
point this conjecture; pick it out and
cool it off, He knew, as he laid his aim,

that in a few moments the speck that
was а man in the distance would jerk,
sprout limbs, and go kicking down the

ice, looking remarkably like a little star-
Шей spider as it seems to climb down the
air at the end of its invisible filament.
But even as he squeezed off his shot,
something cracked like a dog whip close
to his right ear, and a bullet, cutting
into the ice less than a foot from his
head, spattered him with tiny ice splin-
ters. Seconds later he heard, like the
beating of stupendous wings, the flap-
ping reverberation of his enemy's shot.

Josef knew that he must have fired
high and wide and that in this still cold
air the smoke of his own shot must hang
blue against the snow. So he let himself
slide downward a little way and then be-
with this terrain and,
after ten days of this hunting, knowing
something of the man he had (o kill, he
guessed that this man would stay where
he was for a few seconds. The fact that
Josef had only four cartridges left per-
turbed him little, if at all. In his singu-
larly arranged mind there was no room
for doubt His man was as good as dead,
ing a certain point а hair-

adth below and to the left of where
the faint smoke of his enemy's last shot

clung to the air, he fired again, and then
lay flat. But he had miscalculated. His
rc was returned. A bullet cut ice and
rock a bare six inches from his thigh.
The other marksman had not kept still;
he had climbed upward and was shoot-
ing down. Now Josef held his fire. ‘The
morning was growing lighter and the
sun was at his back. Furthermore,
the dawn a mist was rising out of the ice
bow! and he knew that he could, by his
peculiar sense of orientation, feel his ob-
jective at the other side of this mist, let
it offer him ever so slight a sign. His
white clothes froze to the ice; he became
ill as a man of ice, watching. Four
hundred yards away, perhaps а yard to
the vertical he saw a tiny dot of orange
light and felt a bullet striking two fect
above his head. The claque of the

echoes gave die shot a uemendous
round of applause. Now Josef reasoned,
He argues that, having slid down, I will
slide farther down yet, after I have те-
turned his fire. So he invested rather
th mbled another bullet in another
exquisitely calculated. shot and then
scrambled, not down, but upward, for a
distance of about 50 feet.

"The next shot, when it came, puzzled
Josef. It came not from the diameter of
the bowl, but from a nearer curve. This
meant that his enemy was climbing to
come level with him. Two more bullets
struck close by—perilously dose. One
screeched off ice, one whined off rock,
and the bowl howled and whistled and.
gibbered before it was quiet again. Not
far away some piled body of ice and
shale shifted with a tremendous mutter
and went rolling down. The great gray
surfaces flung back the noise of its fall
again and again, and there came up
from below such a billowing of frosty
vapor that Josef felt for the moment like
some beetle packed in white wool and
frozen for dissection. But his ears were
too clever to be deceived by even this
g noise, He knew that the
right. somewhat

boss Rina Very ewitils, being a (сан
and agile man tained to the mo
he clambered in that direction. Now,
apart from а faint, fitful whispering of
wind in the crags and a certain hissing
of dry snow, there was quiet. Very quiet-
very deviously, he climbed eastward.
But it seemed that the other man had
got between him and the sun, for anoth-
er shot, which seemed to come right out
of the eye of the dawn, came 50 close
thar it tugged at his sleeve. He fired ас
the flash and lay still, assuming that the
other man would guess that he had
to hi sumption was right. A
bullet E where his shoulder would
have been if he had moved.

It was evident that if he had been ш:
neuvering himself to within dead-certain
killing distance of his enemy, his enemy
had been playing the same game with
him. Buc the mist, Josef reckoned, was
his ally. As he watched, waiting, a bru-
mous swirl of air sent down a tumble of
loose frost which covered him like a
blanket. He remained motionless. Ten
minutes passed, twenty minutes. And
now, at last, his enemy came into full
view, less than two hundred yards away
—a man in a white parka, big as a bear:
perfect target, something impossible to
miss. Josef almost sighed with pleasure
under hi: covering of frost. His sights
were on the big man's solar plexus. Josef
could have hit him in che сус, if he had
so chosen; but since this was his last bu
let, he decided to deny himself this little
private indulgence in sharpshooting.
And then, even as he involuntarily dug
his toes into the snow and squeezed his

trigger, the ground fell away from under
him. He cursed himself as he saw the big
man’s hood snap back as the bullet
flicked the tip of it—caught a glimpse of
great red face stubbled with blond
beard—and then he was falling feet first
over the ice. He let his empty rifle slip
and fell as it seemed for a hundred

years over the rim of the ice bowl and
down and around in an awful vortex,
helpless as a fly flushed away in a lavato-
. Stone and ice fell with him. By

ance an enormous boulder skated
way and, falling more directly, went
down ahcad of him. Otherwise he would
have been crushed like an egg. As it was,
he found himself, dizzy but unhurt, at
the bottom of the newly formed crevasse.
Glancing around, he saw that this short
crevasse was shaped somewhat like a
brandy snifter. The mouth was only half
as wide as the bottom, and the sides
were smoothly curved as if by a glass
blower's pipe. Josef said to himself, with
out emotion, There is always the incal-
culable, I have failed. So I must die. But
then, a hundred feet above, he saw the
hig man’s head, and heard him say, in
broken Russian, "Can you hear me? I
ant to shout, Vibration can start
alanche—nye!?

“I can hear you,” said Josef, in good
bur stilted English. "You had better
speak your own language—your accent
in mine is execrable” Exccrabable
exeernbable everrabahle
abled the echoes. He went on, "You
have won. I will keep perfectly still
you will have the kindness to shoot me
through the head.”

“Be glad to obl
last bullet. Anyway, things aren't done
that way. If you want to shoot yourself,
of course, that's your affair.”

“I have no pistol."

“Have you a rope?”

“Yes, But I think my wrist is broken.”

“Well, keep still and TH haul you
out.”

hy? We have been tying to kill
each other for ten days.”

“That's a different matter from lca
ing you to die in the ice.

“L see.” Now the big man warily ex-
plored the lip of the bowl, until he
found a kind of rocky excrescence split
by the cold as if by a wedge. He had
picked up Josef’s rifle and noted that it
was empty. It was a beautiful weapon, a
Männlicher, which must have cost some
sportsman every penny of $1500. He ob-
served that the butt bore a baronial cor-
onet inlaid in silver, and the monogram
B von B. He wondered, in passing, who
the Baron B von B had been, and (being
a sentimental man at bottom) hoped that
he had died easy. Then, with a sigh, he
began to ram the Männlicher's barrel
into the crack, using his own,
rifle for a hammer. He thus improvised a
smooth, strong peg to which he auached

(continued on page 266)

WALDO GREBB AND
HIS ELECTRIC BATON

eyes front, back arched, knees
snapping, the ted williams of
the twirling corps began his
countdown toward the launching
of his spinning silver bird

memoir By JEAN SHEPHERD

WHEN THE BITTER WINDS of winter how]
ош of the frozen north, making the ісе-
coated telephone wires creak and sigh
like suffering live things, many an ex-B-
llatsousaphone player feels that old fa-
miliar dull ache in his muscle-bound left
shoulder—a pain never quite lost as the
years spin on. Ancient numbnesses of
the lips permanently implanted by fro-
ren German silver mouthpieces of the
past. There is an instinctive hunching
forward into the wind, tacking oblique!y
to keep that giant burnished Conn Бей
heading always into the waves. A singu-
ап carrying unsharable wounds and
memories to his grave, the butt of low,
ld humor, of gaucheries beyond de-
seription, unapplauded by music lovers,
the sousaphone player is among the
loneliest of men. His dedication is al-
most monklike in its fanaticism and
solitude.

He is never asked to perform at par-
ties. His fume is minute, even among
other band members, being limited al-
most exclusively to fellow carriers of
"The Great Horn. Hence, his devotion is
pure. When pressed for an explanation
as to why he took up the difficult study
line of sousaphone playing,
п give a rational answer, usually
ig something very much like
amed retort of climbers of Mount
Everes

There is no sousaphone category in
the renowned jazz polls, and it would be
inconceivable to imagine an LP entitled:
Harry Schwartz and His Golden Sousa-
phone Blow Cole Porter. Yet every sou-
phone player, in his heart, knows that
no instrument is better suited to Cole
Porter than his beloved four-valver. Its
rich, verdant mellowness, its loving, som-
ber blues and grays of tonality arc
among the most se and thrilling of
sounds to be heard in a man’s time.

Bur forever and by defin those
brave marchers under the flashing bells

irrevocably assigned to the rear rank.
men know the facts of life more
wuly than a player of this noble instru-
ment. Twenty minutes in a good march-
ing band teaches a kid more about how

s granite knee.

‘There are many misconceptions which
at the outset must be cleared up before
we proceed further. Great confusion pre-
Is among the unwashed as to just

a genuine sou:
his instrument

aled a tuba. A tuba i
ng fit only for mewling,
d Guy Lombardo—the
better (o harass balding, middle-aged
ballroom dancers. An upright instrument
of startling ugliness and mooing, fiatu-
lent tone, the tuba has none of the
grandeur, the scope or sweep of its mas-
sive, gentle distant rela

The sousaphone is worn proudly
curled about the body, over the left
shoulder, and mounting above the head
is that brilliant golden, gleaming cornu-
aling the sun in its glory. Its
graceful curves clasp the body in a warm
and crushing embrace, the right hand in
position over its four massive mother-of-
ped valves. It is an instrument
а man can literally get his teeth imo,
and often does. A sudden collision with
another bell has, in many instances, pro-
duced catastrophic dental malforma:
which have provided oral surgeons with
some of their happier moments.

A sousaphone is а worthy adversary
which must be watched like a hawk and
truly mastered lest it master you. Da
gerous, unpredictable, difficult to play, it

yet offers rich rewards. Each sousaphonc,
since it is such a massive creation, as
sumes a character of its own. There are
d-tempered sousaphones and there are
friendly sousaphones; sousaphones that
literally lead their players back and
forth through beautiful countermarches
on countless football fields. Then there
are the treacherous sousaphones that
buck and fight and must be held in tight
rein lest disaster strike. Like horses or
women, no two sousaphoncs are alike.
Nor, like horses or women, will man
ever fully understand them.

Among, other imponderables, a player
musı have as profound a knowledge of
winds and weather as the skipper of a
пр yawl A cleanly aligned sousa-
phone section marching into the teeth of
a spanking crosswind with mounting
gusts, booming out the second choru
Semper Fidelis, із a study of cour:
contro] under difficult conditions. Some-
times in a high wind, a sousaphone will
start playing you. It literally blows back,
developing enough back pressure 10 pro-
duce a thin chorus of Dixie out of both
ears of the unwary sousaphonist. 1 my-
self once, in my rookie days, got caught
in a counterclockwise wind with a clock-
wise instrament and spun violently for
five minutes before I regained control,
all the while playing one of the finest
obblig г blown on The National
Emblem March

"The high school marching band that 1
performedin was (continuedon page 164)

man at his leisure

a backstage-and-onstage limning of the
lovelies of the paris lido by leroy neiman

THE LIDO, famed for its spectacularly extravagant
performances featuring spectacularly undressed per-
formers, has long been a mecca for pleasure seckers
Paris. In a city whose musichall and cal
unrivaled anywhere in the world, the Li
statuesque mannequins who
ground to les spectacles—is head and shoulders above
the competition. Artist LeRoy Neim
roving ambassador with portfolio (and hims
thing of a Pari псе his care
pressionist has led him to complement his New York
and London studios with another in Paris) had long
regarded the Lido an eminently paletteable subject.
Recently he gathered pad and charcoals to spend a
Parisian week (seven nights and one day) in the 14405
huge Champs Elysées quarters, sketching a behind-the-
scenes kaleidoscope of plumes, sequins, bosoms and

Left top: Bockstoge minions look on in vorying degrees of detochmen! while colorfully bedecked performer checks her underpinnings. Sign obove
cigor-smoking stoge monoger worns door is not to be used during show. Left below: Neimon corefully exomines subject before committing her
to chorcocl. Above: Mid a coscode cf plumoge ond oblivious to distroctions, well-dressed mon-obout-backstoge skims Figoro during
entr'oct. Below: Elfin Porisienne, weoring only mascoro ond a smile, primps prior to donning scant costume for her onstage oppearonce.

bottoms. He reports: "Backstage at the Lido is pure
mayhem—but, somehow, perfectly coordinated may
hem. All is business. The show—which runs nightly
from 11:15 to 2:30, with only а half-hour break—is a
genuinely tony production, whose split-second timing
ves no room for sloppiness. The management be-
lieves in its performers artistry—and rightfully so.
"The mannequins are tall, leggy, personable and proud
of their figures: their nudity is enhanced by creative
costumes which are treated lovingly by the girls and
their wardrobe mistresses. English is almost the uni
versal language backstage, since many of the pir
such as the Blucbells—are British, and many others
American. The Bluebells, incidentally, are fully clad—
in costumes ranging from Indian hcaddresses to Gains-
borough hats. Only the mannequins, who don't dance,
are nude. The Lido is one of those rare places fre-
quented by crowned heads and workingmen al
—all seeking, and finding, the very best in music-hall
entertainment and, of course, the most beautiful girls
in Paris, For the artist, backstage is even more interest-
ing than out front. Its more active and more colorful
than the audience area—and thegirlsare closer as well.” =

‘Above: While stagehonds casually sweep the boards, bare-chested lovely gets helpful assist. Below left: Approving admirer watches, and our
imperturboble impressionist sketches an. Below right: Lost-minute fitting enlists emergency oid of mole performers plus lavishly skirted
[albeit bodiceless) mannequin, whose headdress crowns scene in a burst of red and violet. Right: Lovely Sherell Powell, а native Chica-
goan end one of many Negro dancers popular in Paris, dazzles crowd with her Ebony Bor act. Overleof. Le spectacle, in cll its splendor.

of
С

PLAYBOY

164

WALDO GREBB

kd by a zealot who had
whipped us into a state rivaling a crack
unit of the Prussian guards. We won
prizes, cups, ribbons and huzzahs wher-
ever we performed; wheeling, counter-
marching, spinning, knees high, all the
while thunderously playing. On the Mall,
Under the Double Eagle, El Capitan,
The NC Four March, Semper Fidelis—
we had mastered all the classics.

Our 160-beacto-the-minute cadence
snapped and cracked and rolled on like
the steady beating of the surf. Resplend-
ent in itchy uniforms and high-peaked
caps, we learned the bitter facts of life
while fingering our spit valves and
bringing pageantry and pomp into the
world of the blast furnace and the open
hearth, under the leaden wintry skies of
the Indiana prairieland.

The central figure of the scene was
our drum major. Ours was a Spartan
organization. We had mo majorettes,
pompon girls or other such decadent
signposts on the roadway of a declining
civiliza an all-male band that
had no room for such grotesqueries as
flacchested, broad-bottomed female trom.
bone players and billowy bosomcd clari
netists. It was a compact 66-man company
of hard-stomached, lean-jawed Ovaltine
drinkers—led by a solitary, heroic, high-
kneed, insulferably arrogant baton twirl-
er named Waldo Grebb

Drum majors are a peculiarly Ameri
can institution, and Waldo was cast in
the classic mold. Imperious, egotistical
beyond belief, he was hated and feared
by all of us down to the last lowly cym-
bal banger. Most drum majors of my ас-
quaintance are not all-American boys in
the Jack Armstrong tradition. In fact,
they lean more in the general direction
of Captain Queeg, somehow tainted by
the vanity of a Broadway musical dancer
plus the additional factor of being a
high school hero.

In spite of legend, many drum majors
are notably unsuccessful with wom
Waldo Grebb was no exception, and his
lonely frustration in this most essential
of human pursuits had led him to incred-
ible heights in baton twirling. He con-
centrated and practiced hour upon hour
until he became a Ted Williams among
the wearers of the shako. His arched
back, swinging shoulders—at least four
and a half fect wide “Мі 19inch waist,
his lightninglike chrome wands, the
sharp, imperious bite of his whistled
commands were legendary wherever
bandsmen gathered to swap tales over a
Nehi orange. At a full, rolling 160-beat-
perminute tempo, Waldos knees
snapped as high as most men's shoulders.
He would spi 4, ba
ton held at ready port, eyes gleaming
beadily straight ahead in our direction.
Two short blasts of his silver whistle,
then a longer one, a quick snap up-and-

maniacal

(continued from page 157)

down movement of the wand, and we
would crash into The Thunderer,
h opened with a spectacular trom
umpet and sousaphone flourish
of vast medieval grandeur. Precisely as
the last notes of the flourish ended and
The Thunderer boomed out Waldo
spun his baton, accelerating to a blur,
and began his act. Over the shoulder,
like a rigid silver snake with a life of its
own, under both legs, that live metal
whip never faltered or lost a beat. Catch-
ing the sun, it spun a blur high into the
Indiana skies and down again, Waldo
never deigning so much as to watch its
wajectory. He knew where it was; it
knew where he was. They were one, a
spinning silver bird and its falconer.
Even as we roared into the coda, attack-
ing the I6th notes crisply, with bite, we
were always conscious of the steady swish
of that baton, sli like a blade,
a hissing obbligato to John Philip Sousa.

Like all champion drum majors—and
Waldo had more me
eral Patton garnered in
combat—he had carefully programed his
act. In the same that an Olympic
skater performs the classical figures, Wal-
tered years before all the
ic baton maneuvers, all the traditional
flips and spins, and performed them
with razor-sharp, glittering precision.
And he had gone on from there to the
absolute heights. He would begin with «
quick over-the-back roll, a comparatively
ple basic move, and then, moment by
moment, his work would grow increas-
gly complex as variation upon varia-
tion of spinning steel wove itself in the
winter air. And then finally, just as his
audience, nervously awaiting disaster,
believed there was nothing more tha
could be done with a baton, Waldo,
ising slightly to fake them out, mak-
them believe his repertoire was over,
would give them The Capper.

Every great baton twirler has one trick
that he alone can perform, that he has
created and honed to glittering perfec-
tion: his final statement. At this crucial
moment, Waldo would whip a second
on from a sheath held by a great
brass clip to his wide white uniform belt.
Then, using the dual batons, he worked
upward and upward until the final ecrie
moment. As the last notes of The Thun-
derer died out, a drummer, on cue, beat
out the rhythm of our march, using a
single stick on the rim of his snare: “tic
tic tic tic tic tic . . ." as we marched si-
lently forward. Waldo then, with infinite
deliberation, holding both batons out
before him, began to spin them in oppo-
site directions,

Synchronized like the propellers of a
DC-3, twin blades interleaved before
him, gaining speed. Faster and faster
nd faster, until the batons had all but
ppeared into a faint silver film, the

only sound, the "tic tic tic" of Ray Ја
nowski's snare, and the steady, in-step
beat of feet hitting the paveme

His back
snappii
right
flips of the wrist, Waldo would launch
his twin rapiers straight up into the icy
still in synchronization. Like some
strange whistling science-fiction vampire
bat, surrealist glittering metal bird, gai
ing momentum as they rose, the batoi
as one. would soar 30 or 40 feet above
the band. Then, gracefully, at the
gee of the arc, spinning slower
slower, they would come floating down
Waldo never even for an instant glanc
ing upward, the band eyesfront. Down
would come the batons, dropping faster
and faster, and still Waldo marched on
Incredibly, at the very last instant, just
as they were about to crash onto the
street, in perfect rhythm both hands
would dart out and the batons, together,
would leap into life and become silver
blurs. It was Grebb's legendary Capper!
The instant Waldo's batons picked up
momentum and spun back to life, J
nowski "tcd" twice and the drum sec
tion rolled out our basic cadence, as the
crowd roared. Unconcerned, unseeing,
we marched on.

Waldo rarely used The Capper more
than once or twice in any given. parade
or performance. Like all great artists, he
gave sparingly of his best. None of us
realized that he had not yet shown us his
greatest capper of all.
he high point оГ our marching y
traditionally came with the Thanksgi
ing Day parade. And one year, that fate-
ful Thursday dawned dark and gloomy,
full of evil portent. The last bleak weck
in November had been polar i
agery. For weeks a bitter Ca
wind had whistled steadily off
Mich blowing the blast fu
dust into long rivers and eddies of red
grime on the gray ice diat bordered th
Curbs and coated the bus stops and rut
ted the streets. These were days that
tried sousaphone men's souls. That gi
chunk of inert brass gathers cold into
like a thermic vacuum cleaner, Valves
freeze at half-mast, mouthpieces stick to
the tongue and lips in the way iron rail-
ings trap children, and the blown note
emerges thin and weak and lost in the
arc

‘The assembly point for the parade
was well out of the main section of
town, back of Harrison Park. Any veter
an parade marcher knows the scene, a
sort of shambling, weaving confusion.
The Croatian-American float, the
Friends of Italy, the Moose, the Ladies
of the Moose, the Children of the
Moose, the Queen of the Moose, the
Odd Fellows’ Whistling Brigade, the Red
Men of America (in full headdress and
buckskin), the Owls, the Eagles, the Elks,
the Wolves, the Guppies, the Imperial

(continued on page 260)

irched taut as a bow, knees

ischigh, at the agonizingly

“Either of you gentlemen care for something to nibble on?”

PIVA
VSU

165

'here, Miss Tucker. See what I mean about
your е being low?"

ОИ РЕ

а passionate put-down of those portrayers of a world without hope
opinion

By JOSEPH WOOD KRUTCH

N My nEYDAY (which was the Twenties), most of my contemporaries took the Declaration of Independence seriousiy—
especially that phrase in it which declares that the pursuit of happiness is

a respectable opinion. According to them every thinki

ny of

п inalienable right. Among all too

g man must be,

^s intellectuals this is no lon; nd every

ble—the decent man bei E man because

decent man should be, thoroughly misc use the world is unjust, the thin

the whole universe is, and must remain, "absurd."

a. In fact, my early book The Modern Temper (1929) was

Until recently no one ever accused me of being a Polly:
widely denounced as perversely pessimistic. Yet I have lived to hear it described on a TV panel as “qu: most
et” by college treshmen who boasted that Sartre and Beckett had plunged them whose horrors (so it

t” and

seemed from their voices) they were proud to revel in with masochistic determ

Meanwhile I have grown progressively cheerful. Perhaps thai

only what my younger contemporaries prefer to think
Ithy reaction against the perversely

it, namely, the result of a hardening of the cerebral arteries; but I prefer to call it a hea
ke Dr. Johnson's old school fr

aking through.

nd. 1 find that no matter

ext
how hard I try to be a philosopher, cheerfulness keeps h

gant lucubrations of the existentialists and the beatniks. Li

Perhaps there is more concrete misery than usual in the world today and I'll go along with the "decent man"

enough to agree that it should concern us. But I fail to understand what good it does anybody to say, like the cha
less per-
ions that

acter in one of Koestler's novels, “In an age of transition no onc h

I must think myself into some sort of abstr

In the currently most admired novels and plays there is a terrible monotony. Beckett, Ionesco,
riety of method and no novelty of doctrine the same things: The universe is meaningless, without rhyme
ng
valuable as another. Though man is, in some inexplicable way, free and thus exempt from the necessity that governs
everything else, he can demonstrate this freedom by being cither a saint or a monster, Most people chose the latter
ple than the other. Hence the truest picture of life consists almost exclusively of

ct despair.

тіге and Genet re-
peat with little v.

empty words. One thi

alter-

native and it is logically no less admi

unhappy, but usually cruel and debauched people, behaving irrationally in an irrational universe.

nd first learned
1 must be misunderstanding what they were really intending to convey

When I first met some of these specimens of the most serious and characteristic works of our time
how greatly they were admired, 1 supposed t

Since I ha

ve read the explications fu

ished by their many sympathetic critics, I realize that I understood only too well. By

one analyst I am assured that even Camus, “ ial, the gentlest and the wisest” of the lot, really did wish us
а

better than bravery; betrayal is

freedom and that Genet, “the wildest

to understand that a motiveless atrocity serves ly to demonstrate huma

loveliest,” invents a new morality in which “dishonesty is better than honesty; cowardice
li

1 presumably she must find intriguing such of hi

better than loyalty; hamosexuality is better than heterosex and so on.” Simone de Beauvoir declared that the Mar-

quis de Sade was "the freest man who ever lived"

reasonings as that

which exalts incest on the ground that it promotes family affection! Since Dc

de spent a considerable portion of his life

in jail and Genet would be serving a life sentence

а habitual criminal had it not been for (concluded on page 230)

NATIVE SON (continued рот page 120)

that is where reality is. What опе wies
to do in a novel is to show this reality.

Such effort would not be important if
life were not important. But life is im-
portant, vastly more so Шап art; but
without the passion of art, that portion
of life we call civilization is in great dan-
ger when it begins, as we have, to neg-
lect or to despise its artists. Artists are
the only people in a society who can tell
that society the truth about itself. When
I was working on Another Country,
which was the hardest thing I had done
u that time, I had several problems
in trying to get across, in trying to con-
vey, what I felt was happening to us in
this country. Not that this is unusual: In
а sense, every work of art, if I may use
that phrase, is a kind of metaphor for
what the artist takes 10 be our condi
Му principal problem, at least by
sight, was how to handle my heroine,
Ida, who in effect dictated a great deal
of the book to me. And the first thing,
that I had to realize was that she, operat-
ing in New York as she did, as Negro
girls do, was an object of wonder and
even some despair—and some distrust—
to all the people around her, including
people who were very fond of her—Vi-
valdo, her lover, and their friends. I had
somehow to make the reader see what
was happening to this girl. I knew that a
girl like Ida would not be able to say it
for herself, but I also knew that no read-
er will believe you if you simply tell him
what you want him to know. You must
make him sce it for himself. He must
somehow be tapped into the reality you
want him to submit to and you must
achieve a kind of rigorous discipline in
order to walk the reader to the guillotine
without his knowing it.

Now, in order to get what I wanted I
had to invent Rufus, 144% brother, who
had not been present at the original
conception. Rufus was the only way that
1 could make the reader see what had
happened to Ida and what was control-

ips, why she

was so dificult, why she was so uncertain,
why she sulfered 50; and of course the
reason she was suflering was because of
what had happened to her brother, be
cause her brother was dead. She was not
about to forgive anybody for it. And this
rage was about to destroy her. In order
to get this across, I had to put great lights
around Ida and keep the reader at a cer-
tain distance from her. I had to Jet him
see what Vivaldo thought, what Cass
thought, what Eric thought, but what Ida
thought had to remain for all of them
the mystery which it is in life, and had
to be, therefore, a kind of mystery for
the reader, too, who had to be fascinated.
by her and wonder about her and care
bout her and try to figure out what was
driving her to where she was so clearly
And I think that in some ways,
Шу, when she does talk to her

lover, says things which she would not
ave been able to say in any other way
or under any other pressure, and 1 had
somehow to get her to that pressure. In
a novel you can suggest a great deal. You
must suggest a great deal. There is some-
thing in a novel which well have to rc-
fer to here as the setting. ‘The setting is
the climate. For example, it is unimpor
tant in a novel to describe the room. It
is unimportant in a novel to describe the
characters. It doesn't really matter wheih-
er they have blue eyes or brown hair or
whatever. You have to make the reader
see them with just enough detail not to
blot the picture out. Try to sketch the
character in, let the reader do the rest.
“That's not as lazy or irresponsible as it
may sound. 1 mean that the character's
y has to come from something
deeper than his physical attributes and
therefore the setting in which he oper-
tes has to come [rom something deeper
than that, too. The New York of Anoth-
er Country never really existed except in
Another Country. The bar in which Cass
and Vivaldo have their crucial scene
when Cass tells him about her husband
is one of a million cocktail bars; all that
is described in that scene, 1 think, is
some peanuts on the table, And you can
do that in a novel because the reader has
been in a bar like that and che reader
has been in New York streets; there are
sume nives you must press which will
operate to make him sce what you want
him to sce, and this, in a way, is the
setting.

But you cannot do that in a play.
Everything in a play has to be terribly
concrete, terribly visible. The church in
which 1 was born operates in one way in
Go Tell It on the Mountain, mainly as a
presence, I think, as a weight, as a kind of
affliction for all those people who are in
it, who are in fact trapped in it and
don’t know how to get out. But in my
play there is another church. And I sud-
denly saw it. I don't know if I can make
this clear to you. On a back road in Mis-
sisippi or Louisiana or some place in
the deep South, we were wandering
around talking to various people, and
there was a small church sitting by itself.
1 was very oppressed that day by things
we'd seen and I was very aware that 1
was in the deep South and had been
very close to my father’s birthplace. It
suddenly struck me that this church
must have been very much like the
church in which my father preached be-
fore he came North, 1 looked into the
window and suddenly saw my set. It was
a country church. I saw that if I could
select the details which would be most
meaningful for what I was trying to do,
then in a sense, that part of my problem
was solved. And I saw something else. I
always have some idea of where I want
to go. I even sometimes have my last
chapter or my last line, a kind of very

real

rough and untrustworthy map. But 1
don't know quite how I'm going to get
there, In the working out of a novel, you
work it out in terms of dialog and
conflicts, and again, (his is power of
suggestion, this is hitting on the readers’
nerves—nerves which we all have in com-
mon. In a play, you're doing the same
thing. But уоште doing it in such a
different way that, for example, a white
woman in my play, who is a somewhat
older woman, married to a murderer,
which is part of what the play is about,
has to be revealed in very different ways.
n to see her by watching cer-
in people, by watching for her, watch-
ing for my character, which is what you
start doing, really, once this character
has captured your attention, You look at
everybody around you in another way.
You suddenly are looking for some reve
latory and liberating detail. And if
you're working on a play—1 don't know
if I'm making this clear—you suddenly
watch people in a very physical way.
You watch the way they light their ciga-
rettes, you watch the way they cross a
room, you observe, for the first time,
whether or not this person is bowlegged
and you begin to think that you can tell
by the way a person combs his or her
hair, by the beat of a pause, by the
things they do or do not say, what is
going on inside them. You're watching
for the ways in which people reveal
themselves in their day-to-day life. What
Freud called—I think Fm right about
this—the psychopathology of everyday
life. So that as I began watching for my
woman in the South, I began to see her.
too. I have a very good actress friend. I
began to watch her, as if she were going
to play the part. How would she walk
into Ше door with groceries, and how
would she look at their child; how
would she look at her husband whom she
loves, whom she understands, whom
she knows to һе a murderer? How would
she do и? And I began to see that Шеге
would be very small things she would do
and very peculiar things that she would
say to reveal her torment. I began to see
that this is what we all do, all of the
time, all of us, including you and me.
That whatever is really driving us is
what can never, never, never be hidden
and is there to sce if one wants to see it.
The wouble is, of course, that most of
us are afraid of that level of reality. It
seems to threaten us, because we think
we can be safe. And this brings me to
something much deeper; for when you've
gotten this you see something
which every writer is really secing over
and over and over again, at pressures of
varying intensity. And he is really telling
the same story over and over and over
again, trying different ways to tell it and
uying to get morc and more and more
of it out. As 1 write this, I am trying to

tell it in a play set in che deep South.
But one afternoon in Harlem I under-
(concluded on page 241)

five yuletide vacations

upbeat and offbeat places for get-away-from-it-all year-end fun

Puerto Vallarta: Recently brought to public attention by the Burtons, but long known to
jet-setters as a hip Mexican hideaway, this lush spa offers one of the Pacific Coast’s best beaches and
ound climate. Above: After a full day of water-sporting and
lolling in the sand, a congenial group relishes a holiday repast highlighted by barbecued tuna, while

а mariachi band adds new twists to the venerable Auapango. Following dinner, all will move to the
Posada Vallarta for Kahlua cordials, thence to Los Muertos night club for drinks and dancing till dawn. 169

an unbeatably dry and temper:

e ye

Cortina d'Ampezzo: Sometimes called the “Jewel of the Dolomites,” sometimes “Queen
of the Mountains,” but, like an clegant lady, never by her first name, this posh resort in northern
Italy welcomes celebrants with an impeccable combination of native flamboyance, Millel-European

Gemütlichkeit and international chic, from the 12 days of Christmas through the 12 wecks after.

he and his

Top: Skier schusses down one of the incomparable slopes that lead into town, whe
companions count their yulctide blessings (above) іп one of Club Verokay's intime dining chambers.

Tangier : Mos Western of the Eastern cities, where expatriate American intellectuals settle,

and where the senses are simultaneously assailed by a feeling of dolce vila, by the sight of sultry-cycd
veiled women, by the smell of burning kief (akin to
stiges of traditional yulery in f.
“Take me to the Casbah,” sh

hish), this Moroccan metropolis is for the
or of languid days in the sun and

itinerant seeking to eschew all vi

said; and he did, renting one of the

swinging Arabian nights. Above

ornate sleeping rooms of a sheik's palace, where the coming year is welcomed over mint-flavored tea

The Aegean Sea: What better way to get away

from it all than to sail among the islands of Greece during the
holiday season? The awe-inspiring Acropolis provides a felicitous
beginning for a band of six, who then drive to Piracus to charter
the yacht Juanita and head eastward among Hydra, Crete,
Mykonos and other historically rich islands. Above: The group
enjoys one last sunny hour at sea in the harbor of Poros, before
returning to Athens for a New Year's evening on the town.

Hong Kong: One of the world’s most cosmopolitan
meccas for males, this Oriental free port offers round-the-clock
revelry amid lavish hotels, memorable restaurants, peerless shops,
and girls who act as if they were born only to please men. Right:
Travel-wise guy (he moves alone) brings his Crown Colony date
aboard the floating restaurant Sea Palace for Christmas dinner.
Having just made a selection of live scafood from a stocked

pool, they savor rum sours and the view of sampans scurrying
about Aberdeen Harbor (on the southern side of the island),

while the exotic dishes are being prepared to their order.

For additional information about any of these vacation areas, con
tact Playboy Reader Service, 232 East Ohio St., Chicago, Ш. 60611

PLAYBOY

174

ALEPPO (continued from page 116)

‘The handshakes were numbing. "My
е is Stanford Lovejoy.”

What the hellre you doing here?"
t Clair asked.

"m at the Mission."

“A lot of bint in this town?" Roland

looked hungrily around.

Bint.”
"Oh," Lovejoy said. “There are some
young ladies. But the mothers're rather

We never should've left Cairo,” Ko-
land said.

“That Creek dame's husband was
coming back, anyway," Saint Clair said.
“I like this town. What'd you say the
name was?”

“Lovejoy.”

“The town, Stanfor

“Oh, excuse me.” Lovejoy felt himself
getting a little rattled in the high fire of
roaring conversation. “Aleppo.”
Anything ever happen here?”
‘Well, during the Crusades, there
WARTE

“I mean at night.”

"Well," said Lovejoy, "I lead a rather

Roland said to
the waiter, in approximate French, “and
get three more.”

They raised their glasses. "To good
Saint Clair said, as though it was a
ritual, and both brothers laughed loudly
and drank half their glasses off.

“Syrian beer," Saint Clair said. "Drink-
able. But everyone connected with
Egyptian beer should be executed."

"Where is that sonofabitch Ladszlo?"
Roland peered down the street. “I told
you the first time I looked at him I
didn't trust him.

"He's slow;" Saint Clair said.
honest, but he's slow."

Lovejoy thought of the dark frail man
uying to get four piasters by force from
the descendants of unconquered tribes-
men at the café tables and. nearly said
something, but thought better of it and
some more beer.
en, Stanford,” Roland said, "you
don’t know how good it is to see an hon-

"He's

Lovejoy said, "glad to be

“The hotels in this part of the world,"
Saint Clair said, bewilderingly, “ 're full
of bugs. You wouldn't believe it."

"You probably have a villa, haven't
you, Stanford?" Roland said. "Land is
cheap in ıhese parts. The rate of ex

is wonderful, 100."
Lovejoy said, not knowing
te what he was saying yes to.

"IH be wonderful staying in an
American house Saint Clair said.
“Even for one night.

“You're perfectly . .

” Lovejoy said.

h, there you are, you sonofabitch,”
Roland said.

vcjoy looked up. Ladszlo was stand
ing there, bleeding. One eye was al-
ready swelling, the green jersey was
torn; on the spindly calf of the ri
there were two ragged blunt wounds.
The dark face was a little darker, a little
more sorrowful. There was a sour little
zoolike smell, Lovejoy noticed, hanging
over the small, torn figure. М
word Ladszlo extended nd. Roland
and Saint Clair leaped up and seized the
money in it, counted it hurriedly.
nty-four piasters!” Roland roared.
and cuffed
Ladszlo lightly across the face. Ladszlo
fell back into a chair, stunned.

“Goodness,” Lovejoy said.

“We could get five hundred dollars a
week for the Calonius brothers in Radio
City," Saint Clair yelled.

“This iss not Radio City, gentlemen
Ladszlo mumbled humbly. “Thiss iss
Aleppo, a small Oi ty, full of sav-
age, poverty-stricken Arabs.

Ме gave out fifty pictures of the
Calonius brothers," Roland leaned over
and grabbed Ladszlo's chin and held his
head up stiffly. “That means two
hundred piasters."

"Pardon me, gentlemen,” Ladszlo said.

“It doess not mean two hundred
"How шапу t сый
roared, “have I told you not to take back

any pictures?"
"I do not take back any pictures,

Roland shouted. “How
many times do I have to tell you? Insist!

