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ENTERTAINMENT FOR MEN APRIL, 1966 6 CENTS 


CONCLUDING IAN FLEMING'S JAMES BOND 
NOVELETTE "OCTOPUSSY" • AN EXPLOSIVE 
INTERVIEW WITH NEO-NAZI ROCKWELL - 
SPRING AND SUMMER FASHION FORECAST 
PLUS KEN W, PURDY, HERBERT GOLD, 
JACK DENTON SCOTT, VLADIMIR NABOKOV 


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to your Saxon Maincoat " the first natural-shoulder raglan. blend of Dacron” polyester and cotton that uses 2-ply 
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(that is, quiet, knowing, unpretentiously male). with The Third Barrier,® our own secret of resistance. 
Impervious to either emotional outbursts or sudden cloudbursts, So tell the lady to weep no more. Her tears just won't get through 
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PLAYBILL "5/5 è bonus month for cover watch- 

ers: Our 148th appears in its usual pos 
tion, but inside arc selections from the 147 that preceded it, 
a ten-page bchind-thescenes look at some of the best—and most 
ingenious and provoca © run in the past 12 yeas. 
April, the girl out front is once again Cynthia Maddox, 
our fivetime covergirl champ, appearing in ten color shots 
chosen from the 361 made by staff photographer Pompeo Posar 
during the three-day shooting of our February 1964 cover. 
(Cynthia portrayed a voluptuous valentine, you may recall) 

Yor those readers who strive for sartorial excellence there is 
Robert, L. Green's annual Spring & Summer Fashion Forecast, 
wherein we are informed that elegance will be in this year and 
gaudiness out. Robert, our sartorial seer for the past seven years, 
tells the shopper how to pre-plan the blending of shirts, ties 
and sweaters to harmonize with suits, slacks and sports coats 
—and thus attain a wardrobe р! inated to the new casual- 
ness that will mark the season. 

Hip to Robert Green's predictions is one of our staff pho- 
tographers, J. Barry O'Rourke, clad usually in the most casual 
attire, although he does own a single Brooks Brothers suit 
that he wears to have his picture taken (sce below right). Barry 
is our expert lensman on the best of all possible pads, having 
shot them from Long Island to Los Angeles (including this 
month's Palm Springs manse), frequently encountering unique 
problems in what is listed on his expense account as “research. 
ow, "research," according to Webster, is (1) “careful or dili- 
gent search" or (2) “studious inquiry.” But Barry takes it one 
step further. For, in addition to careful search and studious 
inquiry, O'Rourke, as photographer of Playboy Pads at Mali- 
bu, Phoenix and New York, has also mixed cocktails, re- 
arranged furniture, washed dishes, cooked dinner, made beds 
Ar attorney James Hollowell's 
ic chores 
entailed. There all Barry had to contend with was а flood 
nundated the entire community for a week. 

“Those who are ignorant of history аге doomed to repeat 
k by the philosopher Hegel might 
nterviewee George Lincoln Rockwell, 
the foor- 


well describe PLAYBOY 
neo-Nazi, and his fanatic followers who trudge 
prints of Adolf Hitler, "the greatest man in 2000 years,” 
according to Rockwell. So when our Alex Haley, who has con- 


ducted more Playboy Interviews for us than anyone else (in- 
duding those with Martin Luther King, Jr, Melvin Belli and 
Malcolm X), undertook the task of quizzing Rockwell, he 
was prepared for the worst. But, surprisingly, Negro-harer 
Rockwell and Negro reporter Haley did find some areas of 
agreement, if, understandably, not much mutual admiration. 
"Alex Haley captivated me with his . . . intelligence and in- 
escapable charm." wrote Rockwell to pLavsoy alter the 
interview. "I recognized Rockwell's hunger for intellectual 
соту said Haley. “I felt certain that he wrestles with 
subterranean regrets that he abandoned two wives and seven 
children; that he made of himself a marked man who can 
never again carn the respect that he could have won with his 
talents.” Haley's unique ability to get an interviewee to limn 
true self-portrait makes his conversation with Rock- 
articularly illuminating one—in view of the public 
image Rockwell strives to project. 

Two perennially popular rLaynoy contributors head our 
fiction list this month. Ken W. Purdy (14 articles and stories in 
our pages since 1057) has written a tense melodrama, the tale 
of a man's impulsive revenge after his humiliation in a judo 
bout in Chronicle of an Event. Herbert Gold (82 vravnov ap- 
pearances since 1955) offers a warm story of his Cleveland boy. 
hood in Marriage, Food, Money, Children, Ice Skating. In 
addition, we are concluding this month two serializations, our 
James Bond adventure Octopussy by lan Fleming (to be pub- 


lished this summer in hardcover by New American Library), 
and Vladimir Nabokov's eerie-witty, many-leveled horror tale, 
Despair. All five installments of the later have been illus- 
trated by Roland Ginzel, whose paintings have unfailingly 
captured the existential spirit of the famed authors work. 
Ginzel is currently teaching in Chicago, has works hanging in 
the permanent collections of the Art Institute of Chicago and 
the Dallas Museum of Fine Arts, and has exhibited in the 
Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Modern 
Art in New York City. 


ist. The tiger is nameless, the target of big game hunter Jack 
Denton Scott, in Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright, the second 
Scot we've run that will be part of his book Passport to 
Adventure, forthcoming from Random. House. 

And still more: In Part VIII of The History of Sex in 
Cinema, Arthur Knight and Hollis Alpert explore the sex 


stars of the 1930s, among them Jean Harlow, Marlene 
Dietrich, Mae West, Hedy Lamarr and, of course, Garbo; in- 
cluded are wo pages of hitherto unpublished Harlow nudes; 
and The Goblet of Dreams by Ira Cohen, who writes about a 
potently hallucinogenic mulating Moroccan 
delicacy from whence springs untold delights. Plus—as in all 
issues of rLAYnoy—imany other features, pictorial and prose- 
worthy, for your delectation. 


HALEY — GREEN 


CINZEL 


PLAYBOY. 


Fashion Forecast 


Playboy Pod 


Cover Story 


b ek 


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TLL RIGHTS RESERVE. NOTHING MAY BE REPRINTED 
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MISSION FROM THE PLOLISHES. ANY SIMILARITY 
TEIWEEN THE PEOPLE AND PLACES IN THE FICTION 
AND SEMIFICTICN IK TWIS MAGAZINE AND ANY REAL 
CREDITS: COVER: MODEL cynthia макоок. BE. 


PAINTING RY ROY SCHMACKENDERG, P 
ons. SHESMAM OAKS. CALIFORNIA; P. 125 PHOTO 


PLAveoy, APRIL, Ws. VOL. M то. d 
Sor SUiLBING, 232 Е. CHIO ST., CHICAGO, п. 
mons: IN THE U5, 86 топ ONE TEAR. 


vol. 13, no. 4—april, 1966 


CONTENTS FOR THE MEN’S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE 


PLAYBILL E gine u t5 
DEAR PLAYBOY - 9 
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS... oe, E 
THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR pot БЕ 51 


PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK 


z PATRICK CHASE 59 


THE PLAYBOY FORUM... = (€— к-К ТД 
PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: GEORGE LINCOLN ROCKWELL—candid conversation... 71 
CHRONICLE OF AN EVENT—fiction с KEN W. PURDY 84 


PLAYBOY'S SPRING & SUMMER FASHION FORECAST —ottire ROBERT L. GREEN 89 
OCTOPUSSY — fiction -IAN FLEMING 102 


TIGER, TIGER, BURNING BRIGHT—sports -JACK DENTON SCOTT 106 
MALIBU BEACHNIK— playboy's playmate of the month... лов 
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor... z x = né 
A PLAYBOY PAD: PALM SPRINGS OASIS—modern living — —À 


THE GOBLET OF DREAMS—article IRA COHEN 125 
lion. HERBERT GOLD 127 


128 


MARRIAGE, FOOD, MONEY, CHILDREN, ICE SK ATING— 


THE PLAYBOY COVER STORY —picts 


THE DOUBLE DECEPTION OF JANOS THE JACK—ribald classic. ..... 41 
THE HISTORY OF SEX IN CINEMA —article.. ARTHUR KNIGHT ond HOLLIS ALPERT 142 


DESPAIR—fiction. 2. Ls VLADIMIR NABOKOV 150 


ON THE SCENE—personolities — . 160 


THE PLAYBOY ART GALLERY —humor.. JIM BEAMAN 215 


HUGH м. HEFNER editor and publisher 
A. С. SPECTORSKY associate publisher and editorial director 
arthur PAUL art director 


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


SHELDON WAX Senior edilor; PETER ANDREWS, FRANK DE BLOIS, MURRAY FISHTR, NAT 
LEHRMAN, WILLIAM MACKLE associate editors; овехт 1. GKEEN fashion director; 
DAVID TAYLOR associate fashion editor: THOMAS MANO food ё drink editor; PATRICK. 
CHASE travel editor; J. PAUL ceriy contributing editor, business & finance; CUAWLES 
BEAUMONT, RICHARD GEHMAN, KEN W, PURDY contributing editors; ARLENE BOURAS 
copy chief: mock WIpEXFR assistant editor; BEY CHAMBERLAIN associate picture 
editor; woNNIE BOYIK assistant picture editor; MARIO CASILLI, LARRY GORDON, J. BARRY 
O'ROURKE. POMPEO POSAR. JERRY VULSMAN slaff photographers; STAN MALINOWSKI 

g photographer: кър caste models? stylist; eID AUSTIN associate art 
director; JOSI ACZIK assisiant art direcior; WALTER ҚКАРЕХҮСИ art. assistant; 
CYNTHIA MADDOX assistant cartoon editor; JOHN MASTRO production manager; ALLEN 
Varco assistant production manager; pat PAPAS rights and permissions e HOWARD 
(LEDERER advertising divector: озеги FALL advertising managers JULES KASE associ 
ate advertising manager: SHERMAN KEATS chicago advertising manager; JOSEPH GUEN 
тигк detroit advertising manager; NELSON FOTEN promotion director; WELMUT LORsCH 
publicity manager; WENNY DUNN public relations manager; ANSON MOUNT public 
affairs manager: Turo VREDERICK personnel director; JANET PILGRIM. Teader 
service; waer момАкти subscription fulfillment manager: ELDON SELLERS 
Special projects; ROWERY S, PREUSS business manager € circulation director. 


The easy-to-take Bahamas. 


Bring us your tattered nerves, your pale 
frame, your bending spirit. And your wife. 
The Bahama Islands will supply you both 
with the golden sun, crystal water, pink 
sand and secluded bowers. 

We also offer 700 romantic islands and 
cays to explore. Palm-fringed beaches to 
comb. Undersea gardens to gawk at. For 
the hushed nights, we've arranged for a 


Getting away from it all at Freeport on Grand Babama Island, Photograph by Ardean R. Miller IH. 


After fifty weeks at your desk, take two on the isles. 


magnificent, low-hanging moon and jewel- 
like stars. And if you insist, there is also 
golf, tennis, sailing and fishing. 

Tt takes just 215 air hours to get to the 
Bahamas from New York; a half-hour 
swoop from Miami. If you arrive after 
April 18th, you'll find hotel rates down by as 
much as one-third. Better mail the coupon 
and talk to your Travel Agent. 


Homeric nails Sats. at 4 P.M, 7. 


Di 
needed by Û 


ww 11 à 
tizens; some proof of citizenship recommended. 


Bahamas Ministry of Tourism 
1701 First National Bank Building 
Minmi, Florida 33131 RA 


Please send free vacation literature to: 


1 Nume, 


Street. 


Bahama & Is О 


What 
are you 
' staring at? 


Didn't you 
ever see 
Arnold Palmer 
wearin 
golf clothes 
made with 
Vycron 
polyester? 


This care-free Robert Bruce 
classic in knit birdseye mesh 
can't really change your game. 
But you'll look great anyway. 
It's about $9. 


Her Aeneld Palmer Col Clothes by Loomtoge 


Looks great, right? Let’s say you wear these clothes. Would you do as well? 

Maybe not. But it sure will make you look and feel like a pro. This handsome collection 
of coordinated golfwear is made with Vycron polyester for lasting freshness. 

That’s why you look as good at the 36th hole 

as you do when you tee off. No matter what kind of game you play. 


How can you take your 

hat off to a pretty girl, 

unless you're wearing опе? 
We suggest this light 

Hal Joseph crushable hat 

that's water repellent. About $5 


Surprising how this 
Robert Bruce Cardigan Jac 
follows through when 

Arnold Palmer js wearing it. 
(We wish the same to you.) 
plenty of swinging 
this knit 

birdseye mesh. About $6. 


You can look just like 

Arnold Palmer making a tricky 
putt, in easy-care Sunstate Slacks. 
We can't guarantee you'll make it. 
But you'll have the same attached 
belt, umbrella buckle. 

tee pocket and towel loop. At $10.95. 
Golî shorts at $6.95. 


Ў = 
s Еге 


|} sudden showers: If they ask 
P “How were you in the rain? 
say “Dry.” Wear this 
Durable Press Windbreaker 
with pleated “action back” 
that’s water repellent. At $13.95. 


Vycron polyester sorer fne prota of Beaunit Fibers 


if, E g 4t. айр cule somelhing жасу for H larry i 


She knows Harry can be a tough man to 
please. So does Ford. That's why there's 
an insinuation of adventure in the sporty 
lines of Mustang's low-slung, sleek roof. 

There'sthe promise of comfort thatcomes 
with wall-to-wall carpeting, pleated-vinyl 
interior trim, and hip-hugging bucket seats. 
And the hint of excitement in the standard 


sports steering wheel, three-speed floor 
shift, and frisky 200-cu. in. Six. 

If these light fires in Harry's imagination, -Ah 
heres по teling what а Sereo-Tape sys. A MUSTANG 
tem, Power Brakes, Power Steering, or „== 
other options from Mustang's long list (over 
seventy) will suggest to him. 

That's why there is a Mustang, Virginia. 


DEAR PLAYBOY 


ЕЗ лоок PLAYBOY MAGAZINE * 232 E. оно ST., CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 60611 


CENSORS CENSURED 

Kenneth Tynan's The Royal Smut- 
Hound (January) made me envy the 
British, because they apparendy have 
only one such creature, while we have a 
whole pack in our courts and post office 
1 used to be against all censors, until I 
realized that television in particular 
probably does affect the actions of peo- 
ple, Certainly, the advertisers must think 
it docs, I have no doubt that erotic 
scenes on television would amuse chi 
dren and cause many adults to make 
love more than they ordinarily do. 
That's why I am against the censorship 
of sexuality. But I'm not against the 
censorship of violence and sadism in 
mass media. What can one say of a so- 
ciety that regards the sight of a woman's 
breast on the home screen as a shocking 
disgrace, but that provides all kinds of 
murder for the enjoyment of the kid- 
dics? If television really does affect the 
actions of people in ways more impor- 
tant than buying habits, God help us. 
Our censors will have created a nation of 
sexless killers. 


Sloan Wilson 
New York, New York 
Best-selling author Wilson speaks with 
more than laymanly knowledge about 
the flannel-headed grim gray mentalities 
that prefer the sickness of violence to 
healthy sexuality. 


Ken Tynan’s vivisection of the Lord 
Chamberlain, England’s theatrical watch- 
dog, proves censorship is insane. 

When my play The Connection was 
produced in London, I had occasion to 
deal with the Lord Chamberlain's office. 
My producer informed me that several 
phrases and words had been censored. 
“shit” was the main offender and had 
been deleted 11 times, Nine references 
to "Christ" in such contexts as "Christ 
almighty” and “Christ's sake" were cx- 
punged. The phrase "What do you want 
me to do? Bend over and drop my 
was removed. 1 decided to 
remedy the situation and went to St. 
James’. The gentleman I got to sce was 
six feet, six inches and every inch a 
andhurst graduate, complete with a 
Guard's пе and suede shoes. He was 
aflable and charming. He offered me a 
cigarette and we got down to business. 


PLAYBOY, APRIL, 1968, VOL 13, no. 


TW FALL, ADVERTISING WARAGER; SHERMAN KEATS, 
Mi 2-1000. DETROIT, JOSEPH GUENTHER, MANAGER, 


“Why 
Christ?” 
“Blasphemy.” It was final 


take out the reference to 


Nothing 


could move that. 
“And whar's this thing here 

ed to the deletion of the 

pants” phrase. 
“Literally homosexu: 


I point 
drop my 


“Are you joking 
"No, were you? 
Т was about to launch into a long 

speech which could be summed up as: 


"You are out of your mind!” 
Actually, my major concern was to 
get the “shit” ban lifted. The other 


things were not very important for the 
play. “What about the word ‘shit? 
"Well"—he almost said, “old fellow" 
—"we couldn't allow it.” 

Why not" 1 explained that "shit" 
was used to refer to heroin, because it 
is a common colloquial synonym for 
heroin used by addicts. 

“Well, if you use it, then everyone will 
be using it. Once we pass оп a word, 
you sce, it cam be used by anyone 
Can you think of the way it could be 
used in the wrong hands? The English 
theater would be full 01—— He caught 
himself just in time. 

I was not allowed to use the word. 
There is no legal recourse. As Tynan 
points out, there seems litle chance that 
Parliament will send the Lord Chamber 
lain off to а rest home. 

Curiously, in England the movie of 
The Connection given an X cer- 
tificate (adults only) and not a word was 
censored, Just the opposite occurred in 
America. Not one Government official 
суст approached me regarding the lan- 
guage of the stage original, but the 
movie was banned by the New York 
State censors (now defunct) and a bur- 
densome and costly һаше had to be 
won in the courts. 

Jack Gelber 
New York, New York 

While the January issue containing 
“The Royal Smut-Hound" was still on 
the newsstands, Tynan found himself 
involved in a semantic brouhaha in Eng 
land for using the four-letter word on 
а BB.C-TV panel show dealing with 
sexual explicitness in the theater. The 
ensuing uproar indicated that neither 
British television nor officialdom was 
ready for such explicitness. 


CHICAGO, ILLINOIS Kos. SUBSCRIPTIONS: IN THE U.S, ITs POSSESMIONS, THE PAN AMERICAN URON Ane 
SAMADA, $20 FOR THREE YEARS, 315 FOR THO YEARS, $0 FO ОКЕ YEAR, ELSEWHERE ADD $4 г PER YEAR Fon ronticH 
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ABVERTIOING DIRECTON: JULES KASE, ASSOCIATE ADVERTISING MANAGER, 405 PARK 
CHICAGO MANAGER, 
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таз E. OHIO STREET, CHICAGO, ILL, войт 


PERKINS, MANAGER, куга BEVERLY BOULEVARD, CL 2.1750; SAM FRANCISCO, ROBERT E. STEPHENS, MANAGER, 110 SUTTER STREET, 
YU 27004) SOUTHEASTERN REPRESENTATIVE, FINNIE B BROWN, 3108 PIEDMONT ROAD, M. E., ATLANTA, GA. 30908, 233.6720 


SWnadHvd NIANVT 


sluvd 


promise her 


anything... 
but give her 


> 
AJ 
U 
1 
@ 
m 


Where do you start? 
What do you need? 
Where does it end? 


You start with a sports car. $5308. 


A time-distance-mileage computer. 
To work it you really need a good 
navigator 


Rallying is traditionally а gentlemen's sport. So look the 
part. Traditional. Khal ist won't do. A pair of textured, 
heather-toned oxford weave Cricketecr slacks of 55% Dac 

топ" & 45% worsted will do. Just finc. Which also happens 
to be the way they fit. 


А good navigator. 


Take along some sandwiches, With a little luck and 
‘one wrong turn, you'll end up lost. 


CRICKETEER SLACKS 


At most knowledgeable stores. Or write Cricketer, 1290 Avenue of the America's, New York for your free 
copy of Knowmanship Il, а young man's guide to Social Triumphs, *DuPont Reg. TM. for its polyester fiber, 


IDAHLATRY 
Roald Dahl is already in line for 
his second consecutive PLAYnov annual 
fiction award. The Last Act (January) is 
probably one of the finest masterpi 
of short-story writing since the days of 
O. Henry. Only, Mr. Dahl will have to 
give PLAYBOY a great deal of ciedit for 
the fact that his subject matter is accept- 
able today, as it sure as hell wouldn't 
in O. Henry's time. 
A. R. Calvert. 
Oroville, California 


PLAYBOY MANSION 
The piece on the Playboy Mansion in 
your January issue is the best pictorial 
that you have ever published. And that 
shot of Playmate Terre Tucker sun- 
bathing on the roof is too much. 
Dan Nibblelink 
Boulder, Colorado 


Т have just completed the tour through 
"Hefnerland," and must concede that 
the Playboy Mansion is one of the most 
fascinating homes in the world. 
J. Lamar Veatch, Jr. 
Louisville, Georgia 


Like the magazine itself, the Playboy 

Mansion is a remarkable example of 

Editor-Publisher Hefner's good taste. 
Charles M. Shannon 
New York, New York 


"The Playboy Mansion is truly mag 
nificent and the Mansion Bunnies put 
to shame the seraglio of а Moorish 
caliph 
William M. Ludwig, M.D. 
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 


1 just finished the article on Hef's pad 
and, boy, am 1 jealous! When I'm rich 
and famous can I come and play in his 
house, too? 


Susan Williams 
Aurora, Colorado 


I would like to commend those re 
sponsible for the fascinating feature on 
Hugh Hefner's home. It was ап excit- 
ing experience visiting the Playboy Man- 
sion—with the January article making 
it almost seem like 1 was there in pe 
son. I was especially impressed by the 
interesting diversity in guests invited to 
the Mansion, from the beautiful Play 
mates to some of the most talented and 
thought-provoking personages of our 
time. It appears that Mr. Hefner has 
successfully created a personal environ 
ment in which work and play, leisure 
comfort and creative activity are truly 
in harmony with one another. He is to 
be congratulated 

Neil L. Cohen 

Beechhurst, New York 


Some of us in the low-income brackets, 
for whom the PLAYBOY world is more 


No Scotch 
improves 
the flavour 
of water 


like 4 
Teacher s 


& MD, 
$ [EACHER'S 
LT HIGHLAND 


by Revion 


A GENTLEMAN'S COLOGNE 


ANO AFTER-SHAVE LOTION. 
ALSO SPRAY-OEODORANT BOOY TALC, 
SOAP, TALC, PRE-ELECTRIC SHAVE. 


an aspiration than a rea to 
attend a Playboy Club; and we shall 
never sec, firsthand, the interior of the 
fabulous Playboy Mansion. But in the 
pages of our favorite magazine, we 
enjoy both. This will have to sufüce 
until some miracle befalls us. In the 
meantime, thanks for the pictorials on 
the things that dreams are made of— 
and especially for the splendid story on 
the Hefner Mansion, Wow, what a pad! 
carl С. Smith 
Portsmouth, Ohio 
It doesn't take a miracle, Earl. A few 
short years ago, it was nothing but a 
dream for Hejner, 100. 


ity, have у 


With a home like that, where does 
Hefner go on vacation? 
James A. Benet 
Boulder, Colorado 
With a home like that, who needs a 
vacation? 


ADLER, FADIMAN AND BOOKS 
While reading Clifton Fadiman's рге 
dicions in January's The Great Books 
of 2066, T alternated between damning 
Fadiman's ancestry back to that protein 
blob (ignoring Hemingway and cum. 
mings and inserting Rilke—the very 
idea!) and wondering if Queen Elizabeth 
had the power to vacate the critic's chair 
at Oxford for old “Clif” (did you dig 
those comments on Camus and Mann?) 
As soon as T finished the article I 

leaped to the typewriter to dash off let 
ters to Lionel Trilling. Hugh Hefner, 
L.B. J.. The National Geographic Society 
and Playmate Judy Tyler (don't laugh. 
she might know somcone) to determine 
what could be done to remedy the over- 
sights and reward the “correct” selec 
tions. But after much crumpled paper, 
1 decided to take direct action: Since I 
am in the English department here at 
the university. | merely called а few 
friends over, each of whom brought some 
beverages known for their powers of re- 
laxation, and we proceeded to thrash it 
all out. Unfortunately, the results remain 
unknown. Ouly this letter and our thanks 
for а most provocative article still ex 
to mark the occasion 

Michael D. Johnson 

Eastern New Mexico University 

Portales, New Mexico 


Apparently this is serious business, 
picking todays works that will be “the 
classics of tomorrow." Look at the Play- 
bill pictures on page six of your January 
issue. At least Bennett Cerf, bless him, 
looks like he's having fun. But Mortimer 
Adler and Clifton. Fadiman аге sooo ser- 
iousss. They are about to embark on 
their project like a couple of embalmers 
with wisdom and formaldehyde. 

But how serious a business are these 
lists of “great books"? In the 1920s 
a highly respected bibliophile, Merle 
Johnson, made up a list. And Ais cla 


included Hans Breitmann's Party and 
Message from Garcia, For heaven's sake 
All this nonsense is part of the Americ 
obsession with the "box score": runs, hit 
errors, times at bat, ctc 

I remember as а kid keeping а liul 
book by Ralph Waldo Emerson, called 
Miscellanies, for two whole years. Метс 
rized it. (Would that thousands of ош 
high school boys and girls could forget 
these "lists" and at least read Emerson's 
Miscellunies for the next two years.) And 
then 1 went on to a bit of Shakespeare 
and Plutarch, and Plutarch set mc off on 
a big project to learn more abont the 
Greeks and the Romans, and an agnostic 
social worker in the settlement house 
told us that no writer in world history 
had written а more perfect short story 
than the story in the Bible of Ruth and 
Naomi. After a half century of reading, 1 
agree with him 100 percent 

And where in the Adler-F 
is Heine? Ah, Heine. And since they 
mention Mars, what about Henry 
Georges Progress and Poverty? And 
when you speak of the 20th Century 
where, for heaven's sake, is Churchill? 

But I am making up a box score of my 
own, am I not—and this is something I 
must avoid at all costs. The main pur 
pose, it seems to me, is to decrease our 
country’s 53 percent who cannot read 
above a fifth-grade level. Is this not so? 
Well, you'll never do it with Apollonius. 
Gilbert and Huygens, But you may do it 
with Emersons Miscellanies. 

Harry Golden 
Charloue, North Carolina 

All well and good. Harry, but for our 
2¢ plain, you missed the point. Adler 
and Fadiman were dealing with 20th 
Century authors. Of those you recom 
mend, only Churchill falls into that 
time slot 


diman lists 


PRESIDENTIAL PARALLELS 

Two men, above others, have left an 
impact upon this decade: John XXIII 
and John F. Kennedy. One was old, one 
was young. Both held power but briefly 
One was the son of a rich financier, one 
the son of a small farmer, What they had 
in common was their integrity. In your 
December issue, Jim Bishop has drawn 
across the decades and. in fantastic detail 


а comparison down to the smallest items 
between Presidents Lincoln and Kennedy 
Much may be coincidental and will chief. 
ly give pleasure to the astrologers (were 
their horoscopes the same). What must 
impress the political scientist is that like 
tcmperaments—induding disregard of 
personal safety, courage, a certain fatal 
п. dedication to duty—confronting 
¢ social situations with their attendant 
tical hates, produced in history the 
like behavior and the like results 
Professor George E. С. Gatlin 
London, England 


The finest th about the Lincoln: 
Kennedy article was your art director. As 


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wear constantly. Stay serenely comfortable. Nonchalant about care. 
Snub ironing. Spurn wrinkles. Keep their press everlastingly — 

thanks to INSTANT-WEAR finish. Guaranteed for (1) year. The fabric 

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About 65° in Waist and Length sizes. At most stores, or write to: 


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a former editor of Colliers and Liberty, 1 
marvel at the simple elegance of his lay 
out. Most of the people who were kind 
enough to comment about the article 
quite properly reserved their best adjec 
tives for the artwork. It made me look 
good. 

Jim Bishop 

Hallandale, Florida 


PLAYMATE REVIEW 
After January's Playmate Review, 
there be any doubt? Allison Parks for 
Playmate of the Year. 
James Gerber 
Los Angeles, California 


Who masterminded the April 1965 
pictorial on Sue Williams? She was great 
in the foldout, but I, like many, was cu- 
rious as to the reason for the sweater. 
The photo in January's Playmate Re 
view reveals the truly outstanding form 
of Miss Williams. The long-range effect 
is nothing less than fantastic. If there is 
any question as to who should represent 
PLAYBOY as its Playmate of the Year, let 
me nominate Sue Williams. 

Ben Greenway 
Wichita, Kansas 


Sally Duberson has got to be Play 
mate of the Year. The rest shape up as 
also-rans. 

Robert O'Rourke 
Boston, Massachusetts 

Tune in next month. gentlemen, when 
the Playmate of the Year premieres in 
living color 


CATCH IN THE WRY 
1 have been reading rLaysoy for beuer 
than a year and until now have not been 
significantly offended. However, Just Who 
Is J. D. Salinger? (January 1966) is а 
confusing, disappointing picce of scram: 
bled literature. Being one of Salinger's 
avid readers, I have read cach of his 
books several times and consider each 
reading a new and rewarding experi 
ence. It is terribly difficult to accept the 
possibility that Jerome David Salinger is 
in reality Н. Allen Smith. 
T. A. Stone 
Michigan Technological University 
Houghion, Michigan 
Actually, Т. А. Stone іх really J. D. 
Salinger. The question is: Who is H. 
Allen Smith? 


PLAZA PLEASED 
PLAYBOY is always a most interesting 
agazine, but the January issue was 
especially so for us here at The Plaza 
The feature Man at His Leisure was an 
excellent one—the writer certainly caught 
the spirit of the area as did the artist, 
LeRoy Neiman. 
Alphonse W. Salomone 
Vice President and General Manager 
The Plaza 
New York, New York 


Ducati is for the connoisseur. The rider who 
demands quality craftsmanship. The rider who wants 
а machine, not a toy. Is this you? Then Ducati is for 
you. Definitely! 

Ducati, you see, is made in Italy where old- 
world craftsmanship is still a fine art. The men who 
make Ducati take pride in their work. They don't 
hurry. They don't cut corners. They lavish skillful 
attention on every detail. 


Like Ducati's exclusive gear-driven overhead 
iven. 
Like Ducati's lower RPM with higher HP, which 
means longer engine life. Years longer. 


Expensive? Ducati’s start as low as $229. 

Check this price against mass-produced jobs. 
And compare the quality while you're at it. 10 great 
models to choose from. Look them over 


now at your Ducati dealer's. 
Berliner Motor Corp., Dept. F4 Narbrouck Heights KA 


The Thoroughbred of Motorcycles 


PLAYBOY 


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FARMER FUROR 
James Farmer's January article, When 
Will the Demonstrations End?, has, in 
my judgment, rendered an enormous 
service in the batte he has so eloquently 
led. We've long waited for candor 
about black nationalism, for a militant 
defense of demonstrations and some 
suaight talk about the roots of rioting 
Farmer has upended the villains, ex- 
posed the fools and paid a longovcrduc 
tribute to the troops. 
Steve Nagler 
New York. New York 


As a veteran supporter of and dem- 
onstrator with the NAACP, I cannot 
respect. but only deplore. James Farm 
сгэ despicable and bigoted methods of 
whitewashing Negro mistakes and black 
washing white attempts at reconcilia 
tion. It is always a pity to see a man 
blind to peace through hat 
Stephen Eidolon 
University of Oklahoma 
Norman, Oklahoma 


IRE IRE 

Your pictorial saga Little Annie Fan 
ny, that appeared (as you may recall) in 
our January issue, has pur the cat 
mongst the pigeons in my family; my 
father is in high dudgeon because he 
aims that a character depicted therein 
(the one with the gap, actually) bears а 
very close resemblance to himself. 

I suppose I should point out that my 
father and I are as alike as two crum 
pets. but as your drawing is of a man 
over 40 years old, it is obviously not me: 
as my father is older than I am (as is 
normal in a father and son relationship). 
he feels it is quite obviously him (or he). 

Needless to say, this has caused him a 
great deal ol embarrassment; but he 
begs me to tell you that he is willing to 
keep the matter ош of the courts if you 
will furnish him with the name and tele 
phone number of the lady who inspired 
your artist 10 create L. A. F. You see, for 
many years he has been looking for a 
cure for bronchitis and he feels that she 
might well be it 
"Temy-Thomas 
London-on-Thames, England 


FULL GIRCLE 

Re Alan Wats The Circle of Sex in 
the December issue of PLAYBOY: 1 am sur 
prised that Watts, who is usually a care- 
ful observer of human affairs, should 
have been taken in so thoroughly by the 
xe of Gavin Arthur's circle-of-ses 
avin, whose main job in lile 
any years has been that of serving 
as an apologist for fixed homosexuality, 
has distorted the findings of Kinsey and 
others and has devised a chart that is far 
more astrological than scientific. His no 
tions of sesuality are highly infantile 
and have litle to do with objective reak- 


ity. It is kindly of Waus and Arthur to 
fight against our despising homosexuals 
—which I have done myself for many 
years in my talks and writings; but it is 
silly to deny that Dykes and Queans are 
intrinsically se isturbed, quite 
apart from our unfair attitudes toward 
them, It is also unscientific to contend 
that all human sex "types" have their 
exact opposites and that their “opposite 
ness” or “sameness” causally affects their 
attractions to members of the opposite 
or same sex. A nice, neat theory—but 
basically astrological in nature. 

Abert Ellis, Ph.D. 

The Institute lor Rational Living 

New York, New York 


There are many brilliant men who 
seem to be relatively unknown outside а 
small sphere of influence. Alan Watts is 
just such а man. T am delighted 10 see 
that you have published an article of his 
in the December issue. But m 
that you use him zs а subject of one of 
your interviews? I think that you will 
find his philosophy quite profound and 
challenging. In particular, his views on 
sex and the man-woman relationship are 
consistent with but, I believe, more pro 
found than those in The Playboy Philos- 
ophy. Dr. Watts views sex as a way of 
discovering our original identity with 
the naw iverse and of regaining 
our basic organic spontaneity 

David Perry 
Jackson, Mississippi 


T suggest 


VOICE HEARD FROM 
More damn people have pointed out 
that picture and story you ran (On the 
Scene, December) than have done so on 
most of my recent publicity. 1 didn't 
need personal proof of -vynov's pulling 
power, but it is interesting to get it 
nevertheless. 
John Chancellor, Director 
USIA Broadcasting Service 
Washington, D. C. 


SHEEPISH SHEPHERD 


lam ou 


Ч 10 find that your edi 
tors, in а moment of pique, have award 
ed me a covered prize, namely, the laurel 
leaf for the best Humor /Sutire. piece to 
be published by rrAYmov in 1965. This 
Will prove to be a calamitous blow to my 
hard-earned reputation, gained over in- 
numerable rocky years of ceaseless vigi- 
lance as well as honest toil, as a genuine, 
Mother-lode, Certified, Los 
er! If the news of this award leaks ош, I 
will be ruined! And my blood will be 
on your hands. 1 know of nothing in 
The Playboy Philosophy that advocates 
Murder or Career Assassination as an 
After Hours sport. 

I presume that you are prepared — 
once I am in rack and ruin—to take me 
in, to give me simple lodgings in the 
Playboy Mansion, or a humble position 
in the Mail Room after the news of your 


GPS, 


Ce Mangal 


шү гай! 


опа]: 


»! 


versi D Oe p xL $ 


in 
M ш Г, 


insidious award has taken its full effect 
on the edifice of Failure which I have so 
painstakingly constructed 

Jean Shepherd 

New York, New York 


PUSHKINSHIP 
December's Czar Nikita and His 40 
Daughters was one of PLAYBOY's most 
playful features. Ribald and wildly ridic 
ulous, it is both lively and laughable. 
You are to be congratulated on its in- 
clusion in the December issue, and 
Walter Arndt is to be commended for 
catching the naughtiness without vul 
garity in his translation 
Louis Untermeyer 
Newtown, Connecticut 


FROM VIETNAM 

1 just wanted to write and thank you 
for what you have done for the guys 
here in Vietnam. I am presently the 
Commanding Oficer of C Company, 


588th Engineer Battalion (Combat), 
which is in the Bien Hoa area supporting 
the 17$rd Airborne Brigade. Lt. Jack 
Price is а classmate of mine (U.S.M. A. 


'64) and I believe the name may be 
familiar t0 you. 

Jack is presently in the 93rd Evacu 
tion Hospital with a very severe sniper 
wound. The only reason he has not been 
evacuated to the States already is because 
COLOGNE AND AFTER SHAVE he won't let them move him until Jo 
oust изо AE ойи тшек. ир RE DTH Collins gets here and he can present her 
to his troops. I think that alone should 
| | give you an idea of just how much this 
thing means to him and to the troops in 


Is Yellowstone the Er PNE з 


ө О | the doctors give him a 50-50 chance to 
inest Bo rb n use his left arm again, but he figures that 
п on 1 is as good as 90-10 odds in his favor, be 

cause he says it has a lot to do with mental 


Kentucky, the home DU E. 
have done. Jt may not seem like much 
of Bourbon? 


from your end, but you have provided 
some awfully snong memories for thou- 
sands of leser knowns in this war-torn 
land. And Jack is mighty proud to have 

played some part in it 
Ist Lt. Sam Burney, Jr, U.S.A. 

Bien Hoa, Vietnam 

Soon after Lieutenant Burney's letter 
was written, Playmate of the Year Jo 
Collins arrived in Vietnam to deliver 
the first issue of the pLavnoy Lifetime 
Subscription ordered by Lieutenant Price 
(March “Dear Playboy") and his men; 
in addition, she bolstered morale all 
along the front by visiting a number of 
combat bases and field hospitals, The 
success of her mission may be gauged 
by the fact that Secretary of State Dean 
Rusk called personally to offer con- 
gratulations for the contribution she 
made in lifting troop morale. See next 
month's issue for a picture story on 


© 1963 Kentucky Straight Bourbon. 100 Proof Bottlei-In-Bond & 90 & 66 Proof ишениш олау: 
Yellowstone Distillery Co.. Louisville, Kentucky. El 


Well, it's 


No. 1 in sales. 


Kentuckians have 146 Bourbons to choose from. 
But here in the home of Bourbon, Yellowstone 
Bourbon outsells every other whiskey. 
That's quite a compliment to our Bourbon, and 
to the exclusive process we use to distill it. 
Maybe you ought to try Yellowstone. 


Harry rode to class all week, to the library twice, made three 
trips to Dirty Mac’s, and five runs to sororityville 
...and still had enough in his budget for a night on the town. 


Harry is a sly dog. He's one of the few guys around whose 
transportation isn’t keeping him broke (he runs his Bridgestone 
90 Sport for a week on what а lot of fellows spend just for oil). 
Harry's 90 Sport is really a screamer. Reason? It’s loaded 
with competition components as standard equipment and 
engineered to squeeze every ounce of performance out of each 
drop of gas. Result: It outperforms everything in its class, both 
in speed and acceleration. (If you'd like us to prove it, send for 
the comparison table described below.) 
"Then there are Harry’s fringe benefits: Besides moving out in 
style, big-hearted Harry can afford to run his own taxi service 
(for lovelies only), There's also Harry’s Motorcycle Driving 
School (which meets every Saturday morning in front of the 
girls dormitory). Because Harry runs both these "operations" 
for pennies a week, he has moncy left to spend on important 
things (like his passengers and his fledgling riders). 


Want to be a hero like Harry? It’s easy. See your Bridgestone 
dealer. (He makes heroes out of Harrys every day.) He'll show 
you what the new 90 Sport can do . . . including how much 
better it does than its competition. He'll also show you seven 
other great models for street, trail, or track. But watch it, any 
onc of them may put you in the taxi business. 

BRIDGESTONE 80 SPORT: Top 
speed: 65 mph. Engine: single cylinder, 
two cycle, rotary valve. Bore x stroke: 50x 


45 mm. Compression ratio: 6.55: 
mum hp: 88 (018000 rpm. Weigi 


For the full story on all the Bridgestone 
models for '66 (50 to 175cc) and the 
name of your nearest dealer, write to: 
Rockford Motors, Inc., Dept. P1, 1911 
Harrison Avenue, Rockford, Illinois 61101. 


EJ BRIDGESTONE by Rockford 


zh 
: 158 lb. 


PLAYBOY 


20 


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(pucker up, that is) 


KORATRON 


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combed cotton, with Scotchgard* Brand Stain-repeller for that spotless look. Variety 
of slim styles (walk shorts, too) at stores everywhere. Or write Wright. from $5.98 


PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 


Cre pleased as punch, if a bit 
punchy, alter poring over the pleth- 

ora of nostalgic nonsense sent im by 
readers in response to our After Hours 
journey down Trivia Lane (no relation 
to Lois) in the February issue, For the 
first time anywhere, you'll remember, we 
offered degrees—first, second and third, 
in Triviology: the remembrance of 
things past but not forgotten—from our 
own College of Insignificant Knowledge. 
Since then our undergraduates have 
been clamoring for a more advanced 
course in the penny-arcine science. For 
the dedicated Triviologist, there are al- 
ways new horizons to look back on: he 
will not stop, as we did in February, at 
identifying the comic in Kay Kysers 
band (Ish Kabibble), but will press on to 
demand the name of the band’s resident 
tenor (the ever-popular Harry Babbit). 
из child's play to ask the Trivia- 
minded whom the lite Herbert Marshall 
played on radio (The Man Called X); 
the true Triviologist wants to know the 
mouth-filling moniker of his Lithuanian 


sidekick (Pagan Zekchmidt) And he 
wouldn't stoop to such kindergartei 
questions as identifying the character 


played by Humphrey Bogart in Casa- 
blanca (Rick): instead, he wants to know 
Rick's last name (Blaine). Inconsequen- 
tially enough, there’s a gold star to be 
garnered for knowing that Bogart never 
actually said, "Play it again, Sam." (In- 
grid Bergman did.) 

In short, the following quickie final 
exam is designed for those honor stu- 
dents who survived their Trivialaureate 
in February and now really want to go 
after their Ph.D. in Triviana in the 
time it takes to say "Notary Sojac." 
Happy landings on a chocolate bar (from 
On the Good Ship Lollypop, sung by 
Shirley Temple in Little Miss Marker). 

1. Who was Helen Trent's soap-opera 
sweetheart? Whom did Stella Dallas 
daughter Lolly marry? Whose husband 
was “the matinee idol of a million wom- 
en"? What was the name of the heroir 
journalist spouse in Portia Faces Life? 

2. What is "Goose" Таниш real first 
name? 


3. Who was Progress Hornsby? 

4. Identify the announcers on the fol- 
lowing shows: The old Bob Hope radio 
show, Fibber McGee and Molly and 
NBG Matince Theater, 

5. Answer the following with the mem- 
orable phrases used at the time: What 
was Grand Central Station on the old 
radio show of that name? How did rails 
from every part of the nation reach out 
to Grand Central Station? In what kind 
of warehouse did the Green Hornet 
garage Black Beauty? Lorenzo Jones was 
considered quite an oddball in his home 
town, but not by whom? What was 
Margo Lane's professed relationship to 
mont Cranston? 

6. If you didn’t answer Dr. LQ. cor- 
rectly, what was the consolation prize? 

7. How did the Lone Ranger become 
the Lone Ranger? 

8. What was the name of the 
Kingfish's wife on Amos 'п' Andy? How 
about the name of Amos’ daughter? 
Who played Mr. District Attorney 
on radio? On television? What did he 
solemnly swear to do, in addition to 
prosecuting all crimes perpetrated within 
э community? Who sponsored the orig- 
al radio show? What was it good for? 
10. Who portrayed the following base- 
ball immortals on the screen: Babe 
Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Dizzy Dean, Grover 
Cleveland Alexander? 

11. What was the name of the fat kid 
in the Double Bubble Gum ads? 

12. Who said, “Plunk your 
twanger, Froggy"? 

13. What was the name of the horse 
belonging to Tom Mix? Ken Maynard? 
Zorro? 

14. Which characters said each of the 
following: “Dwat dat wabbit!"; "Aren't 
we devils?"; “Howdy Bub’ 

15. What is the normal color of the 
primary isotope of kryptonite? 

16. Who played Charlic Chan's Num- 
ber One and Number Two sons? 

17. Who played the orig 
Armstrong? Steve Wilson? Wilson's girl- 
friend Lorelei Kilbourn? 

18. Name Cinders’ 


magic 


and Moon 


Mullins’ kid brothers. How about Nan- 
сух and Fritzi Ritz" boyfriend 

19. What were the roles Bogey played. 
in The Petrified Forest, High 
The African Queen? Who w 
female co-stars? 

20. And finally, PLAYBOY asks the musi- 
cal question. What songs began with the 
following verses: "Choo-choo to Broad 
way, Foo Ci don't get icky with 
the one. two. "P “Have you 
ever been embarrassed when you're in a 
smart café, and when they play а Latin 
tempo, is your dancing quite passé? 
"Wildcat Kelly, looking mighty pale, was 
standing by the sherilf’s side . . ."? 

АШ right, clas, turn in your Ыис 
books—and tabulate your scores. 

ANSWERS: (1) Gil Whitney; Gil 
Grosvener: Mary Noble, Backstage Wi 
Walter Manning. (2) Reece. (8) The be 
spectacled, pompadoured, zootsuited, in- 
credibly farout jazz musician played by 
Sid Caesar on Your Show of Shows. (4) 
ВШ Goodwin, Harlow Wilcox, John 
Conte. (5) “the crossroads of a million pri- 
vate lives, on which are played а thou- 
sand dramas daily"; "as a bullet secks its 
target"; “seemingly abandoned”; “his wi 
Belle, who loves him"; “friend and com- 
panion,” (6) "A box of Snickers and two 
tickets to next week's performance.” (7) 
The rest of his company of Rangers 
re ambushed and wiped out by Butch 
Cavendish and the villainous Holein- 
the Wall Gang. (8) Sapphire: Arbadella 
Jones. (9) Jay Jostyn; David Br 
defend with equal vigor the rights 
privileges of all its citizens”; Sal Hepatic: 
“the smile of health." (10) William 
Bendix, Gary Cooper, Dan Dailey, Ron- 
ald Reagan. (11) Puc. (12) Smilin’ Ed 
McConnell. (13) Tony, Tarzan, Diablo. 
(14) Elmer Fudd, Ralph Edwards, Titus 
Moody. (15) Green. (16) Keye Luke and 
Victor Sen Young. (17) Jim Ameche, Ed- 
ward G. Robinson, Claire Trevor. (18) 
Blackie and Kayo; Sluggo and Phil. (19) 
Duke Mantee, “Mad Dog" Eul, Charlie 
Шаш; Bette Davis, Ida Lupino, Kath- 
ne Hepburn. (20) Hold Tight; Six 


ierra, 
¢ his 


nna 
three 


а 


21 


Lessons from Madame Lazonga; Don't 
Fence Me In. 

All those who pased—with 15 or more 
correct answers—will be invited to iat- 
tend a class reunion at Frank Daley's 
Meadowbrook on Pompton Turnpike 

ў New Jersey, for an 
h Horace Heidt 
ийи. (АП those 
who failed will be required to auend а 
class reunior Frank Daley's Meadow- 
brook on Pompton Turnpike near Ce 
dar Grove, New Jersey, for an Enchanted 
Evening with Horace Heidt and his 
Musical Knights.) 

A British friend reports that durin, 
recent faculty search of the women's 
dorms at Exeter University, several shame 
faced males were discovered—and ejected. 

Only those rooms with lights on were 
MEET THE checked, of course, since dormitory direc- 


tor Louisa Boa remained stead: be- 


HAPPY MEDIUMS! Ju 


New 17” Admiral New 


PLAYBOY 


and his 


" Admiral An appeal sent by Japanese high- 


(overall diagonal) (overall dieg nel) way ofhcials to Motorland, the Cali 

NET id Р т State Automobile Association 

Two happy new sizes in portable TV, light enough for easy carrying, big Rer A HM 
enough (141 and 103 square inches) for easy viewing! All 82 channel 


1 о 8 ы А z in Japan do 
WHOA, (ermal ccu, Дыт расим ЕНЕ apre i ШОШО E E ЕЙТ» 


From only ® Dd e uians: "When a passenger on the hoof 
оз Admiral hove in sight, tootle the horn, trumpet 


to him melodiously at first. Н he still ob- 


Mane OF QUALITY TwROUGHOUT THE WORLD 


ain Cic, Aii Coa stackle your passage, tootle him with vi 
gor and express by word of шош ilic 
warning, "Hi! Hit" 


S M ELLS To Whom It May Concer 
ad in the Buffalo Evening 
GREAT ыз" 


Suspicions Confirmed Department: A 
sign on a West Milford, New Jersey, ga- 
rage reads: MECHANIC WANTED. MUST LOOK 
HONEST. 


: А want 
News тє 
Тап, experienced for fairy 

gs only between 8 


A bachelor acqu «c of ours was a 
bit unsettled by the mail-order donation 
appeal he received not long ago from a 
home for unwed mothers. The opening 
sentence read: "You always come first 
whenever we count our blessings, be- 


cause You Make Our Work Possible!” 


Our vote for the Least Surprising 
Headline of the Year goes to this one 
from the Army's Fort Belvoir, Virginia, 
Bulletin: тигиу 1 A CURRENT SHOR 
OF ENLISTED PERSONNEL IN 1 
ORDNANCE DISPOSAL FIELD. 


A placard posted at a service station 
Universal Studios in Hollywood: 
RE THE STARS GET GASSED. 

Travel Tip: On the island of Corsica. 
according to The Boston Herald, “many 
of the smaller, immaculately clean hotels 


п 
wn 


KINGS МЕМ... lusty and full bodied with a hint of spice. 
AFTER SHAVE, COLOGNE, PRE-ELECTRIC 1.25 


THISTLE & PLAID ... Stirring and spirited as the Scottish 
Highlands with а hefty whiff of heather. coroane 1.50 


IMPERIAL GOLD . . . magnificently male with the bold 
22 savagery of the Crusaders. AFTER SHAVE 2.50, COLOGNE 2.75 


at the picturesque beach towns charge 
very little а lay at the height of the sum- 
mer season .. 


Our Jack Armstrong Award goes to 
the all-American boy who placed a classi- 
fied ad in the Harvard Crimson that 
read: "Rich Harvard senior wishing to 
avoid draft seeks pretty Radclifle girl in 

re Crimson, Box 1094. 
weed in two years." 

Attention, Mayor Lindsay А sign 
spouted recently on а restroom door in 
the IND's 53rd Street subway station 
reid, MEN'S ROOM CLOSED FOR ALTERA- 
TIONS. USE FIFTH AVENUE. 


You have noticed that тоск 
roll and folk-rock groups now clamoring 
for the national spotlight have begun to 
eschew such prosaic monikers as the Bea- 
tles and the Rolling Stones in favor of 
suci word-playful comi n names 
as Paul Revere and the Raiders, Ivan 
and the Terribles, Mogen David and the 
Grapes of Wrath; and the prospects look 
bullish for a brand-new group that calls 
itself—so help us—Dow Jones and the 
Industrials. It won't be long, we predict 
before Billboard's weekly rundown of 
the top 40 indudes pop hits by such 
combos as: Androcles and the Lions, 
Snow White aud the Seven Dwarfs, Rob- 
ert Hall and the Pipe Racks, Moses and 
the Ten Commandments (formerly Bud 
dha and the Ten Perfection), Larry 
Durrell and the Alexandria Quartet, 
Billy Do and the Mash Notes, Les and 
the Miserables, Thorstein Veblen and the 
Leisure Classes, Tam O'Shanter and the 
Plus Fours, Jim Crow and the Night 
Riders, Luke Warm and the Tepids, Bel 
Paese and the Rat Pack, Thom McAn 
d the Loafers, Tom Swift and his 
ectric Runabouts, Nick Lenin and 
the Profetarians, Jack Daniels and the 
Four Roses, Robert Burns and the Wily 
Wee Beasties, Sherwin Wil is and 
the Kem-Tones, Don Quixote and the 
Windmills, Judas and the Shekels, Karl 
Marx and the Card Carriers (formerly 
Karl Marx and the Fellow Travelers, a 
folksinging group) and, last but not 
least, those far-out followers of the Ыр 
beat, Krait-Ebing and the Fetishists. 


THEATER 


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borne’s Inadmissible Evidence, middle-aged 
lawyer Bill Maitland is on trial, in 
the courtroom of his unconscious, for 
publishing an obscene object—himself. 
In the subsequent two acts, which begin 

stically, in jarring juxtaposition to 
the prolog, Osborne submits as evidence 
Maitland’s life in microcosm, or at lea 
that moment when Maitland's life is cx- 
ploding all around him. By Osborn 
intent, Maitland proves to be his own 


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worst witness. He is a heel, a cheat and a 
fraud, in love and in law. He lives off 
others and reciprocates with pain. He 
seduces every girl who works for him 
and ditches them all cold-bloodedly. H 
insists that he is honest in his marriage 
because his wife knows about his mis- 
tresses, but he is faithful to no mistress. 
He cannot feel; he can only act—and al- 
ways against his own interest. He alien- 
ates his family, his associates, his clients, 
then accuses them of deserting him. “If 
you let me go." he warns his wile, “ГИ 
disappear.” While pleading, with a 
gnawing insistence. for wust. he contin- 
ucs betraying, all the while realizing he 
is betraying. Self knowledge is his onc 
asset, but it is not his salvation. He is 
bitingly abusive of himself, as well as of 
others, heaping hare on his daughter for 
being young and indomirible. Maitland 
is getting old and is ordinary. He is not 
modern шав. bur mediocre man, repre- 
ative of those who make up for lack 
waaa with an excess of scll-indul- 
gence. Osborne has turned him inside 
ош so that the splcen shows. Fortunate 
ly, for Osborne, and for the audience 
attention span, Maitland is played bril 
liantly by Nicol Williamson (Оп the 
Scene, rLavwoy, March 1966), a rare, 
exact matching of actor and role. 
Williamson—tall, sad. incredibly tired 
looking—makes Maitland properly op- 
pressive, but never boring. The part is 
almost a monolog. and it is а measure of 
Williamson's enormous capacity that he 
never lets up, challenging the audience 
as Maitland challenges his wife, “You 
can't disown me!” At the Shubert, 225 
West 44th Strect, 


Antonin Artaud, the late, mad French 
direcior, actor and theoretician, believed 
in an active, violent theater, a theater of 
cruelty, which would forcibly jar the 
spectator into a greater state of aware 
ness and participation; and he pursued 
his principles even, on occasion, to wir 
ing selected seats for electric shock. Ar 
taud's disciples, Peter Brook and Peter 
Weiss, director and author, respectively, 
Of The Persecution ond Assossinotion of Morot 
os Performed by the Inmotes of the Asy- 
lum of Charenton Under the Direction of the 
Marquis de Sade, don't wire the seats, 
but they attack just about every other 
part of the body—the eye, the ear, the 
mind and the central nervous system. In 
case the title leaves anybody in doubt, 
the subject is the blood-lusting. polemi 
cast of the French Revolution, Jean-Paul 
Marat, and the Revolution itself; the 
setting 


a madhouse: and the impresa 
rio is the Marquis de Sade. Sade actually 
was an inmate at enion, and did 
e plays there, although as far as is 
known, never one about the martyred 
Marat. But it is Weiss’ conception that 
Sade, represent 


excessive individu 
alism, might have been fascinated by his 
opposite, and contemporary, Marat, who 


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would sacrifice all individualism (and all 
duals) to changing the social order. 
And so for the delectation of the keeper 
of the asylum (and for his own stimula 
tion as well—he gets to be whipped) 
Sade writes the play, and casts it with 
inmates, Marat is played by а paranoid: 
his assassin, Charlotte Corday, by a пе: 
atonic; and the other revolutionaries 
by spastics, erotomaniacs, schizophrenics 
and a stageful of mixed nuts. Sade gives 
himself the best lines, or so he thinks 
but the play keeps getting away fiom 
him. Actors blow lines. On purpos 
Docs it matter? Patients lose conuol—vi 
olently. Are they patients, or actors, or 
revolutionaries? Musicians /inm: 
gle their feet from the theater boxes ar 
growl accompaniment to a clown chorus 
that hurls bitter Brechtian songs at the 
audience, But the play does not live by 
Brecht alone. Heads roll. Blood pours. 
Rasps, moans, chants, screams. Marat 
is backside, Where are we? In an 

ater? The Bastille? An 
Ш of them. Marat/ 
‚ а madhouse 
within a m nd the actors 
inmates are astounding, in and out 
racer. Patrick Magee is an oily. 


Sade is a pla 


ment in water, and la 
cnacment is a terrifying study in s 
ssed hysteria. On only one level does 
the author let the actors and the audience 
down. The play is meant to be not just 
theatrical, but also profound. Unfortu 
nately, Weiss’ antagonists are 100 
Sade in his craze for passion, Ма 
craze for social upheaval 
self’ too much the didaciician and too 
little the poet for the argument to be 
more than provocative. But message 
aside, Marat/Sade is dazzling theater 
literally, a sensational play. At the Маго 
Teck, 309 West 45th Street. 


BOOKS 


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tion of а novel called, succinctly enougl 
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having to do with one Benny Profan 
self-styled "schlemiel and human yo-yo, 
mpaled much of contemporary pseudo- 
hip society on a skewer and roasted it to 
а wrn. Several scenes—particularly one 
g a girl's orgastic devotion to 
‚ and another describing the sur- 
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the most delicious examples of Black 
Humor extant. But the rest of the novel 
was something else. Interlaced amid 
the peregrinations of what Pynchon 


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called “the Whole Sick Crew” were the 
ambiguous, quixotic adventures of onc 
Herbert Stencil in his quest for that cer 
tain n objet or person never 
quite defined or identified, though lying 
somewhere east of Kafka by way of 
Lewis Carroll and William Gaddis. Bur 
even the most deliberately symbolic work 
must, now and then, touch down on 
some sort of recognizable runway, and 
Pynchon’s never did. Unfortunately, in 
his new novel—the Crying of Lor 49 (Lij 
pincott)—Pynchon has again gotten 
hung up on a mysterious quest very 
much like Stencils. This time it con- 
cerns a sccret underground postal serv- 
ice, with roots in 17th Century Europe 
and with an inordinately complex but 
uninterrupted history, which Pynchon 
unravels with unmitigated prolixity. 15 
the secret courier service real? Or is it all 
some vast practical joke designed to 
drive Pynchon's heroine to paranoia? 
Again it is a matter of some effort to 
. If Pynchon has a point, it seems 
farfetched—perhaps that Federal postal 
monopoly symbolizes the leveling to uni 
formity of modern life, but that some 
few disinherited free spirits might still 
“communicate” in а muddy limbo. Here 
and there Pynchon redcems all this with 
flashes of the sardonic wit that character 
ized V—as when he tells of charcoal 
filters manufactured from the finest of 
human boncs—but in sum, the book is 
all surface, the product of a keen but 
duttered intelligence, and painfully de 
void of life. Nor does it resurrect the ca 
daver when Pynchon dips to the level of 
the college humor magazine by labeling 
his characters with names such as Oedipa 
Maas, Genghis Cohen, Stanley Koteks, 
Mike Fallopian, or—Freud forgive him 
—Manny DiPresso. 


= 


In Sportin' House: New Orleans and the 
Jazz Story (Sherbourne), writer painter 
Stephen Longstreet has compiled an erot 
ic history of the Crescent City. There are 
occasional references to jazz, but they 
are decidedly peripheral to his primary 
pursuit—a nocturnal voyage through the 
fist two centuries of that pleasure 
consuming city which began as а swamp 
town in 1718 on the site of a moldering 
Indian village. From contemporary Gov- 
ernment documents, travelers" 
and newspapers, Lo 
the raunchy growth of the town under 
the French, the Spanish, the French 
again and, finally, the Americans. Partic 
ularly flayorsome sources of information 
are long excerpts from the hitherto un- 
published memoirs of Nell Kimball, who 
prospered аз а New Orleans madam 
m 1880 to 1917. “АП women are sit 
ting on a fortune if they'd only realize 
it.” says Longstreet, and he describes 
tartly the way the bordellos looked, the 
scope and predilections of their custom 
ers and—through Nell Kimball—the care 
and training of their atractions. Also 


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Nobody is born with such an ability. And yet, not 


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Watch National Geographic's “The World of Jacques-Yves Cousteau,” brought to you by Encyclopaedia Britannica, in color on СВОТУ at 7:30 p.m. (E.S.T) Thursday, April 28, 


noted are such hypocrisies as the fac 
that while churchmen — fulminate 
against the redlight oases, some of thc 
land on which the more flourishing 
The cool catch. All stripes, pleasure palaces stood was owned by 
churches. Of psychosociological interest 
and motion. And energy. is the fact that throughout the history of 
New Orleans, bed trafic invariably in 
Wear it whenever you feel creased in direct ratio to such crises as 
war and pestilence. When war scares 
you want to get-away- rose, reminisces Nell, “there were lines 
outside the sporting places . . . the girls 
from-it-all. You did 20 to 50 tricks a night in the low- 
class cribs . . ." Although the city re- 
just might. mained segregated in law and in daylight 
until the very recent present, Long. 
street notes that "when it came to orgy 
ing and making money there wasn't (and 
is not today) any color line in New 
Orleans. White madams and black witch 
doctors used cach others houses, con- 
tracted for business like any theater or- 
ganization.” The book indudes over a 
hundred of the author's drawings and 
water colors, but they are not nearly so 
evocative as the text. When Storyville, a 
center of New Orleans sensuality, was 
closed by order of the Secretary of the 
Navy in 1917, many mourned. Those 
who vicariously visit some of the city’s 
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that he “often wondered why Milton 
wrote Paradise Lost. Perhaps he could 
not help it. In that case, there is nothing 
more to be said on the subject. Perhaps 
he thought that it would gratify his fel 
low creatures, If so, I think he was 
wrong.” The same might be remarked of 
John Hersey's Төө Far te Walk (Knopf), 
though in Hersey’s case there may be an- 
other reason: He was recently made the 
master of Pierson College. Yale, and per- 
Wasithim... lips he wrote the book as an cxcrcise 
in comprehending the undergraduate 

or his mind, of which he has no very high 
Piping Rock? opinion. If the boys at Pierson ever take 
the time to read their master’s novel, 

they may return the compliment. The 
latest Hersey bar is hard to swallow. It's 
about this sophomore at Sheldon Col- 
lege whose name is Fist, who has a girl 
named Margaret, and who signs а pact 
with the Devil. Fist, discontented with 
the search for knowledge, cuts Human 
Society 28. (The classroom is "too far to 
walk.") There is an agent of hell in the 
form of another sophomore, who an 
nounces that he is “the Spirit of Playing 
It Cool.” And there is even a Wal pie 
nacht, which Fist attends while under 
the influence of LSD. Happily, the 
young fellow arranges for his own salva 
tion, deciding that “there can't be any 
сагаа shortcut to those breakthroughs I yearn 
AFTER-SHAVE for. You can't imbibe them, or smoke 
GMT them, or take them intravenously . . . I 
р н, guess you just have to work like hell for 
them, grub for them with the other 


30 


Paul Masson said, “Brandy is the only drink 
distilled from something good to drink? 


(1) Brandy is made from wine. 
(2) We have been premium wine growers since 1852. 


(3) Now, at last, we are able to offer a premium brandy. 
(4) Was it worth the wait? (5) Judge for yourself. 


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grubs, and maybe you won't have them 
even then. But they aren't worth having 
any other way"—on which edifying note 
he returns to Human Societ Just 
like Goethe's Faust—except for a total 
lack of philosophic depth, artful structure, 
graceful style and engaging characters. 


John ne is a master magi 
John Scarne is one of the great card 
manipulators of all time. John Scarne 
is also the crown prince of chutzpah 
In his autobiography, The Odds Against 
Me (Simon & Schuster), Scarne defies all 
odds. He shouts his credo: “I have never 
shrunk from an honest appraisal of my 
own ability with a deck of "Tt is 
. Not once in his per- 
rieg does Scarne recount a 
т did he drop a card, or an 
egg, or a chick, in the wrong place at the 
wrong time, whether performing before 
Al Capone or Arnold Rothstein, or such 
other heads of state as Е. D. R. and Fidel 
Castro. Everything he did, he did flaw: 
lessly. But his book is flawed by morc 
than conceit. Much of it reads like a Mel 
for Maxwell Smart, Secret 
startled by a terrific 
blast, which I judged to be an explosion 
of some kind.” Too bad, because Sca 
does have a story to tell. All his life, 
in the vibrant Twenties, the down 
Thirties, the dashing Forties, the frantic 
Fifties, the hustling Sixties, he has man- 
aged to consort with arcane types— 
Capone, the Las Vegas gambling bosses, 
d boys who moved to Cuba 
mid the trivia, there 

а using anecdotes: Once, while at a 
dinner with James J. Braddock, Scarne 
planted $20 gold picces in boiled eggs: 
on seeing them, the proprietor promptly 
Closed shop and spent the rest of the 
morning boiling his entire egg supply. 
tying to mint fresh $20 gold picces. But 
even the Braddock episode is marred by 
Scarne’s insistence оп taking a share of 
the credit for making Jimmy heavy- 
weight champion of the world. 


How docs а book become a "classic"? 
An illustration of one  process—what 
Clifton Fadiman called a cult artist in 
The Great Books of 2066 (т1лувду, Jan- 
wary 1066)—may be found in the recent 
republication of Under the Veleomo (Lip- 
pincott) by the late Malcolm Lowry 
When the novel first appeared, some 19 
years ago, reviews were mixed, but rcad- 
ers such as Conrad Aiken, Robert Penn 
Warren and Mark Schorer found it re- 
markable, Set in Mexico in the late 1930s, 
it is the story of the last day in the life of 
an alcoholic former British consul—now 
brooding on the bottom of the bottle, 
and doomed to а plunge into an authen- 
tically tragic and very literal “abyss” by 
the book's end. Described this way, Un- 
der the Volcano may recall а more popu. 
lar novel, Charles Jacksons The Lost 
Weekend—though to compare them 


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would be like comparing Moby Dick 
with Winnie the Pooh because both are 
mammals. The consul's self-questioning 
comes finally to the ultimate questions 
that beset modern man, the whys of his 
sulfering, his uncertainty, the very mean- 
ing of his existence. The book was never 
casy reading: Though it builds to an 
unforgettably shattering climax, and 
though the consul casts a shadow as do 
few other fictional characters, Lowry's 
prose is highly subjective, involuted, 
laced wi allusions and subtle 
symbolism. Thus, for all its сапу praise, 
the original edition soon went out of 
print. Nonetheless, an underground rep- 
wtation continued to grow, nurtured by 
the legend of Lowry the man. Living 
for most of his life in self-imposed isola- 
tion—in Mexico and im the woods of 
the Canadian Northwest—he was a truly 
monumental drinker, like his friend 
Dylan Thomas. When he suffered what 
a coroner's report cuphemistically called 
“death by misadventure” in Sussex 
in 1957, he left behind stacks of un- 
finished manuscripts and a scattering of 
published minor works—but the onc 
masterpiece salvaged from a disordered, 
precarious life seems to have been 
enough. At its reappearance in England 
recently, it was called “one of the great 
novels of this century.” and Lowry him- 
self was labeled “the prose Laureate of the 
ста" The new edition contains a valu- 
ble inwoduction by Stephen Spender. 
Lippincott has also published The Selected 
Letters of Malcolm Lowry, which rcvcal 
author whose struggles with his creative 
demons rival the consul’s with his boule, 
but they reveal also а man who was bril- 
liant, irrepressible, dedicated, defiantly 
alive. Both he and the work seem destined 
10 remain so for a long time to come. 
The conventional pitch on James Т. 
Farrell is as follows: Admit all his faults, 
nod toward Studs Lonigan and marvel 
at his staying power—19 novels, 12 books 
of short stories, 6 volumes of essays and 
iticism, and a book of poetry. Quan 
itive change becomes qualitative 
pe. Individual failure becomes col 
lective success. Meanwhile, nobody reads 
him except his devotees. Why? Be 
in answer 10 the question, So what’ 
Farrell's reply is, Nothing. And his reply 
is Nothing because there is а strange 
honesty about his imagination (an hon- 
esty that is aesthetic as well as moral) 
that will not allow him to “create,” to 
make up, to innovate. In his latest novel, 
Lonely for the Future (Doubleday), which 
ought to be read by those who haven't 
read him in years, he is again concerned 
with young Eddie Ryan, the Irish boy 
in Chicago who is determined 10 be а 
writer and who quits college in order to 
up the bohemian environment. The 
time is the mid-Twenties, and Farrell, 
more starkly and abruptly than in pre- 
vious novels, builds the scene of bathtub 


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„ sex and earnest. philosophizing with 
his usual devotion to fact. As Eddic 
Ryan doggedly insists, ". . . to us, the 
world is as we sec it and think it to be 
but the world is still a real thing. We 
can have illusions or false notions about 
it, but we are still in a world which is 
what it is" Eddie Ryan is, of course, dis. 
illusioned by the bohemians. "They are 
not truly serious. At the end of thc 
book, he is off to New York, there to 
continue in his vocation of writer. He 
must read more, write more, become 
what he is called to be. There is one 
novel still to come in this tetralogy, but 
there will bo no surprises. Farrell is not 
that sort of novelist. For him, surprises 
immicks, the stock in trade of pho 
ts. One passage stands out in this 
it is about а young man and his 
mother: “Sadness and silence still filled 
their home. There was misunderstand 
ing on the part of both of them, but 
there was a. closeness that was a habit of 
closeness—they had had only cach other 
for so many years.” Sadness and silence 
are at the center of Farrell's integrity, an 
integrity rare enough to deserve attentive 


criticism rather than off-the-cuff deference, 


Novels condemning thrill seekers are 
written, of course, for those seeking 
thrills, The author's disapproval of the 
vices he depicts, in page after page of 
neon depravity, acis as а kind of moral 
laxative, ng the reader to cat his 
cake and pass it, too. But when a novel 
ist actually believes that wallowing in 
tabloid clichés represents "lile as it is, 
with all “its ugliness and corruption and 
cvil,” as the late Willard Motley appar- 
ently did in Let Noon Be Fair (Putnam), 
what is shocking is not the ugliness and 
corruption but the depths of the aw 
thors selfdelusion. Motleys previous 
novels, Knock on Any Door im particu- 
lar, were marked by crude, relentless 
power. All that remains in his fourth 
and final book is the crudeness. Motley 
reveals that the Mexican seaside resort 
of Las Casas, once a peaceful fishing vil 
lage where the simple peasants spoke 
only in poctry (“She has breasts like the 
fruit on the trees in my grandmother's 
garden when I was а boy"), has now be 
come an enclave for depraved gringo 
sensualists who thrust their hands into 
the crotches of dark-haired, bronze-hodied 
Mexican lads and whisper throatily 
"Take me, Pepito.” To reveal mankind 
in all its infinite varicty, Motley devotes 
one scene to cach copulating position, 
throws in a little philosophy ("Docs life 
not go on? Yes, it goes on."), and adds 
every 30 or 40 pages, for resonance 
“Somewhere a dog barked.” Finally, in 
what may be the most ludicrous scene in 
all fiction, the villages Mongolian idiot, 
a drooling, babbling, 200-pound teenage 
girl, comes to The Writer's apartment, 
lies on the floor, lifts her dress and, be 
ning to masturbate, arouses his pity 


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Wondering "if this said something about 
the artist and art." he grimly satished 
her. It docs say something: Out of such 
unions come novels this. 

Leaving his How to Succeed in blank 
Without Really Trying books for a 
while, Shepherd Mead has produced a 
fine title: The Carefully Considered Rape of 
the World (Simon & Schuster). Unfor- 
tunately, in speaking about the unspeak- 
able, Mead has written the unreadable. 
Consider the plot, elements of which 
were science-fiction clichés 20 
cxtraterrestrials, working thro 
restria servants, manage to impregnate 


grat many carthwomen, their aim 
being to improve the breed, thus 
eliminating Evolutionary Termination 


through nuclear destruction. Three far- 
out familics are involved frustrating 
this plan. Опе of the men is a writer of 
"truc" saucer stories, another illustrates 
these stories, and the third is a mave 
scientist who discovers what the earth- 
women are really pregnant with. Also in 
the cast ате extraterrestrial Phycians 
(rapers), their earth servants, many 
carthwomen (rapees), and a scattering 
of planets, moons, suns, galaxies and 
mother ships. But all of them together 
can't make the theme less boring. As 
any husband knows, endless talk about 


pregnancy ranks for excitement right up 
there with conversation about the 
weather. Gonsidered Rape fails for the 


same reason most fantasy and science fic- 
tion has declined: We are all too fearfully 
familiar with our new world of science- 
fact. The sci-fi stories of the past have 
come true, and those that haven't no 
longer shock or intrigue us, because 
accept a world in which anything 
happen. The great exception to th 
fantasy b: 


of surprising other people. 


Nonconformist, indi 
«al, eccentric hobohem 
thing in common—the; 
the same autob 


ns have one 
all seem to write 
graphy. After reading 
n and again their flamboyant 
adventures and lowlife jobs and soap- 
box iconodasm, one can only conclude 
that there's a wider range of experience 
in the suburbs. Therefore, let us give 
thanks that in An Autobiographical Novel 
(Doubleday) Kenneth Rexroth manages 
to do beuer than most. He writes d 
this account of his youth 
ior h 
lering his range of 
tance, his wealth of anecdote, the 
generosity of his understanding, the lci 
surely charm of his style, that's a sizable 
understatement. Although years as а 
jack-of-all-tirades social critic and poet 
entitle him to only a secondary position 
in the intellectual history of his депе 

tion, Rexroth scems suddenly to have 
found his uc place, within the great 


tradition of American raconteurs. His 
childhood in the upper М 
ing an icecream freezer while liste 
to tales of the Underground Railway, 
traveling with his drummer father and 
meeting everyone from Eugene Debs to 
James Whitcomb Riley 
in the Chicago renaissance of the e 
Twenties (a precocious boy Боће 
among sectarian rcv ч 2 
garde painters, beau " 
for Life, criminals and the lumpen 
entertainers of burlesque); summers and 
winters with wise old-timers in the Rod 
ics; days and nights of grandiose politi- 
cal argument in Greenwich Village—all 
this constitutes а genuine contribution 
to Americana. Rexroth's achievement is 
that he has grown up without growing 
old, that in mellowing he has lost none 
of his intransigent vitality, that he has 
attained “that sense of exaltation” which 
he tries to mal of living.” And 
his radicalism remains as well, tradition- 
ally American, ethical and humanitarian 
rather than doctrinaire in its impulses, a 
continuing m that is finally, and 
not at all ра 
tive of the best qual 


Requiring a cover for their ultrasecret. 
operations, eight Londoners form an or- 
ganization ostensibly dedicated to study- 
ing obscure details of ancient Egyptian 
life. Most of the bylaws of their Metro- 
politan Egyptological Society, however, 
are given over to strict injunctions 
against ever becoming involved with 
anything Egyptian, ancient or modern. 
When a Scotland Yard superintendent 
pierces this camouflage and hauls the 

ing, he gets a stiff 
belore they'll 
The Yard man promptly joins up hi 
self and the secret operations flouri 
hd expand. But what operations? The 
answer will be found in The Egyptologists 
(Random House), by Kingsley Amis 
and Robert Conquest, a neat spoof "n" 
twist on the spy-novel vogue. The au- 
thors dwell on a human motivation far 
more universal than the mere pilfering 
of world-destroying secrets. Naturally, 
covey of luscious female operatives bc- 
comes involved in the under-thecover 


network. The intrepid agents’ wives take 
narrow views of their husb 
tics, 


ids activi- 
some because they don't know 
s going on, others because they do 
know. In the end—well, the end is for 
the reader, who may never again believe 
that espionage agents really do the 
things theyre supposed to be doing 
while they're denying doing them. With 
rollicking humor as their secret weapon, 
Amis and Conquest may have blown t! 
CIA's cover. 


We are pleased to alert admirers of 
Ray Bradbury (and who could be any 


‚ ЗЧауіопу Club News | 


VOL. 11, NO.69 ©! 


-AVIOY CLUBS INTERNATIONAL, INC, 
ISHED CLUBS IN MAJOR CITIES. 


LAYROY CLU 
О ALI. PLAYHOY CLUDS. 


а APRIL 1966 


BOSTON PLAYBOYS REVEL IN NEW BUNNY HUTCH: 
NEW YORK PLAYBOY CLUB SWINGS WITH TALENT! 


San Francisco Hopping! 


CHICAGO (Special) — By the 
end of 1966 kcyholders will be 
using their keys in 17 Playboy 
cities throughout the world, in- 
cluding our Caribbean resort in 
Jamaica and our soon-to-be- 
‘opened London Club. (See loca- 
tions box above coupon.) 

Our newest hutch in Boston at 
54 Park Square offers exciting 
shows, 50 beautiful Bunnies, 
man-pleasing platters from the 
buffet at the same price as a 
drink and king-size drinks brim- 
ming with the finest liquors. 
Five levels of fun-filled rooms 
await you seven nights a week. 

San Francisco's exciting Club 
has been hopping with Califor- 
nia keyholders, celebrities and 
guests since its gala late-fall 
opening. Swinging jam sessions, 
VIP gourmet dining end lively 
variety shows assure playboys 
the best time in town. 

You can still save $25 by ap- 
plying for your key right now! 
But hurry—the key fee will be 
$50 in six more states May Ist. 

Once you present your key to 
the Playboy Door Bunny, closed- 
circuit TV telecasts your arrival 
throughout the Club and your 
own name plate is placed on the 
lobby board. Lovely Bunnies di- 
rect you through Playboy’s many 
rooms where convivial company 
and good times are always the 
order of the day and night. 

Mail coupon now for your $25 
Charter Key, good at Playboy 
everywhere in the world. 


Beauties like Playmate-Bunny Terri 
Kimball (right) and Bunny Gandy 
welcome keyholders at the door. 


Playboy Key Goes 
To $50 in Six More 
States on May Ist 


CHICAGO (Special) — This is 
the last chance for residents of 
Indiana, Kansas, Louisiana, Міз- 
souri, Mississippi and the entire 
state of Illinois to obtain Playboy 
Club Keys at the $25 Charter 
Rate. The $50 Resident Key Fee 
will be in effect in these states 
beginning May Ist, as it is now 
in Arizona, Florida and within 
75 miles of Chicago, 

1f you are not yet a Playboy 
keyholder, save $25 by applying 
for your key today before the 
Key Fee in your area is raised. 


Tony Bennett and Damita Jo swing to the beat of the Kai Winding Quin- 
tet, with Monty Alexander at the piano, during **Jazz 'п' Cocktails" at 
the New York Playboy Club. Session features Kai's Quintet daily. 


BIGGEST SHOW IN TOWN AT N.Y. CLUB 


NEW YORK (Special) -Show- 
time at Playboy in New York 
means 21 shows a night for 
Gotham keyholders and guests! 
Four Playboy showrooms — op- 
erating simultancously, cach 
with a distinctively different 
presentation-spotlight big-name 
stars and talented newcomers. 
Penthouse and Playroom feature 
variety shows with the most 
exciting talent in America; the 
Party Room offers live music 
and dancing plus vocal enter- 
tainment, Keyholders enjoying 
the epicurean pleasures of the 
VIP Room (fer Very Important 
Playboys) will find intimate 
diversion particularly suited to 
this elite "club within the Club.” 

Award-winning Kai Winding, 
Playboy Club Music Director, 
and his quintet swing out with 
“Jazz 'n' Cocktails" іп the Liv- 
ing Room, “New Faces” nights 
and celebrity shows featuring 
special guest hosts are only a 
few of the surprises Playboy has 
planned for your enjoyment. 

In addition to the brightest 
shows in town, you'll find pala 
tempting menus—including 
ner Maitre D' (hvo pounds of 
prime rib of beef) in the Party 
Room, gourmet specialties in the 
VIP Room, tender filet mignon 
and roast tib eye of beef in the 


showrooms—and hearty platters 
from the Living Room Buffet at 
the same price as a drink. Great 
shows, king-size drinks, swing- 
ing jam sessions—actually a 
“night on the town” without 
ever leaving the Club—are wait- 
ing for you at the New York 
Playboy Club. 

A Playboy Key is more valu- 
able now than ever before. Apply 
for yours today and save $25 at 
the special Charter Rate. 


Playboy service, bountiful dri 
and meals at the price of a drink 
make your business lunch or di 

ner more effective and pleasant. 


YOUR KEY ADMITS YOU TO PLAYBOY EVERYWHERE 


'OPEN--Atlanta « Baltimore « Boston «Chicago» Cincinnati Detroit» Jamaica 
Kansas City + Los Angeles + Miami = New Orleans + New York + Phoenix 
St. Louis = San Francisco. OPENING NEXT—London » Washington, D.C. 


= BECOME A KEYHOLDER/CLIP AND MAIL THIS APPLICATION TODAY — =ч 


magazine) Applicant fcr key must be male and over 23 years 
Annual Account Maintenance Charge is waived for your first yes 
D Enclosed find $.— 
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PLAYBOY 


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thing but?) to his newest book of old sto 
rics. Twice 22 (Doubleday) is a coupling 
of those vintage volumes The Golden 
Apples of the Sun and A Medicine for 
Melancholy—44 ta all told. And, 
need we add, all told very well, indeed, 


DINING-DRINKING 


At midnight, according to Donald 
Ward, one of the owners of Eleine's, at 
Second Avenue and 88th Street, lepre- 
chauns transform the place from a restau- 
rant with a bar into a shimmering, 
star-studded ‚ wherein shine the 
lights of the lite 
worlds. V 
chaun hi 
good Irish tongue, 
doubt his word. P 
man's frequent. excu 


to Eng! 
ine of British cc- 
lebrities who flow in and out with Jol 

Bullish regularity. АП of this takes place 
in what had originally been an unp 
tious New York neighborhood 
tering solely to a local cliente 


and on first 
* belies its 


sight the bist 
growing and we 
But the kitchen—speci 
cuisine—is nor a neighborhood kitchen. 
either in menu or in styl 
semmbled witi 
$1.75. Baked Clams (51.50) arc above par 
for the course. Fettuccine Alfiedo (52), 
1 for judging Italian cooking be 


well, is excellent. They do nicely with 
meat and fish, too. Veal Scaloppine Picca- 
ta (82.50) is flavorful but not overwhelm- 
ingly so. A typical Friday-night special, 
Swordfish (53) is done with a mushroom. 
sauce, There is also a nice wine cellar, al- 
though there's no fuss made abour it. The 
whole place is that informal, unto the 
jukebox thar supplies both rock "n' roll 
and Arabic music (because Ward likes it, 
that’s why). The bar is open from 5 in 
the afternoon to 4 in the morning. The 
kitchen serves from 7 to 12 in the eve- 
ning. They are closed Mondays. 


ACTS AND 
ENTERTAINMENTS 


The Mod Show, now swirling at hilar 
{сиз and breakneck pace across the stage 
of the New "Theatre on East 54th Street, 
a revue based on material 
m the not-so-secret files of me 
100 issucs of Mad magazine. Its cast of 
five very talented people ars to have 


fr 


complete with i 
а fright wigs. The 
book is by Lamy Siegel (a rLAvwov stal 
wart) and Stan Hart, but the production 


was “conceived and directed" by Mad's 
ever-popular and omnipresent, gap- 
toothed and clephanveared Alfred E. 
Neuman, who, like Hitchcock, appears 
occasionally in che background. The for- 
mat resembles the mag: 

does a revue, but what's in a name? Al- 
though there are black-out ski 
many things happen at once, i 
and all around—so that it’s almost a 
satire on satires, Victims are parents, chil- 
dren, men, women and other people. A 
teenage singer bemoans the difficulties 
of protesting against this lousy world, 
baby, when you make $4000 a week. A 
telecast of а profootball game gives 
complete coverage in broadcasting ex- 
pertise of everything but the game. A 
quartet of smiling youngsters explains 
Tow to stamp out hate violently. The 
single set seems to go off in all directions 
at the same time, with Mr. Neuman : 
pearing, variously, at the window 
Mona Lisa, as а cardboard cutout larger 
than life. There are two cartoon-caption 
balloons above the stage, on which vital 
messages are projected from time to time 
These include “Good night, Chet, 
port Air Pollution,” “Good night, David" 
and “In case of atomic attack, the Hadas 
sth meeting will be canceled.” All of this 
happens so furiously that it’s over before 
you've had a chance to figure out which 
of the members of the саз: is Marcia 
Rodd, Jo Anne Worley, Intyre 
Dixon, Dick Libertini or Paul Sand. 
Pleasantly nonmemorable music, played 
by one piano and а busy percussionist, is 
by Mary Rodgers (daughter of Richard, 
not Buck); the zany lyrics have been 
masterminded hy Siegel, Marshall Barer 
and Steven Vinaver. They are all, we are 
pleased to note, quite mad. Nightly at 9 
(7:30 and 10:30 on Friday and Saturday); 
3 т.м. matinee Saturday and Sunday; no 
show Monday. 


