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JULY 1976 * $1.25 


difference. 


p^ yi 
| "Te box fits in my jeans or jacket and doesn't 
X. get crushed. That makes a differenta 
^. /Winston’s taste makes a real E 


difference, too. No cigarette gives me. more taste 
val JFor- me, ; Winston is for real. 4 


| Warning: The re VN Has Determined 
That Cigarette Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health. 


DL 4 Door 
Sedan 


WHILE OTHER CARS ARE BLOWING 
THEIR OWN HORNS, ROAD TEST MAGAZINE 
NAMED SUBARU"LINE OF THE YEAR" 


4 Wheel 
Drive Wagon 


For the first time, Road Test has honored an 
entire line of cars. That line is Subaru. 
Here's why: 


A PRICE THAT ISN'T HIGHWAY ROBBERY. 

The price of our 2 door sedan is $2899* Our 
other models are slightly higher but just as 
economical. 

Because the price of every Subaru includes 
front wheel drive. The SEEC-T engine that won 
Road Test’s Fresh Air Award. And extras like power 
front disc brakes, radial tires and a lot more. 


CARS THAT CAN NURSE A DRINK. 

Our cars make alittle go along way. According 
to EPA test estimates, the manual transmission 
Subaru sedans delivered 39 highway and 29 city 
miles on a gallon of regular** 


IN ADDITION TO ECONOMY, WE OFFER VARIETY. 
Our line includes seven models. Many avail- 
able with either 4 speed, 5 speed or automatic trans- 
mission. And the only passenger car that's at home 
on the road and off the beaten 


paths: the 4 Wheel Drive Wagon. SUB ARU 


THE ECONOMY CAR FOR TODAY'S ECONOMY. 


Put on a pair of COOLRAYS, 
you wont believe your eyes. 


You won't believe how great you'll look in a pair of ^ every pair of Cool-Ray Sunglasses is polarized to give you 
Cool-Ray* Sungla: yer 125 eye-catching styles and the glare-protection you simply can’t get with ordinary 
colors! From new polarized Gradient and Mirrored lenses sunglasses. 
to sleek metal frames, they're out of sight! Cool-Ray, with suggested retail prices from $2.50 to $12. 

Theyre also specially designed to conform to your Theyre America's No.1 sunglasses. It's easy to see why. 
face, so they fit just as good as they look. What's more, COOL-RAY Sunglasses. You won't believe youreyes. 


HE LATEST Bernstein-Woodward revelations tell us that Nixon 
was having conversations with the portraits of his predecessors 
in the White House. But Art Buchweld, also a patriotic Ameri- 
can, was never lucky enough to rap with Thomas Jefferson: 
"ve always admired paintings of the Revolution, and Ive 
wondered since childhood why they didn't say anything to me." 
Well, after we locked him in an office with a huge stack of 
Revolutionary paintings and drawings, it was only a matter of 
time before he heard their voices—as reported in Art Buch- 
wald’s Special Commemorative Bicentennial Souvenir Album. 

You can also get a few star-spangled yoks from Poor Row- 
land's Almanack, keoff on Ben Franklin's classic by car- 
1oonist and prize-winning anim 

And, lest you think we haven't taken a serious enough view 
of America in this Bicentennial month, please note that we've 
also lined up a few torpedoes and depth c 

Fire one: Political theorist Karl Hess, in 


n exclusive Playboy 


Interview conducted by Sem Merrill, tells why we'd be beuer off 
with no government at all. 

Fire two: Songwrite: 
Time, 


poet Gil Scott-Heron, in The Fire This 

gives of-the-current- Amer revolution mes- 
and tells why the Constitution is slill where it’s at (he's 
supposed to be a radical). Our reporter is freelance writer and 
music critic Vernon Gibbs. 

Fire three: The seventh and last part of Playboy's History of 
Assassination in America, by James McKinley, continues to explore 
the bloody side of our political heritage. At bottom left are the 
fers who bled to make it possible—Assistant Art Director Roy 
Moody and Researchers Tom Passavant, Karen Stevens, Chris Newman, 
Bonnie Martini and Mery Zion. Senior Editor Laurence Gonzales (not 
shown) was their guiding spirit. 

Fire four: Ron Kovie's memoir. Born on the Fourth of July, 
tells how he went to Vietnam as a gung-ho Marine and Ielt 
there paralyzed for life. “Fhe best picce of writing to comc out 
of Vietnam," according to editor Gonzales, it will be released in 
book form next month by McGraw-Hill. Same tide. 

Both of our fiction pieces take some strange turns, David Ely's 
ironic Last One Out, illustrated by David Beck, is about a man 
posing as a lost World War Two survivor. A Feast of Snakes, 
by the inimitable Harry Crews, is part of his cighth novel (same 
tide), set for immediate release by Atheneum: it finds an ex— 
football hero and an ex-baton queen getting their rocks off 
a reptilian sctting. The illustration is by Richard F. Newton. 
peaking of getting them off, check what Kristoffersen 
Miles are doing in Kris and Sarah, a pictorial based on their 
sexually explosive new movie, Accompanying The Soul of 
Sarah—with Miles’s poetry, Bruce Williemson's text and Phil 
Dixon's photos. Incidentally, Kris and Sarah aren't the only 
showbiz names in the issue. Jayne's Girl finds Jeyne Marie Mans- 
field responding admirably to the camera of Dwight Hooker (who, 
as you see, will do anything for a shot). Meanwhile, the Pitts- 
burgh Steelers model some City Shorts. 

And—in Excuse Me, Do You Know Who Lily Tomlin 12— 
we've got a rare peek into the multiple personalities of the 
top: notch comedienne, as observed by Louise Bernikow, who, 
besides finishing a novel, is giving college lectures on suppressed 
works by women writers. 

Re the women's lib movement: Assistant Manag tor 
G. Barry Golson finds—in So You Want to Be a Sex Objeci?— 
that getting ogled by the fair sex can cause lots of confusion. 

What else? Well, Emanuel Greenberg speaks frankly on how to 
make the wiener a winner in Hot Dog!, with a. Bicentennial- 
flavored illustration by Dennis Michael Magdich. Then there are 
the pleasure craft photographed by Alexas Urbe and elaborated 
upon by Brock Yates in The Playboy Boat Stable. And. speaking 
of pleasure, check out Playmate Deborah Borkman—a lovely lady 
who can be appreciated by old salt and young landlubbcr alike. 


and 


PLAY BILL 


- 
BUCHWALD 


ru 
HOOKER 


NEWTON 


GOLSON 


PLAYBOY. 


vol. 23, no. 7—july, 1976 CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE 


N MUTS iuo conie deut a aa RS Acca e Se Ay Aaa 26 
Fiery Poet ] Albums by Olivia Newton-John, The Captain & Tennille, Dory Previn ond 
Bootsy's Rubber Band; also, a backstage visit with the ageless Dave Brubeck. 
PRESS 34 
Time magazine: People who live in glass publishing houses. 
BOOKS rur E et ee rege DONIS MEE ees 36 


The latest works by Gail Sheehy, William Kotzwinkle and Peter De Vries. 


SELECTED SHORTS 


FORBIDDEN WORDS ....................... THOM RACINA 38 
Dirty words are so commonly used these days, they ve lost their shock value. 
Our author suggests some sleozy alternatives. 


FORBIDDEN GAMES . .GARRY WILLS 39 
Are Pope Paul VI's encyclicals on sexual conduct trivializing sex? 


THEIPLAYBOYVJADVISORE rr ete etter siete caer rpc 43 


THE PLAYBOY FORUM 
PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: KARL HESS—candid conversation .......... 55 


Borry Goldwater's erstwhile ghostwriter-guru tured redneck onarchist tolks 
about how the country went wrong, sex on the Goldwater campaign trail and 
how he lives through bartering. 


BORN ON THE FOURTH OF JULY—memoir ........... RON KOVIC 74 
In the most powerful description yet of the horrors of Vietnam, the ex-Morine 
author tells how he was blown away in that tragic war. 


THE FIRE THIS TIME—personolity ................. VERNON GIBBS 78 
Composer Gil Scott-Heron has been called the black Bob Dylan: He doesn't 
appreciate the comparison. A revealing profile by a young black writer. 


JAYNE'S GIRL—pictorial |... sees I ince 81 
Her mother wos o movie sex symbol and cur Februory 1955 Playmate. We 


now present the equally spectacular Jayne Marie Mansfield. 


ART BUCHWALD'S BICENTENNIAL ALBUM—humor. .ART BUCHWALD 89 
Until now, we never really knew what the founding fathers were up to. His- 
torion Buchwald sets us straight. 


DO YOU KNOW LILY TOMLIN?—personality.... LOUISE BERNIKOW 92 

When the crazy, gifted Lily Tomlin goes on tour, the side of her that tele- 
à ; vision viewers never see emerges as a raunchy lady who passes out vitomin 
Fronk Facts pills ond disappears—aften frighteningly—into her mony characters. 


GENERAL OFFICES: FLATEOY BUILDING, 919 NORTH MICHIGAN AVE,, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS EOEI1. RETURN POSTAGE RUST ACCOMPANY ALL MANUSCRIPTS, DRAWINGS ARD PAOTOGRAPHS SUBMITTED 
AF THEY ARE TO BE RETURNED AND NO RESPONSIBILITY CAN ME ASSUMED FOR UNSOLICITED VATERIALS, ALL RIGHTS IN LETTERS SENT 10 PLAYHOY WILL DE TRPAYID AS UNCORCITION- 
ALLY ASSIGNED [OR PUBLICATION AND COPYRIGHT PURPOSES AND AS SUQJECT TO PLAYSOY S UNRESTRICTED RIGHT TO EDIT AND TO COMMENT EDITORIALLY. CONTENTS COPYRIGHT D 1978 BY 
PLAYBOY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PLAYBOY AND RABBIT HEAD SYMBOL ARE MARKS OF PLAYBOY, REGISTERED U. S, PATENT OFFICE, MARCA REGISTRADA, MARQUE DEPOSEE. NOTHING MAY BE 
REPRINTED IN WHOLE OR IN PANT WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THE PUBLISHER. ANY SIMILARITY BETWEEN THE PEOPLE AMD PLACES IN THE FICTION AND SEMIFICTION IM THIS MAGAZINE 
AND ANY REAL PEOPLE AND PLACES I$ PURELY COINCIDENTAL. CREDITS: COVER: PLAYMATE / MODEL CYNDI WCOD. DESIGNED DT RERIG POPE, PHOTOGRAPHY BY BILL AMSENAUEY. OTHER 


COVER STORY 

This month's cover, featuring 1974 Playmate of the Year Cyndi Waod, is an update 
of those turn-of-the-century Fourth of July postcards, tobacco cards and posters showing 
Lady Liberty swothed in the Stars and Stripes and clad in the classic Greek chiton 
of the Statue of Liberty. As you can see, our ubiquitous, if sometimes obscure, Rabbit is 
formed by Cyndi's hair covering part of a star. 


SO YOU WANT TO BE A SEX OBJECT?—humor . .G. BARRY GOLSON 95 
Are women whistling at you? Pinching your posterior? Ogling the cut of your 
jib? Where will it all end? 


DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE—playboy’s playmate ofthe month.. 96 
Following Horace Greeley's advice ("Go West, young person“), Deborah 
Borkmon busied out of Poinesville, Ohio, ond split for the Coost. Smart move. 


PLAYBOYS PARIY JOKES — Runnion Eme a AaS ee 106 


LAST ONE OUT—fiction ................ «DAVID ELY 108 
As a publicity stunt, a Hollywood PR mon gets c an ex- sailor to pose os a lost 
World Wor Two survivor on a deserted island. Well, almost deserted. 


HOT DOG!—food . - . - . -EMANUEL GREENBERG 110 
What better time | to give three cheers for the All-American snack? 


CITY SHORTS—attire Bee oct P nie ban DOE IRE: T2: 
The Pittsburgh Steelers’ defensive front four play it cool for summer. 


PLAYBOY'S HISTORY OF ASSASSINATION—article. . JAMES McKINLEY 115 
In the conclusion of our seven-part series, the murder of Robert F. Kennedy 
‘and the ottempts on the lives of George Wallace ond Gerold Ford still present 
us with puzzling evidence ond questionable motives. 


Pleosure Fleet 


KRIS AND SARAH—pictorial .................2.0.--050.-20055 122 
In the sexiest stor pictorial ever, Kris Kristofferson E Sorah Miles steam up 
the lenses in scenes from their new movie, The Sailor Who Fell from Grace 
with the Sea, and a speciol shooting for PLAYBOY. 


THE SOUL OF SARAH—pictorial ..............--...- "EIS 
In poetry (her own], prose (by Contributing Editor Bruce Williamson] ond pic- 


tures, a fascinoting look at the Miles mystique. Snoke Feast 


GAWAIN AND THE SCARLET LADY—ribald classic .... 


THE PLAYBOY BOAT STABLE— modern living ........BROCK YATES 132 
For only holf a million, you can have six {count "em, six) seaworthy craft 
with which to stock your very own private morina. 


A FEAST OF SNAKES—fiction ..... ^ -HARRY CREWS 139 
Rattlesnakes and o hote-love relotionship between on ex-baton queen ond 
an ex-football hero are the ingredients in this tough, erotic tole. Miss July 


LOOKIN GOOD —cittire meer eer eee DAVID PLATT 141 
Elegant foshions to help you make it stylishly through the summer. 


POOR ROWLAND'S ALMANACK—humor ... . .ROWLAND B. WILSON 144 


A cortoonist's-eye-view of Eorly America—or Ben Fronklin never did it so good. 


ON THE SCENE—personalities 168 
Producer Tony Bill, hi-fi mogul Bernie Mitchell and comic Chevy Chose. 


PLAYBOY POTPOURRI ............ CaM OS aeeecuce eon ao coe 184 


ED SIREEKY / CAMERA 5. P- 3. UNITED 


HED MONTHLY BY 


0611. SECOND-CLASS POST. 
Bovtorn, coto. vases, $ 


> 
o 


PLAYB 


You can get a great tan 
with an electronic Minolta. 


An electronic Minolta makes it easy to 
capture the pictures that are everywhere. 

Its unique shutter responds instantly and 
automatically to the most subtle changes in 
light. So instead of worrying about exposure 
accuracy, you can concentrate on the picture. 
Even if the sun suddenly slips behind a cloud. 

The total information viewfinder gives 
you total creative control. Whether the 
camera is setting itself automatically or 
you're making all the adjustments, the finder 
shows exactly what's happening. You never 
lose sight of even the fastest moving 
subject. 

A choice of models lets you select an 
electronic Minolta reflex that fills your 
needs. And fits your budget. Each accepts the 
complete systern of interchangeable 
Rokkor-X and Celtic lenses, 
ranging from “fisheye” wide-angle to 
super-telephoto. 

Five years from now, all fine 35mm reflex 
cameras will offer the innovations these 
electronic Minoltas give you today. See them 
at your photo dealer or write for information to 
Minolta Corporation, 
101 Williams Drive, 
Ramsey, New Jersey 
07446. In Canada: 
Anglophoto Ltd., P.Q. É 


"WG ) 
=] Minolta 


Until July 31, 1976, Minolta is offering big cash rebates on 


accessory lenses and electronic 35mm SLR cameras. See your dealer for details. 


PLAYBOY 


HUGH M. HEFNER 
editor and publisher 


ARTHUR KRETCHMER editorial director 
ARTHUR PAUL art director 
SHELDON WAX managing editor 
GARY COLE photography editor 


G. BARRY GOLSON assistant managing editor 


EDITORIAL 

ARTICLES: LAURENCE GONZALES, PETER ROSS 
RANGE senior editors « FIC 
"LEY editor, vici 
TER SUMLETTE assistant edilors - SERVICI 
FEAT! TOM OWEN modern living editor; 
DAVID PLATT fashion editor; THOMAS MARIO 
food & drink editor + CARTOONS: MICHELLE 
URRY edilor e COPY: ARLENE BOUKAS editor, 
STAN AMBER assistant edilor e STAFF: WILLIAM 
J. HELMER, GREICHEN MCNEISE, KOBERT SHEA. 
DAVID STEVENS senior editors; DAVID STANDISH 
staf] writer; JOHN. BLUMENTHAL, CAE Piwan 
SNYDER associate edilors; J. F. O'CONNOR, 
JAMES K. PETERSEN, ED WALKER. assistant edi- 
lors; SUSAN MEDLER, MARIA NEKAM, BARBARA 
NELLIS, KATE NOLAN, KAREN PADDERUD, TOM 
PASSAVANT research editors; DAVID BUTLER, 
MURRAY FISHER, ROBERT L GREEN, NAT 
HENTOFF, ANSON MOUNT, KN RHODES, 
JEAN SHEPHERD, ROBERT BROCE 
WILLIAMSON. (movies), JOUN sKOW contribut- 
ing editors + ADMINISTRATIVE SERVICE: 

PATRICIA 

ROSE INGS rights & permissions manager; 
DRED ZIMMERMAN administrative assistant 


ART 


TAERLER, RERIG POPE associate directors; 
OST, ROY MOODY, LEN WILLIS, CHEI 
GORDON MORTENSEN, NORM SCHAEFER, 
PACLEK assistant directors: jurie 
VICTOR HUBBARD, GLENN STEWARD art assistants; 
EVE HECKMANN administrative assistant 


PHOTOGRAPHY 


GRABOWSKE west coast editor; JANICE 
WIZ MOSES asociate editor; HOLLIS 
WAYNE new york editor; MILL ARSENAULT, DAVID 
CHAN, KIGHARD FEGLEY, DWIGHT HOOKER, 
rowrko rosar staff photographers; von 


MLL FRANTZ, RICHARD I7UL associate 
aplicrs: MICHAEL BERRY, JUDY JOHNSON 
assistant editors; Leo KRIEGE color lab super- 
visor; koorkr CuELIUS administrative editor 


PRODUCTION 
JONN MASTRO direclor; ALLEN VARGO man- 
ager: ELFANORE WAGNER, MARIA MANDIS, 
NANG EL, RICHARD QUAKTAROLL assistants 


READER SERVICE 
GAYLY GARDNER director 


CIRCULATION 


REN GoLMMERG director of newsstand sales; 
ALVIN WIEMOLD subscription manager 


ADVERTISING 


IIOWARD w. LEDERER advertising director 


PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES, INC. 
RICHARD S. ROSENZWEIG executive vice-presi- 


dent, publishing group, and associate pub- 
lisher; wicuskD w- korr assistant publisher 


If music be the food of love, 
it pays to have a Loudmouth. 


struc emi 


@ Track proonam 


WER 


For tender moments. speak softly, but carry 
a Loudmouth. General Electric engineered this 
power sound 8-track cartridge player to give 
you a nifty combination of big sound with super 
mobility. You get a two-speaker system, a sing- 
along/PA mike, an optional car/boat adapter. 


There's also automatic channel advance 

and tone control. Treble Red, Bass Blue or 
Gunmetal Gray. With adjustable shoulder/ 
carry strap. And if you want big sound, super 
mobility, plus an FM/AM radio, ask to 

see GE's SHOWOFF. 


GENERAL £D ELECTRIC 


Audio E aucts Department, Syracuse, NY. Y 


(© VOLKSWAGEN OF AMERICA 


e elegant Volkswagen. New for us, but not strange for us. All Volkswagens have 

been elegant in their simplicity. Elegant in design. In concept. In function. Dasher 

is all of these. With the added elegance of timeless styling. A striking interior. Rich ap- 
pointments. Dasher is a cultivated car. In size. (Extravagant inside, conservative outside.) In 
performance. (0-50 mph in 80 seconds.) In economy: 37 mpg highway, 24 mpg city. (1976 EPA 
estimates with standard transmission. Actual mileage may vary with your type of driving, 
driving habits, car's condition and optional equipment.) In serviceability. In features like 
stecl-belted radial tires, fuel injection and front-wheel drive. You may drive the graceful 
sedan or the gracious station wagon. We offer these cars with great pride, to be owned with 
great pride. Volkswagens before Dasher have heen elegantly simple. Dasher is simply elegant. 


PLAYBOY 


Cigarette 


Market 
Bombshell. 


New Enriched Flavor 


for 9 mg tar MERIT 


achieves taste of cigarettes having 60% more tar. 


“Low tar, good taste.’ 


Others have made the claim. Philip Morris just 


made the cigarette. 

MERIT. Only 9 mg. tar. One of 
the lowest tar levels in smoking 
today. 

Yet MERIT delivers extraordinary 
flavor. Flavor normally found only 
in higher tar cigarettes. 

If you smoke, you'll be interested. 


‘Enriched Flavor Boosts Taste—Not Tar 


After twelve years of intensive 
research, Philip Morris scientists 
isolated certain key ingredients in 
smoke that deliver taste way out of 
proportion to tar. 

The discovery's called ‘Enriched 
Flavor’ It's extra flavor. Natural 
flavor. Havor that can't burn out, 
can't fade out, can't do anything 
but come through for you. 

We packed 'Enriched Flavor' into 
MERIT and began a series of taste 
tests. 


MERITand MERIT MENTHOL 


11 mg. to 15 mg. tar. 
Thousands of filter smokers were involved, 


smokers like yourself, all tested at 
home* 

The results were conclusive: 

Even if the cigarette tested had 
60% more tar than MERIT, a 
significant majority of all smokers 
reported new Enriched Flavor’ 
MERIT delivered more taste. 

Repeat: delivered more taste 

In similar tests against 11 mg. to 
15 mg. menthol brands, 9 mg. tar 
MERIT MENTHOL performed 
strongly too, delivering as much— 
or more—taste than the higher tar 
brands tested. 

You've been smoking “low tar, 
good taste” claims long enough. 

Now smoke the cigarette. 

MERIT. Unprecedented flavor 
at 9 mg. tar. 
"American Institute of Consumer Opinion 


Study available free on request. 
Philip Morris Inc., Richmond, Va. 23261. 


The results were startling. 
Smokers Report MERIT Delivers More Taste 


9 mg. tar MERIT was taste-tested against five 
current leading low tar cigarette brands ranging from 
© Philip Morris Inc. 1976 


S mg: "tar; 0.7 mg. nicotine av. per cigarette by FTC Method. 


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


DEAR PLAYBOY 


E] menres exareoy masazine - pLaveoy aUILDING, 919 N. MICHIGAN AVE., CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 60611 


BROWN BELTS 

Your interview with Governor Jerry 
Brown of California (PtAvnov, April) is 
timely, tasteful and terrific. His ability to 
comprehend, evaluate and discuss issues 
without self-protecting equivocation is a 
refreshing departure from typical polit- 
ical bullshit. 


Mrs. R. Vernon Payne 


Baton Rouge, Louisiana 


overnor Brown has made a carcer of 

telling us what didn't work and what 

not to do. His superstitious belief in a 

free will assures us he is not capable of 

defining a cultural illness 

Lester H. Higby, Sr. 

Candidate for President 
of the U. S. 

Chico, California 


Brown deals exclusively in the realities 
of our way of life, scolding us for it and, 
the us by his 


at iding 


example. 


same time, 


John P. Leon 
Long Beach, C 


ifornia 


Gove Brown is all need: a 
scriptwriter's version of depth, eclecticism 
and charisma 


hor we 


Marvin Gi 
Renton, V 


ory 


ashington 


I sure hope Governor Brown likes the 
big house on Pennsylvania Avenue. 
Jim Leach 
Del Rio, Texas 
President in 


My write-in vote for 


1976 is Jerry Brown! 


Brian Cunningham 
Fairbanks, Alaska 


What this country needs is 50 more 
Jerry Browns; one for cach of the 49 
other states and one as President 

Danny Huckabee 
Corpus Christi, Texas 


Brown's forthright admission 
having all the answers is beautiful. 
Wesley Quick 
Richmond, Virginia 


to not 


As Gertrude Stein pointed out, asking 
the right question is at least as important 
as having the right answer. If we had 


Government in the Sixties, some horrors: 


ight have been avoided. 1 am glad 
Brown persists in aski good 


questions. I might wish that some of the 
nswers he offers in your interview de- 
parted further the 
wisdom, but that may be a 
Imitation for an incumbent pol 
sponding to an omnivorous interviewer. 

Adam Yarmolinsky 

University of Massachusetts 

Boston, Massachusetts 

Professor Yarmolinsky was special as- 

sistant to Secretary of Defense Robert 
McNamara, Deputy Director of Lyndon 
Johnson's Antipoverty Task Force and 
Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense for 
International Security Affairs. He is now 
Ralph Waldo Emerson Professor at thc 
University of Massachusetts. 


conventional 
necessary 
n re- 


from 


I intend to vote for Brown for Pres 
dent. May his political career and think- 
ing go on forever. 

Don Davis 
Long Beach, California 

Just for the hell of it, we took a poll 
oj the letters receiwd concerning the 
n interview. A whopping 70 percent 
of our letter writers were pro-Brown (to 
the extent that they would vote for him 
Presidential contest), 15 percent 
against and 15 percent noncommittal. 
Interestingly enough, of the pro-Brown 
letters, 55 percent were from non-Cali- 
fornians. 


in a 


SHORT CIRCUITS 

1 laughed seven times Laurence 
Gonz satire Transcendental 
Premeditation (Selected Shorts, PLAYBOY, 
April). Mark Twain, who satirized almost 
everyth under the sun, would H 


at 


es fine 


ng 


ave 
loved it 
Jeremy Thunder 
Denver, Colorado 


Iam frankly appalled that PLAYBOY 
would publish such a picce of unknowl 
ed am afraid Gonzales has 
spent too much time “meditating” in the 
Iocal bars and is afraid of the I 


cable trash. T 


BASEBALL RAPS 
The Short Season (PLAYBOY, April), 


asked more searching questions inside by Jim Brosnan. is super stuff by the 


*J 3 or 4 drops in tomato juice 


a y 
ONYVaucN 
7 ONvENY\ 


CES 3 or 4 drops in soup 


Free bookie! 
Company 


wath 


Dept EX-E. Avery Island La 


TABASCO 


The Exciter’! Write Mclihenny 
70513 


PLAYBOY 


12 


master of the inside pitch. And why not? 
Big Broz wrote the finest behind-the- 
scenes baseball book, The Long Season. 
Brosnan is my favorite baseball folk- 
lorist—and my boyhood hero. 

Robert E. Hood 

Kendall Park, New Jersey 


I's good to sce Jim Brosnan back 
saving the game with his gently sardonic 
observations. Broz with a pen in 
is just as apt to clip you with a 
one as he was with a baseball I have 
missed him. 


Jim Murray 
Los Angeles Times 
Los Angcles, California 


PLAYMATE RATERS 
I never really knew the meaning of the 
word delicious until I saw your April 
Playmate, Denise Michele. 
Mike Bloch 
New York, New York 


indeed, the closest 
perfection in 


ise Michele is, 


MUSIC SURVEYORS 
Congratulations on Playboy Music '76 
in the April issue. Once again, rLavnoy 
readers picked the best of the bunch. 
Ron Gandy 
Alta Loma, Texas 


n 


n the results of your poll, one can 
only condude that the majority of your 
voters should be disenfranchised on the 
charge of abysmal ignorance. 

Colette Holt 
Chicago, Ilinois 


of the highlights for me in your 
magazine is the annual Music Poll. 
pravnoy has done much, with its inge 
Circulation, to acknowledge the great 
lents in music. 


Washington, D.C. 


Ho-hum. 
Mike Wisema 
Oakland, Califori 


TABLES TURNED 
sar slipped my hi-fi disc after 
g The Direct Approach (vLavnoy, 
April). in which you that platter 
ploppers have to do without when it 
comes to directdrive component machi 
. Well, turn my tables! While standi 
1 my demo sound room the other da 
would have I saw a Ted 
Model SL. 


swa 


Randy Withrow 
Bellevue, Washington 
Our mistake, our mistake, our mis- 
take.... 


ANDRESS ADMIRERS 
Your April pictorial on Ursula An- 
dress (Incomparably Ursula) is stunning. 
As a longtime rrvsoy reader, I c 
call the first time you featured her 
spread—was it, let's see, 19677 As far as I 
can tell, she hasn't aged a d ice then. 
Sanford 
Dallas, Tes 
You're off by two years, Sanford—it 
was June of 1965. You're right about one 


though; as you can see by this H- 
year-old picture, Ursula hasn't aged a bit. 


TAX RETURNS 

Your publication of Jim Davidson's 
Punch Out the IRS! (PLayuoy, Ap 
probably the single most significant event 
of the Bicentennial year, 


John R. Tkach, M.D. 
Bozeman, Montana 

To take on this foul enforcer of an 

equally foul concept by publishing this 


exposé, and thereby ir 
tain auditing, harassment, 
and persecutio 


most cer- 


gasse 


The fact is that war-tax resisters rarely 
go to prison or infully hassled by 
the IRS. The IRS treats us with an 
unusual degree of delicacy; it doesn't 
want the rest of the public to know a tax- 
resistance movement exists. 

