Full text of "PLAYBOY"
ENTERTAINMENT FOR MEN MARCH 1965 * 75 CENTS
OY
“Won't you join me
in this March issue of
PLAYBOY, with fiction
by Vladimir Nabokov
and Calder Willingham;
all the details for
your African safari by
Robert Ruark; a panel
on the new leisure
with Steve Allen,
Cleveland Amory, Terry
Southern and others; a
cartoon trip down Mexico
way with Shel Silverstein;
plus an appealing
visit with Carol Lynley.
And you can see a lot
more of me inside, too!”
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POMEROY
RUARK
PLAYBILL олох ucro
Vargas de Chavez, known to PLAYBOY
readers more succinctly as Vargas, created
one of his most luscious ladies espe
so that her enchanting visage might be
used for this month's cover. Although
Señor full-blown females have
been regular visitors to our pages for the
last five years, his March miss is the first
to have a PLAYBOY cover all to herself—
new pinnacle marking almost half a
century a professional artist for the
ageless ebullient Vargas.
zh lso marks the return to these
pages of Calder Willingham, author of
this issue's lead fiction, A Clowny Night
in the Red-Eyed. World. Willingham's
earlier yarn for us, Bus Story (PLAYBOY,
July 1962), later appeared as part of Ete:
nal Fire, a novel that was vilified by
some few captious critics and heaped
with praise by many others; among the
latter, conservative Newsweek pacaned it
as deserving “a place among the dozen or
so novels that must be mentioned if one
is to sp ness in American fic-
* and spoke of Willingham thusly:
He may stand without blushing beside
any writer in this country’s history,” And
an admiring Jead review їп The New
Yorker spoke of "Willingham's wicked
genius” and his book's “muffled, amused,
deadly, intelligent laughter’ Wi
ham, who is currently typewriter-deep in
a screenplay for the omnipresent Mike
Nichols (On the Scene, PLAYBOY, Febru-
ary 1965), told us about the birth of his
current PLaynoy offering: “An acquaint-
ance here at my home in beautiful New
Hampshire casually observed that Su-
preme Court Justice Earl Warren ought
to be hanged. The question occurred to
me "Upon what meat doth this creature
feed?’ And then down memory lane there
came the distant recollection of a clowny
night in the red-eyed world . . . thus, a
story of blind hatred, loveless love and
tears that flow in the night.”
With considerable and, we think, more
than pardonable pride, we hereby wel-
come to our masthead Robert Ruark,
columnis g author (Something
of Value, Uhuru, Poor No More), big-
game hunter, world traveler, and, from
now on, PLAYBOY Contributing Editor. H
nasthead debut coincides with our pub-
ion of his guide to big-game games-
manship, Far-O ul Safari. Author Ruark’s
manuscript was shipped to us from just
such an encampment at the Save river,
Mozambique, via Jeep to Salisbury, South-
ern Rhodesia, at which point it started its
air journey to Chicago. While his article
in its pl
in the Windy City, whereupon we showed
off one of our rifles to him. Ruark, with
a couple of stiff martinis very recently
behind him, showed their effect not at
all as he stood up in our living room
and flung the empty gun to his shoulder,
aimed at an unassuming picture, and
held the gun absolutely rock steady—in a
way we'd never before seen, as if it had
been on a steel mount—which may ex-
plain his p e for a small, low
caliber gun. At this writing, Ruark has
just dotted the last i and crossed the
law t for a massive new novel, The
Honey Badger, is putting the finishing
touches on his screenplay for Uhuru.
Dr. Wardell B. Pomeroy, author of
What Is Normal?, for 20 years was asso-
ciated with Dr. Kinsey's famed Institute
for Sex Research, most recently as direc-
tor of ficld research. He is now in pri-
vate practice as а marriage counselor іп
New York, is in the midst of research on
transsexualism, and has a book on sex
offenders due out next month.
Alvin Toffler, former Fortune editor
and frequent PLAYhoY contributor, pre-
pared this issue's ruefully timely The
Legal Art of Tax Avoidance with a spe-
cial assist from the fiscal know-how chaps
of the J. K. Lasser Tax Institute. Al
characterizes himself as a toc-thedine tax-
payer who practices avoidance but never
evasion in his annual bout with the IRS.
The world has been the occupational
oyster for rLAYBOY's perceptive penman
Shel Silverstein for over seven years. But
this month's Silverstein in Mexico repre-
SILVERSTEIN
VARGAS
sents his first cartoonic communiqué
from south of the border. When last we
heard, our State Department was trying
to shore up what litle Shel had left
standing of our good-ncighbor policy.
Making March a bountiful month for
fiction are: the conclu
giant Vladimir Nabokov's
Grove’s hilarious peck into the mixed-up
psyche of a suburban brat, Oh Danny
Boy; Gerald Kersh's battle-based chiller,
Somewhere Not Far from Here; and Wi
liam Hoffman's masterful portrait of a
coward, The Waters of Stingray
Pictorially and — pulchritudinously,
March comes on like a lion, There are
scenes from a new movie based on the
vertical and horizontal carryingson of
literature’s legendary leading lady Fanny
Hill, with an accompanying text describ-
ing her censorial tribulations over the
centuries; plus a long look at the new
Carol Lynley. In Carol Lynley Grows Up,
Miss Lynley reveals that the innocent
ingénue ei apple-cheeked teenager of
modeling and TV renown is now a
woman of no mean proportions.
This month's Playboy Panel deals with
a subject much akin to Mark Twain's
weather—America's — much-talked-about
topic, our new-found leisure. Among
those 1t: g the problems brought
bout by too much of a good thing are
Terry Southern, Cleveland Amory, Wal-
ter Kerr and Jean Shepherd.
A flock of additional features await
your delectation im March's eravmov:
The Scotsman's Revenge, Ken. W. Pur-
dys asault on. American gullibility i
the international war of words; LeRoy
Neiman turning his Man at His Leisure
istic talents to the New York Playboy
Club and the bountiful Bunnies therein;
Grand Prix Garb, an urbane treatise on
what the well-turned-out auto aficionado
wears while spectating, by Fashion Dircc-
tor Robert L. Green; PLAYBOY'S very
atcfold, Miss
host of other
model of а modern March
Jennifer Jackson; and
stimuli for the senses.
PLAYBOY,
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vol. 12, no. 3—march, 1965
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CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE
PLAYBILL........... =
DEAR PLAYBOY
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS...
THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR...
PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK —travel.... .— PATRICK CHASE 41
THE PLAYBOY FORUM —————
THE PLAYBOY PANEL: USES AND ABUSES OF THE NEW LEISURE—discussion 51
A CLOWNY NIGHT IN THE RED-EYED WORLD—ficlion. CALDER WILLINGHAM 66
GRAND PRIX GARB—attir 5 ~ ROBERT L. GREEN 71
THE SCOTSMAN'S REVENGE—opi КЕМ W. PURDY 75
THE UNSINKABLE FANNY HILL—pictorial essay
THE EYE—fiction ч
FAR-OUT SAFARI—sports
PORTRAIT OF JENNY—playboy’s playmate of the month...
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor
WHAT IS NORMAL? —article
OH DANNY BOY—!
SIMPLY GREAT—atiire = =
THE LEGAL ART OF TAX AVOIDANCE— ALVIN TOFFLER 105
THE WATERS OF STINGRAY —fiction..... 2. WILLIAM HOFFMAN 107
CAROL LYNLEY GROWS UP—pictorial и 108
THE NEW YORK PLAYBOY CLUB—man ct his leisure LEROY NEIMAN 116
THE BOUNTY OF BELISA —ribald clas: JUAN TIMONEDA 119
SOMEWHERE NOT FAR FROM HERE fiction... x GERALD KERSH 120
SILVERSTEIN IN MEXICO —humer. — SHEL SILVERSTEIN 122
SYMBOLIC SEX—humor........... — € DON ADDIS 133
v
VLADIMIR NABOKOV 82
ROBERT RUARK 84
t . 88
E 22 94.
WARDELL B. POMEROY 97
——— WALT GROVE 100
ROBERT L. GREEN 103
HUGH M.
1ernex editor and publisher
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TAYLOR associate fashion editor; THOMAS makio food c drink editor; PATRICK
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DEAR PLAYBOY
EJ] avpress ғідувоү macazine +
CHRISTMAS KUDOS
Felicidades, congratulations, te echo
flores, for a job not just well, but spec-
tacularly done. I mean, of course, the
December holiday issue. It has every-
thing I could want in an issue of
PLAYDoY, except for a few authors (such
Ray Bradbury) whom, according to
page 292, you were holding for the Janu-
ary issue.
Stephen G. Silverberg
Newark, New Jersey
Your fiction line-up in December was
exceptionally good. In order of appear-
Irwin Shaw's galloping comedy,
Durrel's ` non-Alexandrian
ald Kersh's clifEhanging dance
for two, Frederic Morton's
touching and bittersweet romance,
Hugh Nissenson's flesh-crawling fantasy
and Bernard Wolfe's tragicomic view of
yet another facet of Hollywood, combine
to make an anthology of marvelous var
cty and unflagging interest. I liked the
whole issue—despite the stunning price
but the fiction alone more than justi-
fied the stiff cost of admission
Harold Warner
"Toronto, Ontario
BEST BOND
Playboy Interviews continue to be one
of your finest recent additions, but the
December one with lan Fleming may
have topped all others in the candid i
sights it provided into one of the most
fascinating literary personalities of our
time. I don't think the fact that it was
Fleming's last interview before his death
is influencing mc—although that has
some bearing on my thoughts. My
thoughts are that he knew he was not a
well man, but carried on regardless.
Here was an urbane gentleman and writ-
er who may have had a uniquely clear
understanding of himself. is world,
and his status as an author. Apparently,
Tame and riches did not blind him to the
fact that he was, primarily, a literary en-
tertainer, albeit a superb one. His engag-
ing and admirable objectivity about
himself, as reve the interview,
makes me think he may have been far
more like his character M than like the
mercurial and emotionally involved 007.
led in
MY SIN
«..a most
232 E. OHIO ST, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 60611 provocative perfume!
It was terrific to learn from the last page
of the same issue that the final Bond ad-
venture will debut in PrAvnoy. Hope it's
soon.
Bill Dworkin
New York, New York
After read your excellent interview
with Ian Fleming, my only regret was
that I did not have the opportunity to
know him better. The only time I met
him was at a studio party after the first
day of shooting the film From Russia
with Love, in which I played the spy
Rosa Klebb. When I was introduced to
him he said smilingly: “Miss Lenya, phys-
ically you surely will never catch up with
her [in his book she tipped the scales at
250] but I know you as an actress, so I
have no worries.” And that was, unhap-
pily, my only encounter with the unique
creator of James Bond.
Lotte Lenya
New York, New York
Bill, Miss Lenya and our other read-
ers will be happy to know that starting
next month PLAYBOY will be scrializing
lan Fleming's final James Bond novel,
The Man with the Golden Gun.”
PRO SHAW. PSHAW SHAW
1 feel I owe Irwin Shaw an apology
and, simultaneously, pLaysoy a hearty
word of praise. Once, m Aleppo was a
coup for him and for you. I had come to
think of Shaw
a talented. writer but
too much under the spell of his own sen-
si
ty. and too preoccupied with the
ecret thoughts and dreams of adolescent
girls and women. His movie Jn the
French Style (a sort of egghead souper) is
typical of what I mean. But you have
presented a better, more masculine,
more vigorous Shaw, with a story of
gusty, gutsy humor and a wildly imagina-
tive plot. I've read it twice and the scc-
ond time around wa n better than
the first. I don’t know whether my broad
grin was more in response to his wit or
to his writing skill; probably equal parts
of both. Picaresque comedy like this
really puts one in a holiday mood, as did
your entire jumbo December issue.
Walter Dienstag
Boston, Massachusetts
ev
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8
PLAYBOY
10
Irwin Shaw's vulgar and sadistic story
marred an otherwise passable issue—for
PLAYBOY, that is. Why do you print sto-
ries like this in a Christmas issue? Is it to
convince yourselves and your readers
that you are men? I have news for you:
‘The "heroes" of this filth masquerading
as fiction are not men. they are monsters.
Edna Mae Masters
Los Angeles, California
Irwin Shaw's Once, in Aleppo is a
brilliant story in every way. It takes a
top talent to make an improbable ad-
venture into a believable, hilarious tour
de force. I'd love to sce it as a play—even
a musical. If a constant reader may cast
a vote for your best-of-the-year fiction
award, put me down as voting for Shaw's
marvelous yarn.
Nelson Thurgood
Seattle, Washington
Our edilors shared your enthusiasm,
voted Shaw a 1964 best-fiction award of
$1000.
UNHAPPY OVER UNHAPPINESS
What scems to disturb Joseph Wood
Krutch in December's Life, Liberty
and the Pursuit of Unhappiness is the
fact that the existentialist philosopher
has used the literary media to persuade
this greatest of all civilizations to take
its first honest look at itself, but minus
the premise of God; that is to say, minus
the misconception that man is, despite
his “depravity,” ultimately good accord-
ing to the criteria of his own metaphysi-
projections. Also, there is, pessimis
side, a difference between the concepts
of man as a spiritual subject arbitrarily
saved, or condemned to a Calvinist per-
dition, and man as a moral agent, con-
demned to work out his own purpose
and to use the awesome responsibility
his freedom imposes on him. A close
reading of Sartre's Existentialism Is а
Humanism and Calvin's Institutes of the
Christian Religion will serve to make
this difference abundantly clear,
The one question Dr. Krutch does not
bring up concerns the matter of the in-
tent of the writers he mentions. Is a play
such as No Exit to be dismissed on the
ground that existentialism is pessimis-
tic? Is The Balcony to be dismissed on
the ground that Genet is a thief, ho-
mosexual, etc?
It is man’s very “respectability” and
the sins that are committed in its name,
his very smugness in considei
the favored child of the uni
very assumption that ultimately the re-
ility rests elsewhere that makes
absurd."
‘The function of art is to cleanse and
ight, though art makes no g
reveals will necessarily
nt, nor that it will promote
As one who has long been an adm
of Joseph Wood Krutch as c
writer, I am disappointed that he should
choose to draw the battle lines on the
basis of happiness vs. pessimism. Im-
plicitly, then, we have the choice between
taking our literature and philosophy on
the basis of their own merits, or of re-
jecting them when they cease to promote
happiness. Absurd?
G. Amati
Chicago, Illinois
Well, gentlemen, you have finally left
the hairy leg of conservatism showing be-
neath your otherwise impeccable, avant-
th your admi-
rable philosophy, which appears to be
(among other things): the pursuit of ¢
joyment with an underlying respect for,
nd practice of, intellectual respon:
ity. I'm not saying that Krutch's Pursuit
of Unhappiness is in conflict with the
former devil-may-care aspect, but it cer-
tainly does forsake the latter, more
important element of your
philosophy.
‘The central task of the artist ii
is, has always been and will
a refusal to swallow contemporary stand-
ards, values and practices, without first
dismanuing them and testing them for
their consistency. Since he
more perceptive than the average m
it is his duty to point out the incongru
ties, the inconsistencies, the inequities, to
which society smugly subjects itself. The
true feels compelled to be honest
about life, both to himself and to who-
ever happens to be listening, reading or
viewing.
Since Nobel Prize winners likc Camus
and Sartre seem 10 have kicked up a litle
dust in their search for truth and reality,
Mr. Krutch would е them stifled. In
dismissing erotic themes as pornographic
nd ther t to contemporary
art, he is denying their integral impor-
tance to everyday existence. Perhaps he
would (like most conservatives) have art
only what he considers to be the
more acceptable side of life.
Mr. Krutch's pragmatic essay laughs
in the face of social progress. He would
blindfold the artists and men of vision
lest they make him unhappy. Closing our
eyes to the basic problems of mankind
never makes them disappear.
If we have come upon unhappiness in
the pursuit of knowledge and reality,
then so be it. The unpleasantness en-
countered has not been produced by the
device used to uncover it, Mr. Krutch, it
was already there.
liberal
rles LaBue
in Francisco, California
Thanks for the good Christmas issue,
particularly for Joseph Wood Krutch's
artide on Life, Liberty, etc. 1 think we
are all getting a little tired of pessimism,
even those of us who would not do away
with nihilism, existentialism and Who's
Afraid of Virginia Woolf?-ism.
Guy L. Saint-CI
Urbana, Illinois
"Would it be too impertinent for a sav-
age (existentialist) to comment on the
article in the December issue of rLaysoy
writen by the celebrated Dr. Pangloss
(Joseph Wood Krutch)? I erroneously be-
lieved he was still digging in his garden
with Candide in this “best of all possible
time and frowning on the
nce of maturity. He, like
many overzealous mothers, would feed
his children peppermint candy and lolli-
pops all their lives, sheltering them from
all evil until they are “ready” to go out
into the big bad world armed with a cot-
ton ball for a mind. Docs this eminent
scientist really believe that a pampered
aby will do more good in this world
than a mature man who is fully aware of
reality? 1 think Mr. Krutch has failed to
grasp the significance of existentialism.
Once а person has realized the absurdity
of existence, he should be in a position
to recognize his responsibility to make
life seem less absurd by working to raise
man to a new level of maturity which is
nothing more than the understanding
that there are others who exist in a like
manner. He is responsible for them be-
cause of his awareness. Again, Mr.
Krutch seems to think that there is no
place for happiness in the world of the
existentialist. On the contrary, happiness
puts some meaning into life. A mature
existentialist would want to put as much
meaning into existence as possible. I fail
to understand how such a supposedly in-
telligent man as Mr. Krutch could be so
fantastically naive as to think the reali-
ties of life should be hidden behind a
sugar-coated screen.
William Charles Wendclken:
Detroit, Michigan
Defenders of existentialism can look
forward to a “Playboy Interview” with
Jean-Paul Sartre in the very near future.
OVERPOWERING SON
The self-honesty and candor of James
Baldwin's Words of «a Native Son
[rravsov, December 1964] were so mov-
ing to me that the rest of your fine, fat
Christmas package seemed rather con-
trived by contrast, although elegantly
and excellently so. Baldwin's profi
capacity 10 get under the sur
looking at himself and his work, should
serve as a model for other successful
writers, most of whom are so pleased with
their public image that they accept it as
the truth about themselves.
Morton W. Darby
Brooklyn, New York
TRUE CONFESSION
TRUE'S FIRST REACTION TO OUR INAD-
VERTENT INCLUSION IN WILLIAM IVERSEN’S
MORE
THAN 1 2
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ANO PRE-ELECTRIC SHAVE
"THE CHRISTMAS CAROL CAPER” [PLAYBOY
December 1964] wAs: WE ARE NOT AMUSED.
THEN WE READ THE SEQUENTIALLY Hi-
LARIOUS PLAYBOY BIT—AND OUR COLLE
TIVE SENSE OF HUMOR OVER
ME OUR
SENSE OF OUTRAGE. FRANKLY THOUGH, WE
ENJOY IT MORE WHEN IVERSEN VISITS AND.
REVISITS “THE PIOUS PORNOGRAPHERS,” A
MORE VULNERABLE AND SUITABLE SUBJECT
FOR HIS SHARE SATIRE,
DOUG KENNEDY, EDITOR
TRUE MAGAZINE
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
WORDS ON WALLACE
T am sure your Novembcr interview
with George Wallace will create quite a
response from your readers. As a Yankee
now living in Alabama, let me assure
you that Wallace, despite some of his
shortcomings, has been one of the best
governors this state has ever had. His ad-
mi
scandal and has the state running on a
business basis.
I don't agree with him on everything,
but he has kept his campaign. promises,
which is a helluva lot more than some of
his critics can. claim.
J- B. Ackerman
Montgomery, Alabama
istration has been sound, free of
I would like to compliment you on
your outstanding November issue, and
particularly on the interview with Gov-
ernor George Wallace, I must confess
that I was surprised by the almost total
absence of bias, which is quite an accom-
plishment, considering the subject of the
interview.
There is one. point, however, that I
would like to make. George Wallace was
initially the common man's candidate
for governor of Alabama, and his views
represent those of that class alone. The
enlightened young people and profes-
sional class of Alabama have no respect
for our loudly prejudiced and hypoc
cal governor. We recognize the
phuman
ity of segregation, and are constantly
working to rid our state of that social
disease.
In closing, may I add that we here at
Alabama College swear by PLAYBOY. We
appreciate the intelligent editorials
loyally patronize vou
English major, I especially enjoy the ex-
cellent fiction you feature each month.
Thank you for what is certainly the
finest periodical in America today
Charles L. Gulp
Montevallo, Alabama.
advertisers
I was trembling as I finished reading
the interview with Governor Wallace. A
few of the reasons for my distress are as
follows:
From 1 to 1956 I attended two
schools in Alabama. One was built of
clapboard, the other of cinder block.
Their "equal" facilities included ram-
shackle outdoor toilets and coal-burning
stoves. The white schools in the district
were brick structures boasting indoor
plumbing and central heating.
In 1952 and 1953, my mother. a
qualified elementary school teacher with
five years’ experience at that tim
picked cotton to supplement the misera-
ble, substandard salary she reccived
In 1958, when I was eight years ald, I
was walking home—within city limits—
when four men in a car pulled up beside
me. Speaking words which I have since
learned are obscene, they tried to pull
me into the car. I escaped by running
across the street, almost getting killed in
the process.
In 1961, during my first year in at
tendance at an Alabama (Negro) college,
a fellow student was critically beaten for
utilizing a waiting room labeled мать
AND INTERSTATE PASSENGERS. (The student
was an interstate passenger.) A peaceful
demonstration was held to protest the
beating and the inability of the police to
apprehend the felons. The demonstra
tion was disrupted by citizens who sp
snuff and tobacco juice in students
faces, threatened one girl with a sawed
off shotgun, and hit a short, slight, myop-
ic boy with a heavy chain across the face,
splintering his glasses.
ortunately, later on in that year.
was possible for me to leave Alabama
departed as fast as my fat little legs
could carry me, and so escaped that par.
ticular brand of death. But. as Governor
Wallace so aptly demonstrates, 1 have
not evaded the kind of thinking that
produces these events,
Unfortunately, my experiences are by
no means unique. The most appalling
aspect of these incidents is that, for Ne
grocs, they are commonplace. This kind
of terror, this frustration, this constant
naked threat of spiritual and physical
death—these are as much a part of a Ne
gro's life as breathing. What can I do
but tremble when 1 read Governor Wal
t of Southern life? If people
accept his picture—and it has become ob.
vious that some Americans do—then
these people are threatening my very
life
lace's portr
I was 16 years old when I left. Ala
bama. It has been three and a half years
since I’ve seen my mother and other rel
tives who still live there. Even though 1
have been lonely and homesick many
times, 1 find myself unable to accept the
indignities of visiting, traveling and liv
ing in the South.
(Name withheld by request)
Ogden, Utah
GAULING
Joseph Wechsberg's The French Myth
the December issue was a fine job, but
Billy Wilder summed it all up a few
years ago when he said, “France is a
country where the money crumbles in
If you're looking for the latest styles, start with
something old-fashioned.
Like the prices on our new Johnsonians. (8.95-14.95)
We've set a trap for you. It works Leather is a natural, top-grade leather,
this way. that’s been given a pre-conditioning
If you see a Johnsonian shoe you'll treatment. A special tanning process
like the styling. If you try it on you'll protects it against scuffs, scratches,
like the feel. If you ask the price scrapes, strain, rain and mud. All the
it'll be so much lower than you'd things that wreck ordinary shoes.
expected that you'llbe tempted. Inside, too, it's as up-to-date
1o buy more than one pair. as a shoe can be. You'll
This long wing blucher find all those modern fea-
(in black or cordo color) is 1 tures that have made today's
a good example of our craft. men's shoes far more comfort-
And craftiness, able, better-fitting than shoes used
Itstarted as a classic brogue. to be.
Then our designers added a "The only thing that's old-fashioned
little here, a little there, and now is the price. Johnsonians sell from
it’s a little different, a little 8.95 to 14.95.
handsome: Try on a pair at the stores
It has “Living (Formula below. See if you fall into our 4 Johnsonian
X-1000)"* Leather uppers. "Living" trap. Our tender trap.
‘A Quality Product of Endicott Johnson, Endicott, N.Y.
ARIZONA: Buckeye: Wolf's Dept, Store. CALIFORNIA: Alhambra: Downer’s, Berkeley: Bill's Men's Store, Wally's Shoe Store, Brisbane: Butler's Shoes,
Burlingame: Mazarella Shoes, Castro Valley: Self Service Shoe Store, Compton: Mr. “B” Family Apparel, El Sobrante: Family Shoc Store, Fremont:
Casual Corner, Gilroy: Hall's, Hacienda Heights: Hacienda Family Shoes, Hayward: Gruuman's Men's & Boy's Store, Hollydale: Dec's Shoe Box, Hollywood:
Hollywood Shoe Center, Los Angeles: Beverly Bootery, Los Banos: Hergie's Shoes & Clothing, Millbrae: Peninsula Shoe Mart, Novato: Family Shoe Store,
Oakdale: Chicov's Family Shoe Store, Oakland: А G E Dept. Store, Gabardine's, Richmond: Jim's Shoe Store, Self Service Shoe Store, San Carlos:
San Carlos Shoe Mart, San Fernando: People’s Men's and Boy's Store, San Francisco: Shoe Cafeteria, Family Shoe Store, U.S.E. Dept. Store,
San Jose: A to Z Stores, Super Shoe Mart, San Lorenzo: Grutman's Men & Boy's Store, San Mateo: U-Save Dept. Store, San Pablo: Gabardine's,
South Gate: Dee's Shoe Box, Sunnyvale: Sunnyvale Shoe Mart, Vallejo: A G E Dept. Store, Walnut Creek: Simon’s, Watsonville: Van's Shoe Store,
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Family Shoe Store. MEXICO: Tijuana, B.C.: De Lux. MONTANA: Billings: Monarch Clothing Stores. TEXAS: Dallas: Wholesale Merc. Со.
WASHINGTON: Chehalis: Yardbirds Shopping Center, Tacoma: Erickson's Shoe Store, Yelm: Wolf's Dept. Store, Seattle: Raymond's Shoes.
13
PLAYBOY
14
‘Dacron is DuPont'apolyester fiber
NOTHING CAN TOP
SLACKS APPEAL BY
ASHER
WITH DACRON*
Meet a fellow who knows deep down that
Asher slacks can't be topped. So he takes
us literally. His choice: Asher's trim belt-
less Regent model...in Suprema" a stay-
smooth Stevens fabric of ‘Dacron’ poly-
ester and worsted tropical, exclusive with
Asher. About $12.95. For the name of
your nearest store, plus a new booklet on
slacks know-how, write the Asher Com-
pany, Dept. P-3, Fitchburg, Mass.
your hand and you can't tear the toilet
Myles Callum
New York, New York
I have read with real interest the ar-
tide The French Myth in your December
PLAYBOY. From that cle it comes out
that France's effervescence is not so flat
alter all.
Without bordering on any kind of pol-
itics, I really think that my country could
not become flat even if she wanted to.
Frenchmen are much too excited for that
and French women too exciting.
What I can assure is that our women-
when they are pretty—are much рге
than the one you show on your tricolor
bottle. But let's be frank, we have no-
where in France а more bi ful girl
than the one on pa ages | 140 and 141. Oh
boy, oh boy, oh boy—if only J were 50
years younger. Your magazine is wonder-
ful. Bravo.
Maurice Chevalier
La Coquette, France
TO ARMS
Thanks to writers like Bertrand Rus-
sell, we are aware of the problem that a
large nuclear armament poses to the
likelihood of man’s surviving his own
treacherous devices. However, his solu-
[ As I see it, there is
one very simple way of securing peace,
1d that is not to fight...”
This is no solution at all. We did not
rm in either the First or Second World.
nor did we fight, until we had to.
un both cases our lack of armament dam-
сез of those who in reality
were not aggressors.
Neither a refusal to fight nor a refusal
исе that we will
have peace, and what kind of logic can
state that such is the case? Are we to
read our history books for nough
I would genuinely like to see some-
thing intelligent offered as a solution to
this arms race, but until someone comes
up a more realistic approach than
Lord Russell's, he will continue to be
ignored by the world, and the arms race
will go on.
Jay E. Hendon
Burlingame, Califor
Poison must be labeled as such,
the article in your December issue by
Bertrand Russell should have been la-
beled extreme left-wing propaganda.
The intellectual rigor mortis exhibited
by this elderly gentleman is almost be-
yond the imagination.
Robert Dreyfus, D. D. 5.
Miami, Florid
Bertrand. Russell wrote in 1951: "My
intelligence, such as i
ly decaying since the age of 2
was young, I liked mathematics, When
this became too difficult for me, I took
to philosophy, and when philosophy be-
came too difficult for me, I took to p:
tics. Since then 1 have concentrated on
detective stories.”
Let us leave Mr. Russell, at the age of
92, in the English countryside with his
detective stori
William T. Miller
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
My congratulations to Bertrand Rus
sell. His Semantics and the Cold War in
the December PLAYBOY was one of the
"Speech was given 10 man to prev
thought" since the advent of sopl
Indeed, to the degree that it a
most total integration of style and con-
tent, it could be called a work of arı.
nd
Please accept my congratulations on
the December 1964 issue of гілувот, and
for the continued high q
depth of ihe magazine. Bertrand Rus
sell's article, Semantics and the Cold
War, is especially excellent, and this arti-
cle is of particular significance to those
the general area of
ns. We would appreci
deed, if you would
communicati
very much,
us to d
to be used as a basis of discussion in one
or two of our advanced courses.
Edward L. McC Chairman
Department of Speech
Modesto Junior College
Modesto, California
plicate 50 copies of this
1 have just finished reading Semantics
Gabe REG Сэл урур ойыу EE
that could benefit from a reading of this
article; for this reason I would lik
mission to reproduce it for use
n my
psychology classes—especially those in
psychology.
John Mitchell
Department of Psychology
Pacific University
Forest Grove, Oregon
Permission granted to you both, and
many thanks.
WILD FOR WALDO
As a sousaphone player who reme:
bers Indiana very well, I would like to
thank Jean Shepherd for his excellent
nostalgic work, Waldo Grebb and His
Electric Baton [rtaynoy, December
If it was in any way auto-
phical, Fm sure Mr. Shepherd
would find a parade in New Mexico а
welcome change, or at least hellishness
of another color. I only regret that
Grebb, Shepherd and the rest of the
crew never had the opportunity to trans-
port four bandsmen and a sousaphone
in a Volkswagen sedan.
Steve Owen
Las Cruces, New Mexico
an Shepherd's memoir on bands is
priceless. Probably like bandsmen
throughout the country, T am certain
that the band described must be mine.
The piece very humorously and accu-
rately relates experiences well known to
nyone who has ever been a member of
а marchin: d.
Don nith
University of Texas Longhorn Band
Austin, Texas
VOTE GETTER
zed to find that your repor-
staff had been following my cam-
of it when every
of your maga:
mailed to mc this *
conception of my campaign approach,
which appeared in your October issue.
“He's probably the finest grass-roots
campaigner in the country today.”
I am sure you will be happy to know
that with your aid and the support of
your readers, the campaign reached a
successful result. You might be further
interested to know that the young
in the cartoon was successful in finding
her earring which apparently had been
dropped among the grass roots.
David F. Sweeney
Repr e, First. District.
© n, Rhode Island
INITIAL ENCOUNTER
I don't fully understand the implica-
tion of thc ith the National Rifle
Association Is on his kilt on page
221 of your December issue, but J don't
think I like it. Careful, fellows, a lot of
NRA members pay your bills.
Floyd Carter
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
Put down thai six-shooter, pardner.
NRA stands for the National Recovery
Administration, a 1933 Depression baby.
FLICK CHICK
Yesterday I saw a funny, funny pic
ture, Goodbye Charlie. The first of
many high points of the picture was
Donna Michelle doing the twist. -
cause of your complete "coverage" of
Donna, I recognized her long before I
saw her face.
Brooklyn, New York
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Enjoy the quality of Gordons Vodka at an inviting low price.
PLAYBOY
Declare yourself
If you, too, are particular about taste, Е
you don't have to wear a button to
prove it! Simply smoke Pall Mall. Why? iei
Because Pall Mall's natural mildness FAMOUS CIGARETTES 2
means just one thing: smooth, pleasing
flavor—the flavor you get from Pall Mall's
famous length of the finest tobaccos
money can buy! Smoke a long cigarette
that's long on flavor. Buy Pall Mall
Famous Cigarettes.
Outstanding—and they are mild!
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS
Although. surrounded. by the ever-en-
croaching, earsspliuing, cye-wearying
leviathan of hardsell supersilesman-
ship. we had until recently labored
under the delusion that there were some
purlieus beyond the grasp of those who
tenaciously dig for our dollars. Alas for
our delusions; we've come upon a battle
plan for door-to-door salesmen—ccclesi-
astical division—which we heartily rec-
ommend as a fit target for action by
the Third Ecumenical Council. The
following are lowlights from a guide to
person Bible peddling, entitled Pres-
entation of Marian Deluxe Bible:
“Hello! Im John Mirabella,
Im calling on Catholics. That includes
you.’ (Assume that she is.) ‘Good, then
I'll just мер in a minute.’ (Scrape your
feet and bow your head as you move for-
ward. If you arc standing back from the
door, you can move forward without
forcing your way in.) If she asks, "What's
it all about?" reply, ‘Something impor-
tant—it will just take a minute.’ Break
off the conversation and keep walking as
you ask
„ ‘How arc you feeling today?"
“A neat, clean-cut appearance is very
important. Stand back about three
paces. If there is a screen or storm door,
open it; then knock and ring the bell.
Speak distinctly, scrape your feet and
move forward, Do not tell your business
on the doorstep.
“After you enter, start a friendly con-
versation. Do not be in a hurry to bring
out your product. If the customer hasn't
asked you to sit down, ask her, ‘Is it OK
if I sit down a minute?” When she gives
you the OK and if she doesn't sit down,
you reply, ‘I couldn't sit down with a
lady standing. You go to a soft chair
and let her sit on the sofa. After she is
scated, you move to sofa.
"Оо you get papers from the Church?
Good, then I know that you are espect-
ing us. It's in regard to the work Catho-
lic priests spent eleven ycars on. The
Biblc—the Word of God; the Devotions
—the Word of the Church. Let me show
tually being read. Honestly, how many
of us have ever read the Bible? This is
the first major revision in three hun-
dred years, and it's in a language that
we can all understand. It's dedicated to
Mary and here we scc her life in color.’
(Show the life of Mary in reverse.) ‘Forty-
four paintings from all over the world
tell her story so beautifully and so
completely."
“САП the famous stories of the Old
Testament are in painting form, from
twenty-four different muscums and cight
different countries. Aren't they beauti-
ful! In the New Testament the greatest
story of all, the Life of Our Lord, is told
with a hundred paintings! They use
visual methods to the fullest because
they feel that onc picture is worth ten
thousand words. Isn't that true! (Let
the paintings slip by your thumb at a
rapid rate. Do not dwell on any one
painting.)
“(Show the text.) "Look at the size of
the print, and it's in a language that we
can understand. Isn't that wonderful!
‘The words of Christ are in red, and the
paragraphs are head!
know the main thought of each on
(Whether or not she asks the price at
this time, close as follows.) ‘If you are
like most women, you are thinking
terms of $120, $130, aren't you? You
won't believe it when I show you’ (Pull
out your order book and show her the
price), ‘because the Catholic Press makes
it available at a forty-percent saving, it’s
only $79.90. Now we leave the set right
with you if you pay by cash or check; or
you can do it in two or three payments.
(START FILLING IN THE ORDER.)
(Maintain a confident attitude.) "Wh
your address here?
“If she asks, ‘Why are you wr
didn't say І was going to buy it, look
her in the eye: ‘You'll thank me for it.
What's your address?” (Turn your eyes to
the order book and prepare to write.) If
she replies that she doesn't have that
much moncy on hand: ‘Don't worry
cd so that you
about it. I'll work it out for you. The
most important thing is to have it in the
home. Isn't chat true!’
“IE she starts on her financial trou-
bles: ‘Let us do what we did for Mrs
We are sending her
addressed envelopes with a coupon
book and she is sending in $1.50 a week,
$6 a month. That's a lot casier than pay-
ing cash. Isn't it! When she answers
"Ye: "How do you spell your last
name?’ When she starts spelling: ‘Put
your full name and address in here."
(Hand her the pad and pen; and as the
ballpoint starts moving) “I'll give you a
guaranteed receipt for your deposit as
evidence of good faith. Don't lose it!’
Do not mention deposit before she
Ir If she should ask before she
igns, you reply, ‘Let your conscience be
your guide."
h, wc th
nk, is inviting a case of
ide.
The Alarmist Outcry of the Month was
emitted by the Population Reference
Bureau of Washington, D.C, which
recently published a pamphlet entitled
Outdoor Recreation Threatened by Ex-
cessive Procreation.
Giveaway offer, while supply la
Among the listings in The Washington
Post for furnished apartments—" Newly
dec. 2 bedrooms, 5 nice girls, $40 each.
SO 3-9286."
Noble savage revisited: We were sad-
dened to learn that the Omaha Ind
tribe of Macy, Nebraska, has been forced
to abandon its old line of hand-sewn
animalskin tepecs for the tourist trade.
They've established an assembly-line fac-
tory for the mass production of heavy-
duty canvas models to meet the demands
for souvenir wigwams by the paleface
visitors to their annual summer powwow.
Offbeat household hint offered in The
Kentucky Farmer: “To keep drawers
7
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18
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ihtly higher in We
from swelli
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ng and hard to pull out, use
on bottoms once a year."
We are pleased to report that erst-
while Presidential noncandidate Marvin
Kitman (Playboy After Hours, July 1964)
has not only weathered his crushing de-
feat at the polls, but has transferred his
markable political zeal to the field of
Having arrogated to
himself the rank of “insurgent General,”
he is parodying the ambiguous nature
of the War Vietnam. The first shot
from his musket was an open letter
printed in the satirical magazine Mon-
осе. "With the backing of the intel-
lectual community," he wrote, “the War
Vie m can be more than ‘Mc:
It can be the Spanish Ci
War of our time, It is a chance for art-
ists, writers, poets, folk singers and cr
tive people everywhere to get together
and work for the cause." Using the Li
coln Brigade of American volunteers to
Loyalist Spain in 1936 as a model,
man has dubbed his outfit the “Doug!
MacArthur Brigade.”
So far, the response of the intellectual
community has not been overwhelming.
Novelist Richard Condon contributed a
leuer containing the enigmatic state-
ment, “Punctuation а weapon, too."
Perhaps he had in mind an army of in-
fil rs to be called the “Fifth Colon.’
Grove Pres president Barney Rosset
wrote, "I come as a litter bearer, not it
driver. I am sitting here now, awaiting
your call, surrounded by litter.”
Kitman pooh-poohs the paucity of re-
plies by pointing out that а limited war
cannot be expected to elicit more than a
limited response. When we suggested a
broader appeal might incr
turns, Kitman retorted, “We a
interested in creative people.
troops in the foxholes are called ad-
visors, our Brigade is sending its writers
to Vietnam as Editorial Consultants."
To our question of whether a plea for
arms was forthcoming, Kitman said,
“No, but since many of the folk singers
we know describe their instruments as
‘weapons,’ we plan to collect as many
secondhand guitars as we can. Also," he
continued, “we are in the midst of coin-
ing a gallery of War slogans. So far we
have, ‘Oh, What a vel Vienam
Is’ and ‘Limited War Is Purgatory.’ But
our best description of this so-called par-
hell'—and we can't help but
agrec—"is, ‘Let's Make the World Half-
Sale for Democracy.
las
his re-
е only
се Ame
Persuasive sign seen on a fence near
А пе, Wyoming: NO TRESPASSING.
SURVIVORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.
Strategically located property adver-
tied in The Pittsburgh Press: “Adjoin-
ing Mt. Lebanon, country atmosphere,
modern 6 rooms, nice front and rear
Who knows as much about scotch as the Scots?
BLENDED SCDTCH WHISKY, B6.8 PRODF • BOTTLED IN SCOTLAND = RENFIELD IMPORTERS, LTD., N. Y.
VILLAGE CRICKET AT STANWAY, ENGLAND.
* We English.
The Scots distill Haig —
we jolly well drink Haig.
Of hundreds of scotches,
Britain’s largest seller
is Haig.
PLAYBOY
20
yards, close to church, schools, shopping,
only one block from trollep.
Pop Art Depariment, Scatology Divi-
sion: An exhibition of sculptured excre.
ment in a New York gallery recently
elicited a fit-to-print New York Times
review which observed that "these aggre-
gations of colonic calligraphy contain
many formal excellences."
Bargain offer from the classified page
of The Daily Oklahoman: "For sale—14-
ft. aluminum fishing boat & trailer, deep
and wife, used 6 times, same as new,
$275. VI 3.9662."
Having exploited, and all but ex-
hausted, the entertainment value of mock
shock in the eye-rolling epics of Vincent
Price and other merrie menaces, Holly-
wood's horror I
ksters, it seems to us,
should turn their attention to the un-
tapped possibilities of a brand-new movie
format: the monster musical. Among the
production numbers we can envision
lilting duets between Frankenstein,
Dracula or the Wolf-Man and their lead-
ing ladiesin-distress—are such curdled
standards as: Peg in My Heart, I'll Dis-
member April, A-Tisket, A-Casket, By
the Light of the Silvery Man, I Want a
Ghoul, Isn't It Necromantic?, Rabie
Face, Mammy's Little Baby Is Shorinin',
Shortnin’, That Mold Gang of Mine,
Who's Your Little Oozes?, Little White
Lyes, When I Grow Too Old to Drain,
Slime on My Hands, Get Me to the
Crypt оп Time, Ain't We Got Fungus,
There Are Things in Glocea Morra, and
that grand old ballad, Can't You Hear
Me Crawlin, Caroline?
BOOKS
John Hersey's career has been one of
the more erratic among contemporary
American writers, and his new novel,
White Lorus (Knopf), keeps it that way. He
started as a good War journalist (Into
the Valley, 1943), then wrote a tricky War
novel (A Bell for Adano, 1944), then a
fine piece of reporting (Hiroshima, 1946).
Hardly had we concluded that he was
clearly a journalist, rather than a novel-
ist, when he gave us an outstanding novel
about the Nazi horror (The Wall, 1
Then he reverted to form and produced,
in toorapid succession, a murky piece of
fiction (The Marmot Drive, 1953), а pre
tentious Chinese allegory (4 Single Peb-
ble, 1956) and a stupidly obvious V
novel (The War Lover, 1959
around was finito. But his next one (The
Child Buyer, 1960) was a sci-fi satire with
considerable bite. Now the pendulum
has swung again: White Lotus is 683
bruisingly boring pages of Chinese alle-
gory (once morc) in which it is possible
to make out what's happening, but it is
not possible to care. There's a clever
The word
idea beneath it: The relation between
America and Africa in the 18th Century
Negro slave trade is shifted to the future,
with China and America in the cquiva-
lent positions: the Chinese import white
slaves from our West Coast. Well, Ray
Bradbury or Arthur C. Clarke might
have made a pungent piece of it in 4000
words. This tremendous tome runs out of
gas so soon that Hersey can almost be
hailed for his achievement in continuing
to put words together long after he has
exhausted thematic invention. The story,
such as it abysmally is, is narrated by
a girl from Arizona called White Lotus,
who is taken to China in her early teens.
It tells of her induction into slave life
and into love and sex, of her sales to
various masters, her participation in con-
spiracies and abortive revolts, her grop-
ings toward education. It ends with a
hint of future freedom. The first-person
narrative by this untutored miss is pretty
classy. For example (talking of a fellow
slave named Peace): “There ensued, for
me, a moment of shock—not because the
raindrops had been able to march so
thuddingly over the line of our white
God's crosses, but because Peace, in
whom I had reposed so much hope, did
not seem able to believe that our deity
might abandon us.” The book is, obvi-
ously, a comment on the racial problems
of our time and country: These white
slaves pick couon in China, see, and the
yellows make envious jokes
heart has al-
ways been sound. In this case, it is much
sounder than his head. Who needs a
gigantic novel to allegorize—without fur-
ther illuminating—knowledge that is all
too familiar to those likely to read the
book in the first place?
In How ro Live Like о Lord Without
Really Trying (Simon & Schuster), Shep-
herd Mead, America's answer to Stephen
Potter, invades Potters native land.
Mead, who has guided PLaynoy readers
in the art of winmanship (How to Suc-
ceed with Women Without Really
Trying and How to Succeed in Business
Without Really Trying), now shows us
how Buckley Brash, American, by em-
ploying inarticulate speech and carrying
à battered copy of the London Financial
Times, gets his company to send him to
England. Once there, he quickly pro-
ceeds to become respectably dressed, rich,
socially acceptable and British, nece
ly in that order. Brash immediately.
a poser in Chapter 1: "Do I WA
Live Like a Lord?” Of course noi!
“Countless ‘lords’ live more wretchedly
than your poorest relations in the States
or perhaps your plumber or handyma
ering and chattering in free
and eating abominable food.”
What you actually want is to live like a
duke (dec-yook). In the process of picrc-
ing some of the major (housing) and mi-
nor (haircuts) pretensions of the British,
Every poet creates his own New
York. Dave Brubeck’s is the
clickety-clack of the subway
translated to a bossa nova heat
behind Paul Desmond's liquid
sax. It’s the nostalgia of autumn
in Washington Square, of spring-
time in Central Park.
Brubeck’s
New York
It's a swinging town, a lonely
town, a multiplicity of moods, a
swift kaleidoscope of images.
combined into what Dave calls
“the complex and subtle sensa-
tions of life in Manhattan.
It’s all in his new Columbia
album, Jazz Impressions of New
York. Listen—for a fresh vision
of a town you thought you knew.
THE SDUND DF DAVE BRUBECK
DN COLUMBIA RECDRDS (S9)
DAVE
BRUBECK
. QUARTET _
JAZZ
IMPRESSIONS
OF
PLAYBOY
22
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trated daylight, for your own personal use, anytime.
What makes it possible? Electronic miniaturization: High-in-
tensity ilfumination in a confined Беат. . . (the Hi-Lo switch pro-
vides up to the equivalent of a 200-watt conventional desk lamp)
.. „that can be directed exactly where you want it, and only where
you need it. It's pure white, glare-free.
Tensor-Lite can be used anywhere; the extra-long cord gives
wide reach. It bends every which way. It travels; folds compactly
to pocket size.
The Tensor-Lite shown (#5975) has a LIFETIME GUARANTEE
against damage in normal use. In neutral finish, $17.50. Other
models from $9.95. You'll find them in department, stationery
and specialty stores. Stop in and see if you can resist owning one.
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‘Approved by Underwriters” Laboratories, Inc,
Mead has produced an admirably unpre-
tentious “travel” book. Where else, for
instance, could you learn that it is im-
proper to wear tweeds in England for
anything except the grubbicst kind of
gardening? (Unless, of course, you cs
lish yourself as an authentic eccentri
in which case you may not only wear
tweeds perpetually, but also a different
school tie every day of the week.) After
thoroughly digesting chapters like
“Should We Grind the Faces of the
Poor?” you will come to the book's ap-
pendices, which include a courageous
treatment of British sex. Mead breaks
the subject of body English down into
subheads for easier handling: “Are the
British Hot or Cold Do English
Schools Create Sex Madness?"; “Are the
Women Really on Fire?" Shepherded
by Shepherd. Mead, you should be able
10 take the British like Margaret. Mead
took Samoa.
Can it be only eight years since Jack
Kerouac published On the Road? So
young and so much to answer for. The lat
est in a blasted line from a blameless sire
is A Confederate General from Big Sur (Grove
Press), a novel by Richard Brautig:
which surrealist synopsis of every
thing that was worth missing on the
now-fading beat literary scene. There is
a hero whose heroism consists of
scrounging and inviting his friend, the
narrator, to loal, ite his soul, and
note the
selfevidently, sensitive, superior beings.
There are purportedly odd adventures,
lovable eccentric characters, despicable
types who work for a living, callgirls
with hearts of gold and other parts to
match, all seen m the heights of mid-
dle adolescence. The stor
moves through San Francisco and the
Big Sur and is interwoven with. refer-
ences, in mystical italics, to a mythical
Confederate gen This, possibly,
gives the book historical resonance: on
the other hand, possibly not. The style,
all bits and pieces, never really takes the
bits in its tecth. The insights have all
the freshness of Willkie button. (^I
have noticed this pattern again and
A prety girl living with an
) The trick of always referring to
the hero by his full name does not, un.
fortunately, succeed in giving him stature
and depth. At one point the narrator,
who adores the hero, of his girl:
"In an extraordinarily brief period of
time she had grown to know, to under
stand what went on behind the surface
of Lee Mellon.” She should have told
the author.
Business execs—present and future—
take note: A top corporate executive has
written an excellent book about busi
It is Ford Bell's You're in Charge (Double-
day. Mr. Bell, chairman and chief
executive officer of Red Owl, a giant Mid-
ess.
western food chain, is concerned. about
finding his successor. In this book, a
series of memorandums written to poten-
1 candidates, he gives advice on every-
thing from nepotism to getting work out
of a board of directors. In addition to
putting into words the management phi-
losophy that helped Red Owl grow from
a small group of farm stores to а corpo-
ration of 7500 people, Bell offers practi-
cal information to the rising executive.
He abhors “decision by committee,” that
spreading ailment in corporations that
stifles creativity and mufles individual
responsibi Unlike many, Bell be-
lieves “it is sheer folly and a waste of
time to пу to relate the job qualifica-
tions of a man to the personal character
istics of his wife. I would never attempt
to screen, or cven to interview, the wives
of the employees.” Here is a candid
look at a genuinely formidable execu-
tive—tough, as business is tough, but
fair withal. However, Bell suffers fools
not at all, and one gets the impres-
sion that the only deadwood at Red
Owl is neatly stacked in one of their
warehouses. It's nice to know that you
can succeed in business by trying and
still retain a healthy measure of honor,
dignity and humor.
One side effect of good books is that
they make notsogocd books more con-
spicuous. Publishers, being publishers,
are reluctant to accept this fact. Indeed,
the appearance of a successful novel like
The Spy Who Came In from the Cold
nds publishers onto a frantic band wag-
on of "serious" thrillers, "important"
whodunits and “masterful” spy tale:
most of which have nothing uncommon
abour them except their cost of $1.95
rather than the usual $3.50. Not only
does Len Deighton have the misfortune
to be so inflatedly published, he's ur
lucky enough to have written a boo!
Funeral in Berlin (Putnam), that falls
smack in the middle of John le Сагъ
somber territory of modern Germany,
the Cold War, and the amoral, nobody-
wins world of undercover intelligence.
‘Smack in the middle" may be putting it
100 precisely; Funeral in Berlin sprawls
for 302 obscure pages, in which the chiel
tension is whether or not the author is
ever going to get the plot straightened
out. As in Deighton's previous The Ip-
cress File, the book is garlanded with
some good wisecracks. But they don't
compensate for the gimcrack gimmickery,
the un: lated remarks that the au.
thor jotted down during his research
wips to the spy haunts of Europe, and
the knowing appendices about, say, Sec
tion 6 of the British Official Secrets Act,
which has precious little relevance to
anything in the text. Particularly irritat-
ing is the frequent, braggadocio use of
"contemporary" idiom and metaphor
“He stirred [his tea] as though he were
putting an extra rod in an atomic pile."
Could Gordon's
possibly
be older than
the London Bobby?
Gypsy enough, yes. It was in 1829
that Sir Robert Peel reorganized
the London Metropolitan Police, who
promptly became known as “Peelers” or
"Bobbies". But this was sixty years afier
Alexander Gordon had introduced his
remarkable gin to London and given it
bis name. Happily, the Gordon's you
drink today is based on that original
1769 formula. That explains its unique
dryness and delicate flavour. Explains,
too, why Gordon's is the biggest sell-
PLAYBOY
24
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Deighton attempts to make up in dis-
tance what he lacks in depth. While ar-
nging the kidnaping/defection of a
Russian scientist that turns out to be a
convenient cover for the liquidation of
dable double agent, the name-
eles and almost identityless nar-
rator hopscotches among London,
Prague, London, Berlin and, yes, Lon-
don again. The feminine lead is
Samantha Steel, who—it says here—is an
Israeli agent. The epigraphs preceding
each chapter are tidbits of chess wisdom.
Deighton may be working the wrong
field; the best things in the book are the
bows to the spirit of Humphrey Bogart
and the Marx Brothers.
A current common assertion is that
the Negro is no longer “invisible.”
But although nearly everyone has come
to know the names James Baldwin,
Martin Luther King and even Ralph
Ellison, most whites continue to be
norant of the way life is actually lived
in the urban Negro ghetto. The impor-
tance of Henry Williamson's Hustler!
(Doubleday) is the look it provides from
the inside of one kind of slum adapta-
tion—the criminal life style. Williamson,
who will be housed in the Illinois State
Penitentiary until 1971, taped most of
this book in conversations with R. Lin.
colu Keiser, a court caseworker in Chi
cago. (Keiser then put it in minimally
edited chronological sequence) As lit-
erature, Williamson's memoirs offer no
competition to the works of Jean Genet.
But as a guide to a subterranean arca of
American society, Hustler! has no con-
temporary peer. Williamson
without self-pity or regret. It is the very
casualness with which he describes his
predatory years that is most chilling. Yet
he is no monster. He reveals a quick in-
telligence, warmth, wit and a not fully
conscious realization that even when he
was "making it" as a mugger and a thief,
he was swinging in a void. As Paul Bo-
hannon, Professor of Anthropology at
Northwestern, says in a brief commen-
tary at the end of the book, Williamson,
growing up without a father, soon knew
that nobody stood behind him. School
was а prison, which he left at 13. Out-
side, there were “no sources of oppor-
tunity that allow creative work to be
rewarding." But there was still he need
to survive in a competitive society. So
Williamson turned to crime. ("It was
always a challenge to me to be better
than the next guy if possible.") Obvious-
ly, crime was not an inevitable route. But
there were few alternatives—and every-
one in the ghetto is vulnerable. "No
place else," Bohannon emphasizes, "are
the pickings so easy; no place else are the
institutions for protection of body and
property so weakly organized." William.
son will be 42 when he is released and
in all likelihood he will waste the rest
of his life, too. Waste pervades every
page of this chronicle. Even Williamson's
pleasure was quick and basically empty
from liquor to sex to heroin. Unwitting-
ly, Henry Williamson has written the
ultimate hip rebuttal to Norman Mail-
er's fanciful The White Negro. The exis-
tential compiler of kicks in the ghetto, as
scen by a white middle-class adventurer,
has no relationship to this real-life self-
portrait. Williamson blames no one for
the waste of himself. This was life as he
found it, and he fell into a criminal way
of coping with it. Not once does he con
demn society or the white “power struc
ture." But, as Bohannon observes, for
the slum and for Williamson to exis
“there must be, somewhere, а vast num-
ber of people who accept it and him by
refusing to become aware of them.” As
Hustler! makes clear, there are still mil
lions of invisible Americans.
Another of those
umes that have cont
її for decades now makes its belated
public appearance on these shores. It is
The Guliston of Se'di (Putnam), the master-
piece of a 18th Century Persian poet
whose reputation on this side of the
world has been somewhat unfairly over-
shadowed by Omar Khayyam. It was not
complete and unbowd-
wanslaion of S: work—
perennially popular among Persians—
was privately printed in London by Sir
Richard Burton's slightly notorious
Kamashas ciety. "The reason it
rs for it to make its
Across the ocean can be found in
apter V, "On Love and Youth,"
where the youths in love are mainly
male. But no one past the age of consent
is likely to be shocked by anything in
this collection of didactic tales, maxims
and poems. This Gulistan, or rose gar-
den, exudes a sweetness that we have
come to expect only from children's lit-
erature. There is charm even in the
stiltedness of some of the
and in the familiar sentiment
not of grief on the day of separation /
Reckon me nor faithful in friendship."
out €x or
knesses, yet his
a purity and innocence shine
from every page. It reflects most str
ly on our official sense of what is v
id what isn't that this utterly moral
work should have been forbidden us for
so long.
fabled Eastern vol-
ted the cognoscen-
The three crucial problems of our
time, according to most crisis experts,
are, in no particular order, the bomb,
civil rights and automation. The conv
tional wisdom about automation is tha
it is at least temporarily bad for us be-
cause it creates mass unemployment.
But is automation really bad? Not a
cording to Bernard Asbell. Asbell writes
im The New Improved American (McGraw-
Hill), “We are engaged, whether we
He owns an $1100 ham outfit
and a $40 cardigan,
yet he wears $5.95 Leesures.
meditation he used to select every tube, that fly rod, and that
expensive lighter. Leesures are what he wants. $5.95 buys
him the nonchalant, young cut, savvy look that's in. And
that's just the red-blooded tailoring that's made Leesures the
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PLAYBOY
26
know it or not, in history's most grand
nd pure act of humanity. We are
t unfeasible for masses of men
to continue to live like animals.” This is
a brave theory, but there are conditions
ached and conditions ignored. Ig.
nored are the consequences of the popu-
lation explosion: If it continues at the
current pace, it will upset all acts of hu-
manity, pure and impure. An attached
condition, as Asbell readily concedes, is
that men and women now in their 105,
50s and 60s will face sizable problems
with which we have to deal right now:
“We must try to save them from miseries
in their remaining years by such stop-
gaps as job training for lower skills, lit-
eracy training, devices such as a tax cut
that may boost the demand for the kinds
of low drudgery that one day few human
beings will be asked to perform,” That is
the key to Asbell's thesis—relief from
drudgery—and throughout his book he
ional attitude that distrusts
the social consequences of any machine,
no matter how marvelous,” that defends
ht to toil on like a
beast of burden." Asbell is no theorist of
the abstract. He spent three years in the
field—in desolated farm country, in ra-
vaged coal-mining areas, in industrial
centers where men have been displaced
by machines, in slum schools, in experi-
mental educational centers that are pre-
paring for the new American. He came,
he saw, he learned. Above all, he bc-
lieves he learned this—that there's “hard-
ly anything wrong with our economy
that a bit of education won't cure.” If
that seems a pat conclusion, consider the
enormous efforts that will be required to
give children a real 20th Century educa-
tion—the huge doses of money from
the Government, the army of dedicated
teachers able to light intellectual fires.
Asbell’s vision, sanguine though it may
be, is a large one and it merits attention.
His prophecies are not altogether per-
suasive, but if his book helps arouse the
nation to the enormous problems of auto-
mation and its equally enormous poten-
tialities, that is contribution enough.
Hoagy Carmichael is so idiomatically
American that his walk, songs, acting
ad singing fuse into the boy heroes of
Booth Tarkington and Mark Twain. Car-
michael's latest autobiography, Sometimes
1 Wonder (Farrar, Straus & Giroi i
consistent with those Midwestern ca-
dences and gait. Stephen Longstreet
helped with the writing, but the voice,
like the memories, is clearly Carmi-
chael’s. His is a relatively serene odyssey
in a time that produces more memor
of anguish than of pleasure. The book is
nuriguing in part because of its cvoca-
ions of a lost era. With no more sen.
timentality than is his due, Carmichael
provides a backdrop of American social
history in describing his growing years—
the pleasures of an Indiana boyhood
the first two decades of the century; the
apprenticeships as roofer, cement mixer
and hog slaughterer to pay for college;
and the "jazz age" as seen by a peripher-
al musician and aspiring composer in
Chicago, New York and Hollywood.
What gives this autobiography its special
flavor is Carmichael's Ше! na-
bashed intoxication with jazz. The
book's most alive sections are those in
which he is either playing music, writing
it or listening to n to his
brief but vivid reactions to such tower-
ing figures as Louis Armstrong
Oliver, there are also insights
tinged acquaintance
acl's hungrier ус
Bing Crosby, George Gershwin. Most
fascinating and frustrating of all those
n his cast is the opaque Bix Beider-
becke, who keeps reappearing in the
book as a motif of loss t is so evasive
t ot even be called tragic. Although
they were friends, Carmichael concedes
that even he could only partially pene-
trate Bix' private and rootless world. Yet
there are fragments of revelation: re-
membered conversations; Bix cxultantly
noodling on his corner during a car ride
on a frosty Indiana morning: and final-
ly the fading Bix as he slipped out of a
Ше that had become an insoluble maze
for him. Carmichacl himself. gradually
became established and fin: ally com-
fortable with an annuity from Stardust
and other hits as well as income from
performing in films and in night clubs.
But Sometimes I Wonder diminishes in
interest after Carmichael leaves the jazz
c to settle in Hollywood. The appar-
ent reason is that nothing ever became
as compelling to him as the jazz experi-
ence. (At times in Hollywood, "all the
glamor, and sunshine, and suntanncd
bodies would fade out and I'd think how
much Bix liked to hear Bessie sing.")
The Hoagy Carmichacl that comes
through in this autobiography is a rather
shy. continually curious romantic whose
apex of achicvement—though not of sta-
tus and income—was reached when he
a-based Car-
michael Syringe Orchestra and listened
to Bix with the Wolverines. The rest of
his life has been moderately satisfying;
but to the end, Carmichael remains
jazz-struck as he tries to keep open to
new horns while still hearing Bix im-
provise a "spacious and exhilarating’
four-bar break.
In 1923, in a dusty, Ictha town in
an unnamed Southwestern state, there
lives a lush young woman named Louise
"albot—too ripe for the town, for the
summer heat, for the indolencc. Some
strangles her. Нег husband is
charged with the crime, and during the
trial, it is revealed that their estrange-
ment dates back to the time he presented
her with an endearing gift of vene
real disease. With the husband's knowl
one
edge—though not quite with his consent
—the wife thereupon turned to other
lovers. "She told him that she'd try to be
a good wife in other ways but she needed.
a kind of love he could never give her
now," one of them tells the jury. Hall-
way through A Covenant with Death
(Atheneum). by Stephen Becker, the
cuckolded husband is found guilty of
the crime, though by then it is one that
the reader is certain he did not commit.
What happens in the book's rem:
nd beyond the moment of
aging, re-
manipulation of plot in recent fici
This alone would probably insure the
success of Becker's novel, already a Book
obtheMonth Club selection. But to
suggest that it is a crime story of the
everyday slick sort is to do the writer,
and his work, an acute disservice. First of
1, Becker writes with a deceptive еПо
lessness rarely matched in the genre:
“He tipped his frayed, stained, wide-
brimmed Stetson, rev untamed
white hair and a vestige of gallantry . . .
and let his gaze wander briefly to her
bosom, unbound and indubitable within
finespun blouse. . . . Then Henry
long, not looking back. Henry
an.” But beyond this, Beck-
more
unexpected: Writing [or ial
idience, and stinting on neither sex
nor violence, he has nonetheless pro-
duced a novel that is meaningful. His
story is told some 40 ycars after the
kt, by the judge before whom the
case was tried, and who is now able to
comment: “If judges were required to
sit naked we would have more justice.”
And because the complications of his de-
cision do make him look at himself in
just that light, viewing his own failings
xd dalliances as critically as those of
the principals, the book comes to deal
with far more than the death of an invit-
ing young wife. It deals with the making
of a man.
It is gen
by most participants in the civil rights
struggle thar the last barrier between the
races to fall in this country will be the
majority hostility toward interracial sex
relations. In Sex and Racism
(Doubleday), € C. Hernion
out loud. A sociologist, poct, nove
nd a Negro—Hernton has written the
first nonacademic yet nonsensationa
book about the tangled myths of s
ace produced by America’s long history
of racism. Although Hernton tends to
generalize grandly (“The white man's
self-esteem is in a constant state of sex-
wal anxiety in all matters dealing with
ace relations"), his book is a provoca-
tive, wide-ranging confrontation of the
sexual nightmares that give rise to fears
and prejudices between white and black.
He examines the use that many whites
ally, though silently, agreed
in America
lv
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have made in their fantasies of their de-
humanized stereotype of the Negro.
(“The lewd concept of Negro sexhood is
a property of American culture") In
separate chapters, Hernton discusses the
white woman, the Negro male, the white
man and the Negro woman. From inter-
views, his own experience and some of
the literature in the field, Hernton ana-
lyzes, for instance, the effect on the
n herself of the white South-
erner's need to create an “immaculate
mythology” of white womanhood to
“glorify an otherwise indecent society
Hernton досу on to investigate the
allel effect on the Negro male of having
to live in a society, North as well as
South, in which he is expected to act like
white won
a eunuch with regard to white women.
(Here Hermon does not probe deeply
The
enough. dificulty many Negro
males ha achieving a firm sense of
manhood goes beyond sexual psycho-
pathology, One crucial factor is the ma-
triarchal Negro family struct
urban lower class, which is
economic squeeze.) Hernton is unspa
ing about Negro self-delusion—for exam-
who
ple, among those beat
"exploit themselves . . . paradi.
displaying their Negroness” and thereby
living down to the white stereotype. He
is equally unsparing of the white Ameri-
can male; “When it comes to sex with
the Negro male, nearly all white men in
America look upon the white woman as
‘their’ woman. When a Negro is intimate
with one white woman, in the minds
and emotions of the white man, that Ne-
gro is intimate with all wh
The most complicated and rev
section of Sex and Racism in America is
the chapter on the Ne a who
has so often been brutalized and exploit
ed by the majority white culture and
yet has remained a bedrock of strength
in her own world, Her place in the slow-
ly beginning revolution of attitudes to-
ward interracial sex is especially subject
to conflicting stresses. But that revolu-
tion is taking place as social relations
between the races increase in certain
pockets of society. Hernton still foresees
“a bloody war" before “intermarriage
becomes generally acceptable"; but the
evidence by no means points entirely in
that direction. For, as Hernton himself
emphasizes, “Integration will not neces
sarily ‘lead to’ intermarriage; but it will
definitely make intermarriage more uni-
versally possible.” And we are si if
stumblingly, moving toward integr
In The Economics of Teste (Holt, Rincha
k Winston), Gerald Reitlinger dem-
onstrates that one man’s meat is an-
other man's Poussin; or, to paraphrase
the old truth, there is no progress in art,
only change. The book is a catalog of
paintings and pri ing about two
centuries of purchases—some important
and others merely importunate—by mu-
egroes
, cov
seums and speculators. Like the 16th
Century Italians (of whom he seems
especially fond), Reidinger appears inca-
pable of leaving out a single detail, and
one is soon floundering among the price
fluctuations (all in British pounds) of
the Pre-Raphaelites, Reitlinger writes
with
admirable reserve, but what he
gives us, in the last analysis, is not so
much the economics of taste as a taste of
economics. Still, one can draw from tl
pile of obsolete price tags a feeling for
the vagaries of connoisscurship, as well
as а cautionary message for today's col-
lector. Where are the Wouwermans, Ber-
chems and Van Ostades of vesterye:
The book is illuminated by an occasional
an wit. In 1859, Reit-
linger tells us, Jean Millet sold The
Angelus for 72 pounds ster A subse-
quent owner parted with it, having been
en to the verge of insanity by his
guests, all of whom made the same re
‚ "You can hear the Bells.” In 1881
picture was bought by M. Secrétan,
cartridge king, for 6100 pounds.”