MOVIES 


Poor Marlon Brando. An actor in 
search of a character, he has now signed 
оп as sheriff of that small town that is 
supposed to be typical of America. In 
The Chase it is located in Texas, but its 
inhabitants are, as usual, our of King’s 
Row via Peyion Place. You'll greet them 
all with low moans of recognition 
There's the Rich Banker who owns 
everything (and everyone) in sight. His 
son, of course, is weak and has Ше cus- 
tomary frigid wife and sexy mistress 
The town's middle-class ladies auempt 
10 relieve their boredom with booze and 
lovers while their husbands try to get up 
а lynching like they used to have in the 
good old days. There are restless teenagers 
and gossipy senior citizens who func- 
tion as a kind of Greck chorus comment- 
ing on these didos. What's got everybody 
particularly on edge is the imminent re- 
turn of Bubber (Robert Redford). an 


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PLAYBOY 


42 


You'll find more action 


more of everything at the Stardust. Spend an hour and forty 


five minutes at our lavish and spectacular Lido Revue. Then, catch entertainers like 
the Kim Sisters, Esquivel and other great acts in the Stardust Lounge. They're on 
from dusk 'til dawn! Have а gourmet’s delight in AKU AKU, our world-famous Polyne- 


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escaped con who may be wild but is at 
least not hypocritical about hís behavior. 
Just why he upsets them so much is 
never made clear by Lillian Hellman’s 
script, which is windy enough about less 
significant matters. But they finally kill 
despite Brando's strenuously maso. 
ic efforts to protect him. Redford is 
the luckiest actor in the movie. He 
spends most of his time skulking around 
the boondocks outside town and is never 
subjected to the banalities the rest of the 

c сам must suffer. Among them 
Janice Rule is especially noticeable for 
the sang-froid with which she tries to fall 
out of her dress at every opportunity 


ior gives some idea of the quality of Ar- 
thur Penn's direction, The Chase, 
short, must be seen to be disbelieve 

The Silencers casts Dean Martin as 
Matt Helm i 


Dino's operati a Connery's James 
Bond scems as lustful as a Trappist 
monk. Such beautiful booby traps as 
Stella Stevens, Daliah Lavi. Суй Cha 
risse, Nancy Kovack and Beverly Adams 
make the Bond bedmates scem on the 
scrawny side, and Matt Helm boasts 
among his creature comforts а revolving 
circular bed (strikingly similar to our 
EditorPublisher’s own) that propels it 
self to the edge of a pool and tilts just 
enough so that its drowsy occupant сан 
slide ever so gently into a sea ol soap 
bubbles, where a sudsy secretary is sta- 
tioned in the surf Гог morning dictation. 


Despite his languid libidinousness. Mar- 
tin manages to obliterate a ring of exotic 
vil 


ins led by Victor Buono's Tung-Tze, 
t of a backward Mao. Oscar Saul's 
script indulges in fairly clementary gun- 
and pun-play, but the basics of booze 
and broads get more laughs than one 
might expect їп these supposedly so- 
phisicated times. Martin's expertness 
with throwaway lines is familiar enous 
by now, but the big revelation and added 
dividend is former Playmate (January 
1960) Stella Stevens flair for zany 
comedy, particularly with a kookie piece 
of ordnance that fires backward. Veter 
acion-ülm director Phil Karlson keeps 
the movie flowing smoothly and cı 
sharply even when the acting is 
rolling-eye and tongue in cheek. 
Understandably, judith is bitter. Her 
husband was a Nazi general; she is Jew 
ish. He sent her and their son to concen- 
tration camps where, she believes, the 


imed; 
ay, poised on 
the borders to deal a death blow to the 
brave new country. Guess who is com 
manding the Syrian tanks? And guess 


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who the Haganah have smuggled in to 
help identify and trap the general? 
Right. And right again. But Judith is 
anything bur grateful to the Israelis. She 
lives only for revenge, which means 
shooting the Herr General the minute 
she sets eyes on him. If the Haganah 
wants to keep him alive to intertogate 
him about troop movements and such 
that's their problem, She thinks they’ 
bunch of hopeless squares, hates life 
down on Sunnybrook Kibbutz where 
they have stashed her—and her 


selfishness very nearly costs Israel its 
independence, or so we are led to be 
lieve. Fortunately, just before the final 


fade-out, she discovers that revenge is a 
poor basis on which to build a lile. that 
she needs both a new mate and a new 
state il she is going to be able to live 
again. She even learns, as the bombs 
burst in air, that her son is still alive 
somewhere. Sophia Loren plays тает 
sheepishly at the title role: Peter Finch 
intermittently, and disastrously, lays an 
Israeli accent over his normal English 
опе as the kibbutz bos who teaches 
Judith to live and love again; Jack Haw- 
kins wanders ambiguously around the 
edge of the story as a terribly decent 
British soldier. (The ultimate silliness of 
the John Michael HayesLawrence Dur 
rell scenario is attained in a scene in 
which Hawkins upholds the honor of the 
British Empire by declining an opportu 
nity ба sleep with Loren as payment for 
some secret documents. Even the late Sit 
C. Aubrey Smith would have gullawed at 
that victory of saintly decorum over sweet 
desire.) Judith is not even a satisfactory 
shoot-em-up. The baule scenes аге per- 
functory, the into Syria to abduct 
the general, Паг and suspenscless, the 
feeling of ferment and fervor that must 
have been present at the historical mo 
ment, totally missing. 


The Shop on Main Street is a dramatic 
rendering of Hannah Arendt’s theory 
that evil in our time presents itself in 
the guise of banality, that we acquiesce 
in it not because we are damned or fall- 
cn, but only because we are all too hu- 
man. The ume is World War Two, the 
place a small town in unoccupied Czech 
oslovakia that is ruled by a gang of rather 
slovenly puppets. Tono, the local 
penter, is an essentially goodhearted fe 
low down on his luck and mercilessly 
nagged by a wile who aspires to the style 
of life affected by her sister, whose hus- 
band the local fascist boss. He ap. 
poims Топо “Aryan Controller" of 
moribund buttonshop owned by an an 
cient, mentally infirm Jewish lady. It 
isn’t much, but it's a living, especially 
since Mrs, amann has long been sub- 
sidized by the Jewish community, which 
agrees то сш Топо in as long as ће w 
support their humane fiction. Naturally, 
he comes to care greatly for the old lady; 
naturally, he is in agony when, at last, 


. Also: SHORTI-BRIEF 


stretch пу! i 


43 


PLAYBOY 


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the transports arrive to take the Jews to 
the death camps. He knows he should 
hide her. but lacks the courage. He re 
solves his dilemma by doing nothing — 
which dooms the old woman as surely as 
betrayal would have. A simple summary 
cannot do justice to the subtle play of 
Tono’s wavering nerves and emotions, 
to the deft characterizations in which 
this Czechoslovakian film abounds (nota 
bly by Josef Kroner as Tono, in what 
may be one of the great pieces of film 
acting in our time), to the economy with 
which directors Jan Kadar and Elmar 
Klos delineate the social structure of the 
town, or to the firm, intelligent, unself 
conscious arüstrv with which this very 
direct, gently forceful film is construct- 
ed. The exceptionally artful blick-and- 
white photography perfectly expresses 
the quiet pity with which its creators 
examine the Бие of ordinary men in 
extraordinary times. 


Thot Мол in Istonbul is a superbly sense 
les decathlon in which Horst Buch- 
holz is required to run madly around 
the tide city in pursuit of a gang of i 
ternational crooks who have heisted an 
American atomic scientist to help them 
create а big bomb with which to black- 
mail the world. If you detect in this the 
SPECTRE of another plot, you are right; if 


you think it makes one whit of 
difference, you are wrong. Director An- 
tonio Isasi has a gift for manic action 


that compares favorably with that of the 
old Hollywood B keepers, and he never 
allows one's mind to dwell on the illogi- 
calities of the plot or the banalities of 
the Dlessedly minimal dialog. He is 
much too busy speeding Mr. Buchholz 
through his paces, which include а mar 
velously deadly scramble atop a minaret 
a chase through the ladies’ section of a 
Turkish bath and a highly imaginative 
encounter between а bulldozer he some 
how acquires and an assortment of auto- 
mobiles driven by people for whom 
vehicular homicide is a way of life. There 
are plenty of wellstoged intermediary 
fisticuffs and gymnastics linking these 
high spots. Sylva Koscina is on hand 10 
play the СТА agent who gets Buchholz 
into this mess. She is very sensibly forced 
to disrobe early on, which is the level of 
dle; 
ked to broaden he 
horizons. Indeed, the modestly immodest 
uses to which Sylva is put symbolize the 
good sense of the producers: they know 
and respect the limits and virtues of the 
anuque form to which they are commit- 
ted and do not my to make it preten- 
tiously more or spoofily less than it is— 
racily racing entertainment. 


acting she is best equipped to h 


and she is neve 


lord leve a Deck is writer-producer- 
director George Axelrod's satiric mixture 
of Lolita and Last Year at Marienbad, 
with Stella Dallas, Arsenic 
and The Knack. Yt takes on 


along and 


Old Lace 


such tempting targets as drivein churches 
computerized education, bikini movies 
psychoanalysis and the general silliness 
of Southern California. Axelrod is well 
served by a cast of zanics, particularly 
Tuesday Weld as a grown-up nymphet 
with ambitions to become the most pop. 
ular baton uwirler at Consolidated High 
Roddy McDowall as her resourceful 
fairy godfather (Grimm rather than gay) 
Lola Albright as her baroom-waitress 
mother: Ruth Gordon as her prospec 
tive mother-in-law teetering hilariously 
between snobbery and slobbery: and 
Manin West as an allAmerican. mom 
mas boy and mariage counselor 
Despite bursis of wild slapstick and 
machine-gun satire, Axelrod’s direction is 
calm enough for his dramatis personae 
10 generate some feeling. Unfortunately 
the Roddy McDowall character is too 
weird ло serve as Axelrod's mouthpiece 
and itis never quite clear what mood the 
author is trying to establish: the picture's 
corpsesuewn plot line perches precar 
iously berween tragedy amd comedy 
Perking up the latter is Playmate of the 
Year Jo Collins’ portrayal of a bikinied. 
wide-eyed starlet. 


Italiano Brava Gente is something of 
curiosity, a co-production by former mil 
enemics celebrati the heroism 


itary 

with which they once fought each other 

The now-friendly enemies are Russi, 
ad Italy. the battle in common a little 


known Italian invasion of the Ukraine 
in World War Two. The film is episod 
in construction, following a platoon of 
Italian soldiers from their first intrusion 
on Russian soil, when they act more like 
schoolboys off on a lark than would-be 
conquerors, to their ghastly final retreat 
two winters later, when they are de 
youred by the Russian landscape and cli 
mate. Along the way are many moving 
incidents—a ming squad disobeying or 
ders and refusing to kill a partisin girl. 
and her ironic death, immediuely alter 
when she is caught in the cross fire of 
battle; the execution of a partisan hos 
tage who has come to apolitical, human 
terms with his guards: the massacre of 
civilian. prisoners when. delying order. 
they continue to sing the Jnfernationale 
Most affecting of all is the long final se 
quence of the retreat, which comes to 
focus on a single soldier who, crazed by 
his experiences, tries to escape айо 
then desperately attempts to rejoin his 
comrades, only to be cut down by a Cos 
sack charge that whirls out of the Ы 
tard with awesomely beautiful fury. All 
of this is photographed by director Gin 
seppi De Santis in a style influenced by 
the great Eisenstein and Dovzhenko ep- 
ics of the Twenties and Thirties. The 
film is marred by an odd blend of acting 
styles, some elfectively realistic, some un- 
fortunately hiswionic; by some occasion 
ally hokey episodes (particularly those 
guest stars, 


involving iwo American 


Arthur Kennedy and Peter Falk); and by 
а  popularfrontish, allcommon-soldier 
arebrothers attitude that makes you 
wonder why the Italians and Russians 
didn't join up and turn on the Germans, 
whom they both seem to hate far more 
than they do each other. Still, flawed 
though it is, Italiano Brava Gente is а 
beautiful, emotionally truthful study of 
men at war. 


The Gospel According to St. Matthew is, to 
state it simply, a great film, It is also 
something of a miracle, a straightfor- 
ward retelling on film of the life of Jesus 
аз set forth in the first book of the New 
Testament by director Pier Paolo Paso- 


lini, who is, unbelievably, a card-carrying 
member of the Italian Communist Party. 
Using only unprofessional actors, һе 


shot his film entirely in the south of I 
ly, where he found, if not total historical 
authenticity, then something bettai—an 
atmosphere of poverty and ignorance 
corresponding to what must have been 
the quality of life in the Holy Land 
a brackish backwater of the 
mpire, The use of this land- 
s all the visual preconcep. 
of a film of this kind, just 


al Jesus overturns all one’s cmo 
xpectations, He is shown here as 
, spitting forth brutal chal- 
lenges to the powers that be, calling 
down the wrath of God on a people who 
would much preler to continue with mo- 
lity as usual. ‘This may be the Son of 
God, but he is also very much the Son of 
Man—often impatient, sometimes fea 
ful, frequently egocentric. When he says 
usc is bound to set brother 
against brother, when he says he ollers 
not peace but a sword, he is not making 
idle threats, but, rather, exposing the 
passionate heart of his passion. Because 
Pasolini visualizes this with a fresh eye, 
because he grounds his film so firmly 
in the rough, dusty carth, because he 
eschews the runol De Mille, empty piety 
nd spectacle and the overfamiliar con- 
ventions of 2000 years of Christian art, 
he forces us to attend this message with 
new interest. It is hard to imagine any- 
one, whatever his belief or disbe 
emerging from seeing tl m emotion- 
ally or intellectually untouched. 


It’s fast getting t0 the point where a 
picture without a spy will be e 
whooping crane. Where the Spies Are, how. 
ever, has a plethora of spies furtively 
filling every frame. Di Niven is the 
reluctant agent seduced into the British 
ice because, as a Cord fancier, 
the bribe of a classic mod- 
el. Stopping in Italy cn route to Beirut, 
he finds his contact is Françoise Do: 
cress with an international 
n up to her place 
for a bowl of greens and a bottle of red. 
By the time he reaches Beirut, Niven is 


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PLAYBOY 


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up to his clavicle in Slavic executioners 
truth serum and, of course, Francois 
The tone is fanciful and is maintained 
long enough to keep the film erratically 

ing until the plot approaches its 
jet over C; 


vor of a melodramatic flurry that tak 
itself too seriously. Niven is at his best 
when he cin cock a skeptical eyebrow 
while remarking upon the Bondish exu 
berance of his spy kit. When th 
a purely melodramatic turn, his charac 
ter gets left behind. Miss Dorleac 
her best when walking away from the 
camera. 


is at 


The Naked Hours fondles the anatom 
ical landscape of statuesque Rossana Po. 
desta (see Trio con Brio, PLAYBOY, March 
1966) with the avidity Italian photogra- 
phers delight in. From an original story by 
Alberto Moravia, who with Podesta's pro. 
ducer-director husband, Marco Vicario, 
wrote the screenplay, it explores minute 
ly Rossana's ambivalent feelings toward 
her husband, played by Phillippe Leroy 
and her lover—Keir Dullea, looking sur 
prisingly Italianate. In the effort to ac. 
centuate this erotic bur sensitive story 
Moravia and Vicario have created some 
striking sequences, including a seduction 
scene in a grain bin to the accompani- 
ment of recorded heartbeats and one of 
Rossana and Dullea gamboling in a bell 
tower to the clang of the clappers. Her 
relationship to her husband develops 
parallel in time and understanding with 
the progress of her affair with Dullea 
and the ingenious intercutting adds clar 
ity and at the same time enhances a 
sense of human interdependence. The 
mingling of architectural antiquity with 
the love play also interjects a sense of 
the continuity of the human condition 
ly. her extramarital adven 


s her closer to her husband 
and to а truer estimate of his feelings for 
her. Uninterestingly, the ending is pat 
ently pat, resolving matters by the now 
outmoded “sinners beware” formula so 
dear to the hearts of the censors, 


Inside Daisy Clover is yet another те 
statement of a favorite American myth 
which is that movie stars are made, not 
born, aud that the proces of creation 
inevitably brings great sorrow and con 
fusion to the onc the moguls choose to 
mold and manipulate. In short, it is a 
cliché. But, somehow, an irresistible one. 
It is true that the story has by this time 
worn too thin to support the color. wide- 
serecn, Big Picture ueaunent the pro 
ducers insist on giving it here. But Daisy 
is at least à variant on the customary 
heroine of this tale—a tough, impassive 
little monkey who, though frequently be 
fuddled, never totally loses her bearings 
as she is propelled onward and upward; 


she even manages to find a way out of 
the jungle that, for a wonder, does not 
involve self-destruction. There are two 
superb performances in the film. Chris- 
topher Plummer, jowly, oily, deadeyed 
deadly, gives a perfect reading as the 
producer who discovers Daisy. Robert 
Redford plays the cynical, drunken 
movie star who loves, marries and deserts 
Daisy in the desert after one night of love 
and gives the badly written role a di- 
mension that is quite extraordinary con- 
sidering his material. If Natalie Wood, 
as Daisy, could have matched his skill 
the movie might have triumphed despite 
everything. But she is without any 
unique spirit of her own and lacks the 
simple technical skill to cover up that 
flaw. She is an actress of moments—some 
good, some bad—who never seems to find 
the main line of a character and develop 
it. The same may be said of the film as a 
whole. Director Robert Mulligan creates 
some admirable scenes—notably 2 couple 
of filmswithin-the-film thar perfectly 
capture and kid the spirit of old- 
fashioned movie ballyhoo—but he never 
really gets inside Daisy Clover. 


RECORDINGS 


Nancy Wilson! / From Broadway with Love 
itol) could have been called Broad- 
y—My Way, Part Two, as Miss Wilson 
continues her exemplary explorations of 
Shownmesville, U.S. А. The oldest item 
on hand is Makin’ Whoopee, from 1928's 
Whoopee: the latest entry is the haunting 
Ill Only Miss Him when 1 Think of 
Him, from this season's Skyscraper. In 
between are such Wilson wows as Hey 
There, Ive Got Your Number and 
Somewhere. 


wa 


Camp, camp, camp, the boys are march- 
ing. The Baroque Beatles Book (Elektra) has 
turned the clock back two centuries to 
embellish more than а dozen John 
Lennon-Paul McCartney madrigals with 
the musical adornments of that em. The 
Baroque Ensemble of the Merseyside 
Kammermusikgesellschaft under the ba- 
ton of Joshua Rifkin melds Bach with 
Beatles in surprisingly compatible fash- 


ion. Jt is, verily, a hit, a palpable hit. 


A pair of superlative soul-cookers have 
served up savory LPs this month. Hang On 
Ramsey! / The Romsey Lewis Trio (Cadet) and 
Thors Where It Is!/ The Junior Monce Trio 
(Capitol) are chock full of infectiously 
thythmic goodies. The Lewis recording 
contains the group's smash singles of 
A Hard Days Night and Hang On 
Sloopy, and seven other swinging affairs 
including another Beatle best seller, And 
1 Love Her. Mance, who has yet to reach 
Lewis’ popularity pinnacle, is a first-class 
funk man, Abened by drummer Bobby 


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47 


PLAYBOY 


48 


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"Thomas and bassist George Tucker, Jun- 
ior acquits himself admirably in a bluesy 
session that center э the moody classic 
In the Dark, the Gershwins' Porgy and 
Bess Bible-belter, Zt Ain't Necessarily 50 
and the Duke's I’ve Got It Bad and 
That Ain't Good. 


Тһе scope of Peggy tee: Then Wes Then / 
Now Is Now (Capitol) is typified by а brace 
of ballads on side two: the upbeat blues 
Seventh Son, popularized by Mose Alli- 
son, and the melancholy The Masquerade 
Is Over—opposie ends of the voal 
ladder, but spectacularly set forth by 
the lush-voiced. Miss Lee. Conductor Sid 
Feller has arranged the charts to а 
fare-Lec-vell 


Kenny Burrell / Guitar Forms (Verve) is the 
most successful attempt to integrate the 
solo guitar into the context of big-band 
arrangements we've yet heard, with the 
kudos going to chartist Gil. Evans, who 
also conducted the session. Even though 
the big band is heard on only five of the 
nine tracks, they form the nucleus of 
the album which, as the title implies. has 
Burrell exploring a variety of guitar 
styles (including a solo stint on ап ex- 
cerpt from Gershwin's Prelude No, 2) 
On three of the tunes, Burrell is bi 
by a rhythm section and fine pianist 
Roger Kellaway. But the amalgam of 
the Evans orchestra and Burrell guitar is 
the piece de résistance. Burrell acis as an 
aide-de-cimp оп Organ Grinder Swing / The 
Incredible Jimmy Smith (Verve). Ordinarily, 
the organ is not one of our favorite jazz 
instruments, but Smith has а wildly 
swinging way with a Hammond that can 
convert even the most unenthusiastic 
Drummer Grady Tate is the third man 
in а trio that ta half-dozen tone 
poems in tow, capping the proceedings 
with a high-gloss go-round on the Duke 
of Ellington's Satin Doll, 


East and West get together felicitously 
оп Ravi Shankar / Portrait of Genius (World 
Pacific). The consummate Indian sitar 
player is joined by flutist Paul Horn on 
а handful of Asian themes, and the meet 
ing of musical minds is a joy to the cars 
Shankar has the spodight all to himself 
on side two in a virtuoso performance of 
the sidelong Raga Multani. 


Sonny Rollins on Impulse! (Impulse!) has 
beautifully captured the balladic side of 
the tenorsax titan. Accompanied by а 
rhythm section and the piano of Ray 
Bryant, Rollins soars mellifluously 
through On Gree Dolphin Street, Ever 
thing Happens to Me, Blue Room. Th 
Little Words and, for a change of pace, + 
bit of calypso high jinks, Hold Em Joc. 


Powerful, indeed, is Nina Simone / Let 1 
All Out (Philips). The Simone vocalisc 


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delivered from the gut puts a very per 
sonal stamp on a wide variety of offerings 
—from the Rodgers-and-Hart Little Girl 
Blue to Ellington's Mood Indigo to Bob 
Dylan's The Ballad of Hollis Brown to 
the bawdy Chanfleur to the gospel hymn 
Nearer Blessed Lord. They cover a broad. 
range, but not nearly as wide as Miss 
Simone's grasp. 


Now Ploying: Erroll Garner / A Night ot the 
Movies (MGM) is a delight from begin 
ning to end, although some of the tuncs 
are tenuously (to put it kindly) con 
nected with the flickers. With longtime 
associates bassist. Eddie Calhoun 
drummer Kelly Martin at his side, 
ner strolls melodically down moviedom's 
memory lane. Garnering laurels: As 
Tine Goes By, Sonny Boy. You Made 
Me Love You and a star-studded bill of 
stellar attractions 


An unreconstructed blues shouter tells 
it the way it is on В. B. King: Confessin’ the 
Blues (ABC-Paramount). Spurred on by 
his own guitar accompaniment, B. B. 
handles а flock of blues classics in ex- 
emplary fashion. Among the items that 
get down to the nitty-gritty: See See 
Rider, Ра Rather Drink Muddy Water. 
Goin’ to Chicago Blues and Cherry Red 


The Duke о! Tanglewood (Victor) proves 
that while the king may do no wrong, tlie 
Dul is still subject to human frailties. 
In this case, it was his decision to play 
piano while the Arthur Fiedler-led Bos- 
ton Pops Orchestra performed a concert 
of his songs. 1t was, regrettably, recorded 
Neither jazz fish nor classical fowl, the 
orchestral sound is a mess. Ellington 
presses on with stilf upper lip throughout, 
but he is sadly outnumbered, 


The Splendor of Brass (Nonesuch) is a 
handsomely regal offering. Two li 
Concerti in F Major for two horns, strings 
and continuo, and Telemann's Onu 
ture in D Major for wumpet, oboe, 
strings and continuo are performed by 
the Collegium Musicum of Paris under 
the direction of Roland Douatte. The 
Baroque tapestries woven by these 18th 
Century works glitter with the thread of 
musical invention still lustrous after 200 
years 


A wealth of well-iurned words is avail- 
able on June Christy / Something Broodway, 
Something Latin (Capitol). The thrush's lush 
warbling, augmented admirably by Ernie 
Freeman's très smart chartmanship, en 
hances а host of show wnes—Do 7 Hear 
a Waltz?, He Touched Me, Gimme Some, 
et al—and several extraneous items, in- 
cluding the often.done, but still- delightful 
Gast Your Fale to the Wind. 


EAGLE 
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Eagle’s deep-cast fashion green that’s 
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1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10019 
Also Melbourne, Australia; Santiago, Chile; Caracas, Venezuela. 


PLAYBOY 


50 


How would you like to 
get away from it all with the 
Second Best Shape in Italy? 


[DA Little? [7 AWhole Lot? [7] The Most! 
(Check one. Don't cheat) 


M you checked “The Most,” Congratulations! You're a natural born Fiat man. A man who knows a beautiful thing when he sees 
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THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 


IMI; fiance insists on playing his Sousa 
records while we make love. He claims 
that this march music is tremendously 
stimulating. Even though it excites him, 
it leaves me cold ав а cucumber (although 
1 do react to some music). I've tried 
adapting myself to the situation, but 
nothing seems to work. If I don't get help 
soon, I'm going to ch” right out of 
this engagement. Advice, please.—Miss 
B. T., Houston, Те 

Since martial strains are straining your 
premarital scene, we think it would be a 
mistake not to say зо. Why not suggest a 
compromise—allowing you to choose the 
background music on alternate evenings, 
If your fiancé discovers that you truly are 
more responsive to his lovemaking when 
the tune being played is more to your 
liking, he'll be a very foolish fellow if he 
doesn't soon dispense with the military 
marches altogether. In the meantime, on 
nights when John Philip Sousa is con- 
ducling, you might by a pair of earplugs. 


How do you save Japanese sa 
P. B., Roslyn, Pennsylvania. 

First, obtain а sake set, which usually 
consists of two ceramic decanters and 
five small cups. About five minutes be- 
fore you're ready to serve, place а sauce- 
pan containing two to three inches of 
water over a flame, and place а filled de- 
canter in the water. When the sake 
becomes quite hot, but before it boils, 
remove and pour. As you take ош one 
decanter, replace it with another, which 
will be ready for qualfing by the time you 
and your guests deplete the first. The 
appropriately polite toast іх Kampai 
(bottoms up), and when the gang loosens 
up, you can also slip in a Banzai (long 
live the emperor). 


Û have long enjoyed the sport of kings, 
but have run into а problem when 
I've added to the excitement of a day at 
the races by taking along a date. ls it 
proper to ask her if she would like 
to join in the wagering? And if she docs, 
do I oller my chips or accept hers for a 
trip to the window? If it is proper to 
subsidize one's date, who gets the pro- 
ceeds in the event her horse wins—C. L., 
Van Nuys, California, 

If you take a girl to the track, all 
penses ave on you—from admission fee 
10 double wagering. The winnings on 
bets you place for her belong to the lady, 
and whether от not she shares any part 
of them with you should be up to her. 


Fine paisley tics usually have а label 
reading HAND-BLOCK PRINTED TWILL sewed 


on them. It sounds good, but what 
does it mean?—D. B.L., Cambridge 
Massachusetts. 

The lie's design—in this case, paisley— 
is originally etched on a wooden or metal 
block which is then stamped by hand 
onto the tie material, usually silk. Hence 
the term “hand-block printed” The 
“twill” designation refers to a ridged re- 
lief patiern that is woven into the fabric. 


Д. 24, I've got а good job, a nice apart- 
ment and, | think, a welladjusted fe- 
male personality, My sex Ме leaves 
nothing to be desired, although I take it 
with one guy at a time—which is what 
Tm writing you about. Some of my girl- 
Iriends, who rent apartments in the sime 
building, prefer making love to virtually 
any guy they meet. 1 don't criticize ther 
but they constantly call me a “puritan. 
1 know I'm not, but can you give me a 
sharp line to throw back üt ih 
E L. Los Ang 

Sure. Quote H. L. Mencken's definition 
of puritanism: “The haunting fear that 
someone, somewhere, may be happy." It 
obviously fits them better than you. 


WI job requires that 1 travel to and 
Пош Europe fairly regularly. This is part 
of my business, but most people seem to 
ink I do it just because 1 like to travel. 
word gets out that 1 am packing 
and before I know it my friends are call 
ing with shopping lists of things for 
me to pick up when 1 get the time. 
Well, usually 1 don't have the time and 
when I do 1 don’t have the desire 
man Overseas shopping 
: but 1 don't know how to get out 
of this gracefully. Au secours! —H. T. 
New York, New Y 

You've said most of it already: You 
don’t have the time. Uncle Sam has done 
the vest for you by putting a $100 limit 
on duty-free items coming into the United 
Slates from abroad. Tell your friends your 
limit is already “spoken for.” 


О.. county dub has а dress rule 
that says a member must wear a "tie 


and jacket" in the dining room after 


m 


six. Does scot qualiy as a tie? In 
other words, if a man comes dressed in 
а jacket but with an open-necked shirt 
and an ascot underneath, is he properly 
dressed according to customary club rule? 
—J. R., Agawam, Masstchuse 

Яп ascot is nol a tie and, given a strict 
interpretation. of the yule, should not 
be wom in place of one. However, many 
clubs and restaurants are flexible on this 
point. If we were on your rules commit- 
lee, we'd vole to allow ascols after six 


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PLAYBOY 


52 


ANI root of mi 2 WILLIAM COMPANY, INC. 


Why does Renauld still manufacture 
sunglasses that look like the ones the 
good guys wore in World War II? 


Simple. When you design a classic, you stick with it. Not that we 
haven't made some changes in these great glasses here at Renauld. 
For one thing, we've curved the lenses for better protection. Made 
them from our exclusive Orama IV* so they're absolutely distortion- 
free, 10 times stronger than glass, and lots lighter. Used gold-filled 
frames, too. But as far as looks are concerned, these shades would 
be right at home in a P-51 (which may be one of the reasons 
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(except on special party nights), since 
this is a country club, not an in-town 
men’s club. With this in mind, why 
don't you ask some appropriate executive 
member of your club for a clarification: 


КМ, fiance and 1 live together most of 
the time. Circumstances are such that we 
can do so unnoticed and по one is hurt 
by it. We want to have a home and fami 
ly someday, but he is committing all his 
efforts at present to starting a business. 
In your opinion, would our marriage 
stand a better chance if we gave cach 
other up until the wedding?—Miss A. H., 
Birmingham, Alabama. 

Having shared quarters up ull now, 
we can't see any reason why you should 
suddenly separate prior to your wedding. 
We know of no guaranteed policy to in 
sure happiness іп married life, but we 
think it obvious that the better two 
people know each other before they take 
the vows, the move compatible they are 
apt to be thereafter 


heed your help, because this is some 
thing not mentioned in the oath of 
Hippocrates: I am a young doctor who 
ad have 


has been recently shingled 
just begun to set up practice. 1 enjoy 
it very much except for the fact that 
it seems I am expected to give away 
what other doctors get paid for. 1 am 
talking about people 1 meet at parues 
who expect me to diagnose every back 
pain and hiccup at the drop of a canape. 
Suggestions?—L. D., Duluth, Minnesota, 

The next time а symplom-bearing free- 
loader corners you, say: “That sounds 
like something that ought to be looked 
into. І suggest you make an appointment 
to sce your doctor al the earliest oppor 
tunity or, ij you prefer, come down to my 
office any time next week and ГИ be glad 
to give you a complete physical checkup. 


Four months ago 1 became engaged to 
an English girl living in the 
this coming summer we are going to Eng: 
land to be married. My fiancée has al 
ready written her parents informing 
them of our intentions and she now 
insists that J also write in order to intro- 
duce myself. 1 am at a loss about what the 
leuer should contain, since asking her 
father for his daughters hand at this 
point seems silly. I would appreciate ad- 
vice on what to say—R. У, Hayward, 
California. 

Take а past-present-future approach 
in your letter. Tell your fiancée's parents 
how fortunate you feel you were in meet 
ing (heir daughter, how happy you are 
to be marrying her, and how much the 
two of you look forward to your future 
together. Tell them а little something 
about yourself and about your [шше 
plans. Il would be a nice gesture on the 


It 
tastes 
expensive 


Made from an original old style 
sour mash recipe by Bill Samuels. 
fourth generation Kentucky Distiller. 


Also available in Limited Edition at 101 proof. 
90 гоо » Star Hill Distilling Со. Star Hill Farm Sarette. Ky. 


It reclines, tames, and tranquilizes 
you. Just lean back and press the 
arms to dig any of several contented 
positions. It's The Burris Chairs 
Tiger Tamer, at stores who know 
what's happening. Or give us a 
growl (with 25%) at Dept. P46, The 
Burris Chair, Lincolnton, М. C., for a 
folio of 24 other swingers-that-recline. 


Хав“ Burris 


Фан of your own parents if they sent 
your girl a note welcoming her to the 
family. Before going to England, drop a 
hint to them if you sense they haven't 
already thought of it. 


Bm taking а liberaLarts comse at the 
University of Illinois, but I'm damned it 
І сап find anyone who can tell me the 
meaning of the phrase “liberal arts.” Can 
you help?—P. C., Urbana, Illinois. 

The phrase “liberal arts” originated 
in the Middle Ages and refered to 
the two divisions of study that a stu- 
dent had to pass before receiving a mas- 
ler's degree from а medieval university. 
The elementary division was called the 
trivium and consisted of three areas of 
study: grammar, rhetoric and logic. The 
secondary division, the quadrivium, cov- 
ered arithmetic, music, geometry and 
astronomy. Today, a liberaLarts educa- 
Hon has been broadened to include 
courses in foreign languages, philosophy, 
history, literature and both. social and 
physical sciences, among others. 


MAtshough Im interested enough in a 
girl 1 have been dating to be considering 
ge, I'm very much concerned about 
her past. She was married in her teens and 
car-old daughter. She ad- 
mits her marriage was a mistake, and has 
also confessed to several affairs prior to it, 
1 am репеу willing to overlook these 
mistakes, but 1 will not accept her child. 
She understands this perfectly and, as 
suming we tie the knot, she'll make ar- 
xangements to put the youngster up for 
adoption. Do you think our marriage 
would be a парру one?—]. D, Madi 
son, Wisconsin 

We doubt it. We think that the same 
underlying resentment toward your girl's 
prior marriage and affairs that prompts 
you to reject her child would almost 
certainly, in time, alject the relationship 
in other negative ways. In addition, you 
have no sight to insist that this girl gue 
up her ofjspring; if she complied, ц would 
be grossly unfair to the child, and the girl 
would, in all probability, resent you Jor 
it later. Perhaps you don't mean to sound 
as sanctimonious as you do, but your 
statement. that you are “perfectly willing 
to overlook these mistakes” is somewhat 
less than convincing. Obviously, if what 
you really want is a wife with a pristine 
past, this girl is not Jor you, and both of 
you have а Јат greater chance of achiev- 
ing marital stability and happiness 
with different partners. 


mi 


now has a dire 


White оп a ski trip to Switzerland, I 
tried both cheese and beel fondue, They 
were terrific, but Im stumped on some 
of the ingredients. What kind of cheese 
is used in cheese fondue? Also, what 


Maybe 
Mark Craig slacks 


Make that blonde 


hop on your lap 
take six strokes off 

your golf game 
get you that raise 
or make your 

secretary eager 


but you never know 


Slimline slacks from $9.95 
Mark Craig Ltd. 

10 West 33rd Street, N.Y. 
Chicago Office, Room 845 
Merchandise Mart 


PLAYBOY 


And his clothes 
look worried too 


There’s absolutely no need to look as. 
though you've come straight from un- 
armed combat. Switch to Koratron® 
pants and shirts and raincoats—even 
ties. Koratron clothes can be sat in, 
traveled in, relied upon to shed 

wear wrinkles and regain 
their good looks minutes 
afterbeing crumpled, When 
you see the Koratron name 
as well as the maker's brand, 


Koratron Company, Inc., San Francisco, New York, Los Angeles. 


KORATRON 


the seasoned oil used in beef fonduc?— 
R. J.. Pittsford. New York. 

Use only imported Swiss cheese in 
cheese fondue. The imported-foads de- 
partment of most supermarkets carries 
й. Olive oil with a little garlic is what's 
used in beef fondue. To snow your 
skiing friends, try this recipe: Heat Va 
bottle of white wine to the boiling 
pomt. Add 1 pound of grated or cubed 
Swiss cheese. Bring the mixture to a boil, 
stirring constantly, so that the cheese 
melts completely. Stir in 114 teaspoons 
of flour that's been pre-mixed with a bit 
of cold water. Season with a pinch of 
nuimeg and salt and pepper to taste. 
Top with 2 tablespoons of hirsch, serve 
and enjoy. 


F nave been going steady with a girl for 
pproximately a year. She is very cute 
id extremely but she does 
possess one puzzling characteristic: She is 
hyperticklish. Even the slightest rouch 
sends her absolute convulsions of 
laughter. I'm not exaggerating when 1 
say she’s ticklish even on the soles of her 
feet—while wearing shoc! Recently, 
several friends mentioned that the de 
gree to which a girl is ticklish is directly 
proportionate to her degree of passion. At 
first 1 thought this was just another old 
wives’ tale, bur lately Гуе begun to have 
second thoughts on the subject, аз on re 
cent dates she seems to be warming up 
quite quickly. Is it true u ish girls 

е more passionate di icklish 
(—R. Villanova, t 

There is no scientific evidence to su 
port a connection between laughing and 
lusting, Jt might tickle you lo leam, 
however, that according to sexologist Dr. 
Albert Ellis some individuals—males as 
well as females—have a type of ticklish 
mes that enables them to experience 
"semi-orgasms" (pleasurable body con. 
vulsions) when they are kissed or caressed 
on certain parts of their anatomy. Be- 
cause these semt-sexual convulsive move- 
ments are enjoyable, individuals such as 
your girlfriend are highly amenable to 
physical manipulation—and in this sense 
may be said to be more passionate. But 
best be careful not to overdo the tickling 
bit, or when the moment of consent 
arrives she may be laughing instead 
of loving. 


уоште looking at something that will 
always look magnificently pressed — 
without any ironing at all. Koratron 
clothes should be machine washed, 
tumbled dried, and never ironed or 
pressed. Koratron clothes are 
specially made by a patented 
process that really works; so 
they do, too. And there are 
Koratron clothes for men, 
women, and children. 


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


©1966, Koratron Company. a 


You meet the nicest people on a Honda. Like attracts like. A Honda is 
good-looking, personable. Always gives more than it gets. 200 miles to a gallon of gas. 
Upkeep minimal. And prices start about $215* The famous four-stroke engine has 


a will of iron. A model of endurance. World’s biggest seller. HON D A 


FREE: Color brochure, write Dept. MJ, American Honda Motor Co,, Inc., Bor 50, Gardena, California 90247. "Plus dealer's transportation and set-up charges. ©) 1966 AHM 


© 1966 Truval Shirt Co. Inc. NewYork 


A 4 


5 ОП the Career Club crew. 


If you can’t decide between the Henley and the button-down— 
go overboard for both. Note the Truval styling. Authentic 
collars and taper-trim tailoring. Everything about these shirts 
says Career Club. Especially the price. So paddle 
around to your Truval dealer. You can make 
a big splash for only $4.00. 


> 


[Сагеег Club] Shirts by Tracal 


Truval Shirt Co, Inc, 350 Fifth Avenue, New York 10001 


Fortrel for the good li 


the lean look l that swings away from wrinkles 


SPENCER SLACKS tailors these "Killer Joe” Piro casuals to follow the action. They're Permanent Press, need no ironing. Celanese guerentees 
these slacks tailored with Dan River's “Dan-Press” twill of Fortrel polyester and cotton 


for a full year's normal wear or your money back. In navy, black, blue/olis lack]. 
olive, willow end gunsmoke. Men's sizes 28-42 Ivy style, 98-38 DAK. About $6.98 
Boys 6-20 about $5.98. At all fine stores. Spencer Slacks are tailored by Casual ELAN ESE W'ORTREL 
Sportswear, Inc., 350 Fifth Ave., New York, New York. 
Celanese® Fortrel® isa trademark of Fiber Industries, Inc. 


57 


wear 


is 


(and watch your friends turn on you) 

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but you really can’t blame him. He turns to you 
because Verde style is so distinctive! 
No aspiring fashion plate could help but take notice. 
Be a friend. Tell your friend Verde isn’t hard to find. 
No less than 2461 fine stores throughout the U.S. 
feature Verde. Tell him about the 247 Verde fashions 
to fit almost any mood he's in. 
Buckles, tassels, dress-ups, sandals, hoots, 
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You name it. Just name it Verde. 


Remember . . . your friend has other friends 
he wants to turn on him. 


unusually distinctive footwear for men WENGE. twelve to thirtysive dollars 
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PLAYBOY’S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK 
BY PATRICK CHASE 


WHILE WE GENERALLY don't like moving 
with the pack for extended periods of 
time, there are some brief special- 
interest tours available to the traveler 
that are definitely worth while. Partic- 
ularly for the man who wants то spend a 
few days following his second favorite 
passion—whether it be wine tasting, 

sert exploration, gourmet dining, 
small-plane flying, rheatergoing or what 
have you—these jaunts can often be far 
more satisfying when enjoyed in expert 
and comwivial company than by lone- 
wolfing 

Among our favorites is a wincbibber's 
swing through French vineyard country. 
^ typical two-day trip leaves Lyons, 
with perhaps the world's highest density. 
of top-grade restaurants, runs through 
the Beaujolais country for a lunch stop 
at Pontde-Vaux, where the Restaurant 
du Commerce specializes in brochet ан 
beurre blanc. You'll мау overnight in 
Burgundy, at Beaune, in the center of 
the Pommard and Volnay vineyards. 

Those who would like to follow the 
legendary caravan wails of the East сап 
book trips through Lebanon, Jordan 
and Egypt highlighted by a luxurious 
three-day ех 
corted by troopers of the Arab Legion's 
Camel Corps to the Bedouin outpost of 
Wadi Ram. 

For the aficionado of high adventure, 
there is an East African tour that uses 
plancs—mostly five-passenger Aztecs—to 
Пу parties over jungles and get them 
quickly to remote lodges such as S 
buru Game Lodge near the reserve of 
the same name for big.game hunting or 
photographing. 

If you maintain that h 
ture Consists of getting safely out of a 
deep bunker, there are golfing tours of 
Scolland and England that let groups 
play at all the hoary shrines of golfdom, 
including that holiest of holies, the 
Royal and. Ancient at St. Andrews. 

If you're determined to travel on your 
own, but sull want someone with the 
knowawhere and the imagination to find 
the uue flavor of a country for you, you 
«an hire your personal guide in Europe 
who'll provide his own саг or spell you 
at the wheel of yours. Formed by a 
group of Oxford and Cambridge men in 
England, Undergraduate Tours will as 


mon into the desert es- 


adven: 


sign one of their knowledgeable chaps to 
sit down with you on arrival, talk over 
your travel ideas and combine your in- 
terests with his savvy into a completely 
personal itinerary; he'll drive you any 
where on the Continent. One target on 
uch a tour might be the Parisian “Fes 
ival du Marais” in June. Commemorat- 


ing and augmenting the preservation of 
an exquisite 17th Century corner of 
Paris, this festival utilizes the splendid 
palaces and churches between Place des 
Vosges, the Bastille and the Hotel de 
Ville as evocative backdrops, 
Incidentally, through special arrange- 
ments with Nemet Auto International of 
New York, readers of PLAYBOY and Play- 
boy Club keyholders who are traveling 
abroad have a splendid opportunity to 


pick up a European car tax free. Whether 
your taste runs to a. Rolls-Royce or the 
new fastback Volkswagen, you can have 
the car w: 


ting for you on arrival. The 
depending on the саг you 
* usually enough to pay for a 
goodly portion of your vacation 

For the motoring gourmet, one of the 
world's great treats is the Périgord re 
gion of пас, caves and castles in 
southern France. Unul you have tasted 
one of the sublime Périgord omelets 
with delicate slices of truffle folded into 
reamy egg and flavored with a hint of 
leira, you're still on short rations. 
One of the gustatory treasures of the re- 
gion is a truflled. pûlé de foie gras and a 
glass of local Montravel for an epicu- 
rean start to lunch at the IHotcl Donuct 
in the cliffside village of Beynac, nestled 
around a 13th Century baronial chátcau. 
Follow that with a tender veal roast 
cooked to simple perfection, and a bot- 
Че of Gote de Bergerac while you lazily 
gaze across the river toward turrets of 
the Chateau de Fayrac. 

The continuing counsel in this col 
umn is to avoid the crowded tourist 
routes. For those who stay away from 
the Continental tourist lanes, this can 
even be done in widely touristed Ameri- 
сап dtes such as New Orleans: Stray 
off the main drags, in this case Bourbon 
Steet. The smaller spots along side 
sucets in the Vieux Carré are what lure 
the native Orleanians who know their 
way around. Try Preservation Hall for 
vaditional Dixieland jazz. It’s a tiny club 
on St. Peter Street that offers the warm 
est atmosphere for bulls who follow 
the likes of Punch Miller's Bunch, the 
Eurcka Brass Band and the Algiers 
Stompers. Another small French Quarter 
bistro, Cosimo's on Burgundy Suc 


goes in for modern jazz Then there's 
the Touché Lounge of the Royal Or 
leans, featuring piano and group singing, 
and Le Petit Bar in the Prince Conti 
Hotel, Rulfino's and Napoleon House. 
All offer jazz from the good old days of 
Dixie. 

For further information on any of the 
above, write to Playboy Reader Serv- 
‚Оло SL, Chicago, III. 60611. EB 


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as you like it. Both are 
yours for the cool wearing in 
BARDSTOWN Clothes by 
Merit. All models feature 
softly molded shoulders, lean 
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you the permanent collar-line 
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fabrics are the season's 
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Beat your confident best 
always. You will with a 
BARDSTOWN wardrobe. 


Summer Style Authority: 


Write for your free copy to 
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A Division of 


MERIT CLOTHING Co. 
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Act like you ve always worn 
a Tropi-Tex(by Worsted-Tex.) 


You'll get used to being a leader 
after a while. 


It’s easy. In Worsted-Tex “Separables" so uniquely comfortable we call them Tropi-Tex. With this handsome lightweight outfit 
you've "put yourself together" like a fashion connoisseur. Who's to know you cleverly chose this Dacron* polyester and wool 
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tion start at $49.95 for the sportcoat. Slacks from $17.95. Worsted-Tex, 1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, 10019. 


ж 
ut, ? 


pans m ae У 
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Iii ae сте жаз”, 


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THE PLAYBOY 


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


FORUM 


SCORE TO THE RESCUE! 

In connection with your continuing 
campaign to promote enlightened sexual 
attitudes, we would like to bring to your 
attention the following news item from 
the Los Angeles Times. 


GROUP FORMED TO RESIST SEX URGE 

Sheffield, Eng. (UPI) A society 
patterned after Alcoholics Anony- 
mous has been formed for Sheffield 
University coeds who want help re- 
sisting sexual temptation. 

When a girl finds herself in 
difficulty resisting sexual advances, 
she can telephone a spécial number 
and reach another member of ihe 
society who will give her "moral 
support" 


As an antidote to this outrageous or- 
ganization, a small group of us at Ca 
tech have formed а counterorganization 
designed to undo the wrongs that the 
above group promotes. Our е 
of dedicated scientists and engin 
thus formed a society entitled the South- 
ern California Organization for Rew: 
ing Experiences (SCORE). This rapidly 
expanding organization hopes to offer 
young ladies many worthwhile benefits. 

Leonard A. Fisher 

Jerry М. Yudelson 

Marshall Hall, III 

California Institute of Technology 
Pasadena, California 


JAIL BAIT 

Thank you, Mr. Hefner! You are per- 
forming a great service in exposing our 
"modern" society's antiquated sex laws. 
How can a body of legislators have the 
elirontery to determine the rightness or 
wrongnéss of my personal sex life? 

Because of the existing sex laws, I was 
“jail bait"; but T was also an attractive, 
normal female attending college. Had 
my young man, cight years older than 
myself, and I been discovered having an 
чї relationship, what might have 
happened! Upon the young man's con- 
viction for statutory rape, he could have 
spent up to ten years in a New York 
State prison; and then, because he 
soldier, could have received addit 
punishment from the military authori- 
ties. His youth would have been entirely 
wasted and both of us, no doubt, would 
have had deep emoti 
knows what else. 

As it is, we now have a family and a 


al sca Heaven. 


very happy home. But, there are still 
laws governing what my husband and I 
can and cannot do in bed! This is not 
only unfair, but ridiculous! Hurrah for 
Hefner! 


(Name withheld by request) 
Lawton, Oklahoma 


АСЕ OF CONSENT 

I was very much impressed with the 
December installment of the Philosophy. 
I was a bit surprised, though, when 1 
read that the age of consent suggested by 
the American Law Institute is ten! Was 
this a misprint, or was this for real? If so, 
would you please explain? 

Thomas Hummer 
Ephrata, Pennsylvania 

Tt was for real, but with an important 
qualification: The age of consent referred 
to was for the extremely serious crime of 
statulory rape: the American Law In- 
stitule's Model Penal Code also includes 
a statute for corrupting the morals of а 
minor, which covers consensual sex re- 
lations with females between the ages of 
ten and sixteen (where the male is more 
than four years older than the female), 
but with а correspondingly smaller sen- 
lence recommended for this less serious 
crime. 


SEX FOR ADOLESCENTS 

In reading The Playboy Philosophy 
and the discussions in the Forum, I find 
reasonably good arguments for sexual 
freedom for mature adults, and even for 
immature adults. But the area notice- 
ably undiscussed is that of adolescence. 
when you think a 
g man or woman is emotionally 
capable of a sexual relationship. Most 
21-year-old people are up to it, but few 
12-year-olds are. Do you advocate sexual 
freedom for 12-year-olds? For 16 
olds? There are something like a quar: 
of million il ate births а ye: 
many among girls of h 
which you say can be avoided by educa- 
tion and contraception. Should a moth- 
cr, when explaining menstruation to her 
lLycarold daughter, also explain con- 
traception? Or should she say, "Dear. 
when you're ready for your fist sexual 
experience, let me know and we'll have 
you ready"? 


h school agc— 


David Fuchs 
Woodland Hills, California. 
The legal rights of a citizen living in 
our free society aren't fully acquired 


talk. 


But women 


get the 
message. 


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61 


PLAYBOY 


62 


until the age of 2i—which we consider 
unrealistically high; we think 18 would 
be a more reasonable age for accepling 
the privileges and attendant responsi 
bilities as an aduli member of contem- 
porary society. However, social maturity 
—in matters both sexual and nonsexual 
—isn’t achieved overnight, as a birthday 
present; it evolves from the personal ex- 
perience and education of the individual 
beginning early in life. ordinarily accel- 
erating significantly with the onsct of 
adolescence, A certam amount of sexual 
experimentation should be expected as 
a normal part of this maturing process, 
and accepted by adult society rather than 
suppressed. As for sex education, we 
think it ought to be а standard part of 
every school's curriculum, starting in the 
carly grades and including—al a logical 
age—the fundamental facts about birth 
control, For we are firmly convinced that 
truly moral behavior is more apt 10 re- 
sult from knowledge and understanding 
than from ignorance. 


In the past 100 years, the age of pu- 
berty has descended considerably, and 
there is every reason to believe it will 
drop even lower. But no one has both- 


ered to notice. The same moral codes 
and laws prevail today that did a century 
ago. Consequently, from age 12 on- 


ward, we force the sex drives under- 
ground, ostensibly for six years, to meet 
the accepted code of behavior of а 
hundred years ago. However. 1 think we 
sex drives are not so casily 
disposed of—cannot be put off until they 
are socially acceptable. Those youngsters 
whom we do not succesfully drive into 
homosexuality or bestiality are driven 
toward sex fantasies—violent amd ani- 
malistic in the case of boys, tender and 
romantic in the case of girls. With each 
sex winging off in different directions of 
fantasy, it is а wonder they ever ma 
to get together again on a workable basis. 
They do get together, adm , but 
the relationships that result are often a 
gauche compromise. 

What is the answer? I believe it lies in 
proper education of the young. It is 
icult for anyone old enough to under- 
id this leuer to completely dis 
associate guilt from premarital sex. We 
е all been too well conditioned. 
There are too many "eyes" built into 
our society, and lest we forget it, the ho- 
tel clerk is there to remind us. The age 
of puberty is not likely to change for our 
conyenience; therefore, our moral code 
must. 

I think almost everyone 
that an initial sexual relationship, sanc- 
tioned and guided by parents, is likely 
to be a healthier, safer and more whole- 
some experience than that which most 
present adults ever knew. It seems un- 
believable that loving parents, who will 
go to any length for their children's fu- 
ture happiness, turn their backs on the 


agree 


child's most ve problem. That the 
introduction to life's greatest gift should 
be left to chance, perhaps to 
perience under adverse ci 
strikes me as being negligence at 
humane level. 

Let us get rid of the sex fantasies by 
jon as natural 
thy as the energy that prompts 
it. Let us remove the power of sexual 
ng ii 
people marry beca 
each other as individuals than marry as 
slaves to the mentally paralyzing eu- 
phoria of overstimulated glands. 


Ber 


ANCESTRAL CONSENT 
AND COMPULSORY CHRISTIANITY 
Hefner’s opening remarks in the De- 
cember installment of The Playboy Phi- 
losophy included the statement: “Our 
Government, which derives its just pow- 
cms from the consent of the governed, 
should not be empowered to intrude 
into the private sex conduct of consent- 
ing adults . . ." and went on to consider 
just how the Government had happened 
to become so empowered. His remarks 
alluded to, bur didn't mention spe 
cifically, a fact that has received little no- 
tice in the literature of philosophy, ог 
elsewhere, in the past 200 or 300 years. 
While the intent of the founding fa- 
thers appears to have been to create a 
Government deriving its powers from the 
consent of thc governed, what they 
achieved—from the standpoint of both 


theory and fact—is a Government de- 
riving its powers predominantly from 
the consent of the governed’s ancestors. 


Although 1 have not conducted a statisti- 
cal study on the average age of our Шз, 
Federal. state and local, Г am sure that 
such a study would reveal that nearly 80 
percent of the laws and regulations that 
govern our lives were conceived, debated 
and passed into law without the explicit 
or implied consent of amy person now 
living. 

While it can be argued that the fail- 
ure to repeal a law amounts to implied 
consent, that argument. is withou much 
merit. It should not, in justice, devolve 
upon each succeeding generation to 
undo all the misconceived, obsolete or 
unjust legislation accomplished by its 
predecessors, What is really needed is a 
Constitutional amendment providing 
that “Congress, nor the sovereign states, 
nor their political subdivisions, shall 
© по law having force and effect 


at the end of sudh period, and te- 
quiring the complete legislative proce 
10 replace it on the statute books; no 
such stopgaps as "extension" or legisla- 
tive actions to consider a block of such 
laws in a package, to be held constitu- 
tional. 


With such an addition, wc might 
ve, indeed. Government deriving its 
just powers from the consent of the gov 
erned. Also, а man would be assured of 
ing the majority of his life under a 
system of laws that at least represented 
the conviaions, or defaults, of his own 
and adjacent generations—rather than 
the mistakes, prejudices, and occasion 
ally the wisdom, of his remote ancestors 

in another part of the same install 
ment, Hefner documented the massive 
interference of the Catholic Church. 
through its Catholic Welfare Committee 
(as though the welfare of Catholics as a 

group had anything to do with such leg 

islation), with the attempt to get med- 
dlesome sex laws off the books in New 
York State. This is particularly instructive 
view of Cardinal Cushing's statement, 
quoted in the preceding installment, that 
"Catholics . . - do not seek to impose by 
law their moral views on other members 
of society . . ." 

If the leadership of the Catholic 
Church can't сусп keep their official 
branches in line, to say nothing of the 
rank and file of the Church's professed 
adherents, perhaps we should follow 


Philip Wylic's advicc and ". . . votc 
onto the Constitution of the nation an 
amendment forbidding these [church 


advocates of meddlesome legislation] 
to enter their churches ever again, lest 
the nonsense and harm they brew there 
desuoy the last honor, tolerance, de- 
cency and understanding left among us. 
I'm for less law and more justice, with 
the understanding that justice is best 
scrved, in at least half the cases, by the 
absence of а law. 

Most of this present plethora of Laws 
comes under the heading of “compulsory 
as Al Capp calls liberal 
ism. Apart from the fact that such laws 
violate the rights of those of us who 
ire to be “Chr partic 
y in the sense in which this word is 
most often used by the churchly, the 
idea of compulsion is as foreign to any 
meaningful definition of Christianity as 
it is to the idea of freedom, The very 
idea of “compulsory Christianity” is 
athsome. or should be, to real Chris 


‘The incorporation of reli 
doctrine and taboo in le 
tolerable, and 
from one part of the country to 
makes the entire situation ludicrous. I 
is high time for a review of the hodge- 
podge of sex Laws that invade the private 
lives of consenting adults, whether mar- 
ried or unmarried, and 1 am glad that a 
magazine of the quality of riaysoy is 
taking the lead. 

At the annual meeting of the American 
Anthropological Association at Denver 
in November, I conferred with several 


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fellow anthropologists, including Paul 
Gebhard, head of the Institute for Sex 
Research at Indiana University. Hef- 
ners contributions seem to be well re- 
ceived among anthropologists. І am 
confident that his analysis of the history 
of the attitudes toward sex is reaching 
the kinds of people who are now, or will 
be, in positions to introduce changes in 
these attitudes and in legal codes, 

І have made two wips to Polynesia. 
On the first, І was one of four archacolo- 
gisis on Thor Heyerdahl's Norwegian 
Archacological Expedition to Faster Is- 
land and the East Pacific (sce dhu-Ahu). 
My five months on this island gave me 
my first direct exposure to a culture in 
which the enjoyment of all aspects of 
life is acceptable. In fact, anyone among 
the islanders who does not share this 
viewpoint is considered beyond the pale. 
‘There were 21 men on the expedition, 
and the local girls regarded them as the 
greatest gilt they had ever received. The 
freewhecling life of the Polynesians 
works out well in their environment and. 
social system, though it would not be 
practical im our predominantly urban 
ion. The shocking thing is that cer- 
tain missionaries sce evil in all that is 
good about Polynesian culture and хеш 
to be bent on changing it into just the 
sort of taboo-ridden complex іп which 
we find ourselves in the United States. 

І agree wholeheartedly with the con- 
clusions and opinions set forth by Hef- 
пег in regard to the ways in which our 
aws invade the private lives of our 
citizens. I hope we shall sce many laws 
repealed and a new uniform code estab- 
lished, Such a code should be totally di- 
vorced from religious taboos, outmoded 
traditions and Ше opinions of un- 
qualified “sexologists” of the lunatic 
fringe. Changes in attitudes cannot be 
brought about directly by le 
but the removal of objectionable laws 
will aid immeasurably in promoting 
such changes. In effect, we should pro- 
mote the viewpoints of thinking people 
rather than those who live by the prc- 
cepts of oral tradition, or the unjustified 
conclusions appearing in 19th Century 
literature. 


Carlyle S. Smith 
Profesor of Anthropology 
The University of Kansas 
Lawrence, Kansas 


ADULTERY AND LAW 

Regardless of whatever laws are on 
the books, the incidence of adultery isn't 
going to be affected by any laws. It would 
not appear that the law is any more of a 
deterrent to adultery than the death 
penalty is to murder. I cannot believe that 
individuals considering the possibility of 
adultery examine the legal code of their 
state before they make a decision 

The issue, then, is truly a moral one. 
And it has not so much to do with the 
nature of man’s sexuality as it docs with 


given man's or woman's idea of mar- 
ge. The Church has long believed that 


a marriage existed because of the fact 
that а man and a woman "knew" cach 
other, and that this special “knowledge” 


put them in a unique relationship, i.c. 
п a sacramental state. Therefore, any 
thing that destroys this special relation- 
ship is, in effect, a denial of the marriage. 
Thus, when we talk about adultery we 
waste our time considering the law. The 
only purposeful consideration can be 
about the nature of the sexual act in re- 
lationship to the totality of the mar- 
riage. The Christian concern is with this 
fact, rather than am attempt to be anti- 
sexual (1 am speaking about Christianity 
today), amd I believe this is where the 
concern properly lies. With our current 
understanding of marriage, we cannot 
excuse adultery except in the most un- 
usual conditions. (I am thinking of a case 
where the adulterous relations! saved 
the marriage.) 
I believe that the Church is properly 
id about adultery. For it would scem 
10 me that adultery in the great majority 
of cases is not justified, bur rather is only 
the seeking of self gratification at the ex- 
pense of the most precious relationship 
known to man, It is, in the eyes of the 
Church, an act that is forgivable but 
rarely excusable or justifiable. ОГ course, 
this attitude is absurd; but then, most 
valuable things usually are absurd. 
The Rev. Douglas Evett, Curate 
Grace Episcopal Church 
Grand Rapids, Michigan 
We agree with your observation that 
adultery is not deterred by law and that 
the fundamental issue involved is a 
moval one. The question Hefner raises 
is whether, in a free, seculay society, this 
religious morality should be supported 
by state legislation, We think not. 


SEPULCHRAL CELIBACY 
Sure, you Americans have some prob- 
lems with your sex laws. But here in 
Holland our problems are [ar more se- 
vere. The Town Council of Voorschoten 
decided recently that а man and а wom- 
an may no longer be buried in the same 
grave. Two men or two women is all 
right, however. After all, ours is a 
densely populated country. 
John T. S. Brouw 
Uurecht University 
Hoensbrock, Netherlands 
Perhaps ihe town council should be 
reminded of this couplet from Andrew 
Marvell's “To His Coy Mistress 


г de Koning 


The grave's a fine and privale place, 
But none, 1 think, do there embrace. 


UNDESIRABLE INSTINCTS 

After reading Mr. Hefner's ideas on 
cohabitation (November Philosophy), 1 
feel that his t gis steeped in the 
infantile philosophies of Rousseau, Whit- 


man and Nietzsche, all of whom pre- 
tended to be liberators of the libido. 

To substantiate my stand against co- 
habitation by predicating it upon rcli 
gious grounds would be a mistake, since 
Mr. Hefner obviously regards religion as 
a mistake. My argument will thus be 
predicated upon pragmatic judgment. 
Cohabitation is natural, but so is steal- 
ing, barbarism and alligator poaching. 
Hence, we have laws to suppress these 
undesirable instincts and the state to up- 
hold these laws. I will agree with Mr. 
Hefner that our moral pretenses and our 
hypocrisy on matters of sex have led to 
incalculable frustration, but so does 
keeping poison out of the reach of babies 
cause them to feel frustration. I will also 
agree with Dr. Kinsey, who states that 
the capricious enforcement of our sex 
laws offers an opportunity for maladmin 
istration, graft, blackmail, etc; but so 
does having a city hall or a political ad- 
ministration lead us to the same kind of 
corruption. Thus, should city gover 
ment or politics be abolished because of 
man's frailties? 

Although Mr. Hefner's argument ex- 
udes some semblance of thought, I'm 
afraid it isn't very cogent. For in pro 
pounding his argument, he has ove 
looked the fallibility of man and the 
папу. frailties of which he is composed. 
Also, Mr. Hefner has failed to compre- 
hend the implications of his philosophy. 
For example, if cohabitation were per- 
tnissible, what would be the purpose of 
marriage? 


Dr. Gene Derow 
Chicago, Illinois 
Your unusual list of “instincts” not- 
withstanding {alligator poaching is one 
natural instinct we missed out on; if we 
came across an alligator, we're renson- 
ably certain that our only inborn desire 
would be to keep our distance), all of 
the behavior уои mention—with the 
exception of cohabitation—is provably 
Tarmful to society. But by what logic do 
you define the tendency to cohabit as an 
“undesirable instinct”? Gohabitation be- 
tween unmarried adults gives pleasure to 
the individuals involved and harms no 
one. The marriage contract is society's 
way of formalizing a relationship and 
giving it legal identity—which serves 
several worthwhile purposes, for couples 
ho wish them. But this is no argument 
[or forcing such a contract on couples 
not desiring it, or otherwise making it a 
legal. prerequisite for cohabitation. 
Society cannot put chastity belts on 
all of its members when they reach the 
age of puberty, 10 be removed when they 
wed—and it is foolish to have statutes 
that attempt to accomplish that end. Mar- 
riage has many other purposes besides 
sexual relations, viz, the establishment 
ај a family, the bearing and rearing 
of children, companionship, security, the 
mutual accumulation of property, and 
assistance in achieving other mutual 


65 


PLAYBOY 


goals, etc. There is absolutely no evi- 
dence to suggest that the institution of 
marriage has proven any less attractive 
in those states in which cohabitation is 
permissible than in those where it is not. 


MUSICAL SMUT 
As а professional musician whose cars 
are constantly abused by music appeal 
ing to less discriminating tastes than my 
own, I should like to make an appeal to 
the legislators of the various states to 
aw the playing of all music that has 
ially redeeming qualities. Consist- 

ent with these same legislators’ thinking 
concerning what printed material consti- 
tutes abuse to our eyes and what does 
not, I suggest that a Guegory be assigned 
to the varying types of music, ind 
which types are obscene то d 
which are not. In short, 1 think it h 


pornography in the same way that we 
inst verbal and visual 
pornography. Rock-nroll bands, for in- 
stance, should definitely be considered as 
not protected by the  [ree-expression 
uses of the Constitution. Rock ‘n’ roll 
5 obviously hard-core musical pomogra- 
phy and. as such, was never intended by 
our founding fathers то be included 
among those freedoms that are guaran- 
teed protection by the Constitution 
And while I can voluntarily choose to 
refrain (by simply closing my eyes) from 
looking at pictures of sexual matters 
that do not measure up 10 my standards, 
and that, therefore, may offend me, I can- 
not so casily close my cars to music that 
offends my tastes. Legislators have in the 
past concerned themselves with the less 
important matters of sexual smut, from 
which I can easily protect myself, and 
have entirely ignored their duty to pro- 
tect me from the far more irritating mu- 
sical smut to which I am exposed day 
after day. 


Bruce КИ 
Indi 


gbcil 
napolis, Indiana 


POSTAL ENTRAPMENT 
I read with particular interest the 
fetter in the December Forum Irom th 
Kansas City couple that was convicted 
and given a suspended sentence of two 
years’ probation for sending obscene ma- 
terial through the mail as a result of a 
“come-on” enticement offered by а postal 
pector. 

І was not as fortunate as this couple. I 
have just completed a Federal prison 
lam ry in Terre 
Haute, charges. 1 


and material tl 
am considers pornographic 
strictly an amateur. 1 neither bought nor 
у of the material 1 sent or re- 
ceived through the mi ıd 1 felt that 1 
anyone by my 


actions, 


One of the persons with whom I was 
exchanging material was caught by the 
nspectors, and he арра 
gave them my name. A postal 
wrote to me representing himself as a 
"young couple (very broad-minded)," 
who wished to exchange viewpoints and 
swap any "hot" material I might have, 
such as photos, books, movies, etc. He 
id that he had gotten my name from a 
and that this friend told him I'd 
terested in а mut 
I fell right into the trap 
nt photo Га received from 
one else and asked that he reciprocate, 
He did—in the form of two postal in 
spectors and two local detectives who 
placed me under arrest. 1 made bond 
and was to appear in court about 60 
days later on Federal charges consisting 
of depositing or causing to be deposited 
into the U. S. Mail for delivery, апу m. 
which may be classed as filthy, vilc. 
. €tc—a catchall. 

Vm married and live in a small town 
(15,000), and since I wanted to keep pu 
lia a minimum, I decided to go to 
court on the appointed day, plead guilty 
nd hope for the best. Since the trial was 
to bc held some 60 miles from my home 
town, there was even the possibility of 
the local newspapers not getting hold of 
the story, and I thought surely I'd get a 
probated sentence, since T had. absolute 
ly no criminal record of any 
good job, considered myself to be а 
husband. father and citizen. І 
even discuss the matter with 
who I'm 


lawyer, 


у in your 
sponse to the Kansas City letter: I ¢ 
T just felt that 1 iminal in any 
respeat, had. hurt 1 that the 
court would be Гай. Then BOOM!!— 
one year and one day was the sentence 
handed down by the judge. 

If it hadn't been for some good 
iends and a wonderful boss, I'd proba- 
bly still be in prison. My boss contacted 
who told him that a “motion 
sentence" could be filed, 
hich was done. The judge reduced. my 
sentence to 181 days. He told me that he 
was sending me to prison where I could 
get the psychiatric help he felt I needed 
T was у 
chologist, instead, who spent about 15 
minutes with me and said that he didn't 


re- 


ed by a parttime prison psy- 


and publicly scorned as a s 

It seems to me that the Federal Gov- 
could spend les time and 
money on such cases as mine and con- 
єс on criminals who are a bit more 
angerous 


(Name 
withheld by request) 


I have just read the letter from the 
man in Kansis City describing how he 


and his wife were baited and trapped by 
Federal agents. It doesn’t seem possible 
that this сап happen ion where 
freedom is so prized by us 
It bothers me to see how a Federal 

agent can actually entrap a person in 
this way, then come crashing into his 
home and drag him off to court and 
prison. This man and his wife haye my 
deepest sympathy, because they have 
been exposed to one of the greatest in 
justices І have ever heard about. 

Jim Walker 

North Carolina St 

Raleigh, North 


е University 
arolina 


I saw the letter in the December 
Forum from the spouseswapping couple 
from Kansas City. Although the general 
idea of spouse swapping doesn't particu 
larly attract me, | think these people 
had every right to indulge discreetly in 
this activity. The authorities who arrest 
cd them were way out of line, and some 
thing should be done about the abusive 
way these people were treated. 

The Playboy Philosophy outlines whit 
is wrong with antiquated sex Jaws and 
suggests ways they could be modernize, 
but it hasn't given us any suggestions 
about how an average citizen сап help 
m. Politi who 


afraid to 


ntly 
ws for fear of losing vote 
al voting public is not 


app: 


But the ge 
consulted. 
Sola 


k you, what can / do? 
Mrs. F. Gray 
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 
For the answer to what every intereste’! 
PLAYnOY reader can do to influence this 
situation, read our reply to the next 
letter. 


1 would like to describe another 
instance of postoffice investigation proce 
dure. About two years ago, out of curios 
ty, I answered an ad in the "Personals" 
column of a newspaper. I received no 
reply. However, а few weeks Tater 1 was 
visited by a postal inspector, who hid 
mmy letter. Fortunately, 1 had been ciu- 
tious in my letter and the U. S. attorney 
declined to prosecute. 

The postal inspector who investigated 
the case told me that the people 10 
whom I had written had been arrested 
for sending obscene material through 
the mail, I later wied looking thee 
people up, but could find no record 
of them, nor was there any arrest or trial 


record or any mention in the papers 
Further inquiries led me to believe that 


the ad w 
Department. 

There was a further development, The 
inspector who had handled the case in 
formed my boss, and 1 was asked to resign. 
Suspicion is apparently the same as guilt 

Subsequently, I talked to two different 


a plant by the Post Office 


PLAYBOY 


68 


Congressmen те 
of privacy by postal inspectors. While 
they both sympathized. neither of them 
willing to take any official notice of 
these ivitics by the Post Office Depart- 
ment. One of the Congressmen told me 
if enough people complained in writing, 
he would pass these complaints on to the 
Post хет General. But he frankly ad- 
mitted that he and most of his fellow 
Congressmen were reluctant 10 take up. 
a cause of this sort, because of the ad- 
verse publicity that might result from 
defense of seemingly immoral рег 


sons 
Do we have any recourse? I feel thi 
ich reader of pravnay would register 
his or her disapproval of this method of 
harassment by the Post Office Depart- 
ment with his Congressman, some action 
d bc taken. 


ame and address 
withheld by request) 
We agree. And we suggest that read- 
ers sufficiently incensed by these personal 
tales of outrageous misfortune lo want 
to do something about them, should do 
the following: Write a letter of protest 
to (1) Lawrence O'Brien. Office of the 


(N 


Postmaster General, U.S. Ром Office 
Department, Washington, D.C. (he 


Postmaster General); (2) Senator Mik 
Monroncy, Committee on Post Office 
and Civil Service, Room 6213. New Sen- 
ше Office Building, Washington, D. C. 
(committee responsible for all legislation 
concerning the post office); (3) Senator 
Edward V. Long. Subcommittee on Ad- 
ministrative Practice and Procedure, 
Room 3211, New Senate Office Building, 
Washington, D.C. (subcommittee cur- 
rently investigating the same post-office 
practices discussed here: see second-to- 
last letter in this month's “Forum” for 
more details on Long Committee investi- 
gation); and (1) your own Congressmen 
in Washington. 

With vLaywoy’s circulation. now ap- 
proaching 1,900,900, a united effort 
of this sort by our readers can have а 
significant effect, and offers the oppor- 
tunity for influencing society in various 
worthwhile ways in the future. If this 
particular cause seems just to you, then 
write—however bricfly—expressing your 
opinion. Bul wait until you've read the 
last few "Forum" letters on the subject, 
because they are among the most com- 
pelling. 


INVASION OF POSTAL PRIVACY 

It doesn’t take very much imagination 
to foresee the time when all words, writ- 
ten or spoken, will be monitored and 
Ridiculous? Impossible? Рег. 
aps. Perhaps not. My personal experi- 
ence lends weight to thar possibility. | 
en writing to a friend in a very 


censored. 


wc, my firstclass mail was spot- 
checked and declared. in violation of the 
postal obscenity Ја. To make a long 
могу short. а fine of S1000 was levied 
nd collected (my legal fees amounted to 
another $1000); 1 was fired from my job 
s a "risk"—a job for which 1 had gone 
10 graduate school to qualify. Im finally 
working again, at a low-paying position 
not at all related to my training. (1 even 
had to lie to get this опе) My under- 
standing family has been ostracized in 
the neighborhood, and the future educa- 
tion of my children has been jeopardized. 
All of this because of the invasion of my 
postal privacy 

Tn the exchange of letters between my 
friend and me. no one was threatened, 
mo опе hut, nothing solicited, nothing 
sold, no money exchanged, no one com- 
plained (except the Post Office Depart 


ment)—nothing transpired except an 
open 
m 


and frank discussion of sexual 
ters between two consenting. normal, 
telligent adults. What was most. ludi 
crous was the fact that when I ap 
proached the dosed door of the postal 
spectors office. having been sum- 
moned there, I hesitated just а moment 
before entering and caught the sound of 
uproarious laughter and lascivious rc 


marks made by the postal authorities 
themselves about some of the phrases 
and remarks in the letters used 


dence against me. But, to make i 
more ludicrous, the judge who handed 
down the fine looked at me and re 
marked. “Now go home and act like a 
human bei 


(Name and address 
withheld by request) 

We'd be interested in learning where 
you were given the impression that “by 
the merest possible chance, my first-class 
mail was spot-chiecked;" since post-office 
officials continue to insist that all first- 
class mail is sacrosanct and never tam- 
pered with, Bul if random spot-checking 
isn't permitted, then the question re- 
mains: Just how did a postal inspector 
become acquainted with the contents of 
your correspondence? (The alleged sanc- 
tity of first-class mail is discussed. in 
greater detail in another "Forum" letter, 
and response, near the end of this fea- 
lure.) 

Your arrest on an obscenity charge for 
the too explicit sexual description in а pri- 
vate letter written to a friend might have 
had a happier conclusion—incredible 
as it scems—if the same explicit descrip. 
tion had been presented to the general 
public as a short story. Different criteria 
are used in determining what constitutes 
obscenity їп a book or magazine, and in 
personal correspondence; or, 10 express 
it more accurately, the relatively liberal 
definition of obscenity established by the 
U.S. Supreme Court is grudgingly ac- 
cepted by the Post Office Department 
where publications ате concerned, bul 
ignored in their prosccution of ordinary 


citizens. In the latter case, a postal in- 
spector may consider a letter obscene if it 
contains just one forbidden word: and 
an innocent nude, or seminude, snapshot 
may be considered pure pornography. 


Several months ago, I was an officer in 
command position in one of our mili- 
ary services. One Thursday afternoon 
(the dav is important), an agent of the 
Office of Special Investigations invited 
me to his office. There we were joined 
by а postal inspector who produced 
lcner 1 had writen and asked me w 
identify it, which I did. The lene 
tained two photos of a male aud female 
] a compromising situation, which I 
was returning 10 а correspondent. а 
medical doctor, incidentally. These pho- 
tos depicted neither sexual union nor 
perversion... in fact, the subjects werc 
partially clad. But these photos were 
flatly termed "obscene," apparently оп 
the personal opinion of the inspector. 

1 was told that on the basis of the let- 
ter, 1 was "suspected" of sending obscene 
materials through the U.S. Mail: how 
ever, avil charges would not be made, as 
the whole matter was being turned over 
to military authorities for processing. As 
soon as I saw what it was all about, I 
asked to sce lega] counsel. but this wis 
refused. I was asked if I had other le 
Г wl being a cooperative, obedient 
olhicer, 1 took them to my military family 
ers and turned my letters aver 10 
them. As luck would have it, 1 had kept 
them locked in a box containing items 
varying Ir nocent, 10 the origi 
nal Marilyn. Monroe calendar poses, to 
doubted obscenity obtained dur- 
vels from the Far East to Europe 
immediately seized, over 
seless objections, because as а mili 
had no protection from 
scarch and seiaue in my home 
given a receipt for the “box of obscene 
items,” however. 

The next da 
“wheels” had һай 
contents of the box, 1 v 
jew ol the "new" evidence 
given until one o'clock Mo 
э decide whether 1 would resign 
“for the good of the Scrvice" or face а 
general court-martial. 1 asked for 
time to enable consultation with a civil 
m attormey. This was refused, because 
‘competent military counsel" would be 
made available. 

1 was told this at five PM, on Friday 
the nearest competent civilian attorney 
was а hundred miles away. Obviously, I 
would have to rely on the advice of my 
ssigned military lawyer. My “qualified” 
Horney was а young second lieutenant 
х months out of law school, who had 
never handled а case any like this 
one. Over the weekend he came up with 
virtually nothing of value to defend me, 

(continued on page 158) 


con- 


my 
tary 


man 1 


I was 


(Friday), after the 
a chance to inspect the 
told that in 
1 would be 
day 


after 


noon 


more 


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amor тымен, GEORGE LINCOLN ROCKWELL 


a candid conversation with the fanatical führer of the american nazi party 


“Genocidal maniac!" “Barnum of the 
bigots!” These are among the more tem- 
ретше epithets hurled regularly—along 
with eggs, paint, pop bottles, rocks and 
rollen vegetables—at George Lincoln. 
Rockwell, self-appointed Führer of the 
American Nazi Party and self-styled mes- 
siah ој while supremacy and intransigent 
anti-Semitism. Reveling in his carefully 
cultivated. vole as а racist bogeyman, he 
has earned—and openly enjoys—the du- 
bious distinction of being perhaps the 
most universally detested public figure in 
America today; even the Ku Klux Klan, 
which shares his Jewhating, segregationist 
convictions, has officially disowned and 
denounced him. 

Unul his rise to notoriety, however, 
like that of the pathological Austrian 
paper hanger whose nightmare dream of 
Aryan world conquest he still nurtures, 
Rockwell would have been first on any- 
one’s list of those least likely to succeed 
as a racist demagog—or even to become 
опе. The older of two sons born to “Doc” 
Rockwell, an old-time vaudeville comic, 
he spent his childhood years being shut. 
ded back and forth between his divorced. 
parents’ homes—his mother’s place in ru- 
ral Ilinois and his father's summer col- 
tage on the coast of Maine, where he was 
dandled and indulged by Docs ever- 
present house guests (including such 
showbiz cronies as Fred Allen, Benny 


Goodman, Groucho Marx and Walter 
Winchell). 
Rockwell entered Brown University 


“I don't believe for one minute that any 
6,000,000 Jews were exterminated by 
Hitler. И never happened. The photo- 
graphs you've seen passed off as pictures of 


dead Jeus are frauds, pure and simple. 


in 1938 and quickly became known 
among the faculty as a practical-johing, 
insubordinate student of doubtful. prom- 
ise. Though he spent less time studying 
than drawing cartoons for the campus 
humor magazine, he managed somehow 
to get passing grades; and he began to 
court the coed who was to become his 
first wife. Dropping out of school at the 
end of his sophomore year to enlist in 
the Navy, Rockwell finally got married, 
in late 1941, after completing his train- 
ing as a fighter pilot—just in lime to get 
shipped overseas when the War broke 
out. Stationed in the South Pacific, he 
was commanding a Navy attack squad- 
топ at Pearl Harbor when the War 
ended. He mustered out in late 1945, re- 
turned to Maine und took up belated 
residence with his wife, ehing by as a part- 
time sign painter and free-lance photogra- 
pher while he casi about for a permanent 
profession. Tightening the family’s belt 
still another notch, he finally decided to 
quit work for study toward a career in 
commercial wit. He moved liis family to 
New Vork anid signed up at Brooklyn's 
Pratt Institute, where his considerable 
graphic gifts were officially recognized in 
1948, when a poster he'd drawn for the 
American Cancer Society was awarded 
the annual $1000 prize of the National 
Society of Hlustrators. Then, quixotically 
turning his back on art, Rockwell re- 
turned to Maine a year later 10 join three 
friends in opening an ad agency; when 
it went bankrupt a few months later, he 


“People everywhere ате looking [от what 
1 offer. Most won't agree with me openly, 
but if you ask them privately, they'd tell 
you, ‘Rockwell has the right idea. White 
Christian people should dominate.” 


again found himself scuffling for pin 
money from one odd job to another. 

Still un officer in the Navy Reserve, 
Rockwell was recalled to active duly in 
1950 and served throughout the Korean 
Wer at the naval base in San Diego, 
where he befriended a married couple 
who shared his passionate conviction 
that General MacArthur ought to run 
for President in 1952. In the course of 
their conversations, the woman gave him. 
what turned out to be a fateful handful 
of right-wing political pamphlets—for 
among them was a particularly сату 
piece of antéSemitic hate literature, the 
first he'd. ever seen. Though he dismissed 
it at first as racist trash, he found it mor- 
bidly fascinating and vead it from cover 
to cover—and then again; it was begin- 
ning to make sense to him. The seed was 
planted. Nurtured by more of the same— 
cheerfully supplied by his new-found 
friends—it began to germinate; and 
when Rockwell picked up a copy of 
“Mein Kampf" in a secondhand boo! 
store and began to read, it took root. “1 
was hypnotized, transfixed,” he said later. 
“Within a year, I was an all-out Naz, 
worshiping the greatest mind in two 
thousand years; Adolf Hitler.” 

Leaving his wife and thice daughters 
behind in San Diego when he was trans- 
ferred to Iceland in 1952 as a bomber- 
squad commander, Rockwell was di- 
vorced and remarried—to an Icelander— 
within a year. When his tour of duty was 
completed in 1951, he moved to Wash- 


“Tue never met a black nigger—so black 
he looks purple—that can talk and think. 
All the really black niggers ате either 
Uncle Toms or revolutionists, or they 
want to loaf, loot and rape.” 


