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PLAYBOY'S 
BOLDEST BUNNIES 


between EDO 


udi P NE CG 4. LE RSS 
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THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO,” said the Duke of Wellington some 
years back, “was won on the playing fields of Eton.” These 
are reassuring words, especially nowadays, since America’ 


s 
ry training fields are beginning to look progressively 
more like the playing fields of Eton than the tough, regimental 


sergeants a 
binder and b; ting to resemble frat houses. None- 
theless, most experts seem to agree VOLAR (Volunteer Army) 
is working, at least on paper. But will the somewhat spoiled 
GIsof the future function adequately in a war? Or, per General 


Thinking up stumpers like those is precisely what separates 
magazine editors Irom the great mass of mortal men; for an 
answer, we turned to Josiah Bunting, an jor who served in 
Vietnam and an cx-instructor at West Point. When 
judging today's Army, Bunting is what might be called a com- 
ison shopper: and after spending a few months interview- 
ing raw volunteers and watching them train, he arrived at some 
intiguing conclusions, which appear in Can the Volunteer 
Army Fight? Now president of Briarcliff College, Bunting is 
the author of the acclaimed Vietnam war novel The Lionheads 
and, more recently, The Advent of Frederick Giles. 

While all may be quiet on the war front these days, Ameri- 
«a's sexual frontiers arc hardly sitting still. We may have been 
pushing our luck just a litle when we sent the Playboy Advisor, 
Assistant Editor James R. Petersen, on an assignment to explore 
the new sexual frontiers of America. Quite frankly, we never ex- 
pected to see him again. Petersen, however, took the assign- 
ment with all the aplomb and seriousness of a good journalist 
and returned a week later with an expenseaccount voucher 
that read like the log of a peripatetic vice cop. After visiting a 
New York massage parlor, a bisexual bar where patrons dressed 
up like Tinker Bell and the offices of Screw magazine, Petersen 
ended up in a West Side bar where cunnilingus serves as a bar 
snack. Been Going Down So Long It Looks Like Up to Me 
(illustrated by Edgar Clarke) is his account of that enviable 
odyssey into the nether world of American sex. "I was told,” 
says Petersen, “to taki Il along the sexual frontier. I guess 
I got lost.” Ir's trailblazing spirit like his that has made America 
what it is today. 

Which, of course, brings us to the pressing question: What 
is America today? One person who has some rather outspoken 
notions on that subject is Muhammad Ali, the subject of this 
month's interview, by tarry Linderman, Another is Randy Newman. 
Many of us here at the home office have been avid Newman fans 
for the past few years, so when one enterprising editor sug- 
gested that we assign a profile on him, we jumped for joy. Joy 
wasn't available, so we gave it to Grover Lewis instcad. The 
result: Is Randy Newman a Redneck Cole Porter—or Just 
Strange?, a rambling monolog in which the spacy L.A. 
musician/composer raps about Albania, bigotry and fame, 
mong other things. Lewis, if you don't already know, has 
uten extensively on a variety of subjects for Rolling Stone 


2: 


wi 
and is the author of the book Academy All the Wa: 


As soon as I got in the isolation ward," says author 
Mark Vonnegut, “I knew I had to get my shit together so I 
could write about it.” “It” in this case is Vonnegut's tumultu- 
ous bout with schizophrenia, which kept him in and out of a 
mental hospital throughout the spring of 1971. His vivid 
recollections of that battle to regain sanity appear in The Eden 
vpress, a Frank E. Taylor book just published by Praeger and 
excerpted under the same title by us in this issue. Now a firs 
year med student at Harvard, Vonnegut (son of author Kurt) 
written for Harper's and The Village Voice and has tenta- 
tive plans to write a consumer's guide to mental health. 

And while we're on the subject of writers, you'll probably 
remember William Neely—in case you don't, he won PLAyRoy's 
1973 Best Humor Writing Award with Bob Ottum for J Lost 
It in the Second Turn. We're happy to say he's back in our 
pages, this month with Radio S-E-M-/, a look at the network of 
and radios that truck drivers use to outwit the law. 


PLAYBILL 


BUNTING 


Ei] LINDERMAN 


DAVIDSON KNIGHT 

Another writer we're glad to see back in our table of con- 
tents is Paul Theroux, who has been contributing short stories 
10 PLAYBOY since 1970. In his latest, he explores the horrifying 
world of hallucination brought about by a disease known as 
Dengue Fever, which is also the title of the story. Bill Imboft’s 
accompanying artwork adds just the right touch. And in the 
conclusion of George MacDonald Fraser's Flashman in the Great 
Game, our favorite heroic coward battles his way out of a 
mutiny and singlehandedly saves India for the British. 

And, believe it or not, there's more. Arthur Knight guides us 
through this year’s steamier movie fare in Sex in Cinema— 
1975 (with suitably steamy photographs, of course). Artist Herb 
Davidson provides the illustration for Tobacconalia, a guide to 
pipes and smoking gear, and Ervin L. Kaplan shows us, through 
his etchings, some different uses for our you-know-whats in 
Phatlusies. And, boy, have we got some girls for you! Seventeen 
of them, in fact, in Bunnies of “75—a photographic fanfare 
to this year's sexiest hutch dwellers. And when we say sexiest, 
were not just whistling Dixie. We'll leave the whistling to you. 


3 


vol. 22, no. 11—november, 1975 


PLAYBOY. 


CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE 


PLAYBILL. 3 

DEAR PLAYBOY ....... = 9 

PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS. 19 

EVENTS... x 20 

Fever Fable BOOKS eR 
RECORDINGS... = 25 

MOVIES.. 30 

TELEVISION... 36 

THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR... TEE US. 

THE PLAYBOY FORUM. E 51 

TG PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: MUHAMMAD ALI—cendid conversation. . a 1 65 
CAN THE VOLUNTEER ARMY FIGHT?—crticle conse JOSIAH BUNTING 84 

BUNNIES OF '75—pictorial..._ b 88 

FLASHMAN IN THE GREAT GAME—fiction.. 96 

THE SOFT SIDE OF CLYDE—atrire. s9 


PHALLUSIES—h umor... ..ERVIN L KAPLAN 100 


RADIO S-E-M-I—article.. e WILIAM NEELY 103 


Wild Wolk 
HOORAY FOR HOBOKEN!— ployboy's playmate of the month... 


PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor. . 


THE EDEN EXPRESS—memoir. wr -MARK VONNEGUT 118 


NO MEAN FEET—ottire_. — ROBERT L, GREEN. 121 


BEEN GOING DOWN SO LONG—article.. JAMES R. PETERSEN 125 


TOBACCONALIA—modern I os S126 


Tag ae eee 


SEX IN CINEMA—1975—orficle ARTHUR KNIGHT 130 


IS RANDY NEWMAN A REDNECK COLE PORTER?— personality... GROVER LEWIS 144 


THE VARGAS GIRI— pictoriel. ~- ALBERTO VARGAS 146 


THE PROCURER—ribald classic. -.CARDINAL DUBOIS 147 


DENGUE FEVER—fictien. -PAUL THEROUX 148 


ON THE SCENE— person: : . 174 


PLAYBOY POTPOURRI. .. 


GENERAL OFFICES: PLAYGOY BUILDING. 919 NORTH MICHIGAN AVE. CHICAGO. ILLINGIS 6081, RETURN POSTAGE MUST ACCOMPANY ALL MANUSCRIPTS. DAAWIMGS AND PHOTOGRAPHS Sui. 
TIONALLY ASSIGNED FOR PUBLICATION AND COPYRIONT PURPOSES AND AS SUBJECT TO PLAYOOY'S UNRESTRICTED RIGHT TO EDIT AMO TO COMMENT KOFTORIALLY. CONTENTS COPYRIGHT © 1275 
MAY BE REPRINTED IN WHOLE OR IN PART WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THE PUBLISHER. ANY SIMILARITY BETWEEN THE PEOPLE AND PLACES IM THE FICTION AND SEMIFICTION 
RAPHY BY: AVCO-EMBASSY PICTURES, P. 34 CHARLES W, BUSH, P. 3 (2), 135, 127; MARIO CASILLI, F- 33: DAVID CHAN, P- 00.08, 91, 95; ALAN CLIFTON, P. 3: JEFF COHEN, P. 3, NICHOLAS 
be sciose, PHILLIP DIXON. P- 92. RICHARD FECLEY, P. 90. 93. 151, 435: BILL FRANTZ, Ps 3; JAMES GLOBUS. P. 132; LARRY DALE GORDON, P. 30. BRIAR D. HENTESSEY. P. 93: MIS- 
TORICAL FICTUAES SERVICE, CHICAGO, P. BA: DWIGHT NOOKER, P. 89; JILL KREMENTZ, ARVIN LICHTRER/LEE GROSS, P- 121, 133: YVES MANCIET/SYOMA, P. 136.137; MARY ELLEN 
MARR/LEE GROSS, P. MO (R): JOHN MCCORMICK, P. 3; RALPH WELSCH, P. Til; ORLANDO, P. 122; J. BARRY O'ROURKE. P. IB: GEONGES PIERRE/SYGMA P. 139; FOMPEO FOSA, 
P. 90, 93, 34; R. SCOTT, P. 1: SUZANNE SEED, p. 3: EVA SERENY/SYCWA. P. 133: JOEL SUSSMAN, P. I3; SULE, P. Mà, 94, WIZUETTE/SYGMA, P. 137. ILLUSTRATION: P 125, EDGAR CLARKE 


PLAYBOY, NOVEMBER, 1975, YOL.12. ND. IT. PUBLISHED MONTHLY AY PLAYBOY. IN NATIONAL AND RECIONALEDITIONS. PLAYBOY BLDG: -919 N-MICHIGAN AVE , CHEC- ICL- GOSH- sECOND.CLASS POST- 
AGE PAID AT CHGO-, ILL., AND AT ADDL. MAILING OFFICES. SUBSCRIPTIONS: IN THE U.5., $10 FOR ONE YEAR, POSTMASTER: SEND FORM 3879 TO PLAYBOY. P. O. BOX 1420, BOULDER, COLO. 80208. 


| - 
SETS 


Sometimes, a celebration says the things you can't find words for. 
Sometimes, BankAmericard' can make all the difference. 


PLAYBOY 


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More camera for your money. 


PLAYBOY 


HUGH M. HEFNER 
editor and publisher 


ARTHUR KRETCHMER editorial director 
ARTHUR PAUL art director 
SHELDON WAX managing editor 
JAMES GOODE executive editor 
MARK KAUFFMAN pliolograplry edilor 


G. BARRY GOLSON assistant managing editor 


EDITORIAL 
ARTICLES: GEOFFREY NORMAN editor 
STANDISH asistani editor + FICTION: ROME 
MAcAULEY editor, STANLEY  PALEY. associate 
editor, VICTORIA CHEN HAIDER, WALTER SUB- 
LETTE assistant edilors « SERVICE FEATURES: 
wom OWEN modern living editor, ROGER 
WIDENER assistant editor; ROBERT L. GREEN 
fashion director, avin varr fashion 
cilitor; THOMAS MARIO food c drink editor 
CARTOONS: wicurbir (ny editor « COPY: 
ARLENE BOURAS edilo TAN AMBER assistant 
editor + STAFF: GRETCHEN MC NEESE, KOBERT 
SHEA, DAVID STEVENS senior editors; LAURENCE 
Gonz staf] writer: DOUGLAS €. BENSON, 
JOHN BLUMENTHAL, WILLIAM. J. HELMER, CARE 
VHILIP SNYDER asociale editors; J. F. 0°CON- 
NOW, JAMES R PETERSEN assistant editors; 
SUSAN Ht MARIA NEKAM, BARBARA NELLIS. 
KAREN PADDFRUD, TOM PASS\VANT research 
editors; DAVID BULLER, MURRAY FISHER, NA 
HENTOFE, ANSON MOUNT, RICHARD RHODE 
RAY RUSSELL, JEAN SHEPHERD, BRUCE WIL- 
LAMSON (movies), JOHN skow contribuL- 
ing editors + ADMINISTRATIVE SERVICES: 
PATRIA PAPANGELIS administrative editor; 
ROSE JENNINGS rights & permissions manager: 
MILDRED ZIMMERMAN administrative assistant 


DAVID 


ART 
TOM STAEBLER, KERIG POPE associate directors; 
BOB POST, ROY MOODY, LEN WILLIS, CHET SUSKI, 


GORDON MORIENSEN, NOKM SCHAEFER, JOSEPH 
Acztk assistant directors; JULIE FALERS, 
VICTOR HUBBARD, GLENN STEWARD art assistants; 
EVE HECKMANN administrative assistant 
PHOTOGRAPHY 

MARILYN GRABOWSKI west coast editor; GARY 
COLE senior editor; HOLLIS WAYNE associate 

BILL. ARSENAULT, DAVID GHAN, RICHARD 
FECLEY, DWIGHT HOOKER, POMPEO POSAR staff 
photographers; vON AzUMA, BILL and MEL 
FIGGE, BRIAN D. HENNESSEY, ALEXAS URBA CON- 
hibuting photographers; nii, FRANTZ asso- 
ciate photographer; jov. JOUNSON assistant 
editor; 140 KkGL photo lub supervisor; 
JANICE BERKOWITZ MOSES chic) stylisl; ROBERT 
Curtius administrative editor 


PRODUCTION 
JOHN MASTRO director; ALLEN VARGO man- 
‘ager; LLEANORE WAGNER, RITA JOHNSON, 
MARIA MANDIS, RICHARD QUARTAROLI assistants 


READER SERVICE 
CAROLE CRAIG director 


CIRCULATION 
BEN GOLDBERG director of newsstand sales; 
ALVIN WIEMOLD subscription manager 


ADVERTISING 
HOWARD w. LEDERER advertising director 


PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES, INC. 
wontkr s. rREUSS business manager and 
associate publisher; RICHARD S. ROSENZWEIG 
executive assistant to the — publishe 
RICHARD M. ROFE assistant publisher 


©1975 Aramis, Inc. e The cloines; Hardy Amies of Loncon 


Aramis has convinced some very discerning men to wear cologne. Aramis is more than just a rich, 
peppery, potent fragrance. Aramis is a complete collection of seventy grooming aids, from 
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Aramis Inc.: Aramis, Aramis 900, Herbal & Chromatics. 


DEAR PLAYBOY 


E] sooness pxaveoy macnzine - PLAYBOY BUILDING, eso N. MICHIGAN AVE. CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 60611 


INTELLIGENCE REPORTS 

1 have praised the scholars and political 
activists interviewed by PLAYBoy in these 
pages before. But the current interview 
with former CIA operative Philip Agee 
(PLaypoy, August), I must say. beats all 
When T finished reading it, | am not 
ashamed to say that I wanted to cry. Not 
because of the murder, subyersion and 
torture perpetrated around the world by 
that band of hooligans—worst of all. in 
the name of freedom and democracy—but 
because such a magnificent transformation 
of a human being is possible. From a 


less cog in an amoral organization, 
Agee 
astute analyst of the world we live i 
Michael Moffitt 

Institute for Policy Studies 


Washington, D.C. 


has become a compassionate and 


I was a CIA agent from 1960 to 1964, 
operating in Latin 
and South Africa. I left the agency in 
1964 because I disagreed with some of 
its methods, but in no way would I have 
revealed the names of my friends or col- 
leagues to the enemy as Agee has. That 
is treason, no matter how you look at it 
Most likely, Agec has been a Marxist all 
his life. When his Commu 
dered him to g 
you really believe he went to Cuba to 
write his book? I don't. Nor do I believe 
that he was forced into the Company or 
that he didn't know what he was getting 
into. What did he think the CIA was—a 
game of chess? I agree that some of the 


America, Indochina 


ist bosses or- 


» out and talk, he did. Do 


methods used by the Company were un 
orthodox, but you have to sce the meth- 
ods used by the K.G.B., G.R.U., S.T.B.. 
D.G.L and A.V.B. to undersand this 
game. Agce does not have to be afraid of 
the CIA—its too good to do him any 
harm. But he ought to be aware that some 


of the Company people he betrayed might 
act on their own. 

Genaro 

Caracas, Venezuela 


It is, indeed, astounding that in this 
era of individual human achievement, 
we are dominated by an awesome me 
nagerie of Government agencies that un. 
dermine the very basis upon which this 
country was built. The August issue of 
PLAYROY should open some minds to the 
incredible power of the CLA (an agency 
that apparently should head a list of sub- 
versives). 


This indepth exposure of an 


agency that not only condones but 
motes criminal activities should initiate 
public reaction against this kind of amaz 
ing bullshit. 1t seems that not only in this 
country but throughout the world, w 


have come to the point of no return in 


which the CIA is bur an integral mech- 
anism in our deeply perverted social 


structure, 


Douglas C. Stewart 
Wimberley, Texas 


Philip Agee seems quite proud of the 
fact that he is exposing the CIA's over 
seas operations and that he exposed some 
CIA agents. I wonder if he is proud of 
the fact that he exposed himself as a 
traitor to his country. 

George Edward Leslie HI 

Baltimore, Mary 


1 want to thank you for that fa: 
interview with Philip Agee. After 


it, 1 went right out and bought his book. 
From the various articles I have read la 
ly regarding the CIA and its sinister 
escapades, 1 feel as Agee does—that this 
is a much more powerful and dangerous 
group than we previously realized, I hope 
your interview will help bring about an 
abolishment of this organization, although 
1, too, fear it is too late 

Shirley Jackson 

Chula Vista, California 


CORRECTION 

The remarks about the ntral In- 
telligence Agency by John D. Marks 
and Kenneth Barton Osborn pub- 
lished in PLAvmov's August issue are 
inaccurately labeled in the table of 
contents as by-lined articles. In fact, 
each was based on individi 


al imer- 
ad Os. 
rach, edited 


views conducted with Marks 


bom by writer Brad I 
into narrative form to avoid confusion 
with the question-and-answer format 
of The Playboy Interview with ex-CIA. 
officer Philip Agee, which they ac 
companied. We regret the error. 


DIAL TONES 

God bless Craig Karpel for writing Dr. 
Bell’s Monster (pLaywoy, August). Some 
psychologist someday is going to publish 
the information on just how many people 
have been knocked off the edge into in 
sanity by the repeated attack on their 


©1975, TABASCO is the 


Mellhenny Company, 


Avery Island, 


registered tredemark ol 
Louisiane 70513 


PLAYBOY 


10 


nervous systems by this harsh, monstrous 
contraption. It ranks with any refined 
torture for breaking down human resist- 
ance, Since the slide into extreme neurosis 
is so gradual uo one notices it, what has 
happened is that we have cities today in 
which large numbers of the populition— 
forced to sit by these instruments for long 
hous and listen to that sound steadily 
repeated—have become certifiable mental 
mutants; but since there are so many of 
us, the general attitude is that there is 
nothing wrong with us. For God's sake, 
somewhere, somehow, some scientist must 
be able to devise a sound that will be 
udible, distinctive and yet acceptable to 
the psyche, no matter how many times it’s 
repeated, After all, if we can put men on 
the moon. . . . 


Emest Leogrande 
New York, New York 
I found Craig Karpel’s ar 
the telephone most fascinatin 
that he does not ha 


c about 
but I feel 
ve proper respect for 
I love the telephone! 
aps when I hear its ring, either 
at home or at the office. If it is at the of- 
fice, it means I can stop work and shoot 
my mouth off or just listen. If it is at 
home. it means somebody has taken the 
time and the effort to call me. How heart- 
warming, even when it's just somebody 
trying to sell me a magazine subscription 
Arthur Myers 
Pittsfield, Massachusetts 


To demen, belittle and berate the 
great telephone systems in this country is 
like downgrading our advances in medi 
cine, transportation, uses of energy and 
the many other great accomplishments our 
modern technology has provided. Karpel 
blasts Ma Bell, but I wonder how far he 
would get in his activities if the telephone 
didn’t exist. Sure, we could all get along 
without our phones; so, too, could we 
manage without autos, antibiotics, X-rays, 
TV and all the other advancements that 
make life more livable though more com- 
plicated, Why is such an ari 
Is it for the sake of writing or is it sup- 
posed to accomplish some other objective? 
Il so, I fail to sce it. 


nuel A. 
Great Neck, New York 


Craig Karpel has found the soft under- 
lly of human telephonic communic: 
ind deftly opened it up for all to see. In 
spite of how we lave been taught to think 
about telephones, they arc an excellent 
example of an invention that became 

iug far more than what the in- 
ventor had originally intended. Indeed, 
all Bell was actually looking for was a 
"multiple" telegraph; i.e. one that could 
cany "two or more telegr: 
simultancously along 2 single wire. 
patent that is the very heart of the Bell 
System, Patent No. 174,465, is, in fact, 


jon 


tided simply "Improvement in Teleg- 
raphy.” Further evidence of Karpel's 
characterization of the special nature of 
telephonic communication was supplied 
by the publics negative reaction to 
AT&T's affair with video communica 
tion, Picturephone. Ivory tower electrical 
and design engineers doubtless told one 
another that if audio information is good, 
then audio plus video must be better. I 
sincerely hope they will read Dr. Bell's 
Monster and finally understand what 
went wrong. I don't know if the med 
is the message, but the message is certa 
a funcion of the medium. So kudos to 
arpel for telling the world there is more 
to telephones than calling home. 

Scott B. Guthery, President 

Computer Recreations 

Cliffwood, New Jersey 


Re Craig Karpel's perceptive artide 
about our former servant that grew up to 
become the slithery, sinister Dr. Bell's 
Monster: "There's nothing left to do but 
take a big stick and beat the damned 
thing to death. 


Gloria Stavers 
New York, New York 


PLAYCRATE OF THE MONTH 

I've been a steady rrAvnox reader for 
The articles are 
and the girls are out of s 
a complaint: You've done 


features on 
legs for the leg men and features on 
breasts for the breast men, but what about 


us box men? When, oh, when, are you 
going to have some good box shots? 
Mike Leuch 
Fort Madison, Iowa 
Who said we never listen to our read- 
eis? You want boxes, here they are, se- 
ductively rendered by one of our best 


staff photographers. Whatever turns you 
on, Mike. 


RAIDER RATERS 

Wels Twomblys Head Ra 
(rLAvnov, August) is an excellent article 
about a hell of a man. team and organ- 
ization. The Oakland Raiders have had 
the best team in the N.F.L. for the past 
three years. they continue to blow 
the big y tome, but I 
can underst is felt after 
team lost to the Steclers. I attended. the 
1975 Super Bowl game in New Orleans 
and got a bird's-eye view of one of the 


der 


best defensive teams ever to play the 
game. I wonder if it occurred to Davi 
that the best team won. After seeing the 
Steelers in the Super Bowl, 1 am positive 
that’s the case. 


Dennis King Gibson 
Jackson, Mississippi 


Bless you for exposing to the rest of 
the world what I've had to put up with 
for the five years I've lived in the San 
ancisco Bay Area. Wells Twombly is 
not unique among Bay Area sports re- 
porters. Never in my life have I been 
exposed (o such an assortment of whim- 
pering, second-rate newsmen. Year afte 
before the N.F.L. season be 
kland Raider crap dominates the sports 
media. The stories are always the same: 
*Man for man. the Oakland Raiders 
are without doubt the best team in pro 
football.” And at season's end: "Even 
h they lost the big one, man for 
the Ri rs are the best t 
pro football" Some writer, somewhere, 
sometime in the Sixties wrote those 
and they have not been altered one iot 
since, These reporters—TV and news- 
paper alike—are, to the man, unimagi 
tive and repetitious. They must gather in 
bars in Oakland and San Francisco to cry 
their beer every time the Raider De. 
jumps up. 


cember 


Jake W, Conway 
Berkeley. C: i 


Donn Pcarce's Love for Rent (PLAvnov, 
August) is most educational. In my line 
of business, I get down to Miami once i 
a while and, to tell you the truth, most 
of the time I'm bored silly. But I won't 
be anymore. Thanks for the tip. 

Harvey Crane 
Adanta, Georgia 


T've been a Donn Pearce fan ever s 
I read Cool. Hand Luke some years 
So I was happy to sce his by-line appear 
once again in PLAYBOY. Pearce hasn't let 
me down. Love for Rent is a good, in- 
formative. fast read. My only complaint 
is that he doesn't write often enough 
for you. 


Lester Jones 
Tampa, Flori¢ 


PLAYMATE AHOY! 
We are so enamored of Lillian Müller 
your beautiful August cover gir and 
Playmate, that we feel impelled to write 
It's somewhat of a tradition for sailors a 
sea—in this case, aviators—to adopt their 
le booster and 

ky-high. even 
when we are ng! It’s not often that 
we come across a woman who lights all 
of our respective afterburners; but with 
L the heat is unanimous. She's our 
collective "girl in every port"; but, alas, 
it would take a lifetime of sailing to find 
a girl like her waiting at the pier. Much 


lucky ch 


The BMW 398i. 
For those who deny themselves nothing. 


There are any number of luxury sedans — 
both European and domestic—that proudly offer 
unbounded opulence for people willing to pay 
the price. 

Sumptuous carpeting, supple leathers, 
hand-rubbed wood accents, AM/FM stereo, 
power this and power that. 

Underneath this embarrassment of riches, 
however, one generally finds that the average 
luxury car’s performance is also something of an 
embarrassment. 

At the Bavarian Motor Works, it is our 
contention that, while the pursuit of luxury is no 
vice, when allis said and done, it is extraordinary 
performance that makes an expensive car worth 
the money. 

So, while the BMW 3.0Si has as long a list 
of luxury features as one could sanely require 
of an automobile, it also has a singularly re- 
sponsive 3Hiter, fuel-injected engine that | 
never fails to astound even the experts with its 


©1975 BMW oft North America. Inc 


smooth, turbine-like performance 
It has an uncanny four-wheel independent 
suspension systern that allows each wheel to 
adapt itself instantly to every driving situation— 
giving you a total control that will spoil you for 
any other car. 
It has a solid steel passenger safety cell, a 
dual twin-circuit, four-wheel disc-braking system, 
and an interior that's bio-mechanically designed 
to prevent driver fatigue. 
For a great many serious drivers in all parts 
of the world, the BMW 3.0Si has redefined the 
meaning of the word "luxury" to encompass 
something more than a thin veneer of leather 
and chrome 
If you'd care to judge for yourself, we 
suggest you phone your BMW dealer and arrange 
a thorough test drive. 


| The ultimate driving machine. 
Ø” Bavarian Motor Works, Munich, Germany. 


For the name of your nearest dealer, or for further information, you may call us, toll-free, at 800-243-6006 (Conn. 1-800-882-6500 


PLAYBOY 


pro---------------- 


Yes. I'd like to know more about cameras 


New! 
Cameras that 
understand you. 


Most camera manufacturers expect 
you to learn to understand their 
cameras. 

But not Pentax 

Our new K series of 35mm SLR 
cameras were designed to under- 
stand you. 

All three of these new K series 
cameras have been “human engi- 
neered." A new bayonet mount 
locks lenses in place in less than 
one-quarter turn. And lets you 
change lenses so easily, you can 
do it without even looking. And. of 
course, gives you the precision and 
quality of world-famous Pentax 
screwmoun! lenses. The meter on 
two of these cameras is activated 


New silicon photo diode 
reacts instantly to changing. 
light conditions. 


Meter activation coupled 

to film advance lever and 
shutler release button 

for more foolproot operation 


New, exclusive 5-bladed 
titanium shutter 


Electronically-selected 
shutterspeed— 
1/100010 &-sec. 


by the shutter release switch, which 
has been ingeniously coupled to 
the film advance lever, for foolproof 
operation. And the camera bodies 
have been redesigned for a more 
natural feel and easier use 

As you would expect, the new K 
series of cameras is a lot more than 
just three cameras. It's a whole fam- 
ily that includes 26 matching lenses 
and more than 200 other accessory 
items 

Discover the cameras that under- 
stand you. See your Honeywell 
photo dealer for complete details. 
Or detach and mail the coupon for a 
free 12-page color brochure. 


The newall-electronic 
Asahi Pertax K2 


thatunderstand me. Please send free 12-page brochure. 
NAME. — 

ADDRESS. Cm. 

STATE - = ZIP. 


MAIL TO: Honeywell Photographic, Dept. 106-631, P.O. Box 22083, Denver, CO 80222 


Honeywell 


thanks to you and to Lillian for helping 
us beat the bell-bottomed blues. 

ch, Alfie, Hobo, Pooh Bear, et al. 
S.S. John F. Kennedy 

New Yorl ew York 


VERDICT ON VENGEANCE 
Peter Schrag’s Vengeance Under the 
Law (PLAYBOY, August) is a superb in- 
dicument of America's somewhat one-sided 
judicial system. The injustices he points 
out, however, do not exist solely on the 
Federal level. As anyone who has ever 
gotten a speeding ticket in Georgia or 
Alabama can tell you, the cards are 
definitely stacked. against the defendant. 
OF couse. on a higher level, the conse- 
quences of the system are far more sex 
but it is important to realize that the 
entire system local, state and Federal— 
is riddled with the same sort of corruption. 

Harry Dobbs 
New York, New York 


us, 


nd thanks to Peter 


ting look at the 
W stu- 


rican system of justice. As a 
dent weighing the merits of alta 
al careers, I have been great 


nt is needed to protect the public from 
the Government, The dreadful paradox is 
t the more a democratic Government 
self, the more 


Georgetown Law Center 
Washington, D.C. 


MESSAGE FRO: 


MARS 

let your readers know that Mars, 
Incorporated, did not authorize or ap- 
prove your using our trademarks in the 
“M&M's” portion of the 'ormations 
pictorial im the May 
PLAYhOY, nor have we a 
proved the use of our 
Ts 


1975 
thorized or ap- 
trademark on 


issue of 


Mars, Incorpor 

McLean, Virgi 

Our apologies for any difficulties we 

mmy have caused Mars because of our 

use of its trademarks. We did not request 
permission. 


AIR TRAFFIC 

Laurence Gonzales’ You Gotta Believe 
(eLavnoy, July) unfortunately accentuates 
all the negative aspects of the airlines. 
It is based on the natural shortcomings 
of a developing industry that has grown 
a spectacular rate, and no mention is 
made of the fact that in 50 years it has 
all other s of passengei 
on. Surely, the overwhelming 
public preference for this type of trans- 
port must be based on the public's will- 
ingness to accept the risks involved and 


surpassed 


sporta: 


If you aren't getting 
More, 


you're getting less. 


ACTUAL LENGTH, 


Does your cigarette measure up? 


What’s so more about More, 
the first 120mm cigarette? The 
cigarette that’s more in every way 
except price. 

Long, lean and burnished 
brown, More has more style. It has 
more flavor. It has more. Over 50% 
more puffs than most 100mm ciga- 
rettes. Yet More doesn’t cost more. 

And whether you smoke regu- 
lar or menthol cigarettes, you can 
get More going for you. Because 
both More and More Menthol de- 
liver quality like you’ve never 
experienced before. 

They smoke slower and draw 
easy for more enjoyment. They’re 
more flavorful. Yet they’re surpris- 
ingly mild. 

They're More. 

More and More Menthol. They 
sit neat in your hand like they were 
made for it and fit your face like 
they found a home. 


The first 120mm cigarette. 


Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined 


USES EEG GERE FILTER, MENTHOL: 21 m. tar, 16 ms nicotire, a per cigarette by FTE method. 


PLAYBOY 


l4 


The new B.I.C. 940. 

It eliminates the big 
disadvantage common 
to all high-performance 


turntables. 


High-performance turn- 
tables cost a bundle. 

The B.I.C. 940 doesn't. 
And yet... 

It’s a belt-drive instru- 
ment with a full 12" platter. 
Its low-mass tone arm 
tracks magnificently. It has 
a low-speed (800 rpm), 24- 
pole motor which is in- 
herently quieter than 
ae touna in some turn- 
tables that cost 
twice as much. (BITC) 

And when you look over 
its wow, flutter, and rumble 
numbers, the 940 is right up 
there with the costliest 
equipment you can buy. 

It’s a multiple-play man- 
ual turntable, which means 
you can operate it in 3- 
modes: single-play manual, 
single-play automatic, or 
when the occasion arises, as 
a multiple-play turntable 
that will handle as many 
as 6 records. 

For pure, clean, accurate 
reproduetion of what is on 
your records, this is the opti- 
mum way to spend your 
turntable dollars. 

Ask your audio dealer 
about the B.I.C. 940 and the 
2-year “bee-eye-cee” war- 
ranty thatstands behind it. Or 
write to British Industries, 
Westbury, N.Y. 11590. 


1975 Britis! industries Co, a division of Avnet Inc. 


to pay for that 
a highly compe! 


pe of transportation in 


1 have spent my share of time in the 
cabins of commercial airliners. and even 
had the experience of spending several 
hours in a control tower in the course 
of my work to observe flight operations. 
Fliers and people in the industry seem 
to enjoy conveying the impression that 
their craft involves an arcane wisdom 
that is incomprehensible to the Jayman, 
that they have ev ig under control 
and that. their act re above criti- 
Mishaps are usually attrib- 
uted to technical malfunctions, which, of 
course, are bound to occur in a field of 
such scientific sophistication. Gonzales’ 
article makes it all so clear—the post- 
explinations, the Federalagency 
ucratese and the airlines’ flak. I 
never again be lulled into a false 
sense of security by the snappy profes- 
sional veneer of airline operations, 
there are obviously things that eve 
senger ought to look into a little deeper 
before he boards a flight. 
Victor D. Ryerson 
Davis, California 


Being a pilot, I read Laurence Gon- 
zales' You Gotta Believe with great in- 
terest. Upon finishing the article, I 
wondered if I would ever again let any- 
onc “fly me" except, perhaps, myself. 
What might have made the article a 
little less frightening (maybe more to 
some) would have been to let people 
know that pilots are human and arc 
therefore susceptible to human weak- 
nesses. Also, airplanes are machines that 
arc not infallible. Considering all of this, 
the airlin 
accident record. 
is that with every crash ther 
eggs tede a 


industry docs not have a bad 
The problem it faces 
usually 


FLOOR MODELS 
Congratulations on your August pic 
torial The Department Store. Back in my 
college days, I worked part time in a big 
department store and many times I fan- 
tasized a mannequin's coming to life in 
front of my eyes, so it was a real fantasy 
come true for me. But Y can't help won. 
dering how photographer Richard Fegley 
got through the shooting without feeling 
he was turning into a mannequin himself. 
Michael Johnson 
Lebanon, Tennessee 


PERSONNEL REPORT 

The Girl from Playboy in your August 
issue is by far the most be 1 Layout 
I've ever seen in your magazine. Not only 
are the pictures superb but the text adds 


that same degree of humanness that you 
achieved some months back with your pic- 
torial-autobiography of Margot Kidder. 
Lets have more of the same in the future. 
Larry Collins 
Chicago, Illinois 


What a layout! Kim Komar has to be 
the most beautiful woman I've seen yet 
In my opinion, she should have been 
Miss August. She really knows her work 
Rich Kincaid 
Chico, California 


CHEERS! 
As far as Fm concerned, the Party 
Jokes section of your magazine is the 
funniest feature. The jokes are 
top-notch and LeRoy Neiman’s Femlin 
adds just the right touch of lighthearted 
sexiness. One question: One of the Au- 
gust illustrations shows a champagne 
bottle with a note attached, saying, “Dear 
Femlin, Happy Birthday.” Is there any 
particular significance to this? 
Charles Mott 
New York, New York 
Neiman's Femlin made her first ap- 
pearance (sce bottom. drawing) in our 


August 1955 issue, which, 
197. 
far, she has not missed a single issue. 


as of August 
, makes her exacily 20 years old. So 


APOLOGY 

On page 180 of our September 1975 
issue, we published a cartoon that re- 
lers by name to a Lord Cowdray, 
which we believed was not the name. 
of any recor 
been brought to our attenti 
there is, in fact, a german 
man by that name—the “ 
count. Cowd PLAYBOY ps sl 
apologizes for any embarrassment it 
may have inadvertently caused Lord 
Cowdray. 


For 
the both . 


lors, leathers and looks you tee 
(and some you have yet to see). 
Now for those times when you're 
on jour own there are Idlers, the 
other Florsheim for the other you. 


In sand suede: men's 77602 — women's W5085 


A DIVISION OF INTERCO. INCORPORATED 


PLAYBOY 


Bell & Howell Schools announces two ways to learn new skills 
in electronics without ever going to class or giving up your job! 


Pick the one 


Here are two fascinating home-learning 
adventures that say, “Don’t envy the man with 
skills in electronics... become one!” 

If you had to drop everything and go off to school to learn new 
skills in electronics, there's a chance you might not do it. But Bell 
& Howell Schools’ excellent home training has already proved to 
tens of thousands that you don’t have to drop anything.. .except 

the idea that classrooms are the only place you can learn! 

You can keep your job, your paycheck and your way of life 
while you're learning. Because these programs allow you to pick 
the training schedule that best fits in with your other activities. 
It's that convenient. 


I. AUDIO/ELECTRONICS 
The first learn-at-home program including 
4-channel technology. Explore this totally unique 
sound of the 70's as you experiment with testing 
equipment and build a sound center featuring 
Bell & Howell's superb quadraphonic equipment! + 
Learn about 4-channel sound— without a doubt the most impres- 
sive technical advancement in sound realism in years. A develop- 
ment by which separately-recorded channels literally wrap a 
room in sound. 

And now, for the first time, you can also discover this latest 
achievement inaudio electronics with a fascinating learn-at-home 
program that explores the whole area of audio technology in- 
cluding 4-channel sound reproduction. A program that could lead 
you in exciting new directions with professional skills and techni- 
cal know-how. 


You actually build and experiment with Bell & 
Howell's high-performance 4-channel audio center 
...including amplifier and FM, FM-Stereo tuner. 
Understanding today’s audio technology requires practical expe- 
rience with high caliber equipment. And with the Bell & Howell 
amplifierand tuner, you've got the technological tools you need to 
gain the knowledge andskills that could open up opportunities for 


you in the audio field. Of course, we cannot offer assurance of 
income opportunities. 

The sophisticated amplifier gives you the circuitry you need to 
conduct the comprehensive experiments necessary to master 
audio technology. Like signal tracing low level circuits, trouble- 
shootinghigh power amplifier stages, and checking the operation 
of tone control circuits. 

You'll investigate the technology behind this amplifier's full 
logic, 4-channel decoder and learn how full logic decoding pro- 
duces outstanding front to back separation. 

The tuner you build has both superior performance specs and 
state-of-the-art featuressuch as: all solid state, FET front end for 
superior sensitivity, crystal IF filters for wide bandwidth, and a 
superior stereo multiplex circuit for excellent stereo separation. 


You cover the full range 
of electronic fundamentals. 
But make no mistake. This learn-at-home program is not just 
about 4-channel sound. It covers the full range of elec- 
tronic fundamentals leading to understanding audio 
technology. So when you finish, you'll have the occu- 
pational skills to becomea full-service technician, with 


the ability to work on the full range of audio equi] 
ment such as tape recorders, cassette players, FM. 
antennas, and commercial sound systems. Get. com- 

| plete information on this unique program by checking 
the appropriate box on the card—mail it today! 


| Cabinets and speakers available aL extra cost. 


Simulated TV test pattern, 


II. HOME ENTERTAINMENT 
ELECTRONICS 
Gain new skills in Home Entertainment 
Electronics in an unusual Jearn-at-home 
program that includes the new generation 
color TV you build yourself! 

This is the first program of its kind to include the study of digital 
electronics. And what better or more exciting way to learn about 
it than to actually build and test a25” diagonal color TV employing 
digital electronics? 

You'll probe into the digital technology behind all electronic 
tuning and channel numbers that appear on the screen. An on- 
screen digital clock that shows the time to the second. You'll also 
gaina better understanding of the exceptional color clarity of the 
Black Matrix picture tube, as well as a working knowledge of 
"state-of-the-art" integrated circuitry and the 100% solid-state 
chas 

As you build this remarkable, new generation color TY, you'll 
not only learn how advanced integrated circuitry works, but how 
to detect and troubleshoot problems in any area. 


Sound good? Then mail the postage paid card today for more 
details. 


Whichever program you choose, r 
you'll get to build and experiment with 
your own electronics laboratory. 

“Hands on” working experience with the latest equipment is the 
key to Bell & Howell Schools’ home training. That's why in both 
programs we start you 
off with a set of equip- 
ment called the Lab 
Starter Kit, including a 
fully-assembled volt-ohm 
meter designed to help 
you experiment withand 
better understand basic 
cleetronic principles. So 
you don't just read about 
electronic principles, you 
actually make them work! 

Next, in step-by-step 
fashion, you'll assemble 
Bell & Howell's exclusive 


Electro-Lab® electronics training system. It includes a special 
design console that enables you to assemble test circuits. A 
digital multimeter for accurately measuring voltage, current 
and resistance. And a solid-state “triggered sweep” loscope 
which will allow you to analyze the functioning of tiny integrated 
circuits. Putting these instruments together will give you expe- 
rience in wiring, soldering and assembling. Then, further on, 
you'll use the lab equipment for experience in electronic testing, 
troubleshooting and circuit analyzing. 


We try to give more personal attention 
than other learn-at-home programs. 

Both of these programs are designed so that you can proceed 
through them smoothly, step by step. However, should you ever 
run into a rough spot, we'll be there to help. While many schools 
make you mail in your questions, we have a Toll-Free Phone-In 
Assistance Service for questions that can’t wait. Bell & Howell 
Schools also holds In-Person “Help Sessions”, 

in 50 major cities at 


various Limes throughout the year. There you can talk shop with 
fellow students and receive additional help from instructors. 
‘These personalized programs cannot guarantee you a job in 
electronics, but do equip you with important occupational skills. 
The knowledge you pick up will help you look for a job— 
or advance in the one you already have. 


Mail the postpaid card today 
for full details! 


Taken for vocational purposes, these programs qualify for Vet- 
erans' Benefits, Send for full details today. 


7Electro-Lab*"is a registered trademark of 
the Bell & Howell Company, ven 


If card is missing, write: 
An Electronics Home Study School 
DeVRY INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY 


(GF BEL s HowELL ScHooLs 


4141 Belmont, Chicago, Illinois 60641 


PLAYBOY 


YOU, HOWEVER, PROBABLY SAY BLOODY MARY. 
WE SAY BLOODY MARIA. 


WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO SAY BLOODY MARIA? 
PERHAPS WE CAN HELP. JUST MAKE A BLOODY MARY 
WITH ALL THE USUAL THINGS. THEN ADD ONE NOT- 
SO-USUAL THING. JOSE CUERVO’ TEQUILA. 


SHAKE WITH VIM 
OR VIGOR, BUT NOT BOTH. 
SERVE OVER ICE. OR 
UNDER. (IT'S A FREE 
COUNTRY.) 


BLOODY GOOD, 
ISN'T IT?  BLOODY GOOD 
AD, TOO, IF YOU ASK US. 


18 JOSE CUERVO Œ) TEQUILA. 80 PROOF. IMPORTED AND BOTTLED EY © 1975, HEUBLEIN, INC.,HARTFORD,CONN. 


PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 


um! Sure beats turkey: The Lawrence, 

Massachusetts, Eagle Tribune report- 
ed a holiday food-collection drive in which 
“The Salvation Army and Kentucky Fried 
Children stores nationwide" participated. 
prostitute in Vancouver, British Co- 
lumbia, had always managed to elude the 
police until she sauntered over to a de- 
tective who was sitting in his car writing 
in a notebook while waiting for his 
partner. “Are you a cop?” she asked. 
Recognizing the girl, the detective scrib- 
bled in his book, “I'm a deafmute.” 
Taking the pen and pad, the lady wrote 
out an invitation: "Come to my room— 
$30." The detective took back the paper 
and jotted, “You're under arrest.” 

The California Institute for Respon- 
sible Parenthood, which tries to gauge 
the media's effect on the dramatic rise 
in teenage pregnancies, has given its first 
Annual Civic Consciousness Raising 
Award to songwritersinger Paul Anka 
for his hit (You're) Having My Baby. 
Anka was awarded a gift certificate re- 
deemable for a vasectomy to be per- 
formed by the doctor of his choice. 

Help-wanted ad in The Observer, of 
rna Beach, Florida: "Young man 
six feet tall, must know judo and 
karate, to work in collection dept. Apply 
Arnold's Friendly Loan Service. 


Under the heading of places named 


from some activity carried on there,” 
Ekwall's book Streetnames of the City of 
London lists a Gropecunte Lane. Unfor- 
tely, a Mih Century. urban-renewal 
program wiped it off the n 


[m 


Yes, but can she write with it in 
that position? The University of Tex- 
as student senate pased a reso- 
lution requiring coeds to wear 
bras if they flunk the pencil test, 
(The pencil test stipulates 
that a woman who can sup 
port a pencil under her breast 


should wear a bra) One enterprising 
freshman, applying for the job of ad- 
ministering the test, offered to pay the 
university for letting him do so. 

A nine-pound, bouncing baby bandit 
The 1:30 aar. movie Torrid Zone was 
summarized in the TV listings as "Plan- 
tation manager suddenly finds himself 
straddled with a honky-tonk singer on the 
place, which produces disorder as well as 
a local bandit.” 


Newington, Connecticut, police re- 
ceived the following all-points bulletin 
“Missing, one duck named Donald. Age 
three yems, three feet tall, twenty-five 
pounds, wearing fancy orange shocs and 
white feather coat. Subject is known to 
hang around bodies of water 

Bulgarian joke of the month: In a 
loving mood, Stoyan Pandov's wife fixed 
him a fish dinner, then affectionately bit 
his car lobe. He died of blood poisoning. 


Officials of a New York-bascd swimsuit 
company recently held a poolside press 
unveiling of their latest item, the trikini— 
which amounts to a couple of large 
pasties and a regular bikini bottom. The 
manufacturer said the swimsuit was a 
new concept designed to "add new di 
mensions of poise and, most important, 
the cups cover bosoms fully and stay on 
m wate T 


To 
demonstrate <= 


point, a trikinied model stepped into the 
ing 
only a bikini, her right cup remaining 
underwater. The show ended abruptly. 


pool; when she surfaced, she was w 


Good taste The Reston 
Times of Virginia reports that a burg 
broke into a house there, ignored jewelry 
and other valuables, but stole a 240-issue 
collection of—you guessed it—PrAxsov 
magazine 


timeless: 


A bill was recently debated in the 
state of Washington that would legalize 
prostitution. Licenses would be given 
to the girls and the madams, but only 
after they offered “satisfactory proof that 
the applicant is of good character.” 


Going our way? Two Detroit police- 
men were staked out in an unmarked 
van in a parking garage where several 
cars had been broken into and robbed. 
As the police watched through the one- 
way glass in the van, two men entered 
and broke into two cars. Then, using a 
crowbar, the men walked up to the van 
itself, pried open the doors and began 
to rummage around. The police then 
drove directly to the station. 


An Inkster, Michigan, district-court 
judge, complaining that "junk" cases 
take up too much of his time, dismissed 
23 bottomless-dancing cases. "I've got 
bottomless dancing cases coming out my 
ge cars," he said. 


Bitches : The Canine Control 
Office of Connecticut reports that 
when it issued dog-license tags 
in the shape of a fire hydrant, 
it received calls from irate 
women complaining that 

the tags provided a sym- 

bol for only male canines. 


A strip joint known as The 
Doll House knew exactly 


18 


PLAYBOY 


what it was looking for when it placed 
an ad the Honolulu Advertiser: “TOP 
PAY FOR TOPLESS DANCERS WITH BIG TIPS." 

Notso-grand larceny: According to The 
Philadelphia Inquirer, a fellow named 
Anthony Scott was held in Hamilton, 
Ohio, on charges of holding up a tavi 
with a becr bottle and a toilet seat. As 
the bartender was entering the men's 
room, Scott reportedly grabbed a broken 
toilet seat and forced him to open the 
cash register. 


UCLA has developed a proces for 
making bricks and tiles from cow dung 
and other waste material, The finished 
product is described as clegant, cheap 
and as strong as ordinary brick at half 
the weight. Among the proposed name: 
KauHaus and MooBrick. 

The satiric British magazine Private 
Eye reports that a well-known veterinary 
surgeon recently addressed the Yatton 
Fat Stock Show but played down his cx- 
pertise on farm animals. "I'd feel more 
qualified to speak to our ladies" organi- 
zation on ‘the care of your pussy,’ ” he 

nnounced solemnly. 


EVENTS 


The Los Angeles Phonograph Record Swap 
Meet convenes the first Sunday of every 
month in the parking lot adjacent 
to the Capitol Records building in Holly- 
wood. At 7:30 on a recent Sunday morn- 
g. the usually bustling street was so 
tranquil we felt like we were strolling 
into a photo on an album cover. As we 
entered the parking lot, swap-meet ha- 
bitué Tony Taylor ran up and asked at 
once if we had anything to sell. Over a 
cup of coffce, he explained that he meant 
old 45s like is Presley's That's All 
Right on the Sun label, which g 
for $65 and up, or Stormy Weather by 
the Five Sharps on Jubilee, which is worth 
$500 in mim condition. Tony, who 
works in the shipping room of a cassette 
company, doesn’t have that kind of money 
to spend. But he is in the market for 
bootlegs of old 45s, the masters of which 
American record companies have lost, 
have sold to Japan or won't rerelease. 
Also, many of the carly 45s wcre cut in 
retail record stores or local studios, and 
the discs disappeared almost as fast as the 
groups who recorded them. Copies are 
made from the few records still around. 
The present site of the swap meet rep- 
resents a victory of the rhythm-and-blues 
cult over John Philip Sousa. The mect 
began in Pasadena during the late Fift 
when the Society of Early Recorded Music 
met to swap Sousa marches and to wade 
an Oh You Spearmint Kiddo with the 
Wrigley Eyes from 1910 lor an Oh, How 
She Gould Yacki Hacki Wicki Wackie 
Woo from 1916. In the early Sixties, the 
meet went to Los Angeles, occupying 


the parking lot at the House of Pancakes 
on Sepulveda Boulevard in West Los 
Angeles. Then, in the early Seventies, 
the o wht of 45 R&B freaks broke 
the hegemony of the 78 collectors. Soon 
after, the meet was moved to its present 
location under the shadow of Capitol's 
atomic-deco “tower of records” building, 
where the parking lot can accommodate 
all comers. 

At eight A.M., the first scarred Darts 
and wasted Mustangs arrive to disburden 
the musical guts of post-World War 
Two America—piled neatly in cardboard. 
boxes. Dedicated collectors, called “vul- 
tures” by the sellers, cluster at the rear 
of each newly arrived car, greedily wait- 
ing for the trunk lid to pop open. When 


it does, several hands reach inside and, 
re spindled 


in an instant, hundreds of 45s 
on index fingers and shuttled from digit 
to palm with machine gun rapidity. Quick 
hands, a knack for specdreading titles 
and a limited budget are the prerequisites 
of a vulture. The 45s sell for from 10 
cents to 50 cents a disc. Jazz LPs from the 
Fifties are also available for from two 
dollars to eight dollars an album. With 
jazz, the pace is more leisurely and the 
profit is less spectacular. But it's 
Valued from $35 to $75 are The 
Message by J. R. Monterose on Jaro, 
Donald Byrd on Beacon Hill on Transi- 


long mimeosraphed list of album titles 
on the Riverside label, and you could tell 
by the determined look in his eye that 
he'd walk through fire to get at them. The 
man to see for classical records is a young 
black cellist whose 78s are in perfect con- 
dition, He told us that the watershed year 
for classical records was 1925, when Victor 
made the transition from acoustic to elec- 
trical recordings. For about $12 you can 
buy both the last acoustic recording of the 
Flonzeley Quarter on the Orthophonic 
Victrola label and the first electrical re- 


cording of a symphony orchestra: Leopold 
Stokowski conducting Dance Macabre on 
Scroll-Victor. 

By ten in the morning, there are 20 or 
30 record vendors carry 
out of the trunks of cars, w bout 200 
collectors, most of them men. stroll lei 
surely in the sun, purchasing anything 
from a $3.50 bust of George Harrison to 
Melodies of the Thirties by Emile Petti 
and his Savoy Plaza Orchestra on the Lib- 
erty Music Shop label. Among the sellers 
is the kid brother of Canned Heat’s Bob 
Hite, offering Bob Wills 78s from the 
back of a beatup Mercedes. “I wonder if 
you collect records?" he asks a photo of 
a pinup girl who clearly doesn't collect 
clothes, Then he shouts, “Beatle 78s on 


true dt 
sale!” but it's only a joke. A shrewd 
ankce-mader type they call McNick has 
a garage full of records and has customers 
all over the world. As he holds records up 
to the light to examine them for hairline 
scratches, his wife hotfoots it mp to him 
and whispers that someone has a Groucho 
Marx. Mikado for sale. But. MeNick car- 
ries the rarerecord world market report 
in his head and replies, to our surprise, 
hat doesn't mean that much." Silver- 
haired record seller Lee Hoffman's story 
is pure Angeleno. Lee used to produce a 
series of albums called Music for Sliffs. 
which he sold to funeral parlors. But he 
got wiped out when organ music went 
stereo, Says Lec, "I still don't think organs 
sound right on stereo.” We passed one 
fellow arguing that if you play a 45-rpm 
record by the Sparks at 3314 rpm. it 
sounds like Iron Butterfly, but at 78 like 
Led Zeppelin. And another, spinning a 
record on his finger tip, which is no mean 
trick. And we talked with a bright young 
rock-'n-roll historian who gave us his slant 
on record collecting. He told us that on 
Counting My Teardrops by the Jayhawks, 
you can hear the telephone ringing in the 
Flash Record Store, where the song was 
recorded. And that you can see the plas- 
tered-over bullet holes in the wall of a 


Alive 


with pleasure! 
Newport 


Afterall, 

if smoking isnt 
a pleasure, 
why bother? —— 


G5 Mi SS 
MENTHOL KIN ENTHOL BOX 


Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined 
That Cigarette Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health. 


PLAYBOY 


popular L.A. record store whose owner 
was gunned down for attempting to steal 
away a member of the Turks. And also 
that in 1954, a group called the Meda 
lions recorded Buick ’59. If you turn up 
the volume real loud after they sing the 
ine "Ran out of gas.” you'll hear one 
of them comment. "Ain't that a bitch!” 
Finally, we heard about a fellow who 
es alone in a dilapidated mansion 
in the Hollywood hills. No one sces him 
anymore, but this guy is rumored to have 
every record ever made. And all cataloged! 
Whether fact or myth, he’s what the swap 
meet is all about. 


BOOKS 


In order to write Power! How to Get 
It, How to Use h (Random House). 
Michael Korda collected his observations 
on ollice politics, threw in some anecdotes 
nd proceeded ro plunder several 
books of quotations, The result is 
very much like one of those dreary 
college sociology texts, in which the 
author restates in authoritative tones 
what you already knew, builds a 
structure around it and festoons it 
with jargon. His notion is that 
power—"the ability to bring about 
our desires"—is a game w 
24 hours a day 


our spouses, headwaiters and. park 
nglot attendants. The game has 
certain rules, Korda says. and we 
might as well learn to exploit them. 
Like the authors of other singh 
note books, such as The Peter 
Principle’s Laurence. J. Peter and 
Raymond Hull, Korda puts hi 
thesis through every possible permuti- 
tion: but unlike such authors, he doesn't 
even have one of those catchy little 
insights that sustain the argument. He 
just tells you that telephone technique, 
handling of secretaries. firing of sub- 
ordinates and brownnosing of superiors 
are ys of wielding powcr. He has 
one 
geography. replete with charts and d 
s. that adds up to the statement thar 
powerful people choose corner offices. 
. well, architects design larger offices 
the corners of their buildings. From 
there, the argument gets more and more 
Mickey Mouse until you end up dealing 
with such gems as, “Power people have 
their shoes polished .. . a dirty shoe 
a sign of weakness.” And. "By practicing 
in front of a mirror, it is possible to de- 
velop a firm, trustworthy gaze and a con- 
fident, relaxed mouth,” We tried exerting 
power that way and, sure enough. the 
mirror cringed. 
ps the books most intercsting 
lesson in power emerges unintentionally. 
According to the list of acknowledgments. 
Korda developed his pop-Machiavellian 


Simon & Schuster. For this project, how- 
ever, he took his manuscript over to Ran- 
dom House which published it, to no 
one's amazement. And if you were won 
dering, as we were, what that exclama 
mark is doing in the title, bear in mind 
that Korda is also the author of Male 
Chauvinism! How It Works, so if it 
worked once. . . . What all of this tells you 
isn't very illuminating about chauvinism 
or power, but it says a hell of a lor about 
publishing!—how it works. 


While all the candidates have yet to an 
nounce, Larry Weiwode wins our pre 
liminary. vote for writer of the season's 
Most Misleading Title. After a decade's 
strenuous labor, he has produced Beyond 
the Bedroom Wall (Farrar, Straus & Giroux), 
a chronicle of Midwestern life that is 
about as erotic as a Rowtiller up to its 
axle in horsepucky. Beyond Woiwode's 


The land itself assumes an identity that 
shapes the lives of its inhabitants: "Whei 
men uprooted it and fought it and tried 
to subdue it to their needs, it became 
part of their outlook . . . and they were 
never free of the bleakness or the dirt of 
it... hard taskmaster makes the worst 
sort of slave.” By the time we arrive at 
this perception, we are almost halfway 
through a novel that is more than 600 
pages long. studded with inlaws, uncles, 

ins, neighbors, priests and siblings. 


fer through blizzards and court dairy- 


maids, and we have gained our knowledge 
through a variety of first- and third-person 
I of them Neumillers by birth 
. Woiwode means to inform. 


taking, and Woiwode has the technical 
equipment to bring it off: He observes 
acutely, reproduces flatland speech and 
evokes small-town living with a virtuoso 
skill, But what we have some right to ex- 
pect along the way are characters who 
engage our emotions, who startle and 


infuriate and sometimes quicken our 
hearts. IL is not too much to ask in a saga— 
especially one of such prodigious length 
and hefty price tag. For $12.50, a little cm- 
pathy wouldn't hurt. Woiwode, sad to say. 
cripples or kills off his two strongest 
characters —an embittered dirt farmer and 
his spirited daughter, Alpha, who marries 
into the Neumiller dan—ear leav- 
ing us in the hands of the dull and th 
devout. Like most pious souls, thcy have 
a tendency to overstate and under- 
whelm—and so does Woiwode. whose am- 
bition in this case outdistances his passion. 


As nearly everyone knows 
enforcement and criminal just 
are in pretty bad shape, especi 
ropolitan areas. Few people. though. ha 
any real understanding of the problem 
of c ing 
to party line n-order forces versus 
the liberals. In On tbe Edge (Double- 
day), James Mills closely examines 
this complex subject in a style both 
objective and dramatic. Mills is a 
former Life staller who came to spe 
ize in police and the courts and 
later delivered such fine works of 
fiction as The Panic in Needle Park 
and Report 10 the Commissione 
His new book, which draws on past 
articles and research, reads like a 
novel. Each chapter studies, in grim 
and painful detail, the lives of rcal 
people intimately involved either i 

perperrating cime or in combating 
it: two junkies, a hard-nosed detec 
tive, a juvenilecourt judge, a cynical 
defense lawyer, a pretty decent 
prison guard, a New York mobster, 
Fhe result is a vivid, composite picture 
of our courts. cops and criminals who in- 
creasingly find themselves victims of a 
social and legal system gone out of con 
tol The book is most depressing; it is 
Iso most enter 


lip service 


ining. 


ry McMurtry’s Terms of Endearment 
(Simon & Schuster) is an odd sort of book 
lor him. Jt isn't about the loss of the 
frontier or growing up diflerent or any 
of McMurtry’s usual themes, No, this is 
a book about two women. a mother and a 
daughter. On the surface, it represents a 
brave departure for McMurary. One can 
almost hear the cadences of the reviews 
p-penned lady critics insist- 
t he has it all wrong; that once 
again a male novelist has failed to treat 
women properly; that he just hasn't got 
it. Is there an casier criticism of any male 
novelist? Probably not (well, if you really 
t to write some poor man off, you can 
accuse him of homosexual leanings). but 
in this case, it misses the point. In the 
first place, the women are pretty good 
characters; they just happen to inhabit 
pretty bad book. It is too long by a third. 
awkwardly constructed and full of the 
worst kind of male stereotypes. (In smaller 
doses, such as the section of the book that 


ing th 


Now Capt. Harry Flashman lives— on the Silver Screen. 


Phe | 2 
> Greatest 
Swordsman 


" 


MALCOLM McDOWELL -ALAN BATES -FLORINDA BOLKAN OLIVER. REED 


q 3/7759 p 


ROYAL FLASH 3: 


DAVID V PICKER xs DENIS O'DELL 


Ah, Ms "ts" BRITT EKLA 


wwe - cuarto [PGE 


Check newspapers for theater nearest you. 


Try a martini with white rum 
instead of gin or vodka. 


Noilly Prat recommends it. 


"That's a recommendation that can't 
be taken lightly. After all, Noilly 
Prat is the vermouth of knowledge- 
able martini drinkers. 

And because they are who they 
are, you won't find them making 
hasty judgments. It was years before 
they so much as acknowledged any- 
thing other than gin. But when 
something as smooth as white rum 
comes along, it can't be ignored 


Smoothness-no accident. 

Every drop of white rum from 
Puerto Rico is specially aged for 
smoothness. In fact, Puerto Rican law 
requires that all white rum be kept 
forat least one full year in white oak 
casks— call it smoothness insurance. 
White rum beats gin and vodka. 

Five hundred drinkers partici- 
pated in a taste test against gin and 
vodka. Without knowing which was 


which (white rum is as clear as gin or 
vodka), most preferred white rum for 
taste and smoothness. 

Try it tonight. 

Combine 5 parts white rum 
from Puerto Rico with I part Noilly 
Prat extra dry vermouth. 

Noilly Prat says it's good. 

And if they say it's good 
—it's fantastic. 
PUERTO RICAN RUMS 


oe VERMOUTH 
AQ PRAT Eg: 


v A ASON FONDEE EN 19), 


x renin 
j, MARSEILLE — FRANCE 


TE 


ef DISTRIBUTORS FOR THE USO, 
w YOR 


GARNEAU C° NE 


1975 Commonwealth o! Puerto Rico 


appeared in rravmov in July, it works 
better.) For instance, there is a Houston 
oilman and millionaire who is a virgin at 
the age of 50. And a 
who Jost his fine ope 
sells musical instruments and cries all the 
time. And a young husband who is always 
leaving his wife to go fishing with his 
father. Naturally, those characters will be 

s clever comic inventions. The 


men er through the lives of Mrs. 
Aurora y and her daughter 
Emm is a strong-willed New 


England widow who lives in Houston, 
where she spends her time tying to keep 
everybody on his toes. She di 

charmingly, of all of her beaux 


any of them were real, would have driven 
most 


Ik. She also 
gly, of her 
nd the man she mar- 
the plot; what we 
ve is Henry James revisited. 
McMurtry has taken a pane 


of them to dr 


ble, he wi 
ag the effort. H 
anyone will worry about his men. Mc 
Murty writes some of the best book 
reviews in print these days (every Mon- 
day in The Washington Post) and it is 
safe to say that he can sniff the literary 
winds. So this book will be talked about 
and read (more the former than the Iat- 
ter) and for all the wrong reasons, 

After novels, years of evocative 
tavel writing and a facile grasp of th 
soulless chess moves of international d 
plomag. Len Deighton can obviously 
gather together the components of spy 
fiction with absolute ease. And that’s the 
trouble with his latest, Yesterdey's Spy 
(Harcourt Brace Jovanovich). It's as if he 
simply dusted off his formula, added your 
basic quadruple crossings and Mata Hari 
paused every chapter or two for a 
aph of street sights and smells and 
1l move along with practiced twists 
to the sad but patriotically proper ending. 
The espionage business, Deighton's mes- 
aimed by computers 


ten 


and technicians who plot coups by read- 
out. Where have the good, lost days gone, 
when secret agents were men—and wom- 
en—with los causes? But despite an oc- 
cisional line of distinctive prose (the 
narrator, in an acutely 
1 heard the thunder 
was it some old man in the wings, shak- 
ing a sheet of tinz"), Yesterday's Spy reads 
spiridessly, with lide of the diverting 
verve of yesterday's thrillers. 


Here's how to make a good journalist 
drool: Call her up and say you are Ser- 
geant McQueen of the New York Police 


Department, that you have organized a 
commando homicide squad to investigate 
really weird pervo murders and you'd be 
tickled pink if she'd come along for a few 
mouths and look over the operation with 
a view toward writing a book. That's 
really all you'd have to do. 

‘The rough equivalent of this happened 
to Barbara Gelb. The book is called 
On the Trock of Murder (Morrow). Don't 
read it at night. It’s too real. Charlie 
Chopolt is out there. You don't have to 
look very closely at the name given to him 
by the commandos who hunted him to 
know what Chopoff does to litle boys. 
Maria Romano' Killer, Gelb writes, "had 
been intent on more than her death. . . . 
‘Tissues were stuffed in her mouth, pre 
sumably as a gag. She had been repe: 


pair of household 


shears the 
throat 
She had been 
burned with dg- 
arettes. The 
longer part of a 
brok 
had been forced 
up her va 


n broom 


In fact, there is 
no “good” time 
to read this. 


‘These people are 
tually wander- 
g around (in 
1972, 955 pervo 


murders went unsolved in New York City 
). The book offers a different look at 
makes you really want to support 
your local police. 


RECORDINGS 


Jazz rock continues to happen, and the 
keyboard men are still the ones bringing 
it to us. Among the tougher entries we've 


heard lately are the new LPs by Lany 
Young and Gedar Walton, Young—aka 
Khalid Yasin—played in 


Tony Williams Lifetime 
and John McLaughli 
a household name, but he's a favorite 
among musicians, and from the sound of 
larry Young's Fuel (Arista), he's about to. 
bust out all over. His music is wild and 
wonderful, sort of Afro Oriental space 
funk, with lots of pregnant dissonances 
and suspensions. It abo has a welcome 
openness, for even though he gets to play, 
here, with an awesome array of electronic 
instruments—Mini Moog Synthesizer, 
Portable Moog organ, Freeman 

ing Symphonizer, Hammond B-3 
Organ, Fender Rhodes no (in 
dition to the poor old acoustic 
88)—Young doesn’t overwhelm 
you with his sound. Or his tech 
nique. He's too busy saying what he 
has to say. And he gets help from a most 
copacetic backup group. including Laura 
“Tequila” Logan—another veteran of 
Tony Williams’ ever-evolving outfit, who 
contributes some sexy vo g—and a 
talented guitar player, Sandy Torano. 

Walton, who has played behind many 
top jazz people over the years, is into 
some really eclectic stuff on Mobius 
(RCA). For one thing, he takes a couple 
of jazz dassics—Monk’s Off Minor and 
Coltrane's Blue  Tranc—and, without 
really changing up on them, adds rock 
thythms, various horn shadings and a 
battery of electric sounds. And it works. 
You also get a couple of W: funk 
Is—Road Island An Soho, 
which cooks nicely in si nd 
(perhaps just to show he can still do it) 
The Maestro, which gets into a sort of 
casy listening groove, with choral back- 
nd Walton's electric piano rui 
g lightly over a whole mess of chord 
pes. Boy, can he ever do it. 


along with Tony 
he isn’t cxactly 


Doc Watson has been amazing urban 
audiences for about 15 years now, ever 
since folklorit Ralph Rinzler “dis 
red" him down in Decp Gap. North 
arolina. His listeners have been mostly 
big-city folkies and his records have 
usually been designed to highlight the tr: 
ional mountain music in his repertoire. 
But Doc was a professional musidan 
lor years before Rinzler ran across him, 
and he was into a lot more music than 
his city audiences were ready to listen 
to. Doc has recently switched labels and 
his first album on United Artists is a 


25 


PLAYBOY 


26 


Vivitar takes 
the mumbo-jumbo 
out of electronic flash. 


(mumbo-jumbo) (flash-flash) 


This new Vivitar 202 automatic electronic flash for 35mm cameras 
has all sorts of features we could talk about. But the one that’s most 
important to you is the fact that it’s automatic. 

You don’t have to be an Einstein to figure out correct flash expo- 
sures. You set your f stop once. Then regardless of how many times 
you move closer or farther away from the subject, a built-in sensor 
gives you perfect exposure from 3 to 11 feet. 

The Vivitar 202 will give you hundreds of flashes from one set 
of inexpensive batteries and thousands of flashes from the built-in 
tube. No more fussing with hot, hit-or-miss flashbulbs. 

The flash in this unit is color corrected. 
You'll get beautiful natural color in your 
slides and color pictures. 

Expensive? No. Vivitar automatics start 
under $25. Ask your Vivitar dealer fora 
demonstration. 


Vivitar 


Morkeled in the U.S.A. by Ponder &Best Inc. 
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foursided job that gives us a look at 
the diverse musi styles he has absorbed 


Memories opens with Doc saying, "In 
the summer of 1934, Poppa made my first 
musical instrument, a little fivestring 
fretless banjo. And he played me a tune." 
He then demonstrates his mastery of 
old-time frailing banjo on Rambling 
Hobo. What follows is a grand tour of 
American music from the traditional 
sounds Doc heard home through 
carly recordings by the Carter Family 
J Jimmie Rodgers through Western 
swing, blue, nd country blues, both 
black and white. The hills are full of 
instrumentalists who can. crank out a 
ion notes to the bar, but Watson is 


one of the few who always hit the right 
notes. Listening to him is a lesson in wha 
instrumental technique is all about— 
but after hearing this record, you hay 
to wonder whether maybe he isn't even 
a beer s than a player. 

Merle W. has been backing his 
father for years and he used to sound 
ike they were making him play out i 
the hall, On Memories, he is given 
something to do and he docs it splendid- 
ly. His guitar ducts with Doc on Double 
File and Salt Creek, a couple of old 
mountain fiddle tunes, are beautiful. We 
could go on and on about Memorie: 
there are no weak (unes. Our only 
quarrel is with the breakneck tempo of 
Wabash Cannonball. Everything else is 
on the edge of perfection. 


so 


Over the years, we've had our quarrels 
with the Modern Jazz Quartet; the 
incredible polish of the group seemed 
antithetical to the creative excitement 
that we felt jazz was all about. There 

never a ragged edge or an innovative 
idea that didn't pay off. In other words, 
the flawlessness seemed to us to be the 
problem. But in retrospect, for what it 
was the MJQ was sensational. The Last 
Concent (Atlantic), recorded last November 
in New York's Avery Fisher Hall, is 


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PLAYBOY 


two LPs’ worth of the group at the top 
of its form. Whether it was knowing that 
“this is it” or just some fluke of creative 
chemistry, the last turned out to be the 
best. Side three by itself is worth 
the price of the album—Charlie Par- 
ker's Confirmation, Thelonious Monk's 
"Round Midnight, Dizzy Gillespie's Night 


in Tunisia and John 
nificent The Golden Striker. Lew: 
Jackson, Percy Heath and Connie Kay 
have lett us all a marvelous keepsake. 

Nobody can tickle the nerves of the 
Zeitgeist more defily than Robert. Alt- 
man. Were he to serve up a live porcu- 
pine as hi rt, the 
New York movie critics would smilingly 
swallow it and pronounce it good, heroic 
and blah, blah, blah. Nashville, Altman's 
latest, is a pointless little entertainment 
filed with superficial characters and 
capped by an ending that comes right 
out of left field. 
loved it, beginning with Pauline Kael, 
who couldn't wait for the movie and 
reviewed the rough cut. Almost all of 
the critics fawned over the movie and 
thought it was just marvelous the way 
Altman let his actors write their own 
country so though Ronee Blakley 
did have a musical background). They all 
fell for the gimmick, neglecting the 
simple question: “Is the music any good? 
Or “Is it anything like real Nashville 
music?" 

Well movie reviewers—induding 
ours—may not know the difference be- 
tween chicken feathers and chicken 
salad, but that can't be said of your 
faithful servant, the music critic. Suffice 
it to say that you shouldn't waste your 
time on the sound track of Nashville 
(ABC). Pauline Kael may think it is OK 
for actors to write country songs— 


country music, after all, who couldn't 


write it—but you have to wonder how 
she would feel if Marlon Brando wrote 
her reviews. Anyway, the songs are all 
bad imitations. Every one of them. And 
it is revealing of the contempt that Alt- 
man and the critics [ecl for the rest of 
us that they fell for this trash. They 


think most of America is trashy, don’t 
you see? But it took Kris Kristofferson a 
whole lot longer to make it in Nashville 
than in Hollywood. No doubt because 
the standards are higher. 

Helen Reddy, America’s pop song- 
bird, might better be dubbed America’s 
sterile cuckoo. Her voice has the emo- 
tional range of poached eggs, with a 
complete lack of cool, of hipness, of 
soul. In fact, on No Wey to Treat e Lady 
(Capitol), the backup singers provide 
the only hint of vocal expressiveness. 
Imagine Margaret Truman singing 
Respect and you've got Helen’s funk 
quotient tripled. Although the album 

selections are contributed by a diverse 

roster of composers, such as Neil Seda 
Paul Williams, Leon Russell, Peter 

Allen, Alex Harvey and Don McLean, 
Reddy manages to render them all uni- 
formly bland and unmemorable: a mix 
of mindless Muzak suited for short rides. 
in st elevators. Whoever woulda 
thought that it was all those lad the 
suburbs who really put a record on 
the charts? But this adenoidal Aussie's 
success is, indeed, a testament to the 
l power of the blue-rinse crowd. She's 
truly the queen of Kaffeeklatsch rock. 

Are there any worlds left for Freddie 
Hubbard to conquer? He has long since 
disposed ol all the pretenders to the jazz- 
trumpet throne and more recenuy has 
made funk-rock his own special province. 
Fronting a group of superb mu: 
Hubbard dramatically demonstrates that 
onc of the real troubles with 
rock in the past was the in- 
eptitude of the people who 
played it, Liquid tove (Colum- 
bia) is going to raise you out 
of your chair and have you 
either dancing or pasted up 
nst the spe: 
to dig everything that’s go- 
ing down. Midnight at the 
Oasis, Put It in the Pocket 
nd the title tune are just 
me of the goodies that will 
put you in Hubbard's cor- 
ner—if you aren't there 
already. 


ns, 


‘The Great White Wonder, 
named for its bare, plain 
cover, was the first big-time 
“roll bootleg record. 
culously appeared in record shops 
in the late Sixties surreptitiously retailing 
tapes made by Bob Dylan and The Band 
in the basement of The Band's house— 
called Big Pink—in West Saugerties, New 
York. The tapes dated from 1967, after 
Dylan’s motorcycle accident, when he was 
convalescing in secrecy. Wonder sold well 
to Dylan addicts puzzled by the long post- 
accident silence and willing to put up 
with some of the flattest and tinniest 


sound of the post-Edison cylinder er 
And now, cight ycars after the fact, 
we have an official, legal four-sided col- 
lection of this homemade music on The 
Basement Tapes, Columbia's answer to the 
under-the-counter pirates. 

The sound is infinitely better; so good, 
in fact, that we wonder whether some of 
the instrumental tracks weren't laid down 
recently in a studio. However, to com- 
plain of that would be mere cavil 
because, doctored or not, The Basement 
Tapes is fine music. Some cuts are repeats 
of songs on the bootleg, but the sound is 
so much better that it's almost like hear- 
ing new music. We've never heard Dylan 
sing better than t He cuts loose in a 
high, fullthroated voice like a wounded 
choirboy. It makes us wonder what would 
have happened if Dylan and The Band 
had stuck together as lead singer a nd 
instead of going off in different directions 
for so long. 

When these tapes were made, Dylan 
was trying to put himself together after an 
accident that he almost didn’t survive. His 
brush with death affected him powerfully 
and on songs like Too Much of Nothing, 
he gives us clues about how fearful and 
awesome that little glimpse into the void 
was. But he’s not all down. Clothes Line 
Saga isan absolutely hilarious, flat, under- 
stated, literal rendering of some very 
ordinary events. Quoting it would be 
fruitless, because its effect depends on de- 
livery and a charming union of words 
and music best described as slapstick 
blues. Tiny Montgomery and Please, 
Mrs. Henry are the preaccident Dylan, 


mocking, wry, ironic. Both Dylan and The 
nd were in the midst of big changes 
when The Basement Tapes was recorded. 
Their explorations produced some music 
to equal the best they have done. 

Until recently, country rock has been 
a state of mind, located somewhere be- 
tween Laurel and Topanga canyons and 
inhabited by enervated LA. rockers 
who're drawn to the music because they 


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29 


PLAYBOY 


30 


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can play it without mussing up their 
embroidered cowboy shirts. But, happi! 
the current upsurge of Southe 
producing bands that arc energetically 

ng the music back home, and if 


à music is 


raise a bit of a sweat in the proc- 
ess—well, you can always take off your 
shirt. The Outlaws, a band of fast- 
picking, sweet-singing Floridians, are 
the latest product of this revival. Their 
first album, Outlaws (Arista), features the 
double guitar leads that are by now 
obligatory for any band perlorming 
south of Montreal. But the leads the 
Ontlaws play are just as frequently 
full-bore country flat picking as they are 
hard Southern rock. Their tunes show 
the same blending of styles, with a few 
California country rockers thrown in 
to satisfy Eagles and Poco fans who, 
till now, didn't know amy beter. Now 
that the Outlaws are here, though, they 


won't have that excuse. 

If British R&Bstyle tenors are your 
cup of tea, then score two lumps for The 
Who's lead vocalist, Roger Daltrey. As 
you gallop away to Ride e Rock Horse 
(MCA), each of the ten tunes offers a 
in the musical landscape. from 
y Charlesian rocker Come and Get 
Your Love to the tenderly and tastefully 
performed rock ballad Oceans Away and 
the fabulously weird Feeling, with its Jim 
Monison-type. screams and growls. The 
music, not surprisingly, reminds you of 
The Who. In an age when vastly less 
talented vocalists (Mick Jagger, Rod 
Stewart) are accorded more critical a 
plause and charge higher prices for a tick- 
ct, it’s nice to have Daluey suiviving and 
thriving in the largely PR-hyperuled 
kingdom of rock, Roger is clean-cut in 


spite of himself; his personality has never 
overwhelmed the band for which he sings. 
And when he does hit the solo trail, he 
rides a thoroughbred. Buying albums can 
be a real gamble, but Rock Horse is a 
solid bet. 


