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ENTERTAINMENT FOR MEN | 


DO NOT REMOVE FROM ACCOUNTING 
COSTING e 


OF MIAMI ‘YOUR JAZZ-POLL BALLOT INTERVIEW WITÎ 
JRRAY - SUPERMAN NOSTALGIA BY JULES FEIFFER - 
JEAN SHEPHERD: THEODORE STURGEON, DAN WAKEFIELD, 


Saturday is for mush and fun and no 
clock watching. 

Let’s build a fire in the fireplace 
and have breakfast there and I'll sit 
on your lap, shirt, and maybe it will 
snow or rain or something and we 
can sit there all day. 

Would you like that, shirt..,? 


Uh huh. I can tell. 

А Van Heusen shirt like you has 
absolutely no intention of doing any- 
thing else. You have just one thing 
on your mind. 

You fit like that because you 
want me to notice what great shape 
he's in. You whistle at me with that 


Whar's 
your hurry, 
shirt...? 


plaid so Pll remember he's the only 
real man left in the world. 

You're right, shirt. 

Come here, Let's play Saturday. 


VAN HEUSEN 
4417 younger by design 


Van Heusen ord Lady Van Heusen Apparel 


‘That Man’ by Revion 


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Viceroy is specifically designed to taste the way 
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that's right! eyes 


OCTOBER'S HARE- 
raising cover hails 
sprightly as a brisk fall 
day. Social commentator-cartoonist Jules 
Feiffer's The Great Comic-Book Heroes 
Qwhich—in much expanded form and 
profusely illustrated—will be published 
soon as a hardcover book by Dial Press) 
lovingly yet analytically recounts those 
s when ten cents bought 64 
pages of incredible illustrated adventure. 
Feiller recalls vividly his own efforts in the 
comic-book grist mills of the Forties. Jules 
tells u: The schlock houses were the art 
schools of the business. Working blind 
but furiously, working from swipes from 
others, working trom the advice of others 
who drew better because they were in the 
business two weeks longer, one suddenly 
learned how to draw. ГА meet, in those 
сапу days, other young cartoonists. We'd 
k nothing but shop. A new world; 
new superheroes; new archvillains. We'd 
compare swipes—and then, as our work 
improved, we'd disdain swipes. We'd 
joke about those who daimed to no 
longer use them but secretly sull did. 
Sometimes, secretly, we still did, too. 
Some of us would pair off, find rooms to- 
gether—moving our drawing tables away 
from the family into the world of com 
mercial togetherness. Eighteen hours a 
day of wor 

“We were a generation. We thought of 
ourselves the way the men who began 
movies must have. We were out то be 
splendid—somchow. In the meantime, 
we talked at our drawing tables about 
Caniff, Raymond, Foster. We argued 
over the importance of detail. Must 
suit be shown? Some 
The magic realists of the 
ness. Others argued no; what one 
wanted, after all, was effect. The expres 
nists of the business. Experiments in 

sc of angle shots were carried on. 


PLAYBIL 


an issue 


the 
Arguments raged: Should angle shots be 


used for their own sake or for the sake of 
furthering the story? Everyone went back 
to study Cilizen Kane. Rumors spread 
that Welles himself had read and learned 


WEINSTEIN 


from comic books. What a great business,” 
says Jules, fondly. 

Jean Shepherd, perpenator of Leo 
pold Doppler and the Orpheum Gravy 
Boat Riol, a traumatic totalrecall trip 
back to the Byzantine bijoux of the Thir- 
ties. did not escape that cra unscathed. 
He claims he still suffers from recurrent 
attacks of Triple Feature Paralysis, a 
condition caused by maintaining a 
slumping seated position over long peri- 
ods of time while receiving multiple 
blows on the kneecaps from the seat 
ahead, and aggravated by massive inges 
tions of cholesterol-coated popcorn. The 
Gravy Boat Riot's riotously baroque il- 
lusuration, executed by young Philadel- 

tist Gordon Kibbee, is his first for 
national magazine. 
icken-Fat Curtain. surrounding 
Sol Weinstein, author of Loxfinger, crea 
tor of Seact Agent Oy Oy Seven, Israel 
Bond—and a man about whom we kne 
absolutely nothing prior to the arrival of 
his halvah-stained  manuscript—melted 
away when we received the following 
communiqué enclosed in а smoked: 
salmon-pink envelope, stamped “Top 
Secet—It Should Only Not Fall into 


Anti-Semitic Hands" and postmarked 
Levittown, Pennsylvania: "Age 37. Two 
children—David, age 008, Judy, 005. 


Wife, Ellie, simple uncomplicated psy- 
chotic from Bronx. We met in garment 
center when our racks collided. Write 
material for Joe E. Lewis (Aristote of 
Bottle), Jackie Kannon, Mad magazine. 
Sing à la Sinatra but have Walter Slezak 
body. Write poetry, eg: I hissed the 


friendly browne 

milk and cheese. I'm lying in my nursery 
now (With hoof n’ mouth disease. Fu- 
ture plans: Romantic lead opposite Mai 
Zewerling in film to be titled The Beast 
That Came from the Yeast (300-foot rye 
bread escapes from Grossinger’s causing 
Terror! Terror! Terror!). Writing Lox- 
finger sequel—Matzohball. Am about to 
move from Burning Bush Lane to Rain 
Lily Road Levittown) and have 


vowed to kill degenerate who named 


ed cow/Who gives us 


WAKEFIELD 


FEIEER 


Levittown streets.” After this issue's prc- 
view of Loxfinger, the full story will be 
published by Pocket Books; Matzohball 
will be previewed in our December issue 
and will also be followed by a Pocket 
Book—-length version (Enjoy! Enjoy!) co- 
inciding uncoincidentally with the movie 
premiere of Thunderball. 

Herbert Gold, whose City of Light 
‘65 glitters as this month's lead fiction, 
writes from his Baghdad-by-the-Bay 
haunts that he is on the selection com- 
miuce for this month's San Francisco 
Film Festival, is finishing * novel 
(his seventh) and is writing about his trip 
to the Soviet Union this past summer. 

Architect of The Official Sex Manual 
Gerald Sussr is а mild-mannered 
copywriter for J. Walter Thompson by 
day, an author by night, who says he is 
also involved in cultural stuff, land and 
er sports, and making fake licorice out 
of tar to amuse his friends. In compiling 
The Official Sex Manual (an expanded 
version of which will soon be published 
by G. P. Putnam's), Sussman—a forth- 
right fellow—claims it’s taught him one 
thing: “Writing about sex isn't all tinsel 
and glamor. It's mostly paperwork. 

Dan Wakefield, who gives us dn Un- 
hurried View of Ralph Ginzburg, had his 
first unhurried view of censorship in 
1962, when he covered the trial in which 
a little magazine called The Province- 
town Review banned in Massachu- 
seus for printing a segment of Hubert 
Selby, Jr.'s Last Exit from Brooklyn. 

October, of course, has much more to 

your 1966 Playboy Jazz-Poll Bal- 
an exclusive interview with the con- 
troversial, cantankerous and indefatigable 
Madalyn Murray: 
page wordsand-picturcs visit with 
Bunnies of Miami; a lusty help 
Limericks, spicily decorated. with the 
illustrations of Arnold Roth; Theodore 
Sturgcon's wry sci-fier of a computer gone 
awry, The Nail and the Oracle; plus the 
fine French form of Catherine Dencuve, 
and a host of other visual and verbal 
atuactions, all of which await within. 


кшп. 


STURGEON SUSSMAN 


vol. 12, no. 10— october, 1965 


PLAYBOY. 


Fashion Forecost 


Jazz Ballot 


OHIO STAEET, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS mETURR 
POSTAGE MUST ACCOMPANY ALL MANUSCRIPTS. ORAW 
Ines AND PHOTOGRAPHS SUBMITTED IF THEY ARE 
AND SENIFICTION IN THIS MAGAZINE AND ANY 
TAL. CREOITS: COVER. MODEL FENNY JAMES, 
stuna азє-мв mores тт POSAR tie) 
(3), BUNNY YEAGER (3), саш, P. 169 
mucro av cronce woopnurr / eusiess WEEK 


PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY нын FUBLISMING CO. 
ANC.. їн NATIONAL AND REGIONAL EDITIONS. PLAY 
EOSIN. SECOND CLASS POSTAGE FAD AT CHICAGO, 
ILLINOIS, AND AT ADDITIONAL MAILING OFFICES 
SUSSCAIPTIONS: IN THE U.5., $5 FOR ONE YEAR 


CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE 


PLAYBILL = : = 4) 
DEAR PLAYBOY NT 
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS. 23 
THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 43 
PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK —travel PATRICK CHASE 53 
THE PLAYBOY FORUM 55 
PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: MADALYN MURRAY —candid conversation. 61 


THE GREAT COMIC-BOOK HEROES— nostalgia JULES FEIFFER 75 
CITY OF LIGHT '65—hiction HERBERT GOLD 84 
FRANCE'S DENEUVE WAVE—pictorial as 
THE FIREPLACE-— fiction. PIETRO DI DONATO 93 
AN UNHURRIED VIEW OF RALPH GINZBURG—arlicle, DAN WAKEFIELD 94 
DUPLEX DIGS—playboy pad - 7 
LIMERICKS—humor 99 
THE NAIL AND THE ORACLE—fiction THEODORE STURGEON 101 
THE CHERISHED CHEROOT—modern living 103 
THE OFFICIAL SEX MANUAL—satire GERALD SUSSMAN 107 
THE ORPHEUM GRAVY BOAT RIOT—nostalgia JEAN SHEPHERD 108 


NATURAL WONDER—playboy’s playmate of the month . 110 
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor 118 
PLAYBOY'S FALL & WINTER FASHION FORECAST—at ROBERT L. GREEN 121 
THE 1966 PLAYBOY JAZZ POLL —jazxr. 130 
THE BUNNIES OF MIAMI—pictorial essay. =: 136 
LOTUS BLOSSOMS—ribald classic... 147 


LOXFINGER—perody — SOL WEINSTEN 149 
OYSTERS “R” IN SEASON—food... 3 THOMAS MARIO 150 
SYMBOLIC SEX—humor. DON ADDIS 153 
ON THE SCENE-— personalities 168 
THE PLAYBOY ART GALLERY —humor JIM BEAMAN 187 
LITTLE ANNIE FANNY —satire.... HARVEY KURTZMAN and WILL ELDER 225 


HUGH M. HEFNER editor and publisher 
A. €. SPECTORSKY associate publisher and editorial director 
ARTHUR PAUL art director 


JACK J. KESSIE managing editor VINCENT T. TAJIRI picture editor 


SHELDON WAX senior editor; PETER ANDREWS, FRANK DE BLOIS, MURRAY FISHER, 
NAT LEHRMAN, WILLIAM MACKLE associate editors KOBERT L. GREEN fashion 
director; DAVID TAYLOR asociale fashion editor; WOMAS Mario food è drink 
editor; PATRICK CHASE travel. editor; J. PAUL. GETTY contributing, editar, business 
V finance; CHARLES WEAUMONT, RICHARD GEHMAN, КЕМ W. PUROY contributing 
editors; ARLENE BOUKAS copy chief; косек WIDENER assistant editor; BEV CHAMBER 
Lain associate picture edilor; тохмк вомк assistant picture editor; Mamo 
CASILLI, LARRY GORDON, J. BARRY O ROURKE, POMPEO POSAR, JERRY YULSMAN staff pho- 
lographers; STAN MALINOWSKI contributing photographer; FRED GLASER models" 
stylist: REID AUSTIN associate art direcior; RON BLUME, JOSEPH PACZEK assistant art 
directors; WALTER KRADENYCH art assistant; CYNTHIA MADDOX assistant cartoon 
editor; JOHN MAsTRO production manager; ALLEN VARGO assistant production 
manager; PAT Yavras rights and permissions e MOWARD w. LrDrwrm advertising 
director; ори FALL adverlising manager; JULES KASE associate advertising 
manager; SHERMAN KEATS chicago advertising manager; JOSEPH GUENTHER detroit 
advertising manager; NEsON ғутси promotion director; RY RASEVITZ promotion art 
director; WELMUT товѕсн publicity manager; BENNY DUNN public relations manager; 
ANSON MOUNT public affairs manager; THEO FREDERICK personnel director; JANET 
vitis reader service: WALTER HOWARTH subscription fulfillment manager; ELDON 
SELLERS special projects; ROBERT PREUSS business manager & circulation director. 


Can you handle the popularity? 
Own a Honda and suddenly you're a powerhouse of 
personal magnetism. There’s no escaping the sleek style, the quiet 
command of the four-stroke OHV engine. Works wonders with girls. 
Prices start about $215: Upkeep is low. And you meet the nicest people. 
That’s a big draw, right there. World’s biggest seller. 


*Plus dealer's transportation and set-up charges. For name cl your nearest authorized Honda dealer write: American Herida Motor Co., Inc., Dept. JQ, 100 W. Alondra, Gardena, Calif. © AHM 1965. 


BEER DRINKERS QUIZ 


1. How cold do you like your beer? 

Ice cold. Around 40° [ 

At 50° or so (rather British, you know) [ ] 
Which do you like best? 

Cannedbeer[ ] Bottled beer [ ] 

Draught beer | ] 

Any of these, as long as it's Budweiser jen 


. Do you like your beer straight from a 
bottle or can? [ ] 


Or do you prefer to pour it into a glass? Li 


. When you do use a glass, do you ease the 
beer down the side? [| 
Or do you pour it with a flourish to get 
a healthy head of foam?[ ] 


. Do you like sait in your beer? 
yes [] Gosh, no (especially not Budweiser) Г] 


. Do you like to drink your beer in little sips? [_] 
Big swallows? [_] Something in between? [ 


. Have you ever read that famous Budweiser 
label? 


ves[] No[_] 


When you drink beer, do you usually have 
more than one can or bottle or glass? 
Yes (whoever heard of drinking just 
one Budweiser?) [_] No [_] 


Which beer is brewed by “exclusive Beechwood 
Ageing with natural carbonation to produce 

a better taste and a smoother, more 

drinkable beer?" 


Budweiser [_] Some other brand [ ] 


How much foam do you like on a glass of 
draught beer? 

One inch [] None atall [ ] 

An inch and a half to two inches [ ] 


What kind of 
beer drinker are you? 


This is a beer quiz that we gave to our own head brewmaster. We know 
he’s very good at brewing beer, but we wanted to check up on his beer- 
drinking habits. Naturally, since we’re terribly biased in favor of our 
product, we wanted him to score well. He did. A perfect 100 points, as 
a matter of fact. With a beer-drinking brewmaster like this, no wonder 
Budweiser tastes so good. 


Just for fun, why don't you match your own beer-drinking habits 
against those of our brewmaster by answering the questions on the 
opposite page (score ten points for each). While you're taking the 
test, it might be a good idea to cover up the answers below (maybe 
with a six-pak of cold Bude). 


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“SMOTIEMS Arg `9 “0f punoay ^T 


CSHHLMSNTV SUALSVN MANE UNO 


That’s it. Now you can compare answers. By the way, if you scored 80 
or more points, you’re probably a Budweiser drinker. If you scored 
100 points (that’s perfect), better pour yourself another Budweiser. 
Chances are your glass is empty. 


it’s worth it...it’s Budweisere 


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DEAR PLAYBOY 


EJ лоок PLAYBOY MAGAZINE + 


LOOKING AT LOOK AWAY 
I read Hoke Norris’ story Look Away 
[PLAvsov, July 1965] with very great 
interest, thought it extremely well done, 
and am happy you saw fit to publish him. 
Aside from being a writer, he is a very 
wonderful human being, and I feel in- 
debted to him for many reasons. 1 hope 
you publish more of his work. 
Hemy Miller 
Pacific Palisades, 


fornia 


In the story Look Away, Hoke Norris 
avoids the obvious. He is not maudlin 
and sloppy-soft. (Not a hard-boiled egg, 
cither.) His people are not paper dolls 
with “bad” and "good" stamped on their 
backs; it is easy to believe they will go 
on steaming and shrinking and lunging, 
and shredding themselves, after the last 


paragraph 


Gwendolyn Brooks 
Chicago, Ilinois 


‘The courage of rLAvnov in publishing 
Hoke Norris’ tour de force, Look Away, 
merits unstinted praise. May I olfer it and 
the heartfelt appreciation of a Mississip- 
pian who, for 25 years, has fought what 
has seemed to be a losing battle with his 
guardian, family and friends. Not only 
did 1 relish with deep, perverse satisfac- 
tion the savage thrust of Norris’ plot and 
exposition, but also 1 loathed with 
splendid, cathartic hatred his Southern 
whites. 


John Doran 
Pico Rivera, California 


Hoke Noris Look Away protruded 
like a rotting olive in a bowl of dia 
monds. I'm surprised you'd think we're 
still interested in such wipe. Civil rights 
is a dying horse—beaten beyond reco; 
nition, almost, by anyone and everyone 
who ever hoped to make a fast buck by 
riding its coattails. It was amusing, to be 
sure, if only for its unbelievable corn, 
but, quite frankly, I found it very, very 
boring. 


Mel Kevin 
Rantoul, Illinois 


As a member of the Armed Forces of 
the United States, I thank you and M 
Norris for his splendid bit of “fiction, 
Look Away. The Confederate flags dis 


232 E. OHIO ST., CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 60611 


played on the front of this state's police 
cars and the benches marked, in bold 
ушт. ONLY, make me sick and 


letteriny 
ashamed to be serving this “great” coun- 
try of ours, We need more stories such as 
Mr. Norris’ to show the rest of the coun- 
ty how ugly the South is. I often wond 
if my friends, dying in Vietnam every 
day, have given their lives for a country 
that will never care. 

Daniel Ethan, U.S. A. Е 

Keesler AFB, Mississippi 


Hoke Norris Look Away has aroused 
the conscience of many Southerners by 
putting into words our unexpressed fecl- 
ings. Congratulations to the author on 
such an excellent piece of writing. 
Carl Hundley 
Chapel Hill, North Carolina 


SHERMAN ON SEX 
I would like to thank you for enriching 

your July issue with the humor of Allan 

Sherman. Sex and the Single Sherman 

nd most touch 

ing artides you have ever printed. Please 

keep up the terrific job you're doing. 
Ken Wenzel 
Merrick, New York 


was one of the funniest 


Allan Sherman's discourse on inter- 
course was most enlightening. An adult's 
honest revelation of youthful sex mani- 
festations, it must have taken a lot of 
courage. Bravo for him. In my estimation, 
his "image" has gained considerable stat- 
ure. Even my wife agrees with me 
Norman Seluer 
Hanover, Michigan 


Allan Sherman's nauseating saga of his 
sex life was, without a doubt, the most 
offensive piece I've ever had the misfor- 
tune to read in PLaynoy. Mr. Sherman is 
not a funny comedian and has proved, to 
me anyway, that he also is not a funny 
writer. To be brutally frank, I couldn't 
care less about the care and handling of 
Sherman's privates. 

John Fredrick 

Tahlequah, Oklahoma 


The comments on masturbation in Sex 
and the Single Sherman were right to the 
point. Recently I asked a Catholic friend 
of mine if C 


tholics believed one could 


mmm 


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> 
A 
U 
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PLAYBOY 


10 


NOW PLAYING * CAPITOL RECORD 


x PEGGY LEE xx» CANNONBALL ADDERLEY 
x GEORGE SHEARING x x x LOU RAWLS x x ж 


NANCY WILSON 
Sings 


18-28. BROADWAY MY WAY Мәке 
Someone Happy, I Believe in You, 
Getting To Know You, 12 in all. 


20-12. YESTERDAY'S LOVE SDNGS, 
TOORY'S BLUES—The Song Is You, 
Never Let Me Go, 10 other hits. 


21-36. NANCY WILSON SHOW— 
You Can Have Him, Bill Bailey, 
Don't Take Your Love From Me, 
Guess Who I Saw Тогу, 5 more. 


21-55. HOW GLAD 1 AN—Grass Is 
Greener, Never Less Than Yester- 
day, People, 11 songs in all. 


cence 
SHEARING QUNTEI wn 


[Domination 


Liza MINNELLI} 


STORMY MONDAY 


LOURAWILS | 
Тылы 


Г | 


BARBRA STREISAND x xFRANK SINATRA x 


TRIO 


2 KOTO 
| LUTE 


arthur Lyman 


0 ñ 
BUDDY COUETTE 


TAURINDO 
ALMEIDA 


— 


GERALD WILSON] 


СРЕО 


МАТ 
KINGCOLE 


MY FAIR 
LADY 


оооооооооооооооооео е EN EI 


CLUB'S ALL-STAR FESTIVAL x x x x 
THE BEATLES x x SAMMY DAVIS x x AL HIRT x 
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ARTISTRY IN N 
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352. MUSIC FOR LOVERS ONLY— 

Gur Love 15 Here То Stay, Alone 
Together, Little Girl, 9 more. 

21-44, THE LAST DANCE—The 
Best is Yet To Come, Because of 

ous ГИА You Love, 12 tn ale 

vic м 14-38. LAZY, LIVELY LOVE—It Had 

Songs 1 Sing on the 1 n To Be You, Lover Nan, Too Close 
Mackie Gleason Stow "| 7 for Comfort, Smile, B others. 

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тоша ` How High the Moon, 


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PLAYBOY 


14 


Some guys have it. Some guys never will. 
Black Label After Shave, Spray Deodorant, Bath Talc. A buck each. 


go to hell for masturbating. His answer 
was “Certainly.” Such a vicious docuine 
has been the source of much needless anx- 
ісу for Catholic young people of both 
sexes, and has aggravated many a nenro- 
sis. How can a loving God be thought of 
as dealing out such punishment? 
(Name withheld by request) 
Bloomington, Indiana 


In his article Sex and the Single Sher- 
man, the page in the Boy Scout manual of 
1937 that Mr. Sherman is referring to [re- 
garding the evils of masturbation] is 528 
and not 


F.M. Richard Simons 
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania 
Turn in your merit badges, Allan. 


Many thanks for Allan Sherman's Sex 
and the Single Sherman, How true his 
last paragraph was. [In it, Sherman ex- 
pressed sorrow that so often the acquisi- 
tion of sexual knowledge is a traumatic 
and guilbridden experience for young 
people] I have often thought of that 
myself as 1 bring up my two children, 
boy and a girl. How Ї dread the time 
when I will have to tell them about life, 
hoping I can make it sound as wonderful 
them the whole 
story so that when they are in their ado- 
lescence they won't have to learn the de- 
tails the hard way. 

Mrs. R. J. Herrbach 
San Bernardino, California 


as it really is; telli 


As a female (horrors!) and an avid 
reader of your magazine, I must state 
here and now that I can never remember 
reading anything that so completely 
states the whole case, or problem (as you 
will) of sex, as did the lust paragraph 
of Allan Sherman's article in your July 
issue. 

Why, oh why, does it have to be like 
that? God bless us all, if we can ever reach 
the point where sex is meaningful and 
beautiful and not something to be snic 
ered at, during our youth, and talked 
about behind "cupped hands" during our 
so-called adult years. 

Mis. Richard F. Ryan 
Granby, Connecticut 


If I remember correctly, another Sher- 
man said that war was hell. Perhaps Gen- 
eral and Allan Sherman are related. 

Robert B. M. Barton, President 
Parker Brothers, Inc. 
Salem, Massachusetts 


BOND ADIEU 
Your many readers will gratefully 
agree, I'm sure, that sincere thanks 
should go to PLAvnov for publishing The 
Man with the Golden Gun, regrettably 
the last book by Ian Fleming. The “Flem 
ing cra.” however, will not come to a 
close in the next decade, I am sure. His 
books will be read and reread. 
James M. Ferrari 
Lancaster, Pennsylvania 


This jacket’s the mixmaster. It has natural 
shoulders, 3-button front, trim lines, lapped 
seams, and hooked center vent for the nice, 


easy look that suits 
stuffiest kind) or 
swingers on less 


Feeling regal? Or rakish? 
This vest goes both ways, to fit 
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make a dashing, sporty contrast. 


ш 
To create а stir...mix the h.l. $ 4-piece combo suit 


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Two pairs of tapered 
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There is no question about it. James 
Bond is and always will be fiction’s best 
in the cloak-and-dagger капи 

M. Thomas Rocks 
Washington, Pennsylvania 


thought Fleming was a n 
the world—knowledgeable, sophist 
and so on. You can imag 
and surprise when 1 
about marijuana. Sixteen pounds sterling 
per ounce—hah. The stuff sells for $175 
wholesale in New York City and costs 
about ten percent of that in Mexico, 
where the majority of it comes from. 
These prices are рег pound. New York 
City alone imports thousands of pounds a 
week. And marijuana isn't a narcotic in 
the technical definition; and it is also 
non-habit-forming (and thus upsets all of 
Fleming's implications). Have you any 
rejoinder that will enable Fleming to re- 
gain his “cool” status? 
D. R. Mickelson 
New York, New York. 
Scaramanga says: “. . . the ganja [mari- 
juana] laws have just been considerably 
sliffened. There are big prison sentences. 
Consequenily, the price has gone through 
the roof.” The reference was to the price 
in Jamaica. And while it is true that mari- 
juana is not a narcotic, ie., addictive, it 
can be habit-forming. Dig? 


HEAVY FLACK 
The only thing wrong with Mu 
Teigh Bloom's July article, The Great 
American Build-up, is that it doesn't go 
far enough. 
Sure, there are publicrelations people 
who “handle” people for a personal build- 
up—a very small segment of businessmen 
who itch to be known as business ty- 
coons, a middling segment of politicians 
who still believe that it's not what you say 
that counts, it's what you say 
а whopping segment of enteriainmi 
world personalities who equate their 
press clippings with their egos and the 
king prices. Frequently, the personal 
build-up pays big dividends, but this 
hardly the basis of the publicrelations 
iness, and it hardly seems fair to allege 
by omission that it might be. For the 50 
personal build-up specialists the artide 
discusses, there are thousands of corpo- 
rate, community, association, publicsery- 
ice and publicrelations concept builders. 
Every competent public-relations spe- 
cialist builds people. Every corporation, 
, political party, et cetera, 
inanimate thing without people. 
we've always believed that no m. 
luminous the personality, what he repre- 
nts deserves the bigger build-up, pays 
the bigger dividend, lasts the longer time. 
Allan F, Zachary, President 
Zachary, Liss and Front 
Public Relations 

Jew York, New York 


The writer of The Great American 
Build-up appears to be unaware that 
great changes in our society have made 
the build-up an inevitable part of our sys- 
tem, and very often a highly construc 
tive one. Speeded-up communication and 
transportation have given leaders mil- 
lions of listeners and readers in arcas ex- 
tended to millions of square miles. They 
can reach these people almost simultane- 
ously. Leadership depends on the effec 
ness with which sound nd 
actions presented to the public 
through the network of communication. 

But a good statesman, manufacturer or 
educator docs not necessarily know how 
to enlist public support. This new disci- 
pline is usually outside his own compe- 
tence. The new profession of counsel on 
public relations came into being after 
World War One in response to a great 
need. Leaders now demand expert coun- 
sel on public relations in these matters, 
much as they require lawyers in legal 
matters. 


Edward L. Bernays 
Cambridge, Massachusetts 
The positive powers of PR have been 
oft and ably extolled and expounded by 
Mr. Bernays, dean of the art and among 
the first to use motivation research in its 
behalf. The motive of Murray Bloom's 
article was to explicate some of PR's less 
lofty and less familiar aspects, not to sur- 
vey the entire field. 


SHEPHERD'S SKYROCKET 
Please pass on several schoolisout 
whoopees to Jean Shepherd from those of 
us who tipped a can over the Fourth in 
honor of Ludlow Kissel [Ludlow Kissel 
and the Dago Bomb That Struck Back, 
July]. What else can you do to demon- 
Strate your patriotism here in safeand- 
sane, fireworks free Massachusetts? Even 
when I was a kid, the “Remember-the- 
kid-that-lost-an-eye-one-time” people had 
gained the upper hand. But they cannot 
legislate away a free spirit. 1 remembered 
the treasure hidden in the false 
panel where I used to keep my old Henry 
Miller books. Drawing the blinds and se- 
curing the doors against the police, 1 
went down to the cellar, and the: 
behind the oil burner, 1 ignited my an- 
cient sparkler—and thought sad thoughts. 
Peter Luoma 
Weymouth, Massachusetts 


down 


I enjoyed Jean Shepherd's reminis- 
cence about the Fourth of July in 
small home town in northern Ind 
However, it seems he remembers Ludlow 
and the pyrotechnics beuer than he re- 
members the local flora. Lilac bushes 
don't “droop fragrantly” in Ind i 


July. 


a in 


Marsha Hefferan 

Prospect Heights, Hlinoi 

Shepherd says everything droops in 
Hammond, whatever the month. 


(ТҮ! 
Jim Cramer worked his way up 


the hard way. He likes a heer Y 
Ihat drinks down the easy way. re 


ina gr 


ролюн 
ае Ий ооё 


и mns ин 
терщ Рене 


PLAYBOY 


18 


Boots Randolph: 
How do you describe 
the way this guy plays? 


Tf Daniel Boone had played sax. 
he would have sounded like 
Boots. — Rawboned. Tough. 
Humorous. Folk, Rowdy. 

he man who wrote Yakety Sax 
like nobody but his 


fans and hip boots! 


voluted, urgent patterns, both y 
intellectual and intense. Cou - 


sounds 


jazz 
con- 


imitators. Jai 


musicians love his long. 


love his downhome simplic 
We can't think of many other instrumen- 
talists who so much for your 
money: if you turn the volume down, Boots 
a strange and 


give you 


is a musicologist’s delight: 
cerebral marriage of mainstream ja: 


to mountain creek soul. If you tur 
DA, the volume up. 


you've got the 


` makings of Л 
a wild Ed 
party 


Buy Boots on 
monument 


! 


- мы воот 
мө во 
MEP B037 


monument 


is artistry 


1 
3 


POLICE REPORT 


er of the article Cruising, 


nation. He attempts to be 
alistic and uses very descriptive lan- 
guage. It is understandable that he uses 
the term "cop" rather than “policem: 

the two officers seem representa- 
of the first. The truth is that men of 
this low 
progressive police force. 
ments quickh 
tice the poor judgment evidenced by 
these two in the way they handled every 
r tour of duty. 

Success in police work is not posible 
with attitudes like those held by the two 
men in the Je are not so unreal- 
istic as to d "cops" may exist 
but they arc not 
typical policemen. This was not the aver 
age day in a scout car that the author 


liber would not last long on a 


Police 


Chief of Police 
Oklahoma City Police Deparunent 
Oklahoma Ci ty. Oklahoma 


POOL SCORE 

Whats in a name? Don Drown, our 
"reassuringly yclept swimming instruc 
tor” (Playboy After Hours, July 1965) has 
not yet lost a student, "Learn 10 Swim 
with Comer and Drown,” we tell our 
freshmen 

Alice J. Thurston, Ph.D., Assistant Dean. 
The Montgomery Junior College 
Takoma Park, Maryland 


COLLECTIVE THOUGHTS 
I just picked up a copy of the July 

ъслувоу and I couldn't get past Playboy 

After Hours without stopping to add 

few collective “human types” of my own: 

stock of brokers 

loaf of bakers 

«тор of farmers 

line of fishermen 

row of gardeners 

pen of writers 

flock of shepherds 


peepee pe 


Mel Piff, П 
Moline, Illinois 


OK, gentlemen, try these on for size: 

rash of dermatologists 

stream of urologists 

flood of weathermen 

battery of electri 

pile of proctologists 

blanket of campers 

chain of smokers 

a pack of card players 

а board of carpenters 

а wave of hair stylists 
Harvey J. Engelsher, M.D. 
Yonkers, New York 


ns 


s of priests? A press of reporters? 
John N. Kessler 
Murray Hill, New Jersey 


A cast of skiers? 
Edwin B. Barker 
Manhattan Beach, California 


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INSIDIOUS INTERVIEW 

The July eravnov has an interes! 
somewhat confusing, exchange of den 
in the Dear Playboy columns. Someone 
who claims to be Art Buchwald denies he 
was interviewed, a letter signed by Mar- 
vin Кітап denies such an imterview was 
made, and rrAvnoy denies publishing the 
interview. 

Had the alleged interview actually ap- 
peared in PLAYnov, the corroborative 
denials of three parties would have estab 
lished the interview to be little more than 
a simple fraud. However, the bare fact is 
that no such interview was published in 
April or at any other time. The denials, 
therefore, scem quite pointless, unless 
they are indeed part of a serious conspir- 
acy, and I believe that I am close 10 the 
truth of the matter. 

The uncanny likeness between the 
names Art Buchwald and Michael Morro, 
the infamous тиңизи agent, and а simi- 
larly astounding likeness between the 
names Marvin Кйтап and Exel Ezi, 
the notorious sMERsH enforcer, confirm 
what I have suspected all along—that 
the two syndicates are really one and the 
same. Furthermore, the mysteriously long 
PLAYBOY reply is undoubtedly a coded 
message from their U.S- intermediary. 

Robert Willoughby 
Basking Ridge, New Jersey 


THINK SHRINK 

Not that your Circulation Department 
would notice the increase, but the July 
issue of rrAvmov is circulating widely 
around the offices of Weldotron. On be- 
half of the “forward-looking Weldotron 
Corporation,” many thanks for the very 
cleverly written mention in the Playboy 
After Hours section 

Since the nature of shrink packaging 
permits a contour-hugging overwrap to 
be produced, the fanciful vision of pre- 
packaging sweet, lovable people (as de- 
scribed in the write-up) can easily be a 
reality. You have an unlimited source of 
“lovable people." whose contours would 
present no packaging problem to us 
These * offer interesting 
possibilities promotionwise, if you would 
be interested in pursuing this thought. 
We would welcome the challenge of pack- 
aging PLAYBOY famous products. 

Ronald S. Tulin, Publicity Man: 

Weldotron Corporation 

Newark, New Jersey 
Seems like an interesting notion—at 
st glance. Bul on further thought, we 
sce a clear, unshrunk case of conflict of in- 
terests: One of our specialties is unpack- 
aging lovable people, and we rather 
suspect our readers would like us to keep 
it that way. What red-blooded American 
male would want a contour-hugging over- 
wrap between him and his lovable peo- 
ple? The mere thought might make him 
shrink—without benefit of prepackaging. 


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21 


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OUTSIDE THE U.S. AND CANADA IT'S CALLEO БШ ШП VERMOUTH 


PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 


or those of you who are finding that 

knitting up the raveled sleeve of 
care is getting to be tough stitching these 
days, we olfer the following tranquilizer: 
a telephone call to PLaza 9-1520 in New 
York City. After a few rings, a lush fe- 
male voice in accents of equal parts liq- 
uid gold and pure Brooklynese gushes 
the greeting “Hello there, this is your 
lullaby lady. I'm so sorry you can't sleep. 
Let me suggest three of my best sleep 
coaxers . . ." The voice then languidly 
s out sleepy-time suggestions that end 
with a sales pitch to “come in and see 
your lullaby lady at the Norman Dine 
Sleep Center, 9 East 54th Street.” This 
Morphean call to arms is but one of a 
myriad of recorded messages that await 
the dedicated dialei 

We recently occupied ourself during 
what would have been an otherwise idle 
afternoon by sampling some of the avail- 
able telephonic fare around the country. 
In addition to the standard recorded 
messages on arrival and departure sched 
ules of airlines, weather forecasts and 
time checks, we found we could get every- 
thing from news about the "six little 
danger signs that could mean cancer" to 
a recipe for pot roast. In Los Angeles, 
Smokers Dial Service at 345-6545 told 
us how we could stop smoking. We called 
Dial-A-Movie in Dallas at 9-6511 and 
were a little surprised to learn that the 
best movies for the family then playing 
in town were The Brass Bottle, Gidget 
Goes to Rome, The Greatest Story Ever 
Told and Ride the Wild Swf. 

The need for recorded 
found out, became evident during 
New York Worlds Fair of 1939. 
minister would leave his call 
ing cards around the f. 
ing people to call him if they needed 
help. In those days, there was no 
telephone recording equipment, so the 
padre had to race back home, answer 
the phone as it rang, and shoot comfort 
from the hip. But look today at what 
this man of God hath wrought. In almost 
every city there is either a Dial-A-Saint or 
a Dial-A-Prayer. In Chicago, DE 7-1200 


messages, we 


grounds as 


offers spiritual solace presented by Lain 
& Son, funeral directors. For those 
oriented along Christian Scientist lines, 
there is DiaLA-Treatment in New York 
at 765-3282. 

We're sorry to report that recorded 
telephone announcements are often used 
for less uplifting purposes. They have 
been pressed into service on behalf of 
used-car dealers, movie theaters, dance 
studios and credit firms peddling time- 
payment plans for home repairs. In Los 
Angeles, there was even an enterprising 
group of pornographers who, until the 
police broke them up. were doing a brisk 
business selling feelthy pictures via 
recorded pitches. In Chicago we got pic- 
turcs of an even more distressing sort by 
dialing GOD-1786. “Let freedom ring,’ 
came the quavering voice of what was 
unmistakably a little old lady. Then 
began the sad spiel of the radical right 
wailing about the Supreme Court, which, 
"because of its pro-Communist decisions 
and reckless disregard for decency has 
lost the confidence of the American 
people.” Justice Douglas voted for the 
Communists 97 percent of the time, she 
said, and Justice Black was pegged at 
100 percent. For a brief second we could 
swear we heard the wisping sound of 
flexing tennis shoes. 

Most of the sins of commission or 
omission by the recorders of telephone 
announcements, however, are delightfully 
expiared by the Massachusetts Audubon 
Society in Boston. Dialing KE 64050, 
we were utterly entranced to learn that 
‘phalaropes have been seen off Ipswich 
and a yellow-billed cuckoo has been re- 
ported from Rockford. A pileated wood- 
pecker was observed at the Ipswich River 
Wild Life Sanctuary in Tufts Field 
and a dickcissel was reported from 
Marblehead. At the sewer beds in Marl 
boro there were four or five solitary sand- 
pipers and ten killdeers.” We were also 
told to “watch for the Hudsonian bar- 
bets and whimbrels at the north end of 
Plum Island where they feed on the mus- 
sel beds at low tide.” In what was per- 
haps a breach of delicacy, we were Inter 
informed that in Gloucester two stilt 


N 


be 


sandpipers were seen “in their breeding 
plumage.” 

But our dialing day ended on a sour 
note when we called Dial-An-Entertain- 
ment in Los Angeles at 278-0300. After 
four rings, we heard, “This is a 
recording. You have reached a discon- 
nected number. 


A novel notion in church socials came 
to our attention in the form of an ad 
from Massachusetts’ Haverhill Gazette: 
"Ladies of the West Haverhill Congrega- 
tional Church have cast off clothing of all 
kinds, and everything can be scen after- 


noons in the basement of the church.” 


The Great Discount Delusion, a book- 
length exposé that accuses mark.down- 
merchandise emporiums of exploiting 
the public, destroying department-store 
competition and undermining the econo 
my with drastic price reductions, was re- 
cently published by the David McKay 
Company ас 54.50 each. Nothing if not a 
good sport, E. J. Korvette, the nation’s 
leading discount chain, is selling the 
book for 53.09 а copy. 


A spy in the sports department at the 
New York Daily News has informed us 
that the reporting май there is under 
g orders 10 refer to the missile 
used in hockey as the “disk” or “rubber 
Ihe word “puck” is considered too 
tempting to playful and/or nearsighted 
typesetters. 


Think Big Department: Embassy Pic- 
tures’ upcoming The Tenth Victim was 
formerly titled The Seventh Victim. 

We applaud the Democratic lawmakers 
of the Pennsylvania state legislature who 
applauded Rep. Blaine C. Hocker for 
his candor during a floor debate on ju- 
venile detention centers, when he de- 
clared. “I'm not talking as а Republican; 
I'm speaking as a human being.” 


A missive from our man in Paris pro- 
vided us with food for thought. Various 


23 


PLAYBOY 


24 


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articles found in Paris’ public swimming 
pools, he reports, were auctioned off by 
the city not long ago. They included some 
7500 brassicres. 


Back in April 1964, these columns ap- 
prised the reader of some of the more 
unusual color names suggested by en- 
wants in a contest sponsored by the Eagle 
Shirtmakers of Quakertown, Pennsylva- 
nia. Since then, the Eagle people have 
continued to spice their ads with spright- 
ly handles for new hues—Saratochre, Up. 
To Snuff, George Scandals’ White—while 
we've kept our own color ideas to our- 
self. However, the time is now ripe, we 
feel (what with international good will 
at an all-time low), to share our thoughts 
with the world and the Eagle Shirt 
makers. We oller—gratis—ihe following 
spectrum: 

Long-John Silver 

Done-Up Brown 

Everything-Went Black 

Mincan Maize 

In Violet 

Yuca Tan 

CountTo Tan 

Ant Teak 

Rip-Outthe Front Beige 

High-Pitched Wine 

Mind-Over Madder 

Toots Wheat 

And, as a followup to Eagles own 
Barrywater Gold. this final offering— 
The Extweme White. 


Eleventh Commandment: In the park 
ing lot adjoining the Temple Avodah in 
Oceanside, Long Island, in the space re- 
served for the rabbi's car, i a sign read- 
ing THOU SHALT ХОТ PARK. 


As we go to press, police in San 
Gabriel, California, arc still secking two 
gunmen who grabbed $200 cash and ran 
from a local store—the Grab and Run 
Emporium. 


Just the news, please: Birth notice 
from New York State's Williamson Sun— 
“Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth DeCook, June 
18, a sin, Donald Edward.” 


MOVIES 


Casanova ‘70 is the kind of nonsuccess 
that comes straight out of success. If 
Italian pictures weren't popular, if Mar- 
cello Mastroianni weren't a world-wide 
smash, if producer Joc Levine hadn't 
collected a bundle from y imports, 
this color comedy would never have been 
made. They've taken what they think is 
the recipe—MM, beautiful babes, hilarity 
in the hay—and have tried to repeat. Re- 
sult: Blueprintsville. Marcello is an army 
officer who can't function with females 
unless the situation is risky as well as 
risqué. When a girl just comes along 


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pace-setter style. It's the new Slim Guy racer. Tailored for 
the new, trim, fashionable look. The shorter, tapered legs 
have new racing vents and contrasting trim. $1.50. 

(B-1) Though there's snow on the roof, there's still plenty 
of life in the old boy. His vote is cast for 
new Slim Guy briefs, styled for men who 
think young. They give you famous Jockey 
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they feel really great. $1.50. 

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How about you? Which Jockey under- 
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It's not Jockey brand 
it it doesn't have the Jockey boy 


PLAYBOY 


26 


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Which was 18% century 


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peaceably 10 his hotel room, it's no go, 
but when he grabs one on a museum bed 
with a guided tour gathered just outside 
the drawn canopy curtains, zoom, zoom! 
And so on—including the way he che 
a deal, jealous husband. dares the wrath 
of a dangerous Sicilian family by claim- 
ing he's à doctor and examining their 
daughter's purity. sends a wirc to rush 
home a general whose wife he's wooing, 
hurries to a harlot who's jinxed а lot of 
Johns, sexcetera. The girls are gorgeous: 
among them, Vir 1 Michelle Mer. 
cier, Yolanda Modio and Marisa Mell, 
the alpine Austrian strudel. Enrico Maria 
Salerno makes a fine fink of a head- 
shrinker. Mastroianni is never bad. but 
he has to hustle to keep this one hustling. 
There are laughs in it, but he and the 
scriptwriters must fight for them. Dirce 
tor Mario (The Big Deal on Madonna 
Street) Monicelli, who's done some dillies, 
slugs along with his star and scripters. 


The Beatles are good, but what's even 
bett re lucky. Their luck is en 
titled Richard Lester (sce this month's 
On the Scene), the chap who directed 
their first flick and has now noodled up 
the next, called Help! The new Beatles 
blast begins in a temple in some Eastern 
land: a maiden is about to be sacrificed 
to the god with incantations and all that 
jungle jazz. Suddenly the ceremony stops. 
The ring! The great ruby that must bc 
on the victim's finger! Where is it? Cut— 
to Ringo right hand, swinging up and 
down as he applies himself to his drums, 
and what, folks, do you suppose is on his 
fourth finger? Some Eastern fan just sent 
it to him in a letter. The story, if thats 
the word, is about the Asians attempt 
to regain the ring in a wild series of 
romps, Ringo wants to give it back, but 
it won't come off, so they try to sacrifice 
him. His pals take him to a mad scientist 
10 shrink his finger, but the scientist. is 
more a stinker than a shrinker and joins 
the chase. Which leads to Scotland Yard 
an army camp, and Switzerland, where 
the Asians try to bomb the Beatles—but 
heaven Alps those who Alp themselves. 
There's a fly-away finish in the Bahamas. 
The film hufts and pulls sometimes to 
keep kookie, which the first one didn’t 
need to do, but it has a lot going for it, 
d it really goes—proving that Lester 
and the Beatles were meant for each 
other, and for us. Help! doesn’t need any 


The Great Race is run under a handi- 
cap—the idea that a [arce-melodrama can 
be sustained for two-and-three-quarter 
hours. Tony Curtis, Jack Lemmon and 
Natalie Wood don't diag, but the script 
does. It’s the story of a turnof-the-century 
ашо race from New York to Paris via 
California, Alaska, Russia and Central 
Europe—sort of a cross between Around 
the World in 80 Days and Those 
Magnificent Men in Their Flying Ma- 
chines, but without the laugh level of 


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the former or the novelty of the latter. 
Curtis is The Great Leslie, a daredevil 
always dressed in white. Lemmon is Pro- 
fessor Fate, the black-dressed heavy who 
hates him. Natalie is a suffragette who 
bustles her bustle into the race as a re 
porter. sending dispatches home by hom- 
ing pigeon. Parts are partly f but 
most of the merriment isn’t. It’s largely 
predictable or might as well be: a break- 
down in the desert, a too-long brawl in a 
Western saloon, an episode on an ice 
floe, a sequence in which Lemmon dou- 
bles as a drunken king he resembles, a 
custard-pie affray that makes It’s a Mad, 
Mad, Mad, Mad World look like a short. 
Lemmon, usually sharp. shouts a lot in 
this one. Curtis looks like Joe Hero but 
sounds like a hackic. Miss Wood is wild. 
The best running gig in the picture is 
that she sports a new outfit in cach scene, 
though she has only a couple of bags. 
Blake Edwards, who directed such come- 
dics as The Pink Panther, has lent his 
touch to this two-ton trifle. H's a long 
drive from New York westward to Paris, 
and this puteputt Panavision parade 
doesn’t speed it up any. 


High Infidelity will restore anyone's faith 
in human nature—good and bad. This 
Italian four-scgment film has some fresh 
ideas and plenty of fresh ways to handle 
them. are Nino Manfredi (a sort 
zzi), Ugo Tognazzi ( a sort 
of Nino Manfredi) and Jean-Pierre Cassel 
(a sort of Jean-Pierre Cassel). Chicks? Ful- 
via Franco, Claire Bloom, Monica Vitti, 
Michele Merder—a quartet to reckon. 
with. Episode One has Manfredi at a 
beach resort where he thinks a good- 
looking younger guy is making a play for 
his wife. The therapeutic effects on Man- 
Iredi's manhood are marked. The second 
is an oldish idea, but is perfectly played 
by Claire Bloom as а pickup and Charles 
Aznavour as the picker. In the third, Cas- 
sel shows he's as light-fingered as ever in 
a daffy boudoir bit with Miss Vitti, who 
is as good at antics as at Antonioni. The 
last takes us down to earth for some 


thy humor. Tognazzi is а cheese deal- 
er who can't stop gambling and loses 
everything he owns to Bernard Blier. 
Blicr says he'll scrub the whole debt for 
one night with Mis. Tognazzi (Michele 
Mercier). Tognazzi talks it over with 
Mrs. T. whose brains aren't all in her 
head. There's a twist in the tail of the 
tale that sends everyone home happy. 
including Blier and us. Much of the 
quartets quality is due to four firs-tcam 
directors: Franco Rossi, Elio Petri, Lu- 
cano Salce and Mario Monicelli, who 
manage to keep High Injidelity high. 


So suppose someone asks: “Whatever 
arlon Brando?" The an 
1, just sleeping. Like, for 
instance, in а new picture called Мө 
a World War Two thriller in which 
Brando plays a German officer who fled 


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Germany to Asta a 
the British into being a s 
has dusted off his Young Li 
he’s put 
man freighter out of Tokyo, carr 
7000 tons of rubber for the fatherland, 
His job is to scuttle the scuttling appara 
tus so that when the Americans inter 
cept, the captain (Yul Brynner, yet) can't 
sink hîs ship. Some of the crewmen are 
political prisoners who come round to 
help Marlon. Then a German sub puts 
rd some survivors of an American 
cluding a Jewish refugee 
the Lisa of David and). 
ble frankness (one of 
is the N 
the girl gives her all—or what's left of it 
—to help the scheme). Mostly it’s a good 
deal of hoo and considerable ha in a 
standard war-adventure story. The lead 
could have been played by James Gar 
ner—come to think of it, it has been 
Brando once seemed bound for some 
thing bener. Maybe it’s still not too late || „ыы, 
—question mark. registered TM 


PLAYBOY 


Roman Polanski is the young (30ish) 
Pole whose first film was the knockout The original "Shirtailer" is a rugged blend 
Knife in the Water. Now he's making of winter wools in solids, plaids. Bucket 
movies in the West, and his second fu hood, shirttall bottom, warm pile lining cf 


А © 3 100% *'Urlon"'* acrylic. Choice of new fall 
length flick—shot in London—is Repulsion, colors. About $23. 


a high-class horror. It’s in the highest 
class of film making and one of the most at your favorite store or write Dept. J 
horrible (in the good sense) films ever FOX KNAPP MFG. CO. 
made. Catherine Den i 1 West 34th Street, New York, N. Y. 10001 
fille (see Frances Deneuve 
where in this issue), plays a mixed-up 
mam'selle who lives in London with 
older sister who has a boyfriend. (Sister 
and friend keep making it in the next 
room. Nothing is seen. but Catherine lies 
in bed at night hearing the sound effects.) 
er goes oll lor a vacation with her 
nd while Cather 
aes. Her mi 
apart in [ront of us. She regresses from 
iodliness to a last scene in which she's | | THE AUTHENTIC 
hiding under the bed in the dark, filthy 
apartment when the sister returns. She 
has left her beauty-parlor job. barred 
herself in and —in fits of childish peeve— SHORTI-BRIEF™ 
has murdered two men who intruded. 
he first is her boyfriend (John Fraser), 


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who breaks in because he's worried. The Sleek fit. Ae han 
second is the landlord, who comes for | | Brief. No buik E 

the back rent, When he sees this nifty | | weight support ir 
number almost nude, he makes a pass; 


and then follows what may be the cruel- 
est onscreen killing in history. It mi 
the shower shiv fest in Hitchcock's Ps 
cho look like Snow White. Polanski b 
put this film together with cinematic 


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them. For a free pack. jot your name amd |. Te Sandpiper is the new Elizabeth 
culis enacted all Taylor-Richard Burton opus, only for 
to John Rolfe, Box 3-AC, give the word new. There's a lot of very 
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Burton is a married minister who runs a 
boys’ school, and Liz is a free living lady, 
a Big Sur artist with а big surface 
Against her wishes, her young, Шери 
mite son is ordered to school by law. She 
hates Burton and he dislikes her, so, of 
course, they fall in love. The affair is 
doomed, but they both learn from it. 
Frankness is fine in films, but here it’s 
used heavy-handedly by writers Dalton 
Trumbo and Michael Wilson to update 
a dated story. Liz poses nude for a sculp- 
tor (we sce the statue, but when we sce 
her, she's holding two pieces of doth, 
one up there, the other down there). She 
refused to marry the father of her dar- 
ling boy, and she admits she became a 
sugar daddy's sugar to pay her w 
through art school. Oh, she has been a 
one. And there are lots of dormitory-dar- 
ing taunts about God, in the midst of 
which Burton stands like а rock. Its all 
ladled up in lush color with lots of na- 
ture—deer in the woods, waves on the 
beach, a symbolic sandpiper who learns 
to fly away—to underscore that it’s all 
about elemental things. Burton's wile is 
played by Eva Marie Saint who, in this 
pincushion part, needs all the patience 
of her name. Vincente Minnelli, who 
used to be a director, turned it out 


RECORDINGS 


Nancy Wilson / Todey—My Woy (Capitol), 
the latest in Nancy's “My se. 
ries, shows no slackening in Miss Wil 
son's meteoric rise as a premier. purveyor 


of songs. Offered here are the Burt 
Bacharach nifty, Reach Out for Me, the 
country-and-western tune turned. stand- 


ard, Dear Heart, the bestselling If 1 
Ruled the World, and eight other items 
enhanced by wonder-girl Wilson. 

The Venerable Bede of the vibes, 
Lionel Hampton, is still very much on 
the qui vive. A Томе of Hemp (Glad. 
Hamp) takes Lionel into bossa-nova ter 
ritory and Hampton comes on like a 
native. On hand are several vocals by 
Carmen Costa and Seyuca, a couple ol 
but the major spotlight is 
an Hamp, who turns the LP 
lets-in- Wonderland. 


Usually those “tribute to” affairs are 
disappointing at best and disastrous. at 
worst, but the Charlie Parker 10th Memorial 
Concert Recorded Live of Cornegie Hall (Lime 
light) is an almost unqualified success 
‘The musicians, including Dizzy Gillespie, 


Coleman Hawkins, Roy Егіс Billy 
Taylor and James Moody, are "up" 
throughout and Lee Konitz unaccom 


panied alto solo, Blues for Bird, is a 
stunning tour de force. 

There’s a fine Hock of songs on tap 
in Venice Blue / Bobby Dorin (Capitol). The 
singer continues to grow in st 
each new rel 


ure with 
е, and this LP is no ex- 


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Send check or money order to: 
PLAYBOY PRODUCTS 

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ception. The collection is international 
in scope, from Charles Aznavour ti- 
tle ditty and Sasha Distel’s The Good 
Life, ао the Newley-Bricusse Who Can 1 
Turn To?, to a batch of home-grown de- 
lights (including the haunting 4 Taste 
of Honey), and has Bobby backed up by 
an outsized orchestra playing charts by 
Ernie Freeman and Richard Wess. 


Two eminent jazzmen have LP inter- 
pretations of the Newley-Bricusse musi- 
cal The Roar of the Greasepaint—The 
Smell of the Crowd and both have much 
to offer. Herbie Mann (Atlantic) plies his 
trade in the company of a sizable num 
ber of musicians (a string section is pres- 
ent on three of the tunes) and im- 
parts an aural excitement which goes far 
beyond the original score. Mann's fut 
ing flights of fancy are revelatory, as 
are the Latin leanings of his approach 
Ahmad Jamal (Argo) presents a much sim- 
pler statement. With only rhythm for 
support (bassist Jamil Nasser and drum- 
mer Chuck Lampkin), Jamal's piano is a 
model of inventive economy. Jamal is 
not а man to use two notes where one 
will do. but in his spare probings of the 
Newley-Bricusse melodic lines is re 
vealed a wealth of jazz riches. 


Insight / The Rod Levitt Orchestra (Victor) 
is actually a smallish group (eight pieces) 
with а big sound and a lot to say. One of 
its most influential spokesmen is Rolf 
Ericson, whose trumpet. and Flügelhorn 
are clarion. A number of items are Levitt 
originals, with sallies into the likes of AIL 
1 Do Is Dream of You, Oh, You Beauti- 
ful Doll and Fugue for Tinhorns. 


Violinist Zino Francescatti and pianist 
Robert Casadesus, individually superb, 
are brilliantly combined in Beethoven / 


The Complete Violin and Piano Sonatas (Co 
lumbia). The four LPs encompass an 
imposing body of work, handled with 
consummate skill and infinite understand- 
ing by the virtuosos. ‘The sonatas provide 
pianist Casadesus with a broader palette 
than that of his violinist confrere, but 
Francescatti’s beautiful tonalities supply 
many of the recordings’ highlights. 

The Dave Brubeck Quartet, with gui- 
tarist Jim Hall replacing Brubeck and 
MJQ drummer Connie Kay sitting 
for Joe Morello, brings the Brazilia 
beat to the fore on Paul Desmond / Bossa 
Antigua (Victor). Desmond's liquid alto 
is in the van as the foursome thoroughly 
investigates the Rio sound. Two of the 
tunes— The Night Has a Thousand Eyes 
and 4 Ship Without a Sail—are Ameri- 
can imports; the rest are original sonnets 
from the Portuguese with intriguing vari 
ations, from funk to Fröhlich, tossed in 


to spice the proceedings. 


A Portrait of Thelonious / Bud Powell (Co- 
lumbia) draws a beuer picture of Bud 


The Sound of 


Innocence 
Remembered... 


soft as yesterday. 
gentle as tonight... 
surprising as tomorrow. 
Astrud Gilberto. 
She sings a mist of song, 
hushed, cool, tender... 
like a lovely memory. 


VI V6-8629 
Also Astrud: 
Getz/Gilberto. .. V/ve-8545 
Getz Au Go Go... v/Ve-8600 
The Astrud Gilberto Album 
VI V6-8608 


Metro-Golówyn-Mayer, Inc. 


than of the Monk. Although four Monk 
madrigals are represented, bop pioneer 
Powell is very much his own man. His 
full-bodied, often introspective inven- 
tions are strictly Bud. Drummer Kenny 
Clarke, a fellow expatriate, and French 
bassist Pierre Michelot supply exemplary 
support. 


The reservations we had about Liza 
Minnelli on her first LP still hold true 
with It Amazes Me (Capitol)—she's fine 
when she’s in the lower registers and 
dittoing her mom (Judy Garland, for 
those who have been out of the country 
for the past few years), but as she moves 
up the scale she moves down in quality. 
The album’s lineup is grand—Arlen, 
Porter, Gershwin, Duke, Rodgers and 
Hart—but Liza is still on thin ice when 


she’s off on her own vocally. 

ACTS AND 
ENTERTAINMENTS 
Funny comediennes—of the Phyllis 
Diller- d stand-up variety— 
area but they've just added a 


bright new number to their ranks. Joan 
Rivers’ recent stint at Chic Mister 
Kelly's revealed a hip wit sharper than 
most of her male-comic counterparts 
The material is all her own (Miss Rivers 
was and is a comedy writer) and the pe- 
tite blonde delivers it in a husky voice 
that gives you the impression she’s about 
to dear her throat. Her hands had an 
unfortunate tendency to live а life of 
their own, fluticring and clawing oft in 
all directions, but that was a minor and 
correctable distraction in the light of the 
rapid-fire funnies salvoed at the au- 
dience. Herewith a sampling: “My child 
hood friend, Jane, was really way out 

. she carried BAN THE BOMB signs— 
and that was in 1942 . . . Kept cigarettes 
in her Crayola box . . . Now she's mar- 
ried to a guy whos 30ish (that’s 56 but 
loaded) and lives in а big house with a 
jockey on the front lawn—who's alive. 

. When my sister married a Cuban 
doctor, my father said, "Gain a son, lose a 
tracto My 77-year-old cousin just 
got married to a 92-carold man—they 
had to After the wedding party. 
they ran from the hotel to an ambulance 
while we ihrew rice and orthopedic 
shoes at them . . . They had a two-week 
honeymoon at the Mayo Clinic . . . It's 
hard for a girl in show business to find a 
husband. because 
m: 


everybody is either 
Tied or a dancer . .. I hate to fly 
. . . My flight from New York to Chica- 
go was on a plane named the Flying Ti- 
tanic . . . Before we took off, there was a 
guy looking at the plane and shouting, 
ЛГ God had meant man to fly he would 
have given him wings!"—and he was the 
pilot... We had a very negative steward- 
ess; she told the passengers: ‘When we 
ditch, watch out for sharks in the water 
and my to kill them with blunt instru- 
ments like your arms—and we weren't 


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even flying over water. . . When I asked 
for a throw-up bag. she said it wasn't her 
aisle, and she sold me a magazine.” 
Atraid to fly or not, Miss Rivers is off 
and winging. 


BOOKS 


Sammy Davis, Jr., can sing, dance, act, 
clown, mimic and play drums. As Frank 
Sinatra is supposed to have said, "He 
can do everything except cook spaghet- 
ti.” Now it turns out he can even write, 
ог at least talk, a good book. His 624- 
page autobiography, Yes ! Con (Farrar, 
Straus & Giroux), which covers only the 
first $6 of his 40 years, is an "asdonc- 
with" instead of an “as-told-10"; he was. 
helped by his old friends, columnists 
Jane and Burt Boyar. But unlike the 
typical taped celebrity biography, it is 
not pufly, maudlin or melodramatic, It 
is candid, exciting, entertaining and, yes, 
ennobling. Davis as seen by Davis is a 
man of enormous talent and enormous 
fallibility, who lets himself be fooled by 
pseudo friends, who forgets real friends, 
who abuses his gifts, and is driven by an 
unrelenting desire to become a and 
to be accepted by everyone, everywhere. 
“Well, I'm gonna do it,” he vows carly 
in his book. “And when I do, what'll you 
bet they'll like me. even if they hate my 
guts." Stardom comes early—too early for 
the narrative of the book, since his days 
as an infant and adolescent hooler (from 
the age of two and one half) in his un- 
cle's trio are the most enlightening parts 
of his story. But after years of “h ches, 
frustrations and pain,” Sammy makes it 
One night at Ciro's in Los Angeles, he 
begins a performance as a featured act 
and ends it as a star. From this high point 
on, it looks like the remaining years will 
be a series of club dates, steadily increas- 
ing in importance and in salary, and a 
es of love letters to the people who 
helped him (Frank Sinatra, Eddie Cantor, 
his wife, his grandmother), and that all 
of it will be relieved only by running 
conflicts. When will he cut himself loose 
from the trio? When will the Negro 
press stop baiting him? When will he be 
able to go to El Morocco and be made to 
feel at home? What saves this part of the 
book is not so much the material as the 
attitude. Davis’ mania becomes hypnotic: 
Soon the reader finds himself accept 


ing the importance of acceptance; we 
with Davis why he must 


wonder alon 
endure the “zingics.” as he calls them, of 
outrageous fortune. In this are passages 
that could stand as short-short stories, 
some slangy and bre touching 
as well as amusing, such as a visit to a 
Park Avenue party at which his patron- 
izing host serves up a lavish buffet of 
champagne, caviar, foie gras and (for 
him) fried chicken. Yes Z Can is not a 
confessio Davis does not belabor his 
romantic life. But it is reveal 
success and its limitations. “F. 


English 
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its own standards, 
fore he famous, 
otherwise. 


mmy concludes be- 
nd then discovers 


In about seven years American art has 
gone from splat! to pop! and the event 
is celebrated in a glossy songbook-size 
volume called Pop дт (Basic Books), the 
collaborative product of author John 
Rublowsky and photographer Ken Hey 
тап. The book is what is known as a 
handsome package, with big pictures 
(some in color) and wide margins—a 
for those who read between the margins. 
critico-factual essays on the five grand 
poppers and how they grew: Roy (о 
strip) Lichtenstein, Claes (giant pla 
burger) Oldenburg, James (the great 
American billboard) Rosenquist, Tom 
(the great American nude) Wesselman 
ind Andy (the great American Campbell 
soup cin) Warhol Essayist Rublowsky 
wies to have it every which way, which is 
about three ways too many. Andy War 
hol's silkscreen Marilyn Monroe, he 


says. ds and subtle, naive and 
sophist . meaningful and mean 
ingles" himself is "a shy exhi- 


bitionist, a timidly bold innovator. gently 
ruthless artist.” etc. Pop both reflects 
reality and interprets reality, says Ru- 
blowsky in his dulllively prose. Hey 
man has photographed the artists, their 
work, their environment: Times Square. 
Wesselman's bathroom, the pic depart 
ment at the Automat, Oldenburg’s layer 
cakes. What is art? What is life? What is 
Warhol? Lying on his unmade bed look- 
ing at a copy of Life, he looks as pop as 
any of George Segal’s plaster mummies. 
Still, if you don't take it 100 seriously. 
pop can be fun—as in Mel Ramos’ naked 
Chiquita emerging from her banana 
But Rublowsky insists on seeking sym 
bols in symbols in symbols even in 
chopped meat. "A hamburger." he dead 
pans about one of Oldenburgs mam- 
moth creations, “tells the story of fast 
cas, highways and roadside stands. . . . 
It is symbolic of a new, swift, mobile 


existence. . . The rounded voluptuous 
bun has a distinctly feminine presence, 


its texture evocative of soft flesh. . -. An 
icecream сопе, on the other һапй.. 7 
Stop. pop! 


The caretkers of American “letters 
were scarcely broken up when Robert 
Ruark died last June at the age of 19 


Not that anyone, including R. R. him 
self, had ever seriously accused Ruark of 
eating great literature—but neither 
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Contributing Editor. Ruark made it big. 
and he was a man of his age—following 
the Hemingway spoor through Africa 
and to the bull rings, datelining his dis- 
patches from wherever the pace was 
quickest. Maybe it was the pace, the flash 
that finally killed him. Ruark himself 
would have been the first to admit all 
of this—and in his last novel he does 
essentially that: The Honey Badger (McGraw- 
Hil) couldn't be any more self-reveal- 
ing if it came from a diary. Its hero, 
/ ist, best-selling, 


and glamor, he is 
t Ruark—a man suddenly uncer- 
of himself and his valucs, question- 
ing even the talent that has shot him 
to the top. As straight story, the tale 
will disappoint some of Ruark's fans: 
Barr walks out on a wife, has a middle- 
aged fling, wakes up one morning to 
learn that he is doomed by cancer. But 
what energizes the book is a sense of the 
man himself-—more poignant now that 
he is dead, of course—but striking as а 
fictional portrait in its own right. Ruark's 

inc is one more variant on that famil- 
modern theme of the ennui of aliena- 
ic, wealth, women, yet beneath 
‘cat emptiness. Dusting himself 
off after a slide into third base, Joe Di- 
ggio winks at Barr in his box seat; 
Stewart, "Bill" Holde: ‘Old 
" and dozens more are Barr's "old 
friends.” Yet doubt pervades all, existing 
for Barr long before the revelation of hi: 
illness. The hook itself is too sprawl 
too digressive, but the reader will 
few more fiercely honest selLapprai: 
in recent fiction. Three excerpts from the 
book—Sheila, Barbara and Afternoon in 
Andalusia—originally appeared as shart 
stories in PLAYBOY. 


But for all the gri 
a bi 


Assassinated in February 19 
age of 39, Malcolm X had b 
the two most charismatic Negro leaders 
in America since Marcus Garvey. (The 
other, of course, is Martin Luther King.) 
The Autobiography of Malcolm X (Grove 
Press) plunges beneath the public polem- 
idst, and the result is a remarkable 
document not only of a black man’s ex- 
perience in America bur also of the exo- 
lution of 

lalolm X in the shaping 

ing of the book was jour 
who has been responsible for a 
number of notable rLAYBoY interviews 
(with Malcolm and King, among others). 
Haley allows Malcolm's crackling style to 
come through. In а few places—particu- 
rly the harangues about the “white dev- 
il'—the book lags. But for che most part, 
it is absorbing. Malcolm vividly evokes 
his Michigan childhood: the murder 
(probably by whites) of his Garveyite 
father; the disintegration and eventual- 
ly the institutionalizing of his mother; 
his existence in foster homes; the grow- 


ing consciousness of the low expecta- 
ns the white society had of Negroes 
("You want to be a lawyer, Malcolm? 
You can't be serious.”), Moving to Bos- 
ton, he began to learn the dangerous 
rules of the game in the black under- 
world. Upon graduating to. Harlem, he 
became "Big Red," a resourceful but 
always vulnerable hustler. His descrip- 
tions, incidentally, of the hustlers’ sub- 
world in Boston and New York reveal 
again how romanticized was Norman 
Mailer's view of the “existential” black 
man in The White Negro, Back in Bos- 
ton, Malcolm headed an integrated bur- 
glary ring that led him straight to prison. 
"There he became converted to the apoc- 
alyptic doctrines of Elijah Muhamn 
but, more basically, he began to read, 
study, debate and discover his own ex- 
traordinary capacities. He distills his 12 
years as a minister of the Nation of Islam 
too briefly. No former intimare of Elijah 
Muhammad was as qualified as Malcolm 
to analyze that elusive but grimly dur- 
able old man, but Malcolm stops short of 
dissection, The most poignant part of 
the autobiography is Malcolm's journey 
to Mecca, where he discovered the chasm 
between the authentic religion of Islam 
and the homemade brew of El Mu- 
mmad. He was no less militant when 
he returned, but his views had broad. 
ened. Malcolm continued to despise 
white racists, but his experience among 
the integrated pilgrims had revealed to 
him that not all white men were devils. 
“Гуе had enough of someone else's prop. 
aganda. I'm for truth, no matter who 
tells it. I'm for justice, no matter who it 
is for or against. I'm a human being first 
and foremost, and as such I'm for who- 
ever and whatever benefits humanity as 
a whole.” Always acutely aware of the 
cc of death, he told Haley: “If I'm 
when this book comes out, it will 
be a miracle.” None occurred, and the 
loss is significant, because Malcolm's po 
tential was only beginning to be realized. 


"Everybody has something he needs to 
throw up," Nelson Algren writes, and his 
test book, Notes from a Sea Diary: Hem- 
ingway All the Wey (Putnam), is the result 
of his nausea. He probably feels much 
Letter now, but the reader is left with 
the mess. The conception of his book is 
a promising one: Wanting to write an 
essay on Hemingway, Algren uavels to 
the Far East as the only passenger on 
a small freighter and alternates chapters 
on Hemingway with diary notes of his 
adventures at sea and in the ports of 
Korea, Hong Kong and India—on the 
theory that “to be qualified to pass judg- 
ment... a critic would himself ha 
be a man willing to t 
But between conception and birth comes 
the miscarriage. The risks he undertakes 
sharpen not his judgment but only his 
insults. After stvagely beliuling the 
Home-ce timidity of Hemingway's crit- 


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ics (and in some cases misquoting them 
for his own purposes), he himself giv 
such “aids tc 


deeper understandin, 
the following: "Hemingway wrote his 
own letter to the world"; “His art was so 
hidden it seemed easily imitated"; “He 
was a big man who had a big life: that 
ad made those who had known him big 
ес. Ad nauseated by these tep 
the reader may not notice 
complaining that Heming 
one another and not 
his books, Algren himself attributes a 
famous pussage to the wrong story. Or 
that after telling us to emulate Heming 
way's generosity of judgment, he himself 
abruptly dismisses one "checsified" critic 
simply because he likes lasagna. But 
matter how staggered, no reader can fail 
to see the petty maliciousness of the 
chapter in which Algren assures us that 
d is incapable of judg- 
ing literature because, among other flaws 
of character, he has a "dimestore w 
let" “I could not help but marvel at 
what I had seen,” he reports, “a man rec- 
ognized as am arbiter of literary style 
who himself did not possess ordinary 
grace sufficient to sec him through a 
meal in an Automat," Hemingway 
judged a man by his behavior in the 
crises of war and violence; the measure of 
difference between the two writers is 
that Algren judges à man by his behav- 
ior in an Automat. The other half of the 
book, when he momentarily stops grind- 
ing his poleax, is a fitter tribute to Hem 
ingway: despite Algren’s sentimental 
belief that life somehow gets “realer” as 
it gets lower. à number of anecdotes rank 
among the best things he has ever writ 
ten. But even here his petulance evokes 
пог so much a “vision of life" as an ugly 
distortion of it. Its sour prose from 
a soured writer. 


In Love on a Dark Street (Delacorte), 
Irwin Shaw shows himself to be a mod- 
ernday Maugham—amusing, anecdotal 
and vastly tolerant of the human race. 
Three of these ten stories appeared orig- 
inally in rLaysov, and the funniest by 
far, Once, in Aleppo, won our 1964 
award as the best story of the year. In 
case you missed it, it's about two thiev- 
ing roisterers, Saint Clair and Roland 
Calonius, who invade the quiet, inno 
cent life of young Stanford Lovejoy and 
proceed good-naturedly to dismantle it. 
They drink up his booze, wreck his 
apartment, steal from his boss and his 
landlady, throw him into hopeless debt 
and convert his shy girlfriend, Irina, 
into a swinger. Shaw's focus, typically, is 
on the victim of the horseplay. "In a cu- 
rious way, Lovejoy had never had а bet- 
ter time in his whole life, although at 
the back of his mind throughout the en- 
tire cvening, a voice kept calling, ‘All 
this is very expensive, all this is costing 
you a great deal of money.’ Most of 
Shaw's people, like Lovejoy, are lonely 


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and rather wistful, but unlike Lovejoy. 
they are far from comic. There is Gos 
den, in Noises in the City, who craves the 
companionship of strangers in a Sixth 
Avenue bar: “He sounded like а woman 
at a cocktail party, talking swiftly to a 
man in a corner to hold him there, say 
ing anything that came to mind, to try 
to keep him from escaping to the bar 
and leaving her stranded, with no one to 
talk to for the rest of the evening, for 
the rest of her life" And there is Nicho 
las Tibbell, an American in Paris who 
each night prowls the city “waiting for 
the one brilliant night when he would be 
noticed by some glorious, laughing band 
of young people who . . . would seize 
him, appreciate him, sweep him along 
with them 
neyer arrives 
tions of hate and loye, Shaw deals with 
па modest disappointment 
master of the middle emotions 
melancholy, yearning, sympathy. They 
are the prevailing emotions of the mid 
20th Century American and Irwin Shaw 
is their contemporary chronicler. 

Oscar Levant, who has won equal 
fame as a pianist, composer, raconteur 
and public patient, is also something of a 
writer, In 1940 he published the auto- 
biographical A Smatlering of Ignorance, 
and 25 years later he follows it with The 
Memoirs of an Amnesiac (Putnam). Pick up 
his new book, leaf. and la about the 
time he came out of La Scala Restaurant, 
put а dime in the parking meter and 
down on a sidewalk. Read a funny 
Levant line at random—on his resem- 
blane to. Eisenhower: “Once 1 make up 
my mind I'm [ull of indecision.” Levant 
yawns in a night club and his date say 

1 hope Im not keeping you up." 1 
rejoinder “Taken line 
by line, Levant’s memoirs are funny, 
loaded with maniacackles. But the book 
as a whole is а nightmare—and not only 
in subject matter. It is patchily written 
loaded with trivia, sloppily edited and, 
at one gulp. it is indigestible, With only 
a semblance of continuity, Oscar leaps 
from his childhood traumas (he never 
forgave his mother for not giving him 
a witch for his bar mitzvah) to his adult 
superstitions (a bellboy wears a number 
13 on his uniform, so Levant checks out 
of the hotel immediately), enumerating 
but not really elucidating his mental ill- 
nesses and some of his physical ones as 
well. Epigrams, epitaphs, wisecracks, wit 
ticisms, squelehes, sexploits, addictions, 
conuitions, debts, favors, all tumble cha 
otically from Oscar's talking typewriter 
He remembers all, tells all. Actually, as 
he explains, he really is only a fractional 
amnesiac. There's no imagining what he 
forgot. “Some people suffer from success, 
says the author. “I suffer from excess.” 


Memoirs of an Amnesiac is a whopping 


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You should at least have an option. 


If you don't have a tuxedo, you're really miss- 
ing something. Even if it’s only the freedom to 
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But the point is this: people who own them 
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THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 


Му\/ ел the best time to have sexual 
intercourse—morning, noon or nightz— 
С.С. Scarsdale, New York. 

There is no such thing as the “best” 
lime, of course, but you might take heed 
of an anonymous little verse that goes: 
"Uncle George and Auntie Mabel /Faint- 
ed al the breakfast table. | Children, let 
this be a warning | Never do it in the 
morning.” A more practical admonition, 
from а past “Party Jokes" page, also tells 
you not to do it in the morning: You 
never know whom you might meet later 
in the day. 


Him planning to do some urban house 
hunting and will probably go for an 
investment deal rather than straight 
rental. Before I go any further, can you 
explain the fundamental difference. be- 
tween a cooperative apartment and a 
condominium?—J.B., Chicago, Ilinois. 

In a cooperative, a corporate entity 
owns the building and takes care of the 
financing; the money you invest buys 
stock in this corporation. т а condomin- 
jum, you're buying a physical piece of the 
building—ie., your own apartment—and 
the financing is your own responsibility, 


FRecently 1 had lunch with a young 
woman who works for а company with 
which my firm does business. Since this 
was strictly a business lunch, some of my 
coworkers later said I was square for 
offering to pick this girl up at her office, 
rather than simply meeting her at the 
aurant. Was 1 wrong?—W. R., San 
rancisco, California. 

Jot at all. Since your guest was female, 
an offer to pick her up at her office and 
accompany her to lunch was quite proper 
though it's a which in the 
hurly-burly of contemporary business is 
often omitted and isn't essential 


ture 


[| expect to be making a tour of Europe 
shorty, and among the places I hope 
to visit is a restaurant in Pars that has 
been described to me as un que. The 
theme, 1 am told, is very «тойс тош 
ls to menus to music. I 
that when you enter, a waiter places a 
garter on your dates les. Could you 
verify this information for me, and tell 
me the restaurants. name and address? 
—K.E., Minneapolis, Minnesota. 

The place you've referring to is Аш 
Mouton de 
Paris. What you 


Iso hear 


Panurge, 17 rue 
е heard about it is 
substantially correct. Their menu—an 
cight-pager—is illustrated right out of 
Rabelais and is replete with scatologi- 
cal puns (in French, of course). If you 
dig the bizarre, it’s a nice place to visit 


Choiseul, 


wouldn't want to live 
The atmosphere is 
and the 


—once—bul we 
near it: 
food only fair 


anywhere 
touristy, the 
prices high. 


МІ, giri апа I have been engaged 
for two years and we plan to be married 
this winter. Everything is moving along 
fine, with one large exception. She's my 
second cousin and we've both been 

ting a lot of static from our families. 
They've been harping on all the old 
wives’ tales, ranging from accusations of 
ntimations of illegality. 


immora to 
We're not concerned about the first (al- 
though we'd like your views on it), and 
we can easily check the second with a 
lawyer (in fact, we intend to). But what 
about the notion that inbreeding will 
cause the offspring to sulfer ill effects? 
Td appreciate any information you can 
offer, plus whatever light you can shed 
on exactly what incest is—R. L., Boston, 
Massachusetts. 

The “Encyclopedia of Sexual Behav- 
tor” defines incest as “copulation of a 
man and a woman who ате related to 
cach other in any of the degrees within 
which marriage is prohibited by law” 
Your lawyer will confirm that Massachu 
selts, like most states. does not prohibit 
marriage between second cousins. 

The notion that inbreeding necessarily 
causes ill effects among offspring is not 
true. Sociologist George Р. Murdock 
states, in his book ocial Structure”: 
“Modern developments in the science of 
genetics cast serious doubt on the assump- 
tion of the biological harm of close in- 
breeding itself. Recessive trails come to 
light, or are emphasized, in the offspring 
of near relatives. If such traits are un- 
desirable, inbreeding is harmful. If, how- 
they are desirable, as is equally 
possible, inbreeding may be positively 
advantageous.” To be on the safe side, 
check with your family doctor. Clearing 
this hurdle, you certainly have our 
blessings. And we can't resist closing with 
the remark of the anonymous roué who 
said: “Incest is fine, as long as it's kept 
in the family.” 


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Апо hes an excellent provider, 
a witty companion and a thoroughly sa 
му partner, the man Ive been 
playing house with (for three years) has 
one weakness that is driving me out of 
my mind. Every six months or so, he in- 
sists he must y for a weekend—by 
himsell—ostensibly 10 "go fishing 
the boys. When he returns on Sunday 
night, his breath smells like a distillery, 
his clothes reek of stale perfume, and I 
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perfect man perfect?—Miss C. S, Bill 
ings Montana. 

Nothing. Be grateful that his "weak- 
ness” (your word, not ours) is so trivial. 


IM, wite and 1, having waited until 
we were in our early 30s to take the mat- 
rimonial plunge, had each lived fasci- 
nating and fulfilled lives apart. Now that 
we are wed, we have an extraordinary 
of mind and purpose (although we 
don't believe in the conventional and 
corny notion of ^togetherness"). Just 
prior to my writing this letter, my wife 
returned from her gynecologist to an- 
nounce that she is pregnant. Delighted 
as I am, I suddenly feel there will de- 
velop а chink in our rapport. Having 
implanted the seed, must I desert my 
wife when the baby is delivered? I would 
appreciate any advice you can offer on 
how I can be more involved than the 
helpless father-to-be who paces the waiting 
room and consumes a chain of cigarettes. 
—A.C., New York, New York. 

You can increase your involvement by 
suggesting that your wife find an obstetri- 
cian who uses the natural childbirth 
method, during which the husband re- 
mains at his wife's side from the onset of 
labor pains up to (and including, in 
some cases) the actual delivery. Apart 
from providing emotional support, he 
assists her im breathing correctly, re- 
minds her of the lessons she has learned, 
rubs her back when pain occurs and, in 
some instances, administers oxygen. 
You'll find а complete exposition of nat- 
ural childbirth in Grantly Dick-Read's 
book “Childbirth Without Fear." 


ММ. you straighten me ош on pipe- 
smoking rules aboard commercial air- 
lines? On some lines they'll let me puff 
away to my heart's content; on others 
they swoop down on me like forest- 
ranger fire spoiters. If there is a standard 
Tule against it (which some kindly stew- 
ardesses choose to overlook), why so? 
I've never met anyone who minded the 
aroma.—M. F., Tarrytown, New York. 

The only consistency we can discover 
among airline pipe-smoking regulations 
is a universal lack of it. Alihough none 
of the lines allow smoking of any kind 
during take-off, landing and turbulent 
weather (for obvious safety reasons), 
Delta, among the lines we checked, per- 
mits pipe smoking only in first-class; 
American allows it in all classes, and 
Eastern forbids it entirely. The pro- 
hibiting airlines claim that pipe smoke 
lingers longer than cigaretie smoke, is 
offensive to some people, and irritates 
the allergies of others. 


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Would you bare arms fora good cause? You would if you knew the 
comfort of these elbow-lencth Pendletons. Now in smart stripes, 
checks and knits in addition to classic plaids and solids. All 100% 
virgin wool. Wherever elbows are out, these Pendletons are in. 
Give your arm a break. At better stores. 


For additional Information, write Oept. PSt, Pendieton Woolen Mills, Portland. Oreaon 97201. 


ALWAYS VIRGIN WOOL 


45 


PLAYBOY 


BRIGHT IDEA FOR GIFTING THE GUYS 


g : ПЕ М; 
wt M 


“THANK YOU." 


These are the happy words you'll hear from ali the special friends 
you remember this Christmas with the big gift of PLAYBOY. 


Uncles will send fat checks for your birthday, bosses will come 
across with raises, bartenders and maitre des will call you by 
name, brothers will leave your favorite ties alone. 


FOR ENTERTAINMENT EXCELLENCE. 


PLAYBOY. It’s the gift for 
their movies Mercouri-al 


Nothing can m; 


their 


the pleasures ‹ 
sounds sv 


men who like 


food the finest, clothes cut from taste, travel near and 

out. It's for men od knowingly when they hear names like 

Ken W. Purdy, Ray Bradbury, Jam: dwin, Arthur С. Clarke, 
OY re For men who smile 


J. Paul Getty—all PLA 


Don A 
h 


4 


Jules 


Fe 
СЕЕ о BEAUTIES.” 


For men wh 


gift. The handsom 
vill be signed jus 


PLAYBOY 3 Montpelier Square, London S.W. 7, England 
SEND TO: 


nam. 


SAY 
THE WORD. 
"PLAYBOY 

FOR 


(please print) 
addres: 


city. 


gift cagd romper ES “= a er 


CHRISTMAS" 
14/10/00. for a full year of the 
"Best in Entertainment for Меп” 

SAVES 20% over the 
single-copy price. 


name. 
(please print) 


O E CR ж ср гы, 
city = country. 


ua < 


RIFE WITH RICHNESS. 


When you give PLAYBOY, you give a 
gift worth its weight in sterling, 12 full 
months of pleasure, hours of delightful 


¢ fits all men of taste 
¢ with a dash of “flair. 


ORDERING IS EASY. 
Merely fill in 


And ils 


who enjoy lifi 


oupon below and mail 
h your che PLAYBOY will do 
c rest. Your shopping problem 
)u've sent a gift 


the n 
doublesize Gala Januar 51 elli 
for 1 1 on 1 
month therea wil 
minded of y im d 


Th 
to the end, Irs the pe 
happy season. Who could he 
ognize the fact that you're 
gift-giving when you send PL 
AREN’T YOU HAPPY 


YOU'RE NOT CONVEN 


NY NANI 

es please print) 
city. 

Please complete: 
C ENTER OR [Г] RENEW my own subscription. 
{Renewals begin when present subscription expires.) 
C All gifts are new subscriptions. 

O Some gifts are renewals. 

Total subscriptions ordered 

Amount enclosed $. 


Additional subscriptions may be sent on separate sheet 
of paper. 


country 


KY 


PLAYBOY 


48  KoratronCo., 


But can he wash-dry-and-wear it?? 


Yes, if it's Koratron? Dozens of companies 
are using our patented process to make rain- 
coats, shirts, pants, golf jackets, blouses, 
shirts, and kids' things...all with their own 
brand label, but with our Koratron seal on 
them too. That means they will machine 
wash, tumble dry, never hold on to a wrinkle. 
No spoof—Koratron really works. Actually, 
we haven't yet „añ licensed a man- 
ufacturer of , djellebas. But 


if there's a big enough 
KORATRON 


demand, we will! 


jan Francisco and New York 


clothes. It was supposed to be funny, but 
the humor has long since gone out of it 
and I am still obsessed with wearing fe- 
male garments. I am a transvestite. In 
fact, I have a full wardrobe of feminine 
garb: underwear, stockings, shoes, dress- 
cs, even wigs and make-up, which I wear 
in the privacy of my own apartment. Not 
а soul knows of my aberration. You 
would think this would have an effect 
on my sex life, but it doesn't. I have no 
homosexual tendencies. I continue to 
have heterosexual relationships that are 
satisfying in every way. And here is the 
crux of my problem: I am currently dat 
ing a beautiful, intelligent, sensitive a 
(1 hope) understanding woman, and we 
are contemplating marriage. I have not 
told her of my deviation, even though 1 
feel all aspects of my personality should 
be known to her before we marry. How- 
ever, I find that I am unable to disclose 
this secret that I have kept so long, even 
to her. I fear either that she won't under- 
stand or, if she does, that she will break 
off our relationship and reveal my se 
cre. Can you helpj—R. M., Boston, 
Massachusetts. 

Only to a limited extent. We think 
you should tell your fiancée and risk the 
consequences. Of course, there’s a chance 
she may wish io break off the engage- 
ment, but you should still learn her feel- 
ings now, while you're free to separate. If 
yowve described her accurately, she 
sounds like the type who would react 
with understanding; in any event, even 
if she does decide it’s no go, we doubt 
that she'd go spreading your story out of 
sheer vindictiveness. As for your basic 
problem: We understand from a re- 
medical source (Dr. John F. Oli- 
sexual Hygiene and Patholog 
that (here's no effective somatic or psy- 
chotherapeutic cure for transvestism. 
Since you state that you're sexually nor- 
mal (and, contrary to popular thinking, 
there's no connection between compul- 
sive transvestism and homosexuality), we 
think—and Oliven bears us out—that 


marriage would be advisable for you. 
Pi 


ded that your fiancée fully under 
stands and accepts your deviation. 


WI, husband is an intelligent man 
with a very good job, but when it comes 
to handling our personal finances, he is 
completely incompetent. We are up to 
our ears in debt, mortgaged to the hilt, 
and behind in all our payments. He sel- 
dom opens the bank statements and his 
checkbook is a disaster. I have tried to 
explain to him that I have the neces- 
sary time and energy to devote to the 
family bookkeeping, but his philosophy 
is that the man earns the money and is, 
therefore, entitled to sole responsibility 
in handling it—Mrs. E. M, Anaheim, 
California. 

We think your husband's unwise and 
should welcome the opportunity to get 


a 


GLOVE CASUALS 


AND UNDER $7.00 
MOST EVERYWHERE 


In Rich 
Brown, Deertan, 
Bone & Black: 
Also in 2 eyelet 
oxfords 


Here's a new type 
casual shoe construc- 
tion for a new dimension in 
footwear comfort. 
You won't believe it until you've walked the 
first five steps . . . Then, you'll see what 
we mean! 


Е ГТА e 
GLOVE CASUALS 
STYLE FOOTWEAR CO., INC., ANN ST., SO, NORWALK, CONN. 


make 
things 
happen 


command 
attention. with 
the crisp, stir- 
ring, masculine 
aroma of this 
refreshing after 
shave lotion. 
2.00 and 3.50, 
also available in 

cologne. 


SHULTON 


Playboy Club News . 


©1946, PLAYBOY CLUBS INTERNATIONAL. INC. 
VOL. 11, NO. 63-E © буы CLUBS IN MAJOR CITIES 


SPECIAL EDITION 


YOUR ONE PLAYDOY CLUB KEY 
ADMITS YOU 10 ALL PLAYBOY CLUBS OCTOBER 1965 


LONDON PLAYBOY CLUB TO OPEN SOON!! 


Gala New Year's Eve 
Debut for 45 Park Lane 


Applications Now Being Accepted 
For Special Charter Membership 


LONDON (Special) — rrAYEoY 
magazine's famous Playboy 
Clubs are coming to England and 
the Continent, and the first one 
is nearing completion in London 
at 45 Park Lane. Six fabulous 
floors of luxurious surroundings 
staffed by 100 beautiful Playboy 
Bunnies will await first-nighters 
when the Club debuts with a 
gala charity black-tie evening on 
New Year's Eve. 