A small sour smile played for a frac-
tion of a second over the corner of the
. "Gendemen," the humble
dark voice murmured, “I inssisst. Two
dogs bit me and a large young Arab hit
me wis a large copper vessel. Gentle-
men, let uss face i impractical sys-

“Are you trying to tell us our busi-
nes?" Saint lifted his hand
threaten

“Gentlemen,” said Ladsılo, wiping а
little blood off his chin, "I am merely
saying I will be dead by Baghdad il the
sysstem iss not improved somew

Saint Clair started to hit him again,
but the waiter arrived with fresh beers.
Saint Clair put onc into Lovejoy's hand,
and the brothers raised their glasses.
They smiled good-humoredly at cach

other. "То good will,” they said. They
drained their glasses and laughed
heartily.

Roland said, “can you ride a

bicycle?
"Yes, but .
“Get on Ladszlo's wheel and lead the
way." He left some money for the beer.

"Ladszlo, you carry Mrs. Buchanan and
follow us."

“Yess, gentlemen,"
ing up the monkey.
s damned hospitable of you,
jı roared, as they ен

Ladszlo said, pick-

about trav-

at
" Roland roared.

cling,” Americans stick
together.”
“Well,” Lovejoy said, “we're all far

from home and the least . . -

“One thing 1 miss,” Saint Clair said,
"is good American steak.”

“We should've stayed
land s
Ш you for the love of God stop
saying we should've stayed in Cairo?"
Saint. bellowed.
his is where 1 live,” Lovejoy said,
iedly, as they wheeled into the Mis
n grounds.
Like a king!”
thusiastically, 100

Cairo,” Ro-

int Clair said en
around him at the

draggled little Mission buildings. “Ro-
land,

aybe we ought to stay a couple of

self gracefully off his bicycle as Lov
stopped in front of his house. "Maybe.

Ladszlo came trotting up, hi
slightly green from the exercise i
blazing sun.

“Ladsilo,” Roland said,
wheels i

“Yess, genticmen,” Ladszlo рамей,
shifting the monkey away from the bare
sweating skin of his neck.

Lovejoy led the way up the steps.

“This is really like home,” Roland
said happily, sinking into the one easy
chair and looki the photograph: of
Herbert Hoover on the wall.

“The one would make life
complete," ir murmured from
ihe floor, where he was lying comfort

is a drink.”

"bring the

said Lovejoy worriedly,
is a Mission School, and they
frown оп...”

“You old dog,” Saint Clair boomed, as
adszlo, sweating more than ever,
brought the first bicycle through the
door, "bring it ош."

“We'll have to drink it in coffee cups,
in case the president happens to . .

“Bring it out, you old dog.” Roland
got up and clapped Lovejoy good
turedly on the back. “Ladszlo, you are
the worstsmelling Hungarian I've ever
met."

“Ies Mrs. Buchanan," Ladszlo
humbly. "She pisses all over me
went out to get the second bicycle.

Lovejoy went over to the huge
wardrobe in which he kept all
nt Clair stood bel
(continued. on page 271)

SEMANTICS AND THE COLD WAR

Talleyrand said, ‘‘Speech was given to man to disguise his thoughts.” This was the
remark of a clever man. For men of less intelligence, it would be truer to say, “Speech
was given to man to prevent thought.” Language has been performing this disastrous
function throughout all the controversies of the Cold War. How well it has done this is

my theme in the present article. Б 18. Re ` 20
ahe

The general practice in Cold War controversies has been to choose pairs of words, one
thought good and one bad in each pair, to attribute the "good" word to our side and the
“Бай” word to the other, and to avoid definitions which would show that the “good” word
is not wholly applicable to either side and the “Баа” word is not wholly inapplicable to either
side.

1 will begin with the words “defensive” and “offensive.” It is the firm belief of both
sides that their own weapons are defensive. while the weapons of the other side are of-
fensive. The argument is as follows: Modern weapons can serve two functions. On the one
hand, they can be used for a surprise attack, while, on the other hand, they can be used to
deter a surprise attack if they survive in sufficient force to be still formidable in the hands of
the side that has been attacked. The former use is offensive, the latter defensive. Our side
(whichever that may be) would never engage in a surprise attack, whereas the-other side
might do so at any moment. It follows that all our side's modern weapons are defensive,
and all those of the other side are offensive. The attitude on both sides has been made
quite explicit on various occasions. A recent British Government pamphlet called The
Key to Disarmament, in speaking of this matter, says: “It is irrclovant to say that the Soviet
Union has no need to fear Western aggression—of course there is no such danger—or to
argue that the Soviet Union would not launch an aggression against the West." | wrote in
November 1957 an open letter to President Eisenhower and Premier Khrushchev (The
Vital Letters of Russell, Khrushchev, Dulles, London, MacGibbon & Kee, 1958). Mr. Khru-
shchev, and John Foster Dulles on behalf of Mr. Eisenhower, replied using almost exactly the
above arguments. In the Cuban crisis, the matter passed beyond argument. The Soviet Gov-
ernment asserted that the installations it was making in Cuba were purely defensive and were
solely designed to protect Cuba from an attack by the United States. Those who took the
Communist side pointed out that American installations in Turkey quite near the Russian
frontier were claimed by America to be purely defensive. The Americans retorted that this.
was in. no degree parallel to Russian weapons in Cuba, since the Americans would never
initiate an offensive. If Khrushchev had not agreed to remove Russian weapons from Cuba,
this semantic game might have continued unti! we were all dead.

The fundamental assumption which gives rise to such semantic disagreements is the
assumption that our side is virtuous and the other side is wicked. John Foster Dulles’ reply
to the above-mentioned open letter (which was made on February 8, 1958, but doubtless
would be made by many Americans today) was very explicit on this subject. He said: “Тһе
creed of the United States is based on the tenets of moral law. That creed, as well as the
universal conviction of the United States, rejects war except in self.defense. This abhorrence
of war, this determination to substitute peaceful negotiation for force in the settlement of in-
ternational disputes is solidly founded on the religious conviction that guided our forefathers
in writing the documents that marked the birth of America's independence.” Khrushchev, as
might have been expected, retorted by asking whether the Mexican War of 1846 and the
Spanish-American War of 1898 were purely defensive. He went on (continued on page 205)

175

VELVET AND APOLLO fiction By FREDERIC MORTON

they frolicked in the water—not yet quite ready for love, but fully prepared to play all its games

THERE I LAY, wet and quick-breathing from the swim, and she sat next to me, moist and glistening. The world was
19 because I was 19, and the world was 18 because she had said she was 18 though I suspected she was less. Brooklyn's
Brighton Beach boiled with teeming proletarian Sunday. About us moved a forest of red-burned legs. Ball-catching
children whirred. The whine of mothers sounded, admonishing not to drink while overheated. The air was crowded
even with smells: the smells of egg-salad sandwiches, suntan oil, sweat scasoned with salt water, the mustard tang.
from hot-dog stands. The hurried traffic of bathers kicked up pieces of orange peel along with sand; requests chorused
from all sides to please watch people's stuff while they went in for a dip for just a minute.

There we were in the midst of all this and, for the simple reason that I was 19 and she dubiously 18, as invio-
lable and removed from it all as the sun itself that blazed down from above.

On the blanket we sprawled. I headlong, she leaning against my raised knee. The drops running down her
back mingled with those sliding from my calf. When we moved, our wet skins slapped together. She took off her
bathing cap and slowly. one by one, removed the bobby pins from her hair till the black shining tower on top of
her head leaned, fell, flowed out into the curtain that brushed against her pink shoulders. Each bobby pin, as it was

freed, she stuck gravely into the brown wool on my chest. And though the idea was unexpected, hilarious, I pressed
back my laughter because she wouldn't laugh, and just nodded soberly in acknowledgment. ‘Ihe mutual forbear-
ance was like a secret code, danced back and forth between our eyes.

Everything danced. The hair on my chest was as brand-new as the breasts straining against the halter of her
black bathing suit. We were both nouveaux riches of the flesh, new enough to the joys of our wealth to ignore its
stringencies. We weren't in love. But we rejoiced in each other because each dramatized the other's power of attrac-
tion; cach was the show window of the other's eligibility. 1 noticed her being appraised by passing men and took
in their sidelong envy. And when she saw a girl grow sell-conscious under my studied lazy-male glance, she jabbed
a bobby pin down proudly, possessively, into my chest-hair coilfure.

No, we weren't “serious.” Passion would have been too inconveniently adult, too rigorous, too desperate.
But playing at passion was wonderful. It was making the most of immaturity. There were so few people you could
do that with. And that’s why my discovery of her at the fraternity dance had been so important.

"There had been a bright puddle of girls in the gymnasium corner (I couldn't really distinguish faces from
afar without my glasses)—she in the midst of it. Her figure and hair were gorgeous by the strictest collegiate stand-
ards. I went straight at her. Her face was a bit aquiline. Something struck me about her dress, and a brave phrase
jumped from nowhere onto my tongue: “Pardon me, Velvet, may I have this dance?” She was transformed im the
instant [rom a disguised wallflower to a chosen goddess. The skirt of her velvet ensemble fell into sculptured folds,
her hand waved a sublime “Toodle-oo . . .” to her friends. Wordless and enigmatic, she preceded me to the dance

floor, and not until we had touched
each other did she, eyes raised, ask:
Now, how in the world did you ever
guess my name?"
By my sense of touch,” 1 replied,
inspired.
"You don't say. What do they call you?”
“Oh . . ." I temporized—till the light-

PLAYBOY

ning hit me: "Apollo."
"Hi, Apollo,” without batting am
eyclash

"You can call me Ap."

The band struck up Sleepy Lagoon
and I who had rehearsed the slant of my
pipe and she who had probably brooded
over what shade of lipstick to wear, we
both forgot the awkwardness of adoles-
cence in the playful glory of it. We were
Velvet and Apollo floating down a brook
of trumpets and sweet violins.

We realized it before the number was
over: We were a team. With others you
had to work hard to make the boy-girl
fun click. With her it came naturally.
she could inhabit effortlessly any world
of make-believe I conjured up. Somehow
we were the same speed.

‘And so came Sunday, our date.

We had met early when the beach was
most bare, She had come with her bath-
ng suit already on under the cotton
print. From her arm hung a lunch bas-
ket smelling of pastrami.

We slipped our street clothes off. The
sight of my chest made her scream with
delight.

"Hairy Apollo! Hairy Ap!"

“Hurry up yourself!”

‘Hairy Ap!

I chased her into the surf. But she was
very nimble. A junior lifeguard, she
took advantage of the rollers. The ex-
plosive, sun-dazzled brine blinded me. I
couldn't catch her.

“Look, I'm drowning,
and stuck my arms up.
saved.”

She saved mc. She was up and at me
from behind, dragging me roughly by
the neck. But not for long.

"Hey

1 was mute, dead.

“Hey, Apollo! Watch your hands!"

1 floated limply.

“Leave off, d'you hear?"

"I am unconscious, dear Velvet. I
don't know what I am doing

"You don't say!”

1 was dunked unceremoniously.

Once more 1 pursued, drowned, and
once more was saved and гер
And once more . . . By the ti
came out panting, holding wet hands,
was past 11. Umbrellas and. people had
mushroomed around our blanket. Wc
wolfed the pastrami sandwiches, the pick-
les and the apples in her basket. And
we plunged right back into the water,
my medical wisdom as a biology major
notwithstanding. We couldn't stop. Nor

178 could we stop talking, wisecracking, be-

1 cried craftily,
demand to be

cause it came so easy. It had never come
so casy before. We tossed the wet-bright
words at each other, like little children
who have just learned to throw multi
colored balls.

Only once in the effervescent tum-
bling a mistake tripped us. I caught,
kissed her. And all was still. The sea's
surge was suspended and a thousand
outcries froze. Her mouth lay quiet,
appalled next to mine. The somber gh
tony of lust overcame us. Burst, our nick-
names’ fly-by-night beauty. We could no
longer play at living; we were caught up
in its desperate and ravenous actuality.
It reduced us to what we were. Her fa-
gade of teenage glamor vanished. Beside
me writhed’ а queasy adolescent
badly shaved armpits. In the thinness of
her lips I felt the pressures, the pitiful-
ness of her humanity. Of a sudden I
surmised that all her romances had to
contend with her mothers wrinkled
spicions, that she had fretted for many
minutes over blackheads in her blurred
nd mirror.

No...” she gurgled.

A wave washed us apart. The sea re-
sumed its tossing, the golden beach sim-
mered in front of me, shoals of voices
swam about. Splendid, spangled, our toy-
land dosed round again.

"You're a masher!” she cried.

And crawled away from me. I fol-
lowed. We reached a buoy. I wanted to
sit on it. She wouldn't let me. She tilted
it when 1 got on top.

"Wait, l'll do the same to you

"I don't want to get on it," she said
haughtily and swam out farther, I in her
wake.

"Shall I teach you the back crawl?”
she called after a while,

"Yes, do.”

"But you don't deserve it. You're a
masher.”

"Come on, please, Velvet. "The quality
of mercy is not strain'd .. .'"

“A highbrow! An educated masher!
Shut up!”

She was treading at my side, taking my
wrist.

‘Stretch your hand out like this . . .

Afterward we drifted on our backs. I
closed my eyes. The sea was a vast cool
ng cradle. On my lids, as on a can-
vas, the sun painted vibrant darkness.
We were so far from the shore, no other
swimmers disturbed the car. Only the
oars of pass boats clucked. The beach
са in the distance.

‘Say, Apollo, wake up! Are you as
hungry as I am

istantly as soon as
she had said it. I was so hungry that I
се back to shore.

She splashed me from be-
. "You started саге
The surf licked round our an
kles as we ran out. When we reached our
blanket we were nearly dry, for the day
was in its prime and slammed down its

incandescence. I dug into my pockets
for change; my stomach clamored. Then
we threaded our way through a maze of
bodies, sind and Sunday papers. On the
boardwalk she discovered chat she had
forgotten her sandals.

“That wood is hot!
shoes like a gentlema

1 refused like a gentleman, in very gal-
lant and regretful terms. She began to
whine and to bob up and down. Hcr bos-
om shook in rhythm with the long black
tresses.
int Vitus dance," 1 explained cas-
ually to passers-by, and she made show-
manship out of her indignation, for she
had noticed the mild stir she made.

But she forgot her fect when we were
in line before the hamburger stand. The
slower the line moved, the hungrier we
got. And the sounds and the scents! I
have never smelled anything like it
since: the sharp fine tang of mustard Ia-
dled out of porcelain jars; the pungenc
of catsup soaking into rolls; the tooth-
some crackle of chopped meat on the
hot plate; the cool hiss of sodas being
opened. We were starvelings in the de
ext, we would die if we didn't get ours
soon...

And then we had ours; it sizzled in the
hand. I plumped down on the one va-
cant comer of a nearby bench.

She was beside herself.

“Sadist! Let me sit. You know I ca
stand it on my fect anymore!”

Munching, I offered my lap. She was
in no position to argue. Legs dangling,
she sat across my thighs and fell to. My
wet hair tousled down my forehead and
moistened her neck. She wiped herself
off with the towel that was draped
turesquely round my neck. Occasionally
her small snowy teeth raided my ham-
burger, abducted large portions.

“Hey

“That's for being such а sadist!”

I snapped, vainly, at her bun. We
laughed, spattered relish on cach other,
guzled Coke. She perched, fluttered,
twittered on my lap, а red-breasted rob-
in. An old man with a cane paused to
look at us. Together, we were а day-
се puberty we had been tan-
ized by the myth of carelessly desirous
youth; its icons had glittered down on us
in the form of movie stills and deo-
dorant posters. For years we had reached
out for it—only to founder in sw
park-bench maneuvers. Now, at
seemed attained.

“Mmmm,” she s:

Down we went into the sand again,
licking the catsup off our
through the helter.s

Give me your

toes to our blanket. For the first time we
felt

the need for a little rest.
stretched herself out, her ankles locked,
the white undersides of her tanned arms
opening over her head like the petals of
a flower. I cushioned my head on her
(concluded on page 226)

Dlayboys Christinas Cards

missives and missiles for the jolly season
verse By JUDITH WAX AND LARRY SIEGEL

ud the New Year models that flow through your pad
Feature chassis both softer and plumper. EN

May they go on all cylinders, and | might add:
Мау the traffic Бе bumper to bumper.

Dlayboy’s Christmas Cards

missives and missiles for the jolly season
verse By JUDITH WAX AND LARRY SIEGEL

TO A PUZZLED PEN PAL

(from a puzzled pen pal)

READERS’ CHOICE

ten favorite playmates from playboy's first ten years

LAST DECEMBER, we chose ten favorite Playmates from among the more than one hundred who have adorned our cen-
terfold during PLAYnOY's first decade of publication, and graphically announced our selections in a feature called
Editors’ Choice. We invited ptaynoy readers similarly to select their all-time top ten, and gave them a chance to review
their favorites, from December 1953 through December 1963, in the monthly feature Playmates Revisited. Proving that
tastes in beauty are more universal than most connoisseurs might want to admit, pLaynoy readers and editors, batting a
spectacular .700, agreed on seven out of ten girls—Connie Mason, Janet Pilgrim, Christa Speck, Joyce Nizzari, Lisa
Winters, Heidi Becker and Donna Michelle—w three new faces, Laura Young, June Cochran and Toni Ann
Thomas, filling out the figure ten. Here they are, the choicest Playmates of the Decade, as chosen by you, our readers.

LAURA YOUNG is а swinging lady driver
whom we first met on the rolling green of a
golf course. We were sufficiently impressed
with her classic form (36-25-36) to ask her
to be our October 1962 Playmate. At that
time we learned that lovely Laura, in addi-
tion ta pursuing her carefree country-club
sport of letting the chip shots fall where
they may, is also skilled at painting ce-
ramics, and secretly addicted ta confession
magazines. We also discavered that be-
cause she was brought up in a Navy fam-
ily, she led a peripatetic childhood, moving
from Miami to Panama to Key West to Red
Bank—and finally to Chicago, where she
hoped ta become a model. Since teeing off
with her gotefold appearance, Laura's
fashion career has been driving in high

CHRISTA SPECK is a spectacular import from Germony who is
рота! to jazz, modem dance and experimental drama.
She wos not only unanimously voted Playmate af the Yeor
by piaveoy's editars—after her twin appearances as Miss
September 196) and as a house guest in the Ploymole Holiday

House Ролу (December 1961|—but hos proved equally popular
among riavsor readers: Christa’s foldout feature has garnered
more fan mail than апу other in the magozine’s history,

JOYCE NIZZARI first posed before pıaygoy cameras for
the July 1958 cover, wecring o pair of green sunglasses
and o bikini of Robbit emblems. Our readers, recog-
nizing Ploymote porentiol when they sow it, wrote in
demonding that Joyce be given gotefold treatment sans
bikini, ond sunglasses, too. Only 18 when she appeared
os our December 1958 Playmote, Joyce, os these photo-
graphs attest, gets prettier every year, Since 1958, she's
‘acted in a number of films, including A Hole in the Head
(with Fronk Sinotro) and The Greot Race (with Tony Cur-
ов well as such TV shows os Burke's Low, The Beverly
illies und The Mori from U. N. C. LE. When told thor
she had been chosen for Readers’ Choice, Joyce said
how pleased she was “that readers still remember

her. It isn't difficult, we think, with a beauty like Joyce.

USA WINTERS is o sun-ripened Miami product, who
was discovered. by pholagrapher Bunny Yeager
waiting for a bus. Her subsequent Ploymote ар-
pearance in December 1956 hos been on all-time
favorite. A year later, we published а feature about
liso, describing haw her shyness [she has never
posed for o mole photographer) had prevented her
from accepting oding offers. While we regret the en-
tertainment world’s loss, we can t help being grate-
ful far women photoorophers—end Miami buses.

HEIDI BECKER, a Milwaukee miss who hailed
from Austria (when she was strudel-sweet
16), established our June 1961 issue as а
memorable one. Originally а hair stylist in
the city that made beer farnaus, she was
discovered by ғілүвоү photographer Mario
Casilli in Los Angeles (together with her close
friend, Christa Speck}, Heidi, back in Europe
and thrilled at being selected far Readers’
Choice, wrote us that she still digs dancing,
savors summertime swimming and continues
her year-round taste for awesome quantities
of pizza, a proclivity which has had no
adverse effect on her remarkable figure.

DONNA MICHELLE nurtured lifelong theotrical ombi- I
tions when she appeored us our December 1963
Playmate. Her gatefald prompted acting offers from
stage, screen and TV producers, all as impressed
with Donna os piavaoy’s editors are. We not only
unanimously selected her the current Playmate of
the Yeor, but hove used her likeness to brighten
our Christmos subscription ads ond have shown
Donna adding a beautifying personal touch ta the
Jamaica Playboy Club in our September 1964 issue.

` proportions, was raised in preis AE

. et twisting and miniature golf, partial to Corvettes and
kabob, June talks most readily about her phenomenal
contests: In 1961, she was selected Miss Indiana in the
Universe Pageant; in 1962, she won the same title in th
Miss World Contest. After being chosen December 1962 PI 5
mate, June was one of the principals in c -way tie for
196375 Playmate of the Year. А readers’ runoff placed the own
on June's lovely blande tresses. At present. she's a or

_ and photogenic Phota Bunny in the Chicago Playboy СІ

kc Arts

ТОМ! ANN THOMAS, on instructress for Vic
Tanny's before becoming our February 1963
Playmate, abviously knows what there is to
know about keeping in shape (38-22-36).
California born and bred, Toni earns her
bread working in public relations, occupies
her spare time reading upbeat fictian ond
indulging о penchant for comedies and who-
dunits at the flicks. Also on ardent shutterbug,
Toni is one of those rare creatures who makes
а pretty picture regardless of which side of the
lens she's on. Although her main ambition is
ta marry а nice guy.” Toni is still unattached

PLAYBOY

“At one point I was down to practically nothing!”

Ribald Classic

from the Hungarian
folklore of Petöfi

the virgin’s cup

А HANDSOME young doctor was called into the
palace of an elderly Magyar duke to care for
the aging ruler. The duke lived in the huge
place with only his servants and his lovely
young daughter.

Even though the girl was less than 19, she
was magnificently endowed and was sought
after by all the young males in the region.
However, she was terribly shy in public, and
the young doctor found his blandishments of
little aid in his own courtship of the charmer.

To help the duke rest better, the doctor
served I te each night that threw
him into a sound sleep for cight full hours.
During those hours, the patient resisted all
attempts to be aroused, yet was responsive to
all other physical impulses.

This gave the young doctor an idea. One
evening, when the warm spring night set his
pulses pounding with desire, the doctor de-

m an opia

cided to give the girl a bit of the same medi
cine he served her father.

He reasoned that after she had retired for
the night, he would steal to her room, gently
lift her from the bed and carry her to h
own pallet where he would savor her delights
without letting the girl realize what was ta
ing place.

His coup de grüce was even more master-
ful. In the morning when she would awaki
he would turn the tables on her by demand.
ing to know whatever had possessed her to
steal into his room late at night to seduce him

He set the trap nicely. Не asked the lass to
share a pot of tea with him. The girl was hes
йат, but succumbed to his pleas and the
ica was served. When she wasn't looking, he
quickly slipped the drug into her cup.

He accomplished all this by busying him-
self 10 such an extent that he “accidentally”
knocked over a platter of teacakes. In Ше re-
sulting confusi able to slip the
drug into her cup without notice, After he
produced a cloth and tidied up, they sat
down finally ro drink their brew.

The maiden retired. An hour liter, the
young doctor tiptoed into her chamber and
gently lifted the limp but luscious form of
Ше young кашу into his throbbing arms.
He swiftly carried her to his room and low-
cred her onto the hed. He eagerly crawled in
beside her and was soon launched into a
wonderful night of frolic.

Morning rolled around too quickly and he
realized he had to get her back to her cham-
ber. Gently, he shook the girl awake. Her
eyes widened as she saw where she was. He
clapped his hand over her lips to prevent an
ошау and explained how she hid "sur-
prised” h sleep, The girl listened
aghast, then rushed from the room hiding
her

The doctor calmly dressed and then head-
ed downstairs, smiling softly to himself as he
prepared to start his day's rounds. As he
moved past the kitchen, he heard muttering.
He paused to overhear the scullery maid
complaining to the cook:

“That girl is a disgrace! She ruined our
nice potted violet!”

“How?” the cook wondered.

“Last night! The nice young doctor gave
her a cup of tea and when he wasn't looking
she dumped it all onto Ше violett Why
didn't she just tell him she hates tea?"

—Retold by William Danch

ion, he w

face.

195

PLAYBOY

SAUVE QUI PEUT (continued jrom page 139)

indisposition, and this we did as one
man. But before we could post off our
polite, almost joyful refusals to these
amiable Kurds, Polk-Mowbray called a
general meeting in chancery. He was
pensive, he was pale and grave, quite the
Hamlet. “I suppose you have all received
this,” he said, holding up a pasteboard
square on which the dullest eye could
descry the sickle and minarets of the
Kurdish arms with the sort of crossed

T suppose you ha sed.” went
on our chief, “and in a way I am glad. I
don't want my mission to develop a taste
for blood—these things grow on one. But
it docs raise rather a. problem, for the
Kurds are a young, buoyant, up-and-
coming little country with a rapidly de-
clining economy and they are fearfully
touchy. It is inconceivable that Her
Majesty's Government should not be
represented at this affair by one of us.
Besides, who knows, it might be in-
formal, touching, colorful, even instruc
tive . . . what the devil? But someone
should be there; we just can't ignore
twolegged Kurds in the modern world.
"The next thing is, they will vote against
us in the UN. You take my point?
Well, I have sat up all night worry-
ing about the affair and (having no taste.
for blood myself) have arrived at a per-
lectly democratic solution which 1 know
you will approve and I hope you will re-
spect." From behind his back came his
left hand holding a packet of straws.
“Whoever draws the shortest straw will
represent us!" he cried shrilly. We all
paled to the gums, but what could we
do? It was a command. Closing our cycs,
lips moving in prayer, we drew. Well
па... yes, of course 1 did. I drew the
shortest straw

I let out—I could not help ita rucful
“But surely,
-Mowbray, his face
full of compassion, smote me on the
shoulder. “Antrobus,” he said, “I could
not have wished for anyone more reli-
able, more circumspect, more jolly un-
flinching. Anyone less likely to faint. 1
am glad—yes, glad with all my he:
that fate should have chosen you. Cour-
age, mon vieux!"

This was all very well. I wasn't a bit

cockered up by all this praise. My lip
trembled, voice faltered. “Is there no
other way?" I cried out in my anguish,
gazing from face to stony face. There
"u, it would sccm. Polk-Mowbray
shook his head with a kind of sweet sad-
ness, like a mother superior demobbing
a novice. "It is kismet, Antrobus,” he
said, and I felt a sort of coffin lid close
оп me. I squared my shoulders and let
my chin fall with a thump onto my

196 chest. I was a beaten man. I thought of

my old widowed mother in St. Abdomen
in the Wold—what would she say if she
knew? I thought of many things. “Well,”
I said at last, "so be it.” I must say, every-
one brightened up. looked awfully re-
lieved. Moreover, for the next few d:
received every mark of con
from my colleagues. They spoke to me
in hushed voices, hushed commise:
voices, as if T were an invalid. They tip-
хоса about for fear of disturbing my rev-
cries. I thought of a hundred ways out
of the affair, but none of them seemed
practicable. 1 went so far as to sit in a
draft, hoping I would catch pneumonia;
T hinted broadly that I would surrender
my two stalls for the Bolshoi to anyone
kind enough to replace те. . . in vain.
ї the day dawned; there was
nothing for it but to climb into sponge-
bag (the old morning coat and the black
and whites) and hoist gongs (tack on the
decorations), At last I was ready. The
whole chancery was lined up to shake
my hand and see me off. Polk-Mowbray
had put the Rolls at my disposal,
pennant and all “Гуе told the driver
to take a firstaid kit with him," he
id hoarsely. “One never knows in these
matters.” You would have thought that I
was to be the sacrificial lamb from the
way he went on. De Mandeville pressed
his smelling salts into my hand and said,
“Du give liule Abdul all our sympa-
thy!“ As for Dovebasket, he pressed his
Leica upon me, saying, “Try and get a
doseup. The Sunday Times color sup-
plement is crying out for something
new, and they pay like fiends; ГІ split
with you—it's one chance in a million to
scoop Tony!” The lite blackhead!

But | was too broken to speak. I handed
the thing back without a word and step-
ping into the car I cried faintly, “To the
Kurdish Embassy, Tobias!”

The Kurds had everything arranged
most tastefully, I must say; lots of jolly
decent looking refreshments laid out un-
der a huge marquee on the back lawn.
Here we Dips congregated. I noticed that
most missions had sent acting vice-consuls
smelling for the most part of brandy and
looking pale and strained. Now the
Kurds may be a young nation, but they
look as crafty as some of the older, The
on was dressed in spanking tenue,
but in one corner, presiding over a side
table covered. in grisly-looking Stone
Age instruments, stood a small group of
ister men clad in horse blankets of
various colors. They had shaven skulls
and purple gums and they conversed in
a series of dry clicks like Bushmen. Faces
which suggested nothing so much as
opencast coal mining. This, 1 took it,
was the medical wing of the Kurdish
Embassy—the executioners. But where
was the little beardless youth in whose

honor all this joyful frolic had been
ranged? I went so far as to ask. “Ah!”
cried the ambassador. “He will be here
in a minute. He is on his way from the
airport" I was a bit puzzled by this.
but... Kurds have their own way of
doing things. “And think of it,” went on
the head of mission, clasping his hands,
"Abdul knows nothing of all this! It is a
surprise for him, a litle surprise. He
will be very joyful when he sees . . .
He waved at dhe group of executioners.
Well, I thought to myself, let joy be un-
confined, and tried to draw strength
from some rather good raltat-loultoum—
Turkish delight—which I found in a cor
ner. After all, one could close one's eye
or turn the head; one needn't actually
look, E told myself.
Luckily my fears were groundless. Im-
gine our collective surprise when Abdul
bounded into the tent to embrace his
mother and father; instead of some ри
ing adolescent we beheld a tough-look
ing youth of some 20 summers with
handsome mustache and a frank, open
countenance. This was to be the victin
I must say, his frank, open countenance
clouded as he took in the import of the
business. He showed every sort of un-
willingness to enter into the full joyful-
ness of the occasion. Wouldn't you?
Morcover, he was just down from Ox-
ford where he had not only taken a good
degree, but had got his boxing blue. His
mother and father looked troubled and
began to urge, to plead, in Kurdish. But
he respectfully declined, giving every
mark of disapproba
He shook his head violently, and his
eye flashed. At last his father lost pa-
tience and motioned to the thugs in the
corner. But the young man had learned
something at Oxford. With a right and
left he sent two sprawling; the others
climbed on his back. A terrible fracas
broke out. Cartwheeling round like a
top with the Kurds on his back, Abdul
mowed half the corps down and upset
the trestle tables; then, reversing, he
knocked the tent pole out and the whole
thing collapsed on us in a billowing
cloud of colored stuff. Shouts, yells . . . 1
lost my topper, but managed to crawl
out from under. I touered to the gate,
yelling for "Tobias. All I got out of the
a box of Turkish delight,
which I shared round the chancery. It
met with approval and I was the hero of
the hour. Compliments They fairly
forked them up to me! Polk-Mowbray
was in two minds about the sort of
figure 1 had cut, but after giving it
thought, he summed the matter up jolly
sagely. “In diplomacy,” he said, “it is so
often a case of sauve qui peut.

affair w

М. Rey.
Сары

@ >

playboy presents handsome holiday swag from santa’s sack

PLAYBOY

Clockwise from one: Italion shoehorn, 2/2
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Eight-doy pendulum clock in oiled wolnut
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580. Portoble tonning ond heolth lomp,
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Tonbork offer shave (5 ozs.) ond зоор, by
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Quorter-keg home droft beer dispenser,
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holds 12 14-0. glosses; olso feotures а
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oko features foot-operoted master switch,
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ond outomaticolly oligned record, ploy-
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Gourmet center with ice-crusher ond

n-
opener ottochments; features twin push
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Нолдсгой, $18. Double cigerette box of
walnut ond ook, by Roymor, $13. Char-
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six buttons, brown ond gold suede front,

198 welt pockets, by Leonordo Strassi, $27.50.

Left, clockwise from noon: Electric shover, by Schick, 619. Refrocting telescope, 6.5 x30, by Swift, $9.95. Jova snoke belt, reverses to French
colf, by Sulko, $15. Brushed-bross clock, from Abercrombie & Fitch, $77. Walnut pipe coddy, from Abercrombie & Fitch, $25. Motched-grain
7-piece pipe set, by Koywoodie, $150. AM/FM clock rodio, by Elgin, $65. Old-foshioned shoving mirror, from Hommacher Schlemmer, $19.50.
Rozor, cuts diogonolly for closer shove, by Dunhill, $595. English shoving brush, from Bullock & Jones, $18.50. Fidget stone for busy execu-
fives, by Von Hogen & Co., 510. Dominoes with polished inloid wood cribboge boord ond pegs, by Bullock & Jones, $17.50. Gold toothpick,
14k, by Sulko, $19.80. Onyx cuff links, by Donte, $15. Messoge center, allows you to leove tope-recorded notes for your secretory, roommote,
etc., by Westinghouse, $39.95. French milled scop, by Mennen, $1.50. Long-distance Swiss wotch, one movement shows bock-home time, other
movement, locol time, from Bullock & Jones, $104.50. Jockey Club shove lotion (3 ozs), by Caswell-Mossey, $4. York Town shove lotion (63/4
ол), by Shulton, $3.50. Ronge finder, oll purposes, from All Hands, $29.95. Clossic blender, by Oster, 563. Stotesmon attaché cose, by Som-
зопйе, $24.95. Wool vest in lightweight double-knit, by Sulko, $23.50. Butone lighter, 14k solid gold, by Bentley, $495. 4711 cologne (372
ог), from Cclogne, $3. Below, clockwise from noon: Thinline wolch, 14k, 17 jewels, by Homilton, $175. Skindiver's wotch, 17 jewels, pressure
resistont, by Vontoge, $29.95. Transporent wotch, 18k gold cose, 17 jewels, by Lucien Piccord, $300. Solt shaker ond pepper mill of stoved teok, by
Donsk, $22. Three liquor deconters in bross cose, from Rigoud, $66. Speedshover, by Norelco, $19.95. Canoe calogne (16 ozs), by Dono, $14. Com-
bination coot honger ond brush, by Kent, $7.50. Cuff links, gold filled with jode, by Dunhill, $19.25. Authentic bronze coins, struck in Imperiol
Alexordrion mint, 14k mounting, by Merrin, $45. Onyx ring, by Botell Ring Co., $75. De-nicoteo cigerette holder in 14k, by Dunhill, $62.50.
Butone lighter, from Bullock & Jones, $33. Buffolo nickel cuf links, from Bennie's Coin Shop, $7.95. Со!5-еуе formal cuff links ond studs, 14k
settings, by Sulko, 59350. Block moire evening wollet with 24k corners, by Rigaud, $50. Alligotor pocket secretory, by Rumpp, $60. Imperiol
Gold shove lotion (5 оғ<), by Kings Men, $1.25. Portable rodio, AM, short wave, marine and weather, by Generol Electric, $39.95. Thermom-
eter-poperveight, by Honeywell Inc., $3.95. Britonrio metol flosk, from A. & F., $17. Binaculors. 8x30, by Zeiss, $149. Voroflame butone lighter,
by Ronson, $20. Cellophone tope—dispensing replico of ticker tape, from Hommocher Schlemmer, $10. Mognifying gloss, from Dunhill, $27.50.

PLAYBOY

Above, clockwise from noon: Gloss boot cocktail mixer sel, from Shreve's, $16.50. Brass Turkish coffee pot, from Bullock's-Wilshire, $33. Brush
and shoehorn іп pebble-grain case, from Hommacher Schlemmer, $10. Portable automatic marine direction finder, by Esse Radio Co., $397.50.
Hond-sewn leather gloves, by Fownes, $14. Pewter humidor, from Abercrombie & Fitch, $45. Executive 5-pound dumbbells, by Diversified
Products, $6. By Georgel tale (2/; оғ<), by Caryl Richards, $1.50. Conon 35mm comera with f/1.8 lens, built-in exposure meter, by Bell &
Howell, $250. Portable 3-speed radio/phonogroph, from Gabriel-Eell, Inc., $59.95. Money clip of 14k gold, by Sulko, $38.50. Fraternity cufl-link
set, by R & K Jewelers, 57. Knight-head blozer butions, by Dunhill Tailors, $15. Aftershave lotion and Eau de Cologne in book selling, both 4
ozs., by Houparce, $5. Ski goggles, convert from gray to amber lenses, by Seo & Ski, $7.50. Aztec shower зоор, by Beau Brummell, $1.50. Wool
chollis mufler, from Switzerland, by Handeroft, $11. Five-peso cigarette lighter, from A. & F., $11. Circular calculator with leather cose, by
Scientific Educational Products, $15. Hand-carved wood yacht “protest ond strategy” kit, from A. & F., $15. Portable television set, transistorized,
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from Hammacher Schlemmer, $6. Right, clockwise from noon: Three cotton-print ties with squared ends, by Taylor, $2.50 each. Cologne (16 ozs.],
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ij | AN \ y

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Mast

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four condles, by Moison Gourmet, $20.