MOVIES 


Movies about childhood are not neces- 
sarily movies made for children, and 
Czedrborn director Jan Kadar’s Lies My 
Fethor Told Me is a case in point 
ing and lusty reminiscence, written with 
decided autobiographical flavor by scena- 
rist Ted Allan. Growing up in the Mon- 
treal ghetto during the Twenties is 
ostensibly the subject of Lies, though so- 
phisticated and compassionate handling 
by Kadar, who directed the Oscar-winning 
Shop on Main Strect a decade ago, tans- 
forms a young boy's everyday sus and 
sorrowsinto universal human comedy. The 
key character lad (Jeffrey Lynas) 
caught in the cross fire of family dissen- 
sion among his long-suffering mother 
(Marilyn Lightstone), a father (Len 


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PLAYBOY 


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Birman) whose getrich-quick schemes will 
never tum a profit, his beloved grand- 
father (played with unassuming basso-pro- 
fundo authority by Israeli star Yossi 
Yadin) and Grandpa's decrepit old horse. 
Rich in surface nostalgia, Lies is richest 
of all in its rather unfashionable regard 
for the strengths and frailties of complete- 
ly ordinary pcoplc—pcople from a long: 
ago, faraway world where a kid began to 
grow up. even as today, the moment he 


leamed that adults are not always to be 
trusted. In Kadars unexpectedly feisty 
fable, which is only sentimental about 


love, the elementary lessons of life are 
part of a tough preschool curriculum that 
includes greed, vanity, pettiness. hypoc 
risy, gambling, casual whoring, adultery, 
procreation, and the difference between 
an infant's suckling and a grown man's 
fondling of a generous woman's breasts— 
things Andy Hardy had. not yet encoun- 
tered when he was packed off to college. 
The blue-collar worker hasn't really 
made it big as a movie hero since the Great 
Depression of the Thirties. Thus, White 
Line Fever could be a sign of the times, or 
maybe a fringe benefit of the current 
cession—if you happen to groove on the 
tribulations of a young independent 
trucker who bravely challenges the mobs 
and crooked unions that want to drive 
him off the highway. The movie is mainly 
4 modern wild West fantasy, with a giant 
l3specd Ford diesel cast as the road 
jockey's faithful horse. Jan-Michael Vin- 
cent nicknames his rig The Blue Mule 
and acts well enough to strengthen his 
daim as a best bet among moviedom's 
sex symbols of tomorrow. He's young, 
handsome, trimly muscled, with a pair of 
clear, true-blue cyes apt to make ardent 
boy watchers remember that Paul New- 
man js already 50. In this crowd pleaser 
concocted by two alumni of New Yo 
University’s film school (writer Ken 
Friedman and writer-director Jonathan 
Kaplan), there is plenty of the broad si 
plification that often occurs when a couple 
of city fellas set out to sing the praises of 
down-home virtue. Fever's hero can't al- 
ford to lose the economic struggle, because 
he's saddled with house payments, a heavy 
mortgage on his truck and a sweet little 
wife (played without stickiness by Kay 
Lenz) who can’t bring herselt to tell him 
she is pregnant, Lord knows, he has 
enough on his mind, what with being 
beaten up, cheated, blackballed, vandal- 
ized and finally framed on a murder rap 
to keep him from organizing the inde- 
pendent drivers. White Line Fever (splen- 
didly photographed by Fred Koenckamp) 
spends a lot of footage soaking up scenery 
in Gods counuy between Tucson and 
Monument. Valley. "Ehe rest is senseless 
Violence vs. decency and fair play—and 
while it’s not much of a movie treat for 
culture bulis, millions of square shooters 
out there are likely to race off to see it, as 


if they had just spotted a new Burger 
King. 

Downanddirty low-jinks inside the 
CIA lend topical pungency to Three Days 
of the Condor, a fast, gleaming. up-to-the- 
minute thriller based on James Grady's 
best seller. In the book version, Condor 
(the hero's code name) had six days to 
kill—or be killed. But director Sydney 
Pollack (whose best previous efforts were 
They Shoot Horses, Don't They? and The 
Way We Were) employs a bit of shrewd 
telescoping to propel Robert Redford 
even more swiftly from crisis to crisis i 
his role as a CLA code breaker and 1 
crary amalyst working under cover for 
the American Literary Histo 
in Manhattan—whose entire 
explicably wiped out after he has stun 
bled upon a seemingly innocuous bit of 

nformation from the volatile Middle 
1. Oil, money, murder and wicked CIA 
machinations are all part of the plot un- 
1aveled ay Redford, projecting more ballsy 
brasiveness th. other recent outings, 
tries to save his neck. Faye Dunaway as 
the girl he kidnaps from a sporting-goods 
store (“You can always depend on the old 
spy fucker,” she cracks, when the heat 
melts her resistance), Cliff Robertson as a 
baflled CIA section chief and Sweden's 


Max Von Sydow—superb as a paid assas- 
sin who recognizes no loyalties beyond 
"belief in your own precision"—add some 
starry luster to a movie that reaps the 
bencfits of the excitement of a man hunt 
with the good t 
tive current quest 


s of several provo 
nis about Government 
abuses of power. Is there, for example. 
another CIA . .. inside the CIA? Condor 
weighs that possibility with all the cozy 
reassurance of a runaway roller coaster— 
confirming Everyman's bleakest suspicion, 
circa 1975, that survival of the fittest is ul- 
timately the only game in town, 


A piling tale of espionage titled 
Russian Roulette Tom Ardices’ 
Kosygin Is Coming, embtoils 


based on 
novel 


scorge Segal and Cri 
dreary intrigues concerning a plot to kid- 
nap or otherwise incapacitate a political 
terrorist who may, or may not, uy to 
assassinate the Soviet premier during a 
state visit to Canada, Director Lou Lom- 
bardo—formerly one of Robert Aluman's 
favorite film editors—provides a steady 
forward momentum and a degree of nerv: 
ous rhythm to a story that moves right 
long without getting anywhere in par- 
ticular, though it certainly covers a lot 
sound in the vicinity of Vancouver, 
sh Columbia. Segal plays a quick- 
tempered Special Branch agent of the 
Canadian Mounties, Cristina a girl from 
the office with access to certain files, as 
Roulette whirls from implausibility to 
outright incoherence, leaving its actors in 
akind of limbo, shooting blanks. 

French singer-composer Jacques Brel 
plays what amounts to the tide role in 
A Poin in the A-— (L'emmerdeur in the 
original French, with the English Ass 
covly avoided presumably to make the 
movie advertisable in family newspapers). 
as a wildly loquacious and suicidal shirt 
salesman who wants to kill himself be- 
cause his wife (Caroline Cellier) has left 
him to set up housekeeping with a neurol- 

. A twist of fate brings the disconso- 
late shirt seller t0 a provincial hotel room, 
next door to a hired killer (Lino Ventura, 
one of the best Gallic actors since Jean 
Gabin) who is preparing to shoot a statc's 
witness in some imminent government 
scandal of Watergate proportions about 
to break wide open just across the square. 
The salesman's failed suicide—he wies to 
hang himself from the antiquated French 
plumbing. which doesn't hold—raises hell 
with the assassin's assignment to kill. Sub- 
sequent complications cover everything 
from a rooftop chase to à zany encounter 
with a woman going into labor in the back 
scat of a speeding car. Bur never mind 
details. Brel and Ventura—the former 

t off the wall, the latter giving a dead 
n comedy performance worthy of Oliver 
andy at his most choleric—must be the 
funniest pair of knockabout comics to 
grace amy movie screen this year. Based 
on a Parisian stage success by author 
adapter Francis Veber, director. Edouard 
Molinaro's Pain in the A—— has scored 
direct hit in Paris and ought to repeat its 


and unashamedly t 
species often declared. extinct. Is sill 
alive and well, with Ventura and Brel 
in charge. 

Decades crooner Dick Powell 
established his tougl-guy image playing 
Philip Marlowe in Murder, My Sweet, 
dett private-eye thriller based on Ray 
Chandler's My Lovely. 
While there's no urgent need for an up 
the work under its 
original title, director Dick ds 


ago. 


mond Farewell, 


dated version of 


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wrought such a nostalgic, fond Farewell 
that movie bulls are apt to forgive 
his fit of self-indulgence. With Robert 
Mitchum starred as the cryptic Marlowe, 
plus a whole new scenario written with 
uncensored gusto by David Zclag Good 
man, Richards apparently gave carte 


blanche to his entire company—and a 
wonderful time is had by all, the audi- 
ence included. Cinematographer John 
Alonzo goes overboard, capturing lurid, 
richly uned images of L.A, on the 
seamy side circa 1941, when Joltin' Joc 
DiMaggio's 56-game hitting streak pro- 
voked as much headline hysteria as Hit 
ler's inva 


ion of Russia. The world looks 


young, yct Mitchum as Marlowe (one of 
the very best Marlowes since Bogart in 
The Big Sleep, also the best Mitchum in 
a long, long time) views it with a typi- 
cally jaundiced private eye: “Everything 
I touch turns to shit. I've got a hat, a coat 
and a gun—that’s it.” He's also got a 
messy missing-persons case to solve, in- 
volving a distinguished judge's come 
hither wife (re the judge: "He tires 
easily,” purrs silky Charlotte Rampling 
in a martini-dry performance that comes 
across as a first-rate imitation of early 
Lauren Bacall), a boozy showbiz relic 
(Sylvia Miles plays the part for all it’s 
worth, then throws in a dividend of 
loose change from her Olympian décol- 
letage) and sundry disreputable char- 
acters, some of them (John Ireland and 
Harry Dean Stanton) on the police force. 
"Ehe words put into everyone's mouth are 
rude and witty, or just good vint 

Chandler ("This guy the size of the Stat 
ue of Liberty walks up to me . . ."), and 
provide the same kind of fun as a proup 
sing devoted to Golden Oldies. Such fun 
cannot be sustained, alas. Still, it’s a 
damned good try at giving new life to 
one of the movie museum pieces usually 
caught between commercials on televi- 
sion's Late Show. 


Abduction initially got under way as a 
hardcore movie version of a novel that 


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PLAYBOY 


36 


ppeared to be a blueprint for the kid- 
g and radicalizing of heiress Patty 
Hearst. Sexually softer but dramatically 
tougher than anyone had a reasonable 
right to expect, this unabashed exploita- 
tion—produced and adapted by Grove 
Press's Kent Carroll, directed by Joseph 
Zito and photographed by Joas Fernandez 
(the latter two seasoned in the sweaty 
fleshpots of porno chic)—packs surprising 
impact. At first glance, Abduction resem- 
bles other trashy topical movies in the 
Macon County Line-Walking Tall wadi- 
tion. But there's trash and trash, and this 
instant replay of yesterday's blazing head- 
lines offers some sccond thoughts well 
worth closer appraisal. Among the film's 
major asen is a gritty, straightforward 


performance as “Patty” by Judith Marie 
Bergan, a newcomer who brings some mo- 
ments of harrowing 
a poor little r 
(on 


ith to the ordeal of 
h girl—abducted, raped 
ideo tape, so Daddy will know he’s 
nst accomplished terrorists) and 
tely won over to the cause of 
her captors. Their a this in- 
stance, is not to feed the poor but 
nillion- 


with Dorothy Malone as the 
distraught Mrs.) to destroy a 
luxury apartment complex he had 
built at the expense of "people's hous 
ing.” The rich man's congenital fascism 
nd the complicity of the police in ma 
the social power structure are 
ted in a script that's 
primitive but somehow rings truer 
than it might have a couple of years 
ago—when America’s age of in- 
nocence came to a screeching 
David Pendleton, as the 
handsome black revolutionary who teaches 
Patty that sex and violence can be potent 
political weapons, is ably abetted by Greg- 
ory Rozakis and Catherine Lacy, as a 
couple of feverish coconspirators. Abduc 
tion's Third World sensibility conveys 
an unnerving message to upper-middle 
America: Lock up your daughters. 


A mute, retarded nymphet (played by 
vixenish Teresa Ann Savoy, an Eng 
import to Rome) is also abducted on 
orders ofa fortune hunter (Luigi Proietti), 
who eventually hopes to marry her grate- 
ful momma (Irene Papas) after saving the 
child from a fate worse than death. In- 
stead of cowering before her captor, how- 
ever, the girl hungrily seduces him and so 
inflames his senses that he's soon affec- 
tionately referring to her as “Daddy's 
whore.” Director Alberto Lattuada's te 
Bombing was à box-office bonanza over 
there—perhaps because Italian male 
moviegoers, at least, dug the erotic [an- 
tasy of a Latin Lolita, a so-called perfect 
female, for two reasons: “She screws, but 
she doesn't t Even if Ameri 
enjoy Bambina, and well they may 
the movie is well acted, offbeat and lewd 
without quite lapsing into vulgarity— 


U. S. feminists are apt to take a dim view 
of such flagrantly sexist shenanigans. But 
the movie is actually a sentimental story 
of a scoundrel redeemed by “love with- 
out sin,” with Savoy as its eloquent em- 
bodiment. On those terms, Lattuada 
sex-oriented black comedy is both oi 
inal and ingratiating and, compared with 
Lolita, almost conventionally moral. 


In the title role of Rooster Cogburn, 
playing the same scruffy and boozy good 
guy whose antics brought him an Oscar 
for True Grit, big John Wayne has Kath- 
arine Hepburn as his co-star. Hepburn, of 
course, is a prim, Bible-thumping spinster 
lady with a spine of stainless steel, who, 
to avenge her father’s murder, stubbornly 


accompanying Wayne while he 
apprehends a pack of ruthless desperadoes 
(led by Richard Jordan, a fast-rising actor 
whose most dastardly deeds seem curiously 
clean-cut) armed with guns, bad tempers 
and a wagonload of stolen nitro. The en- 
suing chase is routed through Oregon's 
ultrascenic Cascade Mountain area, but 
that's just frosting on the cake served up— 
and only half-baked, for the most part— 
by producer Hal B. Wallis and director 
Stuart. Millar. To team a couple of liv- 
ing legends in a romantic Western sound: 
feasible enough, based on the supposition 
that there's box-ofice insurance in com- 
bining bits of True Grit with assorted Hot- 
sam from African Queen. Yet, though the 
two superstars do their damnedest—shtick 
by shtick—they are unable to make the 
old chemistry work with any consistency 
under the double handicap of a slapdash 
script and dullish di The battle of 
Wayne's grulf machismo vs. Hepburn's 
schoolmarm militancy produces a few 
fleeting moments of superstar power, par- 
ticularly when Kate delivers a dewy-eyed 
tribute to the Duke: “With your big belly 
and your bearlike paws .. . you're a 
credit to your sex." That's cute. Maybe a 
shade too cute for a pair of moviedom's 


most distinguished senior citizens, who 
ought not to be reduced to trading on past 
successes in an attempt to save a rather 
humdrum hoss opera from total inertia. 

Shades of The Exorcist keep cropping 
up in such satanic hokelore as The Devil's 
Rain, which has a mess of cultists led by 
Ernest Borgnine ("Who calls me from out 
of the pit?” Borgnine intones, as à menace 
worthy of The Wizard of Oz). William 
Shatner, Keenan Wynn and Ida Lupino 
all succumb to a curse dating back to the 
Salem witch era, but don’t look for a logi- 
cal explanation in the film. The speci 
effects and make-up artists steal what little 
of the show is worth taking: They melt 
the flesh right off the actors’ bones. Looks 
less like exorcising than like caramelizing. 
yet they do it time and again. Just the 
trick for a god-awful shocker that's seem- 
ingly slapped together from equal parts 
of goo and spirit gum. 

Russ Meyers Supervixens offers those 
two most popular film ingredients, sex 
and violence, in unlimited jumbo pro- 
portions. Returning to the field of forth- 
right sexploitation after his sabbatical 
as an establishment Hollywood film 
maker,  writer-producer-director-photog- 
raphereditor Meyer casts busty Shari 
Eubank as Supervixen—with substanti 
support from a pack of equally well- 
endowed amazons identified as Super- 
soul, Superlorna, Supercherry, et al. At 
the mercy of a vicious, impotent cop 
whose virility she challenges. Superangel 
is stabbed, stomped, dunked into her 
bath water and electrocuted, prior to 
her reincarnation as Supervixen—who is 
staked down, spread-eagled, on a moun- 
taintop with a stick of dynamite between 
her legs, by the same dastardly vil 


(ee Sex in Cinema, page 130). Meyer 


nd-X sex schlock is 
ight spoof of movies m 
ly in more or less the same throbbing 
wein. Jf you don't dig the joke, better 
steer clear of Meyerland, where big 
brawny men with toothy smiles test their 
mette in a fleshy, heaving sca of boobs. 


TELEVISION 


Recently, we met with Frank Zappa to 
see how his TV special w 
We found him at Trans-Ameri 
in Hollywood, seated at a desk full of 
dials and switches, teaching himself to 
paint with electronic colors, On h 
sat an English engineer named Bi 
relayed to a CMX computer whatever 
footage Zap nted to see simultane 
ously on four TV sets. On his left sat his 
witty script supervisor, Wendy, who in- 
ventoried the footage her boss decided to 
keep. The film itself, called 4 Token of 
His Extreme, is a Mothers of Invention 
concert taped a ycar earlier at Los An- 
geles’ educational TV station, KCET. The 


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PLAYBOY 


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tunes on the film are Dog Meat, Mon- 
tana, Florentine Pogen, Slink-Foot, Pyg- 
my Twylyte, Inca Roads, Oh No and 
Trouble Every Day. Zappa's goal is to sell 
the finished product to a national network 
or have it distributed independently. 
Zappa explained over a chili dog that, 
years ago, his father had brought home 
án eight-millimeter camera to amuse him- 
self with. When he got bored and laid it 
aside, young Zappa set it on automatic 
and whirled it around in the air. He's 


been pushing visual experience to the 
limit ever since. His present endeavor in- 
color technique 


wolves utili 


ing every 
known to video science in order to create 
the ultimate light show, and then to per- 
suade some television executive who sees 
no future in filmed rock concerts to buy 
i. "Why TV?" we asked, and he cau 
iswered that he'd like to turn on 
ht and watdi the 
show. That's Zappa's way of conveying 
the following information: He'd like to 
make TV less boring. not only for him- 
self but for acidheads all over the world. 
One such friend, whom Zappa calls Elec- 
wic Man, shakes hands every morning 
with a 110-volt wire. Not long ago, 
head because he 
passed a wig store and saw four wigs that 
attracted him. Now he sits around with 
a metal helmet on his head so people 
can't read his mind. Obviously, The Mary 
Tyler Moore Show can’t satisfy Electric 
Man. Secondly, Zappa would like to set 
higher visual standards for TV rock con- 
certs in particular and commercial pro- 
ns in general. That's the responsible 
artist in him. Thirdly, his feature film 
200 Motels, which was financed with 
United Artists money, barely managed to 
break even. Consequently, the film mo- 
guls have lost interest in him. Lastly, since 
a TV film is a lot cheaper to make than 
a feature, Zappa can finance it with his 


a 


tric M shaved his 


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own moncy. That way he maintains com 
plete control over the project, though he 
runs the risk of having a $160,000 film in 
the can with no buyer. 

Back at the lab, Zappa returns to re 
ing what he calls in adman 
ultimate carnival of the eye. 
doubt he would have made a fine ad 
if he hadn't been an even finer musi 
because he h: 
a produci. Zappa has alwz 
a trademark, so when the opening 
titles appear in bedpan green, he chuckles 
and comments, “It gets in your nose when 
it turns green" But the experimental 
artist in Zappa is always at war with the 
businessman. After viewing and review. 
ing the sequence over and over, he finally 
decides to modulate the color of the titles 
through the whole range of the video 
rainbow, carefully choosing the right hues 
to begin and end with. It's beautiful, like 
electronic needlepoint. And Zappa takes 
as much care with 30 seconds of footage 
as Gézanne did in touching up an apple. 

The techniques Zappa employs are East 
cuts in sync with the music, the splicing 
of nonconcert footage for visual contrast, 
color flashes to emphasize rhythm and 
mood, and special video effects such as so- 
lavization and figure outline. One of our 
favorite effects occurs during the song 
Montana, The sequence begins with fast 
rhythmic cuts between Zappa lost in a 
guitar solo and the audience lost in 
Zappa. Suddenly, shots of percussionist 
Ruth Underwood are intercut with those 
of Zappa, as if the two were getting it on 
in some great harmonic four-poster in 
the sky. The music climaxes, but the 
camera holds too long on Ruth, who 
trades her mythic quality for a look of 


discovers what to do. At the clin 
moment, Zappa throws a switch and Ruth 
dissolves into a spermy chromoplast. Not 
even the Midwest will miss the sexual 
point, nor will the West Coast have to 
endure the awkward camera shot. 
Another good sequence is in the Ches- 
ter's Gorilla section of Florentine Pogen, 
when a gorilla with a comb in one hand 
and an alarm dock in the other ambles 
on stage to tease the drummer's hair. 
Brian suggests that the scene be shown 
in chroma negative in order to achieve a 
fine color effect. But Zappa knows better. 
Ws not only that Zappa's friend had 
rented the gorilla suit with his own money 
and would be mightily pissed off if the 
scene were negativized. It’s also that you 
simply do not throw away a stage-front 
gorilla. After experimenting for a half 
hour on the effects board, Zappa happens 
onto a switch that “electrocutes” every- 
thing in sight. It's perfect. Whenever the 
gorilla touches anybody with the comb, 
the band becomes electrified. Electric Man 


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THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 


The way my social life has been going, 
I'm sure that one of these days I'm going 
to walk into a room and realize that I've 
made love to everyone there. What does 
one say in such a situation2—L. G., Chica- 
zo. Hlinois. 

H depends. If the room is empty, jor- 
get it. If there is only one person in the 
toom, say whatever comes to mind. If the 
room is filled with ladies you met at an 
orgy. you don't have to say anything, ex- 
cept, perhaps, “Who ordered the ham and 
Swiss on rye?" If the room is Albert Hall, 
say whatever you said before: IL obviously 
worked. However, if youve been discreet 
and none of the women concerned knows 
about the others, try, “You're probably 
wondering why 1 gathered you here to- 
night.” If the ladies do know about one 
another, and you don’t know they know, 
say your prayers. If the room is filled with 
both men and women and you haven't 
come aut of the closet, perhaps you should 
consider going into the closet with the 
excuse that you'd like to slip into some- 
thing more comfortable, As you can see, 
this is a complicated question. The best 
advice is to take along a good atlorney 
and refuse to say anything at all. 


Whice sam, in the form of the Imernal 
Revenue Service and, specifically, the IRS 
Intelligence Gathering and Retrieval Sy 
tem, has lately been culled to task for 
keeping files on citizens, supposedly for 
the purpose of political harassment. To 
my knowledge, I have not violated any 

statutes, but 1 have been politically 
active. Is there any way to find out il my 
me is in the files or in the computer?— 
S. K., Hartford, Connecticut. 

If you want to find out if your name is 
on file in a specific IRS district, drop a 
line to the Chief, Disclosure Staff, Box 
388, Ben Franklin Station, Washington, 
D. C. 20014. You must agree to pay the 
search cost (about $3.50 an hour) and ihe 
copying cost (ten cents a page), but if 
there is a file, you will be allowed to i 
spect a copy at your district office. If there 
is no file in your name, well . . . try again 
next year. There probably will be. 


Perhaps you can sende an argument. 
For the past few months, I have been h 
ing lunch with one of the secretaries from 
work. Although we've never been to bed 
together, we enjoy comparing notes about 
what turns us on. She says that she really 
likes to be grabbed by the buttocks or by 
the inside of the thighs during imer- 
course—the maneuver heightens her sense 
of being back in the saddle again. Also. 
she finds that the between her anus 
and her vagina is quite sensitive, She 
really gets off on men who attend to this 


erogenous rone; she even includes anal 
stimulation as one of her masturbatory 
techniques. (She calls it double clutch- 
ing—one finger im each orifice.) I told 
her I thought that this w ather unusual; 
she responded that if something was 
pleasurable when done by other people, 
it would be pleasurable done all by one- 
self, Who's right2—M. F., Dallas, Texas. 

You are both right, but your friend 
comes out ahead. Her logic is impeccable, 
even though it can't be supported by sta- 
tistics. Men and women tend to be single- 
minded, if not singlehanded, in their 
masturbatory technique. For example, 
Kinsey found that approximately half of 
the women surveyed were somewhat sensi- 
live to breast stimulation before and dur- 
ing intercourse, yet only about 11 percent 
of the women who masturbated bothered 
to fondle their own breasts. Your friend's 
behavior may be uncommon, but it will 
do in a pinch. 


Diitterent strokes tor different folks 
fairly popular sling expres one of 
my friends claims it is based on historical 
evidence. Apparently, some scholar de- 
voted his life to a study of the average 
number of strokes needed to bring women 
of other nations to climax. Have you ever 
heard of such a studyz—H. H., Roanoke, 
Virginia. 

Yes, from a Navy recruiting officer. Ac- 
tually, there was a study of that sort con- 
ducted in the 1800s by Jacobus Sutor, a 
surgeon in the French army. (Men sto- 
tioned at hardship outposts learn to pass 
the time in odd ways.) Sutor’s findings 
were published in 1893: "L'Amour aux 
Colonies” included such erotic recipes as 


“Nine times shallow and one time deep" 
for Hindus, “Ten times shallow and slow. 
ten times deep and quick” for Japanese 
(repeat if necessary or possible) and, fi- 
nally, “Forty times in and out will. bring 
the majority of Chinese women to a celi- 
” although the more responsive ones 
ill get off after “eight shallow thrusts and 
two deep ones." Why the emphasis on 
shallow strokes? Masters and Johnson 
point out that the outer third of the va- 
gina is the area mast sensitive to stimula- 
tion—as a woman becomes excited, this 
area becomes engorged with blood and 
tightens mound the penis, while the inner 
two thirds of the vagina expands. Shallow 
strokes, therefore, may tease and arouse 


may 


a woman as much as or more than deep 
thrusts. So hire a coxswain and conduct 
your own study. 


Cn jou tell me what Anstie’s Limit 
Isaw an ad for a bullet that read “Food 
and Anstie’s Limit: five dollars." 1 assume 
the term refers to an amount of alcohol, 
but how muc S. D., Stowe, Vermont. 

Anstie was the original Dr, Feelgood. 
He determined that a man could. eat 
drink and stay healthy if he consumed no 
more than one and a half ounces of abso- 
lute alcohol per day (i.e. three shots of 
whiskey, a half carafe of wine or four 
steins of beer). For best results, the spirits 
were to be imbibed during a meal, A re- 
cent. study suggests that moderate drink- 
ing may actually increase your life span. 
Researchers at the University of Califor- 
nia at Berkeley surveyed more than 6000 
people and found that while nondrinkers 
outlive heavy drinkers, moderate drinkers 
outlive both groups. (If you drink more 
han fue drinke four limes a eel you're 
a heavy drinker. Take your vitamin A 
once a day or less and you're a moderate.) 
Here’s to your vital signs. 


This may sound old-fashioned, but 1 am 
aithful to my man. We have 


relationship amd plan to be 
However, outside interference is 
breaking us up. He is very jealous about. 


me, which I love, as it only proves to me 
how much he loves me, Lately, he has bee 
getting daily phone ills telling 
what I've been doing while he's at work 
1d/or away for the night. Nothing they 
ay is truc, but since he can't know for 
sure, it’s putting him under a great strai 
He worries constantly about me and is on 
the verge of nervous collapse. I have of- 
fered to wear a chastity belt, if we can find 
out where to buy one or how to make one. 
Do you have an answer?—Miss F. W., 
Portland, Oregon. 

They? It sounds to us likc inside inter- 
ference is causing the trouble. Whether or 


45 


PLAYBOY 


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not the crank calls take place (they may be 
an invention to cover up his own doubts), 
it is obvious that your boyfriend is exces- 
sively jealous. He'll listen to strangers but 
not to reason. (Have you considered mak- 
ing your own daily phone calls?) Forget 
the chastity belt: Possessiveness is nine 
tenths of the flaw. We recall the story of 
the insecure man who dreamed that he 
was given a ruby ring that, for as long as it 
was worn, guaranteed the fidelity of his 
lover. He awoke and found his finger bur- 
ied to the hilt in the ruby-red ring of his 
girlfriend's private parts. Anything less 
won't do. We suggest that you lake Ber 
trand Russell’s counsel: Jealousy must 
not be regarded as a justifiable insistence 
upon rights but as a misfortune to the one 
who feels it and a wrong toward its ob- 
ject. Those who shut love in a cage 
destroy the beauty and joy that it can 
display only while it is free and spontane- 
ous. He who fears to lose what makes the 
happiness of his life has already lost it. 


THlow can 1 improve the audio quality of 
my TV The one-inch speaker sounds 
like a tin funnel in a hailstorm. All treble, 
no bass. It makes watching something like 
Night Dreams a total bummer, although 
Linda Ronstadt can still send chills up and 
down my spine, in spite of the bad acous- 
tics. Any suggestions?—B. H., Wurtsmith 
AFB, Michigan. 

The quality oj the audio signal re- 
ceived by a television set varies from bare- 
ly adequate to dismal, according to what 
a particular channel transmits. Most 
home TV sets further mangle the sound, 
pushing it through a relatively cheap 
speaker. Running the signal through an 
external amplifier and speaker may im. 
prove the sound, but it also may showcase 
ihe distortion and limited response of the 
original signal. If you really want to hear 
Archie and Edith sing “Those Were the 
Days,” have a qualified technician do one 
of the following (ty it yourself and you 
may fry your brains): Connect an external 
speaker directly to the feed points of the 
TV speaker; ov wire a sound take-off con- 
nection from the TV set's volume con- 
trol, using a shielded cable and bypassing 
the whole TV audio section. The cable 
would terminale in a phono socket at the 
rear of the set, then the sound would be 
fed through a patch cord 1o the auxiliary 
input of your hi-fi amplifier. If your TV 
set has a headphone jack, you can attach a 
device called the Teledapter TE-200 that 
connects to a separate amplifier or receiver. 
And a one and a two. 


The other night E was at a girlfriend's 
place, getting ready to settle in for the 
night. However, 1 knew that she was €x- 
pecting a call from another guy to com 
firm a date for the following eveni 
lous type, so I didn't 
out the anticipated call, but 
ty that it might come before 


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PLAYBOY 


48 


WHEN YOUR TEAM IS ON THE 
TWO-YARD LINE. YOU SHOULDN'T 
BE IN THE CONCESSION LINE. 


"The best seats in the stadium won't do 4 


you much good. if vour stomach wont 


let vou stay n them. 


So, while vou re tucking your ticket 
into one pocket it makes sense to tuck 
Slim dim" into the other. 

Slim Jim is a chewy all-meat snack 
that comes in five different flavors. 
And goes just about anywhere you 
want to take it. 

Which means it's also great for 
racing, hunting, golf. or any time 
youre hungry, anywhere. 

Get Slim dim at your &rocer s, 
in mild. spicy. pizza, bacon, 
or salami. 

Then. when you get to vour 
seat. youll be able to stay there. 


ALITTLE LESS THAN A MEAL. 


ALITTLE MORE THAN A SNACK. 


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we did bothered me a bit. I asked if I 
could disconnect the phone; she refused. 
So while she was in the bathroom, I took 
the phone off the hook, figuring that if the 
guy called and got a busy signal, he'd call 
back later, The girl returned and we got 
it on, Afterward, 1 got up to replace the 
receiver. When she realized what T was 
doing, she became furious, screaming that 
was her phone and I had no right to 
remove it, especially since she had said 
no when | asked if it would be OK, I, 
turn, told her it was pretty damn gauche 
to jump into bed with a man knowing 
full well that she pi i 
back out—no matter what was happen- 


;—when the telephone rang. As it 
turned out. the guy never called and she 
didn't | much, anyway. But she' 


y with me because I “violated he 
ghis.” How can I convince her that she's 
being unreasonable?—J. H., Richmond, 
Virginia, 

You can't, because she's not. It is her 
phone and you shouldn't have tampered 
with it without her permission, If you 
hadn't asked about taking it off the hook, 
your action would have Leen only a minor 
faux pas. Since you did ash and she told 
you not (o remove it, she has every right 
To be angry. Next lime you think a phone 
call might interrupt your lovemakin 
take more tine and concentrate on mak- 
ing what you're doing so exciting that the 
only ringing she'll hear will be her own 
chimes. 


still an 


Tin planning a wip to South America 
in the next few months and my question 
is fairly simple: What, if anything, can a 
tourist do to protect himself against the 
dread Monteruma’s revenge T don't want 
to take the 1 sitting down.—D. W., 
Atlan 

The standard advice is: Don't drink 
the water. A cautious traveler will carry 
bottled water or a small heating coil to 
boil whatever is available. (Iodine tablets 
do not kill the bacteria that cause the 
Aztec two-step.) The prohibition includes 
cating fruits and vegetables washed in un- 
treated water or brushing your teeth with 
same. A truly bold vagabond will forgo 
water, existing entirely on alcoholic bever- 
ages. There is some evidence that small 
doses of Sulfaihalidine (a prescription 
drug) may prevent turista, but most com- 
mercial preparations do not work. The 
FDA warns against using two—Entero- 
Vioform and Diodoquin. It seems that if 
you're going to gel it, you're going to 
get it. For one thing, the bacteria can be 
picked up from sources other than wa- 
ter—one study revealed that some 42 
percent of the paper money in Mexico 
carries bacteria that might produce intes- 
tinal infection. (Is thal why the Committee 
for the Re-Election of the President laun- 
dered those bills in Mexico?) Treatment 
varies once you are stricken; One medical 
expert recommends eating small amounts 
(one at a time) of boiled vice, applesauce 


The road to success is paved with rocks. 
Let us smooth them for you. 


Johnnie Walker 
Black Label Scotch 
YEARS 412 E OLD 


END 


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and tea, on the hour, taking Compazine if 
there is nausea and paregoric or Lomotil if 
there is diarrhea, That and a good maga- 
zine should get you through the worst of it. 


Wor the past few years, I have been 
impotent. The reason appears to be psy- 
chological. Recently, I've heard of a de- 
vice that can be surgically implanted 
the penis of a man who is unable to effect 
or ma erection for physical rea- 
sons; it is said to get it up and keep it up 
for as long as it is needed. My urologist 
said that he knew of the research but that 
he didn't know a doctor in the state who 
would perform the case of 
psychological ir i He directed me 
to a shrink to determine why I can't 
get it up. I'd like to know more 
about th M.. Minneapolis, 
Minnesota. 

We assume that you refer to a tech- 
nique developed by Dr. Brantley Scott of 
the Baylor College of Medicine in Hous- 
ton, Texas, and Dis. William Bradley and 
Gerald Timm of the University of Minne- 
sola Hospital. The doctors implant two 
collapsible silicone-rubber cylinders in the 
corpus cavernosum of Ihe penis; these are 
connected by tubes to a pump tucked 
away in the scrotum and to a reservoir of 
fluid implanted behind the stomach mus- 
cles. By squeezing the pump, the patient 
transfers the fluid from the reservoir to 
the cylinders in the penis, which then be 
comes erect. Pressing on a tiny valve re- 
turns the fluid to the reservoir. Patients 
armed with the device can experience or- 
gasm and ejaculation. (The brain centers 
that normally control erection are differ- 
ent from those that control. pleasure. It is 
possible for a man to have an orgasm with- 
out an erection. Try it sometime.) Now 
for the drawbacks. The operation is 
pensive (nol quite on the scale of those of 
the “Six Million Dollay Man” but, what 
with inflation, close). The closed hydraulic 
system can become damaged or worn out 
(as yet, there are no 3000-mch warranties); 
the replacement costs are equally expen- 
sive. And where aye you going to find a 
plumber in the middle of the night? The 
device ts an invaluable aid in cases of 
physically caused impotence, but, essen- 
tially, we agree with your doctor—why 
rely on a mechanical aid if you don't 
have to? (It's like saying to a friend on his 
way to the barbershop: Get one for me”) 
See a psychiatrist ov a sex counselor to get 
at the root of the problem. 


All reasonable questions—from fash- 
ion, food and drink, stereo and sports cars 
to dating dilemmas, taste and etiquette— 
will be personally answered if the writer 
includes a stamped, self-addressed en- 
velope. Send all letters to The Playboy 
Advisor, Playboy Building, 919 N. Michi- 
gan Avenue, Chicago, Ilinois 60611. The 
most provocative, pertinent queries will 
be presented on these pages each month. 


x- 


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49 


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THE PLAYBOY FORUM 


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


COUNTERREVOLUTIONARY CAR 
‘The Minneapolis man's nostalgic rec- 
ollections of his postpubescent adventures 
in the back seat of a car in those halcyon 
days before the sexual revolution (The 
Playboy Forum, July) really triggered the 
old memory gland. When I was in high 
school in Wichita, Kansas, my father 
bought a 1948 "bathtub" Nash, which I 
thought was going to make me the most 
popular kid in town. It was the first 
American car ever (as far as I know) that 
had a seat that turned into a bed and, for 
that reason, it was instantly classified as a 
sexmobile. This suited me just fine, but, 
to my surprise, it practically ruined. my 
fledgling sex life. When I was driving the 
family's 1941 Plymouth, I had some pretty 
good times at the drive-in movies and on 
some quiet country roads, but once I was 
seen in the new Nash, with its celebrated 
seats, there wasn't a girl in town who 
would accept so much as a ride to the 
local rootbeer stand. They'd rather be 
caught in a whorehouse was the general 
reaction. So much for the famous 48 
Nash, with its fold-down seat. If you 
wanted to get laid, you needed a car that 
Was anonymous and unsuspect, regardless 
of how uncomfortable it was, 
Paul Thoma: 
Miami, Flo 


WHOOPS! 

The implication that there was homo- 
sexuality among the whooping cranes at 
the U.S. Govemment Wildlife Re: ch 
Center at Patuxent, Maryland (Playboy 
After Hours, June), is an exaggeration, I 
believe I am the “outside expert” who, as 
PLAYBOY reports, was "called in to study 
the problem" and separate the boys from 
the boys and the girls from the girls. 

A newspaper report that misquoted 
one of my associates seems to have been 
the origin of this misapprehension. 
Actually, there are currently seven fine 
heterosexual pairs of this rare species at 
Patuxent and this year one pair laid 
three eggs. 

Homosexual behavior in various crane 
species is occasionally seen in both wild 
and captive birds. In Japan, I observed 
two male cranes copulating. Homosext 
bonds sometimes form in captivity if 
members of the same sex share the same 
or adjacent pens for prolonged periods. 
"This often happens in zoos, since cranes 
are difficult to sex. However, usually homo- 
sexual 


s eventually split if the cranes 
are allowed to pair with members of the 


opposite sex and, to my knowledge, solid- 

ly mated homosexual pairs?have never 

been observed in wild cranes. It might 

begood for cranes, though, if humans were 

less heterosexual, reproduced less and left 

a small part of the earth for the birds. 
George W. Archibald, Director 
International Crane Foundation 
Baraboo, Wisconsin 


A HOLE AIN'T A HOLE 

Professor Thomas M. Kando says in the 
August Playboy Forum that the typical 
male-to-female transsexual will try “to 
pass for a natural-born female to avoid 
zation” and that sex-change tech- 
y has become so good that some 
"can go totally undetected.” While I'm 
sure transsexuals can fool some of the 
people some of the time by outwardly 
displaying virtually the full panoply of 
feminine attributes, when the clothes are 
stripped away, so is the illusion. 

I've known two transsexuals, both tall 
and ravishingly beautiful, both delightful 
people. 1 enjoyed the friendship of one 
for three years. But I never saw the 
dinical perfection the professor claims 
abounds; once nude, both were obviously 
issexuals, The arcolae of their nipples 
were tiny. Buttocks weren't femininely 
fleshed. Hair patterns were masculine. 
Their legs reflected masculinity from 
thigh to ankle and carried neither with 
feminine grace. Of course, not one of 
these signs is enough to warrant a judg- 
ment, but when put all together, they 
spell Father, not Mother. 

Besides these external signs, there was 


the evidence discovered by a probing 
finger. Operating techniques may be 
good, but my experience tells me that if 
an orifice doesn’t feel like a cunt, doesn't 
look like a cunt (no clitoris, no labia 
minora), doesn't smell or taste like a 
cunt, then it ain't a cunt. And only a 
knothole fucker could dig it. 

(Name withheld by request) 

New York, New York 


THE PROSTITUTE'S LOT 

The fight for sexual privacy is most 
difficult in the area of commercialized 
sex. Apparently, a woman can exch: 
her body for anything except money. Vice 
squads continue to engage in sexual en- 
mapment supposedly for the good of 
the community, and strectwalkers serve 
jail sentences for the same purpose. 
Prostitution is surrounded by myths and 
been 


misinformation, and there have 


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51 


PLAYBOY 


52 


rch or 


few attempts at objective re 
evaluation. 

COYOTE, the prostitutes’ union, and 
the American Civil Liberties Union, with 
the help of the Playboy Foundation, are 
challenging laws that invade sexual pri- 
y. Suits on behalf of individual clients 
and groups have been filed, and so far 
the success rate is impressive. Legislators 
have been provided with extensive in- 
formation by COYOTE and bills legal- 
izing sex betwi lults are 
under discussion nost 
important. task now is educating the vot- 
ers. When the myths are cleared 
and the cost of the present system is doc- 
umented, people will call for reforms. 
Marilyn Hatt of the A.C.L.U. and I have 
written, with the help of Je 
from the Na 
Women, an illustrated book containing 
most of the information people need 
to work for legal change. It’s called The 
Politics of Prostitution. Yt is based on 
our experience since 1968 in trying to 
ve prostitution. decriminalized. "The 
book can be obtained for three dol 
from Social Research, 335 N.E. 53rd 
Street, Seattle, Washington 98105. It 
should be valuable to lawyers, legislators 
and anyone else interested in a clearer 
understanding of prostitution in Ameri 
can society 

Jennifer James, Ph.D. 
Assistant Professor of Psychia 
and Behavioral Sciences 

University of. Washington 
Seattle, Washington 


BUYER, BEWARE 

The letter from the guy who sp 
$135 on empty sexual promises in Las 
Vegas (The Playboy Forum, August) is 
an eye opener; I wish Td scen it sooner. 
Like him, I became curious about the 
ls in newspapers, magazines and even 
the phone book announcing that “It’s 
legal ida." So I called one of the 
renta-gir] numbers and asked what it 
would cost to have a young lady sent to 
my room. A lovely female voice quoted 
a figure of $50 for a half hour. Since it 
emed quite reasonable compared with 
the $700 I'd already lost gambling, 1 
1, “Send her over.” 

When T answered the knock at my 
door a short time later, E was dismayed 
to find not the girl of my wet dreams but 
burly man with photos of the available. 
girls. He told me to make a first and a 
second choice, which 1 did, and then 
he demanded the $50, plus an additional 
n dollars for his services. In. view of 


his pugnacious demeanor, 1 gave it to 
him. 

Some time later, there was another 
knock at the door and this time L wa 


confronted with my very attractive 
second choice. To make a long story 
short, when I told her what I wanted, 
she said hers was just an escort service 
and if E wanted sexual favors, it would 


FORUM NEWSFRONT 


a survey of events related to issues raised by “the playboy philosophy" 


JUSTICE AND THE LAW 

ANNA MARIA, FLORIDA—Police Chief 
Conrad Justice reported to city com- 
missioners that his legal research has un- 
covered no law that compels women to 
cover their breasts on the local beaches 
or anywhere else within his jurisdiction. 
“If they want to just walk down the 
streel topless,” Justice said, “that’s their 
privilege.” 


KEEP YOUR SHIRT ON 
OCEAN CITY, MARYLAND—The 


Ocean 
City council, upholding the community's 


“image as a family resort,” has decided 
to revive and start enforcing a 42-year- 
old law banning topless males from the 
town’s boardwalk. By a four-to-threc vote, 
the council ordered the city attorney to 
update a 1933 indecent-exposure ordi- 
nance requiring men to wear shirts except 
on the beach itself. 


REMEMBER THE MANN ACT 

cmcaco—The FBI is reportedly in- 
vestigating nude massage parlors in ihe 
Chicago area for possible violations of 
the Mann Act, the 1910 Federal anti- 
prostitution law that prohibits the inte: 
slale transportation of women for 
immoral purposes. According to the 
Chicago Daily News, Federal agents 
contend that organized criminals and 
certain motorcycle gangs have been sup- 
plying the parlors with runaway girl 
and other out-of-state women. 


BANK FAILURE 

SAN FRANCISCO—A man who made a 
deposit in a local sperm bank prior to 
undergoing a vasectomy has filed a 
$5,000,000 damage suit against the bank 
for accidentally destroying the semen 
through an equipment failure. The suit 


claims the plaintiff suffered great emo- 
tional and mental anguish and asks 
$500,000 for any bank customer who in- 
curred a similar loss. 


FETICIDE 

CAMDEN, NEW JeRSEY—A 2-year-old 
man has been found guilty of murdering 
twin fetuses by shooting their mother in 
the abdomen. The woman was seven and 
a half months’ pregnant at the time of 
her wounding, which forced premature 
delivery. One fetus, struck by a bullet, 
lived three and a half hours, while the 
other died after 15 hours. If upheld on 
appeal, the conviction could define the 
fetus as a person under New Jersey homi- 
cide li 

A similar case is being tried in Chicago 
at the urging of antiabortionists. A Cook 
County grand jury returned a murder 
indictment against a 20-year-old man 
who allegedly shot a pregnant woman 
and killed her fetus. Although the Illinois 
Supreme Court ruled in 1956 that a child 
must be born alive to be a homicide vic- 
tim, the Hlinois Right 1o Life Committee 
has persuaded the state's attorney that, 
under a later court decision, an unborn 
child still may qualify as a person in à 
civil suit for wrongful-death damages. 

In Massachusetts, the state supreme 
court has ruled four to three that an un 
born but viable fetus is a person under 
the state's wrongful-death law, which per- 
mils a relative to seek compensation for 
the death of a family member due to 
The case involved an eight- 
PR cubus (pns ditm! 
dead uf.cr its mother was fatally injured 
in a car-bus collision 


MENTAL PATIENTS’ RIGHTS 
WASHINGTON, D.C—The U.S. Supreme 
Court has unanimously ruled that incar- 
cerated mental patients who are not dan- 
gerous to themselves or to others have a 
constitutional right to receive treatment 
or else be released. In the Court's. deci- 
sion, Justice Polter Stewart wrole, “A 
finding of ‘mental illness’ alone cannot 
justify a state's locking a person up 
against his will and keeping him indefi- 
nitely in simple custodial confinement.” 


HOMOSEXUAL RIGHTS 

WASHINGTON, D.C.—The Civil Service 
Commission, reversing longtime Govern- 
ment policy, has issued guidelines 
protecting homosexuals working in or ap 
plying for Federal jobs. Responding to a 
number of court decisions, the commis 
sion ruled that “a rational connection" 
must be drawn between a person's homo 
sexual activities and job performance 


before he or she can be either fired or 
refused employment in most arcas of 
civil service. Agencies exempt from com- 
mission guidelines include the FBI, the 
CIA, the Foreign Service branch of 
the State Department and the military 
services. 


COFFEE AND POT 

TUGoN—Coffee may do for dopers 
what it's supposed to do for drunks. 
Researchers at the University of Arizona 
report that caffeine reverses the effects of 
marijuana in experimental animals—in 
this case. a group of stoned rabbits. The 
scientists cautioned, however, that other 
stimulants did not have this effect and 
that some, including cocaine and meth- 
amphetamine, produced toxic reactions 
in conjunction with THC, the active in- 
gredient in pot. 


POT-AND-PORN RESEARCH 

CARBONDALE, ILLINOIs—Southern Mli- 
nois University has received a $61,500 
grant from the National Institute of 
Drug Abuse to study the effects of mari- 
juana on human sexual response. Dr. 
Harris Rubin, a psychologist who con- 
ducted a similar study with alcohol, plans 
to show erotic movies to male-college- 
student volunteers and compare their de- 
gree of sexual arousal before and after 
using pot by means of erection-measuring 
devices, 


PARTY TIME 

NEWARK, DELAWARE— 
Students at the Uni- 
versity of Delaware 
have won the right 
to drink alcoholic 
beverages in dormi- 
lory corridors and 
lounges, but only 
in groups of ten or 
more. The school, 
for reasons not ex- 
plained, believes it 
can more easily con- 
tiol groups of stu- 
dents than individual 
drinkers. 


SEE NO EVIL 

ROVANIEMI, FINNISH LAPLAND—A reli- 
gious sect called the Laestadians, who 
espouse an extreme version of Lutheran- 
ism, has been smashing television sets 
in an effort to stamp out sin in Lapland. 
In one community, the sect has even 
condemned washing machines with win- 
dows because they allow people to 
observe the laundering of women’s un- 
derwear. In the Twenties, the group 
smashed radios. So far, the police have 
not been able to stop the smashers be- 
cause they pay for the damage and their 
victims are reluctant to file formal 
complaints. 


FISH-FLINGING FEMINISTS 

GOTEBORG, SWEDEN—A feminist group 
has been trying to discourage men from 
patronizing local prostitutes by attacking 
Johns with water bombs and pickled 
herring. “Every lime we walk on a street 
in certain blocks, we get accosted by men 
taking all women for prostitutes,” one of 
the feminists explained. “When they 


open their car doors, we throw in heaps 
of pickled herring, or paste unremovable 
stickers on their cars, saying, Y PREFER 
TRAMPS—WOMAN EXPLOITER.” The group, 
which insists on anonymity, next plans 
to distribute posters showing the license 
numbers of cars whose drivers ave scen 
shopping for prostitutes. 


KIDDIES FOR THE KINGDOM 

MECCA—Saudi Arabia has banned the 
importation and use of contraceptives 
following a ruling by the World Moslem 
League that “birth control was invented 
by the enemies of Islam.” The decree 
ss smuggling of pills or conivacep- 
live devices into the country punishable 
by six months in prison and further pro- 
hibils the use of any means to prevent 
conception. A Saudi official said, “The 
kingdom needs more and more males for 
work, and more and more females to bear 
and raise babies." 


CONTRACEPTIVE LAW VOIDED 

NEW YORK—A U.S. district court has 
declared unconstitutional the New York 
law banning the sale of nonprescription 
contraceptives to persons under 16 years 
of age. The state had argued that the 
law was a valid assertion of the state’s 
interest “in promoting the morals of its 
young people.” The court held, however, 
that the law did not achieve that pur- 
pose; thai young people would engage in 
sexual intercourse regardless and, with- 
out contraceptives, would expose them- 
selves to the dangers of unwanted 
pregnancy and venereal discasc. The 
law, which also banned the advertising 
of contraceptives and their sale except in 
pharmacies, was challenged by several 
family-planning groups with the support 
of the Playboy Foundation. 


cost me another $60. I told her to forget 

it, since I'd already been screwed. 
(Name withheld by request) 
Portage, Michigan 


RELATIVE INTIMACY 

Reading the letter titled "Intimate 
Relations” in the August Playboy Forum 
prompted me to write about my own sex- 
ual encounter with a first cousin. It 


occurred when I was 16 and he was 23. He 


was living at home alter his divorce and 
my family was visiting 

"rhe house being crowded, our parents 
put five of us kids, including him and 
me, in one bedroom. I found him terribly 
attractive and my thoughts were con- 
ntly on making love with him. On the 
fifth night, I decided to swing into action. 
Being very young and not good at in- 
venting schemes, I simply got into bed 
with him and asked for a goodnight kiss. 
He quickly realized J didn't want just a 
chaste peck and he asked me whether or 
not T knew what I was doing. Naturally, 
I said yes, and then we went to it. Quietly, 
of course. 

That was five years ago. Today, after 
a lot of family hassle, we are married. 
And my younger sister, who is 19, is now 
living with his younger brother, who is 
21 and looks just like my husband. It 
kind of pleases me, because I don’t like 
the idea of outsiders marrying into our 
family. 


(Name withheld by request) 
more, Maryland 


THE REALITY OF INCEST 

igmund Freud wrote his famous 
paper “A Child Is Being Beaten” in 1919. 
He described how a child's incestuous 
wish might lead to so much guilt that it 
would be repressed and turn into hated, 
A patient might later tell the analyst of 
having been injured by his or her father. 
Freud treated many of his me 
leagues’ daughters, and some told of early 
sexual encounters with their fathers. He 
respected his colleagues, treated the ac- 
cusations as fantasy and developed the 
theory of the Oedipus complex to ex- 
plain them, 

My clinical experience has shown that 
if a daughter persists in claiming that 
her father has had l intercourse with 
her, there usually is a basis in fact. 
Consider the case of patient A, a for- 
mer Hollywood starlet who was admitted 
to our facility for treatment after a 
suicide attempt. She had been aban- 
doned by her most recent therapist, 
with whom she had had an affair while 
im treatment. From the time of her first 
psychotic episode, she had told various 
psychiatrists that her father come 
into her bed and penetrated her when she 
was 13. During the cou 
I mentioned her persistent thought to 
her father, a prominent businessman. His 


al col- 


PLAYBOY 


54 


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reply was. "You know what Freud said 
about that, doctor, My daughter is sick. 
She should be put away for life." How 
ever, the daughter has now recovered and 
her father has finally reluctantly admitted 
that there had been a sexual episode. 
Patient B came to us at the age of 
19. having previously been hospitalized 
and given 21 electricshock treatments 
Like patient A, she had had an affair with 
her previous therapist and had attempted 
suicide. During treatment, she finally 
broke down and, shaking violently with 
fear, spoke of a sexual assault by her 
father when she was 13. When I tele- 
phoned her father, he angrily denied it 
But soon after, he had a severe coronary 
and as he was dying. he revealed u 
his daughter had told the truth. “Perha 
I loved my daughter too much." he said 
Patients A and B, beautiful and intel 
ligent young won 
scores of young people who are comi 


c just two of the 
to us after years of unsuccessful tr t 
The children are being b ast 
by busy doctors who are supposed to 
help them. As a. physician-psychiatrist. I 
am appalled by the methods of treatment 
applied by my colleagues. Repeatedly 
they fail to take the time and effort to 
gain their patients’ trust. They listen with 
skepticism rather than patience 
passion. Massive doses of drug: 
baric electric shock—which. unhappily 
seems to be regaining favor among psvdi 
wists—deaden the memories and there 
fore the emotions of their patients. In 
the cases of A and B, therapists even re 
peated the original sex traumas. The 
failure of these doctors lies in not real 
izing that psychology does not live by 
science alone but requires à. humanistic 
attitude to be fully effective. 

Albert M. Honig, D.O., 

Medical Director 
Delaware Valley 
Mental Health Foundati. 
Doylestown 


d com. 


ad bar. 


Pennsylvania 


FAMILY TOGETHERNESS 

Judging by some of the recent leue 
iu The Playboy Forum, people are learn 
ing to feel good about some of their more 
larout sexual wips and are descri 


with pride adventures that they might 
formerly have kept entirely to themselves 
and remembered only with shame. OF 
course, even though the inst var 
ious fancy forms of sex may be falling into 
disuse, society has other ways of punishing 
people for unconventional behavior; so 


there's still a need for anonymity. But I'm 
glad to feel that 1 can write without ex- 
pecting a bunch of moralizers to denounce 
my story and call me a pervert 

Some years ago, my wile's older sister 
came to stay with us for a while after her 
divorce. One night after smoking a little 


weed together, we started talking about 
sex and it became obvious il c 
all horny. My wile and I were about to 
ourselves and go into the bedroom 


t we wi 


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when Sis spoke up very frankly: “Don't 
leave me alone to masturbate.” The can- 
dor of her request and our stoned state 
were all we needed to transcend the old 
taboos. 

It was the most exdting night of my 
life. Sixty-nine may be tremendous fun, 
but it does not begin to compare with 
sucking one woman while a second is 
sucking you. First, I went down on my 
wife while Sis went down on me; then 
we switched around and I did Sis while 
my wife did me. It was incredible, beauti- 
Tul, marvelous (ihe grass helped). I 
most began to think that three 
sexual unit and our tra 
limitation to two is some sort of unnat- 
ural dey m. Even after 1 came, we 
went on uying new combinations for 
hours and I came a second and a third 
time. The women must have had more 
climaxes than Beethoven's Fifth. 

We had a few repeat performances in 
g weeks, but, oddly enough, 
J| began to feel nervous about our 
nism. When Sis found a new lover 
nd moved out, we all were secretly re- 
lieved that it was ovi id we hadn't 
gotten caught by the authorities. Never- 
theless, e those few experiences 
id so does my wife. As for Sis, she still 
a special affectionate bond with us 
that is quite beyond normal family 
warmth, 


(Name withheld by request) 
Dayton, Ohio 


THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE 

Dan Dillingham's leucr about the 
c and intransitive uses of the 
verb fuck (The Playboy Forum. Sep- 
tember) is interesting but irrelevant. Per- 
sonally, I don't give a fuck (noun) whether 
the fucking (participle) verb is yi 
or intransitive. Fuck! (Interjection) I'd 
rather spend my time in the bedroom, 
where I have been fucked (verb, passive 
transi i 


ive) there again. 
soon, It's fucking (participle again) great! 
As anyone can see, the word is as versa- 
tile as the deed. 
(Name withheld by request) 
Glendale, California 


V. D. AND PRIVACY 

I was disappointed by the letter last 
February from a gay California man who 
wouldn't report a venereal infection to 
ls because homo: 
ality is a felony and “the confidentia 
of publichealth records is not protected 
in instances of criminal activity.” In 


Code and the s 
specific legal prohibitions against 
ing the contents of V. D. records 
be necessary for the preservation of 
the public health.” Beyond that, people 
working to eradicate V. D. know they must 
be utterly discreet in order to avoid just 
the kind of reluctance to cooperate that 


the writer of that letter expressed. 

Since last May, California has legal- 
ized all private sexual acts between con- 
senting adults. But we know the social 
stigma remains, and divulging any per- 
sonal data is still abhorrent to our pro- 
gram. As legal liaison for the publ 
responsible for V. D. epidemiolog: 
Angeles County, I cannot emphasize 
enough the zealous efforts of departmen- 
tal medical and paramedical personnel to 
protect the confidentiality of V. D. records. 
‘To my knowledge, V. D. records 
never been released even in court with- 
out the informed consent of the persons 
involved. 

I can understand how people faced 
daily with vicious prejudice might be 
apprehensive about sharing intimate in- 
formation with anyone from the estab- 
lishment. But, considering the scope and 
threat of the V.D. problem, 1 would 
strongly urge anyone who suspects he's 
infected to cooperate with publichealth 
workers, 


Department of 
Health Services 
Los Angeles, Califor 


AN OLD CUSTOM 

1 ordered a deck of adult playing cards 
from a company overseas. Then I re- 
ceived a letter from U.S. Customs in Chi- 
cago, stating that the cards hid been 
seized because of a false declaration, 
whatever that means. If I wanted the 
cards, the letter said, I'd have to file a 
petition for their release. Knowing of no 
illegal act on my part or on tha 
company, 1 filed the pi 
aple facts of the case and that I 
adult who wanted the cards for my own 
personal use as a novelty item, I added 
that if there were any duty on the item, 
I would be happy to pay it. 

A week later, I received a second letter, 
stating that my reasons were not good 
enough and that if I still wanted my 
cards, I could appear in court in Chicago 
within 20 days and put up a $250 bond 
to challenge the Customs’ decisio 

Te always felt that, as an adult, I have 
a constitutional right to see or read what- 
ever I desire as long as it docs not hurt 
or offend others, and I cannot see how 
Customs bureaucrats can tell me other- 
wise. 


Mark W. Hardy 
Eldorado, Illinois 
One of the first things this country's 
founding fathers did, after revolting 
against tariff laws of which they disap- 
proved, was to establish tariff laws of 
which they did approve and empower 
the U.S. Customs either to tax or to 
ban the importation of just about any- 
thing. Pornography, by Customs defini- 
tion, is contraband. Customs can declare 
sexual material contraband and confis- 
cate it, unless the recipient wants to take 
the issue to court lo prove thc serious 


THERE IS ONLY ONE JOY... 
THE COSTLIEST PERFUME IN THE WORLD 


PLAYBOY 


58 


literary, scientific or artistic merit of the 
item. Although it’s now perfectly legal for 
an individual to possess any kind of por- 
nography for his personal use, it isn't 
legal to import it or to transport it across 
state lines so that one may legally obtain 

This may seem a little contradictory, 
even a little stupid, but the purpose of 
censorship, after all, is to protect us from 
ourselves and make America morally 
sirong. 


AIRLINE SAFETY 

Last June, the U.S preme Court 
ruled that the Federal Aviation Admin- 
istration (and the major airlines) has the 
right to withhold reports on airline safety 
from the public. The decision reversed 
a ruling by the District of Columbia 
Court of Appeals in a suit by the Center 
for Responsive Law. The apparent result 
is that the FAA can get around the pro- 
visions of the Freedom of Information 
Act by invoking secrecy provisions of the 
Federal Aviation Act of 1958, which, to 
my way of thinking, proves that the cyn- 
icism of Laurence Gonzales’ article on air- 
line salety, You Gotta Believe (PLAYBOY, 
July), is more than well founded 

lt seems that the airlines’ images and 
finances take precedence over human life. 
The only time safety pra sub- 
jected to public scrutiny 
disaster that often could 
avoided. 


have been 


A. Edwards 
Painted Post, New York 


THE STREETS OF N.Y.C. 

I've always suspected that. government 
creates more problems than it solves and 
now there's even further evidence. A New 
York Times article reports that the Fed- 
eral Government theoretically owes the 
city of New York several million dollars 
in traffic fines—which N.Y.C. can't collect 
(despite the fact that it’s going broke), 
because the Feds are immune. Or, if the 
77 Government agencies whose cars get 
ticketed every day are not immune, it 
turns out that they're excused because 
N.Y.G. doesn't want to antagonize any- 
body who could retaliate by cutting off 
some other er Federal moncy. The 
most revealing disclosure in the Times art 
de is the fact that on any given day the 
Federal Government has 10,000 unmarked 
cars on the streets of New York. The 
number of marked cars is, far greater, 
Think about this, my fellow New 
Yorkers, the next time you're looking 
for a parking place. 


Dan Wilson 
New York, New York 


BICENTENNIAL BULL 

I wonder whether amy other PLaynoy 
readers are getting as sick as I am of our 
Bicentennial bullshit. Several months ago, 
when I thought ahead to 1976 as the 200th 
anniversary of the signing of the Declara- 
tion of Independence, I felt several 


“Playboy Forum” Case History 


UPDATE: THE TOM MISTROT CASE 


In July, we reported the case of 
"Thomas Francis Mistrot, a 28-year-old in- 
mate of the Texas State Penitentiary who 
has now served seven years of a mandatory 
life sentence as a habitual criminal. Mis- 
tors crimes were hardly spectacu 
two vendingmachine burglaries and a 
marijuana offense—but they were fel- 
onies at the time they were committed. 
Since then, Texas has revised its criminal 
code and today two (possibly all three) 
of Mistror's crimes would be classed as 
misdemeanor but these reforms did 
not reduce his sentence. After getting 
no help from prison attorneys or from 
state officials, he contacted the Playboy 
Foundation. 

Our investigation of Mistrot’s case 
turned up the story of an orphaned 
youngster with a polio-caused speech de- 
fect who has paid heavily for three mi 
nor offenses committed as a youth under 
strongly mitigating circumstances. After 
interviewing him personally, we joined 
with Representative Ronald Earle of 
Austin and Senator Oscar Mauzy of Dal- 
las in secking a commutation of sentence 
that would make Mistrot eligible, at least, 
for parole, 

Over the past several months, we've 
discovered that the wheels of Texas jus- 
tice turn slowly, but they do tum. A 
spokesman for Governor Dolph Briscoe 
explained that the governor has no stat- 
utory power to commute sentences ex 
cept on recommendation of the state 
Board of Pardons and Paroles. Next, a 
member of the parole board explained to 
us that the board does not, as a matter of 
policy, “usurp judicial authority” by com- 
muting sentences except at the request of 
at least two trial officials, such as the prose- 
cutor and the judge, who must recom- 
mend reduction of a sentence by a 
specific number of years. trial 
officials we learned that it is their policy 
not to “usurp the authority of the jury’ 
by making such a recommendation, even 
though, in Mistrot’s case, the jury had no 
choice—a life sentence was mandatory 
upon the habitual-offender convicti 
When several Texas newspapers publ 
cized the Mistrot Da 
district attorney Henry Wade told a 
reporter, "Anything they want to do with 
him is fine with me, I don't really care, 
but I'm not going to write any letters." 
In fact, Wade did write a 
ter to the parole board but ne 
it by omitting the specific recommend: 
tion that the board requires. Dallas 
judge James B. Zimmerman, who tried 
Mistrot in 1968, told a reporter that he 
agreed that the sentence was excessive 
and so advised the parole board, bur 


From. 


he also left out the one crucial statement. 
Clarence Jones, sheriff of Dallas County, 
did the same. 

"Twice in one day, state officials in Aus- 
1 told pLayBoy. “Our hands are tied. 
his amused Russ Million, Ronald 
le's legislative assistant, who quipped, 
"Now you know why Texas is known 
for the lariat.” 

Terry Frakes, assistant to Senator 
Mauzy, assured us that Texas officials are 
sensitive to public opinion: "You don't 
do anything, you don't make too many 
mistakes. Everything takes a little time 
down here.’ 

We were about to conclude that the 
Mistrot buck had been passed into per- 
manent bureaucratic orbit when, just 
before prestime, Representative Earle 
called with the news that the parole board 
and the governor's office had found the case 
10 merit some red4ape cutting. Citing the 
intent of the legislature in revising the 
law and the otherwise favorable letters 
from all three t the board, 
th Governor Briscoe's approval, com- 
Mistwot’s sentence to 25 
ible at once for | 
d acts favorably on Mi: 
parole application, he won't simply be put 
on the street. V 
Sample, community-services coordinator 
of the State Bar of Texas Comprehensive 
Offender Manpower Program; he 
sures us that Mistrot can be enrolled in 
the New Directions Club, a halfway 
house in Victoria, Texas, that has one of 
the most highly rated community rehabil- 
itation programs—including shelter, 
ployment, training and therapy—in the 
U. $. Farle tells us that the parole process 
can be a lengthy one, often taking 
months after formal application is mad 
But, he said, with a little luck, Mistrot 
might be free by Christmas. 

Below are some of the letters we've 
received commenting on the Mistrot case. 


muted 


rot's 


1 practice criminal law in Texas and 
therefore ask you to withhold my name. 
with state and county 
prosecutors who will be either angered 
or embarrassed (or both, because these 
feelings are very similar) at your report 
on the case of Texas prisoner Tom Mi 
trot. And I will not judgment on 
the attorney (no doubt court appointed) 
who represented Mistrot at his drug 
trial in Dallas in 1968. But I can virtually 
guarantee that if your man had been the 
son of any citizen with cash or credit or 
community respectability, he would 
never have been indicted as a habitual 
offender for three pissant offenses 
the first place; and, in the second pla 


because ] dei 


he could have beat that very questionable 
dope charge (if what you say is true) 
through a litle negotiation with the 
prosecution, The thing is this: It's always 
hard to send away a real bad-ass if he has 
cither experience or connections, so pro: 
ecutors are always grateful when they 
get some friendless kid like Mistrot who 
goes down without a whimper. 

e and address 
thheld by request) 


In the middle Fifties, ] was secretary 
of the elementary school near Dallas that 
Tom Mistrot attended. I remember him 
well as a nice boy who caused no more 
trouble in the classroom than other boys 
his age, if as much. If there is anything 
1 can do to help Tom. let me know. I 
remember that he had a facial handicap 
that caused him problems and I'm 
shocked that no one stood by him when 
he was in trouble. If nothing else, I would 
like to write to him, and I thank you for 
whatever you may be able to do for this 
young man. 


les H. Bruce 
amson, West Virginia 


Mrs. 
Will 


I was Mistrot’s jailer in Dallas in 
1971 before he was transferred to the 
state penitentiary. I quickly took a E 
to him, because it seemed to me that 
most of his problems stemmed from per- 
sonal handicaps and a complete lack of 
opportunity. He was what was called a 
real “stand-up guy,” and what he seemed 
to need most in life was a few friends 
and some respect from people. He was 
not a criminal in the u sense of the 
word, and I would hate to see him tur 
into one through too many years 
prison. 


Balch Springs, Texas 


We are grateful that PLAYBOY is t 
to help Tom Mistrot. We have been cor- 
responding with him for over three years 
now. have talked to him in prison and 
have contacted several state officials for 
assistance. Hopefully, you will have more 


a halfway house in Victoria ha 
take Tom if and when he 
and that employment cin be arranged 
We hope everything works out, because 
"Tom is too decent and energetic a person 
to allow to rot in prison. 

Robert and E 

Dallas, Texas 

The Baileys learned of Mistrot in 1972 

and, since then, have been his only 
friends outside prison. 


Having read your article about Mis- 
trot, I can't help but fecl sorry for him, 


mostly because he's obviously such a 
basically decent kid who should never 
have gotten himself involved with the 
law if he didn't understand the conse- 
quences. Today, at the age of 32, I'm 
ight, with a good wife and two chil- 
dren. From the age of 17 to 28, I was 
and out of jail on a regular basis for 
everything from armed robbery to theft to 
assault to kill, when I shot a man who 
was going to shoot me in a bar. I was 
hardly 2 model citizen, but never was I 
threatened with the "big bitch"—a 
habitualoffender indictment—because I 
always pleaded innocent at the start and 
then took whatever deal the Man offered. 
I was never involved in drugs, which is 
a touilly different ball game. My sheet is 
four pages long and I don't imend for it 
to grow any longer, and I'm just thank- 
ful I didn't commit Mistrot's petty crimes 
or get his jury. 


(Name and address 
withheld by request) 


I knew Texas was a redneck state, but 
how can anybody justify a life sentence 
for a kid caught ripping off two Coke 
machines (or whatever they were) be- 
cause he was out of work and then 
getting busted by undercover agents who 
he thought were going to kill him if he 
didn't get them some dope? 

L. H. Smith 
Clemson, South Carolina 


I would like to commend PLaynoy for 
trying to help Tom Mistrot. Reading 
your account of his situation, my feelings 
range from horrified disbelicf to simple 
anger. I honestly don’t believe that if I 
were arrested here, my jury would be so 
stupid. 


Wayne M. Matheson 
Cucamonga, California 


Mistrot is a typical victim of the cal- 
lous disregard. that our criminal-justice 
system displays toward individuals. If our 
prisons were places of rehabilitation, 
where people could learn positive values, 
or even a trade, police would spend much 
less time and taxpayers much less money 
incarcerating young men like Mistrot. 

(Name withheld by request) 
Seattle, Washington 


I want to thank ptayuoy for taking an 
interest in Tom Mistrot’s case and to 
praise my parents, Robert and Ermine 
Bailey, for their own efforts on his behalf. 
PLAYBOY was the last place Tom had to 
turn to, and because of the thoroughness 
of your investigation, he has not met a 
complete dead end this time. 

Beverly H. Claiborne 
Austin, "Texas 


twinges of patriotism. Despite its faults 
and mistakes, the old U.S.A. is my home- 
land, it has some damn good people and 
principles and I can't think of another 
country that has done as well over the 
same period of time, But when every 
damn supermarket and used-car dealer 
and airline company sta 
ploit the Bicentennial with fl 
ing. it so cheapens the whole concept, I 
start feeling antagonistic as hell. The crass 
conduct of our public officials and politi- 
cians and our oil companies and other 
commercial interests makes me think that 
what this country needs to celebrate its Bi- 
centent second revolution. When I 
consider some of this country's fool poli- 
ticians and some of the tyrannical actions 
of its Federal Government, old King 
George doesn't look all that bad in 


retrospect, 


Fred Campbell 
Phoenix, Arizona 


“LIVE FREE . . - 

Regarding the letter in the July Playboy. 
Forum about the slogan LIVE FREE OR DIE 
on license plates issued in the state of New 
Hampshire, it's unfortunate that un- 
Americanism has become so rampant in 
this country that anything that tends to 
support our way of life immediately be- 
comes subject to ridicule. If William 
Loeb used his influence as a publisher 
to have the motto of the state of New 
Hampshire changed, then more power to 
im. In the many years that my own 
columns peared on the pages of 
the Manchester, New Hampshire, Union 
Leade ve agreed with Loeb in so 
many cases that listing them all would fill 
several issues of PLAYBOY. 

It is 
refuses to display the motto on his license 
plates, is like a lot of other people: He 
would obey only those Iaws that suit his 
fancy. This makes for plain anarchy. 
Maynad should have taken his license- 
plate case to court instead of trying to 
do things on his own. 

It would appear that a sign posted on 
the wall of my Veterans of Foreign Wars 
post is applicable to this situation: TO 
THOSE WHO FOUGHT FOR IT, FREEDOM HAS 
A SPECIAL FLAVOR THE PROTECTED WILL 
NEVER KNOW. 


ave a 


Lewis J. Scale 
Alexandria, Louisiana 
And you really don't see anything ironic 
in putting a man in jail jor refusing to 
display the motio LIVE FREE OR DIE? 


. ». OR DIE" 

Last June, New Hampshire governor 
Meldrim Thomson proposed in all seri- 
ousness that the state's National Guard be 
equipped with nuclear weapons. “IE we 
could double the size and give them the 
most sophisticated instruments of war, in- 
duding missiles and nuclear warheads,” 


59 


PLAYBOY 


“I believe in love. 
Beauty. Honor. 


Compassion. Justice. 


And 


“Not necessarily in that orden.” 


B 
i 
E 
E 


Early Times. To know us is to love us. 


cu FA, ES 


a 


West Coast Branch: 


EJ Sankyo 


eo SETA Sankyo Sci tAmericaı Inc. 13000 S. Athens Way, Los Angeles, Calif. 90061 


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he said, “we'd have a tremendous protec- 
tive power.” 

We all know that Thomson is a right- 
winger who holds office because the equally 
reactionary William Loeb of the Man- 
chester, New Hampshire, Union Leader 
lends him editorial support. But 1 begin 
to wonder whether or not the man is sine. 
What might happen if Maine lobster boats 
ventured into disputed fishing grounds? 
A-bombs over Augusta? It’s frightening 
that mentalities like this can occupy pub- 
lic office. 

Steven R. Stone 
Jallrey, New Hampshire 


RIGHT TO LIFE 

In the August Playboy Forum, Donald 
N. Delano asks us to accept—although 
"a comparison with Nazi Germany 
offends many people"—tihe analogy 
between aborting a fetus on tlie assump- 
tion that it is something less than a hu- 
man being and exterminating a Jew on 
the assumption that he or she is sub- 
human. Yes, the assumption that there is 
analogy is offensive to those of us who 
ived through recent history. As reported 
in The Pope's Jews by Sam Waagenaar, 
when aid for Jewish victims of fascisin 
in Italy and other countries was sent to 
the Vatican for distribution—this being 
the only available conduit—only Jews 
who had converted to Catholicism were 
helped. Jews who remained Jews had no 
right to life. 


Jonathan R. Goldberg 
New York, New York 


FATHERS AND ABORTION 

The rights of the father of an unborn 
child have been trampled in women's 
rush to achieve parity with men. A father 
who wants his child to be born when the 
mother is determined to abort it has no 
rights, at least not in California or in 
most other states. Since in most cases both 
parents agree to an abortion, it is easy to 
see how a small minority of fathers have 
gone unconsidercd. 

It is argued that no one, save the woman 
herself, should have control over her 
body's functioning, but the right of con- 
trol of one's own body is not absolu 
Many precedents exist for temporary do- 
minion over an individual by various cle 
ments of government and society, ranging 
from health authorities to the military to 
the penal system. 

We know of cases of women who chose 
not to be inconvenienced by pregnancy, 
having lost their feelings for the father, 
They rejected offers of total financial sub- 
sidizing of their pregnancies, with the 
fat ssuming custody of the child 
after birth. If you have never experienced 
the feelings of helplessness, frustration 
and anguish of a father who knew an un- 
born child he wanted was being destroyed 
by its mother, take it from those who have, 
it's an unbearable experience. There is a 


To the Scandinavian 
male, cologne is simply 
another mark of 

: respect for the body. 


In Scandinavia, when a 
man achieves success, he 
does not suddenly ignore 
his physical self. i 
In fact, one 
$ often sees our 


g most valued ex- 


ecutives out in 
the open air, 
enjoying good 
physical activity, 
in celebration of the body. 
In this same spirit, the 
navian regards his co 
more mark of respect for the body. 
Perhaps this is why our Kanon 
Cologne, with its imported Swedish 
ingredients and unique Scandi- 
navian fragrance, finds suc 
with such men everywhere. 
After all. You cannot very well 
expect others to respect your body, 
unless you first respect it yourself. 


From Scandinavia the look of health. 


PLAYBOY 


62 


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desperate need for legislation establishing 
some rights for fathers of unborn children 
such cases. 


D. B. Newton 
J. K. Huntsinger 
nta Monica, California 
Jf by “some rights” you mean the right 
to prevent an abortion by withholding 
permission, we can't agree and legisla- 
tion to that effect already has been found 
unconstitutional in Massachusetts and 
Florida. We can understand and sympa- 
thize with a man who opposes aborting a 
fetus he has sired, but unfortunately, if the 
woman disagrees, there is no way the 
dilemma can be settled to everyone's satis- 
faction. Nine months of pregnancy, fol- 
lowed by childbirth and motherhood, have 
a much greater physical, psychological and 
social effect on a woman than on the man 
who impregnated her. We oppose any law 
that would permit a prospective father 
lo compel a woman to bear a child against 
her wishes. When persuasion doesn’t 
work, coercion is not the answer. 


MARIJUANA IN MAINE 

As a member of the Joint Committee 
on the Judiciary of the 107th Maine 
Legislature. I'm pleased to report that 
our state has decriminalized the posses- 
sion of small quantities of marijuana. 
The action w: 
vi 


part of a complete re- 
» of 


aimes criminal laws au- 
previous legislature and 
prepared by a commission drawn from 
law-enforcement ollicials, the bar and the 
courts. The commission recommended 
that the severe criminal penalties then 
on the books be replaced by a maximum 
civil fine of $100 (essentially the Oregon 
approach). The judiciary committee 
ised the maximum fine to $200 and 
added a provision that possession of 
more than one and a half ounces created 
a presumption of intent to sell. On the 
floor of the house, members had live 
versions of the marijuana-possession bill 
to choose from, with penalties ranging 


thorized by 


from none to very rigorous. All were 
voted down but the committee's recom- 
mendation, which was approved by a 
wide margin. The senate and the gover- 
nor then approved the bill. 

Public support for this measure has 
been very strong. Nearly every daily 
newspaper in the state has endorsed the 
new code. With its enlightened treatment 
of marijuana and with the removal from 
our laws of most of the so-called victim- 
less crimes—fornication, homosexuality 
and adultery—Maine law is now de- 
signed to deal with real crimes, such as 


theft, homicide 
State Representative Stephen T. Hughes 
Auburn, Maine 


d rape. 


POT LAWS AS A LEVER 
Tve been pretty much in favor of miti- 
gating or even abolishing marijuana laws, 
but now I’ve scen an argument that makes 
(continued on page 168) 


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avos MUHAMMAD ALI 


a candid conversation with the greatest—and prettiest—poet in the world 


As we go to press, Muhammad Ali 
is in training for his third. match with 
Joe Frazier, slated for Manila; whether 
or not he retains his title will be known 
by the time this issue appears. But what- 
ever the outcome, interviewer Lawrence 
Linderman feels “they ought to retire 
the title with Ali, anyway.” So, without 
further ado, we're pleased to introduce 
a man who needs no introduction. 