Members will enjoy every de- 
lightful amenity in this, the most. 
elegant Club in England. The 


LL 


Bunny Dolly, a winner of Radio 
London contest (see below), wears 
Bunny costume for the first time. 


finest food and beverages, excit- 
ing caberet entertainment, a ce- 
lebrity-packed discothèque and 
lively gaming rooms are all to 
be found under one roof! 

Applications for Charter 
Membership of the London 
Playboy Club are being accepted 
right now. Apply for member- 
ship today and save £8.8.0 dur- 
ing the Club’s first year, £5.5.0 
each year thereafter. (See com- 
plete details below.) 

Each time you visit The Play- 
boy Club your personal name 
plate is posted in the Lobby 
and beautiful Bunnies direct you 
through the festive clubrooms. 

The Playmate Bar features a 
swinging Piano Bar, Blackjack 
Room and Grill. Live beat 
groups play nightly in the Living 
Room discothéque, famous for 
its bountiful buffet. The finest 
cuisine is impeccably served by 
velvet-clad butlers and Bunnies 
in the elegant VIP Room (for 
Very Important Playboys). A 
VIP special feature is the 35mm 
film projection facilities. The 
Party Room offers superb ac- 
commodations for your private 
business and social gatherings 

The Playroom cabaret show- 
room presents American and 


The Great London Bunny Hunt 


LONDON (Special) — The 
search is on to find England's 
most beautiful and charming 
young ladies, One hundred are 
needed to be Bunnies who will 
serve Playboy members and 
their guests at the new Club in 
elegant Park Lane. 

The girls chosen to fill these 
posts will receive a weekly sal- 
ary of £35. Six have already 
been selected by means of a con- 
test run by Radio London dur- 
ing August. These girls left 
London via BOAC on Septem- 
ber 15 for the United States, 
where they are receiving their 
Bunny training in the Chicago 
Playboy Club. They will return, 
in December to train the other 
94 Bunnies to staff the Club. 

Girls who are interested in be- 
coming Bunnies should mail 


their photographs to the Playboy 
Club, 45 Park Lane, London W. 
1, as a preliminary to an inter- 
view with the Club's Personnel 
Director or the Bunny Mother. 


APPLY NOW AND SAVE— 
CHARTER ROSTER LIMITED 
By submitting your application 
for membership at this time 

ш reserve your place on the 
harter Rolís (Ini! ion Fee 
£ 3.3.0; Annual Subscription 
£ 5.5.0) which assures you a 
substantial saving over the Rei 
ular Membership fees (initi 
tion Fee £ 6.6.0; Annual Sub- 
scription £10.10.0). Applicants 
on the Continent may enclose 
initiation fee in equivalent funds 
of their own country їп cheque, 
money order or currency, 

‘The Playboy Club reserves 
the right to close the Charter 
Roster without prior notice. 


Already erected at 45 Park Lane, between the Dorchester and 


Hotels, the London Playboy Club will r 
over £1,500,000 when furnishings and 


European artists, variety shows, 
dining and dancing. Members 
will find European gaming tables 
in Playboy's Penthouse Casino 
occupying the entire top floor of 
the Club. Other gaming arcas 
include a Roulette Room and 
the Cartoon Corner, which fea- 
tures American games. 

Staying in London overnight? 
There are 17 air-conditioned 
service flats, each with its own 
kitchen, located above the Club 


'esent a total investment of 
ings are completed shortly. 
for members’ convenience. Key- 
holders may park their cars in ће 
Club's basement garage. 

Mail the coupon today and 
save £B.B.0 during the Playboy 
Club's first year and £5.5.0 each 
year thereafter. Better hurry — 
the Charter Membership Rolls 
are expected to be filled very 
shortly. Charter Membership en- 
titles you to key privileges at all 
present and future Playboy 
Clubs anywhere in the world, 


YOUR ONE KEY ADMITS YOU TO EVERY PLAYBOY CLUB IN THE WORLD 
CLUBS OPEN—Atlanta - Baltimore * Chicago + Cincinnati + Detroit + 


Jamaica * Kansas City • Los Angeles + Miami * New Orleans = New York 
* Phoenix + St. Louis 


LOCATIONS SET Boston * London + San Francisco 
NEXT IN LINE—Amsterdam • Berlin * Birmingham = Madrid ~ Manchester 


7 Paris - Rome = Washington, D.C. 


TO: PLAYBOY CLUB OF LONDON, 45 
To the Sec; 


y: 
the Ini 


the London Club. 


Here is my application for membership in The Playboy Club. tenclose£3,3.0being 
tion Fee for Charter Members. И accepted. 1 understand that ihe Annual 
Subscription for Charter Members will be£5.5.0 payable upon the opening of 


—————À сир AND MAIL THIS APPLICATION TODAY em — — mem my 


Lana, London W.1, England 


НАМЕ 


(BLOCK: LETTERS, PLEASE) 


AGDRESS 


‘PROFESSION OR OCCUPATION 


‘SIGNATURE GF APPLICANT 


а = == = т 


PLAYBOY 


rid of the family bookkeeping chores. 
WHERE Ask him to give you a brief (tl period 
to see whether it works out more 
fo everyone's satisfaction with you han- 
mS ls ceo Bing thei moneys NIKE NITE Ease ps 
that, get a part-üme job yourself. Accord- 
ing to his “philosophy.” that should en- 
title you to the job. 


Ё лт a young, healthy man who enjoys 
the company of women. My only prob- 
lem is that, whenever I'm necking, 1 get 
an irrepressible urge 10 laugh. So far I 
have been able to hold myself to a smile 
or a few stifled chuckles, but the poten- 
tial for embarrassment is very great. Do 
you think that I have a deep psycho- 
ical problem?—F.S., Lebanon, New 
Hampshire. 

Involuntary laughter during a sexual 
situation is an indication of nervous ten- 


sion. А little more experience may calm 
you down. However, if your female 
friends continue to stimulate your risibil- 
ities more than your libido, we'd say 
you're not as healthy as you think, and 
should perhaps seck psychiatric counsel. 


Live it up at the Stardust. Catch the 
astounding Lido '66 Revue. Marvel at the 
scenery. Swim. Sun. Frolic. Feast. Golf. 
Go. Go. Go. The action’s at the Stardust. HOTEL а GOLF CLUB, LAS VEGAS 


AX усас from now 1 plan w purchase 
а new Triumph Spitfire. If the English 


1,000 SWINGING ROUMS AT $8-$10 • PLUS 500 DELUXE ROOMS AND SUITES + AT THE HEART OF THE STRIP 


THE 
PLAYBOY 
TOUCH 
IN 
JEWELRY 


Featuring the Fashionable Playboy Tie Bar 
Offhand sophistication in cuff links 
and smart, new tie bar. Emblazoned 
with the debonair PıaYBoY rabbit. 
Lustrous black enamel on rhodium. 
Playboy Cuff Links $5 

Playboy Tie Bar $3.50 

The Set $8 

All prices ppd. 

Send check or money order to: 
PLAYBOY PRODUCTS 


919 N. Michigan Ave. 
Chicago. Illinois 60611 


Playboy Club keyholders may charge 
by enclosing key number with order. 


pound is devalued before then—and I 
understand this may happen—would it 
allect the price 1 have to pay?—R. L, 
St. Ann, Missouri 
That depends. First of all, our finan- 
cial experts don't think devaluation of 
the pound is likely. Prime Minister Wil- 
son, himself an economist, has repeated- 
ly emphasized that it won't occur, and 
the U.S. has shown eagerness to support 
the pound in crisis. One of the purposes 
of a relatively minor devaluation (lower- 
ing the dollar value of the pound from 
$2.80 to, say, $2.60) would be to lure 
money into Britain—by making pounds 
cheaper to foreigners. This would. in- 
decd lower the dollar price of British 
goods to foreigners, autos included. If 
the devaluation were more drastic, how- 
ever, it could cause inflation, raising the 
price tag of British goods to a point at 
which the improved conversion rate 
would be virtually offset. Our advice is 
that you ignore the international money 
market, buy your car and enjoy it. 


All reasonable questions—from Jush 
ton, food and drink, hefi and sports cars 
10 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, Mlinois 60611. The most 
provocative, pertinent queries will be 
presented on these pages each month 


Go ahead and read the fine print! This is 


ONE RECORD CLUB 


WITHOUT RESTRICTIONS: 


This is the way you want it .. . record club 
without restrictions. With the Record Club of 
America you can order any LP available in the 
entire Schwann Catalog (over thirly thousand 
selections) and save onevery one! Nobody limits 
you to one label or two. Nobody sends you a card 
that means you get an unwanted record if you tor- 
get to return it. Nobody says you have to buy 4, 6, 
or 8 times a year. And nobody asks you to pay an 
annual membership fee. With Record Club of 
America you join once—and belong fora lifetime. 


Here's HOW Record Club of America Works: 
Fill out your Lifetime Membership application. 
Send it, with your check or money order for $5 to 
Record Club of America. By return mail you'll 
receive your membership card guaranteeing you 
‘our regular discount of more than 1/3 off on every 
record you buy. That means you buy at dealer 
costs: all $3.79 LP's at $2.39; $4.79 LP's at $2,99 
and $5.79 LP's at just $3.69. And our publication, 
Disc., which regularly supplements Schwann's 
listings, keeps you informed of the Club's 
extra-saving "double discount" specials like 
those featured at right. Disc. also presents 
timely critical reviews by many of the nation’s 
leading authorities. For your convenience we 
always enclose an order blank. Your order is 
processed the day we get it. Records come to 
you factory new. If not completely satisfactory 
they can be retumed, immediate replacement 
guaranteed. Over 250,000 individual members 
and many of the nation's leading schools and 
libraries are today enjoying tremendous savings 
made possible through Record Club of America. 
Why not join them . . . and join us, today? 


GIFT MEMBERSHIP SPECIAL! 

Your membership entitles you to buy or offer 
gift memberships to friends. relatives and neigh- 
bors for only $2.50 with full privileges. You can 
split the total between you—the original mem- 
bership and one gift membership divided equally 
brings your cost dewn to $3.75; one original 
membership and four gift memberships brings 
your cost down to $3 each. Get a gang together 
—everybody saves! 

© 1965 RECORD CLUB OF AMERICA, INC. 


€ Choose any LP, any label-no pre-selections! 

ө Buy 1 record or 100—no yearly quotas! 

e Join once for a lifetime-no annual fees! 

€ Save at least Vs-and much more on special sales! 


TYPICAL “DOUBLE DISCOUNT” 
SPECIAL SALE! 
LIST PRICE OUR PRICE 


DCN 
Victor Bestsellers. $1.99 


5.79 Westminster, 
Vox, Everest, RCA 
Victor Classical 
Albums 

4.79 & 5.79. 
Audio Fidelity, 
Command Albums 


71.22 
$1.99 


GENUA OPERA 


WESTERN 


COUNTRY & ‘MUSICAL 
COMEDY 


Join the more than 250,000 happy members of 


| RECORD CLUB OF AMERICA 


FREE 
SCHWANN CATALOG 


Over 30,000 selections 

from more than 300 manufacturers! 
CAPITOL • COLUMBIA • ANGEL 

RCA VICTOR „ DECCA + MERCURY 
WESTMINSTER» DEUTSCHE GRAMMOPHON 
VOX e VERVE • LONDON 

ROULETTE • ABC PARAMOUNT 
ELECTROLA • AND HUNDREDS MORE 


ши ши ши ши ши ши ши тш шш жишш ши 
970 ¥ 


Record Club of America 
1285 Princess Street 
York, Pennsylvania 17405 


Gentlemen: 


D Enclosed please find my check or money 
order for $5.00 which will guarantee me Lifetime 
Membership in Record Club of America, 1 
understand that 1 am under no obligation to 
Purchase at any time, and that any purchases 
1 do make will be at CLUB SAVINGS. I am 
free to choose any album aslisted in the Schwann 
Record Catalog or Record Club of America's 
regular publication, Disc. 


D Add. Gift Memberships to my 
request. 1 enclose a check for 

at $2.50 cach gift member, and have listed on 
attached sheet their names and addresses, 
бшшш... 
Address, 

City. 


State. 


Zip Code. 


а 


PLAYBOY 


91965 Truval Shirt Со, Inc, 


Can a151 fit all these Oxford men? 


Indubitably. It’s the new Career Club Proportioned Shirt. 

How can a 15% oxford shirt fit both a lanky basketball star and a stocky wrestler? 
Answer: It can't. Bound to be too baggy or too snug in the waist, too short or too long in 
the body. That is, unless. Unless it’s a Career Club Proportioned Shirt By Truval. 

In each size, body length is proportioned to sleeve length, waist is proportioned to 

body length, Fits everyone better. But please note that everything else about 

this shirt is strictly in the button-down tradition. Including taper tailoring. 
Even the price is proportioned—to your budget: Only $4. 


COLLAR 


15% [16 | 1634 |17 | 17% |18 


SLEEVE 


EIE 


z 
REFERERE 


— 3 
ра Г | е [os [><] 


52 


> Тое Гое [os [ое Гое Ге ое ое 


ioe Га о [> [> | == 
е ||| |> ERES 
||| | [о 


ү 
Career Club W/7 777777 À shirts 


350 Fifth Avenue, New York 10001 


PLAYBOY’S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK 
BY PATRICK CHASE 


AN UNBEATABLE yearend escape from frost 
and snow is Playboy's place in the sun— 
the Jamaica Playboy Club-Hotel, Newest 
and most modern resort on the island, it's 
located just a Bunny hop away from both 
Kingston and Montego Bay. The Club 
Hotel is close to some of the most beauti 
ful spots on the island—Dunn's River 
Falls, Fern Gully, the Rio Grande River 
—but many of the island's beauties are 
sited on the Club's ten-acre grounds wear- 
ing special Bunny bikinis. 
packed days begin with golf outings, and 
they progress through swimming, skin 
diving. snorkeling, spcedboating, tennis 
shuflleboard or just relaxing on the 800 
foot white-sand beach. No need to leave 
the strand for refreshments of any kind 
Caribbean and U. S. cottontails will bring 
tall cool ones to you, Come sundown, the 
Club swings to a different tempo: The 
evening begins with a gourmet dinner— 
а palate-pleasing combination of the best 
of Continental, American and Jamaican 
fare in the crystal-chandelicred VIP 
Room. In the Playroom or on the Patio, 
catch spectacular night-club imports from 
the Stateside Playboy Club circuit as well 
as talented Jamaicans. On the beach, а 
roaring bonfire and torrid calypso band 
set the scene for a smashing nocturnal 


Pleasure. 


Adding some pastoral 
spice of a Playboy resort v 
cinch: You can enjoy the Jamaica coun 
tryside via round-the-island sight-seeing 
trains from Montego Bay and K 
with stops at rustic spots along the way. 

An offbeat activity easily accessible 
from the Playboy eden is а visit to Run 
vay Caves, for swimming in a green 
subterranean grotto—150 feet under- 
ground. Or make the drive to Mande- 
ville, tucked away in the mountains. It's a 
little English country village complete 
with parish church on the green and an 
unusually scenic ninehole golf course 
that meanders through rolling hills. 

Just northwest of Јатай 
Islands offer a pleasing balance of isola 
tion and lavish comfort. Here, you can 
inter in off the sand for lunch without 
putting on your shoes, yet enjoy the min 
istrations of a savvy bartender and you 
can take your own lobsters from the sea 


variety to the 
tion is 


the Cayman 


for a beach picnic, yet know that the 
accompanying champagne is properly 
chilled. You'll find all these at the rel 
tively new Seaview and Pageant Beach 
hotels, as well as at the old stand-by 
Galleon Beach. 

Relatively new on the Mexican scene 
yet without the usual price of discomfort 
too often demanded by novelty—are the 
Caribbean islands of Cozumel and Mu- 


jeres, off the vividly foliated Yucatán 
coastline. The largest hotel on Cozumel 
is the air-conditioned Cozumel-Caribe at 
San Juan Beach, and the most luxurious 
spa at Isla Mujeres is the Zazil-Ha, which 
includes a complex of tropical bungalows 
set in a coconut grove with its own private 
cove and beach on the north point of the 
island. In addition to the inducement of 
lazing on white, virgin beaches, plus sip: 
pir 
first- 


cool tropical drinks and dining on 
te Mexican cuisine in lavish, mod- 
ern accommodations, these islands offer 
snorkeling and skindiving in incredibly 
clear waters. Go out for a day's diving off 
nearby Puntas Molas lighthouse, where 
you'll likely come up with conch, lobster 
and crab, which your beachboy will broil 
over a sizzling palmetto fire 

For those who think cool, the national 
parks of Western U.S.A. provide a combi 
nation of top-notch resort facilities and 
excellent skiing. The recently developed 
Hurricane Ridge area in Olympic Na 
tional Park near Port Angeles, Washing- 
ton, averages 100 inches of snow per 
season: the Paradise area on the southeast- 
ern slopes of Mt. Rainier, near Longmire 
Washington, averages 216 inches a sca 
son; the Crater Lake Rim area between 
Medford and Klamath Falls, Oregon, gets 
more than 50 fect of snow annually, and 
oflers a picture of unusual beauty as the 
glittering white of the slopes contrasts 
with the deep blue of Crater Lake. 

The most luxurious facilities are on 


Mt. Hood, Oregon, not far from the little 
town of Government Camp—itself at the 
foot of an cight-mile run. World-famou 
Timberline Lodge now sports a усат- 
round open-air swimming pool and new 
"magic mile" double chair lift to the 
7200-foot level of Mt. Hood. From here, 
snowcat tractors haul skicrs to the 10,000- 
foot mark, where schussing is а year- 
round thing. 

Opening next month is a multimillion- 
dollar ski area in the Teton Mountains of 
Wyoming. The region is served by two 
high-speed aerial tramways, each lifting 
63 skiers at a time in an enclosed cab to 
the 4135-foot level. The region offers a 
skiing area over seven square miles. 

In the East, one of the fastest-growing 
ski complexes now extends to the slopes 
of no less than four mountains. Ver- 
monts thrce-million-dollar Killington 
area has added new chair lifts, increasing 
uphill capacity to 8000 skiers per hour 
The 31 mails 
lodges (including a new one) are served 
by a wide variety of charming inns, lodges 
and restaurants in the immediate area. 

For further injormation on any of the 
above, write to Playboy Reader Serv 
ice, 232 E. Ohio St., Chicago, HL 60611 


nd slopes and three base 


WATCH 
WHAT 
BLACK WATCH 
DOES 
FORA 


MAN 
! 


BLACK WATCH 


The Man’s Fragrance 
shave lotion 2°, cologne 53 plus x 


By PRINCE MATCHABELLI 


99577 


THEY'RE NEW! 
Black Watch Instant Foam Shave 
Black Watch Pre-Electric Skin Conditioner 


53 


PLAYBOY 


Until now, these distinguished tobaccos were 
never offered to cigarette smokers. 


EN С 
Today, a master blend of the world's five great 
pipe tobaccos is available in a filter cigarette. 


Masterpiece cigarettes have 
briar tips. They come in unique 
briar-grain packages. 


And their distinctive flavor 
explains why they cost 
a bit more. 


THE PLAYBOY FORUM 


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


SUBVERSIVE PLAYBOY 

Recently I confiscated a copy of the 
January 1965 issue of your magazine 
from a member of my high school history 
class. This pupil, who is one of my best 
s, defended your publication very 
strongly. He claimed it contained а valu- 
able philosophy for modern Americans. 
Because of this statement 1 decided to 
investigate рілувоу firsthand. 

Let me say that I have never felt such 
shock and indignation before. The more 
Lread the more 1 realized that your pub- 
n is actually part of the Great 
Communist Conspiracy. It is evident 
that your goal is to undermine our most 
cherished institutions and thus extin- 
guish our freedom. Instead of being just 
other cheap girlie magazine, your peri- 
odical is much more evil—for you argue 
against the very foundations of our 
country. Your insidious Philosophy at- 
tacks the Christian morality that has 
made America great. You attack the 
family, the Bible, organized religion, 
and patriotism by subtly twisting words 
and their meanings. You rationalize your 
ien and atheistic ideas so cleverly as 
to subvert even the brightest of our 
young minds, If your editorial policy is 
not dictated by Moscow, you must be the 
Dlindest dupes in existence! 

It is plain to see that your vulgar use 
of sex is only a tool to capture the at- 
tention of the young and innocent, as 
well as the weak and depraved. 1 have 
talked to people more familiar with your 
magazine and they revealed that for 
many years PLAYBOY has exploited sex 
to build up its own circulation. Now 
that you have attracted a large following, 
consisting mainly of the weaker m 
bers of society, you are trying to instill 
in them subve as that are the 
antithesis of all our sacred tradi 
place of the Word of God you advocate 
a philosophy founded on the lower in- 
stincts of man. Almost everything in 
your magazine is fi 
ideals of. America. 


Why don't you use 
Russian girls and end the masquerade? 


I have already exposed your evil 
tentions to the local Young Amer 
for Freedom group, of which 1 am a 
member, We are in the process of form- 
ing a vigorous campaign to reveal your 
true identity to the American people. 
Your professed sophistication will be 


uncovered as just another dever and vile 
trick of the Kremlin for world domina- 
tion. 
John Foster 
Los Angeles, 


FLORIDA EDUCATION 

Recently you were kind enough to let 
us reprint Paul Goodman's The Deadly 
Halls of Ivy (ptavwoy, September 1964) 
in an issue of Florida Education, which 
goes monthly to 45,000 Florida teachers. 
The article appeared in our December 
[1964] issue along with a [ew comments 
I thought would be appropri: 
PLAYBOY is, to some teachers, a heretical 
publication, 1 wrote: 

‘On the outside chance there may be 
a few teachers in Florida who don't read 
PLAYBOY magazine, Hugh Hefner's pub- 
lishing firm and Horizon Press were 
kind enough to give us permission to 
reprint Paul Goodman's provocative ar- 
ticle The Deadly Halls of Ivy. . . . For 
the easily excitable, this does not mean 
that the la Education Association. 
endorses either PLAYBOY or any of the 
hundreds of books which Horizon Press 
has published during the last decade. 1 
will admit to being a regular and avid 
PLAYBOY rcader for the important reason 
that I believe it regularly carries some 
of the most significant and well-written 
articles published in America today. So 
some pride can be attached, I think, to 
the fact that we're first with this material 
after one of America’s most respected 
publications (a personal view which I 
refuse to debate with anyone who 
doesn't regularly read рїлүво 

“The Deadly. Halls of Ivy is labeled 
‘opinion.’ And that's precisely what it's 
intended to be—Mr. Goodman's opin- 
ion. It should be important to us, be- 
cause he is universally considered one of 
our most experienced contemporary ed- 
ucational authorities. . Reactions to 
+++ Mr, Goodman's remarks will be wel- 
comed,” 

Response to Goodman's article was 
encouraging. One of our board members, 
а Fort Lauderdale teacher, wrote: “. . . E 
am prejudiced toward rLaywoy because 
of its willingness to discuss all issues 
pertinent to our changing society. 

A i rth Skokie, Illinois, 
said: “Congratulations for speaking out 
about PLaysoy. Its reputation as a gi 
magazine keeps it out of many libraries 
in spite of the good material it carries," 


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A female junior college teacher com- 
mented: “Perhaps my students won't be 
so shocked next time when I recommend 
- .. the respectable Florida 
Education has reprinted an article from 


that magazine. Keep it up." 
ic response came from a jun- 
ior high school teacher in Miami 


Springs: 


reading through the Decem- 
I came across your PLAYBOY 


editorial. Much as I admire the sublime 
beauty of the female form, 1 hate to see 
PLAYDOV's femininity exploited and pic 
torially prostituted. Therefore, without 
being prudish, I 
teachers 


am one of your ‘few 
who do not rcad PLAYBOY. 
it’s a matter of moral principle 
ich, I'm sure, many teachers will 


concur. 
"Beauty, si! Good writing, si! PLAYsOy 
- ..? Please, Mr. Norton, it’s dangerous 


to try to make us laugh while vomit 
ned] Jerry Borum, Miami Springs 
or High School. 

lowing is the answer to his letter, 
which I printed in our February issue: 

“Thank you, Mr. Borum, for precise- 
ly pointing out what I apparently failed 
to do in my December column: too 
many people "SEE (caps minc) pLaynoy's 
femininity’ (the question of whether or 
not they are ‘exploited and pictorially 
prostituted’ is moot) and do not, as you 
have admitted, read America's best- 
g man's magazine (3,000,000 month- 
culation at 75 cents per copy). 

“Read two or three issues, Mr. Borum, 
and j for yourself whether any se- 
lect-media publication of our times offers 
as varied, as intellectually stimulating, 
or as wide a selection of material from 
the world's contemporary leaders and 
thinkers as does rLAvnov. 

“True, none of us need agree with the 
philosophies of such as Albert Schweit- 
zer, Martin Luther King, Paul Good- 
man, J. Paul Getty or Hugh Hefner. 
But since practically all PLAvmov au- 
thors and commentators come Irom the 
ranks of those who have been and are 
nfluencing domestic and world opin- 
ions in such thi as mo ethics, 
religion, race relations and finances (to 
name a few), 1 think everyone (especial- 
ly teachers) needs to know what these 
people are doing and thinking. 

And viaynoy, gratefully, brightens 
like a new beacon those areas that have, 
for too long, been buried myth, 
hatred, bigotry and social misunder- 


/ou may be interested to know what 
onc of our female teachers (a regular 
PLAYBOY reader who asked, for obvious 
reasons, to remain anonymous) wrote 
us. She said she had discussed and 
praised Paul Goodman's artide with a 
class of teenagers. They voted her their 
Playmate of the Month. Mala fides?” 

I would be interested to know what 
Mr, Hefner's philosophy is on the Amer- 


ican elementary and secondary classroom 
teacher and what he (or she) has done, 
does or can do to influence the thinking 
of school-age youngsters on the general 
purposes of PLAYBOY. It is disturbing to 
me to think teachers of my 11-year-old 
son might have "moral prin 
which do not allow them to read 
PLAYBOY. If there are many teachers 
who feel as Mr. Borum docs, what pos- 
sible chance does a parent have to undo 
such thinking in the minds of people 
who are educating our children nine 
months of every уса 


Gayle Norton, 

Associate Editor 

Florida Education 

Tallahassee, Florida 

Though nothing else begins to com- 

pare with the influence of parents on 
their offspring, teachers can also play 
an important part in the formation of 
children's basic ideas and ideals. If we 
thought teachers Foster, of California, 
and Borum, of Florida, were typical, 
we'd certainly be concerned about the 
severe and suppressive views that stu- 
dents across the U.S. would be con- 
fronted with in their school years. But 
we're heartened by the enlightened and 
liberal views expressed by the other 
teachers you quote, for we think that 
these, and your own posilive point of 
view, more accurately reflect U.S. ed- 
ucation today—and tomorrow. 


REAL AND UNREAL WOMEN 

Our adult discussion group has dealt 
with The Playboy Philosophy twice this 
year. Hefner is sharp—not in the least 
because he agrees with me. 

Sometimes there are gnawing doubi 
however. I wonder whether there r 
not be some psychological effects th 
have not been studied thoroughly. 

Both as а Unitarian and as an individ- 
ual, I am interested in truth. The truth 
about some of riaynoy is that sex is fun 
—which it most certainly is. Sex is real 
and good and women are real and good; 
І wish that pLavuoy would devote some 
pes to presenting "real" women. Real- 
ly. women just don't look like your 
Playmates. But. perhaps your purpose is 
diflerent—maybe you intend to give a 
false picture of femininity and sex. This 
could be good, but 1 doubt it. 

Far more serious than any socalled 
"pornography" I have seen, is the immo- 
rality of misrepresentation. Young pco- 
ple have enough to resolve in reality 
without having to contend with—and re- 
learn from—fantasy worlds. I have been 
in this business long enough ro know 
that many men marry with a pinup 
concept of sex and are at a loss when 
it comes to relaüng to a real body—a 
body that loves rather than seduces, a 
body that sweats, emits, has odors; а body 
with pubic hair, pimples, and breasts 
that sag. I like human bodies and 1 be- 
lieve that all people should Jearn to love 
the human body as well as the human 


soul. There may be live models for your 
pictures, but it's hard to believe—hope- 
fully, no young man believes it. They are 
all white teeth and polish. It is difficult 
to believe they have either alimentary 
canals or vaginas. 

As I say, I may not understand or ap 
preciate your purpose. I do know that 
your kind of pictures and cartoons deny 
sex in a way that may be more destru 
tive than the sick reversal of effect exhib 
ited by the Legion of Decency. Of 
course, if 1 have to live with either, I 
will take your brand of denial. 1 spend 
most of my life trying to help young 
people face reality. 

When you have the opportunity, why 
don't you read Whitr 
us some real women with a dab of hu- 
manity and axillary hair. The human 
form is divine, let's not alter or misrepre- 
sent it. 


agaim and give 


The Rev. William R. Moors 
First Parish Church 
Medfield, Massachusetts 

There is something strange, antisexual 
and sad in the view that a beautiful 
woman isn't as "human" as one who is 
average in appearance, or less. We know 
thal a body sweats, emits, has odors, 
pubic hair, pimples, and breasts that 
sag; our readers know it, too. Are these 
the things you want us to emphasize in 
our Playmate photographs? Ате the un- 
appetizing and unattractive the only 
reality? We don't think so. 

As for PLAynoy’s purpose, and your 
allegation that the magazine's “pictures 
and cartoons deny sex,” we would like 
10 quote a particularly appropriate pas- 
sage from an article entitled “Playboy 
Goes Religious” by the Rev. Allen J. 
Moore, Assistant Professor of Christian 
Education and Dean of Students, School 
of Theology at Claremont, California, 
published in the July 15, 1965, issue of 
Christian Advocate, the official magazine 
of the Methodist clergy. The Rev. Moore 
wrote: 

“Aside [rom the ‘Philosophy,’ much 
of vLavnoy’s material in regard to sex is 
salirical. Because the church does not 
know how (6 laugh at sex, this satire has 
nol always been recognized in critiques 
of the magazine. Our preoccupation with 
sex—ils negative aspects—has led us to 
lose a healthy sense of humor regarding 
it. To this Hefner has replied by lifting 
up and exaggerating the antisexuality 
in our culture, the barnyard jokes, the 
contradictions between official. practices 
and attitudes of its members, and the 
sexual games which are played by fearful 
men and women. 

“Hefner's thesis is that much of the 
sickness and guilt of our society could be 
eliminated if persons could begin to 
laugh at sex rather than relegating it to 
naughty conversations or to little spiritual 
lalks! And he may be right! 

“pLayuoy’s philosophy of sex can be 
summed up briefly: less hypocrisy and 


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more honesty. Hefner calls for permis- 
siveness in order to talk more frankly 
about sexual matters and for freedom to 
examine, to express, and to enjoy sex. 
He believes that many young adults rush 
into marriage in order to satisfy sexual 
drives and feels that it would be more 
honest, as well as emotionally healthful, 
not to limit sexual expression to mar- 
riage. He justifies this position by sug- 
gesting that more permissiveness will 
reduce the sexual compulsion among 
young adults and will probably not alter 
greatly present sexual practices . . .” 


ADOLESCENT SEX 

I have been reading The Playboy 
Philosophy since the first installment and 
learned much from it. Of the entire series 
І think the Trialogue discussions are 
the most articulate and valuable. 

One darifying point for which I was 
grateful was Hefners clear statement 
that a young adult ought to enjoy life 
sexually (and in all other ways) before 
he finally settles down to marriage. I 
couldn't agree more heartily, as long as 
a person acts responsibly in any pre- 
m relationship, which is the key 
moral consideration in all of one's life. 

But this raises the question of when 
one becomes an adult. Hefner suggests 
that a man shouldn't marry until his 
late 20s, because it is not until this 
ge that he has matured sufficiently to 
аке a lifetime commitment to а part- 
ner. I fully agree with this. However, 
until this age of maturity has been 
achieved, is the individual an adult or 
adolescent? Where, and via what 
principles, do we draw a line between 
adolescent and adult responsibility? 

A final question: What can we con- 
sider to be responsible sex behavior (yet 
fulfilling) for the adolescent? А promi- 
nent marriage counselor has suggested 
that adolescents ought to feel free to 
bring each other to orgasm by means 
other than sexual intercourse. This re- 
lieves emotional tensions for the girl 
especially, as well as the physical tension 
aroused in the boy. Personally, 1 consid- 
er this responsible behavior. But can we 
say that it is morally and socially accept- 
able for adolescents to indulge in sexual 
intercourse? If so, under what conditions? 

1 hope Hefner will devote an install- 
ment of his Philosophy to sex and adoles- 
сепсе. I think such an article is called for. 
We need continued articulate inquiry 
into such subjects as these. 


Norman V. Naylor, Minister 

First Unitarian Church 
Brooklyn Heights, New York 
The passage from adolescence into 
adulthood obviously doesn't happen at 
any precise moment that can be pin- 
pointed; and the related growth [rom 
immaturity into maturity is a process 
that hopefully continues throughout a 
person's lifetime. In order to answer 


your question regarding the age at which 
а person is capable of accepting adult 
responsibilities, we would have to know 
more specifically the particular areas of 
responsibility you have in mind, 

Related to marriage. Hefner has pre- 
viously indicated he thinks most young 
men would be wise to wait until their 
late 20s before marrying, with women 
ready for marriage at a slightly earlier 
age, because they mature more rapidly; 
related to sex, he thinks that most in- 
dividuals are capable of responsible sex, 
including intercourse, in their late teens. 
Whether it is “morally and socially ac- 
ceptable for adolescents to indulge in 
sexual intercourse” depends, of course, 
on the criteria used in determining what 
ts acceptable and what isn't. If the cri- 
terion is a real interest in the emotional 
well-being of those involved, then the 
answer will have to be affirmative. Our 
contemporary society uses different cri- 
teria, however; it places premarital chas- 
tity ahead of human welfare, and we pay 
the price in emotional maladjustment 
and misery. 

Regarding the suggestion you attribute 
to a prominent marriage counselor, we 
certainly think that petting to ergasm can 
be a responsible form of sex behavior for 
adolescents, But if the marriage counse- 
lor is suggesting mutual masturbation as 
a satisfactory premarital substitute for 
coitus, his prominence would seem to be 
undeserved. Such substitutes for sexual 
inlercourse may relieve physical tensions, 
but they aren’t apt to satisfy emotional 
ones, as you suggest; and on any pro- 
longed basis, this kind of incomplete 
Sexual intimacy may make future marital 
adjustment more difficult, 


TEENAGED DILEMMA. 

While reading the February 1965 in- 
stallment of The Playboy Philosophy, 1 
was elated to see Hefner acknowledge 
that the teenager of today is faced with a 
serious dilemma. In the section of the 
Trialogue entitled “A Time for Play," he 
states that there is a “significant gap be- 
tween the age a person reaches sexual 
maturity and the legal age of consent, 
after which society more or less accepts 
his or her right to act accordingly.” He 
goes on to point out that our society "re- 
fuses 10 acknowledge" this fact and turns 
s back on it—only magnifying the 
problem. 

Unfortunately, the subject was then 
changed and Mr. Hefner never had a 
chance to express his views on a solution 
for the problem. 1 agree emphatically 
with him, but I would greatly appreciate 
his idcas on coping with the situation. 

Glenn Kessler 
Wantagh, New York 

Hefner plans to explore the subject of 
adolescent sex more fully in a future in- 
stallment of “The Playboy Philosophy.” 


EARLIER MARRIAGE 

Western religion has tended to look 
upon sex only as a biological function. 
Thus, Roman Catholicism contends th 
procreation is the primary, if not the 
sole, purpose of marriage. Marriage is 
necessary as the means of creating the 
family—which is deemed to be the most 
ellective means of raising and caring for 
the product of the sex act. 

I want to suggest, however, that thc 
value of the family unit derives not only 
from raising children, from procreation 
or from sex. What we often forget is t 
the family includes husband and wife, 
too. This is more than a sexual union. It 
is a unity of two people based on love. 
But what is love? Physical attraction, ye: 
Still more than this, it is a personal at 
traction based on common interests, mu- 
compatibility and complementary 
persona and abilities. 
отсе and separa- 
tion, it is not children who preserve mar- 
riage. In the day when sexual activity is 
frecly available, it is not sex that perpet- 
uates marriage. What preserves marriage 
is an understanding of love, of the non 
physical attractions and needs existi 
between two human beings. 

One of the substantial stresses placed 
on marriage today grows from the de- 
mands of our afluent society. I have 
become deeply concerned over the fact 
that the maintenance of a reasonable 
standard of living in the contempo- 
ry Americam community frequently 
requires both spouses to work. I have of- 
ten despaired listening to the court's 
effort to divide a very small income be. 
tween two separating spouses. It is an 
illusion of affluence and not affluence 
itself that today inflicts its wounds on 
American society and upon the family 
structure. 

Another change too often glossed over 
is the fact that young people today are 
expected to receive increasing amounts 
of education. This means an extension 
of the age at which marriage is consid- 
ered proper. With inacasing urbaniza- 
tion bringing teenagers closer together, 
with the lack of family at home—mother 
and father both at work—plus the nor- 
mal impulses toward revolt and self 
expression, it is quite natural that these 
young people should look to one an 
other for security, support and under- 
standing—in other words, for all the 
advantages and ions of love. 
this would 
ay we say 


intercourse, 
To do as Hefner suggests and delay 
marriage while spending the third dec- 
ade of life in a kind of fun (spelled sex) 
is to neglect all the nonsexual needs of 
(continued on page 170) 


The way to the top 


(brief report from Tim Kafkas) 


Today it is the young who are sniffing the 
sweet smell of success: sports champions 
of 17, stars of 20, tycoons of 30. Nobel 
Prize winners of 40. There is no doubt 
that the man who is going to the top gets 
there before middle age. 

A radical change in behaviour reflects this 
trend. The drive for efficiency is a domina- 
ting factor, ‘The would-be successful man 
needs to mix with go-ahead people; and 
everything he uses must be equally go- 
ahead. 

This explains a lot. Why, for instance, the 
Swiss watchmaker who used to spend his 
time making dignificd timekecpers for 
fathers to present to sons on graduation 
day, now concentrates on complex chrono- 
graphs *. Why “dad’s watch” is a-thing 
of the past and his son finds it absolutely 
essential to wear a scientific dashboard 
instrument on his wrist! 

And it doesn’t stop there! On the thresh- 
old of space conquest, the chronograph 
goes one step further to become the Cos- 
monaut **, 


‘The Navitimer civilian version of the Cosmonaut 
chronograph 


‘These were the circumstances that trig- 
gered off the creation of an extraordinary 
watch by the great Swiss specialists 
BREITLING/GENEVA. The Navitimer 
(civilian yersion of the Cosmonaut **) is 
a perfectly normal watch in its primary 
functions (i.e. it tells the time in hours 
minutes and seconds). But over and above 
this, it has special features similar to 
those of an aviation computer. For exam- 
ple, it enables the motorist or pilot to 
make essential calculations: hourly spced/ 
distance coyered/averages/conversion of 
miles into kilometers and nautical miles, 
etc. (The AVI is a sister model specially 
made for yachtsmen). 


A little less complex are Breitling’s Top- 
‘Time chronographs, a series that has made 
the watchmaking world sit up and take 
notice. These are a range of ultra-modern 
watches that also enable you to time to 
1/5 sec. Ideal for students, sportsmen and 
anyone who needs to time his actions pre- 
cisely. 


TopTime 
‘The most up-to-date Swiss chronograph for study, 
sport and all activities demanding precise timing 


Put in a nutshell, it amounts to this: 
the man who is going places, who keeps 
up with the times, (who reads Playboy), 
keeps time with a “chrono” — because it is 
performance that counts in getting to the 
top! 


* A chronograph is a watch equipped with 
an ingenious mechanism which, apart 
from telling the time of day, allows conti- 
nuous or intermittent time recording, 
accurate to 1/5th of a second and lasting 
from a few seconds to 12 hours. 

** The “Cosmonaut” is a super-perfected 
chronograph that was used in the Ameri- 
can space flight of May 1962. 


For my information, please send me, 
free: 


O the amazing world of chronographs 
O the special catalogue of Breitling 
models (Mark a cross where applic- 
able) 
Name: 
Christian name: 
Profession: 
Town: Country: 


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Lachenal, Geneva Switzerland 


59 


THAT'S MY POP. 


THAT'S MY SPRITE. 


Dear Old Dad. 
Lovable young Sprite. 

No matter how they do at the track 
(pretty well, probably— Sprite has 
won more races than any sports car 

class), he'll sleep soundly 
tonight. Because Sprite has virtues 
Close to the heart of doting paren 
Fade-free discs and drums brake it 
quick, even stops. Its road manners 
are impeccable. ..all business and no 


RACES! 


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acceleration and a top speed of 90 
keep Sprite well clear of trouble. 

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ram ney: MADALYN MURRAY 


a candid conversation with “the most hated woman in america," the embattled 
atheist who sparked the controversial supreme court decision banning school prayer 


Until June 17, 1963, she was dismissed 
by many people as a litigious, bellig- 
erent, loudmouthed crank. On that day, 
however, the Supreme Court upheld her 
contention that prayer and Bible study 
should be outlawed in U.S. public 
schools, and Madalyn Murray became 
the country's best-known, and most-hated, 
atheist. She also became the churches’ 
most formidable enemy when, undaunt- 
ed, she promptly proceeded to launch 
another broadside at religion: a suit 
aimed at eliminating from (ax. exemp- 
tion the churches’ vast nationwide prop- 
erty holdings—a case which many lawyers 
concede she will probably win if it gets to 
the Supreme Court, and which, if she 
wins il, may be what one altorney has 
called “the biggest single blow ever 
suffered by organized religion im this 
country." Organized religion could hard- 
ly have an unlikelier nemesis. 

Daughter of a Pittsburgh contractor, 
she studied law at Ohio Northern Uni- 
versity and South Texas College, and 
served as a WAC officer-cryptographer 
on Eisenhower's staff during World War 
Two. A plain, plump, graying divorcee 
wilh [wo sons, she lived peacefully with 
her family in Baltimore—where she 
worked for 17 years as a psychiatric social 
worker—until her dismissal, within hours 
after she instituted her school-prayer 
suit, from a supervisory job in the city 
welfare department. Publishing а mili- 
tant newsletter: called The American 
Atheist, and organizing the Freethought 


“There are certain bodily functions of 
mine which I will not allow to be super- 
vised. I will engage in sexual activity 
with а consenting male any tine and 
any place 1 damn well please.” 


Society of America, Inc. and Other Amer- 
icans, Inc., legalaction atheist groups 
supported by contributions from their 
secret membership, she continued her 
anticlerical crusade at home and in an 
unprepossessing downtown office build- 
ing, in which she and her sons soon 
became the targets for a three-year cam- 
paign of abusive mail, obscene telephone 
calls, bricks, beatings and death threats. 

Finally, in June of last year, Mrs. Mur- 
тау and her family fled Baltimore where 
she and her son Bill, then 18, had just 
gone free on bail after being ar- 
raigned for assaulting several policemen 
during a fracas in front of her house— 
and flew to Hawaii for what she called 
"religious sanctuary from Christian per- 
scculion." In the intervening year, the 
governor of Hawaii has granted п re- 
quest from the governor of Maryland 10 
extradite Mrs. Murray and her son back 
to Baltimore for trial on the assault 
charges—which she claims were trumped 
up by the police as part of a Church- 
directed conspiracy to prevent her from 
pursuing her tax-the-churches suit. She 
had just petitioned the Hawaii Supreme 
Court for a reversal of the governor's de- 
cision when вілувоу called the embat- 
tled 46-year-old atheist (and onetime 
socialist) at her home in Honolulu with 
dts request. for ап exclusive interview. 
Consenting veadily, she invited us to 
тесі her at Honolulws Tripler Veter- 
ans’ Hospital, where she was being (rcat- 
ed for nerve injuries which she claimy 


“Albert Schweitzer 


has admitted that 
there isn’t proof that Christ ever lived, 
let alone was the son of God. Не con- 
cludes that one must accept both on 
Jaith. 1 reject both for the same reason.” 


were inflicted by the beating she says 
she sustained at the hands of the police 
during the melee that precipitated her 
departure from Baltimore. 

Our first lwo tape sessions took place 
at her hospital bedside, where she pro- 
ceeded to hold forth on her various suits, 
trials and tribulations, on church and 
state, and on sex and marriage, with a 
pungent, four-letter vehemence undi- 
minished by her bedridden condition. 
Our conversations continued some weeks 
later in the modest frame house which 
she shares with her mother, her brother 
and her 11-year-old son Garth on Hono- 
lulu’s Spencer Strect, where she confided 
that she would do “anything” rather 
than return to Maryland in compliance 
with the Hawaii Supreme Court's expect- 
ed decision to permit her extradition. 

No one can predict what the next 
chapter in the continuing melodrama of 
Madalyn Murray's life will be; but at 
this juncture, we feel that an explora- 
tion of her intransigent convictions, and 
of her continuing confrontations with 
the church, the law and the public, may 
shed some timely light on the issues in- 
volved in her private war on religion. 


PLAYBOY: Why are you an atheist, Mrs. 
Murray? 

MURRAY: Because religion is 2 crutch, 
and only the crippled need crutches. I 
can get around perfectly well on my own 
two feet, and so can everyone else with a 


“As a last resort to avoid extradition 
back to Maryland, 1 would seriously 


consider suicide. I'd much rather blow 
my own brains out than have it done 
for me in а Baltimore jail cell.” 


61 


PLAYBOY 


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backbone and a grain of common sense. 
One of the things I did during my 17 
years as a psychiatrie social worker was 
go around and find people with mental 
crutches, and every time I found one, I 
kicked these goddamn crutches until 


they flew. You know what happened? 


Every single one of those people have 
been able to walk without the crutches— 
better, in fact. Were they giving up a 
thing intrinsically valuable? Just their 
irrational reliance upon superstitious 
and supernatural nonsense. Perhaps this 
sort of claptrap was good for the Stone 
Age, when people actually believed that 
if they prayed for rain they would get it. 
But we're a grown-up world now, and it's 
time to put away childish things. But 
people don't, because most of them don't 
even know what atheism is. It's not a. ne- 
gation of anything. You don't have to 
negate what no one can prove exists. No, 
atheism is a very positive affirmation of 
bility to think for himself, to do 
for himself, to find answers to his own 
problems. I'm thrilled to feel that I can 
rely on myself totally and absolutely; 
that my children are being brought up 
so that when they meet a problem they 
can't cop out by foisting it off on God. 
Madalyn Murray's going to solve her own 
problems, and nobody's going to inter- 
vene. It's about time the world got up off 
its knees and looked at itself in the mirror 
and said: "Well, we are men. Let's start 
acting like it.” 
PLAYBOY: Wh 
atheist? 
MURRAY: Well, it started when I was very 
young. People attain the age of intellec- 
tual discretion at different times in thei 
lives—sometimes a little early and some- 
times a little late. I was about 12 or 13 
years old when I reached this period. It 
was then that I was introduced to the Bi- 
ble. We were living in Akron and I wasn't. 
able to get to the library, so I had two 
things to read at home: a dictionary and 
a Bible. Well, 1 picked up the Bible and 
read it from cover to cover one weekend 
— just as if it were а novel very rapidl 
and I've never gotten over the shock o 
The miracles, the inconsistencies, th 
improbabiliti the impossibilities, the 
wretched history, the sordid sex, the sad- 
ism in it—the whole thing shocked me 
profoundly. І remember I looked in the 
Kitchen at my mother and father and 1 
thought: Can they really believe in all 
that? Of course, this was a superficial 
survey by a very young girl, but it left a 
traumatic impression. Later, when I start- 
ed going to church, my first memories are 
of the minister getting up and accusing us 
of being full of sin, though he didn't say 
why; then they would pass the collection 
plate, and I got it in my mind that this 
had to do with purification of the soul, 
that we were being invited to buy expia- 
tion from our sins. So I gave it all up. It 
was too nonsensical. 

A few years later, I went off to college, 


t led you to become an 


a good, middle-class, very proper col- 
lege, where I studied with, and under, 
good, middle-class, very proper people; 
which is to say, the kind who regard s 
as distasteful and religious doubts as un- 
thinkable; the kind to whom it would 
never occur to scrutinize the mores of 
society, who absolutely and unquestion- 
ingly accept the social system. 

PLAYBOY: What school was it? 

MURRAY: Ashland College in Ashland, 
Ohio—a Brethren institution, where two 
years of Bible study are required for 
iduation. One year I studied the Old 
nd one year the New Т 
nt. It was a good, sound, thorough, 
but completely biased evaluation of the 
Bible, and I was delighted with it, be- 
cause it helped to document my doubts; 
it gave me a framework within which I 
could be critical. But I can't deny that I 
was an intellectual prostitute. along the 
way many, many times. I сап remember 
one examination where they said, “De- 
scribe the Devil," and in order to get 12 
points on that question one had to зау 
that the Devil was red and had a forked 
tail and cloven hoofs and fangs and horns 
on his head, So I merrily wrote this an 
swer down and got my I9 points. 1 always 
got straight hundreds in Bible study. My 
independent study continued for 90 years 
after this. So I do know the Bible very 
well from a Protestant point of view— 
which is what, along with my reason, en- 
titles me to refute it. You can't rationally 
reject something until you know all about 
it. Bur at this time, of course, my convic- 
tions hadn't yet crystallized intellectually. 
I didn’t know where my doubts were 
leading me. 

I recall that I had a terrible struggle 
finding anything antireligious in the 
school li But many years later, 
the family returned to Pittsburgh and 
moved into a house where a woman had 
left a box of books containing 20 vol 
umes on the history of the Inquisition 

It was then that I found out there was 
a word for people like me: “heretic.” I 
was kind of delighted to find I had an 
identity. And then, as I grew a little bit 
older and got interested in law, I read 
that Clarence Darrow didn't believe in 
the Bible either. So І read everything he 
had ever written, all of his trials, every- 
thing—to search out the philosophy of his 
disbelief. But I couldn't find Then I 
went into the Army, and one day, in the 
middle of a bull session, somebody called 
me an atheist. Believe it or not, it was 
the first time I'd ever heard the word. It 
goes 10 show you how а person can grow 
up in America and have a college educa- 
tion and still not know a goddamned 
thing. Anyway, when I learned that 
there was such a thing as an atheist, ] 
looked it up—and found out that the 
definition fitted me to a tee. Finally, at 
the age of 24, I found out who—and 
what—l was. Better late 0 never, 
PLAYBOY: Do you think everyone should. 


believe as you do—or rather, disbelieve? 
MURRAY: I think this would be the best 
of all possible worlds if everybody were 
an atheist or an agnostic or a humanist— 
his or her own particular brand—but as 
for compelling pcople to this, absolutely 
not. That would be just as infamous as 
their imposing their Christianity on me. 
At no time have 1 ever said that people 
should be stripped of their right to the 
insanity of belief in God. If they want to 
practice this kind of irrationality, that’s 
their business. It won't get them any- 
where; it certainly won't make them 
happier or more compassionate human 
beings; but if they want to chew that 
particular cud, theyre welcome to it. 
PLAYBOY: Even as an atheist, would you 
concede that religion, at its best, can be 
and has been a constructive force, a 
source of strength and comfort for many 
people? 

MURRAY: If you're talking about Chris- 
tianity, absolutely not. I don't think the 
Church has ever contributed anything to 
anybody, anyplace, at any time. 
PLAYBOY: How about the welfare and 
charity work to which many Catholic, 
Protestant and Jewish organizations de 
cate themselves? 

MURRAY: Oh. they love to point to their 
hospitals and orphanages most of which 
are restricted, by the way. But what do 
these “good works" amount to? They're 
nothing but a sop to the clerical con- 
science, a crumb thrown to the populace, 
alleviating some of the miseries which 
the Church itself—particularly the Cath- 
olic Church—has helped to instigate and 
perpetuate. I can't pinpoint a period in 
history or a place in the universe where 
religion has actually helped the welfare 
of man. On the contrary, the history of 
the Church been a history of divi- 
siveness, repression and reaction. For al- 
most 2000 years, Christianity has held 
mankind back in politics, in economics, 
in industry, in science, in philosophy, in 
culture. Anyone who has even a surface 
knowledge of the Middle Ages, when the 
Church held unchallenged sway. can rec- 
ognize this. But if any one age could be 
singled out as the worst in the history of 
stendom, it would be the adminis- 
tration of Pope Pius XII, the most re: 
tionary head of the most reactionary sin- 
gle force in the world—a force that binds 
men's minds, a force that divides them, a 
force that chains them so that they are 
unable to think and act for themselves. 
PLAYBOY: How do you feel about Pope 
John XXII? Don't you think his 
humanitarian views, as enunciated in his 
Pacem in Terris, testify to the fact that 
enlightenment can flourish within the 
confines of the Church? 

MURRAY: There are good, humanitarian 
people everywhere—occasionally even in 
the Church. But John was an amoeba of 
goodness in a sea of waste, mistakenly 
believing that the Holy See could or 
would really change in any fundamental 


way. He was a tragic figure, for he raised 
a false hope, cast a brief ray of light that 
was snuffed out when he died. With 
Pope Paul in the saddle, the Church is 
firmly back in the hands of archconserva- 
tive reaction. 
PLAYBOY: When you say that organized 
religion has contributed nothing to hu 
man welfare, do you include those many 
clergymen, such as Reverend Reeb, who 
have risked, and in some cases lost, their 
lives participating in civil rights demon 
strations? 
MURRAY: Of course not. Reverend. Reeb, 
by the way, was a well-known atheist, a 
Unitarian, and was not even buried 
with a religious ceremony. But those 
priests, nuns and ministers who aren't 
afraid to stand up and be counted are 
very much in the minority. They're the 
exception that proves the rule. Arch 
bishop Toolen of Mobile-Birmingham 
has forbidden his priests to participate 
in Alabama civil rights demonstrations, 
and Cardinal McIntyre of California has 
punished priests in his diocese for get- 
ung involved in civil rights. These 
the men who represent the Church mind 
—not the poor maverick priest who 
defies them by marching. 

But the most heinous crime of 
Church has been perpetrated not 
churchmen but against ch 


the 


divine punishment. it's warped 
brainwashed countless millions. It would 
be impossible to calculate the psychic 
damage this has inflicted on generations 
of children who might have grown up 
into healthy, happy, productive, zestful 
human beings but for the burden of an- 
tisexual fear and guilt ingrained in them 
by the Church. This alone is enough to 
condemn religion. 

PLAYBOY: How do you feel about such 
Catholic canons as the vow of cclibac 
for priests, and the spiritual "marriage 
of Catholic sisters to Christ? 

MURRAY: Sick, sick, sick! You think Гое 
got wild ideas about sex? Think of those 
poor old dried-up women lying there on 
their solitary pallets yearning for Christ 
to come to them in a vision some night 
and take their maidenheads, By the time 
they realize he's not coming, it's no long: 
сг a maidenhead; it's a poor, sorry ient 
that nobody would be able to pierce— 
even Jesus with his wooden staff. It's 
such a waste. I don't think anybody 
should be celibate—and that goes for 
priests as well as nuns. I don't even like 
to alter a cat. We should all live life to 
the fullest, and sex is a part of life. 
PLAYBOY: As an athcist, do you also reject 
the idea of the virgin birth? 

MURRAY: Even if I believed there was 
а real Jesus, 1 wouldn't fall for that 
line of hogwash. The "Virgin" Mar 
should get a posthumous medal for tell- 
ing the biggest goddamn lie that was 
ever told. Anybody who believes that will 
believe that the moon is made out of 


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63 


PLAYBOY 


green cheese. If she could get away with 
something 


like that, maybe I should 
have tried it myself. I'm sure she played 
around as much as I have, and certainly 
was capable of an orgasm. Let's face it 
If a son of God was ever born, it was 
because of this wonderful sex act that 
Joseph and Mary enjoyed one night 
PLAYBOY: À moment ago, you said, "Even 
if 1 believed there was a real Jesus . . ." 
Are you saying that you don't bclieve 
that there was such а person as Christ, or 
are you denying his divinity? 

MURRAY: I'm saying that there's absolute- 
ly no conclusive cvidence that he ever 
really existed, even as а mortal. I don't 
believe he was a historical figure at all. 
PLAYBOY: Do vou dismiss all the Biblical 
records of his life? 

MURRAY: Those so-called records were 
written by devout ecclesiasis who wanted 
to believe, and wanted others to believe, 
in the coming of a Messiah. Until some. 
one proves otherwise, thercfore, these 
stories must be considered nothing more 
than folk tales consisting in equal parts 
of legend h fulfillment. But 
there's never going to be any way of veri- 
fying them one way or the other. Schol 
ars have found that references to Christ 
in Josephus were deliberately planted in 
the translation long after it written, 
and the Latin references to Christ are not 
toa person of that name. In the Dead Si 
Scrolls there was mention of a particular 
“teacher of righteousness” who had char- 
acteristics somewhat like those attributed 
to Christ, but it might easily have been 
someone else. About six years ago, Life 
magazine ran an article on the historicity 
of Jesus, and I was floored to find that 
they conceded the only evidence we have 
for his existence is in the Gospels. But 
don't take Life's word for it. In his book 
The Quest of the Historical Jesus, the 
most definitive study that's ever been 
done on the subject, Albert Schweitzer 
admitted that there isn't a shred of con- 
clusive proof that Christ ever lived, let 
alone was the son of God. He concludes 
that one must therefore accept both on 
faith. I reject both for the same reason. 
PLAYBOY: Do you also reject the idea of 
a life hereafter on the same grounds? 
MURRAY: Do you know anybody who's 
come back with a firsthand report on 
heaven? If you do, let me know. Until 
then. you'll pardon me if 1 don't buy it. 
If a humanist or an atheist or an agnostic 
says, “We'll bake you a pi 
right into the kitchen and bake it, and 
you can eat it an hour later. We don't 
promise you a pie in the sky by and by. 
It's charlatanry to promise people some- 
thing that no one can be sure will ever 
be delivered. But it’s even worse to offer 
people а reward, like children, for being 
good, and to threaten them with punish- 
ment if they're not. I'm reminded of the 
joke about Saint Peter sitting at the 
golden gate questioning a new arrival: 
“Well, my son, what good deeds have 


you done to get into heaven?” Well, the 
guy casts about for something to tell him 
and finally remembers that he gave five 
cents to a charwoman one night, and once 
he tipped a bootblack a nickel when he 
got his shoes shined, and another time he 
gave a beggar five shiny new pennies. 
And that’s all he can think of that he's 
ever done for his fellow man. Well, Saint 
Peter looks at him and says, "Here's your 
fifteen cents back. You can go to hell." 
"That guy didn't know how lucky he 
was. I agree with Mark Twain, who 
wrote about the hereafter that there's no 
sex in it you can't eat anything in it: 
there is absolutely noth: 
You wouldn't have your bral 
wouldn't have any sensations you 
wouldn't be able to enjoy anything—un- 
less you're queer for hymn singing and 
harp playing. So who needs it? Speaking 
for myself, I’d rather go to hell. 
PLAYBOY: Ве; of your success in per- 
suading the Supreme Court to outlaw 
school prayer in public schools, many 
outraged Christians seem to feel that's 
just where you belong. What made you 
decide to pursue your suit in the face of 
predictable: indi on? 
MURRAY: I was shamed into it by my son, 
Bill, who came to me in 1960—he was 14 
then—and said: “Mother, you've been 
professing that you're an atheist for а 
long time now. Well, I don't believe in 
God either, but every day in school I'm 
forced to say prayers, and I feel like a 
hypocrite. Why should I be compelled to 
betray my beliefs?” I couldn't answer him. 
He quoted the old parable to me: “It is 
not by thcir words, but by their deeds 
that ye shall know them"—pointing out 
that if I was a true atheist, I would not 
permit the public schools of America to 
force him to read the Bible and say pray- 
ainst his will. He was right. Words 
divorced from action supporting them 
are meaningless and hypocritical. So we 
began the suit. And finally we won it. I 
knew it wasn't going to make me the 
most popular woman in Baltimore, but I 
sure as hell didn't anticipate the tidal 
wave of virulent, vindictive, murderous 
thundered down on top of 
me and my family in its wake. 
PLAYBOY: Tell us about it. 
God, where should I begi 
started fairly predictably with 
economic reprisals. Now, I'd been a. psy- 
chiatric social worker for 17 years, but 
within 24 hours after I started the case, 
I was fired from my job as a supervisor 
the city public welfare department. And 
з unable to find another one, because 
the moment 1 would go in anywhere 
d say that my name was Madalyn 
a the job opening, 
I found the job filled; no matter how 
good my qualifications, they were never 
quite good enough. So my income was 
completely cut off. The second kind of 
reprisal was psychological. The first epi- 
sode was with our mail, which began to 


arrive, if at all. slit open and empty—just 
empty envelopes. Except for the obscene 
and abusive letters from good Christians 
all over the country, calling me a bitch 
and a Lesbian and Communist for 
instituting the school-prayer suit—they 
somehow arrived intact, and by the 
bushel-basketful. Hundreds of them ac 
tually th d our lives; we had to 
turn a lot of them over to the FBI, be- 
use they were obviously written. by 
psychopaths, and you couldn't be sure 
whether or not they were going to act on 
their very explicit threats. None did, but 
it didn't help us sleep any better at night. 

Neither did the incredible anonymous 
phone calls we'd get at every hour of the 
day and night, which were more or less 
along the same lines as the letters. One 
of them was a particular gem. I was in 
the VA hospital in Baltimore, and I had. 
just had a very critical operation; they 
didn't think I was going to make it. 
They had just wheeled me back to my 
bed after two days in the recovery room 
when this call came in for me, and some- 
body who wouldn't give his name told 
me very seriously and sympathetically 
that my father had just died and u I 
should be prepared to come home and 
take care of my mother. Well, 1 called 
home in a state of shock, and my mother 
answered, and I asked her about Father, 
and she said, “What are you talking 
about? He's sitting he at this moment. 
eating bacon and eggs." Obviously, th: 
call had been calculated. to kill me, be- 
cause whoever it was knew that I was at 
low ebb there in the hospital. 

‘Then they began to take more direct 
action. My Freethought Society ollice 
was broken into; our cars were vandalized 
repeatedly; every window in the house 
was broken more times than I can count, 
every flower in my garden trampled into 
the ground, all my maple trees uproot 


ed; my property looked like a cyclone 
had hit it. This is the kind of thing that 


Sis. Tati pare fé to the reprisal у 
upon my son Bill He'd go to school 
every day and hand in his homewor 
and a couple of days later many of his 
teachers would say to him, “You didn't 
hand in your homework." Or he'd take a 
test and about a week later many of his 
teachers would tell him, “You didn't hand 
in your test paper. You'll have to take the 
test again this afternoon.” This was a 
dreadful reprisal to take against a 14-year- 
old boy. It got to the point where he had 
tomake carbon copies of all his homework 
and all his tests to prove that he had sub- 
ted them. But that's nothing to what 
happened after school, both to him and 
to hi Че brother, Garth. I lost count of 
the times they came home bloodied and 
beaten up by gangs of teenage punks: 
five and six of them at a time would gang 
up on them and beat the living hell out 
of them. Many's the time I've stood them 


off myself to protect my sons, and these 
fine young Christians have spat in my 
c till spite dripped down on my dress. 
Time and again we'd take them into mag- 
istrate's court armed with damning evi- 
dence and eyewitness testimony, but the 
little bastards were exonerated every time. 
But I haven't told you the worst. The 
neighborhood children, of course, were 
forbidden by their parents to play with 
my little boy, Carth, so I finally got him 
a little kinen to play with. A couple of 
ater we found it on the porch 
with its neck wrung. And then late one 
night our house was attacked with stones 
and bricks by five or six young Chris- 
tians, and my father got very upset and 
frightened. Well, the next day he 
dropped dead of a heart attack. The 
community knew very well that he had a 
t condition, so I lay a murder to the 
city of Baltimore. 
PLAYBOY: Sometime late in 196: 
understand it, the midst of a 
arassments, your son ВШ, then 18, 
ed dating a I7-yearold Baltimore g 
med Susan Abramovitz. In March of 
t according to court records, she 
left home because of family friction and 
moved in with you and your family, 
where she remained for several months. 
Then, on June 2, 1964, a petition filed 
by her parents was granted by the Balti 
more Criminal Court, charging that you 
and your son “encouraged Susan to re- 
nounce her religion and become an 
atheist,” and ordering you to give Susan 
into the care of her aunt and uncle, and 
charging you and Bill to refrain from all 
contact with Susan—in person, by phone 
or by letter—until further notice. When 
Susan subsequently ran off to New York 
in defiance of the court order, she was 
cited for contempt of court—along with 
you and Bill, who were sentenced in 
absentia to one year and six months, re- 
spectively, in the Baltimore city jail. 
Why did you defy the court order? 
MURRAY: For the simple reason that by 
the time that contempt charge was filed, 
Bill and Susan were married, and he had 
become her legal guardian. Just for the 
record, though, I'd like to explain why I 
took Susan into my home in the first 
place. Her parents were making life hell 
for her with impossible restrictions and 
disciplines, and it finally came to a show- 
down. So when she asked to stay with us 
for a few days, I said yes, intending to 
straighten things out with her parents 
when both sides calmed down a bit. 
Well, I called them up a few days later to 
discuss it, but they were extremely rude 
and abusive to me, and said they didn't 
want her back anyway. What was I sup- 
posed to do? Kick her out in the street? T 
guess all the neighborhood talk made 
them change thcir minds, though, be- 
cause the next thing T knew we had that 
court order slapped on us without a hear- 
ing. Well, those kids loved each other and 
weren't about to be separated by a court 


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65 


PLAYBOY 


order, so they got married—with my 
blessings. 

PLAYBOY; When was it that the police 
came to your house to take Susan into 
custody? 

MURRAY: Eight days after the kids were 
married. She and Bill hadn't been home 
15 minutes from their honeymoon when 
a police car pulled up in front of the 
house, and another behind the house— 
surrounding us. We got our tape recorder 
and turned it on and Bill and I went out 
to mect this cop, and I asked him, "What 
do you want?" He said, "I'm here to pick 
up Susan Abramovitz." Bill said, "There's 
no Susan Abramovitz here, "There's а Su- 
san Murray here." I said, "Do you have a 
pickup warrant?" He said, "No." “Then 
you have no jurisdiction here," I said. 
“If she puts her goddamned foot out 
into the street," he said, “I'm going to 
pick her up.” I've got this on a tape re- 
corder. So I said to him, “Look, this is a 
hostile neighborhood. We don't want 
trouble here. I'm going to take Susan to 
my office at 2502 North Calvert Street. 
You can come down there and talk to 
me. My attorney will be there. We will 
be glad to talk to the judge, the police, 
anybody else, but it's got to be in a neu- 
tral business district and not in a hostile 
neighborhood.” And he said, "If you 
bring the goddamned girl out here, I'm 
going to lock her up.” 

Well, with police cars front and back, 
and him calling for more help—we had 
seen him put in an order for more squad 
cars—we decided to make a break for it, 
to get into the car and take off. Well, Su- 
san and I made it to the car, but I looked 
back and saw the policemen stopping my 
son with a billy club raised, so that he 
couldn't follow us. So we took off. I said 
to Susan, “There's going to be trouble. 
I'm going to drop you off someplace and 
you sit there until I can come bad 

So I drove her about five blocks away 
and left her on a neighbor's back porch 
and drove back. By the time I got back 
home, there were seven police cars in 
front of my house, two police cars be- 
hind my house, a minimum of 15 pol 
men on the front lawn, and a mob of at 
least 100 to 250 people milling around. 
And I walked through the melee there, 
and I said: “What's the matter? Is there a 
criminal at large?" Well, Bill was no- 
where to be seen. I demanded to know 
where he was and the cops said he'd been 
taken oft to jail. I found out later what 
had happened during the five minutes I 
was away taking Susan to safety. This cop 
who had raised his billy club on Bill 
started to give him a beating. Then an- 
other cop joined in, and in a few minutes, 
when the reinforcements arrived, there 
were four policemen there giving Bill a 
terrific beating. 

PLAYBOY: According to the sworn testi- 
mony of those policemen and several eye- 
witnesses, Bill started the fight by shoving, 


then striking a patrolman in the nose and 


knocking off his glasses in an attempt to 
prevent him from intercepting Susan on 
her way out of the house. 
MURRAY: Naturally they'd say that. The 
fact remains that there were four of 
them beating up on one 18-year-old boy. 
PLAYBOY: Not according to their deposi- 
tions. 
MURRAY: You expect them to admit it? 
But wait till you hear what happened 
next. One of our neighbors saw the cops 
beating Bill and he rushed out and said, 
p?" and promptly waded in 
with the four cops. 
PLAYBOY: Again, this is denied by eye- 
witnesses. 
MURRAY: Well, my mother was an eye- 
witness, and she was watching all this 
through. the screen. door, and when the 
neighbor started in on Bill, she finally 
rushed out—she's a very frail 73 years old 
—and wied to beat him off with her 
scrawny, rheumatic little fists. Well, he 
turns and says to one of the policeme 
“Get that fucking bitch off of me!” And 
the policeman just reaches out, 


PLAYBOY: Again, this contradicts police 
testimony, which denies flatly that any- 
one struck her. According to the officer 
involved and several nesses, she faint- 
ed in the midst of the struggle. 
MURRAY: Well, she may be frail, but she 
isn't so old that she doesn't know the 
difference between a ting spell and a 
rap on the head from a billy dub. In any 
case, my brother, who has a bad heart, 
was watching all this from inside the 
house. He was afraid to get tangled up in 
it for fear he'd have a heart attack, but. 
when he saw her get clubbed, he ran out 
and picked her up and carried her back 
le and put her on the couch, which is 
where I found her, still unconscious, 
when I got back to the house, I also 
found two police officers in the house; 
they had broken the screen door open. 

I said: "What are you doing in my 
house?” And they said: "Its none of 
your goddamn business.” And I said: 
“Well, you get the hell out of here.” And 


they said: “We'll get out of here when 
we goddamn well please.” I said: "You'll 
get the hell out right now. Out!" And I 


took one of them firmly by the elbow 
and steered him to the door; to my as- 
tonishment, he went like a lamb. I had 
him halfway out the door when the 
bloodthirsty crowd outside spotted us, 
and one of the four policemen on the 
porch yelled, “Get that bitch out here!” 
And a second policeman snarled, “Yeah. 
Bring the bitch out!” Just like that, the 
cop I had by the elbow whirled and 
pounced on me like a bird of prey, and 
started to drag me out the front door. 
Well, I tried desperately to back up, and 
I had gouen back as far as the living 
room when the two policemen in there 
grabbed me and started pounding on 


me. I'll tell you, they gave me judo cuts; 
they kicked me in the kidneys with their 
knees; they really worked me over. 
PLAYBOY: None of this gibes with the 
police version of what took place. They 
deny all of your allegations. 

MURRAY: Of course they do. But I've got 
the bruises to prove it, buddy. I can as 
sure you they weren't self-inflicted. I've 
never had a beating like that one. For 
the next 20 minutes 1 hung onto any- 
thing I could hang onto while they піса 
to drag me outside. I hung onto chairs. I 
hung onto the television set. I hung onto 
the door frame. I hung onto the door- 
knob. I hung onto the screen door. My 
fingernails were completely ripped off; 
they were just blood. Every single inch 
of the way I was breaking holds, grab- 
bing onto anything, hanging on with my 
legs, with my hands. Finally they had me 
out on the front porch, and T locked my 
clbow through the iron banister outside, 
but they pulled me off of it and started 
rolling me across the lawn, pummeling 
me every inch of the way while that 
crowd just kept screamin lit her 
again, hit her again, kill her, kill her, 
that bitch, hit her again, bitch, bitch, 
Ditch, bitch, bitch!” 

You'd think everybody had suddenly 
gone insane, And you should have seen 
the hatred, the blood lust in their faces 
as those cops beat and dragged me 30 
feet across the lawn and onto the street. 
When they got me into the street, one of 
them put handcuffs оп me and then 
dragged me up off the ground, bodily, by 
the cuffs. My arm was dangling there, the 
circulation in my hand completely cut 
off. Completely. My hand turned black. 1 
hadn't landed a blow during the whole 
melee, but I was in such agony 
those cuffs that I pulled back my leg and 
kicked that son of a bitch in the shins un- 
til his teeth rattled. Immediately, he 
yelled, “Witness, | everybody—vwitness! 
M Murray has assaulted. me.” And 
that's the main charge against me today. 
"That's why they want to extradite me to 
Maryland—because I kicked a poor, 
helpless little cop in the shins. Well, they 


decided they'd haul me off bodily to the 
paddy wagon, and by God, I decided I 
wasn't going to go without a struggle, 
handcuffed or not handcuffed, so when 
they tried to walk me off, I just lifted my 
fect up and threw them off balance. 


One of them said, “You bitch, just 
wait until you get in that wagon.” I 
thought, “Oh, oh, I'm in for it" So I 
stuck one foot between this guy's two 
legs on the left and one foot between the 
guy's two legs on the right, and I ripped 
them and they fell on their faces. 

One of them said, “I'll grind your 
fucking face into the ground, you 
bitch!" And they dragged me up, and I 
stuck my feet in between them again, and 
down they went again. This is the other 
charge against me—that I assaulted two 
other officers by kicking them in order to 


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trip them. Well, they threw me in that 
wagon and took me off to jail, where they 
kept me incommunicado for ten hours. 
PLAYBOY: Ihe police flatly deny this. 
MURRAY: They're lying, as usual. The 
only way my attorney found out I was in 
jail was when he heard it on the radio, 
or otherwise he would never have come 
to our rescue. And I do mean rescue, be- 
cause I found out when I got to jail that 
the police had taken my son into a cell 
and beaten him up. They dumped him 
on the floor and stomped on him while 
he was lying there. 

PLAYBOY: How do you know this? Did you 
see it happa 
MURRAY: I was taken to the police ion 
where my son was, and as I sat in the 
paddy wagon outside, І heard him being 
cursed and beaten. Bill told me all about 
it later. But he didn't have to, because 
when they brought him out of the prison- 
er lockup, he had a bootprint on the left 
side of his face; I saw it with my own 
eyes. He had another bootprint on the 
middle of his chest; and another one on 
the fly of his pants. The sons of bitches 
had kicked him in the geni When the 
judge brought him out to have him ar- 
raigned with me on those trumped-up 
saule charges, I said, “Judge, look at 
that boy's face." And I said to the news 
paper reporters, “Look at the footmarks 
on him. Please note this." But not a word 
about it appeared in the newspapers. 
PLAYBOY: Nor are there medical records 
of any injuries sustained by your son on 
this date, though he was examined by a 


doctor at his own request. 
MURRAY: My son and I were taken to Uni 
versity Hospital and my mother was 


taken, unconscious for over three hours, 
10 Union Memorial Hospital—that's a 
pretty long faint! UPI has a picture of 
me, printed in The Washington Post, 
swathed in bandages as the police forced 
me into the paddy wagon again after 1 
was released from the hospital. It's inter- 
esting to hear now that there are no hos- 
pital records. But then, a lot of things 
seem to happen in Baltimore for which 
there are no records. 1 know it's only my 
word against theirs, and that my word 
wouldn't be worth two cents in a. Balti- 
more court of law. But I know Em telling 
the truth, and they know they're lying. 

Anyway, we put up bail and finally 
went home. Well, you talk about terror: 
somebody tried to break into our house 
three times that night. We got my old 
German Luger out, and we found the 
old shells to it and filled it up. And we 
led our attorney out there, Joe Wase. 
who brought out a private detective with 
him—but too latc, unfortunately, to 
catch them in the act. You know who 
they were? Men blue pants and 
short-sleeved white shirts. We caught 
one of them in a flashlight beam and I 
saw a badge with the word "Lieutenant" 
on it. Two others we saw with badges on. 
So we knew that the police were trying 


to get into our house. Not openly, but 
surreptitiously. The light in our back 
d was put out, and the street light 
had a stone hurled through it. And our 
dog was silenced by a piece of wood 
immed into his jaws. We had that tape 
recording in the house, incriminating 
the cops in a clear case of illegal entry. 
and they wanted it back. 

PLAYBOY: As you no doubt know, Mis. 
Murray, tape recordings cannot be used 
as evidence in court, so it seems doubtful 
that the police would risk violating the 
law to obtain this onc. In any case, do 
you have any witnesses, apart from your 
own family, willing to swear that the 
houscbreakers were policemen? 

MURRAY: No; as I said, my lawyer and the 
private detective got there too late. So I 
must be making this all up—right 
PLAYBOY: We didn't mean to imply any 
such thing. But you understand, don't 
you, that police spokesmen have flatly 
denied these charges? 

MURRAY: I understand all too well. Any- 
way, shall I go on with my version—the 
true version—of what happened? 
PLAYBOY: By all means. 

MURRAY: Well, after that night we lived 
in fear of our lives. The beating we'd 
gouen and the three attacks on the 
just a sample of things to 


house wei 
come if we were foolish enough to stick 
around like sitting ducks. if we 
weren't murdered in our beds before the 
trial, I knew that if they got us into a 
courtroom, we'd get at least 200 ycars— 
plus 60 days extra for every time we 
breathed, blinked or raised our eyebrows. 
[According 10 the Baltimore state's at 
torney’s office, there are а total of ten 
criminal assault cha inst Mrs. 
Murray and her son—carrying maximum 
sentences, il they are convicted on all 
counts, of ten years for each. of them] 
MURRAY: Anyway, after another sleepless 
night, I decided that we'd have to ta 
our chances with the law and get the hell 
out of Baltimore. I thought of seeking as 
lum in Canada or Australia or England, 
but I didn't want to leave the United 
States, because for better or worse I'm an 
American, and this is my land; so 1 de 
cided to fight it out on home ground 
and finally we hit upon Hawaii, because 
of the liberal atmosphere created by iis 
racial admixture, and because of its rel. 
tively large population of Buddhists 
who are largely nontheistic, and might 
therefore be more tolerant of our views. 
So we packed up all the worldly posses 
sions we could carry with us and took the 
next flight to Hawaii from Washington. 
PLAYBOY: How many were in your party 
MURRAY: Six of us—my mother, my 
brother, my two sons, Bill's wife and me. 
Aud 1 can tell you, it took just about 
every cent we had to our name just to 
pay the plane fare. When we arrived. we 
had about $15 left among us. We were 
really in pitiful shape. But we were to 
gether, and we were alive, and this was 


"s 


all that mattered. 

PLAYBOY: How did you find a place to 
stay? 

MURRAY: Well, we were just floored by 
the kindness of the people here. The 
minister of the Unitarian Church in 
Honolulu invited us over to his оћсе the 
day we arrived and told us to make it our 
headquarters while we looked for a per- 
manent residence. When we couldn't 
find a place for about a week, he let us 
live in the church; that's ironic, isn't it? 
But it points up the vastly different in- 
tellectual atmosphere that prevails here 
in Hawaii. Anyway, we rusiled up some 
mattresses and put them on the floor and 
slept there, cooked there and ate there 
until we found a home. I was over- 
whelmed by the number of calls we got 
Irom people ollering to rent us houses, 
to take us out to dinner, to drive us 
around house hunting. Everyone was 
just indescribably kind. Finally we 
moved into a house offered to us for an 
incredible $125 a month by a man who 
feels that the separation of church and 
state is a valid Constitutional issue which 
should be fought for. And we've found 
a brilliant lawyer to help us fight ex- 
tradition back to Maryland—which th 
Catholic governor of Hawaii has already 
nted. We've appealed the case to the 
state supreme court, which is considering 
its decision now. 

PLAYBOY: If the court upholds the gov- 
ernor's decision, what will you do? 
MURRAY: Well, whatever happens, I won't 
go back to Maryland, because I'd never 
get out again. Even if I managed to stay 
alive long enough to stand trial, Id “ac 
cidentally” fall in my cell and fracture 
my skull or something. As a last resort, if 
I found I had no other alternative to 
turning, ] would seriously consider su 
cide, I don't sty this with any emotion. 
It’s just that I'd much rather blow my own 
brains out than have it done for me 
a Baltimore jail cell. You think I'm being 
paranoiac? I know them. There've been 
people found mysteriously dead in those 
Baltimore police cells before, and I don't 
intend to be one of them. 

PLAYBOY: Well, you haven't been extra- 
dited yet. Meanwhile, where are you ger- 
ting the money to pay your landlord and 
your lawyer? 

MURRAY: Its been a terrific struggle, be- 
cause we had to leave my Freethou 
Society offset printing plant and all of 
my office equipment behind when we 
fled Maryland. and ту headquarters 
there has since been taken over by a 
group of so-called atheisis who have de- 
nounced me, deposed me as president 
and installed themselves as the board of 


directors, treasu ry, managing. 
editor and general manager of rhe or- 
ganization. I mean they've just taken 


over the entire operation, which I 
founded and built up and ran, lock, 
stock and barrel. But we've managed to 
sstablish sort of a goverment in exile 


here, after a fashion; we're turning out 
our newsletter again, and the contribu- 


tions are beginning to trickle in, now 
that our members know where to find us 
—enough to live on, but only barely 
enough to fight extradition, and not 
nearly enough to keep our tax-the- 
churches suit alive. We desperately need 
funds if this case is going to stand a 
chance of reaching the Supreme Court— 
which is the only place we'll win it. 
PLAYBOY: Considering the repercussions 
of the school-prayer case, why did you d 
cide to take on the tax-the-churches suit? 
MURRAY: Опсе involved in the school- 
prayer fight, I rapidly became aware of, 
and appalled by. the political and eco- 
nomic power of the Church in America— 
all based on the violation of one of our 
tion’s canon laws: the separation of 
d state. The churches rose to 
power on the income from tax-free prop- 
erty. What earthly—or heavenly—right 
have they got to enjoy a privilege denied 
to everyone else, even including non- 
profit organizations? None! My conte 
tion is that with the churches exempted 
from property taxation, you and I have 
to pay that much more in taxes—abour 
$140 a year per family, according to 
cent survey—to make up for what they're 
not contributing. If this exemption were 
rescinded, our property taxes would be 
s ntally lowered. and those who 
rent houscs and apartments would con 
sequently be able to pass along this s 
ings in the form of lowered rents. It 
could have a profoundly sulubrious 
elfect on the entire economy. I decided 
that if nobody else was going to do any- 
thing to rectify this colossal inequity, I'd 
have to do it myself. So I instituted a suit 
nst the city of Baltimore demanding 
that the city assessor be specifically or- 
dered to assess the Church for its vast 
property holdings in the city, and tha 
the city tax collector then be instructed 
to collect the taxes once the assessment 
has been made. 
PLAYBOY: Have you made any estimate 
of approximately how many annual 
dollars the churches will have to pay if 
you win your suit? 
MURRAY: On a nationwide basis, I would 
guess that the various churches would 
have to pay annually an amount at least 
equal to the mational debt. But its im- 
possible for me to make an exact esti- 
mate, because the churches hide their 
th in every way they can—deliber: 
falsification as to the value of propert 
registering it under phony names in or- 
der to obscure the fact that the Church 
owns the property. In Baltimore alone, I 
know that the Roman Catholic Church 
alone would have to pay taxes of almost 
53,000,000 a year. This is why the Roman, 
Catholic Church has become a co- 
defendant with the city in the suit—an 
unprecedented occurrence in a case of this 
ature. I'm going after them where they 
live—in their pocketbooks—and they're 


D 
church a 


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SAWYERS 


69 


PLAYBOY 


70 


fighting for their lives. They have a tre- 
mendous amount at stake—more than 
any other church, because they're the 
biggest property owners and they've dab- 
bled in business more than any other 
church. More than any other church, 
they've been greedy about grabbing up 
land and property—not just in Balti- 
more, but all over the country. Accord- 
ing to a Catholic priest writing in The 
Wall Street Journal, the assets and real- 
estate holdings of the Church “exceed 
those of Standard Oil, A.T.&T. and U.S. 
Stee! combined.” Га make an educated 
guess that 20 to 25 percent of the taxable 
property in the U.S. is Church-owned. In 
a recent book, Church Wealth and Busi- 
ness Income, it was estimated that this 
property—all of it tax-exempt—is worth 
upwards of 80 billion dollars. I know 
thats a fantastic, unbelievable figure, 
but there's every reason to believe that 
it's on the conservative side; and this 
amount is increasing yearly at a geo- 
metric rate. They're moving into every- 
thing—gas stations, banks, television 
stations, supermarket chains, hotels, steel 
mills, resort arcas, farms, wine factori 
warehouses, bottling works, printing 
plants, schools, theaters—everything you 
could conceivably think of that has 
nothing to do with religion, they are 
moving into big. They're even comi 
as stockholders in the big oil comp: 
and the Ba of America is almost. en- 
tirely owned by the Catholic. Church. 
And mind you—they don't pay a penny 
n taxes on any of it, even on the income 
from rentals. The Roman Catholic 
Knights of Columbus, for example, pays 
no income tax on any of its vast rental 
revenue—which comes from such sources 
as the land on which Yankee Stadium 
stands. Almost every constitutional au- 
thority has spoken on this issue, and 
the overwhelming consensus is that we 
will win if we can get it to the U.S. Su- 
preme Court. But we won't unless thou- 
sands of people help me raise the moncy 
to pay the legal fecs—at least $40,000. 
PLAYBOY: You've been quoted as saying 
that the Catholic Church in Baltimore 
was behind a conspiracy to have you and 
your family jailed on some pretext so 
that you would be unable to pursue this 
suit, and that this is why you were sub- 
jected to a “campaign of extralegal har- 
assment" by the police, the courts and 
the citizens of Baltimore. Do you really 
believe that? 
MURRAY: I can't think of any other plaus- 
ible explanation for this vendetta. But 
quite apart from the Church's financial 
self-interest in getting me out of the way, 
Baltimore is an overwhelmingly Catho- 
lic city and, like most good Christians, 
they felt we ought to be punished for 
our unorthodox yiews. Intolerance has 
always been one of the cornerstones of 
Christianity—the glorious heritage of the 
Inquisition. It's no coincidence that 
most of my abusive mail—sentencing me 


to exquisite Oriental tortures and rele- 
gating me to hellfire and damnation— 
comes from self-admitted Catholics. 
PLAYBOY: Are you still receiving that 
kind of mail here in Haw; 
MURRAY: For some reason, the letters 
we've been getting here have been just a 
litle bit more rational; 1 wonder what's 
happened to our lunatic fringe. I kind of 
miss them. 

PLAYBOY: Is it true that you received a 
letter in Baltimore composed only of the 
word "Kill" clipped from dozens of mag- 
azines and newspapers, and. pasted onto 
а sheet of paper in the style of a black- 
mail note? 

MURRAY: Absolutely. It was from a man 
who had written to me over a period of 
about two years. He started out in his 
first lener with something innocuous 
1 “You're а damn fool!” But each 
successive letter got more and more vi- 
olent, until he came to the point where 
he was very explicit in his threats. We 
turned that whole series of letters over to 
the FBI. One of the things this guy said 
he was going to do to me was put a gun 
up my ass and blow the crap out between 
my eyes. Nice? But that's mild compared 
to some of them. I've gotten literally 
thousands in the same vein. Someday Га 
like to publish a book of these mash notes. 
Tt would be an extraordinary document. 
I'd call it Letters from Christians. 
PLAYBOY: Would you include the photo- 
graph of yourself which you received 
smeared with feces? 

MURRAY: That would be the frontispiece. 
This was a picture of my mother and me 
coming out of the United States Su- 
preme Court, with fecal matter smeared 
across our faces. They wrapped it in wax 
paper so that when I received it ГА get 
the full impact of the message. Though I 
haven't gotten anything quite that origi- 
nal lately, there's still never a dull mo- 
ment in my mailbox. Here's a dilly that 
came in the other day. I'll read it aloud, 
if I may: 


I dreamed that Mrs. Murray died 

And no one but the Devil cried. 

He had plenty more work for her to 
4 

And people like her were very few. 

Well, it was a blow that would last 
him lon, 

He couldn't find anyone else so very 
wrong. 

But no one in the city cried; 

Most all were glad that she had died, 

And thought it was a shame that 
fate was slow 

And death had not snatched her 
long ago. 

The churches all looked on in awe 
and wondered why 

She could change a law. 

In death her jace looked like a 
stone; 

So cold, so hard in life it had grown; 


They had dressed her like a fashion 
show; 

Expensively dressed and no place to 
go; 

There was no service at the grave; 

Her soul was gone too late to save. 

It is a shame she went to hell; 

But at least down there she cannot 
yell; 

And rant and rave about the prayers. 

How could she creep in unawares 
and 

Change the routine of our schools? 

We have always had our religious 
rules; 

I wonder if she is allowed to pass the 
golden gate. 

Can't Saint Peter sce her heart of 
hate? 


Beautiful, isn't it? Kind of gets you 
right here. That's from one of my most 
faithful correspondents: "Anonymous 
d here's another one, signed “I Pi 
ou.” Unusual name, don't you think? 


I 
е so many people pitying me and 
praying for me that I'll probably be the 


only atheist that gets into heaven. 
Here's another—this one from a soph- 

omore im the State University of New 

York, College of Oswego. He says: 


Га like to refer you to Hugh Hef- 


ner, author of The Playboy Philoso- 
phy, which appears in Playboy 
magazine. He is doing an excellent 


job of revealing to the masses the 
religious and superstitious h 
ground of many of our laws, point- 
ing out the dear stupidity of these 
laws in the light of reason. More 
power to both of you. 


How about tha? We occasionally get 
an intelligent letter like this one mixed 
with the rest, but most of them are like 
this gem: 


How would you like to die of can- 
cer? Or be blind the rest of your mis- 
erable haunted life? Filled with 
such fear you have to get a police 
dog. Ha. You are so filled with hate 
you will poison yourself to death. 
You are making a screwball out of 
your none-too-bright dopey-looking 
son, you big crude brawling peas- 
ant. Time will fix you but good. 
Leprosy is too good for you. Shame 
on you. You aren't a mother or even 
a woman, you are a no-good thing. 