Mr. Reitlinger takes us from Fra Angel-
ico to Pablo Picasso, but gallery gam-
continues post-Picasso more fiercely
п ever—in a booming art market
where the relationship between price
and quality is exceedingly obscure, and
quite often nonexistent.
In © the Times! O the Manners! (Mor-
row), William Iversen has collected the
nowned Short Histories which have
the years illuminated these pages.
Iversen examines such venerable insti-
tutions as bathing, shaving, swearing,
dancing, toasting and money with an
outlook that might have sprung from
a collaboration between James Thurber
and David Riesman. He teaches us to ap-
preciate the idea of money, as well as the
commodity itself: “Anyone who has ever
attempted to pay а 50-cent taxi fare with
a l0-dollar bill can readily imagine the
difficulties that might arise in trying to
get a cab dr
ox—to say nothing of having to compute
a tip in terms of broccoli and rhubarb.”
If you think about such matters while
soaking in a hot bath, remember that
bathing “probably evolved only after a
long period of scratching and laughing,
and went through an era when the
pleasures of the public bath were dimin-
ished by the habit of passers-by tossing
dogs and cats into the water. And if
you're taking that bath in preparation
for a twist party, keep in mind that
“Through the ages, man’s every muscle,
limb and fiber has wiggled, jiggled and
jumped in dancing celebrations of victo-
ry, puberty, birth, marriage, divorce, cir-
cumcision, the changes of the moon and
the rising of the sun.” When you finish
Iversen’s book, you may want to give it
to Grandma, just in case she's forgotten
her own past while clucking her tongue
an
at todays mores. In all ages and all
places, Iversen shows with fact and wit,
observers of the human comedy have
shaken their heads and exclaimed “O
the Times! O the Manners!"
RECORDINGS
Cannonball Adderley’s Fiddler on the Roof
(Capitol) represents an auspicious debut
on that label for the esteemed altoist. It
also is a daring venture, as Jerry Bock's
Yiddish-accented score for the Broadway
ged territory for
2 permu But the Adderley
Sextet has bridged the gap in stunning
fashion, Cannonball, brother Nat on
trumpet and cornet, Charles Lloyd on
tenor and flute, and Joe Zawinul
on piano all make major contributions
to a session that is a wordless wonder.
The scemingly limitless scope of Duke
Ellington’s renowned "Rabbit" is once
more brought to the fore on Everybody
Knows Johnny Hodges (linpulsc!). The flow
of ideas transmitted by the impeccably
toned Hodges alto, heard here in the
context of a group made up of Ellington
sidemen, remains astonishing. Included
are assorted jewels from Duke's diadem
— Let a Song Go Out of My Heart,
Main Stem, Don't Get Around Much
Anymore and Billy Strayhorn's beauti-
ful 4 Flower Is a Lovesome Thing.
Annie Ross, a splendid thrush who
returned to England. several years ago.
has lost none of her distinctive flair. An-
nie Ross Sings a Handful of Songs (Ever-
est) is an imposing handful, indeed, from
the opener, the title tune, on through
the last note of Limehouse Blues, Miss
Ross’ performance points up the fact
that this country’s loss is Blighty’s gain.
A handsome amalgam of sight and
sound is Mexico (i Ibum
that cor
ican history and culture (with text
both English and Spanish), illustrated in
full color, and an LP of a Mexican or-
chestra and chorus, conducted by Carlos
Chavez, performing native music. In
tolo, a collector's item.
One of the best of the distaff soul sing-
ers can be heard to excellent advantage
On Aretha Franklin / Runnin’ Out of Fools
(Columbia), She is a swinger of the first
magnitude; her torrid take-off on Mock-
ingbird (a familiar children's ballad) is
worth the price of the recording. Belford
Hendricks’ arrangements for the chorus
behind Miss Franklin add measurably to
the excitement.
With each new LP, Joe Pass gives
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PLAYBOY
30
fresh evidence of his superb guitar cre-
dentials. His latest, Joe Poss / For Django
(Pacific Jazz), a tribute to the great
French guitarist, is richly wrought.
Backed by a rhythm section that in-
cludes John Pisano's rhythm guitar, Pass
is both provocative and poignant. To
be found in the album are such Django
gems as Nuages, Rosella and Fleur
d'Ennui.
From Hello Dolly to Goodbye Charlie / Bobby
Darin (Capitol) finds the young singer sur-
rounded (except for a pair of his own
tunes) by Broadway and movie-sound-
track hits. Bobby obviously enjoys the
company he’s keeping. Operating in
front of an outsized aggregation, batoned
by arranger Richard Wess, the dynamic
Mr. Darin sandwiches between the title
offerings such goodies as Call Me Irre-
Sponsible, Charade and Once in a
Lifetime.
The crystallike fragility connoting Igor
nis’ performance of French Boroque
Music for Harpsichord (Epic) conveys to the
listener in splendid style the fascinating
nuances of the late 17th Century—early
18th Century composers Louis Couperin,
Jean-Philippe Rameau and Joseph Bodin
de Boismortier. In particular, his treat-
ment of Rameau’s Suite in E, which
occupies all of side two, mirrors the
period's delicate elegance.
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Discovery! / The Charles Lloyd Quartet (Co-
lumbia) is really not a discovery for
ACC ESSIBLE ACCESSORIES followers of the fortunes of the Can-
s.. | nonball Adderley Sextet. Lloyd's tenor
and his arrangements have added a new
|. THE PLAYBOY CARD CASE dimension to the Adderley group. Here,
fronting a foursome that includes fine
pianist Don Friedman, Lloyd explicates
seven of his own compositions and gives
fresh voicing to the Mercer-Mancini
neoclassic Days of Wine and Roses.
Keep your business cards and ready cash
at your fingertips with this fashionable
Gard Gase of soft glove leather,
luxuriously lined in Rabbit patterned
pure silk. Available in black only.
Code No. J16, $7.50 ppd. Cole Porter’s recent death undoubted-
ly will inspire a rash of musical tributes.
One of the first is Bosses of the Ballad /
Ilinois Jocquet ond Strings Play Cole Porter
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A profusion of fine vinyl fare covering
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Playboy Club keyholdersmaychargebyenclosingkey vo. OEE ES
ger may be heard on folk Songs by Pele
Seeger (Capitol). Cut from previously un-
released Folkways masters, it includes
Careless Love, Dollar Ain't a Dollar Any-
more and This Train. Reissued on three
LPs is The Folk Era / The Kingston Trio (Cap-
itol), containing 32 of their most widely
heralded performances. You name it; it's
here. Included, too, are copious liner
notes. Two more reissues of a high
order—part of RCA Victor's Vintage
Series—are Leadbelly / The Midnight Special
and Woody Guthrie / Dust Bow! Ballads. The
former is particularly intere: as a
number of the tracks (Rock Island Line,
Gray Goose, Pick a Bale of Cotton, the
tide tune and Whoa Back Buck)
were recorded with the exceptional
Golden Gate Quartet. Leadbelly was a
one-off; his death in 1949 was an irrepara-
ble loss. Guthrie’s heartbreaking songs
of the Depression are as gripping today
as when they were first performed. In-
cluded are Tom Joad, Pretty Boy Floyd
and the equilibrium-shaking Dust Pneu-
monia Blues. Joan Baez / 5 (Vanguard)
highlighted by the folk queen's surpris-
ingly adept performance of the aria
from Heitor Villa-Lobos —Bachianas
Brasileiras No. 5, a formidable undertak-
ing. On this she is accompanied by an
ensemble of eight cellos; the rest of the
bill finds Miss Baez in a more familiar
vein, Recent arrivals on the folk scene,
The Pilgrims, in their first album aptly
titled Just Arrived! / The Pilgrims (Colum-
bia), demonstrate taste, an appreciation
for their material and delightful harmon-
ics. Their program is well-rounded, pre-
senting a strong indication that the trio
is here to stay. The Gateway Trio (Capitol)
is one LP up on The Pilgrims. An irrev-
crent threesome serving up a musical mé-
re (Masochistic Baby)
nd standard folk melodies (Cotton Eyed
Joe), they remind one of the Limeliters
in approach, but the sound is all their
own. Another vinyl bow features Moxine
Sellers / Folk Songs (Prestige). From the
Southwest, Miss Sellers incorporates a
number of tunes out of the Tex;
homa area in her first LP, delive
them in a lusty full-bodied voice. Wel
come aboard, M of blues
shouters display their vocal wares arrest-
ingly on The Best of Jimmy Reed (Vee Jay)
nd Hard Drivin’ Blues / Roosevelt Sykes (Del-
mark). The latter is a barrel-house pianist
of no little repute whose vocal cords
match his keyboard technique in
power. Reed offers ten of his own compo-
sitions, including the rousing opener,
Baby What You Want Me to Do, and a
brace of outside items. Bud & Travis in Per-
son (Liberty), recorded at the Gellar Door
in Washington, D. C., is further evidence
of the duo's first-rank stature in the folk
world. Their repertoire ts catholic in the
extreme; this session includes Gimme
Some from Golden Boy, Elija Rock and
How Long, How Long Blues, along with
two of their much-avored Latin lilts.
raw
THEATER
Incident et Vichy is the best produc-
tion so far at the Repertory Theater of
Lincoln Center, and it is Arthur Miller's
best play since A View from the Bridge.
The first statement says little, since the
other productions have ranged from di:
appointing to dismal, and the second
merely means that the new play is better
than After the Fall. АП it really proves is
that Miller is a promising playwright.
"The reason his play is only a partial suc-
cess is not so much because it is old-fash-
ioned—at least 20 years old-fashioned—
but that he has little that is original to
say about his subject, and it is a subject
that demands or Rina What new can
be written about the Nazi horror? Miller
searches his conscience, which got such a
public workout in After the Fall, and
emerges with: "Everyone has a Jew;
even the Jew has a Jew.” In other words,
we are all guilty. Until this revelation,
which comes at the end of Miller's 90-
minute oneacter, we are confronted
with, and sometimes interested in, a
benchful of people who are about to be
interrogated by the Nazis in Vichy ii
1942 and, if found guilty of Jewishness,
to be carted off to the ovens. There are a
Red, an artist, a bearded patriarch, a
boy who is too young to leave his moth-
er, a psychiatrist (Joseph Wiseman), and
a liberal Austrian prince (David Wayne)
who has bcen detained by mistake. The
acting generally is good, but the charac-
ters, except for the last two, exist largely
as symbols. The measure of the play's
limited cflectiveness is the fact that as
each person is taken off stage to be
judged, the audience applauds—compli-
menting the actor's exit, forgetful of the
man's fate. At the ANTA Washington
Square, 40 West 4th Street.
Had a Bell are both
al con-medies about
swindles in Brooklyn, and anyone paying
good money to see either may be par-
doned for fceling he's the victim. Bajour
is supposed to be based on Joseph
Mitchell's New Yorker magazine series
about gypsies, but Ernest Kinoy's book
and Walter Marks! score have reduced
the ethnic charm to a lot of frenzied
jumping up and down. Most of the char-
acters are about as grabby as ciga
gypsics, except for a nongypsy, a gu
lady anthropologist looking for a tribe,
any tribe, even in Brooklyn. She wants
to be in on the bajour, the big swindle,
even though her mother is the one to be
taken. Nancy Dussault is the adventur-
and she is antic, lovely, and
ag all the gypsies. She alone is no
At the Shubert, 225 West 44th
and n
Bojour
1 Had a Ball about Coney nd
grifters and drifters, and it is billed as
the Buddy Hackett show. Hackett, a fat
funnyman with a face made of Silly Put-
ty, plays a Coney—a phony Coney at
that: crystal-gazer, analyst and match-
maker. Theres a modicum of comedy
when Hackett addresses the crystal di-
rectly—“Ball, together we can rule de
woild"—but most of the time he merely
obsoives while the pitchmen h, the
dancers dance and the singers sing songs
by Jack Lawrence and Stan Freeman:
one from The Threepenny Opera, one
from The Music Man, and the rest from
Rodgers and anybody. It’s a hollow shell
game. Newcomer Karen Morrow, who
looks like Carol Channing and sings like
Carol Burnett, has a large face, a large
voice, a large talent d, sadly, a small
part. But she still steals the show, what
there is of it. At the Martin Beck, 302
West 45th Street.
Somewhere deep in William Hanley’s
Slow Dance on the Killing Ground there
is the nub of an amusing 30-minute trifle
about the lack of communication among
diverse characters, the kind of thing
Hanley once did so well off-Broadw
But Slow Dance is no trifle. It is a Big
Play about Big Ideas and it is Terrible.
The action takes place in a Brooklyn
candy store on the night that Eichmann
is executed, which scts the pretentious
tone for the assorted guilts on display.
There are three guilty characters, not
counting the playwright: Glas, a non-
Jewish German refugee who runs the
Randall, a Negro hipster with an
LQ. of 187; and Rosic, a [rce-speaking,
frce-T ] who wears an oi
ters around like
cust and keeps opening the door. When
he does, we hear a loud humming, which
is the sound of the “killing ground” out
there. “No hiding place.” says Randall
and shuts the door. Each of the three is
hiding something—the German, that he
abandoned his Jewish wife when faced
with the Nazis; the Negro, that he mur-
dered his prostitute mother; the girl,
that she wants an abortion. Before the
log is over, each has owned up to his
sin. Meanwhile, the author jams their
mouths with creamy talk: Rosie's baby is
his thing swimming around in the
juices of my womb." Randall has three
voices. With his sunshades on, he is a
hophead; with them off, he is intelligent
nd gloomy; and when he finally con-
feses, he sounds like Finnegans Wake.
Up to а point, he is funny (more accu-
rately, Clarence Williams HI makes him
seem funny) then he becomes tiring.
Sometimes, unwittingly, he makes sense,
when he says, “Silence also speaks, dad-
dy.” But the author of this windy, over
blown, pompous play isn't listening. At
the Plymouth, 236 West 45th Street.
Richord Ford, the poethero of
Jean Kerr's new comedy, is a high-living,
urd-drinking, hard-wenching Britisher,
Poor
31
32
TROUSE
A
It seems
RED BY CORBIN
Have you looked
at your trousers lately?
Are they correct? Are they neatly
narrow in the leg — or too narrow
(or too wide) ? Do they hang properly
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America’s Most Magnificent Bourbon
with more than a passing resemblance to
some real-life romantics. In addition, his
latest book of poems has sold 80,000 cop-
ies and he is being featured in all the
big magazines. He is in Amcrica on a
self-promotion junket, and he is irresisti-
ble, except to the secretary who used to
love him. Actually, she decided to marry
him before they met, but now finds she
likes him better, bound, in volumes.
"You communicate too much," she
scolds. “The noise I make,” he answers,
“is to stop people from knowing I have
nothing whatever to say.” Richard is
really more of a poet than he gives him-
self credit for, and Mss. Kerr is more of
a playwright. The core of Poor Richard
is a serious, perceptive comedy about the
dissipation of talent, but it is awash in
an ocean of gags. Richard's questions
and answers are jokes, and when he
isn't wisecracking, someone else is. Many
of the jokes are clever, but much of the
time it is simply Mrs. Kerr cracking.
While distributing the witticisms, she
has been negligent about creating char-
acter. Richard, as played with great
charm by Alan Bates, is credible, a thor-
ly winning cad; but the minor char-
acters smack of the cartoon. At the Helen
Hayes, 210 West 46th Street.
DINING-DRINKING
The mistral, that chill, ill wind that
rattles through southern France, has fi-
nally blown someone something good—
a new luxury establishment that forces
the pantheon of great restaurants to
open up for one more. Manhattan's Le
Mistral (14 East 52nd Sweet) is pure
Provence from its whitewashed walls and
painted view of Pont d’Avignon to the
soupe de poissons. The front portion of
the dining area is latticed to give a h
some alfresco effect. The blue ceili
pinpricked with tiny lights, gives the im-
pression you are dining by moonlight on
the Cote d'Azur. As a matter of fact, you
stand a very good chance of dining as
well at Le Mistral as at almost any
eatery along the Côte. For openers we
savored l'anguille fumée, smoked ecl
with a delicately chilled horse-radish
sauce, and a specialty of the house, la
croustade méridionale, a concoction of
hot seafood served up in a flaky pull pas-
uy. Chef Guy Moruzi properly keeps
the number of entrees down to about a
dozen so that each serving gets the mas-
ter's touch, Particularly good is the squab
served either with artichokes and mush-
rooms or simply with peas. There is a
plat du jour that remains uniformly ex-
cellent, Specialties include pompano and
a dazzling caneton (duckling) flambé,
along with the usual items from the grill.
The cheese board runs the gamut from
a piquant goat chcese to a rich bric.
Desserts are often the test at which even
the best restaurants falter. Le Mistral's
selection is, if anything, the strongest por-
tion of its solid menu. We ended with a
sinfully caloried pot de créme au choco-
lat and a Bavarian cream with a vanilla
sauce laced with anise. Proprietors Jean
а and Joseph Lemerdy have as-
sembled a noteworthy май. Many of
them, from waiters to the saucier pois-
sonnier, have served previously at Le
avillon, that haut monde of French
cuisine in America. As it should be, but
price of $5.50 for luncheon (from 12
0) and $7.50 for dinner (6:30-10).
Many of the specialties are extra, how-
ever, and a really masterful dinner for
two with wine will run around 530.
Reservations are suggested. Le Mistral
is closed on Sundays.
MOVIES
"They've oiled up the machinery in the
Hollywood fun factory (but not enough)
and creaked out another so-called come- First Things First
dy. "This time it's called Strange Bedfellows,
with Rock Hudson and Gina Lollo-
brigida im a script produced, directed
and co-authored by Melvin Frank; and
to be frank, Melvin hasn't got it. He has
got a good memory, and he's been a dili- | Loudspeakers by JBL... the elegant Olympus, solid state self-powered. No amplifier required. More? Please write.
gent disciple of the screwball school; all JAMES B. LANSING SOUND, os Angeles, Caforria 90039
he lacks is talent and taste, This jaded
јаре is about an American oilman in
London who marrics an Italian bohemi-
an. They fall into bed and then, in sev-
eral senses, fall out. After seven years in
/ culminating in a big coup, he
returns to London to find she's still a big
kook. But to get a promotion with his
company he has to be happily marr
just when they've agreed to a divorce.
Furthermore, she’s planning to lead a
protest march on the U.S. Embassy the
day his boss arrives. The best that can be
said about Hudson as a light comedian
is that he is tall. Miss Lollobrigida, still
beautiful, seems les beautiful because
all the playfulness has gone out of her
playing. Gig Young, a boozy PR man,
varnishes off another smoothy; with
Young we always know the gig, but at
last it's defdy donc. There's a lot of
Technicolor for a lot of clothes
ae da m olive о
topic A. Melvin Frank has tripped all
over the light fantastic.
The French have their fun factory,
too. Suppose you wanted to make thc
oldie about the idyllic young pair who
love too well but not wisely, and when
he’s gone, she finds she’s in the family
„and a marriage is arranged for her,
and years later she meets the boy again E; me, $3.50;
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PLAYBOY
34
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THE PURIST* BUTTON-DOWN. ..
the ultimate in traditional
shirtmanship. At better stores,
naturally. About eight dollars.
SERO OF NEW HAVEN, NEW HAVEN, CONN.
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from Italy
Winner of 1965 Caswell-Massey Award
for excellence in shoe design
Exciting swashbuckled wing-tip — its
vigorous good looks underlined with
heavy notched sole. Chianti brown or
black grained leather; from the Verde
deLuxo collection, about 20.00
For nome of store nearest you, write:
‘VERDE SHOE CO., Brockton 11, Mass.
Trés simple. Just have everybody sing
their trite lines instead of speak
them. The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is not a
conventional music songs do not
just occur. All the dialog is set to con-
tinuous music—of absolutely no distinc-
tion—by Michel Legrand. The story of
the garage mechanic and the daughter of
the widow who keeps the umbrella shop
has touches of tenderness, because Cath.
crine Deneuve (the girl) is sweet, Anne
Vernon (the mother) is sexily sympathet-
ic and Nino Castelnuovo (the boy) is
unboring. But it doesn’t take long to see
that they have merely “done a Detroit”
in sticking a few strips of cantabile
chromium on a stock vehicle. Jacques
Demy, who directed Lola and Bay of the
Angels, is one of the wettest. of the New
Wave, impotently imitative, with a crea-
tive imagination that some have called
capacious but that, from here, seems
Demy-tasse.
Two young Americans, Michael
Roemer and Robert Young, have writ-
ten Nothing bur a Мап, а screenplay
about Southern Negroes that is [ree of
the hysterical self-indulgences that worry
most works on this subject. The film
tells the simple story of a young Negro
who goes to an Alabama town with a
section gang, falls in love with a local
Negro schoolteacher, marries her and
settles there, but can't settle for the way
Negroes have to live. The facts of Negro
life in their town and in Birmingham,
where the hero's drunken father lives
and dies, are set forth plainly, step by
stultifying step. Nothing about the film
is world-shaking, but it is blunt about a
problem that is shaking the world. Ivan
Dixon, the young man, is credibly chol
cric. Julius Harris, as his father, and
Gloria Foster, as the old man's long-
suffering woman, give rightly grim por-
uayale—but the find is Abbey
Lincoln, the schoolteacher. The lovely
Miss Lincoln has conviction, character,
charm. Roemer directed: Young photo-
рей; both coproduced with Robert
Rubin, who also did the sound. Their
film has already been praised at the
Venice and New York. festivals. Besides
what it does for its subject, it spotlights
three serious, gifted young men.
Vittorio De Sica's latest, Merrioge—
Italian Style, is lightweight, incredible,
corny—and terrific. First, it has Sophia
Loren and Marcello Mastroianni, stars
of De Sica’s last Italian pastry, Yester-
day, Today and Tomorrow. The lu:
cious L and the mighty M are as good as
ever, which is good enough for anyone.
Second, maestro De S. still has his fa-
mous knack for getting the most out of
Naples, his favorite setting. The story is
about as much like the real Italy as the
murals in your local pizzeria, but it
makes you feel just as cozily schmaltzy.
Eduardo De Filippo, famed Ne:
playwright, is the principal adaptor of
his own play about a retired prosty who
has been a rich man’s mistress for 20
years, busily running his businesse:
When she finds out he’s about to marry a
chic chick, she tricks him into marrying
her instead, which does not settle every-
thing—including the fate of three off-
spring whose existence she suddenly
springs on him. The complications are
contrived, the flavor is pure marinara,
but it’s full of pleasant sentiment and
the hilarious selspoofing at which the
Italians are so adept. Anyone who takes
this saga seriously is sick, and so is any-
one who doesn't enjoy it.
Kiss Me, Stupid is Billy Wilder's lat-
est, and his worst in years. Irma la
Douce was stagy and stiff, but this is like
amateur night at a third-rate burlesque
house—a long, cold way from Some Like
It Hol. His screenplay, done as usual
with I. A. L. Diamond, is about a
small-town Nevada piano teacher who's
madly jealous of his pretty wife. (Ihe
town is called Climax and, yes, there are
gags about it.) Teacher writes songs with
neighboring garageman. When a big
singing star has to detour through town,
garageman fixes star's car so he has to
stay overnight with teacher, so teacher
can plug songs. Star has to have a wom-
an every night. Teacher sends wife away
and gets tootsy from local tavern to im-
personate wife so star can seduce her .
ivs full of farce possibilities, but it
ts so slowly, the acting is so amateur
the dialog so foggy with club-smoker
fumes, that instead of being wickedly
witty and vice versa, it just lays а big
blue Ray Walston, previously nim-
ble, is numb in this one, as the teacher.
Kim Novak is, again, agonizingly inept
in the tootsy role. Dean Martin plays the
and, whether he's acting or not, i
it as egotistically repellent as the
part demands. Wilder, past master of
loveland legerdemain, has kissed this
one off stupidly.
The French film tes Abysses, hailed
by Jean-Paul Sartre as the cinema's
“foremost tragedy," has also pulled
praise from Simone de Beauvoir and
other French literary lights. Based on a
1933 murder case, it is a more factual
(though not naturalistic) version than
Jean Genet’s poetic play The Maids,
which had the same crime as its inspira-
tion. Two young sisters, who work in a
winegrower's house, get panicky because
he is going to sell the place and they will
be homeless. The girls are definitely de-
ranged, and while the family is out, they
run riot, smashing furniture and fur-
nishings, opening wine casks in the cel-
lar, carrying on and on. And on. When
the man, his wife and his daughter come
home and find the mess, they tolerate it,
because Monsicur owes the maids three
years’ wages and the daughter has а Les-
ily as they light cigarettes
or break dishes, they finally Бий
and knife Madame and daughter. Some
see the case as an indictment of society's
indifference. (But these girls are not bru-
ized; they're mad to begin with—and
so are their employers.) Sartre calls the
girls incarnate evil, (But since when is
evil a function of psychosis?) The state-
ments about the film and the repetitions
in the script can all be questioned—but
not the dazzling, sometimes weirdly com-
ic direction and the perfect perform
ances, Director Nico Papatakis, at age
46, has made his first film finely after
years of running an existential cabaret-
theater in Paris. The sisters are played
by sisters, Francine and Colette Berge,
with fire, fury and serpentine, inter-
twined love and fear. The photography
and editing are cool, sharp, unusual. By
no means a film that satisfies completely.
By all means a film to be scen.
When Greek meets Greek, then comes
Greece's foremost di-
rector, Cacoyannis (who did
Melina Mercouri's first film, Stella, and
Electra), has made Zorba the Greek from
his own screenplay out of the best seller
by Greece's foremost novelist, the late
Nikos Kazantzakis. Anthony Quinn is
Zorba, the lifeloving aging man-of-all-
work who fastens on the half-English
Basil (Alan Poor Richard Bates), a writ-
er with a little property on Crete who is
on his way there to live and work. Zorba
becomes his guide, advisor, personal
rogue, pushing the reticent writer to-
ward a handsome aloof widow (Irene Pa-
pas)—figuring that half aloof is better
than Zorba himself is cooking
with a re d cocotte who has holed up
in their village. All through the story
run terror and horror: the fate of the
widow, the death of the cocotte and the
looting of her home, the failure of Bas-
il's ventures, And through it all, sur-
rounded by the grimness of the Greeks,
who turn out to be just as venal and vi-
cious as any other human beings, runs
the zest of Zorba. At the last he even
cracks the half-Englishman's shyness, and
they end up dancing on the edge of the
sea just before they have to part. Caco-
mis has captured the character of Cre-
n life and has made much of the film
moving. He has got Quinn's best per-
formance out of him, genuinely warm
and winning instead of it-says-here warm
and winning. Bates i ted in a part
without personality. is, as
usual, unusually good, and so is Lila
Kedrova, the cocotte. But the film takes
too long to articulate a point that's clear
in the first ten minutes: Zorba loves liv-
ing, despite the facts of life.
‘The imported one
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THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR
ДА friend and I recently disagreed on
a technical matter concerning a girl's
loss of virginity. Would you say that
more young women rupture thcir hy-
mens accidentally (in gym classes, ctc),
or during their first act of sexual inter-
courscz—]. D., Joplin, Missouri.
The majority of утеп are bro-
hen in the conventional way—that is, via
sexual intercourse. Bicycle riding, doing
splits, horseback riding and all the other
athletics that have been blamed by blush-
ing brides since time immemorial do not
ordinarily rupture the membrane. This
ix not to say that a girl cannot lose her
hymen through nonsexual means; only
that most girls don’t. By the way, it's
only a small point, but females—like
males—rarely lose their virginity; they
give it away.
m planning a trip to England this
year and want to dress right. lm all set
except for one thing: I don't know the
difference between regimental striped
ties and rep suiped ties. Is there any?
If so, where can I obtain the more
authentic type?—D.B., Raritan, New
Jersey.
Regimental stripes are diagonal, their
width and colors varying according to
the old British Army regiments they
represent. Rep (also epp) is a material
from which diagonally striped ties are
generally made in America. The stripes
follow no uniform pattern, nor do the
colors. If you search hard, you can prob-
ably find imitation regimental stripes (as
well as old school and club ties) in local
haberdasheries, but we advise you not
to wear them on your tip abroad,
Should you be wandering aboul London
sporting a cravat belonging to a т
ment in which you have mot served,
there is a fair chance some elderly Eng-
lish gentleman will land you a smartish
clout on the mazard with his walking
stick.
ІМІ, FM multiplex adapter is giving
me fits. 1 receive all the FM stations
in my area—including those broadcast in
multiplex—quite clearly. However, there
is little separation between channels on
certain stereo broadcasts, in spite of the
undistorted reception. 1 have been cou-
pling my FM tuner with a TV antenna.
Do you think this is the problem
R. L. M., Menlo Park, California.
No, we don't. The wrong antenna is
sometimes responsible for distortion, in
which case a special FM type would be
required. But you say your reception is
clear. You ought to check whether your
mulliplex adapter and tuner are proper-
ly matched. If that isn’t the problem, go
to a hi-fi store and listen to multiplex
broadcasts on one of their systems. If
they lack separation, too, it may be the
fault of the broadcasting stations. Final-
ly, it may be time for a thorough bench
check of your amplifier.
ІМ, boyfriend has been trying to per-
suade me to try marijuana, but based on
my upbringing and articles I have read
on the subject, Fm reluctant. What is
your opinion of this "instant heaven"?
— Miss H. M., Boston, Massachusetts.
Statistics show that the long-range
effects of marijuana smoking on the
American physiology can be disastrous—
since even occasional use of the weed
may cause the body lo be put in
prison for long periods of time. We
advise you to look for kicks elsewhere.
For a truly informative discussion of the
subject, read Dan Wakefield's "The
Prodigal Powers of Pot” in the August
1962 PLAYBOY.
For some time 1 have been in a quan-
ary as to what to do with myself. 1 am
a graduate of a prestigious technolog-
ical institute and business school. For
the past 18 months, I have been working
in my profession as an engineer. This is
my first permanent, full-time position.
After college, 1 determined to make a go
at business by first getting my M. B. A
degree. However, during my undergrad-
uate education І discovered that І liked
to write fiction and was encouraged in
this direction by a professor.
At present I have no personal capi
and, as I have been informed many
times, "potentials are a dime a dozen." I
speak two languages and am presently
studying a third, which I can by now
more or less read. 1 play three musical
instruments. (piano, clarinet, sax) fairly
well—or used to, since I haven't prac-
ticed in y It seems that if I continue
in the direction I am headed, I'll. suc
ceed to a degree limited only by my
perseverance. However, nothing excites
me so much that I can neither think nor
talk of anything else—except, perhaps,
when 1 write or when I make decisions.
Outside of an improbable, sudden ac
quisition of sufficient nostrings finances
to enable me to рау all debts and pur-
sue all paths of interest (including writ-
ing and such possible hobbies as
sportscar racing, deep-sea fishing and
polo playing), 1 find litle in my fore-
seeable future that would absorb mc
enough to make success at it a memo
rable venture. What do you suggest?
A. V. M., Waltham, Massachusetts,
During the Renaissance, when it was
The fabled fragrance so elusive
it took a generation to capture.
POSSESSION
de GORDAY
A totally new aura in perfume
Born in France, A legend in its own time
Three-Fifty to Thirty-Five Dollars
© 1965 arum «отом, me.
PLAYBOY
38
possible to know the sum of human en-
deavor in one lifetime, certain geniuses,
like Michelangelo, Da Vinci, et al., could
pretend to universal knowledge. Today,
even those who are geniuses, recognizing
the shortness of life and the vastness of
that which may be learned, generally
specialize in something. In view of the
fact that you're only 26 and have already
dabbled in engineering, business and
writing—occupations that generally re-
quire a lifetime for mastery—and that
you're not only multilingual but multi-
musical as well, we wonder if you can
hold your own in any of these? We sug-
gest that your inability to concentrate
on a single field of endeavor betokens a
crippling fear of failure. Unless you can
financially afford the life of a dilettante
—and apparently you cannot—you'd
better eliminate the cause of your slow
start (perhaps with professional help),
and then move like hell to make up for
il.
Onc of the employees assigned to my
department is a good producer who,
fortunately, has no idea of how to dress
properly. Not only is he consistently ig-
norant of current fashions men's
clothes, but he also comes to work in
wrinkled and soiled apparel. As his d
rect supervisor, 1 feel obliged to bring
this matter to his attention, but I have
hesitated to approach him on a subject
so personal for fear that I might destroy
the friendly working relations we now
enjoy. How can 1 inform him of
shoricomings without hurting his feel-
ings? RK. L. C., Columbus, Ohio.
If it is important to this man’s job
that he be properly attired, then it's in-
cumbent upon you, as his superior, to
bring his sartorial shortcomings to his
atlention—tactfully, to be sure, but
firmly. If his dress is unrelated to his
work, and it just irritates you personally,
try sending around a general memo, in-
dicating that neal grooming is related to
high office morale. He'll probably catch
the hint,
War 24 years old. T recently met a very
attractive woman of 43 who doesn't look.
her age. Although there has been noth-
ing physical between us yet, I would like
there to be, since we both enjoy the
me interests. I know in past Adv
answers you have discouraged perma-
nent unions between young men and
older women, but how do you feel about
a temporary liaison?—B. J., Cincinnati,
Ohio.
In listing no fewer than cight reasons
why a man should prefer an older mistress.
lo a young one, Benjamin Franklin not-
ed that "having made a young girl miser-
able may give you frequent bitter
reflection; none of which can attend the
making of an old woman happy.”
Among the arguments Franklin gave for
preferring age before beauty: Old wom-
en have more knowledge of the world
.. . there is less hazard of children .. .
through more experience they are more
prudent and discreet in conducting an
intrigue .. , and “as in the dark all cats
are gray, the pleasure of corporal enjoy-
ment with an old woman is at least
equal, and frequently superior; cvery
knack being, by practice, capable of im-
provement, and lastly: They are so
gratefull”
Like Franklin, we sce nothing amiss
in a relationship such as the one you ask
about, provided it brings pleasure to
both of its participants.
Û would like definitions of understeer
and oversteer, including their causes and
results—S.R.P., Palo Alto, California.
Understeer is a term applied to the
tendency of a car to run outside the
normal geometrical line in going through
a corner; overstecr is a tendency for the
car lo run inside this line. In exireme
understeer, the car will not answer the
steering at all, but will “plow” on a
straight line; in extreme oversteer, the
rear wheels will break loose and the car
will spin. These tendencies grow out of
the balance of the car, the suspension, the
steering geometry, tive inflation and so
on. They can be demonstrated only at
high speed, A highly skilled driver can
produce either characteristic at will.
While a neutralsteering car would ap-
pear to be ideal, race drivers often have
their cars set up for understeer or over-
steer. On a winding course, for example,
a limited amount of ouersteer may be
useful in getting more quickly around
corners, while understeer, on such a cir-
cuit, would be disadvantageous and in-
deed исп dangerous. For a more
complete discussion of these tendencies,
we suggest reading "The Racing Driver”
by Denis Jenkinson (Bentley, Inc., Gam-
bridge, Massachusetts).
ММ... touring Spain recently, 1 had
the pleasure of trying a Spanish drin
called sangora or sangrica, or how-
ever it is spelled. This drink consists of
wine, brandy, sugar and fruits. Can you
tell me the exact ingredients and pro-
portions of this drink? Would you ako
tell me the correct spelling of this drink?
—M. H., Detroit, Michigan.
Si, sefior. It’s a sangria and it's muy
bueno. The recipe is simple. Half fill a
highball glass with crushed ice, 2 jiggers
of claret, 2 jiggers of pincapple juice and.
а dash of lemon juice. Add a teaspoon of
bar syrup and fill "er up with soda water
for a mild and tasty thirst quencher.
Lately гус been seeing an exceptional
girl who is a top executive secretary in а
firm that directly competes with my own.
We each enjoy our jobs and, naturally
enough, we talk shop a lot. Now I'm
g to land an account that her boss is
also going after in a big way. I'd like to
you think I'm ethically justified
ning our late-evening conversation
particular account, with a view
d picking up tidbits that might
help me land this one for my
H. W., San Francisco, California.
What you're talking about is called
spying, in our book—and worst of all,
you want to betray the confidence of
someone who apparently likes and trusts
you. Ethics aside, if your friend’s really
ап “exceptional girl,” she'll have sense
and loyally enough to keep her mouth
shut when you start probing.
Should a cammerbund be worn with
pleats opening upward, ог downward?—
U.P., Las Vegas, Nevada
The pleats should open upward. In
former times, they provided a handy
repository for keys, cigarettes, coins,
theater tickets and what not.
Ё. may seem sort of silly, but things
have reached the stage where I'm really
getting a little worried. My daughter,
who is 14, and a number of the other
kids in the neighborhood have formed a
real cult over the Beatles. They have
built an alt one girl's bedroom and
they burn candles and recite Beatle pi
s they have written. Now е!
is writing a Beatle Bible which si
“In the beginning the Beatles created
the rock and the roll.” If they weren't so
darned serious about this, it would be
pretty funny. But when Susan doesn't go
to church with us because they are hav-
ing their own service in their Beatle
church, I start to worry a little. Worst of
all, we have to listen to that awful music
over and over and over. What should we
do?—M. D., $
“And this, too, shall pass away,” said a
sage about another plague at another
time. We suggest you keep cool until the
Beatle bugaboo likewise passes away, as
it most assuredly will. In the meantime,
when Susan plays her records, do your
listening with earmuffs, Yeah, yeah, yeah,
All reasonable questions—from fash-
ion, food and drink, hi-fi and sports cars
to dating dilemmas, taste and etiquette
—will be personally answered if the
writer includes a stamped, self-addressed
envelope. Send all letters to The Playboy
Advisor, Playboy Building, 232 E. Ohio
Street, Chicago, Illinois 60611. The most
provocative, pertinent queries will be
presented on these pages each month.
Playboy Club News
905. PLAYBOY CLUBS INTERNATIONAL, INC.
D CLUBS IN MAJOR CITIES
= T
VOL.ILNO.56 ©
SPECIAL EDITION
YOUR ONE PLAYBOY CLUB KEY
ADMITS YOU TO ALL PLAYBOY CLUBS
MARCH 1965
ATLANTA, BOSTON, SAN FRANCISCO DEBUT
THIS YEAR; LOS ANGELES CLUB SWINGING!
CHICAGO (Special) — Playboy
Club keyholders are now using
their keys in a dozen cities, in-
cluding the beautiful Jamaica
Club at Ocho Rios and the smart
new Los Angeles Club on the
Sunset Strip.
Since the Los Angeles Club's
New Year's Day premiere, Holly-
wood society, celebrities and
guests have thronged the West
Coast Club every day of the
week. In addition to Playboy
features found in every Club
throughout the nation, Los
Angeles keyholders enjoy the
epicurean delights of their own,
VIP Room (for Very Important
Playboys), as keyholders do in
New York and Chicago.
With the opening of our new-
est Club in the Dinkler Plaza
Motor Hotel, Playboy's high-
spirited revelry becomes an ex-
citing reality in Atlanta. This
lucky 13th Club offers two entire
The Living Room's elaborate buffet
spread offers a choice of gourmet
foods-forthesame priceasa drink.
PLAYBOY CLUB LOCATIONS
Clubs Open Baltimore 28 Light
Chicago 116 E. Walton St
Cincinnati 35 E. 7th St; Detroit
1014 E. Jefferson Ave: Jain
ny Ray. Ocho Rios; Kans
atop the Hotel Continental;
Angeles 8560 Sunset Blvd.:
і 7701 Biscayne Blvd.: New
Mi
Orleans 72; Rue Iberville: New
York 5 E. 59h St.; Phoenix 3033
N. Central; St. Louis 3914 Lindell.
Locations Set — Atlanta Dinkler
Plaza Motor Hotel; Boaton 5t Park
те; San Francisco 736 Mont-
gomery St.
Next in Line—London, England;
Washington, D.C.
floors of luxurious clubrooms to
Atlanta playboys.
Boston’s Playboy premieres
this summer at 54 Park Square,
just opposite the Boston Com-
mon, and promises to be the
brightest light in that city's
night life.
The four-story, million-dollar
San Francisco Bunny hutch is
already under construction at
736 Montgomery Street. This
second West Coast Club opens
its doors later this year at the
foot of Telegraph Hill, the heart
of the city's fun center.
By ordering your key today,
you can take advantage of the
$25 Charter Rate that applies
in new Club areas before the $50
Resident Key Fee goes into
effect. Once a Playboy Club
opens, it has been the practice
to raise the key fee to $50, as it
is now within a 75-mile radius of
Chicago and in Florida (and in
Arizona beginning May Ist).
The Bunnies, many of whom
are Playmates from the gate-
fold of PLAYBOY, abound in this
world of entertainment tailored
to your liking. When you pre-
sent your personal silver key to
the Door Bunny, she will have
your own name plate posted on
the Lobby board while closed-
circuit TV telecasts your arrival
to friends who may be awaiting
you at the Club.
The complete range of
Playboy-styled entertainment
makes it possible for you to
spend an evening on the town
without ever leaving the Club.
The showrooms offer an entirely
new show every two weeks. Jazz
groups play nightly in the Living
Room, famous for its elaborate
buffet spread. The Penthouse
showroom features Playboy's
filet mignon and New York-cut,
8-ол. sirloin steak (a delicacy of
the Los Angeles Club is the
chef's distinctive Chicken Kiev).
These specialties of The Playboy,
Club are yours for the same
price as a drink. And Playboy's
man-sized drink (an ounce and
a half of your favorite brand)
is known from Coast to Coast.
For your key privileges to
these four new Playboy Clubs
and the Jamaican resort—plus
all present and future Clubs—
mail the coupon today.
Swinging twist parties and jam sessions plus completely new shows every
two weeks offer Playboy keyholders and their guests the best time in town.
Phoenix Key Costs $50 May 1st;
Save $25 by Applying Now
PHOENIX (Special)—Beginning May Ist, a Playboy Club key will
cost residents of Arizona $50, as it does residents of Florida and
TOM
Bunny Candy serves keyholder and
hisclient The Playboy Club's famed
ounce-and-a-half-plus potables.
Chicago. Only those applications for key privileges postmarked
before May Ist will be honored
at the Charter Rate of $25.
The Phoenix Playboy Club
offers more to keyholders than
ever before. New shows in the
Penthouse every two weeks and.
dancing in the Living Room
nightly mean continuous enter-
tainment all night long. Beauti-
ful Bunnies greet you, guide you
through a world designed with
your personal pleasure in mind—
and serve you man-sized drinks
as well as filet mignon and heap-
ing buffet platters for the same
price as a drink,
Apply for your key now—$25
Charter Key Fee is in effect until
May ist. Mail coupon today.
“BECOME A KEYHOLDER / CLI
AND MAIL THIS APPLICATION TODAY ™ —*
m
|| ro: ptaveoy CLUBS INTERNATIONAL І
| UAPUATOON MAGAZINE, 232 тей оме ите, смены Mo воа |
1 Gentlemen. 1
Here is my application for key privileges to The Playboy Club 1
| save — (FLERSE PRINT) 1
| OCCUPATION — ж. 1
| RES = 1
lew тате zee |
пасо 11
|. нозат $50. (Key fee includes $ifor year's subscripliontovir.the Club magazine) |
LJ Enclosed find $ О Bill me for $.
1 D I wish oniy information about The Playboy Club. ا
ا л ات Г]
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A
[7
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Nothing to buy = no brain
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PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK
BY PATRICK CHASE
ALTHOUGH MANY men of the world would
ather travel on their own than with
1 organized group, some unusual bene-
fis can be had if the group has a
sophisticated approach. Still new, but
apparently on the right track, is the In-
ternational Ski and Sce Club. Из cur-
rent attraction, for example, is a monthly
Thursday-toSunday junket to the Lu-
cayan Beach Hotel on Grand Bahama or
to one of several top hostelries at Las
Vegas, with the hotel assuming the cost
of all transportation, room, board, rea-
sonable drinks and on-premises enter-
tain t. The guest buys $500 worth of
chips and agrees to risk them at the
aming tables (most gamblers would
venture this amount in the normal
course of the weekend). Of course, the
traveler who chances his quota in good
aith and wins or breaks even is that
much ahead of the game—and welcome
10 return,
This is just one of the advantages
available to members of the Ski and See
Club, which is the one-year-old Ame:
can version of the famed European Club
Méditerranée. Other activities the
past year included ап expense-paid
cruise through the Bimini-Nassau ari
on a luxuriously appointed yacht. The
no-cash catch? Passengers were extras in
a movie called Windjammer Cruise, те-
ed Last November. А similar deal now
being planned will give some clubbers
pense trip to William Holden's
ıt Mt. Kenya Safari Club in
a. All they'll have to do is make
tors.
Starting in April, members can go on
unts within easy reach of
and thus savor yet another
ig the
New York,
aspect of the sort of full social Ii
club was founded to foster.
Whether alone or en groupe, you'll
want to add Grecce's Epidaurus Festival
to a southern-European itinerary in June,
as the spring festival season generates a
full head of steam. The plays of. Greek
antiquity’s big three, Aeschylus, Sopho-
cles and Euripides, will be staged in an
ancient, 14,000-seat amphitheater in
pidaurus near the Peloponnesian port
town of Nauplion. A leisurely three-and-
alf-hour drive from Athens, this his-
ached by bus and
a
toric site can also be
steamer from Piraeus.
In northern Europe, tours on horse-
back have special allure for several
reasons. One of these is the fact that
they'll get you into magnificently off-the-
beaten-path country in the Austrian ог
French Alps. Moreover, you'll ride with
blue-chip European equestrians, since
these tours are primarily designed for
them, and you'll enjoy en-route and over-
night facilities of the finest sort, often
at the homes of country-dwelling
gentlemen.
Across the Channel, in England, you
can make like the artist protagonist of
The Horse's Mouth by renting a house-
boat. You'll be a deluxe Gulley Jimson,
however, since this boat comes fully
equipped with hi-fi, electric galley, tele-
phones and maid, The craft indudes a
drawing room, dining room, glassen-
closed deckhouse, two bedrooms and
even the owners cat—not to mention
a beautiful view of London and the
Thames. All this is available for $750
per month.
Closer to home, boating buffs of the
spectator-sport varicty will be interested
in Colorado’s International White Wa-
ter Boat Races on the Arkansas river in
early June. Thousands watch from the
riverbank as men and boats challenge
the turbulent, treacherous waters. There
exciting races along Eastern rapids,
too, with the Eighth White Water Derby
scheduled for early May at North Creek,
York. Enuies are limited to cx-
and, just to make things difficult,
the rules require paddlers to turn. and
run upstream at designated points along
the sevencand-one-half-mile run. One of
the favorite vantage points for spectators
of this aqua slalom is north of Riparius,
overlooking the Spruce Mountain rapids.
If you'd rather be a participant than
a spectator, you may am for Ge
noe or raft journeys as an energetic
change of pace during an otherwise lush
Westermresort stay. These vacations are
distinguished by the last word in hotel
comfort and for romance,
you can't beat an under-the-stars camp-
ing jaunt on
playmate. As for the boating, wy the
relatively short run down the rapids of
from Lake Quinault Lodge, or the one-
day run by rubber raft down the Snake
river from Wyoming's Jackson Hole Pre-
Another short run in special flat-
bottomed boats will carry you through
Hell's Canyon, an incredibly deep chasm
on the Snake river in Idaho. If it's strict-
ly adventure you're after, try the six-day
rubberraft runs down the Middle Fork
of the Salmon river in Idaho, or along
the Green and Yampa rivers in Utah.
For further information on any of the
above, write to Playboy Readey Serv-
ice, 232 E. OhioSt., Chicago, 111.60611. ED
Al
Why the Emperor of Austria sent
an ambassador to Milwaukee
Franz Josef, Emperor of Austria (1867-1916),
knewa good glass of beer when he tasted it.
And when he tasted a glass of our good
Schlitz beer back in 1903, he promptly dis-
patched a royal envoy to study our methods
—"for the betterment of Austrian brewing.”
High praise indeed. When it came to mak-
ing beer, the Austrians were no amateurs,
Austria is now under new management.
But the Schlitz standards of quality that im-
pressed Franz Josef are still in effect today. ,
Always will be.
To paraphrase the Emperor, Schlitz gives.
you “real gusto—in a great light Беегі""
Schlitz—the beer that made Milwaukee
famous... simply because it tastes so good.
THE PLAYBOY FORUM
an interchange of ideas between reader and editor
on subjects raised by “the playboy philosophy”
DETERMINISM VS. FREE WILL
Although I agree with The Playboy
Philosophy for the most part—in fact, I
wish I'd written it—I object to Hefner's
concluding statement in the December
issue, which was: it seems reasona-
ble to hope that the same progressive at-
titude may now be displayed toward the
discoveries of Freud.” Inasmuch as 1
don't recognize this particular psy-
chologist as a. philosopher, isn't there а
discrepancy between Freud's rather de-
terministic psychology and rrAvBOY's
philosophy—which scems to express the
free will of man? If not, would you grant
that the rabbi, the priest and the minister
have an equally tenable position in rely-
ing on their religious writing
Ivan Lee Weir
Powell, Wyoming
Your letter was written before publica-
tion of the Religious Round-Table dis-
cussion in the January 1965 installment
of “Philosophy,” where Hefner dealt
with the very question you raise. How-
ever, more than а year ago, in the Decem-
ber 1963 installment, he wrote: “There
is a curious philosophical inconsistency
im the fact that while science is based
primarily upon reason and religion
primarily on faith, it is science that cur-
rently stresses man's inability to use his
rational mind (projected in the theory of
determinism, in which man is seen as
the sum of his heredity and environ-
ment) and religion which stresses free
will and responsibility (making him ac-
countable in an afterlife, where he is
punished or rewarded for his actions). It
is our view that man is а rational being
and while his heredity and environment
play a major vole in setting the pattern
of his life, he possesses the ability to
reason and the capacity for choice not
granted 10 the lower animals, whose
response to life is instinctually predeler-
mined. The use, or lack of use, of his
rational mind is, itself, a choice . . ."
One year and one month later, Hefner
made the same point in tlie Round-Table
debate, and added: "Freud said the con-
viction that there is a free will exists,
but this ts nol incompatible with the
belief in determinism. In establishing
an organized society, the opposite ap-
plies, In other words, even if deter-
minism were a reality if every act of
man were predetermined through causal
connection, aver which he had absolutely
no control—it would still be necessary
to plan society as though man possessed
free will, holding him responsible and
accountable for his actions. . . . Fortu-
nately, determinism isn’t a reality; but
then, of course, neither is free will.
Psychologically, we are both puppet and
puppetmaster at the same time: product
of our genes and environments, yet still
able to affect them both, because d
gave us 10 triumph over in-
stinct and choice to triumph over
conditioning,”
But a disagreement with some of
Freud's theories in no way negates the
importance of his primary discovertes in
the field of psychoanalysis—reocaling to
us not merely how we are imprisoned by
our pasts, but how we may be liberated
from them.
reason
HEFNER’S LOGIC
As а student of philosophy and logic,
I always attempt to examine the logical
structure of written material, especially
editorials, because critical analysis often
reveals weak arguments. 1 have always,
however, found The Playboy Philosophy
to be logically sound. Hefner's conclu-
sions invariably follow from his prem-
ises. Although many of the "tricks" of
argument are employed, I have seldom
found fallacious reasoning in Hefner's
itings.
Until ] read the December issue of
PLAYBOY, 1 felt that this mechanical pre-
cision was the result of a team effort, or
that Hefner had a highly talented ghost
writer. December's installment shattered
all such suppositions. Sceing Hefner re-
tain his logical clarity in an extempora-
neous discussion, which appeared to
border on the impromptu, was truly
inspirational.
Scldom today is a speaker able to rec-
ize when he is being led from the
ига! line of argument by quibbling or
misinterpretation of vague terms. Nor is
he able to return to the o al line of
thought when once led astray
Hefner, however, seemed to strive
more for clarity of meaning than for
persuasion in his discussion with mem-
bers of the clergy. He thus avoided
confusion and attained better under-
standing.
1 often find that those opposing Нег
ner most violently are those who are
among the least informed. One source, a
television production, illustrated clearly,
in condemning Hefner and his work,
tae tis
EI
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PLAYBOY
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that it had no understanding of,
sibly no contact with, the ideas cor
in The Playboy Philosophy. Such antag-
onists should at least read the Philoso-
phy before condemning immora
and Hefner as a crusader for corruption.
It seems to me that most of Hefner's
adversaries berate him for imposing his
opinion as the only correct line of
thought and attempting to recruit all
minds into his ranks. Perhaps I am
guilty of misunderstanding, but it ap-
pears to me that Hefner presents his
Philosophy more as food for thou,
than as the only way of life. He is not
ing people to abandon their соп
only to allow him to hold his own.
I think this clergy
was healthy and quite fascinati
showed that there actually exists а fa
close correlation between trains of
thought normally expected to be
nd that basi ifferences
tics.
discussion was edi
h usually means some degree of
avorable to the editor’s point
of view. It is only cr to
ıt to impose hı vorable
1 his own publication. The trends
of all sides of the forum seemed, howev
to approach basic agreement, thus
i b
all along—that he is not in
od's rules, but with man's
misinterpretatious and society's laws.
Hefner should not be condemned 1
his contrary opi Deviation from
tradition by m
stein and Martin Luther have made the
world what it is today, and thi
were hailed as geniuses. When we b
forbidding the existence and presen-
tation of thought that is contrary to
custom, we will end progress, destroy de-
mocracy and fall prey to totalitarianism.
Joseph P. Dion
San Diego Stare College
San Diego, California
15 THERE LIFE AFTER SEX?
ing becn happily married for
rs, I would be as sorry as an
one to see sex abolished. As a matter of
fact, I consider sex one of the major
pleasures in life—but not the only one
Surely a series which purports to spell
out one's "guiding principles and edito-
rial credo” in 19 articles (so far) under
the title of a philosophy must include
some subject matter besides sex. Or is
sex the only thing in life?
Mrs. Suzanne Watson
New York, New York
Sex isn't the only thing in life. It’s
also not the only thing in Hefner's
“Philosophy.”
FEEBLE RATIONALIZATION
The Playboy Philosophy is merely a
feeble rationalization for licentiousness
and hedonism. This rationalization is a
marketable commodity; immature peo-
ple cagerly accept it. It is the product
of glandular reactions rather than of
mental processes. PLAYBOY symbolism
proclaims it to be an animalistic, harc-
brained philosophy! Hefner's criticism
of legal and religious restraints on sex-
ual behavior reflects a juvenile attitude—
lashing out against restrictions imposed
by parents and socict
In urging that life should be primarily
one huge sexual smorgasbord, Hefner
idicates that he has never read "King
Mid or, if he has, that he fails to
grasp the simple and inescapable object
lesson of that story. Another apt com-
ment on overdoing a good thing comes
from George Bernard 5
ual holiday is a good wor
of Hell."
The rabbit cult must, indeed, have
more than its share of dumb bunnies if
Hefner's followers accept his theory that
he is an expert on everything (law, reli-
gion, sociology, history—you пате it)
merely because he is profiting lavishly
from the sale of “philosophical” girlie
d ex-
ploit the allure of hedonism. Philosophy,
or sales pitch? As a man who performs
many variations on the questionable
theme of hypocrisy among the "square
and straight people, Hefner is surpr
ly careless with stones while living in
glass pad.
T trust that praynoy, asa vigorous pro-
ponent of freedom of expression (for ev-
ing definition
hi:
its entirety, sans sn
verse editorial comment. Hef is a big
man in the game of brass-knuckle criti
cism of others: is he big enough ro take
it as well as put it out?
Leonard A. Mues
Denver, Colorado
Sure,
PERMANENT SOLUTION
While reading a recent issue of The
Christian, a weekly publication of the
Christian Church (Disciples of Christ),
І came across an article entided “Smut
Racket Protest." In this article a group
of Christian and Jewish church leaders
request that President Johnson “appoint
a special committee of experts to study
the traffic ir phy among Ameri-
can children commend a ‘swift and
permanent solution’ to the problem.”
‘The article goes on to call for an investi-
gation by the FBI "to find the sources of
pornography production” and urges that
“the facts be made public so that the
American people will know who is re-
sponsible for this corruptio
I suggest that if the American people
really want to find “who is responsible
for this corruption,” they look in a mir-
ror. If children were given proper sex
education, their parents wouldn't have
to worry about “pornographic” literature
"corrupting" them. The "swift and per-
manent solution" is to give children an
education in sex.
Philip Means
Nudear Power School
Vallejo, California
It has yet to be demonstrated that
anyone has ever been corrupted by a
book, and we think that attempts to ban
allegedly obscene books on the grounds
that they can lead the reader astray say
more about the censors than they do
about the objects of their displeasure.
Obscenity is in the eye of the beholder;
we feel that the reader corrupts the book,
rather than the book the reader. If a
person's upbringing and outlook cause
him to regard certain aspects of sex with
« profound sense of revulsion or guilt,
as subjecis unfit for human discussion,
then quite naturally he will construe
many works of literature and ан (as well
аз a great deal of everyday human
conduct) as threats to his personal mo-
ташу. Sex education—though not a
philosophers slone for instant sexual
happiness—can certainly contribute sig-
nificantly to an awareness of the protean
nature of pornography.
PITTSBURGH PROTEST
I have sent the enclosed letter [below]
to the two newspapers in Pittsburgh and
to Senators and Congressmen from Penn-
Б It was written as a protest
10 the actions of the CDL, not only in
Pittsburgh but throughout the United
States.
To the editors of the Pittsburgh
Post-Gazette and The Pitisburgh
Press:
In the very near future, Citizens
meeting in Pittsburgh w
open to the public. Many will attend
who sincerely believe something
should be done about questionable
literature. Others will attend in the
belief that they will be permitted
to peek at some juicy samples. The
latter will be disappointed.
CDL is traditionally a censorsl
group which has arrogated unto it-
self the role of setting community
standards for cveryone elsc—non-
members as well as membi Hav-
ing attended one such meeting
another community years ago, and
having followed the actions of those
aticnding for several months after,
I would have thought the group
destined to be а Пор. 1 was appalled,
as were several others 1 talked with,
at the lack of justification or evi-
dence supporting the charges made
during the couse of the meet
This particular campaign, therefore,
never got off the ground. The
spokesman would make no charge
that a problem existed in that lo-
cility, but merely stated that the
IN Aq 3
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CLUBMAN '
Clubman Sportcoats — Division of Segner, Inc. —933 South Maple Avenue, Los Angeles, Califomi 90015
45
46
ted everywhere.
But just what is the "problem"?
The common CDL premise is that
a person who reads salacious litera-
ture is a potential criminal threat to
society. To date, CDL. has offered
me no conclu: lence that this
is so. and T can't accept their word
on faith alone.
What might be a solution to the
CDL's propensity to destroy litera-
ture they deem unfit? Onc thing
might be this: There are many
tive people connected with this or
ganization. They pour tremendous
amounts of energy and, I would
suspect, money
Would it be n:
zation up to acceptable community
standards by diverting this time and
nergy into a profession nd ex-
tensive study of literature in its re-
lation to society's mores? I beli
they would be performing
community service if they did this.
If they can prove by expert testi-
mony and documented | evidence
that literature should be censored,
then CDL would be making a great
ibution to the laws of our land,
con
calling for a review of our Constitu-
tion, which so far has given me the
right to read whatever I wish and to
make my own judgment about it.
David G. Stanton
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
KEATING OF THE CDL
nclosed you will find a clipping from
The Salt Lake (Utah) Tribune, describ-
ing a recent visit to our city by Charles
Keating.
[The clipping reads, in part:
An aroused citizenry could put an
end to “the instant course in per-
version," sold at nearly every Salt
Lake newsstand, Charles H. Keating
said Wednesday night.
Mr. Keating, founder and nation-
al chairman of the Citizens for De-
cent Literature (CDL), appearing
lor a public address sponsored. by.
the Youth Protection Committee of
Salt me to the meet-
g armed with a s perback
books and magazines purchased here
a 15-minute shopping tour.
y them up one by one, Mr.
ad the titles, then
Keating
thumbed through the pages to read
es to back up his argument,
The books displayed covered ho-
mosexualit lity and varied
sexual perversions—and in most
cases, gave vivid desaiptions.]
Thanks to you, I was able to write an
ntelligent letter of protest for the “Let-
ters to the Editor" column of the same
newspaper a few days later. When I
tried to do some further checking on
Mr. Keating at the public library, I
learned they had nothing on him except
an article, praising him to the skies,
from an old issue of the Reader's Digest.
I knew more
about Keating than that. and that I had
read it in The Playboy Philosophy. He
asked me to call him when I got home to
give him the volume and number of the
issue, so that the library could add it to
its information on CDL and Mr, Keat-
ing. Needless to say, I was very happy to
comply.
Mr
Мут В. Hoefer
t Lake City, Utah.
Mr. Keaüng's astonishing ability to
appear in a strange city and in 15 min-
utes ferret out, from the galaxy of books
available, a two-foot shelf of the very
worst ones, and the uncanny instinct
which enables him to flip immediately to
the most appropriate parts—even while
addressing an audience—is evidence of
a devotion which we can't help but ad-
mire.
To update her files on the machina-
tions of Keating and his Citizens for De-
cent Litevature—whose activities were
first discussed in detail in “The Playboy
Philosophy" for November 1963—Mrs.
Hoefer might be interested in learning
that, just a few days after he fought ob-
scenity in Salt Lake City by reading it
aloud, Keating was angrily denounced
by a superior court judge in California—
for failure to appear for cross-examina-
tion in an obscenity trial.
According to the Visalia (California)
"Times-Delta, Judge Meredith Wingrove
of Tulare County, California, called
Keating “a discredit to the bar.” and
said that he was in contempt of court.
The judge reached these conclusions aft-
er Keating, who had carlier testified, as
an "expert witness,” that three books
and a magazine were obscene, failed to
show up for crossexaminalion on three
different been
thrice ordered to do so by the court.
dates—despite having
MILITARY CENSORSHIP
Your battle with the CDL is to me a
long-overdue showdown with a segment
of the misguided bigots who are attempt-
ing to warp the public mind. It was only
after reading the Philosophy that I
ized how much of this same narrow-
permeated the Armed
tthe Air Force,
While stationed in Texas, I noticed
that the base exchange was not stocking
praywoy. After duly filling out a sug-
gestion slip and presenting it to the
exchange
oversight to
ited for the
be corrected. When no
action was forthcoming (after three
months) I personally went to sce the
manager and asked him why rLAYnov
not being sold in the exchange. He
formed me that the previous base
chaplain had had the magazine re-
manager, 1 w
moved
of the
men." v
Nor was this all: he had also had the
bodybuilding magazines banned [rom
the exchange racks because he thought
that photos of scantily clad muscle men
might arouse homosexual tendencies in
the men! My amusement soon turned
to anger and I then conferred with
the base exchange officer, the base chap-
lain, and the library officer. Also, 1
enlisted the support of several of my
buddies in requesting the sale of
лувоү on base. Within three weeks,
AYsOY went on sale at the exchange,
along with a few other magazines which
had previously been banned.
It should be pointed out that о:
newsstands, less than a mile from the
main gate, all sold rrAvnoy; that 1 was
n town daily and was not inconven
ienced by having to buy reavsoy i
the city. The point is neither the
plain nor anyone else had the right
uthority to tell us what we could
not read; and they had no right so sup.
press what they personally deemed ob-
jectionable from sale in the
1 order to protect the interests
more i ionablc
e run into this censorship prob:
lem not only in the field of m: cs.
bur at the base theaters, USO shows
and, most recently, on TV. In the latter
case, the local Armed Forces Television
Network was showing a video tape of
the Jack Paar Show which featured a
conversation between Zsa Zsa Gabor and
Jayne Mansfield. The military censors
lopped off about 15 seconds of th
“risqué” interview in order to “protect
us innocent servicemen. However, this
program had been shown live, over the
SBC network, to an audience of several
million without being censored. Aren't
the GIs mature enough to watch what
the Аше housewife watche:
Those are some of the reasons why,
alter g put s Tam g
ting out of the service. The crackpots
are becoming too much for me to stom-
ach. In dosing, allow me to congratui
you on your stand and for your prin-
ciples. Whatever happens, don't give in.
Merle С
San Е
п nine уса
SLAPPED FANNY
Enclosed a newspaper clipping
which originally appeared in The
(PL eld. New Jersey) Courier-News
and which was reprinted, along with an
appropriate comment, in The New
Yorker. For quite a while T have won-
dered who was uncorruptible enough to
judge what is corruptible. At last Eh
found a soul so pure that e
tucs
re ex-
plained in the clipping.
I have greatly enjoyed The Playboy
Philosophy, and it is my hope the pow-
ers that be (including Judge Macaulay)
will be able to see some light in it and
make an attempt to pull themselves up
from their mid-Victorian concepts of
morality.
[The clipping]
Boston (AP)—Fanny Hill. the
ovel about a woman who didn't
move in the best of London circles,
will begin moving off Boston book-
shelves today.
Superior Court Judge Donald M.
Macaulay, after reading the 18th
Century novel four times, ruled it
is “obscene, indecent and impure."
J. Michael Serena
Milford, Ohio
The New Yorker commented: “He
ought to know,” but the fact is that quite
obviously he didn't. Which prompts us
to wonder whether Judge Macaulay read
the book four times before deciding it
was obscene, or whether he made his
decision on the first go-round and then
reread it thrice more just for kicks. We're
sure that, in his modest estimation, his
quadruple perusal left him morally un-
scathed—a tacit assertion on his part
that he's less corruptible than his fellow
Bostonians, For a great deal more on
Fanny, see “The Unsinkable Fanny Hill”
in this issue.
BRIGHT LIGHT IN SMOG
The heralds and trumpets of the
guardians of public morals are sounding
once again in Detroit. One Monsi
nor
Hubert A. Maino has attempted to “ex-
pose" rLavuoy in the city’s largest daily
paper by associating it with some photos
of sexual perversion that have nothing
to do with the magazine, It takes guts,
but not brains, to make а complete ass
of oneself in a paper. For my own part, I
have been using the Catholic Church's
index of prohibited books as a reading
guide; as à consequence, my library has
been rapidly expanding, my outlook has
broadened sufficiently to enable me to
guide my own affairs, and I am no long-
ег a Catholic. г1лүвоү seems to be the
last bright light in a very smoggy
atmosphere.
Robert B. J. Seghi
Southfield, Michigan
BEHOLDER'S EYE
I have laboriously gone through The
Playboy Philosophy; 1 say laboriously
hecause such an extensive edi
be read closely. 1 suppose Hefner's views
are contrary to “strict” Catholic dogm
but in my humble—and Catholic—opin-
ion, they make sense. 1
strongly that beauty is in the eye of the
beholder. People who classify PLAYBOY
pornographic only view it th
believe vei
cause of their own state of mind: What's
pornographic about the human body,
artistically displayed? God created us,
and as far as we know He's not ashamed
of His work.
jon A. Kondor
Moree, New South. Wales, Australia
PROTESTANT'S PRAISE
Two summers ago, a friend recom-
mended that I read The Playboy Philos-
ophy and I have been reading it ever
since, with great pleasure amd interest.