PLAYBOY: The last time we interviewed 


Jay would now be training 
ince, because French promot- 
ers would've offered. meike they've 
done—free rooms in a hotel on some 
beach. If not, I'd probably be in Jamaica, 
waining in a plush hotel When 
I sce a lady now, I do my best to try to 
teach her about the Honorable El 
Muhammad so I can help he 
Clay would carry her to some hotel 
room and use he: 

If I was Cassius Clay today, I'd be 
just like Floyd Pamerson. I'd probably 
have a white wile and I wouldn't rep- 
resent black people in no way. Or I'd be 
like Charley Pride, the folk singer. 
Nothin’ bad about him—he's a good 


Cassius 


“America don't have no future! Allah's 
going to divinely chastise America! Vio- 
lence, crimes, carthquakes—there's going 
to be all kinds of trouble. America's going 


to pay for what it’s done to black people.” 


fella and I met his black wife, but 
Charley out of controversy. It's 
not only him, because I could 
thamberlain 


be that 
Tf I was Cassius Clay tonight, I'd 
probably be staying in a big hotel in 
New York City, and 1 might say, “Well, 
I got time to have a little fun. I'm going 
out to a big discothèque full of white 
d TH find the jest one there 
and spend the night with her.” 
PLAYBOY: Is that what Cassius Clay used. 
to do? 
AU: ] was on my w 
PIAYBOY: You never got there? 
Before 1 was a Musli 
te girlfriend for two day 
t no Muslim the 
it wasn't right. 
“cause I had to duck 


I had one 
"s all. 


ash Ld be 
and they be cold. They're not 
proud. Once you get a knowledge of 
yourself, you see how stupid that is. I 
don't even think about nothin’ like 


o 
Oe gj 
“When I quit, 1 sure ain't goin’ out like 
the old-time fighters. You ain't gonna 
hear that when 1 was champ 1 bought me 


a Cadillac, had me a couple of white girls 
and when I retired I went broke.” 


F] 
pom 


e women. I'm married 
with a pretty black onc. 
. Fd run after the next 


that, chasing wh 
and in love 


aut The legend of Muhammad Ali is 
already written, "cause 1 wrote it—and 
you better listen to i 


This is the legend of Muhammad 
Ali, 

The greatest fighter that ever will be. 

He talks a great deal and brags, 
indeed, 

Of a powerful punch and blinding 
Speed. 

The fistic world was dull and weary; 

With a champ like Foreman, things 
had to be dreary. 

Now someone with color, 
with dash, 

He brought fight Jans runnin’ with 
cash. 

This brash fighter was something to 
see 

And the heavyweight championship 
was his destiny. 

Ali fights great, he's got speed and 
endurance; 

lj you sign to fight him, increase 
your insurance. 

Alis got a left, Alis got a right; 


someone 


HOWARD L. BINGHAM 
Catholic sisters—but 
they do a lot of screwing behind doors. 
And a priest saying he'd never touch 
a woman—what’s he gonna do at night? 


Call upon the hand of the Lord?” 


“You hear about 


65 


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If he hits you once, you're. asleep 
for the night. 

As you lie on the floor while the ref 
counts ten, 

You better hope and pray you don't 
meet me agnin. 

For I am the man this poem is 
about: 

Now I'm the true champ of the 
world, there isn't a doubt 

Once I predicted and I kn 
score, 

I told the chumps I'd be the champ. 
of the world in ‘64 

When 1 say three, man, they go in 
the third. 

Don't bet against me, I'm a man of 
my word. 

Do you remember when I predicted 
Sonny Liston's dismemberment? 

I hit him so hard he forgot where 
October and November went, 

My man, if I tell you a mosquito 
can pull a plow, don't ask how— 
hitch him up!!! 


the 


PLAYBOY: Since it lot of people a 
dering about this, level with us: Do you 
write all the poetry you pass off as your 
own? 

Au: Sure I do. Hey, man, I'm so good 
I got offered a professorship at Oxford. 
ht, after the phones 
stop ringin’ and irs quiet and nobody's 
around —all great writers do better at 
night. I take at least one nap during 
the day, and then J get up at two in 
the morning and do my thing. You know, 
I'm a worldly man who likes people and 
action and I always Jiked cities, but now 
when | find myself in a city, I can't 
wait to get back to my training 
Neon signs, traffic, noise and peopl 
all that cam get you crazy. It's funny, 
because I was supposed to be tortu 
myself by building a training camp out 
in the middle of nowhere in northern 
Pennsylvania, but this is good livin— 
fresh air, well water, quiet and country 
views. I thought I wouldn't like it at 
all but that at least I'd work a lot instead 
ot being in the city, where maybe I 
wouldn't train hard enough. Well, now 
1 like it beer than being im any city. 
This is a real good setting for writin’ 
poetry and I write all the time, even 
when Im in training. In fact, 1 wrote 
one up here that’s beuer than any 
poem in the world. 

PLAYBOY: How do you know that? 

Au; My poem explains truth, so what 
could be better? Thats the name of it, 
too, Truth: 


The face of Truth is open, the eyes 
of Truth ave bright 

The lips of Truth are ever. closed, 
the head of Truth is upright 

The breast of Truth stands forward, 
the gaze of Truth is straight 

Truth has neither fear nor doubt, 


€ won- 


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Truth has patience to wait. 

The words of Truth are touching, 
the voice of Truth is deep 

The law of Truth is simple: All you 
sow, you reap. 

The soul of Truth is flaming, the 
heart of Truth is warm 

The mind of Truth is dear and 
firm through vain and storm. 

Facts are only its shadow, Truth 
stands above all sin. 

Great be the batile of life—Truth 
in the end shall win. 

The image of Truth is the Honorable 
Elijah Muhammad, wisdon’s mes- 
sage is his rod 

The sign of Truth is the crescent 
and the soul of Truth is God. 

Life of Truth is eternal 

Immortal is its past 

Power of Truth shall endure 

Truth shall hold to the last, 


It's a masterpiece, if I say so myself. 
But poems arent the only thing I've 
been writing. I've also been setting my 
mind to sayings. You want to hear some? 


PLAYBOY: Do we have a choice? 
Au: You listen up and maybe I'll make 
you as famous as I made Howard Cosell. 


"Wars on nations are fought to change 
maps, but wars on poverty are fought 
to map change.” Good, huh? “The man 
who views the world at 50 the same as 
he did at 20 has wasted 30 years of 
his life.” These are words of wisdom, so 
pay attention, Mr. rravsov. “The man 
who has no imagination stands on the 
earth—he has no wings he cannot 
fy" Catch this: "When we are right, 
no one remembers, but when w 
wrong, no one forgets. Watergate!” I 
really like the next one: “Where is man’s 
n his knowledge. 


1f his wealth v 
in his knowledge, then he don't possess 


PLAYBOY: Got it, Muhammad. 


Au: Well there's more. “The warden 
of a prison is in a worse condition than 
the prisoner himself. While the body 
of the prisoner is in captivity. the mind 
of the warden is in prison!” Words of 
wisdom Muhammad Ali. This is 
about beauty: “It is those who have 
touched the inner beauty that appreciate 
beauty in all its forms.” I'm even going 
to explain that to you. Some people will 
look is d s: “She sure is 
a will see the same 
sister. "s the most beauti- 
ful woman I ever did see.” 

How do you like (his one: “Lov 


isa 


net where hearts are caught like fish"? 


PLAYBOY: Isn't that a little cor 
Au: | knew you wasn’t sm. 
as I laid eyes on you. But I know you're 
gonna like this one, which is called 
Riding on My Horse of Hope: "Holding 
in my hands the reins of courage, 
dressed in the armor of patience, the 


t as soon 


helmet of endurance on my head, I 
started on my journey to the land of 
love." Whew! Muhammad Ali sure gocs 
deeper than boxing. 

PLAYBOY: ‘That's for sure. But let's talk 
about boxing anyway. What's the phy 
l sensation of really being nailed by 
hitters like Foreman and Frazier? 

Aw Take a tree branch im your 
and and hit it against the floor and 
you'll feel your hand go boinggeege. 
Well, getting tagged is the same kind 
of jar on your whole body. and you 
d at least 10 or 20 seconds to make 
go away. You get hit before 
that, you got another boinggnggg 
PLAYBOY: After you're hit that hard, does 
your body do what you want it to do? 
Au: No. because your mind controls 
your body and the moment you're tagged. 
you can’t think. You're just numb and 
you don't know where you're at. There's 
no pain, just that jarring feeling, But I 
automatically know what to do when 
that happens to me. sort of like a sprin- 
kler system going off when a fire starts 
up. When I get stunned. I'm not really 
ious of exactly where I'm at or 
happening, but I always tell my- 
self that I'm to dance, run, tic my man 
up or hold my head way down. I tell 
myself all that when I'm conscious, and. 
when I get tagged, | automatically do 
it. I get hit, but all great fighters get 
hit—Sugar Ray got hit, Joe Louis got 
hit and Rocky Marcano got hit. But 
1 something other fighters didn’t 
the ability to hold on until they 
wed up. I got that ability, too, and 
I had to usc it once in cach of the 
Frazier fights. That's one reason I'm a 
great defensive fighter. The other is my 
ropea-dope defense—and when I fought 
Foreman, he was the dope. 

PLAYBOY: If you prepared that tactic for 
your fight with Foreman in Zaire, then 
why was Angelo Dundee, your trainer, 
so shocked when you suddenly went to 
the ropes? 

Alt: Well, 1 didn't really plan it. After 
the first round, I felt myself getting too 
tired for the pace of that fight. but 
George wasn't gonna get tired, “cause he 
was just cutting the ring off on me. I 
stayed out of the way, but I figured t 
after seven or cight rounds of dancing 
like that, Fd be really tired, Then, 
when I'd go to the ropes, my resistance 
would be low and George would get one 
through 10 me. So while I was still 
fresh, I decided to go to the ropes and 
try to get George tired 

PLAYBOY: What was your original Fore- 
man fight plan: 

au: To dance every round. I had it i 
mind to do what I did when I was 22, 
but I got tired, so I had to change my 
strategy. George didn’t change his 
strategy, ‘cause he can't do nothin’ but 
attack—that’s the only thing he knows. 
All he wants to do is get his man in 


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PLAYBOY 


70 


the corner, so in the second round, I 
gave him what he wanted. He couldn't 
do nothin’! 

PLAYBOY: Did Foreman scem puzzled 
when he had you cornered but couldn't 
land any punches? 

At Nope, he just figured he'd get me 
n the next round. When he didn't do 
it in the third. he thought he'd get me 
in the fourth. Then he thought it would 
be the fifth, and then the sixth. But in 
the sixth round, George was so tired. 
All of a sudden, he knew he'd threw 
everything he had at me and hadn't hurt 
me at all. And he just lost all his heart. 
PLAYBOY: How could you tell? 

AU: He stopped attacking the way he'd 
been doin’, He had shots to take and 
didn’t take ‘em, and then I purposely 
left him some openings and he wouldn't 
take them. George knew he'd been 
caught in my trap and there wasn’t but 
one way he could get out of it: by 
knocking me out. He kept trying with 
his last hope, but he was too tired, and 


a man of his age and talent shouldn't 
get used up that quick. George 

dead tired; he was towing wild 
punches, missing and falling over the 


ropes. So I started tellin’ him how bad 
he looked: "Lookatcha, you're noi a 
champ, you're a tramp. You're fightin’ 
just like a sissy. C'mon and show me 
somethin’, boy.” 
PLAYBOY: You also called him all kinds 
of names before the fight. How does 
that help? 
Aut: You mean when I called him The 
Mummy, ‘cause he walks like one? 
Listen, if a guy loses his temper and gets 
his judgment’s off and he's not 
thinking as he should. But 
z George had 
this feeling that he was supreme. He be- 
lieved what the press said—that he wa 
unbeatable and that he'd whup me eas 
The first three rounds, he still believed 
it. But when I started throwing punches 
him in the fourth, George finally woke 
up and thought, “Man, I'm in trouble.” 
He was shocked. 
PLAYBOY: Do you think Foreman wa 
so confident of beating you that he 
didit train properly? 
Au: No, George didn't take me lightly. 
He fought me harder than he fought 
Frazier or Norton. Whoever I fight comes 
at me harder, because if you beat Mu- 
hammad Ali, you'll be the big man, the 
legend. Beating me is like beating Joe 
Louis or being the man who shot Jesse 
James. George just didn't realize how 
a% to hit and how hard I can 
He thought he was greater than 


hit. 
me. Well, George is humble now. J di 
just what I told him I'd do when the 


ref was giving us instructions. There was 
George, trying to scare me with his 
serious look—he got that from his idol, 
Sonny Liston. And there I 
him, “Boy, you in trouble! You’ 
meet the greatest fighter of all time! We 


here now and there ain't no way for 
you to get out of this ring—I gotcha! 
You been readin’ about me ever since 
you were a little boy and now you 
gonna sce me in action. Chump, I'm 
gonna show you how great I am—I'm 
gonna eat you up. You don't stand a 
chance! You lose the crown tonight 
PLAYBOY: Foreman claims he was drugged 
before the fight. Did you see amy evi- 
dence of that? 

Au: George is just a 
after the fight, he actually said he was 
ihe true champion; he beat me. Then, 
when he got to Paris, he said the ropes 
had been too loose. Then, after the 
ropes were too loose, his next excuse was 
that the count was too fast. Then it was 
the canvas—he said it was too soft. 
Well, soft for me, too. Weeks 
after the fight, he finds out he was 
drugged? If he was drugged, he'd have 
knew it the next day. Somebody oughta 
ask him just how he was drugged. Did 
somebody give him a needle? If it was 
dope, what kind of dope? Excuses! The 
truth is that the excuses started comin’ 
as soon as George began to realize he 
lost. He couldn't take losing the champ- 


ionship. 
PLAYBOY: Won't it make him that much 
tougher an opponent when and if you 


fight him again? 
Au: Nest fight is gon 
now knows he can be knocked out, so 
he'll be more on guard and attackin’ less. 
But his only chance of winning is to 
charge and corner me and wham away and 
hope one or two shots get through my 
defense. But he's gun-shy of that, "ca 
he wied it—threw everything he had- 
and all he got was tired. For him to go 
ame old bam-bam-bam thing 
n will mentally destroy h 
t thing he's gonna think is, 
oh, I'm going to wear myself out ag 
So then he'll keep more to the cent 
of the ring and do more boxin| 
And that's just where 1 want him. 
Poppin' and jabbin' in the center of 
the ring is my thing, so now he's really 
beat. The only chance he has to whup 
me is to stay on me and keep me on the 
ropes—and he knows that's bad, "cause 
the odds are he's not gonna hurt me 
and hes gonna tire himself out. But 
if he don't do that, he's in more trouble, 
‘cause I'l pop away at him with my left. 
In other words, Foreman's wrong if he do 
and wrong if he don't. The second time 
round, I'll beat him "cause he has no con- 
fidence, The first fight, 1 beat him ‘cause 
he thought he was a big indestructible 
lion—but George found out the facts of 
ife when we had our rumble in the jungle. 
PLAYBOY: Did you like the idea of Zui 
as the fight site? 


be easier. George 


All: I wanted my title back so bad I 
would've fought George in a telephone 
booth. World heavyweight champion, 


that’s a big title. When you're the champ, 
whatever you say or do is news. George 


would go to Las Vegas and the news- 
papers are writin’ about it. I turn on 
the television and there's George. It was 
Foreman this and Foreman that, and I 
was sitting here in my Pennsylvania train- 
ing camp, thinkin’, “Dadgummit, I 
really had somethin’. People looked up to 
me that way.” That really got me down 
and made me want to win that title bad. 
Now that I got it back, every day is 
a sunshiny day: I wake up and I know 
I'm the heavyweight champion of the 
world. Whatever restaurant I walk into, 
whatever park I go to. whatever school 
I visit, pcople are sayin’, “The champ's 
here!” When I get on a plane, a man 
is always sayin’ to his litle boy, "Son, 
there goes the heavyweight champion 
of the world,” Wherever I go. the tab 
is picked up, people want to see me 
nd the TV wants me for interviews, I 
can eat all the ice cream, cake. pudding 
and pic I want to and still get $100,000 


for an exhibition. That's what it means 
to be cl and as long as I keep 
winning, p happenin’, So before 
1 1 "Whuppin' this man 


means everything. So many good things 
are gonna happen if I win I can't even 
imagine what they'll be!" 

When I first won the championship 
from Sonny Liston, I was riding high 
nd I didn't rea 1 had. Now, 
ihe second time . I appreciate 
the tide, and 1 would've gone anywhere 
in the world to it back. To be 
honest, when F first heard the fight would 
be in Africa, I just hoped it would go 
off right, being in a country that was 
supposed to be so undeveloped. Then, 
when we went down to Zaire, 1 saw 
they'd built a new stadium with lights 
and that everything would be ready, 
and I started getting used to the idea 
and liking it. And the more I thought 


about it, the more it grew on me, and 
then one day it just hit me how great 
a 


it would be to win back my title 
Africa. Being in Zaire opened my eyes. 
PLAYBOY: In what way 
AU: I saw black people running th 
own country. I saw a black president of 
a humble black people who have a 
modern country. There are good roads 
throughout Zaire and Kinshasa has a 
nice downtown section that reminds you 
of a city in the States. Buildings, resta 
rants, stores, shopping centers—I could 
name you 1000 things I saw that made 
me feel good. When I was in traini 

there before the fight, I'd sit on the 
riverbank and watch the boats going by 
nd see the 747 jumbo jets fying over- 
head, and Td know there were black 
pilots and black stewardesses in ‘em, and 
it just seemed so nice. In Zaire, every- 
thing was black—from the wain dri 

and hotel owners to the teachers in the 
schools and the pictures on the moncy. 
Tt was just like any other society, except 


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it was all black, and because I'm black 
oriented and a Muslim, I was home 
there, I'm not home here. I'm trying to 
make it home, but it’s not. 

PLAYBOY: Why not? 

Because black people in America 
never be free so long as they're on 
the white man's land. Look, birds want 
to be free, tigers want to be free, every- 
thing wants to be free. We can't be free 
until we get our own land and our own 
country in North America. When we 
separate from America and take maybe 
ten states, then we'll be free. Free to 
make our own laws, set our own taxes, 
have our own courts, our own judges, 
our own schoolrooms, our own curren 
cy, our own passports. And if not here in 
America, the Honorable Elijah Muham- 
mad said the white man should supply 
us with the means to let us go back 
somewhere in Africa and build up our 
own country. America, rich as it is, was 
made rich partly through the black 
man's labor. It can afford to supply 
us for 25 years with the means to make 
our own nation work, and we'll build 
it up, too. We can't be free if we can't 
control our own land. I own this train- 
ing camp, but it ain't really my land, 
not when some white lady comes up 
nd gives me a $4000 tax bill to pay 
[ I want to stay here. If I thought the 
taxes I paid was really going to benefit 
my people, I. wouldn't mind paying up. 
But that ain't whar’s happening. Black 
people need to have their own nation. 
PLAYBOY: Since it’s unlikely they'll get 
one carved out of—or paid for by— 


the U.S, you pessimistic about 
America's future race relations? 

ALL Ameri don't have no future! 
America’s going to be destroyed! Allah's 
going to ely chastise Americal 
Violence, es, earthquakes—there's 


na be all kinds of trouble. America's 
g to pay for all its lynchings and 
killings of slaves and what it’s done to 
black people. America's day is over— 
and if it doesn't do justice to the black 
man and separate, it gonna burn! I'm not 
the leader, so I cant tell you how the 
separation will take place or whether 
will happen in my lifetime or not, but 
I believe there's a divine force that will 
make it happen. I wish 7 could make it 
happen, but I can't—Allah will. It took 
ite men 500 years after they got 
here to get this country the way they 
want it, it took a lot of time and work, 
and it's gonna take us time and work. 
And if it takes 1000 years, well, the 
world is millions of years old, and 1000 
years can be regarded as a day in the 
history of the world; so according to 
time, it’s just around the corner. 

And it'll happen, because its right 
that black people should have their own 


nation. God bless the child that has his 


own—Christians teach that. Well, we 
don't have nothin’ that's our own. If 
white men decide to dose their grocery 


stores tomorrow, black people will 
starve to death. We're tired of being 
slaves and never having nothing. We're 
tired of being servants and waiting till 
we die and go to heaven. before we get 
anything. Wc want something while 
we're living. The Honorable Elijah Mu- 
hammad has passed on physically, but 
his message is still with us: Muslims w 
never be satisfied with integration and 
all the little jobs and promises black 
people get. We want our own nation. 
We're 25,000,000 black people—there's 
a lot of Negroes in America, you know? 
Man, there's only about 10,000,000 people 
in Cuba, and when they tell America to. 
out, America stays out. They're 
just a few million. but they got their 
own nation and can get away with it. 
Nigerians and Ghanians have their own 
country. When I rode through Zaire 
and looked at their little flag and 
watched them doing their little dances, 
hey, it was their own country. But we're 
a whole nation of slaves still in bondage 
to white people. We worked 300 years 
to make this country rich and fought 
for it in the Japanese war, the German 
war, the Korean war—in all the wars— 
and we still don't have nothing! So now, 
since they don't need cotton pickers 
‘cause machines can do it, and si 
we're walkin’ the streets and multiply- 
ing, and there are no jobs for us—why 
not separate? Why not say, “OK, slave, 
we don't need you no more for pid 
cotton"? 

PLAYBOY: Aren't you ignoring the fact 
that the nation’s universities are now 
turning out black graduates at what 
would have scemed an unreachable rate 
as recently as 15 years ago? 

Au: No, ‘cause all the white man's 
sayin’ now is, “OK, slave, you're a doctor, 
you're a lawyer, you're a technician. You 
can do anything today, slave, and you're 
the most educated. people there is next 
to white people. Black man, you got your 
degree." 

And there ain't nothin' we can't do. 
We can build Empire State Buildings, 
"cause we got our plumbers, designers, 
architects, electri and construction 
workers. But since we're in your house, 
got no jobs. You say we're free and 
re not gonna lynch us anymore— 
t here we are without work, and we're 
still not getting along with each other. 
All right, 1 believe it, 
we can't get along. 
master. Now, will you let us go and 
build us a house? What's wrong with us 
having our own house—our own coun- 
try? Jf we had our own mation, the 
courts would become courts of justice. 
We wouldn't have a bunch of blue-eyed 
white judges lookin’ at us bad and 
wanting to get us. We wouldn't have 
policemen laying back on the highway, 
ing for us to do something wrong 
and stopping every black man they sce 
drivin' a new car. 


Doesn't all this make sense? Don't 
it sound good? Sce, this is why Muslims 
convert people every day. If they was 
black, even white people would join. 
We want to be free. The Honorable 
Elijah Muhammad made us free 
PLAYBOY: Elijah Muhammad preached 
that all white men are blue-eyed devils. 
Do you believe that? 

Au: We know that every individual 
white ain't devil-hearted, and we got 
black people who are devils—the worst 
devils I've run into can be my own 
nd. When I think about white people, 
it’s like there's 1000 rattlesnakes outside 
my door and maybe 100 of them want to 
help me. But they all look alike, so 
should I open my door and hope that the 
100 who want to help will keep the 
other 900 off me, when only one bite 
will kill me? What I'm sayin’ is that 
if there's 1000 rattlesnakes out there and 
100 of them mean good—I'm still gonna 
shut my door. I'm gonna say, "I'm sorry, 
you nice 100 snakes, but you don't really 
malte 
Y 


ih, every Negro can say, “Oh, here's 
a white man who means right.” But if 
that’s true, where are the 25,000,000 
whites standing next to the 25,000,000 
blacks? Why can't you cven get 100 of 
them together who are ready to stand 
up and fight and maybe cven dic for 


black freedom? Hey, we'd look if you 
did that. 


n't white freedom riders of 
the Sixties—at least four of whom 
were murdered—demonstrate that many 


whites were ready to risk their lives for 
black civil rights? 

Au. Look, we been told there's gonna 
be whites who help blacks. And we also 
know there's gonna be whites who'll 
escape Allah's judgment, who won't be 
Killed when Allah destroys this count 
mainly some Jewish people who really 
mean right and do right. But we look 
at the situation as a whole. We have 
to. OK, think about a white student 
who's got long hair and who wants 


y people to have something and 
so hes against the slave white rule. 
Well, other whites will beat his behind 


and maybe even kill him, because they 
don't want him helping us. But that 
doesn’t change what happens to the 
black man. If white boys get beat up. 
am I supposed to say, “Oh, some white 
folks are good. Let's forget our whole 
movement and integrate and join up 
in America"? 

lot of these white students get 
ause they want to help save their 
county. But listen, your greatgrand- 
daddy told my gri nddaddy that 
when my granddaddy got grown, things 
would be better. Then your granddaddy 
told my granddaddy that when my daddy 
was born, things would be better. Your 
daddy tok! my daddy that when Z got 
grown, things would be bener. But they 
ain't. Are you tellin’ me that when my 


7 


PLAYBOY 


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children get grown. thingsll be better 
for black people in this country? 
PLAYBOY: No, we're just trying to find 
out how you honestly feel about whites. 
AU: White pcople are good thinkers, 
crazy. Whoever inakes 
s shown on Johnny C: 
son's TV show and whocver makes all 
them movies, well, they're smart, they're 
planners and they can rule the world. 
Mostly "cause they always got a story 
to tell. Is Martin Luther King marching 
and causing trouble? OK. we'll let the 
blacks usc the public toilets, but lets 
make ‘em fight six months for it, and 
while they're fighting, we'll make another 
plan. They wanna come in the supcr- 
market next week? OK, let's make ‘em 
fight two years for that. Meanwhile, 
we're still trying to get into schools in 
Boston, of all places. I'm telling you, 
the 


me men who write movies must 
be writing these plans. It’s Tike, OK, 
the k 
pilots and black stewardesses—-but. by 
the time they're finally hired, white folks 
are on the moon in spaceships. 

So black folks stay far behind, so far 
behind that it’s a shame. Think of how 
rih America is: The Government 
spends more than 300 billion dollars 
a year to run this country and, mean- 
while. black people a 


irlines will give jobs to a few bla 


in't even got money 
to go to the hospital. For a man who's 
alive, a man like Muhammad Ali, who's 
listened to the wisest black man in 
America, the Honorable Elijah Muham- 
mad, the only thing to want is freedom 
in our own nation. Ain't nothing you 
can tell me or show me to match what 
I'm saying. The only thing the white 
man can offer me is a job in America— 
he ain't gonna offer me no flag, no 
hospitals, no land, no freedom. But once 
a man knows what freedom is, he's not 
satislied even being the President of 
your country. And as Allah is my witness, 
I'd die today to prove it. If I could be 
President of the U.S. tomorrow and 
do what 1 can to help my people or bc 
in an all-black country of 25,000,000 
Negroes and my job would be to put 
garbage in the truck, I'd be a garbage- 
man. And if that included not just me 
but also my children and all my seed 
from now till forever, I'd still rather. 
have the lowest job in a black society 
than the highest in a white society. If 
we got our own country, Fd empty 
trash ahead of being President of the 
U.S—or being Muhammad Ali, the 
champion 

PLAYBOY: You've earncd nearly $10,000,000 
in fight purses in the past two ycars 
alone. Would you really part with all 
your wealth so easily? 

Au: I'd do it in a minute. Last week, I 
was out taking a ride and I thought, "I'm. 
driving this Rolls-Royce and I got an- 
other one in the garage that I hardly 
ever use that cost $40,000. I got a 
Scenicruiser Greyhound bus that sleeps 


14 and cost $120,000 and another bus 
that cost $42,000— just in 
mobile homes. My training camp cost 
$350,000 and I just spent $300,000 re- 
modeling my house in Chicago. 1 got 
all that and a Iot more.” 

Well. I was driving down the street 
and I saw a little black man wrapped in 
an old coat standing on a corner with 
his wife and little boy, waiting for a bus 
to come along—and there I am in my 
Rolls-Royce. The little boy had holes 
in his shoes and I started thinkin’ that 
if he was my little boy, I'd break into 
tears, And I started crying. 
ure, I know I got it made while the 
masses of black people are catchin’ hell 
but as long as they ain't free, I ain't 
free, You think I need to hire all the 
people I do to help me get in shape? 
Listen, I can go down to Miami Beach 
with my cook and my sparring pariers 
and get three hotel rooms and live it 
up—and I'd save money. I spent $850,000 
for George Foreman, most 


could. In two months of trait 
Chuck Wepner, I spent $30,000. 1 w 
doing it for me. Sce, once you become 
a Muslim, you want for your brother 
what you want for yourself. For instance, 
Kid Gavilan w; black boxing champ. 
trouble in Cuba after he 
nd he wound up in Miami work- 
a park. Newspaper reporters used. 
to write stories about it that would em- 
barrass Kid Gav and when I heard 
what he was doing, I thought, "Kid G 
lan ain't gonna work in no park." So I 
found Gavilan and now hc works 
for me, and I pay him a lot better than 
what he made in the park. Why should 
I allow one of the world's greatest black 
fighters in history to end up workin’ 
in a park? He's representing all of us. 
The Honorable Eli Muhammad gave 
me that. 
n, T think white folks would ac- 
y be frightened if they could sce a 
im convention. Not frightened from 
of Muslims bothering you, only 
that you can see the end of white rule 
coming when you sce 50,000 Muslims 
together, all dean, all orderly, all dedi- 
cated. And the reason for that is because 
being a Muslim wakes you up to all 
kinds of things. 
PLAYEOY: Such as? 
Au: Black people in America never 
uscd to know that our religion was Islam 
or that Jesus was a black man—we 
always made him white. We never knew 
we were the original people. We thought 
black was bad luck. We never thought 
that Africans would own their own 
countries again and that they were our 
brothers. God is white, but wc never 
knew that the proper name of God is 
Allah—and Allah ain't white. We never 
w our names, because i 
we were named wl 
were named. If our master's name was 


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73 


Robinson, we were Robinson’s property. 
If they sold you to Jones, you were Jones's 
property. And if you were then auc- 
ned off to Mr. Williams, you were Wi 
liams’ property. So we got identified by 
our masters’ names. Well, today there's 
no chains on us, yet we still got names 
€ George Washington. But as we wake 
up, we want our own beautiful names 
back. If a black man and woman have 
their first son, name him somethin’ 
pretty like Abad, which means the be- 
ginning. A black woman whose name is 
Constance or Barbara, let her change her 
name to a black name. Like Rashida or 
Jamilla. Sati lisia. Those are black 
people's names you find in Africa and 
Asia. 

Black people in America should have 
those names, too, and lemme show you 
why. If 1 say Mr. Chang Chong or Mr. 

chin, the name tells you to look 
an. If I say Mr. Castro or 
es, you look for a Cuban 
or a Spaniard. If I say Mr. Weinstein or 
Mr. Goldberg, you look for a Jew. If 
T Mr. Morning Star or Mr. Rolling 
"Thunder, you know it's an Indian. If 


The Generous Taste VUA RES 


Mr. Green or Mr. Washington or Mr. 


. 
Jones, the man could be white or black. 
ot jonnnie er oll pees esea neay See ale by 


their names but us. And everybody 
should have their own names, which is 
what Elijah Muhammad taught us and 
which is what God taught . T mean, 
did you ever hear of a white Englishman 
named Lumumba? Well, that's how black 
Americans feel about English names like 
Robinson. See how our teaching wakes 
you up? And not only are our names 
beautiful, they also have beautiful 
meani 
PLAYBOY: What does your name mean? 

AU: Muhammad means worthy of all 
praises, Ali means the most high. And 
a lot of brothers today are doing like 
me and giving up their old slave name 
ew first and last name: 
ones like Hassan Sharif 
or Kareem Shabazz Those were our 
names before we were brought over 
here and named after George Washing- 
ton, It’s important we get them back, 
too, because if black folks don’t know 
God's name, which is Allah, or their 
own name, they're starting too far be- 
hind. So the first step is to get out of 
that old slave name and start you a 
new family name—every time 1 hear 
about another black family doin’ that, I 
get happier and happier. And if you 
know truth when you hear it, then you 
know how joyful Iam to be a Muslim. 

PLAYBOY: Will you assume a place in 
the Muslim movement when your box- 


PLAYBOY 


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son of Elijah Muhammad. 

PLAYBOY: How has Elijah. Muhammad's 
death affected the Black Muslims? 

Au: Naturally, it was saddening, because. 
it’s bad to lose him physically, but if we 
should Jose him in ourselves, that's worse. 
So we just have to keep pushing, and 
we now follow his son, who's taking up 
just where his father left off. And we're 
100 percent behind him. We were taught 
by Elijah Muhammad not to fear or 
grieve, and we don't. 

PLAYBOY: What difference did he make 
in your own life? 

Au: He was my Jesus. and I had love 
for both the man and what he repre- 
sented. Like Jesus Christ and all of 
d's prophets, he represented all good. 
things and, having passed on, he is 
missed. But prophets never die spiritual- 
ly, for their words and works live on. 
Elijah Muhammad was mr viol pu 
everything I have came from him—my 
thoughts, my efforts to help my people, 
how I eat, how I talk, my name 

PLAYBOY. Do you think you could ever 
lose the f; 
Au: 1 pray to Allah it don't happen, but 
it could. Every day, I say, "Surely I 
hi turned myself to thee, O Allah, 
trying to be upright to him who has or- 
ginated the heavens and the carth. 
Surely my prayers, my sacrifices, my life 
and my death ill for Allah, the lord 
Il the world.” That's the beginn 
long prayer and I say it dai 
sometimes five times a day, to keep my- 
self strong and on the right path. It's 
possible that I can lose faith, so I gotta 
pray, and to keep myself fired up, I 
gotta talk like I'm talkin' now. It’s the 
kind of talk that keeps us Muslims to- 


gether. And you can tell a bunch of 
Muslims: no violence. no hate, no cig: 
arettes, no fightin’, no stealin’, all happy. 


It’s a miracle. Most Negro places you be 
in, you sce folks fussin’ and cusin’, 
eatin’ pork chops and women runnin’ 
around. You've sen the peace and 
unity of my training camp—it's all Elijah 
Muhammad's spirit and his teachings. 
Black people never acted like this be- 
fore. If every one of us in camp was 
just like we were before we heard 
Elijah Muhammad, you wouldn't be 
ble to see for all the smoke. You'd hear 
things like, “Hey, man, what’s happenin’, 
where's the ladies? What we gonna 
drink tonight? Let's get that music on 
and party!” And hey. this isn't an 
Islamic center. We're happy today. And 
re better off than if we talked Chris- 
tianity and said, “Jesus loves you, broth- 
er, Jesus died for your sins, accept Jesus 
Chris 
PLAYBOY: You find something wrong with 
that? 

Aut: Christianity is a good philosophy if 
you live it, but it's controlled by white 
people who preach it but don't practice 
it. They just organize it and use it any 
which way they want to. If the white 


si 


man lived Christianity. it would be dif- 
ferent: but I tell you. I think it's against 
nature for European people to live 
Christian. lives. Their nations were 
founded on killing. on wars. France, 
Germany, the bunch of 'em—its been 
one Jong war ever since they existed 
And if they're not killing each other 


over there. they're shooting Indians over 
here. And if they're not after the In- 
dians. thev'te after the reindeer and 
every other living thing they can kill, 
even elephants. It’s always violence and 
war for Christians. 

Muslims, though, live their religion— 
we ain't hypocrites. We submit entirely 
to Allah's will. We don't eat ham, bacon 
or pork. We don't smoke. And everybody 
knows that we honor our women. You 
can sec our sisters on the street from 


ten miles away, their white dresses 
dragging along the ground. Young 
women in this society parade their 


bodies in all them freak cdothes—mini 
skirts and panis suits—but our 
don't wear them. A woman who's got a 


women 


beautiful body covers ir up and humbles 
herself to Allah and also turns down all 
the modern conveniences. Nobody clse 
do that but Muslim women. You hear 
about Catholic sisters—but they do a lot 
of screwing behind doors. Ain't nobody 
gonna believe a woman gonna go all her 
life and say, “I ain't never had a man,” 
and is happy. She be crazy. That's 
nature, And a priest saying hed never 
touch a woman—that’s against nature 
too. What's he gonna do at night? Call 
upon the hand of the Lord 
PLAYBOY: Catholic readers will no doubt 
provide you with an answer, but, mean- 
while, perhaps you could tell us why 
restrictions on Muslim women are [ar 
more stringent than upon Muslim men 
ALI: Because they should be. Women are 
sex symbols. 

To whom? 


And à 
to women? 

ill. men don't. walk around with 
their chests out. Anyway, I'd rather se 
a mun with his breasts showing than a 
woman. Why should she walk around 
with half her tities out? There goua 
be restrictions that. way. 

PLAYBOY: But why should men formulate 
those restrictions? 

Au: Because in the Islamic world. the 
man's the boss and the woman stays in 
the background. She don't want to call 
the shots. 

PLAYBOY: We can almost hear women’s 
liberation leaders saying, “Sisters, you've 
been brainwashed. You should control 
your own lives.” 

Au: Not Muslim women—Christian 
women. Muslim women don't think like 
that. See, the reason we so powerful is 
that we don’t let the white man control 
our women. They obcy us. And when 
a Muslim girl becomes a woman, she 


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don't want to walk around with her be- 
hind hanging out. Horses and dogs and 
mules walk around with their behinds 
out. Humans hide their behinds. 

Are Muslim women allowed to 
reers or are they supposed to stay 
in the kitchen? 

At A lot of 'em got careers, working 
for and with their brothers, but you 
don't find 'em in no white man's office 
in downtown New York working behind 
secretarial desks. Too many black women 
been used in offices. And not even in 
bed—on the floor. We know it because 
we got office Negroes who've told us 
this. So we protect our women, ‘cause 
women are the field that produces our 
nation. And if you can't protect your 
women, you can't protect your nation. 
Man, I was in Chicago a couple of 
months ago and saw a white fella take 
a black woman into a motel room. He 
stayed with her two or three hours and 
then walked out—and a bunch of broth- 
ers saw it and didn't even say nothin’. 
"Fhey should have thrown rocks at his 
car or kicked down the door while he 
was in there screwing her—do something 
to let him know you don’t like it. How 
can you be a man when another man 
can come get your woman or your 
daughter or your sister—and take her 
to a room and screw her—and, nigger, 
you don't even protest? 

But nobody touches our women, white 
or black. Put a hand on a Muslim sister 
and you are to dic. You may be a white 
or black man in an elevator with a Mus- 
lim sister and if you pat her on the be- 
hind, you're supposed to die right there. 
PLAYBOY: You're beginning to sound like 
a carbon copy of a white racist. Let’s get 
it out front: Do you believe that lynching 
is the answer to interracial sex? 

Aut A black man should be killed if he's 
messing with a white woman. And white 
men have always done that. They lynched 
niggers for even looking at a white 
woman; they'd call it reckless eycballing 
and bring out the rope. Raping, patting. 
mischief, abusing, showing our women 
disrespect—a man should die for that. 
And not just white men—black men, too. 
We will kill you, and the brothers who 
don't kill you will get their behinds 
whipped and probably get killed them- 
selves if they let it happen and don't do 
nothin’ about it. Tell it to the President— 
he ain't gonna do nothin’ about it. Tell 
it to the FBI: We'll kill anybody who 
s to mess around with our women. 
Ain't nobody gonna bother them. 
PLAYBOY; And what if a Muslim woman 
wants to go out with non-Muslim blacks— 
or white men, for that matter? 

Att: Then she dies. Kill her, too. 
PLAYBOY; Are Muslim women your cap- 
tives? 

Au; Hey, our women don't want no white 
men, period. Can you picture me, after 
what I been talking and thinking, want 
ing 2 white woman? Muslims think about 


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300 years of slavery and lynching, and 
you think we want to love our slave 
masters? No way we think about that. 
And no, our women aren't captives. Mus- 
lim women who lose their faith are free 
to leave. I'm sure that if all the bj 
men and women who started follow 
Elijah Muhammad were still with us, we'd 
have an easy 10,000,000 followers. That 
many came through the doors but didn't 
stay. They free to go if they want to. 
PLAYBOY: If all the blacks in America be- 
came Muslims by the end of the year, what. 
do you think would happen as a result? 
Au: President Ford would call our leaders 
to the White House and negotiate 
about what states he wants to give us or 
what country we want to be set up 
Can you imagine 25,000,000 Negroes all 
feeling the way I do? There'd be nothing 
you could do with them but let 'em go. 
PLAYBOY: “Let ‘em go" doesn't mean 
handing over a group of states to Muslim 
religious leaders. 

Au: Maybe, maybe not. You could rope 
off Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, Ken- 
tucky, we could go in there and live, and 
whites could have passports to come in, 
do business and leave. Or a mass exodus 
from America, I wish I can see it before 
I die. Let me ask you something. 
PLAYBOY: Shoot. 

Ati: You think I'm as pretty as I used to 
be? I was so pretty. Somcbody took some 
pictures of me and they're in an envelope 
here, so let me stop talking for a few 
seconds, ‘cause I want you to take a look 
at ‘em. ... 

Hey, I'm still pretty! What a wonder- 
ful face! Don't I look good in these pic- 
tures? I can sec I gotta stay in shape if I 
want to stay pretty, but that's so hard. 
I've heen fighting for 21 years and just 
thinkin’ about it makes me tired. I ain't 
22 anymore—Fm 33 and I can't fight 
like I did eight or ten years ago. Maybe 
for a little while, but I can't keep it up. 
I used to get in a ring and dance and 
jump and hop around for the whole 15 
rounds. Now I. can only do that for five 
or six, and then I have to slow down and 
rest for the next two or three rounds. I 
might jump around again in the 11th and 
12th rounds, or ! might even go the 
whole rest of the fight like I used to, but 
I have to work much more to be able to 
do it now; weight is harder to get off and 
it takes more out of me to lose it. That 
means getting out every day and running. 
a couple of miles, coming into the gym 
and punching the bags four days a week, 
and eatin’ the right foods, But I like to 
cat the wrong foods. I'll go to a coffee 
shop and order a stack of pancakes with 
strawberry preserves, blucberry preserves, 
whipped cream and butter, and then hit 
them hot pancakes with that good maple 
syrup and then drink a cold glass of milk. 
At dinnertime, I'll pull into a McDonald's 
and order two big double cheescburgers 
and a chocolate milk shake—and the next 
day I weigh ten pounds more. Some 


ick. 


people can cat and not gain weight, but 
if I just look at food, my belly gets bigger. 
That’s why, when I'm training, about all 
I eat is broiled steaks, chicken and fish, 
fresh vegetables and salads. I don't even 
get to see them other things I 1 
PLAYBOY: Are there parts of tra 
enjoy? 
aul: Except for gettin’ up at five or s 
the morning and runnin' for two miles, 
its all work. But I don't train like other 
boxers. For instance, I let my sparting 
partners try to beat up on me about 80 
percent of the time. I go cn the defense 
and take a couple of hits to the head and 
the body, which is good: You got 
n your body and brain to ta 
shots, ‘cause you're gonna get 
a couple of times in every fight. Mean- 
while, Im not gonna beat up on my 
sparring partners, because whats the 
pleasure in that? Besides, if I kill myself 
punching at them, ill take too much 
out of me, When you're fightin’ as much 
have lately, you're supposed to be 
and doin’ something every day, 
but I can't dance and move every day 
like I should, because my body won't let 
me. So I have to stall my way through. 
PLAYBOY: Have you always been so casy 
on yourself in training? 
Au: Thats not being easy, its being 
smart. I pace my training the way I do 
my fights—just cnough to let me win. 
When I boxed tough but unranked 
fighters like Jurgen Blin, Rudi Lubbers, 
Mac Foster and Al “Blue” Lewis, I hard- 
ly trained, but I was in shape enough to 
beat them. You got to realize that after 
I fought Joe Frazier—who took a Jot 
out of me—for the second time, I had 
had 15 fights. If I had trained for all 15 
the way I trained for Frazier, 1 wouldn't 
be here today, 'cause Ud have killed 
myself. So instead of being all worn out 
for that second fight, I was able to come 
back and beat Frazier. The second time 
with Norton, I almost killed myself 
training, but that turned out to be right, 
because I had something left at the end 
of that fight. For George Foreman, I did 
kill myself. But I didn't have to do that 
for Chuck Wepner, Ron Lyle or Joe 
Bugner, because they're not the same 
quality. So nobody should worry about 
how I train or tell me to train different- 
ly, for I'm the master of my craft. The 
main thing is to watch my performance 
on fight night, that's the only thing that 
counts. When the money is on the table 
and my title is on the line, I always 
come through. 
PLAYBOY: How much longer do you in- 
tend to defend your title? 
Au: I'd like to give up the championship 
and retire today, but there's too many 
things I've got to do. We're taught that 
every Muslim has a burden to do as 
much as he can to help black people. 
Well, my burden is real big, for I'm the 
heavyweight champion and the most 
famous black man on the whole planet, 


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PLAYBOY 


82 


so I got to do a whole lot. "That's why I 
just bought a shopping center in a black 
part of Cleveland, Ohio, for $500,000. 
Its got room for 40 stores and we'll 
rent them out for just enough money 
to pay the upkeep and taxcs—I'm not 
looking to make a quarter off it. That's 
gonna create jobs for black people. I'm 
so buying an A&P supermarket in At- 
lanta that will employ 150 black people. 
Then I'm going down to Miami, Florida, 
which doesn’t have one nice, plush res- 
taurant for black people; I'm goin’ to 
get one built. You know, there used to 
be a sign along Miami Beach that said, 
NO JEWS ALLoweD. Well, the Jews got 
mad, united and bought up the whole 
damn beach. Thats what we got to 
start doin —uniting and pooling our 
money—and I hope to get black celebri- 
ties and millionaires behind me, because 
the Muslim movement is the onliest one 
that’s really going to get our people to- 
gether. I may be just one little black man 
with a talent for fightin’, but I'm going to 
perform miracles: When black people 
with money see what I can do with my 
pennies, they'll begin to see what can be 
done with their millions. 

My big contribution is goin’ to come 
after the next Foreman fight. I might 
get $10,000,000 for fighting George ag. 
and out of thar I'll give the Government 
its $5,000,000 in tax, PII put aside 
$1,000,000 for myself and spread the 
other $4,000,000 around. With that kind 
of money, we can make a lot of this 
countrys black neighborhoods bloom, 
which will show that Allah is surely with 
me and my Muslim brothers. For we can 
change things. Look at our restaurants 
and buildings along Lenox Avenue in 
Harlem and you know we're not just 
jivin'. The $4,000,000 TIl invest in my 
people after the Foreman fight will be 
the start of making every ghetto in 
America beautifu nd youll be able 
to see where thal moncy went The 
Government says it spends billions in 
the ghettos—but we can't see where the 
money goes. 

People might read all this and 
easy to talk, but I'm not just tal 
You watch: I'm goin’ to spend the next 
five years of my life takin’ 


in’ my fight 
money and sertin’ up businesses for the 
brothers to operate. That's the only 
reason why I'll hold on to my title. 
PLAYBOY: Since you've already told us 
that age has been steadily croding your 
skills, what makes you think you'll still 
be champion when you're 88? 

Au: Hey, Jersey Joe Walcott won his 
title when he was 37. Sugar Ray Rob 
son fought till he was in his 40s and 
Archie Moore went until he was 51. 
PLAYBOY: At which point you took him 
apart with ease. Would you want to wind 
up your career the same way? 

aut: Archie didn't end up hurt and he's 
still intelligent—in spite of thinking 
Foreman could beat me. Going five 


more years don't mean going till I'm 51, 
and I can do it just by slowing down 
my style. You also got to remember I 
spent three and a half years in exile, 
when they took away my title because 
I wouldn't be drafted. T! 
ah 
fightir 


and if not for 


t I 
don't think I'd be in the same shape 
I am today. Because of my age, I don't 
have all of those three and a half years 
coming to me, but I have some of them. 
PLAYBOY: Was that period of enforced 


idleness a bitter part of your life? 
Au: 1 wasn't bitter at all. 1 had a good 
time speaking at colleges and meeting 
the students—whites, blacks and all 
kinds, but mainly whites, who supported 
me a hundred percent. They were as 
much against the Vietnam war as I was. 
In the meantime, 1 was enjoying ev- 
erything I was doin’. As a speaker, I 
was makin’ $1500 and $2500 at every 
stop, and I was averaging $5000 a weck, 
so I had moncy in my pocket. I was also 
puttin’ pressure on the boxing authori- 
ties. I'd walk into fight arenas where 
contenders for my title were boxing and 
I'd interrupt everything, because I want- 
ed to show everybody that I was still the 
Man. The people would jump up and 
and the word soon got out 
t the authorities would have to reckon 
h me. When I won the Supreme 
Court decision and they had to let me 
go back to work. a lot of people came 
around saying, “Why don’t you sue the 
ng commission for unjustly taking 
tide away?” Well, they only did 
what they thought was right and there 
was no necd for me to try to punish 
them for that. It’s just too bad they 
didn't recognize that I was sincere in 
doing what I thought was right at the 
ne. 
PLAYBOY: Did you receive a lot of hate 
mail during those years? 
Au: Only about one out of every 300 
letters. And I kinda liked those, so I 
pur 'em all away in a box. When I'm 90 
years old, they'll be something to show 
my great-grandson, J'll tell him, “Boy, 
here's a letter your great-granddaddy got 
when he fought the draft way back when 
they had wars." Anyway, there's good 
and bad in every race. People got their 
own op nd they free to talk. 
PLAYBOY: Considering your feelings about 
white America, did it surprise you that 
so many whites agreed with your stand 
against the draft? 
Au: Yes, it did. I figured it would be 
worse and that I'd meet with a lot more 
hostility, but u n't happen. See, 
that war wasn't like World War Two or 
like America being attacked. I actually 
had a lot going for me at the time: The 
country was halfway against it, the youth 
was against it and the world was saying 
to America, “Get out.” And there I was, 
among people who are slaves and who 
are oppressed by whites. I also had a 


sa 


platform, because the Muslim religion 
and the Koran preaches against such 
wars. I would've caught much more hell 
if America was in a declared war and I 
didn't go. 

PLAYBOY: Would you have served if 
America had been in a declared war? 


Au: The way I feel. if America was at- 
tacked and some foreign force was 
prowling the streets and shooting, 


naturally I'd fight. I'm on the side of 
America, not them, because I'm fighting 
for myself, my children and my people. 
Whatever foreigners would come in, if 
w some black people with rifles, 
sure they'd start shooting. So, yeah, 
Td fight if America was attacked. 

PLAYBOY: When you returned to 
ring in 1970, most boxing observers felt 
you'd lost a good deal of your speed and 
timing. Did you think so? 

Alt: Nope, I thought I was about the 
same, maybe even better. My first bout 
when I came back was with Jerry 
Quarry, who I'd fought before. It was 
the strangest thing. but when I watched. 
films of the first Quarry fight, I looked 
fast; yet when I looked at the second 
Quarry fight I was superfast. Then, after 
1 lost to Frazier, I studied the films and 
even though I wasn't im great shape 
and clowned a lot, look at how sharp I 
was, how much I hit Joc. Any 
saw what Foreman did to Fra: 
then what I did to Foreman, so what 
could I have lost by resting for three 
and a half years? Couldn't be much, 
could it? That's why I can stay d 
r a long time, and if I fight just twice 
r, my title cant be taken away. 
And thoscll be big, big fights worth 
at least $5,000,000 apiece. That's 
$10,000,000 a year for five years, which 
means I'll split $50,000,000 with the Gov- 
ernment. Pll wind up with $25,000,000 
after taxes. Whew! 

PLAYBOY: That kind of money wasn’t 
around when you began boxing profes 
sionally. Are you ever astonished by the 
fact that you can make $5,000,000 in the 
course of an hot 
Au: No, and when I leave boxing, there 
will never be that kind of money for 
fighters again. I can get $5,000,000 or 
$7,500,000 a fight because I got a world 
audience. The people who are pui 
up that money are the richest people in 
the world—black oilmen. It w: 
Dlack man who paid me and George 
an, and he did it because he 
wanted some publicity for his little 
country, and he got it. For 15 years 
after the white Belgians had to get out 
of there, no one—induding me—cver 
heard of Zaire. No one knew it was a 
country of more than 22,000,000 people, 
but now we do. 

I just got offered $7,500,000 to fight 
Foreman in Djakarta, Indonesia, by a 
black oilman who wants to promote his 

(continued on page 176) 


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84 


ARTICLE 
BY JOSIAH BUNTING 


THE 


VOLUNTEER 


ARMY 
FIGHT? 


DON’T COUNT ON IT 


OcroR JONSON'S celebrated judg 
ment—"Eyery man thinks mean- 
lv of himself for not having been 


a soldier” —is no longer true in the United. 
States or in western Europe. No one not 
old enough to have been called to the 
colors between 1940 and 1945 thinks 
meanly of himself for not having served— 
even, or perhaps especially, those who 
managed to avoid service during the two 
late wars on the Asian rimland. The war 
in Korea made, and still makes, arguable 
sense for the United States; the war in 
Vietnam was strategic nonsense. (Lo a 
mam, the generals and colonels inter- 
viewed for this article We 
shouldn't have gone in in the first place; 
but once we went in, we should have gone 
in and done the job, hard and fast.”) In 
any case, few adult males who missed 

in either of those nasty little 


verred: 


But Dr. Johnson's idea of soldicri 
in an age when the British regular army 
still counted in its ranks men who had 
marched across Europe with Marlborough 
and whose subalierns would live long 
enough to dic gasping and groaning un- 
pitied before Alexandria and at Water- 
loo—D:. Johnson's idea of soldiering 
has little in common with the modern 
reeruit’s notion of what he volunteered 
for. And perhaps the current statistical 
success of the Volunteer Army (VOLAR) 
owes most to the difference between the 
two notions. In 1975, the recruit has 
enlisted out of motives that have almost 
nothing to do with his wanting to soldicr. 


He will be very well paid ($345 per 
month after taxes, for openers); he is 
committing himself for only three or 
four years; and if he went on active duty 
before July 1, 1975, he will still be able 
to use the Vietnam-era GI Bill when he 
is discharged; he can pick up a high 
school diploma and plenty of rather 
chcaply earned college credits while he 
is on active duty, and on the Army 
time, not after hours; he can make a con- 
tract with an obliging recruiting sergeant 
that usually guarantees where he will 
serve or in what military occupational 
specialty—though the recruiting sergeants 
sometimes incline to the ovcrobligiug. 
promise (“I'm tellin” ya, I can't put it 
down in writing that you're gonna be a 
computer technician, but once you get 
to basic, they'll fix it up for ya"); perhaps 
he can't get a job on the outside—though 
the Army is in no hurry to collect data 
on this; and, unless he's an idiot (and 
the Army is at great pains to demo 
strate that no mentabcategory Vs—the 
lowest—are allowed to enlist). he must 
cognize that his chances of fighting in 
a war between 1975 and 1978-1979 are 
remote. 

So it would appear—all the bennies 
and very little of the pain. 

That these incentives. rather than the 
wish to become proficient in the art of 
rminating one's fellow man ("the 
zed management and application 
of violence” currently reigns as the official 
euphemism), what is attracting re- 
cruits should give comfort to anyone who 


ILLUSTRATION BY CHET JEZIERSKI 


foresaw a Volunteer Army of Chesty 
Pullers, Pachuca alumni, Hell's Ang 
psychopaths, inbred albino moun 
boys and 38yearold privates di 
their time between the bayonet 


nge 
and the whorehouse. And it will be the 
same kinds of blandishments, with cash 


bonuses thrown in, that will cause some 
30 percent of the volunteers entering the 
Army in 1975 to want to reenlist in 
1978, not—and this is the critical point— 
e dissatisfaction with democratic 
politics or a desire to chastise lesser 
breeds without the law: slopeheads, 
Bolshevists and what have you. ‘Lhe point 
should be stressed, for it was the dim, 
gnawing apprehension that the Army 
would become a rightwing mercenary 
force that was at the very heart of the 
early objections to it, back in the days 
when Melv l—at his master’s bid- 
ding, and responding to skyrocketing 

rates, desertions and rumors 
all mutinies among largely conscript 
units in Vietnam—announced we were 
striving to achieve a zero draft; this and 
the sense that the wellborn and the 
privileged, the rich and the educated 
would remain exempt from military 
service under the volunteer system. Un- 
fortunately, this is still true, Only in an 
all-out war will the Ivy League be draft- 
ed—if there's time for it. 

"The question was put to five recruits 
in their seventh day at the reception cen- 
ter at Fort Dix, New Jersey (a $4,800,000 
brick edifice, built in 1973, centrally 
goddamned air conditioned: Its ambience 


Y) 
LL 
EE 
Y) 
[n 
e 


PLAYBOY 


86 


is that of a state-university student-union 
building; it is laid out around an atrium, 
or plaza, with parti-colored umbrellas 
sheltering each refreshment table): “Why 
did you come into the Army?” 

Private Don Paterson, Wilmingtoi 
Delaware: “It scemed like a way to better 


myself. I signed up as a heatingand- 
cooling specialist.’ 
Private Randy Halcomb, Oneida, 


Kentucky: pays to be a vet. 
Halcomb, he finishes the seven- 
week course, will go to voice radio 
school. 


Private James Sherwin, Watervliet, 
New York: "To open my eyes up. I'll 
be a computer tech 


nder, 


y Oxnard, Cali- 
1975 graduate of Whitworth 
College: “I haven't the foggiest. - . . I 
suppose I want to try everything before 
L get stuck behind someone's desk.” 
Private Joaquin Rosado lI, Bethle- 
hem, Pennsylvania: "For the uaining 
and tradition of being a soldier." What 
kb of soldierz “Oh, a medical tech- 


Five privates, randomly selected. from 
a group of 50 recruits who sat chatting 
in a large waiting room: They were 
about to be given certain diagnostic 
proficiency and aptitude tests. 

They sat chatting. Hell, yes, they sat 
chatting. To anyone who remembers 
the naked terror induced by his first 
on with a sinewy Marine D.L at 
the Seaboard Rail Depot in Yemassee, 
South Carolina, d the first three or 
four days and nights of his 13-week ba 
combat training at Parris Island, the sight 
is downright bizarre. 

Patterson, Halcomb, Sherwin, Zander 
and Rosado—they are relaxed and genial, 
curious. Zander, a tall black, punctuates 
his comments with clegant gestures; he 
sits on a bench with his legs crossed, 
dangling his foot like a young executive 
at First National City. Several yards down 
the hall, other recruits are talking ba 
ball with the barber, whose m tions 
leave them looking rather like brusheut 
college boys of the Fifties, no worse. Why 
shouldn't they be relaxed and genial? 
On their second day at Dix, they re- 
| advance pay. They 


have all slept eight hours a night, the 
Army's M.D.R. (minimum daily requirc- 
ment), and woe betide the dri 


l sergeant 
who deprives them of it. They have eaten 
very well in a place that looks like a 
fraternity dining room, have had their 
physicals and been fitted for uniforms. 
Though they have not yet formally been 
embodied as a training company—that 
comes tomorrow—they have already seen 
drill sergeant. “He looks like a 
ays another recruit. 

It's jarring, all right. Of course, things 
will get tough in the weeks ahead. "There 


the 
real decent guy 


will be plenty of physical training, sev- 
eral road marches, battle-sight zeroing, 

pons qualifications, bivouacs, drill, 
classes on military justice and hygiene 
nd traditions of the Service, a rousing 
ncral—who points out 
South Victnamese army as an 
example of a force “that broke and ran 
because they had no discipline” and who 
piously hopes they will be proud enough 
ing soldiers that they will wear their 
uniforms home on leave and “stand tall 
in them” (some things never change)— 
a little K.P., but also a 30-hour pass at 
the end of the third or fourth week of 
training; but the inflection is no longer 
one of grim, implacable menace on the 
part of the D.Ls and the young officers 
set over them, of kicking ass and ta 
names, of grim, threatening descriptions 
of the post stockade, which is now called 
the area confinement facility. No, the 
atmosphere is one of calm, measured 
purposefulness, of helping the recruit, of 
making his wansition from civilian to 
soldier an efficient but relatively un- 
ing one. 

Now, there is not the slightest shred 
of evidence that this kind of treatment 
will produce soldiers less capable, less 
able to fight than those who finished 
basic 10 or 20 or 30 years ago. No evi- 
dence—but one remains a bit suspicious, 
all the same. Most of the senior noncom- 
missioned officers at Dix, as elsewhere, 
are as outspoken and inascible as ever; 
many are downright resentful—like Sfc. 
Danicl Conaghan, a weapons 


istructor. 


whom the recruits will meet during 


their sixth week: “Trai 
up to where you're 
keepin’ him a kid.” 

Throughout the Army, it is the older 
N.C.O.s who most resent what has hap- 
pened. As usual, officers in the grade of 
major and higher are certain that things 
are peuing better, that the young volun- 
teers like the Army or can be made to 
like it. The lieutenants can't really tell, 
except, perhaps, for the few among them 
old enough to remember the Army be- 
fore VOLAR. The volunteers them- 
selves—well, they tolerate Army life, 
some of them are proud of their units; 
but when you ask them if they're think- 
ing of re-enlisting, most of them laugh 
in your face. 

This should not come as startling news 
to the great mass of citizen-soldiers 
Americ ose millions of veterans 
who are not active in the alumni orga 
zations of American arms—the Legion, 
the V.F.W nd so on. Their memories 
of military life are not, when they come 
to think of them, very pleasant. No 
vision of glory girds them, no recollection 
of duty happily and proudly fulfilled can 
smooth over the pocked and scamy tex- 
ture of remembered wartime lives: lives 
often of deprivation and fatigue, of 


has lightened 
id and 


frantic pleasure taking on furlough, lives 
punctuated by the lacerating taunts of 
N.COs charged with whipping men 
into shape, lives of separation from those 
they loved, lives of squalor and tedium 
id. sometimes terror. No. Military duty 
ppy business for most people. 
bers of wl sociologists call 
armies of the Western democratic type. it 
is unlikely that it ever will be. Behind 
every immaculate Grenadier Guardsman 
stands a dusty motor pool in the English 
Midlands; for every resplendent curais- 
seur on the Champs Elysées there is a mis- 
erable private on a bunk in a training 
center near Lyons; ranger 
battalion N.i 
head there are 20 privates smoking dope 
Fort Lewis: and for every ebullient 
cocksure American general, there are 500 
bored and distracted enlisted men racing 
for their cars on Friday afternoons. Re- 
member it all? The six of you stcaming 
in the 1949 Mercury with two cases of 
Schlitz, dead bugs on the windshicld, 
tearing up Route 1 from Lejeune to 
Philly or the Bronx? From Hood to 
Austin? From Fort Lewis to Portland? 

It has not fundamentally changed in 
the Volunteer Army. Jt is very doubtful 
that it ever will. 

There are three reasons for this. First, 
as we have seen, the opportunity to fight, 
the chance to "soldicr"—these things are 
not what is luring volunteers for the 
Army. For the Marines, yes; the Army, 

lo. (And, incidentally, that Marine Corps 
reuiting pitch we inwardly admire— 
n't good enough, clown; we d 
promise you a rose garden, we only want 
a few good men, etc.—is nowhere nearly 
as successful as you or I or the Marine 
Corps expected it would be) Second, 
the Army is lavish in its promises of 
education to those who volunteer; not 
exactly education along the Cardinal 
Newman-F, R. Leavis is but educa- 
tion as Seventies pparently 
wants it—and it is precisely this that will 
fuel most soldiers’ desire to leave the 
Seryice when their obligated service 
up. Third, there is only so much 
the most inventive officers can devise to 
keep the troops happy. Yes, you can send 
a few men to the three new ranger bat- 
talions—units developed to deal smartly 
with small disorders abroad that might 
threaten United States interests or Ameri- 
can nationals and give the Army a new 
corps d'élite not unlike the Green Berets 
of the early Sixties—you can send them 
to these units if that sort of thing appeals 
to them; you can stick a man in the 
embasy in Rome, perhaps, or detail 
three men as lifeguards at the club, or two 
to the U.S. Military Academy Preparatory 
School at Fort Belvoir, or give prizes 
for the bestmaintained back yard or the 
best-turned-out Sheridan, or take the 

(continued on page 158) 


For mem! 


“Hello... do you have special rates for groups?” 


Right: Surrounded by her competitors, Beth Martin 
Son Francisco Club shows her surprise at 

being selected Bunny of the Year o! the pageant 
held in L.A’s Aquarius Theater. She followed her 
success with a vacation in Hawaii. Nini Minor 
(below), also of the S.F. hut 10 prospect 

for gold in the Sierras. An ex- stewardess, 
she used to sketch her passengers, who would 
often ask to buy the portraits. 


Below: Naomi Lee, o native New Yorker, is 
Gotham‘; Bunny of the Year for the second year 
in a row. She's locking forward to a career in 
show business, for which she's spent o long time 
preparing. Naomi started piono lessons when she 
was five and she's currently studying voice ond 
donce (with Alvin Ailey, yet). When she's not 
otherwise occupied, Naomi likes to poss the time 
moking jewelry out of Feathers, leather and beods 


Boston Bunny Samantha Brown (abaye), 
who wos born in Germany, gets model- 
ing assignments in both The Hub and 
New York. Bunny Janice Raymond of our 
LA. Club (below)—aur December 1974 
Playmote—helped oirlift Vietnomese 
‘orphans aboard Hugh M. Hefner's DC-9. 


Detroit's Vicki Vonnini (left) has troveled all over the world and thrown herself into all sorts of 
situotions. “Everything's out there," she says; "you just hove to reach for it.” Vicki points in oils ond 
does macramé; she’s also studying jazz doncing and hopes to join a professional compony. Miami's 
Terri Mitchell (below) is a Texos transplant who went East fora vacation and stoyed. She admits to 


missing “some Texas things—like horses ond chili” but loves to go snorkeling in the Florida Keys. 


Victorio Cunningham 

(lef) of our Les Angeles 
Club—our April 1975 
Playmate—loves to travel 
and, as it happens, hos just 
retumed fram a PLAYBOY 
pramotional trip to Japan. 
Right: Miami's Desiree 
DeMarro, who claims that 
she always wanted to be 
a Bunny, is lecrning to 
race speedboots (with the 
help of her dod, who 
manufactures them), 


‘Above center: Tora Silcock of our Club in Manchester, England—she's their Bunny of the Year—was a private in the Women's Royal Army 
Corps before she became o cottontail. Chicago Bunny af the Year Laura Lyons (above right) hos appeared on o variety of TV shows—The Dating 
Game, Truth or Consequences, Love, American Style—as well as in the film The Godfather Par! II. Laura, who is also o Jet Bunny, was on the crew 
of a flight chartered lost year by Elvis Presley ("He's just a marvelous person’). Below: Candy Collins, also of our Chicago hutch, is o Gemini and 
claims to have two distinct personalities. For instance, when it comes ta the cinema, she likes both Bogart movies and porno flicks. Candid Candy. 


LS -— r A 


4 | ~~ 
Ae. U S rod 


Below: Denver Bunnies Cindy Brown (left) ond Noncy Stoskin ore sisters—ond they shore 
© lot of interests. Both are former members of the Denver Civic Bollet and have used 
their Bunny earnings for college studies (ct Metro Stote College and the 

University of Colorado, respectively). Right: Another Denver Bunny, Phaedro (nee Lindo) 
Durst, has opened a boutique—colled Phaedra—in partnership with her boyfriend 


Below: Janet Lupo of our Great Gorge, 
New Jersey, resort hoppens to be our 
Ploymcte this issue, ond the story of her 
coming of oge (in Hoboken) will be found, 
cs usual, wropped around the centerfold. 
arboro Sowyer of our Loke Geneva, 
resort, o Kentucky notive who 

doesn’t like big cities, rides a Triumph, 


plays pinball and is into graphic arts. She 
hos also token up belly dancing: “It’s great 
for the stomach muscles.” So we see. 


INIHI GRINT GA 


[lF 


the beautiful rani was inside that doomed fortress and she had 
to be saved—even if old flashy got torn apart in the process 


Concluding a new adventure satire 
By GEORGE MacDONALD FRASER 


SYNOPSIS: Ii was the summer of 1856 
and the prime minister needed a brave 
man lo go on a secret mission to India 
to report on rumours of impending 
mutiny among the sepoy Indian troops 
in the city of Jhansi—and to learn if 
the sinister Russian Count Ignatieff was 
behind it all. And who was the right man 
for the job but Colonel Harry Flashman, 
hero of Balaclava in the public eyes (and 
the luckiest coward alive in his own). 
Another aspect of his mission was to 
make friends with the ruler of Jhansi— 


Flashy’s wrist was still held 
fast, but he cavld just turn his 
hand, palm upwards, fold the 
thumb end last three fingers 
slowly into his palm and 
beckan with his forefinger, 
once, twice, thrice. 


COPYRIGHT © 1975 BY GEORGE MAC DONALD FRASER 


who, to his lecherous delight, turned out 
to be a young and beautiful Rani, quite 
susceptible to Flashman's whiskery charm. 
One night, when he was drinking with 
Ilderim Khan, an old companion from 
Afghanistan days, Flashman was bidden 
to a rendezvous with the Rani. After 
spectacular heroics in bed, he dozed and 
awoke to find a pair of villainous Indians 
about to do him in with a garrotte. 

By the best of luck, Ilderim had come 
to the rescue and, questioning the sur- 
viving Thug, discovered that Ignalief had 


98 


instigated the attack. Flashman now had 
lo go inlo hiding and—on Ilderim’s in- 
spired suggestion—disguised himself as a 
Pathan and rode off to join the native 
cavalry at the garrison of Meerut. 

He managed to pass muster as a moun- 
lain tribesman, but he also attracted the 
attention oj a British colonel who as- 
signed the supposed Makarram Khan a 
job as major-domo of his bungalow. This 
led to some long rides in the countryside 
with (and then atop) the voluptuous Mrs, 
Leslie. 

Meanwhile, the Indian troops were 
sullen at rumours of a new rifle cartridge 
greased with cow and pig fat. The general 
ordered a firing parade to demonstrate its 
harmlessness, but all except five of the 
troopers refused it. Outraged, the general 
court-martialled and jailed them. 

Returning one May evening from a 
ride with Mrs. Leslic, Flashman found 
Meerut in chaos. The sepoys were in full 
mutiny, releasing the prisoners and 
murdering the British in their homes. 
Sickened and scared, Flashman rode off 
in the night. 

After wandering around in the devas- 
tated countryside, he made for Jhansi 
and managed (o find Iderim, still loyal 
to the British and onc of the few sur- 
vivors of another sepoy mutiny at Jhansi. 
Together, they joined a troop of roving 
irregular cavalry under a British captain 
named Rowbotham and headed for the 
town of Cawnpore, where General Whee- 
ler was holding an entrenchment against 
a sepoy army. 

Once inside the makeshift fort, Flash- 
man found that he'd gone [rom the frying 
pan into the fire and, after a bloody 
stege, Whecler at last accepted terms of 
safe conduct to march his battered garri- 
son out. But the Indians had other 
plans—once the English were embarked 
on riverboats, the sepoys began to slaugh- 
ter them. Only one boat, with Flashman 
aboard, gol away. There followed a down- 
stream journey full of hortors—an attack 
by half-wild jungle people and a swim in 
the crocodile-infested river—which ended 
at last when Flashman and four other 
half-deud survivors were saved by a native 
ruler who had remained on the British 
side. 

[Recovered and back with the British 
army as an intelligence staff colonel, 
Flashman went to Lucknow with the first 
relief force. There he became an un- 
willing volunteer—disguised again as a 
Pathan—to slip through the sepoy lines 
with a message for Sir Colin Campbell. 
His companion was Thomas Henry 
Kavanagh, a mad Irishman with ambitions 
to be a hero, according to Flashman's dis- 
gusled description. After they'd lost their 
way several times and Flashman had 
pulled- Kavanagh out of several canals, 
they reached Campbell. Thereafter, Flash- 
man relaxed again, as a staff intelligence 
officer in a camp near Cawnpore, where a 
new British army was assembling.) 


HAT WINTER, we had 
begun to make things 
so hor for the pandies 
along the Grand Trunk 
that the bulk of their 
power was being forced 
south into the Gwalior 
counuy, where Tantia 
Topi had taken his army 
and where Jhansi lay. In 
our intelligence reports, 
» I began to see increasing 
references to Lakshmibai—"the rebel Ra- 
nee," as they called her now—who had 
cast her lot with the mutinous princes. At. 
first, that shocked me, but when I thought 
of her grievances against us and that 
lovely, dark face so grimly set as she said, 
“Mera Jhansi denge nay!"—1 won't give 
up my Jhansil—it wasn’t so surprising, 
really, 

She'd have to give it up fast enough, 
with our southern armies under Sir Hugh 
Rose already advancing north towards 
Gwalior. Still, when my thoughts turned 
to her, I couldn't reconcile this world of 
burning and massacre with my memory of 
that bewitching figure swinging gently to 
and fro in that mirrored fairy palace. That 
was enough to set the flutters going in 
my innards. But it wasn't only lust—when 
I thought of those slanting eyes and the 
grave little smile and her smooth, dusky 
arms along the swing, I was conscious of 
an empty longing. What I needed was 
two weeks’ steady rogering at her to get 
these mooncalf yearnings out of my 
mind. But, of course, there was no chance 
for that now. 

I'd more or less let all that go to the 
back of my mind one night when 1 was 
sitting in the dusk of a Lucknow garden, 
very much at ease, smoking and svigging 
port with some other officers and listening 
to the distant thump of the night guns, 
when destiny, in the unlikely shape of 
General Mansfeld, tapped me on the arm. 
“Sir Colin Campbell wants you directly,” 
says he. 

I didn't think twice about it but pitched 
my cheroot into the fire and sauntered 
through the lines to the chief's tent, drink- 
ing in the warm night air with sleepy 
comfort. Even when he greeted me with 
“How well d'ye know the Rani of Jhansi?” 
I wasn't unduly surprised—there'd been a 
dispatch in about the Jhansi campaign 
that very day. 

I said that I'd known her fairly well; we 
had talked a great deal together. 

“And her city—her fortress?" 
Campbell 

“Passably, sir. I was never in her fort 
proper. Our meetings were at her palace. 
And I'm not overfamiliar with the city 
itself." 

"More familiar than Sir Hugh Rose, 
though, I'll be bound," says he, tapping 
a paper in front of him. "And that's his 
own opeenion in this dispatch.” I didn't 
care for that and I didn't care for the 
way Campbell was looking at me, either. 


asks 


“This Ra 
she like?” 

1 began to answer that she was a capa- 
ble ruler and nobody's fool, but he inter- 
rupted me with one of his barbarous 
Scotch noises, “Taghaway wi’ yel Is she 
pretty, man?” 

1 admitted that she was strikingly 
beautiful and he grinned shook his 
grizzly head. “Aye,” says he, squinting at 
me, "ye're a strange man, Flashman. I'll 
confess tae ye, I've even-on had my doots 
aboot ye—don't ask me why, for I don't 
know. This much I’m certain of, ye al 
ways win. God kens how—and I'm glad 
I don't ken mysel’. But there—Sir Hugh 
needs ye at Jhansi and I'm sending ye 
south.” 

1 didn't know what to think of this, so 
1 just stood and waited anxiously. 

“This mutiny business is aboot done. 
It's a question of scauering the last 
armies here in Oudh and Rohilkhand 
and there in Bundelkhand. Jhansi is one 
of the last hard nuts tae be cracked. This 
bizzum of a Rani ten thousand men 
and stout city walls. Sir Hugh will have 
her under siege by the time ye get there 
and nae doot he'll have tae take the 
place by storm. But that’s nor enough— 
which is why ye, wi’ your particular dip- 
lomatic knowledge of the Rani, are essen- 
tial. Ye see, Lord Canning, Sir Hugh and 
mysel’ are agreed on one thing and your 
e of this wumman may be the 
" He looked me carefully in the 
eye. "Whatever else befalls, we must be 
careful tae capture the Rani alive.” 


says he at length. "What's 


If she'd been as ugly as sin, if a scrawny, 
elderly Rani were to be bayoneted in the 
taking of Jhansi, no one would give a 
damn. But Canning, our enlightened gov- 
ernor general, was a sentimental tool, 
alarmed at the vengeance and bloodshed 
that generals like Neill and Havelock had 
already taken. He guessed that sooner or 
later, the righteous wrath of Britons at 
home would die down and a revulsion 
would set in—which, of course, was to 
happen. My guess is that he feared that 
the death of a young and beautiful rebel 
princess would tip the balance of public 
conscience and he didn't want the press 
depicting her as some n Joan of 
Arc. Mind you, I was all for that—if it 
could take place without any dangerous 
intervention on my part. Jhansi wasn't a 
Iucky place for me. 

So, with a strong escort of Pathan horse, 
1 took as long as I decently could riding 
the 200 miles from Lucknow and it 
wasn't until the last week in March that 
I sighted that fort of ill omen on its 
frowning rock. 

Rose was just getting himself settled in 
by then, battering away at the city de- 
fences with his guns, his army aircling the 
walls in a gigantic ring, with observation 
posts and cavalry pickets all prettily sited 
to bottle it up. 

He was a 


(continued on page 102) 


now appearing in the robe— knicks superstar walt frazier 


“I can be duplicated on the court but 
not off it.” That’s a typically candid n - 
- self-amertion of Walt “Clyde” Frazier, i 4 ) 
the star guard of the New York 
Knicks, who is known not only a : 


for his precision ball bandling and 

clutch shooting—be’s a lifetime „494 i 

field goaler in the N.B.A.—but : 

also for his supercomfortable " 

Manhattan penthouse / Rolls-Royce il | CLYDE 


lifestyle. In keeping with that lifestyle 
attire 


is this full-length cashmere wrap- 
around robe with matching tie 
belt, by Bill Blam for Gates, 
$195. If it’s hip enough for 
Clyde, we can dig it, too. 


ACROBAT 


SSeS Se 
» LLL NN SS ee 
OAT P P ELLLN MR NT 


VLL Li ALL I 
FALCONER 


by their pudenda ye shall know them 


humor 
By ERVIN L. KAPLAN 


SIAMESE TWINS *r- 


Here's an old rid 
dle that goes some- 
thing like this: Question: 
What's the difference be- 
tween an elephant and a 
peterfor? Answer: I don't know. 
What's a peter for? Get it? What, 
indeed, is a peter for besides, of 
course, the obvious function? To 
answer this very pressing ques 
tion, artist Ervin L. Kaplan took 
needle to zinc and came up with 
these wry little etchings. Now 
when you're playing Lothario 
and you invite her up to your 
penthouse duplex, you'll have 
something to actually show her. 
Isn't that thoughtful of us? 


FOOTBALL PLAYER 


BUTCHER 


SAXOPHONIST 


WAITER 


PLAYBOY 


good soldier, Rose, and he needed to 
be—Jhansi locked massive and impreg 
nable under the brazen sun, from its 
outworks to its walls to the red rebel 
banner floating lazily above the fort, 
Outside the walls, the dusty plain had 
been swept clear of every scrap of cover 
and the rebel batteries thundered out in 
reply to our gunners. Inside were 11,000 
troops, ready to fight to the finish. A tough 
nut to crack, as Campbell had said. 

“We'll have them out in a week, no 
fears about that," was Rose's verdict. He 
was another Scotsman (India was crawl- 
ing with them, as always), brisk and 
brighteyed and spry—and less objection- 
able than most diplomatsoldiers. He was 
new to India, but you'd never have 
guessed it from his easy confidence and 
dandy air. 