Isn't that delightful? But that’s noth. 
ing compared to some of the goodies 1 
keep in this box labeled мот mair. Shall 
I read you excerpts from a random 
sampling? 

PLAYBOY: Please. 
MURRAY: You asked for it. Here рос: 


“You should be shot!” . . . “Why don't 
bis 


you go peddle your slop in Russ 
“YOU 


WICKID ANAMAL"..."TI will 
. . “Commie, Commie, 
Somebody is going to put 
a bullet through your fat ass, you scum, 


“IT know what I like, and I like Pall Mall’ 


Outstanding...and they are mild! 


monay oon lacco E yang care 


PLAYBOY 


72 


you masculine Lesbian bitch!" .. . “You 
will be killed before too long. Or maybe 
your pretty little baby boy. The quecer- 
looking bastard, You are a bitch and your 
son is a bastard" . . . "Slut! Slut! Slut! 
Bitch slut from the Devil!” That'll give 
you the general idea. Oh—just one more; 
1 love this one: “May Jesus, who you so 
vigorously deny, change you into а Paul 
Isn't that lovely? Christine Jo 
had 10 go to Sweden for an operation, 
but me they'll fix with faith—painlessly 
and for nothing. I hate to disappoint 
them, but I'm not the least bit interested 
being a man. I'm perfectly satisfied 
with the female role. 
PLAYBOY: What is the proper female role, 
in your opinion? 
MURRAY: Well, as a militant feminist, I 
believe in complete equality with men: 
ntellectual, professional, economic, so- 
cial and sexual; they're all equally essen- 
tial, and they're all equally lacking 
American society today. 
PLAYBOY: According to many sociologists, 
American women have never enjoyed 
greater freedom and equality, sexually 
and otherwise, than they do today 
MURRAY: Let's distinguish between free- 
dom and equality. The modern American 
woman may be more liberated sexually 
than her mother was, but I don't think 
she enjoys a bit more sexual equality. 
‘The American male continues to use 
her sexually for one thing: a means to 
the end of ow! ion. It doesn’t 
seem to occur to him that she might be a 
worth-while end in herself, or to sec to it 
that she has a proper sexual release. 
And. to him, sex appeal ectly pro- 
portional to the immensity of a woman's 
tits. I'm not saying that all American 
men are this way, but nine out of ten 
are breast-fixated, wham-bam-thank-you- 
ma'am cretins who just don't give a damn 
ibout anyone's gratification but their own. 
If you're talking about intellectu: 
d social equality for women, we're not 
much better off. We're just beginning to 
bre the ice. America is still very much 
a male-dominated society. Most Ameri- 
сар men feel threatened sexually unle 
they're taller than the female, more in- 
tellectual, better educated, better paid and 
higher placed statuswisc in the business 
world. They've got to be the authority, 
the final word. They say they're look- 
ing for a girl just like the girl who mar- 
ried dear old dad, but what they really 
want, and usually get, is an emptyhead- 
ed little chick who's very young and very 
physical—and very submissive. Well, I 
just can't see either a man or a woman in 
a dependency position, because from 
this sort of relationship flows a feeling of 
superiority on one side and inferiority 
on the other, and that’s a form of slow 
poison. As I sce it, men wouldn't want 
somebody inferior to them unless they 
felt inadequate themselves. They're in- 
timidated by a mature woman, 
PLAYBOY: Like yourself? 


matter of fact. I think 
1 actually frighten men. 1 think 1 scare 
the hell out of them time after time. It's 
going to take a pretty big man to tame 
this shrew. 1 need somebody who can at 
least stand up to me and slug it out, toe 
I don't mean a physical battle. T 
who would lay mc, amd 
when he was done, I'd say: "Oh. brother, 
I've been laid.” Or if we had an argu- 
ment, he would stand up and engage in 
intellectual combat and not go off and 
mope in the corner, or take reprisals, or 
go to drink І want somebody whos 
whole and wholesome and has as much 
zest for living as I have. But I haven't 
found one who fills the bill; you can't 
hardly find them kind no moi And 1 
know many women my size, psychologi 


MURRAY: Yes, as a 


to toe 


cally and intellectually, who have the 
don't, of 


same problem. Most women 
course, because they don't 
same demands, because they're 
women—which is to say, alive and con- 
stantly growing. I haven't had an endur 
з love relationship, because I'm growing 
constantly. and at а brisk rate. I'm 
changing constantly and enlarging my 
viewpoints, and I've simply never met a 
man who could keep pace. So men final- 
ly bore me. They get in a rut. I saw one 
of my exlovers tem years later amd was 
shocked to realize he had not moved an 
inch intellectually or emotionally from 
his position of a decade before. 
PLAYBOY: How many lovers have you had, 
if you don't mind our asking? 

MURRAY: You've got a hell of а nerve, 
but I don't really mind. I've had—if you 
count my marriage as an affair, which I 
would like to do rather than coi i 
marriage, because I'm not proud of 
ing been married—I've had five affairs, 
all of them real wingdings. I've enjoyed 
every goddamned minute of them. but 
sooner or later I've outgrown every one 
of them, and when I did I got fed up 
ind threw them out. If they can't keep 
up with me, the hell with them. 
PLAYBOY: Suppose a man were to get fed 
up with you first, What then? 

MURRAY: Well, then he should be the one 
10 pick up and leave. No hard feelings. I 
don't feel that people should glom onto 
other people. I feel that relationships 
should be nice and casy and convenient 
and happy and not strictured with legal 
ty or jealousy. 

PLAYBOY: When you sty “not strictured 
with legality,” are you saying that you 
don't think people ought to get married? 
MURRAY: Well, I've found that most 
people who are bound together legally 
would be a damn sight happier together 
—or apart—if they were released from 
the contract. A man-woman relationship 
is physical and emotional, not legal. 
Legality can't create love if it isn't there, 
or preserye it if it’s dying, but it can de- 
stroy love by making it compulsory. You 
don't need a marriage license to live with 
someone, to have the security of a home, 


to rear 


ny number of children, to have 


years of companionship; it's not illegal. 
But the moment you want to sc 
body, you have to get a 


с some 
license from the 
1 organs—or run 
the risk of being charged with any num- 
ber of crimes carrying sentences up to 
and including death. So sex is really the 
only sensible reason for getting married. 
But Га suggest pulling down the shades 
stad. In the long run, it’s cheaper— 
nd more fun. 
PLAYBOY: How 


do you feel about the 
heritage of puritanical sexual guilt 
which many social scientists assert precipi 
tates early marriages in this country? 
MURRAY: It’s shit for the birds. When 
will we grow up? Sex is where you find it. 
e it and enjoy it. Give and re- 
ceive freely, without fear, without guilt 
and without contractual obligations. 
PLAYBOY: Starting at what age? 
MURRAY: Let nat decide. When a cow 
biologically ready to have sex reli- 
tions, she mates with the nearest well- 


hung bull When a flower is ready to 
scatter its seed, it pollinates. It's the same 
м throughout nature—except with 


man, who tries to postpone consumm: 
tion of his sex drive, unsuccessfully, for 
the most p: 
he reaches puberty. By the time its 
considered socially acceptable to 
screwing, most of us are sexu: 
pated, and this is often an 
dition. I think young people should be 
able to have their first sexual love 
whenever they feel like it. In the 
most girls, this would be around 13 or 1 
with most boys, around 15 or 16. 
PLAYBOY: What about VD and pregnancy? 
MURRAY: ‘They should be taught about 
sex, sex hygiene and contraceptive meth- 
ods starting in the sixth grade, and 
whenever they want to try it, they should 
be allowed to go at it without supervision 
or restriction—in their parents’ bedroom, 
on the grass in a park, in a motel; it 
doesn't matter, as long as the setting is 
private and pleasant. If we did all this. 
our kids would grow up imo happicr. 
healthier human beings. But we won't, of 
course. It would make too much sense. 
PLAYBOY: Would you call yourself an ad- 
vocate of free love? 

MURRAY: I'd describe myself as а sexual 
libertarian—but I'm not a libertine. "To 
each his own" is my топо. If anybody 
wants to engage in any kind of sexual 
activity with any consenting partner, 
that is their business. I don't feel that I 
can sit in judgment on them, or that soci- 
ety can sit in judgment on them. Any- 
body can do anything they damn well 
please, as long as the relationship isn't 
exploitive. And I don't feel that legali 
should have anything to do with it. 
There are certain bodily functions of 
mine which I will not allow to be super- 
vised. One of these is eating. Nobody's 
going to license me to do this. Another 
one is bodily disposals, 1 will defecate 


WHAT SORT OF MAN READS PLAYBOY? 


A young executive with an event-full calendar, the PLAYBOY reader knows where he's going 
and the best way to get there. Facts: Of the entire U.S. population, one out of every five adults who 
rented a cer within the last six months reads PLAYBOY. And PLAYBOY readers own one out of every 
five car-rental credit cards in active use across the nation. Get more mileage from your rent-a-car adver- 
tising. Run it in PLAYBOY. (Source: 1964 Standard Magazine Report by W. R. Simmons & Associates.) 


Advertising Offices: New York + Chicago + Detroit + LosAngelés + San Francisco - Atlanta 


73 


PLAYBOY 


74 


and urinate when I damn well please 
and as the spirit—and the physical neces- 
sity—moves me. And шу sex life is pecul- 
iarly my own. I will engage in sexual 
ivity with a consenting male any time 
nd any place I damn well please. 
PLAYBOY: Do you have any immediate 
plans along these lines? 
MURRAY: It's none of your business, but 
as а matter of fact, I do. I've been com- 
pletely without a sex life for about five 
years now—ever since I began the school- 
prayer suit—and if you don't think that's 
а hardship for a hotblooded woman in 
her prime, just try it. I'm taking applica- 
tions for stud service at this address—care. 
of Good and Hallner, Attorneys, 1010 
Standard Building, Cleveland 13, Ohio— 
ив well as contributions for our tax-the- 
churches suit. Please enclose photograph, 
vital statistics, and a check for the lawsuit. 
PLAYBOY: Are there any particular quali 
fications you're looking for? 
MURRAY: No, 1 just want а man—a real, 
aled masculine guy—and there 
ny of them around, believe me. 
But I do want somebody my own age. 
nd somebody who has brains enough to 
keep me interested and to earn enough 
money to support me in the style to 
which I've become accustomed. And T 
want a big man physically as well as in- 
tellectually. I want a man with the thigh 
muscles to give me a good frolic in the 
sack, the kind who'll tear hell out of a 
thick st d yet who сап go to the 
ballet with me and discuss Hegelian dia- 
lectic and know what the hell he's talking 
about. I want a strong man, but a gentle 
one. And, most unlikely of all, but most 
essential, I want a man with a capacity 
for love—to give it generously and accept 
it joyously. T also want somebody who, 
when I say, "Let's call it quits,” won't 
ang on: who'll say, “All right, it was fun 
while it lasted. So long and good luc 
PLAYBOY: Have you ever known a man 
like that? 
MURRAY: No, but there was one who came 
close, and I loved him madly for some 
time. I don't think anybody in the world 
thought he was gentle, but he was gentle 
with me. And he treated me like a wom- 
an, which is all I really ask or want. I felt 
handled by him, and this is a good 
feeling. But, unfortunately, he never 
outgrew his particular intellectual com- 
iment, so I outgrew him, He was an 
engineer and he was almost totally in- 
volved in his work; engineers have a very 
limited education. and background, I 
think. You need to move into the broad- 
er humanities in order to become a total 
person. But 1 loved him very much. 
PLAYBOY: Was he the one you loved most? 
MURRAY: I think so. He's a damned E 
That's a term of affection. 
PLAYBOY: Of the men you've had affairs 
with, how many others were foreigners? 
MURRAY: None of them. Rut they were of 
different extractions. This particular guy 
was of Italian parentage; another had 


English blood; one was a real upper-class 
Bostonian; one had Russian back- 
ground, and one was Irish; he was the 
one that was best in bed. Did you know 
that we ladies have bull sessions like this 
among ourselves, and we talk about 
which of you fellows are good stud serv- 
ice and which ones aren't? 17 you boys 
knew what you sound like when you 
and your bedroom manners are dissected 
by a bunch of WACs, it would curl your 
hair, because we talk about exactly the 
hings you do among yourselves— 
and just as graphically. 
PLAYBOY: You served as а WAC in Italy 
and North Africa during World War 
Two, didn't you? 
MURRAY: Yes, and we were outnumbered! 
by men five hundred to о so you 
sce why we were preoccupied with sex. 
There was a good deal of everything 
going on—fornication, ion, ho- 
mosexuality, promiscuity, you name 
We were near the front lines, and there 
was a gluttonous feeling of “cat, drink 
d make merry, for tomorrow we dic 
in the ай: it was kind of a last-gasp 
clutching at straws, at almost anything to 
relieve the 
PLAYBOY: Did you participate? 
MURRAY: No, I was still pretty much of 
a puritan when I got into the Army, be- 
lieve it or not, and when I saw these girls 
shacking up every night with a different. 
І thought, “How horrible. They're 
nothing but prostitut And 1 wouldn't 
even talk w them. But I began to get 
lot more tolerant and understanding 
r a few months, and pretty soon I 


опе guy the whole time I was in the 
Army; nobody else. I've never been 


night-stander. Say, | wonder why 


could be used against me nationwid 
itll just add fuel to the fire, which is al- 
ready hot enough for me. But you know 
something? It jus so happens that T 
don't give a damn. I'm going to be 
damned anyway. H they haven't destroyed 
ne vet, ГА say I'm indestructible. 

Five years ago, before I opened Pando- 
тиз box by starting the schoolprayer 
case, Т was doing all right financially; T 
had my health. a good job, a nice brick 
Colonial home, beautiful furniture, 
three cars: we were a happy, close-knit, 
well-adjusted family. Well, brother, look 
at me now, as the saying goes: Here I am 


in a termiteridden bungalow in Hawaii; 
my savings are gone: my job is gone: my 
health is gone—thanks to the beating 1 


got in Baltimore, which has lost me al 
most all the use of two fingers in my 
right hand. I'm bothered by a continu- 
ous low-grade pain in that same hand 
and arm, which distracts me from my 
work and keeps me awake nights 
Baltimore home is in jeopardy; Lm 

it. I've lost my furniture and my cars. My 
brother can't find a job, though he's been 


looking for work ever since we arrived 
here; so he's just a nice, educated bum at 
this point. I've lost my father by a heart 
attack, and my son Bill has broken down 
emotionally to the extent that he's under 
psychiatric care, My aged mother is with 
me, and she can't even be buried next to 
Dad, whose grave is back in Baltimore. 
And my son and I are living under the 
Damoclean sword of imminent extradi- 
tion back to Maryland, wherc we are cer- 
n to be convicted and sentenced to 
several years in the state penitentiary for 
assault—a crime which we not only didn't 
commit, but which was perpetrated 
i 5o my life and the life of my. 
ly has been completely disrupted in 
absolutely every way. But it's been worth 
it. It's uncovered а vast cesspool of Шері- 
te economic and political 
which the Church is immersed right up 
to its cars, and I intend to dive 
first and pull it out of there dripping 
wet for all the world to see—no matte: 
how long it takes, no matter whose feet 
get stepped on in the process, 10 matter 
how much it costs, no matter how great 
the personal sacrifice. 

PLAYBOY: It sounds as if you intend to 
make this cause your raison d'éire. 
MURRAY: No, this crusade to separate 
church and state is only one expression 
of my raison d'être. I'm an atheist, but 
Im also an anarchist, and a feminist, 
nd an integrationist, and intei 
tionalist—and all the other th 
people scem to find so horrible these 
d; I embrace all of them. 

Long ago, when I was a very young 
girl, I said that 1 wanted to go every- 
where, see everything, taste every 
hear everything, touch everything, try 
everything before 1 died. Well, I've be 
а model, I've been a waitress, I've been 
hairdresser, I've been a stenographer, 
Гуе been a lawyer, I've been an aerody 
namics engincer, I've been a social wor 
er, Гус been an advertising manager, 
I've been a WAC. There isn't anything 
you can name that а woman do that 


Î haven't done. Before they put me un- 
der, I'm going to get involved in cvery- 


п. That's 


thing there is to get involved 
what I want from life. I doi 
stand by and be a spectator 
right in there in the midst of it, right up 
to my nose—totally involved in the com- 
munity, in the world, in the stream of 
history, in the human image. I want to 
drink life to the dregs, to enlarge myself 
to the absolute limits of my being—and 
to strive for a society in which everyone 
—regardiess of race, creed, color and 
especially religious conviction has the 
same exhilarating raison d'être, and the 
same opportunity to fulfill it. In other 
words, ro paraphrase Jack Kennedy and 
John Paul Jones, from this day forward. 
let the word go forth, to friend and foc 
alike: I have not yet begun to fight. 


THE GREAT 
COMIC-BOOK 
HEROES 


superman, batman, captain marvel and all the rest of that marvelous crew: 
whence they came, who created them, and why they occupied a special place apart in the fantasies of our youth 


comic Books, World War Two, the De 
pression and I all got going at roughly 
the same time. I was eight. Detective 
Comics was on the stands, Hitler was in 
Spain, and the middle class (by whose 

mployment record we gauge depressions) 

j, alter short gains, again out of work 
(1 list the above for the benefit of those 
among us who, of the items cited, remem 
ber only comic books.) 

Eight was a bad age for me. Only a 
year earlier I had won a gold medal in the 
John Wanamaker Art Contest for a cray- 
on drawing on oak tag paper of Tom M 
jailing an outlaw. So 
winner—and didn't know how to һа 
- Not that triumph isn’t hard to handle 
at any age, but the younger you are the 
more of a shock it is to learn that it 
simply doesn't change anything. Grown- 
ups still wielded all the power, still could 
not be talked back to, still were alw 
right however many times they contr 
dicted themselves. By eight 1 had become 
а politician of the grownup, indexing 
his mysterious ways and hiding under 
ground my lust for getting eve 
was old cnough, big enough and 
tant enough to make my bid for it. That 
bid was to come by way of a career (I 
knew I'd never grow big enough to beat 
up everybody: my only hope was to, 
somehow, get to own everything and fire 
everybody). The career 1 chose, the only 
one that seemed to fit the skills I 
then sure of 


w: 


com 
So 1 came to the comics field with more 

serious intent than my opiatescel 

contemporaries. While they were eating 


up Cosmo, Phantom of Disguise, Speed 
Saunders and Bart Regan, Spy, 1 was 
counting how many frames there were to 
а page, how many pages there were to a 
story; learning how to form phrases like 
@X#?/; marking for future reference 
which comicbook hero was swiped from 
which radio hero—Buck Marshall from 
Tom Mix, the Crimson Avenger from the 
Green Hornet, and so on. 

There were, at the time, striking simi 
ities between radio and comic books. 
heroes were the same (often with the 
sume names: Don Winslow, Mandrake, 
Tom Mix); the villains were the same 
(Oriental spies, primordial monsters, cat- 
Че rustlers)—bur the experience was 
different. As ап apprentice pro I found 
comic books the more tangible outlet for 
fantasy. One could put something down 


Th 


nostalgia 


By JULES FE 


CHAMPION OF THE OPPRESSED. 

THE PHYSICAL MARVEL WHO HAD SWORN 

то DEVOTE HIS EXISTENCE TO HELPING 
THOSE IN NEED 7 


COPYHIGHTO)1938 BY NATIONAL PERIODICAL PUBLICATIONS, INC. 
An carly example of the comic-book prose that 
made words such as “oppressed” and “imul- 
nerable” part of every nine-year-old’ s vocabulary. 


els cut bal- 


per—hard-lined p 


more s 
i ial 
programs at 
voices. 


Ша than БГ, ng the 
ame: that of making up 
ight in bed, getting the 
the footsteps and door slams 
right, the rumbling organ background 
right, and doing it all in soft enough 
undertones to escape being caught by 
that grownup in the next room who at 
any moment might isue his usual spirit 
shattering сту: “For the last time, чен, 
talking to yourself and go to sleep!” Ra- 
dio was just too damn public. 

My interest in comics began on the 
most sophisticated of levels, the daily 
newspaper strip. and thereafter proceed. 
ed downhill. My father used to come 
home after work—when there was work 
with two papers: The New York Times 
(а total los) and the World Telegram. 
The Telegram had Joe Jinks (later called 
Dynamite Dunn), Out Our Way, Little 
Mary Mixup, Alley Oop—and my Гахог- 
ite at the time: Ray Crane’s Wash Tubbs, 
whose soldicr-of-fortune hero, Captain 
Easy, might have set the standard for 
any role Clark Gable ever played. Except 
for the loss of Captain Easy, I felt no real 
grief when my father finally abandoned 
the Telegram to follow his hero, Hey- 
wood Broun, to the New York Post. The 
Post had Dixie Dugan, The Bungle Fam- 
ily, Nancy (then called Fritzie Ritz) and 
that masterpiece of sentimental natural 
ism: Abbie ‘n’ Slats. 1 studied that strip 
—its Sturgeslike characters, its uniquely 
cadenced dialog. No strip! other than Will 
Eisner's Spirit rivaled it in structure. No 
strip, except Caniffs Terry and the 


Pirates, rivaled it in atmosphere. 

There were, of course, good strips— 
very good ones—in those papers that my 
father did not let into the house: the 
Hearst papers; the Daily News. Cartoons 
from the outlawed press were not to be 
seen on weekdays, but o 
casually dropped in on Hearstoriented 
homes (never very clean, as I remember) 

nd read Puck, The Comic Weekly, skip- 
ping quickly over Bringing Up Father to 
pounce succulently on page two's Jungle 
Jim and Flash Gordon. Too beautiful to 
be believed. When Prince Valiant began 
а few years later, I burned with the temp 
ion of the damned: I begged my father 
to sell out to Hearst. He never did. 

It should have been a 
when the first regularly scheduled comic 
book came out. It was called Famous 
Funnies and, in 64 pages of color, 
minutely reprinted many of my favorites 
from the enemy camp. Instead, my reac- 
tion was that of a movie purist when first 
confronted with sound: This was not the 
way it was meant to be done. Greatness 
in order to remain great must stay uue to 


its form. This new form, so jumbled to- 
gether, so erratically edited and badly col- 


ored, was demeaning to that art—basic 
black and white and four panels across— 
that 1 was determined to make my life's 
work. I read them, yes 1 read them: 
Famous Funnies first, then Popular Com- 
ics, then King Comics—but always with a 
sense of being cheated. I was not get 
top performance for my dime. Not u 
March 1937, that is, when the first issue of 
Detective Comics came out. 

Although original material had pre- 
viously been used in comic books, almost 
П of it was in the shape and style of then- 
existing newspaper strips. Detective Com- 
ics was the first of the originals to be de- 
voted to a single theme—crime fighting 
And it looked different. Crime was 
fought in larger panels. fewer t0 a page. 
Most stories were complete in one issue 
(по more of the accursed "to be contin 
ued"). And there was a lot less shilly- 
shallying before getting down to action 

A strange new world: 
heroes, ш 1g styles (if s 
is the word), written (if written is the 
word) in language not very different 
from that of a primer. It didn't have the 
class—or professonalism—of the daily 
strips; but, to me, this enhanced its value, 
made it a more comfortable world to live 
with, less like а grown-up’s. The herocs 
were mostly detectives of one kind or an. 


75 


76 


UHE INFANT WAS TURNED OVER TO AN 
ORPHAN ASYLUM, WHERE IT ASTOUNDED 


ATTENDANTS WITH ITS 
FEATS OF STRENGTH, 


. . . RAISE TREMENDOUS: 
WEIGHTS . . 


As THE LAD OREW OLDER, 


HE LEARNED TO HIS DELIGHT 
THAT HE COULD HUROLE 
SKYSCRAPERS... 


+++ RUN FASTER THAN A 
STREAMLINE TRAIN ~~ 


WHAT TH'— ? 
THIS IS THE SIXTH 
HYPODERMIC NEEDLE 
IVE BROKEN ON 

YOUR SKIN! 


COPYRIGHT © 1938 EY NATIONAL PERIODICAL PUBLICATIONS, IMC 


The child Superman, just arrived by rocket from the planet Krypton, goes through his paces in this first telling of the story of his origin. Artist Joe 
Shuster's drawing style, crude by today's standards, represented the best of the old comic-book technique. (Shuster's Man of Steel was considerably less 


beefy than today's version.) Artist-wriler team Shuster and Siegel also turned out “Spy,” “Federal Men,” “Dr. Occult” and “Slam Bradley 


other; or soldiers of fortune; here and 
there, even a magician. Whatever they 
were, they were tall, but not too tall 
space limitations, you sce; they were dark 
(blond heroes were an exception, pos 
sibly because most movie heroes were 
dark, possibly because it was a chance 
for the aris to stick in a blob of 
black and call it hair): they were hand- 
some—well, symbolically handsome. "The 
world of comics was a form of visual 
shorthand, so that the average hero need 
not have been handsome in fact as long as 
his face conformed to the required 3 


rangement of lines readers had been 
taught to accept as handsome: sharp. 


slanting eyebrows, thick at the ends, thin- 
ning out toward the nose, of which in 
three-quarter view there was hardly any 
—just a small V placed slightly above 
the mouth, casting the faintest nick of a 
shadow. One never saw а nose, full view. 
There were never any full views. They 
were too hard to draw. Eyes were usually 


ballless—two thin slits. Mouths were 
always thick, quick single lines—never 
double. Mouths, for some reason, were 
rarely shown open. Dialog, theoretically, 
was spoken from the nose. Heroes’ faces 
were square-jawed—in some cases. all- 
jawed—and more often than not there 
was a cleft in the chin, 

With few exceptions, the initial comic- 
book heroes were not very interesting. 
By any realistic appraisal, they were cer- 
tainly no match for the villains—who 

; г. smarter and, even 
worse, notorious scene stealers. Who cared 
about Speed Saunders. Larry Steele, 
Bruce Nelson, et al, when there were 
Oriental villains around? Tong warriors, 
lurking in shadows, with trident beards, 
pointy fingernails, and skin the color of 
ripe lemons. How they toyed with those 
drab ofay heroes: trap set, trap sprung, 
into the pit, up comes the water, down 
comes the pendulum, in from the sides 
come the walls. Through an unconvinc- 


ing mixture of dumb luck and General 
Science 1, the hero alw: 

escape, just barely; catch and beat up 
the villain —that wizened ancient who. in 
toe-to-toe combat was, of course, no match 
for the younger man. The following 
month it all happened again: same hero, 
different Oriental, slight variance in the 
And readers were supposed to 


torture 
cheer? Hardly! 

Villains, whatever fate befell them in 
the obligatory last panel, were infinitely 
better equipped than those silly, hapless 
heroes. Not only comics, but life taught 
us dir. Those of us raised in репо 
neighborhoods were being asked to be- 
lieve that crime didn't pay? Tell that to 
the butcher! We knew the rules: Nice 
guys finished last; landlords, first. Vil 
lains, by their simple appointment to the 
role, were miles ahead. It was not to be 
believed that any ordinary human could 
combat them. More was required. Some 
one with a cill. When Superman at last 


appeared (in Action Comics, of June 
1938), he brought with him the сер 
satisfaction of all underground truths 
our reaction was less “How original 
than “But, of course!” 

"The advent of the superhero was a bi- 
апе comeuppance for the American 
dream. Once the odds were appraised 
honestly, it was apparent you had to be 
super to get on in this world. The par- 
ticular brilliance of Superman lay not 
only in the fact that he was the first of 
the superheroes, but in the concept of his 
alter cgo. What made this creation of 
Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster different 
from the legion of imitators to follow was 
not that he could beat up everybody 
when he took off his clothes—they all did 
that. What made Superman extraordi- 
nary was his point of origin: Clark Kent 

Remember. Kent was not Superman's 
пие identity—as Bruce Wayne was the 
Batman's or (on radio) Lamont Cranston, 
the Shadow's. Just the opposite. Clark 
Kent was the fiction. Previous heroes— 
the Shadow, the Green Hornet, the Lone 
Ranger—were not only more vuinerable, 
they were fakes. The Shadow had to 
"cloud men's minds" to be in business 
The Green Hornet had to go through the 
fetishist folderol of donning costume, 
floppy black mask, gas gun, men- 
acing automobile and insect sound effects 
before he was even ready to go out in the 
strect. The Lone Ranger needed an ac- 
coutermental white horse, an Indian, and 
an establishing cry of "Hi-Yo Silver" to 
separate him from all those other masked 
men running around the West in days of 
yesteryear. But Superman had only to 
wake up in the morning to be Superman. 
In his case, Clark Kent was the put-on 
The fellow with the eyeglasses and the 
acne and the walk girls laughed at wasn’t 
real, didn't exist, was a sacrificial disguise, 
an act of discreet martyrdom. Had they 
but known! 

And for the alert reader there were 
other fields of interest. It seems that 
among Lois Lane, Clark Kent and Super- 
man there existed a schizoid and chaste 
ménage à trois. Clark Kent loved but felt 
abashed with Lois Lane; Superman saved 
Lois Lane when she was in trouble, found 
her a pest the rest of the time. Since Su- 
perman and Clark Kent were the same 
person, this behavior demands explana- 
tion. It can't be that Kent wanted Lois to 
respect him for himself, since himself was 
Superman. Then, it appears, he wanted 
Lois to respect him [or his fake self, to 
love him when he acted the coward, to be 
there when he pretended he needed her. 
She never was—so, of course, he loved 
her. A typical American romance. Super- 
man never needed her—never needed 
anybody. In any event, Lois chased him 
—so, of course, he didn't love her. 
Another typical American romance. 

Clark Kent acted as the control for Su- 
perman. What Kent wanted was just that 
which Superman didn't want to be both- 


ered with. Kent wanted Lois, Superman 
didn’t: thus marking the difference be- 
tween a sissy and а man. A sissy wanted 
girls who scomed him; a man scorned 
girls who wanted him. Our cultural op- 
posite of the man who didn’t make out 
with women has never been the man who 
did—but rather, the man who could if he 
wanted to, bur still didn't. The ideal of 
masculine strength, whether Сагу Coop- 
er's, Li'l Abner's or Superman's, was for 
one to be so virile and handsome, to be in 
such a position of strength, that he need 
never go near girls. Except to help them 
—and then get the hell out. Real rapport 
was not for women. It was for villains. 
That's why they got hit so hard. 

The immediate and enormous success 
of Superman called for the creation of a 
tribe of successors—but where were they 
to come from? Not from other planets; 
Superman had all other planets tied up 
legally. Those one or two superheroes 
who defied the ban were taken apart 
by lawyers. (Nothing is as super as a 
writ) The answer, then, rested with 
science. That strange bubbly world of test 
tubes and gobbledygook which had, 
the past, done such great work in bring 
ing the dead back to life in the form of 
monsters—why couldn't it also make men 


super? Thus, Joe Higgins went into his 
laboratory and came out as The Shield; 
and John Sterling went into his labora- 
tory and came out as Steel Sterling; and 
Steve Rogers went into the laboratory of 
kindly Professor Reinstein and came out 
as Captain America; and kindly Professor 
Horton went into his laboratory and 
came out with a synthetic man, named, 
illogically, The Human Torch. Science 
had run amuck—setting loose a menag- 
erie of flying men, webbed men, robot 
men, ghost men, minuscule men, flexible- 
sized men, men of all shapes and cos- 
tumes blackening the comicbook skies 
like locusts in drag. Skyman, Sky Chief, 
The Face, The Flash, Sub Mariner, 
The Angel, The Comet, The Hangman, 
The Spectre, Mr. Justice, Uncle Sam, The 
Web, The Doll Man, Plastic Man, The 
White Streak—all scrambling for a piece 
of the market. 

Understandably, this Pandora’s box of 
men of steel was viewed gravely by the 
Superman people. Sadly, the most savage 
reprisals in comic books were saved, just 
as in revolutions, not for one’s enemies 
but for one’s own kind. If, for a moment, 
Superman may be described as the Lenin 
of superheroes, Captain Marvel must 
be his Trotsky. Ideologically of the same 


A four-panel diagram of a schizophrenic relationship shows Superman in his dual roles of rescuer 


and whipping boy of girl reporter Lois Lane. Clark Kent’s 


mild-mannered ineptitude was sup- 


posedly a disguise to hide his truc identity, but so spectacularly and readily did he sink (or slink) 
into character that the Man of Tomorrow might well have had a secret fantasy life as a masochist. 


You DID IT! you 
SAVED ALL THOSE 
PEOPLE! — OH, 
1 COULO KISS You 


WHEW! 
BARELY IN 
TIME! 


COPYRIGHT © 1039 BY NATIONAL PERIODICAL PUBLICATIONS, INC. 


AS А MATTER 
OF FACT, 


1 WILL 


JAS Clam LEAVES THE PHONE ROUTH, 
ENCOUNTERS . . 


A SUPER-KS: 
FOR A 


WHO cance! 
СЕ {SPINELESS 
Pere via 
UNT 
you PULLED ON 
met eure зщ 
UME vou: THE ARMS OE A 
REAL HE-MAN" 


bent, who could have predicted that with- 
in months the two would be at each oth- 
ers throats—or that, in time, Captain 
Marvel would present the only serious 
threat ıo the power of the man without 
whom he could not have existed? 
From the beginning Captain Marvel 
possessed certain advantages in the strug- 
gle. In terms of reader identification, 
Superman was far too puritanical; If you 
didn't come from his planet, you couldn't 
ever be supcr. That was that. But the 
more liberal Captain Marvel left the 
door open. His method of becoming 
super was the simplest of all. No solar 
systems or test tubes involved—all that 
was needed was the 
“Shazam!” 
i 


magic word 


the sky!" retorted the pro 
n bloc, but millions of readers 


wondered. If all it took was a magic word, 
then all that was required was the finding 
of it. Small surprise that, for a while, 
Captain Marvel caught and passed the 
austere patriarch of the supermovement 
at th stands. 

Artist C.C. Beck gave Captain Marvel 
the light touch. Villains ranged from mad 
scientist Dr. Sivana (the best in the busi- 
ness), who uncannily resembled Donald 
Duck, to Mr. Mind, a worm who talked 
and wore glasses, to Tawky Tawny, a 
tiger who talked and wore 
suit. A Disneyland of happy violence. 
The Captain himself came out dumber 
than the average superhero—a friendly 
fullback of a fellow with apple checks 
and dimples. One could imagine him 
being a buddy rather than a hero, an 
overgrown boy who chased villains as if 


business 


In these typical Bob Kane panels, wealthy young socialite Bruce Wayne rather haphazardly 
chooses an image for himself and becomes a Batman more overtly threatening than today s Code- 
approved model. Bottom: He is joined by Robin the Boy Wonder first of the kid companions 


ттс] | AS IF IN ANSWER-A HUGE BAT 
Gaus mcer | ERE E 


I a Bar! mars 


a: 


MUST BE ABLE TO STRIKE 
TERROR INTO THEIR MEARTSIMUST 
BE A CREATURE OF THE NIGHT. 
BLACK, TERRIBLE А. А. 


AND THUS 1S BORN THS WEIRD) 
ms 


IT/ ITS AN 
OMEN. I 
SHALL BECOME 


JHE CLEOPATRA 


NECKLACE 1- THATS OWNED 
BY OTTOPREXEL 41 CMON, 

THERES NOTA MOMENT TO 

LOSE WITH A MANIAC OV 


they were squirrels. A perfect fantasy 
figure for, say, Charlie Brown. His future 
seemed assured. What a shock, then, the 
day Superman took him to court 

The Superman people said that Cap 
tain Marvel was a direct steal. The 
Captain Marvel people denied it, but it 
was clear from the start their hero was 
a paper tiger. One wondered if he was 
beginning to drink. He was losing his 
lean Fred MacMurray look, fleshin; 
fast in the face, in the gut, in the hips, 
moving onward and outward to Jack 
Oakie. Then, too, there was great dis 
appointment in the word “Shazam.” As 
it turned out, it didn't work for readers. 
Other magic words were tr They 
didn't work either. There are just so 
many magic words until one feels he's 
been made а [ool of. When the Captain 
Marvel people finally settled the case and 
went out of business, 1 couldn't have 
cared less. I still had the big two: Super 
man and Batman. 
iman trailed Superman by a year 
and was obviously intended as an olt 
shoot, but his lineage 
idlers who put on masks—dates back to 
the Scarlet Pimpernel and includes Zorro 
and the Green Hornet, with whom Bat 
man bears the closest as well as most 
contemporaneous resemblance. Both the 
Green Hornet and Batman were wealthy 
both dabbled in chemistry, both had 
supervehicles and both costumed them 
selves with a view toward striking terror 
into the hearts of evildoers. The G: 
Hornet buzzed; the Batman flapped— 
that was the essential difference. 

Not that there weren't. innovations: 
Batman popularized in comic books the 
strange idea, first used by the Phantom in 
newspapers, that when you put on your 


the school of rich 


mask, your eyes disappeared. Two white 
slits showed—that was all. If that didn't 
strike terror into the hearts of evildoa 
nothing would. Bauman, apparently, was 
also in better physical shape than the 
Green Hornet; less dependent on the 
rich man's use of nonlethal gas warfare 
Bauman got morc m 
fray and. in consequence, got more clob- 
bered. "Though a good deal was made of 
his extraordinary stamina, much of it, as 
it turns out, was for punishment 
er innovation for superheroe 


fully into thc 


anoth 
here was 
some reason to believe he had a glass jaw 

But Batman was not superhero in the 
truest sensc. If you pricked him, he bled 
—buckets. While Superman's superiority 
lay in the offense, Batman's Jay in the 
rebound. Whatever was done to him— 
whatever trap laid, wound opened, skull 
fractured —all he ever had to show for it 
was a discreet patch of Band-Aid on his 
right shoulder. With superman we won; 
with Baur 
preferences were based on the ambitions 
and arrogance of one's fantasies. 1 prc 


we held our own. Individual 


ferred to play it safe and be Superman 
What made Batman interesting was 


his story line—not his strength. Batman, 
as a feature, was infinitely better-ploued, 
better-villained and betterlooking than 
Superman. Batman inhabited a world 
where no one, no matter what time of 
day, cast anything but long shadows— 
seen from weird perspectives. Batman's 
world was scary; Superman's, never. Bob 
Kane, Batman's creator, combined Terry 
and the Pirates-style drawing with Dick 
Tracy-style villains: The Joker, The Pen- 
guin, The Cat Woman, The Scarecrow, 
The Riddler, Clay-face, Two-face, Dr. 
Death, Hugo Strange. 

Batman's world was also more cinemat- 
ic than Superman's. Kane was one of the 


carly experimenters with angle shots, and 
though he was not as compulsively avant- 
de in his use of the worm’s-e the 


bird's-eye, the shot through the wineglass, 
as others in the field, he was the only one 
of the National line (Detective, Adven- 
ture, Action Comics) who managed to get 
that Warner Brothers’ fog-infested look 

The opposite extreme in comicbook 
illustration was the Fox line—Mystery 
Men, Wonder World, Science, Fantastic 
Comics. Fox had the best covers and 
the worst insides. The covers were ren- 
dered in a modifed pulp style: well 
drawn, exotically muscled, half-undressed 
heroes rescuing well-drawn, exotically 
muscled, half-undressed maidens. The 
settings, often as not, were in the conven- 
tional Orient ory 
—hissing test tubes going off everywhere; 
a hulking multiracial lab assistant ready 
to violate the girl; the masked hero crash- 
ing through a skylight, guns, aimed at no- 
body, flaming in each hand; the girl, 
strapped to an operating table screaming 
fetchingly—not yet aware that the crisis 
was passed. 

The good men working for Fox soon 
moved elsewhere. Fiction House, a better 
outfit by inches, was often the place. Tts 
one lasting contribution was Sheena, 
Queen of the Jungle, signed by W. Mor- 
gan Thomas (a pseudonym), but drawn— 
by S. R. Powell, 
who was later to do the best of the magi- 
cian strips (not excepting Mandrake): 
Mr. Mystic. Sheena was a voluptuous 
female "Tarzan who laid waste to wild 
beasts, savages and evil white men in the 
jungle of her day—always assisted by her 
boyfriend, Bob, a neat young fellow in 
boots and jodhpurs who mainly stayed 
free of harm's way while Sheena, manful- 
ly, cleaned out the trouble spots. 

Sheena was the star of Jungle Comics, a 
book I looked at only when there were 
nothing but novels to read around 
the housc. Beating up lions did not par- 
ticularly interes me; my problem was 
with people. Nor did the people Sheena 


mad-scientist’s labora 


and very likely written 


The Spectre, in order to become the Spectre, 
had to go through the uncomfortable ordeal of 
being murdered. Another Siegel creation, he was 
less popular, бешт plotted than Superman. 


In “Whiz Comics No. 1, 


AS BILLY 
SPEAKS THE 
HE BECOMES 
Сы) CAPTAIN 


MARVEL 7 


COPYRIGHT © 1839 HY FAWCETT PUBLICATIONS. INC 


»" the initial incarnation of Captain Marvel takes place after Billy 


Batson speaks the magic word: “SHAZAM?” (standing for Solomon's Strength, Hercules’ Wis- 


dom, Atlas’ Stamina, Zeus’ Thunder, Achilles’ Heel and Moses’ Mother—or something like that). 
The ham-fisted Captain met legal opposition from Superman's creators an 


, alas, disappeared. 


COFTRIGHT © 1940 BY NATIONAL PERIODICAL PUBLICATIONS, INC 


INO ONE KNOWS THAT JIM CORRIGAN HARDFISTED DETECTIVE, 16 TN 


REALITY THE EARTH INI 
RID THIS WORLD OF CRIME..." ^. 


CTRE, WHOSE MISSION ie TO 


80 


MAYBE THEY'LL 
SOON LEARN TO 
RESPECT MEI 


Bill Everett s Sub Mariner not only hated crim- 
inals, he hated everybody. When World War 
Tuwo came along, he stopped beating up Ameri- 
cans, patriclically began beating up Germans. 


laid out interest me very much: They 
were the usual crop of white hunters in 
search of the elephants’ graveyard, a strip 
of land so devout in its implications to 
jungle-book fanciers that one could only 
assume the elephants took instruction in 
the Church before dying 

Fiction House also put out Fight Com- 
ics, Planet Comics and Wing Comics, but 
its single feature of interest—from this 
apprentice's viewpoint—was Hawh of the 
Seas, signed by Willis Rensie (Eisner 
spelled backward). Hawk was a pirate fea- 
ture, notable only as a trial run for The 
Spirit, full of the baroque angle shots that 
Will Eisner introduced to the business. 

Eisner had come to my attention a Lew 
years earlier doing a one-shot, black-and 
white feature called “Миз “Em Up” 
Donovan in а comic book with the flop- 
oriented title of Centaur Funny Pages. 
“Muss "Ет Up” Donovan was a detective, 
fired from the force on charges of police 
brutality (his victims, evidently, were 
white). Donovan is called back to action 
by a city administration overly harassed 
by crime feels it is time for an 
approach that. circumvents the legalistic 
niceties of due process. (Such administra- 
tions were in vogue in all comic books of 
the Thirties and Forties.) Heroes and 
readers jointly conspired to believe that 
all police were honest but inept: well- 
meaning but dumb—except for 
like Donovan. who were vicious. Ar- 
raignment was for sissies, a he-man want- 
ed gore. But, operating within the reach 
of the law, a hero could get busted for 
that. So heroes, with the oblique consent 
of the power structure (“H you get into 
trouble, we can't vouch for you"), wan. 
dered outside the law, pummeled every- 
one in sight, killed a slew of people—and 
brought honor back to Gentral City, back 


who 


ood cops 


BUT IT WASN'T THE STRENGTH OF HER CHAINS THAT 
MADE WONDER WOMAN WEEP AS SHE GAZED AT 

HER FETTERS; IT WAS THE KNOWLEDGE THAT MEN 
HAD WELDED LINKS TO HER AMAZON BRACELETS?” 


AYE WEEP, CAPTIVE GIRL? BEHOLD YOUR- 
SELF HELPLESS? 


Wonder Woman, an Amazon princess who spent a sadomasochist-satisfing amount of tine 
bound in chains. had this thing against men (many of whom she punched around), except for her 


short boyfriend, Steve, whom she carried about on her shoulder 


to Meuopolis, back t0 Gotham. 

Will Eisner was an early m of the 
German Expressionist approach in comic 
books—the Fritz Lang school: full of 
dark shadows, creepy angle shots, graphic 
close-ups of violence and terror. Eisner’s 
line had weight. Clothing sat on his ch: 
acters heavily; when they bent an aum, 
deep folds sprang into action everywhere. 
When one Eisner character slugged an- 
other, a real fist hit real Hesh. Violence 
was no externalized. plot exercise: it was 
the gut of his style. Massive and indiges- 
tible. it curdled, lavalike, from the p: 

Eisner moved on from Fiction House 
10 land, finally. with the Quality Comic 
group, creating the tone for their entire 
line: The Doll Man, Black Hawk, Uncle 
Sam, The Black Condor, The Ray, Espio- 
nage. Eisner creations all, hed draw a few 
episodes and abandon the characters to 
others. No matter. The Quality books 
bore his look, his layout, his way of tell- 
ing а story: for Eisner did just about all 
of his own writing—a rarity in comic 
book men. His high point was The Spirit, 
a comicbook section created as a Sunday 
supplement for newspapers 

Sartorially, the Spirit was miles apart 
from other masked heroes, He didn't 
wear tights: just a baggy blue business 
widebrimmed blue hat that 
and, lor a disguise, а 
matchiny mask, drawn as if it 
were a skin gralt. For some reason, he 
rarely wore socks—or if he did, they were 
flesh-colored. (L often wondered about 


suit, a 
needed. blocking- 
blue 


H was a classic American romance. 


that) Just аз Milton Ganifl’s characters 
were identifiable by their perennial 
WASPish, upper-middleclass look, so 
were Eisner's identifiable by that look of 
just having got off the boat. The Spirit 
reeked of lower middle class: His nose 
may have turned up. but we all knew he 
was Jewish. What's more, he had а sense 
of humor. Very few comicbook charac 
ters did. Superman was strait-laced; Bat 
man wisecracked, but was basically rigid; 
Captain Marvel had a touch of Li'l Ab- 
ner. but that was parody—not humor. 
Mone among mystery men, the Spirit op 
crate. in a relatively mature world (for 
comic books) in which one took stands 
somewhat more complex than hitting. or 
not hitting people. Violent he was—this 
was to remain Eisner's stock in trade- 
the Spirit's violence often turned. in on 
itself, proved nothing, became, simply, an 
existential exercise—part 
else's game. The Spirit could even suffer 
defeat in the end. Or be outloxed by a 
Female foe—standing there, his tongue 


but. 


of somebody 


making a dent in his cheek; in his boyish, 
Dennis O'Keefe way, a comment on the 
ultimate ineffectuality of even supi 
heroes, But, once а hero turns that. vul- 
nerable, he loses interest for both author 
and readers; and the Spirit, through the 
years, became a figurehead—the chairman 
of the board, presiding over eight pages of 
other people's stories. An inessential do- 
gooder, doing a walk-on on page eight to 
че up loose ends. A п 

Not that he wasn't virile. Much of the 


THistte SLAY 
EM AND. 
MEANS 


WHAT 1 


The Flash, like the Sub Mariner and The 
Human Torch, belonged to the shtick school of 
superheroes. After Superman, it was no longer 
enough to be strong, one had to have a specialty. 


Spirit's charm lay in his response to in- 
tense physical punishment. Hoodlums 
could slug him, shoot him, bend pipes 
over his head. The Spirit merely stuck his 
tongue in his cheek and beat the crap out 
of them; a more rational response than 
Batman’s, for all his preening. For Bat- 
man had to take off his rich idler’s street 
clothes: put on his Batshirt, his Batshorts, 
his Battights, his Batboots; buckle on his 
Batbelt; tie on his Batcape; slip on his 
Baumask; climb into his Batmobile and 
go fight the Joker—who in one punch 
(defensively described by the author as 
maniacal) would knock him silly. Not so 
with the Spirit. It took a mob to pin him 
down and no maniacal punch ever took 
him out of a fight. Eisner was too good a 
writer for that sort of nonsense. 1 collect- 
ed Eisners and studied them fastidiously. 
And I wasn't the only one. Alone among 
comicbook men, Eisner was a cartoonist 
from whom other cartoonists swiped. 

Good swiping is an art in itself. One 
can, for example, scan the first 15 years of 
any National publication and catch an 
album of favorite Terry aud the Pirates, 
Prince Valiant or Flash Gordon. poses 
signed by dozens of different artists. 
Terry, Pat Ryan, Val and Flash stared 
nakedly out at the reader, their names 
changed, but looking no less 
selves even if the feature did call its 
Hawkman. Swipes, if noticed, were ac 
cepted as part of comic-book folklore. 1 
have never reader complain 
Hawkman, a special favorite of mine, 
gave an aged and blended look to its 
swipes—a sheen so formidable, I often 
preferred the swipe to its newspaper pro 
totype, defended the artist on economic 
grounds (not everybody was rich enough 
to hire models like those big newspaper 
guys) and paid his swipes the final com- 
pliment of swiping them myself, 

1 not only clipped swipes, І managed 
to get hold of and traced their sources, 


ike them: 


heard 


-AND I SHALL SHED MY LIGHT OVER 
DARK EVA... FOR, THE DARK THINGS 
CANNOT STAND THE LIGHT. SHE uen 


OF THE GREEN LANTERN! 


COFTRIGHT © 1540 ат NATIONAL PERIODICAL PUBLICATIONS, INC. 


While Batman became a creature of the night 
because he thought that would strike terror into 
the hearts of criminals, the Green Lantern used 
the opposite approach with the same results. 


These 1 stapled together, laid in front of 
me and with them began my own chain 
of comic books—Comic Caravan, Zoom 
Comics, Streak Comics. Each book con- 
tained an orthodox variety of superheroes 
who, for their true identities, were given 
the orthodox assortment of prepschool 
names: Wesley, Bruce, Jay, Gary, Oliver, 
Rodney, Greg, Carter—obviously the 
stuff out of which heroes were made. 
You didn't find names like that in my 
neighborhood. 

Each story was signed by a pseudonym, 
except for the 1 ture which, star- 
conscious always, T assigned to my real 
name. I practiced my signature for hours: 
inside a box, a circle, a palette; inside a 
scroll that was chipped and aged, with 
ger sticking out of it which threw a 
long shadow. 1 had a Milton Caniff-style 
nature; an Alex Raymond; an Eisner. 
(Years later, when | went to work for 
Eisner, my first assignment was the sign- 
ing of his name to The Spirit. 1 was im- 
mediately beter at it than he was.) 

Though I n е pirated the super- 
heroes, I never went near their boy 
companions. I couldn't stand boy com- 

anions. If the theory behind Robin the 


Boy Wonder, Roy the Superboy, The 
Sandman’s Sandy, The Shield's Rusty, 


The Human Torch's Toro, The Green 
Arrow's Speedy, and Captain America’s 
Bucky was to give young readers a charac- 
ter with whom to identify, it failed dis- 
mally in my case. The super grownups 
were the ones I identified with. They 
were versions of me in the future. There 


COPYRIGHT © 1840 BY NATIONAL PERIODICAL PUBLICATIONS, INC 


The Hawkman, who never had his own comic 
book, had to play second banana to The Flash 
in “Flash Comics, since the 
faster-moving Flash wasn’t nearly aswell drawn. 


a sad situation 


was still time to prepare. But Robin the 
Boy Wonder was my own age. One need 
only look at him to see he could fight bet- 
ter, swing from a rope beuer, play ball 
beter. eat better and live better; for 
while 1 lived in the east Bronx, Robin 
lived in a mansion, and while I was 
tying, somehow, to please my mother 
and getting it all wrong, Robin was 
rescuing Batman and getting the gold 
medals. He didn't even have to live with 
his mother. 

Robin wasn't skinny. He had the build 
of a middleweight, the legs of a wrestler. 
He was obviously an A student, the center 
of every circle, the one picked for great- 
ness in the crowd—God, how I hated him 
You can imagine how pleased 1 was when, 
years later, T heard he was a fag. 

In his Seduction of the Innocent, psy- 
chiatrist Frederic Wertham, a leading 
post-War figure in the anticomics move 
ment, writes of the relationship between 
Batman and Robin: 


They constantly rescue cach other 
from violent attacks by an unending 
number of enemies. The feeling is 
conveyed that we men must stick to- 
gether because there are so many vil- 
tinous creatures who have to be 
exterminated. .. . Sometimes Batman 
ends up in bed injured and young 
Robin is shown sitting next to him. 
At home they lead an idyllic life 
They are Bruce Wayne and "Dick" 
Grayson. Bruce Wayne is described 
аз а “socialite” and the official rela- 
tionship is that Dick is Bruce's 
"They live in sumptuous quarters, 
with beantiful flowers in large vases 
. . . Batman is sometimes shown in a 
dressing gown. . . . It is like a wish 
dream of homosexuals living to- 
gether, 


ага. 


For the personal reasons previously 


82 


corrmicwr © ı940 ay MARVEL COMICS cour 


Simon and Kirby's muscle-bound Captain Amer- 
ica (in a costume drawn modestly from the 
Stars and Stripes) and his boy aide, Bucky, 
symbolized the chauvinism that came to comic 
books as a result of a plot shortage and a war. 


listed, I'd have been delighted to think 
Dr. Wertham right in his conjectures (at 
least in Robin's case; Barman might have 
been duped), but conscience dictates 
otherwise: Batman and Robin were no 
morc or less queer than were their young- 
ish readers, many of whom palled 
around together, didn't trust girls, played 
nes that had lots of bodily con 
—from similar surface evidence—were 
more or less queer. But this sort of c 
building is much too restrictive. In our 
society it is not only homosexuals who 
don't like women 

Wertham goes on to point to Wonder 
Woman as the Lesbian counterpart to 
Ваш For boys, Wonder Woman 
frightening image. For girls she is a mor. 
bid ideal. Where Bauman is antifeminine, 
the auractive Wonder Woman and her 
counterparts are definitely antimascu- 
line.” Well, 1 can't comment on the im- 
age girls had of Wonder Woman. I never 
knew they read her 
book, for that matte 
preference for my br 
would have been more of a frighten 
ze to me than any number of men 
being beaten up by Wonder Woman. 

My problem with Wonder Woman was 


Almost no one does, 


or any other comic 


that I could never get myself to believe 
she was that good. For if she was as strong 
as they said, why wasn't she tougher 
looking? Why wasn’t she bigger? Why was 
she so flat-chested? And why did I always 
feel that, whatever her vaunted Amazon 
power, she wouldn't have lasted a round 
with Sheena, Queen of the Jung! 

World War Two was greeted by comic 
books with a display of public ра 
sigh of private relief. There is no 
telling what would have become of the 
superheroes had they not been given a 
real en tic crime fighting had 
hecome one could sense our mus- 
cled wonder men growing restless in their 
protracted beatings of bank robbers, gang. 
overlords and mad scientists. Domestic 
affairs were dead as a gut issue: Super- 
heroes wanted a hand in foreign policy 
At first this switching of fronts scemed 
like a progressive political step—if only 
by default. Pre-War conspiracies had al- 
ways been fomented by the left (enigmat- 
ically described as anarchists), who put it 
into the minds of otherwise sanguine 
workers to strike vital industries in order 
to benefit unidentified foreign. powers. 
Now, with the advent of war it was no 
longer necessary to draw villains from 
stockpile of swarthy ethnic minori 
there were the butch-haircutted. Nazi 
contend. with 

The LQ. of villains dropped markedly 
as the War progressed. Consistent. with 
the policy formalized by Chaplin's Great 
Dictator, Hider was never portrayed as 
anything but а clown. All other Germans 
were blond, spoke their native langua 
with a thick accent, and were very, very 
stupid. Whatever there used to be of p'ot 
was replaced by atction—great leaping 
gobs of it; breaking out of frames and 
shing off the page. This wa 
T" iolence—its two prime expo- 
nents: Joe Simon and Jack Kirby. 

The team of Simon and Kirby brought 
anatomy back. into comic books. Not that 
other artists didn't draw well (the level of 
craftsmanship had risen alarmingly since 
Га begun to compete), but no one could 
put quite as much anatomy into a hero as 
Simon and Kirby. Muscles stretched 
magically, foreshortened shockingly. Legs 
were never less than four feet apart when 
a punch was thrown. Every panel was a 
population explosion—casts of thou- 
sands: all fighting, leaping, falling, 
crawling. Not any of Eisner’s brooding 
violence for Simon and Kirby; that was 
100 Listonlike. They peopled their pancls 
th Cassius Clays—Blue Bolt, The Sand- 
man. The Newsboy Legion, The Boy 
Commandoes and, best of all, Captain 
America and Bucky. Speed was the thing: 
rocking, uproarious speed. Each episode 
like an Errol Flynn war movie; almost 


ies: 
10 


з the gold- 


always taken from secret files, almost 
always preceded. by the legend: "Now 
it can be told." 


But the unwritten success story of the 
War was the smash comeback of the 


Oriental . He had faded badly for 
few years, losing face to mad scientists— 
but now he was at the height of his glory 
Until the War we had always assumed 
he was Chinese. But now we knew w 
he was: a Jap; a Yellow-Belly Jap: a J 
Rat—these being the three major 
tions. He was younger than his 
and far less subtle in his tor- 
шге tediniques. (This was war!) He of- 
ten sported fanged bicuspids and drooled 
a lot more than seemed necessary. (If you 
find the image hard to imagine, 1 refer 
you to his more recent incarnation in 
magazines like Dell's Jungle War Stories, 
where it turns out he wasn’t Japanese at 
all—he was North Vietnamese!) 

The War in comic books, despite its 
carly promise, its compulsive flag wa 
its incessant admonitions to keep ‘em 
flying, was. in the end, lost. From Super- 
man on down, the old heroes gave up 
lor of their edge. As T was growing up. 
they were growing tiresome: more garr 
lous than Г remembered them in the old 
days, a little show-ofly about their win 
ng of the War. Superman, The Shield, 
Captain America and the rest competed 
ацћу to be photographed with the Pre 
dent: 10 be officially thanked for selling 
bonds. or catching spies, or opening up 
the second front. The Spirit had been 


sifi 
wily forebe 


eroe 


had become a house joke: 
shrill. Crime comics were coming 
artwork by Char!es Biro, but not 
of tea. Too oppressive 10 my fa 
Reluctantly I fished around for oth 
reading mauer and stumbled on Studs 
Lonigan. 

In the years since Dr. Wertham and his 
supporters launched. their attacks, comic 
hooks have toned down considerably, al 
most antiseptically. Publishers—in fear of 
their lives—wrote а code, set up a review 
board and volunteered. themselves into 
censorship rather thin have it imposed 
from the outside. Dr. Weitham scorns self 
regulation as misleading. Old-me fans 
scorn it as having brought on the death 
of comic books as they knew and loved 
them: for, surprisingly, there are old 
comic-book fans. A small army of them. 

So Dr. Wertham and his cohorts were 
wrong in their contention that no one 
matures remembering the things. Other 


charges against comic books—that they 
were a participating factor in juvenile de: 
linquency and, im some cases, juve 


suicide; that they inspired experiments, 
Superman in free-fall flight: which 
could only end badly: that they were, 


in general, a corrupting influence, glori 
fying crime amd depravity—can. only, 
Ш fairness, be answered: "But of 


course. Why else read. them? 

Comic books, first of all. are junk. To 
accuse them of being what they a 
make no accusation at all: There is no 
such thing as uncorrupt junk or moral 
junk or educational junk, though at- 


e is to 


Right: PLAYBOY'S late, great cartoonist Jack 
Cole is represented here in an earlier guise as the 
author of the most anarchic of superheroes: 
Plastic Man. Cole, creator also of The Comet, 
Midnight and The Claw, evolved out of the 
Will Eisner school. Bottom right: A typically 
wind-blown Spirit lead page demonstrates 
Eisners skill in working the litle into the design 
of the page. Both Plastic Man and The Spirit, 
although possessing the usual invincibility, 
had strongly satiric sides to their characters. 


tempts at the latter have, from time to 


time, been foisted on us. But education See RAST MAN. 

1 se scond- ХУЙ oF THE UNDER. 
Das the qus of junk. It E vits DE ers 
class citizen of the arts, intended to be EE E 


nothing else but liked. 

A child, simply to save his sanity, must 
at times go underground. Have a place to 
hide where he cannot be got at by groun- 
ups. A place that implies, if only oblique- 
ly, that theyre not so much; that they 
don't know everything; that they can't 
fly the way some people can, or let bullets 
bounce harmlessly off their chests, or beat 
up whoever picks on them, or—oh, joy of 
joys!—even become invisible! A по 
man's land. A relief zone. And the basic 
sustenance for this relief was, in my day, 
comic books. 

With them we were able to roam free, COPYRIGHT B ra e eric FERIGNERE Fe SUES, ме 
disguised in costume, committing the aum OV ELE 
greatest of feats—and the worst of sins. 
And, in every instance, getting away with 
them. For a little while, at least, it was 
our show. For a little while, at least, we 
were the bosses. Psychically renewed, we 
could then return aboveground and put 
up with another couple of days of victim- 
ization at the hands of teachers and par- 
ents. Another couple of days of that child 
labor called school. Comic books were 
our booze. 

Comic books, which had few public (as 
opposed to professional) defenders in the 
days when Dr. Wertham was attacking 
them, are now looked back on by an in- 
creasing number of my generation as 
samples of our youthful innocence in- 
stead of our youthful corruption. A sign, 


perhaps, of the potency of that corrup- 
tion. А corruption—a lie, rcally—that put 
us in charge, however temporarily, of 


the world in which we lived: and gave us 
the means, however arbitrary, of defining 
right from wrong, good from bad, hero 
from villain. It is something for which 
old fans can understandably pine. It's 
almost as if having become overly con- 
scious of the imposition of junk on our 
adult values—on our architecture, our 
highways, our advertising, our mass 


To the north of Central City.ona 
biu PUE the bustling metropolis, 


media, our politics; and even in the 5 lies аъ; ‘Wilwood. 

at te EA we Here, hidden in the tangled weedy growth, 
air we breathe, flying black chunks of js the hideaway of the Syste i 
it—we have staged a retreat to a better- by the police as a friendly ‘outlaw’ and 


remembered brand of junk. A junk that тату зешн атуы E шщ 


knew its place was underground where Who is really the man behind the mask? 
it had no power and thus only titillated, à Every Фо oftan, 

rather than aboveground where it truly 
has power—and, thus, only depresses. 


84 


CITY OF LIGHT '65 


it was to be a happy voyage of escape into self- 
discovery, but the sinister sophistication of his 
companions boded ill for his romantic journey 


fiction By HERBERT GOLD “ro ratuer be 
treated badly by a French girl,” К. К. Wood once re 
marked, “than nicelysweetly by an American.” This 
must have had some specific reference to his experiences 
with Joseph E. Levine medieval epics, filmed in Europe 
just as he was coming out of his college-track phase, 


in who had 


when he was a long, shy, graceful young ma 
discovered that he photographed well mostly because 
he had discovered very little else about himsell. Did his 
comment mean that a French girl had treated him 
ally badly and he liked it? Or did it oi 
she had been bittersweet, cool and laughing, as 
girls are said to be? Was he unsheathing his dagger as 
they sat around the pool on their half acre in Beverly 
Hills? 

In any 
wife, Lou 
shut up." which was what her sister once said (bitter 
Estelle). But also she didn't say, "Hey, man, tell me, 
tell me!" which was what Cal, Estelle's cameraman 
husband, said. Louise dropped her eyes at the implied 
reproach: her fine dark eyes were hooded by lush, and 


asc, it was a line of thought to which К. K's 
took kindly. She didn't say, “Aw, 


she punished К. К. without nagging or tantrum. She 
just turned away from him. Afterward, exalted by 
memory or drink, talk or fancy, he tried to make love 
to her when their guests were gone, and she let him. 
She just let him, that was all. Perhaps it was the worst 
thing she could have done. Then, taking a deep breath, 
rearranging herself, getting up to slip into her night 
gown, she curled away from him on their doublesize 
bed and went to sleep without a word. Leaving him 
nd isolated in their too large, too-much paneled, 
y majorstar house in Beverly Hills. The pooch 
s walked and the gare was locked and the eternal 
umer night lay heavy upon his soul. 

And so now, at last, K. К. w 


alert and alone a 


in that Paris of his dreams. He had completed 26 
installments of the television series in which he played 
а young professor, and as he had promised himself, 


he would then do something for goddamn К. К. 
goddamn art, not just for the treadmill and Louise and 
the kids and the cost of living in Beverly Hills. The 
idea was to revive his movie career by making an art 
flick in Paris, just as Jean Seberg had done. There was 
a French producer willing to gamble on him, so long 
as they didn't gamble very much, which was the usual 
kind of gamble. K. K. and Louise would take a house 
and have plenty of servants for the kids and it would 
be a new start for them, 


Only at the last minute Louise backed out. She 
found out that the cost of living in Paris was worse 
than in New York or Beverly Hills. It would mean dis- 
rupting the boys’ schooling and upsetting everything 
She was at the point in her own analysis where it just 
didn't make sense to disrupt everything. She urged 
К. К. to make the film—oh, it would be a separation of 
ten weeks or so—and then come back and they could 


" AN 1 
> an 
y 


ILLUSTRATION BY ROBERT ANOREW PARKER 


PLAYBOY 


86 


resume, refreshed by absence. She was 
easy about him. It was an invitation, in- 
vitingly prepared by her, so that no ore 
could blame him for going without her. 
She decided after he had signed the 
contract, 

Of course, it had something to do with 
his remarks about French girls. And 
grcat deal to do with the fact that Louise 
and K. € not making it together at 
all, not at id you couldn't blame her 
analyst or his borcdom with the series or 
anything but that old romantic intangi- 
ble. The magic was gone. In work and 
love, at age 30, they both still required 
some magic. So stand up like a man! 
K. K. thought. Stand up like a man and 
run away! 

So now he bunked alone in finc ele- 
gance at the Hotel Montalembeit off the 
Boulevard Saint-Germain, a fast ten-mii 
ute walk from the teeming Latin Quar- 
ter, where the population explosion had 
deposited bevies and clusters of girls in 
tight skirts or stretch pants, all nice, with- 
out exception, and doing the Paris rock 
at the blazing jukeboxes in the cafés. And 
а five-minute walk from St.-Germain-des- 
Prés, where the existentialists teemed no 
more, but the movie and politics, glamor 
and publishing crowds hung out, jabber- 
ing. And a half hour by cab from the 
sound stages at the Paris-Boulogne stu- 
dios. His film was not going to revive his 
carccr, as he wrote to his agent. It was no 
slick TV series. but it was a fake-dirty 
Nouvelle Vague imitation that would 
never get a decent yed an 
American racist in Paris, reformed at the 
end by French tolerance and generosity. 
It had seemed, when he read the script, to 
strike a blow for liberal thought. Bu 
now, as directed and played, it was stri 
ing a blow for bankruptcy. “Television 
almost seems a plus,” he wrote to his 
agent. But he would walk through his 
contract and try to enjoy the town, that 
cool gray Paris of his dreams, tha 
splendid and careworn city. 

Early this morning they had 
shooting in the Place des Vosge 
one of his favorite spots—an Italianate 
square, neatly enclosed, with a horsed 
statue in the center and kids rushing 
about on the grass. Now it was becoming 
chic, antiqued, and the old cafés were 
growing clegant under the assault of dec- 
orators, and a new restaurant had been 
planted in the gallery on the side open- 
ing toward the Rue St-Antoine. This 
change, plus the 
working in the square- 
lines about France's African colo 
had made him nervous. He would rather 
just loaf among the symbols of stability 
but instead he was surrounded by cops, a 
roped-off patch, sun reflectors, crew, and 
a fussy, paranoid, no-talent director. He 
turned down an invitation from some of 
his fellow artmovie makers to go party- 
ing bya 
nap restless and dis- 


been 
always 


n Montmartre. But now, rev 
his hotel, he м 


satisfied and wondering what to do with 
the evening. One thing about a wife: It 
meant you had something to do with the 
cvening, even if you were bored together. 
He was nor used to silent anxiety. 

Something now was slipping 
from K. K. There was great dange 
lose a wile was bad; but there is alw 
divorce and new love possible—there is 
always hope. But what he was losing now 
was a city, was Paris. And when you di- 
vorce a city at age 30, there is not much 
hope of finding another. 

K. K. got up out of the chair in his ho- 
tel room where he had been pretending 
to read his script. but actually had been 
thinking these thoughts, and decided to 
do what he could to save the past for the 
с of the future. He would return to 
the Place des Vosges this evening for din. 
ner. He would find something new in 
that restaurant under the gallery near the 
Rue St-Antoine gate. He would make it 
‘once more with this city—this pay, joyous, 
which he could not per 


away 


ked across town as far as the 
Pont des Arts, crossed the bridge on foot, 
paused, submitted to а moment of won- 
der at the oily lights and radiance of the 
Seine, went on 10 the quai on the Right 
Bank, and finally hailed a cab. There was 
a light film of exertion and anxiety on his 
body, but inside he was freshly napped, 
showered, a prosperous young American 
out to di: i: Paris of 
desire and renewal which is everyone's. 
towered dream city. Down the Rue des 
Francs-Bourgeois he tunneled, behind a 
bus. giving hi псе to check off the 
old places, the rnavalet, the house of. 
Madame de Sévigné, the bakery where, 
on their wedding trip, he had once 
strolled with Louise and bought а роо. 
dingh, which turned out to be pressed. 
stale cake studded with r is and choc- 
olate icing. 

He got out of the cab at the entrance to 
the square, feet itchy again, and walked 
cross to the elegant little resta 
der the gallery. Down the 
steps stood the Victor Hugo museum: up 
the walk a gang of leather-jacketed kids— 
blousons noirs—floated, watching, check- 
ing the action. 

"А table outside,” he said to the maitre 
d'hotel. 

"I'm sorry, 
the interior- 

He 1 pt counted on this 

"But Т want to si 

“I'm sorry, sir 

Exhaust fumes negotiate all the cur- 
rents of Paris; this restaurant, away from 
the thoroughfares, was one of the few 
the breezes of evening could still 
ted along with the spices of dinner 
There was a crowd already, though it was 
early for dinner in Paris, He was still dis- 
cussing, worrying about how to get 


‚ they are all reserved. In 


outside, 


through to this official (Americans are un- 
skilled in the small bribings that make 
life easier) when he heard his name 
called out in а light, laughing contralto: 

“Monsieur Oud! Monsieur Oud! 
кеке" 

A little lady with a heart-shaped face, 
black horn-rimmed_ glasses, pencil in 
her long, piled-up hair, and wearing what 
locked ley hospital smock was 
the script girl on Trop de Morts. But 
now, as she called to him, she had found a 
place elsewhere for the pencil, and her 
working smock had been replaced by a 
neat suit with a short jacket, and the hair 
was neatly rolled and pinned. She had 
bright chipmunk eyes behind the glasses, 


which she kept pushing back up a nose 
100 small to carry their burden of 
myopia. K. K. had not taken a good look 


at her before. Fret about the film had 
busy during the working ds 
cute and nice: she had a shapely 
litle leg and a careless slouch which indi 
ted good-ellow ease, not laziness. Now 
that he noticed her. he saw wi 
fecling that she was having dinner not 
alone, not even with one man, but with 
two quite adequately sullen Frenchmen. 

"Monsieur Oud! You are in the habit 
of cating as you stand up?" 

He came to stand by their table 
You wish to dine outdoors? Well, then 
you must dine outdoors with us, there is 
no alternative.” 

She introduced the two men with her. 
One, José Alberto—"but 1 am French by 


nationality”—was "the film writer and 
novelist. 

"Oh?" said К. К. 

"Without doubt!” He paused until 


К. К. was settled chair, and hen 
went on. “Without doubt. I have written 
one meter plus two centimeters of scripts 
wl—how do you wanslate?—twenty-two 
inches of novels by five different 
How 1 measure quality is with a stick. I 
must show you my shelf someday. It is 
librated." 
“Oh.” said K. K. 
"Art, I suppose. You innocent Ameri 
cans! You are all of a type—perhaps 
three types.” Alberto went up in choking 
peals of aughier, issuing a great wind of 
, smelling bad as 
- "Lam called a 


so much to drink so much.” And а 
roared with laughter while a pout 
somber waiter stood by his elbow, de 
ing a fresh boule of wine. 

“You must tell me," К. К. said, “what 
are the three types of. Americans. When 
you have the time." 

That is my grave ambition for the fu. 
ture," said José Alberto. He scratched his 
check. He had large patches of pink on 
his face and was covered w i 
scruff, like and unlike dandri 
snow fell away as he scratched. 

The other man, Frédéric de Villiers, 

(continued on page 92) 


“Now you know why ballerinas are traditionally flat-chested.” 


FRANCES 
DENEUVE | 
WAVE 


А ReveAliNng visit 
with catherine rhe GREAT 
—CURRENT QUEEN ОЁ 
PARISIAN CINEMA SEXpOTS 


UNLIKE MOST Of the current crop of Con- 
tinental screen sirens who have ridden 
the crest of Europe's celluloid New Wave 
to cinematic success, France's Catherine 
Deneuve has relied more heavily on her 
acting than on her anatomy in her rise 
to the ranks of filmic femmes fatales. 
Since her initial appearance in these 
pages as one of Europe s New Sex Sirens 
(PLAYBoY, September 1963), the pretty 
21-year-old Parisienne has bypassed her 
promotional billing as just another in 
the long line of international cinema sex- 
pots to establish a reputation as a ca- 
pable cinemactress, with leading roles in 
The Umbrellas of Cherbourg—last year's 
Golden Palm-winning film at Cannes— 
and her current film, Repulsion. The 
latter marks Mile. Deneuve's debut 
in an English-speaking part under the 
dynamic direction of Polish impresario 
Roman Polanski, whose Knife in the 
Water earned him top honors at the 1962 
Venice Film Festival and subsequent 
acclaim from the New York Film Critics 
Society for the year's Best Foreign Film. 

The youngest member of one of 
Frances most famed families, comely 
Catherine is an admirable addition to 
the Thespian tradition set down by her 
actor father, Maurice Dorleac, and her 
older sister, Nouvelle Vague vamp Fran- 
goise Dorleac (That Man from Rio, 
Genghis Khan), with whom she will soon 
appear opposite Jean-Paul Belmondo in 
a filmic bedroom farce entitled Male 
Hunt. Between sequences in the filming 
of Repulsion, PLAYBOY'S cameras were 
busy capturing this classic uncoverage 
of Gallic glamor at its best. 


Following in the filmic footsteps of such 
fascinating françaises as Miles. Bardot 
and Moreau, Catherine cites her brief 
encounter with director Roger Vadim (a 
liaison that resulted in two screen roles 
and a son out of wedlock) as her life's 
turning point: “My career is a starry off- 
shoot of my past. That past is Vadim.” 
Right: In “Repulsion,” Catherine's 
manifest charms get maximum exposure. 


talism, Catherine prefers to describe her life in terms of the 
she was born: "I'm Libra—the passive, the love-prone.~ 


PHOTOGRAPHED EXCLUSIVELY FOR PLAYBOY BY DAVE BAILEY AND LEN KOVARS 


Unlike most of her cinematic contemporaries, Catherine maintains a resolute attitude toward fame: “When things are not 
good, I wait. Good things happen to you—you don't provoke them.” On sex appeal: " Keep a certain class, but look erotic 


PLAYBOY 


92 


CITY OF LIGHT (continued from page 86) 


troduced himself as an “officier en те- 
traite." He seemed to speak very little 
English and spoke very little anything. 
He did not explain why, at his age—a 
wiry 40—he was a retired officer. Perhaps, 
K. K. decided, for malignant shortness. 
He was the smallest man in town. He 
looked like a feather—a mean, lip-com- 
pressed, perfect feather-doll of a little 
feather. He was dressed in gray, with a 
gray compressed face, a perfect high gray 
bony beak, long thin gray lips dis- 
approving. 

It seemed to be one of those dinner 
parties that require an audience, and ev- 
eryone, in his own way, was happy at the 
good luck in finding the American actor. 
"The little “screept,” as she called herself, 
Mona Rouzier, simply liked to hear his 
accent in French, liked to try out her 
“heengleesh parfeekt," as she called it. 
Actually, she spoke English very well, and 
only made a mistake when she attempted 
to exaggerate by imitating the French ac- 
cent in English. Her control was not that 
good. She seemed to have obscure links 
with both men, but the addition of К. К. 
made things easier for her. 

José Alberto wanted to talk about cor- 
Tuption (his own) and hypocrisy (every- 
опе else's). For the sake of his immortal 
soul (wink at the American), he needed 
to be the highest-paid scriptwriter 
France, he explained; and then with a 
gust of tobacco, wine and sick breath, he 
added that this was his desire because it 
was precisely attainable, it was attained; 
in fact, it had been his honor since Clou- 
zot and Gabin had both taken him to 
their bosoms. “I want,” he said, “I desire, 
I covet, I long for what I can get. 1 can 
get. for example”—and he jabbed a dirty 
forefinger at K. K.—"I can get you.” 

After a glass of wine, K. К. enjoyed 
playing this gabby game. It was lively, at 
least. Ah, he was back in France. “For 
what?” he asked. “What can you tempt 
me with? What hold can you have on 
me?" 

José Alberto saw his eyes move, and 
again he laughed. “The girl? Hahaha. 
No, Гат not so banal. And that, after all, 
is your own responsibility. "These times, 
my friend, ah! She is not for hire, I agrec. 
But——' 
ttention, José,” said Mona, 

“But your pride, my friend. Your bore- 
dom. Your greed for feeling, which you 
call art—I know about you as an actor, 
too. I suffer from shingles, but I also 
suffer from insight and a mind like an 
Olivetti computer. The film making is 
one big family these days. You wish to be 
Nouvelle Vague, no?" 

Abruptly K. K. thought about his wife 
and his children and the analysis and the 
bland green ycars of Beverly Hills. The 
man was a buffoon, but he had power. 
"Wait" said José. 


“Intéressant,” said the little feather 
Frédéric. 

‘They drank down the evening. Along 
the way they also ate tournedos, coq au 
vin, flan. Yt was а smoky latespring night 
оп the Place des Vosges, that ancient 
square which K. K. remembered so 
sweetly, and they came in on each other, 
all four of them together, with a deter- 
mination to relish the time and grasp it 
with their fingernails. An hour, two 
hours, a joyous evening. They made fun 
of everything, even poor non-English- 
speaking Frédéric. Though K. K. spoke 
French, they would not let him, and final- 
ly he gave up trying to include Frédéric 
in their sport. He seemed, anyway, grayly 
pleased, grayly satisfied, growing morose- 
ly drunk. 

José paid. He insisted. With a flourish 
of no-no-nos, he waved away К. K.'s wal- 
let. He kissed K. K. on the cheeks and 
gave him the Legion of Honi Soit Qui 
Mal y Pense—a cigar band in the lapel— 
plus several other decorations of his own. 
fabrication, including the Ribbon of the 
Nouvelle Vague h ‘Two Silver Dollars. 
José then pushed Frédéric into a cab and, 
Suddenly, the two men were gone. 

K. K. was s ng on a corner with 
Mona. Somehow they had gotten from 
the Place des Vosges to the curb outside 
the Brasserie Lipp at St-Germai des- 
Prés. It was late and drunk and ured out 
ht. He took her home. 

“Please,” she said, “you sleep out here 
on the couch. 

"Please," he s 


"I sleep in there with 


u." 

“No, out there.” 

“No, in He moved her through 
the doorway. “In here.” 


“Trés. Oh, man.” 

She shrugged and estimated him with 
the shrewd eyes in her cute, heart-shaped 
face. She removed her glasses and the eyes 
softened; they were not seeing. She closed 


down for be 

They slept in each other's arms, and 
woke very early, sober. When he stirred, 
she wanted to brush her tecth first. But he 
would not let her. Afterward he cried out, 
"Oh, what did I do to get so lucky? Oh, 
what did I do?” 

“Perhaps,” she said sensibly, “there has 
only been bad luck too long and now 
your turn." And then she did a strange 
thing. She moved her hand and touched 

very intimately, just resting her 
id. "I feel now it is my turn, too,” she 


A new ej Paris fell open for K. K. 
Wood, spilling silver luxury and delight. 
It was not the old time of the Quar- 
tier latin—the four-dollar-a-week student 
hotel with an alcohol ner in the foot- 


locker, the arguments about Sartre and 
Camus, the courtyard and alleyway thea- 
ters in Montparnasse. But it was no long- 
er his abstracted, glassy tourists Paris, 
either. He had a girl, he had a clever, an- 
gry, funny coterie, he had plush modern 
apartments to visit in Neuilly and Au- 
teuil, and a weekend in a fake-Norman 
farmhouse that had been reconstructed 
out of the real-Norman shell. And, oddly 
enough, he also had a salon in which he 
took his own clear role, as every partici- 
pant in a salon should—he played the 
nervous, idealistic New York actor some- 
how trapped in Hollywood. He played 
the male Jean Seberg, now finding soul 
food in Paris. With his long, athletic, 
lounging body and his brooding, boyish 
face, he took an easy role which was al- 
most his by natural right. 

In the meantime, he wrote to his wife 
that the picture might tum out to be a 
sleeper. Mirades happen in the cutting 
and the sound and voice-over. It was pos- 
sible to hope. On her birthday he tele- 
phoned her, and at a cost of $30 he 
shouted questions to which he could not 
hear the answers and answers to the ques- 
tions which she might, or might not, have 
put to him. The children each took the 
phone and, as they turned mute in their 
embarrassment and confusion—first they 
had demanded the telephone from 
Louise—he heard the trans Atlantic roar 
of wires and wireless. Afterward he felt. 
depressed and lonely for them. He wrote 
10 Louise in detail about José Alberto 
and the peculiar exofficer, Frédéric de 
Villiers, who kept himself busy with anti- 
government teeth gnashing. He wrote to 
Louise not at all about Mona. He wrote 
her a special note when he discovered 
that Frédéric, that little gray feather, had 
been a para. ("That's what they call para- 
troopers. He was a lieutenant in Indo- 
china, and for the defeat there, he made 
captain in Algeria, where they also got 
their pants kicked off.") He gave his wife 
long lectures by mail on contemporary 
France. He dealt with French politics 
(classical), economics (prosperous), social 
life (more and more American) new 
styles of dress (casual, pour le sport), and 
everything but one traditional truth— 
often a man looks to fall in love in Paris. 
That he left out. Не did mention that 
José and Frédéric referred to General de 
Gaulle as “Jeanne.” They meant Joan of 
Arc. It sounded like a joke, but also they 
were grinding their teeth. Their teeth 
were worn down by the joke. They hated 
him. 

"There was one other person in this lit- 
Че group who oiled the gullets and kept 
the wheels meshing. Her first name was 
Hilda; she was born of French parents in 
Berlin in 1942. In other words, she was 
the daughter of a Frenchman who had 
been employed by the Gestapo at the 
home office. She was а chic little lady with 
blonde steaks in her hair, a sharp, 

(continued on page 215) 


his skill and his strength were one, in the mason’s art and in the arts of lov 


Sortress of the woman’s icy virtue he neede 


clion By PIETRO DI DONATO ın ох I was по 
different from today’s healthy young fellows who track girls 
and do and get away with what they can. 

My pal and patron was Doctor Harry Greenberg 

Harry was a casual, regular guy. We shared girls, even the 
pretty sexy blonde nurse in his office. We had a setup. His 
stufly wife, Arlene, taught college classes in the city 
‚ Harry and I lived it 


and came 
Arlene was ро! 


THE FIREPLACE 


t in assailing the 


help—and received it from the most unexpected ally 


up like lords and had a ball with a string of girls in his home. 
Arlene never got wise to the goings-on. To her I was a clean-cut 
young bricklay 


nd promising writer who could do no wrong. 


I was part of the family, and I got to know 
"s orthodox. parents 
Before a New Eve, Harry sai 
meet my sisterindaw, Arle! 
at about this ‘Leds 


ing bond between voluptuous Leda and the stark Hannah. Hannah said little and studicd me. 


I could feel her cyes going through me, and wondered whether the 


an could read my sensuous thoughts. 


AN UNHURRIED VIEW OF RALPH GINZBURG 


in which the trials, tribulations and temperament of the sorely pressed 
publisher of eros, fact and assorted erotica are dispasstonately probed 


article By DAN WAKEFIELD 


THE EARLY LIFE AND TIMES of Ralph Ginzburg sound like the plot for a 
Herman Wouk novel of а poor-boy hero about to make good. Born and 
bred in Brooklyn of Jewish immigrant parents, the young Ginzburg pushed 
a wagon in the garment district, waited tables in the Catskills, sold ice cream 
on the beach at Coney Island, and dreamed of being a millionaire by the 
ume he was 30. He got top marks and played in the band at New Utrecht 
High School, hurrying on to the City College of New York at the age of 16, 
where he competed with the returning veterans of 1946. He earned straight 
A's as a major in accounting, but a journalism professor encouraged his 
writing talent and so "changed my life"; it was to be the first of a dramatic 
series of such occurrences. While still an undergraduate, he sold his fust 
piece of writing (an essay about Nathan's hot-dog stand on Coney Island, 
where he used to take dates on Friday nights), became the editor of The 
Ticker, student newspaper of the college's business school, and managed to 
get his picture in the New York papers for suggesting that the business 
school be named after its distinguished graduate Bernard Baruch; it was. He 
was known on campus as “Windy,” and, as one classmate recalls, “We always 
knew he'd make it.” They were right, but they never dreamed how. 

There were no clues from his youth that presaged the future notoriety 
Ginzburg would gain as a publisher-promoter whose products earned him not 
only the beginning of a fortune and а small taste of fame, but also a convic- 
tion on 28 counts of criminal obscenity, a sentence of five years in the Federal 
penitentiary and a fine of $42,000. On June 14, 1963, Ginzburg was found 
guilty of criminal use of the U. S. mails for posting three different publica- 
tions that were judged to be obscene: Eros, a lavishly produced hardcover 
magazine self-described as “A Quarterly on the Joys of Love"; The House- 
wife's Handbook on Selective Promiscuity, а frankly detailed confessional 
diary of the hyperactive sex life of an Arizona housewife; and Liaison, a bi- 
weekly “newsletter” which collected stray items of erotic interest rather in the 
style of a sexual Kiplinger Letter. Ginzburg's conviction was upheld last No- 
vember by the U. S. Court of Appeals, but last spring the Supreme Court 
accepted the case for review, and is scheduled to hear arguments on it this 
fall. The eventual decision will not only determine the personal fate of 
Ralph Ginzburg, but will have far-reaching effects on the whole muddy 
field of obscenity, censorship and the law. An amici curiae brief in Ginz- 
burg's behalf was signed by 117 leaders from fields such as publishing, writ- 
ing, psychiatry and education, including Robert Penn Warren, William 
Styron, Herbert Gold, Paul Goodman, Arthur Miller, Christopher Isher- 
wood, Norman Mailer, Louis Untermeyer, the minister of the Judson 
Memorial Church in New York City, the rabbi of the Society for the Ad- 
vancement of Judaism, the chairman of the University of Chicago’s Social 
Sciences Department, the dean of the University of Illinois School of Library 
Science, the managing editor of the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, and the 
publisher of The New Republic. The brief argued that: 


If this Court fails to set aside such acts of punishment and suppres- 
sion of publications, we fear it will have severely consuicted this coun- 
туз parameters for permissible discussions of sex. If the judgments of 
the courts below are not reviewed and reversed, we fear this nation will 
go lame in the freedom of its sexual expression. 


Another brief, filed by the 4000-member Authors League of America, 
stated that the decision in the Ginzburg case “creates a formidable deter- 
rent” to the exercise of the “rights of free speech and press . . . and must be 
condemned,” 

The controversy over the principles involved has been clouded in the 
press and the public mind by the controversial figure of the man in the 


Cee 


PLAYBOY 


middle of all, for Ginzburg has a 
unique ability for stirring up extreme 
responses to himself and his activities. 
His old friend Lawrence Grossman, now 
an NBG vice-president, has compared 
Ginzburg's role in our society to that of 
“a Socrates," while to many people Ginz- 
burg has become "a symbol of dec 

dence" a label applied by William P. 
Riley, cochairman of the National Cit- 
izens for Decent Literature Committee. 

But Ginzburg in person seems neither 
Socratic nor decadent. А fast-talking, 
friendly man of 36, he is bulging a bit in 
the dle, and wears owllike black- 
rimmed glasses that accentuate rhe. pale- 
ness of a round face beneath a receding 
crewcut, His taste runs to colored shirts 
that are usually unbuttoned at the neck 
and adorned with а tie that is loosened to 
match the pace of his hectic activity. 
Ginzburg lives with his second wife and 
three children in a top-fioor apartment of 
а new building on Manhattan's West 
Side, where he has a stereo set with ear- 
phones and a sweeping, neon-studded 
view of the city’s midsection. He says that 
the $4002-month apartment is "my only 
luxury,” and even at home he is rarely 
given to relaxation. He keeps a pencil 
and note pad by the bathtub in case of 
emergency ideas for his current enter- 
prise, a bimonthly exposé magazine 
called Fact, which is Ginzburg's outspo- 
ken answer to the decline of modern jour- 

and his contribution to the safety 
of "the democratic process." The maga- 
zine is actually a sensational potpourri, 
with boldface titles that promise more 
than is usually delivered in pieces cover- 
ing such assorted subjects as Abe Lin- 
coln’s sex life, "evidence" that Dag 
Hammarskjóld committed suicide, а 
memoir exposing the fact that Ernest 
Hemingway sometimes used rough lan- 
guage and was curt to strangers, and a 
issertation on the topic "Should a Jew 
Buy a Volkswagen?” 