205

PLAYBOY

SEMANTICS

to point out that at the time of the Rus-
sian Revolution а large number of coun-
tries, including the United States, had

by armed force. He omitted to
that the Soviet Government

mention
had used force to suppress revolutions

ary and Eastern Germany.
by a careful choice of facts,
represented itself as completely virtuous
and its opponent as completely wicked.
So long as this belief persists on both
sides, the semantic controversy about
the words offensive and defensive is
bound to remain insoluble.

‘There is another set of words which
had, originally, no good or evil con-
notation. The most notable of these is
“red.” In old days, when people talked
of a “Red Indian” there was no impli-
is to his politics. Nowadays, if
you belong to that small minority that is
not willing to call a man a Communist
unless he is one, you salve your con-
science by calling him a "Red." The
effect is equally explosive, and may do
him almost as much harm. This shows
what a useful word "red" is.

The West is in the habit of describing
itself as the “Free World,” while the East
describes it as “colonialist.” Neither of
these words is in any degree accurate if
intended to mark a difference between
the two sides. The “Free World” is used
to describe all the parts of the world
which have governments supporting or

Шей with the United States, Portugal is
deemed to belong to the free world al-
though it is engaged in a bloody and
brutal war against its African subjects.
Spain is hailed as a defender of freedom
Ithough Franco's regime is at least as
dictatorial as that of Khrushchev. And
how about freedom in the United States
itself? In America, it is illegal to be a
Communist, and even slightly leftish
views expose people to various forms of
harassing persecution. The violence of
popular prejudice (largely caused by se-
mantic malpractices) makes juries ready
to convict on quite inadequate evi-
dence, as happened in the cases of the
Rosenbergs and Sobell, and makes peo-
ple accept the prolonged. imprisonment
of Sobell even when the evidence has
been acknowledged to be inadequat
And how about Negroes in the United
States? If you tell them that they inhabit
a part of the free world, you will, if you
те willing 10 listen, be met by a volley
of devastating facts.

Internationally, also, it cannot be
maintained that the United States stands
for freedom. It docs not admit the right
of Cuba to have the sort of government

which Cubans apparently want. In
wtheast Asia, it supports unpopular
dictatorships with hardty paralleled

ferocity, Throughout Latin America, it

206 pursues a similar policy, though so far

(continued from page 175)

with less sa . It indulges in power
politics with little practical respect for
its professed slogans. Britain, in si
respects, has been at least equally blame-
worthy. The most blatant examples were
Cyprus and the Suez expedition.

And how about the East and its slo-
gans? The East accuses the West of
being colonialist, but professes that the
Soviet Government is out to liberate
those large parts of the world which
were formerly colonies of the West. The
accusation against Ше West was, until
recently, well founded. But what about
Russia’s record since the Revolution? All
the non-Russian states of Eastern Eu-
rope, with the sole exception of Yugosla-
via, were compelled to bend the knee to
Moscow. I cannot see any difference be-
tween Russia in Hungary and France i
Algeria, except that Russia was success-
ful and France was not. When any coun-
try passes from subservience to one side
to subservience to the other. the process
is called “liberation” by the one side and
“subjection” by the other without any
regard whatever for the feelings of the
inhabitants, It is very largely by the use
of slogans that the truth of such changes
of allegiance is concealed. Liberation is
proclaimed on both sides, liberation
“from Communist tyranny” on the one
side and liberation from “the domina-
tion of Wall Street” on the other.

One uf die most controversial and dis-
torted words in the ld War is the
word “democracy.” It used to be under-
stood that democracy meant government
by a majority of the population con-
cerned, but this meaning was discarded
by Communists at an early stage of the
Russian Revolution when the Russian
Constituent Assembly was dissolved by
the Bolsheviks. Communists still speak
officially of the “German Democratic

although it w stablished
n armed force against the
vehement resistance of the majority of
the population. But in this matter the
West is only slightly less culpable. Pow-
erful forces—the government, the armed
forces, the armament industry, the great
preponderance of newspapers and tele-
ion—are united in an endeavor to
conceal from the public facts unfavor-
ble to the interests of these organizations
1 10 do what they can to spread be-
liefs which are contrary to fact, as, for
example, about the possible efficacy of
shelters against a nuclear war. Publicity
is expensive, and, therefore, where there
is freedom for the rich and powerful,
publicity supports their interests as
against those of the less wealthy part of
the population. In the carly days of so-
cialism and communism, both stood for
the interests of the poorer classes in
their own countries. Nowadays, the
Communists profess to stand for the

poorer countries rather than poor ind
uals. The Western nations also pro-
fess to take this stand, though rightly or
wrongly, with somewhat less success. The
difference between East and West in re-

governments are more prone to use
force, while Western governments rely
more upon deccit.

The word “peace” is used on both
sides in a manner to promote their own
propaganda. The Russians call (he
bloc “the peace-loving nations.
Ameri Strategic Air Command has a
large notice over its gate saying "Our
Profession is Peace.” As I see it, there is
one very simple way of securing peace,
and that is not to fight; but th not
the way that is suggested by either side.
It is obvious to everybody that the most
essential step toward peace is mutual dis-
armament. Each side has its own disarm-
ament scheme, but hitherto each side
has been careful to insert in its scheme
something to which the other side is
known to be unalterably opposed. It fol-
lows that each side only loves peace if
associated with vital concessions by the
other side. On such terms, everybody,
always, has been in favor of peace.
Even Hitler would have been if he could
have secured all that he wanted with-
out a war. The professed desire for
peace, by both sides, one must conclude,
has not been sincere. There is reason to
hope that tiere has lately becu inipiosc-
ment in this respect, but as vet this hope
must remain somewhat uncertai

The phrase “Iron Curtain,” which is a
favorite of the West, is resented by the.
East. The facts scarcely justify either the
Western use of the phrase or the Eastern
objection to it. The Russian Govern-
ment on cer
partics of tourists from the West. There
is no corresponding welcome [or parties
of Russian tourists in NATO countries.
In fact, when emissaries from Commu-
nist countries, or anybody whose politics
are disliked by the American Gosern-
ment, visit New York on official business
of the United Nations, they are often
confined to onc part of New York City
and forbidden to travel clsewhere in
America. When Communist professiona
diplomats in England have occa
go anywhere outside London, they have
to notify the British police of their exact
route and British policemen follow them
to make sure that the information given
is accurate. The Iron Curtain, like most
curtains, has two sides, though from
neither side is it quite impermeable. It
most nearly impermeable in the Berlin
Wall. Nowhere in die West is the West's
Iron Curtain called by this name—not
even the curtain that it has hung about
the Chinese mai

Behind Ше м

ain conditions welcomes

n to

1 of propaganda and
(concluded on page 251)

fiction By HUGH NISSENSON their task was to preserve the human race
by finding one normal female in a world of mutants and canines gone wild

Sixth day
INTELLIGENCE WAS RIGHT. DeWitt is to be congratulated. They have a woman
here, there's no doubt of it. For almost a weck now, I've been afraid that we were
making the long march for nothing, but now that we are here, late this afternoon,
during a break in the preliminary negotiations with the little brutes, I was per-
mitted to look at her through the cracks in the clapboard walls of the hut where
she is kept, the only normal-sized structure of any kind in the whole settlement;
just a glimpse as she was being bathed, but reassuring just the same. As I watched,
two of their females washed her in a rusty tub of galvanized metal probably
scavenged from the ruins of the fair-sized town we passed the day before yes-
terday, about 30 miles due south of here—leveled by an airburst, from the looks
of it, but definitely “cold” according to my counter, and now marked accord-
ingly on my шар... But the woman; how can I put it? Magnificent is the
only word to describe her. What luck for Wilson, damn him! Without so much as
a word, a faint smile on her lips, hardly deigning to even glance at the little hor-
rors, she permitted them to dry her off and comb out her Jong blonde hair which
almost reaches the small of her back. She's young, too, about 16 would be my
guess, certainly nubile, with ample breasts and rounded hips, perfectly, absolutely

PLAYBOY

perfectly formed, as far as I could see,
and good-looking to boot. with beautiful
white teeth and very fair skin, flushed
cheeks from the steaming water which
they heat up with hot stones. Of course,
I must make a much more detailed ex-
amination before I can definitely commit
myself, but on the evidence so far, I've
begun to bargain with the “mayor” here,
as he calls himself, who is adamant in
his demands for at least eight of our

M-Is, plus а hundred rounds of ammu-
nition apiece.
"Impossible," I tell him.

“Ah then, Captain, I am sorry, too,
more than T can say,” he shrugs, dap-
ping his hands for one of his females
who brings us an earthenware plate
heaped with fresh fruit—his daughter, I
think, or maybe one of his wives; who
can tell for sure? In any case, certainty as
hideous as he, and about the same
height, not more than 30 inches at
the most, with the same kind of head of
reddish hair, and almost identical wiz-
спей, hairless face, and enormous head
d torso in proportion to her stunted
limbs. “Yes, it’s too bad,” he repeats in
his surprisingly deep voice, biting into a
Perched on his head and

myself from laughing in his face, is
ancient battered, black-silk top
found who knows where. It is apparently
the badge of his “office” which is heredi
tary, he has confided in me, and passed
on through matrilineal descent for three
generations now. "Yes, yes, a real shame
" He scratches his neck, then his
hairless chest covered by a ragged Вар
of the stinking hide of a wild dog which
is slung over one shoulder and tied about
the waist with a rawhide strip. The
stench is unbelievable. Sergeant Thur-
mond tells me it's because the only way
they have discovered to tan hides is with
a solutien of their own feces—huge pots
of which he has come across in onc of
their mud and wattle huts, or rather
mounds | suppose, woukl be the best
way to describe them. There must be
over a hundred in the walled compound
we squat, none higher than a
"s chest, and all overgrown with
nd peculiar pale blue lowers with
Iks—

an
hat,

grass
huge fleshy petals and jointed s
mutations, too, of some kind or another,

unless ] miss my guess. They have no
odor, but grow everywhere, springing up
in the heaps of rubbish that litter the
ground, the piles of broken pottery, rags
and gnawed bones—I hold one in my
ge dog

to take another bite of the apple with
his yellow teeth.

Yes, a terrible shame. What a waste
to think that you've come all this way
for nothing. Still . . . that is to say, at
t you ought to have a closer look at

her. She's a virgin, of course, as you can
see for yourself any time you каш...

"When?"

"Soon. 1 know how impatient you
must be. Very soon, I pron

“АН right, then, first let me get it all
straight. You say her parents are dead, is
that right?"

"Yes. Years ago.”

“How did it happen?"

"Sad. Very sad indeed. They had no
luck. The mother got sick right after the
а some kind of a fever,
and died within a few days, a weck at
the very most.”

“And the father:

“Killed.”

“How?

“On a hunt right after that. The wild
dogs."

"But they were both human.
“Yes. of course."

“Both perfectly formed."

“Perfectly. You have my word on it.

“Where are they buried, do vou
know

"Ah, now that's sad, too. Their bodies
were burned and the ashes scattered.

"Why?"

We had no choice, Captain. It's the
same with all of our dead, if you'll for-
give the comparison. No matter how
deep we dig the graves, the dogs always
dig them up.”

"In other words, there are no skele-
tons I can examine.”

“Not so much as a bone, no, I'm sorry
to say."

“I see.

“But you have my word on it, Cap-
tain. Both were absolutely perfectly
formed. I swear to it.”

He kisses the tips of his fingers and
rolls his eyes to the sky—which іп the
past few minutes has become much dar}
cr, a deep. purplish blue, streaked with
green, red and yellow in the west. over
the hills, where the sun has begun to set.
Standing guard a few paces away, his
gun in his hand, Thurmond nervously
sniffs the air, drawing his cloak closer
over his shoulders, his face strangely lu-
minous in the fading light, confounded,
in spite of himself, I know, by the pros-
pect of another night on the surface, un-
der the open sky.

“Where did you
continue,

“Who?

“Her parents, of course

“We didn't. They found us, It was
during a very bad winter, the worst in
years, if you remember it, the time of
the really big snow from the moun
that came just after the leaves fell
lasted until they were back on the trecs.
A terrible time. One morning they were
here, just like that, outside the wall, a
man holding the woman in his arms,
and begging to be let in to at least warm
themselves by the fire. We hardly had
enough food for ourselves, you under-

find

them

stand, but what could we do? My mother
was alive then. "We can't just let them
die she tells me. ‘Hermann, let them
in.” The dogs were after them. We could
hear them howling in the woods.”

“Зо you saved them out of the kind-
ness of your hearts.”

“05 nice of the captain to put it that
way.

“The man wasn't armed?”

“No.”

"Thats a lie. He had a rifle or a re.
volver and you know it”

"No, 1 swear it."

“1 want to know the truth.

4... Yes,” he says, alter a pause.

“Which was it?”

“That's beuer. Where is it now?"

“Ah, broken, I'm sad to say. Broken a
long time ago.”

"Go on...”

“There's nothing more to tell. The
woman gave birth and died, and then
the man was killed, as Гхе already told
you, torn to pieces by the wild dogs.

“You just said he had a rifle”

“So he did, but there were too many
of them.”

“1 sce.” Thurmond coughs impatient-
ly, and is right; we ought to be gett
back to camp. “One th

“Anything, Са

“What made you decide to keep the
child?”

I know my duty. She's hi
all, perfectly formed, as
you've seen for yoursell, only fitting for
an officer's wife.”

“Then you also know your duty is to
surrender her to me immediately.

“And so I will. You can count on it.
For eight of our M-Is."

"And a hundred rounds of ammuni-
tion apiece,” he nods, grinning from
to car, as I stand up at last and stretch
my stiff legs. A cold autumn wind has
sprung up, and with the sun gone, the

sky is much darker than before, but com-
pletely clouded over, without a star. The

odor of burning fat hangs in the
Here and there in the compound about
us, a fire has been lit for the evening
meal, tended by the females, some of
whom hold a naked brat to their bare
dugs, even more hideous than the adult
of the species, all huge head and м
ened face—the likes of with which she,
too, must have been suckled, if any of
the “mayor's” story is true. How horrible
_.. The man, of course, was murdered
for his gun, that's perfectly obvious, but
the chances are that the rest of the tale
he more or less accurate. In the last.
twelve years, Гуе known some-
е it to have happened

t least.

two or three times; a human family,
driven by despair to take refuge among
mutants who murder them but save the

child to be waded to the garrison of the
silo. Major James’ second wile is a case
(continued on page 242)

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PLAYBOY

210

"What's all this nonsense I've been hearing
about a love potion?"

PLAYBOY FORUM

to protest to the court.”
“It is un-Catholic, un-American

and a flagrant abuse of the use of
the pulpit to undermine the court,
he added. “Monsignor Corrigan
fails to realize that the law is the
law and not what his private opin-
ion is.”

Eugene M. Schloss, Jr.

Huntingdon Valley, Pennsylvania

‘CAMPUS POLITICS
Impressed by The Playboy Philosophy
in the July issue, except that part ex-
pressing Hefner's bewilderment that
Professor Revilo P. Oliver was not di
missed from the University of Illinois
after his anti-Kennedy statement, while
on the other hand Professor Leo F. Koch
was shown the door for his antimorals
statement. Hefner implied that a reverse
decision would have been in order. I
think that Hefner will agree that free-
dom of speech should be a universal
right; in his Oliver implication, Hefner
seems to be employing the same tactics
his enemies use.
Richard N. Anderson
Randolph, Massachusetts
Hefner never implied that justice
would have been served had Professor
Oliver been dismissed and Professor
Koch retained. His objection to the
course of action taken by the Univer-
sity of Illinois was that while the univer-
sily disapproved the statements of both
men, Professor Oliver was granted his
right to speak freely, while Professor
Koch was punished by dismissal for exer-
cising that same right. Hefner believes
deeply that freedom of speech is a un
versal right: It was the denial of this
right in Professor Koch's case with which
Hefner took issue,

INDIVIDUALISM: EUROPEAN VIEW

several years I have been an occ
reader of PLAYBOY, and if I have
not bought the magazine each month it
has been because in order to keep in-
formed about events in divers fields I
must read regularly a number of daily,
weekly and monthly journals emanating
from different countries. When I first saw
rravsoy, 1 thought of it as a cheesecake
magazine, and although I appreciated
its attention to feminine beauty, and
some of its Playmates (not all of them,
since European taste in women is often
different from American), it seemed
something to leaf through casual!
Then I was pleasantly surprised to di
cover rLavnoy's good taste in cuisine,
men's fashions, furnishings, sporis, the
arts and entertainment. Obviously, the
PLAYBOY concept of good living is not
inferior to the Europcan. In addition, I
found the fiction of true literary merit,

(continued from page 89)

and began to read pLaynoy with respect
and enjoyment.

Then Hefner began publishing The
Playboy Philosophy, for which I must
express my enthusiasm. wraYmOY is no
longer merely an entertainment maga-
zine: It is becoming a medium for
promulgating an art of living and а
conception of existence that intelligent
people in all countries will acknowledge
and applaud, When we calmly admit the
fact that much of human life is dom-
inated by sex and ambition, we will have
established a sound foundation for pro-
viding everyone with a maximum share
of happiness on this planet. We may
never perfect society, but we'll achieve
more toward this end by logic and good
will than by superstition, taboo, intoler-
ance and a few dozen conflicting reli

gious moralities. Now more than ever
tolerance,

humanity needs liberalism,
freedom, diversity and
If a person wants to be Catholic, Pu
Hebrew, Zen Buddhist or fetishist, that's
his business, but he should never attempt
to force his way of living on someone
else. He has a right to live, think, act
and love in his own way, as long as he
hurts no one else. Above all, the separa-
tion of state and church must be insisted
upon

Europeans are generally liberal and
tolerant because the many differences
race, nationality, language and religion
on the Continent would make life im-
possible if it were otherwise: humanity’
two most disastrous wars, caused by
tolerance, were severe Icssons to Euro-
peans, Examples of tolerance in Europe
can be demonstrated by attitudes toward
sex: The Latin populations are relatively
uninhibited, and in France and Belgium
fornication and adultery are not thought
of as major crimes—which does not mean
that free love is advocated, but only that
scandals are rare; Germanic and Scandi-
navian populations are not as sex-mind-
ed, but even so, their religions do not
interfere with a citizen's private affairs,
and their laws reflect the proper sepa

tion of state and religion. In short,
s Europe's best guarantee of

nd individuality.
from Europe, the United

diversity
freedom

As scc
States is very restive. When we read
about Little Rock, or about an Ameri-
can woman obliged to fly to Sweden (ut
der public reprobation) for a necessary
abortion, or about the intentions of Sen-
ator Goldwater, we Europeans th
Americans live more and more like ro-
bots. In their lives there's little place left
for individualism and frecdom—they
don't even work for their living: They
live to work. But those of us who have
read Hefner's Philosophy know that in
the States, too, there are sensible people
who strive for freedom and individu-
alism; for a world in which the state

serves its citizens; for a world in which
religion serves those who want it, but
does not force itself on those who do
and for a world in which the indi
vidual can enjoy his favorite drink, mca
or girl without having to fight the jeal-
ousy or zealotry of persons or organiza-
tions minding other people's business.

The problems of sex, which should be
solved naturally and simply, are a ргор-
er subject of philosophy, because sex is
the human activity most distorted by
moralists, and it is philosophy's job to
put things in their proper perspective.
PLAYBOY has a big job to do in the fu-
ture. I've met many Americans in Europe
who were idually broad-minded,
and tolerant, but when in the comp:
пу of other Americans stopped being
themselves and exhibited a sterile, mass
minded mentality. Despite its dynamism,
Ameri could become a nation of
sheep. Nor is Europe free of the dangeı
ous symptoms of uniformity and ma
mindedness. The Playboy Philosophy
offers a valuable rallying point for all
people concerned with freedom and in-
dividuality. Many Europeans support
Hefner's ideas, and are happy to know
that such dear thinking is being ex-
pressed in the American press.

Charles М. б. Van den Eynde,
Journalist
Brussels, Belgium

The foregoing was sent to us partially
in French, with a challenge—in English
—to our staff to find among its members
“the clever guy who will ensure the trans-
lation.” A Chicago, nous avons le fin
mot aussi,

EXISTENTIALISM AND COMMON SENSE

Of the following, which philosophy
does prAvnov follow or admire the most:
existentialism, Bertrand Russell, common
sense? Also, what do you think of social
nudism?

Marvin Pritchard
Edmonton, Alberta
We believe in existentialism to the
extent that we believe in the individual’s
responsibility for making himself what
he is; we admire Lord Russell as a coura-
geons, astonishingly lucid man; and we're
rather suspicious of so-called common
sense, since it can mean just about any-
thing a person cares to have it mean—
with the emphasis too often on the for-
mer word, rather than the latter. As for
social nudism, we certainly prefer it to
the unsocial kind.

“Тһе Playboy Forum” ofjers the oppor-
tunity for an extended dialog between
readers and editors of this publication
on subjects and issues raised in our con-
linuing editorial series, “The Playboy
Philosophy.” Address all correspondence
on either “Philosophy” or “Forum” to:
The Playboy Forum, piavnoy, 232 F.
Ohio Street, Chicago, Illinois 60611.

211

PLAYBOY

212

PLAYBOY PHILOSOPHY (continued from page 94)

our middleclass economy, if they are
willing to expend the effort to attain
them.

BURNETT: How does rLAvBoY do that?
HEFNER: All of the magazine's service
features—on subjects such as male fash-
ion, food and drink, sports cars, hifi,
travel, and the rest—in fact, PLAYBOY'S
entire editorial personality and point of
w, stress the positive aspects of
affluence and serve as a motivation to try
and achieve these things.

PLAYBOY AND SEX

TANENBAUM: Hugh, what kind of
criticism do you get of PLAYBOY?
HEFNER: Well, it's changed a bit over
the years. It began as a rather simply
stated criticism of content, directed pri
marily at our photographs of women;
more recently, it has become a more
complex criticism of concept—the very
thing that I've just been talking about.
At the heart of it, though, it all comes
from the same source, I think, The op-
position to PLAYBoy is prompted by the
significant element of puritanism that
still exists in the United States. PLAYBOY
offends some people, and makes others
uneasy, because they still think of sex as
something cither so sacred or so profane
that it has to be hidden away in а dark
room; they object to sex being frankly
depicted or described in public.
Actually, though I didn't fully realize
it in the beginning, PLAYnov is editorial-
ly interested in precisely those aspects of
life that the Puritan was most against:
sex, first and foremost, of course. But
also our more general emphasis on pleas-
ure and play; as well as the notion that
the accumulation of material possessions

е addition to the other

can һе a posi
interests in life.

In most of the criticism of PLAYBOY'S
concept, these elements are twisted
about and misstated; the critic winds up
creating a paper tiger and then slaying
it. It was because of this that I originally
became involved in writing The Playboy
Philosophy, in which I attempt to spell
out the principles the publication is
based upon and editorially expresses;
and how, in a broader sense, this is relat-
ed to the whole social and sexual envi-
ronment in which we exist. I was tired
of reading other people's explanations
of what PLAYBOY is all about. I decided
that if I was going to be damned, I pre-
ferred to be damned for what I really
believe than what someone else misinter-
preis as my beliefs.

GARY: Has it made any difference?
HEFNER: Not a great deal. The critic still
tends to do battle with an imaginary
adversary of his own creation. I think
sometimes that it is almost a matter of
picking up any stone that seems handy
and tossing it in our direction, because
1 find that we are simultancously criti-
cized these days for being too sexual and
also too antisexual. The idea that PLAY-
noy is actually antisexual has been lev-
cled at the magazine and at the Clubs,
too...

TANENBAUM: What's
that? Because I've wondered about my
own response, when I attended The Play-
boy Club at your invitation. I had a
rather ambiguous reaction to what I sup
pose is the conception of the Club; the
whole notion of the Bunnies represents,
almost, a kind of sexual taboo. They are
made most alluring, to incite sexual in-

your reaction to

terest, and at the same time they are off
limits to everybody.

HEFNER: Yes, Time magazine made a
passing reference to the Playboy Clubs
recently as “brothels without a second
floor." It was in their cover story. “Тһе
Second Sexual Revolution," as a matter
of fact. And in an article about us in
The Saturday Evening Post a couple of.
years ago, we were specifically criticized
for this policy of look-but-don't-touch;
the same comment has appeared in sev
eral other places since. We are quite lit-
erally criticized for the fact that The
Playboy Club appears to have a sexual
orientation, but we don't deliver; the
implication being, presumably, that the
critics would prefer it if we did deliver.
But we know full well the sort of crit-
icism we would get from these same
sources if our rules were any different.
TANENBAUM: What if you were not
sexually oriented?

HEFNER: If we were not sexually ori-
ented, there would be no criticism. It is
our positive approach to sex that dis-
tresses some people; but our society has
become too sophisticated to be sym-
pathetic with a direct attack on sexuali-
ty, so instead of attacking what really
disturbs him (our sexual orientation), the
critic challenges the ma;
Clubs for being voyeuristic—for offering
unreal sex, or a replacement for sex—
when, of course, it
glorification of real sex that frightens
him.

This is what I meant when I said that
the critic tends to toss any stone that
seems available. It would be casy to con-
demn us if The Playboy Clubs were dens
of iniquity; but since they are operated
on the up-and-up, and very much in

zine and the

is real sex and our

keeping with current community stand-
ards, the critic has to throw whatever
sort of missile is left to him—even if
there isn’t any logic behind it. All this
person knows is—for reasons he, in many
cases, only dimly understands—he must
throw stones; the need is rooted in the
uneasiness he feels about sex itself and
any such open and favorable expression
of sex.

In a very real sense—and I don't mean
this facetiously—I feel that most of the
criticism we receive reveals more about
the critics than it does about PLAYBOY.
TANENBAUM: But that doesn't answer the
question.

HEFNER: No, and I will try to answer it.
TANENBAUM: And, in a sense, you're Te-
acting with the same sort of ad hominem
argument that’s made toward you.
HEFNER: I didn't mean to carry the con-
versation away from a specific answer to
your question. I simply felt that an expli-
cation of this attitude about PLAYBOY
and about sex might be helpful in our
further discussion of the sexual problems
we face in contemporary society

When you suggest that it might be
better to not be sexually oriented . . .
TANENBAUM: I’m not saying that. I'm ask-
ing, what is your view—what has led you
to conceive the Club in these terms?
HEFNER: The Playboy Club is an ех
tension of the personality and point of
view of the magazine. To whatever ex-
tent it is sexually oriented, it is meant to
be a tribute to sex—an expression of
that is attractive and appealing. There
is, of course, a good deal more to the
ne than this; and we attempt to
introduce h of the total concept
into the Clubs as possible. There's the
comfortable contemporary decor—more

like an urban apartment than a night
club. "here's the good food and drink:
fine wines and liquors, steak dinners and
an elaborate buffet—all available for the
price of a single drink. In New York and
Chicago, and in the Hollywood Club
which will be open at the end of the year,
we also have the V.L.P. Room—which
stands, of. course, for "Very Important
Playboy" . . . (Laughter) Here we ойсг
the very finest cuisine. There's the enter-
tainment: vocalists, comedians, ІСІК acts,
instrumental jazz combos— The Playboy
Club is now the biggest user of night-
club talent in the country and the major
training ground for fresh, young talent;
and we were the first well-known club
to use Negro comics, which opened the
door for all of the colored comedians
who have gained national recognition
over the last few years. There is also a
relaxed friendliness and an uncommer-
cial atmosphere in the Clubs—a welcome
change from the “Hello, suckers” atti-
tude of many of the night clubs of the
past—with no hustling of the customers,
honest drinks and an honest check. And,
of course, there's the feeling of status
and exclusivity, because it's a key club—
for members only. Though there's noth-
ing very exclusive about a club that
currently has over 300.000 keyholders.
Fraternity is really a better word—the
pleasure of mingling with others of sim-
ilar tastes and attitudes about life.

O'CONNOR: Well. Hugh, I was going to
ask you, in terms of some of the things
we were talking about earlier in the
course of the program, whether you
don’t think that part of the criticism of
antisexuality that you have received—
from Motive and some of the other little
magazines of religious and literary opin-

ion—isn’t based on the feeling that Play-
boy, in both the magazine and the Clubs,
represents a rather depersonalized sort
of sex? An uninvolved and untouchable
sort of sex for pcople who can't really
communicate with it, or really can't en-
joy it, because there's something nasty
about it, or dirty about it, or it has that
overtone. And if this then our
sexual revolution really hasn't occurred;
and what we're really doing is pandering
to a bad sexual concept which has been
hanging on in the Western world for
some years.
HEFNER: Since one of the things PLAYBOY
is especially concerned about is the de-
personalizing influence of our entire soci-
ety, and considerable editorial attention
given to the problem of establishing
individual identity, through sex and as
many other avenues of expression as may
be available in a more permissive society,
it is wrong to suggest that we favor de
personalized sex. Not unless, by deper-
sonalized sex, we are referring to any
and all sexual activity that does not
include extensive involvement, commit-
ments and obligations. In this sense, it
is true, to the extent that the magazine
emphasizes the pleasures rather than the
problems of sex, and focuses on that pe-
riod of Ше in which real personal in-
volvement is not yet desirable—a time of
transition into maturity, prior to accept-
ing the responsibilities ol marriage and
family

I certainly think that personal sex i
preferable to impersonal sex, because it
includes the greatest emotional rewards;
but I can see no logical justification for
opposing the latter, unless it is irrespon-
sible, exploitive, coercive or in some way
hurts one of the individuals involved. I

s wu

213

PLAYBOY

214

stated before that pr.avnoy doesn't pur-
port to present more than a part of life
in its pages; but I would also add that
there are certainly a plenitude of publi-
cations, and numerous other sources of
opinion in our soc
stressing togetherness, and the trials and
tribulations of total commitment.

As for The Playboy Club, I think
there is every justification for keeping
its sex depersonalized, uninyolved and
untouchable; nor is there anything in-
consistent in this. Far from being anti-
sexual, it is simply a policy that separates
business from pleasure.

The suggestion, stated or implied, that
because The Playboy Club projects a
е, we are obliged to engage
in some form of commercialized vice, or,
turning Time's comment around, offer
the facilities of a bordello’s “second
floor,” is, to me, irrational nonsense. This

are forever

sexual i

dea is predicated on the false assump-
tion that any source of sexual stimulation
should also offer sexual gratification.
On that premise, Flo Ziegfeld—whose
extravagant Broadway productions in the
Twenties were famous for their beauti-
ful, nearly nude showgirls—was remiss
n not making his lovely ladies avail
ble with the orange drinks during in-
termission. And every producer of а
sexually oriented movie, every publisher
of a ally explicit book, the
facturers of exotic perfumes, low-cut
evening gowns, bikinis, and those re-
sponsible for every other source of
sexual stimulation under the sun would
be obliged, by this logic, to engage in
white slavery on the side

The fact that there is still extensive
sexual sickness in society—and I would
be the first to agree that there is—doesn't
mean that w volved in a sexual

sexi

anu-

"Better show me something a bit
төге powerful—I'm a Peeping Тот.”

revolution; it only indicates the extent
to which a radical readjustment of our
sexual values is needed. And far from
pandering to the negative sexual con-
cepts of the past, we are among the most
outspoken advocates of a more healthy.
open and positive outlook on sex. We
treat it with humor, which helps to take
the onus off it; we place our emphasis on
approval rather than negation; and we
attempt to treat sex in as attractive and
appealing a light as possible.
O'CONNOR: But there has always been
blue material, there have always been sex-
ual jokes, there have always been clubs
with a sexual atmosphere. 1 think you
nd yourself with a problem, when you
start explaining your philosophy, be-
cause then we start examining you in
terms of what you say you are. And some
of the self-justification that you have for
the role that you play becomes the sub-
ject for a lot of scrutiny; and the scruti-
ny, I think, at times seems to indicate
that this is a very shrewd, mechanistic,
materialistic viewpoint about how to
handle sex and make moncy out of it.
Now I'm not criticizing you for the cco-
nomic or profit motive, because you
spoke about our society's attitudes on
this before, but I'm wondering about the
shrewdness with which you manipulate
things.

HEFNER: Are you speaking now in terms
of praynoy, or in terms of its Editor.
Publisher?

O'CONNOR: UF just yourself . . . related
to what you have been saying here,
and what you have expressed in your
Philosophy, as compared with what ex-
ists outside of that...

HEFNER: Well, I would have
the conversation rather far afield to an-
swer that completely, which I don’t want
to do. But I will say that what I have
written in The Playboy Philosophy, as
well what I have said here this ev
ning, is a sincere expression of my own
quite deeply felt beliefs; and J held
most of them several years before 1
ever thought of starting PLAYBOY—
though they weren't nearly as thoroughly
thought out or formulated then.

As for the profit motive, it's there, of
course. And I do hope that it isn't neces-
y to apologize for that. But I'll add—
nd only because I've been asked—thac
I'm also the least business oriented,
monetarily motivated self-made million-
aire of my own particular acquai
What I do, I do because I believe in it,
and enjoy it; and I never cease to be
amazed by the success of it. After almost
cleven years, FLAYBOY is still just as much
of a kick for me as it was in the very be
ginning; maybe even more so.
O'CONNOR: Speaking of millionaires in
general—and I haven't met too m.
of them—they all seem to be enjoy
what they're doing, which is making
mone)

HEFNER: I’m as pleased as I possibly
could be about my success. But what
pleases me most about it is that it per-
mits me to continue doing what I'm
doing; I get the greatest satisfaction out
of the work itself and out of the re-
sponse to it. If that weren't so, I wouldn't
continue to be so involved in editing the
magazine, and work so long and hard on
special projects—like the Philosophy—
on a schedule that too often can only be
described as grueling; I'd go on to other
business ventures, or just sit back and
njoy my success.

GARY: I [cel we've been caricaturing
PrAvnov a little. But I also felt, in doing
a little of my homework for this discus-
sion—reading your Philosophy—that you
were caricaturing religion a little. And.
so, while we sort of mutually do this to
one another, I'd like to hear some of
your comments about where you think
religion stands. You've written a good
deal about this h regard to the sexual
revolution. Lets see if we сап, you
know, let you be aggressive for a while
and we'll have to defend ourselves.
HEFNER: Well, judging from what has
already been expressed here this eve-
ning, I think we would be in general
agreement that our Judeo-Christian
heritage includes an clement of antisex
that has gotten out of hand over the cen-
turies, and has given us more problems
than benefits. Too much of the emphasis
has been on “Thou shalt not”; too much
on guilt, fear and suppression.

This is old stuff to you, I’m sure, gen-
tlemen, but when I first became involved
in researching the origins of our reli-
gions’ antagonism to scx, for some of the
early installments of the Philosophy,
what I discovered came as something of
revelation. I learned that prior to the
Exile, the Jews were a remarkably per-
missive people regarding sex; I ako
found that Christian ашізех began less
with Christ than with St. Paul. It was
strongly re-emphasized by the Church of
the Middle Ages, but reached its zenith
after the Reformation, of course, with
Puritanism and the period thereafter,
particularly in the latter part of the last
century. Western religion, especially the
Puritan and post-Puritan aspects of it in
America and England, has a far more
antisexual history than most of the mem-
bers of contemporary society realize; and
yet this is precisely where our own irra-
tional sex attitudes come from.

Now, what I find especially encourag-
ing—and, very honestly, it was one of the
reasons I looked forward to coming on
to this show so much—is the amount of,
for want of a better phrase, "soulscarch-
ing" that currently seems to be tal
place within many of our major reli-
gions; a re-examination of old dogma
and ideas, with sincere interest being ex-
pressed, in previously conservative quar-
ters, in the development of a new, more
liberal point of view on the subject.

“Tonight? Same time, same place?
Providing we're here, of course.”

This is very important, it seems to me,
because it climinates any tendency to
categorize the situation as secular vs. reli-
ious; the sexual revolution that is tak-
ing place in society, at large, seems to
have awakened many members of the
clergy to the need for reappraisal and,
hopefully, readjustment of some of the
long-established attitudes within organ-
ized religion itself.

GARY: Would you be prepared to admit
that religion is a mixed bag? That is,
you've got a lot of people on your side—
when it comes to an assertion of a cer-
tain amount of freedom—as well as a
number of opponents, in the religious
community. So that, when you talk about
puritanism or moralism, a blanket indict-
ment may blur as much as it reveals . . .
HEFNER: I certainly agree. As a matter
of fact, I have made a special point of
quoting, in the Philosophy, a number of
liberal statements regarding sex by var-
ious religious leaders. And in the last
January issue, I attempted to break
down and to categorize, as much as I
could, the principal positions on this
subject—both historical and contempo-
rary—of the three major religions of

Western. society. I closed cach section
with references to the progressive views
that are being expressed today within
Protestantism, Catholicism and Judaism.
TANENBAUM: It is quite clear that you are,
in some ways, closer to the Jewish per-
ception of the normalcy in sex—in
terms of the total conception of life in
the Jewish and rabbinic taditions—
than might be generally realized. I think
you have indicated this in your editori-
als, but perhaps it deserves reaffirmation
—that from the very assertion of the first
principles regarding the place of sex in
man's total scheme of things, it is viewed
as a gilt of God, but that it must be seen
as part of the total design of man’s goal
in life, which is, essentially, to achieve
holiness as his eter

Part of cur problem and, I think, part
of my reaction to The Playboy Club is—
while also a reflection of the puritanism
of my view as an American—the shocked.
sense that this represented a distortion
out of context. Now it may very well be
that Ше only way to achieve some kind
of via media, some kind of middle

ground, in this is through a constant op- 215

PLAYBOY

216 theological, as well as social conte

“Oh it's you, darling . . . for a moment there

you gave me quite a slart...!

position of contraries—that we move
from a polarity of puritanism, on the
one side, to an opposite side. . . . Well, I
think something like this docs operate in
man's nature.