Yes, a week at most,” says he and 
pointed out how he had sited his left and 
right attacks against the strongest points 
in the rebel defences, where the red- 
hot shot from our guns were keeping 
the pandy fire parties busy quelling the 
flames, some of which you could see 
ng crazily through the heat haze. 
Frontal night assault as soon as the 
breaches are big enough, and then" 
snapped his telescope | shut— "bloody 
work. But the question is: How do we 
preserve her ladyship in all that carnage? 
Would she personally surrender, d'you 
suppose?" 

l looked about me from the knoll on 
which we stood with his staff officers. 
Below, the siege guns shook the ground 
and the smoke wraithed back towards 
us as the gunners crawled round their 
pieces like ants to reload. On either side, 
as far as the eye could see, the cavalry 
pickets were strung out—the blue jackets 
of the Light Dragoons and the grey 
khaki of the Hyderabad troopers’ coats, 
Justy with the new curry-powder dye. 
Two miles behind us, near the ruins of 
the old cantonment, were the endless 
tent lines of the infantry brigades, waiting 
till the guns had done their work. To the 
front, the jumble of distant houses 
stretched in the smoky haze up to the 
mighty crag of the fortress. She'd be 
there—perhaps in her cool durbar room, 
playing with her pet monkeys; perhaps 
she was with her chiefs, looking out at 
the army that was going to swallow her 
up and reduce her fairy palace to rubble. 

"Surrender?" asks I. "No, I doubt if 
she will. 

“We've tried proclamation, of course,” 
says Rose, "but, since we can't guarantee 
immunity to her followers, we might as 
well save our breath. Still, she might not 
be eager to see her civilians exposed to 
the assault, what? I mean, being a woman. 
What is she like, by the way?” 
xtremely lovely," says I, “uses French 
scent, is kind to animals, fences like a 


102 Hungarian hussar, prays for several hours 


(continued from page 98) 


each day, recreates herself on a whitc- 
swing in a room full of mirrors, gives 
afternoon tea parties for society ladi 
and hangs criminals up in the sun by 
their thumbs. Useful horsewoman, too.” 

"What about lovers, hey?” asks one 
of the staff, sweating and horny-eyed. 
“They say she keeps a hareem of muscu- 
lar young bucks, primed with love 
potions —" 

"She didn't tell me,” says I, “and I 
didn’t ask her.” 

“Well,” says Rose, “we must consider 
what's to be done about her.” 

That was how I employed myself for 
the next three days while the guns and 
mortars smashed away in fine style, open- 
ing a breach in the south wall, burning 
up the repair barricades and blowing 
most of their heavy gun ports to rubble. 
By the 29th, Rose was drawing up final 
orders for his infantry stormers and still 
we had reached no firm plan for captur- 
ing Lakshmibai unharmed. It was all too 
easy for me to imagine the palace with 
bloody corpses on that quilted Chinese 
carpet, the mirrors shattered by shot and 
yelling looters bayoneting everything that 
stood in their way. God knows, it was 
nothing new to me—I'd lent a hand in 
my time, when it was safe to do so—but 
these would be her possessions and I was 
sentimental enough to be sorry for that. 
By George, I'd got her into my blood 
stream when I began worrying about her 
damned furniture. 

‘Try as I might, I could see nothing for 
it but to send a picked platoon straight 
to the palace with orders to secure her 
unharmed at any price. By God, though, 
that was one detail I'd have to avoid. 
My job would be her reception and safe- 
keeping after the slaughter was ov 
Flashy, the stern and sorrowful saviour, 
shielding her from staff wallopers with 
dirty minds, that was the ticket. She'd 
have to be escorted away, perhaps to 
Calcutta, and on that journey she'd be 
grateful for a friendly face among her 
enemies. I thought of her pavilion and 
that gleaming bronze body undulating 
towards me to the sound of music—we'll 
have dancing every night in our private 
hackery, thinks I, and if I'm not down 
to 12 stone by the time we reach Cal- 
cutta, it won't be for want of nocturnal 
exercise. 

But Rose was sceptical about the idea 
of the special platoon, as it turned out. 
“Too uncertain,” says he. "We need some- 
thing concerted and executed before the 
battle has even reached her palace. We 
must have her snug before then.” 

"Well, I don’t for the life of me see 
how you'd do that. Anyone going in 
before the troops would never get a 
hundred yards through the streets—let 
alone past her Pathan palace guard." 

Rose picked thoughtfully at his che- 


root. "Force wouldn't serve, 1 agree. But 


diplomacy? What d'you think, Lyster?” 

This was young Harry Lyster, Rose's 
galloper and the only other person present 
at our talk, “Bribery, perhaps—if we 
could smuggle a proposal to some of her 
officers." 

“They've eaten her salt," says I. "You 
couldn't buy "em." I was far from sure 
of that, but I wanted to quash all this 
talk of secret messages. I'd heard it too 
often before and I know who always 
finishes up sneaking through the dark 
with his bowels gurgling and his hair 
standing on end. "I'm afraid it comes 
down to a special platoon, sir, with a 
good native officer- 

"Counsel of despair, Flashman." Rose 
shook his head decisively. “Now, here's a 
possibility—storm the city as we intend, 
but leave a bolt hole. If we draw off our 
pickets from the Orcha gate and when the 
lady sees her city's doomed, I'll] be much 
surprised if she don't make a run for it. 
She'll break for the open and we'll be 
waiting for her on the Orcha road. What 
d'you say, gentlemen?"t 

Well, it suited me, although I thought 
he underrated her subtlety. But Lyster 
was nodding agreement and Rose went 
on, "Yes, I think we'll try that as a long 
shot. But it's still not enough. We must 
play every card in our hand and it would 
be folly not to use our trump." He turned 
and snapped a pointing finger at me. 
“You, Flashman.” 

I choked over my glass and covered my 
dismay with a shuddering cough. “I. sir? 
How. sir?" I tried to get my breath back, 

“I don't suppose theres a white man 
living who has been on closer terms with 
her than you—isn't that so? Now, a 
private offer, secretly conveyed to her with 
my word of honour and Lord Canning's 
attached to it—especially one brought 
by a British officer she could trust. You 
follow me?” 

All too well I followed him; I could 
see the abyss of ruin and despair opening 
before my feet once again. And the 
bright-eyed lunatic eagerly went on, “She 
doesn't have to surrender Jhansi, even— 
just her own person. How can she refuse? 
‘That's it!" cries he, smacking the table. 
“She can pretend to her own folk that 
she's trying to escape. No one except us 


would ever know it was a putup 
business.” 
Lyster was frowning. “Will she leave 


her people to their fate, though? 
I seized on this like a drowning man. 
(continued on page 198) 


1 Until the discovery of the Flashman 
papers, Lyster (later General Sir Harry 
Hamon Lyster, V.C.) was the sole author- 
ity on this plan. Rose had confided the 
plan to him in strictest confidence and it 
was not until the publication of Henry 
L. Lyster Denny's “Memonals of an 
Ancient House” in 1913 that the story 
came out—substantially as Flashman re- 
counts it. 


can the mile high country picker 
' and the number one jelly belly find happiness 
in the land of the bears? turn on your c.b. and find out 


article By WILLIAM NEELY i: scruncties around in 
the Bostrom seat a few times until he gets each buttock just right. A 
good ass is a good ride. Then he gooses the big Cummins diesel a couple 
of blaps to establish who is running things and backs the 55-foot 
tractorsemitrailer rig through a maze of a couple of dozen parked trucks. 
Simple: You do it with mirrors. It takes, say, 20 years’ experience herding 
those big rigs from coast to coast to do this just right. Knock over 
another guy's trailer and he gets sore-wrought 

At the end of the parking area, he swings the big Kenworth left 
and two columns of blue smoke shoot from the chrome stacks. He eases 
past the fuel pumps at the Windmill Truckers Center just outside Whee- 
ling. West Virginia, and snakes it out onto the road 

The truck is a rolling work of art, all purple and chromed and 
gleaming, and it hums a guttural, confident purr as it rolls past the 
casis. The neon lights rebound off the chrome of the tractor and move 
on to project an image against the side of the big recfer trailer, For just 
a second, the big rig is a moving billboard for the Lucky Lady Lounge. 
Go-go girls. Tell a few highway stories, Then, quickly, it is gone and the 
18-wheeler roars up the ramp to Interstate 70 West. 

The driver is a big, articulate man of 35. He steers easily with one 
ham hand and he reaches the other over and (continued on page 124) 


HLUSTRATION BY W. T, VINSON 


at 


if someone can grow up 
there and turn into 
miss november, we'll defend 
that town to the death 


HOORAY FOR HOBOKEN! 


and who hasn’t?—then you've seen Janet Lupo's home town. When the picture was shot there, she lived 

just a few blocks away and one of her girlfriends lived in the building used for the rooftop scenes. You may 
also have gotten the correct impression that Hoboken—despite the fact that the funky neighborhood bars are 
being replaced by high-rises—is a pretty tough town. Janet learned early, for instance, not to listen to the weirdos 
who might try to lure her into their cars (she remembers one such incident when she was seven and another—with 
somebody pretending to be a cop—when she was 11). When she got a bit older, she learned how to dress and walk 
so that her 39-inch bust wouldn't attract attention. Then, at 16—tired of being kept after school for her chronic 
tardiness, and despite what her teachers told her was a high I.Q.—Janet quit school, to work (among other notso-in- 
spiring jobs) as a long-distance telephone operator (“I think Ma Bell lost a lot of money that year"), a receptionist 


C HANCES ARE that most of you haven't been to Hoboken, New Jersey. But if you've seen On the Waterfront— 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY POMPEO POSAR 


105 


“One thing I can't stand ina guy i: 
it’s not really love, it’s a sickness. I broke up 
with two boyfriends over it. I could see it if the 
had a reason, but I’ve never cheated on anyone.” 


^I haven't lived with a guy, though I went with one man 

for five years and with another jor three. We'd stay at each 
s, but our parents were always there, so we 

didn't sleep together. We did, of course, but not at home.” 


“When I fall for a guy, I 
get extremely nervou: 
I get butterflies. And I 
get very quiel, too. 


at a buying office (where she 
sat, uncomfortably, right un 
der the heating ducts) and 
a switchboard operator for 
United Parcel (where the girls 
were “too catty”). Eventually, 
Janet applied for a post as a 
Bunny at our Great Gorge 
resort, and for the past year 
and a half she's been working 
there (and living there, too, 
in the Bunny Dorm), But 
while she’s happy enough in 
her job, our restless Aquarian 
is looking to move up in the 
world. So she's thinking of 
leaving her home turf and 
family—consisting of her 
mom, her dad, now retired 
from the Erie Lackawanna 
lway, an older sister, who's 
married, and two brothers, 
one of whom earned a medal 
in Vietnam by rescuing four 
Gls from a burning helicop- 
ter (“We didn't know till 
we read about it in the 
papers")—and heading for 
Chicago, where a friend h: 
offered to buy her a seat on 
the Midwest St Exchange 
and teach her the ins and 
outs of that business. “After 
1," says Janet, “I don't have 
what you'd call a great edu- 
cation, and I do want to 
make something of myself. 1 
think I could handle that 
kind of work, so why not gi 
it a try? There's nothing to 
los." Well, we at Playboy 
would be losing something if 
Janet turned broker. But we 
believe in upward mobility, 
and if that’s what she wants, 
we're with her all the way. 


“My tabby, Hashish, is just like a dog—if 
there's someone outside my door, he'll tense 
up and start growling. And if I say, ‘Give 
me a hug, he will. I tell him, 'Yow're the 
man in my life—right now.” 


“My father didn’t want me to pose nude. So I told him, ‘I’m no 

virgin; I don’t go around screwing everyone, but lve been to 
bed with a couple of guys and there'll be another one. So he'll 

see me with no clothes on—and I won't be getting a modeling fee: 


PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES 


A handsome lad went into the hospital for 
some minor surgery and the day after the opera- 
tion, a visiting male friend commented on the 
steady stream of nurses who came in to fluff his 
pillow, offer to give him back rubs and ask if 
there was anything else he needed. “Why all the 
attention?” asked the friend. “After all, you're 
not in a very serious condition.” 

“I know,” smiled the patient, “but the girls 
sort of formed a fan club when word got around 
that my circumcision required twenty-two 
stitches.” 


Upon returning from a date in the early- 
morning hours, the girl woke her roommate to 
announce that she was engaged. “Oh, how 


wonderful!” gushed the rather romantic 
roomie. "Did he get down on his knees to 
propose?” 


“No, he didn't," she replied. “As a matter of 
fact, he got up on his elbows to do it.” 


Says a kinky old hooker named Bond, 

“Puc a wile of which clients are fond: 
When I've hairsprayed some gold 
Whete my labia fold, 

I'm a gilt-edged negotiable blonde.” 


Maybe you've heard about the girl who 
was so undesirable that she even turned her 
vibrator off. 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines prophylactic 
as a measure of inflationary protection. 


Atter enjoying his sexy date to the fullest, the 
student was preparing to slip out of the dormi- 
tory. But the girl made a whispered request. 

"What?" he exclaimed. "A contribution? 
What the hell are you—a prostitute masquerad- 
ing as a college girl?” 

“No, dear,” she replied sweetly, "a business 
major." 


When Joe gets back from one of his long trips,” 
confided his wife, "it's like TV football coverage 
in reverse." 
"What do you mean?” asked her girliriend. 
"Instant foreplay.” 


And then there was the fellow who took a 
course in exotic lovemaking and announced that. 
he'd never be able to face his girl again. 


Three nights a week out with the boys—man, 
did the wife and I have an argument about that 
last night! 
How did it come out?” 
“She agreed she'd cut it down to two.” 


Hanging pictures,” sighed clumsy Miss Young, 
“Is a task that can make me unstrung. 
Thank God for my neighbor 
Who volunteered labor— 
Both my pictures and he are well hung!” 


An American tourist was dining alone in his 
hotel room in Paris. “If I may suggest it, 
m'sieu," said the waiter, "do try our cele- 
brated péche poussée for dessert." 

When the guest assented, the waiter left and 
returned with a handsome peach, which he 
proceeded to peel with elaborate care. This 
done, he clapped his hands and a beautiful 
girl in a negligee slipped into the room, 
dropped her garment to reveal herself naked 
and went into a voluptuous dance that cul- 
minated in her taking the peach from the table 
and holding it pressed high up between her 
thighs while she did a languorous back bend. 
The waiter then removed the peach and placed 
it on its plate. “Say, that should be tasty eat- 
ing!” enthused the tourist as he reached for 
the fruit. 

"But no, no, m'sieu!” exclaimed the waiter. 
"Zat péche is not now fit for eating. It is 
ze poussée, ze poussée!” 


Mna 


The young man was in love with the girl and 
wanted to propose but was ashamed of his tiny 
organ—too ashamed, in fact, to discuss it with 
her or even to let her see him naked. So, in the 
interest of bringing up the matter in the least 
embarrassing way, he drove up into the hills 
with the cute miss one particularly dark night, 
invited her to go for a short walk with him in 
the blackness, surreptitiously unzipped, stopped 
and put his penis in the girl's hand. 
“Thanks,” she said, “but I don't smoke.” 


Heard a funny one lately? Send it on a post- 
card, please, to Party Jokes Editor, PLAYBOY, 
Playboy Bldg, 919 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, 
Ill. 60611. $50 will be paid to the contributor 
whose card is selected. Jokes cannot be returned. 


“Putting it in a nutshell, young lady, is precisely 
what I'd like to stop doing." 


THE EDEN EXPRESS 


a young man emerges from. the beautiful sixties and finds himself 
going insane, locked in a padded cell, hallucinating a mile a minute 
memoir 


By Mark Vonnegut 


1 THINK THE KENNEDYS, Martin Luther King, 
Jr. and war and assorted other goodies had 
so badly blown everybody's mind that send- 
ing the children naked into the woods to 
build a new society seemed worth a try. 
In 1970, like a lot of people our age, some 
friends and I started a commune. Ours was 
in the wilds of British Columbia, 12 miles 
by boat from Powell River, the nearest town. 
1 doubt that the commune drove me nuts, 
but a lot of people seem to like to look at 
it that way. I'm pretty sure I would have 


It was very “in” to not like cities back then, 
but my reaction had advanced well beyond 


distaste. The noise, bright lights, hustling, 
bustling people marginally aware of their 
own helpless suffering, oblivious to that of 
others, and a few similar goodies were 
quite literally shaking me apart I was 
sick to my stomach a lot. I couldn't sleep 
much. I spent more and more time crying. 
Taking off for B.C. brought a terrific sense 
of relicf. For the first time in years, I 
actually felt some hope and peace of mind. 


vincinta. When we started the commune, 
Virginia and I had been lovers for almost 
two years. There was something about us 
that fit. Tumblers moved and we locked to- 
gether. There were some dreadfully unhappy 


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PLAYBOY 


times, but we both needed other things 
more than happiness. It was those other 
things that we were all about. 

Virginia, Virginia, Virginia, how did 
my life get so mixed up with yours? 

You were very different from other 
women I had been attracted to. Had 
I met you earlier, I would have thought 
you were almost ugly—nose much too 
big and poorly defined, narrow, low 
forehead, cheekbones high and spread— 
but you carried it all with such grace 
and dignity. Most women seemed to be 
either attractive or unattractive and that 
was that. I have never belore or since 
met anyone who was as beautiful to me 
when you were beautiful or as ugly when 
you were ugly Your awesome range 
transfixed me, and always those legs, 
which were too perfect to be quite human. 

1 wish I could remember more about 
what role Vincent played in bringing us 
together. Vincent had known Virginia 
for quite a while. He hinted that at one 
time there had been more between them 
than friendship but that it had ended 
disastrously. 

Jack and Kathy signed on shortly after 
Simon got to the commune, We were all 
Swarthmore class of "6! on helped pay 
for the land. Jack and Kathy had both 
lived in the same house I had my last two 
years at Swarthmore, but I still can't 
say | knew them very well. They were 
good friends of Simon's. Kathy had a 
Wisconsin-farmgirl wholesomeness that 
years of heroin addiction wouldn't have 
put much of a dent in. Jack was into Zen 
and mountain climbing but in a very 
nonflaky way. If there was anyone at the 
farm with his feet firmly on the ground, it 
was Jack. He had the most tangible reason 
for being there. Jack was our official draft 
dodger. 


pRuGs. Most of the people at the farm 
were wellseasoned trippers. People were 
always a little surprised to find out that 
I wasn't My first experience, about a 
year before starting the commune, had 
been a disaster. It was pure "bad.trip- 
proof" mescaline, with people I knew 
well and uusted, and in an idyllic and 
familiar setting. I was shaking, I was cry- 
ing, | was scared. Not the whole time. 
but for quite a bit of it. A few days later, 
after many cold showers and lots of stay- 
ing in bed, it started slowing down and 
then went away. 

I was different from other people. That 
was the meat of it. It wasn't just the 
psychedelics that hit me differently. 
Enough speed to keep most people up 
one ht spaced me out for three. Amyl 
n e was a fine two-minute high that 
blasted me for hours. I couldn't even do 
grass right. Everyone else would get drow- 
sy and mellow, while I'd become hyped. 
Grass was still pleasant for me, so I 
smoked my share, but I couldn't help 
worrying about what the hell made drugs 


120 so different for me. 


And then it happened. Just after 
Christmas, a year and a hal after my 
mescaline disaster, I had a “normal” acid 
trip. I went up, got high and came down 
just like my fellow trippers, Virge and 
a couple from another commune. The 
farm or simply the passage of time had 
cured whatever it was that made me so 
different from my friends. 

A few weeks after my normal acid wip, 
Vincent paid us one of his several visits. 
His life scemed to have become an un- 
ending route among three communes, 
ours, one in California and one in Ver- 
mont. The people at each place assumed 
that his real home was at one of the others. 

The people in California had been 
good friends of Virginia's at Swarthmore. 
She and I had been talking about taking 
off from the farm for a bit. It was too wet 
and cold to do much outside and not 
much needed doing inside. There were 
some heavier things involved as well. She 
thought she was getting too ego-involved 
with the farm and wanted to see how 
things would go without her. I felt the 
same but wasn't really up for a wip to 
California. One way or another, it was 
led that Virge would catch a ride 
ncent and I'd stay at the farm. 

At that point, we were better than 
halfway through our fist winter and 
things had gone far better than any of us 
had dared hope. We had had no major 
disasters and were well stocked with food 
and firewood. Our new roof was holding 
up beautifully under what the locals were 
calling the worst winter in years, Life in 
the wilderness was tuming out to be 
pretty cushy and could only get better 
and better. 1 almost wished it had been 
harder. I had expected to bust my ass for a 
good ten years or more to feel that good, 
and there I was in Eden before 1 knew 
what me. 

About a weck after Virginia lcft, the 
winter drear lifted and we got some 
weather appropriate to my sense of glee. 
"rhe temperature jumped about 20 de- 
grees. The cloud cover we had resigned 
ourselves to till spring was replaced by 
unbroken blue. The snow was melting 
and a few patches of grass could be seen 
poking through. A hint of spring was in 
the air. I was ecstatic, but Simon, Kathy 
and Jack seemed strangely stuck in some 
winter rut. They just dragged around 
business-as-usual-like. On the second day 
of our January thaw, just to make sure 
they didn't miss it altogether, 1 suggested 
we all drop a little mescaline. 1t didn't 
change my mood much, but it did won- 
ders for them. 

After some sun-bathing on the roof, 
fun and games with goats and countless 
other diversions, we were all together, 
looking at the fields, the mountains, the 
stream running through the orchard. 

“This is Eden," I said. Nobody dis 
agreed 

No doubt about it, looking around at 
the farm, at the people, at everything. It 


had finally gone somewhere. Kathy and 
Simon and I were crying and laughing 
for joy. It had really happened. Every- 
thing confirmed it. We were dumfounded 
with joy. A day later, my friends and 
the weather returned to normal. For me, 
things just got better and better. 


THE FACE. And then one night, as 1 
was trying to get to sleep. marveling at 
the fuilness of every moment of the day, 
I started listening to and fecling my 
heartbeat. Suddenly, 1 became terribly 
frightened that it would stop. 

And from out of nowhere came an 
credibly wrinkled, iridescent face. Starting 
a5 a small point infinitely distant, it rushed 
forward, becoming infinitely huge. When 
I first saw the face coming toward me, 
I thought, Oh, goody. What 1 had in 
mind was a nice reasonable conversation. 
My enthusiasm was shortlived. He, 
she or whatever didn't seem much inter- 
ested in the sort of conversation I had in 
mind. It also seemed not to like me much. 
But the worst of it was that it didn't stop 
coming. It had no respect for my personal 
space, no inclination to maintain a coi 
versational distance. When I could easil 
make out all its features, when it and 1 
were more or less on the same scale, when 
I thought there was maybe a foot or two 
between us, it was actually hundreds of 
miles away, and it kept coming and coming 
till I was lost somewhere in some pore 
in its nose and it still kept coming. I was 
enveloped, dwarfed. 

“So you really want ro go on a trip, do 
you? OK, punk, now you're really going 
to fly." Or words to that effect. Not words, 
exactly, more like thunder. 

I lay rigid all night, listening to 
the sound of the stream, figuring that 
somehow, by being aware of sounds and 
rhythms outside myself, 1 could keep my 
own bodily rhythms going. Losing con- 
sciousness of something outside myself 
meant that I would die. I realized that 
this meant I could never sleep again. 

The sun came up as I was lying quietly, 
listening to the stream. Everything seemed 
fine. Jack had told me that according to 
the Zen Buddhists, after enlightenment 
you go back to doing whatever it was 
you did before—selling shoes, farming, 
whatever. It seemed like pretty good 
advice, so I tried to keep doing all the 
things I had always done around the 
place. But it became increasingly difficult 
and finally impossible to keep fun 

Small tasks became incredibly intricate 
and complex. It began with pruning the 
fruit trees. One saw cut would take for- 
ever. I was completely absorbed in the 
sawdust floating gently to the ground, the 
feel of the saw in my hand, the incredible 
patterns in the bark, the muscles in my 
arm pulling back and then pushing for- 
ward. I began to notice that the trees were 
ever so slightly luminescent, shining with 
a soft inner light that played around the 

(continued on page 218) 


MEAN 
FEET 


attire 
By ROBERT L.GREEN 


hip shoes and boots 
to keep you a step 
ahead of the crowd 


Here, a pair of leather riding-style boots 
with contrasting cuff and smooth toe, 
by Itolia Bootwear, about $85. 


Right: Suede Eskimo-look ankle boot with 
combination eyelet/hook locing, leather 
and stitch trim and acrylic fleece lining, 
by Clarks of England, $32. Below 

left: A pair of puffed cushion leather 
lace-up shoes with ribbed rubber sole 
ond sloped-down heel, by Earth, 
$37.50, shown with acrylic knit over- 
the-calf toe socks, by Hot Sox, $5. 
Below right: Pull-on boot of elk-tonned 
leother with rubber base and vulcanized 
textured sole and heel, by Bass, $30. 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY ALBERTO RIZZO 


Left: Mid-calf square-toed boot that 
features double raised stitching and zip 
side closure, by Bridgetawn Flood, about 
$40. Below left: A pair of a 

leather lace-up shaes with whip-stitch 
trim and hand-stoined crepe wedged 
sole, by Dexter, about $28, worn with 
Orlan ccrylic/nylon knit over-the-colf ski- 
pattern sacks, by Interwoven, $3.50. 
Below right: A supersoft suede uncon- 
structed lace-up demiboat with crepe 

sole, by Nancy Knox far Intercueras, $35. 


123 


PLAYBOY 


RADIO SEMI (continued from page 103) 


lifts the microphone from the citizen’s- 
band radio—the two-way. He speaks: 

"I need a copy on an eastbound 
eighteen-wheeler with ears. This is Dia- 
mondback.” (What he has said is this: 
“I sure would like to talk with another 
trucker whos coming from where I'm 
going and my code name is Diamond- 
back.) 

“You got one, Diamondback,” a voice 
crackles over the two-way. “This here's 
the Wabash Cannonball. Come on.” 

“Ten-four, Cannonball. Uh, 
we're just pullin’ out of the Windmill 
and we would definitely appreciate some 
information on Smokey the Bear out 
there on the boulevard west.” 


nondback. Not a cotton-pickin’ bear 
in sight. Uh, you might even consider 
puttin’ that hammer down and doin’ a 
little truckin‘.” (Bears are cops and the 
hammer is the accelerator and, well, you 
n put the rest together.) 

reciate that info, good buddy. 
You're also dean, all the way to Breeze- 
wood, so motor, motor, motor. Have a 
nice evening and a better day tomorrow. 
This is Diamondback streakin’ west." 

“A big tenfour on that, ole buddy. 
We'll catch you on the flip side." 

He speeds up; no bears, clear sailing. 

Somewhere in that low-level mythology 
of names and jargon is a special breed; 
they've always been there, but the radio 
has given them voice—a luster and 
charm that tends to make one think of 
truckers as modern American cowboys or 
folk heroes. 

Also, somewhere in there lies a large 
portion of poetic justice. Because what 
the truckers have done is to take the 
smokeys chief weapon—the radio—and 
turn it to their own advantage. 

Assuredly, many of the truckers use it 
to drive faster than 55, but then, the four- 
wheelers don't observe the speed limit, 
either. I mean, what's fair is fair. And 
just plain people don't have an irascible 
loading-ock foreman waiting for them 
on the Shaky Side (California) or the 
Dirty Side (New York or New Jersey). 
‘The one thing they all share is a deter- 
mination to get there quickly, because, 
simply stated, the less time it takes, the 
more loads they can make; and the more 
loads they make, the more money they 
make. 

So the last thing they need is a speed- 
ing ticket. But in some states Ohio, for 
instance, where at times they give tickets 
for going 56 mph—it is difficult. This is 
what makes the game of cops and truck- 
ers a hot one in most places. Not that the 
truckers fall into the Clyde Barrow class. 
Hell, they are the good guys. Any profes- 
sion that can produce names like Chicken 


124 Choker or Peter Dragon or Minnesota 


Wino or Colorado Cooler can't be all 
bad. "There is even the UFO and Spanish 
Fly and 007 and the Blue Max and Rum- 
runner. And if those last two don't tell 
you something, then you need your hero- 
worship card revoked. The names are 
more than just handles used on a two- 
way; they are an insight into a subculture. 
And the dialog is at least as important as 
the chatter from a baseball dugout. 

It is night on the Pennsylvania Turn- 
pike just west of Somerset. Muhammad 
Ali (the real Muhammad Ali, not a high- 
way hero worshiper using the handle), 
who has been a C.B. buff for years, 
speaks: 

“This is Big Bopper and I sure would 
like some info on what's happenin’ out 
there on the road east.’ 

“Hey, Big Bopper, we sure do know 
who you are. And I'm pleased to tell you 
there's clear sailin' for you all the way 
home. Hey, champ, you gonna polish off 
Wepner in the first round? We're all with 
you. I mean all us truckers.” 

The trucker is the microcosm of the 
rolledupsleeve workingman. He can 
speak in one huge voice for the plumbers 
of America. For the carpenters. For the 
longshoremen. He can speak on many 
things. And people are beginning to li: 
ten, particularly to his C.B. voice. 

Buried deep down in the ten-fours and 
cotton-pickin’s is a service the American 
road has never seen before, a side people 
seldom hear about. Truckers use the C.B. 
to report accidents, stranded cars, high- 
way conditions and a whole lot of things 
a handful of cops couldn't possibly cover. 

The two-way popularity is increasing 
in staggering proportions. More than 
6,000,000 are now in use. Hell, that’s one 
out of every five long-haul trucks, three 
out of every seven four-wheel-drive vehi- 
cles and even one out of 39 four-wheelers, 
according to. Browning Laboratorics, one 
of the largest manufacturers of C. Tf 
that isn't enough to frost a bear or two, 
C.B. sales, nationwide, have jumped to 
over 50,000 units per month. 

The C.B. certainly relieves the bore- 
dom, and it can get pretty goddamn lone- 
ly up there in that cab with one man, a 
I3speed transmission and a ride that 
would jar the Jockey shorts off a dinosaur. 
It is a friend, someone you can talk to. 
And listen to it talk back. God knows, a 
guy can't talk much over truckstop 
chicken-fried steak or hot roast-beef sand- 
wiches with mashed potatoes and gravy 
that is congealing right there before your 
eyes, 

So they talk while hammering along, 
and if, in the course of conversation, a 
caravan forms, well, why not? There is 
protection in numbers. They may stretch 
out a five- or six-truck caravan as far 
as 20 miles, which is, incidentally, the 


effective range of most C.B. units. There 
is a front door and a back door and 
everything in between is the rocking chair. 
Here come some of our folk heroes now: 

“This is the Mile High Country Picker 
and I need a copy on an castbound 
cighteen-wheeler."" 

"You got one, Mile High Country 
Picker. And what else you've got is clear 
sailing all the way to the Kansas line.” 
‘That's the kind of info we like to 
hear. What's your handle, Eastbound?" 

"You've got the Short Stack; come on." 

"Uh, Short Stack, you got some good 
truckin’ ahead of you, too. There was a 
bear in the grass at the milefivefive 
marker, but we got reports that he pulled 
off the boulevard at the Sedalia exit. You 
might keep your eyes open around there. 
But other than that, you're all clear to 
Columbia. Have a good truckin’ evening 
and a better one tomorrow." 

“Thank you for the info, good buddy. 
You remember to keep the rubber side 
down and the shiny side up. One Short 
Stack. We're eastbound. We're down.” 

They both know what is ahead. It is 
the westbound caravan we hear from 
next: 


Jh, this is the Mile High Country 
Picker on the front door and I've just 
heard from the world-famous Short Stack 
that it’s clean all the way to Kansas, so, 
uh, put the hammers down and bring ‘em 
on. Come on, come on 
“And you got the Number One Jelly 
Belly on the back door. Everything is 
cool back here and we'll keep a watch for 
any bears that might try to sneak up. All 
you truckers up there in the rockin’ ch 
put those hammers down. This is the 
Number One Jelly Belly, Country Picker, 
and we're bringin’ ‘em on home. Ya-hoo!" 
"Breaker! Breaker! Breaker! This is 
Little Diesel in the rockin’ chair. There's 
a bear that just pulled onto the boulevard. 
at the milefourseven marker. Bring ‘em 
down, bring "em dowr 
The highway-patrol cruiser cases over 
to the side and the last three trucks in 
the caravan roll post him at exactly 55 
miles per hour. A few miles down the 
road, they are back up to normal cruising 
ed. And now the front door takes over 


“Uh, eastbound eighteen-wheclers, we 
got a bear in the grass at mile-four-six 
marker in the westbound lane and he's 
takin’ pictures [radar]. You might want to 
back 'em down a tad." 

“Thank you for the info, good buddy. 
We've now got a big fivefive on the 
clock here and we'll pass this info along 
to westbound truckers as we motor on. 
You've got good truckin' all the way to 
the big Sunflower sign. Uh, this is the 
Jolly Roger on the front door of a caravan 
legalizin cast.” 

“And this is the Mile High Country 
Picker streakin’ west. Bring ‘em on, 
Number One Jelly Belly. Keep the girls 

(continued on page 155) 


EYEBALL CONTEMPLATES his drink, a 
shining column the size of a roll of 
half dollars. It is bracketed by a pair 
of platform shoes, six-inch jobs with 
sequins and tiny Statues of Liberty em- 
broidered on each toe. The topless has 
gone to work. With the halting grace 
of an English scissors jack, she lowers 
herself into position, a bouncing 
lorearmson-thighs squat. Delicately, 
she fingers the edge of the black-satin 
G string, then, hooking a thumb under 
the elastic strap, begins snapping it in 


article 


By JAMES R. PETERSEN 


a thirst-quenching adventure at one of 
the last outposts on the sexual frontier 


BEEN GOING 
DOWN SO LONG 
IT LOOKS LIKE 

UP TO ME 


time to the music on the jukebox. And. 
My. Whole. World. Lies. Waiting. Be- 
hind. Door. Number. Three. Eyeball 
feels stupid, consigned to a corner. He 
doesn't know what is expected of him. 
The topless draws aside the triangular 


curtain. 
"Ever want to be a gynecologist?” 
What's a fivesyllable word like that 
doing in a place like this? Eyeball 
quickly reviews the life choices that 
Drought him to this moment. In high 
school, (continued on page 128) 


thacconalia 


twenty one ways fo get—and 
stay—elegantly well lit 


The stuff that smake dreams are mode of. Clackwise fram 
11: Chinese-made silk-ond-goose-dawn smoking jacket, by 
Hunting Warld, $425. Pigskin-on-glass tabacca humidor, 
by Gucci, $52, ond gold-rimmed cigar holder, by Tiffany, 
$80, bath sit atop c burled-walnut cigarette box, by Alfred 
Dunhill, $50. Elephanthide humidor that was once a ship's 
porthole, by Hunting World, $350. Behind it, an electric 
pipe reamer that’s designed ta remove just the right amaunt 
af cake, by Iwan Ries, $50. lralian-mode leather cigarette 
cose, by Mark Cross, $30. Two leather-bound editions— 
The Gentle Art of Smoking, $22, and The Pipe Book, $29, 
both by Alfred Dunhill. Rollagas lighter in a gold-plated 
bark finish, by Alfred Dunhill, $145. Kaywoodie supergrain 


pipe, from S. M. Frank, $12.95, nestles inside a baby-lamb 
tobacco pouch/pipe holder, by Iwan Ries, $14.50. Belaw it 
ore a 14-Kt.-gold cigarette holder, by Cartier, $160, and a 
pipe tool in 14-kt. cold, by Tiffany, $200. The pewter 
knocker ashtray with pipe rest, by Alfred Dunhill, $80, holds 
pin-striped The Pipe, by Venturi, $17.50, ond meerschaum 
cigar holder, by Alfred Dunhill, $6.50. Above it is a 
Lucite-and-silver-finished cambination lighter-cigarette 
container, by Gucci, $95. Sterling cigarette case with a lapis 
clasp, by Cartier, $300. Nording pipe of Mediterranean 
bruyère raat features a custom-fashianed bit, by 

Douwe Egberts, $220. Last, an 18-kt.-gold and 
geometrichard-stone lighter, by Cartier, $850. 


PLAYBOY 


128 


BEEN GOING DOWN SO LONG 


he took a Kuder Preference test, one of 
those green things you poked holes in 
with a pen. Or clipped to a clothesline 
and blasted with a I2-gauge, as Eyeball 
did, His guidance counselor had suggested 
a career in journalism. 

“Don't get your finger caught.” 

Eyeball wipes his hand on a napkin. 
Not from nervousness. Courtesy. To re- 
move condensation picked up from the 
chilled glas. He reaches forward. The 
first contact is tentative. Mildly adhesive. 
An insult to every gynecologist in the 
country. The topless doesn’t even scream. 
Alter five seconds, she releases the garter, 
severing the relationship and very nearly 
Eycball's index finger at the first joint. 
The regulars snort, exchange glances. 
Obviously, the kid is a beginner. He'll 
learn. 


“Where is the action in this town?" 

Having bounced that question off the 
Plexiglas security barriers of five succes- 
sive New York cabs, with no luck, 1 am 
beginning to take the silence. personally. 
"The fault does not lie with my delivery. 
Practiced. Offhand. Hip. A cross between 
the kind of guy who does this on. every 
business trip and the kind of guy to whom 
the possibility has just occurred. that— 
somewhere—action exists for the asking. 
5o far, my drivers have been Ph.D. candi 
dates in one obscure study or another, 
whose idea of a good time involves getting 
locked overnight in the public library 
with a flashlight and The True Story of 
Eleanor of Aquitaine. 

My new driver doesn’t look promising. 
Having sorted through the previous fare, 
he stashes it in the floor vault, turns, 
pushes open the moncy tray, blows out 
the cigarette ashes and asks where I'm 
headed. I tell him the Algonquin Hotel 
and explain the nature of my quest. 

‘The flag drops and ten or so of the 
8,000,000 stories in the naked city break 
from the gate. At last, I've found a live 
one. "Well, there's this place down by the 
docks. A leather bar. It's got one of the 
best pool games in the city. People go there 
to hustle or get hustled. Everybody's fa- 
mous, On weekends, it sponsors gay re- 
vues and fist-fucking contests for the 
sailors. A regular Ted Mack amateur hour. 

“On weekdays, the place gives equal 
time to straights with a businessmen's 
luncheon special. A topless waitress and 
all you can eat. For a dollar, you can cop 
a fecl or go down on the girl. A dollar a 
touch, a dollar a lick. Can't beat prices 
like that, can you? If you want to check 
it out, pick up a copy of the Screw that 
came out this morning. Al Goldstein 
wrote a column on the place. He says the 
action depends on the girl, but what else 
is new? It always depends on the girl. 
Story of my fucking life." 

1 ask him why a waitress who, if 1 had 


(continued from page 125) 


gotten it right, exposed the parts of her 
body below the waist in the exercise of 
her duties would be called a topless. 

“If you're staring a the bush, 
you think you're going to remember her 
face’ 

The clevator operator at the Algon- 
quin does not have a copy of Screw in his 
stack of papers, thank you. I pick one up 
at a stand on Broadway, from a blind 
news dealer. Not bad for an omen. While 
I'm waiting for the light to change, a very 
attractive girl buys a copy of Screw, press- 
ing exact change into the dealers hand 
with a smile that he feels, rather than 
sees. I am scized with immediate, undying 
love. I imagine asking her to lunch. “Oh, 
I was just checking the ad I placed in 
"Personals; Here it is. ‘Gracious lady in 
Sutton Place apartment seeks meaningful 
relationship." The one genuine come-on 
a page filled with ads placed by real- 
estate agents who have property to move 
on Sunon Place. t is minutes before 1 
can walk. 


‘The next morning, I call up Nathaniel 
Bynner, my old college roommate, for 
brunch. We meet at Maxwell's Plum, 
ngles club on the Upper East Side 

features brass nudes and arrogant 
waiters in equal proportion. I discreedy 
spread the issue of Screw on the table, 
Knowing that it will be mistaken for The 
New Yorh Review of Books. While Nat 
reads Goldstein's column, 1 watch two 
girls at the next table. They are dressed 
in identical black Danskin tops, or they 
use the same jar of body paint in the 
morning. The topic of discussion. seems 
to be sexual response. ("How long does 
your orgasm last?” "From now . .. to 
now.” Terrific: a definition of the phrase 
“L guess you had to be there.) Nathaniel 
interrupts my reverie. 

“So you're going to pay for it?" 

“Depends on what you mean by it. I 
have, on occasion, paid for an indefinite 
antecedent, Loved every minute of it, 
too. Unless you think a total waste 
of money, you always get what you pay 
for.” 

"No, I'm serious. Don't you have any 
reservations about engaging in commer- 
cial sex?” 

Just because Holden Caulfield didn't 
make it with the girl in the green dress, 
we all have to be sensitive? I'm not be- 
traying the sexual revolution. If I am, it's 
my second offense. Last time 1 was in 
New York, curiosity and an expense ac- 
count got the better of me. I checked out 
this high-class massage parlor. The bro- 
chure said, ‘AIl Major Credit Cards Ac- 
cepted,” but they wouldn't take my Carte 
Blanche. So I signed oyer all of my 
traveler's checks for the basic program— 
massage, whirlpool, hotrock sauna, mir- 
rored room, etc. When I was alone in the 


room with the girl, she explained that 
she worked for tips and that the size of 
the tip determined the quality of the 
service. I didn't know how much money 
1 had left, so I started counting it out on 
the massage table. As the stack ol bills 
grew, so did I. I felt like Basil Rathbone 
in an old Sherlock Holmes movie. Hello! 
What have we here, Watson? The tra 


action itclí was the turnon. I w 
amazed.’ 
Nathaniel dismisses my amazement 


“You just discovered one of the seventeen 
measures of the strength of the dollar. 1 
want to know the clinical details.” 

had enough moncy for the French 
program. We discussed the auteur theory 
of film making, the works of Claude 
Chabrol and specifically the significance of 
Orson Welles's nose in the movie Ten 
Days’ Wonder. Incredible insight, That 
girl could have written for The Neu 


Yorker. No, scratch that. She was too in- 
telligent; she would have scen through the 
hype for Nashville.” 

“So you dropped a hundred bucks for 
you 


an hour of movie reviews, when 


“Did I say that? I received an adequate 
massage. I've had better. Also, the girl 
gave incredible head. However, I'm not 
sure that a topless lunch bar can be com- 
pared with a massage parlor. A different 
standard of economics applies. for one 
thing. You notice a hundred dollars, but 
what's a couple of bucks? It’s more like 
an honorarium. I figure these chicks are 
wealthy socialites who like their work so 
much they agree to do it for a dollar a lick. 
Maybe. 


‘The cab lets me out near a windowless 
two-story brick more, the only building o 
an odd-shaped block that is as far west as 
you can go and still be on Manhattan 
That alone should qualify the area as a sex 
ual frontier. The wide cobblestone streets 
that isolate the building from the neighbor- 
ing warehouses and meatpacking plants 
seem confused: Is this the place? There is 
almost nothing to ate that the motel 
houses a bar, except for an unmanned 
sandwich board, propped on the sidewalk 
by a fireplug: TOPLESS DANG! 

EVERY DAY. 11 A.M. TO 8 P.M. The eight is 
taped over. I assume the bar is making 
preparations, in case Goldstein's column 
gets picked up by the media and the Beau- 
tiful People, known for keeping ridiculous 
hours, decide to make cating out y 
thing. ("Baron von urper, et 
were seen last night at. .. .”) 

1 push through double doors into a 
cavernous room. The place seems empti 
than it is. High dark ceiling. Low hanging 
lights. No booths. No tables. No mirrors. 
None of the tiny breakable items that 
create “atmosphere.” Just a rectangular 
bar in the middle of the room, a walled 

(continued on page 172) 


S. NEW GIRLS 


al, 


x 


THE WORDS HAVE 
CAUGHT UP WITH THE 
IMAGES IN MAKING 
THE MOVIES HOT 


article 
By ARTHUR KNIGHT 


SOONER OR LATER, Whenever cock- 
tail conversations got around to 
the topic of movies this year, 
somebody would bring up one 
film— Warren Beatty's Shampoo— 
and one specific scene from that 
picture, a sequence filmed at Bev- 
erly Hills’ posh Bistro restaurant, 
supposedly on the night of Rich- 
ard Nixon's 1968 ballot-box tri- 
umph. During a spectacularly 
banal dinner party thrown by well- 
heeled local Republicans, Julie 
Christie, playing the mistress of 
financier Jack Warden, is asked by 
a movie producer (portrayed by 
movie producer William Castle) 
what she would like. 

"What would I really like?” 
asks Christie. Castle nods, Point- 
ing to Beatty, who plays a Beverly 
Hills superstud hairdresser, she 
replies, “I'd like to suck his cock." 
And she disappears beneath the 
table long enough to put her wish 
into action. 

‘Two points about that scene 
pretty well sum up the sexual 
mores of current films. Christic’s 
language is more explicit than ever 
used to be heard in first-run movie- 
houses; but the sexual activity itself 
is more suggested than carried 
out (lexi continued on page 142) 


SOMETHING FOR E. 

about as sexy as “Jaws” ever gets. In “The Man Who Would Be King" (top left), Michael Caine and Sean Connery battle 
temptation, but “Love and Death" (top right) finds Woody Allen succumbing to Olga Georges-Picot. Valerie Perrine (center 
left, with Dustin Hoffman) and Gwen Welles (center right) strip in “Lenny” Nashville,” respectively. “Embryo” (above 


left) casts Rock Hudson as a doctor and Barbara Carrera as a victim of his research; and in “Mandingo” (above right), a 
lurid melodrama about slave breeding, Rosemary Tichenor gets a feel of the merchandise—in this case, Ken Norton. 


CRIME TIME: Whether a guy—or a gal— 
is cop or robber, there's always time, at least 
in the movies, for a little foreplay-by-pla: 
“Night Moves” allows detective Gene Hack- 
man, while looking for a runaway, to dally 
with Jennifer Warren (above left); mean- 
while, back in Hong Kong, avenging angel 
Jeanne Bell in the title role of “TNT Jack- 
son" (above right) deals harshly with an 
adversary. (Offscreen, Jeanne—our October 
1969 Playmate, remember?—had been linked 
with actor Richard Burton.) Paul Newman, 
reprising his 1966 assignment as private eye 
Lew Harper in “The Drowning Pool,” at- 
tempts a cover-up for hooker Linda Haynes 
(right). On the other side of the law, “Lepke” 
(below right) brings Tony Curtis back to 
the screen in the role of Louis “Lepke” 
Buchalter, prominent Syndicate figure of the 
Thirties; here he's hiding out (and whiling 
the time away) with a lady of the evening, 
played by Mary Wilcox. More 

lines are exploited in “The 

(below left), which stars James Caan and 
Robert Duvall as dirty tricksters hired by 
a sinister, CIA-type organization. Duvall’s 
companion here is Uschi Digard, previously 
exposed in a trio of Russ Meyer's sexploits. 


MUSICAL SCORING: Song-and-dance extravaganzas are bursting with a type of rib- 
aldry new to the genre. Ken Russe isztomania" has Roger Daltrey, as a rocky 
imitation of the famed 19th Gentury composer, doing the heavy fantastic. There's a 
phallic nightmare (above left), an episode with Richard Wagner as a fanged vampire 
and—well, look it all up in last month's raveoy. Tim Curry dons garters and lace 
for “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” (above right), while the folks who back Cindy 
Williams and Stephen Nathan in “The First Nudie Musical” (below) doff nearly 
everything. “Nudie Musical" is a simultancous spoof of porno flicks and the Fred 


Astoire-Ginger Rogers confections of yesteryear. Most musical of all, in that every 
word is sung, is the rock opera “Tommy,” by Ken Russell (again), with Roger Daltrey 
(again) in the title role. Bottom left, Tommy—struck blind, deaf and dumb by a 
childhood trauma—seeks a cure at the feet of “Saint Marilyn”; left, Ann. Margret, as 
his mum, wallows in a gooey mishmash of baked beans, chocolate and soapsuds. 


133 


Our May 1973 Playmate of the Month, Anulka Dziubinska, is a 
Jor Sally Faulkner in “Vampyres . . . Daughters of Dracula" (above left). 


A French entry, “Les Expériences Erotiques de Frankenstein," lets the monste 

(Fernando Bilbao) bang away at an unidentified partner (above right). Joe 
Dallesandro, in “Andy Warhol's Dracula" (below), relieves Dominique Darrell 
of her eligibility as a cocktail for the count: He drinks only virgins’ blood. Also 
horrific: Peggy Sipots getting cold feet in “Ilsa, She Wolf of the SS” (bottom 
left) and “The Devil's Rain,” with Lisa Todd seducing William Shatner (lejt). 


YOKS: Early on in Mel Brooks's "Young Frankenstein,” there's some audible 
speculation as to the sie of the monsters Schwamzstücker. We never learn its 
true dimensions, but Madeline Kahn, as the mad doctor's formerly frigid fiancée, 


seems to relish the advances of its gigantic owner, Peter Boyle (above). Other 
comic fare presents Elliott Could and Diane Keaton coming clean in “I Will, 1 
Will... for Now,” a wry look at an on-again, off-again marital relationship, due 
for December release (right), and Skip Burton, in “Linda Lovelace for President,” 
enthusiastically plunging into the campaign—as well as the candidate (below) 


STEAMING TEE, e Finds Andy Hardy" was never like this! 

"wo treatments of adolescent sexual initiation, both imported, are DIRTY OLD MEN: The geriatrics ward may 
France's “Lacombe, Lucien" (above), with Pierre Blase and Aurore be just around the corner, but these fellows can 
Clément playing young lovers, and Sweden's “Flossie,” a modern-dress still mess around. Georges Adet reaches out for 
version of a 19th Century novel (below), with Maria Lynn and Anita Antonia Lotita in the family-operated bordello 


Andersson (back to camera) as students at a private school for girls from "Le Grand Délire” (above). Sue Ling, 


Olivia Enke and Susan Stewart, inmates of 
another brothel, entertain an elderly friend in 
“Farewell, My Lovely” (right). Walter Matthau 
is a timeworn ex-vaudevillian playing doctor 
with Lee Meredith in “The Sunshine. Boys" 
(below right). But the most decadent senior cili- 


zen in recent film history is portrayed by Alam 
Cuny in “Emmanuelle.” Cuny, as an aging roué 
named Mario, introduces Emmanuelle (Sylvia 
Kristel) to a variety of erotic practices, among 
them (below) a sexual sandwich that utilizes 
an anonymous Thai volunteer as its filling. 


GETTING INTO PLASTICS: Living dolls, according to these three films, 
are preferable to the real thing. Katharine Ross is turned into a besomy 
robot during “The Stepford Wives” (above left); Valerie Marron gets 
off on a statue (above right) in “Wet Rainbow,” a porno opus also star 
ring the indefatigable duo of Harry Reems and Georgina Spelvin; Michel 


Piccoli, in France's “Life-Size Dall,” beds down with pneumatic twins. 


Having a bit of fun with phallic symbolism are veteran sexologisis Drs. Phyllis and Eberhard Kronhausen, 


BIG BANG: 
own” (above left), and equally seasoned skin-flick mogul Russ Meyer, with “Supervixens” 


creators of “The Hottest Show in 


(above right). The Kronhausens’ gimmick involves a down-at-the-heels Danish circus where the performers bolster dwindling 
receipts by staging explicit sex acts; Meyer modestly describes his picture as “hilariously funny . . . the epitome of 20 years 
of gut-tearing film making.” Here, Charles Napier, as a vicious cop, plans an explosive climax for Supervixen (Shari Eubank), 
s to be rescued by her boyfriend Clint, who works as a gas-pump jockey for ex-Nazi Martin Bormann, who. 


who ho; 


HAPPY HOOKER. The adventures of the world’s best-known callgirl are 
the inspiration for a trio of films: “The Life and Times of Xaviera 
Hollander” (above), a hard-core release featuring Samantha McLaren; “The 
Happy Hooker,” starring Lynn Redgrave (with ston, above right), 
an R-rated version of Xaviera’s autobiography; and "My Pleasure Is My Busi- 
ness” (right), another mild (R) feature showcasing La Hollander in the flesh. 


YOU ALWAYS HURT THE ONE YOU LOVE: The whip-and-chain gang 
will doubtless flock to “The Story of Joanna” and “Story of O.” In the 
scene at left, maid Juliet Graham ministers to Joanna (Terri. Hall), who 
gels her kicks out of being mistress to a sadist. A similar theme is 
exploited in “Story of O” (below), based on an erotic novel by Pauline 
Réage and starring Corinne Cléry, here being disciplined by Jean Ga 


g current productions. 
The plot of “Jacqueline Susann's Once Is Nol Enough” (above left), a major-studio (Paramount) release, calls for Alexis Smith, 
as “the fifth-richest woman in the world,” to take elderly actress-recluse Melina Mercouri as her lesbian lover. The action is 
mainly (but not exclusively) heterosexual—and considerably rougher—in “The Private Afternoons of Pamela Mann,” starring 
Barbara Bourbon as a bored housewife wed to kinky Alan Marlow (above right). "Pamela; the hardcore hit of the 


year, is the work of director Radley ("Therese and Isabelle,’ “Camille 2000") Metzger under his nom de porn, Henry Paris. 


BURNING: The gangrene beneath the glamor that was Hollywood in the Thirties is cauterized in John Schlesinger's 
ambitious film version of Nathanael West's novel “The Day of the Locust.” Its characters’ passions, heated by fantasy and 


frustration, reach a literal combustion point at the film’s conclusion, an apocalyptic vision of Los Angeles’ destruction by fire. 
Lighting the fuse is Karen Black, playing Faye Greener, an uneriployed extra and part-time prostitute who moves in with 
Homer Simpson, an impotent Midwestern bookkeeper (Donald Sutherland, above left, his lap full of transvestite. en 
tertainer Paul Jabara), then betrays him with a stunt man (Bo Hopkins, above right) and a musician (Pepe Serna, below). 


BLOWING: A more contemporary view of California dreamin’ gone wrong is afforded by “Shampoo,” a day-in-the-life-of 
story of an amorous Beverly Hills hairdresser (Warren Beatty). The date in question—November 5, 1968—is the one that 
gave the country Richard Nixon (or vice versa), but George, the stylist, spends it providing personalized stud service for 

herever he finds them. Julie Christie (above) gets hers in the bath. “Shampoo” has a special affinity for blow 
jobs, with and without hair drier; sure to become a cinema classic is the verbal taboo-toppling party scene below, wherein 
Miss Christie loudly proclaims, “I'd like to suck his cock"—and, seemingly, applies herself to the task with a will. 


PLAYBOY 


before the camera. Consequently, Sham- 
poo won an R rating from the Motion 
Picture Assocation of America’s Code 
and Rating Administration. So did Harry 
and Tonto, in which a teenaged boy calls 
Ellen Burstyn a “cunt,” but Art Carney's 
encounter with a Las Vegas hocker is dis- 
creetly shrouded beneath a rapidly dos- 
ing convertible top. As far as industry 
officialdom is concerned, apparently. you 
can talk about sex all you want 10; just 
don't show it. 

You can show sl 


—in fairly copious 
amounts, The M.P.A.A.’s R has been ex- 
tended 10 include full frontal nudity, fe- 
ale (as in The Wild Party) and male (as 
n Mandingo), Nude flashes are, app: 
dmissible even in PG-rated (paren- 
lance suggested) films—Jaws, for 
pple. But the film makers themselves 
ve grown cautious. If a movie like Bite 
brothel on wheels 
ing the riders at the ei 
ance horse ra y 
century—had been made, say, in 1970, it 
would surely have included 
nude scenes of the girls in action 
year. In Posse, another turn-of-the-century 
Western, when Kirk Douglas is proffered 
the hospitality of a frontier boardinghouse 
he accepts the bed but politely 
refuses the boarding. Not too long ago, 
Douglas would never have dreamed of re- 
jecting so attractive an offer. 

Both producers, Douglas himself and 


Bullet’s Richard Brooks, elected to go for a 
PG rating rather than the stiffer R or X, 


ch a 


because they knew that they could r 
way witho 


wider audience tl 
iolence to their concepts. To- 
nks to newspapers that refuse ads 
nd R-rated movies—and even some 
communities that ban them altogether— 
the X is hated, the R feared by most 
akers. Ironically, however, the rat- 
ing that they dread most is the G, wi 
signifies that the fare is OK for everybody. 
Anyone who has ever attended a sneak 
preview of such a film can testify to the 
gromm that goes up from an audience 
when the G is flashed on the screen. Pro- 
ducer Robert Radniv, whose pictures 
prior to the current Birch Interval had 
been wholly and wholesomely G, correct- 
ly summarized the situation when he said, 
“You might wish to make a serious film 
that just happens to have no sex or vio- 
lence. . . . Not all stories of a serious 
nature contain thesc ingredients. At any 
rate, you make tlie film and end up with 
a G. That very G will by its nature put 
off initially a good part of the audience 
that might otherwise want to see that film.” 

Nobody ever seriously considered giv- 
ing,a G to Rollerball, Norman Jewison's 
inspired peck into a future free of wars, 
hunger, nationalism and racism. Accord- 
ing to the film, rollerball, new and 
lethal contact sport ting the 
rougher aspects of ice hockey and the roll- 
er derby, was invented to sublimate the 


Mg violent tendencies of most human beings. 


But, possibly because Rollerball, in addi- 
tion to its vivid depi 
most deadly game, also 
lly erotic love scenes, R 
the newly appointed head of 
M.P.A.A/s Code and Rating Admi 
tion, was in favor of giving the film 
Fortunately, calmer minds prevailed and 
the film ended up with an R. Even so, the 
disparity between the mild sexuality cum 
violence of Rollerball and the nonsexual- 
ity cum violence of the PG-rated Jaws 
touched off à minor shock wave of re- 
newed criticism of the ratings system. 
Certainly, by 1975 the churches had 
tired of the ratings game as played by 
M.P.A.A. rules. As early as 1970. both 
Protestant and Catholic organizations had 
served notice on the Motion Picture As- 
sociation that they were unconvinced of 
the effectiveness of its Code and Rating 
Administration. The Catholics, who broke 
with the M.P.A-A. four years 
their own C (for condemned) rat 
the major companies’ films (among them 
this year, Shampoo, Mandingo, Night 
Moves and Rancho Deluxe) they find 
wanting; while the Protestant N 
Council of Churches has abandoned its 
long-established practice of giving prizes 
to meritorious films, because, as the 
council admitted, the awards simply 


ion of the world's 
includes some 
rd D. Hefl- 
the 


didn't seem to be doing much good. 
Within the industry, the secrecy sur- 
rounding the ratings process created a fer- 
tile field for rumors, most of them hints 
oth i 


ntial Lew Wasserman, for example, 
on the code administration to get a 
ther than an R, for Jaws? And 
isn't the M.P.A.A e lenient in rating 
its own member: is than. those of in- 
dependent producers? Most small produc- 
ers, especially in the exploitation field, 
ignore the code administration altogether, 
preferring to take a self-imposed X rather 
than go to the expense of showing their 
wares to the M.P.A.A.—ánd ending up 
with an 

Those in the industry speak of a soft X 
(such as Emmanuelle) and a hard X. (such 
as Deep Throat), There is also the soft R. 
(Godfather 1, for example) and the hard 
R (Shampoo or Mandingo). But what does 
the general public know—or, for that mat- 
ter, Care—about these fine distinctions? 
The R and the X, whatever the neat 
discriminations in the minds of the Code 
and Rating Adm ion members, 
have come to spell in the minds of 
the ticket buyers. And if, to them, the 
X—intended merely as an "adults-onl 
label—stands for forbidden fruit, the R 
has come to mean merchandise they can 
sample with some assurance of seeing sex 
and/or violence. 


ics, including this one, 
nt American movie of 
Robert Aluman’s R-rated Nash- 
ville. While there is no possibility that it 
will ever overtake Steven Spielberg's 


PG-rated Jaws at the box office, what Nash- 
ville has to say about the American way 
of life—its strengths and its weaknesses— 
has a cutting edge that could have been 
dulled to insignificance if its makers had 
opted for a ing. For example, 
Lily Tomlin plays a Gospel singer mar- 
ried to a rising, opportunistic young law 
yer (Ned Beatty). They have two deaf 
children, whom she raises and loves. But 
in the hectic five days k g to the 
political rally that clim the film, a 
youthful admirer (Keith C ine) comes 
into Nashville and propositions her. She 
accepts. More importantly, we know why 
she accepts. We know about her heart- 
break aud frustration, about her hus- 
band’s insensitivity, about all the factors 
that leave her vulnerable to a young lover. 
Or there is Gwen Welles, playing a 
waitress at the Nashville airport restau- 
nt—a girl with no talent but a bur 
re to appe: the Grand Ole Op: 
Believing it may lead to her big br 
she agrees to perform at a stag pi 
hoping that a sexy dress and a couple of 
socks stuffed into her bra will help put 
over her songs. But the assembled polit- 
icos don't want the socks, they want the 
real thing. Humiliated, the girl strips to 
the buff and gives it to them. Still another 
Nashville actress, Barbara Harris, plays a 
kewpie-doll nitwit who, although married 
to aselE-respecting dirt farmer, runs about 
offering herself to everybody who might 
get her onto the Opry stage. Sad-eved 
Shelley Duvall (who impressed the critics 
earlier in Altman's Thieves Like Us) turns 
up as a would-be groupie who will shack 
up with anything that sings; while Geral- 
dine Chaplin plays a BBC reporter who 
will ditto with anything that moves. 
Nashville boasts no fewer than 24 ma- 
jor roles, and these are only some of the 
people who make the film so pers 
and intriguing. Altman's movie is, 
a commentary on the quality of 
the United States today. And, in 
keeping with the trend we mentioned at 
the outset, no little of that commentary is 
delivered in bald, four-letter words, 
Indeed, a critical, even cynical ques- 
tioning of Ameriat’s lifestyle and sexual 
mores motivated a surprising number of 
the year's outstanding films—most of them 
ted. Shampoo, like Nashville, has 
ical overtones; but the 
st of its Warren Beatty 
‘Towne screenplay is directed against the 
luxury-oriented, bedroom-obsessed. Bever- 
ly Hills society of the late Sixties, with 
Beatty casting himself as a macho stylist 
who uses his easy access to the town's 
better boudoirs to promote a salon of 
his own. Shampoo, like a latter-day La 
Ronde, finds Beatty sleeping with Lee 
Grant, whose husband, Jack Warden, is 
keeping Julie Christie, who used to be 
Beatty's own big heartthrob. The perfect 
circle is disrupted, however, by the fact 
that Beatty also finds time for a giggly 
(continued on page 187) 


144 


IS 
RANDY 
NEWMAN 
A REDNECK 
COLE PORTER- 
OR JUST 
STRANGE? 


RANDY NEWMAN is chary of interviewers by reflex, bless his level 
sense, but bent even more unbendingly in that direction since 
the critical shit storm mounted in the pop-squeak press against 
his fifth album of art songs, Good Old Boys. Six months after 
the record's notoriery-nagged release in late 1974, the jowly, 
bespectacled composer / pianist /singer mumbles a wan hello and 
drops to a feral crouch on a leather sofa in a posh little parlor 
adjacent to his agent’s office, high up in one of those high-rise 
mégabucks towers in Beverly Hills. Newman doesn't look any- 
thing at all like a bourbon-gargling, no-necked redneck bent 
on "keepin' the niggers down." He looks more like a stand-in 
for Woody Allen or a brainy young English major parsing the 
Pearl Poet at the University of Kansas. 

Newman is seated opposite a visiting writer, but he is not 
necessarily locking his way. He is looking instead at the parlor's 
yum-yum appointments. Tasty—very tasty, indeed. Flocked 
blond walls and an overhead Casablanca fan. Paintings of some- 
thing brown and something mostly green. An antique English 
dartboard and a framed map of Poland. A burnished-oak table 
with claw legs, surrounded by a flotilla of Eamesish chairs. A 
Depression-era gum machine cleverly disguised as a lamp. Vari- 
ous bowers of growing things that doubtless bear the fruits of 
megabucks. . .. 

Newman sips c 


from a Carpenters Fan Club mug, fires 
up an unfiltered ci forward with an agitated 
semaphoring of the arms. he blurts, "anything I say 
will probably be just bullshit. I've been out on the road touring 
for months and. . . . What is it you want to know?" 

The writer reflects. He considers Newman the best American 
songwriter of the decade. You can shake your ass to Newman’ 
music and you can be stirred to thought by it. and if you're 
reasonably well coordinated, you can do both. What the writer 
wants to know, he says, is the story of Newman's life and all 
his opinions. 

Newman flashes a dropsical smile and lolls back against the 


leather cushions. "Oh, yeah? Hmn. Well, let me think, Sure, 
that’s not hard. Short and uneventful 
“Really, that’s it—nothing significant ever happened to me. 
I went to public schools in West Los Angeles and I spent sum- 
mers down around New Orleans as a boy. My mother's from 
the South and my father was stationed there when he was an 
Army doctor. 1 took piano lessons from the age of seven, I'd 
guess, until I was about 14. Then J knew everything and I 
Started writing songs when I was 16, 17. Worked for a 
publisher. They signed me up and oh, I'd write songs for 
various people. I started recording in '68, I believe it was, and 
then started performing a couple of years after that. I'm 31 
now. And here I am. Short, you see. Uneventful. 
Uh, well, yeah ... I'm known as a kind of closet racist in 
some quarters because of Good Old Boys. Mostly because of 
the song Rednecks. It was banned from airplay in Boston, you 
know—that busing situation there. I understood that com- 
pletely. I kind of concurred, in a way. 1 mean, why bother? 
Why stir up ripples in the sh 
“The fuss over that album was . . . was ludicrous to me, 
pointless. I didn't really keep up with all the things that were 
written about it. A lot of popmusic criticism is. . . it's like 
hitting the ground when you fall out of an airplane. I remem 
ber somebody compared me to a certain Heydrich, who was, I 
believe, a real obscure Navi. Killed in the purge of '34 or 
something. My brother told me about that. My brother's a 
doctor, like my father. Today's his birthday. The day Stalin 
died. FH have to remember to give him a call. 
"Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that I went to college. 
Didn't graduate, though. Came very dose. W 
g isa performance requirement. J was a music major 
and you had to be in a chorus or some kind of performing 
group to qualify for a degree. T tried to get out of it, but they 
wouldn't let me. I tried to tell them that, you know, I was 
already a professional musician, (continued on page 178) 


lately, when i'm performing, 
he said, i've noticed 
that my songs are kind of... unusual 


personality By GROVER LEWIS 


ILLUSTRATION BY SAM 


“One good joint deserves another.” 


THE VARGAS GIRL 


the procurer fromthe Mémoires du Cardinal Dubois (16561723) 


AFTER MY EXILE from the court of Louis 
XIV, the fishwives of the market laid 
a host of misadventures to my account— 
some true, some false—and certain fishes 
were rightfully christened after me. I 
did my best to maintain this evil reputa- 
tion, in the service of the Duc d'Orléans. 

Amongst the fancied beauties, facile or 
otherwise, 1 procured for the insatiable 
Monsieur le Duc, I have not forgotten 
Madame Ledru nor the nails of Ma 
tana. The Palais-Marchand was the 
center of my expeditions; there I had 
abducted a score of wellrounded trades- 
women and had painted myself as young 
or old, abbé, soldier or cit. Jt was un- 
der the name Abbé Dutrot that J first 
introduced myself to Monsieur Ledru. 
puck tures stamped him as 
the most jealous of horned husbands 
and a firm squint made his spouse view 
new crotches with caution. I admired her 
rehned plumpness, revealing. décolletage 
and alluring glances. 

I spoke of her to the duke, recom- 
mending ocular proof of my findings, 
and he agreed. At dusk we departed, 
after concocting a story and perfecting 
his disguise. At the suggestion of Ravan- 
nes, his valet, he chose the pseudonym 
Tallard, one that had succeeded in a pre- 
vious intrigue. 

"Good evening, Monsieur Ledru,” I 
said on entering. “I havc here a kin: 
man, an ironmonger who wishes to start 
a shop." 

"Our stock is of the finest quality, 
began the owner, displaying his wares. 

Monsieur Tallard, however, quickly 
perceived an object more dazzling than 
pots and pans. Madame Ledru noticed 
his attention and approached with an 
innocent air: 

“Dear husband, don't these gentlemen 
require me?” 

‘Are you included in the stock’ 


he 


snapped. “These men have no time to 
gossip with females," 
I have two thousand pistoles to 


spend, madame," said Monsieur Tallard, 
“and I am obliged to my friend here 
for recommending your goods." 

“Two thousand!" cried the ironmon- 
ger, whose jealousy gave way before his 
avarice. “I'm certain we can do saris- 


which I ask madame to count, 1 
plied Tallard, passing the bag into fair 
hands for a telling, professional squeeze. 
The merchant, who saw only money 
in the transaction, gradually warmed ro 
the man with the pistoles and, at his wife's 
insistence, invited us to dinner. 
At and under, the table, their cager 
patron made expert play with both eyes 
nd hands, to the visible delight of the 
madame, whose preparations of the 
te were undoubtedly paving another 
nnel with savory juices of a higher 
nature. With the assistance of wine and 
my rapid conversation, her husband 


never looked beneath the table, suggesting 
instead that we prepare for cards, 

“Tomorrow.” said Monsieur Tallard, 
playing his final hand, "you shall re- 
ceive final payment for my purchases.” 

“I shall deliver them personally. Where 
do you reside?" replicd the shopkeeper. 
Ionsieur Tallard,” | interrupted, 
“lives in the Rue Saint-Denis, at the 
sign of Croix-de-Fer, and he asks you 
to dinner tomorrow." Reading between 
these lines, Madame Ledru pressed him 
to accept. As hoped, he insisted upon 


going alone, despite her feigned d 
pointment and pleading. 

I hired the Croix-de-Fer for that day 
and cleared it of all servants, except for 
Ravannes, who prepared a little cellar 
for our purpose. When our man failed 
time, I feared the iron- 
distrusted Monsieur Tal- 
lard. But night seldom brings sound 
counsel, and my visions of failure were 
erased when I saw him approach. I met 
him on the stairs. 

"I am off to the cellar. Monsieur 
lard has some choice wines that he wishes 
to dispose of. Follow me.” 

“But where is our host?" he inquired. 

“Dressing, upstairs; surely you do 
not expect him in a black cellar?” 

Drawing close to the wall, I blew out 
my candle just as the fly passed the 
fatal threshold, then shut the thick door 
nd drew the bolts before he began 
beating and kicking against the door. 
Ravannes then ran to guard the cellar and 
1 returned to the Palais-Royal, where the 
duke was awaiting. 

The fair tin merchant hardly expected 
two cocks in her bush and, as if pre- 
pared for any event, she quickly intro- 
duced me to Maritana, a servant wench 
whose curtsy exposed two freckled globes 
rivaling tipe melons, The duke and the 
madame retired immediately to bed, 
while I guarded their door. My em- 
ployer gave the kecper's wife such a 
prodigious long séance that I was forced 
to devise a pastime. Wandering into the 


to arrive on 
monger h 


ILLUSTRATION BY BRAO HOLLAND 


Ribald Classic 


muid's quarters, I remained until the 
virtue in her apron gave way to a more 
agreeable fury, but in the preliminaries 
I nearly lost both eyes. No sooner had 
I retied the knot of M a's ment 
than a loud knock struck the front door. 

“Open, for the love of God!" cried 
a familiar voice, and I let Ravannes in. 

“He has escaped: neighbors heard the 
ranting, pushed me aside and released 
the bolts. He is on my trail.” Leaving 
the antechamber, I ran to the mattress. 
The news shocked the duke into quickly 
withdrawing one sword from within 
Madame Ledru and another from a 
much colder scabbard. Both reached for 
scattered attire, while I loosened mine and 
prepared for the worst. The raging hus- 
band burst in, followed by his servant. 

“Whore, Lucretian tart!” he cried at 
the sight of his partially naked wife, 
who seized Monsieur le Duc's knees. 

“Fool, do you not know a woman 
of virtue? If your fine customer had not 
arrived so timely, that man of cloth 
would have raped our holy ground,” she 
replied, pointing in my direction 

“Tis the same with me," bawled the 
soubrette. “But for my own fin ils, 
1, 100, would have been invaded." 

This half-truth appeared to lessen the 
merchant's doubts, except for sull un- 
explained matters: 

"Then whose prick is missing the cod- 
piece on the bedpost, and how, Mons 
Tallard, did you guess his intentions? 

“Monsieur, forty years of celibacy does 
strange things to the mind,” replied the 
duke. “Since 1 have known the abbé, he 
has attempted to wander many times; but 
1 have always shown him the proper 
path. Hearing your clamor from the 
cellar, I naturally thought first of 
madame and sped here. The codpiece 
was there when I rushed into this room." 

“It is mine,” said L "As a constant 
reminder of certain vows, I keep it 
under my cloth 

“Yes, and before reaching into my 
bodice, it had a new home" agreed 
Madame Ledru. 

“Abbé, you look like a fighting cock, 
twice a loser, too,” said Monsieur le Duc, 
before he burst into Jaughter, which 
infected all three, even Monsieur Ledru: 

“I suppose we are fortunate, especially 
for knowing wealthy Monsieur Tallard. 
And, considering the outcome, I must 
forgive the abbe's near deeds.” 
have had a fine escape," 


wile. 

“And how about me? 
“And me!” 
ing her dress 
“And me," agreed the duke, eying the 
dagger and rubbing his throat. 
s for myself, I persuaded the Duc 
d'Orléans to leave griseues alone for a 
time. But, in a week, I was again active in 
the streets, with a fine increase in salary. 

In a year, 1 was almost wealthy. 
—Retold by John G. Dickson 


added Ledru. 
echoed the maid, arrang- 


E 147 


DENGUE 
FEVER 


fiction By PAULTHEROUX ruen is a curious tree, na. 
tive to Malaysia, called The Midnight Horror. We had a couple in 
Ayer Hitam, one in an overgrown part of the botanical gardens, the 
other in the front garden of William Ladysmith's house. His house 
was huge, nearly as grand as mine, but I was the American Consul 
and Ladysmith was an English teacher on a short contract. I assumed 
it was the tree that had brought the value of his house down. The 
house itself had been built before the war—one of those great breezy 
Places, a masterpiece of colonial carpentry, with cement walls two 


out of his delirium came 
nightmares of phantom cyclists, 
screaming women and 

bloody massacres 


feet thick and window blinds the size of sails on a Chinese junk. It 
was said that it had been the center of operations during the occupation, 
All this history diminished by a tree! In fact, no local person would 
go near the house; the Chinese members of the staff at Ladysmith's 
school chose to live in that row of low warrens near the bus depot. 
During the day, the tree looked comic, a tall simple pole like 
an enormous coatrack, with big leaves that looked like branches— 
but there were very few of them. It was covered with knobs, stark 
black things; and around the base of the trunk there were always 


ILLUSTRATION BY BILL 


PLAYBOY 


150 


fragments of leaves that looked like shat- 
tered bones, but not human bones. 

At night the tree was different, not 
comic at all. It was Ladysmith who 
showed me the underlined passage in 
his copy of Professor Corner's Wayside 
Trees of Malaya. Below the entry for 
oroxylon indicum, it read: “Botanically, 
it is the sole representative of its kind: 
aesthetically, it is monstrous. . . . The 
corolla begins to open about ten PA., 
when the tumid, wrinkled lips part and 
the harsh odor escapes from them. By 
midnight, the lurid mouth gapes widely 
ad is filled with stink, . . . The flowers 
are pollinated by bats which are at 
nacted by the smell and, holding to the 
fleshy corolla with the daws on their 
wings, thrust their noses into its throat; 
scratches, as of bats, can be seen on the 
fallen leaves the next morning. . . .” 

Smelly! Ugly! Pollinated by bats! I said, 
"No wonder no one wants to live in this 
house.” 

"It suits me fine,” said Ladysmith, He 
was a lanky fellow, very pleasant, one 
of our uncomplicated Americans, who 
thrived in bush postings. He cyded 
around in his Bemuda shorts, organizing 
talent shows in kampongs. His description 
in my consulate file was “Low risk, high 
gain.” Full of enthusiasm and blue-eyed 
belief; and openhearted: He was forever 


having tea with tradesmen, whose status 
was raised as soon as he crossed the 
threshold. 

Ladysmith didn’t come around to the 
dub much, although he was a member 
and had appeared in the Footlightcrs' 
production of Maugham's The Letter. 1 
think he disapproved of us. He was 
young. one of the Vietnam generation 
with a punished conscience and muddled 
notions of colonialism. That war created 
dropouts, but Ladysmith I took to be one 
of the more constructive ones, a volunteer 
teacher. After the cease-fire, there were 
fewer; now there are none, neither 

pies nor do gooders. Ladysmith was de- 
lighted to take his guilt to Malaysia, and 
he once told me that Ayer Hitam was 
more lively than his home town, which 
surprised me until he said he was from 
Caribou, Maine. 

He was ttemendously popular with 
his students, He had put up a backboard 
and basketball hoop in the playground 
and after school he taught them the 
fundamentals of the game. He was, for 
all his apparent awkwardness, an athletic 
fellow, though it didn't show until he 
was in action—jumping or dribbling a 
ball down the court, Perhaps it never 
does. He ate like a horse and, knowing 
he lived alone, 1 made a poi F invit- 
ing him often to dinners for visiting fire- 


“When you say you'd like to eat Miss Clark, do you mean 
you'd like to eat her or you'd like to eat her?” 


men from Kuala Lumpur or Singapore. 

He didn't have a cook; he said he 

would not have a servant, but I don't 

believe he would have got any local 
person to live in his house, so dose to that 
grotesque tree. 

I was sony but not surprised, two 
months after he arrived. 
Ladysmith fever, 
malarial, and the tablets we took every 
Sunday like Communion were only sup- 
pressants. The Chinese headmaster at the 
school stopped in at the consulate and 
said that Ladysmith wanted to sce me. 
I went that afternoon. 

The house was empty: a few chairs 
in the sitting room, a shelf of paperbacks, 
a short-wave radio and, in the room 
beyond, a table holding only a large 
bottle of catsup. The kitchen smelled 
of peanut butter and stale bread. Bache- 
lor's quarters. I dimbed the stairs, but 
before I entered the bedroom, I heard 
Ladysmith call out in an anxious voice, 
"Who is it?” 

"Boy. am I glad to sce you,” he s 
relaxing as I came through the door. 

He looked thinner, his face was gray 
hair awry in bunches of standing 
hackles; and he lay in the rumpled bed 
as if he had been thrown there. His eyes 
were sunken and oddly colored with the 
yellow light of fever. 

"Malaria?" 

“I think so—I've been taking chloro- 
quine. But it doesn't seem to be working. 
I've got the most awful headache.” He 
closed his eyes. “I can’t sleep. I have 
these nightmares. I— 

“What does thc doctor say: 

"I'm treating myself." said Ladysmith. 

“You'll kill yourself,” I said. “FII send 
Alec over tonight.” 