The only organizations Ginzburg be- 
longs to are the American Civil Liberties 
Union, which has filed its own amici 
curiae brief for his case, and the 
Y.M.C.A., where he goes to run around 
the track and lift weights. He usually 
works ten hours a day, seven days a week, 
which leaves little time for hiking and 
bird-watching—which he says are his only 
hobbies. In case he can't get to the Y, he 
keeps a set of weights in his office, but 
does not look as if he has spent much 
time lifting them. He also keeps in his 
office an electric coffee maker, a can of 
Medaglia D'Oro and a tin of Droste's 
chocolite—the only stimulants he allows 
himself to indulge in. He has never 
experimented with drugs of any kind, 
and spurns filter cigarettes as well as 
marijuana. 

“Smoking of any kind makes me sick,” 
he explained. “As for alcohol, 1 can ac- 
tually get h on a glass of beer. I'm 


really a tenderfoot when it comes to the 
socalled vices." 

Ginzburg added that he has no moral 
objections to drinking, but he fears the 
effects might slow him down. “It would 
he explained, "my wo 


city. 
There is the sense that if Ginzburg had 
stuck with accounting, his college major, 
he might today be a symbol of free-enter- 
prise achievement for the Junior Cham- 
ber of Commerce, instead of a symbol of 
decadence for the National Citizens for 
Decent Literature Committee. Though 
raised as a Jew and self-remodeled as an 
atheist, his all-work-no-play approach to 
life—thongh it certainly hasn't made 
Ralph a dull boy—could serve as a model 
for the Protestant ethic. But his eager en- 
ergy was channeled into the erratic publi- 
cation of erotica, a subject that still lies 
under society's massive taboo in spite of 
all the “enlightenment” and progress of 
recent years—as Ginzburg's case has so 
dramatically proved. Ironically, his entry 
into that socially forbidden area seems 
almost accidental. 

Though Ginzburg left CCNY соп- 
vinced he'd make his million by the age 
of 30, he still wasn't sure what field he 
would make it in. A 17-month stint as an 
Army draftee failed to abate his search for 
success, for while serving in the Public 
Information Office in Washington, he 
sold free-lance magazine artides to the 
Readers Digest, Collier's, Coronet and 
other national magazines, and took on a 
fulltime night job as rewrite man for 
the Washington Times-Herald. Restlessly 
roaming to Europe after his discharge in 
1951, he tried his hand at free-lance pho- 
tography, and returned to New York, 
where he did some continuity writing for 
NBC. But he wasn't content. 

“I was dying to get a staff job on a mag- 
azine,” Ginzburg recalls of that time, 
"and I pounded the doors of Time and 
Life, but without any luck." 

A friend helped him get a job at an ad 
agency, but he chafed at his copywr 
chores and continued to dream of break- 
ing into big-time magazine work. The 
frustration seemed even greater because 
the ad agency he worked for was located 
in the Look magazine building, at 488 
Madison Avenue; Ginzburg felt he was in 
the right building but on the wrong floor, 
so he turned his discomfort into a pitch 
for finding a remedy. 

“I had an artist friend draw a picture 
of a fish flopping around, and I sent it off 
with a letter to Gardner Cowles, publish- 
er of Look, saying, ‘I feel like a fish out of 
water up here on the 17th floor in an ad 
agency—l ought to be down on your 
floor. 

Ginzburg's fish landed him an inter- 
view. and Ginzburg landed a whopping 
job—at the tender age of 23: circulation- 
promotion director of Look, with a 
$2,000,000 budget, a private secretary and 


a staff of ten employees. Was this what 
Ginzburg was looking for? 

“At first I enjoyed the job," he says 
now, “and 1 felt like a big shot. There I 
was, a kid of twenty-three, making fifteen 
grand a year, and I had my own staff and 
secretary—all the accouterments of suc- 
cess. But 1 began to see that those things 
didn't make me happy." 

Even so, Ginzburg soon gained a repu- 
tation in the magazine world, as—in the 
words of one former colleague—“a news- 
stand promotion hustler, and a damn 
good one." Some of his scverest critics ad- 
mit that Ginzburg has a natural talent, 
even a “genius,” for the fine art of promo- 
tion: yet the use of that gift has never 
seemed to satisfy him. Even while success- 
fully handling his high-powered promo- 
tion job, Ginzburg was writing freelance 
les, and in 1957, while still 
‚ he was given an assignment by 
Esquire that resulted not only in a 
change of job, but eventually in a whole 
new career—the one that led to his 
present notoriety and his fiveyear jail 
senter 

The fateful assignment Ginzburg took 
on was to write an article entitled “An 
Unhurried View of Erotica"—the idea 
and rhe title came from an editor at Es- 
quire—describing and quoting from some 
of the world's great erotic literature. 

“At the time,” Ginzburg admits, “I w: 
anything but an expert on erotic liter: 
ture. The only thing I knew about was 
the history of the laws suppressing erotic 
literature.” 

Ginzburg's knowledge of the laws con- 
cerned with obscenity in literature dated 
back to 1949, his senior year in college, 
when he worked nights as a copy boy at 
the old New York Compass. At the time, 
the paper was preparing a series on John 
S. Sumner, the retiring head of the New 
York Society for the Suppression of Vice, 
and Ginzburg did some investigation into 
Sumners career. But he became more 
fascinated with Sumner’s predecessor, An- 
thony Comstock, who from 1873 to 1915 
sent literally hundreds of authors, pub- 
lishers and book dealers to prison and 
destroyed tons of allegedly obscene litera- 
ture. Comstock worked for the passage of 
almost every obscenity statute currently 
on the lawbooks—including the postal 
statute under which Ginzburg was given 
his five-year jail sentence. 

Ginzburg began collecting material for 
a biography of Comstock, a project he 

is working on. When offered the 
assignment, he turned his atten- 
tion from the laws concerned with book 
banning to the books themselves. He not 
only wrote the article for Esquire, but 
also got himself hired as the magazine's 
articles editor—a move that finally en- 
abled him to abandon the promotion 
field in which he excelled for the edi- 
torial side that he admired. 

But Esquire neyer ran the article. The 

(continued on page 172) 


playboy pad DUPLEX DIGS A BARONIAL BILEVEL FOR A BUSY BACHELOR 


A WORLD OF PLEASURABLE EASE has been carefully carved out of 900 square feet of living space in the decorous duplex 
ment scen above. Energetic Arizona real-estate developer Irving Shuman wanted his bachelor pad to combine simple 
maintenance with elegance of appointments. He found the answer in this compact contemporary designed by Mile 

of Stanley M. Stein Architects in. Phocni One of eight bilevel artments in a secluded courtyard off a busy downtown 
strcet, these digs offer the repose of a country lair without missing а beat of the excitement of urban life. Top left: A view 
across the living room into the dining area and an open kitchen space that more than cares for Shuman's culinary needs. 
The walls are composition cork and local Mexican lava stone, bringing a warmly natural look to the functional lines of 
the apartment. Top tight: A custom-designed fireplace of exposed aggregate and concrete forms the focal point of the room. 
"The stairs lead to the second-floor sleeping quarters. Above: For all its compactness, the room's sliding windows opening 
ошо a swimming pool are а sizable 16 feet high. In an unusual commingling of design and decoration, фе pad was com. 
pletely fitted out with matching furniture and fixtures. Even the pillows in the capacious conversation pit were color-selected 
by designer Stahm. Bachelor Shuman had only to hang his art collection to personalize the place into one uniquely his ow! 


PLAYBOY 


24 n 
ma 


B 


Vh " LI ә 
“а 5294 е T 
as 


“Well, rub-a-dub-dub . . . 1° 


A painter of Pop known as Jacques 
Intends each new canvas to shock. 
Outsized genitalia 
Gave the critics heart-failia 
But one dubbed й “pure Poppycock!” 


A nudist resort at Benares 
Took a midget in all unawares, 
But he made members weep 
For he just couldn't keep 
His nose out of private affairs. 


There was a_young lady named Clair 
Who possessed a magnificent pair; 
Or that’s what I thought, 


Till I saw one get caught 
On a thorn, and begin losing air. 


A cautious young fellow named Lodge 
Had seat belts installed in his Dodge. 
When his date was strapped in 

He commilted a sin 
Without even leaving the g’rage. 


A mortician who practiced in Fife 
Made love to the corpse of his wife. 
“How could I know, Judge? 
She was cold, did not budge— 
Just the same as she acted in life.” 


A notorious harlot named Hearst 

In the pleasures of men is well-versed. 
Reads a sign o'er the head 
Of her well-rumpled bed: 

THE CUSTOMER ALWAYS COMES FIRST. 


There was an old whore of King’s Bluff 
Who said, “I have had quite enough 

Of men who are thirty 

And forty and fifty; 
What I need is that greasy kids stuff.” 


A remarkable race are the Persians, 
They have such peculiar diversions. 
They make love the whole day 
In the regular way 
And save up the nights for perversions. 


A lady stockholder quite hetera 
Decided her fortune to bettera: 
On the floor, quite unclad, 
She successively had 
Merrill Lynch, Pierce, Fenner, et cetera . . . 


There was a young fellow of Strensall 
Whose tip was as sharp as a pencil. 
On the night of his wedding 
It went through the bedding, 
And shattered the chamber utensil. 


A progressive professor named Winners 
Held classes each evening for sinners. 
They were graded and spaced 
So the very debased 
Would not be held back by beginners. 


The friends of a sweel-faced young man 
Made fun of his name, which was Jan. 
Bui dont blame his mother, 
He was named by another, 
His father, whose name was Diane. 


An anonymous woman we knew 

Was dozing one day in her pew; 
When the preacher yelled “Sin!” 
She said, “Count me in 

As soon as the service is through.” 


three men possessed the means to unlock the monstrous cybernetic brain, 
but each had his personal reason for refusing to relinquish his advantage 


fiction By THEODORE STURGEON 


DESPITE THE IMPROVEMENTS, the Pentagon in 1970 was still the Pentagon, with more places to walk than places to sit. 
Not that Jones had a legitimate gripe. The cubical cave they had assigned to him as an office would have been more 
than adequate for the two-three days he himself had estimated. But by the end of the third weck it fit him like a 
size-6 hat and choked him like a size-12 collar. Annie's phone calls expressed eagerness to have him back, but there 
was an edge to the eagerness now which made him anxious. His hotel manager had wanted to shift his room after 
the first week and he had been stubborn about it; now he was marooned like a rock in a mushroom patch, surround- 
ed by a back-to-rhythm convention of the Anti-Anti-Population Explosion League. He'd had to buy shirts, hed had 
to buy shoes, he'd needed a type-four common-cold shot, and most of all, he couldn't find what was wrong with oRACLE. 
Jones and his crew had stripped oracte down to its mounting bolts, checked a thousand miles of wiring and a 
million solid-state elements, everything but its priceless and untouchable memory banks. Then they'd rebuilt the mon- 
ster, meticulously cross-checking all the way. For the past four days they had been running the recompleted computer, 
performance-matching with crash-priority time on other machines, while half the science boys and a third of the mili- 
tary wailed in anguish. He had reported to three men that the machine had nothing wrong with it, that it never had 
had anything wrong with it, and that there was no reason to believe there ever would be anything wrong with it. One 
by one these three had gone (again) into oracte's chamber, and bolted the door, and energized the privacy field, 
and then one by one they had emerged stern and disappointed, to tell Jones that it would not give them an answer: 
an old admiral, an ageless colonel and a piece of walking legend whom Jones called to himself the civilian. 
Having sent his crew home—for thus he burned his bridges—having deprived himself of Jacquard the design ge- 
nius and the 23 others, the wiring team, all the mathematicians, everyone, Jones sighed in his little office, picked up 
the phone again and called the three for a conference. When he put the instrument down again he felt a little pleased. 
Consistencies pleased Jones, even unpleasant ones, and the instant response of all three was right in line with everything 
they had done from the time they had first complained about oractr’s inability to answer their questions, all through 
their fiddling and diddling during every second of the long diagnostic operation. The admiral had had an open line 


PLAYBOY 


102 


installed to Jones’ office, the colonel had 
devised a special code word for his switch- 
board, the civilian had hung around per- 
sonally, ignoring all firm, polite hints 
il he had turned his ankle on a cable, 
ng Jones a reason to get him ош of 
there. In other words, these three didn't 
just want an answer, they needed it. 

They came, the admiral with his old 
brows and brand-new steel-blue eyes, the 
colonel with starch in his spine and skin 
like a postmaneuver proving grounds, the 
civilian limping a bit, with his head tilted 
a bit, turned a bit, a captivating manner- 
ism which always gave his audiences the 
feeling that history cared to listen to 
them. Jones let them get settled, this ad- 
miral whose whole career had consisted 
of greater and greater commands until 
his strong old hand was a twitch away 
from the spokes of the helm of the ship of 
state; this colonel who had retained his 
Jowly rank as a mark of scorn for the 
academy men who scurried to obey him, 
whose luxurious quarters were equipped 
with an iron barracks bed; and this civil- 
jan with the scholarly air, with both 
Houses and a Cabinet rank behind him, 
whose political skills were as strong. and 
as deft, and as spiked as a logroller's feet. 

“Gentlemen,” said Jones, “this may 
well be our last meeting. There will, of 
course, be a written report, but 1 under- 
stand the—uh—practicalities of such a 
situation quite well, and I do not feel it 
necessary to go into the kind of detail in 
the report that is possible to us in an in- 
formal discussion.” He looked at each face 
in turn and congratulated himself. That 
was just right. This is just between us 
boys. Nobody's going to squeal on you. 

"You've dismissed your crew," said the 
civilian, causing a slight start in the ad- 
miral and a narrowing of the colonel's 
eyes and, in Jones, a flash of admiration. 
‘This one had snoopers the services hadn't 
even dreamed up yet. “I hope this is good 
news.” 

“Depends,” said Jones. “What it means 
primarily is that they have done all they 
In other words, there is nothing 
wrong with ORACLE in any of their spe- 
cialties. Their specialties include every- 
thing the computer is and does, In still 
other words, there's nothing wrong with 
the machine.” 

“So you told us yesterday," gritted the 
colonel, "but I got no results. And—I 
want results." "The last was added as an. 
old ritual which, apparently, had always 
gotten results just by being recited. 

“I followed the procedures,” said the 
admiral, intoning this as a cardinal vir 
tue, "and also got no results." He held up 
a finger and suspended operations in the 
room whilc he performed some sort of ir 
ternal countdown. "Had I not done so, 
ORACLE would have responded with an 
sufficient data’ signal. Correct?" 
"Quite correct, Jones. 

"And it didn't. 


can. 


"That was my experience," said the 
ivilia ind the colonel nodded. 
Gentlemen,” said Jones, "neither 1 
nor my crew—and there just is not a bet- 
ter one—have been able to devise a ques- 
tion that produced that result 

“It was not a result,” snapped the 
colonel. 

Jones ignored him. “Given the truth of 
my conclusion—that there is nothing 
wrong with the machine—and your re- 
ports, which I can 
doubt, there is no area left to investigate 
but one, and that is in your hands, not 
mine. It's the one thing you have with- 
held from me.” He paused. Two of them 
shifted their feet. The colonel tightened 
his jaw. 

The admiral said softly, but with utter 
lity, “I cannot divulge my question.” 

The colonel and the c e to 
gether: "Security- and “This is a 
matter——” and then both fell silent 

“Security.” Jones spread his hands, To 
keep from an enemy, real or potential, 
matters vital to the safety of the_nation, 
that was security. And how easy it was to 
wrap the same blanket about the use of a 
helicopter to a certain haven, the pres- 
ence of a surprising little package in a 
Congressional desk, the exact relations be- 
tween а certain officer and his—— argh! 
This, thought Jones, has all the earmarks 
of, not our security, but of three cases of 
ту security . . . PI try just once more. 

“Thirty years ago, a writer named Wil- 
liam Tenn wrote a brilliant story in 
which an Air Force moon landing was 
made, and the expedition found an in- 
habited pressure dome nearby. They sent 
out a scout, who was prepared to die at 
the hands of Russians or even Martians. 


fi 


He returned to the ship in а paroxysm, 
gentlemen, of laughter. The other dome 
belonged to the U.S. Navy.” 

"The admiral projecte 


two loud sylla- 
, “OF course. 
‘The colonel looked pained. The civilian, 
brighceyed, made а small nod which 
clearly said, One up for you, boy. 

Jones put on his used-carsalesman 
face. “Honestly, gentlemen, it embarrass- 
es me to draw a parallel like th I be- 
lieve with all my heart that each of you 
has the best interests of our nation fore 
most in his thoughts. As for myself{—secu 
rity? Why, I wouldn't be here if I hadn't 
been cleared all the way back to Pithe- 
canthropus erectus. 

"So much for you, so much for me. 
Now, as for ORACLE, you know as well as I 
do that it is no ordinary computer. It is 
designed for computations, not of math, 
specifically, nor of strictly physical prob- 
lems, though it can perform them. but for 
the di m of human thought. For 
over a decade the contents of the Library 
of Congress and other sources have 
poured into that machine—everything: 


novels, philosophy, magazines, poetry, 
textbooks, religious tracts, comic books, 
even millions of personnel records, 


There's every shade of opi every 
quality of writing—anything and every- 
thing that an army of over a thousand mi- 
crofilming technicians have been able to 


in English, German, Russian, French or 
Japanese, oRacLE can absorb it, Espera 
is the funnel for à hundred Oriental a 
African languages. It's the greatest reposi 
tory of human thought and thought- 
directed action the world has ever known, 
and its one most powerful barrier against 
error in human affairs is the sheer mass of 
memory and the wide spectrum of 
opinion that has poured into it. 

Add to this its ability to extrapolate— 
to project ihe results of hypothetical acts 
па the purposely designed privacy 
structure—for it’s incapable of recording 
or reporting who asked it what question— 
and you have oracte, the one place in 
the world where you can get a straight 
answer based, not in terms of the prob- 
lem itself, but on every ideological com- 
putation and cross-comparison that can 
be packed into it.” 

“The one place I couldn't get a straight 
answer,” said the civilian gently. 

"To your particular question. Sir. if 
you want that answer, you have got to 
give me that question." He checked a 
hopeful stir in the other two by adding 
quickly, "and yours. And yours. You sce, 
gentlemen, though I am concerned for 
your needs in this matter, my prime con. 
cern is oRACLE. To find a way to get one 
of the answers isn't enough. If 1 had all 
three, I might be able to deduce a com- 
mon denominator. I already have, of 
course, though it isn’t enough: you are all 
high up in national affairs, and very close 
to the center of things. You are all of the 
same generation” (translation: near the 
end of the road) "and, I'm sure, equally 
determined to do the best you can for 
your country” (to get to the top of the 
heap before you cash in). "Consider me,” 
he said, and smiled disarmingly. “To let 
me get this close to the answer 7 want; 
namely, whats wrong with oracte, and 
then to withhold it—isn't that sort of 
cruel and unusual punishment?" 

“I feel for you,” said the civilian, not 
without a twinkle. Then, sober with a 
coldness that would freeze helium into a 
block, he said, “But you ask too much." 

Jones looked at him, and then at the 
others, sensing their unshakable agree- 
ment. “OK,” he said, with all the explo- 
sive harshness he could muster, “I'm done 
here. I'm sick of this place and my girl’s 
sick of being by herself, and Im going 
home. You can't call in anyone else, be- 
cause there isn't anyone else: my company 
built onAcLE and my men were trained 
for it.” 

This kind of thing was obviously in the 
colonel’s idiom. From far back in his 
throat, he issued a grinding sound that 
came out in words: “You'll finish the job 

(continued on page 152) 


THE CHERISHED СНЕКООТ 


a redolent wrap-up of the manly joys of a leaf well rolled, plus a guide on what to do till castro goes away 


woman is only a woman, but a 
^od cigar is a Smoke. 
—RUDYARD KIPLING 


d views of Victorian 


TO PROJECT the vi 
England's tobaccolaureate still further, a 


good cigar is even more than a smoke. Tt 
can be a mystical experience that comes 
with its own lore, legend, taboos, customs, 
fanatical followers and, unswerv- 
ing deprecators. It has been a symbol 


of virility and leadership; likewise, it 
has been damned as a phallic append- 
ge and a pacifier for the too-quickly 
weaned. Nonetheless, throughout its 
storied past and a politically turbu- 
lent present, the cigar has spread its um- 
ber blesings in an infinite variety of 
satisfactions. 

The way of the tobacconist has never 
been easy. In 1604 King James put the 
blast on his courtiers for leaning too 
heavily on the leaf, claiming that 


The shape of fine cigars, fram top down 
First three are slender palmas favored by most 
younger men. A fat Jamaican model perfect for 
after dinner. A pyramid-shaped Dutch smoke 
to begin the day. A jumbo perfecto to tomp 
dawn the really festive dinner. A demitasse 
style just right for entr'ccte enjoyment. A 
pencil-shaped ponatela for any occasion, A 
Cuban fancy tail for post-prandial pleasure. 
A pyramid-shoped companion far fine cognac. 
Accavterments ore sterling-silver lighter, $35, 
open bite holder, $10. All from Alfred Dunhill. 


103 


i 
r —— “м 
—— = 2 
= i [ - 
\ Y 


= Mee 
n 


Cigar equipage, reading clockwise fram two 
A Thuyawood airtight humidar, $100; hexa- 
gonal stainless-steel guillotine-style packet 
cutter, $17.50, bath from Alfred Dunhill. 
Stainless-steel butane lighter, by Ronson, 
$1255. Silver five-fronc V packet cutter with 
knife, by Alfred Dunhill, $20. Brown onyx 
table-model V cutter, $15; engine-turned 
stainless-steel packet cutter, made in Ger- 
many, $3.50; gold-textured holder, $150; 
black crocadile cigar case far twa, $25, all 
from Alfred Dunhill. Steel scissors-acrion 
straight-line culter, from Iwan Ries, $3.50. 
Black-calf case far four, from Alfred Dunhill, 
$6.50. Briarwaod holder, $8; sterling-silver V 
cutter, $7.50, both from Iwan Ries. Brawn-calf 
case for three, from Alfred Dunhill, $4.50. 
Italian leather humidor, from Iwan Ries, $250. 
Sterling-silver cigar piercer, $12.50; toble- 
model harn V cutter, $12.50, both fram Alfred 
Dunhill. Sewn-leather humidor with separate 
cigarette campartments, from Iwan Ries, $35. 


of them [are] bestowing three, some 
foure hundred pounds a yeere upon this 
precious stinke, which I am sure might 
be bestowed upon many farre better 
uses.” Since James’ idea of "farre better 
uses" was to turn the money over to the 
crown, no one paid too much attention 

The dictionary definition of "cigar" 
comes within a smoke wisp of the de 
scription Columbus jotted down in his 
journal when he discovered the New 
World and co almost simultane- 
ously. “A roll of tobago wrapped in its 
own leave: the Admiral of the Ocean 
sea wrote after his lieutenant. Rodrigo 
de Jerez reported that he had seen na 
tives of Cuba “drinking smoke" carried 
10 their mouths from firebrands by hol- 
low tubes. The Indians called this tube 
tobago, but the Spaniards thought they 
meant the weed itself, and tobacco has 
been its name ever since. 

Out of the deadly nightshade family, a 
Solanaceae conglomerate that includes 
red peppers, Jimson weed, eggplant, 
Irish potatoes and tomatoes, comes the 
genus Nicotiana. Known botanically as 
Nicotiana tabacum, the specics most 
commonly used for smoking tobacco h 
been scientifically described as “a r 
acrid narcotic herb, viscidly pubescent 
with funnelshaped corollas and two- 
valved seed pods, its stalks and wide- 
spreading leaves covered by soft, downy 
hair"—^which shows how little scientists 
know about art. For the tobacconist's art 
in picking and curing fine leaf is as deli- 
cate as that the most sensitive French 
vintager. Tobacco plants, like grape 
vines, are extremely sensitive to differ- 
ences in soil and climate, which accounts 
for the great number of different varie. 
ties, so stimulating to smokers, found 
all over the world. 

From the time seedlings arc trans- 
planted (continued on page 213) 


THE 
OFFICIAL 


SEX MANUAL 


ИСИ 
e 
® @ @ @ @ @ © @ © @ ® @ @ @ 


" 


0000000 


THE ERRONEOUS ZONES 
IN THE HUMAN MALE 


at last—a no-holds-barred, 
straight-from-the-shoulder, 
pulls-no-punches, 
courageously frank, daringly 
intimate guide to the art 
and techniques of the 
actus supremus 


satire By GERALD SUSSMAN 


INTRODUCTION 


THE ART OF COGINUS goes back a long way 
But until 1946, male and female partners 
had little knowledge of what they were 
doing. Most partners avoided coginus as 
much as possible, insisting they did it 
only in their sleep, while dreaming ог 
thrashing about. They regarded coginus 
as the handiwork of Satan, While this 
may be true, I (са tan has done 
more harm than good. He has spread his 
blanket of ignorance, fcar and guilt over 
the act of coginus and many partners 
blindly cover themselves with it. 

This book is a direct answer to Satan 
and his blanket. It throws off his coverlet 
of ignorance and replaces it with what 
the French call savoir-faire. Now, for the 
first time, you can enjoy the benefits of 
the most complete, definitive manual 
ever written on the art and science of co- 
ginutal techniques, the product of many, 

y ience in the field and 
in oral consultation. It has been written 
in frank, easy-tounderstand language 
and offers you the first really new and 
provocative approach to coginus since 
Von Leml. It tells you everything you 
must know to become an exciting, nay, an 
exquisite coginutal partner. This manual 
has been warmly endorsed by many or- 
ganizations, societies, clubs and study 
groups. 


FOREPLAY: PRELUDE 
TO COGINUS 


Phase One: 
Audio-Visual-Premanipulative 


Foreplay means everything you do to 
your partner before coginus. Foreplay is 
to coginus what the build-up is to the 
punch line of a joke. Many partners 
are completely unaware of foreplay and 
go directly to coginus itself. Of course, 
the laugh is (continued on page 182) 


eS, 


19 @ |i 


\@ 
00 


© 


THE ERRONEOUS ZONES 
IN THE HUMAN FEMALE 


® 
© 


107 


Leopold Doppler and the 
Orpheum Gravy Boat Riot 


nostalgia By SERS SHEPHERD 


climaxing a gala week of star-studded 
attractions —bank night, screeno night, 
amateur night and singalong night — dish 
night in hammond was a state occasion, 
and the milling mob was suitably solemn 


FIVE THOUSAND years from now, when future archae- 
ologists are picking and scraping among the shards 
and midden heaps, attempting to piece together the 
mosaic of the rich, full life led by 20th Century man, 
they will come across many a mystery t 


is impene- 
trable even to those who lived through it. A cracked 
fragment of a Little Orphan Annie Ovaltine Shake- 
Up Mug, a Shirley Temple Cream Pitcher, a heavi 
ly corroded Tom Mix Lucky Horseshoe Ring, an 
incomplete set of Gilbert Roland-Pola Negri simu- 


lated sterling-silver teaspoons with embossed awo- 
graphs—all these and more will undoubtedly be key 
items in a file marked: Inexplicable religious arti- 
facts found in great numbers; no known relation to 
the philosophical currents of the time. But we know 
better, don't we? 


Not long ago, in a shabby diner in New England, 
I sat down on a cold, rainy morning to a bowl of 
soggy Wheaties and found myself suddenly and for 
no reason thinking of Rochelle Hudson. Rochelle 
Hudson! She had not entered my conscious musings 
since the age of eight. The sound of traffic roaring 
by on the Maine Turnpike reminded me that reality 
was only a hundred yards away. As L spooned up 
the cereal that Jack Armstrong ate and Hudson 
High won its football games for, I cast Rochelle 


from my mind. Instantly she was replaced by 
Warner Oland, the original and definitive Charlie 
Chan, He grinned at me from under his homburg, 
enigmatically, and disappeared. There stood Judge 
Hardy, about to have a man-to-man talk with Mick 
ey Rooney. With the thump of a football, roly-poly 
Jack 
block “€ 
locomotive cheer as Tom Brown, his ann in a sling. 
and June Preiser dinging to his jersey, trotted out 
onto the gridiron—Center College six points behind 


їс (wearing a white sweater with a big 


7") picked up his megaphone and started а 


and only four seconds left in the game! "The crowd 
roared, blending with the sound of a huge diesel bel. 


lowing by on its way to Boston. 


I was yanked back 10 the now niomentarily 
plate of toast clanked down next to my сой 
But I couldn't fight it. Without reason or rhyme, the 
film unwound in my subconscious, picking up the 
tempo of the thundering traffic on the Turnpike as 
nes, roared past 


Jimmy Cagney, his Maserati in fl 
the immense grandstands at Indianapolis, the mob 


screaming for blood, (continued on page 120) gg 
g 8 109 


NATURAL WONDER 


october playmate allison parks is a highflying 
San of the active outdoor life 


IN VIEW OF our Government's continuing interest in the physical fitness 
of the nation’s youth, we have elected to submit October Playmate Allison 
Parks as pictorial proof of what frequent doses of sunshine, fresh air and 
physical exercise can do for the shape of future generations. A blue- 
eyed brunette from Glendale, California, 21-year-old Allison spends 
her weekday mornings soaking up the sun's first healthful rays while 
assisting her father in the care and cultivation of his ranch-size floral 
nursery in nearby Sun Valley. Then it's back to her Glendale homestead 
for our opulently endowed October miss, where she conducts an afternoon 
enterprise of her own: teaching preschool-age children to swim in the 
family's big backyard pool. “I almost feel guilty about charging their 
parents for lessons," she told us, "since I get just as much of a kick out of 
spending all that time in the water as the kids do. But 1 know what I'm 
doing is worth while, because any child who can overcome his fear of the 
water before he's six will never panic in a sink-or-swim situation later 
on in life." Besides her daily diet of landscaping and aquatic training, this 
month's classically constructed (3624.36) outdoor miss has recently ex- 
panded her off-hours interests to include flying. Fach weekend, weather 


"When | was asked if I'd like to be a Playmate, 1 figured someone had made 
а mistake," says modest Miss October. Obviously, our figure experts hadn't. 


Below: Allison ond her instructor go through regular preflight check of plane's engine and instruments before stort of her 


Sundoy-oftemoon lesson; then aspiring young aviatrix climbs aboard to test controls and shows with a smile that all is A-OK. 


permitting, Allison joins a local group of fellow aerial enthusiasts 
who call themselves the Sky Roamers and logs in a few more air hours 
toward her private pilots license. "Until I started flying, my big 
dream was to own a hot sports car someday,” reports the attractive 
amateur aviatrix. “Now, I couldn't care less about cars—except as the 
quickest means of getting to and from the airstrip. The moment I 
took over the controls for the first time, I was hooked. "There's some- 
thing almost ethereal about sitting in a cockpit thousands of feet 
above the earth with nothing around to distract you.” 

Despite the fact that she spends most of her waking hours basking 
in the California sunshine, Allison still finds time for an occasional 
indoor interest or two. An accomplished artisan with needle and 
thread (“I've been designing my own clothes ever since high school") 
and an ambitious culinary student (“So far I've managed to master 
only steak and beef Stroganoff—but at least I know there's some hope 
for me”), the perky Miss Parks readily admits that keeping up a 
strong domestic front fits into her long-range plans for meeting and 
marrying a “tall, blond, ambitious and dominant type of man who 
could make me happy to stay at home most of the time.” Meanwhile, 
marriage will have to wait its turn on our comely Playmate's calendar. 
As she puts it, "I'd like to do something exciting and different in my 
life before settling down." Fortunately, Miss October allowed herself 
to be grounded long enough for our alert lensman to capture this 
month's poolside Playmate pose for posterity. 


Left: Our piloting Ploymate wings it for our lensmon just before toke-off. 
“I olwoys try to get this some Beechcraft,” she told us. “It flies itself.” 


Below: Airborne at last, our highflying October miss seems to hove matters well under manual control. “Actually, getting a ship 
off the ground is a breeze,” Allison admitted. “But landing one is a different story. | often feel I'll never be ready to solo.” 


Above: It's mothers’ day at the Parks’ pool (left) and there's not a frightened moppet around as а new member of Allison's 
afternoon swimming school blissfully belly-flops into her outstretched arms. Later (right) teacher explains error of his waves. 


MISS OCTOBER АВТ. "m wT 


Above: "Lock out, below!" is all the 
warning our able-bodied aquanaut 
got from this small ponytailed slider. 
“I should have been furious with her 
for doing that,” Allison confided, "but 
how do you stay mad at a little girl 
who thinks adult words like ‘safety’ 
are all silly?" Right: The day's lesson 
is over; bul one precocious pupil 
manages to get in some overtime. 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY WILLIAM V, FIGGE 


PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES 


Most bachelors prefer girls who believe that 
children should be scen and not had. 


Have you heard about the perverted Aussie 
who left his wife and returned to Sydney? 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines: 


alimony as having an ex-husband you can bank 
on. 


connoisseur as a man who collects old masters 
and young mistresses. 


exolic dancer as a girl who brings home the 
bacon a strip at a time. 


fornication as adultery without benefit of 
clergy. 


gold digger as а gal who believes in sinner 
take all. 


home cooking as the place many a man thinks 
his wife is. 


old-fashioned girl as the one who gets kissed 
good night instead of good morning. 


safety belt as the one you don’t drink before 
driving home. 


Two young French boys were talking about sex 
on their way home from the cinema when the 
younger member of the duo suddenly ex- 
claimed, "As far as I can tell, mon ami, sex is 
just a big pain in the derrière.” 

"Quel dommage!" sighed his older confrere. 
“You're doing it wrong.” 


One nice thing about the battle of the sexes— 
it will never be а cold war. 


When a utility company started moving its 
heavy equipment into the quiet suburban 
neighborhood, the local residents formed a 


Б А 
protest committee and invited the offending: 
firm's 


torney to attend the committee's first 
p. Before the meeting could be called 
however, the attorney decided to 
jtiative and question cach home- 
owner sep: ly. Turning to a pretty widow 
on the committee, the lawyer said: “Now, as 
1 understand it, the utility company is running 
its equipment around the clock, and the noise 
is disturbing your rest.” 


“What rest?" 
spending a night 
you won't get а w 

“Really, madam! 
owner reproachfully. “If you're going to make 
offers like that, you might at least give the 
fellows from your own neighborhood first 
chance.” 


Signore,” the Italian guide announced to his 
American client, “we are now passing the 
most fabulous brothel in all of Rome.” 

“М asked the tourist. 


Before leaving on her honeymoon ocean voy- 
age, the lovely bride made a last-minute stop at 
a nearby drugstore to purchase some necessary 
pharmaceutical provisions, Rushing up to the 

ian behind the prescription counter, the blush- 
g newlywed exclaimed, “I've got to have a 
hundred seasick pills and a three-month supply 
Of birdeconuel pills TR away 

The druggist smiled knowingly, then with a 
note of genuine concern in his voice asked, 
"T know it's none of my business, young lady. 
But if it makes you sick, why do it?" 


Many women could add years to their life if 
they'd just tell the truth about their age. 


Then there was the compulsive gambler who 
drove to Las Vegas, pulled up to a parking me- 
ter, put a dime in—and lost his carl 


Heard a good one lately? Send it on a postcard 
to Party Jokes Editor, eLAvnov, 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. 


8 
а 
- 
Е 
a 
3 


“Eleven o'clock and, oh, 


PLAYEOY 


ler (continued from page 109) 


his oil line broken, his faithful mechanic, 
cHugh, dying of burns in the 
next to him, The checkered flag 
fell as Jimmy. goggles streaming with 
gasoline, a thin ironical smile on his 
lips, swerved old number 13 into the 
pits. And out stepped Alan Hale, rugged, 
silver-haired, beaming, in the full-dress 
uniform of the Royal Canadian Mount- 
ies. With him, riding easy in the saddle, 
was Dick Foran. A string of Malemute 
dogs howled with excitement as they 
headed into the great forest after another 
fugitive from justice. 

With an enormous wrench of will pow- 
er, I struggled to interrupt this ridiculous 
montage of fantasies that continued to 
crowd irresistibly in upon me. I tried to 
concentrate on my road map as I finished 
the Whe: „ but the harder I stared at 
the red lines, the more they seemed to re- 
semble Pat O'Brien in the uniform of a 
Navy chief, barking out orders to Wallace 
Beery. What the hell is thi? І am a 
grown-up, hard-hitting, contemporary 
man, and I have no time for such tran- 
sient, imbecilic ruminations! 

I swished my plastic spoon around the 
bottom of the bowl to scoop up the last 
few spongy flakes, and it was at that in- 
stant that I Anew. It was the bowl itself 
that had caused Rochelle Hudson and the 
others to make their unscheduled guest 
appearance! I stared hard at it. It was а 
bowl of remarkably aggressive ugliness, 
made of a distinctive type of dark-green 
glass, embossed with swollen lumps and 
sworls representing the fruits of the vine 
and the abundance of nature—a bowl 
that had but one meaning. I peered at it 
long and hard. Yes, there was no mistake. 
It was genuine—a mint-condition, vintage 
movie dish-night premium gift bowl. 

1 glanced the length of the lunch 
counter at the proprietor, who lounged 
listlessly next to the coffee urn watching 
the rain fall outside on his gravel drive- 
way. We were alone. I spoke. 

“Excuse me, but what kind of a bowl is 
this?” He looked up. 

"What do you mean, what kind of 
bowl? Glass." 

“Yeah, I know it's glass. But where did 
you get it?” 

“Whattaya mean? Are you an in- 
spector?” 

I never knew there were cerealbowl 
inspectors working the Maine Turnpike. 

“No, it’s just that you don't sce bowls 
like this very often.” He looked back out 
at the rain and I knew that our conversa- 
tion was at an end. 

I stirred my coffee and examined the 
green glass monstrosity lovingly. Faintly I 
heard Myrna Loy's mocking voice twit- 
ting William Powell over the strains of a 
Beatles record in the diner’s kitchen. 

I reflected that in attics and cellars and 


120 kitchen cupboards throughout the length 


and breadth of America, there must be 
uncounted thousands of such renmants, 
bits and es of movie dish-night deluxe 
dinnerware sets, some green glass, many 
blood-red, others a clanging, pearlescent 
orange, but all united universal ugli- 
liness unfeucred, unrestrained 
by effete taste, as direct and uncluttered 
as a Johnny Weissmuller scenario. The 
kind of ugliness so distilled that it shines 
with the golden, radiant light of the pure 
in heart and the simple of mind; ugl: 
so stark and clean that it becomes beauti- 
ful in its clarity. The purveyors of such 
beauty have never had it easy—in this or 
any other age. And Leopold Doppler was 
no exception, 

Leopold Doppler! My God, I even re- 
membered his name. But how could I for- 
get it? I gazed mistily into the depths of 
the glass receptacle in front of me, and 
the images of a fateful night began to 
emerge from the milky film that lined the 
bottom. The night of the Orpheum 
gravy boat riot! Eerily, faintly, the radio 
in the kitchen began to play Artic Shaw's 
Begin the Beguine, and the story slow- 
ly came back to me—in all its Byzantine 
grandeur. 

Mr. Doppler operated the Orpheum 
Theater, a tiny bastion of dreams and 
fantasies in Hammond, Indiana, a flicker- 
ing spark of human aspiration in the 
howling darkness of the great American 
Midwest, where I festered and grew as a 
youth. Even now the name "Orpheum" 
sends tiny shivers of a 
citement up the ventilation pipes of my 
soul. High priest of our celluloid taber- 
nade, Mr. Doppler was a mythological 
figure, rarely seen as a real person. His 
name, however, always stood at the head 
of the program throwaways that landed 
on the porch every Monday afternoon, 
outlining the Orpheun's schedule of mi- 
rages for the following weck. In Roman 
letters surrounded by cherubs blowing 
trumpets and a kind of Egyptian architec 
tural arch festooned with grapes and tiny 
cornucopias and presided over by a pair 
of blurred Greco-Zanuck tragedy-comedy 
masks, would appear the proclamation: 
LEOPOLD DOPPLER PRESENTS. 

This smudgy, dog-eared schedule was 
kept next to every icebox in the coun- 
ty, for ready reference and to settle 
arguments of a theological nature. Mr. 
Doppler was in direct communion. with 
Dennis Morgan and he had a personal 
hand in the affairs of Roy Rogers. Holly- 
wood was a mysterious thing in those 
days, even more so than today, and for 
good reason: It was more mysterious. 
People read Photoplay and Screen Ro- 
mances and other dream journals as 
seriously as today they digest The New 
Republic, Time and The Realist and 
other contemporary almanacs. One time, 
I remember, my Aunt Clara lapped the 
entire field at Christmas by giving my 


grandmother a two-year subscription to 
Real Screen Tales. 

So night after night the faithful would 
gather, bearing sacks of Butterfinger bars 
and salami sandwiches, to huddle togeth 
er in the darkness, cradled in Mr. Dop- 
pler's gum-cncrusted seats, their eyes wide 
with longing and lit with the pure light 
of total belief before the flickering image 
of Ginger Rogers, dressed in a sequin. 
covered gown and swirling endlessly atop 
a piano as wasp-waisted Fred Astaire, 
ivory cane carelessly and spin- 
ning his tall silk hat, sang, in a sque: 
voice, The Cartoca. In the darkness the 
sound of girdles creaking in desire and 
the snapping of Wrigley's Spearmint pro- 
vided a soft but subtle counterpoint to 
Sam Goldwyn’s hissing sound tracks. 

Outside those sacred doors crouched the 
pale gray wolf of reality and the Depres- 
sion. On the skyline, the dark, sullen 
hulks of the steel mills lay silent and 
smokeless, ancient volcanoes that had 
burned themselves out, while the natives 
roamed the empty streets and told won- 
drous tales of a time when the skies had 
been lit by the fires of the steel crucibles, 
when there had been something that had 
occupied them all, called “work.” 


At Saturday matinces the congregation 
consisted entirely of kids. The carved 
Moorish doors of the Orpheum were 
flung wide at ten A.M. to the moiling rab- 
ble who came to spend the entire day— 
and weekend if possible—watching three 
cowboy pictures featuring such lumi- 
naries as Bob Stecle 
galloping endlessly over the back lots of 
dusty Los Angeles real estate, firing 
countless rounds of blank cartridges, the 
sound track turned up to deafening vol 
ume. The thunder of movie horses, the 
screams and grunts of the wounded and 
dying mingled with the unre 
roar at the popcorn machine 
casional outbreak of a fistfight in the 
balcony, and the incessant two-way tr 
up and down the snarled aisles to the 
plumbing facilities. The muffled curses of 
the ushers clubbing the more violent into 
submission provided those of us who were 
there with an accurate forctaste of life to 
come. More than one kid, caught up i 
the inchoate intricacies of a Mono, 
picture cowboy plotline, found h 
torn between answering an urgent call of 
nature or missing the final defeat of the 
treacherous sheep ranchers, It almost in 
variably went one way. Many a kid had 
to skulk damply down back alleys on the 
way home, in total darkness to avoi 
public humiliation, his corduroy 
squishing limply as he crept from 
to garage, from chicken house to chicken 
house, hoping against hope that the 
spanking breeze from the lake would de- 

hydrate him in time. 
Clamped in his seat for nine solid 
hours—till well past seven, or just before 
(continued on page 160) 


јни. LOOKING OVER the men's fash- 
lions that will be setting the styles 
| in the forthcoming fall and winter 
scasons, it became clear we needed some- 
thing really special to show off these 
dramatic examples of the tailor's агі. In- 
of using conventional male models, 
we decided to try to match these sartorial 
stars to their flesh-and-blood counterparts 
in the world of entertainment. Some of 
the brightest stars of show business gra- 
ciously agreed to help us out and, forsak- 
ing their custom-made threads, they went 
to the rack with us while we selected the 
best of the ready-mades that will soon be 
on display. In addition to our tradition- 
al look at future fashions, geuing the 
clothes for them to wear gave us an ex- 
citing glimpse into the new shows and 
sounds coming your way this fall. 
Kirk Douglas was on location in Isracl, 


st 


where he was filming Cast a Giant Shadow 
with Yul Brynner and John Wayne. Steve 
Lawrence was photographed in New 
York, where he was preparing a variety 
series for the new season. In Lisbon, Tony 
anciosa took time olf from his filming 
of A Man Could Get Killed with Melina 
Mercouri to show off some sport stylings. 
We corralled the fast-traveling television 
and movie director John Frankenheimer 
in the studio parking lot, where he was 
racing to catch up with himself between 


assignments. And so it went from Gerry 
Mulligan on his way to Berlin to Gene 
Kellyona Hollywood sound stage, during 
the production of a new musical. Our 
thanks to these and all the other stars who 
so generously stepped into new roles as 
models to bring you our Fall and Winter 
Fushion Forecast 

sums: A clear victory has been scored 
by the sartorial forces of darkness, and 


Our storlit preview gets under моу os three 
of the brightest lights in the movie business 
don Ptaveoy-selected cosvol duds over their 
own working clothes during o rore set break. 
For left: Hollywood’s Iron Man, Kirk Douglos, 
on location in Israel where he was filming 
Cast a Giant Shadow, sporis а Sponish im- 
ported cotton-corduroy jacket with antelope- 
suede collar ond pockets, by Cortefiel, $37.50. 
Left: Producer, director, actor, singer, dancer, 
choreogropher, etc, Gene Kelly, tokes o 
breather on the lot ot 20th Century-Fox, where 
he is working on a new musical based on the 
work of George Gershwin. Kelly strikes o 
cosuol note in on Australian double-knit wool 
cordigon, by Rober! Bruce, $23. Right: Tony 
Froncioso is delighted to relox on the Lisbon 
locotion for A Mon Could Get Killed with 
his Sundey costor Melino Mercouri. Tony 
weors © woollined suede jacket with leother 
trim ond с stand-up collar, by McGregor, $65. 


this season the most successful suitings 
will be showing up in the deepest hues. 
Brown, particularly in the dark charcoal 
shades, shapes up as the probable star of 
this year's color competition. Blue, that 
old school and Sunday stand-by, will be 
making a strong comeback, with the em- 
phasis again on the darker shades. One 
happy piece of fashion strategy we like is 
to choose a dark blue for business wear, 
then balance your suit wardrobe with a 
medium dark gray and a rich deep brown. 
"These are colors that look good on just 
about everyone, Pay close attention to 
the tailoring details of the suits that will 
be appearing this season. "The standard 
of the field remains the center-vent. 
staight-cut model. But any suit can be 
given a dash of Continental elegance by 


switching from this conventional tailor- 
ing style to an English side-vent coat with 
a slight nip in the waist. 

The long, slim one-color business 


Upper left: Broadway's Anthony Newley, au- 
thor and star of The Roar of the Greasepoint, 
runs over some new charts; he’s casually 
clothed in an Italian bulky-knit wool sweater 
with a contrasting ribbed turtleneck insert, by 
Damon of Italy, $33. Lower left: America’s 
pundit laureate, Mort Schl, breaks in a new 
act for one of his old hangouts, Mr. Kelly’s, 
in Chicago, where he opens this month. This 
version of Mort's uniform of the day is a 


V-neck pullover in lamb's wool, by Catalina, 
$14.95, over a cotton oxford buttondown, by 
Eagle, $7. Left: San Francisco's own Tony 
Bennett winds up one of his rare movie ap- 
pearances, in The Oscar, before heading back 
for engagements at the Riviera in Las Veges 
and Harrah’s in іске Tahoe. Tony works over 
an arrangement while wearing a mohair and 
wool links-stitch cardigan, by Lord Jeff, $25, 
topping off belt-loop slacks, by Eagle Clothes, 
$29.50, and cn oxford buttondown, by Wren, 
$6.50. Upper right: Peter, Paul & Mary 
make it unanimous for softly textured ve- 


lovr swecters. At a last-minute waxing be- 
fore heading out on the college circuit, Mary 
wears а man's zip-up turtleneck pullover, by 
Himalaya, $13; Paul likes one with ribbed 
cuffs, by Drummond, $12; and Peter dons a 
blue model with a striped V-neck, by Robert 
Bruce, $10. Far right: John Frankenheimer 
оп the studio lot winding up the shooting of 
Seconds, starring Rock Hudson, and prepar- 
ing c Cinerama blockbuster, Grand Prix. 
Frankenheimer sporis с wide-wale cotton- 


corduroy cor coat, by McGregor, $36, with 
а cotton and flax linen-weave buttondown, 
Ьу Eogle, $8.50, and tapered worsted wool 
trousers, by Paxton, $20. lower right: 
Director Arthur Penn, who just finished The 
Chase, starring Marlon Brando, gets com- 
fortably close to Jane Fonda, Penn is decked 
out in a brushed worsted ond mohair pull- 
over, by Puritan, $17, worn with a cotton 
twill buttondown shirt, by Creighton, $6. 


styles will be supplemented by an abun- 
dance of stripes. These start with the 
standard pins and chalks, then extend to 
include herringbones in a full range of 
widths. A self-suriped suit in one of the 
dark shades, such as the one-button style 
shown by Steve Lawrence in Broadway's 
Shubert Alley, makes a properly formal 
suiting, livened up by a subtle pattern. 
If you are expanding your wardrobe to 
include a plaid, then don't be namby- 
pamby about it. The plaid suit is at its 
best when it's distinctly patterned, pref 
erably with a strong overplaid. Gene 
Barry donned one for us during a break 
in shooting a segment of his upcoming 
ТУ spy series to show how that particu- 
lar style comes off best. 

"The term "country suit" originally 
meant just what it says—a casual, tweedy 
model to wear on rustic weekends. In 
rugged tweeds, whipcords, corduroys, 
hopsacks, basket weaves and cavalry 
twills, these suits will now be turning up 


Far left: Steve Lawrence, who will be starring 
in his own TV variety show this season, pauses 
along Broadway’s Shubert Alley. This smooth 
stylist is in a self-striped side-vent suit, by 
Eagle, $95, set off with a cotton broadcloth 
shirt, by Van Heusen, $5, and о silk fie, by 
Resilio, $2.50. Upper left: Playboy All-Star 
baritone saxophonist Gerry Mulligan, center, 
stops by the recording studio before flying to 
Germony for o concert in West Berlin. The 
maestro sports a wool hopsack blazer, by 
Cricketeer, $50, over a white cotton oxford 
shirt, by Golden Vee, $4, ond rep striped tie, 
by Wembley, $2.50. Flonking Gerry are jozz 
drummer Dave Bailey, left, in on imported 
Scottish herringbone sports jacket, by Club- 
man, $45, worn with a cotton oxford button- 
down, by Eagle Shirtmokers, $6.50, and 
а foulord tie, by Seidler, $5, and right, com- 
poser/guitarist Luiz Bonfó, who takes his 
coffee break in a blue-heother three-button 
jocket, by Cricketer, $45, finished off with o 
cotton broadcloth shirt, by Truval, $4, and an 
imported silk tie, by Corter ond Holmes, 
$3.50. Lower left: The jet set's personol Pied 
Piper, Trini Lopez, is cought between an ap- 
parently endless series of personol and TV 
guest oppearonces. During a rehearsal Т! 

is brightly bold in a ploid center-vent jocket 
with a red overplaid, $50, ond coordinated 
extension-waistband slacks, $25, both by PBM. 
His outfit is completed with o cotton broad- 
cloth shirt, by Van Heusen, $5, and o silk tie, 
by Vega de Modrid, $3.50. Right: Gene Borry 
mokes the switch without a fight from just 
ploin detective Amos Burke to Amos Burke, 
Secret Agent for his new TV series on ABC this 
season. In front of his Rolls-Royce trodemark, 
Borry goes over script in glen-plaid two- 
button suit, by Worsted Tex, $90, with a cot- 
ton broadcloth shirt, by Sero of New Hoven, 
$7.50, and a knit tie, by Wembley, $2.50. 


for use at the office. 

SPORTS coats: Traditionally, the fash- 
ion direction of jackets has been charted 
by the fabrics. The lead among the 
tweed varieties this year will be taken by 
the country hopsacks, rough Shetlands 
and cheviots. 

In patterned jackets, the big-plaid and 
bold-check models, like the one we put 
on busy music man Trini Lopez, look 
like leaders for this year. The spring and 
summer momentum of solid-color sports 
jackets should carry through into the 
autumnal season, and many models will 
be available. But the trend to bright pat- 
terns for the cool weather is clear. One 
of the most exciting new fabrics we scc 
coming on strong is a Shetland weave in 

ntrasting thick- and thinknit pat- 
tern, Taking their cue from formal suit- 
ings, sports jackets will offer a large 
assortment of browns this year. ‘The best 
shades are the darker ones combined 
with contrasting hues of black, tan, 


green and maroon 


"The brass-button blazer is now a stand- 
ard for everyone from 2 collegiate up to 
the chairman of the board. Its popularity 


continues to climb, with hopsacks taking 
the lead. Playboy All-Star saxophonist 
erry Mulligan tried on a double-breasted 
model for us and looked every inch the 
sporting dubman. Burgundy-black as а 
blazer color is very new. Another shade 
we like is a soft, medium French blue. 
Some of the more jazzy jackets and 
blarers arc offering triple railroad stitch 
ing around the lapels and coat front. 
Both the single- and double-breasted 
blazers are beginning to move toward 
the shaped silhouette. The separate jack- 
et is the best way to introduce yourself 
to the sophistication of the shaped ward- 
robe. It's the nearest thing to a true 
custom-tailored (continued on page 118) 


Left: Two-time Academy Award winner and 
leader of the Playboy All-Star Jazz Band, 
Henry Mancini, hurries to keep up with his 
busy schedule. The music man here is decked 
out іп a warming checked wool short-length 
topcoat with split-raglan sleeves, by Batany 
500, $70. He completes his outfit with a 
center-crease felt hat, by Knox, $20, a thin- 
line cotton broadcloth shirt, by Eagle Shirt- 
makers, $6.50, and a braadstriped silk tie, 
by Wembley, $2.50. Right: That other man 
from U.N.C.L.E., David McCollum, hos every- 
thing а secret agent needs to get ahead: o 
special atomizer pistol, a book on how to spy 
for fun and profit, and comely actress Jill Ire- 
land. Insuring his success with Jill: a mohair 
and worsted formol suit with satin collar and 
19, $125, o pleated evening shirt, $B, а 
and cummerbund set, $10, all by After Six. 


vote for your favorites 
Sor the tenth playboy 
all-star jazz band 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY JON POWNALL 


“Oh, that’s Dr. Smithly, the noted dermatologist.” 


135 


ramia oy WHE BUNNI 


ES OF MIAMI 


ON TUESDAY NIGHT, May 9, 1961, to the as 
tonishment of Miami's big-hotel owners, some 
9500 Floridians with Rabbit-escutcheoned 
keys in their pockets and Southern belles on 
their arms queued up eight abreast along a 
two-block section of U 
to Miamians as Biscayne Boulevard. It was 
first night at the second Playboy Club, and 
though the Club had filled its 300-person ca- 
pacity faster than you can say jack rabbit, 
more than a thousand of the boulevard 
and their ladies in waiting somehow found 
room at the hutch that night 

ncouraging as the tremendous turnout 
was, it did not exactly take our executives 
by surprise. For almost a year before the 
big night it seemed impossible to pick up 
a Miami, Fort Lauderdale, even an Orlando 
newspaper without finding an itcm, and us- 
ually an article, about the forthcoming Bis 
cayne hutch. With the opening of the premier 
Chicago Club on leap-year night, February 
29, 1960, the Bunny had leaped, not hopped, 
to international fame. "Out of a silk e: 
said Herb Rau, columnist for The Miami 
News, “Hugh Hefner is making himself 
quite a purse." 

Though the press at large shared Mr. Rau's 
properly playful perspective, that small. high- 
ly vocal minority who can be counted on to 
view with alarm whatever has charm, came 
through with sinister warnings. Typical was 
a syndicated (texi continued on page 145) 


S. Highway 1—known 


"Га feel like a fish out of water anywhere but in Miami," says Jackie Brown, who hops over to the Seaquarium every chance 


she gets, to feed the porpoises. Trenton's prettiest emissary, Jackie hos been a Florida Bunny for four years, has her sights set 


on becoming a Bunny Mother. Setting sights on her on high, our camera catches Jackie in a rare moment of suspended animation. 


a gracious goodness of biscayne boulevard’s curvaceous cottontails 


A blend of Scottish and Irish comeliness, aged to perfection for 24 years in Canton, Ohio, bonnie Bonnie Norris is one of the 
Miami Club's newest additions. Bonnie become a Bunny offer o stint as о dancer in both Guys ond Dolls and Pajama Game. 
Though she was pretty good in pajamas, she's obviously sensational out of them. Her pet peeve: narrow-minded people. 137 


med — — چ‎ 


—— 


138 


Above, Laura Huston courts admiring glances. Right, one of the best- 
stacked editions in the Miami Club's well-stocked Library—Pat Russo. 


The net effect (left) of Laura Huston may win 
more games than her skill with the racket. 
A dancer from Tennessee, Laura waltzed her 
way into leading roles on the straw-hat cir- 

it, then became a Bunny (above) because 
“it's the biggest hit in showbiz.” Top right, 
Barbara Ager curvaceously complements a 
Corvette. On her days off, Barbara is off to 
sports-car rollies, ond on vacations likes to 
fly to Acapulco for the bullfights. Pat Russo 
(below) is a stay-at-home hutch honey. "My 
favorite way to travel is by horseback,” she 
says. “I may not get very far, but | don't care 
about that, because | love it here in Miami." 
Connecticut-bred and Florida-buttered to a 
golden tan, beautiful Miss Russo will be ovail- 
able for further viewing when she gatefolds 
оз our Playmate in next month's PLAYBOY. 


Following her public debut at age 18 as 
PLAYBOY's Miss December 1958, Joyce Nizzari, 
far left, was besieged with you-ought-to-be- 
in-pictures offers and has since then juggled 
Bunnydom and on acting career with equal 
and unequaled skill—appearing with Sinatro 
in A Hole in the Head, with Tony Curtis in 
The Great Race, and on TV's Burke's Law and 
The Man from U.N.C.LE. Another cottontoil 
with credits galore, model-8unny Brenda Sa- 
kobie (left and below) has been Miss Jaycee 
Queen, Miss Citrus Queen ond Miss Florida 
Sunshine—'"my favorite reign," says Brenda, 
"if you'll pardon the pun." From Paris comes 
Christy Bertrond, above and right, who is 
equipped with a degree in philosophy from 
the Sorbonne, and rates a Ph. D. in physiology. 
The girl with an orm on the guitar and a seat 
on the stereo is Dianne Tucker from Dallas, 
who, when she isn't singing it or being it, 
writes poetry. Who else but a poet would 
list her likes as the ocean, grain elevators, 
expensive clothes, olives and April showers? 


Little (not quite five feet, two) Dianne Tucker doesn't sing for her supper, 
but she'd like to. Like her idol Bobbie Dylan, she writes what she plays. 141 


Joani Medina perches (top) and comes 


142 (center). Above, Elaine Reynolds garni 


Both of the golden girls gracing this page ore hereto- 
fore Hoosiers—Bobbie Galletta, above, coming from 
Evonsville, ond Noncilee Furnish, below, from Madi- 
son. Besides their hereditary ond environmental resem- 
blances, Bobbie and Nancilee discovered, when they 
met in Miami, that they're both ardent antique collec- 
tors. But while Bobbie goes ontiquing strictly with an 
eye to prettifying her oportment, Nancilee turns o 
scholarly eye on the presence of things past as she 
moonlights at night school toword о bachelor’s de- 
gree in art history. In the lively arts department, 
there's no one livelier than Jooni Medino (far left, 
top ond center)—on all-round outdoor sportsgirl who 
is, by nature, a. winner. Shown coming out on top 
{near left, ot nearly 40”) is Ploymate-Bunny Elaine 
Reynolds. Elaine grew upward ond outward in Jersey 
City, New Jersey, and is on avid tennis player wha 
in this shot covers the backcourt wisely ond well. 


; 


An adorable daily double in black tie and white tails, wearing black 
satins, Diana Balough (left) and Linda Gail Gainer (right) o! their 
144 post positions at 11:30 A.M., as the Sunshine State hutch swings open. 


The beautiful abutment an the palm to your left is 
Diona Bolough—ot home, mistress to five Ger- 
mon shepherds: "a mother and a father and three 
babies." Diona herself came into the world 22 years 
ago a hop, skip and o jump from the spot where 
she's standing. Sunnie Muhlke, above, is a long way 
from home. A University of Z grad, Sunnie ad- 
mils her best subject was skiing. "Arriving in Miami, 
1 figured switching from snow- to water-skis would 
be easy, but one lesson proved me all wet." An- 
other water Bunny is Linda Gail Gainer, below, 
who likes to get into the swim from the high board. 
Her best dive—the half gainer, of course. The lus- 
cious sight to the right is Sally Duberson (PLAY&O: 

Miss January 1965). A liberal-arts major ot the Uni- 
versity of Miami, Sally appropriately makes one of the 
most liberal and artful contributions to this pictorial. 


column by Russell Kirk bearing the headline “BUN 
NY EARS ARE SYMPTOMS OF A SICK SOCIETY 
prompting one reader to inquire where he could 
get the whole disease. Predictably, the ban-the 
Bunny intentions of the fractious fringe back 
fired, stimulating the ion 
Key applications) of Sunshine Staters. 

May in Miami is hardly the merry, merry month 
Rather, it’s sort of meantime before the summer 
time season really gets rolling—certainly not, mused 
local touristwise entrepreneurs, the best time to 
open a swimming pool, much less a swinging club, 
with a splash. But, as Fort Lauderdale's Ray Bari 
D 1, original n ger of the Miami Club and cur 
rently regional manager of Playboy International's 
Southern states operation, explained the delay of 
the originally planned New (continued on page 2. 


icipations (not 10 m 


ЕДА 


“Yes, madam, 
I'm sure he's 
in the bath.” 


Ribald Cla 


ыс Lotus blossoms 


from a 16th Century Chinese legend 


MOTHER CHANG, one of the Sung dynasty's 
wiliest matchmakers, kowtowed at the fect of 
her rich and handsome patron, Li King. “O 
noble sire.” said she. “By the great Buddha, I 
pledge that T can bring you to bed with lovely 
Lotus Petal. And you need only place one 
hundred gold pieces in my teakettle. 

“Despicable woman,” replied the noble 
man, “for one hundred pieces I can romp a 
fortnight with all the denizens of a house of 
joy. Yet," he continued, “I am intrigued by 
your description of this nubile lass. She has 
never left her stringent father's side, except to 
learn sewing at your hand, so say you 
Yes, o lord and master.” 

“And even though she is of noble lineage, 
she has not been youchsifed to receive young 
gentlemen paying court?” 

Indeed, your Lordship. She is as innocent 

in the ways of love as a babe in swaddling.” 
The old woman bowed low once again, th 
whined, “Only one hundred gold pieces, mag- 
nificent sir. A mere pittance for one so great 
you.” 
You know well I can afford the price, you 
lowly trull, but I have been disillusioned once 
too often by your unkept promises. Will she 
not, like all the rest, wish to wed me when she 
learns of my exalted station? And then, when 
further informed that already I am wed, will 
she not, if indeed a lady, run to the arms of 
her father? Bah, foolish goat, this will be an 
other affair no longer than the emperor's 
beard. TIL have none of it 

The old woman replied, "I humbly beseech 
the forbearance of one so highborn for one so 
worthless as I, honored master, but hear me 
please. You are, like me, of sporting nature. 
Ш I can induce this winsome miss to lie by 
your side for no more than one turn of the 
moon, 1 receive nothing. But if you have her 
as you will, one hundred. pieces.” 

The nobleman reflected on Mother 
Chang's description of Lotus Petal's dump- 
linglike bottom and ripe-persimmon breasts. 
“You have something nestling up your sleeve," 
he said at length. “Very well, agreed. 

As soon as Li King left, Mother Chang in- 
vited Lotus Petal co assist her in weaving а 
shawl. The two women worked for two and 
one half days, with Mother Chang incessantly 
chattering about her former loves—slyly mix- 
ing the exotic with the erotic—in hopes of 
stirring the girl's burgeoning yens. On the af- 
ternoon of the third day, Li King arrived as 


prearranged. He sat close by Lotus Petal, the 
bener. he said, to admire her delicate finger- 
work. The girl, soon flushing to her toc Ups, 
welcomed the setting sun and protested that 
she must leave. Mother Chang, however, im- 
ploring Lotus Petal's assistance for yet anoth- 
cr hour, persuaded her to stay for dinner. As 
the three of them supped, the shy girl's 
tongue became looser and, after the third 
goblet of wine, she began to prattle familiarly 
about painting. chess and cards. Mother 
Chang, perceiving the time to be propitious. 
cackled that more wine was needed and 
bounded out the door before the young girl 
could demur at being left alone with the gen- 
leman. Li King sat closer to her and paid 
homage in languid, Howcry phrases. As the 
wine continued to stimulate her senses, he 
moved closer still, until, quite by accident, his 
sleeve knocked a chopstick to the floor. As it 
rolled under Lotus Petal’s foot, Li King 
reached for it, but grasped instead her deli- 
cate ankl 
Oh. no." she whimpered breathlessly. 

But soon he touched her knee; and then 
her thigh, as the whimpering grew less and 
less distinct. 

“Oh, gracious lady," he whispered, "it 
would be bliss even 10 die at your hands—al- 
though that is not what I have in mind at the 
moment.” 

So saying. he lifted her and laid her down 
on Mother Chang's bed. Now, sharing a pil- 
low, they also shared a bliss as venerable as 
the ages of man 

When they had completed their joust, Li 
King murmured to himself, “Alas, she is beau 
tiful, but she will be fickle like the others. 

His thoughts were interrupted by а loud 
daner at the door. Mother Chang came 
charging in, squawking like an irate duct 


"How now," she quacked, “I asked you her 
to go a-sewing, Lotus Petal, not a-whoring 


1 wonder what. your father will say! 

Dh, no, kind mother,” exclaimed the gir! 
"He will hang me from the rafters by my toe 
nails. 

Mother Chang smiled «табу. “The great 
sage Confucius tells us. "Го evoke respect. one 
must respect.’ So hear me now: ] will respect 
your secret if you will respect my wish. which 
is that you shall meet the noble Li at my 
quarters whenever he so desires. You may tell 
your faher you are assisting me. And indeed 
you are." 


—Adapted by Anatole Lamont E} 147 


н 
е 
д 
» 
ч 
ы 
А 


м8 ones to watch. Cable stitching 


FASHION FORECAST (continued from page 128) 


look that the ready-to-wear designers 
have come up with in years, We recom- 
mend it highly. 

Don't overlook the ultrasoft sport 
styles coming out this year. One of the 
leaders in this field will be a sueded 
jacket with leather pockets and a stand- 
up collar like the one we put on Tony 
Franciosa in Lisbon. For taking your ease, 
"s hard to beat some of the combination 
corduroy and antelope-suede jackets com- 
ing in from Spain. Check the picture of 
Kirk Douglas to see how this casually 
comfortable style works oui 

The evergrowing popularity of slack 
and jacket coordinate outfits is well 


founded, and we predict they will be- 


come increasingly important in the ycars 
to come, The major mills and. designers 
have generally done an excellent job in 
coordinating jackets and slacks with 2 
sense of high style. 

stacks: Trousers with a county flair 
will be the big direction this season. 
Look for solid fashion in hopsacks, cor- 
duroys, flannels, twills and oxford-weave 
worsteds. Happily, the iridescent mode's, 
which we never liked very much anyway, 
are fading fast. Following the lead of the 
sportsjacket_ materials, the move is to 
solter slack fabrics. 

Beltloop slacks look as if they are 
going to make a big comeback. We f 
see strong interest in durable permanent 
pressed trouser stylings. The process has 
been refined and now works effectively 
without that sewn-in look you used to 
see more on children’s cloth 

Corduroy, from the widest to the thin- 
nest of wales, is going to be one of the 
hottest slack fabrics around. Both domes- 
nd imported corduroys should be 
ly available. They will range from 

ns in hues of тиен, 
buckwheat and bronze to bright grcens 
and blucs. 

Dress slacks are going to show up on 
the darker side. Charcoal gray is still big, 
but we predict that the deep-blue shades 
will come on strong because they go so 
well with the new sports-coat colors. 

SWEATERS: Simplicity in styling, which 
is the essence of good fashion, shapes up 


luxurious 


s the leading sweater story for the 
coming season. The V-neck pullover is 
still the standard of the field. These 


work out best in а lamb's wool, like the 
one Mort Sahl modeled for us, or in a 
brushed mohair, like the one director 
Arthur Penn donned for us. The classic 
cardigan never loses its appeal, and two 
masters of casual dress, Gene Kelly and 
Tony Bennet, showed us why. Broad- 
ways Anthony Newley modeled for us 
in one of the relatively few good bulky 
sweaters to be seen this year. In these 
thick styles, European imports are the 
both 


flat and brushed knits will range in size 


from the miniature to the mammoth, 
such unusual applications as diamond 
shapes and huge crisscross pattern: 
There will also be a number of dramatic 
new patterns, ranging from Argyles and 
sharp zigzags to gigantic fullswcater 
geometric designs. 

You will do well to pay attention to 
the competition stripes that have been 
adapted form beach fashions. These are 
colorful single or double racing stripes 
that streak across the chest and biceps or 
sometimes take a dramatic bias course 
across the front. Checking in from Europe 
are some suede-front models, particularly 
cardigans and pullovers with multicolored 
panels, perforated designs and sewnon 
knit cables; Another Continental touch 
is the layered-look combination of a V- 
neck sweater with an attached rurdent 
dickey, which is showing up again this 
year making good cold-weather fashion 
sense, A navy sweater with white or yel- 
low dickey is one of our favorites. Ther 
are so ma velour sweater models in 
view that we had to shoot all three 
members of the Peter, Paul & Mary t 
just to begin to show them to you. 

DRESS SHIRTS: The strangle hold of the 
buttondown collar over all other shirt 
stylings is gradually being loosened. 
More and more in the coming season 
you will sce spreads and tabs take over, 
particularly for business and more for- 
mal wear. The buttondown is still the 
nonpareil for sports clothes and for the 
more casual spring and summer suitings, 
but very often it doesn't come off with 
the clegantly sophisticated suitings you 
will be seeing this fall, Colors for the 
business dress shirts have not changed 
much. White, as always, is the dominant 
choice, but we foresee an almost. endless 
mber of swipes available. The best 
stripe colors are among the blue, tam, 
brown and black shades. One of the 
newest stripe ideas will be to show much 
more ground, with the stipes running 
up to an inch apart. Be on the lookout 
for new emphasis on multicolor stripes 
featuring as many as four shades. 

The solid colors are going to move 
ahead strongly this fall. Our vote goes to 
the blues, yellows and the variety of tans 
ranging from cream to dark bone. 

SPORT SHIRTS: Here, the buttondown 
is sull king, with the longer 3" to 314” 
collar version becoming more and more 
important. Some shirtmakers are going 
to add a flap on the pocket. Rugged 
country shirts designed to be worn either 
in or out should make a big splash. Many 
of these styles are beefy enough to be 
worn outdoors without a jacket. As we 
predicted last year, the shirt jacs will be 
coming out in heavier fabrics for fall 
pleasure. Corduroy jacs ought to be 
ticularly prominent. 


OUTERWEAR: There is more freshness, 
originality and solid design talent in the 
smart new topcoats than we have seen in 
a long time. Our favorite is a tailored, 
semifitted topcoat which makes the per- 
fect choice to complement the new 
shaped suits so much in evidence. Avail- 
able in understated worsteds, sharkskins 
and blends, these coats lend an air of so- 
phistication to any suit you wear. 

This looks like the year when the call 
of the open range is heard throughout 
the land. Spliccowhide jackets with 
either snap or button fronts look to be 
big favorites. They should be showing up 
in rough leather, cotton suede and cordu. 
roy and usually with synthetic-pile lin- 

ngs and collars. Big fabric stadium and 
car coats in combinations of corduroy or 
wool, with pile or shcarling on the in- 
side, ought to come on strong with the 
sport set. A lightgreen, wide-wale-cordu 
roy carcoat style we put on John Frank. 
uheimer was onc of the best we saw. 
Many will feature attached hoods and 
the oversized "book" pockets favored by 
the collegians. Short topcoats in a small 
check will be another popu choice. 
Composer Henry Mancini showed us the 
way with this styling in an olive-and-blue 
model with a split raglan sleeve. 

The fact that James Bond never wore 
а trench coat doesn't seem to faze any- 
one. The trencher looks de rigueur for 
his kind of work, and its styling touches 
arc going to be seen everywhere this sea- 
son. Many otherwise standard co: 
coming out with belts, flaps, epaulets and 
rings. 

For dressicr outerwear that stays casu- 
al, the British warmers are the best of 
the lot. Raincoats are also taking on an 
international flavor this fall. The pri 
mary influences are the wencher and the 
military coat, but the variety should be 
endless—single- and double-breasted, cut 
full or rimmed, long or short, with frills 
or without, solid or patterned, in tradi- 
tional tans, dress-up black or new- 
fashioned blues or bronzes. 

We're glad to report that there are 
some really top-quality reversibles on the 
i аг. One of the best a 
corduroy with a trench 
influenced raglan, reversing to cotton 
twill with oversize flap pockets and a full 
belt. 

vies: The major influence is still the 
traditional stripe, but ove 
and challis are going to be a big part of 
the scene. The bold paisle ight 
grounds that made it big this spring and 
summer are coming back for the fall in 
heftier textures. One of these can be a 
dramatic addition to your darker-toned 
suits. 

Jewerry: With interest turni 
shirt culfs and. dress shirts, vou should 
pay more attention to your cult l 
Linen should be shown at the сий, 

(concluded on page 188) 


are 


LOSFINSEER 


time was running out for israel bond, secret agent oy oy sewen—he had trailed his quarry 
from the hebrew himalayas to the red sea, tumbled the beauteous poontang plenty, 
thwarted a treacherous plot to destroy his homeland, but now no power on earth could save him 


parody By SOL. WEINSTEIN 


wor! wor! 

Two silencer-muffied shots slammed into the headboard 
of the bed upon which Israel Bond was making love to the 
ntal girl whose body, insouciandy straddled, 
h ager thighs. 

Even as he hurtled his body into a protective dive off 
the rumpled sheets into the corner of the room, upsetting 
a lamp, Bond's trained е actively identified the 
weapon bent upon destro: the characteristic sound 
indicated, of course, an lta ke gun, probably an 
Olivcui. Wiclded by a very inept assassin, thank God? 

Or so he thought. until—wop!—a third shot seared his 
ht shoulder. He lay helpless in the corner of Room 1818 
iami Beach's prestigious Palmetto Roach Hotel, pant- 
ing, a hot streamlet of blood coursing from his grazed shoul- 
der into the dank, matted hairs of his chest, reddening the 
golden chain of his mezuzah, the cylindrical symbol of his 
faith. The la «а loose by his dive, landed atop 
his head. I mu: wht bitterly, а 
look of res 
visage as he 
end his lif 
two existences—one the 
man about town ("Israel Bon 
Loads of fun at any party 
and the action are . . <”). 
of a clandestine coteri 
democracy of Isracl. 


knows where the broads 
¢1 Bond, prized member 
the Secret Service of the tiny 


In that service he was known as Oy Oy Seven, a status 


holder licensed to kill, but he w 
a memorial service over the victim. Bond thought of M, 
the head of the Secret Service, the only person to whom he 
had ever given his total lo M. who had be- 
stowed the Oy Oy rank upon him. But now, Bond reflected 
he gazed into the menacing O of the Olivetti, the ow 
complexioned. wiry Levantine type in the bellhop's wni- 
form who held it had that license to kill. And he would 


corner of а glazed eye, Bond caught the girl's 
асе. No longer was it the sweetly obedient face of the 
lissome Oriental Bond had picked up a few hours ago. Its 
lips now were curled into a contemptuous sneer. 

Of course! She was part of the cabal. He'd been had. 
As if she'd overheard his rucful thought, she responded 
with an insolent, i € his тіше Oriental 


How different she had been 
Miami Beach Auditorium where Bond 
fellow bon vi mour Feig, pres 
World Wow. 


gone with a 
agent for the Miss 


She spotted you at the Boom Boom 
1 wants to meet you. I think you 
got a little action there. 

So they had met. “My 


ame is 


(continued on page 188) 


149 


oysters BK” in season 


from chincoteague to the shores of ireland to the great barrier reef, this bountiful bivalve isthe pearl of the sea 
fod By THOMAS MARIO 1n a wort where the supply of quality caviar is slowly 


dwindling; where truffles are becoming more and more scarce; where the diminishing lobster is fetching a king's ran- 
som, we are indeed happy to report that the oyster, one of nature’s most succulent bounties, is on the increase. Only 
two years ago oyster prophets of gloom were mourning the loss of the disappearing mollusks as the annual crop 
grew smaller and smaller. Oyster [amines aren't new. Although man is the biggest of all the oyster's predators, until 
recently he has been by no means the smartest nor the most persevering. Historically it has been the subforms of sea 
life, particularly the starfish, the drill and the sponge, that managed to get to their oysters before man. Even birds, 
such as the oyster catcher, have always been able to fly circles around oystermen. Eschewing complicated gear, they 
merely waited for the low tide to expose the oyster beds and then swooped down for their fresh oyster cocktail. In 
Africa, hungry chimpanzees completely ignore the caveat of the R-less months and have been known to make pil- 
grimages hundreds of miles for a fresh shore dinner. Thanks to new oyster-farming techniques in this country, man 
is able to protect oysters from those low lifes and keep the tasty little fellows for himself. The catch last year was 
hiked to something like a whopping 2,000,000 pounds. This year oyster prospects are even brighter, 

The mounting oyster crop is bound to please the world of aphrodisia, That oysters have the power to gen- 
erate and regenerate male sexual desire is an article of absolute faith so venerable and so widespread that if 
doctors at the Mayo Clinic officially declared the oyster to be an efficacious aphrodisiac, the announcement would 


not cause much more than a ho-hum. The prodigal powers of oysters have been commonly accepted since Caesar’s 
legions sampled their first British bivalves. Before he burned out, the most licentious gormandizer of all times, Ro- 
man Emperor Vitellius, was said to have caten 1000 oysters at one sitting or, to be exact, at one reclining. It just 
wasn't a real orgy without a few platters of oysters. No less a scholar than Voltaire went on record testifying that spiced 
oysters were celebrated for their contributions to fecundity. Later, Byron sang of the beautiful bivalve as the amatory 
food of Don Juan. There were always skeptics who would have their evidence from the lab rather than the 
boudoir. Such cynics could be referred to physicians who for generations had prescribed phosphorus com- 
pounds from their professional list of materia aphrodisia. Oysters, as everyone knew, were notable for their phos- 
phorus content. Too much of it, taken straight, could conceivably kill a man, but oysters could only make one 
writers had described the positive effects of drinking sea water because of its 


more alive. For centuries me 
phosphorous content. A grown-up oyster guzzles up no less than 160 quarts of sca water a day. Eating oysters was, 
by far, the most pleasant way of getting one’s regular dose. For centuries many pious Frenchmen chronically found 
themselves in a real oyster stew: Oysters couldn't be excluded from the fish and seafood recommended in place 
of meat during days of penance. And yet, from all available evidence at the time, oysters, somehow or other, seemed 
to inflame the very passions the meatless diet was supposed to suppress. When you serve oysters today, you appeal 
to what Brillat-Savarin called the sens génésique, a sixth sense that draws the sexes together and depends on all the 
other senses for its power, but particularly on mature taste buds. For the glory of the oyster lies in the subtle deli- 
cacy of its flavor which, alas, often is lost on the neophyte but is a delight to the experienced wencherman. 

There are two cults among men who've reached their oysterhood: the raw school, which looks on cooking an 
oyster as a foul desecration of natural flavor, like baking a watermelon; and the partisans of cooked oysters, who 
find taking them raw a bit barbaric for their tastes. The true aficionado eats them any way he can, from raw oys- 
ters scooped from the submerged barks of mangrove trees in Southern waters to baked oysters casino served on pol- 


ished silver platters. The scales were once heavily weighted in favor of the raw school, since the simple oyster on 


the half shell, with its suave, salty deep-sea tang, its protean texture both tender and chewable, was the most per- 
sui 
drops of lemon juice or freshly ground pepper are sprayed on the oysters, you ca 
They look upon cocktail sauce with а м 
ter, but when you drown a raw oyster headfirst in a maelstrom of catsup, chili sauce, horseradish and Tabasco, you're 
no longer dining on oysters, but gluttonizing on cocktail sauce and using the precious mollusk to do your swabbing. 

If you are going to cook your oyster, the first thing to remember is that its delicate flavor must be caressed, not 
bullied. When oysters go into a stew or a sauce, they must be escorted with spices that are titillating without being 
inflammatory. Never upstage the oyster's delicate salt-water savor. One of the delightful things about most smoked 
oysters is that the flavor of the smoke, which can be wanton and acrid in other foods, (continued оп page 220) 


sive kind of evidence one could possibly offer. Old-line oystermen want their half shells so [resh that when a few 
see a visible reflex action. 


ry eye: It's all right if it’s used as a modest dip on the corner of a raw oys- 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY J. EARRY O'ROURKE 


152 


you were ordered to do, mister, or you'll 
take the consequences. 

Jones shouted at him, “Consequences? 
What consequences? You couldn't even 
have me fired, because I can make a damn 
good case that you prevented me from 
finishing the job. I'm not under your or- 
ders either. This seems a good time to re- 
id you of the forgotten tradition that 
he took hold of the narrow. 

jacket—"I outrank 
iform in this whole entire Penta 
He caught the swift smile of the 
civilian, and therefore wained his next 
blast on him. “Consequences? The only 
consequence you can get now is to deny 
yourself and your country the answer to 
your question. The only conclusion I can 
come to is that something else is more im- 
portant to you than that. What else?” He 
stood up. So the officers. 

From his ch: the civilian said sono- 
rously, "Now, now . . . gentlemen. Surely 
we can resolve this problem without rais- 
ing our voices. Mr. Jones, would the pos 
session of two of these questions help you 
in your diagnosis? Or even опе?” 

Breathing hard, Jones said, “It might. 

The civilian opened his long white 
nds. "Then there's no problem after 

ll. If one of you gentlemen——" 

"Absolutely not,” said the 

istantly. 

"Not me," growled the colonel. "You 
want compromise, don't you? Well, go 
ahead—you compromise.” 

"In this area," said the c 
ly, "I possess all the 
considered. judgment that the disclosure 
of my question would not further Mr. 
Jones’ endeavors.” (Jones thought, the 
dmiral said the same thing in two 
words.) "Admiral, would you submit to 
my judgment the question of whether or 
not security would be endangered by 
your showing Mr. Jones your question?” 

“I would not." 

The civilian turned to the colonel. 
One look at that rockbound counte- 
nance was sufficient to make him turn 
away again, which, thought Jones, puts 
the colonel two points ahead of the ad- 
miral in the word-economy business. 

Jones said to the civilian, "No use, sir, 
and by my lights, that's the end of it. The 
simplest possible way to say it is that you 
gentlemen have the only tools in exist- 
ence that would make it possible for me 
10 repair this gadget, and you won't let 
me have them. So fix it yourself, or leave 
it the way it is. I'd sce you out,” he added, 
Is of the tiny room, "but 

john.” He stalked out, 
mind having vividly and permanently 
photographed the astonishment on the 
admiral's usually composed features, the 
colonel’s face fury twisted into something 
like the knot that binds the lashes of a 
an grinning broadly. 
пу? 


h; 


admiral 


Grinning broa 


in (continued from page 102) 


Ah well, he thought, slamming the 
men’s-room door behind him—and infuri- 
atingly, it wouldn't slam—Ah well, we all 
have our way of showing frustration. 
Maybe I could've been just as mad more 
gently. 

The door moved, and someone ranged 
alongside at the next vertical bathtu 
Jones glanced, and then said aloud, 

Maybe I could've been just as mad 
more gently." 
"Perhaps we all could have," said the 
vilian, and the h his free nd he 
did four surprising things in extremely 
rapid succession. He put his finger to his 
lips, then his hand to the wall and then 
to his car. Finally he whisked a small 
folded paper out of his breast pocket and 
anded it to Jones. He then finished what 
he was doing and went to wash up. 

Shh. The walls have ears. Take thi: 
Il through history,’ i 
from the sink, his big old voice boom 
in the tiled room, “we read about the 


impasse, and practically every time it's 
mentioned, sort of preface to an ex- 
planation of how it was solved. Yet I'll 


bet history's full of impasses that just 
couldn't be solved. They don't get men- 
tioned because when it happens, every- 
thing stops. There just isn’t anything to 
write down in the book anymore. 1 think 
we've just seen such an occasion, and I'm 
sorry for each of us. 

The old son of a gun! “Thanks for 
that much, anyway, sir," Jones said, tuck- 
ing the paper carefully away out of sight. 
The old man, wiping his hands, winked 
once and went out. 


Back in his office, which seemed three 
times larger than it had been before the 
conference, Jones slumped behind his 
desk and teased himself with the small 
folded paper, not reading it, turning it 
over and over. It һай to be the old man's 
question. Granted that it was, why had he 
been so willing to hand it over now, when 
three minutes carlier his refusal had been 
just about as adamant as—adamant? So, 
Jones, quit looking at the detail and get 
on the big picture, What was different in 
those three minutes? 

Well, they were out of one room and 
into another. Out of one room that was 
damn well not bugged and into one 
which, the old man's pantomime had in- 
formed him, may well be. Nope—that 
didn't make sense. Then—how about 
this? In the onc room there had been wi 
nesses. In the second, none—not after the 
finger on the lips. So if a man concluded 
that the civilian probably never had had 
an objection to Jones’ seeing and using 
the question, but wanted it concealed 
from anyone ekc—maybe specifically 
from those other two . . . why, Ше man 
had the big picture. 

What else? That the civilian had not 
id this, therefore would not bring him- 


self to say it in so many words, and would 
not appreciate any conversation that 
might force him to talk it over, Finally, 
no matter how reluctant he might be to 
let Jones see the paper. the slim chance 
Jones offered him of getting an answer 
outweighed every other consideration- 


except the chance of the other two 
finding out. So another part of the mes 
sage was: I'm sitting on dynamite, Mr. 


Jones, and I'm handing you the detona- 
tor. Or: I trust you, Mr. Jones. 

Sobeit, old man. I've got the message. 

He closed his eyes and squeezed the 
whole situation to see if anything else 
would drip out of it. Nothing . . . except 
the faint conjecture that what worked on 
one might work on the other two. And a 
if on cue, the door opened and a bland- 
faced major came in a pace, stopped, said 
"Beg pardon, sir. Tm in the wrong 
room,” and before Jones could finish say- 
ing "That's all right,” he was gone. Jones 
gazed thoughtfully at the door, That ma- 
jor was one of the coloncl's boys. That 
“wrong room” bit had a most unlikely 
flavor to it. So if the man hadn't come in 
for nothing, he'd come in for somcthing. 
He hadn't taken anything and he hadn't 
left anything, so he'd come in to find 
something out. The only thing he could 
find out was whether Jones was or was 
not here. Oh: and whether he was or was 
not alone. 

All Jones had to do to check that out 
was to sit tight. You can find out if a man 
is alone in a room for now, but not for 
ten minutes from now, or five. 

In two minutes the colonel came in. 

He wore his “I don’t like you, mister” 
expression. He placed his scarred brown 
hands flat on Jones’ desk and rocked for- 
ward over him like a tidal wave about to 
break. 

“It’s your word against mine, and I'm 
prepared to call you a liar,” grated the 
colonel. “I want you to report to me and 
no one else, 


* said Jones, and put out his 
nd. The colonel locked gazes with him 

fair slice of forever, which made 
Jones believe that the Medusa legend 
wasn’t necessarily a legend after all. Then 
the officer put а small folded paper into 
Jones outstretched palm. "You get the 
pretty quick, PH say that, mister”; 
aightened, about-faced and marched 


out. 


Jones looked at the two scraps of 
folded paper on the desk and thought, 1 
will be damned. 

And one to go. 

He picked up the papers and dropped 
them again, feeling like a kid who forces 
himself to cat all the cake before he 
tacks the icing. He thought, maybe the 
old boy wants to but just doesn’t know 
how. 

He reached for the phone and dialed 
for the open line, wondering if the admi. 
ral had had it canceled yet. 

(continued overleaf) 


VD LOVE To, iF MY SISTER 
WOULD HOLD STILL Foe iT 


SYMBOLIC SEX 


more sprightly spoofings of the signs of our times 
humor By DON ADDIS 


~AND WHATEVER You Do, 
DONT Pick UP AN APPLE Dip You EVER HAVE 
: ONE OF THOSE DAYS. 
GoT THE BUGS OUT OF WHAT Do YOU MEAN, 
YouR INVENTION YET; “ONE FoR ALL”? 


MR. GUILLOTINE? E 


COLEGE KIDS TODAY DONT 
1 THINK YouR, MEMORY KNOW WHAT FUN iS 


16 FAILING) GRANDMA 2 
UNTIL LAST NIGHT MY RELAX. IVE HANDLED HNDREDS 
LIFE WAS PoiNTLESS OF PKTERNÎTY RAPS 


doo СОЎ 


153 


PLAYBOY 


19 fore" he 


He had not, and he wasn't waiting for 
the first ring to finish itself. He knew who 
was calling and he knew Jones knew, so 
he said nothing, just picked up the 
phone. 

Jones said, “It 
here.” 

“Precisely the point.” said the admiral 
with the same grudging approval the 
colonel had shown. There was a short 
ause, and then the i 


kind of crowded in 


Imiral said, “Have 

you called anyone else? 
Into four syllables Jones put all the 

outraged innocence of a male soprano 
cused of rape. "Certainly not.” 