HEFNER: Any timc you arc involved in
a period of scrious social transition, I
think you are apt to find excesses
TANENBAUM: You go through a period of

flux and transition where you get all
kinds of opposites coming into play
HEFNER: Incidentally, you don't mean

suggest, I hope, that you consider Ihe
boy Club one of those excesses . . .
TANENBAUM: The thing Fm trying to get
is that I think everything u
to the sexual life in Ameri
is going through this transitional stage.
All of our traditional perceptions of m
is a covenant, and all of the re:

rience, | think, as religious people—at
least, I speak for myselí—is that in the
st, until very recently, we had really
n following the trends rather th
giving serious examination to each new
situation and providing some kind of
clwification of the problem, within a
ге

Typically, we sort of stand back and
we watch the kinds of social develop-
ments that take place—of which The
Playboy Club is one—and then we're
t does
k that, for us,
ms something
much more than a manipulation or ex-
plo t may be
intended. For us, T think the sign
act is its great success; and the fact that,
very substantial men in the
community, businessmen, corporation
executives, come to this place regularly
to have their meals, and derive, appar-
ently, something out of this experience.
It means that something is happening to
the sexual mores of America which we
not really coming to grips with
significant. way.

GARY: I also was your guest, with my
wife, one night at the New York Playboy
Club. And I must say my interpretation
of this experience differs somewhat from
yours, Marc, in that I viewed it as a kind
- Hefner characterized his mag-
azine at one point—as a service and ei

tertainment package. For me this was,
you know. a different kind of evening,
And I have a feeling —I don't know if

it’s true—but I have a feeling that you're,
well, not exactly making fun of sex, but
you're rly casually ...

GARY: There is an entertainment aspect
to this which Im reluctant to probe
too deeply. Partly because The Playboy
Club is a raving success—and success has
ys threatened me a little—but more
I have the feeling that there is
a certain tongue-in-cheek character to all
of this...

HEFNER: There is meant to be.

GARY: And to a certain extent, this is truc
of the magazine as well, although you do
get your hooks in there occasionally.
HEFNER: One of the best ways of de-
contaminating anything is to poke fun
at it; levity Jets the fresh air and sun-
shine in, where before all was dank and
dark. And so, as a reaction to the deadly
serious and, I thought, stifling attitude
that our society had about sex—in which
it was viewed as either sinful or a sacred
cow—we spoofed it, from the very first
issue. And this same lighthearted ap-
so exists in the Clubs, and most
ng else we do.
Tey interesting

you

that

HEFNER: That is interesting, b
illustrates how extremely personal each
individual's reaction to The Playboy
Club really is.
The Club's popularity is directly
linked to the magazine, of course. And
this unique relationship creates an in
for the Club that is far more pers
sive than anything we could ever intro-
duce within the four walls of our Bunny
domain. Almost everyone who comcs to
The Playboy Club brings his own partic-
ular preconceived image with him: and
what he finds there—or, more accurately,
how he views what he finds Шсгс--із very
much dependent on what he expected to
find.
TANENBAUM: What impressed me was the
ict that the majority of the people 1
w there were middle-class and upper-
middle-class businessmen, many with
their wives and families, enjoying din-
ner. The only irreconcilability I found
was the fact that these men were being
served by Bunnies, who were seminude,
practically; and the men with thei
scemed to have ayerted their cyes, to
oid looking at the Bunnies in thei
wives’ presence: while the men who wer
there alone, or in the company of other
men, engaged in a great deal of sup
pressed joking about this. And 1 felt
something unreal and fantasylike about
this encounter.
HEFNER: | can only suggest—and you'll
have to analyze your own r
see if you fecl there is any

this—that what caught your attention,
d the significance that you gave it, may
have been very much related to your
own previous frame of reference. Per-
haps, because this was The Playboy
Club, you were specifically looking to sce
the reactions of the other people around
you; whereas, if you happened to be in
another club in which prety girls, in
similarly brief attire, were working, you
might not have noticed the same sort of
incident, because you wouldn't have
been think about ii

And when we talk about the brevity
of the Bunny costume. it must be men-
tioned that our Bunnies make frequent
guest appearances—in their Bunny bunt-
ing—on network television, so they must
be more respectably attired than has
been suggested here. The Bunny cos-
tume is actually far less revealing than
a great many swimsuits you would find
on the public beach on any summer
alternoon.

But because it is The Playboy Club,
everything seems, as you have suggested,
a little unreal and fantasylike; сус
thing becomes а bit bigger Шап life—or,
in the case of the Bunny costume, a bit
smaller. The difference is supplied by
the observer, however, not by Playboy;
nd it’s a mighty good thing, too, be-
cause it is this personal view of The
Playboy Club that is largely responsible
for its success.

Beauty. zman Paul Desmond once
observed, is in the eye of the keyholder.
TANENBAUM: "This is very true. This may
be entirely subjective.

But aren't you, for

xample, trading

on a kind of popular conception of bun-
ny—that has a sort of sexual or scatologi-
cal significance for people? Because I

found that the word was bandied back
and forth, for example, by a group of
businessmen who were there alone, with-
out their wives; the joking that went on
—up and down the four or five floors of
the Club—was like a college boy's frater-
nity night, And it was all done in this
kind of sniggering way.

It may be inevitable that you have
this kind of confrontation, when you
bring these elements in relation to oi
other, but what did you intend by
this? And how do you react to it?
HEFNER: First of all, I selected a
bit as the symbol for the
most eleven years ago, at a time when I
could not have conceived, in my wildest
dreams, that there would be anything
one day called The Playboy Club and
that it would be filled with beautiful fe-
males called Bunnies.

However, I did select a rabbit as the
symbol for the magazine because of the
humorous sexual connotation, and be-
cause he offered an image that was frisky
а playful; I put him in a tuxedo to

rab-

add the idea of sophistication. There
was another editorial consideration, too.
Since both The New Yorker
use men as their symbol
bit would be distinctive: and the notion
of a rabbit dressed up in formal evening
attire struck me as charming, amusing
nd right.

When we conceived the idea for The
Playboy Club, we simply adapted the
rabbit symbol as the most logical one for
the girls who were to work there—and
that's how the Playboy Bunnies, and the
Bunny costume, were born.

Now, it’s quite possible for someone
to respond to this, or to anything else
having to do with sex, in a sniggering
way: but I do beli I've already
stid—that this reveals more about the
person than about rLaysoy or The Play-
boy Club.

суса

PLAYBOY VS. MOMISM

TANENBAUM: You know, it occurs to
me, it is quite possible to see in this
ponse to the role of woman in our re-
ligious tradition, especially as it has
evolved here in the United States. A
l has been written, by Philip
Ts, about what has been
It has been suggested,

ith considerable evidence to subst
ate it, that a has become
matriarchy women dominate
American society . . .

O'CONNOR: They do economically . . .
TANENBAUM: Then what PLAVROY is try-
ing to do, perhaps, is restore the bal-
ance. That is, in the PLAYBOY context,
man begins to reassert his masculinit
Even if it has to be contrived out of Ch
go by Hugh Hefner, it needs help
from someplace.

HEFNI You've just touched upon
the very heart of the matter, I think.
This is the real key to nderstanding
of PLAYBOY, and its success, in contempo-
rary society.

TANENBAUM: The Playboy Club offers a
world in which the man reassumes his
dominant position; and the woman be
comes a "bun who wears a sex
costume and plays the passive role of
waitress.

BURNETT: Yes, but on the other hand,
Rabbi, you yourself said that you were
д/с, when you were at The Playboy
Club, to see the number of men who

were there with their w d
families...

HEFNER: rLAYBOYS overall point of
view on the male-female relationship in

society certainly doesn’t limit women to

“Don't be alarmed, folks

but I think

we just entered the Twilight Zone!”

217

PLAYBOY

the role of Bunnies in The Playboy
Club. Essentially, what we are saying,
editorially in the magazine, is that men
4 women should each have separate
identities—that they are both happiest
when their roles complement rather
than compete with each other.

Since the turn of the century, there
has been a considerable breakdown in the
cultural patterns that distinguish the
sexes—especially here in America—caus-
ing us to drift toward an asexual society,
in which it becomes increasingly difficult
for either sex to find true satisfaction or
fulfillment in its interpersonal relation-
ships with the other. This is one of the
two primary causes, I believe—the other
being the increasing complexity and au-
tomation of ization—for the
lentity that was

mentioned earlier.
Since riaynoy is a magazine for men,

it is natural for us to place most of our
emphasis on the problem of male iden-
lity. PLAYBOY stresses a strongly hetero-
sexual concept of society—in which the
separate roles of men and women are
dearly defined and compatible. Though
we are sometimes accused of having a
dehumanized view of women, our con-
cept actually offers the female a far more
human identity than she has had hi:
torically in the Western world.

It is our religious tradition that has
tended to look upon woman as a deper-
sonalized object, or possession, by со
ually associaung her with its antagonism
toward sex. Sometimes the emphasis has
been placed upon the temptation to
sin in womankind, and sometimes the
emphasis has been placed upon feminine
purity and chastity; but whether they
were considered creatures of the Devi
or placed upon a pedestal, their status in
our antisexual society has always been
that of an object, rather than a human
being.

SEX AS SIN

BURNETT: That brings us back to some-
thing that was said before the coffee
came—I think you brought it up, Rabbi
—and that’s the idca of sex as sin. Which
is what Hugh Hefner is hitting on here;
and I think we might devote our atten-
tion to that.
HEFNER; We've talked around it, but
we haven’t really gotten into it yet.
BURNETT: Our religious tradition teaches
t sex is a sin outside of the marriage.
sacrament; and sometimes inside the mar-
riage sacrament as well.
HEFNER: This is the real point behind
much of what we've been discussing here
today, and I don’t think we're going to
ny general agreement on it.
O'CONNOR: No, you've got a new theology,
kid. You're going to have to defend it.
HEFNER: That's why l'm here.

But J believe it is behind Ше thought

218 that you expressed earlier, Father, that

the Church has not fully spelled out a
positive attitude toward sex; and, Rabbi,
your comment that the sex-sin relation-
ship has been one of the significant
shortcomings in our religion, down
through history—with the religious ap-
proach to sex traditionally negative,
expressed as a concern over sex as a

temptation, rather than a more positive
view of sex as, indeed, an extremely im-
portant, worth-while . . .

BURNETT: . . . And pretty wonderful . . .
2. Yes... aspect of life.

HEFNER:
TANENBAUM: I think, perhaps, that it has
been true, Mr. Hefner, that we've seen
sex in a context of the opposition of
vice and virtue. And in the greater part
of our waditions, and much of our
theological writing—certainly in the
Christian theological literature—there is
this enormous preoccupation with scx as
vice.

HEFNER: With virtue, when it has been
mentioned, usually taking the form of
antisex—il chastity can be called anti-
sex. The general tendency has been to
associate chastity and virginity with vir-
nd, conversely—sex with sin.
TANENBAUM: Мау J ask, what do you
see as the implications in this? Let's
grant the assumptions that are implicit
what you are saying—that this is the
that sex has been looked upon in
Western religious tradition, What
the implications of this traditio
we have inherited, for Amer
behavior and morality, as you sce it?
HEFNER: The major implication from
a religious point of view, it seems to me,
is the need for the clergy of all faiths to
take an altogether new and considered
look at this question, because it is very,
very obvious that the traditional Judaeo-
Christian teaching on sex is not being
accepted—is being openly flouted by an
otherwise, by and large, religious com-
munity. One of the Ten Command-
ments states, “Thou shalt not commit
adultery”; but adultery is commonplace.
nst extramarital sex was
extended, during the Dark Ages, to in-
clude all forms of premarital sex, as
well; and the majority of our society
pays lip service to the prohibitions, with-
out making any serious attempt to live
by them.

O'CONNOR: But, Hugh, you're
these conclusions on the rather dubious
statistics of Mr. Kinsey. which you fall
back on quite continuously in your Phi-
losophy. I think we run into the obvious
culty that we don’t have a valid sta-
tistical analysis of a sampling. I suppose,
then, we will always have to argue about
the fairness of the sampling.
HEFNER: Surely you're not .
O'CONNOR: But. if there is a sexual revo-
lution, then statistically we should be
able to support ourselves. If there is a
sexual re-examination, then what is the

basis for the sexual re-examination? Is it
because of the failure of our sexual
mores, or because we're suddenly aware
that sex has some ramifications that we
didn't realize before?

HEFNER: If we refuse to accept the evi-
dence now available regarding sexual
behavior and are unwilling to concede
that a sexual revolution really docs exist,
then we are only unnecessarily delaying
coming to grips with the problem, it
seems to me, by presumably wishing it
weren't there.

O'CONNOR: Are you indicting religion,
then, not just for the current sexual
situation, but because it’s not coming to
terms with modern life? Is this what
you're saying?

HEFNER: No, I'm not indicting it, be-
cause I feel there is more progress being
shown within many areas of organized
religion today, with a forthright and fa-
vorable consideration being given to the
very questions we are talking about
here, than ever before in history.

I'm quite optimistic, incidentally, not
only about the eventual outcome of the
sexual revolution, as far as secular socie-
ty is concerned, but also about the part
that organized religion can play in the
establishment of a new, more rational
morality for society.

Now, I'm not suggesting that simply
because there is a disparity between code
and conduct. it is necessarily the code
that is at fault. I think both the beliefs
and the behavior deserve a dispassionate
reappraisal. It ought 10 be kept in mind,
however, that the sexual taboos in our
religious tradition were conceived many
centuries ago, long before the under-
standing and insights regarding the psy-
chosexual nature of man were supplied
by psychiatry and socioanthropological
studies.

Most of organized religion had no
difficulty in adjusting its doctrine to the
discoveries of Darwin; it seems reason-
able to hope that the same progressive.
attitude may now be displayed toward
the discoveries of Freud.

In the next installment of "The Play-
boy Philosophy,” Editor-Publisher Hugh
M. Hefner continues this religious
round table with a discussion of the pri-
mary principles underlying the "Philos-
орі” and an exchange of views on the
subject of premarital and extramarital
sex.

See “The Playboy Forum" in this issue
for теайету comments—pro and con—
on subjects raised in previous in-
stallments of this cditorial series. Two
booklet reprints of "The Playboy Philos
ophy,” including installments one
through seven and cight through twelve,
are available at $1 per booklet. Send
check or money order to PLAYROY, 232
E. Ohio Street, Chicago, Illinois 60611.

" —
=.
=? at

Urn аа s
impudent lyrics for a tragimusicomedy based on a play by william shakespeare
satire
By RAY RUSSELL

ary year, another rLAvmov

so far contented itself with converting only

Is such as Kiss Me, Kate and The Boys from

5 ¢. Our first such clfort (rLaynov, November 1962) was a musical-comedy version

of Hamlet, which we called Come to Me, Му Melancholy Dane. This time, it's that be-

nighted and bedeviled thane, Macbeth, who gets the portentous-drama-to-happy-musical

treatment. Although there have been countless stage productions of Macbeth, plus a

couple of film versions starring Orson Welles and Toshiro Mifune, to say nothing of

Hallmark's stately TV airing and Verdi's alltoo-Italian opera, there has never been a

Broadway hit on the subject—until now. As before, we supply the words and you
supply the music, bellowing the appropriate п

recognize the right melody fr r own extensive repertory. Clear your throat now . . .

sing a few scales to warm up - - Ше overture has started and the curt bout to rise.

ILLUSTKATIONS BY ARNOLD ROTH

2
1
I
li

а
|

JACK JONES allan’s kid

AT ONE POINT in his nightclub act, baritone Jack Jones says that he's
going to do a bedtime lullaby his famous father, Allan, used to sing
to him, and then belts out an uptempo version of The Donkey Sere
nade. It is his only concession to cashing in on his filial ties with the
pearly-toothed, wavy-haired tenor who starred in movie musicals of
the Thirties. The Jones boy has come a long way on his own since

he broke into show business as the teenaged half of a shortlived
son-and-dad nightery act. A dithdent Ivy League-cut 26-year-old, he

has won a Grammy (the Oscar of the record biz) twice in the last

three years: first for Lollipops and Roses (the hit that moved his

T career into high gear) and this past year for Wives and Lovers.
During the 1963-1964 TV season he made an unprecedented num-

ber of guest appearances ) on such prestigious shows as those

er by Judy Garland, Ed Sullivan, Joey Bishop, Bob Hope
is scheduled to star in the plush precincts of the PI.
Hotel's Persian Room this month. Joe Levine, for whom he did the
title song behind Where Love Has Gone, has high expec
proposed launching of Jack in films. The repertoire of tall. da
freshingly quiet mannered Jones leans heavily on the romantic
and the d; his delivery is ungimmicked; he eschews both on-
He has proved.
1 be a straight melodic line,
atra has predicted

ics

GODFREY CAMBRIDGE comic victorious

-ACTOR with the playful look of
sed the ranks of stand-up comicdom to reach the en
ack Paar show earlier this ye
ghtclub engagements (New Yor!
gles! en and signed to do a cross-country tour ol EE
ntly devoid of homilies: “The main thing Im after is la
As an acc idge, who rec
The Blacks Tony Award for his home-folks poru:
of Gitlow in Purlie Victorious, uses his theatrical tr WT to maximum advantage in his new role as a full-time jest
de s Forceful, his timing sharp. as he waxes comedic on such topics as bl ionalism ("My wife stopped pre

ir, and now she looks just like Jomo Kenyatta”) and integrated parties ("Eastern liberals are wild about my Re
Unaffected by overnight success, 1 hes his fans not to call Cary Grant "the white Godfrey
MARVIN KONER

A 30-YEAR-OLD Е:

1 record time.
ned comic
e Vanguard,

material is racially
n leave them some-
ved The Village Voices 1961 Obie
al
His
ing her
a-Negro
ambridge.”

chelon:

ted, but ple:
thing to think about, so much the bette
Award for his first major role in Genet

imo.

SHERMAN WEISBUR

BILL MAULDIN brush fighter

мити THE NOTARLE EXCEPTION of his 1963 award-winning Kennedy memorial drawing, a sensitive full-page portrayal of a sobbin,
Lincoln, Bill Mauldin has spent his entire cartooning cicer skewering every major politico in sight. A liberal by instinct, and ı
gut-hghter by disposition, the 43-year-old Chicago Sun-Times cartoonist refuses to be hampered by person

lots of acquaintances and few friends"—as his critical eye searches for feet of clay on political idols. Unlike most of his colleague:
“Muldoon” as he is nicknamed by his journalistic eronies—always attacks, never defends: “It’s a cirtoonist’s job to buck power
In South America, 1 would be а leftist; in Yugoslavia, a right-winger.” Cartoon stercotypes like Lady Luck and Uncle Sam а
editorial anathema to Mauldin, who relies on caricature to make his satirical point. Always wary of things too cerebral, he aims hi
humor at the funny bone as well as the brain. “The difference between a cartoon and an editorial,” says Mauldin, "is the dilferenc
between a sergeant’s whistle and a Brahms symphony." Twice awarded the Pulitzer Prize, Mauldin’s icon-smashing career include
carly fame as the GI cartoon creator of "Willie and Joe,” several books, an unsuccessful campaign for Congress, a stint as a film де
tor, and his emergence as a top-paid caricature assassin for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch (1958-1962) before landing his curren
signment at the Sun-Times. "My life has been backwards,” he says. “Big success, retirement, and now I'm making an honest living.

PLAYBOY

VELVET AND APOLLO

. We blinked lazily at the sun-
g sky.

1 could eat that stuff day and night,"
she said.

“I wouldn't advise that. It would do
things to your duodenum.”

y what—stop it!”

wanted to point out your duo-
denum."
T'd rather you wouldn't, thank you.
Trouble with you is, you have a lot
of curves but no scientific bent."

Ha-ha. Wait, when I'm a junior like
you TI make with the fancy phrases,
too. Then I'll challenge you to a duel.
"The weapon I choose is wrestling.’
You biology majors got a one-track
id.

We basked, dozing, humming

“What are you going to do with your
biology, anyway?" she asked.

“Medicine.

“So's my cousin. But he's having trou-
ble getting into med school."

Without warning, her words had con-
verted the lamblike cloud above into an
august ream of application blanks. I
stiffened. Reality had butted in. Reso-
Іше, I kicked it out of the afternoon's
golden-blue utopia.

"Who hasn't got trouble?" I said.

That ended our siesta. We were up
and about. What to do? About us
droned, drummed, news-commentatored,
demonium of portables.
And there was a clearing, just vacated
by a family of four, as small and precious
as a night-club table. We danced on it,
ostensibly to Green Eyes which was
grinding out nearby, actually to а musi-
cal desire to do somethin;

“Hey!” cawed a matron with dyed
hair. “What are you trying to do, raise a
sandstorm?"

“Drop dead,” Velvet whispered at her
ardently, though into my car.

We quit. What to do? Amateur acro-
bats began to practice their art on the
other side of the boardwalk stairs and
we hurried over. Limbs disported them-
selves independently in the air. Ca-
thedrals of tanned skin were built. But
we weren't content to watch

“Хай... по..." She trembled on
my shoulders. "No! 1 give up!”

Straighten up!" I panted.

ng, we toppled
We were burning
with
was sh the sun. In the
east the sky was riddled with lavender
ards of evening. We wanted to
shout, laugh, to imprison each slipping
second. What to doz

We ran into the high-tide water. 1
played the game with her, the lovely
me of me the drowner and her the
rescuer; the water lapped, wave-confused

226 game of my drifting hands, her chaste

(continued from page 178)

protests and wantonly inadequate eva-
sions.

Abruptly the day was gone. The sun
had tangled fatally with the roofs of
Gravesend. Around us people scampered
off the littered sand. The sky grew dark-
er than the amusement park’s neon. A
breeze sprang up. We had to admit our
shivers. We had gone into the water too
There was no place where we could
change our bathing suits, the public lock-
ers being filled up. The wool clung and
bit as 1 pulled my dry pants over it.

We had become silent and tired. We
shook the sand out of the blanket, fold-
ed it. And as we turned to go, there he
stood, the little ma

No telling how long he had waited be-
hind us. He was old, and bent a tired
smile toward us. In his brown gabardinc
suit he looked like a gnarled root that
had shot up from the ground—a root
yearning for a tree to which it could at-
tach itself and give sap to-

We secmed to bc his tree. For when
we tried to pass him, he stretched out
his ann.

Would you like to change clothes?
nc into my house. I have a shower ..

His arm sank with his voice, as
though he were embarrassed by his
own eagerness.

“Well * I said dubiously.

“But it is only seventy cents. For both
of you, What is seventy cenis? You can
change your clothes. And wash yourself,
You se

Once more his gray face urged its bat-
tered smile on us. Improbably, he did
make us see.

“АП right," I said, and immediately he
swung around and led us past the al-
ready lamplit boardw. round a corner
to his house,

But it wasn't a house. Once it might
have been a bungalow. Now it was hard-
ly better than a decaying heap of sh
gles. We—Velvet and I—looked at the
cracked tar roof, at the exposed beams.
And looked at cach other, Aud laughed,
hilariously. It was the perfect ending for
our crazy day. Both the askew house and
its askew owner were—how shall 1 say
weirdly wonderful. Their very unsightli-
ness was to be enjoyed for a secret,
youthful reason peculiar to us.

So we did enjoy it. We could barely
restrain our giggles as the old fellow
beckoned us with his keen little flourish-
cs through two dank rooms; as he pre-
sented us breathlessly with large towels
that were, strange 10 say, quite clean; as
he ushered us into a tiny dooryard where
an even tinier shack trembled the
breeze.

“The showers . . .” gasped our host,
as though staggered by the vista. “Hot
and cold ... good drainage .. . you
can use them."

1 entered on onc side of the partition

Ге;

that separated the shack into halves,
Velvet on the other. I peeled off the
loathsome trunks, let the cold jet wash
the sweat and the sand off my skin. I
stretched luxuriously, 1 soaped, I sang,
and Velvet sang back.

“Say!” I cried through the partition.
“Apollo the god of music says let's mur-
der a song together

"Sure!" she bubbled back

"Fogether we droned out "Bongo, bon-
go, bongo, I don't want to leave the
Congo," and for a drum I beat out the
rhythm against the wall between us.

Then it happened.

A few loose nails dropped on my side.
The paper-thin wood gave in to my fist.
Not all the way. Just enough to show the
upper part of Velvets back, the spine
bones showing because she was bending
over, the flesh almost unreal in irs white
halterless frankness, and displaying on
the left side the ripe ruby-red beauty of
a birthmark a stap had hitherto con
led. And still the wood gave further.

I don't know what haunted impulse
made me hold it up. A tiny desire
nudged me, yet I was flooded with [ear
She bongo'd on innocently, but I felt the
nails loosening all over and I was ай
the partition would crash down no mat
ter how I strained my fingers against the
stärkness. And then in panic, faucet left
on, the soap not even washed off entire-
ly, I grabbed the towel and ran out.

I shivered in the room next door. Ou
side the window the beach was а paper-
soiled waste. My clothes scemed damp as
I put them on. I was overwhelmed by
the inescapable nakedness of life. The
time was coming when all the curtains
would tear, and all the gay frauds fall,

and Fd have to go through with the
business of living

ad loving down to
se of mortality, down
ng vulnerability, And I
was shocked by my own fear of that, by
the rebellion of an unsuspected риги,
ism. The world, like the sand outside,
had turned rank and incomprehensible
and wearisome.

"Apollo, she cried that
“hey, wherefore art thou

“I'm finished, slowpoke,” I cried b
automatically the spell was brok
My hand reached into the pocket and
encountered enough quarters to secure
the night.

“1 happen not to be afraid of showers,
the way some people are." She swayed
into the room, towel-wrapped tightly
from shoulder to thigh, head throw
over her shoulder, an ar
queen.

"Shake a leg, Gypsy Rose,” I said.
“We're doing Coney Island."

I gave her my most leering look as she
paraded by. And 1 had already forgotten.
that a moment before I had felt, for the
first time in my life. old.

moment,

ateur burlesque

fiction By BERNARD WOLFE

walter had to get his hero out of trouble,

but according to the coded message, he himself was in a far worse plight

тик муха, in black pomposity of feath-
ers, with chief justice's leveli
worked at its chufly song, gi
gruh

out the beat on the su
shape palelemon Formi
bop, bop-bop.

When he became aware of what his
fingers were doing, he looked up quickly
from the puce-colored IBM typewriter to
study the dark presiding figure in its
curlicued brass cage.

“I spit on your trivialized smut guis,
too, scum eyes.”

He was not pl

sed with himself for
hating a small incarcerated animal. But
facts were facts. Small black magisterial
clump of nothing with a sheen of no
sympathy in the eye and answering to the
name of Jonnikins.

“Jonnikins, your Jerkiness. You and
your witch friend Daisy-Dear. Long-term
mononucleosis to you both.”

Neither did he enjoy

malicious

thoughts about his moth He
never laughed at mother-in-law jokes, be
cause he sensed in them а displeasure

with women which he believed more
suited то fairies. whom he truly hated.
Yet how deny he had a mother:
who doted on the name Daisy-Dear
insisted on keeping a filthy rouen myr
bird she insisted on calling Jonnikins?
Keeping the miserable squawker in his
study, at his elbow? Not bad enough she
had to live here. She had to buddy up to
rouen filthy birds that eyed you and
made nasty Huntley-Brinkley commen-
varies you couldn't undersi

tute books h
and making mucoid rock "n' roll in their
throats. In his study. At his elbow.
“Jonnikins, if you want to know what
I think, T think you're a fairy, a feather-
bearing damn fairy. I would dance in
the streets (> see you stretched out con
clusively dead with your ugly claws

ng down sentences

and bird of

Drawing back from
thought, he shifted his eyes to Ше picture
window to consider the sunny spread of
West Hollywood and Beverly Hills be-
low. From his rose carpeted and rose
draped study here high over Goldwater
Canyon he could make out all the land-
irks of the sprawled enterprise called
Walter Jack Commice, the California
Bank Building, where agents sat collect-
his moneys, the Sunset Tower, where
business managers were busy disbursing
the Beverly Hilton, in whose
- Escoffier Room he met reg-
ularly with television producers and story
editors to firm up new assignments, the
Park La Brea Towers, where his secretary
was at this moment typing up his last
script for the Yucca Yancy series, the
Bekins warchouse, where he was obliged
to store his many bound volumes of old

television scripts now that Daisy-Dear 227

PLAYBOY

228

insisted on using the closet of his study
for Jonnikin's feeds and vitamins and
assorted goodies, About him this network
of institutions operating on the premise
that his hands would continue to Пу
plouingly and dialogingly over the puce
IBM, but when he looked down at a
wide city dependent on his ten fingers,
the fingers went truant and jogged the
тупа growling rhythms.

Вор, bop, they went. Bop, bop-bop.

Daisy-Dear came in slapping her too-
ge fully mules and crossed to her
darling’s cage.

"Don't mind me," she said, as usual.
He was again struck by how much she
sounded like her feathered friend, a rasp-
er, a growler. He Кері expecting her to
grow a beak: she already had the bead
ness of eye. “Just want to sec how Boy-
Boy is."

Sometimes it wasn't Jonnikins. When
that love welled up it could be Boy-Boy.

“It would be easier to not mind you,
he said, not loudly, "if you didn't start
yapping the minute you came in.” He
added with no loudness at all, “Easier
still if you took a slow train to
Anchorage.”

But by this time she was crooking her
finger through the brass bars at Jon-
Boy-Boy and saying in a coo, “Are you
maybe under the weather, little man?
You look pes ©

d, definitely.

He felt peaked, definitely. Не imag-
ined his head was peak-ed and pointy
and begging for dunce caps. He stared
with disenchantment at the page in his
typewriter and forced his eyes to follow
the words again:

QuAmLEs (lazily): What makes you
think Fm your man, sheriff?

SHERIFF SLATE (readying hands at hol-
sters): Scar over right eye. Third finger
of left hand missing down to second

knuckle, You're the one gunned down
Farrow, all right. Fd know you any-
wheres.

quarts (placidly downing drink in
shot glass): You can get in a whole mess
of trouble going round making big ac-
cusations like that.

SHERIFF SLATE (fingers stiffening near
holsters): You're the one's in trouble
now, Quae. Either you come along
quiet. .

QUARLES (putting shot glass down de-
liberately): Now, you couldn't rightly
expect me to do that, sheriff, I don't do
things quiet. I'm а loud man. I do every-
thing real loud . .

Daisy-Dear reading today's immortal.

prose over his shoulder. Projecting the
editorial lower lip, beaklike. Inancly rc-
porting, “Не was saying he’s a loud man
this morning at eleven. It's three in the
afternoon now."
Тус asked you roughly a hundred
not to come in here when I'm
ng, Daisy. I've asked you maybe
two hundred times not to read over my
shoulder when you do come in, Daisy."

Eyes slotting now. Two Daisies bereft
of their honeying and kissy Dı She
knew when she'd been slapped in the
face twice in two sentences.

"Walter. Really. You know 1 can't go
all day without peeking in to see how
Jonnikins is.

nd how my script isn’t?” а
Yow, Walter. You know you're just
grumpy because it isn't going well. Two
pages in five hours . . .”

A double accusation behind that, It
was her theory that his study was the
best place for Jonnikins because the
sound of typing gave him something to
think about and generally soothed him
When there was this sound: It was he
further theory that her son-indaw was
no-good lazy bum who sat all day count-
ing his fingers and thinking about strip-
teasers, and that the lack of busy noises
as what made Jonnikins feel neglected

m under the weather and
d, definitely.
ive hours is right," he said. "Five

full hours of Feathers over there concert-
izing in my car. He's in fine, phlegmy
voice today.

The thing was that the longer Walter
sat, trying to get Killer Quarles to put
that shot glass all the way down and draw
on Sheriff Slate to force the shoot-out, the
more the goddamn prosecuting attorney
of a black bird kept throwing the book
at him. This sheeny black mess of а
black hoppy animal was conviction-hap-
py D. A., rigged jury, h: з judge, and
firing and blackballing story editor in
one dirty, black ball

Walter was terrified of getting fred
from Yucca Yancy and blackballed
from the industry as a deadline miss
He was ahcady three days overdue on
this assignment and Quarles was still so
disinclined to draw that Sheriff Slate's
fingers were going stiff with neuralgia
there by his holsters.

“Write, Walter," Daisy-Dear said.
“ТҮП be good for your nerves and for
Воу-Воуз, too. Get them six-shooters
‘shootin’ like sixty!"

She padded out on her sloshing mules.

Ginree, #ruh-greeg. admonished the
scummy bum of a blackhearted bird.

Bop, bop-bop, went his fing

Bump, bump-bump

What?

Duh, duh duh?

That little fairy with the cellul
ter opener for a nose? Mm?

det-

Soon as he heard the station wagon
hit the gravel he headed down to the
carport, Immediately he was leading her
over to a safe conference spot near the
hibachi patio grill, close by the vermi-
form aquamarine swimming pool, saying
too fast, "She's your mother and my
nemesis. She was in every hour on the
hour today, making time with that un-
dernourished vulture
my work. Get Daisy-Dour for a mothe
law and you don't need any Romani
Chris, I swear, if she's going to keep
busting into my room with blue pencils
going counterclockwise in her eyes

Chris put her shopping bags on the
barbecuing machine and said, "Wally.

Honey. She's been giving you a workout,
I know." She raised up to kiss him on
the check. “I'll have one last talk with
her. If it doesn't do any good, she
doesn’t live here anymore, thats it. She
carried me for nine months, but that
doesn’t give her any call to needle
for nine years. You forget about it, hon.
If I've got to choose between her and
you, it’s no contest. I know what side of
my bread the

She kissed him on the neck, over to
the left, near the scar where the carbun-
cle had heen cauterized off. Daisy-Dear
had insisted on the carbuncle going, be
cause she saw potentialities for cancer in
all unusual blooms except her own
bloating tongue.

Chris was his one ally. He knew he
could count on her against all the edi-
toreye vultures. Immediately he felt
better.

“You're a girl
mcant it.

“Га better ma

id a half," he said, and

е tracks and a half. Six-

fifteen. Oo, oo. Mix the onion dip and
get martoonis in the fridge. How're you
doing with the Yang?”

anh. Quarles's an old chimney. Not
wing properly."
“Ho, ho. Never you mind, hon. You're
the A-one chimney sweep in these parts."
His eyes followed with approval as she
gathered up Ше groceries and went off

dr:

nch-
r

toward the allelecuic kitchen,
high, ample, still а curvy and super
bundle. If at times he [elt he was a pris
oner in the enemy camp, she au least was
there with him, tapping out messages of
solidarity on the cell wall.

He thought of Henny Juris. While
Chris and her mums were olt doing last-
minute things in the kitchen, Walter
Jack Commice adjusted his legs on the
leather hassock, sipped at his pana-
tela, and thought about Henny Juris,
wondering why. He had not seen or con-
sidered Henny for 16 years, since the
Navy. His fingers were making rhythms
on the martini glass, He let his eyes go
to the glass patio doors, to the well-lit
landscaping beyond, In this town you
paid high for your ved and blue ba-

a wees. But, he told himself, he did
not mind. Nothing comes free of charge.
Even when you jump for joy you're us-
ing up your legs some. All of which did
not tell him why his mind was suddenly
going back to Henny Juris. O
fingers jumping on the martini glass,
for joy. He was now on his third marti-
ni. not for joy.

The ladies came out to announce that
dinner was ready and in a minute they
ted and the maid was serving.
is.” Walter said over the jellied
drilene, “you majored in psych. Stim

ulusresponse, reflexes, things of that
order. Tell me, do you think animals,
the higher animals below humans, are
capable of hate?

“There's the danger of anthropomor-
‘Auributing to them
specifically human qualities, like being
vain about your figure and liking to sce
your name in the papers and wan
be at the head of the class. But, ye
give them hate. When the hippopotamus
is dismembering the white hunter 1
don't think his head's full of rosy Chris-
Чап thoughts.”

“You speak of the hippopotamus.
What about, specifically, birds?” He kept
his eyes carefully away from Daisy-Dear,
but he saw the alerted look Chris gave
him across the table. "You suppose birds,
domesticated birds, can hate other crea-
tures—people:

Well. we don't know too much about
birds." Chris tasted her Chablis and gri-
maced approval. "Dirds are descended.
пош the reptile. We dont know a
damned thing about what goes on in a
snake's head. They're too cold-blooded.
Where do your hostilities and n
ments trend when your blood su
down to seventy degrees Fahrenheit?"

“I don't know about snakes, but I can
tell you when birds hate you
Dear said. Now Chris was

ng her

the `

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AROUND THE WORLD WITH TEEVEE JEEBIES

“Just make yourselves at home, folks— “The point is this, Sehora—the horses, apa То о
I'm going to show Sandra the bedroom . . .” and someone has to pull the coach .