We talked for a while and eventually 
I convinced Ladysmith that he needed 
attention, Alec Stewart was a member of 
the dub Ladysmith particularly disliked. 
He wasn't a bad sort, but as he was 
married to a Chinese girl, he felt he 
could call them Chinks without blame. 
He had been a ship's surgeon in the 
I Navy and had come to Ayer Hitam 
alter the war. With a young wife and 
all that sunshine, he was able to reclaim 
some of his youth. Back at the office, I 
sent my peon Peeraswami over with a 
pot of soup and the latest issue of News- 
week from the consulate library. 

Alec went that night. I saw him at the 
club later. He said, "Our friend's pretty 
rocky.” 

“I had malaria myself,” I 

sn't much fun 

Alec blew a cautionary snort. "He's not 
got malaria. He's got dengue." 

“Are you sure?” 

‘All the symptoms are there.” 
“What did you give him for it? 
“The only thing there is worth a 

docken—aspirin.”” 

“I suppose he'll have to sweat it out." 

“He'll do that, all right.” Alec leancd 


Rf 


wa 


Wrangler thinks Americans should 
get what they pay for. 


Every time you spend a dollar for clothes, you should get a dollar’s worth of fashion, fit, quality and value. 
What's more, everything you buy should be guaranteed. That's your right. And that's our responsibility. 
Rd uM Js , 


1277 3 A “ 4 


ar. : *W"is Silent 
swear. Wremember the IS Silent. ^ 
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d 


UI PCIE X 


PLAYBOY 


over. "The lad's having hallucinations.” 
“I didn’t know that was a symptom of 
dengue," I said. 


He described it to me. It is a virus, 
carried by a mosquito, and begins as a 
headache of such voltage that you tremble 
and can't stand or sit. You're knocked 
flat; your muscles ache, you're doubled 
up with cramps and your temperature 
stays over 100. Then your skin becomes 
paper-thin, sensitive to the slightest 
touch—the weight of a sheet cin cause 


pain. And your hair falls out—not all 
of it but enough to fill 2 comb. These 
severe irritations produce another agony, 


a depression so black the dengue sufferer 
continually sobs. All the while, your 
bones ache, as if every inch of you has 
been smashed with a hammer. "This sen- 
g gives dengue its col- 
ame, breakbone fever. I pitied 
Ladysmith. 

Although it was after 11 when Alec 
left the club, I went straight over to 
Ladysmith's house. I was walking up 
the gravel drive when I heard the most 
ungodly shriek—frightening in its inten- 
sity and full of alarm. I did not recognize 
it as Ladysmith’s—indeed, it scarcely 
sounded human. But it was coming from 
his room. It was so loud and changed 
pitch wid such suddenness it might 
y have been two or three people 
screaming, or a dozen doomed cats, The 
ight Horror tree was in full bloom 
and filled the night with stink. 

Ladysmith lay in bed, whimpering. 
The magazine I'd sent him was tossed 
against the wall, and the effect of dis- 
order was heightened by the overhead 
fan, which was lifting and ruffling the 
pages. 

He was propped on one arm; but 

secing me, he sighed and fell back. His 
face was slick with perspiration and tcar 
reaks. He was short of breath, 
Are you all right 
My skin is burning,” he said. I noticed 
his lips were swollen and cracked with 
fever, and I saw then how dengue was 
like a species of gricf. 

“I thought I heard a scream,” I said. 
Screaming takes energy; Ladysmith was 
ning, I thought. 
he said. "S. 
women and children, Horrible. 
there.” He pointed to a perfectly ordinary 
table with a jug of water on it and he 
breathed, "War. You should see their 
faces, all covered with blood. Some have 
arms missing. I've never —" He broke 
off and began to sob. 

“Alec says you have dengue fever,” I 
said. 


Over 


‘wo of them—women. They look 
the same,” said Ladysmith, lifting his 
head. “They scream at me, and it's so 


152. loud! They have no teeth!” 


"Are you taking the aspirin?" I saw 
that the amber jar was full. 
"Aspirin! For this!" He lay quietly, 
then said, “I'll be all right. Sometime: 
h temperature. Th 
. . then I get these dreams.” 
“About war?" 
“Yes, Flashes.” 
As gently as I could, I said 
want to go to Vietnam, did you 
“No. Nobody wanted to go. I registered 


You didn't 


ns are replies, Peeraswar 
was always sceing Tamil ghosts on his 
way home. They leaped from those green 
fountains by the road the Malays 
daun pontianak—"ghost. leaf"—surpris- 
ing him with plates of hot samosas or 
tureens of curry; not so much ghosts as 
ghostesses. I told him to eat something 
before setting out for home in the dark 
nd he stopped seeing them. I took Lady- 
smith's visions of masacre to be replies 
objection, It is the 
draft dodger who speaks most graphically 
of war, not the soldier. Pacifists know all 
the atrocity stories. 

ith's hallucinations had odd 
hts: The soldiers he saw weren't 
‘an. They were dark Orientals in 
dirty undershirts, probably Cong, 
and mingled with the screams of the 
people with bloody faces was another 
sound, the creaking of bicycle seats. So 
there were two horrors—the massacre and 
those phantom cyclists. He was especially 
frightened by the two women with no 
teeth, who opened their mouths wide and 
screamed at him. 

I said, “Give it a few days. 

“I don't th I can take much more 
of this.” 

“Listen,” I s; “Dengue can depress 
you. You'll feel like giving up and going 
home—you might feel like hanging your- 
self. But take these aspirin and keep tell- 
ing yoursell—whenever you get these 
htmares—it's dengue feve: 

No teeth, and their gums are dripping 
with blood. 

His head dropped to the pillow, his 

eyes closed and I remember thinking: 
Everyone is fighting this war, everyone 
in the world. Poor Ladysmith was fight- 
ing hardest of all. Lying there, he could 
have been bivouacked in the Central 
s, haggard from a siege, his 
guc a version of battle fatigue. 
I left him sleeping and walked again 
through the echoing house. But the 
smell had penetrated to the house itself, 
the high thick stink of rotting corpses. 
It stung my eyes and I almost fainted 
with the force of it until, against the 
moon, I saw that blossoming coatrack 
and the wheeling bats—the Midnight 
Horror. 


“Rotting flesh,” Ladysmith said late 
the next afternoon. I tried not to smile. 
I had brought Alec along for a second 


look. Ladysmith began describing the 
smell, the mutilated people, the sound of 
bicycles and those Chinese women, the 
toothless ones. The victims had pleaded 
with him. Ladysmith looked wretched. 

Alec said, "How's your he: 

“It feels like it's going to explode." 

Alec nodded. “Joints a bit stiff?” 

can't move." 

"Dengue's a curse.” Alec smiled: Doc- 
tors so often do when their grim diagnosis 
is proved right. 

“I can't’—Ladysmith started, then 
grimaced and continued in a softer tonc— 
“I can't sleep. If 1 could only sleep, I'd 
be all right. For God's sake, give me 
something to make me sleep.” 

Alec considered this. 

“Can't you give him anything?" I 
asked, 


ve never prescribed a sleeping pill 
in my life,” said Alec, “and I'm not going 
to do so now. Young m 
Drink lots of liquid. you 
You've got a severe fever. 
estimate it. It can be a killer. But I 
guarantee if you follow my instructions, 
get lots of bed rest, take aspirin every 
four hours, you'll be sight as ninepence." 
“My h 
Alec smiled—right again. “Dengue,” he 
said. “But you've still got plenty. When 
you've as little hair as I have, youll 
have something to complain about.” 
Outside the house, J said, "That tree 
is the most malignant thing I've ever 
seen.” 
Alec said, “You're talking like a C 
nnocent enough now, 
on it. But have 


you smelled it at night? 
“I agree, A wee aromatic. Like a Ben- 


k Ladysmith 
would stop having his nightmares.” 

“Don't be a fool. That tree's medicinal, 
"The Malays use it for potions. It works— 
I use it myself.” 

“Well, if it's so harmless, why don't 
the Malays want to live in this house?” 

“I's not been offered to a Malay. How 
many Malay teachers do you know? It’s 
the Chinks won't live here—I don't have 
a clue why that's so, but I won't have 
that tree. It's going 


not the aspi 
cine. Those tablets are made from the 
bark of that tree—I wish it didn’t have 
that shocking name.” 
You're giving him (hat: 
“Calm down; itl do him a world of 
good,” Alec said brightly. “Ask any witch 
doctor." 


Y slept badly myself that night, think- 
ing of Alec's ridiculous cure—he had truly 


“Partridge, you idiot, it’s me she's urging to go faster!!” 


153 


PLAYBOY 


154 sciousness. But it was usele: 


gone bush—but I was tied up all day 
with visa inquiries and it was nor until 
the following evening that I got back to 
Ladysmith’s. I was determined to take 
him away. I had aspirin at my house; I'd 
keep him away from Alec. 

Downstairs, I called out and. knocked, 
s usual to warn him I'd come, and, 
s usual, there was no response from him. 
l entered the bedroom and saw him 
asleep but uncovered. Perhaps the fever 
had passed: His face was dry. He did 
not look well, but then, few people do 
when they're sound aslcep—most take on 
the ghastly color of illness. Then I saw. 
that the amber bottle was empty—the 
“aspirin” botde. 

I tried to feel his pulse. Impossib 
I've never been able to feel a person's 
pulse, but his hand was cool, almost cold. 
I put my car against his mouth and 
thought T could detect a faint purr of 
respi 

It was dusk when J arrived, but da 
ncs in Ayer Hitam fell quickl 
blanket of night dropped and the only 
warning was the sound of insects tun 
wp. the chimup of geckos and those 
squeaking bats making for the tree. T 
switched on the lamp and, as I did so, 
heard a low cry, as of someone dying in 
dreadful pain. And there by the win- 
dow—just as Ladysmith had described— 
I saw the moonlit faces of two Chinese 
women, smeared with blood. They opened 
their mouths and howled: they were 
toothless and their screeches seemed to 
n volume from that emptiness. 

Stop!" I shouted. 

The two faces in those black rags hung 
there, and I caught the whiff of the tree 
that was the whiff of wounds. It should 
have scared me, but it only surprised me. 
Ladysmith had prepared me, and I felt 
certain that he had passed that horror on. 
I stepped forward, caught the cord and 
dropped the window blinds. The two 
faces were gone. 

This took seconds, but an afterimage 
ned, like a lamp switched rapidly 
on and oll. I gathered up Ladysmith. 

Having Jost weight, he was very light, 
pathetically so. I carricd him downstairs 
1 through the garden to the road. 
Behind me. in the darkness, was the 
rattle of pedals, the squeak of a bicyde 

cat. The phantom cydists! It gave me a 
shock and I tried to run, but curying 
Ladysmith, I could not move quickl 
The cycling noises approached, frantic 
squeakings at my back. I spun around. 

Tt was a trisha, cruising for fares. I 
put Ladysmith on the seat and, running 
alongside it, we made our way to the 
mission hospital, 


A stomach pump is litle more than a 
slender rubber tube pushed into one nos- 


nil and down the back of the throat. A 
primitive device: 1 couldn't warch. T 
stayed until Ladysmith regained con- 


to talk to 


n. His stomach was empty and he was 
g into a bucket. 
cyc 


coughing up bile, spew 


1 told the nur 
qn him. 

1 said, “He's got dengue.” 

The succeeding days showed such an 
improvement in Ladysmith that the doc- 
tors insisted he be discharged to make 
room for more serious cases. And, indeed, 
everyone said he'd made a rapid recovery. 
Alec was astonished but told him rather 
sternly, "You should be ashamed of your- 
self for taking that overdose.” 


g sister to keep 


Ladysmith was well, but T di have 
the heart to send him back to that empty 
house. I put him up at my own place. 


Normally, I hated house guests—they in- 
terfered with my reading and never 
seemed to have much to do themselves 
except. punish my gin boule. But Lady- 
smith was unobtrusive. He drank milk, 
he wrote letters home. He made no men- 
tion of his hallucinations and 1 didn’t 
tell him what I'd thought I'd seen. In my 
own case, I believe his suggestions had 
been so strong that I had imagined what 
he had secn—somehow shared his own 
terror of the toothless women. 

One day at lunch, Ladysmith said, 
“How about cating out tonight? On me. 
A little celebration. After all, you saved 
my life." 

“Do vou feel well enough to face the 
dub buffet?’ 

He made a “I hate the club—no 
offense, But I wa aking of a meal in 
town. Wi about that kedai—City Bar? 
1 had a terrific meal there the week I ar- 
rived. I've been meaning to go back.” 

“You're the boss. 

Tt was a hot night. The veranda tables 
were so we had to sit inside, 
jammed nst a wall. We ordered: mec- 
hoon soup, spring rolls, pork strips, fried 
kway-teow and a bowl of laksa that 
scemed to blister the lining of my mouth. 

“One thing’s for sure,” said Ladysmith, 
"I won't get dengue fever again for a 
while. The sister said I'm immune for a 
ar. 

“Thank God for th 
you'll be back in C; 

"I don't know,” he 

He was smiling, glancing around the 
room. poking noodles into his mouth, 
Then I saw him lose control of his chop- 
sticks, His jaw dropped. he tumed pale 
nd I thought for a moment that he was 
going to cry, 


“Is anything wrong? 
He shook his head, but he looked 
stricken. 
“It’s this fool,” I said. "You shouldn't 
be eating such strong —" 


he said. “It’s those pictur 

On the whitewashed wall of the kedai 
was a series of framed photographs, old 
hand-colored ones, lozengeshaped, like 
huge lockets, Two women and some chil- 
dren, Not so unusual: the Chinese always 
have photographs of relations 
casual reverence. One could hardly call 


them a pious people; their brand of re- 
ligion is ancestor worship, the simple dis 
play of the family album. But I had not 
realized until then that Woo Boh Swee's 


relations had had money. The evidence 
was in the pictures: Both women 
were smiling, showing large sets of gold 
dentures, 

them,” said Ladysmith, 


ked. 


Staring at them, 1 
nkles of familiarity, 
but the Chincse arc very hard to tell 
apart. The cliché is annoyingly truc 

Ladysmith put his chopsticks down and 
began to wh “The women in my 
room—that's them, That one had blood 
on her hair and the other onc- 

Dengue fever,” I said. “You 
didn’t have any teeth. Now, I ask y 
look at those teeth. You've got the wre 
ladies, my boy. 
No! 

His pallor had returned 
I saw across the table wa 
seen on that pillow. I felt sorry for him, 
as helpless as I had before. 

Woo Boh Swee, the owner of City Bar, 
went by the table. He was Dri: 
a towel "OK? Anything? More beer? 
What you want?” 

We're finc, Mr. Woo," I said. 
wonder if you can tell us somethi 
were wondering who those women are ii 
the pictures—over there.” 

He looked at the wall, grunted, low- 
ered his head and simply walked away. 
muttering, 

“I don't get it,” I said. 1 left the 
ul went to the back of the bar, where 
Woó Boh Swee’s son Reggie—the “Eng 
lish” son—was playing mah-jongg. | 
asked Reggie the sume question 
are they 

"I'm glad you asked me,” said Reggie. 
“Don't mention them to my father, One's 
his auntic, the other one’s his sister. It's 
a sad story. They were cut up during the 
war by the dwarf bandits. That's what 
my old man calls them in Hokkien. The 
Japanese. It happened over at the head- 
quarters what they used for headquarters 
when they occupied the town. My old 
man was in Singapore.” 

“But the Japanese were here for only 
a few months,” I sa 

“Bunch of thieves,” said Reggi 
took anything they could lay their h: 
on. They used those old ladies for house 
girls, at the headquarters, that big house, 
where the wee is, Then they killed them, 
just like that, and hid the bodies—we 
never found the graves. But that was be- 
fore they captured pore. The British 
couldn't stop them, you know. The dwarf 
bandits were dever—they pretended they 
were Chinese and rede all the way to the 
causeway on bicycles." 

I looked back at the table. Ladysmith 
was staring, his eyes again bright with 
fever; staring at those gold teeth. 


RADIO SEMI ...... 7» 


grinning and the wheels spinning and 
motor. motor, motor." 

“This is the Number One Jelly Belly 
and we're comin’ on. Definitely am glad 
that Tijuana taxi [a cruiser with all the 
lights and markings] decided to stop back 
there and take pictures. We sure do thank 
you, Little Diesel, for givin’ us that info.” 

They don’t talk as much in the day- 
time. For one thing, there is something 
to look at besides a bunch of lights and a 
white line that is running right up your 
ass. But at night the chatter gocs on: 

“Uh, this is Little Diesel and we're 
definitely doin’ our thing now. We got 


three hundred fifty horses jumping up 
we're 


and down and 
wonder what— 

Another voice: “We'll make the Good- 
year plant in Topeka by nine. . . ." 

“Uh, you got walked on, Little Di 
Come back.” 

‘Ten-four. I said wonder what ole 
Sonny and Will would have done back 
there. 

(Laugh) “This is the Number One Jelly 
Belly and I think they might have just 
pulled over and laid "er dow 

The drivers were referring to Sonny 
Pruitt and. Will. Chandler, the characters 
portrayed by Claude Akins and Frank 
Converse in the television series Movin’ 
On, a show about two truckers that i: 


gonna go. Say, 


el, 


so 


shot through with inaccuracies that the 
drivers never miss it. They sit in truck- 
stop lounges on Thursday nights and 
laugh a lot while it is on, but they admit 
reluctantly that they sort of enjoy it, too, 
even though Sonny and Will seldom dc- 
load. 

"There is an 
that Sonny and Will get laid a lot and 
spend a lot of time watching rodeos and 
auto racing, with a few nightclub eve- 
nings tossed in. 

“It just ain't that way" says Old 
Hickory. “But it is the first program that 
eyer showed us as anything but a bunch 
of apes, sweating and smoking cigars and 
pinching waitresses on the ass" And he 
puts down his copy of Overdrive maga- 
zine, the truckers’ bible, and heads for 
his rig. 

He reaches the door and turns back for 
a second: 

Well, there might be an occasional 
hooker or two around the truck stops, but 
that doesn't count. I mean, most of the 
time we're all business.” 
air enough. Today's trucker is a busi- 
nessman in every sense of the word. A 
strange business, particularly for the 
gypsy, or, as they prefer, the owner/ 
operator, who owns and drives and fills 
out the forms—everything. He is the one 
who thinks nothing of driving from the 


live 


intimation in the show 


Shaky Side to the Dirty Side on any given 
weekend and then turning right around 
and reversing the whole procedure. IE 
that won't fracture your kidneys, nothing 


Il would like to shove the fifty- 
an-hour speed limit up some- 
body's ass, but it's the owner/operator— 
and the two-way—that's doing something 
about it" says Pogo. "I'd sure as hell 
hate to wait for the A.T.A. [American 
‘Trucking Associations] to do anything.” 
Maybe he is a folk hero. 
His office is a monster cab with as many 
a Cessna 180. Some trucks are 
conventional in design—long nose 
most are cab-over-engine types t 
drivers, for the most part, dislike, be- 
cause they are rougher riding and more 
angerou: 
“You're sitting right up there with 
nothing in front of you but some thin 
sheet metal and in an accident, you're 
ays the first one there," Short Stack 
says. “But they're a whole lot shorter 
than a conventional, so you can haul a 
longer trailer—say, forty feet—and still 
get by the length limits. That's why a lot 
of truckers use them.” 
So up there they sit, hauling a load of 
swinging beef (sides of beef that hang 
fiom hooks inside the trailer) or perhaps 
a portable parking lot (auto-transport 
trailer) or they may even be headed for 
Towa to pick up a load of gogo girls 


gauges 


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PLAYBOY 


(pigs). Whatever the load, they scorn a 
world of four-wheclers with a philosophy 
that has been with nomads since the year 
one. Perhaps Movin’ On sums it up pretty 
well, after all. 

From their vantage point, they look 
down to behold the sights of America. 

“We Tike summer a hell of a lot bet- 
ter,” Louisiana Poor Boy says. “I mean, 
damn, the scenery's better. In the winter, 
all the girls wear slacks and you can't see 
anything. But in the summer. Ah, in the 
summer, we can look right down into 
those four-wheelers and sce legs and bea- 
vers and ever . Every kind of rolling 
sex you can imagine. And some I would 
never have thought of,” he says, sipping 
his third cup of 100-mile coffee. 

“You know, one time I saw two broads 
scarfing each other in the back seat of a 
car while this dude in the front seat was 
barreling along at sixty-five and whacking 
off. Jesus, that takes concenuation," he 
E 


js. 
He polishes off his second stale dough- 
nut and speaks of the trucker's problems: 

“It’s tough to be completely legal and 
make any money. Shit, there’s so many 
trictions and weight limits and length 
limits and speed limits that it’s about im- 
possible for an independent to hack it 
anymore. It's taken a lot of the fun out 
of 


"I bring that big Peterbilt of mine 
through St. Charles a couple of times a 
week, for instance. Been doin’ it for years 
and they stop me once a month and they 
give me a ticket for forty-three dollars 
and ten cents for being overweight or too 
long or something. They can always find 
something if they want to. Then they 
leave me alone. I mean, I can drive as 
fast as I want to for the rest of the month. 
They do it to everybody. But even with 
the fines and all the other crap, I still can 
make twenty, twenty-five thousand a year. 
Clear! Goddamn, that’s bad coffee,” he 
says as he shoves the cup away. 

“And if I see one more fucking plastic 
water glass. . . .” he says as he slides out 
of the booth. 

“That’s all they have, you know, Plas- 
tic water glasses. And bad coffee. Every 
truck stop. This idea that truck stops 
have the best food is definitely a myth. 
Definitely. 

He raps his solar plexus a couple of 
times with the side of his clenched fist. 

“IE you want a good meal, pull off the 
interstate and go into a small town. That's 
where the good food is. We'd all go there, 
but we don't have the time. Then, there's 
no place to park our rigs, so we stick to 
the plastic-water-glass circuit.” 

It was late in the evening and out on 
Interstate 70 West in Colorado, rolling 
between Last Chance and Strasburg, the 
road was nearly deserted. A driver is 
tening to radio station WWVA, a trucker's 
companion latc at night when there is 


156 no C.B. reception. He turns the volume 


down and picks up his mike: 

“How ‘bout an eastbound cighteen- 
wheeler?” 

Silence. 

“How 
wheeler?” 

Silence. 

“How "bout an eastbound motorsicle?” 

Silence. 

“Would you believe a unicycle?” 

lence. 
Hitchhiker?” 

Silence. 

“There ain't no eastbound.’ 

The silence from the eastbound lane 
was broken some minutes later as the 
headlights from a hig rig came into view. 

"Alb you westbound truckers might 
like to know that there's a bear in a 
plain white wrapper [unmarked car] on 
the move about four miles past the chick- 
en coop [scales], so you might want to 
stay in the driving lane for a spell. This 
is the Chrome Dome, streakin’ cast. 

“A big ten-four on that, Chrome Dome, 
and we definitely appreciate that info. 
You got things a little better eastbound. 
You can get in that Monfort Lane and 
truck. Put that hammer down and head 
for K. C. Town." 

The Monfort Lane was named after 
the Monfort trucking company of Gree- 
ley, Colorado, whose drivers hauled 
swinging beef to New York and Florida 
and California on a regular It was 
a two-man operation and their trucks 
were always out there in that left lane 
going flat-out. It is still called that. 

Today, the game of cops and truckers 
seems one-sided, but it isn't. The C.B. 
has made the cops more inventive. 

“The smokeys are smarter than ever,” 
says the King of the Road. "They hide 
better and they got their own two- 
Why, some of them even tell you to put 
the hammer down, it's all clear, And you 
do and there he sits, waiting, with that 
shiteatin’ grin on his face, just over the 
next hill. That was happenin’ in Florida 
on 1-75 near Lake City. One of them 
bastards would talk to those truckers and 
try to lure them into his trap. We finally 
quit talkin’ to anyone around there unless 
we recognized the voice or handle. Guess 
he got disgusted and went to kickin’ old 
ladies or umpitin’ or somethin’, But 
there’s some of them that’s all right. A lot 
of them. in fact. 

“As for local bears, I always figure if 
you get stopped for speeding through a 
town, then you ought to get two tickets, 
one for speeding and the other for 
stupidity.” 

What about the smokcys side of the 
story? Surprisingly, there are a number 
of them who condone the C.B. The super- 
intendent of the Missouri Highway 
Patrol, Samuel S. Smith, say 

"C.B. radio in trucks and cars is the 
greatest thing to come down the pike 
since the invention of the fifth wheel. 
We started an experimental program with 


"bout an eastbound four- 


CBs... a few of our cars. When the 
truckers noticed that we had ears, they 
began reporting intoxicated drivers, 
wrongway drivers, stranded motorists, 
accidents and other matters requiring 
law-enforcement action.” 

g highway patrolman 


Sure, there's a lot of chatter on the 
C.B., but I'll listen to that for a week 
to get a report of one accident or 
one D.W.I. As for speed, we're stuck with 


Writing tickets is the last ditch of law en- 
forcement. If the C.B.s slow people down 
even part of the time, it helps us do our 
job and cuts down the number of tickets 


we have to wri 

Almost on cue, the radio in the police 
cruiser blasts away: 

“There's a bear parked at the rest stop; 
bring ‘er down, bring ‘er down. 

The smokey smiles and picks up the 
microphone: 

“Thanks for the info, good buddy.” 

Meanwhile, back on the boulevard, the 
Mile High Country Picker and the Num- 
ber One Jelly Belly are nearing Denver: 

"You left your turn signal on again, 
Country Picker.” 

Well, 1 told you I was going in circles, 
didn’t Tz" 

You definitely did; now tell me why 
we're slowing down.’ 

“We're going up a hill.” 

“Oh! Ten-four. Now that we're up, 
let's motor to the Mile High City. Come 
on, Country Picker, what’re you doing up 
there, playin’ with your doobie?” 

“Negatory, Jelly Belly, I'm savin’ that. 
Let's take 'em home.” 

Breaker! Breaker! Breaker! "There's a 
bear on the move at mile-three-two 
marker,’ 

"And there's one at the overpass at 
Lyman Road in a plain blue wrapper. 
This is Organ Grinder bringin’ ‘er 
down.” 


reaker again. There's a bear in the 
grass at mile threefive in the eastbound 
lane, Man, there's wall-to-wall bears out 
here,” 

The trucks slow down as they near the 
battle zone. A marquee at a drivein 
theater flashes TRUCK STOP WOMEN. RATED. 
R. Huh. They'd better be a whole lot 
better looking than the real ones or the 
movie will be a total loss, no matter what 
they do. 

Once back down to 55, there is little 
left to do but chat. 

“This is the Number One Jelly Belly 
and we just passed the smokey at mile- 
threetwo marker and he's givin’ Green 
Stamps to a four-wheeler. And also, there's 
definitely a sweet thang in a green Ply- 
mouth between mile three-two and mile 
three-one, She sure did smile nice. Yeah, 
she's definitely one of them sweet 
thangs.” 

Part of the caravan takes it on home 


T o00Ucc 
v a m 
B scored 
IMPORTED 


l 


— 


The Scotch that’s on the march. 


Other leading Scotches may be marking time, but not Passport. This is the Scotch thats gone to 
over 8% million bottles a year. And into 107 countries. In only 7 years. The reason? A superior taste 


th). Without ice. Few Scotch 
iovers can let that conibinstion sess hen by, PASSPORT Scotch 


cesses true EU RENE The spirit of success. 


a. 
E 
g 
i= 
© 
= 
z 
g 
DA 
© 
= 
2 
i 
: 
5 

E: 

ZI 


to Denver while the rest stretch their 
necks and flex their fingers, preparing 
for the Rockies looming ahead. An hour 
or so into the mountains, snow begins to 
fall, at first light, fluffy flakes that blow 
around on the long nose of the Kenworth 
and form sort of pinwheels before finally 
blowing up against the windshield and 
then off to the side. 

Little by little, the snow begins to stick 
and the road takes on a silvery hue. The 


TRUCK TALK ] 

Chicken coop: g 
station 

Dirty Side: New York or New Jersey 

Ears: citizen'sband or two-way radio 

18-wheeler: fiveaxle truck with a 
combination of 18 wheels—the 
most common long-haul truck 

Front door, back door and rocking 

front door is the first truck. 

an, back door is the last 

nd the rocking chair is any or all 
trucks in between 

Georgia overdrive: the neutral gear 
position, used when going down- 
hill; also, Mexican or midnight 
overdrive 

Go-go girls: pigs 

The goinghome hole: the highest 
gear, allowing truck to go as fast 


truck weigh 


chair: 


as possible 
100-mile coffee: swong truckstop 
collec 
Pavement princess: truckstop 
hooker 


Picture taker: patrol car with radar 

Plain brown wrapper: brown, un- 
marked patrol car; also, plain 
white wrapper, plain blue wrap- 
per, etc. 

Portable parking loi: auto-trans 
port trailer 

Postholes (a load of): an empty load 

Pumpkin: lat tire 

Radar Alley: Interstate 90 in Ohio 

Reefer: refrigerated trailer 

Shaky Side: 

Swinging beef: beet sides hanging 
from hool nside a reel 

Tijuana taxi: a patrol car with all 
the lights and markings 


wiper blades leave icy streaks on the 
windshield. It has come quickly. 

Oncoming traffic has practically dis- 
appeared, which means that it is worse 
up there. 

“I need a copy an eastbound 
cightcen-whecler, What's it like up there 
at Loveland Pass: 

"You got the Boll Weevil, good buddy, 
and it’s pretty bad. We just got through, 
but I got word that it'll be closed real 
scon——" 

“Breaker! Breaker! There's an eighteen- 
wheeler jackknifed across the westbound 
lanes at the mile-cight-nine marker. Bet- 
ter day ‘em down where you arc, west- 
bound buddies, 


“Let's get one thing straight, Bruno. I got you for 
& 3 E! Ob» 
protection, not for companionship.” 


Well, hell. It was only a matter of time, 
anyway. The snow is now falling in 
blinding patterns and the roads have 
turned to glare ice. A dozen or so 18- 
wheelers case to the side of the road and 
grind to a stop. Each man knows he will 
be there for perhaps the rest of the night. 
But he has hi iy and some 
even have tele r sleeper cabs. 
They can also keep the diesel engine run- 
ning and stay warm. There is a lot of 
chatter now. 

“This is Rusty Nail. Im stopped at 
mile seven-nine westbound. Any you 
good buddies out there sce anything com- 
ing through in the castbound lanes?" 

“Negatory, Rusty Nail. You got the 
Silver Fox and it looks like we're gonna 
be here for a while. Sure is a shame it 

n't Thursday night, we could watch ole 
Sonny and Will and find a way out of 
this mess 

"A big ten-four on that, Silver Fox. 
Let me——" 

“Breaker! Breaker! Were comes 
cightcen-wheeler eastbound, Give me a 
copy. Eastbound. 

“You got the Big Sky Express. We're 


an 


rollin’ again, Got stuck back there, but 
some good buddies shoveled some cotton- 
pickin’ rocks under the drivers and we 
got out. We're takin’ it home to the Mile 
High City and layin’ it down. Sure do 
hope you westbound buddies sleep 
and have a better day tomorrow. This is 
the Big Sky Express comin’ round the 
mountain, 

The truck creeps down the tw 
highway amid a shower of congratula 
from a dozen handles. The big snowflakes 


and. It is pretty 
much the stuff of which heroes are made. 

If one squinted in just the right light, 
he might see a white scarf whipping from 
Thumbs up. I drive 
ht notice the 
sagging rear springs of a hopped-up Ford, 
aning under a load of moonshine. 
Ten-four, Rumrun This is the 
Blue Max strcakin' west. The hammer's 
down and we're movin' on 

Hmm. just a moment there, it 
looked as if there was a Maltese cross on 
his back doors. 

LY] 


157 


PLAYBOY 


VOLUNTEER ARMY 


company out for ten days’ adventure 
training or the battalion out to Yakima 
for six weeks in the field. But for the 
great bulk of our soldiery, military life 
must remain its old admixture of main 
tenance and training—at Fort Hood and 
Fors Brigg, Lewis and Gordon. The 
in and maintain. They do P.T. 
They “work on their gear." (Remember 
that) But this gets old. Men get out— 
all but the 25-30 percent who become 
the cadre of N.C.O.s and officers who will 
welcome a new generation of volunteers. 
But you had them wit the draft. 

For the Pics and spec fours, it is still, 
for the most part, a life of tedium and 
spasm and hassle. Something like ci 
life. 

"The conclusions are inescapable. They 
must comfort every citizen whose vision 
of a volunteer soldiery was Shakespeare's 
vision in Henry V: 


men tr 


They grow—like savage: 
As soldiers will, that nothing do 
but meditate on blood 


whose impression of the evolved Volun- 

teer Army, finally, is of an Army of dis- 

ciplined phalanxes of 40-year-old black 

men with shaved heads marching to take 

over the Government in Washington. 
One concludes: 


certainly 
as any American Army in 
me as a deterrent and 
a small wars of policy. It would 
have to be augmented, certainly, for 
service in any big convention 
such as a war in Europe—in which case, 
they'd have to augment it awfully fast. 

2. The present officer corps is more 
competent, more dedicated and more 
honest than that of the Viemam period. 
Ti is managed with striking efficiency and 
there are very few pikers commanding 
troops. (In the 1976 R.LF.—reduction 
in force, those involuntarily to. be sep- 
ted from the Army—are no few 
than 182 West Point regu 

3. Most enlisted. volunteers don't like 
it enough to want to re-enlist. 


l war 


1. The concept r s unfair to 
blacks, other minority groups and the 
socially disadvantaged. 


5. Trying to deliver on what the re- 
cruiters are promising is making train- 
ng difficult for commanders in the field. 
Not enough people want to be Willie 
ind Joe in the trench. 

6. And, of course, the 
a fortune. It would be ni 
whiz 
it all out. 


thing’s costing 


SOME SCENES WHER: 
JN THIS VOLUNTEER ARMY IS SHOWN; 
IMPRESSIONS, CONVERSATIONS 
AND INTERVIEWS; REFLECTIONS ON THESE. 


X once heard it urged, and very seri- 


158 ously urged, that the United States should 


(continued from page 86) 


keep a potboiling litle war in being, 
"somewhere down in the Caribbean 
train the troops. Recruit units could be 
sent there for a week or two of geuing 
blooded, at the end of basic or advanced 
individual training, shoot a few people, 
Bet some tigger time, take a lew cas 
uualties, flesh wounds and that kind of 
thing, and then go on leave belore re 


porting to their first duty stations. The 
assumption behind this cunning pro- 


posal was that, among those who had 
been mained in this unusual way, there 
would be fewer casualties in the first 
week of a serious war than in the train- 
ing war in the Caribbean. Therelore, 
it would be cos-ellective. “But, heil" 
the Marine D.L. went on (it was 1957), 
“that’s maybe not feasible politically." 

Ihe Army really has no way of know- 
g what young soldiers will do in com- 
bat. cannot say with 
finality whether or not the Volunteer 
Army will “work.” The prevailing atc 
tude is, as always, that training should as 
closely as possible approximate the con- 
ditions of combat; and the closest th 
simulation comes, in basic traini 
Fort Dix, is on Range 30C, where the 
woops crawl under fire from a fixed- 
mount M-60 machine gun, and on Range 
80B—the Fire and Maneuver Course. But 
the troops do not take either test with 
any particular high seriousness. 

On a sultry July afternoon, half of 
Alpha Company, Second Battalion, 
"Third Training Brigade is going through 
the Fire and Maneuver Course. These 
recruits are in the second day of their 
th week at Dix. The course consists of 
ight parallel lanes, each about cight 
meters wide by 825 meters long. In the 
middle of the eight, at the starting line, 
is a control tower; at a signal, the re 
cruits advance along each lane, two. per 
lane, with a sergeant following each pair. 

Each recruit c M-I6 at low 
port, two maguzines of ten rounds cach 
and a grenade that, when thrown and 
detonated, literally goes “Pfffft.” All 
along the lanes are little revetments like 
embedded railroad ties, and holes carved 
out of the soft gray sand about as big 
as—coffins. The idea is that one man 
takes up "a good prone position,” rifle 
poised over the railroad tie, while the 
other recruit scurries forward. Fire and 
maneuver. The recruits have camouflaged 
cen and black; some have 
aL. grease slash on their 


Therefore, om 


ries an 


faces—taupe, g 
added that ^ 
cheekbones. 

Artillery are detonated. 
One recruit, more ambling than scurry- 
ing. falls to his knees—something like a 
reluctant Episcopalian in church, worry- 
ing about his creases. He engages a green 


simulators 


pop-up target that obligingly falls. Etc. 
At the end of the lane is an enemy 
bunker. The other recruit runs screaming 
and flailing toward the bunker, which 
has direct fire on him. Still he keeps run- 
ning at it, pulling the pin on his grenade 
as he moves forward. He stands in front 
of the opening in the front of the bunke 
throws in the grenade and falls to the 
ground. 


About 15 miles fom Headquarters, 
Second Armored Division, Fort Hood: itis 
0800 on a Thursday in August. Of a 
mechanvedinfanuy company (autho 
ized sirength 189), only 60 modern vo 
unteers are present. Tonight there is 
to be a company insertion by helicop- 
ters, after which the soldiers will seize 
| objective. Now they sit in a ragged 
semicirde facing a pilot detailed to lec- 
ture them. The pilot, a first lieutenant, 
lounges standing up. speaking im the 
strange patois of his kind: a dizzying 
mixture of laconic tedimicalities, shower 
jokes, historical allusions. 

He spits. “You can rely on this bird, 
it rarely crashes. You don't walk into 
the rotors. however. This, ah, Leen-ardo 
da Vind, he wasn't doing nothing one 
day, so he come up with the helicopta 
It didn't fly properly until gentleman by 
the name of Sikorsky got it all to- 
gether. . . ." Lest the troops. infer that 
korsky was some hall-crazed Ren: 
sance inventor, the pilot, momentarily 
ruminant, adds, “That wasn't until 1939 
out of the 

reraft while in flight." There follow 
comments on the aerodynamics of live 
ducks thrown from helicopters at “thre 
io four thousand feet,” a divertissement 
not unknown during the late war. The 
soldiers, as in 1942 and 1954 and 1965, 
are mostly sitting on their helmets, their 
nds on the hand guards of their rilles, 
whose butis rest on the earth. They are 
all looking at the ground. 


“The number of soldiers in combat 
units (infantry, armor and artillery) com- 
pared with the number in combatsupport 
units (research, medical, intelligence 
communication and transportation) is up 
from 43 percent in FY 73 to 53 percent in 
FY 76." —"Deparument of the Army Fact 
Sheet,” 1975. These numbers represent 
an improvement, certainly. But thei 
blandness is self-serving, since the combat 
divisions themselves are full of soldiers in 


"combat support" roles. 

Fort Lewis, Washington, is surely the 
handsomest major Army post in the 
United States. Immediately to the west 
lies Puget Sound; 55 miles to the cast 
stands—visible even on the hazy cool aft- 
ernoons of a Pacific Northwest summer— 


“Patience, Patience.” 


PLAYBOY 


160 


the blue-white shoulder of Mount Ra 
nier. The climate is temperate, much of 
the posés 135 square miles is covered 


with rich green groves and forests of 
Douglas fir, alder and cedar. Even 
the artillery-impact a seem waving 


upland meadows. Moreover, the civilian 
world beyond the entranceway to the 
post remains quite uncontaminated by 
the commercial refuse that seems to 
stick to the Army wherever it settles: Th 
signs may be tacky—a motel on Interstate 
5 promises a "bedder night"—but. there 
are no hideous strips of used-car lots 
porn shops. furniture wholesalers. Burger 
Kings, gaping shopping centers mas- 
sage parlors, military-insignia shops. 
Lewis is the home (all Army posts are 
the “home” of something) of the Ninth 
Infanuy Division—the Old Re 


"a 
combat; the 
would deploy, in CAs and C-MIs, from 
by McChord A 
would. fly 
Philippines or Japan. from one 
of those places and be in combat in two 
"Korea or somewhere," a lieu 
tenant says. 

To ui 


and 


ase. Pi 
the 


sum: m or 


visitor, it is an impressive 
division the commanders of 
its brigades, ons and companies 
seem to represent the best the Army has 
to offer. In the idiom of the Fifties, they 
are gung ho—full of their jobs, cheerful, 
capable. They y fit. They give 
appe: dor (perhaps, 
but not neces . prompted by former 


Army Secretary Howard Callaway's “I'm 
glad you asked" Ar 


iywide policy). The 
slogan is as i an American prim- 
itive painting; viz: "What pei of 
your woops use drugs in the barracks, 
Golo Colonel, gasping and apoplec- 
1 you asked, . .." But they 
through, even 
though they have mastered the compleat 
bureaucrat’s knack of admitting small 


Colonel Cornelius J. Gearin, Infantry, 
Commander, Second Brigade, Ninth In- 
Division: “You're looking at a 
wain. Eighty-six percent of our 


movin 


soldiers have high school diplomas; the 
ng college 


rest are finishing them or get 
Old Reliable t 
either that or they're taking vocational 
Some of them can get 
ts while they're stat 
A few men even finish thei 
degree while they re with us.” 

Old Reliable University’s faculty is 
mainly of the adjunct-professor. kind— 
teachers who lecture at various univer- 
sities in the Northwest and teach part 
time at Lewis. Under the normal train- 
cycle, a brigade will alternate five 


union 
het 


B.A. 


weeks’ taining, either at Lewis or, 
beyond the Cascade Mountains, at the 
vast Yakima militar with 
five weeks’ schooling. In this latter phase, 
soldiers from the bı n spend all 
ing afternoons or mornings at 
able U. It is one of the division's 
is. 
These people'd give a 
count of themselves," 


figluing edge, all it has to do is 


n that edge, and the fiveand-five 
probably sufficient to keep it 

honed. 
“This division really soldiers—thats 


what really engages the soldiers’ imer- 
Robert Leahy Fair, Major General, 
Commander, Second Armored Division, 
Fort Hood, August 9, 1974. 

It’s just a lot of bullshit. They just 
give you the run-around. They fuck with 
you all the time at Hood."—A Pfc., 
modern volunteer, Second Armored Di 
sion, Fort Hood, August 12, 1974 

"The old GI is always He's 
not happy unless he's bitchin’. The more 
he bitches, the better he likes it"—Fort 
Lewis captain, July 1, 1975. 

‘The hills are scraggy and dun-colored, 
the carth parched. Clumps of tangled 
ite, sumac, dwarf oak. At th 

imit of the horizon to 
north squats a hill 
from th 
night laager. Tiny heads come jodding 
against the sky. then shoulders, then 
the men running. Forty of the 60 are 
on the homeward leg of a mile run. 
‘The column is an accordion, squeezing 
n response to the N.C.O.'s voice, stretch- 


ing and dangling when the voice is still. 
Before the sergeant will order 
ch!" seven men wi 


fallen out, half the remainder will be 
ing an exhausted c p-walk; 
only a hard duster of 18 or 20 stays the 
course. The last of the seven to drop 
out stands bent over, hands on his thighs, 
his arms cocked inward like a 
hound's forelegs. He is throwing up. 
damn pussy?’ 
bout 387, 990 pounds. 
he says 
t turns to the 
course,” he says, "mech ir 
run much. They got tracks. 
It is 0800 at Fort Lewis. The 
Js on the post are filled with traffic 
moving at the base speed limit. Over by 
Second Brigade, a line of cars has been 
halted by two road guards fr 
ranger battalion—so that 
detachment on its morning 
cross safely. However, a Volvo at 
head of the line of cars a hurry 


sm 


ll ranger 
cn 
the 


n 


is 


begins to inch ahead, toward the : 
guards. The two of them get into a kind 
of crouch, scrambling in place in front 
of the Volvo. They grow] 
The texture of Army life in garrison 
largely unchanged. The war in Vict- 
nam was but an unhappy irruption. 
"Traditions must still be served. 

When I was at school, there was a huge 
old English aching next to the door 
to the Latin It showed two 
ous knights (richly capurisoned, 
iding out of a sally port. with 
squires iners following 


sroom. 


l Leonidas Polk and the 
body of d Coeur de Lion, was 
pointing with his sword at a distant 
copse. The squires and soldiery follo 
ing were looking at the copse. All these 
military people were going forward 
to get at something. In 20 minutes, half 
of them would ha arrows through their 
their arms hacked off or their 
is crushed or be disemboweled. But 
Gentle Viewer was to th odlrey 
of Bouillon or the Bi Prince or Lee at 
Chancellorsville or, God only knows, 
Thomas Wolfe's mighty rivers goi 
along in darkness. Doing your duty. 
Panoply, ritual, progress, parades to keep 
the vision of slaughter noble: going for- 
long together, sallying 
ve fellows, Stiffen up the 
That is the idea be pa- 
ades: Cet them there orderly and nobly. 
It is a hazy-dry midmorning at Fort 
Hood, the sky a bleached tint of pale 
blue. Overhead, an old Huey bats |: 
guidly along. The suggestion of Vict 
nam is overwhelming, and the bright 
bbons on the officers’ 
ram home the recollec 
g's is to be an awards 


vers. or 


sinew, ctc. 


splotches of medal ri 
khakis 


dress 
tion. 


M.C.M.s nor but, rather, a 
colonel confides, certificates anesing 
“Most Improved Motor Pool,” or various 
pewter and sterling trophies for division- 
al handball and squash and what not. 
The parade ground is of the type known 
at Parris Island as a grinder, gravel over 
adam. It is very hot, and already some 
of the troops! khakis are discolored at the 
pits. Down at the extreme right of the 
company in-line formation stands 
BEST GODDAMNED BAND IN THE ARMY. The 
band comprises 76 souls—the bands- 
persons standing at parade rest in white 
shortsleeved shirts, blue trousers and 
black shoes. At the heels of the shocs 
are spurs. Three of the 76 are WACS, all 
of them in just-below-the-knee light- 


ThE 


green bombazinc? samite? cotton?—it. is 


impossible to tell. They are w 
on their pumps. Thus is traditio! 
The division medical battalion, the unit 


ng spurs 
served, 


WHALEBONES 


made from natural full-grain steer hide. 


SWERLING IMPORTS, INC. 350 fifth ave., suite 7419, new york, ny. 10001 


PLAYBOY 


doing the parade, its turn having come 
up in normal rotation, is wearing T.Ws, 
trousers bloused. most of the troops 
wearing only the Shirley Highway (Nation- 
al Defense) ribbon. The battalion awaits 
orders. 

The guests demurely mill around at 
the edge of the blacktop, just in front 
of the bleachers. A lieutenant coloncl's 
wife is talking about not having been 
back to Vassar since her graduation in, 
one would guess, about 1965. Her class- 
mutes have married Greenwich and Wall 
Street. Her husband looks 98, has a 31- 
ch waist, no jowls, no shake, no love 
handles, He has a wonderful frank smil 
He is so trim. The woman seems to be 
See what 1 mean?—I don't 
mind Fort Hood one bit. The tone of 
the conversation among the officers and 
their wives is alternately declarative and 
accommodating, the conversational tone 
of all bureaucracy at its ease. Senior 
aser, junior agrees or makes his de- 
murrer a kind of little joke. All the 
wives are wearing white glov 

Adjutan’s call is sounded. The com- 
mander of troops is another lieutenant 
colonel. He is an M.D. He gives good 
voice, jerking his head like a pouter 
pigcon with cach command. The elab- 
orate ceremonial is got through crisply 
and quickly: officers front and center, 
ardees. front d center, the march 
past. Everyone down to the last WAC 
is in sep, in that limber 
athletic gait peculiar to the American 

you do an ey 
ar them eyeballs click!” 
commanding gene ds isolated 
above us on the reviewing stand like a 
andias in Fos! , while his 
in a brown- 
n dress, smiles at the companies pass- 
ing below him. Finally, the last w 
leaves the parade grou 
out to the unofficial 
the Patton March. 


division. anthem, 


“IF they look good at parade, they 
w: 


says. 
“They look good 
“Shit. Most of em in Waco by nov 
Incentive.) 


Only the Ninth Infantry Division is at 
ort Lewis. At Fort Hood there are two. 
divisions—the Second Armored and the 
First Cavalry, There is a wary rivalry 
among the officers of the two division staffs 
at Hood. Which division is better? The 
rc-enlistm D. arc 


t raes for the Second / 


ver 


good, indeed, as are most of the 


statistical indexes that the di: 


me: 


ion uses to 
ind to send forward 
to Forces Command Headquarters at Fort 
McPherson. Those for the Cav are not 


are its readiness 


162 quite so good. In the Cav's headquarters, 


handsomely printed copies of the fol. 
lowing circulate: 


The government are very keen 
on amassing statistics. They collect 
them, add them, raise them to the 
nth power, take the cube root and 
prepare wonderful diagrams. But 
you must never forget that every 
one of these figures comes in the 
first instance [rom the village watch- 
1, who puts down what he damn 
ases. 


r Josiah Stamp 
Inland Revenue Department 
England, 1896-1919. 

Private David Jensen, let us call him, 
is a member of the mortar platoon of 
Company A, Second Battalion, 60th In- 

wy at Fort Lewis. He is from San Jose 
ad did not finish high school, though he 
is working toward the C.E.D. (high school 
equivalency). He took basic Ord 
and advanced individual train Fort 
Polk, Louisiana. The more he bitches, 
the happier he is supposed to be. Only 
it is not that simple. 

Jensen lives, like most soldiers in the 
nth Infantry E 


vision who are not mar- 
four-man room that the autho 
ties permit him and his roommates to 
decorate any way they please. What 
the L Big 
bright posters hang from the walls; there 

a rug on the floor. Jensen and his 
Iriends are working on their gear. On 
their color TV is a talk 


ws 


nted to be a ‘Sixty-lour Bravo diesel 
mechanic The recruiter says, like, he 
couldn't give it to me in writing, but if I 
went into the Ninth Division, I'd get it. 
hit. But I didn't care. In the afternoons 
after school we'd go out to my dad's 
place and get wasted. Nothin’ heavy like 
angel dust, but, you know, LSD and pot. 
I wanted a change of pace. 

“They fuck you over all the time, like 
their haircut policy. 

Did Jensen feel proficient with his 
weapon? (He is assigned as a loader for 
an 81mm mortar tube.) What about his 
squad and platoon? 

"Hell, yes. We could outshoot any- 
body on this post. The platoon really 
works together.” 

How would it do in con 

“They'd do great. Only, if another 
thing like Vietnam comes along, they're 
do it without mc. You know how 
r Fort Levis is from » 

But it is not that si her. Jen- 
sen "couldn't sce anything like Vietnam 
ever happening again. And if it was the 
right war,” he'd go. 

All of which means only this: When 
the Ninth Infantry Division gets its 
orders to combi the start of a new 
Asian war, Jensen, who does not like 
the Army much but would “probably 


reup if they give me a big enough 
bonus,” would go with the division and 
be one of the best mortarmen in the 
His attitude differs liule from the 
aftees’ who preceded him. He came in 
for a change of pace and because he'd 
heard the money was all right. He docsn't 
like the hasle, He likes to sleep in. He 
feels no loyalty or attachment to the 
Army or the Ninth Division, bur he knows 
his mortar squad can outshoot anybody on 
the post friends are all in the 
squad. Je typical. 


ntil his selection for 
lieutenant. 


promotion to 
eneral Late last spring and 
his reassignment from Fort Hood in 
August, Robert Fair commanded the 
Second. Armored. Division—1200 officers 
and warrant officers and. 16.000 men. In 
addition to its support. elements—en- 
ineers, air defense, aviation, mainte- 
nance people, communicators, and so on— 
the division comprises five major com- 
tands: divisio 1 four bii- 
gades. Each brigade is hi 
mechanized.infant 
(54 per battalion) and armored personnel 
carriers (A.P.C.s). Should the division be 
committed to battle, it would be strength- 
ened by several "round-out" units from 
the Army Reserve, Though it trains [oi 
deployment anywhere, the division has 
Middle East written all ove 
t was great fun 
division in the desert"—ihe opening line 
of Marshal Slim’s memoir Defeat into 
Victory. Given the chance to fight 

in the desert or in Europe 
General Fair would have made the most. 


M60 tanks 


of it. 

This is an admirable soldier. For the 
most part during his time as commander, 
he was feared and admired rather than 


liked. (Grathto in the officers’ club: 1 wAY 
NOF BE RIGHT, BUT TM FAIR.) Many of the 
clichés about generals apply to | 
Clichés embody truths and disagre 
necessities. Fair is leathery, tough. pile- 
lessly energetic, dedicated. 
Once in a while, Il relax 
on a Monday night." On these occasions, 
he sits with his paperwork in his 
watching the nine-o'clock spectacle, All 
generals like football. 

At Fort Hood, General Fair worked 
110 hours a week. He could be found, 
quite literally, at any point on the 340- 
square-mile reservation of Fort Hood. He 
thirsted for details and statistics. He 
drove his commanders relentlessly; and 
his brigade and battalion commanders 
knew that their success would determine 
whether or not they, 100, would be gen- 
erals. (The success of these officers was 
measured by Gene 
amd endorsements on 
Officer Efficiency Reports. Each year, 
board of some 15 general officers meets 
for two or three weeks to select colonels 


jous. 


for promotion to brigadier generals. Be- 
tween 50 and 60 are selected. The system 
operates with a peculiar and usually un- 
acknowledged efficacy. despite the built-i 
inflation": that is, the O.E.R.s abound 
adjectives that try to assure promotion for 
those officers generals like Fair think 
should be promoted: “brilliant, tireless, 
innovative.” etc. But the generals know 
how to wok the system, how to read the 
O.F.R.s. One colonel put it succinctly: 
“We've got an inflated report-card system 
which has discriminators in it" The 
board cam separare apparently strong 
ratings from really powerful ones. Besides, 
as the Army shrinks—it is now but 60 
percent of the size of the 1969 Army—the 
chances that the officers under conside 
tion for promotion will be known per- 
sonally to members of the selection 
boards will increase.) 

Fair has the Westmoreland jaw, which 
he juts x good deal. his breezy, avuncu- 
lar salute nicely b 


neing the stem 


uplifting greeting. "Goodlookin'soldie 
he would shout at a spec four walking 
along Tank Destroyer Boulevard. (What 
do the soldiers think? Does it make them 
feel good to have generals say such things 
to them? It is a military article of faith 
that it does, but cf. Siegfried Sa 
"He's a cheery old card, muttered Harry 


soon 


to Jack/ But. he did for them both with 
his plan of attack.”) 
Fair wa 


always in bristling motion. 
For the first two hours cach morning, 
after the early bantering conference with 
his sergeant major and chief of stall, in 
which he would find out what went on 
the previous night in the division area 


and how the soldiers behaved in Kil. 
Ieen—what crime, what rifles missing, 
what AW.O.Ls, etc—he would glide 
about the division area in his stafi 
with an aide, Sequence: Car stops, E 
“dismounts,” strides into a subordinate 
headquarters t0 ask his questions, firing 
y like Montgomery at preDday in- 
spections: peppery, quizzical, head cocked; 
into the Patton Museum to see how 
the displays are shaping up: over to the 
railhead to inspect the weekly battalion 
loadout; through the gleaming mess 
halls with their strange smell, a compost 
of Lysol and dairy barns: into the divi- 
sion recruiting office; out to the field— 
always out to the field. Everyone in his suite 
I 
ggle like 
one of the day's 50 Tru 


awa 


scampers: moves at the head of the 


nds, muses, li, 
cigarettes, pra 
claps men on the back. catalyzes, shakes up, 


di prow: dem 


hts 


ises, 


1corienis, invites, cajoles, leaves. 

His successor at the Second A.D. is 
Major General George S. Patton HII, 
and he will have a tough act to follow. 
In fiscal 1971, Fairs division. re-cnlist- 
ment goal was 813: 1222 took their burst 
of six. In July 1973, before Fair got to 
the division, the A.W.O.L. rate was 44 
per 1000: a year Tater, it was 14 per 
1000. From January to June, 1974, 1194 


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PLAYBOY 


164 on his I 


troopers raised their G-T. scores, and of 
all the soldiers who re-upped when Fair 
was in command, 72 percent reenlisted 
for his division. 

What about crime? 

"Crime, that’s down forty percent,” he 
said. 


ager humor: In the fall of 1973, 
during the most recent Arab-Israeli 
shooting war. a class of about. 150 ranger 
students was called together by its sergeant 
instructors. For the nine-week course, 
perhaps the toughest and most demand- 
ing of all the American military-training 
programs, the students are virtually iso- 
lated from all outside news. The senior 
nstructor told the class he had serious 
ews for them: World War Three had 
broken out that morning. He wanted to 
know how many students would volun- 
teer to quit the course, so that they could 
join a Middle East Expeditionary Force. 
There was nothing much left of the 
United States. The students gaped . . 
their families in Philadelphia and St. 
Louis and. Detroit. 
About a half hour 
told them he wa 


ter, the sergeant 
only kidding. 


"No reveille? What army you been 
readin’ about? They may not have, like, 
standing in formation at five-thi 
be 
Cove. 1 get up at foui 
What do I do wh 
up detail for a few 
you sleep until eight after th: 
Spec Four, Third Brig. 
mored Divisi 


's over! 
Second Ar- 


In mid-1975, 22.2 percent of the total 
enlisted strength of the Army were black 
soldiers; 13 percent of the 17-to-20-year- 
old population of the United States is 
black. Suggestive? OL course it is. Not so 
suggestive, however, as the following: 
the first six months of 1974, the 
percentages of black recruits varied from 
January low of 23.3 to a high, in June, 
1.9. But during the same period of 

as one of sharp national 
recession —when more and more people 
voluntecred—the percentages of blacks 
entering the Army ranged from a January 
low of 18.2 to a June hi 
simply, the Army, which. will at least ac- 
knowledge that a recession allows 
recruiting people to be more "selecti 
accepting very few in the two lowest 
mental categories, finds a disproportion- 
ately large number of blacks in those cate- 
gories. The number of blacks coming 
the Army has dropped dr 


‘ou want your spaghetti, get your 
L.J.E. on!" A soldier walks back to the 
edge of the clearing, crawls inside the 
M-I13 armored personnel carrier, puts 
id-bearing equipment, shoulders 


his M-16 and returns to the chow line, 
place. 

He is one of only 80 soldie 
pany, First Battalion, 50th In 
field. The company is in the field tra 
for REFORGER, an operation in which, 
later in the year, one of the brigades of 
the Second A.D. will be airlifted to West 
Germany. The battalion commander is 
back at the post, having been detailed 
to preside over a court-martial. Where 
are the rest of the men? “Oh, we got 
some on S.D. [special duty], some new 
people g in, some sick, some people 
‘on guard duty, some guys in their educa- 
nal cycle... ." More precisely, the com- 
ee men in confinement, two 
, 13 percent on leave, five w 
ing for discharge (in both the Ninth In- 
fantry and the Second Armored divisions, 
the quarterly turnover rate hovers around 
20 percent), 11, including the supply 
sergeant and the armorer, in garrison, nine 
- Of the hospitalized, one has 
hernia, the other caught clap in Killeen, 
At the moment, no one is detached for 
ggressor or instructor dury with National 
1d units in training on post. 

In any case, the 42 percent of the com- 
pany that have made it to the field appear 
to enjoy it. They have made a 40-mile 
“march” in their big tracks and will stay 
in the field for three days of dismounted 


ntry in the 
ning 


perimeter tactics, night. patrol 
take 


. They 


their chow | sit mound the 


mul- 
tours 


n Brownlee, commanding: 
le combat decorations from. two 
in Vietnam, a degree in sociology, 35 
old. He appears to possess what Ma 
Lyautey wrote was the prime requisite 
for a good officer: gaiety. The earnest- 
ness, both terrible and pathetic, of so 
many officers running the volunteers in 
the field is absent in him. He is one of 


Archilochus’ bandy-legged, swaggering 
soldiers. 
How will the Volunteer Army keep 


trained men in uniform? “You got to 
show them the Army is interested in them, 
show "em all the special services available 
to them; give 'em the good su 
make the squad leaders sensitive to the 
needs of the individual, keep the ind 
ual informed. You gotta make him feel 
he's a link in the chain, give him recogni- 
tion. If he's good—mitke him general's 
orderly six Brownlee senses the 
i's skepticism, winks and laughs. “I 
dunno. . . . I guess the thing’ll work 
when the first round goes off. Hell, they 
get three hundred and forty-five dollars 
a month,” 

He is offered a beer but refuses it be- 
cause the men aren't drinking in the field. 
“I think sixty percent of our trouble is 
brought on us by the goddamn frag order. 
They can't let us do one thing at a time. 
I want to spend three, four nights in 
the field with these people, the rest of the 


nes. 


time back in the billets, but these people 
frag you to death. Five men here, ten 
men there, twenty men to this school, ten 
men come down on levy lor Germany— 
just when we got them trained Aere. I 
got three men lifeguards at the clu 

Command Sergeant Major Paul Gicer 
stands against a gray Dempster dumpster. 
“These damn people gotta quit fooling 
around with tangibles. That's not how 
you get good men in the Service. Yeah, 
we still got the same old American GI, 
but the draftees were a better group.” 

Were they? They wer 
onc must judge. By the end of November 
1974, the last draftees had been mustered 
out, excepting only those who had taken 
their bursts of six or those awaiting trial. 

Certain gene ns can be madi 
The new Auny's Willie and Joe tend to 
come from Louisiana instead of the south 
Bronx. They are somewhat younger, on 
the average. And yet, adding in your poor 
black from Shreveport, they remain your 
standard Battle Cry collection of the dis- 
possessed, the curious, the naughty. the 
gung ho, the indigent, the unemplo 
the romantic, the shifiless. Really, 
only members of the old squad not now 
present for duty are the Northeastern 
liberal—say, the English major from 
bemused friend fron 
ich or Grosse Pointe who “did 
not want the responsibility of a commis- 
sion,” who read Nietzsche at lunch and 
who said sentences to his sergeant that 
began with the words "But surely. 
"Ihe Army now has none of these types. 
"The infantry companies lose the bright 
captions bastards who could run thc 
orderly room and rip through the 
paperwork; the colleges and universities 
lose the students who were once GIs. It 
is a loss for both institutions. 

The privates are still wiping dust off 
foodocker linings and arran; their 
toilet articles. They are still ca 
though somewhat tastier, piles of choles- 
terol for lunch. They remain generally 
suspicious of the older N.C.O.s, who re- 
turn the suspicions fourfold; they are 
tolerant of second lieutenants, with the 
exception of the black privates, who most- 
ly despise the black lieutenants—" You're. 
one of the swine, man. You're eatin’ outa 
Charley's hand." (Only 4.8 percent of the 
officer corps is black) The soldiers are 
still too often shunted, with bewilde: 
and numbing irregularity, from one piece 
of make-work to another; they still go 
out to the boonics on training exercises 
with less than half the company present 
for duty. The great and idiotic bataille 
de haircut still sputters along in a dis- 
connected series of rcar-guard actions and. 
watchful truces, now stimulated by the 
added tactical problem that Army derma- 
tologists are allowing some of the black 
soldiers to grow beards, 

Off post there are sti 


about the same, 


hose. perfectly 


Tm mer uos 


“Is this the famous British understatement?” 


Dahl 


PLAYBOY 


166 


vile little Army towns to 1 
dispiritedly k 
Texas, 
pl 
towns that sell books on spanking, six- 
ace drafts at $1.55 a throw with a bored 
opless dancer thrown in, quamercarat 
diamond rings. airhockey games, trailers 
called Moh-Bisle Homes, Haggar slacks, 
y fourragéres, used Buicks, sets of 
the Britannica, painted portraits of 


‘The Individual, whores, Hondas and 
Naugahyde setiecs. "here's talk of cu'n’ 
k on personnel at Dix,” said a cab- 


driver in Wrightstown 
nd this place is dead. 
faybe ninety percent of them use 
a Fort Lewis colonel estimated air- 
^ "Let's say ten percent are into the 
harder drugs. I think the effect on trai 
ing is negligible. Not many of them turn 
on in the barracks anymore." 

He is right; the effec. on training is 

ligible: nowhere nearly as debilitating 
the world-wide musical-chairs program 
the Army keeps playing. “They keep 
coming down on levy"—this is the 
ny sung by officers and N.C.O.s 
e: As soon as the Stat sions 
have the soldiers more or less efficiently 
aed imo their units—after 16 
months, on the average—the soldiers are 
swept up to replace other men leaving 
Germany and Korea. And though the 
units will do well enough on their an- 
al ARTEP (Army Training and Eval- 
uation Program, in which batta 
companies and platoons are evaluated 
on their ability to perform certain 
basic to their combat missions: day! 
attacks, tactical road marches, withdrawals 


“They do th 


DT 


with and without pressure. raids, move- 
ments to contact, and so on), there can 
be no question but that they'd do better 
urbulence." But they must 
Not enough people volunteer 
to spend their three or four years in Korea 
or Germany. 

As to the officer 
time in the y. 


as though, some- 
the withdrawal 


of Americ 
and the summer of 1975, some omnipotent 
and exalted general of the 


screamed, at the top of his lungs: "For 
Christs sake, calm down!” Oddly, thc 
officer corps seems to have listened. The 
cra of crazed ticket punching. of moving 
from one assignment to another every 6 
or 12 months, in order to compile a bril- 
liantly diverse career, has ended. Other 
routes have been hacked through the 
careerist jungles to the top: routes other 
than command of battalions and brigades; 
though the number of officers on active 
duty has dropped from a peak of 16 
in 1969 to 100000 today—the total 
strength of the Army is 785,000—there are 
but several hundred brigades and ba 
ions to command. An officer not seleaed 
for command is no longer necessirily out 
of the runn general's stars. 
ly this is being communicated to the officer 
corps. and with good results, But com- 
mand remains the broadest and best- 
traveled road to the top. 

But heres the real hell of it all 
Hawthorne wrote that when he read a 
Trollope novel, he felt as though he were 
staring down on an anthill whose top 
some careless giant had kicked off. Sud- 
denly. he could see the quiet, orderly 
frenzy of the worker ants in the green 


m 


and placid world of Trollope’s Barchesier 
people, all of whom seemed to move along 
the converging and separating axes of 
their ambitions, affections, ideals, quiet 
buried lusts. But did Trollope, Haw- 
thorne must have wondered, imagine that 
some supervening purpose guided the 
workers in their lives and labors? Did 
some common goal keep them at their 
stations, at their tasks? 

In the modern Volunteer Army, the 
ollicers from the grade of major upward 
seem to imagine that their perception of 
the goal can be communicated to the 
workers and that, if the workers unde 
stand it, and if they are made comfortable 
as they labor to achieve it, well, then, 
they will keep on getting better and more 
efiicient and more "motivated." For a 
while, it is said. a litle knot of senior 
officers dragged their heels on the Volu 
teer Army, angrily and quiedy spouting 
what they hoped would be self-fulfilling 
prophecies about its inevitable failure. 
Those officers are now gone. The ones 
left, by God, are going to make the thing 
rk. And the good stiff recession isn't 
hurting them at all. 

The funny thing is, as Captain 
Brownlee said, “The system'll work when 
the first round goes off.” Roughly, no 
matter what. Ill work no matter how 
happy the modern voluntce Fort 
Lewis and Fort Hood are: whether or not 
they are content, whether or not they like 
going to the field as mudh as the officers 
imagine they do, whether or not crime is 
down 40 percent, whether or not the 
troops are out of yellow jackets and into 
hash or Coors beer, whether or not they 
spend 15 percent or 60 percent of their 
time in the field, whether or not they get 
enchiladas for lunch instead of pork- 
sausage patties, whether or not there are 
beer machines in the barracks alongside 
candy machines, whether or not they 
get off at 2:30 or 4:30, whether or not 
the brigade headquarters company has a 
racerelitions seminar once a month, 
whether or not the general stops some 
stupelied private on the street and spot- 
promotes him because he looks like a 
soldier... . 

“It really don’t make a shit. You can't 
change it" said a Pfc. Lewis. 
the volunteer soldier, all the tangible 
benefits, all the momentary pleasure of 
rumbling forward over the arroyos and 
hillocks of Hood in the big tanks 
and dattering A.P.Cs, all the prizes and 
awards, all the education—all the caring 
of the offiecrs—all of these things and 
more will not prove "attractive" enough 
to keep more than one third of them in 
the ranks of the Regular Army beyond 
their contracted terms of duty. 

But the United States will be richer 
for their having served, and the Army bet- 


ter for their having left it—and for their 
being replaced by new legions of 
volunteers. 


© 103—587. mevnoLos TOBACCO CO. 


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Because if you're like a lot of cigarette smokers these days, you're probably 
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more flavor, the more ‘tar’ Except for Vantage. 

You must know that Vantage cigarettes have a special filter which reduces ‘tar’ 
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167 


168 


PLAYBOY FORUM 


me reconsider. Just before California re- 
duced pot possession from a felony to a 
misdemeanor punishable by a small fine, 
the Eureka, California, Times-Standard 
published an editorial opposing mari- 
juana reform that impressed me. 

The editorial admits that it isn't be- 
cause of "any intrinsic danger in mari- 
juana itself that w officers oppose 
reduction of per 
cause the mari 
verage “in dealing with other. harder to 
prove offenses.” The editorial then ex- 
plains that a majority of 
under 25 have used pot and daims 
this group commits most crimes. 
result, even if evidence for the original 
suspected crime is lacking, police are 
often able to arrest suspects on ma: 
or other drug charges.” It goes on: 


In ad ing arrests 
the marijuana laws are a valu- 
able tool for district attorneys. In a 
system under which approximately 90 
percent of all criminal cases are dis- 
posed of through plea bargains, the 


(continued from page 62) 


more felony charges which can ini- 
tially be brought against a defendant, 
the better the bargaining position of 
the prosecution. 


The editorial concludes that, since 
most of the cards in court seem to be 
stacked in favor of the criminal by legal 
decisions that stiffen the rules of evidence, 
severe pot laws are a useful weapon on 
the side of law and order. It seems to me 
that's a point worth considering. 

Earl Jenkins 
Baltimore, Maryland 

We have considered it and we reject it. 
Any law ihat doesn't serve its stated pur- 
pose is by definition a bad law; if its 
unslated purpose is to arbitrarily and se- 
lectively prosecute people who cannot be 
convicted of some other crime, then it is 
an even worse law. Why not just prohibit 
anyone under 25 from appearing in a 
public place—call it the Off the Streets 
and Out of Trouble Act—and let the po- 
lice use their judgment as to who should 
be locked up? The net result of this edi- 
torial writers approach to crime control 


“We've heard the rumors, ma’am—there’s 
absolutely nothing to them.” 


would be to increase public hostility to- 
ward police and further decrease respect 
for the law. The following letter describes 
a perfect example of this kind of abuse. 


THE WRONG ARM OF THE LAW 

Roger T. Davis letter titled “Drugs and 
Racism" (The Playboy Forum, June) tells 
of yet another way marijuana laws can 
be—and are—used to persecute people 
who have managed to offend society in 
ways that aren't legally punishable. In 
Davis’ case, the community couldn't pros 
ecute him for being black and for dating 
white girls, one of whom he married, so 
it convicted him of marijuana pose 
and of an apparently set-up sale of a few 
ounces of pot and put him away for 40 
years. 

Actually, Davis’ letter hardly touches 
the surface of this legal travesty. For 
example, he mentioned that several other 
people convicted of pot sales in Wythe 
County received much lighter sentences 
than he; but a two-part article by Michael 
Satchell in The Washington Siar p 
out an even more appalling disparity: In 
the same town, a man convicted of his 
second first-degree murder was sentenced 
to 20 years, A twice-convicted killer will 
thus be back on the streets in half the 
time Davis is serving. The same article 


tcd information about the drug comes 
from the area's only newspaper, the 
Southwest Virginia Enterprise, whose edi- 
tor, Jim Williams, believes pot is the 
Devil's tool and that its use by young 
people helps Communists. During the 15 
months preceding Davis’ trial, Williams 
ran no fewer than 55 frontpage stories 
or second-page editorials on drugs and 
drug arrests, including 16 page-one stories 
about Davis specifically. Yet before the 
tial, all 12 jurors claimed they'd never 
heard of Roger Davis Pardon me if I 
choose to remain skeptical about their 
supposed fairness and impartiality. 

A man has been sentenced to 40 years 
in prison not because he posed any re 
danger to the community (he says otha 
inmates serving a lot less time for murder. 
rape and other suongamm crimes just 
cwt believe him when he tells them 
his sentence is for allegedly selling some 
dope) but because he 
and already much dish 
the community's hysterical fears about 
drugs and race. Wythe County sherill 
Buford Shockley’s “state of the county 
message in a January 1973 issue of the 
Enterprise began: “Wegal drugs and por- 
nography are the biggest and most im- 
portant problems in the county.” Even 
if the sheriff wrote in good faith and 
ply mistaken rather than cynically 
and ignorance to aggran- 
dive himself, his error has put Davis in 


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or pleasure, a little help from 
your Playboy Club can help 
you make a big impression. 
Call the friendly Catering 
Manager at any Playboy Club, 
Playboy Hotel or Playboy 
Club-Hotel today. Or write to 
Marilyn Smith, National Sales 
Director, Club Di 
09324, Playboy Buildi 

N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, 
Illinois 60611. 


With a 
little help 
from a 
friend 


jail at least 1984, when he will 
first be eligible for parole. 
Walter Bryant 
Washington, D.C. 


JUDICIOUS COMMENT 
I'm sure pLayuoy has inspired many a 
judge, but it's not often there's evidence 
to prove it. The Evening Bulletin (Phila- 
delphia) reports that an inmate is suing 
a Philadelphia prison because his sub- 
scription copy of rrAYnov has been de- 
layed in reaching him by a guard who 
reads it first. In a statement about the 
yet to be decided, US. 
te Tullio Gene Leomporra de- 
‘At first blush, the bare facts of 
this event do not appear 10 attract the 
attention of a Federal court, but when 
the center of the problem is unfolded, 
the issue assumes a new posture and it is 
pparent that every 
must be studied car 
true merits will remain uncovered.” 
Becky Tarditi 
Upper Darby, Pennsylvania 


aspect of this case 
ly; otherwise, the 


DEEP, DEEPER, DEEPEST 

Im amazed that no one has wied to 
balance the hoopla and controversy about 
penis size with corresponding daims about 
the superiority of various vaginal configu- 
rations. Ihe mere mention of John 
Holmes conjures up images of something 
standing in Sequoia National Park; but 
who in this day and age is famous for the 
size or shape of lier box? 

Jt seems to me that there should be 
some sort of feminine “norm” comparable 
to the six-inch pen 


. Without a standard, 
how is one to know whether he's screwing 
a sexual superstar or just another cunt? 
Unfortunately, I'm not sure how this ki 
of norm would be established, since it 
undoubtedly harder to ascertain the fe- 
n in question than the m: 


side their members; but imagine the re- 
action one might get upon trying, at some 
appropriately cozy moment, to slip a 
welllubricated measuring stick up one's 
partner when she was expecting something 
considerably shorter and fatter! 
(Name withheld by request) 
Los Angeles, California 
Yes, well, looking al the widespread con- 
cern with penis and breast measurement, 
we can't help but feel that some depths 
are better left unsounded. Anyway, sexual 
tradition and locker-room folklore have 
always held that smallness and tightness 
are the qualities most desired in the female 
organ. But if you insist on playing the 
numbers game, jorget about rulers and 
use the tool most suited to plumbing a 
pussy: Mark off one-inch intervals on your 
tumescent pecker and measure away. 


SOLACE FOR SOFTIES 
Right after the women’s libera 
movement achieved lift-off, we 


to hear that qui few males could no 
longer get it up. “The new impotence” 
was the journalistic catch phrase. Psychol- 
ogist Rollo May wrote, in Love and Wall, 
that “my impression is that impotence is 
increasing these days despite (or 
because of) the unrestrained freedom on 
all sides." Apparently, restrained free- 
dom is healthy, but God forbid we 
should have unrestrained freedom. Other 
researchers noted the sime phenon 
and blamed it on sexually aggre 
women encouraged by feminism. 

We got from all this a picture of 
the modern couple in their bedroom, 
she standing nude, spraddlelegged and 
demanding, while he shrinks against the 
headboard of the bed trying to hide his 
Gippled bird from the accusing glare of 
that punitive pussy. 

Happily, such visions have passed. To- 
s man and woman are back in bed. 
‘Their limbs are intertwined, their geni- 
talia alert, vibrant, responsive. Fucking 
is Lun. We no longer hear about the new 
impotence. It was an imaginary fear, 
born of propagan inst sexual frec- 
dom and sexual equality. 

It used to be the woman's privilege to 
be moody and hard to please. Men felt 
that at all times they had to be in the 
mood and just plain hard. To be sure, 
a woman would be said to have a prob- 
lem if she could never lubricate, never 
have an orgasm. But occasional lack of 
sexual response just meant she was 
choosy and that her man probably hadn't 
done enough to turn her on. 

In the early days of the sexual revo- 
lution, these stereotypes still prevailed, 
and men, with sex more easily available 
to them, couldn't understand why they 
didn't always automatically turn on. 
Now, however, we've had a little more 
time to realize that men and women are 
more alike than we used to think they 
were. A man can accept himself as being, 
like a woman, a creature of moods, a 
person who sometimes needs wooing, 
cou foreplay. The woman must 
work a little to turn the man on, and 
whats wrong with that? Roosevelt Grier 
has recorded a song for liberated lite 
boys called It’s All Right to Cry. Happily, 
liberated big boys know that it's all right 
to be a softy. 


George Jackson 
Phoenix, Arizona 


“The Playboy Forum" offers the 
opportunity for an extended dialog be- 
tween readers and editors of this pub- 
lication on subjects and issues related to 
“The Playboy Philosophy.” Address all 
correspondence to The Playboy Forum, 
Playboy Building, 919 North Michi- 
gon Avenue, Chicago, Ilinois 60611. 


Bunnies honorary keyholders. Hef con- 
ceded that in forbidding Bunnies to 
fraternize, he might have been “just a 
wee bit overprotective,” insisted that he 
wanted to make "Bunny lib a reality 
rather than just a slogan” and declared, 
“Really, Bunnies, I'm not a male chau- 
vinist and I love and respect all of you 
He also observed that Bunnies are “re- 
sponsible young ladies fully capable of 
leading their own private lives without 
bringing any discredit to themselves or 
the company" To which we can only 
chorus, “Amen. 