Susan Wilkins 
Sew England War Tax Resistance 
, Massachusetts 


I currently represent parties in l 
i st the IRS and the examples 
ient in yor cellent article 
make our case a fairly time one by com- 
parison. One good tip to beat the IRS 
people would be to tell them your income 
and allow them to we out the rest. 
After they finish, take the return to your 
accountant. If the IRS makes a mistake, 


could be sued for negligence under the 
Tort Cl Act. 
doesn't provide toplevel 
service, refuse to pay. N 


Chicago, Ilinois 


mess but 
que. Its a 
inal compu- 
ity lies with the tax 
it’s also a rare country that has 
Who 
? IRS for ad 
for evading it 
A Tax Auditor 
Omaha, Nebr: 


payer... 
as many detected e 


the AXES Revoluti 


EGER Let's use it. 
Geollrey J. Letchworth, D.V 


The IRS is one of the greatest w 
we have against organized crime 
as to how far we limit 


Florida 


as I'm concerned, the IRS can 


As far 
stick all its 1040s up its ass! 


me withheld by request) 


Woodstock, Vermont 


y my 
taxes, but T pay Ges peters hs FS my 
ight, my privilege and my duty. It is a 
all price to pay for freedom. 
Bruce A. Brown 
Goldsboro, North Ca 


Congratulations on the article by Jim 
Davidson. Let us hope that your courage 
1 publishing such an article will serve as 
n example to other members of the com- 
munications community. 

Robert H. Randall, Conference 
Ch: 

Libertarian Party 

Chicago, Illinois 


All taxes are odious, but let's face it, 
they're necessary. It remains for all of 


Jim Davidson's article on the IRS 
full of technical errors. There is 
“IRS code": the Intelligence Divi 
was not disbanded, only the SSS; agents 
not promoted on the ba 
points” but on an annual b. 
"ministerial method" of tax 
won't work. If you doubt that, try 
And the "Fifth Amendment" rou 
equally absurd, since tax auditing and 


no. 


The frost 


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collecting is an administrative, not a 
criminal, process and, therefore, is not 
subject to constitutional or due-process 
ions (except in a criminal-tax- 
evasion case). And Baxter's affidavit is 
simply hable. Serious reform may be 
better than paranoia, but it’s much more 
dificul. And speaking of paranoia, I 
t I cannot sign this, since Lam: 
An IRS Agent 
Oakland. California 

Davidson replies: 

The writer is merely showing off his 
training by pointing to supposed technical 
errors in my article. They ave exactly the 
sort that IRS agents spend hows scouring 
tax retums for. Thal is to say, with onc 
exception, they are not errors at all, 
They've merely differences of opinion. 
The exception is this: The writer is 
right in sa that there is no IRS 
code. There is an Internal Revenue code 
and there are IRS manuals, and when 
they were combined in a single phrase, 
they became “IRS code and manuals,” 
a lapse of accuracy for which I apologize. 
4J the writer is offended by that, pity the 
poor folks in Oakland whose tax returns 
he approves. As to his other complaints, 
they ave merely disagreements. The 
anonymous niter says that he and other 
agents ave not promoted on the basis of 
points, but Vincent Connery of the IRS 
employees! union testified thal they are, so 
whom are we to believe? The means em- 
ployed by tax resisters are not a matter for 
me to judge, but neither, according to the 
resisters, ave they matters for the IRS. 
Everyone knows that the IRS has the 
power 10 impose ils judgments in the 
current sttuation. Whether it will velain 
that power is a question that will be re- 
vealed by the outcome of the tax- 
resistance movement. Pronouncements 
from the IRS officials, anonymous or 
otherwise, won't settle that issue. 


COVER LINES 
Your April cover is the greatest! 
Arthur Goldstcin 
Wyandotte, Mic 


I've enjoyed your magazine for years, 
but your April cover is the sweetest one 
I've seen yet. 
Kathy Howard 
Stuart, Florida 


Your cover girl for the April issue is 

t duplicate of my girlfriend. Tell 

that your girl or min 
Steve Johnson 
Alexandria, Virginia 


Ours. 


OIL WAR 

Surely PLAYBOY wasn't serious when it 
ran Robert Sherrill’s Oil: The Final 
Solution (Selected Shorts, February 
in which he suggests that the U. 
meddle in Saudi Arabia, I'm aghast U 


Get hooked on the looks 
and sold on the price. 


At today’s prices, a lot of people would consider Charger’s six-cylinder engine* got 23 MPG on the 
themselves lucky to get an ordinary-looking car for highway and 16 city in EPA estimates. (Your mileage 


under $4,000, let alone a great-looking Dodge may differ, depending upon your driving habits, the 
Charger. That low price includes a lot of standard condition of your car, and optional equipment.) 
features you've come to expect in Charger. Like HERE'S "THE CLINCHER? “For the first 12 


color-keyed carpeting soft vinyl-upholstered seats, months of use, any Chrysler Corporation Dealer will 
front disc brakes, an Electronic Ignition System, and fix, without charge for parts or labor, any part of our 
room to seat six full-grown people quite comfortably. ^ 1976 passenger cars we supply (except tires) which 


Charger can also give you something else you proves defective in normal use, regardless of mileage” 
might not expect. Surprisingly good fuel economy. Theownerisresponsible for maintenance service such 
Even with an optional automatic transmission, as changing filters and wiper blades. 


$3736. 


Manufacturer’s suggested retail price, excluding optional des 
destination eer equo c ae eer tires, 
wheel covers, bumper guards pictured are $109 extra. 

*Six-cylinder model, as priced and tested, not available in California. 


The new Dodge Charger. 
Once you've looked, you're hooked. 


Dodge 


Meens 


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‘Try carrying a box of crackers or ajar of pickles around with 
you, and you'll probably get a lot of funny looks from people. 


‘Try going through the day without a snack,and you'll probably 
&et alot of funny noises from your stomach. 
Either way.faceit, youarent exactly going tobe incon: 
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a responsible magazine such as PLAYBOY 
would even consider our playing sucl 
immoral and incredibly dangerous 

Frederick John: 


New York, New York 
As you obliquely recognize, those are 
Sherrill's words, not ours. "Selected 


Shorts” provides a platform for widely 
disparate. points of view, none of which 
is necessarily that of the magazine. You're 
responding to Sherill's deadpan send-up 
in much the same way people reacted to 
Jonathan Swift's “A Modest Proposal” 
(that we eat our young). Expect the U.S. 
in Saudi Arabia about the same time we 
begin to boil babies. 


COUNTRY SOUNDS 
I take exception to Vv Made 
Easy" (Playboy After Hours, April), by 
John Hughes. Everyone is entitled to his 
opinion, but lor Hughes's, I hope a con 
voy of Kenworths runs him down in front 
of the motel he's visiting with his mistress 
and the law throws him into jail for litter- 
ing our beautiful American streets, 
Janice Bruce 
Kansas City, Missouri 


GUITAR CHORDS 

In your short. but enlightening article 
Sting Fever (rtAYwov, March), you neg- 
lect to mention what must be one of the 
finest contemporary handmade clecuic 
guitars in rhe world, the Hamer. Al- 
though relatively new, it has already 
won recognition in the rock stars’ elitist 
structure. 


nk I. Untermyer 
Madison, Wisconsin 


SOUR GRAPES 
Yo erence to the National En- 
quirer in the February book-review sec- 
tion of Playboy After Hours is neither 
correct nor contemporary. In 1966, the 
Enquirer began a conversion from blood, 
guis and gore to the wholesome, family- 
oriented newspaper it is to 
now, the 
oulish m 


terial of your ref 
Jules d'Hemecourt 

Director of Communications 
National. Enquirer 

L t, Florida 


FIRST TIME CAPSULES 
1 really got a good laugh out of John 
Blumenthal's My First Time (pcx 
April). Each section is done bea 
Terrific job! 1 hope we hear more 
this talented writer. 
Bob Callaghan 
Rochester, New York 


A watermelon in the Garden of Eden? 
Fast Oeddie? A priceless piece of satire. 
Irwin Halpern 
New York, New York 


“Jast call... 
Amt time” 


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IN 45 SECONDS YOU'LL KNOW 
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And they do it all with the same 
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PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 


n a Cathay Pacific Airways flight, 
o the stewardesses had just distributed. 
drinks and salted nuts when a mess: 
came over the loudspeaker: “The capt 
informs us that we 


age 


n 

e about to enter 

an area of turbulence. He suggests lor 

your safety and comfort that you fasten 

your seat belts, hold your drinks in one 

hand and your nuts in the othe 
B 


Kids'll Jisten to the darnedest thi 
A British journal reported that Scottish 
school children have been eavesdropping 
on their teachers—electronically. One 
boy played a radio very loud in class to 
make 
teacher. The radio contained a bugging 
device. 


sure it was confiscated by the 


. 

One of the songs piped into the waiting 
room of a Vancouver, British Columbi, 
V.D. dinic is P'U Never Fall in Love 
Again. 


We love to see a 
his job. An item in the Appeal-Democrat 
of Marysville, California, reports the ar- 
rest of a 30-year-old man for driving while 
under the influence. In the 
trunk ol his car, police dis- 
covered seven plastic bags 
nda 


n who's really into 


of smokables, a scale 
list of first names with 
quantities noted beside 
His job? Drug-abuse consultant 
state department of health. 

. 

This month's history lesson comes from 
The People's Almanac, which reports 
that the brassiere was invented 
by a fellow named Ouo Tiiz- 
ling in 1912. However, he failed 
to patent his invention anda 
Frenchman, Philippe de Brassière, came 
along in 1929, promoted it with a fair 
and the device came to be known as the 
brassiere. Had Titzling had the foresight 
to patent his idea, the bra might today be 


for the 


known as the titling 
sling) or, simply, the tit. 
. 


(pronounced. tit- 


Montana 


^s Glacier Herald recently ran 
this classified ad: “Now Open, Whitefish 
Day Care Center. Creative activities, 
lots of fukn and loving care. Drop-ins 
welcome.” 


of the Philadelph 

Sunday Bulletin carried the following 

scheduled movie listing: “The VLPs 

(1963) Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Nixon.” 
Ó 


The TV section 


Bumper sticker of the month: surrort 
YOUR LOCAL LAWYER, 
CHILD TO MEDICAL SCHOOL. 


TRIAL SEND YOUR 

The DePaul University student news- 
paper. DePaulia, recently published an 
article claiming that university cheer- 
leaders were looking for guys to help out 
with the cheering. “Right the 
paper said, “the only requirement will 
be the ability to do mounts with the girls 
on the squad 


now, 


Two Washington, D.C.-based busi- 
nesmen, having just started a local 
record company, have decided to call it 
Arrest Records, because, as they explain, 
“Now you can have an Arrest Record and 
it won't be detrimental." 

" 

Nostalgic note from The Vinton 
County Courier of McArthur, Ohio: 
“Bicentennial Advisory Commitee is 
bringing back old-fashioned box sup- 
pers—don't you remember when the boy- 
friend would pay a potful just to get 
his best girl's box: 


. 
In Ladybrand, South Africa, the home 
of apartheid, a woman was so fond of 
her 1948 Studebaker that she wanted it 
buried after her death; but a local 
undertaker refused to handle the inter- 
ment of the car. “We can't bury it in 
the cemetery,” he said. “That's for 
whites only.” The car is bluc. 
. 


"Wanted. Experienced storekeeper, 
either sex, provided they (sic) look like 
Marlene Dietrich in her carly 20s,” read 
one of the ads in an English newspaper 
that tried to evade the country’s new 
Sex Discrimination Act, 

which bans discrimina 
tion in employment and 
job recruitment on the 

basis of sex. "In cele- 
bration of the equal 
rights bill,” read another. 
"all bricklaying vacancies will now be 
open to men alike. Ap- 

plicants must have a minimum of 
38-inch chest m and be 
prepared to strip to the waist in 

summer 


and women 


surement 


. 

An Ulster Protestant minis- 
ter arrived late for his sermon 
one day, with his arm in a sling and his 
left eye bandaged. Clearly shaken, he 
explained to his congregation that on 


19 


PLAYBOY 


20 


the way to church he had been involved 
in a traffic accident in which his car had 
overturned. “Friends,” he said, “we had a 
narrow escape and we might still be 
there but for the fact that I was pulled 
out by the Ball" He paused, then 
added: "And I would like, if they are 
in the congregation, to offer my sincere 
thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Ball. 
. 

A busstop bench in Van Nuys, Cali- 
fornia, displays this slogan for a local 
butcher shop: IF YOU CAN'T EAT OUR MEAT, 
BEAT IT. 


. 

The Good Taste Award goes to the 

Indiana casket company marketing a red, 

white and blue “Spirit of "6" coffin, com- 
plete with tiny flags- 
. 


arts-and-crafts show 
fe ring handmade rugs, the Brockville, 
Ontario, Recorder and Times ran this 
headline: "A THOUSAND HOOKERS TO DIS- 
PLAY WORK. 


Reporting on 


. 

We've heard some weird pickup rou- 
tines before, but this one takes the prize 
An Orlando, Florida, man, out riding 
his motorcycle one day. spotted an a 
tractive girl im a convertible directly 
ahead. He was so taken by her, in fact, 
that he failed to notice that the con 
vertible had stopped. The bike slammed 
into the car, the man sailed into the 
, did a somersault, landed in a pi 
fect sitting position next to the girl, 
turned to her and said, “How're you 
doing?" His sang-froid was rewarded: 
the girl gave him her phone number. 

E 

New Orleans police recently arrested 
a man for committing a rather bizarre 
series of break-ins. The alleg 
modus operandi consisted of entering the 
homes of his victims by cutting screens 
nd then 


sucking his victims’ toes. 
. 

From the Conservatory of 
Knocks: Claiming that he never 
headaches after musical sessions, an En 
lish sergeant plays tunes by whacking 
himself over the head with a nineinch 


Hard 


wrench. The maestro, whose repertoire 
includes such hits Deutschland, 
Deutschland über alles and Rule Bri- 


lannia, says that each blow on his noggin 
produces an easily discernible mote, 
adding that he discovered his mus 
head when he banged it a 
man in a rugby match 
. 
When Governor Christopher S. Bond 
proclaimed the beginning of Missouri's 
trout-fishing season, the Cape Girardeau 
Bulletin Journal reported the event with 
this boldface headline: “noxo wETS mis 
PLY TO OPEN TROUT SEASON.” 


ical 


ON THE MARK... 


uh the Olym- 

pic games 
coming on 
this month 
and all, we 
just wondered 
what was hap- 
pening with the 
hero of the 197 
go-round, Mark 
Spilz, winner of à 
record. seven 


gold medals. We 


there are more. 
people who 
think that 

was me 

onthat Turk 
commercial, d 
that's identifica 
tion. TI put a 


gentleman's bet of 
a dollar on the 
side that that Turk 
wouldn't be the 
Turk if it weren't 


knew that he had 
married, had done 
a stint as a TV 
sportscaster and. 
had enrolled in 
dental school at 
Indiana Univer- 
sity. But where 
was his head? 
Writer Lawrence 
Grobel sends this 


never . 


"| grew the mustache because 
it was like, ‘cause it was like, 
I mean, you know, I'd have 
-'cause the coach didn't 
want it and all that jazz.” 


for me. They prob- 
bly paid h 
diddly compared 
with what they 
would have to pay 
me to do that kind. 
of commercial. 
"Course, T don't 
smoke. Cigarettes. 
Ismoke cigars 

praynoy: Do you 


report of a con- 
versation with superswimmer Spitz: 
praynoy: Now that the 1976 games are 
just around the corner, do you find your- 
sell reflecting much on the '72 Olympics? 
sprrz: As I was drying my hair this morn- 
ing. | was looking in the mirror and 
iking, Jesus Christ, you must have 
e the most radical son of a bitch 
you swam because you had a 
mustache. How did I get the mustache? 
In college. we weren't allowed to have 
facial hair and all that jazz, we were sup- 
posed to look like the all-American 
athlete. right? With short hair and all 
that crap. When I got through with 
college, I started growing a whole beard, 
but it kept itching and I got down to 
just the mustache. I went to the Olympic 
vials and J was going to shave it off 
and ] never did. 1 went to the training 
camp. I went to Munich. I was going 
to shave it off just before I swam and 


all of a sudden I just said screw it, I'm 
not going to shave it off. I 

great. I broke five world records in the 
Olympic uials; why shave it off? 


Now people recognize me because of the 
mustache and I'm getting it back in 
spades because I didn't grow it to have 
it forever. That wasn't my intention. I 
ew it because it was like, "cause it was 
like, 1 mean, you know, I'd have never. 
given the opportunity, "cause the coach 
didn't want it and all that jazz. Well, 
now he allows it, you know. 1 was offered 
$5000 to shave it off—it got up to $50,000. 
one point, and then I turned that into 
a nicefigured contract with Schick and 
I never did shave it off. See, 1 swam in 
the Olympics as an athlete, not as a circus 
star. The mustache is an identification 
ictor; I'm thoroughly convinced of that. 
When you drive down the street today, 


think you'll ever 
make a comeback, like Muhammad Ali's? 
seriz: It would do me no good to come 
back. Ali was taken off the throne and 
never finished what he wanted to do, 
which was box everybody. He'll go out 
on top, PI guarantee you. 

pLavnoy: What if you were offered a 
ge sum of moncy to compete against 
the winning swimmers of the '76 Olym- 
pic games? 
spitz; Moncy will affect people in many 
different ways, but the first way it affects 
them is that they'll take it. 1 wouldn't 
do it for less than a couple of hundred 
thousand, because my time is worth that 
much, But | could do it, because I'm 


ach stronger mentally tham my com- 
petitioi 
PrAvnov: Do you reject the notion that 


your whole life seems to be one of guid 
ance, training, grooming: programing? 
Tz: Look at anybody who's been suc 
cessful in something and he's usually 
been guided—either by himself or by 
some program. I think where people get 
lost is they go to college and they say, 
"Screw all this stuff, Pm just going to 
float around and decide what I'm going 
to do in a year or so.” Those guys are 
still floating. When they send up capsules 
into space. if they don't program where 
the hell to go. theyll just fly all over the 
goddamn place 

PLAYBOY: Do you sce yourself as a space 
capsule? 

sprrz: I think everybody should look at 
themselves as space capsules, man. If 
their trajectory is screwed up, then 
they're going to be screwed up. I see a 
lot of people who are empty capsules 
out there, floating around. Irs not my 
fault. 1 just hope I don't become one 
of them. 


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That Cigarette Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health. 


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22 


ny list of great screen performances 
AA vica fromnowon will havetosave 
a niche at the very top for Liv Ullmann 
in Ingmar Bergman's Face to Face. A land- 
e even according to the exalted 
this 


k movi 
standards set by Bergman himself, 
devastating, impassioned e 
love and death” (that's Bergman's de- 
scription of his real topic) seems, at first, 
to be simply a case history spelling out 
the complete mental crack-up of a compe- 
tent, successful, happily married lady 
psychiatrist. It’s a role so loaded with 
fireworks that few actresses 
would dare to attempt such virtuosity 
and practically none could match Ull- 
mann’s incredible range. Tour de force 
too mild a term for what Liv does 
here, with the camera fixed on her in 
long takes as if cinematographer Sven 
Nykvist were performing a kind of radical 
psychic surgery by laser beam. In one 
scene. within the space of a minute or 
two, while describing how a young thug 
tried to rape her and couldn't, because 
she was “too tight"—though she wanted 
im to—she runs the gamut from em- 
rrassed reticence and uncontrolled 
laughter to retching hysteria and back 
. Later, she spews a total catharsis 
of childhood guilt, fear, rejection, sexual 
and smothered love in a time 
y adequate for plugging a head- 
ache remedy 

Since Bergman was hospitalized for a 
nervous breakdown after being arrested 
in Stockholm on charges of tax evasion 
carlier this year, Face to Face packs an 
added wallop of personal revelation. 
Openly hostile to shrinks, he indicts them 
in the words of a cynical doctor who de- 
cries “the brutality of our methods and 
the bankruptcy of psychoanal To 
Bergman, life is a thing to be lived from 
day to day, hour to hour—sullering, learn- 
, surviving il possible. 

Opposite Liv, who is never less th: 
hypnotic, Erland Josephson (her costa 
in 1974's Scenes from a Marriage) heads 
another flawless company of Bergman 
regulars in a work that will stir debate 
and discussion for years to come. A few 
critics have already begun rooting through 
the heroine's labyrinth of dreams and 
irrors into the mind of 
discoverers of an un- 
known archaeological dig, 
to publish findings far hi 
film itself. Don't let their 
think scare you away from a movie that's 
nearly as potent as, and infinitely more 
humane than, a session of shock therapy. 


m 


" 


nd are certain 
vier than the 
bored deep- 


Jet Bridges meets the Flying Nun and 
the Muscleman in Stay Hungry, à nonde- 
script movie based on the novel by 
Charles Gaines. Although Gaines and di- 
recor Bob (Five Easy Pieces) Rafelson 


Face to Face: 
devastating. 


“Face to Face isa 
landmark movie even 
according to the exalted standards 
set by Bergman himself.” 


Stillborn Embryo. 


collaborated on the screen adaptation, 
they don't appear to know what they're 
doing, or just where they're going, until 
they have passed that point of no return 
where the audience no longer cares. 
Against mounting odds, Bridges plays a 
rich Birmingham boy with good social 
connections who finds himself, more or 
less, in a weight lifters’ gym and exercise 
parlor that he's supposed to buy out on 
behalf of some r: ate speculators; the 
rich, of course, would rather build a 
profitable high-rise than build up their 
deltoids. As a girl who works at the gym 
and moves in with Bridges, Sally Field 
pointedly throws all her nun’s habits to 
the wind, producing the kind of cul- 
ture shock that might prompt a devout 
TV watcher to switch detergent 
muany-muscled contender for the Mr. 
verse tide, long-time titleholder 
Schwarzenegger looks—and acts—like the 
real thing. Slay Hungry groans to its 
climax with a chase sequence of soris, a 
stampede of musclemen who strut their 
usual stuff on strect corners and stop city 
buses. Predictable form for an overde- 
veloped, undernourished comedy that’s 
about as chucklesome as a Charley horse. 
° 

In Embryo, Rock Hudson plays a genet- 
scientist who runs over a pregnant 
dog, removes a fetus from the dying ai 
mal, injects it with magic serum, incu 
bates it and becomes the surrogate parent 
of a fullgrown, snarling Doberman in a 
matter of days. Having accomplished this 
Frankensteinish miracle, Rock wants to 
try foolit round with hu life—as 
mad mo doctors always do—and a 
nges with a friendly local obstetrician 


10 get the next available fetus that might 
otherwise end up in a specimen jar. Well, 


he finds one. It's a girl. Beautiful. B 
Bigger. And before you can say Miss 
Universe, the bawling tube-fed babe has 
grown up to be Barbara Carrera. A dark- 
eyed, exotic former model, is 
easily the most fetching monster in movie 
history; she also shows some talent for 


ating chemistry 
Hard her too-rapid 
dy also needs a sort of placental di 
supplement from the body of 
child. And Rock's daughter in 
pens to be expecting . .. which means, 
you guessed it, that Barbara has to perform 
mbryo starts 
out farferched, which need not handicap 

scii horror story, but procceds from in- 
credulity to. borderline 
out skipping a beat. Though the techn 
effects are well handled and the film’ 
ic facts are sworn to be scientifically 


nbecility with- 
l 


THE FIRST BEER ÇAME FROM BAVARIA. 
DIME STILL DOES. 


Light Reve 


SUH US PORTER: HANS HOLTERBOSCH. INC. NEW YRLAY 
ji 


PLAYBOY 


sound—linked to DNA, doning and all 
that—the movie as a whole appears to 
have inherited some bad, bad genes. Call 
it a throwback. 


. 

Lets sulk a little before handing out 
pats on the back to movie giants who have 
already mastered the fine art of self- 
congratulation. Though delightful, Tha's 
Entertainment, Port 2 is not as unutterably 
delightful as its predecessor, that bedaz- 
zling compendium of film clips, comments 
ad showstoppers from vintage MGM 
musicals. Of. course, the archives were 
sacked for the best stuff the first time 
around. Happily, MGM's second-best is 
still pretty fabulous, bringing back every- 
one from Abbou and Costello (presum- 
ably giving bottom-drawer comedy equal 
time with the Marx Brothers, seen doing 
the classic stateroom sequence fiom A 
Night at the Opera) to Garland, Garbo, 
Hepburn, Tracy and Lasie. Somehow, 
roducers Saul Chaplin and Daniel Mel 


nick have pulled together a mélange of 
great, semigreat and divinely silly Movie 
Moments that make this crash course in 


by in a nostalgic blur of sunsets, seascapes, 
crushed red satin, clacking typewriter key: 
ages turned by a gentle offscreen 

Then you get Eleanor Powell, 
se, FitzPatrick trav 
logs, atra tribute, another soaking: 
wet Esther Williams excerpt (on water 
skis), all introduced by your genial hosts, 
Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly. Still singing 
and dancing, in brand-new sequences 
directed by Kelly (with special narration 
wriuen by Leonard Gershe), Fred and 
Gene are aged but ageless and spritely, 
like the material itself, the best of which 
is superb. 


. 

They speak Italian but sing songs of 
freedom in Spanish in Guemica, a feverish 
fantasy about the civil war in Spain 
(1936-1939), by Spanish-born French 
playwright Fernando Arrabal. As writer- 
director, reduces history to a 
selfindulgent ri n which every 
symbol is meant to convey a shock— 


ing of Jesus getting a blow job or dwells 
on a session of passionate tongue ki 
between a Fascist army officer and a 
Catholic priest. There's also considerable 
sexual activity involving dwarfs, the sig- 
nce of which is not so easy to pin 
es, 
tiny village 


nifi 
down. Whenever the stylized stuff al 


Guernica describes how a 


called Villa Ramiro (not Guernica, for 


Arrabal nyth but literal) dies 
fighting Generalissimo Fianco and his 
heavily armed German allies. Among 
cultists, the nightmare visions of Arrabal 
may register as brave revolu 
cinema; from our corner, Guernica 
suggests a French flasher doing the fla- 
menco Italian straw hat. 


XPATED 


oducer-director 
Radley Metz- 
ger’s The Opening of 
Misty Beethoven 
(made under his 
hard-core nom de 
film, Henry Paris) is 
the Pygmalion of de- 
luxe porno. Thats 
the idea, in any case. 
And Misty gets off to 
loverly start with 
is story of a rich 
pleasurem 

(Jamie Gillis) who 
brings a 
home from Paris to 
und a crash 
in sexual 
iveness. Fel- 
ns to be the 


Misty: loverly start, routine climaxes. 


Getting there is 
all the fun, with 
flights of sexual fan- 
tasy with fellow pas- 
sengers. The better 
bits include a sen- 
suous seduction by 
a lusty farm hand 
who seems to get 
turned on by ripe 
red apples some 
mock-Victorian 
hanky-panky: and a 
farcical London tale 
about an adventur- 
ous lass who un- 
wittingly moves into 
a flat formerly 
rented by a callgirl 
and decides to make 
the best of her mis. 


major required sub- 
ject in his curricu- 
lum (we thought 
they already knew 
about that in Paris) 
and Misty manages 
it with ease. The 
title role is played 
by a classy new porn 


“Misty Beethoven isthe 
Pygmalion of deluxe porno. 
That's the idea, in 
any case." 


fortune. Though the 
various male part- 
ners in Diversions 
look rather stolid 
and reserved, com- 
pared with the all- 
Amcrican boys of 
Stateside porno, they 
perform with hon- 


queen who has the 

country-club look and calls herself, 
whimsically, Constance Money. In the film, 
she explains that Misty Beethoven isn't 
her real name—she used to be Dolores 
Beethoven. mer, as usual, shows a 
higher le tication than 
do most of his competitors, and there's 
promise in a scene aboard a wansatlantic 
jeuiner—in the first-class, fucking, non 
smoking, zdultfilm  section—where a 
solicitous chief stewardess tells an under- 
ling to take better care of her passenger: 

He's only had one blow job and he 
hasn't got his brandy yet." Too bad tha 
the movie begins to take sex seriously 
about halfway through. When a film 
maker settles down to filling the screen 
with the usual wall-to-wall genitalia and 
come shots in dose-up, one hard-core 
movie looks pretty much like another. As 
the king of elegant sexploitation, Metz- 
ger's hallmark was style. As a closet por- 
nographer, he seems a little uncertain 
about where to draw the line between real 
croticism and outright raunch. 

e. 