The Philosophy and the Forum have
helped me a great deal in formulating
my beliefs concerning sex and censor-
ship. among other things. They have also
helped me to be more open-minded in
considering the beliefs of other people
Last semester in a speech class at this
Protestant school, І gave а speech con-
cerning the dangers of censorship. Most
of my arguments were based upon the
arguments presented in the Philosophy,
and the speech seemed to be well accept-
ed by the students as well as by the pro-
fessor. | would like to thank vou for this
and I hope that you will continue the
Philosophy in the future.
Edward Spitler
Ottawa U
Oran
iversity
was.
PLAYBOY SERMON
A woman in Denver, Colorado, who
kindly remembered my contribution to
The Playboy Forum (January 1964) sent
me the enclosed sermon by her minister,
Reverend John R. Graham. Perhaps you
might condense it for use in PLAYBOY.
Harold Scott, Minister
st Congregational Parish, Unitarian
Kennebunk, Maine
We are grateful to Reverend Scott
for forwarding ihe sermon, and we wel-
come Reverend Graham, of the First
Universalist. Church of Denver, to the
“Forum.” While the number of clergymen
expressing appreciation of Hefner's
“Philosophy” continues to grow, Rev-
степа Graham's sermon is one of the
most extended, enthusiastic expressions
from a man of the cloth to date. The
sermon.
“THE PLAYBOY PHILOSOPHY"
Ten years ago, Hugh M. Hefner be-
gan publishing what was, at that time,
little more than another “girlie” maga-
zine. PLAYBOY was sophisticated, to be
sure, from the first edition. But over the
past decade it has changed. Today it
stands as one of the most widely dis-
cussed commentaries on our contempo-
rary way of life. Yes, it is true that the
girls are still there in all their perfection
and glory. And, although the Playmates
are unadorned, they have been overshad-
owed by Editor-Publisher Hefners dis-
cussions of The Playboy Philosophy
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48
After reading the monthly install-
ments of the Editor-Publisher's views
about life, many people have concluded
that the world is no longer going to the
dogs; rather, it is headed for the “Bun-
nics." To the uninitiated, the rabbit i:
the symbol of pravnoy magazine. But the
discussion continues. One writer in a re-
ligious magazine described ravuoy as
“one of the most spectacular successes in
the entire history of Ame
ism.” He went on to label the writers as
“dictatorial tastemakers" and suggested
that like sports cars, liquor and hifi
girls are just another "Playboy accessory."
Perhaps another clergyman came clos-
er to the actual truth when he wrote,
"PLAYBOY is morc than just a handbook
for the young man about town: Its a
sort of Bible which defines his values,
shapes his personality, sets his goals, dic-
tates his choices and governs his deci
ns. The Playboy Philosophy has
become . . . a sort of substitute religion.
Hefner's discussions about morality,
business and religion have had a disrup-
tive and disturbing effect because he has
dared to lift the lid of life and peer deep
о the inner being of our most sacred
thoughts and feelings. In essence, he has
disturbed the status quo.
As carly as April 1956, Hefner asked
the question: “What is a playboy? Is he
simply a wastrel, a ne'er-do-well, a fash-
ionable bum? Far from it: He can be a
sharp-minded young business executive,
a worker in the arts, a university
sor, an architect or engineer. He c
many things, providing he possesses a
certain point of view. He must see life
not as à vale of tears, but as а happy
time; he must take joy in his work, with-
out regarding it as the end and all of liv.
ing; he must be an alert man, are
man, à m:
man who—without acquiring
of the voluptuary or dile
n live life to the hilt. This is
the sort of man we mean when we use
the word playboy.”
With this statement, Hefner touched
upon the critical problem facing man in
the 20th Century. Our Western heritage
has been that of denial. Man has been
conditioned to deny his feelings; he has
been taught to restrain himself. when
comes to pleasure; he has been cond
tioned to believe that work is an end in
itself. It seems to me that PLAYBOY'S sig-
nificance rests in the fact that it has
dared to question this lifedenying phi-
losophy and, at the same time, suggest
that zest and gusto and enjoyment are
proper descriptions for man's life tod.
goes against the American
in. Life based on the idea of depriva-
tion as the highest good results in per-
sons’ feeling guilty if they accidentally
happen to derive something in living
that borders on enjoyment. How many
times have I visited somconc's new home
and, as I was being conducted through
the house, all I would hear was one apol-
ogy heaped on top of another. “We real-
ly did not need this much room, but
“The old furniture was in good
shape..." “Who could ever use a refrig-
erator this size . “We did not want
the dishwasher, but it was in the house
One comes to the conclusion that
pleasure in living is evil. Man has been
taught in Western society to feel guilty
if he all comfortable.
As a result, the rrAvmov philosophy
has been called hedonistic. As one critic
wrote, this principle will cause everyone
to become “happy jellyfish that have no
more substance to themselves than the
knowledge of their own pl
fiction, fashion and feminine fantasy are
said to be the ingredients of the PLAYBOY
attitude! "The implication behind this
concern is significant: Only the una-
dorned life is worth living.
What is expressed in The Playboy
Philosophy is a direct clash of past val-
ues with the 20th Century world. The
antilife views of traditional Chi
arc now coming into direct debate with.
a view of life that advocates individual
freedom linked with a sense of personal
moral responsibility. The uncasiness we
all feel about the lack of stability in life
has come about because no longer are
persons afraid of themselves and по
longer are they able to be controlled by
the ideas and formulations of the past.
For too long we believed that order in
socicty would come as a result of adhe:
g to tried-and-true dictums that were
ded down from generation to gener-
ation. The past no longer causes
conformity.
"Today, more than ever before, a mor-
al crisis exists in our society. Many
believe we are in a period of desperate
decline because the flower of our culture
has been cut from its roots. We do live
an age of anxiety with illness. We
not understood what it means to
live in an open society. There is no prog-
ress without freedom, There is only
stultifcation and stagnati Tt is by
keeping our society open and free tha
we can move into new forms of 1
that have meaning for the days in which
we exist.
There are too many people who be-
lieve that new ideas are harmful—in es-
sence, they are people who fear freedom.
As Hugh Hefner has written, “By keep-
ing open all lines of communication in
our culture, every new idea—no matter
how seemingly perverse, improper or
peculiar, has its opportunity to be con-
sidered, to be challenged, and ultimately
to bc accepted or rejected by society as a
whole or by some small part of it." We
speak much about maturity, but ever so
infrequently do we define it. The prime
ingredient of maturity is the ability to
live in a constant state of anxiety with-
out becoming immobile. To struggle, to
achieve, to wrest from life values that
ha
are personally meaningful is to begin to
arrive at a sense of human dignity. But.
in order to accomplish this, man must be
free from ignorance, sickness, poverty
and fear. He must be able to enjoy life
and thus control his destiny. In essence
he must be able to experience ple
this is hedonism, then 1 am a hedon
What I am suggesting is this: One is
enabled to develop values that are per-
sonally meaningful only when he cx-
periences life as hopeful, valuable and
satisfying. This is the experience of
pleasure.
Lam just naive enough to take Editor-
Hefner seriously. 1 do
ve that we can return to a sim-
pler world. Much of the current social
criticism is but a beating of the breast,
because it fails to acknowledge that man
cannot return to some unknown and
undefined paradise of the past.
From the many elements of The Play-
boy Philosophy, 1 would like to view a
few. The first of these is the concept of
the uncommon man. It is significant that
so much is being written at this juncture
1 history about mass society and the
ed person. One of the many prob-
people seem to have is that as indi-
viduals they do not fecl that they fit the
pattern of those about them. We do not
like to see ourselves as different from
others. Something is wrong with us if we
are not like our friends and neighbors.
However, it scems to me there is some-
thing amiss in a society that fosters an
image of “the common man.” The ec-
centric, or what І would term the un-
common, man must have his right
protected to deviate from the norm.
Hefner terms this “the right to be differ-
ent.” Without that right there is no such
thing as a free society.
In this regard, it is important to note
happened to the ideas of initia-
e and ambition today. Tt is heresy to
let it be known that such feelings
part of one’s personal view of lile. It is
required that a person should cloak
these waits in socially acceptable е
phemisms such as “service to mankind’
or the
that ambition and initiative are personal
drives is to open oncself up to severe so-
cial criticism or to impair one’s future.
Yet, without drives toward sclf-en-
hancement and self-fulfillment and self-
ation, one can swiftly enter the
nks of the mediocre.
It is in this regard that the question of
“success” comes to the fore. There is a
segment of society that views success as
the end of life. The higher a person rises
on the ladder the better able he is to be-
come a “consumer-king.” It is true that
for many, success is such a personal ex-
perience that it, of necessity, precludes
the possibility of fecling a sense of re-
sponsibility to society as a whole, Unfor-
tunately, this is usually developed under
(continued on page 138)
“welfare of others.” To admit
A season you'll never forget...
PLAYBOY’S FIRST IN JAMAICA!
This winter, travel-wise island-hoppers are staying and
playing at the most talked-about new hotel in the Carib-
bean, the Jamaica Playboy Club. Every day—and night—of
Playboy's festive premiere season is a never-to-be-
forgotten holiday. The energetic swim, water-ski, skindive,
sail, hook marlin, ride, golf, play tennis, sight-see while
the romantic relax and get away from it all in some
secluded cove. Things happen at The Playboy Club.
AND WHEN THE JAMAICAN SUN GOES DOWN—
The Playboy Club really lives it up! Dine, dance and enjoy
top American and island entertainment throughout the
star-studded night. Bunnies abound in showrooms, at
poolside, at torchlit rum swizzle soirees on the beach of
Bunny Bay. Limbo. Calypso. Ska.Whatever your favorite
form of night life, Playboy delivers it with a tropical flair.
Then, when the party's over, retire to your air-conditioned,
suite-size room (one of 204) to rest up for a new day's
round of exciting adventures and surprises. Discover
Jamaica this winter at The Playboy Club. It doesn't cost
more than other hotels . . .it just offers тоге."
Contact Marcy Lee Hoffman, Director, Playboy Travel,
232 East Ohio Street, Chicago, Illinois 60611
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ёп THE PLAYBOY PANEL:
USES AND ABUSES OF THE NEW LEISURE
one of a series of provocative conversations about subjects of interest on the contemporary scene
PANELISTS
STEVE ALLEN is an entertainment in-
stitution. Television star, actor on stage
and screen, lyricist, pianist, composer
and comedian, he is also thc author of
eight books, ranging from an autobiog-
арһу to a collection of poems.
CLEVELAND AMORY, chronicler of high so-
ciety, café society and the jet set, is a
writer, lecturer, columnist, satirist
television and radio essayist.
among the country’s most widely
ters, known not
шапу published wı
only for his books, but also for his
of the Month” column in the Saturday
Review, his weekly critiques in TV
Guide and his humorous articles in a
score of other magazines and newspapers.
JOHN DIEBOLD, lit for
ing coined the term tio
at 38, one of the world’s leading autho
ties on the technology of the future. His
consulting firm, The Dicbold Group, ad-
scs hundreds of companies, organiza-
tions and many governments on how to
cope with the onrushing age of the
computer.
PAUL GOODMAN is a writer by occu
pation, a utopian by conviction. His pre-
scriptions for righting the wrongs of
contemporary civili include ban-
ning autos from п, dosing
down the present-day school system, de-
centrali ion of ci
ad the mass media. Blunt and provoca-
ус, he is the author of Growing Up
Absurd, Community of Scholars, Utopian
Essays and Practical Proposals and many
ticles for m; publications—includ-
ing The Deadly Halls of Ivy, for PLAYBOY
(September 1964). next book, People
or Personnel, will be published next
month by Random House.
WALTER KERR may well be the most
influential drama ic in the United
States today. А brisk and bus
former professor at Cathol
he is married to hit playwright J
Kerr, with whom he co-authored Goldi-
locks and Touch and Go, In addition to
his firs-nighter stint as drama critic for
the New York Herald Tribune, he has
directed the aforementioned and two
other Broadway shows, has written for
television, and authored five hooks on
such subjects as the theater, censorship
and The Decline of Pleasure, his most
recent work.
NORMAN PODHORETZ, whose gentle man-
ner belies his contentious views, is an
who shares cr
autom
is,
rticulate and outspoken social critic. His
controversial essays on the race issue, the
ichmann trial and contemporary liter-
ature have won him increasing national
attention, A crewcut New Yorker, he
the author of Doings and Undoings and
editor of Commentary, one of the coun-
try's most respected journals of opinion.
He has also been a member of the Sem-
in American Civilization at Colum-
à University.
JEAN SHEPHERD' brilliantly funny and
unorthodox insights into American soci-
ety enlighten and entertain a sizable
radio audience of night people. A
man of n unexpected. parts, he has
worked in the steel mills of Indiana, per-
formed in plays both on and off Broad-
way and will be appearing in The Light
Fantastic, a new movie to be released
this year. He has written three hilarious
boyhood reminiscences and conducted
an interview (with the Beatles) for
PLAYBOY; his first book, Hairy Gertz
and the 47 Crappies, and Other Horrors,
is soon to be published by Doubleday.
His radio commentary, once heard only
in New York, is now syndicated in near-
ly 300 cities.
TERRY SOUTHERN, author of Flash and
Filigree and The Magic Christian and
celebrated co-author of Dr. Strangelove:
or How I Learned to Stop Worrying
and Love the Bomb, has been called
everything from a “social anarchist” and
a "hip iconoclast” to a “comic pornogra-
pher with a profound mo
latter was a reference to the s
bestselling erotic novel Candy, written
by Southern and Mason Holfenberg. Re-
cently, he has also become a contributor
to Praynoy (his first piece: Seeing Is Be-
lieving, in our January issue).
PLAYBOY: Americans today have more
time to spare than ever before in history,
and they are going to have still more. At
the turn of the century, the average
ork week was 70 hours; since then it
has been sliced almost in half. Life ex-
pectancy has lengthened. Retirements
come earlier. Collee breaks punctuate
the workday. Holidays multiply. Paid
vacations lengthen: In Pittsburgh and
Gary, some steelworkers already receive
three-month paid sabbatical holidays.
Economist Marion Clawson, eying the
spread of automation, has estimated that
by the year 2000, Americans have
600 billion more leisure hours to di: pee
of than they had in 1950. This est
of off-the-job hours has been challenged
You need involvement, commit
ment. The person who has difficulty feel-
ing a sense of commitment to anything
larger than himself regards great chunks
oj leisure time with apprehension.
مس
775 dme
S
surPHrRp: How are we going to spend
all this excess time? Maybe in strife
Have you noticed that as things get bet-
ter for all vacial groups, strife increases?
It's a by-product of wealth and leisure.
DIEBOLD: It may turn out, as machines
come more closely to imitate man's way
of working, thai only his way of playing,
only his leisure pursuits, will distinguish
him from the machine.
SOUTHERN: I agree with the psychiatrists
that people aren’t prepared to cope with
leisure, Leisure is a frightening thing
unless you're ready for confrontation
with yourself—and most people aren't.
51
PLAYBOY
52
рорновет2: Many people perform work
that is not satisfying to them. When
work is not fully meaningful, then play
also becomes meaningless. You can relax
fully only when you've worked fully.
GOODMAN: People have so little ability to
structure their lives when the structure
isn't given lo them, that when they arc
freed from it on vacation, you get a
spectacle of slaves on a holiday.
AMORY: Civilization is on its way out
when we all get to be spectators. Most
of us aren't even actual spectators of
sports; we're TV spectators—twice re-
moved from actual participation.
KERR: Today—even at what we like to call
play—eueryone seems to set himself a
goal: We can get in 18 holes by four;
then we can eat, and so on. We're work-
ing at it more but enjoying it less.
by other expe
conservative.
Signs of the new leisure, meanwhile,
are everywhere. Tens of millions of
Americans arc scuba divers, water skiers,
bowlers, boatmen and bird watchers.
Millions more have become amatcur
nters and musicians. Beaches and ball
rks ammed, as are theaters, mu-
scums and concert halls. 11% been esti-
mated that Americans spend 50 billion
dollars а year on leisure alone—15 Dil-
lion more than they spend on medical
care, for example. Anxious to keep their
employees content, many companies are
even constructing “recreation parks" for
them. One such installation, owned by
neapolis Honeywell Regulator
besides the more con-
facilities, a casting pond for
fishermen, a ski tow and a 36-hole golf
course.
Yet the leisure-loaded American has
become object of controversy. So-
i warn of a com of
s as being hopelessly
“barren boredom.” Life magazine recent-
“THE
ly headlined a special series:
EMPTINESS OF TOO MUGI LEISURE.
authorities argue that American:
first modern people to know the lu
of leisure, are the lea
chiauists report a rising incidence of
“weekend ncurosis"—a curious new ail-
ment afllicting busy young executives:
confronted with weekends of workless
frecdom, many succumb to boredom, ir-
ritability, restlessness, even despe:
Social sci
cans learn to cope more effectively with
their free time, the steady accumulation
of off-hours will have an explosive im-
pact on society.
Mr. bold, as one of the nation's
leading experts on automation. do you
believe that increased leisure will really
pose this serious a. problem for us?
DIEBOID: Yes. leisure will be a very
scrious problem, but not just in the ob-
ys. It isn't just a matter of not
knowing what to do with a few extra
hours of freedom. It isn't just a matter
of weekend neurosis. Leisure is going to
test man's conception of himself. It
forces us to think about the proper role
of mankind,
about what we really want to concern
ourselves with. The problem today is
that wor at the center of our culture.
Our entire heritage puts a premium on
work. It’s been the center of life. But as
the work week declines and leisure in-
creases. the situation is beginning to rc-
verse itself. Work
and leisure is moving to the center. This
is unquestionably the way it’s going to
be. But we are totally unprepared for
this. Therci ss the problem. Thi
transformation probably won't be com-
plete until the carly: part or the middle
of the next century. It will be postponed
vious wa
bout what our nature is,
by the fact that the bulk of the world
is still living on the edge of starvation.
So there is still plenty of work to do. But
considering the fact that what we face
a complete cultural transformation, the
time span for the United States is not so
very long. We certainly need many years.
30 or 40 at least, to prepare for that new
kind of culture, to begin to understand
it. But we're going to have to make a
great many changes in the way we live
and think if leisure is to be a blessing
and not a curse.
SOUTHERN: If youre talking
' more curse than
h the psychiatrists
people aren't prepared to cope with
sure is a frightening thing unless
you're ready for a confrontation with
yourself—and most people simply aren't.
Amory: I'm afraid I agree. The trou-
ble with the shorter work weck is that
it’s inclined to be shorter for those who
don’t need it, rather than for those who
could use it. By this Fm not impl
that I'm against shorter work weeks for
the hard-working laborer, but I do feel
that our education to usc leisure mean-
ingfully has failed to keep pace with
the increase in free time. There are
few men, Josh Billings once said, who
have character enough to lead a life of
idleness.
SHEPHERD: Well, I think many of thc
itics who lament the new leisure
are out of touch with reality. I don't
think most Americans are the least bit
afraid of having more leisure. I think
they'll cope with it just fine. I think thi
is one of those great imaginary problems
—like the theory of phlogiston or the
old debate over how many angels arc
dancing on the head of a pin. It’s the
about
social critic who is the true puritan. He's
the one who is all bound up with the
gospel of work. He sees a down
the street who works, let's say, at the
tire company. He sces him come home.
look at his television show, sit on the
porch for four hours. The critics deplore
this, They think its a terrible thin
‘They think this tire worker should he
out there getting a play written, or some-
thing, You know, put n an eight-
hour day at the tire plant is a pain in
the rump. 1 wonder how many social
critics have that kind of pain to contend
with—and to recuperate from during
their free hours.
PODHORETZ: Im not quite so san-
guine about it, but I do find it hard to
believe that leisure is really going to be
a curse. Greater leisure has been one of
the dreams of mankind from the begin
ning of recorded time. The fact th
many people seem to have difficulty
making the best possible use of it still
doesn't make it a curse, in my view.
From what I've seen at first hand, most
people don't seem parti
with time on their hands.
KERR: I agree. I don't sce how you can
have too much leisure time. The idea,
the ideal of leisure is a kind of race
memory from our childhood,
want to cling to it: we look back to
with longing. I think we would all like
once more to feel as we felt when we
were children—when there were no
great pressures on us. No, iUs not that
we have too much ne. To me the
whole problem is that what we do have
is corrupted.
PLAYBOY: How do you mean?
KERR: As soon аз a man runs away
from work at five, he goes right home
and has something to cat and drink, and
then goes down to the basement and
straight back to work again—only now
with his power saw, or paneling a room,
or building a new terrace. He's working
for himself this time, but it's not really
leisurc.
SOUTHERN: ] just visited one of those re-
tirement citie California. The whole
ide:
d it’s supposed to be straight lei
sure, but my God, they're the most per
patetic people in the world, They're all
and over, and it's a second childhood
for them, but very highly organized.
They do beadwork, and finger painting,
and modern dance—you know, sort of
and we
s that these people are retired
high school things, all over again. Christ,
they're putting in a tenhour day out
there.
GOODMAN: Work, leisure—I doubt
that it makes much dilference. Having
more time away from work hasn't made
people any less foolish or base than
working hard. Its not whether we call
work or leisure that counts. What counts
is the degree of personal involvement.
Given the lack of involvement most peo-
ple have on their jobs, their frivolity
during the leisure hours doesn’t make
much difference. They aren't really
ything any They're just
fooling around. Suppose a man's job is
to make a useless product, next year's
model change. Do you call that work?
AuEN. Hardly. But there's another
kind of involvement, too. Nor just in-
volvement with the job, but social in-
volvement. The increase in technical
know-how—in the numbers and kinds of
fertilizers and chines, com-
puters and that
turned the world into heaven on
"There are still millions of people starv-
ing. What is required is more men with
a sense of commitment and responsibil-
ity to society. In that sense, I agree with
Mr. Diebold. What to do with leisure
time is a profoundly important question,
because it requires man to ask himself
what the hell he's doing here, and why
he has a right to eat and drink, if he
isn't going to leave his corner of the
earth very much better than he found it.
PLAYBOY: Do you feel that leisure
must be purposeful, cither altruistically
or acativelyz
KERR: Absolutely not—and that’s the key
to the whole thing: We are all committed
to endless utilitarianism. Function, func-
tion, function. We think everything
we do has to have some functional
utility. Before we do something that has
no function, no special utility, we face
some kind of inner crisis. It's a terrible
wrench, almost a physiological one, I'd
. "There's a moment of near illness.
We have to get over that. We will never
be able to enjoy leisure until we realize
that all the things we do for a purpose,
for some form of profit, are not and ca
not be leisure. True leisure is acti
seems truly uscless. There is no uti
it. Therefore, we are free, we are wuly
playful in the sense that an animal is
playful. You might call it allow
self to run through existence barefoot.
The real compulsion we operate under
is the compulsion toward utility. To free
ourselves of that difficult, and the
more free time we have, the tougher it's
going to be.
PODHO! Oh, no, solutely
not. I take just the opposite view. I
don't believe there really is any such
thing as a nonutilitarian act. Everything
we do ís done to serve some purpose,
conscious or otherwise. In that sense,
even leisure can't be nonutilitarian. In
fact, it has to be utilitarian, although.
that isn’t exactly the word I'd use. The
word I'd use is serious. The activity has
us in intent. Even play, even
the play of very small children, has to be
serious. Children play at being somc-
where else, being someone else: Its a
nd of acting out of real life. The idea
is not so much to escape from the here
and now as to enlarge the possibilities of
the immediate world. But the point of
reference is always the real world. This
is what I mean when I say that lei-
sure has to be serious. You can't just
tell somebody to be an amateur painter
if he has no real talent, no real impulse,
no real possibility of painting a picture
that is worth something, at least to some-
one. Гуе never been able to take up a
sport just because someone told me it
would be good for me. I find if I'm not
good at it, I can't enjoy it. Doing it has
to fill some need for me. In this context,
what's important about an activity is not
whether it seems to be uti an or not,
but rather how much self there is in it,
as against how much transcendence of
self.
PLAYBOY: Would you elaborate?
PODHORETZ: People who run off to
the country whenever they can—and we
all do, if we can afford to—are obcying
no, a
an instinct to commune with something
that isn’t man-made, I can sit and stare
t the ocean for hours at a time, empty-
headed, It does something to me. Other
people have the same thing with moun-
Nature bespeaks something larger
than the human will and indifferent to
the human will; it inspires feclings of a
i acer. Now D is
certainly one kind of leisure—th
suppose Mr. Kerr was talking about—
but it’s hardly the only kind. In other
words, I! would nst the idea
leisure isn't lei:
mystical or religi cter of sorts,
and 1 would argue ast the idea that
it must be nonpurposive,
We have no reason to assume that
man is anything but a Лото faber—a
maker—someone in whose nature the
impulse to make is very powerful. Not
only does the impulse to work exist in
us, but work has always been a necessity
Yet today there are utopian prophets
who tell us that work won't be a necessi-
ty for all time. A writer like Robert
Theobald envisages a situation in which
the right to a basic annual wage without
work will be guaranteed to all. 1 suppose
it's theoretically conceivable. But even
so, it strikes me that it would be very
hard for human nature, as we know it
now, and as we know it from the litera
ture of past ages, to be satisfied with
such a condition. In fact, so little do we
seem to be able to do without work that
the prospect of a society in which work
is no longer a matter of survival begins.
nically, to assume the proportions of
a crisís—one of the gr of human
history. 1 such a workless world should
ever really come into being, we would
have to undergo huge spiri trans-
formations in order to learn how to
cope with i
SOUTHERN: We've already opened up
an abyss of leisure. In one sense, today
there's really nothing but leisure. It's
work that’s phony or false for most рео:
ple—because everyone knows that all he
has to do is lie down on the sidewalk
nd somebody is going to come along
and take care of him. He's not going to
starve to death. In other words, thc mo-
ivation for work no long, es to
al. This really lays it on the line in
. Once
youre aware of the actual situation,
then the question becomes: What is
there that's worth. doing?
ALLEN: I don't want to ha
me note, but isn't th
saying you need involvement? Commit-
ment? When you're in love, for example,
you're never bored, never at a loss about.
what to do with you very moment
seems precious and important. Nor are
scholars bored, nor men gripped with a
philosophical passion. Communists arc
rel.
surv:
terms of how to spend your da
53
PLAYBOY
not bored. Fascists are not bored. Saints
are not bored. Wouldn’t you agree that
it is the person who has difficulty feeling
a sense of commitment to anything larg-
er than himself—that it is this sort of
person who regards great chunks of time
with apprehension?
GOODMAN: Right. Without real in-
volvement it doesn’t matter whether
youre working or playing. Work is
something imposed on you from the out-
side, so let's lay that aside. It's something
you're forced to do. Fooling around is
what you force yourself to do. It's trying
to have a good time, to pass the time, to
kill time. Both work and leisure should
be ways of giving yourself to a task that
is somehow part of your justification for
living. It can be a conversation at a mer-
chant seamen's bar; it can be teaching a
Ph.D. seminar, or playing a game of
sheepshead in the university lounge—so
long as you want to do it, so long as you
care about the outcome, so long as the
thing is not trivial to you. Lack of in-
volvement is a vacuum. Emptiness is
horribly painful, and when you're faced
with this vacuum, its unlivable. Then
you're reduced to the simplest possible
philosophy of “Jet's have pleasure,” and
you just don't get pleasure that way.
POPHORETZ What we come back to,
I suppose, is that you can't derive any
kind of satisfaction from living unless
there is a truly serious intention behind
what you are doing—at work or play—
and unless there is a. potentially serious
result.
KERR: Well, I can remember a time
when we didn't worry about such things.
It’s futile to daydream about the bucolic
past, of course, but I recall with unal-
loyed pleasure the times I used to v
my grandparents as a child—which w
very frequently. 1 spent an inordinate
umount of time there playing ball and
going to picnics and spending entire eye-
nings around the piano. That is my car-
liest memory of Sunday evening, from
the time dinner was over until we went
home, which was probably ten or eleven
o'clock. I mean three or four hours sim-
ply singing, people just standing around,
one of them playing the piano and ev-
eryone else singing. Nothing could have
been less serious, less purposeful—or
more enjoyable. But that kind of group,
coming together on an easy, unplanned
id unorganized basis, has tended to
vanish. Today—even at what we like to
call play—everyone seems to set himself
a goal, often an artificial one: We can
make such and such a place by noon; we
get in 18 holes by four;
we can eat; and so forth and so on. It's so
much more regimented: In effect, we're
working at it more but enjoying it less.
SHEPHERD: You're so right. A lot of
the good old nonfunctional ways of
spending leisure have begun to disap-
can then
pear: ham radio, for example—my own
hobby. By far the largest percentage of
amateur radio operators when I was a
boy and got my license had built all
their own equipment. It was just as au-
tomatic as putting on your shocs. But
this sort of thing has practically disap-
red. In its place has come the hi-fi
. And thar's not at all the same thing,
of course. It’s packaged and prefabri-
cated—and it's no fun.
AMORY: What I don't like about the
way people spend their leisure today is
that it seems to be conformist as well as
packaged. People collect contemporary
art because the fellow down the street i
collecting art. I think that over the last
generation or two, hobbies have become
much more depers and conform-
ist than they used to be. That's an im-
portant and unfortunate shift in our
approach to leisure.
SOUTHERN: If you want a positive change,
the great new hobby, of course, is sex
—mosily straight physical sex, where
the psychological and emotional cle-
ments are pure gravy. That's the scene,
and the trend is up. It all has to do
with a profound change in the no-
n of possess There's a new
awareness that physical “purity” for a
woman is a con, an illusion, and that
physical “exclusiveness,” in a man's atti
tude toward a woman, has nothing to do
with any sort of real relationship be-
tween two people. This is very much on
the increase, and I would put this, and
its contingencies, under the heading of
groovy new leisure-time activities.
SHEPHERD: Well, forgive me for saying so,
but it seems to me that promiscuity is
not particularly new as a leisure-time
activity; in fact, it may be our oldest
leisure-time activity. I seem to remember
there was even a commandment that re-
ferred to it. Perhaps Mr. Southern him-
self has just discovered this fascinating
new hobby. Every teenager believes that
sex was invented sometime during his
12th year, and he is dumfounded to
find out later that even his old man
had heard of it some time earlier, No,
sex is not new.
GOODMAN: As far as sex as a leisure-
time hobby is concerned—new or old—
my observation has been that people are
their worst when they are on vacation.
They are like pigs.
PLAYBOY: In what way?
GOODMAN: People have so little ability
to structure their lives when the struc-
ture isn't given to them by some exter-
nal command, that when they are freed
from it on vacation there is every sign of
breakdown. They engage in sexual activ-
ity when they don't seriously mean to
let themselves get involved. This must
mean that the orgasm will be no good.
They don't notice one another as per-
sons, and that makes the sex no good.
nc:
An important reason for this is, у,
that in their own work they are unab'e
to structure their lives. It is structured
for them. If we look at the economic sys
tem itself, we'll see that it does not allow
most of the people involved in it to
build structures of their own, Almost all
the decision-making is from the top
down. Therefore, even at work, their
values tend to be rather slavish. So in
their leisure what you get is a spectacle
of slaves on a holiday. This isn't very en-
nobling. But their work life is a little
better than their vacations. It’s a little
less unpleasant. I don't have to watch i
ALLEN: I can't agree that everyone is
that way. But that does remind me of a
scene from Mondo Cane—a very impor-
tant motion picture. This was the scene
which the American tourists in Н.
waii are shown “enjoying themselves.
These poor people, many of them at
quite advanced years, wearing these
bright shirts and being hustled by the
souvenir peddlers and herded around
like cattle—1 found that a rather sad-
dening and depressing scenc.
PLAYBOY: It is frequently charg
Americans are becoming too passive in
me pursuits. Do you feel
this is true? And if so, is too much pas-
sive leisure making us soft, physically
and mentally?
PODHORETZ: I don’t whether
Americans are more passive than any
other people would be in an industri
culture as advanced as ours. I don't
think this has anything to do, intrinsi
with the American character. But it
certainly does scem to be true that we
spend a great deal of our leisure time as
spectators rather than as participants.
Mr. Kerr is right about people not get-
ting together around the piano and sing-
ing as they once did. Now they listen to
records. Listening to records isn't a total-
ly passive experience, but it's certainly
more passive than singing. The same
goes for watching a baseball ga
you're really interested in baseball and
know all about it, watching
not exactly а passive experience. It in-
volves something like aesthetic connoi:
scurship. People get excited and they
yell and they jump and drink а lot of
beer, and so on. Ivs not a narcotic, but
certainly it’s not like playing baseball.
As for Americans being soft, that seems
observably true. Everybody is too fat.
AMORY: Yes, the spectator way of life
is a pretty grim business, and 1 think
that you will sce that the decline of an-
cient Rome had something to do with
the spectator sports, and the Chinese
mandarin society fell when the manda-
rins started hiring coolies to play tennis
for them while they watched. I think
that civilization is on its way out when
we all get to be spectators, particularly
know
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56
nowadays when most of us aren't even
actual spectators of sports, we're TV
spectators—which is re-
moved from actual
AUEN: I don't agrec that we are any
more passive than we were in the past.
Most people have never playcd football.
Most people have simply watched foot-
ball from the stands or listened on their
radios before TV. Most people have
never been actors. They gone to
the theater and sat and watched other
people act. Most people have never been
musicians. They have gone to concert
halls and sat and listened to musicians
perform. So there is nothing really new
bout being spectators.
On the other hand, I think there is
clear-cut evidence that we're growing
soft. "The book Pork Chop Hill by
5. L. А. Marshall, the military historian,
points out that the American soldier in
the Korean War was the equal of the sol-
diers from the many other nations in all
respects but one—leg power. The Ameri
cans were not able to march as far or as
fast as the enemy. Our leg muscles are
weak. This is one way in which we can
see we are definitely getting soft, softer
than we were. And this would seem to
be because we are a nation on wheels,
Also, people scem to be working less
hard now. Fewer people are doing hard
physical labor. Fewer people are Iabor-
ing in the coal mines. Fewer people are
g down trees. Fewer people are
ing snow and that sort of thing. In
the long run this must inevitably have a
softening effect.
KERR: When there is so much comfort
and indulgence available, you are going
to have some fat on you. Television,
which has allowed ivelf to fall down in-
to sludge, encourages the viewer to fall
down into sludge, too. That he has be-
come increasingly passive is clear to me
from his tolerance of,
interruptions. But even mor
there is the artificiality of w cept
ed as human speech in the commercial
itself. That, to me, is the most passive of
all things. I myself don't know how peo-
ple can sit there and listen to these di-
alog exchanges in commercials which
are so utterly unreal at every concciv-
able level, and remain in the room. I
have to leave the room. I can't stay
there. And it is not an aesthetic styliza-
tion, such as you might sometimes see in
the theater or in a film. Transparently,
it is a fraudulent reality. That people
sit still for even a moment suggests
to me an abnormal passivity, and a very
dangerous one.
SOUTHERN: | don't know that people
are hooked on TV any more than they
used to be on radio. 1 do know that you
have to make a erent kind of movie
now to get them out of the house, but 1
would doubt the passivity. I mean just
forgetting about the crime rate and free-
dom marches, what about thought?
What about listen What about
music?
KERR: Granted. Your mind is engaged
and kept active by listening to Bach
"Ihe mind is engaged
level of activity. I don't mean you are
King, but it is certainly an intellec
tual engagement. The aet is called con-
But that isnt the same as
TV doesn't have to be in-
Пу passive, but it allowed
itself to become so. It doesn’t attempt
in any way to engage the viewer's mind
at a really complex level so that his mind
is truly active while contemplating it.
SHEPHERD: You know, here we
beating people on the head about their
being passive. What's so terrible abour
iv T think this is а prime example of our
being detached from reality. We get
these sweeping generalizations about
the American people not getting enough
exercise. God! You can't even get a boat
into the water in Lake Michigan any
more, the boats are so thick Golf
courses all over the country are stacked
six deep with people. Who the hell are
all these people— Chinese? They are out
crsküng, and being
ns and actors, and flying
and doing a hell of a lot of other things
—induding all the do-ityourself stuff.
I'm not saying it's necessarily good or
bad, but it sure as hell isn’t passive!
Furthermore, I've never found anything
wrong with being passive. I kind of cn-
joy just sitting around on my butt. Why
should we place a moral judgment on it?
KERR: I don't think we mean—at least
1 don't mean—that everything has to be
muscular or it's no good. I remember
h pleasure, when I was a kid, that
there was an easygoing quality about
life. Sitting on the porch for a whole aft-
eroon or st g around the piano for
n evening.
the sense that it is not physi
ed. But on the other hand, we were
talking to one another all afternoon or
exercising ourselves vocally. It wi
like turning into a blob. Also, there was
a kind of pleasant human interaction.
What disturbs me more than growing
y is the decline of group activity.
We are not as interested in our neigh-
bors or as willing to do things with them
or for them as we used to be. The group
camaraderie is gone. Everything is more
isolated,
PODHORETZ: I'm forced to di
wemendous.
tellectu
are
bowling, and wa
amateur musici
w
n Ame
vailable to
ЖЕ
п important. value, and from what I
е observed, it is very hard for people
to get much of it. There arc invasions
of our privacy on every side—from crude
ones, like the sort of thing Vance Pack-
recently exposing, to the con-
ssault on you through the media.
We live in the midst of an enormous
din. Given this, 1 would think that any-
ng that makes for greater privacy in
individual life is to be welcomed and
is highly desirable.
GOODMAN: Yes, but we must get of
the notion thar the individual matters
so much, because in almost any activity
—not every act
ties which are worth wh
dlividuality is not helped any by bein
an individual. When you once get dow
to worrying about yourself as an indi
vidual, then it becomes almost impossi-
ble to engage in any worth while activity.
Again, it's not whether you're doing it
alone or with someon nd it's not
whether it's "pa
matters is whether you're genu
volved in what you're doing, whatever it
is. Do you lose yourself in it?
PLAYBOY: The inability to "lose" one-
self in leisure is a peculiarly American
deficiency, according to some critics. For
example, describing a businessman on
vacation, Louis Kronenberger has writ-
ten that “even as he lies prone upon the
sand, or sits mindless in the dory, his
in—with a joyful sense of guilt—will
dart cityward to the deals, the confer-
ences, the agenda ahead.” Is it true that
suller from this sort of guilt,
we cant lose ourselves in
play we tend to view our time away from
almost as a form of deprivation?
I know of no one who
ion as а deprivation. It's
иче that there are a great many people
who find it difficult to relax. 1 happen to
be one of them. But I don't think th
anything to complain about, particular-
ly, and in any case it isn’t a culturally
determined condition. It’s a matter of
temperament, How docs Louis Kronen-
berger know that this business
on the sand is mindless? And
nessman on vacation finds himself moi
interested in something going on in his
office, rather than in what js going on in
the surf or in the mountains, well, 1
don't see how moral or cultural i
f
ty, but in most activi
le—authentic
nees can be drawn from that fact
alone.
DIEBOLD: I agree. Then, too, it seems
undeniable that there are some forms of
work so pleasurable that the worker sim-
ply doesn't want to leave them for le
sure. Maybe that explains why many
businessmen just don't enjoy a holiday.
SHEPHERD: Right. But why pick on the
businessman, particularly? Let me de-
scribe a playwright friend of m
He is working in New York, like 2:
hours a day. He has three phone lines
coming into his home. He is afraid the
town is going to recede from him. So alt-
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PLAYBOY
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er five or six years, something like that,
his wife decides they've got to take a va-
cation. So they go on a Caribbean cruise
Tt was one of these package cruises. They
were supposed to be gone for two weeks
Well, they weren't more than 24 hours
out and he wa dy breaking out in a
rash. He was pacing the deck. He
couldn't eat—this is an actual fact. Не
mised phoning his agent. Well, they
finally got down to the frst island, and
he got off and said to hell with the boat
and got the first plane back, and less
than 24 hours after he had left was back
in New York on the phones—one at each
саг. It's true that some people can work
hard but not play hard. But it’s not just
businessmen who are hung up on work.
AMORY. Lets not make fun of this
compulsion to work. There is one char-
acteristic І have noticed in every sin-
gle successful man Гуе ever written
about, and that is that he gets up е
n the morning and works long hours. 1
k the successful man is perfectly
ing to let other people work short
hours and have what they call
But I don't think the successful man has
ation for it,
in the sense we are talking about. It's a
pity, perhaps, that he doesn’t, but the
more successful you are, the more de-
mands there on you, and literally the
only way you can escape is on something
ike a boat where there is no telephone,
or an island in the Caribbean where the
telephone service is lousy.
Bernard De Voto once said
"no sadder sight than that
ican trying to have a good
time.” Do you agree?
SHEPHERD: o an extent. yes. I
the compulsion to work is а factoi
already ntioned that. But ther
a concomitant compulsion to play. "The
schoolbooks tell us how good work is:
"Get out there and work hard!" But at
the same time we have the headsh: ers
telling us to go out and have a good
time: “Loosen up. Forget your worries.”
So you get it coming and going, and you
wind up with a guilty feeling no matter
what you do. It all becomes compulsive.
KERR: You dk п have to delve
nto psychology to find the source of
that compul It’s not just psychi-
atrists; our doctors are always telling us
to go out and have a good time, too.
And if our doctor doesn't tell us, we
have a friend who's had a heart attack
whose doctor told him. Everybody think:
he is about to have a coronary immedi-
ately if he doesn't rush out and hav
fun. It is fascinating how often the heart
attack comes on the golf course, while
you are straining to have the good time
to keep the heart attack from coming
І suppose there is also some residual
feeling since Freud, since the loosening
of inhibitions that, “God, there must be
sure.
think
We
s also
"Ley
more fun than all this and I'm not hay
i Maybe I should try harder.”
ans do stem to be less
h pleasure than other na-
tionalities. There are differences among
nations. Among Catholic nations, you'll
find that the Irish, for example, are
bly less able to enjoy life than
alians or the ench or the
nish, even though they share the
same religion. Vd guess that the Irish
Catholic influence probably has some-
thing to do with it in this country
our inability to have pleas without
guilt. But so does the Protestant puritan-
al influence.
DIEBOLD: | don't sec how we can expect
to understand the American's attitude
toward his leisure without discussing
rd work. The wa
man works shapes his whole life and his
personality, and that affects the way he
going to react to leisure. Millions of
people today are employed as robots
Can you imagine a robot having a good
time—on or off the job? But things are
beginning to change. Automation is
changing them, and, as has been pointed
out earlier, elements of leisure
g to creep into the workd
Work for many people is becoming far
imteresting and pleasant than it
nd this will improve their
ability to enjoy themselves.
PLAYBOY: David Riesman has
about this fusion of work and le:
—with
morc
ever м
written
ure in
business and. professional life. Activities
formerly sharply distinguishable from
work, such as expense-account enter
ment, have become an important part of
the work life. Do you welcome this
trend, gentlemen?
AMORY: Well, whenever I sce a group
of bu ng their bets be-
fore a golf game and going out to deduct
one another and try to win some moncy
from one another, I'm always rather
depressed by it.
SHEPHERD: This wuc for a lot of
people, I suppose, but I happen to know
too many friends of mine who work in
bagel bakeries and button factories;
their work is not even remotely related
to their leisure, nor do 1 believe it ever
will be. We keep thinking in terms of
executives and creative people. Stop and
think for a minute that out of 190,000.-
000 people in this country, how many
are in the executive world? How many
are in the creative world?
PODHOREIZ: Exactly But І doubt that
we'll ever arrive at a future in which
work and play are inguishable—
even for executiv ive people
Such a future could only be produced
by a series of very radical revolutions
not only in our economic structure
but in human nature. It seems to me
that the problem we're faced with in the
here and now can be defined in the fol-
n-
nessmen m
lowing way: The number of jobs that
are demonstrably important to the peo-
ple performing them seems to be de
dining proporüonately—I mean work
that is immediately meaningful, at the
end of which something worth having
gets produced, or done, or made. Many,
many people perform work that is not,
in itself, meaningful or satisfying to
them. And when work is not experi
enced as fully meaningful, then play.
which is nonwork, also becomes mean-
ingless. It seems that you can relax fully
only if you've been working fully. The
two conditions are interdependent.
DIEBOLD: This is true, but 1 don’t think
ils tuc that fewer
fewer people do satisfying work. It is
true that there are fewer jobs in which
the end results are immediately and
physically apparent: there are more jobs
involving paper and ideas and. abstrac-
Automation is 10 greatly
increase the number of such jobs. But it
is also going to do away with many of
the jobs that are meaningless, boring
and repetitive. People tlk of the
coming robot age. Well, it scems to me
that the robot а
the industrial revolution. People have
been made into automatons in the
sense of Charlie Chaplin in Modern
Times. But many of the sociologists and
psychologists who are drawing conclu:
sions regarding the implications of auto:
1 are making the mistake ol
thinking there will be much more of this
i ume goes on—whereas in reality, pre-
cisely the opposite is occurring. Its no
longer Charlie Chaplin on the assembly
linc. The whole situation, both physical
ly and psychologically, is entirely
different, but very few people are both.
ering to observe the phenomenon. For
example, instead of crowding people to
gether on the assembly line, we give
them “lonesome pay” nowadays—prenii
um pay for being away from other рео
ple. Is like hazard pay, but its for a
psychological hazard, in a sense. These
people spend their workdays alone at a
control console, say, and because of this
they get extra pay in some factories.
This could hardly be called unpleasant
Now, I'm not holding out the picture of
some kind of utopia, but automation is
changing the basic situation, and chang
necessarily and
tions. going
€ has been with us since
ation
it rapidly. We have to throw away
all our old stereotyped ideas about the
nature of work. This will also force us to
change our ideas about leisure.
SOUTHERN: Yes, the idea that people
hate work and love leisure is pretty sus
pect, I think. The crucial test would be
Г somebody were given $10,000 a year
and he didn't have to do anything ex-
cept press a button once сусту four
hours. What would he do? Would he
take oll? I have an idea that he wouldn't
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350 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y.
—not because he considered his work
such an essential and groovy thing, but
because the alternative of sclf would be
too frightening.
Amory: I think that the number who
find joy and fulfillment in their work
probably remains about constant. I
don't think that the machine h
changed this very much—not yet, am
To be honest about it, the world
work is basically pretty dull, and an aw-
ful lot of people have to spend their
lives at what are pretty dull jobs—and
this is likely to be tuc of the future as
well. But a lot of people make it worse
than it is. Туе never understood. for
example, why the New York bus driver
can't be а happier guy, or the New York
driver.
One Saturday evening, T remember,
just before theater time, there w
cabs at all. It was just before Christmas,
and everybody seemed to want a cab.
So I just suddenly decided to be a cab
for one night, and I had a very interest-
ing time. | got my car out and took
people wherever they wanted to go, and
talked with them en route. As we drove
to our destination, I'd tell them I
wasn't a cabbie, just somebody who had
offered them a lift, and who happens to
be a director of the Humane Society of
the United States, and whe would very
much appreciate a small donation for
the Humane Society. I ended up with a
very sizable donation for the Society,
and I had a very pleasant evening. I
don't think it is necessary to be the way
nost bus drivers and taxi drivers are.
They just don't have the right approach
to their jobs.
PLAYEOY: What about our approach
to leisure in the years ahead? How will
we be spending our free time at, say, the
turn of the century?
DIEBOLD. Well, for onc thing, the com-
puter will be changing a lot of our
leisure-time habits—and not only by r
leasing us from drudgery. The computer
itself will be used for leisure. It already
is, to an extent. At the World's Fair, for
example, there are half a dozen comput-
ers tha playing games of
one kind or another. They may be
dressed up, but they're just there for
amusement's sake. In connection with
this, every home will eventually have
some form of facsimile machine. If you
want to pass the time with a magazine or
newspaper, it will print it out for you on
the spot. Hf you want a hunting or
fishing license, you'll be able to dial a
number and have it printed out for you
then and there. No waiting. We also
have computers that are now capable of
playing chess. 1 see no reason why this
cannot be extended in the future so that
lav games against the mach
ould you spell this out a
e no
are, essential:
bit more?
DIEBOLD: Of course. Using machines
for play sounds Buck Rogersish, but it's
not that startling an idea, After all, the
auto is a machine and we use it for
pleasure as well as business. We fly
planes for fun. So there is really nothing
so strange about the idea that more com.
plicated machines may someday be used
lor fun.
On ihe opposite side of the coin, T
k there will be a great increase
ndicraft activities of various kinds.
Since so many products will be machine-
made and standardized, there will be a
great premium placed on uniqueness
and the individual qualities of hand-
crafted. articles, many of which we will
make for ourselves, just for the fun of it.
There will also be a phenomenal in-
crease in all forms of education. W
never used to think of education as a
leisure-time activity. Yet today one of the
most interesting developments is the fan-
tastic growth of adult cducation. People
are going back to school volunt
often to study things for which they
have no great need. They're doing it for
fun. This sort of thing will double and
redouble in the years to come.
SHEPHERD: If we're thi nu
new ways of spending our Jeisure—at
new hobbies, for example—there'll. be
a really novel one called “work.” Do you
know there are camps that are now
being advertised in The New York
Times where you can send your child for
two weeks of work? Where he has to
e trails, where he has to cut down
trees, and he's given a real job. They
even have little canning factories where
the Kid has to work the machines. 1
think this is the coming dı I think
eventually there will be places outside
New York where you'll spend three dol
Tars an hour to go and grind the valves
on a '37 Chevy, or do some coal mining
with a pick and a headlamp. Do you
know that in Florida there are al-
ready certain orange groves that arc
grown for the very purpose of having
people come and pay for the privilege of
picking oranges—and they don't even
get to keep them? Then they go home
and sing folk songs about itinerant fruit
pickers, Things are geuing weird. But
they're going to get weirder.
AMORY: Whether we call it work or
play. I have a feeling we will be doing it
more actively than passively. I think that
the coming years will see a big thrust in
th om do-it-yourself stuff to
skiing to the golf craze, which, inciden.
lly, has to be scen to be believed.
and
There are people on these courses
waiting to tee off in the pitch-black dark
Waiting to tee off at four o'clock in the
morning. We'll sec even more of that. I
think spectator sports like pro football
have seen their heyday. And we are
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62
going to sce a travel business such as
we have not сусп imagined. It's going
to be as simple to go 2000 miles away
to an island as it is now to go through
city traffic someplace close ad. If
along with all this comes adequate edu-
ion to help us use our leisure profit
bly—as Mr. Diebold predicts—then it
will be a wonderful world. If it doesn't,
itll be ancient Rome i
cireuses, and then ba
DIEBOLD: Well, I don’t think that will
necessarily happen even without educa
tion; for looking into the distant future,
I think we may perfect some human
equivalent of the experiments that have
been done with pleasure centers in an
Is —i for example. They are
trained to push a pedal which triggers
an electric impulse in the pleasure cen-
ters of their bra the sensation is so
ecstatic that they'll keep doing it until
they all but drop from exhaustion or
starvation. They'll stop опу long
enough to maintain the barest minimum
of water and food input. You can't tear
them aw
AMORY: May I break in to say to the
good Doctor Dicbold that those experi-
ments don't sound that pleasurable. In
fact. they sound like the kind that the
Humane Society would very much like
to investigate.
DIEBOLD: ] didn't conduct them; I'm just
commenting on them.
SHEPHERD: There are experiments going
ahead in the LSD department that
might have some bearing on this. In this
area, there seem to be ecstatic experi-
ences
available that make а return to
y no less intolerable—only for peo-
ple instead of rats. How about siccing
the Humane Society onto thal?
SOUTHERN: No, let them look out for
mistreated animals and we'll look out
for ourselves. I foresee а widespread use
of drugs of every kind for kicks; the seri
ous leisure-time pursuit of the future
will be adventures of the mind, occur-
ring in solitude. Ultimately the most ex-
citing—or to keep it on the level of this
discussion—the most "fun" thing will
not be parachute jumping, masturbation
or group identification, but getting
blasted out of your mind—which is to
ay transcendence.
SHEPHERD: I agree. More and more peo-
ple will be studying thems and
their navels. Related to this will be still
another hobby: getting analyzed. Analy-
sis is already a great hobby, but it prom-
ses to get even more popular. So the big
new hobbies will be introspection and
neurosis.
GOODMAN:
Introspection
PLAYBOY: ln what wa
GOODMAN: Well, if it's good mastur-
bation you're just kind of enjoying your-
Introspect
on as a hobby?
ke bad masturbation.
self and helping yourself
bad masturbation you're r
along, but in
yourself,
what they call “looking into yourself”;
introspection is like that. It's already
one of the big leisure activities of our
time. And you can have it.
SOUTHERN: An introspective faculty has
got to be encouraged so that when
people come face to face with themselves
for the first time they won't be fright-
ened away. Introspection, in a more ser
ous sense than you seem to appreciate,
is leisure in its highest form. And it is
very important that the emancipation
experience —which will come through
drugs—he a wholly positive one.
PODHOREIZ: Well, I think too much
introspection, narcotic or otherwise, can
be terrible. D. H. Lawrence said that
too much self-consciousness was like fall-
ing from the hands of God, falling dow
into a bottomless well of the self, ап
anyone who has taken the plunge
knows what Lawrence meant Self-
preoccupation is one of the great dis-
eases of our time, and people who run
away from themselves may be following
a healthy instinct. But are people ru
ning away from themselves these days? I
suppose some are. Some selves are so
boring that they ought to be run away
from. Anyway, you don't confront you
self—or discover your identity, to usc the
fashionable phrase—by looking in the
mirror. The confrontation takes place in
behavior, in the act of living. The kind.
of track a man leaves in his life is the
kind of self he is. An endless preoccupa
tion with one's inner necds and conflicts
is a form of madness, not of leisure.
SOUTHERN: Of course you don't coi
front yourself by looking in the miro
that’s only an image. You have to do like
the Indians who eat peyote and sit si
ing at their reflections in a pool—until
they enter them. Naturally there's
the chance of getting a little wet.
the “kind of track a man leaves
life,” any awareness of that on his part
suggests that his concept of life, and his
concern, are on the level of something
like: "Is my fly open?"
SHEPHERD: Well, I don't
vel contempla
going to be the big thing or not, but I
suspect we arc liable to scc bigger and
bigger artificial conflict. We like to thin
that we want the Cold War to go out
of existence. But is that really true? If
all the conflict in the world suddenly
disappeared overnight, what then?
Where would we go from there? Most of
us would be robbed of purpose, Boredom
would set in. And when work goes out,
too, there is going to be one hell of a big
vacuum, and it won't be filled for long
by movies, or art, or playing golf. Did
you ever talk to а man who has retired
at а comparatively early age? You'll find
know if na-
ion over inner conflicts
almost without exception, hell tell
you, "My God, I thought I could never
get enough fishing. 1 could never get
enough golf and travel" Well. he finds
out damn well soon, when that's
his life, that he c:
in an amazingly shore tim
six months. So this, then, takes us back
to how we are going to spend all th
cess time. Maybe in war and
"That's grim, but it's my honest opinion.
Have you noticed that, in America, as
things get better for all racial groups.
strife increases? It’s a fascinating. by-
product of wealth and leisure. Bread we
have: circuses will eventually bore us;
but conflict will not. I think everyone is
searching for conflict. Trouble will be-
come a desirable thing, and we'll con.
trive to provide it.
PLAYBOY: Do you mean we'll
search Гог pretexts 10 start wars?
SHEPHERD: Not overtly, perhaps.
€ the Russian-Americ:
moon, for inst;
the race to Venus and Mars and the oth.
er planets will be even more of a race.
On а vast scale, it'll serve the same psy
cholog’cal purpose as a horse race. Who
really cares whether the green horse
beats the blue one? But it's symbolic,
you see; it provides a terrific release to
everybody who has put his money on it.
So now we are involved in a giant race
to the heavens, and everyone is talking
about the terrific money its costing.
Well, we wouldn't like it unless it did. It
wouldn't provide us any conflict unless
there was cost. Who goes to race tracks
without money?
KERR: Thats a rather gloomy outlook.
But there does seem to be some relat on-
ship between boredom and violence or
conflict. Juvenile delinquency probably
has something to do with being bored.
Of course, there's also the fear the young
people now are born under, because of
the atomic age. They see their elders ap
parently unequal to cope with the atom
nd so respect for authority begins
ppear. But it seems to me that
when you add the leisure problem to
you've really got a major dilemma.
PLAYBOY: How can wc solve it?
ALLEN: It me that there
only one way to cope with this problem,
nd that is by educating people to un-
derstand just how much remains to be
done in this world, how they ought to be
using their leisure to improve society. Ш
we are able to do this, we might be able
to avoid this problem, or at least put it
off indefinitely. With the world about to
go up in flames at any moment, th:
the time for all good men to come to the
aid of the human
Fm certainly not say
anything wrong wi hjongg or girl
watching or golfing or just goofing off,
or any of the harmless diversions we've
But
race to the
псе. Well, I suspect that
ica
seems to
race.
ng that there's
"Us Tareyton smokers would rather fight than switch!"
Join the Unswitchables.
Get the filter cigarette with the taste worth fighting for!
Tareyton has a white outer tip n ад
...and an inner section of charcoal. aes
Together, they actually improve
the flavor of Tareyton’s fine tobaccos. (ee ton |
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Prot of Te Newnan e уер елт 5
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PLAYBOY
64
talked about. A certain degree of variety
is apparently essential to good mental
al health. But, by God, I can't.
nd why there are millions of
Americans at а 1055 for what to do with
their free time while most of the rest of
the world continues to exist on the edge
of starvation—and even here at home,
millions of our fellow citizens desperate-
ly need help because they are alcoholics
or narcotic addicts or criminals or cancer
patients or just poor or unemployed
that I, can’t understand. The schools
should be waining us for ways of serving
the community during our leisure time
"That's what the Greeks did. Public sen
ice was a respected form of leisure. We
need to get that idea across again.
GOODMAN: Another thing that necds
to be done is a decentralization of power
in society. If the average man had some
say over his own destiny, he'd be in-
volved with things that matter, and he
wouldn't be at a 105. Take entertain-
ment, It’s altogether unnecessary for en.
tertainment services like television or
radio to be so totally centralized. Why
not decentralize them? Open up new
tions and channels by the hundreds—try
to get the FCC to license so that every
neighborhood can have ten independent
television outlets, Just imagine if that
took place. To simply fil the air time,
practically everybody in the community
would be on TY, preparing to be on
TV, or having just finished being on
TV. Now, this might be an absurd situa-
tion, but all kinds of ideas would get
aired, and there would he participation,
and the programs would make more
sense than something cooked up by
Madison Avenue.
I would decentralize education, too. If
you want to tain for leisure, you're
going to have to revolutionize the whole
school system. Onc way of doing this is
to try out a kind of GI Bill for high
school-age kids. It would cost $1000 a
year, say, to keep a kid in high school in
New York City. Well, you tell the par-
its, "Work out with your children some
educational program for the next year
that seems plausible. Here's the $1000—
do it!" You could send them, for exi
ple, to Mexico to learn Spanish or to do
something else there that's worth while.
The effect of this, as it was under the GL
Bill, would be to produce a new kind of
educational system where people are
doing something that meets their needs,
ather than doing lessons that are prede-
termined according to somebody else
needs.
The children and adolescents of our
society are the most exploited class; as
far as they're concerned, instead of sub-
stituting leisure for work, what we are
doing is substituting for the work even
der work. We are not t
leisure in our school system. What we
are doing is the exact opposite. We are
brainwashing, we are training to do les-
sons, to drudge at courses you don't care
about, to compete for grades, All of this
grew up out of the scarcity economy. It
just the opposite of what we need in a
leisure society.
DIEBOLD: I’m not sure I agree with this
prescription, but I do agree that our
whole educational machine 15 reaction-
ary and terribly slow to change, to ac
cept new realities as they emerge. The
issue, it seems to me, is that some way
must be found to educate our young
people out of the old Calvinist idea that
work is noble and essential, while leisure,
play and self-cultivation are ignoble.
‘This is the philosophical issuc. How do
you begin to wipe out that idea tha
been with us now for so many centu-
ries, all these long centuries of hunger
and scarcity?
SOUTHERN: I would certainly support
the kind of educational program Мт.
Goodman suggests, but I th more
ambitious and dynamic approach. would.
be in the use of mass psychoanalysis, at a
very early level of a person's. develop-
ment—the earlier the better, but certaii
ly before he hits the sweet. You have got
to get them before they get hooked on
the idea or habit of work. In my view,
there ought to be a form of basic analy.
sis, given the same obl
as, say. that given to math and English.
starting at the first year of high school,
or slightly earlier. Another approach, as
I suggested before, is the use of drugs
that is, for people who are already
hooked on the blind-work habit. The
use of introspective or transcendence
drugs, under proper conditions, and en-
tered into without anxiety, would pro-
duce an enlightened attitude, an insight,
into the nature of work and everything
else.
PLAYBOY: Do you
w
n-
think would be
to institutionalize the use of
artificial aids to help people cope with
reality?
SOUTHERN: Why not? In. We п cul-
ture there is already an almost total
reliance on drugs—alcohol and sedatives.
And these are strictly painkillers and es-
cape drugs. What do you think is going
to happen when these people wise up,
when they start moving the other way
from pain and escapism? Eventually it
has got to come to thai
оп of what's happening now,
its becoming more and more difficult
for these people to rationalize aga
because all their other values and secu-
rity techniques have collapsed.
PODHORETZ: This goes back to Hux-
ley's idea in Brave New World—a society
тип on Soma. Dope, of course, is widely
used now. Not only alcohol and tran-
quilizers, but is and
sleeping pills, which are also forms of
dope, if you extend the definition slight-
ly, 1 see nothing wrong with this—unless
it wrecks your health, which is exactly
what it does to many people. But even if
they do no harm, drugs solve nothing:
they're only palliatives. And as for mass
analysis, I'm totally skeptical of its abili.
ty to cope w d of real crisis
SOUTHERN: You're talking about seda-
tion; I'm talking about awareness. And
what I mean by “mass analysis” would
be toward the same end. There is a body
of elementary psychoanalytic knowledge
which is shared by even the most di
vergent schools of thinking—an unde
standing of jealousy, envy, rivalry, hate,
irrational fear. If this knowledge were
imparted t0 the very young, it would
bring about a profound change in, a pro-
found enhancement of, their lives and of
the culture itself.
Amory: I'm afraid I see something mor-
ally objectionable about the use of mass
drug therapy. I don’t think I'd like to
live in a society stabilized by anything
even remotely like Huxley's Soma. We
had better find some other ways to cope
with the future, or it won't he worth
coping with. Is that what we want to be?
Do we want to live in some kind of of
um dream Is that what we were put on
earth for?
PLAYBOY: Mr. Amory's question bi
us back to Mr. Diebold's statement, early
in this discussion, that leisure will com
pel man to question and re-evaluate his
reason for being, that it will test his con-
ption of himself. Can we conclude by
king you to elaborate on this predic-
tion, Mr. Diebold?
DIEBOLD: Well, every great scien
vance, every great forward leap
vention, has forced man to change his
concept of himself. Professor Herbert A.
Simon of the Carnegie Institute of Tech-
nology has reminded us that with Coper-
nicus and Galileo, man ceased to see
himself as the species located at the cen-
ter of the universe. Then came Darwin,
and he could no longer see himself as
the species uniquely endowed by God
with soul and rea Now that ma-
chines are exhibi ellizent. behav-
once more we
question about
п the universe, Mach
сап already learn and improve their per-
formance; given a goal, they can reach it
by their own route. Man is no longer the
ngs
fic ad-
in in-
son.
ior, it seems to me that
face
a fundamental
сз
only intelligent org:
ination, voli
now,
ness—these uniquely human
characteristics. But in the future? Jt may
turn out, 2s machines come more closely
to imitate man's way of working, that
only his way of playing, only his Jeisure
pursuits, will distinguish him from the
machine. In short, we must ask
“What makes man uniquely hu-
Leisure, and how we spend it,
may provide the answer.
PLAYBOY: Thank you, gentlemen
jon, purpos
rem:
now
WHAT SORT OF MAN READS PLAYBOY?
A young man up on his smoke signals, the PLAYBOY reader knows the contemplative pleasures of pipe
and cigar and how a cigarette can smooth out a crisis. And his tobacconist knows a choice customer
when he sees one. Fact: PLAYBOY is first among all magazines in male readers smoking over a pack of
cigarettes a day, second among all magazines in male readers who are regular cigar smokers and second
in regular pipe smokers. Quite a market. Watch its smoke! (Source: Brand Rating Index, March 1964.)
Advertising Offices: New York » Chicago - Detroit • Los Angeles • San Francisco + Atlanta
Hed he merely wanted her to save him from the fear of death? On the stairs, at seven am., he almost wept with joy
A CLOWNY NIGHT IN THE RED-EYED WORLD
fiction By CALDER WILLINGHAM
he found he could not leave her alone with nothing but the company of imaginary monsters
AS JIMMY MCCLAIN sat by the time clock waiting for the brunette starter, he stared at the cigarette that trembled in
his hand and wondered at the mystery of his own nature. Why should a terrible accident cause him to invite out Vera?
Why should sudden and violent death cause him to look at Vera and decide she was not an insensitive and malicious
hoyden, but a warm, attractive and charming person?
"Oh, ho ho. Your first choice is out, so now you come to me, huh? Well, aren't you cute!"
It was a subliminal, mysterious reaction for which there could be no rational accounting, just as there was no
reasonable explanation for his instant dislike of Vera in the first place. She was a very pretty girl with an excellent
figure, but Jimmy had taken one look at her and loathed her. Why? There was something unplcasant in the expres-
sion of her eyes and there was something wrong in the cast of her mouth. So he felt in the beginning. Now, in some
strange way, brains and blood on the floor of the hotel elevator had transformed his dislike of Vera into something
els
“The answer is a drink yes, I can use it. Td have a drink right now with a nigger midget if it asked me. But
dinner?
sorry, the answer is no. I'm not your second fiddle.
Vera said she wouldn't change, she'd have the drink first then come back to the hotel where they worked, but
when she got downstairs she felt better so she decided to change and get it over with. She came from the women’s
locker down the gray corridor wearing a black rayon suit with gray gloves and a hat and veil. For a moment, Jimmy
didn't recognize her, then he stood from the bench by the time clock, smiled, and took her arm. They went to a bar
on Wabash and had two double ryes, then Vera said she had to toddle home. But she didn't.
“Tren asks all the time if she ought to be a nun. How do you like that, a young girl like her asking
such a question? It’s hypocrisy, pure and simple. She talks about it day and night—but are you a Catholi
“No,” said Jimmy.