Newsworthy as the Ci 
tion may have been, however. the hight 
of the year—as it has been for the past 
six years—was the Bunny of the Year 
Pageant, held at Los Angeles’ Aquarius 
Theater and broadcast by ABC-TV as a 
Wide World Special. Nearly 1000 Bunnies 
took part in the preliminary contests, held 
under the au 
x the keyholders casting the ba allots for 
their favori Eventually, the field was 
narrowed to 22 finalis 
rowe, Baltimore's Ca 
ton’s Britt Strat 
Lyons, Whitaker, 
Denver's Phaedra Durst, Detroit's Jackie 
Banks, Great Gorge’s Alyson Merkel, 
Jam Michelle MacDonald, Kansas 
City's Victoria Night, Lake G 
bie Lemke, London's Carolyn Moore, Los 


ago's Laura 


Angeles Victoria Cunningham, Manches- 
ter’s 7d Si 

Montreal's Johanna Saucier, New Orleans’ 
Debi Brown, New York's Naomi Lee, 


Phoenix’ Nikki Wil Portsmouth's 
to, St. Louis Jody Dyson and 
San Francisco’s Beth Martin. During the 
pageant, which was hosted by singer John 
avidson and featured entertainment by 
Barbi Benton, John Byner, Charo and 
up-and-coming dance group, The 
Lockers, a panel of celebrities—including 
Connie Stevens, Bob Crane, Bert Convy, 
Peter Lawford, Jim Brown and the all- 
me heavyweight champ of girl watchers, 
Groucho Marx—selected San Francist 
Bunny Beth as Bunny of the Year. Out 
going Bunny queen Angie Chester of the 
Chicago Playboy Club crowned her suc 
cessor, 
former 
tally, had long Teun culpa Gretta 
Beth, the Training Bunny at the San 
Francisco Club, is a yoga devotee who 
plays tennis wheney 
and is looking 
terior decoration. Her bounty as Bunny 
of the Year included a Datsun 280Z sports 
car from Nissan Motor Enterprises, a 
Harley-Davidson motorcyde, a Ca 


a $1000 check from Playboy 
other prizes. As it happens, though, Beth 
isn't a materialist; shortly after her cor 
onation—which surprised her quite a bit, 


E A 
Wf MO) (continued from page 89) 


as she was quick to admit—she took off 
for a vacation in Hawaii, to "get her head 
(She's now back at the San 
o Playboy Club, in between pro- 
motional assignments) Of course, Beth 
t the only winner at the pageant. 
Jody Dyson of St. Louis, who studies 
t J. C. Smith College when 
ig drinks to keyholders, won 
annual Miss Congeniality contest as 
girl voted "most friendly and help- 
ful” by her fellow contestants. And all 22 
finalists thoroughly enjoyed their week 
of wining, dir g for photogra 
phers and checking out the wonders of 
Angeles itself, plus those of Hefner's 
t Coast Mansion in Holmby Hills, 
which, as London Bunny Carolyn said, is 
“not exactly your average "Ihamesside 
cottage.” (Bunny Jackie noted that the 
carp in the pond were "big enough to 
jump out after you if you don't fced thei 
fast enough"; Bunny Debi, a film bui 
id she'd probably "never leave the 
house" if she had a theater like the one 
at the Mansion; and Jamaica's Bunny 
Michelle, zonked out by L.A., said she 
was at home with the palm trees, "but 
those freeways really throw me.”) 
Otherwise, it was a pretty normal year 
for Bunnies here, there and everywher 
Which meant that a lot of them made 
loci news by aiding various chariti 
d four of them—Janice Raymond 
Kacey Cobb of L.A. and Sharon Gwin 
and Maynell Thomas of Chicago (along 


with some other Playboy staff 
national news by assisting in the Playboy 
airlift of 41 Vietnamese orphans—from 
San Francisco to Denver and New York— 
shortly after you-know-which domino 
toppled in Southeast Asia. A normal year 
also means that a full quota of Bunnies 
won titles in various beauty contests, 
earned or at least made tangible prog 
d college degrees in a mind-boggl 
icty of subjects, [rom criminal law (Mi- 
's Marcy Feinzig) to marine biology 
(L.A/s Melanie Rambeck, who traveled 
10 Africa to study her subject), or got into 
something theatrical. Among the 
were New Orleans Playmate-Bunny Li 
Misch, who had scveral movie roles, i 
cluding a featured part in the blockbuster 
Mandingo; Chicago's Laura Lyons, who 
appeared in Godfather Port H (they would 
get a Chicago Bunny for that one): and 
LA. Bunnies ette Bravo, Kandi Keith 
and Betty Samuelson, all of whom ap- 
peared in segments of popular TV shows. 
from Cannon and Police Woman to a 
Flip Wilson special. Gloria Weems, also 
of the L.A. Club, was a fea 


cisco hutches. 
Tong, Rosic 
Sandy Nicholson used their spare time to 
emble a musical revue that played 
successfully at the Club. Which just goes 
10 show you what Bunny power can do. 
Believe us, when these girls take to the 
sweet with placards, the whole world 


"Tf you and Mommy got divorced? Who would I want 
to live with? Hugh Hefner.” 


171 


BEEN GOING DOWN SO LONG 


fort surrounded by red stools. The owner 
knows his clientele. The room is per- 
manently cleared for action. Although I 
can't spot the drains, I suspect that at dos- 
ing time they simply hose the place down 
ad Teave itat that. 

At the moment, there is only one girl, 
topless or otherwise, in view. She is be- 
hind the bar, checking the levels of quart 
bottles with orange fingern: 
spouts, A Sheer Strip Band-Ai 
on one breast, a tiny accent mark. Pasties 
nd a few square inches of satin between 
her legs barely meet the legal definition of 
decent exposure. Like a Las Veg 

, she is secure in her nakedness. Effec- 


(continued [rom page 128) 


the seating. Perhaps the phenomenon is 
related to nature's famed Fibonacci se- 
quence, the mysterious force that places 
ves at discreet intervals on a limb for 
i light. Keep your 


PLAYBOY 


A man and a woman—Andy Capp and 
Flo from the Sunday funnies—tug each 
other into place on a pair of stools and 
order a pitcher of beer. 

Two men in ties and matching suits 
enter the room, buy a six-pack at the bar 
and assume a casual stance by a rail that 
wall, as far from the action 


crushes it in his fist and tosses it into a 


tive. Not exactly open to small talk, either. by wastebasket. They are fiom the 
Why fish for compliments when you can D.A.soflice. 
dynamite the whole fucking pond? I take The scene is set. It is time for the topless 


a comer stool, facing the door, and order 
a vodka and tonic. The girl breaks my — bar and, without hesitation, takes position 
ten aud leaves nine singles. Can't beat over my drink. Why me, Lord? 
prices like that. . 
Nothing seems to be happening. In the F am back at the beginning, staring at 
bsence of action, I look for details. My — the original Rorschach. A voice intones the 
eyes adjust to the darkness; near the top warning: You are under arrest. You have 
Í the black walls I notice a mural, a zo- the right to remain silent. Anything you 
ac of constellations, each called Scor- — see can and may be used against you later. 
pio Rising. very amateur artist has How, I ask myself, do you go down on 
depicted, in white brush strokes, a bevy of — woman standing over your head? She doth 
reclining motorcyclists, whose idea of in- — bestride the narrow bar like a colossus and 
dolence seems to have been ripped out of we petty men walk under her huge legs 
a Cosmo centerfold. The leather boy motif aud peep about to find ourselves. uh, hon- 
continued toward the back of the room, — orable caves. Men at some time are masters 
where ceiling-to-floor chains act as a divid- of their fate. But not now, Shakesp 
er. On the other side, B 
nterrogated u 
l sunglassed blacks. One of the players. 


to go to work. She clambers up onto the 


e. 


Moments later, 1 am nursing my finger. 
The dockworkers are laughing. The girl 
takes a break and claims a corner stool 3t.— has separated a dollar from the stack. be- 
thc bar and orders a glass of icc water. He side my drink and slipped it into a sweat- 
keeps his eyes on the game, waiting to see band on her wrist. 1 order a suaight vodka 


if the table will change its stor from the bartender. Mixed drinks are like 
The first of the dockworker: mixed emotions—inefiicient—they hinder 

take the third corner stool. He is built like action. 

William Bendix ten after The T 

Life of Riley. Double-knit stretch bel- "The topless stands before the player. He 

bouoms, an acetate shirt and aviator ; 


B B points to the G string and snaps his fingers. 
glasses, tinged pink with embarassment. No tricks. The girl tugs on a slipknot and 
He is a professional drinker. Calling for he loth triangle disappears. into her 
some Jose Cuervo, he establishes a rhythm pand, He extends his right hand, palm up, 
l builds it slowly, like a juggler adding fingers extended, the image of noncha- 
balls to a spinning arc. Lime. Salt. Te tance, (Adam of the Sistine Chapel: 
quila. Lime. Salt. Tequila. A brief pause «Gimme some skin.") She positions herself 
10 rebalance his eyes. Lime. Salt. Tequila. and begins a circular motion. The player 
iuc elio anor yeeie pora niee peaks and the topless changes her tempo 

The second of the dockworkers arrives Ul AS n umo. i gemma dc 
Before taking the fourth corner stool, he 
presses a few buttons on the jukebox nes- 
ued behind the plywood divider le: 
ihe men's room. A country 
song spreads across the room. (“Every shot 
of bourbon seems to miss/Thc target if 
there is one don't keep still/I aim to maim. 
but then I gucss/ There are times I would 
seule for a kill") This guy is serious. I get 


ne, use me till you use me up. The player 
t abruptly 


nd walks back to 
ks up a chalk and 
ing the girl's mo- 
e. Competent. 


ks cont 
ame, where he 
readies his cue, duplic 
tion. Articulate. Coni 
The topless stops in front of the dri 
cr, who gives no sign that he is aware of 
her. She waits for the rhythm to include 
the idea that Lam out of my league. her. Lime. Salt. Tequila, Lime. Salt. Te- 
T marvel at the unspoken etiquette at quila. Cunt, Lime. Salt, Tequila. The man 

work here; the same principle that keeps knows how to quench a thirst. 

members of a pomo-film audience justout The Sunday fi 

172 of range of one another seems to dictare little woman reaches into a carpetbag 


purse, pulls out a dollar. waves it toward 
the topless and then nods toward her hus- 
band. Andy Capp looks eager. if not total- 
ly there. The topless wraps one leg around 
his neck, cradling his head in her crotch. I 
am mystified by the exchange. Maybe the 
woman is disgusted by her husband's carnal 
habits but feels that, as an understand 
ing wife, she must supervise his activity 
through these, the cavity-prone y 
Maybe she is one of those women who are 
victimized by oral sex (“Every time he 
wants me out of the room, he goes down 
on me, keeps me on the other side of my 
orgasm") and she'll take relief any way she 
can. Maybe the little woman is proud ol 
her man's ability. Andy Capp, without 
coming up for breath, twitches his hand on 
the bar. Another bill floaty out of the car- 
petbag, to be tucked into the sweatband. 

Raising his gl. not his ey 
topless, the second dockworker abstains. 
He is a purist, he likes his alcohol straight. 
‘The girl understands. 

Two long-haired Scandi 
duck through the door, refugees from 
beer commercial No chickenshit 
wrestling for these guys. They 
GUSTO! Big Giant picks the topless off 
the bar with one arm, hoists her to his 
shoulder and alternates between a stein 
of beer, handed to him by his sidekick, 
and the world’s finest chaser. Judging by 
the movements of his head, he’s one of 
those guys who believe that as you're only 
1 once, you might as well go 
berate circles, The 


ig Giant's chest and tai in mi 5 
This s begaar's ballet. A pas de deux 
worthy of Nureyev and Font ata frac 
tion of the cost. At the finish of the dance, 
she knee 
space herween hi 

She turns to his side-kick. Little Giant 
describes what he wants done. The topless 
goes into a backbend, then arches. The 
skin stretches tight across her stomach; the 
pastics rise from her nipples like cymbals. 
And, touching only one point on this hall 
cirde of ten: . Little Giant's ton 
Brute strength is challenged by tech 
He is allowed to kiss the space benwe 
breasts. 

One of the D.A. 
full can of beer. 

A rumpled businessman scowls 
hippies from the other side of his mart 
A fivespot face up on the bar establishes 
his credit. A man doesn't bave to be a long: 
10 give good head. He grabs the top- 
less by the buttocks, collides with h 
hut a desk drawer on accounts piy: 
ble. The girl appreciates dramatic tension 
She bucks, appears to struggle, then re- 
Jents, pulling him into her, tousling wh 
is left of his hair. 

I am moved by the democracy of it. I 
e that J am enjoying the spectacle, 
that everyone in the bar, which is now full. 
is having a good time. 


men tries to crush a 


the 


their faces. There are no pockets of quiet 
desperation. I am on my seventh straight 
vodka. The owner is no fool. Like beer 
nuts and free popcorn. something about 
the bar snacks here increases the thirst. 
Another girl begins to work the bar. The 
original topless has come full circuit and 
is in front of me once more. I. pocket my 
wire rims. retiring the transparent eyeball 
for the night. and. brushing apart her 
hair. draw her toward me. I notice that her 
thighs are smooth. muscular, deafening. 
The secret word is announced. Glossolalia. 
The gift of tongues. I cease to be aware of 
details or individual gestures. We fall into 
place. We are graceful. We are strong. 


Lifting her from the bar, I introduce her 
to a posi 
lo 


ion 


would send Olga Korbut 
chiropractor. I am allowed to kiss the 
e between her breasts. 

The next I meet Nathaniel for 
lunch. At least T think it is the next day. 
It might not be Nathaniel, for that matter. 
Fm flying on autopilot. locked in a hold- 
ing pattern over the New Jersey swamps, 
for the hangover to dear 
“Well 
I recount the details: Nat probes for the 

jon, not ac- 


how'd va do 


gebrus 


meaning. He wants interpret 


tion. The thrill of victory. The agony of 
defeat. The telephone number of the 
topless. 


"T'm not sure I can, Like Bobb 
says, I don't believe in psycholog 


believe in good moves. Most of the guys at 
the lunch bar are convinced that they have 
the fastest tongue in the West. Give them 
ten seconds with a woman, anv woman, 
and she'll come. If she doesn’t. it's her own 
fault. The place is carefree. defiant. It's too. 
weird to be neurotic, right? Going down on 
a woman in public is an exercise of person- 
al freedom. 7 don't need this, E WAN 

this, And it’s an. accompl 
these guys go to heaven. they can look 
t Peter ve and say, "In my life. 
I've performed cunnilingus on : 
of women. I nesses.” Tt won't mat- 


the 


ter if some of the women were topless. I'm 
passa Tie-detector 
to detail, the 


an of my word. 1 ca 
test. As long as you don't go i 
language doesn’t lie. 
As to whether the 
selves: A woman who has 10 n 
balance on a two foot 
off the ground while wearing sis 
forms isn’t going to get off on ten seconds 
of oral sex. The girls are exhibitio 
their minds are always on their 
lecting the dollar bills, cleaning themselves 
with an alcohol soaked towel between 
tomers. Very delicate. that. Ih 
they get off on people who make them 
look good. When you do something in 
front of people, you don't ask if your part- 
ner is satisfied. you ask the audience if the 
performance was satisfying. Once you get 
that figured, it’s easy to be a star.” 


iel volunteers to accompany me 
back ro the bar to collect additi. 
We are too late. Goldstei column has 
entered the collective unconscious of New 
York. The bar is three-deep with people 
you never see in daylight. West Point 
cadets. Every sociology student in the city. 
Countless dudes impersonating Geraldo 
Rivera and the Eyewitness News team. Ab. 
solutely no one impersonating Tom Sny- 
der. The air is vibrant with anxiety. In the 
the gashed green felt of the 
pool table testifies to the general nervous- 
ness. People eye oue another, wondering 
le 
sk for 
al history spoils the ro. 
ice. The regulars | Four girls 
ing the walkway. Dollar bills ave 
thrust into G strings and bra straps. like 
cash offerings to a statue of the Virgin 
Mother. 1 am recognized, waved to by the 
original topless. She points to the crowd 
and shrugs. The bar has been discovered. 
Or busted, Or both. The topless has gone 
the way of the bottomless cup of coffee. 
n make the opening move. For 
. they will wave it in your face. 
ty. not involvement. Nothing is 
ed. The return to voyeurism is sad. 
Crippling. I don't want it. 1 don't need 


it. We leave. 


I data. 


No one ca 
a doll: 


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DOUG BRUCE 


RICHARD GILL “carmen” and keynes 


^ LOT OF MEN in their 40s start yearning for a new carcer, but 
most never get past the Walter Mitty stage. Meet the excep- 
tion: Richard Gill, 47, who gave up his career as a. Harvard 
economics professor four years ago to take on leading roles with 
the New York City Opera—and, since the season before last. 
with the Met, too. He still retreats each summer to New Hamp. 
shire, where he spends his time writing scholarly books (Great 
Debates in Economics was this year’s subject) and getting the 
exercise he needs to withstand the rigors of the concert s 
("Sometimes 1 have to carry around a soprano"). It's not that 
Gill was unhappy lecturing at Harvard. where he went a 

precocious undergraduate and became an assistant dean at 91. 
But he had sung in church choirs and played clarinet in his 


school band while growing up in New Jersey. (his mother was 
a music teacher). and ten years ago, he decided to take singing 
lessons—partly to get hack his cigarette-damaged wind, partly 10 


i rr seems like businessmen have cornered the market on 
patriotism, drumming up sales in the name of the Bicentennia 
and if you fi ing to ger worse instead of better 
1976, vou may want to march to a different drummer. That 
would be Jeremy Rifkin, 80-year-old veteran of The Wharton 
School, who launched the People’s Bicentennial Commission 
s an upbeat alternative to a "buycentennial" that he con- 
siders all hoopla, commercialism and manic fiddling while 
the country’s economy bums. Rifkin is no soapbox radical 
He's a serious economist with a knowledge of history and 
a flair for showmanship, and the P.B.C. is becoming a 
thorn in the side of the U.S. Chamber of Commerce, 
which calls it “dangerous.” Bad enough are Rifkin’s don't. 
ucad-on-me pranks like the Boston Oil Party (empty drums 
dumped into Boston Harbor to protest energy-crisis exploiters) 


and the hanging of big corporations in effigy; worse are 


sce what he might have missed. His instructor quailed at Gill's 
initial efforts but later insisted that the rapidly developing 
basso profundo try performing in public. Gill picked up some 
semiprofessional operatic experience during a sabbatical in 
England; back home again, he auditioned for the City Ope 
to gauge his progress—and was offered a job, He and his wile 
pondered it for a few anxious months before he decided to 
accept (and, of course, to leave his tenured post at the uni 
sity). Now that he has memorized dose to 50 voles and gotten 
wised up by some 250 New York performances ("At first, when 
someone said "Stage left,’ I had to look to see which way he 
meant”), Gill still wonders at his own story: "It has a slightly 
unbelievable quality." And he relishes his professional schizo- 
nia: “I like the sense of balance I get from using different 
abilities. Mind. body, emotions—you've got to keep them 
all going. Then they cam help one another, in some mys 
i So says the professor—and he should know. 


DICK SWANSON 


JEREMY RIFKIN bicentennial backlash 


urging drastic economic reforms—backed up by a commissioned 
survey showing strong voter support for some pretty revolution- 
ary measures, such as nationalizing resource industries. 
"It was an entrenched economic aristocracy the colonies revolted 
says Rifkin. "and that’s what we have today in the 
nt corporations that dominate the country's political and 
economic life. V need is another revolt of the middle 
dass and a return to economic democracy.” The White House 
and the Chamber of Commerce consider Rifkin a rabble- 
rousing troublemaker. “What gets them is our use of speeches 
by the founding fathers attacking great concentrations of 
wealth and power. The Chamber wants them portrayed 
like members of the Exxon board of directors." We can hear 
them in Washington now: “To arms! The Rifkins are coming!" 


igainst, 


175 


PLAYBOY 


176 


Brut for Men. 


If you have 
any doubts 
about yourself, 


try 
something else. 


After shave, after shower, after anything. 
Brut®lotion by Fabergé. 


PLAYBOY INTERVIEW 


(continued from page 82) 

country. How to do it? Call Muhammad 
Ali over and have him fight for the 
title and the world will read about where 
he's fighting. But after I'm out of box- 
ing and the title goes back to a fighter 
like a George Foreman or any good 
American, title fights won't travel no 
further than America and England. And 
that'll be the end of the big, big money. 
PLAYBOY. Do you think you'll miss box- 
ing when you finally retire? 
All: No, because I realize you got to get 
old. Buildings get old, people get old 
nd we're all goin’ to die. See the fat I 
jave around my stomach? Ten years ago. 
it would come off in two wecks, but not 
anymore. I can't exactly feel myself get- 
ting old, but I ain't like I was ten y: 
ago. so time equips me to face the facts 
of life. When I get to be 50, I won't 
really miss boxing at all, because T'I 
know I can't do it anymore. 

But when I quit, I sure ain't goin’ 
out like the old-time fighters. You ain't 
gouna hear it said about me that when 
I was champ I bought me a Cadillac, 

id me a couple of white girls on my 
arm, and that when I retired I went 
broke. You'll never read articles about 
me that say. "Poor Muhammad Ali, he 
made so much money and now he's work- 
ing in a car wash.” No, sir. 

PLAYBOY: Will you continue to associate 
yourself with boxing after you retire? 
I don't think so. I'm the champion 
right now and I can't even find time for 
ining because of other things. I talk 
to Senators like John Tunney of Cali- 
fornia, and black bourgeois Congressmen 
who like to act so big, and black doctors 
d lawyers who have white friends and 
who no longer want to be black—and 
who act like they're too good for any of 
the brothers. I can always say to them, 
“Why do youall act like this? I don't 
act like that, and you can't get no big- 
ger than Muhammad Ali.” 
at's the truth, too. I was over in 
Ireland and had dinner with Jack Lynch, 
the prime minister. I was in Cairo and 
stayed at Sadat’s palace for two days. I 
wined and dined with King Faisal of 
Saudi Arabia. I might not've been that 
happy around all of those leaders, but 
people who look up to them sce them 
looking wp to me. Now when I bring 
my program down. they'll listen. Sec, 
you got to have something going in front 
for you. A smart fella might go down 
the street, but if people look at him and 
think, “Oh, just an ordinary fella,” he 


won't get things done. But when a guy 
in a 


Rolls Royce drives up and says, 
I want to make a deal," people 
alk money with him. Same thing 
with me: My money and my title give 
me influence. 

And I alo have something to say. 


You notice that when we talk, 85 per- 
cent of our conversation is away from 
boxing? Interview some other fighters 
and see what they can talk about; noth- 
ing. We couldn't talk this long—you 
couldn't listen this long—it we just 
talked boxing- 
PLAYBOY: Agreed: but let's stick with 
that 15 percent a bit longer. Many 
€ that after you retire, 
boxing will disappear in America. Do 
you believe that? 
Boxing will never die. There will 
always be boxing in schools and clubs, 
and the fight crowd will always follow 
the pros. And every once in a while, a 
sensational fighter will come through. 
PLAYBOY: As sensational as yourself? 
Alt: Physically, maybe, but not in the 
way I'm known world-wide. I just don't 
think another fighter will ever be fol- 
lowed by people in every country on the 
planet. You can go to Japan, China, all 
the European, African, Arab and South 
American countries and, man, they know 
me. I can't name a country where they 
don’t know me. If another fighter's 
goin’ to be that big, he’s goin’ to have 
to be a Muslim, or else he won't get to 
nations like Indonesia, Lebanon, Iran, 
Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Syria, Egypt and 
Turkey—those are all countries that 
don't usually follow boxing. He might 
even have to be named Muhammad, 
because Muhammad is the most common 
name in the world. There are more 
Muhammads than there are Williamses, 
Joneses, Ecksteins, Smiths or anything 
else on carth. And he's also gonna have 
to say the name Allah a lot, can't say 
God. I know that God is the Supreme 
Being, but Allah is the name used most 
on the planet. More people pray to 
Allah than to Jehovah, Jesus or just plain 
Lord, ‘cause there are about 11 Muslims. 
in the world to every non-Muslin 

But he's got to have the personality, 
too, because just being a Muslim champ 
won't make it. My corn, the gimmicks, 
the acting I do—ir'll take a whole lot 
for another fighter to ever be as popular 
as Muhammad Ali. 
PLAYBOY: You once said that you act all 
the time. Where does your act begin 
and where does it end? 
Au: The acting begins when I'm work- 
ing. Before a fight, I'll try to have some- 
thing funny to say every day and I'll 
talk ten miles a minute. Like before the 
Chuck Wepner fight, I was tellin’ re- 
porters all kinds of things. 
PLAYBOY: Care to give 
sampling? 
Au: All right: “If Chuck Wepner becomes 
the only white man ever to beat the ar- 
rogant Muhammad Ali, he will be 
America's greatest hero! He will make 
White Tornado commercials and go on 
Gunsmoke, but for him this fight is 
really Mission: Impossible! Wepner has 
a strong will—and if the will is great, 


us a small 


the will can overpower the skill! I under- 
stand Wepner had a mecting with the 
Ku Klux Klan and they told him to 
whup this nigger!” 

"That's acting, and it ends when I get 
into the ring. There are no pleasures in 
a fight, but some of my fights have been 
a pleasure to win—especially the second 
Norton and Frazier fights and the Fore- 
man fight. I was left for dead before 
the second Norton fight, because my jaw 
had been broken the first time out. One 
loss to Frazier and Sports Illustrated ran 
a headline on its cover saying “END OF 
THE ALI LEGEND." And I was also left for 
dead against Foreman, who was sup- 
posed to be the touphest champ of all 
time. You know, I once read something 
that said, "He who is not courageo: 
enough to take risks will accomplish noth- 
ing in life.” Well, boxing is a risk and 
life is a gamble, and I got to take both. 
PLAYBOY: People close to you say that 
in the past year you've grown visibly 
weary of boxing, Is that true? 

Au: Well, I started fighting in 1954, 
when I was just 12, so it's been a long 
time for me. But there's always a new 
fight to look forward to, a new publicity 
stunt, a new reason to fight. Now I'm 
fighting for this charities thing, and it 
helps me get ready. When 1 think of all 
the money and the jobs winning means, 
Il run those two miles on mornings 
when F'd rather sleep. 

PLAYBOY. With the possible exceptions 
of a few of our politicians, you're prob- 
ably the most publicized American of 
this century. What kinds of problems 
does fame on such a grand scale create? 
AU. None. It’s a blessing if you use 
publicity for the right thing, and I use 
it to help my brothers and to promote 
truth around the world. It’s still a 
honor for me to talk to TV reporters 
who come all the way from Germany and 
Australia just to interview me. And when 
we're talking, I don't see a man from 
Germany, I see millions of Germans. 
The reporter will go back home and 
show his film to his entire nation, which 
keeps me popular and sells fight tickets, 
which is how I earn my living—and also 
how I can keep buying up buildings for 
my people. That's why talkin’ so much 
don’t bother me, but I'll be bothered 
when the reporters quit coming around, 
because on that day Ll realize I'm 
not newsworthy anymore, and that's 
when it all ends. So I enjoy it while i 
happening. 

PLAYBOY: Do you enjoy being mobbed 
by autograph scekers as well? 

Alt: Most of the time, it's OK with me, 
because service to others is the rent I 
pay for my room on earth. See, when 
you become spiritual and religious, you 
realize that you're not big and great, 
only Allah is. You can't hurt people's 
feclings just because you're up there. 
When I was younger, Sugar Ray Rob- 


inson did that to me, and I didn't like 
it at all. 
PLAYBOY: What happened? 
Au: I was on my way to fight in the 
Rome Olympic, and I stopped by a 
night club in Harlem, because Sugar 
Ray—my idol, everybody's idol—was 
there. I'd watched all his fight films and 
1 just wanted to see him and touch him. 
1 waited outside for him to leave that 
club and I was hoping he'd talk to me 
and maybe give me his autograph. But 
he didn't do it and I was so hurt. If 
Sugar Ray only knew how much I loved 
him and how long Fd been following 
him, maybe he wouldn't have done that. 
Man, TIl never forget how bad I felt 
when he turned me down. Sugar Ray 
said, "Hello kid, how ya’ doin’? I ain't 
got time.” and then got into his car and 
took off. I said to myself right then, “If 
I ever get great and famous and people 
want my autograph enough to wait all 
day to see me, I'm sure goin’ to treat 
‘em different.” 
PLAYBOY: Still, aren't there times when 
living in the public eye becomes slightly 
unbearable? 
‘Au: Yeah, and when that happens, I get 
into my bus, stock up on food and take 
my wife and four children and drive 
somewhere near the ocean and just rest 
for four or five da 
My real pleasure is having no appoint- 
ments, but that hardly ever happens. 
There's always people I gotta talk to, 
business deals I gotta think about, tele- 
phones that are always ringing and road 
work and time in the gym that I gotta 
take care oL There's always something 
I have to do, but I guess we're all busy 
in our own ways. I'm sure President 
Ford has a bigger job than all of us. 
Like any big man—a spiritual leader like 
Wallace D. Muhammad, a politician, a 
president of a college—he's in prison. 
Same thing with me, because Fm a 
heavyweight champion who represents 
not only boxing but many, many other 
things that boxers can't even speak of. 
"Therefore, I always have a deskful of 
stuff, piles and piles of letters and proj- 
ects that no other boxer would be lit- 
crate enough to even imagine handling. 
"The times when it all gets me down, I 
just want to get away—from the com- 
mercials and TV and college appearances 
and airline flights and friends asking 
for loans and people begging for 
money that they need. I don’t like to 
do it, but 1 wind up ducking: “When the 
phone rings, tell 'em I'm not here.” It 
never lets up, so if I can just get away 
for a day every once in a while, I'm 
happy. Yet I don't let that stuff get me 
too bothered, because I have only one 
cause—the Islamic cause—and my mis- 
sion is to spread the works and faith 
h Muhammad taught me. 
PLAYBOY: For a man who's become more 
and more of a missionary, boxing must 
occasionally seem like a particularly 


Brut 33 Scop. 
Look for it wherever soaps ore sold. 


177 


PLAYBOY 


178 


and inappropriate way to make 
a living. Did you ever consider a carecr 
in any other sport? 

AU: About the onliest other sport I ever 
thought about was football, but I didn't 
like it, because there was no personal 
publicity in it; you have to wear too 
much equipment and people can't sce 
you. Folks sitting back in the bleachers 
can’t hardly pick you out of a field of 
22 men and a bunch of other guys 
shufflin’ in and out, but in a boxing 
ng there's only two men, 1 made my 
decision about sports when J was a 12- 
year-old Kid, and I went with boxing 
because fighters can. make more money 
than other athletes and the sport isn’t 
cut off by a season, like football. And 
I've never regretted that decision, ‘cause 
when you're the g at what you're 
doing. how cin you question 
PLAYBOY: im of being the 
greatest mean that you think you could 
have beaten every heavyweight cham- 
pion in modern ring history? 

Au: I can't really say. Rocky Marciano, 
Jack Johnson, Joe Louis, Jack Dempsey, 
Joe Walcott, Ezzrd Charles—they all 
would have given me trouble. I can't 
know if I would've beaten them all, but 
I do know this: I'm the most talked- 
about, the most publicized, the most 
famous and the most colorful fighter in 
history. And I'm the fastest heavy- 


ALESE 


Does your ¢ 


G 


{ 


weight—with feet and hands—who 
lived. Besides all that, Fm the onlicst 
poet laureate boxing's ever had. One 
other thing, too: If you look at pictures 
of all the former champions, you know 
in a flash that I'm the best-looking: 
champion in history. It all adds up to 
being the greatest, don't it? 
PLAYBOY: Do you think you'll be re- 
membered that way? 
Au: I don't know, but IIl tell you how 
Fd like to be remembered: as a black 
man who won the heavyweight title and 
who was humorous and who treated. ev- 
eryone right. As a man who never looked 
down on those who looked up to him 
and who helped as many of his people 
as he could —financially and also in their 
fight for freedom, justice and equality. 
n who wouldn't hurt his people's 
nity by doing anything that would 
embarrass them. As a man who tried to 
unite his people through the faith of 
Islam that he found when he listened 
to the Honorable Elijah Muhammad. 
And if all that’s asking too much, then 
I guess I'd settle for being remembered 
only as a great boxing champion who 
became a preacher and a champion of 
his people. 

And I wouldnt even mind 
forgot how pretty I was. 


folks 


Mok 


"Im sure Mr. Thompson doesn't find that 
the least bil amusing!" 


RANDY NEWMAN 


(continued from page 144) 
bläh-blah-blah, bur they—they insisted. 
Probably rightly so. 

“And I'm married. Got two boys, six 
and three, No, 1 didn't marry a childhood 
sweetheart. My wile’s from Germany. 
She's, uh. . . Heydrich’s daughter 

Newman grins flectingly, chain-lights a 
fresh cigarette and rumples a hand 
though his Jacuzzi-spray tangle of curly 
hi 


Ihe people who've helped me musi- 
cally are, 1 gue » grateful to 
my father in some ways. When I started 


writing songs, I didn't like to do thc 
lyrics and he had always written songs 
as a kind of hobby. 1 s ber ‘em 


all—I think I remember 
he doe: 


half of the set. Anyw 
tained that anyone who is at 
can write lyric. T 


à pre- 
requisite anymore. If it ever was. It never 


was. But, ] m he encoui 
he helped me with my early songs. He 
was really fast. I'd be stuck for words and 
stufl—I was writing a lot of ‘moon, 
spoon; old-fashioned stuff—and he'd 
come up with things. fast. I should've 
given him credit on some of those songs, 
probably. But when I departed from, uh, 
m, he, he, uh, phased him- 
s a collaborator. 

nie Waronker, my producer, 
helped me some, too. See, it’s a difficult 
thing, Maybe you've heard about all the 
moaning I do, all the bitching about how 
lazy ] am and how hard it is for me to 
get to work, but its st a fact, And, 
because of th know what 
would've | Lennie or 


ged me and 


1 don't 
ed without 
somebody like him pushing me. When 1 


was 16, 17, Lennie asked me to try and 
write some songs, and 1 did. Then he 
wanted me to record, and when 1 didn't 
record for two or three years, he 
me all the time. Yeah, I 
guess I owe him something. I definitely 
would if I were happy at what I do. No, 
that doesn't sound quite right. I'm in- 
debted to Lennie for caring what hap- 
pened at the times when I haven't. That's 
been often. I didn't know what I wanted 
to do, but I didn’t want to write songs. 
Or I thought 1 didn't—I don’t know. I 
tried to be fairly serious, Most of the time. 

"Oh. yeah. sure—l was pretty positive 
most of the time that 1 didn't want to 
continue. I never enjoyed writing. It’s 
always been an effort to shut myself up 
n a room, go off by myself. . .. I mean, 
I can shut myself up in a room and read 
I day. With great pleasure. But writing 
is well, 1 don’t know, it's an agony to 
Tm always amazed by people like 
Hayden, who just loved it all, who lived 
for it. I guess I have to write in some 
kind of way, but I do not like it. 1 do not 
like the process at all. 


me. 


Coronet.The Great California Brandy. 


For a free Spike 
recipe folder, 
nét, 


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1 cup Hot Coffee 
1% oz. Coronet Brandy 
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made to mix. Add it to coffee. For a 
taste that’s hearty, not harsh. Why? 
California grapes. That’s the 
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(©1975 BRANDY DISTILLERS COMPANY, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIF, EIGHTY PRODF 


we 


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“A lot of my songs are like compressed 
short stories, that’s correct. From time to 
time. I've thought of trying some prose, 
but I don't know . . . I get defeated be- 
fore I start. You know—I'll think of a 
whole bunch of reasons why I shouldn’t 
even wy. I like to read a lot more than I 
like to listen to music. I often think may- 
bc it would spoil reading for mc if I 
started reading that way—as a sort of po- 
tential contestant in the race, And, too, 
I think, why short stories? I've never even 
liked short stories all that much. 

“No, let me think—I read a really fine 
onc of Dostoievsky's recently. The Gam- 
bler was good. But it wasn't The Gambler 

. no. This was a Henry James one— 
The Master and the Man. A powerhouse 
story about a writer who's advising this 
other young writer, and 
that... I just wonder whetli 
meant all that stuff, whether his intent 
was as comples looks to be. Whether 
it’s all so careful as it reads. Hmn. 

"Thats one of the things that annoy 
me about Dick Cavett. He says he's read 
everything by Henry James—100 vol- 
umes, or something like that. You can't 
come out of that... whole.” 

Newman slides down on his spine and. 
pokes around in the bottom of his Car- 
penters mug for a bitesized chunk of ice. 

"What I've been reading and liking 
Lately are these science books for dummies. 
Li you have no scicnce—like, that 
Ar: REI Des Abang ch nomy or 
this 10,000-page biography of tein I 
ran across a while back. 1 keep looking 
for a relativity explanation I can kind of 
tie in this curve in my mind and all that 
stuft. Caught one on that Ascent of Man 
TV senes, but it wasn’t that good. Too 
much slow motion glass breaking and not 
enough facts. 

“I don't watch a great deal of TV any- 
more. Mostly educational staff —Holly- 
wood Squares, $10,000 Pyramid. No, 
actually, when you're on the ro 
don’t get a chance to watch anything, so 
the last few months J just fell out of the 
habit. I mean, can you imagine m 
n effort to watch Columbo to get 


not an inordinate amount, 
nery O'Connor, Dan Jen 
some Faulkner, a few of his things. The 
Wild Palms wasn't bad. The Sound and 
the Fury and The Bear, the parts I could 
understand. ke to be able to say 
that serious ngs like that were 
my roots, but 1 dont kuow—L don't 
that much 

à ybody else, really. It 
wasn't writing that ma 
‘on me about the Sout 
“The Southern thing, it’s hard to 
say.... That song on Good Old Boys, A 
Wedding in Cherokee Gounty—that’s . . 
only peripherally Southern, What I orig- 
inally had in mind—what I started out 


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PLAYBOY 


to do with that was to write an Al- 
banian anthem. Sure, Fm serious. The 
Albanians are crazy as a nation, and that 
terested me, and I was going to write 
White moon shines on the goat herd," 
and so forth, about the workers and every- 
body, and T finally couldn't do it. It 
sounded like Back Home Again in Indi- 
ana. It didn't work out as an Albanian 
Tove call, so I switched it around some 
and set it in rural Alabam: 

“Tve followed the Alb: ns, E guess, 
like some people follow the Dodgers. 
There they are, right next door to Russia, 
and they're always potshotting at every- 
body. right, left and center. I watched 
their reaction when the U. S. made friends 
with China and I think now Albania has 
no ally in the woild—not a single one. 
There are 2,230,000 people there, and 
they have a real crazy history, and a real 
crazy music, and Listen, 1 once got 
hold of some Albanian newspapers, and 
they were rabid—really nuts. Everyone 
was an ‘imperialist running dog,’ includ- 
ing both Russia and China. 

“I recognized that the song I'd written 
would fit if I shifted it to the South, but 
that wasn’t originally part of the plan. I 
had some real obscure Southern stuff that 
I didn't put on Good Old Boys—things 
that didn’t hold up as songs. One was 
sort of about Dixie Howell. Dixie Howell 
was a football player at the University 
of Alabama in the Thirties. He played 
there when Don Hutson did, and it was 
a real strange song, but in the end it was 
just too obscure, Maybe pointless, too. 

“I don’t have many of those, no. About 
two. What I writc nowadays, I do. All 
told, I've written maybe close to 100 
songs. Let me think. Somewhere under 
100, Most of them have been recorded by 
somebody. Somewhere. Somehow.” 

Newman's paternal uncles are the film- 
scoring Newmans—Lionel, Alfred and 
Emil. The writer mentions this. Newman 
shrugs unsentimentally. 
couragement I always got from my 
father. I think he likes music better than 
the rest of them do. No dis 
though. My 
basically different things and, uh, you 
know, discouragement might have both- 
ered me. I mean, I'd go and see them 
conducting or doing some movie or some- 
thing when I was little, but there was no 
active participation. 
“L did a couple of movies myself— 
neither one very satisfying. Performance— 
I just conducted that. What there was to 
conduct. And I did a movie for Norman 
Lear called Cold Turkey. Wrote a song 
and the music for it. I don't plan to do 
nything like that again unless I really 
like the picture or unless it gives me a 
chance to write for a real big orchestra. 
Some kind of interesting music. . Like, 
I'd have done Love Slory, even though I 
hated the picture, because I'd have liked 


380 to have written that kind of music. Big 


dramatic stuff. I'm kind of drifting away 
from it, but I still like an orchestra a 
great deal. And know it better than I 
know guitars, for instance. The technol- 
ogy of guitars is pretty much getting away 


LYRICS BY NEWMAN 


He first got paid for writing them 
when he was 17, collecting $150 a 
month to hack out hits and heavies 
for an outfit called Metric Music. Dur- 
ing the early Sixties, he managed to 
remain Randy Who? in most people's 
minds—while his songs were recorded 
and again by an odd bunch of 
that induded such greats 
and near greats as Judy Collins, T 
Lopez, The Everly Brothers, Vi 
Carr, Ella Fitzgerald, Thrce Dog Night 
and Fats Domino. He has eres he 
was driven to perfor 
too many d 
so now he sings them himself, whether 
he likes it or not. 


God's Song 
(That's Why I Love Mankind) 

1 burn down your cities—how blind 
must you be 

1 take from you your children and you 
say how blessed are we 

You all must be crazy lo put your faith 
in Me 5 

That's why I love mankind 

You really need Me 

That's why I love mankind. 


© 1972 WB MUSIC CORP. AND RANDY 
NEWMAN, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 


Rednecks 
Last night ] saw Lester Maddox on a 
TV show 
With some smartass New York Jew 
And the Jew laughed at Lester Maddox 
And the audience laughed at Lester 
Maddox too. . 
We're rednecks, we're rednecks 
And we're keeping the 
down... . 


(0 1914 WARNER TAMERLANE PUBLISHING 
CORP. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 


niggers 


A Wedding in Cherokee County 

Her poppa was a midget 

Her momma was a whore 

Her granddad was a newsboy till he 
was cighty-four 

(What a slimy old bastard he was) 

Man don't you think 1 know she hates 
me 

Man don't you think I know that she's 
no good 

If she knew how she'd be unfaithful to 
me 

1 think she'd kill me if she could 

Maybe she's crazy I don't know. 

But maybe that's why 1 love her so. . . 


(© 1974 WARNER-TANERLANE PUBLISHING 
CORP, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, 

*WORDS AND MUSIC BY RANDY NEWMAN, USED BY 
PERMISSION DF WARNER BROS, MUSIC. 


from me—I'm not equipped to deal with 
it as well as I ought to be. 

“Performance was . . . 1 didn't like it. 
I sa bout 80 times while we were 
doing it and it just held no interest for 
me. I never understood what the hell was 
going on—who was who—but then, I 
didn't care, either. I enjoyed the work, 
though, part of the time. Because I had 
no responsibility—I was just a piano 
player siting there next to the coffce 
machine. What was going on wasn't my 
problem. 

"Cold Turkey invites somc kind of 
snide pun, I guess, but I don't want to 
knock something they paid me well for. 
I wrote some pretty fair music for it, or I 
thought so at the time. Actually, I don't 
know whether it quite fit. If you do a 
conscientious job of scoring a picture and 
you don't just sprinkle tunes through it, 
it’s tremendously hard—I don't know 
whether I've got the psychological stam- 
ina to deal with that. Probably not. But, 
let me think, ld been turning down 
movies and I figured 1 was doing it be- 
cause I was afraid, so I decided to risk that 
one. It’s hard to be objective about a 
comedy after you've seen jt the way I had 
to see it, but I wasn't particularly proud 
to have been associated with it, finally. 
Part of it’s my own fault, because I didn't 
follow through on the music the way 1 
should have. I had an orchestrator and 1 
was too paralyzed by fear to really take 
hold. Hed say, "What about this?” and I'd 
say, ‘Oh, yeah. Perfect. Do tha 

Movie people have been . . . dis- 
illusioning to me. I don't know a lot of 
them, but I was let down in that I 
thought they would be more intelligent 
than record people. It didn’t turn out 
that way with the ones I've met. But God 
knows who I've met—Samuel Z. Arko 
at the Hamburger Hamlet. 

"Nah, that’s an exaggeration. Jack 
Nicholson is nice. He came to see me a 
few times at the Troubadour a couple of 
years back and he was talking about us 
doing something together. He had some 
idea lor a picture, but it never—never 
really materialized. Last time 1 talked to 
him was about The King of Marvin 
Gardens. 1 wanted 10 tell him how much 
I liked it, even if no one else did. Nobody 
liked that picture. Hmn. I thought it was 
vastly better than Five Easy Pieces. 

But with actors . . . I haven't been 
around that many, but I'm not sure that 
their talent correlates to any form of recog- 
nizable intelligence you can make out in 
conversation with them, Ringo Starr, for 
instance, is the best actor among the 
Beatles, but he’s not the most intelligent 
guy of the four. Nicholson . . . 1 don't 
know—he’s a genius as an actor, but... . 
Brando, too—l mean, mental 
giant, as anybody can tell. He's also get 
ting this kind of pouty, Truman Capote- 
like mouth, Ive noticed. Acting must 


he's no 


“Tf you hadn't been in such a damn rush, I could have 
told you I was wearing a chastity belt." - 


181 


“Somebody wants to speak to Zelda. 
Go look under Charley.” 


be 1 don't know. It might hurt you 
10 get too cerebral about it all 

7I was never much lured by Holly- 
wood, never awed, you know, or 
pressed. I was really impressed one time, 
though. I saw O. J. Simpson on an ai 
plane. Flying down from Oregon. 


around someone 


who gets recognized all the time. You 
know—someone who can't go anywhere 
without. being. l was with 
Streisand. once staurant, 


and our party was the only one in the 
whole place, A huge empty room, and 
they put on this extrava dance show. 
for us... That would be a very peculiar 
way to live. 

Streisand is—she's a little hard to fig- 
You forget that she's as young as she 
is—younger than Dylan, I think I read 
somewhere. Its like she was surrounded 
by oll people all her life and she's 
d out on a vacation. Something 1 
that. At the time, we were making that 
pseudo-pop album of hers called Stoney 
End, and I didn't think it would be very 
successful. It was, though—I was wrong. 
Sueisand’s very, very tough—strong as 
what she wants" 
n rises from the sof, 


nd crosses 


the room. 
framed map of Poland. 
God, it is. Whew, these 3 
are bent” 


man flops back down onto the sof: 
seines for another piece of ice. "I like 
ps. T was looking through a volume of 
maps in a bookstore with my little boy 
this morning. All he was interested in was 
things about skindiving, He wanted me to 
buy him an $8000 Jacques Cousteau 
under-the-sea book. 

“Hmm, let me think. . . . I've got the 
feeling I'm too neg nd 1 want 


182 !0 mention some things I've liked. . . . I 


liked The King of Marvin Gardens and— 
oh, yeah, 1 liked that picture Straw Dogs. 
A lot of intelligent people hated it, bu 

I thought it was fairly good. It even had. 
a kind of scientific basis—the territorial 
imperative and all that stuff. Bur it w 
interesting to me, because it was about 
physical courage. which is something I 
k to think abou 
usc, I don't pay all that much 
attention. . . . Oh, I like to hear what 
Joni Mitchell is doing and what Dylan 


on the radio. I admire 
Us that word?—proli- 
t stuff—nothing to 


. I hear 
him for 
ficity. Good stuff, 
sneeze at, really. 
“But there's so much a 
and bullshit around. 
Snyder on the Tomorrow show 
cm you do with that gu 
those cute eyes and turns everything into 
smarm. One night not long back, he had 
on the Mouscketeers, and he wi 
to Annette Funicello 
God, I mean, who cares? She was too n 
10 know that he was getting off whenever 
he made some snickering reference to 
her tits, Jesus, I couldn't believe I was 
seeing i 
“And Dick Caven has enraged me to 
t where I just refuse to watch 
he does anymore. He was s 
that 
ening. he was absolutely rude. 
Not that Maddox doesn't deserve 
it made a really poisonous impr 
me. That's when 1 wrote Rednecks. 
mean, Maddox was the governor of 
Georgia at the time—a state of 6,000,000 
people. OK. if you happen to be one of 
those Georgians, here's your gove: 
there on the tube in New York—li 
not. he's your governor—; Zivett and 
all those other effete slobs didn’t even 
givc thc guy a chance to make an idiot of 
himself. Sat him next to Jim Brown, and 
the whole thing immediately turned into 


show. The audience turned out to 
wvett, if that was possi- 
iddox didn't even have a chance 
10 do or say anything, as I remember. It 
embarrassed me, it was that rank. 

The notion t the North is morally 
superior to the South is just . . . uh, 
dumb, I think, If I were black, I'm not 
sure I'd want to live anywhere, but it's 
probably no more unhappy in North 
lina or Alabama than it is in New York 
or Chicago. At least you see black people 
to white people in the South. But 
the big cities—hoy!—nobody jumps 
that gulf. 

“Hmn, I'm tuned to negative ag 
Probably because one part of my n 
thinking about getting back to writi 
For the moment. I'm past my peak per 
forming—I've had enough. l'll grit my 
teeth and oy and write, I think. Pretty 
soon, yeah. 1 see people in this business 
who just love it, you know. They carry 
around notebooks and get ideas for songs 
from everything, but I, ub, IL... . It used 
to bother me all the time. I'd feel guilty 
about not writing, but just the same, I 
wouldn't do anything for a really long 
time. Over a year. The year belore 73, 1 
didn't do anything. Things were crum- 
bling around me. I had no money. The 
bank attached this thing and that. and it 


aro- 


didn’t bother me a bit I was.. . 
really . . . kind of happy watching Let's 
Make a Deal. 


My wife was worried—Le 
worried. I even began to get a little wor- 
ried that it wa 
couldn't stand to work. 1 
whether it was fear or what, Fe 
ure or fear of getting worse. 1 dou 
neurotic, usually—ordinarily. 

t fine. But I get kind of 
rotic when I'm writing, I can’t think 
about anything else at the time, and it's 
wnpleasant. I find it hard. And nasty. 
And Fd rather not do it. Someday, I 
wont. T just won't be able to put up 
with it anymore. sc I'm pretty 
happy otherwise. Every perfect ex 
cept for thar. Well, not perfect, bur I 
mean .. . dull enough to suit me. Lots 
of books to get through.” 

Newman forms a periscope with 


fingers and peeks through the cross hairs 
warily. Distressed by what he pictures, he 
hs and lets his hands collapse in his lap. 


don't know what I'll do next—l 
don't have a fresh idea in my head. Maybe 
irll be something simpler than Good Old 
Boys. Without all those different per- 
sonae—personiz—whatever the word is. 
But I always write that way, so I guess 
1 can't help i 

“Lately, when I'm performing some- 
times, I've noticed that my songs are kind 
of... unusual. They're about strange 
stuff in a lot of ways. Maybe it’s just the 
way I've been thinking lately—I don't 
know. Sometimes I think I'd like to 
write just nice, straightahead—I've never 


“Before I found Vat 69 Gold, I spent 
a lot of time talking to my plants. 
Now all they get to do is eavesdrop” 


«Want another glass of 
water?'Iwouldsay.'How 
about another round? 
Go ahead. Live it up? At: 
E least they were cheap to 
Bl entertain. Then I found 
I Vat Gold. It had that 
4 impressive Vat 69 label 
d onthe outside. What was 
; B inside was even more 
argues. And the price tag! At last, a good 
Scotch I could afford. It meant more 
to me than being the first person in the | 
block to have a Venus flytrap. It gave |, 
my guests more to look forward to than |8& 
pinching leaves. Now my apartment 
has more people than plants. People 
are more fun. They can talk back? 


Vat 69 Gold. The upwardly 
mobile Scotch. 


Blended Scotch Whisky. 86 Proof. Sole U.S. Importer: National Distillers Products Co., New York. 


PLAYBOY 


hans looked, she's hooked. 


Catch the elusive litle rascal's 
eye with a punchy. full-color Roach shirt 


4031 Silver 


M529 


Mat 


4052 Silver 


4080 Green 


Shime 


4049 Silver 


PO. Box 182 PB 11-75 
Worthington, OH 43085 


thought my stuff was all that complicated, 
really, but 1 guess it's fairly complicated, 
compared with some of the stuff I hear on 
the radio. I always thought people could 
derstand it... but lately, I'm not so 
that's true, I don’t think widely 
infectious. Tt isn’t the type of thing that 
someone could put on and eat potato 
chips to. lt isn’t... it isn't casy, you 
know, the way you can put Cream on for 
an hour and then put on—even Jo 
Mitchell. It demands a little actentioi 
f. you're going to write words, then I 
believe the words might as well try and 
say something, be interesting. If a song i 
joke. as a few of mine are, th 
song isn't worth as much as if something 
else was going on in it, too. Like that 
piece God's Song—I doubt if it would 
make much sense over the crunch of po- 
It’s about—let me think—it’s 
alifornia God. The yucca tree, 
you know—the California desert is the 
only place where the yucca tree grows. 


It's a pretty harsh God out there . . . 
that’s the way I see it. Well, I mean, I 
don't see it at all, really. I don't believe 


in those things. Like a lot of people in 
this country, 1 don't have any religious 
D 
Why did I say that—'in this country’? 
Oh, because I've been to Germany. Went 
to meet my wife's family in. Düsseldorf, 
nd I played in Hamburg, and I did a 
IV show in Bremen, and I—I could not 
reach 'em. Could not do it. It’s 
cold up there in the north of 
sce, and they were correct. Who-oo. It 
was worse than Glassberg, New Jerscy-" 
Newman rises to take another look at 
the map of Poland, mutters something 
about Cold War partitions, then half 
turns to regard the writer. After a Jong 
instant, he grins wryly and extends his 
pack of cigarettes, "Look, why don't you 
come out to the house tomorrow? I live 
near this photographer who's always tak- 
ing pictures of naked girls. One day he 
had the Playmate of the Year bare-assed 
out in my yard. I'm looking out the win- 
dow, you know, and. . .. Drop out around 
two and maybe we'll catch some feelthy 
poses. I's... uh, Jet me think. You take 
Sunset toward the ocean. . 


"Get away, Rocky,” Newman snaps at 
his dog the next afternoon, “Why are you 
in the house all the time? Get down! 

The house sits at the end of a dirt lane 
anta Monica Canyon, one of those 
fieldstone-and-glass bungalows in the 
$98,000-S100.000 range. Newman sits 
perched edgily on the edge of a velvet 
divan in his pleasant, book-lined den, 
ping German beer from a crock stei 

i he darts a painei 
glance over his shoulder at The Room. 
The door to The Room is, of course, 
closed, The Room is where Newn 
muster the will to 
nber, to hear him 


in 


tell it. Outside, the rush of the kha 
colored creck that spills into the Pacific 
4 mile away competes with the Mongol 
whoops of little boys chasing Frisbees on 
the lawn. 

“I don't trust anything nowadays.” 
Newman broods darkly to the writer. 
don't know how to find things out a 
more. I mean, who can you listen to? 
Pauline Kael raved on and on about 
Shampoo, and 1 thought it was terrible— 
nothing. And restaurants. . . . We got 
some more of those restaurant guides 
today. I want everything reviewed for me. 
Then I can judge how the reviewer writes 
and I can figure it out so I don't e to 
make any mistakes. Hmn . . . like with 
Las Vegas. I haven't been there in a long 
time, but it's—I knew this woman whose 
father died in Vegas, and she had to go 
up there and pick up his body. Wouldn't 
that be awful? 
ambling, oh, Christ. . . . At one time 
I was betting on the horses through a 
bool and I couldn't stop. And I 
couldn't believe it was happening to me. 
It was when I was a kid running a 
‘Thermo-Fax machine, and 1 was betting 
and sometimes losing more than I was 
making, and I was actually amused that 
this horrible movie cliché had me by the 
throat. That I couldn't stop. Eventually, 
ind the day I stopped I had a really 
day and broke even, almost. But, any- 
ay, I quit. 
nd I had that compulsiveness about 
a lot of things. Drugs—in the Sixties, I 
took drugs in fairly frightening amounts. 
Same with alcohol. Like, when I was 


drinking—nuts and potato ch 
and all that gunk. I mean, I was headed 
straight for oblivion at all times. Now I 
do nothing. Now I'll go to the track oc- 
casionally, but not like I used to. I guess 
there was a kind of heat about it, an 
excitement I craved. 1 barely remember 
it now—it was quite a while back. Do you 
ever get the impression you're talking to 
someone who's 84 years ol 

Newman laughs sepulch 
genuflects over his stein. 

“I barely remember the 
recall many details, I di 
pate in the protests or anything that 
went on back then. I was never conscious 
of the Government's being any part of 
my life, except for taxes. I was interested 
but . . . uninvolved. I saw it all, but 
I wasn't really a part of it. Or anything 
else. 

“And that hasn't changed much. I 
hang around with my family, and that’s 
it. You don't go out to clubs or places 
like that in L.A, unless you're collecting 
ve diseases. Today, let me tl 


ily and mock- 


ics—can't 
tively par- 


went to the market and to a bookstore. 
And we all went out to 
cake 


House. A pretty 
. almost dead. 


ng soon, though. 
Ird be nice to have a new album ready, 


She 64/7 x 12-412 


PLAYBOY 


“Coming in to pay your bill, Miss Charlotte?” 


but whether I will or a 
There's no rcal deadline. no big Hal- 
lowcen release planned. Ah, fuck it. I've 
done the best I can. It’s just that some- 
times I can't even whip myself up to try. 
I can't force myself to go in there and 
agonize. In The Room down there. I 
haven't been in there in a long while 
now. 

But I'll do it sooner or later—lock 
myself in there and crank. Maybe I'll do 
another . . . some kind of concept thing. 
lt doesn't really matter, What troubles 
me so much is that I don't think I'm get- 
ting any better. For example, I don't 
think the songs on Good Old Boys were 
any better than the ones on Sail Away. 
I can't see that there was any genuine 
progression, whereas I think that Sail 
Away was better, maybe, than what went 
before it. But nothing on the last album. 
was beiter than, say, God's Song or Old 
Man. Better records, maybe, but not 
bett 


not, hn p 


song: 
ewman dips a finger into his beer 
stein and swizzles distractedly. 

“Out on the road, I listened to a lot 
of Top 40 radio. Fairly often, I can figure 
out why things are successful—you can 
just hear it in there—but some of that 
Stuff the stations were playing in Cleve- 

186 land and Phoenix confounded me com- 


pletely. Olivia Newton-John. for instance. 
Good Christ, what is that all about? For 
the life of me, I can’t understand the vast 
appeal of a song like 7 Honestly Love 
You. Y mean, it's boring, even. 

“Hmn. hmn. . . . Listen, I've searched 
my mind and I've come up w 
but a bunch of shi 
idiot to myself in interviews. Don't let 
me insult anyone too badly, Samuel Z, 
Koff or anybody important. 

“The first interview I ever did was in 
England and the guy was some slammer 
who kept pushing me and pushing me 
about Paul Simon. "What are your views 
of Simon?’ Blah-blah-blah. And I said, 
"Look, he’s fine. I like everybody.” But 
he kept after me and kept after me, and 
eventually I got restless and I said, ‘I 
think Simon writes sophomorictype gar- 
bage” And that was the headline that 
appeared in one of those rags they have 
over there—'NEWMAN CALLS SIMON'S SONGS 
GARBAGE. Holy shit, I thought, Simon's 
gonna buy me and have me mounted or 
something. So, uh, uh, after that I learned 
to be a little more discreet, a uifle more 
guarded. 

Newm: 
a fresh tray of d 
A chunky, s 


Roswitha, brin 
iks from the 
‘freckled blonde 


n's wife, s in 
hen. 
with. 


Teutonic muscle in her umlaut, she joins 
Newman on the divan, feints a. playful 
elbow at his ribs. Newman grins and 
points toward the glass doors that slide 
open onto the garden. “Right out theres 
where that photographer had the Play 
matc——" 

Roswitha wrinkles her nose 
other side of the elephant ears. yes.” 
some big-titted girl in a leopardskin 


bi 

"And one of the men was holding a 
huge fern over her head. It was supposed 
to be in the tropics. She was standing in 
mud up to her ankles. Geis mushy out 
there when it rains.” 

“Yeah, it'd been storming, I think." 

“And Randy, of course, was lurking be- 
hind the window and wouldn't budge, 
and I said, ‘What are you waiting for— 
the rest to come off?' " 

"Well honey. there it was, smack in. 
my yard. 1 could tell all my friends, if I 
had any.” Newman bell-l nd turns 
toward the writer. “Everything gets lamer, 
I do believe. Discothéques are really big 
now, did you r Record. com- 
panies are breaking singles in disco- 
théques. They have discotheque chants in 
all the trade magazines. 1 had no idea it 
was going on—1 just found out about it. 
That's really depressing, isn't it 

Newman turns back to his wile. “We 
a psychedelic place in 


were a 


remember? A bunch of correct Gern 


sitting around, watching test patterns. 
Christ Almighty, that’s all we need—to 
give the Germans acid.” 

"Come on, be kind.” 

“Oh, I liked Düsseldorf. Had to show 
your parents I was normal. Almost suc 
ceeded, too. They asked me why I read 
all the time. Hadn't been out of the house 
since I got there. 

What did my brother say to you? 
ng—alvays r 


Well, E mean, all you did was v 
Don Ut 


s just when I was getting over 
wal. Once T OK again, 
T was out and about. Went to the zoo. 
Petted the goat. I did everything. Saw 
the Rhine. Saw the goddamned soccer 
stadium.” 

‘Come, come, now . . . ‘goddamned 
soccer stadium’ was where the world 
championships were played, so please, a 
little respect.” 

Newman titters. “A lot of people asked 
me about American business techniques.” 
Only Klaus asked you." 

"I guess they spotted me as an. Ameri- 
can businessman. Maybe they took me for 
Samuel Z. Arkoff.* 

Newman takes a long swallow of beer, 
then another. When he lowers his ste 
he has a foam mustache that he doesn't 
immediately notice. He | the 
writer with a conspirato 
easy on Samuel Arkoff, 
never know when we may need him. 


us a 


SEX UN CINEMA 1903 


young actress (movingly played by Goldie 
Hawn). who thinks he loves her alone, and 
also has a quickie fling with Grant's mom- 
ating daughter (Carrie Fisher). Although, 
ter Shampoo's suds are rinsed out, one 
has the fecling that none of the characters 
is really worth spending two hours with, 
the film admirably catches the sense and 
style of a permissive society dancing—or 
screwing—on its own grave. 

The Day of the Locust, another film 
with a showbiz setting, looks even further 
back in time. Nathanael West's novel, 
written during the depressed Thirties, de- 
picts Hollywood as the Sodom and Gomor- 
rah of the Western world, the corrupt 
center of an industry that tainted everyone 
whose life it touched. The ultimate goal 
of West's hero. a studio designer, was to 
paint an apocalyptic mural of the destruc- 
tion of Los Angeles by all those who, hav- 
ng been fed on Hollywood's dreams, 
ve come to realize their betrayal. 

No one who has seen the film will soon 
forget the cold, sensuous allure of Karen 
Black's Faye Greener, the bungalow-court 


cutie with both eyes fixed on stardom. She 
uses men like a toothbrush, to polish her 


assets—and is not above doing a stint in 
a bordello (a very high-dass bordello, of 
course) if it will improve her cash flow 
nd her contacts, Ultimately, after reject- 
ng the honorable advances of the young 
rtist, Faye settles in with an affable, aflu- 
ent—and impotent—accountant from the 
Midwest (Donald Sutherland), He does 
everything possible to advance her carcer, 
but Faye wants more—specifically, a mus- 
clar musician named Miguel (Pepe 
Serna) and an even more muscular stunt 
ned Earle (Bo Hopkins). She 
quickly conuives to turn the home she 
shares with Sutherland into a raunchy 
maison à quatre, The climax comes at a 
movie premiere, when Sutherland, made 
aware of his cuckoldry, goes berserk, 
tramples a child and precipitates the burn- 
ig of Los Angeles as originally envisaged 
by West. The film never quite m 
full integration of its surreal dim: 
its earlier, realistic passages—perhaps be- 
cause those passages are etched so strongly. 
Nevertheless, The Day of the Locust re- 
mains one of 1975's most carnest and, 
however flawed, skillfully wrought films. 
Also Hollywood based, and far more 
flawed, is The Wild Party, which focuses 
upon the frantic efforts of a silent movies 
comedy star (James Coco) to sell his latest 
picture—which he has financed himsel{— 
just as the talkies are coming in. To pro- 
mote the film, he stages the wild party of 
the title. As wild parties go, this one 
proves fairly tame, despite the homos, les- 
hos and concupiscent producers who stalk 
Coco's opulent Hollywood mansion. 
Raquel Welch is outstanding as Coco's 
mistress, a minor-league talent who hangs 
in there because she remembers with grati- 
tude how kind he was when things were 


na 


(continued from page 142) 


better. The preproduction motion th 
Coco is actually playing Roscoe "Fatty' 
Arbuckle, and that the film in some way 
relates to the fateful party that ended 
Arbuckle's career, can be dismissed en- 
tirely. The only possible relationship be- 
tween Arbuckle and the character played 
by Coco is that both were stout silent 
comics. But the film, shot almost entirely 
in Riverside, California's, rococo Mission 
Inn, docs capture the feel of a very special 
time and place with unusual sensitivity. 
So, for that matter, does Bob Fosse's 
compelling screen version of Lenny, with 
Dustin Hoffman not so much impersonat- 
ing as being the foulmouthed, qui 
witted and ultimately tragic Lenny Bruce, 
and Valerie Perrine, in an incandescent 
performance, touchingly vulnerable as 
Honey, the nightclub stripper he mar- 
ried, then nearly destroyed by turning her 
on to drugs. ‘Typically for current films, 
the sex scenes in Lenny (including one 
in which Lenn: bed with Honcy and 
another girl, slowly turns the threesome 
into a lesbian duo, with himself as 
interested spectator) are vividly laid out; 
but since none of this is ever. presented 
with the explicitness of hardcore porno. 
the film is rated R. The irony of Lenny 
is that the Julian Barry screenplay re- 
produces verbatim many of Bruce's scat- 
ological night-club monologs—the very 
ones that got him busted back in the 
ties for "talking dirty." The 
words that ied Bruce to be hounded. 
by the authorities and to squander his 
fortune on vain legal maneuvers to stay 
cut of jail can now be heard by any child 
in any moviehouse, provided he or she is 
there with an “accompanying parent or 
adult guardian.” Lenny Bruce, the film 
implies, did not die in vain. By re-creating 
vividly (and in glossy black and white) 
not only the look but also the repressive 
temper of Bruce's era, Lenny serves as a 


same 


salutary reminder of how far we have 
come in little more than a decade. 

Three films from the past year (two 
of them American, one Swedish) afford 
promise that women, too, have come if 
not the long way, baby, promised by the 
cigarette ads, at least some distance along 
the road to 
sional human beings, with sexuality one 
of those dimensions. 


documented the plight of the f. 
telligent, reasonably informed and whol- 
ly cowed housewife than John Cassavetes’ 
A Woman Under the Influence. Although 
the title suggests booze or drugs, the actual- 
ity is far more peruiciou 
influence of what George Beru 
once described as ldleclass moral 
ity"—being a good wife and a greater 
lover to her blue-collar husband (Peter 
Falk) a combination of mother and 
scout leader to their kids, a. glcaming 
vessel of respectability to all her relatives 
and a jolly good fellow to all hubby's 
pals. She breaks v nderstandably 
in of multiple role playing. 
ainly the most 
and demanding female charac- 
ince the halcyon days of Bette 
harine Hepburn, fully 
eamed her Acidemy Award nomination. 
The Oscar was won by Ellen Burstyn 
for her skillful realization of another 
mo} role, in Alice Doesn't 
Live Here Anymore (directed by Martin 
Scorsese, of Mean Streets fame). Alice 
the widow of a yshoo truck driver, a 
man who liked his meals on time and 
k snatch of sex—and, please, no 
conversation—belore rolling olf to sleep 
Stranded in New Mexico with a 12-year 
old kid and virtually no money, the wom- 
an, child in tow, sets off for California with 
the vain hope of resuming her carcer as 
a piano: Imits she 
s never very good at it, and eventually 
(continued on page 190) 


te 
Davis 


is 


a she 


singer. 


ANATOMY- 
PROF R dm 


MALE GENITAL Oncans 


187 


188 


] COMING CLEAN 
What's the only penis in the 
world that gets smaller when you 
rub it? Why, it’s a penis made of 
soap, naturally (or unnaturally) — 
though, as the manufacturer 


(We can't imagine what they have 
in mind) Our point of reference 
is the seven-inch Penis Soap-on-a- 
Rope, available for $6 (in honkie 
flesh tones or black) from Aleph 
Enterprises, P.O, Box 10343-P, 
Palo Alto, California 94303. This 
simulated sex organ is very mild, 
organicand honeysuckle scented. 
(Sorry, but the seven-inch version 
is the only one available at this 
time) As for the rope—well, that's 
to keep the soap from slippi 
down the drain or God knows 
where. Something to think about 
the next time you have to wait for 
your date to finish showering. 


YOU GOTTA BELIZE 

If your idea of an exotic adventure is the jungle boat cruise at Disneyland, 
et us introduce Belize (formerly British Honduras), the lovely wedge of 
tropical flora and deserted beaches that lies adjacent to Mexico and 
Guatemala. This land that tourism seems to have forgotten is just being 
discovered by us gringos, not only as an escapist haven but also for such 
spectacular wonders as the largest barrier reef this side of Australia. 
Leading the exodus to Belize is Hanns Ebensten Travel, at 55 West 42nd 
Street in Manhattan; its exclusive tours include a two-week Discover Belize 
cruise aboard the 12-passenger British schooner Golden Cachalot and 
bookings at several remote resorts, Hotel El Pescador on Ambergris Cay, 
just off the coast, and the Blancaneaux Lodge, 1600 fect up in an area 
that—would you Belize?—has been compared to Switzerland. 


PLAYBOY POTPOURRI 


people, places, objects and events of interest or amusement 


Ons 
PA 


ABE ONE Toy 
2 


GOLDEN OLDIES 
as we all know, is anything 

you now considcr to be junk that, if held 
on to for 50 years, will probably draw a. 
whammo price. And if you want to tap the 
mother lode of campy Americana—ad 
trinkets, political buttons, Big-Little books, 
etc—send a buck to Hake’s Americana & 
Collectibles, 1753 Westwood Road, York, 
Pennsylvania, for its latest catalog. It 
includes items to be sold as well as 
auctioned by mailorder bid. Your 
wallet’s never going to be the same. 


23 KAZOO! 
For all you jokers who want to be one step 
ahead of the boys in the lampshades this 
New Year's Eve, here's the perfect solution: 
a 24-kt. gold-plated kazoo. Put out by 
Propinquity (8915 Santa Monica Boulevard, 
Los Angeles, California), the thing 
really works (if you're still sober enough to 
hum into it) and sells for a mere $5.65, 
postpaid. If that doesn't loosen every 
one up, try goosing the host's old lady. 


RIKKETIKKI-TACKY 
The sun most definitely has set 
on the British Empire's 
more exotic outposts, but you 
can bet your sola topee that 
there are still ample oddball 
souvenirs available, Here's 
one: Sarco, Inc., 192 Central 
Avenue, Stirling, New Jersey. 


is selling, for only $74.50 plus 


shipping, a pair of stuffed and 
mounted cobras caught in a 
fleeting moment of mortal com- 
bat with their natural enemy, 
the mongoose. Or there’s a 

‘one mongoose-one cobra 
mount for $59.50. If your girl 
is still around after she gets 

a look at them, you're a better 
man than we are, Gunga Din. 


GREAT RED HUNTER 
We don't know how many Red 
Chinese haye ever been to 
darkest A, but one thing that 
nation's currently doing chop- 
chop is turning out inexpensiv 
exact-detail copies of the ever- 
popular safari jacket. And by 
inexpensive, we're talking 
about $15, postage paid, for 
guaranteed-toshrink-and-fade, 
all-cotton, in khaki, grcen or 
white, and in men's or women's 
small, medium and large sizes. 

. J's, Box 4430, Sunnyside 
Station, Long Island City, New 
York, is the place to send your 
money. At this price, we can 
think of a few local manu- 
facturers it's going to turn red. 


In |j C 
NT i. 


GET LOST! 
So you thought Big Govern- 
ment was a sneaky operation. 
Buddy, you don't know the 
half of it, according to 
Rejusals by the Executive 
Branch to Provide Information 
lo the Congress 1964-73, a 
hefty tome available for $7.90 
from the U. S. Government 
Printing Office, Washington, 
D. C. 20402. If the title sounds 
dry, the contents—"a full range 
of devices, subterfuges, pre- 
posterous extensions and 
assumptions of authority and 
outright evasiveness used by 
the bureaucracy to thwart the 
Congress,” in the words of 
ex-Senator Sam Ervin—are 
anything but. 


PINBALLS TO YOU 
Suspicions confirmed: Old pinball games, 
jukeboxes and miscellaneous arcade oddities 
never die, they end up in the voluminous inven- 
tory of a Peoria, Illinois, firm named Amusements 
Unlimited at 1301 West Columbia Terrace. 
Amusements’ ever-changing list is a child’s garden 
of mechanical delights, with dozens of recon- 
ditioned Bally, Williams and Gottlieb pinballs 
available, along with such curiosities as a Smiling 
Sam Voo Doo Man for $200 and a Nudist 
Colony Peep Show ($100) that converts to an 
ant farm. Golly, Hiram, let's get two. Tilt. 


CURING COLD CHESTS 
With the macho, opensshirt look apparently here 
to stay, what's a fellow to do when his upper 
torso resembles Telly Savalas’ head? Well, you 
might try Eldorado for Men, a syntheticchest- 
wig manufacturer at 3301-07 Eastern Avenue, 
Baltimore 21224. Eldorado's body rugs come in 
five styles, from bats to butterflies, with prices 
ranging from $60 to $150. The same folks also 
a line of synthetic merkins. And no 
jokes about playing on the artificial turf. 


189 


PLAYBOY 


190 


SEX UN CINEMA- 1993 
she becomes a waitress in a Tucson hash 
house. There she's discovered by rancher 
Kris Kristofferson, who happens along 
and, after his fashion, woos her. But 
when he starts slapping her kid around 
ment that, incidentally, the ki 
richly deserves), Alice draws the line. 
The woman is beginning to have some 
own identity and of wl 
anis out of life. And when she 
Ily accepts the rancher as a prospective 
husband, it is on her terms, not his. 

A number of critics have complained 
about tl male, some (mostly male) 
seriously doubting that the Kristofferson 
character could have been brought so 
ly to heel, others (mostly female) 


sense of her 
she 


feeling that Alice's eagerness to remarry 
is a kind of sellou 
film did extremely well at 
office—gi 
nity to concern th 
fa 


Nevertheless, the 
the box 
ng its audiences an opportu- 
mselves with the fate 
woman fast approaching middle 
encumbered with a bratty child, 
bused by the men in her life, yet 
bravely reaching out toward her own 
lorm of self-determination. The most 
talked-about sequence in the film is, 
again, notable for its salty dialog. It's a 
session of dirty-mouthed girl talk between 
nd a fellow waitress (Diane Ladd) 
kes place in the ladies washroom 
of the diner. Out of this scene cime not 
only Burstyn's Oscar but a Best Support- 
ation for Ladd, in a sure 
indication that at least some few out there 
knew what the girls were talking about. 

Tt remained, however, for Sweden's oft- 
married Ingmar Bergman to make, in 
Scenes from a Marriage, the definitive 
statement about wedlock as an institution. 
and what it docs to the people 
alized thereby. At the film's opening, the 
ten-year marriage of Marianne (Liv Ull- 
n) and Johan (Erland Josephson) has 
lrcady begun to fall apart. To him, the 
union is nothing more than a comfortable 
rut. She, a successful divorce lawyer, resents 
catering to her husband's thoughtless 
whims—being more mother than wile. 
One day, abrupily, Johan tells Marianne 
he is leaving for Paris, accompanied by a 
28-year-old with whom he has been having 
an affa Divorce ensues, followed by 
second murriages—and more affairs—for 
both. The finale finds Marianne and 
Johan once more in bed together. Al- 
though legally joined to others, they seem 
more genuinely in love than at any time 
in their own marriage. It is the institution, 
Bergman appears to be saying. that stifles 
love; only outside the relationship are 
the partners able to look at each other 
with understanding and insight. In Scenes 
from a Marriage, this is particularly true. 
of the wo who, once freed of the 
ticity, radiates the strength 
nd quiet assurance of a person wholly in 
control of her own destiny. 

Most films of 19 re less successful 


(continued from page 187) 


in their treatment of the emerging 
woman. Sheila Levine Is Dead and Living 
in New York, loosely ed on 
Us best seller, describes a girl 
(Jeannie Berlin) who chooses to make it 
on her own in Manh: without the 


ging roommate 
n she succumbs 
to the charms of Roy Scheider at a singles 
bar. For Scheider, it's a one-night stand; 
for Sheila, it’s the real thing. And for the 
rest of the film, this supposedly liberated 
seen making herself over into a 
suitably sexy lure for the man of her 
dreams—who just happens to be a doctor, 
or the man of every Jewish mother's 
dreams. In George C. Scott's ill-fated i 
dependent production. The Savage is 
Loose, the story of a shipwrecked family 
on a tropic isle, the wife and mother, 
lovely Trish Van Devere, is clearly in- 
tended to epitomize all thar is best 
womanhood. She's strong and supportive 
and has a mind of her own. But by the 
film's climax (which won the film an 
R rating, hotly contested by Scott), she 
has been reduced to a sex object for both 
her husband and her now-grown son. 

The Stepford Wives, a glossily mounted 
horror story, has a still worse end in 
store for its female characters. The prin- 
cipal one, doc-eyed Katharine Ross, re- 
moves herself with her family from the. 
perils of Manhattan to the exurban 
Charms of Stepford, Connecticut, where 
life seemingly can be beautiful. Certainly, 
most of the wives she meets are beauti 
ful—and dutiful and dull. When her best 
friend, a vivacious freethinker (Paula 
Prentiss), suddenly turns into a platitudi- 
nous robot, mouthi the me TV- 
commercial homilics as all the other 
Stepford wives, Ross becomes frightened. 
And rightly so. It seems that the males of 
Stepford, chauvinist pigs all, have dis 
covered a process for turning their wives 
into literal living dolls, 

Other films treat women not precisely 
as robots but certainly as stercotypes. In 
Bite the Bullet, apart from a briefly 
glimpsed Mexican wife and mother, every 
woman in the film—including, improba- 
bly enough, Candice Bergen—is either 
madam or a whore. The girls in Shampoo 
are all eagerly on the make, either for 
Beatty or for someone wealthier than he, 
but preferably both. As is de rigueur for 
Clint Eastwood movies, each of the females 
2 The Eiger Sanction—Vonetta McGee, 
Heidi Bruhl, Brenda Venus and a whole 
dassroomful of pulchritudinous art ma- 
jors—can hardly wait to spread her legs 
whenever Clint so much as casts a glance in 
her direction. The heroine (Stockard 
Channing) of Mike Nichols’ The Fortune 
s a sap, a sanitary-napkin heiress who runs 
off with wo con men—Beatty (again) and 


Jack Nicholson—who are almost as dumb 
as she is. In Smile, an often hilarious put- 
down of American beauty contests, the 
numerous contestants—shepherded by for- 
mer contest winner Barbara Feldon—a 
depicted as shallow, superficial, spiteful 
and, above all else, mamipulatible. In 
Jacqueline Susann's Once Is Not Enough, 
Alesis Smith, “the fifth-richest woman in 
the world,” acquires Kirk Dou 
beard for her long-standing rel 
with reclusive actress Melina Mercow 
then tries to marry Douglas’ nubile daugh- 
ter January (newcomer Deborah Raffin) 
off to wealthy socialite George Hamilton, 
in whom she fears Mercouri may be grow- 
ing interested. As for January, she has a 
father fixation, which causes her to attach 
herself to a Hemingwayesque, Pulitzer 
Prize-winning author (David Janssen) 
who happens to be impotent. Vivacious 
Brenda Vaccaro steals this film (the rap, 
at worst, should be petty larceny) with a 
snapping performance as the man-hungry 
editor of a fashion magazine who ma 
her way up fortune's ladder on her back 
Mercifully, the cycle of blaxploitation 
pictures seems to have run out of steam 
in 1975. Not only is the quantity down 
but also, though one would scarcely have 
thought it possible, the quality. A new 
low was established by The Black Gestapo. 
which, in depicting actor Charles P. Rob- 
inson’s rise to power in a kind of Black 
Panther organization, loses no opportuni 


to display the most sickening forms of 


sadomasochistic violence, including a hor- 
rifyingly explicit castration sequence. 
Once in command. Robinson uses hi 


“People's Army" to exploit the local 
brothels and drug traffickers precisely as 
had bis white gangster predecessors. 