When the English have a go at hard- 
core porno, which they seldom do, the 
results are usually about as titilla 
high tea. Writer-director Derek Ford's 
imported Diversions (called Sex Express 
over there) is more like a good stiff 
Scotch. The simple but serviceable plot 
introduces a girl aboard a train—hand- 
cuffed to a severelooking female com- 
panion and evidently en route to prison. 


orable English 
gusto. as if they were out to win a cup 
on the playing fields of Eton. Brunette 
sex star Heather Deeley proves shes a 
a match for every man jack of them 
in or out of bed. She is also attractive and 
a passing fair actress. 
P 
The Deep Throat tricks made famous 
by Linda Lovelace look like mon-oral 
sex compared with the stereophallic won 
ders performed by lanky C. J. Laing in 
Sweet Punkin’, an otherwise forgettable 
gstoriches comedy about a simple 
housemaid who marries her millionaire 
boss after unsuccessfully moonlighting as 
a porno star. C. J. lacks Linda’s finesse, 
but, quantitatively, she’s a cocksure cham- 
pion who manages to engulf, in turn, 
John C. Holmes (better known as 
Johnny Wadd, the guy whose prick al- 
legedly measures 14 inches), Tony “The 
Hook” Perez (1314 inches) and Jelt Hurst 
atively paltry 8 inches). Billed, re- 
spectively, as Peter the Great and The 
ireat Peter, Holmes and Perez show no 
evidence of talent beyond their stud 
services, which they perform in dogged 
nyard style during Punkin’s final reel. 
The rest is standard fuck-and-suck farce, 
played unsubtly tongue in cheek as if 
jerky humor might save the day until 
the two juggernauts enter on cue to assist 
C. J. at an orgy. Her awesome feats of 
fellatio, based on the assumption that big 
is beautiful, mi break all existing 
records—but they're seldom sexually 
arousing. 


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1 want to order a Playboy Club International Key! 


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25 


26 


[o] via Newton-John has 
won all sorts of awards as 
a country singer, but listening 
to her latest, Come On Over 
(MCA), you have to conclude 
that she is the unlikeliest 
country singer since Vaughn 
Monroe did Ghost Riders in 
the Sky. Her voice is very 
sweet, but it just doesn't have 
any edge to it. The first few 
times through the album, you 
feel as if you've been wrapped 
1 cotton candy and set out in 
the sun. But then a more sin- 
ister pattern begins to emerge. 
Underlying the sweetness is a 
almost total passivity, a desperate drive 
to conform—minute by minute—to what- 
ever her master wants. What's really 
weird is that if you listen long enough, 
she pulls you into her world. You want to 
kick hell out of her. It's sc 

The Captain & Tennille. on tlie other 


hand, are such a lovely pair. Gee, 
those two clean kids. hd so much in 
love. They certainly set a better example 


for our children tl 


n all those queer out- 
fits that are destroying people's eardrums. 
their new record, Song of Joy 
(A&M): On it, they sing a song about 
how Jesus came to their wedding. And 
Tennille sings right out about how a 
woman draws her life from man and 
gives it back again.” By golly, you just 
know she's an old-fashioned woman, the 
kind that Dad would have liked. The kind 
who'll go our and make $1,000,000 
singing and then go home and kni 
and say. “Yes, dear," every once in a 
while. Maybe that old Captain’s not 
as goofy as he look 


Whatever the r d its non- 
release until now, Duke Ellington's The 
Afro-Eurasian Eclipse (Fantasy), recorded in 
1971, is a welcome addition to the Elling- 
ton catalog. Eclipse provides a fascinat- 
ing musical journey through the three 
continents alluded to in the title (there 
are actually four, since Didjeridoo was 
inspired by Australia's aborigines). Mar- 
velous solos are sprinkled throughout, 
especially by the reeds—tenor men Paul 
Gonsalves and Harold Ashby, alto-sax 
man Norris Turn nd the late bari- 
tone nonpa 
ensemble. work ly Ellington: 
lush, inventive and disciplined. Travel 
Ellington and hear the world. 

e. 

We had thought that with Mary C. 
Brown and the Hollywood Sign, Dory 
Previn was going to make it big. It didn't. 
happen. Then there was Dory Previn 
and we figured, what the hell, the public 
was bound to recognize a good thing 
when it heard it. So much for prophecy. 


Olivia, the Captain & Tennille: Sweeecet. 


“You have to conclude that 
Olivia is the unlikeliest country 
singer since Vaughn Monroe 
did Ghost Riders in the Sky.” 


Dory meets Harpo. 


Now that we've been twice burned, we'll 
make no predictions for We're Children of 
Coincidence and Harpo Marx (Warner Bros.). 
We still think Previn's one of the great 
songwriters around today. We've always 
had reservations about her abilities as a 
singer—she isn’t, well, very polished, to 
say the least. But there is an honesty and 
immediacy in her delivery that make you 
accept her on her own terms. The 
melodies are a curiously successful 
amalgam of country, rockabilly. Kurt 
Weill and the best of pop. But the words 
are what carry the day. Previn is still 
e ng the rapidly changing, exhil- 
arating, disturbing role of the con- 
temporary woman and its effect on 
female relationships. ("Late last 
night you said you love me, well, I thought, 
he's just comin' on and by tomorrow. 
he'll have come and gone. gone and left 
mic." "If you weren't so much trouble, I 
would take you back again, ‘cause the 
worst you had to give me was the best 
with other men." “Then he and she 


ami 


talked of poctry, philosophy 
and Face the Nation and when 
all was said. she took him to bed 
to show him h ion.") 
"There's a large crew of fine 
musicians helping Previn put 
it all together. And put it all 
together she does—but we've 
told you that before. 
. 

If English rock has produced 
a musical equivalent of the 
working-class sod, it's prob- 
ably the hoarsevoiced, blues- 
influenced vocalist. Fashions 
change, from heavy-metal 
wailers to pop opcratic warblers, 
but shouters like Mick Jagger, Rod 
Stewart, Joe Cocker, Paul Rodgers 
and Steve Marriott keep soldiering on. 
Bad Companys first LP brought joy 
back into the bl 
longed for the primal rock and raw pipes 
that Rodgers employed in Free; and even. 
though the hard rock of the Straight- 
Shooter album left some feeling a 
their forcheads had been pummeled wi 
hard rocks, yet, it was better than Barry 
Manilow. With their latest, Run with the 
Pack (Swan Song), Rodgers & Bad Com- 
pany, although rocking as relentlessly as 
ever, have broadened their musical base 
d cased the pressure on their fi 
temples) by the addition of a few ba 
to their standard fare of rock anthems 
pacans to groupic grope. The 


lads 


even reveal a slight deviation from their 


thino-in-vut image in one ballad 
that actually weats male-female 
relations rather tenderly. This bit 
of maturity scems to have affected the 
rest of the album, too, at least musically: 
‘The tunes have more variety and are 
more carefully constructed than any to 
date. And Rodgers is in good—ic., 
raunchy—voice throughout. 


about their ow 
nformat 
or just plain misleading. The artist is 
usually the worst person to judge or 
interpret his own work: besides, asking a 
musician to communicate effectively in 
another medium is frankly asking a lot. 
Still, when a composer can write and 
has an objective or critical turn of 


Composers writing in 


mind, superlative criticism may result. 
Who, after all, knows more about 
the work? Tchaikovsky wrote hundreds 


of letters to his patroness of 13 years, 
Nadezhda von Meck (whom he 
ally met), and Dril 
one of them the creat 
nd his Fourth Symphony, also giving 
n of its program. 
The recent Columbia recording by 
Leonard Bernstein and the New York 
Philharmonic rep is, happily, and 


ings beh 
a dear 


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PLAYBOY 


The Konica C35-EF gets the 
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28 


gives us a grand performance in the 
bargain. From the opening fate motive 
à la Beethoven's Fifth, through the nerv- 
ous, capricious scherzo, to the finale 
("a picture of popular merriment on a 
holiday"), Bernstein does perfect sonic 
justice to this architectural largess. For 
a change, the program notes, instead of 
talking about subdominant majors or 
the composer's housekeeper, lead us to 
the essence of the music. Bernard Hai- 
tink and the Concertgebouw Orchestra of 
Amsterdam have also recently recorded 
another of Tchaikovsky's most popular 
offerings, the fifth Symphony (Philips). 
Recking of sentimentality and not a 
liule self-pity, the Fifth still manages to 
make musical noise of an overpowering 
kind, Haitink fully understands its musi- 
cal rhetoric and uses the famed basses 
and cellos of the Concertgebouw to 
create a Fifth that, to our ears, has more 
depth than any other v The 
Philips sound is gorgeous. Now, if only 
Peter Hich had written another letter, 
or something more than cryptic "pro- 
gram notes" (from his notebooks), ex- 
plaining this, the most programmatic of 
his symphonies. 


sion. 


We've never Ii 


l anything quite 
like Stretchin' Out in Bootsy's Rubber Band 
(Warner Bros). The three wild funk 
jams on side one are spiced with serio- 
Comic digressions and some crazy nar 
tion by a Hendrixvoiced poltergeist 
named Casper ("not the friendly ghost 
but the Holy Ghost"). Bassist William 
“Bootsy” Collins is the leader of this gang 
of studio soul monsters that includes 
Fred and Maceo of the James Brown 
band and the Brecker Brothers (how's that 
for a horn section?). On side two, the 


Bootsy's Rubber Band: crazy. 


sounds become more melodic and, at 
the same time, freakier—sort of a Sly 
Meets The Beatles thing. The music 
throughout, as Casper says, is psychotic. 
And it'll definitely stretch your concept 
of funk. 


. 

Keith Jarrett is a. prodigious musical 
talent, but his newly released album 
Keith Jarrett/ In the Light (ECM) indicates 


he could use a course in basic psychology 
Jarrett is heavily into “automatic 
writing,” which is finc as long as he 
doesn’t kid himself into believing that 
[ree association is the same thing as 
inspiration. The trouble with automatic 
writing is that the composer may un- 
conscicusly stack the deck against a truly 
free invention and thus find himself in 
the position of the hippie farmer who 
thought he had scattered seeds at random 
and was disconcerted to discover that the 
plants were springing up in compulsive- 
ly neat rows. Metamorphosis, for flute 
and strings, Brass Quintet and String 
Quartet are all academically brilliant and 
might yery well win prizes at the county 
fair. But they are far too rigid to move 
the heart of the great Drum Majorette 
in the Sky. Yet the album is worth 
having for the opportunity it affords to 
hear some of the best musicians in the 
world: the American Brass Quintet, the 
Fritz Sondlcitner Quartet and, of course, 
Keith Jarrett—particularly on Jn the 
Cave, In the Light, where Jarveu’s piano 
gets it on with his writing desk. 
. 

Quick: How many four-sided “live” 
albums have you heard with no breaks 
for applause? More often, augmented 
crowd sounds are dubbed in, right? Well, 
Aghorta (CBS), a recorded facsimile of a 
concert given in Japan last year by Miles 
Davis, is 97-plus minutes of uninterrupt- 
ed music: a two-part Prelude, Maiysha, an 
Interlude and most of the Theme from 
“Jack Johnson.” The important thing 
seems to be not the material, nor even the 
individual heroics of the players—though. 
Miles himself is a bitch on both trumpet 
and organ, and reed man Sonny Fortune 
makes a strong claim for greater expo- 
sure in the futurc—but the dynamics of 
a group improvising onstage, listening to 
one another and passing the energy 
around, These guys know when to play 
(for instance, to cover Miles when he 
switches instruments) and when to stop 
playing, which they do frequently. Of 
course, they keep starting up ag nd 
some of the resultant spice doodling and 
hard-rock vamping may seem a little short 
on content. But who dares quibble with 

genius? Miles is giving us not tunes 

but car movic 


ain— 


nd you get more 
than enough musical images 
here to leave your mind's eye 
i in a bloodshot (but satisfied) 
condition. 
. 
SHORT CUTS 
Santana / Amigos (Columbia): A moody, 
provocative outing with mucha salsa and 
some trippy artwork: one of Santana's 
better LPs. 
Elvis Presley / Elvis: The Sun Sessions (RCA): 
m- 


Classics from the King when he was da 
ing his throne, with a detailed discography 
and liner notes. Mystery train! 

Jimmy Witherseoon/ Spoonful (Blue Note): 
Blues shouting of the highest order backed 


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help in an emergency. The salesman, the 
construction foreman, the traveler, the 
sportsman, the hobbyist—everybody can use 
the PockeiCom-as a pager, an intercom, a 
telephone or even a security device. 


LONG RANGE COMMUNICATIONS 

The PocketCom’s range is limited only by 
its 100 milliwatt power and the number of 
metal objects between units or from a few 
blocks in the city to several miles on a lake. 
Its receiver is so sensitive, that signals several 
miles away can be picked up from stronger 
citizens band base or mobile stations. 


VERY SIMPLE OPERATION 

To use the PocketCom simply turn it on, 
extend the antenna, press a button to trans: 
mit, and release it to listen. And no FCC 
license is required to operate it. The Pocket 
Com has two Channels—channel 14 and an 
optional second channel. To use the second 
channel, plug in one of the 22 other citizens 
band crystals and slide the channel selector to 
the second position. Crystals for the second 
channel cost $7.95 and can only be ordered 
after receipt of your unit. 


A 
The PocketCom components are equivalent to 
112 transistors whereas most comparable 
units contain only twelve. 
A MAJOR BREAKTHROUGH 

The PocketCom's small size results from a 
breakthrough in the solid state device that 
made the pocket calculator a reality. Mega 
scientists took 112 transistors, integrated 
them on a micro silicon wafer and produced 
the world’s first transceiver linear integrated 
circuit. This major breakthrough not only 
reduced the size of radio components but 
improved their dependability and perform- 
ance. A large and expensive walkie talkie 
costing several hundred dollars might have 
only 12 transistors compared to 112 in the 
Mega PocketCom. 


BEEP-TONE PAGING SYSTEM 

You can page another PocketCom user, 
within close range, by simply pressing the 
PocketCom’s call button which produces a 
beep tone on the other unit if it has been left 
in the standby mode. In the standby mode 
the unit is silent and can be kept on for weeks. 
without draining the batteries. 


SUPERIOR FEATURES 

dust check the advenced PocketCom 
features now possible through this new circuit 
breakthrough: 1) Incoming signals are amp- 
lified several million times compared to only 
100,000 times on comparable conventional 
systems. 2) Even with a 60 decibel difference 
in signal strength, the unit's automatic gain 
control will bring up each incoming signal to 
a maximum uniform level. 3) A high squelch 
sensitivity (0.7 microvolts) permits noiseless 
operation without squelching weak sigrals. 4) 
Harmonic distortion is so low that it far 
exceeds EIA (Electronic Industries Associa- 
tion) standards whereas most comparable 
systems don't even meet EIA specification. 5) 
The receiver has better than one microvolt 
sensitivity. 


EXTRA LONG BATTERY LIFE 

The PocketCom has a light-emitting diode 
low-battery indicator that tells you when 
your ’N’ cell batteries require replacement. 
The integrated circuit requires such low 
power that the two batteries, with average 
use, will last weeks without running down. 


HIKERS FORENEN 
The PocketCom can be used as a pager, an 
intercom, a telephone or even a security 
device. 


MULTIPLEX INTERCOM 

Many businesses can use the PocketCom as 
a multiplex intercom. Each employee carries a 
unit tuned to a different channel. A stronger 
citizens band base station with 23 channels 
is used to page each PocketCom. The results: 
an inexpensive and flexible multiplex inter- 
com system for large construction sites, 
factories, offices, or farms. 

NATIONAL SERVICE 

The PocketCom is manufactured exclusive- 
ly for JS&A by Mega Corporation. JS&A is 
America's largest supplier of space-age prod- 
ucts and Mega Corporation is a leading 
manufacturer of innovative personal commu- 
nication systems—further assurance that your 
modest investment is well protected. The 


The PocketCom measures approximately * 
x 1h" x 5%” and easily fits into your shirt 
pocket. The unit can be used as a personal 
communications link for business or pleasure. 


PocketCom should give you years of trouble- 
free service, however, should service ever be 
required, simply slip your 5 ounce Pocket- 
Com into its handy mailer and send it to 
Mega’s prompt national service-by-mail cen- 
ter. It is just that easy. 


GIVE IT A REAL WORKOUT 

Remember the first time you sawa pocket 
calculator? It probably seemed unbelieveable. 
The PocketCom may also seem unbelieveable 
so we give you the opportunity to personally 
examine one without obligation. Order only 
two units on a trial basis. Then really test 
them. Test the range, the sensitivity, the 
convenience. Test thern under your everyday 
conditions and compare the PocketCom with 
larger units that sell for several hundred 
dollars. 

After you are absolutely convinced that the 
PocketCom is indeed that advanced product 
breakthrough. order your additional units, 
crystals or accessories on a priority basis as 
one of our established customers. If, however, 
the PocketCom does not suit your particular 
requirements perfectly, then return your units 
within ten days after receipt for a prompt 
and courteous refund. You cannot lose. Here 
is your opportunity to test an advanced 
space-age product at absolutely no risk. 


A COMPLETE PACKAGE 
Each PocketCom comes complete with 
mercury batteries, high performance Channel 
14 ctystals for one channel, complete instruc 
tions, and a 90 day parts and labor warranty. 
To order by mail, simply mail your check for 
$39.95 per unit (or $79.90 for two) plus 
$2.50 per order for postage, insurance and 
handling to the address shown below. (Illinois 
residents add 595 sales tax). But don't delay. 
Personal communications is the future of 
communications. Join the revolution. Order 
your PocketCorns at no obligation today. 


Credit Card Buyers Call Toll Free 


©), IN NATIONAL 
C SALES 
© GROUP 
DEPT.PB JS&A Plaza 
Northbrook, Illinois 60062 
CALL TOLL-FREE .. 800 325-6400 


In Missouri call. . .. 800 323-6400 
CISLA Group, Inc., 1976 


NATIONAL 
INTRODUCTORY 


29 


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by some of the best jazz musicians in town. 
Spoon's pipes show no signs of rust. 

Cedar Walton / Beyond Mobius (RCA) 
Pianist (now pianist-leader) Walton, fina 
ly starting to catch some of the gold ri 
has come up with a well-charted rock- 
funk-jazz formula that’s comfortable with- 
out being clichéed. 

Third World (Island): Jamaican R&B 
which down there comes out reggae & 
blues, with strong doses of African music 
as well. 

This Is Reggae Music, Volume 2 (Island) 
Another solid sampler of the re: 
When do we get a Heptones album? 

Charlie McCoy/ Harpin' the Blues (Monu- 
men): Even the unnecesary rapping 
can't spoil this indigo study by the Nash- 
ville great. 

Louis Armstrong ond Earl Hines 1928 (Smitli- 
tion): Two LPs that glow 
h the genius of an ebullient young 
Armstrong. Hines supplies some of the 
Nash, but Satchmo's trumpet and vocals 
are in a class by themselves. 

Ovtlews/Lady in Waiting (Arista): If 
you're not tired of the double-lead mutant 
Allmans/Capricorn/Eagles sound — yet, 
these boys, unlike most of their competi- 
tion, sound as though they aren't, either, 

Kool & The Gong /Love ond Understanding 
(DeLite): Their own brand of jazzrock. 
half of it etched. live in London, Isn't 
Ronnie Bell a monst 

Final note for wallflowers at the 
disco: You can end that heartbr in 
the privacy of your own home with the 
help of Dancing Madness (Anchor Press 
a new paperback original from Rollin 
Stone. It's got articles on the history of 
disco and the scene worldwide; bios of 
ad raps with the stars, so you, 100, 
le tidbits about Barry Whit 
photos and charts that'll have you out 
there bumping and hustling in no time- 
everything you'll need 10 keep up with 
the crowd on the floor except your amyl 
nitrite. 


thin; 


. 

“We all felt like we had about a month 
off, s Dave Brubeck, between sips of 
a . He has just made it to his dress- 
ing room at Chicago's Civic Opera 
House and is due onstage moment 
but he seems perfectly relaxed. He's in 
the midst of a rem ble concert. tour 
that has him playing with two groups. 
One is Two Generations of Brubeck, 
with which he's worked for the past sev- 
eral years: it includes Brubeck, his three 
sons—Darius, Dan and Chris—and, at 
tumes, bassist Rick Kilburn. The other 
group, celebrating its 25th anniversary 
with this reunion tour. is the Dave Bru- 
beck Quartet of yore—nonpareil altoist 
Paul Desmond; Brubeck himself, still 
courtly and professional despite the silk 


shirt and the shouldertength H » 
propriarely silverhued; and the ever- 
dependable rhythm section of Joe 
Morello and Eugene Wright—which 


took jazz to college back in the Fifties 
but hadn't played together in eight years 
“I hadn't seen Joe Morello since the 
ight we broke up,” Brubeck admits 
“And I saw Gene once, in an airport; I 
waved to him. 

Messing around with time 
Five—had always been one of the group's 
trademarks, and it's intriguing. that, in 
ing to turn back the clock, they are 
sull playing around with time. "Last 
night.” Brubeck recalls—as Desmond, in 
the next room, warms up with a few 
rippling phrases—"Somebody wanted to 
play a tune that we hadn't done in years 
we hadn't been playing it our last 
couple of years as a group. And I knew 
that I'd remember everything but the 
last chord change. Just before we started, 
J said to Paul, "Does it go up a half 
step? And he couldn't hear me onstage. 
So we came to the ending. 
just like a rail 
opening up at night—you know, down 


as in Take 


and it was 


pad track, with the lights 


Timeless Brubeck. 


as [ar as you needed to sce in order to 
keep going. And the ending just kept 
coming back, amd that last note"—hc 


snaps his fingers—“I remembered ir. 
Which was down a half step, instead of 
up. When we hit it, we all just broke 


up." 


edless to say, the interaction. be- 
tween his kids and the veterans has 
helped brighten the strenuous tour— 
onenighters, coming into this one—for 
Brubeck: "A few nights ago, Joe played 
one of the finest solos Ive ever h 
him play—and when he came offst 
Darius said to him, ‘Gee, I've never heard 
a Western drummer use the form so 
much like an Indian drum solo." And 
Joe said, 'Didja pick up on that? and 
they got into a long conversation. Today 
on the bus, as an outgrowth of that, 
everybody ended up talking about Iu 
dian philosophy and religion.” 

Chris Brubeck, who has turned out 
some very interesting rock music with his 
own groups, New Heavenly Blue and 
Sky King, appears in the doorway with 


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"I don't have my bass 
€ they forgot to take 
them off the bu Ih. And Rick went off 
in search of his bass, because they forgot 
to take that oll the bus. . . - 
The joys of show business. People run 
off in search of instruments. Options are 
discussed. Should they reverse the show 
and let the old group go fist? Should 
the kids open up, with Gene on bass? 
Should the concert start with some Bru- 
heck-Desmond duets? Can they rent a 
bass from somewhere? hen Rick re- 
s with his instrument ("One 
says somebody) and Chris, hav- 
arned the whereabouts of th 
gocs out to get his stuff. His 
meanwhile, goes back to thinking 2 
time past and present, about how his 
older fans are now bringing their 
to show them what the group wis 
- Somebody says irs lucky tl 
years. all fo 
guys are still alive, and he agrees 
look at record albums and pull one out, 
like I did the other day; there were 12 
s on this particular ally 
€ dead. And the shock th; 


some bad news: 
or trombone, be 


you. Till tell ya, the last few years 


jazz musicians, Duke Ellington, you 


blending casily id tones of 
Dannys clearic one. Desmond comes 
out, too, and p duet with Dave: i 

one of the cy 
Desmond doe: 
second 
sical jo 


heavy-handedness 
ical fire. Morello and Wright a 
ys, but the quartet, wh 
to, fa 
te the old-ti ensity. The 
responds well to both the sounds 
i ittent clown 


not 
beck. As he says, "We can't 
our highest form every night— 
re have been nights when the 


And when 
it together, he ays, “Europe 


. New Zealand. 


ying: they're calling in. So, after 
the tour, FH just have to see how each 
guy feels about it. 

I's possible, of course, that Brubeck 
& Company have finally messed around 
with time a little too much. As the man 
said, you can’t go home again. But with 
gig offers in all those exotic places, why 
worry about going home? 


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34 


Glass Houses Department 


"[The porn] explosion is taking place 
in a highly literate society with the tech- 
nological means and marketing talent to 
disseminate it. It is that collision of cul- 
and commerce that creates con- 
— Time cover story, April 5, 1976. 

erned, too, and 
that’s why w nk the folks 
at Time for bringing the “porno plague” 
to our attention. We'd also like to thank 
them for putting Cher in a see-through 
dress on the cover of a recent best-selling 
issue and for publishing photographs 
as an educational aid to right-thinking 
people—so they'll know what not to look 
at, of course. A sampling of those pictures, 
culled from the last year or so, is re- 
printed here. 


ture 


Marilyn Chambers, Time, March 29, 1976. 


In its cover story, aside from scolding 
PLAYBOY d its far crasser imitators,” 
Time listed the cable-TV program Mid- 
night Blue among the sexual offend 
Created by Screw publisher Al Golds 


Marisa Berenson, Time, November 17, 1975. 


Tak p 


Anna Douking, Time, September 29, 1975. 


Blue is shown on Manhattan Cable Com 
pany's Channel J and features soft-core 
porn. Time explained in an embarrassed 
footnote that Manhattan Cable is "un- 
happy” about Midnight Blue but can do 


Ml. 


Paloma Picasso, Time, March 8, 1976. 


Bette Midler, Time, March 1, 1976. 


nothing about it because the rules gov- 
erning publicaccess television are too 
vague. To its credit, and to the readers" 
delight. Time admitted that Manhattan 
Cable is a subsidiary of Time, Inc. 


3 ae 


E 


i There's fishing. And then there's 5 hours with a Black Marlin. 


There's whisky. €... And then theres VO. 


UO. 


d n 
X HE "pax 


NK 


Only VO:is VO. The First Canadian 


CANADIAN WHISKY. A BLEND OF CARADA'S FINEST WHISKIES. 6 YEARS OLD. 86,8 PRODF. SEAGRAM DISTILLERS CO.. W.V.C, 


36 


Wie warning, in the middle of 
my 30s, I had a breakdown of nerve,” 
Gail Shechy writes in Passages: The Pre- 
dictable Crises of Adult Life (Dutton). A 
woman who knew herself as a successful 
and enterprising journalist suddenly be- 
came so mesmerized in a personal night- 
mare of doubts and fears that she was 
incapable of any act of will more de- 
manding than watching TV. “That’s it, 

she finally said to herself. “I've come 
unstuck . . . I was hanging on to shreds 
and I knew it.” 

When she finally got her nerve back, 
she set out to research a book on the 
phenomenon of the “midlife crisis” she 
had experienced so dramatically. But 
what she discovered was that men, women 
and couples are, at every age, experienc. 
ing certain predictable internal changes 
that cause stress on family, careers, cre- 
ativity and sexuality. "During the 20s,” 
Sheehy writes, "when a man gains con- 
fidence by leaps and bounds, a married 
woman is usually losing the superior as- 
surance she once had adolescent. 
When a man passes 30 and wants to 
settle down, a woman is often becoming 
restless. And just at the point around 
40, when a man feels himself to be 
standing on a precipice, his strength, 
power, dreams and illusions slipping 
away bencath him, his wife is likely to 
be brimming with ambition to climb 
her own mountain.” This is not a self- 
help book offering advice on how to 
cope with these crises; Shechy merely 
describes what they are, when you might 
expect them and what kinds of effects 
they've had on other people's lives. Her 
categories are as imprecise as life itself: 
The changes some people go through at 


28 or 38 might not be felt by others 


until 32 or 49. But, she argues con 
vincingly, there are definite stages in 
every adult life and when one under- 
nds what they are, they can. be made 
sier to pass through. 
. 

In 1974, with the publication of his 
second novel, The Fan Man, William 
Kotwinkle emerged as the best Horse 
Badorties writer this counuy had yet 
produced. To understand what a Horse 
Badorties writer is, however, one must 
about "The Fan Man, whose name 
is Horse Badorties. Put simply, it is 
probably the funniest book to emerge 
from the Sixties experience and the only 
one that has successfully represented the 
whole dope-hippiefilth culture ("Yes, 
man, even my roaches have roaches”). 

Later that year, Kotzwinkle wrote 
Nightbook, a religious-sexual-fantasy 
novel, and Avon republished his Elephant 
Bangs Train, a collection of short stories 
that includes The Doorman, a bril- 
liant sketch of a schizophrenic. Although 


Passages: one crisis after another. 