“When I say anything about Catholics the person J say it to always turns out to be one. Between you and me,
T can't stand them. I'm not prejudiced, I just don't like them. They have such a know-it-all attitude. Try and argue
with one. You're talking to a deaf person. They don't listen, But what really burns me is the whole idcar of a Pope in
a skirt telling Americans what to do. Irene wouldn't even go to the little girls’ room unless the Pope told her it was
OK. But she's crazy about a young priest, that’s what her secret is. I can't see her as a hooded sister in a thousand
years, that's the worst make-believe I ever heard of and frankly I'm sick of it. The aggravation I have from that
litle dumb blonde—and this afternoon such hysterics and carrying-on! Who blames her for being upset, we were
all upset, but going off to church to pray for the guy's soul? Oh, ho ho, isn't she the pious angel. And God almighty,
did she have to scream like that? I'm telling you you never heard such a scream. If a wild gorilla grabbed the little
bitch she couldn't of made more noise, and she didn't see anything, anyhow, ‘cause the whole elevator was filled
She screamed because of the noise, that was all, and 1 should think a grown woman could have a little
with dust.
more self-control. Chi
‚1 was there and I was plenty upset, let me tell you! Anybody would be. But I didn't let my
ILLUSTRATIONS BY MERLE SHORE
67
PLAYBOY
68
self go like that, because right or wrong,
Jimmy boy, my idear is you gotta have a
little control in life.
Vera finished her third double rye,
then took a cigarette from the pack Ji
my had placed on the booth table. With
a pensive, satisfied frown she stared in
uncertain focus at the cigarette and
се. The whiskey had put color in
her checks and a vagueness in her eyes.
The accident evidently had jolted and
shocked her profoundly; she had gulped
the whiskey like a fish. Jimmy made a
church of his fingers, rested his elbows
on the table, and stared at her, strug-
gling to comprehend her. Was it dim
misery in her eyes or just malignant con-
fusion? Where was the human substance
of this wretched girl?
hats a pretty hat you've got on,
my. “I like it; it's very becon
to you.
Vera looked up, startled, then sudden-
ly bit her lip and turned aside as her
eyes welled with tears. “God,” she said,
“I don't know. . . Jesus, what's the mat-
ter with me? Am I drunk or something?
1 haven't eaten. This stuff has hit me a
ton.”
Jimmy nodded, dizzy from the horror
of her outburst. But the girl was human.
The look of gratitude in her eyes could
not have come from Mars and the blush
in her cheeks was almost virginal. The
hat on her head—although now, in 1913,
out of vogue—actually was attractive;
it was black and made in the style of
hats Napoleon wore, with a little veil
and triangular fronds of felt stuck out
on either side of her head. A long hat-
pin with a pearl was thrust through the
crown. She looked more attractive than
in her starter’s uniform. The top three
buttons of her rayon shirt had come un-
done and a fleshy white notch between
her breasts was visible. He had believed
it was impossible to feel more attracted
to her than he had in the lobby of
the hotel, but not so. As he stared at her
across the booth, he felt an attraction so
powerful it was frightening. Her hus-
band, she had said, was playing in a
band in Kansas City and the baby was at
her mother's.
“It's not eating,” said Vera, as the
blush faded and the look in her eyes be-
came unpleasant once more. "That and
being upset. Of course it was horrible, I
don't deny that. Brains were all over the
place and it was just like they'd poured
buckets of blood on everybody im the
elevator. Irene didn't see tl she'd rum
off by then, sobbing and crossing herself
and muttering Hail Mary or whatever
they say.”
“Well, I'm not exactly religious my-
self,” said Jimmy. “But why not give
Irene the benefit of the doubt? Maybe
she’s sincere.”
ncere? She's only talking. That's
how they are, those Catholics, It’s all
talk with them. I hate to , but
they're hypocrites. They do what they
want to, then talk—talk to the priest, Fa-
ther, I did so and so, fix it for me up-
stairs. Don't think Irene doesn't do what
she wants. Take her out and you'll sce.
She'll give you another date, she likes
you, she thinks you're a gentleman and
all that because you went to college. You
see, she wants gentleman treatment. Ho
ho, gentleman treatment—I guess that's
different, huh?
“I don't know
said Jimmy. “There's
been argument about that for a couple
of hundred years, but it’s kind of dying
down.
Vera gazed at him with ironic amuse-
теш. "You know sun'thin', honey? Yo"
accent's real cute. But what does a high-
type Southern gentleman like you see in
a common-asmud elevator starter like
me or Irene, huh?”
Jimmy smiled. “Well, you know the
old saying, “The son of God looks upon
the daughter of man and finds her fair.
“You think you're the son of God?
Are you crazy. A dropout bellhopping
while he w:
The smile muscles of Jimmy's face
ning to ache. He shrugged
Well, it's a kind of sarcastic
quotation. It means that men take them-
selves pretty seriously, with principles
and ideals and everything, but when
they sce a nice-looking girl, all that goes
out the window.
“Well, thanks for educating me. In my
ign се, І appreciate it.”
“Oh, you understood the quotation in
the first place, Vera. I’m not educating
you.”
“You're not? Do you think I'm
smart
"Sure," said Jimmy.
“Um-hm, that's fascinating. Do you
think I'm smarter than Irene?"
“L don't really know Irene."
“Well, I'll tell you—I am smarter than
Irene. And I'll tell you something else,
since you're so interested in Irene, You
ask her out again, see, then repeat the
Pope's last words and give her a nice
mint julep like a real Southun gentle-
man. She'll collapse. You'll have one
"OK," smiled Ji
“Be sure you repeat the Moos last
words, too. That's even more important
than
good ole Southun mint julep. It
Italian, see, and what he said was,
"To hell with orange juice, 105 have a
party"
"Oh?" smiled Jimmy.
Laughing, Vera put a red-nailed hand
on his wrist. "Thats it, honey. Those
were his words.”
The smile muscles in Jimmy's face
were aching painfully. “If you keep on
about the Catholics, you'll drive me to
Rome, Vera.
"Муши? What's that?"
Baffled eyes. She really seemed to be-
lieve her blind abomination of
American South and the
Church had a rare charm.
would solve all my problems,
1 were a good Catholic li
wouldn't be out tonight chasi
married girl."
Vera laughed—first uncertainly, then
with confidence. Flirtation she under-
stood. “Are you chasing me?"
"Sure," said Jimmy, "and I aim to
catch you, too.
“Well, well, well! Listen to him. Pret-
ty conceited, aren't you? What makes
you think I'd be interested?”
Jimmy smiled softly into her eyes.
just have a feeling-
Vera was pale. “Is that so? You have a
feeling. Well, you are just about the
most conceited person 1 ever met in my
life, and if you think I'm going to hop
bed with you, you're out of your
mind. For your information, I don't do
such things.
ou didn't understand me.
id was I'd catch you. 1 «еп
ily mean you'd hop in bed. That's
incidenta
“Incidental, huh?”
“Well, I've always thought so. Love is
an expression of a relationship, isn't it? 1
mean, an expression of how people feel
toward each other? That's all it is. so
you never catch people by going to bed
with them, you catch them before you
ever get to bed.”
“Jesus!” said Ver:
Southerners throw!
“Why do you call that a line? It’s the
truth.”
“The uut? Sure, sure. Next
thing you'll be telling me you're madly
in love with me.”
“I am madly in love with you," said
Jimmy.
“You're wha”
"I'm madly in love with you, Vera."
Despite herself, Vera stared solemnly
at him, her dark and close-set eyes intent
upon him and her mouth twisted du-
biously to one side. "Huh," she said,
anyhow. If
Irene, 1
ng after a
“What a line you
y.
“It's the truth," said Jimmy. He
reached across the booth table and put
his haud over her wrist, which was thin
and cold. Eyes still fastened upon him.
Vera moistened her lips and swallowed.
The expression of her face was once
again transformed. Jimmy took her
hand, turned it over, rested his fingers
across her palm, then squeezed her hand,
which was very small and very cold. "Do
you have a kitchen?” Vera nodded.
We'll get a steak then. It's early, the
markets aren't closed. We'll get a steak
and а bottle of wine and go up to your
place and T'I help you cook us some din-
ner, Would you like to do that?"
Again, Vera nodded. “OK. All right,
we'll do that—but on one condition.
(continued overleaf)
m
E
KS
25
E
PLAYBOY
70
Promise you won't touch me. I'm seri-
ous. Promise you won't even hold my
hand like you're doing now. 1
stand it if you touch me, 1 just
Will you promise not to touch me?’
"Sure" said Jimmy.
Vera pulled free her hand and
brushed at the tears that for the second
time had welled in her eyes. "Tm not
just saying that. I mean it, I can't stand
it. | can't. Do you promise not to bother
promise,” said Jimmy.
Vera lived in a small apartment on the
fourth floor of a walkup on the Near
North Side. At her insistence, they took
a streetcar rather than a taxi. She said
almost nothing to him during the
hunched down on her side of the seat,
she gazed out of the window at the gray
buildings and the slate-colored
of the Chicago river. In the A&P, she
was even quieter. With downcast eyes,
she waited while he bought two small
steaks and coffee cream. Nothing else,
she said, was needed, unless he wanted
vegetables and all kinds of stuff. Howev-
er, she brightened when he bought a
fifth of rye, instead of wine, at the
liquor store. Wine, she said, made her
“It isn’t much," said Vera, “but make
yourself at home. I'll fix a drink."
Jimmy took off his coat, tie and shoes
and then sat on the couch, which evi-
dently opened up to make a bed; he
could see part of a blanket and sheet un-
der a tear in the cover. Later, he learned
that Vera slept in this room, the living
room, when her child was with her.
When the child was at her mother's, she
slept in the bedroom.
"Well" said Vera, "here we are. Now
you remember what you said. I really
mean it, Jimmy. You believe that, don't.
you?
Sure, I believe it."
A cheap floor lamp cut the darkness
and gloom of the tiny apartment, which
was furnished with absolute tastelessness
and had no character of any kind. There
was not a book or even a magazine any-
where in the living room. Vera sat at the
end of the couch, as far from Jimmy as
possible. "Don't get me wrong," she said.
“I don't mean to be unfriendly or any-
thing.” Head bowed, she stared at her
drink. The floor lamp threw an
unflattering light over her shoulder. In
the bathroom, she had not only taken off
her stockings and girdle, she had also
washed off her pancake make-up and un-
der the light of the lamp the lines of
worry and loneliness in her face were
plainly visible. Vera sighed. "Well, all I
can tell you is that I don't really mean
to be unfriendly, and that's the truth.”
“You aren't being unfriendly.”
“If I meant to be unfriendly, Jimmy
boy, you'd know it. I'd kick you out of
here so fast it would make your head
swim."
Sure,” Jimmy.
“Well, don't get any idears, just be-
cause I took off my stockings and girdle.
I was uncomlortable, that's all.”
Jimmy took a new p: е of cig:
rettes from his pocket and carefully
opened it. “Well,” he said, “I don't
know why you need a girdle, anyhow,
Vera, as young as you are. Why do you
laughed. "To hold up my stock-
ings, you jerk. Didn't that idear ever oc-
cur to you?"
“Well, yeah, I guess there's that,” he
answered.
Vera held her glass cupped in both
hands and gazed moodily at the ice
cubes floating in her whiskey. She “had
poured herself an enormous drink, “I
just don't м; isunderstanding.
Sometimes. guys are
Jimmy gently moved his glass back
and forth, tinkling the ice cubes in the
tiny drink she had given him. He asked,
“Why should I be bitter?”
“Oh, having you here at my place, and
everything. Some guys will draw a wrong
conclusion. But I told you. 1 warned
you. Look but don't touch, Jimmy boy.
Hands off. The truth is, I just didn't feel
like going out to dinner. And I always
do what I want to. Always. Believe me,
Jimmy boy.”
“Um-hmmm,” said Jimmy. "Where
arc you from, Vera? Were you born here
in Chicago?"
"Ho ho ho. You're not interested in
me, you're interested in Irene. Did you
know that one of her breasts is smaller
than the other? Really, I swear it. Not
much smaller, but it's smaller. She puts
Kleenex or toilet paper in one of her
bra cups to make up for it. Ha ha ha!
And did you know that girl hasn't got
any nipples at all? None! They're about
the size of BBs, little tiny, tiny BBs stuck.
in pink dimes.
‘Sounds cute,
‘Cure? Huh.
ever nurse babies.’
“Who does these da
“Well, I did. Until I got nervous and
lost my milk, but that was because of my
husband. I had plenty of milk, loads of
"The baby would turn loose for a sec-
ond to catch her breath, and it would
just keep coming, a tiny fine sprinkle
right over her head, like a little white
all the time, too.
Tt was awful. But this doesn't interest
you. Would you rather talk about Irene?”
said Jimmy.
I don't know how she'll
К I'm being catty to say опе
of her brcasts is smaller than the other,
don't. you?"
"Well . . . I heard somewhere or oth-
er that most women aren't exactly equal
that respect."
“Are you saying I'm like her? Ha ha
ha. I'm sorry, darling, I've got news for
you. I'm noi
“Tell me about your husband,
said
immy. “What kind of guy is hc
"d rather talk about Vera. Vera has
lovely even, equal breasts. Ha ha ha
ha.
Jimmy smiled. "With big nipples?
»t too big, not too little. Jes’ right,
honey chile, jes’ right.”
“Well, that’s the best kind,” laughed
‘ell me
"d rather talk a
think she's going to be a nun?
^] have no idea. I don't know her.”
"She's no more going to be a
Betty Boop. I's diat pri
and good-looking and puts bedroo
ides in her mind, that's why she goes
d jabbers with him about it. He wants
her to be a nun for a reason of liis owi
Don't tell me those priests don't have
their problems. They get tired of holy
water. He wants her to be a nun so no-
body else can have it. The truth is she
was going with a sailor and she was a
bad girl. What are you smirking about,
at interest you, a Southerner
it looks like a smirk,” said
ut it isn’t. Believe me, it
Vera calmly took a
her drink, then leaned {огы
amused shine in her eyes. “The sailor
isn't around. She's getting bored with
the priest, because there's noth х
“I wish. you'd tell me about yourself,
instead of Irene."
“OK, but there really and truly isn't
anything in it for her. And flattering as
it is for a priest to care, she's bound to
get tired of that pious jazz after a while
In ny opinion, that’s why she gave youa
date. Her sailor's gone and she's bored
with religion, You can get her, Jimmy.
Easy.”
Jimmy sighed heavily. “May I have
another drink?”
“We'll cat in a ute. You want to
hear some real gossip?”
“No. I want another dri
“AN right, but listen—if you really
t to know the truth about sweet
осеги Irene who wants to be a
tell you. She was in the bush-
es every night with that sailor. A nun!
What a laugh! Listen, I'm a woman my-
self and I know what a woman feels and
thinks. That sailor wasn't the first. Every
guy comes in the foyer, Irene's sweet lit
tle innocent eves look him up and down.
You can get her, Jimmy. Easy!”
During the conversation, Vera had
moved by gradual stages down the couch
toward Jimmy—shifting her position a
if in discomfort, adjusting and readjust
ing the pillow behind her, crossing her
legs and uncrossing them, and in опе
way or another closing the distance be-
tween them, In the meanwhile, by simi-
lar methods Jimmy had moved closer to
her. As she said, “You can get her, Jim
(continued on page 74)
In announcer's booth: At right, Stirling Moss, with his bride Eloine, offers expert commentary. Fon ot left weors sleeveless sweoter vest of
Americon-knit wool, by Fashion Hill, $9, with oxford shirt, by Sero, $6.50, ond clpoco tie, by Rooster, $3.50, under Arnel ond cotton jocket, by
Gordon Ford, $35. Chort-keeper works in two-button Arnel ond rayon jacket, by Movest, $35, with lamb's-wool sweater, by Robert Bruce, $12
attire By ROBERT L. GREEN GRAND P. RIX GARB
high-speed cars and high-style fashions provide color and excitement at watkins glen
PHOTOGRAPHY BY LARRY GORDON
o EARS
Above left: Drivers Jim Clork, left, and Pedra Rodriguez engage in pit chot with spectator in woal glen-ploid jockel, by Stonley Blacker, $60,
with waol and Orlon slacks, by Esquire, $17, stretch shirt, by Matson, $11, and ascot, by Handcraft, $5. Above right: American Richie Ginther
huddles with Ford's Roy Lunn, wha boasts blazer, by Stanley Blacker, $60, stretch slacks, by Anthony Gesture, $15, and shirt, by Aetna, $6.
VENT, whether it be Le Mans or the Preakne: s traditi an occasion when even the most con-
dresser rummages through his wardrobe looking for that bright waistcoat and boldly patterned ascot. The
most recent American Grand Prix competition at Watkins Glen was no exception. Witness the collection of casual-
wear pictured here among the more than 50,000 persons who mobbed that scenic New York State race course
to see the world's best drivers handle the Glen's twisting 2.3-mile course. Perfect for viewing the excitement of for-
mula racing, these sports clothes are equally appropriate for any countrified occasion from alfresco cocktails to
informal dining out. The sartorially resplendent racing enthusiasts who watched Graham Hill set a new course
Above left: Beorded Joakim Bonnier goes over onticipoted lop time with reporter weoring Fortrel ond cotton seersucker jocket, by Hospel, $35,
with plocket shirt, by McGregor, $6. Above right: Wotkins Glen winner Grohom Hill tolks with fon dressed in hopsocl-weove blozer ond
slacks coordinotes, by J&F, $65, with oxford buttondown, by Monholton, $6, silk ascot, by Hondcroft, $5, ond shoggy pullover, by Himolaya, $15.
record were a far cry from the fans of an earlier day. When Watkins Glen was first set up to handle road-racing
events in 1948, it was de rigueur to hustle out to the track in corduroy pants and an Indian blanket. “American rac-
ing crowds have little dress sense,” sniffed the elegant English racing critic Louis Stanley, fresh from watching the
competitions in Monaco and France, “. . . a cross between Laramie and Alice in Wonderland. Only feathers and war
paint were missing.” At the latest Glen go, we are happy to report, the Beethoven sweat shirts were held to an
absolute minimum. The racing followers had obviously traded their Navahos for garb that would please the
most fastidious Continental. Mr. Stanley, shooting stick et al, may come back any time to see for himself.
PLAYBOY
74
CLOWNY NIGHT
my. Easy!" she crosed her legs in the
manner of an Indian squaw and the
fleshy part of her hip moved against his
knee. She was now very close to him.
Her dark-brown eyes stared intently
into his own.
Aren't you going to give me a
drink?” he asked.
Vera put a small, trembling hand on
his arm. ” she said, "but don't get
drunk."
‘Good God!" laughed Jimmy.
“There's not much chance of that
around hcre."
Another red-nailed hand reached to-
ward him and squeezed his fingers. Vera
continued to stare intently at him, as if
trying with desperation to see into his
mind and soul. She made no effort now
to conceal her violent nervousness. The
tic in her cheek was wholly uncontrolled
and her hand was squeezing his fingers
with wild, repeated, spasmlike contrac-
tions. For the third time, her lip irem-
bled and her eyes brimmed with tears.
In a tiny and lost voice, she asked, “Do
you really like me?”
Jimmy touched her hair. “I love you,”
he said.
“Oh, don't!” she cried. “Please, please
don't! You shouldn't say such a thing to
me, that’s insane! You couldn't possibly
love me, not in a million years! Oh,
God!” Vera put her hand over her eyes,
as the brimming tears ran down her
cheeks and her face was distorted by de-
spair. “Oh, God! This is ridiculous!
Completely ridiculous! You don’t even
like me, much less love me! Oh, God!
God!”
Jimmy put his arm around her shoul-
ders. “I'm not lying to you,” he said. "I
love you, Vera.” Again, he touched her
hair. She laid her head on his chest and
ughtened her thin arms like iron bands
around him, as if the world itself would
dissolve if she let him go. Again and
again, she said, "Oh, God! Oh, God!"
There was no doubt of the appalling
and terrifying depth of her wretched-
ness, and Jimmy felt sure he had by no
means yet seen the limits of it. The
skin of his face tingled vith fear and
expectation.
A few minutes later, Vera stood up.
pulled the cover off the couch, unzipped
her skirt, stepped out of it, took off her
slip and her bra, then stood before him,
a faint smile on her tear-streaked face.
"Well, I guess I knew this would hap-
pen,” she said. “But уои" fio Gn fooling
me, Jimmy. You're a liar.’
Quite a while thereafter, Jimmy sat
slighdy drunk on the edge of the couch
and smoked a cigarette while Vera
walked back and forth in the kitchenette
cooking the steaks. She was drunker
than he and totally without self-con-
sciousness. But it was not the whiskey
that relieved her of fear and shame;
(continued from page 70)
from the moment he had touched her
hand in the bar on Wabash, there had
been no barrier between them. The
ineffable wall between man and woman
simpl In an interlude of
the wild hours, she had said to him: “I'm
a tramp, Jimmy, you know that, don’t
you. 1 cheat all the time. Guys in bars,
even guys on the street sometimes. But I
don't call this cheating. J even have a
crazy idear Jeff wouldn't mind.” Jef was
her husband, a Benzedrine-chewing and
potsmoking saxophone player. “Never
in my life, Jimmy, never in my life. Stay
with me tonight, OK? Just stay with me
tonight, that's all I ask.’
Never in her life, never in his. Jimmy
shook his head and put out his cigarette
by blind couch. He could not move his
eyes from her and it made no sense
whatsoever. The evaluation of a wom-
апу body was obviously formed in a
spiritual matrix far removed from vulgar
objectivity, but for the sake of a brief
game he could look at her with a preda-
tory detachment and say that her figure
actually was not very good. She was a
tall, long-boned girl and very thin. Her
breasts were as “lovely, even and equal”
as she had claimed, but had the unfortu-
nate effect of emphasizing that the rest
of her body was starved. Her ribs showed
and her hipbones were prominent. De-
spite the full breasts and small, beautiful,
delicate hands, she was not womanly.
From behind she really looked like a
immy did not like boys. Brief
and foolish game, indeed! The fact was
that he literally could not take his eyes
from her, even for a moment to put out
a cigarette. An ache came again in his
throat and blood thumped in his ears as
on
nd rui
hey're
Jimmy.
g I hate worse
‘They look OK."
“I don't know anyth
than well-done steaks. But my broiler
doesn't work right, it flares up and
God, I don't know. Everybody in
nily dies of accidents; it'll proba-
bly blow up some time and kill me.
That's what happened 10 my mother—a
stove. And my father was killed in
an accident, 100. That's not all, my
brother besides. Ha ha. It runs in the
family.”
Jimmy sat in trousers and undershirt
at the oilcloth-covered table. his feet on
the cold linoleum of the kitchenette
floor. Stark naked, Vera sat across from
him and poured coffee with a genteel
dignity, her spine arched and her
shoulders back. Curls of steam rose from
each cup.
‘Aren't you cold sitting there with
nothing on?” asked Jimmy.
old? No, I'm not cold.”
I think the heat went off. Don't you
want me to get you a bathrobe or
something?”
"I said I'm not cold.” Vera dropped
her eyes and bit her lip. "I seem 10 re-
member you telling me an hour ago how
beautiful I am. ‘Beautiful, beautiful
isn't that what you said? Does it
bother you now? You don't like me
naked, now that you've had your fun,
huh?”
“1 just thought you might be cold.”
“Well, I'm not.”
"OK." Jimmy reached across the oil-
cloth table and put his hand on her ann.
“But you do bother me,” he said, “you
bother me plenty. And what's more, you
ате beautiful."
Vera smiled. “So you're not sick of me
yet, huh? I guess this is my lucky night.”
The steaks were indeed burned. So
were the baked potatoes she'd been
roasting off and on in the oven. They'd
gotten up twice before to eat, but each.
time he had kissed her or touched her
and dinner had been postponed. И was
almost midnight The radiators had
clanked and the heat had gone off at
least an hour before.
“It's lousy, isn't it? I'm sorry.”
“It's OK. 105 fine.”
“Well, I never said I could cook. I'm a
lousy wife, a lousy mother, and a lousy
в.”
“1 still don't know where you're from,
Vera. You weren't born here in Chicago,
were you?"
“I was born in Indiana, not that it
matters where I was born.”
“Have you lived here long?”
ince right after Pearl Harbor. Jeff
was supposed to be drafted and I'd live
here on my allotment, but ha ha they
turned him down. Psycho, they said—not
crazy but halfcrazy. I could have told
them that. Anyhow he got a job here
and we stayed, except he lost the job six
months later. He's a thirdrate bum. So
that's luck for yov. He's running around
the country having fun in the middle of
a war, and my brother is dead."
“your brother was killed in the war?"
“Not exactly in the war, but because
of it. Hitler never shot him and neither
did that bald-headed мор from Italy. It
was a so-called accident. But it was really
murder. Cold-blooded murder. You
shouldn't have got me started, but my
kid brother was a big strong boy, blond
and real handsome, and this goddamn
kike killed him."
ke?” asked Jimmy.
. A so-called accident. My broth-
er always loved cars and everything and
they had him working on this truck,
doing something or other underneath it.
So this Jewish sergeant [rom New Jerscy
came along and started the motor. My
brother yelled but that murdering Jew
didn't hear him, or he claimed he didn't.
So he drove off the truck and my brother
was caught and thrown under the wheels
(continued on page 128)
THE SCOTSMAN'S REVENGE
a caustic commentary on america’s childlike willingness
to fall for even the most absurd foreign propaganda
opinion BY KEN W. PURDY
DURING THE 1930s a funny little story was current here and in
England. It gave considerable pleasure both to those who read
it or heard it and to those who had set it afloat. The story, as
usually done, opened with the statement that it was well known
that the Japanese could not design any mechanical device, but
could only copy. The Japanese, everyone knew, were short, my-
opic, bac! rd folk, addicted to the kimono, the tea ceremony
and flower arrangements, people living in the past. After all,
they had fought a battle with the bow and arrow in the 19th
Century!
But, wishing to build Westernstyle warships, the Japanese
had taken to ordering blueprints from British and American
builders, copying them, returning them—"So sollyl"—and then
making the ships. A Scots shipyard, the story ran, tiring of the
gambit, had submitted a destroyer designed with the center of
gravity set six feet to starboard. Naturally, when the ship was
launched in Tokyo Bay, with the Emperor himself watching, she
turned turtle and sank like a stone.
This amusing little tale was a foundation piece under what
1 consider one of the two most brilliant and crushingly effective
propaganda coups of our time: the Japanese effort to convince
the West, and particularly the United States, that Japan was
quite incapable of making war on equal terms. A genuine propa-
ganda success is one that can be stated in terms of divisions of
troops, in capital ships and aircraft and such hardware, and the
Japanese tour de force culminated (continued on page 150)
CREASMAN
75
affer two centuries of censorship, literature's most irrepressible bawd—finally declared
innocent— comes to the screen to proclaim that a harlof's progress can lead to happiness
HAT TALL, black-eyed, redheaded.
h-breasted а eeled lass
Hill, has come
a long way from her humble beginnings.
Conceived in a debtors’ gaol in 1748 by
an eccentric littérateur and vagabond
named John Cleland. who then cast her
out into the world for a paltry 20
guineas, she went on to ignite the erotic
imagination of millions of readers in
every major language; and now, 217
years later, Fanny made her debut
as the most triumphant fille de joie the
movies have ever known.
But it hasn't been easy.
Fanny's woes began less than a year
after she first appeared on the Strand in
London. Her Memoirs of a Woman of
Pleasure, at six shillings the copy, were
already circulating freely, reaching a
public whose appetite for the new liter-
ary form of the novel had been whetted
by the success of Fieldings Tom Jones
and Richardson's Pamela, when thi
sors suddenly woke up to the fact т
she was no ordinary heroine. At the in-
stigation of the local bishops, a warrant
to seize everyone connected with the
book was issued by the Crown o
1749.
сеп-
vember 8.
The harassed author immediately
penned an urgent letter to the office of
the Secretary of State, In this document,
which has only recently come to light.
Cleland actually tried to escape prosecu-
tion by denying that he was the legiti-
mate father of Fanny. “The plan of the
first Part,” he wrote, “was originally р
en me by a young gentleman above
18 years ago, on an occasion immaterial
to mention here. This I never dreamt of
preparing for the Press, till being under
confinement in the Fleet, at my leisure
hours, I altered. added to, transposed,
and in short new-cast.” In an obvious
reply to the bishops who had cast the
first stone at Fanny, Cleland slyly won-
dered how her Memoirs “could so long
escape the Vigilance of the Guardi
the Public Manners, since, nothing is
т. than that more Clergymen bought
proportion, tl y other distinc
ns of
tion of men.” In the same embarrassing
. Cleland went on to state that in
the story of the flagellant in Part 1, re-
la
limp
g how Fanny is compelled to flog a
nd worn-out rouè into potency,
and which I fished for in actual life, I
subst ted a L
Divine of the Church of England, of
ye to that of a
aracter
ct, with little variation, is
sacred Truth: as may, if doubted, on a
slender enquiry be traced. and verified.
That, he thought, would hold them.
Even Fanny's publisher, Ralph Gril-
fiths, a suave and wily operator who is
said to have ultimately earned £10,000
from the wench, tried to turn his back
on her in this first crisis. He invented a
brother called “Fenton Griffiths’ record
of whom has never been found, just as
there is no evidence of that
Ueman” referred 10 by
amed this illusory sib
book's publication.
Surprisingly enough, the authorities
seem to have been placated—or intimi-
dated by fear of scandal in high places
(shades of Profumo!)—for no further
action was taken. But what might have
impressed the Secretary of State more
than any other argument was Cleland's
canny reminder that “they can take no
step toward punishing the Author that
to the
whom the
for the
will not powerfully contrib
notoriety of the Book.”
Just four months later, though, in
March of 1750, after the hue and cry
against her seemed Fanny came
out on the town once more; this time as
over,
The movie version of Fanny Hill—sort of a Tom Jones en déshabillé—is foithful in tone if not in text to John Cleland's originol. Lovely Letitio
Roman (left) is feotured as the irrepressible Fonny, wide-eyed witness (ond occasional porticipont) in o virtual Kama Sutra of sexual high
jinks. Though her virginity doesn't long endure, Fanny's innocent air is with her to the end. Above: Our chosed heroine douses pig-loiled se
ducer with Guinness Stout (left) while gamine Renote Hutte (top center] shows proper bagnio ollure ond (top right) sorority sisters sit
through customer examinotion. Above center: Modom Brown (Miriom Hopkins] gets trussed up while girls brondish fetishes preporing for a hord
Чоу night. Above right: Unexpected visto almost shocks fop out of tricorn. Below: Les girls transform boondocks into outdoor orgy.
Filmed in Berlin ond directed by Russ Meyer (of Immoral Mr. Teas fame), Fonny presents a gaggle of Frauleinwunders, along with a few ringers,
in what turns out to be on epachal uncestumed epic. Clockwise fram tap left: Veronico Ericksan amply paints up that modern topless dress is
history delightfully repeating itself; wigged wog clutches cutie; Mrs. Brown's girls delight customers with teo-donce foalery; Veronica fondles
high-fashion bullwhip; girls dof dud: boisterous 18th Century equivalent of kick the con; Christine Schmidtmer presents tasty prospect ta
hirsute roué; pouting Luise Schwarz awaits dote. At center: Cora Gornelt sponges scopy Fanny. Below: Lecherous lord fakes somnambulism in
attempt to seduce our hercine; offer Torzan-type shenanigans ond а romp around the room, he connives his way inio Fanny's bed.
a chaste and proper young miss, careful-
ly expurgated of all indelicate passages,
with nothing left to remind anyone of
her former charms but her
name itself. To this bowdlerized version,
for which publisher Griffiths now took
full responsibility, the following demure
motto (borrowed from Fanny) was
affixed: "If I have painted Vice in its
gayest Colours, if I have deck'd it with
Flowers, it has been solely in order to
make the worthier, the solemner Sac
rifice of it to VIRTUE.” ver one to
insure an investment, riffiths then
wrote an anonymous review of the
scrubbed edition of the Memoirs for his
own magazine, The Monthly Review, in
which he declared with straight-faced in-
nocence that although he had never laid
eyes on the original, the present work
was endowed with an uncommon “deli-
cacy of sentiment and expression” which
could hardly make a maiden blush—let
alone a grown man.
However, the Bishop of London,
Thomas Sherlock, not only blushed but
fumed, then blazed off a letter to the
Secretary of State demanding that he
take instant action against “this vile
Book, which is an open insult upon Reli
Clockwise from top left: Attempting to preserve what's Іей of her virtue by outrunning orden! suitor, Fonny folls heodlong into loke, is
rescued by Chorles, doshing novol ensign destined to become her one true love; flaxen-tressed Brit! Lindberg ond sultry Gitte Jell ore two of
film's comeliest extras; periwigged gents and chorming courtesons smooch in parlor; ubiquitous Renote Hütte contemplotes the world from
the fomilior confines of her four-poster; girls ond heodmistress assemble for full-dress reception for о delegotion from Commons; uniformed
Cora Garnett smiles houghtily; ond girls primp prior to lote date. Left center: Blonde beauty eyes customer worily; while Fanny ond co-
worker rest up ofter night's lobors. Yet another oeuvre from prolific producer Albert Zugsmith, Fanny is scheduled to open in ће U.S. shortly.
gion and good manners, and a reproach
to the Honour of the Government, and
the Law of the Country." Once aj
warrants were issued.— but once
case was never brought to trial. It may
well have been because of Griffiths’ oily
influence, or John Cleland's family con-
nections with the powerful Lord Gran-
ville of the Privy Council, or, indeed,
the threat of an unsavory ecclesiastical
scandal vis-a-vis the book: but wha
the reason, the bishop's fire was q
doused. Cleland himself not only went
unpunished a sccond time, but was gen-
crously bought off with а £100
pension by the levelheaded Lord Gran-
ville on the promise that he would be a
proper fellow and never create a succes-
sor to his notorious nymph.
Fanny, however, was by now irrepress-
ible. Within a few years other publish-
ers took her in and tricked her out in
new editions, sometimes adding bawdy
illustrations and even spicing up the al-
ready lusty text of the original. Justly
enough, the only instance of anyone
being convicted for associating with Fan-
ny occurred when a bookseller named
Drybutter was pilloried in 1757 for hav-
ing inserted gamy details of a homos
year
am
al encounter in Part II of the novel.
One can be sure that Cleland as well
would have been indignant at Master
Drybutter's liberties with his craft, for in
spite of his every disclaimer, it is obvious
that he loved Fanny and composed each
of her lines with the devotion of a liter-
ary crafisman-biographer.
What he had tried to achieve, as Fan-
ny herself put i a style “tempered
with taste," avoiding “gross, rank and
vulgar expression" on the one hand and
“mincing metaphors and affected cir-
cumlocutions" on the other. His success
in forging such a style, with its incandes-
cent power of insinuation, made him the
most celebrated erotic novelist оГ his—
and perhaps of any—time. Fanny has
survived as much for the stylish. purity
and grace of her expression as for her
spirited gambols in the hay.
Without question, the man who could
conceive of Fanny had to possess the
finesse of a literary artist as well as the
worldliness of an 18th Century rake.
Through his father. Colonel William
land, who held the important. office
of Commissioner of Taxes, and was a
close and lifelong friend of the grcat
poct Alexander. Pope, young John was
introduced to fashionable society at a
tender age and soon became familiar
with the poets, politicians, wits, fops and
coxcombs who assembled in the clubs
and coffechouses of London. After grad-
uating from the Westminster School
and barely out of his teens, his father
obtained for the precocious youngster
the post of consul in Smyrna, Turkey;
few years of service in that
exotic land, at the age of 27, he joined
the British East India Company in 1736
and moved farther eastward to Bombay.
The Arabian Nights splendor and sen-
suality of the East, in contrast to the
rational daylight world of Protestant
gland, understandably made а dra-
matic and fasting impression on the
budding young writer.
Since Cleland was a privileged mem-
ber of the British ruling class, available
to him were all the rare Indian and
Turkish delights that had once been the
private reserve of rajas and sultans. But
he was also somewhat of a language
scholar and was thus able to study the
culture at first hand. Among the Sanskrit
works he read was that most famous of
Oriental love manuals, Kama Sutra;
one can easily imagine Cleland putting
and after
PLAYBOY
into practice among the harem girls and
nautch dancers of the East the various
tic techniques of lovemaking rec-
ded by the poetsage Vatsyayana.
Fanny herself, especially in the famous
orgy scene from the Memoirs, scems in
many respects the quintessence of these
erotic experiments distilled and refined
in Cleland's imagination a decade later.
But in the midst of these scholarly re-
searches, the author, for reasons still
cloaked in mystery, was suddenly dis-
missed by his superiors in the East India
ny and forced to quit Bombay. In
ly destitute condition, we are told,
anaged to reach western Europe,
re for the next several years he lived
a precarious, bohemian, on-the-road. ex-
istence. Yet this experience as well was
to go into the creation of Fanny. In Par-
is, Cleland encountered a new kind of
amorous art which the libertine Louis
XV, his court and his mistress Madame
Pompadour (who stocked the King's
famous harem, the Deer Park, with a
choice collection of virgins as extensive
as any Oriental seraglio’s) had inspired
among the painters and writers of the
period.
Chief among these writers was Claude
de Crébillon, only two years Cleland's
senior, who was producing erotic novels
in the form of letters and dialogs, such
as A Lady of Quality, which won him a
wide reputation. To Crébillons more
ethereal French touch, Cleland was to
add a robust English appreciation of the
flesh—the difference, say, between the
work of that voluptuous French court
painter Fragonard and the lipsmacking.
middle-class sensuality of Hogarth. In
ddition, the advanced social ideas of
the French Enlightenment, with its new
respect for the dignity of the individual
in his pursuit of. happiness, must also
have played its part in the unconscious
molding of Cleland's democratic-mind-
ed, independent and pleasure-loving
heroine.
What seems to have brought Cleland
home to England, at last, was the death
of his father in 174l, two months after
the old gentleman had been dismissed
from his post as Commissioner of Taxes
by the administration of Prime Minister
Robert Walpole. The prodigal son now
found himself back in his native land
after an absence of many ycars, with no
inheritance or other means of support,
1 with his father's political influence a
thing of the past. Out of necessity he be-
in to scrounge а hand-to-mouth living
ga
as a sometime journalist and hack w
er. Fanny herself, as Cleland has told us,
was conceived during one of those bar-
ren scasons when his stuff was not sell-
1 the
former British Consul had to make one
of his enforced visits to debtors’ prison.
Cleland was to remain a hired pen
ng the rest of his long life (support-
ng. creditors were howling,
ed by his yearly pension of £100), and to
end his days as a retired literary gentle-
man of modest circumstances in West
minster. He had managed to write a
number of plays, scholarly works, trans-
lations and even novels after Fanny—
including a rather stiffly stylized and
disappointingly dull narrative entitled
The Memoirs of a Coxcomb—but none
matched the success, acclaim and notori-
ety of his first book and only masterpiece.
Long before he died at the age of 80,
in 1789, Fanny's fame had already spread
throughout Europe, and she was especi
ly cherished by the more advanced social
theorists of the age. The famous French
encydopedist, Diderot, whose ideas
helped prepare the way for both the
French and American Revolutions, was
an enthusiastic admirer of Fanny. In
England the Memoirs occupied an es-
teemed place in the library of the so-
called Hell-Fire Club (PLAvmov, June
1961), whose members were drawn
from the ruling elite in society, litera-
ture and politics, and included among
them John Wilkes, the noted Parl
n and political friend of th
colonists. When Benjamin Franklin
n England in 1772, seeking sup-
was
port for the American colonies against
the repressive policies of George HI, he
was made an honorary member of the
club, participated in their erotic revels
in the pleasure-dome abbey of Medmen-
ham, and through this felicitous union
of politics and pleasure, became
quainted with Fanny
Always the initiator, the author of
Poor Richard's Almanack returned to
Colonial shores with the Memoirs
tucked firmly beneath his arm. It can be
confidently assumed that through old
Ben other of our founding fathers,
cluding the young Jefferson and Hamil-
ton, joined Fanny's fan club. For with
her pluck, self-reliance and freewheeling
enterprise, Fanny embodied the revolu-
nary spirit of the timeat |
terms of sexual and social morality
were qualities which qualified her for
success in the New World.
The first American edition
Memoirs appeared sometime during the
1770s, published by the well-known
printer and historian of the Federalist
period, Isaiah Thomas of Massachusetts.
Other domestic editions quickly fol-
lowed in response to the lively demand,
some of them sumptuously illustrated
with lithographs and engr: that
graphically depicted the ra odes
of the book. As the new nation expand-
ed, and immigrants from all over the
world arrived, many of them brought
with them plainly wrapped editions
written in their own tongues. In French
she was La Fille de Joie, in German Das
Frauenzimmer von Vergnügen, in Ital-
ian La Meretrice Inglese. But in plain
English 4 Woman of Pleasure, then
of her
as now, continued to grow in popularity.
But then as now, Fanny continued to
arouse the wrath of the local Mrs. Grun-
dys and their hatchet men. She became,
in fact, the object of the first American
prosecution of a book on grounds of ob-
scenity when two Massachuseus printers,
Peter Holmes and Stillman How.
arrested in 1821 for publis
then ordered destroyed. No
matter, for Fanny continued to circulate
sub тоха, and her trade was as brisk as
ever. Many of these banned editions
tampered with Cleland’s style, using all
the privy words then in vogue, and
adding other four-letter details for good
measure—which was not unlike spraying
a bouquet of wild flowers with fiveand-
dime perfume.
When the War Between the States ex-
ploded, Fanny became a camp follower
of both the boys in blue and those
gray, dispensing her charms impart
lly
as if to remind them of the other things
they were fighting for. During the gilded
age that followed, she gave herself to gen-
erals as well as to enlisted men, tycoons
s well as ditchdiggers. statesmen as well
as the rank and vile. A copy of the Mem-
oirs now in the New York Public Li-
brary was at one time the property of
Samucl J. Tilden, a famous New York
reform governor and Democratic nomi-
nee for the Presidency against Ruther-
ford B. Hayes in 1876. On the record,
then, Fanny has played a unique role in
American life from Colonial times to the
present.
But it has only been within the past
two years that her Memoirs have been
able to emerge from bottom drawers and
from under false covers. The change in
sexual mores since World Wars One and
Two, reflected. in the greater boldness
and realism of contemporary novelists,
gradually prepared the way for Fanny's
own liberation and acceptance in the
front parlor. Perhaps the most important
single event in this struggle for freedom
by writers to mention the unmention-
able was the decision by Justice John
M. Woolsey in 1933 that lifted the
ban on James Joyce's Ulysses. A week
after this verdict, the well-known liberal
lawyer Morris L. Ernst, who defended
the book, predicted: “It should hence-
forth be impossible for the censors legal-
book
integrity, no matter how frank
and forthright it might be.”
Mrs. Grundy, however, was not giving
up without a fight. When D. H. Law-
rence's Lady Chatterley's Lover appeared
publicly for the first time in Ате
(1959) and England (1960), the book
was prosecuted both countries and
won a notable double victory. Then
followed the vindication of Henry
Miller's Tropics, which had been carried
(continued on page 140)
“That's the note I was telling you about!”
Conclusion
how frightening it is when a dream—
| Н Е ЕҮЕ fluid and irresponsible—suddenly
starts to congeal into reality
fiction By VLADIMIR NABOKOV
SYNOPSIS: The nameless narrator, a suicide by pistol shot after having been humiliated
and caned by the husband of his mistress, almost immediately begins a new, nightmarish
incarnation. The scene is laid in post-World War I Berlin. It is a life peopled by émigrés
from Communist Russia: the bookseller Vikentiy Lvovich Weinstock; jovial Khrushchov
and his wife Evgenia; her sister Vanya; Dr. Marianna Nikolacuna; Roman Bogdanovich,
an old family friend; Mukhin, the betrothed of Vanya; Vanya's Uncle Pasha; and, above
all, the enigmatic Smurov.
Smurov's performance becomes increasingly puzzling. At first he is swashbuckling,
courageous, extremely masculine—just the opposite of the narrator. Later, chameleonlike,
he becomes a shabby liar and a coward. At this point, the narrator reveals that Smurov
exists essentially in other people's psyches. Then the prattling Uncle Pasha mistakenly
congratulates Smurov for his luck in being engaged to Vanya, who is, in fact, the fiancée
of Mukhin.
Smurov is crestfallen when he learns the truth from Vanya's sister, Evgenia, and she,
in turn, is astounded that he had not known it all along.
"I'm all right, I just did not know,” Smurov says hoarsely.
“What do you mean you did not know? Everybody knows . . . It's been going on for
ages. Yes, of course, they adore each other. It's almost two years пош...”
THERE FOLLOWS A BRIEF PERIOD when I stopped watching Smurov; I grew heavy, surren-
dered again to the gnawing of gravity, donned anew my former flesh, as if indeed all this
life around me was not the play of my imagination, but was real, and 1 was part of i
body and soul. If you are not loved, but do not know for sure whether a potential rival is
loved or not, and, if there are several, do not know which of them is luckier than you; if
you subsist on that hopeful ignorance which helps you to resolve in conjecture an other-
wise intolerable agitation; then all is well, you can live. But woe when the name is at last
announced, and that name is not yours! For she was so enchanting, it even brought tears
to one’s eyes, and, at the merest thought of her, a moaning, awful, salty night would well
up within me. Her downy face, nearsighted eyes and tender unpainted lips, which grew
chapped and a little swollen from the cold, and whose color seemed to run at the edges,
dissolving in a feverish pink that seemed to need so badly the balm of a butterfly kiss; her
short bright dresses; her big knees, which squeezed together, unbearably tight, when she
played skat with us, bending her silky black head over her cards; and her hands, adoles-
cently clammy and a little coarse, which one especially longed to touch and kiss—yes,
everything about her was excruciating and somehow irremediable, and only in my dreams,
drenched with tears, did I at last embrace her and feel under my lips her neck and the
hollow near the clavicle. But she would always break away, and I would awaken, still
throbbing. What diflerence did it make to me whether she were stupid or intelligent, or
what her childhood had been like, or what books she read, or what she thought about
the universe? I really knew nothing about her, blinded as 1 was by that burning loveliness
which replaces everything else and justifies everything, and which, unlike a human soul
(often accessible and possessable), can in no way be appropriated, just as one cannot in-
clude among one's belongings the colors of ragged sunset clouds above black houses, or a
flower's smell that one inhales endle th tensc nostrils, to the point of intoxication,
but cannot draw completely out oi the coroll
Once. at Christmas, before a ball to which they were all going without me, I glimpsed,
in а strip of mirror through a door left ajar, her sister powdering Vanya's bare shoulder
blades; on another occasion I noticed a flimsy bra in the bathroom, For me these were
exhausting events, that had a delicious but dreadfully draining effect on my dreams, al-
though never once in them did 1 go beyond a hopeless kiss (1 myself do not know why I
pi so when we met in my dreams). What 1 needed from Vanya I could never
n for my perpetual use and posses: mot po ıt of
the cloud or the scent of the flower. Only when I finally realized that my desire was bound
to remain insatiable and that Vanya was wholly a creation of mine, did 1 calm down,
ad grow accustomed to my own excitement, from which 1 had extracted all the sweetness
man can possibly obtain from love.
ally my attention returned to Smurov. Incidentally, it turned out that, in spite
Vanya, Smurov had, on the sly, set his sights on the Khrushchovs’ maid,
1 of 18, whose special attraction was the sleepy cast of her eyes. She herself was ап
thing but sleepy. It is amusing to think what depraved devices of love play this modest-
looking girl —named Gretchen or Hilda, I do not remember which —would think up when
the door was locked and the practically naked light bulb, suspended by a long cord, il
lumined the photograph of her fiancé (a sturdy fellow in а Tirolese hat) and an apple
from the masters’ table. These doings Smurov recounted in (continued on page 142)
PAINTING BY ROBERT ANDREW PARKER
a spare-no-expense baedeker for the compleat gamesman which charts the whole trip from where
THE NUMBER-ONE Boy, Manolo, was suddenly a whirling, twisting, leaping demon. He was wearing a gray baboonhide
cloak and a pair of bushbuck horns on his head. War rattles clanked on his piston-pounding legs and he flourished
wildebeest-tail fly whisk, embroidered with magic beads. He had clamped a war whistle between his teeth, and oc-
ally blew piercing blasts. Another chap—the cook, 1 think—was blowing mightily on a kudu horn. Another—
5 the room boy?—was i skin and rattles, and was tumbling madly on the ground. Africans of
all shapes and sizes were leaping and stamping to as wicked a multiple drumbeat as ever announced the first serving
of boiled
Jt seems now that I, wearing bare feet and a red kikoi, a kind of African sarong, was dancing as well, and the
sports
By
ROBERT
RUARK .-
#
to go, what and whom to take—or leave at home—and what to shoot when you get there
frug had nothing on what I was performing in the way of wiggle and stomp. Now the man with the baboonskin and
the rattles and the horns was dusting out the spirits with his whisk, and suddenly I was sitting cross-legged under a
female nyalaskin with a small black boy, a token human sacrifice, eating some nauseous mess of mealie meal and
guinea fowl, and the wickedly horned gentleman was brushing the evil spirits off me.
nung grew stronger, the dancers leaped higher, the drums beat louder, the spirits were all about us, and
then the head witch doctor bit me on the neck to let the Devil out. 1 was really not expecting to be gnawed.
an now properly exorcised, I continued to sit under the hide with the small boy while the witch doctor rolled
the bones, and the dark chorus chanted response to his invocation, The bones were composed of knucklebones of leop- ву
86
ard, lion and wart hog; crocodile toc bones, tortoise shells, cowrie shells and old coins.
This was kush-hush, a kind of Black Mass with which one begins a safari in Portuguese East Africa—a divina-
tion of what's to come. They feel very strongly about Aush-kush out there, and witch doctors do a thriving business,
rather like psychiatrists back home.
It appeared from the prognosis that we would see lions, but would not shoot one, because the major lions in the
area were the ancestors of one Fail Medica, a poacher-turned-warden, and a considerable kush-kush man himself. We
would see many buffalos, and would shoot two at once. It was not the rainy season, but heavy rains would fall. We
would find honey. We must expect to see many poacher-crippled animals. But we would have enormous success on
safari—at first—and then the unseasonable rains would halt us, because the frogs had told the kush-kush man so.
Then the kush-kusher walloped me over the skull with his whisk and everybody carried me around the room in
announced that my name was Baas Leopard. (I had been
a thunder of drums, to a tremendous conga lurch, and it
chewed up by a leopard two years ago, and my arm was still in a sling when I came to Mozambique the first time.) My
hunting partners were Ben Wright, president of This Week, and Walker Stone, editor in chief of Scripps-Howard
Newspaper Alliance. They thought all this mumbo jumbo mildly amusing.
The first thing Wright shot was a one-eyed wart hog. The next victim was a very long-horned greater kudu who
had been crippled in a poaching snare. The next was a very sick sable antelope bull, on his last legs from an old ar-
row wound. All were fine trophies.
Wright shot a buffalo bull, and nailed it with the first bullet. It fell, but appeared to get up, and I checked in with
the collaboration bullet, because night was falling and you don't chase wounded Cape buffalos after dark.
Two dead buffalo bulls lay on the ground. Another had come swiftly back and appeared to be the first one get-
ting up and heading lor thorn. I had shot the carbon copy.
Stone and Wright shot most of the major trophies in a couple of days, and I hauled in near-record kudu and
nyala, as an afterthought. Wright collected an unlikely, accidental leopard, possibly in honor of me and my new name.
After three days the heavens wept and it rained for a solid week. I finally had a word with my gunbéarer, Luis,
also a kush-kush practitioner of терше, and he evidently stopped the rains. The moon filled and the weather was
lovely and the shooting was fine. We found the honey, all right; a bee stung me between the eyes and I couldn't see
for three days.
Stone wore "lucky beans" in his hat, and didn't get stung. He collected four gallons of honey, and left some for
the honey guide, the bird which leads you to the hive. If you don't leave honey for the guide, next time out he leads
you to a snake. I believe it.
І do not say that you need the services of a witch doctor and a kush-kush ceremony to go hunting in Africa to-
day, but it sure helps.
Like the old gray mare, safari today ain't like she used to be. Today you just can't jump into a Jeep and go
whistling olf to wallop the nearest inoffensive creature, You may have to travel far, and you have to figure on every-
thing from uncertain weather to politics and outright native warfare. The winds of change, of which Mr. Macmil-
Jan and Mr. Macleod spoke so breezily, have switched the whole safari picture in black Africa. In recent years a
two-way radio meant communications with town headquarters. In Kenya at least, ihe (continued on page 96)
A muster of quality safari equipment. Clockwise fram upper left: Brush ох in canvas zippered belt sheath, by Eddie Bover, $11.95. Trons-Oceanic
radia receiver with international shortwave, morine-weather and standard-broadcast bands, by Zenith, $275. Professional reflex lémm motion-
picture camera with pistol grip, by Pathé, $923.25. Mahagony cartridge box for storing shells ond cleaning equipment, $29.95, with metal
cleaning kit, $3.50 (sold separately), bath by Abercrombie & Fitch. Heavy yellow-woal pullover, by Aldo, $35. Water-repellent poplin shoot-
ing mitts with split palm for trigger finger, by Eddie Bouer, $2.95. Hand-finished leather ond convas gun case, by Abercrombie & Fitch, $22.50.
Heavy-duty .460 magnum rifle for stalking the biggest of big game, with adjustable rear sights and quick-switch detachable telescapic sight,
by Weatherby, $609. Model 70 H&H .375 magnum rifle for hunting everything from impala ta water buffalo, with Monte Carlo stock,
cheekpiece ond recoil pad, by Winchester, $154.95. Medium game .244 magnum rifle, with French walnut stock, hand-crafted in Englond, by
Holland & Holland, $1375. Binoculars, 7x50, coated lenses, for day and night viewing, by United Binocular, $89.50. Hand-stitched cowhide
cartridge belt, by Abercrombie & Fitch, $10. Bright-red game соо! designed for warm-weather hunting, with bloodpraof game pocket, by Eddie
Bauer, $18.50. Rolleiflex with Zeiss Planar 75mm £/3.5 lens and attached meter, $299.50, 1.5X telephoto lens is additional $240, both from
Honeywell. Nikkorex-F camera comes equipped with automatic reset exposure counter and single-stroke film advancer, shown with 200mm f/4
telephoto lens, $319.50, both by Nikon. Rifle next to Nikon is .222 caliber bolt-action carbine weighing only 5//2 pounds, for brush shooting
light to medium game, with sling strop and swivels, by Remington, $107.95. Bolt-action .22, for target shooting, with Micro-Groove borrel
ond АХ scope sight, by Marlin, $46.95. Over-and-under 20-gauge shotgun for bird shooting, with hand-rubbed walnut stock, by Browning,
$630. Camera with transistorized shutter for automatic exposure adjustment to flashbulb burst, takes color and black and white, by Polaroid,
$130. Big-game Knife with 5Yzinch Swedish-steel blade ond top-grain leather scabbord, by Eddie Bover, $25. Imported Spanish cotton cordu-
ray hunting jacket with antelope suede yoke ond shooting patch, by Cortefiel de Espoño, $55. Lightweight Dingo boots in sueded leather,
with crepe soles, by Acme, $10. Above boots: Tropical helmet, by Abercrombie & Fitch, $13.50. Sleeping bag with 100-percent-dawn filler,
by Eddie Baver, $64.50. Russell “Bird Shooter" field boots with 9-inch uppers in brown veal, from Eddie Bauer, $33.50. Topline fishing gear:
Left, hollow fiberglass spinning rod, $34.95, with spinning reel in bolanced rotating case, $29.95; right, 30-pound trolling rod of tubular fiber-
glass, with hickory butt, $80, with heavy-duty Penn ree! that handles 600 yards of Dacron line, $42.50, all from Abercrombie & Fitch, Behind
rods: Vinyl swamp coot with snap-on hood, kangaraa pockets, by Holt-Knawles, $37.50. Рей and shield are from Caravan Traders, Ltd., of Chicago.
PS
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ame окуш. makes work for idle hands,
they say, and if the converse is true,
March Playmate Jennifer Jackson's
hands are positively angelic. "I'm not
out to prove anything; it's just that I'm
not at my best unless I'm busy all the
time,” explains the tireless 20-year-old,
who triples as a Bunny at the Chicago
Playboy Club, a parttime undergradu-
а Chicago teachers’ college, and a
ance model with a rapidly expand-
ing schedule of assignments for national
and local advertisers. "What with my
timc at the Club, hitting the books and
posing for a new soft-drink ad, I really
need Sunday to catch up with the
weck's news," says our centerfold Ma
Hare. "Actually, I'm only somy there
aren't more hours in the day. There are
so many things I want to do, and so lit-
Че time to do them."
Jennifer first adorned our pages last
August, when she appeared with twin
sister Janis in rrAvnov's pictorial round-
up of The Bunnies of Ghicago. While
PORTRAIT
OF JENNY
miss march belongs to a
matched set of cottontail coeds
From top left: Keyholders don't mind seeing
double os twin cottontails, Jon (left) ond
Jennifer, odd their special brond of symmetry
to Chicogo Ployboy Club's decor. Looded
down with wordrobe ond suitcose, our March
Miss moves into new Windy City digs while
Jon brings up the reor with on opproving
first glonce ot her sister's swinging Ploymote
pad. A lost-minute decoroting chonge is dis-
cussed with pointer ("I reolly went wild fixing
up the ploce, but my PLAYBOY center-spreod
modeling fee poid for everything"). Jon (right)
breoks up over long-lost boby picture of the
poir thot Jennifer come ocross in moving.
Bunnydom's only matched set of colle-
giate cottontails measure the same from
top (5814”) to tape (36-23-36), the simi-
larities stop there. "We're like opposite
sides of the same genctic coin," the multi-
talented. M March observes. "Jan is
the single-minded sibling in our family.
When we attended Wilson Junior Col-
lege together, she spent the entire two
years buried in her books, stayed away
from all forms of extracurricular activity
and wound up with scads of academic
honors and a scholarship offer from a
downstate university. Me, Im the
proverbial Jack-of-all-trades who can nev-
er settle down in any one role when
there are so many others left to try. At
Wilson, I put in enough studying to
earn a respectable average and split the
rest of my time among volleyball, tennis
and fraternity dances. The only scholar-
ship I cver won was to the Art Institute
of Chicago when I was thirteen, and after
six months of design class I was bored to
tears. I always kid my twin sister about
being more mature because she's older—
by a full eight minutes."
Although our girl on the go admits
having trouble concentrating on fewer
than three things at once, she knows ex-
actly what she likes in the way of male
companionship. She prefers older men
(‘When you're only twenty, that leaves a
pretty big group to choose from") of the
self-made variety ("No rich man's fayor-
ite son for me"), who share her tastes for
exotic cuisine, outdoor sports, avant-
garde drama, progressive jazz and "the
Joys of trying something new." We can
guarantee the joys attendant upon an
appraisal of this month's gatefold.
Top left: Jennifer (in bock) and Jonis take o
breok during a tandem trek ocross town.
Right: Miss Morch displays her smashing fore-
hand form during one of the twins’ regulor
Soturday sets. “I'll ойт I'm no Moria Bueno
at the net," soys Jennifer, “but | con give
most men с foirly competitive game on the
courts.” Center: Tennis-weory twins spot some
friends in the pork, ond Jon mckes o rocket
to attroct their ottention. Bottom: After оп
evening of twisting ot The Id, Chicego's new
discothèque in the Ambessador West Hotel,
our terpsichoreon twin ond her dote debole
demolishing on aprés-donse pizza. "| love
Itolion food," remarks our colorie-conscious
coed, “but it doesn't love me. If 1 wont to con-
tinue modeling, | have to keep reminding my-
self thot fettucini ond fashion just don't mix."
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES
The sign on the church lawn announced in
bold letters: tr TIRED OF SIN, COME IN.
Under it, written in lipstick, was the mes-
sage: "If not, call Park 4-6898.”
Having been marricd to cach other for 40 of
their 60 years, a sophisticated couple decided
on separate vacations.
After reveling for two months in the island
paradise of Hawaii, the old gent made a rather
lengthy phone call to the far shores of Miami,
where his wife had decided to vacation:
"I'm having a great time,” he said. “I met
the most fabulous thirty-yearold blonde and
were really swinging.” After a pause, a ma-
tronly voice aimed at Honolulu replicd:
“Well, darling, I'm having a great time, too. I
met a thirty-ycar-old man who has been squir-
ing me all over town and 1 can assure you I'm
certainly enjoying myself more than you are."
“How do you figure that?" he responded in
an irritated tone.
“Simple mathematics, my dear,” she purred.
“Thirty goes into sixty more times than sixty
goes into thirty.”
Then there was the crooked crematory op-
erator who sold the ashes to cannibals as In-
stant People.
Aware of his prospective father-inlaw's flair
for sarcasm, the young groom-to-be was nerv-
ous over the prospect of asking for his daugh-
ters hand. Summoning the necessary courage,
he approached the girl's father and, with the
utmost politeness, asked, “May I have your
daughter for my wife?”
"I don't know,” came the reply. “Bring your
wife around and I'll let you Know."
Our Unabashed Dictionary defines protein
as an adolescent callgirl.
A stern father was taking his litde son Johnny
for a walk in the park when suddenly a honey-
bee settled on a rock in front of them. Just
for spite, the boy smashed it with a rock,
whereupon his father said, “That was cruel,
and for being cruel you'll get no honey for a
whole year.”
Later, Johnny deliberately stepped on a but-
terfly. "And for that, young man,” said the fa-
ther, "you'll get no butter for a yea
When they returned home, Johnny's mother
was busy fixing dinner. Just as they entered
the kitchen, she spied a cockroach and immedi-
ately crushed it. The little boy looked at his
father impishly, and said: "Shall I tell her,
Dad, or will you?"
Our Unabashed Dictionary defines spinster as
a girl aged in the wouldn't.
Though there are two dozen houses of ill
fame in our town," said the candidate for
mayor to his attentive audience at the political
rally, "I have never gone to one of them!”
From the back of the crowd a heckler called
out, "Which опе?!”
During a chance meeting of two old friends
who had not seen each other in years, one of
the men inquired about the other's wife.
“Oh, but of course, you couldn't know,”
said the second man sadly. “Doris has gone
to heaven,”
“Tm sorry to hear that,” said the first man,
who was a bachelor. Then, realizing that this
might be misunderstood, he corrected himself,
saying, “I mean, I'm glad!” Then, noticing the
shocked look on his friend’s face, he blurted,
“That is, I'm awfully surprised!”
P
Aly Mirman?
Our Unabashed Dictionary defines love let-
ter as something that often turns out to be a
noose paper.
Then there was the man who wanted to get
something for his wife, but no one would start
the bidding.
Heard a good one lately? Send it on a postcard
to Party Jokes Editor, PLAYBOY, 232 E. Ohio St.,
Chicago, Ill. 60611, and earn $25 for each joke
used. In case of duplicates, payment is made
for first card received. Jokes cannot be returned.
"I've made you immortal, Miss Haskins, as far as I'm. concerned."
PLAYBOY
PAR-OUT SAPARI
possession of a piece of complicated
hinery today is apt to get you
shot for a spy by some ambitious ward
heeler bucking for sergeant. Vast arcas
close without warning, due to game
shortage, flood and native battles; and
rules change according to the whim of
newly emerged nations. Once-wide-open
territories, such as Kenya and Tangan-
yika, are now operated on the “block
system,” which means you have to book
months in advance, sometimes, and are
restricted to your own area. In the Por-
tugucse African countrics, Mozambique
„ the shooting country
or coutadas,
hing has
ed some portions of Kenya and
ika, and the wardens are cm-
powered arbitrarily to close and open
such areas. | know several sections of
Masailand which haven't been really
shot over in 14 ycars, but the poachers
have been very busy
This piece is being written in Mozam-
bique, one of the last strongholds of lush
animal life and smiling natives, But my
outfitters have had nine recent cancel-
lations. I asked why.
Every time some bloody wog in the
Congo ог in Whozitsville rubs out
another wog. it makes the papers, and
puts the clients off their stroke," my
hunter, a profane South Africa 1.
"You've got this bloody madwoman
Alice Lenshina with that cult in Rho-
desia, killing off people right and left,
and you've got the rebels kicking hell
out of the army in the Congo. Most of
you people"—he looked at mc with dis-
dain—"potential clients, 1 mean, think
that Africa is about the size of New
York. I mean to say, have you ever been
murdered on your last three safaris
here?”
in the food,” Т
murmured. "And by the conversation of
your last female client."
very true that the arcas are
tion rears its
ing, as self-determii
tionalistic banner. Mozambique, An-
gola—if you don't run into a massacre—
Bechuanaland and a portion of South-
ern Rhodesia are the best bets. Chad,
I'm told, is good, but there are few fancy
frills to be had in hunters or equipment,
n the classic sense of romantic white
good tentage, а маей chop
box and evening cocktails in front of the
fire. The Congo—forget it. You never
know which native is on first base in the
government, or who is making war on
whom for what. At this writing the bat-
tles are brisk.
1 used to do safari on horseback, with
mels carrying such vital supplies as w
ter and booze to keep your system safe
from harmful nis. Hunting African
elephants on horseback is a dicey busi-
‚ at best, because once in a while you
a
(continued from page 86)
have to get off the horse and haul h
up the nearest escarpment. Horses, gen-
erally speaking, are no damned good—
out of a bush in а testy temper.
The elephant-cum-horse-cum-camel s
fari was about as far out as today's
plush operation, with the sanitary toilets
1 the built-in mosquito nets, as a fel
low could find. But you can't do that
anymore—at least not in Kenya. The
Northern Frontier, where the big Jum-
bos with the big tceth live, is closed to
hunting. It is dosed because the Somalis
who live in northern Kenya figure that
they dwell in an extension of Somalia,
and they keep shooting up the locals
the name of lebensraum. You have some
trouble on the Ethiopian border, too. A
bunch of gay cats called Gelubba can't
go courting until they hand the father of
the potential bride a set of fresh testicles
mebody elsc’s testicles—to prove that
they're worthy to come a-wooing with a
flower stuck m the wig. This is dis
couraging to the innocent bystander
who might reckon that a man comes
equipped with only one set of crown
jewels.
ous at everybody else. The
Gclubba were pummeling the Turkana
up near Lake Rudolf. The Rendille
were pounding hell out of the Samburu,
who, in turn, were pounding hell out of
thc Rendille. The Merus were coming
down the hill to steal Somali cattle, and
the Somalis were defending themselves
with old Arab blunderbusses and tin
swords. I personally got involved in a
nife fight with a flock of Somali camel
jockeys who wanted my water. (The
fight ended unspectacularly. My com-
panion, a white hunter, cooled my ad-
versaries with a flashlight. It was a very
large flashlight.)