7\ 


PLAYBOY 


72 


ington, D. C., and made still another ill- 
fated effort to become а bieadwinner— 
this time as the publisher of U.S. Lady, 
a special-market women’s magazine 
aimed at what he felt was an untapped 
readership of military wives; because of 
financial pressures, he was forced to sell 
out after the first few issues. In despera- 
tion, after a futile campaign to persuade 
well-heeled right-wing businessmen to 
underwrite his burgeoning but undefined 
political ambitions, he packed his wife 
and their few belongings into a car-drawn 
trailer and hit the road as a traveling 
salesman, No great shakes at this kind of 
work, either, he left more than one town 
empty-handed and dead broke; but his 
wife managed somehow 10 keep food on 
the table, 

Rockwell began to sit up nights map- 
ping grandiose plans for the resurrection 
of National Socialism, with himself as 
the reincamated Führer; and during 
the day, between house calls, he roamed 
the country seeking fellow malcontenis 
and proselytizing for fearless, dedicated 
cohorts to join him in his crusade to 
purify the land of “Reds and blacks.” By 
the summer of 1958 he had collected 
enough cash (via mailed donations from 
secret admirers, mostly in the South) and 
mustered enough fellow fanatics (1l 
or 12) 10 give the group a name—the 
American Nazi Party—and to begin agi- 
tating [or attention. They got it: Their 
first official act was to picket the White 
House carrying such signs as SANE. 
FROM THE RIES. Brandishing Luge 
clicking their heels and “heiling” each 
other in brown shirts, boots and swastika 
arm bands, they swaggered about their 
new “National Headquarters" —a tumble- 
down shack in Arlington, Virginia, just 
across the Potomac from Washington. 

When an Atlanta synagogue was seri- 
ously damaged in a mysterious bombing 
late that summer, the public unleashed 
а storm of outrage against the Nazis 
{though none was ever indicted), and 
their little shack became a target for 
bricks and Molotov cocktails, police raids, 
snipers, abusive тай and telephoned 
death threats. Seeing the handwriting on 
the wall—not to mention a widening pal- 
tern of bullet holes—Rockwell’s long- 
suffering wife quietly packed her bags 
and left for Iceland. 

Her decision, as even Rockwell later 
admitted, could hardly have been a wiser 
one, for that first siege proved to be 
merely the opening skirmish in а con- 
linuing campaign of psychological and 
guerrilla warfare—punctuated periodi- 
cally by ugly, often violent confronta- 
tions—between Rockwell and the public, 
the press, the law, the courts, the Gov- 
emment, the Church, the civil rights 
movement, the John Birch Socicty, the 
Anti-Defamation League, the A.D. A., 
the K.K.K., the FBI, and just about 
every known racial, religious and politi- 
cal minority group from Berkeley to 


Baltimore. In almost every contretemps, 
Rockwell has come out on the short end 
—uinding up usually either in jail for 
inciting а wot or in the hospital for 
sticking around to see how it came out. 

Often bloodied (once by an outraged 
viewer in the middle of a television 
speech), but still unbowed (even by his 
most recent and humiliating defeat—for 
the governorship of Virginia), the indomi- 
table Nazi chieftain announced recently 
that he plans to stage a “back-to-A frica 
hate rally this summer at the comer 
of Lenox Avenue and 123th Street in 
the heart of New York's. Harlem. Few 
think he's crazy enough to go through 
with it, but even fewer would be willing 
lo swear that he isn’t. In the hope of 
finding out for sure, and of learning 
how he got that way, we decided to ask 
the neo-Nazi for an interview. Unlike 
controversial past interviewees Klan Wiz 
ard Robert Shelton and atheist Madalyn 
Murray, Rockwell could not be called a 
spokesman for any socially or politically 
significant minority; indeed, his fanatical 
following is both motley and minuscule 
(estimates of Nazi Party membership 
range from 25 to 100). Bul we felt that 
the very virulence of Rockwell's mes- 
sianic masterracism could transform а 
really searching conversation with the 
45-year-old Führer into a revealing por- 
trait of both rampant racism and the 
pathology of fascism. The results—ob- 
tained for us by interviewer Alex Haley 
—explosively exceeded our expectations. 
Of the experience, Haley writes: 

“1 called Rockwell at his Arlin 
ton, Virginia, headquarters and relayed 
PLAYBOYS request for an exclusive inter- 
view. After assuring himself that 1 
wasn't Jewish, Һе guardedly agreed. 1 
didn't tell him I was a Negro. Five 
days later, as my taxi pulled up 
in front of Rockwell's ‘International 
Headquarters’ а піпетоот white frame 
house in Arlington (since padlocked by 
the Internal Revenue Service, which is 
currently investigating the labyrinth of 
Nazi financial backing), 1 noticed а 
Lillboaydsized sign on the roof reading: 
WHITE MAN FIGHI—SMASH THE BLACK 
REVOLUTION! 1 couldn't help wondering 
what kind of welcome I'd receive when 
they got a look at my non-Aryan com- 
plexion. I didn't have long to wait; the 
khakiclad duty guard at the door 
stiffened as 1 stepped out of the cab and 
up the front siairs. When I identified 
myself, he ushered me uncertainty inside 
and told me to wait nearby in what he 
called ‘the shrine room, a small, black- 
walled chamber dimly lit by flickering 
тей candles and adorned with American 
and Nazi flags, adjoining portraits of 
Adolf Hitler and George Washington, 
and а slightly lager, rather idealized 
painting of Rockwell himself{—a self- 
portrait. On the table beside my chair sat 
а crudely bound and printed copy of 
Rockwell's self-published autobiography, 


‘This Time the World’; I was leafing 
through it when а pair of uniformed 
‘slorm troopers loomed suddenly in the 
doorway, gave the Nazi salute and in- 
formed me coolly that Commander 
Rockwell had ordered them to take me 
in one of the Party staff cars to his near- 
by personal headquarters. 

Fifteen minutes later, with me and 
my tape recorder in the back and my 
two chaperones in the front, the car 
turned into a narrow, tree-lined road, 
slowed down as it passed a ко Tres 
PASSING sign (stamped with a skull 
and crossbones) and a leashed Dober- 
man watchdog, and finally pulled up in 
front of a while, 16-r00m farmhouse em- 
blazoned at floor- and second-story levels 
with fourfoothigh red swastikas. About 
a dozen Nazis stared icily as the guards 
walked me past them and up the 
stairs to Rockwell's door, where а side 
armed storm trooper frisked me cx- 
pertly from head to toe. Within arm's 
reach, І noticed, was a wooden rack 
holding shor! combat lengths of sawed- 
off iron pipe. Finding me ‘clean, 


n, the 
guard ceremoniously opened the door, 
stepped inside, saluted, said, "Sieg heil” 
echoed brusquely from within—then 
stood aside and nodded permission [or 
me to come ahead. 1 did. 

“As if for dramatic effect, Rockwell uas 
standing across the тоот, corncob pipe 
in hand, beneath a portrait of Adolf 
Hitler. Warned about my Negritude, he 
registered no surprise nor did he smile, 
speak or offer to shake hands. Instead, 
after surveying me up and down for a 
long moment, he motioned те peremp- 
torily to a seat, then sat down himself in 
а nearby easy chair and waiched silently 
while I set up my tape machine. Rockwell 
already had one of his own, I noticed, 
spinning on a nearby table. Then, with 
the burly guard standing at attention 
about halfway between us, he took out a 
pearl-handled revolver, placed it point- 
edly on the arm of his chair, sat back and 
spoke for the first time: ‘I’m ready if you 
are’ Without any further pleasantries, I 
turned on my machine.” 


PLAYBOY: Before we begin, Commander, 
I wonder if you'd mind telling me why 
you're keeping that pistol there at your 


elbow, and this ed bodyguard be- 
tween us. 

ROCKWELL: Just a precaution, You may 
not be aware of the fact that 1 have re- 
ceived literally thousands of threats 
against шу Most of them are from 


cranks, but some of them haven't been: 
there are bullet holes all over the out 
side of this building. Just last week, two 
gallon jugs of flaming gasoline were 
flung against the house right under my 
window. I keep this gun within reach 
and a guard beside me during interviews 
because I've been attacked too many 
times to take any chances. I haven't yet 
been jumped by an impostor, but it 


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Famous, Smooth, Mellow 


PLAYBOY 


74 


su't long ago that 17 guys claiming 
to be from a university came here to 
interview” me; nothing untoward ha 
pened, but we later found out they were 
armed and planned to tear down the fla 
burn the joint and beat me up. Only the 
act that we were ready for that kind of 
rough stuff kept it from happening. 
We've never yet had to hurt anybody, 
but only because 1 think they 
were ready to fight any time. If you're 
ho you claim to be, you have nothing 


PLAYBOY: I don't. 

ROCKWELL: Good. Just so we both know 
where we stand, I'd like to make some- 
thing else crystal clear belore we begin. 
Im going to be honest and direct with 
you. You're here in your professional 
capacity: I'm here in my professional ca- 
pacity. While here, you'll be treated well 
—but I see you're a black interviewer. 
Its nothing personal, but I want you to 
understand that I don't mix with your 
kind, and we call your race “niggers.” 
PLAYBOY: I've been called "nigger" many 
times, Commander, but this is the first 
time I'm being paid for it. So you go 
right ahead. What have you got against 
us “niggers”? 

ROCKWELL: I've got nothing against you. 
I just think you people would be hap- 
pier back in Africa where you came 
from. When the pilgrims got pushed 
‘ound in Europe, they didn't have any 
tins or cawlins; they got out and 
went to a wilderness and built а great 
civilization. 

PLAYBOY: It was built with the help of 
Negroes. 

ROCKWELL: Help or no, the white people 
in America simply aren’t going to allow 
you to mix totally with them, whether 
you like it or not. 

PLAYBOY: The purpose of the civil rights 
moyement is cquality of rights and op- 
portunity, Commander—not miscegena- 
tion, as you scem to be implying. 
ROCKWELL: Equality may be the staled 
purpose, but race mixing is what it boils 
down to in practice; and the harder you 
people push for that, the madder white 
people are going to get. 

PLAYBOY: Do you think you're entitled 
to speak for white people? 
ROCKWELL: Malcolm X said 
thing I'm saying. 

PLAYBOY: He certainly was in no posi- 
tion to speak for white people. 
ROCKWELL: Well, I think I am speaking 
for the majority of whites when I say 
that race mixing just isn’t going to work. 
1 think, therefore, that we should take 
the billions of dollars now being wasted 
on foreig id to Commu countries. 
which hate us and give that money to 
gers to build their own civi- 
n m Africa. 

PLAYBOY: Apart from the fact that Africa 
is already spoken for territorially by 
sovereign nations, all but a few of the 
20,000,000 Negroes in this country are 


the same 


1 
much right to re 
Commander. 
ROCKWELL: hats not my 
two people prove incompatible 
riage and they can’t live togeth 
separate; and the mass of avei 
gers simply don't “fi 
Gin society. A leopard doesn’t change his 
spots just because you bring him in from 
the jungle and wy to houscbreak him 
and turn him into a pet. He may learn 
to sheathe his claws in order to beg a 
few scraps off the dinner table, and you 
may teach him to be а beast of burden, 
but it doesn't pay to forget that he'll al- 
ways be what he was born: a wild anin 
PLAYBOY: We're talking about hu 
beings, not animals. 

ROCKWELL: We're talking about niggers— 
and there's no doubt in my mind that 
they're basically animalistic. 

PLAYBOY: In what way? 

ROCKWELL: Spiritually, Our white kids 
are being perverted, like Pavlov's dogs, 
by conditioned reflex traini 
stance, every time a white kid is getting 
a picce of ass, the car radio is blaring 
nigger bebop. Under such powerful 
stimuli, it's not long before a kid begins 
unconsciously to connect these savage 
sounds with intense pleasure and thus 
transfers his natural pleasurable reac- 
tions in sex to tural love of the 
chaotic and animalistic nigger music, 
which destroys a love of order and real 
beauty among our kids. This is how you 
niggers corrupt our white kids—without 
even laying a dirty hand on them. Not 
that you wouldn't like to. 

PLAYBOY: It’s sometimes the other way 
around, Commander. 

ROCKWELL: Well, I'll have to admit one 
great failing of my own people: The 
white man is getting too soft. The nig- 
gers are forced 10 do hard manual labor, 
and as a result, most nigger bucks are 
healthy animals—rugged and tough, the 
way nature intended a male to be. When 
you take a look at how the average, bour- 
geois white man spends his time, though — 
hunched over a desk, going to the ballet, 
riding around on his electric lawn mower 
or squatting on his fur lined toilet seat— 
you can't help but observe how soft and 
squishy a lot of white men allow them 
selves to become; especially some of the 
ski сей white peace creeps 
with their long hair, their fairy-looking 
dothes and the big yellow stripe up 
th eless back. What normal wom- 
an would want one of these cruds? Un- 
fortunately, some of our white women, 
especially in the crazy lefüst environ- 
ment on our college campuses, get car- 
ried away by Jewish propaganda into 
ying their own instincts by choosing 
althy black buck instead of one of 


tiveborn Americans who have just as 
ain here as you do, 


skinny, pansified white peace 
стсеру who swarm on our college 
campuses, 


PLAYBOY: Are you implying that the 


Negro male is sexually superior to the 
white man? 

ROCKWELL: Certainly not. The average 
white workingman, the vast majority of 
white men, are just as tough and ballsy 
as any nigger who ever lived. It’s the 
white iniellectuals who have allowed 
themselves 10 be degenerate physically, 
mentally and especially spiritually, ший 
Tam forced to that a healthy nig- 
ger garbage man is certainly superior 
physically and sexually to a_pasty-faced 
skinny white peace creep. 

PLAYEOY: Do you consider Negroes supe- 
rior to white men in any other м 
ROCKWEU: On the contrary—I consider 
them inferior to the white man in every 
other way 

PLAYBOY: That's a fairly sweeping gener- 
Can vou document it: 
ROCKWELL: When I speak at colleges, they 
often ask me the sume question. I always 
answer with a question of my own: How 
do colleges determine the superior and 
Merior students? By performance, thats 
how! Look at history; investigate the 
different races. The Chinese perform; 
they've created a great civilization, And 
the white races certainly perform. But 
the nigger race, until very recently, has 
done absolutely nothing. 

PLAYBOY. How recently? 

ROCKWELL: ‘The past 20 or 30 years. 
PLAYBOY: What about the contribution 
of those millions of African Negroes and. 
their descendants—along with that of 
migrants of every color from all over the 
world—who helped found and build this 
country? 

ROCKWELL: I don't dismiss it, but the fact 
is that any contribution of the niggers 
has been almost entirely manual and 
menial. Horses could have done most of 
it, or well-trained monkeys from the 
same trees they were flushed out of back 
in Africa. They've picked up a few more 
tricks since then—but only what they've 
learned from the white mai 
PLAYBOY: Recent archacological findings 
have documented the existence of аф 
vanced black African civilizations œn 
turies before the dawn of comparable 
cultures in Europe. 

ROCKWELL: If they were so far ahead of 
us then, why are they still shooting blow 
darts at cach other while we're launch 
ing rockets to the moon? 

PLAYBOY: The American space program 
isn't a segregated project, Commander. 
There are many Negroes working for 
NASA and in the space industry. 
ROCKWELL: This only proves my point. А 
few niggers, like trained chimpanzees, 
have been pushed mmed into such 


dj 
things as the space program by our race- 
mixing Presidents and the Federal Gov- 


ment; but niggers didn’t originate 
any of the ideas or develop the fantastic 

anizations ble of putting men 
into space. The niggers in NASA are 
like chimpanzees who have learned 10 
ride bicycles. A few trained monkeys 


THE TIGER PAW 
"OFF THE LINE TEST. 


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test track in Laredo, Texas. 

The occasion: a Y-mile accelera- 
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stacks up against four other high-per- 
formance street tires. 

The car: one of Detroit’s hottest. 
Completely set up with three 2-barrel 
carburetors, A 4-speed box, Limited 
Slip differential. The whole gutsy 
works. 

Before we actually began, our 
driver made a few dry runs to see how 
many rpm's would best get him off 
the line. 2400 turned out to be the 


What happened: when we aipopped the clutch at 2400 rpm a. 


magic number. 

Then, the fireworks started. 

We ran each set of tires (inflated 
24 Ibs., by the way) through the М 
mile, starting at 2400 rpm's and shift- 
ing at 5500. Here's how they made 
out. 

Tire A: 16.0 seconds. 

Tire B: 16.0 seconds. 

Tire C: 15.8 seconds. 

Tire D: 15.6 seconds. 

The Tiger Paw: 15.4 seconds. 

Okay, so the Tiger Paw out-acceler- 


ated those other high-performance 
tires. But how does it corner? How 


e 


does it handle in the rain? How does 
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ultra-high sustained speeds? 

You really want to know? 

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PLAYBOY 


76 


ling bicycles doesn’t prove that chim- 
panzees could invent or build or even 
think about а bicycle. The fact is that 
the average nigger is not as intelligent as 
the average white man. 

PLAYBOY: There's no genctic or anthro- 
pological evidence to substantiate that. 
ROCKWELL: I know you're going to say 
you can show me thousands of intelli 
gent niggers and stupid white men. I'm 
well aware that there are exceptions on 
boih sides. All I'm saying is that the 
average of your people is below the au 
age of my people; and the pure-black 
ones are even further below us, 1 have 
living evidence of this sitting right in 
front of me. 

If you mean me, I'm far from 
pure black—as you can see. 

= That's just it: You're an intel- 
n; I enjoy talking то you. 
But, you're not pure black like your an- 
cestors in the Congo. Now, this may in- 
sult you, but we're not here to throw 
pansies at each other: There had to be 
some white people in your background 
somewhere, or you wouldn't be brown 
instead of black. Right? 

PLAYBOY: Right. 

ROCKWELL: Well, I'm saying that your in- 
telligence comes from the blood of my 
people. Whenever they uot out some 
smart nigger and "See? Look how 
brilliant niggers ar t they usually 
show you п with some 
nigger blood i docsn't prove 
that niggers are great. On the contrary: 
it proves that white blood can make a 
part-nigger more intelligent. 

PLAYBOY; That's not proof, Commander. 
Can you offer any authoritative docu- 
mentation to support your view? 
ROCKWELL: A psychologist named С. О. 
Ferguson made a definitive study of the 
connection between the amount of 
white blood and intelligence in niggers. 
He tested all the nigger school children 
in Vi nd proved that the pure- 
black niggers did only about 70 percent 
as well as the white children. Niggers 
with one white grandparent did about 
75 percent as well as the white children, 
Niggers with two white grandparents 
did still better, and niggers with three 
white grandparents did almost as well as 
the white kids. Since all of these nigger 
children shared exactly the same envi- 
ronment as niggers, its impossible to 
claim that environment produced these 
tremendous changes in performance. 
[Ferguson’s study, conducted in 1916, 
we er learned, has since been dis- 
credited by every major authority on 
genetics and anthropology; they call it a 
pseudoscientific rationale for racism, 
sed on an inadeqi 1 unrepresent- 
mpling, predicated on erroneous 
ssumptions, and statistically loaded to 
prove its point.—Ed.] 

PLAYBOY: In his book A Profile of the 
Negro American, the world-famed so- 


ciologist T. F. Pet es flatly that 
the degree of white ancestry docs not 
relate in any way to Negro I. Q. scores. 
According to Pettigrew, the brightest 
Negro yet reported—with a tested T. Q. 
of 200—had по traceable aucisia 
heritage whatever. 

ROCKWELL: The fact that you can show 
me one very black individual who is su- 
perior to me doesn't convince me that 
the average nigger is superior. The star 
uing fact I see is that the lighter they 
are, the smarter they are, and the black- 
er they are, the dumber they are. 
PLAYBOY: Thats ап opinion, Command- 
ег, not a fact. Can you back it up with 
any concrete evidence? 

ROCKWELL: The evidence of lifelong ex- 
perience. I've never met a black nigger— 
I mean a real black one. so black he 
looks purple—that cin talk, and think 
as, say, you can. When I do, then maybe 
ГІ change my opinion, All the really 
black niggers are either what you call 
Uncle Toms, or they're revolutionists, 
or they just want to loaf, loot and rape. 
PLAYBOY: Most sociologists would agree 
that the vast majority of Negroes—dark- 
skinned or orherwise—don't fit into any 
of those categories 

ROCKWELL: Like I si there are alw: 
exceptions—but everybody knows d 
they prove the rule. Evolution shows tl 
in the long rum, if the supe i: 
with the inferior, the product is 
between, and inferior to what you 
with in the original superior group—in 
other words, mongrelized. 

PLAYBOY: The words superior and inferior 
have no meaning to geneticists, Com- 
mander—and neither docs mongrel 
tion. Every authority in the field 
attested that the world's racial groups 
are genetically indistinguishable from. 
one another. All men, in other words— 
including hybrids—ne created equal. 
ROCKWELL: You're bringing tears to my eyes, 
Don't you know that all this equality 
garbage was started by a Jew anthropolo- 
gist named Franz Boas from Columbia 
University? Boas was followed by an- 
other Jew Irom Columbia named Gene 
Weltfish. And our present Jew expert 
preaching equality is another Jew 
named Ashley Montagu. Any anthro- 
pologist who dares to preach the facts 
known by any farmer in the barnyard— 
that breeds differ in quality—is simply 
not allowed to survive in the universities 
n publishing, because he can't earn a 
g. You never hear from that side. 
But Carleton Putnam has written a won 
derful book called Race and Reason, 
showing that there is plenty of scholarly 
evidence to back up my contention that 
the nigger race is inherently inferior to 
the white race intellectually. [Putn: 
former president of Delta Airl 
no acaden credentials 
anthropology or репе 
“Not Recommended’ 
his book—fully titled Race and Reason: 


A Yankee View—Booh Review Digest 
writes: "At no time does the author 
show himself qualified to speak as a 
scientist."—Ed.] Th у garbage 
is straight Soviet, Lysenkian biology— 
direct from the Communist Lysenko, 
who preached that by changing the envi- 
ronment you could grow one plant from 
another plant's seeds. This is the doc 
wine thats destroying our society—be- 
cause it's not true, You can't grow wheat 
from corn by changing the environment. 
PLAYBOY: You can't grow wheat from corn 
by changing anything. In any case, we're 
discussing human beings, not foodstuffs. 
ROCKWELL: I don't feel like quibbling. 
What I'm saying is that I believe the Jews 
have consciously perverted the study of 
anthropology and biology and human 
genetics in order to reach this phony 
condusion—and thus destroy the great 
white race, 

PLAYBOY: What phony conclusion? 
ROCKWELL: The totally erroneous notion 
that heredity has nothing to do with 
why, for example. the niggers have lower 
scholastic averages and higher illegiti 
macy rates than’ whites 

PLAYBOY: According 10 geneticists, it 
doesn't. In any case, how would accept 
icc of this notion lead to the destruc 
tion of the white race? 

ROCKWELL By deluding people into һе 
lieving that the nigger is only "underpriv 
ileged" rather than inherently inferior; 
to bel p therefore, that he can be 
aned up and smartened up by lewing 
n eat in our restaurants, study in our 
schools, move into our neighborhoods. 
The next inevitable step is то take him 
into our beds—and this would lead to 
the mongrelization, and hence the de 
struction, of the white race. 

PLAYBOY: You said that the Jews are be 
hind this plot. Since they're whites them 
selves, how would they benefit from 
their own destruction? 

ROCKWELL: They won't be mingling like 
the rest of us. They believe they're 100 
pure to mix; they think they're “the cho- 
sen people"—chosen to rule the world. 
But the only world they could rule 
would be a world of inferior beings. And 
as long as the white man is pure, they 
cannot succeed. But when the white man 
permits himself to be mixed with black 
men, then the Jews cin master him, 
PLAYBOY: How? 

ROCKWELL: They already run the niggers 
Except for the Black Muslims, the Jews 


practically all the big civil rights 
organizations. 
PLAYBOY: You're misinformed, Сот 


nder. The key posts in all but one of 
the jor civil rights groups—the 
NAACP—are held entirely by Negroes 
ROCKWELL: "They're just the [ront men. 
The Jews operate behind the scenes, 
pulling the strings and hold the 
moneybags. 

PLAYBOY: The Jews who belong and 


contribute to these groups serve strictly 
in an advisory capacity, 

ROCKWELL: You're misinformed. As 
started to say, Jews want to run the 
white people just the way they run the 
niggers. Once they get the white people 
mixed with the black people, the white 
people will be just as easy to run as the 
niggers. 

PLAYBOY: Why? 

ROCKWELL: Because when you mix supe 
rior and inferior, like I told you, the prod- 
uct is inferior—halfway between the two. 
The Jews would be able to outwit and 
outmancuyer and thus manipulate the 
mongrelized white man just the way he 
already docs the niggers. That's what the 
whole so-called civil rights movement is 
all about; and they're just liable to get 
away with it if the good white Chris 
of this country don't wake up and get to- 
gether before it’s too late to restore the 
natural order of things. 
PLAYBOY: And what's ili 
ROCKWELL: Separation. In nature, all 
things of a similar being tend to group 
together. Chimpanzecs do not run with 
baboons; they run with chimpanzees. 
This is the natural order of people, too. 
Even in thoroughly integrated colleges, 
when 1 visit them, 1 notice that. niggers 
usually sit and eat at tables with other 
niggers—even though they don't ha 
to. And the white people sit with other 
white people. I think this is the natura 
tendency, and to attempt to pervert this 
is t0 fight nature 

PLAYBOY: You fail to make an important 
moral and constitutional distinction be- 
tween choosing to associate with one's 
own race and being forced to do so. Lett 
to themselves, some people will mingle 
and some won't; and most Americans 
think this is just the way it ought to be. 
ROCKWELL: That's all very noblesound. 
ing: it brings a lump to my throat. But 
what does it boil down to in practice? 
Every time your people move into my 
neighborhood, the white people move 
ош: and often there's violence—by 
peaceful, decent white men who never 
before committed any, but are outraged 
at the black. invasion. 

PLAYBOY: That's an exaggeration, 
mander. The record shows that few: 
fewer white people are moving out when 
Negroes move into white neighborhoods; 
and the fact is that violence very seldom 
occurs because of Negro "block busting.” 
In most instances, after an initial period 
of strain, the newcomers are being quietly 
accepted, 

ROCKWELL: I don't know what ncighbor- 
hoods you've been g around in, 
but my own experience has been that 
violence and animosity are the rule 
rather than the exception. And that goes 
double when one of my guys moves into 
a place like Watts. Your people don't 
just riot; they try to kill him. This is 
natural. ‘Their instincts are coming out, 
and they always will. And any effort to 


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78 


override these instincts or deny they 
exist, will be unsuccessful. 
Nature will prevail. 
gro hostility toward Nazis 
rdly be offered as proof that in- 
tegration is unnatural. Nor is anti-Na: 
violence confined to Negroes. 
ROCKWELL: You're right—the Jews are 
even better at it. 
PLAYBOY: You've been quoted as saying 
that the Watts, Harlem and Rochest 
riots, among others, were actually insti- 
gued by Jews. Do you have any су 
dence to substantiate that charge 
ROCKWELL: 1 didn't say they started them; 
id they engineered them. First of all, 
y tell the niggers, “You people don't 
have to obey the laws you don't likc"— 
just like Martin Luther Сооп preaches. If 
cop arrests a nigger, it's "police brutal- 
's told he should fight back. 
Whenever a policeman tries to do his 
duty, the Jew-oriented niggers have 
been told to wy and take the prisoner 
away from this brutal сор The Jews turn 
him into a psychological bomb—so that 
when a cop comes along and docs h 
duty it’s just 
fuse. Boom—up it goes! Like it did in 
Watts. Like they do in Harlem. 
PLAYBOY: In both the Wats and Harlem 
riots, the bulk of the property damage 
was suffered by Jewish-owned stores and 
businesses. Why would the Jews foment 
violence that’s bound to result in Ше 
destruction of their own property? 
ROCKWELL: [t just happens that most of 
the businessmen making money off the 
niggers in the ghettos are Jews. The big 
Jews in charge are willing to sacrifice 
the little Jews just as a general sacrifices 
some troops to win a м 
PLAYBOY: But what could amy Jews pos- 
sibly win by engineering riots? 
ROCKWELL: They're just natural-born ag 
tators. They just can't help coming in 
and getting everybody all stirred up— 
4 they're always the ones to suffer for 
me! But they just can't quit. 
hell. With all their lib- 
preaching about equal 
i г niggers, they've. promoted. dis- 
order and chaos that’s eventu 
to bury them. The liquor de: 
ing it now. Last summer, all those 
Kike store owners in Watts kept scream- 
ing, "Oy! Stop! Listen! We're your 
friends!"—while the coons beat their 


Drains out. And that's just the beginning, 
just a sample of things to come. This 


summer | predict that racial violence 
even more terrible than Watts will erupt 
—all because of these two troublemaking 
inferior races. 

PLAYBOY: In judging Negroes “inferior” 
to whites, you said a while ago that you 
made this appraisal on the basis of “pe 
formance.” Do you find Jews inferior for 
the same reason? 

ROCKWELL: I've never accused the Jews of 
being incapable of performing. As a 
mauer of fact, 1 think there's а good 


chance they're superior to everybody else 
in terms of actual mental capabilities. I 
think the average Jew is probably 
sharper intellectually than the average 
gentile, because for years and years he's 
had to live by his wits. Consequently, 
there has evolved a race of Jews who are 


more agile mentally than the rest of us. 
PLAYBOY: In what way do you consider 


Jews inferior, the 
ROCKWELL: Spiritually. І believe that a 
human being, in order to be a successful 
person, in addition to performing—in 
venting a rocket or something—has got 
to have something he believes in, some- 
thing more than his own survival, some- 
thing that's a little bigger than himself. 
The Jews don't. They've even got a 
rabbi now who admits he's ап athcist— 
Rabbi Sherwin Wine of Birmingham, 
Michigan. 

PLAYBOY: Perhaps you didn't know that 
the current Church movement toward 
disbelief in God originated among the 
Protestant clergy. In any case, Rabbi 
Wine's convictions are a minority voice 
and could not in any way be said to 
represent those of the Jewish faith in 
general. Most Jews continue to believe 
in God, as set down in the ‘Torah 
ROCKWELL: Jews {alk a lot about God 
But actually their god, just like Marx 
said, is money. Cash! This is where the 
Jews failin their lack of idealism. 
Most of them are strictly materialisis аг 
heart. Wherever the Jews have gone, 
they've moved into а friendly, un: 
ing country and promptly started to glut 
on 
they're engaging in business, but actu 
what they're doing is cating the coun- 
up alive. And when people begin to 
resent their viciousness and greed, and 
сїйєт kick the Jews out or kill them, 
they always scream “Persecution!” That 
not persecution. I's self-defen: 
PLAYBOY: Are you implying that Hider 
was justified in exterminating, 6,000,000 
European Jews? 

ROCKWELL; І don't believe for one minute 
that апу 6,000,000 Jews were extermi 
nated by Hitler. It never happened. You 
nt me to prove it to you? 

PLAYBOY: Go ahead 
ROCKWEL: We have the 
mumber of Jews in the 
before World War Two; 15,688,259; and 
the figures for the number living after 
World War Two: 18,000,000. Now, if you 
take the number of Jews for after World 
War Two—and add the 6.000,000 you say 
were gassed, you get a total of 24,000,000 
—which means that there would have 
to have been а 50-perce sc in the 
Jewish population during a period of 
about five years. Even people its good ас 
sex as the Jews couldn't possibly repro- 
duce that fast. So you sec, the Jews’ own 
figures convict them as liars! 

PLAYBOY: What's your source for these 
statistics? 


wi 


figures for the 
world in 1939, 


ROCKWELL: The pre-War figures came from 
the 1947 World Almanec, page 219; and 
the post-War figures from The New York 
Times, February 22, 1948, in an article 
by Hanson Baldwin. 

[Subsequent tion revealed dut 
the World Almanac figure of 15,088,256 
is correct as claimed. The pos-War 
figures cited by Hanson Baldwin in The 
New York Times were in the following 
context: "In these countries (Palestine 
and Egypt), the Jews are tied by bonds 
of religion to the rest of the 15 to 18 
million Jews of the world." According 
to every official source, however, Bald 
win's estimates are in error. The figures 


compiled by the Population Reference 
Bureau in Washington, D C., show that 


the world's Jewish population declined 
from 16,600,000 to 11,100,000 between 
1939 and 1945—while European Jewry 
decreased 6,000,000 during that same 
period, from 9,700,000 to 3,700,000. —Fd ] 
PLAYBOY: Population figures aside, do you 
deny the validity of documentary photo 
graphic evidence showing the gas cham. 
bers themselves, and the thousands of 
bodies piled up in concentration-camp 


wrenches? 
ROCKWELL: | emphatically deny thi 
there is any valid proof that innocent 


Jews were systematically murdered by 
the Nazis, The photographs you've seen 
that have been passed off as pictures of 
dead Jews have hren identified as pic 
tures of the corpses of German civilians 
—mostly women and children and refu 
gees—who we ed in the one-night 
Allied bombing of Dresden, which s 
tered 350,000 innocent people. 
PLAYBOY: By whom have these pictures 
been so identified? 

ROCKWELL: By Mau Kochl, my research 
chief, who says that you can recognize 
the buildings in the background of these 
so-called Nazi atrocity photographs as 
buildings in Dresden. 

PLAYBOY; We don't accept the findings ol 
your research chief as authoritative. 
ROCKWELL: І have conclusive evidence to 
prove that some of these “documentary” 
photographs are frauds, pure and sim- 
ple. In a magazine published by the 
Jews and sold all over America, they 
show а bortle supposedly containing 
soap made by ше Germans out of the 
poor, dead, gassed Jews. 

PLAYBOY: What evidence do you have for 
claiming that it's fraudulent? 

ROCKWELL: Common sense. That soap 
could have been made out of anything: 
it could have been melted down from a 
dozen bars of Lifebuoy- But here's my 
ultimate proof of just how utterly ridicu 
lous all the апі чалі literature you've 
read really is: an article in Sir magazine 
March 1958, on how the Nazis gassed 
and burned and murdered everybody. 
It’s by "a former corporal of the SS” 
as told to an American Army master 


sergeant who signs himself “Lew Cor.” 
Well, “Lew Cor" is simply Rockwell 
spelled backward. I wrote it myselj—as a 
test. I wrote the vilest lies 1 could. think 
ol! And here they all are in print in 
this magazine. Look at the photo- 
graphs! These are supposed to be actual 
shots of Nazi victims mentioned in the 
irticle—victims that I invented! 

Your own willingness to lie 
azî atrocities doesn't prove that 
the Jews have done the same thing, 
Commander. Do you also dismiss the 
testimony of hundreds of prison-camp su 
vivors who have given eyewitness test 
mony about Nazi atrocities? 
ROCKWELL: 1 have an affidavit from a Jew- 
ish doctor, a prisoner at Auschwitz, who 
says there were no gas chambers. 
PLAYBOY: Do you have that affidavit? 
ROCKWELL: I'll send you a photostat. [It 
has not arrived.—£d.] I believe the gas 
chambers in these concentration camps 
were built after the War—by Jewish 
Army officers. We know this for sure: It 
was mostly Jewish Army officers who 
went in there to liberate these camps. 
And it was mostly Jewish Army CIC 
officers who were in charge of the Nu- 
remberg trials. It was they who tortured 
innocent Nazis, using any kind of vile 
method they could to cook up phony 
evidence. 

PLAYBOY: Can you prove these charges? 
ROCKWELL: ] know of scvcral cases where 
American personnel resigned in disg 
at the methods used. 

PLAYBOY: That doesn't prove that torture 
was used to extract false testimony. In 
any case, you still haven't said whether 
you dismiss eyewitness testimony of Nazi 
atrocities. 

ROCKWELL: Certainly 1 do. I've Jost count 
of the times I've been in cou alter 
being assaulted and beaten by gangs of 
Jews, and scen these same Jews get up 
on the witness stand, with tears pouring 
face id tell how 7 attacked. 
them! The Jews are the world's master 
liars! They are geniuses at it. Why, when 
a kike is up on a witness stand, he doesn’t 
even need onions to start the tears 
pouring 

PLAYBOY: It's said that you keep a model 
gas chamber here at your headquarters. 
15 that true? 

ROCKWELL: No, but we have an electric 
chair at Sing Sing that's already done 
great deed for America in frying the 
Rosenbergs; and there are hundreds of 
thousands more Rosenbergs running 
around America who need [rying—or 
gassing. 

PLAYBOY: By “more Rosenbergs,” do you 
mean more Jews or more Communist 
spies? 

ROCKWELL: Communist Jews. 
They're practically the same thing. 
Playboy: Are you saying that many Jews 


More 


ROCKWELL: I use the term “Communist 


Jews" 
would say "Italian gangsters 
ians are not gangsters, 
lows that the Mafia is mostly 1 
Well, my experience is that communism 
is as Jewish as the Mafia is Italian. It’s а 
ct that almost all of the convicted spics 
for communism have been atheist Jews 
like the Rosenbergs. And international 
communism was invented by the Jew 
Kar nd h since been led 
mostly by Jews—like Trotsky. > 
PLAYBOY. Stalin, Khrushchev, Brezhnev, 
Kosygin and Mao Tse-tung, among many 
others, certainly aren't. Jews. 

ROCKWELL: ‘The Jews operate nowadays 
mostly as spies and agitators for the Reds. 
Mind you, I'm not saying that there 
aren't vast numbers of Jews who despise 
communism. 

PLAYBOY: Yet you say there arc hundreds 
of thousands of Jewish Communists in 
America? 

ROCKWELL: Perhaps more. 

PLAYBOY: What evidence do you have to 
k up that figure? 

Plain statistics. Fourteen of 
Americans convicted in U.S. 
Communist. spies 


in exactly the same sense that I 
Most Ital- 
ybody 


ger. Of the 21 Communist lead- 
ers convicted in Judge Medina’s court, 
al Jews, Of the so-called 
Politburo” Communist 
leaders rounded up, more than 90 per- 
tent were racial Jews 
PLAYBOY: The total number of convicted 
spies who you say are Jewish comes to 
33. That's far from hundreds of thou- 
sands. 
ROCKWELL: ‘There's ао c 
black and white. Even in their own pub- 
lications, the Jews do not hide from the 
Jewishness of communism. it’s there lor 
anybody to sce. For instance, the largest- 
circulation Communist newspaper in 
America is not The Worker, but a pape 
published in Yiddish called The Morn- 
ing Freiheil. Any American cam get a 
copy of this Jewish Communist newspa- 


lence in 


per glish portions, 
the they're 
preach 


AYBOY: The views of The Morning 
Freiheit certainly can't be said to reflect 
those of most American Jews, Com- 
mander. Can you give a specific example 
of a pro-Marxist statement by any recog- 
nized spokesman for American Jewr 
ROCKWELL: Just onc? That's ca: 
take a statement made by 
Stephen Wise: hes one of the 
spokesmen for American Jewry. 
PLAYBOY: He died in 1949. 

ROCKWELL; Well, before he died, he wrote, 
Some call it communism: I call it 
Judaism." That's a direct quote. I'd say 
that's putting it pretty unequivocally, 
wouldn't you? 
PLAYBOY: Can you produce proof of that 
statement? 

ROCKWELL: Certainly. I'll send it to you. 


v. Let's 


Rabbi 
leading 


[The proof has not arrived, nor was 
Commander Rockwell able to tell us the 
name of the publication in which the 
alleged statement appeared. An official 
at Manhattan's Hebrew Union College, 
where Rabbi Wise's entire works are 
kept in archive, later said that no such 
statement appears anywhere in the late 
"s writings. Rabbi Edward Kline, 
Wise's successor at New York's Free Syn- 
agogue, told us further that no such 
quote appears in any of Wise's speeches; 
nor could he, as a lifelong foe of com. 
munism, said. Kline, have been capable 
of making such a remark, Confronted 
with this evidence, Rockwell later re- 
tracted the allegation.—Ed.] 
PLAYBOY: Do you have any tangible evi 
dence to substantiate your charges? 
ROCKWELL: Would you accept evidence 
based on a statistical sampling? 
PLAYBOY: Ler's hear it. 
ROCKWELL, Out of the number 
that I е known personally, a tremen- 
dous proportion—at least 50 percent, 
maybe as high as 85 or 90 percent—have 
pro-Red; either card-carrying Con 
the 


of Jews 


d abetting communism and promoting 
munist overthrow of this G 
isting the Communist enemies 


y 
suppressing legal evidence which would 
tend to convict such tra 
PLAYROY. Your own conjectures abour 
the political sympathies of Jews you've 
known personally. Commander, could 
hardly be accepted as evidence to support 
your allegations about them, let alone 
the "hundreds of thousands" you say arc 
pro-Red. In any case, you say they “need 
frying—or gassing.” On what grounds? 
ROCKWELL, Treason. Everybody—not just 
Jews—with suspicious records of pro 
communism, or treasonable Zioni: or 
any subversive attack on this country or 
its people, should be investigated and 
arrested and the evidence placed. betore 
a grand jury. If they're indicted, they 
should be tried for treason, and if they're 
convicted, they should be killed. 
PLAYBOY: How? 

ROCKWELL: Well, there are going 10 be 
hundreds of thousands of Jewish traitors 
to execute, don't forget. 1 don't see how 
you can strap that many people in elec 
tric chairs and get the job done belore 
they all die of old аре; so it seems to me 
that mass gus chambers are going to be 
the only solution for the Communist 
traitor problem in America. 

PLAYBOY: Your suggestion of gas cham- 
bers as a “solution for the Communist 
traitor probl is reminiscent of the 
final solution for the Jewish problem” 
uted by the Nazis in Germany. Are 
aning to lead another anti-Semitic 
crusade along the lines laid down by 
Hitler? 

ROCKWELL: The crusade I plan to lead 


79 


PLAYBOY 


80 


will be much broader in scope than that 
In Germany, Hitler produced а local 
“lab experiment"; he provided me with 
an ideology in the same way that Marx 
provided one for Lenin. My task is to 
tum this ideology into a world move 
ment. And ГІ never be able to accom- 
plish that by preaching pure Aryanism 
as Hider did—by glorifying the Nordic- 
Germanic people as а “master racc" 
There m an easily identifiable master 
race, however: the white race. You can 
nd it all over the world. This is what 
Im fighting for—not Aryanism, but 
white Christian solidarity. In the long 
tun, I intend to win over the people of 
Greece, of Germany, of Italy, of England, 
of Canada, of France, of Spain, of Latin 
America, of Rhodesia. of South Afric: 
the people of every white Ch 
country in the world. All the white С 
tian countrics of the carth I would try 
to mold into one racial, religious, polit- 
al m entity. 1 them 
eventually to have hegemony 
PLAYBOY: Over the nonwhite, n 


Chr 


пап ions? 
ROCKWELL: Over the Afro-Asian bloc, 
which is to me the ultimate danger the 


earth faces, Worse than the bomb! These 
people have something both communism 
and democracy have low. Theyre Е 
s! They're full of this wild-eyed be- 
lief aud. vitality that the white man has 
gradually been losing. If they ever unite, 
there will be almost а billion of them 
st the white п io of seven 
to one. They're breeding so fast that the 
odds could easily be ten or fifteen to one 
before доо long. When these billions of 
primitive colored. people are able to con- 
wol an atom or an H-bomb, as Red 
China may soon be able to do, we could 
wipe out a hundred million of them, 


and there would still Бе plenty more 
who kept coming. The white race 
couldn't take kind of a hlood- 


letting for long. We'd be wiped out! The 
huge masses ol semianimal colored 
people would simply sweep over us, and 
there'd be nothing we could do about it. 
It would be the ultimate victory of 
quantity over quality—unless the white 
people unite first. We're i 

И (hey get together first. But make по 
mistake: There's going to be a battle of 
Armageddon, and its going to be not 
between communism and democracy, but 
between the colored millions of the 
world and the small but elite corps of 
white men; ideological economic and 
philosophical issues will play little or no 
part in it, When the time comes—and 
ivs later than we think—I plan to be 
ly not only to defend myself, but to 
lead the millions of whites all over the 
world who today are foolishly pretend 
ing they don't know what's going on 
PLAYBOY: Estimates of your nationwide 
membership range from 25 to 100. Do 
you propose to lead the white Christian 
nations with this handful of followers? 


ROCKWELL: In the first place, we're a 
world movement, just as communism is a 
world movement rather than a local or 
nation anization. We've launched 
a world union of National Socialists, of 
which I am the international commander. 
In the second place, you've gor those fig- 
ures wrong. In this country alone, we've 
got about 500 storm troopers—that's men 
ready for street action—plus about 1500 
Party members, Also about 15.000 cor- 
respgndents—people sympathetic ю our 
cause who write in and donate. And our 


membership abroad numbers in the 
thousands. 

PLAYBOY: Where abroad? 

ROCKWELL: Let me name you countrics. 


ina: Horst Eichmann, Adolf. Eic 
^s son, is our leader there; he's ci- 
ther in jail or disappeared, bur our 
movement is growing there, In Austra- 
our movement is temporarily busted 
up. but my leader—an American—is run- 
ing around under cover, uying to get 
his group. back. together Tn Spain 
we've got a pretty good undercover 
movement, but Franco doesn’t appreciate 
it, so we have to stay under cover, In 
gland, €. Jordan is operating 
wide open—and doing very well In 
France, we've got a damned good group: 
they were all arrested. just a while back. 


In Belgium, I've got an exSS para- 
trooper in charge, amd he's doing very 
well. In Sweden, we've got а tremendous 


group: they were all just arrested. In 
Austria—our guy is in jail. so things 
pretty well broken up there. In Canada 
John Beattie is leading a tremendous 
and successful movement, Our leader in 
Chile is in jail. In Germany, we've gone 
under cover; our leader is going to ў 
shortly. In Holland. we're doing fine. 
In Ireland, they're coming along Гам. 
In Haly, we've got а real tremendou 
movement, In Japan, one of our guys 
stabbed the Socialist deputy. Remember? 
New Zealand is coming along fine. Bu 
Norway isn't doing too good. We've a fine 
group in South Ai 
we've got a group in Rhodes 
So you see, we've got groups all over 
the world. They're still little. But 
all, it’s only bee 
died. Twenty y 
fied, the . 
Right now, the followers of the swastika 
re in the catacombs, like the original 
followers of the cross were then. I can't 
say we're a Christian movement in the 
ry sense; in fact, I personally am 
an agnostic. But I deeply believe th 
there is a power greater than ours that's 
helping us in our fight to keep the world 
natural and racially pure—as opposed to 
perverted and mongrelized. We've got an 
ideology, a dedication, « belief, a vitality 
to match the zealotry of the fanatical 
Asian-Africin bloc. That's why werc 
going to grow: that's why—eventually— 
we're poing to prevail. 
PLAYEOY: Can you tell us just how you 


plan to go about fulfilling this destiny— 
with or without divine intervention? 
ROCKWELL: І have a four-phase plan. The 
first phase is to reach the masses: 
an do nothing until yo 
the masses. In order to reach them— 
without money, without status, with 
ош a public platform—you have to bc 
come а dramatic figure. Now in order to 
achieve that, I've had to tke a lot of 
arbage: being called a пш and a mon 
ster and everything else, But by hanging 
up the swastika, 1 reach the masses. The 
second phase is to disabuse them of 
the false picture they have gouen of nic 
to educue them about what my real pro 
gram is. The third phase will be to or 
ganize the people I've educated into а 
political entity. And the fourth phase 
will be to use that political entity as a 
machine to win political power. 
Thats the plan. They all overlap, of 
course. Right now we're about 50 percent 
involved in phase two; we're actully 
beginning to educate people—in inter 
views like this one, in speaking engage 
ments at colleges and the like. The other 
50 percent is still phase one—just 
hell to keep people aware ihat 
such a thing as the Am 
not caring what they c 
they call us something. 
PLAYBOY: What kind of hell 
ROCKWELL: Well, 
but one of my 
plane and skywrite а big smoke swastika 
over New York City—on Hitlers birth. 
day. That sort of thing. Or 1 might get 
one plane to do the Star of David, and 
TH come in another plane and squat 
ad do brown smoke all over it—on Ben 
Gurion’s birthday. I've checked Federal 
regulations, and they couldn't do a thing 
about it. All I need is the money to do 
But that's in the future. One of е 
реч things we've already done to prop- 


you 
ve reached 


w 


aising 

there's 
i Party, 
long as 


is to rent me à 


agandize ourselves is our "Coonard 
Lines Boat Tickets to Africa." I's our 
most popular mailorder item; white 


high school students order them by the 
thousands. Would you like me to read 
you what a ticket entitles one nigger to? 
PLAYBOY: Go ahead. 

ROCKWELL: Six things. One: a fre 
Africa on а Cadillacshz 
Two: choice cuts of all the bana 


wip to 


missio desired en route, and a fr 
T of meat tenderizer. NAACP members 
may sit up front and twist to Martin Lu 
ther Сооп jazz band. Th те! of 


with nigger sweat. Four: a framed pic 
une of Eleanor Roosevelt amd Harry 
Golden 1 arded chicken 
coop and watermelon patch on deck, 
plus fish and chips for breakfast. And 
ix: plenty of wine, n heroin 
and other refreshments, And six: On 
the reverse side, we offer white liberal 
peace creeps a ycar's supply of “Instant 

i Is described as "Easymiving 


powder! Just sprinkle this dingy black 
dust on any sidewalk! Just make water 
on it, and presto! Hundreds of niggers 
spring up—litle niggers, big niggers, fat 
niggers, skinny niggers, light niggers, 
midnightblack niggers, red niggers, even 
Jew niggers.” It reads here, "Why wait? 
With this Instant Nigger Powder, any 
niggerloving beatnik peace creep can 
have all the niggers he can stand!" Want 
one? Compliments of the house. 
PLAYBOY: Is mail-order hate literature 
your main source of income? 

ROCKWELL: That, plus initiation fees from. 
new members; plus small donations from. 
those who believe in what we're trying to 
do; plus the proceeds from special events 
like one of our “hate-nannies.” 

PLAYBOY: What are they? 

ROCKWELL: Big musical jamborees. We 
hold them on patriotic holidays. 
PLAYBOY: Would you give an example of 
а hatenanny lyric? 

ROCKWELL: Sure. Remember, you asked for 
Ring that bell, shout for joy / White 
man's day is here/ Gather all those 
equals up/ Herd them on the picr/ 
America for whites / Africa [or blacks / 
Send those apes back to the trees / Ship 
those niggers back / Twenty million ugly 
coons are ready on their pier / America 
for whites / Africa for blacks / Ring that 
bell, shout for joy / The white man's day 
is here / Hand that chimp his ugly stick / 
Hand that buck his spear . . That's 
just the first part of that song. Do yon 
want to hear more of it? 

PLAYBOY: No, we get the general idea, 
ROCKWELL: Well, I believe a man ought 
to hoist up his and tell you what he 
is. And that’s just what we do here. 
PLAYBOY: Are there any anti-Jewish bal- 
lads in your hate-nanny song bag; 
ROCKWELL: Oh, yes! One of our favorites 
is The Jews Are Through in It goes 
to the tune of Mademoiselle from 
Armentières. Want to hear it? 

PLAYBOY: We'll listen. 

ROCKWELL: “The Jews are through in '72, 
parlezvous | The Jews are through 
"79, parlez-vous | We'll feed them bacon 
ull they yell / And send them all to kosher 
hell / Hinky dinky, parlez-vous . . ." The 
chorus repeats, and then comes the next 
verse: “We'll steal the rabbi's knife and 
sheath / Апа make him do it with his 
teeth | Hinky dinky, parlezvous.” The 
rest of it I don't remember. 

PLAYBOY: The song says the Jews will be 
“through in "72." Is that date significant 
in some way? 

ROCKWELL: 1972 is the year I'm going to 
be elected President on the National So- 
cialist ticket. Five years of the Johnson 
Administration will leave the country so 
torn with racial tensions that some Re- 
publ will be a cinch to win in 1968. 
‘Then, in 1969, a great economic catastro- 
phe is going to hit this county. 
PLAYBOY: The nation’s economy has 
never been healthier than it is today, and 


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81 


PLAYBOY 


82 


most economists predict that the end of 
the boom is not in sight. 

ROCKWELL: Nevertheless, there will be an 
economic catastrophe, though of what 
nature I'm not sure. It could be an 
inflation, I say so because all this build- 
up is based on sand. America’s socalled 
prosperity is based on debt, war and in- 
llationary money which has no backing 
and is bound to collapse, Along about 
1969, it's all going to come tumbling 


down like a house of cards, and the Presi- 
dent is going to be blamed for it. In the 
al 


cusuing economic chaos, plus all the ra 
the people will welcome a 
ds unequivocally for the white 
majority. 

PLAYBOY: What makes you think so? 
Rockwell: As I travel, I find that people 
ywhere, from the smallest towns to 
the biggest cities, are looking for what 1 
offer. Most of them won't agree with me 
openly, but if you take them aside, ask 
them privately, they'd probably tell you 
“Rockwell has the right idea: White 
Christian people should dominate," By 
1972, with the economy coming apart at 
the seams, with the niggers pushing, with 
the Communists agitating, with all of this 
spiritual emptiness, with all this coward- 
ice and betrayal by our Government, the 
masses of common, ordinary white people 
i ‘с had it up to here. They'll want 
а real leader in the White House—no 
more spineless jellyfish, no more oily, two- 
faced demagogs. no more queers in the 
White House like Walter Jenkins and his 
iends. They'll be looking for a white 
leader with the guts of a Malcolm X, with 
the guts to stand up and say, "I'm going 
to completely separate the black and 
white races and preserve white Christian 
domination in this country, and I'm go- 
ing to have the Jew Communists and any 
other waitom gased for treason. And il 
you don't like it, you know what you can 
do about i 


PLAYBOY: Do you seriously thi 


k you can 


be elected on that platforn 
ROCKWELL: І know so. Things are going 
to be so desperate by then that it won't 
matter whether I've got two horns and a 
il; I'll be swept into office. 

PLAYBOY: If you are elected, who from 
contemporary public figures 
would you appoint to your Cabinet? 
ROCKWELL: If he were still alive, I'd have 
Douglas MacArthur as Secret 
of State. For Secretary of Defense, 
tired General of tlie Marine Corps 
chesty” Puller. For Attorney Gener 
J. Edgar Hoover. For Secretary of the 
Interior, Governor George Wallace of 
Alabama, Let me think, now, others: Sen- 
ators William Jenner 
Charles Lindbergh—and Willi 
ley; he won't appreciate that, but I think 
his brilliance could certa 
You'll have to agree that this is a С 
to give nightmares to any Jew 
They'd start swimm el even 
before 1 was sworn in. But I don't think 


there's а man in that binet who is 
known as anti-Semitic. 

PLAYBOY: How about anti-Negro? 
ROCKWELL: Well, I'd prefer то call them 
pro-white, 

PLAYBOY: If you had carte-blanche power 
to do so the Chief Executive. would 
you create a dictatorship along the lines 
of Hitler's? 

No, I'd reinsitute the Ameri- 
i Republic the way it 
was set up bv our authoritarian fore- 
fathers—who were, in essence, nothing 
more than National Socialists just like me. 
PLAYBOY: In no way did the founding 
fathers attempt to abridge the demo- 
cratic right to “liberty and justice for al 
How can you call them Nazis? 
ROCKWELL: In the first place, І don't be- 
lieve in democracy, In the second place, 
neither did our white forefathers. 1 be 
lieve, as they did, in a republican 
ithoritarian republic with a limited elec- 
torate—just like the one the writers of 
cur Constitution meant this county to 
be. When these white Christian patriots 
sat down to write the Declaration of 
Independence, there were по black citi- 
zens lor them to worry about, In those 
days, all the niggers were slaves; but 10- 
‚ thanks to several misguided amend- 
ments, our Constitution provides even 
the blackest of savages with the same 
rights as his former white masters. 
PLAYBOY. Then you advocate the dis 
enfranchisement of Negroes? 

ROCKWELL: And the revocation of their 
citizenship. 

PLAYBOY: And the restoration of slavery? 
ROCKWELL: No, we have machines to do 
their work now. I would simply revoke 
their citizenship and then offer them the 
alternatives of either returning to Africa 
with our generous help and assistance in 
establishing а modern industrial nation, 
or being relocated on reservations like the 
Indians were when they became a prob- 
lem to the survival of the white people. 


"This will apply to you, too, by the way. 
Nothing personal, you understand; I 
like you, personally; but 1 can’t make 


any exceptions. 
PLAYBOY: Of course not. What would you 
do with America’s 6,000,000 Jews? 
ROCKWELL: I think the Jews сап be dealt 
with individually rather than as a group 
—like the niggers must be because of 
their race. As I sid earlier, 1 think all 
Jews—in fact, all those connecied in any 
way with treason, whether Jews ог not— 
should be investigated and their cases put 
before grand juries; if they're indicted, 
they should then be tried, and if con- 
victed, they should be killed. 

PLAYBOY: Having disposed of Jews and 
Negroes, would that complete your list 
of those slotted for removal? 
ROCKWELL: Not quite. I'd also purge the 
queers, І despise them worst of all. 
They're one of the ugliest problems of 
our society, and they must be removed— 


І don't know if with gas. or what, just so 
they don't poison society. If they insist 
оп being queers, put them on some is- 
land, maybe—bue certainly not around 
the rest of society. They're the ultimate 
symbol of a decaying civilization. 
PLAYBOY: Since you're concerned about 
the problem, Commander, would yo 
like to reply to a frequent charge by 
psychiatrists that the womanless atmos- 
phere of military asceticism and institu 
tionalized hostility that Characterize your 
“hate monastery,” as you've called your 
headquarters here, make it an ideal snc- 
tuary for those with repressed homo 
sexual tendencies? 

ROCKWELL: My reply is that this is the 
d Jewish charge. The biggest 
charger that we are a bunch of homosex 
uals is Walter Winchell, whose r 
name is Isidore Israel Lipshitz, or some 
ig like that. [Winchell's real name is 
Walter Winchel.—£d.] He's always call. 
ing me “George Lincoln Ratwell, Queen 
of the Nazis," saying I'm a fairy, and so 
forth. Universally, 1 found that the 
Jews themselves, Hitler said, are the 
greatest people in the world for accus- 
ing others of their own crimes. 
PLAYBOY: You haven't answered the 
charge that your Party is а haven for 
homosexuals, 

ROCKWELL: Well, I do think there is a 
tendency for quecrs to come here, be 
cause to а queer, this place is as tempt- 
ing as а girl’ school would be to me 
Whenever 1 catch any of them in here, 
I throw them out; and | have caught 
quite а few of them in here. We had 
one case where we had reason to be 
ieve that the police would catch two 
guys in the act. The two of them lelt 
here hand in hand. I tried to get them 
prosecuted. We won't tolerate that sort 
of thing. 

PLAYBOY: Пом about heterosexual rela- 
tions? Are they verboten, 100? 
ROCKWELL: Absolutcly not. Any man who 
didn't vigorously enjoy normal sex could 
never be a National Socialist. One of the 
best American Nazis I've ever known 
sed to use a vulgar expression, “Those 
who won't fuck won't fight.” I wouldn't 
put it so crudely myself, but I heartily 
subscribe to that docuine. І never knew 
а good fighting man who didn't enjoy а 
lusty sex life. 

PLAYBOY: Are any of your men married? 
ROCKWELL: A few, but most are cither 
single or divorced, like myself. 1 believe 
very strongly in the importance ol basic 
morals to protect civilization, but it's al- 


arrangements. And Т 
might add, to paraphrase a French bon 
mot, vive les arrangements. But 1 must 
admit that it's damn difficult—especially 
for me—to have any sort of normal 

(continued on page 154) 


WHAT SORT OF MAN READS PLAYBOY 


A young man with inviting ways and entertaining ideas, the PLAYBOY reader stocks up often 
to keep in good spirits. And he stirs up compliments by serving only the best of brands. 
Facts: 86.9% of PLAYBOY households drink or serve alcoholic beverages, the highest per- 
centage for any magazine. No wonder leading distillers and brewers invest more advertising 
dollars in PLAYBOY than in any other monthly mag е. They know it offers today’s foremost 
market of brand-conscious buyers. (Source: Starch Consumer Magazine Report; P.I.B.; 1965.) 


New York + Chicago + Detroit - Los Angeles + San Francisco + Atlanta + London 


fiction By KEN W. PURDY 


CHRONICLE OF AN EVENT, 


PERHAPS TYPICAL OF OUR TIMES, BEGINNING 
WITH THE STATEMENT, 
“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT.” 
“YOU KEEP SAYING THAT," THE COP SAID. “YOU 
KEEP TELLING US IT WAS AN ACCIDENT. 
“BECAUSE IT WAS," CHARLES STANDER SAID. 
"A DAMN FUNNY KIND OF ACCIDENT,” THE SER- 
GEANT SAID, “THIS COLORED FELLA WITH FOUR 


86 


holes in his chest, in а three-inch group, at that. You put 
four slugs that close together by accident, what would 
you do if you was to try?" 

Stander said. nothing. 

“L could shoot like that, Га make Expert," the harness- 
cop said. He was big and black Irish and baby-faced. 

“I don't believe a word of it,” the sergeant said. "I 
don't believe a gahdam word of it, and I never will. You 
and this jig had a fuss, and you took out this little pistol, 
а lady's gun, by the way, I might point out to you, and 
no offense meant, not just now anyway, and you let him 
have four. You let him have four because he w: big 
strong fella, he was coming to you you didn't think 
maybe just one .25 would stop him. You had five rounds 
in the magazine, and you knew it, and you saved one for 
hitting him in the head if he kept coming in on you. 
That much is sure as hell true. Well, ain't it?” 

“No,” les Stander said. “It was an accident.” 

“Balls,” the sergeant said. “Lemme read you from the 
coroner's report, here, along here, it says, two of the 
slugs having struck the left ventricle of the heart, death 
was almost instantaneous / Two in the heart and two 
right alongside it, and that's accident? Look, Mr. 
Stander, I been poking around these things for fourteen 
years, І seen a few gunshot accidents. So turn it off, that 
crap, accident. Any time a guy gets shot four times, that's 
no accident. Balls to that.” 

“Yeah,” the other cop said. "Like, you remember, 
ge, that old guy got shot in the Commodore, it was а 
month ago, һе...” 

“Ah, shuddup,” the sergeant said. 

The phone rang. He picked it up and listened. “Yeah,” 
he said. “So, OK." He dropped it back. 

“Somebody went your ," he said to Charles Stan- 
der. "Somebody put up fifty grand for you. 1 see you got 
friends. Me, 1 wouldn't let you out for any money there 
He rolled in his chair and Ict his fect drop into the 
nder. He 
id. “Dono- 


and 


papers on his desk, He looked incuriously at 5 
sighed. “I remember times I felt better, 


he sa 


it said. "Don't 
perwork they gota do 
Dont be in a rush. 


n duc timc, Mr. $i 
be in a rush. "There's some 
upstairs, one thing and anothei 
s getting the coffee. 
Charles Stander had nothing to say. Most of the fright 
had left him, but none of the horror. He was numb. 
When Donovan handed him a cup of coffee he took it. It 
was weak, and very hot. He couldn't get near it, although 
the sergeant sucked happily at his own cup. Stander was 
embarrassed. He didn't {cel like a brilliant mind stand- 
ing off a murder charge, holding wit and intelligence. 
between himself and 20 ус: the electric chair, like a 
shiekl and sword. He felt like а cheap con man. He 
looked around the small room, bare, cramped, not dirty 
and not dean, an old, tired place. The sergeant was 
watching his 
“This here's the captain's office, did I tell you that?" he 
tid. "He's on sick leave. t time T was ever in this 
station house, Eddie Burke was captain. You never heard 
of him, I don't suppose? Eddie Burke was what you 
1 a cop's cop. I don't think anybody ever made 
captain from patrolman quicker than he did. He was 
smart, and he worked like a dog, To give you 
ample, he taught himself to read and write and speak 


Donovan. 


п Ex- 


Chinese He almost had a Iaw degree, too. Night school. 
He dicd in a stinking little holdup, years ago now. He 
t fifty. Gahdam shame.” 

“No, I never heard of him,” Charles Stander said. 

“His wife was a cop, too,” the sergeant said. “Beautiful 
woman. A big girl. Funny thing about her, she hated to 
carry а gun, and she had to, you know. Regulations. She 
did undercover stuff, narcotics and that, and she said 
was too heavy in her purse. I told her onc ume, so all 
right, get yourself a 25 automatic, get a Colt's .25 or one 
of them Berettas, that’s a light piece. Like that Beretta 
you killed this fella with, That's why 1 said, you killed 
him with a lady's gun.” 
arles Sander nothing. 

^I dunno how it is in your business, Mr. Stand the 
sergeant said, "there in Wall Street, I guess it's like this 
business or some other one, you meet all kinds. People that 
are looking to cheat, steal, lic, screw the other fella some 
way. But not so many looking to kill somebody . . . ?” 

"No, I gue: Stander said. 

"Maybe you just can't tell,” the sergeant said. “It's а 
hard thing to tell. Any time you make a guess about a 
man, my feeling is, you're worse than even money to be 
wrong. But some things you can tell. Like, you take you. 
You're seven kinds of a liar, in this thing here, but you're 
not a good liar. A real good liar talks, that’s one of the 
ways you can tell. You just sit there and say nothin’ 
because you know you're a lousy liar, You'd say that's 
right, wouldn't you? I mean, you don't lie a hell of a lot, 
very often, wouldn't you say? You don't have a lot of 
practice at it, 1 mean, wouldn't you say that?” 

“I'm not lying" Charles Stander said. 

“That's what I mean," the sergeant said. “You sure as 
hell аге lying, and a good liar would make up a sensible 
d up with interesting little details, and 
z you off, and all. You come in here with a 
my youngest kid for telling, it's so dumb." 

"t seem to be getting anywhere, proving it's a 
Tie,” Stander said. 

“Ah, there's a lot of time for that yet. I'm just telling 
you it's a dumb story, and we'll get you on it. Thing is, 
by the time we get you on it, everybody's gonna be sore 
at you, all that trouble. We got enough to do, we got real 
heavy cases going in this precinct, why should you come 
in here and foul us up with your gahdam dumb story? 
You'd be better off. Tm telling you the truth, if you'd rell 
us what happened. Look, Mr. Stander, I'm not saying you 
killed this colored fella because you planned to for a long 
time I'm not saying that. I'm not saying this was pre- 
meditated murder. I'm with you, up to a point. I'm not 
saying 7 wouldn't have knocked him off myself, standing 
where you stood. He was coming at you, that's the surest 
thing there is. He was twenty-three and oneeighty and 
six foot, and you're, what, forty-something, like me, 
уройу can tell you're not any too rugged. I'm telling 
you the truth, 1 don't think you're anything worse than 
manslaughter, and maybe self-defense, at that. That's on 
the true story, what happened, not this crap you been 
giving us for two days now. Isn't that right?” 
sn't what right?" Charles Stander said. 

Isn't what I'm saying right, is what | mean," the 
sergeant said. "Your story. It's a lousy story. What're you 
doing, а man your age, taking judo lessons? Huh? Well?” 

“We've been over that twenty times. I've wanted to, all 

(continued overleaf) 


wa 


“Charles, 1 think you’re ап absolute cad to take it like this!” 


PLAYBOY 


88 


and now I could, so Т 

“Balls. Four weeks, you're taking les- 
sons from t fella, Four weeks. Then 
you kill him dead. Why? Huh? I want to 
tell you, Mr. Stander, and I'm telling 
you the truth, and no offense meant, 
some joker from the D. А. office will get 
you up there on the stand and he’s gon- 
na crucify you on that one. I mean, you 
can walk out of that court acquitted and 
free as a bird and you're never gonna 
be the same, when they get through with 
you, four weeks with this young guy and 
you shoot him. k about it. You ever 
see one of those young ambitious shy- 
sters work? They don't give a gahdam 
about you or what happens to you. Any- 
thing goes. You'll sec. Am I right, or 
not?" 

“You could be,” 

“Yeah. 


Charles Stander said. 
the sergeant said. 


I could be.” 


He looked 
is сусу fell on Dono- 


around the room, 


van as if for the first time. "You got 
not) van?" he said. 
“Beat it 


^| thought you wanted me to stay," 
Donovan said. 

“For what? You think Mr. Stander's 
ng to beat me to death with a chair 
or somethin? He's got no such idea, Mr. 
Stander. He even wishes to hell he 
didn't shoot his friend there, Jordan or 
what was his name? yeah, Mike Jord 
Lhat right, Mr. Stander? 

s right, Sergeant,” Stander said. 
“You see, Donovan?” the sergeant 
said. I'm safe as a church. 
n 1 go?” Stander said. 
"When I say so," the sergeant said. 
"t that a funny thing, now? You got 
bail, and all, but you don't go till I say 
so. If I feel like picking up the phone. 
Anyway, like 1 told you, these things 
take time. papers to make out, there can 
be delays... there's no rush, anyway. 
What I say, you're better off in here. 
When you get out I wouldn't go poking 
around much above 110th Street. Your 
игез been in the papers.” 
1 know it.” 

"You take a terrible picture, Ell say 
that,” the sergeant said, “There wasn't 
one in the whole bunch didn’t make you 
look sixty-five years old, and creepy. 
looking at that. Pictures like that make a 
bad impression, Maybe you're lucky 
youre not married, at that. She might 
want to dump you, seeing those pictures.” 

“Nothing 1 can do about it,” Stander 
said. He was terribly tired. The coffee 
had done nothing for him. He was 
frightened and s 

^] don't sce a good end to it for you, 
the sergeant said. "You might 
think I'm trying to con you, now, but 
I'm telling you the truth, I don't even 


€ been better off without Tt 
looks like you were thinking of some- 


thi 't have 
And s yor 
had to have а perm 
large sums of money! Balls. The stock 
^t works on credit, everybody 
knows that. You go into any brokerage 
house in Wall Street, you won't find 
h money in the till. What would 
use money for? So that was a lic, and 
g the D. A^s. bright 
little ill hang you up on, 
though God knows it won't be as bad as 
the other one. But, bad enough. It's а 
fact, you're a terrible liar, and I won't be 
surprised if they burn you for it. 
sighed, "Jesus, my fect hurt," hc 
"You'd think I just come in off the beat. 
Which 1 did, eleven years ago.’ 

I know he's a fool, Stander thought. 
I'm sure he is. No, } was sure of it an 
hour ago. 

“Now you take that part of your story 
where you say Jordan was showing you 
how to take a gun away from a man 
when you had the accident," the ser- 
geant said. “I have to laugh at you. I 
been all through that myself, years ago. 
Hell, man, 1 took a gun off a fella and it 
pointing right at my belly. So, don't tell 
me. Jordan was a pro. Hf he was showing 
you any such thing—and he sure as hell 
wasn't—before he'd ler you come any- 
where near him he'd have broke that .25 
himself, pulled the slide, pulled the mag- 
azine and looked right through it to the 
floor. You think any professional is 
going to let a dumb-headed n like 
you come at him with a gun that might 
have a round in it? You must be crazy. 
I's what 1 said before, I'd slap my own 
kid for a story like th: 
Sull, 
Christ!” the sergeant said. "I'll make 
book they burn you for it, at that. 
‘They'll hang a first-degree rap on you, 
they'll make it stick and they'll burn 
you. And theyll be wrong. You're no 


t long cnough. 
ied to get it. You 
because you carry 


worse than manslaughter, any way you 
slice it. But, you know something, Mr. 
Stander, things come out even in the 


end? They'll tell you you're going to the 
chair for murder. but itll be for lying. 
And ГЇЇ tell you something che: yo 
won't be the first one burned for lying. 
Nor the last. Am I right? 


"You could be,” Stander said. 
"Yeah," the serpeant said. He lifted 
the phone. “Tommy,” he said. "I'm 


sending him up. Turn him loose.” Wear- 
ily, he stood. “The fella outside will take 
you up, Stander,” he 


“Goodbye,” Stander sai 
“Oh, I'll see you again,” the sergeant 
said. "Don't think I won’ 


A note from Stander's lawyer waited 
for him: apology, can't wait, 
hav 
gards. The formalities of his springing 
were brief. He signed somet 
looked up at the ancient octag- 


onal wall clock, its brass-w 

dulum flickering past a slit 
case, and noted the ti 7r 
vember 7, 1965. No one seemed to watch 
Stander leave the station house. Cold 
rain ran in the streets. He w: Tittle 
way, picked up a cab and gave the driver 
an address a block short of his own. He 
hurried down the other side of the street. 
Dead opposite, he could see there was 
no one in the lobby. He ran across, past 
the elevator to the stairway, and ran the 
three flights. No one in the hall, he was 
inside in seconds. He leaned against the 
door and sighed. he said, hall 
aloud, "home and dry. 
He lowered the curtams before he 
turned on the lights. He went into the 
kitchen. ‘The room was yellow. all of it 
even the stove, and things glowed gold- 
en in the light. He pulled a bottle of 
bourbon from the cupboard and slopped 
three or four оши о a glass. He 
drank it like icc hot day and 
poured another. d some selt 
zer into that one mo the bath- 
room, set it on bridged 
the tub. He opened the faucets, He 
pulled off his t Iking into the bed. 
room, stripped, and everything he had 
been ме ve- his shoes, he rolled 
into a ball and fired into the laundry 
hamper. He lowered himself slow! 
on the hot bottom of the tub for а cou- 
ple of breaths, then dropped himself to 
his neck. He let everything come to a 
balance before he reached a long arm 
for the bourbon. He took a couple of 
big bites. He sighed. He looked at the 
door, to see if the bolt stood crosswise, if 
he had locked it. Yes. Against whom or 
whatever, he didn't know, but still hc 
had locked it. The blessed anesthesia 
lifted him out of himself. He looked 
fondly into the glass in his hand. My 
God, he thought, and this is nothing but 
corn and spring water! There were ciga- 
rettes in a copper case. He fiddled onc 
loose into his mouth and lighted it. He 
knew Һе was utterly safe, citadelled and 
long past all harm's way. What the hell, 
he said to himself, if you have a tub of 
hot water, a bottle of whiskey and а та 
zor blade, they can all go screw them- 
selves. They can come in and find you 
when they get around to it. He contem 
plated himself as a life, a 
bloated, d corpse, 
floating, motionless ак a pear in gelatin. 
forever suspended in a tubful of pink 
water. Well. He took another litle 
drink. Maybe it would be the sergeant 
who would come. He would have Dono- 
im. “All right, Donovan, just 
You must be 
^s only kickin’ in 
doors" The sergeant, der knew, 
would not approve. Screw him. Who 
needs him, Stander thought. Anyway, it 
wasn't going to happen. Just an idea, he 
(continued on page 220) 


меа pen- 
jı the glass 


lean о 
good for something, 


PLAYBOY'S 


SPRING & SUMMER 
FASHION FORECAST 


the definitive statement on the 
coming trends in menswear and accessories 


By ROBERT L. GREEN ever since Nostradamus started pull- 
ing prediction out of the fireplace during the 16th Century, trying to 
peer into the future has been an alluring. if chancy. business. The fashion 
prognosticator trying to predict tomorrow's styles generally finds the view 
doubly opaque, shrouded as it is behind changing tastes and shifting trends. 
But looking to the upcoming sartorial season, our personal crystal ball is 
clear. Everywhere we look we find more flair, dash and cultivated elegance 
than we've seen in almost a decade of fashion forecasting. 

As a bonus to the guy searching for new wearables this season, designers 
have been concentrating on creating shirts, ties and sweaters to harmonize 
with suits, slacks or sports coats. Sold together in pre-coordinated ensembles, 
these color coordinates will take much of the guesswork out of selecting a 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY MARIO CASILLI 


89 


summer wardrobe. So that you can stay 
оп top of the styles coming from clothing 
manufacturers, we once again present our 
nual spring and summer fashion fore 
ast—an uptotheminute prediction of 
the best of latest styles and trends soon to 
be seen in the better stores around the 


country. 

surts: For practical wear to the office or 
for cocktails, medium to dark suits will 
almost completely take over from the 
lighter shades so popular in previous sum- 
mer. The three Bs, blue, brown and 
black, accented by lighter and bolder ties 
and pocket handkerchiefs, are very much 
our choice for the coming season. Of the 
three, brown should prove to be the most 
versatile. Combined with a yellow shirt 
and a paisley tichandkerchief duo, the 
dark browns coming into view offer a sum- 
mertime dress-up appearance that will be 
hard to beat. The slightly formal striped 
suit, which got started last summer, is 
coming back this year in even fuller force. 
There'll be a wide variety of stripe widths 
available, from subtle pencil-thins to the 
broadest chalks. We like them best when 
coupled with this season's tie trend setter 
—a Continental cravat, created by Parisian 
Pierre Cardin, that comes in a slightly 
wider cut than the traditional American 
models. 

The big news in fabrics will be silk-like 
stylings that are actually created from а 
series of synthetics. Hopsacking suits— 
long a favorite for fall-winter garb—are 
about to make an appearance on the sum 
mer scene in a modifed, lighter-weight 
fabric. 

When shopping for your suits, be on 
the lookout for new ones with a slightly 
shaped silhouette, which add a custom- 
tailored touch to your ready-mades. 

SPORTS COATS AND COLOR COORDINATES: 
While suits will be opting for the more 
somber shades, sports coats will be flashing 
a series of bold combinations of tones and 
textures that will let you make a complete 
aboutface (text continued on page 98) 


Preceding page: The lucky lod escaping from 
o seasonal shower keeps dry іп о roin-ond- 
stcir-repellent, polyester and cotton coot, by 
Gleneagles, $50. Left: The chap waiting for c 
buss is cosvolly attired in a washable cotton 
velour pullaver with a Henley button-up callar 
and ribbed waistband, by Puritan, $10, and cat- 
$5. Right: The friendly 
fellow whispering sweet somethings is weoring 
а one-piece wool knit pullover with cotton 
velvet frant, by Doman, $25, over rayon ond 
acetate slacks, by Seven Seas, $14. For right: 
Our mon dans а flat-knit V-neck pullaver with 
side tabs, by Doman, $20, ond fully lined 
poisley-potterned walk shorts, by Newman, $18. 


lon twill jeons, by Levi 


Left: The helpful gent putting on the dog for o ploylul pair weors an Orlon knit V-neck pullover with cotton velour front ond controsti 
turtleneck dickey, by Jerks, $17, ond Dacron ond worsted hopsock stocks with buttoned extension waistband, by Paxton, $20. Right: Foshio 
obly correct lad tickling his fancy sports о cotton shirt with medium-point collor, $9, ond woven cotton wolk shorts, $11, both by Hothoway 


Left: Моп on the go is ruagedly attired in о cotton chombray butiondown shirt, by Eogle, $7, ond polyester-cooted “lecther-look” slacks, 
with bultoned frontier pockels ond o gorrisor-style bell, by Riviera, $20. His buddy's shirt is a cotton buttondown, by Creighton, $6. Right: 
The attentive lod hos donned о cotton velour pullover, by Himalaya, $14, and polyester ond rayon bell-bottom slacks, by JeymorRuby, $16. — 93 


Left: Elegantly attired for o quiet téte-o-léle, aur swain 
wears а waal and silk glen-plaid sports jacket with slant 
flap pockets ond side vents, by Callege Holl, $50, over 
а cotan knit long-sleeved tapered turtleneck sweater, 
by Robert Reis, $3, and Dacron and wool slacks, by An- 
thany Gesture, $14. Above- Man keeps casual in an im. 
parted сапап madras three-button jacket, by College 
Holl, $40, worn aver wosh-and-wear slocks with their 
awn ribbon belt, by Asher, $15; his catton buttandown 
shirt, by Excello, $9, is accented by а paisley-patterned 
linen tie, by Berkley Cravats, $4. Top right: Resplendently 
rigged, chop is decked out in ап Arnel and catton seer- 
sucker jacket with flop pockets, by Haspel, $37.50, worn 
over warsted waol slacks with adjustable side tabs, by 
Мапаспос, $27.50; completing his ensemble is a Dacron 
and cotton batiste extard shirt, by Уап Heusen, $6, and a 
washable twill tie, by Superba, $2.50. Right: For an after- 
noon soiree, our host hos chosen a Fortel and cotton 
double-breasted blazer with ocean pearl buttons, $55, 
that coordinates with a pair of Dacron and санап boby- 
cord slacks, $15, both by PBM; a lang-sleeved Kadel 
and cotton permanently pressed shirt, by Truval, $5, and a 
paisley-print, imported silk tie, by Excello Cravats, $3.50. 


Down to the sea 


style go four 
gobs ond their gals. For o day of 
foir-weother soiling, the lad ot for 
left heads for the briny opprapriotely 
logged aut in а cotton axford Hen- 
ley pullaver thot fashionably couples 
with his ribkar-belted, cotton twill 
walk shorts, by Shapely, $12 for both 
His on-deck buddy to the right holds 
on tight wearing a cotton oxford 
buttondawn shirt, by Shapely, $4, 
lucked into rayon ond colon, but- 
toned-pocket, bell-battam slacks thot 
come with o brass-buckled, leather 
ero, $10. 
Corefully surveying o passing yacht, 
the next sailor is shipshope in о Do- 
«оп and cattan zip-front boating 
jacket with controsting-stitch trim that 
features a hidden haod, elastic sleeve 
cuffs, with front and bock yokes, plus 


gorrisonstyle belt, by Ri 


neck and waist drawstring closures, 
$10, worn over catian duck shorts 
combined with o brass-buckled mo- 
dros belt that reverses to black 
leather, $5, all by HLS. The crew 
member above is nautically ond nicely 
attired in o wide-striped cotton ve- 
lour pullover with zip front, knit trim 
ond side verts, by Himalaya, $14, ond 
cotton denim jeans, by Wrangler, $4 


97 


from work to playtime dress. No 
mater what your pattern pleasure 
in spons clothes—big bold plaids, 

niature checks or solid colors— 
you'll find ample representation in 
a variety of weaves, from hopsacks 
nd barleycorns to linens and basket 


This year, the strongest sports- 
coat color is going to be blue, with 
dee nch shades and faded 
denim hues leading the parade. 
Running closc bchind will be brown 
tones blended with golds, burgun: 
dies combined with black and 
greens, and solid-color coats of mint 
green or of gold. 

Like suits, many sports coats will 
follow the line of the shaped sil- 
houette characterized by а slight 
waist suppression, hacking flap 
pockets and eight- to nineinch side 
vents. Some coats will also be slight 
ly padded at the shoulder. This 
doesn't mean that the Alan Ladd 


shoulder-pad coat is on its way back. 
Its just going to be a slight stulhng 
to enhance and accent the shaped- 
silhouette line а bit more. 


An item that is becoming virtually 


Above: Busy executive works in o wool 
ond mohair shaped suit, by Varsity Town, 
$85, with cotton broodcloth shirt, by Ex- 
cello, $8, and club-pottern tie, by Resilio, 
$4, Right: Lad about town weors o 
pendlstipe Docron ond worsted suit, 
by Hospel, $65, topered Docron shirt, 
by Manhattan, $6, ond o tie-ond-pocket- 
squore duo, by Handcrolt, $8. For right: 
Formal fellow dons а worsted and silk 
showl-collar dinner jocket, $85, with 
Fortre! ond rayon evening trousers, $20, 
pleoted broadcloth shirt, $10, ond tie- 
ond-cummerbund set, $11, all by After Six. 