Violence was again central to the de- 
velopment of the Hong Kong-based 
Cleopatra Jones and the Casino of Gold— 
although this, at least, could boast the 
statuesque Tamara Dobson—a superb 
athlete as well superb looker—com- 
bating the evil minions of “Dragon Lady 
Stella Stevens, Violence, rather than sex, 
also dominates the footage of Sheba, Baby, 
which seems a waste, considering that 
Sheba is the luscious and shapely Pam 
Grier, whom more than one critic has de 
scribed as “the black Raquel Welch." In 
this movie, while covering her victim with 
a silver .38, she simply kicks the shit out 
of anyone who tries to get near her. 

But this tough-momma image seems to 
be confined pretty much to the black 
lovelies onscreen, What used to be called 
the fairer sex will still be the weaker one in 
the future—at least in the future limned 
by Norman Jewison in Rollerball. By the 
dawn of the next century, the film suggests, 

all be beautiful in the very 
special, cool way of Vogue fashion models, 
As Penelope Gilliatt noted of these women 
n her New Yorker review, they serve as 


a 


"Institute of Sexual Therapy? About this surrogate 
wife you assigned to me. . .." 


PLAYBOY 


‘continuous-smile receptionists or as com- 
puter attendants, and the posts have 
obviously been won for them by the white- 
ness of their teeth. Never were so many 
capped teeth together in one movie, 

Comedy, not one of 1975's strong 
points, brought us an icily evil Faye 
Dunaway and a beautiful but bumbling 
Raquel Welch in The Four Musketeers. 
Woody Allen's sophisticated farce Love 
and Death features lovely Diane Keaton, 
his favorite straight person, as a coldheart- 
ed Russian peasant girl who maneuvers 
him before one of Napoleon's firing squads. 
Also in the cast is gorgeous Olga Georges- 

, as a nymphomaniac countess who 
lures the susceptible Allen into her bed, 
full knowing that the consequences will be 
a deadly (for Allen) duel on the morrow. 
The Mel Brooks-Gene Wilder scicenpla: 
for Young Frankenstein calls for Teri 
Garr to play the good doctor's sexy assist- 

t as if she were Harry Reems’s nurse in 
Deep Throat, with the same depth of 
characterization, if fewer of the sex-clinical 
details. Nor does the script do justice to 
the talents of Madeline Kahn, who has 
to be the best comedienne since Judy 
Holliday; it gave her little to do but react. 
In Boston, members of the National 
Organization for Women picketed Young 
Frankenstein, protesting the fact that 
Kahn seemed to enjoy being raped by Dr. 
Frankenstein’s Iarger-than-life-sized_ mon- 
ster (Peter Boyle) at the film’s—and pre- 
sumably the monster’s—climax. 

When an interest in women's rights 
slipped over into the field of the sex- 
ploitation movie, ir was not so much 
understood as utilized. "There it provided 
a handy hook on which to hang sexual 
displays with “redeeming social value," 
in the currently popular legal phrase. 

ake Linda Lovelace for President, for 
example. "She does for politics what she 
did for sex," reads the ambiguous tag line 
in the film's ad campaign; but where the 
mere idea of stumping for 
the nation’s highest office might have 
shocked an earlier generation, any ob- 
jections raised to Linda's camp: 
clearly directed at its unorthodox meth- 
ods. And then there is Carlos Tobalina’s 
ambitious, two-hour-long Marilyn and the 
Senator (which has absolutely nothing to 
do with either that Marilyn or that Sena- 
tor). As is increasingly the case in the 
skin-flick the film concerns a 
strong-minded woman (here, CIA agent 
Ni ause) using whatever means are 
at her disposal to get precisely what she 
wants. In this instance, it's wealthy Sena- 
tor William Margold, who is married 
to attractive Heather Leigh, who keeps 
an eye on her husband's philanderings 
through closed-circuit television. 

Probably the most successful explicitly 
sexual American film of the year, how- 
evel Radley Mewger's The Private 


192. Afternoons of Pamela Mann, dealing with 


the activities of a bored housewife (Bar- 
bara Bourbon) who's rebelling against her 
work-obsessed husband. What she doesn’t 
know is that her husband is equally 
obsessed with sex and spends his evenings 
viewing films of her dalliances. Marital 
bliss comes when they begin viewing— 
and performing—together. (Metzger, one 
of the most tasteful directors of sexploi- 
tation films, had eschewed such triple-X 
fare until last year, when he “heated up” 
Score after its disappointing initial engage- 
ments in a softer version. He direct- 
cd Pamela under the pseudonym Henry 
Paris, lifting the veil only after it and 
his subsequent Naked Came the Stranger, 
based on the literary hoax by "Penclope 
Ashe," became runaway hits.) 

Russ Meyer, another sex-film pioneer— 
his The Immoral Mr. Teas dates from 
1959—has never been reticent when it 
comes to having his name attached to 
his movies, preferably above the title. 
His ad copy for his latest, Supervixens, 
reads in part: “An all-out assault on to- 
day's sexual mores; and more . . .a frontal 
tack against women's lib . . . blasting 
ough the male machismo syndrome . . . 
icking the hell out of convention, hang- 
ups, convictions, obsessions. The whole 
bag... cops, robbers, sexually aggressive 
females, rednecks, sick men of war, un- 
faithful wives, impotence, athletic prow- 
ess, the 32-second orgasm, momism, 
cuckolding, breast fixation vs. fellatio . . . 
even death and reincarnation! And,” the 
ad breathlessly concludes, "seven incred- 
le br 1f the blurb sounds slightly 
excessive, the film is even more so—the 
sexiest, goricst and in many ways thc 
funniest movie Meyer has ever made. 

The year 1975 brought us not one but 
three movies based on the life and times 
of Xaviera Hollander, Holland's noted 
exponent of piece (for pay) in our time, 
The Happy Hooker, with Lynn Redgrave 
in the ude role, was well summarized by 
Variety's Sege, who termed it an “R-rated 
trearment of Xaviera Hollander's X-rated 
antics.” Xaviera herself appears in a 
second R-rated movie, My Pleasure Is My 
Business. Far less tame is Larry G. Spang- 
lers The Life and Times of Xaviera 
Hollander, which Manhauan Civil Court 
Judge Louis Kaplan, in ordering the print 
destroyed, described as “80 to 90 percent 
explicit sex. 

"There are indications, however, that the 
era of porno chic is just about over, A 
few films—like last yea Memories 
Within Miss Aggie—may break through 
to the $1,000,000-plus time, but 
neither the regularity nor the spectacular 
grosses of only two years ago. There are 
now approximately 2250 houses (out of 
about 18,000) that will still book X-rated 
merchandise; fewer still will do so if 
there is any suggestion that the picture 
might be hard-core, What the exhi 
look for are those breakthrough films, the 
successors to Deep Throat and The Devil 
in Miss Jones, that will reach beyond the 


th 


habitual fans, those men carrying rain- 
coats, and catapult the film into the 
stratosphere of multimillion-dollar profits. 
Pamela Mann, Sometime Sweet Susan, 
the Mitchell brothers’ costly Sodom and 
Gomorrah just might make it; but the 
general public's curiosity about X-rated 
merchandise seems to have been sated. 
Audiences can no longer be wooed merely 
by the quantity or variety of sexual acts on 
the screen; by this time, the average adult 
has seen them all several times. And al- 
though the young people who are willing 
to play in the pornos are growing more 
attractive all the time, very few producers 
know or care much about quality. Today, 
so many porno pics are being ground out 
that the market is undergoing a recession 
much deeper than that affecting the econ- 
omy at large. 

Under those Grcumstances, there was 
considerable raising of eyebrows within 
the industry when Columbia Pictures, 
which had never before handled an > 
rated movie, undertook the distribution of 
the French box-office hit manuelle. 
Although soft-core (as are most French sex 
films), Emmanuelle definitely deserves its 
X—a fact that Columbia cannily exploited 
in its advertising campaign with the catch 
phrase "X was never like this.” Perhaps 
it wasn't, though the film's rambling 
tale of the sexual awakening of the young 
wile of a French diplomat, conducted 
chiefly under the auspices of an aging 
sensualist, includes—in addition to almost 
ncessint nudity—such staples of the sex- 
ploitation field as lesbianism, masturba- 
ion, cunnilingus and just plain fucking. 
There is even a nightclub sequence in 
which a performer—despite, one might 
suppose. warnings from the Surgeon G 
eral—engages in vaginal cigarette pulling. 
But because the girls in the movie radiate 
lashion-magazine good looks and the 
photography (mainly on location in Bang- 
kok) is exceptionally lush, Columbia felt 
free to state in its ads, “It’s the first film 
kind that lets you feel good without 
bad.” 

It was, apparently, a gamble that pa 
off. By booking the film into art houses 
rather than regulation porno palaces, 
by emphasizing that the 
rather than explicit, Columbi 
in luring to the theaters a wide cross 
section of customers—including women— 
who wouldn't be found dead within ten 
miles of a hard-core feat 
six months of nati 
cording to Columbia president 
Begelman, Emmanuelle grossed 
mately $8,500,000; the end is still no- 
where in sight 
scores of relatively well 
soft-core pornos are turning up in Pa 
these days. They account for fully 40 
percent of the entire market, and there's 
every possibility that this figure will go up 
if, as is anticipated, hard-core—‘stiff,” the 
French call it—is permitted. After Alex 
deRenzy's compilation of old stag reels, 


film is erotic 


succeeded 


ide 


jiter, 
fangs 


Reel in thepa 
big. ones with 
Zeboo's Travel Pak Rod, reel, 
if 's yours for-B&W cou- ME 
pons. the valuable'extra MES 
ES. on every pack. of fS 
"> haleigh.-To see fE 
Ais. over 1000 gifts. g 


Rich satisfying tobacco t ; 
in a golden Kentucky blend. Petrie 


The Surgeon General Has Determined 
ette Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health. 


You may already have wo 


iPlayboy's 
whether or not you join th 


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PIL ey 3 Ge 


196 


A History of the Blue Movie, opened in 
four Paris theaters toward the end of 
April, distributors were reportedly stock- 
ing up on such American entries as 
The Devil in Miss Jones, Behind the 
Green Door and, of course, Deep Throat. 
Meanwhile, as outlined by Bruce William- 
son in Sex im Cinema—Fiench Style 
(rLAvmov, June), Frances film makers 
themselves have been far from idle. Just 
Jacckin, the former fashion photographer 
who directed Emmanuelle, has followed 
with an adaptation of the classic, long- 
banned sex novel Story of O, with 
Corinne Cléry as the subjugated heroine 
and Udo Kier (cast by Paul Morrissey in 
the Andy Warhol retellings of the Dracula 
and Frankenstein dassics) as her perverted 
captor. And the delectable Emmanuelle, 
Sylvia Kristel, nor only appear op- 
posite Jean-Louis Trintignant in Playing 
with Fire, an Alain Robbe-Grillet con- 
coction about a whiteslave gang operating 
out of a classy bordello that caters to the 
sadomasodhistic wade, but also recently 
completed Anti:Virgin, a film continuing 
the initiation of the insatiable Emmanu- 
elle into the wonders and varieties of sex. 
Roger Vadim, to whom sex and cellu- 
loid are practically synonymous, re-creates 
in Charlotte (formerly tied The Mur- 
dered Young Girl) the cvents leading, up to 
a thrill killing in which the murderer 
strangles the git], tears her eyes out, then 
makes love to the corpse. As an added 
fillip, if one were needed, Vadim pro- 
vides a sequence in which Sirpa Lane 
tenderly wraps her lover's penis in ropes 


writing is Spernula, with its 
“Not all 


] teaser, 
vampires live on blood 


female 
and the added realism of perfume sprays 


ejected into the auditorium 
moments. 
French 


t strategic 


film makers, as if sucking on 
g tooth, seem to be returning 
increasingly to the sad events of World 
War Two. The best-known example in 
the U.S. is Lacombe, Lucien (superbly 
directed by Louis Malle), which traces 
the transformation of a slow-witted peas- 
t boy (Pierre Blaise) into a Nazi bully 
who blackmails his way into the bed of 
a patrician Jewish tailor's daughter. 

The Germans have their Adolf Hitler, 
a documentary supposedly put together 
out of newsreels and hitherto unseen foot- 
age culled from archives of the SS. Both 
Hitler and of record, Eva Braun, 
re shown c altogethe 
cording to film maker Ludwig Kercher, 
the S; lant, had placed secret 
cameras in the walk of Berchtesgaden, 
Géring’s Karinhall and other spots fre- 
quented by top Nazi officials. Despite de- 
nazification, German governmental figures 
took a dim view of Herr Kerscher's exposé. 
charging improper invasion of privacy. At 
last report, Adolf Hitler had yet to be 
seen either in or outside Germ: 

What cin be seen is Might 


Makes 


be 


Right, a new work by Germany's prodi- 
giously talented and prolific Rainer Wer- 
ner Fassbinder. A kind of German Peter 
Bogdanovich, Fassbinder at 30 has man- 
aged to make 30 pictures while function- 
ing as a parttime critic on the side, In 
Might Makes Right, a study of German 
gays, he also plays the lead—a young man 
from the working class who uses his sex- 
ual proclivities to better himself socially. 
Completely free of any sensationalism or 
explicit love scenes, the film is remark- 
able in its suggestion of, if we may use 
the term, a gay-community pecking order 
as rigid and class-conscious as that of con- 


Thanks to a liberalization of the Ger- 
man censorship laws in November of 1974, 
Germans may now see pictures that are 
considerably rougher than those of a 
year ago. A peculiar aspect of the new 
ruling, however, is its insistence diat hard- 
core pornography cannot be shown for 
profit. To dodge this, a new theater chain, 
known as Pam, has sprung up since the 
first of the year. Admission is free, but 
patrons are expected to buy beer and 
schnapps while watching the movies. In 
cidentally, pornography, by German defi- 
nition, includes not only sexually explicit 
films but also those featuring sado- 
masochistic violence. Death Wish, with 
Charles Bronson, barely made it past the 
German censors. 

Italy also seems to be on the verge 
of liberalizing its censor regulations, al 
though films like Last Tango in Paris 
remain under ban. During 1974, however, 
such softcore imports as Flesh Gordon, 
Deep Throat H and Emmanuelle w 
admitted—and paid off handsomely. Wi 
these films as precedents, Italian 
ducers have been emboldened to go ; 
do likewise. As we go to pres 
Lovelace is in Rome prep: 
in Laure with Emmanuelle 
author of Emmanuelle, who will also 
write and direct the new venture. Black 
Emmanuelle is also before the cameras; 
while Pier Paolo Pasolini, whose earlie 
films include Decameron, The Canterbury 
Tales and 1001 Arabian Nights, currently 
has in production Salo or the 120 Days of 
the City of Sodom, based on a work by the 
Marquis de Sade updated to the final 
weeks of Mussolini’s dictator 

To reach the profitable 


market, Italian producers have taken 

increasingly to supplementing home- 

grown talent with wellknown names 

from abroad. Luchino Viscor 

sation Piece, co-starring our own Burt 
ter with Italian ss Silvana 


no and Germany's Helmut Berger. 
features guest appearances by France's 
Dominique Sanda and ltalys Claudi 
Cardinale, Lancaster plays an American 
profesor, living alone in Rome, whose 


privacy is invaded when a countess (Man- 


gano) insists on renting his upstairs apart- 
ment for her Jover (Berger). In. Woman 
and Lover, Joc Dallesandro, the favorite 


stud in Andy Warhol's extensive stable, 
plays (in his usual deadpan style) a terror- 
ist who seduces a farmer's wife. delighting 
her with the greatest orgasm she has ever 
known. Catherine Deneuve, Fern: 
Rey, Tina Aumont and Giancarlo 
nini top the cosmopolitan cast of Drama 
of the Rich, based on a genuine crime 
possionnel that rocked Italy at the turn 
of the century. 

The year’s best-known instance of in- 
nalism style. is Michel- 
angelo / The Passenger, which 
Carlo Ponti produced for MGM—without 
a single Italian in the cast! Jack Nichol- 
son stars as a frustrated reporter who 
assumes the identity of a dead British 
salesman and sets out to savor a new 
stence. The salesman, it develops. had 
tually been trallicking in guns for Third 
World revolutionaries, and Nicholson 
soon finds hünself being hounded all over 
Europe by secret agents, security officers 
and his estranged wile, who wants to 
know how he died. Accompanying Nichol- 
son on his travels is the shapely Maria 
(Last Tango) Schneider, a casual pickup 
with a taste for adventure. Unfortunately, 
most critics agreed, this hybrid has neither 
the pace of American movies nor the 
warmth of the Italians at their best 

No such problems beset Ken Russell's 
British-based production of the rock opera 
Tommy, which boasts a huge wansathintic 
cast headed by Ann-Margret, Oliver Recd, 
Tina Turner, Jack Nicholson (again) and 
top rock stus Roger Daltrey, Elton John, 

Japton and Keith Moon. Russell, 
as always, underscores the erotic in this 
al odyssey of a young (Dal- 
ey) who is psychologically maimed in 


childhood by the shock of witnessing 
his fathers murder at the hands ot 
his mother's lover. Reed, the brutally 


domineering lover, oozes a swaggering 
that makes aedible the total 
submission of Tommy's mother (A 
Margret), while Ann-Margret herself strips 
off the veneer of conventional morality 
a the most uninhibitedly sensuous per- 
formance of her carecr—rivaled here only 
by Turner's glittery, seductive incarnation 
as the Acid Queen. 

Perhaps the most ambitious all-British 
picture of the year is Ken Hughes's a 
ion of Alfie Darling, with rock si 
Alan Price taking over the tide role so 
memorably—too memorably, in fact- 
created by Michael nc almost a deca 
ago. Caine's insouciant poruait of a 
conscienceless heel-hero made it easy to 


ble into his nest. Price, playing a 
lecherous truck driver, comes on so strony 
that one can scarcely empathize with any 
chick—and there are many, notably career 
girl Jil Townsend—who falls for his 
line. Despite a conscious effort to update 
the material by having Price’s pal, Paul 
Copley, marry a black girl, Alfie Darling 
never so appealingly with it 
predecessor. 


was its 


For the most part, in fact, sex in 
British films has degenerated from the 
high style exhibited by the original Alfie, 
O Lucky Man and A Clockwork Orange 
to the low- 
budgeted comedies like Confessions of a 
Window Cleaner or horror films like 
Vampyres ... Daughters of Dracula, featur 
ing statuesque Marianne Morris and the 
sultry Anulka Dziubinska (PLaynoy’s Miss 
May 1973) as a pair of lesbian descendants 
of the bloodthirsty count, Still to come (or 


standardized clichés of 


still promised 


any rate) around Christ 
awaited 


mastime is Stanley Kubrick’s long 
production of Barry Lyndon 
Ryan O'Neal. Begun over two years ago 
for Warner Bros.. Barry Lyndon will prob 
ably serve to remind us of what British 
coproductions used to be. 

Random simplings from many nations— 
Belgium Greece 


and Holland are good examples 


starring 


Austral Canada. 


would 


indicate that the sexual content of 
their films in 1975 approximates that 
of our own in 1969-1970. They have 
grown bolder, nuder. more explicit in 
language—though still not hard-core. 
Early this year, censors in Quebec became 


ious cause célèbre when 
an actor, the 
release of a movie titled The Apple, the 


the center of a cu 
Don 


kl Lautrec 


held up 


Stem, and the Pils because its producers 
had cut in a shot of a zucchini to repre- 
sent the male organ at a climactic moment. 
Lautrec protested that his own 


organ 


should have been pictured. When, sub. 
sequently, it was, the Quebec censors 
hdd up the film even though they had 


alr 
licized movies in which the p. 
played in erecto. 

Here in the United States, the scene 
is equally confusing. Although the Su- 
preme Court has handed down 
stern antipornography decisions (always, 
interestingly, by a five-to-four vote). it 
has to date avoided writing into law any- 
thing thar might define what is and what 
is not pornographic. While the FBI was 
redoubling its efforts to prosecute those 
s 
across state lines, the Justice Department 
refused a request for $116,000 to fund. at 
California Lutheran College, the National 
Legal Data Center—an organization cre: 
ated to expedite prosecution of obscenity 


ady passed two other less well-pub- 


his is dis. 


several 


who shipped reputedly obscene movi 


cases. Boston's zoning commission ap- 
proved a two-block area on lower 
Washington Street where aduli-movie 


theaters. porno bookstores and pecp shows 
contd operate unmolested: but in Chicago 
and Albuquerque. five aduli-movie houses 
were wracked by bomb blasts; and in Los 
Angeles, an ancient Red Light Abatement 
Act was revived to fight the smut menace. 

Clearly the 
publi alent about the degree of 
sexuality it wants to see on the screen. 
For anything is too much; for 


at this point. American 


is aml: 


some, 


others, too much is not enough. It is a 
debate that is bound to continue, 
especially if Americans become aware of 
the hidden costs of an oi 


^g prosecu- 
How many 
hundreds. of dollars have 
been expended in the innumerable (and 
generally unsuccessful) attempts to bust 
Deep Throat, not to mention dozens of 
other, less notorious pictures that go to 
trial nearly every day all over the country? 
How many hours a week does the local 
y spend in movichouses (often 


tion of sex in the cinema 


thousands of 


constabr 
at the behest of an ambitious D,A.), wy 
ing to determine whether or not a movie 
is obscene, instead of sallying forth to 
combat crime on the streets? How many 
FBI agents have been detailed to entrap 
distributors of eight-millimeter stag recls, 
posing as small-town collectors so that the 
ensuing trials can be held in communities 
presumably less amenable 19 such material 
than New York. 
Francisco? And how mudh are these ti 
costing, 


Los Angeles or San 


lavies, wi 


ness 


in prosecutors’ s: 


fee: 

We may never add up the total bill 
laid on our doorstep in this all-out assault 
against an ill-defined crime, but one might 
well ask: How much does today's hard- 
pressed taxpayer want to spend to have 
tell him what he can see 


ad per-diem payments to jurors? 


someone else 
at the movies? 


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197 


PLAYBOY 


198 


TIASEHIMATU (continued jrom page 102) 


"She wouldn't betray "em, never!” says 
1 emphatically, 

Rose stared at me in disappointment. 
“I can't credit that. She ain't European 
ro! you know! These black rulers 
a snuif for their subjects. We 
g to lose by trying, at any 
pped the table, grinning at 
me. bursting with his own cleverness. 
lashman, didn’t | say that you were 
our trump cud? You're one of the few 
men who can get inside Jhansi and into 
her presence as a native—with no one 
the " He sat back and laughed. 
“What d'ye think they're calling you 
down in Bombay these days? The Pall 
Mall Path: 

There are times when you know it 
absolutely ain't worth struggling any 
longer. Rose was just the most recent. in 
a long line of enthusiastic madmen who, 
at one time or another, had declared that 
1 was just the chap they were looking for 
10 undertake some ghastly adventure. I 
ade one more feeble excuse by point- 
ing out that I no longer had a beard, 
but Rose brushed that aside as unim- 
portant, poured me another brandy and 
began to elaborate his idiot plan. 

Lakshmibai was to make her escape 
through the Orcha gate atthe very height 
of our attack, he said. and added, "But 
you must say nothing about that gate 
she has accepted the offer. H she 
fuse our plan—well, she may still 
be tempted to use a bolt hole in the 

t resort. So we shall nab her anyw: 
concluded smugly. 
“And if she does ref 

“My guess," he said 
try 10 keep you 


“is that she'll 
hostage. Anyway,” 


sa 


says he, clapping me on the arm, “I 
know you've never counted 
I saw you at 
Heavies and 
well!” 


sk yeI— 
Balaclava charging with the 
soing in with the Lights as 
do you know, he actually 
me in admiration? It 
ned your stomach. 

there F sa d punished the 
ly while I tried to balance the odds 
in my mind. ] remembered our night in 
the pavilion and I thought, No, she 
wouldn't do me any harm. And yet, 
there was the Jhansi massacre —how deep 
had she been in that? Who knew what 
went on in the Indian mind? Was she 
as cruel and treacherous as the rest of 
the 1I couldn't say—but I'd find out 
when I came face to face with her. And, 
1, 1 felt a leap of eager- 
ness in my chest at the thought of see- 
ing her once more. 

Vl say this for H 
with his fiendish ingenuity for dreaming 
up dangers for me, he had a formidable 
It took him a 
good 30 sce a up a fool- 
proof way of getting me safe inside the 
city. I would have the next day to pre- 
pare my n dye and the 


rest, and the following night he would 
loose a squadron of Hyderabad cavalry 
in a sudden raid on the breach in the 
wall, They would create a hell of a row 
and then withdraw in good order, leay- 
ing behind in the rubble onc native bad- 
mash of nce: to wit, 
of the 17th 
taff. ] was to 
lie low for a half hour, it scemed, and 
after that, all 1 had to do was tool up 
the streets to the palace and knock on 
the door, like Barnacle Bill. 

Thuy it was 1 found myself, attired in 
a filthy Third Cavalry “uniform, with 
the Hyderabad troopers round me in the 
gloom, Rose clasping my hand: then the 
whispered order, the slow, muflled ad- 
vance, with only the snorting of the 
horses and the creak of leather to mark 
our passing towards that looming, distant 
wall, Behind it was the dull, cr 
glow of the city and thc broad 
the wall where the watch fires tw 
and a few silhouettes moved to and 


s were firing as a diversion. 
through my genuine funk, I could feel 
that strange tremour of excitement every 
horse soldier knows as the squadrons 
move forward silently in the gloom 
slowly and pondcrousy, bump:bump- 
bump at the walk. knee to knee. one 
hand on the bridle, Voth the hilt of 
the lampblacked sabre, ears straining for 
the fist ay of alum. How often I'd 
known it and been terrified! 

The crack of a rifle, a distant yell 


Even 


and then the thunderous roar of 
the vissaldar, “Aye-hee! Squah-drahn— 
charge!” The dark mass on either side 


seemed 10 leap forward, and then I was 
thundering along, flat down against my 
pony’s flanks, as we tore across the last 
furlong. The Hyderabadi screamed like 
fury as they spread out, except for d 
four who remained bunched ahead and 
on either side of me as a protective 
saeen. Beyond them, I could see the 

s in the breach, a rubble- 


pin points of flame 
loom and shots whi 
ted overhead. Then the first riders were 
jumping the barricade, sabres swinging. 
My front gallopers swerved in among 
the jumble of fallen masonry, howl 
like dervishe: 


were spotting the 


I saw one of them sabre 
down a pandy who thrust at him with 


musket and bayonet and 

ap into a big, whitedhot 
was springing at him with 

I jerked my beasts head round and, 
scrambling over stones and plaster, made 
for the shadows on my right just a 
two Hyderabadis surged past me. Under 
their cover, I managed to reach the lee 
of à ruined house while the clash of 
steel, the crack of musketry and the yells 
sounded behind me. Close by the house, 


mother rode 
ed fellow who 
spear 


there was a tangle of bushes and I rolled 
neatly out of the saddle, crawled franti- 
cally under them and lay there, panting. 
Id dropped my sabre, but I 
stout knife in my boot and a revolver 
at my waist under my shirt. 1 waited for 
three or four minutes while the pande- 
m continued. Then it died down 
bble of insults and a few shots 
avalry as 


a 


hadn't gone very far. 

About a quarter of an hour later, I 
burrowed through the bushes and found 
myself in a narrow Jane. At the corner. 
was a watch fire with a few pandies and 
bazaar wallahs round it; 1 ambled past 
them, exchanging a greeting, and they 
didn't do more than give me an idle 
glance. Two minutes later, I was in the 
ar, buying a chapatty and chilli and 
agreeing with the booth wallah that if 
the sahib-log couldn't do beuer than the 
feeble skirmish just now at the breach, 
they'd never take Jhansi. 

Although it was three in the morning, 
the narrow streets were as busy as if it 
had been noon. There were troops on 
the move everywhere—rebels of the 12th 
Native Infantry, regulars of the Rani’s 
Mahraua army, Bhil soldiers of fortune 
and armed tribesmen with spiked hel 
mets, long swords, round shields and 
every sort of firearm from  Miniés to 
matchlocks. There were many townsfolk 
about, too, and the booths seemed to be 
doing a roaring wade. There was no 


ign of unease, as you might have ex- 


petted; rather, a sense of excitement and 
bustle. 
1 fell into conversation with the booth 


wallah, remarking that it seemed we were 
holding the English very well, and fma 
at round to say here is t 
the Rani holds a great council 
fort tonight; have you heard? 


"She did not invite me," says he sar- 
castically. "Nor, strangely enough, di 
she offer me her palace when she left 


it. That will be thrce pice, soldier. 

l paid him, having learned what I 
wanted to know, and took thc cets 
that led up to the fort, my knees getting 
shakier at each step. 1 reminded myself 
that she could hardly show violence to 
an envoy of the British gene: 
when I came to the little sq 

ed acrow at the frowning gateway, 
h the torches blazing over it and the 
red-jacketed Pathan senties on either 
side, 1 had to fight down the temptation 
to scuttle back into the lanes and ( 
to hide until it w l over. Only the 
certainty that these lanes would shortly 
be a bloody battleground sent me reluc 
anty on. I wound my puggarce tightly 
round head and chin, hiding half my 
ice, slipped from my pocket the note 
that Rose had carefully prepared, walked 
rmly across to the sentry and demanded 


wi 


to sce the gua He came 
out, yawning and stretching—and who 
should it be but my old acqua 
who spat on shadows. I gave him the 
note and said, "This is for the Rani 
and no other. Take it to her, and 
quickly.” 

He glowered at m 
and who may you b. 

“If she wishes you to know, belike 
she'll tell you.” I growled, squatting 
down in the archway. “But be sure, if 
you delay, she'll have that empty head 
off your shoulders. 

He glared and turned the note in his 
hands. Evidently, it impresed him— 


c. "What is this, 


with a red scal carrying young Lyster's 
mily crest, it should | 
alter an obscene enquiry about my par- 
entage, which I ignored. he loafed off, 
bidding the sentries to keep an eye on 
me 

I waited with my heart hammering, 
for this was the moment when 
might go badly astray, After much bi 
cudgelling, Rose and I had writen the 
note in schoolboy French, which I knew 
the Rani understood. It said simpl 
"One who brought perfume and a pi 
ture is here. See him alone. Trust him 
But suppose she didn’t want 10 see me? 
Or might think that the best answer 
was to send me back to Rose in bits? 
Ihe sound of marching fect c 
from the gloom beyond the archway 
I got to my feet, quivering. The havildar 
had come back with two troopers. He 
gave me a glowering look and motioned 
to the courtyard beyond, falling in be- 
side me with the two troopers behind 
We were headed across the yard to 
another torchlit doorway guarded by 
e Pathans. 
growls the havildar, and I found 
myself in a small, vaulted guardroom. I 
blinked in the sudden glare of oil lamps 
and then my heart lurched down into 
my boots, for the figure peering intently 
towards me from the center of the room 
was the fat little chamberlain whom I 
knew from Lakshmibai's durbar. 

The stupid bitch had told him who I 
was! Rose's fatheaded scheme had sprung 
a leak! “You are the Sirkas envoy. 
Colonel Flashman?” He was squinti 
at me in consternation, as well he mi, 
for I didn't much resemble the dandy 
staff officer he'd known. 

“Yes,” says I, "and you must take me 
to the Rani at once!” Sick and fearful, 
I peeled off my puggaree and pushed my 
hair back. He his liule 
eyes wide in that fat face. And then 
something fluttered in the air between 
us—for an instant, ] thought it was a 
moth—and fell to the floor with a tiny 
pulf of sparks. It was a cigarette smoking 
on the flags, a long, yellow tube with a 
mouthpiece. 

“All in good time, a 
voice, and I spun round in horrified dis 
belief to stare at the doorway. He was 


ve done—for, 


You’ve earned 
your stripe 


-when you'd rather 
play touch football 


x Scotch for value. 
ian watch P e And the Scotch you chose 
ee ery Was the one that started 
all the others on the 
road to lightness. 
ü 
[^ 


CUNT " er’s. The original light 
ns ie ae Xd 1 jotch. With an original 
in the garage 


light price tag. 
walk the three blocks ae We are our 
the drugstore. 


stripe in 1853. 


'ecause you chose your 


...because you've ac 
walked across 


1974, 


s Corp., Louisvilie, Ky., 


80 br 86 Proof + Brown Forman Dis! 


199 


PLAYEOY 


200 


standing there, his hand still frozen in 
the act of flicking away the cigarete— 
Ignatieff, whom I'd supposed a thousand 
miles away by now, looking at me with 
his dreadful, cold smile and an inclina- 
tion of his tawny head. "All in good 
time," he repeated in English as he came 
forward, “After we have resumed the . . . 
discussion? . . . which was so unfortunate- 
ly interrupted at Balmoral.” 

How I've survived fourscore years with- 
out heart seizure I do not know. Perhaps 
I'm enured to the kind of shock I ex- 
perienced then, with my innards surging 
up into my throat; I couldn't move but 
stood there with my skin crawling as he 
came to stand in front of me—a new Ig- 
natielf, this, in flowered shirt 
trousers and Persian boots, 
litle gingery beard adorning his chin. 
But the rattrap mouth was still the same, 
and that unwinking half-blue, half-brown 
eye boring into me. 

“I have been anticipating this meeting,” 
s he, "ever since I leamed of your 
mission to India—did you know. 1 heard 
about it before you did yourself?’ He 
gave a chilly little smile—he could never 
resist bragging, this one. “The secret de- 
liberations of the astute Lord Palmerston 
are not so secret as he supposes. And it 
has been a fool's errand, has it not? But 
never so foolish as now. You should have 
been thankful to escape me . . . twice? ... 
but you come blundering back a third 
time. Very well.” The gotch eye seemed 
to harden with a brilliant light. “You will 
not have long to regret it. 

With an effort, I got my voice back, 
damned shaky though it was. 

"I've nothing to say to you!" cries I, as 
truculently as I could, and turned on the 
little chamberlain. "My business is with 
the Rani Lakshmibai—not with this . . . 
this renegade! I demand to see her at 
once! Tell her——' 

Ignatieffs hand smashed across my 
mouth, sending me staggering, but his 
voice didn't rise by a fraction. “That 
will not be necessary," says he, and the 
itle chamberlain dithered submissively. 
Her Highness is not to be troubled for 
mere spy. T shall deal with this jackal 
mysel 

“In a pig's cye you will!” I blustered. 
“I'm an envoy from Sir Hugh Rose, to 
the Rani—not to any hole-and-corner 
Russian bully! You'll hinder me at your 
peril! Damn you, let me loose!" I roared 
as the two troopers suddenly grabbed my 
elbows. "Fm a staff officer! You can't 
touch me—I'm——" 

j T officer! Envoy!” Ignaticff's words 
me out in that raging icy whisper that 
took me back to the nightmare of that 
verminous dungeon beneath Fort A 
bat. "You crawl here in your filthy dis- 
guise, like the spy you are, and claim to 
be weated as an emissary? If that is 
what you are, why did you not come in 
iform, under a flag, in open day? 


u 


His face was frozen in fury, and then 
the brute hit me agai T shall tell 
you—because you are a dishonoured 
liar, whose word no one would trust! 
Treachery and deceit are. your trade—or 
is it assassination this time?” His hand 
shot out and whipped the revolver from 
my waist. 

“It's a lie" I shouted. "Send to Sir 
Hugh Rose—he'll tell you!" I was ap- 
pealing to the chamberlain, “You know 
me, man—tell the Rani! I demand it! 

But he just stood gaping, waiting for 

Ignatieff, whose sudden anger had died as 
quickly as it had come. 
ince Sir Hugh Rose has not hon 
oured us with a parley, there is no reaso 
why we should address him,” says he soft- 
ly. “We have to deal only with a night 
prowler.” He gestured to the troopers. 
ake him down.” 
You've no authority!” 1 roared. "Fm 
not answerable to you, you Russian swine! 
Let mc go!" They were dragging me for- 
ward by main strength, while I bawled to 
the chamberlain, pleading with him to 
tell the Rani. They ran me through a 
doorway and down a flight of stone steps, 
with Ignatiefl following, the ciamberlain 
twittering in front of him. I struggled in 
panic, for it was plain that the brute was 
going to prevent the Rani from hearing 
of my arrival until after he'd done. . . . 
I nearly threw up in terror, for the 
troopers were hauling me across the floor 
to an enormous wheel like a cable drum, 
set perpendicular above ground level. 
There were manacles dangling from it 
and fetters attached to the stone floor 
They had racked an 
Eng! to death in this very fort, 
Ilderim had said, and now they flung me 
against the hellish contraption, one grin- 
ning trooper pinning me bodily while the 
other damped my hands in the manacles 
above my head and then snapped the floor 
chains round my ankles. 1 yelled and 
swore, the chamberlai k down fea 
fully onto the bottom step and Ignaticlf lit 
another cigarette. 

“So much would not be necessary if I 
only sought information," says he, in that. 
dreadful metallic whisper. "With such a 
coward as you, the threat is sufhcient. 
But you are going to tell me why you are 
here, what treachery you intended and for 
what purpose you wished to see Her 
Highness. And when I am satisfied that 
you have told me everything"—he stepped 
dose up to me, that awful eye staring into 
mine, and concluded in Russian, for my 
benefit alone—"the racking will continue 
until you are dead.” He signed to the 
troopers and stepped back. 

"For Christ's sake, Ignatieff!" I 
screamed. “You can't do this! I'm a Brit- 
h officer, a white man—let me go, you 
bastard! Please—in God's name, FII tell 
you!” | felt the drum turn. behind me 
as the troopers put their weight on the 
lcver, drawing my arms taut above my 
head. “No, no! Let me go, you foul swine! 


Tm a gentleman, damn you—for pity's 
sake! We've had tea with the Queen! 
No, please—” 

‘There was a clank from the huge wheel 
and the chains wrenched at my wrists and 
ankles, sending shoots of pain through my 
arm and thigh muscles. I howled at the 
top of my voice as the wheel turned. 
stretching me to what seemed the limit 
of endurance, and Ignatieff stepped closer 
again. 

“Why did you come?” says he. 

"Let me go! You vile bloody dog, you!" 
Behind him I saw that the chamberlain 
was on his fect, white with horror. "Run!" 
I yelled. "Run, you stupid fat sod! Get 
your mistress—quickly!” But he seemed 
rooted to the spot, and then the drum 
clanked again and an excrudating agony 
med through my biceps and shoulders, 
as though they were being hauled out of 
my body (which, of course, they were). I 
tried to scream again, but nothing came 
out, and then his devil's face was next to 
minc again and I was babbling: 

"Don't—don't, for Jesus sake! I'l tell 
you—I'll tell you!” “And even through 
the red mist of pain, I knew that once 
I did, I was a dead man, But I couldn't 
bear it—I had to talk—and then inspi 
tion came through the agony and I let 
my head loll sideways, with a groan that 
died away. If only I could buy a mo- 
ments time—if only the d 
would run for help—if only 
would believe Id fainted and T could 


my face and I couldn't restrain a cry. His 
hand went up to the troopers and I 
gasped: 

"No—I'1l tell you! Don't let them turn 
it again! J swear it’s the truth—only don't 
let them do it again—oh, God, please, 
not again!” 

“well?” 
couldn't dela 
bear another tur 
neral Rose"—my voice seemed to 
be a whisper from miles away —"I'm on his 
-. He sent me ... to sec the 
. Please, it's the God's truth! Oh, 
make them let me down!" 

"Go on,” says that dreadful voice. 
“What was your message? 

“I was to ask her... .” I was stari 
into his horrible eye, seeing it through a 
blur of tears, and then somewhere in the 
obscured distance behind him there was 
ment, at the top of the steps, and 
as I blinked my vision was suddenly 
clear, and my voice broke into a shudder- 
ing sigh of relief, and I let my head fall 
k. For the door at the top of the steps 
was open, with my red-coated guard ser- 
geant, that. wonderful, bearded genius o£ 
a Pathan who spat on shadows, holding 
it back, and a white figure was stepping 
through, stopping abruptly, staring down 
us. I had always thought she w: 
beautiful, but at that moment Lakshmibai 


he and I knew I 
ny longer. I couldn't 


a mov 


s 


looked li 
splendou 
1 was in such anguish tha 
an effort to keep my eyes ope: 
but I heard her cry of astonishment, and 
then the chamberlain babbling and Igna- 
tief swinging round. And then. believe it 
or not what she said, im a voice shrill 
with. anger, was: 
"Stop that at once! Stop it, do you 
hear?” for all the world like a young 
schoolmistress coming into das and 
catching litle Johnny piddling in the 
L II swear she stamped as she 
t the time, half-fainting 
with pain that I was, I thought it sounded 
ridiculous; and then suddenly, with an 
ing j t made me cry out, the 
ction on my limbs was relaxed 
and I was sagging against the wheel, t 
ig to stop my tortured legs from buckli 
under me. But I'm proud to siy I still 

d my wits about me. 

"You won't get anything our of me!” 
groaned. ian hound—V'll die 
I fluttered an eye open to sce how 
eived, bur she was too busy 
choking back her fury as she confronted 
i. 

‘This is by your order?” Leid, 
Do you know who this is; 
he faced her with- 
our so much as a blink—indeed, he even 
tossed his blasted cigarette aside in def- 
erence before giving his little bow to her 
a spy. Highness, who stole 

your city in d 

It is a Dri 
g trembling from her white head vc 


e an angel pavilioned in 


t it was n 
o I didn't, 


i 
all down her shapely sariwrapped body 


to her little pearled sandals. "An 
of the Sirkar, who brings a message for 
me, For mel" And she stamped 
“Where is it?" 

Ignat pulled the note from his girdle 
an nded it to her without a word. She 
read it and then folded it deliberately 
and looked him in the face 
khan tells me he had orders to 
deliver it into my hands alone.” She was 
er still, with an effort 
g him with it, you asked what 
d the fool gave it you. And 
1 it, you dared to question this 
hout my leave- 
suspicious mess 
AT, dead level. 
obviously a spy—" 


High 
And this 


1. "You knew 
1 to 
im, Lakshmi—Hi; got 
it in [or me! He was trying to murder 
me, out of spite!” 

She gave me one look and then fronted 
Ignatieff again. "Spy or not, it is I who 
rule here. Sometimes I think you forget 
it, Count Ignatieff.” She faced him eye 
to eye for a long moment and then t 
away from him. She looked 
then aw nd we all waited, i 
silence. Finally, she said quietly. ^I shall 
see to this man and decide what is to be 


done with him.” She turned to Ignatielf. man, Esq. doing his celebrated imitation 
“You may go, Count. of a Protestant martyr, 

He bowed and said, “I regret if I have Damned uncomfortable, too, but some- 
offended Your Highness. 1 1 have done so, told me grateful babblement 
it was out of zeal for the cause we both — wouldu't be in order; so I said as steadily 
serve—Your Highness’ governmen as I could, “Thank you, Your Highness. 
paused—"and my imperial master’s. I Forgive me if | don't make my bow, but 
would be failing in my duty to both if Lin the circumstances 
did not remind you that this m: most — Very gallant, you see, but the truth was 

angerous and notorious British agent, that fiery pains were still shooting through 
and that my arms and legs, and it was all 1 could 

“I know very well who and what he do to keep from gasping and groaning. 
is" says she quiedy; and at that, the She was standing looking at me, quite 
gotch-cyed sou of a bitch said no more expressionless, so 1 added hopeful 
but bowed again and took himself off, your havil 
with the two troopers sidling hastily after — But she didn't move a muscle, and I 
ming nervously as they passed felt a sudden thrill of un ader the 
her. They clattered up the st 
Ignatiefl, and Sher Khan closed the door 
after them, which left the four of us, all 


cosy as ninepence—Lakshmibai_ standing i; bloody machine, and not so much 
like a glimmering white statue, the little as a glimmer of a smile, or recognition, 
chamber: i ous silence, 1 I palpitated while she stood warch- 


Sher Khan on the door and H. Flash- ing me and th 


aking, and then she came 


"Now, once more, lads .. . in slow 
motion . . . first row between the 45- and 50- 
yard stripes . . . the brunette 
in the fur coat holding a Stale pennant... 
See? No pants!” 


201 


PLAYBOY 


up within a yard of me and spoke, in 
a flat, hard voice. “What did he want to 
know from you?" 

‘The tone took my breath away, but I 
held my head up. "He wanted to know 
my business with Your Highness.” 

Her glance went to the chains on my 
wrists, then back to my face. "And did 
you tell him?” 

"Of course not.” I thought a brave 
smile mightn't be out of place; so I tried 
one. “I like people to ask me questions— 
politely.’ 

She turned her head tow: 
chamber “Is this true?’ 

He puffed and flapped his arms, all 
cagerness "Indeed, Exalted Highness! 
Not a word did the colonel sahib say 
not even under the cruel torture! He did 
not even cry out—much. . . . Oh, he is 
an officer sahib, of course, and- x 

Poor lite bastard was hoping to but 
ter his bread on the right side, of course, 
but I wasn't sure he was backing a winner 
here; she was still looking at me as if I 
were some carcase on a butcher's slab. 
The chilling thought struck me that it 
probably wasn't the first time she'd con- 
templated some poor devil in my situa- 
tion, and then she turned her head and 
called to Sher Khan and he came tum- 
bling down the steps double-quick, while 
the sweat broke out on me. Surely she 
wasn't going to order him to— 

"Release him," says she, and I near 
fainted with relief. She watched impas- 
sively while he unclamped me, and I took. 
a few staggering and damned painful 
steps, citching at diat hellish wheel for 
support. Then 

“Bring him,” says she curtly. "I shall 
question him myself,” and without an- 
other word, she turned and walked up the 
steps, out of the dungeon, with the little 
chamberlam bobbing nervously behind 
her, and Sher Khan spitting and grunting 
as he assisted me to follow, 

k well of me to Her Highness, 
husoor,” he muttered as he gave me a 
shoulder. “Jf 1 blundered in giving thy 
kitab to the Ruski sahib, did J not make 
amends? I went for her when I saw he 


ids the little 


meant to illuse thee. . . . I had not 
recognised thee, God knows 
J reassured him—he could have had a 


knighthood and the town-hall clock for 
my part—as he conducted me up through 
the guardroom to a lite spiral stair and 
then along a great stone passage of the 
fort, which gave way to a carpeted cor- 
ridor where senuies of her guard stood 
in their steel caps and backs-and-bre: 
1 limped along, relieved to find that 
from a few painfully pulled muscles and 
badly skinned wrists and ankles, I wasn't. 
much the worse—yet. And then Sher Khan 
was ushering me through a door and I 
found myself in a 
durbar room at the pa 
richly furnished apartment, all in white, 
with a quilted carpet, and silk hangings 


202 on the walls, divans and cushions and 


glowing Persian pictures and even a great 
silver cage in which tiny birds cheeped 
1 fluttered. The air was heavy with 
perfume, but I still hadn't got the stink 
of fear out of my nostrils, and the sight 
of Lakshm 
cheer me up. 

She was sitting on a low backless couch, 
listening to the litle chamberlain, who 
was whispering 15 to the dozen, but at 
sight of me she stopped him. There were 
two of her ladies with her and the whole 
group just looked at me, the women curi- 
ously and Lakshmibai with the same 
damned disinheriting stare she'd used in 
the dungeon, 

“Sct him there,” says she to Sher Khan, 
pointing to the middie of the floor, “and 
tie his hands behind him." He jumped 
to it, wrenching the knots with no thought 
for my flayed wrists. “He will be safe 
enough so,” she added to the little cham- 
berlain. “Go, all of you—and Sher Khan. 
will remain beyond that door within call." 

Dear God, what now? I wondered as 
the chamberlain and the ladies rustled 
out, eyeing me apprehensively. 1 heard 
Sher n close the door behind him. 
And then, to my amazement, she sprang 
from her seat and was flying across the 
room towards mc. 

“Oh, my darling one! You have come 
back—I thought I should never sce you 

gain!” And her arms were about my 
neck; that lovely dark face, all wet with 
tears, was upturned to mine and she was 
Kissing me at random, on the cheeks and 
chin and eyes and mouth, sobbing out 
cndearments and shuddering against me. 

I'm an easygoing chap who can take 
things pretty much as they come, but now 
I wondered whether I was mad or dream- 
ing. Here she was, weeping and slobber- 
ing over me as if I were Litle Willie, 
the Colliers Dying Child. It was all a 
shade too much for my bemused brain 

nd I sank to my knees and she sank 
with me. 

"Have they hurt you, my sweet? Ah, 
your poor flesh!” In a moment, she was 
soothing my scraped ankles with one hand 
and, with the other behind my hcad, 
ing me lingeringly on the mouth. My 
amazement gave way to the most ecstatic 
relief and pleasure as her open mouth 
trembled on mine and her breasts pushed. 
hard against me—and, damn it, my hands 
were still tied. 

"Oh, lucky Lakshmi!” I was babbling 
in sheer delight. 

“I thought you were dead and I have 
mourned you since that dreadful day 
when they found the dead Thugs near 
ion—but you are safe, my dar- 
Jing!" The great eyes were brimming with 
tears again, "1 love you so." 

Well, I'd. hemd it expressed, with vary- 
ing degrees of passion, by countless fe- 
males. It's always gratifying, but never 
had it been so welcome as now. So I used 
my weight to bear her down on the 
cushions—damned difficult with my hands 


bound—and she lay there, teasing me 
with her tongue and stroking my face 
gently with her finger tips until I thought 
Td burst. 

“Lakshmi, chabeli, untie my hands,” T 
croaked and she disengaged herself, 
glanced at the door and smiled longingly. 

*] cannot now. You see, to them you 
are a spy. a prisoner.” 

“But I have come secretly in order to 
bring you a message from Sir Hugh Rose. 
Lakshmi, dearest, it’s an offer of life for 
you! Untie my hands and let me tell you!” 

"Wait" said she. "Come and sit on 
this divan. lt is best that you rem 
bound in case someone should come sud- 
denly—it will not be for long, 1 promise. 
Sce, I shall give you a drink for your 
parched throat.” 

She looked again at my torn ankles and 
a blaze of hatred passed. across her face. 
“That beast of Russia,” says she, clench- 
her tiny fist. "E will have him draw 
apart and I will make him eat that 
hideous cye of his! The Tsar, his master, 
may look for him in hell!” 

Excellent sentiments, | reflected and 
while she filled a goblet with sherbet, T 
thought Fd improve the shining hour. 
“It was Ignatieff who set the Thugs on 
me that night. He's been dogging me since 
I came to India—and stirring up rebel- 
lion——" 1 suddenly stopped there, re- 
membering that she was a leader of that 
rebellion and, obviously, Ignatiefi was 
her ally. She put the cup to my lips and 
I drank greedily—being racked is a great 
way to raise a thirst, you know. 

She stood up. "If only I had listened 
to you. If only there had been more time 
to find a way—to right the injustice 
against me, against Jhansi, against my 
son a 


‘How is the young fella, by the way? 
Thniving? Fine lad, that. 


“But waiting turned me to despair and 
hatred . . . and yet"—her grear almond 
eyes had such a look in them that even 


my old experienced heart skipped a 
beat—"you were gentle and kind and you 
seemed to understand. Then, that day we 
fenced in the durbar room, I felt some- 
thing inside mc I'd never known before. 
And later 

“In the pa says I hoarsely. “Oh, 
Lakshmi, the most wonderful moment of 
my life. Really capital, don't ye know. 
ing, untie my hand: 

There was a strange, distant look in 
her eyes. “And then you disappeared and 
T thought you dead.” She was trying not 
to ary. “After that came the news of the 
red wind sweeping through the Bri 
garrisons in the north. And even here 
‘Jhansi, they killed them all and I wa 
helpless.” She was biting her lip now and 
staring pleadingly at me. If she'd been 
before the House of Lords, the old goats 
would have been roaring, “Not guilty, on 
my honour!” 

“What could I do?” she went on. “The 
raj was falling and my own cousin Nana 


m WD 


Baas 
= 


RE. 


N 
AR 


"Nou, look here, Larsen! Either Duke the Wonder Horse 
goes or the game is off!” 


PLAYBOY 


was raising the standard of revolt. To 
stand idle was to lose Jhansi. Oh, but you 
British will not understand!" 

We understood well enough that the 
only real treason was to pick the wrong 
side—which is what shed done. “Dear- 
est,” says I, “it can all come right again, 
that’s why I'm here. I've come from Sir 
Hugh and what he says comes straight 
from Lord Canning in Calcutta, They 
want to save you, my dear, if you'll let 
them. 
"They want me to surrender,” says she, 
anding up and walking away to set the 
cup on a table. The sight of that tight- 
wrapped sari stirring over those splendid. 
hips set my fingers working feverishly at 
the knots behind my back. She turned, 
with her bosom going up like balloons 
and her face set and sad, “They want me 
to give up my Jhansi.” 

“Irs lost anyway. You must know it. 
Even Ignatiefl—what the devil's he doing 
here, anyway?" 

“He has been at Meerut and Delhi and 
here—eyerywhere—since the beginning. 
He makes rebellion, as you say, and talks 
ofa Russian army over the Khyber. Some 
would welcome that—myself, I fear it. If 
‘Jhansi falls, I suppose he will join Tar 
or Na she shrugged—“unless I have 
him killed for what he has done to you.’ 

All in good time, thinks I happily, and 
got back to the matter at hand. "It's you 
they want. You see, there'll be no pardon 
for the pandies in your garrison when we 
storm the city. But if you will give your- 
self up alone, then they won't"—and I 
couldn't meet her eyes at this—“punish 
you. 

“Why should they spare me?" And the 
fire was back in her voice. “They blow 
men away from guns or hang them 
out trial and burn whole Will they 
spare N: or Tanüa or Azimullah? 
"Then why the 

Tt wasn't to answer truth- 
fully. She wouldn't take it too kindly if. 
I said it was for the sake of politics, to 
keep the public happy. "Whatever their 
reasons, all that matters- ia 

“Is it because the British do nor make 
on women?” she asked softly and 
came over to stand front of me. “Is it 
because they wish to take a beautiful cap- 
tive, as the Romans did, and show her as 
a spectacle to the people in London?” 

“That ain't our style,” says I pretty 
sharp. 

im 


what do Sir Hugh and Lord 
Canning care of me?" She dropped to her 
knees again, her lower lip trembling. 
"Unless—you came from Lord Palmer- 
ston—have you told them to save me? 

By George, here was an unexpected 
ball at my foot. It hadn't crossed my mind 
that she'd think I was behind Rosc's rc- 
markable offer, but when chance arises, I 
know how to grasp it as well as the next 
man. So, looking at her steady and grim, 
I made myself go red in the face and then 


204 looked down at the carpet, all dumb, 


noble, unspcken emotion. 

She put out her hand and lifted my 
chin. "Have you risked so much for me?' 

“You know how I feel,” says I, trying 
to look romantically stuffed. “I've loved 
you since the moment I clapped eyes on 
you in that swing. More than anything 
else in the world 

At the moment, it wasn't all gammon 
mind you. I didn't love her much as 
Elspeth, 1 dare say, but if you put ‘em 
together side by side, both stripped do! 
Fd have to think hard before putting 
n to bat. 

"Tonight, I did not think whether you 
loved me or no. All that mattered was 
that you were with me again. But now"— 
she was looking at me with a kind of sor- 
rowíul perplexity—"1 find that you have 
done all this for love of me.” After a 
moment, she kissed me and asked simply, 
"What do they wish me to do? 

“To surrender yourself, no more. If I 
tell you how, will you do it?” 

“If you will stay with me afterwards" — 
her eyes were fixed on mine, soft and 
steady—"I will do whatever they ask. 

“When the city is stormed,” says 1, 
must be ready to make an escape throu 
the Orcha gate. We'll have drawn off ou 
cavalry picket there and it will be clear. 
You will ride out on the Orcha road and 
then you will be captured. It will look— 
well, it will look all right.” 

She nodded gravely. "And the city?” 

“There'll be no looüng"—Rose had 
promised that, for what it was worth— 
"and the people will be all right if they 
lie low and don't resi: 

“And then—will they imprison me?" 

I wasn't sure about this and had to go 
careful. She'd be exiled at least, but there 
no point in telling her that. “No, 
says 1, “they'll treat you very well. And 
then i'll all blow over, don't you know? 
Why, I think of a score of nig—that 
is, native—chieftains and kings who've 
been daggers drawn with us, but after the 
war, we've been the best of friends. No 
hard feelings. We t vindictive, even 
the Liberals.” 

1 smiled to reassure her and after a 
while, she smiled back, gave a great sigh 
and settled against me. What with all this 
nestling, I was growing monstrous horny 
again and I said it would be a capital idea 
to unslip my hands just for a moment. 

But she shook her head and said that 
we must do nothing more to excite sus- 
picion. I must seem to be a prisoner, but 
she would send for me when the time 
was ripe. “And we shall go together with 
a trusted few. And you will protect me— 


and love me when we come to the 
Sirkar?” 
Till you're blue in the face, you darling 


houri, thinks I, and kissed her hands. 
‘Then she straightened her veil and fussed 
anxiously with her mirror before seating 
herself on her divan, and it was the charm- 
ingest thing to see her give me a last radi- 


ant smile and then compose her face in 
that icy mask, while I waited suitably 
hangdog, standing in the middle of the 
floor at a respectful distance. She struck 
her little gong, which brought Sher Khan 
in like the village fire brigade, with cham- 
berlain and ladies behind him, 

"Confine this prisoner in the north 
tower,” says she, as if I were so much 
dross. “He is not to be harshly used but 
p him close—your head on it, Sher 
Khan.’ 

1 was busded away forthwith—but it's 
my guess that Sher Khan, with that leery 
Pathan nose of his, guessed that all was 
not quite what it seemed, for he was a 
most solicitous jailer in the days that fol- 
lowed. He kept me well provisioned, 
bringing all my food and drink himself, 
seeing to it that I was as comfortable as 
my little cell permitted. 

It took me a few hours to settle down 
alter what I had been through, but when 
I came to cast up the score, it looked well 
cnoug my aching joints and skinned 
limbs, I was well cnough and damned 
thankful for it. As to the furure—well, 
I'd thought Rose's plan was just moon- 
shine, but then I'd never dreamed that 
Lakshmibai was infatuated with me. Ai 
tracted, well enough—it's an odd woman 
that ain't—but the force of her passion 
had been bewildering. And yet, why not? 
I'd known it to happen before, after all, 
and often as not with the same kind of 
woman—the highborn, pampered kind 
who go through their young lives sur- 
rounded by men who are forever deferring 
and toadying, so that when a real plunger 
like myself comes along and teats ‘em 
casy, like women and not as queens, 
they're taken all aback. It’s something 
new to them to have a big likely chap 
who ain't abashed by their grandeur but 
looks ‘em over with a warm eye, perfectly 
respectful but daring them just the same. 
They resent it and like it, too, and if you 
can just tempt them into bed and show 
them what theyve been missing—why, 
the next thing you know they're head 
over heels in love with you. 

In the meantime, I could only wait, 
with some excitement, for Rose to mount 
his assault. When a tremendous cannor 
ading in the city broke out on the follow- 
ing day, with native pipes and drums 
squealing and thundering, 1 thought the 
attack had begun, but it was a false alarm, 
as Sher Khan informed me later. It 
seemed that Tantia Topi had suddenly 
hove in sight with a rebel army 20,000 
strong to try to relicve Jhansi; Rose, cool as 
a trout as usual, had left his heavy artillery 
and cavalry to continue the siege and had 
turned with the rest of his force and 
thrashed Tantia handsomely on the Berwa 
River, a few miles away. At the same time, 
he'd ordered a diversionary attack on 
Jhansi to keep the defenders from sally- 


ing out to help T. that had been 
the noise I'd heard.2 

“So much for our stouthearted muti- 
her Khan. "If 
they had sallied out, your army might 
have been caught like a nut between two 
stones, but they contented themselves with 
howling and burning powder.” He spat 
"Let the § eat them, and welcome.” 

I reminded him that he would get short 
shrift when Jhansi fell 

“I am no mutineer," says he. “I have 
eaten the Rani's salt and I fight for her 
even as I fought for the Sirkar im the 
ibs know the difference 
between a rebel and a soldier who keeps 
faith. They will treat me with honour.” 
He was another like Tderim—shorter and 
uglier. though, with a smashed nose and 
pocked face, but a slap-up Pathan Khyber 
every inch. 


thy Ruski friend by nov 
He rode out to join T 
ht and has not retu 
good news, Iflassman liusoor? 

Wasn't it just. though? Ignatieff would 
be off to assist the rebels in the field. I 
felt all the better for knowing he was 
out of distance, but 1 doubted that he'd 
allow himself to be killed or taken—he 
was too downy a bird for that. 

With Tanta whipped. Rose, it seemed, 
would lose no more time before assault- 
ing the city, but another day and night 
uiting passed and still there was 
g but the distant thump of cannon 
fire to disturb my cell. It wasn't till the 
third night that the deuce of a bom- 
bardment broke out, in the small hours, 
and lasted. until almost. d then 
I heard what I'd been waiting for the 
crash of volley fire, signifying British 
fantry, amd the sound of explosions 
within the town itself, and even distant 
bugle calls. 

"They are in the city 
when he brought my brea 
mutineers are fighting better than I 
thought and it is hot work in the sueets. 
they say.” He grinned cheerfully and 
tapped the of his Khyber 
Will Her Highness order me to cut 
thy throat when the last attack goes 
home, think ye? Eat well, husoor,” and 
the brute swaggered out, chuckling. 
ly, she hadn't confided her in- 
tentions t0 him. 1 guessed she'd wait for 
hall and then make her run; by 
t time, our fellows would be thump- 
at the gates of the fort itself. So I 
contained myself, listened to the crackle 
of firing and explosion, drawing always 


2The battle on the Betwa (April 1, 
1858) was an cxample of Rose’s coolness 
and tactical brilliance. He turned from 
the siege of Jhansi and attached the new 
tebel force, which outnumbered hin ten 
to one. Rose led the cavalry charge and 
routed Tantia’s army. 


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206 


nearer, until by nightfall, it seemed to 
be only a few hundred yards off—I was 
chewing my nails by then, I may tell 
you. But the dark came and still the 
sound of tle went on, and I could 
even hear what I thought were English 
voices shouting in the distance, among 
the yells and shrieks. Through the one 
high window of my cell, the night sky 
was glaring red—Jhansi was dying hard, 
by the ook of it. 

I don't know what time it was when 
I heard the sudden rattle of the bolt in 
my cell door and Sher Khan and two 
of his guardsmen came in, carrying 
torches. They didn’t stand on ceremony 
but hustled me out and down narrow 
stone stairs and passages to a litte court- 
yard. The moon wasn't up yet, but it 
was light enough, with the red glare 
above the walls, and the air was heavy 
with powder smoke and the drilt of 
burning: the crashing of musketry was 
Close outside the fort now. 

‘The yard seemed to be full of red- 
coated. troopers of the Rani’s guard and 
over by a narrow gateway, I saw a slim 
figure mounted on a grcy horse, which 
I recognised at once as Lakshmibai. 
‘There were mounted guardsmen with 
her, and a couple of her ladies, also 
mounted, and heavily veiled; one of 
the mounted men had a child perched 
saddlebow: Damodar, her stepson, 
bout to call out, but to my aston- 
. Sher Khan suddenly stooped 
beside me, there was a metallic snap 
and he had a fetter clasped round my 
left ankle. Belore T could even protest, he 
was thrusting me towards a horse, snarl- 
ing, “Up, husoor!” and I was no sooner 
in the saddle than he had passed a 
short chain from my fetter under the 
beast’s belly and secured my other ankle, 
so that I was eflectively shackled to the 
pony. 

"What the hell's this?" I cried, and he 
chuckled as he swung aboard a horse 
beside me. 

"Heavy spurs, husoor!” says he. 
“Peace!—it is by her order and doubtless 
for your own safety. Follow!” And he 
shook my bridle, urging me across 
the squa the little ty by the gate 
were already passing out of sight, and a 
moment later, we were g single file 
down a steep alleyway, with towering 
walls on cither side, Sher Khan just 
ahead of me and another Pathan im- 
mediately behind. 

I couldn't think what to make of thi: 
until it dawned on me that she wouldn't 
have let her entourage into the whole 
secret—they would know she was escap- 
but not that she intended to give 
herself up to the British. So for form's 
sake, T must appear to be a prisoner still. 
I wished she'd given me the chance of 
secret word beforehand, though, and 
let me ride with her; I didn’t want us 
blundering into the besieging cavalry in 
the dark and perhaps being mistaken. 


However, there was nothing for it 
now but to carry on. Our little cavalcade 
dlattered down the alleyways, twisting 
and turning, and then into a broader 
street, where a house was burning, but 
there wasn't a soul to be seen and the 
sound of firing was receding behind us. 
Once we'd passed the fire, it was damned 
dark among the rickety buildings, until 
there were torches and a high gateway, 
and more of her guardsmen in the entry- 
way; I suw her grey horse stop as she 
leaned from the saddle to consult with 
the guard commander, and waited with 
my heart in my mouth until he stepped 
back, saluting, and barked an order. 
Two of his men threw open a wicket 
in the main gate, and a moment later, 
we were filing through and J knew we 
were coming out onto the Orcha road. 

It was blacker than hell in November 
under the lee of the great gateway, but 
a half mile ahead, there was the twin- 
Kling line of our picket fires and flashes of 
gunfire as the artillery pieces joined in 
the bombardment of the city. Sher Khan 
had my bridle in his fist as we moved 
forward at a walk and then at a slow 


trot; it was easy going on the broad road 
surface at first. but then the dim figures 


of the riders ahead seemed to be vee 
away to the right, and as we followed, my 
horse stumbled on rough ground—we 
were leaving the road for the flat maidan 
and I felt the first prickle of doubt in 
my mind. Why were we turning aside? 
The path to safety lay straight along the 
road, where Rose's kets would be 
waiting—she knew that, even if her 
riders didn't. Didn't she realise we were 
going astray—that on this tack we would 
probably blunder into pickets that 
weren't expecting us? ‘The time for pre- 
tence was past, anyhow—it was high time 
1 was up with her, taking a hand, or 
God knew where we would land. But 
even as I stiffened in my saddle to shove 
my heels in and forge ahead, Sher 
Khan's hand leaped from my bridle to my 
wrist, there was a zeep of steel and the 
Khyber knife was pricking my ribs, with 
his voice hissing out of the dar! 


E 


“One word, Bloody Lance—one word, 


and you'll say the next one to Sha 

The shock of it knocked my wits end- 
ways—but only for a moment. There’s 
nothing like 18 inches of razor-edged 
steel for tuming a growing doubt into 
a stone ginger certainty and before we'd 
gone another five paces, I had sprung to 
the most terrifying conclusion: She was 
escaping, right enough, but not the way 
Rose and ] had planned it—she was 
sing the information I'd given her but 
in her own way! It rushed in on me in 
1 whirl of thoughts—all her prot- 
estations, her slobbering over me, those 
tearfilled eyes, the lips on mine, the 
passionate endearments—all false? They 
couldn't be, in God's name! Why, she'd 
been all over me, like a crazy schoolgirl, 
but now we were pacing still faster 


the wrong direction, the knife was scor- 
ing my side, and suddenly there was a 
shouted challenge ahead and a cry, the 
riders were spurring forward, a musket 
cracked and Sher Khan roared in my ear: 
Ride, feringhee—and ride straight or 
T'I split your backbone! 

He slashed his reins at my pony, it 
bounded forward and in a second, I was 
n the dark, willy-nilly, w: 


fusillade of shots, off to the left, and 
a ball whined overhead; as 1 loosed the 
reins, trusting to my pony's fect, I saw 
the picket fires only a few hundred yards 
off. We were racing towards a gap be- 
tween one fire and the next, perhaps two 
furlongs across; all I could do was career 
ahead, with Sher Khan and a Pathan 
either side of me—I couldn't roll from 
the saddle, even if I'd dared, with that 
infernal chain beneath my horse’s belly; 
I darem swerve or his knife would be 
in my back; I could only gallop, cursing 
in sick bewilderment, praying to God I 
wouldn't stop a blade or a bullet. Where 
the hell were we going—was it some 
ghastly error after all? No, it was treach- 
ery and E knew it—and now the picket 
fires were on our flanks, there were more 
shots, a horse screamed ahead of us 
and my pony swerved past the dim strug- 
gling mass on the ground, with Sher 
Khan still knee to knee with me as we 
sped on. A bugle was sounding behind, 
and faint voices yelling; ahcad was the 
drumming of hooves and the dim shapes 
of the Rani's riders, scattered now as 
they galloped for their lives. We were 
clear through and every stride was taking 
us farther from Jhansi and Rose’s army, 
and safety. 

How long we kept up that breakneck 
pace I don't know, or what direction we 
took—I'd been through too much, my 
mind was just a welter of fear and 
bewilderment and rage and stark dis- 
belief. I didn't know what to think—she 
couldn't have sold me so cruelly, surely, 
not after what shed said and the way 


she'd held my face and looked at me? 
But I knew she had—my disbelief was 


ust sheer hunt vanity. God, did I think 
I was the only sincere liar in the world? 
And here I was, humbugged to hell and 
beyond, being kidnapped in the train 
of this deceitful rebel bitch—or was 1 
wrong, was there some explanation after 
all? That’s what I still wanted to believe, 
of course—there’s nothing like infatu- 
ation for stoking false hope. 

However, there's no point in recount- 
ing all ihe idiot arguments I had with 
myself on that wild ride through the 
night, with the miles flying by unseen 
until the gloom began to lighten, the 
scrubdotted plain came into misty view, 
and Sher Khan still dung like a bearded 
ghost at my elbow, his teeth bared as he 
crouched over his ponys mane. The 
riders ahead were still driving their 


tired beasts on at full stretch; about a 
hundred yards in front, | could see 
Lakshmibai’s slim figure on her grey 
mare, with the Pathans flanking her. It 
was like a drunken nightmare—on and 
on, exhausting, over that endless pl 
There was a yell from the flan 
one of the Pathans up in his stirrups, 
pointing. A shot cracked, I saw a sudden 
ash of scarlet to our left and there was 
a little cloud of horsemen bursting out 
of a nullah—only half our number but 
Company cavalry, by God! They were 
careering in to take our leaders in the 
lightcavalry style, and I 
1 to yell, but Sher Khan had my 
bridle again, wrenching me away to the 
vhile the Pathan guardsmen drew 
ind wheeled to face the 
on. I watched them meet 
h a chorus of yells and a clash of 
steel; the dust swirled up round them 
as Sher Khan and his mate herded me 
away, but halfslewed round in my 
saddle, I saw the sabres swinging and 
g and plunging as the 
Company men tried to ride through. A 
Pathan broke from the press, shepherd- 
ing away a 
cone of the Rani's ladies—and then more 
figures were wheeling out of the dust 
and one of them was Lakshmibai, with 
a mounted man bearing down on her, 
his sabre swung aloft. I heard Sher Khan's 
anguished yell as her grey m 
to stumble, but she reined it up some 
how. whirling in her tracks; there was 
the gliter of steel in her hand, and as 
the Company man swept down on her, 
she lunged over her beasts head—the 
ashed and raug and he was past 
. whecling aw t his 
arm as he halfslipped from his 
That was all I saw before Sher Khan 
and the other herded me down a litle 
nullah, where we halted and waited while 
the noise of the skirmish gradually died 


seemed 


riders, outsabred, would be dr 
and, sure enough. 


Lakshmibai. 

It was the first clear look at her that 
I'd had in all that fearful escape. She 
ing a mail jacket under her long. 
ith a mail cap over her tur- 
ban, and her sabre was still in her hand, 
blood on its blade. She stopped a 
moment by the rider who carried Damo- 
dar and spoke to the child; then she 
ghed and said something to one of 
the ans and handed him her sabre, 


3 About 20 miles from Jhansi, British 
cavalry under Lieutenant Dowker caught 
up with the Rani’s party. According to 
popular tradition (now confirmed by 
Flashman), it was she herself who wound- 
ed Dowker. 


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PLAYBOY 


while she wiped her face with a handker- 
chicf. Then she looked towards me, and 
the others looked with her, in silence. 

As you know, I'm a fairly useful hand 
on social occasions, ready with the polite 
phrase or gesture, but I'll confess that 
in that moment, I couldn't think of 
anything appropriate to say. When you've 
just been betrayed by an Indian queen 
who has previously professed undying 
love for you and she confronts you, 
having just sabred one of your country- 
men, possibly to death, and you are in 
the grip of her minions, with your fect 
chained under your horse—well, the 
etiquette probably takes some thinking 
about. I suppose I'd have come out with 
something in a minute or two—an oath 
or a squeal for mercy or a polite enquiry, 
perhaps, but before 1 had the chance, 
she was addressing Sher Khan. 

“You will take him to Gwalior.” Her 
voice was quiet and perfectly composed. 
“Hold him there until I send for you. 
At the last, he will be my bargain.” 

You may say it served me right, and 
I can't disagree. If I weren't such a 
susceptible, trusting chap where pretty 
women are concerned, I dare say Vd 
have smelled a rat on the night when 
kshmibai rescucd me from fgnatieft's 
ack and then flung herself all over me 
in her perfumed lair. A less warm- 
blooded fellow might have thought the 
lady was protesting rather much 
and been on his guard when she slob- 
bered fondly over him, vowing undying 
love and accepting his proposal for her 
escape. He might—or again, he mightn't. 

For myself, | can only say I had no 
earthly reason to suppose her false. After 
all, our last previous meeting had been 
that monumental roll in her pavilion, 
which had left me with the impression 
that she wasn’t entirely indifferent to 
me. Secondly, her acceptance of Rose's 
proposal seemed natural and sensible. 
Thirdly, Fll admit to being enthralled 
by her; and fourthly, having just finished 
a spell on the rack, I was perhaps think- 
ing less dearly than usual. Finally, m'lud, 
if you'd been confronted by Lakshmibai, 
with that beautiful dusky face looking 
pleadingly up at you, and those tits 
quivering under your nose, I submit 
that you might have been taken in your- 
self, and glad of it. 

In any event, it didn't make a hap'orth 
of difference. Even if I'd suspected her 
then, I was in her power and she could 
have wrung all the details of Rose's 
scheme out of me and made her escape 
anyway. I'd have been dragged along 
at her tail and finished up in the Gwalior 
dungeons just the same. And mind you, 
Fm still not certain how far she was 


too 


208 enjoying her work. 


More than I enjoyed Gwalior, at any 
rate, That's a fearful place, a huge, 
rocky fortress of a city, bigger than 
Jhansi, and said to be the most powerful 
. I can speak with authority 
only about its dungeons, which were a 
shade worse than a Mexican jail, if you 
can imagine that. I spent the better part 
of two months in them, cooped in a 
hottle-shaped cell with my own filth and 
only rats, fleas and cockroaches for com- 
pany, except when Sher Khan came to 
have a look at me, about once a week, 
to make sure I hadn't up and died on 
him. 

He and his fellow Pathan took me 
there on Lakshmibar's orders, and it was 
one of the most punishing rides I've 
ever endured. 1 was almost unconscious 
the saddle by the time we reached it, 
for the brutes never took my chain off 
once in the hundred miles we covered: 
1 think, too, that my spirit had endured 
more than I could stand, for after all 
I'd gone through. there were moments 
now when I no longer cared whether I 
lived or died—and I have to be pretty 
far down before that happens. When 
they brought me to Gwalior by night and 
half-carried me into the fortress and 
dropped me into that stinking, ill-lit cell, 
I just lay and sobbed like an infant, 
babbling aloud about Meerut and Cawn- 
pore and Lucknow and Thugs and croc- 
odiles and evil bitches—and now this. 
Would you believe it, the worst was yet 
to come? 

I don't care to dwell on it; so TIl 
hurry along. While I was in that dungeon. 
at Gwalior, waiting for I didn't know 
what, and haltbelieving that I'd rot 
there forever or go mad first, the final 


innings of the mutiny were being played. 
out. Campbell was settling things north 
of the Jumna, and Rose, having cip- 


tured Jhansi, was pushing north after 
Tantia Topi and my m ng angel, 
Lakshmibai, who'd taken the field with 
him. He beat them at Kalpi and Kunch, 
driving them towards Gwalior, where I 
was enjoying the local hospitality. The 
odd thing was that at the time I was 
incarcerated there, Gwalior's ruler, Maha- 
raja Sindhia, had remained neutral in 
the rebellion and had no business to be 
allowing his prison to be used for the 
accommodation. of captured. British. offi- 
In fact, of course, his chicf advisors 
sympath 
proved in the end. For after th 
at Kalpi, Tantia and Lakshmibai 
turned to Gwalior, and the Maharaja's 
army went over to them, almost without 
firing a shot. So there they were, the last 
great rebel force in India, in possession of 
India's greatest stronghold—and with 
Rose closing inexorably in on them. 

I knew nothing of all this, of course; 


to the rebels all along, 


mouldering in my cell, with my beard 
sprouting and my hair matting, and my 
pandy uniform foul and stinking (for I'd 
never had it off since I put it on in Rose's 
camp), I might as well have been at the 
North Pole. Day followed day, and week 
followed week, without a cheep from 
the outside world, for Sher Khan hardly 
said a word to me, though 1 raved and 
pleaded with him whenever he poked 
his face through the trap into my cell. 
‘That's the worst of that kind of imprison- 
ment—not knowing, and losing count of 
the days, and wondering whether you've 
been there a month or a year and 
whether there is really a world ouside at 
all, and doubting that you ever did more 
than dream that you were once a boy 
playing in the fields at Rugby or a man 
who'd walked in the Park or ridden by 
Albert Gate, saluting the ladies, or played 
lliards or followed hounds or gone up 
the Misisippi in a sidewheeler or 
watched the moon rise over Kuching River 
n wonder whether any of it 
ever existed or whether these greasy black 


walls are perhaps the only world that 
ever was or will be; that’s when you start 
to go mad, unless you can find something 


to think about that you know is real. 

Ive heard of chaps who kept them- 
selves sane in solitary confinement by 
singing all the hymns they knew or 
proving the propositions of Euclid or 
reciting poetry. Fach to his taste: I'm 
no hand at religion or geometry and the 
only repeatable poem 1 can remember 
is an ode of Horace’s that Arnold made 
me lean as a punishment for farting 
at prayers. So, instead, I compiled a 
mental list of all the women I'd had i 
my life, beginning with that sweaty 
kitchenmaid in Leiccstshie when F 
was 15, and to my astonishment, there 
were 478 of them, which seemed rather 
a lot, especially since 1. wasn’t counting 
return engagements. Its astonishing, 
really, when you think how much time 
it must have taken up. 