But everywhere in East Africa the air
full of iron. On the Uganda-Kenya
border, the Suk and the Karamojong
engaged in no less than 260 full-scale
battles in a year. The Masai and the
Wakamba were filling one another full
of poisoned arrows and spears in border
cattle rustlings. My own boys, Wakamba
when we were in the Masai, spent all
their spare time making bows and ar-
rows and stripping the dead animals of
sinew for bowstrings. ‘The best bowwood
grows poetically in the Masai country,
and the Kamba were arming to kill
Ma
Over the last dozen years, I have been
on possibly 20 safaris, "Thats to say, I've
hunted twice in India, once in Alaska,
four times in Mozambique, once in Aus-
tralia, once in New Zealand and about
ten times in Uganda, Kenya and Tangan-
е shot three elephants ol
over a hundred pounds per tusk, killed a
couple of lions and attended the deaths
а dozen others. [lost count on leopards
ybe 20—and have no idea about
bullalos; maybe a hundred. The small
game—zebra, impala, Thomson's gazelle,
Grants gazelle, wildebecst, gerenuk,
oryx, duiker—in general, camp meat.
must rum into a thousand. I have shot
three tigers, been severely mauled by a
d, shot gaur and water buffilo,
at and chital decr, wild dogs
nd hyenas and guinea fowl and sand
ise and bustard and francolin
white meat, even the legs, a lovely b
the francolin), and 1 е had cerebral
malaria, infectious mononucleosis and
€ been poisoned by tsetse flies and
maddened by mosquitoes. I have walked
a thousand miles, Jeeped a hundred
thousand, and have rung up another
hundred thousand in light planes on
homemade airstrips in deep bush. 1 have
in tents, as well as rondawels and
s, and 1 have also slept on the
und in the pouring ram. I have eaten
elephant, snake and fried grubworms. I
have drunk native beer, palm wine and
a tasty mixture of blood, milk, cow urine
and wood ash.
This is not meant to be construed as
personal triumph, but only to lay a pl
form for the statement that two thirds of
you read about safaris, and hear
about safaris, is sheer cock and purest
There is a simple formula to success
ful s irst, you must have enough
money to go first-class. You do not wait
until you get to Mozambique or Nairobi
to choose your hunter, on the off-chance
that they will undercut onc another in
bidding for the job. You do that, and
you wind up with some reformed locust
control type, and all he will get you is
lost. What you do is ask somebody who
has been out before to recommend a
reputable firm and an established hunt-
er. or you pick up a sporting magazine
and check the safari advertisement
Prices arc nearly the samc on most safari
outfits, and most of the good firms have
competent hunters, with steady staffs
nd stout equipment.
What you want is comfort, not unnec
essary hardship, because even on the
lushest, plushest safari, there will be d
comfort enough. "That's to say, you will
crawl through. bush, walk endless miles,
bump interminably on trackless terrain,
bc scorched by sun, frozen by morning
wind, be bitten by exery bug ever cr
ed, go to the can in the bush, be rained
on, be frightened out of your wits, and
bored to distraction in the long м
and perpetual dusty journeying.
With all these negatives going against
you, what you really don't need is a
white hunter who is frightened of game,
has no sense of direction, doesn't know
(continued on page 166)
WHAT IS
THE YOUNG MAN sat still for a moment, draw
deeply on a cigarette and exhaling with slow de-
liberation. Looking me quickly in the eye, he
asked: "Am I normal?”
It was the anticipated response to my question,
and once more 1 had to pariy it:
“What do you mean by normal?”
We were discussing his sex life, concluding an interview
for the Institute for Sex Research, and I had posed my
final query: What question about sex may I answer for
you? This had been my very last question in over 7000
interviews about pcople's sex lives during the past 20 years,
and the young man’s response was typical. Frequently the
response was merely a variation on the same them
s masturbation normal?"
“Is homosexuality normal?”
“Is mouth-genital contact normal?”
Each of these responses points to one of the serious
concerns of a great many people in society today: What
constitutes normal sexual behavior? And because the ages
have not withered nor customs staled the variety of human
sexual behavior, it is impossible to answer directly the
question of what constitutes normal sexual behavior.
Whether you are normal or not, or whether you classify
certain kinds of sexual behavior as normal or not, depends
on how you define normal—and it is one of the most
casually and blatantly misused words in the English lan-
guage. The semantic approach to a definition via the ever-
convenient dictionary is not a sure or satisfying way out,
since standard reference dictionaries list up to nine def-
for normal. The pitfalls that lurk along the seman-
tic path may be illustrated by a single example from the
combined one-volume Funk ё Wagnalls Standard Diction-
ay of the English Language and the Britannica World
Language Dictionary, page 863 (international edition):
“normal, adj. In accordance with an established law or
ciple; conforming to a type or standard; regular;
Synonyms: common, natural, ordinary, regular.
typical, usual. That which is natural is according to nature;
that which is normal is according to the standard or rule
which is observed or claimed to prevail in nature . . . the
normal color of the crow is black, while the normal color
of the sparrow is gray, but one is as natural as the othe
In giving its general definition, Webster's New Inter-
national Dictionary illuminates the picture not one whit
more: That which is normal is "according to, constituting,
or not deviating from, an established norm, rule, or prin-
iam NORMAL
ciple; conformed to a type . . . not abnormal;
regular; natural: analogical." For all the diction-
aries reveal, they might as well say that what's
normal is what's normal.
Approaching a definition of normal by way of
its antonyms is just as confu: nce, while one might
suppose that sexual behavior that is not normal would be
termed abnormal, in common usage other words are em-
ployed without regard to finer distinctions (even in the
jungles of psychologic and psychiatric jargon) to denote
sexual behavior that is “not normal.” “Pervert,” “deviate”
and “degenerate” are descriptive nouns interchangeably
used in locker rooms and lecture halls alike in refer-
ence to the not normal, and, like all such emotionally
loaded words, they carry pejorative, punitive and, hence,
judgmental connotations. Furthermore, you have to be
“perverted” away from something, “deviate” from some-
thing and "degenerate" from something—and that some-
thing must be what is normal.
But if our casual misuse of the terms normal and ab-
normal and their synonyms don’t yield any clues to pre-
cisely what kind of sexual behavior is normal, the
judgmental connotations we impute to these words speak
volumes about sexual attitudes: Normal sexual beh: T
is behavior that is considered "right" or "acceptable,"
and abnormal sexual behavior is behavior that is consid-
ered "wrong" or “unacceptable.” The next logical ques-
tion is: What is right or wrong according to whom?—and
in attempting an answer, we are confronted with count-
less battles—some of which have raged for thousands of
years—for authority over the minds, bodies and souls of
men. For every definition of “normal” in contemporary
dictionaries there are thousands of moralists, legislators,
religious zealots, doctors, reformers, politicians, philoso-
phers, artists and just plain laymen—propagandists all,
cach for his own cause—who are more than willing to tell
us what's right and what's wrong and, hence, what's nor-
mal and what's abnormal. And with quite possibly no ex-
ceptions, each and every one of us has evolved his own
tacit judgments of right and wrong (normal and abnor-
mal) concerning the next fellow's behavior, according to
our own formative mores and our subsequent experiences
and insights.
However, since we are also prone to lump our judg-
ments into broad categories, such as "what's moral" and
"what's legal" applying such concepts to our definition,
we can rephrase the question (continued on page 174)
article By WARDELL В. POMEROY а Kinsey colleague examines the chaotic criteria by
which layman and lawman pass judgment on the sexual behavior of human beings
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100
fiction By WALT GROVE vanny рипллєз had reached an age when he was interested in only two things: sex and
football. He was ten years old.
During phys-ed period, at school, the boys in Danny's class played some pretty rugged touch. Then the last five
minutes were spent sitting exhausted, sweating, and talking about boobs. The instructor, Miss Bee, never overheard
them; all Miss Bee did, during phys ed, was referee girls' volleyball and blow her whistle.
One of Danny's classmates, Francis Riley, had been taken to a nudie movie by an older brother. The movie
had been shown at a drive-in theater (one dollar per car) and Francis had been smuggled in under a blanket in the
back of a station wagon. Whenever a conversation about boobs lagged, Francis would always recount the plot of the
movie.
“There was this silly-looking guy. Short and fat, and his hat was too small. He didn't talk, he just made sounds
like oooh and ahhh. And clapped his hands. But he was very wealthy and had an estate with a swimming pool. So he
invited all these girls. Tall girls and short girls, a Japanese girl and one with red hair—uall kinds of girls. And because
it was such a hot day, or something, they all took off their clothes and went in the pool. I never saw so many boobs in
my life. That pool was just loaded with boobs!”
Danny walked to the water fountain in disgust. Francis Riley was the most boring person he knew. He'd heard
that same damn story about those same damn boobs at least 1500 times. And he'd seen boobs. When he'd been
younger he'd gone to the art museum every Saturday, and stared. And he'd seen Mrs. Carter's boobs, more than once.
She and her husband had a house next to the seventh green at the country club—they were golf nuts—and there was
ILLUSTRATION BY GEORGE SUYEOKA
OF re
a place where Danny hid in the bushes and peeked. And Mrs. Carter never closed her blinds.
Danny was no longer interested in boobs. What he wanted to see was It
He had never seen It. And he was certain no other boy in his class had, either—because, if anyone had, then he
would talk about It, and discuss It, and stop all the damn chatter about boobs.
Once, in fourth grade, Annie Miller had said she would let them all see It for two dollars, They were supposed
to go to her house that afternoon after school. But, by the time they got the two dollars and went to Annie's house it
was five o'clock and her mother was there. Then Annie moved to Omaha. And the other girls in the class weren't like
Annie. All they did was shriek and scream and grab things out of your hands with their sharp fingernails.
ys. Harper was a large woman who sat com-
In history class Danny sat in a direct line with the teacher's desk. ?
fortably with her legs slightly apart. Danny spent most of history period dropping his pencil and leaning over to pick
it up. Sometimes, during the hour, he dropped his pencil as many as 20 times. But he never saw a thing. Not only
was the light bad under the desk, but Mrs. Harper had fat legs. All he ever saw was fat legs and garter fasteners.
One time Danny had saved his allowance and sent away for an “Amazing X-Ray Device.” The advertisement
claimed it would enable a person to see through wood and paper and cloth. He hadn't given a damn about seeing
through wood or paper, but . . . if he could only see through cloth! It was a gyp, though. He hadn't seen through
anything. And he'd almost ruined his eyes trying, he was sure, because right after that he'd had to start wearing
glasses.
Now and then Danny indulged himself in a sweet fantasy. There was a girl or woman, see. It didn’t matter which,
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PLAYBOY
night be beuer since she'd
And Danny had placed a lad.
gainst the side of the house. “Per-
haps you'd like to climb up to our roof,”
he'd say, “and look at the view." And
the woman would say, "Why, how sweet
of you to think of And he'd be po-
lite, of course, and let her climb up first.
It had seemed such a good idea he'd
told Francis Riley. "But she'll be wear-
ing underwear," Francis had said, shat-
tering a dream. "Whatll you do about
that?
Danny had never really liked that kid,
after that.
The bell rang, sounding the end of
phys cd. Danny spat a last mouthful of
water on the walk. That was against
rules. If Miss Bee had seen, he would
have been disciplined. He went up-
stairs to library. Forty-five minutes and
he could cat lunch. Then two and а half
hours and he would be free for the
weekend. It Frit After looking
up the word “fornicate” in the big dic
tionary, he sat down and opened his
notebook which was full of designs he'd
drawn for the automobile of the future.
After a moment hc walked to the li-
brarian's desk. She was not like the
teachers: she didn't teach anything, and
she never threatened you.
“Miss Gorman, can I be excused,
please?
She nodded.
alls. dear.
The boys’ and girls’ toilets were down-
stairs, at the west end of the building.
The door on the left opened to the boys"
toilets, the door on the right to the
girls’. The doors were not marked. They
didn't have to be. When you started to
kindergarten the first thing you learned
was girls’ on the right, boys’ on the left.
They told you that even before they cold
you where the cafeteria was. Left, boys’;
right, girls’.
Danny walked down the hall and
went in the door on the right. He had
not planned that, and he never broke
rules without planning the smallest de-
l since he did not like to be disci-
plined. He hadn't even thought of it.
One minute he was walking down the
hall, a law- ng citizen, and the next
he was suddenly in the girls’ toilets.
Miss Bee was bent over a basin, giving:
her hands a good scrub. She appeared to
be slightly built, almost willowy, but
that was sham. Miss Bee was adept in
the Gentle Way. During her sophomore
year at college a boy had put his hand
fondly under her skirt one warm spring
night, and she had dislocated his right
arm at the shoulder. Since then she
hadn't gone out with men, but she
bowled three nights a week and kept a
nice cat that nature had intended to be
a tom.
Miss Bee was always called to the prin-
cipal's office when a student needed to
"But don't run in the
102 be disciplined. The principal was am
older maiden lady who tucked a lace-
edged handkerchief in her sleeve at the
. While discipline was being ad-
ministered the principals office door
was closed. Miss Bee preferred a strip of
T ds wide as a man’s belt, but not
The principal counted the
wellmodulated,
as long.
blows herself in a
ed voice.
Danny was alr
ly inside the girls’
when he saw Miss Bee. His reflexes were
excellent: he whirled 1 ran
Miss Bee's hands were slippery with
soap, but she was the kind who thought
on her feet. She slammed her body
against the closing door, trapping Danny
and bruising his hcad so that it raiscd a
Татр. Still thinking, she dried her hands
carefully on his shirt and then twisted
his arm so that he fell crying to his
knees.
Dirty litle boy!" she said, slapping
im with a small but calloused hand.
at are you doing?
ing to the toilet, going to the toi-
But it was too latc. He had already
waited longer than he could.
Miss Bee stepped back quickly from
the spreading puddle.
“And that's not all I got to do, either,”
Danny said with sudden cunning.
Holding him at arm's length, “Miss Bee
marched him out of the girls', to the
door of the boys’. Teachers never went
in there; only the old janitor went in
there. Miss Bee pointed her finger.
Со,” she said. "And don't forget for a
minute I'll be waiting right outside this
door.”
Weeping, Danny went into the boys’.
He ran across the room, stood on a ba-
sin, and squeezed out a halfopen win-
dow. Covered with shame—he had gone
into the girl girls went in the
girls’, and hı ntances would
never let him forget it—and sogey with
urine, he ran across the playing ficld. At
the corner, before he crossed the street,
he looked back.
"You old bitch!" he yelled. "You
wonny old whore! Miss Bee is an old
ich and a wormy old whore who
fornicates
Nothing was further from the truth,
seemed a fine
insulti.
g thing to yell.
Several blocks from school Danny
stopped running. He went into a drug-
store he seldom frequented and bought
25 cents’ worth of candy b ng
one, he drifted to the magazine rack and
picked up Mad.
The shadow of the druggist fell across
the page. "Why aren't you in school,
kid?”
Danny cleared his throat delicately.
Му mother was afraid I was getting а
little cold. She kept me home."
"Get out of here.” the druggist said
"Go on, beat it. You'll get me in
said politely. He put
the copy of Mad back. carefully leaving
a chocolate smear on the inside p
they'd stick together, and walked o
The candy bar had grown warm and soft
his hand. He rubbed it thc length of
the drugstore window experimentally. It
left а пісе messy mark. No onc was
watching. He began to print, in са
read block letters, W НОК...
‘The druggist charged out. "You little
sso
у са and ran, dropping the
candy bar where the druggist might step
on it, slip and. fracture something
Danny wanted to go sec his best
friend, Big Ed "BangBang" Roberts.
But he couldn't. In the afternoons Big
Ed worked in a sporting goods store
the same shopping center where Danny’
mother shopped, and Danny wanted to
avoid sceing either of his parents as long
as possible.
Big Ed had been a famous high school
athlete, locally, and had earned the nick-
name BangBang playing lincbacker. In
spring training, his freshman year in
college, he had torn ligaments in his left
knee and had an operation. Although it
was his sophomore year academically,
Big Ed was taking only a minimum
number of hours—and getting his leg in
shape—because he still had three years
ilit
And Big Fd was the only one in the
world who understood.
There was a "peewee" football team
anny's school, but he was not on it.
no official connection
with the school: it was part of a league
organized, and coached, by the American
Legion. and they only used the school's
playing field for practice and games. But
each boy had t provide his own equip
ment, and Danny had all the equipment
except shoulder pads.
At the beginning of school he had ex-
plained to his parents he needed shoul-
der pads. They had said he would get
them for Christmas. Danny had said, in
a rising voice, that the season would be
over then. His parents had said there
was always next year. Danny had im-
mediately pointed to the uncertainty of
the future—perhaps the country would
be involved in a foreign war, or a large-
scale depression, or he might even catch
a new disease and dic, or possibly a
truck would run over him and his bicy-
cle and cripple him for life. His parents
had told him to shut up.
Danny knew his parents could afford
shoulder pads. His father had handmade
golf clubs from Scotland, and drove a
silver XK-E with airplane-type scat belts
Danny's mother didn't drive, usually:
she called a place and they sent a
chauffeur and a limousine. In the winter
she flew to Jan or the Virgins, with
her friend Dotty, when she was “bored
absolutely pea-green, dear, and in a
hideous depression.”
(continued on page 153)
SIMPLY
GREAT
a radical departure in pullover design—elegantly austere and richly hued—an odds-on favorite as a future classic
attire By ROBERT L. GREEN
"The pullover, one of the most versatile elements in a man's wardrobe, ranks
easily as the most popular of sweater styles. It is, therefore, an unusual and
noteworthy feat to produce a pullover that is eye-catchingly different yet
neatly correct. The one shown above, being subjected to a distaff squeeze
play, fills the bill admirably. A trail-blazing flat-knit import with jacketlike
open sleeves and loose waist, it comes in 22 colors, by Odys de Paris, $40.
PHOTOGRAPHY BY J. BARRY O'ROURKE
AOGSKUTA
uggested for me
“These books you $
Mr. Thornton—WOW EEE!”
HOW TO TAKE THE TEETH OUT OF THE TAX BITE: A
GENTLEMAN'S GUIDE TO PAYING UNCLE HIS DUE—
AND NOT A PENNY MORE-PREPARED FOR PLAYBOY IN
COOPERATION WITH THE J. K. LASSER TAX INSTITUTE
article By ALVIN TOFFLER ONCE UPON A TIME, making money was looked upon as
the supreme challenge of American manhood. Leisure, luxury, power and prestige—all these hinged
on how much money a man could make. The result was materialism: a lamentably lopsided ac-
cent on acquisition. "Today American manhood faces a much deeper and more spiritual challenge. As
every alert, red-blooded young American knows, true achievement is no longer measured by how much
money a man can make. What counts is how much he keeps.
For this
the Age of the Income Tax, that triumph of technology, a machine for the manufacture
of instant poverty. Tod
Internal Revenue taketh
man maketh and—unless he is, like Sherlock Holmes, a master of deduction—
way.
The adroit American male, therefore, musi master the legal art of tax avoidance. Avoidance, it should
be emphasized, is different from evasion. The penalty for evasion is prison or worse.
asion is ill-advised
as well as illegal. The tax evader breaks the rules of the game. He is downright unsportsmanlike, especial-
ly since those who abide by the rules wind up shouldering his burden for him. Avoidance, by contrast,
not only universally regarded as good, clean, exhilarating fun, but has the added virtue of being licit.
Like any art, the practice of avoidance has its own special rules. But its object is simple. The artful
avoider attempts, by threading his way through a maze of records and regulations, to achieve that stun-
ning aesthetic satisfaction: payment of the Absolute Legal Minimum.
"The true avoider pursues the A.L.M. with passionate dedication. He is willing to bear his share of
the cost of government, but he is in no mood to make a charitable contribution to the Internal Revenue
Service. He thus appreciates the distinction between A.L.M.s and alms. For this reason tax minimization
may properly be called ALMsmanship.
Many potentially competent avoiders give up the game before they begin, intimidated by what they
105
PLAYBOY
106
call “all those fine po he resource-
ful ALMsman knows d the essence of
legal avoidance is not to ignore the
“fine points,” or to fear them, but to use
them. That is what they are there for.
Of course, not everyone cam make
use of them. “Our taxes,” one ex-
declared, “reflect a continuing
struggle among contending interests for
the privilege of paying the least" The
result is that, even in Visser A
public, where all men are equal, some
men arc more equal than others, Mar-
ried men, for instance.
While a married engincer who carned
$10,000 in salary in 1964 might, after per-
forming a paper ploy known as "income
splitting.” reduce his Absolute Legal
Minimum to $1440, his bachelor col-
league, equal in earning. in learning,
and the ardor to avoid, must part with
$1872. This places a premium on mar-
riage that the originators of wedlock
failed to foresee.
Similarly, just as not all men are
equal, not all typos of income are equal.
Observe the curious. fact that the exact
amount of one’s Absolute Legal Mi
mum ffected not merely by how
much income the taxpayer has earned,
but by how that income is derived.
d young man who has
nd who earned $12,000 in
a salaried executive, might find
that his A.L.M. is $1900. His friend, in
equal circumstances, was lucky enough
to make his $12,000 by selling stock at a
profit after holding it for more than six
months while he watched its value rise.
His A.L.M. is a mere $720.
Moreover, the possibilities for legal
avoidance multiply as the taxpayer
grows richer and his affairs more tan-
gled. For the owner of oil wells, the
$100,000-a-year executive who receives
a stock option to activate his incentive
glands, the n who creates
ts.
busincssna
a tax-exempt foundation. the entrepre-
eur who finds а pecuniary haven in
rerland, the canny
Liechtenstein or Su
collector who conu
butes a Modigliani
to his favorite museum—for men in this
rarefied financial atmosphere, the art of
avoidance may yield truly magnificent
rewurt
Most beginning avoiders, of course,
annot take advantage of the lush poten-
tial that the Jaw permits this favored
few. Even intermediate avoiders are
somewhat limited by the rules of the art;
and the tax burden, therefore, [alls with
particular weight on the shoulders of
young men who earn $10,000 to 525.000
in salary form. Yet, unless they have
something desperate to conceal, суеп
such unfortunates should reject
ely the counsel of gangster
tello, who, in a moment of avuncular
charm, advised his cohorts; "Pay your
taxes, boys . . . Pay more than you owe.
It looks good to get a refund." The true
avoider will know that such advice mere-
ly encourages waste. He will phrase his
ic principle differently. “Pay
own
your taxes," he will agree, “but pay the
to help
Absolute Legal Minimum." It
you define that elusive but art
ty, the АЛА, that the following guide
is offered.
Let us begin with that evanescent
commodity known as income. The first
step in artful avoidance is to find ош
what your income, from all sources, to-
taled for the year. “From all sources”
means from all sources. The Internal
Revenue Service ominously notes that
"Some wtxpayers, while reporting i
come from wages and other principal
sources, tend to forget to report lesser
amounts from sources such as interest on
savings accounts and other interest, divi
dends and rents . . ." “Forgetting” to
report income is not the way of the art-
ful avoider. It is not only illegal, it is
foolish.
Once the total income is determined,
the artful avoider sets about systemati
cally to subtract items from it—eventual-
ly, in this way, arriving at a lower and
more important fi nown as the
ble income." The lower this figure
turns out to be, the lower your tax
bracket, and your Absolute Legal Mini-
mum, will be. It is immediately evident,
therefore, that the most important math-
process for the artful avoider is
subtraction.
Subtraction, however, begins with ad.
ion. Thus the more deductions and
exemptions you can add, the more you
can ultimately subtract. The astute
ALMsman begins by adding up the
number of his dependents. Even a nov.
ice knows that the tax man permits you
to exempt $600 from taxable income for
yourself and for each dependent. What
the novice doesn't know is that this is a
tap, placed there for the unwary and
unethical—for the midgecmind who
thinks that by simply addin inary
children to his family he can outwit the
tax man and reduce his A.L.M. He is
thus tempted to cross from avoidance to
evasion, with ignominious results. The
record is replete with cases in which
evaders added cats, canaries and canines
10 their list of “dependents” in the vain
hope that their pets would be taken for
children. Then there was the truck driver
who claimed his truck as an exemption.
not examples of willful guilt;
These
they are examples of shining innocence
—the innocence of the imbecile. All such
gambits are doomed to failure.
Having counted up his dependents,
the avoider is now ready for the serious
business of subtracting deductions. First.
of these is the so-called standard deduc-
tion, which comes in two tempting
sizes—the 10-percent standard and the
so-called minimum standard, The avoid-
er must determine which is beuer
for him. The 10-percent standard i:
roughly equal to 10 percent of фе tax-
payer's income or 51000, whichever is
less. The m. ium standard, ап innova-
tion of the new tax law, is $200, plus an
additional $100 for cach exemption
claimed on the return, For a single man
who has only himself as an exemption.
the minimum standard would be $300.
Like the 10-percent standard, the mini-
mum standard is limited to $1000 in to-
tal deductions. This tempting offer of a
idard deduction," since it simpl
the taxpayer's paper work, is eagerly ac
cepted by the slothful, the wasteful and
the unwary. The enlightened ALMs-
. however, takes the longer route,
cking а deduction here and a deduc
nd adding them up. Often
arithmetical effort is rewarded by the
dividual deductions
Hable to him total up to considerably
more than the standard deduction. Let
us examine several of the oftneglected
opportunities of which he can t
advantage.
Taxes. Nothing would
avoider more than having to pay taxes
on taxes. Fortunately, even Intern:
Revenue people do not always demand
this. Hence, in calculating his A.L.M..
the expert avoider carefully deducts,
whenever he can, the amounts he has
spent on state or local sales taxes. These
include such subterranean sales sur-
charges as those on gasoline or food and
drinks in restaurants and bars. As a con-
sumer, he is also permitted lo deduct
taxes passed along to him by retailers
Naturally, he has no exact record of the
actual total of these taxes. He has to—
and is permitted to—make a reasonable
estimate,
The big bite, and hence the big de-
duction, in this category is s
tax. If state income tax is withheld from
your salary, you will have a simple rec
ord of it, But do not forget to add the
amount you paid last April if your м
holdings did not fully cover the state
tax. If you make estimated payments to
the state, be sure to deduct all the esti-
mated payments made during the year.
Medical Expenses. Imaginative avoid-
ers have taken advantage of modern
medicine in novel ways. One ALMsman
deducted the cost of clarinet lessons for
his child on the grounds that they had
been prescribed by an orthodontist. Н
child has been tooling tax-free ever
mai
tate the true
Ш ALMsmen are quite so lucky.
The history of taxation includes the al-
legedly authentic case of the man
suffering from severe depression who was
advised by his doctor that sexual inter-
course might work wonders. This inven-
tive fellow tried to deduct (rom his tax
the cost of callgirls, and even presented
their receipted bills to the tax people,
who, however, took a dim view of this
type of therapy.
(continued on page 159)
JEROME WALKER
THE WATERS OF STINGRAY
Jiction By WILLIAM HOFFMAN
they could see the storm behind them; first it was miles away and then—suddenly—it hit them like a fist
IKE, CERTAIN HE'D HANDLED HIMSELF WELL, was pleased. He broke precise half-inch chunks from the body of a softshell crab to
bait the three hooks tied to his line. The crabs were kept captive in a wooden tray on the floor boards of the boat. They sloshed
about lazily in the salt water brought over the side in a dented galvanized bucket which had a hemp rope tied to the handle.
The boat, built by an oysterman out of native bull pine logs and planks, was а 20-foot Chesapeake Bay canoe
pointed at both ends. A canopy nailed to four poles provided shade. The engine, ancient, rusty and leaking drops of oil into
puddles of black water beneath it, had been salvaged from « junkyard Dodge. When they wanted to move, they shifted gears
and let out a clutch as if driving an automobile—only they never used any of the gears except third and occasionally reverse.
Doc had charge of the engine. His blunt surgeon's hands sensed its idiosyncrasies and babied it into obeying. Doc himself
was stocky and sunburned. He wore a long-billed baseball cap and chewed a cud of Brown's Mule tobacco, the juice from which
he spat into the water where pallid jellyfish undulated.
“I've got something,” Beanie said before Ike cast out his own baited hooks. Beanie’s pole arched and jerked. He worked
over his reel. Ike, Doc and Bobo moved to port to stare at the water.
Beanie brought the stingray alongside
flat and sinister-looking animal with a thrashing tail. The saw-toothed barb under
the tail was searching for the enemy. Beanie lifted the stingray into the boat by means of a crabbing net, put his foot on the
back of the flapping fish, and cut out the hook with a cork-handled knife. Using the crab net again, he returned the stingray
to the water where it slid into the shadows.
“Tell your friends a god saved you,” Beanie said to the stingray. Beanie was a ruddy, middle-aged man who owned a heavy-
equipment business, Up the Rappahannock he had a polished ocean cruiser with diesel engines, but he preferred fishing in the
rough, outsized canoe with his friends. He wore a great tasseled sombrero which shaded his face and bare shoulders.
"Не might start a new religion among the stingrays,” Bobo added. Bobo was small and grizzled. In his early 70s, he had
beautiful silver hair which he brushed straight back and a narrow, haughty face. Anybody who didn't know him would have be
lieved him a native of the region—Iaconic, scowling, suspicious of strangers. His old khakis were stained with fish and bait, and
there were holes in his tennis shoes. Actually, he was an attorney for the railroad and might be found during the week at the
counny club suavely greeting guests and waltzing the ladies.
They were all men Ike was proud to be with. They had come for him early Saturday morning while it was still dark and
had driven toward the mouth of the Rappahannock in Doc's battered and rattling station wagon. They were very serious about
their fishing, discussing it all the way to the water. Doc hunched over the wheel like a racing driver. In the rear, rods and
gear clattered on the metal floor. Dried fish scales fluttered over their feet
Ike was disappointed with their clapboard cabin. He hadn't expected a luxurious resort, but with (continued on page 156)
107
PHOTOGRAPHED EXCLUSIVELY FOR PLAYEDY BY FRANK BEZ AND SAM SHAW
the famous teenage model and innocent ingénue of films and tv pictorially proves
thai she's a big girl now carol lynley (rows up
Carol Lynley is that rarest of rarities, a fa-
mous little girl who grew up to be a famous
woman. Never a spoiled prodigy, but always
prodigiously pretty in a natural-blonde way,
she was New York's top junior mannequin
before reaching her teens. At 15, having found
modeling “iffy,” she launched her acting
career with a major role in Broadway's The
Polting Shed, and the same year added a
cover story in Life to her more than 50 mag-
azine credits. Carol then assessed her future
as being “where the money is,” and also pre-
dicted that by 21 she would quit, marry and
r a family. Moving faster than foreseen,
Carol was not only married and a mother by that age, but a divorcee as well Far from retiring, howeve
she was just beginning to earn big cabbage. Her delineation of the unwed mother in Blue Denim—at 17-
had won her numerous TV and film parts; but most of them portrayed her as a fluffy-brained teenager. Claim-
ing she merited “adult, sexy roles," Carol made her point in The Cardinal, in which she played a hard-bitten
taxi dancer. She continued to prove her maturity with sophisticated parts in Under the Yum Yum Tree, Shock
Treatment, The Pleasure Seckers and, not least of all, this portfolio of exclusive photographs for PLAYBOY.
It is eye-pleasingly
apparent that Carol
Lynley, whether dipping
gracefully in her pool,
or imitating « Matis
painting inside her
home, is а big girl now.
Once the best-known
subteen model in New
York, now well on her
way to becoming one of
filmdom’s foremost ac-
tresses, Carol demon-
trates her maturity in.
outspoken comments on
life, love, sex and self:
“What am I? I'm.
twenty-three, and I've
been working since I
was ten. I started be-
cause I was the right
shape and size and could
use the money. I've
studied at UCLA and
I've been a dancer
singer and model. I've
been married, divorced
апа 1 have a three-year-
old daughter. That's
what I an
On her ideal man: “ГРИ marry
again. I’m mostly neurotic,
but not neurotie enough to
want to slit my wrists or
run off with the king of
Spain. Rather, I'd. like some-
body tall, dark, Jewish aud
rich—take that back; he
doesn't have to be tall. My
ideal would be to marry u mar-
velous mon with enough
money to allow me to say ‘no’
to films. I suppose what I'm
looking for is a dark man on
a white horse.” On virginit:
“Most Americans have a
tendency to make too much
of virginity, but girls of
eighteen who are still virgins
think it’s terrible.
I'm all for girls of twelve be-
ing virgins, though.” On Otto
Preminger: “After ‘Blue
Denim’ my career stopped
and then it started again with
"The Cardinal.’ I was sent to
see Otto and I was nervous
and scared half to death of
him. I expected him to beat
me. But I got the job, and I
learned discipline. He made
me stand up straight and
not talk so fast. I was shy
and he made me get over that.
Now I miss Otto's yelling."
On sez: “Paradoxically, what I have to do is sup-
press my hot blood and glacial looks. If I weren't
American, I'd have children without marriage.”
neiman portrays
the beauteous bunnies
of new york
in their
glamorous habitat
man
at his =
leisure
S
Above: Because the Bunnies’ attractive satin
costumes are pocketless, tips hove to be
stashed away on a space-availoble bosis.
THE NEW YORK PLAYBOY CLUB, located at 5 Fast 59th Street, right off Fifth Avenue—
just a martini olive's toss from the Plaza and Central Park—was aptly described by Variety
as a "20th Century dreamworld.” From the open-hearth fireplaces, the cyearresting Neiman
paintings, the illuminated Playmate transparencies and PLAYBOY cartoons, the warm panel-
ing and deep carpeting throughout, the visitor feels as if he has entered an urbane version
of an Arabian Nights palace. What brings the fantasy into focus are the indigenous Bunnies,
who smile, beguile, serve dı s, dance the twist, check coats, manage the gift shop, take
pictures of and with patrons—in short, make the Playboy Club keyholder feel like a sultan
of yore. Our man LeRoy Neiman, blending the vivid qualities of this multitiered structure
with the lively esprit of the Bunnies, reports: “Entering the Club on any level, flashes of
delightful flesh pop in the semidarkness as the Bunnies move about. Their throats and
bosoms gleam, their Bunny costumes pointing up their natural gifts. As the eye accustoms
itself to the romantic glow, more exciting visual rewards ensue. The Bunnies' youthful fresh-
ness contrasts with their stylized gestures, making it apparent that it is they who endow this
unique setting with its exquisite luster.”
For left: Cottontails catch up on correspondence in behind-the-scenes Bunny Room. Left: Swirling pattern
of color conveys motion of twisting Bunnies. Below: Wide-angle sketch of the New York Club's multilevel
decor depicts the Living Room at the top, circular Piano Bar, center, and popular Playmate Bor, below.
PLAYBOY
118
“You're just looking for an excuse to break off our engagement.”
Ribald Classic
from El Patrañuelo
by Juan Ti
noneda
the bounty of belisa
ONE PAY THREE Roman nobles chanced to
meet in the market, and there discussed the
idea of abandoning the wiyes who had cuck-
olded them mercilessly.
married wealth,” said Acrio,
wife gave her love to a lackey.”
“Look at me,” cried Octavio.
wife for high social standing and a page
made a fool of me.”
ed for beauty and love,” Redolfo
“My wife was seduced by a lusty
tradesman who gave her the jewels for which
“I marr
muttered.
he is famed.”
“Let us leave them,” said Acrio and Octa-
vio simultaneously, but Redolfo demurred.
“Of what use would it be?" he shrugged.
“Better that we remain married and make
the worst of it.
‘The others persisted, for they believed that
if two deserted their wives and one did not,
y d allow their friend-
ship to wither. At last they agreed to find one
mistress to be shared by the three cach night.
Belisa
choice. Her father agreed to her taking three
noble young lovers; her mother, agog at the
prestige it would bring her, was delighted;
and Belisa, who had often heard of the love
of rich young nobles, deduced that if one
would sullice, three would be even more
sufficient. And so the three nobles moved
nio her father's inn, where they рі
tl
avoid
п innkeeper's daughter, was thi
spend
st a fortnigh
"To y chance
Acrio, "we will watch the girl d;
One will always be with her while it is light.
At night all three will steep in one bed with
her, and she shall sleep in our midst. With
rules like these to the sport, one can hardly
lose—but, after all, she is a woman.”
beua:
And, indeed, she was. The three lovers
marveled at her versatility, for as each en-
countered her at jousting on the field of love,
he experienced new thrills, due to Belisa’s
propensity for learning from one and quickly
teaching the arts she had learned to the oth-
ers. And Belisa herself was certain that varic-
ty is the spice of love and she demonstrated
the adage as often as possible, completely un-
ndful of the captive audience reposing in
ame nest.
And thus, an unexpected. prosperity led
Belisa’s father, the innkeeper, to hire a but-
ler to help at table. ‘The name of this knave
асо, and he was large, good-natured
ant—a far ery indeed from the pol-
hed, perfumed and sophisticated gentlemen
with whom Belisa shared her . He
winked an eye at her, and Belisa demurel
looked down at her feet. Surprisingly, they
soon became friends.
One night, lest Belisa lack attention and
feel the need of masculine affection, each of
her noble lovers commemorated with her the
most intimate rites of Venus and then
promptly fell asleep. At midnight, while all
cov
three snored
100m door opened and Siriaco entered stealth-
ily, slipped out of his tunic and, wearing
only his leather waistband, crept quietly into
bed.
There he and Belisa joined most merrily
"Their jousting field trembled un-
der the vigor of charge a d the
three nobles awoke and wondered. Fach
smiled and, marveling at one of his friend's
unexpected. vigor, cach lay awake unul the
battle subsided, and then fell asleep.
When dawn came, the three awakened
again and turned to look fondly at the beau-
Гы Belisa, who slept peacefully among
them. Not even the bright sunlight which re-
vealed her alabaster charms was enough to
blind their gaze to an object protruding from
beneath one of Belisa’s firm thighs. There
could be no mistake as to its identity. The
object was Siriaco’s waistband, and all three
knew full well why it was there.
Acrio, Octavio and Redolfo arose softly,
dressed in haste, placed what money they
owed the innkeeper on a table and departed,
pretending not to notice the smug smile on
Siriaco's face as he saddled their horses and
waved them farewell.
—Retold by J. 4. Gato ED
peaceful exhaustion, the bed-
until daw
а retreat,
119
SOMEWHERE NOT FAR FROM HERE
we had to go on, because —for all we knew—we were the last free men on earth
fiction By GERALD KERSH „ағ ı say that where I come from is neither here
nor there, I mean exactly that, for my family's place is dust and ashes. And there are
32 winds. As the Dumb Ox once said, “Neither here nor there is everywhere. You are
a citizen of the world, young Martin. Cheer up!"
I have nothing but my name, Martin, and I do not rate. I never had a woman. My
ambition was to grow a mustache. I never shall. In another month I should be 15 years
old, but that month is not for me. Tomorrow or the day after even my name will be
lost. Why should anybody remember me?
Perhaps one of my friends will manage to live until there is peace and quict. I
have never known such a time. But it may come, and somebody might say,
children, were the days when we learned to throw a bomb as you learn to throw a ball
‘The boy Martin was there at that time, and he played the man among us теп..."
It may be. I hope so. You are, actually, only as you are remembered. I did my best
and I fought with the rest. I have to go now where most of my friends must be. But who
will recognize poor Martin in the dark?
That night I was with the guerrillas—I was one of the free men—and Mike was
leading us; a good man. There were 30 of us with him that night. We had to raid an
enemy dump for dynamite, fuses, detonators. When we went through the woods the
rain beat on the leaves so that nobody could hear us. It was late when we got out of the
trees and crawled up the slope. Mike cut the wire and stabbed a sentry in the throat
"There, in the forest, with the dynamite, we had to avenge the night the enemy left the bodies unburied . . ."
with a broad-bladed butcher's knife. Do this right and a man's lungs fill up with blood.
He dies with nothing more than a cough.
The sentry's number two and the Dumb Ox killed hin with a handker
chief. It is an old trick. You tie something heavy into the corner of your piece of cloth
and swing it backhand about your man’s neck; catch the swung end and get your
knuckles into the base of his skull. I have done it myself. The principle is that if you
use a noose, even of thin wire, it must go over the other man's head and he, being on
the alert, will see that wire pass his eyes, and turn or duck. The Ox weighed 300 pounds.
The sentry died in silence. So we crept through the gap.
Mike had figured that with any 4 of luck 15 of the 30 of us might get away.
could be a lot worse,” he said. So it could. But now the enemy seemed to be fast asleep.
We were quict, God knows; we knew how to be quict because we had been living like
worms underground. But within only a little di: ce of the dump somebody sensed
us. Не could not have seen us. He could not have heard us. Whatever it was, he let
loose a burst of machine-gun fire in our general direction.
At a sign we lay still. Nobody knew where we were, or whether we were ten or a
thousand strong. until they fired a flare, a white flare, which went off in the sky with a
shaky light. Under that light we must have been as easy to see as cutout silhouettes. A
violet flare went up then and—believe me!—it was a dream, every man with
dozen shadows, all dancing, as Mike threw out his hand in the sign that means For
ward. Then we charged, muddy-bellied as wild pigs, every one of us with his machine
pistol and his grenades.
‘ou would have thought that all the guns in the world had gone off at once. As
the white flare died, another went up; only some fool of (continued on page 136)
"I...I really can't f:
words to express it.
city in the world...
ind the
Here I am in Taxco, the most enchanting
8 beautiful girl at my side...
an orange sun burning in the clear azure sky...
the rows of picturesque adobe houses set along a lazy street . . .
a gentle breeze caressing our hot bodies...
the romantic sounds of a guitar being played in the distance
... and I think
I'm getting diarrhea..."
SCHICKLESS SHEL Silverstein, PLAYBOY'S cartoonist
at large, recently ended a long stay Stateside by
donning sandals and sombrero for a foray down
Mexico way. Though sorely tempted at one
point to spend his entire southern sojourn bask-
ing in the congenial Acapulco sun, our whisk-
ered wit overcame his somnolence and covered
the country like a serape in a leisurely ramble
from Tijuana to Yucatan. True to the Silver-
stein tradition, Shel eagerly embraced a number
of old Mexican customs—including cockfighting,
tequila, la siesta and the señoritas. Though a
seasoned world traveler (his sketch-pad junkets
for PLAYBOY in the last seven-plus years have
taken him to Tokyo, Scandinavia, London,
Paris, Italy, Switzerland, Spain, Arabia, Gri
wich Village, Africa, Alaska, Hawaii and Mi-
ami). Shel is anything but jaded and, as the
accompanying cartoons show, still has no trouble
finding suitable subjects for his inky ingenuity.
silverstein
in Mexico
"But, Senor,
if I sold you
a bottle of
tequila, you
would not
expect me to
drink it with
you... if I
sold you a
guitar, you
would not
expect me to
play it...so
just because
I sold you
а blanket..."
"OK, so you're hungry, but if I buy this for three
pesos and it's only worth two pesos, then you'll
become materialistic and lose your simplicity,
so for your own sake, with your own best
interests in mind, I'll give you one peso!"
"Excuse me, mister,
but would you mind
sitting still while I
sketch you... mister
. » . Would you mind
sitting still there
for a few minutes
while I... uh, I say,
fella, would you..."
"You see, you Americans
have a stereotype
concept of Mexicans--
you picture us as
lazy peons, in big
Sombreros, living in
adobe huts! But there
is a modern Mexican
--an educated, urbane,
enterprising... well,
I'd explain more to
you, but it is time for
my siesta. . « !"
PLAYBOY
Below left: Feathers fly ond a Mephistophelean Silverstein almost jumps into the pit himself. ("Ixcapuzalco” is the name of a fighling.cock
ranch.) Center: Shel odors monastery wall. Right: In Acopulco's zona roja, he discusses America's balance of payments with lacal economist.
"Well, of
course it's two
roosters, what
the hell did
you think it
was going
tober ght
124
"Put if you just had a little
ambition, you'd move to the city
and get a job and work hard and,
in time, there'd be promotions and
by saving and investing wisely,
you'd be financially secure and
then every year you could afford to
come here on a two- or three-
week vacation. ..!"
"Well, if you've got no tele-
vision, no radio, no night
clubs and no movies, what in
the world do you do for
entertainment?"
PLAYBOY
126
"I have a terrible
confession to make,
Senor Silverstein
„+, I have been
using you just to
learn English!"
"But how do you know
you can't make a
kosher corned beef
enchilada if you don't
try to make a kosher
corned beef
enchilada?!"
"Yes, the life of a
woman is not easy
here, Senor. I must
clean the house and
pat the tortillas
and beat the vash
and feed the children
and weave the
blankets and make
E the pottery, but my
mother says that
when I am twenty-one
years old..."
"In the old days, Senor, a matador
had only to worry about the horns
of the bull. Now we must concern
ourselves with not turning our
backs to the camera, with wearing
the colors that will pick up well,
with staying out of the late-
afternoon shadows at the edge of
the ring and--most importantly
--remembering never to make the
kill during the commercial!"
Below: In Toxco, Shel started limning native ritual donce,
and natives, fecring bewhiskered block mogic, insisted
[right offer photo was token] thet he sel aside his sketch pod.
"You Americans are never
satisfied! I get us two
good seats for the corrida
and you complain because
we're in the sun. . . so we
exchange them for seats in
the shade and you complain
that we're not close
enough to the bulls . . . so
we get the closest seats
possible, but now you
Still complain!!"
PLAYBOY
CLOWNY NIGHT (continued from page 74)
and the back tires rolled on his head.
They didn't do a thing to that sergeant.
They didn't even take his goddamn rank
away. And do you know why? A lieutcn-
ant in that company was a Jew, too.
Those kikes between them Killed ту
brother. They're the lice of this earth!
And how 1 hate them! Oh, God, I hate
them, I hate them!
Jimmy paused, forcing himself to take
a swallow of coffee. The air in the tiny
apartment was colder. Goose flesh stood
on Vera’s breasts and arms. “I'm sorry,
he said. “I'm sorry to hear about it,
Vera.”
stick together, you know.
That's one thing you can say for those
goddamn kikes. They stick together.
Jimmy nodded, eyes down upon h
сойсе cup. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I
guess so.” With difficulty, he forced him-
self to look up at the fear and hatred in
her eyes. “Maybe they think they have
to, Vera, with the whole world against
them.’
t isn’t that at all,” she answered.
“Their religion says they're the chosen
people. Gentiles are just dirt to them.
Wi my brother to those Jews?
Dirt, that's all. Oh, God, 1 hate them!
I'd like to sec every Jew in this world
burn in hell for what they did to my
brother! He was just a boy and they
Killed him, Jimmy. It was cold-blooded
murder.”
Тһе steak was inedible and Jimmy
stopped pretending to try to eat it. He
took the last cigarette from his pack,
struck a match, then stared at the yellow
flame until it almost burned his fingers.
He shook out the match, hted another
one and held it to his cigarette. Finally,
he managed to look at Vera. “Listen,” he
said. “You mustn't belicve all of t
stuff about the Jews and the Catholics,
Vera. None of true and it hurts you.”
It's all true and it doesn't hurt me,”
she answered. “The one it hurt was my
brother.”
“Look, your brother was killed in an
accident, and you know it, The Jews
didn't your brother and neither
the Pope.
Vera smiled with a wry, bitter amuse-
ment and rubbed at the goose flesh on
her arms. "An accident, huh?" Let me
tell you something, it was no accident.
That Jew knew my brother was under
that truck. A weck before, my brother
called him a kike d knocked him
down three times. He hated my brother's
guts and he wanted to kill him. Don't
tell me it was an accident, I know
better."
“I doubt very much if you're right.
The Army wouldn't have let that ser-
geant off if there'd been the faintest
doubt about it, especially in view of the
fight they had. But even if you're right
128 you're wrong. Maybe that sergeant knew
deep in his subconscious mind your
brother was there and maybe he wanted
to kill him. If so, hatred killed your
brother, Vera. His own hatred. He
caused it himself by calling the sergeant
a kike and beating him up.”
Uh-huh. So it was my brother's fault
he got killed—he shouldn't have called
that е a kike, huh
Jimmy shrugged. “I'm not saying your
brother deserved to be killed, but it's a
dirty word, Vera.”
“Jesus, are you ever a bleeding
heart?! The poor little kikes, what a
shame! He called him a dirty word, well
isn’t that just too bad? I never heard
such bullshit in my life. My brother
called that son of a bitch a kike because
thats what he was, a dirty little ki e.
And I can prove it. Hc running a
crooked dice game and taking money off
of everybody in the company, then giv-
ing part of it to that licutenant, What's
more, he was lending money at interest
of ten percent a week, So help me God,
this is the truth. Ten percent a week. Do
you know how much interest that is in a
year?”
“OK. Why did they borrow from him,
then?”
“They borrowed from him because
he'd won all their money in a crooked
dice game.”
“Why did they play in the dice game,
if they knew it was crooked?
cy didn't know. He
swore it
wasn
“Maybe it wasn't.
‘Sure, it was. That's why my brother
heat him up. He caught him red-handed
with phony dice and proved it by drop-
ping them in a glass of water. The dice
were tilted.”
“OK! Suppose this sergeant was a
complete swine—there're plenty of crooks
in this world. Let me ask you this.
Where are you getting hating Jews?"
In bewilderment at his anger, Vera
huddled in the chair, goose flesh on her
arms and shoulders and a look of fright-
ned worry in her eyes. “Well,” she said,
"you couldn't be Jewish yourself.”
“No, I'm not Jewish, Vera. If I was,
Td have got the hell out of here long
ago."
1 guess that's what you want, isn't it,
and that's why you're fighting with me.
K, go ahead, leave. I don't give a
an. But why make an excuse, why not
just leave?"
"Listen, you stupid idiot, I'm trying to
help you. I asked you a question. Where
are you getting hating Jew:
Vera moistened her lips, totally bewil-
dered. “Where am I getting?"
‘ou run into one Jew who's a crook,
and you're going to spend the rest of
your life hating all Jews?”
"Do you think it's just that sergeant?
The man who owns this apartment
building is a Jew, a big fat Jew with a
greasy smile and hair on the tops of his
hands. OK, last year | was sick and
didn't work for wo months. If you want
to know, I had a miscarriage. My hus-
band wasn't working, either, and we
didn't have any money. 1 got two
months, or maybe it was three months,
behind in the rent, and this big fat Jew
me up here with his greasy smile and
he said to me he just hated to do it but
he had ro get us cvicted for nonpay-
ment. OK, I got so upset I began to cry
and he put his hand on my leg and
licked his lips, then he smiled his greasy
smile and he says——"
“OK, OK," said Jimmy. “I know what
he said.”
ll right, so you know. A helple
sick girl, with a nogood husband and a
baby. Fine. But what am I to him? Dirt,
that's all, Their religion teaches that. It's
they believe.”
“No, the man was a son of a bitch,”
answered Jimmy. “The Jewish religion
doesn't teach any such thing.”
“The hell it doesn't. They're the cho-
sen people and the rest of the world is
t. Would he do that to one of his own
Kind? Never. Because then the rabbi
would get on him.
“Well, I'm sure the rabbi would get
on him for what he tried to do to you."
“Tried?” asked Vera with a bitter
You don't think I did what he
ше?”
Jimmy glanced at her, an ugly chill
legs from the cold and
re linoleum floor. But no: she could
not possibly have done such a thing and
then boast about it. She was merely те-
proaching him for his unsympathetic rc-
jection of the hate she lived by. Jimmy
n of it, yet something in her
eyes made him hesitate. "No," he
don't think you did what he w:
ghed. “Well, you're
once. I told him 10 get the hell out of
my apartment and I'd pay him his god-
damned rent in an hour. So I went out
and borrowed a hundred fifty dollars
from another Jew, a nice sweet lo:
shark with teeth seven miles wide. I paid
him a hundred dollars interest for his
hundred and fifty."
“OK, so the Jews are no damn good.
You run into two crooks and that proves
it. They're all bad."
“They are all bad," answered Vera,
and everybody knows it but bleeding
hearts like you.”
“What the hell is a bleeding heart?
Will you explain that goddamn ridicu-
lous expression to me?”
"Sure, I'll explain it. A bleeding hi
is soft in the head and won't face
tell you Jews are bad, they're no d:
smile.
E
ts. T
mn
good, but you're a bleeding heart so you
argue with me. Anybody who's been
around them knows they're lousy. Com-
pletely lousy. Oh, sure, if you're а mem-
ber of the family, they'll give you
Advt. for Falstaff Brewing Corp. of San Jose, Calif., dedicated to those who have experienced the thrill of free fall and great beer.
For 22" x 28" color poster of above photo, send $1 to: “Skydiving” Вох 54654, Los Angeles, Calif. 90054
ы
е
а
»
=
“
а
“Опе day, when he's old and feeble, hell be in a nostalgic mood,
and he'll come up here to
anything. Jewish kids are the worst
spoiled brats in the world. But if you're
an outsider, they'll cheat you out of your
nd that's a fact.
“The imbecilic clichés fell from her
lips like toads and hopped about in
the cold, cold air, and she huddled and.
shivered and her nipples were blue."
Vera stared vacantly for several sec-
onds, then frowned. ^I said 1 wasn't
cold. Are you still harping on that?”
"Jt was jux а mental note, I don't
want to forget any of these brilliant
things you're tell
"OK, Lll tell you something else,
while we're on the subject. If you've got
y American blood in you, it should
make a difference to you. They're all
pinkos, in case you don't know it."
"Oh, God!”
“Irs true. They're all Reds."
“Aw, for Christ's sake,” laughed Jim-
my. “How can they be money-crazy and
pinkos at the same time? You can't
e it both ways, Vera. Find one good
solid reason to hate the Jews and stick to
it
last nickel
"But there's more than onc reason.
Why should there be just one?
“OK, but you can't have reasons that
are mutually exclusive. If Jews are
moneygrubbing cheats who exploit the
free enterprise system, how can they also
be subversive Reds who destroy the free
enterprise system?’
"Ha," said Vera, “very simple. Don't
you think those Reds have plenty of
money? Look at Russia, they got the
whole country. If they want money, they
just print some. And that's what they
plan for this country, to take it over and
own everything. We'd be their slaves,
that’s all."
“You seriously believe the Jews
ning to take over this country?
re you kidding? There're loads of
em in Washington already. What's
nore, they own all the banks and practi
cally all the newspapers and there isn't
one gentile in Hollywood."
"Jesus in heaven," sighed Jimmy,
take me back where the snow-white cot-
ton grows. You make the South seem
downright progressive.
Д , uh-huh—well, frankly 17
prised to see a Southerner like you
ing up for the Jews. After all the trouble
you've had down there with niggers. T
should think you'd know better.
"Do you hate Negroes, too?
No, I don't hate them. Why should I
hate them? They're an 5, that’s all.
And so are the Jews, but they're worse
because they're. smarter.”
Jimmy searched in the empty pack for
а cigarette, but found none. There was
wrong with Vera's basic intelli-
gence: surely there must be some way to
reason with her. “Look, did you ever
really know anybody who was Jewish? I
landlord or a guy you bor-
rowed money from, I mean a friend. Did
re
nothin
you ever actually know a Jew i
life?
your
th grade, my best
girlfri
“Your best girlfriend?”
“By far my best girlfriend. 1 was in
her house a million times. I was almost
like a member of that family. I even
big dinner there, a
ng kind of like Thanksgiving that
they call a Seder, and they don't let g
tiles come to that, it's meant to be for
relatives only. Its a special dinner and
very religious, but the mother let me
come because she s; I had a Jewish
heart.
Jewish heart, huh?" With grim
amusement, Jimmy stared at the hud-
dled and naked girl on the other side of
the oilcloth-covered table. “You've got a
h heart like Hitler, that’s the kind
"Hitler s the truth about
them,” answered Vera primly.
Jesus in hi How can you say
such a thing, when that maniac is mur-
dering Jews all over Europe?"
Well, if you ask me, they've got it
coming to them
nmy gazed at her in wonder, tli
ran a hand through his hair. It had been
an hour since his last drink and the
clfect was wearing off. He had a splitting
headache. “You really puzzle me, Vera.
You honestly think a whole group of
people deserve to be murdered —"
"What I meant was, I can understand
it. Me, I wouldn't kill them. Not really.”
“Well, thank God for a ray of dim
light in this murk. You wouldn't really
kill them.”
Хо, but I'd kick them out of Germa-
ny, if 1 was Hitler."
"You are Hitler. You don’t know
honey, but you're Hitler." Again, Jimmy
reached to the empty pack for a ciga-
rette, then winced and sighed. The head-
ache was now so bad it was difficult for
him to see in clear focus the hunched,
naked girl on the kitchen cha Vera
was а pale blur of crossed arms and
bowed shoulders with a brunette head of
hair on top. "1 don't understand you,
he said. “This girl in the ninth grade
was your best friend, right? And you
knew her mother and father?"
Sure I did. I knew them very, very
well.”
‘And they fit your notion of monsters
with horns? You think they'd cheat you
and steal money from you?”
oney? Ha ha ha ha. You're damn
right they would. In fact, they did. The
father sold me a little gold bracelet for
twenty-five dollars, except it wasn't gold.
The guy at the pawnshop, another Jew,
wouldn't lend me fifty cents on it.” Hud-
dled in the cold, Vera gave a shiverlike
shrug of ironic indifference. “Good busi-
ness. Sell a little schoolgirl a worthless
bracelet for twenty-five dollars. I saved
it,
for months to pay for that thing.
Jimmy stood up. "Can I borrow your
hroom?”
ure, right down the hall" Vera was
shivering and blue with cold. It was аг
least one o'clock and what little heat
there had been the tment was
gone. Why had she sat there in freezing
discomfort? Because her breasts were
“lovely, even and equal” or was the ice
of her hatred so cold she could not feel
rary frost?
"ve got a little headach
Do you have any aspirin?”
ah, in the medicine cabinet,” she
replied. “But that’s not all, Il tell you
something else. He didn't only sell me a
worthless bracelet for twenty-five dollars,
he sat me on his lap one day and tried to
feel me up. In fact, he didn't just try, he
did. He put his hand right up my dress.
was fourteen years old, a child, but did
he care? No. You see, Jimmy boy,
there're two things Jews like. One is
moncy and the other is sex. The men, I
n. The women just like money and
food, thats why they're all fat as pigs.
But all Jewish men are lecherous. I nev-
er saw one yet that w:
“To hell with it,” said Jimmy. “You're
impossible.”
Vera stood up from the table in al
"Right" she said, “to the right,
The bathroom's not th
"I'm not going to the bathroom. I'm
getung the hell out of here."
my.
me:
"You want to leav
"You're damned right I want to
leave.
“Just because I don't like Jews?
"That's right, just because you don't
like Jews."
у, Jimmy dressed. As he
yanked at the strings of his shoes, he
n voice. “I thought you said
you would stay tonight. You said you
would stay. Didn't you? Isn't that what
you sait
"I don't give a damn what I said
Silence again. Then calm indifference:
“OK, go ahead and leave. I couldn't care
less. Heh! If a bunch of Jews mean
more to you than me, why should I care?
But thats only an excuse, anyhow.
You're not fooling me and you never
[2
“Why don't you shut up?" asked Jim-
my. As he hurled pillows to one side
looking for his tie, he heard Vera’s bare
feet pad into the living room and then
heard a faint sniflle behind him. Anoth-
er sniffle, louder. Her hand touched his
shoulder and he turned around. The
light was behind her and he could not
her face, but she was not crying, Jim-
my switched on the lamp, folded his
ns and said, "Look, spare us both a
ridiculous scen
Vera stared calmly at him, dry-cyed.
"AM right, Im crawling,” she said.
131
PLAYBOY
“That's what you want, isn't it, for me
to crawl? I take it back, everything I
said. I'm crawling, Jimmy. Please don't
go. I don't want you to go."
“The hell you don't. You've been
trying to get rid of me for an hour.” He
turned and began to look for his tic. A
moment later, Vera switched off the
lamp. =
“Jimmy . .. Jimmy, don't go. Turn
around for a minute, huh? Listen, I'm
sorry, I take it back. I didn't mean to
make you mad. Jimmy, don't leave me
here, I can't sleep when I'm alone.
Jimmy, you said you would stay.
Won't you мау?"
Jimmy pulled back the couch from
the wall and peered down in the gloom
at the dusty floor. “Where in the hell is
ked.
"OK, then, leave me,” said Vera.
've had enough," he answered. Be-
hind him he heard the pat of her bare
feet as she returned to the kitchenette.
On his knees, he found his necktie un-
der the couch and hung it around his
neck, then grabbed his coat and walked
toward the hall door.
“Jimmy,” said Vera. Hand on the
door, he looked back. She was standing
pale and naked under the kitcheneue
ight, a stiff smile on her face. There was
a guttural tone in her voice as she spoke.
T just want you to know that I hate you
for what you've done to me. You're a
dirty, lousy, rotten son of a bitch and
don't you ever dare speak to me again,
or I'll spit in your face." Jimmy turned
п enraged screech came after
r that, you bastard! T'I
spit on you! Don't ever speak to me!
Don't ever look at me! I hate you, you
jar! You liar! You liar!
Jimmy shut the hall door and leaned
back against it, dizzy. A moment later,
he felt a shattering crash on the panel
by his head. He was too exhausted even
to flinch. Evidently, she had thrown a
coffee cup or a plate at him, probably a
plate from the sound of
down the dim and sleazy s the
thought occurred to him that he was
lucky to get out of that apartment ali
"The girl was perfectly capable of taking
a butcher knife and killing him. Why
not commit murder in a world of such.
absolute horror?
Why not, indeed? Jimmy wearily de-
scended the iron-capped stairs, his hand.
on the grimy banister. He had always
considered himself a pretty good hater,
but Vera put him in the shade. He was a
rank eur compared to her; there
was absolutely nothing she didn't hate.
Monsters stalked the corridors of her
mind with a total reality: cheating and
lecherous Jews, hypocritical and idiotic
Catholics, animalistic niggers, Reds and
pinkos, snakes and spiders and sharks
and wolves—a monster world, and Vera
. As he looked
132 lived in it. She really lived in it and for
that reason it was totally impossible to
communicate with her. The opinions she
expressed were only a hundredth part of
it; the really terrifying thing was the re-
morseless and fanatical look in her eyes,
the twisted and frightened expression of
her mouth, and the soft continuing con-
viction of her voice, a conviction beyond
even the possibility of doubt. Nothing
would ever change her mind that the
world was full of monsters and that life
itself was a hideous, horrifying dri
The hour was much earli
had thought. It
ım
ier than he
1s only ten minutes of
twelve when Jimmy walked into a drug-
store on Dearborn Strect. There, he
bought a newspaper and cigarettes, and
took three aspirin tablets. Then he went
to a diner and had coffee and bacon
and eggs. Vera had told him she and a
bell captain had talked to a reporter
over the telephone, at the request of an
assistant manager. While he ate, Jimmy
looked for the story
1t took a long time to find it. The story
was buried on a back page of the paper
nd that surprised him. He'd expected
to sce a big headline with numerous in-
tures. Jimmy read the
dismay. Didn't they
icance of what had hap-
Dald-headed and cigar-
chewing night reporter had traced with
erence this shock of death? It was
ll, a microscismic echo in
journalese of the earthquake of
nd blood on that elevator floor.
one interview in the story,
n interview of sorts, and if it did not
sly Jimmy's need for knowledge of
it did return him to his
clowny night. Something, he was sure,
would have done that anyhow. He had
known when he walked down those iron-
capped stairs he would walk up them
ag
HOTEL ENGINEER KILLED.
IN ELEVATOR FALL
John Charles O'Neill, aged 54, of
1220 Blue Island Avenue, was killed
instantly in an accidental fall down
n elevator shaft of the Hotel Man-
chester at 4:15 P.M. today.
The cause of the wagedy has not
been determined, but the hotel
management states that Mr. O Neill.
was probably the victim of clectric
shock. The maintenance engineer,
an experienced and longterm em-
ployee of the Hotel Manchester, was
working on a short circuit in the
elevator tower when he lost his foot-
ing on а repair catwalk and
plunged 33 stories down shaft num-
ber 11. The body of Mr. O'Neill
landed upon an elevator at rest on
the lobby floor and crashed through.
the panels of the roof, severely in-
juring the elevator operator, Miss
Judith Sterne, of 1904 Cottage
Grove Aven
Six hotel guests, who were in the
eleyator at the timc of the accident,
are reported to have escaped with
minor injuries, although several re-
quired treatment for shock and hy:
teria. Miss Sterne, who is reported to
have sulfered a broken arm and pos
sible concussion and interna
was taken by ambul.
al Hospital. Guests injured in the
accident were treated at the Hotel
firmary and have
sed. According to ап eye-
witness of the tragedy
Koltanowski, chief elevator sti
of the Hotel Manchester: “It was a
miracle of God nobody else in that
car was killed. His body tore the
roof of the elevator to bits. I never
saw anything so terrible and awful
The dead man is survived by his
wife, Clara, and three children,
John Charles, Jr, Margaret and
James.
Koltanowshi? Thi
name. Her name was Johnson or Joh
ston, an ordinary English name. Jimmy
looked again at the newspaper story, but
there it was—Miss Vera Koltanowski.
How could that be? He rubbed fore.
head in an eerie bewilderment. Could
this be her maiden name? Was it possi-
ble for Vera, a hater of the Catholic
Church, to be a Polish Catholic herself?
Jimmy had a second cup of coffee and
thought it over. She had sounded dow
right ignorant on the subject of Catholi-
cism. Not that he himself knew very
much about it, but her anti-Catholic'sm
had seemed naive. Could it be that her
father was a renegade Catholic and she
herself had not been brought up in the
Church? That was very possible, if the
mother was of some other faith. Her
mother could be a Protestant, or any-
thing else, even ... a sudden shock
made Jimmy almost drop his coffee cup.
How had this anti-Semitic girl ever been
invited to a Seder? Of course it was pos-
sible, but that whole story of the “best
girlfriend in the ninth grade” had had a
faint air of fabrication. Could it be that
Vera, hater of the Pope and rabid anti-
Semite, was herself Бош Catholic and
Jewish?
No fog could equal that of Chicago.
melting pot of the wheatkind and hog
butcher to the world; dim headlights
and dim pedestrians passed before him
like ghosts in the mist. On a wet bench
in Lincoln Park, Jimmy wondered again
at the mystery of his own nature, How
had the death of an unknown man pre-
cipitated this incredible aflair with a girl
he had always despised? Why had he felt
the bar on Wabash a rush of love for
her? Why had the sight of her naked
body overwhelmed him with pity and
desire?
But there were deeper mysteries; in
seven hours, the puzzle had ramified, not
(continued overleaf)
YOURE NEW AT THis
SYMBOLIC SEX EN
more sprightly spoofings of the signs of our times
humor By DON ADDIS | A
CAREFUL WHAT YoU SAY...
CYRANO 15 VERY SENSITIVE
ABOUT iT HELLO THERE, CUTIE... OH, PARDON ME, MISTER
a “ STARR
16 THis Your FIRST
NuDiST CONVENTION 2 TAKE iT OFF!
HERB iS iN ADVERTISING.
TIRED BlooD
d do (Qu)
You DIDNT TELL ME
SHE KVEW JuDo!
So WATS WHAT
5 MAKES Him So
) 1 DAMN dou!
PLAYBOY
simplificd. If the truth be told, had he
not been more than a little self-righteous
and pious in his attitude toward her?