"That's very good, girls—except that I said, “And after we broke up, Jane got possession of Boy,
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231

PLAYBOY

232

DOT AND DASH BIRD

warning looks, but she paid no attention.
“Ies when you hate them. You can't
blame them. They're sensitive litle fel-
lows and they feel things.”

"Listen, Daisy." Walter was not in-
clined to dapple his talk with falsifying
Dearies. He knew he should not have
had that third martini, but there was no
stopping now. "TIL tell you something
about that sensitive little chum-buddy of
yours. He hates me and everything
about me. He even makes fun of my
writing, if anybody took the trouble to
decipher his stenchy warbles. Exactly
like his feeder and fancier. You don’t
need deciphering. Come clean, now.
Don't you make fun of my writing’
“I think it would be better not to go
nto literary matters,” Chris said cau-
tioningly. Her words were meant for her
mother, but D.
ed in rising to the occasion, the beam of
baule was in her eye.

“Since you ask me, Walter,” she said
happily, full of anticipation, “since you
seem to want my opinion, I'm no cri
but 1 can tell you this, I think it's a
shame and a disgrace for a grown man
10 be spending his life trying to get
strutty little outlaws and sheriffs to shoot
bullets into each other. There are other
things in life besides guns and gore and
men with two-year-olds’ itches

sy-Dear was too interest-

(continued from page 229)

tough and with barks at each other, Be-
sides, you can't even get your itchy men
10 reach for their guns. You get them
talking tougher and tougher and longer
and longer 2

No telling how far she would have
gone if the maid had not just then come
in with the steaming roast beef on a
platter. They sat with petrified eyes un-
til the maid was gonc again. Then Chris
looked directly at her mother and said,
“Mother, let's understand one thing.
Walter is my husband, I love him and
love and approve of everything he docs,
nd if anybody feels differently about it,
there's по room for such a person in this
house. Is that dear?”

Before the old lady could open her
mouth Walter said, "I'm glad you said
what you did, Daisy, very glad. It's good
to get these things out in the open. Let
me just inform you, for your informa-
tion, that by writing about people who
talk tough and itchily reach for their
guns, as you so choicely put it, I make
over thirty thousand dollars each ycar
after taxes, Some people may have very
highly developed critical minds and see
whats less than perfect in everything,
but if you look at their tax returns”

“Thank you very much, Walter,” D
sy-Dear said. “Thank you for reminding

سل

me that I'm a helpless old woman who
can't earn her keep anymore and has to
depend on the charity of people who
don't want her around. I'm well aware
of the fact that I'm a pauper and have
to live where I'm not wanted. For your

nformation, your toughies with all their
itches aren't reaching so much for their
guns lately. You're days late with this
Yancy and you still can't get Mr. Quarles
to stop talking long enough to take a
gun to Mr. Slate."

“All right, Mother,” Chris said with
the firmness of ultimatum. “I think that
does it. I think that's just about it.
You've been making life miserable for
Walter long enough. and my first loyalty
is to my husband. You won't be a pau-
per, Daisy-Dear. We'll see to it that you
never want for anything, but you can't
stay here. I suggest you go to your room
and start packing. We'll make the neces
sary arrangements in the morning.”

“TI be happy to leave this hous
Dear said, She stood up with dig-
"I don't care to be in a place where
a soul can't speak her mind." She left
the room without a look back.

Walter called exultantly after
“And Daisy-Degr, take iddums Jonni
with you! Tell him about Dostoievsky

He was feeling taken care of and vin-
dicated. The feeling increased when
Chris came over and kissed him on the

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head, saying, "It'll be all right now, dar-
ling. This was coming for a long time. I
just had to handle it my own way and in
my own time.

He patted her hand with all affection.
“Thanks, honey. I really mean it. These
rc the moments that count, when
you're tapping strong on the cell wall.

Chris went back to her seat as he said
with all heartiness, “Mothers-in-law
should be hurried and not seen. You
know.” But Chris didn’t laugh, and Wal-
ter couldn't bring himself to laugh ei-
ther. He knew damned well he was no
fairy, but here he was making one of
those misogynistic mother-in-law jokes
that had fairy overtones. He said as he
bent to carve the rib, holding the tools
before him like lances, suddenly gloomy,
“Damn it. I swear, by midnight Quarles's
going to be letting loose at Slate with
both barrels.” Then his fingers were
throbbing obscure semaphors and he was
exclaiming, “Henny Juris! Of course!
Hon, what we were saying about animals
and hate, listen, I just came in mind of
a proof! Rumpy! The scratcher, the
chuckler, Rumpy!”

“Translate, please,” Chri

Tt was all back in Walter's ПЫ “My
God, yes. The squirrel.” Around the
edges of the memory he ware of his
fingers going faster against the tabletop.
“This was a little beast one of the lieu-

Newport News had. Lieu-
les. come to think of it, that
me. I guess Т never told yon
This Rumpy was, generally speaking, an
affectionate little bugger, he really liked
people, all kinds, he was forever nuzzling
and making up to everybody. The only
onc he wouldn't kiss and mush up to

vas Henny Juris. Oh, how th
soandso hated Henny's
made Henny's life miserable, I'm telling
you. Henny’s got scars from where that
animal bit his fingers to the bone. Once
they had to tear Rumpy off Henny be-
cause he was trying to scratch. Henny's
eyes out. He saw red whenever Henny
was in the neighborhood. Spitting and
clawing was his one hello. What Rumpy
felt for that man wasn't anything as soft
as hate. It was homicide, pure and
simple.”

His fingers were on the speed-up. He
was sitting straight, aware of how his
breathing had speeded up, too.

"Right!" he said. "Absolutely! Not a
word of exaggeration in that! How that
squirrel went out of his mind and
screamed like a banshee every time Hen-
ny came near! You know what his favor-
ite trick was, Chris? He used to go to the
bathroom on Henny's desk, on his bed-
clothes, his shoes, his head, even. He
would scamper about, and go to the
bathroom all over poor Hen!" Walter
moved his hands from the table to his

tenant jg-
tenant Qu:
was his

knees, but the fingers went on working.
“Henny had a theory about that squir-
rel. It had to do with the little bugger's
owner, Lieutenant Quarles. Quarles
loathed and abominated the sight of
Henny. It was Henny's thought that he
represented everything that went against
Quarles’ grain and tastes. Henny outdid
this guy in officers’ training, talked loud-
er and faster, was bigger and stronger,
his parents the standing Quarles’
didn’t, there were a whole lot of things.
What Quarles felt for Henny was one
headful of murder!”

“Do I understand you?” Chris said
slowly. “You're saying when a human
feels something very strongly it can get
communicated to an animal?"

"Can and does!" Walter said excited-
ly. "And it's for the precise same reaso
that Jonnikins has that baleful look
when I'm around that he'd like to do
n! That kind of concentrated ven-

om and bad fccling has to come from

somewhere! We know its source!
“Well.” Chris said, “be that as it may.

I don't think we know enough about an-
imals to get that detailed about what they
feel or don't feel. Anyhow, you won't
be bothered by Jonnikins anymore.
Or Daisy-Dear. Whatever the ESP
between them. Мете going to have a
life of our own around here, a little
peace and quict once more, thank the

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PLAYBOY

234

“The instrument is played from this side, Mi

Lord. I've been meaning to ask you,
hon, why do you keep drumming with

your fingers that way?” Walters hands
were back on the table.
“Oh, I guess it just comes from work-

ing at the typewriter all day,”
said neuually.
thing. Writ
something, Chris. They
code training in the WAVES. You make
anything of this?" He repeated the beat
with his fingers, dup, dup, dup-dup.
"Search me,” she said. “I do

teen years,” Walter said, drum-
эр. “А lot goes. Sounds to me like
there's a pattern there, but I can’t get it.
I'll have to look it up.”
"Where's it from?” Chri
way Daisy-Dear slaps
ıs her throat? In that case,
maybe you better not do any looking up.
What you don't know can't go to the
bathroom vou. You know." She
said "Ha t him hopefully, but
he ignored the call to lightness.
“It’s from an animal,” Walter said. “4
cold-blooded reptilian bird of my ac-
ntance. I think he's trying t0 say
g to me, but I'm not sure.”
When Chris went to the bedroom to
undress, Walter followed her here and
there.
Tell me the truth, hon.

” he said after

saying about me, I
really? Don't you ever get any sc-

. Hendler.”

cret sour thoughts about me because Гуе
given up my ideas of writing novels and
just bat out these Yancys and drivel like
that? 1 wouldn't blame you if you had
some reservations, sweets, but ГА like to
know. We've never really talked about

Oh, dear, darling, dotable Walt, of
course I don't have any reservations.
Whatever you do is what I want you to
do. Walt, ТЇЇ tell you this one last time
I think you're a marvelous writer, a
beautiful writer, and I think everything.
you write is perfect. And I'm glad we
finally had the blowup with Daisy-De
You'll see. Once she's gone the atmos-
phere around this house is going to get
very clear and friendly. Very, very
friendly.”

It was true. She kept tapping on the
prison wall. spelling out messages of
comfort and chin up. He kissed her lin-
geringly and with full conviction

“Going to get another hour of work
in, sweets. If Juridical Jonny hasn't
gone to the bathroom on my IBM. Sleep
tight. Love you fulsomely.””

Two hours later Killer Quarles was
still proclaiming what a loud man he was
and Sheriff Slate's hands were still hover-
ing like trapped mynas over his hol-
sters. As Walter's hands hovered like
trapped and irreverently screeching my-
nas over his typewriter, He had placed
the night covering over the cage and
Jonnikins was tomb still, but Walter was
excruciatingly aware of the bird, heard
its roaringly silent comments on the

state of letters in the nation and the ac-
cumulation of clanking deadlines for the
Below, deep down from these
n the valley of col-
lectors and disbursers who had come to a
standstill waiting for Walters new
script, the valley which, like an imper-

vious mouth breathed with chesty beg-
gings for more Yancy shoot-downs,

all
the lights were blinking in a rhythm
Walter took to be one, two, one two.
Over the typewriter keys Walter's fingers
twitched, one, two, one-two. There was
nothing for it. He got up with a growl,
crossed the room, whipped the covering
from the cage

Immediately the bright pellet eyes
меге on him and the festering black
throat was going strong, one, two, one-
two. Then other throaty pulses. Highs,
lows. ігру middle-range tones

Walter reached for a pad and pencil
and began to make notations, dots for
the short and hyphenated sounds, dashes
for the sustained ones.

The bird sang, the pencil New.

When the sheet was half covered with
these markings, Walter went to the book-
cae and ran his finger along the shelf
with the Encyclopaedia Britannica. He
took down the “М” volume. He sat at
the desk and opened this volume to the
entry for “Morse Code.” There it was,
from A to Z.

He wrote for put shaking hand
to wet lorchead, said, “My God, my
God.” and wrote some more.

The bird sang, pruh-greeg, gurree.

In a husky, strangulated voice, Walter
an to read the words on his pad:

Call yourself a writer? You haven't
got one drop of talent. You're an unin-
spired hack. You couldn't write your way

be;

out of a paper bag. Your badmen and
sherifls are all finger-crooking fairies
pretending 10 talk tough. Fairies who

can't stop talking garbage and for once

reach for their guns . . `

The bird stared bold
gurrah.

‘Oh, my living, forgiving God,” Wal-
ter whispered. “It is high time that
woman left this house. The malice, the
malice she bears me.

Then he was filled with a fu
was remembering what He
had done to the squirrel that nig
came back to quarters and once a
found his sheets, his shirts, the lett
from his fiancée and his moncy пае
inately gone to the bathroom on. Hen-
ny had taken Rumpy up by the neck
and thrown it from the barracks and far
into the night.

At this moment Walter felt that he
had been gone to the bathroom on from
head to foot

He went to the cage, opened it and
reached in for the sooty concertizer. He
got his hand firmly on the black, rotten
throat, but he could not squeeze, he
couldn't. He took his enormous compact

ng, gurree,

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burden to the picture window and
cranked open the mobile pane to one
side and pushed the outside screen open
He held the struggling, fluttering bird
out through the window, toward the
blue and red banana trees.

"Back where yon came from," Walter
whispered. “Even if you have to change
trains.”

He loosened his fingers. Jonnikins
flew off in a whir of foul feathers, sing-
gurrah, gurree.
ed afer him, breathing
heavy t full of felony but there
was relief in it, release, At last he took
up his pencil and pad from the desk
along with the volume of the Britannica.
and started down the hall 10 the bed-
room, down past Daisy-Dear’s room from
which came the sounds of histrionic
humming and drawers being slammed.

Walter the strong feeling that
here now was something tangible that
Christine should know. Нег horizons
were not wide enough, praise be. to al-
low for the full working out of truly poi
sonous processes. She had to know how
far Daisy-Dear had overstayed her hu
man welcome, how close to absolute cri-
sis they'd all come

He stood over her bed and said softly,
“Chris? Hon? Hear me? Something you
should see.”

He listened to her weighty, troubled
breathing. She was not snoring, really
but there was this low rasping and catch-
ing in her throat. Irregular. Sometimes
slow, sometimes hurried. Vague. dissipat-
ing smile on her face

He stiffened

Listened more carefully to the smoth-
cred sounds.

Whar?

Оле шо >

Не listened some more.

He sat down on the edge of the bed
and began to make notations, dashes for
the long rasps, dots for the short, run-
together ones. His hand was shaking so
much that at one point the pencil
slipped from his fingers

He flipped open the reference volume
and tied to focus his eyes on the chart.
Forced his rebellious hand to write, let-
ter by letter, word by word

When he had enough lines transcribed,
Walter Jack Commice held the pad up
and began to read with disheveled lips,
feeling that he had been gone to the
bathroom on by the world's population
of squirrels, birds and wives

"Who ever said you're a writer?
There's not a drop of talent in your
veins. You're the hack of hacks. You
couldn't write home for money. All
your tough guys are absurd little fairies
and that’s why . . ."

My God .

Chris breathed suckingly, snugly, pri-
vately, smilingly, one, two, one-two .

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FRENCH MYTH
(continued from page 142)

of facts is less important than healthy
intellectual curiosity. Ihe French treat
civilization like a valuable commodity.
When Mme. Vaudable of Maxim's
set up L'Académie, а school for
extremely well-heeled foreign young la-
the Foreign Ministry's Directeur
Général des Affaires Culturelles et Tech-
niques arranged for the girls to attend
the Sorbonne's famous course in French
civilization.

America's stormy love affair with
France will soon be 200 years old. It
ly began in 1778 when France was
t great power to recognize the i
dependence of the 13 Colonies. The
names of French heroes involved in the
early stages of the affair have been im-
mortalized in the names of some unfor-
gotten French Line ships—Lafayette, De

»rasse, Rochambeau. (If the French
Line should ever run out of popular he-
roes, it can always fall back on capti-
vating words such as Champagne or
Liberté)

The love affair was always one-sided,
unrequited, even after the First World
War when the Americans had high
hopes in the wake of the common victo-
ry. Even then Marianne remained cool
and detached and very desirable, gra-
ciously accepting the admirer's gifts, nev-
er returning favors. “Gloire gives herself
only ro those who always dreamed of
her,” wrote De Gaulle, and to him gloire
has always been synonymous with
France. During and after the last War
the French accepted the American gifts
of liberation and post-War aid as a girl
accepts gifts from an old friend whom
she docsn't take too seriously. “On re-
vient toujours à ses premiers amours.”
“In spite of occasional disenchanuments,
the Americans will never stop being in
love with us,” a French girl told me not
long ago, and laughed. Her name was
not Marianne, but she certainly acted
like he

Мәті

nne herself never forgets a

ight. les de Gaulle, who was often
snubbed dur his painful years as an
exile in wartime London, has never for-
given the English and Americans. He

wrote that he would make life “unen-
durable"

to those who slighted France,
and is Yet
ists were supremely un-
concerned by the outcry that went up
after De Gaulle refused Britain admis-
sion to the Common Market. They knew
that their partners in the Common Mar
ket who didn't agree would never give
up such a profitable partnership. The
French may be great friends of the West
Germans, but they have recognized the
Neisse Line because "c'est une réal-
The French know that inta
politics is a science, not a popularity

contest. “We don't sell good will like the
Americans.” a French diplomat says.
"We offer mutual interests. You gave
away billions of dollars and now you
complain because nobody loves you. We
never expected to be loved. We want to
be respected."

The French don't care whether they
hurt the feelings of old admirers. De
Gaulle recognized Red China because he
sensed the time had come for France to
step into a political vacuum in Asia that
neither the Americans nor the Russians
could fill. It is a logical step toward his
aim of building “the third force,” and if
some of the old admirers are angry, tant
pis: after all, they made him angry
when they interfered in Algeria, Moroc-
nbodia, which
h some justifi
siders his own back yard. ^
cares more about France's interests than
about political ideology,” wrote Ray-
mond Aron, the well-known French pub-
licist, and he wondered about all the
fuss; after all, Britain had recognized the
Mao regime as early as 1950.

During the past two years, Americans
living in France were shocked by govern-
mentrun French television programs
that seemed clearly directed against the
U.S. During the worst months of the Al-
gerian crisis, French TV and radio pro-
grams played down violence in Alge:
and at the same time played up race
riots in the United States. In popular
programs Americans are often depicted
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“There is a deep-rooted belief diat
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don't deserve their leading position in
the modern world,” a Europcan-born
American tells me. He lives in the Bor
deaux region and speaks French like
Frenchinai This belief is skillfully ex-
ploited by the Communist. propaganda
that ‘America lways take advantage
of the French.

At the end of the war I heard wide
spread rumors in Morocco that the
Americans had come there “to steal the
oil.” Everybody knew about it except
the new American commander, who
didn't even know there was any oil, The
oil myth has proved as durable as the
myth of 1 Street, the root of all
evil,” in other parts of the world. French
businessmen who should know better
tell you that the Americans tried to in
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better once ned what President
Eisenhower was a "Communist."

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PLAYBOY

240

“Last year when you went home to mend
fences — did you break any new ones?”

The time has come for a reappraisal.
Americans should stop seeing the French
through rosecolored glasses and accept
them for what they are—an immensely
gifted, totally unsentimental people, in-
telligent and proud. Tough Am
businessmen who took a condescei
titude toward French business i
arly post-War years have learned that
rench businessmen can be much tough-
cr than Ameri
stop thinking of the French аз a nation
of maîtres (hotel, chefs and compl;
ladies, who do nothing all day long
work mostly at night. Most French are

rican

d-working, modest, thrifty.

Above all, Americans should try to get
beneath the surface in France. It’s not
because the French are reticent,
i and xenophobic, Unlike
ans, who take an optimistic point
w, the French have gone through
so much hell that they have become a
nation of skeptics, They don't open
their doors to foreigners. They make а
sharp distinction between family lile,
with its anniversaries, weddings. burials,
at home; and life with
kes place at the
neighborhood bistro. I have good friends

in Fı е never invited me
into their homes, Frenchmen who come
10 Americi are always amazed at peo-

ple's hospitality. “1 talked to à man on
the plane and he asked me to come to
hiis home for dim n told
‘And he meant it" He shook his

me.

head in pleased wonderment. He said 30
vens ago his sister married an Halian
who lives in France and became a
Frenchman but is still called “Italien”
by the family.
France is a nation
and contrasts. No one in
for France except De

of individualists
rance speaks
ulle, and ће

speaks mostly of himself. In France, old-
contrast

fashioned farming methods
est

advances in factories. The country has
п archaic food-distribution system—all
foodstufls are sent from the producing
region to the Halles in Paris and some-
ht back to the very place
y fter lots of people
carned their commissions—but no other
country is so well organized in getting
fine foodstuffs to the hungry customer.
France is a great eating country not be-
cause of its thre ut be-
cause every girl has learned to make a
good omelet—which icult. “Toute
Francaise sait faire un peu de cuisine,
wrote Voltaire, who criticized the French
merciless!
Americans must learn that the French
are no longer overwhelmed by the Amer-
1 image of wealth and power. The
of France is superficial,
despite the twist and Coca-Cola, and
hasn't penetrated the French soul. Dur
ing a recent bull session with French and

great many Amer-
ican slang expressions, but inside they
remained completely French—more ma-

ture and at the same time more naive
than their American colleagues, more
independent, more skeptical, more imer-
ested in the arts, music, politics. And
much less afraid of life than the Ameri
cans.

Marianne, in turn, will have to give
up the silly idea that there was an Amer-
i iracy at the bottom of every
t befell France in past years:
that France h i
lization and that no
culture. Frenchmen will have to admit
the efforts of the great American founda-
tions, the enormous interest of Ameri-
cans in the arts, the development of
symphony orchestras, the evolution of
that great art form, the Ame nusi
cal. A Paris art expert complained to me
that "Americans bought up our Impres-
sionists at low prices.” He was certainly
right, but I made him admit that Amo
сап collectors appreciated the French
Impressionists long before French соПес-
tors did.

Frenchmen should unlearn their own
"American myth,” which is as wide-
spread in France as the

America. The Ameri pre-
tends that America is populated by
moneygrabbing millionaires living in

skyscrapers on a diet of popcorn, and Бу
underprivileged people living in slums.
French book readers (and France is a na-
tion of book readers) are amused by the
often silly treatment of what goes for
in popular Am novels. The
fact is that the French may not be the
supreme arbiters in such matters, as they
like to pretend, but their attitude to-
ward sex is relaxed and natural; w them
it is an important part in the eternal су:
de of life and death.

Free love is tolerated but not encou
and the percentage of oncecom-
nt ladies who settled down and are
appily and respectably married is
3 es who were
v employed in two establish-
ments I used to work as a night
club fiddler in the carefree Twenties, are
now happy matrons and grandmothers
in the French provinces. In one instance
the husband bought a painting of his
с in a state of complete undress.
Years ago I met her, and she told me

proudly that the painting В
The
aci

connubial bedroom.
dicated before, zed people.

It's useless to debate whether the
Americans need the French more than
the French need the Americans. They
need each other, and they know it. They
may disagree about some things,
but they arc in complete agreement
about the truly important ones. The time
has come to stop spreading the myth:

ЫІ

mino

NATIVE SON (continued from page 155)

stood something morc about my story
and about myself. My brother and some
other people and my nephew were on
the block where I grew up. It hasn't
changed much in these last 38 years of
progress. And we also visited a funeral
parlor nearby. A boy had died, a boy of
27 who had been on the needle and who
was a friend of nephew's. I don't
know why this struck me so much today,
but it did. Perhaps because my nephew
was there—! don't know. We walked to
the block where we grew up. Tha
railing on that block, an iron г;
with spikes. Is green now, but when 1
was a child, it was black. And at one
point in my childhood. must have
been very, very young—I watched a
drunken man falling down, being teased
by children, falling next to that railing. I
remember the way his blood looked
against the black, and for some reason
I've never forgotten that man. Toda
began to see why. There's a dead boy
my play, it really pivots on a dead boy.
The whole action of the play is involved
with an effort to discover how this death
came about and who really, apart from
the man who physically did the decd,
was responsible for it. The action of the
play involves the terrible discovery that

y I

no one was innocent of it, neither black
nor white: АП had a hand in it, as we
all do. But this boy is all the ruined
children that I have watched all my life
being destroyed on strcets up and down
this nation, being destroyed as we sit
here, and being destroyed in silence.
This boy is, somehow, my subject, my
torment, too. And I think he must also
be yours. I've begun to be obsessed more
nd more by a line that comes from Wil-
liam Blake. It says, "A dog starved at his
master’s gate/Predicts the ruin of the
State.”

The story that I hope to live long
enough to tell, to get it out somchow
whole and entire, has to do with the ter
rible, terrible damage we are doing to all
our children, Because what is happening
on the streets of Harlem to black boys
and girls is also happening on all Ameri-
can streets to everybody. It’s a terrible
delusion to think tl any t of this
republic can be safe as long as 20,000,000
members of it are as menaced as they
are. The reality I am tying to get
at is that the humanity of this sub-
merged population is equal to the hu-
manity of anyone clse, cqual to yours,
equal to that of your child. 1 know when
1 walk into a Harlem funeral parlor and

see a dead boy lying there, I knou
matter what the soi scientists
the liberals say, that it is extremely un-
likely that he would be in his grave so
soon if he were not black. That is a ter-
rible thing to have to say. But, if it is so,
then the people who are responsible for
this are in a terrible condition. Please
take note, I'm mot interested in any-
body's guilt. Guilt is a luxury that we
no longer afford. I know you didn't
do it, and J didn't do it either, but I am
responsible for it because I am а man
and a citizen of this country and you are
responsible for it, too, for the very same
reason: As long as my children face the
future that they face, and come to the
ruin that they come to, your children are
very greatly in danger. too. They are en-
dangered above all by the moral apathy
which pretends it isn't happening, This
does something terrible to us. Anyone
who is trying 10 be conscious must begin
to be conscious of that apathy and must
begin to dismiss the vocabulary which
we've used so long to cover it up, to lie
about the way things are. We must make
the great cffort to realize that there is no
such thing as a Negro problem—but
simply a menaced boy. If we could do
this, we could save this country, we could
save the world, Anyway, that dead boy is
my subject and my responsibility. And

yours.
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THE MISSION

(continued from page 208)

п point, and Miller's, if I remember cor
rectly, both of whom were discovered i
circumstances very much like these.
come to think of it, Im wrong. It w.
ames' and Major Preston's wives.
Miller's was also found among mutants,
but hanged, for race pollution. Аз a mat-
ter of fact, she was discovered to be ргер-

just in time. a week or so befoi

ng, and confessed that she had
consorted carnally with at least two of
the males from the tribe that had

brought her up, the clam-di
remember, who are congenitally blind
тас, and who live along the
coast about 80 miles north of here.
Yes, it all comes back to me now, even
her name, Amelia, "Emmy.
16 or s be even you
Чак hair and long, culing Sedi
not bad-looking at all. My God, what a
mess—a reminder that I must be doubly
careful when I do get around to exa
ing this one, which will probably not be
before the day after tomorrow, if today's
session indication of how long this
whole business is going to take
"Yes, well, good enough,” I finally tell
him with a yawn, which Thurmond
takes as a signal for our departure for
camp, ieh on his face
“We'll talk about п tomorrow.”
“OF course, Captain. You've come а
long way, and you must be very tired.
ps his hands again—
n cnormous
the nape of his neck, who ac-
ies us out of the compound,
pear twice his height, tipped
with what looks to me like the blade of a
butcher knife, which flashes in the light
of the blazing torch he holds in his other
hand.

Later
mond has done a
good job. We are encamped on a hill
that commands the seule
the southeast, steep and
ble, just in cise they have
about rushing us in the dai
stream close by. in a copse of pine trees,
a hundred yards or so a
"Tennison and Witcomb are on first
watch with the BAR," he reports, throw-
ing a blanket over my shoulders.
"Good. Tell them to keep the fire
going, and their eves peeled. Any sign of

usual, ТІ

funny business, anything at all, and
they're to shoot to kill, and ask questions
afterward, do you understand?”

Yes, sir." He salutes. “Good night,

“Good night, Sergeant,” I tell him,
wrapping myself up in the bedroll he
has laid out for me near the fire, around
which the eight other men of the squad
have bedded down for the night. The
ground is damp. Witcomb throws an
armful of brush and a log or two on the

ames which lap up and crackle, ex-
ploding in a shower of sparks. Above me
now, in the depths of a rift in the
clouds, a few stars shine, first onc, then
nother, and still a third, so disquieting
in their intimation of infinitude that I
actually shudder, my heart beating like a
hammer against my ribs, and my throat
constricted and dry. Despite myself. I
must look away, and fix my eyes on the
branches of a pine tree growing nearby.
The у nothing, but the other men
feel too, I know like Thurmond,
when it is growing dark, the same
nameless anxiety. I can hear them rest-
lessly turning this way and that on the
pine needles, speaking together in
hushed tones, born and bred under-
ground like myself and suffering accord-
ingly, under the reaches of the open sky.
What's the word again? Acrophobia? І
forget. DeWitt says that in another gen-
eration or tivo, this fear of open space,
particularly the sky at night, will render
us unfit for anything but life in the silo,
concrete ceilings over our heads, unless
we begin at once 10 condition our young
to the rigors of a sui existence. He
has а point, Fm afraid, if you can go by
ny of us here, right now. What an irony
it would be if we succeed in our mission
to preserve the purity of the race, only
to fail in its corollary of regaining our
rightful domination of the earth because
we can't bear the sight of a few stars at
night. An awful thought. DeWiu is
right; something must be done about it,
and soon, and it's up to the officers to
take the initiative. Literally gritting my
teeth, grinding them together, I force
myself to tear my eyes away from the
branch of the pine wee and look up
again, for a full minute, counting slowly
to 60, while my heart goes at it again
like a hammer, and the roof of my
mouth dries up, a peculiar, cloying taste
on my tongue .

Still later

. . + Cloudy again. The stars have all
gone. Perhaps it will rain. Unable to
sleep, I scribble a few more words in
the log . . . Whispering to my left. Sil-
houetted against the fire, I recognize Pfc.
Roscower’s unmistakable profile—his
hooked nose, gold ring glinting in his
car, as he bends over to whisper some-
thing more in the ear of the man to his
ght, Pic. Feeney.

Seventh day

22. More palaver with the little
beast over lunch—a dog stew, served
with crab apples dipped in wild honey,
and delicious, 1 have to admit, after a
week now of C rations:
whatsoever with the bargai
"Eight, plus ammunition.

no progress

And so it goes, on and on, while we
cat and sip a raw liquor they distill [rom
the apples, a pale gold color, with quite
a kick. The "mayor" is slightly tipsy, a
litle thicktongued and bleary-eyed,

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PLAYBOY

244

looking more ridiculous than ever with
the top hat cocked over one eye. He's
crawling with lice, and quite uncon-
cernedly picks them out of his head,
crushing them between a thumb and
forefinger with a grin—an inescapable,
calculated insult, no matter how you cut
it, and about which I can do nothing
until the woman has been secured.

“Eight plus a hundred rounds apiece,
he repeats for the umpteenth time, wip-
ing his greasy lips on the back of his
hand.
Four.

“Ah, now, Captain . . -
finger under my nose.

Whats most infuriating of all is the
thought that, say, 40 s ago, or
even less, when I was a it would
have been unthinkable for any perfectly
formed human до have entered into any
social relationship with the animals,
much less even consider putting firearms
nto their hands. Has our general situ:
tion deteriorated to such an extent? For-
tunately, most of the mutant species we
encounter in this area, anyway, are so
deformed as to pose no real threat to the
human population; the blind clam-dig-
gers, for example; but still, at the rate
which these reproduce—they are se
mature at eight or nine, by the way,
live till 40 or so—it will be a real strug-
gle to extirpate them when the time
comes, a fight to the death, no two ways

He wags a

about it, and for which we must be fully
prepared. Yes, there must be two or
three hundred of them in this settlement
alone, all breeding true to type, as fa
I can sce, but suffering, I notice, from a
proliferation of tumors, particularly the
males, who must be the ones who scav-
enge for workable metal in ruins which
are probably considerably more radicac-
tive than the one we passed. (A smart
nd for which I must
K Thurmond again, who suggested
at the outset that we conceal our Geiger-
Müller counters from them. On their
own, they apparently have no way of de-
tecting radiation.)

Later

22. Good news, if its tru
"mayor" informs me that in all probabili
ty the woman will have her period in
another day or so, assurance that shc
hasn't been polluted recently, anyhow.
Accordingly, I've had a conference with
Thurmond who agrecs that if worst
comes to worst, we could spare five of
our M-ls and perhaps 60 rounds of
ammunition apiece, which would still
leave us amply armed for the march
home, with the BAR, the Thompson, in
addition to my sidearm, the .45, and
the five remaining M-Is. What worries
me, though, is that whatever we give
them is irreplaceable. Through this kind
of trading and normal wear and tear, and
general deterioration, particularly of the

“And what's wrong with us little elves
having a Christmas party?!”

cartridges, the stockpile at the silo is get-
ting dangerously low. What will happen
in the next generation? DeWitt again,
whe is supervising the preparation of a
new manual of arms, seriously suggests
that we ought to begin the manufacture
of bows and arrows, and instruct the cn-
listed men in their use; also spears, The
thought makes me ill, actually sick to my
stomach; all I can think of is the brute
who accompanied us back to camp last
night. Spears! . . . A ruckus just before
sundown, “Kill ‘em. Stamp ‘em out,”
shouts Roscower at the top of his lungs.
He's gotten his hands on some of the
booze and staggers about the compound
waving his arms, trailed by a horde of
the females who, hardly reaching up to
his waist, jump up and down, clutch at
him and make obscene gestures with
their hands. “Kill ‘em all, I tell you,” he
screams, as Thurmond and Feeney drag
him back to camp. Abruptly sobered up
by all the racket, the “mayor” puts aside
his cup nar-
rowed, glittering eyes, all black pupils,
an incomprehensible expression on his
face that's as wrinkled and hairless as a
dried plum . . . Oh, Roscower, how right
you are; how I only wish we could. . .
Eighth day
.. . Another restless night, filled with
halfremembered dreams, nightmares as
I haven't had them since Í was a boy
and, in the waking interludes, countless
stars, shining in a perfectly cloudless sky
. . It’s a mournful lack of self disci
pline, I know, bur the thought of Wil-
son's impending good fortune torments
me more than I dare admit. Seniority de-
mands that the next woman brought
back to the silo is for him—heaven
knows, he has waited long enough—what
is it now? Eight years? But then, so have
I, and Fm younger than he, 36 to
his 47, in the prime of my life. 1
keep daydreaming that we will return
with her to find that he has since died of
a heart attack, and she'll be mine . .
How strange; now I can remember onc
of the dreams. I must have been think-
ing about the death of Millers wite,
hanging, or whatnot, because it con-
cerned the execution of an officer by the
ne of Grenfield, a captain, too, as I
remember, who was convicted of consort-
ing with a mutant more than a dozen
years ago, a female with four nipples,
and hanged for race pollution. I could
sec it as vividly as if it had happened
yesterday: the gallows erected on the
grassy knoll near the silo's egress nui
her three, his pale face shining with
sweat as the wire noose was slipped
around his neck, and the chair kicked
‘om under his bare feet. He takes God
only knows how long to strangle, forev-
‚ or so it seems, with his still-pink
tongue protruding between his lips, and
his pale blue eyes not yet glazed, but ful-
ly cognizant. As is required by the order
of the day, the entire garrison files by,

ad scrutinizes me with

PLAYBOY

246

pom Z

“And пош — last, but not least...”

officers and men. A stiff wind is blow-
ing, billowing out his unbuttoned tunic
stripped of all insignia, which turns his
body slowly on its axis, from right to

left. Face to face with him for a moment,

me, and with
ks his left

just an instant, he gazes a
mile, baring his teeth, win

GS c d

Night

2. "Yes yes Captain, tomorrow
morning, for sure," my "mayor" has
promised me, at last. "Tomorrow morn-
ing, first thing, you сап examine her to
your heart's content.” He is worried
about something, preoccupied, and
along about an hour before sundown. I
can hear why—the savage baying of a
pack of wild dogs in the scrub forest less
than a quarter of a mile away to the
cast, which has apparently run down a
hunting party sent out from here early
this morning to secure some fresh meat.
Too terrified to do anything to help, the
little brutes crowd the catwalk that runs
along the top ol their nine-foot wall of
sharpened stakes, brandishing their
knives and spears, while the females lac-
crate their bare chests and forearms
with their long fingernails, and wail. By

n hour after dark, it’s all over; silence,
not

sound in the night, but the occa-
al hoot of an owl, or the squeak of a
It's an omen, T can't help feeling, a
good sign; the man—whoever he was, the
father who will not be forgotten, has
been paid back, and in the same coin
-.. The men feel it. too: Thurmond.
who is busy shining my boots for the
ing, whistles under his breath as he

Ninth day; dawn

22. With everything else 1 have to
worry about this morning, Feeney and
Roscower 1 а lovers’ spat, the
latter accusing the former of being un-
faithful to him with Sergeant Thur-
mond, of all people, who says nothing
Lut chews on a blade of grass, one of the
strange blue wild flowers stuck behind
one car, evidently enjoying himself
hugely, a wicked gleam in his eye. If it’s
true, then he's broken the unwritten

rule that prohibits an N C.O. from
forming a relationship with an enlisted
man, but under the circumstances,

Thurmond being as fine a soldier as he
is, I have decided not to interfere. He's a
handsome man, I must admit, with a
curly blond heard and dark eyes, a per-
fect build, powerful shoulders and chest,
no Roscower sulks around, his low-
ег lip stuck out a mile, glowering petu-
lantly, while an unattached Pfc. by the
name of Harris makes auf's eyes at him,
and sighs . . . all very complicated . . .
Who was it, 2 The ancient Ger-
mans? What I need is а refresher course
in my military history. No, the Spar-
tans. Yes, 1 remember, the 300 at the
bridge, or wherever it was, and damn
fine soldiers, too, who based their army
on the same principle that has spontane-

ously risen among our garrison in the
silo because of the lack of enough pe
fecdy formed women to go around. In
combat, or in general, for that matte
the system works admirably, lovers will-
ing to make any sacrifice for each other;
but I sometimes wonder what the fi
result will be ol providing wives for the
hereditary officer class first. The pop-
ulation of our enlisted personnel has
already begun to decline almost three
percent а year, if I recall the latest
figures, and is falling all the time. What
I simply can't understand is why the
top brass didn’t station women in the
silo in the first place, before the war.
DeWitt maintains that its because the
silo's primary function was not the pres-
ervation of racial purity, but simply w
invulnerable launching pad for the
ICBMs, the rockets with which the four-
hour war was apparently fought, and
which none of us has ever seen. No, 1
can't believe hes right. It's just too
much to swallow that the top brass,
with all of its intelligence and re-
sources, was unable to anticipate the ex-
tent of racial pollution that the war was
to bring. I refuse to accept it as doctrine,
and yet, the historical fact remains that
from the very beginning, right after the
war more than 80 years ago, the garrison
had to provide women for itself from
the surface, and at very great risk to the
personnel. What child doesn’t remember
the story of Lieutenant Devlin’s self-
sacrifice, or Pfc Gold. who brought back
the Gary sisters? To be perfectly honest,
the whole business is beyond me, а com
plete mystery . . . But enough for now.
‘The sun is up—another good omen? 115
a warm, particularly beautiful day, with
a sparkling blue sky, not a cloud to be
seen, the warmest it’s been for almost a
week now, as if the summer has returned
--. I must get a move on with Thu
mond and Feeney. the two others who
must witness the formal examination as
required by the law . . .