* *That's it,’ Sheehy finally 
said to herself. ‘I've come 
unstuck... 1 was hanging onto 
shreds and | knew it.’ * 


New from Kotzwinkle, a fink rat. 


these and his first novel, Hermes 
3000, had clearly established Kotzwinkle 
as a major American writer, no one 
really noticed. He was labeled an 
offbeat humorist and those samples of 
his work that appeared in maga 
tended to be erratic. But he had g 
a large underground followi 
Avon issued the short novel Swimmer 
in the Secret Sea, which, for the first 
time, proved that Kotzwinkle had what 
it takes to be more than just funny: 
People who read it cried. 

His new book, Doctor Rat (Knopf), will 
be called Orwellian. It is told alternately 
from the point of view of a fascist 
laboratory rat, who, in the name of 


science, directs the systematic torture and 
murder of his fellow lab animals, and 
from the point of view of other animals 
roaming free in the world. When the 
free animals stage a revolution to re- 
lease the captured ones, naturally the 
humans get in on the act. Doctor Rat, 
like all didactic novels, has problems. 
Disney isn’t going to pick it up for a 
feature-length cartoon; neither is Roman 
Polanski. But Kotzwinkle is out there 
producing an enormous amount of 
writing; he's someone to contend with. 
. 

Oriana Fallaci is the Italian journalist 
who drew from Henry Kissinger his most 

memorable self-description: "Americans 

like the cowboy . . . who rides all alone 
into the town [and] this amazing, 
romanticcharacter suits me precisely." 
"That quote shot around the world at the 
speed of sound, inspiring editori 
ists everywhere to portray Kissinger riding 
into the Middle East on horseback. It 
inspired Kissinger himself to say that 
agreeing to sce Fallaci was "the stupidest 
thing in my life. 

One of the most gilted and determined 
interviewers alive, Fallaci routinely pries 
out of the high and the mighty much 
more than they mean to tell a journalist. 
A dozen of her interviews with the power- 
ful (including Kissinger and the Shah of 
Iran) and expowerful (Thieu, Golda 
Meir) have been collected in Interview with 
History (Norton), and every one will show 
you a lot that you didn't know before. 
If you've been wondering why the world 
is in such a mess, you will get many en- 
lightening answers from these classic self- 
portraits of the people who run it. 

. 

1 Hear America Swinging (Little, Brown) 
is Peter De Vries's celebration of sex in 
the Midwest. The setting of this fractured 
fairy tail is a small town in rural Io 
Upwardly mobile 


rmers refuse 10 dust 
crops ("Oh, the maid will dust them”). 
Cracker-barrel philosophers debate the 
classics ("Caught with your Kierkegaard 
that time?"). Cousin Clem. the rural 
art critic, leads crowds past paintings sing- 
ing "Hello, Dali." Novice marriage co 
selor Bill Bumpers arrives to referee the 
town’s attempt at a sexual revolution, If 
you think animal husbandry is something 
jou study before attempting a ménage à 
trois, this is the book for you. The erotic 
couplings border on the slapstick. A 
group of swingers calling itself the Bare- 
devils holds tag-team orgies. College girls, 
the victims of no-fault pregnan 
ceive course credit for illegitimate child- 
birth. The Midwest will never be the 


same. 


©1976 R. 1 REYNOLDS TOBACCO CO. 


20 CLASS A. 
CIGARETTES 


77, 


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12 mg. "tar", 0.9 mg. nicotine av. per cigarette by FIC method. 


38 


SELECTED SHORTS 


insights and outcries on matters large and small 


FORBIDDEN 
WORDS 


By Thom Racina 


SOME TIME aco, I heard the word bull- 
shit on the William F. Buckley, Jr., show. 
I'm not kidding. Jimmy Breslin was 
Buckley's guest and they were talking 
about New York s problems. The 
s intelligent. Intelligent 
I was expecting. It was witty. Witty I 
was expecting. It was dirty. Dirty? Wil- 
liam F. Buckley, dirty? I wasn't expecting 
irtv. Someone in the studio audience 
had asked an ordimarily clean question 
and casually edged in the word bullshit. 

It wasn't bleeped out. No one reacted. 
Siggles? None. Blushes? Not unless you 
turned the color knob on your TV set to 
kev. At the very least, you would have 
expected Buckley to make a quick, dev- 
astatingly acute aside. He didn't, Buckley 
nd Breslin nodded at the question and 
went at each other’s throats. 

‘That was it. It wasn’t d 
bullshit on 
felt cheated. 

It was then I realized: There are no 
more dirty words. Fuck? An ex-President 
id fuck in the fucking White House 
many fucking times, Cuni? Ho-hum. 
Cock? Yaw 

But ] think there should be dirty 
words again. What would it be like if 
the children—my children or your chil- 
dren or even the neighbors’ runny-nosed, 
disgusting brats—grew up and there 
wasn't luck anymore or a suitable 
equivalent? 

I say let's put dirty back into dirty 
words. 

"That's why I'm presenting a program 
to make female relatives blush again. m 
going to find a way to stun the good 
priest in the confessional. A new way to 
put your balls on straight. Announcing: 


y. They said 
TV and it wasn't dirty. I 


THREE WAYS To PUT DIRTY 
BACK INTO DIRTY WORDS. 


1. Put the grandeur back. 
remember that even before you could 
read, you saw certain words written on 
sidewalks and walls whenever you left 
the house. When you asked your adoring 
mother what the word meant, she gagged. 
It was, she said, a very hard word and 
she didit know what it spelled. Or she 
forgot her glasses. Or it was a word for 
grownups. That was a dead giveaway. It 
just about defined what a dirty word 
was and made it seem all the dirtier. 


Maybe you 


Then, once you were able to read for 
yourself, little idiot that you were, you 
could experience the delight of Mi 
Hanorah, your teacher from the third 
grade, seven months’ preggers, walking by 
an eight-foot-high FUCK in the schoolyard. 

Look at the walls of the city today: 
PAGHINRO 118, DYN-O-MITE IV. JOY MAN 2 
The dirty words have been squeezed out 
by a roster of the nicknames of ghetto 
dolescents that grows in tropical profu- 
n year after year. Sub: trains are 
They're still 


si 
decorated with rainbow 
trying to wash GET OUT oF CAMBODIA off 


brick walls. It's not very exciting. Occa- 
sionally, you'll see a ruck. It seems ak 
most nostalgic. And kind of naive. 

What do we need, then? A new re- 
spect. Fuck and twat and boner need to 
be treated with some honor. Perhaps awe. 
The kind of admiration and appeal that 
sells Chevrolets and elects U. S. Senators. 
The kind that only Madison Avenue 
money can buy. 


L2 


Billboards. We need to sce dirty words 
ten on the biggest of billboards. (For- 

ne, Lady Bird.) We need filthy 
ies up there in signs designed by 
the greatest designers in the world. Give 


wr 
give 


dirty words some class. ("Did you see 
the Bill Bliss boc yet?” "No, but 


theyre putting up the Cardin suck 
round the corner.”) Somebody should go 
out and see if the people doing the 7-UP. 
ign are avai 
n th n wagons riding 
the interstate should have the option of 
reading SrOOKEY'S PECAN FUCKIN’ 
GOOD CHICKEN once in a while and some- 


e 


ir stat 


Thom Racina is à freelance writer 
and thus a student of words, both clean 
and dirty. 


thing like MAKE THE RITCH COME—KING 
SIZE BEDS—CROYDEN INN, ALBUQUERQUE. 
The Sunset Strip, L.A’s billboard p 
dise, should be an authentic alfresco hall 
of fame for obscenities. The first honor 
goes to a 20’ x 50' suck MY CLIT in neon. 
Look for it this fall. 

Alon ith billboards, as long as we're 
Iking about grandeur, I suggest an in- 
tensive skywriting campaign. Suspense 
builds up while people on the ground wy 
to put the letters together into meaning- 
ful words. Girl to boy on hot beach: 
"OK. What have we got so far? E-A-T, 
MY, m -T, snan Snat? 
Honey. whats sna? I don’t. . 
there's more. C. Oi nd the next letter 
is I. No, wi aire 
Its an H. $- 


Yes. But wait till you see 
that other plane is spelling: F-U. . 

9. Put the sleaze back. What's annoy 
ing about respectable people—such as 
Buckley—condoning dirty language so 
` t you wonder what to do 
when you want to get into a little filth 
yourself, Now that the Republicans have 
appropriated bad language, toss around a 
few traditionally taboo four-letter jobbers 
and you'll sound like an up-and-coming 
White House staffer who wears a tie, 
not a sail ot. 

But good news! Observation has shown, 
I'm delighted to say, that vou c the 
old-fashioned no-nos sound like the latest. 
in raunch il you remember a little trick: 

Use a foreign accent. 

Try this easy test. In your norn 
voice, By the way, would you be 
inter fucking my sister?" Sounds 
like you're helping your sister out and 
arranging a date with your college room 
mate for her, doesn't it? Pretty dull and 
normal, huh? And—most importantly— 
it doesn't sound dirty. 

This time, use an accent. Try this cx- 
ample: “Hey, mon. you want to fock my 
seester?” Good, right? Filthy, huh? Just 
like being in Juárez. 

Try to sound like your average illegal 
alien hiding in the trunk of a beatup 
Mustang. And don't worry; even if 
you're terrible with dialects, anything 
that sounds vaguely south of the border 
or overseas will do. "You wan flockee my 
sisler?” has guaranteed gutter appeal. 
as does "Fluckink my sisturr, you vant, 
yes. no, meebe?" 

3. Pul the wonder back. The problem 
ave become ordinary. 


They're unnoticed, unfelt, ui 
ciated. Still, there's a big portion of our 
population that loves to talk dirty. Small 


children. Call a five-year-old a pee-pee 


head and you've got a fiveyear-old run- 
ning around the room laughing and 
screaming. Call a 30-year-old professional 


type a piss brain and he'll ask you if he 
an pour you another drink. Big deal. 

What have these kids got that we 
haven't? I could answer that in one word, 
but I won't. A naive sense of the power 
of talking dirty, that’s what they ve got. 
(I was going to say they're horny.) Talk- 
ing dirty is new to them, so they ap- 
proach it with a sense of wonder. For 
them, the words have just been hatched. 
The ink is still wet. 

So, obviously, the way for us to make 
talking dirty a meaningful experience 
again is to talk like your basic five-year- 
old in the sandbox, or wherever the 
hell it is kids play today. Pople will 
notice. 


Say you're out with Gloria, Tell 
Gloria that she has great mee-mees and 
her ta-ta is about to make you ooshy all 


over everything. 
Will Gloria love 
that? Gloria prob- 
ably won't under- 
stand what you're 
saying, but you 
and Gloria never 
uk much, any- 
way. 

How's your 
dinkle? Show me 
your river maker! 
You look like 
number two. Can 
I watch you tin- 
kle? When you 
come down to the 
facts about dirty 
baby talk, there 
are two categories. 
‘The first sounds 
like varieties of 
Bratwurst—hei- 
nie (ass), penie and wienie (both cock). 
The second names one sort of excretion or 
another—poo-poo, poop. just plain poo, 
caca, peepee (quite widespread, u 
one), number one (the forerunner of 
number two), whizz and cowpies. And 
don't forget one of the filthiest expres- 
sions of all time—number three. There's 
no doubr that if the member of the audi- 
ence at Buckley's show had said cow's poo- 
poo instead of bullshit, Buckley would 
have had to comment. 

Just one last thing: Next time some- 
one talks dirty on TV, call up the sta- 
n, write to your Congressman, picket 
the FCC. Make them stop. Either that or 
"Stick it up your ass" will be an extinct 
form of expression. 


FORBIDDEN 
GAMES 


By Gany Wills 


CHESTERTON said the beginning 
of wisdom with regard to sex is the rcali- 
zation that we are all a little crazy on the 
subject. Sex has magic in it, to turn back 
upon even the most skillful sorcerer. 
That is why human cultures have found 
such a variety of interesting ways to go 
Ily bonkers. Some claim the current 
iy is by an unresisted, unquestioning 
permissiveness. Is there anything to that, 
or even any sensible way of talking 
about it 

Sex easily gets tangled up with other 
demonic, magically driving things— 
religion, money, politics, ambition, pride. 


sexu 


"Ehe feminists perform a valuable service 
when they remind us how often sex is 
used to dominate or exploit others, make 
them objects to bc possessed, traded, used 
in weird ego games. On the other hand, if 
sex is totally demysticized, shred of all 
its demonic side, made casual as a hand- 
shake, one loses, to begin with, Romeo 
and Julict—a heavy price to pay. 

"There are some entirely worldly argu- 
ments for a measure of asceticism with 
regard to sex—eg. Herbert M 
attack on “desublimation,” the diffusion 
of higher purpose in vaguely omnipresent 
titillation. The rinsing contact with rcal 


Garry Wills, a Catholic, is a syndicated 
columnist and contributor to PLAYBOY 
who has taken on the Pope before. 


nts is inspiriting because of their white- 
hot clarity of motive. They play no half- 
confessed power games with people, 
teasing or challenging, testing egos. 

Is the modern world capable of main- 
taining any taboo in the area of sex— 
not only a minimal privacy, or fidelity 
within “serial monogamy,” but the taboo, 
say, against incest? Who can credibly dis- 
cuss such a question in our age that 
boasts of its frankness? The willingness 
to discuss with anyone the most intimate 
matters all too often destroys what little 
meaning was left to the very word in 
macy. If love means only sex, and sex has 
lost all mystery, one is reduced to playi 
endless games in which one “score 
meaningless points. No wonder some 
women, the new nuns of feminism, can 
find no way to play this game with any 
digni 


‘One might have hoped for useful chal- 
lenge to a merely trendy permissiveness 
from religious leaders called to oppose 
“the world." The 
ancient office of 
the Pope might, 
for instance, have 
acquired some wis 
dom along with 
age; it might have 
had something to 
tell us that is 
important precise- 
ly because it is 
"out of date.” But, 
unfortunately, the 
Papacy has been 
using sex in one 
of the drearier 
power games of 
our time. The Vat- 
ican's recent. Dec- 
laration on Sexual 
Ethics just further 
tr zes both sex 
and the Vatican. 
The Pope has chosen to tak d 
that he himself undercuts with cach fresh 
assertion of his reasons. On issue after 
issue—contraception, married priesthood, 
women priests—Catholics realize that the 
Pope no longer talks even basic sense, 
much less revealed truth. There can be 
no better example of the way sex is 
used in power games and assertions of 
authority. 

It was hoped by some Catholics that 
the loss of the Pope's temporal realms 
would remove the causes of corruption in 
the Papacy; that the Pope would depend 
on moral alone, on sanctity, 
example and the Gospel. But a subtler 
corruption set in almost at once. Modern 
Popes staked out intellectual turf to be 
held at all costs, as a point of pride in 


suas 


39 


PLAYBOY 


40 


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office. The very man who lost the Papal 
States, Pius IX, maneuvered the first 
Vatican Council into declaring him in- 
fallible, and the vast energies of the 
Church were expended for a century in 
buttressing that claim. Being Pope meant 
never having to say you were wrong. 
Other parts of the Christian tradition, 
cluding the Gospels, were neglected in 
preoccupation with the claims of papal 
authority. 

But by now, every further claim the 
Pope makes just cancels authority, even 
among Catholics. The spectacular fall- 
off in Catholic church attendance is di 
rectly traccable to disagreement with the 
traception, Humanae. 
is not the result of any 
rtion of the reform spirit attributed 
to “good Pope John." John XXII (who 
wanted to canonize Pius IX) took the 
issue of contraception away from the 
assembled council fathers at Vatican lI. 
He set up a special commission directly 
responsible to him and stacked it with 
"safe" types who could be counted on to 
reaffirm the ban against contraception. 

A majority in that commission did 
begin with a belief that what was ex- 
pected from them was a partial exception 
for the pill when that was uscd to "sup- 
port" nature (regularize the menstrual 
cycle, etc). But the more the members 
looked at the maturallaw argument 
nst contraception, the more indefen- 
sible it became. Those Catholics, all dis- 
tinguished for loyalty to the Church, came 
out resoundingly against the old teach- 
ing—so the Pope suppressed the major- 
ity report, dismissed the commission and 
wrote Humanae Vitae. He was embarked 
on a ruinous and apparently irreversible 
attempt to convince by mere assertion. 

Why could the Pope not back off, not 
ge course? Because that would show 
fallibility? But the ban on contraception 
was not in the most technical sense de- 
fined. There were ways of obviating that 
problem. Much harder would be the 
admission that the whole creaky machin- 
ery of naturallaw teaching, which had 
been largely tailored to support the 
opposition to contraception, was intel- 
Jectually dishonest; that the vast and ex- 
pensive training of priests was perverted 
in the philosophy it relied on for inter- 
preting theology; that the Catholic school 
system was engaged in trying to justily 
the unjustifiable. 

Yet all these things were truc—áand the 
Pope's loss of authority with his own theo- 
logians demonstrated their truth. There 
is a double standard, now, in what the 
Church teaches from Rome and what it 
insists on in the confessional. The bur- 
den on the candor and credibility of 
bishops and priests becomes more insup- 
portable every day—and the Pope 
plunges on in this folly, proving that 


when an institution loses its hold on men, 
everything done to increase that hold just 
loosens it further. 

On abortion, many Catholics as well as 
others feel that a fetus is not simply 
part of the woman's body. But the mor: 
claim of the Pope to t 
has been dissipated by his condemn: 
of all contraceptives. For one of il 
things to be observed about abortion is 
that it is the least desirable form of 
birth control. The Pope cannot make this 
argument, since he has attacked every 
form of conuaception. 

The new declaration retraces the 
suicidal course so well marked out. It 
actually cites the one serious argument 
that might put limits on wholesale ap- 
proval of masturbation—but only to 
reject that argument. Is there a point at 
which experimentation with one's own 
body becomes a fixation on it—as strip- 
pers and other sexual performers are said 
to be making love to themselves, solip- 
sistically—so that sex, rather than ope 
ing out toward others, closes one in? The 
declaration rejects these considerations, 
based on the deperso g of sex, to 
insist on “the finality of the sexual fac- 
ulty"- the procreative use of se: 
Masturbation is wrong, says the Pope, 
because that is no way to have babies. 
(Many people would now find that a 
recommendation, not a prohibition.) 

On homosexuality, our culture has not 
worked out the deli nd of bal 
reached in the matter of marital fidelity— 
^, the encouragement of a gencral 
social norm along with a humane attitude 
toward offenders against that norm. One 
reason is that the general loss of intimacy 
about all sexual matters, starting with the 
heterosexual, makes it difficult to treat 
homosexuality as a private matter 
more. But the Pope offers us no help 
working out this problem; all he can do 
i ind us that homosexu: i 
y to have babies. 


no 
With regard to premarital sex, the 


danger most people can recognize is the 
divorcing of sex from love if sex is 
made the most casual kind of human com- 
merce, as idle as a conversation. But the 
Pope cannot discuss real problems like 
that; he is too anxious to note that "most 
often" those engaging in premarital sex 
use contraceptives to "exclude the pos- 
ibility of children.” The Pope has only 
one little tune to pl: but it is Joshua's 
uumpet song for bringing down the 
walls o£ his own empire. 

The Vatican has succeeded in compos- 
ing an X-rated declaration. It really should 
be kept out of the hands and minds of 
the young. It is dirty, as most power 
mes are. We must turn to serious 
works to understand the serious problems 
of sex—works like Romeo and Juliet. 


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_ For the price of 
an imitation sports car, 
you can own the 


real thing. 


There area lot of spiffy looking 
little economy cars around today mas- 
querading as sports cars. 

They drip with “features” like non- 
functioning hood scoops. And 
imitation racing mirrors. And tach- 
ometers for automatic transmissions. 

The problem is that by the time 
you've added all the sporty options, 
you've also added a small fortune to the 
price of the car. 

And you still don’t have a sports 
car. Only an economy car that vaguely 
resembles one. 

Obviously, we havea solution. In 
fact, we have two. 

The Fiat X1/9. Orthe 124 Spider. 
Instead of tires with raised white 
letters to make the car look better, youll 
find radial tires. To make it drive better. 
Instead of a pseudo racing steer- 

ing wheel, you'll get rack-and-pinion 
steering on the X1/9. The kind used in 
tacing Cats. , 

And instead of being impressed 
with a fancy racing stripe on the hood, 
you'll be impressed by what we've put 
undemeath it. 


Cur rental, leasing, and overseas delivery arranged through your participating dealer. 


Because where we come from, a. 
sports car isn't a sports car because of 
the way it looks. 

Its a sports car because of the way 
it drives. 

Which should explain why the 
124 Spidercomes with a five-speed 
transmission. And a dual overhead cam 
engine. And four-wheel disc brakes. 

It might also begin to explain why 
the X1/9, one of but seven mid-engine 
cars in the world, was named one of the 
ten best cars in the world last year by 
Road and Track magazine. 

Ofcourse, we still think sports cars 
have to look like sports cars. In the land 
of Ferrari, ugly doesn’t sell. 

So we got the people who design 
Ferraris to design both these Fiats. 

Look atit this way. 

If you're going to spend real money 
ona sports car, the least you should end 
up with is areal one. 


PF / I /A/T | 


Alot of car. Not a lot of money. 


THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 


WI, girIfricnd tikes to make love stand- 
ing up. She claims the position allows 
her as much control as the much-touted 
womanon-top position, plus it has the 
added benefit of pressure; With her 
back to the wall, she enjoys the fecling 
of being caught between a rock and 
a hard place. I must admit that thc 
position does have its advantages—we 
have made love in showers, in tele- 
phone booths, in self-service elevators, in 

lways and in rest rooms on airplanes. 
When we experimented with bondage 
and discipline, instead of tying her 
spread-eagled on a bed, I handcuffed her 
10 a chinning bar and did it in a doorway. 
As long as she gets olf on it, I'm willing to 
go along, but it's gotten to the point that 
we almost never do it in bed. My question 
is this: Is she weird?—D. D., Detroit, 
Michigan. 

No; she's just the right size. Obviously, 
the position doesn't work for everyone. If 
you were 5'1” and she were 6/2", or vice 
versa, we doubt if she would be partial to 
the perpendicular. Go to it: What better 
way to ensure an encore than a standing 
ovation? 


Hive in an apartment building with 
cardboard walls and floors. Consequent- 
ly, I am unable to play my stereo at full 
volume, as God and Phil Spector in 
tended. (The volume control never goes 
past three on a scale of ten.) To com- 
pensate for the lack of power, I usually 
turn on the loudness contour. The music 
seems louder, or at least fuller. How does 
it work? Can I blow out a speaker if I 
turn up the volume with the loudness 
switch on?—R. S, San Francisco, Cali- 
fornia. 
Probably not. When you listen to a 
stereo system that is being played at less 
than concert-hall volume, you tend not to 
hear low or high tones. The loudness 
contour boosts the bass and hightreble 
responses at low volumes, thus producing 
a fuller sound. Increase the volume to 
normal levels and the signal should ve- 
turn to a flat response, at least in theory: 
You may find that if you leave the loud- 
ness contour on at high volumes, the 
sound will have too much bass or too 
much treble. But by that time, you will 
be deaf and won't notice the difference. 


Hla you heard anything about mas. 
sage parlors that cater to women? One 
of the guys 1 work with claims that the 
last time he went to New York looking 
for cheap thrills, he discovered that his 
favorite house of ill repute and/or 
leisure spa had been converted into a 
unisexual bath and offered services for 


both men and women. Women have to 
call ahead for an appointment, but once 
there, they have their choice of a staff of 
male n urs. This strikes me as the 
chetypal “I was a stud for hire" fan- 
tasy. IL it were true, why didn't the guy 
apply for a job? Also, why would a 
woman pay for something when there 
are so many volunteers who would do 
it for free2—W. E, Trenton, New 
Jersey. 

Is nothing sacred? Next thing you 
know, they'll be asking for the vote. 
There are massage parlors for women in 
several large citics—{ proof, perhaps, that 
we don't really need the E.R.A.). The ads 
in underground papers are nol that dif- 
ferent from male parlors: They promise 
to fulfill fantasies, intoxicate senses, etc. 
Clients sign up for a basic one- or lwo- 
hour program that includes such sensual 
delights as a hotoil massage, a needle 
point shower, a sauna, a champagne 
bubble bath massage. 
Extras are available for an additional 
fee and include such items as a discus- 
sion of Oriental literature, oral sex, 
advanced macramé, a bit of the old in 
and out, Not all of the massage parlors 
offer sex: According to one report, the 
masseur “gives a woman wonderful fore- 
play and terrific afterplay, but he leaves 
out the center” Apparently, that’s 
enough. Women enjoy being the divided 
center of attention. They are willing to 
pay for the luxury of sensuousness with- 
out explicit sex. You may prefer to have 


and a vibrator 


your cake and eat it, too, but we can 
sce their point. Just imagine the feeling 
of lubricous fingers tweaking erect nip- 
ples, the texture of a sponge lightly 
scrubbing an inner thigh for hours on 
end. If you like the fantasy, why not give 
your girlfriend a gift certificate, or do it 
yourself. Just remember the motto “The 
customer comes first, second, third” and 
you'll be in the money. 


AAs a party recently, T. noticed a man 
wearing an odd sterling-silver ring on a 
chain around hi lained 
that it was a cock ring. Worn around 
the penis, it supposedly prolongs intei 
course and stimulates the woman's cl 
toris. He said that a girlfriend had given 
it to him as a love token. Can you pro- 
vide further information?—D. M., Cleve- 
land, Ohio. 

Cock rings have been in existence for 
centuries: Ancient erotic paintings from 
China and Japan show the devices in use. 
Gold and silver cock rings are de rigueur 
for today's rig, but the devices have also 
been made from ivory, leather, plastic or 
rubber. When placed at the base of the 
penis, the ring seals off the corpora 
vnosa (Lhe areas that fill with blood 
during erection) and prolongs the period 
of detumescence that follows ejaculation. 
Doctors suggest that the device be used 
only as an ornament. If you leave the 
ring on loo long, it can damage del- 
icale erectile tissues in the penis, As 
for stimulating the clitoris—the chances 
are just as great that yowll end up 
bruising your lover. You say that the guy 
received the ving as a gift from his girl- 
friend? What did he give her in veturn— 
a vibrator with a bandolier of batteries? 


neck. He exp! 


Qi you nap me make sense of the 
herican system of labeling wines? 
cily what do you get when you buy 


a California al wine, such as ca- 
bernet sauvignon or chenin blanc? In 
Europe, wine makers follow a system of 


appellation contrélée—the label tells 
you the specific region in which the 
grapes were grown and, if you are fa 
miliar with the region, you should be able 
to ascertain the quality of the wine. The 
California wines don't seem to be that 
specific. Are there any clues?—D. T., St. 
Louis, Missouri. 

The few rules that govern the labeling 
of California wines are nowhere nearly as 
strict as the French appellation contróle 
laws. Simple generic wines, such as Gali- 
fornia Burgundy or Chablis, can be made 
from grapes grown anywhere in the 
state. To qualify as a varietal wine, such 
as cabernet sauvignon or ruby cabernet, 


43 


PLAYBOY 


44 


the botile need contain only 51 percent 
of the named grape—the vest of the 
wine can come from other varieties, in- 
cluding raisin and table grapes. Your 
Safest bet is to acquaint yourself with 
varietal wines that bear the name of a 
county, such as Napa chenin blanc. At 
least 75 percent of the grapes used have to 
come from the specific region. As a rule, 
wines from the coastal counties have more 
character than those made from grapes 
grown in the hotter Central Valley. But 
then, a rosé by any name is still worth 
drinking. 


AA few weeks ago, I was looking at a 
ecological Survey ma 
» Trail and plany 


names and I began to wonder if it was 
possible to grab a bit of immortality by 
allixing my own sensational surname to 
one of those lonely mount: If so, 
wl is the procedure?—V. L. D., Mill- 
ville, New Jersey. 

Believe “it or mot, it is possible to 
play name-it-and-claim-it with America, 
as long as you don’t use your own name. 
There ave hundréils of unadopted moun- 
tains within the continental United 
States just standing there awaiting rec- 
ognition. The procedure is faily simple: 
Study a U.S. Geological Survey topo- 
graphic map and pick a peak that appeals 
toyou. Write to the chamber of commerce 
or county clerk in a nearby town and find. 
out if there is an unofficial name by which 
the mountain is known. If not, let your 
imagination roam. Perhaps there is an un- 
usual rock formation that you would like 
1o feature. Does the mountain remind you 
of your mother-in-law? Obscene appella- 
tions are unacceptable, as are the names 
of living persons. Send your suggestion to 
Donald J. Orth, Executive Secretary of 
Domestic Geographic Names, U.S.G.S. 
National Center, Mail Stop 523, 12201 
Sunrise Valley Drive, Reston, Virginia 
22092. After your nomination has been 
checked by the board for local accept- 
ance (and for possible duplication), it 
will be added to the official roster of 
geographic listings. Approximately 1000 
new names are approved annually, so 
yelept away. 