Н‏ س 


100 


able for year-round sportswear 
is the perennially correct blazer, in either 


the single. or double-breasted style. 
feature on a new look in 

Dlazers in next month's PLAYBOY.) 
eks AND SHORTS: Slacks manufac- 


turers are going to move away from 
ny of the solid, safe but often dull 
colors that have saturated the summer 
market in the ad replace them 
with more exciting p adud 

outsized madras plaids, 
tooths and pin checks. Even tattei 
are getting into the act, and we prec 
they will be the most popular patterns 


of all. Colors will be following in the 


footsteps of those used in sports coats 
d should include yellows, medium 
blues. burgundies, greens and white. We 
particularly favor а pair of pauerned 
slacks combined with a double-breasted 
blazer for elegant. entertaining. 

The coming summers best bets in 
slacks fabrics will range from polyester 
cotton and worsteds and sharkskins to 
narrow-wale corduroy, cotton  twills, 
ducks and silklike blends. No matter 
what your choice, you'll find the best of 
this summer's slacks selections cut. along 
slim, cuflless 1i 

As predicted in our European Fashion 
Dateline im February, slim-lined stacks 
with modified bell bottoms have taken 
the Continent's fashion scene by storm, 
nd it seems a sure bet they'll do the 
same over here. Most will be available in 
y cotton twill or duck with denim 
tops, along with a few dressier models. 
The same slacks revolution that has es- 
plished bold patterns as the order of 
the day is now being extended to walk- 
You'll find a wide variety of 
exploded plaids, tattersalls and linen 
textures to choose from. If you decide on 
one of these, we suggest you top it with 


ng, whether it be 
s perfectly accept- 
walking shorts, casual shoes, 
luxury shirt and ап ascot. 

sums anp sweaters: Dressshirt col- 
ors in the coming months will be bright 
and cheery, with solid blues and yellows 
among the best. We like orange-tan, a 
w color making the scene, which goes 
perfecdy with а brown suit. Although 
solid colors will mostly be represented in 
oxford cloth, there will be many high- 
n shirtings in pretreated wrinkle- 
resistant fabrics such as Koratron. Other 
styles to watch for: wide-track stripes (up 
to an inch and a 
basket w her 
in 


In sport shirts, Henleys should win 
the nod as the seasonal favorite. They 
will be available in virtually every tex- 
ture, from hopsacks to velours. An excel- 


lent choice among these English-inspired 


hearties is а pullover boat-ncck sl 
contrasting collar-and-sleeye trim. 
Knit shirts, of course, will still be very 


much in the picture, Look for new tones 
of blue, green and yellow, along with a 
heavy emphasis on horizontal stripes. 
Ialianstyle open-mesh shirts are just 
being introduced this year and should 
come оп усту strong. 

Velour shirts are now accepted as a 
major style. The big news here is going 


to be the decorated velour that will 
be available in multidirectional suipcs, 
loops and solids splayed across а variety 


of styles includi 
turtle openings. All will work well for 
gol ag or just 
q b. Among 
the new velours, we heartily recommend 
а smalldiamond Argyl ned model 
with contrasting trim on neck and sleeves. 

The still very Ыр. 

blends in con- 
g-color panels and fabric fronts to 
choose from. Bold golf colors should also 
be readily available in an almost endless 
array, from raspberry to frosted lime. 

Before choosing your sweaters, how- 
ever, keep in mind that smoodi-finished, 

it styles (pravnoy, March 1965) are 
becoming de rigueur for this season. 
When used as a protean pullover with 
its jacketlike open sleeves and loose 
waist, this style can be comfortably worn 
with or without a jacket or, set off by an 
cot, it can be pressed into service as a 
heavy sport shirt on cool су 

RAINCOATS AND OUTERWE. rer. 
national-spy-type trench coat. à la 007. 
with broad shoulders and the classic 
yoke and belt, will continue to be a 
strong favorite. Our preference is a sim 
ple wencher with a slight Hair to the 
skirt but without epaulets. It can give 
you a sophisticated demeanor without 
having you look like something out of 
an Army-Navy surplus store. Raincoats 
for spring showers will be the shortest 
ever, cut well above the knec. 

swimwear: The most popular style in 
swimsuits will again be the surfer. How. 
ever. а new model called the 

baggy” bas just made the jump from 
i to the mainland. It resembles 
cutoff pajama bottom and should be 
just as popular poolside here as it is in 
the islands. The best bets will be found 
mong bold surferstripe and parew 
print. models, 

The color-coord swim 
wear—originally seen апа sets—will 
be very much back in style this year, We 
mmend you look for parkas, jackets 
ıs that match your trunk 

Beach parkas will be playing an im 
portant part in this summers beachwear 
scene. The favored fabrics for the hood- 
ed set will be rugged twill, duck and пу. 
Jon done up in solid colors, competition 
and surfing stripes. 


empha: 
coming on lizinchewide leather belts. 


The newest look will be in the neutral 
hued palomino shades for sportsw 
Our belt favorites are the ones with 


supersoft finishes in dull tones. The best 
in buckles will be the cinch double-ring 
models you'll find on most allleather. as 
well as 1с; ersible-tofabric combi 
s. of course. will still 
be very mudh in fashion and are going 
to be available in denims, tattersalls, tex 
шей plaids and velours. For the classic 
look of midsummer case, try combining 


an all-white belt with all-white trousers 
rs: This yea nulacturers will 
be offering a wide assortment of hat 
nds that can terchanged with 


neutrilshaded chapeaux to give a olor- 
coordinated. appea 
robe. 


асс 10 your ward 

Although many tones will be 
able, we recommend you start oll 
with blue, olive and brown separate 
rite fedora into 
h the latest in suit 
ands about three eighth: of 
ower than the hat brim, 

In doth hats, the "bucket" or crush 
able pullon model will be а suong псу 
addition to sportswear. Our favorites arc 
the madras, patch madras and tattersall 
styles. Many of the madras perennials 
will be set off with touches of natural 
straw, woolen houndstooth checks or 
brightly colored soft felis. 

‘nes: The ultra-narrow tie is finally 
passing completely out of fashion in fa- 
vor of styles that are bold, wide (two and 
occasionally even up to three inches) and 
handsome. By summer, you should be 
seeing these broad cravats served. up in 
а hos of patterns, including circles, 
dots, medallions, paislcys and gcomcurics 

FORMALWEAR: That old stand-by, the 
black dinner jacket, remains the essen- 
tial prerequisite for any eveningwear 
collection, But more and more color will 
be highlighting the party scene this year 
So feel free to supplement your madi- 
tional model with either white or onc of 
the new vibrant red or blue silken mod 
cls and still bc right in style. Another 
jacket we think you'll like is a miniature 
black-and-white dub check that looks 
best when matched with white trousers 
nd white shoes. High on any fashion 
list is going to be a green brocade jackct 
that's designed to be worn with tradi 
tional formal trousers. Formal separates 
(originally styled and introduced by 
кїлувоу in November 1963) will begin 
to dominate the formalwear scene and 

а range of new materials and 
textures from watered silks to brocades. 

All in all, the fashion scene for thc 
coming spring summer season should be 
one filled with style and Hair. Classics 


tones. Select 


an inch 


are returning brighter than ever, tire 
some fads are disappearing and exciting 
w colors and fabric combinations aic 


becoming the order of the day. It will be 
а time for the sartorially aware to stroll 
down the bright, right of fashion 


excellence. 


okol 


“Well, did you see my lips move?” 


101 


102 


OCTOPUSSY 


indoors, the major was sweating out 
his recollections of his crime; in the 
garden, james bond—cool and incred- 
ibly dangerous—lounged in casual 
ease; and out in the waters of the reef, 
the hungry octopus waited to be fed 


CONCLUSION OF A NOVELETTE 


By IAN FLEMING 


SYNOPSIS: It was 10:30 in the morning when James Bond 

drove up in a taxi from Kingston and stopped at the pleas 
ant Jamaican villa of Major Dexter Smythe. In a way, it 
was an anticipated visit, for, although Bond was a stranger, the 


major had been expecting him—or someone like him—for years. 

Major Smythe, О. B. E., Royal Marines (Rel.), was the shell of 
what had once been a brave and resourceful officer in His Majesty's 
Service. Adventure, women, horses and whiskey had then consumed 
his interests. Now, at 51, on his island retreat, only whiskey remained; 
whiskey and his research in life below the surface of the teeming waters 
of the Jamaican reefs, populated by his only friends, his pets, the indigo 
parrot fish, the butterfly fish, and especially the octopus—nicknamed by him 
“Octopussy"—that inhabited the shallows and channels eddying past his 
property. Indeed, until that morning, his only potential enemy had been the 
venomous scorpion fish that roams most of the southern waters of the world. But 
now this man Bond had arrived to shatter the safe torpor of his existence. 

His visitor leaned negligently against the mahogany window sill. “Му name is 
Bond,” he suid. “I've been sent to ash you to recall your work for the Service at 
the end of the War, particularly the time when you wete working with the Mis 
cellaneous Objectives Bureau.” The manner was enigmatic, the words were deadly. 

This, of course, was й. Smythe’s premonitions about Bond had been correct. 
Curiously, Major Smythe was relieved. At least the years of evasion. were over. 

But he had to carry it through. so he put the bite of impatience in his voice. 
“What, if I may ask, is all this in aid of?” 

Bond looked at him almost with curiosity. “You know what it's all about, 
Smythe.” He paused and seemed to reflect. “Tell you what,” he said, not 
unkindly. “I'll go out into the garden for ten minutes or so. Give you time 
to think things over. Gwe me а hail.” Bond walked to the door into the 
garden, then stopped. “You see, 1 had a talk with the Foo brothers in King- 
ston yesterday.” He stepped out onto the lawn. 

Major Smythe poured himself a drink, then sat down and marshaled 
his thoughts. They took him back to 1945. 

At that time he had been stationed in the Tyrol, assigned to clean out 
Gestapo hide-ouls in the hills and destroy their ammunition dumps. 
There, purely by accident, he uncovered information disclosing that gold 
bullion worth at least £50,000 had been buried in a saddle of the Kaiser 
mountains nearby. All Smythe required was a guide to take him there. 

The man he chose, after careful investigation, was Hannes Oberhauser, 
pre-War ski instructor and climber. He arrested Oberhauser and started with 


his captive toward an interrogation camp in Munich. En roule, he talked 
pleasantly with the German about the joys of mountaineering and finally, in 
a friendly manner, promised him his release if Oberhauser would join him in 
а climb up the mountain. Innocently, Oberhauser agreed. 

Ten thousand feet up, the pair canc upon a hunters hut on a shoulder of 
the mountain. It was the key lo Smythe's plan. He knew that 120 paces away, 
buried under а cairn, lay his treasure, and he could hardly contain himself. 


Yet his voice remained casual. 
“Oberhauser,” he said cheerfully. "Wonderful view up here. Step over and 


o me some of the sights.” 
‘ertainly, sir.” The guide walked to 
a point above а cleft-scarred glacier. 
Smythe drew his revolver and fired two 
bullets into the base of Hannes Ober- 
hauser's skull, The impact knocked the 
guide off his feet and wer the edge 

The deep boom of the two shots, that 
had been batting to and fro among the 
mountains, died away. Smythe took one 
last look at the black splash on the white 
snow and hurried off . . . 

Now, aware of the coolly ominous se- 
cret agent at ease in the garden, Smythe 
wondered just how much of these events 
Bond already knew. And again, as if 
silently reciting a litany, Smythe's mind 
went back to that day on the mountain. 


PLAYBOY 


HE STARTED on the top of the cairn, 
working as if the Devil was after him, 
the rough, heavy stones in- 
discriminately down the mountain to 
right or left. His hands began to bleed, 
but he hardly noticed. Now there were 
only two [cet or so left, and nothing! 
Bloody nothing! He bent to the last 
pile, scrabbling feverishly. And then! 
Yes! The edge of a metal box. A few 
more rocks away and there was the 
whole of it! A good old gray Wehr- 
macht ammunition box with the trace of 
some lettering still on it. Major Smythe 
gave a groan of joy. He sat down on a 
hard piece of rock and his mind went 
orhi through Rentleys, Monte Carlo, 
penthouse fats, Carüers, champagne, 
caviar and, because he loved golf, a new 
set of Henry Cotton irons. 

Drunk with his dreams, Major Smythe 
sat there looking at the gray box for a 
full quarter of an hour. Then he looked 
at his watch and got briskly to his feet. 
Time to get rid of the evidence, The 
box had a handle at each end. Major 
Smythe had expected it to be heavy. He 
had mentally compared its probable 
weight with the heaviest thing he had 
ever carried—a 40-pound salmon he had 
caught in Scotland just before the War 
—but the box was certainly double that 
ight, and he was only just able to lift 
it out of its last bed of rocks onto the 
thin alpine grass. He slung his handker- 
chief through one of the handles and 
dragged it clumsily along the shoulder 
to the hut. Then he sat down on the 
stone doorstep and, his eyes never leaving 
the box, tore at Oberhausers smoked 
sausage with his strong tecth and thought 
about getting his £50,000—for that was 
the figure he put it at—down the moun- 
tain and into а new hiding place. 

Oberhausers sausage was a real moun- 
taineer's meal tough, well f 
strongly garlicked. Bits of it stuck 
comfortably between Major Smythe’s 


teeth. He dug them out with a sliver of 
spat 


matchstick and then 
ground. Th 


104 Came into operation and he meticulously 


on 


searched among the stones and grass, 
picked up the scraps and swallowed 
them. From now on he was a criminal— 
as much a criminal as if he had robbed a 
bank and shot the guard. He was a cop 
turned robber. He must remember that! 
It would be death if he didn't death in- 
stead of Carter's. All be bad to do was 
to take infinite pains. He would take 
those pains, and by God they would be 
infinite! Then, forever after, he would 
be rich and happy. After taking ridicu- 
lously minute trouble to eradicate any 
sign of entry into the hut, he dragged 
the ammunition box to the edge of the 
last rock face and, aiming it away from 
the glacier, tipped it into space. 

The gray box, turning slowly in the 
air, hit the first steep slope below the 
rock face, bounded another hundred 
feet and landed with an iron clang in 
some loose scree and stopped. Major 
Smythe couldn't sce if it had burst open. 
He didn't mind one way or the other. 
He had tried to open it, without success. 
Let the mountain do it for him! 

With a last look round, he went over 
the edge. He took great care at each pi- 
ton, tested every handhold and foothold 
before he put weight on it. Coming 
down, he was а much more valuable life 
than he had been climbing up. He made 
for the glacier and trudged across the 
melting snow to the black patch on the 
ice field. There was nothing to be done 
about footprints. It would take only a 
few days for them to be melted down by 
the sun. He got to the body. He had 
seen many corpses during the War, and 
the blood and broken limbs meant noth- 
ing to him. He dragged the remains of 
Obcrhauscr to the nearest deep crevasse 
and toppled it in. Then he went care- 
fully round the lip of the crevasse and 
kicked the snow overhang down on top 
of the body. Then, satisfied with his 
work, he retraced his steps, placing his 
feet exactly in his old footprints, and 
made his way on down the slope to the 
ammunition box. 

Yes, the mountain had burst open the 
lid for him. Almost casually he tore away 
the cartridge paper wrappings. The two 
great hunks of metal glittered up at him 
under the sun. There were the same 
markings оп each—the swastika in a cir- 
cle below an eagle, and the date, 1943— 
the mint marks of the Reichsbank, Ma- 


replaced the paper and hammered the 
crooked lid half shut with a rock. Then 
he tied the lanyard of his Webley round 
one of the handles and moved on down 
the mountain, dragging his clumsy bur- 
den behind him. 

It was now оп 
beat fiercely dow! 


o'dock and the sun 
on his naked chest, 
frying him in his own sweat. His red 
dened shoulders began to burn. So did 
his face. To hell with them! He stopped 
at the stream from the glacier, dipped 


it across his forchead. Tl 
deeply and went on, occasi 
the ammunition box as it caught up 
with him and banged at his heels. But 
these discomforts, the sunburn and d 
bruises, were nothing compare 
what he would have to face when 
down to the valley and the going leveled 

- For the time bei ity 
on Dis side. There would come at least a 
mile when he would have to carry the 
blasted stuff. Major Smythe winced at 
the thought of the havoc the 80 pounds 
or so would wreak on his burned back. 
"Oh well.” he sud to himself almost 
lightheadedly, "Л faut souffrir pour être 
millionnaire. 

When he got to the bottom and the 
time had come, he sat and rested on a 
mossy bank under the frs. Then he 
spread out his bush shirt and heaved the 
two bars out of the bo 
ter and tied the tails of the shirt as 
firmly as he could to where the sleeves 
sprung from the shoulders. After digging 
a shallow hole in the bank and burying 
the empty box. he knotted the two cuffs 
of the sleeves firmly together, knelt 
down and slipped his head through the 
rough sling, got his hands on either side 
of the knot to protect his neck and stag 
gered to his feet, crouching far forward 
хо as not to bc pulled over onto his back. 
Then. crushed imder E hi 
weight, his back on fire under the contact 
with his burden, and his breath rasping 
through his constricted lungs, coolic- 
like, he shuffled slowly off down the Ше 
path through the trees. 

To this day he didn’t know how he 
had made it to the jeep. Again and 
again the knots gave under the strain 
and the bars crashed down on the calves 
of his legs, and cach time he had sat 
with his head in bands and then 
started all over again. But finally, by 
concentrating on counting his steps and. 
stopping for a rest at every hundredth, 
ed little car and col 
And then there had 
g his hoard 
in the wood, amongst a jumble of big 
rocks that he would be sure to find 
again, and of cleaning himself up as best 
he could and getting back to his billet 
by a Greuitous route that avoided the 
Oberhauser chalet. And then it was all 
done and he had got drunk by bimseli 
off a bottle of cheap schnapps and eaten 
and gone to bed and to а stupefied sleep. 
The next day, MOB A Foree had moved 
off up the Miuersill valley on a fresh 
trail, and six months later Major Smythe 
was back in London, his War over. 

But not his prob! Gold is dificult 
stuff to smuggle, certainly in the quan 
tity ble to Мајо he, and it was 
now essential to pet his two bars across 
(continued on page 170) 


got 


“Oh, Mr. Thorndyke, you shouldn’t have!” 


105 


a world-renowned big-game hunter 
discovers that, though a half-dozen 
buffaloes had been sacrificed to the 
striped monster to keep him coming 
back, he was not to be taken so easily 


Tiger, Tiger, 
Burning Bright 


Sports 
By Jack Denton Scott 


IT 1S IMPOSSIBLE to get too much of 
India. True, there can be too many 
temples, too much emphasis on the var- 
ious gods and too much symbolic carv- 
ing and statuary, but with the diversity 
‘of people and scene, there is enough in 
this subcontinent to keep a traveler 
coming back for years. Yet somewhere 
І had read that the British had mtro- 
duced an American fish, the rainbow 
trout, into some Indian mountain 
streams, and I was curious. My wife's 
and my Orvis rods were also panting in 
their cases, and 1 still clung to my be- 
lief, even here where nearly everything 
is extraordinary, that a fishing rod is 
often the magic wand waving you on to 
unusual experiences and adventure. Апа 
again it proved to be tru 
The quest started off in such silly 
fashion that it almost stopped before it 
e Brigendra Singh, hat 
telligent fellow who had 
lik Range ex- 
perience with the hunting elephants 
(see Partridge Shoot from Elephantback, 
PrAvmov, February 1966), worked with 


proached him. He was a sportsm: 
I thought he would probably know all 
about the rainbows, It rapidly developed 
into a comedy. 

"Are there rainbows in India?" I 
said. “Гуе heard that some English 


He smiled. "They need rain. There 
are some beautiful ones during mon- 
soon, but I don't think I've ever seen 
опе during this dry seaso 

He had me there. This was new in- 
formation about one of my favorite 
subjects. they need rain to 
survive in Indi 

“OF course, my dear chap, they necd 
rain. Let me remind you that a rainbow 
isa bow or arc of prismatic colors ap- 
pearing in the heavens opposite the sun, 
due to «he refraction and the reflection 
of the sun's rays in drops of rain. 

1 laughed. “My rainbow, Salmo 
gairdnerit, is a native to coastal waters 
and streams from Lower California to 
Alaska, but has been introduced else- 

106 where. It is (continued on page 118) 


Malibu 
Beachnik 


april playmate 
karla conway is a petite, 
surf-wise wave jockey 


F.. Ary may be the shortest month, 
but its been April that has—twice in a 
row—provided PLAYBOY with its shortest 
centerfold subjects. In fact, 19-year-old 
Karla Conway, this month's berry-brown 
surfing bull, is our second Playmate (last 
April's bantam beauty, Sue Williams, was 
the first) to weigh in at 98 pounds, all 
of them fetchingly distributed on a fine 
411° frame. 

A native of the Golden State, Karla 
was born in Pasadena, and shared a 
peripatetic girlhood with her five broth- 
ers and two sisters, moving 31 times in 16 
years as her father—a carrental comp: 
executive—iraveled across the con 
opening new branch offices for his firm. 
“One winter we moved all the way from 
a freezing New York to balmy Mexico 
City,” Karla says, "and ever since then 
I've hated cold weather.” Back on the 
West Coast since 1959, Karla gradu- 
ated last year from Canoga Park 
High and promptly persuaded her fa- 
ther to let her use the family's small 
Malibu Beach cottage as a temporary 
bachelorette pad while she looked for a 
job in Los Angeles. “Two days after 
moving in, I went to work as a recep 
in a nearby bank,” says М 
April, “and I talked Mom and Dad into 
letting me stay on alone at the cottage 
because it's а 15-minute drive from the 
office and only a 100-foot stroll to the 
beach. With all my brothers and sisters 
married and scattered across the country, 
I'm the only one left to keep up the 
place. Outside it's kind of weather- 
beaten white, but I've fixed up the inside 
with а potbellied stove, comfy furniture 
and lots of candles. 

No kook (novice) when it comes 
to riding Malibu's rugged surf, Karla 
spends all her off-hours in—or preferabi 
on—the water dressed in a brief bikini. 
“I guess traveling so much as а child 


Top right: Perky Karlo starts the doy by 
limbering up on o skote board before 
heading for the Malibu surf. 

Right: Joined by actor friend Johnny Fain, 
they check the waves to spot where the 
biggest ones are beginning to build 


helped me appreciate the outdoors,” says 
the board-riding brunette, “especially 
near the shore, where there's a wild, 
free spirit that seems to hang in the 
air.” An avid surf skimmer for some 
w, Karla often rides tandem 
"doubling or tripling up 
on one board. “E also do surf stunts,” 
she says, "like riding on someone's 
shoulders. When I'm out there sliding 
on a wave, I feel like 1 own the world 
When we wipe out—thars when the 
board digs into а wave—l jump and 
‘pearl’ as deep as I can so as not 10 get 
konked by my own surf stick. 

JI my friends are serious surfers,” 

Malibu’s prettiest wave jockey admits 
"not hodads—that’s surf talk for guys 
who pretend to be surfers. Hodads come 
to the beach in their woody wagons— 
that’s an old woodsided station wagon— 
and loll around in wet bathing suits act 
ing like they just rode a wave ashore 
They're not only phonies, but they clut- 
ter up the beach on top of it.” 

When the waves are down, Karla 
trades her surfboard for а 12-string gui 
tar (“For me it's more like therapy than 
fun. I play Bob Dylan mostly; his ram- 
bling, bluesy lyrics almost make us soul 
mates.”). A pretty fair pluckster, she can 
liven a Malibu Beach blast with folk- 
rock sounds, or quict one down with 
something poignant ("Malaguea's my 
best”). As for wheeling her way to where 
the biggest surf rolls in, Karla sports a 
newly acquired MG-TF roadster, kept 
carefully covered by a tarpaulin behind 
the cottage. “I went to one rally after 1 
bought the car,” she says, "but I got lost 
and the officials finally had to send out 
archers. Now I just drive and take a 
date along to do the navi 5 

Although Karla intends to keep call- 
ing California her home port, she's cur- 
rently making plans to fulfill one of her 
fondest dreams: “Traveling across Europe 
before I'm 21." Prior to her June depar- 
ture, however, Karla will spend the carly 
spring on her board, shooting the big: 
gest waves she can find. “When I'm in 
the water,” our April Playmate dreamily 
admits, “I sometimes wish I could slide 
the surf forever without coming ashore.” 
For purely photographic reasons, we're 
glad that’s one wish that wasn't fulfilled. 


Sequence at left: In o dry run, expert surfer 
Fain shows Karla the correct way ta 
properly execute a tricky swan layout. "On 
shore it's easy, she says, “but once in the 
‘woter—watch aul!" Right, top ta bottom: 
Karla and Johnny peddle to the line-up— 
surfer lingo for picking up the momentum of 
а big wave—then turn a shoulder lift 

into a perfect swan layout о few seconds 
before the wipe-aut comes. Karla later 
said, "Thor wasn't bad, but | got c little 
scared and landed all wrong. 1 think 1 
swollowed a ton cf water and two big fish." 


MISS APRIL puavsor's pravmare oF me monty 


Later, at a swinging ро! near Malibu Beach {abave), Karla meets her friends far сп aprés-surf dance sessian that leads aff with 
the jerk. All jerking aside (below), she starts the next number with same mankeyshines, featuring the basic steps of a 

new dance she's made up called the monkey-ierk. “After spending the day an the water—ar under it— like ta ga 

to апе of the nearby discathéques for same dancing before dinner. Rock"n-roll music really daes something ta me. My feet 
get all tingly when the beat begins, and I've got ta get up ond da something about it. It just drives те crazy ta sit still.” 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY PAUL MORTON SMITH АМО К, CHARLETON WILSON 


PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES 


The learned judge looked down from the bench 
at the young man who was suing his wife for 

divorce. 
“Your Honor,” the young man said, “I just 
with my wife anymore. She's a hobo- 


“Just one moment,” interrupted the judge. 
“Don't you mean homosexual?" 

“No, your Honor,” replied the man. “I mean 
hobosexual. You see, my wife's a bum lay." 


lc was almost midnight and the atuactive, well- 
stacked woman had been standing at the bus 
stop for over half an hour, obviously several 
martinis past her limit, when up drove а per 
sonable-appearing chap with an offer of trans- 

tation home. Sliding into the seat beside 
him, the inebriated miss managed to mumble 
her address, then slumped drowsily against the 
fellow's shoulder, Responding to the opportu- 
nity, the driver wrapped his free arm around his 
pretty er and pressed her closer to him, 
proceeding with as personal an appraisal of the 
terrain as possible without taking his eyes off 
the road, or his other hand off the wheel. 

At first she seemed oblivious to what was 
going on, but then she came to life, exclaiming, 
“Man, you're passionate!” 

Quite naturally flattered by this apparent 
reference to his romantic technique, he attempt- 
ed to take further liberties and was promptly 
Spal di s корс. He ieee 
Stopping the car abruptly, he turned to her 
angrily and said: “Look, lady, on the one hand 
you tell me how passionate I am and with the 
other you smack me. Why don’t you make up 
your mind?!” 

“I don't know what you're talkin’ about, 
mishter,” came the slurred reply, "but all I 
was referring to was my house—I said you're 
pashin’ it! 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines hermaph- 
rodite as a bisexual built for two. 


kc wasn't long after the town grocer gave his 
beautiful teenage daughter a job as clerk in his 
store that the local wolves began dropping by 
almost daily with requests for items stocked on 
the highest shelves, since each time the pretty 
little thing had to climb up a ladder to fill their 
orders, they were assured a spectacular view. 
Being as naive as she was attractive, the daugh- 
ter didn't catch on; she tried rearranging the 


stock a few times, but no matter how she 
planned it, her male customers always seemed 
to ask for the items she put at the top. One day 
an elderly gent happened to enter the store 
while a contingent of these young cads was 
sending the poor girl up and down the ladder, 
each one in turn ordering a loaf of raisin bread 
from the top shelf. Hoping to save herself an 
additional trip while still aloft on her eighth 
successive climb to the same height, the girl 
called down to the senior citizen, “15 yours 
raisin, too?" 


aid the old-timer, “But it’s twitchin" 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines: 
alimony as disinterest, compounded annually. 


false pregnancy as laboring under a miscon- 
cept 


piéce de résistance as a French virgin. 


automated as а couple making love іп а саг. 


alg Hinam 


Happy New Year, everybody!" the drunk 
shouted as he staggered into a small neighbor- 
hood bar. 

“For your information, buddy,” said the 
somewhat ated bartender, “today is the 


П 
ы і exclaimed the bewildered bibber. 
“Why, n wife will kill me for being out on a 
bender this long.” 


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


“How about that for an invention?!” 


PLAYBOY 


18 


Tiger, Tiger 


also an arc of prismatic colors, especially 
when it leaves the water. wet and shim- 
mering——" If he wanted to play, I'd 
play 

“I don't understand,” Brigendra said, 
frowning slightly. “I didn't know that 
ows differed, even in America. Are 
you sure?” 

Everything can be carried wo far. 
When I told Brigendra what my rain- 
bows were, he laughed until tears came. 

“A fish! A fish! My dear fellow, mah- 
seer, yes. This rainbow, по. I don't 
know. This is a splendid joke!” 

But another dever fellow, Som Nath 
Chib, director of the department of 
Indian tourism, didn't think it was а 
joke. 1 got right to the subject this time. 
He knew all about the project. There is 
little about India he docsn't know. 
Well.” he said, "I've been told that 
those tenacious Englishmen who did 
many good things and some bad th 
for my county, after years of 
successfully introduced your trout in 
two or three streams in the Nilgiri Hills 
in southern India, near a place called 
Ooracamund. Ivy many miles from here, 
but I will write ahead and make arrange- 
ments, if you must make the trip. 

T must. Two things that Som Nath 
Chib said intrigued me. The rainbow 
were in streams straight up, at a moun- 
tain elevauon of more than 7000 feet, 
and they were ready to be caught in 
February. Both circumstances seemed un- 
usual for this fish. 

Mr. Chib was right. It was a long way 
from New Delhi to Ootacamund, the 
tiny town high in the Nilgiri Hills, or 
"Blue Hills.” We flew to Coimbatore, 
where we met R. Ramaswamy, a mem 
ber of the Government Tourist Office, 
out of the Madras regional office. He 
was a tall heavy-set, jolly man who 
outhaggled the local taxi king, getting 
us a beatup bald-tired car—about a 
1940, I think—and an old but alert- 
looking driver. 

As we got in and started out of Coim- 
batore, raising dust that followed us as 
if it were tied to the car, I saw that the 
heap had 100,000 miles registered, and 
worried aloud. “How high are the 
N 


“Seven thousand feet above sea level,” 
Ramaswamy said, “They're beautiful, 
with a blue light always on them. I've 
seen them from the air and they're an 
oval-shaped, undulating plateau, about 
thirty miles across.” 

“But will we sce them?" I said. 

He was puzzled. “What do you mean, 
sir?” 

"Our car has two badly worn front 
and more than one hundred thou- 
d miles. That's like riding a seventy- 
old horse with bad feet.” 
The driver said, "Sound car, sir. And 


(continued from page 106) 


don't be concerned about the tires. I 
am a most careful driver." 

In India you have to bc. Nothing— 
goats. Brahma steers, water buffaloes, 
people or bullock carts—gets out of your 
way. It is understood that you get out 
of theirs. Our driver was adept at this, 
but often the car wasn't cooperative. It 
stalled; it sputtered fitfully when we 
tried to pass a bullock cart, alarming the 
white-turbaned driver so that he put on 
extra speed. I could hear those worn 
tires pancaking. The wip up the moun- 
tains was a terror. Trucks hurtled; the 
road narrowed as we climbed; unpro- 
tected drop-offs threatened every foot of 
the way. 

Think what you may about British 
colo! but anyone driving that 
twisting snake of а road into the clouds 
of the Nilgiris would h: to admit that 
they accomplished а masterpiece of en- 
ginecring to lay any road at all up the 
rocky side of these steep, bluemisted 
wild mountaii 

Ootacamund, nestled in a curve be- 
tween folds of the hills, was an ama: 
replica of a completely unspoiled Eng- 
lish village, with retired British army 
officers walking about in tweeds, smok- 
ing pipes and walking black Labradors 
оп leashes. There were English women 
in sweaters and skirts, carrying shopping 
baskets; school children in blue uni- 
forms and caps. ‘The flash of scarlet saris, 
the slanted dark eyes and Oriental faces 
of the Indian women brought us back 
to India_ 

Аз our car shivered to а мор beside 
a small office building, tires smoking, 
Ramaswamy said, “I will go sce about 
the fishing.” 

This is what a little curiosity about 
trout fishing docs. It delivers fantastic 
villages, magnificent mountains, a re- 
markibly dangerous rollercoaster ride 
and sometimes, if you are very lucky, 
perhaps even some fish. 

E. R. C. Davidar, a slim, handsome 
young man, thought we would get rain- 
bow trout. A lawyer, he was a member 
of the Nilgiris Game Association and 
not only would offer us a complimen- 
tary angling license but also tell us where 
to fish and furnish us with « guide. 

As we drove to the comfortable Savoy 
Hotel to stow our bags and rig our gear, 
Davidar sai bows here are 
a story of British persistence.” 

Obviously on a favorite subject, he 
went on. “I believe they tried at least 
a dozen times before the experiment 
took: all serious, scientific attempts, too. 
Dr. ncis Day, an authority on Indian 
fresh-water fish, tried twice. He tried to 
import and breed trout in 1863, then 
again in 1866. He even got to the stage 
of actually planting fish. But he failed; 
so did all the others, until Н. С. Wil- 


son, another accomplished pisciculturist, 
went to work on the problem in 1906. 
‘This, as you probably know, was, and 
still is, а famous hill station where the 
English fled to escape the us t of places 


lish male is a fly enna 
they spared mo expense or scheme to 
establish trout here wi it would be 
a heaven for fly-rod men. They spent a 
pretty penny on Wilson. But it paid. 
He came up with the idea of rainbows 
and brought ova and stock fish from 
New Zealand and Ceylon. These took. 
On September 11, 1911, Avalanche, 
Emeral Valley, Krurmund and Mekad 
waters were opencd to the public 

Davidar suggested that he have a 
guide call for me at the Savoy Hotel 
early the next morn cold 
when Konnamoto came wearing a slouch 
hat, looking like an English gardener 
who had stood in the sun too long 
His English was slow but good. Rama- 
swamy had rooted himself out of bed 
and stood shivering beside the ca 

"We will try the Avalanche, sir," the 
guide said. "It's only a half hour from 
here and we should arrive at the right 
time, I must warn you, sir. These are 
most wild fish.” 

It was early enough and cold enough 
for frost. It lay on the fields and the 
rolling downs in silver sheets, and the 
mountains dark against the sky. We 
turned off the main road, entering a 
marrow, rutty dirt lane, and bounced 
through acres of rhododendron the size 
of apple trees with the scented, flaming 
red flowers as large as your hand. They 
must have been a hundred years old. 

Suddenly we rounded a curve and the 
Avalanche lay before us, mist spiraling 
from it. I knew 1 was in wouble as soon 
as saw the stream: It was small, per- 
haps 24 feet wide, but the edge was bare, 
not а tree or a bush. This meant that if 
these trout were as wild as claimed, they 
could be easily spooked by the sight of 
us or even by shadows, if the sun ever 
got strong enough to ctch a shadow. 

"No cover," І said hopelessly to Kon- 
namoto as we got out of the car. 

He smiled appreciatively. 
“That is one reason 


he 


the trout 
of Ooty are so shy—and so famous." 


Konnamoto carefully examined my 
flies, selecting a Hardy Favorite, a Silver 
March Brown and a Peter Ross. 1 tried 
them all, getting two riscs on the Silver 
March Brown. But it wasn't easy fishing. 
The lack of cover was an advantage in 
casting, of course, but without this we 
would be altogether too easily эсси by 
the fish. The cast had to be longer, fuller, 
and you had to stand well back from the 
stream. This meant that the targeting 
was poor, for you couldn't sec much ol 
the water. And if you walked in, no 

(continued on page 194) 


Above: At stort of the doy, Jomes Hollowell 
pouses outside his mountoin-girt Polm Springs 
pod to scon the morning heodlines before 
hopping into Joguor for the five-minute spin to 
his downtown office. At right: Trio of guests 
chot ot poolside in back of his desert digs 


modern living 


A PLAYBOY PAD: PALM SPRINGS OASIS 


a california bachelor 
creates his own eminent domain with 
wall-to-wall wide-open spaces 


120 


W "EN JAMES HOLLOWELL, а prominent 
young attorney in the desert city of 
Palm Springs, California, decided to 
move from his limited quarters in 
posh urban high-rise and build a home 
in the residential outskirts, he had two 
requirements: One, that his future pad 
give him the same privacy he had 
learned to cherish in his city digs; and 
that while offering sanctuary, his 
house should offer the indooroutdoor, 
pooland-patio type of life that a place 
away from the city can more easily pro- 
vide. A careful search by the busy bache- 
lor turned up the ideal location in Deep 
Well estates, just a fiveminute drive 
from his Palm Springs offi 
His finished house, created by archi- 
tect friend Stan Sackley, of Sackley and 
Light in Palm Springs, fit the owner's 
stipulations to а Т square. Done as ап 
ultramodern ranch house, Hollowell's 
Deep Well domicile is just а jack-rabbit 
jump Irom the nearest next-door neigh 
bor, yet (text concluded on page 126) 


Above: A visiting girlfriend frolics with Ugly, Hollowell's 
Boston terrier, in the living room. The dining toble is by 
Knoll ond Associotes, while the choirs ond cocktail toble of 
smoked, bulletproof glass ore oll by Choirs Unlimited. Left: A 
cylindrical pressed-cluminum fireplace, with o revolving back 
screen thal con turn the hearth ta face either the living room 
ог mosler bedroom seen in the reor, forms the focus of this 
spocious pod. Shoji-screen doors can be unfolded to close off 


the sleeping areo entirely. Top right: Built into the heodboard 
of Hollowell's moster bed is custom-fitted storoge spoce 
^ complete collection of ғілүвоү, Hollowell's fovorile, is 


housed above in bound volumes. Over his king-sized bed, 
Hollowell has posted o sign with the worning, No ONE UNDER 
21 AoMITTED. The Боск of the freestonding woll section divides 
the bedroom from the moster-both oreo and doubles os o 
multipurpose storage closet ond dressing toble. Center right: 
A languorous lody guest relaxes in о lerrozzo sunken 
tub in one corner of bothroom oreo. A smoll semiwolled 
Joponese-style gorden outside provides o welcome touch of 
green to the desert digs. Bottom right: An odmiring guest 
with much to odmire eyes her reflection in a theotricol mirror 
unit built into ће Боск of the functionol woll section. 


ШШ 
[л "| 


Above left: A busy barrister, Hollowell briefs himself for a day in court in his office-den ofi the living room. Desk is by Robert John ond choir set 
by Knoll and Associates. The classic Eames lounging choir from Hermon Miller sits under on cil painting expressly commissioned to coordinate 
with his pod's rich color scheme. Above center: An overhead shoulder-level, directional fixture by Design Lite thot can be used as a reading 
light hangs in the living room. Above right: An amateur mixologiss dream, a completely stocked wet bar in the living room, stands reody to 
dispense potables. Right: After an afternoon swim, a party begins to gather for the sumptuous buffet. For right: One of a pair of frolicking 
guests tries out the Jacuzzi whirlpool, o relaxing device built into the shallow end of the pool, while a dedicated sunbather lazes on. 


Left: Late in the evening, guests drift outdoors to enjoy the multicolored spectocle crected by 


lights locoted under the eoves and built into the sides of the pool. Recessed ceiling fixtures 
throughout the living-room and bedroom oreas ore operoted on rheostols and con be eosily 
controlled to provide the density of light best suited for ony occasion. Above: Hollowell hos 
focused а rooftop spotlight on а romantic fountain in the bockyord polio, which serves cs 
© quiet sentinel outside, while he ond his date dance most of the romontic night oway 


HOTOGRAPHY BY J. BARRY O'ROURKE 


123 


= 
е 
n 
ш 
a 
a 
а 


Mr. Dabien! You promised that part to ME!” 


article By IRA COHEN. 


there 15 a moroccan delicacy confected of visions, ecstasies and— 
allah be praised—a thousand and one erotic delights 


MAJOON, majoun, ma'jun . . . how soft 
the word is, how full of magic and jinn, 
how dark to the imagination! Majoon 
is the Arabic word for jam, but here in 
Morocco and all through the Islamic 
world, everyone knows that it is a spe- 
cial confection with Indian hemp, or 
kif, as its main ingredient. In Morocco 
it is still as commonplace as fruitcake 
in England or angelfood cake in the 
United States. It is usually taken on fes- 
tive occasions or in the wintertime, when 
it keeps you warm through the long Mo- 
roccan nights; but any time you feel like 
traveling or Crave some instant magic 
theater, all you have to do is find your 
favorite majoon seller and Open sesame! 
All doors fall down and you are off on 
a voyage with no turning back. 

Eating majoon is like night diving. 
You descend mto unknown depths sur 
rounded by hundreds of shining сусу. 
Everything is underwater and slow. 
moon. Is that a squid 1 have in my 
hand, or is it the head of Medusa turn- 
ing me to stone? Majoon embeds 
you in black tar while you 


marijuana, but stronger and 
more commonly hallucino- 
genic, building up gradually 
id often culm 


waves a 


or heard the cry of the muezzin float 


at 
cans of laughter. You 
wonder where you аге or why 
everything is so strange, like, 
you never saw your hand before 


ing over the city. It may take anywhere 
from 20 minutes to an hour or more be 
fore the majoon takes over, before you 
realize м nd can last 
for as lo A lumière ш 
winds in your head, or suddenly a café 
on the edge of a cliff takes off and sails 
through the stars. Rooms contract and 
expand and somewhere from your own 
most secret places there is a babble of 
voices made up of old memories and 
hidden desires asking you to surrender. 
Each gesture is eternal, for time has 
nothing to do with metronomes, and 
minutes have become hours or even 
centuries. You can feel your heart h 
ing faster 


xd you want something 
drink, since your mouth is incredibly 
dry, or you feel ravenously hungry and 
can eat for hours on end, sampling one 
taste after another. But sometimes, 
especially if you eat too much majoon, 
you may sleep your voyage away. 
‘The Moorish women. although they 
very rarely smoke Aif as almost all the 
men do, like a nice piece of ma- 
joon now and then. It makes 


glow like sapphires or you THE) them dreamy and sensual, 
leave your body behind and (Ga though they say that it makes 
soar through the air, holding them want to take off all 
on for dear lile to the long their dothes and run naked 
braid of your jinni through the streets. But that 

he eflecis of majoon are is the way it is. Sometimes 
like those of smoking Kif or you draw donkey ears, other 


times it is a comm: 
formance between stars and 
half-spoken wishes. 


nd per 


Remember Sabu's ruby in 
The Thief of Bagdad in 
which anything and every- 
thing could be seen, and how 

it exploded into a million flicker 
ing pieces (continued on page 218) 


125 


PLAYBOY 


126 with drawers 


PLAYBOY PAD 


gives its owner complete privacy. 

Hollowell led the pool and pa- 
tio portions of his home with a block 
wall and then hedged his bid for seclu- 
sion with ten-fect-high leafy paracanthia 
bushes that provide a burst of greenery 
to his edge-of-the-desert doma Ad 
to the intimacy of the setting, a portion 
of the slightly raked roof extends an ex- 
tra ten feet over the back patio, forming 
а shaded area that olfers shelter for pool. 
side revelers wishing to escape the ultra- 
ultraviolet rays of the Palm Springs sun. 

To fulfill his personal concept for his 
home, Hollowell m: IS absolute con- 
trol of the inner spaces throughout his 
entire domain by utilizing freestanding 
wall sections, sliding screens 
panels instead of trad 
walls, to adjust the space relationships of 
his floor plan in accordance with the 
needs of the moment. With the panels 
and screens drawn together, the house be- 
comes a comfortable honeycomb, w 
cach room a private and personal 
sanctuary. Thrown open, the house be. 
comes a baronial 3500-square-foot expanse 
almost entirely unfettered by restricting 
walls, doors and entranceways. 

Hollowell keyed his home around an 
outsized rectangular 19 х 39-foot li 
dining area with floor-to-cei 
and sliding clearglass doors running its 
entire length and on into the adjacent 
master-bedroom area. To divide the 
room from the bedroom, Hollowell put 
up a cylindrical floor-to-ceiling fireplace 
with a revolving back screen, which gives 
a cheering blaze to either the living room 
or the bedroom, depending on the way it’s 
turned. 

“When I have overnight guests or 
don't want the bedroom opened up to a 
party,” Hollowell says, "1 can revolve 
the back screen or just close a pair of 
sliding shojiscreen doors and seal olf the 
sleeping area completely. But usually 1 
leave it open so my guests can wander 
around ав they please.” 
en the master bedroom апа Ro- 
manesque bath carry out Hollowell's pen- 
chant for wideopen spaciousness. The 
sleeping and grooming chambers are sep- 
arated by a freestanding black-walnut 
wall section that doubles as а room divider 
and as an imperial-sized headboard for 
his bed, an idea inspired by гілувоу in 
one of our first design features, Playboy's 
Penthouse Apartment (September and. 
Oaober, 1956). Matching walnut panels 
fitted to either side of the sectional can 
seal off the bath arca. when desired. The 
back of the standing section becomes the 
main wall of Hollowell’s dressing area 
and is fied out as an elegant arm 


(continued from page 120) 


space for clothing and haberdashery. In 
the center, Hollowell built in a dressing 
table featuring а rhcostatoperated theat 
rical make-up mirror ringed with lights. 
Feminine visitors find the temptation to 
check their coils in its mulu-bulbed light 
all but irresistible, 

The master bathroom is divided into 
two separate areas; one houses the john. 
and—thoughtfully for his female guests— 
idet, while the other, directly adjacent 
to floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook 
his swimming pool, contains a sunken 
terrazzo bath. 
уе got the television bug," Hollo- 
well says, “so E had the tub built where 1 
could sit and unwind while 1 watch the 
old movies on the set in my bedroom.” 

In fitting out his palatial pad, Hollo- 
well limited his furniture selections to a 
few contemporary pieces to keep pace 
with the open, uncluttered style of the 
house. 

Оп one side of the living room near 
the circular fireplace is а sofa, chair and 
end-table combination surrounding an 
unusual custom-built cocktail table with 
a smoked, double-strength, bulletproof- 
glass top framed in teakwood and stain- 
Tess-steel tubi There are also an oval 
wood dining table and a matching 
sideboard that can be transformed into 
а large bullet for parties. 

“The secret of a successful part 
Hollowell claims, never to have 
enough places to sit. That way, everyone 
keeps moving around.” 

At even his biggest bashes, Hollowell 
finds that a variety of giant overstuffed 
pillows kept scattered about the floor are 
far more functional, not to mention 
more portable, than chairs. 

‘A wet bar, located directly to one side 
of the living-room entrance, has turned 
out to be a popular spot to rally around 
at party time. Behind irs J-shaped top, 
Hollowell pursues his predilection for so- 
phisticated saloonery abetted by virtually 
every bartending accouterment known to 
bibbing man. On a shelf mounted against 
the mirror-covered rear wall he keeps а 
line-up of crystal. ranging from tall tom- 
collins coolers to superman-sized brandy 
snifters, set among a series of cut glass 
each with its sterlingssilver 
fication tag. Behind double black- 
walnut doors is a fullsized, completely 
stocked bar refrigerator that includes a 
handy tap that delivers ice-cold draughts 
friends. Armed with a 
ing frozen 
coctions 
ing, Hollowell 
And if liquor 


plays the perfect host. 
doesn’t soothe the savage breast quickly 
enough, there are always the operating 


controls for the метео AM/FM system 
built into the back of the bar. А soundly 
constructed componentpart rig pipes 
high-fidelity music through an extension 
speaker system to every room in the house 
and on out into the pool arca. 

То illuminate this scene of wide-open 
opulence, Hollowell uses a series of re 
cessed, suspended and mounted lights, 
most of them operated by rheostats for 
flick. of the finger control. Hollowell can 
turn off bright living-room beams and 
bring amber-colored hues into play that 
fill his home with softened shades condu- 
cive to dreamy dancing and nce. 

Even in Palm Springs, where a swim 
ming pool is practically a requirement 
of the zoning board, Hollowell’s 30-footcr 
is a stylized standout. Surfaced in Kool 
deck, which docs not absorb heat, the 
pool area stays comfortable for sunbath 
ing even in the noonday desert. In the 
shallow end, just around a slight elbow 
bend, weary watcrers can enjoy the built 
in Jacuzzi, а bclow-thesurface bubbi 
device that creates its own whirlpool 
Hollowell finds that after а hard day: 


rhythm is as refreshing 
ng into a pitcher of iced martinis. 
Like ny a bachelor, Hollowell 


spends as little time in the kitchen д 
possible, choosing instead to either whip 
up a light snack or have a favorite lady 
fair do the honors in the scullery’s ultra 
modern, blackwalnutcabineted decor 
kept simple and utilitarian [or easy 
maintenance. 

Although attorney Hollowell's Deep 
Well ranch house sces share of enter 
taining, there are m hus when he 
spends time prepa d for a day in 
court. He gets the study-conducing at 
mosphere he needs in his officeden, a 
12x 16.00: area just to one side of the 
main entranceway. Like the bedroom, it 
can be scparated from the living room 
by sliding shoji screens. 

Should the unexpected, outoftown 

tor drop in for a few days’ sojourn, 
there is no problem for Hollowell, even 
when pursuing the most tangled of 
briefs. The guest facilities are in the far 
comer of the house and provide com- 
plete privacy for relaxing or a bit of 
sunbathing in a separate walled patio 
adjacent to the room. 
For many рсоріс, Palm Springs is а 
resort; a rious and refreshing place 
to get away from it all and just relax in 
the sun while the commercial world 
marches on. Hollowell's home offers all 
the amenities for the good life im the 
West. But, as befits a successful barrister, 
Hollowell has created a home and an en 
vironmental setting where he can lead а 
full professional life and private Ше 
nd always on his own terms. 


MARRIAGE, FOOD, MONEY, 


el 
be 
„ста EA A 
elc E 


ee 


2 
D 


CHILDREN, ICE SKATING 


fiction By HERBERT GOLD 


lacking the language of love, or even of friendship, how could this father talk with his sons? 


My FATHER MET MY MOTHER at an ice-skating rink in Cleve 
land, Ohio, in the carly 1920s. She says that he had no taste 
in those days. He was uneducated. He was an uneducated 
greenhorn. He spoke with a heavy accent, wore green shoes 
and rode a motorcycle. Also he had the rude habit of pick 
ing up girls at the ice-skating rink. The last one he picked 
up. so far as we know, was my mother. Though he had no 
taste, he liked the plump blonde little lady whose ankle: 
needed strengthening before she could spend a whole eve 
ning on skates. He suggested that she take his arm and try 
something easy—a waltz, a two-step, or just going where he 
led her. 

"Ohh, what's your пате?” 

"I said already—Gold. Some hot chocolate." 


“Oh, oo, some cocoa would be tasty.” 

“Cocoa they haven't got, but chocolate I can arrange.” 

Goodbye, little lady, you're going to get whatever he calls it. 

He must have been a tough little okd-country character, pink- 
faced but not a boy, maroon-faced, wooing her with a heavy 
fiddish accent, wooing her with arms and legs hardened from 
heaving crates of vegetables onto trucks, into coolers, off stands. 
For some reason he had learned to skate, and at that time 
could do tight, fast lite figureskating turns. Having no family 
sent him out a lot nights. To school, to the rink. Probably he 
liked leading girls behind the organ—the organ at the rink that 
played Stay As Sweet As You Are as he led them round and 
round until they became so dizzy (continued on page 162) 


127 


128 


PLAYBOY PraYBOY _ 


Horis ^ Season Opens With Flourish 
Roe Viel ornare 
Wisk бу Tarot 


PLAYBOY 


A TOAST TO 'BIKINIS. 


втш sy THE PLAYBOY COVER STORY 


WHILE WE CONCEDE there's merit in th 
ward appearance tells а good deal about the publication. The sam 
of the magazine since its inception 
are all reflected on the 


¢ about not judging a book by its cover. we also believe that PLAYBOY's out 
individuality in graphic ideas and design that has been a mark 
ique contemporary quality, its interests. taste and playful spirit 
ition, a chronological sampling of the covers published during the first dozen 
AY hOY's progress to its present position as the most popular men's maga 
ucs of rrAvnoy—in the days of high hopes and a low bank balance—our covers were severely rc. 
cover (top left) was printed in two colors and featured a photograph of Marilyn Monroe. 
also featured inside as rrAvnov's first Playmate of the Month, The magazine had a iwoman staff: Editor-Publisher Hugh M 
Hefner and Art Director Arthur Paul. The initial issue was put together in Hefner's aj and went on sale late in 1953 
‘The cover carried no date, because Hefner had just enough money to publish the one issue, and he wasn't certain when or 
whether he would be able to produce a second. The however, and with the income from that, it was 
dden surge of publi fidence, Hefner decided to put a date on the next one, des 


PLAYBOY ЕЗ 


PLAYBOY PLAYBOY 


a behind-the-scenes uncoverage of a dozen years of eye-catching covers and the girls who have adorably adorned them 


and his profile, enclosed in a small black square, appeared at the end of each story, exactly as it does today, he was not used on 
the cover until the second issue. He’s been there ever since, Hefner conceived our hare apparent as a means of personalizing the 
publication. Purposely avoiding a human symbol, because of Esquire's Esky and The New Yorker's Eustace Tilley, he chose a rab- 
bit and put him in a tuxedo, as an image of sophisticated sex that was. at the same time. a satirical spool. Paul drew up the rec- 
tangular Rabbit emblem, never dreaming that he was designing what would soon become onc of the world's most famous 
trademarks. Paul comments: 

гга пу idea how important that little Ra 
make certain I was doing him justice—and I suppose none of those versions would have turned out a 
was, I did one drawing and that was it. 1 probably spent all of half an hour on it.” 

The Playboy Rabbit had become so well known by 1959 that a letter mailed by а New York reader, with the Rabbit insignia 
dipped from the m d pasted on the outer envelope as its only address, was promptly delivered to the Playboy Building 
in Chicago. In 1964, the Society of Typographic Arts chose the Playboy Rabbit emblem from among 1600 entries for an award as 
one of the М most outstanding company trademarks in the United States—the only mark associated with a publication to be so 
honored. The popularity of the Playboy Rabbit is most dramatically demonstrated by the demand for dozens of dillerent Playboy 


bit was going to be, I probably would have redrawn him a dozen times to 
well as the original. As it 


129 


PLAYBOY'S sophisticated Rabbit is present on every cover, in one form or another —sometimes symbolically, as no more than a wrinkle in а sheet or a 
twinkle in the eye of a beautiful girl; and sometimes as his full, furry self —a three-dimensionat collage of paper, cloth and textured fabric. The 
cosmopolitan chap standing center stage (as he did on the February 1960 cover) is far more dapper in dress and manner than he was in his first, rather 
comic collage cover appearance in April 1954, ogling a passing lady's legs (top left). In May and again in June (center left), his female companion 
was а poper doll—a collage, like himself; but he soon graduated to real, live girls or, at least, to photographic images of them. Bottom left 

Wearing jaunty yachting garb on the July 1050 cover, our own Commander Whilehare hoisted both а cocKtail-hour pennant and the swimsuil of 
his unseen but obviously obliging first mate. Top right: The debonair hare was surrounded by a clutch of cartoon cuties drawn by seven of PLAYBOY'S 
most. popular cartoonists especially for this August 1961 cover. Center right: Urbancly at ease in his penthouse pad for the January 1962 issue, the 
Rabbit relaxes against а background of elegantly framed Playmates—a January theme that has become a tradition. Bottom right: Putting his tightly 
Furled umbrella to good use on June 1963 cover, our furry friend appeared to be opening the magazine to pictorial on Junoesque Jayne Mansfield inside 


In transit from PLAYBOY lo the engraver, the seaweed covering the mermaid’s bosom on 
our August 1955 cover was knocked awry, making too much of a clean breast of things 
zine cover. Retouching (above right) removed the problem. 


(above left) for an American mag. 


Products: men's and women’s jewelry, 
wearing apparel, smoking accessories, 
equipment, perfume, playing cards, nov 
ку items, etc—the principal appeal of 
which is the presence of the Rabbit im. 
ape. because of its identification with the 
magazine. In this regard, the Playboy 
Rabbit has proven as popular a con- 
temporary folk hero as James Bond and 
the Beatles. 


The Rabbits presence on pravnov's 
covers has taken many forms in our 12- 
plus years of publication. His initial ap- 
pearance there—on the front of issue 
number two—was as à cartoon caricature, 
flanked by a pair of twin bathing beau- 
ties. He was reduced to an inanimate in 


ar 


dicia in February, when the cover concept 
" 


combined a photograph of the curr 
star of the Folies-Bergere with art of th 
Folies of an carlier era by Toulou 
Lautrec. 


Monsieur Rabbit dominated the April 
1954 cover (shown at top left, on facing 
page), as a breezy, rather bug-eyed boule- 
vardier. This was the first PLAYBOY cover 
reproduced from a three-dimensional col- 
lage of fur and fabric, with the photo- 
graph of a real girl’s legs superimposed 
in his eye. A marvel of miniaturization, 
the construction of these collage covers 
by Bea Paul, wife оГъ.лувоуэ Art Direc- 
tor, has consumed in the intervening 
dozen years less than half а yard of fur. 
(Genuine rabbit fur was originally 
until it was found that an ап 
terial actually produced a more photo- 
i; our fine furry 
friend, Bea has attired and accoutered 
him in natty gnat sized tuxedos, smoking 
jackets, blazers, sport shirts, ascots, о 


Above left: The beautiful blonde painted by PLAYBOY artist Alberto Vargas for our March 1905 
cover heralded the appearance inside of а considerably more revealing double-page portrait, above right. 


PLAX&ROY | EE | 


<0 


Ceramic Femlin on ош May 1963 
cover echoed pose of real model in pic- 
torial “The Femlin Comes to Life.” 


nom 
PLAYBOY 


E v А 
tci CHRISTMAS n Ж е ISSUE 


Above: December 1962 marked the first use of our inside cover as part of the cover design. Playme 
Bunny Sheralee Conners was featured fore and oft, with cover copy flopped on the inside. The 
matching photos of Sheralce were shot simultaneously by tev synchronized cameras through hidden 
holes in background paper. Test shots, below, show Sheralee sans nightie used in final version. 


coats, scarves, top hats, yachting caps 
bathing suits, sunglasses, cigars, cigarettes 
(with and without cigarette holders). 
umbrellas, walking sticks. ice skates and 
a complete scuba outfit, including mini 
ature flippers, mask and air tank, In ad 
dition to the Rabbit and his habit, Bea 
has frequenily been called upon to create 
the background furniture and furnish 
ings of his urban hutch: this setting is 
now an 11 theme for January covers, 
with a wall of ornately framed Playmate 
pictures reflecting the presence of the 
Playmate Revie le the issue. 

On many of the magazine's covers, the 
Rabbit's presence is suggested symboli 
cally, or introduced. in an unusual wa 
The ingenuity used in fashioning his fa 
miliar profile from a telephone cord or 
a bit of Christmas ribbon, the wrinkle 
in a bedsheet or the bite іп an apple 


is often the key to а cover's charm. For 
the front of the July 1954 issue (second 
from left, top row, on opening spread 
of feature), the Big Bunny's outline 
was traced in the sand of a summer 
beach, with an empty bikini forming his 
features 

From an initial sale of 50,000 copies. 
the monthly circulation of the magazine 
climbed to 150,000 by the end of the 
frst year. The magazine’s stall had 
grown to seven. with rented offices in 
a four-story brownstone—across the 
street from Holy Na 
Chicago's Near North Side; we celebrated 
rravsov’s first anniversary with the en 
tire crew collected in a single booth of a 
nearby restauran 

Although we had multi 
carly in 1954, they were an inexpensive 
and inferior form of mechanical screen 
non-process printing, with which we at 
tempted to simulate full-color reproduc 
поп. We were able to afford our first 
authentic color-separated, process print 
ing on the First Anniversary Issue. 
› the quality 


ne Cuthedral—on. 


olor covers 


Throughout the second y 
of the color reproduction—on both the 
inside and outside of the magazinc—im 
proved immeasurably 

‘There was no cover dated March 1 
no issue was ever, published for 


because 
that month. In an unorthodox decision 
typical of this upstart publishing venture 
when PLaynoy’s small staff fell too far 
behind in its monthly schedule, Hefner 
simply designated the issue after Febru- 
ary as April instead of March. (All sub 
scriptions were automatically extended 
one month, so readers weren't adversely 
affected; the magazine had по advertis 
ing in those early issues, so there were 
no ad account or agency complaints 10 
contend with.) 

"The May 1955 cover (third from left, 
lop row, on opening spread) indicates 
the variety of visual techniques that were 
already being utilized in these early 
editions: (text continued on page 136) 


M ашиг жїнї WII зов) С вок / BE, 
Ти арте OF LR LCL / YOR БИ AQ 
ALOE / DATE КЕР OR ELSA uman f CET 
мв мє PURE / TAL. & тати KHON FORECAST 


PLAYBOY secrelary-Playmate Teddi Smith has 
adorned the cover four times (December 1900, 
October 1963, February 1965 and September 
1065). For her October pose (at left amd 
above), Teddi was installed in simulated shower 
(constructed in one of PLAYBOY'S photo studios 
especially for this cover shooting), where she 
was depicted doing some hare-tine doodling on 
the steamy shower-stall door—an effect achieved 
by cutting the Rabbit outline out of translucent 
acetate which was then pasted on the glass. This 
worked quite well, but to keep the acetate from 
peeling, cold water had to be used for the shower, 
turning the photo session into an icy undertaking 
‘for Teddi. vx nvnov's September 1960 cover was 
a jigsaw-puzcling back view of Playboy Club 
Bunny Marli Renfro, in which a color print of 
а chosen cover photo (like that at left) was sent 
to a puzzle maker, who сш it to include a suil- 
able hare piece (see below). Before becoming а 
Bunny, Marli appeared as the double for Janet 
Leigh in the famous nude shower scene in Hitch- 
cock s “Psycho.” Pretty employees like Teddi and 
Marli frequently appear on PLAYBOY" s covers. 


PLAYBOY 


The magazines current Cover Girl champ is 
PLAYBOY Assistant Cartoon Editor Cynthia 
Maddox: The pneumatic Miss Maddox has sup- 
plied the cover charge for our February 1962, 
March 1963, February 1964, July 1964 and 
current issues. At ft, Cynthia strikes a 
provocative pose in an itsy-bitsy, tecny-weeny, 
yellow polka-dot bikini during test shooting 
Sor July '64 cover. In preparation for the 
actual photo session that produced this comely 
cover (top), our enticing editorial staffer 
exchanged her office attire for a hand-sewn 
costume little larger than а pair of kand- 
Kerchiefs, then stood, reclined, and lay with- 
out wiggling, while studio assistants applied 
the final touch-up to body and сус make-up 
(above and abore right), and Associate Art 
Director Reid Austin, right, concentrated 
оп the ticklish business of surrounding the 
Maddox navel with a lopin image in lipstick. 


Р 


PLA 


ч. 


For Cynthia's March 1963 cover stint, above, 
PLAYBOY threw in the towel—a terrycloth 
cover-up embroidered with our Rabbit's famed 
profile. When Miss M isn't posing prettily, 
as below, she is an able Assistant Editor 
in charge of PLAYBOY’s cartoon submissions. 


136 


CHRISTMAS FACT AND FICTION BY 
ALBERT SCHWEITZER. J PAUL GET 
RAY BRADBURY, ALBERTO MORAVA BEN 


имгтдїныгнт FOR акн 


SMITH, ARTHUR KOPIT LENNY BRUCE. 
cera ROBERT BLOCH, LAWRENCE OURRELL 


OF KIM NOVAK ANO SU: 
PLUS A NINE-PAGE GIFT PORTFOLIO | 


To celebrate its December 1963 Tenth Holiday issue, PLAYBOY debuted а three-page cover. The heart-shaped pupil in our Rabbit's die-cut eye was а 
beauty mark on the face of Playmate Donna Michelle, still prettily puckered on page one after bussing Rabbit's outline on the inside cover 


А three-dimensional collage was created by superimposing the cardboard silhouette of а hansom cab, with the photograph of a 
nding from the side window, aj 1 painting of a street at night by artist LeRoy Neiman. The 
September 1955 issue indicates the imaginative variations that were being introduced in cover concepts almost from the outset 
"The background was a facsimile of a newspaper's society page, reporting on the social high jinks of our Rabbit gadabour, across 
which were casually tossed his white gloves, address book, ct al. That same year, Subscription Manager Janet Pilgrim became the 
first PLaynoy staff member to appear on the cover of the magazine, as well as inside as Playmate of the Month, in both July and 
cover. the Playboy Rabbit's presence was suggested by the shape of an unranned area on the back 
December showed her idly doodling his outline on the frosty pane of a wintry yuletide window, By 
iex of Subscription Manager Pilgrim, sales had climbed to 


girl's legs ext ainst а backgrou 


December issues; on the Jul 
hing Janct, while 
1955, thanks in part to the circulatio: 


of а sun-ba 
Decembs 
over 500,000 copies per month 

The fifth issue illustrated on the opening spread is dated May 1 
graphic approach that is frequently used for PLAYBOY covers, and is usually less complicated—in both concept and execution— 


wp acti 


6, and it is а typical early example of the pure photo. 


One good cover turn deserved another. For 
May 1964, the acrobatic Miss Michelle (an 
ex-New York City Ballet member) was able 
to hold a difficult Rabbit-like pose through a 
lengthy cover shooting heralding her “Play- 
mate of the Year" appearance. Then Donna 
tried the pose in the buff (al right); mude 
sequence was used in pictorial inside issue 


PLAYBOY 


138 of the Year soon aft 


iwo or more graphic tech- 
The very simplicity of a cover 
such as this—depicting а contemp 
шу snoozin 
^t of bunnics—cin make it а wel- 
¢ change of pace. Like most PLAYBOY 
sues of the period, this one carried 
y a word of hard-sell cover copy pro- 
moting the editorial contents inside an 
nprecedented policy for а i 
relying heavily on news 
its success—but by the 
year, circul 
800,000. 
The April 1957 cover gives some 
idea of the detail that сап exist in a 
typical collage, including such fashion 
tine points as the tiny buckle on the back 
of the knit cap of our furry sportscar 
aficionado. The miniature MG was con- 
structed of red enamel cardboard, 
а simulated wood dash, corrugated-card 
canvas convertible top. plastic 
illighis and a rear wheel with silver 
painted toothpick spokes. А photograph 
of the back of a blonde was placed in 
the scat beside the Rabbit; and inside 
the frame of the simulated rearview mir. 
T wa» imerted а photo of a portion of 
girl's face—her eyes glancing lovingly 
тозу at our hero. 
The complex April cal 
contrast to the simplicity of the June 
1957 cover—stark white, except for the 
глуво logo. the subtitle ENTERTAIN: 
MENT FOR мех beneath it. the issue date 
па price, plus a photo reproduction of 
pair of Playboy Cull Links in the lower- 
right-hand corner. No other pLaynoy 
has ever matched this one for 
aderstarement. Из design concept. was 
repeated inside the issue, with the open- 
p spread for the lead fiction: In the 
pper-left-hand corner of an otherwise 
blank page was an actualsize, full-color 
illustration of a housefly—5o realist 
seemed about to leave the p. 
the unique graphic treatment of George 
пу contemporary horror ¢ 
тиг у (Th е cover was also the 
a Playboy Product in its de 
Rabbit swizzle stick shown stir 


sleepin 
blan 


the 
ion had risen 60 percent, to 


close of 


e is in sharp 


opening spread) was 
ructed especially for 
this cover appea it didn’t become a 
Playboy Product until after the first 
Playboy Club was established carly in 
1960 and the swizzle was reproduced 
quantity for Club usc. 

In the second row of covers shown on 
the opening spread of this feature, stare 
ing at left: A good skate is upset by a 
pair of gorgeous gams on the front of 
the February 1958 issue—the first in а 
series of half a dozen leg covers. The bil 
I brunette on the July 1958 cover is 
Joyce Nir who became Playmate of 
the Month that December, and Playmate 
- The September 


1958 cover was a collage of a ma 
front—with a snapshot of Playmate ‘Te 
Hope in his pocket and the Rabbit in- 
age on his Playboy ick. Playmate 
Fleanor Bradley showed readers where 
to draw the line on the novel October 
1050 cover, but the Rabbit remained 
just a collection of numbers on the front 
of this particular issue unless the reader 
decided. to take pencil in hand and 
finish the drawing himself. 

The Femlin has been a familiar figure 
on the Party Jokes page for almost а 
decade, but our provocative pixy didn't 
make her cover debut until August 1960 
(second row, fifth from left), where her 
likeness was lovingly rendered by LeRoy 
Neiman, who also does the Femlin 
sketches that appear inside cach issue— 
beween paint ignments fo 
Playboy Club and the Man at His Le 
sure series for the magazine, The Femlin 
on this cover was a drawing, but the 
Club Key she was holding was 
issue included the first rLaynoy 
ху оп the Club, which had 
established, 
readers their first introd 
female phenomenon th 


tion to a n 
t we'd decided to 


christen "Bunnies," honor of you 
know who. 
On the November 1960 cover, а pert 


model put her w 


egloved hands i 
front of her face in а peekaboo pose th 
formed a pair of win Rabbits; with the 
model wearing a black dress against 
stark black background, this 
ond row, sixth from left) illustr: 
dramatic, posterlike simplicity that had 
evolved as one of the standard photo- 
graphic appre 


Шу stable 
and just 
culations of our two major 
n the urban male advertis- 


competitors 


ing market, Esquire and Sports Штос 
ed. Then. in the L art of 1960, 
Lavnoy’s sales moved up to 1,200,000. 
The Femlin put second. РІЛУВОУ 


cover appearance im April 1961—01 
a the form of a shapely. three- 
ional doll, wrapped in а Playboy 
Tie to indicate the presence of the pub- 
lication’s semiannual Fashion Forecast 
in the issue—and then romping about in 
the fashion feature itself, for good meas 
mischievous mite isn't happy 
unless she's the center of attention, so it 
should come as no surprise that she has 
cavorted across more covers than апу of 
our fullsized, human. Cover. Girls—a to- 
tal of six, to dare. 

The June 1961 cover (second row, ex- 
treme right, on opening spread) was one 
of almost two dozen, from PLAYBOY'S first 
dozen years of publication. to be 
огей with awards, certificates of merit or 
exhibitions for outstanding graphic 
and design. The front of this parti 
issue simulated a portion of a page from 
a dictionary. supplying the definitions of 


hon. 
м: 


vraywoy and Playmate of the Month 
plus а full-color likeness of the latter in 
the person of 
Becker. This cover won a place of honor 
in Typomundus 20—the first interi 
competition and exhibition of 
most significant typographic design ol 
the 20th Century." and one of the most 
prestigious graphic art cvents to which 
à designer can aspire. A jury of 12 
nationally famous designers judged the 
weeklong competition and the pieces 
they chose—including rtaysoy's June 
1961 cover—are now on a world tour to 
be seen in. New York, Stuttgart, Zurich, 
London, Paris, Prague, Leipzig. Tokyo. 
"Toronto and other major cities. Follow 
ing the tour, the exhibition will be the 
ing, of an archive for the Interna 
tional Center of the ‘Typographic 
founders of the show, at their New York 


In the bonom row of covers shown on 
the opening spread of this feature, start 
ing at the left: Readers able to look 
beyond the tanned tummy of the sun. 
bathing beauty on the [ront of the June 
1962 issue found the renowned Rabbit's 
profile formed by the knot in her bikini 
while in August 1962, he became the 
reflected image of a lovely water sprite. 
troduced 


two-cover cover concept (see 
page 132), with Playmate-Bunny Shera 
lee Conners shown fore and pho 


tographed simultaneously by a pair ot 
synchronized cameras. (This cover notion 
—one of the most novel ever conceived 
for rıaysoy, or any other publication— 
was originally planned for our Number 
Опе Playmate, Marilyn Monroe, whose 
untimely death came just a few days be 
fore the scheduled shooting in rraysoy's 
West Coast Photo Studio.) The Rabbit- 
created. from а bit of yuletide ribbon— 
was hidden from view on the outside of 
this Christmas cover, but revealed on с 
floor Ьеһ 
mate when the reader opened the issuc. 
The front-andacar graphic concept of the 
cover was echoed sew i 
issuc—on the Playbill, lead fiction, gift 
gallery and two cartoon pages 

By December 1962, the circulation had 
climbed to over 1.100,00 —a monthly 
sale we had never anticipated achicving 
with a publication of such specialized 
and sophisticated appeal. And yet the 
period of rravmoY's most phenomenal 
growth actually lay directly ahead. The 
February 196 suc featured another 
nt cover design, with the 
a minuscule highlight on the edge 
yline reflecting champagne glas: 
(bottom row. third cover from left). That 
month the circulation jumped to over 
1,700,000, and by mid-year it had г hed 
2,000,000, 

A number of Playboy Products havc 
ppeared on Ше magazine's cov 

(continued on page 176) 


54 


"Well, shall we continue where we left off . . .?" 


139 


Ribald Classic 


the 


janos 
the jack 


a Magyar folk tale 


THERE RESIDED, in ancient Buda, Janos the 
nce who, like most of us, eventually found 
himself rapped into marriage. The trapper 
was a handsome princess and also (as often fol- 
lows) a dominecring, aggressive woman, and 
she made the poor prince’s lile a bed not of 
love but of thorns. 

Yet the good-natured prince could not bring 
himself to clout the shrew about the head. In- 
stead, he sought solacc in the arms of lovely 
Joanna, the maidservant who cheerfully shared 
her soft delights with the frustrated nobleman. 

When he wished to game with her, Janos 
would affix a silken thread from the perfumed 
sewing cabinet in the boudoir to his biggest 
toe and dangle the other end out the window 
to the ground. After all was still in the palace, 
the wench wc gently at the thread, noti- 
fying Janos of her arrival. The jackanapes 
would then quickly slip downstairs to Joanna 
while the princess snored innocently away. 

One unfortunate eve, as the knave dozed off, 
his wife unexpectedly lay awake and, as fate 
decreed, she brushed the thread. Checking 
this oddity, it soon overcame her that chican- 
сту was afoot, She tiptoed to the window and 
sat w 
J 
nd noticed his spouse seated anticipatorily at 
the window. Wisely, he pretended to be still 
aslumber and fortunately, for all concerned, 
Joanna did not show that night. 

Nothing was mentioned of the episode to 
Janos the neat day, and he went about his 
business as if everything were quite in ordei 
But he knew something had to be donc swiftly 
to rectify the situation. 

That same night, he again tied the thread 
to his we and then pretended to fall into 
deep sleep. Immediately, the princess rose from 
the marital cot and hurried to the window, 
where the thread was suspended, to await 
developments. 

To her vindictive glec, the thread was gently 
tugged from outside a short time after she took 


ting to scc what arose 


пох, instinctively sensing trouble, awoke 


her stand. Swiftly, she rushed downstairs то 
apprehend the love thief. 

To her amazement, the waiting figure 
turned out to be a virile village lout, who 
crushed her hungrily in his hairy embrace. In 
a remarkably short time, the stunned princess 
ceased her struggles. Eventually their wild 
game was done and her visitor whispered his 
story: "I had heard a lovely woman in this pal- 
ace waited for а good lover. 1 also heard she 
slept with a perfumed thread tied to her toe 
--. Idoubted the story at first . . . but finally 
I decided to investigare for myself . . . and lo, 
it is all too иие!" 

Showering her with moist kisses, he vowed to 
return the next night. The princess quietly 
staggered upstairs, on her face a smug smile 
And at the following dawn, her muses were 
terrupted by a somewhat sheepish Janos, who 
confided: "Now I сап tell you a silly little 
story. [ had heard rumors that a scoundrel in 
town planned to assault a girl in our palace. 
He arranged whereby the girl would a 
thread tied to her toe and he would tug on 
this at night and she would then rendezvous 
with him.” 

The princess lifted a brow, but said nothing. 

Janos went on: “I wanted to trap this 
wrongdoer, so I tied the thread to my toc for 
several nights, but nothing transpired. Clearly, 
he lost his nerve or the rumors were false. At 
пу rate, there's nothing to worry abou 
The princess chuckled at Janos’ gulli 
and patted his cheek. 

Now, for many of the nights thereafter, the 
princess secretly tied the thread to her toc 
while Janos apparently slept. On the much-to- 
be-desired evening when the thread was taut- 
downstairs for 


у 


спе, she would cagerly stea 
her clandestine interlude. 
Hardly was she out of the room when Janes 
would move in the other direction to the crib 
of the lovely Joanna. Here. they would play 
their own game—and thus justice was served 
to all. 


—Retold by William Danch EB yay 


SEX STARS OF THE THIRTIES 


THE PRIVATE LIVES AND PUBLIC 
IMAGES OF THOSE LEGENDARY 
LOVE GODDESSES AND MATINEE IDOLS 
WHO WERE AMERICA’S NOBILITY IN 
THE DECADE OF THE DEPRESSION 


THE ношумоор screcn sirens of the Thirties were 
bolder, brassier, bitchier and, for the most part, bustier 
than their counterparts of the previous decade. It is 
true that Clara Bow, Gloria Swanson and Pola Negri, so 
characteristic of the flamboyant Twenties, continued on 
into the depressed Thirties; but their latter-day images, 
like those of most of the silent stars, gave off only a pale 
reflection of their former luminescence. The sole excep- 
tion was the great Garbo, whose haunting hold on 
de. Never 
theless, the harsh fact was that the new and harder 
times precipitated by Wall Street's 1929 debacle, plus the 
technical char 


audiences cndured throughout the de 


in cinema brought on by the sound 


revolution, spelled finis for Hollywood's flaming fap- 


pers, vintage vamps and tempestuous glamor queens. 

As though waiting in the wings for the Thirties to 
a new breed of screen beauties: the 
voluptuous Jean Harlow, the magnificently buxom Mac 
West, the worldly Marlene Dietrich, and 2 host of 
others—responding women who seemed to know instinc- 
tively whit their audiences wanted of them, and who 


begin, however, w 


stood together in their defiance of censorial efforts to 
curtail the proliferation of sex in the midst of general 
economic stringency. Early in the Thirties, the bitch 
s а new type—played 
is, Barbara Stanwyck 
Strong-willed, self 


female also emerged on the scree 
olten by Joan Grawtord, Bette D: 
and ultimately by Vivien Leigh. 
hating man-killers, these girls knowingly used their sex 
to manipulate their men. To counter this perversion of 
ge in 
screen heroes. The Latin lovers and all-American boys 
wentics clearly could no longer suffic 


normal sex drives demanded а no-less-drastic ch 


some 


thing at once more rugged and more sophisticated was 
called for. Fortunately for female film fans, a generous 
supply became available in the persons of Clark Gable, 
James Cagney, Gary Cooper and Cary Grant, each em 
ploying his own design for conquest, be it suavcly 
wooing or savagely striking the objects of his affection 

The Hollywood attitude toward sex had changed: 
Never before had it ucated sex as а commodity, as 


something to be bought and sold. Gone were the Пар. 
per films of the Twenties, in which sex was treated as 


THE KING: Cast in a series of rugged screen roles during th 
Thirties, Clark Gable defrosted many a coldhearted heroine 
his reign as filindom’s male monarch—ineluding a reluctant 
Crawford (top left) in “Dance, Fools, Dance,” his first х 
stint, in 1931. With Jean Harlow in “Red Dust” (lop rig 
gained the upper hand by displaying his cave-man tubside тан 
Gable's first seriocomic role, opposite Claudette Colbert in “I 
Happened One Night” (center), carned him an Oscar in 1934 
and sent men’s undershirt sales plummeting when, in that film 
famed “Walls of Jericho” motel-room scene, he removed his sh 
and revealed his bare-chested distaste for such sartor: 
As the masterful Mr. Christian in “Mutiny on the Bounty 
(Бошот left), he fanned the primitive passions of vahine Мат 
Лат. And in his greatest role, as Rhett Butler, he tamed vixenis 
Vivien Leigh (bottom right) as Scarlett O'Hara in Hollywood's 
biggest box-office hit, “Gone with the Wind," filmed in 1939. 


a rather agreeable pastime—peting in the 
back seat of somebody's flivver, or making 
whoopee on somebody's yacht. Gone, too, 
were the sugarsweet romances of Janet 
Gaynor and Charlie Farrell, in which sex 
was less a matter of physical contact than 
of “dreaming true.” Vanished was that old 
sweet mystery of life. More often than not, 
it was cash on the barrelh 


Ive g 
something you want and you've got some- 
thing I need—jobs, clothes, fancy apart- 
ments. Thanks to a rash of gangster films 
that began to appear early in the Thirt 
the country soon grew oppressively aware 
of such selfseeking types a and 
mistresses, Begirls, gold-tiggers and two- 
timing prosties who'd double-cross а John 
at the drop of a rhinestone. Into Holly- 
wood poured hordes of sexy young actresses 


molls 


to play these roles—girls like Barbara 
nwyck. Joan Blondell, Ann Dvorak, 
Kay Francis and, of course, Jean Harlow. 


Harlow, the first important star discov- 
ery of the Thirties, was not exactly new to 


LOMBARD: Gables third and most celebrated spouse, golden-haired Carole 


ST: With such predatory “promo pix” as the one above, 
publicized the salty Mae West, top target of the 1934 Code crackdown. 


Paramount 


Hollywood or to pictures when fame ar- 
rived. Born Harlean Carpenter in Kan: 
City, Kansas, she arrived in Los Ап 
with her mother and stepfather—in the 
summer of 1097. Barely 16. she was al- 
ready in the process of shedding her first 
husband, a Chicago boy named Ci 
McGrew. Adopting her mother's ni 
name, Jean Harlow, she quickly found 
work as an ext xcluding 
a bit in a Laurel and Hardy comedy, Dou- 
ble Whoopee, in which she was seen as a 
haughty society girl stepping out of a 
Rolls Royce, helped by the fumbling Stan 
and Ollic. Somehow, her dress gor caught 
in the car door and she strolled into a 
ritzy hotel lobby clad only in black-lace 
underwear and an aurcole of hair bleached 
to an improbable platinum sheen. In its 
Way, it was an impressive—and appropri- 
atc—entrance for the future siren. 
While Harlow was making her way 
from bit part to bit part, millionaire 
Howard Hughes had been sinking а cou- 
ple of million dollars into his silent 1930 


in silent films, 


CARBO: One of the few stars lo survive the advent of sound, the sultry- 
voiced Swede actually enhanced her appeal in such talkies as* Mata Hart.” 


air epic, Hels Angels, When sound came 
in, he was still shooting, To scrap the film 
ш that unthinkable; sound 
effects could easily be added to his mag- 
nificent aerial footage. But it was dis 
tressingly apy 
Greta Nissen. p 
role of a sexually restless English society 
girl, would never make it in the “talkies.” 
The lissome Nissen was fired, and after an 
intensive “talent hunt,” Harlow got the 
vacated part, and а contract as well, even 
though Jean’s flat, Midwestern tones were 
hardly more suitable than Miss Nissen's 


point was 


Scandinavian gutturals for impersonating 
a purebred member of Brit 
crust. But Hughes 
after one look at Harlow, the public would 
charitably overlook this deficiency. 7 
Harlow," a Variety reporter enthused after 
the film's premiere in 1930, "is the most 
ous figure in front of a camera in 
some time, She'll probably always have to 
play these kinds of roles, but nobody ever 


з upper 
sumed, correctly, that 


sen: 


Lombard was already a member of cinematic royally when she married 


The King in 1939—having sparked several of the decade's brightest filmie farces with her talents as а clown princess. Two publicity shots (lop, opposite)— 
the one at left from the early days of her career, the other taken shortly before her death in a 1942 plane crash—offer ample proof of her sex-siar status. 