Good m 
The Britishism amused Jones, and he 
almost said Gung ho, what?; but instead 
he concentrated on what to say next. It 
was easy to converse with the admiral if 
you supplied both sides of the conversa- 
tion. Suddenly it came to him that the ad- 
miral wouldn't want to come here—he 
had somewhat farther to travel than the 
colonel had—nor would he like the looks 
of Jones’ visiting him at this particul 
moment. He said, "I wouldn't mention 
this, but as you know, I'm leaving soon 
and may not see you. And I think you 
picked up my cigareue lighter." 

"Oh," said the admiral. 

"And me out of matches, 
ruefully. “Well—I'm going down to 
ORACLE now. Nice то have known you, 
." He hung up, stuck an unlit cigarette 
in his mouth, put the two folded papers 
in his left pants pocket, and began an 
casy stroll down the catacombs called cor- 
ridors in the Pentagon. 

Just this side of ORACLE'S dead-end cor- 
ridor, and not quite in visual range of its 
security post, a smiling young ensign, 
who otherwise gave every evidence of 
being about his Own business, said, 
"Light, sir?" 

"Why, thanks." 

The ensign handed him a lighter. He 
didn't light it and proffer the flame; he 
handed the thing over. Jones lit his ciga- 
теце and dropped the lighter into his 
pocket. “Thanks. 

“That's all right,” smiled the ensi 
and walked 

At the security post, Jones said to the 
guard, "Whoppen?" 

g and nobody, Mr. Jones.” 

“Best news I've had all day." He signed 
the book and accompanied the guard 
down the dead end. They each produced 
a key and together opened the door. “1 
shouldn't be too long. 

“All the same to me," said the guard, 
and Jones realized he'd been wishfully 
inking out loud. He shut the door, hit 
the inner lock switch, and walked 
through the little foyer and the swinging 
door which unveiled what the crew called 
ORACLE'S “temple.” 

He looked at the computer, and it 
looked back at him. "Like 1 told you be- 
id conversationally, "for some- 


said Jones 


t causes so much trouble, you're 
awful litle and awful homely. 

ORACLE did not answer, because it was 
not aware of him. ORACLE could read and 
do a number of more complex and subtle 
things, but it had no ears. It was indeed 
homely as a wall, which is what the front 
end mostly resembled, and the immense 
size of its translators, receptors and the 
memory banks was not evident here. The 
temple—other people called it Suburbia 
Delphi—contained nothing but that an 
mated wall, with its one cverblooming 
amber “on” light (for the machine never 
ed gulping its oceans of thought), a 
nd chair, and the mech 
typewriter with the modified Bodoni type 


ce which was used for the reader. The 
reader itself was nothing more than a 


to hold the paper exactly in place) with a 
large push button above it, placed on 
strut which extended from the front of 
the computer, and lined up with a lens 
set flush into it. It was an eerie expe 
nce to push that button after placing 
your query, for ORACLE scanned so quick- 
ly and "thought" so fast that it was rap- 
ping away on its writer before you could 
get your thumb off the button. 

Usually. 

Jones sat at the desk, switched on the 
light and took out the admiral’s lighter. 
Tt was а square one, with two parts which 
telescoped apart to get to the tank. The 
tight litle roll of paper was there, sure 
enough, with the typescript not seriously 
blurred by lighter fluid. He smoothed it 
out, retrieved the other two, unfolded 
them, stacked them all neatly; and then, 
feeling very like Christmas morning, said 
gaily to the unresponsive ORACLE: 

‘Now 

Seconds later, he was breathing hard. A 
flood of profanity welled upward within 
him—and dissipated itself as totally 
inadequate. 

Wagging his head helplessly. he 
brought the three papers to the typewrit- 
er and wrote them out on fresh paper, 
staying within the guidelines printed 
there, and adding the correct code sym- 
bols for the admiral, the colonel and the 
civilian. These symbols had been i 
signed by omAcLE itself, and were cross- 
checked against the personnel records it 
carried in its memory banks. It was the 
only way in which it was possible to ask a 
question including that towering mono- 
ble 

Jones clipped the first paper in place, 
held his breath and pushed the button. 

There was a small flare of light from 
the hood surrounding the lens as the 
computer automatically brought the 
ilable light to optimum. A relay 
clicked softly as the writer was activated. 
A white tongue of paper protruded. 
Jones tore it off. It was blank. 

He grunted, then replaced the paper 
with the second, then the third. It seerned 
that on one of them there was а half-sec- 


ond delay in the writer relay, but it was 
insignificant: the paper remained blank. 
Stick your tongue out at me, will 
you?” he muttered at the computer, 
which silently gazed back at him with its 
blank single eye. He went back to the 
typewriter and copied one of the ques 
tions, but with his own code 
tification symbols. It read: 


THE ELIMINATION OF WHAT SINGLE MAN 
COULD RESULT IN MY PRESIDENCY? 


He dipped the paper in place and 
pushed the button. The relay clicked, the 
writer rattled and the paper protruded. 
He tore it off. It read (complete with 
quotes): 

“JOHN рок" 


“A wise guy,” Jones growled. He re- 
turned to the typewriter and again copied 
onc of the queries with his own code: 


1F 1 ELIMINATE THE PRESIDENT, HOW 
CAN 1 ASSURE PERSONAL CONTROL? 


Wryly, ORACLE answered: 
DON'T EAT A BITE UNTIL YOUR EXECUTION. 


Jt actually took Jones a couple of 
seconds to absorb that one, and then 
he uttered an almost hysterical bray of 
laughter. 

The third question he asked, under his 
own identification, 


. was: 


CAN MY SUPPORT OF HENNY BRING PEACE? 


The answer was а flat No, and Jones did 
not laugh one bit. "And you don't find 
nything funny about it either,” he con- 
gratulated the computer, and actually, 
physically shuddered. 

For Henny—the Honorable Oswaldus 
Deeming Henny—was an automatic 
nightmare to the likes of Jones. His 
her-beaten saint's face, his shoulder- 
length white hair (oh, what genius of a 
publicrelations man put him onto that), 
his diapason voice, but most of 
"Plan for Peace" had more than once 
brought Jones up out of a sound sleep 
into a cold sweat. Now, there was once a 
man who entranced a certain segment of 
the population with a slogan about the 
royalty in every man, but he could not 
have taken over the country, because a 
slogan is not a political philosophy. And 
there was another who was capable of 
turning vast numbers of his countrymen 
—for a while—against one another and 
toward him for protection: and he could 
not have taken over the country, because 
the manipulation of fea 
nomic philosophy. This Henny, however, 
was the man who had both, and more be- 
sides. His appearance alone gave him 
more nonthinking, votebearing adher- 
ents than Rudolph Valentino plus Albert 
Schweitzer. His advocacy of absolute iso- 
ion brought in the right wing, his de. 
mand for unilateral disarmament 
brought in the left wing, his credo that 
scence could, with a third of mu 


is not an eco- 


Winston tastes good like a cigarette should! 


PLAYBOY 


156 


budgets, replace foreign trade 
ugh research, invention and ersatz, 
brought in the tech segment, and his 
dead certainty of lowering taxes had a 
thick hook in everyone clse. Even thc 
most battle-struck of the war wanters 
found themselves shoulder to shoulder 
with the peaceatany-price extremists, 
because of the high moral tone of his dis- 
armament plan, which was to turn our 
weapons on ourselves and present any 
aggressor with nothing but slag and cin- 
ders—the ultimate deterrent. It was the 
most marvelous blend of big bang and 
benelicence, able to cut chance and chal- 
lenge together with openhanded Gandl 
ism, with an answer for everyone and a 
better life for all 
ТАП of which," complained Jones to 
the featureless face of the computer, 
"doesn't help me find out why you 
wouldn't answer those three guys, though 
ist say, I'm glad you didn't.” He went 
за got the desk chair and put it down 


front and center before the computer. He 


sat down and folded his arms and they 
stared silently at each other. 

At length he said, “If you were a 
people instead of a thing, how would 
1 handle you? A miserable, stubborn, 
intelligent snob of a people? 
Just how do I handle people? he won- 
4. 1 do—I know I do. I always seem 
t0 think of the right thing to say, or to 
already asked онлстЕ what's 
s nothing is wrong. 
able, stubborn, intelli- 


wrong, 
The way any mise 
gent snob would. 

What I do, he told himself, is 10 em- 
pathize. Crawl into their skins, feel with 
their fingertips, look out through their 
eyes. 

Look out through their eyes. 

He rose and got the admiral's query— 
the one with the admiral's own iden- 
tification on it—clipped it to the board. 
then hunkered down on the floor with his 
back to the computer and his head block- 
g the lens. 

He was seeing cxactly what the com- 
puter saw 

Clipboard. Query. The small 
chamber, the far wall. The . .. 

He stopped breathing. After a long as- 
tonished moment he said, when he could 
say anything, and because it was all he 
could think of to say: "Well 1... be... 
damned . . . 


bare 


The admiral was the first in. Jones had 
had a busy time of it for the 90 minutes 
ng his great discovery, and he was 
little out of breath, but at the 
same time a little louder and quicker 
than the other guy, as if he had walked 
to the reading room after a rubdown 
nd a needle-shower. 
"Sit down, Admi 
“Jones, did you 
“Please, sit down.’ 
“But surely” 
“Гус got your answer, 


Admiral. But 


there's something we have to do first.” He 
made waving gestures. “Bear with me.” 

He wouldn't have made it, thought 
Jones, except for the coloncl's well-timed 
entrance. Boy oh boy, thought Jones, 
look at 'm. stiff as tongs. You come on the 
battlefield looking just like a target. On 
the other hand, that's how you made your 
combat. reputation, isn't it? The colonel 
was two strides into the room before he 
saw the admiral. He stopped, began an 
about-face and said over his left epaulct. 
“I didn't think- 
t down, Colonel" s. Jones in a 
pretty fair imitation of the man's own 
brass gullet. It reached the officer's mus- 
cles before it reached his brain and he sat. 
He turned angrily on the admiral, who 
said instantly, “This wasn't my idea,” in 
completely insulting way. 

Again the door opened and old living 
history walked in, his head a little to 
one side, his eyes ready to see and under- 
stand and his famous mouth to smile, but 
when he saw the tableau, the eyes frosted 
over and the mouth also said: “I didn’t 
think. 

“Sit down, sir.” said Jones, and began 
spicling as the civilian was about to 
refuse, and kept on spieling while he 
id. lowered himself guard: 
edly onto the edge of a chair and perched 
his old bones on its front edge as if he in- 
tended not to stay. 

“Gentlemen,” Jones began, “I'm hap- 
py to tell you that I have succeeded in 
finding out why ORACLE was unable to 
perform for you—thanks to certain un- 
expected cooperation T received." Nice 
touch, Jones, Each one of ‘em will think 
he turned the trick, singlehandedly. But 
not for long. “Now I have a plane to 
catch, and you all have things to do, and 
1 would appreciate it if you would hear 
mc out with as little interruption as possi- 
ble." Looking at these bright eager angry 
sullen faces, Jones let himself realize for 
the first time why detectives in whodunits 
assemble all ihe suspects and make 
speeches. Why they personally do it— 
why the author has them do it. It's be- 
cause it's fun. 

n this package"—he lifted from be- 
side his desk a brown paper parcel a yard 
long and 15 inches wide—“is the cause of 
all the trouble. My company was founded 
over a half century ago, and one of these 
has been an appurtenance of every one of 
the company's operations, cach of its ma- 
jor devices and installations, all of its 
arger utility equipment—cranes, trucks, 
bulldozers, everything. You'll find them 
in every ny office and in most 
company cafeterias.” He put the package 
down flat on his desk and fondled it while 
he talked, "Now, gentlemen, Fm not 
going 10 go into any part of the long ar- 
gument about whether or not a computer 
can be conscious of what it’s doing, be- 
cause we haven't time and we're not here 
to discuss metaphysics. I will, however, 
remind you of a childhood chant. Re- 


com 


member the one that runs: ‘For want 
of a nail the shoe was lost: for want of a 
shoe the horse was lost; for want of a 
horse the message was lost; for want of 
the message the battle was lost; for wan 
of the battle the kingdom was lost and 
all for the want of a horseshoe nail 
said the admiral, 
"t come here to 

“1 just said that,” Jones said smoothly. 
and went right on talking until the ad- 
miral just stopped tying. "This"—he 
rapped the package—"is ORACLE'S horse 
shoe nail. If it's no ordinary nail, that's 
because ORACLE'S no ordinary computer. 
It isn't designed to solve problems in their 
own context: there are other mach 
that do that. onacte solves problem 


I—we 


nging cverythi 
bear on them. Lacking this one 
he thumped the package again—“it can 
then answer your quesi and it ac- 
cordingly did." He smiled suddenly. "I 
don't think onacte was designed this 
way," he added musingly. "I think it. . . 
became .. . this way .. ." He shook him. 
self. "Anyway, I have your answers." 
Now he could afford to pause, because 
he had them. At that moment, the only 
way any of them could have been re- 
moved was by dissection and haulage 
Jones lined up his sights on the colonel 
and sid, "In a way, your question was 
the most interesting, Colonel. To mc 
professionally, І mean. It shows to what 
detail ORACLE can go in answering a wide 
theoretical question. One might even 
make а case for original creative think- 
ing, though that’s always arguable. Could 
a totally obedient robot think if you flatly 
ordered it to think? When does a perfect 
imitation of a thing become the thing 


the colonel as a matter of 
absolute, incontrovertible fact. 

"Yes I am,” said Jones, and raised his 
You listen to me, before you stick 
gger finger of yours inside that 
tunic, Colonel. I'm in a corny mood right 
now and so I've done a corny thing. Two 
copies of a detailed report of this whole 
are now in the m. and, I mi, 
in a mailbox outside this build 
very big 


voice. 
that t 


add, 
One gocs to my boss, who 
wheel and a loyal friend, with 


contacts in. business 
there are company machines operating, 
and that puts him on the damn moon as 
well as all over the world. The other goes 
to someone else, and when you find out 
who that is it'll be too late, because in two 
hours he can reach every paper, every 
wire service, every newscasting organiza- 
tion on earth. Naturally, consistent. with 
the corn, I've sent these out sealed with 
orders to open them if I don't phone by a 
certain time—and I assure you it won't be 
from here. In other words, you can't do 
anything to me and you'd better not de- 


nd government. as 


“You're just a lecherous old man, Mr. Thornton! 
Now, if you were a lecherous young тап...” 


157 


PLAYBOY 


158 


lay me. Sit down, Admiral,” he roared. 

“I'm certainly not going to sit here 
and——" 

"I'm going to finish what I started out 
to do whether you're here or not.” Jones 
waved ar the other two. "They'll be here. 
You want that?” 

The admiral sat down. The civilian 
said, in a tolling of mighty sorrow, “Mr. 
Jones, I had what seemed to be your 
faithful promise: 
There were overriding considera- 
tions,” said Jones. “You know what an 
overriding consideration is, don’t you. 
sir?” and he held up the unmista 
able oxAcLE query form. The civilian 
subsided. 

"Let him finish," gritted the colonel. 
“We can—well, let him finish. 

Jones instantly, like onacte, translated: 
We can take care of him later. He said to 
the colonel, "Cheer up. You can always 
deny everything, like you said.” Не 
fanned through the papers before him 
and dealt out the colonel's query. He 
d it aloud: 


Е 1 ELIMINATE THE PRESIDENT 
CAN 1 ASSURE PERSONAL CONTROL?” 
The colonel’s face could have been 
shipped out, untreated, and installed on 
Mount Rushmore. The civilian gasped 
and put his knuckles in his mouth. The 
admiral's slitted eyes went round. 

“The answer,” said Jones, “makes that 
case for creative thinking I was talk- 
ing about. ORACLE said: ‘DETONATE ONE 
BOMB WITHIN UNDERGROUND H.Q. SPEND 
YOUR SUBSEQUENT TENURE LOOKING FOR 
OTHERS. 

Jones put down the paper and spoke 
past the colonel to the other two. “Get 
the big picture, gentlemen? "UNDER- 
GROUND н. о.” could only mean the cen- 
walired control for government їп the 
mountains. Whether or not the President 
—or anyone else—was there at the time is 
beside the point. If not, he'd find another. 
way easily enough. After that happened, 
cur hero here would take the posture of 
the national savior, the only man compe- 
tent to track down a second bomb, which 


How 


“What I resent most about the new 
morality is that we didn't get in on it.” 


could be anywhere. Imagine the fear, the 
witch-hunts, the cordons, the suspicion, 
the ‘Emergency’ and ‘For the Duration’ 
orders and regulations.” Suddenly savage, 
Jones snarled, “I've got just one morc 
thing to say about this warrior and his 
plans. All his own strength, and the en. 
tire muscle behind everything he plans 
for himself, derives from the finest esprit 
de corps the world has ever known. I told 
you I'm in a corny mood, so I’m going to 
say it just the way it strikes me. That kind 
of esprit is a bigger thing than obedience 
or devotion or even faith, it's a species of 
love. And there's not a hell of a lot of that 
to go around in this world. Butchering 
the President to make himself a little tin 
god is a minor crime compared to his will- 
ingness to take a quality like that and 
turn it into a perversion.” 

The civilian, as if unconsciously, 
hitched his chair a half inch away from 
the colonel. The admiral trained a firing- 
squad kind of look at him. 

“Admiral,” said Jones, and the man 
twitched, “I'd like to call your attention 
to the colonel’s use of the word ‘eliminate’ 
in his query. You don't, you know, you 
just don't eliminate a live President.” He 
let that sink in, and then said, "I men- 
tion it because you, to, used it, and it's 
a fair conjecture that it means the same 
thing. Listen: "WHAT SINGLE MAN CAN 
1 ELIMINATE TO BECOME PRESIDENT? 

“There could hardly be any ove man," 
said the civilian thoughtfully, ga 
5 great respect for his composure. 
s said, “ORACLE thinks so. IL wrote 
your name, sir.” 

Slowly the civilian turned to the admi- 
“Why, you sleek. old son of a bitch,” 
he enunciated carefully, “I do believe you 
could have made i 

“Purely a hypothetical question,” ex- 

plained the admiral, but no one paid the 
least attention. 
As for you,” said Jones, rather sur 
prised that his voice expressed so much of 
the regret he felt, "I do believe that you 
asked your question with a genuine de- 
sire to see a world at peace before vou 
passed on. But, sir—it’s like you said 
when you walked in here just now—and 
the colonel said it, too: ‘1 didn't think . . ." 
You are sitting next to two certiliabie 
first-degree murderers; no matter. what 
their overriding considerations, that's 
what they are. But what you planned is 
infinitely worse." 

He read, “CAN MY SUPPORT OF HENNY 
BRING PEACE?’ You'll be pleased to know 
—oh, you already know; you were just 
checking, right2—that the answer is Yes. 
Henny's position is such right now that 
your support would bring him in. 
you didn't think. That demagog с: 
what he w hout a species of 
thought policing the like of which the 
anrheap experts in China never even 
dreamed of. Unilateral disarmament and 
high morality scorched-earth! Why, as a 
ation we couldn't do that unless we 


nts to do wi 


meant it, and we couldn't mean it unless 
every man, woman and child thought 
a nd with Henny running things, 


they would. Pe Sure we'd have 
peace! I'd rather take on a Kodiak bear 
with boxing gloves than take my chances 
in that kind of a world. These guys,” he 
said carelessly, “are prepared to murder 
one or two or a few thou: 


Jones, his voice suddenly shaking with 
scorn, “are prepared to murder every de 


cent free thing this country ever stood 
for.” 

Jones rose, “I'm going now. All your 
answers are in the package there. Up to 
how it’s been an integral part of ORACLE 
—it was placed exactly in line with the 
reader, and has therefore been a part of 
everything the machine has ever done. 
My recommendation is that you replace 
it, or ORACLE will be just another com- 
puter, answering questions in terms of 
themselves. I suggest that you make simi- 
lar installations in your own environment 

nd quit asking questions that must 
be answered in terms of yourselves. Ques 
tions which in the larger sense would be 
unthinkable." 

The civilian rose, and did something 
that Jones would always remember as a 
decent thing. He put out his hand and 
said, “You are right. 1 needed this, and 
you've stopped me. What will stop 
them?” 

Jones took the hand. “They're stopped. 
1 know, because I asked ORACLE and 
ORACLE said this was the way to do it." 
He smiled briefly and went out. His last 
glimpse of the office was the rigid backs 
ol the two officers, and the civilian behind 
hiis desk, slowly unwrapping the package. 
He walked down the endless Pentagon 
corridors, the skin between his shoulder 
blades tight all the way: oracir or no, 
there might be overriding considerations. 
But he made it, and got to the first out- 
side phone booth still alive. Marvclously, 
wonderfully alive. 

He heard Ann's voice and said, "It's a 
real wonderful world, you know that? 

“Jones, darling! you certainly 
have changed your tunc. Last time 1 
talked to you it was a horrible place full 
of evil intentions and smelling like fect.” 

“I just found out for sure three lousy 
Kinds of world it's not going to be,” Jones 
said. Ann would not have been what she 
was to him if she had not been able to di 
vine which questions not to ask. She said, 
“Well, good," and he said he was coming 
home. 

“Oh, darling! You fix that gadget?” 

“Nothing to it," Jones said. "I just took 


down the 
_ THINK 
sign." 


id, "I never know when you're 


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PLAYBOY 


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Leopold Doppler (continued from page 120) 


the greasy love stuff came on—a kid 
a maelstrom of excitement and 
convulsive passion that has left a lasting 
mark on all who sat in attendance. There 
are countless men today, and not a few 
women, who have what they cuphem 


cally call "bad knees" resulting from 
malady just recently diagnosed as triple- 


feature paralysis; a knee permanently 
assuming a lambent L shape, with con- 
comitant bruises and contusions resulting 
from being propped against the top of 
the seat ahead, accompanied by perma- 
nent numbness in the upper buttocks. 
It is incurable, and its symptoms are 
unmistakable. 

Strategically spaced between the cow- 
boy epics were episodes of Flask Gordon 
and Superman serials to quell the troops 
between rounds of gunfire and volleys of 
guitar playing. Rage poured in waves 
from the audience the instant Gene Au- 
try put down his six guns and took up his 
Sears-Roebuck melody box to sing Red 
River Valley through his noble Roman 
nose. It was an intransigently antisenti- 
mental crowd. Luckily for Autry, he 
worked in the preswitchblade era, but 
there were other means to vent aggres- 
sion on the beaded screen. As the first 
notes from his steel guitar rolled out over 
the throng, a shower of bottle caps and 
chocolatecovered. raisins arched through 
the flickering beam of light that cut the 
arkness above our heads. The ushers 
aped forward at the ready, but by then 
the gunfire had resumed on screen, and 
blessed violence had stilled the mob. 

A colossal high point came along after 
the third running of Thunder over the 
Prairie, starring Johnny Mack Brown. 
The lights would go up in the house, illu- 
minating a scene of carnage and juvenile 
debauchery unrivaled in the most deca- 
dent day of the Roman downfall. Knee- 
deep in Baby Ruth wrappers, sated with 
popcorn, jaws aching from a six-hour ses- 
sion of bubblegum chewing, we sat hold- 
ing our ticket stub, waiting for the fateful 
drawing. On stage was wheeled a chicken- 
wire drum filled with torn tickets, and b 
hind a silver, bulletshaped microphone 
appeared the slight but commanding, 
black-clad, balding figure of the legend- 
ary Mr. Doppler himself. In person. 

Behind him was piled the loot for that 
day: Chicago roller-bcaring roller skates, 
Hack Wilson Model fielders’ mitts; Daisy 
air rifles endorsed personally by Red Ry- 
der and complete with direction-finding 
compass in the stock and handy sundial 
for telling time under difficult trail condi- 
tions; and the grand prize—a Columb 
bicycle with balloon tires and two-tone 
iridescent paint job. 

Doppler grabbed his audience hard and 
fast with his opening line, the instinct of 
a showman blazing through: 

"Shut up in the balcony!” 


We scrunched forward in our teetery 
seats, Hershey bars clasped dripping, be- 
tween unheeding fingers. Ticket stubs 
held at the ready, we waited for our num- 
ber to be called. Two ushers on stage 
spun the drum and a volunteer—usually 
a pimply-faced lout from the first two or 
three rows—pulled out the tickets while 
Mr. Doppler, milking each drawn num- 
ber for all it was worth, built de drama 
of expectancy and chance as surely and 
skillfully as only a true dra ь 

At long last сате the drawing for the 
grand prize. The house lights dimmed 
and went ош. Wheeled centersuge in 
the brilliant blue-white vaudeville spot, it 
stood alone and coldly inaccessible. A 
vast hush fell on the huddled throng, bro- 
ken only by the soft, muted squishing of 
Mary Janes being pulverized by loose 
milk teeth. The drum spun and slowed 
and finally stopped. Doppler raiscd his 
hand impcriously in the way that mighty 
Casey must have done, quelling the mul- 
titude as the crucial moment approached. 
Absolute silence as the volunteer's grub- 
by daw fished among the ticket stubs— 
searching for his own, no doubt—finally 
drawing from the dhicken-wire cage a 
tiny orange fleck of torn paper. He sol- 
emnly handed it to the usher, who cere- 
moniously presented it to Mr. Doppler. 
The sun stood still in the firmament 

Mr. Doppler gazed for a moment at the 
stub and then looked meaningfully out 
over the audience and back again to the 
stub. His voice, ringing with feedback, 
intoned: 

“The winning number is... D..." 

A pregnant pause. We hunched for- 
ward as one man, seats creaking in u 
son. All our tickets began with DI 

"D .. . seven s... 

Muflled groans, anguished outcries, 
seats slammed angrily in isolated spots. 
Doppler raised his eyes menacingly. 

ence. 
seven ОНЫ" 


un 
More screams and thumps. My palm 


itched sweatily. I was still in the ru 
This could be the week! 

Mr. Doppler continued, pretending to 
have difficulty in reading the number. 
seven . .. oh .. . lets see. 
is Dee-seven-oh-three . . .” The 
audience, now in a state of frenzy, scat- 
tered wails of lament. The thud of bodies 
falling amid popcorn cartons as Doppler 
closed with a smashing finish, his voice 
climbing to a crescendo. 

“D-seven-oh-three-eigh: 

I sank back into my seat as a high, thin 
squeak came from somewhere near the 
кх sign to the left of the popcorn stand. 
A great roar of hatred arose among the 
defeated as a tiny, limp figure, carried 
down the aisle by jubilant companions, 
rushed toward the stage, yipping as they 
came. My God! It was a girl! 

Muttered obscenities in the darkness. 


ing. 


The mob was now in an angry mood at 
this ugly turn of events. A girl! Bruner 
next to me half rose in his cock 
fist poised to hurl the remains of a taffy 
apple on stage in a statement of defiance. 
The sharp bark of an usher in the aisle 
caught him in mid-air: 
‘Siddown! 
he flashlight beam froze him, taffy 
apple cocked, jaw set. He sat, sheepishly. 
On stage it was all anticlimax, and Mr. 
Doppler knew it. Quickly wrapping up 
the ceremony, he hustled the bicycle, kids 
and ushers off stage, and darkness fell. 
Again the beating surf of crackling paper 
wrappings, and the steady crunch-crunch- 
crunch of mastication picked up in tem- 
po, blending into the fanfare of bugles 
superimposed on the opening credits 
and the classic line: REPUBLIC PICTURES 
PRESENTS, as we prepared for the first vol- 
ley of the fourth feature of the afternoon 
The Longest Day wore on, time com- 
pletely obliterated, the outside world a 
dim memory, no day, uo night, just the 
thunder of the pursued and the pursuers, 
as the crack. of fist meeting jaw and the 
crash of bottles hurled at barroom mir- 
rors roared ever onward, Life was com- 
plete. Occasionally a menacing grown-up 
form roamed up and down the aisles in 
search of a huddled fugitive from the sup- 
per table. A pitiful outcry in the darkness 
and a kid would be dragged kicking and 
screaming toward the rxir sign and back 
into life. 
Finally, three quick Mighty Mouse 
cartoons in succession as a capper—for 
the road, as it were—and it was all over 
for another week. Back outside at last, 
splimer bands of bloated, sticky, Tootsie- 
Rollfilled kids drifted homeward, re- 
counting in photographic detail every lab- 
yrinthine twist and turn of each feature, 
reliving cach fistfight and showdown, 
ambush and escape 
arguments would begi 
the Ken Maynard faction snorting der 
‘ely at the lesser Bob Stecle contingent. 
An occasional Roy Rogers nut would 
give a nasal rendering of The Streets of 
Laredo. The few holdouts for Tim Holt, 
outnumbered but unbowed, were united 
in their disdain for the effete Gene Autry 
The great day was over. We had only to 
face the ordeal of trying to stuff down 
baked beans and spareribs at supper, 
which wasn't easy on top of four Milky- 
Ways and a rich compost heap of other 
idigestibles moving like some great gla- 
cier down through our digestive systems. 


But the uproar on Saturday afternoons 
at the Orpheum was as nothing com- 
pared to the continuous hoopla and 
razzmatazz of the rest of the week, when 
Mr. Doppler's bijou would rise to a fever 
pitch of excitement. Very little of it had 
anything to do with movies, but the Or- 
pheum continued to pretend that it was 


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PLAYBOY 


“But, gee whiz, Mr. Filbert, I haven't taken any of you yet!” 


162 


in the film business, and so did the 
customers. 

Monday night, immediately after sup- 
per, the adult faithful would scurry 
through the darkening streets toward the 
sacred temple to play Screeno. I have 
heard that in other movic houses this was 
alled Keeno, but Mr. Doppler was a fun- 
damentalist. As the Judy Canova fans 
pushed through the turnstiles, they 
would be handed a crude sheet of card. 
board ruled off in squares, with the great 
black letters: scREENO! EVERYBODY HAS A 
CHANCE TO WIN! WATCH YOUR NUMBERS! 
Next to the door was a wastebasket filled 
with corn kernels. Each lover of the cine- 
matic art would grab a handful on his 
way into the humid arena, slide down in 
his seat and wait for the action. 

At about seven, on would come the 
Movietone News, with the bathing beau- 
ties and the horse races, and the fun 
goosestepping, comic soldi 
scuttle helmets marching in ph. 
the sound of Deutschland, Deutschland. 
über alles, and Westbrook Van Voorhees 
and the March of Time. Ten minutes of 
previews of coming attractions, fca 
music by the Coming Atti р 
followed perhaps by a John Nesbitt Pass- 
ing Parade, or a James A. Fitzpatrick 
travelog, or a Pele Smith Specially or 
even a Joe McDoakes, Then the first fca. 
ture would begin, with Ben Blue chasing 
Judy Canova around a haystack as the au- 
dience rustled their cards and crunched 
оп corn kernels in keen anticipation of 
the delights to follow. 

Finally Judy had deafened the multi- 
tude for the last time. The cighth reel 
had spun out and the moment of exulta- 
tion would arrive. The house lighis 
would go on; the popcorn bags were set 
aside, and there would be a moment of 
suspended animation while the real rea- 
son all were there was getting under way. 
On stage the great white screen stood 
empty. Mr. Doppler could be heard 

ng the P.A. system in his richest 
“Hello, test. Hello, test. Onc- 
two-threefour. Can you hear me up in 
the booth, Fred? 

And then silence. Next, on screen a 
great blue-and-red-numbered wheel ap- 
peared, with a yellow pointer, and Mr. 
Dopp'er would get right down to business, 

“All right, folks, it's time once again to 
play that fun game, Sereno. Anyone 
filling out a diagonal or horizontal or 
vertical line with corn kernels wins a 
magnificent grocery prize. Just yell out 

eno.’ Be sure to check your numbers. 
And now, here we go 

A spectacular fanfare would wow into 
the sound system, since Doppler really 
believed in production values all the жау, 
and the evening would start. On screen 
the pointer, a yellow blur, spun as band 
music played softly. Everyone leaned for- 
ward in their seats, their cards poised as 
they waited for the call of fate and 
riches to lay its golden laurel wreath on 


their fevered, movie-loving brows. The 
pointer slowed and stopped, and Dop- 
pler's voice intoned: 

"The first number is B twelve. 

Rustlings, creaking of scats, mutteri 
Some wit up in the gloom hollers: 

"Scrccno!" 

The crowd titters and the pointer spins 
again. A constant obbligato of dropping, 
rolling and scrunching corn kernels and 
excited mumblings played like a soft 
flame under the great pot of gold that all 
pursued. Finally someone would shout 
"Screeno!" and the first prize of the eve- 
ning was snagged. Doppler, his voice 
trembling with emotion, announce 
And now the first Screeno gift of the 
a fivedollar bag of groceries 
from the Piggly-Wiggly store on Calumet 
Avenue, credit extended, superb meats 
and groceries; we cash checks. This five- 
dollar bag of superb victuals gocs to . . ." 

The usher hurried down the aisle with 
the winner's Screeno card and his name, 
the audience shifting restlessly, waiting 
distractedly for the next game to begin, 
and somewhere off in the middle distance 
the sound of gurgling as the winning par- 
ty celebrated the great coup. ‘The pointer 
whirled; the action roared on. The kids, 
not eligible to participate under the strict 
international rules of classic Screeno, 
spent most of the time throwing corn ker- 
nels at the balcony and the silver screen 

To the right of the stage was а ma 
nificent smoked ham, and all the other 
grocery gifts for the Saceno crowd. Dur- 
ing the Depression a seven-pound ham 
was good for at least four months in the 
average family, not including 800 gallons 
of rich, vibrant pea soup: so Screeno was 
a very serious game. Rising above the 
usual Orpheum aroma—a rich mixture of 
calcified gum, popcorn, hot leatherette 
seats, steamy socks, Woolworth Radio 
Gil perfume and Kreml hair oil—was 
the maddening scent of smoked bacon, 
fresh pickles and crushed corn kernels, 

Scrceno was played for at least 45 mir 
utes, until the last сап of Van Camps 
Pork & Beans had been won, the excite 
ment ris great 
moment, : а year’s sup- 
ply of Silvercup Bread, provided by the 
local A & Р. Bread truly was the staff of 
life to a dedicated Screeno addict. The 
same bread that the Lone Ranger lived 
on and that Tonto used to make French 
toast. Immediately after the 
Award, which, of course, Doppler ma: 
fully squeezed for every last drop of d 

tic tension, the lights went out, and 
onto the screen came the face of Lou 
Lehr, saying, with his rich Bava 
cent, “Munngeys iss da cv 
Culture marched on 


Tuesday was bank night. Bank night 
was for the really bigtime movie fans 
—the crowd that avoided Screeno 
the plague. Every week the bank-night 


kpot rose by hundred-dollar jumps, 
and every Tuesday night at zero hour, 

mid a deep hush, beneath the spot 
light. the sinister cage containing the 
bank-night registration slips was spt 
the world perceptibly slowed in its o 
flight around the sun. Mr. Doppler, 
standing solemn and straight—there was 
по razzle-dazzle on bank night—waited 
beside his silver microphone as a gleam- 
ng white card was drawn by one of the 
audience. A moment of agonizing hesi- 
tation, and then, in a quiet voice, Mr. 
Doppler intoned: “Tonight's bank-night 
registration drawing for seventeen hun- 
dred dollars 

A dramatic pause at this point to let 
the enormity of that figure sink into the 
souls of the transfixed congregation, most 
of whom hadn't seen a whole ten-dollar 
bill for five years running. Seventeen 
hundred dollars! Everyone in the house 
had followed the progression of bank 
night from the first hundred-dollar jack- 
pot to its present astronomical height. 
Each week Mr. Doppler had cli 
big red figures on the marquee, 
week—seven long days—the 
b 
forth on their aimless errands were con- 
stand reminded. As each week rolled 
into history, the sweat, the fear that some- 
one else would win clutched at the very 
vitals of each registrant. Fveryone would 
scrabble and scrape week after week to 
scratch up the price of a ticket, un 
finally, at the seventeen-hundred. mark 
it had become a kind of recurrent night- 
тате, steadily growing worse. 

The movies shown on bank night un- 
reeled before glazed, uncomprehending 
eyes, their pupils contracted to pinpoints 
glowing in the darkness. Seventeen- 
hundred dollars meant the difference be- 
tween glorious life and pennyscrabbling 
existence. Thus, on bank night there 
were no friends, only solitary sparks of 
human protoplasm—alone, — plotting, 
scheming, hoping against hope that no 
one else would strike it rich. 

"The number is two . . . two. . . nine 

. . five!" 

lt isn't your number. Silence. 
stunned, watchful, waiting, fearful 
lence. Will the money be claimed? Is 
2905 here? Jane Withers, Jack Oakic and 
even Freddie Bartholomew have been 
drowned and forgotten in a dark, swirl 
ing sca of anxiet 
Ts that number in the house 

Silence. 

“1 repeat, is number two-two-nine-five 
in the house. Once." 

An usher at stage right, in a blue spot- 
light, raised a padded mallet and struck a 
gong. 

"Ihe clangorous boom rolled out over 
the multitude like a death knell, echoing 
from Coke machine to gilded cherubim, 
from high above the stage and down into 


feverish 
nk-night dreamers passing back and 


the depths of the hearers’ subconscious. 163 


PLAYBOY 


164 


There is an agonizing pause, Шеп... 
"Twice." 
BONG. 
Another interminable pause. 
Two... two... nine... five 


Three times and . ош!" 

BONG! 

A deep collective sigh of blessed, 
numbed, tremulous relicf rose from the 
darkness, and the audience settled back 
into their seats. Already plans were under 
way in fevered minds on how to grub to- 
gether next Tuesday's admission. 

Somewhere, some dark mortgaged 
frame house, number 2295, who had d 
cided to stay home this one night in order 
to save the 40 cents’ admission, tossed un- 
easily in his sleep as the great ship of foi 
tune sailed by him, unseen, unheard, into 
the darkness forever. 

Wednesday night was amateur night. 
Between features a long procession of 
banjo players, mouth-organ virtuosi, clog 
dancers, Bing Crosby imitators and other 
outof-work steel puddlers engaged in 
mortal artistic combat for another array 
of Grand Awards, including an all- 
expenses-paid two-day trip to Chicago, a 
[ull 30 miles away, ten free vocal lessons 
at the Bluebird Music School (*Accor- 
dion Our Specialty”) and a $50 top priz 
ined by the applause of the 
dience. At least that’s what the poster i 
the lobby called it—applause. Applause is 
not exactly the word that describes the 
acrimonious pandemonium, the disdain- 
ful hoots, catcalls and obscene noises that 
accompanied each act, The Orpheum on 
amateur night gave many of us who were 
te enough to be in attendance at 
istic rituals a glimpse, a taste, 
of that stuff of which riots and great his- 
torical upheavals are made. 

One night in particular is etched in my 
memory. In die middle of the show, a 
bulky bricklayer clumped on stage. In the 
pit, the piano player began a flowery in- 
tro to Neapolitan Nights. The bricklayer 
pursed his lips wetly and began to whistle 
in a high, thin, birdlike trill, his hairy 
chest perspiring, cheeks popping, eyes 
bulging. Instantly a wave of falsetto 
whoops rolled out from the audience and 
crashed in a rip tide of derision around 
ples hod carrier. He stopped in 


bastards! Who's the 

His fists were like two giant clubs at hi: 
sides. Another great bellow—more of a 
snort, actually—from the audience. 
aged, the offended artist dredged his 
visceral depths with a quivering subterra 
nean hawk—and let fly, from his pursed 
lips, a fairly sizable silver oyster, It land- 
ed in the third row, Cut to the quick, his 
outraged critics arose as one and rushed 
over, under and around the seats toward 
the stage, as hundreds cheered and bird- 
whistled on the side lines to goad the bat- 
tlers on. It was the first time Mr. Doppler 


had to call the police i 
second featur 
to be the last. 


order to get the 
under way. But it was not 


Thursday was the one night of the 
week when Mr. Doppler was forced to 
book a halfway decent movie. It was on 
Thursdays that Bob Hope and Bing Cros- 
by traveled their eternal Road, panting 
and leering after Dorothy Lamour. It was 
on Thursdays that Gary Cooper sat tall 

а his dusty saddle, on Thursdays that 
At Handy and Judy Garland decided 
10 put on a show to buy the serum for the 
widow's boy, who was dying of a strange, 
unnamed Hollywood disease—while Don- 
ald O'Connor, the wiseguy freshman, 
made passes at Andy’s girl in the gym be- 
tween tap dances. Thursda 
picture night, and in keeping with the 
solemnity of the occasion, Mr. Dopple 
also presented the Orpheum Singalong. 
As the Paramount mountain materialized 
оп the beaded screen to end the pictur 
there rose from the cavernous darkness of 
the pit—elecuic motors humming—the 
mighty Orpheum Wurlitzer, sparkling 
and glowing, glittering sequins catching 
the light. A blindingly brilliant white, it 
loomed above the audience like a marble 


mausoleum, and seated before the 
arching keyboard, his wavy golden hair 
ashimmer, his white tuxedo coat 


insufferably spotless, sar the famou 
pheum organist, booming out Chiribiri 
bin as on screen а sli 
scene of gypsies caught in mid-fand. 
tambourines raised, eyes flashing hotly 
glorious Technicolor. The organist spun 
on his twirling s g û grinning 
set of dentures that made anything Lib 
erace was to do later pale to insig- 
cance. The slide changed: “Follow the 
bouncing ball and sing along with the 
world-famous Orpheum Wur 

A beautiful moonlit scene fl 
sailboat in the middle foreground, а s 
houctted couple — June-moonspooning 

ast the sky, as these words appeared 
above them: "Red $ 
The strains of the mighty Wurlitzer 
spilled out over the orchestra, overflowed 
the balcony and lapped against the chan- 
delier as the white ball bounced from 
word to word, and the audience, condi- 
tioned by countless hours of Kate Smith, 
Harry Horlick and the A & P Gypsies, 
Jessica Dragonette and the Silver-Masked 
Tenor, belted it out. 

Beside me in the darkness, my mother 
giggled self-consciously but sang on, curl- 
ers rattling, eyes shining, as the Orpheum 
organ pealed—the empty coalbin and 
next month's rent forgotten as slide after 
le marched across Mr. Doppler's sing- 
long screen. The only time I ever heard 
my old man sing was when the mighty 
Wurlitzer, like some demonic pipe of 
Pan, drove hı 


n on. 


“Betty Coed has lips of ved for Harvard. 
Betty Coed has eyes of blue for Yale...” 


On screen a mule cheerleader in 
white ice-cream pants and a white sweater 
with a big "Y" on the chest held his mega- 
phone high and a golden-haired coed 
Betty herself, tilted her perky profile to- 
ward an orange sky—as the ball bounced 
on and on. 


y. Then came Fi 
the black day that proved finally to 
Doppler's Armageddon. For this 
historic night Mr. Doppler had come up 
with his master stroke. A spectacular dis- 
play in a gleaming glass case appeared 
without warning in the nco-mosque lob- 
by of the beloved Orpheum. For dramatic 
effect, the lobby had been darkened and 
strategically placed pink, blue and amber 
baby spots focused on the eventual cause 
of Dopplers downfall. Above the 
linseled fuchsia leuers, the starkly 
simple word blazed forth: Freel! 

The motley throng that gathered in 
the lobby on that fateful might stood 
slackjawed before the incredible riches 
gleaming behind the glass. Artistic sights 
are rare in the steel towns of the Midwest, 
slumbering amid the tangled spiderweb 
of endless railroad tracks and gro 
beneath the weight of vast acres of jun 
yards; but when they do appear, the na 
tives respond with awe. Denizens of an 
artistic desert, they devour each scrap of 
beauty with a relish that warms the 
cockles. Tonight was no exception 
The Three Stooges forgotten, they 
stood in dark, silent clumps and gaped. 
unbelieving. 

Radiant, pristine, row 
ioned on a carpet of blood-red velvet, re 
posed a complete set of Artistic Deluxe 
Pearlecn Tableware, Dinner Service ol 
the Stars. A tasteful placard spelled it out 
with simple eloquence: 


FREE! FREE! Beginning next Fri- 
day, one piece of this magnificent set 
of tableware will be presented FREE 
to cach adult woman in attendance. 
The moviegoer will be able to com- 
plete this 112-piece set of magnifi- 
and enjoy the finest. 
of movie entertainment. 
Signed by the Management: 
Mr. Leopold Doppler 


row, cush 


on 


The amber spot played sinuously and 
cnticingly over cascading ledge upon 
ledge of pearlescent, sparkling, grape 
and flora-encrusted turcens and platters, 
saucers and gravy boats, cclery holders 
and soup bowls. 

It would probably have been difficult 
to assemble a complete set of any kind 
of dinnerware from among the entire 
audience that night. My mother stood 
gazing at the artistic opulence, her breath 
short, her eyes glowing like coals. Our 
cupboards were filled with a collection 
of jelly jars, peanutbutter containers, 
plastic cottage-cheese cups and the as- 
sorted eflluvia of three decades. 
Her prized possession, which she brought 


ош only for state occasions, was а 
matched Shirley Temple sugar and 
a ner of dark-blue glass. Our silver- 


ware consisted of Tom Mix spoons, Clara 
Bow pickle forks, and a Betty Crocker 
bread knife with a rubber handle and 
cardboard blade. 

Hence, the effect of the Orpheum’s 
incredible offer was galvanic, The word 
spread like bubonic plague, and by the 
end of the week the air was charged with 
tense expectancy. It was as though the 
whole town was waiting for Christmas 
g—which, like all great days, ap- 
hed with maddening deliberatio 
On Thursday it was announced in the 
local paper that along with the first [rec- 
dish offer, Tarzan and the Pygmies would 
he shown. along with selected short sub- 
jects. Doppler was going all ош. 
day morning dawned crisp and clear. 
By seven rM. a serpentine line wound 
around the block, past the pool- 
bird Tavern, Nick. Kirtso- 
polos’ Hardware Store, and almost to the 
Willys-Overland showroom, а full foot- 
ball-field length away from the Orpheum. 
Our famil fway back in the 
mob, which had begun to gather carly 
in the afternoon, was surrounded by a 
throng of nervous skeptics. It was hard 
to believe 0 would really happen, 
that a real dish would be given out free 
jux to watch Tarzan, Jane and Boy 
swinging from the vines. Would the 


its way 
room, the Blu 


dishes run out before we got inside? A 
rumor spread that The Pearleen Deluxe 
display was a phony, just a comcon, and 
the dishes we'd get would be cheap 
Japanese reproductions of the real Din- 
ner Service of the Stars. 

Шу the doors opened and the mob 
surged forward. The box office roared 
with activity as we inched our way toward 
the marquee. Just inside the door Mr. 


Doppler and two minions stood, packing 
cases stad id them, handing out 
to each дшш], gleaming butter 


dish. WI п opener! Doppler could 
с opened with a prosaic cup or saucer, 
but his selection. of a butter dish for 
ters was little short of total inspira- 


tion. Handing a butter dish to house- 
wives who came, almost to a wom 
om oleomargarine families, was a mas- 
ter stroke. As а matter of fact, few people 
in the crowd had ever even seen a butter 
dish before, and some had to be told what 
it was for. My mother, of course, an avid 
reader of Good Housekeeping, instantly 
xognized the rare object for what it 

: a symbol of gentility and good taste. 

we were oleo people, and my 
mother would mix the dead-white, lard- 
like substitute for the high-priced spread 
in а glass mixing bowl, adding coloring 
from the gelatin capsules inside the plas- 
ic package. We always referred to this as 
"butter" and it was invariably served on 
a cracked white saucer used only for that 


Still, 


purpose. Our new butter dish was a 
step into the afluent world of the 20th 
Century. 

Mr. Doppler beamed, his black suit 
crinkling as he whisked out butter dish 
after butter. dish, distributing his largess 
to the multitude. 

“Next week there'll be a different piece, 
he said over and over. “Maybe а 
mer, who knows: 

Thus he insidiously planted the seed i 
the mind of each butter-dish clutcher tha 
next week could be even more exotic. 
The hackles of desire rose even higher as 


they filed into the darkened auditorium. 
"What's a bun warmer? 
“You wam buns in it stupid!” 


Snatches of complex table-eriquette de 
bates drifted back and forth as the mob 
went down the aisle brandishing their 
butter dishes. The Tarzan movie began. 
Popcorn bags were ripped open and тау 
aged: the evening was complete. 

As soon as the kitchen light went on 
back home after the movie, even before 
ny mother had taken off her coat, she 
jerked open the refrigerator door and the 
butter dish was put into action. Loaded 
with oleo, cen. finish lighting up 
the linoleum for yards around, it rested in 
the center of the white enamel kitchen 
able. Dish night had hit Hammond, In- 
d ight where it lived. 

The news of Mr. Dopplers dishes 
spread through town like wildfire, Over 


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PLAYBOY 


166 


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back fences, through. jungles of clothes- 
lines, down alleys, into basements, up 
onto front porches, into candy stores and 
meat markets, the winged word spread. 
Red, chapped, waterwrinkled hands 
paused on clothes wringers and wash- 
boards; bathrobe-clad figures hunched 
over sinks listening in amazement. Neigh 
bors trooped into kitchens all over town 
to inspect at firsthand the beautiful works 
of art that somchow l come into the 
lives of the moviegoing set. 

The following Friday the Orpheum 
drew crowds from a three-county arca, a 
jostling throng that stood in long, expect- 
ant lines to see Blondie Takes a Trip. 
starring Penny Singleton and Arthur 
Lake, and to receive as compensation for 
that trial by fire, sure enough, a Pcarlecn 
Bun Warmer. Mr. Doppler had not failed 
his public. Bun warmers flooded Lake 
County in a massive tide of deluxe Holly- 
wood finish. There were few buns to 

warm, but we were ready for them. 

The Orpheum had never known such 
є popularity. The other movie 
town, the Paramount, desperately 
tried to stem the rising tide of Doppler 
dishware. A huge, glowing sign appeared 
on its marquee announcing that it was 
prepared to offer [ree a one-hundred- 
and-eighty-seven-piece set of Movicland 
Mexican Plasto-Ware, designed person- 
ally by Chester Morris and including his 
permanent, indelibly embossed, raised 
signature on each and every piece. But it 
was too little and too late. The incandes- 
cent beauty of Mr. Doppler's dinnerware 
had an unbreakable grip on the aesthetic 
fancy of the population. Mr. Doppler was 
in the saddle. His power grew from week 
to week as each new piece was added to 
the growing collection that gleamed from 
practically every kitchen cupboard in 
town, crowding jelly glasses and peanut 
butter jars farther and farther to the 
rear. 

The third week saw the first cup-and- 
saucer combination, a twopiece bonus: 
the fourth week a petite, delicately mod- 
eled egg cup, the first ever seen in the 
Midwest. Week by week the crowds grew. 
Tension mounted as piece after piece was 
added to the kitchen shelf. Speculation 
was rife as to what the next weck would 
bring. As he and his aides passed out cel- 
ery dishes and consommé bowls, Doppler 
would Jean forward and mutter confiden- 
ially, “Maybe next week an olive urn 
with pick . He never said it absolutely 
would be an olive urn with pick; he just 
hinted. 

The weeks flew by. The town was 
hooked. It had a 1]2-piece monkey on 
its back that grew heavier every week. 
Ladies in the last stages of childbirth 
were whecled into the Orpheum, gasping 
in pain, to keep their skein going. Creak- 
ing grandmothers, halt and blind, were 
led to the box office by their grandchil- 
dren. Ladies who had not seen the light 
of day since the Crimean War were 


pressed into service. They sat numbly. 
deally in the Orpheum scats, their watery 
eyes barcly able to perceive the shifting 
images on the screen, their gnarled talons 
clasping a sugar bowl for dcar lile. 

"Then, one night, we got The Big Plat- 
ter, as it was called in our family for years 
afterward. The Big Platter—a proper 
name, like The House On The Hill, The 
Basement or The Garage. There was only 
one Big Platter in every complete set of 
dinnerware, the crowning jewel of Dop- 
plers diadem, For weeks we had filed past 
the magnificent display in the lobby, and 
there in the exact center, catching the 
amber spots, glowing like the solar orb 
itself, was The Big Platter. 

One of the saddest sounds 1 have ever 
heard was the crash in the darkness of the 
theater as some numb-fingered housewife, 
carried away by Joe E. Brown, loosened 
her grip in laughter. Stunned, disbeliev- 
ing, she would sit for a moment staring 
down in mute horror at the pearlescent 
slivers among the peanut shells and Toot- 
sie Roll butt ends that formed a thick 
sludge underfoot. Then recrimination 
and suppressed sobs as the entire family 
rose and filed stiffly out, their only reason 
for being there shattered in а moment of 
giddy abandon. With both hands, my 
mother clamped our platter over her 
chest in a death grip. 

None of us realized then, in the exulta- 
tion of the moment, that the end of the 
idyl was already in sight. Without warn- 
ing, the following Friday, the ladies were 
handed a finely sculptured, grape- 
encrusted gravy boat. In our innocence, 
we greeted this windfall with hosannas 
d bore it home to a place of honor. 
The next week, however, brought a. pre- 
monition of disaster as a chagrincd Dop- 
pler dealt out to each female patron 
another gravy boat, all the while mum- 
bling over and over, “The shipment was 
wrong this week. You can exchange this 
gravy boat for a dinner plate next weel 
Vaguely uneasy at this unexpected break 
in the rhythm of dish collecting, the 
women filed muttcring into the theater, 
bearing their redundant bounty. 

Significantly, the third Friday was 
marked by a sudden avenging rainstorm 
that grew in intensity until, as the Or- 
pheum hour approached, it became a 
genuine cloudburst. Women scuttled 
through the downpour, carrying their 
paper-wrapped gravy boats for exchange, 
to be met at the turnstile by Mr. Doppler 
and his shamefaced crew—surrounded by 
cases of still more shining gravy boats. 

“Bring all your gravy boats in next 
week,” he said bravely. "We will posi- 
tively exchange them next week. The 
shipment . . ." 

But the tide had turned. Whar had 
been, weeks before, a gay rabble of happy 
ticket. buyers had become a pushing, d's- 
gruntled, menacing mob. And all 
through that fourth week a strange quiet 
hung over Lake County. Even the weath- 


er reflected the sinister mood of watchful 
waiting. Fitful dry winds whistled across 
the rooftops, screen doors creaked in the 
night, dogs bayed at the sullen moon, and 
children cricd out in their sleep. 

The fourth Friday turned unexpected- 
ly cold—a chill, clammy, premonitory 
cold. Solitary black-clad women bearing 
shopping bags full of gravy boats con- 
verged on the arena. By seven a silent clot 
of humanity milled under the marquee 
and spilled out raggedly along the gloomy. 
shuttered street. The doors remained 
shut. 7:05. 7:10. A lew of those in front 
tapped demandingly on the wrought-brass 
gateway. 7:15. It was obvious that some- 
thing was up. 7:20. The doors finally, re- 

ictantly, swung open. 

As the vanguard approached the turn- 
stile, they knew the worst had come to 
раз. For the first time in many weeks, 
- Doppler was absent from his post of 
honor Two unknown strangers, eyes 
downcast, handed to each ticket holder— 
another gravy boat. Each one was re- 
ceived in stony silence and stuffed. into 
shopping bag or hatbox, completing a set 
of four. 

The feature that night, appropriately 
enough, was The Bride of Frankenstein, 
the story of a man-made female monster 
that turned on and destroyed her creator. 
For long moments, when it finally ended, 
the house lay in hushed darkness, ng 
for Mr. Dopplers next move. On this 
ight no gay music regaled us over the 
er loudspeakers. No coming attrac- 
tions. "The candy counter was dark 

The mothers waited. Then a sudden 
blinding spotlight made a big circle on 
the maroon curtain next to the cold, si- 
Tent screen, and out of the wings stepped 
Mr. Doppler to face his moment of truth. 
He cleared his throat before speaking 
into the ringing silence. No microphone 
tonight. He seemed to have shrunken, 
somehow. His tie was a little crooked and 
for the first time scuff marks and dust 
marred the gleaming toes of his black 
pumps. His coal-black suit was slightly 
rumpled. “Ladies . . ." he began pl 
tively, "I have to apologize for tonight's 
gravy boat." 

A lone feminine laugh, mirihless, arid 
and mocking, punctuated his pause. He 
went on as though unhearing. "I give 
you my personal guarantee that next 
week . 

At this point a low, subdued hissing be- 
gan to rise. The sound of cold, fuming 
. Doppler, his voice shrill, contin- 
ext week I personally guarantee 
we will exchange all gravy boats for . . ." 

He never finished that sentence, A 
dark shadow sliced through the hot beam 
of the spotlight, turning over and over 
nd casting upon the screen the huge 
magnified silhouette of a flying gravy 
boat. Spinning over and over, the object 
crashed on the stage at Doppler's feet. In- 
stantly a blizzard of gravy boats filled the 

- Doppler’s voice rose to a scream. 


“Well, exactly what did you mean when you 
asked your best buddy to see that I got everything 1 needed?” 


“LADIES! PLEASE! WE WILL EX- 
CHANGE...” 

A hail of gravy boats and obscenities 
drowned out his words, And then, spread- 
ing to all corners of the house, shopping 
bags were emptied as arms rose and 
fell in the darkness, pearlescent projec- 
tiles and maniacal female cackles driving 
Doppler from the stage. 

High overhead someone switched off 
the spotlight and The Bride of Franken- 
stein flickered onto the screen. But it was 
too late. More gravy boats were launched, 
and yet morc. An almost inexhaustible 
supply, as though some great mother lode 
of Deluxe Dinnerware had been struck. 
The eerie sound track of the movie min- 
gled with the rising and falling cadence 
of wave upon wave of hurled threats 
missiles—and outside, the dis 
approaching riot cars. The house lights 
went on. The back of the Orpheum was 
suddenly lined with a phalanx of blue- 
jowled policemen. The tumult ebbed. 
Glutted with revenge, the audience sat 
taciturnly amid the ruins. Under the 
guidance of pointed night sticks, they 
filed into the grim darkness of the outside 
word. The dishnight fever was over, 
once and for all. 

The great days of Leopold Doppler had 
passed forever. The doors of the Or- 
pheum never opened again. Mr. Doppler 
disappeared from our lives without a 
trace, leaving behind countless sets of un- 
completed Hollywood Star-Time Dinner- 
ware, memories of Errol Flynn stripped 
to the waist, climbing the rigging of a 
pirate barkentine; of George Raft, smooth 


and oily under his snap-brim fedora, sur- 
rounded by coated henchmen; 
of Bobby Breen and Deanna Durbin on a 
rosecovered swing; of Nelson Eddy and 
Jeanette MacDonald waltzing endlessly 
under Japanese lanterns; of José Iturbi at 
a piano made of ivory and mirrors pla 
ing cascading rhapsodics before thousand- 
piece orchestras in а perpetual MGM 
grand finale. It was the end of an era. 


“Want me to warm up your cup?” 

Abruptly, the counterman snapped me 
back from screenland. Before I could an- 
эмет, he moved away. I knew what 1 had. 
to do. Stealthily, like a cat, in one quick 
motion, I swept the damp green bowl into 
my briefcase. In my booming John 
Wayne voice, то keep him off my trail, I 
barked gruy, “Well, gotta push off. 

I slapped a buck on the counter and 
scuttled out with my priceless objet d'art. 
For a brief instant I almost panicked as I 
heard the thin, tinny voices of the An- 
drews Sisters singing a chorus of Roll Qut 
the Barrel from my attaché case—but it 
vas just the buzzing of a leaky neon sign 
that spelled Eats. 

^ moment later I was out on the Turn- 

pike, jaw set, wearing my widely applaud- 
ed Claude Rains smile, the hard-earned 
result of hundreds of hours logged in 
secret. practice before the bathroom mir- 
rors of my adolescence, carrying with me 
nought but my tattered memories, and a 
relic that would confound as-yet-unborn 
generations of anthropologists: a mute, 
lumpy Rosetta stone of our time. 


167 


CHARLES AZNAVOUR glad to be sad 


thi 


breadstick and 


as-a 


» 
e ОКТ, SORROWFUL-FYED, 

M 401, French show-business phenomenon Charles 
рә Aznavour would seem an unlikely candidate for any- 
“ 
ч 
а 


body's matince-idol list, but the songwriter-singer— 
music publisher-actor heads up nine corporations, 
has scores of employees, a brace of chateaux and the 
Gallic equivalent of $2,000,000 that prove other- 
wise. He has jam-packed Paris’ Olympia and New 
York's Carnegie Hall with his female followers who 
have a limitless capacity for songsmith Aznavour's 
lovelorn lyrics and melancholy melodies as pur- 
veyed by vocalist Aznavour. His tunes (he’s written 
over 500 of them) are as familiar to Frenchmen as 
La Marseillaise. His rave-reviewed screen role, as the 
murked-for-death musician in the hit French flick 
Shoot the Piano Player, established him as an actor 
of considerable talent and further underlined his 
amazing box-ollice appeal. The husky-voiced Ал 
vour comes by his talents genetically; his mother and 
her (Armenians) were actors and Charles rates 
his father as one of the only two good Armeniai 
singers extant. Aznavour's first big song smash, J'ai 
Bu (I Drank), set the downbeat keynote for his fu- 
ture successes. His latest entrees into America’s pop 
charts, Venice Blue and For Mama, indicate that 
znavour proclivity for the doleful ballad con- 
ues unabated. For Charles, it’s doing what comes 
naturally: "My songs are autobiographical. One 
finds love once in a thousand meetings. I must be 
one of those who will never find it.” If he cannot re- 
quite the near-hysterical affection of the hundreds 
of thousands of females, young and old, who ador- 
ingly yell “Sharl! Sharl!” at him from the other 
side of the concert hall's footlights, Aznavour (who's 
scheduled for a three-week stint on Broadway this 
month) can find comfort in the silver-lining aspects of 
his loveless plight as he wends his way to the bank. 


RICHARD LESTER the knack 


AS FAR AS BRITISH cinemaphiles are concerned, the greatest example of American 
largess since lend-lease has been a 33-year-old Philadelphian named Richard Lester 
Pound by pound at Britain's box offices, Lester has spent the past two years establish 
ing firm claim to the title of cinematic clown prince over the current international 
crop of comedy directors, with a record of four financial hits in as many filmic 
attempts. The balding young impresario first entered the directorial limelight in 
1963, when 1 cinemacomedy effort, The Mouse on the Moon, proved a suc 
cessful spoof of the Russo-American space race. Shortly after, Beatle baiters the world 
over were confounded by Lester's 4 Hard Day's Night, wherein he managed to trans- 
form the famed quartet of torso-twisting trou s into first-chair film comedians 
His latest box-office bonanza, Help!, again places Li the redoubtable role of 
bossing the Beatles, а role he so enjoys that he switched tailors and showed up on 
location dressed in the latest Mods’ menswear. “I like individ " says Lester, 
| explaining his prowess in handling England’s notorious band of mop-topped minstrels, 
“so I'm inclined to be on the side of youth, of rebellion, of playfulness.” But his 
greatest cinematic coup to date occurred earlier this year, when The Knack—a film 
which took Lester only eight weeks to film but several months to edit, and which 
caused a cinema critic to praise him as a director with "a painter's vision and a special 
knack in the cutting room"—won the coveted Golden Palm Award at the 1965 Cannes 
tival. Before finding his moviemaking métier, Lester made a peripatetic 
jack ofall-trades tour of the arts, which began soon after his graduation from the 
ity of Pennsylvania at 18 (“I was one of the brighter idiots"). It took him all 
over Spain, France and North Africa earning a living as а café pianist and strolling 
guitar plucker; then deposited him without a farthing on Britain's balmy shor 
just in time to get a foot in the door of that nation's newly formed commercial tele 
Vision industry and subsequently write and direct the medium's first original video 
musicomedy, before going оп to direct the prodigious Goon Shows. Currently shoot- 
ing the forthcoming film version of 4 Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the 
Forum, Lester is still criticized by some for his breakneck film pacing. His response: 
168 “The worst thing a director can do is to underestimate the speed of an audience. 


GERALD TSAI bullish zn boston 


A BOSTON BULL who moves like a cat through the 
market maze of moncy management is Gerald Tsai, 
Jr., the aggressive head of the Massachusetts-based 
Fund. Tsai (sounds like sigh) lately 
tying one of the hottest hands on Wall 
Street. A native of what is now Red China, the 36- 
yearold Tsai took over the growth-fund portfolio 
of the Fidelity mutual group in 1958 and, starting 
virtually from scratch, worked its holdings up to 
more than 5240.000,000. Tsai runs against the grain 
of most mutual-funds group managers who believe 
in wide diversification with bulging files of 
hundreds of different issues. Tsai runs with a sleek 
list of stocks that rarely gocs more than 50. “I want 
to be in a position to move into a stock when I see 
value," Tsai says. By keeping his portfolio trim with 
highly marketable issues, he cin move quickly when 
the time comes. When Tsai does move, it’s often in 
a lightning stroke: If he “sees value,” he buys and 
buys quickly without haggling over a fraction of a 
point. When ivs Gime to sell, Tsai can get out fast 
and is willing to sell below the market price in the 
interest of speed. This kind of qui 
rich dividends if the dealers timing is just right. 
Happily for the holders of Fidelity Capital Fund, 
‘Tsai has one of the keenest senses of timing in the 
market. Tsai’s own personal stock as an analyst is so 
high that he is one of those rare men who kick olt a 
flurry of ity on an issue just on the basis of a 
rumor that they are supposed to be buying—or sell- 
ing. In the animal terminology dear to the heart of 
the market, Tsai aligns himself with the bulls: In 
spite of market reverses this summer, he looks for the 
Dow Jones Indusu Index to rise to nearly 1000 
by the end of the year. But regardless of what the 
averages are, Tsai’s delighted fund holders expect 
him to be well ahead of any general market levels. 


PFO e Eg rt ron >"; aa 


PLAYBOY 


PLAYBOY FORUM 


human life. Such a suggestion completely 
disregards the human need for compan- 
nship, the desire for security іп com- 
munion with another, the totality of 
“love” that can and does develop be- 
tween man and woman. It also forgets 
that marriage and family life necessarily 
require some adjustment in patterns of 
living previously established and there- 
fore should take place before habits are 
100 well set. 

My prop: stead would be e: 
marriage. If the family has positive val- 
ue, as I believe it does, then society 
should recognize its economic responsi. 
bility toward young couples—since it has 
deprived them of the opportunity to 
earn their own way. This docs not mea 
that young couples cannot and should 
not seek to delay childbirth. 

In terms of the family and of se 
therefore, we need to change the emph: 
from simple physical attraction and 
instinctual gratification to comprehen- 
sion of what sex, love and marriage 
mean in all their ramifications, and how 
we in Western society have come to fit 
them together, I see as a hopeful sign 
the tendency in colleges to develop these 
nonphysical attractions of love first and 
10 approve intercourse if the couple is 
planning to be married. 

Until we are prepared to accept the 
sex problem not simply on the plane of 
an animal instinct to be gratified, but 
rather as а part of the whole human so- 
cial complex, sex will continue to be 
problem for any institution and any per- 
son concerned with the whole fabric of 
human life. 

Robert Edward Green, Minister 
First Universalist Church 
North Olmsted, Ohio 

The suggestion (hat society encourage 
earlier marriages is one of the most 
unique solutions to the problem of pre- 
marital sex that we've ever heard; un- 
fortunately, it is also one of the most 
impractical. The net result of this strat- 
agem would be a sizable increase in the 
divorce. rate. 

The disproportionate number of un- 
successful marriages consummated by 
couples in their teens is staggering. In a 
recent study of 5000 teenage marriages, 
conducted by the Archdiocese of Mon- 
treal, it was found that where both pari 
were under I8 at the time of the ma 
riage, оту 15 percent were successful; 
and where both parties were under the 
age of 17, the chances of success dropped 
to one in 100. 

We doubt that you've fully considered 
the implications in your staiement that 
“marriage and family life necessarily ve- 
quire some adjustment in patterns of liv- 
ing previously established and therefore 
should take place before habits are too 
well set.” We agree that marriage re- 


170 quires adjustment on the part of both 


(continued from page 59) 


husband and wife, but it is the sort of 
adjustment that mature individuals are 
most capable of making. To propose that 
teenagers wed "before habits ате too well 
set” is to invite marital maladjustment 
and divorce. 

Incidentally, Hefner has never pro- 
posed that young people devote the years 
prior to marriage to fun and games 
(spelled s-e-x or any other way) and “ne- 
glect all the nonsexual needs of human 
life.” To the contrary, he has suggested 
delaying the average age of marriage to 
permit the fuller development of the 
whole individual. in the belief ihat the 
additional maturity thus acquired will 
considerably increase the chances of mar- 
ital adjustment and happiness, thus sig- 
nificantly decreasing the chances of 
divorce. 


DOUBLE STANDARD DAMNED 

As one of your faithful female readers, 
I'd like to take issue with those who claim 
that you relegate the female to an inferi- 
or role in sexual relationships. In all my 
thorough perusing of The Playboy Phi- 
losophy, 1 have never noticed that you 
have taken an exclusively male view- 
point; your ideas could have been con- 
ceived and set forth by a person of either 
se: nd J certainly never detected 
any references to women that struck me 
as disrespectful or degrading. 

But! 

Not all of your male readers get that 
point, Having spent the last few years 
battling the double standard on all 
fronts, 1 regretfully inform you that al- 
though almost all the men L meet read 
and endorse the Philosophy, and even 
recommend it to female friends, quite a 
few of them take a dim view of it in ac- 
tual practice. The country's campuses are 
still too full of young men who'll desist 
from sowing their wild oats just long 
enough to declare their firm intentions of 
marrying virgins. 

Being only 20 and not interested in 
ly marriage, I don’t insist on any 
strong emotional commitment in a rela- 
tionship. Since most of the men 1 date are 
also rather young, I look only for 
tual liking and respect based on intellec- 
tual compatibility. I find this the best way 
for a couple to enjoy each other's compa- 
ny without too much strain or fri 

However, this easygoing attitude can 
sometimes cost a girl a few friends (per- 


mu- 


tion 


haps not such valuable ones) and a cer- 
tain loss of reputation. I know it's not 
worth a tr but it is a mild irritation 


to run into a young man who'll expound 
on Hefner in the evening and call you a 
tramp the next morning (behind your 
k more often than to your face) be- 
cause you exhibit no extreme emotional 
attachment and/or ask for none. I find a 
certain irony in the fact that the friend 


who first recommended the Philosophy to 
me, after finding that I had a body, forgot 
that I had a mind; the friendship eventu- 
ally fell apart when he decided I was im- 
moral and lost all respect for me. 

I can still find enough opened-minded 
companions to keep from being bitter 
about the few bad eggs, and I've never 
been moved to regret my stand in thc 
“sexual revolution." But 1 wanted to 
point out that, although you imply no 
inferior role for women, not all of your 
readers are so scrupulous. And I stress 
again that all these men I speak of read 
and pay at least lip service to The 
Playboy Philosophy. 

I would like to see Hefner devote a lit- 
ue more time to the persistent problem 
of the double standard. 

Virginia McCreary 
Louisville, Kentucky 

He intends to, in a future installment 

of “The Playboy Philosophy.” 


SEX ON CAMPUS 

I doubt that Pastor Holt is speaking for 
all of the students who belong to the Wes- 
ley Foundation at West Georgia College, 
he es in his letter of criticism 
(‘Unanimous Disagreement,” Playboy 
Forum, July 1965). 1 agree with your re- 
ply that nonmarital pregnancy does not 
repudiate a more permissive attitude to- 
ward sex. However, it certainly saddens 
it, and if Pastor Holt were more realistic, 
he could perhaps help do something 
about the problem. Pastor Holt would 
do a far greater service to the young men 
and women on campus if he helped them 
make The Playboy Philosophy more 
workable rather than unworkable! 

Pastor Holt seems to be ignoring the 
facts of life. College students are sexually 
mature, if not yet emotionally mature, 
and since no one has yet devised a way to 
climinate sex from the campus, the realis 
tic thing to do is to eliminate some of the 
consequences. I neither advocating 
nor condemning premarital sex or even 
casual sex, but I do recognize that it 
exists. 

The problem is this: A complex double 
standard still prevails on campus. Most 
college students aren't sufficiently mature 
to be honest with onc another on this 
subject, but more important—they aren't 
even honest with themselves. The girls 
are constantly confronted with the dilem- 
ma, "Should І or shouldn't 1?" But even 
though they make their decision long be- 
fore they actually indulge, they kid them- 
selves into believing that their decision 
was made in the heat of uncontrollable 
passion. This somehow makes it more 
moral and is, at the same time, a hedge 
against the loss of respect from the young 
man who may really be a Victorian at 
heart, Because of this unwillingness to 
admit that their decision was made in 
time to take precautions against preg- 
nancy, the girls go blissfully along taking 
chances. Some girls are so unrealistic as 
to take such chances night after night, 


all the while blaming 1t on uncontrol- 
Table passion. 

What docs Pastor Holt tell those 
PLAYBOY-influenced students who come 
to him for guidance? Does he tell them 
that sex is for adults and that they must 
be prepared to act like responsible 
adults if they wish to indulge? Does he 
point out that any doctor would rather 
help an embarrassed virgin than hand 
down a verdict of pregnancy to a fright- 
ened and tearful college freshman? If he 
does not, he is losing his opportunity to 
bc effective where it really counts. 

The new, uncomplicated and cert 
contraceptives will not produce premar 
tal promiscuity any more than puritan 
n ethics successfully suppressed 
premarital sex in the past. Nor will con- 
i ange the morality or im- 
morality of sex among college students, 
where Pastor Holt is concerned. But con- 
traceptives will remove one definitely 
immoral consequence of premarital sex; 
and, by removing the fear of pregnancy, 
give those who do indulge a chance to 
get safely through college and so better 
guarantee their future. 

Karen Smith 
Chicago, Illinois 


SIN, SUFFER AND REPENT 

I feel marriages would be held togeth- 
er longer if neither partner had had pre- 
marital intercourse. My husband and 1 
had relations two months before mar- 
riage; now, after being married one year 
and four months—with a three-month- 
old son—our relationship, as far as sex 
goes, is dull and without excitement. I 
feel I would enjoy intercourse much 
more if we hadn't had premarital rela: 
tions and had learned and experimented 
together from scratch. I look down on 
those prostitutes and couples, engaged 
or not, who have intercourse previous to 
marriage, just as I've lost respect for my 
husband and myself, although my hus- 
band doesn't share any of my views on 
sex. As far as illegitimate babies go, there 
should be no contraceptives at all for the 
unmarried. I don't think the girls would 
get pregnant unless God meant this as a 
punishment for engaging in the sex act. 
I have absolutely no pity whatsoever for 
the girls, only the poor babies who have 
all the suffering and shame to go through 
because of their mothers’ mistakes and 
immorality. 

The trouble these days is that there 
aren't enough respectable girls left. T 
think sex is played up to be too big a 
thing. You can't see а decent movie these 
days unless you like watching nude males 
nd females run around from bed to 
beach, etc. I'm in favor of censorship. 

Mrs. G., Jr. 
Fort Walton Beach, Florida 


CASE FOR ABORTION 
I have been a longtime devotee of 
The Playboy Philosophy, and now 1 am 


concerned with its practical application. 

Case history: Female; 21; LQ., 185; 
three years of college; 3.76 average on а 
4-point scale; ambitions to do some- 
thing, with obvious abilities. Married at 
ith confidence in the use of con- 
Birth-control pills played 
hormone havoc with emotions. Not un- 
common. After two months, switched to 
diaphragm. Failure. Not uncommon 
either. Complicated pregnancy and dif- 
ficult delivery. Resentment. Under psy- 
chiatric care since discovery of pregnancy. 
Still depressed and suicidal. Baby now 
seven months old, Practicing abstinence. 

Where is the sweet life of the young 
couple in love working to fulfill their 
ambitions? It never had a chance. My 
husband works every weekend and an 
average of three nights a week to meet 
the bills. My life is sour milk and dirty 
diapers. 

This is my case for legalized abortion 
in the United States. Europe is out of the 
financial reach of so many like me. 

(Name withheld by request) 
Boulder, Colorado 


WORKBOY PHILOSOPHY 

Mr. A. Fowlie, a Unitarian Universal- 
ist minister, wrote in his letter in the 
July Forum that “there is theological 
justification for a life that has play as its 
goal." In support of this statement, he 
cites Jesus’ teaching to become as little 
children (because children play), and 
quotations from Sartre and Boehme. Mr. 
Fowlie concludes, “Thus Hefner is on 
the right track and in good theological 
company.” 

In the first place, to my knowledge, 
Hugh Hefner has never advocated "a 
life that has play as its goal.” Editing a 
national magazinc of rravsov's high 
quality and creating the Playboy Club 
chain and other enterprises must be hard 
work, not play. 

In the second place, I know of no 
responsible theologians who teach such 
an absurdity. Mr. Fowlie's private inter- 
pretation of Jesus admonition to be- 
come as a litle child is surely unique— 
the passage is usually read to mean that a 
follower of Christ must regain the inno- 
cence and dependency of childhood. 
a matter of fact, in other places in 5 
ture, Jesus taught his followers to deny 
themselves, take up their cross and fol- 
low him. 

As for Mr. Fovlies two other sources, 
Sartre and Boehme—Sartre may be good 
company, but, being an atheist, hardly 
good theological company; and Boehme, 
an early Lutheran mystic, has mot yet 
influenced contemporary Lutheran Ше- 
ology toward The Playboy Philosophy. 

PLAYBOY has adequately demonstrated 
the harmful effects of ncopuritanism on 
our society (it was Mencken who said the 


chief evil of the Puritans is not that they 
think as they do, but that they try to 
make others do as they think), and the 
urgent need for revision of the sex laws 
within the various states. But even Hugh 
Hefner must agree that all this is a far 
cry from “theological justification for a 
life with play as its goal. 
David Thomas 
Houston Baptist College 
Houston, Texas 
Hefner does agree. He advocates nei- 
ther a life of hedonistic irresponsibility 
nor one of joyless drudgery; he believes 
in a balance of work and play. 


PRAISE FROM THE PULPIT 
I have read The Playboy Philosophy 
with great interest. I do not know of any 
series of articles in recent years that 
has received so much attention. This 
has opened many doors for me and has 
caused some deep and exciting thought 
as well as discussion. 
The Rev. Charles Greene 
Episcopal Diocese of North Carolina 
Raleigh, North Carolina 


I have proposed to my vestry and 
men's group that we hold discussions 
and use The Playboy Philosophy as their 
basis. This has met with hearty approval 
and I have been requested to write and 
inquire if it would be possible for us to 
have three copies of the series that may 
be distributed to those who will act as 
discussion leaders. 

"The Rev. Eugene H. Buxton, Rector 

St. James Episcopal Church 

Wooster, Ohio 


The discussion of religion and the 
new morality in The Playboy Philoso- 
phy is stimulating. I used it as resource 
material in a sermon that was received 
with real interest 

This kind of assistance is unexpected 
from a prominent national magazine 
such as yours. I congratulate you on it! 

The only thing better would be receiv- 
ing PLAYBOY on a regular subscription. 

The Rev. James R. Uhlinger 
Wesley Methodist Church 
Worcester, Massachusetts 

That's easily arranged with the new 

clergy discount rate, 


“The Playboy Forum” offers the oppor- 
tunity for an extended dialog between 
readers and editors of this publication 
on subjects and issues raised in Hugh 
M. Hejners continuing editorial senes, 
“The Playboy Philosophy." Three book- 
let reprints of “The Playboy Philosoph: 
including installments 1-7, 8-12 and 
13-18, are available at $1 per booklet. 
Address all correspondence on either 
“Philosophy” or "Forum" to: The 
Playboy Forum, PLAYBOY, 232 E. Ohio 
Street, Chicago, Illinois 60611. 


7 


> RALPH GINZBURG (continued from page 96) 
© magazine was going through a shift in its PLAvnoy, entitled Cult of the Aged Lead- 
M own editorial emphasis, and it was felt cr and Capital Gainsmanship), and wrote 
Pe that the “Erotica” article didn't fit the а book called 100 Years of Lynching, de- 
æ image of the “new Esquire” that was scribing anti-Negro brutality, which he 
being developed at the time. Ginzburg published himself through his Olive 
# asked the magazine to return the rights t0 Branch Press. The reception of Ginz 
@ the artide to him, and they did. He de-  burgs second book was “a great dis 
cided to expand it into a hardcover book, appointment” to him, for, as he admits, 
and persuaded Dr. Theodor Reik and “it didn't make a ripple on the lite 
critic George Jean Nathan, both scene.” But more important during th 
of whom he had met through his work as period was an idea brewing in Ginzburg: 
Esquive’s articles editor, to write a brief mind for publishing a magazine. 
foreword and introduction to the vol- “1 felt that the success of Unhuried 
ume. With those two eminent names, his View indicated that there might be a de- 
own expanded article (the book was only mand for a really fine periodical on the 
20,000 words long, about one third the subject of sex—one that would carry no 
size of the average hardcover volume), advertising, that would include works of 
the lure of the title and a budget of less some of the most gifted artists and writers 
than $10,000, Ginzburg launched his first of our time, plus material from the great 
publishing venture, grinding out An Un- archives ol antiquity: suppressed things 
hurried View of Erotica under the im- by De Maupassant, Rembrandt, Ovid, 
print of his own Olive Branch Press in ophanes, and so on. 
1957. So was born the idea of Eros. Ginzburg 
Ginzburg’s entry into publishing was launched it in 1961 with the same pi 
as unconventional as it was successful. He publication technique he used with the 
had first tried to sell Erotica to estab- Erotica book: First he sent out lavish pro- 
lished publishing houses, but after motion circulars, and then, after getting a 
about a dozen" rejections, he decided to good response, published the product. He 
do it himself. First he took a number of eventually sent out 9,000,000 promotion 
big, handsome ads in places like The circulars, which he says brought in 
New York Times and Saturday Re- 150,000 subscriptions (a year's subscrip- 
view, offering the book for sale by mail tion cost $25) and a revenue of some 
order. At the time the ads were first $3,000,000, The direct-mail circular for 
placed, the book had not actually be the magazine, designed by Ginzburg and 
published, and its eventual publication art director Herb Lul sed 
depended entirely on the response to the 
ads. The theory was that if the ads didn't trade with the judgment that it "out 
yield enough response to justify publica- shines anything done in directmail ap- 
tion, Ginzburg would return the money peus in many а year.” 
that had been sent in. The response, how- The magazine itself was expensively 
ever, was “terrific.” says Ginzburg: the produced: it won a number of prestige 
novice publisher had scored. On different awards, and occasionally—but all too 
occasions, Ginzburg has told reporters rarely-—came up with a striking feature, 
that the book sold 250,000 copies in hard- most notably the fine set of nude photo- 
cover and made him a profit of $250,000; graphs of Marilyn Monroe taken shortly 
and that it sold 150,000 and made him before her death by the noted. photogra- 
$150,000. ‘The figures he gave most те. pher Bert Stern. The editorial content of 
cently were the lower set: he said the Eros included suppressed tales from the 
book had sold 150,000 copies and that he — classics, and was heavily weighted with 
made about a dollar on cach copy. what one critic described as "old chest- 
k now, Ginzburg feels that such as espeare a Ho- 
t book was “superficial, but in its ale Chastity Belt" 
own way. slightly pioneering. Tt printed Zoncu- 
extracts, for instance, from Lady Chatter- At best a mixed bag, it is hardly 
ley's Lover, which hadn't been published possible to feel that a magazine offering 
here, and I think it served as a kind of such fare as "How Do Porcupines Do И?” 
‘shochorn,’ or opening wedge, that (answer: "Carcfully") lived up то Ginz- 
helped that book and others to be pub- burg's promotional promise that “The 
lished." Whether or not the Erotica hook publication of Eros represents a major 
was “superficial,” it was so profitable that breakthrough in the battle for the liber 
jon of the human spirit. 
Perhaps the most amusing—and sadly 
to leave Esquire. The magazine didn't enlightening—feature that Eros pub- 
t to be associated with the Erotica lished was à reprint of responses from 
Ginsburg refused to disassociate the public to the magazine's promotional 
If from promotion for the book, so mailings. These reactions from all over 
he and the magazine parted company. America induded such scrawled senti- 
He returned for a while to his re- ments as “Repent!” "Filth; “I think 
search on Comstock, turned out more frec- you are a bunch of Navel Movers, 
172 lance magazine pieces (including two for filthy, lousy, sex-maniac bastards leave me 


alone,” and such moving requests as 
“Could you give me information on your 
male chastity belt? I have a son in col 
lege” and “Please send me a free copy. 
1 am very poor and very horny.” 

The reactions of the press were more 
diverse, but sometimes as emotional. 


Saturday Review said that Eros “is likely 
to become known as the American Herit- 


age of the bedroom”; Time magazine de- 
scribed it as “a four-letter word spelled 
BORE"; the Catholic magazine America 
said, "We feel sick"; and dai т reac- 
tion ranged all the way from the “Wow!” 
of The Miami News to the “Dirty” of the 
Chicago Daily News. 

But no: all the criticism came from the 
press. Three weeks after Eros published 
its first issue (on Valentines Day of 
1962), Representative Kathryn Granahan 
of Pennsylvania, chairman of the Post 
Ollice Operations Subcommittee, spoke 
on the floor of the House to demand that 
the Postmaster General suppress the mag- 
azine. In а burst of impassioned—and 
alliterative—oratory, Mrs. Granahan sai 
“The presses of this pornographic pesti- 
lence must be stopped and its 
publisher smitten.” 

Postmaster General J. Edward Day re- 
plied that after reviewing the matter, he 
found that “in the light of the Court deci- 
sion in the Lady Chatterley's Lover case. 
Eros was not in violation of the posta 
obscenity statutes. 

But that did not end the outcry. 
number of organizations 


A 
devoted to 
sniffing out obscenity took off after Eros 


and Ginzburg. whom they verbally 
crowned as “The King of Smut.” Reports 
on this new-found villain, who was por- 
trayed as trying to undermine the mor- 
als of American youth, appeared in 
publications of the country’s 300-some 
carching organizations, such as the 
n of Decency, National Office for 
at Literature, Guardians of Morality 
in Youth, Operation Moral Upgrade and 
Americans to Stamp Ont Smut. The post 
office eventually received more than 
35,000 pieces of mail complaining about 
receiving invitations to subscribe to Eros. 
Most damaging were charges that the 
magazine had sought to recruit subscrib- 
ers from boyscout troops, high schools 
and 4H Clubs. 

Ginzburg says that “we never purposc- 
ly circularized hoy-scout troops or high 
schools or any of that. Why the hell 
should we? Children aren't about to buy 
ап пе that costs $25 а year." 

Тһе promotional circulars were sent to 
the mailing lists of other magazines, Ginz 
burg claims, such as Saturday Review, 
American Heritage. Show and Horizon, 
as well as to all public libraries. “Some 
where along the line," he admits, ^ 
possible that a few children—maybe li- 
brary monitors—opened our prospectus 
and read it. 

"Though denying that the m 
circulars were ever purposely 


smut- 


agazine's 
"nt to 


kids, Ginzburg personally feels that it 
wouldn't be so harmful for children to 
have access to publications dealing with 
sc 


"Its my own personal belief that por- 
nography can even be useful to children. 
In the general absence of intelligent sex 
education in our schools, and in the ab- 
sence of any proven correlation between 
antisocial behavior and pornography, 
pornography may very well educate chil- 
dren in matters they are otherwise kept 
in the dark about. You tell a litle girl 
she was brought by the stork or found 
under a cabbage leaf, and if nobody—no 
teacher, no school program—ever tells 
her the real facts of life, on her wedding 
night she may be shocked to the point of 
revulsion.” 

Tt is doubtful, of course, that such theo- 
ries as this would have helped Ginzburg's 
use in the eyes of the post office. At any 

the midst of the Eros olfice Christ 
vty on December 19. 1962, a U.S. 
rshal dampened the holiday spirits by 
handing Ginzburg an indictment charg- 
ing him with criminal use of the U.S. 
mails. and threatening maximum penal- 
ties of $280,000 in fines and 280 years in 
prison. 

nzburg was asked to stand trial in 
Philadelphia, and he believes that the 
choice of that city was a shrewd and delib- 
erate move on the part of the post office. 
‘The City of Brotherly Love had recen 
been stirred by a number of 
raphy campa 
raids, the pu 
from public library shelves, and the 
removal of Huckleberry Finn from the 
high schools in favor of a “cleaned-up™ 
version of the book. The extremist spiri 
of local censors reached a bizarre and gro- 
tesque climax when an actual burning of 
banned reading matter was staged on the 
steps of a Philadelphia cathedral. The lo- 
1 superintendent of schools set the 
ad а group of choir boys sang 
Gloria in Excelsis lor background music. 
A Philadelphia librarian later comment- 
ed in the February I, 1964, issue of the 
Library Journal that “Ralph Ginzburg 
has about the same chance of finding jus- 
tice in our [Philadelphia] courts as a Jew 
had in the courts of Nazi Ger 2 

Ginzburg's fecling that the climate of 
opinion would be more favorable to him 
in New York proved t0 be correct, for on 
May 8, 1968, a grand jury in New York 
City that heard testimony on Eros, Eroli- 
ca and The 
ruled that Ginzburg had not 
state's obscenity statutes. The de 
course, was heartening to Ginzburg, and 
he faced his Philadelphi: al with new 
confidence. On June 9, the day before die 
trial, he called а press conference on the 
steps of the New York Post Office, and 
told newsmen tl he “looked forward 
with relish” to defending free speech in 
the Quaker City. Obviously in high spir- 
its, Ginzburg finished his statement and 


ny 


Housewifes Handbook, 


lated the 
sion, of. 


then bounded down the postoffice steps, 
slid into his battered old 1953 Ford con- 
vertible and rode off to Philadelphia to 
slay the dragon of censorsh 


cares nothing for clothes 
time to buy any new outfits for years, but. 
he evidently felt the need to dress for this 
historic occasion. He showed up in court 
the next day incredibly bedecked in a 
black double-breasted pinstripe with a 
white carnation in the lapel and, perhaps 
as a nod to Philadelphia's boating crowd, 
topped off with a jaunty straw skimmer. 