There 1 was, eating ice cream outside 
a restaurant in Boston, when I saw this 
beautiful blonde walk by. I said to 
myself, "Self, should I go up to her?" Self. 
said, “She probably has a boyfriend and 
would not want to be bothered." I said, 
‘Self, go fuck yourself,” and approached 
the girl, anyway. We exchanged phone 
numbers, J called her and we started dat- 
ing. In less than a month, we have grown 
closc. I did a photo shooting of her that. 
resulted in her getting a job with a 
modeling agency. When we walk, she 
will touch me, muss my hair, study my 


face and admit that I am attractive to 
her. When we drive somewhere in my 
car, we sing along with the radio—she is 
a at I know what song is coming 
on just by hearing the first notes. We 
long except for onc th 
boyfriend and does 
be bothered. The only thing I know 
about the guy is that he puts mone; 
her checking account and that he 
ing $4000 a year for her tuition. Things 
aren't going well between them, but she 
doesn't want to do anything that would 
plicate the situation. Like sex. Irs 
us the guy is keeping her. I don't 
have money, but I can offer her friend- 
ship and tender loving care. What should. 
I do to win this girlP—C. J., Boston, 
Massachusetts. 

Does she have a crescentshaped birth- 
mark on her left shoulder? That's one of 
our girlfriends and you better walch your 
ass. Seriously, don’t knock the competi- 
tion. Slander won't land her. The guy 
has qualities other than a large bank 
account; otherwise, your new friend 
would be more inclined to make love to 
you. Her reluctance suggests an emotion- 
al commitment beyond gratitude for 
financial support. Don’t pressure her (it 
doesn't pay to fight unless you are a 
good loser). She is a free agent and she 
will make her own decision. Live with 
it. Just remember: The only cure for a 
woman is another woman. If just being 
yourself fails, go back to the restaurant 
and try one of the other flavors. 


BBicyciing through the local park is 
quite relaxing, but I'm not sure I'm 
getting the most out of my ten-speed. For 
the most part, I ride in the top five 
gears—never shifting from the large 
chain wheel to the small onc. Semipro- 
racer types who pass me glance down at 
my rear wheel to sce what gear I'm in, 
look at my kneecaps to sce how fast I'm 
pedaling, then shake their heads and 
shout something about cadence and 
learning my gear numbers. What are 
they talking about?—S. K., San Diego, 
California. 

Gear numbers are the secret to the ten- 
speed game of rushing roulette. Pull out 
your pocket calculator and do the fol- 
lowing: Count the number of teeth on 
one of the forward chain wheels, divide 
by the number of teeth on one of the 
five rear freewheel gear clusters, then 
multiply by the diameter of the bicycle 
wheel (e.g. 27 inches). Repeat for cach 
of the ten gear combinations: The result- 
ing figures are your gear numbers. Alpine 
bikes (designed for viding in the moun- 
tains) have gear numbers that begin in 
the low 30s. Touring bikes have gear 
numbers that range from the mid-30s io 
around 100. Racing bikes have ranges 
from the high 50s into the 100s. Now, if 
you multiply the gear number by 3.14, you 


will have the number of inches the bike 
travels with each revolution of the pedal 
in that gear. (Still with us?) Now mul- 
tiply that number by your cadence (the 
number of strokes, or revolutions, you 
make per minute) and you will have your 
speed in inches per minute. Good riders 
try to maintain a constant cadence (65 
for beginners, over 100 for racers) vather 
than a constant speed. To do so, they 
must respond to changes in terrain with 
smooth gear changes. If you use just the 
five gears off the large chain wheel, you 
may be viding inefficiently. On most bikes, 
gear numbers are not arranged in a linear 
progression—you cannot go from gears 
one to five on the small chain wheel and 
then shift to the large one for gears six to 
ten. You have to shift back and forth be- 
tween the two front sprockets for smooth 
riding. Now when you ease past begin- 
ners, you can glance down at their knee- 
caps and shake your head knowingly. 


AA friend claims that sperm banks ac 
tually pay contributors. Is this true? The 
economy may be down, but I'm nor: I 
could sec capitalizing on a renewable re- 
source. How do I go about i?—K. W., 
Topeka, Kansas. 

Donors do receive payment. The average 
is around $20-$25 per ejaculate, which 
is not bad for piecework. It sure beats 
giving blood. You don't sce sperm banks 
appealing for new accounts on TV for a 
reason: The medical profession has cor- 
nered the market on donors. It has been 
suggested that the A.M.A. wants to re- 
create mankind in its own image, but 
there are other reasons. Residents, interns 
and students are readily available—par- 
ticularly in large hospitals, where the fei 
tility units (the euphemism for sperm 
banks) are usually located. Next time you 
see your doctor, ask him how he worked 
his way through medical school. Sperm 
banks are not regulated by Federal or 
state law, so practices may vary from 
hospital to hospital. In general, would-be 
donors must go through a thorough test- 
ing and give a complete medical history. 
You cannot just walk in off the street and 
make a deposit nor can you bank by mail. 
Past performance counts: Most banks re- 
quire that a donor be married and that 
he be the father of a healthy child. For 
a list of banks in your area, consult your 
doctor. 


All reasonable questions—from fash 
ton, food and drink, stereo and sports 
cars to dating dilemmas, taste and eti- 
quette—will be personally answered if the 
writer includes a stamped, self-addressed 
envelope. 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. 


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|: ) — : 
dune lew soap operas, > <0- “You never can tell w 
I'd misejable." zx twill rain on va¢ M on.” 


See an RCA Sportable in action and you'll see 
your need for it. It's RCA-designed to pull in a 
great picture in many difficult reception and 


fringe areas. With the built-in battery (optional Solid State TV 

in some models), it goes from home to car to camper to boat cabin 
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20r black and white television for people on the go. 


THE PLAYBOY FORUM 


a continuing dialog on contemporary issues between playboy and its readers 


SIN CITY REVISITED 
In 1971, rcAnov published an article 
about the incredibly high rate of forni- 
ns in Sheboygan, Wis- 
consin. The article described how one 
teacher killed himself after his reputa- 
on was ruined by such a prosecution 
nd he was unable to find a job. The dis- 
trict attorney at the time was Lance B. 
Jones, who claimed the police were per- 
cdy justified in their harassment of 

unwed couples for having intercourse. 
Well, D.A. Jones is still in office and 
fornicators are still being dragged into 
court. I've just read in The Sheboygan 
Press that the district attorney's ollice 
1a complaint against a young woman 
ving sexual relations with two 
men. The woman was found guilty of 
“lewd and lascivious conduct," her name 
and address were published in the news- 
paper and she was fined 550. 
What will 
into the 20th Century? 
my name; 1 don't want Jones a 

pussy patrol coming after me. 
Name withheld by request) 

Sheboygan, i 


issu 
for h 


REFORM IN CALIFORNIA 

I have the honor of being one of 
the first people busted in San 
County under the m 
that makes poss 
less of the Devil's weed a misdemeanor 
punishable by no more than a $100 fine. 
1 was caught when my girlfriend and I 
were smoking and skinnydipping in a 
secluded spot in the Santa Ynez Moun- 
tains. We had hiked in over a mile, uphill 
the entire way, after dusk, and there was 
no one for miles around. 

Members of the Santa Barbara County 
sherilf’s department saw my empty car 
parked at the bottom of the grade and 
took it upon themselves to investigate. 
We were found in a rather compromising 
position and the boys in blue had no 
sympathy in their hearts for these two 
consenting adults. If this is reform, 1 
ncalculably happy that T was 
busted six days carlier, before the new 
law went into effect. 

(Name withheld by request) 
Isla Vista, Californi: 


ABSINTHE MINDED 

Recently, a professional friend sent 
me a copy of Nature, the respected si 
entific weekly, and while 1 was thumbing 
through it, an artide titled “Marijuana, 
Absinthe and the Central Nervous System™ 


caught my eye. It mentions the simi- 
larities between the psychological ck 
fects reported. by users of absinthe and 
marijuana. There in the footnotes is my 
favorite magazine, PLaYnoy, being credit- 
ed for information gleaned from a 1971 
article by Maurice Zolotow on absinthe. 
Keep up the good work. 


M. Brennan 
Chicago, Illinois 


SANTA ANA'S CLAUSE 

‘The Santa Ana City Council has passed 
an ordinance that will, effect, permit 
its members to act as that city's film 


“As many people do, ve 
often wondered what it 
would be like to act 
in a porno movie.” 


censors and to close theaters that in their 
opinion show “lewd” movies, This op- 
pressive action was inspired by a group 
calling itself Citizens Opposing Pornog- 
raphy (COP), which picketed a local 
theater for 65 consecutive nights to dem- 
onstrate its opposition to pornographic 
movies being shown there. 

It never ceases to amaze me that small 


bands of self-proclaimed do-gooders can 
so blithely and selfrighteously demon- 
strate against one of our most important 
ast ights: freedom of expres- 
sion. It brings to mind a survey that was 
taken a few years ago in which people ap- 
proached at random were read each of the 
first ten amendments to the Constitution, 
otherwise known as the of Rights but 
for the purposes of the survey not identi- 
fied as such. When asked whether they 
would support passage of these ideas into 
law, a majority said no, totally unaware (or 
in spite of the fact) that they already 
were a vital part of our law. If those of 
us who understand. and cherish our con- 
stitutional rights don't fight back, then 
wc will all bc at thc mercy of this kind 
of Somcone has to e 
groups like COP and local leaders under- 
stand that the danger to our freedom 
comes not from films showing a little tits 
and ass but from those who legislate 
against our guaranteed right to produce, 
distribute, show or view them. 

John Stewart 

Los Angeles, California 


SEX ON DISPLAY 

As many people do, I've often won- 
dered what it would be like to act in a 
porno movie. I finally took the plunge 
and answered an ad in an underground 
newspaper. The film's director. an arty 
and unbusinesslike type, was blunt about 
his work. “Let’s sce your equipment,” 
he said almost immediately. Somewhat 
abashed, I opened my fly and showed him 
my qualifications. He was totally proles- 
sional. “Big enough,” he said, without a 
flicker of emotion, 

‘Two days later, I reported to the motel 
where the sex scenes were being shot. 
There were three other guys involved, 
together with the female lead, who was 
a real knockout. Oddly, we all found it 
easy to talk with her, but all of us men 
vere somewhat shy with one another. 
he sequence was an orgy in which 
heroine was supposed to try, by ta 
one man in her cunt and one her ass 
while she masturbated a third and sucked 
off a fourth (me), to make us all come 
at once. 

In addition to the five participants 
nd the director, there were about a doze: 
technicians and tants scattered around, 
One of the spectators was an attractive 
young woman wearing horn-rimmed. 
glasses who took a keen interest in all 
the action; I later found out she w: 
director's mistress 


47 


PLAYBOY 


48 


script, such as it was. Because of her 
eager attention, I began to feel I was 
performing as much for her as for the 
actress in the scene. 

Once the action started, I found I was 
more excited than I'd ever been in my 
life. When the heroine started sucking me, 
I started trembling violently all over. 
"Cut," said the director. N lana was 
passed around and we all were calmed 
down and the scene started again, This 

ime, I was better able to control my ex- 

ment. There were a few more cuts 
things went wrong, but each time 
we started over, I was erect yet curiously 
mellow and unhurried. Finally, the star 
started moaning while sucking on me (she 
was being fucked at the same time) and I 
realized she was really coming. I could 
sce our scriptwriter’s gleaming eyes 
ching and I looked right into them 
as I came, fucking her, too, in my 
imagination. 

1 intend to be in more porno movies. 
The money isn't bad and while supplying 
other people with sex f. s, I'm living 
out some of my own. 

(Name withheld by request) 
Oakland, California 


SNUFF MOVIES 

A letter in the March Playboy Forum 
mentions so-called snuff movies, films in 
which a participant is supposedly actually 
murdered, Shortly after reading that let- 
ter, I noticed a column by John Camper, 
television critic for the Ghicago Daily 
News, about snuff movies. Camper wrote 
that the rumors about these films have al- 
ready inspired two TV programs. One 
just used the making of a snuff movie as 
a plot gimmick, but the other, an epi- 
sode of Police Story, used the notion of 
snuff films as a basis for a sermon against 
pornography. Camper reported: 


In this show, the local prosecutor 
was refusing to prosecute victim- 


less crimes, including pornography. 
Hugh O'Bri 
ti 


n, playing a vice detec- 
declared that pornography was 
nything but a victimless crime. 
Porno fans, he said, were demanding 
to see increasingly perverse acts, 
up to and including "the ultimate 
obscenity murder." 


"mper went on to point out that there 
was absolutely no evidence that any real 
snuff films exist. But the damage has been 
done; another blow for censorship. 
Walter Herm: 
chicago, Mlinoi 
For more on snuff films, see Bruce Wil- 
liamson's commentary in last month's 
“Playboy Forum.” We don't know who 
wrote that line for Hugh O'Brian, but it 
lakes a pretty screwed-up mind to see a 
natural progression from sexual pleasure 
to murder. Sex and violence are oppo- 
sites. As The New Yorker writer Brendan 
Gill put it, "] am a champion of pornog- 
raphy, to the extent that such a subjective 


FORUM NEWSFRONT 


what's happening in the sexual and social arenas 


UNMARRIED BLISS 

BRUSSELS—A survey of almost 10,000 
men and women in the nine Common 
Market countries of Western Europe 
indicates that the people who describe 
themselves as happiest are couples who 
are living together but are not married. 
The 215-page study, titled “European 
Men and Women,” also found Danes 
to be the happiest citizens and Italians 
the least happy. 


WOMEN RAPISTS 
LONDON—fFour women, aged 17 to 
27, have been jailed for attempting to 
rape a man. A London nightclub 
manager told the court the women 


attacked him at night in a park, two 
holding him down while the other two 
pulled off his trousers. He was saved 
when a passer-by called the police. 


RAPED PRISONER FREED 

NEWARK, NEW JERSEY—A_ Federal 
district judge has ordered the release of 
a 19-year-old prisoner who was forcibly 
raped by three other inmates al the 
Federal Reformatory in Petersburg, 
Virginia, Judge Herbert J. Stern criti- 
cized the U.S. Bureau of Prisons for 


laxity in caring for youthful offenders 
and said, “It is difficult enough for a 
judge to sentence an individual to in- 
carceration. That task becomes well 
nigh impossible and terribly frighten- 
ing when prison officials cannot provide 
rudimentary protection against this sort 
of crime.” The rape victim had served 
less than two months of a two-to-six- 
year sentence on a bombing conviction. 


FETUS SUPPORT 

TALLAHASSEE—A Florida appeals court 
has ruled two to one that an unborn 
fetus has a right to support payments 
and that ils mother may not negotiate 
them away. The case involved a Jack- 
sonville woman who had accepted a 
$500 cash settlement from the admitted 
father in return for dropping her pa- 
lernity suit and waiving support pay- 
ments. The dissenting judge argued that 
the decision was illogical and incon- 
sistent with the same court's. earlier 
ruling that a woman may obtain an 
abortion without the father’s consent. 
He reasoned that if a woman may 
eliminate the need for support by ter- 
minaling her pregnancy against the 
father's wishes, she may also “relieve 
the same father from the obligation to 
support. 


ABORTION AMENDMENT 

PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY—A recent 
Gallup Poll found the public closely 
divided on a constitutional amendment 
that would ban abortions except to save 
the mother's life. Those opposed to such 
an amendment—49  percent—have. a 
slight edge over those favoring it 15 
percent. Strongest support comes from 
Catholics, persons 50 or over and those 
with less than a high school education. 


THE ULTIMATE SIN 

HOLLYWOOD, FLORIDA—A 22-year-old 
student expelled by the Florida Bible 
College for becoming pregnant out of 
wedlock is suing the school to be allowed 
lo complete her studies. She was six 
weeks away from graduating with a 
bachelor of arts degree in Biblical educa- 
tion. “She has now married the boy and 
has offered to do anything they wanted, 
but they said she had committed ‘the 
ultimate sin’ and they wanted nothing 
10 do with her," her lawyer said, adding 
that hey boyfriend, also student, was ex 
pelled as weil. In January 1975, the non- 
denominational school was scandai 
when its founding president disappeared, 


leaving a tape recording in which he 
confessed to having committed adultery 
with one of his students. 


LAND OF THE FREE 
NASHVILLE—The Associated Press re- 
ports that theater managers in Nash- 
ville have slopped playing the national 
anthem before movies because of fights 
that broke out between patrons who 

stood up and those who didn't. 


SMUGGLER'S HIDEAWAY 

PHILADELPHIA—Police detectives ar- 
rested a 25-year-old man on drug 
charges after watching doctors use a 
gastroscope to fish a cocaine-filled pro- 
phylactic from his stomach. The man is 
suspected of smuggling the drug into 
the U.S. from Mexico, expecting to 
recouer it through the process of elimi- 
nation. When it failed to pass after ten 
days, he called a doctor, who warned 
him that digestive juices would even- 
tually dissolve the rubber and release 
enough cocaine to cause his death. 


GRANDPOP'S POT 
EUREKA, CALIFORNIA—Called to the 
local hospital to investigate the strong 
odor of marijuana smoke, police found 
an elderly man in the lobby puffing 
contentedly on a pipeful of pot. He 


explained that he was visiting a patient 
and was smoking an excellent “herb 
mixture” given to him by his grandson. 
He was sorely grieved when police con- 
fiscated all that he had left. 


COLOMBIA LEGALIZES POT 
nocora—The Colombian government 
has legalized the use of marijuana and 
the possession of up to 28 grams (about 
one ounce) per person. A justice minis- 
try spokesman said the action was based 
on recommendations from Colombia's 


national drugs council that the personal 
use of pot no longer should be a crim- 
inal offense, though persons caught 
with more than 28 grams can still be 
charged with drug trafficking. 


SPLITTING HAIRS 
SOUTHAMPTON, ENGLAND—A magis- 
trate’s court dismissed | soliciting-for- 
prostitution charges against a 26-year-old 


Southampton woman accused of posing 
seductively in a window lit by a red 
light. The court ruled that she was not 
soliciting, only advertising, and that 
there is a legal difference. 


BACK TO THE FARM 

DOYLESTOWN, PENNSYLVAMAA——/A com- 
mon-pleas court has rejected the com 
mon-law right of a husband to sue his 
wife's alleged lover for monetary dam 
ages, because, the judge decided, a 
woman is entitled to choose her sexual 
partner. Judge Isaac S. Garb said his 
ruling does not advocate or even con- 
done adulterous conduct but recognizes 
a woman's constitutional right “to en- 
gage in voluntary natural sexual rela- 
tions with a person of her choice"—a 
tight, he pointed out, also enjoyed by 
men. He added, “We do not believe 
that the conclusion we reached consti 
tutes the destruction of the family as an 
institution in Pennsylvania.” The plain- 
Liff had asked more than $10,000 in dam. 
ages from his estranged wife's alleged 
lover and several other persons who, he 
charged, had conspired in 1974 to en- 
courage her to leave him and move to a 
farm commune. In several states, courts 
have permitted such suits under the 
common-law principle that a husband 
has the right to “the services, fidelity, 
consortium and body of his wife.” 


topic can be defined; it seems to me ob- 
vious that pornography, like all art, is a 
slatement in favor of life and against 
death.” 


DIVINE RETRIBUTION 
I wanted to applaud when I read 
William Peck's letter in the March 
Playboy Forum. Peck's blast at the Rev- 
erend Paul B. Tinlin, who suggests that 
convicted murderers be executed on 
prime-time TV, really hits the mark. It's 
time we weed out those Biblical hypocrites 
who speak of peace yet use the Bible to 
justify their own violent impulses. 
Dennis L. Prokop 
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 


RUBBER DUB DUB 

Having grown up in the pill gener- 
ation, I never had occasion to buy a 
condom until recently. One evening, I got 
into some heavy petting on my living- 
room couch with a stewardess of my ac- 
quaintance but she stopped me from 
intercourse by telling me she was without 
protection, She had given up the pill on 
her doctors advice and had left her 
diaphragm at a friend's apartment in 
London. The conclusion of the evening. 
was satisfactory but not great. I resolved 
to keep a box of condoms on hand for 
future emergencies. 

About two months later, I had an- 
other one of these postpill women in my 
apartment. She elected to tell me about 
the problem only after we were both nude 
and I was at full staff, Slightly annoyed, 
1 rushed to the bathroom and rummaged 
through the medicine chest. Naturally, 
by that time, Fd forgotten where I had 
put the condoms and it scemed to take 
forever to find them. When I did, I took 
one out of the box and tried to break its 
protective plastic capsule per directions. 
And tried again. The damned thing 
would not snap. By that time, I was at 
hal£mast and sinking fast. I put the 
capsule on the floor, stamped on it and 
let out a shrick as broken plastic bit 
into my heel. I limped back to the bed- 
room with the lubricated condom dan- 
gling from my finger tips like a dead eel 
and said it might be a while before I'd be 
ready to go. The young lady avowed she'd 
had a change of heart, anyway, having 
remembered a fiancé in Peoria, to whom 
she'd promised to be nd packed 
up and left. 

If any scientists are working on a pill 
for men, I'll be happy to volunteer as an 
experimental subject. 

(Name withheld by request) 
Minneapolis, Minnesota 


FREEDOM IN NEW HAMPSHIRE 

George Maynard, who, on his car's 
license plates, taped over the New Hamp- 
shire state motto, LIVE FREE OR DIE, has 
finally been vindicated. But it cost him 
three arrests, two convictions, 15 days in 
jail, the impoundment of his car, the loss 


49 


PLAYBOY 


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of his job as a printer and national 
notoriety—all in the name of freedom. A 
threejudge Federal court ruled in May- 
nard's favor earlier this finding that 
the license-plate motto the con- 
stitutional right of free expression" and 
forces those disagreeing with it into “in- 
voluntary affirmation.” 

The ruling ended Maynard's tribula- 
tions, but afterward he said, “The de- 
cision doesn't mean much to me. I won 
when I taped over the motto. You can 
put a man in jail, punish him—but they 
couldn't break my will. I maintained my 
beliefs and my integrity.” 

Lewis J. Seale piously takes Maynard 
to task in the November 1975 Playboy 
Forum, writing that he "is like a lot of 
other pcople: He would obey only those 
laws that suit his fancy. This makes for 
plain anarchy.” But despite Maynard's 
disagreement with the LIVE FREE OR DIE 
motto, he chose to follow it, risking scrious 
penalties in order to live free, instead of 
pursuing the easier path of a court 
appeal. This, it seems to me, is closer to 
the ideal that Revolutionary War hero 
General John Stark had in mind when 
he uttered the phrase “Live free or die” 
200 years ago. To uphold the principles 
he believes in, would Seale, or any other 
of Maynard's critics, have weathered the 
difficulties that Maynard did? 

It's a small matter, this license-plate 
business, and Maynard’s name may not go 
down in the history books, but he has 
offered a lesson in freedom to those who 
care to learn from it. 

Michael Harris 
Loudon, New Hampshire 


GRIM FAIRY TALE 

Once upon a time, there came to a 
campus called Kent State a small group 
of agitators. They tried to convince the 
students to demonstrate for peace. The 
students then embarked on a course of 
action that soon turned into a riot in- 
volving property damage and arson. The 
people who ran the campus and the near 
hy town became frightened and called 
on the governor for help. He sent in the 
National Guard, which turned out to be 
heavily armed but poorly trained and 
led, and the result was a tragedy. 

If Peter Davies, whose letter appe: 
in the March Playboy Forum, criticizes 
the courts that have consistently failed 
to find the Guardsmen and others guilty 
of wrongdoing, why is he not also criti- 
cal of those courts that didn't prosecute 
the inciters and the participants? 

W. L. Horst 
Covington, Kentucky 

The demonstrators were prosecuted, 
but it happened so promptly after the 
events that you've undoubtedly forgot 
ten about it, Five months after the May 
1970 Killings, a state grand jury indicted 
24 students and one professor on charges 
ranging from arson lo first-degree in 
citement to riot. Among the accused 


were two of those wounded by the 
Guardsmen’s fusillade. A year later, the 
slate of Ohio brought the 25 to trial. Of 
the first five to be tried, one was acquit- 
ted, another had the charges dismissed 
by the judge and the remaining three 
pleaded guilty to lesser offenses. Most of 
the remaining 20 persons were indicted 
on charges pertaining to the day of the 
killings, but the siate suddenly dropped 
its case against all of them, claiming it 
lacked evidence to prosecute. Trials 
would have led to public, recorded ques- 
tions and answers about the circum- 
stances surrounding the shootings. In 
contrast, i was not until March 1974 
that a Federal grand jury indicted eight 
of the Guardsmen on the only Federal 
charge available in law, that of depriv- 
ing their victims of their constitutional 
rights. 


THE RIGHT TO ARMS 

I read with interest the letters about 
gun control in the March Playboy 
Forum. Y will support anyone's consti- 
tutional right to keep and bear arms as 
long as he or she belongs to a "well 
regulated militia,” as stipulated in the 
Constitution 


Pete Peterson 
in Diego, California 


THE POLICEMAN'S SIDE 
There has been a lot of j 
lately about the “police state” the U- S. 
is turning into—such as Laurence G 
ziles’ Who Can Arrest You?, in PLAYBOY 
(March). I am a cop in New York City, 
d the idea of a police state frightens me. 
a police state, there are purges, and 
ess who gets it in the neck first during 
a purge? Much more important, the 
whole idea of a police state is as revolt- 
ing to me as it is to any other American. 
There ny number of horror 
stories depicting nightmarish arres 
innocent people, who are swept up 
iled by police storm troopers. But the 
problem with most stories about cops is 
that they tell only one side. When the 


z in print 


ily the wh ol justice can roll over a 
cop who screws up. A criminal action of 

ny kind comes down harder on a 
cop. A civilian can stand before a judge 
and tell him that he's got roots in the com- 


mu now consen- 
sual sodomy was The cop 
can never ” He's a 
cop—he h 


He knows "that stuff” is a nono. He c 
go down the drain for it. Even it he be 
the criminal charges, the department hits 
i h everything from 

g a police officer” 
al period.” 

The vast majorit 
blue-clad robots 
heroes of TV. 

in on your 
anthropology cl 


'conduct un. 
to "unauthor- 


of cops are neither 
or the overdramatized 
ture yourself on the 
way to a cultural- 
All you want to do 


to your 
best friend? 


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Crimes Against Nature: If any person shall carnally 
know in any manner any brute animal, or carnally know 
any male or female person by the anus or by or with the 
mouth, or voluntarily submits to such carnal knowledge, 
he or she shall be guilty of a felony and shall be confined 
the penitentiary not less than one year nor more than 
cc years. VIRGINIA CRIMINAL CODE 


On March 29, 1976, the United States Supreme Court ruled 
that American citizens have no constitutional right to sexual 
privacy. Without hearing oral argument and without issuing a 
written opinion, the Court voted 6-3 to affirm Federal 
district court ruling that upheld the state of Vi inia’s right to 
arrest, prosecute and imprison adults who engage in private, 
consensual sex acts, The summary decision was as sinister as 
it was efficient: It ser na 
insight or guidance, In 1973, the Court was rou 
for its decisions on what constitutes obscenity, when it ruled 
such judgments could depend in part on undefined 
adards”; i.e., the whims, prejudices or moral precepts 
makers. This time out, the Court protected itself 
from criticism by acting in silence—stonewalling in the best 
ion. The implication is plain, however: Sex is no 
longer a constitutional concern. Let the states handle it. The 
decision is fashionable, seeming to reduce the power of central 
government, but it does so in a way that converts federalism 
back to feudalism. It isa decenwali that diminishes rather 
than enlarges perso: freedom, The Court has abdicated its 
historic responsibility to uphold the Bill of Rights, to protect 
the individual from the tyranny of the majority. We are back 
to the days when Judge Roy Bean was the only law west of 
the Pecos. 