DIETRIC 


While other screen sirens raised censorial eycbrates by wearing as litile as possible, Berlin-born Marlene managed to cause a sensation without 


removing a stitch. Contrasting studio stills (opposite), showing her hedecked in both feminine and masculine attire, epitomize her ambivalent image off screen 


as well as on. The mannish garb she affected in“ Morocco,” her U. S. debut—therenfter adopted in private life 


inspired a nationwide distaff swing to slacks. 


ج 


ADONIS AND LOTHARIO: Thanks lo an MGM build- 
up (and the ease with which he swept Irene Dunne off her feei— 
top left—in “Magnificent Obsession"), handsome Robert 
Taylor made it big as a major matinee idol. Errol Flynn was 
an authentic sex star, too, though cast with such bland beauties 
as Olivia de Havilland in “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” 
COWBOY AND COSMOPOLITAN: Archetype of the 
strong, silent hero, Gary Cooper (center left) in “The Plains- 
man" —a Hollywood rewrite of Western history—played a tame 
Wild Bill Hickok in love with Jean Arthur as Calamity Jane. 
Autithctically, Cary Grant epitomized the dashing sophisticate 
in such comedies as “Holiday,” with Katharine Hepburn. 
IDEALIST AND SENSUALIST: Cleanest-cut of the 
noble heroes, Tyrone Power made litile besides music with Alice 
Faye (bottom left) in “Alexander's Ragtime Band”; but 
Charles Boyer waxed amorous with Hedy Lamarr їп “Algiers.” 


staryed possessing what she's got.” 

What she possessed was abundantly in evidence in 
ihe film's famous seduction scene, still considered 
one of the most sizling sequences cver to singe 
celluloid. In it, Harlow entered her luxu 
bachelorgirl apartment wearing a sleeveless, low-cut, 
figurehugging white dress, a concoction expertly 
calculated to emphasize the shapeliness of her breasts 
and to outline their naturally erectile nipples. Having 
lured to her rooms Ben Lyon, playing the brother 
of her fiancé, she uttered that now-legendary line, 
“Please excuse me while I slip into something more 
comfortable." The "something more comfortable” 
proved to be a clinging satin robe of startling décol- 
letage, and with little further ado, she enveloped the 
-willed Lyon in an abandoned embrace, The 
scene [aded from the screen just in the nick of time to 
save it from the censors, but precious little was left 
to the imagination of its audiences. “I sat through 
the film tying to realize the girl on the screen 
really was me,” Harlow later said, unaccountably. 

During the production of Hell's Angels, Hughes 
had taken the precaution of putting his star under 
personal contract to him at $250 a week. After her 
success in the film, he cannily capitalized on his 
investment by lending her to other studios for five 
pictures in quick succe n, Public 
Enemy and Platinum Blonde—at prices ranging 
from $1500 to $1750 a week. As it happened, 
her escort at the Hell’s Angels premiere was a 
dapper, diminutive MGM producer named Paul 
Bern, who, as Harlow’s career burgeoned, proceeded 
to take both a personal and a professional interest 
in the girl and ultimately managed to persuade 
Metro to buy her contract away from Hughes. Once 
at MGM, the platinum hairdo—which by now had 
become both her trademark and a national fad— 
was promptly, albeit temporarily, abandoned. in a 
showmanlike effort to change her image. In Red 
Headed Woman, she played а м ax whose 
permissive morals carried her all the way from a 
small Ohio town to the Champs-Elysées, where she 
was soon being squired about town by a gigolo 
French chauffeur (Charles Boyer). The film had 
scarcely been completed when Harlow created sen- 
sational headlines by announcing her impending 
marriage to its producer, Paul Bern. The head 
were even more sensational when, barely two months 
after the wedding, on September 5, 1982, Bern shot 
and killed himself, leaving behind a note: “Dear 
cst dear,” it read, (text continued on page 201) 


ous 


weal 


among th 


ng m 


THE SARO? 


2 Dorothy Lamour (top left) became Hollywood's favorite tropical 
flower after going native in a pareu for her first starring role in “The Jungle Princess.” 


TH! GS: Betty Grable (top right) spent the late Thirties playing innocuous ingénue 
roles in musicals; war teas soon to make her the GI pinup queen—and a box-office bonanza. 
THE SWEATER GIRL: Lana Turner's long reign as a sex star began with “They 
Won't Forget” (1937), in which she took a sexy stroll—bra-less beneath her sweater—to a 
soda fountain (above left) not unlike the scene of her discovery in a Hollyewoed drugstore. 


HARLOW: The fest big female sex star of the 
Thirties, platinum-tressed Jean Harlow (shown 
above with her last flame, William Powell, of “Thin 
Man" fame) was the decade's reigning glamor goddess 
from 1930 until her death in 1937—al the age of 26. 
The nude beach photo below is allegedly of the blonde 
bombshell, but there is reason to question its authen- 
ticity. No such doubt exists regarding the previously un- 
published figure studies at right, however. Contributed 
by a PLAYBOY reader, they arc unquestionably of Har- 
low al her radiant best. Such provocative pictorial un- 
coverage couldnever have been publishedduring Harlow y 
heyday, for the 1934 Production Code imposed strict cen- 
sorship on both the movies and the stars who made them. 


espalr 


in the ominous gloom of the 
forest, the final meeting 
exploded in action: killer 
and prey, yet victims both, 
each in his own way 


Conclusion of a novel 
By VLADIMIR NABOKOV 


SYNOPSIS: For months, our narrator Hermann, a narcissistic chocolate merchant, 
has planned the murder of his double, the wanderer Felix. His molives: desperation 
and greed. Hermann is facing bankruptcy; to escape its maw he will kill Felix, 
change clothes with him, then hide out. When Felix! body is discovered, the police 
will think it is Hermann who is dead. Eventually Hermann's “widow” Lydia will 
collect his life-insurance money and join him in France, where together they shall 
live in comfort and idleness—as Monsieur Malherbe and his femme. 

Lazy, good-natured, credulous Lydia has been innocently drawn into this rather 
obvious and melodramatic scheme by Hermann's persistent persuasion. She has been 
told thal Felix (whom she has never met) is Hermann’s black-sheep younger brother 
whose impending suicide her husband has no power to prevent. Confused and upset, 
she agrees to play her role, unaware that she will become an accessory to murder 

Hermann had first met his intended victim on a business trip to Prague and 
was immediately struck by their astonishing resemblance, although Felix himself 
did not recognize the likeness. At Hermann’s insistence, they met again, in another 
city, where Hermann promised his double a job. 

Now his plan is complete. He will hill Felix in an isolated wooded retreat 
owned by Lydiu's cousin, Ardalion, an impoverished painter. To remove the latter 
from the scene, he gives him 1000 marks and sends him off to paint in Italy. 
He then summons Felix to their fateful vendezuous—on an elaborate pretext which 
requires that Felix will come secretly and without letting himself be seen by any- 
one. They are to meet in a ditch beside the deserted forest road. Although Hermann 
himself is late, his febrile impatience leads him to imagine that Felix may not be 
there and that he may have carelessly let himself be seen. The anger of tension, 
fear and frustration builds within Hermann ах the moments pass; їп his mind, 
Felix is now more villain than viclim. When he finds Felix waiting, he feels no 
relief, for by this time, his anxieties have been transformed into homicidal rag 


“You scouxprea,” I uttered through my teeth with extraordinary operatic force, 
“you scoundrel and doublecrosser.” 1 repeated. now giving my voice full scope and 
Маз! шух with the glove still more furiousiy (all was rumble and thunder in 
the orchestra between my vocal outbursts). “How did you dare blab, you cur? How 
did you dare, how did you dare ask others for advice, boast that you had had your 
way and that at such a date and at such а place—Oh, you deserve to be shot! 
(growing din, clangor, and then again my voice) “Much have you gained, idiot! 
The game's up. you've blundered badly, not а groar will you sec, baboon!” (crash 
of cymbals in the orchestra) 

Thus | swore at him, with cold avidity observing the while his expression. He 
was utterly taken aback. and honestly offended. Pressing one hand to his breast, 
he kept shaking his head. That fragment of opera came to an end, and the 
broadcast speaker resumed in his usual v 

“Let it разу Гуе been scolding you like that, as a pure formality, to be on thc 
sale side. . . My dear fellow, you do look funny, it^ regular ma pt 

By my special order, he had let his mustache grow ed it, I think. Apart 
from that, on his own account, ће had allowed his face à couple of curled cutlets. 
I found that pretentious growth highly entertaining. 

“You have, of course, come by the way I told you?" I inquired, smiling. 

"Yes" he replied, “I followed your orders. As for bragging—well, you know 
yourself, Im a lonely man and по good at chatting with people.” 
Know, and join you in your sighs, Tell me, did you mect anyone on this road 
“When Isaw а cart or something, I hid in the ditch, as you told me to do." 
features anyhow are sufficiently concealed. Well, no good loafing 
Oh. leave that alone—yowll take olt your bag 
d. Get in quick, we must drive oft." 

Vhere to?” he queried- 
nto that wood,” 

* he asked and pointed with his stick. 
right there. Will you or won't you get in, ¢ 
He surveyed the car contentedly. Without hurry he d 


nn you? 
abed in and sat down 


beside 
T turned the steering wheel, with the car slowly moving. Ick. And once a 
ick. (We left the road for the field.) Under the tires thin snow and dead grass crack 
led. The car bounced on humps of ground, we bounced 100. He spoke the while: 
FI manage this car without any trouble (bump). Lord, what a ride FII take 
(bump). Never (bump-bump). 1 won't do it any harm?" 
“Yes, the car will be yours. For a short space of time (bump) yours. Now 


PAINTINGS BY ROLAND GINIEL 
Fc ваа 
quem SS 


There were hundreds of them, standing there and staring in absolute quict; audible only was the swish of their breathing. 


151 


| 
| 


keep awake, my fellow, look about you 
There's nobody on the road, is there? 
He glanced back and then shook his 
head. We drove, or better say crept, up a 
gentle and fairly smooth slope into the 
forest. There, among the foremost pines, 
we stopped and got out. No more with 
the longing of ogling indigence, but 
with an owner’s quiet satisfaction, Felix 
continued to admire the glossy blue Ica- 
my look then came into his 
cyes. Quite likely (please, note that I am 
serting nothing, merely saying: “quite 
likely”): quite likely then, his thoughts 
flowed as follows: “What if I slip away 
in this natty twosseaterz I get the cash in 
advance, so that’s all right. PM let him 
believe I'm going to do what he wants, 
and roll away instead, far away. He just 
can't inform the police, so lel have to 
keep quiet. And me, in my own са 
I interrupted the course of 


PLAYBOY 


those 


Felix, the great moment has 
come. You're to change your clothes and. 
remain in the c I alone in this wood. 
In half an hour's time it will begin 10 
grow dark: no risk of anyone intruding 
upon you. You'll spend the night here— 
you'll have my overcoat on—just feel 
how пісе and thick it is—ah, 1 thought 
so; besides. the car is quite warm inside, 
you'll sleep perfectly: then, as soon as 
day begins to. break—But we'll discuss 
that afterward; let me first give you the 
necessary appearance, or we'll never 
Гауе done before dark. To start with, 
you must have a shave. 

А shave?" Felix repeated after me, 
with silly surprise. How's that? I've got 
no razor with me, and I really don’t 
know what one can find in a wood to 
shave with, barring stones.” 

“Why stones? Such a blockhead as you 
ought to be shaven with an ax. But I 
have thought of everything. I've brought 
the instrument, and TI do it myself. 

“Well, that’s mighty funny,” he chuck- 
led. “Wonder what'll come of it. Now, 
mind you don’t cut my throat with that 
razor of yours." 

Don't be afraid, you fool, it's a safety 


one. So, please. . . . Yes, sit down some 
where, Here, on the footboard, if you 
like.” 


He sat down after having shaken off 
his knapsack. I produced my parcel and 
placed the shaving articles on the foot- 
board. Had to hurry: the looked 
pinched and wan, the air grew duller 
and duller, And what а hush... . It 
seemed, that silence, inherent, insepa- 
rable from those motionless boughs, those 
straight trunks, those lustcrless patches 
‘of snow here and there on the ground. 

I took off my overcoat so as to operate 
with more freedom. Felix was curiously 
examining the bright teeth of the safety 
razor and its silvery grip. Then he exam- 
ined the shaving brush; put it to his 

152 cheek to test its softness; it was, indeed, 


delighifully fluffy: T had paid 17 marks 
0 for it. He was quite fascinated, u 
by the tube of expensive shaving cream. 

"Come, let's begin," 1 said. "Shaving 
and waving, Sit a little sideways, please, 
otherwise I cur get at you properly.” 

І took ndful of snow, squeezed 
ош a curling worm of soap into it, beat 
it up with the brush and applied the icy 
lather to his whiskers and mustache. He 
made faces, leered; a frill of lather had 
invaded one nostril: he wrinkled his 
nose, because it tickled. 

“Head back,” I said, “farther still.” 

Rather awkwardly resting my knee on 
the footboard, 1 started scraping his 
whiskers off; the hairs crackled, and 
there was something disgusting in tl 
way they got mixed up with the foam 
cut him slightly, and that stained it with 
blood. When Г attacked his mustache, he 
puckered up his eyes, but bravely made 
ho sound. although it must have been 
anything but pleasant: I was working 
hastily, his bristles were tough, the razor 
pulled. 

"Got a handkerchief?” I asked. 

He drew some rag out of his pocket. 1 
used it 10 wipe away from his face, very 
carefully, blood, snow and lather. His 
cheeks shone now-—brand-new, He was 
gloriously shaven; in one place only, 
the ear, there showed a red scratch 
ng into a litle ruby which had 
turned." black assed his 
palm over the shaven parts. 

“Wait a bit.” D said, “that’s not all. 
Your eyebrows need improving: they're 
somewhat thicker than mine. 

I produced scissors and neatly clipped 
off а few hans. 


il now, As to your hai 
TH bri en you've changed your 


joing to give me yours?” he asked, 
and deliberately felt the silk of my shirt. 
collar. 
“Hullo, vour fingernails are пог ex 
actly clean! imed blithel 
Many a time had I done Lydia's hands 
—1 was good at it, so that now I had not 
much difficulty in putting those ten rude 
nails in order, and while doing so I kept 
comparing our hands: his were larger 
nd darker; but never mind, 1 thought. 
they'll pale by and by. As I never wore 
any wedding ring, all I had to add to his 
hand was my wrist watch. He moved his 
g his wrist this way and 
. very pleased. 
Now, quick. Let's change. Take off 
everything, my friend, to the last stitch. 
“Ugh.” grunted Felix. “It'll be cold. 
Never mind. Takes one minute only. 
Please hurry up." 
He removed his old brown coat, 
pulled off his dark, shaggy sweater over 
his bead. The shirt underneath was a 
muddy green with a tie of the same ma- 
terial. Then he took off his formless shoe 
peeled off his socks (darned by а mascu- 


е hand) and hiccuped ecstatically as 
his bare toe touched the wintry soil 
Your common man loves to go barefoot 
› summer, on gay grass, the very first 
thing he docs is take olf his shoes and 
socks; but in winter, гоо, it is no mean 
pleasure—recalling as it does one’s child- 
hood, perhaps, or something like that. 
I stood aloof, undoing my cravat, and 
kept looking at Felix attentively. 
“Go on, go on,” I cried, noticing t 
he had slowed down a bit. 
It was not without a bashful little 
squirm that he let his trousers slip down 
from his white hairless thighs. Lastly hc 
took off his shirt. In the cold wood there 
stood in front of me a naked man 
Incredibly fast, with the flick and dash 
of a Fregoli, I undressed, tossed over to 
him my outer envelope of shirt and 
drawers, deftly, while he was laboriously 
putting that on, plucked out of the suit 
I had shed several things—moncy, 
eue case, brooch, gun—and stuffed 
them into the pockets of the tightish 
trousers which 1 had drawn on with ihi 
swiftness of a variety virtuoso. Alihough 
is sweater proved to be wa 
kept my mufller, and as I 
lately, his coat fitted. me 
fection 
No, that would be i 
Felix meanwhile 1 


Imost to per- 


Should I offer him a 
bad 


taste. 


in my shir 
still bare, I gave 
but noticed all at once thar 


needed some wimming too. 
placed his foot on the footboat 


those aber black parings, 
dreams I have often seen them E 
the ground much too conspicuously. 1 
am afraid he had time to catch a chill 
poor soul, standing there im his shini. 
Then he washed his feet with snow. as 
some bathless rake in Maupassant docs, 
and pulled on the socks, without notic 
¥ the hole in one hecl 

"Hurry up. hurry up." I kept repeat 
ing. “ТЇЇ be dark presently, and T must 
be going. See. I'm already dressed. God. 
what big shoes! And where is that cap 
of yours? Ah, here it is, thanks.” 

He belted the wousers. With the prov 
ident help of the shoehorn he squ 
his feet into my black buckskin shoes. I 
helped him to cope with the spats and 
the lilac necktic. Finally, gingerly tak 

ng his comb, T smoothed | 
well back from brow and temples. 

He was ready now. There he stood be- 
fore me, my double, in my quiet dark. 

y suit. Surveyed himself with a foolish 
smile, Investigated pockets, Was pleased 
with the lighter. Replaced the odds and 
ends, but opened the wallet, It was empty 

“You promised mc money in ad 
vance,” said Felix coaxingly. 

“Thats right.” E replied, withdrawing 
my hand from my pocket and disclosing 

(continued on page 178) 


Try something different for a change 


Springtime Fresh 


Rich tobacco taste - Menthol soft flavor 
пу Sallema filter cigarettes 


PLAYBOY INTERVIEW 


contacts with women, since I'm so often 
approached in this regard for political 
blackma’ 
PLAYBOY: Is it true that you require your 
Party members to swear an oath against 
drinking, smoking and cursing? 
ROCKWELL: АП my officers take an oath 
against dr nduding myself. Most 
ainst smoking. 
iae ES except that 
the corncob pipe I've smoked for so long 
become sort of a trademark. As for 
ng, it’s hard to stop cursing in the 
rough situations in which we live, just 
like in the Armed Services; bui 1 do all I 
сап to discourage it. 
PLAYBOY: You've used swearwords in this 
terview. Is this setting а good example 
for your m 
ROCKWELL: Well, I exempt myself from 
that oath for professional appearances 
such as this. In talking to you, I've used 
5 and "kike" because 
| а national mag- 
and I want to attract attention—to 
shock people into listening to what I have 
to say. If I were discussing, say, the favor- 
ite word of niggers—‘mother-fucker”— 
Id say it strictly factual observation 
amd to make a point. But in private 
conversation, neither І nor any of my 
members ever use that word—or any 


PLAYBOY 


other foul зе. 
PLAYBOY. Do you alto forbid the use of 
drugs? 


ROCKWELL: Certainly. I've had a few guys 
in here who 1 think were m: 
smokers, but I've thrown them out and 
turned them in. Addiction to any drug is 
degenerative mentally ав well as phy 
cally, and we're dead serious about our 
dedication to the healthy.body. 
mind philosophy. 

PLAYBOY: Is k 
part of your training progra 
ROCKWELL Not so much of that. I've 
found that unless you're a real expert at 
or judo, it doesn’t help you much 


te or judo instruction 


Unless you use it instinctively, it’s no use 
at all So we concentrate on physical 
education, boxing and weapons training. 
PLAYBOY: What sort of weapons? 
ROCKWELL: Rifles and pistols. 

PLAYBOY: For what purpose? 

ROCKWELL: Sclfdelense. I believe the 


white people of America should learn 
methods of surviving in the event of 
chy and gencral bedlam in 
k is likely. 


PLAYBOY: Do you sh; 
Minutemen in the importance of being 
pr med Communist in- 
vasion of the U.S. mainland? 
ROCKWELL: The Minutemen are kiddi 
If there is a total Communist 
takeover, they haven't got a prayer in 
the world of surviving it, let alone stop- 
ping it running around in the weeds 
with a few guns like little boys playing 
154 cops and robbers. АШ they're d 


(continued from page 82) 


giv themselves an emotional catharsis. 
They're wasting millions of dollars, and 
n the process they're getting a lot of good 
kids sent to jail for ille 
weapons, I think it’s like the Klan. Their 
aim, insofar as being ready is concerned, 
I'm for. I'm for the Klan's. principles, 
deas and so forth—except the anti- 
Catholicism—but from my point of view, 
the ethods stink! 

PLAYBOY: What methods? 

ROCKWELL: Their partial terrorism. T feel 
that terrorism is a valid weapon in guer- 
illa warfare, or any kind of w 
nd under the circumstances in which 
our country finds itself, I would favor 
terrorism if it could be complete—il it 
would work. A hundred years ago, I'd 
have been a Klansman with a rope and a 
gun and rhe whole business. I'd have 
really gone all out during the Recon- 
struction to save the white South, And 
таке no mistake about the terrorism: 
It did the job. But today, it plays directly 
nto the hands of Martin Luther Coon 
it manufactures martyrs for the Northern 
press, for the liberals, and it doesn't scare 
the niggers out of hell-raising anymore. 
PLAYBOY: But apart from your belief that 
ial violence against Negroes be- 
come self-defeating, you have no moral 
objection to it? 

ROCKWELL: None ar all. What I object to 
is wars among while men. Th what 
we've been doing for centuries—fighting 
among ourselves and wiping cach other 
out. The North versus the South is a 
perfect example: the biggest bloodlet- 
ting we've had, the cream of the white 
population wiped out, all because of the 
niggers. It solved nothing: it really 
changed nothing—except that a lot of 


good white kids got killed. Tm agin 
that! Ш we have any more wars, I want 


to fight the Red Chinese or the Jews. or 
go over 10 Africa and fight the niggers. 
This I can sce some point to. As far as 
violence on an individual basis is con- 
cerned, well, when Т come to power I 
plan to have dueling for officers in the 
Armed Forces. I'll have two purposes in 
: first, to maintain а corps of officers 
raid to face death—not just in case 
of war; and second. to restore the con 
cept of personal honor. I don't think 
going to court and suing somebody is 
really a deterrent to libelous, vicious 
talk. But people don't flap their mouths 
quite so freely when they're liable to 
have to back it up with a gun. Right now 
dueling isn't legal, but the moment it is, 
1 would be cager to face Billy James 
Hargis and Robert Rabbit" Welch on 
a field of honor for going around cal 
me a Communist 

PLAYBOY: Have you considered the posi- 
bility that you might be killed in such 
a confrontation? 

ROCKWELL: I've not only considered it; Y 


expect it. And I'm ready for it. Being 
prepared to die is one of the great se 
Gets of living. 1 know I'm going to go— 
probably in some violent manner; the 
only question is when and how. But 1 
don't think that's going to happen to 
me until I complete my mission. І know 
this is irrational, but I believe that J was 
placed here for a purpose and I think 
God has something to do with it: Our 
country needs a leader. So I think I'll 
be spared. As Rommel said, "Stand next 
to me; I'm bulletproof.” 
PLAYBOY: Do you think you're bullet 
proof, too? 
ROCKWELL: Not literally. of course, but 1 
firmly believe that the more arrogant 
and defiant you are of danger, the sifer 
you are from harm. I think that's the 
reason I've survived so many times when 
people have shot at me. If you're fearless 
cnouph. it implants a certain psychology 
the guy that's trying to shoot at you. 
It's almost as if he could smell your fear- 
lessness, the way an animal smells fear 
But the effect is the opposite: Instead of 
being emboldened to attack, he's so un- 
settled that his hand shakes when he goes 
to pull the tigger: and this makes it 
ahnost impossible for him to hit you. 
ither that, or he'll back down entirely. 
When I go ovt in the street and toughs 
come up threatening to whip me, 1 look 
them straight in the eye and say, “Go 
ahead. Start.” Maybe they could whip 
me, hut so. far nobody's tried. 
PLAYBOY: What's the closest you've come 
to getting killed? 
ROCKWELL The closest, I guess—though 
1 didn't get hurt—was the time we had 
scheduled a picket by 14 of us of the 
movie Exodus in Boston. The other 
men were in a truck, and I had regis 
tered in а nearby hotel as Nathan G 
burg, where I waited until the scheduled 
picket time of two р.м. The newspapers 
and radio estimated that 10,000 or more 
Jews were packing the streets waiting for 
us, and my truck full of boys couldn't 
get through the crowd. Well, our picket 
had been the subject of headlines for 
days, so I couldn't possibly chicken out 
at that point. I had to get through the 
crowd somchow to picket in front of the 
theater; so Т put on an overcoat, went 
through the crowd quietly, and when 1 
got in front of the theater, 1 took off the 
overcoat in the middle of all those Jews 
and stood there in full-dress uniform. 
They were shocked into silence for a mo- 
ment; their jaws dropped, Then some- 
body hollered, “Irs Rockwell! Get 
him!” And the whole huge mob marched 
on me with their clubs and baling 
hooks. If I hadn't been rescued by а 
flying wedge of tough Irish cops, | would 
certainly have been killed. 1 was taken 
into protective custody and put in a cell. 
ТЇЇ tell you, I was glad I was out of that: 
it could have ended horribly. But 1 had 
to show my men that I wouldn't ask them 


“I don’t believe I've told you about my tattoo, have I, George?” 


155 


PLAYBOY 


156 


to do anything I wouldn't do myself. 
Another reason I did it is the effect the 
i uniform has on Jews: It turns them 
imo insane hatemongers—easy to beat, 
outmaneuver and outthink. The most 
dangerous man on the face of the carth 
i onal, carefully planning Jew, but 
g, hate-filled Jew will act foolish] 
you can whip him. 
PLAYBOY: How many 
been jailed for this ki 
Commander? 
ROCKWELL; Up to now, 15 times. But 
never for very long: two weeks was the 
longest—that was in New Orleans. We'd 
gone down there with our "Hate Bus” to 
make fun of nigger agitators who were 
calling their bus the “Love Bus." With- 
ош so much as а warrant or any real 
cause, the Jew-dominated officials of New 
Orleans һай us all thrown in jail on 
phony charges that were Lucr. chopped. 
We finally got out by staging а hung 
strike; eleven of us went eight days with- 
out a bite. On the fourth. day, one of 
our men began to crack and said he was 
going to cat, so we had to let him know 
that if he did, it would be his last meal 
He changed his mind. Another time in 
Virginia. they put me in jail, and I was 
facing ten years possible imprisonment 
oa war against the niggers 
never seen a man act as guilty as 
the sheriff who arrested. me. 
ty about whai? 
He felt he was 
g thing. Here was 
man fighting for the same things he be- 
lieved id he was throwing me in 
jail. Bur this town is in the clutches of 
this Jew who owns two huge department 
stores and grocery stores ther the 
sheriff was acting under leftist political 
pressure. But that leftist hotbed is а sanc- 
шату of wegrepationist archconsery 
compared with Philadelph 
or not, my men and I were jailed there 
for picketing a hotel where Gus Hall, the 
head of the American Communist Party, 


times have you 
d of agitation, 


doing the 
fellow white 


so 


the enemy capit: 
got Jewish Mags flying 
from the flagpoles. In most cities, though, 
J've found that they're only bluffing when 
they threaten me with jail. I tell them, 
“You'd better start arresting, ‘cause T'm 
going to start speaking.” Nine times out 
ol ten they chicken out. They're used to 
nonviolent niggers being willing to go to 
jail—not white supremacists. Well, here's 
one white supremacist who ain't afraid 
to go to ther are my men. 
As а matter of fact, we've got at least 
two or three Party members in jail some- 
where in the United States almost 365 
days a year. Every Sunday night we 
honor them in ceremonies that we hold 
on the parade grounds in front of this 
building. We also award special decora- 
ms for conspicuous achievement on 


behalf of the Party and for acts of her- 
oism above and beyond the call of duty. 
Our top award is the Order of Adolf 
Hitler, then the Gold, the Silver and the 
Bronze aw 
given yet was the 
man who couldn't contain himself in 
Birmingham and belied Martin Luth 
Coon on the head for calling that nigger 
Jew Sammy Davis Jr. "an example of 
the finest type of American. 

PLAYEOY: You know, of course, that Dr. 
King is widely respected and admired by 
the majority of the American public, 
black and white—while you, a champion 
of white supremacy, are regarded by most 
people аз а and a “hatemonger,” 
abominated by almost everyone—includ- 
ing the John Birch Society. 

ROCKWELL: Martin Luther Coon may ро 
on pulling the wool over public 
eyes for a while longer, but sooner or 
later they're going 10 find him out for 
what he isan 18-karat fake, a fraud on 
the Negro people. When the black revo- 
lution comes, 1 wouldn't be surprised to 
see him get it first—from his own people. 
As for my being а nut, that name has 
been applied to some of the greatest 


men the world has ever known, from 
Chi the Wright Brothers. I say it 
the of the highest accolades T 
could be given. My father once told me 
that his Jewish friends ask him, “How 
could you spawn such a viper?” Well, 


Im proud that Communist Jews think 
me a viper. As for the threats and the 
nd the investigations and the 
sination attempts and all that, when 
I hung up the Nazi flag. I counted on 

jailed and hated and hounded. If 
I hadn't been, I'd figure 1 was a flop. 
assment is par for the course in the 
embryonic stages of any new movement 
that’s opposed by the established powers 


из: 


especially one as revolutionary as 
ne. I wouldn't be surprised if the 
nüi-Delamation League already has a 


cross built for me, with the nails ready. 
But 1 don't consider myself persecuted. 
Maturity is to accept the consequences of 
your own acts, 1 think it’s a symptom of 
paranoia to feel that it's anyone's fault 
but your own if you [ail to accomplish 
what you ser out t0. 
PLAYBOY: We read a 
view a few y go in which you 
imed you were bei gged and 
slandered by the Jewish press" sabo- 
taged by a nationwide journalistic con- 


newspaper intei 


spiracy im your fight to put your case 
belore the nation. When “the Jewish 
press" was ling that you didi 


exist, you 5 either deliberately 
you or doctoring your public 
tements to remove the sense and re- 
the shock value—in order to make 
you soi imple-minded or to portray 
you as a racist monster. Only this con- 
spiracy of silence and misrepresen 


you claimed, was preventing you from 
getting your revolutionary message across 
to the white, gentile masses and rallying 
them to your flag. To some реор'е, Com 
mander, these might sound like the 
remarks of a man who's trying to blame 
his failures on someone else. 

ROCKWELL: You think I’m being paranoid, 
is that it? 

PLAYBOY: Some people might. 

ROCKWELL: In the Columbia Journalism 
Review about three months ago, Ben 
Bagdikian, a frequent writer for the 
AntiDefamation League, wrote an arti 
cle called “The Gentle Suppression’ 
which asked the question, "Is the news 
c of Rockwell a good thing?” 
als that the press 
much silence as possible 
tivities, So you see, the Jew 


blackout on us is as real as a hand 
over my mouth. They know we're too 
poor to buy air time or advertising 


space, so they ban our publications from 
ll channels of distribution, and they re- 
fuse to report our activities in the daily 
pres. | could run naked across the 
White House lawn and they wouldn't 
report it. I'm being facetious. But I'm 
dead serious when I say that the only 
ind of free speech left in this country is 
that that doesn't criticize the 
Jews. If you с ¢ the Jews, you're 
either ed or silenced. They have 
that same kind of “Gee speech” 
Red € nd Russia and every other 
Communist country: You can say 
thing you like as long as it doesn’ 
cde the dictator, The Jews аге never 
going to let me reach the people with 
my message in the American. press; they 
can't afford to. 

PLAYBOY: How do you reconcile that 
statement with the fact that youre being 
wed at this moment lor a national 


Cul 


any 


аі 


I've bei erviewed, 


ROCKWELL: 
and photographed thousands of times 
lor just such presentations as these, but 


n 


taped 


they never appear. The fact that 
come here and get this interview doesn’t 
prove that you'll print it. or that if you 
do, you'll print it straight. After the edi 
tors read over the ur they'll de 
с it’s too hot to handle, and they'll 
chicken out rather than risk. getting 
bombed by the Jews and the niggers 
when it comes out. 
PLAYBOY: Well take our 
mander—if you will. 
ROCKWELL: I'll take any chances to get 
my message read. But it’s never goi 
happen. We've been kept out of the 
news too many times before. ГІ bet you 
a hundred dollars this whole thing has 
been nothing but a waste of my timc, 
because it's never going to reach the 
people who read your magazine. 


you 


chances, Com. 


If only somebody would brew a beer in these surroundings, wouldn't it be refreshing? 


Somebody does. And it is! 


Because the water of Tum- 
water gives Olympia its perfect 
blend of flavor and refreshment. 
That's why we're here. And why 
we say: "fts the Water” 


Light Olympia. Enjoyed all across 
the West. Brewed only at the lit- 
tle town of Tumwater, Washing- 
ton, in the ^water country." We 
couldn't duplicate it elsewhere. 


Visitors are always welcome at the Olympia Brewing Company, Tumwater, Washington, 8:00 to 4:30 every day. *Oly *& 


PLAYBOY 


ا 


M~ ^ 
m e 


bops THE Books OPEN MAY 45 


LIBERACE 
Opens May 31 


HENRY MANCINI 
& New Christy Minstrels 
Opens June 21 


THE KINGSTON TRIO 
Opens July 12 


STEVE ALLEN SHOW 
& Jayne Meadows. 
Opens Aug 2 
NANCY WILSON 
& Norm Crosby 
Opens Aug. 3l 


MILTON BERLE 
& Shari Lewis 
‘Opens Sept. 27 


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Showroom. May 12, a premiere dinner /show audience of 1200 will 
sit down to let stand up comedienne Phyllis Diller break 'em up. But 
only after sampling the spread of lofty libations and lip-smacking 
fare. All 1966-long the High Sierra Showroom will present Superstars 
Of The World, like: *LIBERACE * HENRY MANCINI * STEVE ALLEN 
*TENNESSEE ERNIE FORD * NANCY WILSON * MILTON BERLE 
* POLLY BERGEN * SHIRLEY BASSEY * THE KINGSTON TRIO 


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“Free Packet” on a postcard. Packet includes 1966 Superstar 
show dates, full color brochure, information on vacation specials 
and 4 FREE COCKTAIL COUPONS. 


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Ah, Lake Tahoe's dazzling South Shore (Stateline, Nevada). Ah, 
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PLAYBOY 


158 


PLAYBOY FORUM (continued from page 65) 


but he made a two-page list of the 
benefits I could lose il 1 resigned. 

Now, І had had firsthand experience 
with local military justice, having been a 
member of several courts and president 
of one, and 1 wasn't eager to get the 
me cutanddried treatment. 
However, І felt that my first responsi- 
bility was to my family, and if I went to 
trial on charges of this nature, the pub- 
icity could well destroy us all. Also, I 
was given the hope that if 1 resigned, my 
perfect record and wartime decorations 
(several of the nation’s highest) would 
very likely get me some form of hono 
ble discharge. On the other hand. if I 
decided to fight the charges, even if I 
won, I had a lor to lose, so I submitted 
ignation. Did I get an honorable 
1 did not. 
ishment inflicted by ап other- 
thanhonorable discharge can stagger the 
imagination. Nearly every day I am 
aware of some new loss or threat occ 
sioned by that discharge. Financially, it's 
lmost unbelievable, Conservatiaely, 1 
estimate that if I live to normal life ex- 
pectancy. | will have lost well over 
$200,000 in wages, retirement pay, etc. 
This does not include the many benefits 
that go with military service and retire- 
ment other than pay. 

So this is what can come from two ma- 
ture adult U. S. citizens’ writing personal 
letters to each other . . , letters that 


ел xs эк 1 

SNPRA Ww- m 

жырта” @—ж® 
47080-0. 


Еви эч” Tak: 
OTXK 


VAR, 
Akele) кеше TAS Лы? 

F L “C-K ы; 
NT M -R) enr Р 


m 114 
XRG), lT eRe. 


could have belonged to millions of other 
good, moral Americans. From my censor- 
ship experience in World War Two, it is 
sale to sty that were all "violations" of 
postal obscenity laws, as presently inter- 
preted, enforced on servicemen’s mail, 
our forces in Vietnam would be consid- 
erably reduced. 

The 0.5. postal authorities went to 
great trouble to somehow invade the pri- 
vacy of two of its honorably and usefully 
employed citizens, and without benefit 
of trial or even formal chi in the 
case of at least one of them. literally ne- 
gated many усиз of tr d gi 
expense to that same Government. 

I wish I could convibute to the Play- 
boy Foundation, but my ordeal has left 
virtual impoverishment in its w 


withheld by request) 


How much longer Big Brother (the 
US. 


Post Office Department) will be 
clearly up to us. Ги 
ving not only to those of us who 
have had inspectors walk into our homes 
(which really brings you face to face 
with reality), but to those of us who 
cherish our Freedom and right to privacy. 

It is evidently going to be necessary 
for some organization to go into the 
courts to make sure the Post Office De- 
riment delivers the mail without in- 
ling the publics privacy. 


ми), fes. А 


fna 


a 2S Vp- Үк f 


"It figures.” 


About a year and а half ago, T wrote to 
a company that advertised books for sale 
on the subject of transvestism. The let 
ter I wrote was not pornographic, nor 
did it request anything pornographic 
The word transvestism suggests clothing, 
not the lack of it, and how it сап be mis 
construed to be pornographic is beyond 
me. In any ease, about eight weeks ago 
an inspector came to our home and pro- 
duced the letter and wanted to know if I 
had writen it and, if so, why! I ex. 
plained to him that I was seeking in 
formation on the subject and signed a 
statement that I had never received or or 
dered any pornography through the U. 
Mail. He finally departed, but not until 
he had asked many embarrassing ques- 
tions which thoroughly upset my wife 
(she was not upset about the transvest 
ism, as she is very understanding about 
that, but rather that an agent of the 
Federal Government would be in posses 
sion of a letter І had sent first-class and 
would make such a fuss over it). 

I have not seen or heard from the Post 
Olfice Department since. However, when 
I think back on the incident, it is app: 
ent that it could have had magic results 
if it had happened in a home where the 
wife knew nothing of her husband's 
transvestism, and believe me, there are 
many such homes, It is apparent that the 
Post Office Department couldn't care 
less. 


(Name and address 
withheld by request) 


Whe 


a person mails a letter, he pays 


for the service: he doesn't get it for 
nothing. The fee is small. true, but that 
is unimportant, The fact remains that 


the post office charges for its services. 
Does this not imply that a contract ex- 
ists? The citizen entrusts his letter for a 
fee. The envelope has been sealed as 
sanctioned by postal custom to ensure 
privacy and to prevent loss of contents. 
If thar letter is stopped en route to its 
destination, then opened and read, does 
that not imply a breach of trust and of 
contract? 


Robert H. Redding 
Barrow, Alaska 
In the January Forum letter “In 


vasion of Postal Privacy,” one of your 
readers described his encounter with the 
postal authorities and, specifically, Henry 
B. Montague, chief postal inspector. 
The letter was an interesting, footnote 
J- Cook's article in The Nation, 
Snoopers & Tappers: Law-Enforcement 
Underground.” Mr. Cook relates the fol 
lowing sequence of events: On 
23, 1965, M gue testified before 
Senator Edward V. Long's commitice in- 


ebruary 


vestigating inv of privacy. The 
chief postal inspector flatly asserted, 


“The seal on a first-class piece of mail is 
sacred." He added, “When a person puts 
first-class postage on a piece of mail and 


seals it, he can be sure that the contents 
of that picce of mail are secure against 
illegal search and seizure; 

Shortly afier Montague’s testimony, 
the committee learned of cases in which 
the Internal Revenue Service had se- 
cured tax liens against defaulting tax- 


payers, and by arrangement with the 

postal authorities, first-class тай was 

being delivered and opened by IRS 
8 p Y 


agents searching for clues to assets. Some 
weeks after his first testimony, Montague 
again appeared before the committee. 
This time, presented with the contradi 
ion, he conceded the department kr 
of 54 саку in which mail had been 
opened and examined by the IRS and 
then forwarded 1o the addressee. 

Many of the postal “invasion” ques 
tions are difficult because of their un- 
determined or unstable legal status. In 
1835, Congress debated a proposal to 
all materials from the mail that might 
incite rebellion among Southern slaves. 
Senators, both Northern and Southe 
including Calhoun, Clay and Webster, 
declared such legislation would violate 
the Constitution. They argued that the 
Government had a duty to carry 
mail: and the monopoly of mail delivery 
did not empower the postman or Con- 
gress to act as censors. Although there 
is virtually no case law to fortify this 
position, first-class mail appears to be 
“legally sacred," 

However, Title 18. apter 71. of the 
U.S. Code declares, "Every obscene, 
lewd, lascivious leer . . . or other 
publication of an indecent character 
-.-ds declared to be nommailable п 
ter...” The difficulty and danger lie 
in determining what these words mean 
and in deciding who shall make that de- 
termination. Few of us would suggest 
the postal authorities assume the role of 
censor and keeper of the public morals. 


М el Silver 
School of Law 
H 

Los A 


Few of us would, indeed. The Post 
Office Department seems to have aug- 
mented its appointed rounds far beyond. 
delivering the mail through snow, rain, 
heal and gloom of night. In the article 
you cite, Fred Cook relates that the 
Long Committee has established that 
“invasions of privacy . . . ате legion and 
permit the average American almost no 
security of thought or communication" 
How this is done, despite Chief Postal 
Inspector Montague’s stalement that 
“the seal on a first-class piece of mail is 
sacred,” is detailed by Cook: “Penetrat- 
ing solutions can be rubbed on the back 
of envelope flaps to loosen the gum and 
enable a snooper to open a letter with- 
out trace. One of the best methods... 
is still the old one of steaming open the 
flap. Another simple way of spying is to 
immerse a letter in a solution of clean- 


ing fluid. This brings up the contents, 
but one must be careful nol to wiggle 
the letter around in the solution lest the 
envelope become softened and messed 
up. A much more sophisticated method 
borrows a device [rom the medical labora- 
tory, the cystoscope. Insert one end of 
this pencil-thin instrument under the 
flap of a letter, switch on the cysto- 
scope’s powerful light, and you ате exam- 
ining їп great detail not the Питат 
bladder but the contents of ‘sacred’ first- 
class mail. 

“How widely are these methods used? 
That question the committee has not yet 
answered and perhaps can never answer, 
cation is, of course, extremely 
dificult. One may see, and 1 have, just 
class mail arriving at his home mysteri- 
ously unsealed ... but how is one going 
to prove that this was done deliberately 
by the snooper's paw? All that can be 
said is that a lol of detectives and knowl- 
edgeable persons in other walks of life 
today distrust the mails—and the patent 
evasions of the highest officials of the 
Post Office Department before Senator 
Long's committee did nothing to bolster 
confidence.” 

Cook concluded. ‘eedom can hardly 
endure, despite all the platitudes of 
stump-shouting politicians. unless people 
can feel free to exchange their private 
thoughts and indulge in uninhibited 
discussion. And who can [eel free in а 
world in which government employees 
spy on а sun-balhing wife, snoop through 
mail, tap telephones, bug the most pri- 
vate areas of the home—and then, if 
й suits official purposes, take the wit- 
ness stand and, superior lo the law, 
blithely lie about й? The subterrancan 
world that the Long Committee investi- 
gation has been exposing is in irreconcil- 
able conflict with the traditions of our 
past and is incalculably menacing to any 
continuance of a healthy democracy.” 

Although ouy first and foremost Post- 
master General, Benjamin Franklin, was 
а vigorous opponent of every form of tyr- 
anny, since the latter part of the 19th 
Century—when the infamous Anthony 
Comstock secured the passage of Federal 
legislation making it a serious crime to 
send through the mail any matter of an 
“obscene, lewd, lascivious . . . от filthy” 
character, while conveniently neglecting 
to define whal was meant by these terms, 
then managed to have himself appointed 
а special, nonsalaricd postal inspector, 
and in that position caused the criminal 
prosecution of countless numbers of his 
fellow citizens and the destruction of 
r 160 tons of allegedly “obscene” 
material (whatever Comstock considered 
obscene was impounded and the indi- 
vidual involved vigorously prosecuted, 
more than one of his victims committing 
suicide during the ordeal}—the U. S. Post 
Office Department has sustained a well- 


earned reputation as the country's Ghief 
Censor. But nothing in the Post Office 
Department's. illustrious past, as the 
guardian of all America’s morality, can 
compare with the current misuse of Fed- 
eral administrative power and privilege, 
and abuse of individual rights of privacy 
and free expression. We certainly concur 
with Senator Long's recent statemen 
“The further we get into this investiga- 
lion, the more 1 am impressed with the 
idea that the Post Office should deliver 
the mail and not pry into it.” 


PHILOSOPHY FOR THE CLERGY. 


We are sponsoring a conference for 
the clergy of our Northern New Jersey 


Conference of The Methodist Church 
on the current revolution in sex moral- 
ity. One of the main purposes of the con- 
ference is to assist our men in becoming 
sensitive—in a constructive rather than 
moralistic way—to the current psycholog- 
ical physiological. sociological, cultural 
and theological factors influencing sex 
morali 
‘The education of those clergymen at- 
tending the conference will not be com- 
plete unless they are familiar with The 
Playboy Philosophy, which is doing 
most valuable service in opening up lor 
re-examination and discussion this whole 
area of sex morality and sexual attitudes. 
Could we purchase copies of The Play- 
boy Philosophy that we could distribute 
to the clergymei the conferena 
The Rev. David J. Bort, Chairman 
Board of Christian Social Concerns: 
The Methodist Church 
Orange, New Jersey 
A supply of reprints of “The Playboy 
Philosophy” is being sent to you without 
charge. We hope it stimulates some pro- 
vocative discussion and we'd enjoy hear- 
ing how the conference turns out. 
Readers interested in purchasing book- 
let reprints of “The Playboy Philosophy” 
including Part IV, just completed, 
which contains the entire “Trialogue” 
vyeligious-roundtable discussion on the 
“Philosophy,” with Hefner, a priest, a 
minister and а rabbi, plus a convenient 
subject index of everything d in 
the fost four booklets—see below, 


“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. Hefner's continuing editorial series, 
The Playboy Philosophy.” Four book- 
let reprints of "The Playboy Philosophy.” 
including installments 1-7, 8-12. 13-1 
arc available at $I per book- 
s all correspondence on both 
“philosophy” and "Forum" to: The 
Playboy Forum, ғіАувоу, 232 E. Ohio 
Street, Chicago, Illinois 60611. 


159 


TOM WOLFE king of zonk 


GANDER OF THE goosed-up sentence is а 34-year-old writer of 
nonfiction whose prose reads as though it were fed through a 
faulty telephone connection, He is Tom Wolfe, the man who 
took the zonks, zaps and zowics out of comic strips and pop 
art (see Playboy Afler Hours, December 1965) and put them 
into the New York Herald Tribunc, where now they offer a 
Sunday supplement respite [rom the pontifical pronounce- 
ments of the Trib's Walter Lippmann and Roscoe Drum. 
mond. Super... .- . fantasticl!!! is the way Wolfe himself 
might describe his own splendid argosy to a mooring in this 
august harbor. A Virginia-bred Yaleman, he worked on The 
Washington Post before assaulting New York clad in an off- 
white suit and a lemon-colored tie. There he began to festoon 
his prose with the ornate repetitions, decorative exclamation 
points, flaky half-words and the other semi-surrealistic doo- 
dads that so distinguish it today, not only in the Herald 
Tribune, but in The Saturday Evening Post and Esquire. An 
example: “She is gorgeous... . а huge tan mane . . . two eyes 
opened—Swock!—like umbrella Unlike Lippmann and 
his Olympian colleagues, Wolfe eschews analysis of the men 
at work in the bazaars of world intrigue for those engaged in 
lesser pursuits: the Постой rider, the faded movie queen, the 
bored Park Avenue house the carnival claque at play in 
the market place of "in." His biographical portraits have won 
wide recognition. His dissection of William Shawn, editor of 
The New Yorker, left literary figures gaping like beached 
h: and his visit with Hugh M. Hefner, presenting the other 
side of the coin, resulted in the most perceptive profile written 
about PLaysoy’s publisher to date. His biggest splash thus far, 
however, came from his recently published book, The Kandy 
Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, an unexpected 
best seller compiled from his newspaper and magazine pieces 
Says Wolfe of Wolle’s work: “I try to keep it spontaneous. 


MICHAEL CAINE up from cast end 


WHEN BLOND, bespectacled Michael Caine auditioned for a 
role in Zulu, a bloody-good 1964 South African Western, he 
tried out for the featured part of a crude cockney noncom in 
the British army. “No, you don't look right for that," the 
director told him straightaway. “You're more the aristocrat 
type.” Though cockney born and bred. Caine offered no 
Objection and was forthwith signed up for a major role—his 
first—as an effete young upper-dass officer. It wasn't а bad 
break for a chap who, a few years before. had been sleeping 
on park benches and filching fruit from greengroceries. Born 
inauspiciously in London's East End to a cockney charwoman 
and a Billingsgate fishmonger, Caine left school at 16 to 
fulfill his ambition of becoming an actor by starting as au 
office boy for а London film producer. Finding his toils more 
clerical than creative, he soon abandoned them to pursue the 
muse full time—but she managed to elude him in a dreary 
succession of one-line walk-ons in third-rate plays and musi- 
cals. Disenchanted. he took off for Paris and spent the next 
few mouths in a restless quest for sclf-fulfillment. Upon re- 
turning to London, however, he scored a minor triumph in 
the Royal Court Theatre's production of The Long and the 
Short and the Tall, replacing Peter O'Toole in the lead role. 
Zulu came soon after, and then, in 1965, the long-awaited 
break that launched him overnight into the rarefied ranks of 
international stardom—as Harry Palmer. the ingratiatingly 
insolent spy hero of The Ipcress l'ile. Liberated at last from 
the deprivation of his bleak background (among other things, 
by his proper-posh new pay check: $6000 а week), the 32-ycar- 
old actor is currently enjoying the pleasures that accompany 
screen success. With two more films in the can—-A ifie. а ribald 
sex farce, and Gambit, а romantic cliff hanger. plus contracts 
for à dozen more in his pocket, Caine is belatedly but de- 
lightedly discovering that there is, indeed, room at the top. 


RAMSEY LEWIS instrumentally in 


HISTORICALLY, the blues and the baroque would seem to be 
centuries apart, but it's taken jazz pianist Ramsey Lewis only 
a decade to blend these two musical idioms into an award 
winning and hitrecord-mak al siyle. At 80, the tall 
boyishooking leader of the Ramsey Lewis Trio—flanked 
above by bassist El Dee Young (left) and drummer Red Holt 
has managed to parlay his divergent musical backgrounds as 
a onetime aspiring concert pianist and part-time accompanist 
for his father’s Baptist church choir in Chicago (“Churdi 
going and blues singing are synonymous with my people”) imo 
a soulful jazz style that reached a new peak of popularity with 
the 1965 release of his Argo album, The In Crowd. Already 
over the million mark in sales and well on its way to becom 
ing the most successful instrumental LP in record history. 
The In Crowd not only walked off with the 1966 Playboy Jazz 
Poll's award for the Record of the Year by a small combo. but 
also helped Lewis garner second-place laurels in the piano 
and instrumental combo voting categories, Equally notable, 
however, was the fact that the trio's first breakthrough into 
the firmament of recording stardom represented the efforts of 
ten years of professional collaboration—all of them spent 
developing a spontaneous variety of modern jaz called funk 
or soul music. "Our trio is a partnership,” explains Lewis 
“We try to distribute everything—from money to musical 
duties equally. I can offer no better. proof of this than by 
pointing out that, although the three of us have spent our 
entire careers together, El Dec and Red have come closer to 
winning more jazz polls than 1 have." Before forming his 
combo, the Chicago bred musician- who currently resides 
with his wife and five children on the Windy City's South 
Side—majored in piano at the Chicago Musical College and 
De Paul University. In 1966. Lewis las returned to the campus. 

this time with his trio on a 40-college jazz concert tour. 


161 


PLAYBOY 


162 а pint box of lima bea 


MARRIAGE, FOOD, MONEY 


that he looked tall, elegant and rich. 
He sold produce during the day: he 
leaped оп his motorcyde in his green 
shoes and roared to the rink at night: 
he lived in a fury of using himself. Alter 
а starved boyhood in the old country, 
he found himself uncorked in the New 
World—full of food, blood hot, and 
the name Gold for power and flash 
and the new tooth in his head. He smiled 
often to show the tooth, Then he met, 
took and married my mother, some of 
whose people were rabbis. They were 
quiet ones and thought he looked like a 
brute, but a nice fellow; and perhaps 
he would be kind to her, as brutes often 
were in folklore 

Anyway, it was too late to do anything 
about it. The marriage papers were in 
order and my mother was already lc; 
ng back on her Enna Jettick heels in 
order to carry me more easily forward in 
her belly. Once he had bad taste; now he 
had her taste. 

1 grew up in Lakewood, a westerly 
suburb of Cleveland, where my father 
kept a grocery store, He was up at dawn 
or before, splashing cold water on his 
face, unshaven, throwing on his sheep- 
skin coat with the silvery-pronged crating 
nd deerating hammer sticking out of 
his pocket; and then he was off to the 
market in his truck to bid for fresh fruit, 
Iresh vegetables, berries and tomatoes, 
and sweet damp He drove 
through miles ol houses, 
filled with sleepers. Even the sireercars 
stood huddled in barns at this 
hour. Occasionally a light snapped on 
la face peeked out at him as the 
truck throbbed in idle gear at a stop 
light. The face would sce night, stars, 
mysterious rider on high perch; the face 
would hear gears my father 
rode against the dawn, piercing Gleve- 
land in his Dodge truck. 

Old-country, accented, а tradesman, 
Jewish, this man rode like a stranger, 
even to his sons. The other boys’ fathers 
were like their childr familiar his- 
tor g back into sweet America 
until they forgot that their grandparents 
or their great-grandparents had 
been 
grandpa 
ing, George never told a lie, 
chopped, and some of us were all there. 
When these fathers dealt with money, it 
was in abstract forms, dividends, salary 
checks, allowances. My father played 
with money directly in the form of silver 
and bills; housewives poked. 
pinched, nibbled, squeezed up their eyes, 
brooded, swallowed, sniffed, licked and 
handed over a few cents in exchange for 


lettuce, 


their 


exhaust: 


rina 


also 


small 


(continued from page 127) 


“They're fresh?"—coins still clinging 
to the bulbs of finger tips, magically dely- 
ing gravity, magnetized. 

‘The night before we had all shelled 
the lima beans together under a moth- 
persecuted light on the back porch. My 
mother, father, my brothers and. me. 

"T guarantee, missus." 

Words which break the current. The 
coins drop into his hand. Commitment 
to these particular lima beans, including 
the half-caten sample bean, caused sighs 
all around. No smiles, but buyer and 
seller are united in rhe ceremony of 
shopping. Mis 1 her budget 
the altar of food; the dark seller from 
foreign climes has met her challenge and 
sworn by the gods that he is honest and 
uue; a sweet demonstrator from down- 
town now asks her to sample the bouil- 
lon in а crinkly paper cup. (“Something 
hot for a man who Mister Colfee Nerves 
you know special offer genuine beef 
stock today only . . .”) 

Sip, sip. 

IL take the lima beans, Mister Gold, 
and thank you for the sip, but 1 really 


didu't plan on any beef bouillon for 
today.” 

“1 understand this, missus.” 

The demonstrator said: “For a few 


pennies a week, more delicious gravies 
and soups, broths, amd wakeme-ups 
without nasty for 
the blood cause sleepless nights, instead 
delicious hot beverage proteins for m 
or in-between Limes— 

1 think missus got her shopping done 
already,” my father said. 

“In handy cube form!” cried the dem- 
onstrator as her hot plate shook. 
"That's enough, Miss Herbox.” 
Thank you, Mr. Gold.” said the m 

And maybe а t of those berrie 
too, they look so nice I won't even turn 
it over and burrow inside.” 

This was not mere money. This was a 
ritual of risk and communication. Gyp- 
sics and Jews brought danger, but borc 
secrets of fortune, sharpened cutlery, 
beans and berries, This was cash. 

When I received my allowance on Sat- 
urday night, very late after the store was 
swept out and washed down, it was not a 
matter of my due. The quarter lay cool 
n my hand like a weekly gift of love 
from ту father. Slim. To be spent 
quickly on a movie, candy, ice cream. 
Sometimes he also tumbled loose coins be- 
tween the cushions of the truck so І 
could find them when 1 cleaned it out. 
Next week we might be chased away or 
fleeing, as my father had fled from Ka- 
menets Podolski. There could be fires, 
bombings or mere drunken murder. 
cash might give joy, but no security; 
love, but а flirting and fickle love, not 
protection against fate. 


This was the time of the Depression, 
the Black Legion and the German-Amer- 
ican Bund. Masked riders gathered in 
the countryside around Cleveland. A le- 
Jackson, Michigan, 
screamed over the tail gate of a pickup: 
"Send ‘em all back to Mount Sinai!” 
This gave me a start, since my brother 
was born in Saint Luke's Hospital, but 1 
had been born at Mount Sinai. Why me? 
Why not my brother? Father Coughlin, 
speaking with his rich caramel radio 
voice, drove the money changers from 
the temple every Sunday afternoon. My 
father was certainly a money changer. 
His store was no temple, but it was 
nice clean store. 

"The murder of the Jews had already 
begun in the great center of civilization 
across the sca. It was barcly noticed. The 
Lakewood public schools exchanged stu. 
dents with schools in Germany. I sat 
stiflly through assemblies where the rc- 
turned exchange students delivered re- 
ports on their year in the renovated 
Third Reich. "I didn't see any Jews 
being beaten. Of course, 1 didn't see any 
Jews, either." (Laughter) Or solemn, pre- 
cisely enunciating German children ex- 
plained to us why the elimination of the 
Jews was essential to. German survival. 
Who could find an argument against 
purity? Even Ivory Soap suffered Бе 
cause it маз only 99 and 44/100 percent 
pure. Perhaps that 56/100 of a percent 
was Semitic. Someday a bar of soap 
would sink in a bathtub, brought low by 
race mixing. 

In this confused universe ice skating 
took its important part. My Ше had be- 
gun with ice skating, and so it con 
ued. But what can a life have to do with 
mere ice skating? Even a boy's first ca 
reer in the ancient winters of Lakewood, 
Ohio? The lesson of rhythm consoled me 
—rhythm and skill and the use of the 
body. And especi ty with 
my father, the begin ity. 

First money and food, first the Jews. 


1 this together 
oney, ice skating. 
Not a rich man, my father always 
dealt in the commodity marketing. He 
was а storekeeper; later he speculated in 
real estate. In both conditions he suffered 
eat pleasure and success, and also re 
nd loss. The same with gambling: 
He liked to play with money in the 
су, after playing par 
ticularly with money all the workday. 
When 1 he smiled. contentedly, 
showing his gold tooth. When he lost. 
he laughed uproariously, showing the 
tooth. Bargaining had athletic charms 
for him: gracefully he swung from the 


invisible s 


to cash, risking his neck on a scaffold 
ing of will and intention. The game 


163 


PLAYBOY 


pleased him; he was like an clegant 
sportsman—a matter of form. 

When he lost in the stock market, he 
said happily, "I had no business there. 
They're a bunch of crooks. What do I 
know about stocks? Somebody called me 
up on the telephone and told me, Buy, 
so I bought, but I must have been soft in 
the head 

“Stupid!” said my mother. 

Му very words,” he answered softly, 
grinning, "what I was trying to 

Earlier, when the banks closed in 
1982, my mother wept; my father atc 
raw turnips and chicken fat, and 
schemed at the Kitchen table. My mother 
said, “We've lost everything.” My father 
said, "We'll start again.’ 

He enjoyed the play of moncy as an 
artist enjoys the texture and potentiali- 
tics of his medium. He liked to create 
something from nothing, but he did not 
rest on the seventh day. Near his 80th 
year, when he had given up mystifying 
about his son the writer, he made this 
discovery as we sat in the steam room at 
the Y. M. C. А. in Cleveland: "You're a 
lot like me. 

“What you mean, 


“You got good feet. You're lazy and 
you like to work.” 
He would hav 


said, if he could, that 


wri 
materials of life 


tion, the issuc of imagination which 
secks to татту clements that have not 
carlier been joined together. Wood and 
flesh, steel and light, berry and branch. 
A woman's hip is а symbol of grace, of 
ecundity. Yes. And also the way of 


in the world, and. repre- 
sents that power. The Roman coin with 
a picture on it, signifying something, is 
far different from а brute slice of metal 
which lacks the imprinted dream of an- 
cient rulers, Latin mottocs, the accumu- 
lated history of a nation. Intention 
changes everything. Silver is only silver, 
gold is only gold, until effort and history 
make them more than silver and gold; 
and in the magic of speculation, they be- 
come myth. 

Now here is а mystery. Near the end 
of his life my father suddenly found new 
energy and redoubled his efforts, spend- 
ing himself ferociously in buying prope 
ty, remodeling, floating loans, floating 
mortgages, building additions, juggh 
the economics of stores, 
houses, land, offices, houses, 
fluctuating and treacherous market. At 
times, approaching 80 years of age, he 
ran the risk of bankruptcy. 1 would say 
to him: “Why don't you quit while 
you're ahead? You сап retire"—1 knew it 
would be his death to retire, but he 
could slow down—"you can at least slow 
down, Dad.” 


“Why should 12" 

“Well, why take so many chances now? 
You're secure. 

“A man is never secure,” he said, with 
glaucoma, with spells of fainting, nearly 
80 years old. 

He was still building his myth for the 
future, and no money in the bank could 
do it for him. Like an artist, he was only 
as good as his last deal, and he knew it. 
He dissected this fantasy of попсу like a 
schoolboy dissecting a worm. He seemed 
to find its nerve, for it wriggled as he 
wanted it to wriggle. His joy in the play 
of Cleveland negotiations was undimin- 
ished; the notion of security merely 
threatened him. Getting money or losing 
it was nearly irrelevant. It was what he 
painted on the medium of moncy that 
mattered—labor, relish, imagination, 
himself. Being able to act was what he 
loved at age 80, and he acted. 

At large family dinners my father 
sometimes liked to talk about food. He 
drank a shot before dinner, straight 
whiskey downed straight, and then 
stared the heavy table down, the turkey, 
the roast beef, the slippery steaks—and 
the diners, my mother, my brothers and 
me—and wondered aloud how we could 
eat so much; or perhaps how he could 
have eaten so little when he was a child. 
“Та the old country," he said, “meat 
once а week. Jf then. I don't think we 
had meat once a week.” 


"Us Tareyton smokers 


would 


Then he remarked that they ate lots 
of carp. 

Then he remarked that often they 
couldn't even get carp to eat and had to 
make do with the heads of carp. 

n great wonder- 
ment: “But carps’ heads tasted better in 
those days.” 

Hunger in the old county. In New 
York, on his way to Cleveland, starva- 
tion. There was the famous strike of 
1913. He shared a bed in a basement on. 
the Lower East Side. They slept in 
shifts; he had the bed for one third of a 
24hour period, then rolled out, then it 
was taken by another man, still damp 
and mussed. Later he was proud that he 
had sublet the bed from a man who was 
a relative of Eddie Cantor's wife, Ida. 

Living through the endless days, out 
of work, he wandered the streets of Man- 
hattan, picking up rumors, mumbling 
the strange language, English. He was 
sull in his teens, but he was not a teen- 
ager. He was a hungry man. One week 
he only had three rolls to eat. The dizzi- 
ness of hunger still mystified him. He 
was not uncomfortable or weak, he said. 
The strangeness of New York must have 
been a more powerful stimulant th 
sugar and meat. But he would sleep at 
odd moments, in parks, on benches, on 
t the Battery. “I 
to... What 


any shadowed grass, 
could still do it if 1 
ever I have to do, I d. 


ter, when I was in college in New 
York, we tried to find the tenement 
where he had rented part of a bed. We 
wandered the neighborhood. Almost all 
the landmarks were gone—the kitchens, 
the bakeries, the night school. The few 
old Jews looked at him as at a stranger. 
They saw а fat, prosperous man with a 
heavy head, darting up stoops to cock 
his eye at the street, peering down into 
basements and finally, disappointed, 
hailing a cab to go back to his midtown 
hotel. He was from out of town. The old 
Jews in their caftans and beards saw a 
tourist He didn’t have to live as they 
did. 


Now back to ice skating again. My fa- 
ther, who worked in а smiling rage all 
day and much of the night, who did not 
“understand” children in the American 
style, as did the parents of my friends, 
who did nor really know how to play 
with a child once the time of tickling 
and dandling was past, liked to ice skate 
and determined that I would see what 
he saw in it, He decided to teach me. 
Alter 1 learned, he continued to go ice 
skating with me on Sundays at the City 
Ice and Fuel Rink, or at Lakewood Park 
when the firemen watered the baseball 
diamond and it froze over nicely. Не 
was a good skater, slightly stiff on his 
feet compared with a ten-year-old child, 


but steady and tireless and continually 
smiling with his red face frozen and his 
hair tufted with bits of snow. He hated 
to stop for hot chocolate; he liked to 
skate—when you skate, you should skate 

As 1 grew self-conscious, I thought, 
Now everyone will know my father h 
an accent. I was in love with other sl 
ers, of course. They would like me less 
if they saw with their own blue eyes, 
heard with their own shell-like ears just 
how Jewish my father was. Pattie, Don- 
na, Lucille—they took in the news that 
Vs and Ws can be confused. 

But on the other hand, he liked to 
skate, and I liked to skate, and we liked 
to skate in cach other's company. 

Round and round we went, and some- 
times my father tried little figure-skating 
turns that he had learned, perhaps to 
impress my mother or some girl before 
her. Afterward he liked a bowl of soup 
He took it noisily off the spoon. He told 
me to order anything 1 wanted, just 
finish what I ordered. 

One day at school I was 
some kids about my father. He м 
cign, strange, walked differently, talked 
differently, did different things—bad, 
they thought. This happened more tha 
once, but I remember one particular 
day. Snow, mud, a boy yelling at me, dis- 
tended folds of snout: "Parkyakarkus! 
Parkyakarkus!” 

This may have been the first time in 


rather f 


ight than switch!" 


Tareyton has a white outer tip 
and an inner section of charcoal. 


Together they actually improve D 
the flavor of Tareyton's fine tobaccos. | 
«Ж Manisan ретро 


PLAYBOY 


166 


my life that I formulated а most neces- 
sary thought: The hell with them. they 
don't know Greek from Jew, but 1 know 
what І want. 


Now we come to some war. There 
were many wars, the Depression, the 
wars of family, and the one that rose 
above our personal mortalities. This is 
the War that almost made private life. 
seem irrelevant, and then became very 
personal, as if to demonstrate that we 
are cach of us required as individuals for 
the grand disasters of the human fate. 
September 1939. I had been at a sum- 
mer camp. I was proud of learning ten- 
. writing couplets. Camp Sherwood, 
Grass Lake, Michigan—near Jackson. I 
was ako learning how warm ii could get 
at night fighting a girl's legs in the 
woods, The girl that summer was a go- 
away-closer girl, interested in battles but 
also interested in her mysterious gift for 
breaking a boy's breath. Then my par- 
ents came up to drive me home. We 
spent the night at a cottage on Lake 
at on the porch at dusk, 
spaper. He studied and 
restudied the large black type, sq 
black letters filled with furry ink—seri- 
ous news. The newspaper said; war. He 
sat on a swing on a wooden porch. He 
read until he boiled, and then he threw 
the newspaper to the floor. Then he 
picked it up and read some more. Then, 
ly, he throw it down, waited and 
up. I took a snapshot of him. 


My mother was worrying about wheth- 
cr I had packed my fountain pen, 
whether the fan belt on the car would 
hold out until Cleveland, whether we 
were men enough to do justice to the 
bag of fruit she had somehow accumu- 
lated. My father was flinging the paper 
down again and again. I took his picture 


ар: 


My mother fought her own wars closer 
to home. I was her battleground: | was 
the rough turf over which she struggled 
toward victory. She determined to root 
out my flaws before they could appear— 
particularly the flaw of marrying the 
wrong woman, There were millions and 
millions of the wrong women, wherever 
she looked; they covered the earth, like 
Sherwin-Williams paint. 

Starting from about the age of 11, I 
was a worry to her in this traditional 
way. Would I or would I not marry a 
nice Jewish girl? My mother debated 
this question with herself, with my 
aunts, with my father and with me. She 
anticipated the shame, she anticipated 
the disgrace, she anticipated the moment 
when my bride would turn on me, hold- 
ing up one of my socks from the hamper 
and crying out that age-old subtitle Irom 
the dialog of an international low-budget 
nightmare: “Dirty Jew!” Or perhaps it 
might be metaphysical; suddenly my 
wife would conclude that I had killed 
the Savior. Or that 1 wasn’t good enough 
for her—a family with a house by the 
lake. 

Like a 


sharpened blade, I first 


“Harry’s not having much luc 


with his 


‘Step outside for a cigarette and a breath 
of fresh air’ routine tonight.” 


must have replied. clumsily, sawing back 
and forth, looking for my way in life. 
Well, Ma, everybody's human, we heard 
wditorium today. Where's my skate 


Yom Oh! Aie! 
marry her, no!” 

“What her? Who? But it’s love that 
counts, Ma. Hey, the peanut butter's all 
gone. 

“In your own kind you'll marry. Oth- 
erwise what will happen to us? She'll 
turn on me because 1 don't have an ac 
cent, you just say I do—on your fathe 
he speaks worse. I learned it from him. 
Do you think they let us into their coun- 
чу clubs? Do you think they invite us to 
dinner? You're an aggravation, not a 
son. 

“OK, Т won't marry anyone this year, 
First I got to get out of junior high, 
OK?” 

"There's the new jar of crunchy pea- 
nut butter, dummy. I suppose you want 
me to make the sandwich, too.” 

And thus the mauer was settled for 
ten minutes. But then it began ag: 

“Youre only eleven years old 
‘Twelve, going on thirteen.” 
You're too young to marry a shiksa." 

“Who said I wanted to many anyon 
Just because I'm in love with P: 
doesn't mean I can marry her.” Sadisti- 
cally, ominously, Oedipally I added: 
Yet." 

"Oh! Oh! Aic!" sobbed my mother, 
struck at her core. 

Eleven years old," 1 pursued her an- 
grily. “When you want me to do some- 
thing, you make me а year older—then 
I'm thirteen already; when you want me 
not to do something, I'm a year younger. 
Why can't I be my own age?" 

For a moment 1 seemed to seize the 
advantage. But my mother was a Ulysses 
5. Grant of discussion, She recaptured 
the terrain, heroic about costs and logic 

“You're a boy!" she cried. “A boy, my 
own boy. I want you to be a man, a 
pride to me. Not a baby, а shame—a 
man!” 

"So far,” I said dejectedly, 
even a adolescent.” 

“Where'd you learn 
Where? Come on, tell me 

"On the playground. In the toilet. 
From a kid ten shoe: 

“Oy, he'll ruin his feet" my mother 
said. "Flat [eet before twenty, and the 
arch, and the callouses, and that's how 
the goyim take care. But their fect hurt, 
they take it out on the Jews. Pogroms 
Prejudice. No Jews in insurance compa- 
no Jews in the banks, not even 2 
teller’ 

“Mother, I want to go out now 
kids are waiting. I've got the ba 

“You won't go out and play baseball 
till you promise me. No shiksas. A nice 
Jewish girl with a good family, plays the 


Hu But 


n, yes! 


m not 


that word? 


piano, not flatchested, educated.” 

"Who?" I asked, suddenly interested. 

"Promise," she said. "When the time 
comes, don't worry." 

My father participated gloomily, if at 
all, in these discussions. He could be 
awakened by my mother's invocations of 
the suflerings of the Jews, But he looked 
at mc skinny, knobby, with an oversized 
Adam's apple and a trombone voice— 
and was reassured. No one would have 
те. of whatever race, creed or color. 
Also he could not accept these future 
risks as disasters. Even future disasters 
were not yet disasters. When the time 
came, he would think about it. 

Your father doesn't саге," my mother 
“I bear the entire burden of worry- 


said 


Who needs you to worry?” my father 
asked. "ГИ do the work, we don't necd 
the worry.” 

Т don’t work?" my mother asked. 
raise a son, and he is lost to us?" 

Cam 1 go read my book now? Lost 
Horizon by James Hilton? It’s a grown- 
up book by an Englishman? 

“Lost, lost, lost" my mother said. 

What good is it for me to worry and nag 
and nag and worry if nobody listens?" 

My father was behind his paper, Der 
Tag, which came by mail from New 
York City. I was behind the movie edi- 
tion of Lost Horizon, which had a pho 
tograph of Ronald Colman and Melissa 
or was it Elissa Landi, holding hands on 
a stone bench in the world of the fur 
where no onc grew old, while old $ 
Тайе, the great High Lama, watched in 
„ (The years will come and go, 
and you will pass from fleshly enjoy- 
ments into austerer but no less satisfying. 
realms,” Sam Jaffe told Conway while I 
itched with spiritual desire. “Hmm. 
Chang tells me that Mozart is your fa- 
vorite Western composer") I fled the un- 
reality of family life into the reality of 
the realms of the spirit, where all is 
peace and tranquility, and Chang remi- 
bout Mozart, whom he knew 
personally 

My mother always tricd to have the 
parting shot. "But you will.” she said. 

And I responded malevolently, before 
sinking into eternal wuth. "Yes, Ma. 
First Pattie, and then I'll divorce her. 
Then Dorothy, and then she'll divorce 
me. And then Раше again, because Vil 
always love her, she has such a nice red 
bicycle." 

Dorothy, of course, was put into play 
only ro poison the wells of discourse. I 
didn't want to give away my secrets. Pat- 
tic was the only girl I could ever love. 
She hated me. 

My mother took once more. 
“What did we give you for your birth- 
day, lummox?" 

“А typewriter.” 
thanked you 

“Yah,” she said dubiously. 


his robe 


nisces 


aim 


I said. "I already 


I murmured. 
ing, having lost 
her point in a notion about the ingrati- 
tude of eldest sons, the perilousness of 
filial love, the risks of devotion to the 
cause of that son, the future doctor, the 
future lawyer, the future pride and joy, 


“Thank you again,” 


the future marricr of aah! ah! She 
caught the thought оп the wing. 
“Well,” she said cunningly, hoping I 


would catch all the implications of this 
news, “I heard about a girl lives up the 
street, only a year or two older than you, 
І forgot her name, you know her, 1 
won't tell you her name, you should 
leave her alone, Anna says . . . 

"What's your point, Ma?" 

“For her fifteenth birthday her ma 
and pa gave her a case of beer. Thats the 
kind of people you're going to marry? 


The War in Europe and Asia seemed 
to end victoriously. And also my moth 
ers war. 1 married a Nice Girl, her 
dclinition. 

When I was a child, and later, too, 
when I was an adult, my father som 
times asked me to go for a walk with 
him. We strolled the streets of Lake 
wood, Ohio, or the castside suburbs of 
Cleveland, where he later lived, or New 
York or Paris or Port-au-Prince or De 
дой, where I lived. His invitation al 
ways seemed important; yet when we 
walked, the company seemed to be a sig 
nal to put his mind elsewhere. 1t seemed 
as if he had something to say. He knew 
he had something to say. But he could 
never say it to me. 

“Remember when we went 
ing?" I would ask him. 

Yah- you still do th: 

"Yes. 

“1 could still do that. My legs are OK, 
I just don't have the time. Felt good 


ice skat- 


Yes, why don't we try it again. next 
winter?” 

And we walked on in silence. 

Once, on the day I was married, he 
looked especially jaunty—a short fat man 
with a heavy face and a rough thatch of 
gray, loosely curled hair. He ambled in 
his peculiarly comfortable gait. He asked 
me a few practical questions: Where do 
Т expect to live? When, finishing my 
graduate work, did 1 expect to get a job? 
How did I feel about things in general? 

I tried to give him both the answer 
that was true and the answer that he 
wanted to hear. I wanted to please him, 
but also to take my new status, married 
man, head of house, with proper serious- 
ness, which meant no concessions to a 
boyish eagerness either 10 please or 10 
defy him. 

It was time, he noted, to get ready for 
the ceremony. I knew that, too. He 
sighed and gave me the envelope with 
the check in it. It was hard to say what 


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167 


PLAYBOY 


168 


he wanted to say, but I understood him. 
At about the time I was born, my 
mother told me, my father was in a mo 
torcyde accident and laid up for months 
with "a broken back—couldn’t do a 
thing for himself." Now, each time I am. 
bored or distracted by my life, 1 lind my- 
sell looking at motorcycles and consid- 
cring buying one. Then—before buying 
it—I always recall the news of my fa- 
ther's accident and find some other way 
of satisfying the dream of evasion 
Later he suffered from а brain fever 
which nearly killed him. He often tells 
of how he recovered: He heard a click in 
his head, it was just a dick, and then he 
knew he would be well. It all happened 
а moment. Click! Just like that. 
Sull Tater, in his 70s, active and 
healthy, he developed glaucoma. This is 
a disease that can be controlled by medi 
cation, though the threat of blindness is 
continually present. The cyedrops, ad- 


ministered three times a day, keep the 
channels open, irrigate the eyes, prevent 
ve blocking of fluids. They 


also burning and painful to take, My 
mother and my youngest brothers, who 
were still living at home, had the job of 

ling him to take his drops and giv 


ing them to him. If they reminded him, 


ly submitted, saying, “АМ 
” If for some reason they neg- 
this, he forgot and mised the 
tcr. pain in his eyes 
and, presumably, some degeneration; yet 
he would never give the drops to himself 
or even ask them to be administered. He 
refused to admit his n nted it 
to be inflicted upon him; it was an obli 
ther duty in his 


lected 
drops; there was, 


gation to others, still 
life. 


m and occasionally 
the drops, 1 felt both sad and 
ted as he lay beneath the dropper, 
his plump legs spread and his large head 
turned up, complaining, “Ah! Ah!” 
id then turning immediately to the pa- 
pers he was studying or to the television 
or to playing with my daughters. his 
grandchildren. 

My udis зар described him as “a 
poor p " He simply refused to ad- 
sick, and his spirit re- 
abstract contemplation 
wer his body disobeyed 


it he was eve 
treated 


to an 
re when 
his will for it. 

If there was a family crisis, my father 
would stew silently over it, bugging his 
eyes out in fury or hiding his eyes in 
scheming. When his mind was made up, 
his rage exploded. There was the sense 
ot decision worked through in his rage. 
1t was nothing trivial. It was final, Later, 
of course, it was n it was for- 
gouen. Still, his energetic absence was 
more potent than my mother's energe 
presence. She resented his concentration 
on business, but the family ran on his 
intentions about it, no matter how busy 
he seemed outside the family 

My father had few insights; therefore, 


the ones he possessed were especially 
valuable. He also took the right to use a 
few anecdotes from his past to prove 
many different things. The carp’s head. 
"The sublet bed. The strike of 1913. They 
were what he allowed himself to remem- 
ber. He hardly ever mentioned his moth- 
er or his father. I have never known 
their names. Their parents, their fami 
lies are smoke to me—vague shapes in 
the air, blown in the wind. He never 
exactly how his father and mother 
died. All but a few strands of history dis 
appeared when he came to America, and 
yet he worked with a fury to make his 
k upon that history. Like a solitary 
skater on the ice, he rehearsed his own 
gestures, his own. patterns. 


There came a time when more 
more I wanted to buy a motorcycle. In 
my dreams 1 felt the skidding wheels un- 
der my leet, the Kick of speed and the 
cool weight of moonlight on my back. 
would sail through groves of pil 


regions of sleeping farms, where owls 
nice Ш 


hung frem branches, digesti 
the night long. I had two childrei 
а job, 1 was in the middle of a career, 
but I was abo distracted by every whim- 

1 fantasy, tick of evasion, tock of sal- 
hint of death, suicide, murder. 1 
sickened by life. Crisis inhabited me, 
ig room for fevers and infections. 
My wife and Т were rending each other 
At first there seemed to be some sort of 
эп s bloodletting, bur then it 
me habitual, even negligent. А 
d. а gesture, a glance could set the 
careless devils loose. Ridicule, vanity 
and hopeless rage: echoes against empty 
walls. The time of divorce. 

My parents suspected nothing: we 
lived in separate towns. When I told 
them, then the sepa began to take 
on the thickness of reality. They did not 
comprehend. yet they comprehended. 
was back in the world ; there was 
power and love in the world. 

My father came to Detroit to take care 
of me. I was ill. He studied me, frown- 
ing, with pursed lips. I had a stiff neck: 
hear treaments. I had an infection 
where I had been scratched. 1 had an 
earache. I was too thin. Т saw a doctor 
who told me to cat more, sleep more and 
to relax, He was a Communist. He 
pulled down a chart of a dog's nervous 
system and told me that dogs never 
suffer ulcers, prostate trouble or nervous 
breakdowns. Since Т didn't have ulcers 
or prostate trouble, but T seemed to have 
everything else, 1 felt that this observa- 
tion about bourgeois society was more 
relevant to his philosophy than to my 
condition. Also I later learned that dogs 
do have nervous breakdowns. I informed 
m a lide stiffly that, although nerv- 
even a bit jumpy, I had not yet 
broken down. 

“PN be the judge of that," said the 
doctor. "Look at the wolfhound. Sce 


ou 


how sleek its coat. It sleeps and eats its 
fill, never more, of nourishing food. The 
nice wolfhound.” 

The rolled chart flew up in his hands. 
From cach according to his spring, to 
cach according to his graph. Well, he 
sent me a copy of Anti-Diihring, by 
Friedrich Engels, instead of a bill, Not 
only а Communist, but disloyal to the 
А.М. А. 

I sent him a couple of guitar records. 

He sent me a ballpoint pen. 

1 sent him а sweater. 

He sent me two blue chambray work 
shirts. 

Exhausted, I gave up this ideological 
conflict. Only great nations can play pot 
latch; 1 n emerging state, busy 
with selfish problems. 

My father did better than to lecture 
ше in gencral, He took charge at a 
ment when I needed him to take charge. 
He did not understand power or love, 
but they were his familiars. Lacking the 
language of love or friendship, he 
dwelled in these commodities as if they 
were houses. Cut off from his own family 
at age 12, he lived in the world of do 
and make. How could he talk to sons? 
Nothing to say but: “Go out. I give you 
the stai ad of course no words even 
for that. "I give you the sky, the earth 
the stars and your freedom. It’s all out 
there," No words. 

And how to show that he was gener- 
ous? With money and energy. He swam 
in a motel pool with my daughters on 
his back. He seemed like one of those 
less Galápagos tortoises, living rocks 
which burgeon out of the sea, encrusted 
with the centuries, stubbornly enduring 
and waddling about their beachy turf 

At this time, he also began to suffer 
Toncliness before the fact of death. He 
of dizzy spellscsyncopes—siun 
npty moments when he would 
grip his chair and а swarming emptines 
filled his head and the world just disap 
peared. But as to the person he was talk 


o- 


ing to. doing business with—“He never 
He 


knew a thing. He didn't know. 
thought I was thinking.” 

He told me this, and then buried h 
self in my troubles. He looked over my 
house, my wife, my children, and the 
furnished room in which I lived. He 
said, “This is a mess.” It was. He had 
come to clean up the mess. 

At first he hoped to rescue the mar- 
riage. Divorce was incomprehensible to 
him, as it was to me. There were chil- 
dren, responsibility; there was a history 
and a contract. Не was not sentimental 
but he believed in promises. The prety 
little girl and the young man had a long 
way to go: they had "problems"; but 
they could not don themselves in 
this way. 

Then he became aware of the othe: 
road. He invented divorce all by himself 
Jt was his first experience of it, and it 
struck him fresh possibility. He 


as a 


abandoned sentimentality, not just fo 
himself, but abo foi iuc. “Worse thin 
than bankruptcy," he said. “Sometimes 
you got to admit you're beaten.” Having 
made up his mind, he was determined 
not to let me waver. “You're beaten,” he 
said. I was skinny, boyish, green. "So 
now what" he said. 