The presiding judge was not impressed 
with Ginzburg’s version of sartorial 
splendor, and remarked to an aide: 


Where's he think he's going, to his wed- 
ding?” When he later appeared for his 
sentencing, Ginzburg purposely wore 
“the squarest suit 1 could find, а blue 
serge." but it was too la 

From the first, the Ginsburg case was 
unique in the recent history of censor- 
ship. partly because his publications 
stirred controversy not only among the 
public, but also in the intellectual com- 
munity that has fought against book ban- 
ning and gone to bat—in print and some- 
times in court—in defense of the works of 
such writers as D. Н. Lawrence, Henry 
Miller, Hubert Selby, Jr., William Bur- 
roughs and John Cleland. In onc of his 
press-critique columns for The Village 
Voice, Nat Hentoff noted 1 not a si 
gle New York paper had run an editorial 
defending Ginzburg, and he cut 10 the 
heart of the matter when he commented 


that “protesting an obscenity rap against 
Henry Miller is now a matter of self- 
congratulatory custom among ‘respect 
able’ ci burg and 


rman 
editor of Commentary magazine, 
са several years before in behalf of 
Hubert Selby, Jr., whose short story Tra- 
La-La (a powerfully written account of 
mounted to a gang bang), pub- 
lished in the Provincetown Review, had 
been charged as “obscene.” Podhor 
nd other literary figures went to Prov- 
icetown to testily to the literary merit of 
the story. But Podhoretz, after considera- 
поп, refused to ро to Philadelphia to 
testify for Ginzbing’s publications. He 
recently explained that “I certainly don't 
want 10 see Ginzburg go to jul; Lll be 
horrified if he does. But as the law stands, 
the only way I could have helped him 
was to testify, as a critic, that Eros and 
The Houwsewife’s Handbook on Selective 
Promiscuity have social useful 
thetic merit, and I don't hone 
that they do.” 

According to the most recent legal 
nition—as set forth in the case of the 
U.S. vs. Roth in 1957—the Supreme 
Court defines obscenity by three main 
(1) “To the average person, ap- 
plying contemporary community. stand- 
ards, the dominant theme [of the work 
lleged то be obscene] taken as a whole 


0) 


[must] appeal to prurient interest 


“For God's sake, can't you just take down the data it 
feeds us without exclaiming ‘You're so right! ?” 


173 


PLAYBOY 


174 pl 


“Just jump out, run around the table a couple 
of times and beat it back to the kitchen.” 


it must go “substantially beyond custom- 
ry limits of candor" to the point of "pat- 
enes”; and (3) it must be 
Without redeeming social im- 


portance,” 

The literary intellectual in recent ob- 
scenity trials has performed a kind of styl- 
ized ritual in which he testifies as an 
expert to the literary merit of the work in 
question. But Ginzburg’s publications, 
though they seemed inoffensive to many 
intellectuals, did not present a clear-cut 
case for literary endorsement. Despite the 
complexities of the case, however, Ginz- 
burg was able to get two ACLU lawyers 
to represent him, and author Dwight 
Macdonald, well known as a critic of the 
U.S. cultural scene, agreed to serve as а 
itness at the trial. Macdonald later ex- 
ned his feelings about testifying when 


he said that “They're exploiting sex, but 
there's nothing wrong with that. ... The 
only good stuff they run is from the clas- 
sics. But then I thought I ought to de- 
fend them. They're being persecuted.” 
On the witness stand, Macdonald was 
areful to make clear his own criticism of 
Eros. He was able to be most unqualified 
on the point of whether Eros went be- 
yond the "customary limits of candor" 
tolerated by the society, when he said, 
"No. | should say it goes considerably 
this side of it, the safe side, the legal side, 
the nice side.” 

As to specific contents of the magazine, 
Macdonald singled out those features he 
thought hid merit: The fourth issue of 
Eros, which had brought the indictment, 
carried a feature called “Black and White 
in Color. A Photographic Tone Poem,” 


and Ginzburg believes that this feature, 
which showed nude pictures of an inter- 
1 couple in attitudes of love, was the 
main thing that brought the indictment 
against him. Macdonald said of that par- 
ticular photographic essay, “I suppose 
if you object to the idea of a Negro 
and a white person having sex together, 
then, of course, you would be horrified by 
it. І don't. From the artistic point of 
view, I thought it was very good. In fact, 
I thought it was done in great taste . . 
On other matters, Macdonald was not 
able to be as positive, as illustrated. by 
this exchang 


DEFENSE ATTORNEY: I take it there 
are articles in here that you don't 
think are of great literary merit? 

MACDONALD: Yes. There аге a con- 


siderable number that, it seems to 
me, are either trivial or poor. 
“Bawdy Limericks” I don’t think are 
terribly funny, and I think quite vul- 
gar, but again, I don't think they're 
obscene or pornographic. 


But U.S. District Court Judge Ralph 
C. Body, who presided at the trial, did 
not take such a temperate view. In his 
decision he characterized the three publi- 
cations in question as "dirt for dirt's sake, 
and dirt for money's sake.” Even тоге 
surprising was the opinion of the U.S. 
Court of Appeals, which not only upheld 
the conviction, but condemned Ginzburg 
for “pandering to and exploiting for 
money one of the great weaknesses of hu- 
man beings.” It is sobering to note that in 
the solemn judgment of a U.S. Appeals 
Court, sex is regarded as “one of the great 
human we esses.” 

Many intellectual and literary leaders 
who had been ambivalent about the 
merits of Ginzburg’s publications rallied 
to his support after these surprising 
legal judgments, which not only seemed 
extreme in their punishment (more com- 
monly in obscenity cases, the Govern- 
ment seeks only to end publication and 
distribution of the work in question, 
rather than to jail the publisher as well), 
but also represented a violent backward 
surge from the more recent loosening of 
censorship measures, Many distinguished 
writers and intellectuals joined with edi- 
tors, publishers, librarians and other 
profesional people in the amici brief, 
previously cited, which stated that the 
signers were “alarmed that under our 
constitutional system a person may be 
sentenced to prison for using the mails in 
the distribution of publications concerned 
with sex. 

In the meantime, when the trial in 
Philadelphia was over, Ginzburg returned 
to New York and the now-cmpty offices 
of Eros. His righthand man, Frank 
Brady, decided that since the magazine 
had ceased publication, he would look for 
another job, but Ginzburg urged him to 
and have faith. 

е a couple of months,” said 
nd I'll have another maga- 


Brady didn't, but Ginzburg did. 

The newest journalistic creation to 
spring from Ginzburg's brow was Fact, a 
magazine launched with full-page ads 
proclaiming that “The American press is 
no longer the voice of the people." In the 
face of u abdication, Ginzburg was 
offering Fact as “а partial antidote to this 
scrious threat to the democratic process. 

As usual, Ginzburg had placed his ads 
before actually publishing the magazine, 
and also as usual, his ads pulled a big re- 
sponse, Whether or not on this occasion 
he also needed other financial backing, 
after the losses incurred by Eros’ demise, 
is hard to establish, At the time, Ginz- 
burg told one reporter that he "got a loan 
from a relative” to get things going, and 


he also has referred in the past to “a loan 
from a friend.” Today he refuses to say 
anything at all about his financing, and 
the silence hus not surprisingly given rise 
to a number of lurid rumors, suggesting 
that Ginzburg is being supported by the 
Communists or the Mafia, or both. He 
has now developed a standard answer to 
such charges: 

“Communists, right? The mob, right? 
Thats terrific. You just print that my 
money is coming from Joc Bananas. No, 
wait—it's a syndicate, see—it's coming 
from Joe Ba Bobby Baker and Mao 
‘Tse-tung. They met one night in an opi- 
um den and floated the stock issue behind 
my magazines. You print that.” 

And everyone does. It's all that Ginz- 
burg will say now about anything con- 
cerning the financing of his projects. 

Ginzburg's new publication (he says it 
now has a circulation of 200,000) had at 
least one thing in common with all his 
other projects: It immediately stirred up 
controversy. Paul Krassner, publisher of 
the farout Realist, complained that 
When I first saw their ad ] sent in $7.50 
for a six-issue subscription, along with a 
note of encouragement. Then 1 received 
the January-February issue. I sent a tele- 
gram to The New York Times protesting 
Fact's misleading advertising. .. . The ad 
had listed 22 impressive names as ‘con- 
tributors, when actually they had simply 
sent in statements critical of Time maga- 
zine, many of which are exactly one scn- 
tence long. The Times made Fact change 
the ad." Krassner complained further 
that the ads had promised that Fact 
would be sold only by subscripticn, and 
yet it was soon appearing on newsstands. 
Perhaps, quipped Krassner, Ginzburg 
might now be at work on a new book—A 
Hurried View of Ethics. 

Dwight Macdonald, who had testified 
for Ginzburg, was one of the “impressive 
names” who sent in brief statements criti- 
cal of Time which were published in the 
first issue of Fact—and then was listed in 
ads as a “contributor” to the magazine. 
Ginzburg had also asked M ld for 
permission to ге artide he had 
written some years ago in Encounter, and 
Macdonald explains that “I told him that 
first I wanted to see some issues of Fact 
before allowing him to reprint my article 
in it. He sent me the issues, I read them, 
and I told him J didn't want to appear in 
the magazine. I thought it was sensational 
and exploi 

Macdonald asked Ginzburg to stop us- 
ing his name in ads as a "contributor" to 
Fact, and when still another ad with his 
name so listed appeared in The New Re- 
public, Macdonald wrote to that maga- 
zine and explained that he was not a 
contributor" to Fact but had simply sent 
in the brief statement they had published 
in their symposium on Time. 

After his own dealings with Ginzburg, 
Macdonald believes that “he is an irre- 
sponsible fellow, and more of a commer- 


cial exploiter than a journalist.” 
Comedian Henry Morgan, who also 
had signed the amici brief for Ginzburg's 
, commented after reading Fact that 
Ginzburg's new publishing venture "re- 


While the executive director of the 
ACLU, John de]. Pemberton, praised 
the magazine's “emphasis on controversial 
issues” as “a good thing for discussion 
and dissent in our country,” a number of 
critics have attacked Fact for not 1 
up to its name. One reporter questioned 
Ginzburg about an inaccuracy in an ex- 
posé of Barry Goldwater in Fact—a com- 
pilation of comments on the Republican 
candidate's psyche culled from a survey 
of American psychiatrists, with an intro- 
ductory diatribe by Ginzburg himself. 
Ginzburg explained that he simply did 
not have the “time or resources" 10 send 
men out to Arizona to check the matter. 
When the reporter pressed him as to why 
he then had printed the item, Ginzburg 
angrily answered that “You seem to make 
a religion out of authent 
would hardly seem a bad religion to be 
followed by any magazine—especially one 
called Fact, which is purportedly on a 
“quest for truth.” 

Pursuing this “quest,” Fact has found a 
number of dragons to slay with its eye- 
catching, boldface blasts at what often 
turn out to be well-worn targets. Having 
already attacked Time magazine, The 
Star-Spangled Banner, American cars and 
Coca-Cola in coverstory features, there 
seems little left for Fact to expose besides 
mom’s apple pie. 

Perhaps the best comment on the spirit 
and style of Fact was made in a parody 
issue of the magazine published by the 
Columbia Jester, the undergraduate hu- 
mor magazine of Columbia College. In 
the same style and format of the ma 
zine itself, it featured a cover which 
asked, in large, importantlooking type 
“IS LIONEL TRILLING ALI ARGENTIN. 

Ginzburg didn’t think it was funny; in 
fact, he does not think many things are 
funny, and a number of reporters and 
publishing colleagues who have come 
ith him have remarked on his 
lack of a sense of humor. He himself 
gly said in describing the 
atmosphere of City College when he 
was there as a student in the post-Wa 
"There was no social life at school. 
‘There wasnt much humor. It was very 
stimulating 

One of Ginzburg's heavy-handed but 
mercifully infrequent attempts at humor 
resulted in more trouble than laughs. 
The Government prosecution brought 
out during the Eros trial that Ginzburg 
had attempted to have the magazine 


led from towns such as Blue Ball, 


Pennsylva 


Intercourse, Pennsylvania, 


and Middlesex, New Jersey. This brand 175 


PLAYBOY 


176 


of boys-camp ribaldry hardly matched 
the stated intentions of Eros to present 
sex in a "mature" and “beautiful” man- 
ner. But it was Ginzburg's notion of hu- 
mor, and, as he recently commented, “ 
still think it was a cute gag." 

Despite his recognized talent for pro- 
motion, Ginzburg's taste—or lack of it 
often provokes criticism of his sales tech- 
niques as well as of his editorial judg- 
ment. Nat Hentoff, who consistently has 
defended Ginzburg's right to publish 
what he wishes, recently said, "I do 
not presume to tell anyone how to pro- 
mote his wares, but I do have my те 
tions. And to me, the way that Ginzburg 
hawks Faci, and has hawked his other 
publications, reminds me of the guy in 
Times Square with his 18-tools-in-one 
magic little houscwife's friend for $1.98. 
But that, too, is part of the American 
pluralism that we don't have nearly 
enough of, so I would oppose any at- 
tempts to silence or mute him. And at the 
same time, I will stand on my civil liberty 
not to buy his wares. 

Ginzburg's brash methods have stirred 
up a great deal of speculation about his 
motives, and the game of guessing what 
sort of man he really is has resultcd in 
extreme opinions from both friends and 
enemies. One of the ACLU attorneys 
representing Ginzburg feels that he is “a 
crusader for freedom” and “not ordi- 
man." U.S. Attorney Drew J. T. 
O'Keefe was able to agree only with the 


second part of that judgment, when he 
told reporters that “Ginzburg is not the 
ordinary furtive smut peddler—he's much 
worse, g indeed has become a 
“crusader,” it is only a recent. develop- 
ment, and there are those who remember 
him before he put on his shining armor. 
^ former magazine colleague of Ginz- 
burg's recalled that once in an editorial 
conference someone happened to make a 
derogatory reference to a man as being "a 
real Sammy Glick.” Ginzburg promptly 
said, "So whats wrong with Sammy 
Glick? "That's who I am." 

But since then Ginzburg has found 
that money doesn't necessarily buy happi- 
ness, and his ambitions have shifted more 
to fame than fortune, He recently said. 
that “I'd like to go down in posterity as a 
great editor and an important writer," 
and he speaks confidently of his belief 
that the post office will make him a 
hero and a martyr. To match these 
later. loftier ambitions, he has acquired 
appropriate intellectual guideposts, such 
as the quote from Oliver Wendell 
Holmes that is now framed on his office 
wall: “A man should share the action and 
passion of his times at peril of being 
judged not to have lived.” 

Ginzburg's office is a one-man roost on 
the top floor of the building where Fact 
has its headquarters, across from New 
York's Bryant Park on West 40th Strect, 
‘The elevator goes only as high as the 26th 
floor, where the 27-member staff of Fact 


“Seven! I move three steps 
forward, and I get another turn . . ." 


operates; but to get to Ginzburg's own 
inner sanctum, it is necessary to make a 
dramatic climb three flights farther up, 
by means of an iron spiral staircase which 
leads through semidarkness to a door 
with a cardboard sign that says eros. By 
then the visitor, slightly dizzy and surely 
impressed, is prepared to open the door 
and find nothing less than the Phantom 
of the Opera at work on his memoirs. 
But its only Ralph Ginzburg, patter- 
ig swiftly on the keys of an electric type- 
writer. He has no secretary, for he feels 
that such an intermediary would only 
slow down the pace of his creative inspi- 
iom. From his single window he com- 
nds a view of barges moving purpose- 
fully up and down the Hudson, and the 
only other decorations are potted plants, 
gray metal filing cabinets, a bookcase— 
and the framed quote from Holmes. 
Ginzburg speaks frankly and freely, 
and in some ways—though only some—he 
is his own best critic. Discussing his activi 
ties, he is alternately brash, humble, self- 
vrandizing. There is a 
t he almost doesn't know what to 
think about himself, and so gocs from 
one tone to another, as if trying on hats 
that never. quite seem to fit. Explaining 
his role as а crusader, he said, “When I 
started Eros I wasn't a crusader, I was just 
a writer-publisher. I wasn't out to change 
the world. I just wanted to publish in this 
field and have fun doing it, and са 
living at it. It was the attacks and harass- 
ment that forced me into a crusading po- 
sition. I wasn't at all prepared to lay 
down five years of my life for this cause. 
But I got enraged, and I guess I began to 
acquire the coloration of a crusader—or a 
madman, depending on your point of 
view.” 


guess many things I believe are slightly 
left of center—if voting rights and social 
welfare are "left" On the other hand, 1 
never quite made up my mind, politically. 
I don't have strong political feelings ex- 
cept in the area of iree speech and world 
survival. 1 ako get hopped up about the 
Catholic Church—not as a religion, but 
when it becomes a political body, I feel 
very much threatened.” 

In addition to its exposé functions, 
Ginzburg hopes and believes that Fact 
will eventually become a "leading intel- 
lectual magazine.” But whether or пог 
such a dream is realized. Ginzburg 
himself hardly seems to qualify as an 
intellectual, by personal preference or 
inclination, He admitted that he doesn’t 
have much time for books, and that “the 
only things I read concern my business— 
other magazines, for instance. 

Ginzburg is frank to admit that what- 
ever its future achievements, right now 


Fact is "an imperfect young magazine. A 
buck and a quarter for an issue is an out- 
rageous price for it But,” he quickly 
adds, "if it lived up to its potenti. 
could be the best thing in American 
journalism. 
"Someday," he said, "I hope to be able 
to revive Eros, and when I do I'm serious- 
ly considering the possibility of bringing 
it back as a nonprofit corporation, like 
National Geographic. Y'm not doing this 
because I feel overly defensive and must 
prove to the world that I'm really not in 
this for money, but because I think 
there's almost a charitable, a socially 
benelicial character to that magazine." 
Appraising his own role as a publisher 
promoter, Ginzburg explained that "By 
the values of most people, I'm a contra 
diction. They expect you to be either a 
ist exploiter’ or а person with edi- 
acumen. But I have elements of 


Yet Ginzburg himself admits that he 
does not possess these two "contrad 

y nts in equal measure. 

“Both my magazines—Eros and Fact— 
have been characterized by first-rate pro- 
motion and faulty execution,” he said. 
“The execution has never yet lived up to 
the potential, or to the promotional 
promises, which are quite grandiose. I of 
ten fall short of the mark editorially—but 
I seldom do promotionally.” 

Ginzburg's evaluation of his products 
seems both candid and accurate. The con- 
cept of a well-produced magazine that 
would deal tastefully with the subject of 
sex, and a hard-hitting, muckraking mag- 
azine that would shake up the complace 
cy of contemporary journalism, are both 
worthwhile and stimulating projects. As 
Ginzburg himself recognizes, the trouble 
arose in the difficult area that lies be- 
tween the conception and the execution. 

But evidently bothered by his own 
frank appraisal, Ginzburg later said that 
he wanted to add to his criticism the 
opinion that his magazines, whatever 
their shortcomings, were better than most 
other publications. 

Even in spite of its faulty execution," 
he said, "I believe that Fact is better than 
95 percent—no, 99 percent—of the maga- 
zines im Ameri 

Self-promotion began to triumph over 
self-criticism, and a further encouraging 
thought occurred to. Ginzburg. 

“There's another thing that typifies all 
my projects,” he said. “They're fresh and 
original. J like to be fresh and original.” 

Ginzburg isn't easily discouraged—not 
even by Ginzburg. 

“As long as I keep trying,” he said, “ГЇ 
dick eventually. You look at the history 
of every guy who's made it big, he had a 
lot of failures at first. 

It is difficult to see Ralph Ginzburg as 
either a crusader who is out to change so- 
ciety, or a villain who is out to corrupt 
it. He simply wants to make it big. 


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FIREPLACE 


"She's a dream. You haven't seen a 
honey of a living doll until you've seen 
her.” 

"How's chances?” 

“No chances. Absolutely nothing 
doing. Not stuff for me, you or anyone. 
nd Al are the hands-off perfect 
arriage. They'll be at my New Year's 
Eve party. Drool over Leda, but don't 
touch. If you get ideas, you'll be wasting 
your time. I'm telling you." 


Harry held his New Year's Eve cele- 
bration in the village's best restaurant. 
There were Harry, Arlene, Harry's 
brother and sister and their mates, and 
Al and Leda. 

Harry had nor exaggerated about 
Leda. She was a stunning, svelte, black- 
haired, violeteyed, peaches-and-cream 
Hebraic beauty. Solomon had described 
her well in the Song of Songs. 

Her husband, Al, though short, was 
personable and handsome enough. They 
looked the ideal couple. Husbands with 
extraordinarily beautiful wives are usu. 
ally worried. Al was a confident, relaxed 
guy. Leda had an uprightness that 
definitely discouraged approach. 1 man- 
aged one dance with her. She firmly kept 
her body away from me would not 
let me pres her to me. At midnight, 
when everybody got silly and slobbered 
kisses, I pecked at Leda's virtuous check. 

If 1 have my eye on a married woman, 
I always butter up the husband. Al and I 
got chummy. He and Leda taught high 
school and lived in Flatbush. He collect- 
ed butterflies and l science fiction. 
‘They had a summer cottage with Leda's 
mother, Hannah, in Provincetown on 
Cape Cod. 

“Come up and visit us there next 
summei 
I 


sured him that I would. I asked 
if he had any children. 

“No,” he said, “Leda and I aren't 
going to have kids until we're financially 
secure. How about that?" 

"Al I would say you're both using 
your heads." 

We were all Harry's overnight guests. 
When I went to go to the bathroom be- 
fore retiring, Leda was in there. She 
came out of the bathroom in a sheer 
nightgown. The way I quickly scanned 
her as she went by made her redden 
deeply. I envied Al's going to bed with 
her. It always seemed that the woman I 
hungered for belonged to some other 
lucky guy. 

Harry and I sat up in the den for a 
while discussing the pros and cons of se- 
duction. Harry n old hand 
tainly not the fainth 
combined business w 


h pleasure. More 


178 than a few of his sexual conquests he au- 


(continued from page 93) 


daciously ini 
the enviable 
professional 

tions 
‘The modern woman,” he said, 
“makes her own laws about morals and 
freedom of the flesh. Under conducive 
circumstances—boredom with houschold 
drudgery, Hollywoodlike dreams, a two- 
timing husband, sexual curiosity, flattery 
l Madame Bovarys; with 
strong drinks, romantic atmosphere, good 
i bout any woman can be had. 

"But Leda is the exception. In her 
case, you're up against religion more 
than anything else. She and her mother, 
Hannah, are women out of the Bible, 
They live by the old law. To them, 
‘Thou shalt not commit adultery’ has 
teeth in it. Leda's modest mien is conse- 
quential to faith. The B of her virtue fol- 
lows the A of ‘God.’ Pete, this is one time 
you're not going to get in.” 

1 bowed to Harrys dictum. Never- 
theless, 1 availed myself of every op- 
portunity to feast my eyes upon Leda. I 
saw her at the bar mitzvah of Harry's 
boy. It was not until Harry took me 
along to Leda's seventh wedding anni- 
versary at her apartment in 
that I met her mother. Leda did 
take after her mother in looks. The 
ow, Hannah, was plain, hawk-nosed and 
severe of fac ible female taber- 
nacle with austere dress and the black 
wig of the matriarch. Hannah was highly 
educated and spoke fine English. 

At the very middleclass gathering, an 
eloquent rabbi blessed Leda and Al. His 
greatest. praises were for Hannah. He ex- 
tolled her as "a human inviolable island 
of the one true n our Babylonian 
and Faustian and “the Lord 
God's ha 


wage afforded by the 
y of gynecological 


а ve 


times" 
ndmaiden and exemplar mater- 


iments, refreshments and cere- 
monies were in the orthodox manner, 
amid all of which Hannah and Leda 
stood out as shining figures of woman- 
hood. 

There is a defective, remiss quality 
about an attractive loose woman. But 
about a beautiful religious good woman 
there is а most desirable something, a 
forbidden-fruit aura that is maddeningly 
exciting. Leda's virtue heaped more fuel 
upon my flames. 

1 could feel Hannah's eyes going 
through me. I wondered whether the са. 
glelike woman could read my sensuous 
thoughts. At the table, by the light of the 
seven-branched silver candelabra, Н. 
nah made me think of occult theosophy, 
the рик and the all-designing cabala. 

I felt there was a mystic ruling bond 
between voluptuous Leda and stark Han- 
nah. Hannah said little and studied me. 


Al showed me his butierfly collection 
and explained how he went about find. 
ng, capturing and preserving them. I 
had to pretend interest. 

During June I was building a patio 
around Harry's pool. Hannah and Leda 
visited. Hannah watched as I chipped 
and laid the slate in mortar. After 1 had 
a backstroke workout in the pool, Han- 
nah ran her hand over my shoulder mus- 
cles and complimented me upon my 
physical ability. Leda, as usual, remained 
proper and remote. 

I was surprised by Hannah's personal 
friendliness. In the few days at Harry's, 
she favored my company. She carefully 
read the galley proofs of my novel 
discussed it with me. Hannah had a wide 
knowledge of history and ethnic st 
I don't know how she found out that my 
parents had come from the rugged, 
poetic Abruzzi region of Italy, but she 
knew more about the background of my 
people than I. 

“You imagine yourself to be of Italian 
blood,” she said, "but that is only partly 
true. Originally, the area of your people 
was settled by the Greeks after the fall of 
‘Troy. Then throughout the centuries fol- 
lowed the mixtures of invading bloods: 
the Romans, the Semitic Saracens, the 
Normans and, finally, the Spaniards of 
the House of De Avalos. Your face tells 
the story of these races and cultures.” 

I asked her, “Hannah, is that good or 
bad?" 

She smiled. Then she said, "Al and 
Leda’s vacation from school begins in 
two weeks. We are going to the Province- 
town cottage for the summer. We have 
no fireplace. Would you come to Prov- 
icetown as my guest and build us a fire- 
place? I do not expect you to do all that 
labor for nothing. I will pay you.” 

That night, after Hannah and Leda 
left, Harry asked me, “Did you ever have 
a physical checkup?” 

I told him I had never had any trouble 
with my health. He badgered me into 
letting him go over me from head to toc. 
"The result was just as I thought. I was in 
first-rate condition. 


Two weeks later, Hannah and Leda 
arrived at Harry's in a Buick coupe. Tak- 


ing me aside, Harry said with a mocking- 
ly straight face, “Remember, Leda is my 
sister-in-law.” 

Harry,” I said, “I'd never think of 
dirtying your doorstep. I give you my 
word of honor. TI behave. No kidding, 
I'm really going to Provincetown with 
them (o build their fireplace.” 

Leda did the driving. We took the 
Port Jefferson ferry across the Sound to 
Bridgeport, Connecticut, and rode up 
through New England to the Cape. I 
asked Hannah why Al hadn't come along. 
She said Al had to officiate at a conven- 
n of the Butterfly Society and would 


“You're really fit for a king!” 


PLAYBOY 


“Dawson, Abrams, Gibson and Hughes, good morning.” 


join us the following week or so. 

The coi as оп an ocean dune 
outside the village of Provincetown. 
Hannah and Leda slept in the bedrooms 
upstairs, and I had the bedroom on the 
ground floor. I was realistic with myself 
and could hardly entertain the hope of 
romancing Leda. 

Hannah wanted a stone fireplace. I 
ordered the materials. The stone deliv- 
ered was durable seaworn glacial-deposit 
rock of varying colors. Hannah and 
Leda did what they could to help me put 
in the concrete base and mix mortar for 
the masonry. After I built the hearth, 
firebox, smoke shelf and throat, 1 split 
the stone for the face and chimney. As I 
sweated and sledged the stones, Hannah 
commented with adi But Leda 
kept her distance. 

Tt took me four days to lay up ће 
stone and complete the job. As an act of 
my frustration for Leda, I deliberately 
chose and built into the face of the fire- 
place above the mantel two stones shaped 
and symbolizing the male and female 
procreative organs. Neither Hannah nor 
Leda said anything about the unmistak- 
able effect. 

We picked up sea-salt-encrusted drift- 
wood from the shore, and in the evening 
lighted the fireplace. We sat silently be- 
fore the entwining red, blue, green and 
yellow flames. 

Hannah said, “The fire is writing the 
ncient Hebrew words. The forest and 
sea are burning with strange, leaping, 
passionate tale 

Iasked Leda, “When is Al coming?" She 

shrugged. It seemed that my presence dis- 


180 turbed or displeased her. From the mo- 


ment we had left Long Island, she had 
been tightlipped and tense toward me. 

Being piqued and having nothing to 
lose, I said, “Theres no denying that 
you're a very beautiful and intelligent 
girl, Leda. In all respect—I_ sincerely 
wish you were my wife. Im an open, 
honest person. Perhaps I don't under- 
stand. you—or you don't understand. me. 
You do not talk to me. I get the impres- 
sion that you think I'm some sort of a 
dangerous corrupting demon, You sit 
and look at me mutely, and. frozen like 
Lors wife facing Sodom and Gomorrah 
as a lovely pillar of salt. Am I not right?" 

An undefinable little smile escaped 
her. She lowered her head. 

We listened to classical music. Before 
midnight, Hannah went to bed. I had 
cxpected Leda to go upstairs also. Leda 
remained. Then it seemed that she 
wasn't afraid of me. I decided to make a 
play. It could only go one way or the oth- 
er. If she became shocked and insulted 
by my attempt to seduce her, I would 
pull in my horns, apologize and take off 
in the morning before she and Hannah 
arose. 

I sat next to Leda on the divan. She 
did not move away. I was heartened. It 
was the first time we were alone. I knew 
1 stone and diamond has a 
ure that invites crack 
ing. Instinct. warned me nor to taint the 
situation with logic or cthic. Biology 
and reason do not mix well. Talk under 
the potential circumstances would have 
been cheapening and would have 
spoiled the possible spell. 

I snapped off the light without expla- 
nation. Leda gazed intendy into the 


smoldering fireplace. I put my hand on 
her hand. I had found that kissing a 
girl's hand is a deferential key opening 
doors. I kissed her hand. There was nci- 
ther a po: gative response. 
1 kissed her lips. She received it as strick- 
еп as one who expects the guillotine to 
fall, I avoided indecent haste, and pro- 
ceeded with experienced, gentle hands 


slowly and smoothly, step by step... and 
succeeded. 
She lay as if under deep hypnosis. 


I considered her my most significant 
achievement. 1 had bided my time, un- 
dermined Hannah's wall, and took her 
Jericho daughter. 

I whispered, “Leda, go up to bed. Un 
dress and pretend to go to sleep. ГИ w 
for you in my room. Come down quietly. 
For God's sake, make sure you dont 

n your mother. You aren't doing 
anything wrong, because [ love you." 

She nodded and arose. 

Soon she came softly down to me. She 
was reserved, embarrassed, It seemed I 
had to teach her sex. In bed she was a 
pulsing statue. At dawn she blushingly 
covered her nudity and. went. upstairs. I 
felt neither remorseful nor cynical. I was 
melted by her chaste aspect. I was in love 
with Leda, For her to break down her 
moral barriers and give herself to me 
convinced me that she was ip love with 
me. I had visions of her divorcing Al and 
marrying me. And I intended to bring 
that about. 

Hannah treated me royally. She pro- 
vided steaks, lobsters, hot Portuguese 
bread and anything I wanted to eat and 
drink. She made each day a gourmet oc- 
casion. 1 was exuemely careful not to 
give her a clue or reason to suspect my 
lovemaking to Leda cach night. Leda 
played her part skillfully. Though she 
had become warmer toward me in front 
of Hannah, she did not betray the shad- 
ow of a sign of our intimacy. During the 
day she clove 10 Hannah's side. 

1 became very fond of Hannah. I felt 
her and regretted that 1 had to 
be such а hypocrite, but what she didn't 
know couldn't hurt her. 

A change in Leda amazed me. The 
first three or four nights Leda was in bed 
with me, she was so passive that T felt 
like a rapist. Then, by swiftly mounting 
degrees, in bed she became a different 
Leda, wild with a Dionysian intoxica- 
tion, making love with a sexually reli 
gious frenzy not unlike the orgiastic 
maidens of Euripides’ Вассһае, seeking 
10 drain and consume my life away. 

Some things can be too good, such as 
overlove. The second week she couldn't 
get enough. In paradise itself too much 
would be too much. 1 was the hunter 
who had been transformed into prey. 1 
was not made of wood, but certainly not 
of iron. By the third week I began to 
wonder when her husband, Al, would 
arrive. She grew radiant, lovel 


er, while I became quite wan. 

With the excuse that I wanted to wan- 
der for characters and story material, I 
spent the days by myself in Province- 
town. The queers had not claimed Prov- 
incetown yet. I met bohemians from 
Greenwich Village, a deafand-dumb 
timeand-space painter; ап excommuni- 
cated, alcoholic impotent priest who was 
living with a Lesbian lion tamer, and a 
famous aged Portuguese sea captain 
named Vadi. But more often than not. I 
would go to the beach and prostrate my- 
self at the water's edge to regain strength 
for the night with Leda, 

After the fourth week, without why or 
wherefore, Leda suddenly reverted to 
her former closed self. She did not come 
to my room at night. At first I thought 
she, too, was satiated for a while. 
le and Hannah went about with a 
smiling, enigmatic happiness. 

My desire recouped itself. I wanted 
Leda back in bed with me again. She be- 
longed to me. 1 thought. But she ada- 
mantly wouldn't let me get next to her. 
Then Hannah became a different per- 
son. She was less and less solicitous. 
She put only bland kosher food on ihe 
table, nor did she bring out the cheering 
bottles. I began to feel unwanted in the 
cottage. 
en Hannah told me Al was arriv- 
a few days, I took the hint and 


knew I had to leave. Anyway, I did not 
care to be under the same roof with Al 
and his wife. 

Leda sweetly but formally bade me 
farewell, without even a token kiss I 
didn’t take it gracefully. 

Hannah walked me to the railroad sta- 
tion. While waiting for the train, Han- 
nah looked me in the face and asked, 
“Well, how did you enjoy Leda? 

I was nettled and put on guard by her 
tone, and answered with lame inno- 
cence, “How do you mean, ‘enjoy’? 

She said matterof-lacily, “By ‘enjoy, I 
mean having sexual intercourse with her 
every night for thirty days 

I stuttered, “Whatever gave you that 
2 
I can tell you now, Pietro. Poor, dear 
Al is sterile, 1 was not going to be de- 
prived of а grandchild. You see?” 

I got the message immediately. Her 
particular interest in me and scrutiny of 
me. Doctor Harrys out-oftheblue re- 
quest to physically check me, the selected 


id 


stud; and the invitation to Province- 
town. 
Hannah was explicit: “I liked your 


mind, fean 
you to sire Leda 
arrangements.” 
nd what about AIZ" 

“Why do you think he agreed to stay 


es, voice and body. I chose 
child. І made all the 


away from you and Leda? In his heart Al 
has been crying for years for a child from 
Leda. He likes you. Forgive me, but you 

not answer my question. Did you en- 


‚ nice. That's 
"Tell me, Han 
ly turn cold void mez" 

“Because my Leda is a good girl. She 
never stopped being a good girl. When 
she missed her period and the medical 
examination proved she was pregnant, 
there was no further need of Ledz's go- 
ing t0 bed with you. That would have 
been sin. We are old-fashioned. To us, 
marriage is sacred." 

I see. Why didn't you find someone 
of your own race to help Leda, instead of 
me?" 

Hannah ran her fingers caressingly 
over my face and said softly, “Your type 
fathers boys. I'm going to have a grand- 
son, named Saul—and because there is so 
much about you . . . that told me you 
had the soul of a Jew.” 

My train was about to pull out. Han- 
nah put a roll of bills in my hand and 
said, ^I did not want you to build our 
fireplace for nothing. You have made us 
such a wonderful fireplace!” 


ice" 
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181 


PLAYBOY 


182 


SEX MANUAL 
(continued from page 107) 

on them. You will soon learn that "get 
ting there" is three eighths to five sixths 
of the fun. 

Foreplay is carried out in Seven Sepa- 
rate Phases of building coginutal excite- 
ment 


Ithough some overlapping is 
permitted. Phase One is called the Audio- 
Visual-Premanipulative or the Hot Line. 
"The Hor Line is exactly what it implies 
hot line of coginutal communication be- 
tween the male and female partners. It 
begins with ап urgent mouth-to-ear 
phone call by the male partner, asking his 
ate to meet him. When the partners 
meet, they exchange hot looks and words 
of endearment, gradually building a 
deeply sinc line of warmth that 
arouses a feeling in the chest not unlike 
an old-fashioned mustard plaster or a 
rainbow heartburn. This is followed by 
more hot looks and a certain little cute 
way of flirting. 


Phase Two: 
1 Manipulative Play 


ger 


Phase Two, Fingernail Manipulative 
Play, is an exploratory phase for the part- 
ners, a chance to discover the many erro- 
neous zones and to make new erroneous 
“friends,” so to speak. 

The erroneous zones are those areas of 
the body which are exquisitely sensitive 
to coginutal stimulation. They are locat- 
ed all over the place. The female partner 
is exquisitely sensitive in 187 spots, the 
male partner in 75. We cannot describe 
them all in detail. For our purposes, we 


will list the basic zones, the ones that are 
most friendly and offer the warmest 
welcome. 


The female partner's Premium Quality 
erroneous zones are the scalp, chin, 
Adam's apple, knuckles, kneecap, heel 
and arch. In Fingernail Manipulative Pla 
the male partner lightly touches these 
highly sensitive areas with the tips of his 
fingernails or, if he wishes, with a pair of 
soft cotton gardening gloves. nger- 
nails or gloves should barely touch, as if he 
were only tickling. The motions should 
be: tickle-withdraw, — tickle-withdraw, 
tickle-withdraw. 


A Little Fooling Around: 
The Bliss 


At this point many partners stray from 
the phases of Foreplay and do a lot 
of b ng. The bliss is not recommended 
from a health standpoint. But when you 
are young and caught up in coginutal 
passion, you don't listen about health. 
You feel as if you're strong as a horse. If 
blissing is your cup of tea and it gives you 
eroncous pleasure without any side 
effects, wonderful. But if you start losing 
your hair or get little things under your 
arms, you can be sure it wasn't from eat- 
ing with dirty hands. 


A Little More Fooling Around: 
The French Bliss 


This is a much more sensible way of 
blissing, if you must bliss at all. First 
make a few slices of French toast. Just dip 
some white bread in a batter of eggs and 
Ik. Fry the bread in hot butter w 
golden brown on both sides. Then sp 
Kle with sugar, cinnamon, honey, jam or 
marmalade, or pour maple syrup over it 
When you and your partner have a Iot of 
French toast in your mouths, lean over 
the table and bliss. The French toast and 
its topping (expecially а good, thick с 
ange n ade) acts asa protective bar- 
rier or filter, stopping strange germs from 
entering your mouth. Do not attempt a 
French bliss without а full mouth of 
French toast. 


Phase Three: Caressa Intima 


Phase Three of foreplay, Caressa Inti- 
ma, marks the introduction of the basic 
caress or fondle, a delightful semirhyth. 
mic stroking motion carried out by the 
male partner's elbow, the most erroneous 
strument he possesses. 

Alter the female partner has become 
moderately aroused with hot looks, blisses 
ad fingernail play, the male partner 
should begin a crisscross counterclock- 
wise caressing motion with the tip of his 
elbow across his partner's pomerantz, а 
ny. heart shaped object located near the 
kle. A wellcaressed pomerantz is ex- 
tremely important, for it is the only 
source of lubricating secretions in the en- 
tire area. It provides fluid for the proper 
nulation of the female partner's heel, 
s the ankle. 
the last lubri- 
to the 


arch and kneecap, as well 
"The pomeranw is indeed 
ating station before the bridge 
vesuvious.”” 


Phase Four: Benjie Play 


Phase Four, Benjie Play, is still consid- 
ered indelicate by many, but it is very 
popular with the younger set (it should 
not be confused with something called 
“petting’ 

Here are the basic techniques: 

- The erroncous zone of the benjie is 
the brittle. In the basic hold, the male 
partner grips the brittle betw his 
thumb and index finger as if it were a 
marble. Then he flicks the brittle in and 
out, as if he were “shooting the marble. 

2. The male partner sits on a chair 
with his legs crossed, leaning over back- 
wards as far as he can. With a long Chi 
nese back-scratcher dipped in peanut oil, 
he bastes his partner's brittles every 15 
minutes or so. 


Phase Five: Pleasure-Pain 


By now both partners will be soaring 
higher and higher on the clouds of co- 
ginutal excitement. As the male partner 
becomes aroused, his eyebrows swell and. 


grow turgid. The female partner's teeth 
begin to chatter as her fervor increases. 
This is the time to introduce Phase Five, 
the Pleasure-Pain techniques. 


The Lingle-Vontz 
Pleasure-Pain Techniques 


1. The Love Bite: Grab your 
by the flesh and give it a good b 
The nip is Japanese in or- 
aky little bite on the back. 

3. The Scratch: The common house 
scratch for relieving itch is often felt to 
have erroneous overtones. 1 have known 
some partners who have scratched each 
other into a frenzy. They even claim to 
have reached an oregon. They only 
found fools gold. If you scratch too 
much, you and your partner will more 
than likely end up with a rash. 

4. The Knee in the Loin: A delicate 
move done by the female partner requir- 
ing a lot of practice. To be most effective, 
the knee in the loin should use the cle- 
ment of surprise. The two best surprise 
approaches for this techniqu Look 
There's a bird in the room! 
shoelace is untied." They 
explanatory. 


are 


‘THE VESUVIOUS 
Pha: 


ix: Plethora Play 


The female partner's vesuvious is a 
many splendored thing. After you have 
found it, begin to explore for its most re- 
sponsive part, the plethora (sometimes 
known as the cameo). The plethora is a 
tiny, football shaped object located near 
the frunella, just above the pomander 
tubes. It becomes erect and hard (like the 
male partners vector) when it is stimu- 
lated correctly. 

Now that you have found your part- 
ner's plethora, what to do with it? Don't 
panic. You can amuse her when she asks 
you if you have found her plethora by 
saving, “I didn't know it was missing." 
But get back to foreplay immediately. 
You are now ready for Phase Six. the 
stimulation of the plethora, or Plethora 
Play. 

The most widely practiced techniques 
of Plethora Play are: 

Y. From a Standing Start: Begin a brisk 
circular massage with the knuckles. Fol- 
low it up with a golfclub grip and 
squeeze gently. 

2. From a Running Start: Begin with a 
rotary motion of the elbow, starting at 
the base of the plethora (the okris) and 
move to the tip (the splendina), making 
stops along the way for a quick hello to 
the cortio and the bella. 


A Warn 


‘There are many other areas of the 
vesuvious that have immense potential 
for erroneous pleasure. The giselle, for 


instance, which is located between the 
avus and the splendina, above the vesti- 
bule of the frappé, is especially receptive. 

But you will note that the inner lips of 
the gisclle will sometimes part and reveal 
the spatula. or Nostril of Aphrodite. a 
small, triangular-shaped organ that must 
be left alone. Don't play with your part- 
ner's spatula and don't ask us why. If you 
are curious and are overcome by your 
playful nature, you will feel sorry later. If 
there is a later. 


Phase Seven: Vector Play 


an old saying around the 
that goes. “Mamoun setouri- 
as keboul haddadi," which means, "It 
takes two to have coginus.” Female part- 
ners: You've got to do your part. Содй 
utal foreplay isn't just centered around 
your pomerantz, benjie and vesuvious. If 
only your partner's vector could talk, it 
would tell you how keenly it desires you 
to stimulate it, Listen closely to your 
partner's vector. Learn how to give i 
roneous pleasure. It will help prevent 
tension from forming later on. Here is 
Phase Seven, the final step of foreplay. 
some good ice-breaking vector-play tech- 
niques for you to try: 

The Eastern Grip: 
“shaking hands with the vector.” 
the vector firmly and shake it. 

2. The Western Grip: With your pink- 
ie extended, place the vector in the palm 
of your hand, resting your thumb on the 
milo. With your pinkie, poke the tenta- 
cles gently, gradually increasing intensity. 

3. The Continental Grip: This may 
feel unfamiliar at first, and requires some 
practice. Grip the vector at the hornis 
and pinch or tweak the fulcrum, bendi; 
your elbow slightly. Then throw back 
your head and give a wanton laugh. 


is basically 
Grasp 


THE WEDDING NIGHT 


For Female Partners 


Breaking the Hyphen 


Most of the fear and anxiety of the 
wedding night centers around the break- 

ng of the hyphen. There is a good case to 
be made for having it broken by a li- 
censed physician sometime before the 
wedding. If vou cannot afford this, there 
are many reputable gypsy palm readers 
who will do it nicely. If you can't get it 
done before the wedding night, for heav- 
n's sake don't worry. 


COGINUS: THE 
ACTUS SUPREMUS 


The Classic Position 


This is the simplest, most widely used 
position for beginners. In this position, 
the female partner lies on her bad 
stretched out on the floor, with her legs 


183 


PLAYBOY 


184 


under the bed. The male partner lies on 
the bed, either on his right or left side, 
and reads selections from Greek or Ro- 
man literature. 


Cossack Style 


A lusty, highly dramatic pos 
originated in 19th Century Russia when 
marauding bands of Cossacks attacked 
the villages of the huroks, the peasant 
landowners. In this position, the male 
partner storms into the bedroom and 
pulls back the bed sheets. The female 
cries aloud and runs out of the 


Face to Face 


In this position, male and female 
ners sit across a dinner table. The table 
should be set with a nice white linen 
tablecloth and candles. Dinner should be 
nothing but the best: shrimp cocktail, 
k, French fries, peas and carrots, 
mixed green salad with French or Rus- 
m dressing, strawberry shortcake and 
coffee. A sparkling Albanian wine or a 
zinfandel should be served, and after the 
meal, a suitable ice and a mint. 

This is probably the most romantic 
position of all The partners can gaze 
adoringly at each other's handsome, well- 
groomed faces, and in between courses, 
their hands are free to engage in erro- 
neous stimulation. 


part- 


On the Side (à Sergio) 


A highly pleasurable position that can 
be used when one or both partners are a 
bit fatigued. The male partner lies on his 
side, the female partner lies on her 
In the middle is an upright sword. 


From the Rear (à Postoli) 


Coginus à Postoli offers ап unusual 
variation on the regular positions and. 
the same time, brings new erroneous 
zones into play. As the name suggests, it is 
done from the rear. Both. partners kneel 
back to back. The female partner keeps 
her legs close together and leans forward. 
The male partner does the same. An ex- 
quisite fusing of the lubbocks is achieved. 


Female Partner Astride 


In this position, it is desirable for the 
female partner to use a saddle. It would 
also be nice if she had a horse. Then she 
could siddle the horse and mount i 
This, of course, would put her in the 
astride position. Some male partners feel 
y a more passive 
this position, they will lose their 
sense of dominance and masculinity. 
They m: 
their partners to "get off their high horse 
nd get back where they bclong. 


The Five Royal Variations of 
Sheikh Ben Hym 


For a refreshing change of pace, 
partners are now turning to Orienta 
Middle Eastern cultures for new 
neous pleasures. And no other work on 
the art of coginus offers more subtle and 
exotic variations than the ancient and re- 
vered Arabian manual The Colored 
Fountains of Kohlrabi. For example, here 
are the legendary “Five Royal tions 
of Sheikh Ben Hym": 

Position One (El Shazar): In which the 
female partner lies on her stomach, 
arching her head and legs up as the male 
partner rides toward hcr on a zebra. 

Position Two (El Shazam): In which 
the male partner lies on his stomach, 
arching his head and legs up as the Ie- 
tner rides toward him on а zebr: 

Position Three (El Onasis): In which 
the female partner is invited aboard the 
iling vessel, where she is 
entertained beyond her wildest dreams. 
When she awakens the next day, she does 
not remember what happened to her after 
she playfully threw the rubies into the 
water. 

Position Four (El Nekechef): In which 
the | a large purple 
handkerchief and partake of much kalouf 
and bouz. 

Position Five 
partners venture out into a heavy sand- 
storm and are never heard from 


erro- 


Positions for the More 
Advanced. Partners 
(Flexia Extrema) 


A highly stimulating position for more 
experienced partners has the male pa 
ner seated on a chair, legs crossed and 
hands clasped in back of his neck. The 
female partner lics on her back, legs 
ched slightly and hands at her sides, In 
this position, the female partner plays the 
more active role. She can move from side 
to side, rock up and down and rotate her 
melvin in a circular motion. The male 
partner is free to do almost anything he 
wishes with his hands and feet. To 
achieve deeper stimulation, a violin un- 
der the female's novella may help. 


Flexia Extrema, continued 


Another position to try is this: The fe- 
male partner lies on the bed with six pil- 
lows under her neck. She brings up her 
legs and grasps her knees firmly, with 
her toes pointing downward and most of 
her weight on her spine. The male part- 
ner squats on his knees, preferably on a 
tumbling mat, with his legs spread and his 
palms down on the mat. He puts his head 
as far back through his legs as possible, 
pushes his body forward and tumbles 
over, landing on his lubbocks in a seated 
. This is known as the forward 
"tumblesauce. 


OREGON 


Heaven only knows how many words 


have been written about this ineffable 
state. Oregon is the culmination of all the 
foreplay, all the exquisitely erroneous po- 
sitions of coginus we've described. It is 
that last burst of indefinable ecstasy at 
the summit of coginutal communion. 

The female partner will feel herself at 
the threshold of oregon when the walls of 
her haven enlarge and her blondelle be- 
comes taut. The male partner will feel 
numb and fuzzy for a few seconds as 
though his body has becn shot through 
with Novocain. Suddenly the tip of his 
vector (ihe perma) will become limp. At 
this point, something wonderful happens 
to both partners as their oregon starts. 
They take a leap into the unknown. This 
is the only risky part. By now the partners 
are carried away in a flight of ecstasy, and 
when they leap (they usually leap toward 
each other, arms outstretched), they don't 
always look where they're going and 
sometimes crash into things and get hurt. 

This advice may sound a little unreal 
tic, especially when you're going to be in 
the middle of incredible ecstasy, but тту 
to remember: Look before you leap. 


AFTERGLOW 


When the excruciating ecstasy of ore- 
gon subsides, a great feeling of peace and 
er contentment comes over you. The 
muscles of your body relax and you can 
unwind and fecl a deep bond of friend- 
ship with your coginutal partner. This 
fecling is known as afterglow. 

Afterglow should be accompanied by a 
good smoke. What if you shun tobacco? 
How can you enjoy afterglow? Many 
partners like to light up a chocolate 
теце, Others just use a thin pencil flash- 
light and make believe. 


FOR THE 
MALE PARTNER: 
VECTOR CONTROL 


Let's say you're young and fairly inex- 
perienced, but your erroneous responses 
are very powerful. Naturally you practice 
the techniques we've outlined until you 
can do them perfectly. You start coginus 
and pop goes the weasel! In less than a 
minute you've reached a nothing-type 
oregon (premature congratulations). Now 
you're understandably vexed. “What did 
I do wrong?" you ask yourself, My dear 
sir, you did nothing wrong. You simply 
forgot that to prolong coginus you must 
build vector control. You must maintain 
m erect vector (vector mature) and, at 
the same time, exercise perfect control so 
that it does not congratulate prematurely. 


BASIC METHOD 


One of the oldest methods of vector 
control is biting on a towel. Close your 
eyes, contract every muscle in your body 
and bite as hard as you can. This method 
is simple and gives you excellent vector 
control for about three seconds. 


BOAC cares... 


about Nelson’s lazy island and the world at large 


‘The little coral island of Antigua floats 
in the Caribbean like a biscuit in wine, 
"There's plenty of sun and hard white 
beach and shady flowering trees. A 
nice place to be lazy in. Even Nelson 
liked to take time off here. 

Antigua may only be a few miles 


wide, yet BOAC cares enough about 
people to fly them there. Antigua 
apart, BOAC realises that it takes all 
sorts to make a world, and that they 
all want to go in all sorts of different 
directions. So BOAC flies people to 
fifty-one different countries as well. 


In fact BOAC flies to more places 
more often than any other airline—in 
excellent comfort, of course. Moral: 
it’s good to know that BOAC cares for 
you justas much over Chicago as over 
the English Channel, and doesn't turn. 
a blind eye on Antigua. Isn't it? 


BOAC TAKES GOOD CARE OF YOU p> ai ES OAC 


PLAYBOY 


186 pliysicia 


MIND-OVER-MATTER 
TECHNIQUE 


Dr. Desmond SpitzerHunt has ad- 
vanced the theory that improper vector 
control comes from a state of mind. He 
contends that all the male partner has to 
do when he feels himself getting out of 
control is to shift his mind from coginus 
to а completely different subject. In his 
fascinating study of vector contol, Hold 
Your Horses, he outlines his mind-over- 
matter. technique: 


If you [cel you are at the danger 
point and may go out of control at 
y moment, shut out the image of 

female partner and quickly 

If you 
be 
Ruth. That should do it. But if for 
some reason you have not cooled 
down, think of Mao Tsetung. If 
that doesn't work, close your eyes, 
squeeze the sheets tightly and think 
of commercial cod 
New Jersey coast. This last step 
should work in 92 ош of 100 cases. 


you 
think of Konrad Adenauer. 
are still out of contol, think of E 


PROBLEMS 


Matriculation 


Almost everyone has matriculated at 
one time or another. No harm come 
of it, if it is not done lo excess. But c 
tinuous matriculation will lead to blind- 
ness. You may say, "АШ right, IIl just do 
it until J need glasses” We say, all right 
do it But remember, miculation. is. 
habitforming. It will lead to addiction 
and addiction means blindness, and from 
there, a quick trip to the crazy house. 


Impertinence 


Many male partners have an occasional 
lessening of coginutal desire, especially 
after a day of mountain climbing, bicycle 


g or shoveling snow. This kind of 
utal fatigue should not be confused 
impertinence. Impertinence is 
wed problem that gocs back 
your childhood. If you were ill-mannered 
and spoiled as a child, there is a good 
chance you are impertinent today. 
The obvious way to cure impertinence 
would be to call or write as many people 
from your childhood as possible, apolo- 
gize to them for your bad manners and 
promise them it will never happen again. 
But this is impractical in most cases. The 
next best method to cure impertinence 
to have your ears soundly boxed and get 
good talkingto. A talking-to is usually 
finished off by a smart rap across the face 
and а few medium to light fist flicks on 
the chin in а comradely “hang in there, 
fella” style. Please do not enlist the aid of 
a friend in а "home cure" of imperti- 
тепсе, however. A good talkingto can be 
administered only by a trained, licensed 


Vector Inferiority 


Another so-called problem among male 
partners is vector inferiority, the feeling 
that your vector is 100 small to do the job 
properly. This is nonsense. The myth of 
vector inferiority was dispelled many 
years ago by the anthropologist Margaret 
Chase лил 

In her classic work, Vector Behavior in 
the Antilles, Professor Inbitzka 
proved scientifically that there is no such 
g as vector inferiority. She chose the 
Lesser Antilles for her study because she 
nale partners on these is 
lesser" type of vector ma- 
ture. smaller in size and circumstanced at 
the age of publicity. She accomplished 
the hercule: k of measuring every 
vector mature on the islands, discovering 
that the men with vector matures of only 
four, five and six pilasters in length were 
more highly regarded as coginutal part- 
ners than the nine and tenners. 


Lesser 


N YOU HAVE COGINUS 
AFTER 30? 


This is a question asked by almost ev 
eryone who reaches the change-of-life age. 
To dispel all your fears and anxiety, the 
swer is no. But, and this is a big but, 
you can do an awful lot of fooling around 
if you don't tire yourself. There is no rea- 


son why you can't cares, engage in 
benjie, pomerantz and vector. play, and 
bite and scratch а little Don't be 


ged. There are 1001 substitutes 
for coginus, many of them profitable and 
fun. My forthcoming book. tentatively 
titled 1001 Substitutes for Coginus, will 
help you considerably. 


CONTRADICTIONS 
Conundrums 


is the most commonly used. meth- 
od to date. Conundrums are lightweight, 
asily portable and now come in many 
wasliand- wear models, Although the man- 
ufacturers say you do not have to iron 
the 1 a light touch-up to 
avoid puckering. A recent magazine ar 
cle check-rated three brands. They are: 
M^ ATLAS, MODEL TR 190, 51.19 PER PAC 
Durability, good, although quilted lin- 
1 benefit. Wet strength, 
equency of repair, average. Be- 
came а little softer and noisier after re- 
ed launderings. 

X, MODEL DS ii. $ R PACK. 
nice. Wet strength, fairly 
r, above average. 


опш 


а. ме те 


2n 


Durability, 
good. Frequency of rep 
This was the only conundrum with a zip- 


offers 


in alpaca 1 a feature that 
some protection in the winter, but can 
alter an otherwise good fit. 

1^ ECONOMO, MODEL 01.07. 79e PER PACK. 
Durability, below average. 
Wet strength, soso. Frequency of repair, 
not determined. Tended to crumble 
alter repeated launderings. 


A REST BUY. 


Not Acceptable 


APOLLO, MODEL хк 190, $7.50 PER PACK. 
Durability, poor. Wet strength, not too 
good. The “deluxe” silk lining shrank 
and faded badly after laundering. Tuis 
CONUNDRUM WAS CONSIDERED А SHOCK 
HAZARD AND COULD NOT BE RECOMMENDED 
UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANG 


The Diagram 


The question every female partner asks 
her doctor when she is thinking of getting 
a diagram is, "Do I have to draw you 


iswer has to be yes. You mu: 
draw your diagram in exact detail so that. 
the finished product will be made to fit 
you perfectly. You do not have to draw it 
freehand. You can use tracing paper and 
soft pencil. But make sure you get an 
ale tracing of the area betw 

ava (sometimes Called the Isle of Mel 
and the portis. This is where ferm 
tion is most likely to take place. 


a 
accu 


The Rhythm Method 


"The Rhythm Method is somewhat sim- 
ilar to the box step, or 1-234, developed 
by a famous dancing master ond his 
followers. While the master contended 
that the Rhythm Method could be 
taught, we say it comes naturally and you 
have to be born with it. 


The Pill 


We've heard rumors about this thing 
for а long time, but until we see it, we 
remain skeptical. A tiny pill that can 
p spumoni away from the portis and 
prevent fermentation? That will be the 
day! 


AMNESIACS 


Ever since the days of the Bible, male 
and female partners have concocted food 
and drink that they hoped would provide 
extra stimulation and arous 
sire for coginus. The earliest wi 
ample of amnesiacs occurs in the book of 
Agog, chapter IX, verse 


And so it came to pass that Sha- 
deg. the son of Goom, lay im his 
ient with Heshi, the daughter of 
Bim, And it came to pass that Heshi 
was comely and pleasing 10 his eyes 
amd he gave her a goblet of plu- 
тепсе, limber and miliz and bade 
her partake. And it came to pass 
that Heshi drank of the goblet and 
her mouth was wet and her nostrils 
were open and her melvin was heavy 
with desire for Shadeg 


We could hardly hope to improve on 
Shadegs original formula of one pa 
plumence. one part limber and one part 
miltz. H's still the best all-round amnesiac 
in the business. 

u 


THE PLAYBOY ART GALLERY 


NUDE DESCENDING A STAIRCASE By Jim Beaman 


187 


PLAYBOY 


188 


FASHION FORECAST 
(continued from page 148) 


your choice of jewelry can quickly make 
or break your appearance. We feel every- 
one should have one set of simple solid. 
gold cuff links, which are correct with 
everything. Then you can build your 
cufflink collection from there. As the 
dark browns in suits and sports clothes 
come into prominence, green jade and 
brown-tone topaz links make for good 
color accents. 

socks; Black is still top choice for 
dress, But more and more browns will be 
lable to balance your russettoned 
suits. For informal wear, add a little 
variety in onc of the restrained subtle 
patterns in muted tones. 

Except when you're wearing crew 
socks for leisure and sports, all your hose 
should be cither stretch or garter above- 
the-aalf styles. For those of you who like 
the stretch variety, there will be some 
new corespun cottons, especially in the 
lighter weights, that make good fashion 
sense. 

sors: The overall outdoor trend in 
fall clothing will be supported by the 
big return of brogues. The adaptations 
of these Irish hardics that will be on the 
scene are beefy but not unmanageable. 
They look роса in both the grained 
leathers and in smooth hides. 

nats: The hats on view this fall are 
among the best we have seen in a long 
time, Leading the parade are dress hats 
in bron, olive and heather. Bands 
formed as part and parcel of the crown 
will be seen almost as frequently as the 


usual conventional separate band. The 
big news in casual models will be suedes 
and sueded cotton. Tyrolean velour styles 
in a variety of textures and shades will 
also be around to enliven the scene. 

pets: The wide, heavier leather styles 
with bright brass buckles will continue 
their domination of the scene. Oxblood 
will make a strong appearance as a new 
color in saddle and stitch leather. The 
ribbon-belt binge will continue. A new 
twist will be an "old school belt" of 
college colors for students and alumni. 
Indian madras has virtually become a 
belting standard. New paisleys with light 
grounds in both silk foulards and cotton 
will also be seen. Some of the best revers- 
ible belts are those either trimmed in 
Teather or reversing to leather. 

FORMALWEAR: Black patterns and raised 
figures on black grounds will be a big 
style trend. Imported mohair and worsted 
formals with satin piping, like the one 
shown for us by О. № С.Е other 
man, David McCallum, will be another 
strong formalwear entry. You will also see 
an elegant use of black velvet as a trim. 
"The formal separate jacket introduced by 
PLAYBOY will be even more popular in 
the season to come. 

‘Trimmed vests picking up the detail- 
work of the collar and lapels in propor- 
tionate dimension is another high-fashion 
trend in formalwear we like. 

On this darkly formal note, we end 
one of the brightest fashion forecasts. In 
the handsome styles that are on the scene, 
every man can be a star. 


“You'd better give yourself up, 
Muggsy! We've got you covered!” 


LOEBFINSER 
(continued from page 149) 


u Kee,” she had shyly said with Far 
Eastern submissivenes 

Bond's eyes had twinkled. “A lovely 
name, my dear. Fraught with promise.” 

They had cabbed it to Wolfie's at 20th 
and Collins where the hip, show-wise 
crowd went. Bond had ordered for both 
of them, knowingly, crisply: “Mortis, 
we'd like two egg creams, Seventh Av- 
enue and 28th Street style. Made prop- 
erly, there should be no ice shavings in 
the eightounce Corningware glasses. The 
seltzer should be cold enough to stand on 
its own with a 3.5 ratio of pin-point 
Donation, roughly 1118 bubbles to the 
ounce. Before the seltzer is poured, a 
fourth of the glass should be filled with 
Walker-Gordon nonpasteurized milk from 
selected tuberculin-free Holsteins at the 
Immaculate Farm in Princeton Junc- 
tion, New Jerscy. Only Fox’ U-Bet choc 
olate syrup should be used to complement 
the milk, both milk and syrup mixed 
delicately with an 1847 Rogers Brothers 
spoon, dairy silver, of course, in the 
tasteful Mrs. Aaron Burr scroll pattern, 
as the seltzer is added slowly, ricocheting 
rhythmically off the spoon.” 

“Boychickl, you've been around 
Morris the waiter, with new respect in 
tired, I'vese 1 eyes. 

At that point Bond had lit а filter- 
tipped Raleigh with his Nippo, a genuine 
Japanese copy of a Zippo, and had 
quizzed the girl. 

“Whom do you represent in the Mis 
World Wow-Eee-Wow contest, my dear?" 
She had bow: . "Nu 


he crouched like a 
imal, Bond remembered those 
words. Miss Viet Cong! How did 1 let 
that one go by me? She practically told 
me she was with the opposition and like 
the lazy vegetable I've become, I missed 
it. М was right. I've let myself get soft. 
And the bellhop pointing the gun? 
What branch of the "oppo" did he repre- 
sent? Heaven knows, there were many 
special organizations sworn to wreak hav: 
oc upon the secret agents of Eretz Isracl. 
The Soviet Warriors for Immolating Se- 
aetive Hebrews? Or, as it was known to 
the Israelis, swisu. No, this one didn't 
shoot like a swis operative. A swist 
man would have made his first shot. the 
last onc. Perhaps, the Fraternal Egypti 
Committee for Extirpating Sabras? reces! 
“No doubt, Mr. Bond," с 
jected the gun wielder, “you are curious 
as to who it is that will destroy you. I 
am a devoted member of a new terrorist. 
group unknown to you, Mr. Bond, the 
Syrian Corps of Heroes for Murdering 
Unmercifully Craven Ki And now, 
dog of a Jew, say your infidel prayers!” 
There was no time to figure out those 


now, as 


initials, thought Bond. I've got to play 
my last card. And to do that І must 
wheedle, whine, beg. 

"Please, please, let me say the final 
prayer. True, we are mortal enemies, sir, 
bur not t we share а 
common Semitic heritage? Do you not 
accept Moses as the spiritual predecessor 
of your own gr 


"Be qu 
Syrian, hi 
ger. The 

Bond reverentially lowered his head, 
tering something in Hebrew. It was 
of the titles of all the Theodore 
albums he could remembei 
the Syrian would not know that. Si 
oh so slowly, his fingers slid impercepti- 
bly down the bloodied chain. His fing 
found the mezuzah, pointed it a 
squeezed the Star of David. 
elated at the sight of a quaking 
° Syrian broke into a raucous 


snapped the 
r tightening on the trig- 


laugh. 
po 
No longer was the Syrian laughi 


zu! 


look of amazement had come ov 
features. He looked dumbly at the nec- 
dle which had whizzed out of the mezu- 
zah into his hand, which was now turning 
numb. He pitched forward, his fingers 
clawing at Bond's chest. Bond side- 
stepped quickly. The Syrian fell face 
down. It had taken Molochamovis-B, the 
nerve poison on the needle tip, just two 
scconds, 

He turned to the girl. Her snickering 
also had stilled at the startling turn- 
about in the situation. Bond's cold gaze 
made her blanch. 

"Now, my ‘тіше Orienta 
Bond sneered, mimicking her speech, 
“we've a little unfinished business, 
haven't we? This ache in my torn shoul- 
der isn't the only one on my Jewish body, 
you adorable hellcat!" 

He crushed her mouth with his own, 
iously drinking of her bruised lotus- 
lips. She began to scratch like a 
maddened jaguar, then sighed i 
ed to the unstoppable bulk 

Occidental thighs met Oriental thighs, 
the meaning of sweet 
surt more compelling way of 
life. Now her scratches were loving strok- 
15 back and the room began 
virl, spin, exploding in а 100-mega- 
ton flash of divine intensity. 

Nestling in the crook of his bronzed 
arm, and watching Raleigh smoke float- 
ing from his flared nostrils, she told him 
of her involvement con- 
dique with 
ls telling her Bond was 
tion" 
the “соте. 
" at the beauty pageant, a bellhop 
drugged and substituted for by the man 


whose face now met the Du Pont 501 
Nova Scotia pink nylon rug. 

She knew too much, he realized. And 
had to be gouen rid of. And yet, she was 
so young, so lovely, and such a great 
piece. Perhaps an attempt at reclama- 
tion would be worth while. Speaking to 
her softly and passionately for about 90 
seconds, Bond pointed out the fallacies 
in her childlike devotion to the Viet 
Cong, gave her a reasonably detailed 
analysis of the true meaning of the polit- 
ical undercurrents in her part of the 
world and then, convinced she had seen 
the error of her ways, sent her out of his 
room with a friendly pat on her well- 
formed buttock: 

“Goodbye, Nu Kee, Now go out and 
win that contes. Only this time,” he said 
huskily, “for freedom and democracy.” 

Her eyes misted as she stood in the 
. "Will Nu Kee see her brave 
gent aga 
” he assured her with complete 
sincerity. “There must be more contacts 
between East and West such as we have 
ced this night. Only through 
can we look into each other's 
nd find the universality of pur- 
pose and basic goodness that deep 
down.” Another pat on the den 
and she was gone, darti 
frightened jungle bird down the corridor. 

It wasn't until a moment or two alter 
her departure that Bond realized her 
tidy little pile of garments—cheong-sam, 
bra, panties and А. S. Beck opera pumps 
—was still on the chair by his bed. 


-.. . and so, charming ladies of the 
Upper "Township, Pei 


chases of Mother Маго! 
Old World Chicken Soup and, indeed, 
all of Mother's fine products, not only 
put the glorious culinary traditions of 
our ancient heritage upon your tables, 
nourishing your loved oncs, but also as- 
sist your brethren in Eretz Israel, the 
Promised Land, the Land of Milk and 
Magnesia, to protect and defend its hal- 
lowed borders!” 

Two hundred women, who had been 
nodding their teased hairdos approving 
ly all through his speech, burst into wild 
applause. Vivacious Mrs, Charlene Kros- 

ick, president of the chapter which had 
booked the Palmetto Roach’s fabulously 
Colada Room for its 
ch, beamed at Bond 
ell them how, Mr 
how!” And she gave 


from her dais se: 
Bond! Tell ther 
his thigh a sudden squeeze. 

Bond permitted smile to force 
itself through the teeth he had been grit- 
ting for the last 25 minutes. Mrs, Kros- 
nick, he noted, was quite a dish, tawny, 
full-breasted, possessed of two glowing 
schav-green eyes that held prom 

"How, you may ask, can 
this superior chicken soup aid Israel's 
gallant freedom fighters, your cousins 
across the s in thi never-endin 
struggle? I sh. 
warming th 


Mother Emma Margo- 
indy old woman who 
ll and name to these 
splendid foods, has stipulated. that fully 
yHive percent—I'll repeat that— 
twenty-five percent of the gross proceeds 
—or the Schwartz proceeds, if that 
happens to be your name [explosive 


189 


PLAYBOY 


190 squeezing 


laughter greeted his quickly conceived 
witticism]—will be donated to the Israeli 
Ministry of Defense, thus enabling it to 
acquire the cream of the world’s obsolete 
weaponry.” 

Such a brilliant speaker and so hand- 
some, too!" said Cheer & Sorrow Se 
tary Mis. Carol Bernstein, nudging Mrs. 
Marcia Freeman, Isometrics & Diet Cola 
Chairman. “Wonder if he's married." 

Nah ... those dark, cruelly hand. 
some types with scars on their cheeks 
responded Mrs. Freeman 

bout him for your 
Better she should marry 
р from Allentow 
valierly discarding Merry Rob- 
in’s chances at the devastatingly debo- 
nair Israeli, Mrs. Freeman began to 
scheme: How can I get him to meet my 
Tara Lynne? And whats his name, any. 
way? Her bejeweled fingers skimmed the 
program, past "We shall all stand rev 
erently as Mrs. Nettie Berk sings The 
Мат Spangled Banner, Hatikvah and 
Hello, Dolly!" . . . past "welcoming re 
marks by Mrs. Charlene Krosnick, presi- 
dent ... lingering on “Our Guest of 
Honor, Mr. Israel Bond. public-relations 
representative of Mother Margolies, Tel 
Aviv, New York and Miami Beach.” 

Israel Bond! A wonderful name, i 
deed, for a man from the Holy Land. 
And just look at Charlene Krosnick eat- 
ing him up with those greedy eyes. Nor 

she blamed Charlene. Charlene’s 
band, Max, was a fine provider and 
all that, but, well, dull . . . in the way a 
man сапт afford to be. Mrs. Freeman, 
who had spent one mad impetuous night 
with Max at a Harrisburg motel, knew 
this all too well, 

At the lectern, Bond, feeling the blood 
soaking through his jacket, though 
Time to wind up this ghasdy bu: 
Refreshing his parched throat 


quick, carcless toss of Mother Margolies’ 


Old World Parsley Tonic (“It Bubbles 
gged 


from You the Troubles”), he d 
deeply on a Raleigh and concluded 
been my pleasure to greet you di 
dassah ladies. And now other commit- 
ments dictate my regretful departure. But 
You will soon sce a 
g color film featu 
Mother Margolies herself, who takes you 
on a tour of her factory. As for me, let me 


ліп on the slopes of Мош abor 
ael for the high holy days. In the 
meantime, remember our motto to be 
found on every can: "Like Mother Used 
10 Make It, Mother Makes It' And so, 
shalom, shalom, I'll say shalom; it’s the 
nicest greeting I know ... it means 
goodbye, salud, bon jour . . . and twice 
much as hello." 

He sat down heavily, then rose reluc 
mily, painfully, to acknowledge their 
nding ovation. As the women re- 
gained their seats, they looked at him, 
their support-hose-covered 


thighs. Mrs. Krosnick ain 
against his thigh, then blushed. 

It's coming, Bond thought. He'd seen 
the lovely matron's eyes X-taying his 
body all through the speech. 

‘The room was darkened now and on 
the screen Mother Margolies was dicing 
carrots and turnips, sprinkling her com- 
mentary with Old County aphorisms 
for which she had become justly famous: 
“The fool pours tapioca down an empty 
coal mine; the wise тап... 

Another squeeze on the 
time more demanding. 

Thirty minutes later, in 1818, Bond 
1 won Mother a convert for life. 
Nestled in the crook of his bronzed 
n. she made the horrifying discovery of 
his shoulder wound. “Oh, darling! And 
I made you love me . . . with this? What 
you must have been in! 

And she hugged him with a joyous 
squeal when he gallantly responded, 
"Charlene, there was a far greater, sweet- 
in—i( you know what I mean." 
ing! 

The phone. Who could be calling at 
this hour? 

An emotionless voice: "Mr. Bond? 
‘The tire of Meyer the buyer is on fire. 

Click! 

Bond's gray eyes narrowed. A tire- 
Meyer-buyer-fire message was big stuff. 
Something was popping. Time to send 
Charlene Krosnick back to her mundane 
suburban world. M wanted him—fast! 

His rented. Rambler purred easily and 
effortlessly 38 miles ап ho Bond 
gunned it north on the smoothriding, 
bump-free superhighway, his destination 
New York State's lamed resort center, 
the Catskill Mountains, known to the 
average man as the “Borscht Belt.” But 
to the ve ` group Bond ran, drank 
and loved with (people who were by 
aste, temperament and sophistication 
justly entitled to include themselves in 
the Pepsi Generation), it was incisi 
termed “The Hebrew Himalay: 

M's urgent mess 
11% (a midget whose cover roles took 
various forms—sometimes a Little League 
shortstop, oth nes a fireplug), had 
made him drop everything, which re- 
sulted in a painful buttock bruise for 
the ebullient Charlene Krosnick, and 
impelled him tensely toward his 
next assignment, Trained traveler that 
he was, Bond had cut his packing time 
ıo a bare minimum by giving away 
most of his dothing to a friendly bell- 
hop, grabbing a cab ("Driver, get me to 
the Miami Airport in twenty minutes 
d there's а box of Luden's Menthol 
Cough Drops in it for you!"), and churn- 
ing with a powerful sprinter's closing 
kick into a Delta Airlines jet just as the 
boarding stairway was being pulled away. 

The flight had been uneventful, even 
boring. Of course, there had been the 
terlude with the stunning, vixenish 
stewardess, who had practically forced 


pressed 


this 


Bond into the lavatory while a dozen 
passengers, squirming with nature's call. 
grumbled vociferously at the sight of the 
OccuPiED sign glowing for 35 minutes. 
The events in the tiny cubicle had nor 
done Bond's aching shoulder one bit of 
good, Miss Bonnie Jane Abney (a former 
beauty-pageant winner herself, inciden 
tally: “Mis Wh zens Council 
Alabama summer bombing festival) 
practically scrrating the edges of the 
wound with her industriously passionate 
teeth. 

ГИ have to knock off this aap, Bond 
told himself, shoving a Raleigh into the 
corner of his firm, sensual mouth. The 
Raleigh reminded him of the packages 
that had been awaiting him in his suite 
at the Ansonia Hotel, his plush Man! 
tan base ot operations. Bundles and bun 
dles . . . each containing several cartons 
of Raleighs and heart-rending notes 
from the women he had known sweet 
intimately on his publicrelations swing 
through the United States. 

All of them had noted his constant 
Raleigh smoking and he had hinted th 
a carton or two would bc a nice litle gift 
to keep his memories of them glow- 
ing like cigarette ends. The cartons, of 
course, had four extra coupons. In rcali- 
ty, Bond loathed Raleighs, but due. 
N's urging, he 
qui 


to 
moked them solely to ac- 
the coupons. 
‘Ours is а penurious little Secret Serv- 
ice,” M had pointed out. “We need those 
coupons. How do you think I got your si- 
lencer and plastichomb kit? Fifteen hun- 
dred coupons—that's how. You'll smoke 
Raleighs, Oy Oy Seven, and like it. 
After а good nights sleep at the An- 
sonia, Bond moseyed over to West End 
Avenue to make his contact and get fur 
ther instructions from an agent at the 
Café Aw-Go-Go-Alr ade fella- 
fel and acted as а "mailbox" for message 
Ah, fellafel! Israel's answer to the piz 
zı and hotdog! Chickpeas ground up 
and fried into inedible balls, covered 
with techina, an exquisitely uninspired 
sauce, then housed in an envelope of 
pita, the thoroughly tasteless Arab bread. 
Fellafel! He grew nostalgically sick to his 
stomach with each sniff at the counter. 
Zvi Gates, the fellafel maker with the 
piercing eyes, had greeted him with a 
grin Back from Miami Beach, Mr 
Bond? Here's a special fellafel for you. 
And Bonds trembling fingers had 
reached into the bottom of the pita, ex- 
uacing the message from. M, writen in 
nk, made doubly hard to deci- 
bed on invisible 


pher since 
paper. 

He had sprayed on the powders which 
restored visibility to the paper and its 
message and read: 


TO ISRAEL BOND, PUBLIC-RELATIONS 
REPRESENTATIVE FOR MOTHER MAR- 
GOLIES: SUBJECT—2I-CAsE SHIPMENT 
TO CATSKILLS: POSSIBILITY OF N 
TERRITORY FOR SALES OPENING UP AT 


Е KAHN-TIEI, LARGE HOTEL IN LOCH 
SHELDRAKE, N. Y. BE ON YOUR GUARD 
ТО PREPARE SPEECH FOR DELIVERY BE- 
FORE GREATER NEW YORK LEAGUE 
AGAINST ANTI-SEMITISM BY JEWS. 
WHILE THERE GREET RENOWNED PH 


OPIST LAZARUS LOXFINGI 
A seemingly innocuous message. 
Should it fall imo a 1 hands, the read- 


er would deduce it had something to do 
with Bond's PR duties for the firm. He 
knew, however, that the 21-сазс designa- 
tion meant that the 21st word of cach 
following sentence was the key word. He 
counted the words deliberately, his 
heartstrings going zing! zing! 1 

The 91st word of the fi 
"Guard. 

Word number 21 of the second tor- 
tuous SCNLENCE: a 

With blind 

ighteningly, blind 


sentence: 


it was clear. 


anthropist, whose 
personal story had assumed epic propor- 
tions. He had come from Argentina sever- 
al years before with scemingly unlimited 
funds, determined to use them to make 
Eretz Isracl a better place in which 
10 live. His charitable works were leg- 
endary by now, the Lazarus Loxfinger 
League Against Constipation, the Laza- 
rus Loxfinger Mothers March On Acne, 


the Loxfinger Center for Retarded Jew- 
ish € 


rded Jewish Children, the Lox- 
finger League for Positivism in Every- 
day Thinking (Its members, imbued with 
the league’s phi 
otics and prol 


. 1 writen a 
series of articles for the highly respected 
Boot & Shoe Recorder which had been 
given wide coverage by the press and 
TV the world over, becoming famous 
as The Plowshare Paper, since he 
liy stressed the "beat swords into 
plowshares" theme vis-a-vis Isracl and 
the hostile Arab dichards. His articles 
had noted the spiritual Kinship between 
the Jewish state and its neighbors, point- 
ing out the undue strain on their respec- 
tive economics engendered by the arms 
race, offering (in his words) “. . . а 
solution based on eq 
cultural exchange, trade and other unily- 
ing factors. To sce this final solutio 
my lifetime is my goal, my raison d'être.” 

And now this ificent old man 
in peril. From whom? Why? How? 
go, the hell-for-leather wip in the 
rented Rambler, now leaving the Harri- 
man Exit 16, and roaring up the Quick- 
ay to the mountains. 
Hungry for the sound of a human 


continu 


w 


voice as he sped down the deserted road. 
way, Bond flicked on the radio. . the 
elderly Israeli philanthropist, seemingly 
unnerved by his brush with death at the 
Kahn-Tiki Hotel [Bond froze; his hands 
were clammy against the wheel], vowed 
he would continue his attempts on behalf 
of Israel, his adopted homeland. Said 
Loxfinger: “This cowardly attempt at as- 
ion will only spur anew my efforts 
to seck a final solution for Israel in her 
relationships with her Arab neighbors." 
“The philanthropist then shrugged off 
his frightening experience and plunged 
into a full round of speeches and appear- 
ances at the Catskillarea hotel. Mean- 
while, the suspect in the shooti who 
Police Chief Fd cl i 
p a 1963 blue Cadillac convertible, wa 
possibly headed toward New York City. 
State troopers were patroling the Quick- 
way, hoping for an сапу arrest. And 
that's the latest on the attempt to murder 
Lazarus Loxfinger, Israel's old man with 
a heart as big as his fortune. 
ams of Raleigh smoke jetted 
through his nostrils. Bond switched off the 
adio. At least Loxfinger was alive. Alive! 
And if it hadn't been for my damned 
conceit, 1 ght have been in Loch Shel- 
drake 30 minutes ago. A Rocket Olds 98 
would have gotten me there in time to 
stop this hideous thing. But I had to rent 
this Rambler. You know why, Bond. Be- 
cause it has a bed in the back. You'd 


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191 


PLAYBOY 


192 


hoped for a little hanky-panky on the 
road, hadn't you? The whole fantasy had 
run through your mind a hundred times 
. . . a car broken down, some high- 
breasted young thing with chopped-liver- 
brown eyes imploring you to help her: "It. 
got overheated, sir. You'll take me to 
Crosingers in your car? Oh, bless you, 
sir! 1 could just kiss you." . . . which she 
would, their tongues tangoing sensually 
h other's gold fillings, sharing 
deep swigs from Bond's flask of heady, 
potent, aphrodisiacal Gallo мше... 
then thighs thrashing thighs . . . 

Bond, Bond told Bond, you'd beter 
stop letting your damn, blessedly en- 
dowed genitalia rule your head. A lecher 
can't operate effectively as a Double Oy. 
Mother Margolies would have a proverb 
applicable to this, he thought. What had 
she once said? Yes . . . “I cursed because T 
had no eyes; until I saw a cheerful man 
who had mo head.” 

Wait! What had the radio bulletin 
said? The blue Caddy convertible was 
New York bound! 

He pulled the Rambler over sharply, 
parked and lit a Raleigh. His face was icy 
now, lips in a tightly set vise. It was a 
look his enemies had learned to fear, an 
Israel Bond turned into a murderous 
machine. 

He double-timed it across the north- 
bound section, flattening his body on the 
grassy medial strip. It was luxuriantly 
rich against his cheek—Burpee Seed, no 
doubt. His fingers felt the road, drawing 
some comfort from its texture. Portland 
Cement. Tops in any league! 

And his right hand fondly stroked the 
slim, deadly item resting in his Neiman- 
Marcus shoulder holster. 

А black speck at first . . . high-tailing 
it south. It grew bigger. The blue Gaddy! 
And behind it a patrol car, siren scream- 
ing, red rooftop light revolving madly. 
There would be time for one shot; with 
luck, two. 

Now he could see the face of the driver, 
a swarthy Levamine type, features flat 
tened by the force of the wind. 
cal face, maniacal eyes, teeth bared into 
the snarl of a rabid mongrel . . . 


Har Su Dung-55, the special crafted ex- 
clusively for him by Kok Eee Moon, the 
Hong Kong gunsmith. 

"The bullets had found the front 
Bond had intended, but that of the 
patrol car, now careening out of control. 
‘The assassin, however, startled at the re- 
ports, had taken his eyes off the road for a 
second, a fatal second. His own tires 
caught the cement ridge of the road. 
Bond watched the Caddy leave the road, 
rip over some underbrush, then rip under 
some overbrush. It smashed into a 
board, went through it with a sickening 
sound of agonized metal. A flash! And 
the Caddy went up in a whitehot ball of 


Now two towering troopers were chug- 
ging from the patrol car several hundred 
yards up the road. They found a grim- 
visaged Bond staring blankly at the bill- 
board which seconds ago had read: crest 
TOOTHPASTE—SHOWN TO UE HIGHLY EF- 

ECTIVE WHEN USED WITH A CONSCIEN- 
TIOUSLY APPLIED PROGRAM OF ORAL 
HYGIENE. Where a curly-headed moppet 
had stood before her adoring mother 
clutching a dental report in her hand 
there was a gaping hole, behind which 
smoldered wl remained of the con- 
vertible. 

Bond dragged on а Raleigh, The troop- 
ers saw a hint of a smile as he said, 
“Crest or no Crest, our friend sure made 
a hell of a cavity, didn't һе?” 


His Rambler idled in front of the huge 
neon sign at the entrance to the winding 
lane that would take him to the hotel. 


WELCOME, WELCOME TO THE FABU- 
LOUS KAHN-TIRI HOTEL! 


YOU'LL ENJOY EVERY MOMENT AT 
DELICA- 


THE KAHN-TIKI! POLYNESIAN 
CIES—KOSHER STYLE! MODII 
TARY LAWS (NO SMOKING DURING THE 
SERVING OF THE HAM SALAD)! LEARN 
THE LATEST. JEWISH DANCES FROM THE 
TROPICS TAUGHT BY LITHE, OVERSEXED 
Latinos! 

TWO HEATED SWIMMING POOLS 
FILLED WITH MOTHER MARGOLIES' AC- 
CIVATED OLD WORLD CHICKEN sourt 
nosnu win 

THE ONLY HOTEL IN THE CATSKILLS 
WITH AN INDOOR SKI LIFT! SCHUSS ОМ 
A SIX-INCH. BASE OF MATZOHI MEAL! 

DON'T HIT YOUR ROTTEN, WHINING 
KIDS! OUR COLLEGE-TRAINED COUN- 
SELORS DO IT FOR YOU! 

ESTRELLITA AND SCHUYLER KAHN, 
YOUR HOSTS AT MIAMI BEACH'S GLAM- 
OROUS PALMETTO ROACH HOTEL, HOPE 
YOU ENJOY THEIR MOUNTAIN RESORT 
AS WELL! LET'S ALL MEET AT TO- 
NIGHT'S GET-ACQUAINTED SOIREE IN 
THE LITVAK LUAU ROOM! FEATURING 
THE WEST COAST COMEDY SENSATION 
HENNY LENNY! HERMIE 
HOUSE AND HIS HOUSE HOUSE BAND 
FOR DANCING! 


DENNY 


His smart Bakelite luggage stowed 
away, Bond warmed the tip-hungry palm 
of the bell captain with a shiny new Lyn- 
don Johnson 75cent piece, frankly relish- 
ing the awed reaction. “Yes sir, Mr. 
Bond! Anything else, sit? Well, hope you 
enjoy your stay! 

He showered for three minutes 
ng needles of Mountain Valley 
Water, changed his suit, slipping into the 
high-priced casual garb required in this 
class milicu . . . skin-tight Ship 'n Shore 
Levis, burnt cantaloupe-shaded crew 
shirt with the prize Korvette's label 
showing (perhaps а bit ostentatiously; it 
was on the breast pocket), and M 
Raffia shoes. 

He picked up the mauve Pi 


nder 


phone. “Operator, this is a Princess 
phone, isn't it? Good! Well, I'd like to 
speak to Princess Margaret.” 

The hotel operator, Miss Studnia, un- 
used to Bonds dazzling spur-of-the- 
moment bons mots (he was as famed for 
his wit as Mother was for her proverbs), 
said, "Huh?" 


And Bond, sorry he'd wasted a goody 
оп an unappreciative clod, was all busi- 


ness now: “Dr. Loxfinger's suite, please. 

Her voice was guarded. “I'm sorry, si 
but no one is permitted to disturb the 
doctor..." 

"Look, honey," said Bond. "This is 
Israel Bond. The doctor will respond, I 
asure you 

“Just a minute, please, Mr. Bond. 
Dr. Loxfngers public-relations repre- 
sentative will talk to you, Mr. Bond.” 
New respect in the metallic tones. “Go 
ahead, Mr. Saxon. 

Ir. Bond?” A composed voice with a 
trace of hauteur. “Angelo Saxon here, the 
doctors PRO. Dreadfully sorry, but he 
can't be disturbed. The dreadful incident 
and all that. Perhaps tomorrow or—" 
nock it off, Saxon!” Bond's rasp 
slashed through the room. “This is Israel 
Bond, security, M 33 and 14 section. Stop 
"dreadfulling" and tell me what's 
pened, how the old boy is and mach's 
schnell 

"Uh, perhaps first we'd best meet for a 
chat, Mr. Bond. See you in the Leni 
Lenape Lounge in ten minutes. Check-o.” 


Well, some of the spray starch had been 
taken out of Mr. Saxon. Now, a friendly 
drink or two and hed put the man 
straight. 

He 


ted for the lounge and his meet- 
On the elevator he 
“Beg your pardon." 

d nothing, content to flash a 
Jook of utter disgust. 

She's a smasher! Bond thought. Sullen 
savage loveliness . . . full, рош 
eyes of Brillo black and bluis 
lights, a heartstopping shape, hugged 
affectionately by leotards of sheerest net 
lace. Her proud, defiant breasts were com- 
pletely uncovered. If th 
doesn’t stop in three seconds, I'm going 
to crush those maddening rosebud nip- 
ples in my aching teeth, he swore 
vehemently. 