Commenting on the Court's highhanded manner, Gerald 
ther, law professor at Stanford Unive: sity, declared, “It is 
csponsible, It is lawless.” It is also irrational. Because of the 
Court's silence, we are left to assume that it agrees with the 
soning behind the lower court's decision, The opinion pre- 
sented by the 2-1 majority in the Federal district court was a 
travesty. Last fall, a group of Virginia lawyers initiated a chal- 
lenge against the state law prohibiting so-called crimes against 
nature. The case was brought on behalf of two anonymous 
homosexuals who felt that the statute infringed on their con- 
stitutional rights to privacy. Their lawyers cited past Supreme 
Court decisions striking down abortion laws, laws against the 
sale of contraceptives and laws prohibiting the private posses 
sion of pornography—all of which seemed to establish a zone 
of privacy around the intimate life of the individual. The 
attorney representing the state argued that the statute did not 
g const 
tional, it wasactually useful, since laws prohibiting homosexual- 
ty act to encourage heterosexual marriages. So do shotgun 
weddings. Any species whose instinct for self-preservation is so 
muted that its continuation requires a legislative act probably 
doesn’t deserve to exist. Two of the three judges hearing the 
case agrced with the prosecutor, drawing support from that 
Judaco-Christian favorite, Leviticus: “Thou shalt not 
mankind as with womankind: It is abomination 5s [prr 
guilty parties] shall surely be put to death: their blood shall 
be upon them." An astonishing choice of legal authority. Wh 
ever happened to separation of church and state? 

The dissenting judge in the Virginia case wrote, “Pri 
consensual sex acts between adults are matters, absent ev idence 
that they are harmful, in which the state has no legitimate 
int. rct" Amen. 

As a result of the Supreme Court's abdication of responsibil- 


G 


violate these rights and that, in addition to bi 


The Nixon Legacy: Part I 


STONEWALLING ON SEXUAL FREEDOM 


ity, the 36 states that have archaic sodomy statutes are under no 
pressure to repeal them. Generating public concern about the 
laws will be difficult, because the sodomy statutes are said to 
be "almost never enforced." When a law is almost never en- 
forced, it pays to study the cases that do go to court. Select 
application of a law is one way petty officials have of wreaking 
personal vengeance on people who disagree with their policies. 
If a law is on the books, it can be used against you. In the 
Sixties, drug laws were used to weed out political radicals. In 
the Sevent 
people on Nixon's enemies list. A bad Jaw is a bad government's 
way of getting a grip on the good guys. 

A quick glance at the history of sex cases in America reveals 

that most excesses of law enforcement are the work of mis- 
guided, messianic prosecutors embarked on crusades to stamp 
out pleasure and please mother. In drafting the sodomy stat- 
utes, state legislatures have given such latter-day Comstocks a 
carte blanche upon which to charge their own visions of sexual 
normality. Not all sodomy statutes are as explicit as the Virg 
law; many are vague, written in the style of an Old Test 
prophet, condemning “the i 
seldom offering a definition of the crime. Big 
not know how to define sodomy, but he knows it when he sees 
itand, believe us, he is watching. Some of the statutes have been 
so broadly interpreted as to include any behavior that varies 
from the missionary position—from oral sex to mutual mastur- 
m to French kissing. 
A bad law breeds corrupt enforcement, The means lable 
to the prosecution in a sodomy case are more sordid than the 
behavior the law seeks to prohibit. The very ture of 
the crime requires the police to use entrapment, ill 
lance, undercover agents or the testimony of one partner 
ag other. Recent history has shown that poorly drawn 
Federal laws can result, for mple, in the no-knock antics 
of DEA agents. The same kind of abuse can occur on the local 
level. And, like the drug laws, the possible sentences for 
sodomy are absurd. For noncrimes like these, the lightest 
nalty is a miscarriage of justice. Walter Barnett, author of 
Sexual Freedom and the Constitution, writes, “That such per- 
versions of justice are permitted to take place in this day and 
a far greater outrage than these harmless ‘perversions’ of 
sex.” It is unfortunate that the Supreme Court has chosen to 
condone such laws. But it is not surprising. In the name of law 
and order, Richard Nixon pocketed the Bill of Rights. When 
he finally got caught, he packed his bags and left, but not 
before he had packed the Supreme Court with four con- 
scrvatives bent on restoring old-fashioned virtue at any cost 

The Courr's states-rights line has alarmed lawyers across the 
nation, moving the Amer Civil Liberties Union to write in 
protest: “The Supreme Court is embarked on a dangerous 
and destructive journey designed to dilute the powers of the 
Federal Judiciary to serve as guardian of Federal constitutional 
rights. If the trend continues; indeed, if it is not reversed, we 
believe thar the protection of constitutional rights and liberties 
will be imperiled, and the people will be un able to defend 
themselves against and unconstitutional actions of 
ate officials or to secure effective relief a id state 
laws.” 


IRS regulations were to be used against the 


ment 
namous crime against nature" but 


Brother may 


age 


ticism, 
1 done quite a bit for individual freedom. For 
example, it “opened up the whole ficld [of prisoners’ rights] 
that wasn't open before.” Just as well: At the rate it's going, 
we'll all be prisoners. 


his Court. hà 


This is the first of a scies of editorials. 


is to finish reading the chapter you were 
supposed to have read the previous night, 
but three dudes get on and proceed to 
act like assholes—shouting, annoying 
people, blasting a radio, Suddenly, you 
are certain that everyone on that train 
knows e a cop and is waiting for 
you to are of the situation. It’s as 
if there's a big red dome light on top 
of your And all you've got is a 
-38-caliber off duty and a b; 
You can't use the .38 (it's à 
rules to shoot anyone for "loud and 
abusive language"). You can't even bluff 
them with the gun. They know you can't 
shoot them—they'll laugh at you if you 
even take the gun out. So you take out 
your ballpoint pen instead and make 
notes on cultural anthropology and hope 
they'll go away 
Or you can try to arrest them by your 
self ot you think that shield in your 
pocket is going to impress them so much 
they'll fall into line and march to the 
police station). Chances are, though, 
either you'll get your pumpkin beat in, 
since you can count on zero help from the 
commuters, or you'll end up shooting 
one of them in the fight (headline: “cor 
SHOOTS UNARMED BOY IN CROWDED TRAIN"). 
cops immune to Catch-22 sit- 
. Lers suppose an off-duty cop 
gets in a jam for patting a girl on the 
tushy. Not serious, but the girl presses 
charges—sexual misconduct. The charge 
becomes a felony because it occurred 
while the cop was armed with a deadly 
weapon—the gun h quired by the 
department to carry while he's in the city. 
Irs been said so often that perhaps 
no onc listens anymore: Cops like to 
help people. There's much more satisfac- 
tion in it. Certainly more than they get 
out of shooting or arresting people. 
(There is satisfaction in arresting some 
turds, however. See the news stories on 
rapes and crimes against the elder! 
But a police state? No, that’s going 
too far. We have to draw the line some- 
where between anarchic idiocy, where 
everyone is responsible for his own safe- 
ty, and total police supervision, where 
everyone docs what's "right" because 
the cops say so. Neither extreme is work- 
able, since most people don't want the 
responsibility and cops don't know what's 
right any better than anyone else. So the 
line of compromise keeps shifting, affect- 
fear and the whims of 
society. it should be—as long 
as it keeps working. 
John E. Haas 
Garnerville, New York 


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a candid conversation with the former goldwater advisor turned lefi-winger 
who now pays no taxes, lives by barter and preaches red-white-and-blue anarchy 


Soon after winning the 1964 Republi- 
can Presidential nomination, in a char- 
acteristic moment of breathtakingly 
inappropriate candor, Barry Goldwater 
frankly told a group of startled reporters 
how unhappy he was with his own cam- 
paign. He complained bitterly about the 
tacky practices of local Republican ad- 
vance men, about offensive TV commer- 
cials aired despite his disapproval, about 
the seemingly endless parade of shadowy 
hangerson who spend the money and re- 
fract the energies of a national campaign. 

When asked how he'd prefer to run for 
President, Goldwater answered without 
pausing. “I'd rent one of those little ex- 
ecutive jets," he said, somewhat wistfully. 
“And Shakespeare and 1 would just 
do it” 

The man he was referring to as Shake- 
speare was Karl Hess. 

Between 1948 and 1964, Hess was 
the quintessential conservative: advisor 
on Congressional politics to the Eisen- 
hower Administration; an carly contribu- 
tor to William Buckley's National 
Review; gun- and napalm runner for a 
pre-Castro revolutionary leader; principal 
writer of the 1960 and 1961 Republi- 
can national platforms; speech- and 


f 
l 


= 


“After I left Goldwater, I took up motor- 
cycle racing, went into the welding 
business, was divorced by my wife, became 
a lax resister, began living on barter, 
remarried, joined SDS... the usual.” 


ghostwriter for most major conservative 
politicians, including Nixon and Ford; 
guru and close personal friend of 
Goldwater. 

But last year, with the publication of 
“Dear America,” a combination memoir 
and anarchist manifesto, Hess firmly es- 
tablished himself as one of the most im- 
portant political theoreticians on the 
New Left. Within one decade, he had 
successfully navigated virtually the entire 
perimeter of American political thought 
without once crossing the mainstream. 

Karl Hess was born in Washington, 
D.C., in 1923. His father was wealthy 
and influential, his mother intelligent 
and attractive. lt was an auspicious be- 
ginning. Bul things went downhill from 
there 

The Hesses separated quickly —Kaw's 
mother taking Karl and little else. She 
didn't believe in alimony and paid for 
her convictions by spending ten years 
behind the switchboard of a Washington 
apartment house. 

Al 16, Hess joined the Socialist Party 
(after the Communists refused to have 
him). At 18, he volunteered for combat 
duty in World War Two but flunked 
the physical and, instead, spent the war 


“The Declaration of Independence is so 
lucid we're afraid of it today. It scares 
the hell out of every modern bureaucrat, 
because it tells us there comes a time 
when we must stop taking orders.” 


LY 


years becoming one of America’s fastest- 
rising young journalists. He worked for 
The Alexandria Gazette, the Washington 
Times-Herald and The New York Daily 
News. At 21, he married Yvonne Cahoon, 
beauty queen and rotogravwe editor of 
The Washington Star. At 22, he became 
assistant city editor of the News but was 
fired later that year for refusing to write 
President Roosevelt's obituary. 

A number of magazine jobs followed, 
culminating with a five-year stint as press 
editor of Newsweek. Bul by then, Hess's 
politics and lifestyle had changed con- 
siderably. He'd become a staunch con- 
servative, the vitriolic author of numerous 
anti-Communist "exposés" and a member 
of what he now calls “the boozy, lech- 
erous, carnivorously ambitious, subur- 
ban middle clas: 

Eventually, Hess left Newsweek to be- 
come “a free-lance conservative,” an oc- 
cupation that included, among many 
other assignments, writing for H. L. Hunt. 

In 1960, the year he wrote Nixon's 
Presidential platform, Hess met Gold- 
water and the two immediately struck 
up a working friendship. A speech Hess 
wrote for the Arizona Senator condemning 


BILLFRANTZ 
“If the Soviets ever invaded the U.S., by 
the lime the Red Army got here, it 
would be totally corrupted. They'd be 
deserting to open McDonald's franchises. 
This country is irresistible.” 


55 


PLAYBOY 


56 


U.S. participation in a nuclear-test-ban 
treaty became the first conservative 
address ever printed in its entirety 
by The New York Times. In one stroke, 
Goldwater had become America’s fore- 
most conservative spokesman and Hess 
had become the Shakespeare of the right. 

But soon after the 1964 election, Hess 
retreated into a cocoon and began going 
through a series of strange metamor- 
phoses. At fast, the changes were only 
superficial: He grew a beard, dressed in 
work clothes, began racing high-powered 
motorcycles. Friends like Buckley and 
Goldwater were amused at his antics. 
Then matters got more serious: Hess 
abandoned his lucrative political career 
to become a blue-collar worker—a non- 
union welder of heavy equipment. And 
a lax resister. That's when his wife 
packed it in. 

With his property confiscated and a 
100 percent Government lien on all 
future earnings, Hess gamely embarked 
upon a life of barter, welding in c: 
change for food and services. And when 
there was no welding to do, he began 
constructing metal sculptures that at 
least one critic has compared to the work 
of David Smith. Yet Hess sternly refuses 
to call his pieces art. “I'm a redneck,” he 
explains, “and rednecks are craftsmen, 
not artists. If you don't believe me, ask 
a liberal: 

In his early days on the New Left, 
Hess described. himself as a libertarian. 
Recently, however, he has opted for the 
term anarchist, an appellation that usual- 
ly conjures the image of murderous packs 
of food gatherers roaming the smoking 
streets of some postcatastrophe land- 
scape. But, in fact, Hess is an orderly 
man whose unique recipe for utopia 
consists of equal pinches of right-wing 
eliance and rugged individualism, 
sing ecology and conservation and 
eral (although he shudders visibly at 
the word) concern for the welfare of the 
disadvantaged. But the key is scale. For 
Hess, the basic unit of a humane civiliza- 
tion must be the neighborhood—not the 
state ov the nation. Hence the term 
anarchy, an absence of rule. 

With his migration leftward, Hess met 
« new group of friends and lovers, and 
in 1970 he married Therese Machotka, 
a free-lance writer and editor. In 1974 
and 1975, Karl and Therese lived 
in Washington's Adams-Morgan ghetto, 
where they and about a dozen other 
hard-core believers tried to make a totally 
self-sufficient community-technology proj- 
ect work in the inner city. They heated 
water with the sun, had a plan to gener- 
ate electricity with a windmill, raised 
trout in superhigh density on a warehouse 
floor, grew vegetables in a hydroponic 
garden, The project excited some interest 
in the neighborhood, but, eventually, 
idealism was ground down by the gritty 
hardships of ghetto life. Tools were rou- 
tinely stolen and finally, in the fall of 


1975, the Hesses’ apartment was brutally 
savaged by vandals. Karl and Therese had. 
had enough. They moved to West Vir- 
ginia, where Karl is now building an 
underground house—a cave, really—of 
his own design. 

Hess, perhaps better than anyone, has 
seen America's political reflection from. 
both sides of the looking glass. So in 
this election and Bicentennial year, we 
thought ii appropriate to discuss politics, 
politicians, love, money, God, taxes 
and welding with the man whose bril- 
liant, if somewhat bizarre, reckonings 
have variously enraged, enthralled and 
amused political observers for a full gen- 
cration. Sam Merrill (whose "Playboy 
Interview" with Joseph Heller appeared 
in our June 1975 issue) ventured into the 
West Virginia wilderness to interview 
Hess. He returned with the following 
impressions: 

“Karl and Therese Hess live temporari- 
ly inan unpainted bui not-too-ramshachle 
farmhouse. Meanwhile, Karl is building 
his dream: an experiment in ecological 


“The notion that afew 
people are different and 
superior .. . was horseshit 
in monarchical times and. 
is horseshit today." 


symbiosis scooped out of a south-sloping 
creek bank. When he's finished, Karl ex- 
pects carth, air and sun to heat and cool 
his underground Xanadu with very little 
outside help. Some experts who've studied 
his plans agree. Others ave not so sure. 
During one of my visits to West Virginia, 
a prominent young architect offered. the 
opinion that since the earth is an in- 
finite heat sink, Karl's house would never 
get above 55 degrees in January. Hess 
responded by dismissing the architect as 
‘a rather negative fellow? He refused 10 
alter his plans and the incident was 
never mentioned again in my presence. 
"Like most utopians, Hess receives in- 
formation the way a snob receives dinner 
guests—warmly but with careful selection. 
“The first time I visited him, we didn't 
get a single word on tape. As soon as I 
arrived, he and Therese ushered me into 
a crab-apple-red. pickup with a decal on 
the rear window that said, ‘National 
Rifle Association—Lifctime Member? 
““The house needs beams, Karl in- 
formed me. ‘You're just in time to help 
us find some." 
“So Karl, Therese and I spent the en- 
tire day scrambling up and down the 
mountains of West Virginia, occasionally 


stopping to turn some huge, half-rotten 
timbers worm side up. Therese com- 
plained constantly about Karl's dviving— 
which was awful. The pickup remained 
airborne much of the time as Karl flogged 
it over narrow, undulating roads. When 
he told me he had no driver's license, my 
knuckles, already milk-white, began turn- 
ing the color and consistency of grape 
jelly. 

“Then, mercifully, we found ourselves 
behind a school bus and had to slow 
down. When the bus stopped to dis- 
charge children, a large ved sign flashed 
over the rear door: sTOP—STATE LAW. 

“Kail laughed. ‘Stop state law. Now, 
that's about the most sensible statement 
Pue heard today? 

“Hess is an antic and humane revolu- 
tionary, a witty and self-effacing tacon- 
teur—irresistible personal qualities that 
form a strange collage when laid across 
his quirky, sometimes highly resistible 
political beliefs. Physically, too, he is a 
pastiche: a great shambling bear of a man 
with the raggedy beard and gentle eyes 
of a dockside philosopher, the sadly 
drooping nose of a Lebanese Bedouin 
and the leafy, unstarched ears of a club 
fighter. But his appearance grows on you. 

“Eventually—very — eventually —Hess 
and I managed to put three interview 
sessions on tape at his temporary farm- 
house. It was difficult to believe that this 
bearded, semikempt, wisecracking West 
Virginia welder had spent the past 
quarter century at the vortex of American 
political power. It is especially hard to 
think of him asa key Presidential speech- 
writer as he extols the joys of anarchy. 
began on the topic of his speech- 
writing days.” 


PLAYBOY: Since we're in the middle of a 
campaign, let's start by ask- 


mpaign. 
Hess: Running for President fecls exactly 
like being President. The ordinary expe- 
riences of life melt away, are replaced by 
a constant swirl of » and money, 
i d prepared statements, Sc- 
ice men and gorgeous political 
a almost infinite sense 
of power and prestige. It feels wonderful, 
which is why it’s so terrible. 
PLAYBOY: It doesn't sound terrible. 
Hess: Oh, but it is The e Presiden- 
tial afflatus reinforces the notion that a 
few people are different and superior, 
capable of solving the problems of the 
faceless mob. That notion was horseshit 
in monarchical times and is horseshit 
today—not that the medieval monarchs 
were much different from our Presidents 
now. The point is that people have 
ways been capable of solving their own 
problems, of living creative, joyous and 
peaceful lives, when left alone. 
PLAYBOY: Surely, even as an anarchist 
you must be willing to admit that there 


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are some differences between Presidents 
and kings. 


HESS: Presidents achieve power by hoaxes 
and handshakes, while kings take the far 
less tiring route of being born. That is 


the only difference I can discern. 
PLAYBOY: But the Constitution says—— 

Hess: I know, that the President is mere- 
ly the head of the Executive branch—the 
one totally unnecessary branch of 


government, even in our own system. 


England, Sweden, Israel and other parli 
mentary democracies do quite well with 
only two branches of government: legis- 
Nevertheless, the 
American President is a king, a fact that 
most of us fully understand. After all, 
didn't Senator Hugh Scott call Nixon's 
near impeachment "regicide" 
PLAYBOY: Were there any incidents dur 
g Goldwater's campaign when you per- 
sonally felt yourself being corrupted by 
power and prestige? 

HESS: Yes. I particularly remember the 
feeling of riding alone in a limousine 
with a motorcycle escort. Everyone was 
peering in at me. To them, I was a blur; 
power in motion. To me, they were a 
frozen tableau of still, dumb, gawking 
faces—as if captured by a strobe light. 
During those moments, I knew the glory 
that the President himself knows, and it 
was an impressive experience. Had it 
continued, I have no doubt that I would 
have succumbed to it absolutely. 

PLAYBOY: Succumbed to what? 

HESS: To the atrocious assumption that I 
was more important than other people. 
And I would not have been evil to do 
so—just human. If your repeated expe 
ence is that you're in motion and every- 


one else is frozen on the side of the road, 


s only reasonable to conclude that you 
are a more important person than they, 
that they expect you to run the universe 
for them. You don't feel as though you 
are being corrupted by power. You feel 
as though you are intelligently respond- 
ing to empirical evidence. And that is 
powers greatest corruption: the tragic 
and universal by the 
wielder of power that it isn’t corrupting 
him. 

PLAYBOY: Along with 
mentioned something about 


misconception 


mousi. 


you 
‘gorgeous 


political groupies —" 
Hess: I was waiting for you to pick that 
up. 


PLAYBOY: Is sex on the campaign trail 
other aspect of the Presidential ex- 
ience? 


pe 
HESS: Well, yes. 
PLAYBOY: Go ahead, you sta rted this. 


HESS: It’s so sad. Women are used as trade 
goods in a political campaign. The rich 
and powerful require lot of solace and 
don't have much time, so their approach 
to getting their rocks off is the same as 
pproach to getting a haircut. The 
barber comes to them, the tailor comes 
to them and sex comes to them, too. 


Women are assigned, like jets 
ousines. 

PLAYBOY: Was Goldwater much of a wom- 
anizer during the campaign? 

HESS: Hc wasn't a womanizer in the sense 
of being promiscuous. I think he's had a 
romance or two, but even as the Presi- 
dential candidate, when he had the pick 
of the liter, Goldwater was never a tom- 
cat like, say, Jack Kennedy. Goldwater 
is not a cheap guy. Unlike most of official 
Washington, he isn’t the afternoon 
“quick bang” type. 

PLAYBOY: But most of official Washi 
is the quick-bang type? 

HESS: Oh, Lord, yes. The first thing that 
strike: tor to Capitol Hill is the 
auty of the women. In al- 
most every office, there's one Rose Mary 
Woods type. She ain't much to look 
but she sure churns out the wor 
swering the phone with one hand, typing 
with the other and erasing tapes with her 


ngion 


an- 


“Its so sad. Women are 
used as trade goods in a 
political campaign. . . . They 
are assigned, like jets 
and limousines.” 


feet. Then there are about six really gor- 
geous women called "political research- 
ers" who never seem to be doing anything 
at all. You'd be surprised at how much 
high-level scheduling is done around 
whether or not some bigwi get in 
his “nooner.” And in a Presidential cam- 
paign, it's worse. I'd love to name names, 
but I won't. 

PLAYBOY: Oh, go aheac 

HESS: Let's just call the practice—and 
the performance—"widespr 
PLAYBOY: How did the N 
House stack up in that rej 
HESS: Not as well as previous ad 
tions. You can't do that sort of thing with 
a suit and tie on. 

PLAYBOY: But the Goldwater campaign 
was a bit better? 

HESS: I guess. After the election, I had 
a very funny conversation with a guy 
from the phone company who told me his 
i n't dismantling the switch- 
rd but disconnecting the tie lines to 
girls apartments all over town. He said 
dozens and dozens of our campaign 
people had extensions, so the reception- 
ist at national headquarters could just 
flip a switch and they could take their 
calls in bed. 

PLAYBOY: How did you and Goldwater 
happen to team up? 


White 


HESS: While I was writing the Repub- 
lican platform in 1960, the people at 
the American Enterprise Institute— 
which is to conservatives what Brookings 
is to liberals—asked me to be their direc 
tor of special projects and I said sure. 
And when the Senator called AE. for 
some help on his nuclcar-test-ban oppo 
sition, I was his man. I liked him from 
the moment we met. You can't help it 
He's such a fine man. Incidentally, when 
I broke with the conservatives, I honestly 
thought Goldwater would also amend the 
error of his ways and join me on the 
New Left. 
PLAYBOY: Do you still thi 
chance he might? 
Hess: With Goldwater, anything's possi: 
ble. Which is more than you can say for 
Humphrey. Ford, Jackson, Rockefeller 
Kennedy, Reagan or any of the other 
state socialists of the American right. 
Anyway. I suppose Goldwater must 
have taken a liking to me, too, but we 
didn't get really close until The New 
York Times printed a speech I'd written 
for him against the banning of nuclear 
tests in the atmosphere. As far as I know. 
mine was the first conservative speech 
that august publication deemed fit to 


there's a 


print. 
PLAYBOY: You mean the Times liked your 
speech? 

HESS: No, but it said even though it was 
incorrect, inhumane, indecent and a 
threat to motherhood and world sanity, 


it had nevertheless raised the literary 
content of the debate. Well, we were all 
thrilled. because if The New York Times 
says something, it must be official. So 
Goldwater started calling me Shi 
speare. 

PLAYBOY: Did you 
much time disc 
as opposed to political strategy? 

HESS: Yes, we did, and I'm glad you made 
that distinction. We frequently used to 
ask ourselves what the differences really 
were between us and the Soviets. Even 
then I was s was Goldwater, that 
the differences. were marginal, so we 
wanted to spell them out. But the more 
we discussed it, the harder it became. T 
mean, they have a secret police, we have 
a secret police. They can vote for only 
idate, here we have two—wh 
es us twice as good but not 
lutely better, especially since our cand 
dates are selected in such a pecul 
hion. We kept pressing cach other for 
differences and when we got right down 
to it, for Goldwater, the difference was 
religion: “We are the children of light 
and they are the children of darkness. 
PLAYBOY: That was the principal differ- 
ence Goldwater found between us and the 
Russians? 

HESS: Yes, and since I'm an atheist, I 
didn't consider his position wholly 
fying. But 1 think jt turns out. that. the 
entire Cold War didn't make sense with- 
out religion. Nelson Rockefeller doesn't 


nd Goldwater spend 
sing political theory— 


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PLAYBOY 


60 


ake sense without religion—not that 
Nelson Rockefeller makes much sense 
with religion. But what other differences 
are there? As James Burnham pointed 
out in 1941, in The Managerial Revolu- 
tion, the similarity between the Soviet 
state and the American corporation is 
striking. So to find a difference worth 
dying for in opposing the Soviet Union 
le supporting General Motors requires 
a theological position. 
PLAYBOY: It’s surprising that Goldwater 
agreed with you on the similarities be- 
iween the U.S. and Russia, 
HESS: Not only did Goldwater agree with 
me but he had a theory of convergence 
that even I found somew radical. 
Goldwater believed—and probably still 
believes—that the Soviet Union, through 
the pressure of its people, would move 
steadily toward a free society, while the 
U. S., through the pressure of the liberals 
and the momentum of the Federal bu- 
reaucracy, would become more and more 
oligarchic. But, unlike many conver- 
gence theorists, Goldwater did not be- 
lieve we would meet and stabilize. He felt 
we would cross, that they would keep 
moving toward freedom and we would 
keep moving toward dictatorship. I be- 
ieved then, and still believe now, that 
he is wrong—at least about Russia. They 
seem to be able to slow down the liber- 
1 movement any time they want. 
ithors of Gold- 
acceptance speech at the 1964 
are you aware that many 
people believe two of your sentences de- 


feated him before he'd even started his 
campaign? 
I assume you're referring to "Ex- 


tremism in defense of liberty is no vice. 
Moderation in pursuit of freedom is no 
virtue." 

PLAYBOY: You guessed it 

Then the answer is yes and no. 
I'm aware people have blamed Gold- 


"house divided" speech and thc actual 
» the 
neoln schol Ithough we all 
thought it was provocative. nobody sus- 
pected it would induce spontaneous 
hemorrhaging in the body politic, When 
Rockeleller . he dropped his 
womb. 

PLAYBOY: With some of the labels 
used through. the years—anarchist, right- 


wing socialists, and so on—this might be 

good time to ak vou to define your 
unique views of the American political 
spectrum. For instance, you've said that 


the conservative movement is to the Left 
of liberalism. What do you mean by that? 
HESS: Most analysis see the political spec 
irum as a great circle, with author 
governments of the right and the left 
tersecting at a point directly opposite 
representational democracy. But my no- 


n of politics is that it follows a straight 
line, with all authoritarian societies on 
the right and all libertarian societies on 
the left. So for me, the extreme right is 
an absolute monarchy or dictatorship. On 
the right, Jaw and order means the law 
of the ruler and the order that serves 
the interests of that ruler: orderly work- 
ers, submissive students, cowed or indoc- 
trinated elders. Hitler, Stalin and Huey 
Long were all right-wingers because their 
regimes concentrated power in the fewest 
possible hands. The far left favors the 
distribution of money and power into 
the maximum number of hands. 
PLAYBOY: So when you call yourself an 
anarchist, you've really moved as far left 
as you can go. 
HESS: That’s correct. I am in total oppo- 
sition to any institutional power. I favor 
a world of neighborhoods in which all 
social organization is voluntary and the 
ways of life are established in small, con- 
These groups could co- 
w 


senting groups. 
operate with other groups as they sa 


“Iam in total opposition 
to any institutional power. 
I favora world of neighbor- 

hoods in which all social 
organization is voluntary.” 


fit. But all coopera 
voluntary basis. As the French anarci 
Proudhon said, "Liberty [is] not 
daughter but the Mother of Order.” 
PLAYBOY: That sounds like so much pie 
1 the sky. Have any such societies ever 
existed? 