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--. Crowned by a wreath of the blue
flowers, a rope around her neck, she is
stripped naked and led through a cu-
riously silent, jostling crowd of the fe-
males by the “mayor” in his top hat, who
brings her into the hut where we have
been compelled to wait for almost an
hour until the ceremony whatever it
was, and which we were forbidden to at-
tend—is through. A yank on the rope,
and she stands perfectly still, her hands
by her sides . . . She has not—I repeat
not—begun menstruating, as was ant
pated; but as far as Thurmond and I
can determine, the membrane is intact.
Lovely she is, there's no doubt of it, with
even more beautiful hair than I remen
bered, honey-colored, dazzling in the
sunlight, thick with dust, that streams
through the cracks in the wall; her body,
all of her perfectly formed, absolutely
without a blemish, except for a large

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mole on her left breast, near the armpit,
and another on the back of her right
hand. Thurmond reads off the check list
and Feeney and I turn her this v
that, while she giggles and squirms un-
der our hands, her nostrils dilated,
greenish-gray eyes opened wide.

“Теп fingers . . ."
vn, yes, check . .

“Теп toes.”

"Right. Check."

And so on, everything. perfect, as she
giggles uncontrollably, a strand of that
beautiful hair in her eyes.

“Well?” the "mayor" wants to

“One thing at a time. .
name, дігі?"

"My name?"

y and

do Шеу call you?"

an abrupt movement to
brush the hair out of her eyes, and the
blanket falls to the ground.

“Take your time, Take your finger
out of your mouth and answer me. You
needn't be afraid.”

“Her name is Lil
in his deep voice.

“Is that what they call you?"

"Lila," she repeats, after a pause,
blinking her eyes.

“Take your time. Do you know what I
am, Lila?" I ask.

"Li
cs, ves. You told me. But what
about me? Do you know why I'm here?
I've come to take you away. You're to be
the bride of ап ойе, Lila, do you
at that means?"
ЧЕ ы
es, that’s right. Your name is I
Very good. But do you know what
officer is? He's a man, a perfectly formed
human being, just like yourself. You
will be his wile, and bear his children,
as befits you, as is your duty. Can you
understand th

She turns a
the “mayor” again

says the "mayor"

‘Well, Captain?" asks
when we are outside.
“We'll see He waddles by my
side in silence, with the peculiar rolling
gait characteristic of the species. A peal
of high-pitched laughter comes from the
interior of the hut, reverberating in the
stifling, dusty air that shimmers from
the heat of the sun. We squat in the
shadow of the wall. Once again, even
louder than before, she laughs . . .
Later
We leave tomorrow, first thing
The men are preparing a litter in which
to carry her, a hammock made out of a
blanket to be slung between two poles
cut from the pines. They curse from the
effort of packing up all the gear, irrita
ble from the unseasonable heat and, al-
though they say nothing, of course, the
prospect of making the long march back
home inadeq armed—responsibil-
ity for which I take entirely upon myself
Thurmond and Feeney are witnesses.
Under the circumstances, after argu-
ing for more than four hours in the

broili

eno, diee ote Ake P Zat

do but yield to his insistence and make

the trade on his terms, or not at all, for Š

eight of the M-Is and a hundred rounds Gra OW Pre-Smoked Pipa

of ammunition apiece, “Take it or leave

it, Captain, that's іс... “NEED NO BREAKING-IN:
“I wouldn't worry too much about it,

‘Thurmond assures me. "With the

d the Thompsons we'll be all

right. The only thing we have to watch

out for is the wild dogs, and whats a few

dogs

This in a voice loud enough for all
the men to hear. He may be right, at
that; still, what haunts us all is the possi-
bility of be that somewhere be-
tween here and the mountains, they'll
ambush us with our own weapons to get
the lot— which Th: nd admits in
confidence is a possibility, particularly at
night, although he seriously doubts it—
they as well as we having to contend
саан тсс от
ата

“No, I don't think they'd dare," he
chews on the ragged ends of his beard,
poring over the maps I have spread out
on the prou far, anyway, the look-
outs I have posted report that there's no
unusual activity in the compound, al
though Thurmond and T agree that it
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PLAYBOY

250

Le, Lahr (continued from page 167)

the intercession of literary admirers, to
call De Sade the frecst man who ever
ived must be to take very literally the
doctrine that “stone walls do not a
prison make.”

Whatever else may be said of either
the novel or play “of the absurd,” it is
evident that both its creators and their

characters are devoted to the pursuit of
unhappiness—which may be an inali

able right but is certainly not the one the
rest of us are compelled to exercise.

The poete maudit has, of course, often
been with us. Oddly enough, we had at
least onc—Edgar Allan Poc—who
peared most improbably in mid-I9d
Century America. France has had the
most of them and they run the gamut
from Baudelaire to Rimbaud and Apol-
linaire on to the nadir of De Sade. But
have they ever before been taken seri
ously as exponents of the only truth
generation of intellectuals found
е?

That the works of the current crop
have a certain shock value is obvious
both as propounders of paradox and
(especially in the case of Genet) as pur-
veyors of effective if perverse eroticism,
Some of their admirers tacitly minimize
the latter. The men they most admire
are described as great writers who just
happen to be often exercising their gifts
à the treatment of gaudily erotic themes.
Bur at the risk of being dismissed as
hopelessly Philistine, I bound to
register my opinion that they would have

which а
it possible to recogn

a much smaller audience if they were
not pornographic.

Even their shock effect soon loses its
effectiveness because they repeat the
ame shock over and over again and are
condemned by their very dogmas to mo-
notony. An endless variety of mca
can be, and has be 1 into the uni-
verse and human life. But meaningless-
ness is always the same. Once you h
said that life is absurd, it is
simpler sense to say it again and а
You have reached the end of the line.
There is nowhere to go from there—ex-
cept perhaps to a further exposition of
that unhappiness to which a belief that
nothing is better than anything else in-
evitably leads.

The beatnik and the existentialist
may scem far apart, but the professed
convictions of each lead easily to the
me messy, unrewarding conduct. ‘Their
lives arc likely to be as much a failure
from the standpoint of the hedonist as
from that of the most conventional
morality. They don’t even “have fun."
And that, by a prevalent system of val-
ues, is the ultimate failure.

АП this, so they tell me, is inevitable.
Nihilism is the only possible modern
philosophy. For the first time in history
we know the facts and have the courage
to face them. The liter, of dic ab-
surd is the only literature the future will
tolerate and despair the only mood in-
telligent men can ever know. The race
of human beings has wandered for many
thousands of years from delusion to

ше

“Oh, you'll love Margo — nearly everybody has!”

delusion, but it has come to rest at
last. There is no God and we are His
prophets.

1 doubt it. Existentialism is merely
creed no more solidly founded than Cal-
Vinism—which it resembles in the gratu
tous assumption that human nature is
vile and the majority of men damned
before they were born to torture cither
in this world or the next. The premise
that the universe is meaningless is merc-
ly a premise, not a demonstrated fact.
The contention that man is capable of
freedom and value judgments although
he is the product of natural forces which
know nothing of either is singularly
improbable. Either of the alternate as-
sumptions makes more sense. If he is in-
deed unique in nature, then somethi
transcendental made him so. If he is
something which nature herself has pro-
duced, then nature must be in some way
responsible for capacities he inherits
from the ш self

Neither literature nor any of the other
arts merely reflect the times. They create
as well as record convictions and moods.
If a sizable audience now believes that
life is absurd, existence a continual mis-
and human beings almost without
exception vile, it believes it in large
part, not because of its own experience,
but because poets of talent have con-
vinced it of the alleged. fact. I risk the
bold prediction that sooner or later—
and rather soon, I think—it will awake
from its nightmare, and thc "theater of
ihe absurd" will be as outmoded as tlic
proletarian "artisa-weapon" drama of
the Thirties which many critics of the
time described as the only drama of the
future. One of the advantages perhaps
there are not many—of having lived a
long time is the fact that it mevitably
makes one something of a square. We
now by experience what these who
know the past only through history can
never believe, namely, that those “erer-
al truths" which have been newly
discovered turn out to be mere fashions
after all.

Perhaps it is a sign of the times that
the only “drama of the absurd” to
achieve а great success on other than off-
Broadway, Edward АШесз hideous
masterpiece Who's Afraid of Virginia
Woolf? is one in which surrealism is
abandoned in favor of what comes pret-
ty close to old fashioned naturalism. It is
understandable, even bitterly funny, no
matter what your intellectual convic-
tions may be. Unlike most of Beckett,
Ionesco and Genet, it makes sense
whether you are an existentialist or not.
And vou don't even have to believe tha
i тур Only that some hun
gs not all, are like the doomed
quartet which constitutes its dram
personac. That is at least a step back

toward sanity.

SEMANTICS

the controversy between misleading slo-
gans, the bare bones of the conflict are
much simpler and much more tradi-
tional than they have been made to ap-
We are told in Ше West that we
must fight communism because it is
“godless.” But in the days of czardom,
when Russia was as earnestly Christian
as any other country, the British had al
most the same hostility to Russia as they
have now. This hostility lasted from the
Crimean War until 1907. when British
fear of Germany outweighed the pre
vious fear of Russia. Propaganda in
those days was more honest than it is
now. British opposition to Russia was

pear

based upon the fear that Russia would
drive the British out of India, British
policy was unashamedly nationalistic

and imperialistic. Nationalism and im-
perialism still inspire the policies of the
most powerful countries, but both now
have to wear a cloak of hypocrisy, It is
considered more respectable to hate
communism because it is atheistical than
to hate it because it is depriving us of
empire. But, in fact,
the dominant force in politics. Crecds
nd ideologies are found to be a useful
support of H-bombs, but they are not, in

aked fact, causes of international hos
tilities. The root cause of hostilities is
still the love of power. There is a certain

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(continued from page 206)

difference of method between East and
West. The West, being richer than the
East, is better able 10 employ economic
arguments in the shape of gifts, but die
East is beter able to respond by stimu-
lating envy. There 15, in fact, much 1655
difference between Russia and Amer
than is popularly supposed in both
countries. In both countries, there is an
oligarchy which, as a rule, is able to
dominate policy. The Western oligarchy
is more skillfully concealed, but very
nearly as difficult to combat. The West
ern oligarchy is primarily economic. The
Eastern oligarchy is political. It might be
said with a considerable measure of
uth that there is only one difference
between America and Russia: In Ame
са the businessmen appoint the pol
Gans, whereas in Russia the politici
appoint the businessmen.

How small a part is played by idcolo-

gies as opposed to love of power was
shown by the course of the Second
World War. At its beginning, Russia
and Germany were united by the Hitl
Stalin Pact. When Hitler attacked. Rus
sia, Russia and the West became allies
and remained so until the end of the
War. At no stage did ideologies play a
dominant part. It is not difficult to im
circumstances in which similar
nges might take place: For example,

agine
cha

if the Chinese became so powerful
threaten both Ru ıd the Wes
would cease to hate cach other, as they
did during the Second World War.

The conclusion that is forced upon
the impartial observer is that people еп-
joy quarreling, Governments and other
powerful organizations have discovered
this fact. Being determined to increase
their own power, they must induce the
public to believe what will support their
policies. The constant use of words,
aningless in their context except as
they have been repeatedly used with cer-
tain emotional overtones, is one of the
most effective means of doing this. "The
public is emotionally satisfied and lulled,
and the spread of what is called infor-
mation increases the amount of what
people think they know and at the same
time diminishes the amount of what
they do know. The process is largely un-
conscious and. for this reason, is difficult.
to combat. But the new facility for mass
slaughter which science has unfortunate-
ly discovered has made misinformation
and preconceived attitudes more disas-
trous than in any former age. The time
has come for people to seck facts and to
asses them afresh. Only so can the
pleasure in quanveling be thwarted and
kept in hand as it must be wherever it
approaches the point of armed conflict.
The only alternative is death.

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252 Еа J

CHRISTMAS CAPER
(continued from page 134)

the chance to make this Christmas a
most memorable one for our readers by
letting Tiny Tim die. (^1 rouxp sorrow
—in My Christmas Stocking"

more poig
OPEN THAT BO:

INC

Representing All the
Midtown Towers Bldg.
New York, N. Y. 10010

сє 1961!

Mr. Charles Dickens
48 Dought
London,

Dear Charles:

It’s heen some time since I have had
a chance to catch up on шу correspond-
ence, so I never did get to send you the
report from True Story, which I have
attached.

In the past weeks it also occurred to
me that a little cutting might eliminate
some of the many problems connected
with the story as it now stands, so I sent

to the Reader's Digest. I can't seem to
find their letter in this pile on my desl
but 1 assure you that they would have

bought it in a minute if they weren't al-
ready solidly booked with Christmas
icles by Norman 5 nd Dr.
ungle chi-

ropractor who wrote the big best seller,
Shoot First, and Live!

Since all the other magazines scem
to have done the mas shopping
carly, I am now sending it to The Sal-
urday Evening Post. But don't get
your hopes up too high. When you have
been in this business as long as I have,
you eventually learn that caution is the
best policy, and if by some odd freak
you should happen to pull a winner, so
much the better.

Sincerest regards,

Stanley

Stanley B. Manley, President

Stanley B. Manley Associates, Inc.
P.S. Still no reply from my previous
letters. Is it possible you are out of
town? If so, drop us а card.

THE SATURDAY
666 Fifth
New Yor

ENING POST
Avenue
ENSY

Mr. Stanke
Stanley В. А
Midtown Tow
New York, N

B. Manley
fanley Assoc
Bldg.
10019

5, Inc.

Dear Stanley B. Manley:
Sorry we've been so long in getting a

report on the Dickens Christmas piece.
As you are probably aware, most Curtis
publications have been undergoing a
thorough reorganization during the past
two years or so, and the Post is no excep-
Чоп. When I took over from Darcy
Turvey two days ago, Stuart Boodle had
tentatively approved the Dickens story.
But then Stu was replaced by Hank New-
port when Leroy Pling was brought in
from Jack and Jill to becf up our qual-
ity. This was the job formerly held by
Joanne Finkley, who is now worki!
Show magazine on a special
to infiltrate the A

wages, working conditions and
habits of. Hunt
picked harem of checkoi
an see how things a

Since I came back from lunch today,
Fleur Biggers has been turned loose 10
graz, Jim Tornquist has been called
into Plings office for a closed-door con-
ference thats been going on for more
tha hour, and nobody in the shop
is willing to think Christmas, except me.
Personally, I rather like the Dick
story. but I'm sure neither Hank New
port nor Leroy Pling will buy anything
that Stu Boodle approved during his
week in olfice. It's unfair to Dickens, I
admit, but that's how the hounds аге
running. After reading the story and

ing over the list of recent Post
articles that have excited the greatest
reader response in terms of libel actions.
1 have a hunch that Dickens would do
better to scratch this entry and send in a
fox with the kind of high bushy tail that.
Pling has been yelping for.

While office scuttle! has it that the
Post still continues to hit the newsstands
with accustomed regularity, the last issue
to reach this desk is an old summer num-
ber that n serve, nevertheless, to indi-
cate something of our present policy and
tone. Scanning the cover, which features
a healthy young blonde flexing her
glands to illustrate “тнк DARING NEW
LOOK. Ix SWIMSUITS," you begin to realize
how far we've come since the old Tug-
boat Annie days. Reading the bold black
type that streaks across this blonde's
crotch, we find teasers for three big fe;
ture stories. Bumped off her left hip:
опу Boom in Culture.” Bumped off
her right: “The Profumo Scandal." And
in an area where no Norman Rockwell
cover girl would have permitted the
touch of a nd's hand, we read:
"How Wil aulkner Died."

Since Dickens apparently knows Lon-
don inside out, let's concentrate on the
righthip angle for a moment: "The
Profumo Scandal" which was really a
comc-on for "The Crisis over Christine,”
a seven-page spread on the “beautiful
party girl,” backed up by 11 large photos
and some real keyholesizding squ!
Granted, the Profumo thing is now

THE PLAYBOY ART GALLERY

5
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253

PLAYBOY

254

cient history. But Christmas, after all,
is a time for remembering, and the
thought occurs that a yuletide nostalgia
piece on London callgirls might be just
the thing to make Pling sit up and sali-
vate to the tune of Hark, the Bells.

If Di
ticket. or taken a walk in the vicini
Wimpole Mews, I should think he could
stir Pling rather deeply with something

like “My 12 Days of Christmas with
Mandy and Christine.” А through-the-
looking glass peep at yuletide orgies of

yesteryear m
Im sure Pling wouldn't mi

ight also be welcome, and
id if Dickens
£ t the mysterious “naked
who waited on tables in a Santa
Claus mask was either Harold Macmil-
Тап or the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Needless to say, the story would not have
to be confined to Christmas in London.
h approach, Dickens might run
up to Liverpool and give us a penetrat-
ng comparison report on “The Tail of
Two Cities.

illy, Dickens already has a good

story in Bob Cratch
Martha, “a poor apprentice at a milli-

s” who “told them what kind of
she had to do, and how many hours
she worked at a stretch . . . Also how she
had seen a countess and a lord some days
before, and how the lord ‘was much
about as tall as Peter’. . <”

Give this chatty little apprentice an
opportunity to actually meet that lord
at a frisky weekend party, and you've got
the makings of "A Christmas Crisis." 1
can't guarantee that Pling will buy it,
but lets rub a little on the reindeer and
sce if its nose lights up.

Insecurely yours,
Nigel Flush
EdiQ #1

P.S. The meeting in Pling's office just
broke up, and I've been informed that
Jim Tornquist is taking over my chair
n 20 minutes. If I were you, I'd send
Dickens’ story to The New Yorker!

STANLEY B. MANLEY
ASSOCIATES, INC.
Representing All ihe Arts—Since 19611
Midtown Towers Bldg.
New York, М.Ү. 10019

Mr. Charles Dickens
48 Doughty Street
London, England

Dear Ch:
The enclosed letter from The Satur-

I won't expand upon it except to
that in some cases there are limits to
gent can do.

Since the story obviously needs a lot
more work, and the season for selling
Christmas scripts is over for this year, I
would suggest that you spend the upcom-
ing months in adapting this property
directly for the musical stage, a field in
which you are more at home and have
already made а hit reputation.

Theatrically speaking, it might be a
cute idea to pick up on the Saturday
Evening Post suggestion and make Mar-
tha into a kind of English “Irma la
Douce” who could carry the love mterest
which your story now lacks. In this con-
nection, there are several other possi-
bilities, including the one from rrAvsov.
that you make Scrooge your young ro-
mantic lead. In fact, I can already ріс-
ture him as a Marlon Brando type who
could be the singing ambassador to some

“Т understand you people have been looking for me...”

faraway South Sea island: The Ugly
Englishman.

Actually, of course, he isn’t really
ugly. Нев just rich and moody, and has
gone to this island to forget Martha, who
has refused to marry him because of her
profession, which she practices only to
raise the money for the operation Tiny
Tim needs so he can throw away his
crutches and fulfill his teenage dream of
becoming a famous dancer. When, on
the night of his big debut as “Rubber
legs” Cratchit, Tim learns the truth
about Martha's sacrifice, and how she's
not a milliner’s apprentice but a high
class London hooker, he abandons h
carcer in order to search for his sister's
former lover, Scrooge, and arrives on the
land just as the natives are preparing to
adors heart ош. It is
and as Scrooge sings a
he has no heart
because the girl he loves has stolen it
away, into the jungle clearing comes Big
1 Cratchit—on crutches. Scrooge ni

Christmas Eve,
song to the elfect tha

ually assumes Tim must be a ghost,
and the natives are thrown into a pan
of fear. But as the drums start up with

a wild voodoo beat, Tim throws away
his sticks and goes into his big novelty
а

ance, The No-Crutch Conga. The п:

n in the fun, and when

swings out at the head of the line, a
preity native girl puts a wreath on his

head making him an honorary chief of
her people. Just then, however, Scrooge
spots Marcha on the edge of the crowd,
where she has been standing all the
time, smiling and clappi
dress, with a lower behind whichever car
supposed to mean that a girl is single
Instantly the frenzied dancing stops, and
the crowd melis away leaving Scrooge
and Martha to renew their love on the
moonlit beach, where the prety native
girl is now seen hanging a lei on Tim.
‘The lovers smile fondly at cach other,
and as Scrooge switches the flower to
Martha’s married car, they all go into a
smash finale which
of the show: Never on Christmas

This, of course, is just a rough out
line. 1 am sure that many other
will occur to you when you do the r
writing that will bring this property up
into the big-hit class with Oliver! 1
when the time ever comes when you fee
you have such a surefire winner, please
feel [ree 10 send it to me at once.

In the meantime, best wishes for a
Merry Christmas and a Happy New
Year. Or, to quote Tiny Tim in this
regard, “God help us every one!

As always,

Stanley B. Manley, President
Stanley B. Manley Associates, Inc.

[гүү

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Mon, limes grown else-
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That's why cocktails made
from Rose's are rather

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one part Rose'sto 4 or 5
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tipo [le M -

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bring out

WALDO GREBB

(continued from page 164)
Kaulish Klan, the Shriners (complete
with pasha and red ferzes), the A.F. of
L., the CIO, Steelworkers Local 1010,
all gathered to snake their way through
the ambient Indiana Sinclair Refinery
ir, for glory and to thank God that
there is an America. Or maybe just to
parade, which scems to be an elemental
human urge.

This gathering point is always known
as a “rendezvous” in the language of
Paradese. On the bulletin board the
week before was the usual notice: "The
band will rendezvous at 0080 on Hoh-
man Avenue opposite Harrison Park.
Each unit will be numbered. Look for
our number painted on the curb—12.
We will step olf promptly and smartly
at 0915.

By 12:30, of course, we are still mill-
ing around, noses running, always far off
in the distance the sound of some band
playing something, and still we stand.
The thin trickle of glockenspiel music
walted back to us through the frozen
trees and bushes as the Musicians Local
Marching Band tuned up. Megaphones
bellowing, cars racing back and forth
over the disorganized line of march,
until finally, slowly and painfully. we
lumbered into motion. Waldo shot us
aggressively into our assigned march po-
sition, and we were under way.

Rumors had gone from band to band,
from drummer to drummer, that the
mayor up ahead on the reviewing stand

was stoned out of his mind, that we were
delayed while they sobered him up, that
he had chased a lady high school princi-
pal around the lectern. But these are
just parade rumor
Its hard to tell from a marcher's
ndpoint just what parade watchers
if anyıh s we got closer to
wer of town, the crowd grew

the c
thicker, muffled, hooded, mittened, ear-

muffed the gray staring faces of sheet-

metal workers and iron puddlers—just

ig there in the dead-zero air. This

is where you begin to learn about hu-

nity. Their eyes look like old oysters.

just look. Once in a while you scc

a guy smoking a cigar; he spits. And

from time to time a kid throws a penny

or a Магу Jane or a cherry bomb into
the bell of your sousaphone.

All the bands, of course, are marching
10 their own cadence. Up ahead the La-
dies Auxiliary of the Whales shuffles on.
In the cold autumn of the Midwest you
can hear their girdles squeaking three
blocks away. We march рам the assem-
bled multitude, Waldo glancing neither
to right nor left, eyes front, brow high.
Up ahead the flags and banners of all
kinds are fluuering in the icy breeze:
LITHUANIAN-AMERICAN CLUB, HOORAY FOR
AMERICA, GOD BLESS ALL OF Us. And the
steelworkers just stand there, looking.

From somewhere far behind,
spiel in the German-Amer Band
tinkles briefly and stops, and all around
the steady drumbeats roll. We were on
the march.

Strung overhead from lamppost to
lamppost across the main street were
gs of red and green Christmas lights.
Green plastic holly wreaths with imit
tion red berries hung from every other
lamppost. We marched past department
stores with windows filled with mechan-
ically moving Seven Dwarfs—Grumpy
nting a sled, Sneezy hammering on a
ship model, and a big elecwical Santa
s maniacally laughing. Christmas
was coming.

We have reached the middle of town.
This is the big moment. Its the Times
Square of Hammond, Indiana. A stre
car line тап right down the middle of
the main str and I am stradd
rail, trying to keep up the 160-bear-pe
minute cadence; blowing our own spe-

glocken-

cial version of Jingle Bells on my froze:

sousaphone. Sliding along the tracks
with the ice packed in hard. I have lost
ll feeling. My cars, my nose, my horn is
frozen; my hands аге putty

altingly, we moved ahead. Slowly.
We'd bump into the Italian la
head, and the German plumbers
behind would bump into us. Somewhere
the Moose would swear and the Fagles
would vell. And thei right at
ground zero, the reviewing stand to our
right, the assembled multitude cheering
the national champions on to greater
heights.

Waldo spun and faced us with his old
familiar stare, and suddenly the cold was
forgouen. We were on! Two sharp rips
of the whistle, a sustained, long, rising
note, baton at port, two qui i
the wrist, and our great fan
out. The parade had come
champs were on the scene! The Amer
n Legion Junior Fife and Drum Corps
aded into oblivion. Waldo Grebb w:
in command!

Ray Janowski's be
er, leading his drum section to hei
that rivaled our best performance:
Grebb about-faced and went into action,

j k shako reaching up like
ng brush into the sullen
gray sky. A magnificent figure, his gold
epaulets glinting as we wove at half
tempo over the hard caked
realizing we were about to p
1 a historic moment that has since be
come part of the folk songs and fireside
legends of northern Indiana.

The Thunderer echoed down that
narrow sucet like a cannon volley being
fired in a mammoth cave. Blowing
sousaphone at such a moment gives one
a sense of power that is only rivaled per
haps by the fecl of a Ferrari cockpit at
Le Mans.

Spitzer, our bass drummer, six fect,
nine inches tall, caught fire. His sticks

“Go find your own corner!”

PLAYBOY

262

spinning into the air, his drum quiver-
ing, the worn gold and purple lettering
On its head: NATIONAL. PRECISION MARCH-
ING CHANPIONS CLASS A, subduing the
crowd into a kind of tense silence.
They were viewing greatness, Ihe pano-
ply of pomp and tradition, and they
knew it. Those who toil in the 14-inch
merchant mill and the cold-strip pickling
department at the steel mill rarely see
such glory. Children stopped crying:
noses ceased to run, eyes sparkled and
blue plumes of exhaled breath hung like
smoke wreaths in the air as we slammed
into the coda.

Already I was beginning to wonder
whether Grebb would dare try his cap-
per on such a dangerously cold day as
this, with those sneaky November cross-
winds and numbed fingers. His ramrod
back gave no hint. One thing was sure,
and everybody in the band know it: He
had never been sharper, cleaner, more
dynamic. By now he was three quarters
through his act. His figure eight and
double eagle had been spectacular. The
trombones just ahead of me, usually a
lethargic section. were blowing clean
and hard. Waldo's twin scepters were
alive, His timing was spectacular.

We arrived at dead center of the inter-
section precisely as the last note of The
the plateglass
windows of the big department store
and against the dirty gray façade of the
drugstore on the opposite corncr. For a
moment the air rang with the kind of
explosive silence that follows a train
wreck. And then it began. Janowski
“tied” his solitary beat. We marched for-
ward almost marking time in place. The
crowd sensed that something was about
to happen.

Thunderer echoed fro

Waldo towered ahead of us, weaving
slightly left, right, left, right, as his twin
batons in uncanny synchronization be-
gan to spin faster and faster and

The sound carried in the cuttingly
cold air, and even the mayor up on the
reviewing stand could hear the “zzzsssssst
Tzarsssssssss 2222121588858" OF those spinning
chromium slivers.

He held it longer than any of us
had ever scen him do before, stretching
the dramatic tension to the breaking
point and beyond. Beside me, Dunker
muttered:

"What the hell's he doing?”

Waldo spun on. Janowski tic'd off the
rhythm: “tic tic tic tic tic tic tic" We
marched imperceptibly, advancing like
some great glacier, across the intersec-
tion. And then, like two interlocked
birds of prey, Waldo's batons rose majes-
ally in the hard November gloom.
Higher and higher they spun, faster
and higher than even on the day that
Waldo had won the national champion-
ship. Tt was unquestionably his supreme
effort. He was a senior, and knew that
this was his last full-scale public appear-
ance before the home-town rabble. His
last majestic capper.

Every eye save his followed the arcs of
those two beautiful interleaved disks as
they climbed smartly higher and higher
above the street. True to his style, Wal-
do stared coldly ahead. knees snapping
upward like pistons. He knew his trade
and was at the peak of his powers.

And then it happened, Instinctively
every, member of the brass section
scrunched lower in his sousaphone at the
awesome

Runnii
directly
the

hove Waldo's shako, high over
reet, hung a thin, curving copper

“This is the nutliest inventory I've ever been through!”

band of the streetcar high-tension power
line. Slightly below it and to the left was
another thin wire of some nondescript
. The two disks magically, in a sin
gle synchronous action, passcd cleanly
between the wires and rose 20, 25 feet
above the high-tension wires, reached
their apex and, in a style more spec-
tacular than any of us ever had suspect
ed was in Waldo, slowed and began their
downward swoop. We watched, the
crowd gaped. Waldo marched on, eyes
straight ahead. My God, what a moment!

The mayor leaned, or perhaps
lurched, forward slightly on the review-
ing stand. Even the children sensed that
history was about to be made.

There are times when words are total-
ly inadequate to the events visited upon
men. For a fleeting instant it appeared
as though the two batons would repeat
their remarkable interleaving passage
between the lethal wires on their way
down, In fact, the one on the right did,
and Waldo caught it flawlessly. But the
left baton, spinning slower and slower
above the copper band, with a metallic
“ting” just ticked, barely kissed and
caught on the current carrier with its
chromesilver ball. The blunt end fell
gently across the other, nondescript wire
1 the baton hung there, unbeliev-
ably, suspended between them.

For a split second nothing happened.
Janowski “tic tic іса" steadily, doggedly
on. The cadence never varied as our feet
sounded as one on the spiteful, filthy
granite ice. And then an ceric, wanspar-
ent, cerulean-blue nimbus, a kind of ex-
panding halo rippled outward from the.
suspended baton and from some farol
distant place, beyond the freight yards,
past the Grasselli Chemical plant, an i
human, quickening shudder grew closer
and coser, as though a tidal wave were
about to break over all of us. And the

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Hanging over the intersection was a
gigantic, unimaginably immense Fourth-
of-July sparkler that threw a Vesuvius, a
hissing shower of flame in i
wheel down to the street and
sky, over the crowd and onto the band.
The air was alive with ozone. It seemed
to flash with great thunderbolts, on and
on. It just hung up there and burned
and burned, ionizing before our eyes.

Janowski іса on. A few тиштей
screams came from the crowd. Fuses were
blowing out over the entire county, as
far away as Gary. High-tension poles
were toppling somewhere miles away.
The steel mills stopped; boats sank out
on the river. Three streetcars burst into
flames. It was as though some ancient,
thunderbolt-hurling God had laid one
right down on the middle of Hammond
on Thanksgiving Day. The ground
shuddered, Gencrators as far south as
Indianapolis screamed and stilled. W:
do Grebb had hit the main fuse, the

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ultimate jackpot. It was the greatest
capper of all time!

But without so much as an upward
glance, he had caught the first baton
neatly and spun on. The drum section
picked up the cadence and we marched
smartly through the int
behind a scene of devastation that forms
the core of several epic poems rela
the incident.

Waldo immediately signaled for El
Capitan, and as we attacked the intro,
the crowd burst into a great roar of ap-
plause and surging emotion. The heady
aroma of burnt rubber, scorched соррс
ionized chrome and frozen ozone trailed
us up the street. Santa Claus in the
dow sat with mouth agape. Sneezy
hammer was held stiffly at half-mast.
The Christmas trees had flickered ou
The MERRY XMAS neon signs were d.

We knew that the baton that
gone up in smoke had been one of V
do's prized awards—from his presenta-
tion set of matched wands, won at the
state championships: The other, the sur-
vivor, he held lightly in hi
his arm shooting it high over his head
and down diagonally across his body, up
and down, up and down. He spun as we
finished Fl Capitan, and gave three
quick Dlasts on the whistle, his signal for
Under the Double
stecly as ever, his jaw grim and square.

From all sides we could hear the
sound of sirens approaching the scene
we were leaving behind, over the swell-
ing strains of the Double Eagle, with its
massive crescendos, its unmatched sousa-
phone obbligato. As we played this gre:
classic and Waldo led us on into the twi-
light, every sousaphone player, every
baritone man, the trombones, the clari-
nets, the piccolos and flutes, the snare
drummers, Dunker and Janowski, all of
us thought one thi Did he plan i

You can never tell about drum majors.
"This was not Ше sort of mistake Waldo
Grebb would make. Had he calculated
this? Practiced, worked for this moment
for four long years? Was this gigantic,
this unparalleled capper his final state-
ment to Hammond, Indiana, to the steel
mills, the refineries and the Sheet &
Tube Works, to those gray oyster eyes,
and to the Croatian Ladies Aid Society?

Up ahead his arched back, taut as
g steel, gave no sign. His shako
ched for the sky, his great plume
waved on. He blew a long, shrill echoing
blast, holding his remain aton high
above his head. Two shorts followed and
he smartly commanded a column right
The drums thundered as we marched
into a side street out of the line of march
and headed back toward school in per-
fect formation. The wind was risi
it sccmed to be get
of snow was in the air, and Christmas

was on its way.

ction, leaving |<

ng |5

le, his сусу as |9

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PLAYBOY

264

CATERED CHRISTMAS

with a graduated beaker—the kind of
shenanigans that go on at big hotel ban-

quets. No virtuoso barman uses а jigger
пеаѕи

for g. His hand is generous but
stead. id for a private jubilee, a frec-
hand technique is the only hospitable
way 10 pour.

When the caterer’s truck pulls up to
your digs, one of the first pieces of
equipment he delivers is a portable bar.
In apartments where space is at a pre
mium, however, it's sometimes best to
eliminate the portable bar in favor of
additional dancefloor or dining space.
ng bar can then be sct up in an
room. Drinks are prepared out
of sight and passed by waiters to the
merrymakers. For comforts sake, the
portable bar is best located near the buf-
fet table and as close to the kitchen as
possible.

For the glassware department, caterers
will bring from three to five rounds of
each type of glass needed, as well as coast-
ers, cocktail napkins, eic. The large
amount of glassware specds up bar serv-
ісе and makes allowances for breakage.

In choosing your drinks, the simplest
of all bar services is naturally the holi-
day punch bowl. Where drinking is the
main focus of attention, the punch bow!
is perfect. But for rejoicing around a
bullet table where the stacked platters
and bubbling chafing dishes are the cen
ter of interest, the punch bowl is usually
bypassed in favor of the regular bar
repertory. F
you may check with the caterer on ice,
carbonated waters, fruits, ctc, but as
S.O. P. these are abundantly supplied.

adjoini

(continued from page 136)

Fine food begets fine wine. It's only
natural that the excitement of the year-
end should be accompanied by the
heady glow engendered by vintage
grape. Either the red and white still
wines or champagne are, of course, very
much in order; but for a change of pace
you might try sparkling French red bur-
gundy and sparkling Rhine wine. Both
can be served at a buffet and are less dry,
somewhat softer than champagne, but
rich, unforgettable sensations to the
taste, The v npagne is
so omnipresci ies makes
the other sparkling wines unexpected
and original pleasures

The 1 submit sample menus

to you, and this may cause some soul-
searching. There are empire builders and
business geniuses who are reduced to

vacillation when required to decide
whether the Dublin Bay prawns shall
appear with Russian dressing or cock-
| sauce. Our own advice is to choose
the foods as you please, guided only by
the cgo of your own taste. H you've
latched onto a good caterer, your arbi-
wariness will be (transformed through his
alchemy into gustatory wisdom.