Rosebud! He smiled a secretive smile 
Odd to think of that word now. As a 
child he'd had a sled by that name. 
Wonder what ever happened to it? 

With arch humor he bowed, permit- 
ting the blazing creature to leave the car 
first. “See you around ... or around 
he riposted. She never even turned 
to acknowledge his quip, walking lithely 
away with her tantalizing dancer's stride. 

She was a smasher! Bond thought 
again. But he'd sensed something strange, 
a man-hating look he'd noticed in certain 
bizarre bistros with an offbeat clientele. 
Lesbo? Well, if she was, he'd—in Warren 


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193 


PLAYBOY 


194 


“Excuse me, miss, but 1 couldn't help noticing that you smoke. 
It just so happens that Pm a member of the 
entertainment committee of an exclusive men’s club, with the 
obligation of planning the annual smoker, and . . .” 


classic phrase—restore her to 


At the desk he asked for any messages. 
Uh. you're Mr. Bond in Room 1818, 
correct, 
Mes. | 

“Here you are, sir 

The brief message read: “I'd ride a 
Camel a mile to smoke an Oasis. 

What the hell was this? Bond frowned. 
his cruelly dark handsomeness becoming 
суеп more attractive. More than one 
woman had been driven wild by that 
frown. 

Camel? Oasis? If these were code words, 
they were certainly mot in his master 
book. "Clerk, are you sure this message is 
for mez" 
Oh, I beg your pardon, sir id the 
clerk, reddeni “This is for the gentle- 
man in 1817, the room next to yours. 
А Mr 

Mr. Jew? Bond thought ha 


d. "Sounds 


rather familiar. Whats the gentleman's 
fist name, derk?" 

"His first name is Achmed. Just 
checked in an hour ago. Strange sort. 


When 1 asked him to register, he just 
ave me a blank look as though he didn't 
understand what ] was saying. He shoved 
piece of paper in front of me that spe: 
cifically requested he be quartered in the 
room next to yours. 1 thought the fellow 
as a [riend of yours. so I saw no harm in 
assigning him 1817." 

No sense making the clerk suspi 
cious. Bond snapped his fingers as though 
п recollection. “Of course! My old 
buddy Achmed Jew! Slipped my mind 
completely 

He thanked the clerk with a 
of Hubert Humphrey nickels and wa 
ош onto the porch to give the matter 
some thought. Achmed Jew! And in the 
next room! Where was he from? Jord 
Kuwait? Saudi Arabia? Whoever he was, 
he must be a dunderhead, indeed, to pick 
an on-the-head last name like “Jew 
order to blend into the crowd at this kind 
of hotel. And to use his first name 
What a faux pas! What Arabic stupidi 
ty! Or arrogance. rather, to think a name 
like Achmed would go unnoticed. 
doubt, Mr. Achmed Jew felt uncomfort- 
able in this totally alien environment 
Well, he'd have to make Mr, Achmed Jew 
feel right at home—with a little welcome 
call late tonight. 

In the Leni Lenape Lounge, decorated 
tern American Indian mo 
somewhat at variance with the Polyne- 
n theme of the Kahn-Tiki—Bond spot- 
ied the man he thought was Angelo 
Saxon. 

"Saxon?" 

"Ehe tall, weedy blond who wore а bag- 
gy (and rather gamy, Bond's nose report- 
ed) brown woolen suit, sipping a tom 
collins, turned to him. “Why... uh... 
yes. Bond, is it? Sorry for my seeming 
impertin old man, but I'd heard 
you were in public relations, like me. 


Thought you'd try to con old Loxfinger 
into some shady promotion or other. Had 
no idea you меге... uh . . . in your 
type of occupation. Drink?" 

How tactful, Bond thought. Take 
down a few pegs, he wants to be friend. 
All right. We'll join hands on the friend- 
ship trail for a bit, "Yes, thanks. Bar- 
tender, a Lhasa Lizard, please. Just а 
soupcon of mildly ak butter in the 
bottom of the t - the right eye 
of any domestic lizard—iguana will do 
nicely . . . one ounce of Gallo wine—from. 
the frst pressings of the grapes, please 


. „ three crumbs from a Drake's пкее 
Doodle cupcake. Shake well. Now, how 
xty-five cents!" Bond's chin shot 


out indi ood grief, man! Lha 
Lizards more than forty-five 
cents in Ше most elegant. Manhattan 
posheries 


nantly. 


Nevertheless, he left the mixicologist 
some gleaming Bobby Baker pennies. 
Wasn't the man’s fault, actually. He 


didn't set prices. 

"Now to business. 
п?” 

t happened rather quickly, Mr. 
Bond. Dr. Loxfinger—he's been a “doctor, 
of course, ever since that honorary degree 
from Brandeis University—was exhorting 
the crowd. in the Kahn-Tiki’s main ball- 
room to double their pledges to the U JA A 
ted Jewish Appeal . 

new organization which is 
h money to put Istael i 
the Nudear Club. It stands for ‘Unleash 
the Jewish Atom’ 

Yes, yes, go on,” said Bond. 

“Well, that’s when this wiry, Levantine 
type, who'd been masquerading as а bus- 
boy. dropped his tray of dishes, whipped 
ош a revolver and fred point-blank at 
the doctor. I, of course, had seen the gun 
in his hand and made a lunge at the filthy 
litle асіп. 1 mised. But, strangely 
enough, so did he. I suppose my hinge 
unnerved him. Then he fled. Tell me 
did you get him’ 

“Yes, the matter was taken care of on 
the Quickway.” 

"Good show!" said Saxon, but there 
was something deep in his eyes Bond 
could not fathom as yet, but did not like. 

- .did he tal 
he died without. talki 
Was that a gleam of triumph in 
Saxon's eyes? "Well, tell me, Saxon, what 


What happened, 


... not the Un 
this one's a 


ШАШ 
“all hell broke loose. The loudest 
cries, it seemed, came from the hotel 
owner, Mr. Kahn. The ‘busboy’ had 
ruined forty-eight dollars’ worth of genu. 
ine East Side Fiesta dishes when he 
dropped the tay. In the confusion he 
fied. You know the rest.” 
Time to put the screws on. ^| 
Bond began coldly, “I'm shocked at the 
general laxity around here. Has there 
Deen no guard assigned to the doctor up 
to now? Remember, this man is the gr 


drink, 


Frankly,” 


est thing that has happened to Isracl 
since Leon Uris. He is beloved by 
world Jewry, vastly respected by non- 
Jews. Wrap up Albert Schweitzer, Ringo 
Starr rley Temple and you have 


Lazarus Loxfinger. This man must be 
guarded!" 
"Oh," Saxon said, his cyes widening 


with concern, "but I agree. Fully. The 
doctor does have a bodyguard. you know, 
quite a formidable one. You will meet 
him later. Hes a mountain, not a man 

- . a sort of Neanderthal, really. The 
doctor found him working on the docks 
in Marseilles, took pity on him and made 
him part of our entourage. This creature 
is the product of a rather hasty mésal- 
hance between an American soldier 


nig 
ger... oops!” He winked. "Sorry for 
that. One does have to be ‘liberal’ these 


days. Uh, an American soldier оГ... 
sepian hue, shall we say, who consorted 
with a white Scottish barmaid in Glasgow 
during World War Two. The issue of this 
one-night stand is our bodyguard. His 
name is MacAroon, Wanted by neither 


parent, he was shunted from orphanage 
to orphanage. Grew to be amazingly huge 
1d powerful. He must be seven-foot, six 


if he's an inch. MacAroon's specialty 
Karate, Гуе seen this simian shauer a 
twelve-bytwelve with one chop of that 
monstrous hand.” 

“Why wasn’t he around to protect 
Loxfinger when he was needed? 

"Simple. He'd been drugged. Someone, 
the "busboy; no doubt, had spiced his 
haggis and chitlius—that's all he eats— 
with a powerful sleeping draught. 

Bond inhaled. "You mentioned ‘еп. 
tounge.” Who else is in this charmed 
Loxfinger circl 
$ winked again. “Besides M. 
Aroon and yours truly, there's one other 
. . . his personal secretary, Peepee. You 

to be the sort of man who ap- 
preciates good womanllesh, Mr. Bond 
You'll find Peepee quite а mouth- 

watering: sight.” 
'cepee? What kind of a gibbering, in- 
for a grown woman?” 

“Those are her initials, P. P. But here 
she is now, Mr. Bond. Га asked her to 
join us. Hope you don't mind.” 

Bond's eyes rose—then popped. Peepee 
was the fascinating, unreachable minx 
he'd struck out with on the elevator. Still 
wearing the same fetching costume she 
had on when last they met, she . . . she 
oozed .. . that was the word . . . oozed 
across the lounge, those Junoesque 
breasts pointing to only heaven knew 
what mystical horizons, that frigidly won 
, sullen face... 
faced him now, those frosty lips 


Plenty. Mr. Saxon here insists on calling 
me Peepee. You may if you wish. I don't 
give a flying {&—" 
‘Well, now," Bond laughed, 
her off diplomatically. 


cuit 
"I rather like your 


195 


PLAYBOY 


given name . .. Poontang Plenty. Fraught 
with promise.” 

Her top lip curled into an adorable 
sneer. “Forget it, heman! The name is 
all that’s been given. 

Saxon yawned. “I'll leave you lovebirds 
10 peck out each others eyes. So long, 
Peepee, see you Inter.” He bent his gaunt 
frame to buss her chee! 

“Put those Tussaud waxworks lips on 
me and Lll kick you right in the- 

Mumbling an insincere farewell, Saxon 
exited hastily, gratefully, too, Bond 
thought. At least the fish-eyed PR man 
no competition. 

“That water lily!" Her voice was pure 
cobra venom. “I hate him, him with those 
puuid eyes and that stinking suit— 
есеби" She shuddered, toying with 
something in her right hand. Whatever it 
as, it made a clicking sound like two 
marbles tapped. together. 

"Ah," said Bond, resorting to hi 
lighter-than-air touch. It's as good 


w 


usual 
з апу 


other gambit in this game d'amour, he 


reasoned. “Ah, Captain Queeg! РІ 
h your balls again, I sce. 

“That's right, buster,” her voice came 
up hard and gritty. "Know what these 
are?” She thrust her hand dramatically 
face, opening it. Two marbles, 
hlighis radiating from their exot- 
ted cores, lay in her palm. 
yes, Poontang, Marbles, aren't 
they? Some childish ca 

“Think marbles is a childish sport, Mr. 
He-Man with the faggot sandals?" 
smile, but hate-filled. “Care to . . . uh 

. . take me on in а little game, maybe: 

His eyes gleamed. "What's in it for me 
if T win, Poontang?" 

"Win? Win?" She exploded into help- 
less, thighwhacking laughter, the first 
Bond had seen on that sullen face. 

“Win? You stupid, prideful bastard! 
TIl show you who's really got balls at this 
table, Bond. I have. Right in my hand. 
The neatest shooters you ever saw smack 
marble on its ass and send it flying!” 
Bond looked into her eyes, deviltry 
dancing in his own. "Let's say the impos 
sible is possible, Poontang. And I win. 
What's in it for me?" 
she stood up regally, extended those 
staggeringly desirable mounds to within 


E 


an ng lips. “Yes... 
they're yours! Yours! And everything 
else that goes with ‘em! Gladly! But 


you'll never outshoot me, buster. And to 
make it interesting for me, ГЇЇ relieve you 
of some of your long green. Shall we say 
twenty bucks for each captured marble?" 

“So, Her Nibs digs mibs, eh?” 

“That's the size of it, lover boy. I'm 
throwing the gauntlet right in your crag- 
gy, ашеПу handsome face and Т hope to 
hell it drives your blackheads clear 
through your checks!" 

He spoke. The charm was gone from 
his voice now, she noticed. 

“Youre on, Poontang. Marbles it i 


196 Noon tomorrow, any place on the hotel 


grounds you want. But make it far from 
the main building. I don't want the folks 
to be upset by your screams when . . .” 
He could hold back the sound of his 
gritting teeth no longer. In his passion 
a wisdom molar crumbled into chalk. 

“Brave words, buster. But youre on. 
Tomorrow—noon.” 

His nerves raw from the tension he had 
undergone ever since the whole chaotic 
skein of events had ted to unravel in 
Miami Beach, Bond gulped down one of 
Mother Margolies’ favorite rel nts— 
M. & M., Manischewitz & Miltown. It 
would ease him into a peaceful late- 
afternoon сатар from which he would 
emerge refreshed and ready for the grim 
asks ahead. He stripped down to his 
ait of the Loom spun Egyptian cotton 
shorts (you had to hand it to the м: 
mongering bastards; they did grow splen- 
did cotton), lit up his 198th Raleigh of 
the day (I've smoked enough for a clip of 
Abs at least, he exulted) and lay on his 
bed. His eyes were closing now, but there 
was one more chore. "Operator —get me 
Milton Bond in Trenton, New Jersey. 
Area code 609, Import 7-8898." 

He waited. “Milt? Your I i brother. 
Listen, Milt, I'm practically asleep, but I 

iced а favor damned fast. Look through. 

my old things in the attic, the junk 1 
stored before ] went to Eretz in '48. Still 
got it? Good. Now, I must have these 
things no later than noon tomorrow. Got 
a pencil?" His voice droned a list. “That's 
the whole schmear. Fly ‘em up to the 
Kahn-Tiki Hotel, Loch Sheldrake, in 
your Piper Cub, Love to Lottie and the 
derlach. I'm so damn sleepy I. . .” 

"The receiver fell from jellyfish-weak 
fingers. Bond was out cold. 

Cold. 

He was cold, Shivering, freezing cold. 

He smiled in his sleep. The smell of 
salty fish permeated his dream. Lox? 
Loxfinger? Herring? Yes, a gooten shtick- 
el pickled herring, the way his mother 
used to make it back in Trenton, his 
birthplace in 1930. Momma! His warm- 
hearted, crafty, typical Jewish mother, 
who had dreamed of a profitable T 
for him in medicine. "Study hard, le: 
she had said in her careworn way. "Some- 
day, son, you'll be a famous abortionist 
with a big practice and a country clubber 
in Stockholm." She was smiling at him 
now in this loveliest of drcams. Hello, 
Momma. | miss you. 

He knew he was dreaming, but, ah, it 
was divine! The cold salty fish is moving 
over my body. he smiled. I'm in a Catskill 
hotel and a cold slimy fish is crawling 
over me! 


Crawling? 
Fish don't crawl! 
He sprang into consciousness—some- 


thing wet, cold, slimy, furry, impossibly 
huge was advancing on his body, Some- 


thing was—Gottenu! The pain! Some- 
thing with a fetid, fishy breath had sunk 
its teeth into his shoulder—the bad one. 

Two red eyes were glowii 
ened room, part of something er 
that was crushing him, mashing his ribs, 
his chest. Pinned to the bed like a but- 
terfly on а card, he stared into the ei 
raged face of a polar bear! 

Bond screamed, unashamedly. He tried 
reaching for the mezuzah with a hand al- 
ready puffing up horribly from the mash- 
ing. Gone! The bear's claw had ripped 
the chain from his neck. Blood from the 
reopened shoulder wound raced lavalike 
down his body. 

He was virtually on the verge of faint- 
ing. The swollen hand was all that re 
mained to combat this one-ton temor 
from the top of the world. Its growl sent 
chills down his bruised spine. He could 
imagine the notso-stupid Mr. Jew next 
door in 1817, his car pressed to the wall, 
laughing gleefully at each of Bond's 
screams, No, Mr. Achmed Jew was not 
the dumb bunny he had thought him to 
be. While he, Bond, had talked a good 
game, Mr. Jew acted! Somehow 
managing to smuggle his murderous arc- 
tic aide imo the Kahn-Tiki 

Only the thought of that cackling anti- 
Semite bastard next door kept Bond 
going. A rage, every bit as towering as the 
polar bear's, swept over him. His mashed 
fingers found a shoe under the bed, 
touched a spring in the heel. A knife 
sprang out. Now it was in Bond's demoni- 
acal clutch, driving down toward the 
bears exposed neck. No! Wait! He 
knew from the exualight feel of the knife 
and its dull edge that it was a milchig 
(dairy) knife. Saailege! To Kill а meat 
creature with a dairy knife. He dropped 
it, felt for the mate to the shoe, found its 
spring and drove the flayschig (meat) 
knife again and again into his adversa 
Blood—the bear's now—was gushing out 
like an oil strike from a gusher in Eilat, 
southernmost city of Eretz Israel. With 
one tormented roar, the bear rolled over 
Bond again, inflicting more indescribable 
pain, then fell pondcrously to the floor. I1 
would lurk no more in the Kahn-Tiki 
Hotel. 

He had met his greatest challenge— 
and won. 

Gottenu! What pain! Pain! Pain! 
‘Tension! Tension! ‘Tension! He would 
give the world for one Excedrin now! 

Gingerly he felt for the phone. He had 
to make sure this terrible thing was in- 
deed premeditated. 

Though his body sacamed in 
agonized places, he forced 
make his voice as dignified 
"Rond, 1818. Tell me . . . uh 
there ever been any... uh... po 
bears inside this hotel before? As guests, 
visitors, in any capacity at all?" 

"Definitely not, Mr. Bond!" The clerk 
sounded highly insulted. “A polar bear in 


possible. 
... have 


the Kahn-Tiki? Never, sir! We only get 
a family crowd 
“Thank yo 
He hung up. 
Then there was a score to settle! 


said a thoughtful Bond. 


The phone rang in 1817. 

The wiry, Levantine type dropped the 
all-purpose Gideon book of worship 
provided by the management (Old Testa 
ment-New Testament-Koran-Kama Su 
tra), reached for the phone with some 
apprehension. He had not been expecting 
any calls. For a moment he debated the 
advisability of answering. He felt for the 
Sphins-77 in his shoulder holster, patted 
gly and lifted the receive 
Achmed Јем?" A harsh, 
thickly s accented voice. 

e 

“The Oasis is pleased at the death of 
the Camel.” 

A sigh of relief escaped his throat. Ah, 
a fellow member from the Yemen 
for Nullifying Zionist Traitors. YENT 
The caller could be no other; he had used 
the key code words aptly. 

“Who is this, please?” One still had to 
be cautious. 

“Mr. Jew, this is Gamal Соу, your su- 
perior [rom the El Nakid Sidi section. I 
am calling with further instructions. 
Mect me at the indoor pool adjacent to 
the solarium. I have instructions regard- 
ing the Isracli philanthropist.” The caller 
hung up. 

The tense yENTZ agent could hardly 
believe his cars. He let go an irrepressible 
squeal. Surely Gamal Goy must think he, 
Achmed, was worthy indeed to have 
proffered such a monumental assignment. 

Moments later he stood by the pool, 
his nostrils assailed by the stench. The 
he recalled he had been told it 
filled with Mother Margolies Activated 
Old World Chicken Soup. 

It was dinnertime. The pool was de- 
serted. A creepy feeling pervaded him, 
his own footsteps echoing against the 
moist, steamy walls gave him а sense of 
unease. Lighting a Rameses, he waited. 

He pricked up his cms. He heard other 
footsteps reverberating through the man 
made fog. Then silence. 

“Achmed Jew! 

The harsh voice, sounding strangely 
disembodied. But from where? 

“Goy? 

“No Goy, Jew! This is Jew, Goy!" 

That voice! Achmed whirled, his hand 
sliding into his coat. 

Dreck! Dreck! 

Two slugs from Bonds Tzimmes-88 
tore past him, missing by a foot. But in 
spinning to answer the misdirected shot 
with his Sphinx-77, Achmed slipped on 
the wet tiles, his head cracking the pool 
deck. Stunned, his temporal parictal area 
gashed badly. he toppled into the pool 
For a few seconds there was a stranglin, 
gurgling sound. Then his struggles ceased. 

A cold smile on his face as he watched 


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198 


the bloody cddies mingling with the 
tender bits of plump Rhode Island Red 
fowl, Bond came down from the high div 
ing board, his vantage point for the 
shooting. The Tzimmes-88 still smoked 
in his swollen right hand. Justice had 
cried out for a chauvinistic killing with a 
good Jewish gun this time. His lips spoke 
mockingly to the bobbing body of the 
drowned Yemeni: “Gamal Goy greets his 
desert brother, Achmed Jew. May many 
dark-eyed houris greet you in your war- 
riors’ heaven—all of them with yaws— 
you bastard!” (But I really must get back 
to the practice range, he admitted.) 
Flicking off an imaginary dust spot on 
the lapel of his Dino tuxedo, the model 
favored by leading stars of stage, screen 
and television, Bond took out his Nippo, 
lit a Raleigh and watched the smoke be- 
come part of the pool's mist. He pulled 
the wick out, placed it in his car and 
spoke into the bouom of the lighter. 
“Zy 


ош, Oy Oy Seven 
"Have you disposed of 
body 
"Yes, Oy Oy Seven. It has been sliced 
into bits. Every cat in the Catskills will 
have an unexpected асах tonight. How 
с your wounds?” 
“Better, thank you. The hotel doctor 
dressed the lacerations, thinking he was 
stering to a very poor skier, As for 
the pain, it’s bad, but bearable. The Ex- 
cedrins are definitely helping. You see, 1 


the bears 


had this pain that felt like two billygoats 
were pulling my head asunder, so in 
case like this when 1 need big relief...” 


Zvi's voice cut in: “Yes. But what shall 
I tell M about our friend from ves 

Bond's gray eyes gleamed as his quick 
mind prepared to hurl one of his famous 
jesis- 

“One can say," he paused for telling 
effect, “that Mr. Achmed Jew is definitely 
in the soup! 


For once, disposing of a body had 
proved relatively simple Гог Bond. Zvi, 
who had left the Café Aw ady 
to come to the Catskills more 
closely with him, had wangled a part-time 
job as an animal trainer with the Ring-A- 
Ding Barton Brothers & Bill Bailey Cir- 
cus and Smoker (“The carthiest show on 
carth”) touring nearby, and had brought 
over a starving Bengal tiger, shoved 
into the pool 
on the Levantine. 

Bond, a Raleigh dangling from his 
commented: “You can always count on 
fast action, Zvi, when there's a tiger in the 
tank. 

Grinning, Zvi again was overwhelmed 
by Oy Oy Seven’s trigger mind. How does 
he do nd why? 

"Boy, that tiger is doing a real job. I 
don't think Agent D could have handled 
this any better.” Then he bit his tongue. 

“Agent D" A sharp look of inter 


was on Bond's face. “Who is Agent D?" 

Zvi stammered. "Forget I ever men- 
tioned Agent D. Please, Oy Oy Seven, 
please forget it. Means nothing, really." 

Agent D? Zvi apparently had gleaned 
something from one of M's top-secret mi: 
sives. But Bond decided to press the mat- 
ter no further. His confrere was obviously 
embarrassed enough. 

Ten minutes later, reverting to his 
cover role, Bond found himself deliver- 
ing the speech to the organization men- 
tioned in M's communication and then 
found himself dragged into yet another 
ave by a spry, surprisingly powerful 
tron in gold lamé evening hip- 
hugger slacks and blouse, matched regret- 
tably with brow nd-white saddles. Не 
had given an abbreviated version of his 
speech to the group, the Molly Picon 
Golden Age Polit Action Club, a 
with another of his typically ga! 
basically goodhearied) gestures—" Waiter, 
a bottle of your best Geritol for every 
lovely lady in the room"—had gained ap- 
plause and reverence 

Still pain-racked from his mauling, the 
bored Oy Oy Seven strolled into the 
vak Luau Room where, before a jam- 
packed audience, West Coast comedy 
sensation Henny Benny Lenny was hold- 
y at the microphone, tossing glib 


“Geez, what a quiet bunch! I've gouen 
better reaction from a Schick test!" 

(Nervous, somewhat light laughter.) 

“Are you sure this is the regular group? 
So this guy falls off the Washington Mon- 
ишет and the cop says, Магз goin’ on 
here? and the guy says, ' don't know. I 
just got here myself!’ " 

(Nervous rustlings; no laughter.) 

"This can't be the regular group! 
Well, ler's try the hip, sophisticated, topi- 
cal humor right out of today's front pages, 
huh? Vietnam? That's affecting all of us 
in these troubled times. Well, these two 
South Vietnamese soldiers are ag 
around in a foxhole under fre from the 
nies and the first one says to his pal 
‘1 just bought me one of them Italian 
sports cars—Cosa Nostra. Underneath the 
hood is à hood! 

(Some response this time . . . of a sort. 
А ringsider vaulted onto the stage and hit 
the funmaker across the mouth with a 
whiskey bottle.) 

“Well, good night, folks, 
youse.” 

And the peppery comedian walked ott 
to the strains of Z Know That You Know, 
ing, spitting out his teeth and whis- 
pering to a stagehand, “Tough crowd at 
first, but I finally got "en 

Too bad, Bond thought. He was a hi 
larious chap. The frequent cabareting 
Bond had been exposed to as part of his 
PR role had made him rather an expert 
on funnymen. This one was firstrate. But 
the crowd had been impatiently waiting 
for a message from Dr. Loxfinger, who 


Com 


па God bless 


had agreed on a brief personal appear- 
ance to show an anxious Jewry he was 
ive and well. 

Bond, too, felt a stitring at the pros- 
pect of hearing one of Loxfinger's mes- 
запіс pronunciamentos. 

The honor of the introduction rightly 
belonged to porcine Schuyler Kahn, now 
on stage beaming beatifically. 

“Ladies and gentlemen . . . 

As though a needle d been lifted 
from a phonograph, the murmuring 
ceased abruptly. 

My lovely wife, Estrellita Kahn, your 
cohost at the Kahn-Tiki and the only 
woman I'll ever look at . . . " there was 


hearty applause; the love between the 


well known to their patrons. 
rose, shouted, “I feel the 
same way about you, Schuyler, sweet 
which triggered another wave of ap- 


I'm here to humbly present the 
greatest Jewish gentleman 1 ever s 
and. believe me, Schuyler Kahn in his 
" 
1 


role as owner of the best Class B hotel i 
the mountains has mer them all . . 
the big ones—Gary Morton, Bobby King 
Jerry Lester, Bob Melvin, London Lee, 
Johnny Pulco—you name ‘em; I met ^ 
Without further ado, here is Dr. Lazarus 
Loxlinge 

There was 
looked bla 
and the ice cubes in his I 


Lazarus Loxfinge huge 
mulatto wearing a plaid kilt and a T-shirt 
with the letters 1 DIG MILES DAVIS and car- 


Ч on his shoulder, walked. 
slowly onto the stage. He stood motion- 
less during a fantastic, ten-minute stand- 
ing ovation, hearing his name screamed 
over and оу "Loxhnger! 1 
finger! Loxfing 

Then Loxfing, 


куйщ a b 


raised his right hand 
stiffly, palm out. The throng stilled. 
MacAroon suddenly crossed in [ront of 
his leader, swung the board off his shoul- 
der. held it by the end with his left hand 
and. with a frightening blur, chopped his 
right hand down on it. There was a sharp 
cack: gasps sounded through the ball. 
room; the board, split in two, fell to the 
stage. Then the monster lumbered. off. 


And Loxfinger began to speak. 


Now it was two in the morning 
Bond. still beset by the sense of unreality 
that had begun the instant he heard the 
voice of Lazarus Loxfinger, found himself 
unable to sleep. He lita Raleigh in the 
wk, indillerenty watching the flames 
from his tossed match creeping up the 
blanket toward him. 

As the flames licked at his swollen hand 
and singed his mangled shoulder, Bond 
phoned the desk. “My room's on fire.” 

His charred hand paining him, Bond, 
now dressed in а powder-blue iridescent 
suit, Panama hat. string tie and Venetian 
bedsocks, pushed his way past the bell- 


hops trying to contain the blaze to the 
18th floor and went down to the loun 

Elbowing his way through the dancers, 
he spotted at a comer table Poontang, 
Saxon, MacAroon, smashing boards with 
terrifying grunts, and, yes . . - Loxfinger, 
the old fellow cuddling with a sultry, 
Nordictype blonde, well upholstered, 
too, a shocked Bond noted. 

Unthinkable. This saintly figure paw- 
ing, grasping, insinuating his hands into 
her cleavage. It was a blow to Bond's im- 
age of the man, but he supposed that 
Loxfinger, too, was only human, 
Hello, Bond,” Poontang said in her 
typically hostile manner. “Come down 
for some night life?” 

"Had a slight fire in my room and 
couldn't sleep. Matter of fact, burned my 


hand. I thought I'd ease the pain with a 
little nightcap.” 
Oh." she said with a sneer. "Hurt 


your hand, eh? Your shooting hand, no 
doubt. I thought you'd find some way to 
cop out on tomorrow's match." 

“II be there, Poontang, so don't wor- 
ry your sick little head." And to the wait- 
er: “A very, very dry Majorca m 
the olive from the personal grov 
Francisco Franco, a simulated pearl on- 
ion on a toothpick of Pacific Plywood.” 

“You forgot to tell him the most im- 
portant ingredient, buster. The pinch of 
Indian Ocean kelp taken from the belly 
of a pregnant female manta ray. 

“still competing with me, ch, Poon- 
tang? Who's the young lady with the 
good doctor?” 

"some cheap little cocktail hostess 
named Eve Brown. He can't keep his 
hands off her. I'm afraid you're late, Mr. 
Bond. The old lecher has beaten the 
young lecher to the prize.” 

“You mean he beat you to it?" Bond 
shot back. 

"Still nasty, ch, buster? We'll see how 
nasty you are tomorrow after I take away 
all your mad money.” Dashing her drink 
into his face, she hurried off, her breasts 
heaving. 

Saxon leaned over. He was very drunk. 
"How's the kosher cop tonight? Shoot 
any more baddie-waddies since I saw you 


di 


last?" He was still wearing the same 
brown woolen suit which seemed even 
sweatier, gamier and baggier—if possible. 


"Tell m 
Pillsbury? 

Suxon's face purpled. “You £— 
Jew bastard!” He started а righthand 
punch which Bond’s superior reflexes 
deftly enabled him to block with the 
point of his jaw. 


. Saxon, whos your tailor? 


ll overlook that, 5 because 
you're blind, piggish dru 
“You snotty kik хоп swung 


gain wildly, mised and fell against an 
al palm tree, knocking himself 
out. He slid to the floor. 

Bond looked at the unconscious PR. 
MacAroon, take this sot back to 
his room and sober him up." 


man. 


“Just think — if my G string hadn't snapped, 
and some busybody hadn't phoned for the 
police — we might never have met!” 


His carbon eyes glowering, MacAroon 
muttered. “'Tis a bonnie moonlicht 
nicht, yo’ mothah fripguh." He tossed 
Saxon over his shoulder as if the man 
were a feather and steam-rollered out. 

Turning to Loxfinger, who also seemed 
on the verge of collapse, Bond said gen- 
tly: “Bedtime, sir. It's been a long day for 
you. ГЇЇ take you back to your A 

The doctor, who had been whispering 
endearments to Eve Brown in his thick, 
drunken voice— е schatz, Eva” 
—looked at Bond w icc. of. suspi- 
cion, then nodded his assent. “Yah, I go 
now. You are Mr. Bond, the security per- 
son." He clicked his heels fatuously, then 
swayed. Bond caught him, led 
tottering path to the elevator. They got 
off at the ninth floor, Bond continuing 
to guide him toward thc suite. 

"You are very solicitous, Mr. Bond. 
But then, we mockies have to stick to- 
gether, right?" He winked confidentially, 
nudging Bond's ribs. 

Saxon was up, partly sober, soaking 
wer and still bellicose. hat Jew bas- 
tard made fun of my suit! And that 
stinking nigger ape threw me in the 
shower! My suit is ruined! TII kill him 
++. and tha 

“Now, no 
placatingly. “Your good doctor will buy 
you another one. May I bid you good 
night, Mr. Bond?" 


"Good night, sir,” Bond said. “And 
shalom.’ 

In the corridor Bond let the fury he 
had suppressed in Loxfnger's presence 
roll out of him. He kicked a passing bell- 
hop in the leg, savoring the man's yam- 
mering and sobbing. 

How he had yearned to smash those 
epithets back into Saxon’s foul-smelling, 
bigoted mouth. And why .. . why had 
Loxfinger, a fellow Jew, said nothing 
when his aide spouted them? Did Sa: 
have some strange hold over the philan- 
thropist? I've got to do some thin 
Something else occurred 10 him. 
decided to play а hunch. Returning to 
the lounge, he smiled his most inviting 
smile at the hard-faced blonde, Eve 
Brown. She sized up his trim physique, 
the dark, cruelly handsome face. She de- 
cided it would be worth her while to 
smile back. 


Her moist cornsilk hair in strands 
against his pillow, the girl looked with 
adoration at the hy, steel-framed. 
Apollo who had just taken them both to 
the very heart of ihe sun. 
“Geez, mister. You're the liv 
He smiled. slipping in one of his irre- 
sistible shafts: "Your end is the livingest, 
100, Eve. Tell me, how did you get en- 
tangled with the celebrated doctor to- 
night?” Naturally, he had made love to 


199 


PLAYBOY 


her in hopes of eliciting some informa- 
tion, but that task had somchow become 
secondary the moment he had torn away 
her pitifully sordid litle evening dress 
(He would, of course, send her a Simplic- 
ity pattern and three yards of material.) 
And when he saw her golden thighs, he'd 
heard the same old song in his blood 

Bond, he berated himself, you're im- 
possibly horny. I think you'd get aroused 
by a navel orange. 

“Oh, the doc,” she said, her words de- 
railing his train of thought, sending him 
back to the job at hand. 

Nestling in the crook of his muscular 
„ she related how Loxfinger had giv- 
п her the once-over twice in the lounge. 
"І knew he was famous, of course, but I 
never thought he'd ever dig a cheap, 
flashy litle number like me. And it's 
funny, when I told him my name was 
Eve Brown, he sorta flipped. Like he'd 
seen a ghost or somethin’, АП the time 
he was coppin’ a feel he kept whisperin" 
crazy things like, ‘Eva, it’s been so long 
. . . so long since we splashed in the pool 
together, watching the sun glinting 
the snow-capped peaks ... stuff 
that. E sw Mr. Bond, I never laid eyes 
on him before—or nothin' else. And my 
name's Eve—not Eva. 

Bond knitted his brow with a frown of 
concentration. Then he realized he'd 
made a mistake. 

“Geer, you're handsome when you 
frown!” she 1 with breathy i 
ment. And she pulled him down to her, 
the old song welling up again. 


“Zvi” Bond said in a low voice over 
the Nippo. "I want you to contact Mon- 
roe Goshen at CIA. Tell him I'm send- 
ing some photos of Saxon, MacAroon 
and Poontang. I want him to check them 
out. There's something going on here I 
don't like. And tell M I'm making these 
nquiries." 

s the doctor safe, Oy Oy Seven?" 
"For the time being, yes. Shalom." 
Poontang! The mention of her name 

had made him remember the marble 
game at noon. And his hand, mauled by 
bear and fire . . . how the name of 
hi п would he be able to hold a shoot- 
er in those grotesque caricatures of 
fingers? 

He held his hand in a sinkful of ice 
water until the swelling reduced enough. 
for him to try a few feeble shots with a 
cat'seye he'd induced one of the hotel's 
younger patrons to give him, after having 
to beat the kid up badly. 
fied that the 1d was at least 
serviceable, he took the contact lenses oif 
his eyeteeth (standard with M 33 and V4 
personnel), extracted the microfilms from 
the tiny ca 
developed the negatives in a 
cr's Chicken Soup (it was ideal for "soup- 
ng up пеш” as well as eating) and 
mailspecialed the prints to Goshen. 


200 He, of course, had been snapping pic- 


tures of the Loxfinger party in virtually 
every conversation. The ones of Poon- 
tang, he knew, would drive Goshen out 
of his goyisher Boston bean, They'd 
crossed paths before and had а warm re- 
gard for each other. In fact, it was Bond 
who had brought a breath of spring to 
Goshen's reticent, dour life, fixing up the 
CIA operative with his first sexual en- 
counter at the age of 43. 

Lighting a Raleigh, he laid plans for 
the coming match. It’s about timc. he 
said to himself facetiously, to lay plans! 

The day of the game dawned clear 
and bright. 

Bond, dressed in a sporty one-piece 
Air Force-type jump suit, walked over to 
a spot about a mile from the Kahin-Tiki's 
main wing after receiving a terse call 
from Poontang. 

Poontang, all business, was wearing a 
sweat shirt on which were emblazoned 
the letters KANSAS Mo, JAYGEES 


5657 and a p 
not entirely hide her wicked silhouctte. 
Pine trees and thick clumps of bushes 
encircled the brown patch of earth she 
had selected. 
“Buster, I think we'll start off with a 
tle game called "in-the-hole.' ” 
“Thats how it may end up, too, 
Bond jested lightly. 

Preferring 10 ignore his quickie, she 
aid: "You're an Israeli and I don't ex 
pect you know much about our games. 
But ГИ teach you this simple one. I've 
dug a hole over there"—she indicated a 
depression about four feet away—"and 
over here ТЇЇ make two parallel lines 
about three feet apart.” She busily drew 
them in the earth with her sneaker tips. 
“Now we stand on this line and trawl— 
throw the marble—to that line. One clos- 
to the line goes first. He, but it's gon- 
na be she, buster, then shoots at the hole. 


So does the second player. One closest to 
the hole gets the next shot. Object is to 


get into the hole first, ‘cause then you're 
eligible to shoot at the other guy's mib. 
Ifyou hit the mib, it’s yours. Or rather it's 
mine, Hercules. And it's twenty smack- 
croos for me. Here—take a shooter. 

They stood at the first trawling line, 
peering intently at the second. She 
wound up like a baseball pitcher, then 
with startling delicacy let the mib fly. It 
Janded about two inches from the second 
line. “Trawl,” she said with a pleased 
expression. He did so. His landed six 
inches away. 

“I'm frs!" she cried triumphantly 
and for a moment she was the rock-hard 
sophisticate mo longer, just an eager 
young girl with wind blown hair. 

She kneeled, holding her blue marble 
in the V of her forefinger, shoving her 
thumb forward. lt skittered along 
to the hole. On the first 


shot! 
Lucky, Bond mused, particularly be- 


cause of the way she shoots. It's a fairly 
accurate style, but not basically powerful 
m in, buster! Now you're in trou- 
ble. Either you've gota make the hole 
on the first shot or stay away. Because 
Im now eligible to knock the crap out of 
your aggi 
Sticky situation, he conceded, He bent 
over and duplicated her shooting merh- 
od, affixing his red alley in the V posi- 
tion, fired toward the hole. It stopped 
about two feet aw 
"Spansies! Spansies!” she bubbled in 
delight. “That means, Richard the 
Chicken-Hearted, that since I'm in the 
hole already, 1 can take the span of my 
hand, either once or twice, and move my 
shooter closer to yours. That’s one of the 
ileges you get when you're їп first. 
" she paused dramatically, “I'll take 
if you please. 
Her two hand lengths placed her with- 
in inches of his red alley. She shot. 
Click! Her apgie drove his spinning ig 
nominiously into a bush. "Twenty 
schmolyeres, buster! Cough up!" 
Expressionless, he peeled a 20 from his 
roll, paid up and went into the bush to 
retrieve his shooter. He nearly stepped 
оп the soft, plump hand of Estretlita 
Kahn, who was writhing passionately on 
the ground with Henny Benny Lenny, 
West Coast comedy sensation. They did 
not notice him as they gyrated their 
locked bodies in animalistic fury, the 
little laughmaker whispering, “Speaki 
of sex, this married couple, Abie and 


ng!" she moaned. 

Bond found the marble and returned 
to a smiling Poontang, his eyes radar- 
scanning the sky anxiously. Where the 
hell was Milton? 

Poontang repeated her victories in the 
next six games, following the same pat- 
tern. She was now $140 ahead. “Want to 
quit, heman, and admit sheaman shot 
the pants off you?” 

"Then he heard it. The motor of a 
small plane. Milion's Piper Cub! Soon 
it was just 90 feet above them and. Bond 
could see his brother waving frantically. 
An object dropped out of the Piper, 
thumping near his feet. 

"What kind of a tinhorn gimmick is 
that?" she said angrily. “Trying to raule 
me. Bond?” 

"My dear, Im going to give you a 
short, but highly informative lecture.” 

“Do go on, Mr. Bond, if you think it'll 
help you—and it won't" 

Poontang, in ten minutes you're 
going to undergo the most traumatic ex- 
perience of your life. Know ye this, Miss 
Plenty, it’s a fact that I'm an Israeli, but 
by choice, not by birth. I saw the light of 
day first in Trenton, New Jersey, where 
as a boy I played this game at a certain 
interseaion—Market and Lamberton 
streets. Mean anything to you?’ 

“Not a damn thing,” she said. But her 


voice was obviously guarded. 
“There is a vacant lot there—or was, 
before urban renewal changed things 
around, And on that lot, my venomous 
pet, I learned the art of marbles from the 
greatest of them all—one Sonny Jo 
Washington, better known in the annals 
of marbles as Sonny the Schvartzeh. In 
fact, Sonny Jo once told me I was the 
best white player hed ever encountered. 
No, I never beat him; no white boy ever 
. But I came so close to doing it that 
Sonny the Schvartzeh, as a token of his 
esteem, gave me this.” 
From the object dropped from the 
Cub, a burlap sack, Bond extracted a 
marble from a leather bag. 
‘This, my sweet, is Sonny's own shoot- 
er, the immortal "Potbuster. " He let her 
feel it; she seemed entranced as she held 
the black-and-white-beribboned aggie. 
“And while we're at it, Poontang, let's 
dispense with t ihe-hole" crap. We 
both know 
of marbles is the fivefoot bull ring. 
Here's a string with the exact mcasurc- 
ments. Put it on the ground and trace 
around it while I change into my outfit." 
For the first time she knew uncertainty 
... even fear .. . but she set about 
etching the fivefoot rn Bond disap- 
peared behind another bush, slipped off 
is jump suit. So intent on revenge was 
he that he scarcely took notice of Eve 


scemed to annoy the grunting Schuyler 
Kahn, who was making love to her. 

When Poontang saw Bond reappear, 
her blood ran cold. In his new garb, 
which had been among items in the bag. 
it was frighteningly clear that Israel 
Bond was—a shark! 

The difference between a shark and 
an ordinary marble player could be 
likened to that between a gimleteyed 
Dodge City hired gunslinger and a 
homesteader. 

Bond was wearing knickers! 

With reinforced knee patches! 

And on his right hand was a dirty 
glove with the fingers cut out, affording 
protection to just the knuckles! 

Worst of all, he wore a red corduroy 
shirt and a beanie whose letters read: 

NNIE AND SANDY DRINK OVALTINE 


r eyes boring into her own, 
1 coldly, “It'll be one hundred 
bucks a marble now, Poontang. Strict 
rules of the Asbury Park World Tourna- 
ment. Now put ten of your mibs in dead 
center of the bull ring . . . bunch ‘em up 
tight. по stragglers . .. now add 
these of mine. Well trawl for 
firsties 

His eyes in deadly slits, he casually 
shooter from the trawling 
. It landed squarely on the second 
line. "Your trawl.” Dazedly, she trawled. 
A foot off the mark. 


ten 


"My firsties, And, incidentally, watch 
the way I hold my shooter, Poontang." 

Now her worst fears were са. 
Previously һе һай copied her own V 
style, but that had been a ruse, she now 
knew. For this time he was positioning 
his shooter the sharks way, aggie held 
between the topside of the thumb and 
the tip of the forefinger. 

Bond cocked, shot. The Potbuster 
whizzed, crunched into the 20 bunched 
missile, scattering them to the 
s. With a single shot he had 
knocked ten out of the ring! And, wor 
his shooter had "stuck" in the middle. 

“Time for a little potclearing, Poon- 
tang, but I may leave you a couple just 
to sec your bullring technique.” 

With a series of short, powerful shots, 
Bond blasted eight more out of the cir- 
cle. Then he deliberately closed his eyes 
and missed. 

Two forlorn marbles were all that 
were left to her in the bull ring which 
seemed as vast as Shea Stadium. Her shot 
didn't even come close to cither, barely 
making it across the ring. 

"You inched, Poontang! You inched!” 
His voice was a whiplash of contempt, 
melting the wax in her ears. “And with 
all your inching, you just about made it 
across. Watch this, Poontang, 

He did not assume the kneeling posi- 
tion this time, but stood straight, firing 
his shooter from his hip. It dive-bombed 


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201 


PLAYBOY 


202 


оп one of the survivors, driving it fully 
six feet past the line. 

My God! she thought. A drop shot! 
Who alive today could zero in on a mib 
from three feet up with a drop shot? Oh, 
Bond, Bond, she whispered, you're in- 
credible. And a strange song, one her 
body had never heard before, began to 
sing in her inner marrows. 

He deliberately missed again. “Your 
shot, Poontang. 

Now he isn't even looking at me 
when he speaks. He hates me. I love him 
and he hates me. The Lord has punished 
i At least Ul show 
cross the ring faster. She 
rm a push from the elbow as 


gave her 
she sl 

“Cowhunching, Poontang? Cowhunch 
ing?" His contempt knew no bounds 
now. “No real power, so you throw your 
aggie, you bitch!" 

Cowhunching. The foulest crime. And 
he's right—I cowhunched. 

With a Іам flourish, he backed three 
feet away from the ring to show the true 
power of a shark, aimed the Potbuster 
and walloped the last aggie. It did not go 
out of the ring. But he felt no shame. His 
shooter had cracked. 1 half! 

Bond looked down at his hand, which 
throbbed terribly, red rivulets pouring 
down his fingers. The hatred was gone 
from 1 пом. 

"Oh, your poor, poor blessed shark's 
hand! It's bleeding. And you shot with a 
hand like that . . . with pain like that? 
Just for the sake of my damn stupid chal- 


lenge? Oh, Bond, Bond! I'm yours!" 

She stood naked before him, her trem- 
bling hands having stripped off her gar- 
ments. “Have you any strength at all left 
in that golden hand?" 

"Yes" he said dully. Fatigue had 
formed on that dark, cruelly handsome 
face. 

“Then take that magnificent agate, 
that Potbuster of yours, and shoot it at 
ше... my breasts, my thighs . . . shoot 
it at me!” Her voice rose to a frenzy. 

Don't forget you owe me two thou- 
sand dollars," he said. 
hoot! Shoot! Shoot!” 

Bond took aim, letting the Potbust- 
er fly again and again. Circular red welts 
mottled her heavenly nakedness. 

"Now!" She pushed him into the 
bushes, clawing off his clothes like a 
mad woman. “Take me, Israel Bond! 

Bond whispered to Poontang. "Yes, 
darling, you're ready for my kind of love 


now. Because you've lost your marbles.” 


Dusk over Manhattan. Two teenaged 
gangs doing a ballet in the street below. А 
Salvation Army major imploring an 
A. W. O. L. captain to return to the told, 
the captain ignoring him and trying to 
sell а trombone to passers-by. Poontang 
lying in the arms of Israel Bond, sipping 
(from a cup balanced on his lean, hard 
navel) Eight O'Clock Colfee, the brand 
served exclusively at the Ansonia Hotel 

Their stecl-mill hot afi 
its seventh day. It was their last night in 
town before the flight to Israel on the 


"Coffee, tea or milk?" 


morrow (the doctor had accepted an in- 
vi i a kibbutz in the 
Negev). “Happy seventh day, darling,” 
she whispered. “You know, the Lord 
rested on the seventh day. You're my lord 
of love. Is my lord going to rest on the 
seventh day? 

For an answer, he stilled her kittenish 
teasing with his hungry mouth, leading 
her to another dazzling pinnacle of 
fulfillment. 

But there was something in his face 
‚.. his dear, cruelly dark, handsome 
face ... pain in the gray eyes. 

"What is it, my life, my owi 

“Your coffee burned my groin,” he said 
softly. 

“No,” she said. "That's not it. You're 
unhappy, Israel. 

АП right," he said. "I'm unhappy. I 
love you, but it’s no good. You're a gen- 
tile girl, a shikseh. And I swore to my 
mother that 1 would plight my toth 
with a daughter of Zion.” 

"Oh, Iz, 12, you fool!” She was laugh- 
ing, but tears steamed down her drawn 
cheeks “I'm a Jewish girl, you ninny! 
Not very observant, maybe, but Jewish 
all the way.” 

Не inhaled a Raleigh and pressed it to 
her lips. "I'm so glad, so glad!" His own 
eyes were wet now . . . rain, he told her, 
but she smiled in her wise woman's 
heart. She knew better. They were 
indoors. 

Nestling in the crook of his bronzed 
arm, she told him of life in K City, 
a Mark Twainish tomboy life with ma 
bles, weenie roasts, apple pies cooling on 
window sills, girls in blue sashes, brown 
paper packages ted up with strings. 
“Yes, darling, these were а few of my fa- 
vorite things. 

Then a secretarial course at the Middle 


ind other shining- 
ts had gone to answe 
need and build a Howard Johnson's in 
the middle of the jungle. While there, 
she recounted, she had met Loxfi 
already fabulously wealthy due to 
shrewd speculations, and had accepted a 
post with him, It was she to whom he 
had dictated the notes that were later to 
become The Plowshare Papers. 

“Where does Saxon fit in?” queried 
Bond. 

“He was already on the scene when I 
joined the doctor. But if he's a public- 
relations man, I'm Carroll Baker.” 

"You're far more exciting than Carroll 
Baker, my sweet,” Bond said gallantly. 
Which is true. he thought. It was some- 
thing he could honestly say to any girl. 
“Why are you suspicious of Saxon?” 

“I once asked him if he'd ever worked. 
for B. B. D. KO. and he said in that 
superior way of his, "Hell, no! Those rail- 
road jobs arc just for niggers and dumb 
Irish Catholics; Now, what PR guy 


wouldn't know about B. B. D. & O. 
nd MacAroon 
He came later. We picked him up in 
New York when the doctor first went to 
America to accept the Brandeis award. 

“New York? Saxon said he was a part- 
Negro, part-Scottish waif Loxfinger found 
in Marseilles.” 

“I don't know why Saxon's been tell 
ing you these things, darling. The ances- 
try part is OK, but he was recruited in 
New York, 
hree black marks for Saxon! The 
own woolen suit that no PR man in 
it mind would ever wear, his igno- 
rance of the advertising field, his blatant 
bout MacAroon. 1 hope Goshen’s 


checked him out good. But, again, why 
would Loxfinger employ such a man? 


EL AL AIRLINES SHOLLD ONLY 
LAND AND BE WELL 


The sign on the sleek jet warming his 
heart with its folksiness, Bond, dressed 
his Don Loper cape and Bermuda 
shorts, flashed. his M 33 and 14 security 
card to the hostess: “Let's see the passen- 
r list, pl 
me jarred him: “Kismet Ali 


You 


chant" 2 i So 
were playing that game again, were 
? Camo, Illinois, indeed! Cairo, 
Egypt morc likely, his trained sixth 


sense told him. He'd be on his guard. 

And, of course, the Loxfinger party, 
the old man. Saxon, MacAroon, Poon- 
He'd told her to play it cool, main- 
her usual frigid reserve in his 
company. But the adorable little hellcat, 
hopelessly lovesick, had made a salacious 
grab for him as he passed them: Saxon 
had seen it, whispered something to 
Loxfingcr. 

On the intercom was the pilot: 

Shalom and welcome aboard Flig 
78, EL AL Airlines, nonstop New York 
to Tel Aviv. I am Captain Tevyeh 
Our airline is a friendly, informal op- 
eration, so just relax, have a ball, a mat- 
zoh ball, of course (Tevyeh chuckled at 
his play on words; Bond, jealous, wished 
he'd thought of it first). Don't be hoity 
toity . . . introduce yourselves to one an- 
other . .. sing. talk, laugh, tell a h 
joke. Our lovely hostess, Miss Tigerblau, 
a glass and a 
your teet 


sour sweetbreads, three “Шеге 
boiled chicken, salad with Two Thou- 
don't stint on 
El Al—raisins with almonds, the whole 
ethnic bit. Later we'll all line up in the 
isle and Miss Tigerblatt will teach us 
the hora. For your amusement, we'll 
have continuous showings of The Jolson 
Story; itil tear out from you the hear 

Bond gazed into the hostile eyes of the 
wiry Levantine traveling under the 
name of Mr. Herzl. "Hello," he said 
pleasantly. 


“Don't rattle your can at me, madam!” 


The man thrust something on Bond's 
lap. hissing "Die. Israeli jackal!” 
опа heart pounded. A black-widow 
spider crawled. onto his knee. 
Counteraction 12! The old words of 
the service manual rang a bell in hi 
mind. There was a rebuttal for this 
loathsome thing on his kneecap. He ш 
serewed one of the large gold buttons of 
his cape Out sprang a pr mamis! 
Removing its liule prayer shawl and 
yarmulke, the mantis gulped down the 
arachnid with one bite of its awful jaws. 
‘Good show, Mendel 
Counteraction 13! As the L 
reached for his gun, Bond's rir 
fiery chrain (horseradish) imo his face 
He drove his meat knife home into the 
blinded Levanune’s innards. The man 
slumped dead against the window- 
His head spinning with tension, Bond 
applied Counteraction 14. He fainted. 


Minutes later, he revived and dragged 
the man down the aisle with ап apolo- 


getic "My of buddy just can't take t 
schnapps,” to the hostess. Inside the lav- 
могу. Bond lifted the seat and stuffed 
his victim into the bowl. Thanks be to 
heaven he's lanky, he thought, pushing 
the “lush” button. 

Takes just one good flush to get rid 
of a four-flusher,” he said casually, wish- 
ing that Zvi had been there to guffaw 
this latest Bondism. 

Back in his seat, he rifled the man's at- 
taché case. Mr. Herzl. he discovered, was 
a member of the Cairo Legion Armed Po- 


lice. Who had put him onto Bond? 

But there was no more time for pon 
dering. A favorable sirocco wind had 
brought the craft in nine hours ahead of 
schedule. Lydda Airport twinkled its 
lights below. "Fasten your seat belts 
Smoke if vou wish." said Miss Tigerblatt. 

Eretz Israel! At last 

He bade farewell to Lotinger and his 

ainue. "Well meet again, doctor. Ull 
probably be assigned to your kibbutz.” 

Those unbelievably blue eyes focused 
on him. “Of course, Mr. Bond. We..." 
п he nudged Bond's ribs conspirato- 
ally, "mockies must stick together." His 
breath was alcoholic. 

The secret agent ha 
stood in front of the gleaming yellow one 
story factory. THIS 16 THE HOME OF MOTH- 
ER MARGOLIES’ ACTIVATED OLD 
KEN sour. And under the sign, one 
of her proverbs: 1 AM THE MASTER OF MY 
FATE; 1 АМ INE CAPTAIN 
BALL TEAM. 

As he entered the modernistic struc 

ture, he heard the familiar lamentive 
strains of the violin evoking memories 
of another era in the Jewish saga. His 
eyes looked up. Yes, the fiddler was still 
there on the roof. 
"Welcome home, Oy Oy Seven!” said 
M's bewitching private secretary, Leilah 
Tov, g her tongue at him alluring- 
ly. It had been a long time since he and 
Leilah .. . 

“М wants а full report, on the double; 

He quickened his pace, zipping past 


led а cab. Soon he 


WORLD 


OF MY VOLLEY- 


PLAYBOY 


204 


the Chicken Soup division, the Mush- 
room and Barley section, the Blueberry 
Вітас room. He stopped in front of a 
door. MOTHER MARGOLIES. 

He knocked. The sweet, qu 
voice he loved so well said, 
Mr. Bond." 

Her back was to him and he could 
hear the rocker creak and the assiduous 
dick, click, click of her omnipresent 
Knitting needles. What was she making 
now? A sweater for the prime minister? 
Socks for Abba Eban? Or was she still 
kniuing that lovely, multihued doily she 
had started two years ago? 

The rocker spun around and the kind- 
ly, wise old eyes of Mother Margolies 
were on him, Dear, dear Mother, the 
wonderful lady whose factory it was and 
who had permitted a secret portion of 
the building to be utilized solely for the 


ing old 
“Come in, 


For a 
M stood for Dear old Moth- 
er Emma Margolies was—M, number 
one in the Secret Service of Eretz Israel! 

“Let's have it already, 

Bond opened his carrying ca 
ı mound of Raleigh coupons on her desk. 
"Four thousand, three hundred and 
cighty-two, M. How's that?” 

She sniffed. “Just soso, Oy Oy Seven. 
Oy Oy Nine really gave us a full measure 
of devotion when he was with us. More 
than six thousand.” 

"Was with us?” Bond said- 
as though һе. 

He is," M said flatly. “We buried him 
yesterday. Lur ccr, emphysema, 
smokers h particularly. bad 
case of adenoids.” She sighed. “Very 
clumsy at judo, botched up codes . . 
but, vay tzu minch yooren, could tl 
boy smoke! We got seventy-five walkie- 
t dio sets from his last batch." 
Raleigh, offered her on 

Are you crazy" M said indignantly. 
You can die from that garbage. Now 
let's have the report.” 

He began with the Miami 
affair, relating fully everything that h 
happened since, placing emphasis on 
puzzlements that had occurred 
during the Loxfinger phase of the assign 
ment. "My capsule opinion: It’s a weirdo 
setup. I'd like your permission to snoop 
around.” 

Granted. Snoop. But you should be 
extra careful. The doctor is more impor- 
tant than ever to our country's well- 
being. You were on the plane, so 1 guess 
you didn't get a chance to read these.” 

She held out à bunch of newspapers 
from all over the globe. “The top one is 
articularly interesting.” 


You speak 


lt was an English edition of the 
ab Republics propaganda 


Jnited А 
mouthpiece, Scimitar л" Feather, with 
this headline: IsRAFLI LOXFINGER'S PEACE 
OVERTURES MULLED BY OUR GOVER: 
Impossible! 
He read the lead story. In essence, it 


was straightaway reporting on 
Loxfinger’s Plowshare Papers, with 
quotes from them. The story was not 
favorable, he noted but, more significant, 
not unfavorable. Something big was in 
the wind. It had to be. For, in the past, 
peace proposal from Israel would have 
meant reams of ridicule, sarcasm and the 
tired old call for a “jhidad,” holy 

d the Middle of “these 
bandits, blah 

Just as eye-opening were the organs of 
the other Arab nations, all noncommit- 
tal. but nonbel 


of speculation g out that this was 
the first time Arab journals had ever car- 
ried an Israeli declaration without abu- 
sive comments. 

BREAKTHROUGH IN MID-EAST AT LAST: 
ed the Manchester Guardian. Lox 
FINGER PAPERS GET HARD ARAR LOOKSEE 
~Chicago Sun-Times. 


ARABS HINT END OF HOSTILITY To JEWS 
—Paris Match, And predictably: 


METS’ ROOKIE HAS HANGNAILL 
VDOLL AND COP LINK BARED (AND 
THAT'S хот ALL!) 
COMMIES SEEN THREAT TO RUSSIA 
Mid-East Talks Peace—New York 
Daily News. 


Tve been an ass, Bond realized. I ac- 
tually had doubts about à man who 
might crack the nerve-racking stalemate 
that has hamstrung my country for 17 
us. Just because he drinks a litte, 
ls blondes and uses a few ethnic slurs. 

"And vet," thinking he was still talk- 
ing to himself. 

“And yet,” M chimed in with a know- 
ing smile, “you still have some doubts. 
Then go to Loxfinger, guard him and, 
while doing so, satisfy those doubts. You 
will be working alone . . . unless some- 
thing extraordinary comes up. In that 
vou will be contacted by Agent D, 
only if necessary.” 

Agent D! Again the menti 
shadowy figure behind the scene: 

She anticipated his next question: 
“Do not ask me about Agent D, Oy Oy 
Seven. Now go. 

One more stop—the quartermaster's, 
where he would receive any equipment 
he needed, reload the mezuzah and req- 
uisition an omobile. 

He walked into the office of Lavi Ha 
Lavi, quartermaster and inyentor of dia- 
bolical espionage devices. 

Ha Lavi hardly looked up from a dia- 
gram he was sketching. 

“Shalom, Oy Oy Seven.” 

Behind him was Oy Oy Two, a 
dled veteran of many dangerous mi: 
into enemy territory, testing a powerful 
new flame thrower. “It works,” he told 
Ha La Phe tip of the cigarette is 
definitely smoldering.” 

“Good.” said Ha La 
over there. You'll be driving th: 
the kibbutz,” 


of that 


“Bond, look 
t baby to 


The grill of a gicaming new MBG 
grinned at him. A Mercedes Ben G 
rion! And a powerhouse, too, Bond 
guessed. 

Ha Lavi chuckled. “Sports some fairly 
interesting features, triggered by this row 
of buttons . . . sixty of ‘em . . . on the 
dash." He licked his lips, an enthusiastic 
schoolboy showing off his collection of 
dead Japanese beetles. “This one . . . you 
pres it and а 125mm machine gun 
slides out of the right fender. This one 
-..a similar gun slides out of the left 
fender. Then they open fire—on each 
other. Needs a little work there.” 

“Fascinating,” Bond purred. 
his one . . . converts your ashtray 
into a Lazy Susan. Неге... windser 
and windows that become completely 
opaque in case you're driving and don't 
want to be seen. You can't sce either, but 
it's а sacrifice you'll have to make. This 
little button makes the d exhaust 
pipes blow bubbles . . . more of a fun 
thing than anything else, Oy Oy Seven 
Radical new turbojet motor. Runs on 
any liquid whatsoever. o drink heartily, 
old man. Homer radio signal planted in 
the horn. It lets you pick up signals from 
a similar device planted in the rear axle. 
And this one . . . 1 love it. . . Ше new 
Sunbeam laser beam. Shaves you without 
a blade . . . or a razor. Then the master 
button . . . this red one . . . number 
twenty-seven...” 

Y ud an interested Bond, 

“Only, I repeat, only to be used in the 
direst emergency. Chips down and that 
sort of thing. Press it and the whole car 
converts into one big goddamn button. 
Frightens the deuce out of anyone who's 
ever scen it. Now memorize the master 
list of buttons, Bond! The 
could save your life!" 

Even as the MBG sped deep 
wasteland, Bond pondered Ha L: 
last words . . . something about 
right button. It was a typical Negev 
day... unbearably hot. The sun shim- 
mered off the rippling mirages, blinded 
his eyes, caught the rocks in a crystalline 
flash, dropping into a wadi for a ground- 
tule double, scoring Maris and Down- 
ing, who had come in to run for Mantle. 

Then a sudden patch of green, in 
congruous in this tan-colored nowhere, 
and Bond knew he had come to the kib- 
but, K'far K’farfel, which was playing 
host to Loxfinger & Co. 

Under the le of e sat the dread 
MacArcon, who obviously found the sun. 
too taxing for his usual display of karate. 
He seemed content to sit and split popsi- 
de sticks with his pinky. 

“Hello, MacAroon,” said Bond atfably. 

“Why ye not lay doon anna die, yo" 
mothuh humpahz" said the mulatto with 
an unfriendly growl. 

“If you're to use that phrase at all, it's 
‘mater-violator, at least in my circles,” 
Bond snipped back. 


to the 


Then he heard Saxon's voice, just a 
snatch of it, as he pushed open the noisy 
screen door. 

“... Taken care of - 
that sounded like "my" . . . then "furor." 

Saxon and Loxfinger froze, ceased 
their palaver at the sight of Bond. “You 
were not expected here so soon, Mr. 
Bond,” said the doctor somewhat accus- 
ingly. “Mr. Saxon was just telling me 
about the furor my Plowshare Papers 
have created in the world and the highly 
salubrious reaction among Arab leaders. 
I have further news, Mr. Bond, which, as 
а secur you'll doubtless be told 
of eventually. 1 
permission to stage top-secret explo: 
tory peace talks with two key Arabs. We 
on a dhow in the Red Sca 
y v. Around the Passover sea- 
son, I believe. Confidential. of course.” 

“Fantastic!” Bond could only shake 
head in wonderment. 
my friend. these talks could yet 
achieve that final solution to this na- 
tion’s problems which I sce just beyond 
the hills of doubt and confusion. 

A twinge in Bond's cheek, mirrori 
something horrible stirring deep down 
inside. Something as yet nameless. 

He heard the beeper from his MBG. 
Someone was trying to reach him. He 
went out and took the call. “Bond here.’ 

"Bond? Monroe Goshen. Listen, I'm in 
Israel. No time for explanations. AA/ 
Priority. Meet you at Tel Aviv Sherator 

AAA Priority! Was Israel in danger 
from the Arabs? The American Automo- 
bile Association? He did not dare guess. 
Bond started the motor, but suddenly 
Lazarus Loxfinger appeared. 

“Uh, Mr. Bond.” The voice halting, 
about to divulge something delicate. "I 
am a man with great human frailties. 
Women the greatest one. 1 gather from 
your ince with my secretary that 
you, too, are a man of the world." 

“You know about Poontang and me? 
boy. And why 
She is a splendidly con- 
pe who will give you fiue sons 
ng, tall, blond sons whose 
marching feet will crush the mongrelized 
enemies of . . . Israel, of course." 

From the back of the house came Sax- 
on in a Volkswagen bus, speeding past 
them down the road to the main high- 
way without so much as a glance at 
either of them. 

"Geuing back to the subject of wom- 
en. Could you do me a favor, Mr. Bond? 


"апа something 


da 


There's a Bedouin camp not far from 
the kibbutz.” 

“I passed it, doctor.” 

“Ah, yes. Well, Bond, I rather took a 
fancy to a well-proportioned young по- 
mad there by the name of Mara. She 


rendezvous 


should be waiting for me in 
spot not far from the camp." His lips 
glistened lasciviously. “Please go and 
fetch her for me. You would be doing 
old man а great favor. And I will recip- 


rocate by bringing some sweetness into 


your life-like so!” 
He clapped his hands. MacAroon ap- 
peared with a jug and in a lightning 


move dumped its contents on. Bond's 
head. Something sticky, sweet, thick 
dripped from the top of his skull down 
c linen suit. Some of it touched 


his w 


his lips. 


Honey!” Bond cried. “But . . .” 
Has it not always been in our Jewish 
tradition to cover the things we love 
with honey, Mr. Bond? Now go fetch 
the supple Mara. You'll like Mara, Mr. 
Bond. She has a bite, a tang you'll nev 
forget. In fact,” he winked, "I wouldn't 
be surprised at all if she were taken with 
you instead of an old codger like me. But 
go get her quickly!” 

As he drove away from the kibbutz 
Bond felt a sticky crawly feeling. It's not 
just the honey, he thought. It's from a 
personal beeper in my soul, “danger 
danger . . . danger" He lit a Ral 
last one in the pack, and 
nerved he threw it away without 
off the coupon. Gottenu! I really must 
be rattled to do that. 

A bit past the encampment of striped 
tents, he spotted a likely rendezvous site. 
A small bluff rose above him. He parked 
the MBG. 

“Маг 

His voice echoed off the wal 

“Mara is here, Mr. Bond. 
sinister female voice, "Your Mara. Mara 
Bunta!” 

Pain scared his bead, face, body. A 
stream of evil, biting things poured 


down the cliffs wall, tearing at his flesh, 
Mara Bunta, your Mara, you Jew 
bastard!” Saxon's voice, unmistakably. 


“Mara wants you, darling,” said the gi 
voice. It was Poontang's. Was she in t 
too? Was her "eternallove" vow part of 
the plot? 

He now knew what the black stream 
tumbling upon him was  Marabunta! 
South American soldier ants! Each an 
inch long, voraciously hungry, stimu- 
lated into a frenzy by the honey. And in 
five minutes Israel Bond would be a skel- 
eton bleaching in the Negev sun! 


s 


Every pore was on fire from the over- 
whelming onslaught of the tiny fiends. 
He clawed at them futilely, No use! 


There must be thousands of them. He'd 
be a goner in short order. Short order. 
‘One order of Israel Bond on toast,” his 


said sardon 


cally, flinging out the 
Ov Oy Seven witticism—at his 
own expense. 

His brain! The list! The last shred 
of his reason was tellifig him something. 
er list of defense mechanisms 
Lavi had warned him to mem- 
orize. “The right button may save your 
life,” a voice from 10,000,000 light-years 
away echoed. 

Неа remembered one bizarre item, 
chuckling at it with a what-will-Ha-Lavi- 


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come-up-with-next wonderment. Button 
27! Pushing at the ants with his bad 
hand, screaming as their tireless jaws 
ripped into his bad shoulder, Bond, 
lungs whistling (Heartaches, the immor- 
tal Elmo "Tanner solo), staggered to the 
MBG and, with a badly nibbled fore- 
finger, pushed Button 27 with his final 
atom of power. 

The MBG's uunk popped open. Six 
ely shaped South American anteat- 
ers, every bit as voracious as their prey, 
popped out, their gluey tongues ejecting 
from their bananalike heads. With a gı 
itude he could never express he “felt 
those magnetic tongues clean away the 
marabunta. His body empty of the foe, 
the anteaters sprinted to the bottom of 
the canyon and swallowed up the re- 
ing hordes. “Great going, lads,” he 
whispered to his sextet of allies, 
can't join ‘em, lick 'emt" 

He ignored the blood pouring from 
the innumerable openings in his devas- 
tated body and halüngly climbed the 
rise. There was Saxon pulling away in 


the Volkswagen bus. It undoubtedly had 
carried the crates of hellish cargo to the 
cliff, where he'd unleashed them on the 
secret agent. Convinced the marabunta 
had done their work, the sweaty Saxon 
was nor even looking back to check. 

And Bond found something else. 
heart stopped. 

Poontang, lying in a pool of blood, a 
knife between her shoulder blades. 
Saxon! 

Jz,” she smiled bravely. “М 
tized ... made me do 

“Don't talk, my sweet, There’ 
tor at the kibbutz, A real doctor. I'll 

"Lazarus . . . legend of Lazaru-uu 

Poontang Plenty was gone. 

Standing silendy over her body, Bond 
dug the Potbuster from his pocket, 
shot it tenderly into her face and then 
placed it in her hand. “There'll be big 
beautiful bull rings where you're hcad- 
ed, my mixed-up darling. where pretty. 
corm-fed kids from Kansas City with 
wind-blown hair never miss. Knock out 
all twenty mibs with one shot.” 


ıs hypno- 


а doc- 


"I promised to gel your daughter home before 
midnight and here it is only quarter past eleven . . 


» 


He dug a grave, unmindful of the 
heat, the wounds, and placed her in it 
with all her belongings—except the $140 
she had taken from him their game. 
But that seemed chapters away now. 
“We'll meet there someday, you and T,” 
he swore to the mound of sand, 
then you can pay me the two thou 
you owe m. 

Weakness flooded him. It’s been too 
much. My body can't take it. He used his 
Nippo to contact the closcst agent in the 
inity, Edward Brown, 116, who was 
g at а Mediterranean port on опе 
of the tiny democracy's most vital secrets, 


Brown's helicopter ferried the emaciated 


Bond to the factory and an anxious M. 
"Israel, mine boychikl, what has hap- 
pened to you?" M cried. 


He collapsed at her feet, the point of 
her sturdy Daniel Green Comfy slipper 
mashing his antchewed nose. 
stinging medication, jolting him 
back to consciousness. Bond stirred. 
"Got to think things out . . . put the 
pieces together fast,” the agent said 


through torn lips. Monroe Goshen stood 
at M's side, fear and consternation on his 
American Gothic face, highlighted by 
the field of corn that had suddenly shot 
up around him. 

M spoke: “The fool eats the ches 
cloth; the wise man waits for the cheese.” 
Bond smiled faintly. Good old M! 

Her eyes gleamed. “I know what must 
be done now, Oy Oy Seven. There are 
things deep inside of you that must be 
purged. You will go to sleep and have a 
dream sequence, Oy Oy Seven. A bad 
Ill make it so it should be a 
bad dream caused by overeating, gas 
pains, that burning sensation.” 
ow her bony fingers, fingers that had 
created the world’s finest foods, pushed 
vast quantities of it down his craw. Dx 
London broil, gre: 
gobs of carp, sturgeon, Kem-Tone tinted 
roe, cold (ugh!) chicken soup, schmaltz, 
sour pickles, badly burned cholent, а 
dy onion roll, pistachio ice «arcam 


еа 


(а definite violation of the traditional 
dietary laws, but thi an emer- 
gency), plus the powerful knockout 
drops, Schloofen-2 

at, eat, mine kindeleh,” said the 


soothing voice of the Secret Service 
ftain. “Eat. And dream.” 

He passed out. 

Phantasmagoria! 

He was diving into the bottom of 
endless cornucopia, horrendous sights. 
sounds, phantoms, jagged patterns from 
the cosmos of his mind. “I want to sleep 
with my mother, but, oh, you id!” His 
own voice: 

Ten tons of lead in his stomach . 
nausea hot flushes. M rode by on a 
broom: “Got to see the wizard. He'll give 
me a new tin heart, some brains ап...” 

MacAroon skipping merrily down a 


yellow-brick road, his hand 
Bond's brain with an H-bomb flash 
“Lay Lorna Doone, ye ofay mothuh . . . 
Saxon: "Spin on, Jew boy, spin on.” 
Said a cool, sinister 
She turned into a 
gigantic ant and started chewing at his 
marbles. 
Blue eyes, incredible blue eyes, open 


slashing 


ing into sneering mouths: “Mockey! 
Mockey! Mockey!” 
Loxfinger? Yes, Loxfinger! 
t name screamed over and over by 
yed,  brillianteyed sycophants. 


“Loxfinger! Loxf 


ame to. There was a qucasy feeling in 
him and it wasn’t the food. It was from 
the dream and what it meant. 

“Тус got it all now," he croaked. His 
mouth twitched into an uncertain smile. 
“TI tell it to you straight.” 

M and Coshen chorused: “Tell us. 

“Lazarus Loxfinger is Adolf Hitler. 

ao o 

M said, “So what else is new?” A brave 
attempt at casual humor, but Bond knew 
his bombshell had gotten to her. She in- 
serted her needles into the bowl of soup 
on the tray and started to crochet. the 
noodles. 

“That snatch of conversation between 
xon and Loxfinger at K'Far K'Farfel 
-. . the words ‘my,’ then ‘furor.’ Knowing 
I'd overheard it, the doctor tried to palm 
it off as the word "furor, furor, the ex- 
citement caused by his overtures to the 

abs. A lie, Saxon was saying ‘my 
irer’! 

"The very name "Loxfinger . . . an- 
other slur. To Der Führer, all hated Jews 
have fishy hands. And, Monroe, he takes 
a rap at your parish, too, mocking your 
New Testament. Remember Poontang’s 
dying words? ‘Lazarus . . . legend . . .” 
She ‘apparently had overh 
thing just before they hypnotized hi 
You remember the story of Lazarus? 

“He . . . he rose from the dead,” said 
a stunned Goshen. "I see. Hitler is tell- 

ag us that the allegedly dead Führer has 

resurrected.” 

“Precisely,” said Bond. "And here's 
the capper . . . the phrase that made me 
wince during Loxfinger’s speeches. I 
didn't know why at the time. I do now. 
Can you guess it” 

Dazed by the complete unreality of his 
whole monolog, they were unable to 
answer. 

“The ‘final solution.’ Remember Eich- 
mann's phrase? Well, he's still obsessed, 
is Der Führer. He's still after that ‘final 
solution’ — the destruction of Eretz 

1. 
М broke in again. 
you boychikls а few things only I and 
our highest officials know. We've swal- 
lowed his scheme, all Loxfinger, stock 
and barrel of it. We've even planned a 
ceremonial meeting with the Arabs at 


di 


ow I shall tell 


^I like it!” 


Eilat to show our good faith, during 
which a rille will be broken to symboli- 
cally indicate our plans to disarm. 
Loxfinger will be there, some Arab 
muckamucks, our own P.M. and his 
aides. I'll be on the first day of Passover, 
just a few days away. If we cancel, we'll 
tip our hand. They'll know that we 
know something isn't kosher. "Then 
they'll say we are, indeed, aggressors with 
no wish for peace whatsoever. They'll 
murder us with propaganda.” 

"Yes, but if we follow through, don't 
be surprised when, on that first joyous 
Passover day, an Eretz Israel, its guard 
down, is overrun, their armies pouring 
on us from all sides like those damned 
marabunta," said a bitter Bond. 

“Гуе got to make a very important 
phone call in the next few minutes,” sid 
Goshen from taut lips. "A tall man of 
the West with a mournful hound-dog 
fice must be told of this evil plot.” 

"What the hell good can John Wayne 
do at а time like this?” snapped Bond, 
envisioning the annihilation of his people. 


“If that phone call is to whom I think 
it 
young m: 
pay for it. Of course, if you could make 
station to station . . . after nine ғам... 
Even now, she's trying to save my poor 
little country a few pennies, Bond 
thought. What a magnificent old wom- 
an! Then he snapped his fingers. “М! 
Loxfinger told me he was clearing the 
for peace with a secret meeting with 
some Arab mahouts on a dhow in the 
Red Sea around Passover. That 
would fit in with the ceremony. They'll 
probably be making final plans for the 
invasion. I've got to get on that boat, 
hear that conversa 
“Don't be a fool L “You'll nev- 
er get within a mile of that boat. They'll 
have frogmen, sonar, the whole schme: 
Besides, it isn't necessary. Agent D will 
dle it very nicely.” 
Agent D! Again that name! 
“M,” said an emboldened Оу Oy Sev- 
en. "Nothing should be withheld from 
me at this stage of the game. I've been in 


207 


PLAYBOY 


it from the start 
who is Agent D?” 

"Only three people know that—the 
P.M., a certain scientist and me. Thats 
how it must stay, Oy Oy Seven. Now, get 
down to Eilat, disgui 
cady for 


I broke the case. Now, 


yourself and be 
nything. Big things will be 
g in а few days. And at the 
ht time. Agent D will make hi or 
her,” M said cleverly, "presence known 
to you. Now go kill and be well.” 


Bond and Goshen sat on the terrace 
of the Sheraton, which had an outstand- 
ing view of the terrace of the Hilton. 

Aware that his confrere in espioi 
was in a funk, Goshen barked: “© 
of it! At least we know the score. 
Loxfinger thinks you're dead, that he’s 
still got your government bamboozled. 
So you can play a lone hand undis- 
turbed. Leave Saxon and MacAroon to 
me; they're U. S. citizens, so they're my 
pigeons.” 

He patted Goshen's 
Good old Goshen! A ma 
a better pal. He'd 
laid again sometime, 

Alter all, Iz" Goshen said, "times 
have changed. This bastard can't make 
the world go Sieg heil! anymore." 

The Israeli looked up quickly. “What 
did you say?” 

“I said, he can't make the whole world 
go Sieg Heil! anymore.” 

“That's it!” Bond nearly jumped off 
the bench. For the first time in days, 
Goshen saw that crucl, darkly handsome 
he up. 

You're cracking, Oy Oy Seven 

"Like hell, Monroe, but you just ga 
me the world's greatest idea." He wh 
edly into Goshen's conch shell 
of an car. Goshen nodded. 
azy, but it might make it. I'll fill 
M in on the bit, pronto! You get down 
to Eilat!” 


age 


back fondly. 
n couldn't have 
с to get Goshen 


Now the МВСУ petrol pedal was 
jammed down to the floor and Bond, a 
sharp new Robert Hall Westerfield suit 
on his back, was racing to Eilat, the fron 
tierlike boom town at Israel's southern- 
most tip. 

А sign: enat. Nestling on the shores 
of the Red Sea, where thousands of years 
ago a hardhearted Pharaoh and his min- 
ions had perished by a miracle as they 
pursued the Children of Israel into its 
waters. Are there any more wondrous 
works in that bag, sir? Bond asked, look- 
ing skyward, secking some message, some 
sign. He saw опе: DRINK COCA-COLA—in 
Hebrew. The skywriting pilot (unless he 
was an Israeli) probably was going stark, 
raving mad, flying from right to left. 

On the outskirts of Eilat, he pulled off 


the road, changed into a laborers 
uniform, affixed a mustache and got 
back into the МВС. Her tank read 


empty" but Bond's was full; he had 


208 sensibly downed four quarts of Gallo on 


True to Ha Lavi's word, the 
new and he continued oi 


laborer with a 
company which had been 
concession to drill for oil offshore, The 
beefy, red-faced straw boss assigned him 
the task of hauling supplies to the com- 
any barge. It would be an ideal spot 
from which to keep an сус on the large 
Arab dhow, whose sails could be seen 
faintly a few miles away 

A shifty-eyed Arab sidled up to him 
and whispered with a licentious mouth 
“Monsieur, would you like to purchase 
some interesting American postcards,” 
his voice dropped confidentially, “ 
dirty zip-codes?" 

For a second, Bond felt like smashing 
the filthy beggar. But—wait! Could this 
man be one of ours? Agent D? Or one of 
theirs? He'd find out. “The prune in the 
spoon sings a Frank Locsscr tune. 

“But the man who must hum will find 
scum in the drum.” 

“Who are you?” 

Whipping off his headdress, the Arab 
. "Shalom. Oy Oy Seven!" 

My God! Zvi! What's up: 

“Nothing as yet. But I want to tell you 
that М has OK'd the use of the three 
hundred young pioneers you requested. 
‘They'll be down here in a few hours, 
dressed just the way you want ‘em. 

Now Bond was apprehensive. The 
days had slipped by, one alter another— 
a logical sequence of which he fully ap- 
proved. But now it was the day before 
Passover and he had seen or heard noth- 
No visitors to or from the dhow. 
Could that advertised meeting be a red 
herring, too? АН he had seen was а happy- 
golucky dolphin skimming through the 
sca, doing flip-flops. 

Tt was late in the afternoon as he stood 
on the deserted beach. The sun was at its 
zc the clouds at their Motorol: 
Then he saw it. A cabin cruiser heading 
toward the distant dhow. He caught a 
glimpse of huge dark head, Mac- 
Aroon! Then Saxon! The same brown 
woolen suit. It could be no other. And — 
Loxfinger! sitting in a camp chair with 
a pith helmet atop his dome as the others 
fanned him with large palm leaves. 

The dolphin he'd seen earlier was quite 
close to Bond now, rolling its hilariously 
squinted eyes at him, that perpetually sly 
to be found on all members of its 
species, causing him to forget his grim 
mission for the moment. 

“Looks like you're having—you should 
pardon the expresion—a whale of a 
time, big fella," Bond called to the dol- 
phin. TII start talking to trees next, he 
mused. 

In the next second he was stunned as 
though from a mighty clout on the head. 

Out of the mouth of the dolphin, in 
perfect. Yiddish, came: 

"Putz! I heard all about you with the 
bad jokes. Enough, already! You think I 


cover role as 


with. 


sai 


can spend all damn day rolling my eyes 
at you? You want I should be picked up 
for soliciting? Or get astigmatism? 1 am 
Agent D!” 


“Look,” said the dolphin matter-of- 

factly. “Light up a Raleigh. You look 
like а ghost altogether. ГЇ make a long 
story short. I am Agent D, Dovidl the 
Dolphin. I am M 33 and 14's secret weap- 
on. I speak Yiddish because the very clev- 
er scientist who taught me to speak 
speaks it. Incidentally, so clever he’s not; 
I can already beat him in chess three out 
of four times. 
Now, for many years marine biolo- 
gists and psychologists have thought 
dolphins were intelligent. They understat- 
ed the case. We're positive geniuses. 
"They always dreamed that one day we 
could be taught to talk. Well, now it's 
happened. I fell in with a Dr. R. Nathan 
Axe of the Israeli Marine Institute and 
started working with him. He was re- 
warding mc with a barrelful schmaliz 
herring a day, which no other dolphins 
arc getting, so I figured I was ahead of 
the game and 1 cooperated. Until that 
time, I was just bumming around in an 
aimless Ше. Oh, a Timex watch com- 
mercial here and there, but nothing 
steady. I just missed getting my own TV 
series when Flipper, my cousin, a bi 
kisser, by the way, got the part. He had 
an agent. So I came to Israel. When your 
M heard of my accomplishments she nat- 
urally figured I'd be perfect for certain 
situations you other operatives couldn't 
handle е snooping around Arab 
boats, which I've been doing all day. I 
got the whole poop on the Loxfinger 
busincss."" 

Bond stared at the grinning maw. "A 
fish that talks! 

“Look, schnook, I'm no fish. I'm a 
mammal like you. Use your head for 
something more than a dandruff holder. 
You can swim. Does that make you a 
fish? Certainly not. INow—let's talk shop. 
I've been floating near the dhow all the 
time. They're speaking German, which is 
close enough to Yiddish so I can pick up 
most of й. Tomorrow is the first day of 
Passover. They'll all be together at the 
ceremony, Hitler, his two flunkies, two 
high-ranking Arabs, your brass, foreign 
dignitaries, the press, TV, etc. They'll 
make a few speeches and when Der 
Führer proposes a toast to unity, friend- 
ship and all that chauserai, itll be the 
signal for an all-out attack. You'll get it 
from every which way . . . ground 
troops, naval batteries, Sovietbuilt jet 


bombers. In the confusion, Loxfinger will 
be flown by chopper to some Arab hide- 
out. So now you know. Don't stand like a 
klutz: 


do something. The ceremony 
three M. tomorrow. I won't be 
so look for me.” 
And Dovidl spun and swirled off. 
Bond, using his Nippo, spent the bal- 
ance of the night contacting M, Goshen, 


the Defense Ministry. Monroe's news 
was encouraging: 

“Iz, three American nuclear subs, the 
Hazel Bishop, the Allen Funt and the 
Martin Luther King, will be lying off 
the Mediterranean coast, each carrying 
sixteen missiles, Polaris tipped with La- 


voris. No reason an H-bomb can't smell 
kissing swect. They'll be launched if nec- 
essary. Thats a promise from the tall 


Westerner 1 spoke to an hour ago. In ad- 
dition, an entire SAC wing will fly—very 
ostentatiously—over the entire Middle 
East That'll give any would-be aggres- 
sors some sccond thoughts. Twenty thou- 
sand marines, gyrenes and saltines will 
be airlifted here by an armada of jet 
Uansporis. cargo planes, B-5bs, 47s. 36s, 
90s, 175, Cessnas, Fokkers, Spads, Macy's 
"Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons, the 
Spirit of St. Lo nything we cin 
get in the air. In addition, I hear that 
one di from Fort Bragg is trained. 
to stick big, feathery wings into wax 
molds on their shoulders and fly that 
way. If they don't go too close to the sun 
they've a chance of making it.” 

“Grea enthused Bond. 

“There's more. An hour before the 
ceremony, cach of the Arab embassies in 
the U.S. will get a note from our State 
Department, informing them we know 
all about Loxfinger’s id 
we will not he 
ily, if needed, to preserve freedom, p 
tranquility, and our oil hok 
Middle East. 1 am personally going to 
contact the two Arabs at the ceremony 
and inform them we're hip to the plan. 
‘They'll cop out, don't worry, when they 
learn it’s in their best interest to do so. 
We'll promise the Arabs we won't reveal 
their part in the plot if they dissociate 
themselves from Der Führer publicly." 

“Then there's nothing left but to wait. 
See you tomorrow, Monroe." 

Ш be there, Iz, in disguise. Good 


luck! 


The day of the war dawned 
clear. 

To symbolize the fact that the Arabs, 
too, were prepared to meet the once- 
hated Je ate halfway, the ceremony 
was to be held virtually on the line that 
divides Eilat from its Jordanian neigh- 
bor town, Aqaba, from which the gulf 
derives its name. 

Indeed, the rites would start in Jor- 
danian territory, the first time in Israeli 
history that its officials would be recog- 
nized on Arab soil. Workmen fron 
both nations were putting the fmishing 
touches on a large reviewing stand, and 
facilities for the press and TV. The lat- 
ter would carry the momentous program 
via Lady Bird satellite ıo all n of 
the world. The major networks had 

ed on a pool coverage with Walter 
Cronkite, who spoke all languages and 
understood all things, as the anchor 
man. Dignitaries from all over the world 


ight and 


would attend, except for Red Chi 
which in a blistering radio attack had 
berated the Arabs for attempting а mo- 
dus vivendi with “the tool of Western 
imperialism, Isracl.” They had threat- 
ened to cut off shipments of mah-jongg 
sets, already forbidden to Israel, to the 
Arabs as well. 

As the time approached and various 
officials began to take their seats in the 
мапі, an American Dixicland band, the 
Canal Street Bordello Band, serenaded 
the everswelling crowd. with music 
fully selected to give each equal repr 
sentation, ing The Sheth of Araby 
with Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen. 


e- 


In the offices of the American oil com- 
pany, the senior member of the firm s 
to his junior partners, “As far as I'm co 
cerned, this is just another working day. 
I don't give a damn what them wild-cyed 
Yids and Ay-rabs is up to. Now,” and he 
bent over a geological map, “Dr. Huer 
feels there's an excellent chance of a rich 
deposit of oilbearing shale right about 
here.” and he indicated a point offshore 
on the Israeli side. "We plant the stuff 
here "n here "n' here . . .” 


Now there was an carthshaking roar 
as Loxfinger, with Saxon and MacAroon 
at his sides, walked onto the scene with 
the two burnoosed Arab potentates, the 
Israeli Р. M. and his deputy, two members 
of the United Nation's Commission on 
the Middle East and Dorothy Kilgallen 

As the sun flashed brilliantly off their 
washboards and kazoos, the Canal Street 
Bordello Band rendered somewhat hap- 
hazardly, along with 15-year-old singin 
маг Bobby Ricky Danka (just as hap- 
hazard), the national anthems of 
many mations involved. But there 
one person in the crowd who 
young Mr. Danka—M, disguised as а 
discotheque doll, her wrinkled limbs 
quite flagrant in the bikini she had 
chosen. Bond could see a wordless “yeah, 
yeah, yeah?" on her lips. 