With the stubbornness of the ill or the 
childish, I wanted my typewriter and 
fixed on this with monomaniac rage. Ils 
mine!—the tricks childishness plays on 
us. I was willing to leave my books, my 
records, even my clothes, but I needed 
the typewriter I had been gi 
18th birthday. Jt was worth v 
but as much as 1 wanted it, just that 
much my antagonist did not want me to 
have it. There was a scene, Boxes of 
clothes, debris of abandon, the smell of 
burnt coffee from the kitchen. Glaws. My 
father. stood frowning over thi 
madness. I remember that he looked 
sleepy 

Even now, I recall with shame 1 
reaching into his pocket to extract a roll 
of bills. He was puzzled by the yelling 
going on about him. He did not under- 
stand such yelling. It was а practical 
matter: get them separated. “Wait!” he 
said, "Stop!" He bought the typewriter 
back. I looked on bewildered, bereft, as 
I took 


Та Cleveland, his first words to my 


mother: "Well. I cleaned it up. 

“Theyre back оеш 

‘They're back apart. It 

And it was. 

Years later, my former wife needed 
help and came to my father for comfort 
and money. ^He's a good man," she said 
to me. They had been estranged; there 
had been no love between them; there 
had been anger. 

One afternoon my father sat with me 
under the pear tree in his back yard after 
the frenzy of recriminations and revenges 
had ended, and the legal business was in 
process, und life could begin again. He 
looked at my mother with а glint in his 
eye, He had few jokes and stories, but the 
ones he had, he polished. This was a new 

“Next time.” he said, “just make 
sure ir isn't a Nice Jewish Girl." 

I remembered this when my former 
wife remarked about him. “I always 
wanted to know him better. Even now, 
why doesn’t he let me be his friend? T 
can be a daughter to him. I'm the mother 
of his grandchildren. He's a good man.” 

“1 know," J said. Most of the time I 
sought to be agreeable; just agreeable 
would be enough. 


got to be. 


The next winter I returned to Detroit 
to visit my daughters during the Christ- 
mas holidays. I wanted to teach them to 
skate. It was а stubborn notion. The 
frost of the season was right, but the 
was a great scramble to find skates, bun- 


dle up and get to the flooded р 
ground. There were iu lcs, 
snowbanks and hor chocolate alterward 
in the shed. I explained how we learn to 


skate later, after trying hard, just as we 
learn to ride a bicycle later, after skin- 


ning the knees. But anyway, we c 
skate a litle right now. "Let's try aga 


20 
umph when my elder daughter 


sailed. smiling and blinking, round and 


round the rink. Suspense while the 
younger one staggered, complained 
about watery ankles, finally learned. 1 


pumped along, feeling the easy glide be- 
ith my blades as some sort of valida- 
tion. It is that pleasure we know in only 
a few moments of a lifetime—when we 
discover the soul at age 13 as we dive 


imo deep water and the water slide 
over skin. Or when we teach our chil- 
dren to skate, and they | id we 


skate with them. 

And yet there is sadness in this 
pleasure of crackling air and blood in 
the checks, I remember why skating with 
my father gave me such joy. It was the 
hope of intimacy, waiting to be re- 
deemed. 1 remember that E always ex- 
pected more of my father than he gave. 1 
sought to penetrate his secret lile. The 
nits remained, unredeemed. 

Now I look into the eyes of my daugh- 
ters and see the same loneliness and ex- 
pectant hope. 1 can give them things; T 
can take them skating; to them I am still 


a stranger. 


азу 


169 


PLAYBOY 


OCTOPUSSY 


the Channel and into a new hiding 
place. So he put off his demobilization 
and dung to the red tabs of his tempo- 
wy rank, and particularly to his М 
tary Intelligence passes, and soon got 
himself sent back to Germany as a Brit- 
ish representative at the Combined In- 
terrogation in Munich, There he 
i six months during 
which, оп a weekend's leave, he collected 
his gold and stowed ay in a bat- 
tered suitcase in his quarters. Then he 
resigned his post and flew back to Eng- 
land, carrying the two bars in a bulky 
briefcase. The hundred yards across the 
armac at each end of the flight and the 
handling of his case as if it contained 
only papers required two Benzedrine 
tablets and a will of iron, but at last he 
had his fortune safe in the basement of 
ington and could 
get on with the next phase of his plans 
t leisure. He resigned from the Royal 
Marines and got himself demobilized 
nd married one of the many girls he 
had slept with at MOB Force Headquar- 
s a charming blonde WREN called 
Mary Parnell from а solid middle-class 
family. He got passages for them both i 
one of the carly banana boats sailing 
from Avonmouth to Kingston, Jamaica, 
which they both agreed would be а para- 
dise of sunshine, good food, cheap drink 
and a glorious haven from the gloom 
and restrictions and Labor Government 
of post War England. Before they sailed, 
Major Smythe showed Mary the gold 
bars from which he had chiseled away 
the mint marks of the Reichsbank. “I've 
been dever, darling,” he said. “I just 
don't trust the pound these da 
sold out all my securities and swapped 
the let for gold. Must be about fifty 
thousand. pounds’ worth there. That 
should give us twenty-five years of the 
good life, just cutting off a slice now and 
then and selling it. 

Mary Parnell was not to know that 
such a wansaction was impossible under 
the currency laws. She knelt down and 
з her hands lovingly over the 
ng bars. Then she got up and threw h 
amus round Major mythes neck and 
kissed him. "You're a wonderful, won- 
derful man." she said, almost in tears. 
“frightfully clever and handsome and 
brave and now you're rich as well, I'm 


the luckiest girl in the world 

“Well, апуу 
Smythe. 
breathe 


„ were rich,” said Major 
"But promise me you won't 
word or well have all the 

Jamaica round our ears. 


s my heart.” 

Prince's Club, in the foothills above 
gston, was indeed a paradise. Pleas- 
t enough members, wonderful serv- 


(continued from page 104) 


ants, unlimited food and cheap drink, 
id all in the wonderful sering of the 
tropics that neither of them had known 
before. They were a popular couple and 
Major Smythe's War record earned them 
the entree то Government House society, 
after which their life was one endless 
round of parties, with tennis for Mary 
nd golf (with the Henry Cotton irons!) 
for Major Smythe. In the evenings thee 
bridge for her and the high poker 
game for him. Yes, it was paradise, all 
right, while, in their homeland, pcople 
munched their Spam, fiddled in the 
black market, cursed the government 
and suffered the worst winter's weather 


Ў 


1 30 ycars. 
The Smythes mer all their initial 
expenditures from. their combined. cash 


reserves, swollen by Wartime gratuities; 
and it took Major Smythe a full усаг of 
careful sniffing around before he de- 
cided to do business with the Messrs. 
Foo, import and export merchants. The 
brothers Foo. highly respected and very 
rich, were the acknowledged governing 
junta of the flourishing Chinese commu- 
nity in Jamaica. Some of their wading 
was suspected to be devious, in the Ch 
tradition, but all Major Smythe’s 
ally meticulous inquiries confirmed 
that they were utterly trustworthy. The 
Bretton Woods Conference, fixing а 
controlled world price for gold, had 
been signed and it had already become 
common knowledge that Tangier and 
ао were two free pons that, for 
different reasons, had escaped the Bret 
ton Woods nct and where a price of at 
least S100 per ounce of gold, 99 fine, 
could be obtained, compared with the 
fixed world price of $35 per ounce. And, 
onveniently, the Foos had just begun to 
nade again with a resurgent Hong 
Kong. already the port of entry for gold 
smuggling into the neighboring Macao. 
The whole setup was, in Major Smythe's 
language, tickety-boo. He had a most 
pleasant meeting with the Foo brothers. 
No questions were asked until it came to 
examining the bars. At this point, the 
bsence of mint marks resulted in а po- 
lite inquiry a» to the original provenance 
of the gold. 

“You sce, Major,” said the older and 
blander of the brothers behind the big, 
empty mahogany desk, "in the bullion 
market the mint marks of all respectable 
national banks and responsible dealers 

re accepted without question. Such 
marks guarantee the fineness of the gold. 
But, of course, there are other banks 
nd dealers whose methods of refining’ 
—his benign smile widened a fraction— 
perhaps not quite so accurate.” 
You mean the old gold-brick swin- 
* said Major Smythe with a twinge 


hese 


of anxiety. “Hunk of lead covered with 
gold plating: 

Both brothers 
“No, no, M 
of the question. But"—the smiles held 
constant—"if you cannot recall the prov 
enance of these fine bars, perhaps you 
would have no objections if we were to 
undertake an assay. There are methods 
of determining the exact fineness of such 
bars. My brother and I are competent in 
these methods. If you would care to 
leave these with us and perhaps come 
back after hunch?" 

There had been no alternative. Major 
Smythe had to trust the Foos utterly 
now. They could cook up any figure and 
he would just have to accept it. He went 
over to the Myrtle Bank and had one or 
two stiff drinks and a sandwich that 
stuck in his throat. Then he went back 
to the cool office of the Foos. 

The setting was the same—the two 
smiling brothers, the two bars of gold, 
the briefcase: but now there was а piece 
of paper and a gold Parker pen in front 
of the elder brother. 

“We have solved the problem of your 
fine Major" ("бпе”! Thank God, 
thought Major Smythe), “and I am sure 
you will be interested to know their 
probable history. 


sid Major Smythe, 
with a brave show of enthusiasm 
“They are German bars, Major. Prob 
ably from the Wartime Reichshank 
"This we have deduced from the fact that 
they contain ten percent of lead. Under 
the Hitler regime, it was the foolish ha 
it of the Reichsbank to adulterate their 
gold in this manner. This fact became 
rapidly known to dealers, and the price 
of Garman bas, in Switzerland for in- 
stance, where many of them found their 
way, was adjusted downward 
ingly. So the only result of the German 
foolishness was that the national bank of 
Germany lost a reputation for honest 
dealing it had earned over the cemu- 
ries.” The Chinaman's smile didn't vai 
“Very bad business, Major. Very stupid.” 
Major Smythe marveled at the omnis 
cience of these two men so far from the 
great commercial channels of the world, 
but he also cursed it. Now what? He 
said, “That's very interesting, Mr. Foo. 
But it is not very good news for me. Ave 
these bars not ‘good delivery,’ or what 
ever you cull it in the bullion world?” 
The elder Foo made a slight throw 
away gesture with his right hand. “Jt is of 
no importance, Major. Or rather, it is of 
very small importance. We will sell your 
gold at its true mint value, let us say, 
eight-nine fine. It may be refined by the 
ultimate purchaser, or it may not. That 
is not our business. We shall have sold a 
true bill of goods.” 
“But at а lower price.” 
“That is so, Major. But I th 


iccord- 


nk I have 


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“Have a good evening at home, sweetie!” 


172 


good news for you. Have you any est 
єз as to the worth of these two bars?” 
I had thought around fifty thousand 
pounds.” 

The elder Foo gave a dry chuckle. “ 
think, if we sell wisely and slowly, you 
should receive one hundred thousand 
pounds, Major, subject, that is, to our 

ion, which will include shipping 
charges.” 
How much would that be? 

“We were thinking about a 
ten. percent, Major. If that is 
10 you. 

Major Smythe had an idea that bu 
lion brokers received a fr n of one 
percent. But what the hell? He had al- 
ready as good as made £40,000 since 
lunch. He said “Done” and got up and 
reached his hand across the desk. 


figure of 
atislactory 


From then on, every quarter, 
would visit the office of the Foos ca 
ing an empty suitcase. Т 


1000 new Jamaican pounds in neat bun- 
dies on the broad desk and the two gold 
bars, that diminished inch by inch, to- 
gether with a typed slip showing the 
amount sold and the price obtained i 
all very simple and friend- 
and highly busi c and Major 
Smythe didn't think that he was being 
submitted to any form of squeeze other 
than the duly recorded ten percent. 1 
any case, he didn't particularly care. 
Four thousand net a year was good 
cnough for him, and his only worry was 
that the income-tax people would get 
after him and ask п what he was Ti 
ing on. He mentioned this possibility to 
the Foos. But they said he was not to 
worry and, for the next four quarters, 
there was only £900 instead of £1000 on 
the table and no comment was made by 
cither side. “Squeeze 
tered in the right q 

And so the lazy, sunshiny days passed 
by for 15 happy years. The Smythes both 
put on weight and Major Smythe had 
the first of his two coronarics and was 
told by his doctor to cut down on his al- 
cohol etes and take life easier. 
He void fats and fried food. 
Mary Smythe tried to be firm with him, 
but, when he took to secret drinking and 
10 a life of petty lic and cvasions, she 
tried to backpedal on her attempts to 
control his self-indulgence. But she was 
too late, She had already become th 
symbol of the janitor to Major Smythe 
and he took to ing her. She berated 
nd, 
nt bickering became too 
much for her simple nature, she became 
a sleeping pill addict and, after one fiam- 
ing, drunken row, took an overdose “just 
to show him." It was too much of an 
overdose and it killed her. The suicide 
was hushed up, but the resultant doud 


v 
him with not loving her 


when the resulta 


did Major Smythe no good socially, and 
he retired to the north shore which, al- 
though only some three miles across the 
island from the capital, is, even in the 
small society of Jamaica, a different 
world. And there he had settled at Wave- 
lets and, after his second coronary, was 
in the process of drinking himself to 
ah when this man called Bond ar- 
ed on the scene with an alternative 
death warrant in his pocket. 

Major Smythe looked at his watch. It 
was а few minutes alter 12 o'clock. He 
got up and poured himself another stiff 
brandy and ginger ale and went out 
onto the lawn. James Bond was sitting 
under the sea almonds gazing out to sea. 
He didn't look up when Major Smythe 
pulled up another aluminum garden 
chair and put his drink on the grass be- 
side him. When Major Smythe had 
finished telling his story, Bond said un- 
emotionally, “Yes, that’s more or less the 
way E figured it. 

"Want me to write it out and 

"You can if you like. But not for me. 
Thatll be for the court-martial. Your 
old corps will be handling all that. ve 
got nothing to do with the legal aspects. 
I shall рш in a report 10 my own Service 
of what you've told me and they'll pass 
it on to the Royal Marines. Then I sup- 
pose itll go to the Public Prosecutor via 
Scotland Yard,” 

"Could 1 ask a question?” 

“OF cours 

"How did they find out?" 

“It was a small glacier. Oberhauser's 
body came out at the bottom of it earlier 
this year. When the spring snows melted. 
Some climbers found it. АП his papers 
and everything were intact. The family 
identified him. Then it was just a ques- 
Чоп of working back. The bullets 
clinched it.” 

“But bow did you get 
whole thing?” 

ТОВ Force was a responsibility of 
er, Service. The papers found their 
way to us. I happened to sce the file. I 
1 some spare time on my hands. I 
ked to be given the job of chasing 
dowi 

“Why? 

James Bond looked Major Smythe 
squarely in the eyes. “It just happened 
that Oberhauser was a friend of mine. 
He taught me то ski before the War, 
when 1 was in my teens, He was a won- 
derful man. He was something of a 
father to me at a tine when I happened 
to need one.” 

"Oh, 1 see." Major Smythe looked 
way. "I'm sorry.” 

James Bond got to his feet. "Well, Vil 
be getting back to Kingston.” He held 
up a hand. "No, don't bother. I'll find 
my way to the car." He looked down at 
the older man. He said abruptly, almost 


ign it?” 


nixed up in the 


harshly—perhaps, Major Smythe thought, 
to hide his embarrasment—"Itll be 
about a wedk before they send someone 
out to bring you home." Then he walked 
off across che lawn and through the house 
and Major Smythe heard the iron whir of 
the self-starter and the clatter of the 
gravel on the unkempt drive. 


Major Smythe, questing for his prey 
along the reef, wondered what, exactly, 
those last words of the Bond man had 


meant. Inside the Pirelli mask his lips 


drew mirthlessly back from the stained 
teeth. It was obvious, really. It was just a 
version of the corny old act of leaving 
the guilty officer alone with his revolver. 
If the Bond man had wanted to, he 


could have telephoned Governm 
House and had an officer of the Jan 
Regiment sent over to takc 


Decent of hir 
ide would be much 
ve a lot of paperwork and tax- 
payers’ money. Should he oblige thc 
Bond man and be tidy? Join Mary in 
whatever place suicides go to? Or go 
through with it—the indignity, the 
dreary formalities, the headlines, the 
boredom and drabness of a life sentence 
that would inevitably end with his third 
coronary? Or should he defend himself— 
plead wartime, a struggle with Ober 
hauser on the Peak of Gold, prisoner 
trying to escape, Oberhauser knowing of 
the gold cache, the natural temptation 
of Smythe to make away with the bul 
lion, he, а poor officer of the comman- 
dos confronted with sudden wealth? 
Should he dramatically throw himself on 
the mercy of the couri? Suddenly Major 
Smythe saw himself in the dod 
splendid, upright figure in the fine be 
led blue and scarlet of the ceremo 
uniform that was the traditional rig 
for courts martial. (Had the moths got 
into the japanned box in the spare room 
at Wavelets? Had the damp? Luna 
would have to look to it. A day in the 
sunshine, if the weather held. A good 
brushing. With the help of his corset, he 
could surely sull get his 40-inch waist 
into the 34inch trousers Gieves had 
built for him 20, 30 years ago.) And, 
down on the floor of the court, at Chat 
ham probably, the Prisoners’ Friend, 
some staunch fellow, at least of coloncl's 
rank in deference to his own seniority, 
would be pleading his cause. And there 
ays the possibility of appeal to a 

йай 
might become a cause célebre, he would 
sell his story to the papers, write 


mounting in him. old boy! 
Careful! Remember what the good old 
snip-cock had said! He put his feet to 
the ground and had a rest amid the 
dancing waves of the northeast trades 


that kept the north shore so delightfully 173 


PLAYBOY 


174 


What goes 01 


Not yesterday's underwear. Those 
bulky, bunchy shorts under today's 
slim, trim styles? Forget it. The tailored, 
tapered look needs briefs and boxers 
and T-shirts that fit it, not fight it. 

But Life underwear by Jockey has that all 
solved. Life is the new underwear 
styled lean for the new trim cut of 
clothes. Anyone who says underwear. 
has to be dull doesn't know about Life 
Look across the page and see 

what's happening. 


Lge underwear Бу 


Jockey 


It’s not Jockey brand if it doesn't have the Jockey boy 


cool until the torrid months, August, 
September, October, of the hurricane 
season. After his two pink gins, skimpy 
lunch and happily sodden siesta, he 
would have to give all this more careful 
thought. And then there were cocktails 
with the Arundels and dinner at the 
Shaw Park Beach Club with the Marche- 
sis. Then some high bridge and home to 
Seconal sleep. Cheered by the pros- 
pect of the familiar routine, the black 
shadow of Bond retreated into the back- 
ground. Now then, scorp, where are you? 
Octopussy's waiting for her lunch! Ma- 
jor Smythe put his head down and, his 
mind freshly focused and his eyes quest- 
ing, continued his leisurely swim along 
the shallow valley between the coral 
dumps that led out toward the white- 
fringed reef. 

Almost at once he saw the two spiny 
antennae of a lobster, or rather of its 
the West Indian langouste, weav- 
itively toward him, toward the 
turbulence he was creating, from a deep 
fissure under a niggerhead. From the 

hickness of the antennae it would be a 
big one, three or four pounds! Normal- 
ly, Major Smythe would have put his 
fect down and delicately stirred up the 
sand in front of the lair to bring the 
lobster farther out, for they are ап in- 
quisitive family. Then he would have 
speared it through the head aud taken it 
for lunch. But today there was only 
one prey m his mind, one shape to 
concentrate on—the shaggy, irregular sil 
houette of a scorpion fish. And, ten ш 
utes later, he saw a clump of scaweedy 
rock on the white sand that wasn’t just а 
clump of scaweedy rock. He put his feet 
softly down and watched the poison 
spines erect themselves along the back of 
the thing. It was a good-sized one, per- 
haps three quarters of a pound. He got 
his threepronged spear ready and 
inched forward, Now the red angry eyes 
of the fish were wide open and watching 
him. He would have to make a single 
quick lunge from as nearly the vertical 
as possible; otherwise, he knew from es 
perience, the barbed prongs, needle- 
sharp though they were, would almost 
certainly bounce off the horny head of 
the beast. He swung his feet up off the 
ground and paddled forward very slow- 
ly, using his free hand as a fin. Now! He 
lunged forward and downward. But the 
scorpion fish had felt the tiny ap- 
proaching shock wave of the spear. 
There was a flurry of sand and it had 
shot up in a vertical takeolf and whirred, 
in almost birdlike flight, under Major 
Smythe's belly. 

Major Smythe cursed and twisted 
round the water. Yes, it had dor 
what they so often do, gone for refuge to 
the nearest algac-covered rock and there, 
confident in its superb camouflage, gone 
ıo ground on the Major 


seaweed. 


Smythe had only to swim a few feet, 
lunge down again, this time more accu 
rately, and he had it, flapping and 
squirming on the end of his spear. 
The excitement and the small exer- 
tion had caused Major Smythe to pant, 
and he felt the old pain across his chest 
lurking, ready to come at him. He put 
his feet down and, after driving his spear 
all thc through the fish, held it, still 
flapping desperately, out of the water 
Then he slowly made his way back 
across the lagoon on foot and walked up 
the sand of his beach to the wooden 
bench under the sea grape. He dropped 
the spear with its jerking quarry on the 
sand beside him and sat down to rest. 
It was perhaps five minutes later that 
Major Smythe [elt a curious numbness 
more or less in the region of his solar 
plexus. He looked casually down and his 
whole body stiffened with horror and 
disbelief. A patch of his skin, about the 
size of a cricket ball, had turned white 
under his tan and, in the center of the 
patch, there were three descending punc- 
tures topped by little beads of blood. 
ally, Major Smythe wiped 
away the blood. The holes were only the 
size of pinpricks, but Major Smythe re- 
membered the rising flight of the scor- 
pion fish and he said aloud, with awe, 
but without animosity, “You got me, 
you bastard! By Ged, you got me!” 
He sat very still, looking down at his 
body and remembering what it said 
about scorpion-fish stings in the book he 
had borrowed from the Institute and 
had never returned—Dangerous Marine 
Animals, ап American publication. He 
delicately touched and then prodded the 
white area round the punctures, Yes, the 
skin had gone totally numb and now a 
pulse of pain began to throb beneath it 
Very soon this would become a shooting 
pain. Then the pain would begin to 
lance all over his body and become so 
tense that he would throw himself on 
the sand, screaming and thrashing 
about, to rid uselí of it. He would 


vomit and foam at the mouth and then 
delirium and convulsions would take 
over until he lost consciousness. Then, 


inevitably in his case, there would ensue 
cardiac failure and death. According to 
the book, the whole cycle would be com- 
plete in about a quarter of an hour— 
that was all he had left—15 minutes of 
hideous agony! There were cures, of 
course—procaine, antibiotics and antihis- 
tamines—if his weak heart would stand 
them. But they had to be near at hand 
and, even if he could climb the steps up 
to the house, and supposing Dr. Cahusac 
had these modern drugs, the doctor 
couldn't possibly get to Wavelets under 
an hour 

The first jet of red into Major 
Smythe's body and bent over dou 
ble. Then came another and апо 


radiating through his stomach and 
limbs. Now there was a dry, metallic 
taste in his mouth and his lips were prick- 
ling. He gave a groan and toppled off 
the seat onto the beach. A flapping on 
the sand beside his head reminded him 
of the scorpion fish. There came a lull in 
the spasms of pain. Instead, his whole 
body felt as if it was оп fire, but, be- 
neath the agony, his brain cleared, But 
of course! The experiment! Somehow, 
somchow he must get out to Octopussy 
and give her her lunch! 

“Oh, Pussy, my Pussy, this is the last 
meal you'll get.” 
т Smythe mouthed the jingle to 
himself as he crouched on all fours, 
found his mask and somehow forced it 
over his face, Then he got hold of his 


What goes on 
underneal 


sand and into the water. 


Te was 50 yards of shallow water to 
the lair of the octopus in the coral cran- 
ny, and Major Smythe, screaming all the 
while into his mask, somehow, mostly on 
his knees, made it. As he came to the last 
approach and the water became deeper, 
he had to get to his feet and the pain 
made him jiggle to and fro, as if he was 
a puppet manipulated by strings. Then 
he was there and, with a supreme effort 
of will, held himself steady as he dipped 
his head down to let some water into his 
mask and clear the mist of his screams 
from the glass Then, blood pourmg 
from his bitten lower lip, he bent cuc 
fully down 10 look into Octopussys 
house. Yes! The brown mass was still 
there. It was stirring excitedly. Why? 
Major Smythe saw the dark strings of his 
blood curling lazily down through the 
cr. OL course! The darling wits tist- 
ing his blood. A shaft of pain hit Major 
Smythe and sent him reeling. He heard 
himself babbling deliriously into his 
mask. Pull yourself together, Dexter, old 
boy! You've got to give Pussy her 
lunch! He steadied himself and, hold- 
ing the spear well down the shalt, low 
ered the fish toward the writhing hole 

Would Pussy take the bait, the poi- 
soned bait that was killing Major 
Smythe, but to which an octopus might 
be immunc? If only Bengry could be 
here to watch! ‘Three tentacles, weaving 
excitedly, came out of the hole and way 
ered round the scorpion fish. Now there 
was a gray mist in front of Major 
Smythe's eyes. He recognized it as the 
edge of unconsciousness and  feebly 
shook his head to clear it. And then the 
tentacles leapt! But not at the fish! At 
Major Smythe's hand and arm. Major 
Smythe's torn mouth stretched in a gri- 
mace of pleasure. Now he and Pusy 
had shaken hands! How exciting! How 
truly wonderfull 

But then the octopus quietly, relent 
lesly pulled downward, and terrible 


w 


A T-shirt like this to start with— the new 
tapered Brute shirt. Tapered for a 
leaner look. From the new Life line of 


underwear by Jockey. Droopy collar? 
Saggy arms? Baggy body? Short tail 
that rides up, gets bulky around your 
middle? Forget ‘em! Life underwear is 
designed slim to make the lean look 
work. Look in the next column for 
more styles. Who says underwear has 
to be dull? 


Låge underwear by 


rand if it doesn't have the 


Hi-neck Bo'sun Shirt. The action 
T-shirt. Heavier fabric. Higher neckline 
stresses the look. Sleeves are longer. 
Stay-put tail is, too. Just $1.50 and 
you have the look. 


Slim Guy Briefs by Jockey. Trousers 
can’t get too tapered now. Waist is cut 


lower, legs cut higher, side vents 
styled in. New ventilating mesh in the 
pouch, And famous Jockey support, too. 
$1.50. It’s what goes on underneath 
the look. 


[Lait underwear by 


Jockey 


It's not Jockey brand if it doesn’t have the Jockey boy 


175 


PLAYBOY 


176 


realization сапе to Major Smythe. He 
summoned his dregs of strength and 
plunged his spear down. The only effect 
was to push the scorpion fish into the 
mass of the octopus and offer more arm 
10 the octopus. The tentacles snaked up- 
ward and pulled more relentlessly. Too 
late Major Smythe scrabbled away his 
mask. One bottled scream burst out 
across the empty bay, then his head went 
under and down and there was an explo- 
sion of bubbles to the surface. Major 
Smythe's legs came up and the small 
сз washed his body to and fro while 
the octopus explored his right hand with 
s buccal orifice and took a first tentative 
bite at a finger with its beaklike jaws. 


The body was found by two young 
Jamaicans spinning for needlefish from 
anoe. They speared the octopus, killed 


id biting its head off, 
tight the three corpses home. They 


ишпей Major Smythe’s body over to the 
police and had the scorpion fish and the 
for supper. The local correspond- 
ent of The Daily Gleaner reported that 
Major Smythe had been killed by an octo- 
pus, but the paper uanslated. this into 
“found drowned" so as not to frighten 
the tourists. 

er, in London, James Bond, pri 
varly asuming “suicide,” wrote the 
sume verdict of “found drowned,” wo 
ether with the date, on the last page 
and closed the bulky file. 

Tt is only from the notes of Dr. Cahu- 
sac, who performed the autopsy, that it 
has been possible to construct some kind 
of a postscript to the bizarre and pathet 
ic end of a oncevaluable officer of the 
Secret. Service. 


This is the conclusion of а two part 
serialization of “Octopussy,” a new James 
Bond novelette by Ian Fleming. 


“Another stagestruck kid who thinks she’s got what it 
takes to become a star, ch? Well, Miss Pomeroy, I'm 
going to give you a chance to prove it...” 


COVER STORY 
(continued from page 138) 


logical means of establishing the Rab- 
bit's identity there. Thus, Playmate- 
Bunny Sharon Rogers made an entiang 
snow bunny yboy Ski Sweater 
оп the front of the November 1963 issue 
(bottom row, fourth from lef. ОГ the 
148 rr AY nov covers published t0 date, 54 
have featured Bunnies, Playmates or 
Playmate-Bunnies, but Bunny Kelly Col- 
lins—on the front of our April 1963 issue 
vas the only one to appear there in 
official Bunny costume. 

Our lapim Lothario was the light in 

the lovely lady's eye on the October 1964 
cover (bottom row, fifth from left, on the 
opening spread of this feature), And our 
eyes lit up, too, when we found the ac- 
celeration in circulation from the previous 
year continued unabated throughout 
1964, establishing a monthly percopy 
sale of 2,600,000 by December. This cir- 
culation increase put PLAYBOY in con- 
tention for the tide of topselling men's 
magazine of the world—a position herc- 
tofore held, secure and. uncontested, for 
over a generation by True, the mass- 
circulation outdoor men’s magazine (with 
a margin of more than a million copies 
a month between it and its closest 
competitor, Argosy). тылүһөү bridged 
that gap with a 1,200,000 jump in sales 
most doubling its circulation in less. 
ап two years. 
Continuing to press our advantage їп 
the only way we felt really counted, we 
invested increasing amounts in the over- 
all editorial product paying top prices 
for the finest fiction, articles, interview: 
art, cartoons, photographs and pictorial 
essays. We increased the total number of 
editorial pages and the amount of full 
color in each issue, spent more on the 
preproofing of color and on other pro 
duction controls to improve the quality 
of the publication. As evidence of the 
soundness of this approach, the specially 
priced $1.25 December and January 
Holiday Issues—on which we annually 
lavish the most time and money—now 
consistently outsell the majority of our 
indard-priced issues of the year. 

Perky Bunny Јосу Thorpe struck a 
properly festive pose on the July 1965 
cover, drawing an outline of our hare in 
the air with а sparkler (bottom row, 
sixth from left, оп opening spread) 
There was ample reason for festivity 
yound the Playboy Building, as the sale 
of that issue soared like a Fourthof-July 
rocket to a new high of 3.200.000 copies 
establishing PLAYBOY as the largescsell- 
ing men's magazine of all time. The No 
vember 1965 cover (bottom row, seventh 
from left) presented a spy that any right 
thinking counterespionage agent about 
town would unhesitatingly invite to 
come in from the cold; a conveniently 
located tattoo on her arm informed the 
interested that a pictorial essay on James 


st 


Bond's Girls was inside. The sale of that 
month's PLAYboy proved more spectacu- 
ır than any best-selling 007 novel, hit- 
ing 3,500,000. 

"Ehe last cover appearing on the open- 
ng spread of this feature is the one on 
he issue you are holding in your hands. 
We won't know its sale for several weeks, 
but the February 1966 issue—the most 
recent on which figures are available— 
reached 3,750,000, and some sporting 
staffers have formed an office pool for 
wagering on which forthcoming month 
the magazine will hit 4,000,000. 

"The girl on the cover of this April is- 
sue is Cy Maddox, whose regular 
job is Assistant Cartoon Editor for the 
azine, but who also has time for an 
xcasional modeling assignment in the 
Playboy Studio—for a cover (this is her 
fifth), a Playboy Products ad or some 
other editorial or promotional project. 
The color transparencies of Cynthia and 
the Playboy Puppet used in the design 
of this cover were originally taken for 
the February 1964 issue. A PLAYBOY pho- 
tographer frequently shoots 200 or 300 
pictures of the same subject to get the 
single shot that will ultimately be chosen 
for the cover of the magazine. The tran: 
parencies on this April cover are repro- 
duced close to actual size, as they appear 
on the editor's light box when being con- 
sidered for publication. In other cover 
appearances, Cynthia traded her Jax o 
inal for an undersized bikini (July 1904) 
and an oversized towel (March 1963). 
(See pages 131 and 135 for candid photos 
of Cynthia during bikini and towel cover 
shootings.) 

nce Subscription Manager Janct Pil- 
grim appeared on the July 1955 cover, 
and inside that issue as Playmate of the 
Month, dozens of eLAvBoYs prettiest 
olfice employees have modeled for the 
magazine. In addition, a number of 
piavnoy's gatefold girls have worked for 


the publication as receptionists or secre- 
taris, including Joni Mattis, Sharon 
Rogers, Eleanor Bradley, Judy Tomer- 


lin, Lannie Balcom and Teddi Smith— 
all of whom appeared on PLAYROY'S 
cover as well as on the center spread. 
Teddi Smith is a secretary for the maga- 
zine and she has also posed for four of 
our most enticing covers, including a 
February 1965 ance, in which she 
was shown slipping imo (or out of?) a 
Playmate Nightshirt, and a nude shower 
scene for the front of the October 1963 
issue, in which Teddi’s torso was partial- 
ly obscured behind a steamy glass. (See 
top of page 133.) 

Many of our female employces who have 
never appeared on a cover have none- 
theless helped make them a success: 
The 57 prints—all different—that left 
a lasting impression on the Febru- 
ary 1960 cover were contributed by 
PLAYBOY's distaff staff. And (wo secre- 
taries in the Photo Department risked 
raised eycbrows over the knitting of tiny 


garments, producing the wee wool sweat- 
er, scarf and hat worn by the Femlin on 
the front of the March 1966 issue. The 
only male face ever to appear on 
PLAYnoY cover besides our renowned 
abbit’s belonged to actor Peter Sellers 
(April 1964). 

Each cover is unique and each has its 
unique problems. One of our earliest 
collage designs, conceived for the August 
1955 issue, turned an underwater-nude 
photo of Playmate Joanne Arnold into a 
mermaid, The mermaid's tail was paint- 
ed over the lower half of Joanne's body. 
but the only camouflage added to her 
ample bosom was a strand or two of 
strategically placed seaweed on the left 
and a miniature metal fish on the rig! 
The completed collage was shipped to 
the engraver, but en route someone 
dropped it. The little fish dutifully clung 
1o the one breast, but the seawced shook 
loose from the other. No one noticed 
the mishap until the color plates were 
completed and the cover was proofed. 
One bare breast was one too mr for 
the front cover of a national magazine. 
There was nothing we could do at that 
late date but send it back for some hasty 
retouching. No reader was any the wiser 
—until now. 

Our May 1961 cover seemed simple 
enough at the outset. A man's hands 
were supposed to be placed in front of 
model Judy Newton's eyes. with the 
fingers of his left hand spread apart in 
guess-who style so that she could see his 
Rabbitembossed gold ring out of the 
corner of her eye. The studio was set up; 
the camera w: the ready; the models 
were in place—-when the male model dis- 
covered after an hour of trying that he 
was unable to se te his middle and 
ring fingers while still keeping them 
against ndex and pinkie finge 
required by the layout. End of that day's 
shooting schedule. Next day, а guy with 
more dexterous digits solved the problem. 

Pert Joey Thorpe, a Bunny who's 
twice appeared on our covers, recalls her 
recent July sparkler-waving stint all too 
well. Quoth Joey. "It was like some- 
thing out of a Buster Keaton comedy. 
The photo studio was dar nd for each 
new shot I had to run from my spot 
front of the seamless background pa 
light another sparkler from а burning 
candle, then dash back to my place on 
the paper and wave it around. What 
with the adle and the sparklers, the 
seamless paper kept catching fire, which 
I thought was carrying a fireworks dis- 
play а little too far. The assignment did 
have its compensations, though: I be- 
came absolutely great at drawing Rabbit 
heads in the air; the shootings lasted for 
about a week.’ 

Playmate-Bunny-cover girl Sharon 
Rogers had her own problems for her 
November 1963 appearance up front. 
This time, snow was the culprit. The 
Photo Department had gathered a big 


The "knowing" look of a 
poised, confident man— 
is subtly emphasized by 


Golden @&) 


COLOR -COORDINATED 


SPORT COATS & SLACKS 


At leading stores everywhere 
BY ROUGH RIDER INC., NAPA, CALIFORNIA. 


177 


PLAYBOY 


178 


hatch of pulverized Styrofoam "snow" for 
a skiing cover. It was to be sprinkled 
over Sharon to achieve а wintry slope. 
side effect. By the time the photographer 
was ready to shoot, the Muffy stuff had 
sat around too long: it had solidified 
into a quivering blob of foam as big 
medicine ball. Undaunted, our resource- 
ful lensmen fed the goop in handfuls 
through a blender—but all it did was 
tum into tennisballsized lumps that 
would have looked like snowballs in- 
stad. of snowflakes. Finally, the whole 


mess had 10 be dumped and new "snow" 
brought in. Then came the prob 
lem. 


face wouldnt. In the end, 
snowllake had to be individually glued 
on—which worked perfecily for the shot, 
‘ed some determined and pro 
ubbing by cupcake Sharon to 
divest herself of her frosting. 

vraynov's Production Manager, John 
Mastro, had a king-sized headache with a 
technically ungimmicked cover. Our Sep- 
tember 1964 number displayed an c'e- 
gantly attired damsel in nightclubby 
surroundings. The overall picture was 
to have an atmospherically greenish cast 
10 nd therein lay the rub—how to 
hold the tinge of green without turning 
girl into ghoul. Seven times the cover 
proofs came back from the engraver and 
seven times the color was wrong—by 
which time Mastro’s skin shade was be 
ginning to match the proofs. But at the 
eleventh hour and on the cighth proof, 
the engraver supplied. the successful col- 
or combination, and John's complexion 
returned to. normal, 

As we suggested at the outset, the 


story of eravnov's covers chronicles the 
progress of the publication over the 
12-plus years of its exuberant existence. 
When our then-neophyte Editor-Pub- 
lisher received the bill Гог printing 
70.000 «оріс» of the very fast issue of 
PLAYRO! came to a little over $6000 
(including paper, binding and produc- 
tion charges) A dozen years later, the 
cost of dic-cutting the hole in the front 
cover of our December 1965 issue came 
to almost $10,000. The paper on which 
the nearly 4,000,000 covers of this past 
December's issue were printed tipped 
the scales at almost a quarter of а mil- 
lion pounds; the ink used in its printing 
weighed 8000 pounds. 

After this capsule chronicle of the past 
and present of PLAYBOY covers, one 
ight ask what lies ahead. “No dearth of 
excitement and surprises,” says Art Paul. 
“There are no limits other than our im- 
aginations and the evolving technology 
of graphics and their reproduction. 
Our only limiting guideline," adds 
Hefner, "is that cach cover has to say 
piaynoy. It should be possible to conceal 
the logo and still instantly recognize a 
cover as being distinctively—in concept 
nd in execution—PLAYnov's alonc. 

And if there's ever any doubt,” Hef- 
ner says with a smile, “there'll always be 
Mr. Rabbit to lend his inimitable pres- 
ence to our covers. In one guise or an- 
ys be there: in case 
i bout it, let's re- 
is future on our 


assure our т 
covers is secure,” 
Be reassured. 


despair 

(continued from page 152) 
a fistful of notes. "Here it is. Ull count 
out your share and give it you in a min- 
ute. What about those shocs, do they 
hurt?” 

“They do,” said Felix. “They hurt 
dreadfully, But I'll hold out somchow. 
TII take them off for the night, I expect. 
And where must J go with that car to- 
morrow?” 

“Presently, presently. . . . I'll make it 
all clear. Look, the place ought to be 
tidied ир... - You've scattered your rags. 
What have you got in that bag?” 
I'm like a snail, I carry my house on 
my back," said Felix. "Are you taking 
the bag with you? I've got half a sausage 
in it. Like to have some?" 

"Later. Pack in all those things, will 
you? That shochorn too. And the scis- 
sors. Good. Now put on my overcoat and 
let us verify for the last time whether 
you can pass for me. 

“You won't forget the money?" he 

quired. 
"I keep on telling you I won't. Don't 
be an ass. We are on the point of set 
ting it. The cash is here, in my pocket— 
in your former pocket, to be correct. 
Now. buck up, please.” 

He got into my handsome camel ha 
overcoat and (with special care) put on 
my elegant hat. Then came the last 
touch: yellow gloves. 

“Good. Just take a few steps. Let's see 
how it all fits you 

He came toward me, now thrusting 
his hands into his pockets, now drawing 
them out again. 

When he got quite near, he squared 
shoulders, pretending to swagger, 
aping a fop. 

‘Is that all, is that all," I kept saying 
aloud. "Wait, let me have a thorough: 
Yes, se to be all. . . . Now turn, I'd 
like a back yiew——” He turned, and 1 
shot him between the shoulders. 


I remember va 
moke, hang 


ous things: that puff 
ng in mid-air, then dis 


pla 


ying a transparent fold and va 


slowly; the way Felix fell; for he did not 
fall at once; first he terminated a mave- 
ment still related to life, and that was a 
full turn almost; he intended, I think 
swinging before me in jest, as before 
mirror; so that, inertly b 
poor picce of foolery to an end, he 
ready pierced) came to face me, slowly 
I his hands as if asking: “What's 
ning of this?”—and getting no 
slowly collapsed backward. Yes, 1 
remember all that; I remember, too, the 
shuffling sound he made on the snow 
when he began to stiffen and jerk, as if 
his new clothes were uncomfortable: 
soon he was still. and then the rotation 
of the carth made itself felt, and only his 
har moved quietly, separating. from his 


crown and falling back. mouth opened. 


it were sayi 
owner (or aga 
the stale sente 
their heads"). Yes. I remember all that, 
but there is one thing memory misses: 
the report of my shot, True, there re- 
mained in my a persistent. singing. 
It clung to me and crept over me, and 
uembled upon my lips. Through that 
veil of sound, 1 went up to the body 
and, with avidity, looked. 

There are mysterious moments and 
that was one of them. Like an author 
reading his work over a thousand times, 
and testing every syllable. and 
finally unable to say of this brindle of 
words whether it is good or not, so it 
happened with me, so it happened- 
But there is the maker's secret certainty, 
which never can err. At that moment 
when all the required features were 
fixed and frozen, our likeness was stich 
that really E could not say who had been 
killed, I or he. And while I looked, it 
grew dark in the vibrating wood. and 
with that face before ine slowly disolv 
ing. vibrating fainter and fainter. it 
seemed as if T were looking at my image 
in pool 

Being afraid to besmirch myself I did 
not handle the body: did not ascertain 
whether it was indeed quite, quite dead: 
I knew instinctively that it was so, that 
my bullet had slid with perfect exacti- 


as if 


probi 


tude along the short, air-dividing furrow 
which both will and cye had grooved, 
Must hurry, must hurry. cried old Mis- 
ter Murry, as he thrust his arms through 
his pants. Let us not imitate him. 
Swifdy, sharply, I looked about me. Felix 
had put everything, except the pistol, into 
himself: yet I had self. possession 
enough to make sure he had not 
dropped anything; and I even went so 
far as to brush the footboard where 1 
had been cutting his nails and to unbury 
his comb which I had trampled into the 
ground but now decided to discard late 
Next I accomplished something planned 
а long time ago: I had turned the car 
amd stopped it on a bit of timbered 
ground lightly sloping down, roadwa 
I now rolled my little Icarus a few yards 
forward so as to make it visible in the 
morning from the highway, thus leading 
to the discovery of my corpse. 

Night came sweeping down rapidly. 
The drumming in my cars had all but 
died away. 1 plunged into the wood, re- 
passing as 1 did хо. not far from the 
hut 1 did nor stop anymore—only 
picked up the bag. and, unflinchingly, at 
а smart расе, as if indeed I had not 
those stone-heavy shoes on my feet, 1 
went round the lake, never leaving the 
forest, on and on, in the ghostly gloam. 
ing. among ghosily snow. . .. But how 
beautifully Г knew the right directio 
how accurately, how vividly 1 had vi 


ized it all, when, in summer, I used to 
study the paths Icading to Eichenberg! 

I reached the station in time. Ten 
minutes later, with the serviccableness of 
ition, there arrived the wain I 
n a dat- 
g third-class carriage, on a 
hard bench, and next to me were wo 
clderly men, playing cards, and the cards 
they used were extraordinary: large. red 
and green, with acorns and bechives. 
After midnight I had 10 change; a cou- 
ple of hours later 1 was already moving 
in the morn I 
this time into a fast train. 
the solitude of the lavato- 
ry, did I examine the contents of the 
knapsack. Besides the things crammed 
into it lately (bloodstained handkerchief 
included). 1 found a few shirts, a piece 
of rge apples, а leathern 
sole, five marks in a lady's purse, а pass 
port; and my letters to ix. The apples 
and sausage I ate there and then, in the 
W.C but I put the letters into my pock- 
et and examined the passport with the 
liveliest interest. It was in good order. 
He had been to Mons and M. Oddly 
enough, his pictured face did not resem- 
ble mine closely: it could, of course, easily 
pass for my photo—still, that made an 
odd impression upon me. and I remem- 
ber thinking that here was the real cause 
of his being so litle aware of our like- 
ness; he saw himself in а glass, that is to 


The fashion i: 


the irresistible 
reversibles 


Casual Contrast. Smooth, glove-soft, 


glove-light uppers on both models with the same leather 
reversed for an interesting, tasteful difference. 


Underneath it all: lively, cushiony crepe for comfort 
and wear. Relax in the shades of Tahitian Reef 
ог Jamaican Sand. Leisure’s never looked better! 


MOSBY SQUARE. DIV. OF MID.STATES SHOE COMPANY, MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN, 53212 


crosby 
square 


Fine Shoemakers Since 1867 


179 


PLAYBOY 


180 


say, from right to left, not sunway as in 
reality. Human fatheadcdness, careless- 
ness, slackness of senses, all this was re- 
vealed by the [act that even the official 
del ions in the brief list of personal 
features did not quite correspond with 
the epithets in my own passport (left at 
home). A trifle to be sure, but a charac 
teristic one, And under “profession,” he, 
Ц numbskull, who had played the 
fiddle, surely, in the way lackadaisical 
footmen in Russia used to twang guitars 
on summer evenings, was called а “musi 
cian,” which at once turned me into a 
musician too. Later in the day, at a small 
border town, I purchased а suitcase, an 
overcoat, and so forth, upon which both 
bag and gun were discarded—no, I will 
not say what T did with them: be silent, 
Rhenish waters! And presently, a very 
unshaven gentleman in а cheap black 
overcoat was on the safer side of the 
frontier and heading south. 

Since childhood I've loved violets and 
music. 1 was born at Zwickau. My father 
was a shoemaker and my mother a wash- 
crwoman. When she used to get angry 
she hissed at me in Czech. Mine was a 
douded and joyless childhood. Hardly 
was I a man than 1 set forth on my wan- 
yed the fiddle. I'm а left- 
тїс; show 
mc onc true. ] found the war 
pretty beastly; it passed, however, as all 
things pass. Every mouse has its house. 

. . T like squirrels and sparrows Czech. 
beer is cheaper. Ah, if one could only 
get shod by a smith—how economical! 
All state ministers are bribed, and all po- 
cuy is bilge. One day fair I saw 


twins; you were promised a prize if you 
distinguished between them, so carroty 


Fritz cuffed one of the two and gave 
him а thick car—that was the difference! 


Golly, what a laugh we bad! Beatings, 
stealings, slaughter, all is bad or good, 
according to circumstances. 

I've appropriated money, whenever it 
came my way; what you've taken is 
yours, there is no such thing as one's 
own or another's money; you don't find 
written on a coin: belongs to Müller. 1 
like money. I've always wished to find а 
faithful friend; we'd have made music 
together, he'd have bequeathed me his 
house and his orchard. Moncy, darling 
money. Darling small money. D. 
big money. 1 roved about; found work 
here and there. One day І met a swell 
fellow who kept saying he was like me. 
Nonsense, he was not like me in the 
least. But I did not argue with him, he 
being rich, and whoever hobnobs with 
the rich can well become rich himself. 
He wanted me to go for a drive in his 
stead, leaving him to his business in 
queer street, I killed the bluffer and 
robbed him. He lies in the wood, there 
js snow on the ground, crows caw, squi 
rels leap. I like squirrels. That poor gei 
tleman in his fine overcoat lies dead, not 
far from his car. I can drive a car. I love 
violets and music. I was born at Zwick- 
au. My father м bald-headed bespec- 
tacled shoemaker, and my mother was a 
washerwoman with scarler hands. When 
she used to get angry— 

And all over ag 
ning, with new 


“Hello, there. I've been wanting to 
meet you all evening.” 


Jaid its claims. Not I sought a refuge in a 
foreign land, not I grew a beard, but Fc- 
. my slayer. Ah, if 1 had known him 
well, for years of intimacy, I might even 
have found it amusing to take up new 
quarters in the soul T had inherited. I 
would have known every cranny in it; 
all the corridors of its past; 1 could have 
joyed the use of all its accommoda- 
tions. But Felix’ soul I had studied very 
cursorily, so that all I knew of it were 
the bare outlines of his personality, two 
or three chance traits. Should I practice 
doing things with my left hand? 

Such sensations, however nasty, were 
possible to deal with—more or less. It 
was, for example, rather hard to forget 
how utterly he had surrendered himself 
to me, that softstulled creature, when I 
was getting him ready for his execution. 
Those cold obedient paws! 1t quite be- 
wildered me to recall how pliant he had 
been. His tocnail was so strong that my 
scissors could not bite in at once, it 
screwed round the cdg jag of a 
tin of corned beef envelops the key. Is a 
man's will really so powerful as to be 
able to convert another into а dummy? 
Did 1 actually shave him? Astounding? 


Yes, what tormented me above all. when 
recalling things, was 
ness, 


elix” submissive- 
the ridiculous, brainless automa- 
Jity of his submissiveness. But, 
ady, 1 got over that. Far worse 
failure to put up with mirrors. 
t, the beard I started growing was 
meant to hide me not so much пот oth 
crs as from my own self. Dreadful thing 
—a hypertrophied imagination. So it 
quite саху to understand that a man en 
dowed with my acute sensitiveness 
into the devil of a state about such trifles 
as a rellection in а dark looking glass, or 
his own shadow, falling dead at his feet. 
und so weiter. Stop short, you people—I 
raise a huge white palm like a German 
policeman, stop! No sighs of compassion. 
people, none whatever. Stop, pity! I do 
not accept your sympathy; for among 
you there are sure to be а few souls 
who will pity me—me, a poet misun- 
derstood. "Mist, vapor. . . in the mist 
chord that quivers.” No, that's not vers 
that's from old Dustys great book, 
Crime and Slime. Sorry: Schuld und 
Sühne (German edition). Any remore 
on my part is absolutely out of the ques- 
n: an artist feels no remorse, even 
when his work is not understood, not 
accepted. As to that premium —— 

І know, 1 know: it is a bad mistake 
from the novelist’s point of view that in 
the whole course of my tale there is—as 
far as I remember so very little atten- 
tion devoted to what seems to have been 
my leading motive; greed of gain. How 
does it come that L am so reticent and 
vague about the purpose I pursued in 
arranging to have a dead double? But 
here 1 am assailed by odd doubts: was Т 
really so very, very much bent upon 
making profit and did it really seem to 


as said al 


me so desirable, that rather equivocal 
sum (the worth of a man in terms of 
money: and a reasonable remuneration 
for his disappearance), or was it the oth- 
er way round and remembrance, writ- 
ing for me, could not (being truthful to 
the end) act otherwise and attach any 
special importance to a talk in Orlovi- 
vs study (did I describe that study?). 

And there is one other thing I would 
like to say about my posthumous moods: 
though in my soul of souls I had no 
qualms about the perfection of my work, 
believing that in the black and white 
wood there lay a dead man perfectly re- 
sembling me, yet as a novice of ge 
sull unfamiliar with the or of 
but filled with the pride that escorts sclf- 
stringency, 1 longed, to the point of 
pain, for that masterpiece of minc 
(hnished and signed on the ninth of 
Mardi in a gloomy wood) to be ap- 
preciated by men, or in other words, for 
the deception—and every work of art is 
a deception—to act successfully; as to the 
royalties, зо to speak, paid by the insur- 
ance firm, that was in my mind a matter 
of secondary importance. Oh, yes, I was 
the pure artist of romance. 

"Things that pass are treasured later, as 
the poet sang. One finc day at last Lydia 
joined me abroad: I called at her hotel. 
“Not so wildly," 1 said with gı 
g as she was about to fing herself 
my arms. "Remember that my name is 
Felix, and that I am merely an acquaint- 
ance ol yours." She looked very comely 
in her widow's weeds, just as my artistic 
black bow and nicely trimmed beard 
suited me. She began relating . . . yes, 
everything had worked as 1 had expected, 
without a hitch, 1t appeared she had wept 
quite sincerely during the crematory serv- 
ice, when the pastor with a professional 
catch in his throbbing voice had spoken 
about me, ^. . . and this man, this noble- 
hearted man, who” 1 imparted to her 
my further plans and very soon began 
to court her, 

We are married now, I and my little 
widow; we live in a quiet picturesque 
place, in our cottage. We spend long lazy 
hours in the little myrtle garden with its 
view of the blue gull far below, and talk 
very often of my poor dead brother. 1 
keep to her new episodes 
from. his life. "Fate, kismet,” says Lydia 
with a sigh. "At least now, in. Heaven, 
hiis soul is consoled by our being happy." 

Yes, Lydia is happy with me; she 
iceds nobody else. “How glad I am," she 
says sometimes, “that we are forever rid 
of Ardalion. 1 used to pity him a good 
deal, and gave him a lot of my time, but, 
really, 1 could never stand the man. 
ıt. Probably 
ng himself to death, poor fellow. 
lso fat 
the mornings 1 read and write; 
maybe E shall soon publish one or two 
аце things under my new пате; а 


"cov 


“You're next, four-eyes!” 


Russian author who lives in the neigh 
borhood highly praises my style апа vivid 
imaginatio 

Occasioi 
Бот Оно 


ly Lydia receives a line 
s—New Years greetings, 
say. He invariably asks her to give his 
kindest regards to her husband whom he 
has not the pleasure of knowing, and 
probably thinks the while: “Ah, this is a 
widow who is easily comforted. Poor 
Hermann. Karlovich! 

Do you fed the tang of this epilog? 
1 have concocted it according to a classic 
recipe. Something is told about every 
character in the hook to wind up the 
tale; and in doing so, the dribble of 
their existence is made to remain cor- 
rectly, though summarily, in keeping 
with what has been previously shown of 
their respective ways; also, à facetious 
note is admitted-— poking sly fun at life's 
conservativeness. 

Lydia is as forgetful and untidy as 
ever... 

And left to the very end of the cpi- 
log there is, pour la bonne bouche, 
some especially hearty bit, quite possibly 
to do with cant object 
which just flicked by in some earlier part 
of the novel: 

You may still see on the wall of their 
chamber the same pastel portrait, and as 
usual, whenever he looks at it, Не 
Taughs and curses. 

is, Farewell, 


Tingy! 


‚ dreams . . . and rather trite 
ones at that. Who cares, Е 
Let us return to our tale. Let us try to 


control ourselves better. Let us omit cer- 
tain details of the journey. 1 remember 
thar when I arrived at almost on 
the Spanish border, the first thing 1 did 
was to try and obu Tman news- 
papers; I did find a few, but there was 
nothing in them yet. 

I took a room in а second-rate botel, 
huge room, with a stone floor and walls 
€ cardboard, on which there seemed 
to be painted the sienna-brown door 
into the next room, and a look- 
g glass with only one reflection. И w 
horribly cold; yet the open hearth of the 
preposterous fireplace was по more 
adapted to give heat than a stage contriy- 
ance would be, and when the chips 
brought by the maid had burned out, 
the room seemed colder still The night 1 
spent there was full of the most ex 
agant and exhausting visions; and as 
morning came, and fecling sticky and 
prickly all over, I emerged into the n; 
row street, inhaled the sickening rich 
odors and was crushed among the south- 
ern crowd jostling in the market place, it 
became quite clear to me that 1 simply 
could mot remain that town any 
longer. 

With shivers continuously running 
down my spine and a head fairly burst 
ing, I made my way to the syndicat dint 
tialive. where a talkative individual 
suggested a score of resorts in the vicinity: 
I wanted a cosy secluded one, and when 
toward evening a leisurely bus dropped 
me at the address 1 had chosen, it struck 
me that here was exactly what I desired. 

Apart, alone, surrounded by cork 


181 


PLAYBOY 


182 


oaks, stood a decent-looking hotel, the 
greater part still shuuered (the scason 
beginning only in summer). A strong 
wind from Spain worried the chick Nuff 
of the mimosas. In a pavilion, reminding 
one of a chapel a spring of curative 
water gushed, and cobwebs hung in the 
corners of its ruby dark windows, 

Few people were staying there. There 
was the doctor, the soul of the hotel and 
the sovereign of the table d'hóte: he sat at 
the head of the table and did the talking; 
there was the parrot-beaked old fellow 
in the alpaca coat, who used to pro- 
duce an assortment of snoris and grunts, 
when, with a light patter of fect, the 
nimble maid served the trout which he 
had angled in the neighbor 
there was a vulgar young couple come to 
this hole all the way from Madagascar; 
there was the liule old lady in the 
muslin gorgerette, a schoolmistress: there 
was a jeweler with a large family; there 
was a finicking young person, who was 
styled at first vicomtesse, then comtesse 
and finally (which brings us to the time 
I am writing this) marquise—all. due to 
the doctor's exertions (who does all he 
can to enhance the establishment's repu- 
tation). Let us not forget, too, the mourn- 
ful commercia] traveler (rom Paris, 
representative of a patented species of 
ham: nor the coarse fat abbé who kept 
jawing about the beauty of some cloister 
in the vicinity: and, to express it bester, 


he would pluck a kiss from his meaty 
lips pursed into the semblance of a 
heartlet. That was all the collection, I 
believe. The beeuc-browed manager stood 
near the door with his hands clasped be- 
hind his back and followed with a surly 
eye the ceremonial dinner. Outside 2 
riotous wind raged. 

"These novel impressions had a 
beneficial effect upon me. The food was 
good. I had a sunny room, and it was 
interesting to watch, from the window, the 
wind roughly upturning the several petti- 
coats of the olive trees which it tumbled. 
In the distance agai mercilessly blue 
sky, there stood out the mauveshaded 
sugar cone of a mountain resembling 
1 was not much out of door 
it frightened me, that thunder in my 
head, that incessant crashing, blinding 
March wind, that murdcrous mountain 
draft. Still, on the second day, I went to 
town for newspapers, and once ag 
there was nothing in them, and because 
the suspense exasperated me beyond meis- 
ure, І determined not to trouble about 
them for a few days. 

‘The impression I made upon the table 
d'hóte was, I am afraid, one of gruff un- 
sociability, although I tried hard to an- 
swer all questions addressed to me; but 
in vain did the doctor press me to go to 
the salon alter dinner, a ишу little 
cottage piano out of tune, 
nd round table 


room with a 


"It behooves me, fair maiden, to ask 
one question, before I do battle. 


littered with touring advertisements. The 
doctor had а goat's beard, watery blue 
eyes and a round little belly. He fed in a 
businesslike and very disgusting manner. 
His method of dealing with poached 
eggs was to give the yolk an underhand 
twist with a crust of bread which landed 
it whole, то the accompaniment of a 
juicy intake of saliva, into his wet, pink 
mouth, He used to gather, with gravy- 
soaked fingers, the bones left after the 
meat course on people's plates, and wrap 
up his spoil anyhow, and thrust it into 
the pocket of his ample coat; by doing 
so he evidently aimed at being taken for 
an eccentric character: “C'est pour les 
pauvres chicns—for the poor dogs,” he 
would say (and says so still), nals 
are often better than human beings"—an 
firmation that provoked (and goes on 
doing so) passionate disputes, the abbé 
waxing especially hot Upon learning 
that J was a German and a musician the 
doctor seemed quite fascinated; and 
from the glances directed at me, I con- 
cluded that it was not so much my face 
(on its way from unshavenness to beard- 
edness) which attracted attention, as my 
nationality and profession, in both of 
which the doctor perceived something 
distinctly favorable to the prestige of the 
house. He would buttonhole mc on the 
stairs or in one of the long white pas- 
sages, and start upon some endless gos- 
siping, now discussing the social [ 

the ham deputy, then deplori 
bbé's intolerance, Tr was all getting a 
liule upon my nerves, although divert- 
ing after a fashion. 

As soon as night fell and the sh: 
of branches, which a solitary lamp. 
courtyard caught and lost, came sweep. 
ing across my room, a sterile and hide- 
‘ous confusion filled my vast vacant soul. 
Oh, no, I have never feared dead bodies, 
just as broken, shattered playthings do 
not frighten me. What 1 feared, all alone 
in a weacherous world of reflections, was 
to break down instead of holding on till 
a certain extraordinary, madly happy, 
all-solving moment which it was imp 
tive 1 should attain; the moment of an 
triumph; of pride, deliverance, 
was my picture 2 sensational suc 
cess or was it a dismal flop? 

On the sixth day of my stay the wind 
became so violent that the hotel could 
be likened to a ship at sea in а tempest 
windowpanes boomed, walls creaked 
nd the heavy evergreen foliage fell back 
with a receding rustle and then lurching 
forward, stormed the house. І attempted 
to go out into the garden, but at once 
was doubled up. retained my hat by a 
miracle and went up to my room. Onc 
there, standing deep in thought at the 
window amid all that turmoil and tin 
tinnabulation I failed to hear the gong, 
so that when I came down to lunch and 
took my seat at the table, the third 
course was in progress—giblets, mossy 
to the palate, with tomato sauce—the 


doctor's favorite dish. At first I did not 
iced the general conversation, skillfully 
guided by the doctor, but all of a sudden 
ioticed that everyone was gazing at me 
t vous—and you," the doctor was 
saying to me, “what do you think upon 
this subject? 


What subject?” I a 

We were speaking,” said the doctor, 

f that murder, chez vous, in Germany 
What a monster а man must be"— 
he went on, anticipating an interesting 
discussion—"to insure his life and then 
take anothers" 

І do not know what came over me, 
but suddenly 1 lifted my hand and said: 
"Look here, stop." and, bringing it 
down, with my clenched fist 1 gave the 
table a bang that made the napkin ring 


ked. 


jump into the air, and I cried, in a voice 
which I did not recognize as mine: 
Stop. stop! How dare you, what right 


have you got? Of all the insulting 
» | won't stand it! How dare you 
— Of my land, of my people . . . be 
silent! Be silent,” I cried ever louder: 
You! ... То dare tell me to my face 
thar in Germany— Be silent!" 

As it was, they had all been silent for 
a long time already—since that moment 
when, from the bang of my fist, the ring 
had started rolling. It rolled to the very 
end of the table; and way cautiously 
tapped down by the jeweler's youngest 
son. A silence of exceptionally fine qual 
ity 
booming. The doctor, holding his knife 
and fork, froze: а fly froze on his fore 
head. 1 felt a spasm in my throat: 1 
threw down my napkin and left the 
dining room, with every face automati 
cally turning to watch me pass 

Without pausing in my stride 1 
grabbed the newspaper that lay out 
spread on a table in the hall and, once 
in my room, sank down upon my bed. 1 
was trembling all over, strangled: by ris 
ing sobs, convulsed with fury; my knuck 
les were filthily splashed with tomato 
sauce, As І pored over the paper 1 still 
had time to tell myself that ir way all 
nonsense, a mere coincidence—one could 
hardly expect Frenchmen to hear of the 
matter, but in a flash my name, my former 
name, came dancing before my сусу... 

I do not recall exactly what I learned 
from that particular paper: sincc then 1 
have perused heaps of them, and they 
have got rather mixed up in my mind; 
they are now lying somewhere about, 
but 1 have not the leisure t0 sort them. 
What | well remember, however, w 
that 1 immediately grasped two facts: 
first, tl 
known, 
tim w 


iven the wind, I believe, had ceased 


the murderer's identity was 
ad second. that that of the vic 
not. The communication did 
not proceed from а special correspond- 
cnt, but was merely a bricf summary of 
what. presumably, the 
contained, and there was something 
careless and insolent about the fashion 
in which it was served up, between 


terman papers 


reports of a political fray and a case 
оГ psittacosis, And 1 was unspeakably 
shocked by the tone of the thing: it was 
in fact so improper, so impossible in re- 
gard to me, that for a moment I even 
thought it might refer to a person b 
ing the same name as 1: for such a tone 
is used when writing of some half-wit 
hacking to bits a whole family. 1 under- 
stand now. It was, I guess, a ruse on the 
part of the international police; a silly 
attempt to frighten and rattle me; but 
hot realizing this, 1 was, at first, in а fren- 
zy of passion, and spots swam before my 
eyes which kept blundering into this or 
that line of the column—when suddenly 
there came а loud knock at the door. I 
shoved the paper under my bed and 
said: "Come in." 

li was the doctor. He was finishing 
chewing something. 

“Ecoutez,” he said having hardly 
crossed the threshold—‘there has been а 
mistake. You have wrongly interpreted 
my meaning. Га very much like” 

“Ош!"——1 roared "out you go! 

His face changed and he went without 
closing the door. 1 jumped and slammed 
it with an incredible crash. Then, from 
under the bed, I. pulled out the paper; 
but now I could not find im it what I 
had just been reading. I examined it 
from beginning to end: nothing! Could 
I have dreamt reading it? I started look 
ing through the pages afresh: it was like 
a nightmare when a thing gets lost, and 
not only can it not be discovered but 
there are none of those natural laws 
which would lend the search a certain 
logic, instead of which everything is ab 
surdly shapeless and arbitrary. No. there 
was nothing about me in the paper. 
Nothing at all. I must probably have 
been in an awful state of blind excite 
ment, because a few seconds later I no- 
ticed that the paper was an old German 
rag and not the Paris опе which 1 had 
been reading. Diving under the bed 
again I retrieved it and reread the uivi- 
ally worded, and even libelous, commu- 
nication. Now it dawned upon me what 
had shocked me most—shocked me as an 
insult: not а word was there about our 
resemblance; not only was it not criti- 
azed (for instance, thev might have said 
ar least: “Yes. an admirable resemblance. 
yet such and such markings show it to be 
not his body") but it was not mentioned 
ar all—which left one with the impre: 
sion that it was some wretch whose ap. 
pearance was quite different from mine 
Now. one single night could not very 
well have decomposed him; on the con 
wary, his countenance ought to have ac 
quired a marble quality. making our 
likeness still more sharply chiseled; but 
even if the body had been found quite а 
few days later, thus giving playful Death 
time 10 tamper with it, all the same the 
stages of its decomposition would have 
tallied with mine—damned hasty way of 
putting it, I am afraid, but I am in no 


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182 


PLAYBOY 


184 


“Maybe 


mood for niceties. This alfected igno- 
nce of what, to me, was most precious 
and all-important, struck me as an € 
wemely cowardly wick, implying as it 
did that. from the very first, everybody 
knew perfectly well that it was not I, that 
it simply could not have entered any- 
body's head to mistake the corpse for 
mine. And the slipshod way in which the 
story was told scemed, lf, to stress 
а solecism which I could certainly neve 
never have committed; and still there 
they were, mouths hidden, and snouts 
turned away, silent, but all aquiver, the 
ruffians, bubbling over with joy. yes 
with an evil vindictive joy; yes, vindic- 
tive, jeering. unbearable — 

Again there came a knock: I sprang to 
my leet. gasping. The doctor and the 
manager appeared. “Voilà,” said the doc- 
tor in a deeply hurt voice addressing the 
manager and pointing at me. “Therc— 
that gentleman not only took offense 
something 1 never said, but has now in- 
sulted me, refusing to hear me out and 
being extremely rude, Will you please 


talk to him. I am not used to such 
manners." 

“N faut 'expliquer—you. must thrash 
it out,” said the manager glowering at 


me darkly. “I'm sure that 
himseli—" 

“Be gone!" I yelled, stamping my foot. 
“The things you are doing to me— It's 
beyond— You dare not humiliate me 
and take reyenge— I demand, do you 
hear, 1 demand ‘The doctor 
ised palm 


onsieur 


that will knock some sense into you!” 


my fir of passion passed. but in its stead 
1 felt the pressure of tears, and suddenly 
(leaving victory to whoever sought it) T 
fell upon my bed and sobbed violently. 

“Nerves, just nerves,” said the doctor, 
softening as if by magic. 

The manager smiled and left the 
room, closing the door with great gentle- 
ness. The doctor poured out a glass of 
єт for me, offered to bring a soothing 
n stroked my shoulder; and I sobbed 
on and was perfectly conscious of my 
condition, even saw with cokl mocking 
lucidity its shame, and at the same time I 
felt all the. Dusty-and-Dusky charm of 
hysterics and also something dimly ad- 
vantageous to me, so I continued to 
shake and heave, as I wiped my checks 
with the large dirty meat-smelling hand- 
kerchief which the doctor gave me, while 
he patted me and muttered soothingly 

“Only a misunderstanding! Moi, qui 
dis toujours . . . I, with my usual saying 
that we've had our fill of wars . . . 
You've got your defects, and we've got 
ours. Politics should be forgotten. You've 
simply not understood what we were talk- 
ing about, 1 was simply inquiring wh 
you thought of that murder . . 

"What murder?” I asked through my 
sobs, 
‘Oh, une sale afjaire—a beastly bu 
ness: changed clothes with а man and 
killed him. But appease yourself, my 
friend, it not only in Germany that 
murderers exist, we have our Landrus, 
thank heaven, so thar you are not alone. 
Calmezvous, it is all nerves, the local 
water acts beautifully upon the nerves— 
or more exactly, проп the stomach, ce qué 
revient au méme, d'ailleurs." 


He went on with his patter for a little 
while and then rose. I returned thc 
handkerchief with thanks. 
now what?" he said when already 
standing in the doorway. "The linde 
countess is quite infatuated with you. So 
you ought to play us something on the 
piano tonight" (he ran his fingers in the 
semblance of a trill) "and believe me 
you'll have her in your beddy.” 

He was practically in the passage, but 
all at once changed his mind and came 
back. 

In the days of my youth and foll 
he said, “when we students were once 
making merry, the most blasphemous 
fellow among us got especially tight, so 
as soon as he reached the helpless stage, 
we dressed him up in а cassock, shaved a 
round patch on his pate and late a 
night knocked at rhe door of a cloister, 
whereupon а nun appeared and one of 
us said to her: ‘Ah, ma soeur, voyez dans 
quel triste étal s'est mis ce pauvre abbé— 
see this poor priest's sorry condition! 
Take him, let him slecp it out in one of 
your cells” And fancy, the nuns took 
him. What a laugh we had!" The doc 
tor lowered his haunches, slightly and 
slapped them. The thought suddenly oc- 
curred to me that, who knows. maybe he 
was saying all this (disguised him . . . 
wanted him to pass for someone else) 
with a certain scact design, that maybe 
he was sent to эру... and again fury 
pescsed me, but glancing at his fowl 
ishly beaming wrinkles, 1 controlled my- 
self, pretended to laugh; he waved hi 
hands very contentedly and at last, a 
las, left me in peace, 

In spite of a grotesque resemblance to 
Rascaln. No, that's wrong. Can 
cled. What came next? Yes, 1 decided 
that the very first thing to do was to ob 
tain as many newspapers as possible, 1 
ran downstairs. On one of the landings 1 
happened upon the fat abbé, who looked 
at me with commiseration: from his oily 
smile I deduced that the doctor had al- 
ready aged to tell the world of our 
reconciliation. 

Coming out into the court I was at 
once half stunned by the wind; I did not 
give in, though, but clapped myself ca 
gerly against the gate, and then the bus 
appeared, I signaled to it, 1 climbed in 
and we rolled downhill with the white 
dust madly whirling, In town I got sever 
al German dailies and took the occasion 
to call at the post office. There was no 
leuer for me, but, on the other hand, I 
found the papers full of news, much to 
full, аја... Tod га week of all 
absorbing lite bor, I am cured and 
feel only contempt, but at the time the 
cold sneering tone of the Press almost 
drove me crazy. 

Here is the general picture I finally 
put together: on Sunday noon, the tenth 
of March, wood, a dresser [rom 
Koenigsdorf found a dead body. How he 
came to be in that wood, which, even in 


summer, remained unfrequented, and 
why it was only in the evening that he 
made his find known, arc puzzles still 
unsolved. Next follows that screamingly 
funny story which I have, I think, mer 
tioned already: the car purposely left by 
me on the border of the wood was gone. 
lis imprints, a succession of Ts, estab- 
lished the make of the tires, while cer- 
tain Koenigsdorf. inhabitants. possessing 
phenomenal memories recollected having 
wen a blue Icarus pas, small model. 
wire wheels, to which the bright and 
pleasant fellows at the garage in my 
‘rect added information concerning 
orsepower and cylinders, and gave not 
mly the сагу police number, but also 
the fact ¢ ol engine and c 

The general assumption is i 
very instant I am spinning about in that 
Icarus somewhere—which is deliciously 
ludicrous. Now, it is obvious to me, t 
somebody saw my car from the highway 
and, without further ado, appropriated 
it, overlooking in his hurry, the corpse 
lying dose by. 

Inversely, that hairdresser who did no- 
tice the corpse asserts that there was no 
car around whatsoever. He is а suspi- 
cious character, that man! И would 
scem to be the most natural thing in the 
world for the police то pounce upon 
him; people have had their heads 
chopped off for less, but you may be sure 
that nothing of the sort has happened, 
they do not dream of seeing in him the 
possible murderer; no, the guilt has been 
id upon me, straightaway, unreservedly, 
with cold and callous promptitude, а 
though they were joyfully cager to cor 
vict me, as though it were vengeance, as 
though 1 had long been offending them 
and they had long been thirsting to pun- 
ish me. Not only taking for granted. 
with strange prejudi that the 
dead man could not be I; not only fail- 
ing to observe our resemblance, but, as it 
were, а priori, excluding its possibility 
(for people do not sce what they are 
loath to sec) the police gave a brilliant 
example of logic when they expressed 
their surprise at my having hoped to de- 
ceive the world simply by dressing up in 
my clothes an individual who was not in 
the least like me. The imbecility and 
blatant unfairness of such reasoning are 
highly comic. The next logical step wa 
to таке me mentally dehcient; they 
even went so far as to suppose 1 was not 
quite sane and certain persons knowing 
me confirmed this—that ass Orlovius 
among others (wonder who the others 
were), his story being that I used to write 
letters 10 myself (rather unexpected). 

What baed the police absolutely was 
the question how did my victim (the 
word "victim" was particularly relished 
by the Press) come to be in my clothes, 
or better, say, how had 1 managed to 
force a live man to put on not only my 
suit, but down to my socks and shoes, 
which being too small for him ought to 


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185 


PLAYBOY 


186 


“Mr. Hallock!” 


have hurt—(well, as to shocing him, I 
could have done that post faclum, wise 
guys!). 

In getting into their heads that it was 
not my corpse, they behaved just as a lit 
erary critic does, who at the mere sight 
of a book by an author whom he does 
not favor, makes up his mind that the 
book is worthless and thence proceeds 
to build whatever he wants to build, on 
the basis of that first gratuitous assump- 
tion, Thus, faced by the miracle of Fe- 
lix’ resemblance to me, they hurled 
themselves upon such small and quite 
immaterial blemishes as would, given a 
dceper and finer attitude toward my 
masterpiece, piss unnoticed, the way a 
beautiful book is not in the least im- 
print or a slip of the pen. 
They mentioned the roughness of the 
hands, they even sought out some horny 
growth of the gravest significance, noting, 
nevertheless, the neatness of the nails on 
all four extremitics; and somebody—to 
the best of my belief, that hairdresser who 
found the body—drew the sleuths’ atten- 
tion to the fact that on the strength of 
certain details visible to a professional 
(lovely, that) it was dear that the nails 
I been pared by ап expert—which 
ought to have inculpated him and not 
me! 

Try as Т may, І cannot find out what 
was Lydia's demeanor at the inquest. As 
none doubted that the murdered man was 
not 1, she has certainly been, or still is, 
suspected of complicity: her own fault 


to be sure—ought to have understood 
that the insurance moncy had faded into 
thin air, so no use butting in with wid- 
Ow's wailings. She will break down in 
the long run, and never questioning my 
innocence but striving to save my head, 

ill give away my brother's tragic story; 
to no avail, however, for it may be estab- 
lished without much difficulty that I 
never had any brother: and as to the sui- 
cide theory, well, there is hardly any 
chance of the official imagination swal- 
lowing that trigger-and-string stunt. 

OL the greatest importance to my 
present security is the fact that the mur- 
dered man's identity is unknown and 
cannot be known. Meanwhile I have 
been living under his name, taces of 
which I have already left here and there, 
so that I might be run to carth in no 
time were it discovered whom I have, to 
use the accepted term, plugged. But there 
is no way of discovering which suits 
me admirably, as 1 am too tired to plan 
nd act all over again. And, indeed, 
how could I divest myself of a name, 
which, with such art, [ have made my 
own? For I look like my name, gentle- 
men, and it fits me as exactly as it used 
to fit him. You must be fools not to 
understand. 

Now as to that car, it ought to be 
found sooner or Jater—not that it will 
help them much; for I wanted it to be 
found. What fun! They think I am 
meckly sitting at the wheel, whereas, 


actually, they will find а very ordinary 
and very scared thief. 

1 make no mention here of the mon 
strous epithets which those irresponsible 
scribblers, those purveyors of thrills, those 
villainous quacks who set up their stalls 
where blood has been spilt, consider it 
necessary to award me; neither shall I 
dwell upon the solemn arguments of a 
psychoanalytic kind in which writers-up 
rejoice. All that drivel and dirt incensed 
me at the outset, especially the fact of 
my being associated with this or that oaf 
with vampirish tastes, who, in his day, 
had helped to raise the number of sold 
copies. There was, for instance, that fel 
low who burned his car with his victim's 
body inside, after haying wisely sawed 
olf part of the fe the corpse had 
turned out to exceed in length his, the 
car owners, measure. But to hell with 
them! They and I have nothing in com- 
mon. Another point that maddened me 
was that the papers printed my passport 
n which I indeed looked like a 
1 and not like myself at all, so 
iously did they touch it up) instead 
of some other one, that one, say, where 1 
dip into a book—an expensive affair in 
tender milk-chocolate shades; and the 
same photographer took me in another 
pose, finger at the temple, grave eyes 
looking up at you from under bent 
brows: that is the German novelists 
like to be taken. Really, they had many 
to choose from, There are some good 
snapshots too—that one, for example, 
which depicts me in bathing shorts on 
Ardalion's plot of land. 

Oh, by the way—almost forgot, the po- 
lice during their careful investigations, 
c ing every bush and even digging 
nto the soil, discovered nothing: nothing. 
except one remarkable object, namely: 
а bottle—the bottle—of homemade 
vodka. It had been lying there since 
June: 1 have, as far as 1 recollect, de- 
scribed Lydia's hiding it . . . Pity I 
didn't bury a balalaika somewhere too, so 
as to give them the pleasure of imagining 
a Slavic murder to the clinking of gob 
lets and singing of “Pazhaliy zhemen-dh, 
daragiy-ah . . ."—"Do take pity of me, 
Gus cd) 

But enongh, enough. All that dis 
gusting mess is due to the inertia, pig 
headedness, prejudice of humans, failin 
to recognize me 


n the corpse of my flaw- 
Jess double. I accept, with a feeling of 
bitterness and contempt, the bare fact of 
unrecognition (whose mastery was not 
darkened by it?) but I keep on firmly be 
lieving in my double's perfection. 1 have 


nothing to blame myself for. Mistakes— 
pseudo mistakes—have been imposed 


upon me revospectively by my critics 
when they jumped to the groundless 
conclusion that my very idea was radi 
cally wong, thercupon picking out those 
trifling discrepancies, which 1 myself am 
aware of and which have no importance 


whatever in the sum of an artists suc 
ces. I maintain that in the planning 
and execution of the whole thing the 
limit of skill was attained; that its per- 
fect finish w in a sense, inevitable; 
that all came together, regardless of my 
will, by means of creative intuition. And 
so, in order to obtain recognition, to jus 
Шу and save the offspring of my br 
to explain to the world all the depth of 
my masterpiece, did I devise the writing 
of the present tale. 

For, alter crumpling and 
one last newspaper, having sucked it dry, 
learned everything; with ng, itch- 
ing sensation crecping over me, and an 
intense desire to adopt at once certain 
measures I alone could appreciate; it 
was th in that state, that I sat down 
at my table and began to write. If I were 
not absolutely certain of my 
forces, of the remarkable 
it was rough, uphill business. J panted 
and stopped and then went on again. 
My toil, mightily wearing me out, gave 
me a queer delight. Yes, a drastic rem- 
edy, an inhuman, medieval purge; but it 
proved efficient. 

Since the day I began a full week has 
gone by; and now my work is nearing its 
end. E am calm. Everyone at the hotel is 
beautifully пісе to me; the weacle of 
affability. At present I take my meals 
sepuaiely, at a little table near the win 
dow. The doctor approves of my separa- 
Чоп, and heedless of any being within 
earshot he explains to people that а nerv- 
ous subject requires peace and that as a 
rule musicians are nervous subjects. Dur- 
ing meals he frequently addresses me 
across the room from the top of the table 
d'hóte recommending some dish or 
else jokingly asking me whether I could 
not be tempicd to join in the general 
repast just only lor today. and then they 
all glance over at me in a most good- 
natured fashion. 

But how tired I am, how deadly tired. 
There have been days, the day before 
yesterday for instance—when, except for 
two short interruptions, I wrote 19 


hours at a strech: and do you sup 
pose I slept after that? No, 1 could not 


sleep, and my whole body strained and 
snapped as if 1 were being broken on 
the wheel. Now, however, when I am 
finishing and have almost nothing more 
to add to my tale, it is quite a wrench to 
part with all this used-up_ paper: 
part with it I must; and after rea 
my work ov n, correcting 
ing it up and bravely posting it, I shall 
have, 1 suppose, to move on farther, to 
Africa, to Asia—does not much matter 
whither—though I am so reluctant to 
move, so desirous of quietude. Indeed, let 
the reader only imagine the position of a 
man living under a certain name, not be- 
cause he cannot obtain another passp—— 

I have moved to a slightly higher alti 
tude: disaster made me shift my q 

І thought there would be ten cl 


in all—my mistake! It is odd to remem 
ber how firmly, how composedly, in spite 
of everything, 1 was bringing the tenth 
опе to a close; which I did not quite 
igc— and happened to break my last 
paragraph on a rhyme to "gasp." The 
maid bustled in to make up my room, so 
having nothing better to do, ] went 
down into the garden; and there а heav 
enly, soft stillness enfolded me. At first I 
did nor even realize what was the mat 
ter, but I shook myself and suddenly un- 
derstood. the b ane wind which had 
been raging às stilled. 

The air there drifted 
about the silky floss of sallows; even the 
greenery of indeciduous leafage tried to 
look renovated: and the half-bared, ath- 
letic torsos of the cork oaks glistened a 
rich red. 

I strolled along the main road; on my 
right, the swarthy vineyards slanted, 
their still naked shoots standing in 
uniform pattern and looking like 
crouching, crooked cemetery crosses 
Presently I sat down on the gi nd as 
I looked across the vineyards at the gold. 
cn gorse-cad top of a hill, which was up 
to its shoulders in thick oak foliage, and 
at the deep-deep bluc-blue sky, I reflected 
with a kind of melting tenderness (for 
esential, though hidden, 
ure of my soul is tenderness) that 
new simple life had started, leav 
the burden of laborious fantasies be 
lund. The ‚ from the direction of 
my hotel, the motorbus appeared and 1 


ely 


divine, 


was 


decided to amuse myself for the very last 
time with reading Berlin papers. Once 
in the bus, I feigned to sleep (and 
pushed that performance to smiling in 
my dream), because I noticed, among the 
passengers, the commercial traveler in 
ham: but soon I fell asleep authentically. 