One morning, J woke up to the sound 
of distant gunfire and it went on all 
that day and the next, but, of course, I 
couldn't tell what it meant or who was 
firing and 1 was too done to care. All 
through the morning of the third ds 
it continued, and then suddenly my trap 
was thrown open and I was being dragged 
out by Sher Khan and another fellow; J 
hardly knew where I was. When you're 
hauled out of a dead captivity like that, 
everything seems frighteningly loud and 
fast—I know there was a courtyard full 
ger soldiers running about and 
nd their pipes bl 
nfre crashing louder th 
but the shock of release was too much for 
me to make sense of it. I was half-blinded 
just by the light of the sky, though it was 


209 


lia, I'm really very sorry you won't be 
able to make it here tonight.” 


Amel 


da 


PLAYBOY 


210 choked 


heavy with red and black monsoon 
cloud: nd ] remember thinking, it'll 
be capital growing weather soon 

Tt wasn't till they thrust me onto a 
pony that I came to mwelí—insinct, I 
suppose, but when I felt the saddle 
under me, and the beast stirring, and 
the smell of horse in my nostrils and my 
feet in stirrups, I was awake again. I 
knew this was Gwalior fortress, with the 


massive gate towering in front of me, 
d a great gun being dragged through 


it by a squealing clephant, with a troop 
of redcoated nigger; cavalry 
waiting to ride out, and a bedlam of 
men shouting orders; the din was still 
deafening, but as Sher Khan mounted 
his pony beside me, 1 yelled: 

“What's happening? Where are we 
going?” 

She wants you!” cries he, and grinned 
as he tapped his hilt. “So she shall have 
you. Comet" 

He thrust a way for us through the 
crowd milling in the gateway, 
followed, still wying to drink in 
sights and sounds of this madhouse that 
l but forgotten —men. 
and bullocks and dust and the clatter of 
bhisti running with his water- 
skin. a file of pandy infantry squatting 
by the roadside with their muskets be- 
tween their knees, a child scrambling 
under a bullock's belly, a great-chested 
fellow in a spiked cap with a green 
banner on a pole over his shoulder, a 
spindly-legged old nigger shuflling along 
regardless of them all, the smell of 
cooking ghee and, through it all, that 
muffled crash of cannon in the d 

As we emerged from the 
ahead, trying to understand what was 
happening. Gunfire—that meant that 
British troops were somewhere near, and 
the sight that met my eyes confirmed it. 
Before me, there were miles of open 
plain, stretching to distant nd 
the pl alive with me 
s and all the tackle of war. P 
mile ahead, in the haze, there were 
tents and the u stikable ranks of 
infantry and gun emplacements and 
squadrons of horses on the move—a whole 
my stretched across a front of perhaps 
two miles. I steadied myself as Sher 
Khan urged me forward, uying to take 
it in—it was a rebel army, no error, for 
there were pandy formations moving 
back towards us, and native st 
fantry and riders in uniforms I didn't 
know, men in crimson robes with little 
shields and curved tuhvars, and gun 
teams with artillery pieces fantastically 
ved in the native fashion. 

That was the first fact; the second was 
that they were retreating and on the edge 
of rout. For the formations were moving 
towards us, and the road itself was 
h men and beasts and vehicles. 


ince's 


ma 


ca 


heading for Gwalior. A horscartillery 
team was careering in, the gunners cling- 
ing to the limbers and their officer lash- 
ing at the beasts, a platoon of pa 
were coming at the double-quick, 
ranks ragged, their faces streaked 
dust and sweat, and all along the 
men were running or hobbling back, 
singly and in little groups. Pd seen the 
signs often enough, the gaping mouths, 
the wide eyes, the bloody bandages, thc 
high-pitched voices, the _halfordered 
haste slipping into utter confusion, the 
abandoned muskets at the roadside, the 
exhausted men sitting or lying or crying 
out to those who passed by—this was 
the first rush of a defeat, by gum! and 
Sher Khan was dragging me into it 

t the blazes is happi 
asked him again, but all 1 got was a 
snarl as he whipped my pony to a gallop, 
and we clattered down the roadside, he 
keeping just to the rear of me, past the 
mob of men and beasts seaming back 
to Gwalior. The formations were closer 
now and not all of them were retreating 
We passed artillery teams that were ur 
limbering and siting their guns, and 
regiments of infantry waiting in the 
humid heat, their faces turned towards 
the distant hills, their ranks stretched out 
in good order across the plain. Not far 
in front, artillery was thundering away, 
with smoke wreathing up in the still air, 
and bodies of cavalry, pandy and ir- 
regular, were waiting—l remember a 
squadron of lancers, in green coats, with 


lobstertail helmets and Jong ribbons 
wailing from their | nd a 
band of native musicians, squealing and 


droning fit to drown the gunfire. But 


less than a hal mile ahead, where the 
dust douds were churning up and 
the flashes of cannon shone dully 


through the haze, 1 knew what was hap- 
pening—the army's v 
breaking, falling back on the 
hodie w 


main body, 
er vessels absolutely flying 
down the road. 

We crossed a deep nullah and Sher 


Khan wheeled me off along its far lip, 
towards a grove of palm and thorn. where 
tents were pitched. A line of guns to 
my left was crashing away towards the 
unscen enemy on. the hills—enemy, by 
God, that was my army!—and round 
the oasis of tents and trees, there was a 
sere of horsemen. With shock, E 


1 remembered, their uni 
forms torn and filthy, their mounts 
nd ungroomed. We passed throu 


pet was spread befor 
pavilion of all; there were guardsmen 
there and a motley mob of nigg 

tary and civilian, and then Sher Khan 


was pulling me from the saddle, thrust- 
ng me forward and crying out: 

"He is here, Highness—as 
ordered. 

She was in the doorway of the tent, 
alone—or perhaps I just don't remember 
any others. She was sipping a glass of 
sherbet as she tumed to look at me and, 
believe it or not, 1 was suddenly con- 
scious of the dreadful, scarecrow figure 
I cut, in my rags and unke: 
was in her white jodhpurs, w 
jacket over her blouse, and a 
cloak; her head was covered by 
of polished steel like a Roman soldier’ 
with a white scarf wound round it and 
under her chin. She looked damned ele- 
gant, I know, and even when you 


you 


noticed the shadows on that perfect 
coffeecoloured face, beneath the great 
eyes, she was still a vision to take your 
breath a 


way. She frowned at sight of me 
Sher Khan: 

“What have you done to him? 

He mumbled something, but she shook 
ly and said it didn't 
Then she looked at 
thoughtfully, while I w 
what the devil was coming, dimly aware 
that the volume of gur i 

she said simply: 

ads are over yonder,” and 


me 


indicated the hills. “You go to 
them if you wish.” 
‘That was all, and for the lile of me 


I couldn't think of anything to 
suppose I was still bemused and in 
shocked. condition—otherwise, I m 

e pointed out that there was a battle 
atly raging between me and those 
ied unreal 
and the word that I finally managed to 
croak out was: "Why? 

She frowned 
put her chin up 
with one hand and said quickly: 

“Because it hed and it is the 
g 1 can do for you—Colonel.” I 


ad then 
pped her cloak 


couldn't think when she'd lost called 
me that. "Is that mot enough? Your 
army will be in Gwalior by tomorrow. 


That is all. 

It was at this moment that I heard 
shouting behind us, but I paid it no 
heed, not even when some fellow came 
running and calling to her and she 
called something to him. 1 was wrestling 
with my memory and it will give you 
some of how fo 


11 was 
when I tell you that I absolutely burst 
out: 

"Bur you said I would be your bar- 
i— didn't you 

She looked puzzled, and the 
smiled and said to Sher Khan, "Give the 
colonel sahib a horse," and was turning 
away, when I found my tongue. 

"But . . . but you! Lakshmibai! 1 don't 
understand . . . what are you going to 


nouon le 


she 


She didn’t answer and I heard 
/ own voice hoarse and harsh: "There's 
I time! E mean—if you . . . if you 
k its finished—well, damn it, they 
't going to hang you, you know! I 
n, Lord Canning has promised . . . 
and... and Sir Hugh!" Sher Khan was 
growling at my elbow. but I shook him 
off. "Look here, if I'm with you, it's 
sure to be all right. Ll tell ‘em——" 
God knows what else I said—I think 
I was out of my wits just then. Well, 


when the shor's flying, I don't as a rule 
nk of much but my own and 
here I was absolutely arguing with the 


woman. Maybe the dungeon had 
my brain a trifle, for 1 babbled o 
bout surrender and honourable terms 
le she just stood looking at me, and 
then she broke in: 

“No—you do not understand. You did 
not understand when you came back to 
me at Jhansi. But it was for me you 
cime—for my sake. And so I pay my 
debt at the end. 

Debt?” 1 shouted. 
woman! You said you loved me—oh, 1 
know now you v me, 
but - . . but don't it count for anything. 
then?" 

Belore she could answer, there was a 
flurry of hooves and some damned inter- 
fering scoundrel in an embroidered coat 
flung himself oft his horse and started 
shouting at her; behind me, there was a 
crackle of musketr ] shrieks and 
orders, and a faint bugle note whispe 
ing beyond the cannon. She cried an 
order groom d forward, 
pulling her litle mare. 1 was roaring 
above the noise at her, swearing I loved 
her and that she could still save herself, 
and she shot me a quick look as she took 
the mares bridle—it was just for an 
instant, but it’s stayed with me 50 years, 

id vou may think me an old fool and 
fanciful, but Lll swear there were tears 
in her eyes—and then she was in the 
saddle, shouting, and the little mare 
16 d shot away and I was left 
standing on the carpet. 

Sher Khan had disappeared. 1 was 
ing and yelling alter her as her 
ders closed round her, for beyond 
them, the gunners were racing towards 
us, with pandy riflemen in amongst them, 
turning and firing and running ag 
There were horsemen at the guns, à 
res flashing, and above the hel 
din, the bugle blaring clear in 
the "Charge!" and over the limbers 
ne blue tunics and white helmets and 
1 couldn't believe my eyes, for they were 
riders of the Light Brigade, Irish hussars. 
with an officer up tirrups, yelling, 
nd the woopers swarming behind him. 
hey came over the battery like a wave 
and the scarlecclad Pathan horsemen 
were breaking before them. 


wi 


‘You're havering, 


too, 


and a hurri 


ed 


was 


“What are you—some kind of a sex nut?” 


Lakshmibai was in among the Pathans 
and she had a sabre in her hand. She 
semed to be shouting to them, and 
then she took a cut at a hussar and 
missed him as he swept by and for a 
moment, I lost her in the melee. There 
were sabres and pistols going like be 
damned, and suddenly the grey mare 
was there, rearing up, and she was in 
the saddle, but I saw her flinch and 
lose the reins; for a moment, I thought 
she was gone, but she kept her scat as 
the mare turned and raced out of the 
fight—and my heart stopped as I saw 
that she was clutching her hands to her 
stomach, and her head was down. A 
trooper drove his horse straight into the 
mare and as it staggered, he sabred at 
Lakshmibai backhanded—t shrieked and 
shut my eyes, and when I looked again, 
she was in the dust, and even at that 
distance, I could sec the crimson sta 
on her jodhpurs. 

I ran towards her—and there must 
ve been riders charging past me as I 
an, but I don't remember them—and 
then I stumbled and fell. As I scrambled 
up. I saw she was writhing in the d 
her scarf and helmet were gone, she w: 

ng and dawing at her body, and 


was 


her face twisted and working im 
agony, with her hair half across it. It 
was hideous and I could only crouch 
there, gazing horrified. Oh, if it were a 
novel, I could tell you that I ran to 
her and cradled her head against me 

nd kissed her, while she looked up at 
me with a serene smile and murmured 
something before she closed her eyes, as 
lovely in death as she'd been in life— 
but that ain't how people die, not even 
the Rani of Jhansi. She arched up once, 
still tearing at herself, and then she 
flopped over, face down, and I knew she 
was a goncr. 

It was only then, I believe, that 1 


Accounts of her death differ, but 
Flashman's accords with the generally 
accepted version that she was killed when 
the Eighth Hussars charged her camp at 
Pool Bagh. She was seen in the melee 
with her horse's reins in her mouth. She 
was struck by a bullet, crossed swords 
with a trooper and was cul. down. Ac- 
cording to tradition, she gave her price- 
less necklace of Sindhia to an attendant 
as she was dying, Her battlefield tent 
contained a full-length minor, books, 
pictures and her silk swing. 


21 


PLAYBOY 


began to think straight 
was one hell of a skirmish in progress 
barely 20 yards away and I was unarmed 
and helples, on all fours in the dirt. 
Above all other considerations, I'm glad 
lo say, one scemed paramount—to get 
the hell out before I got hurt. I was on 
my feet and running before the thought 
consciously formed—running in no 
ticular direction but keeping a 
weather eye open Tor a quiet spot or a 
riderless horse. ived into the nullah, 
barged into someone, stumbled up and 
aced along it, past a group of pandies 
in pillbox hats who were scrambling 
mo position at the nullah's edge to 
open fire, leaped over a wrecked cart— 
and then, wondrous sight, there was a 
horse, with a wounded nigger on his 
knees holding the bridle. One kick and 
he was sprawling; I was aboard and 
away—L put my head down and fairly 
flew. A fountain of dirt flew up just 
ahead of me as a cannon shot from somc- 
where ploughed into the nullah 1 
and the last thing I remember 
horse rearing up and something 
g into my left 
in; a great weight seemed to be press- 
ing down on my hi 
was drifting above me, and then I lost 
consciousness. 


arm with a 


id and a red smoke 


1 told you the worst was still to come, 
didn't I? Well, you've read my chronicle 
of the Great Mutiny, and if you've any 
humanity, you're bound to admit that 
Fd had my share of sorrow already, and 
more—eyen Campbell later said that 
I'd seen hard service, so there. But Rose 
himself declared thar if an 
adn't told him the circumstance of my 
awakening at Gwalior, he wouldn't have 
it was the most ter 
thing, he said, that he had ever he: 
of in all his experience of war, or any- 
body else's. He wondered that 1 hadn't 
lost my reason. I agreed then and I still. 
do. This is what happened: 

I came back to life, as is often the case, 
with my last waking moment clear 
my mind. I had been on horse 
ing hard, seeing a shot strike home in a 
andy nullah—so why, 1 wondered ir- 
ritably, was 1 now standing up, lean 
against something hard, w seemed 


eyewitness 


i wh: 
to be a polished tabletop in front of 
me There was a shocking pain in my 
head and a blinding glare of light hurt- 
ag my eyes so I shut them quickly. I 
tried to move but couldn't because some- 
holding me: my 
nd there was a jumble of 
voices close by, but I couldn't make them 
out. Why the hell didn't they shut u 
1 wondered, and I tried to tell them to 
be quiet, but my voice wouldn't work— 
J wanted to move, 10 get away from the 
thing that was pressing against my chest; 


ears were 


212 so I tugged and an unspeakable pain 


shot through my left arm and into my 
chest a stabbing, searing pain so ex- 
quisite that I screamed aloud, and again, 
and again. at which a voice cricd in 
English, apparently right in my ear: 

"Eres another as can't ‘old ‘is bleed- 
in’ row! Stick a gag in this bastard an’ 
all, Andy 

Someone grabbed my ha 
my head back and I shr 
opening my eyes wide with the p. 


n, to 
see a blinding light sky and a red, sweat- 


ng face within a few inches of mine. 
Before 1 could make another sound, a 
foul wet rag was stuffed brutally into 
my mouth, choking me, and a cloth was 
whipped across it and knotted tight. be- 
hind my head. 1 couldn't utter a sound, 
nd when I tried to reach up to haul 
the filthy thing away, I realised why I 
hadn't been able to move: My arms 
were lashed to the object that was press- 
ing into my body. Stupefied, blinking 
inst the glare, in agony with my arm 
and head and the gag that was suffo- 
ag me, I tried to focus my eyes; for 
a Tew seconds, there was just a whirl of 
colours and shapes—and then I saw. 

1 was tied across the muzzle of a can- 
non, the iron rim biting into my body, 
with my arms securely lashed on either 
side of the polished brown barrel. I was 
staring along the top of that barrel, be- 
tween the high wheels, to where two 
British soldiers were standing by the 
breech, poking touchhole, and 
one was saying to the other: 

“No, by cripes, none o' yer Woolwich 
models. No Linyards, Jim, my boy—welll 
ave to stick a fuse d well 
clear.” 

"She's liable to blow ‘er flamin’ wheels 
olf, though, ain't shez" says the other. 
"There's a four-pahnd cartridge in there, 
wiv a stone shot. S'pose it'll splinter, ch? 

“Ask ‘im—anterwards!” says the first, 
. and they both laughed 
“You'll tell us, won't yer, 


in an’ st 


uproariously. 
Sambo?” 

For a moment, I couldn't make it out— 
what the devil were they talking about? 
And how dared the insolent dogs address a 
colonel as “Sambo” —and one of ‘em with 
a pipe stuck between his g teeth? 
Fury surged up in me, as I stared 
those red yokel faces, leering at me, and 
1 shouted, “Damn your eyes, you mut 
nous bastards! How dare you—d'ye know 
who I am, you swine? I'll flog the ribs 
out of you ” But it didn't come 
out as a shout, only as a soundless gasp 
deep in my throat behind that stifling 
gag. Then, ever so slowly, it dawned on 
me where I was and what was happening, 
and my brain seemed to explode with 
the ununerable horror of it. As Rose 
said afterwards, I ought to have gone 
mad; I believe I did for an instant. 

L don't have to elaborate my sensa- 


tions—anyway, 1 couldn't. I can only 
say that 1 was sane enough after that 
fist spasm of dreadful realisation, be- 
cause behind the fog of panic, 1 saw in 
a second wl | happened—saw it 
with blinding certainty. I had been 
knocked on the head. presumably by a 
splinter of flying debris. and picked up 
senseless by our gallant troops. Of course, 


they'd taken me for a pandy—with my 
matted hair and beard and filthy and 
ragged sepoy uniform: they'd seen I 
wasn't dead 1 decided to execute. 
me in style, | other prisoners. 


For as | flung my head round in an 
ecstasy of such fear as even I had never 
known before, 1 saw that mine was only 
one in a line of guns, six or seven of 
them, and across the muzzle of cach v 
strapped a human figure. Some were 
rigged pandics, like me, others were 
just niggers; one or two were gagged, : 

I was, the rest were noi; some had been 
tied face to the gun, but most had. the 
muzzles in their backs. And shortly these 
brutes who loafed about the guns at 
thei spitting amd smoking and 
chaling to cach other, would touch off 
the charges and a mass of splintering 
stone would tear through my vitals—and 
there was nothing | could do to siop 
them! If I hadn't screamed when I re- 
gained consciousness, | wouldn't have 
been gagged, and three words would have 
been enough to show them their ghastly 
error—but now I couldn't uter a sound, 
only watch with bulging eyes as one of 
the troopers, in leisurely fashion, pushed 
a length of fuse into the touchhole, 
winked ad then saunt k to 
rejoin his mates, who were standing or 
squatting in the sunlight, obviously wa 
ing for the word to start the carnage. 

Come on, come on, where the ‘ell's 
the captin?” says one. “Sull at mess, 


ease, 


sa 


Til lay. Christ, its "ot! I want ter get on 
my charpai, I do, an’ bang me bleedin’ 
carole. "E couldn't blow the bloody 
pandies away arter supper, could 'e2 Oh, 
no. not "im. 

“Wot we blowin’ ‘em up for?" says 
one pale young trooper. "Couldn't they 
"ang the pore sods—or shoot ‘em? It 
"ud be cheaper.” 

“Pore sods my arse,” says the first. 


you know what they done, these black 
scum? You shoulda bin at Delhi, see the 
bloody way they ripped up wir 
kids—fair sicken yer, wot wi" tripes 
innards all over the plice. Blowin’ away" 
too . . . good for 'em." 

“Not as cruel as ‘angin’, neither 
a third. “They don't feel nothin" He 
strolled past my gun and to my horro 
he patted me on the head. “So cheer up, 
mbo, you'll soon be dead. "Ere, wot's 
the maner wiv "im. Bert, 2 

I was writhing frenzicdly in my bonds, 
almost fainting with the agony of my 


men 


d'ye reckon 


1973 1.2. BETMOLOt TOSACCE CZ 


Tenjoy. It'sa good cigafette Itsa 
good menthol. And thecrush-proof 
boxis rigbtforme. | *| 

I enjoy smoking. And Salem 
in the boxis why. 


N 


Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined 
That Cigarette Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health. 


19 mg. "iar", 1.3 mg. nicotine av, per cigarette, FIC Report MAR. 75. 
EA 


PLAYBOY 


wounded arm, which was gashed and 
bleeding, flinging my head from side to 
side as I tried to spit out that horrible 
gag, almost bursting internally in my 
effort to make some sound, any sound, 
that would make him understand the 
ghastly mistake they'd made. He stood, 
grinning stupidly, and Bert sauntered 
up, knocking his pipe out on the gun. 

“Matter? Wot the ‘ell d'yer. think's 
the matter, you duffer? "E don't want "is 
guts blew all the way to Calcutta—that’s 
wor's the matter! Gawd, ‘e'll Kill ‘isself 
wiv appleplexie by the look of im.” 

"Funny, though, ain't it" says the 
first. "An' look at the rest of 'em—jes’ 
waitin’ there, an’ not even a squeak 
from ‘em, as if they didn't care. Pathetic, 
ain't it?” 

“Thats their religion," pronounced 
Bert. “They fink they're goin’ to 'eaven— 
they fink they're goi f-a-dozen 
rum bints apiece, an’ bull ‘em ull Judge- 
ment Day. Fact.” 

“Go on! They don't look all that 
bleedin’ pleased, then. do they? 

They turned away and I flopped over 
the gun, near to sullocation and with 
my heart ready to burst for misery and 
fear. Only one word—that was all I 
needed—Christ, if ou I could get a 
hand free, a finger, even! Blood from 
my wounded arm had run onto the gun, 
drying almost at once on the bi 
metal—if I could even scrawl 
in it—or just a letter—they might see 
it and understand. I must be able to 
do something—th think, think, I 
screamed inside my head. fighting back the 
madness, straining with all my power to 
tear my right wrist free, almost dislocat- 
ing my neck in a futile effort to work 
the gag binding loose. My mouth was 
full of its filthy taste, it seemed to be 
slipping farther into my gullet, choking 
me—God, if they thought I was choking. 
would they pull it out, even for a 
second?—that was all ] needed, oh, God, 
please, please, let them—I couldn't die 
like this, like a stinking nigger pandy, 
after all I'd suffered—not by such cruel, 
ghastly, ill luck. 

“Aht pipes, straighten up—orficer 
comi s onc of the troopers, and 
they scrambled up hastily, adjusting their 
kepis, doing up their shirt buttons, à 
two officers came strolling across from 
the tents a couple of hundred yards away. 
I gazed towards them like an de- 
mented, as though by staring, 1 could 
attract their attention; my right wrist 
was raw and bleeding with my dragging 
at it, but the rope was like a band of 
stecl round it and I couldn't do morc 
than scrabble with my fingers at the 
hot metal. I was crying, uncontrollably; 
my head was swimming—but no, no, I 
mustn't faint! Anything but that—think, 


m 


I" a 


o4 think, don't faint, don’t go mad! They've 


never got you yet—you've always slid 
out somehow. 

“All ready, Sergeant?" The leading 
officer was glancing along the line of 
guns and my eyes nearly started from 
my head as I saw it was Clem Hen- 
nidge|—Dandy Clem of the Eighth 
s, whom I'd ridden with at Bala- 

. He was within five yards of me, 
nodding to the sergeant, glancing briefly 
round, while beside him a [air young 
icutenant was staring with popeyes at 
russed victims, going pale and look- 
ing ready to puke. By heaven, he wasn't 
the only one! 

He shuddered and 1 heard him mutter 
to Hennidge: “Christ! I shan't be writing 
to mother about this, though!” 

“Beastly business,” says Hennidge, 
slapping his crop in his palm. "Orders, 
though, what? Very good, Sergeant— 
we'll touch ‘em off all together, if you 
please. All properly sliotted and primed? 
Very good, then.” 

“Yessir! Beg pardon, sir, usual orders 
is to touch ‘em off one arter the other, 
thats ‘ow we 


us 


done it 


alpi, sir! 
Good God!" says Hennidge, and con- 
tained himself. "I'll be obliged if you'll 


fire all together, Sergeant, on this oc- 
casion!” He muttered something to the 


utenant, shaking his head as in desp 

Two men ran forward to my gun, 
one of them pulling matches from his 
pocket. He glanced nervously back and 
called: 

"Sanri—si! This 'L got no 
lock, nor lanyard, please! Sce, sir, it's 
one o' them nigger guns—can't fire ii 
‘cept with a fuse, sir!” 

What's that?” cries Hennidge, coming 
forward. “Oh—I see. Very well, then, 
light the fuse at the signal, then, and— 
good God, is this fellow having a fit? 

I had made one last desperate effort to 
pull free, hauling like a mad thing, 
flinging myself as far as my lashings 
would allow, tossing my head, jerking to 
and fro, my head swimming with the 
pain of my arm. Hennidge and the boy 
staring at me—the boy was green. 
been carryin’ on like that since 
we triced ‘im up, sir," says one of the 
gunners. “Screamin’, 'e was—we ‘ad ter 
gag im, sir.” 

Hennidge swallowed and then nodded 
cuntly and turned at but the licu- 
tenant seemed to be rooted with horri 
fied fascination, as though he couldn’t 
tear his eyes away from me. 


"un ai 


Captain Clement Hencage took part. 
in the charge of the Light Brigade at 
Balaclava and also charged with the 
Eighth Hussars in the action of June 17, 
1858, in which the Rani of Jhansi was 
killed. Flashman's misspelling may have 
arisen through his never having seen the 
name wrilten. 


Ready!” bawls the sergeant, and 
“Light the fuse now, Bert,” says the 
man at my gun. Through a red haze, I 
saw the match splutter and go out. Bert 
cursed. struck a second and touched it 
to the fuse. A moment and it fizzed and 
the gunners retreated. 

"Best stand back, sir!” a 
“Gawd knows whatll happei 
goes orf—might blow wide oper 

The licutenant shuddered and seemed 
to collect himself, and then the strangest 
appeued. For I absolutely heard 
e and it seemed to be very close in 
nd the oddest thing was. it 
arnberg, my old enemy from 
Jotunberg. and as clear as a bell across 
the years, I heard him laughing: “The 
comedy's not finished yet! Come on, 
play actor!” 
> doubt it was the product of a 
disordered mind, as I stared at death in 
the spluttering fuse, but just for a 


second, I realised that if there was the 


ghost of a chance left, 
Keeping ice-cold—as Rudi 
done, of course. The 

were on mine just for an instant before 
he turned away and instant, I 
raised my brows and lowered them, twice, 
quickly. It stopped him, and vei 
fully, as he stared, 1 closed one eye in an 
enormous wink. It must have been a 
grotesque sight; his mouth dropped open, 
and then 1 opened my eye, turned my 
head deliberately and stared fixedly at 


depended on 
would have 
üutenant's eyes 


ast turn. my hand. palm upwards, fold 
the thumb and last three fingers slowly 
into my palm and beckon with my forc- 
finger. once, twice, thrice—and, 
beckoning, I stared at him agai 

For a moment, he just 
dosed his eyes und gaped 
thought. Oh, Christ, the yor 
going to stand there until the bloody 
fuse has bumed down! He stared at me, 
licking his lips, obviously flabbergasted. 


still 


turned to g t Heunidge, looked 
back ar me T uied to 
bore into his brain and crooked my 


finger again and again, he suddenly 
yelled, “Wait! Sergeant, don’t fire!" and. 
striding forward, he yanked the burning 
fuse from the touchhole. Clever boys 
in the Light Brigade in those days. 

“What the devil? John—what on 
are you doing?" cries Hennidge. 
geant, hold on there!” He came striding 
up. demanding to know what was up. 
and the lieutenant, pale and sweating, 
stood by the breech, pointing at me. 

“I don't know! That chap—he beck- 
oned, I tell you! And he winked! Look, 
my God, he’s doing it again! He's . . . 
he's trying to say something! 

“Hey? What?” Hennidge was peering 
across at me, and I wobbled my eyebrows 
as ludicrously as I could and tried to 
munch my lips at the same time. “What 
the deuce—I believe you're right; you, 


there, get that gag out of his mouth— 
p. now!” 

Arise, Sir Harry,” was one of the 
sweetest sounds I ever heard. ] can 
think of many others, but so help me, 
G 
hope and joy in my cars as those words 
of Hennidge’s beside the guns at Gwalior. 
Even as the cloth was wrenched loose, 
à, and the gag was torn out of my 
mouth, and I was gasping in air, I was 
thinking frantically what I must say to 
prevent the appalling chance of their 
disbelieving mc—somcthing to convince 
them instantly, beyond doubt, and what 
I croaked out when my breath came was: 

“I'm Flashman—Flashman, d'ye hear! 
You're Clem Hennidge! “The curfew tolls 
the knell of parting day; God save the 
Queen. Fm English—English—I'm_ in 
disguise! Ask General Rose! Em Flash- 
man, Harry Flashman! Cut me loose, you 
bastards! Fin Flashman!” 

You never saw such consternation in 
your life; for a moment, they just made 
popeyed noises, then Hennidge cries out: 
Flashman? Harry Flashman? But . . 
but it’s impossible—you can't be!” 

Somehow I didn't start to rave or 
blubber. Instead, I just leered 
up at him and croaked: 

“You give me the lie, Hennidge, and 
I'll call you out, d’you know? T called a 
man out in "39, remember? He was a 
cavalry captain, too. So—would you mind 
just cutting these damned ropes—and 
mind my am, ‘cos I think it's broken... ? 

“My God, you are Flashman!” cries 
he, as if he were looking at a ghost. "Then 
he just stuttered and gaped, and signed 
to the gunners to cut me loose, which they 
did, lowering me genily to the ground. 
horror and dismay all over their faces, 1 
was glad to sce, But I'll never forget what 
Hennidge said next, as the lieutenant 
called for a water bottle and pressed it to 


d, none of them rang such peals of 


swear or 


my lips; Hennidge stood s 
me appalled 
apologetically: 

“I say, Flashman—I'm most frightfully 
sorry!” 

Mark you, what else was there to say? 
Oh, aye, there was something—1 hadn't 
reasoned it nc, but it 
leaped into my mind as I sat there, almost 
swooning with relief, not minding the 
arms, and happened 
to glance along the guns, 1 was suddenly 
shuddering horribly, and bowing my head 
in my sound hand, trying to hold back 
the sobs, and then I says, as best I could: 

“Those nigger 
them cut loose— 

“What's th 
been condem— 

“Cut ‘em loose, damn you 
was shaking and faint 
son of a bitch, d'you hea 


ring down at 
nd then he said 


ever so 


as you can ima 


pains in my head and 


s tied to the guns. I want 
Il of "em. directly!" 
* says he. "But they've 


My voice 
very mother's 
I glued up 
at him, as I sat there in the dust in my 


rags. with my back to the gun wheel—I 
must have been a rare sight. “Cut ‘em 
loose, and tell "em to run away—away, as 


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PLAYBOY 


ar as they know how—away from us, 
and never to get caught again! Blast you, 
don't stand there gauping—do as I say!" 

“You're not well," says he. "You're dis- 
traught, and. 
“I'm also 


J hollered. 


bloody colonel!” 
“And you're a bloody captain! 
ht mind, too, and Ul break you. by 
God, if you don't attend to me this min. 
ute. So... set—them—looset Be a good 
chap, Clem—very we 

So he gave the orders and they turned 
them free, and the young lieutenant knelt 
beside me with the water bottle, very re- 
spectful and moist-eyed. 

“That | was merciful,” says he. 
i| be damned." says L “The 
y things are hereabouts, one of 'em's 
probably Lord Canning. 

It was late autumn before I was up 

nd about again and had received word 
from Campbell that I might go home. Be- 
fore I left, though, I made visit to 
Kotal-kiserat to have a look at the spot 
where Lakshmibai’s people had made a 
liule shrine to her. near the nullah. 

They had cremated her, Hindoo fash- 
ion, but there was this litde painted 
temple as a memorial, withered flowers 
and wreaths still round it. I mooched 
about, scuffing the dust with my boots, 
while a few old niggers, squatting under 
the thorns, watched me curiously. There 
wasn't much sign of a skirmish where 
she'd died—a few wifles of broken gear, 
rusty stirrup. that sort of thing. I thought 
of her and it seemed to me that she'd 
done the thing that mattered to her more 
than life—she hadn't given up her Jhansi. 
As to what she may have felt about me, I'd 
ever know—and it didn't matter now. I'd 
always remember those eyes above the veil 
and the soft lips brushing my check. Aye, 
well. Damned good-looking girl. 

I went up the Agra Trunk on my way 
home and down to Gawnpore. where there 
were letters waiting for me, One was from 
Billy Russell, the Times correspondent. 
Vd known in the Crimea. He was at Al- 
lah d. following the seat of govern- 
ment, as he put it, and he asked me to 
stop off and celebrate with him. There 
were several letters from Elspeth, in her 
usual ratdepated style. full of loving slush 
about her dear, darling champion, whom 
she was yearning to clasp again to her 
loving bosom (Hear! Hear! thinks I) when 
he returned with laurels fresh upon his 
brow. (She absolutely did write like this: 
came from reading novels, I suspect.) 

When I got off the u 
Russell was at the sta 
to meet me. He was all E 
ers as usual, full of fun and dei 
my news of the Jhansi and Gwalior affairs. 
He already knew the essentials. of course, 
“But its the spice and colour I'm after, 
old fellow, and devil a bit of that d'ye get 
dispatches. This business of your steal- 
ing into the Jezebel of Jhansi’s fortress in 


216 disguise, now—ch?” 


ied his questions, grinning, as we 
bowled away towards the fort, and then 
he said. “I've got your prize money safe. 
Irs about all you've had out o' this cam- 
paign, ain't it—bar a few wounds and 
grey hairs." 

I knew what he meant, blast him. 
While orders, ribbons and medals had 
been flying about like hail among our 
heroes, devil a nod had come my way. In 
official eyes. my service must have Jooked 
a pretty fair frost. I'd failed in the orig- 
inal mission Pam had given me and Rose 
had been damned stuffy that the plan to 
save Lakshmibai had come adrift. Lord 
ng. he'd said, would be profoundly 
disappointed—as though it were my fault, 
the ungrateful bastard. But these are the 
g5 that matter and while honours were 
being showered on other men, poor old 
Flash would be lucky to get an address 
of welome and a knifeand-fork supper 
at Ashby town ball 

“Slowcoach is a lord now," says Billy, 
“and there must be fifty Crosses flying 
about and God knows how many titles. 
I wonder whether a leaderette in the old 
Thunderer might stir up something for 
you? Can't have the Horse Guards neg- 
lectin’ our best men.” 

1 liked the sound of that, rath 
as he conducted me across the hall, where 
the Sikh sentries stood and the punkahs 
thought it best to say | didn't 
mind, really—and then I found that he 
was grinning all over his whiskers as he 
ushered me through a doorway and I 
stopped in amazement. 

It was a big, airy place, half olfice and 
half drawing room, with a score of people 
standing ar the far end, beyond the fine 
Afghan carpet. all looking in my direc- 
tion. There was Campbell. with his 
wrinkled Scotch face; Mansfield, s 
and toying with his dark whiskers; Mac 

grinning openly; and Hope 
stern and suaight. In their midst 
1 slim civilian in a white morning 
with a handsome woman beside 
1 took me a moment to realize that 
e Lord and Lady Canning. 
pushing me forward 
ining was smiling and shaking 
hands. I was quite taken aback 10 be 
thrust into this company so unexpected — 

at was this C 


, but 


hissed, I 


donald, 
Grant, 

was 
coat 


sions .. . Afghanistan, Balaclava, Central 
<.. lately, and most exemplary, 
service in the insurrection of the Bengal 
Army . . . gallant conduct in the defence 
of Cawnpore . . e of the most 
dangerous and difficult nature in the 
Gwalior campaign . . . warmest approva 
of Her Majesty . . recognition of con 
duct far beyond the call of duty. 

1 listened to all this in a dare and then 
mpbell, taking something from C; 
was coming up to me, glowering 
rumphing, “It is at my perrsonal 
request that T have been pur-mected tae 
bestow. . . ." He reached up and I felt a 


nd 


sudden keen pain in my left tit as he 
stuck a pin in 
1 gasped and looked down—and there 
it was on its ribbon, a shabby-looking 
little bronze cross against my jacket. Then 
Lady Canning was leading the clapping 
d Campbell was pumping my hand. 
“The Order o' the Victoria Cross," says he. 
I was red in the face, I knew, and 
most in tears as they clustered round me, 
shaking hands and slapping me on the 
back. And then, in the august presence 
of the commander in chief and the go 
ernorgeneral, somebody started to sing 
For He's a Jolly Good Fellow. It went on 
until Canning led me out onto the ve- 
randali. In the garden, there was a crowd 
of soldiers and civilians—bcarded. Sikhs 
and ugly little Goorkhas, Devil's Own 
and Highlanders, artillerymen and sap- 
pers, diaps 
mets, ladies in 


white coats and sun hel 
gardenparty dresses. 
Hip. hip, hip!" and the 
sounded three times, 


Someone shouted 
crashing “Hunah! 
and a tiger. 

I looked out at them through a mist 
of tears and saw beyond them the 
cannon muzzle and the Cawnpore barri- 
cade and the burning lines of Meerut and 
the battery reck of Baladava—and 1 
thought, By God. you don't deserve it, 
you shifty old bastard of a Flashy. Bur if 
they are handing out medals for luck, 
and survival through sheer funk and su 
fering ignobly borne. then grab 'em w 
both hands. 
thought, or you'd be howling for my 
blood instead of cheering me—you hon- 
cxt, sturdy asses. Or maybe you wouldn't, 
for even if you knew the truth about me, 
you wouldn't believe it. 

ian Lady Canning smiled at me and 
“What ying experience to re- 
PA to your children, Colonel—and to 


h 
How litle you know, 1 


When the last words sank 
went weak and I absolutely believe I 
s 2" Canning and his wife both 
laughed politely at my bewilderment and 
he looked at her with fond reproval, 
i at must be under the rose, my 
quite privately, Colonel, Her 
inguish your services 
by an additional mark of favour. She has 
been graciously plea ate you a 
knight of the Bath,” 

I suppose 1 was already numb with 
shock, for T didn't faint or gape with d 
belief. I blew my nose in my emotion, 
Who but little Vicky would have thought 
to pile a knighthood on top of the V. C? 
By God, wasn't it bloody famous? That 
astonishing woman—I remembered how 
she'd blushed and looked bashful that time 
years before when she'd hung the Que 
Medal on me. I'd. thought, aye, 
whiskers will catch ‘em every time- 
apparently still did. 


, my legs 


sed to cr 


alry 


This is the third and final installment 
of “Flashinan in the Great Game.” 


VF FLY, 
rs Ata AIA LHS E 


“Harriet and I really appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. Faversham.” 


PLAYEOY 


218 you're rea 


EXPRESS (inca fron pag 120) 


branches. I'd get all hung up on how per- 
fectly beautiful one musde was, exactly 
what it did and getting it to do it just 
right. But then all the others would go off 
on their own little trips. I nicked my ankle 
with the ch - I was losing my 
coordination as well as my concentration 

Sometime in the next few days I 
up food. 

1 remember trying to cat some bread. It 
had a sharply bitter taste. It stuck to the 
top of my mouth, almost suffocating me, 
sticking to my teeth and gums, making 
my whole mouth burn and itch, Jt made 
awful squishy sounds. I had to spit it out. 

There were times when I was scared, 
shaking, convulsing in excruciating pain 
and bottomless despair. Most people as- 
sume it is very painful for me to re- 
member being crazy. It’s not. The fact 
is that memories of being crazy give me 
ahnost sensuous glee. Part of the pleas 
ure I derive from them comes from how 
much I appreciate being sane now; but 
most of what's so much fun is that when 
I was crazy, everything I did, felt and 
said had an awesome grace, symmetry 
and perfection to it. My appreciation of 
that hasn't vanished with the insanity 
itself, 


HE LETTER FROM VIRGE. On the back 
of the envelope in a barely legible scrawl 
was, “This is a tcrrifyingly incomplete 
letter.” I should h it back un- 
opened and told her to send me a com- 
plete one. 

“Dearest darling Mark, Some of this 
leuter is for you and some is for every- 
one. You decide what's what.” Fat chance 
of that. For the past few days, I hadn't 
been able to tell the difference between 
myself and the trees, let alone the people. 
‘There was some description of the land 
id the farm in California. And then 
some stuff a g off pills and get- 
ting a new LU.D. coil and fecling much 
better, Then there was the part about 
having slept with Vincent. And being sorry 
ibout hurting me and crying and sha 
in Vincent's arms. It came right after the 
part about the coil. Well. I guess you 
get a new machine, you want to try it out 
right away. 

Was I hurt: I really had to think about 
it. I found the idea of giving a shit. 
who puts whose thing in whose 1l 
absurd and degrading: 

She said she wanted to come shake 
and cry in my arms, Was this maybe 
some new position or something Vincent 
had taught her? 

There was no way I could write back 
to her, All 1 could do was sit and wait 
for her return. Wait for her to complete 
the letter. OK. One more time, Virge, 
I'll play. Let's see the new Vinge. I hope 
dy for the new Mark. Let it 


e sent 


bout goi 


bout 


E 


train is bound for 
n has resigned. 

Fear and pain would be everything 
id then nothing. My happiness and 
dness were all out of proportion to 
nything that was happening. Having 
their feclings make sense is how people 
get their kicks. I'd come to myself from 
time to time and realize that I was walk- 
ing, half stumbling, through the woods. 
Fd wonder where the hell 1 was going, 
I was doing. I'd take handfuls of 


all hang our. Thi 
glory. The brakem 


snow and press them to my face, eying 
desperately to get some sort of hold on 
myself. 


By the time Simon took me. k and 
Kathy to town, where we kept a car, 
ten days after our mescaline trip, I hadn't. 
eaten or slept for at least four days. Ev- 
erything was glowing with such an eerie 
light and trembling so that doing even 
the simplest thing was incredibly difficult. 
One foot in front of the other, step two 
follows step one, 1 can do 

Twelve miles from anywhere by boat. 
and such a laughable boat on such an 
unlaughable lake: over 30 miles long, 
one of the world’s deepest, over 1500 
feet in places. Everything was zipping 
past us ar incredible speed. There was 
still some light and the sky and the water, 
the sounds, the colors, everything was 
plastic and water, all flowing together 
and too real or unreal, . . . "I want to 
go back, Simon. Lets turn around," I 
ed, but my voie came out all 
Tt was too fast or I had said it 
backward or something. 1 couldn't make 
my voice sound right. Simon looked at 
ie helplessly and shrugged his shoulders. 

We can't go back now, Mark. 

“Help. pleh, pleh!" What's happened? 
"t we go back? What have I 
into? What have I dragged 


And the mock: 
the face. earlier: 


ng hateful contempt of 
Now you're really go- 


as the sar- 
complice, the Day- 
er, rushed by in an cerie chuckle. 
TOWN. We went to The Works to get 
little something to eat. I sat there sip- 
ping coffee, feeling warmer and safer 
than 1 had in quite a while, still a lule 
shaky but pretty sure everything w 
I right, and then something 
ppened. 

1 started falling very deeply in love 
h the waitress and everyone else in the 
place. It seemed that they, in turn, were 
just as deeply in love with me. What 
would Virge thir bout all this? I had 
somehow fallen in love with Simon, Jack, 
Kathy, the waitres and assorted passers- 
by more powerfully and completely than 
1 ever had with her. 


donic wind and its 
Glo wa 


Falling in love with everyone 1 see. Oh, 
Christ. what will those jokers from the 
Pentagon come up with next. the [un- 
loving boys in biological-chemical w 
fare? ] understand that good old Ameri 
technology has developed a sca 
can discriminate on the basis of race 
to whom it kills. The ideal thing we 
be something that automatically 
ed good and punished evil Something 
like what we had hoped aci 


Maybe the Germans are putting some- 
here. 


thing in the VWs they send over 
Maybe the Japanese 
with transistors. Sometimes T 
timed to go off someday. someti 
think it’s going off all the 

Eternal vigilance i 
dom. 

Insanity is the price of eternal vigilance. 

As soon as I stated driving. I felt 
much better. Driving along deserted 
Highway 101 at night. On to the Prior 
Road Commute to crasho I had pout 
off as long as 1 could, but everything was 
closed and Simon was very tired. 


ice of free- 


A HALF REAM. I am in heaven, where 
the senselessness of is dear. The 
Ieeling of peace, the fullness, the slight 
giddiness just below my chest, the magic 
place of no shadows, Then an incredible 
in my foot, a small bump on the 
sole, between my toes. like a plantar 
wart. Picking at it. Line by litle, T sep- 
te it from the surrounding skin. 1 
a plug about a quarter inch across. I pull 
ain. It seems to have some sort of 
roots reaching up into my foot. I've pulled 
about six inches of foreign growth out of 
my foot and there's no end in sight. A feck 
g my foot al] warm 
the more I pull out, the higher 
the warmth and relief spr 


varmth and relief, letting 
my body feel its new freedom, past my 
knce, up to my thigh. There seems to be 
ly light concentration around 
my groin thar makes it feel all the berter 
when I pull it out. Down my left leg, 
until my left toes turn. warm and free. 
and up my torso, bringing peace and 
warmth to my belly and my lower back. 
At my solar plexus, the resistance in- 
creases again. I feel the roots pulling on 
my heart and stop, but only for 
ment I cin feel the tentacles being 
pulled through my whole body: Out it 
comes, more and more. I am ecstatic as 
the peace passes up my throat, over my 
yout and through my nose to the top. 
of my head. Ecstasy. 

t all the rushes of fe: nd 
were. Just getting free of the shit 
ing. but nothing, is going to turn 
ound. Fear? Fuck ‘em; this 
shit has got to go. I've seen heaven and 
nothing's gonna turn me around. What is 


o- 


it that wants to tur ound and make 
aM the 
ble, 


utopia impossible? I'm a freight train, 
baby. don't give me no sidetrack. I want 
your main line, baby. Climb aboard the 
Eden Express. This train, this train is 
comin’ through. THIS TRAIN IS BOUND 
FOR GLOR 

So we kept moving toward Vancouver. 
I think the basic idea in both of our 
minds was still to find Virginia and hope 
ighten ev- 
erything out. I also thought that [ ha 
become a hydrogen bomb and that some- 
one in Vancouver could defuse me. 

On the way to the ferry: “Mark, you 


that that would somehow sti 


know there’s been an earthquake in 
California?’ 
“Yes, 1 know that, Simon." That Vi 


minia had been killed in it was obvious. 

We got to the ferry landing in plenty 
of time. I spent most of the ride clutch- 
ing my knees to my chest, trying to keep 
my body from turning into light. Jd 
feel unbearably hot and sweaty and Si 
mon would say he felt cold. Ten nün- 
utes later, the situation would be reversed. 
After fighting off the most powerful rush 
vet and just lying back, completely ex 
hausted. trying to get my breath, I 
glanced over at Simon. He was looking 
at me with utter bewilderment. 

"You know, Mark, this is certainly 
turning into a strange trip." 

“You ought to sec it from here, Simon 


You ought to sce it from here. 
E Mark, this whole thing 
ving me a new outlook on 


you know 


is really g 
mental illness." 

"Yes, D expect it would.” If Simon 
wanted to think that that was the ex- 
planation for what was going on, it was 
fine with me. 


t's giving me a whole new respect 
It's been a very well-kept secret. No 
one talks about it at all. It makes sex 
and drugs look like apple pic." 


THE VOICES. By this time, they had got- 
ten very dew At first I'd had to strain 
to hear or understand them. I broke the 
code and somehow was able to internal- 
ize it to the point where it was just like 
hearing words. Once you hear the voices, 
you realize they've always been there, It's 
just a matter of being tuned to them. 

The blanks were a lot like the voices: 
Its hard to say exactly when they started. 
At first there'd be only an instant or two 
that L couldn't account for. Later I'd be 
missing whole days. I'd [cel myself going 
away, and then I'd feel myself coming 
back. I had no way to gauge how much 
time passed. during the blanks. 

I didn't exactly lose contact with ob- 
jective reality. My focus was just a bit 
bizarre. I remembered license numbers 
of cars we were following going into Van- 
couver. We paid $3.57 for gas. The air 
machine made 18 dings while we were 
there. 

We arrived in Vancouver in the late 
afternoon. At that point, I knew very 
and 


clearly that the world was ending 


that it was my fault. I was sure that the 
next stop was hell and even more sure 
that I deserved it. 

The next stop was really the Stevens 
Street apartment in Vancouver, where I 
had said goodbye to Virginia only two 
weeks before, though it seemed like life- 
times. 

“You know you're in hell, don't you 
The voices said that a lot. 

"All E know is that I don’t like it 
much." 

"You know Virginia's dead. You know 
your father's dead. You know the world 
is ending. You know you're dead. You 
know you've killed a lot of people. 
You know youre responsible for the 
California earthquake, the death of the 
planet. You know you have a mission. 
You know you're the Messi 
know I feel that way. But I'll be 
damned if I'll take my word for it. 
People think a lot of screwy thing 


ASTRAL SEX. For one reason or another, 
sex as P had known it was no longer 


possible. 1 had some cosmic clap that had 
to be quarantined. So, for compensation, 
severance pay or whatever, 1 got astral 
sex. I wondered how 1 had ever worked 
up so much enthusiasm about regular sex. 

I was electric with sexuality. Breathing 
gave 
begin to describe what dancing with 
angels was lik 

Thad carthly sexuality. too. but like the 
rest of my earthly life, it had become 
twisted, disjointed and horrifying, My 
penis would seem monstrously huge. 
Td get hardons that wouldn't go away 
I'd ty to masturbate to defuse my earthly 
sexuality but couldn't come. I feared 
that something was trying to turn me 
into a homosexual. I's possible that 
those gs represented the break- 
through of repressed homosexuality. but 
I have my doubts. Food was horrible to 
me, too, but I have yet to hear anyone 
say that schizophrenia is a repressed fear 
of food. 

Down from 155 to about 
deaf, dumb and blind, convulsi 


me orgasm upon orgasm. L can't 


pounds, 
ig in my 


“Two-twenty-five for a cheeseburger and a shake, and you 
ask me what's the meaning of life! 


219 


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220 


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own puke, shit and piss. If something 
wanted me to suffer, how much more 
could it nt? 

At some point, I gave up clothing. It 
was just too sticky and confi 
like drowning. Somewhere in there, 1 
threw a huge rock through the 
room picture window, Gradu: 
came dear even to Simon that they might 
have to put me into a hospital. if only to 
save their own sanity. 

‘Twelve days without food or sleep, 12 
very active days, hadn't done wonders for 
my physique. As we [ound out later, 
death by starvation wasn't a farferched 
possibility. Stop eating, make it a 24-houj 
no-time-outs day, and you've got one 
hell of a quick-weight-loss program. Ac- 
cording to doctors at the hospital, a 
other week, maybe less, would have done 
the trick. My sense of taste was as badly 
screwed up as all my other senses, which 
had a lot to do with my giving up food 
the first place and is also why so many 
schizies think they're being poisoned. I 
don't care how much you trust the people 

ound you, you trust your own senses 
more. 


Good might, sweet prince, whoever 
you were or thought you were. Please let 
me go, Mark.” Dad. 

Of all the awful news I was dealing 
with—Vinge’s death in the earthquake, 
impending nuclear holocaust—my father's 
le hit me hardest. From as early as 
I was old enough to worry about such 
I had worried about his either 


brains out. He had hinted at it fairly 
broadly from time to time. Sometimes I 
thought the only thing hold back 
fear of how it would affect me. Sons 
of suicides find life lacking—Rosewater. 
Being still able to talk with him took 
some of the ay. He actually 
seemed pretty cheerful. Maybe he had 
somehow driven me nuts just so he could 
say goodbye and explain a lot of things 
he hadn't been able to before. 
m sorry about this, Mark, but think 
how hard it would be for me to resist 
this sort of thing. I just wanted to dance 
with you once before I left" We had 
some sub € talks mostly about 
World War Two, for some reason, but 
most of it was dancing and giggling. It 
lots of fun. 

My father and others had wanted to 
tell me, but things moved too fast. There 
was no way to get word to me through 
normal channels, but somehow I had 
caught on. 

“I thought you guys would never get 
here" Simon and my father, or damn 
convincing hallucinations, were holding 
me up and talking about getting me the 
hell out of that apartment. 

I'd give almost anything for a tape of 
my ride to Hollywood Hospital near Van- 
couver. My father had a lot on his mind, 
Lut still, not to have brought along a 


wi 


recorder verges on criminal neglect. It was 
bop talk. Like a Fifties d.j. Words a mile 
a minute. I wasn't thinking, it was jus 
there. One thing a tape of my ride to the 
would show was how I was re- 
sponding to outside events. It was a dialog, 
Jackhammers had some very encouraging 
ings to say. 

When my father and Simon left me, 
when three guys dressed in white started 
walking me down that long hall, half 
holding me up, half holding me down, 1 
understood. I had gone too far. 

Clunk, into that little room. Cuzzzunk, 
a huge mother bolt ran the width of 
the door 

If you were terribly confused, desper- 
ately trying to get your bearings without 
the faintest idea of where you were or 
what was happening, if you finally got 
your mouth and tongue to work right 
nd finally managed to ask “Where am 
what would be the worst possible 
thing someone could tell you? I would 


1 


fectly terrible. But Hollywood? That one 
didn't need much work. It didn't call on 
my knowledge of medieval mysticism or 


nd geuing my words to work right 
“Hollywood where?” 

th Avenue. New Westminster.” 
"Tower of London, man for all sca- 

sons." At last, a use for my liberalarts 

education. 

If being in Hollywood on Fifth Avenue 

n New Westminster isn't being caught 

nespace warp, what is? 

a while, I was convinced that the 

whole thing I was going through was 

my father's way of helping me give up 

Cigarettes. Some lesson. 

“Cigarettes, Dad? 

Mark.” 

who would have guessed?” 
“Well, it took you quite a while, 

Mark." But then, when 1 said 1 wouldn't 

smoke anymore and they still wouldn't 

let me out of my litte room, I got sus 

picious that cigarettes weren't the whole 

story. Little by little it sank in. It was 

all on the level, This was a real mental 

hospital with real doctors and nuses. 


THE Doc. I have a fuzzy recollection 
of walking up 10 some doctorlooking 
person and being totally absorbed by his 
gold tie clip. 1 suspected it was the but- 
ton to end the world, so I didn't touch 
it I'm pretty sure it was Dr. Dale. I 
don't know who else could be so taste- 
less as to walk around a. mental hospital 
wearing the button to end the world. 

1 often look on him as onc of God's 
lile jokes on me. When I was in des- 
peraté trouble, what saved me from a 
fate worse than death? To what do I owe 
my life? Was it love, affection, under- 
standing, friends, wisdom? No, no, no. 
Tt was biochemistry and a man who looks 
like a poor copy of Walt Disney, drives 


pink s wears baby. 
shoes and appears to have the emotional 
depth of a potato. 

1 was back to being polite, the well- 
tempered paranoid. It seemed to take 
them forever to believe that I was capable 
of keeping clothes on or not being com- 
bative or able to go anywhere without 

n orderly watching over me. The doctors 
always the last to catch on. The first 
to realize you've gotten better and to 
start to treat you accordingly are the 
other patients. After the patients catch 
on, then the maintenance staff and the 
lower orderlies realize you're OK, and 
so on through the various orders of nurses 
umil the news reaches the doctors. It 
works the same for relapses, 

As soon as I was OK. I was bored. 
Most of the time. 1 just sat around and 
tried 10 figure out what had gone wrong. 
I had blown my cool. The world wasn't 
ending. Virginia hadn't died. My father 
hadn't d. I had been mistaken. OK. 
I realized I was wrong. E just wanted to 
get out of there. 

My father flew up from the “re: 
Hollywood. where they were making a 
Aterhouse-Five, and spent 
ting and taking me out to lunch. 
He, like everyone else, seemed to think 
the whole thing was very heavy. I was 
feeling OK and wished everyone would 
just forget abour it or treat it like a 
broken leg. Mark went bonkers. What 
does it mean? 

I just couldn't get into thinking about 
it much. Maybe that was because of all 
the Thorazine they had pumped into 
me. Thorazine makes thinking a pretty 
unprofitable proposition. It has lors of 
unpleasant side cflects. It makes you 
oggy. lowers your blood pressure, mak- 
ing you dizzy and faint when you stand 
up too quickly. If you go out in the sun, 
your skin gets red and hurts like hell. It 
makes muscles rigid and twitchy. "The 
ide eflecis were bad enough, but I liked. 
even less what the drug was supposed to 
do. No doctor or nurse ever came out 

nd said so in so many words, but it was 
an antihero drug. Dale kept saying to 
me, "You mustn't try to be a hero." 
Thorazine makes heroics impossible. 

On Thorazine, you can read comic 
books and Reader’s Digest forever. You 
can tolerate talking to jerks forever. 
Babble. babble, babble. The weather is 
dull, the flowers are dull, nothing's very 
impressive. Muzak, Bach, Beatles, Lolly 
and the Yum-Yums, The Rolling Stones. It 
doesn’t make any difference. 


GETTING our. Di lc, who 
charge of me, had to go to some confer- 
ence in Hawaii. In the meantime, Dr. 
McNice was in charge of me. Dr. McNice 
was a soft touch for mysticism and litera- 
ture and had a bit of sympathy for hip- 
piedom. A liberal. If there was one thing 
life had taught me, it was how to 
te liberals. 


After some long, urbane chats about 
medieval mystics, the Dead Sea Scrolls, 
‘Jung and the fallacies in Freud’s essays 
on religion, we decided my brain was in 
working order. 

Virginia was going to pick me up in 
the morning. Back to the farm, back to 
where life made sense. It was March sev- 
enth. Three weeks of Hollywood was 
plenty. If disease was a cleansing process, 
1 was some clean. 


After I'd been back on the farm a few 
days. my resolve to forget about the whole 
thing. never terribly strong. crumbled 
completely. It started as a very reasonable 
attempt to figure out what had happened, 
so that I could avoid its happening again. 


As I began to fit things together, it be- 
me 


came more and more app. 
that there was very little, 
delusional about my thoughts or 
priate about my behavior 
too much confirmati rom too many 
sources that something momentous had 
happened and that I had responded at 
lest appropriately and possibly 
heroically. 

Sex had never been very carefree or 
playful between Virginia and me. Recent 
events were hardly calculated to improve 
matters, Getting back together was tenta 
tive and gingerly. We were two very 
scared china dolls. Sex ha 
to do with biological desire and was more 
than ever a garble of symbolic proofs 


cnt to 


and deeper needs. It was a desperately 
important hurdle. 

There was so much to say that neither 
of us said anything. The first couple of 
nights, we just rubbed and clumsily 
hugged each other, pulling back every 
five minutes or so and looking into each 
other's scared, pleading eyes, trying to 
figure out what, if anything, was under- 
stood between us. 

We finally made love. Considering 
what we had been through, having any 
kind of sex was plenty ambitious; but, 
at the same time. having been through 
all that shit somehow raised the ante. 
For it to have been good, it had to have 
been much better than before, and it 
wasn't. In fact, it seemed that nothing 
had changed. 

Somehow, ten days went by and it was 
time for me to go into town and take 
my immigration physical so I could stay 
in Canada. Kathy, having set a record of 
two months straight on the farm, decided 
to go with us. In midafternoon, we all 
tromped. down to the lake, list in hand, 
with a couple of bags of Iaundry, letters 
to be sent, library books to be returned. 

On to the laundromat. While Kathy 
and I were folding clothes, Joc and Mary, 
a couple we had met, came in. They had 
had it with the Powell River area and were 
about to head for the interior. They asked 
us to come to dinn 

Driving out to good old Joe and 
Mary's, taking each hill as it comes, each 


221 


PLAYBOY 


curve as it comes, in tune with the car 
and the road. 1 usually found an evening 
with Joe and Mary just the change of 
pace I needed. It was a vacation from 
hipness. There were times when I wanted 
some hot tea, central heating, electric 
lights, a nudear family. Innocence. 1 
wasn't looking for a place to get the Eden 
Express rolling again. 

"There's this guy with us who's a big 
an of your father’s and is dying to meet 
you," Joe said. “I hope that won't be too 
big a pain in theass.” 

Greetings, greetings. 

“Mark, this is David.” 

“You've probably heard this a million 
times before, but I've read everything 
your old man's written and really dig his 
stuff, I'm really a fan." I just smiled and 
nodded, Fan seemed like a nice enough 
kid. 

Tt went so nicely. 1 
the kind of Joeand-Ma 
looked forward to. 

In a matter of a couple of hours, may- 
be less, everything changed. 1 think most 
of the really heavy things happened after 
my first attempt to get some sleep 
pretend nothing extraordinary was 
happening. 

Kathy and I had brought our sleeping 
bags with us. We were supposed to crash 
in a small side room. 1 was feeling a little 
sick and n id lonely and jittery. 
That was how it had started with Vincent 
and Virginia. She had heen feeling bad 
nd lonely and had not been able to slecp. 
Vincent had rubbed her stomach for her, 
and then one thing had led to another. 
Kathy lying there all swaddled in that 


as getting exactly 
y evening 1 had 


y blue. I had always thought she was 
kind of pretty, but look her now, 
she was exquisitely beat hy, my 
stomach feels all screwed up. Could you 
rub i? No, no. "That was all wrong. lt 
was what I meant, but somehow there 
was no way for me to sa 

wi ginia not thinking about fuck 
ing when she asked Vincent to rub her 
stomach? What a luxury. I couldn't ask 
anyone for a glass of water without think: 
ing about fucking. Men, women, chil 
dren, dogs, goats, and on and on. Some 
part of me wanted to fuck just about 
everything. 

So there I was, going nuts again and 
pretty sure I was going nuts again (the 
voices were getting clearer and more in- 
sistent; the crazy taste was in the back 
of my mouth; things were starting to 
glow and shimmer again), thinking, n 
be if I could make love with someone, it 
would deluse this whole damn thing. But 
even if it worked, Td spend the rest of 
y life wondering if 1 had cried wolf 
just to get laid. 

1 heard voices in the living room. It 
was Joe. Mary and Fan talking. but their 
voices sounded strange. Very low and 
py, like wind: "Mark, Mark, Mak. 
Being polite, I got up and went into the 
living room. Mary was wearing some 
priestess-type outfit. She told me to sit 
down in a voke too low to be hers (or 
anyone elses, for that matter). Her legs 
were spread and her crotch was glowing 
smoky Day-Glo orange. 

Why couldn't it be her fingers or some- 
thing else? Don't I have enough problems 
without Day-Glo crotches? I wasn't about 


the same with his 


wife.” 


to argue that whatever my problem was, 
there was a lot of sex involved. Day-Glo 
crotches seemed to be rubbing it in. 
e time to move to hig 
ground?” There was that voice 
wasn't Mary's coming from Mary again. 
"Higher ground is within,” I said and 
faded out agai 
“Let me go, Mark. Please let 


that 


It ather . begging me. 
pleading with me, trying to explain, try- 


ing again to make me hate him. Ag: 
sot the feeling that he wanted to 
himself. 

‘Don't you see I'm responsible for all 
this pain you're going throu 
you not hate me?” 

“If you weren't the fifteenth joker 
through here in the last few hours uyi 
to claim responsibility for the hell I 
I might be able 10 take you more 
ly. A lot of what's going on certainly 
has your flavor to it, but Bob Dylan, 
believe it or not, was just through 10 
apologize and try to make it all better. He 
figured the whole thing was his fault. 

“The thing I'm telling them and want 
to tell you. too, is that it’s not all that bad. 
1 have a feeling that I'm somehow where 
all vou big deals were afraid to go. Where 
you all drew the line and chickened out. 
That may sound grandiose, but it cer 
nly feels like that's what's happeni 
In the morning, the trees were gre 
n. Somehow, the destruction had been 
reversed, the earth reprieved. There was 
still time. 

Joe and Mary talked about some nice 
doctor who had taken care of something 
for them. Joe drove his Microbus. Then 
the sun came out and everything got 
bright, too bright. The road was shaking 
and everything started to fall apart. 
Joe pulled up to the hospital. The big red 
Sign, EMERGENCY ENTRANCE. 

"What seems to be the problem?" 
Sood question. Here I was in the em 
gency ward; just what was the proble: 
Why hai neone asked me that bc- 
fore? It seemed so straightforward. What 
was the problem? 

One way or another, I found myself 

back in the front seat of the Microbus 
There was a little piece of paper. It was 
a prescription for pills L was supposed 
10 take "if the going gets rough.” 
Back to Joe and Mary's cabin. Ev 
body seemed to be all right. 
Fan David's was the most persistent 
ar out, that’s cool,” etc, 1 have ever 
run into. I remember how I finally shook 
im up. 1 went into the room where he 
sleeping. He started up, per usual, 
being enthusiastic about how far out I 
s. His dog was lying next to his bed. 
ached over and jacked his dog off. 
got very upset. I guess everyone has 
a limit. 


A WALK WITH FAN. J must have been 
griting my teeth or shaking or some- 
thing. It was a pretty rough time just 


about sunset of the second David 
came up'to me. He put his hand on my 
shoulder and said, "Come on, brother, 
don't hold it all in. Let some of that en- 
ergy go. There are lots of people who 
could use some of it. 

^No one wants this shit." 

“No, you're wrong. It's just that you've 
got too much. Give some to me.” 
Hy want it?” Fw. 
ly don't want to put anyone 
‘ough this shit 
"No, really. I could use it. Give it 
to me. 

I wasn’t sure how to go about it, but 
I put both of my hands on his head. 
"OK, you w: Here it comes.” I felt 
a rush. of relief as something went from 
my hands into his head. 

He stepped back; his eyes were wide. 
“Wow, you're not just fucking around, 


incredu- 


are you?” I just sort of nodded and 
shook my head all at once. That some- 
thing real had happened was both 

hiening and comforting. 

T said, “Let's go for a walk.” 

"Sure," he said. half in a daze, and we 


headed down a little two-rut dirt road that 
ran toward the woods behind the cabin. 
I think I'm starting to catch on, 
L 
Well, it’s a funny thing. Once you 
start to get it, you won't be able to figure 
out why you never saw it before. It’s 
really so simple.” 

Has your father been here?” 

No, I don't think so. But he knows or 
strongly suspects it's here. For some reason, 
he couldn't make it or didn't want to. He 
sort of decided to send me instead.” 

It was the first il conversation I 
had had in a long time. Actually, just 
about a day or so, but it seemed much 
longer. I felt relaxed and not half so 
lonely. Fan was catching on. There wa 
someone to talk to. I started crying 
soltly. 

What's wrong. Mar 
‘othing’s wrong, really. I just sort of 
wish he were here I wish I could talk 
to him here like this. I mean, with his 
body here like mine. I mean, I can talk 
to him like this now, but if he were here. 
he brought his body along, all we'd 
be able to talk about would be Mickey 
Mantle or something neither of us really 


he 


gives a shit abou! 
You mean he's here now. 
"Yes. Dad, we know you're here. Why 
don't you bring your body along some- 
time?’ 


. Mark.” 
. Pop 
Hey, Mark, did you ever think that 
maybe I'm writing this scrip 
Hey, Pop, did you ever think that 
ybe you're not?" 

“I mean, Mark, did you think tha 
maybe I'm a good enough writer to write 
what you're going through 
nkly not, Pop. I don't think any- 
one could." 


"Well. Mark, you're probably right. I 
couldn't write what you're living, not 
even begin. But there were guys who were 
really good. It's incredible some of the 
things people have written. 

“You mean like Tolstoy and Dos 
toievskyz" 

“Ya, and there were some others, too.” 

"Well. Pop, guess what your college 
educated son just happened to pick up 
fresh out of the nuthouse? I just happen 
to have a copy of The Brothers Karama- 
zov right here in my pocket.” 

"Oh, shit, Mark, was that ever a mis- 
take. But what a beautiful one. I mean, 
really, fist thing you picked up when 
you got oud 
up, Dad, you guessed it. 

“Well, Mark, let that book fall open.” 
1 let the book open. About halfway down 
the righthand page, one sentence stood 
out, glowing from the rest of the print: 
THE END OF TIME WILL BE MARKED 
BY ACTS OF UNFATHOMABLE COMPASSION. 
[Though that is what the author saw, 
the quote does not appear in The 
Brothers Karamazov but is an amalgam 
of thoughts expressed by Dostoievsky— 
Ed. 

“Thai Dad.” Then I started to 
laugh in spite of myself, just a slight 
chuckle. 

“What's funny, Marki 

“Not much, Dad. 1 was just thinking 
what shit I would have gotten if I had 
Cal's Cradle or something instead’ 

“You don't have to rub it in. "There's 
just one thing I'd like to ask you, Mark.” 

“Fire away, Pop. 

“Well, Mark, just how, exactly, did 
you get here, anyway?” 

"Well, Dad, that was the onc th 
1 thought you probably knew. After 
it was something I sort of picked up from 
you. lis really amazingly simple. Just 


ye, Dad. See you around 
for dropping by 


"Mark, I've never read much." Joe 
talking. 

"Well, old man," I said affectionately, 
putting my arm around him, and started 
reciting Moby Dick [rom memory. I had 
read Moby Dick only once and hadn't 
made any effort to memorize it. 1 had 
been going on for about five minutes 
hefore I realized what I was doing. 

1 remember feeling his hand on my 
arm, shaking me. 

“But I can't let you go on 
of what it's doing to you. Take this. 
He handed me one of the pills that the 
doctor had prescribed if things got rough 

The pill went down easily and took ef- 


Tm afraid 


fect quickly. "Everyone was swell" My 
t breath, last whisper, and I lost 
consciousness. 
“Mark.” Joe was tapping on my 


shoulder. 
“What is it, Pops? 


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PLAYBOY 


you've had a relapse. Listen to 
me. We're going to have to take you 
bac 


Back to my litle room? Back to Dr. 
Dale?” 
es, Mark. But you 
just like you did befor 
“Aud after I get out again, will I have 
to keep going back and keep going back 
over and over again? Mary said that I 
had already been down as far as I. could 
go. Why would she lie to me? 
“Ws OK, Mark. ll be all right. 
You'll get cut again. You'll get well 
Xi 
Promise?” 
Yes, I. promise, Mark. A lot of people 
love you and are behind you. No matier 
what's wrong, we'll find a way out. When 
this is all over, I'll come and ger you. 


Il get out again, 


chess? 

“Well, I'm not much of a chess player, 
k. But, yes, IIl take you to some of 
ind of country and we'll fish as 
much as you want, Lll take you fishin 
up in the Kootenays. 

‘Can't I come with you now? Can't 
you take me with you now?’ 
Yo, Mark. I'm sorry. I can't explain 
l| now. But as soon as things get 
shtened. out, I'll come get you and 
we'll go fishing.” 

“OK, Pop, I'll go back. It's not really 
so bad. Easter break js coming up pretty 
soon, I have a fecling this is going to be 
one hell of an Faster." 

A cop on cither side of me. Half hold- 

ing me up, half holding me down. Vi 
ginia behind me, saying, “Walk, Mark. 
What the fuck you think I'm trying 
to do, bitch?” Thats the last thing I re- 
ember for quite a while. 
When I recovered enough to care 
about where I was, my first reaction was 
to be pissed off at the hospital. If only 
they had given me a few pills to take 
along, this whole thing could have been 
voided. If anything, 1 was less patient 
than before. There wasn’t much magi 
about pills three times a Why don't 
they just give me the fucking pills and 
Jet me the fuck out of here? 

Then they seemed to loosen up a little. 
Dr. Dale told me wl he thought 
was wrong with me, what could be done 
about it, what the pills did. What I had 
was schizophr lt was probably ge- 
netic. It was biochemical. It was control- 
Table. It might have something to do with 
meta There were 
djustments I could make that 
ht help. Dope wasn't such a hot idea 
for someone like me. 

I also found out that my legal situ: 
was quite a bit more complicated than it 
had been last time around, My first stay 


bolism. 


patient. This 
acket, accompanied by four Royal 
a Mounties. They could lock me 


ars. I decided to work on 


way for y 
patience again. 

I worked my way out of the locked 
wards. Even got all my own clothes back. 
is in one of the best rooms. And then, 
ngly out of nowhere, all hell broke 
loose a; s back in that fuck- 
ing litle room. No visitors, no clothes, 
no one would even talk to me through 
the litle hole, no nothing. 

The power phenomeno: 
that I was responsible for 
the course of history, the end of the 
world—had a neat, almost ceremonious 
ending that set it apart [rom other things. 
The voices, visions, misperceprions, irr 
tionality, bizarre behavior all faded fuzz- 
ily, much the way they had come. Milder 
versions still come to visit occasionally. I'd 
just as soon they didn't, but as long as the 
powers stay away, 1 don't mind too much. 

It was a few days before 
been in the lite windowless room for 
what seemed like forever. The door 
opene: 

l was taken into the room diagonally 
cross the corridor. 1t had windows, cu 
ins. flowers. paintings, books, paper, 
pens. It was all anyone could ever ask for. 

"Sit down, Mark.” ] sat down. “My 
name's Walter. Call me Wally, 

Most of what he said wouldn't have 
made much sense to anyone but me. H 
would have been just another poor c 
person raving his brains out. What it 
boiled down to was that I was being 
divested of my power. 

“You're not a conductor 
Someone clse 
He seemed to be congratu 
having done my part well and saying 
that now I could relax. It worked like a 
charm. I don’t think I did any raving 
fter that. E had no more power. I could 
now be just one of the fellas. 
aster morning I was sitting just out 
side the litle room rolling a cigarette, 
still trying to put together some of the 
gs Wally had said and who the hell 
According 10 the nurses, Wally 
was just another patient. 

A breeze came through the ward. It 
smelled like spring. 1t was the first smell 
I had noticed in months that hadn't been 
death. Something was siying goodbye 
10 me 
‘Goodbye, sport. Who would ever 
guess?” And it was gone. 

Tears started streaming down my 
They tasted sweet. I sat there 
a cigarette through the tears, tasting them 
both, and how good they were. 


the idea 
earthquakes, 


more. 


ON THE Loos - When T was final- 
ly rel .I bore little 
resemblance to the dynamo of asertion 
1 had been on my first release. I had 
nothing but a feeling of extreme fragility 
nd vulnerability and a little hope that 
someday things would be different. It 
was hard to be graceful, 

1 don't think 1 had any real hope of 


AGAIN 


ed fiom the hospit 


making the farm my life anymore. Tt 
was like getting back up onto a hone 
after you've been thrown, It was like a 
lot of things, but it wasn't much like 
Eden. It was the best of a lot of lousy 
alternatives. 

Tlwec months later, 1 headed East. T 
still had to keep taking Thorazine. Philo- 
sophical niceties were swept aside. Bio- 
chemistry and those funny guys who 
called themselves orthomolecular psychi- 
atrists were my new buddies. 

It took quite a bit to convince us that 
anything as pedestrian as biochemistry 
was relevant to somethingas profound and 
poetic as what I was going through. But 
the idea had a lot to recommend it. The 
hopelessness of dealing with it on a poetic 
level was the start. The poets in the busi- 
ness gave little hope and huge bills. The 
chemists fixed me up with embarrassing- 
ly inexpensive. simple nonprescription 
pills. Vitamins, mostly. The biochemists 
said no one was to blame. The poets 
all had notions that required somconc's 
having made some mistake. The A.M.A. 
had mo particular affection for mega- 
vitamin therapy. That was something 
Anything the A.M.A. hated couldn't be 
ll bad. The more research I did, the more 
impressed I was. | remain converted. 

When 1 finally Jett the farm and went 
East, it wasn't to get away from. painful 
memories or a lifestyle that might. drive 
1 felt stronger than ever 
before. I was curious about this new 
strength and there wasn't enough variety 
at the farm to give it a thorough testing. 

It seemed that virtue was no longer 
compulsory. I had spent a lot of my lile 


me nuts a 


trying to figure out what "good" was 
and trying to do i 


k h seemed that 
my state of mind, my mental health, was 
directly tied to how much good was in 
my life, which would have been fine if 
the process hadn't been such a progres 
ely demanding, implacable one. 

In the beginning, I couldn't take phys- 
ical v nee. In the d]. 1 couldn't cut 
firewood. I didn't want to move or 
breathe for fear of harming microbes. 
My life became more and more an in- 
antkarma ieplay. There was no way 
be good enough. My friends had grad- 
ually become as monstrous 
the farm as hectic 
New York Gity. 

But gradually 

around. The mor 
hold, the less my men 
on how good I was. Before, I had had a 
fairly simple, if ical, guideline 
for how to run my life. Anything that 


ttled me was bad and to be avoided. 
The world’s horror and  sinfulness 
matched my constantly dete ig 


stress tolerance. In any event, my mental 
health doesn't give me many clues about 
how to act anymore. It’s kind of nice to 
be back on my own. 


“Aw, what the hell—let's give the fans what they really came for!” 


PLAYBOY 
READER SERVICE 


Write to Playboy Reader Service for 
answers to your shopping questions. 
We will provide you with the name 
of a retail store in or near your city 
where you can buy any of the spe- 
cialized items advertised or edito- 
rially featured in PLAYBOY. For 
example, where-to-buy information is 
available for the merchandise of the 
advertisers in this issue listed below. 


Panesonle Einerentes 5000 
E 


Jer Sporisvi 
Yashica Cameras 


mation about other 
featured mer 


We will be happy to answer any of 
your other questions on fashion, 
travel, food and drink, stereo, etc. 
If your question involves items you 
saw in PLAYBOY, please specify page 
number and issue of the magazine 
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BOTH ISSUES WILL BE COLLECTOR'S ITEMS YOU WON'T WANT TO MISS 


“The trick of Desert Sailing on the Baja's snow-white 
sands is not to end up black and blue? 


Ù - 


Ecc 


you'll find in caravans 
1at you can whip along 
seeds up to 60 miles 
our. And that's where 
: danger lies! 


Its virtually impossible 
to keep your careening 
craft on a straight and 

steady course. We were 
just at the poi 
capsizing... 


".. when I shouted to Jim, 
"Throw your weight on 
my side! Defying gravity 
and the gusting winds, 
we managed to get 
upright. From then on, 
it was smooth sailing. 


"Later, we toasted cur adventure with Canadian Club 
at the Hotel El Presidente in San Quintin." 

Why is C.C. so universally popular? No other whisky 
tastes quite like it. Lighter than Scotch, smoother 
than vodka. . . it has a consistent mellowness that 
never stops pleasing. For 117 years, 

this Canadian has been in a class by itself. 


Aun Jor 
LT 


— "^ “The Best In The House”in 87 lands. "Mouton 


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TAREYTON has two filters—a white tip 
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It balances, smooths gives you a taste 
no plain white filter can match. 


porevlon 


ES 
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"ES Zr 
p 4 yo 
x m 
T, £2 2 


Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined 
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