Properly, bullet dinners have a be-
ginning, a middle and an end. Today,
the beginning often shares the spot-
light with the middle. Many of the
modern-day hors d'oeuvres, such as
water chestnuts with bacon, aren't
appetite prodders, but simply luscious
cating, providing playful contrass in
textures. Cold hors d'oeuvres, such as
Nov Imon wrapped around
sp grene or celery stuffed
with a purée of gorgonzola cheese, are

"Im afraid we've got a hell of a lot of
digging ahead of us, professor.”

offered well chilled, and are delights in
their own right. IL you want your guests
to share the heavenly experience of fresh
Beluga caviar or |412 de foie gras (not
pate maison or päte de foie or purée de
foie), you must spell out these requests
to the caterer.

The huge cold buffet centerpieces,
particular favorites of the chefs on luxu
гу ocean liners, are secn at private ра
ties nowadays only if they can be caten
with case. There's an old-fashioned aspic
of lobsters and shrimps
circle of lobsters p
slaves with upstretched arms supporting
а monarch holds up an enormous mound
of shrimps decorated with truffes, pi-
miento crescent: and the gold of hard
boiled eggs. The whole ensemble is
eye-catching, but if a single supporting
slice of hard-boiled egg is removed.
the ture comes tumbl
down. Needless to say, the same lobste
and the seme shrimps can be served in a
less unstable arrangement, so that when
the crowd starts eating, the platter
doesn't turn into a provender Pompe
within a matter of minutes. Cold salmon,
cold saddle of venison, cold Virginia
ham, cold tenderloin of beef and cold
roast goose all lend themselves 10 this
kind of easy grandstand play.

Of the hot foods served at catered par-

n which a huge

cd upright like

superstr

ties, beet is in ascendancy almost every
where. Curried lamb, shevried chicken
hash and lobster newburg are still dr

ing cards, but at die риси sta
our pasironomical life, they're complete
ly eclipsed by beef Stroganoff,
with mushrooms, beef bourguignonne
swimming in red-wine gravy, and ten-
derloin of beet à la Deutsch scented with
sherry. Roast shell of beef, sometimes
listed as roast sirloin of beef, broiled
thick shell steaks and roast beef tender-
loin—all rave, sliced thin and custom
carved to fit on half slices of bread-
continue to gratify beefeaters everywhere.

Renowned catering houses such
les Wilson of New York have mod-

СІ

ernized their desserts with luscious fresh
fruit

fruit tartelettes
atered foods,

compotes and
е so many

dining. For late, late parties Wilson
on a doughnut machine. The
very thought of it shocks the old-line pa
tissiers, but when in die earlymorning
hours the hot plump doughnuts are
tossed into a bowl of cinnamon sugar,
and the fresh, steaming сосе flows from
the urns, the party’s final phase takes on
a new warmth, a glow which will have
been more than matched by the one you
got when, in the midst of your happily
limited dutics as the catered-wingding
host, you realized that you were
unruffled, unharried and enjoying your-

self immensely.

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HUNTERS
(continued from page 156)

one end of the 50-foot rope which he
carried coiled between hip and shoulder.
He called down into the bowl, “Get your
rope ready. How long is it?”

"About twenty yards.

"That ought to do

The big man tied the other end of the
rope about his waist and then, paying
out the slack, lowered himself into the
bowl. The sides had more curvature than
he had calculated. For half a minute he
hung, spinning dizzily until, noticing a
ragged crack in the ice, he swung in-
ward and gripped it with one hand, He
carried with him an alpine ice ax. With
this he began swiftly and dexterously to
cut hand- and footholds.

Josef, from Ше bouom, watched him
with blank curiosity. When the big man
was 40 feet down he said, “Mind your
head, down there—Im going to let my-
self slip." Then, supporting himself on
the rope with one hand, he unhitched
the loop which held him and came slid-
ing down. Joscl’s face relaxed in a half
smile of amusement. “If you want my
rope, you will please take it [or yourself.
My right hand is quite useless. What are
you going to do?"

“Well, first ГІ catch my breath." He
fumbled in an inside pocket and found
cigarettes and a lighter. "Do you want a
euer“

Thank you, no, I am a nonsmoker.”

The big man lit a cigarette and un-
slung a canteen. “Гуе got some whiskey
here if youd like a drink.”

"Normally 1 do not dr
T will take a little for qu
scf swallowed a mouthful with
mace, handed back the canteen and said,
"I can assure you that if it is your inten-
tion to ty to extract information from
me by means of torture, it will be a
wasted effort. I know nothing of value to
your people——

"—It is my intention,” the other man
said, imitating Josel’s clipped accent, “to
take this rope, cut a few footholds up to
my ropes end and join the two by mak-
ing a knot called a sheet bend. Then it is
my intention to tie this end around you
under the arms, climb back up to the
top and haul you up. Your wrist is
broken, you say? Well, you've got your
feet, 1 guess, and one good hand to help
yourself with.”

“And then?” the little man asked.

“I don't know about ‘then.’ Do as
you're told now." So saying, the big n
went to work with his ice ax. The bowl
sang like crystal. An hour passed before
the ropes were joined and Josef made
hope that gun barrel holds,”
said, "or things might get a
As a matter of curiosity,

ick energy

bit difficult .

shrimp, don't you ever say thank you?"

“IF it pl
the words—thank you. I
that there is nothing for you to gain by
what you are doing. Either you are very
stupid, or you act with some motive too
deep for me to fathom. I have said
thank you. Are you satisfied?”

The big ma and began to
climb hand over hand. Watching, Josef
thought that the thin rope must inevita-
bly snap under vast bulk. But for
all his size, the big man seemed to have
something of the spider about him. F
times he swung to catch invisible fissures
and promontories. At last, at the top, he
hung, clinging to the rope with feet and
knees alone while he cut a place for his
fingers in the ice at the brim, Then he
was over and gone.

At the top he paused for another
breathing spell and smoked another ciga-
rette. Then, calling out, "Take it
nd grab the notches in the ice,” he
braced his feet against the split rock and
began to haul, grunting. The little man
ne up with surprising ease. In ten
minutes the two were sitting side by side
оп the rock, the big man smoking and
Josef nursing his right hand in his left
armpit.

The big man was the first to speak.
He said, “Goddamn you, do you know
the meaning of the American expression
“in a jam?”

‘Ac is, I believe, a slang word meaning
‘predicament.’ Are you in а predica-
ment? И so you have nobody to blame
but yourself. 1 а a loss, however, to
know the nature of this predicament.”

"You talk like a goddamn school-
teacher."

“Not at all. I am literate, you are not.
That is all"

“You are a saboteur, а spy and а kill-
aid the other, looking at him with
mixed wonder and dislike, Then he said,
slowly, "There's something about your
kind of people ГЇЇ never understand. I
understand how a point of view can
change. I understand how you can be
educated to look at things in such and
such a way. But there are certain fun-
damen

common gratitude. I could
have left you to die down there on that
“But you did not. Why did you поі? I
tell you why, You decided to ауе
my life, as you would put it. To gratify
an outmoded decadent taste for the
romantic. I have no such taste. My con-
ceptions and my outlook are material-
- In the past ten days we have been
hunting each other. We must have ex-
changed fifty shots apiece. Т.
have come within an inch of killing me.
In passing let me compliment you on

aaa i abs

ЖИ

. another

7...5ееп..

. they've neve

-say..

OCLOTS . .

“The ú

quite . .

case

267

PLAYBOY

“And Jim . . . if things don’t work out . .

- well

22.1 just want you to know that I'm not doing
anything special tonight . . >

your marksmanship. It was your duty to
shoot me just as it was my duty to shoot
you if I could.

“1 know. I've killed men. But we balk
at leaving a man alone to di
Incidentally, I am not illite

the ice.
ме. For

your information, I am a master of arts
22250, as I said, I find myself in a jam
or predi =

Josef said, with a thin smile, “Now
you sec just why your system is bound to
fall, and upon what false moralities your
way of thinking is based. There is no
по sense of proportion.
airy tale. I see you over
ny rifle sights at five hundred yards, you
re a speck; I sce you at five feet and
you are a huge lump of protoplasm. Fi-
ther way you are execrable to me. I spi
upon the pathos of nearness! What i
under the microscope, the germ of a
case is magnified to the size of a dog; am
I to caress it and let it lick my face? 1

zeg walk through the streets of one of your

decadent cities, and rub shoulders with a
million of your kind—talk with them,
eat with them, if the impulse moves me
sleep with them. They are no less obnox-
ious in that сап see the whites of their
eyes. But you—I know your kind. In you,
propinquity breeds sentiment, and your
sentiment stinks. Seen from the air a city
looks like a bit of animal tissue, with
the arterial roads like nerve cells, et
cetera, and the bursting of a stick of
bombs strikes your poctic imagination as
looking like the blossoming of litle
flowers. Eh? Hypocrite, where is your
predicament?

The big man said, "I concede that
there is a certain something in what you
y. And still it seems to me that. in cer-
in circumstances when you magnify
your awareness that a man is a man
u sharpen your perception of the
difference between good and evil. I de-
test you, and everything you stand for.

But I cannot leave you to die alone in
the ice. And here's the predicament—
zed people sometimes find them
selves in such predicaments. It will be
hard for you to understand. If I had put
a bullet through your head—and I wish
to God I 1—1 should have said, "Міѕ-
sion accomplished,’ and thought no
more of the matter. But now that I've
saved your life, in some mysterious way I
feel morally indebted to you; in a w:
grateful to you. And my predicament
that I don’t know what to do with you.”

Josef said, “Аз you say, this is some-
thing I would not understand, and I
should hope that 1 would have no desire
to understand it. Let me help you out of
your predicament. You are rendered im-
potent to hurt me because you have
saved my life. But I, whose life you
saved, find in my heart no trace of mercy
toward you on that account.”

"No. You'd be consistent in that, I'd
guess. “The end justifies the means —

that’s what you'd say.”

‘And what would you say?" Josef
asked.

“Га say that every means is an end in
itself. Like, say, a span іп a bridge. Your

bridge won't stand ир”

“Апа your imagery is as banal as your
reasoning is puerile. You bore ше. Let
us return to your ‘predicament,’ and
have done with this tomfoolery. Have
you a pistol?

“Ah, but I have Josefs right
hand came out from under his ar
holding a small black revolver. He fired
straight into the big man's face. Quick as
he was, the big man had been quicker,
his grcat hand moving fast and.
cally as an eyelid blinks, and it closed
over the other man's little fist, pistol and
all. The bullet grazed his ear. Bone
pped. The revolver fell into the snow.

Then, with something like tenderness,
the big . "I thank you kindly.
‘This puts matters back on the old foot-
ing. It simplifies everything."

He picked Josef up by the neck and
опе leg, raised him above his head and,
handling him like a dry branch, broke
his back on the edge of tlie rock. "You
talk too much,” he said. "You should
have shot me before. Vanity is the down-
fall of your kind; you materialists have
no sense of real

Then he stopped, for he was address-
ing a dead man.

He kicked the body into the ice bowl.
An avalanche of shale с
The big man stood for a minute, think-
ing. Then he recoiled his rope, slung his
empty rille over his shoulder, and went
back down the hard trail southward

westward,

utomäti-

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269

áoüavuv"ud

270

ALEPPO
(continued from page 174)

him and watched with interest as Love.
joy threw the doors open, and dug

down under the heavy winter woolen
underwear.

"Johnnie Walker!” Saint Clair said
merrily.

"Ihree boules! You old dog!"

"In case of sickness,” Lovejoy said.
“Or special occasions. I am not much of
a drinking . .

“ГИ open it.” Roland took the bottle
and ripped away the paper. Lovejoy
carefully placed the winter underwear
over the other two boules and closed the
wardrobe. By this time Roland had
poured three tremendous drinks into
coffee cups.

“То good will,"

chanted the Calonius

brothers, holding the cups high. Lovejoy
looked at them, strange, exciting visitors

from anorher world. Only in the East
would your life hold such surprises. "To
good will," he said strongly, and drank a
long draught of Johnnie Walker.

“Ladszlo,” called Saint Clair to the
pufling Hungarian, "be careful for the
paint on that bicycle! That's а very ex-
pensive bicycle."

“Yess, gentlemen," Ladszlo said, finally
putting Ше third bicycle away and Iean-
ing palely against a wall to recover his
strength
“Perhaps” Lovejoy whispered,
Ladszlo would like a . .
Ladszlo never drinks,” Saint Clair
said, pouring himself another large cup-
Нез a Greck

"Mr.

Lovejoy said,
“TIl go into the kitchen and tell the serv-
to prepare dinner for tonight.”

Go right ahead, Stan,” Roland waved
We're fine here.
You've really made us feel as though this
was our home.”

“Thank you very much,” Lovejoy
said, feeling a slight warm flush of grati
tude. He ordinarily lived a quiet, seclud-
ed life, and he had few friends

“There should be more like you,”
land said.
hank you a
7 Saint Clair said, "I like
Inuts. They contain valua-

Ro-

For desse
raisins and w
ble minerals.

"TIL sce what I

.” Lovejoy said.
When he got back after a bitter half
hour in Ше kitchen, іп which Ahmed,
the cook, a eunuch who had been cas-
trated by the Turks in 1903, had burst
into tears twice in a frenzy of misunder-

standing, the living room was roarir
with. argument.
“I did not rape any waitress in Tel

Avi t Clair was screaming. A sec-
ond boule of Johnnie Walker, Lovejoy
noticed, was standing on the table.

nuemen," said Lovejoy, his head
rather vague with the beer and Scotch
and sudden company, “it is impossible
to get walnu|
“Thats all right,”
at him cheerfully.
enough. Have a drink.
“Thank you,” Lovejoy said.
While waiting for dinner, they w
on the second bottle and the Calonius
brothers talked about themsel
“Bakersheld, California," Sai
said, "is all right for cowboys
s where we were born,

air smiled

omorow's soon

t Clair

Roland

“It lacks romance. Same thing, day in,
‚ Beef and grapefruit. Have
int Clair poured all around.

“A man’s got to see (he world , . .

"Thats exactly what I said
Lovejoy.
“George Buchanan would've killed

you if you'd stayed in Bakersfield anoth-
er twenty-four hours" Roland said.
“The only trouble was it was Sunday
and he had to wait till the stores opened
on Monday to buy a shotgun." Roland
lwughed merrily, remembering. "We
named the monkey after Madame Bu-

chanan. Amazing resemblance.”
"George Buch: Saint
shouted, “was absolutely mistak

that oil lease, Any court of law... .
“Anyway,” Roland said comfortably,

“the money got us to Paris.”

int Clair said

a city, Paris!" 5

^ murmured Lovejoy. "How
did you happen to leave?"

"You can only stay so loi
place," Saint Clair said.
call of the open . . ."

“ ‘Messieurs,’ the Captain of the Sù-
Roland chuckled
you have

шіп any опс

“Then из the

Teté sai
spect,
hours.” H
“Тһе trouble with Americans,” Saint
Clair said, “із that the rest of the world
mistrusts them. The wrong type of peo-
ple represent. America throughout the
world. Diplomats, schoolteachers on va-
cation, retired merchants.”
Now, if ever,” Roland said sonorous-
merica has to be represented by its
best types. Young, virile, friendly, plain
people, Good will, Understand?”
"Yes," said Lovejoy, vaguely and hap-
pily, sipping on his third triple Scotch.
And on a bicycle," Saint Clair said,
"you really get to sce a country. The
plain people. You entertain them. You
amuse them. You impress them with the
fact that Americans are not decadent.”
“Americans,” Roland said proudly,
re a race who can stand on their heads
on a moving bicycle.
Berlin, Munich, Vie: Saint C
. "We were sensational. Don't be-
lieve what you hear about the Germans.
They have absolutely no desire to fight

retro-
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"That's very reassuring,” Lovejoy said.

“That's the thing about traveling by
bicycle,” Roland said. “You feel the
pulse.”

"Hungary was at our feet” Saint
Clair said. “We picked up Ladszlo in
Budapest.”

Lovejoy glanced dreamily at Ladszlo,
who was sitting in a corner on the floor,
Buchanan's back for flcas.
27 Love-

combing Mr:

"He seems like a very nice . .
joy said.

“For a Hungarian,” Roland said, "he's
not bad.

“You've got to watch Hungarians,”
said Saint Clair. “That's another thing
about traveling the way we do, You be-
come a student of national character

"E can readily understand

“Istanbul, Alexandria, С:
ed Roland.

“They did everything but throw roses
at us in Cairo. Although their taste in
entertainment is low.”

“Belly dancers" Roland complained
darkly. “If it isn’t a belly dancer throw it
out. A man on a bicycle might just as
well lay down and die.”

Jerusalem is an improvement," Saint
Clair said. "Jews like bicycles.

"How can you bear just to sit in one
little place all your life?” Roland asked
suddenly.

“It never occurred to me before,” said
Lovejoy reflectively. “Though I can see
now that perhaps I...”

"Where do we sleep?” Saint Clair in-
terrupted. He stood up and yawned,
stretching widely.

Lovejoy stood up, too, and led the
way into the other room. "I'm sorry," he
said, "there are only two beds. Mr.
Ladszlo ..."

“Perfectly all right, old man,” Roland
said. "He'll sleep on the floor in your
room. Hungarians love floor

“This do.” Saint Clair stretched
enormously on one of the beds.

“Dinner, thank you.” The eunuch
slipped into the room and out.

Lovejoy led the way into the dining
room. Somehow, the third bottle of
Johnnie Walker was on the table. As they
sat down, Ladszlo slid in and sat down
at the foot of the table.

"Good American cooking,"
said happily, pouring some
an't be beat.”

Ladszlo sat in front of the steak with
his knife and fork poised. For the first
time there was life and excitement in his
eyes. His mouth worked a Tittle, expect-
anty, as he cut into the rare red meat.

‘Ladsilo,” Saint Clair sniffed strongly,
inkling his nose in distaste.
ess, gentlemen?” The fork w
poised delicately over the first slice.

"My God, Ladszlo, you stink!”

chant-

го,

Roland
whisky.

ее please don’t -
use апу more
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Ladsdo put his fork down quicdy.
“Yess, gentlemen,” he said. "Mrs. Bu-

“Go take a bath,” Saint Clair said.

“Yess, gentlemen. Ass soon ass I have

to the pipe that makes | * mpi nourish . . .” (IF NEED BE)
smoking a pleasure Ladsdo swallowed dryly, sighed a

small Balkan sigh, stood up. “Yess, gen.
“Hung ns," б

Roland said. “Thi

br living in the Seventeenth Century.” He
Belorethe smoke reaches inear-cooiea stem. | took an immense bite of ste LA
alte Ребе By now the unaccustomed liquor had "Trump up Re give him is
choice of Falcons at $395 and $495. | taken full effect and Lovejoy remem- ee ee
nen en bered nothing more of the meal except ter time for Dopp Kit giving. It's the
Tips on pipe care, Write that the Calonius brothers talked rather toiletries kit that adjusts to take little
сах ‚is today, disjointedly of various cities throughout luggage space.

the day you the world they had visited, in all of Ke SLO Беа оса

"ЗЕ P A ed which certain misunderstanding had DOPP KIT:
wA

Falcon? f arisen, usually with husbands or the po- Chicago, Illinois 60616

lice, although of no very grave dimen

sions. Ladszlo, Lovejoy also noticed, did
not return. AMERICA’S

Just as they were finishing their coflee, GREATEST MUSICAL HIT!

there light knock on the door

> Permit mg,” Saint Clair said, as Love E L I
Falcon International, Ine, Chicago, ІП. joy struggled slowly to his fect. Saint "

Clair sprang across the room and threw
stood there, her

ihe Gan GE OLI I
EUER "Oh!" hin ad 4
d wrapped in a black silk shawl.
| Lovejoy shook his head a trille dazedly HEAR THE GAIETY
tea icp rt and stood an n the excitement he had AND EXCITEMENT OF
ch far sive ian Ales ”

BEE || en Sus Che was saying || НЕШО, DOLLY!” ON

огне ое Sat. || loudly, lookin xcellent! RCAVICTOR’S ORIGINAL
UM, HO Stanford 7 Irina lifted a shy, CAST ALBUM. SEE
A deret $150 slightly accusing small hand toward BROADWAY'S SMASH HIT
Not pictured:

Ои own nylon tricot || «n Lovejoy said, walking MUSICAL WHEN
aen sir Û | caretully toward her. “Unexpected VISITING NEW YORK

3. Tapered 10-гізе Excellent,” Saint Clair said, "Exccl- ORDER THEATRE SEATS BY MAIL
boxer short. 5350 Eves: n Tui
Wed. at

8. Bikini under А К
brief 5300 "Em afraid I'd better leave.” Irina
Ses ano [|| turned, doelike, to go.

6 nein Doon | “TI walk you to the gate,” Lovejoy
brass plante, LES iedly, taking her arm.

craved in tat, | A vision,” CORE
EXER апа A vision," Roland boomed from the

Dort Swing, Don't table. He stood up and bowed in Irina’s

MIXED воск

542 549 f | direction. "A beautiful Russian vision.”
See Be "Perhaps," Lovejoy said, “Га better

КУ sco take you 10 your..."
АН MEN How did you know I was Russian" | [82% сам eoo sox a229-ancmnan, oro 45242
ShopforMen 8933 Santa Monica Blvd. Irina turned back and her voice was

Dept. P W. Hollywood 69, Cal

sidelong and musical, although still shy [тон COLORFUL COMPARATOR GUIDE ABOUT

like, as she spoke to Roland

= Wa Perfect. Gift "Only in the cold snows,” Roland (C ARRAN )
ngt boomed, advancing. “Only in the im-

M sea aa meme pine forests ve "AUTOMATIC |.

ou like to come in and | TURNTABLES

“Wouldn't

have a drink?” Saint Clair asked. я р,
PILOTS SUPPLY COMP, КИШИ | Q cercitn pure) cold, blonde beauty аң (ле handy, uw

worriedly, fearing that Irina would be HUE

273

YOU'LL LIKE IT

PLAYBOY

274

angry with him because of his blunt
American friends.

"Perhaps," said Trina, taking a small,
hesitant, White Russian step into the
room, “perhaps just a litle at the bor
tom of the glass.”

Lovejoy closed the door behind her.

At the thi k, Saint Clair was
king pertinent comments on the
Ru: o other race," he said ora-

torically, "would have the vision, the
courage ... The Revolution. My God,
the greatest step forward since . .

“They liquidated fourteen members
of my family,” Irina said, “and burnt
down three country houses.” She began
to сту.

“No one will deny, of course,” s
Saint Clair, tenderly giving her a ha
kerchief, "that the old regime was better.
The Church. Icons. Candles burning.
The ballet ..." He waved his arms
magniloquendy.

"Its getting late,” Lovejoy said vague-
ly, his cars roaring with Johnnie Walker
and conversation. “Perhaps I'd better see
you home . . 2

“Just to the gate, Stanford, you wild
boy.” Irina stood up, swept the scarf
around her, gave her hands to the Calo-
nius brothers who kissed them, cach
muttering something that Lovejoy
couldn't hear. Irina hesitated a moment,
pulled her hands away, slipped out,
graceful, doclike

“Don't come home Іше, Wild Boy,”
Roland said.

Lovejoy followed Irina into the dark-
ness. He walked beside her in the still,
clear desert night.

“Trina, darling,

he said troubledly to

the silent shade at his side. “It was un-

avoidable. Certain Americans have a
tendency to be boisterous. They mean
no harm. They'll be gone tomorrow. Do
you forgive me, darling?"

There was a silence. Irina rcached the
gate and turned toward him, her face
undecipherable in the starlit night. “I
forgive you, Stanford," she said softly,
and allowed him to kiss her good night,
although they were only a hundred
yards from the presidents home, and
there was a dreadful chance of being
observed.

Lovejoy watched her disappear light
footedly into the darkness, and turned
and went back to his house.

From the bedroom came loud snores.
‘The Calonius brothers were sleeping off
the strains and stresses of a normal day.

There was the strange small jungle
sound of the monkey scratching herself
sleepily.

Lovejoy did not sleep well. Through
the wall of slumber, sometime in the
late, dark hours, halfawake, bal£-dream-
ing. he seemed to hear a woman's soft
giggle nearby, sensual and abandoned,
and he twisted uncasily on his hard bed,
almost opened his eyes, was claimed
once more by oblivion.

The moon came up and shone
through the open window into his eyes,
and he woke sharply, certain that some-
one was in his room, something was
happening . . -

"The moon shone on a narrow figure
crouched in the corner, bent over, its
arms moving fiercely and jerkily, as
though it were tying up a bundle. The

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figure stood up and Lovejoy saw that it
was Ladszlo.

Mr. Ladszlo" he said, i lief.
"Where have you been?” Ladszlo
wheeled around. His eyes flashed wildly
in the glint of the moon. He strode over
to the bed.

"You!" he said harshly. "Keep quiet,
pleasssc!"

"Mr. Lad ..." Lovejoy stopped. A
long cold blade shone іп Ladszlo’s fist.

"Do you think, gentlemen.” Ladszlo's
voice scraped against his cardrums, "I
will hessitate to usse it?”

Lovejoy sat up. quiet.

Ladszlo turned back to his work in the
corner, and for the first time, Lovejoy
saw what the Hungarian had been
doing. Mrs. Buchanan was lying there, a
maniac look on her cranky, brute face,
her mouth gagged with strips of towel,
her hands and ankles securely bound
with twine. Ladszlo stood over her,
menacing, wiumphant.

“What . Lovejoy began.

“Quiet! alo snarled. He got out
some more twine and, by the bright light
of the moon at the window, he made an
intricate and perfect hangman's knot.
Lovejoy felt the sweat start out all over
his body and his throat go wooden and
salty. He blinked disbelievingly when
Ladszlo put the noose around the mon.
key's thin neck and threw the other end
ot the rope over a tall bridge lamp.

"You're not really . . .” he said under
his breath.

Ladszlo ignored him and pulled on
the rope. Lovejoy closed his eyes. This
was the first time he had ever seen a
monkey hanged and he didn't feel he.
was up to the strain of watching. He
kept his eyes closed until he heard
Ladszlo's voice, thin and trumperlike.
Well" Ladszlo was saying, "that's the
last time you'll piss on me.

Lovejoy felt it was safe to look. Mrs.
Buchanan hung limp, like a d
key. Ladszlo stood before her,
с.

Mr. Ladszlo," Lovejoy whispered.
“How could you do

Ladszlo whirled on him, strode over to
his bed.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “1 warn you.
€ while there iss still time.”

Ure you talking about?"
Ladszlo's finger
ning. "Inside

id mon-
revenge

shot out, s м:
there you have two devils.

“Why, Mr. Ladsdo, Lovejoy even
managed to laugh a little. “They're just
mple highspirited American

"In that case," Ladszlo said, “spare me
America. Devils! 1 hate them, all
three of them, the Calonius brothers
most of all, and then Mrs. Buchanan.
Unfortunately, it is not possible to hang

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the Calonius brothers.” With somber
gratification he looked at the monk
corpse, swinging gently in the night
wind. “I tell you. If you know whats
good for you, you will get away from
them, if you have to walk.

Lovejoy said, “they don't
treat you very well.”

Ladszlo laughed a horrible laugh. like
broken glass, at the understatement. “I
had a good job,” he said, “in Budapest. I
sold lace. I was preparing to marry.
Then I met the Calonius brothers. In
two days they had sold me the bicycle
. . . forty pounds. Later I found out, a
man they had picked up in Strasbourg
had deserted them. He could not stand
it anymore, They told me we were going
10 America. They painted a bright pic-
ture. Five hundred dollars a week in
Radio Gity. I would be an American cit
шеп: I could forget Hungary, I could
forget the lace business. I brought wiss
me one hundred pounds, in cash. Fare-
well. And every town we visited. Riots,
husbands with guns, police. Customs
officials. Pregnant women. It is like
going through Europe with a shipload of
pirates. Now I have no more money, I
have no job, 1 am in the middle of the
desert, but when they told me to leave
my dinner and go take a bath, I knew it
wass the end . .

There was a rustling in the next room
and Ladszlo jumped back into the shad-
ows fearfully. “I warn you," he whis-
pered bleakly, and vanished.

Lovejoy looked at Mrs. Buchanan,
stiffening noticeably at the bridge lamp.
He put his face to the wall, but he did
not sleep.

When Lovejoy rose in the morning
and had his coffee and started off 10
school, the snores, regular and peaceful,
were still coming out of the bedroom
in which the Calonius brothers slept
undisturbed.

Lovejoy was not feeling very well. His
head occasionally expanded and con-
tracted spasmodically; two or three times
during the morning he saw double, and
the shrill voices of the young Arab chil-

dren for the frst time made a nerve-
ng clangor in his ears.
And when President Swenker came

into his classroom in the middle of a les-
son in advanced English composition
and asked Lovejoy to have lunch with
n uneasy tremor of anticipation
ran down Lovejoy’s spine.

But over the bean salad and canned
pineapple of President Swenker's severe
lunch (the president was a vegetarian),
with Маз. Swenker and young Carlton
Swenker sitting іп decorous, lettuce-
crunching silence, the president merely
outlined a plan for a new Bible class.
This was to be an evening class for
adults and in his relief that the inter-

him,

view was not about liquor, Lovejoy was
elfusively enthusiastic.

“Well,” the president said, patting
Lovejoy bonily on the wrist, “this may
make educational history in Aleppo.
Have some more bean salad.”

It was nearly six o'clock when Lovejoy
got back to his house, All was quiet,
except for a strange thudding noise that
occasionally came through the windows,
and a slight shaking of the thick mud
walls. Lovejoy swallowed and climbed
the steps slowly and opened the door.

Roland and Saint Clair Calonius were
on the floor, half-naked, locked in gigan-
tic combat. Saint Clair was on top and
was beating his brother's head against
the floor, which accounted for the dull
тиб.

Тһе entire place smelled like а steam-
heated gymnasium after a closely con-
tested basketball game. The eunuch
Ahmed stood at the door, his eyes gleam-
ing with excitement.

“Gentlemen . . ." Lovejoy

Suddenly, with a violent, twisting mo-
tion, Roland heaved himself up and a
later Saint Clair was hurling
through the air, only to crash, with a
houseshaking noise, against the wall.
Ahmed fled, Saint Clair dropped dazedly
to his knees for 2 moment, then stood
up and smiled.

“That was very clever, Roland,” he
said.

aid.

second

"Gentlemen," Lovejoy said.

Both Calonius brothers looked at him
strangely for a moment, as though they
couldn't quite place him. Then a smile
lit Saint Clair's face. “He lives here,” he
explained to Roland.

Roland smiled then, too.
dog.” he said.
ust keeping in condition," Saint
Clair said. "Roland and mc. Wrestling
exercises every muscle of the body. Also
good for the appetite. Have a drink.
We're going to take a shower.” They
disappeared, sweating, their muscles
rippling under stcaming skin.

Lovejoy sat down and looked around
him. The appearance of the room had
changed. noticeably. The two beds from
the other room had been dragged in. His
own couch, he could see through the
doorway, was in the other room. Also
the bicycles. Mrs. Buchanan, fortunately,
had disappeared. Four bottles of rum
stood on the table and three dozen lem-
ons. A handsome Persian jug, ancient
and valuable, which he suddenly real-
ized he had seen before in the home of
the Danish professor of mathematics,
stood next to the lemons. He went over
and smelled it. It had been recently used
for mixing cocktails.

He heard a step behind him and
wheeled nervously. It was the cunuch,
with a bowl full of ice cubes. With sink-

You old

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Water shimmering as cı
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CONTACT DELTA AIRLINES OR MAIL THIS FORM TO:
Travel Director

PLAYBOY CLUES INTERNATIONAL > DELTA
232 E. Ohio Street, Chicago, ШІ. 60611 AIR LINES

Please hold reservations for the 7-day, 6-night Jamaica spree beginning
January 3. 1965. | understand the 3175 per person price includes double-room
‘accommodations (single-room 360 additional), daily breaklast and VIP dinner,
Dunn's River Falls picnic, fascinaling Plantation Tour and round-trip transiers.
(Balance is due 10 days before departure. ЇЇ reservation Is made less than 10
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NOTE: Full refund will be made until 10 days before departure. At any time there-
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JA 253

PLAYBOY

278

“When I think of all we've done for that dog

р»

ing heart, Lovejoy remembered that the
only electric refrigerator in town capa
ble of making ice cubes was in the home
of President Swenker

“Ahmed ..." he began, but the en-
nuch merely put the bowl down and
shuffled out.

Lovejoy sank into a chair. His eyes
roamed the disordered room. Something,
ele had changed, something was miss-
ing, a small nagging voice told him .
He couldn't remember. He closed his
eyes, ran his hands over them, opened
them again. Then he saw. The Encyclo-
paedia Britannica. All the volumes from
AA to PRU.

There must be, he told himself, some
perfectly natural explanation

Roland entered. huge and naked.
drying himself with а towel. "Ah
said. "More ice.”

Чоп me, Mr. Calonius,” Lovejoy
I wonder if you could tell me how

bare pink ch
small rear
“Yes,” Lovejoy

ements.”
said.

"Later we

nt Clair has weak kidney:
апа said. "And he didn't want to dis-
turb you going through your room to
throom all night. Daiquiri?”

а Clair came
ping Bum w

“J suppose you know,
SES ERE ЕТ hanged
here last nigh
УӘЛІ;
“We're h:

you.”
“Thank you very much.
kind, but . . ."

“Only a Hungaria
“would think of hanging a moi
"| wonder if you gentlemen know
anything about several copies of the
Encyclo .. .
"Not too much sugar, Roland,
Clair warned.

“Mind your own goddamn business,"
Roland said calmly. He put his hand
over the top of the ancient and valuable
n jug, the property of the Danish
prolessor of mathematics, and began to
shake vigorously, the ice clanking bright-
ly against the precious glazed š

“The copies from AA to PRU,” Love-
joy said stubbornly. “They seem to be
арз you know someth

You're very

int Clair saw

Saint

about .. .'

“Not a thing, old man," Saint Clair
said carelessly. “They'll probably turn
up. You know how people are about
books,"

‘The door was flung lightly open and
Irina danced in.

“Trina!”
the first
before
dressed.”

“Hello, boys.” Irina said gaily.

“Just in tim nt Clair said, negli
gently wrapping the towel about the
ridged muscles of his abdomen. “Have a
drink.”

Roland poured the frothy, freezing
daiquiris into coffee cups.

Irina lifted her drink. “То good will,"
she said charmingly and the Calonius
brothers laughed loudly and Roland
slapped her playfully on the behind.

Lovejoy watched incredulously, the
demure figure now in а blazing yellow
dress, tight and shiny, and the two im-
men, drinking

Lovejoy said, shocked. It was
ime she had visited his house
dark. “Theyre not quite

He lifted his cup and drained it. "I
think T'd like another,” he said firmly.
“That's it, Wild Boy," Roland

and poured him a big one.
The rest of the night was something
of a blur for Lovejoy. There was a heavy
dinner, sı in, and burgundy, and
Irina's hair coming undone and hanging
loose and wild over one shoulder and
Irina's teeth flashing in mirth and all of
them singing Russian songs and Irina
dancing, with flashing eyes and twitch-
ing hips, while the Calonius brothers
sang and kept tremendous time with
their hands. Vaguely, Lovejoy remem-
bered, there was some talk about money,
and he was sure he saw Irina take many
bills out of her exquisite bosom and give
them with both hands, in а bold, gener-
ous, Mother-of Earth kind of gesture to
nd and Saint Clair Calonius. There
k, too, of a real party the next
night, and Roland saying, “Wild Boy,
you're a good fellow. Wild Boy, we're
- came to Aleppo. Wild Boy,

“Lovejoy had never had а bette
in his whole life, although at the back of
his mind etna the entire evening,
a voice Кері cı “AIL this is costing
you a great de: But he was
sorry when the ninth i brought
long periods of whi ackness, and
Saint Glair had to pick him up
arms and carry him to his bed.

n his

for life .
Duri
ng sharp cl
the next room,

ight he awoke to a stab-
t about three a.m. In
he heard а woman's
sighs, then a moment later, low laughter,
sensual and intimate in the quiet house.
His mind puzzled over the sounds for a
moment. Then he fell asleep ag:

The next morning he stumbled dazed-
ly out of the house, all shadowy and
hushed, with the blinds pulled against

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PLAYBOY

280

the glare of the morning sun. The classes
had a tendency to whiten and disappear
from time to time, and when President
Swenker came in about 11 o'clock his
face scemed to rise and fall in a white
froth, like waves against rocks
“Lovejoy,” he said coldly, "I would
like to sce you at the noon hour.”
“Yes, said Lovejoy.

“Im a broad-minded man,” President
Swenker said at noon, “and I know the
debilitating effects of this climate on
white men, but I have heard certain ru-
mors about some guests of yours . . +"

"Yes, sir,” said Lovejoy faintly.

“I think it would be wise,” said Presi-
dent Swenker, “if they left immediately
Lovejoy said more faintly.
Swenker patted Lovejoy

President
more tolerantly on the shoulder. “Of
course," he said. “I do not believe the

rumors about the monkey and the Rus-
n lady.
Yes, sir,

and

Lovejoy whispe
hurried back to his house.

He walked decisively up the steps and
threw the door open.