Having obtained what I wanted in 
town, I opened the newspaper onl 
when I got back, and with a good- 
humored chuckle settled down to its pe- 
rusal. АП at once I laughed outright: the 
car had been discovered. 

Its vanishing received the following 
explanation: three boon companions 
walking, on the morning of the tenth of 
March, along the highway—an unem- 
ployed mechanic, the hairdresser we al- 
dy know, and the hairdresser's broth: 
a youth with mo fixed occupation— 
espied on the distant fringe of the forest 
the gleam of a car's radiator and inconti 
nently made toward it. The hairdresser, 

staid, law-abidi 1, then said that 
one ought to wait for the owner and, if 
he did not turn up, drive the car to the 
police station аг Koenigsdorf, bur hi: 
brother and the mechanic, both liking a 
bit of fun. had another suggestion 10 
make. The hairdresser retorted, howev- 
er, that he would not allow anything of 
the sort; and he went deeper into the 
wood, looking about him as he did so. 
Soon he came upon the corpse. He hur- 
ried back, halloing for his comrades, and 
was horrified at not finding either them 
or the For some time he loitered 


"It's a real adult script, Т. B.—boy meets 
girl, boy leaves girl, boy meets boy." 


187 


PLAYBOY 


188 the paths of pl 


about, thinking they might return, They 
did not. Toward evening he at last 
made up his mind to inform the police 
of his “gruesome discovery,” but, being a. 
loving brother, he said nothing about 


transpired now was that those 
two scamps had soon damaged my Icarus, 
which they eventually hid, intending 
10 lie ow themselves, but then thought 
better of it and surrendered. "In the 
саге report added—"an object was 
found, seuling the murdered man's 
identity. 

First, by а slip of the eye, I read “the 
murderers identity” and this increased 
my hilarity, for was it not known from 
the very beginning that the car belonged 
fo me? But a second reading set me 
thinking. 

That phrase irritated me. There was 
some silly huggermugger about it. Of 
course, I at once told myself that either 
it was some new catch, 
found something of no more importance 
than that ridiculous vodka. Still, it wor- 
ried me—and for a while I was conscien- 
tious enough to check in my mind all 
the articles that had taken part in the 
flair (I even remembered the rag he 
used for a handkerchief and his revolt- 

ng comb) and as I had acted at the time 

with sharp 1 now had 
no difficulty in work k and was 
sfied to find everything in order. 
Q.ED. 

In vain: I had no peace. . . . Jt was 
h time to get that last chapter 
fished, but instead of writing I went 
out of doors again, roaming till late, and 
when I returned, 1 was so utterly fagged 
, that sleep overcame me at once, de- 
spite the confused discomfort of my 
mind. I dreamt that after а tedious 
search (off stage—not shown in my 
dream) T at last found Lydia, who was 
hiding from me and who now coolly de- 
dared that all was well, she had got the 
inheritance all right and was going to 
marry another man, “because, you sce,” 
she said, “you are dead.” I woke up in a 
terrific rage, my heart pounding madly: 
fooled; heipless—for how could a dead 
n sue the living—yes, helpless—and 
she knew it! Then I came to my wits 
again and  laughed—what humbugs 
dreams are liable to be. But of a sudden. 
1 felt that there was something exucmely 
greeable which no amount of laugh- 
ing could do away with, and that it 
as not my dream that mattered—what 
really mattered was the mysteriousness 
of yesterday's news: the object found in 
the саг... if indeed, I reflected, it is nei- 
ther a wily snare nor a mare's nest; if, 
indeed, it has proved possible to find a 
name for the murdered party, and if 
that name is the right one. No, there 
were too many ifs; I recalled the careful- 
ness of yesterday's test when I followed 
up the curves, graceful and regular as 
ets, which the diverse 


objects used had taken—on, i could have 
dotted out their orbits! But nevertheless 
my mind remained ill at case, 

In quest of some way of freeing myself 
of those intolerable forebodings I gath- 
ered the sheets of my manuscript, 
weighed the lot on my palm, even mut- 
tered a facctious “Well, well!” and de- 
cided that before penning the two or 
three final sentences I would read it over 
from beginning to end. 

It struck me that a great treat was now 
in store for me. Standing in my night- 
shirt near the writing table, it was 
lovingly that I shook down between my 
hands the rustling profusion of bescrib- 
bled pages. That done, I got into my 
bed once more; properly arranged the 
pillow under my shoulder blades; then 
noticed that J had left the manuscript 
lying on the table, although I could 
have sworn to its having been in my 
hands all along. Calmly, without cursing, 
І got up and brought it back with 
me into bed, propped up the pillow 
ew, glanced at the door, asked myself 
if it was locked or not (as I disliked the 
prospect of interrupting my reading in 
order to let in the maid when she would 
bring my breakfast at nine); got up 
again—and again quite calmly; satisfied. 
myself that the door was not locked, so 
that I might have not bothered, cleared 
my throat, got back into my tumbled 
bed, settled down comfortably, was 
about to begin reading, but now my cig- 
aree had gone out. In contrast with 
German brands, French cigarettes claim 
one's constant attention. Where had the 
matches gone? Had them a moment 
ago! For the third time I got up, now 
with my hands trembling slightly; dis- 
covered the matches behind the inkpot— 
but upon returning into my bed 
squashed under my hip another boxful 
hiding in the bedclothes, which meant 
that I again might have spared myself 
the trouble of getting up. І lost my tem- 
per; collected the scattered sheets of my 
manuscript from the floor, and the deli 
cious foretaste with which I had j 
Leen penetrated, now changed to some- 
thing like pain—to a horrible apprehen- 
sion, as if an evil imp was promising to 
disclose to me more and more blunders 
and nothing but blunders. Having, how- 
ever, lit up my cigarette again and 

ched into submissiveness that shrew- 
ish pillow, I was able to set about my 
reading, What amazed me was the 
absence of title on the first leaf: for as 
suredly I Лай at one time invented a ti 
tle, something beginning with “Memoir: 
of a—" of a what? 1 could not remem- 
ber; and, anyway, "Memoirs" scemed 
dreadfully dull and commonplace. What 
should I call my book, then? The Double? 
Tut Russian ature possessed one 
already. Crime and Pun? Not bad—a 
little crude, though. The Mirror? Portrait 
of the Artist in a Mirror? Too jejune, too 
Ala тойс... what about The Likeness? 


The Unrecognized Likeness? Justification 
of a Likeness? No—dryish, with a touch 
of the philosophical. Something on the 
lines of Only the Blind Do Not Kill? 
Тоо long. Maybe: An Answer to Critics? 
or The Poct and the Rabble? Must think 
it over . . . but first let us read the book, 
said I aloud, the title will come afterward 

1 began to read—and promptly found 
myself wondering whether I was reading 
written lines or seeing visions. Even 
my transfigured memory inhaled 
as it were, a double dose of oxygen; my 
lighter, because the panes 
shed; my past still morc 
because twice irradiated by art 
Once again 1 was climbing the hill nc; 
igue—hcaring the lark in the sk 
seeing the round red dome of the gas 
work: in the grip of a tremendous 
motion T stood over the slecping tramp, 

nd again he stretched his limbs and 
yawned, and again, dangling head down 
from his buttonhole, а limp little violet 
hung. I went on reading, and one by 
one they appeared: my rosy wife, Arda- 
lion, Orlovius; and they all were alive, 
but in a certain sense 1 held their lives 
in my hands. Once again I looked at the 
yellow signpost, and walked through the 
wood with my mind already ploiin: 
again on an autumn day my wife and I 
stood watching a leaf which fell to meet 
its reflection; and there was I myself 
softly falling into a Saxon town full of 
strange repetitions, and there was my 
double ѕоШу rising to meet me. And 
again I wove my spell about him, and 
had him in my toils but he slipped awa 

and I feigned to give up my scheme, and 
with an unexpected potency the story 
blazed forth anew, demanding of its 
Creator а continuation and an ending. 
And once again on a March afternoon [ 
was dreamily driving along the highway, 
and there, in the ditch, near the post, hie 
was waiting for me. 

“Get in, quick, we must drive off.” 

“Where to?” he queried. 

“Into that wood.” 

“There?” he asked and pointed—— 

With his stick, reader, with his stick. 
S-T-L-GK, gentle reader. A roughly hewn 
stick branded with the owner's namc: 
Felix Wohlfahrt from Zwickau. With his 
stickau he pointed, gentle or lowly read- 
with his stick! You know what a 
stick is, don't you? Well, that's what he 
pointed with—a stick—and got into the 
car, and left the stick there, upon get- 
‚ naturally—for the car 
temporarily belonged to him. 1 in lact 
noted that "qu faction.” An art- 
ists memory—what a curious thing! 
Beats all other kinds, I imagine. 

There?”—he asked and pointed with 
his stick. Never in my life was I so 
astonished. 

1 sat in my bed and stared, popeycd, 
at the page, at the line written by me— 
sorry, not by me—but by that singular 
associate of minc: memory; and well did 


PLAYBOY 


190 


I see how irreparable it was. Not the fact 
of their finding his stick and so discov- 
ering our common name, which would 
now unavoidably lead to my capturc- 
oh. no, not that galled me—but the 
thought that the whole of my master 
piece, which I had devised and worked 
out with such minute care, was now de- 
stroyed, intrinsically, was turned into a 
lide | 
take I had committed. Listen, 
Even if his corpse had passed for 
I the same they would have found th 
ick and then caught me, thinking they 
were pinching him—there is the greatest 
disgrace! For my whole con 
had been based upon just the impossibil- 
ity of a blunder. and now it appeared 
that a blunder there had be 1 of 
the very grossest, drollest. tritest. nature. 
Listen, listen! 1 bent over the shattered 
remains of my marvelous thing, and an 
accursed voice shricked into my car that 
the rabble which refused me recognition 
perchance right... . Yes, E fell to 
doubting everything, doubting 
s, and I understood that what little 
life still lay before me would be solely 
devoted to a futile struggle against that 


ap of mold, by reason of the mis- 
listen! 


essen- 


doubt: and I smiled the smile of the con 
demned and im a blunt pencil that 
screamed with pain wrote swifdy and 


boldly on the first page of my work: De- 
эра; no need to look for a better. title. 

The maid brought my coffee: T drank 
it, leaving the toast untouched, Then I 


“Like it, Mr. Bigelow? 
us for only 


hurriedly dressed, p 
my bag down myself. The doctor 
did not see me. The manager showed 
surprise at my sudden departu nd 
made me pay an exorbitant bill; but 
that did not matter to me anymore: 1 
was going away merely because it was de 
such cases. 1 was following a 
ion. Incidentally, 1 had 
grounds to presume that the French po 
Tice were already on my scent 

On the way to town, I saw from my 
bus two policemen in a fast car which 
was white as a miller's back: they dashed 
by in the opposite direction 
gone in a burst of dust; but wi 
they were coming with the defir 
pose of arresting me, that I could not sa 
nd moreover, they may not have been 
policemen at all—no, І could not say- 
they passed much too rapidly. Upon ar- 
riving at Pignans | called at the post 
office, and now Tam sorry T called, as 1 
could have done perfectly without the 
letter I got there, On the same day I 
chose, at random, a landscape in а flam- 
boyant booklet and late in the evening 
arrived here, at this mountain village. As 
to that leucr . . . On second thought T 
had better copy i пе sample 
of human malice. 
Sec here, I am writing to you, my 
good sir, for three reasons: (1) she asked 
my firm intention to tell 

1 think of you: (3) a 
sincere desire on my part to suggest your 


е pur- 


me to do so; 


yon exactly wha 


A Japanese outfit will deliver them to 
$6.75 а thousand.” 


giving yourself up into the hands of the 
law. so as to clear up the bloody mess 
and disgusting mystery, from which she, 
innocent and terrified, suffers, of course 
most. Let me warn you: it is with consid- 
erable doubt that ] regard. all the dark 
Dostoievskyan stuff you had take 
trouble to tell her. Put 
all a damned lie, I dare say. A damned 
cowardly lie, too, seeing the way you 
played on her feelings. 
She has asked me to write, because 
she thought you might still not know 
anything: she has quite lost her head 
and keeps saying you will get cross if one 
s to you, I should very much like to 
sce you getting cross now: it ought to Dx 
wildly funny. 

“. . . So that is how matters stand! It 
is not enough, however, 10 kill a man 
and clothe him adequately. A single ad 
ditional derail is wanted and that is 
resemblance between the two; but in the 
whole world there are not and cannot be 
two men alike, however well you dis- 
guise them. True, any discussion of such 
subtleties was never even reached, since 
the very first thing the police told her 
was that a dead man with her husband's 
papers on him had been found, but that 
it was not her husband. And now comes 
the terrible part: being trained by а 
dirty cad, the poor little thi 


the 
g it mildly, il is 


ig kept insist 


ing, even before viewing the corpse 
(even before—does that come home т 
you), insisting against all likelihoed 


that it was her husband's body and none 
other's. I fail to grasp how on earth you 
managed to inspire » who was 
id is practically a stranger to you. with 
such sacred awe. To achieve that, onc 
ought to be, indeed, something out of 
the common in the way of monsters. 
God knows what an ordeal awaits her 
yet! It must not be. Your pli 
to free her from that shade of complicity. 
Why, the case itself is dear to every- 
body! Those little tricks, my good man, 
with life policies, have been known for 
es. І should even say that yours is 
the flauest and most hackneyed one of 
the Tot. 

ext point: what I think of you. The 
first news reached me in a town where 
owing 10 mecting some fellow artisis T 
happened to be stranded. You see, 1 ucv- 
cr got as far as Italy—and I thank any 
stars I never did. Well, when 1 read that 
news, do you know what I felt? No sur 
prise whatever! I have always known 
you to be a blackguard and a bully, and 
believe me, I did not keep back at the 
inquest all 1 had seen myself. So 1 de- 
scribed at length the treatment you gave 
her—your sneers and gibes and haughty 
comempt and nagging cruelty, and that 
chill of your presence which we all 
found so oppressive. You are wonderfully 
like a great grisly wild boar with pu- 
trid tusks—pity you did not put a roast 
ed one into that suit of yours. And there 


wor 


in duty is 


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191 


PLAYBOY 


192 


“Pleased to meet 
Marilyn's is а 


else T want to get off my 
еа weak-willed 
а chap ever ready to sell his 
honor for the sa is art—ler me tell 
ou that T am ashamed of having accept 
cal the morsels you flung me, and gladly 
would I publish my s l, ay it 
out in the sircers—if that might help to. 
deliver me of its burden. 

See here, wild boar! This is мае 
of things that cannot endure. I want you 
10 perish not because you iller, 
but be you are the 
mean scoundrels, using for your m 
ends the innocence of 3 credulous yo 
woman, whom, as it is, ten years of 
dwelling in you ate hell have dazed 
and torn 10 pieces. If, nevertheless, there 
a chink in your blackness: give 


use 


his letter without am 
fairminded reader of 
previous chapters could not have 
ailed to note the genial tone, the kind- 
liness of my attitude toward Ardalion; 
and that is how the man repaid me. But 
let it go, let it go. . - Better to think he 
wrote that disgusting letter in his cups— 
otherwise it is really too much out of 
shape, too wide of wuth, too full of 


you. Any roommate of 
roommate 0] mine. 


libelous assertions, the absurdity of which 
will be easily эсеп by the same auentive 
reader. To call my gay, empty, and not 
very bright Lydia a "woman frightened 
out of her wits,” or—what was his other 
expression? —"torn to pieces”; to hint at 


some kind of trouble between her and 
me, coming almost to checkslapping: 


really, really, th: bit thick—t scarce- 
ly know in what words to describe it. 
There are no such words. My corre- 
spondent has already used them all up— 
though, true, in another connection. 
And just because ] had of latc been 
fondly supposing that I had passed the 
supreme limit of possible p: jury. 
ery of mind, 1 now came into so 
state whilst reading that. let- 
ter over, such а fit of trembling possessed 
my body, that all chi ound me start- 
ed shaking: the table; the tumbler on 
the table; even the mouserrap 
ner of my new room, 

But suddenly T slapped my brow and 
burst out laughing. How simple it all 
was! How simply. said I до myself, the 
mysterious frenzy of that letter has now 
been solved. A proprictor’s frenzy! Ar- 
dalion cannot forgive my having taken 
his name for cipher and staging the mur 


cor- 


der on his strip of earth. He is mistaken: 
Ш are gone bankrupt long ago: nobody 
knows whom this earth really belongs to 
wl... Ah, enough, enough about my 
fool Ardalion! The ultimate dab is laid 
on his portrait. With a last flourish of 
the brush I have signed it across the cor- 
ner. It is a better thing than the nasty 
colored death mask which that bulloon 
nade of my face. Enough! A fine like 
ness, gentlemen. 

And yet... How dares he? . .. Oh, 
to the devil, go to the devil, all go to the 
devil! 


h 31st. Night 
Alas, my tale degenerates into a diary. 
There is nothing to be done, though: for 
I have grown so used to writing, that 
ow Tam unable to desist. A diary, I ad 

is the lowest form of literatu 
Connoisseurs will appreciate that lovely, 
self-conscious, falsely significant "Night" 
(meaning readers to imagine the sleep 
Jess variety of literary persons, so pale, so 
attractive). But atter of fact it is 
night at present. 

The hamlet where I languish lies i 
the cradle of a dale, between tall cose 
mountains. I have rented a large barn 
like room in the house of a dusky old 
woman who has a grocer’s shop below. 
The village consists of a single street. T 
might dwell at length on the charms of 
the spot, describing for instance the 
clouds that squeeze in and crawl through 


5 a 


and 
opposite one— 
but it is a dull business describing such 
things. What amuses me is that I am the 
only tourist hi foreigner to 
and as folks have somehow managed to 
sniff out (oh, well, I suppose 1 told my 
landlady myself) that I came all the way 
0 € пу. the curiosity T excite is 
usual. Nor since a film company came 
here a couple of seasons ago to take pic 
tures of their starlet in Les Gontreban 
diers has there been such excitement 
Surely, E ought to hide myself, inste: 
which I get into the most conspicuous 
place; for it would be hard to find a 
brighter spotlight. if that was the object 
m dead-tired; the quicker it all 
the better, 
Today, most аруу, I made the ac 
intance of the local gendarme—a per 
fectly farcical figure! Fancy а plumpish 
pink-faced individual, knock-kneed, wear 
ing a black mustache. 1 was sitting at 
the end of a street on a bench, and all 
around me villagers were being busy; or 
bener say: were pretending to be busy 
in reality they kept observing me with 
fierce inquisitiveness and по maner in 
what posture they happened t0 be— 
using every path of vision, across the 
shoulder, via the armpit, or from under 
the knee: I saw them at it quite clearly 
The gendarme approached me with 
some diffidence; mentioned the rainy 
weather; passed on to politics and then 
to the aris, He even pointed out to me a 


boot 


scaffold of sorts painted yellow which 
was all that remained of the scene where 
one of the smugglers almost got hanged. 
He reminded me in some way of the late 
lamented Felix: that judicious note, that 
mother wit of the self-made man. E asked. 
him when thc last arrest had been 
effected in the place. He thought a bit and 
replied that it had been six years ago, 
when they took a Spaniard who had 
been pretty free with his knife during a 
brawl and then fled to the mountai 
Anon my interlocutor found it necessary 
to inform me that in those mountains 
there existed bears which had been 
brought thither by man, to get rid of the 
indigenous wolves, which struck me as 
very comic. But he did not laugh: he 
stood there, with his right hand deject- 
edly twirling the left point of his mus- 
tache and proceeded to discuss modern 
education: “Now take me for example, 
he said. “I know geography, arithmetic, 
the science of w 1 write a beautiful 
nd...” "And do you, perchance,” I 
asked, "play the fiddle?” Sadly he shook 
head. 

At present, shivering in my icy room; 
cursing the barking dogs; expecting 
every minute to hear the guillotinette of 
the mousetrap in the corner crash down 
and behead an anonymous mouse; me- 

ically sipping the verbena infusion 
which my landlady considers it her duty 
g me, thinking I look seedy and 
probably that I might die belore 


here and writing on this ruled paper—no 
other obtainable in the vi nd then 
meditating, and then ancing 
askance at the mousetrap. There is, thank 
God, no mirror in the room, no more 
than there is the God I am thanking. All 
is dark, all is dreadful, and 1 do not sce 
any special reason for my lingering in 
the dark, vainly invented world. Not 
that I contemplate killing myself: it 
would be uncconomical—is we find in 
almost every country a person paid by 
the state to help a man lethally. And 
then the hollow hum of blank eternity 
But the most remarkable thing, perhaps, 
that there is a chance of it not ending 
yet, i-e, of their not executing me, but 
sentencing me to a spell of hard labor; 
in which case it may happen that in five 
years or so with the aid of some timely 
amnesty, I shall return to Berlin and 
manufacture chocolate all over again. I 
do not know why—but it sounds exceed- 
ingly funny. 

Let us suppose, I kill an ape. Nobody 
touches me. Suppose it is a particularly 
clever ape. Nobody touches me. Suppose 
it is a new ape—a hairless, speaking spe- 
cies. Nobody touches me. By ascending 
these subtle steps circumspecly, I may 
climb up to Leibnitz or Shakespeare and 
Kill them, and nobody will touch me, as 
impossible to say where the border 
was crossed, beyond which the sophist 
gets into trouble. 


‘The dogs are barking. I am cold. That 
mortal inextricable pain . . . Pointed 
with his stick. Stick. What words can be 
twisted out of "stick"? Sick, kit, it, 
is, ski, skit, sit. Abominably cold. Dogs 
barking: one of them begins and then 
all the others join in. It is raining. The 
clectric lights here are wan, yellow. 
What on earth have I done? 


April Is 

The danger of my tale deteriorat 
into а lame diary is fortunately d 
pelled. Just now my farcical gendarme 
has been here: businesslike, wearing his 
saber; without looking into my eyes he 
politely asked to sce my papers. I an- 
swered that it was all right, I would be 
dropping in one of these days, for police 
formalities, but that, at the moment, I 
did not care to get out of my bed. He 
insisted, was most civil, excused himself. 
-.. had to insist. I got out of bed and 
m my passport. As he was leaving, 
"ned in the doorway and (always i 
ame polite voice) asked me to re- 
main indoors. You don't sty sol 

I have crept up to the window and 
cautiously drawn the curtain aside. The 
strect is full of people who stand there 
and gape; a hundred heads, I should say, 
gaping at my window. A dusty car with a 
policeman in it is camouflaged by the 
shade of the plane иес under which it 
discreetly waits. Through the crowd my 
gendarme edges his way. Better not look 

Maybe ir is all mock existence, an evi 
dream; and presently I shall wake up 
somewhere: on a patch of grass ти 
Prague. A good thing, at least, that they 
brought me to bay so speedily. 

I have pecped again. Standing and 
staring. There are hundreds of them— 
men in blue, women in black, butcher 
boys, flower girls, a priest, two nuns, sol- 
diers, carpenters, glazicrs, postmen, clerks, 
shopkeepers . . . But absolute quiet; only 
the swish of their breathing. How about 
opening the window and making a little 
speech . . . 

“Frenchmen! This is a rehearsal. 
Hold those policemen. A famous film 
actor will presently come ing out of 
this house. He is an arch-cr nal but he 
must escape. You are asked to prevent 
them from grabbing him. This is part of 
the plot. French crowd! 1 want you to 
make a free passage for him from door 
to car. Remove its driver! Start the mo- 
tor! Hold those policemen, knock them 
down. sit on them—we pay them for i 
This is a German company, so excuse 
my French. Les preneurs de vues, my 
technicians and armed advisors are al- 
ready among you. Attention! I want a 
clean getaway. That's all. Thank you. 
I'm coming out now.” 


This is the final installment of a five- 
part serialization of Vladimir Nabokov's 
novel “Despair. 


Slacks by Sportswear, 
Tacoma, Washington 


193 


PLAYBOY 


194 


Tiger, Tiger 


matter how stealthily, the fish would 
vanish in silver streaks. 

When the sun got warm enough to 
melt the silver frost and take some cold 
out of the water, I waded in my sncak- 
ers and made upstream casts, letting the 
fly drift back into the pools. I tried my 
few tricks or techni 


Konnamoto took comm 
his pocket some flies that he id 
з а Greenwell's Glory, a Goch-y-Bonddu 
a Butcher and an Alder, he used my 
rod. His smooth, practiced cast ma 
the rod look like an extension of hi 
right arm. 

But master that he was, he didn't 
move a fish. He came wading back. 
“We'll have to fish only rough watcr, sir, 
where the fish can't see us.” 

He had the Alder on. I took the rod, 
4 we walked for a mile until we came 
a stretch where the stream moved 
tly and brokenly over rocks. T took 
two in five casts—scrappy fellows, Ning- 
themselves into the air in the pris- 
matic arc I had described to Brigendr: 
Singh. 

Konnamoto and I walked for ten 
miles, leaving Ramaswamy dozing in the 
sun near the car, and took a total of 
20 fish. I gently released all but a 
half-dozen таг we һай for bicakfast the 
next morning, appreciating, as we ate 
the crusty, juicy fish, the gentlemen who 
had tried so hard to bring them here to 
the rall Nilgiris. 
country where you can wan- 
der in fascination. for months. But we 
had an invitation to spend time in the 
al jungles. Our route was by planc 
pur, then a drive to the wild are: 
We boarded a plane at Madras, deep 
the south. 

Planes from that city, Delhi, Calcutta 
and Bombay land at Nagpur, the geo- 
graphic center, within five minutes of 
one another, to exchange mail and pas- 
agers for other destinations. The re- 
nt confusion is appalling: It looks 
d sounds like a Hollywood-staged riot 
or mob scene, but even among, Indians 
of all sizes, dressed in everything from 
dhotis to the formal high-necked achkan 
(the mark of the political servant or 
diplomat), we had little trouble locat- 
ing Vidya Shukla, owner of Allwyn 
the country's leading shikar 
ion. He stood. lean and aloof, 
g his hand at us as we deplaned. 
d young m 
id white trousers, 


10 


swi 


This is 


his black achkan a 
he loomed out of the bustle like a stork 
among barnyard chickens, tll and calm. 

He greeted us with the folded-hand, 
prayerlike gesture, the namaste, which 


(continued from page 118) 


is the Hindu silent wish for good health 
and the mark of pleasure at see 

lit was a decided pl 
him again. We had hunted with his or- 

i 1958 without bagging a 
tiger, Not through the lick of skill of 
his people, but just plain bad luck, on 
which nebulous asset all hunting de- 
pends. But he had been greatly disap- 
pointed and wanted us to return. Now 
he wrapped his arm around my shoul- 
ders, saving, “It’s been a long timet 
Ivs great that you two are here again! 
Knowing vou, we will pet you into the 
jungle i jely. 

Vidya Shukla is the son of the former 
governor of India’s Gentral Provinces, 
now part of Madhya Pradesh, and is a 

nember of the House of Parliament. He 

created. the shikar organization to keep 
himself busy, in contact with visitors 
to his country, and because he liked 
hunting and the jungle. 
As we drove into Nagpur he went 
мо detail om a new service his com- 
pany was offering. “It’s just for a week,” 
he said. “We want to give visitors the 
chance 10 see what ] consider the best 
part of India, her jungles and animals. 
Travelers who can't alford the time or 
money to take the monthly or half- 
month shikar. 

"For 5215 а person can stay 
dak bungalow for seven days w 
full complement of servants, use our jeep 
and shil nd have the opportunity 
to bag four kinds of deer, two antelope, 
the blue bull the sambur, wild boar, 
sloth bear, about a dozen kinds of game 
birds, go fishing, hunt crocodile, get the 


whole taste of the jungle.” 
He went on to say that the hunting 
itself wasn't important, People could 


take advantage of this new program just 
to live in the jungle in luxury, drive its 
roads, photograph or rest. 
“Why didn't you let me know 
id. "This appeals more than tiger 
hunting. 

He smiled g 


mly. "Oh no, Jack! Our 
reputation is at stake, We want the 
honor of your bagging the world's most 
portant trophy with Alwyn Cooper. 
He became solemn as we transferred 
equipment into his new black 
conditioned Oldsmobile, obviously the 
pride of that part of the country, with 
а crowd gathering 10 touch its shiny 
sides, cocking their heads to listen to 
the soft cat-purr of the motor. 

“You will be at the jungle dak before 
nightfall. Don't be alarmed now at what 
1 say. But I'm afraid our zeal to try to 
put you in the way of a tiger h: 
fired slightly. A monster awaits 

He wouldn't say amy more, 
us that Rao Naidu, the chief sh 
whom we had hunted with before 


were anxious to see again, would тесі 
us. " said our friend 
as he 

We arrived in airconditioned com 
fort, courtesy of Detroit and Vidya 


Shukla, at the predetermined. meeting 
place more than 200 miles from Nagpur 
in an area where the real jungle begins 
to form its green wall. Rao was there 

iting for us in his jeep in an inkwell 
of shade thrown by a fat mahwal tree. He 
stepped from its shadow as Mary Lou and 
1 got out of the car. We hugged like 
brothers long separated and he respect 
fully shook hands with Mary Lou, saying, 

Welcome back to our jungles.” 

Rao Naidu is a Hindu, of the Kshat 
riya warrior caste, a man with a uni- 
versity education, As an intelligent 
individual, he has found his way in 
life, made his peace with it, decided 
what he really wanted to do with his 
short span and had the courage to do 
it. Loving the jungle since childhood, 
he decided that one day he would spend 
most of his time s serenity, away 
from conformed man and the terrible 
bee swarm of his cities. 

As you read these words, Rao has 
made the break. He is his own man, 
head of his own shikar organization, 
which informed observers and hunters 
tell me is one of the best in the world. 
It would be. Rao is а neat, conscientious 
person who cau bring order ош of 
chaos, calmness from nity. And, to 
the point, he can find the big cats when 
no one else can. 

He walks with long-striding feline 
grace, talks softly, almost in а purr, can. 
climb a tree like a leopard, hear а twig 
snap at 200 yards, tell from the track 
of a tiger its size, sex, when it ate last, 
how fast it was traveling. Rao is about 
five feet, ten, with slightly receding һай 
the shade of a crow's wing in the sun 
Mis complexion is the color of Italian 
coffee after it comes from the espresso 
machine and у treated with milk. 
He is slim, in excellent physical condi 
tion, can walk all day without breathing 
hard, and when he is your friend you are 
а lucky man 

We drove another three hows, prob- 
ably 100 miles, deeper into the jungle 
whitewashed 


to а dak bungalow, a 
sprawling building with a thick red-tile 
roof, on a rise five miles from the for- 


est village of Mulni. The staff of cook, 
er, driver, wacker, skinner, room 
boy, each with istant, waited for 
us on the broad veranda 

Alter introductions Rao said, "As T 
promised, your tiger is here. I made 
g him a buffalo every two 
a big one. He 
length 


sure by 
ys to keep him. He 
finishes the bait easily in u 
of time and is always ready for more.” 

"How many buffaloes have you given 


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PLAYBOY 


196 


him?" I asked in chilled fascination. 
ve. And one tonight makes six. 
ble!" said Mary Lou. “Isn't 
there another way?” 
“Well, п 
so. But th ve my 
promise that I would have your tiger 
here. I am keeping that promise. Mostly 
these butfalocs are old and uscless animals. 
So there is no great wast 
“Have you tried sitting up for him?" 
ked. “Just to size him up?” 
Rao smiled. "No. But the machan is 
ready. We will sit up tonight.” 
“Is there а dead bai 
"No. He dragged it away and fi 
hed it 


Dar 


What do we do tonight, then? 


“We tie a fresh bait. 
“Alive?” my 
"Of course. It's the only way now, 
isnt iti 
Over hot Darjecling tea laced with 
Dugson's honey we discussed that one, 
z it clear to Rao that we weren't 
at all happy with the thought of sitting 
in a tree watching the tiger Kill a help- 
less animal. Rao said that it was the best 
method. The tiger was accustomed to 
getting fresh meat regularly. He had 
kept returning, apparently without sus- 
pici We could wait until he killed 
the a al, then follow to where he 
dragged it, build another ш 
hope that he would 
didn't advise it. 


"Sccing that we have made this much 
of an investment in bullalocs," he said, 
is my suggestion that wc sit up to- 
night. The buffalo is already tied at the 
place in the jungle. The machan is 
ready. If we disturb anything, or do 
wait until he makes his kill and then 
follow his drag, it is almost certain that 
he will be aware of us following him, 
He will hear the men making the new 
machan. He will know we are there. 
And he might not come back to finish 
his meal. 
When you are with an expert on his 
own ground, it is considered intelligent 
to follow his instructions, That's с 
actly what we did. 
We drove the jeep five mile: 
jungle, then left it with the driver and 
walked another three miles until we 
came to a stream running throu, 
sort of glade—an open spot 
jungle surrounded by giant creepers and 
other large, wellleafed trees. It was 
four o'clock and the sunlight was still 
falling through the leaves in blotches 
of gold on the ground, touching the 
исе trunks with color. Then ме saw the 
bait, standing quietly and tied to a stake 
in the ground. The live buffalo. 
nored it, walking directly across 
from it, perhaps 40 yards, to a stately 
kowa tree that looks much like our 


“The meeting was called to order by the chairman. 
For two hours everyone compromised his personal 
integrity. A motion was made and seconded to 
adjourn the meeting. The meeting was adjourned.” 


like a langur; my wife followed almost 
as gracefully; T swayed up feeling like 
a bear shinnying a sapling. The machan 
was a good one. Thick branches with 
the twigs smoothly hacked off were 
plaited together with bamboo, forming 
a secure platform. A blanket was spread 
to soften it As we sat, the clearing 
spread before us almost like а stage. Left 
center was the buffalo. Behind him the 
stream ran, making its serene sounds. 

We had been settled about ten min- 
utes when we heard the sound, like an 
animal dragging something. We stiff- 
ened, each of us automatically search- 
ing his own piece of jungle. A porcupine 
came waddling out into the open, its 
long tail heavy with quills. The Asiatic 
2! 
t, could bring 
man, responsible for 
ny m lers out of tigers 
1 leopards. It fills their раму or 
mouths with fishhook barbs that fester 
and poison and prevent the cats from 
hunting normally. The porcupine took 
a long drink from the stream, eyed our 
buflalo, then waddled on. 

We were in the tree at 0 and 
would probably have to wait most of 
the night before the cat came, Tigers, 
the sane, normal one: re nocturnal. 
‘That means it would be late before this 
one came for his meal. 

Nothing much happened now as we 
sat—exccpt that discomfort grew as the 
night became darker. As the sun's ra- 
ion leaves the earth, melting away 
| the night, the cold comes. In the 
a crceping cold that lays 

deep in your bones and it is a 
physical impossibility not to shiver and 
shake, even with heavy pants and 
sweater. The picture of suliry India is 
often a false one, especially high in а wee 
at night. 

Now the moon had gone and the last 
had left the cardi, The only warn- 
ng as the tiger came out of the darkness 
was a long, sighing gasp—the death sigh 
of the buffalo as it was choked, the most 
frightening sound I have ever heard 

Still we sat. Rao was to give the sign 
to shoot by pressing my knee, then shin 
ing his light on the tiger. We sat quietly 
for about five minutes. There was a 
splashing in the stream, then silence. 
Still no sign from Rao. Finally hc 
flashed his light at the stake. There was 
п rope. The prob- 


type, nearly the size of a cocker spa 
the 


and world 


the middle of its bed was the bullalo. 

In cold defiance the cat had killed 
the animal, dropped it in the stream, 
then vanished into the jungle. He w: 
ad scen a move 
s arrive earlier. 


But it was still dark and we couldn't 
climb down until dawn. The tiger could 
be there waiting. Rao explained why he 
hadn't given the signal to shoot or flash 
the light. He was waiting for the tiger 
to start feasting on the kill, for the 
sounds of crunching hones. "Once he 
started cating,” he said, "not even the 
light would frighten him. But if I flashed 
it earlier, he would have run.” 

As dawn came we went down, rifles 
at the ready, and walked back to the 
jeep, wondering aloud why the tiger 
had killed and disappeared. Why hadn't 
he саки? Why had he carried the buf- 
falo only to the stream? Why hadn't he 
taken it deeper into the jungle? 

Rao shook his head. "Strange. He is 
more clever than 1 gave him credit for. 
He knew we were here. Killing the buf- 
Таја and leaving it was contempt.” This, 
then, was our monster, produced by a 
friend wanting to do us a favor. 

Rao sent several men back to drag 
the buffalo out of the stream, cover it 
with branches and brush so the cows 
and vultures wouldn't get it, and тепе 
it to the tree with double ropes so it 
couldn't be dragged oll. 

Now started a series of all-night vigils. 
We had the dead bait and we refused to 
sacrifice any more live animals, arguing 
that а meal was а meal, that the tiger 
would surely come back to this kill. Rao 
agreed, and we sat over the bait for 
three nights. The tiger didn't return 
The lourth night we left before dawn. 
Au impatient mistake. When we re 
turned the next night the bait was gone; 
even the double rope was broken. It was 
necessary to wait until morning to try 
to follow the drag marks of the bait 
into the jungle. Even then we moved 
cautiously, rilles ready. Rao and the 
first, then Mary Lou 
and L then three тоге tackers—mov. 
ing in sii t Ше. What we found was 
the head and a few bones. 
hungry after waiting several nights, had 
polished off the animal in one sitting. 
Now whav 

We still didnt want to go through 
the live-butlalo ordeal so Rao 
suggested that we rest for a couple of 
s and see what happened. The first 
ht the tiger came out of his jungle 
nd roared all He wanted his 
usual bulfalo. The boys all came and 
huddled in the dak bungalow until 
dawn. Next day was Holi, a Hindu 
religious ceremony in which everyone 
hurled colored water into one another's 
faces and the lowliest had the privilege 
of painting the faces of the most re- 
spected. Everyone in camp had his 
daubed in reds, blues a 

wn built a roaring bonfire and danced 

round it, screeching out songs The 


three trackers wei 


The tiger, 


се 
d oranges. The 


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197 


PLAYBOY 


198 


“Personally, I don't сате that much for the sun. I just 
like to run around naked! 


skinner and the tracker, dressed like 
women, sang and danced with cach 
other and the cook and the sweeper. 

It had been а gay day, but gaicty 
ended abruptly at dusk. The tiger was 
hungry again and his roars circled the 
camp, growing closer as it got darker. 
1 suppose some hunters would have 
charged out into that unknown dark- 
ness after the cat and settled the whole 
business then and there. But Rao's 
experience and my lack of courage 
teamed up and we sat and listened to 
the tiger talking—telling us how upset 
he was that we hadn't tied up a buffalo 
for him. Toward dawn we could hear 
him walking along the road in front 
of the dak, making as much noise as 
a bullock hauling a cart. 

“Tigers just don't act that way.” said 
Rao, sl ng his head, just before we 
nt to bed for an hour or so, Shortly 
after we awoke, a deputation awaited: 
four of the camp boys, the bearer, the 
assistant cook, driver and the room boy. 
thar unless the great shik; 
and the brave sahib Killed the tiger and 
stopped his walking around their tents 
threatening them all night long, they 
would Ieave—walk back to Nagpur. 

Rao told them that Nagpur 300 
miles off, that it would grow dark before 
they reached а place to stay for the night. 
He gently suggested that they come to the 
dak every night until we had settled with 
the tiger. They weren't happy, but they 
agreed, at least for a while. 

They were unhappier the next n 
The tiger talked again and stalked along 
the road to the village. At dawn a 
group from Mulni told us that he had 
killed a calf in the middle of their 
village, carried it two miles апа eaten 
it, WI would he do ton 

Rao rubbed his head in chagrin. “I'm 
afraid in my eagerness to sec that you 
got your tiger this tip I created a 
М we don't tie out а Бай, 
ntly he will go and get his own 
buffalo. It could happen that if some- 
one gets in his way we will have a 
uagedy on our hands. This is not a 
normal tiger. He's too bold. He comes 
too close to us. He walks 
pham. Pm not sure wl 
should. be. th 

It turned out to be a daylight beat, 
with Rao assembling the able men of 
Mulni to walk through the last arca 
where the tiger's tracks were seen. We 
loaded the jeep with trackers and 
started for the place. As usual Rao 
drove. We hadn't been driving а half 
hour, getting to a point on the Kesla- 
Bori road where it crossed the Tawa 
River, when one of those unexpected 


we 


They s; 


jungle dramas unfolded. Sadl 

Rao stopped suddenly, pointing 
through teak trees that stood in a line, 
slim as fishing rods, with two enormous 
leaves sticking from the top of cach 
tree like elephant ears. 

At first D didn’t see it, then Mary 
Lou gasped, and I saw the horror. A 
dozen wild dogs, not much larger than 
fox terriers, red, with up pointed ears 
and pointed muzzles, tongues out, stood 
by the stream. In it were two animals 
that they had chased to exh: 
torture: a sambur doc (a huge, elklike 
nimal) and her fawn. Evidently she 
had wied to fight the dogs off and was 
bleeding and gashed with great wounds; 
beside her, barely able to stand in the 
shallow river, was the fawn with its 
eyes eaten out Quietly Rao and I 
reached for our rifles and got out of 
the jeep. We shot until the clips were 
empty and the barrels hot. But the wild 
red dogs were small targets and they 
were clever. We got three: the others 
vanished silently, the most feared killers 
n the jungle, able to take even a tiger 
in their relentless, never-tiring chase. 
Rao left two men to end the sullcring 
of the sambur and we drove on to the 
beat area. 

This turned out to be our day for 
unexpected drama. As we moved toward 
ош ucc madan, the sky darkened and 
the trackers walking ahead of me paused, 
glanced at the sky, then with troubled 
faces looked at Rao. He shook his head. 
“It looks like rain. I hope it doesn't 
Strange things can. happen in a jungle 
Prophetic words. 

I dimbed into the mach: this time 
a rough one, and placed my foam rubber 
mat under me, An old man in а 
doth, looking older than my 
father, monkey-agile, swung up beside 
me. He was a wrinkled, nut-brown fel- 
Jow with a constant, toothless 


terribly. 


ustion and 


storm. 


me, and his smile 

I have never seen r 
it was like having a fire hose turned 
on you full bi s just opened 
d let it ош. "The old man touched 


fall this way; 


my arm, pointing. Com gle 
tangle was a magnificent stag 


with great antlers, noble even Шоц 
he was soaking wet. Close behind was 
a wild boar. 

‘They held their heads high. Suddenly 
they bolted, running as if all hell had 
broken loose, It had. Hail. A rain of 
stones the size of golf balls pelted us. I 
waited for it to stop, as our hailstorms 
do, but this one didn't. We were being 
меп and welted with the ice rocks 
from the sky. 1 took the foam pad, 
dutched the old tracker to me, and 


b 


held it over our heads. Те probably 
saved us from being seriously injured. 

I worried about Mary Lou. Then. 
running through the hail was Rao. 
followed by Mary Lou, both holding 
machan pads over their heads. They 
stood hunched up under my tree, trying 
to avoid the hail, Beaters were all 
around them, arms over their heads, 
some crouching under bushes. The 
storm ended after 15 minutes. As I un- 
clutched the old fellow, he leaped from 
the platform and slid down the tree like 
cman answering a four-alarm. 

When I got down, the ground was 
covered with two inches of hail—the 
jungle floor a carpet of ice. We exam 
ined ourselves: bruises, some open and 
bleeding, were on our arms, but we 
had all protected our faces, 

The sun came out as suddenly as it 
had disappeared, transforming the scene 
of terror into one of gleaming splendor. 
Mist rose in tendrils through the trces. 
The ground was a hed of brilliant 
diamonds. From behind trees and from 
under bushes, the villagers appeared, 
many of them bleeding. 

As we stood there drenched to the 
skin, beaten with hail. shaking with 
cold despite the reappearance of the 
sun, Mary Lou began langhing—a little 
hysterically. 1 joined; then Rao. The 
villa 
it was, 


15 caught dhe hunior, if hun 
nd began laughing. Tt would 
have made a mad scene if somcone who 
had avoided thc storm had suddenly 
come upon us. Bedraggled, be: 
shivering, we s 
jeep, а кце 
tiger hunters. 

‘The next night was quiet. We needed 
that, The boys did report seeing a big 
leopard in the read close to camp. bu 
the tiger didn't talk that night—nor 
the next. And no kills were reported. 
But the big leopard was seen again, 
creeping up on two lite white kids 
that we kept around the camp as m. 
cos—or probably pot insurance. The 
litle goats bleated so loudly that the 
cook came running, saw the leopard 
and ran shouting to us. 

"We better my to get the panther,” 
Rao said. "These people are as fright- 
ened of them аз they are of tigers, 
perhaps more so, The panther is more 
treacherous. I have no idea what hı 
pened to the tiger. He puzzles me. 
Perhaps he has found something dead 
that is keeping him happy for a while. 

“Let's count our blessings,” said Mary 
Lou. 

“But we'll have to face up to it soon, 
I said. "We have to stay here until we 
get that tiger. I think he's confused. 
All that free, easy meat— 


en down, 
the 


199 


PLAYBOY 


200 


{| 


Ie 
— fn — 

TRE 
ie 


“What really bothers me is that we're 
living way beyond our means.” 


o doubt" sid Rao stiffly, "Rut 
lets have a change of pace and sce if 
wc can get that leopard tonight. Here's 
the way we'll do it...” 

He suggested that he take one of 
the kids, dig a hole in the ground 
put the animal 1 and protect it 
by covering it with bamboo matti 
Ihe kid would bleat, luring the leopard. 
We would sit in a tree nearby and 
shoot the spotted cat as he crept toward 
the hole in the ground. 
Normally,” Rao s 
tie the kid to a пе 
we 1 


Expose it. This 
ually get more noise from 
it, thus more attraction for the panther. 


But knowing you two, I suppose — 
We like the idea of the pit better, 
said Mary Lou. “The kid will be safer. 
We decided not to go too far from 
camp—less than a mile. The leopard 
had appeared in camp twice after the 
kids. He would not be far away. Rao 


didn't сапу a rifle; Mary Lou took 
her Wincheste d the «338, 
а new caliber that hadn't been com- 
pletely proven yet. Winchester had. 


tested it, thought it was a great rifle, 
and 1 was going to see what it could 
do with India’s big game. Its 250-grain 
bullet was supposed to have a muzzle 
agy of 4050 loot pounds. Winchester 
gested that it a excellent rifle 
for moose and bear. It should be plenty 
of gun for a leopard. Mary Lou was the 
better shot, and her 308, with a muzzle 
energy of 2730 foot-pounds, would be 
ight for the spotted 


So the hole was dug, the kid placed 
in it. He began bleating immediately. 
Rao selected a tree about 50 yards from 
the pit and perhaps 20 feet from the dit 
road that ran into the village five miles 
away, It wasn't a tall tree and the machan 
was а makeshift thing. 

Rao thought the leopard was eager 
for his young р; ner and would 
show up withi hour. As darkness 
me swiltly. the kid stopped his bleat- 
. As it grew darker, he would let 


out an occasional halfhearted bleat. 
Bur that was all A leopmd bait he 
was not But maybe hc 


Down in that dark hole, 
bring some kind of securi 
After 


is Creep! 


two hows, 
g out of the jungle screen 
It came in a creepy, wobbly gait— 
striped hyena, a horrible creature. that 
looked as if he had come right out of 
the graveyard. But Rao had secured 
the matting well. Finally the hyena gave 
wl continued his search for some- 
er and deader. 

Then it came as all true drama docs, 
completely without warning. The tiger 
returned. His roars began as before, 
g louder, 
er, angrier. “Going from us; 
I said. He sounded miles away. Mary 
Lou, keen of суе and car, said, "I'm 
ah 


a noise. © 


wa 


Rao said nothing, He sat there like 
a person caught up а исе, without a 
plan. Which is exactly what he was. 


For the first time, this exceptionally 
cautious hunter had ventured forth 
without his rifle, an effective 42; 
Mauser. But we were close to camp; 


we were out for leopard. Two guns 
were plenty. 

Now the roars faded. Silence was all 
around us, a breathing, pulsating silence. 
Why didn't the tiger roar? Where was 
he now? We needed a no 

We pot it. The kid started bleating: 
He had been mute for nearly two hours. 
Now, of all times, he decided to cry 
for help. And his sharp, spaced litle 
bleats sounded exactly as if that was 
what he was saying. Then he stopped 

Something was clumping along the 
road beneath us, heading for the village 
Whatever it was, it didn't спе about 
Then it started. breathin 
avily, and I felt Rao оп one side, 
Mary Lou оп the other, stiffen. Mary 
Lou took my arm in a frightened grasp. 

Suddenly Rao flashed his light. In 
the middle of the road stood an enor 
mous tiger. He knew something was 
‚ knew that he was caught in a 
nge light. He twisted his head. He 
turned and looked up at us. I shot 
carefully at the point where the spine 
joins the neck. He roared, going down 
as if pushed by a huge hand, He went 
into a frenzy of motion in the road 

Rao gasped. "Shoot again!” Mary 
Lou, rigid beside me, put her .308 10 
her shoulder and shot twice. I placed 
one more shot below the shoulder in 
the twisting, roaring animal. 

The tiger suddenly was still, spread 
cagled in our light. The kid was bleat 
ing. Our driver was supposed to have 
been here ten mi Now the 


wron 


nutes 


шо. 


iglts of the jeep came up the road 
‘They fell upon the tiger. The horn 


began blaring. 

Rao shouted that the men in the 
jeep should stay back until we made 
certain the animal was dead. He took 
Mary Lou's .308 and shot twice close to 
the body—no movement. Then he took 
a knife out of his pocket and threw it, 
Tt landed on the tiger's back. Ir didn't 
move. We climbed. down. 

As we stood there in the road looking 
at the great cat, Rao said calmly. ^^ 
good shot. Ш you had only wounded 
him, he would have респ up after us 
1 seconds. They can jump straight up 
eighteen feet, you know—" 

How high was our tree?" Mary Lou 
asked weakly. 
Fifteen feet,” Rao said. “A little tree 
for a little cat. I wasn't counting om 
this surprise. 

Why was our jeep lue? Flat tire. IÉ 
it had come roaring up on time, there 
is no telling what would have happened. 


IN CINEMA 
“Unfortunately, this is the only way 
to make good the frightful wrong 1 
have done you and to wipe out my ab- 
ject. humiliation. I love you. Paul. 
After some preliminary doubts, the 
police accepted the note as genuine. 
The quick assumption of the fascinat- 
ed public was that the wagedy occurred 
because Bern had found his sex queen 
100 hot to handle. Either Bern was 
potent, the newspapers baldly hinted, or 
he was otherwise incapable of sati 
his young wife's inordinate phys 
mands. (Bern was 42 at the time, Harlow 
21.) On the other hand, il the nore were 
false, as some darkly implied, ther 
the possibility of murder. Complica 
the sordid affair was the revclati 
Bern had a common-law wile, Dorothy 
Milleue, who, as it turned out, had 
jumped (or was she pushed?) from 
ferry and drowned in the Sacramento 
River only two days alter. Bern's death. 
The whole unsavory story was 
dredged up again—and again lapped up 
by the public—when, in 1964, Irving 
Shulman's Harlow (spiced with sensa 
tional revelations provided by Harlow's 
agent, Arthur Landau) shot to the top of 
the bestseller lists. The movie colony 
had known Bern as “the small man with 
the biggest heart in Hollywood.” Shul- 
man’s description was far Jess Mattering: 
“the small пи with АВА sm 


tici ора ао, ТБ 
theory was that Bern, in the rage and 
frustration engendered by his inade- 
quate sexual endowment, had resorted 
to the use of an artificial phallus to sex- 
ually penetrate his wife; that she had 
burst into cruel laughter at the sight of 
the dildo; and that his suicide had fol- 
lowed. Shulman also asserted that the 
diminutive and ostensibly mild-man- 
nered Bern | ien Harlow 
in earlier bouts of anger sparked by his 
sexual shortcomings, and that these beat- 
ings had contributed ко Напо carly 
death five years later. Just how much 
ic опе сап give to this version, 
nbroidered s with snatches of 
dialog that neither Landau nor Shulman 
could possibly have overheard, is difficult 
to say. Perhaps Landau himself gave 
the best clue when he told a reporter 
after the publication of the book: "For 
me to say that it was uldn't 
be fair... . Some thi е exaggerated 
or shown wrong, 1 think. . . - But the 
book is selling very well. We did very 
good by the movie rights. 

The enterprising Joseph E. Levine, 
who purchased these rights not long ago, 
did considerably less well. His version of 
Harlow, saring Carroll Baker, w 
preceded by another, less authori 


ive 
but no less sensational Harlow starving 


Carol Lynley. Neither resulted im а land- 
slide at the box office, partly because 


(continued from page 147) 


they were poor films, and partly, per- 
haps, because the public had become 
surfeited by the voycuristic revelations 
served up by Shulman and Landau. 
Former friends of Harlow's had mean- 
while risen up to defend her гери 
and even Bern had a champion in the 
person of [andancer Sally Rand, who 
aimed on national television that she 
had had firsthand knowledge of the little 
man's more-than-adequate prowess as a 
lover. 

While she lived, 
carcer did not suffer 
her sex image. in fact. m 
Deen enhanced by it. Ce 
heightened considerably her next 
MGM film. Red Dust. in which she was 
aired with Clark Cable, whose star was 
emphatically in the ascendant. In it, she 
played an American girl stranded on an 
Indonesian plantation run by overseer 
Gable, who perversely seemed to prefer 
the ladylike Mary Astor 10 the more vol- 
аше Harlow. In the end, however, the 
platinum blonde won the day—soon 
after Gable had dunked her, hair and all, 
in an overflowing rain barrel, The love 
scenes between Gable and Harlow were 
ly explicit enough, but they were 
pon” by shady distrib- 
wors who spliced in dose-ups of nude 
doubles for the stars in burlesque-house 
versions intended for overseas consump- 
tion. One popular "blue" version of Red 
Dust included shots of actual fornication 
for the delectation of visitors to dives 


arion, 


however, Ha 
from the u 
even 


have 
aly it was 


by 


preCastro Нај Bur there wasn't 
much MGM could do about this pirati- 
cal dramaturgy except hope that the 
Breen Office would never hear about it 

Harlow married again a year alter 
Bern’s death, this time to Harold С. 
Resson, the cinematographer on thr 
of her films—in one of which, Blonde 
Bombshell, she played the somewhat. 
autobiographical role of a film star bese 
by leech-like relatives. i; 
a ye 
“He read. 


Tasted less than 
she averred. 
after, 


* Not long 
she transferred her alienated af- 
William Powell: but 
this liaison, too, was destined to be short- 
lived. She soon contracted a kidney in- 
fection—which developed into uremic 
poisoning—and died, at 26, on June 7. 
1937. Powell purchased the crypt in 
which she was interred at Forest Lawn 
Cemetery and for years took fresh flowers 
to the grave. 


Another blonde bombshell who kept 
the screen lively during much. the same 
period was the redoubtable Мае West, 
who arrived in Hollywood—totally un- 
awed by it all—in the summer of 1932, 
claiming te be “а big girl from 
town makin’ good in a little town 
big girl she indisputably was, as copious 
ly endowed in the bosom as in the hips: 
and long before she descended upon the 
movie capital. she had been making good 
in a bad way on Broadway. When shc 
first appeared there as а musical-comedy 
star 14 years carlier, a New York drama 
critic wrote that she “shook the meanest 
hip that ever concealed a flask.” Born in 


“They decided not to wait.” 


201 


PLAYBOY 


202 


Brooklyn in 1 ady mixture of 
German: Jewish-Irish-Ameri ncestry, 
she stopped bothering with form 
tion at the age of 13, went 
ville and for a brief period performed 
a strong woman in an acrobatic act at 
Coney Island. When her uninhibited 
singing, dancing and clowning took her 
to Broadway in a 1918 Shubert revue, 
She 


This Wicked Age, and then into another 
сусп more pithily entitled Sex. А re- 
viewer who covered the opening of this 
suggestive slice of lile in а Trinidad 
brothel termed Mae West “the star of the 
filihicst play to cause а stench on Broad- 
м But one man's stench is another 
man's perfume: Sex ran for 350 perform- 
mces before the police closed it down 
and baled Мае into court. 

Charged with writing aud. performing 
in a lewd and obscene play, she defend- 
ed her ellorts as “entirely educational"; 
but this touching plea failed to move the 
jury. and she was sentenced to ten days 
the Welfare Island jail. On her re- 
lease, she donated. 51000 for a new pris- 
oners' library, because, she the 
reading facilities in that 
corrective institution were 
Oficial disapproval of her dramaturgic 
efforts notwithstanding, she i ely 
his one on 
mosexuality, called The Drag, which 
tiled to drag its way to Broadway. Her 
next try, Diamond Lil, was smash, 
however; and it wasnt long before Hol 
lywood decided to bolster its waning 
box-office take with Western-style dialog 
la jesting attitude toward сех. Р 
mount put her under contract 
paired her Brst, in 
with toughguy George Raft ight 
After Night, а thoroughly routine gang. 
ster farce. Shown the script in advance, 
she ily insisted on rewriting pretog- 
atives—and proceeded to hand herself 
the best lines in the film. Although а 
ripe 40 years old at the time, she neve 
theless looked imperishably voluptuous, 
and Raft ruefully commented afterward, 
"She stole everything but the cameras. 


turned out another pla 
h 


and 
supporting role, 


Olfered next a free hand in the sele 
tion of her first starring vehicle, Miss 
West, not surprisingly, decided 10 film 


her New York hit, Diamond Lil. Despite 
г unsavory reputation and the 

heads of censorship in 
her the green 
light—bur took the precaution of chang. 
ing the title 10 She Done Him Wyon, 
and the titular role to Lady Lou. 
Lou remained, аз Mae described herself 
in the film, “the finest lady to ever walk 
the streets." As queen of the Rowery 
during the gashght era, Lady Lou са 
vored and consorted with the likes of 
Russian Rita, head of a whiteslavery 
ring, a Latin gigolo, cooked po 


and a dope-ciazed former lover. With 
the kind of romantic irreverence that 
Mae savored, however, Lou's affections 
are riveted upon a handsome young Sal- 
vation Army captain played by Cary 
Grant. “You can be had,” she says, coolly 
appraising his manly physique. "Come 
up and sce me sometime—anytime.” 
She Done Him Wrong did right by 
Paramount, which found itself the 
unaccustomed posi an 
overnight hit on its hands, Maes mots 
were being quoted from coast to coast, 
nd continued to be for a long ume 
thereafter, "Is that a gun in your pocket, 
or are you just glad to see me?” she 
sked of her pi А man in 
the house is worth two in the streets,” 
she declared. other. "Its not the 
men in my life that counts; it's the life 
in my men,” was among her more prized 
observations." Although her song bag 
of bawdy ballads was sent out lor clea 
ing after the Production Code 
its own, Variety justly noted, 
couldn't sing а lullaby without ma 
it sexy." Incvitably—indecd, immediately 
cuted the wrath of the newly 
formed Legion of Decency, As a matter 
of fact, one reason lor the early success 
of this Catholic repressive group was 
Miss West herself; her films provided 
with a clearcut and convenient target to 
snipe at. It was specifically to counteract 
her baneful effect on public morals that 
such an organization was necessary, said 
the Episcopal C niece on Motion Pic 
res, a forerunner of the Legion. 
It was too latc, however, for either the 
Legion or the Breen Office to do much 
about I'm No Angel, already completed 
by the time the Production Code was 
given its teeth in 1954. A scinüllating 
mixture of songs, banter and sexually 


—she 


suggestive comedy—pairing her again 
with Cary Grant—Angel proved an even 
richer bonanza than She Done Him 


Wrong. But no sooner had she started 
on her next film, М Ain't No Sin, tha 
the Breen Office closed in, Originally, 
the story was to have starred Мае as an 
al queen who travels the sa- 
. keeps a young privehghter 
around as a great and good friend, kills 
another of her lovers and is eventually 
acquitted at a trial. Very little of this 
reached the screen, however, and even 
the title was laundered into Belle of tlie 
Nineties. George Ri 


ft who was to have 
been her male lead, begged off after 
Codeinstigated revisions emasculated 
both the script and his part. What ever 
tually found its way onto the screen was 
the saga of a diamond-loving songstress 
and her demure amours with an assort- 
ment of prüchighters and. New Orleans 
gamblers. Mae was transformed into a 
pitiful caricamre of her former lusty 
self; and from then on it was downhill 
all the way, although she remained 
popular with audiences throughout the 


Thirties; in 1936 she was listed 2 
highest-paid female performer іп 
nation. 

Chaste though her subsequent filin ap- 
pearances were, she became the target of 
virulent abuse from William Randolph 
Hearst, who claimed to have been mor- 
tally offended by Klondike Annic—one 
of her most innocuous vehicles—and 
banned the very mention of her name in 
y of his newspapers, In a self-written 
(and self-indicting) editorial, he de- 
nounced Mae as a “monster of lubricity” 
and enjoined Congress, по less, to re- 
strain her from further destruction of 
the moral fiber of the republic. In 19. 
an exhibitor’s journal infamously and 
falsely declared her to be “boxoffice poi 
son"; and that same year a radio broad- 
cast on which she appeared in а comedy 
skit as Eve in the Garden of Eden drew 
jeremiads from the pulpit and the press. 
MAE WEST POLLUTES HOMES" read onc 
s headlinc. Careful readi 
the script reveals precious little, if any 
. to incite such righteous wrath: 
perhaps it was the show's lighthearted 
approach to a Biblical theme and the 
fact that it was broadcast on the Sab- 
bath that so outraged the bluenoses. 

None of this, however, stopped the 
dauntless Miss West—her screen career 
lasted until 1943—but it did slow her 
down. Actually, about all she ever re 
ed of herself on the screen, apart 
from her earthy humor, was a certain 
amount of cleavage: but she had the mis 
fortune to be unjustly pilloried for 
ing, as film historian Richard Schickel 
has expressed it, “a sensibly mocking at 
titude toward our attitudes, both ro 
mantic and repressive. about sex." 

Nor was her attitude in her pi 
life anything like the mocking. comeup 
and-seemesometime, anything-gocs pose 
she purveyed for the screen. Whatever 
she did te was considered private 
by Miss West—including her one mar 
viage, im 1911, 10 a jazz singer named 
Frank Wallace. They separated after 
few months, never to intertwine again, 
but Mac overlooked а legal technicality: 
She neglected 10 divorce him. Years lat 
er. in 1942, Mr. Wallace sued his now- 
rich wife for divorce and demanded а 
maintenance allowance of $1000 a wech 
The judge threw his case out of court 
but Mae decided to countersue and was 
granted an interlocutory decree. But "he 
did ger a few blue chips as a present 
from me” she admitted later. Through 
most of the intervening years, her faith- 
iul escort had been a New York atior 
ney, James А. Timony, who became her 
manager and presumably her romantic 
interes. Timonys name was the only 
one ever linked with hers, and their 
friendship remained dose and devoti 
unûl his death in 1954. Today, in 3 
somewhat more cnlightened and sexually 
liberated atmosphere. Mae по longer 


the 
the 


stands condemned for lewdness; she 
glows, rather, like a bright beacon in the 
darkness of a time when loudmouthed 
prudes had perverted healthy good hu- 
mor about scx into virtually a crime 
against morality. 

Marlene Dietrich, that durable siren, 
was another cup of tease entirely. Like 
Harlow, she burst upon the American 
screen in 1930, although she had been 
glimpsed Irom time to time—without no- 
ticcable fanfare—in a few German im- 
ports of the Twentics. Paramount. the 
studio that acquired her, rather matter- 
offactly reported in a press release: “She 
has fair hair with a reddish tinge, bluc- 
green eyes and a supple figure. She looks 
very unlike the popular conception of a 
Continental star." Yet it was precisely 
because she did, in her unique way, em- 
body the popular image of a Continen- 
tal star—enigmatic, cynical, wise in the 
ways of the world and love—that she was 
able to carve out her extraordinary ca- 
recr. In this enterprise she was ably abet- 
ted, not to say masterminded, by the 
great American director Josef von Stern- 
berg, who had seen her in a play called 
Zwei Krawatten in Berlin. Von St 
berg was in attendance because its cast 
induded two actors he had already lined 
up for his next picture, The Blue Angel. 
And then Dietrich came on. “Here was 
the face I had sought,” he later confided, 


"and. so far as T could tell, a figure thar 
did justice to iL" A few days later, that 
observation. confirmed, Von Sternberg. 


signed her to the pivotal role of Lola 
Lola, the cold-blooded cabaret ternptress 
who entices, entrances, exploits and ulti- 
mately emasculates the aging professor 
геа masterfully by her co-star, Emil 
Jannings. 

Dietrich—born Maria Magdalena Die- 
tich on December 7, 1901—likcd to 
purvey the legend that her star had 
appeared full blown in the filmic firma- 
ment in Von Sternberg's world- 
classic, released in Germany in 1930 and 
in this country in 1981. “I never made 
any films before The Blue Angel,” she 
once told an importunate interviewer, 
As abundant research has since proven, 
however, Marlenc had appcared in no 
less than nine films of German make— 
all of them eminently forgettable—prior 
lo The Blue Angel, in three of them as 
the мат. She began her career as а music 
student, then enrolled in Max Rein- 
hardrs acting school in Berlin. Frizzy- 
haired and slightly plumpish in the face, 
she was transformed by Von Sternberg 
into a svelte and devastating femme 
fatale, beginning with her role as the 
soulless Lola Lola. Siegfried Kracauer, 
the eminent historian of the German 
film, described Dictrich's chillingly erotic 
portrayal as “a new incarnation of ses 

. with her provocative legs and easy 
manner, [she] showed an impassivity 


Бүз Ger 


“Thanks anyway, Emma. ГЇЇ grab something downtown.” 


which incited onc to grope for the secret 
behind her callous egotism and cool inso- 
lence. That such a secret existed was also 
intimated by her veiled voice which .. . 
sang about her interest in lovemaking 
and nothing else. 
An overnight sensation 


Berlin with 
ich hurried 
New York, 
where “Svengali Joc" von Ste 
the press soon dubbed him 
her at dockside, Von Sternberg’s grand 
plan was to make of his new discovery a 
new and universal sex symbol; instead of 
а honky-tonk tart, he now visualized her 
as a glamorous woman of mystery, the lin- 
eal descendant of the Greta Garbo of 
the Twenties. Critic Alistair Cooke 
found in Dietrich the ideal screen embod- 
iment of this elusive, enigmatic sex ap- 
peal. “The femme fatale,” he wrote, 
"must lose her obvious characteristics of 
place and age, she must never seem 
quite real enough for any audience. It is 
because she has no roots of race or home 
that she can appear suddenly in strange 
places with the inevitability of a hurri- 
cane; it is because she is this sort of 
international essence of sin that she exoti- 
cally blinds the senses of the convention- 
al man. . . . It is because she has no 


th 


home, no passport, no humdrum loyal- 
ties that the memory can hold her in 
permanent. soft focus, which is the regu- 
lar way of presenting her screen image. 

At least it was Von Sternberg's way. He 
went so far as to use, on occasion, a 
spray gun on nearby props and back- 
grounds to prevent any reflected glare 
that might interfere with his soft focus 
on Marlene. He also arranged for her to 
їшї up eternally in exotic settings. In 
her first Am film, Morocco (re- 
leased here prior 10 The Blue Angel), 
she made her entrance on the foggy deck 
of a freighter approaching a North Afri- 
can port, then appeared as a chanteuse 
in a Moroccan night club clad in white 
tie and tails. а top hat perched rakishly 
n her golden head. When a woman at 
ringside offered her a flower, Marlene 
accepted it with a secret smile, tipped 
back the hat and kissed her admirer full 
on thc mouth, Not to play favorites, 
when she sang "Who will buy my ap- 
ples?"—flaunting a tray of the forbidden 
fruit, a long feather boa and her already 
famous lege—an immediate applicant 
was Foreign Legionnaire Gary Cooper. 
She passed him not only ап apple but 
the Key to her apartment. 

“L not only wished to touch lightly on 


203 


PLAYBOY 


204 ing him escape, prefe: 


“Please don't make love to me, 


Mr. Claypool! Fm accident prone! 


Von Sternbe 
‚ "but also to demonstrate d 
her essenti was not entirely due 
10 the ation of her legs. 
Having he not meant 
to stimulate a fashion which not long 
after the film was п encouraged 
women to ignore skirts in favor of the 
less picturesque lower half of 
." Nevertheless, one of the first to 
succumb was Marlene herself. For а pre- 
miere at Grauman's Chinese Theater, she 
ived in а man's full-dress tuxedo and. 
top hat, accompanied. by Gary Cooper 
in similar attire. Those who suspected 
her of reablife Lesbian tendencies were 

D Marlene 


show 


male at- 


and that she had a daughte 
Ihe marriage has endured to U 
though they are seklom seen together. 
There is no doubt, however, that both 
wear the pants in the v. 
The Dietrich- Von. Sternberg collabor: 
tion—seemingly a coser ome in some 
ways than her laissezjaire marriage— 
lasted six years and made Dietrich one of 
the highest-paid stars in the industry. 
But her films, under his direction, be- 
«ame increasingly like albums of lovingly 
photographed still pictures, and her 


roles became monotonously alike. In 
Dishonored, she played ап Aust 
prostitute who is recruited as a spy dur- 


ing World War One, falls in lov 
Russian a 


with a 
ent and is executed for help- 
ag to betray her 


country rather than her lover, In Shang- 
she played still another 
ious white Hower 
exhibited little 
of the sexuality that would justify such. 
appellation: this time she offers hei 
10 a brutal Chinese revolutionary in or- 
der to sive her former lover from tor 
ture. And in Blonde Venus—you guessed 
it—she was once again a prostitute, this 
time after becoming the mistress of a 


wealthy playboy in order to get money 
lor her husband, a research chemist 
dying of radium poisoning. The film is 


sull memorable for a bizarre production 
number in which chorus girls in blac 
face drag a giant ape onto a nightclub 
stage; the grotesque creature then per 
forms a мапі imian striptease, 
ultimately remoy ad to rev 
nother one inside: none other than that 
of Marlene herself. Speaking of beauty 
ngled with the 
biggest and hairiest of them ail in King 
ng first in something akin 

board a ship 
bound for an unknown island; and later, 
tattered revealingly, in the ape monster's 
luge fist. But while Kong might be con- 
sidered by those of Freudian bent as an 
ic rape symbol, 


to ves 


taken by some айіс» то have Lesbian 
ns—the Von Sternberg motif 
it was not Von Sternberg who 

Marlene’s svelte form 
in marble nudity—the work of sculptor 
Brian Aherne—in Song of Songs; it was 


director Rouben Mamoulian, who 
snagged her for the picture in 1933. 
After the Production Code crackdown 
in 1934, it became increasingly dificult 
to get any kind of sex into pictures— 
even in marble, But Von Sternberg co 
tinued to make a mighty effort. As the 
dissolute Catherine the Great in his The 
Scarlet Empress, Marlene was enveloped 
in a redolently sexual atmosphere com: 
pounded of huge, dripping, phallic can 
dles and large, virile, drooling courtiers 
He also managed to suggest hat Gather 
ine’s husband, the Grand Duke Peter, 
E п impotent fool, and that she 
paved her way to the throne on the pil 
lows of the palace guard. After The Devil 
Isa Woman, in which the decadent decor 
was far more satanic than Marlene was 
her rela p with Von Sternberg 
ended. The film had been a failure 
and the Spanish government, taking um 
Drage at what it chose to regard as in 
sulting references to Spain's military and 
police, demanded that the negative be 
destroyed. (It wasn't, but the film quietly 
disappeared until only а few years ago.) 
So fixed had the Dietrich image be 
come under Von Sternberg's aegis that 
she seemed to have nothing new to offer 
the last years of the decade: but in 
939 Marlene’s tottering career was 
rescued by Destry Rides Again, a riot 
ous Western farce in which she turned 
1 а tourdeforce performance аз а vul 
. strident Bgirl of the golden West 
In one scene, rolling about the saloon 
floor with Una Merkel in а noholds 
arred brannigan, she provided tantaliz 
glimpses of her classic legs—until 
doused with a pail of cold water by hero 
James Stewart. The gusty warmth and 
humor of this new Dietrich touched off а 
spectacula and 
into the 
new wave of popularity. 


ga 


sailed 


Hollywood continued to import for 
cign-born actresses throughout the Thir 
ties—girls di deleine Carroll. and 
Greer Garson, who could supplement 
the patrician but fading beauty of Nor 
ma Shearer. Then, in 1937, still another 
specimen of foreign allure arrived in 
Hollywood: the almost too beautiful 
Hedy Lamarr. In. 1033, as Hedi Keisle: 
she had exhibited her all, at а ripe 18, in 
а Czechoslovakian film called Ecstasy, in 
which she took a celebrated skinny-dip— 
nd performed in the most candid love 
scene ever filmed for public showing up 
to that time. In graphic dose-ups of her 
ecstatically agonized face, the film showed 
the actual moment of sexual cli 
she mated with a young man she'd met 
that same day in the woods. 

She had made four films in Germany 
and Ausuía prior to Festasy—not that 
she needed the work for other than rea 


пах as 


sons of vanity. Her father was Emil Keis- 
ler. director of the Bank of Vienna, and 
it was in Vienna Hedi w б on 


5 bo; 


November 9, 1915. Physically and emo- 
tionally 


precocious, she grew into 
nd а heartbreaker—early in 
said to have Бес n for love of 
her that young icy Franz von Hoch- 
ıeuin committed suicide in Berlin in 
1933. Wasting no time in mourning, she 
Austrian muniti 
tz Mandl. a prudish 
gentleman who forthwith set out to 
undo his wife's premarital indiscretions 
on маеп by buying up every existing 
print of. Ecstasy fortun tely for poste 

he failed to get hold of them all, 
er, thanks to the duplicity of film- 
lab technicians who macde—and qu'eily 
secreted—a duplicate of the film's nega- 
vive. Attempting to а 
bride at his homestead nea 
Mandl threw lavish receptions auended 
by distinguished men of leners. int 
national royalty and such burgeoning 
celebri s Adolf Hitler and Benito 
Mussolini. But her husband's tvrannical 
ways taxed Hedi's patience, and one day 
in providentially, as it turned out, 
for her blood lines did not meet with 
the Nazis’ Aryan specifications—she ran 
off to Paris, sold her jewelry amd took 
the boat train 10 London, where Ecstasy 
was playing to capaciry houses 

One of its patrons, us it happened, wax 


con ma 
magnate na 


Louis B. Mayer, passing through town 
on one ol his European shopping sprees 
for movie talent. Along with the auw 
dience, Mayer liked what he saw of the 
Viennese nature girl—which was a good 
deal—but he made no move at the time 
to put her under contract, Undaunted, 
Hedi deliberately boarded the same boat 
he took homeward: while no one 
knows, or will say, what transpired bı 
tween them on the voyage, by the time 
the ship docked in New York, Hedi had 
an MGM contract in her pocketboo! 
with a new name on it: Hedy Lamar, 
the impresario’s own inspiration, in hon- 
or of the Ime Barbara Lamar, whom 
Mayer esteemed as the mos radiant 
beauty ever to have graced celluloid 
American audiences, hoping for an en- 
core exhibition of Miss Lamarrs fabled 
anatomy, were doomed to disappoin 
ment, In Algiers, her first Am 
т. she was scen—fully clothed. 
as Gaby. an exquisite kept woman 
who, slumming in the casbah with he 
fat, wealthy keeper, meets the notoriou 
i Pépé le Moko, played by 
Charles Boyer. The romantic Pépé is 
safe from the French police only so lor 
as he does not venture from the teeming 
ive quarter: but so great а passion 
does he nurture for Hedy that he rushes 
from his casbah sanctuary when he 
learns she's about to sail away 


and 


shot dead at dockside after опе last 
glimpse of his lost love aboard ship. 
Though undeniably beautiful, Hedy ac 
ed cold and remore in the part—and 
remained so in MGM's Lady of the Trop- 
ics, in which, as a hall-caste Indonesian 
married to Robert Taylor, she takes her 
own life when he suspects her (falsely) of 
infidelity. Her performance, unlortu 
ely, was no more memorable than the 
picture, Despite her flawless face and 
figure, she seemed to lack—and never did 
acquire—that special spark of sexuality 
that kindles high-volt dom on the 
screen. She did acquire several addi- 
tional husbands, however. Number two 
(1939-1940) was Gene key, a writer 
nd producer; number three (1943-1947) 
was actor John Loder, who. according to 
her testimony in divorce court, “always 
fell asleep on thought to conjure 
with; number four (1951-1952) was band- 
leader-restaurateur Ted Stauffer: number 
five (1953-1959) was W. Howard Lee, 
a Texas millionaire: and number six 
(1963-1905) was Lewis W. Boles. Jr. her 
auorney during her divorce [rom num 


ne"— 


ber five. Perhaps seven will be her lucky 
number. 


т was M ex. 
as Hedy. but unfortu- 


n demeanor, She 


How do you recognize class in a casual shoe? 


_ By the patch on the heel 
that says Jack Purcell. 
` What kind of 
casual shoes 

do you wear? 


À BEGoodrich / 


*You can't see the exclusive Posture Foundation wedge built right into JACK PURCELL—but you'll feel the difference! 


205 


PLAYBOY 


206 


ran afoul of casting demands on her as 
queens, princesses and the like; but she 
came briefly to life as the star of Hitch- 
cock's The 39 Steps, in which she shared 
Robert Donat's bed in a county inn; 
she had no choice: They were hand- 
cuffed together. Both managed to keep 
эш 1 upper lips throughout the 
ordeal. 
Another Bii 
who rose to 


ish beauty of the Thirties 
ardom in America was 
Merle Oberon, who was brought to 
Hollywood, after appearing as Anne Bo- 
leyn in The Private Life of Henry VIN, 
for a series of films in which she was 
seen mainly as ıntly dressed, 
ucly Oriental figurine with about as 
much sex appeal as а bowl of rice. Best 
remembered for her politely passionate 
portrayal of Cathy in Wuthering Heights 
—which represented high art for the 
American seen at the time (1939)— 
she played opposite a stormy young fire- 
brand of a Heathclifle named Laurence 
Olivier, who in the following decades 
was to attain far greater heights than 
Wuthering. 


The most durable female of the for- 
cign contingent, however, was the 
haunting, sphinx-like Greta Garbo. Her 
career in sound films spanned the dec- 
ade, beginning early in 1930 with an 
adaptation of O'Neill's Anna Christie, 
rising to a splendid crescendo in Ernst 
Lubitsch’s effervescent Ninotchka (1939) 


then Bzzing tc an inglorious conclu. 
sion in 1941 with an absurd comedy 
of manners, Two-Faced Woman. Un- 
úl the release of Anna Christic, her 
legion of admirers waited with bated 
breath; Would Garbo, like so many 
Europcan-born favorites of the Twenties, 
be forced from the sere by her accent? 
Could she speak English? Would the 
voice complement her already legendary 
"face of the century? Metro trumpeted 
the answer in heralding the release of 
her first sound film. bo Talks!” was 
the catch phrase they used to sell Anna 
Christie—and nothing more was needed. 
Deep-throated, sensual, intriguingly ac- 
cented, the voice held all the mystery 
id allure of the face itself. Garbo not 
only survived her ordeal by microphone; 
the microphone actually enhanced her 
im: As O'Neill's man-harried prosti- 
tute, she projected depths of cynicism, 
tinged with a tremulous note of hope, 
that were deeply moving. 

Between “Garbo 
Christie and 
notchka, the seductive Swede appeared 
in a dozen films, generally playing a 
2 both worldly-wise and world- 
By 1937 Alistair Cooke dubbed 
her, with a bit more poetry than accura- 
су, "every man's fantasy mistress.” Ac- 
tually, by that time most male tastes 
were yearning alter the eartluer, saluer 
fan fleshed out by Jean Harlow 
and Carole Lombard, judging by box- 


in Anna 


“Have you noticed, Felicia, the extremely low caliber 
of people one meets at these wife-swapping parties lately?” 


office returns. Female „ however, still 
identified with Ibo, who remained for 
them the embodiment of tragic romance. 
In Grand Hotel, she played a 
prima ballerina who is briefly reju 
venuted by her hopeless love for а 
dapper German baron afflicted with the 
deplorable habit of stealing gems to pay 
off his gambling debts. Catching him 
red-handed in her hotel room, she de 
cides her jewels are a negligible price to 
pay for the pleasure of his company in 
her boudoir. In Queen Christina, she 
momentarily rescued the fading carcer 
of John Gilbert, by insisting that he play 
her lover in a tale (based vaguely on his. 
torical incident) of a Swedish queen who 
has an amorous interlude with a noble 
emissary 10 her court. Incognito in male 
hunting attire, she encounters 
а forest; mistaking her for a youn 
he seeks shelter with her, when a storm 
develops, in a crowded country inn, 
where they are forced to share the same 
room. Soon enough alter retiring it be- 
comes abundantly apparent to him that 
a tender woman's heart beats beneath his 
bedmate's manly garb, and three days 
of lovemaking ensue—discreetly implied 
rather than depicted, thanks to the Pro- 
duction Code, At the end of the idyl, 
knowing that she must return to the pal 
ace and resume the solitary burdens ol 
the crown, she runs her hands tenderly 
over the walls of the bedroom, over the 
furnishings, over the posts of their bed 
of passion—as if memorizing these de- 
tails to last for a lonely lifetime. 

Her fate in Anna Karenina, after ап 
illicit affair with Count Vronsky, was 
even more unhappy: death. In Camille. 
her best-remembered role, she was des 
tined to fade away slowly and exquisite 
of consumption—but not before play- 
ing a series of love scenes with young 
Robert Taylor, all of them more poctic 
than passionate. So bejeweled and volu 
minous were the costumes provided lor 
her by MGM that they could scarcely 
have been disarrayed, much less re 
moved. No less sedate was her next pic 
ture, Conquest. which embroiled her ш 
still another ill-starred liaison, this time 
as a Polish countess, with no less an au 
gust personage than Napoleon himsell 
Despite everything—including an impe- 
rial budget—this romantic extravaganza 
flopped at the box office, whereupon 
director Ernst Lubitsch was given the 
green light to try his luck with Garbo in 
the comedy Ninotchka, a gay, frothy s 
ire on Soviet puritanism. As a commissar 
sent to Paris to seck the return of some 
Russian jewels, Garbo meets a suave, 
lighthearted boulevardier (Melvyn Doug 
las) and promptly falls for both him and 
the frivolous Parisian delights to which 
he introduces her. Arranging scenes in 
which she laughed, danced, got magnifi 


cently drunk and playfully flirtatious, 
Lubitsch succeeded in defrosting ihe 
Garbo image 

Even though Ninotchka was a success, 
rbo's carcer had but one more film to 
By the time she made Two-Faced 
Taman. the European market could по 
longer compensate for the declining in- 
terest in her films in America. In any 
case, the movie was not a good one; but 
it might have been better if the Legion 
of Decency had not objected to one of 
the two roles she played in it. In one, 
she played a naive ski instructress mar 
ried to the sophisticated Melvyn Doug- 
las, and unable to compete with the wily 
ways of city women. In the other role, 
she adopted the guise of an imaginary 
twin sister, supposedly ап insatiable 
seducer of all males who crossed her 
path. As her seductive sibling, she man- 
ages to win back her husband. But Саг- 
dinal Spellman raised the cathedral roof, 
and in order to avoid Catholic condem- 
nation of the film, MGM inserted a new 
scene in which Douglas discovers С, 
Ьо? impersonation before hopping into 
bed with her presumed sister—thus mod- 
ifying adulterous intent to ordinary mar- 
ital cohabitation. Perhaps in consequence, 
the film died at the box office, even 
though Garbo made a delightful parody 
of her vampish twin-sister role, On this 
dual note of artistic success and commer 
cial failure, she unceremoniously bowed 
out of films ly because MC 
no longer willing to pay her customary 
fee of $250,000 a picture, 

The public, however, continued to be 
fascinated by Garbo, and it gobbled up 
whatever bits of gossip were available 
about her intensely private private 
not easily penetrable because of her re- 
clusive cloak of silence and mystery. In 
the late Thirties, however, her real-life 
Intermezzo with conductor Leopold Sto- 
kowski was avidly followed by the press 
of the emtire world. Meeting her at a 
dinner party, he convinced Garbo that a 
mystical affinity existed between. them, 
nd after that they were frequently seen 
together. In December of 1937, she sailed 
alone for Sweden, but motored to Italy 
Tor а rendezvous with Stokowski at a se- 
cluded villa in Ravello. Their joint pres 
ence was discovered by the press which, 
augmented by platoons of reporters and 
photographers from other countries, 
staged a three-weck siege of their hide- 
out. Day by day, the world breathlessly 
followed reports from Ravello: Garbo 
and Stoky appeared on their terrace! 
They took a walk together! They stayed 
indoors all day! In return for a promise 
to lift the siege, Garbo granted an inte 
view in which she revealed that Louella 
Parsons had erred in a recent "exclu- 
sive" announcing that she and Stoky 
were secretly married. The couple there- 
upon retreated to her estate in Swede 
where they spent another three months 


G 


I was 


“One of the first things youve got 
to learn here is to chew your food well.” 


together; but they returned. separately ta 
the United Stites. What made the whole 
айа inary was the fact that 
the although thoroughly in- 


public 
formed about every detail of the liaison, 


ined completely unscandalized by 
bo's unconventional behavior. It was 
if one could expect nothing less of 
such an elusive and enigmatic goddess. A 
legend in her own time, she was also a 
» unto hersell. 