HESS: The precedents I look to were the 
participatory democracies of the Greek 
city-states, many Irish cities up until the 


tion would be on a 


the 


British occupation, some Indian villages 
under Mahatma Gandhi and the town 
meetings right here in America 


those anarchist societies produced gr 
and honorable cultures. There is no way 
to achieve a free society that is national. 
The concept of a nation requires the sub- 
ordination of the citizen because you must 
let someone else represent you. So your 
frecdom is being exercised by another pe 
son. In a truly free society, there is no 
subordination of any citizen, Every citizen 
represents himself 

PLAYBOY: But a society without any sub- 
ordination would be chaotic. 

Hess: The way to achieve freedom with- 
is to function at a scale of re- 
s that permits you to discuss 
one af- 


out chaos 
ionsl 
matters of citizenship. with. ev 


fected. In other words, at the neighbor- 
hood level. 
PLAYBOY: What about matters that spill 
over to other neighborhoods, such as the 
maintenance of roads and rivers? Or 
pollution? 

Hess: There would be ad hoc mee 
voluntary federations, and so forth. 
PLAYBOY: There scems to be no avoiding 
the conclusion that at the core of your 
hist beliefs there is an assumption. 
en on faith, of the essential goodness 
of mx 
HESS: Yes, the rchist does believe that 
although human beings are of a mixed 
nature, on slight balance we are proba 
bly good. 

LAYBOY: But wi if the Christians arc 
right and humans are basically evil, un- 
ady to go it alone socially or me 
ph 
MESS: In that sad case, it would be even 


ana 


more imperative to avoid the nation- 
use then a basically flaved in 
be invested with the 


greatest possible power. The anarchist— 
although he believes man is good—says 


that whether man is, in fact, good or 
evil, the don-state is an abomination. 
PLAYBOY: You frequently characterize 


American liberalism as elitist. How would 
you characterize Ameri 
Hess: The American right today see 
ized by a smallness of spirit 
by vast insecurities. This tragic fe 
ness causes the right to abandon its tradi- 


rity. So while conserva 
ist the increasing centr 
of the Fede 
they support the 
power of the m nd the police. 
Conservatives give lip service to neigh- 
borhood control of this or that. But they 
mean their neighborhood, not yours. 
Beverly Hills, not Harlem. 
PLAYBOY: But you still feel tha 
more dangerous than conser 
HESS: Conservatives strive to concen 
local power in conservative hands, while 
liberals strive to concentrate national 
power in liberal hands. Hence, although 
both profoundly rightwing move 
ments, liberalism lies slightly farther 
along the road to dictatorship. 
PLAYBOY: You obviously didn't hold these 
ws while you were Goldwater's speech- 
writer. What happened to you after he 
lost the 1964 election? 
HESS: Oh, I took up motorcycle racing. 
went into business welding heavy equip- 
ment, was divorced by my wife, bec 
resister, began living on barter, remar- 
tied. joined SDS. . . the usual. 
PLAYBOY: Right, the usual. Your first left- 
ward step was to become a tax resister. 
How did that happen? 
MESS: A lot of people believe Nixon was 


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the first President to use the Inter 
Revenue Service as a weapon of polit 
revenge. But, as in so many other areas, 
the only thing Nixon did first was get 
caught. As soon as Johnson was elected 
in 1964, I was slapped with my first and 
only IRS audit. 

PLAYBOY: What a coincidence. 

HESS: It was an experience I'll never 
forget. Before I was through with IRS— 
what am I saying? I'll never be through 
with IRS—I'd met a lot of “revenooers,” 
and T'll tell you, they are a special case. 
Every war is full of stoi n which 
ordinary decency breaks through, even in. 
the most barbarous situations, turning 
paid Killer into a compassionate human 
being—if only for a moment. But 1 
never seen that happen to a tax collector. 
They are the most casually vicious, ab- 
jectly humorless and routinely amoral 
people I've ever met. If you want to find 
a fascist constituency in America, just 
poll the bureaucrats at IR: 
PLAYBOY: What made you decide to be- 
come a resisterz 

HESS: It was a single phrase. I'd asked the 
auditor/robber who was handling my 
case/theft if he didn't think a certain 
perfectly legitimate deduction was right. 
He replied to the effect that it didn't 


matter if it was right. All that mattered 
was the Iaw. I remember saying to myself, 
Oh, Lord, here's a guy who thinks 


there's a difference between right and 
law. A perfect Nazi soldier." I had never 
met an American who felt 
befo: 
PLAYBOY: So what did you do? 

MESS: I notified them that I wasn't going 
to pay taxes anymore—ever. And by way 
of explanation, 1 enclosed a copy of the 
Declaration of Independence. 

PLAYBOY: What did they do? 

HESS: Confiscated all my property except 
tools and dothing and slapped 100 
percent Government lien on whatever 
future earnings I might have. Our Gov- 
ernment isn’t interested in conscience 
when it comes to moncy. 

PLAYBOY: That's a rather broad statement, 
HESS: It is curious to note that when, for 
reasons of conscience, people refuse to 
arc often exempted from active 
itary duty. But there are no exemp- 
ns for people who. for reasons of 
conscience, refuse to financially support 
the bureaucracy that actully does the 
Killing. Apparently, the state takes money 
more seriously than life. 

PLAYBOY: How has IRS treated. you over 
the past ten years? 

HESS: Very shabbily. Since I'm not pe 
nitted to handle money, I've been forced 
to live on barter even while my case is 
being appealed. You sce, the revenooers 
asume you are guilty until proven inno- 
cent. Fortunately, my lawyer, who wa 
ako David Smith’s lawyer, has agreed to 


c my metal sculpture in lieu of a fee, 
nd he's kept me out of prison thus far. 
But my prospects aren't bright. 

PLAYBOY: Why do you say that? 

HESS: Because the revenoocrs consider 
X resisters the worst of all crim 
They'll wheel and deal with g 
and millionaires. Crooked politi 
even Presidents—and_ businessm 
chisel can hire hotshot attorneys 
almost without exception end up sett! 
for so much on the dollar, They can even 
have the laws rewritten or, n Nixon's 
case, suspended entirely. But the rev- 
enooers descend on working people like 
a cloud of locusts. 

PLAYBOY: You realize, of course, that 
you're not doi se any good by 
talking like this. 

HESS: I know, but I can't resist the oppor- 
tunity to haunt those people. Something 
to haunt them. Certainly their 
consciences never do. 

PLAYBOY: After your battles with the IRS 


“Ta 


most casually vicious, 


collectors are the 


abjectly humorless and 
routinely amoral people 


I've ever met.” 


. you joined Students for a Demo- 
cratic Society. Did you find more commi 
ment on the left than you'd encountered 
on the right 

HESS: Yes, and the difference is illustrated 
lly by a comparison of student 
groups. I've worked closely with both the 
Young Americans for Freedom and the 
SDS, and TH tell you, when Y.A.F. decided 
to take an action, first it beat the billion 
avy money. It opened 
offices, hired secretaries. demanded ex- 
pense a ics before genting 
its crusade off the ground. But when SDS 
decided to take action, it simply took it. 
‘The difference the level of commit- 
ment. 
PLAYBOY: W 
by the casualiess toward sex and drugs 


it- 


€ bushes for he 


you shocked or disturbed 


you observed on the New Left? 
Hess: The drugs of the lelt are grass, 
hash, acid, coke, opium and an amazing 


h, if 
you survive the coronary, produces quite 
a rush. Although I've tried them all and 
don't particularly like any. the 
hell out of whiskey, the drug of the r 
But practically everything on earth is 
Detter than whiskey, including rusty nails. 
PLAYBOY: So you're not into drugs. 


substance called amyl nitrite, whi 


Hess: Many of the experiences I've had 
with drugs have been pleasurable, but 
they don't expand your mind. They make 
you useless. I doubt very seriously whether 
even Carlos Castineda wrote his books 
while he was high. He probably wrote 
them after the businessman's lunch 
Schrafft 
PLAYBOY: Do you. or did vou ever consid- 
er Timothy Leary a member of the New 
Left? 
HESS: Absolutely not. He was a down 
when he started and now he little 
worse than a clown—a police informant, 
by some accounts. But getting on to more 
pleasant subjects, you mentioned sex. 
PLAYBOY: So we did. 
HESS: Sex is much better on the left than 
it was on the right. On the right, the 
sharing of 
people living together 
fact, it's rather unusual. On the left, it is 
unusual for a couple not to share th 
entire lives. 
PLAYBOY: You next became an enthusias- 
tic friend of the Black Panthers. Not many 
mater how Tar 
ck and green. Why 
mso strongly? 
Perhaps it was my conservative 
background. In fact. I'm surprised many 
conservatives didit, if not support, at 
least admire the Panther movement. T 
remem mous photograph of an 
armed black man standing proudly- 
ogantly. depending upon your ra 
bias—in the California Statehouse. What 
htwinger has not dreamed of the day 
he. too. would say no to the bureaucrats 
and take up arms like our revolutionary 
forefathers? Here was a group of Ameri 
cans actually saying that extremism i 
defense of their own freedom was no vice. 
How could 1 of all people, oppose them? 
PLAYBOY: Did you feel similarly about the 
L.A, later on? 
MESS: OL course not. In fact, T believe 
the S.LA. is an FBI plot to. publicly 
discredit the leftwing movement in 
America. 
PLAYBOY: You're kidding 
HESS: Just look at the thing. It operates 
the way the FBI wishes a radical group 
would behave. There ng political 
about the S.L.A. It’s just a criminal 
operation, like the Clyde Barrow gang. 
They rob banks. kill people and hide 
out. To discuss the S.L.A. in terms of 


s noth 


politics or revolu s shockingly mis- 
leading. It doesn't resemble any political 


group, right or left, with the posible 
exception of the CIA. I believe the pur- 
pose of the S.L.A. is to offer the American 
people an apparently left-wing organ 
tion that the state is better tha 


PLAYBOY: Do you endorse the pro-Arab 
position taken by many New Left groups 
today 


I neither endorse nor understand 


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63 


PLAYBOY 


64 


it, except to note that it seems to be the 
tragic fate of the Jews to be hated by 
everybody in sequence. I've never seen 
anything like 
PLAYBOY: Amci 
that they 
Israel. 
Hess: That makes no sense, either. Sure 
Israel is a client of America, but so is 
everybody else, including China 
Soviet Union. And although Isr 
driven her borders out some, I thi 
can make a fairly good case for i 
happened in self-defense. But the th; 
really don't understand is why the New 
Left has suddenly developed this vast 
enthusiasm for Arabs. 


a leftists would argue 
re not anti-Semitic, just anti- 


des ause — some 


HESS: I ‘could unders n American 
New Left position that favored socialism 
in the Arab states, but most of the Arab 

ions are feudal. They're actually pre- 
t you've hit on here. 
st weakness of the 
a reflexive hatred 


American left tod 
of anything American. If an Amer 
doctor cured cancer tomorrow, there 
would be people on the left who would 
call it a plot by the drug companii 
PLAYBOY: What remedy would you pre- 
scribe for the Mideast problem? 
HESS: I think the Jewish state should be 
placed elsewhere. like Texas or Orange 
County. Those t being used 
for much now. It's been my observation 
that when something happens anywhi 
in the world that civilized people g 
good. if there are seven 
people involved in it, three and a half 
of them turn out to be Jewish. That 
happens with such fantastic regularity 
that I conclude the Jewish culture must 
be pretty hot stuff. So a Jewish state, 
located in a politically hospitable regior 
would almost certainly become a gr 
nefir to all nkind. But 
state in the Mideast is likely to remain a 
roadblock t0 world peace for generations 
ic compromise, how- 
recognition of both Israel 
Palestin 1 state would seem reason: 
PLAYBOY: Getting back to your checkered 
career, you joined Goldwater again i 
1968 and wrote speeches for his Senate 
campaign. The mind 
thought that much of Goldwater's p 
form was written by a of SDS. 
HESS: Why? I was against the Vietnam 
war and Goldwater was for it; but, other- 
wise, we had a lot in common. He has à 
strong libertarian tendency. It’s sad. 
Goldwater is such a good, good man. I 
can't figure out why, at this Jate date, he 
still insists on being a flack for the Presi 
dency, the police and the military. 
PLAYBOY: You seem to retain an enduring 
affection for Goldwater, yet the two of 
you haven't spoken since that campaign. 
Hess: The break came soon alter the 1968 
s nd, 


boggl 


mbei 


as we both 
final—unles 
come over 
hoping. 
PLAYBOY: What caused the break? 

HESS: Goldwater had campaigned heavily 
against the dralt. But after he was re- 
turned to the Senate, when I suggested 
that his first legislative action should be a 
proposal to end the draft, he replied 
with the only answ that could have 
severed our relationship. He said, “Let's 
wait and see what Dick Nixon wants to 
do on that one.” Those were the last 
words he ever said t0 me as a friend. 
PLAYBOY: Let's see if we can keep wack: 
Before hooking up with Goldwater, you'd 
been, among other things, a Socialist 
a gunrunner; now you're an 
resister. Were you ever nor 
HESS: | think 1 was normal for 
period around the mid-Fifties. It was a 
harrowing experience. 

PLAYBOY: Can you describe it for us? 

as working for Newsweek and 
n Westchester; an unholy alliance 


immediately understood, 
, of course, he decides to 
to the New Left. I'm still 


“Tf an American doctor 
cured cancer tomorrow, 
there would be people on the 
left who would call it a plot 
by the drug companies. 


rate life is like a pool of sharks. The object 
is survival and the food is whatever or 
whoever gets 


erage litle 
|. perhaps most important, for 
's success as a hostess. Suburban 
women are the geishas of Ame 
first marriage, to a remarkably fi 
an, was a victim of the corporatesuburban 
ife. 

PLAYBOY: You must have 
pleasures in suburbia. 
found two: obli 
conquest fucking. 
PLAYBOY: You said your first ma 
victim of the corporat 


n some joy 


league 
your wif 


found some 


ion drinking and 


HESS: Yvonne is a bright, cr 
tive woman. When I met her, she was. 
rotogravure editor of The Washington 
Star and a finalist in the Ame 
paper Guild Beauty Contest. But as soon 
as I reached a certain point in my 
career, she had to abandon hers and bc 
come a hostes. When I realized what 


c to her, I felt like having myself 
horsewhipped. I think the feminists are 
absolutely correct about the American 
woman's tragic, insulting position in an 
upwardly mobile marriage. 

PLAYBOY: So except for that one grate- 
fully brief sojourn into “normalcy.” your 
ife has been 2 
HESS: Blessed madness. 

PLAYBOY: How, where and when di 
madness begin? 

HESS: It began in Washington on May 25, 
1923, but the scene quickly shifted to the 
Philippines. My father was surpassingly 
rich. 

PLAYBOY: What did he do for a living 
Hess: He was smart for a living. He had 
the good sense to be the son of a wealthy 
man, A 
PLAYBOY: What was life 
the Philipp 
BESS: Madness. We moved in with my 
grandmother, old Amelia, a gentle soul 
who was always getting into trouble with 
the police for having her servants beaten. 
Grandmother Amelia had never seen the 
kitchen of her own house. But as soon à 
my mother arrived. being American, she 
went directly to the kitch When it 
was discovered that my mother had been 


the 


€ for you in 


to the kitchen, there was a family crisis. 
Such things simply weren't done. My 
mother finally split. And she didn't ask 


sed me by operating 
rd at a Washington, D.G., hotel. 
PLAYBOY: You dropped out of school at 
15. Before that, you were an irredeemable 
truant, Didn't you like education 
Hess: 1 loved education, which is why I 
spent as little time as possible in school. 
ven in my day, education had begun 
decreasing in importance in the school 
system. Today, education has no place 
at all in the American classroom. 
PLAYBOY: Then what is the function of 
he school system? 
HESS: Administratio: 
PLAYBOY: How about some of the priva 
schools employing “i 
tional mode: 


edu 


as prisoners or as w 
schools prefer the prisoner tech- 
with rules and regimentatioi 
the education offered, while th 
innovative private schools 
usually opt for the wildanimal position. 
There, children are reared as in a jungle 
totally without the intervention of elders 
of the species and with as litle contact 
as possible with sequential thinking in- 
volving a history or duration of me 
than six seconds. Both techniques of 
the ideal preparation for life in a total 
an society. They no longer teach you 
and they teach you not to 
think. What they do teach is a process 
of reducing the world, screening our 
options until we are, at adulthood, fully 


iqu 
being 
supposedly 


“If you Space Ski Mount Asgard... 
before you hit the ground, 
hit the silk!” 


Di 
“Those treacherous winds 
and the death-defying drop 
down the mountain's sheer 
granite face were enough 
tomake me as nervous as 


on a hot skillet. 
Dry 


"P-o-o-o-off My chute billowed 
out. And none too soon. 
Because I still had some tricky 
maneuvering to do.Those 
deadly downdrafts almost 
collapsed my chute. But 
a little body English luckily 
prevented it...and it was 
happy landings. 


“Later, we celebrated with 
Canadian Club at the Peyton 
3 i Lodge i in Pangnirtun 
“Shari made AUE sure my e Why is C.C. so universally 
chute was secure. And triple- A popular? No other whisky 
checked my skis. Then schus: tastes quite like it. Lighter 
From my launching pa at than Scotch, smoother than 
frozen mesa, I was on the way vodka...it has a consistent 
to my space walk. 4000 feet mellowness that never 
over theTurner Glacier in the t stops pleasing. For 118 
Canadian Arctic. L years, this Canadian has 
d been ina class by itself. 


"TheBestIn The House"? in 87 lands 


VILLE, NADA 


PLAYBOY 


66 


acclimated to a one-and-only-one-w: 
do-things sort of clockwork mechanism— 
a mechanism that is inevitably wound 
by the key of some single authority. 
PLAYBOY: What kind of educatio: 
tem would you prefer? 
Hess: I like medieval schools. 
PLAYBOY: What was so great about the 
medieval schools? 
Hess: The medieval schools taught logi 
lectics, rhetoric and g Th 
was, once you'd learned 
d thinking, you could do 
anything. In those days, it was not un- 
for a man to be a great author, as- 
tronomer, theologian, soldicr, farmer, 


il sys- 


artisan, cocksman—everything. Already. 
people were doing what À 


arx talked 
about: fishing in the morning, tilling the 
soit in the afternoon and writing poetry 
at night. 

PLAYBOY: So you believe education should 
consist of learning to think and read. 
HES: That's right. And eight or nine 
years should be enough. Then cut the 
strings. Repeal those goddamn child- 
labor laws and let people begin a series 
oL apprenticeships by the age o£ 13. 
PLAYBOY: Surely you're not scriously 
against the child-labor laws. 

HESS: You bet I am. They're just a typical 
example of snobby liberal elitism—think- 
ing everybody wants to be a professor of 
Chaucerian literature. Most professors of 
Chaucerian literature really want to be 
firemen, 

PLAYBOY: How do you know what people 
want to do? 

HESS: You can tell what a person really 
wants to do by his hobbies. Most people 
want to be gardeners or musicians. No- 
body's hobby is insurance, 

PLAYBOY: Have you ever had any per- 
sonal experience as a teacher? 

HESS: I taught logic to cight-ycar-olds at a 
local public school recently. The kids ate 
it up and spat it out. Nobody'd taught 
them how to be dumb yet. 

PLAYBOY: How did that opportunity come 
bout? 


dieve it or not, there's a grade 
icipal in Washington who ac- 
tually likes ns the school 
system. Every other principal I've met 
likes the school system and hates kids. 
But this guy is a principal who actually 
believes in education, Lord knows what 
he's doing in the school system, but that's. 
his problem. Anyway, he instituted a 
program where people from the neigh- 
borhood come in and lecture. The most 
popular guy was a surgeon who dis- 
sected a chicken, That was a pretty tough 
act to follow, but I taught logic and the 
kids loved Nobody'd ‘en them a 
license to think before. 
PLAYBOY: What. exactly. did you teach? 

Hess: I went through syllogisms and 
fallacies, That took about three minutes. 


Then we began playing word games: 
analyzing sentences, including some TV 
ercials. One kid said his favorite 
commercial was the one in which the late 
Euell Gibbons eats a pine trec. Well, we 
analyzed it, and before long every kid 
in the class was asking, “If pine necdles 
are nutritious and if Grape Nuts taste 
like pine needles, does that mean Grape 
Nut nutritious? 
PLAYBOY. There are probably a lot of 
adults who never caught that fallacy. 

HESS: Adults have already bcen taught 
to look at things only one way—the ac- 
cepted way. Eightyear-olds are too un- 
educated to be that dumb. The best 
moment came when one of the kids 
asked me, "Why don't you take off your 
hatz" I said, "Why should I nd they 
began thinking. Of course, th 
out the way most adults would, by telling 
me it was good manners, but I rejected 
that and they became uncasy. Finally, a 
le girl jumped up and 
minute. Why do you w 


“Eight or nine years of 
education should be enough. 
Then cut the strings. 
Repeal those goddamn 
child-labor laws.” 


“To keep my head warm." And 
, “Isn't it warm in here?" I said, 
"Yes, it is." So she said, “Then why don't 
you take off your hat?" It was marvelous. 
She had pushed beyond accepted custom 
into a ion few adults enter: serious 
analysis of a situation. Suddenly, she had 
become a litde human being—not a 
parrot anymore. And it is my notion that 
we'd have a whole country full of human 
beings if the schools would only liberate, 
rather than enslave children; teach them 
how to read and think. 1 myself grew up. 
in the last era of successful dropouts. T 
went directly from my very occasional 
ts to the tenth grade to writing radio 
newscasts. 

PLAYBOY: Then you became a Socialist. 
How did that happen? 

Hess: I wanted to be a radical and the 
Communists wouldn't have me. No teen- 
ager got to be a Communist. So I joined 
the Socialists. They weren't so pi 
And, of course, at that time I 
sociate communism 
the Soviet Union. 
PLAYBOY: What did you associate them 
with? 

HESS: The people who didn't want war 


and sci 


or who, if there was a war, were always 
on the right side. 

PLAYBOY: You mean Norman Thomas? 
HESS: The Norman Thomas people wi 
really standing up against authority. I 
liked that. But Nor pro- 
grams werc later co-opted by Roosevelt. 
except that Roosevelt wanted to do good 
for the common folk without permitting 
the common folk to do good for them- 
selves. 

PLAYBOY: In other words, 
Thomas’ Socialist programs 
F.D.R/s liberal programs. 

HESS: Correct. And a lot of American 
working people accepted that. Apparent- 
ly, they didn't sce anything basically 
wrong with the ownership/acquisition 
system but only thought it needed better 
rules. The Roosevelt Administration 
promised those rules, thus pacifying the 
working class and preserving c: 
for the rich. 

PLAYBOY: But you're not entirely against 
capitalism, are you 
HESS: Theoreti laissez-faire capitalism 
doesn't strike me as immoral—just un- 
necessary. I'd prefer it to many othe 
ways of running things, but it’s wasteful 
and causes people to be overly concerned 


Norman 
became 


with numbers: quantity rather than 
quality, profits rather than product: 
PLAYBOY: Eventually, you left the Social- 


ists. Why? 

Hess: They were so bo 
clung to the preposterous notion that if 
yone in the world was exactly like 
them, there would be no problems. And 
that was no different from Roosevelt. 
PLAYBOY: What have you got against 
Roosevelt? 

HESS: What makes you think I have any- 
thing against Roosevelt? Roosevelt was 
wonderful—if you like fascists. And, ap- 
parently, many people do. 

PLAYBOY: What made Roosevelt a fascist? 
Hess: He believed it was better for 
people to be alike than for them to be 
different and it was better for people 
to be led than for them to be self 
reliant. The term fascist seems appro- 
priate because the most essential tenet 
of fascism views the state as the people, 
rather than the other way around. Both 
Hitler and Roosevelt began by nationaliz- 
g the people. 

PLAYBOY: Do you note any differences 
between Hitler and Roosevelt? 

HESS: "Ihe two regimes weren't altogether 
identical. Hitler’s was mad and murder- 
ous. Roosevelt’s wasn't cruel certainly 
zy. was kind and helpful to 
y people. Roosevelt sought the per- 
ation of existing power, privilege 
and order. Hitler sought new power and 
a new order. But one crucial similarity 
between those two fascists is that both 
successfully destroyed the trade unions. 
Roosevelt did it by passing exactly the 


Also, they 


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PLAYBOY 


68 


reforms that would ensure the creation 
of a trade-union bureaucracy. Since 
F.D.R,, the unions have become the pro- 
tectors of contracts rather than the 
spearhead of worker demands. And the 
Roosevelt era brought the "no strike" 
dause, the notion that your rights are 
limited by the needs of the state. 

PLAYBOY: Many historians have said that 
without Roosevelt, the poor would have 
starved. 

HESS: What a terrible thing to say about 
poor people. The alternative view is that 
without Roosevelt, the poor would have 
organized. 

PLAYBOY: What happened alter you a 
doned the Socialists? 

Hess: I attempted to join the Army. But 
that didn't work our too well. 

PLAYBOY: Why not? 

HESS: I was so anxious for combat duty 
that I falsified my medical records. I 
believe 1 told them I was the healthiest 
person in the history of civilization. 
PLAYBOY: And you weren't? 

HESS: Not quite. Immediately after pass- 
ing my exams for O.CS., I came dow 
with a crashing attack of hay fever. They 
didn't believe me when I told them that. 
was the first time in my life I'd ever 
so they conticted my family 
doctor and found out I'd had n 
PLAYBOY: Malaria? 

Hess: I'd picked it up in the Philippines 
as a kid, along with dengue fever and 
blackwater fever. I'd also had sevei 
es of pneumonia, hay fever, sinusiti 
asthma and a deviated septum. 

PLAYBOY: So characterizing yourself as the 
healthiest person in history was at bit of ai 
exaggeration. 

Hess: That's true. T was 
only hanging together tentatively, I 
offered to sign a waiver that if I died 
of pneumonia, the Army wouldn't be 
responsible. 

PLAYBOY: But they didn't buy that? 

HESS: No; in fact, they seriously contem- 
plated throw 


Gi 


But even thou 


that you can't win with those people. 
They can arrest you for trying to get 
into one of their lousy wars and arrest 
you for trying to get out. If I had a kid 
today, I'd make sure the state neve 
found out that child existed. And if it 
did find out, I'd rig up a phony death 
certificate. 

PLAYBOY: What did you do after being 
pitched out of the Army: 

HESS: | went back to Washington and 
went to work for the Times-Herald, an 
old Hearsttype newspaper. Press cards 
in our hats, digging up bodies for in- 
dependent autopsy—the whole trip. Oh. 
and speaking of autopsies, I worked one 
summer while I was still a teenage 
an autopsy assistant. 

PLAYBOY: How did you get that job? 


HESS: The coroner was hot to trot with 
my friend's sister; but in order to get 
her alone during the day, he had to do 
something with all us brats. So he hired. 
us to prepare bodies and make prelimi. 
nary incisions, It was great experience, but 
can you imagine letting a bunch of 14- 
and 15-year-olds slice up corpses today? 
Everybody would jump on you. Hubert 
Humphrey would accuse you of ex- 
ploiting child labor and Ronald Reagan 
would accuse you of profaning the sacred 
dead. Conservatives like people only 
when they're dead. 

PLAYBOY: Why was doing autop: 
à great experience? 

HESS: Because it made me 
don't see how you can fail to be an 
atheist alter dissecting ull those people. 
I mean, nothing flies out of them. They 
don't sing or laugh or dance anymore. 
heyre just a bunch of junk lying 
around. 

PLAYBOY: Yet you say that conservatives 
like death. 

HESS: The reason conservatives think 
th is such a neat thing is that they 


“Tf I had a kid today, Pd 
make sure the state never 
found out that child existed. 
And if it did find out, I'd vig 
upa phony death certificate.” 


don't get to see much of it. They're well 
fed and don't fight in very many wars. 
They make the poor fight for them. Of 
course, there are a few notable excep- 
tions. George Patton was rich and really 
enjoyed shooting people. But ordinary 
folks, the ones who fight the wars and 
catch malaria and don't always have 
enough to eat, end up with a passionate 
feeling for life. 

PLAYBOY: But in spite of that, you will- 
ingly converted from socialism to con- 
servatism by your early 20s. Did you 
suddenly decide death wasn't so bad, 
fter all? 

Hess: I must confess, 
rhetoric is so spellbinding it actually 
makes you forget the value of life. 
Better dead than Red. Better dead than 
damn n nything. Dead, dead, dead. 
Kill kill, kill. Go to war. The highest 
honor is to give your life for country A. 
All those death-centered things. To this 
day, I find it difficult to understand how 
I could have been in the grip of a spell 
so powerful it actually made me forget 


the conservative 


the lessons I'd learned at the autopsy 
table when I was 15. 

PLAYBOY: There aren't many conservative 
atheists. 