After accepting the embrace of her body,
should he not feel a greater human obli-
gation toward her soul? Was he himself
so far removed from all sin? Had he nev-
er looked in sour rejection at the skirts
of a nun, or frowned with distaste at an
alien Jew, or shrugged at the abasement
of helpless Negroes in his homeland?
Was his own bleeding heart so pure?
And most of all: was he a liar? Was it
predatory, young-man lust that made
him tell Vera he loved her? Had he
merely wanted a woman in his arms to
distract him from the fear of death and
oblivion? Was that the only meaning of
his pity for this wretched and miserable
girl? If so, then he was a liar, indeed.
Jimny smiled and threw his cigarette in
a fiery arc into the fog. It was ridiculous,
it clowny. but there really was no
alternative. An infuriated butcher knife
in his belly would be better than leaving
Vera Koltanowski all alone with nothing
but monsters for company on a cold Chi-
cago night.
“Me, half-Jewish? Ha ha ha hal
Whatever put that idear in your head?
And half-Catholic, that's even funni
Ha ha ha ha! You're nutty as a frui
c, Jimmy boy. I never met such a
mut as you. Never in my life, Jimmy,
never in my life.”
After half an hour under two blankets
1 Jimmy's arms, Vera had finally begun
to get warm. But she was still crying. He
had found her at the kitchenette table,
the bottle of rye almost empty beside
her and her head on her arm sobbing in
the cold. Although she had had more
than her share of the whiskey, she was
not drunk. Half-drunk maybe, but not
enough to help. Whiskey, she said,
didn't have much effect on her, perhaps
because she drank so much of it. Until a
year or two ago, it had helped her sleep,
but not anymore. The only thing that
helped now was to have someone in her
arms, that was the only way she ever got
any rest, and it was a problem because
most of them wanted to get up and
leave.
“OK, you're not Catholic and you're
not Jewish,” said Jimmy with a smile.
"It was a bright but inaccurate idea. I'm
full of theories, and some of them are
bound to poop instead of pop."
"You're nuts," said Vera, head on his
shoulder and arm tight around his waist.
"You must be nuts, to come back to me.
Oh, Jimmy, I'm so glad you did, I'm so
gladi I never dreamed you would, I was
sure you hated me. But you don't, do
you
‘The newspaper had made an error in
calling her Miss. Actually, Koltanowski
was Vera’s married name. Where the
name “Johnson” or "Johnston" had
come from was a mystery; evidently,
134 Jimmy had invented it out of whole
cloth for his own emotional purposcs.
Her maiden name was Mueller, and her
father was a German Lutheran and so
was her mother. Her husband was a Po-
lish Catholic, but never went to church.
There really had been a Jewish "best
friend the ninth grade” and Vera
really had attended a Seder. So much for
Jimmy's theory, but it had brought him
back to the cold apartment and in the
last analysis it was not really wrong.
Since she was obviously exhausted and
they had already made love over а peri-
od of many hours, Jimmy thought she
would go to sleep. However, as she
warmed in his arms, she continued to
weep and talk 10 him. Finally, she said
it: “Aren't you going to make love to
me?”
Jimmy winced. "Is that what you
want"
“I always want that,” she answered.
“Anyhow, isn't that what you came back
for?”
No, I came back because I said I
would stay with you, honey.”
“But don't you want me?”
“Well, it's late, and we're both very
tired.” Jimmy kissed her cheek, which
was still wet with tears, “Why don't you
go to sleep, Vera, and stop crying? You'll
ruin your eyes if you keep on like that.”
She was silent for a while, but the
tears continued to fall on his chest and
shoulder. Twice, she took a deep breath
and sighed. “I guess you think I'm over-
sexed or something, don't you? Well, I'm
not. It’s just that that’s the only way 1
can relax."
Jimmy, who still had a headache, pat-
ted her shoulder and again sed her
cheek. "Ies very late, Vera. You just shut
your eyes and stop crying and go to
sleep, OK? Imagine little goats jumping
over a bush in a pasture and you'll drift
tight off.”
Huh,” she answered. “Goats are
nothing for me to think about right
now, but OK.”
The tears did finally stop and for a
long time Vera was quict. Jimmy himself
was half in a dream when he heard a
small voice in his “1 just don't think
I can get to sleep, if you don't.
"Oh, God," said Jimmy. An hour lat-
er, he lay back on the pillow in utter ex-
haustion, a fiery stitch in his side and a
generalized ache in every muscle of his
body. A headache pounded violently in
his temple. Spots danced in the dark be-
fore his eyes. “Honey,” he said, “I hope
you can get to sleep, I really do. I hope
that.
Vera laughed. "Its your own fault.
What did you come back for? l can't
help it, Jimmy, I'm not to blame.”
“OK, honey. Fine. We'll sleep, huh?”
“AIL right.
But Vera didn’t sleep, she talked.
“Hey, І tell you something. I have to
admit something. I laid the landlord."
“Did you? I thought you borrowed
money from a loan shar!
"| borrowed from a loan shark, but
that was for something else. I laid the
landlord for the rent. Ten dollars
time, but you know what? When I'd
worked it all off, he gave me a coat.
Cloth, but nice. It must have cost him
sixty or seventy bucks and he di
have to do thai
“Why are you telling me this?"
“Well, it shows Jews aren't all bad. He
was kind of nice to me, and I guess 1 led
him on in the first place. I just didn’t
have the money for the rent, that's all.
But believe it or not, that's the only
time I ever took any money. Ha ha. I'm
for free, Jimmy. Hey, and I'll tell you
something else. You know Becky's fa-
ther? I said he felt me up? When І was
fourteen and everything? Well, he did,
but I led him on, too, just like the land-
lord. I always was a tramp. Do you be-
lieve tha”
“Yeah, 1 believe it,” said Jimmy.
‘Even at fourteen, 1 was a (ramp. I sat
jap myself, as а matter of fact. You
а completely for what he
did and it was nothing much, anyhow.
Does this surprise you?"
“No.
“H: You're smart, aren't you, Jim-
my? But you were wrong about my
being a Catholic and a Jew.”
Yeah, that was a wild swin
“There was something ele I wanted
to tell you. About that bracelet my girl-
friend's father sold me. Well, that was
crap. Where would I get twenty-five
dollars when I was fourteen?”
mmy laughed. "Well, you fooled me
that time. 1 believed that one.”
“I fooled you on something else, too.”
“Well, let's see. Your brother? Is he
e somewhere despite that mur-
dering sergeant?”
Vera smiled in the dim light that came
from the open bathroom door. “Close.
but no kewpie doll," she answered. “Т
never had a brother. Тт an only child.
Jimmy sat up in the bed. "You have
no brother at all?”
"Nah. And that was bullshit about
Irene going in the bi
The little fool's a virgin
she really believes her reli
lot of those Catholics do. It’s not just
hypocrisy with them.
“Uh-huh,” said Jimmy. “Next you'll
be admitting Negroes are human
beings."
‘Sure, they're human. In fact, а col-
огей person will help you quicker’n a
white. They're more kindhearted.”
nmy nodded. “In other words, prac-
tically everything you've told me tonight
has been a lie of one sort or another.
What's the point? Why did you make up
all those stories and tell all those lies?”
Vera shrugged. "Well, you kept pick-
ing on me about the goddamn Jews. I
was defending myself, that's all. And I
always have had a good imagination."
"You admit all your stories were lies
Or at least distortions, and you still call
them the goddamn Jews:
"Let's don't get on that again. We'll
just never see eye to eye on that, Jimmy.
You like them, and I don't. But I told
you all this to kind of agree with you,
and meet you halfway.”
“Out of gratitude for my coming back,
huh?"
“Yeah, that's right, gratitude. And ГЇЇ
tell you something else, too. You think
I'm a tramp, don't you? You believed
that, didn't you? You thi
with a ion guys. Well, that was the
biggest lie of all, Jimmy. Y been married
six years, and before tonight I cheated
оп my husband one time. Just one time,
Jimmy, that’s all
"Um-hmmm. The Jewish landlord. 1
presume?"
“Oh, what the hell. All right, so I am
4 tramp. Whats the use? ГШ never see
you again after tonight, anyhow.
ighed. “Why don't you go to
It must be damn near four
“Tt isn't really my fault and my hus-
band understands it even if you don't. I
was born that way. Some women just
can't help themselves, and I'm one of
them. And I've fought it, too, Туе wied.
The best I can do is not get involved
where I work. You see, I've got to have
men, Jimmy, I'm a tramp. I'm a worth-
les, lying tramp and naturally youre
not going to want to sce me anymore. Of
course not! You'll run ће other
just like all the rest and I don't і
you! But do you know something? T
swear, Jimmy, I swear it 10 God, that if
anybody in this world really loved me I
wouldn't be like that! Do you believe
me?"
ame
Yes, I believe you,” said Jimmy.
“All right, then stay here with me.
Move in, live with me! ГИ write my
husband, I'll divorce him if you want,
Ill marry you. I'll do anything, if you
stay with me, and I swear before God I'll
never look at another man! Never, nev-
er, Jimmy! If you'll just love me, my
lcs will be ove
in, Vera was weeping. How was it
possible for tear ducts to produce such
an enormous quantity of fluid? Jimmy
shook his head in the gloom. It was too
much. But he made a final effort, “What
you need, Vera, is not for somebody to
love you, but for you to love somebody.”
“But how can I love somebody, when
nobody loves me? That's the trouble,
Jimmy, nobody loves me! You're the
only person I ever met who cares any-
thing about me! People don’t like me!
They never have! Everybody hates
m
You hate yourself,” said Jimmy, with
the last of his strength, or so he thought,
“But why should I hate myself? Why?
Why, Jimmy?"
"God knows,” he answered. "Now go
to sleep. Be quiet. Stop crying. Shut your
eyes, Lay your crazy head on my shoulder
and go to sleep, or ГЇЇ get up and leave.
I mean it! Im not bluffing, Vera—I
can't stand another word out of you!
Now shut your eyes and go to sleep! Do
you understand m
Vera nodded. For five minutes or so,
she sniffled and tears damply trickled on
his shoulder, then for а long time she
was silent in his arms, breathing soft and
Jimmy was once again halfway in
dream when he heard a small voice at
You got me all wide awake.
And besides, I'm in love with you.
my. Jimmy. Please . .. put your a
around me again . . . kiss me. . -
please, Jimmy, I can’ п ever get to sleep,
if you don't."
The clowny night lasted и
eyed and dreary dawn. When
ked down the iron-capped stairs at
seven A.M., he felt a spiritual liberation
so enormous he almost wept with joy.
But if he had done so, if the tears of
Jimmy McClain had splashed on those
til red-
my
iron stairs in the red-cyed dawn, then
not a single one would have fallen for
Vera Mueller Koltanowski. Not a single,
solitary, salty tea
halfcrazy bitch
She was a drunken,
a to hell with her.
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135
PLAYBOY
SOMEWHERE NOT FAR (continued from page 121)
an enemy fired a green one. Shoot
g at shadows? So they were; only
they filled the air with lead in a double
enfilade. Mike went forward all the time
and I was the first behind him. I said it
was like a dream. But it was not a bad
dream, Everything was so quick and
bright, you wanted it not to end. And if
this is child's talk, let it be.
We cut our way into the dump. Mike
threw me a case of dynamite. The Ox
took it from me and put it under his
m. He was as calm аз if all this had
been arranged in an office. Pulling the
h his teeth, he threw four gre-
machine gun stopped suddenly
and I heard a man screaming, “Mother!
Mother!”
Mike gave me four tins of fuses and
two of detonators which T could get in-
ide my jacket. Then he caught hold of
another box of those round bomb:
can crack a tank with, and we r
I was at his elbow. All of a sudden he
went down on one knee. When T saw
him fall I stood over him. He was
wounded, horribly wounded, split open:
а terrible sight to see. What kind of
strength is it that is put into а ma
Torn to pieces, how does he still go on?
The rain was a kind of curtain. The
next flare made a double rainbow. “Back
to the bridge!” Mike said. I hesitated: 1
was bound to obey, but it w. duty
to die with him. Then he ran—not back
to where we had come from, but straight
into the enemy dump. He was hit a doz-
n times. My head was cut by a bullet,
which knocked me down but brought
me to my senses. I remembered d
was carrying deto! and fuses.
So I caught up with the few who were
left of us at the foot of the slope. You
may say without lying that young Mar-
s the last out.
tin w
I was blind with blood. A green flare
and a white one went off, and it was just
as if the night had turned to lead. Then
something cracked, I recognized the thun-
dery noise of dy and the snapping
of Mike's box of bombs. He had got to
some of the heavy stuff, because alter
that the dump burst in a red and white
flash. A long time later (as it seemed)
there was a burning wind which sucked
the breath out of our bodies, and a show-
er of branches, leaves and bits of metal;
and the rain was mud and blood.
This is the way Mike died.
We caught our breath. There were
only nine of us left now, and one of us
wounded—the best of us all. His name
John. The Ox said to him, "Well,
friend, you've got it good. One of you
Jend a hand with this box of stuff. Don't
art, John—I can carry you
twenty miles.
So he could have. At first sight you
136 might have thought the Ox to be noth-
ing but a silly-faced fat man, as broad as
he was tall. You would never have made
a bigger mistake in your life. He was the
strongest man any of us ever saw, and he
seemed to be made of a sort of tough,
resilient rubber. Heavy as he was, he
could move like a cat. It was impossible
to tire him or wear him out. I have seen
him fell a wee with а double-bitted ax,
using only his left nd. His last stroke
was as powerful as his first. It seemed to
me there was no weight the Ox could
not move. He picked John up as easily
as a woman picks up a baby, and
much the same way, although John was
not a litle man. He kept saying, “Leave
me, lcave me," but the Ox took no no-
tice of this, but cradled him in his enor-
mous arms and carried him ahead swiftly
but ever so gently, I heard him say,
"Leave him Christ Jesus, for
all I know we might be the last free men
left in the world!"
So we might have been. There was no
way of knowing otherwise.
That great downpour of rain which
had curtained us when we came out had
stopped. It was not going to cover our
retreat. The night was clearing and
there was a little new moon no bigger
than a clipping from your thumbnail.
After that awful bang with which Mike
went out of the world, everything
seemed strange and quiet, almost peace-
ful, You felt that your troubles were
over. It was peace, as I have heard old
men talk of it. In a few minutes I would
find myself walking home.
But when I saw John gritting his
teeth. in his pain, I knew there was по
such thing as home, and peace was an
old man's story. It did not take much to
mind me of ashes and dust and the $2
winds.
‚ he says
I was in the forest when the enemy
came through our place, When 1 came
back there was nothing but dirt and
darkness where the village had been
‘The enemy were punishing us for some-
thing somebody had done—I don't know
who and I don't know what. My family
had lived there a long time. Where our
little house had been there was only half
a wall smoldering, Among the burnt
stuff I recognized part of the table we
had eaten at all our lives. We were clean
people. The table had been scrubbed
and scoured until the soft parts of the
grain were wom away and there was a
pattern in the wood I could have recog-
nized anywhere, blindfold, just by feel
ing it. They left the bodies unburied. 1
buried my father and mother, first cov-
cring my mother with my shirt, she
being stripped naked. I put m ther
between them. They h
by the he
1 picked him up
Is and beaten his brains out
against the floor. He was three years old.
Yes, there was plenty to remember
I said, “Ox, I've got fuses and detona-
tors under my jacket. I would have
stayed with Mike if it hadn't been for
that, honest to God
He said, “Keep the stuff ¢
This is no time for heroics. For
know we are the last of the free men.”
This made me feel better. 1 said,
“Mike ran into that dump with a dozen
bullets in him."
The Ox said, "He might have done
worse, He might have run away from the
dump with а dozen bullets in him."
Mike's brother Thomas spat and said,
"Shut up, you goddamn Ox."
He was a strong man, too, and a brave
man, but he would never make a leader.
This, as I once heard John say, was be-
cause he did not know how to take an
order. He liked to argue. Leaders don't
argue. He could give a con l, but if
he did so, you had the fecling that he
didn't really expect to be obeyed. With
Mike an order was a law; where he went,
you followed. $
Thomas was a good man, though. So
were they all; everyone had been
through fire and water and knew what it
was to bed down in hell. John used to
iy that all the best men have been tọ
hell. As the storm proves the boat, trow-
ble proves the man, he would say.
John was a man. He was 30 years old,
well educated; a man without fear, and
in battle a wildcat, When John spoke,
even Mike listened. The enemy captured
him once and (being short of guards)
broke his leg with an iron bar so that he
could not run away. They tortured him
for weeks. He let them concen
his fingernails and all that while the
bone knitted. All the time he never
spoke. One dark night he crawled aw
and escaped.
He had suffered his sl
—and now he was dying. He said, “Os,
Ox, put me down. I am leaving a trail of
blood for anybody to follow."
We had rcached a little clearing in the
forest, so disguised with brush that it
would take à woodsman to find it. At
that, а woodsman who knew that partic
ular part of the woods. The Ox sighed.
He felt the life going out of John. He
sct him down on a bed of moss so that
his back was supported by a wee, and
said, “Better let me ease that belt a bit.”
"Take it off, Ox, and keep it. Keep
the knife, too. It is a good bit of steel.
Keep it. I won't need it now.”
The Ox took the belt and the knife in
silence. Then John looked at me and
took out a little leather book, and gave
it to me. He said, “For you, Martin.” |
took it. It was, I think, some book of
poetry, but it was all gummed together
with blood. I said, “I will learn to read."
He smiled at this. “Now go on and
e on
yes, indeed
am a dead man. The
dead weigh heavy. Go."
We said nothing. Then the Ox said
one word, "No!
We stared at him. Nobody ever heard
his voice sound like that, hard as iron
He said, "While there's life there's hope.
I carry you as long as you breathe. The
free men don't leave their kind to dic."
"Fhomas said, "Hold it, Ox. I assume
command, Mike being dead.
“By all means," the Ox said, "you are
gencral officer in command, you are any
thing you like. Command. First of all,
though, let me tell you what we've got to
do.”
He had the case of dynamite open and
was handing out the sticks in bundles.
“First and foremost we've got to get as
much of this stuff home as we can, so we
divide it equally and each carry а few
pounds. Fuses and detonators—they're
precious. Divide them up likewise, Stow
lhe stult away and we'll get going. Once
we get across the footbridge we're all
Fight. But by now the enemy is over its
le shock and after us in force. Let's
m in command here,” said Thomas.
“Sure, The Ox lifted John up
again. He dimbed out of the hollow,
and we all followed him
as if we had been in the habit of doing
so all our lives. Then we were deep i
the woods again. We followed hi
cause we could sce that he knew exactly
what he wanted to do, Although he
moved so fast, 1 think that if John had
been а bowl filled with water to the
brim he would not have spilled a drop,
he carried him so gently and steadily
He reached the stream ahead of us
There he stopped dead. 1 knew that
ig bad had happened. Catching
üp with him, T saw that where we had
lelt a swift but shallow brook the day
before, there rushing torrent
great doudburst
someth
up
We were at the narrowest part where
the litle wooden bridge was. Only now
there was no bridge. The flood had torn
it down and tossed it away.
Between us and the other side lay 20
feet of foaming water driven by a cur
ми strong enough to whisk you away
like а twig. Only a few of the piles of the
bridge were standing а foot or so above
the surface.
This was bad. ‘Then, as we looked at
one another, a little boy came running
He was 100 young for fighting, but he
carried messages. He shouted above the
noise the water, “The is
coming. A strong force. Hide yourselves.
They are no more than three
Away." Then he was gonc.
"Thomas said, "We must scatter. and
hide.”
miles
(continued on page 178)
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the guise of individualism. Because I
have achieved a certain level of life, ev-
eryone should do the same. Inequity, pov-
erty, limited circumstances are viewed
not as realities, but as illusions that exist.
only in the mind.
However, there is another view of suc-
cess that is quite different in its motiva-
tion. Only as е
do his best and has the possi
1 society become more of what we
eve it ought to be—free and produc-
As long as there are persons held in
and
circumstantial—our human resources are
held in check and our society remains
limited. As those who have achicved a
sense of success in life move from a
selfishness that affirms "every man must
do what T did," to the realization that “I
am responsible for the conditions of life
that exist about me,” only then have we
done more than fallen for affluence, The
common man is the one who recog-
nizes his dependence upon and his re-
sponsibility to the world in which he
lives.
One of the most sensitive areas of life
that The Playboy Philosophy touches on
(continued from page 48)
is that of religion. It is at this point that
Mr. Hefner takes issue with our culture
as a whole. The Bill of Rights states very
specifically that there shall be no official
church. On the positive side this means
that there shall be freedom of religion.
And, as Hefner correctly indicates, this
we have successfully protected. But there
is another side of the issue that we have
not maintained. That is—freedom from
religion. It is this freedom th: at the
heart of the liberal religious movement,
and it served as the impetus for the ini-
tiation of Unitarian Universalism two
centuries ago.
The freedom-from-religion concept
does not suggest that there should be an
absence of religion in the nation; but it
does imply that there must be an ab-
sence of religious infiltration into the
institutions of that society. Almost any-
one who thinks about this for a moment
realizes how difficult, if not impossible,
it is for this to occur.
But it is just because it is too difficult
that the ideal must not be neglected.
Hefner points out that “at the heart of
the matter is religion's belief in itself as
ап absolute: There are thousands of
“Well... this ought to establish a new record.”
different organized religions throughout
the world and each is convinced that its
own basic beliefs are divinely inspired
and tru This is the precise danger
that religion presents. Because of its be-
lief in own absoluteness, it carries
with it inherent tendencies toward
totalitarianism.
Most religions are based on faith,
while democratic society requires the
constant utilization of reason. As a re-
sult, the dictums of religion tend toward
or, at least, the nonra
ns that society as a whole is
placed in an impossible position; it can-
not challenge the decisions of religion,
because these are supported and main-
tained by presuppositions that cannot
be discussed or argued.
However, Mr. Hefner tends to create
the impression that authoritarian and
ional aspects are inherent in all
. "America's religious heritage,”
he writes, “stresses selflessness, subser-
to a greater Power and the
paying of homage to Him in longestab-
lished, well-defined, well-organized ways;
democracy teaches the importance of
self, a belief in oneself and one's own
bilities.” He goes on to compare the re-
ligious ideas of living for others, meek-
ness, and being born in sin the
democratic concepts of competition, the
necessity of speaking out and the inborn
goodness of human nature. What Mr.
Hefner describes as the cornerstones of
democracy happen to be the foundation
blocks of liberal religion. It is for this
reason, it seems to me, that Unitarian
Universalism is the only religious orien-
tation today that is thoroughly consist-
ent with the democratic view of man.
This discussion of religion in The Play-
boy Philosophy is essential, because it
points up the inconsistencies that exist
between democracy and Puritan-based
igion in this counury. It is about time
that we come to the realization that cer-
tain forms of religion are directly op-
posed to the idea of an open and free
society.
A large section of The Playboy Philos-
ophy deals with the question of morali-
ty. Many of the criticisms that have been
leveled against Mr. Hefner's thinking
suggest that he advocates the libertine.
The critics feel that he is encouraging
promiscuity when he writes, “Modern
American morality is ап amalgamation
of the superstitious paganism and mas-
ochistic asceticism of early Chris
the sexual anxieties, feelings of guilt and
shame, witch-hunting sadism and sex
repression of the medieval Church; the
desexualized courtly love of the trouba-
dours; England's Romantic Age, where-
in love was presumed to conquer all;
and the prohibitively strict, severe. joy-
less, authoritarian, unresponsive book-
banning, pleasure-baiting dogma of
Calvinist Protestantism, Puritanism and
Victorianism." Hefner then makes his
point: “This is a morality that virtually
assures us our high incidence of unhap-
Py marriages, frequent divorces, impo-
tence, masochism, frigidity, frustration
and perversion.”
Tt is a well-known psychological fact
that continued suppression of feelings
will result in violent cruptions in the
life of an individual. This is precisely
the difficulty with overprotection of the
young. In an effort to shelter a child
from life, parents oftentimes have the
idea that they can keep their child free
from what they term “the ravages of
life.” Unfortunately, just the opposite
occurs. Long ago John Dewey and Wil-
liam James pointed out that it is only by
participating in life that the individual
comes to develop values that are his
own. Auempts to indoctrinate a. person
re ineffective. Promiscuity and. perver-
n are not the results of freedom; rath-
er, they are the fruits of the inhibited
life.
In a recent issue of rLavsoy, Hefner
answered a critic who said that PrAvnoy
was violating the law of God. Hefner
wrote, "We do not favor ‘free love’ or
any blind or irrational pursuit of pleas-
ure—we have never suggested a pattern
of behavior based on the premise: Live
for the moment and let tomorrow take
care of itself. We have proposed a ph
losophy of living, rather, that places its
emphasis on both today and tomorrow.
We do not advocate sex as simply a sport
and we do not believe that any human
conduct should be removed from its con-
sequence
Psychiatrists, psychologists, sociologists
and sensitive religionists have expressed
this idea for decades. The irrational
n feelings will result.
| responses. This is
the source of the libertine, irresponsible
life. It is the shackled individual who de-
velops antisocial tendencies, It has been
those in society who have felt that man
is basically evil, who have attempted to
restrain and control human nature, and
who have led man into his current moral
plight
Yes, I do believe there is a need for a
new morality, and here I am in perfect
agreement with The Playboy Philoso-
phy. To suggest that our moral heritage
is no longer viable is not to imply that
immorality is the greatest good. We shall
not achieve this new morality by at.
tempting to return to the rigidities of
Puritanism. Nor shall we arrive at a
more enlightened position through a
justification of our actions because of an
“everybody docs it” attitude. The moral-
ity that I seek is onc that is centered on
the welfare of persons and the ends of
love in each situation. Of course, this re-
quires rules and laws, but they will be
guides to behavior, not prison b:
conscience. The morality of which I
speak will seek ordered liberty, self-con-
trol, the discipline of a seeking mind
rs of
MARRIAGE
RELATIONS
TNS п TUTE
“At this
we call our winner-take-all plan . . .
and a loving heart and it will require
the ability of human beings to renunci
ate the trivial in favor of the significant.
The authorita he displeased
because this moi
responsive to new situations
truths. But it will not be pi
practice such an ethic until we un
le ourselves and our children from the
irrationalities of the past and the rig
tics of outworn restrictions. In a phrase,
only free people can be truc to them-
selves. If we really believe in the possi-
bility of human evolution, we must
create conditions through which man
cam develop to new heights,
In essence, one’s philosophy of life
will depend on one’s view of man. He
may be looked upon as evil, who, when
given freedom, will degenerate into lit-
tle more than an animallike creature.
But to live with such a view is to ignore
everything that the history of man has
taught us and it is to refute the demo-
cratic ideal that brought this ion into
being. It is to deny what the great teach.
ers of mankind have lived and died for
through the centuries. Oppression of the
human spirit by religion or by society
can and will transform us into some-
thi less than human. If we are given
the opportunity, we can seck after truth
and beauty. If we are free from the dom-
i ion of irrational forces, we will
cover a way of life that is based on
reason. If we view ourselves as significant
persons, we will come to believe that the
purpose of life is to be found in living
point I'd like to acquaint you with what
and thus we will be free to venture forth
utilizing our own powers to the fullest.
As Hefner writes, "Man should be free
to explore the whole of reality—in the
world and in himself—to strive, to
hieve, to progress.
One of the clearest dangers in mod-
ern society," writes John W. Gardner in
his book Self Renewal: The Individual
and a Vital Society, "is that men and
women will lose the experience of par-
ticipating in m lul decisions con-
ceming their own life and work, that
they will become cogs in the machine
because they feel like cogs in the mx
chine. All too often today they are inert
components of the group, not partic
ing in any significant way, but si
being carried. along like grai
in a bucket."
Call it what you will—The Playboy
Philosophy, the liberal religious ideal of
the free mind or the democratic belief in
the worth of the person—it is a view to-
ward life predicated upon the affir
tion that the chief end of man is to glo
man and enjoy him forever.
ply
s of sand
“The Playboy Forum” offers the oppor-
tunity for an extended dialog between
readers and editors of this publication
on subjects and issues raised in our con-
tinuing editorial series, “The Playboy
Philosophy." Address all correspondence
on either “Philosophy” or "Forum" to:
The Playboy Forum, PLAYBOY, 232 E.
Ohio Street, Chicago, Illinois 60611.
139
PLAYBOY
140
OVER
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Fanny Hill
(continued from page 80)
in the knapsacks of thousands of Gls
during World War Two, just as Fanny
had been in the Civil War. As a re-
sult, such works as William Burroughs"
Naked Lunch, translations of the Kama
Sutra and The Perfumed Garden, and
Jean Genet’s Our Lady of the Flowers
were able to appear unchallenged, But
Fanny Hill, the most famous of all, was
sull considered too hot to handle.
The first attempt to make a proper
literary lady out of Fanny took place as
recently as 1963, when G. P. Putnam's
Sons published the Memoirs in a legiti
mate trade edition. At once the D. A. s of
all five boroughs of New York City
moved to prosecute. The issue was
I If Fanny were allowed to pass,
then any other socalled pornographic
work that celebrated the pleasures of the
Hesh without preaching any moral ог
pleading any cause could also come out
into the open. In August of 1963, the
case of the Corporation Counsel of the
City of New York vs. G. P. Putnam's
Sons was argued before Justice Arthur
G. Klein of the state Supreme Court.
"The defending attorney, Charles Rem-
bar, introduced a half-dozen respected
literary figures as Fanny's champions—
J. Donald Adams, then a conwibuting
editor 10 The New York Times Book Re-
view; John Hollander, poct-critic and
Assistant Professor of English Literature
at Yale; Louis Untermeyer, poet and
former Librarian of Congress; Gerald
Willen, Assistant Professor of English at
Hunter College; Eric Bentley, drama
critic and Chairman of the Program of
the Arts at Columbia University; and
Walter J. Minton, president of G. P.
Putnam's Sons. To refute these witness-
cs, Seymour B. Quel, the prosecuting
lawyer, called to the stand The Reverend
Dr. William F. Rosenblum, Rabbi of
"Temple Israel of Manhattan; Father Ed-
ward Soares, of the Confraternity of
Christian Doctrine; Julius Nierow, a so-
cial worker for the New York City
Youth Board; and The Reverend Canon
William S. Van Meter, of the Protestant
Council of the City of New Yorl
All of these witnesses for the prosecu-
tion were confidently expected to testify
that Fanny was, indeed, “patently offen.
sive to current. community standards of
morality." However, to Mr. Quel’s sur-
prise and consternation, The Reverend
Canon Van Meter had a change of heart
when he took the stand:
Q. (from Mr. Quel): Canon have
you read Memoirs of a Woman of
Pleasure?
A. Yes, sir. I read it last night in
some detail, and have somewhat
changed my views as a result of this;
that is, I didn’t find in it what I
expected to find, but 1 read it
last night until four o'clock this
morning.
Q. Have you an opinion as to wheth-
er the book conforms generally with
community standards? Just answer
that yes or no.
A. Ү
A brouhaha ensued among the judge,
the attorney for the defense and M.
Quel, accompanied by
ceptions and counterobjections.
objections, ex-
Then
"The Reverend Canon was cross-examined
by Mr. Rembar.
Q. Dr. Van Meter, you said just now
that after reading the book your
views of it had changed somewhat,
Would you please expand on that
statement?
A. Well, I had looked at this book
very hurriedly. It came into my
possession at 10:15 yesterday morn-
Something which was titillating, or
some such thing, and looked at pas
sages which looked, at first examina-
tion, as quite lurid, and then I read
the book as a whole, and I came out
with a quite different view.
Q What view did you come out
with?
A. I came out with a view that this
was a serious book, that there w
some serious consideration of plot
and character development, that it
had some sociological importance, if
a person were concerned. with that
period.
In an attempt to recoup, Mr. Quel Itt
er called his hercti k to the
stand, but this proved to be even more
damaging for the prosecution.
witness b:
Q. Well, so far as the contemporary
mes are concerned, what is your
opinion of the book?
A. I think that qualitatively it
doesn't vary from a great deal of
the literature which is currently
available.
And that, it seems, was the decisive
turn in the case. For in his decision up-
holding G. P. Putnam's publication of
the book, Justice Klein declared:
“If the standards of the community
are to be gauged by what it is permitted
to read in its daily newspapers, then
Fanny Hill's experiences contain little
more than what the community has al-
ready encountered on the front pages of
many of its newspapers in reporting of
the recent ‘Profumo’ and other sensa-
tional cases involving sex.
“И the standards are to be measured
by what the public has of late been pe
mitted to view in the socalled ‘foreign
art’ movies, and, indeed, some of our do-
mestic products, then it is equally clear
that Memoirs docs these standards no
lence whatsoever
"While the saga of Fanny Hill will un-
doubtedly never replace Little Red Rid-
inghood as a popular bedtime story, it is
quite possible that were Fanny to be
transposed from her mid—18th Century
Georgian surroundings to our present-
day society, she might conceivably en-
counter many things which would cause
her to blush.”
Soon after this victory, however, a 16-
year-old virgin, approximately the same
age as Fanny herself when she first went
to the wicked city of London, was direct-
ed by her crusading bluenose mother to
buy a copy of the Memoirs from a local
Manhattan bookstore. A chance was lost
to test the late Mayor Jimmy Walker's
memorable dictum, “No girl was ever
ruined by a book," for her mother im-
mediately snatched it from her, had a
summons issued against the bookseller,
and Fanny once again was haled into
court. This time (January 1964) she was
indeed branded a whore by the Appel-
late Division of the New York Supreme
Court and the bookseller was convicted
of corrupting the morals of a minor.
But finally, in the spring of last year,
before the state’s highest court (the
Court of Appeals), Fanny was vindicated
of all charges and can now take her
place side by side with Louisa May Al-
cow's Little Women on any respectable
bookshelf. In only three states of the un-
ion—New Jersey, Rhode Island and Mas-
sachusetts—does she still wear an official
badge of shame.
In fact, Fanny is now more at home in
America than in the land of her birth. A
London bookseller who advertised the
Memoirs as “Banned in America” was
brought to court in January of 1964 un-
der the Obscene Publications Act. The
prosecution, unwilling to allow a jury to
decide the issue since its 1960 defeat in
the case of Lady Chatterley's Lover,
brought action inst the seller rather
than the publisher—which in English
law meant that a judge would have the
sole power to decide the case. The de-
[ense called in as witnesses an array of
authors and literary critics, including
the distinguished biographer Peter
Quennell, ex-M. P. and scholar H. Mont-
gomery Hyde, and British novelist Mar-
ghanita Laski, while the prosecution
produced no witnesses whatsoever except
the two bobbies who had seized the book.
Nevertheless, after listening to four da
of testimony, the judge summarily con-
«ted Fanny in a verdict that took him
ttle more than a minute to deliver. As a
result, only a bowdlerized version of the
Memoirs can be obtained in Pecksniffian
Britain at this ne.
On this side of the Auantic, however,
Fanny unadulterated may be procured
not only in book form, but is reaching
an even greater audience through rec-
ords and cinema, Two albums of her
amorous misadventures, cut on the Fax
and Recorded Literature labels, have
been available since Jast September. A
legitimate theater effort is scheduled
for production at Los Angeles’ Ivar
h hopes of an eventual trip
ay. And as a movie heroine,
Fanny can now be seen on both Euro-
pean and American screens.
The adaptation now showing abroad
is а substantially budgeted Albert Zug-
smith production, filmed last year in Ber-
lin and directed by Russ (The Immoral
Mr. Teas) Meyer, which features a
creamy new dish of zabaglione named
Letitia Roman as the unsinkable Fanny.
The American version is only nine mi
utes long but in color and on a wide
screen. Entitled A Comedy Tale of Fanny
Hill and starring pert beautycontest
winner Judy Cannon, it was on the bill
at the premiere of Chicago's Playboy
Theater. Yer а third celluloid incarna-
tion of Fanny has been announced by
the London theatrical producer David
Pelham.
At this writing, quite in keeping with
her twocenturieslong battle for accept-
ance, the Zugsmith Fanny has not been
given a seal of approval by the Motion
Picture Association of America. For the
first time in the history of motion-picture
self-censorship, a title itself, plain old
Fanny Hill, Memoirs of a Woman of
Pleasure, has been sufficient to preclude
issuance of the seal. Seal or no, Fanny is
scheduled to make her U. S. bow shortly,
after having opened in Israel. Undaunt-
ed by his troubles with the censors, Mr.
Zugsmith plans to produce a sequel
that carries on where Fanny left olf,
this one to be called Fanny Hill Rides
Again.
Despite all the attempts by Grundys,
bowdlers and kill-joys to suppress her,
generations to come may very well won-
der what all the fuss was about. To
quote the poet William Blake:
Children of the future age,
Reading this indignant page,
Know that in a former time,
Love, sweet love, was thought a
crime,
Compared with most other novels that
attempt to deal realistically with sex,
Fanny's Memoirs are a paean to the
pleasures of copulation without guilt or
shame. Joy is the only message she
preaches. As Miss Laski succinctly put
it, “It is a jolly book.”
"I'm sorry I called you a nut —it was
» т ep
a ‘Freudian slip!
141
PLAYBOY
THE EYE
full detail, and not without a certain
pride, to. Weinstock, who abhorred in-
decent stories and would emit a strong
eloquent “Pfui! upon hearing some-
thing salacious. And that is why people
were especially eager to tell him things
of this nature.
Smurov would reach her room by the
k stairs, and stay with her a long
time. Apparently, Evgenia once noticed
something—a quick scuttle at the end of
the corridor, or muflled laughter behind
the door—tor she mentioned with irrita-
tion that Hilda (or Gretchen) had taken
wp with some fireman. During this
outburst Smurov cleared his throat com-
plicently а few times. The maid, casting
awn her charming dim eyes, would pass
through the dining room; slowly and
e a bowl of fruit and her
(continued from page 82)
back a dim fair lock off her
to brush
temple, and then somnambule back to
the kitchen; and Smurov would rub
his hands together as if about to deliver
speech, or smile in the wrong places
the general conversation, Wein-
stock would grimace and spit in disgust
when Smurov dwelt on the pleasure of
watching the prim servant maid at work
when, such a short time ago, gently pat-
tering with bare feet on the bare floor,
he had been fox-wotting with the
crcamy-haunched wench in her narrow
ttle room to the distant sound of a
phonograph coming from the masters’
quarters; Mister Mukhin had brought
back from London some reilly lovely
records of moansweet Hawa
music.
You're
would say,
Weinstock
Don Juan, a Casanova
. . 7 To himself, however, he undoubt-
an adventurer,”
edly called Smurov a double or wiple
agent and expected the little table with-
in which fidgeted the ghost of Azef to
yield important new revelations. This
image of Smurov, though, interested me
but little now: it was doomed to gradual
fading owing to the absence of support-
g evidence. The mystery of Smurov's
personality, of course, ned, and
one could imagine Weinstock, several
years hence and in another city, men-
tioning, in passing, а st
rem
“Yes,
very odd character,” Weinstock
will say pensively. "A man knit of in-
complete intimations, a man with a se-
cret hidden in him. He could ruin a girl
. Who had sent him, and whom he
ng, it is hard 10 say. Though I
did learn from one reliable source . . .
But then I doi ne.
Much more entertaining was Gret-
t want to say апуп
M2 chen's (or Hilda’s) concept of Smurov.
ppeared from Vanya's
wardrobe, whereupon everyone remem-
bered a multitude of other petty losses:
70 plennigs in change left on the table
and hulled like a piece in checkers; a
crystal powder box that “escaped from
the Nes S. $. R.,” as Khrushchov punned;
a silk handkerchief, much treasured for
some reason ("Where on earth could I
have put it?"). Then, one day, Smurov
came wearing a brightblue tie with a
peacock sheen, and Khrushchov blinked
and said that he used to have a tie just
exactly like that; Smurov grew absurdly
embarrassed, and he never wore that tie
n. But, of course, it did not enter
anyone's head that the silly goose had
stolen the tie (she used to say, by the
мау, “A tie is а man's best ornament")
and had given it, out of sheer mechani-
cal habit, to her boyfriend of the mo-
rov bitterly informed
Her undoing came when
Evgenia happened to enter her room
while she was out, and found
dresser а collectioi
from
resurrected
Gretchen (or Hil
known destination; Smurov tried to lo-
cate her but soon gave up and confessed
to Weinstock that enough was enough.
That evening Evgenia said she had
Icarned some remarkable things from
the janitor’s wife “It was not a hreman,
t was not a fireman at all,” said Evge-
nia, laughing, “but a foreign poet, isn’t
that delightful? . . . This foreign poet
had had a tragic love alfair and a family
estate the size of Germany, but he was
forbidden to return home, really de-
ightful, isn't it? . . . Its a pity the jani-
tor's wife didn't ask what his name was
—I'm sure he was Russian, and I
wouldn't even be surprised if it were
someone who comes to sce us . . . For
nstance, that chap last year, you know
whom I mean—the dark boy with the
1 charm, what was his name?"
“I know whom you have in mind,"
Vanya put in. “That baron something or
other.
“Or maybe it was somebody else,” Ev-
genia went on. “Oh, that's so delightful!
A gentleman who was all soul, а "spiri-
tual gentleman,’ says the janitor’s wife. I
could die laughing . . -
“TI make а point of taking all that
down,” said Roman Bogdanovich in a
juicy voice. “My friend in Tallin will get
a most interesting letter."
“Don't you ever get tired of it
Vanya. "I started keeping a diary several
times but always dropped it. And when I
read it over I was always ashamed of
what I had put down.
"Oh, no," said Roman Bogdano-
vich. "If you do it thoroughly and regu-
larly you get a good fecling, a feeling of
self-preservation, so to speak—you pre-
serve your entire life, and, in later years.
rereading it, you may find it not devoid
of fascination. For instance, I've done a
description of you that would be the
envy of any professional writer. A stroke
here, a stroke there, and there it is—a
complete portrait . . .
“Oh, please show me!" said Vanya.
“I can't" Roman Bogdanovich an-
swered with a smile.
"Then show it to Evgenia,” said
nya.
1 cant. Га like to, but I can't. My
Tallin friend stores up my weekly con-
tributions as they arrive, and I dcliber-
ately keep no copies so there will be no
temptation to make changes ex post fac
to—to cross things out and so on. And
one day, when Roman Bogdanovich
very old, Roman Bogdanovich will sit
down at his desk and start rereading his
life. That's who I'm writing for—for the
future old man with the Sani
beard. And if I find that my life h
been rich and worth while, then I shall
leave this memoir as a leson for
posterity.”
"And if it's all nonsense?" asked
Vanya.
“What is nonsense 10 one may have
sense for another,” replied Roman Bog-
danovich у.
The thought of this epistolary diary
had long interested and somewhat tro
bled me. Gradually the desire to read
least one excerpt became a violent tor-
ment, a constant preoccupation. I had
no doubt that those jottings contained
a description of Smurov. T knew that
very often a trivial account of conversa
tions, and country rambles and one’s
neighbors tulips or parrots, and м!
one had for lunch that overcast day
when, for example, the king was be-
headed—I knew that such trivial notes
often live hundreds of years, and that
one reads them with pleasure, for the
savor of ancienuy, for the name of a
dish, for the festivelooking spaciousness
where now tall buildings crowd together.
And, besides, it often happens that the
diarist, who in his lifetime has gone un-
noticed or had been ridiculed by forgot-
ten nonentities, emerges 200 years later
as first-rate writer, who knew how to
immortalize, with a suiggle of his old-
fashioned pen, an airy landscape, the
smell of a stagecoach, or the oddities of
an acquaintance. At the very thought
that Smurov's image might be so secure-
ly, so lastingly preserved 1 felt a sacred
chill, I grew crazed with desire, and felt
that I mu: пу cost interpose myself
spectrally between Roman Bogdanovich
and his friend in Tallin. Experience
warned me, of course, that the particular
image of Smurov, which was per
rather soi
destined to live forever (to the delight
of scholars), might be a shock to me; but
the urge to gain possession of this secret,
10 sec Smurov through the cyes of future
centuries, was so bedazzling that no
thought of disappointment could fright-
cn me. I feared only one thing—a
lengthy and meticulous perlustration,
since it wa icult to imagine that in
the very first letter I intercepted, Roman
Bogdanovich would start right off (like
the voice, in full swing, that bursts upon
your ears when you turn on the radio
for a moment) with an eloquent report
on Smurov.
I recall a dark street on a stormy
March night. The clouds rolled across
the sky, assuming various grotesque att
tudes like staggering and ballooning
buffoons in a hideous carnival, while,
hunched up in the blow, holding onto
my derby which I felt would explode
like a bomb if I let go of its brim,
1 stood by the house where lived Roman
Bogdanovich. The only witnesses to my
igil were a strect light that seemed to
blink because of the wind, and a sheet of
wrapping paper that now scurried along
the sidewalk, now attempted with odious
friskiness to wrap itself around my legs,
no matter how hard I tried to kick it
away. Never before had I experienced
such a wind or scen such a drunken,
disheveled sky. And this irked me. I had
come to spy on a ritual—Roman Bog-
danovich, at midnight between Friday
nd Saturday, depositing a letter in the
mailbox—and it essential that I see
it with my own eyes before I begin de-
veloping the vague plan I had con-
ceived. I hoped that as soon as I saw
Roman Bogdanovich struggling with the
wind for possession of the mailbox, my
bodiless plan would immediately grow
alive and distinct (I was thinking of rig-
ging up an open sack which I would
somchow introduce into the mailbox,
placing it in such a way that a letter
dropped into the slot would fall into my
net). But this wind—now humming un-
der the dome of my headgcar, now in-
flating my trousers. or clinging to my
they seemed skeletal—was in
my way, preventing me from concen-
trating on the matter. Midnight would
soon closc completely the acute angle of
time; I knew that Roman Bogdano-
vich was punctual. I looked at the house
and tied to guess behind which of the
three or four lighted windows there sat
at this very moment a man, bent over a
sheet of paper, creating an image, per-
haps immortal, of Smurov. Then I
would shift my gaze to the dark cube
fixed to the castiron railing, to that
dark mailbox into which presently an
unthinkable letter would sink, as into
eternity. I stood away from the street
light; and the shadows afforded me a
Kind of hectic protection. Suddenly a
yellow glow appeared in the glass of the
front door, and in my excitement I loos-
ened my grip on the brim of my hat. In
the next instant I was gyrating on one
spot, both hands raised, as if the hat just
snatched from me were still flying
around my head. With a light thump,
the derby fell and rolled away on the
sidewalk. I dashed in pursuit, trying to
step on the thing to stop it—and almost
collided on the run with Roman Bog-
danovich, who picked up my hat with
one hand, while holding with the other
a sealed envelope that looked white and
enormous. I think my appearance in his
neighborhood at that late hour puzzled
him. For a moment the wind enveloped
us in its violence; I yelled a greeting,
trying to outshout the din of the de
mented night, and then, with two
fingers, lightly
Jetter from Rom
nd neatly plucked the
а Bogdanovich's hand.
“TI mail it, I'll mail it,” I shouted. "It's
on my way, it’s on my way...” I had
time to glimpse an expression of alarm
nd uncertainty on his face, but I im-
mediately made off, running the 20
yards to the mailbox into which I pre-
tended to thrust something, but instead
squeezed the letter into my inside breast
pocket. Here he overtook me. I noticed
his carpet slippers. “What manners you
have,” he said with displeasure. "Per-
haps I had no intention to post it.
Here, take this hat of yours. . . Ever sec
such a wind? .
"I'm in a hurry," I gasped (the sv
night took my breath away). "Goodbye,
goodbye!” My shadow, as it plunged
into the aura of the street lamp.
stretched out and passed me, but then
was lost in the darkness. No sooner had
Y left that street, than the wind ceased;
all was stardingly still, and amid the
stillness a streetcar was groaning around
a turn.
I hopped on it without glancing at its
number, for what lured me was the fes-
tive brightness of its interior, since I had
to have light immediately. I found a
"I think war is nature's way!”
M3
PLAYBOY
144
согу corner seat, and with furious haste
ripped open the envelope. Here some-
one came up to me and, with a start, I
placed my hat over the letter. But it was
only the conductor. Feigning а yawn, I
calmly paid for my ticket, but kept the
letter concealed all the time, so as to be
safe from possible testimony in court—
there is nothing more damning than
those inconspicuous witnesses, conduc-
tors, taxi drivers, janitors. He went away
and I unfolded the letter. It was ten
pages long. in a round hand and without
a single correction. The beginning was
not very interesting. I skipped several
pages and. suddenly, like a familiar face
amid a hazy crowd, there was Smurov's
name. What amazing luck!
"I propose, my dear Fyodor Roberto-
vich, to return brielly to that rascal. 1
fear it may bore you, but, in the words
of the Sw of Weimar—t refer to the
ustrious Goethe—(there followed а
German phrase). Therefore allow me to
dwell on Mr. Smurov again and treat
you to a little psychological study...”
H uscd and looked up at a milk
chocolate advertisement with lilac alps.
This was my last chance to renounce
penetrating into the secret of Smurov's
immortality. What did I care if this let-
ter would indeed travel across a remote
mountain pass into the next century,
whose very designation—a two and
three zeros—is so fantastic as to seem
absurd? What did it matter to me to
what kind of portrait a long-dead au-
thor would “treat,” to use his own vile
expression, his unknown posterity? And
anyway, was it not high time to abandon
my enterprise, to call off the hunt, the
watch, the insane attempt to corner
Smurov? But alas, this was mental rhet-
oric: T knew perfectly well that no force
on earth could prevent me from reading
that letter.
“I have the impression, dear friend,
that І have already written you of the
fact that Smurov belongs to that curious
ass of people I once called ‘sexual
* Smurov's entire appearance, his
lence, his mincing ges-
. his fondness for Eau de Cologne,
and, in particular, those furtive, passion-
ate glances that he constantly directs
toward your humble servant—all this
has long since confirmed this conjecture
of mine. It is remarkable that these sex
ually unfortunate iduals, while
yearning physically for some handsome
specimen of mature virility, often choose
for object of their (perfectly platonic)
admiration—a woman—a woman they
know well, slightly, or not at all. And
so Smurov, notwithstanding his per-
version, has chosen Varvara as his ideal.
"This comely but rather stupid lass is
engaged to a certain M. M. Mukhin, one
of the youngest colonels in the White
Amy, so Smurov has full assurance that
he will not be compelled to perform that.
which he is neither capable nor desirous
of performing with any lady, even if she
were Cleopatra herself. Furthermore, the
‘sexual lefty’ —I admit 1 find the expres-
sion exceptionally apt—frequently nur-
tures a tendency to break the law, which
infraction is further facilitated for him
by the fact that an infraction of the law
of nature is already there. Here again
our friend Smurov is no exception. Imag-
ine, the other day Filip Innokentie-
vich Khrushchov confided to me that
Smurov is a thief. a thief in the ugliest
sense of the word. My interlocutor, so it
turned out, had handed him a silver
snuffbox with occult symbols—an object
of great age—and had asked him to
show it to an expert. Smurov took this
beautiful antique and the next day an-
nounced to Khrushchov with all the out-
ward signs of dismay that he had lost it.
I listened to Khrushchov's account and
explained to him that sometimes the
urge to steal is a purely pathological
phenomenon, even having a scientific
name—kleptomania, Khrushchov, like
many pleasant but limited people, began
naively denying that in the present in-
stance we are dealing with a ‘klepto-
maniac’ and not a criminal. I did not set
forth certain arguments that would un-
doubtedly have convinced him. To me
everything is clear as day. Instead of
branding Smurov with the humiliating
designation of ‘thief,’ I am sincerely sor-
ry for him, paradoxical as it may scem.
“The weather has changed for the
worse, or, rather, for the better, for arc
not this slush
spring, pretty
desires? An aphorism comes to mind that
will doubtless —”
immed to the end of the letter.
as nothing further of interest to
me. | cleared my throat and with un-
trembling hands tidely folded the sheets.
“Terminal stop, sir," a gruff voice said
over me.
Night, rain, the outskirts of the сіу...
Dressed in a remarkable fur coat with
a feminine collar, Smurov is sitting on a
step of the sta
case. Suddenly, Khru-
shchov, also in fur. comes down and sits
next to him. It is very difficult for Smu-
rov to begin, but there is little time, and
he must take the plunge. He frees a slen-
der hand sparkling with rings—rubics,
all rubies—from the ample fur sleeve
and, smoothing his hair, says, “There is
something of which I want to remind
you, Filip Innokentievich. Please listen
carefully.”
Khrushchov nods. He blows his nose
(he has a bad cold from constantly sit-
ting on the stairs). He nods again, and
his swollen nose twitches.
Smurov continues, “I am about to
speak of a small incident that occurred
recently. Please listen carefully.”
“At your service,” replies Khrushchov.
“It is difficult for me to begin,” says
Smurov. “I might betray myself by an
incautious word. Listen carefully. Listen
to me, please, You must understand that
I return to this incident without any
particular thought at the back of my
mind. It would not even enter my head
that you should think me a thief. You
yourself must agree with me that I can
not possibly know of your thinking this
—after all, I don’t read other people’
leuers. 1 want you to understand that the
subject has come up quite by chance. . «
Are you te
"(m ойы cesis ИНЕ aims
in his fur.
"Good. Let us think back, Filip In-
nok nticvich. Let us recall the silver
iature. You asked me to show it to
Weinstock. Listen carefully. As I left
you 1 was holding it in my hand. No,
no, please don't recite the alphabet. I
can communicate with you perfectly well
thout the alphabet. And 1 swear, I
swear by Vanya, I swear by all the wom-
cn I have loved, I swear that every word
of the person whose name I cannot utter
ince otherwise you will think I read
other people's mail, and am therefore
capable of thievery as well—I swear th
every word of his is a lie: I really did
lose it. I came home, aud I no longer
had it, and it is not my fault, It is just.
that I am very absent-minded, and love
her so much."
But Khrushchov does mot believe
Smurov; he shakes his head. In vain does
Smurov swear, п docs he wring his
white, glittering hands—it is no use,
à va
words to convince Khrushchov do not
austed its
exist. (Here my dream ех
meager supply of logic: by now the st:
сазе on which the conversation took
place was standing all by itself in open
country. and below there were terraced
gardens and the haze of trees in blurry
bloom; the terraces stretched away into
the distance, where one seemed to dis-
tinguish cascades and mountain mead-
ows.) "Yes, yes," said Khrushchov in a
hard menacing voice. “There was some-
thing inside that box, therefore it is ir-
replaceable. Inside it was Vanya—yes,
yes, this happens sometimes to girls . . .
А very rare phenomenon, but it happens,
it happens...”
I awoke. It was early morning. The
windowpanes were trembling from a
passing truck. They had long ceased to
be frosted with a mauve film, for spring
was near. І paused to think how much
had happened lately, how many new
people 1 had met, and how enthralling,
how hopeless was this house-to-house
search, this quest of mine for the real
Smurov. There is no use to dissemble—
all these people I met were not live
beings but only chance mirrors for
Smurov;
and for
brightest
one among them, though,
me the most important, the
mirror of all, still would not
yield me Smurov's reflection. Hosts and
guests at 5 Peacock Street move before
me from light to shade, clfortiessly,
innocently, created merely for my amuse-
ment. Once again Mukhin, rising slight
ly from the sofa, stretches his hand
across the table toward the ashtray, but 1
see neither his face, nor that hand with
the cigarette; I see only his other hand,
which (already unconsciously!) rests
momentarily оп Vanya’s knee. Once
again Roman Bogdanovich, bearded and
with a pair of red apples for checks,
bends his congested face to blow on the
tea, and again Marianna sits down and
crosses her legs, thin legs in apricotcol-
огей stockings. And, as a joke—it was
Christmas Eve, 1 think—Khrushchov
pulls on his wife's fur coat, assumes
mannequin attitudes before the mirror,
and walks about the room to general
laughter, which gradually begins to grow
forced, be
se Khrushchov always over-
does his jokes. Evgenia’s lovely little
hand, with its nails so glossy they seem
moist, picks up a tabletennis paddle,
and the little celluloid ball pings duti
fully back and forth across the green net.
And in the semidarkness Weinstock
floats by, seated a anchette table
as if at a steering wheel; again the maid
his p
—Hilda or Gretchen—passes dreamily
from one door to another, and suddenly
begins to whisper and wriggle out of her
dress. Whenever I wish, I can accelerate
or retard to ridiculous slowness the mo-
tions of all these people, or distribute
them in different groups, or arrange
them in various patterns, lighting them
now from below, now from the side . . .
For me, their en
merely a shimmer on a screen.
But wait, life did make one last at-
tempt to prove to me that it was real—
oppressive and tender, provoking excite
ment and torment, possessed of blinding
possibilities for happiness, with tears,
with a warm wind.
That day I dimbed up to their flat at
noon. I found the door unlocked, the
rooms empty, the windows open. Some-
where a vacuum cleaner was putting its
whole heart into an ardent whir. All
at once, through the glass door leading
from the parlor to the balcony. I saw
Vanya's bowed head. She was sitting on
the balcony with a book and—strangely
enough—this was the first time I found
her at home alone. Ever since І had been
trying to subdue my love by telling my-
self that Vanya, like all the others, exist-
cd only in my imagination, and was a
mere mirror, I had got into the habit of
assuming a special jaunty tone with her,
e existence has been
and now, greeting her, I said, without
the least emi sment, that she was
"like a princess welcoming spring from
her lofty tower." The balcony was quite
small, with empty green flower boxes,
and, in one corner, a broken clay pot,
which I mentally compared to my
heart, since it often happens that one's
style of speaking to a person affects one's
way of thinking in that person's pres-
ence. The day was warm, though not
very sunny, with a touch of turbidity
and dampness—dilutcd sunlight and a
tipsy but meek little breeze, fresh from a
visit to some public garden where the
young grass was already nappy and
green against the black of the loam. I
took a breath of this air, and realized
simultaneously that Vanya's wedding
was only a weck away. This thought
brought back all the yearn and ache, 1
forgot again about Smurov, forgot that
I must talk in а carefree manner. I
turned away and began looking down at
the street. How high we were, and so
completely alone. “He will be quite a
while vet," said Vanya. “They keep you
waiting for hours in those offices.”
"Your romantic vigil ..." | began,
compelling myself to maintain that life-
saving levity, and trying to convince
myself that the vernal breeze was a bit
vulgar too, and that I was enjoying my-
self hugely.
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PLAYBOY
I had not yet taken a good look at Va-
ny: always needed a little time to get
acclimated to her presence before look-
ing at her. Now J saw she was wearing a
black silk skirt and a white pullover with
a low V neck, and that her hairdo was
ly sleck. She went on looking
through her lorgnette at the open book
a pogromystic novelette by a Russian
lady in Belgrade or Harbin. How high
we were above the street, right up
in the gentle, rumpled sky ... The
vacuum cleaner inside stopped its buzz
ing. “Uncle Pasha is dead,” she said, lift-
ing her head. “Yes, we got a telegram
this morning.’
What did I care if the existence of
that jovial, half-witted old man had
come to an end? But at the thought that.
along with him, had died the happiest,
the shortestlived image of Smurov, the
image of Smurov the bridegroom, 1 felt
T could no longer restrain the agita-
tion that had long becn welling within
me. I do not know how it started—there
must have been some preparatory mo-
tions—but I remember finding myself
perching on the wide wicker arm of
Vanya's chair, and already clutching her
longdrcamtof, forbidden
contact. She blushed violently, and her
eyes suddenly began to shine with tears
—how clearly I saw her dark lower eye-
lid fill with glistening moisture. At the
same time she kept smiling—as though
with unexpected gencrosity she wished
to bestow on me all the various expres-
sions of her beauty. “He was such an
amusing old man,” she said to explain
the radiance on her lips, but I inter-
rupted her:
“I can't go on like this, I can't stand
it any longer," 1 mumbled, now snatch-
ing her wrist, which would immediately
grow tense, now turning an obedient leaf
in the book on her lap, "1 have to tell
you... It doesn't make any difference
now—I am leaving and shall never see
you again. I have to tell you. After all,
you don’t know те... But actually I
wear a mask—I am always hidden
behind a mask . . ."
"Come, come," said Vanya, "I know
well indeed, and I see every-
id understand everything. You
are à good, intelligent. person. Wait a
moment I'll take ту handkerchief.
You're sitting on it. No, it fell down.
"Thank you. Please let go of my hand—
you mustn't touch me like that. Please,
don't.
She was smiling anew, assiduously and
comically raising her eyebrows, as if in-
viting me to smile too, but I had lost all
control of myself, and some impossible
hope was fluttering near me; J went on
talking and gesticulating so wildly
that the wicker chair arm creaked under
wrist—that
146 me, and there were moments when the
parting in Vanya's hair was right un-
der my lips, whereupon she would care-
fully move her head away.
"More than life itself,” I was saying
rapidly, "more than life itself, and al
ready for a long time, since the very first
moment. And you are the first person
that has ever told me that 1 am good...”
“PI ," pleaded Vanya. “You
are only hurting yourself, and me. Look,
why don't you let me tell you how Ro-
man Bogdanovich made a declaration of
love to me. It was hilarious . . ."
“Don't you dare," I cried. "Who cares
about that clown? I know, I know you
would be happy with me. And, if there
is anything about me that you don't like,
nge—in any way you wish, PIL
I like everything about you," said
Vanya, "even your poetic imagination.
ven your propensity to exaggerate at
times. But above all I like your kindness
—for you are very kind, and love every-
one very much, and then you're always
so absurd and charming. All the same,
though, please stop grabbing my hand,
you know it perfectly well yourself. And
besides, he should be here any minute
now.”
You cannot love him,” I shouted.
“You are deceiving yourself. He is not
worthy of you. I could tell you some aw-
ful things about him.”
“That will be enough,” said Vanya
and made as if to get up. But at this
point, wishing to arrest her movement, I
involuntarily and uncomfortably em-
braced her, and at the warm, woolly,
transparent feel of her pullover a tur-
bid, excruciating delight began to bub-
ble within me; I was ready for anything,
even for the most revolting torture, but
I had to kiss her at least once.
Why are you struggling?” I babbled.
“What can it cost you? For you it’s only
a litle act of charity—for me, it's every-
thing.
I believe I might have consummated
a shiver of oncirotic rapture had I been.
able to hold her a few seconds longer;
but she managed to free herself and
stand up. She moved away to the bal-
cony railing, clearing her throat and
narrowing her eyes at me, and some-
where in the sky there rose a long harp-
like vibration—the final note. I had
nothing more to lose. I blurted out
everything, I shouted that Mukhin did
not and could not love her, in a torrent
of tritencss I depicted the certainty of
our happiness if she married me, and,
finally, feeling that I was about to break
into tears, threw down her book, which
somehow I happened to be holding, and
turned to go, forever leaving Vanya on
her balcony, with the wind, with the
hazy spring sky, and with the mysterious
bass sound of an invisible airplane
In the parlor, not far from the door,
Mukhin sat smoking. He followed me
with his eyes and said calmly, "I never
thought you were such a scoundrel.” I
saluted him with a curt nod of the head
and left.
I descended to my room, took my hat,
and hurricd out into the street. Upon
entering the first flower shop I saw, I be-
gan tapping my heel and whistling, as
there was no one in sight. The enchant-
ingly fresh aroma of flowers all around
me stimulated my voluptuous impa-
tience. The street continued in the
side mirror adjoining the display win-
dow, but this was but an illusionary con-
tinuation: a car that had passed from
left to right would vanish abruptly, even
though the street awaited it imperturb-
ably; another car, which had been ap-
proaching from the opposite direction,
would vanish as well—one of them had
been only a reflection. Finally the salcs-
girl appeared. I selected a big bouquet
of lilies of the valley; cold gems dripped
from their resilient bells, and the sales-
girl's fourth finger was bandaged—muse
have pricked herself. She w
the counter and for a long
and rustled with a lot of nasty paper.
The tightly bound stems formed a thick,
rigid sausage; never had 1 imagined that
lilies of the valley could be so heavy. As
I pushed the door, I noticed the reflec-
tion in the side mirror: a young man in
a derby carrying a bouquet, hurried
toward me, That reflection and I merged
into one. J walked out into the street.
I walked in extreme haste, with minc-
ing steps, surrounded by a cloudlet of
floral moisture, tying not to think
about anything, trying to believe in the
marvelous healing power of the particu-
lar place toward which I hurried. Going
there was the only way to avert disaster:
life, hot and burdensome, full of the
familiar torment, was about to bear
down on me again and rudely disprove
that I was a ghost. It is frightening when
real life suddenly turns out to be a
dream, but how much more frightening
when that which one had thought a
dream—fluid and irresponsible—sud-
denly starts to congeal into reality! J
had to put a stop to this, and I knew
how to do it.
Upon reaching my destination, I be-
gan to press the button of the bell, with-
tch my breath; I rang
aching an unbearable thi
lengthily, greedily, in utter sclf-oblivion,
"AM right, all right, all right," she
grumbled, opening the door. I dashed
across the threshold and thrust the bou-
quet into her hands.
"Oh, how beautifull” she s;
p
, and, a
PLAYBOY
148
little bewildered, fixed me with her old,
paleblue eyes.
“Don't thank me,” I shouted, impetu-
ously raising my hand, "but do me one
favor: allow me to have a look at my old
room, I implore you."
“The room?” said the old lady. “I'm
sorry, but unfortunately it is not free.
But how beautiful, how nice of you”
You didn't quite understand me," I
said, quivering with impatience. “I only
want to have a look. Thats all. Nothing
more. For the flowers I brought you.
Please. I'm sure the roomer has gone to
work . .
Deftly slipping past her, I ran along
the corridor, and she came after me. “Oh
dcar, the room is rented," she kept rc-
ng. “Dr. Galgen has no intention of
I can't let you have it.”
Iyanked the door opcn. The furniture
was somewhat differently distributed;
a new pitcher stood on the wash-
; and, on the wall behind it |
(Est ao nts carefully plastered over
“Thats nice, dear . . .
think she’s a ‘swinger’. . -
—yes, the moment I found it I felt reas-
sured. With my hand pressed to my
heart I gazed at the secret mark of my
bullet: it was my proof that I had really
died; the world immediately regained its
reassuring insignificance—I was strong
once again, nothing could hurt me.
With one sweep of my fancy I was ready
to evoke the most fearsome shade from
my former existence.
With a dignified bow to the old wom-
an I left this room where, once upon a
time, а man had bent over double as he
released the fatal spring. In passing
through the front hall, I noticed my
flowers lying on the table and, feigning
ntmindedness, scooped them up,
ng myself that the stupid old wom-
an little deserved such an expensive
gift. In fact, I could put it to better use
—for instance, I could send it to Vanya,
with a note both sad and humorous.
The moist freshness of the flowers felt
good: the thin paper had yielded here
and there, and, squeezing with my
Tell Aunt Marie why you
fingers the cool green body of the stems,
I recalled the gurgling and dı
had accompanied me into nothingness. T
walked leisurely along the very edge of
the sidewalk and, half-closing my eyes,
imagined that I was moving along the
rim of a precipice, when a voice sudden-
ly hailed me from behind.