Shortly before Garbo and Stokowski 
ted making beautiful music togeth 
the public had been темей to а peck 
beneath the sheets of a considerably 
г sex scandal involving the beauti- 
Y ollowing her film de- 
n the early Twenties, Miss Astor had 
made a smooth transition to talking pic 
es, where her cultivated voice, perfect 
figure and Madonni-like profile brought 
her dozens of starring roles throughout 
the Т - Off screen, mea 
had married a society doctor, Fr 
Thorpe, given birth to a 
was faithfully making entries in what 
proved to be a fateful diary. Leaving her 
and in 1935, she failed to contest a 
отсе action brought by Dr. Thorpe, 
and lost the legal custody of their child. 
‘The diary she kept was said to have had 
something to do with this unusu; 
voritism to the husband. When Miss 
Astor changed her mind and decided to 
fight for the custody of her daughter a 
few months later, the diary suddenly 


made nationwide headlines. In her own 
words, it contained “not only the details 
ol my own life, but it also revealed much 
that I knew about other people.” 
Sensing an imminent scandal, several 
leading studios called an emergency 
meeting, attended by Irving Thalberg, 
Harry Cohn and Jack L. W 
others; out of it came the not unpredict- 
able suggestion to Mary that she drop 
the suit, She refused. Meanwhile, a lurid 
handwritten journal alleged to be her 
diary (Mis Astor later termed it a 
"fake" in her published memoirs) began 
to circulate among an inner circle of 
producers. Newspapermen learned. that 
the volume was а black-covered ledger 
filled with scribblings in an ink called 
Алес brown, which dries до a purple 
shade—inspiring reporters to crow about 
the diarys "purple pros 
The Los Angeles Examiner and the 
New York Daily News, among others. 
published what were  euphemistically 
called “charm ratings," which they 
med were based on disclosures in the 
diary ranking the physical pr 
several noted Hollywood love 
ingly enough, the vaunted John Barry 
more rated only seventh in this derby: 
even more surprisingly, it was middle 
aged, acid-witted George S. Kaufman 
the scowling, prunefaced, bespectacled 
playwright, who turned out to be ni- 
mero unc. Purported quotations from the 
y recently published. aneth An. 
gers Hollywood Babylon suggest that 


207 


PLAYBOY 


208 


the intimacies between Miss Astor and 
Mr. Kaufman were truly extraordinary 
variety and endurance. Kaufman, it 
leged, was capable of protean and pro- 
digious efforts in the bedroom; he could. 
devote morning, afternoon, evening and 
night to these sessions and come out re- 
freshed—as would his partner—rather 
than debilitated. Eventually, the judge 
who tried the case impounded the diary 
and consigned it to the flames, and the 
daughter's custody was divided equally 
ене the wo contestants. (Dr. 
Thorpe, it developed in the hearings, 
had his own little peccadilloes, like 
sleeping three in a bed.) Significantly, 
Mary Astor's stock at the box office sky 
rocketed as a direct result of the court 
ions, though sl 
claimed in her memoirs that 
її any box score, and I never 
the damned thing Dear Diary'!" 

Unfortunately, the permissive att 
of the public in the Thirties 
scandalous off-screen behavior was 
matched by any easi 
governing what could be put on cellu- 
loid. Because of the repressions of the 
Production Code and the Legion of De- 
cency, the poruayal of sexual 
took an increasingly neurotic cast—in 
the person of a cold-blooded, self-seeking 


tow 


new breed of vamp: the bitch-heroine 
—а type prototypically exemplified by 
ileteyed young actress named Bar- 
Stanwyck, Brooklyn-born in 1907 
as Ruby Stevens, Stanwyck came up the 
rd way—and alone. Orphaned when 
s four, she grew to sullen, sultry 
a succession of foster homes. 
A professional dancer by the time she 
turned 13, she worked her way from 
the chorus line in third-rate musicals 
to a starring role—at 21—in a Broad 
way show called Burlesque. Then, in 
1929, along with hundreds of other 
star-struck sereen hopefuls, she went to 
Hollywood in search of fame and for- 
tune. Surprisingly enough, unlike all but 
a handful of the others, she found both; 
a tough, good-looking kid [rom Brook- 
lyn, she happened to arrive just in time 
to ride in with the new wave of hard- 
boiled heroines. Frank Capra was among 
the first to spot her movie possibilities, 
in Ladies of Leisure; from then on, 
Stanwyck herself took over: In less than 
three years, she had made 12 pictures, 
the tides of which show the tawdry 
trend of the time: Ten Cents a Dance, 
Illicit, Forbidden, Shopworn, Lost Lady, 
Working Girl, etc. The bitchy, brassy im- 
age she projected in all of them—and 
ever since—has proved to be а remark- 
ably durable one, almost as durable as 


of her most formidable rival in 
ng bitch-heroine 


that 
those days: a burgeon 
named Joan Crawlord. 

Miss Crawford (born Lucille LeSueur 
1908), who had started out in thc 
Twenties a ret, had begun 
to metamorphose into a  headsuong- 
young-carecer-girl type by 1930, and bc. 
fore the decade was well under way, into 
a liberated-American-woman-out-tc- 
л-ге. As а sexy German secretary 
in Grand Hotel, as mistress to politician 
Clark Gable in Possessed, as Sadie 
"Thompson in Rain, as a cosmopolitan 
fashion model in Mannequm—in all of 
these carly roles—she lived, loved, lost, 
lamented and somehow ays managed 
to get what she wanted in the end, even 
if it was only her independence. When 
the Code and the Legion began to с: 
ecrate Ч expunge "i 
cesses” on screen in the mid-Thirtics, 
Miss Crawlord's forthright sexual image 
was promptly and cannily toned down by 
MGM to the new level of social accepr- 
abi 
partment. 
studio, created for her a lored, broad- 
shouldered look that was destined io 
influence feminine fashions in America 
for the rest of the decade. 

By the late ТЇ however, she had 
become just one of several sophisticated 
female stus dominating the screen 
(among them: Norma Shearer, Myrna 
Loy and Katharine Hepburn), and her 
box-office potency began to decline—to 
such an extent that by 1938 she was de- 
clared "poison" by an exhibitor’s jour 
nal. By the following year, she had to 
plead for the part of the bitchy Crystal 
in Glare Booths The Women, in which 
she stole Norma Shear husband away 
from her—only to lose him herself when 
Miss Shearer learned how to swing in 
the feminine jungle and wooed him 
back again. By the end of the decade. 
despite her ebbing popularity, Crawford 
was acknowledged to be one of Holly- 
wood's most capable actresses; and 
though she sull had her figure id her 
shapely legs—it was her angular facc, 
with its wide, tragic mouth and its huge 
astonished eyes, that was her fortune. 

She had, by then, married twice. The 
first marriage, to Douglas Fairbanks. Jr 
(who was all of 19 at the time), lasted 
Tour years, and was marked by a series of 
miscarriages. Franchot Tone, a young 
socialite from the Broadway stage and 
heir до a Carborundum Incorporated 
fortune, was her next. She declared 
anchot to be “her great love,” but this 
marriage, too, foundered, because, as 
Joan herself put it, “Husbands with sen- 
sitive hearts don't like second billing." 
Meanwhile, Hollywood was rife with ru- 
mois about her early career, When she 
published her autobiography recently 
she grabbed the bull by the horns and 
recapitulated а good many of them. “It 


igner 


was a day of unbuttoned journalism 
she wrote in Portrait of Joan, "and the 
stories about me got increasingly out of 
hand. There were st said Га 
had my eyes slit to make them bigger 

. . that Га ruined my health by drastic 
dieting . . . that I'd danced at smokers 
. . . that Га made a stag reel of film - 
that I floated easily from one romance to 
another.” The outraged Miss Crawford 
then declared, “It couldn't have been 
less true!" What purports to be a print 
of that rumored stag film, nonetheless, 
reposes in the archives of Indiana's Kin- 


The neurotic screen heroine was 
brought to a near pinnacle of acting art 
in the many roles portrayed by Bete 
Davis, who reached stardom in 
alter some 20 films that failed to show 
her to best advantage. Her portrayal of 
Mildred in Of Human Bondage changed 
all that. As а grasping, rasping cockney 
waitress who teases and torments a 
young crippled medical student, she 
forged am ugly but unforgettable amal- 
gum of the heroine and the wicked 
woman. Few can forget the scene in 
which Mildred contemptuously reviles 
her benefactor and boyfriend (Leslie 
Howard) before deserting him for his 
best friend. “You disgust me!” she spits 
at him, in à devastating comment on 
his prowess in bed. “I didn't think you 
really cared for that sort of thing.” i 
his revealing reply 

Bene Davis was 27 at this time. a 
produc of New England boarding 
schools and a New York acting academy. 
During а stage appearance in an alltoo 
forgettable play called Broken Dishes, 
she so impressed Universal scouts with 
her classic command of the English 
language that she was offered h 
film contract. When Universal boss 
Laemmle siw he 


n test, howe 
he summarily dismissed her potent 
cinematic charms with the shortsighted 
observation that “She has as much sex 
appeal as Slim Summerville,” апа War 
ner Bros. was soon allowed to obtain 
her services. Relegated at first to [re 
quent featured parts in В pictures for 
Warner's and still hampered by the 
prevalent Hollywood lack of faith in her 
future as a screen siren, Beuc concen- 
ed on creating unusual and recog- 
ble acing — mannerisms—angular 
movements, nervous twitches of the 
fingers and chain smoking—that made 
her seem the prototype of the neurotic 
modem woman. And once she'd man 
aged to cast off the bonds of box-office 
anonymity with her performance i 
Human Bondage, she remained. at 
head of the class among contempoi 
screen bitches for the rest of the decade 
reign that saw her ample 
Thespian tal ap two Academy 
Awards, For her role im Daugerous, a 


second-rate film made memorable by her 
firstrate portrayal of a brilliant but alco- 
holic stage actress, Bette won the first of 
her Oscars, which many felt she had 
d the year before as Mildred. In 
Marked Woman, she was the tough host- 
ез of a Bgirl dip joint who has her face 
slashed by gangsters, She earned her sec- 
ond Oscar in 1038 for Jezebel, an ante 
bellum epic in which she was cast as а 
seductive and selfish Southern belle. At 
her bitchy best as the headstrong Jul 
Marsden, Bette disrupts a highly proper 
New Orleans ball by showing up be 
decked in the kind of red dress worn 
only by "a woman of Gallatin Suet — 
in other words, a prostitute. Near the 
end of the film, however, our shameless 
hussy redeems herself through selfless 
service in a hospital during a yellow- 
fever epidemic. 

In addition to becoming one of 
fimdom’s foremost “man-eaters.”” Miss 
Davis alo managed to run up а pretty 
good от ital score for hersell, 
ds, Her first 
as to bandleader 
but matrimonial har- 
mony finally soured after six ycars be 

2 of i ibilitv’—hers 
was 100 big. She took her second walk 
up the aisle with West Coast resort direc 
tor Arthur Farnsworth, who suffered a 
sudden fatal heart attack on a Holly 
wood street in 1943. For her third hus- 
band Beute chose a pugilist turned painte 
William Grant Sherry, who matched 
her in artistic temperament, if not in 
talen. The exslugger's sensitivity gor 
the better of him, however, when he 
started hearing rumors of an off-camera 
alliance between his wife and acor 
Barry Sullivan, with whom she was co- 
ting in a film called Story of a L 
voice. Sherry reportedly showed up on 
the set one day and floored the rugged 
film sur with an expert one-two. Alter 
their divorce, Sherry married the govern 
ess Bette had hired 10 look alter their 
child, Barbi 
wile for alimon, 
already taken her fourth marital fling, 
th actor Gary Memill, who later ap- 
peared with her in All About Eve, Merrill 
маз seven years her junior and, although 
r union remained relatively peaceful 
a time, he, too, eventually elected 
to admire the hardheaded film heroine 
a brief period of volun- 
y exile from films, Miss Davis recently 
returned to the screen to garner Grand 
Guignol laurels for her leading roles 
in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? 
nd The Nanny and—though no longer 
gible for femme fatale status—once 
more proved herself an acknowledged all- 
time grand dame of Hollywood actresses 

After her 1938 triumph in Jezebel, 
Bette had regarded herself as a prime 
candidate for the role of Scarlett O'Hara 
in Gone with the Wind, but her sup- 


Harmon Nel 


nd cattishly sued his ex- 
Bette, meanwhile, 


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PLAYBOY 


210 born (in 1901) specimen of Irish 


posed lack of sex app 


ag 
plun 


once again ruled 
st her. Other hopefuls for this 
part were Norma Shearer, Carole 
Lombard, Joan Bennett, and a young 
new discovery named Judy Turner, 
who had just changed her first name 
- Instead, Selznick launched. an 
search for a "new face" and 
warded the coveted role to а relatively 
unknown young English actress who 
was in Hollywood at the time—osten: 
bly to visit her boyfriend, Laurence Oli- 
vier. Her name was Vivien Leigh. It was 
d that a prominent Hollywood actress 
requested a print of the test for private 
showing at her home—and burned it. 

А cool beauty whose 
mirror the discontent of 
at war with her own 
was bitchily convin 


паз, Miss Leigh 
ing in the film as she 
lied, cheated, betrayed her sister and 
provoked Cla ble. as Rhett Butle 
into near rape on their marriage bed. 
That she fully appreciated this forth. 
right treatment pparent from. the 
memorable Cheshire smile on her [ace аз 


she voluptuously stretched beneath the 
covers the follow But even 

1 her 
callous self-i and finally left 


her to her own vixenish devices. When 
Scarlet wondered aloud at the end what 
she would do if left alone, Rhett re 
sponded with the classic line. “Frankly, 
my dear. I don't give a damn." Au- 
diences were shocked less by his cavalie 
indifference than by the use of the word 
"damn" on the sound track, in flagrant 


violation of Code prohibitions. Selznick 
had wrested this unprecedented exemp- 
tion by reminding the Hays Office that 


millions of readers of Margaret. Mirchell's 
best seller already knew perfectly well 
what Rhett had said in parting. 


There had been no competition at all 
when it came to the casting of Rhett 
Butler. Not only was Gable eminently 
suitable in physical appearance and ro- 
bust appeal, but the author of the novel, 
Margaret Mitchell, admitted that shed 
had hi mind when she created. the 
character. So keenly did Selznick want 
him for the part that he had w agree to 
allow MGM, the studio that had Gable 
under contract, the rights to release the 
film in return for G: es. Thus 
Gable brought vast riches 10 MGM, as 
well as to Selznick, for the film brou 
n revenues of more than $50,000,000, 

Gable already known as “The 
King" of the movies, an appellation be- 
stowed upon him when columnist Ed 
Sullivan invited his readers to vote for 
the “king” and “queen” of Hollywood. 
The overwhelming response favored Ga. 
ble, while Myrna Loy eked through as 
исеп" Ваа primarily to the popu 
larity of the Thin Man series in which 
she was then playing. A healthy Ohio- 
nd 


Pennsylvania Dutch stock, Gable had de- 
veloped his notable physique whil 
working as a driller in the Oklahoma ой 
fields. Having also developed a yen for 
acting along the way, he joined a savel- 
ing theatrical troupe and, when the 
small touring group went broke in Мо 


о 
DE dÀ reporter оп 
a local newspaper. He spent his off-hours 
ng w little theater, ги 
by ехастез Josephine Dillon, who 
helped the well-built Billy Gable to tone 
up his acting muscles. When she left 
Portland to open an acting school 
Angeles, Gable went with her. They were 
married in 1024; the groom was 23 at 
the time, the bride 40. 

ı the next few years, Gable landed 
an occasional job as a film extra, then 
returned to the theatrical wail with a 
other stock company. Reaching New 
York in 1928, he was scen in Broadway 
bit parts lor the following two years bi 
fore being signed up for the role of the 
condemned man in а Los Angeles stage 
production of The Last Mile. It was dui 
ng this run that Lionel Barrymore. then 
MGM, 
nged for him to be 
On the strength 
of the test—about the merits of which 
MGM studio Heads failed to share Barry- 
more’s enthusiasm-—Gable won the part 
of a leering Western villam ш The 
Painted Desert. 

Subsequently earmarked for а series of 
similar tough-zuy ble was next 
seen as a brutish chauffeur who slapped 
around a typically bitchy Barbara Stan- 
муф in a sexy film called Night Nurse 
"Thanks to his cocky grin and his man 
fest filmic disrespect lor the 
sex—an endearing male quality with 
filmgoers of the carly Thirties—he was 
soon called upon to manhandle other 
srecen wenches in like manner. He 
showed up as a gang leader in Dance, 
Fools, Dance (opposite Joan Crawford): 
and he stole the show from Lionel Bar- 
more and costar Norma Shearer in 4 
Free Soul, delighting male and female 
fans alike by ruthlesly slamming the 
svelte, ladylike Mis Shearer h 
into a chair. So rapid was G 
popularity that he was soon pa 
the great Garbo in Susan Lennox 
Fall and Rise, and again with Самога 
п Possessed. Tinseltown gossip began to 
link the names of Gable and Crawford 
(who was at the time married to Holl 
wood royalty in the person of Douglas 
Fairbanks, Jr.) and, for a while, it was 
even rumored filmdom’s foremost 
he-man had broken up Jo: 
Miss Crawford denied this stoutly, €: 
uning, "Clark did not break up my 

ith Douglas. That marriage 
And at oh 


functioning as a film director a 
saw 


Gable 


so. 


Dillon. He had divorced her in 1930, 
and a year later married Rhea Lucis 
Langham, an auractive and well-to-do 
New York widow who, like Gable's first 
wife, was many years his senior 

In 1932, Carole Lombard became his 
leading lady in No Man of Her Own, а 
filmic friendship that ripened off camera 
imo marriage, after she divorce: 
from her first husband, Wil 
and Clark was released from his marital 
bondage to Rhea. Except for an un 
proven paternity suit and two marriages 
following the untimely death of C. 
Lombard—his fourth, to London jet 
setter Sylvia Ashley (1949); and his filth 
and final liaison with Kay Williams 
(1955), which produced The King’s only 
direct descendant—Gables private ile 
was relatively unblemished by scandal, 
sexual or otherwise; and just as well, for 
his stalwart screen image was worth a 
rge fortune to MGM. 
By the time he made sweltering. rcalis- 
tic love to Jean Harlow in Red Dust. he 
was the studio's houest male property. 
And he went on to win an Oscar for his 
1934 role as а wise-guy reporter oppo 
Claudette Colbert in H Happened Опе 
Night, a film in which he brought down 
the house when he hung a blanket be 
tween their twin beds while sharin 
motel room with Miss Colbert. playing а 


was 


ole 


runaway heiress. Incidentally, it was in 
this picture that he threw the entire 
American underwear industry into a 


ilspin when, undressing for the 
he revealed that he wore по undershirt 
next to his manly chest. Underwear 
manulacturers feared that his revela 
tion might have a disastrous effect on 
sales of the garment, therctofore regarded 
аз a sartorial sine qua non. W did. Paren- 
thetically, jt might also be mentioned 
that Gable's chest was shaved for the oc- 
casion, for it was the practice in movies 
this time to pretend that hirsute male 
chests did not exist. 


Wh aret Mitchell used Gable 
as hi writing Gone with the 
Wind, she described him 


publicity deparements c 
equaled. “There was a cool recklessness 
in his face, and a cynical humor in his 
mouth," she wrote, going on to limn а 
handsome chap who, while able to con 
quer women through his assertive mascu: 
linity, was nevertheless tenderhearicd 
beneath that tough exterior. Gable thus 
symbolized for vast numbers of women 
the kind of man they secretly longed for 
—one who was obviously potent enough 
10 break through all the taboos that held 
them in sway, So potent was his perform 
ance in the picture that he caused reper- 
ions at the directorial end. Georg 
known as "a woman's director, 
had first been signed for the movie, pri- 
marily because of the dominance of the 
O'Hara role, But The King 
could hardly be asked to appear in sup 


port of a virtually unknown leading 
lady; thus Victor Fleming, who had di- 
rected several of Gable’s previous films, 
was brought in to take over the pic 
ture—mainly to ensure 
for Gable. When Fleming became ex- 
hausted by his task, Sam Wood finished it 
up, although most. of the shoot 
already been done by Fleming. Gable 
won a 1939 Oscar nomination for his 
portrayal, but unaccountably lost out to 
the effete performance of. Robert Donat 
in Goodbye, Mr. Chips. As a consolation 
prize soon after, he won Carole Lom- 
bard as his third wife, upon which they 
immediately became Hollywood's most 


famous married couple. 


Thirty-one at the time of her mar- 
riage, Miss Lombard was one of Holly- 
wood's most popular stars in her own 
right, vastly adored by male audiences 
for her clear-cyed. beauty, her fetchingly 
proportioned figure and her “madcap” 
characterizations in some of the best 
comedies of the decade. Born in Fort 
Wayne, Indiana, she reached Hollywood 
at the age of eight and worked as a child 
in silent films. Four years later, she was 
sulficiently well developed to appear as 
a cowgirl in Westerns and as a bathing 
beauty in Mack Sennett’s two-reel farces. 
During lean periods between pictures, 
she engaged in Charleston competitions 
at local dance halls and was even ru- 


mored to be one of the more available 
girls around town. But the Thirties 
vogue for “screwball comedy" soon 


brought her into her own—and to the 
attention of William Powell, who mar- 
ried her in 1931, after she had appeared 
h him in Man of the World. 
The film that made her a full-fledged 
as Twentieth. Century, in which 
ppened to play a full-fledged 
movie star. Screaming, screeching and 
Licking, she fought off the attempts of a 
downand-out theatrical producer, John 
Barrymore, to lure her back to the 
Broadway stage so that he might revive 
his о reer. His ploys all of them 
taking расе aboard the Twentieth Cen- 
tury Limited while it hufled across the 
country, were somewhat hampered by 
the fact that the actress had once been 
his mistress, and had been unceremo- 
niously discarded by him. Director How- 
ard Hawks diew an altogether delightful 
performance from Miss Lombard, at one 
point vouchsafing a view of her in flimsy 
underwear that revealed а posterior 
without equal in its pleasing curvature, 
She invariably enlivened Hollywood 


both on ind off the set, being given to 


playing off-screen practical jokes. One of 
her pet pranks was to screw flashbulbs 
to light sockets and then hang around 
ior the explosion when the light wa 
turned on. Her wisecracks were said to 
be the gamiest in Hollywood, and she 
was also known for her ability to outswear 
the most hard-bitten studio grip. 


“Take an indecent proposal . . .” 


But she was also a firstrate comedi- 
enne—the best of the screwballs, Richard 
Schickel termed her in The Stars, rating 
her above such others as Jean Arthur 


enger hunt, she discovered her (by then) 
ex-husband William Powell in a city 
dump and brought him to the bosom of 
her family—and ultimately to her own— 
as a butler. She scored another triumph 
in True Confession, as а lawyer's wile 
hoping ro advance her husband's career as 
his client—by pretending to be a murder- 
css. In Nothing Sacred, she was а 
impersonator. this time boisterously pos- 
ing ay a celebrated victim of radium poi- 
soning so that her "doom" might be 
expl newspaper to raise circula 
tion. When she threatens to give away 
the hoax, ace reporter Fredric March is 
forced to knock her cold with a haym 

cr. ating as she was, there were 
those who saw her as an authentic type 
of the Thirtics, a girl who expressed 
deep dissatisfaction with conventional 
behavior and who gave vent to her frus- 
tations through zany behavior 
the bitch-heroines, however, Lombard 
revealed а warm feminine su 
ness beneath her wisecracking exterior. 
Her marriage to Clark Gable appeared 
to be an ideal onc, but it was soon to 
end in tragedy. On а warbond-sclling 
mission in 1942, she was a passenger on 


nd snuffed out thc 


in Spain 
lives of all aboard. 

Throughout the ‘Thirties, several 
stars gave Clark Cable strong compe 
tion for the top popularity ratings, their 
appeals, like his, clearly based on sex 
oriented screen images. James Cagney. 
who predated Gable as a star, won his 
following through an open espousal of 
violence, first smashing his way to fame 
as the lethal gangster of Public Enemy 
in 1931. A product of Manhattan's tough 
Lower East Side, and the son of а bar- 
tender, young Cagney knocked around 
New York in several menial jobs, then 
drifted into show business, starting out 
as a chorus boy and a song-and-dance 
man. After winning modest success i 
ight play called Penny Arcade ( 
Joan Blondell), he was brought to 
Hollywood by Warner Bros. Public Ene- 
my revealed him to be a distinctly new 
kind of screen personality: cruel and 
pugnacious, callously unlaithful to his 
women, and so ill-tempered that at onc 
point in the film he smashed his break- 
fast grapefruit straight into the face of 
Mae Clarke. He persisted in this un- 
seemly behavior with bantam-cock bra- 
vado through a series of profitable action 
films in which he played successively 
a gambler, a con man, a taxi driver 


2H 


PLAYBOY 


212 


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Lady Killer, and also to his treat" 
tactics—at опе low point dragging 
the longsulfering Мае Clarke across the 
floor by the hair. The adoption of the 
Production Code inhibited his antisocial 
cbullience briefly: but a socially accept- 
able outlet for it was soon found when 
he was cast on the side of the law in 
G-Men, thus giving him carte blanche to 
rough up members of the underworld in 
licu of law-abiding citizens. (Ironically, 
quite contrary to his ruthlessly violent 
screen image, Cagney in private life was 
and is an exemplary husband and father, 
a man of distinct cultivation who 
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Not handsome by typical Hollywood 
standards, Cagney was nevertheless one 
of the most popular sex stars of the dec- 
ade—with both men and women —and 
one of the most symbolic; his appeal was 
sympromatic of the vicarious release to be 
obtained for pent-up hostilities through 
public displays of sadomasochistic bel 
ior. Social critic Lincoln Kirstein picked 
Cagney as the star who expressed "in 
terms of pictorial action the delights of 
violence, the overtones of a semiconscious 
sadism, the tendency toward destruction 
toward anarchy, which is the basis of 
American sex appes 


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only basis for sex appeal during the 


НЕ "binis. Ronald Colman, for instance, 
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proach and achieved a lasting popularity 
of his own. With his cultivated British 


manner and accent, Colman became an 
even greater маг during 
than he was during the silen 
He had the look of a sensitive, 
poetic gentleman; and he both 
and respected the women of his chi 
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heart in the house. In the view of the 
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Prisoner of Zenda and Lost Horizon. The 
Production Code Administration never 
1 any trouble with a Ronald Colman 
ilm, and the Legion of Decency deemed 
him safe for the entire family. There 
were other gentlemanly types, of course 
ons of well-to-do families such as 
Franchot Tone and Douglas Fairbanks, 
Jr—but until his death in 1958, Colman 
remained the studios’ first choice as the 
perfect gentleman. 

He had a bit of competition, though, 
from another Englishman cut from the 
same theatrical cloth—Leslic Howard, 
whose cultivated British accent became 
familiar to American filmgoers soon 
after the arrival of sound. With his 
soulful eyes and his vague look of росс 
intellectuality, he was an ideal candidate 
for genileman-hero roles in such films as 
Berkeley Square amd The Scarlet Pim. 
perncl; and he proved а well-tempered 
British foil for Bene Davis’ bitchiness in 
Of Human Bondage, Formerly a bank 
clerk, Howard gave up his duties at the 
teller's window for a career on the Bi 
ish stage. from whence he moved on to 
Hollywood. Understatement was his 
nd it was his “throwing away" of 
unt lines—etting a cowlike gaze do 
most of the dramatic work—that en- 
deared him to hosts of female filmgocrs. 
Already well on into his 40s, Howard 
was next chosen to play a distinctly mid- 
dleaged Romeo to Norma Shearer's over- 
ripe Juliet in. MGM's lavishly miscast 
production of the Shakespeare classic. As 
the tweedy Professor Higgins in Pygma- 
lion, however, he was closer to type; and 
his myriad female fans voted him an 
ideal Ashley Wilkes in Gone with the 
Wind. He ended the decade as a mature 
musician carrying on an affair with the 
nubile Hollywood newcomer Ingrid Berg 
n in Intermezzo. During the War 
ars, while said to be on a secret British 
intelligence mission, Howard was killed 
when his plane was shot down by the 
Ge 1. 


Gary Cooper, although considerably 
more laconic than cither Colman 
Howard, was no less a gentleman. Lanky 
and shy, he the favorite audience 
prototype of the innately self-confident 
American who, though perhaps lacking 
in cloquence, could be relied upon in 
any perilous situation. Born in Helena 
Montana, in 1901, of British-born par 
ents (his barrister father һай already be 
come a true Westerner in keeping with 
his job as a Montana Supreme Couri 
judge) Gary was fist employed on 5 
new ranch his father had acquired. 
the boy who was then known as Fr 
James Cooper took little interest in live 
stock: he preferred painting. After study 
ing art at Iowa's Grinnell College in 
hopes of becoming a cartoonist. he 
uckked to Los Angeles in search of а 
drawing post on a newspaper, Unappre 


ciated by local editors, he went through 
a series of odd jobs that included a brief 
stint selling advertising space on theater 
ins—until he happened to run 
actoss а pair of old friends from Mor 
tana who bragged about their ten dollar- 
aday movie-studio jobs as cowboy extras. 
Cooper decided to wy his luck, too, and 
was soon riding, roping and trick shoot- 
ing in B Westerns. Opting for film- 
dom's wideopen spaces over space sales, 
Cooper hired an agent (Mina Wallis, 
sister of Hal), who suggested he change 
his пате to Gary—after Gary, Indiana, 
her home town. His big break came soon 
after, when she got him a bit part in The 
Winning of Barbara Worth and Cooper 
proved himself a capable replacement for 
an actor of Luger stature who failed 10 
appear for one of the featured roles. 
When the picture appeared, a woman in 
rd to exclaim, 


one movie house was hi 
"Oh, he's so beautiful!" 

Paramount offered 1 
and the studio then busily proceeded. to 
promote him—first featuring him in 
Westerns, and later with F 
The Legion of the Condemned as "Para- 
mounrs glorious young lovers.” Cooper 
had taken this appellation somewhat se 
riously himself by thc time he made 
Wolf Song in 1999 with the Mexican 
spitfire Lupe Velez as his leading lady. 
The subsequent torrid affair between 
the two was adroitly aided and abeued 
through Paramount's publicity channels, 
providing a predictable box-office boom 
for the picture. After disengaging him- 
sell from the volatile Miss Velez. Cooper 
began courting the international beauty 
Lady Ashley; Lupe, meanwhile, spliced 
the knot with chat vine-swinging star of 
the jungle, Johnny Weissmuller—who, 
Tarzan, had sailed through several cen- 
sorship crackdowns wearing the same 
palry loincloth, and thus could easily 
lay claim to having been the most un- 
dressed male star in moviemaking annals. 

But physical perfection was evidently 
not enough to satisfy starsmitten Ameri- 
n womanhood, who much preferred the 
gangling Gary Cooper. His look of shy 
innocence was oddly sexual in its effect 
on women, Female fans [elt the urge to 
arouse his slumbering passions, and he 
soon zoomed to the top position among 
male stars in the early Thirties. Whether 
he played in Westerns, ion epics or 
sudsy melodramas, the effect was always 
the same. Cooper was the type who 
could be trusted by male and female 
alike; he was trueblue, honest as the 
sky, taciturn, utterly unafraid, always on 
the side of the right and the x 
What did it matter if, off screen, he was 
something of a rake and an international 
gadabout? 

Eady in the Thirties, Cooper decided 
10 call a halt to his hectic screen sched- 
ule and headed for Europe, where he 


т а 


contract, 


yan into a café-society playgirl, Dorothy 
di Frazzo, and managed to double his 
news value by simultaneously headlining 
both the gossip columns and the society 
pages of two continents. Returning to 
met another socialite, 
who was attempting to 
the starlet scene under the name 
of Sandra Shaw. They were married in 
1933, and the marriage lasted until his 
death in 1963—despite an intervening 
romance (his one and only extramarital 
adventure) with actress Patricia Neal 

On screen, Cooper had been the arche- 
typal Hemingway hero; he even played 
in the first version of A Farewell to 
Arms. g which he shared a hos 
pitt! bed with nurse Helen Hayes, and, 
much later. a sleeping bag in Spain with 
Ingrid Bergman in For Whom the Bell 
Toll. Who would deny so idealistic a 
young man an occasional furlough for 
lovemaking in the midst of hellish war? 
For when Cooper loved, the audience 
knew he loved truc and well. 


Hollywood, h 


A picture that Cooper made in 1931 
called Devil and the Deep is mentioned 
here only because in that same relatively 


minor film appeared a dashing young 
Englishman, born Alexander Archibald 
Leach, but by then renamed Сау Grant. 


а caddish seducer, 
ticularly impressive, 
exactly 

ngry 
at Cooper, by then the nation's biggest 
box-office draw, because he had tarried 
too long abroad whooping it up with 
the international set. To chasten him, 


He had a small role 
d he was nor p. 
but h. 


had come to P 
lent 


Paramount embarked on a program of 
building up new romantic fodder—thus 
subtly suggesting that Cooper might 
well be expendable, So the studio tossed 
Cary Grant into Mae West's She Done 
Him Wrong and I'm No Angel: and 
thereafter he became а much-sought- 
alter boudo 
top female star of the Thirties—at least 
in their pictures. Like a good many of 
the male stars of the period, he bel 
circumspectly otherwise. 
Unlike Cooper, his once-m 
mount colleague, Grant was a frequent 
off-screen worshiper at the nuptial altar: 
In 1934, he married actress Virginia 
Chemill 1949, he became another 
addition to heiress га Hutton's 
collection of husbands; in 1049, he re- 
entered the r a tandem 


then-60-y ma 
other actress, Dyan Carroll—who re- 
cently presented him with a bouncing 


male heir to the considerable fortune he 
amassed during his prudent pre-paternal 
days. 

The product of a calamitous child 
hood, Grant grew up in Bristol, England. 
where his mother suffered a grievous 
mental breakdown when he was 12 
not long after which his father took up 
with another woman. Thus deprived of 
the customary al ties, the boy ran 
y and joined a juvenile acrobatic 
troupe, and the physical rigors of the 
work developed in him a hardiness that 
is apparent even to this day. 
vaudeville he moved on to acting 


“Up to your old tricks again, huh?" 


23 


PLAYBOY 


English repertory theater, then headed 
for Broadway. After a few small parts 
and some work in short films at Ра 
mount's Astoria, Long Island, studio, he 
went to the Coast under contract. 

Grant's nom-U Bristol accent was а 
handicap to him for a while, and he had 
not yet gotten down to the romantic 
slimness he was eventually to possess. 
Thus, he was cast more often as a cr. 
seducer than romantic lover—that 
is, until he developed the suavity and 
poise thar now characterize his work. 

Director George Cukor, for one, was of 
considerable help in developing Grant's 
stylishness as an actor, aiding him to de- 
velop the deft timing he needed to keep 
pace with Katharine Hepburn in Holi- 
day, in which he played an engaging 
young investment broker who has fallen 
in love with an heiress to millions. He 
was seldom a heavy after that, and in a 
rkable refinement of his own per- 
sonality, quickly became the epitome of 
ning male—both on 
screen and off. But bed never seemed. 
the prime object of the on-screen love 
g indulged in by Grant. His ap- 
proach was offhanded, wary and witty 

pa ally, by talking about 

everything but sex, he helped bring 
more sophistication to the screen, The 
women who played opposite him were, 
more often than not, such angular, 
barbed, sharp-iongued types as Kath- 
arine Hepburn, Irene Dunne and Rosa- 
lind Russell. Anything but cuddly and 
malleable, they were, in fact, hardly 
more than foils for Grant's kidding, 
lighthearted approach to sex. 

Far more serious and heavy-lidded was 
les Boyer, who first went to Holly- 
wood in 1930 as an accomplished actor 


from the Comédie Francaise in Paris. In 
those carly talkie 


s, the studios some- 


versions of their films, using Ci 
tal actors imported for the purpose. 
Boyer came over specifically to play the 
Chester Morris part in the French ver- 
sion of The Big House, and he stayed 
around to play smallish parts in other 
American films. In Harlow's Red Headed 
Woman, for instance, he appeared briefly 
at the end as her French gigolo-chaufleur. 
By however, he had become a 
Hollywood star in his own right, play- 
ing in Caravan a gypsy violinist who 
fiddles around with a countess (Loretta 
Young). It became apparent in this film 
that his voice—languorously slow, mel- 
uously accented—had distinctly sedu 
е connotations for women, Hollywood 
publicists also made a fuss about his 
“bedroom eyes.” Thus he became for the 
Thirties the latter-day 
n lover of the Twenties. He was a 
passionate French psychiatrist, for exarn- 
ple, in Private Worlds (1935) and he 


zu wooed Jean Arthur in History Is Made 


at Night, one of the best of the romantic 
films of the Thirties, In chat film Boyer 
played a maitre d'hôtel who is also a 
refincd man of the world. As a young 
American wife whose husband is at- 
tempting to incriminate her so that she 
n't be able to leave him, Jean Arthur 
rescued by Boyer and wooed by him 
for one Jong, marvelous night of palpi- 
tating Thirties-style romance: He takes 
her to the deserted cabaret where he is 
ordinarily employed and arranges for 
the chef to prepare a masterpiece of a 
dinner for them with exactly the right 
wines and the right music (tangos played 
by the cabaret orchestra). Dawn finds 
them in a park murmuring au revoir, 
both misty-eyed and trembling with 
desire, 

Even as the seedy Pépé le Moko of 
Algiers (with Hedy Lamarr) in 1938, 
Boyer exuded a romantic appeal that elic- 
ited thousands of female fan letters. 
(Just incidentally, Boyer never said to 
Hedy, or to anyone else, “Come weez me 
to ze Casbah.” A radio mimic of Boyer’s 
Continental delivery beamed the line 
into the national consciousness. and 
there it has remained, fixed but falla- 
cous.) In all his ures, however, 
Boyer eschewed the torrid techniques of 
previous Latin lovers. He was all suavity 
d polish, and he pected a 
woman's feclings—even though 
was still to ease ber into hed. 


The same could never be said of an- 
other prevalent male screen type of the 
‘Thirties: the clean-cut, handsome young 
man with lots of white teeth but little 
c aggressiveness. Obviously, the 
popularity of such toothpaste-ad types as 
Don Ameche could be explained only by 
the need to develop relatively sexless 
stars to portray relatively sexless lovers 
in discreet romances—in line with the 
innocuousness demanded by Hollywood 
ce during the mid- and late 
Thirties. Ameche was just the man—with 
his toothy, relentlessly cheerful smile—to 
invent the telephone, to compose Stephen 
Foster's melodies and, because of his in- 
gratiating singing voice, to appear in 
musicals with his female counterpart, 
ce Faye. Ameche’s presence virtually 
guaranteed that a movie was, if nothing 
dse, “in good taste.” But if popular with 
many, he also antagonized vast segments 
of the audience who found him just too 
dean-cut to be believed. 

Of all these pretty boy heroes, however, 
попе set more shopgirls’ hearts allutier 
than the lushly handsome, patricianly 
profiled Robert Taylor. Born Spangler 
Arlington Brugh in unromantic Filey, 
Nebraska, he had moved into theatri- 
cals while sull a premed student at 
Pomona College, near Los Angeles, and 
was signed by MGM to a long-term con- 


tract when a brief appearance in а 
Grime Does Not Pay shore produced an 
unanticipated flood of feminine fan 
mail. At the outset, no one—and least of 
all Mr. Taylor—pretended that the 
clean-shaven young man with the dark 
wavy hair and sensual lips was also an ac 
tor. Cast opposite actresses of the caliber 
of Irene Dunne and Garbo, his Thespic 
inadequacies were almost painfully ap- 
parent, although this did little to ham- 
per his skyrocketing popularity. Well 
musded, he wore clothes impeccably, 
smiled an Ipana smile above a deep-cleft 
chit ad exuded an air of well-groomed 
well-being that made him а particularly 
glamorous figure in an era when most 
male stars cast themselves in the more 
rugged mold of Cagney or Gable. To- 
ward the end of the Thirties, however, 
Taylor himself recognized that he could 
not go on playing romantic juvenile 
leads ad infinitum and began demand- 
ng more dynamic roles of his studio, 
such as the prizefighters in The Crowd 
Roars and Stand Up and Fight, the ath- 
lete in A Yank at Oxford, the gangster 
in Johnny Eager and the first of innu- 
merable Western heroes in Billy the Kid. 
Although his acting had improved but 
ittle, the slight clevation of the eye- 
brows by which he had formerly regis- 
tered passion also proved serviceable as 
expre of chagrin, disdain and 
manly determination. Maturity brought 
lines of character to his comely face, to 
which Taylor added a trim mustache: 
and soon the callow youth of the Thirties 
was gone, replaced by а durable—but 
never again so popular—all-pur pose star. 

If Robert Taylor never quite became 
n actor, the equally handsome Tyrone 
Power was rarely permitted to display 
on the screen the formidable dramatic 
ability he actually possessed. Scion of a 
distinguished theatrical family, he first 
won praise for his performances in Kath- 
arine Cornell's productions of Romco 
and Juliet and St. Joan; but when he 
got to Hollywood in 1935, producers saw 
only а pretty face and an athletic phy- 
sique, the standard makings of a matinee 
idol. Power quickly established his femi- 
nine appeal as the ringleted hero of the 
pseudo-historical Lloyds of London, and 
was promptly flung into a series of emi- 
nently forgettable light comedies oppo- 
site the likes of Loretta Young and Sonja 
Henie. That he survived at all is evi 
dence of the buoyant charm he brought 
to the thinnest of roles, plus the sugges 
tion of a healthy sexuality behind the 
clean-cut, boyish good looks that he 
shared with innumerable lesser stars of 
the day. Frequently miscast, as in Maric 
Antoinette and Suez, for a time he 
seemed doomed to play forever Don 
Ameche's errant younger brother as 20th 
Century-Fox kept rewriting substantially 


THE PLAYBOY ART GALLERY 


Whistler's WHITE GIRL By Jim Beaman 


the same plot to accommodate him on 
various pages in America’s past—In. Old 
Chicago, Alexander's Ragtune Band—or 
swashbuckling through romantic costum- 
ers such as The Mark of Zorro and The 
Black Swan. What ultimately saved him 
was his honest hankering to act. Although 
his studio was reluctant to let Power, the 
epitome of арріеріе wholesomeness, 
play a drnksodden geek in the off 
beat Nightmare Alley, it was this role 
that suddenly reminded critics that he 
once had been an actor; and their praise 
opened the way to a wider variety of 
parts. Until his untimely death in 1958, 


PLAYBOY 


while filming Solomon and Sheba in 
Spain, Power continued to test his tà 
ents, several times quitting the movies 


altogether in order to work on the stage 
the thing he loved best: acting. 


Such dedication to the craft was not 
among the professional preoccupations 
of Errol Flynn—who, if he resented 
being typecast as a swashbuckler, kept it 
a closcguarded secret, А man who had 
the look and the style of а genuine ad- 
venturer, Flynn had accumulated а 
[fish wealth of experience as a genuine 
soldier of fortune by the time he went 
to Hollywood in 1935. A native of 
Tasmania. where he was born in 1909, 
Flynn's early adventures had included 
short stints a» а slaver in New Guinea, 
working in the gold fields of the South 
acific, running a schooner up undiri 
ed rivers to get close shots of dangerous 
head-hunters, being charged with mur- 
dcr (after Flynn defended his crew from 


a raid) and acquitted, getting disembow- 
eled within an inch of his life, contract 
ing every variety of infection (including 
the venereal) and finally smuggling some 
diamonds out of the South Seas into the 
civilized world of London, where he 
n Aus- 
he convinced a local movie direc- 
tor that he was just the man to play 
Fletcher Christian im a 1933 version of 
Mutiny on the Bounty. When MGM de. 
cided to film the story, with Clark Gable 
and Charles Laughton, they bought the 
Australian version to keep it off the mar- 
ket. Undaunted, Flynn followed his un 
released footage t0 Hollywood, where 
Warner Bros. put him under contract 
and assigned him to The Gase of the Cu- 
rious Bride for a scene in which Marga- 
ret Lindsay lethally bopped him on the 
head with а poker. His image was quic 
ly changed. however, to its more familiar 
swashbuckling style when he led The 
Charge of the Light Brigade as a British 
officer. In Captain Blood, he unveiled 
his manly musculature while working on 
the rigging of a pirate ship. He went on 
10 twang a mean bow and fence with 
abandon in a remake of Robin Hood, 
during which he seriously endangered 
his screen opponents with his fierce, 
reckless, illaimed and ill-timed slashes. 
Less abandoned, understandably, were 
his love scenes—considering the chaste 
and anemic leading ladies who played 
Opposite him, Olivia de Havilland and 
Brenda Marshall among them. 

О the screen, however, he exhibited 
no such gentlemanly restraint. In addi- 


took up acting. A few years later, 


“I always said there was а lot more to 
Aunt Martha than met the eye.” 


216 


tion to a Brobdingnagian yacht, Flynn 
Kept a custom-made Packard fitted with 
back rests that, at the touch of a button 
beneath the dash, instantancously con 
verted the seats into beds. He was also 
likely to disappear from the set during 
filming—whether into the master bed- 
room of his yacht or the back scat of his 
r is not known. Ezra Goodman, in The 
Fifty-Year Decline and Fall of Holly 
wood, told of a search for him while 
Edge of Darkness was on location in 
Monterey, iforni: "А manhunt,” 
wrote Goodman, “uncovered him with a 
young local lady in the loft of a fsh 
house on the pier.” The somewhat odor- 
ous Flynn was rushed off in onc fast 
car, the girl in another. Bills of large de- 
nominations were handed (о interested 
spectators by Warner Bros. operatives 
well schooled in handling such conun- 
gen his married life to 
Lily Damita, among others, was predict- 
ably stormy and characterized by much 
public and private squabbling. Among 
his peccadilloes was а fondness for drink- 
ing and for slightly unripe girls; but 
more of th ad the famous statutory 
таре case in which he was involved — 
when we discuss The Sex Stars of the 


Forties in a later installment. 
A rash of new sex goddesses came 


along in the late Thirties. Stuffed into 
sweaters that made imeresting bulges. 
they had Oomph instead of It; they were 
said to resemble “the girl next door"; 
and they had the look of being 


fash- 


ioned from common democratic clay. 
Among them were Ann Sherid 
Turner and Beuy Grable, and while 


each began her career in the Thirties, the 
s of their important stardom didn't 
e until the Wartime Forties. Dor- 
ойу Lamour was an exception. Dark 
messed, d d curvaceous, she 
so she aimed, in a 
Chicago elevator, and promptly became 
the favorite "exotic" of the pre-War ре 
riod, Paramount, in 1936, had accumu 
lated some stock footage shot in southeast 
Asia for jungle documentaries—includ 
ng a dandy elephant stampede a came 
man had happened to encounter—and 
decided to put it to use in a picture. 
A search was undertaken for a gil to 
play in the film, imaginatively entitled 
The Jungle Princess. The specifications 
were that she be non-blonde, long-haired 
and capable of looking well in a native 
parcu, Miss Lamour, а bit player on 
the lot at the time, was plucked as the 
sought-for jungle flower, mainly because 
she had the longest hair in Hollywood. 
The film, in which she sang Moonlight 
and Shadow to Ray Milland in a kind of 
Malayan double talk (he barely man 
ed to keep his face straight), w: 
unexpected hit, Her costume was а kind 
of leather chi but in Her Jungle 


Love, it had metamorphosed into a cloth 
print and was henceforth called a sa- 
rong. It promptly sparked a national 
fashion. Between the above two films, 
sam Goldwyn borrowed her for The 
Hurricane, in which stalwart Jon Hall 
was considerably more revealed by his 
arong than she by hers. Nevertheless, 
Miss Lamour was billed as “the sarong 
girl,” the girl who wore the latest thing 
ın ху costumes—but since these 
covered even more of the anatomy than 
пу bathing suit of the period, they 
dly qualify as such today. 
the jungle, the Production Code 
aded its tithe of modesty. A recur- 
nt scene in Lamour jungle films was 
the one in which the primitive girl is 
ig taught to kiss by the leading ma 

Legion of Decency was always 
armed by these interludes—though 
they were marked by the strictest pro- 
priety—perhaps because the sarong 
looked as if it could casily be slipped off 
in the middle of the lesson; consequer 
ly, Miss Lamour and her ir 
opuses often suffered the о 
rating. In any case, by 1940, both the sa- 
rong girl and her costume had become а 
joke, and the erstwhile jungle princess 
henceforth got along by kidding herself 
in a series of Bob Hopc-Bing Crosby 
films. 


ır more durable was Lana Turner, 
dubbed at the beginning of her carcer 
“the sweater girl.” Born Julia Jean 
Mildred ces Tuner, and called 
Judy by her friends—Lana made her 
screen debut in 1937, wearing a tiny 
beret and a very tight sweater, in one 
of Warner Bros.’ films of "social sig- 
nificance,” They Won't Forget. Few for- 
got the sight of the 16-year-old blonde 
walking down the street of a Southern 
town, her pert head high and her br. 
less breasts bouncing saucily beneath 
their covering. Many a film career has 
been built on considera 


1 she moved in an inuiguing 
n of locomotion and invita- 


to suggest simultaneously apple-pie in- 
посепсе and shopgirl worldliness. 
Actually, Lana Turner's career reads 
astonishingly like the plot of a Lama 
Turner movie. All the glamor and all 
the clichés are there, along with such 
sordid but standard elements of cheap 
as the murder of her gang- 


ster 
romance, during nearly three decades of 
Hollywood life, she accumulated five hus- 
bands (most of them rich and jor f. 
and, according to one 
total of 41 boyfriends. 
No stranger to violence, she was nine 
when her father was murdered on a San 
Francisco side suect after winning a 
аар game. After his death, she was sent 


to stay with family friends in Modesto, 
California, but was so badly mistreated 
that her mother took her back, and the 
two moved to Los Angeles. Again like a 
movie script, while playing hooky one 
day from Hollywood High School, she 
was spotted drinking a soda on a stool in 
Schwab's famous drugstore by Billy 
Wilkerson, publisher of The Hollywood 
Reporter. Wilkerson popped the classic 
question, “Would you like to be in pic- 
tures?” Judy said “Yes” and. with her 
mother as chaperone, was brought to а 
talent agency that arranged several in- 
terviews for her. She was carefully in- 
structed to give her age as 18. 

At Warner's she was singled out from 
a group of aspirants by director Мету 
LeRoy who, without even the for 
of a test, put her under contract at $50 a 
week and cast her in his then-upcoming 
They Won't Forget. Although she ap- 
peared in only three scenes, playing a 
young student who is raped and mur- 


dered, these proved a foothold for her 
career. When, soon after, LeRoy moved 
over to MGM, he took Lana's contract 


with him; she appeared there in such 
antiseptic items as Love Finds Andy 
Hardy and Calling Doctor Kildare. 
Turner, the all-American sexpot, was 
а few years away—at least, on the 
screen. Her private life, on the other 
hand—if anything so minutely docu 
mented in the gossip columns can be 
called a private life—was quite another 
matter. By 18, she was dating so often 
and so many, and keeping such late 
hours, that she was known as "tlie queen 


of the night clubs." She was caught in 
the vortex of what she later described in 
a Sundaysupplement article as "too 
much money, too much beauty, too 
much sex and too Tittle background.” 
"The first of her marriages, to bandleader 
Artic Shaw, occurred in 1940: but the 
details of that and her other marriages 
are matters that belong more properly to 
later installments that will deal with the 
sex stars of the Forties and Fifties, when 
Lana shone brightest among a whole 
new galaxy of love goddesses. By the end 
of the Thirties, the candidates were more 
umcrous than ever, many of them 
drawn to Hollywood by Lana herself. 
Not surprisingly, the story of her discoy- 
ery in а drugstore had kindled kindred 
ambitions in the hearts of hundreds of 
sweet young things who also could beast 
a wellflled sweater. But mostly they 
were drawn by the siren call of stardom 
itself, which—thanks to the ever-increas- 
ing popularity of the movies and the 
concomitant proliferation of dream spin- 
ning [an magazines—somchow seemed 
more attainable than ever. 


In the next installment of “The His- 
tory of Sex in Cinema,” authors Knight 
and Alpert take up the role played by 
movie sexuality during the War years of 
the 1940s, when Hollywood mobilized ils 
pinup brigades and soldiers worshiped 
at the leggy shrines of Betty Grable and 
Rita Hayworth—while anti-Axis films 
kept the home fires burning with inflam- 
matory scenes of patriotic sadism. 


“Y'know who I'd like to have here right now? 


The feller who wrote ‘Не don't say nothin’ 
don't do nothin’, he jes’ keeps rollin’ along! 


he 


21 


PLAYBOY 


218 


СЕ a Dreams (continued from page 125) 


and him fal d falling until he 
landed among the tents of the Wise Men 
who called him Prince? Majoon is for 
dreaming, and anyone could be turned 
into a dog or a bird just like that. Once in 
Marrakech 1 remember a gold-turbaned 
storyieller siting on a faded rug from 
which the beauties of the hammam looked 
out. He flips sheets of colored. papers— 


Noah's ark loaded with golden lions, 
ibis jeweled serpents, pink stallions, 
swords cleaving heads in two. blood 


dripping red all over onto the ground. 
lize in thin air. Everyone 
has eyes. An Arab midget docs a trance 
dance to ouds, drums and flutes; whirls, 
stumbles drunkenly and falls do 
crowd begins to gather around the stor 
teller as the sun sinks below the horizon 
and the red city of Marrakech is glowing 
like an ember. 

There in the Djemaael-Fna, it is the 
same as it has been for many centuries, 
and the Thousand and One Nights hap- 
pened just yesterday, are still happening 
all around you, while there in the center 
оГ colors the storyteller unfolds his tale 
of the miraculous Aladdin who was con- 
ceived in majoon, Yes, by Allah, this is 


A 


the best majoon! It will cure you of all 
your ills, bring you laughter, thicken 
your seed! Buy it for your husbands! Buy 
it for your wives! He pulls out of his 
sleeve one of his bonbons, holding it up 
for everyone to see, and there is a shuffle 
of yellow slippers as the crowd presses 
forward. 

"The whitehumped Atlas holds up the 
sky like a great carnival tent and all 
around there is the bustle of people at 
twilight on their way home through a 
sca of Genouas, monkeys, pickpockets, 
sailing corpses, scattered teeth, 738 bicy- 
cles threading the е needle, coming 
out on the other side, which is Marrakech. 
And somewhere above it all you can see 
го acrobats in baggy red-and-green 
suits describing theorems of geometry in 
the orange air. Dig the imagery! Warch 
as the last sheets fall from his hands— 
jinn, afreets, demons all around under 
the power as Suleiman sits golden above 
the kingdom of beasts. So you step right 
past the porcupine quills wrapped in old 
anatomy charts, past burning frankin- 
cense and copal, and you cop a stick of 
joo! m a large bras way. The 
ic numbers, the sword of Sulein 


= ® د 


x 


“Peanuts!” 


scorpions and serpents, circles, stars and 
pentagrams are all yours for only khamsin 
francs or one thin dime. An old wizened 
Arab plugs into Allah's switchboard with 
а one-way toy telephone and boy dancers 
do their bumps and grinds, while off at 
the side a trayful of goat heads looks 
coldly on the scene. 

The ordinary majoon sold in the 
market place usually comes in the form 
of greenish black or brown sticks about 
the size of your thumb and is of a gummy 
or pastelike consistency. There are many 
different kinds of majoon, and the qual- 
ity and appearance vary, narurally, with 
the recipe used. The most important in 
gredient is, of course, kif, or hemp, and 
it is best to use only the gum or resin 
of the plant—sometimes called chira or 
aras by North Africans and hash by 
foreigners—or the powdered buds and 
flowers when this is not available. The 
outer leaves, stalks and seeds, which are 
commonly discarded when the kif is pre 
pared for smoking, are often used in the 
making of majoon, but may leave you 
h a throbbing headache, although local 
songbirds seem to thrive on a diet of 
seeds. Some of the best majoon is made by 
boiling the if. stalks and all, with butter 
for many hows, so that the cannabis, or 
active principle of the hemp plant. is 
absorbed by the butter, which can then be 
used in any recipe you like. 

The waditional majoon is made пош 
powdered hemp, honey, fruit, nuts and 
spices and often contains samin, or rancid 
Lutter. Sometimes other ingredients may 
be added to give а particular ейел, such 
as cantharides (Spanish fly), Datura or 
stramonium, opium or poppy seeds, some 
pounded lizard (still considered ап aphro 
disiac) y other of the countless 
powders and herbs sold in the magic 
shops of Morocco. Datura, а long, 
wumpet-shaped white flower with a heavy 
fragrance, which grows all over Morocco, 
is not really to be recommended, since 
it is considered a poison and is more likely 
10 be employed for purposes of revenge 
than pleasure. Stramonium is hallucino: 
genic and has always been a key ingredi 
ent in preparations involving sorcery and 
black magic, but extreme care should be 
exercised. It is probably more suitable 
Alpurgis Night than an Arabian 
one. and if тоо much 15 used, you will be 
spending all i long conver 
ations with cha Чатр cords 
ad falling through walls or down stairs. 

Cantharides is often used in majoon 
and helps to account for its reputation a5 
an erotic electuary, but even without 
s like soft 
majoon, if it is properly mack 
will set the stage for а night of houris 
and exotic delights, for Allah is all 
merciful and will provide endless orgasm 
in paradise. The scarabs or cantharides 
beetles аге of a brilliant metallic hue in 


the shape of a death’s-head—blue, green 
or gold, the gold bugs more highly valued 
than the others, as Edgar Allan Poe cer- 
nly knew: 

Getting together the perfect majoon in 
Morocco would take you on a tour of 
the whole county to find the best of 
cach ingredient—Taroudant for the gold 
bug, the mountain caves of Xauen for 75- 
year-old honey, the magic shops of Mar- 
rakech for jduq jmel (small black seeds 
probably containing scopolamine), the 
Sahara for its specially strong gouza, or 
nutmeg. In fact, these ingredients alone 
could be used to make quite а powerful 
majoon without any kif at all. An Arab 
magician I once knew uscd to claim that 
he could make even stronger majoon 
without kif, only herbs, he said, very old 
recipe from Fès, In Marrakech, with luck 
you may find the fabled white kif cookies 
or ghrebiya, which would pass anywhere 
as ordinary Girl Scout cookies, but would 
leave any Girl Scout flat on her back, 
which is possibly just where she belongs. 

Once a psychiatrist vacationing іп 
Morocco ate a great deal of majoon at my 
house, and after looking for a while at 
the brightly colored tiled floors and 
walls which began to revolve slowly 
around him like a giant kaleidoscope, he 
said, smiling, Yes, Г can see why you live 
here, and helped himself to some more. 
Unfortunately, he ended up by fleeing 
the country the next day, afraid that if he 
stayed any longer he would never be able 
to тешип to his patients in America. An- 
other psychiatrist. who turned up once 
got a terrible case of the horrors after 
trying some majoon and began to scream 
that he had been poisoned, Despite all 
efforts to calm him, he insisted on having 
his stomach pumped at a local hospital 
in Tangier. 

Majoon is not only useful for scaring 
psychiatrists; it is also excellent for tam- 
ing savage lions. Once upon a time, when 
lions used to roam the Atlas Mountains, 
there was one lion so vicious that it 
terrorized ап entire village, attacking its 
inhabitants even in broad daylight. The 
people of the village, unable to capture 
or kill this lion, finally took their prob- 
lem to an old man who was well known 
to them as an enchaioui, а man who 
has devoted his entire Шс to the enjoy- 
ment of kif. After listening to what they 
had to say, he promised to help them, 
but first he asked that they bring him 
100 kilos of the best kif and а cow. When 
the villagers had acceded io his request, 
the old man cleaned the hif, keeping the 
best part for himself, and then killed the 
cow, stuffing it with the rest of the kif. 
‘Then he sewed the cow up again and lelt 
it at the side of the road just outside the 
village and waited in a tree with a goat- 
skin full of water until the lion appeared, 
The majoon cow did its work and soon 
the lion was rolling on the ground and 
laughing. The enchaioui then came 


out of hiding and poured the water down 
the lion’s throat—the mouth gets very 
dry after eating majoon, and liquids, 
especially hot mint tca, help to intensify 
the effect. Then he took the lion by the 
саг and led him to the center of the vil 
Jage, where the astounded townspeople 
shook with fright as the old man and the 
lion looked at them, shaking with 
Taughter. 

ОГ course, kif, or hemp, may be used 
in many other ways and you can brew an 
excellent tea [rom its flowers with fresh 
mint and a lot of sugar. In Arabia, ac 
cording to Sir Richard Burton, a mixture 
of powdered hemp leaves, black pepper, 
doves, nutmeg and mace, infused into 
watermelon or cucumber juice and then 
passed through a strainer, makes а pleas 
ing beverage. Another traditional A 
bian drink is made from dricd hemp 
leaves, poppy seed and cucumber seed, 
black pepper and cardamoms pulverized 
in a mortar and added to milk or ice 
cream. 

The Sufis regarded majoon as a symbol 
of mystical knowledge, and such 12th 
Century Persian poets as Attar and 
Nasafi commonly celebrated the Goblet of 
Jam in their verses. Nasafi, in The Un- 
veiling of Realities, writ n quest of 
the Goblet of Jam, I journeyed through 
the world. Not one day did I sit down, 
and not one night did I give myself to 
slumber, when from the master 1 heard 
a description of the Goblet of Jam, I 
knew that I myself was that Goblet of 
Jam, revealing the universe.” 

For the mystic poets, majoon revealed 
the essential harmony of the universe 
and the knowing man was even identi- 
fied with the great electuary or ma'jun-i 
akbar, the Goblet of Jam which opened 
the way to the secrets of cosmic corre: 
spondence and the nature of the true self. 
Hassan-I-Sabbah, the legendary old man 
of the mountain who led his cult of 
assassins from Mount Alamut in Persia 
and certainly one of the most renowned 
of all hashish eate: reputed to have 
said on his deathbed: Nothing is true; 
everything is possibla 

And that is what is mest interesting 
about taking majoon, the sense of infinite 
possibility as you move from instant to 
instant, like Mister Magoo stepping onto 
a steel girder in mid-air. For some the сх. 
perience may be frightening, but for 
others there will be no greater exhilara- 
tion Шап the exploration of new worlds 
of feeling and consciousness. О how 1 
love walking in evaporated moonlight! 
Majoon Traveler recommends that you 
nibble slowly and see what happens. You 
have nothing to lose but yourself, and 
that is precisely what you may find in 
the losing. And remember that one ounce 
оГ pure gold can be drawn out into a 
wire 50 miles loi Alhamdulillah — 
Allah be praised. 


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PLAYBOY 


220 


CHRONICLE 


told himself. Just a litde something in 
reserve. 

That the sergeant knew perfectly well 
he was lying was not really important, 
Stander thought, because he did mot 
know just where he was lying. And, the 
funny thing, the story that so outraged 
the sergeant in its improbabilities was 
nearly all truc, In nearly every detail, 
what he had told the police had been 
truc. 

Tt was true that he had met Mike Jor- 
dan in his own office, at the instance of a 
friend who'd sent him. And it was true 
that he had tried hard to find a job for 
Jordan, and, when he couldn't, even 
harder to convince the boy that it was not 
because he was a Negro that he had 
failed. 

Mr. Jordan,” he had said, “there isn't 
опе damned job in this whole outfit. 
The chairman of the board couldn't get 
his own kid in here today without mak. 
ing the job first. Thats the way it is. 
«fully sorry." 

1" Jordan said sofily. 
Stander said. “That's the 


Jordan said. 

“There must be other places, other 
ideas,” Stander said. "What have you 
done befo 

“Well, my age, you know, not much,” 
Jordan said. ^I got through business 
school, you saw that"—he nodded to- 
ward the papers on Stander's desk—" dier 
1 was in the Service, in the Marine 
Corps...” 

"Did you pick up anything there?" 
Stander said- 

Jordan smiled. He was good to look 
ас He was everything about him 
fitted. “In high school, in L. A." he said, 
“I did some judo. So that came up, 
went into it, it was natural, because 
boot camp 1 was stationed in Japan, and 
I wound up instructor. I'm black belt 
third dan, matter of fact, But 
like money, right off.” He smiled again. 
1 always wanted to do that,” Stander 
said. "When I was about thirteen, I re- 
member 1 bought a book, they called it 
iu-jitsu then. little red-and- Spald- 
ing book, the kid next door and I, we 
worked out on it for a long time. We got 
two or three moves down pretty good.” 

Jordan smiled. and after a while he 

went away. Standcr reported to his 
friend. His friend knew he had really 
tried, one always did, it was understood, 
you take care of one for me, I take care 
of one for you. Twenty or thirty days 
later the man phoned Stander to say 
that Jordan was working, teaching judo 
in a dojo on 88th Street. 
He's maki the man said. “It's 
big now, the ng, you know, and 
he's doing seventy-five-eighty-five bucks a 
week, I think. So, what the hell?” 

"Fm glad to hear it," Stander said. 


(continued from page 88) 


“Where is the place, exactly? I always 
wanted to try that myself, maybe I will.” 

So, one night, he went around. Over a 
bowling alley, pizzas next door, bar over 
there, but it was no stinking рупи 
it was bare but shiny-clean, straw 
on the floor, not much else. People in 
short white canvas pants and jackets 
were dumping each other around, It 
wasn't hard to find Jordan, 

“What I thought," Stander said, after 
they'd got through the hello-how-are- 
yous, "I'd like to try it. All right, I'm 
forty-seven, and all the exercise I've had 
since V-E Day, if you know what that 
means, is lifting my eyebrows, but 1 
thought if I took a couple months to get 
into some kind of shape, so I wouldn't 
break my neck straight off . . . you think 
there's any sense in tha 

“Well, Mr. Stander, you see that man 
over there, that whi red man?" Jor- 
dan said. "That man’s sixty-three. He's 
doing OK. 

“AML right," Stander said. “I'll see you 
weeks ог so." 

"Good," Jordan said. 

"One ш though,” Stander said. 
“The first few times, I don't know, I 
suppose ГШ look like a down, and 
maybe . 


in 


К said. “Everybody feels 
like that. [ know what you mean. This 
place opens at nine in the morning, and 
the first class is eleven. So from nine to 
eleven, thats for private lessons. Costs 
more, but if you don't mind that . 
You just made a deal," Stander said. 
They shook hands and he went away. 
He stopped smoking that night, and he 
stopped drinking. Next morning he 
walked 20 blocks before he took а cab. 
He went around to Abercrombie's and 
bought a stationary bicycle. It was all 
very easy and painless. In a couple of 
weeks he could do a lap around the res- 
ervoir in Central Park. It was no sweat. 
He felt good. He didn't know what was 
happening to himself, he didn't know 
why he was acting like an 18-year-old 
kid, skinny and sex-starved and wearing 
acne vulgaris on his face like a curse ога 
banner, but there it was, and as long as 
he didn't think about it, and didn't see 
himself as a 47-year-old clown trying to 
pl 18-year-old kid, skinny and sex- 
starved . . . one thing led surely to 
another, like rocks rolling down a moun- 
tainside, if you didn’t smoke for some 
rcason you didn't care so much about 
drinking, and if you didn't drink you 
didn't go out so much, and if you didn't 
go out so much you didn't get laid 


much, you didu't care, either. In 
due season he went around to 88th 
Street. 


Jordan was a natural teacher: he was 
patient, and he could put himself in an- 


other man's place. For a week Stander 
did ukemi, ways to fall without being 
hurt. Then they began with simple 
moves and throws When it came to 
Stander that the essence of the art 
rhythm, that it was dancing, that judo 
lived in the same house with skiing. with 
skating, with diving, with the rappel in 
mountain climbing, that it was а sen- 
suous thing, then he was hooked, and 
knowing that with this wild. hard-on 
game you could kill a man, too, that was 
the extra bounty that put the lock on it 
He bought all the clichés, that the price 
of a black belt is 10,000 falls, that the 
pious hope of the master judoka is that 
he will never in the rest of his lifetime 
touch a man in anger or in meanness 
he bought all of it. 

“You know,” he said to Jordan onc 
day, “I feel as young as I feel, if that 
makes sense.” 

“Yeah?” Jordan said, unblinking. 

“I feel good,” Stander said. "I just feel 
good.” 

“Well, now, that's nice," Jordan said. 

It was Jordan who had brought him 
all this, and it was Jordan alter all who 
could throw him 25 times to the floor in 
half an hour's time and never hurt him, 
and it was Jordan who'd let him, Sta 
der, dump him as hard as he knew how 
and every time come up smiling, saying, 
"Now that wasn't bad, Mr. Stander, but 
if you could remember to kecp your left 
foot just a bit higher t again 
ап. One 
"The hell with it, I'm not 
going back to the office today, can we 
have lunch?” 

"Sure, I guess so," Jordan said. 

Lying there in the tub, more hot wa. 
ter coming in, more whiskey on the 
tray, Stander could see that it was that 
one day that did it They went to the 
wrong place. It was a hotel restaurant in 
the West 60s, а so-so place, good but not 
too good. Stander had thought, if he'd 
thought about it at all. Nobody did any 
thing you could pin. It wasn't the worst 
able in the room. They waited only а 
ittle longer than was decent. АШ right, 
things were cold, but what the hell, it 
wasn't the Pyramide in Vienne, it was a 
West Side hotel in New York. Jordan 
didn't seem to notice. He went along. 
He wasn't a big talker at any time, so 
Stander talked. a little too much, а little 
too fast, maybe, he thought, doing it, 
bur still it had been his idea ru 
give the son of a bitching waiter a quar 
ter tip, he thought, and then, just then, 
when he's picking up the tray, I'll take it 
back, and if the mothering soandso 
blinks an eye at me . - 

It didn't come to that. The waiter 
brought melon for desert. He put Stan 
der's down, then Jordan's. He stayed. He 
looked down at Jordan and he said. soft 
ly, pointing, "You use that spoon, there, 
to eat it with.” 

Jordan stood up. He took the waitcr's 


“That nice Mr. Burton 
said I have curves 
in places where 
other girls don’t 
even have places.” 


22 


PLAYBOY 


222 


apel in his thumb and his finger. He 
1. "You know something, Whitey? I'm 
iot going to kill you for that, Not now, 
I'm not, that is" He tumed. "You 
coming, Mr. Stander?" he said. 

“They stood in the street, then, for two 
shakes, in the wind, the insensate low 
scream of traffic, across the Park and 
high towers of Fifth Avenue, all madness 
to the manor born, and Stander said, 
"Mike, I'm sorry.” 

"Sce you Wednesday, man," Jordan 
said, and he went away. 

Stander stood there. irresolute, an 
idiot, no thought in his whole bcing, 
well, one spin on his heel, find the waiter, 
break his bones, ah, no good, no good at 
Il, he did what he had to do, he lifted a 
limp am for a cab and went away. 

On the Wednesday they worked out as 
they had the other days. There was no 
need 10 speak, although Stander tried. 

Don't send money to chase lost mon- 
cy, Stander thought, locked in the warm 
embrace of whiskey and hot water. I 
know it now. But then, he had sent it. 
I'm not going to let some sick, wet-eyed, 
fish-bellied, all-pcople-hauing hash-slinger 
louse me, and louse him, he had pledged 
himself. ГЇ wash that one out. 
Like," he said, another da 
having a few people around Fı 


seven o'clock at my place?” 
guess so, Mr. Stander," Jordan said. 
Brown eyes m a brown face. “Why not, 
n?" 

Bring somebody," Stander said. 
Sure" Jordan said. 

What the hell, Stander thought, 
wasn't that I didn't try. And looking 
back, even now, he couldn't sce where 
he had been wrong. He tried. Of the 15 
couples he could get into his flat, anoth- 
er one of Negroes? No. He had a little 
black book of his owi nosaka. 
He called her. “IE there's no big fap in 
the Secretariat that пір i 
sure, Love it, lover. See you.” 

He called Bensicad. "Don't argue with 
me,” he said, "bring your little Jamaican 
friend,” he said. "Bring her, or don't 


come. 
“OK, mot 
What 
It was a 


" Benstead said. 

wrong, Stander never 
swinger, up and down 
and sidewise, for all he ever knew. He 
kissed Jordan's date on the same check 
he kissed all the others, no more no less, 
no sooner no later, and standing in the 
kitchen door, looking into the wriggling 
mass of idiots screaming into cach oth- 
егу faces, over their silly heads into the 
y lighrflecked sky and the Queen 
boro Bridge, he could think only that 
it was maybe cocktail fight number 136 
out of night in а long 
stone's throw of the corner in which he 
stood. He didn't see Jordan go, and he 
was drained and happy, warm and full 
of love for all the world that three in 
the morning when Tiji Yumosaka 


went 
knew. 


bumped her little breasts a 
siting up to light a cigarette, and said, 
“Your friend. Jordan didn't have a very 
good party. did he.” 

le didn't 

Well, he left mad, Real mad." 
Why? What happened?” 

“I don't know, honey, I just saw him 
bang out the door, somebody told me he 
was sore. 
lone? He left alone?” 
1 gu 

He didn't know where Jordan lived, 
and so Saturday and Sunday went. Mon- 
day at nine, before he could say hello, 

1 nice party, Mr. Stan- 


thighs, the regu- 
lar thing, lightly took his hold d threw 
him, hard. 

Sander wied once more, another 


1 cementhead, he thought, 
never knows when he's 
dead. No good. “I'm sorry," Jordan told 
"I'm busy, that night.” 

And so it came up to November 4, in 
the year 1965, in the morning, 9:16 on 
West 88th Street in the Borough of 
Manhattan, There was nothing exotic 
bout it. Jordan threw Stander with an 
ankle-block, rolled him, and put his left 
wrist behind his ear. The pain came 
through slowly to Stander, slowly at first, 
and then i howling rush, a flash 
flood of pain sacaming down a canyon 
wall, He patted the mat with his free 
hand, Nothing stopped. 

"You know, chum,” the soft voice 
came over his shoulder, “a judoka, he has 
to be able to take a little pain. 

“I know,” Stander said, as levelly as he 
could. "And аге as much as 1 can 
take. 


о. it's not.” Jordan said. "You can 
lot more, And you're р 
e. Lay ой. Whats this about? 
You're going to break my goddamn 
arm." 

“Mr. Jorda 
lay off. And it’s 
know when you 
where. 

“Jesus, Mike, please, lay off, you out 
of your goddamn head? What'd I do to 
you?’ 

"You did nothin’ to me, Unde Char- 
Jordan said. "It just came to me, a 
little while ago, that 1 don't like you. I 
don't like you for no reason, don't 
want to know why I don't like you. I 
don't want you around. I never did want 
you around. It’s time you blew the scene, 
that’s all" He lifted Standers arm an 
inch. 

So let me up,” Stander said. “H that’s 
Il that’s cating you.” 

1 don't know what's eating me,” Jor- 
dan said. "And you don't” He took 
other inch, and Stander scr He 
tied to think of a move. A joke, He was 
nailed to the mat, he was locked like а 
be: the building, he was lucky to 
breathe. he grunted, he 


And I'm not about to 
bout nothing. And I 
m will break. And 


ned. 


moaned, he was crying, "what do I do, 
tell me?" 

"You kiss my ass 
dan said, "You BEG 

Stander begged. He debased himself 
with every word he knew, in every per 
ion of words he . He howled 
а dog, he groveled like а witch. His 
arm came free. He couldn't move it. Ir 
hung behind his back like somcone’s 
else. He tried to get up. Before he had 
moved a foot, Jordan was on him aga 
mped to him. riveted to him. 
That was thal arm, Whitey,” he said. 
“Now we going to try this one.” 

Stander crawled off the mat іп the 
end. Alter a while, his arms came back 
and he could use them. He dressed. And 
in dressing, the Beretta locked in the little 
holster in the watch pocket of his trou- 
sers soltly reminded him that it was 
there. The sergcant was right, of course, 
he'd got it on a lie, the same lie that G 
ried half the pistol permits in New York, 
that and knowing somebody in Centre 
Street. For carrying money? No. For 
hearing of muggings and beatings and 
holdups, for being scared. Still, there 
was. He tied his shoelaces, he knotted his 
tie, he flexed his hands а few times. He 
went back. 

Jordan was on the mat. He was doing 
push-ups. He looked, and he laughed. 

"You back?” he said. “Whitey 

"Mike," Stander said. “All right, you 
blew your top. And I'm white and I was 
handy. 1 dig it all. I'm not sore. But it's 
no good that way. I can't have it all my 
way, but you can't either. 1 won't tike 
what you made me take, what you made 
me do. So, I want to hear you say one 
thing. I just want to hear you say you're 
sorry. 

Jordan came off the mat like a big toy 
doll on the end of а rubber band as big 
around as your wrist, bouncing twice, 
barefoot, without a sound. 

"What you got there in your hand. 
Uncle Charlie?" he said. “Water pistol 
“No.” Stander said. 
"Might as well be, all the good its 
gonna do you," Jordan said. “Takes 
more guis to shoot а man, than you got.” 
He stopped grinning. "You son of a 
bitch,” he said, "you just don't want to 


1 tell you to,” Jor 


know, do you? You just ain't gonna 
learn, are you?" And he started 
If I let him le ten feet, Stander 


thought . . . there were two dozen ways 
dan could do it, or try to do it. . . if 
І let him inside ten feet, Stander 
thought, ГИ sec him. fat in the 
1, his legs kicking out, swinging 
te gone crazy, and that will be 
Ш TI е... he hung а thread in the 
air in front of him, ren feet away, if he 
comes past that, he thought, God help 
me and love me, that’s it, and Jordan 
me, laughing. scuttling, fast, fast, and 
Stander took it off his hip—at Fort Dix 
they told you, hold it low on your hip, 
don't let The Enemy get his hands on it 


that casy—he crouched, he grabbed his 
right hand with the other one, he pointed 
it, stuck it out in front, FBI way and 
І, all right, now he knows I mean it, 
and Jordan came through the thread 
hanging there and he pulled pow pow 
pow pow. 

Stander went out into the street and 
grabbed the first cop he saw and it was 
then that he told the only lie, but of 
course, the big one, the one the ser- 
laughed that Jordan had 
teaching him a move. And he stuck 
with it. 


There is a point in drinking where 
the wildly rocketing soaring 
curve must turn, and fall back. Ch 
Stinder came to that place, The w 
was cooling in the hard white tub. He 
pulled himself ош. He dried himself 
after a fashion, He was hungry asa shrew. 
He went into the kitchen and broke si 

eggs into а pan, stirred them into а kind 
of omelet, ate them with however many 
slices of toast, drank a can of tomato 
juice and put himself to bed. He was 
drunk, and stuffed, and sick of himself, 
nd slecp came quickly. He dreamed. 

A cemetery, He came into it under an 
art nouveau kind of archway. “The Lord 
God Jehovah's New Fthiopian Place of 
Rest.” He saw himself. That man, there, 
in the belted trench coat. that опе, with 
the flowers. A long way off, but he could 
see it clearly with his telescopicwonder 
vision, a new grave, and a headstone, 
MICHAEL ARLEN JORDAN, 1942-1963, JESUS 
GRANT. HIM REST. In a crescent shape, 500 
Negro men formed around it. Or 600. 
Or a thousand. He, Charles Stander, 
with flowers (early violets, a tose, dirty 
daisies and some anemones) going that 
way. But, just before, a turning, а place 
for cowards, a pathway to the right. 
Down that way. Here, a litle white 
marker, and, drunkenslanüng in a 
gecen-wire holder, а glass vase, brim-full 
with brown rain water. And this: маку 
LOU HATKINS, GATHERED UP IN HER 
LORD'S SWEET HARVEST, AGED SIX YEARS AND 
SEVEN montis, The man in the wendi 
coat kneeling, and filling the vase with 
his flowers. 


les Stander woke late. The phone 
was ringing, and while he wondered, was 
it this bell thar had brought him back, it 


cut itself off, half in the middle of its 
shrilling faceless racket. He slept again, 


and at four in the afternoon got up. He 
made coffee and drank whiskey. He 
stood on his terrace and looked across 
the gray river into Long Island. He 
came in for more whiskey. The glass 
framed door swung in the wet wind be- 
hind him. He phoned his lawyer, the 
new father, and told him nothing. He 
looked up the name of a newspaper in 
Harlem. He spoke to three people and 
in that nine minutes he drank coffee and 
bourbon half and half. The third man 


told him what he wanted to know. The 
Lord God Jehovah's New Ethiopian 
Place of Rest was in fact called John the 
Baptist Cemetery. 

On Lexington Avenue in the 50s and 
60s, it's easy to buy flowers. Stander took 
what was offered him. He waved for a 
cab and went uptown. In the end, he 
had to walk a long way 
he hardly knew u 
the place, the very place, would be ha 
10 find, but it was not, new graves, new 
babies, everyone knows. The old ground 
fills up. the new ground is over there. At 
the tight end of a narrowing white gravel 
path. he saw it, and he went that way. 
There were по 500 people acscenting 
around the red clay mound, there wa 
по onc. He went on. Fifty fect or so 
away, another path crossed to the right, 
па looking along it he could believe 
that there must be a litle stone, MARY 
LOU HATKINS, GATHERED UP IN НЕК 
LORD'S SWEET HARVEST, but he kept on. 
There was no vase on Jordan's grave. 
He put his foolish flowers where there 


^. 
этет 9 


ae 


I. 


We 


was room for them. He knelt and tried 
to pray, or pretended to try. He couldn't 
think ol anything to say, bı 
ple of times, “I'm sorry, 
some doubt as to whom he was 
ing this messige. The ground beside the 
grave was wet, and knobbed with 
He was cold, uncomfortable а 
He did not feel that he was in communi- 
cation with any of the deities of which 
he had hemd during his life, and he 
could summon neither kinship with Jor- 
dan, below, nor compassion for his mem- 
ory. He gave up. He stood, he looked 
around, he walked ‚ two wet and 
muddy patches clammy on his knees. 

1 thought there'd be more to it, he said 
to himself, I really thought there'd be 
more to it than this, 

There never was. 
from there. The walk 
through, the acquittal a certainty, the 
publicity brief. A year later, he couldn't 
clearly remember Jordan’s face. 


Tt was all downhill 


tial was а 


"Would it make you feel better if I put the top up?" 


223 


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224 


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