A tall, distinguished man stepped to 
the microphone. “Good afternoon, friends 
of world peace. I am Ned (Good 
Driver) Reamer, your Allstate Insur- 
ance spokesman, sponsors of this inter- 
national telecast. In deference to the 
solemnity and significance of this осса- 
sion, my sponsor has instructed me to 
forgo our usual commercial messages. 
"They merely wish me to say that wheth 
you're from the state of Isracl or the 
state of Egypt, you're in good hands with 
Allstate, Thank you.” 

A murmur went through the throng as 
the Arab and Isracli representatives 
nated short speeches, each a cool, diplo- 
matically correct presenta If there 
was no love, at least there was no hate. 

Bond, nervously inhaling the forcf 
he had lit, glanced about. Good! The 300 
young pioneers from K'Far K'Farfel were 
on the edge of the crowd, all clad in long 


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black raincoats. They had been well re- 
hearsed by Zvi, he knew, and would play 
their part upon his signal. 

But where was Monroe? Aha! There 
he was ne the podium in disguise. A 
hastily thrown together one, Bond real- 
ized, and all wrong for him. He was wear- 
ing trunks and a sweat shirt and bouncing 
a basketball. Bad cover, Bond mused; 
Goshen's only five feet, four; sure as hell 
doesn't look like a cage star. Worse, he 
noted, the letters on the shirt read: Har. 
LEM GLOBETROTTERS. 

But his thoughts were interrupted by 
row. Loxfinger was ap 
the podium. Bond could 
ne fingers tightening on triggers all 
the Middle East, pilots smoking 
Turkish cigarettes ready to scramble 
into their jets. tank commanders inside 
their steel leviathans. 

Loxfinger, in highly formal attire, was 
at the lectern, rustling his notes, as one 
of the UN aides was prepai 
duce him. He glanced at his Arab col- 
leagues. They scemed to be in a heated 
ith an Ameri athlete in 
atin shorts, dribbling a ball as he 
spoke. Suddenly the Arabs looked at 
Loxfinger, shook their heads in violent 
disapproval, ran their forefingers across 
their throats in an unmistakable sign. 
‘They walked quickly to their limousine 
nd drove off. 

It was all too plain to Loxfinger. The 
dogs! They were abandoning him for 
some reason.  Untrustworthy Arab 
Schweinhund! Then he would take 
other tack, reveal to the crowd that he, 
Lazarus Loxfinger, had uncovered last- 
minute evidence of an Arab scheme to 
nvade his homeland. T would touch 
off the powder keg just as well, he 
thought with grim pleasure. This time I 
shall call for a Jewish holy war. It will 
serve the same end , . the “final 
solution.” 

Bond had also seen the Arab runout. 
Goshen got to them! Good old Mon. 
roe! But Herr Doktor will wy anything 
now to start a war, he reasoned. Got to 
alert the young pioneers. He ran toward 
the young men of the kibbutz 
... Who more than any other man 
is responsible for our being here today 
. . - the Twentieth 
man of peace, who should win the Nobel 
Prize because he is noble . . . 
Loxfinger 

Smiling confidently as he acknowl- 
edged the acclaim, assured of his powers 
to mesmerize, to send people into bat'e 
with a willingness to die gladly, those 
incredible blue eyes afire, Loxfinger be- 
ly friends, I had hoped today to 
be the giver of peace. But just minutes 
ago I received information hat” 

HEIL HITLER! 

Th hundred young men, who had 
shed their raincoats, stood before him. 
They wore brown uniforms, апп bands 


210 with swastikas, arms outstretched in that 


rigid tribute he had adored in the good 
yeas. His godlike name was crackling 
from their throats. He wa 

HEIL HITLER! 

His right hand shot up. “Yes, Heil 
Hiter! Heil me! ] am Adolf Hider, 
your Führer, resurrected! I am . . ." 

And pulled his hand down quickly, 
but too late. All had seen it. He was un- 
masked before the crowd, the television 
eyes of the world. 

"My God!" cried Bill Link of the AP 
10 Dick Levinson, NBC-TV. "Its Adolf 
Hitler 

Loxünger flashed a baleful glance a 
the young "Nazis"—then saw their leader, 
a cruel, darkly handsome man in laborer's 
coveralls. But that mustache, dangli 
from one side of his lip. And that scar! 
е1 Bond, the security man. He 
as been the cause of my downfall. 

"Kill the mockey swine, MacAroon, 
kill him!" 

Saxon fired a machine-gun bu 
the midst of the young k 
cral falling wounded. “Die, you Jew bas- 
tards! Die!" The crowd scattered in 
screaming. panic. 

One of the shots tore into Bond's 
shoulder—the bad one. Another zinged, 
burning the bad hand. He froze, hardly 
caring about the pain. For MacAroon 
loomed above him, menacing, that 
horrible killing right hand cocked. The 
mulatto pulled a board out of his 
sequined shirt, brought that hand down. 
The board shattered. 

When that calloused rhino-hard hand 
comes down on me it’s the end, Bond 
thought. But ГИ get in one damn lick. 
He hunched into Position 75, basic judo, 
swung a muscular leg and drove his toe 
into the giant's stomach. 

MacAroon's face almost turned white. 
Confusion, bewilderment, pain crossed 
it, in that order. 

Elated, Bond swung into Number 45, 
leaping superhumanly, chopping his 
ad down hard on the Goliath's neck. 
MacAroon went down like a torpedoed 
freighter. He pulled up his bulk slowly, 
picked up «nother board, brought that 
awful hand down. It cracked—but barely. 

Now it scemed to him there was a 
vicious wasp named Israel Bond, stinging 
him in a million places with kicks in the 
groin, chops to the neck, a two-finger 
poke into an eye, 

The half-blinded mulatio reeled. He 
picked up another board, chopped ас it. 
Thump! It did not break 

But his hand did. 

Hor tears flooded his brown cheeks. 

And then Bond realized, with a wi 
laugh bubbling out of his throa 
was wrong. This big son of a bitch only 
knew how to break boards 

"Ive got you now!" Bond roared, a 
demon unleashed. He slashed again and 
again at the tottering giant. There was 
bloody pulp on his hand. 

“Inferior nigger schwein!” Loxfinger 


nto 


t, wl 


screamed. He brought up a Luger, blast- 
ed hi ing strongman three times. 
MacAroon fell with a thunderous crash 
against the firs row of the reviewing 
stand, cracking it completely. In death 
he had split his last board. 

Poor bastard, Bond thought. But now 
a Luger slug smashed into his own body, 
the bad shoulder again. He was alone, 
unarmed. Loxfinger and Saxon were 


lunging toward him, eyes hot with 
wed. 
t to run. Where? Another slug 
nicked his hand—the bad one. 


The tall, distinguished man appeared 
suddenly with his microphone. "You 
know, ladies and gentlemen of the world 
audience, when sudden disasters like this 
can strike, isn't it wise to call your All- 
dee o 

A screaming Luger slug sent Ned 
Reamer to his final reward. Bond hoped 
the man's policy would leave his widow 
in good hands. 

But there was no time to worry about 
anyone but himself. The enraged N 
were at his heels, their fusillade sending 
sand flying into his eyes. 

“Oy Oy Seven! Over here! You should 
shake a leg! 

A voice near the shore! In Yiddish! 
Agent D—Dovidl the Dolphin! Ма 
heaven send him schmaltz herring s 
times a day! 

“On my back, hurry!” commanded 
the dolphin. 

He leaped upon Dovidl, who launched 
into a frantic dive deep into the Red Sea 
Truly it was the Red Sea now, Bond's 
claret staining every inch of it. 

At last the doughty dolphin had to 
surface for air. “Gevaldt! What a mish- 
mash this day has turned out to be. But 
were clear of ‘e 
zig! Ziga 

Two bullets from a powerful Maque- 
reaux, with silencer attachment. Bond 
glanced back. It was as he feared. The 
cabin cruiser manned by Saxon was bear- 
ng down on them, Der Führer's hand 
clutching the smoking French automatic. 

"Faster, Dovidl, faster!" he implored. 
“Just three hundred yards more and 
we're safe on the shore of Eretz Israel, 
old mammal!” He could see Isra 


diers waiting for the cabin cr 
in range so they coukl blast it into 
perdition. 

Zigazip! Zig-a-zig! 


One slashed through 
arm. He fell off the dolpl 


Bond's right 
„ choking on 


the salt water and his own blood. “Do- 
vidl! Dovidl!" 
A thickening circle of blood next to 


him. Dovidl! 

“The second one got me,” the dolphi 
grinned. But then, dolphins alwi 
grin. Bond knew his ally had suffered a 
mortal wound. The courageous Agent D 
thrashed, murmured “Oy Oy Seven, I'm 
sorry...” and went under. 

I'm done for now, Bond knew. Shot up 


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. can't swim. The boat will cut me in 
twain. 

The cabin cruiser was just a few yards 

Bulles sing a dirge all around 
him. Israel's greatest secret agent was on 
his way out. 

Then—a sudden blinding fi 

Then—a roar, louder than 
he had ever heard! 

The Red Sea opened! 

His face fell into wet sand. His unbe- 
lieving eyes saw the sea rolled back on 
two sides, leaving a pathway to the shore 
of Israel. He pushed his pain-racked, 
bulletriddicd frame. "Run!" The wet 
sandy path sucked at his feet, tripping 
him time and time again. Fifty yards 
now, forty, thirty, twenty, ten, five. 
Touchdown! He fell into the arms of 
two Israeli. infantrymen. 

Forced to abandon their cruiser when 
the parted waters left it beached im a 
tough, Loxfinger and Saxon were run- 
ning an aimless pattern on the sandy 
strip, cursing, screaming, shooting with- 
out purpose, two stunned drunken 
beings going nowhere 

Then they saw rhe 
surging back! 

Two gigantic waves, their whitc- 
foamed tips looking like the jaws of a 
mad dog, roared down on mem. 

Then. . . then there was just the Red 
Se eternal, peaceful, unconquer 
able as of old. 


ам 


sh! 
anything 


divided waters 


“He'll live . . . I don't know why, but 
he'll live.” said the doctor, with a clamp 
in his hand. It held a Maquercaux slug, 
one of two he had dug from Israel 
Bond's mangled shoulder. “But I doubt 
if this. . th will ever do your sec- 
tion amy good again." 

M inhaled a Raleigh. Until Oy Oy 
Seven came back—and he would, she 
prayed—she herself would assume the 
burden of coupon gathering, And since 
it did seem sinful 10 buy the cigarettes 
just for the coupons and then chuck 
them away, she had begun to smoke. I'm 

n old harpy, she told herself. A few ciga 
rettes a day won't harm me at my 
She was on her 80th smoke of the da 
one for cach of her richly spent years. 

"He's moving," said Leilah Tov, 
beauteous secretary. Her heart. pounded 
hopefully. Perhaps someday she would 
nestle again in the crook of Oy Oy Sev- 
en's muscular arm. The only man she 
would ever love. 

With. Zvi Gates rushed into 
the Secret Service infirmary, à. bundle of 
under his 


M's 


shout, 


newspapers arm. “Gottenu! 
из the biggest thing thats hap- 
pened to Israel since . . . since...” he 


struggled for a fresh simile . . . "since 
canned beer!" Without Oy Oy Seven 
around to spur him on, Zvi's humor 
bit archaic. "Gevaldt! 
Look at these headlines! "ISRAEL. SUPER- 
MAN DESTROYS MAN BELIEVED TO BE ADOLF 
HITLER! SAVED BY RED SEA OPENING AS BIBLE 


tcnded to be a 


Here's another! 
MIRACLE IN RED 
HITLER! ISRAELI HERO 


MIRACLE 15 REPEATED! 
“WORLD TV VIEWERS SEE 
SEA AND DEATH OF 
CLINGS TO LIFE! 

“What did the New York Daily News 
say?” asked M, a shrewd smile on that 
infinitely wise old face 

“Here,” said Zvi, handing her the gut 
sy big-city tabloid: 


GIANTS NIP METS IN 11-3 SQUEAKER 
LIZ, DICK SHARE HOTDOG AT HARVEST 
MOON BALL FESTIVAL 


Hitler Dies in Red Sca. 


"Everybody out!” M commanded. They 
scurried from the clinic, casting warm 
glances at the wounded secret agent. 


"Israel, mine kindeleh," said M soft- 
ly. “You're all right. 
Yes, Mother" he said. There was a 


fondness in his tone, not the fondness of 
a secret agent for his superior, but that 
of a secret agent for his mother. 

Please, dear Lord. don't let me show 
my own weakness, a weeping M pleaded. 
This is a cold, d business. I Cant get 
sentimental over a boy I wish had been 
my own son. 

"Oy Oy Seven, you did a fairly compe- 
tent job. But we must rule out the . . . 
uh . . . divine aspects of your escape. We 
all know now that the Red Sea parted 
because of a row of strategically placed 
high explosives detonated by the oil com- 
y at the exact moment you fell off 
poor DovidI's back, We don't need mira- 
cles, my boy.” 

"Our land is a miracle, М.” 

"Exacily. I'm happy to see you haven't 
lost your deftness with a phrase, Oy Oy 
Scven. But there can be no publicity, no 
personal interviews. If you are to remain 
with the Oy Oy branch, you must slip 
imo anonymity immediately. We will 
release a report that you have died from 
your wounds. Your friend, Goshen, will 
be told the truth, of course. You two may 
be forced 10 share another assignment 
someday. One question: Do you think 
you can ever be strong enough to return 
to the М 33 and 14 section? Make your 
answer truthful, no heroics. We've had. 
cnough of them, God knows. Remember, 
a crippled agent is a danger to himself 
and to his organization.” 

Bond lit a Raleigh, scratching the 
match on his shoulder cast. Some of the 
section people had written on it in ink: 
"Get well, Oy Oy Seven.” He was 
touched. As a rule, M 33 and 14 person 
nel were necessarily unsentimental 
lot. Or so he thought. 

“PI be all right in a while,” he said. 
“Whenever my land is threatened by the 
forces of injustice, I want to be called 
With every breath in my body 1 vow this: 
Bond's for Israel!” 

Healing sleep overtook him. 

Good lad! Good heart! Good soldier! 
M thought. If only the shmegeggi could 


CHERISHED CHEROOT 


to the open fields, it takes two or three 
ths before the tobacco leaves, now 
pe yellowish green, are ready for in 
lual picking. Hung on long laths 
1 sheds, rows of picked leaves dry to 
ich golden color. a process artificially 
encouraged in nontropical climes by char- 
coal fires or gas burners. The leaves are 
then bundled into "hands" and piled into 
massive round or rectangular "bulks" of 
thousands of pounds cach. Pressure of the 
leaves on one another generates heat 
which encourages "sweating" at tempera- 
tures of up то 100 degrees. This sets uy 
fermentation process that develops the 
natural 1 flavor of the cigar leaf 
nuch as fermentation develops the flavor 
and bouquet in wine making, 

Packed into bales, the select inner 
leaf is warehoused and goes through 
a secondary fermentation under con- 
trolled atmospheric conditions. The po- 
sitions of the stacked bales are changed 
nd the aging leaf is continually checked 
to determine when it is fully cured and 
ready to be made into cigars. The entire 
process from harvesting through aging 
akes from six months to three or more 
years, depending on the area where the 
tobacco is grown, on the curing tech- 
niques and on the quality of the leaf. 
Taken straight from the bale, tobacco: 
brittledry and has to be cased or 
dampened before the two halves of the 
leaf сап be stripped off the stem for the 
er or machine. The classic 
hand-rolling process revered by our 
grandsires produced a maximum of 200 
cigars per man a day. But before this 
century's turn, cigarsmoking opcra im- 
io Oscar Hammerstein cudgeled 
»ver the problem of mimic 
ne the hand-making of cigs 
ic patents 


by mach 
He developed a number of b; 


still used in todays automatons which 
roll out as many as 6000 cigars per d 
Of the more than seven. billion 


sold in the U.S. last year, less than five 
percent. were hand-rolled. 

The machine ically just a hypoed 
version of that Tittle old cigar maker 
who compresses 
his hand for the body size of the cigar h 
is rolling. then winds a single binder leaf 
round the filler on а hardwood board, 
trims this bunch to size with his kt 
nd then starts at the tuck or ligh 
end of the cigar by winding a piece of 
wrapper leal spirally around the bunch 
until he gets to the head, which is 
covered with a tobacco scrap, or flag, 
that's fastened by а dab of tasteless gum. 
Some /abaqueros compress the bunches 
in wooden molds, hollowed to cigar 
sizes. before adding the wrappé 

Using a bewildering combination of 
leal dyes, suction tables, guillotine cut- 


ters, crimpers, carrier fingers, knurlen 
softener rollers and tuck needles, all the 
steps of handaolling are duplicated by 


(continued from page 105) 


the cigarmaking machine. It once re- 
quired four girls to lay out the leaves 
and run early models of these robots, 
but with ingenuity and compromi: 
three of these Carmens сап be replaced 
by hoppers and rollers. Speed notwit 
standing, the machine has to use short 
filler or chopped-up leaves to fill in the 
cigar, Really good smokes must have 
Jong fillers. This means each of the filler 
leaves runs the full length of the cigar, 
There are precious few of these hand- 
rolleds that cost less than a quarter, but 
they are well worth the expenditure, 

he way a cigar burns has a good deal 
to do with its taste, and the size of the 


filler is perhaps the important factor in 
the 


burning. Smoke the same blend of 
acos in a long-filler cigar and one 
made with short filler and the two won't 
taste at all alike. Rolled to about the 
same tightness, the Jong filler will give the 
mellower smoke and bun slowly. 
Balance in a cigar comes from the del- 
ate judgment the manufacturer brings 
10 the selection of complementary fillers, 
binders and wrappers. A heavy, resinous 
wrapper Gin wipe out the fragrance of a 
fragile filler blend and, similarly, a rich 
filler can obliterate the chai 
tic mellowness of many wrappers. 
before the three elements—filler, binder 
and wrapper—are combined into a cigar, 
the filler tobaccos must be blended. / 
aported Havana may be all.Cuban to- 
bacco and a Manila all.Philippine, bur 
that doesn't mean the filler is all of the 
same leaf. A choice of variously grown 
and cured tobaccos, their flavors wedded 
by fermenting together in the bulk, will 
create a more satis oma and flavor 
than will only one kind of leaf. 
Smokers generally judge a cigar by the 
wrapper, since it’s the only part they can 
see except for the ash. American tastes 
generally run to the light daro shades, 
bur oldline Latin smokers love their 
decp-brown maduro hues, Cigar savants 
gree that the finest domestic wrapper 
is Connecticut shade-grown. The cured 
shade grown leaf is а light, even bro 


mor 


of silky texture, with a distinctive mel- 
low flavor. Florida and Georgia wrap 
pers, also shade-grown, are used in mı 


domestic c The leaf has a greenish 
tinge and a neutral flavor. 

Few blindfolded cigar smokers can un- 
erringly pick out a genuine Havana at 
first smoke, but ever since Ei 

ility set the fashion two centuries a 
ana has been the sine qua non of 
cigardom. This excesive confidence in 
the generic Hav ilferent from a 
vinophile's whose | nce to all 
wines from Bord nto 
gladly punch down quantiful. mixtures 
of Algerian and Rhone reds. While no 
one who has dr the full-bodied 
authority of a true Vuelta Abajo will 


wn in 


challenge its pre-eminence, some of the 

nost dreadful tobacco in the world is 
grown in Cuba, As it turns out, the U.S. 
embargo on Cuban products has not had 
the impact on American cigar fanciers 
that was first threatened. (Actually. hand- 
rolled all-Havanas were never more than 
one percent of total cigar production.) 

When President Kennedy slapped the 
embargo on Cuban tobacco in 1962 
there was a pere of 11,000 tons of 
Cuban leat in Tampa warehouses. This 
was supposed to be just б 10 last 
for two years. Today there is still, mirac 
ulously, enough for another two years. 
ppened is th 
turers have been thi 
centage of Cuban le ir cigs 
while smokers are gradually accustoming 
themselves to the tastes of other leaves. 

The former owners of Menede: 
cia y Cia, Ltd., makers of Н. Uppman 
and Monte Cristo, long the monarchs of 
the cigar industry, have set up а factory 
in the Canary Islands and are making 
H. Uppmans there with stockpiled (sup- 
posedly enough for a number of years) 
Cuban tobaccos. Some of the other exiled 
Cuban manufacturers, such as Por Lar- 
aga, Punch and Hoyo de Monterey, 
are considering establishing factories un- 
der their old brand names 

nd Europe. Many п experts 1 
fled Castro's regime and have set up shop 
n Central America to produce the highly 
touted Reina Isabel cigar. 

Puerto Rican tobaccos are used in 
many popular cigars, and some manufac- 
turers ship Connecticut wrappers to fac 
tories they've ser up im Puerto Ri 
where the cigars are made and then 
shipped back to the States. Quantities of 
ars go to the English market, 
but few find their way to this cou 

Sumatra wraps represent the opposite 
pua from the full, heavy-flavored Ha 
because they атс neutral in 
flavor and blend well with any style of 


filler and variety of binder. 

Philippine factories have always used 
much Sumara leaf, although after the 
War some switched to Georgii 


pers. But the finest Manila с 
wrapped in dark-brown mative Isabela (a 
highly flavored and yet mild-smol 
af), over Isabela binder and filler. The 
are hand-rolled, long-filler, and as they 
isibution and prestige. they 
should make a place for themselves with 
younger smokers who wa ht smoke 
that can still hold the full taste range of 
sun-grown, darkcured leaf. 
servicemen stationed in Е 


developed а taste for the dry Dutch- 
German-style cigar, and in the past 


few y these characteristically stubby, 
torpedo-shaped, 1a-wrapped aromat- 
ies have been imported fom Holland, 


Denmark 
Тапа, g with flood of n 
in-between” smokes. Another source of 
zil, where a sun-grown d 


ише 


213 


PLAYBOY 


ish wrapper is raised and blended with 
various combinations of Manilan, In- 
4 п, Cuban and native fillers 

‘The shapes and sizes of cigars are al- 
most infinite in their subtle variations. 
Most cigar heads are rounded, though 
some roll to a point; in a few special 


Manila, Tabacaleras Conde de Geull 
and Vegueros, the leaves twist into a 
uni instead of being 


rimmed or flagged. Panatelas are long, 
straight-sided and slim; the wide variety 
nds in panatela size constitutes a 
last stronghold of nonconformity. Per- 
fectos should have pointed heads, some- 
tapering and a shaped tuck. 
These are characteristics also of the larg- 
€r queens. The standard roundheaded, 
straightsided cigar includes a catholic 
collection of straights, blunts, dear Ha- 
palmas, and so on, through the spe- 
cies corona—from tiny demicoronas to 
doubles which might stretch over seven 
inches in length—exceeded only by the 
Gargantuan cheroot named after that 
indomitable cigarist. Churchill. Special 
shapes include triangles, pre 
tween cedar blocks by hand, 
pyramid shapes and the classic open-at- 
arillos, the cigarettesized 
which zoomed to popularity in the 
Forties, now sell on an average of a few 
hundred million per annum. 
urally, the largest market is for 
low-priced cigars, a category which is 
amazingly con: quality, and prac- 
ally always in good condition due to 
st turnover and sealed packaging. As a 
of statistics, over 40 percent of 
the nearly seven billion cigars sold last 
year in this country retailed for less than 
six cents, and more than 90 percent 
went for less than fifteen cents. 
Obviously, factors determine 
your selection of a cigar, Basic to your 
choice is the kind of tobacco you prefer 
and the size that is best suited for a par- 
ticular time. Heavy cigar smokers estab- 
lish habit and preference patterns, but 
many of them include a dozen or more 
different cigars in their routine. In some 
cases, it can be the same tobacco with the 
same-color wrapper in different sizes to 
suit the mood and the time of day. 
Others switch brands and shapes for 
variety's sake. Tt makes sense that a small, 
stimulating, aromatic smoke that sets you 
up after breakfast replaces neither the 
mediumsized mellow one that keeps 
aste buds in t nd juices flowing at 
nd play, nor the full-bodied after- 
dinner аса 
The place where you buy your cigars 
will have a great deal to do with how 
well you enjoy them, because the cigar is 
a delicate, perishable commodity that 
requires expert dealer care. Cigars can 
be bought almost anywhere: in super- 
markets, drugstores and. groceries. This 
makes no difference if you're buying five- 


les 


ent 


many 


та packs: they are sealed, overwrapped and 


resealed to stay in manufactured condi. 
tion. But if you're buying better smokes 
from or by the box, lind yourself a rc 
tailer who knows something about what 
he's selling, takes pride in the selection 
and condition of his stock and can help 
you develop your taste. Every major city 
has old-line tobacconist shops 
where purchasing cigars is a delight to 
the senses and not just another "two-for- 
aquarter” counter transaction. 

Cigars spoil easily because they absorb 
other ors and aromas from the. 
For instance, tobacco can't be grown 
near the seacoast, since it takes on a salt 
taste; bales have to be carefully scaled 
when shipped by water for the same rea- 
son. A really conscientious tobacconist 
from an 
an voyage for a month or two before 
putting them on the shell for sale. Don't. 
store cigars ncar food or cosmetics, and 
never buy from a retailer who keeps 
lighter fluid near open cigar boxes. 

When choosing a cigar from the box, 
press down gently on the rounded head, 
raising the tuck end from its resting 
place. You can crackle the wrappers by 
squeezing the cylinders between thumb 
and forefinger. Take a deep sniff along 
the cigar's body to get a first whiff of to- 
bacco character commingled with the 
scent of the box. Draw some air through 
the unlit cigar to further your impres- 
sion. With just a little experience, you'll 
be able to tell by softly pressing the c 
gar with your fingers whether the filler is 
even from head to tuck, and how loose 
or tight the roll is, A soft, loosely rolled 
cigar will smoke much faster than the 
aditional Cuban tight roll. and its un- 
even filler is likely to have a bad burn. 
American tastes generally lean toward 
the moist taste of the Cuban originals. 
and manufacturers maintain storage 
humidors designed to make a fair imi 
Чоп of the Cuban dimate, a relative 
humidity of 68 and an average tempera- 
ture of 65 degrees, Europeans, however, 
prefer a much drier version that goes 
snap. crackle and pop when squeezed. If 
you find your cigar too dry, breathe 
its tuck end a few times and it will be- 
come more moist. 

The size of the hole through which 
you puff your cigar controls the volume 
of smoke. If you want it just right—not 
so small that you have to pull hard, and 
not so large that your palate is over- 
whelmed—use a cigar cutter, preferably 
one that slices a V-shaped aperture. Bit- 
ing or chewing a hole in the cigar's head 
or squeezing it until it breaks can look 
sloppy, do damage and spoil your smoke. 

A single wooden match is best to light 
a good-sized cigar, but it may take sever- 
al of the paper kind. After lighting the 
match, wait until its chemical head is 
consumed, then hold it about half an 
inch below the cigar's tuck end and puff 
gently, slowly turning the cigar as the 


a few 


air. 


flame jumps to it until the whole end 
slows evenly. The old movie business 
Of holding the cigar to a flame and. not 
actually putting it to vour lips until it is 
lit does work, but it really isn't necessary 
and й takes an Adolphe Menjou type to 
pull it off. Never use a fluid lighter unless 
you want a benzene-fiavored smoke. Bu- 
tane models do a good, flavorless job. 

Careful lighting goes a long way 10- 
ward giving your cigar an even burn and 
ash. If your cigar goes out, pay no atten- 
tion to the old wives tale th 
should not be relit. While the cigar i 
still warm, rub the char off with a match- 
stick before relighting. and puff gently 
or you'll draw in the charry Пахог before 
it has а chance to burn off. 

It takes a good half dozen or more 
рий before a cigar warms up enough to 
taste: You сап feel the warmth traveling 
up the cigar’s body puff by puff. The 
taste won't come through till you smoke 
t the tuck, Whatever you smoke, pull 
slowly, savoring the smoke, with plenty 
of time between pufis. Optimum flavor 
and aroma doesn't get a chance to devel- 
op with fast smoking. Don't keep the ci- 

in your mouth except when puffing; 
that’s only for fight managers and book- 
ing agents. When you're finished, just let 
the cigar die quietly. It’s when you stuff 
them out that their pleasant bouquet be- 
comes a "precious stinke.” 

Whether pure white, dark or the steel 
gray of fine Havana, the ash covering 
your cigar's coal should be at least half 
an inch iong to keep the smoke cool and 
the burn slow. Length of ash depends a 
great deal on the cut of the filler. A 
properly long, heavy ash blocks loss of 
or and arom 

А cigar—advertising homilies to the 
contrary—is not good to the Там puff. As 
it grows shorter and there's less 
space for cooling to take place between 
your mouth and the coal, the burn gets 
hotter and tars and resins collect in the 
stub. Don't spoil your pleasure by smok- 
ing to the bitter end. Discard the butt as 
soon as you taste the slightest harshness. 

Queen Victoria was quite vehement in 
her dislike of cigars and made life hell 
for any minister who indulged. You may 
have the misfortune of mecu 
a relic of her era whose cla 
are smokeimpregnated 
clothes, odiferous butts, ashes and burns 
But recent polls show that 90 percent of 
todays women have no objections to ci 
gars or to men who smoke them. Don't 
expect, though, to come across many 
young ladies who really know their cigars. 
Just consider yourself lucky if you find 
опе who is pleasantly surprised by your 
drawing out a cigar case, is suitably im- 
pressed as you light up with ceremony 
and, finally, is duly appreciative of your 
enjoyment. If the pleasure you take in 
her company adds to the satisfaction you 
have in your roll of tobacco, you are 
twice blesed. Happy smoking! 


CITY OF LIGHT 


malicious face with a brilliant smile (per- 
fect teeth, very proud) and a peculiar sex- 
ual status like that of a young queen bec. 
kness, her constant smile, her 
рош her. Very pretty 


woman. Perhaps it was merely amb 
that gave her this ambiguity. It turned 
out, to go back a few years, that her p 
ents had wanted to be social movers 
Paris and were, though not quite in the 
sense they desired. The Jews had corrupt- 
ed the honest ап blood of the Gauls, 
Dreyfus had really у army 
("Where there is so much smoke, there 
must be fire") and finally only a strong 
dose of Germany could save la pauvre 
belle petite France, Hilda's father had. 
been executed along with Brasillach 
the first days alter the liberation. Hild 
mother now lived in Argentina with a re- 
tired German officer. Hilda herself 
the salon in Auteuil th 1 been her 
family’s social goal for three generations, 


welcoming a select group of artists, poli- 
tici, film makers, officers and anti 
Semites. К. К. found it, carly on, а 
curious 700. 

You artiste?" said Jos “Is 
sheet. | write one meter and demi of 


sacept in my zocalled. carri 
sheet, T write sheet now 
die. You si 
Un 
cognac deepened Jos 

“Sheet until I die," he said. 

De Villiers looked at him contemp- 
шошду. “Tu parles.” he said. 


But like a stunned and happy anima 
K. K. followed. Mona 


mong ihe exoric 
so good to him. It 
long time since anyone had 
been good to him. This zoo—plenty of 


ad complicated ar- 
nents—had nothing to do with the 
nce he remembered: it was perhaps 
the new France of international festivals 
and ski romances, and it was therefore an 
unreal France to К. K. Wood. Real was 
the smoky Paris of his first visit—fresh 
bread, cheap wine and cheese in the Lux- 
embourg Gardens. But Mona was better 
than hotelroom dreams of the vanished 
past. 
If the film had been any good, he later 
decided, he might have been les con- 
cerned with finding pleasure elsewhere 
But the film, like the telev 
had just finished in the States, merely 
required that he walk through, showing 
his deancut, In the series, cleancut meant 
cleancut. In the film. because this was 
tyheart. It was just 
mechanical—a mechanical paradox, The 
only artistic thing about it was that he 
was being paid little more than expenses. 
He might as well treat it like a 
then, and so he did. Someday, when he 


ion series he 


It 


cation, 


(continued from page 92) 


began to jowl over a little, he might find 
serious character parts. 

In the meant he ci 
ishment at Hilda's salon that he could 
look so nice and young and American and 
still speak French so fluently, with just a 
sympathy-inducing ace Tittle 
arcle of attention about his shyness 
his touch of wit. “We are finding,” 
José Alberto, “something better lor you 


joyed the aston- 


to do. 
“What is i 
"We are finding,” said José Alberto. 


“Parles pales parles; said Frédéric, 
edging him away. 

. К. got Mona alone for a moment to 
ask what they had. meant. "Oh, they are 
always scheming,” she said. "Many idea 
Always ideas. Many bad 
she said very earnestly. 

“Il listen first. А man has to work.” 
She shrugged. 

And then he and Mona went home in 
toy Fiat convertible; she played her 
record of Jean Ferrat singing J'entends, 
ntcnds 


just say 


Vous voudriez au ciel bleu croire, 
je le connais ce sentiment 
J'y crois aussi moi рат moments— 


And then she played her little games, flip 
ping up her skirt to do а Hollywood can- 
п, throwing on her trench coat to do an 
Ду Gabin film, chirping and laughing, 
d finally just draping her arms 
about his neck and begging him, as if he 
needed to be begged, “Take me. Take 
me. Take mi 
Here? Standing up? 
Yes. Like this. Have you ever done it 
e this?” 
Never before. But this time they did it 


like that, And it was different, but the 
same; all things were possible: he was a 
great athlete, a great actor, a man who 
spoke French; he was free once more. 
She pushed and tickled him. Then she 


explained that the prosperous France of 
her time was finished with Catholicism, 
existentialism, M m, and the ideas of 


nd social 
дє that had deceived generations of 
ench young, “If 1 sit at the Flore,” 
it is not to watch the ideas 
It is not to belong to a move- 
ment, It is," she said, “maybe to do busi- 
ness or maybe to do fun after doing the 


ıd poverty and reform 


busines: 
“I don't understand you, Mona.” 
“Oh, you are American. Understand!” 


she repeated mockingly 
You don't want me to?” 
“1 don't 


want me 
à cat on h 
aid slyly, 


to, either." She 
ide toward him. 
this, this, unde: 


stand this. 

When he left Mona's apartment in the 
morning, run down the hardwood 
tirs of the old building on the Кие de 
l'Université, he [elt on the stair 
that he 


, pro- 
could йу. He 
thought flying thoughts as he waited for 
the second when, hitting the thro 
morning street, he would scc her a 
Her friends, José, Frédéric and Hilda, 
were working things out for him; they 
wanted him to stay in France: they liked 
him--he was th сап. This 
way of putting it was not quite pleasing, 
but since it included Mona, it pleased 
him. He would think it through when the 
opportunity came. He would do what 
necessary. He would organize everythin 
And if he had any doubts, they were dis- 
pelled by the ritual of the sirce 

Down below, he turned his eyes toward 


“Son. your father and I think it's 
time we had a little chat.” 


215 


PLAYBOY 


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Mona's balcony on the fifth floor. His eyes 
crinkled in the glare of sky above the well 
of the street. She stood on the balcony in 
а robe with her hand uplifted in a still, 
caught wave. She watched and watched 
him down the street, as if she could not 
wait to see him again, as if she could not 
bear to lose him. Despite all her wicking 
and playing, this careless, desperate 
watching on the balcony was what stood 
for her real feclings. She never turned 
away until he disappeared. 


These carlymorning departures—the 
sun golden over the city of nostalgia and 
hope—came to seal К. K.'s joyous rebirth 
in Paris. Fach time he left, running down 
the stairs, charged with power, light on 
his feet, energized and drained of anxiety, 
he would look back from the narrow 
passage below to the balcony where 
Mona might be standing. Sometimes he 
thought, when the air was chill, No, she'll 
just turn over and go back to sleep. But 
always the wraithlike, childlike body—the 
angelic, welcoming body—stood on the 
balcony with a hand uplifted. She 
watched him if the sight of him 
nourished her. And with all his doubt 
and her irony, her distrust of plan and 


way 


words, his knowledge that it was just an- 
other Paris romance, this persistent ges- 
ching, more than anything 


nged К. К. sense of himself and 
of Mona. Their lovemaking, after 
could be merely a cool and businesslike 
ange; she tried sometimes to say it 
was; she was a girl of Paris with no memo- 
ry of the War, he was a visiting actor. It 
was 1965. But somehow, beyond words or 
declarations, she really needed him, К. К. 
himself, she desired him, whatever she 
said. And the consequence of this was 
that he loved her 

At the same time, he carried on a du 
ful correspondence with Louise back at 
their branch of the car pool in Beverly 
Hills. And in twinges of guilt, he sent 
weekly packages of toys, more and more 
expensive ones, and souvenirs, and long 
mendacions letters to the children; long 
because he loved them, lying because he 
would rather be in Paris, doing what he 
was doing in Paris, than back on Le Dou 
Road in Beverly Hills, even though he 
missed his children 

Doing what he was doing in Paris was 
spending the nights with Mona, dining 
late, strolling late, sleeping at their case. 

And also what he was doing was plan- 
hing his recording and commentary on 
General de Gaulle next press confer 
ence. That last job had come up through 
the intercession of his new friend, 
ric de Villiers, who, it turned out, was 
more than a retired officer. He was an ed 
tor of a weekly newspaper called Point 
d'Intevrogation. P. d'I., in the person of 
De Villiers, liked К. К. Wood, and this 
was exceptional enough, since it seemed 
to like no other Yankee. K. K. was flat- 
tered. He knew that he was good-looking, 


young, direct, intelligent, and spoke the 
fluent French—as De Villiers told him. 
“Well, my French isn't so bad, anyway," 
he protested. Mona was squeezing his 
hand as he said this. “But for the rest, 
you are being very polite.” 

rry no bool,” said De Villiers with 
military precision, It turned out that he 
really did speak some English, and his re. 
luctance to speak the first time was mere 
French snobbism. He mistrusted Anglo- 
Saxons. 

“Thanks,” said K. K. 

He was aware that Mona was squeezing 
his hand to ask him to say no to De Vil- 
liers. She held him by the knuckles, for a 
moment grasping and ungainly, and a 
nail cut into the drawn and tender skin. 
He pulled his hand away. The limits of 
the opportunity with De Villiers had not 
been precisely formulated. K. K., feeling 
his new power and confidence, saw no 
reason to foreclose an adventure, whatev- 
er Mona might feel about it. Girls, went 
the soft thought through his head, they 
want you for themselves alone. 

They were at Hilda's carly-evening 
soiree. The little silver tray of cigars lay 
between the two men. As De Villiers 
talked, very slowly and deliberately, he 
lifted two cigars, lit them both and hand- 
ed one to К. К. in a detachedly feminine 
way. Then he proposed his notion. It 
would be interesting to have his paper. 
print a comment by К. К. on current 
French politics—from the betrayal in Al- 
geria and the recognition of Red China 
all the way back a generation or more 

“But 1 don't agree with you 

“You would have a free hand to say 
what you please, my friend.” 
fy own politics are— 

"As a positioning point," De Villiers 
gently corrected him. "You would simply 
record the interview with a tape recorder 
nd then speak your impressions of the 
ex-general. I think"—and one of his rare, 
cold smiles illuminated his face—“it 
would be nice to be a French journalist in 
addition to being an American actor.” 

“OI four million Parisians,” said Mona 

two million carry press cards. It is no 
distinction.” 

"No matter," said De Villiers. “I think 
this would make a special case for you, 
Monsieur Oud. Ké Ké my friend. I think 
it might. interest. you, no?" 

It was as if this gray, shredded feather 
had touched a nerve and had planned his 
incision from the moment he met K. K. 
Wood. What Hollywood actor with any 
brains, or any pretension to brains, has 
not wished to do something useful in the 
world, something other than selling his 
smile and his grace? Most of them had 
dreamed of usefulness in causes, in the 
Thirties and Forties and, later, in serious 
careers away from acting, The foreign 
correspondent was a role many played 
and a fantasy many had, and К. K., with 
his education and intelligence, felt that 


perhaps here was his chance to open up 
some possibility other than being clean- 
cut for pay. It was better than being the 
philosopher on a daytime quiz show or 
the fight ant professor in a col- 
lege series. It was something that could 
test him deeply, as acting no longer did. 
And perhaps someday, when he had 
learned him some craft, he could write 
novels and stories and plays. Mona was 
squeezing his hand по. К. К. said he 
would think about it. By the way he said 
it, they all knew he was saying yes 

Then they went out to celebrate at that 
same restaurant under the gallery at the 
Place des Vosges where they had all be- 
come such close friends. 

How goes the job?" said José. 

“The picture? It's all done in the cut 
ting, you know. 

“Hm. But the story, you must have an 
idea about the story, don't. you?" 

“The theme is interesting. The direc 
may put оте "o it.” 

"Hm. You hate it, yes? 

К. К. did not answer. Mona said, “In 
the evening we do not talk business." 
That's why I 
g 10 become a journalist, 
recording the voice of the master. If the 
picture were any good, if the pictures 
back home were any good, if television 
were any better, maybe I would be sing- 
ing my sons to sleep and strolling on Sun- 
set Boulevard with Louise. If 1 wanted a 
kick, we'd look at the kooks at Cyrano’s, 
But the pictures are not any good. Nei- 
ther is the television. 

And so he accepted the miniature tape 
recorder, not much larger than a cigar 
box, which José provided. He also accept 
ed the press card, the letter of accredita- 
tion and a typed piece of paper giving the 
hour when the conference at the Elysée 
palace would take place. Then he went 
home to prepare for the job by read 
De Gaulle’s recent speeches and cont 
ing his study of De Gaulle's autobiogra- 
phy, written during the period after the 
War and before he returned to power, in 


understood the desperation of heroism. 

К. K's work on the movie s now 
finished. He had just walked through the 
part: it was one of those movies with a lot 
of walking in Paris streets; it would give 
his career no new boost. He had written 
10 his wife that he would be spending 
extra week in Paris because of anothe 
job and because he needed to see the first 
cut of the film. 

The other job was the cigar box 

The need to see the first cut of the film 
was nonexistent. What he needed, and 
needed badly, was another week with 
Mona. 

So now he was in his hotel room alone 
—in that traveler's hotel room which is 
the place where so many young men try 
to discover themselyes—studying for an 
exam and keeping an elegant little cigar- 


box shape on his desk, waiting for his oc- 
casion to use it 

It was raining—a long weary gray Ра 
rain with none of the defiant extremes of 
cold and wet which call a man out of him- 
self to defend his little time on card. 
К. К. read, worried, knew he was worry- 
ing about something he did not permit 
himself to discover; he fretted in his hotel 
room: he went downstairs with his book, 
bought a plastic raincoat in a shop on the 
Rue du Bac, stopped in a doorway, 
chilled, under a sign that said rxEU— 
TIMBRES—TABAC. Gray and wet all about 
him. The heavy slosh of winter without 
the nerve and sinew. К. К. patted a child 
on the head and the child looked up with 
a radiant smile. He would have liked to 
talk with the child, but a grown man does 
not speak with a child in the sucer of 
great city in 1965. The child ran off into 
the slanting drizzle. He went inside, 
shook off the plastic and ordered а hot 
chocolate with a brandy. He was shiver- 
ing. Something was on his mind and he 
almost knew what it was. 

But insistently, inside, he knew that he 
could not play his role, though he was a 
good actor—his role of melancholic hero 
patting children on the head—without 
meeting the facts and delusions that were 
keeping him ill at case. 

His throat felt scratchy. He took the 


ас down аса gulp. 
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That was not how to take cognac. 
This was not how to take his step into 


F ENGLAND. 
some new style and career, He was bel 9 
ing like a fool. They were taking him for | 333 boston post гози, morwalk, conn. 


a fool 

Back to hi 
all the wa 

Mona had not wanted him to get in- 
volved with these people and their paper. 
though the people were her friends, but 
he had swept her aside. Something deep 
in his fantasy life had been stirred by the 
it— "journalist" It was part of the vo 
that had taken him 
box on 


hotel room to work it out 


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ifornia, his wife and his sons. The 
рост of adolescence was not dead in him. 
He sat alone in his room until the last 1 
ue light of evening had drained away 
from the dripping city, and then he tele- 
1 Mona to tell her that he would be 
Over to see her. She would be 
. She did not answ 


AFFIX LABEL HERE 


OLD ADDRESS 


lense prin) 


let him know if she was goi 

He stood brooding over this fi 
ure—the very first time that Mona had 
disappointed him—and as he looked at 
the cigar-box-shaped recorder, he tried to. 
reason away all the American boyishness 
in him that demanded such perfection in 
women а з so disappointed that she 
not answer the telephone at an ap- 


nd wa 


City Ste 
Mail to: PLAYBOY 
232 E. Ohio St. © 


Chicago, II 


217 


PLAYBOY 


pointed hour. There could be some sim- 
ple explanation. It could be easy as pie. 
But at the same time he knew that it 
not as easy as pie, that it had some- 
ng to do with his meeting tomorrow 
with a crowd of reporters, General de 
Gaulle, and his tape recorder, and that 
istent buzz at the back of his head 
Пу be attended to. He examined 
his finger where Mona had cut the knuck- 
le with her nail. There was a little blood- 


ed half-moon, the kind of wound a ma 
seldom notices after the initial instant of 
irritation, one of the continuing abuses 


printed by an indifferent world upon the 
envelope of flcsh—grass cuts, razor nicks, 
Кей shins, the fading bites of love and 
the abrasions and ruptures of anxiety. 
But this was not a careless hurt. She had 
squeezed his hand to say по and he had 
refused to attend. He had closed down 
the receptors; he had jammed himself 
he had tuned in only what he 
» which was what De Vil- 
ng him. Well, now he had to. 
listen to the rest of it. He had put a filter 
on the buzz of warning which ached in 
the back of his head. Well, now the warn- 
ing moved more strongly, like a hand 
pressing, over his temples. 

He took the tape recorder off the desk 
and into the light. His suspicions were 
fully aroused. He thought of calling the 
police, he thought of sticking the ma- 
chine into a bucket of water. And then his 
doubts and his passionate commitment to 
pride stopped him from doing anything 
but what he was now doing. He was put- 

ing a strong lamp in position to shine on 

the machine. He was undoing little 
saews, very cuefully, with shaking 
fingers. Clearly the device would work as 
a tape recorder; there were the proper 
spools and tapes and tiny meshing gears. 
He undid a litle metal plate. He found a 
watch mechanism. He found tiny wires 
attached to the watch mech: m. He 
found the wires leading 10 a separate 
compartment which contained powder. 

He had drawn his bath. Now he used й 
10 douse the bomb. Bits and pieces of the 
device blackened his bathtub. There was 


bris as if it were the debris of his hopes. 

Alter a while he discovered within him- 
self the strength to take the next step. It 
was not the next step of a good citizen, 
perhaps; it was not to call the police. It 
was to take а cab to Mona's apartment 
with the vague intention of breaking in 
if she did not answer. 

At her door, he knew she was inside, 
ih that. prescience of the enraged lover. 
He also believed that she was there with 
someone, but jealousy came second. He 
pounded on the door and then fit his 
shoulder to the edge, played against the 
lock and lifted it right up, splintering the 


w 


gig jamb. And he stood there panting for 


breath, horrified, wild. She was there, all 
right. She was there, but he had been 
wrong about part of it. She was lying on 
the bed fully dressed, her tangled hair out 
of its usual fine daytime order or its fine 
nighttime luxuriance. She had her head 
in the pillow; she wa She knew 
he stood there watching her, but she did 
not bother to stop the gusts of tears 
streaming out of her eyes, wetting and 
wetting the pillow. So he had been wrong 
about the company she kept here in this 
room, but not entirely wrong. She had 
been weeping for K. K. and weeping be- 
cause of the company she kept that h 
given him that cigar-box shape with the 
special compartment for murder. 

“Why didn't you tell me!” he shouted. 

She sat up and stared at him. 

^] know! I know! Why didn't you tell 
me?" 

“I wied to stop you," she said. 

He went to the door leading to the h 
cony and gazed out over the city smoking 
and steaming below—roofs, chimney pot: 
Lucite coverings of ten 
street life of this city which had been 
the center of history for а thou 
Up the street and a few minutes 
the French Navy Department. The Wa 
Department was a short walk away. 
Buildings in which men had been tor- 
tured not long ago were within sight. 
Mona was crying again 
he said. 

"They would kill m: she said. "I 
tried, but they would КШ me.” She held 
her breath to interrupt the sobs and 
remarked very quietly: “If anything hap- 
pened to you, I would haye done some- 
thing against my religion. I already knew 
how І would do it, but I won't tell you. I 
would have killed myself. 

He went and sat beside her on the bed 
and put his arm around her shoulders. 
Did he believe her? He did not know. 
“What could you do to protect me?" she 
said. "Nothing. Home to your wife soon. 
Nothing." He believed her tears, he be- 
lieved her grief. Perl at was enough 
for a man on vac: 
Lie with me. Warm me," she said. 

He shook his head stubbornly. This 
was not the time for that ancient answer 
to the puzzle of life. 

She went on talking in a very low voice. 
"They are going to be sure 1 told you. 
‘They will blame me for sure. They know 
І am unreliable. Lie with me and warm 
me and then you can go, just for a mo- 
ment, please, please, pleas 

The depth of her grief stopped the de- 
bate going on inside him about guilt and 
innocence, He would even postpone his 
decision about what to do about Alberto 
and De Vill until luer—write an 
anonymous letter to the police? go him- 
self to the police and take all the risks? 
discuss it with the American Embassy? 
"They had chosen him to pilot their torpe- 
do, and to spend his entrails on the wall- 
paper of a palace room. Maybe he should 


settle it with them personally. He would 
wait, because now she was pulling and 
tugging at him like a child needing com- 
fort. He Jay down beside her. “Oh, yes, 
yes.” she said, unburtoning his clothes. 

Well, sometimes this can resolve a 
man, he thought. A girl pulling off a 
man's clothes provides опе kind of resolu- 
tion, and a mixture of distrust and anger 

ап cause a kind of lust to which, in Paris, 
on that confused afternoon, К. К. Wood 
was willing 10 surrender. 

He lay by her side, holding her, uni 
she stopped weeping. He cradled he 
head upon his shoulder and said shush, 
shush. They were both without clothes. 
Quivering with their doubts, they let the 
tides of evening rise over them. They 
were calmed. 

Then he did what, by this time, they 
both wanted to do. 

They did not leave the room as this last 
1 out, they did not talk, they 
aved to each other again and again, 
ndly, as if it were a first abandoned 
meeting. Indeed, they did not know each 
other and it was like a first meet 
the morning. coming 
awoke from a brief dozing and sa 

I've got to go home 

"Yes" she said. 

He threw on his clorhes as she sat up, 
holding her knees and. watching him in 
the little light of dawn. He was suddenly 
in a great hurry to catch his plane, There 
was no need to explain to Mona; they 
would never know anything of cach other 
except the memory of their need and a 
gratuitous tenderness, and the immense 
debris of history cast up between them. 
He sorted himself into his tangled clothes 
n a children’s story. 

But unlike the fireman, in his hurry he 
broke his shoelace. He ran down the sta 
way to the strect with his loose shoe 
chafing. At the street, as he turned hi 
head up to gaze at the balcony, he real- 
ized that he had not even said goodbye; 
he had been invitably preoccupied with 
the shoclace. She was on the balcony. She 
waved slowly. At such a moment—a flop- 
ping shoe! As he hobbled down the 
street, his foot twisted to keep the shoe 
on, he felt shame because she was watch- 
ing him away for the last time, walking so 
clumsily, going home to his wile, going 
home to his children, 

At the corner he turned. She w 


aloud, 


ed 


again, With his sudden old man’s ungain- 
lines, he hobbled into a teeming city 
crowd—housewives buying bread and 
milk, sleepy blue-clad workmen rushing 


to their jobs, breakfasting on a cigarette, 
the first children going to early classes—a 
crowd in which he knew no one, 

A pale little girl, smiling at his dilem- 
ma, put her hand on his arm, “A piece of 
string, sir?” she asked, undoing the string 
about her lunch box. 


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is thoughtfully subdued and artfully 
commingles with the call of the sca. 

On the south shore of Long Island a 
number of otherwise respectable men 
have made a hobby of oyster piracy. 
There are certain spots in certain coves 
where they can always find oysters in ei- 
ther summer or winter. Often they cat 
them in a style that combines the 
cooked and the raw. In the summer, for 
instance, they place their hootlegged oys- 
ters in the shell on the barbecue fire be- 
fore grilling their steaks. As soon as the 
shells pop open, they snatch the oysters 
from the fire. In the winter, the same 
ritual is performed before an indoor 
fireplace. 

The number of oysters you need for a 
party depends upon their size and on the 
capacity of your guests. On the West 
Coast there Olympia oysters not 
much bigger than a dime. In Australia 
they come a foot in diameter, one of 
which, dipped in flour, egg and bread 
crumbs and fried, fills an outsize dinner 
plate to the rim, On the U.S. East Coast 
large ones are called Cape Сой» or Chin- 
coteagues, even though they never came 
within miles of these Massachusetts or 
Virginia oyster grounds. Small oysters 
are called blue points, after a Long Is- 
ich isn’t their home cither. 
During the summer, in many states an 
oyster ban is proclaimed because it's the 
Since the oyster is so 
n contributing to man's 
могу life, it seems only fair to give 
the oyster its fulfillment in return and, 
incidentally, keep the supply level high. 
Some oysters in the Rless months of 
May through August have a milky, some- 
what insipid flavor. But others don't. 
‘There is no absolute rule. In many areas, 
particularly those bordering the warmer 
waters, the oyster feast goes 
all year long. 

‘The sensual flavor of raw oysters calls 
for beer or stout. But cooked oysters seek 
the libidinous company of champagne 
or dry white wine, such as chablis. 
ch of the following love philters 
serves four and can be administered 
at any hour from brunch to midnight 
supper. 


nd town w 


OYSTER OMELET, WESTERN STYLE 


18 freshly opened small oysters 

1 medium-size boiled potato, pecled 

cup catsup 

ай crumbs 

slices bacon 

8 eggs, beaten 

Salt, pepper 

"Tabasco sauce 

4 tablespoons butter 

4 scallions, white and green parts, thin- 
ly sliced 


Ге omelet may be made in two large 
pans, simultancously, cach containing 
two portions; or half the recipe may be 
repeated in the same pan. Drain oysters 
well, wipe dry with paper toweling, and 
cut cach one crosswise into three pieces. 
Cut potato into very small dice. Com- 
bine oysters and catsup in mixing bowl, 
tossing thoroughly. Coat oysters in 
other bowl with bread crumbs. Chill 
thoroughly in refrigerator. — Prehea 
broiler flame. Cut each slice of bacon 
crosswise into six pieces, place in heavy 
skillet and sauté slowly until crisp. Re- 
move bacon from pan, letting fat те 
main. Fry oyster pieces in bacon fat until 
golden brown. Remove oysters from 
pan, discarding fat, and set aside. Season 
eggs with salt and pepper. Add severa 
dashes Tabasco sauce. Melt 2 table- 
spoons butter in omelet pan or large skil- 
let. Add half the eggs, oysters, bacon 
scallions and potato. Cook as an omelet, 
lifting eggs to permit liquid portion to 
flow to pan bottom. Place pan under 
broiler flame to cook liquid remaining 
on top. Fold omelet in half and slide 
onto platter. Repeat steps with balance 
of ingredients to make second omelet. 


OYSTERS 


ETRAZ 


32 freshly opened small oysters 
Clam broth 
1 cup milk 
14 cup butter 
1 small onion, finely minced. 
14 teaspoon dried tarragon 
14 teaspoon dried chervil 
14 cup flour 
2 tablespoons dry white wine 
Salt, pepper, papri 
a Ш. thin spaghetti 
p shredded gruyère cheese 
i cup р n cheese 

in oysters, reserving liquor. Meas- 
ure liquor; add enough clam broth to 
make 1 cup liquid. Combine with milk 
sauce heat up to boiling 
point. Set aside. In another saucepan 
melt butter; add onion, tarragon and 
chervil. Sauté only until onion turns 
light yellow. St flour, mixing well. 
Slowly add hot milk mixture, stirriug 
with wire whip until smooth. Simmer 
over low flame, stirring frequently, 
about 10 minutes; avoid scorching. Re- 
move from flame and stir in oyst 
wine. Add salt and pepper to taste. Boil 
spaghetti until tender; drain and d 
among four large shirred-egg dishes or 
individual casseroles. Move spaghetti to 
rim of dishes, forming a well in center of 
each. Spoon oyster mixture into center 
prinkle with both kinds of 
nd paprika. Bake in oven pre- 
20 minutes, or until 


n and 


s and 


cheese 
heated to 375° 15 to 
top is lightly browned. 


OYSTER PANCAKES, HORSERADISH DIP 
1 doz. freshly opened large oysters 
Beer or ale 

1 small onion, finely minced 

34 cup bread crumbs 

2 eggs. well beaten 

3 tablespoons melted butter 

Y cup milk 

34 cup sifted Nour 

ing powder 


1 teaspoon salt 

1 cup sour cream 

JA cup mayonnaise 

14 cup light sweet cream 

2 tablespoons horseradish 

2 teaspoons finely minced chi 

Salad oil 

Cook oysters in their own liquor just 
until the edges begin to curl. Remove 
from fire, Reserve liquor. Chop oysters 
coarsely with French knife. Add enough 
beer or ale to oyster liquor to make 1 cup 
liquid. In bow] of mixing machine, com- 
bine oysters, onion, beer mixture, bread 
crumbs, eggs, butter, milk, flour, baking 
powder and salt. Beat at medium speed 
until smooth. Let mixture stand 10 min- 
utes. Combine sour cream, mi i 
sweet cream, horseradish and chives, stir- 
ring with wire whip until smooth, Store in 
refrigerator until serving time, Preheat 
electric griddle or electric skillet set at 
390°. Brush lightly with oil. Drop batter 

bout y cup at a time onto griddle. 
When cakes are light brown on bottom 
nd top edges are dull, turn and brown 
other side. Serve with horseradish dip. 


BAKED OYSTERS WITH MUSHROOM 
24 large oysters on half shell, deep side 
Clam broth 
Y cup light cream 
J4 Ib. fresh mushrooms 
3 tablespoons butter. 
ablespoons flour 
ablespoons brandy 
teaspoon Pernod 
alt, pepper, monosodium glutan 
14 cup butter 
34 cup bread crumbs 
1 tablespoon finely minced chives 
Preheat oven to 400°. Remove oysters 
from shell erving liquor. Measure 
liquor; add cnough clam broth to make 
1 cup liquid. Combine with cream in 
saucepan and heat up to boiling point, 
but do not boil. Set aside. Slice mush- 
ps and stems, very thin and 
té in 3 tablespoons butter until just 
tender. Stir in flour, mixing well. Slowly 
add clam-broth mixture, stirring со 
stantly with wire whip. Bring sauce to a 
boil. Reduce flame and simmer very 
slowly, stirring frequently, about 10 min- 
utes. Add brandy and Pernod. Add salt, 
pepper and monosodium glutamate to 
taste. Remove from flame and divide 
half the mixture among the 24 shells. 
Place an oyster in cach shell, Spoon bal- 


B 
2 
H 


“For God's sake—call a policeman!” 


221 


PLAYBOY 


“Betsy, my darling, didn’t you get my telegram?” 


ance of mushroom mixture on top of 
oysters. Melt 14 cup butter in saucepan. 
Remove from flame and stir їп bread 
nbs 
breadcrumb mixture on top of oysters, 
smoothing tas with spoon or spatu 
half-inch bed of rock 
salt in shallow pan or casserole, (The 
rock salt isn't absolutely necessary, but it 
keeps the oysters in an upright position 
so that as little juice as possible is lost.) 
Bake 15 to 20 minutes. 


PAPRIKA OYST 


ERS 
24 freshly opened large oysters 
10-02. cans frozen oyster stew 
tablespoons flour 

tablespoons butter 

small onion, finely minced 


tablespoons very dry sherry 
egg yolks 
It, pepper, monosodium glutamate 


Melt buter in 
ad sauté until on- 
ion is yellow. Sür in paprika, mixing 
well. Add oyster stew and simmer slowly, 
stirring frequently, until suce is thick 
and all floury taste has d red— 
about 10 minutes. Mix sherry with cgg 
yolks, Add about 1⁄4 cup hot sauce from 
saucepan. thoroughly. Slowly add 
eggyolk mixture to pan, stirring con- 
sianily, until sauce comes up to boiling 
point. Do пог boil. Add oysters and their 


«d and smooth. 


222 liquor. Heat, without boiling, only until 


edges of oysters are curled. Add salt, pep- 
per and monosodium glutamate to taste. 
Spoon oysters and sauce over hot toast. 


OYSTERS CAS 


o 


24 large oysters on half shell, deep side 
% cup butter 
1 small green pepper, finely minced 
4-oz. can pimientos, finely minced 
2 tablespoons finely minced shallots or 

scallions 
1 tablespoon finely minced parsley 
Juice of 14 lemon 
‘Tabasco sauce 
ilt, pepper 

8 slices bacon 

Bread crumbs 

Preheat oven to 400°. Let butter stand 
at room temperature until soft enough 
to spread easily. Combine butter with 
green pepper. pimientos, shallots, ү 
ley and lemon juice. Add a few dashes 
sco sauce and a generous 5 
each of salt and pepper. Mix 
or broil bacon only until i 
drain, and cut h slice cr 
three pieces. Place oysters in а shallow 
pan or casserole on a half-inch bed of 
rock salt. Spread pimiento mixture on 
oyster inkle generously with bread 
crumbs, and place a piece of bacon on 


well. Sauté 


top of cach oyster. Bake 15 to 20 minutes 
or until bacon is crisp. 
“The world is mine oyster" said 


Shakespeare. And a big, wide, wonderful 
onc it is, too. 


BUNNIES OF MİAMİ 


(continued from page 15) 
Year's Eve premiere; "Hefner is a crazy 
likeafox perfectionist, and he deter- 
mined the Club would open only when 
everything was “bull's: 

"Bull'seye" at Playboy Club Interna- 
tional's H. Q. means achieving the just- 
right relationship between а Club's local 
color and its family resemblance to other 
links in the chain. On the one hand, any 
keyholder should be able to enter any 
Club and feel right at home; on the other 
hand, each Club should have its own dis- 
tinctive features that fit neatly into the 
physical and mental landscape of the 
place. Thus, in Miami, for example. 
where, as in most tropi ‚ the pace 
is siestalike by day and saturnalian by 
night, Hefner had his designers create 
unique, comfortably couched oasis of afi 
ernoon ease shelved with hundreds of 
excellent records and fine books. (On a 
recent afternoon visit to the Miami Club's 
Li we noted a keyholder sipping a 
daiquiri and dipping into Simone Weil's 
Waiting for God—a knotty tome rarely 
found in public libraries. A few hours 
later, however, when the moon was over 
mi, Simone was back on the shelf, 
and the Library had turned into a swing- 
ing showroom.) 

Not only major general architectural 
concepts such as the double-duty Library 
nd the back-door yacht marina had to 
be "bullseye" before opening night 
thousand and two specific questions 
were raised and resolved. (Sample Өш 
Should ties and jackets be required in 


Miami's Club as they are in Chicago's? 
Final A.: No, if by day. Yes, if by night.) 
And a thousand and two Bunny hopefuls 


had to be viewed and interviewed and, 
if selected, tutored to a tee. 

To aid the cottontailscomelately in 
the moves and manners they had to mas 
ter before winning their posterior pufis, a 
weeklong cam course called Bunny 
School ted. Presided over by 
several specially trained "Training Bu 
nies from Chicago, the girls spent their 
days in such chiropractical maneuvers as 
bending over backward to le: to bend 
over backward in the Bunny Dip—a 
graceful movement that, considering the 
décolleté cut of their costumes, substan- 
ly minimizes their chances of spilling 
something besides drinks. At night they 
curled up with a book called the Runny 
Manual, an explication of everything a 
Bunny to know from how to say 
“May I see the keyholder’s Key?” invit- 
ingly, to how to say “You may not see 
elucta 

The fruit of such backstage labors is 
the unparalleled, ever-expanding success 
of the Playboy Clubs—and though the 
Bunnies are by no means the whole show, 
they are (translate it as you wil) the 
piéce de résistance. 


hold your spirits with . .. 


THE PLAYBOY 
LIQUOR CADDY 


The blasé Playboy Rabbit adds a touch of joie 

de vivre to bookcase, bar or mantel, while keep- 

ing your favorite potable contained within, 

Removable head allows easy access to 4/5 
quart size bottle. 

Code No. D20, $7.50 ppd. 

Shall we enclose a gift card in your name? 

Send check or money order to: 

PLAYBOY PRODUCTS 


919 N. Michigan Ave. = Chicago, Illinois 60611 


Playboy Club keyholders may charge 
by enclosing key number with order. 


Females by Cole 


^ COCKTAIL 
= NAPKINS 


— Eighteen of Jack Cole's 


devilish, delightful 

females to season your 

next soiree, on 36 white 

cocktail napkins. In. 

cludes Glutton, Persnickety, 
Ambitious and many more. 

$1 per box, ppd. 


Shall we epclose a gilt card in your name? 
Send check or money order lo: PLAYBOY PRODUCTS 

919 N. Michigan Ave. e Chicago, Illinois 60811 
Playboy Club heyholders may charge by enclosing key no. 


THE 
GOLD 
PLAYMATE 
CHARM 


Full-dimension jeweled 
Rabbit in gold Florentine 
finish, suspended from 
a delicate chain. 58, ppd. 


= 


Send check or money order to: PLAYBOY PRODUCTS 
$19 N. Michigan Ave. e Chicago, Ilinois 60611 
Playboy Club keyholders maycharge by enclosing key no. 


In Florida. of course. rabbits have 
been part of the local sporting life for 
decades, but until the amiable invasion 
by the girls with cottontails on their hind- 
sites, Les Bunnies of Miami were strict 
ly bunnysized, felvcovered mechanical 
lures designed to lead the greyhounds a 
futile chase at such establishments as Flag: 
ler Kennels. With apologies to 
we admit to getting more kicks watching 
the 40-some fullscale Bunnies at Play 
boy's run—for reasons which 
should be abundantly clear from the ac 
companying photographic sampler. 

Under their tans, the Bunnies of Mi 
ami are a pretty (extremely pretty) fair 
sample of the 500-plus cottontails who, 
at this writing, are generously distributed 
among 13 Playboy Clubs. Their back- 
grounds (all are at least high school grads 
and almost half have been to college) and 
their foregrounds (averaging out to 36 
2214-85) do not differ statistically from 
those of Bunnies everywhere—and yet, 
there is a sense in which M 
Bunnies are a beautiful breed 
themselves. 

Playmate-Bunny Jean Cannon, who 
unfolded almost all her endearing young 
charms in the October 1961 praynoy and 
began her Bunnyship at the Chicago 
Club at about the same time, put it this 
way: “This Club is, well, more leisurely, 
Та guess you'd say. You know, the tempo. 
Like, а guest here will order a tom collins 
and sip it slowly, and by the time he's 
finished it, a man in Chicago or New 
York might have polished off three mar- 
tinis. You may not like my saying this, 
but let's face it, one tom collins adds up 
to а smaller tip than three ma Bur 
moncy isn't everything, is it?” 

Another lovely young old-timer, Bun 
ny Nancilee Furnish, concurred with 
Jean's comments on the slower Miami 
tempo: “What a relief when I came here 
three years ago all wound up and run 
down from a hectic stint as a secretary in 
Washington, D.C."—but didn't concur 
with Jean’s financial statements, noting 
that by last year, after two years at the 
Miami Club, she had stashed a 
enough inedible lettuce to take a trip 
around the world she used to dream of on 
the family farm back home in Indiana 
"Hong Kong and especially Macao were 
crazy. I went into East Berlin, too. When 
1 came back I decided to study languages. 
That's what 1 do in my spare time now 
but here I am chattering about my 
ahem, un-Bunny self, and I forgot your 
question.” 

It slipped our mind, too (an occupa- 
tional hazard journalists have learned to 
expect when the object of their atten- 
tions is, ahem, gorgeous. However, 
Nancilee’s sojourning and new knowl 
edge of the world enable us to segue into 
a matter of no little importance to Bunny 
recruiters; It’s not just what's up front 


rabbit 


unto 


Fit to be бед... 


THE PLAYBOY 
BOW TIE 


And, for other distinctive neckwear, try the 
Playboy Ascot or the regular Playboy 

Tie. All are of the finest silk, 

featuring the same eye-catching Rabbit design. 


Bow Tie and Ascot are available in 
olive, gray, red and navy. Regular Playboy 
Tie available in red, gray, olive, 
brown, navy, wine and black. 
Playboy Bow Tie, $3.50, ppd. 
Playboy Tie, $5, ppd. 
Playboy Ascot, 510, ppd. 
‘Shall we enclose a gift card in your name? 
Send check or money order to: 
PLAYBOY PRODUCTS 
919 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, Illinois 60621 


Playboy Club keyholders may charge 
by enclosing key number with order. 


= 


T 


PLAYBOY's frolicking Femlin 

Kicks up her heels on these custom 
ceramic mugs. Coffee Mug holds up to 
10 oz. of your favorite hot beverage. 
Beer Mug fills the cup with 

22 oz. of ale or beer. 

Playboy Beer Mug, 

Code No. D4, $5 ppd. 


Playboy Coffee Mug, 
Code No. 016, 32.50 ppd. 


Shall we enclose a gilt card in your name? 

Send check or money order to: PLAYBDY PRODUCTS 
919 N. Michigan Ave. e Chicago, Illinois 60611 
Playboy Club keyholders may charge by enclosing key no. 


223 


PLAYBOY 


that counts; it's also what's upstairs. 

In the brief, bountiful annals of the 
Playboy Clubs. many a beautiful but 
nottoo-bright broad has been heavehod 
before she got her foot in the Bunny 
Department. door. "You've got to keep 
in mind," says Sandra Herron, the smart. 
girl at the desk behind the door, "that we 
have a special problem in recruiting Bun- 
ics. It's one of those so-called "happy 
problems—the unusually high level of 
the nearly half million men who hold 


Playboy Keys. Practically all of them 
went on from college to executive posi- 
tions—they've been around. Wait a min- 


ute,” she said, fishing through a sca of 
pulchritudinous photos and pulling out a 
pamphlet tiled A Study of Playboy Club 
Keyholders Conducted by the Conway | 
Milliken Corp. “Take the worldly-wise 
angle: 71.7 percent take their vacations in 
other countries. When you translate that, 
it means the girls we hire will be dealing 
with a pretty sophisticated bunch of peo 
ple. I'm not saying Bunnies have to be 
Christina Pallozis or Baby Jane Holzers, 
but i's nice if they know who Christina 
id Baby Jane are. 

"You asked about Nancilee’s leave of 
absence to take а trip around the world. 
On the one hand, we hated to lose her 
services even temporarily: on the other 
hand, in the long run, it’s to the Club's 
advantage to encourage Bunnies in any 
educational sort of endeavors—night 
school, travel, et cetera, et ceter; 

Back at the hutch on Bi 
rl who represents the oppo- 
te side of the travel coin: Bunny Jackie 
Brown, a beguiling brownette who's been 
at the Miami Club for three and a half 
y solutely no desire to shift. 
grounds or, to be literal, linorals. Jackie 
(she’s the one feeding a porpoise on page 
136) swears she once c sailfish— 
and threw 


them all back. 

Aside from d ‚ we asked lı 
whats so hot about Miami? It ма 
question we found ourself forced to come 
back to with cach Bunny, because loy- 
aly to their local Club was a charac- 
teristic they all seemed to share to a far 
greater degree than wanderlusty Bunnies 
in other hutches. 

“Tt really is different here,” said Jackie. 
“J worked at the New York Club for 
three months and it was exciting in its 
way, but it's such a big Club, I don't. 
ed on the same person 
twice. Here you get to know the keyhold- 
ers—not off the premises, of course. At 
lunch we sce practically the same people 
every day. ГЇЇ bet E can tell you practical- 
ly what everyone's drinking at the tables 
ht now, without even looking,” she 
, looking. 


“Of course, at night it's sort of the oth- 
er way around. You can always expect a 
surprise—Johnny Carson, Tony Bennett 
or Jackie Gleason. Miami's loaded with, 
well, bign s, but I think 
they have the same feeling about coming 
to the Club that | do, because even at 
night when it swings, it swings in a kind 
of relaxed way. We all get up on the 
piano, one at a time I mean, and twist, 
and Art Cecchini—he's the night man- 
ager—grabs the mike and gets into the 
act. We always kid him that he thinks 
hes Trini Lopez. Can | tell you the 
truth? You know what my ambition 
If you won't think I'm putting you 
on—someday Га like to be а Bunny 
Mother 

The current Bunny Mother at the Mi- 
ami Club is Frankie Helms. а cham- 
pagne-tressed doll with magnums of 
eflervescence. “Somebody told me I ought 
to go on I've Got a Secrei;" Frankie told 
ws first thing. "I'm not married, no chil 
dren, so my secret would be that I have 
had all these children—about eighty-five 
during the years Гуе been here, But you 
know something, in a way it's пие 
such a busy Mother I couldn't find time 
to do 

For the edification of Dr. Spock and 
jone else who docs not know what 
a Bunny Mother does, herewith is a total- 
ly inadequ nkie 
Helms: roles 

She's a Color Analyst: "We have a Bun- 
ny here who absolutely won't wear a 
geen costume. I'm trying to get to the 
bottom of it.” 

She's а Deployer of Troops: “Some- 
thing seems strange, I can't quite put my 
finger on it, then all of a sudden it hits 
-all the Bunnies in the Playroom are 
les and the Living Room has noth- 
ing but brunettes. 

Shes an Apartment 
not have noticed, 


me entertains 


ап 


te description of 


but here and 


are some lovely apartments for new Bur 
nies just coming to town. 

Shes a Disciplinarian: "You can't 
Bunny, beciuse she's got that 


Sun Worrier: "Down from the North 
comes a Bunny pale! wo days late 
she's a lobster. You can't imagine the 
number of problems the sun gives me. 

Indeed we couldn't, and Frankie filled 
us in. “OK, take the strap problem. Sud- 
denly a 1 wearing those hor- 
ntally striped 19207 bathing suits 
h the straps, then they slip inte their 
ny silks and there it is—a big white 
line over each shoulder. At least with 
this problem I don't feel entirely helpless. 
But there is one little twotone trouble 


which is г 
spot it. 

"It" was a tiny white isosceles triangle 
on the outer, upper reaches of the Bun- 
nies’ thighs. “There's just no answe 
Frankie said, “because our costume is cut 
higher at that point than a bikini. Since 
our man in Chicago will never consent 
to lower the hippest part of the Bunny 
costume, the world will just have to find 
a way somehow to make the bikini biki- 
nier. 1 guess,” added Frankie, “with all its 
hang-ups, the world is moving in the 
right after all—forward to 
Ede 

Though the silk-cared Eves in Miami's 
garden spot are outnumbered by those in 
all other Playboy Clubs (except Phoenix), 
no bevy in Bunnydom is more deliciously 
seasoned with man’s favorite spice— 
variety. 

Admirers of the statuesque will find 
themselves invited into the Club by 
Door Bunny Alice Wilder, who, at s 
fect, three, noi counting her silk e 
tops them all And for 
of the-best-thi 


ly unsolvable. See if you сап 


direction 


aficionados 


Bunny Marga 
distributed 89 pounds make her Bunny- 
dom’s reigning petite laureate. 


Between the long and short of it, Mi- 
ami's cottontail contingent includes Cam 
Brock (a first-rate cartoonist), Carole Col- 
lins (a highly ranked professional diver), 
Jnisty Bertrand (holder of a degree 
philosophy from the Sorbonne), Bonnie 
Norris (a dancer who appeared in Guys 
and Dolls and Pajana Game), Diane 
Tucker (a poct who, though she is not 
quite five feet, two, was named, with 
poe Miss Grand Prairic)— 
and the highest per-capita quotient of 
Playmate Bunnies in any Club—from one 
of the earliest, Joyce Nizzari (who debuted 
in PLAYHOY’s December 1958 issue) to one 
of the very latest, Pat Russo (scheduled 
to gatefold next month's PLAYBOY). 

Speaking of Playmates, it might be 
fitting to conclude this pacan to Biscayne 
Bunnydom with more of the same con- 
cerning the young lady on page 145 who 
brings cur photographic display to the 
happiest possible ending—PrAvBov's Miss 
January 1965, Sally Duberson. A descend- 
ant of President James Monro 
1819 purchased Florida from Sp. 
like all her sister Bunr 
Biscayne Boulevard, adds a nifty look- 
but-don'ttouch nuance to what hex illus- 
tious ancestor called “The Era of Good 
Feeling. 


license, 


who in 


Bunny applications may be obtained 
by writing Playboy Clubs International, 
Bunny Department, 232 East Ohio St, 
Chicago, Illinois 60611. 


OLLYWOOD! DREAMSVILLE, U.S.A.! TINSELTOWN ! 

WHERE UNKNOWN YOUNG MEN AND WOMEN FROM 
ALL OVER THE LAND WORK AND PLAY, PRAYING THAT. 
SOMEDAY THEY WILL BECOME ACTORS AND ACTRESSES! 
HOLLYWOOD! WHERE SANDRA DEE, CONNIE STEVENS, 
TROY DONAHUE, CARROLL BAKER AND FABIAN WORK 
AND PLAY, PRAYING THAT SOMEDAY THEY WILL BECOME 
ACTORS AND ACTRESSES! INTO THIS BAGHDAD ON THE 
PACIFIC STEPS SOLLY, THE AGENT, WITH OUR HEROINE — 


BY HARVEY KURTZMAN AND WIC ELDER 
WITH JACK DAVIS AND LAR@N SIEGEL j LEAPIN’ 
~ Г LIZARDS, SOLLY ~ 
^ ¢ IT'S SO EXCITING 
Y BEING HERE IN HOLLY- 
WOOD, WATCHING THEM 
MAKE "DOOMSDAY? 
MOVIES! осон, LOOK! 
THAT BLAST MUST BE THE 
NUCLEAR HOLOCAUST 
SCENE FOR THE NEW FILM, 
"OR. STRANGETASTE"! OR 
16 IT THE H-EOME. 
EXPLOSION FOR THE 
NEW OOOMSOAY 
FILM, *FAIL- 
FAIL” 
П 


"NOT QUITE, SWEETIE-BABY-- IM RUINED! 
THAT BLAST IS I9** CENTURY - FOX WE'RE ALL SET TO SHOOT. 
STUDIO BEING TORN DOWN TO MAKE MY NEW ANTIMILITARY SEX 


чанада FILM,"SEVEN DAYS WITH MAE,” 
AND MY STAR 15 WALKING 


OUT ON ME! 


PLAYBOY 


JOEY, HONEY - BABY 
YOUR TROUBLES ARE OVER! 
ANNIE CAN GO ON FOR THE 
STAR! «+ SHE KNOWS ALL THE 
SONGS, THE OANCES, THE 
WHOLE SHTICK! SHE'S 
WASTING HER TIME IN 
THE CHORUS LINE! 


QUICK, 

БОВЕ! 
IT'S JOE 
LAVERNE, 


THE 
PRODUCER! 


СЕЕ «« | TOLD 


OON'T YOU SEE WHAT YOUR 


YOU SHE'S WASTING DOOMSDAY FILM NEEDS TO DIFFERENTIATE 


HER TIME IN THE 
CHORUS LINE! 


COL. CARRUTHERS, SCUTTLEBUTT 
HAS IT THAT THERE IS A PLOT 


WE OPEN 
AFOOT IN THE PENTAGON TO DEPOSE 


IN THE WHITE HOUSE. 


1 WANT YOU TO SCOUT AROUND AND 


FOR HISTRUSTY WAC 
UNCOVER THE PLOT FOR ME. 


AIOE, COLONEL CAR- 
RUTHEFS,TO HELP HIM 
WITH A PROBLEM! 


* OK-ACTION! YES, 


MR. 
PRESIDENT! 


НІ, GANG. ANY ANTIPRESIDENT 
PLOTS HATCHING IN HERE ? 


EXCUSE ME, 

SOLDIER. COLLO 
YOU TELL ME WHERE 

ROOM 419 152 1 
UNDERSTAND THERE 
MAY BE A PLOT IN 
THERE TO OEPOSE 
THE PRESIOENT. 


NO, BUT WE ARE 

RUNNING A SPECIAL PLDT ON 
THE SECRETARY OF STATE TODAY. 

UNFORTUNATELY, THOUGH, WE 
CAN'T OVERTHROW HIM BECAUSE 
HE'S BUSY OVERTHROWING THE 

SENATE MAJORITY LEADER. 
WHY CON'T YOU TRY K 


ROOM 419 2 


EXCUSE 

ME, GENTLEMEN. 
IM TRYING TO 
UNCOVER A PLOT 
TO DEPOSE THE 
PRESIDENT. OO 
YOU KNOW ANY- 
THING ABOUT IT 2 


as | 


IT FROM OTHER COOMSOAY FILMS? A 
NEW CONCEPT! A NEW ELEMENT! 
A NEW FACE / 


LOOK, MISS = WE'VE Gi 


OUR HANOS FULL THINKING. OF 


WAYS TO OVERTHROW THE 
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE. DON'T 
BOTHER UG WITH PRESIOENTS! WHY 
OON'T YOU TRY ROOM 405 2 THEY 

THINK BIGGER IN THERE / 


LOCK, MISS, SIR, 
WE'RE FROM 
ROOM 419, AND 
PLEASE OON'T 
BOTHER US 
NOW. WE'RE 
BUSY OVER- 
THROWING THE 
SECRETARY 
OF STATE. 


BUT THE MEN IN ROOM 405 ARE 
TRYING TO ОЕРОЅЕ THE SECRETARY OF 
STATE, ONLY HE'S BUSY OVERTHROWING 

THE SENATE MAJORITY LEADER. 


WELL IN THAT CASE, 1 
THINK WE'D BETTER OVERTHROW 
THE MEN IN ZOOM 405. 


WELL >~ THAT'S THE BIG BOARD UP THERE. 
COMSIT, WHENEVER WE SEE AN UNIDENTIFIED BLIP 
E COLONEL CARRUTHERS! ON IT, WE GO INTO VARIOUS CONDITIONS, 
COMSIT f OEPENDING ON THE SERIOUSNESS DF THE 
SITUATION. CONDITION BLUE IS THE LOWEST 
0 CONDITION OF READINESS. THEN COMES 
COMSYMPS CONDITION GREEN, THEN CONOITION YELLOW 
M WRECKED A ANO FINALLY CONDITION RED NUCLEAR WAR ^ 
7: IT'S MY JOB TO OFFICIATE OVER THESE VARIOUS 
$ CONDITIONS IMPORTANT WORK, BUT 1 OFTEN 
WHAT YEARN TO ВЕ OUT IN THE FIELD WITH THE TROOPS. 
PENTAGON TALK! А UNFORTUNATELY, THE ARMY HAS REJECTED 
МЕ FOR FIELD ACTION BECAUSE I'M COLOR BLINO. 


UNIDENTI- 
FIEO BLIP AT 
ANGELS 20, 
SPEED 575, 

HEADING 

198! 


NO» IT'S AN WELL, WHY DONT YOU TELL 
UNMARKEO PLANE THAT TO THE OTHERS HERE 2 


COMING row ALASKA 
WITH A GROUP OF ` 
AMERICAN GENERALS LOOK, THEY HAVE 
TO OVERTHROW THE THEIR. OWN GROUP OF 
PRESIDENT. GENERALS COMING IN 
FROM GREENLAND TO 
OVERTHROW THE PRESIDENT, 
THEY'RE NOT GOING TO 
BEAT MY GROUP TO 
THE PUNCH! 


PURPLE 2МЕ HAVE 
NO PURPLE! 


WHAT A SHANE. 
PURPLE IS NY 

FAVORITE 
COLOR! 


В ; THANKS ТО YOU, сог. W ONCE OUR PILOTS GO PAST 
SERT p AVE CARRUTHERS, THE PLOT THE FAIL- SAFE POINT, NOTHING 

ДНКА ИРЕМ) TO DEPOSE ME HAS САМ TURN THEM BACK! WEVE GOT 
КОМ HOE EE НЕ BEEN SMASHED / TO FIND A WAY TO STOP THAT 


PLANNING TO Peale OEE 
DEPDSE YoU. IT'S PLANE? OUR ONLY Н! 


5 

MR. PRESIOENT/ an W THE PILOT, WAYNE WELCH, на: 

UNTED STATES AMERICAN PLANE HAS M SOMEONE WHO KNOWS FIM 
ARMY AND AIR GONE PAST THE FAIL- f !! ATEL А 


/ ' 
FORCE! SAFE POINT BY MISTAKE, PROUT OF THE MISSION, VIA TELSTAR! 


AND ISON ITS WAY 1 


INTIMATELY, SIR 
$$; > 
t- 
w 


227 


PLAYBOY 


HELLO OUT THERE IN THE 
WILO BLUE YONDER - THIS 
IS COOKIE CARRUTHERS ! 
REMEMBER ME  --- THAT 
CRAZY NEW YEARS PARTY IN 
THE RECRUITING BOOTH ON 
TIMES SQUARE ? THERE'S 
BEEN A LITTLE MIXUP IN YOUR 
ORDERS, LT. WELCH! YOU'RE 
NOT SUPPOSED ТО BONE MOSCOW, 
TURN AROUND AND COME 
HOME ! 


YOU LOOK 
FAMILIAR 
ALL RIGHT, 


LT. WELL 
WELCH, THEN, 
DO RUSSIAN MAYBE 

YOU'RE REALLY 

A TRAITOR 

IN OUR 
STATE 

DEPARTMENT. 


INE HEARD ABOUT 
YOU GUYS ANDYDUR | 


DRESSING UP LIKE 
GIRLS AND ALL! LOOK, 
macy [М HEADING 
FOR MOSCOW! 


SH!SH! IVE GOT THE RUSSIANS ON THE HOT LINE! 


I'M SORRY, 
NR. PRESIDENT. 
IT DIDN'T 


HELLO, MR. PREMIER, 

THIS 15 THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. LOOK, I'M TERRIBLY SORRY, BUT 

OnE OF OUR PLANES GOT OUT OF HANO AND IS ON ITS WAY TO BOMB MOSCOW! 
~ WELL, JUST IGNORE IT. IT DOESN'T COUNT. IT'S A MISTAKE! 

1 WANT To BE FAIR ABOUT THIS. 


LOOK, MR. PREMIER, 


IF WE DO BOMB MOSCOW, OUR AIR FORCE WILL 


ALSO BOMB AN AMERICAN CITY, JUST TO SQUARE THINGS. WHAT WAS THAT 2 
WHICH AMERICAN CITY WILL WE BOME? WELL, HOW ABOUT JACKSON, 


MISSISSIPPI @ 


Е, MR. PREMIER, | JUST GOT A 
OH, THANK GOD! GREAT NEWS! 
OUR PLANE OVERSHOT ITS TARGET! IN 
FACT IT OVERSHOT RUSSIA COMPLETELY / 
MR. PREMIER, GET THIS ` OUR PLANE 
ACCIDENTALLY BOMBEO PEKING / 
WHAT'S THAT ? 
YOU WANT TO RETALIATE 2 You WANT 
TO BOMB SHANGHAI 2 
TELL YOU WHAT, YOU BOME SHANGHAI 
BUT WE GET TO BOMB CHUNGKING— 


M 
PUT US TWO UP ON YOU 2 


HOLD IT! HOLD IT! AS 
THE PRODUCER DF THIS FILM, 
1 SAY THERE ISN'T GOING TO 
BE A BEDROOM SCENE. THE 
FILM ENOS WITH THE CON- 
VERSATION ON THE HOT LINE! 
A BEOROOM SCENE WOULO 
BE IN BAD TASTE. 


&. PREMIER, WHAT OO YOU MEAN, ur 


-A BEDROOM SCENE IN 
BAD TASTE 2 WHAT DO YOU 


THINK THIS IS = 19452 
TODAY, A BEDROOM SCENE 


'S NOTHING! SUT IT Is 


AN ESSENTIAL" NOTHING 


THIS?! IN THE 
PRESIDENTS 


BEDROOM ?/ Й А BEDROOM 


SCENE IS THE ONLY 
ENDING! DON'T YOU. 
GET THE SYMBOLISM ? 
ANNIE REPRESENTS THE 
MILITARY, AND IN THIS FINAL 
SCENE, THE PRESIDENT 
DOES TO THE MILITARY 
WHAT THE MILITARY HAS 
BEEN TRYING TO DO TO 
THE PRESIDENT ALL 
THROUGH THE 
PICTURE # 


1 KNOW I'M EARLY, DADDY BIGBUCKS, AH, ANNIE, MY. THE WHOLE MOVIE IS NOW, GENTLEMEN, 
BUT THE PRODUCER CALLED AN ЕМО | DEAR I'LL BE CRAZY. IMAGINE == THE 1 KNOW YOU CAN TAKE 
TD THE SHOOTING EARLIER THAN FINISHED UP IN MILITARY TAKING Over THE || THE CAPITOL, BUT YOU 
EXPECTED? v: PM SO GLAO You A MOMENT RELAY WHOLE UNITED STATES MUST OCCUPY THE TV AND 
ASKED ME OVER FOR DINNER. WHAT | WHILE THE"WASP GOVERNMENT! = IT'S. RADIO STATIONS, TOO, IF 
A RELIEF TO GET AWAY FROM. MAKES YOU A SD SILLY You WANT TO COUNT 
THAT CRAZY STUDIO. DRINK. MEIN f 
aij aa 


PLAYEOY 


230 


PLAYBOY 
READER SERVICE 


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questions. She will provide you 
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can buy any of the specialized 
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example, where-to-buy 
information is available for the 
merchandise of the advertisers 
in this issue listed below. 


seks ty Jaymar, da 


Use these Hnes for Information about ether featured mer. 


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“THE PLAYBOY CARS—1966""—THE PICK OF THE CURRENT 
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GUILT—BY FREDERIC MORTON 


“THE SILENCE OF OSWALD"—TWO YEARS AFTER THE KEN- 
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