“Gospodin Smurov," it said in а loud
but hesitant tone. I turned at the sound
of my name, involuntarily stepping off
the sidewalk with one foot. It was Kash-
marin, Matilda's husband, and he was
pulling off a yellow glove, in a terrific
hurry to proffer me his hand. He was
without the famous cane, and had
changed somchow—perhaps he had put
on weight. "There was an embarrassed ex-
pression on hi
less tceth were simultaneously gritt
the rebellious glove and grinni
At last his hand, with outspread fingers,
fairly gushed toward me. 1 felt an odd
weakness; I was deeply touched; my eyes
even began to smart.
"5murov," he said, "you can't imagine
how glad I am to haye run into you. I've
been searching for you frantically but
nobody knew your address.”
Here it dawned upon me that I was
listening much too politely to this ap-
parition from my former life, and, de-
ciding to take him down a peg or two, 1
said, “I have nothing to discuss with
you. You should be grateful I did not
take you to court.
"Look, Smurov," he said plaintively,
"I'm trying to apologize for my vile tem-
per. I couldn't live at peace with myself
after our—uh—heated discussion, 1 felt
horrible about it. Allow me to confess
something to you, as one gentleman to
another. You see, I learned afterward
that you were neither the first nor the
last, and I divorced her—yes, divorced
can be no question of you and
me discussing anything,” I said, and took
a sniff of my fat, cold bouquet
"Oh, don't be so spiteful!” exclaimed
Kashmarin. “Come on, hit me, give me a
good punch, and then we'll make up.
You don't want to? There, you're smil-
ing—thar’s a good sign. No, don't hide
behind those flowers—I can sec you're
smiling. So, now we can talk like friends,
Allow mc to ask how much money you
are making."
I pouted awhile longer, and then an-
swered him. All along J had to restrain a
desire to say something nice, something
10 show how touched I was.
“Well, then, look," said Kashmarin.
“ГИ get you a job that pays three times
as much. Come and sce me tomorrow
morning at the Hotel Monopole. I'll in-
troduce you to a useful person. The job
is a snap, and trips to the Riviera and to
Italy are not to be ruled out. Automo-
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bile business. You'll stop by, then?”
He had, as they say, hit the bull's-eye.
I had long been fed up with Weinstock
and his books. 1 started sniffing at the
cold flowers again, hiding in them my
joy and my gratitude
"TH think it over,"
sneezed.
"God bless you!” exclaimed Kashma-
tin. “Don't forget then—tomorrow. I'm
so glad, so very glad I ran into you
We parted. I ambled on slowly, my
nose buried in the bouquet.
Kashmarin had borne away yet anoth-
cr image of Smurov. Does it make any
difference which? For I do not exist;
there exist but the thousands of mirrors
that reflect me. With every acquaintance
I make, the population of phantoms re-
sembling me increases, Somewhere they
live, somewhere they multiply. I alone
do not exist. Smurov, however, will live
on for a long time. The two boys, those
pupils of mine, will grow old, and some
image or other of me will live within
them like a tenacious parasite. And then
will come the day when the last person
who remembers me will die, A fetus in
reverse, my image, гоо, will dwindle and
die within that last witness of the crime
I committed by the mere fact of living.
Perhaps a chance story about me, a sim-
ple anecdote in which I figure, will pass
on from him to his son or grandson, and
so my name and my ghost will appear
ficetingly here and there for some time
still. Then will come the end.
And yet I am happy. Yes, happy. I
swear, I swear I am happy. I have real-
ized that the only happiness in this
world is to observe, to spy, to watch, to
scrutinize oneself and other, to be
nothing but a big, slightly vitreous,
somewhat bloodshot, unblinking eye. I
swear that this is happiness. What does
it matter chat I am a bit cheap, a bit
foul, and that no one appreciates all the
remarkable things about me—my fan-
tay, my erudition, my literary gift . . .
n happy that I can gaze at myself,
for any man is absorbing—yes, really ab-
sorbing! The world, try as it may, cannot
sult me. I am invulnerable. And what
do I care if she marries another? Every
other night I dream of her dresses and
things on an endless clothesline of bliss,
in a ceaseless wind of possession, and her
husband shall never learn what I do to
the silks and fleece of the dancing witch.
This is love's supreme accomplishment.
1 am happy—yes, happy! What more
can I do to prove it, how to proclaim
at I am happy? Oh, to shout it so that.
of you believe me at last, you cruel,
smug people . . .
l said, and
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SCOTSMAN’S REVENGE
(continued from page 75)
logically in Pearl Harbor and the dazed
surprise of Curtiss P40 pilots on their
first encounters with the Mitsubishi Zero.
In the 1940s and 1950s we were treated
to a variation on the same theme, equally
successful, if not, or at least not yet, so
pointedly demonstrated, this time by the
Russians. The thesi
Russians are a nation of ham-handed
peasants, quite incapable of operating,
much less designing anything more com-
plicated than a harness buckle. They
fought World War II with U.S. lend-
lease equipment, all of which was ruined
because they didn’t know enough to In-
bricate it. Their hopeless sense of in-
fcriority in scientific matters causes them
to issue, every 30 days, another absurd
Claim to the invention of the wheel, ог
fire by friction, or the revolving door,
or whatever. But they have never
vented anything and they have never
left the 19th Century.”
‘The most prominent victim of this
ple but stunningly successful cam;
tign
was probably Mr. Charles E. Wilson,
Secretary of Defense under Eisenhower,
who greeted a subordinate's report on
the progress of Soviet rocketry with ex-
plosive skepticism: “The Russians can't
make a twoand-a-halfton truck or a
working flush toilet—and you're trying
to tell me they've got an intercontinental
ballistic missile!
It was noticeable that while they were
busily throwing up for U.S. editorial-
page sharpshooters such clay pigeons as
а claim to the invention of the Linotype
machine, the Russians said little about
K. E. Tsiolkovsky, the primary world
authority on liquid-fucled rockets, whose
work preceded by 28 years Robert H.
Goddard's launching of the first one in
Massachusetts in 1926. (It can thus be
argued that the missile gap between the
U.S. and the U.S. S. R. began in 1898.)
Tt has been some time since the So-
viets threw us a hush puppy. No claim
that electric lighting was invented by
an Astrakhan muzhik has lately been ad-
vanced. The Soviets have gone on to
a secondary phase of the operation:
“U.S.S.R. rockets are bigger, more pow-
erful, longer-ranged, longer-lived. safer,
better in every way, better, better, better
(This is reminiscent of Joseph Goeb-
bels brilliant minor operation with
German racing automobiles just before
World War П. He took effective advan-
tage of the popularity of auto racing in
Europe, and the German skill in it, by
heavily subsidizing the two biggest Ger-
man producers, Mercedes-Benz and Auto
Union. Adding the sheer weight of
money to talented designers, skilled
builders and the best drivers available,
the two firms soon put competing British,
French and Italian companies to the
wall, and race spectators in Ше hund
of thousands came to concede that if
Mercedes didn't win, Auto Union would,
because the Germans were, as near as
no matter, unconquerable. Incidentally,
both cars produced unusually loud ex-
haust notes, the Auspuff of the 16-
cylinder Auto Union being almost
frightening. Although race cars are ex-
pected to be loud, the ripping screech
of the Auto Union constantly re-
marked. To serve the sime purpose, a
high noise factor was said to have be
designed into the Stuka dive bomber.
Road-traveling refugees who underwent
low-level Stuka attacks never forgot the
hellish racket the thing made.)
It is noticeable that the Japanese and
the Russian operations had much in
common. (1) Each was based on some
truthful substance. (The Japanese are
small, some of them do wear kimonos;
the Russian peasant, until recent years,
had little experience with mechanical
devices.) (2) Each told the intended vic-
tim what he wanted to hear, thus insur
ing that he would believe and repeat.
(8) Each was derogatory of the originat-
try. This is a defense against
the suspicion of propaganda. (4) Each
attracted and pleased the most devoted
enemies of the originating country. For
example, the reactionary press in the
United States was hopelessly gulled:
“The Russians could never haye built
The Bomb without German scientists.
“The Russians could never have built
The Bomb without stolen U. S. secrets,”
In the minority were cditorialists who
said, “The hell with how they got it.
The trouble is, they have it, and how
are we going to catch up to them and
pass them?”
What is to bc learned from all this?
That in two important instances the
American pcople werc led up the garden
path like children. More important, how
are we to prevent its happening again?
I don't know. Not having an answer
no barrier to writing an article about a
problem, as we all know. For decades
writers have resolved the matter in this
fashion: “True, the situation is black,
and there is little ground for optimism
However, surely if everyone concerned
will put his shoulder firmly to the wheel,
a solution can be found, and cartied to
a successful termination. It must be
done, and, 1 am convinced, it will be
done."
This is the upbeat ending sacred to
three generations of editors. 1 don't
think I shall use it in this case. 1 do not
for a moment believe that we are all
ig to put our shoulders to the wheel
in this matter. I don't think anything at
all is going to be done about it.
Action, or at least financial support of.
action, must originate in the Congress
of the United States. The Congress is
bitterly opposed to propaganda of what-
ever stripe or purpose. During World
War II the Office of War Information
had constantly to fight off Congressmen
and Senators who were convinced that
the organization was intent, not on for-
cign propaganda, its assigned task, but
on a domestic effort to perpetuate the
Democrats in office, (The Office of War
Information could not maintain even
key personnel. One example: The Tag-
alog language, basic tongue in the Phil-
ippine Islands, then under Japanese
occupation, was very important in U.
propaganda. The Office of War Informa-
tion had one Tagalog translator. He
was inducted into the Army and sent to
Cooks’ and Bakers’ School. The OWL
didn’t dare attempt to get him a defer-
ment) The average Congressman, I
think, docs not understand why any for-
eigner needs to be told about the United
States. In this attitude, I believe, the
Congress faithfully reflects the attitude
of the people. I sce no hope of soon
reversing this view.
International propaganda as the So-
viets practice it is a subtle and sophisti-
cated endeavor. A State Department
official assigned to petition the House
Appropriations Commitee for funds
with which to support a global tour by
American chess players might well be
advised to drown himself in the Poto-
mac the night before his scheduled ap-
pearance—but the goverr chiefs of
the U.S. S. R, whose view of Weltpolitik
is brutally pragmatic and straightfor-
ward, consider Soviet domination of the
chess world to be perative, Indeed, as
the American master Bobby Fischer has
repeatedly said, they not only counte-
nance but st upon the collusion,
chicanery and cheating necessary to this
cnd. Without understanding why it is
genuinely important to Soviet policy
Tigran Petrosian, or some other
suitable Soviet citizen be champion of
the world at chess, it is impossible to
understand what international propa-
ganda is about, and what it can accom-
plish.
In the light of the principles laid
down in the thorough lickings the Japa-
nese and the Russians have given us,
what propaganda line should we direct.
today to the tants of the Soviet
Union and Communist China? Should.
we continue to tell them that the Amer-
icans are strong, determined, intelligent,
hard-working and intent upon being
first in the race to the moon, no matter
what the cost? Yes, we should—if we
want to rouse in them a fierce determi-
nation to outdo us, if we want to make
them willingly accept their governments’
exhortations to rise and arm and defend
themselves from the monstrous capi
ists, who wish to rape their wives and eat
their babies.
If, however, our purpose varies from
this, if, for example, we would like to
bring Chinese and Soviet workers to
drag their feet, and even to dispute with
their governments the necessity of day-
and-night forced-draft Tabor
chant them with endless military service
and the chronic shortages of consumer
goods, then we should take another line.
We should tell them that the Americans
are tired, decadent, luxury-loving, soft,
lazy and going nowhere, just as the
Japanese told us they were too m
sighted to fly airplanes, as the Russians
told us they were too inept to drive trac-
tors and keep a truck greased. Anybody
can lick an American, thcy should be
told, there's no point in going into
training for so easy a task. Don't be
suckers. Somebody's making chumps of
you. Relax. Take it easy, comrades; to-
“Darling—we can’t go on meeting like this...
morrow is another day. The fact that
this line is sometimes used by the Com-
munists themselves is an argument for,
not against it: If they wish to help in
the good work, splendid.
The world outside the Communist or-
bit should have a scparate projection. It
should be the orthodox one: The Amer-
ican is kind, intelligent, clean-living,
gentle but terribly strong, patient but
fearsome in his wrath once aroused. The
isolation of the Communist world makes
the use of contradictory campaigns feas
ble and uncomplicated.
Properly orchestrated, these two
themes, particularly the first one, would
be worth many divisions to us, many
rockets. Bitter-minded little Joe Goeb-
bels would have known how to make use
of them; so would the Japanese who
created the story of the Scots Shipbuild-
er's Revenge, or the Russian who laid
it down that Kulibin and Artabasky in-
vented the automobile.
Will we do it? Don't be silly. Of course
not.
»
151
PLAYBOY
Pp putro uc 4-а
9 8-5 e ew ed Ж Эй m
A eih eee bere TET
= т
“All right, Ethel, out with ii! What have you done to the car?!”
152
DANNY BOY
When Danny's parents wanted some-
thing they bought it. When Danny want-
ed something he was told he was a
1" and that he should not be given
“too much" because that would "serious-
ly hamper his development."
Danny didn't give a damn about his
development. He would gladly spend
the rest of life as an emotional and
spiritual cretin if he could just have
shoulder pads.
Afternoons he didn’t hang around
school and watch football practice. He
walked home with an angry, tearful
lump in his throat, and stopped to stare
in the sporting goods store window at
the shoulder pads on display.
He never went in the store. The old
bastard who owned it hated kids. “What
you want?" he'd yell from the cash regis-
ter. “You got money to buy? Go get
money and come back, kid, we'll do a
litle business."
One afternoon Danny was staring in
the window when Big Ed walked to the
door to stand in the sun. He was
four, weighed 270, and had a golden
grin for small boys. “Hi, sport.” Big Ed
had said. "What's new?"
Danny was not four feet tall, he
weighed less than 75 pounds fully
clothed, and the lenses of his eyeglasses
were always fogged and dirty. But he
knew emotional rapport when he felt i
here was a human being who under-
stood.
Your coach is right, sport,” Big Ed
had said, after Danny had explained
about the shoulder pads. "You got to
have the right equipment, because a man
must protect himself at all times. You got
a jockstrap:
Danny had explained he didn't actual-
ly need one, at the moment.
"Oh. it’s never too early to form right
habits" Big Ed had said. "You don't
want to buy one here, though. Too ex-
pensive. You got forty-nine cents, sport?
"The cut-rate’s having а sale. You can get
the small size for forty-nine.”
It was rather a personal item, and all
the clerks in the cutrate drugstore were
women.
“ГШ pick one up for you,” Big Ed had
said. “I mean, if you haven't got the
time. I go there for coffee.”
Danny's weekly allowance was 50
cents; he gave it to Big Ed. The next
afternoon, in the privacy of his room, he
tried on the jockstrap. Of course, he had
to stand on a chair to see in the mirror,
but it had looked damn athletic. And it
had made him feel damn athletic, too.
And that was what made Danny sick
at heart, as he walked farther and far-
ther away from school: what Big Ed
would say. Big Ed had explained about
(continued from page 102)
grades. "No Cs, sport. You got to make
Bs or better. You've got to train your
mind as well as your body to play foot-
ball. You don't think men like Y. A. Tit-
Че or Jimmy Brown are unintelligent,
do you?
Danny could hear Big Ed saying,
“Now how do you expect to make the
team when you aren't even in school?”
And, undoubtedly, Big Ed had never
gone in the girls’ toilets. No one Danny
Knew had ever gone in the girls’ toilets,
except girls. It was probably the worst
crime that had ever been committed at
that school.
There was nowhere else to go, and so
Danny hid in the rough beside the sev-
enth green. Mrs. Carter did not seem to
be at home. The seventh was a blind
dog.leg to the left, and the green could
not be seen from the tee. Golfers had a
choice of playing it safe and hitting
fairway, or going for a birdic
ig over the rough toward the
hidden green.
A ball plopped on the green and
rolled to within ten feet of the cup. No
one was in sight. Danny dashed out,
grabbed the ball and put it behind a
large stone, and then hid in the rough
again.
He spent the afternoon heckling golf-
ers. Finally he outdid himself when he
took two balls, which had landed close
to the green, and put them both in the
cup. Two men searched for 20 minutes
before one of them cried, "My God,
Fred, look at this! I never heard of two
holes in one’
But Fred heard something giggling in
the rough and he was charging toward it
with a seven iron and an angry mottled
face. Danny jumped up and ran, vaulted
Mrs. Carter's fence and, with her toy
poodle snapping at his heels, ran across
the terrace and disappeared.
It was twilight when Danny walked
cautiously up the hill to his home.
Houscs in that area were on three- to
five-acre plots, and roads were winding.
"There were no “blocks.” When people
who lived there looked through their
glass walls they saw views, not other
houses.
Danny's relationship with his parents
was а simple one: whatever he did his
mother would say it was wrong. And if
he kept saying, "Yeah, I guess," long
enough then his father would tell him to
shut up and stop talking.
Danny cloistered himself in the rhodo-
dendrons, and stared. Mother was having
a martini in front of the fireplace. The
XK-E was not in the garage: Father was
still having martinis in town. The old
bitch who came afternoons and cooked
dinner, Mrs. Mac, was in the kitchen.
There was really no hope of escape.
Danny eased the kitchen door open,
and a matched pair of basset hounds bu-
gled. Mrs. Mac shrieked, "He's here,
Mrs. Phillips. he's here—I got him!" and
struck out with a wooden stirring spoon
that had been hand-carved in Denmark.
Danny kicked the dogs, stepped hard
on Mrs. Mac's arthritic foot and dashed
straight into Mother. He had a deep
morbid fear of Mother—she was really a
shaman figure in those pants she always
wore, neither male nor female. He fled
in a circle around the kitchen, from onc
modern clectric appliance to the next;
but they fitted so neatly together there
was no place to cower.
“What do you mean, what do you
mean?” Mother kept saying, grabbing at
him. “Embarrassing me, embarrassing
me! Oh, I heard, I heard, I heard what
you did!"
Then she began to sob, hiccuping and
burping like some damn kid in first
grade. It was the most disgusting thing
Danny had ever seen. He shoved Mother
aside, kicked a dog and fled to his тоот.
Once inside he began to barricade the
door, shoving a chest of drawers, a book-
case, a table and chairs in front of it.
‘Then he sat down to wait, because they
were going to kill him—he was cert:
Thirty minutes later the headlights of
the XK-E came up the drive. Danny
heard his father’s cheery evening grect-
ing, "Well, hiho-hi-ho-hi-ho, everybody!"
as he entered the house. Mother imme-
diately began to sob again, and told
what the product of their loins, that little
love baby Danny, had done.
“He's fallen way below norms for his
peer group,” Mother belched. “I'm so
ashamed. I want to fly to Mexico for a
rest.”
“Oh, now, now, now, now, now,” Dan-
ny's father said in a cheerful voice, un-
afraid of the future because he was half
loaded. “It's always darkest before dawn.
Let's just have our usual quiet ma
toonies and think.” Ice tinkled. “Now,
if the little bastard went the girls’
can, or whatever they call it these days,
he was interested in something in there.
Now what the hell could that be? Want
Daddy's pickled onion, love duck?”
"Ooh, yummy!" Mother said. "I
mean, I wouldn't mind if he was two, or
three. It's average, at two or three. Like
everybody else. But he's iem уси
old."
“Regressive,” Father said in a manly
voice.
“Oh, God, what if he develops cnure-
sis? I'll die if he develops enuresis and
our fi
Ice tinkled. “Well,” Father said sober-
ly, getting drunker, "there's only one
thing to do now, love duck. Have the
kid analyzed. It's our duty."
"Oh?" Mother said. That would make
her one up, the first in her group who
had a child sick enough for analysis.
"Ooh, you just come right here to me
153
PLAYBOY
154
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d give me your other pickled onion,"
she said, sounding sexy.
ny sank back on his bed in dis-
gust. He knew how much analysis cost,
he'd heard older boys talking about it
on the streets. But would the stupid bas-
tards buy him a pair of shoulder pads?
Hardehar-har, and like hell.
Dannys punishment was being
confined to his room for the weckend,
ed of his television, his ra-
record player. (On Monday,
of course, discipline would await him
at school.) He didn't give a damn; he
spent most of Saturday tattooing “Death
Before Dishonor” with a pin and perma-
nent—not wi; le—black ink on the
soft inside of his left forearm.
Sunday morning Mother kicked his
door. "Hey, listen. We're going to
church. Be back about twelve-thi
or onc" And the key made a soi
Mother locked him in.
The door was locked from outside,
and Danny had no But the door
hinges were on his side and he had a
Swis Army knife with a screwdriver
blade. He carefully removed the pins
and took the door off its hinges. The
lock was still locked, of course. He went
to the kitchen, found the set of house
keys always kept there, and unlocked the
door: then he put it back on its hinges.
Danny dressed in sneakers white
jeans, and a jacket with a hood, and
then printed a note: Dear Mr. and Mrs.
Phillips, While you were at church to-
day, praying, your little boy Danny died
and I have taken him to heaven. He
signed God's name to it and on his way
out of the room locked the door from.
the outside and returned the keys to
where he'd found them. Let the bastards
figure that one out.
In the attached garage was 75 feet of
nylon dothesline. Danny coiled it around
his waist, inside h nd then s
tered to the shopping center. He knew
exactly how he was going to break into
the sporting goods store.
At the rear of the shopping center
there was a large parking lot. Sunday
morning no one was in sight: the bi
permarket and the cutrate wouldn't be
open until one o'clock. Danny climbed
up а fire escape to the roof. He walked
down to the skylight over the back room
of the sporting goods store. It was partly
open. He struggled to r another
two feet. Then he tied one end of the
nylon rope around a ventilator pipe and
slowly lowered himself, hand over hand,
into the dai ss.
It was blacker than the inside of your
hat, boy. He knew it was a storeroom,
with boxes and so on, like all stores, but
he wished he'd brought a flashlight be-
cause he didn't want to break a leg.
Then his foot touched something soft.
That was odd, it felt like a bed. Gingerly
he rested both feet on it, then bounced a
jacket,
un-
su-
little. By God; it was a bed! And Шеп a
light snapped on.
“What the hell you doing?” Big Ed
“Bang-Bang” Roberts growled, sitting up
in the bed.
y ran. He ran off the bed,
straight into a wall. Quickly picking
himself up, he dashed into a chair. He
whirled and ran into Big Ed, who was
getting out of bed.
Big Ed picked him up and patted him.
“Sport, sport,” he said gently. “It's just
me, sport. Everythings all right. 1
wouldn't let anyone hurt you.
Danny was sitting on Big Ed's knee,
shaking and sobbing. He had been
through a great deal since Friday. Sud-
denly the cnormity of what he had in-
tended—to rob the store, to rob his best
friend!—overwhelmed him, and he
threw both arms, including the one tat-
tooed “Death Before Dishonor,” around
tree neck, and clung.
going to rob you,” he
the shoulder pads, sport?”
“Uh-huh.” He was feeling a little bet
tcr, and he glanced around the room.
Boy, it had been fixed up neat. There
was wall-to-wall carpeting, and a hifi,
and a swell litle bar with a bottle of
Black & White, and a great big bed with
a pretty blonde lady in it, staring back
at him horror and disbelief. “Oh, hel-
lo, Mrs. Carter," Danny said, glad to see
a friend. “You're not playing golf this
morning, huh?
“Oh, for God's sake!”
Mrs. Carter
s
do we dc
"We relax, Doris," Big Ed said calmly.
He stood up. “Well, sport, how about a
Coke?"
"OK," Danny said. He wasn't thirsty,
but you didn't refuse your best friend
when he asked. He watched Big Ed pour
them both a little something.
id, hiding under the sheet. "Now what
“Sport... what's the matter with
you?”
Danny took a drink of Coke and
at school I went
belched. “Well, Friday
in the girls’ toilets
“Dear God,” Mrs. Carter said, under
the sheet.
Danny told the whole sorry tale
Bee, his stupid parents those bas
everything. Big Ed's eyes grew wei.
walked to the door of the room, drew
back his fist, and put it through the door
up t6 his elbow
“Jecesus!” Danny said in awe.
Mrs. Carter's pretty little head popped
from under the sheet. “Really, Bang
ng lover, it doesn't accomplish too
much to beat at walls, you know."
“I can't help it when people do things
to little kids," Big Ed said thickly. "Can
I use your handkerchief, sport?”
“Oh, swe!” Danny said. He certainly
admired the way Big Ed blew his nose,
one nostril at a time.
Big Ed sat down on the bed beside
Miss
ISNT iT
EXCITING 21
Danny and Mrs. Carter. “Sport, I'm
going to give you any goddamn pair of
shoulder pads you want in this goddamn
store.”
Mrs. Carter's head popped out again.
"Oh. yes, and anything else your little
heart desires. Take it all. Track shoes,
hockey pucks, tennis nets. And just for-
get you ever saw Mis. Carter here,
hmmm? You swect, sweet child!”
Danny stared at that crazy Mrs. Car-
ter. What the hell did he want with a
hockey puck? It wasn't the season. Her
ms and shoulders were bare. Under
sheet, of course, were her boobs
"d seen them many times. Then Dan-
ny looked quickly at Big Ed, and he
knew what they had been doing. And
they had been doing it together.
“You been doing bad,” Danny said in
a whisper. Big Ed doing bad? Big Ed?
That was much, much worse thin simply
walking into the girls.
“It's not bad, sport,” Big Ed said
quickly. “Who told you that?
Well . . . everybody say
It's not bad,” Big Ed repeated. Sweat
broke out on his forehead as he tried to
think of some understandable words.
"Listen, I can't explain this to you,
sport. But, will you believe me if I say
it’s not bad?
“Oh, sure,” Danny said, instantly ami-
able. You believed anything your best
friend said, no matter what. So, de
bad wasn't bad. OK. "Then going
You name it, sport."
"I don't want the shoulder pads,
said. "I mean, I swear ГЇЇ never tell. But,
there's something else.
A пісе tennis racket, dear; Mrs.
Carter said. “Snowshoes? Your own in-
flatable swimming pool?”
Danny felt shy; he looked at the floor.
et her to let me sec It" he whispered.
lo" Mrs. Carter said. “Why, of
course, What iv”
le" Big Ed said.
Danny raised up to Big Ed's ear.
“Hers. Her thing.”
"Oh," Big Ed said, and he suddenly
understood why one small boy had had
so much small-boy trouble. "Well, why
the hell not?” he said after a moment.
‘The world was full of them; almost ev-
cry other person you met had onc.
TMY PICTURE IN A FAMOUS, NATIONAL,
MAGAZINE ~ THATS WHAT !
GOOD GRIEF!
e
HUGH HEFNER YOU'VE GONE
TOO FAR WITH THIS
WHOLESOME,
GIRENEXT-DOOR
BUSINESS! !!
emgann ениб n crea сә:
"What are you whispering?” Mrs.
Carter asked anxiously.
"Well, Doris, sport here wants to see
you without your clothes on," Big Ed
said kindly, "so take off the sheet”
Danny drifted casually to the foot of
the bed.
“That is completely out of the ques-
tion." Mrs. Carter said. "Give the dear
goddamn child money. Where is my bag?
Where did I leave it
“You've got a pretty little body,” Big
Ed said in a friendly way. "You t
ashamed of it. are you? You'd let sport
look foot, or your ear."
in ears."
“Doris, you're making me lose my tem-
per. I've taken psych courses, and I know
one thing you don't do with a kid is
traumatize him. You've got to satisfy his
curiosity. Otherwise, sporr'll grow up to
he one of those creeps who likes to burn
itches secret.”
“I couldn't care Iess,” Mrs. Carter said,
under the sheet.
Big Ed stopped arguing: he leaned
forward and ripped off the sheet, and
there It was. And Danny stared and
stared and stared апд...
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicacan barks of yore,
That gently. o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary, wayworn wanderer
bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas. long wont to
roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic
face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me
home...
Danny put his hand over his mouth
ad giggled. Ir just looked funny, that
was all.
"What's the matter?” Big Ed asked.
Danny didn't to say: he
shrugged.
“Well, all the important organs are in
the interior of the body," Big Ed said,
g up a pencil. Danny leaned
nst him, watching him draw. "Now
the ovaries are right about here. Each
month
"God!" Mrs. Carter grabbed at the
sheet, “Pictures,
Big Ed picked out the best pair of
shoulder pads in the store for Danny.
Then he unlocked the front door and
they hung there, reluctant to part, like
two comrades who had fought a long
nd who would never sce cach other
again. For the remainder of their lives
they would live among aliens who had
not fought, who had no idea how it had
been. And there was no way to say
goodbye or I love you.
"S; that Miss Bee," Rig Fd
"Where's she live?”
"In the Miles Standish apartments,”
Danny said. "Only her name's Benson.
We just call her Miss Bee.” Then sud.
denly he beg: . "See you!" he
yelled back. *
Big Fd
slammed the door.
Monday mor
war
called, and he
In't give a damn. He knew some-
g the rest of his male acquaintances
didn't—oh, he might tell them someday
—and he had shoulder pads, too. Let one
kid, just one kid, mention the girls’ toi-
lets and he'd put a block on him in foot
ball practice no one would ever forget.
TI ternoon three teachers gath-
cred in the lounge for a coffee break.
“Do you have Danny Phillips in your
classes?” Miss Gorman, the librarian,
asked.
“The one who drops his pencil?” Mrs.
Harper, the history teacher, said. "Yes.
Why?"
Well, he gave me the weirdest feeling
this morning,” Miss Gorman said. “The
way he looked at me.” She laughed nerv-
ously. "He made me feel so strange . -
as if I was standing there without any
clothes on, or something.”
“Rot,” Miss Benson, the physed in
structor, said firmly. "He's only a chi
You read too much imaginative litera
ture, my dear. You should come bowl
some night with me.”
When Miss Benson
apartment, later that day, the telephone
was ringing and, as she hurried to an-
swer it, the castrated tomcat looked up
from his pillow and grinned, as if he
knew who was calling, as if he knew
1 thing might happen
night in a small room with wall-to-
wall carpeting, a hi-fi, a real neat little
bar with a bottle of Black & White, and
a great big bed.
walked into her
what an un
155
PLAYBOY
STINGRAY (continued from page 107)
all their money he was surprised that it
was hardly more than an unpainted
shack with a few bunks in it It
stood in a sandy space among spindly
pine trees bleeding resin. The kitchen
stove was an iron wood burner, and the
plumbing was outdoors. The cook, Char-
ley Bird, wore a dirty apron and was
pulling feathers from a chicken when
they drove up.
Ike didn't show his disappointment.
He was the newcomer to the group.
"They had been a long time inviting him,
and he knew he was being tested. He
was careful, because he liked these men
nd, regardless of the cabin, wanted to
be included among them.
The first evening while Charley Bird
fried fillets from blues they'd caught,
they drank gin under
ached to the
stud poker on a scarred table. Charley
Bird kept a mist of insect killer rolling
around them. Ike played a tight game,
winning a few dollars by tough and can-
ny betting. It was, he was sure, how they
wished him to play.
He was up first the next morning.
When the others staggered out tousled
and bleary-cyed, he had already loaded
it, gear and gasoline into the boat. Be-
ase of him, they were able to put into
the bay earlier. He felt their approval.
The grayblue water was perfectly
calm under a blazing yellow sun. The
bay was so smooth it looked as if it could
be walked upon. Ike was no longer afraid
he might become seasick. He was able
to relax enough to enjoy both the com-
piny and the fishing.
During the morning they had little
luck, though Beanie got his stingray and
a fairsized drum which he stuffed into a
croaker hanging over the side.
Bobo, their helmsman, had taken them
around several buoys and a steel light-
house with spidery legs set on rocks. Fi-
ally they had pulled up anchor and
just let the boat drift with the tide in
the hope of bungling ir
It was lazy living. They sat in the
shade of the canopy smoking and talking
quietly. They drank cans of beer from
the ice chest, being careful to sink them
when empty instead of letting them float
on the water. The boat weltered a little.
They bit into peppery sirloin sandwich-
es Charley Bird had fixed for them and
pped in wax paper.
In the midafternoon Ike was the first
to sec the sky changing. The others were
supposed to be old sults, yet his alert-
icked out the cloud.
he asked.
4L in the dark shade of the
the cloud. Bobo
They st
to peer
shielded his eye
“Black,” he said. "We better move
There was no alarm in his voice. He
156 had simply stated a fact. Doc switched
on the engine, pressed the starter and
engaged the clutch. Bobo swung them
around toward id. Beanie and Ike
reeled in lines and straightened tackle as
the boat moved toward the hazy line of
the shore.
Beanie opened them each a can of
cold beer from the ice chest. They sat
drinking and discussing the fact that if
there were a storm, they might uy surf
casting for striped bass which often hit
bait in rough weather. Occasionally
Bobo would turn to look at the tum-
bling black. cloud spreading rapidly over
the sky. It was as if two skies were over
them—one dark as night, the other be-
longing to the day. Doc increased their
specd, and water slapped against the
bottom of the boat.
It always does this on the workers’
holidays,” Beanie said.
‘They felt the first breeze from the
storm. One moment the air was hot and
moist around them, and the next a cool-
ness touched their sw ski Tke
smiled at the relief from heat, but he
saw the others were glancing more fre-
quently at the black cloud swallowing
up the sky.
He looked at the land. The shore was
still a long way off. Apparently an ebb
tide had carried them farther than any
of them had realized. The was not
only cooler, but there were also swell
the water. The boat rocked on growing
waves.
The breeze, too, had become stronger,
gusting at times and throwing spray into
their faces. Some blue sky was left, but
most of it was covered with black cloud:
Shafts of sunlight piercing the land wer
smothered.
"There's the rain," Beanie said.
They could see it falling behind dem.
At first it was miles away. Like a veil
blotted out all that it covered and m
advancing pits in the water. Squawking
gulls were flying out of
Ike shifted on the bi
many people born
mountains, he was a poor sv
was used to trout streams and narrow
rivers, not open, unlimited water. He
looked at the life jackets stored in
the bow.
Wind and rain hit them simultaneous-
ly—like a fist. Ike was surprised and
made anxious by the force of the blow.
The boat heeled, hung trembli
righted itself. Rain, shooting obliquely,
stung his skin. Like the others, he
cold. They huddled under the flapping
canopy.
Bobo fought to keep the boat on
course as rain twisted about them. They
were still bucking an ebb tide, which
caused the canoe to fishtail. Each time
that happened, wind hit them br
The boat kept falling off and
into deepening troughs of
d seat. Like so
nd reared im the
nmer. He
g, and
swelling
waves. Water foamed higher than the
gunwales.
Because of the rain pouring on them,
they could no longer see land. Bobo was
only guessing at his course, as he had no
compass. The swooping motion of the
boat caused Ike's stomach to tighten
sickeningly- He was shivering from cold.
Water had slopped into the boat and
pling back and forth under the
floor boards. He wanted to put on a life
jacket, bur did not because doing so
ight appear cowardly to the others.
The Dodge engine sputtered and
stopped. Quickly Doc pressed the starter.
The engine caught and ran. They were
I relieved. Then the engine quit a sec
ond time. Working very fast with his sur-
geon's hands, Dec unscrewed a cap and
checked the gasoline with a dipstick.
The fuel was low. Beanie twisted the top
from a fivegallon сап. The boat was
turning longways into the waves, and
more water was coming over the side.
Just as Beanie started pouring in gaso-
line, a howling gust of wind and rain hit
them, The canopy ripped off. The boat
dipped sideways into а yawning trough.
A gunwale caught the wave, and water
fell in. The boat stayed down. In a mo-
ment it was full of water.
Ike lunged for one of the life jack-
ets. Fighting to keep his head up, he
strapped it on. The wooden boat did
not sink entirely, but lay awash. Tackle
boxes, rods, and the three other life jack-
ets floated away. The crabs found frec-
dom. Ike's bare leg brushed the clinging
softness of a jellyfish, and he jerked it
back. The leg began to sting.
He was very much frightened, He
held tightly to the boat, which weltered
heavily in the waves. The others were
doing the same. The water scemed warm
compared to the wind.
“If we just hang on, we'll be all
right,” Doc told them. He had Jost his
billed cap. “These things don't
long."
"Somebody ll mi
His sombrero drooped.
us," Beanie agreed.
"Charley Bird'll
have the oystermen out looking for u
“The
d's blowing us toward
Bobo said. His silver hair was
plastered flat чо his skull, “Whether
they find us or not, we ought to land on
а beach.
The storm beat-on them. Black clouds
rolled right down over the water, and
the rain hissed. The boat, low in the wa-
ter, would not entirely support them.
They had to stay outside and grasp the
edges. Big waves sent it under. At such
moments they all bobbed free and wait-
ed for the boat to rise.
During the late afternoon the rain
lightened somewhat, and the wind
quieted.
“It's gone now," * Doc said. "In a few
minutes we'll see sunsh
He was wrong. They were merely
pocket of the storm. The rain
gain
“That part you promised me—is it in a nice,
wholesome, family-type picture?”
PLAYBOY
158
grew heavy, and the wind shrieked. In
spite of his life jacket, waves splashed at
Ike’s mouth and he swallowed salt water.
ing, he pulled back his head. Rain
hit against his face and clenched eyelids.
Nobody said anything about the low-
ering darkness, but they knew if they
weren't found before night, there was no
chance of rescue until morning. Rain
continued to fall. Gradually blackness of
night joined that of the storm. They
could see no lights, but in lulls of the
wind they heard the distant mourning of
а foghorn.
Bobo was the first to have trouble.
Older than the rest of them, he was
growing weak. Waves tore him loose
from the boat, and swimming had made
him arm-weary~He sank under the wa-
t all right. He was limp with
n and cold. Beanie got on one
side of him and Doc on the other. Be-
tween them they held him up.
During the long hours, however, they,
too, grew tired. Waves broke over them,
and they had to struggle not to lose
Bobo. His head lolled about,
Ike believed they were going to die.
He could imagine a story in the newspa-
pers about their bodies being found. He
had once read of drowned men eaten by
crabs and turtles. He drew up his feet as
if a wrinkled, ancient mouth were rcach-
ing for his flesh.
There was no end to the night.
Though the waves rhythmically lessened
in size, unexpected big ones smashed at
them and buried the boat, It would stay
under a long time. Slimy from jellyfish,
they groped for it like blind men.
Bobo was in bad shape. His head
slumped forward until his face was in
the water. Bi and Doc struggled to
hold him up. They put him into the
which would partially support him,
ives washed him out.
“Give him the life jacket,” Doc called
across to Ik
“No,” Ike said.
“You're still strong. We can put the
jacket on him and if we lose him he'll
stay afioa
"I don't want to drown either."
"Damn you, give us the jacket," Bean-
ie said, pulling himself around the boat
to Ike. He jerked at the harness. Ike
knocked away the hand.
"Keep off me,” Ike said,
doubled.
Bcanie's sombrero hid most of his face
as they bobbed side by side. Beanie
cursed. Doc was holding Bobo.
"Im all right,” Bobo said weakly, “I
Yt need it.
"You need it" Doc told him.
“ГИ be OK," Bobo insisted.
Beanie pulled himself back around
the boat to help Doc hold Bobo. They
were losing the power of gripping with
his fist
their hands. The force of the waves
pulled insistently at Bobo.
"Lets use our belis,” Beanie si
"We'll put them together and strap him
to me."
“Tf they weren't all watching a movie, there
might be a chance we'd be spotted."
He wasn't talking to Ike, who had
again closed his eyes against the rain. He
heard them thrashing around in the wa-
ter on the other side of the boat.
Toward morning the water quieted
and the wind began to lay. They had
drifted so far they could no longer hear
the foghorn. When the long and terrible
darkness lifted slightly, all but Bobo
raised their trembling faces to the glow
of light. Bobo, unconscious, was strapped
to Beanie, who had lost his sombrero and
whose mouth hung open. Doc, his skin
inflamed from the stings of jellyfish,
moved feebly beside them.
Ike heard the plane before the sky was
entirely clear. The aircraft belonged to
the fishing fleet and was used to spot
menhaden. It went over the fi
without seeing them. A few m
er it returned and circled.
The boat that came was not Coast
Guard either, but a fishing trawler. The
engine made deep chuggings in the wa-
ter. The crew pulled them up to a
deck covered with crates and nets. The
captain, а young man in coveralls and
rubber boots, helped Doc work on Bobo.
The men brought clean rags and a
bottle of ammonia for the jellyfish
Bobo groaned. They carried him
side to lay hin on a bunk.
‘The hot sun warmed Doc, Beanie and
Ike. The day was clean and golden
Their clothes were quickly dry. The
cook served them bowls of oatmeal and
mugs of black coffee. They stretched out
on the deck to sleep while the trawler
moved into the mouth of the Rappahan-
nock from the bay.
The trawler maneuvered to a pier
made of black pilings lashed together by
cables. Charley Bird, a doctor and an
ambulance were waiting. A crowd of
women in aprons and white kerchiefs
had come down from the tomato can-
nery. They watched silently while Bobo
was put onto a chrome litter and taken
away in the ambulance. A deputy sheriff
wearing a tan uniform drove Doc, Bean-
ie and Ike to the cabin. The Coa:
Guard had telephoned their wives in
Richmond.
Charley Bird loaded the bags and said
he would clean up the cabin before Iock-
ing it. Ike sat by himself in the rear of
the station wagon.
“Bobo'll be OK," he said
drove toward Richmond.
"Sure," Beanie answered.
“I guess I hit the panic button," Ike
went on, not wanting to plead. "I never
learned to swim much.
Why worry about it?” Doc asked.
Yet neither of them turned to look at
Ike, and from there on in to the city
they talked quietly and as if he were not
among them.
as Doc
TAX AVOIDANCE (continued from page 106)
In the category of personal deduc
tions, everything is turned to advantage.
Even illness has its saving grace. Like
certain head-cold remedies, sickness
works two ways for you. First, the tax
collector allows you to deduct from your
total income up to $75 a week of the
amount p: to you by your employer
while you were out ill, if the sum paid
you was 25 percent less than your nor-
mal paycheck. But your pay is not con-
sidered tax-free until you have been
home for seven days, unless you have
spent at least one day in the hospital.
If you were sick longer than 30 days,
you may deduct up to $100 a week after
the 30th day, whether your boss reduced
your pay scale or not. Thus, if you have
received your normal salary of, say, $250
per week for a period of time during
which you were lolling in bed with
an ice pack on your head or ogling
the nurses from a hospital pallet, you
may claim up to $100 a week as tax-
free for every week after the first 30 day
‘This rule, however, has a proviso: Your
company must have a regular sick-pay
plan in effect—which, chances аге, it has.
if you have been paid at all while ill.
The second advantage of illness is
the medical bills. Receipts from doctors,
dentists and druggists and all hospital
charges are deductible. The ALMs-
man, however, doesn't stop there. He
also remembers to deduct all
such items as eyeglasses, hospitalization
insurance, health and accident poli
nd even that portion of his auto li
insurance that goes for medical pay-
ments. He also deducts the cost of
portation to and from the hospital, the
doctor or the dentist. If he drives, the
rate allowed is five cents a mile. One
alert taxpayer won a ruling from Inter-
Revenue permitting him to deduct
the cost of transportation to and from
meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous,
since he had joined on doctor's orders.
In calculating all these items, it is im-
portant to remember that medical ex-
penses are deductible only if they exceed
three percent of your income—after busi-
ness expenses, if any, have been deduct-
ed. Thus, the lucky ALMsman is he who
is slightly, but expensively, ill in the
course of the year.
Theft (and other lucky mishaps). The
ordinary driver who suffers a smashed
fender curses his luck. The ALMsman,
on the other hand, takes a cheerier view
of such adversity. If the damage was
covered by insurance, he will be re-
imbursed. If it wasn't, he may da
what is called “casualty” loss for
damage over and above $100. He will
also deduct the fce paid the appraiser
who assessed the damage. Uninsured
theft losses are deductible, too. But the
experienced avoider knows that there is
a distinction between something stolen
and something lost. He must be pre-
pared to offer proof that his watch was
heisted, not merely left behind in the
men's washroom of a Midwestern air-
port. In the case of either theft or
ty loss, a police report made at the time,
repair bills and appraisals will help sup-
port the claim.
Charity. Although averse to making
any unnecessary contribution to the In-
ternal Revenue Service, the ALMsman
makes contributions to charity drives, to
churches or to cultural organizations. He
knows that charity begins and ends at
home. All such donations are deductible.
If you have made a contribution to the
alumni fund, the sum is deductible.
Have you purchased benefit tickets to a
Broadway play, a movie or sports event?
И so, remember to deduct the excess
over the regular admission price, Even
if you haven't given a Goya to a public
gallery, you may have donated a dresser
to the Salvation Army. You are allowed
to deduct the fair market value of such
gifts. You may also deduct any extra
costs incurred by you while working as
a volunteer for such organizations as the
United Fund or the Civic Orchestra: car-
fare, out-of-pocket auto expenses (at the
five-cents-a-mile rate), ec. But don't uy
to deduct the value of your services.
meed avoiders overlook
many small items in this category. Add
up your receipts. You will be surprised
to learn how generous you are.
Interest. Whether the ALMsman
sports an Alfa Romeo or drives a second-
hand Dodge, he remembers to deduct
the interest on the auto loan, or
on any other personal loans. Installment
purchases ordinarily entail payment of
interest charges, whether they are spec-
ified or not. The canny ALMsman takes
the trouble to determine the amount of
such charges, then takes the trouble to
deduct them.
Education. Schooling, like
has virtues that are not immediately
apparent. First, scholarships and many
fellowships represent forms of income
that are exempt from the tax man. If
you are studying for a degree, you
should know that a scholarship is tax-
free, except for payments received as
compensation for teaching or research.
This exemption covers the value of
ts for tuition and matriculation fees
as well as for room, board, laundry and
similar expenses. is earmarked for
the payment of travel expenses, research
costs or clerical help are also tax
you are not studying for a degree, your
grant may still be tax-free up to $300 per
month lor up to 36 months.
The benefits of education,
well as otherwise, continue even after
one is no longer a fulltime student.
Thus, if you are working while taking
courses on the side, you may be able to
sickness,
deduct their cost. Remember here that
what is important is not what you learn,
but why. Among the more Byzantine
paradoxes of the tax code there is one
that provides that you may deduct the
costs of continuing education only if you
are taking the courses at the behest of
your boss, or—and read these words
closely—if the courses are to maintain
and improve your business or profession-
al skills in your present occupation.
What this odd phrascology means is that.
you may not daim a deduction for edu-
cation expenses incurred in an attempt
то qualify yourself for a different or bet-
ter job.
Horatio Alger would shudder at the
implications of such an ambition-dead
ening rule, but the fact remains that you
must be able to persuade the tax collec-
tor that any better job you got as a
consequence of off-the-job educational ac-
tivity was incidental, not central, to your
purpose. If you happen to earn a degree
it also must be a by-product
1 the purpose. Once you have
satisfied these eccentric essentials, you
may deduct the full cost of tuition, fees,
books, equipment and the like.
Carcful ALMsmen may also be able to
deduct the cost of foreign travel as edu-
cational expense. The Treasury remains
unimpressed by the argument that travel
broadens. Yet a pair of peripatetic tax-
payers who fought it out in court suc-
ceeded in establishing their right to
claim at least part of their expenses for
trips abroad. Thus, a schoolteacher was
permitted to deduct half the cost of a
tour sponsored by Temple University.
He attended lectures at various Euro-
pean universitics and received academic
credit for his trip. The court found that
the tour had helped him to main
and improve his teaching skills.
There are many other intr
items that fall under the heading of per-
sonal deductions. Indeed, the array of
allowable items that greets the eye of the
avoider is so great that no capsule guide
such this one can describe them all.
But those noted above are the major
ones.
In the meantime, the category of busi-
ness deductions is no less fruitful a field
for investigation by the eager ALMsm:
Professional Expenses. The ALMsman
is often a joiner. He remembers to
deduct all membership fees or dues
professio: associations for which he
himself has had to foot the ЬШ. He
also keeps tabs on how much he spends
for books, trade journals and other
items essential to his professional ac-
ti Other expenses incurred as part
of making your living also may be de-
ducted, such as the rental of a safe-depos-
it box in which you keep bankbooks,
stock certificates, Government bonds, etc.
Remember, too, that fees paid to an em-
ployment agency (say for a successful job
placement) or to an investment counse-
159
PLAYBOY
lor are deductible. Even special clothing
may be deductible, if it is required by
your work. But caution must prevail.
Don't wy to deduct ordinary business
clothes. You will have a hard time prov-
ing that your monogrammed boxer
trunks are indispensable to your office
uniform.
Wining and Dining. The rules of
ALMsmanship are not puritan. Even
the Treasury's hardest-nosed collectors
recognize that it is possible to transact
business over a dinner table. Fear not,
therefore, to lift the cup, or to share a
chateaubriand, with a blue-chip dient.
But when the time comes, as it may,
when you must convince the collector
that you are an avoider and not an cvad-
er, be prepared to demonstrate that you
were not merely living it up or repaying
a friend for past favors. It helps if you
can prove that you were trying to line
up new business.
The tax m: I not require detailed
documentation of business purpose in
order to support a deduction claimed for
wining and dining in a restaurant or bar
whose setting is conducive to the talking
of turkey. You don't even have to prove
that turkey was talked—merely that it
might have been. But you will need rec-
ords to cstablish: (a) the cost of the meal
or drinks, (b) the name of the customer
or prospect and (c) the general business
purpose. If the tab totals more than $25,
you will also need a receipt.
It's hardly necessary to mention that
the ALMsman does not forget that his
own food is a legitimate part of the cost.
If there's one thing a tax man hates to
sce, it is a malnourished taxpayer. Thus,
do not hesitate to deduct the cost of
your own meal or drinks as well as that
of your guest. Argue later, if necessary.
‘The able avoider bears in mind, how
ever, the maxim that—as phy
philosophers and tax agents all agree
—excess is evil.
Deductions for the cost of d g out
in restaurants stand a better chance of
being allowed than the cost of night-
clubbing, theater or concert attending,
nd other such entertainments in which
distractions may take the mind off of the
dollars-and-cents justification for the oc-
casion. This is not to say, however, that
more elaborate business entertainment is
ruled out. Indeed, tax history is full of
examples of artful avoiders—usually
businesses rather than individuals—who
claimed, and were allowed, deductions
for such items as a $5000 golf party, а
3,758 Christmas whiz-bang and $10,-
903 worth of Kentucky Derby festivities.
Then there was the disquieting case of a
mortician who claimed “entertainment
expenses" of $77,470 over a threes
period. "This sum was challenged by the
ах men, but а court finally allowed $52,
000 of it. A horse handicapper success-
fully claimed the expense of keeping a
n wi
car
160 yacht on which to socialize with track
officials, turf writers and thoroughbred
fanciers. And one imaginative business-
man jubilantly justified $16,943 worth of
yacht expenses on the slippery ground
that he used the vessel's deck to demon-
strate the quality of nonskid sneakers; a
court upheld his daim.
Internal Revenue htened. its
rules since those halcyon days, but it is
still possible to deduct expenses for tak-
ing a client or a potential customer to a
night dub, theater party, World Series
ne or on a sailboat cruise,
other diversions. What matters
business be discussed, The law dete!
mines how and when.
Thus, such expense may be deductible
if the entertainment occurs immediately
before or after (ї.е.. on the same day as)
a bona fide business discussion. There is,
however, a humane exception for the
out-of-town customer who may come to
your office for a business discussion and
then allow himself to be entertained the
following day, or vice ver
As for yachts, Internal Revenue makes
it dificult, if not impossible, to deduct
the cost of operating your craft. To take
the deduction, you must be able to
prove that the boat is used more than 50
percent of the time for business. You
may then deduct only that part of the
cost of operating the vessel Шар is “di-
rectly related” чо business. Therein,
however, lies a small but effective tax-
code torpedo. For the Treasury contends
that there is little or no possibility of е
gaging in “directly related i
ment on а boat because of distracting
influences.
Paradoxically, while the Government
will not permit you to deduct the cost of
operating the boat, it will allow a deduc-
tion for the actual cost of entertainment
occurring on a boat, if it immediately
precedes or follows that bona fide busi-
ness discussion. ALMsmen who
helmsmen will remember, in such са
10 write off not only the cost of food
drink, but the cost of the boat fuel dur-
ing the cru
Gift-giving. "The manner of gi
is worth more than the gift,” according
to Pierre Corneille, the 17th Century
French playwright. According to Shel-
don Cohen, Commissioner of Intern
Revenue, however, the manner of giving
had better be circumspect, A business
gift may be a legitimate business ex-
pense, and hence deductible as part of
the cost of earning your living. But, says
Cohen, “Taxpayers frequently cannot
prove that they made the expenditure
at all. . . . Many taxpayers who can
prove that they purchased gift items
nnot or refuse to give cxamining
officers the names of the donees. . . .
Gifts to friends and relatives arc often
daimed as business deductions . . ."
A word to the wise avoider: Keep a
record of cach gift, spelling out clearly
its business purpose, But remember that
no business associate is worth more than
a $25 gift as far as the tax man і con-
cerned. “Just friends” are worth nothing
on Form 1040.
Office at Home. The artful avoider
loves his hearth. If you conduct business
at home, don't forget to deduct а per-
centage of the cost of maintaining
your in-the-home office. You don't need
to have your main office at home, but
you must transact business there regular-
ly, either during the evening or at some
other specified time. In short, you've got
to do your homework.
To claim this deduction, set aside a
specific room for business. Provide a
desk, chair, file cabinet and phone with
a business listing. Have business mail ad-
dressed to your home, and keep records
of phone calls, local and long distance,
plus of your business appoint-
ments on the premises.
The skilled ALMsman
cost of his housing—including rent, utili
ties, insurance, domestic help. tips to
doormen, et cetera—then deducts a. per-
centage in proportion to the spacc allot-
ted for business (say, one room out of
five). If the room, however, has uses out-
ide of business, he must reduce the per-
centage accordingly.
The deduction for a home office is
ble not only to self-employed tz
payers, but also to employees—but proof
requirements are stiffer, It is necessary
for the employee to show that his firm
requires him to have such an office; or
that his job requires him to do certain
work regularly outside of office hours.
Travel. Speaking of home, the rules
of ALMsmanship—and of the Internal
Revenue Service—permit you to deduct
the high cost of business trips away
from home. But the IRS has its own
ideas of the meaning of “home.” You
home for tax purposes is considered
10 be the general geographical area of
your business or office, and to deduct
the cost of business travel you must be
away from this area longer than a work-
ing day.
To daim meals on a trip lasting less
than a day, you must take time out for
sleeping, although no one as yet insists,
especially if you happen to be an in-
somniac, that you actually sleep. Dozing
will do.
Then there is the long trip, lasting
several months or more. In order to
daim a deduction here—a sizable one—
you must show that your assignment was
temporary and that during your absence
you maintained a "home" to return to.
This may prove frustrating for bache-
lors, inasmuch as tax men contend that
bachelor’s home is wherever he hangs his
hat.
Once it has been established that you
do, in fact, possess a stationary base
called a home, and that you've been
away from it on a business trip, you may
ics up the
deduct businessconnected
tion charges. If you usc your own
iss. you m
transporta-
for
Whether you drive your own car or not,
you тау deduct cab fares, phone
Ils, the cost of lodging, baggage charges,
iundry expenses and tips. Internal Rev
enue, it should be noted, will disallow
expenses deemed 10 be “lavish or extrav-
agant," But avoidance being an art, not
science, words like “lavish or extrav
gant” are not defined—which often leads
to semantic haggling. But one minor cer-
tainty exists: The cost of first-class travel
1 hotel accommodations is not consid-
cred extr nt per se. Hence, the ex:
pert ALMsman travels, and travels well.
He goes first-class by plane, train or
ship—but he doesn't go overboard.
‘The wise ALMsman also knows that if
he has actually moved his home from
one city to another to take a full-time
job in a new location, he can—if the
move was 20 miles or more from his
old job location and his former home,
l if he continues to be employed in
the new location 39 weeks or more—de-
duct the expense of moving for himself,
his family and his personal goods. He re-
members to include in this sum anv
amounts spent for storage in transit, and
for meals and lodging en route.
Vacations. The ALMsman also learns
quickly that there is a fine, if sometimes
fuzzy, line between business and pleas-
€. Thus he knows that work and
ation travel can sometimes be profit-
v combined. If he is selling sewing
machines in Salzburg, there's nothing to
op him from taking advantage of the
skiing while he's there. Financial ne-
gotiations in Florida may facilitate fish-
. But the experienced ALMsman
exercises Caution
When the prime purpose of a trip is
conducted. The important thing is to be
able to show that the main motive for
the trip was business. But don't try to
deduct your extract r vacation
costs, too.
If you are on a reimbursement ar-
gement, and your company sends you
on a business trip, the tax collector рга
ciously assumes that there was a bu:
neccssity for the trip. But he
convinced if you are self-employed, or if
vou are a managing executive of your
company. In these cases, reimbursement
is not enough. You must be able to
prove that the wip was planned primar
ly for business and not merely to pro-
vide a fig leaf of excuse for some faraway
fun,
The experienced ALMsman_ recog-
the above lis
loopholes and indulgences
ng of business
; of necessi
ty, only partial. The legal art of
avoidance permits of infinite variet
is time. however, to move on to that fas
cinating final category of supplementary
deductions listed on the tax form under
the heading "Other —which afford the
ALMsman a vast variety of new possibil-
ities for paring down his Absolute Legal
Minimum to even trimmer proportion:
In this category of deductions, the
chief savings offered have to do with noi
salary income. Of all the principles of
ALMsmanship. none is more important
than the one expressed in the following
syllogism: Not all forms of income are
equally taxed; salaries and wages are
more hcavily taxed than other forms of
income: ergo. the advanced avoider at-
tempts to shift as much of his income
possible into nonsalary forms. This
means that the avoider must begi
plying the path of the ALMsman long
before April 15—all year round, fact,
secking ways to earn аз much as possible
in those forms of income that are taxed
the least.
Dividends. Not everyone, пони
ly, receives dividend
who do, however, have a special
tage. The first 5100 of dividend
is tax-free. More important, dividends
reduce your final A.L.M. by two percent
against all remaining dividend income.
For example, the man who receives $500
dividends in the course of the yea
suburacts $100 as t; е. The ren
ing $400 gives him а two-percent credit
(cight dollars) to be deducted from his
fi 1964 bill. Since this is neatly
sliced from the final tax figure rather
than from total income or adjusted tax-
able income, it is the equivalent of
deduction several times its size. Do not
despise such small favors. They can add
up to a tidy savings.
Gifts, Personal Damages and Inhcii-
tance. The rule here is short None of
these forms of income is subject to in-
come tas. Consequently, receive as many
gifts as you can. If you have been hit by
an onrushing locomotiv
much as pos
ven more import
as you can.
Capital Gains. ‘The novice has, per-
haps, heard of capital gains and not
understood the term. The true avoider
has fully penetrated its mysteries. A cap
gain is what you get when you sell
your shares of А. T. & T. for more than
you paid, or when you own a parcel of
real estate and sell it for more than its
purchase price to you, It has nothing to
do with dividends or other income you
may have received from ownership of
the asset. It is merely the quintessence of
buy-low-scll-high.
The expert ALMsman knows that
capital gains come in two types—long
term and short term, He knows also tha
collect as
ble in personal. damages.
much
, inherit
“Tt goes tock tick.”
PLAYBOY
162
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THE PLAYBOY JAZZ
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VOLUME 2
p
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biographies, discographies. Over an hour and a
half of the finest Jazz by the World's greatest
artists. Includes: Sinatra, Armstrong, Ella
Fitzgerald, J.J. and Kai, Brubeck, Garner,
Gillespie, Shelley Manne, Shorty Rogers and
many тоге. A definite collector's item for
every record library. Available in monaural only.
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PLAYBOY JAZZ
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Playboy Club keyholders may charge by en-
closing key number with order.
THE
PLAYBOY
HAND
PUPPET
Add a bright touch to any
gathering with this captivating puppet
modeled atter the famous Playboy Rabbit.
56, ppd.
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PLAYBOY PRODUCTS
232 East Ohio Street = Chicago 11, Illinois
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a short-term capital gain occurs when
the individual sells a capital asset that
has belonged to him for six months or
less. If he has held it for more than six
months before selling, it becomes a long-
ital gain. The significance of
ction is more than academic. It
is the cornerstone of considerable wealth,
For if you have made any money from
short-term capital gains, this money is
taxed at your regular tax rate, as deter-
mined by your taxable income figur
(The minimum is 16 percent, the m;
mum 77 percent) But if your moncy has
come from a long-term capital gain, it is
taxed at no more than 25 percent, even
if you are otherwise in, say, the 77-
percent. bracket.
Moreover, should you happen to lose
money in a stock transaction or in real
estate, you are permitted to deduct up to
51000 from taxable income u
"This is known as
by amy grim accident, your loss should
exceed $1000, you may deduct up to
$1000 cach year until the loss is cli
nated. T amount of capital loss Шаг
may be deducted is reduced by the
amount of capital gain, if any.
The advanced avoider concludes the
obvious. Of all the common forms of in-
come, income from gains is the.
most sheltered. He therefore strives to
bring in as much as he in the form
of longterm capital gains—buying low
and selling high in the fine old Yankee
tradition of the merc! and traders
who founded the nation.
Records. In ages past, men kept diaries
10 record their more memorable mo-
ments for posterity, or to permit them
to savor, in old age, the
their youth. Men keep diaries
too. Especially ALMsmen. The artful
avoider who wants to avoid prolonged
оп with a T-man will get into
laybook” in
which he enters xpenditures that are
business-related. He will also stuff into a
receipted bills for business
1 tabs, hotel and motel
e.
ave a rei
bills, and the
If you
nbursement arrange-
ment with your employer, you must
keep these records principally for his
are adequate and for r
your bona fide business c:
is done, you probably will not have to
produce your own records for the tax
man. But if you are self-employed, or if
you are a managing executive in your
company, you may expect that prying
eyes will want to review your private
journal. The more detailed it is, the bet-
ter your claim is likely to be.
The ALMsman’s Advisor. The ambi-
tious ALMsman seldom works alone.
He asks an accountant or attorney to
help him prepare his tax form, secure
in the knowledge that the fce paid for
for the retiring
playmate... A
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232 East Ohio Street * Chicago, Ilinois 60611
PlayboyClubkeyholders may charge by enclosing key по.
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Keep six issues of your favorite magazine,
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132 East Ohio St. * Chicago 11, Illinois
this service is itself deductible. He is
aware, however, that anyone who can
letter TAx HELP on a shingle has the
right to set up in business and charge for
advice. "Tax experts now number in the
tens of thousands. Like li in the
spring, many of these flower in March
and fade away in April, sometimes with
appalling results.
The carcful avoider chooses his advi
sor with deliberation. He guards against
the expert who glibly guarantees a tax
refund. He is even cagicr about the ex-
pert who hands him a blank tax form to
sign and suggests that the details be left
to him. Some so-called advisors have
taken signed forms, claimed illegal de-
ductions and exemptions, won fraudu-
lent refunds for their clients on the
strength of them, and then disappeared,
leaving the client to confront the collec
tor later on. In effect, the "advisor
turned the client into a tax evader. The
fact that the client may have been igno-
rant of what was being done is not con-
lered a justifiable excuse. He has, in
t, put his signature under a false
t. The penalty for such fal-
be stiff indeed, and the
usclf is held responsible.
lt goes without saying, finally, that
with or without an advisor, the ALMs-
man always files a form. Even if he con-
cludes that he owes nothing to Internal
Revenue, he goes through the motion of.
filing. Failure to file may, in itself, turn.
an avoider into an evader. The tempta-
tion to forget to file is sometimes over-
powering. Resist
spiring avoider who has
may already begin to feel a
ked; but the rewards of his persever-
ant attention will be manifold —and the
climax of his effort is near. For he will
be prepared, after making the suggested
subtractions, to arrive at his taxable in-
come, that stark statistic which will de-
termine, once and for all, his Absolute
Legal Minimum. No mauer what his
A.L.M. turns out to be, of cou the
true avoider will passionately believe
Ч t is too high. He will comb back
over the figures secking the tiniest stray
crror which, if corrected, might force his
A.L.M. down still further.
At that moment he will, no doubt,
think of all the things he might have
done, or that his employer might have
done, to reduce his A.L.M. to the van-
ishing point. He will think of perquisites,
for example. He will know that if his
company had only provided him with an
automobile as an emblem of his execu-
tive importance—or with country-club
membership, or with free medical check-
ups, dining-room privileges, courtesy
discounts on company products or no-
interest loans—he might have enjoyed
the fruits of
an incen
ase requisites
in lieu of cash are often the employer's
way of sheltering his executives from the
cold touch of the tax collector.
The avoider may think, too, about
stock options, those incentive-energizing
devices under which a company offers
its employees the right to purchase its
stock at a stipulated price at a date in
the future when the market price is ex-
pected to be higher. Such options have
provided windfalls for their lucky recipi-
cnts—income that normally falls in the
tal gains category.
"The farsighted ALMsman thinks also
about profit sh Under such an ar-
rangement a company salts away а sum
ch year—often up to 15 percent or
more of one's annual salary—for its em-
ployees. It invests these funds for them.
Not only is the return on investment
tax-free to the fund, but when the em-
ployee leaves or retires, and receives his
share of the fund, he pays only the capi-
tal gains rate on it.
Then there is the lucky avoider who
knows in advance that he is likely to
have a very large income in a single
year. He may be helped by deferring
part of that income to future years when
his take-home, and hence his tax brack-
et, may be smaller. Writers, actors and
other professionals whose income fluc-
tuates widely from year to year often de-
Ier part of their earnings in a good year.
Not all such deferred payment plans are
wise, however. The ALMsman may sur-
prise himself and carn an even higher
income in a year when a deferred р;
ment falls due, thus winding up in а
higher bracket than before. Moreover, a
deferred payment plan is only as safe as
the solvency of the company that agrees
to the plan. In short, deferment should
be considered, but one bird in the
ALMsman's palm may be worth two in
the collector's coffer.
Even if deferring income is not advan-
tageous, however, averaging it may be.
Averaging is a ploy invented for the
man on the rise. It is a dismal theorem
of economics that the higher your in-
come, the higher your tax bracket. The
man who sees his paycheck increase
sharply in one year may sce almost all his
increase eaten away when he is bounced
into a higher bracket. The averaging
gambit helps buffer him against this un-
wanted effect. If his 1964 income exceed-
ed the average of the four previous years
by one third plus $8000, he qualifies for
averaging. This permits him to count
part of his income as if it had been
cared over a fiveyear period, and
therefore permits him, in effect, to freeze
his tax bracket at a lower level than if it
were counted as a single year’s income.