Irina was lying relaxedly on the
couch, with Saint Clair calmly and rath-
er impersonally stroking her thigh. And
in the center of the room stood Presi-
dent Swenker's son, Carlton, in earnest
conversation with Roland.

s blc to kill me," Carlton was
saying. Even as his blood froze at ıhe
boys words, something in Lovejoy no-
ticed that the rest of the Encyclopaedia
„ from PRU to ZZ. Also the
bridge lamp from which at another time
Mrs. Buchanan had hung, and a large

silver samovar and eight silver cups that

had come with the house.
“Nobody will kill you,” R«

impatiendy. "Just follow instructions.

God almighty, Carlton, how old are

you?"

Eleven,"

/ou ought to be ashamed of your-

and said

self.

“Carlton,” Lovejoy said in a loud,
clear voice, “I think you'd better go
home.’

arlon stopped at the door. “I'll be
seeing you,” he said, waving at the Calo-
nius brothers. On the couch, Saint
ised his hand lazily from Irina's slen-
der, exquisite thigh and waved to Carl-
ton. “Give my regards to your old man,
he said.
the thigh, this time
comfortably lighted а cigarette and
ned over and picked up a daiquiri
that was resting on the table beside her.
Lovejoy closed the door firmly. “Gen
tlemen,” he said loudly, “I have some
bad news for you
"Have a drink, Wild Boy,”

t Clair

said.

Gentlemen,” Lovejoy said, "I'm
afraid I must tell you to lea

"There was а long silence. Saint Clai

took his hand out from under Irina’s
skirt.

under orders, gentlemen," Love-
joy said, because he could no longer
tolerate the hush.

“It’s an awful thing,” Roland said
quietly, "when Americans twelve thou-
nd miles from home can't . . ” He
t finish.

Do you want us to go now?" Saint
Clair asked. Lovejoy considered. They

“Oh, I don’t make suggestions. I'm one of the gifts."

were being surprisingly reasonable. He
remembered the vague glorious evening
the night before. “I can't see that it'll do
y harm if you stay till morning,” he

“Have a drink, Stanford,” Roland
boomed, turning toward him and clap-
ping him heavily on the base of the
neck.

orry, old man," Saint Clair said,
entangling himself entirely from
nd standing up to help with the
"if we've caused you any
E EET

* Irina sat up and pushed her
hair back angrily, "I think you are be-
having like mud, Stanford.”

“Now, now," Roland said. “Let's for-
get it and have our last evening together
as though nothing had happened.” And
he poured the drinks, frothy and tropic-
fragrant, and beaded with the cold of
President Swenker's ice cubes.

There were four drinks before dinner,
and somehow, during dinner, Saint Clair
was saying, “Wild Boy, I like you. Wild
Boy, you're a great American. Wild Boy,
you're just the sort of man we need on a
trip like this. The Plain American With
Brains.”

“The Chinese,
crazy about hi

“Also,” nt Clair, "you're a mas-
ter of tongues. College graduate. You
can introduce us to consuls, speak the
language. You will be a sensation in

Roland said, “will be

ту," Roland said. “Нез as
come. He'll make a great

der.”
He's not so wiry,” Irina said.
For fifty pounds you сап
Ladszlo's bicycle,” Saint Clair s.
Calonius brothers
1 Exua...”

‘Don't call me Wild Boy," said Love-
joy looking his eighth drink strai;

the eye.

“How can a young man like you, with
your talents, stand this town?” Roland
marveled. “Year in, year ош...”

“He's damned wiry,” Roland said.
feeling Lovejoy’s arm.

Lovejoy sat and stared silently into
the depths of an empty burgundy bottle.

“АП right" he said suddenly.

They clapped him on the back and
offered him a drink and Irina threw off
her blouse and skirt and danced charm-
ingly on the table in black-lace panties
and brassiere. From the brassiere, Love-
joy noticed vaguely, the corners of five-
pound notes peeped out.

Lovejoy opened his shirt and from a
moncy belt he wore next to his sl
took out his last 50 pounds. 5:
put the money away gravely. Rol
om, and reappeared a moment lat-
th a towel, a bowl of hot water,

s aightedge razor.
While Lovejoy was pouring himself an-

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other drink, Roland came up behind
him and tied the towel around his neck.

"Say," asked Lovejoy mildly, “what
are you doing?”

Roland started to lather the top of
Lovejoys head. "In our act, everyone
but Irina gets their head shaved." He
got up a good thick lather. "It gives a
better impression.”

"Youll look more wiry, Stan," said
Saint Clair.

For one moment, Lovejoy hesitated.
“All " he said.

Swiftly and expertly, as Lovejoy
worked slowly on his tenth daiquiri, Ro-
land began to shave his head. One half
the job was done, the left side of the
scalp lying clean and pink as a baby's
bottom, when the door was thrown
open. Lovejoy looked up.

President Swenker stood there, his
face slowly clouding over, like a
winter. His eyes left the sh.
of Lovejoy's scalp.
der and exquisite, black-laced figure of
Irina studiously practicing entrechats on
the dining table, among the bottles.

Lovejoy sighed.

id President Swenker.
Roland said cheerfully.
President Swenker

Lovejo
said, "I shall speak to you in the

morning, under more . . . more formal
circumstances.”

He closed the door carefully behind
him. Lovejoy sighed again and Roland
arted to work on the right side of his
head.

When he awoke the next morning,
Lovejoy's head was very large.

He got out of bed, holding onto the
wall for support. He had never realized
he could learn to like liquor so well. He
looked at his watch. Heavens, he
thought, ТЇЇ be late for class.

He walked as quickly as he was able
toward the bathroom, In the main room,
the two beds were pulled together and
Irina was lying rather athwart the two
Galonius brothers. All thre
Irina, Lovejoy noticed, was no longer
wearing lace panties

He made his way painfully into the
bathroom and began to brush his teeth.
Suddenly, his hand poised in mid-air, he
caught sight of a strange gleam in the
mirror. He looked hard at the glass. “Му
God,” he said, the toothbrush still half-
way up, the mouth still frothing with
dental cream. He was as bald as a stone
egg. He looked, disbelieving. Then slow-
ly it all came back. He put the tooth-
brush down and sat down slowly on the
edge of the tub.

Then he remembered President
Swenker's face as the president had
stood at the doorway and looked at Irina
dancing in black-lace underwear on the
dinner table. "Oh, my,” he said weakly
and stumbled. back toward his room.

were aslcep.

In the main room the three sleepers
slept calmly on, with Irina favoring
Saint Clair slightly, one exquisite leg
thrown carelessly over his knee. Lovejoy
stopped and looked down dazedly.

At one time he had toyed with the
idea of marrying Irina. At least he had
been spared that.

He put a sheet over the entwined
figures and felt his way into the guest
room. He lay down and stared at the
ceiling, the white froth of the tooth paste
still on his lips. It began to sting and he
licked it off. In a moment he had a se-
vere case of heartburn.

‘There was no doubt about it now.
Only one thing remained to be done.
For good or ill, his lot was thrown with
the Calonius brothers. When ¿hey
awoke, he would pack quietly, a few
things in a small bag, start on a new,
nomadic life. As he thought about it,
even in the clear light of morning, there
still were certain advantages.

Suddenly he fell asleep.

He was awakened by the pad of foot-
steps in his room. He opened his eyes
slowly. His landlady, for some unac-
countable reason, was in his room, her
back to him, with a pencil and a pad of
paper in her hand, on which she fre-
quently made notations. She was a small,
fat old lady, with a face designed for
lamentation. At the moment, Lovejoy
saw as she turned around, her mouth
was working with some indescribable
emotion.

“Madame,” he said, sitting up, having
trouble with his French, “what are you
doing in my room?”

"Aha!" the landlady said.

Lovejoy shook his head to clear it.

"Madame, ГИ thank you to .

"The rug!” The landlady
her notebook. “Aha!” She scuttled out
suddenly.

From the next room he heard a high,
excited, man's voice in Arab-French,
"Come out or we shoot!”

Lovejoy swallowed uncomfortably. He
wondered if the Calonius brothers were
going to be shot in his house.

“I will give you five,” the excited voice
called. "Un .. . deux... trois...
Monsieur Lovejoy, 1 repeat, I will give
you cinq . . .

Like lightning, Lovejoy r
Whocver it was, was addressing him. Ву

eae

quatre he was out in the main room.
Two policemen were standing there,
facing the door. One of them һай a gun
in his hand and the landlady was stand-
ing excitedly behind him, Irina and the
two Calonius brothers still slept on.
“What

- ?' began Lovejoy.
k any questions,” said the po-
an with the gun. “Come on.”

he two policemen had dangerous
expressions on their faces, especially for
so carly in the morning. “If you'll per-

B 9 E
= INFORMATION c

“Santa is on the fourth floor, Miss, but then again, he has
a number of secret helpers scattered out in the field.”

PLAYBOY

284

mit me," Lovejoy said.
on a pair of trousers."

"They came in and watched him put
on trousers and shocs, the policeman
still covering him with the pistol

^] wish," said Lovejoy, “you'd tell me
what I've done .

“Move!” said the policeman with the
gun

Lovejoy went out between them. His
landlady followed at a safe distance. Iri-
na and the Calonius brothers slept on.
As he left the building, Carlton Swenker
ran past him, up the steps

‘The police did not take him far, mere-
ly to the office of President Swenker. As
they drew near, Lovejoy heard a mum-
bling and buzzing inside. He hesitated at
the door.

“In!” said the policeman with the
gun, kicking open the door,

Lovejoy stepped in, only to be met
with such a blast of shouts and murmurs
and oaths, that if it weren't for the po-
licemen at his back, he would have

I'd like to put

turned and run. A third of the popula-
tion of Aleppo seemed to be crammed
into the office, with President Swenker
in a corner, behind his desk, standing,
spreading his hands, trying to maintain
order. The Danish professor of mathe-
matics was there, the small Englishman
who taught history was there, the owner
of the bookshop, Irina’s boss, was there,
the local taxidermist, a liquor merchant,
two rug merchants, a butcher, and two

maiden ladies who taught knitting and
sewing and cooking were all there.

And Lovejoys landlady crowded in
and looked over the room proudly and
malevolently.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the president
kept saying, “ladies and gentlemen."

The excited tide of Levantine conver-
sation welled higher than ever.

“Mr. Lovejoy,” the president said
loudly and bitterly, “what in the name
of God have you been doing?

Suddenly the room fell quiet. All eyes
stared with equal wrath

at Lovejoy,

TOM aad fect

“Funny, he didn’t look Jewish.”

bald, liquor-cyed and seedy, between the
policemen at the door

d I...I really don't know what
you mean,” Lovejoy said.

“Don't think for a moment you're
going to make good your escape, young
man,” the president said.

“No, sir,” said Lovejoy

“If it weren't for me, you would even
now be at the mercy of Syrian justice.

Lovejoy shuddered а little. “Please
pered, "may I sit down?"

“What the hell has happened to your
hair?” the president asked irritably.

Involuntarily, Lovcjoy's hand went up
to his head. Then he remembered
sep T ose

- - shaved it," he

said.

"God almighty, Lovejoy,” the presi-
dent shouted, “I'm going to have a thing
or two to say to the University of
Vermont!”

Suddenly the door was thrust open
and Lovejoy’s cook, the eunuch Ahmed,
was flung into the room, followed by an-
other policeman, The eunuch took one
look around him, then lay down on the
floor and wept. Sweat started on Love-
іру» forehead.

"Fell the truth, young man," the
landlady barked at him, "weren't you
intending to leave Aleppo today?"

Lovejoy took a deep breath. "Yes," he
said.

A fierce murmur
room.

"We would have shot you down on
the road,” the policeman with the gun

ran through the

said. "From behind."
Please,” Lovejoy begged. “Please
explain...”

Then, bit by bit, with many interrup-
tions by various impassioned townspeo
ple, it came out, It all started when the
landlady saw her bridge lamp in а furni-
ture shop. Then she saw her silver samo-
var being melted in the rear of a jewelry
shop. Then, in four different shops, she
had seen six rugs from various houses
which she had rented to members of the
school faculty. She wailed, in time with
Ahmed, weeping on the floor, as she de-
scribed seeing various bedcovers, cush
ions, small tables, silver with
which she had furnished her houses, in
conon-goods stores, junk shops, butcher
shops. She had run to the police, who
had пасей everything to Ahmed

vases,

"He said Mr. Lovejoy wanted to
borrow some blankets for unexpected
guests,” one of the scwingand-cooking

ladies said «һе Шу, "and naturally, it nev-
er occurred to me .

Ahmed, shattered and damp on the
floor, was too broken to say a coherent
hey are pleasant gentlemen,"
he kept murmuring incomprehensibly,
ery pleasant. gentlemen. "Fhey like to
eat and drink. They sing to me in the
kitchen. They give me five piasters extra

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a day. They sing to me in the kitchen.”

passed his hand wearily over his eyes as
the taxidermist demanded payment for
stuffing a monkey.

“А particularly horrible case,” the tax-
idermist saying. “The monkcy was
hanged, 1 assure you. Hanged by the
neck.
With his eyes closed, Lovejoy felt the
shudder of revulsion sweep the room.

For God's sake, Lovejoy!” He h
President Swenker's high, biblical voice.
“This is monstrous!

Lovejoy opened his eyes just
to sec Mrs. Swenker come stre
tears roar down her cheeks.
Walter,” she sobbed, “Walter!” and
heaved herself onto her husband's
bosom.

“Whats the
dent Swenker

"Carlton . . 2

Lovejoy felt his stomach contract
sharply over the name.

Whats wrong with Aim?" President
Swenker shouted.

"Your son Carltoi Mrs. Swenker's
voice rang out dramatically, "has stolen
fifty pounds from your wi Б

President Swenker sank into a chair,
put his head in his hands. “Oh Lord,
how much more," he roared, this time
out of the Old Testament, "do I have to
спіш?"

“I think, sir,” Lovejoy said timidly
know where I can get your money

"God almighty, Lovejoy?” P
Swenker looked up. “Are you mixed up
in this, too;

“Perhaps if you'll come with me, we
can clear up a lot of things at once,”
Lovejoy said with dignity.

“One move," said the policeman with
the gun, “and 1 shoot. To kill."

“Where do you want to take us?” Pr
ident Swenker asked. “Oh, for
sake, Corinne, stop bawling!

Mrs. Swenker fled the room, stifling
sobs.

“To my house, sir," Lovejoy said.

here are two gentlemen there who
might throw some light on several sub-
jects.”

“They like to cat and drink,” Ahmed
sobbed on the floor, “and sing to me in
the kitchen.

ter with you?” Presi-
са.

The policeman pressed ıhe muzzle of
the gun into Lovejoys ribs, and the
procession wound its way to the house
which late had seen so much revelry. On
the way across the yard, President
Swenker said, snarling, “This is goi
cost you a pretty penny, Lovejoy.”
Lovejoy swallowed dryly. “I don't have
any money, si
ow'Il work it out,” President Swen-

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285

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286

it takes twenty years.”
swallowed once more.
President Swenker
“you've got to get a wig.”

‘A what, sir?”

A wig! A wig!"

“Yes, sir,” said Lovejoy.

ust as they got to the foot of the
ıs leading to Lovejoy's house, Carlton
Swenker came sailing around the corner
on a bright, shiny bicycle, much too
large for him.

"Carlton!" thundered the pres
Carlton stopped. The entire procession
stopped.

“Carlton,” shouted President Swenker,
“where did you get that bicycle?"

“I bought it, Daddy," said Carlton

President Swenker swung. Carlton
dropped senseless to the ground. Then
the president started up the steps, fol-
lowed by the procession, all careful to
avoid treading on the slight young figure
lying in the dust.

The president threw open the door
and strode in. Everyone marched in aft-
er him. Lovejoy looked at the two beds.
They were empty. The room was torn as
though several cavalry charges had been
conducted in it, and there were bottles
strewn around like a brewers’ picnic,
and the landlady was whimpering as she
jotted down new damage on her pad of
paper, but the room was empty

"Well" President Swenker turned
on “Where the two

said,

arc

“Watch him, André!” the landlady
cried to the policeman. “It’s a trick.”

“Perhaps in the next room,” Lovejoy
said without hope.

Silently the entire party went into the
next room. The same dismal and com-
plete desolation, but no Calonius broth-
crs. The party went back into the main
room. Lovejoy walked over to the large
Italian wardrobe. “They took all the
woolen underwear,” he said aimlessly.

“All right,” President Swenker said,
“now we can get down to cases. You
have two alternatives. You can stand
trial before Syrian justice or you ca
guarantee to stay in this town and work
out all damages, down to the last penny,
no matter how long it takes. How long,”
the president addressed the policeman
with the gun, "do you think they'd be
likely to give him in j

“Thirty years" the policeman said
promptly.

“ГЇЇ pay," Lovejoy said.

It took until 3:30 that afternoon be-
fore all the claims were in and added up.
All in all, it came to 374 pounds, 27. At
his present rate of pay, eating only twice
a day, Lovejoy figured that he might be
able to pay off his debt and be released
to go home to America in seven more
years,

He signed an agreement all round, for

which a lawyer was called in, making it
377,27. The policeman with the gun
gave him a and suddenly he was
left alone, in the wreckage of his home.

Lovejoy sat down and sighed. He lit
the cigar the policeman had given him
and stared at the empty bottles.

Month followed month after that,
the horrible episode of the Calonius
brothers began to seem to Lovejoy like
an aimless and sudden visitation, a
senseless plague, a purge by evil, outside
the control of man. His hair grew back
and except for a little fright with D
who imagined for several days that she
was pregnant with twins, Lovejoy went
along as before, although every hour was
tempered by bitter poverty and the
knowledge that deliverance might
take as long as Jacob's.

By the ише he could part his hair
again, he had almost completely forgot-
ten the Californians on the bicycles.

Then one day .. .

He was reading The Seven Pillars of
Wisdom, with Lawrence in the hands of
the "Turks, when, in the distance, he
heard his name shouted faintly. He put
the book down. “Stanford . . .” the voice
4 d. “Stan...

No, it couldn't Бе... He stood up,
feeling his upper lip curl back into an

atavistic snarl.

tanford . . .” came the voice

He hurricd down the steps, his legs
almost buckling under him. There, in
the main road, was a strange caravan.
Astride a donkey, wavering [rom heat,
starvation, thirst, exhaustion, supported
on both sides by strong men, was Saint
Clair Calonius, his eyes sunken, his lips
pale and bloodless. And behind him, on
another donkey, in exactly the same
state, was Roland Calonius.

“Found him in the desert,” the driver
nearest Lovejoy said. “Just lying there.
Nearly dead. Found him . with a
jerk of the thumb for Roland, “down at
the bottom of a well, nearly dead.”

Saint Clair smiled horribly at Lovejoy.
“stanford, old boy ..." he whispered
hoarsely through cracked lips. “Delight-
ed. See you soon as we get out of the
hospital. Old boy . . .”

Lovejoys heart sank and the tears
came to his eyes. He walked unsteadily
back to Roland.

“Stanford, old boy . . Roland put
out a frail hand, held Lovejoy's shoul-
der. “Glad to see you. Soon as we get out
of the hospital." He leaned over drunk-
епу, whispered into Lovejoy's car. “Cot
ta do me a favor...”

Not in a million .

"Gotta. That sonofabitch threw me
into a well. Can't get away with it.
Brother or mo brother. Stanford, old
man, go into town and buy me the big-

gest, sharpest spring knife you can find,
fiveinch blade, Leave it in that ward-
robe in your house. Top drawer. When
we get out of hospital. First move he
makes The throat ..." Roland
made a horrible, murderous noise.
“Show sonofabitch can't throw me
any well, Stanford, old boy, don't sl
your head .. .”

Suddenly Lovejoy stopped shaking his
head. A slow, ecstatic look came into his
сус, then died. "I can't buy you any-
thing,” he said. “I haven't got a penny

Roland pushed drunkenly into a
pocket, brought out a handful of notes,
stuffed them into Lovejoy's hand. “Моп-
ey no object . . .” He swooned and the
two strong men held him up. Lovejoy
put the money carefully into his wallet
and walked up to Saint Clair

"Anything I сап do for you?
in a clear, vibrant voice.
int Clair looked around him with
lunatic caution. "One thing, old boy,”
he said. “Th: itch Roland
thinks 1 threw him into well. Wants 10
kill me. Nobody can do that to me.” He
fished wearily іп a pocket, brought out a
fistful of bills, peered around him wari-
ly. “Go down, old boy, and buy me one
45 revolver with seven bullets. Leave it

he asked

in that wardrobe where you kept the

Johnnie Walker. Top drawer. Then
when we get back from hospital . . . First.
move sonofabitch makes. Seven slugs.

Stanford gravely put the money in his
wallet.

“Listen, Stanford,” Saint Clair leaned
anxiously and crazily off the donkey,
“you'll do this little thing for me, won't
үш...”

“Gladly,” Lovejoy said in an even,
firm voice.

“Good old Stan . .
lapsed and the two drovers
him up, as the caravan wound its way
toward the hospital.

Lovejoy watched the donkeys
pear down the street, then walked swift-
ly into town and bought the best spring
knife he could find and an excellent,
brand-new .45 revolver with seven
cartridges.

There was considerable money left
over and he bought three boules of
Johnnie Walker.

He went back to his home and emp-
tied the top drawer of the wardrobe
and placed the gun and knife neatly side
by side. Then he soaped the drawer, so
that no one would have any difficulty in
opening it, even in a great hurry.

Then he sat down and waited for the
Calonius brothers to come out of the
hospital. He poured himself a large
drink. He took a good swig of the whis-
ky and smiled a little.

BY HARVEY KURTZMAN AND WILL ELDER
` WITH RUSS HEATH

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IM TALKING ABOUT
HOLDING YOU CLOSE TO ME,
LIKE THIS! + I'M TALKING ABOUT
PRESSING YOU TD ME WHERE
ICAN FEEL YOU ~- WARM
AND YIELOING —

NOW
HONEST,
ASTRONAUT THE
O'KAYE -- STOP! WHOLE
IM BUSY ! THERE FAIR-OINKUM
ARE THINGS TOWN LIT UP,
1 HAVE AND THEY AIN'T
TO 00. EVEN GOT THE
DIGGERY-DO
TO NOTICE-

AHEM! FIRE RETRO-
ROCKETS! RENDEZVOUS CAP-
SULE AHEAO ! AHEM! ++- WELL,
ASTRONAUT FANNY + WE ARE

ABOUT TO BE THE FIRST
HUMAN BEINGS ТО STEP OUT
INTO OUTER SPACE !

= ГМ TALKING ABOUT.
FLINGING OPEN YOUR
LAUNCH SUIT FACEPLATE,
WHERE I CAN KISS THE
SOFT, TREMBLING UPS
WITHIN =

COME ON,
NOU ич.
GRAVITY FIELD.
WERE IN OUTER
SPACE! WHO
CAN SEE US
WITH THE TV
COMMUNICA-
TIONS SWITCH
OFF?

-THIS_EXPERIMENT
IS THE CULMINATION OF
THE YEARS OF WORK BY
COUNTLESS MEN - FROM
NEWTON (ISAAC) TO
GORDON =

| AND ске

THAT'S МІСЕ. - ONLY
THERE ISN'T ANY WARM,
TREMBLING ANYTHING WITHIN
THAT LAUNCH SUIT, | TOOK IT
OFF TO CHANGE INTO MY OUTER-
SPACE SUIT. WE'RE DUE TO
REACH OUR RENDEZVOUS
SATELLITE -

THOSE
ARE THE
THINGS
I HAVE
TO 00-
SWITCHING
OFF THE ff A HUGE JAM
TV OF FASCINATEO
COMMUNI“ SPECTAIORS ARE
CATIONS FROZEN TO THE
GIANT SCREEN IN
GRAND CENTRAL!
THIS WILL. UN-
DOUBTEDLY
RATE THE
BIGGEST
NIELSEN IN
HISTORY!

-WALTER
CRONKITE
REPORTING!

THAT !

ASTRONAUT O'KAYE,
! IMAGINE THAT THIS

IS THE BIT WE CAN'T

AFFORD TO

THAT O10 IT!

BLOW-

WAS IT THE REV

CYCLE? DID THE

FUEL FEED МЕ!

ЕО

AQUUSTING ? DID You
RESET THE COOL

CONTROL? ил

НАТ.

DIO YOU ОО?

HONORABLE

AMERICAN ASTRO-

NAUTS PLEASE

NOT

TO MOVE OR WILL

SHOOT SAME
DOWN!

6 :

iNMOG ON
ДЕГЕ

2,090 ПОА
NPOO IWYS
200н5

MES ++ TAKING
THE PHOTOS FOR
LIFE! - WAIT A MIN-
UTE! THERE'S SOME-
THING WRONG WITH

MY JET PACK !

1 SMACKED | o

THAT MEAN ROCKET BOOSTER, Ë

OLD JET PACK YOU -- NOU ARE A
t LIVING EXAMPLE

SPACE NEEOS
WOMAN t

GUICK, ANNIE
SEE IF YOU CAN
LOWER THE REV
CYCLE ON MY
OXYGEN PUMP-

PURTY LIL PAY
LOAD! WE'RE NOT
BEING MONITORED
BY TV ANO NOW

CAN'T NOBODY

SEE us!

JUST AS 1
SUSPECTED ---

f CHINESE commies

HAVE A CARE, SIR
YOUR COUNTRY IS
TOVING WITH FIRE!

WE REPRESENT

А MIGHTY
POWER -

We HAVE
NO FEAR OF
PAPER TIGER
US. GOVERN-
MENT!

1 SPEAK OF
ime, INC. !

PLAYBOY

RASH AMERICAN-
MY HAWK MEN WILL
TEACH YOU +" TO SPEAK.

THUSLY TO MING LOOK
OF MONGO – OUT FOR HIS
DISINTE-
GRATOR!

STOP THE
FILM! WHAT KINO
OF A PRESENTATION
IS THIS, BIGBUCKS? DO
YOU EXPECT TO GET A
SPACE-CAPSULE CONTRACT
FROM THE U.S. GOVERN-

CALLING
OR. ZARKOV!
МЕ NEED

SEIZE
WHITE GIRL!
SHE WILL BE
My QUEEN +

GENTLEMEN! ILL ADMIT
WE HOKED UP THE ENOING,
BUT IT'S ONLY A PRESEN-
TATION --- A SUGGESTION
FOR A NEW, JET-SET
APPROACH TO THE SPACE
RACE! WHAT WE AC-

THERE WILL BE"BUGS BUT
NOTHING MY ENGINEERS CAN'T
IRON OUT.

1 LIKE IT, BOB. WE COULO
ALSO DROP A STRING OF COBALT
BOMBS FROM THE CAPSULE, ALONG
THE GREAT WALL OF CHINA ~ FOR
ADDITIONAL PROMOTIONAL,
IMPACT.

COMPLISH IN SPACE IS
ONE THING. WHAT 16 MORE
IMPORTANT IS HOW WE
KINDLE THE EMOTIONS OF
THE TEEMING MASSES
OF THE WORLD!

BESIDES,
OON'T FORGET
MY ULTIMATE
ARGUMENT, Б.М.
ON ALL
CONTRACTS 1
LANO AN ACROSS: |
THE-BOARD
20-PERCENT
KICKBACK.

MR. BIGBUCKS
MAKES A TELLING.
POINT, GENTLEMEN-
HOLLYWOOD HAS
ABUNDANTLY
DEMONSTRATED
THAT THE WDRLD
LIKES TO SEE А
PRETTY FACE!
-SEXY COSTUMES!
-LA DOLCE
VITA!
-ACTION!

BUT HOW
IN THE
WORLD DO
YOU PROPOSE
TO OELIVER
SEKY SPACE
SUITS THAT
WORK, NOT
TO MENTION A
SUCCESSFUL

STOP THE
CAMERAS! THE
PENTAGON DION'T
BUY! THERE'S NO
SENSE IN FILMING
THE SECOND PRES-
ENTATION -

NOU MEAN
COSMONAUT FANNY.
LET'S KEEP SHOOTING
THE FOREIGN-LANGUAGE
VERSION OF THE SCENE.
WE'LL JUST CHANGE THE
TITLES AND SELL THE
CONCEPT TO THE PENTAGON
KHRUSHCHEV- MAY NOT BE INTER-
ESTEO IN AN APPROACH
TO SPACE THAT KINDLES
THE PASSIONS OF THE
MASSES, BUT THE
RUSSIANS ARE!
- PARTICULARLY WITH
МУ MING DF MONGO
ANGLE —

CAN.
1 COME
DOWN,
DADDY 2
PA SICK

TODEATH

ОЕ BEING

WEIGHT-
LESS.

STAY UP
THERE,
AINNIE- HON

WERE МОТ

LICKED YET.
+ HOW FAR.
ARE WE INTO
THE MOON
LANDING,
FEDERICO?

WE NOW
‘SHOOT THE
SCENE WHERE
MING, INA
BURST OF
ANGER, HE
RIP OFF
ASTRONAUT
FANNY”
SPACE SUIT.

PLAYBOY

292

PLAYBOY
READER SERVICE

Write to Janet Pilgrim for the
answers to your shopping
questions. She will provide you
with the name of a retail store
in or near your city where you
can buy any of the specialized
items advertised or editorially
featured in PLAYBOY. For
cxample, where-to-buy
information is available for the
merchandise of the advertisers
in this issue listed below.

ог 292.233 Kı

Miss Pilgrim will be happy to
answer any of your other
questions on fashion, travel, food
and drink, hi-fi, etc. If your
question involves items you saw
in PLAYBOY, please specify

page number and issue of the
magazine as well as a brief
description of the items

when you write.

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SPECIAL ISSUE $1.25

NEXT MONTH:

VLADIMIR NABOKOV—THE GIANT OF CONTEMPORARY LITERATURE
WITH AN IMPORTANT WORK OF FICTION, TO BE PUBLISHED IN PLAYBOY
IN THREE PARTS—“THE EYE”

MARTIN LUTHER KING—THE FOREMOST FIGURE IN THE NEGROES’
MARCH TOWARD EQUALITY IN AN EXCLUSIVE PLAYBOY INTERVIEW
RAY BRADBURY—THE RENOWNED WRITER OF SCIENCE FICTION PROPH-
ESIES WHAT HE BELIEVES WILL PROVE THE WELLSPRING FOR MAN'S
FAITH IN THE SPACE AGE—“REMEMBRANCES OF THINGS FUTURE”
JACK KEROUAC—THE BARD OF THE BEATS IS AGAIN “ON THE ROAD”
IN A WILD MEXICO-TO-SAN FRANCISCO ODYSSEY-“GOOD BLONDE”
TERRY SOUTHERN—THE CO-AUTHOR OF “CANDY” AND *'STRANGE-
LOVE" FINDS THAT MOVIES ARE A FAR MORE POWERFUL OUTLET FOR
SOCIAL COMMENTARY THAN NOVELS—“SEEING IS BELIEVING”

WILLIAM SAROYAN—THE FAMOUS AUTHOR'S ROLLICKING REACTION
TO THE CURRENT CROP OF POPULAR WRITERS—*4 DON'T GET IT”

BUDD SCHULBERG—THE AUTHOR OF “WHAT MAKES SAMMY RUN?"
ANALYZES AND REPORTS ON THOSE FANTASTIC QUADRENNIAL DRA-
MATIC ORGIES—“POLITICAL CONVENTIONS AS SHOWBIZ”

Р. С. WODEHOUSE—BRITAIN’S PRIME MINISTER OF HUMOR WITH AN
EXPLOSIVELY COMIC TALE—“BINGO BANS THE BOMB’

MORTIMER ADLER—NOTED CREATOR OF THE "GREAT BOOKS" LIBRARY
EXAMINES SOME SACRED COWS—“THE NOT-SO-CLASSIC CLASSICS”

J. PAUL GETTY—PLAYBOY'S CONTRIBUTING EDITOR ON BUSINESS AND
FINANCE OFFERS SAGE ADVICE ON DEALING WITH SUBORDINATES—
“THE PSYCHOLOGY OF SOUND PERSONNEL MANAGEMENT”

HUGH M. HEFNER—PLAYBOY'S EDITOR-PUBLISHER EXCHANGES VIEWS
ОМ AMERICAN MORALITY AND THE SEXUAL REVOLUTION WITH A PRIEST,
A MINISTER AND A RABBI—PART ІІ--“ТНЕ PLAYBOY PHILOSOPHY”
WOODY ALLEN—ONE OF THE BRIGHTEST STARS IN THE NEW COMEDIC
GALAXY IS LOCKED IN MIRTHFUL COMBAT WITH HIS CYBERNETIC SUPE-
RIORS_“MY WAR WITH THE MACHINES

SIR JULIAN HUXLEY—THE ESTEEMED SCIENTIST SERVES A SCARY
WARNING OF AN IMMINENT WORLD CRISIS—“THE AGE OF OVERBREED”

SHEL SILVERSTEIN—THE KIDDIES' POISON-PEN PAL IN AN AFFABLY
ADULT APPROACH TO THE NEW BREED OF NURSERY SCHOOL MOPPETS
—“UNCLE SHELBY'S CHILDREN'S CORNER”

BENNETT CERF—THE POPULAR PUBLISHER, AUTHOR, RACONTEUR, TV
PANELIST, ANTHOLOGIST AND AUTHORITY ON THE PUN TRACKS DOWN
NEW EVIDENCE IN DEFENSE OF A HERETOFORE MUCH MALIGNED BUT
VENERABLE FORM OF WII—“WAG DOGS TALES”

“A HYPOTHETICAL HISTORY OF HAREMS"—A RIBALD PHOTO
PARODY STARRING PETER USTINOV, ASSISTED BY A CHOICE ASSORT-
MENT OF NAKED HOURIS; FOR HOLIDAY HOSTING—“THE PROGRESSIVE
NEW YEAR'S PARTY" EY THOMAS MARIO; A LAVISH ARRAY OF LAST.
MINUTE GIFT SUGGESTIONS FROM *THE ELEVENTH-HOUR SANTA"
“PLAYBOY'S PLAYMATE REVIEW'—A PORTFOLIO OF THE PAST DI
LIGHTFUL DOZEN; “(RETROACTIVE NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS’
“LITTLE ANNIE FANNY”—IN HER NEXT ADVENTURE, OUR OWN LITTLE
ANNIE FALLS UNDER THE SPELL OF BRITISH SECRET AGENT JAMES
BOMB—BY HARVEY KURTZMAN AND WILL ELDER.

“THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN GUN"—THE LAST
JAMES BOND ADVENTURE NOVEL—BY IAN FLEMING; “THE HISTORY
OF SIN IN CINEMA” AN IN-DEPTH ANALYSIS OF THE EROTIC CONTENT
OF MOVIES OVER THE LAST HALF CENTURY—BY NOTED FILM CRITICS
ARTHUR KNIGHT AND HOLLIS ALPERT; “THE BUNNIES OF MIAMI”
AND “THE GIRLS OF THE RIVIERA”; THE LATEST AND BEST WORKS.
OF THE MOST PRESTIGIOUS GROUP OF WRITERS, ARTISTS AND AUTHOR-
ITIES TO APPEAR IN THE PAGES OF ANY MAGAZINE TODAY, INCLUDING
VLADIMIR NABOKOV, ROBERT RUARK, JEAN-PAUL SARTRE,
ROALD DAHL, CALDER WILLINGHAM, NAT HENTOFF, MARQUIS
CHILDS, Р. С. WODEHOUSE, KEN W. PURDY, VANCE PACKARD,
HERBERT GOLD, J. PAUL GETTY, CHET HUNTLEY, DAVID BRINK-
LEY, ARTHUR C. CLARKE, ART BUCHWALD, JEAN SHEPHERD,
MELVIN BELLI, JONATHAN MILLER, RAY RUSSELL, JACK FINNEY,
MURRAY TEIGH BLOOM, ALASTAIR REID, WALT GROVE, LOUIS
LOMAX, GERALD KERSH, ALEC WAUGH, MAURICE ZOLOTOW,
KENNETH: TYNAN AND MANY MORE: THE PLAYBOY PARODY—THE
MOST FUN-FILLED ISSUE WE'VE EVER PRODUCED; AND EXCLUSIVE PLAY-
BOY PICTORIALS ON KIM NOVAK, STELLA STEVENS, URSULA AN-
DRESS, CAROL LYNLEY, DONNA MICHELLE AND TUESDAY WELD.

ELISOFON Ф 1964 IRAM WALKER INPORTERS INC

CASA BOTIN OF MADRID AWAITS YOU
WITH ROAST SUCKLING PIG AND CANADIAN CLUB

Here is where the bullfighters meet to talk of bulls and courage.

And on the days when they are not fighting, to eat Don Antonio’s Cochinillo Asado,
a juicy little piglet cooked in an open tiled oven 239 years old.

You'll find your old friend Canadian Club here, too.

Enjoy it in short ones before dinner, in tall ones after.

Why this whisky’s universal popularity? It has the
lightness of Scotch and the smooth s
Bourbon. No other whisky tastes quite

, Canadian Club—the world’s lightest v

` evening. It's “The Best In The Hou:

THE TOTAL PERFORMANCE MUSTANG “2+2

Especially yours. Mustang 2+ is not for people who

think performance 15 something you sce in a theatre. For very,
very little money, this sweet, low, candy-colored bullet of a car
makes a minute behind the wheel seem like a month

in Monte Carlo. Comes complete with bucket scats,

padded dash, full carpeung, Silent-Flo Ts Bet me BS

Ventilation...offers the longest list of options FORD

this side of the menu at the Ritz.

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