Consider the case of the ambitious
young lawyer who won a big case last
year. For the previous four years his in-
come averaged only $12,000. Last ycar,
however, it spurted to $20,000—more
than one third plus $3000 over the four-
year average. Thus qualified, he then
can calculate his average, add one third
to it, and come up with a figure of $16,-
000. Up to that figure, he pays tax at the
normal rates. But the $4000 beyond that
is taxed, more or less, at the same rate as
if his total income were only $16,000.
The result: a lower-than-ordinary brack-
et and a slenderized bill. The rules on
are hellishly complex, but the
ascendant avoider does not let this hin-
der his search for the A.L.M. Having
considered their use, he is now ready
to conclude his efforts.
As the artful avoider gives his tax re-
turn a last look before affixing his sign
ture, he inevitably stops to consider
again the critical difference between
avoidance and evasion. He realizes how
portant it is not to be lured across the
line that separates the two, and he re
calls, perhaps, the sorry fate of the man
who was seduced by a rhinoceros. For
many years the tax rcturns of a major
U.S. circus and its owners were prepared
by a gentleman whose three-ring imagi-
nation was evidently as colorful and
comic as the circus itself. He once di
covered, a flash of insight, a hid-
den relationship between revenue and
rhinoccroscs. This revelati spelled his
downfall, It de of him an evader iı
stead of an avoider. In filling out his
client's tax return one ycar, he claimed a
sizable deduction for depreciation on one
rhinoceros. He claimed the animal had
cost the circus a purchase price of $35,000,
whereas the going rate for rhinoceroses
was a mere $3500. This particular rhinoc-
eros, moreover, was nonexistent.
In the years that followed, he managed
to make a circus out of the tax returns by
deducting depreciation on a vast mena
erie of such imaginary animals. Five gi-
raffes, eight tigers, nine zebras, 23 camels,
23 lions, 665 horses, not to speak of assort-
ed elephants—all creatures of his fecund.
ation—thundered and trampled
across the tax forms. As time rolled by and
the maximum permissible depreci
was reached on cach of his rapidly agi
phantom herd, he would drop them
from the form, claiming that the circ
had disposed of them. In this and other
ways, he managed to conceal something
ke $6,000,000 in earnings of the
cus owners, for whom he also prepared
individual income tax returns. His
adry might have continued
ely had not some sharp-eyed
biggame hunters in the Internal Rev-
enue Service been intrigued by the mys-
tery of what happened to 48 pachyderms
he claimed the circus had abandoned one
year. Their hunt for the vanished elc-
phants proved futile, and the evader
made a safari to jail. The elephant joke
on him.
The artful avoider will grasp the mor-
of this beastly tale. You can make a
jungle of your fiscal affairs, but you can't.
make a monkey of the IRS.
Lj
163
PLAYBOY
164
PLAYBOY
166
BAR-OUL SAPAIRIL
the country, can’t judge trophy heads,
ties to sleep with your girlfriend and
has employed a surly gunbearer and a
lousy cook. You don’t need a white hunt
er who can't fix anything that happens
to a car, a gun or a camera—and believe
me, something is always breaking down
on safari, whether it's a car ruining its
bearings, a scope jumping suddenly out
of focus, or a camera with its innards
full of sand, water or just plain
contrariness.
"The white hunter should be most of
the things contained in the boyscout
code—kind, courteous, thoughtful, able,
inventive, amusing, undrunk, brave and,
above all things, competent at running
an outfit that will average 12 natives
for a small sa and up to 30 for
one. His skinners should be able to skin
well, so the trophies won't be ruined.
The personal boys should have washed
everything you drop on the floor 20 min
utes after you dropped it. The head boy
and his assistant should be immaculate
in uniform, body and performance. The
gunbearers should be able to bear guns,
(continued. from page 96)
track and skin—and also keep the guns
oiled, the ammo sorted, and the hunting
саг washed clean of yesterday blood.
The cho-boy, the sweeper, should keep
the lavatories sanitary, and the boy who
fills your shower or canvas bathtub
should hold the number of frogs, newts,
shrimps, scorpions and baby alligators to
a bare minimum.
The tentage, if it’s that kind of safa
should be stout and waterproof. If i
like the one I'm on now, the permanent
camp dwellings—whitewashed rondawels
with peaked straw tops and plaster walls
—should be as well tended as a good ho-
tel room. There should be soft toilet
paper and Kleenex and a first-class di
pensary, as well as the Red Cross box that
contains snake-bite treatment and like
that. Everybody should have at least
shlights, as well as pressure
nd the first time the hunter says:
“We had some last weck but we just ran
out of it,” shoot him. Hunters are nearly
always running out of something, i
cluding gin and ammunition.
You cannot have too much gin or am-
КОЕН. “йл э TEE
د
munition. The only thing drier on safari
than a dry throat is a dry gun. The best
part of safari is to be found at night, sit-
ting around the fire with a drink, telling
and listening to a lot of lies, and rehash-
ing the day's heroism, To this aspect of
the trip, alcohol is as necessary as fire-
wood. Most good white hunters are ro-
tund with a fund of anecdotes, plus a
positive wealth of folk, animal and
flora Jore. They should be encouraged to
talk as well as to drink. Most good ones
drink copiously and hold it adequately,
and after all, you are paying for the
booze. When the hunter stops drinking
your gin and eats privately in his tent,
you might as well pack it in.
The hunter-client relationship is as
ticklish as any I know. The “good”
client is a man or woman who comes out
то enjoy the trip, and who does not want
1o kill too much, or to shoot inferior tro
phies. Quite frequently mild men and
mousy women become suddenly blood
mad, and want to squeeze the last drop.
They rise at three Ам. and await the
dawn impatiently, so they can begin the
days murder. They keep lists of wl
they've shot and what they plan to
shoot, down to the last dik-dik on the
ticket, and resent any moment of day
light that is not punctuated by a rifle
biast. The good hunters despise clients
of this stripe, as they hate braggarts who
do not perform well, as they loathe boast-
ers who run when the buffalo charges or
the leopard gets up from his deathbed
for one last pass. One gentleman just
left here, after shooting everything, in-
cluding hippo and crocodile, lion and
cland, tiny oribi gazelle and ugly wilde-
beest. He left his wife in camp, where
she talked all the innocent bystanders
i e he relentlessly milked
every bloody hour from the day. He has
shot everything, everywhere, and is care-
less of trophy. All he wants is to sec
death, and go on to assassinate some-
thing else. As he left after a month, he
tipped his hunter a dollar.
A good hunter should never let a
client shoot anything that isn't a superi
or representative of its species. I have
known one—now delicensed —who would
cheerfully allow the shooter to kill any-
thing, regardless of size, horn length,
mane, sex or species. He also slept with
his clients’ women. Before he was un-
frocked for some peculiar business with
illegal elephant shooting, he achieved
his lifelong triumph. He took 15 womcn
on safari, rewarded one for shooting a
buffalo by bedding her behind an ant-
hill while the boys carved up the other
carcass, and then, later, achieved а re-
verse triumph when his wife invaded ar
other ladys tent—just as our friend's
robe fell off while he was embracing the
lady. The safari ended rather suddenly,
and so did the marriag
A up to the uninitiate has to do with
hunting friends, both male and lady.
Under no circumstances should two
fricnds who have only known each other
in cities, professionally or cocktailwise,
embark on a first safari. Competition
breeds temper, and the two Toots Shor
buddies are apt to wind up as deadly en-
emies when one gent’s leopard is bigger
and spottier than the other fellow’s; опе
lion shaggier, one buffalo wider, one
kudu longer. We had a recent example
of two doctors here in Mozambique;
they came out arm in arm, friends to the
death. In a few days, when Jack shot
something that Charlie hadn't collected,
they quit speaking. Then Charlie
knocked off something that Jack wanted
but couldn't find, and suddenly they re-
quested to hunt out of separate camps.
They went off separately, and will hate
cach other all their lives because Jack's
sable is shorter or Charlie's nyala is
thicker, The only time two men should
hunt together in Africa is when they've
had a vast experience in mutual hunting
in Pennsylvania or South Carolina, and
even then it's dicey.
As for women: Something strange
ppens to women under an African
moon. Hemingway wrote it well in The
Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber.
Momma comes out, perfectly contented
with Poppa. Poppa is showing off in
front of Momma—particularly if Mom-
ma is a younger, second or third spouse.
or perhaps just a girlfriend that Poppa
has fetched to romance under the velvet
пору of African sky, spiced with stars
and slashed by a big butterfat moon.
Tragedy.
Poppa's pure hell in the paper-box
55, but he starts trying to compete
with the outdoor mechanic, the white
hunter, The white hunter is usually
young, always strong, generally charm-
1 very competent at his work,
sing things, tracking things,
killing things and fixing things. He is
full of wise words and anecdotes.
Momma sees the hunter patch up a
busted Land-Rover with chewing gum
and string. Momma sees the hunter go
boldly into the bush after a leopard that
Poppa has gutshot. Momma sees Rock
Hunter stand spraddled in the face of a
ing wounded buffalo because Pop-
pa has also gutshot the bull. Momma
sees Poppa run, stumble and fall, then
watches Rock Hunter save his life by
shoving the barrel of his rifle in the
buffalo's eye. Momma sees Poppa red-
faced and sweating, falling behind, trip-
ping over the grass withes, comp E
about the flies and the bugs, getting his
fingers stuck in the rifle, missing what he
should hit, hitting what he should miss,
like the one cow buffalo in a whole herd
of bulls.
Momma forgets that Poppa is very big
in the paper-box business, that he be-
longs to six clubs, that they have a du-
plex in New York, a country home in
Connecticut, Meissen china, and three
cars, including a Cadillac. She just sees
this little city man trying to compete
with a Rock Hunter type, who does ev-
erything well because he’s done it all his
life. She does not pause to reflect that
Rock Hunter would be a bum in the p
perbox business, couldn't get into the
club, and would be thrown out of Twen-
ty One for being badly dressed. In shorts
and bullet loops, under that papaya slice
of moon, with hyenas calling, lions roar-
ing, fire bright and Poppa down in the
tent with a sprained back, Rock Hunter
is purest romance. Whether or not Rock
Hunter takes advantage of the lady
when she flings herself into his arms and
murmurs, “Darling, take me now, whis-
tling thorns and all,” Momma will never
feel the same about Poppa again. She
may not hate Poppa when they get back
to The Colony and the paper-box facto-
ry and the home in Greenwich, but
when Poppa folds her in his flabby em-
brace she will close her eyes and see
Rock Hunter, not Poppa.
What Poppa should remember, if he
does bring Momma, is that Poppa is old
enough to be rich enough to afford a sa
fari, and that Poppa doesn't know his
rifle from a rhino, and that Poppa
shouldn't try to compete with some
young yahoo who was breast fed by a
lioness and who would be lost in any
place that didn't have trees in it. Poppa
should walk slow, shoot slow, and let
Rock Hunter do the work. In this fash-
ion a certain amount of dignity is main-
ined, and Momma should be forcefully
impressed with the fact that Poppa is
not Tarzan, but only Big Daddy from
the paper-box circuit, out in Africa to
have some fun, not to compete in а rura
Olym h some young Adonis who
is all legs and. nine tenths muscle.
We had a rather sad. example of this
husband diminishment here the other
day. Momma was well-preserved 30ish.
Poppa was not-so-well-preserved Güish.
Poppa was slow to shoot, so Momma
would take the gun away from him and
do it herself. Momma would also laugh
heartily when Poppa missed something,
and remark to the world that Poppa was
too old for this kind of work. It gave the
locals some rather odd ideas about
American marital relationships. Once I
saw a lady command her husband to
shoot that lion, which Poppa had shirked
three times, or else, and this in front of
six other people at the mess table. At
last count, relations were still strained.
It is quite possible that the Portuguese
territories, Mozambique and Angol:
offer more diversified game than any
other areas in Africa. Mozambique will
give you about 20 species for a license
cost of $107, plus extras for a second
head, which can be bought very reason-
ably on a coupon system. Mozambique
will give you elephant, leopard and lion
in addition to the three top trophies—si-
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168
ble, kudu and nyala. If you're a pig fan-
cier, they have the best and biggest wart
hogs I've ever seen, and in great profu-
sion. To me—I'm a pig nut—there is
nothing more emotionally stirring th:
a big pig with 15 inches of ivory sticking
out of each side of his face. The 50-milc-
an-hour chase over log-and-pig-hole-boo-
by-trapped terrain is thrilling, if you can
age to stay inside your doorless Jeep.
(1 got unloaded three times last year.)
The wart hog is not ugly. He's beautiful,
and the tusks, silver-mounted with bottle
opener and corkscrew, make great b.
implements, but it's a tough way to fur-
nish a bar. When youve come to a
screeching halt you have to dash madly
on foot after 300 pounds of armed ani-
ly loves to fight back with
ng knives he wears in his face.
Angola offers you bigger and fewer sa-
aller and fewer kudus, and has
1 better lions
lopes, mostly prohibited in Afri
tun; abies, and the red lechwes,
exotic, if smaller, antelopes which arc
d to come by in most of the other
shooting tei Angola is repre.
sented by Safa Tours & Travel,
Inc, В South Michigan Avenue, Chicago,
and
inga is oper e by an Eng-
ng Brazilian named Jorge
Alves Lima, and Luina-Lengue by a
Senhor Lopo de Carvalho. The other big
concession, the Macusso, is run by Cap-
tain Antonio Mario Tello, and I'm told
it's wonderful. The best source of infor-
tion on Angola, as well as other
n areas is a book by Robert Lee,
Safari Today (The Stackpole
le on
n hunting, if subject to
ge due to wind and political
called
Company), which is really a bi
far-out Afri
sudden cl
weather. A letter to Doctor, Abel Pra
155, Ati ый supply
ion not to be found a
ikar Tours & Travel, which ie all the
circulars providing full how-to
lars and prices.
Sa ar Tours & Travel also has
the complete gen on Safari Outfitters of
Mozambique (Ве
of Lourenco Marques,
(Beira). It handles the Sudan, a practi-
cally unshot area, which offers bongo,
giant eland, Nubian ibex, Mrs. Grey's
lechwe, white-eared kob and lelwel
hartebeest—all unusual trophies, and
mostly peculiar to the area—as well as
most of the common stuff. The same
firm does business for Bechua d,
which gives you giant oryx, the ne
dlehorned prototype of the ancient
unicorn, plus the sable-kudu-lion-leop-
ard-elephant a
If you want to get outside Africa
while you're still dealing with Safa
Shikar Tours & Travel, they'll offer you
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polar bear out of Tromso, Norway, fish-
d bird shooting out of Argent
, and limitless shooting and fishing in
New Zealand. They've got so much game
ew Zealand—all imported, because
there was nothing out there originally
except the moa bird, the kiwi and the
three-eyed dragon—that there's no limit,
no licenses and no speci. sons. On
things like decr
deer, Japanese
da geese, they'll pay you a bounty. You
shoot chamois, mountain goats,
boars, wild goats, Asian tahrs—a beard-
less version of the ibex—enormous elks,
moose, and ducks out of your ears. I be-
lieve they even had zebras, once, as they
experimented with imported fauna.
I have shot and fished in New Zea-
land, and it's all true. It probably has
the finest fishing in the world, inland—I
caught a 20-pound brown trout, and the
record, as I recall it, is over 34 pounds. A
12-pound rainbow is usual on flics at
Lake Taupo, and you can catch a fish
out of an icy pool and fling him over to
a hot spring and boil him on the spot.
"The deepsca fishing is equally fantastic
for marlin and sail. The late Zane Grey
kept a yacht out there, in his later years,
and rang up more records than an 18M
computer. New Zealand's a long way to
go. but well worth the trip if you've
the time.
Outside of Africa, India's still a good
bet, and I found the Allwyn Cooper
Company, based out of Nagpur, Madhya
Pradesh, a wonderful experience ten
ars ago. The owner is Vidhya Shukla,
son of the province’s late governor, and
the outfit got me three tigers in ten days.
rantee a tiger in shooting d
a flock of other stuff a
well—bulfalos (water), gaur or seladang
(wild ox, the biggest of the bovines),
pigs, panthers (leopards), blue
black bucks, chitals, sloth bears,
sambars (big shaggy stags), and any
amount of variegated bird shooting. We
used to shoot peacocks for the pot, but I
believe they're royal game now.
Shikar Tours k Travel handles Allwyn
Cooper as well, Air India will also put
you onto a gentleman named Rao who
has a good reputation for shikar, the
Indian word for saf:
But for my money, the Portuguese
possessions—Mozambique and Angola—
are streets ahead of any other shooting
са. White hunters are a nickel a gross
Kenya. With thc exception of a hand-
ful, the good ones have left town out of
prudence. The remainders are mostly
reformed locust-project boys who call
themselves white hunters. The old wa
riors such as Hemingways hero, Phil
Percival, either dead or debilitated
The modern classics had much to do
with killing Mau Mau, and the Mau
Mau, beginning with the prime minister,
Mr. Kenyatta, is government these days.
So the modern heroes, such as Harry Sel-
ДЖУУ
“See how easy my Laura is on her things? She's been
away all weekend and her clothes look as
though
© up their homes and took their
ves and children away. Selby is hu
g ош of Bechuanaland, and can still
be booked via the firm of Ker and Dow-
ney, which is hanging on by its inger-
nails in Nairobi. (Neither Donald Ker
nor Syd Downey takes shooting safaris
anymore. The firm is owned by a man
named Jack Block, who also runs the
Norfolk and New Stanley hotels.)
Currently I am making my fourth sa-
fari to Mozambique period of two
years. It is expensive—$3500 for three
weeks for one client, and $30 a day for a
nonshooting companion, plus the usual
ext ition, booze, private a
transport from either Beira or Lourenço
Marques, cigarettes, and suchlike nui-
sances as tips to the assorted staff and
the white hunters, Disregarding air fare
from wherever you are, and taxidermy
1 its final stages, 1 reckon three weeks
п Mozambique will cost you a flat
55000.
"This
p was prepared by the firm of
Mozambique Safarilandia, cable address
Safarilandia, Post Office Box 1378, head-
quarters, Hotel Tivoli, Lourengo Mar-
Mozambique, Portuguese East
It is backed by two brothers,
Jorge de Abreu, and has
a firm connection with the Bureau of
"Tourism. It is actively run by a Prussian
baron named Werner von Alvensleben,
she's hardly worn them at all!
a colorful type with а Heidelbe
Solid anchor man is an Australian
who never saw Australia. Wally Johnson
was conceived in Australia, born in
South Africa, and is a Portuguese resi
dent. Wally is First Humer, Chief of
Camp, and the best hunter and tracker 1
ever knew. He looks as much like a
white hunter as I look like Fred /
"Wally is 50ish, fat, bald, short, red-
ed, and his mustache is a blond wisp.
His conversation is generously laced
with Australian, South African, Zulu,
Changaan and kitchen Kafir profa
But around the fire, after a hard day,
when the gin pours, he is a master racon-
teur, and his narratives are delivered in
almost B.B.C. English. Wally is well
worth the trip, and also the money. But
there are extras, such as young Walter,
Jr 28, who is nearly as good a hi
his father. Walter, Jr., is a literate, pra
tic educated young man who has
chosen hunting as a profession over
tempting offers as an electrical e
G ny and elsewhere. He is strong
enough to play fullback for the New
York Giants, and has a snub nose and a
smile guaranteed female
companion you might bring along. He
also shot his first elephant. when he was
nine.
Ap:
ras
rt from Baron von Alvensleben,
169
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the major exotic member of the troop is
another German, named George Dedek,
who is also worth the price of admission.
George sports a monode, carries an um-
brella and cuts his hair with a comb
with scissors in it. George is meticulous;
the umbrella wears a bulb that can be
used either as ап oral spray or an enem:
When he goes even for one day into the
bush, he carries tent, chair, nylon rope
and Zenith radio whose antenna can also
be used for a fishing rod. He smokes a
Jaeger pipe with a cover on it, and
speaks fluen: English, German, Chan-
ап, high Coystal Swahili, and French.
"The rest of the hunting personnel—
there must be about nine, according to
the size of my bar bill—is a mixed bag of
South African, Rhodesian and Portu-
gucse. Outstanding is a Portuguese noble-
man named Manoel Posser de Andrade,
whose grandfather was once president of
Portugal. Manoel is a pleasant blond
chap in mid-40s, who will tell you with a
smile, in purest Oxonion, “I was a gen-
teman once who could afford to hire
safaris. But I resembled my father too
closely. Slow horses and fast women have
made a white hunter out of me. Whiskey
helped.” Manoel is a fine hunter, a
pleasant companion, and a gentleman of
the old European tradition from his hat
to his rawhide boots.
This particular concession comprises
about 36,000 square kilometers, It has
everything from clephants to anteater
Its general face is that of Connecticut in
the fall. No bugs, except in the rainy
scason. Snakes, yes, but not many. The
only snake I've seen in four trips was an
18-foot python that they brought into
camp to play with
The elephants here are nothing in the
tooth department, but on a twin conces-
sion on the Limpopo, a day's drive away,
there are some quite-decent bulls. Last
shot was 90 pounds per tusk, which is
good even for the old days when the
NFD was open in Kenya. But the Lim-
popo concession is mostly dense bush or
ironwood and mopane, the most un-
pleasant bush I've ever hunted in. It
scizes your car, hits it in the chin, wallops
it in the stomach, and then rabbit-
punches it as you pass, all blows ac-
companied by horrifying noise. Two
hours in mopane and you're ripe for the
psychiatrist. But the animals love it,
The country here on the Save river,
close by Lake Zenave and only 45 min-
utes by air from Beira, the second biggest.
city, is gorgeously alive with
beautifully bright with flowers, stately
with wees, and as noble in its spacious-
ness as ап English decr park. The air is
crisp and winy; the nights are cool and
the days
sun is w
lifts.
There are lions and leopards here, in
fairly short supply, but they can be ob-
tained by hard work and clever baiting.
fauna,
re never very hot, although the
arming after the morning fog
The Cape buffalo is here in lavish force
and is easily come by. The standards—
waterbuck, eland, bushbuck, reedbuck.
oribi, wildebeest, zebra, impala, duiker,
hartebeest—are almost embarrassingly
profuse, and it is not uncommon to scc a
thousand animals in a day. Fishing is
good, and you cin also shoot crocodiles
and hippos while you wait for the ti
ger fish to strike
But the big deal is something almost
impossible 10 encounter these days—the
big three. That would be sable, that no.
ble black antelope with the arched stiff-
maned neck and the haughty head with
the great backsweeping subered horns.
The sable is as big as a horse and ranks
s the world’s top trophy. Then there i
nyala, of the bushbuck family, a most
amazing animal as big as a quarter horse,
with a white mane up top, bongo-type
horns with ivory tips, a white-striped
black body and a black undennane,
orange legs and almost literally a purple
goatee. You could shoot him for camp
meat if you were allowed more than one
to a custome
The most spectacular of the trophy
animals, although he is not so hard to
find as sable, is the greater kudu, which
has generally been regarded as the Grail
of African hunting. He is grayish brown
in hide, which is barred by white stripes.
He has a full mane on his underneck,
white chevrons on his nose, and white
spots on his cheeks. The horns arc dou-
ble-curled, colored like walnut meats
and tipped with ivory. He is about the
size of a race horse, with long legs and a
fluffy white tail. The record kudu of the
world саше from here: 72 inches around
the curves, Shootable is 50; very good is
anything over 50. The best I've ever shot
was just the other day—36 inches—
which is notable, and even more notable
were the braggadocio-building condi-
tions under which he died. It was very
thick mopanc-ironwood bush, and all I
could see was his neck. I broke that neck
with a tiny 100-grain bullet from
pipsqueak gun, a Holland & Holland
tailor-made 244, which isn't much bi
ger than a hopped-up
This rifle, I must say, has changed my
entire concept of. weaponry. The Kenya
boys tend heavily to brutish double rifles
and solid bullets. There is actually noth-
ing that can't be killed with a Winches-
ter 375—and very little that can’t be put
down permanently with my .244. That's
to say, I have Killed а 41-inch sable with
it, and the record here is 44 inches. The
sable was shot at a good 300 yards, and
last year J stoned an enormous kudu at
about 400 yards with a bullet no bigger
than a sharpened point of a pencil. A
waterbuck is as big as a mule; I must
have killed a score over the last few
years with this kickless marvel of ma-
chinery. Nyala—here go the braggics
again—half a dozen, and the last was 29
inches, almost the local record.
Tve shot a bull buffalo, weighing
something just under a ton, with my
mild marvel. You have to hold tight, but
a hit between the eyes or behind the ear,
or even behind the shoulder, will induce
him to wind that last sad bellow. The
old-time white hunter wouldn't go up
against a buffalo with anything much
less than a -470 double, which throws a
bullet as big as а cucumber and kicks
like homecultured gin.
Except for clephant, and possibly rhi-
no, the solid bullet is really part of the
buggy-whip age. Winchesters Silvertip,
which I think to be the best bullet ever
mass-produced, is deadly in the .30-06
and murderous in the .375. You can hear
а solid bullet whistle as it passes clean
through a buffalo, but the Silvertip,
which mushrooms perfectly and pene-
trates deeply, will knock him over like a
bowling strike.
The trouble, I think, about new
hunters and their guns is that th
read too many articles by hand-lo:
gun nuts, seen too much adw
and read too many books by amateur
safari hands. Too many guns, like the
legendary cooks, spoil the broth. The
ammunition gets mixed up, the weights
of the guns change according to caliber,
and the shooter never really becomes
ble with his rifle. In this respect
a rifle is very much like a
wom
During the time I wore leopard-
skin hatbands, carried everything from
canteens to scout axes, had an elephant-
hair bracelet on my wrist and alfected
tailor-made safari jackets, I owned weap-
ons for all occasions and was pretty
lousy with all of them. The 450/400 dou-
ble balanced differently from the .30-06,
which had a different feel from the .375,
vhich was an unlikely neighbor of the
16 (I read about that one, bought it,
id can't remember ever hitting any-
ng with it), and the .316 took my
nd off the .220 Swift, which is useless
for Africa. And when I got around to
the varying gauges of shotguns, I was
never sure whether I was shooting the
А10 or the 20 or the burly 12.
Over the ycars I have graduated to
tennis shoes or desert boots, shorts, a be-
ret or a bandanna to keep my scant hair
out of my eyes, any shirt with pockets,
no sock nderwear—underpants gall
you during a long day's drive in a Jeep
or 80 miles on a horse—and I have
chopped my armory down to a
minimum.
"The little 244 is good enough for any-
thing except elephant and rhino. 1 keep
а battered -375 as an insurance gun for
big stuff. I shoot a feather-light 20.gauge
shotgun, and that's it. There is a
double somewhere, and I vaguely re-
member a Hornet or a Swift. God knows
what's happened to all the assorted shot-
i; most likely I gave them away.
If I had to settle for just one weapon,
no
T'd choose the .375. Put a solid in it, and
you can kill an elephant or a rhino. You
can also shoot a bird without damaging
the carcass, because the bullet goes clean
through. With expansible bullets, you
can shoot anything else in the animal
world and drop it in its tracks.
The most important single aspect of
successful safari anywhere, apart from
the presence of client, money, game, gun
and hunter, is weather. In any country—
apart from New Zealand, and even the
iwis have better seasons than others—
you have to find out when it starts rain-
ing and when it stops. The game moves
according to rain, and the most pleasant
time to hunt is just after the long r
in May when the ro:
again. In most hunting county, you
t move from here to there in the
„ because the vehicles аге perma-
nently mired, and the game retires to
bush. Living is miserable, and the
trip useless. I once saw a movie company
miscalculate Kenya, and the en-
tire cast, including a tame lion, sat
around for three months without shoot-
g a foot of film. And when you've got
stars drawing pay, technicians drawing
pay, and everybody drunk, sore and sick,
you make no movie. Even the tame lion
had rheumatism, and the extra cost ran
into millions. The same applies to safa-
ri; nobody ever shot anything worth-
while sitting in a dripping tent.
For certain animals the best time is
the tail end of the dry season, when
there's no water in the ponds and pools,
and animals congregate around the few
remaining water holes. The weather is
hot and miserable, and the grass burnt
black. The country is ugly, but the big
boys—clephant, notably—hang around
what water's left. And you can catch the
cats, as well. They are staying pretty well
nailed in order to prey on the antelopes
nd gazelles, which have to patronize the
only crap game in town. For serious
hunters—clcphant, leopard, buffalo—the
last of the long hot summer is ideal.
And in India (no, Virginia, there are
no tigers in Africa), the hot season is far
and away the best.
I have had several odd experiences
with weather manipulation. As a pretty
good witch doctor—kush-kush, machawi,
mundumugu, voodoo, what you please—
I once made some Mau Mau-type medi-
cine because it hadn't rained in two
years. The ceremony involved a human
skull, an arch of thorns, а slain goat and
some judiciously sprinkled gunpowder
to make the fire flare. I suppose my medi
cine was stronger than I knew. A torna-
do came and blew my camp flat, and it
ned solidly for two years. I left the
country. I had no Luis to lift the spell.
Most first-timers overload themselves
with kit. It takes a very horny hoof to
hunt in tennis shoes, and a sore-footed
“Actually, we're quite content. He's got
his dirty books and I've got my gin."
171
PLAYBOY
172
“That response seems reminiscent, miss. Haven't I
tried to make a pass at you somewhere before?"
GARDNER
REA
hunter can't hunt. The best boot in the
world, I think, is the Russell "Bird
Shooter." and its nine-inch version is
light, waterproof and guaranteed not to
chafe, even on its first wearing. It has
onskid soles and also keeps the mos-
quitocs and tsetse flies off your ankles.
All you need is one pair of boots and
something light for slopping around
camp after the shower's had and the gin
pours.
We used to cool our booze in canvas
garibas or chaguls—canvas bags for wa-
ter and. canvas boxes for the hard drink
—and allow evaporation to do the work.
Now any respectable safari firm has re-
frigerators, gas or kerosene, for mobile
usc, and dynamo-fed monsters for the
main camp. The outfiter will supply
the booze at cost, in Kenya at least, but
it's a good idea to give hi ly idea
of what wines and spirits you think
you'll need, and also how many cga-
rettes you think you'll require.
You can have hunting clothes made
overnight by Indian tailors, or buy them
off the rack in most Alrican towns of
any size. They cost les than the air
freight, and you give them to the boys at
the end of the safari anyhow. Two suits,
jacket and panis, arc plenty, because ev-
crything is washed, dried and ironed on
the day you drop it on the floor or
ground sheet.
What people don't generally realize is
that Africa can be bitterly cold, in some
sections, in some scasons. 1 always stock
а woolly bathrobe—you'll wear that over
pajamas around camp at night, after
you've bathed—a cashmere sweater and
one close-hugging suede windbreaker.
The sweater under the windbreaker
keeps you warm up top, and I like a cou-
ple of pairs of corduroy pants for camp
or for days when your kh:
rm enough in the early morning. In a
pinch, you cin always use your robe for
an overco;
Forget the floppy double terai som-
brero that the old hunters used to affect.
1t just blows off in the Jeep or is scraped
off in the bush. The commando beret
keeps my bald spot cool. An English
squire cap such as John Huston fancies
is as good; a baseball-type billed job is
ellent.
Underwear, socks, handkerchiefs—a
bare minimum, because they get washed
every day, 100. I preach not in the in-
terest of economy, but only because
you'll be lugging your gear around in a
Small tin safari box, and space is pre-
cious, whether it's a shooting brake or
hired aircraft to tote you over the
landscape.
Don't depend on any outfitters to re-
member bug dope. Most white hunters
are salted from years of being bitten,
and in the festive hysteria of getting out
of town, litle things get forgotten. It
doesn’t happen often, but on one occa-
sion, a couple of white hunters got taken
in farewell festivity and actually forgot
the guns. Another lost a loaded truck,
but that was exceptional, too. A small
check list helps.
If you're traveling with baggage, keep
a firm eye on it. I wound up on safari
once wearing a business suit and a Hom-
burg due to some ticketing mix-up
which sent my gear to Léopoldville
when I was getting off in Beira. I spent
the entire month in makeshift clothing,
and this was by no means my first safari.
If you send your guns and gear out
ahead, ship the stuff at least three
months in advance, and demand a cabled
tion of In recent
years I have made at least two lifelong
friends by lending my weapons because
their artillery was tied up in a strike in
Momba
Do not discount the light planc, cven
if it costs a few hundred bucks more.
Game arcas are often hundreds of miles
apart, and it is pound-foolish to waste
days cating dust to travel from a sable or
kudu area to an elephant arca, when
you can shoot the ground safari on
ahead to bump and rattle and break
axles and. e flats while you tke it
easy for а day or so and then arrive at
the next airfield in an hour or less. Afri
can bush pilots arc the best I've scen, and
nearly every area has an airstrip. And if
it hasn't, your hunter will make one by
merely smoothing the anthills, filling i
the pig holes, tracing the strip with his
Jeep. and lighting a greenwood fire to
advise the pilot on the way of the wind.
And don't think you're cheating your-
sell of an experience by not traveling
overland. Most of what you pass through
is as dull as Delaware, if you're not ac-
tually on a highway, and you'll see more
of the country—and the animals—en
route by chartered а
There is one word to the unv
cameras, You cin hunt or you
pictures, But you cannot hunt and take
pictures, except possibly after the ani-
mal's dead. Permanent enmitics
begun because somebody snapped а pic
ture just as the rifleman was taking aim,
and maneuvering into ideal lens posi
tion is guaranteed to spook any trophy
animal. But if you are taking pictures
and scorn shooting, four cameras are
ideal. One should always be full of color,
one of black and white, There should be
one cine, preferably with a zoom. And as
important as any is the new Polaroid,
which also shoots color. Th kush-
kush of a high order, and impresses the
natives any amount. The locals arc al-
ways being promised pictures and rarely
receive them. To be able to cook up
color print in a minute is very big mouti,
and often leads to valuable cooperation.
It also gives the shooter the pleasure of
affirm their arrival.
seeing himsclf standing on the neck of
what he has just belted with his gun. If
I were a camera hunter, Га take five,
because one is a cinch to go sick on
you, from dust or concussion.
In the lens line, any good swiftly de-
achable telescope for a heavy rifle is
useful, for if you wound a dangerous а
imal and have to follow him into thick
bush, a scoped rifle is useless for quick
shooting at close range. You simply can’t
find the anim ast enough to keep
n off your neck.
For your light rifle, I'd fancy a bolt-on
permanent model, as you'll be taking
much longer shots at much smaller
beasts. The finest I know is the Bausch &
Lomb Balvar, which adorns my little
244. It's a variable job, and spins up
from 2.5 to 8 power. At its extreme mag-
nification, you get practically 20-inch-tel-
evision views of the prey. I once saw
white hunter Harry Selby kill a jackal
with this gun and this scope at 750 ш
ured yards! Of course, he was holding a
touch high . . .
I have not dwelt on the intangible
plus of safari, no matter where you take
it. There is no computing the wine of
morning air, the elephant you track for
20 miles only to find he has just onc
tusk; the six sable bulls you don't shoot
because you hope to see a better one;
the roaring of the lions outside camp:
the whoops of the hyenas and the scary
night sounds you will never identify: the
brilliant birds and the daily dramas—a
buffalo protecting her newly
dropped calf from five lions, or a pride
of 27 lions tumbling like kittens—ele-
phants making Japanese straw hats for
themselves from grass because the sun's
too hot; the taste of that first drink after
you've come bone sore to camp; the feel-
ing of utter peaceful exhaustion after
you've showered; the daily rchash and
the steep tales of olden times around the
camplire; the sleep that needs no pills;
1 finally, the sweet sadness you feel as
you leave, bug-bitten and thorn-scarred,
when you think you may never see it all
again.
That you have to work out for your-
self. But it may explain why I've been
coming back at least once a year since I
first saw Mount Kenya bare her snaggled
tooth to the freshly laundered morning
air of green Kenya, and watched the
snows grow heavy on Kilimanjaro.
There is something of ri—the leop-
d's snarl and the baboon's curse; the
leaping golden impala and the scarlet
desert rose; the yellow waxy acacias w
their umbrella tops; the great blue lakes
and the angry, barren, mountain-strewn
deserts of the north—that you will not
be able to find on TV or even in church.
If you're lucky, you'll find it in yourself.
it
cow
173
PLAYBOY
174
WHAT IS NORMAL?
to: Whats normal sexual behavior
according to our laws? or, What's nor-
behavior according to our
prevailing morals? and so on. And now,
paradoxically, our tendency to general-
ize helps us pinpoint working definitions
of normality and ity by which
we may classify particular types of sex-
wal behavior.
There are at least five major criteria
according to which sexual behavior may
be defined as normal or abnormal: statis-
tics, phylogenetics, prevailing morals,
law and domi 1 attitudes. The
statistical concept we use so often in dai
ly life that we're often not aware of it:
abnorm:
Ant soc
Whenever we say something like “The
guy next door is of normal height,” or
when we refer to the “abnormal height”
of some basketball-playing seven-footer,
our standard of comparison is the gencr-
al height of the population—most of our
citizens are nowhere near seven feet tall,
(continued from page 97)
and the guy next door could be dis-
cerned in a crowd only if he were wear-
ing a Homburg while the rest wore
fedoras.
‘om a statistical point of view, then,
how do we behave sexually? It's casy
enough to say that if most married cou-
ples have sexual intercourse, sexual inter-
course must be normal among married
couples. But this nice circular argument
leaves unanswered the extremely impor-
tant question of how commonplace a
given type of behavior must be before
a call it statistically normal. What
percentage of our married couples have
to engage in sexual intercourse before
we can say it's normal? Three quarters
of the married population? Half? One
quarte
For the sake of argument, we'll say 50
percent will suffice for any sort of sexual
behavior: By our arbitrary limit, if half
or more of the. population. performs a
we
<... Forgive me, Miss Brant—I meant to say,
‘Do you put out to sea very often... ?
particular type of sexual activity, we will
call that activity statistically normal. It's
obvious right away that marital inter-
course is normal by this definition, but
how about some of our other sexual
behavior?
Masturbation, for instance: 95 percent
of human males and about 65 percent of
human females masturbate; more than
50 percent of married males and nearly
as many married females masturbate. By
our definition, masturbation is statisti-
cally normal for all but marri
How about homosexuality? While
only about a third of human males and
a sixth of human females engage in
overt homosexual activity, about half of
the males have either had overt ho-
mosexual relations or have been sexually
aroused by males. For males, then, ho-
mosexuality is statistically almost nor-
mal; for females, it is not.
Since sexual behavior is influenced by
educational levels, we might expect that
some types of sexual behavior would
show up as statistically normal for one
part of the population bur statistically
bnormal for other parts. And they do.
Mouth-genital activity furnishes a case
in point Among the better educated,
this activity is common for more than 50
percent of the group, and is therefore
normal by definition. But among the
les educated, where taboos remain
stronger, fewer than 50 percent of the
group engage in mouth-genital activity,
and, for them, it is abnormal. Abnormal
also—for all segments of the population
—are adult relations with children
(pedophilia) and real rape (as di
guished from statutory rape), which are
the sexual predilections of much less
than half our citizenry. Finally, how do
we perform sexually out of wedlock? Sta-
tistically speaking, well over 85 pe
of us indulge in one form or another of
nonmarital intercourse—premari
tramarital ог posumarital.
What is normal sexual behavior? Al-
most anything, according to statistics,
except pedophilia and rape. Normal is
as normal does.
Lets wy another approach toward
definition of sexual normality. From
grade school on, we have it persistently
drummed into our heads that human
beings are a species of animal—spe-
cifically, mammals—and during the rest
of our lives certain aphorisms ("Man is a
rational ) are tossed at us when-
ever we act as though we have forgotten.
the fact. Since we are mammals, we can
ask ourselves how our sexual behavior.
compares with that of other mammals:
How is our behavior like theirs, and how
does it differ? This is the phylogenetic
definition of sexual normality: Sexual
behavior natural to mammals is sexual
behavior we're likely to be engaged in.
Among mammals other than the hu-
man variety. monogamy is the equiva-
imal'
for the
continental touch
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lent of marital status (we alone have
benefit of law or clergy), and in this re-
spect, as mammals, we are distinctly ab-
normal and unnatural. Most mammals
do not cleave to one mate for a long pe
riod of time.
On the other hand, masturbation, ho-
mosexuality and mouth-genital activity
are common to almost all species of
mammals; even sexual relations between
mammals of different speci
tween mammals and ij
are more common than popularly be-
lieved. Do other mammals е, have
sexual relations p. en-
gage in sadistic behavior? Yes, some do.
So by phylogenctic definition, there's al-
most nothing that humans do sexually
that isn't part of their mammalian na-
ture and heritage.
For one reason or another, we humans
are generally reluctant to recognize how
close our sexual behavior is to that of
our mammalian forebears, and one of
the arguments most frequently employed
to put distance between ourselves and
the primates is that though we are
mammals, we are a very special kind en-
dowed with unique and highly devel-
oped abilities to love and to think and
to communicate, Proponents of this the
sis of man's exclusivity also argue that
we're the only mammals that practice
intercourse face to face. None of these
arguments is entirely true. Other ma
mals do have the ability to love, they do
communicate with one another, and
they do have some sort of thinking abili-
ty—and some primates do, on occasion,
have intercourse face to face. The
difference between humans and other
mammals, therefore, is one of degree
and not of kind.
Since the other three definitions of
normal sexual behavior—the moral, legal
and sccial—depend to varying degrees
on the Judaco-Christ code of ethics
and the bodies of law that have been
built upon it, it will repay us to briefly
note its origins, which have been treated
extensively in The Playboy Philosophy.
The history of the Judaco-Christian eth-
ic goes back many centuries before
, to the nomadic Jewish tribes of
whose code of sexual be-
havior was typical of tribes in that part
of the world: Homosexuality was per-
mitted provided no master-servant or su-
periorsubordinate relationship existed
between the two parties; intercourse
with cert animals was condoned,
while it was condemned with certai
others, depending upon the specie:
prostitution was part of the religious cer-
emony in temples of worship;
yny was practiced. It was a sex
considerably freer than that which the
Jews developed upon their return. from
the Babylonian exile, by which time na-
tionalistic fervor had led them to draw
sharp distinctions between themselves
and their neighbors. The latter Assyri-
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175
PLAYBOY
ans, Hittites and Chaldeans, among oth-
ers, did not believe in Jehovah and were
therefore considered pagan by the Jews.
Exile and nationalism radically changed
the Jews’ attitudes toward sexual bel
ior: Any sexual act that was not directly
conducive to procreation was severely
condemned; tribal survival and growth
- Masturbation was
punishable by death; males were forbid-
den to touch their genitals on the
grounds that they might accidentally
arouse themselves; nudity, homosexuali:
ty, sexual relations with animals and
mouth-genital contacts were all con-
demned. In a word, any thought that sex
could be for pleasure rather than pro-
ion was denied and, hence, any im-
ive precoital sex play or var
of position in intercourse were prohib-
ited. Many of these proscriptions found
their way into the Old Testament, fre-
quently in allegorical form. As allegory,
they were subject to widely divergent in-
terpretation—as is evident from the w
ings of Christian clerics of a later and
more antisexual. er
Because most early Christians were
converted Jews, the early C n
movement was strongly influenced by
the rigorous Jewish sexual code, and it
was only much later in history that the
Christian Church relented and sanc-
tioned elaborations of precoital sex play,
tions of position in intercourse and
mouth-genital activity—on the firmly un-
derstood condition, however, that the
final sexual act was intercourse, This re-
mains the official position of the Catho-
lic Church today, While many Protestant
churches hold that sexual behavior in
marriage is not sinful even if no inter-
course is involved, they do condemn sex
ual behavior outside of marriage; very
recently some Protestant denomin
lertook to conside
va
tions
her libera
tion of their sex codes, and it may well
be that in the foreseeable future they
will r their rigid distinctions bc-
tween sexual behavior n ma e and
out of marriage,
‘This brings us to the present, and the
question of what is normal sexual bel
defined by our Judaeo-Christian
Masturbation, homosexuality,
intercourse, rape and. pedo-
bnormal (“wrong”). Mari
tal intercourse is normal (“right’}—in
which a degree of latitude is given to
precoital sex play, variations of position
during intercourse and mouth-genital
contacts.
The Judaco-Christian tradition. influ-
enced more than just our moral sex
codes; it was also the basis of ecclesiastic
‚ upon which English common law is
based. and from which. in turn, our own.
are derived. One might think,
ing normal sexual
behavior a legal" (normal) and
“what is illegal” (abnormal) one would
discover the same strictures and the same
permissions found in our moral code.
Bur this is not the case. Mastui
one exceptio: not against the law
10 mastu А long as it is donc їп
private—although there are two states
among our 50 in which inducing anoth-
cr person to masturbate is classified as
sodomy, according to law. But whereas
masturbation is morally rmal but
legally normal, mouth-genital activity
morally normal but legally abnormal
fact, mouth-gei
even between husband and w
states except Illinois.
“Except Illinois” is a
qualification—it
where you live
normality of specific sex behavior.
you c
illegal
in
tal activity is а felony—
—in all
significant
proof positive that
п determine the legal
What
n legally do in one state may be
the next, another way of saying
CRITERIA Mastur- Homosex- Nonmarital Mouth- Pedo- Rape
bation vality Sex Genital phi
1. Statistical Normal = Normal Normal Abnormal Abnormal
2. Phylogenetic Normal ^ Normal Normal ^ Normal ? ?
3. Moral Abnormal Abnormal Abnormal Normal Abnormal Abnormal
4. Legal Normal Abnormal 2, Abnormal Abnormal Abnormal
5. Sociol Normal Normal Normal Normal Abnormal Abnormal
Reading vertically, we see that masturbation is abnormal only by moral definition, which
simply means that anyone condemned for masturbation is being judged from a moralistic
viewpoint (even Freud's labeling of masturbation as
“immaturity” stemmed from the
Judaeo-Christion prospection of it, which was much stronger in Freud's 19th Century
Europe than it is here today); we see that homosexuality is by statistical definition normal
for some, by phylogenetic and social definitions normal, and by moral and legal defin
tions (except in Illinois} abnormal; we see that by moral defini
n nonmarital intercourse
is abnormal, that by statistical, phylogenetic and social definitions it is normal, and that
by legal definition it depends on where you are; we see that mouth-genital activity is
normal by all but the legal definition—although we must remember that mouth-genilal
a
Нуйу outside of marriage is considered morally abnormal, because essentially any
sexual activity outside of marriage is abnormal by moral definition; and, finally, we see
that rape and pedophilia are abnormal by all definitions, with the possible exception of
the phylogenetic, which we can't be sure of, because we don't ye! know enough about
176 variations in behavior among different species.
that—from the legal standpoint—the dis-
tinction between normal and abnormal
depends on geography. All of ou
have laws against extramarital
course (adultery), and about half of
them have laws against premarital and
postmarital intercourse (fornication)
whats normal sexual behavior accord-
ing 10 the law, and the answer is
question: Where do you live?
What is normal sexual behavior
states
ac-
ned
dard, sexual behavior tha
n to society or its members
whereas sexual behavior that
On this basis,
our sex laws should protect all members
of society from forced scxual relations
(rape), and should protect children from
sexual relations with adults (pedophilia)
—the two sexual activities in which more
than the two parties involved are affect-
cd. The underlying argument runs that
our laws are made to protect persons
nd property and are not designed to
perpetuate or eliminate—or punish—ar
particular sexual customs. By this social
definition, then, masturbation and adult
consensual homosexuality. nonmarital in-
tercourse and mouth-genital contacts are
normal, since each person determines for
al activity is de-
his own life; rape and pedo-
would definitely be abnormal. The
an Law Institute, in proposing а
Model Penal Code, has taken essentially
this definition of normal sexuality as the
basis for its recommenda
normal,
does harm is abnormal.
himself just what sex
sirable
Am I nom
“What do you m
tistically, phylogenetically, mora
gally and socially we have sought a
definition of normal sexual behavior.
(For what we found, see the chart on the
left)
“Am I normal?" It would be easier to
banish "normal" from our vocabulary
than to answer the question. And to do
so might well make more sense: after all,
from the standpoint of individual psy-
chic and physical health, what we do sex-
ually is not nearly as important as how
we feel about what we do. I—like many
other objective observers—have seen
cases where marital intercourse was а
hostile and destructive act, and other
cases where a homosexual relationship
s loving and constructive. Our con-
a should be with
cei
being rather than with the irrelevant,
lly
and psycholog
ng of sexual behavior as normal or
al. And we might bear in mind
of wisdom from the Stoic philos-
opher Epictetus:
Men are disturbed not by things,
but by the views which they take of
them.
Ba
“I got so excited when you gave me the coat, I hope I
didn't leave without thanking you, Mr. Whitaker."
PLAYBOY
SOMEWHERE NOT FAR (continued from page 137)
The Ox said, "Got to get this stuff
across the water, friend.”
“But there's по bridge!”
“Then we must build one,” said the
Ox.
We looked at him. We thought he had
nc crazy. He said, “The enemy can't
get through three miles of these woods
in under an hour.”
1 said, not knowing what I was saying,
“That's right, we must build one."
Something in my heart told me that if
the Ox said we had to build a bridge, he
knew how to do it, and J was ready to
follow him. He winked at me.
Just then 1 saw two people appear on
the opposite bank, an old man and a
girl.
We all knew them well. The old
man was the girl's grandfather, and his
tin, the same as mine—
He had been a farmer,
once, but had lost everything. Now he
was one of us, He lost his farm, he lost
his son and, worst of all, he lost his
granddaughter Beatrice. She was about
l4, and the prettiest girl for miles
round. blue-eyed and with chestnut
hair, when the enemy carried her olf. I
m not ashamed to say that I was in love
with her, the way little boys are—1 being
only 11 at that time. Everybody loved
Bea, as she was called. But she had no
eyes for anybody except John. The men
laughed at her for this, in a good-na-
Once, when he was out on a
under hei
breath, "Let him be wounded. but not
badly—and then perhaps he will let me
nurse him.” For John never looked at
her; for all he cared, she might have
been a thousand miles away.
The Ox said of her, "She is a well-de-
veloped girl. In the old days she would
marry well and haye ten strong sons.”
“You are an Ox,” Thomas told him.
He, too, had a weakness for old Martin's
granddaughter.
But die enemy was short of pretty
girls. "They made her one of their wom-
en, kept hei tent. By one means and
another she got all kinds of useful infor-
mation out to the free men of the
woods. She had learned the Patheran,
ndpa Marti
the sign writing with twigs, stones and
movements of the fingers that the
tramps and the gypsies used in olden
times. We got her out after two years. It
cost us four good me
But she was no longer the same Beatrice-
Tall, yes, and with a shape to take your
breath . But her voice was hoarse
and her eyes hard.
She said to Mike, "Let nobody touch
me. Let nobody drink out of my cup or
use my spoon. 1 am sick. And where
you boys have killed your hundreds, in
one month 1 have killed three hundred
he was worth it.
178 generations of the cnemy—them, their
wives, their sweethearts and their ch
dren. Understand:
Thom . "We have no doctor and
no dru n't we perhaps snatch one
of their doctors with his black bag?"
She laughed and said, “They haven't.
any drugs either, much. As for their
medical officer, I fancy he will be won-
dering how to cure himself."
Still, seeing her on the other side of
the water, I felt strong as three men, and
I shouted to the Ox, "What are we wa
said, "Talk is cheap, Ox. The
1 be here in an hour. I vote we
scatter and hide.”
The Ox said, “They know we'll have
come here. There wasn't any other place
we could come to. The woods are too
thin hereabout. We've got to get across.”
Big Steve said, “Ambush ‘em—fight it
The Ox said, “And the dy
detonators, the fuses? I am goi
up the transportation bridge
All the time his eyes were darting here
and there, He was getting everything
into one simple picture in his mind—the
river, the distance, the piles, the trees
and the scattered timbers of the old foot-
bridge on the ba The clouds were
ng. More heavy weather would
in soon,
mite, the
to blow
“And rope, rope!" Every one of us had a
length of strong cord tied around his
waist—generally, that is. But on this fast
raid most of us had traveled light.
Among us we had no more than 30 feet
Or so of tough cord.
Now," the Ox said, "we nt a few
long light logs. Martin, take my
There's something I’ve got to do.”
He picked up John and carried him
up the bank. There he put him down
again. It took only a second. Then he
ran back, snatched away Big Steve's au-
tomatic rifle and took it to John, and
said, “Have you strength enough left to
watch the woods?"
“Yes.
But John was dying, his back against a
tree and his knees bent up to support
his wounded body. His cyes were in
black hollows, as if they had burnt their
way m.
"Then I forgot about him. There was
wood on the bank. 1 picked out a young.
spruce that the water had carried
down from the mountain. The ax was a
good one. I took off the top of the tree,
and it cut like cheese. Then the lower
part above the roots. I may be young,
but I was bred hard. Still, when I tried
to lift the trunk it was too heavy for me,
although I was working the way some
men pray. But then the Ox was with mc.
ax.
He picked up the log all alone and car-
ried it to where one of the piles of the
bridge stuck out of the mud on the
bank.
“The water is rising,” Steve said.
Thomas said, "And the enemy is
coming."
"Ehe Ox simply said, “Oh, shut up!”
I wish he were here to tell you what
happened then. I know, I saw; but I was
working with all my heart and soul. A
man is made to work only at one thing
at a time. The only people who look left
and right are those who weren't there.
John told me once that all the world
loves a bridge. In ancient times “Bridge-
builder” was one of the highest titles the
Romans could oller a man. He told me
that there e been steel bridges that
spanned oceans. But I shall always be-
lieve that the most wonderlul bridge
ever built or even attempted was the
bridge we started to build across that
flooding stream with a few bits of line
and some fallen trees, with less than an
hour to spare and the enemy on our
heels.
‘The Dumb Ox said to me, once, “Ac
tually, son, my name is Clem, but I don’t
mind if you call me Ox.”
1 suppose they call you that because
you are strong and patient,” I said.
“And dumb, and slow. Also, because I
am alwitys chewing on a bit of grass or a
straw. I can't see the things smart people
see. I'm not sensitive—a goad in the ass
is about as much as I can feel. I am
brainless. 1 know what is right and I
know what is wrong, but the whys and
the wherefores are not for my thick
skull,”
And so it seemed until there was this
problem. The cleverest among us
couldn't foresee a doudburst up on the
mountain. But it had happened, and no-
body knew what to do about it except
the Ox. Later, when there was time to
talk, he said to me, “Well, we had to get
across and keep the stuff dry. What must
be done must be done, with whatever
comes to hand. If you have yt of time
and millions of money and thousands of
workmen, build with steel and concrete,
and good luck to you. If you have only
got a bit of rope, a few sticks and sixty
tes—do what you can with them,
nd be thankful. There is always a
way to deal with things. Despair is for
the enemy. To hope on and manage
yourself, that is to be one of the free
men.
He scemed to haye room for only one
thought in his head at a time. Now it
was to find a way across the water before
the enemy came up. “It was all very well
for Thomas to say scatter and hide,” the
id. But, as he pointed out, there
асе to hide. Downstream were
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PLAYBOY
the rapids, gone wild in the flood. Up-
stream, water that was dangerous even
on a quiet day. We had counted on
going back the way we had comc. But
there was no more footbridge. “To stay
and fight it out would have been all very
well,” the Ox said; we might have killed
a few dozen of the enemy and then died
ourselves. But we h а responsibilit:
Dead men carry no fuses. “The enemy
would have started out with a rush,” the
Ox said, “but they couldn't know our
woods the way we do, with all their
maps and their spies. We could move
fast over the trail we took. They would
go slower and slower, suspecting an
ambush . . .”
He stood there scratching his head
and looking about him like a workman
who is being paid by the hour. “Am-
bush, ambush,” he said, and went up the
bank again to where John was watching
the woods. What he did there was like
this: He tied two machine pistols to two
trees about 30 yards apart. He fastened a
length of twine to the trigger of each,
ind lashed the loose ends to John's el-
bows, saying, all in a breath, “If you see
or he:
together
will be
two sides.”
John whispered, “And hit what?”
The Ox said, “Nobody, But they'll
think the woods are full of us on two
sides. When they come forward, you use
your own gun.”
“Yes,” John said.
Then the Ох came running and
showed us what we had to do. First of all
we had to make fast a log to the pile at
r them, John, bring your elbows
- Those guns are cocked, There
burst in their direction from
our bank. This had to be done quickly,
because the pile would be under water
any minute now. This log had to lie
from the pile on the bank to the first
pile in the stream; one of us had to
crawl out and lash it down. The man
who lashed down the end of the first log
to the second pile would have to stand
there, balancing himself like a tightrope
walker and catch one end of a second
tree trunk. Holding this, he would have
to drag it toward him so that the farther
end of the log rested on the second pile
in the stream.
Th a game we used to play with
tiny slivers of wood—spilikins. You pick
your spilikins one by one out of a jum-
bled pile. Make one false move and you
lost the game. Now we were playing
with logs, and the game was а matter of
life and death.
Let me make it clear. Here is 20 feet
of white water. You must lay three tree
trunks across it, supporting them on
balks of rotten wood, one on h bank,
sticking out of the mud, and two in mid-
current. At any moment there will come
a wind strong enough to blow you off
180 the earth and a downpour of rain to
swell the stream. You have three quar-
ters of an hour, a bit of rope, and no-
body to work with you on the other side
but an old cripple and a girl.
As the Ow said later, “Actually, you
know, you can take na
problem like that. Thank God I am an
odd-jobman! . .. Make no hero of me,
my boy. There is nothing heroic in
a job in an emergency."
id, “Ah, but what if you hadn't?”
He said, “I should have been a bun-
gler, don't you sce, a failure. 1 won't be
made a hero of. I don't believe in heroes
—H've met too many of them. You must
do what you can as well as you can.
Thats your duty as a free man. Son,
there is only black or white—meaning,
there is only one alternative to brav-
ery, and that is cowardice. If you do less
than your utmost you . You
must put into your work all God gave
you. The only alternative to crossing the
water would have been to stay on the
wrong side of it. Which would have been
wrong.
І said, “Clem, you
to do it.”
“No. You made yourselves strong. You
know how you can reach into yourself
and take yourself in both hands and
squeeze the water out of yourself until
you are nice and firm, That is what we
did, kid, because we had to.”
“And now it seems impossible,” ] said.
Clem the Ox answered, “From the im-
possible to the impossible—that is the
road of us free men."
Now the first thing we had to do was
lay the tree I had trimmed so that its
narrow end overlapped the first pile in
midstream by about a foot.
"This seemed simple enough in itself.
We tied a rope around the thin end
and stood the log up on its butt, which
we jammed hard against the pile on our
side of the bank.
Four of us held the rope, keeping the
log upright. Clem guided the log with
his hands, saying, "
Good . . . Good, lower a
But then, just as the end of the log
touched the other pile, there was a gust
of wind and a shrieking of the water.
The bank was slippery clay. One of
slid down, caught off balance by the
wind, and caught at the rope to save
himself.
The end of the log to which the
rope was tied fell off the pile. The cu
rent caught the free end. The log and
rope were like a tremendous whip with
all of us clinging with might and m
to the lash. The log spun. We felt our-
selves going, and let go. As the water
tore the log away, Clem the Ox caught
the end of the rope. He braced himself.
The force of that jolt as the tree trunk
tried to get away drove him into the clay
almost to his knees.
са co
ave us the strength
I took my place behind him, gripped
n about the waist and held on. The
rest took the rope and hauled. We
played the log, and we landed it.
Clem, pursing up his lips, said, “AIL
right. Once again.”
Thomas said, “This is madnes:
“АП together, now," said the Ox.
We tried again. This time the thin
end of the log fell obediently into posi
tion. I said, “Now it wants lashing down.
Tam the lightest weight here. I can walk
a log and make a fast knot.”
Clem said, “Good. But hold tight to
the rope as you go.” He had the loose
end wound about his fist. 1 bı
self and walked ош. Once I sh
recovered myself. I lashed the log fast. A
third part of the bridge was bi
third part of our time was gone, and the
water was swelling, and on the other
Че Grandpa Martin and Beatrice were
n trouble.
‘They, weak as they were, were trying
to do from their side what we were
doing from ours The old man was a
strange one. Since he had lost his land
he had been like the walking dead. Now
he looked almost young again, plastered
with mud from head to foot like Adam:
when God made him out of red clay. His
Jog was trimmed, and he had cut notches
in it so that the rope would not slip. I
saw him yelling, but could not hear him.
A knuckle of rock had made a kind of
breakwater where he and Beatrice were,
so that the water was shallower and the
current less dangerous on their side. A
special strength seemed to pour into
them. She took the thin end. And he the
middle. Inch by inch they urged it for-
ward. As luck would have it, they got the
log to rest upon their two piles. True,
there were some great iron spikes left
sticking out to help them there. Still, it
was a thing ro wonder at. But they had
not enough rope. “Your belt! Your belt!”
Grandpa Martin shouted; and she un-
buckled her belt and strapped it tight
where the logs met.
Clem called to me in his great lowing
voice, "Stay where you are and lend a
nd”—for he had another log prepared,
long enough to reach from the second
pile to the third and so link everything
together.
Glem sat down upon the log we had
already laid, straddling it with his legs;
using his hands he climbed a little way
out. Halfway along he made a sign. The
others pushed out the new log. He
gripped it tightly and slid it toward me.
1 dragged it in my direction, caught the
end, steadied it, and pushed it toward
Beatrice. She and the old man got it into
place.
I went back to join Clem and the
others.
‘Then something heartbreaking hap-
pened: A rotten old miserable weeping
willow tree came drifting down. It
touched a swirl in the current so that
the water closed about it like a hand,
swung it like a club—a very heavy club,
slow to lift, quick to drop—and struck
the second log at the thin end. So the
middle span of our bridge snapped like
a match, and the two picces of it went
bobbing away with the willow.
From the distance came a popping of
shots. I looked from face to face. Now
the strength was going out of us. Our
st hope had gone with that log, it
seemed. We all looked at Clem. Thomas
said—and he sounded almost cheerful,
"So its to be scatter and sauve qui
peut.
Clem’s face set like stone. He said,
asy does it. I don't scatter. Somebody
give me an ax."
He wanted another tree. The tree
nearest to the bank was nearly two feet
thick. Clem went for it at hip level. I
ran to help him, but he ordered me
ba We knew why. He had won prizes
felling timber in contests, using a dou-
ble-headed ax in competition with cham-
pions. In less time than it takes me to
tell you this, the tree was down. He had
dropped it just where he wanted it to
lie. Then he and the rest of us were on.
that fallen tree like madmen, taking off
the top and the branches.
'She's too heavy," Thomas said, pant-
ing for breath, “those other two logs will
be off the piles any moment. And we are
out of торе"
Some stray bullets were whistling high
overhead now. Clem said, "So take off
your belts, take olf your pants . . ." Не
seemed to change all in a second. I have
never seen such a face or heard such a
voice as he said, “What? Be beat by this
puddle?” We were morc afraid of him
at that moment than of any kind of
death or disaster, He screamed like a
horse in a fire. His eyes were red. He lift-
ed the heavy end of the tree in his bare
hands, alone. The seams of his leather
jacket burst. Black veins swelled in his
neck and arms. It w much as the rest
of us could do, working together, to lift
the lighter end of the tree.
Then Clem, his legs wide apart,
walked backward into the ст. He
said, later, that it was only the great
weight he was carrying that anchored
him against the current while his feet
found firm places to stand upon. He was
п the stream up to his waist. Then the
water was up to his chin. His knees bent.
The water was over his head. He was
putting all he had much more than he
had dreamed he ever nto one last
awful effort. His legs straightened and
he held the log above his head for just a
second, Then the butt end of it was on
the third pile, our end was in place, and
Clem was back among us with blood
running from his nose and mouth.
He told me later, “I put into one m
ute the strength of five years of life.”
Now Beatrice was across, She had lost
her boots and her trousers. “Where is
John?” she asked.
Clem gave her a parcel of fuses and
detonators and said, "Take these across.”
“But John?”
“Take these across.”
She nodded, took the parcel and
stepped on the first log. She walked like
somebody in a dream; crossed the mid-
dle log and then the third.
Then Clem gave me a parcel
me to go. I went. One by one the others
followed. The firing was close now. I
heard John's fixed machine pistols firing
idly into the bushes. Then his own
apon, in little careful bursts. There
с four or five wet thuds as some gre-
nades exploded. Clem stood, wiping his
bloody mouth on the back of his hand. I
saw him sigh. Then he crossed our poor
little bridge and was with us, just as the
enemy appeared on the bank we had
just left. It was broad daylight now.
We opened fire. Only Clem the Ox
did not take cover. He took out the
knife John had given him and stooped,
and slashed at the cord holding the log
the girl and the old man had got into
position. It rolled away as the water
pushed and sucked it. With it went
the other two logs. They seemed to wave
us goodbye and danced away. I think I
know what was in his heart just then.
Fastening those three sticks together was
great work.
Beatrice said to me, “John is dead?"
I said, "Yes, but he thought of you,
and he told me to give you this." I took.
from round my neck where I had hung
it the little bloodstained book with the
bullet hole, and although it was the
most precious thing 1 had—or because it
was—I gave it to her. And although the
free people never lie except to the ene-
my, I said, "He sent it to you with love.”
She said, taking the book, “And this is
his blood?”
“That hole is where the bullet went
through. He had only two things, his
knife and that book. He gave Clem his
knife, but, “The book for Beau
with my love,
She asked,
Martin?”
“He smiled at me,” was all I could say.
"Then I had to turn away. Clem, who
had sharp cars and had heard wi I
said, patted my shoulder with his torn
right hand and , "Well done, kid.
Spoken like a free man!” Then he un-
buckled John’s knife and gave it to me,
saying, “This is for you. I've got a knile
of my own.”
Thomas said, “Well, let's get going.
“Quite right,” said Clem, “you're
command.”
So we got the fuses and stuff to wreck
Bridge K16. There five of us died and I
got the wound I am going to die of pret-
ty soon. This is the end of my story.
“And nothing for you,
“Excuse me. Can I borrow the mascara again?”
181
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“SPRING AND SUMMER FASHION FORECAST—FLAYBOY'S
SEMI-ANNUAL PREVIEW OF WHAT'S AHEAD FOR THE SEASON IN
MENSWEAR—BY FASHION DIRECTOR ROBERT L. GREEN
The young bucks of America go clean-white-sock
in the Adler stretch of the century: new ShapeX.
Kick up your status at Adler's 100th birthday in the great new cotton crew. The first ever spiralled around
Spandex to absorb all the pressure from all ten toes. The first sock to go to any length to please you. So
giving it takes on all sizes 10 to 14. ShapeX: colorful but Clean-White-Sock through and through.Clean-
White-Sock: great new American pastime. Always out for kicks but never
uncouth. Put all your feet in Adler's ShapeX. Stay in shape for just one buck. ADLER
Viceroy’s got the filter for
the taste thats-right!
j
S
ET
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Viceroy is specifically designed to taste the way
you'd like a filter cigarette to taste. Not too
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