HESS: I was the only one I knew. All the 
other conservatives either were or 
thought they were deeply religious. 1 
should have realized I'd end up on the 
left eventually. 

PLAYBOY: You frequently return to the 
link between God and conservatism. 
You've also said Nelson Rockefeller 


doesn't make sense without religion. 
Perhaps you'd better explain. 
HESS: Conservatives believe that some 


people are born in a state of such grace 
as to be rich. That is a religious state- 
ment. Also, you hear conservatives s; 
i ter time that if all the wealth in 
the world were redistributed today, the 
same people who own it now would have 
in in a few years. That, too, is a 
religious statement. 

PLAYBOY: Why? 

HESS: Because it isn't based on empirical 
nce. You've simply got to believe it, 
take it on faith. Now, look at Nelson 
Rockefeller, What's his 1.Q.? 

PLAYBOY: Probably 
Hess: Perhaps average or slightly below, 
but certainly within the normal range. I 
know for a fact that he can read, 
ivs not known that he can wi 
away his money and do you re 
he'd end up with another billion dollars? 
If we all had to start over, I know a lot 
of welders who'd end up with more 
money than Rockefeller. And the ones 
who'd come out with the really big 
d 
people like Robert Vesco. Certainly not 
the people who have it now. I think 
many conservatives believe old man 
Rockefeller invented petroleum. They 
don't know petroleum gets drilled. The 
think it comes out of a board room. A 
bunch of executives get together and say, 
“Lers have a million gallons of oil. 
And the board votes on it 1 then 
there's a million gallons of oil. Conserv. 
atives don't think food comes out of 
the ground. either. They think it comes 


money would be the street hustlers i 


out of Safeway. Conservatives are totally 
detached from the natural world. 
PLAYBOY: More so than liberals? 

Hess: Liberals are even more elitist but 


different way. The only reason I'm 
knocking conservatives is because they're 
worth knocking. Liberals scarcely are. 
Conservatives make a number of grievous 
errors, butethey also make a number of 
correct 
that liberals make amy correct analys 
And when liberals attempt a mov 
the left, they usually become Sı 
because they believe in a strong central 
authority. When conservatives move left, 
they become libert: archists in 
a single jump. The herperson 


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70 


I ever met had been a Youth for Gold- 
water member in ‘64. 

PLAYBOY: As one who helped start the 
National Review, how did you like work- 
ing for William F. Buckley, Jr.? 

HESS: He was good to work for, because. 
he is talented. That alone places him a 
cut above most owners and managers. 
And socially, I never spent a boring 
evening with Bill Buckley. He's as 
di g, witty and mercurial in private 
as he is in public. I have no rcgrets about. 
my conservative years because of the 
many fine people, like Buckley and 
Goldwater, I met and worked with. Con- 
servatives in this country are just head 
and shoulders above liberals in every 
way. Can you imagine working for 
David Susskind? Susskind is always weep- 
ing crocodile tears for the common man, 
but I wonder if hes ever met one, aside 
from his servants. Buckley, on the other 
hand, would be the first to admit that 
he's a superior person. 

PLAYBOY: An analysis you seem to sha 
HESS: Bill is superior, but why shouldn't 
he be? He was brought up on a high- 
protein diet. He didn't have to go to 
public school. The wonder isn't that 
there is a Bill Buckley but that everyone. 
else isn't that witty and well educated. 
Alter all, there's no real shortage of pro- 
tcin in the world and the only thing 
you have to do to get kids educated is 
abolish the school system. 

PLAYBOY: Are you 
are smarter than the poo 
HESS: Unfortunately, yes. Rich children 
are frequently brought up with a lot of 
attention. and a diet rich in [ood chemi- 
cals without which the brain, however 
hopeful, turns into an unfortunate mush. 
PLAYBOY: So the rich are superior, but 
not because of any natural talents. 

HESS: The rich have only one natural 
talent: an ability to insult the poor. But 
even that may be an acquired skill. 
PLAYBOY: Although you admire Buckley, 
you no longer agree with him. From your 
point of view, where did he go wrong? 
Hess: He went wrong because, in the 
end, he actually believed he pre- 
serving God's will. I remember a dinner 
party Bill had at his place in Connecticut 


g that the rich 


soon after the first issue of National 
Review was published. This fellow kept 
staring at him and finally said, "You 


know, Bill, you have the profile of a 
young Caesar" Well, instead of being 
embarrassed by that preposterous re- 
mark, Bill reveled in it. And in retro- 
spect, I conclude that people who do not 
blush when they are compared to Caesar 
end up being Caesar. 

PLAYBOY: After writing for the National 
Review, you became, among other things, 
the most sought-after conservative speech- 
writer in America. What was the secret 
of your success? 


HESS: You may not lave been expecting 
a direct answer to that question, but, 
fact, I did have a secret, a secret I 


h of trumpets—the declar- 
ative sentence, 

PLAYBOY: That's it? 

HESS: Well, there was a little more, but 
that was the core of my secret. With—if 
you'll excuse the expression—liberal use 
of simple, decliratiye sentences, Anglo- 
Saxon words and active verbs, anybody 
can be a great speechwriter. Compared 
with the convoluted structure, passive 
verbs and Latin roots of most political 
speeches, my stuff stood our like pure 
crystal. 

PLAYBOY: As a speechwriter, you are most 
closely identified with Goldwater, but you 
also wrote for Nixon and Ford. WI 
were they like? 

HESS: The funny thing about being with 
Nixon is that you never know when 
he has left the room. Nixon is like a 


“What Lyndon Johnson 
really said about Ford was, 
“Jer fat 


gumat the same time." 


ry can't fart and chew 


lot of otherdirected people: shadowy 
figures identified more by the impressions 
others have of them than by the impres- 
sions they have of themselves. Whereas 
Goldwater has a vivid perception of him- 
self, sees and knows himself through his 
own eyes, Nixon can only know himself 
through other people's eyes. 1 seriously 
believe that Richard Nixon does not 
exist when no one is looking at him. 
PLAYBOY: And Ford? 

HESS: Jerry used to be a perfectly ordinary 
fellow and, oddly eno he still thinks 
of himself that way. Unlike Nixon and 
Johnson, Ford can't refer to himself in 
the third person without cracking up. 
PLAYBOY: Did you know him well? 

HESS: We played tennis together and 
socialized a bit. He was a good neighbor. 
Honest. I don't think there's any evil 
there. 

PLAYBOY: How about his intellectual 
abilities? Johnson is quoted as having 
said, “Jerry Ford is so dumb he can't 
walk and chew gum at the same time. 
HESS: Johnson is quoted as having said 
that. But what he really said was, "Jerry 
can't fart and chew gum at the same 


PLAYBOY: Can he? 


Hess: I assume so, although 1 must con- 
fess that I've never actually seen him do 
it. Although Ford is not a terribly 
bright man, his intellectual ability is suf- 
ficient for a relatively unimportant job 
like President, However, I don't think 
he has the brains to be a truck driver. 
PLAYBOY: You also wrote speeches for 
billionaires like H. L. Hunt. What kind 
of person was he? 

HESS: Hunt was a Stalinist and he—— 
PLAYBOY: Wait a minute. H. L. Hunt, 
the H. L. Hunt, w: 
HESS: Sure. He once told me Americans 
should be given numbers of votes com- 
mensurie with their money worth. As 
the world’s richest men, that 
would have given him exactly the sort 
of special advantage a commissar enjoys 
in the Soyiet Union. 


one of 


nd of speech does onc 
aire? 


HESS: Mostly, | wrote speeches praising 
he great system that produces all our 
material well-being.” Tt easy. I 
simply leaped from the fact of the 


was 


productivity to a generalized justification 
of everything associated with it Of 
course, I never bothered to explain how 


the "system" works or the price it exacts 
from the people and the planet. 

PLAYBOY: While still a conservative, you 
expresed admiration for Lenny Bruce. 
Most conservatives hated Lenny Bruce, 
Hess: They hated him because he talked 
dirty. Liberals liked him because he 
talked dirty. But conservatives knew he 


was telling the truth about the crosion 
of liberty in American society. Liberals 
weren't so sure about that. ‘They 


thought, “Well, he might be right, but he 
couldn't be referring to me. After all, I 
don't mind when he says shit” They 
never understood that Lenny Bruce was 
a libertarian, not a liberal. 

PLAYBOY: As an anti-Communist ter 
and editor, you must have had many 
dealings with the FBI. 

HESS: Oh, Lord, yes. The FBI provides a 
lot of "research" material to conse 
tive writ 
PLAYBOY: Did you ever rely entirely on 
the FBI for one of your "exposés"? 

HESS: Are you kidding? What other 
source was there? You don't think any 
body on the right did any research, do 
you: 

PLAYBOY: Well, we did kind of assume—— 
HESS: No way. Ralph DeToledano, James 
atrick, Bill Buckley—all of us got 
al from the Government. We didn't 
have to do any investigative reporting if 
we didn't want to. All you had to do 
to be an anti-Communist wi 
up. Then the 
and Commi 


ter was sign 
"d send you people's names 
ty membership-card 


“Monogrammed leather luggage, 
custom-made fishing reel and 
six on-the-rocks crystal glasses... 
What more could Dad ask for 
on Fathers Day?” 


“Old Grand-Dad? 


Old Grand-Dad 


When you aska lot more from life. 


Head of the Bourbon Family. Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskeys. 86 proof and 100 proof. Bottled in Bond. Old Grand. Cad Oistilery Co.. Frankfort. Ky 40601 


PLAYBOY 


numbers in the mail. Some of us won 
journalism prizes just for going down to 
the post office. 
PLAYBOY: What about the CIA? Did it 
provide you with any researcl 
HESS: Some. 
PLAYBOY: Based on what we now know 
about CIA operations, would you favor 
disbanding tha ization? 
, Vd put the CIA on trial first. 
Although I don’t believe in laws, I do 
believe in criminality. And when you 
have a bunch of muggers, thieves and 
murderers. rather than just letting them 
dissolve into the woodwork, you ought to 
make a very serious evaluation of wheth. 
er or not they should be permitted to 
live in your neighborhood. If it's decided 
that there's no way to rehabilitate those 
people, which | suspect, because lying, 
ing and murdering are terrible hab- 
its t0 get into, I think we should consider 
ng them to a country more com- 
patible with that sort of behavioi 
country do you suggest? 
Union might be a good 
the biggest 
mugger is likely to become head of state. 
PLAYBOY: But many Americans argue that 
we need an espionage network. 
Pericles, to cite a general who once 
lucid moment, made a wonderful 
speech about secrecy in a free society. He 
1 Athenians could invite their enemies 
to see all their secrets, because the real 
of that city’s greatness was its 
courage and loyalty. 
PLAYBOY: But some time alter Pericles said 
that, Athens was defeated by Sparta. 
Hess: Perhaps they should have kept just 
one secret. 
PLAYBOY: Do you think the U.S. should 
keep one secret? 
Hess: I don't think we need anything be- 
yond a few Polaris submarines to coun- 
ce the Soviet nuclear force. And 
the unlikely event of a Russian in- 
the American people could easily 
defend themselves. We're resourceful, 
patriotic and very well armed. We'd be 
like the Vietnamese. As the British found 
out 200 years ago, you can't beat farmers. 
So I think we need 100 billion 
dollars a year to defend this country. 
And we certainly don't need a bunch 
of cheap. gangland assassins. 
PLAYBOY: Speaking of Americans’ bein, 
well armed. in a society with as few 
as possible, would gun control be one 
ol them? 
HESS: No, I don't think so, but J doubt 
if the manufacture of guns would be a 
very serious occupation in an anarchist 
society. 
PLAYBOY: Why not? 


HESS: 


The Sovi 
place for them. In Russia 


don't 


laws 


HESS: Because we don't hunt for food 
much anymore and the freer a society 

the les need there is to shoot 
people. 


z You still own gi 
r hunt. Why? 


is, although 


HESS: Because I might have to figl 
body one of these days. 

PLAYBOY: Who? 

HESS: A tax collector. A Government 
agent. Who knows? 

PLAYBOY: Would you shoot a burglar? 
HESS: If somebody breaks imo your house 
at night, before you can discuss why he's 
there, you've got to get his attention and 
a gun isn’t a bad way to do that—unless 
you happen to be seven feet tall and 
bulletproof. There are some terribly v 
lent people in this imperfect world, and 
I can't quite see giving my life to one 
of them because of a theoretical position 
on guns, 

PLAYBOY: So your theoretical position on 
lile outweighs your theoretical position 
on gun: 
HESS: Your life is the only real property 
you own. Every other form of property, 
1 feel, is debatable. But you are the only 
one who can own your life. Murder, 
then, is the ultimate theft, and I think 


t some- 


"I would argue in favor 
of Americans continuing 
ownership of weapons. . . . 

‘Tf guns were outlawed, 

only the Government 
would have guns? ” 


———— 


it’s perfectly responsible to say, "No, 
you will not have my life.” 

PLAYBOY: When your home in Washing- 
ndalized, were any of your 


HESS: Yes, a target pistol. 

PLAYBOY: So your gun, presumably, en- 
tered the criminal pool. And. indirectly, 
you made it that much easier for Sara Jane 
Moore to pick up Aer pistol at a moment's 
notice. 


HESS. nately, my gun was recovered. 
Bur even if it weren't, you are begging 


the question, which is, “Who should own 
guns? 

PLAYBOY: Who s/rould own guns? 

HESS: If the answer were nobody, if 
everybody's guns—including mine—dis- 
appeared at the same time, no one would 
be happier than I. But pending that 
golden moment, do | really want the 
CIA, the FBI, the Army, the Navy, the 
Air Force, the Secret Service, etc. to 
be the only armed Americans? No. As 
long as they've got guns. I think the 
people generally should hase them. too. 
PLAYBOY: But as long as the general pub- 
lic is armed. the street criminals will 
also be armed. 

Hess: Street criminals do not kill people in 


ns, emotional 
killing would proceed with rocks, base- 
ll bats and ice picks. Most killing in 
this country is Federal, with war and the 
highway system heading the list. The 
300-horsepower engine Kills more Ameri- 
cans than any handgu 

PLAYBOY: Now who's begging the question? 
HESS: You’ ight, I am. But to return 
to my original point. I would argue in 
favor of Americans’ continuing owner 
ship of weapons by adjusting a National 
Rifle Association slogan to fit my an- 
archist view: “If guns were outlawed, 
only the Government would have guns.” 
PLAYBOY: You said carlier that even if we 
ntled most of our military appa 
a Rus i n would still be 
unlikely. Why? 
Hess: Because there aren't enough ships 
in the world to launch an invasion 
against the U.S, and, anyway, most of 
Russia's ships are full of American g 
So they'd have to walk. Now, maybe you 
could. walk across Alaska, but that's a 
long way. And by the time the Red Army 
got here, it would be totally corrupted. 
PLAYBOY: Corrupted by what? 

HESS: Everything. They'd be deserting to 
open McDonald's franchises. This coun- 
try is irresistible. Ir corrupts Americans, 
who are, by and large, the greatest people 
on earth. Would it do less to Russians? 
T doubt it. 

PLAYBOY: You don't secm to be a fan of 
Kissinger’s détente policy. Have you ever 
met Kissingei 
HESS: You m 
dent? 
PLAYBOY: Yes. 

HESS: No, but I have the sick feeling tha 
I helped introduce him to Republican 
politics, Bill Baroody and I edited a 
book for Mel Laird called The Conserva- 
live Papers and we decided to include 
in it some of Kissinger's work. Tha 
book established. his a the 
a mistake! There is some- 
ing essentially dangerous to a free so- 
ty about a man who feels that the 
affairs of state—alfairs that directly result 
in wars and other cataclysmic events— 
should be conducted without ref 
to the people alfected 

PLAYBOY: How about Ted Kennedy? Do 
you know him: 
HESS: Recent! 
lor dinne 


1 the foreign-policy Presi- 


nce 


while a friend's house 


, he dropped in 


neares guy there. Warm, amiable, just 
plain nice. We had a long talk about the. 
possibility of a decentralized technology 


and he really seemed to take my position 
seriously. Then, within a month, he made 
a speech to the World Future Society 
describing the role of technology in the 
same old liberal terms: a small, elitist 
group solving all the problems for every- 
body. So I guess it doesn't pay to meet 
people you are going to take an abstract 

(continued on page 158) 


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N THE Fo 
memory By RON KOVIC 


45 close to th 


Seant brings yoy 
ng horror that WAS vzet 


to get 


There isa | Ar him begin to Sob. “They've shot my fucking 
finger ofrr Let's go, US get outta here!» 
^ "I can't move 


Sarge, ay 
around. 
“Oh, Jesus! Oj 
T think he 
nothing, 

And now 


anything» 
turn 


t Jesus Chriser T pe 


feel y 


T hea 


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» I just want to live, 1 
av another m, 


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an coming up from heliind, trying to save 


MMUSTRATION BY Greg Wray 


PLAYBOY 


76 


me. “Get outta here!” I scream. “Get the 
fuck outta here!” 

A tall black man with long skinny 
arms and enormous hands picks me up 
and throws me over his shoulder as bul- 
ng over our heads 
kers. Again and 
they crack as the sky swirls around us 
like a cyclone. “Motherfuckers, mother- 
fuckers!” he screams. And the rounds 
keep cracking and the sky and the sun 
on my face and my body all gone, all 
twisted up, gangling like a puppets, div- 
ing aga fon Hine fie adh Om 
and down, rolling and cursing, gasping 
for breath. “Goddamn, goddamn mother- 
fuckers!” 
ad finally I am dra 
1 the sand with the bottom of my body 
that can no longer feel twisted and bent 


underneath me. The black man runs 
from the hole without ever saying a 
thing. The only thing I can think of, 


the only thing that crosses my mind, is 
living. 

‘The attack is lifted. They are carrying 
me out of the hole now—two, three, four 
men—qu pping me to a 
stretch ngle off the sides 
until they realize I cannot control the 
“I can't move them,” I say, almost in a 
whisper. “I can't move them.” Fm still 
carefully sucking the air, trying to calm 
myself, trying not to get excited, not to 
panic. I want to live. I keep telling my- 
sell, Take it slow now, as they strap my 
legs to the stretcher and carry my wound- 
ed body into an amtrac (amphibious 
tractor) packed with other wounded men. 
he steel trap door of the amtrac slowly 
doses as we begin to move to the north- 
nk and back across the river to 


Men are screaming all around m. 
"Oh, God, get me out of here!" "Please 
help!" they scream. Oh, Jesus, like 
ile children now, not like Ma 
like the posters, not like that day in the 
high school, this is for real. 


"Mother!" screams a man without a 
face. 
"Oh, I don't want to die!" screams a 


young boy cupping his intestines with his 


hands. “Oh, please, oh, no, oh, God, oh, 
help! Mother!" he screams 
We are moving slowly through the 


water, the amtrac rocking back and forth. 
We cannot be brave anymore; there is no 
reason. It means nothing now. We hold 
on to ourselves, to things around us, to 
memo to thought, to dreams. I 
breathe slowly, desperately trying to 
stay awake. 

The steel trap door is opening. I see 
faces. Corpsmen, I think. Others, curi 
ous, looking in at us. Air, fresh, 1 (eel, I 
smell. They are carrying me out now, 
Over led bodies, past wounded 
screams. I'm in a helicopter now. lofting 
above the battalion area. I'm leaving the 
war, I'm going to live, I am still breath- 
ing, I keep thinking over and over, I'm 


wou 


going to live and get out of here. 
They are shoving needles and tubes 
into my arms. Now we are being packed 


into planes and as each hour passes, I 
begin to believe that I am going to live. 
I to realize more and more as I 


watch the other wounded packed around 
me on shelves that I am going to live. 

I still fight desperately to stay awake. 
Dam in an ambulance now, rushing to 
someplace. There is a man without any 
legs, screaming in pain, moaning like a 
ittle baby. He is bleeding terribly from 
the stumps that were once his legs, 
thrashing his arms wildly about his chest, 
in a semiconscious daze. It is almost too 
much for me to watch. 

I cannot take much more of this, 
think. I must be knocked out soon, be- 
fore I lose my mind, I’ve seen too much 
today, I think, but E hold on, sucking 
the air. I shout, then curse for him to 
be quiet. “My wound is much worse 
than yours!” I scream. “You're lucky,” 
I shout, staring him in the eyes. "I can 
feel nothing from my chest down. You 
at least still have part of your legs. Shut 
up!" I scream again. “Shut the fuck up, 
you goddamned baby!” He keeps thrash- 
ng his arms wildly above his head and 
kicking his bleeding stumps toward the 
roof of the ambulance. 

The journey seems to take a very long 
time, but soon we are at the place where 
the wounded are sent. I feel a tremen- 
dous exhi le me. I have made 
it this far. I have actually made it this 
ar without giving up and now I am in 
a hospital where they will operate on 
me and find out why I cannot feel any- 
thing from my chest down. I know I am 
going to make it now. I am going to 
make it not because of any god or any 
religion but beca I want to make it, 
I want to I And I leave the scream- 

ng ma ut legs and am taken to a 
room that is very brigh 

"What's your name?’ 

"Whewhawhatz" I say. 

“What's your name?” 
again. 

"K-K-Kovic," I 

“No!” says the voice. 
name. rank and Service numlx 
date of birth, the name of you 
nd mother. 
“Kovic. Sergeant. Two-oh-three-oh-two- 
sixcone, uh, when are you going to—— 

“Date of birth!” the voice shouts. 

“July fourth, nineteen forty-six. I was 
bom on the Fourth of July. I can't 
feel T 

“What religion are you? 

^C 

"What outfit did you come from?" 

“What's going on? When are 
going to operate?" I say. 

"The doctors will operate," he says. 
“Don't worry," says 


the voice shouts. 


the voice says 


M. 

“L want your 
Your 
the 


you 


a dme confidenth 
“They are very busy and there are 
wounded, but they will take care of you 
soon. 


He continues to stand almost at atten- 
tion in front of me with a long clip 
board in his hand, jotting down all the 
information he can. I cannot under- 
stand why they are taking so long to 
operate. There is something very wrong 
with me, I think, and they must operate 
as quickly as possible. The man with the 
clipboard walks out of the room. He will 
send the priest in soon. 

1 lie in the room alone, staring at the 
walls, still sucking the air, more than 
ever now determined to live. 

‘The pricst seems to appear suddenly 
above my head. With his fingers, he is 
gently touching my forchead, rubbing it 
slowly and softly. "How are you?" he 
ask 


His face is very 
tired, but it is not frightened. He is al- 
most at ease, as if what he is doing he has 
done many times before. 
I have come to give you 
rites, my son." 

f Father," I say. 

And he prays, rubbing oils on my face 
and gently placing the crucifix to my 
lips. “1 will pray for you." he says. 

“When will they operate?” I say to 
the priest. 

"I do not know," he 
tors are very busy. There are many 
wounded. There is not much time for 
anything here but trying to live. So you. 
must try to live, my son, and I will pray 
for you.” 

Soon alter that, I am taken to a long 
room where there are many doctors and 
nurses. They move quickly around n 


the last 


ays. "The doc 


They are acting very competent. “You 
will be says one nurse calmly. 
“Breathe deeply into the mask," the 


“Yes. Now breathe deeply into the 
mask.” As the darkness of the mask slow- 
ly covers my pray 
being that 1 will live throu 
tion and sec the light of day once again. 
L want to live so much. And even bef 
I go to sleep, with the blackness still 
swirling around my head and the numb 
ness of sleep, I begin to fight as I have 
never fought before in my 
I awake to the screams of other men 
around me. I have made it. I think that 
maybe the wound is my punishment for 
killing the corporal and the children. 
That now everything is OK and the score 
is evened up. And now I am packed in 
this place wi 
wounded like myself, str 
strange circular bed. 1 feel tubes goin: 
ato my nose and hear the clanking. 
mping sound of a machine. I still 
anot feel any of my body, but 1 know 
m alive. I fed a terrible pain in my 


h the others who have been 
a 


pped ont 


chest. My body is so cold. ft has never 
been this weak. It feels so 


ed 
n. I can still 
barely breathe, I look around me, at 

(continued on puge 55) 


"I am glad to see that you have changed your 
mind about my inflatable doll.” 


Tht HRE 
THIS TIME 


gil scott-heron has been called the black bob dylan. he doesn't appreciate it 


personality By VERNON GIBBS 7 was THE season of the black 
wind. Proud Afro-scats bugabooed the midnight streets. Tongues lashed brim- 
stone medleys about the coming Armageddon, when America would finally 
pay for her sins. Hip revolutionaries demanded the new order. Out of the fire 
of the Watts and Harlem battalions that took to the sidewalks of the Sixties 
swinging Molotov melodies, The Last Poets arose. They issued several albums 
of poetry and music that were a summation of the decade's passionate rhetoric, 
from Malcolm X to Jerry Rubin. The Last Poets preached the voodoo Gospel, 
a strangled cry that beat against the siren shriek of the Harlem night. For 
many People in the black movement, they represented the ultimate union 
of Poetry and politics. They spat into the metal breeze and screeched 
ge fr envied incantations of Malcolm X, Huey Newton and Imamu 
E araka, Their screams were part of the Sixties shock wave that 

onvinced America she could no longer look away. 
© Gil Scott-Heron was not a member of The Last Poets, but 
É yere in the mid-Seventies he is the last poet. In spite of Bob 

L. 


DYlan's riumphant and widely covered Rolling "Thunder 
Kevue, people are not listening to poets and visionaries 

Y E I 
( the way they did in the Sixties. Winter has settled on the Ameri- 


n consciousness, and to those intent on bringing back the 
Y- “oq o days, Gil Scott-Heron and his Midnight Band—with 
Meir Alrjcam drums, dashikis and strongly political, often black 
"tj onalisy messages—must be the most unwanted leftover from 
decade that genuflected. to the society-saving ideology of each 
£v tirade without stopping to examine its importance. But to his 
$ sans and fo «hose Jingering malcontents who consider the social 
f movements Of the Sixties to have been something more than a series 
of fads, Scott-Heron is the only sane man in a house of lunatics. 

Like the society that it reflects, popular music has lost much of its 
purpose and idealism. Having endured black militants, flower chil- 
dren and acid-rock freaks, the women's and gay liberation movements, 
and having treated each with the proper degree of media hysteria, 
Americans today would rather forget. But, at the same time, there is 
the desperate realization that no matter where we hide, the issues have 


ILLUSTRATION BY ERALOO CARUGATI 


79 


PLAYBOY 


not changed and the problems have not 
gone away. Because Scou-Heron remains 
10 prod the movement consciousness at a 
time when there are "less people taking 
a stand"—like Dylan, who has renewed 
his mission with his last two albums, 
Blood on the Tracks and Desire—his is 
one of the most important voices of the 
decade. 

The Tennessee-born New Yorker, now 
living outside Washington, D.C. first 
came to national attention in 1970, 
when—at 21—he released an album of 
poetry and percussion, Small Talk at 
125th and Lenox (Flying Dutchman), that 
contained the explosive poem/song The 
Revolution Will Not Be Televised. 
Along with The Last Poets (Douglas) 
and Stanley Crouch's Ain't No Ambu- 
lances for No Nigguhs Tonight (Fl 
Dutchman), it proved to be the high point 
of militant poetry. There were other 
black movement poets who put out 
albums in the late Sixties and early Seven- 
ties—Sonia Sanchez, Don L. Lee and later 
Nikki Giovanni—but only Scou-Heron 
has survived intact into the mid-Seventi 
He now has released seven albums, by 
himself or with pianist Brian Jackson 
and The Midnight Band, a group that 
was formed in 1972. In addition, he has 
published two novels, The Vulture (which 
he wrote at 19) and The Nigger Factory. 
Bur it’s the songs in those seven albums 
fierce, angry mutterings and brooding 
testaments of love and hope—that have 
led people (in Rolling Stone, among other 
places) to speculate about his being an- 
other Dylan. 


Scott-Heron snorts contemptuously at 
the comparison and fixes me with a dead- 
ly glare for daring to bring up the sub- 
ject. We are huddled in the offices of 
screenwriter (Super Fb) and director 
Phillip Fenty, minutes after seeing a com- 
pleted version of Baron Wolfgang Von 
Tripps, Fenty’s latest movie. Ivs a dud 
and Scott-Heron isn't feeling too good 
about having committed himself to pro- 
viding the sound track. The prophet of 
the Seventies is cramped in the small hot 
room, refusing to remove his heavy over- 
coat. The impression is brown—a bat- 
tered brown-gray hat is cocked over one 
side of his face, a wearylooking brown 
overcoat is carelesly hanging from 
rangy frame. Cracked and ancient black- 
gray oxfords encase the feet. 

“Did Bob Dylan play with James Last? 
Matt Dillon is my man,” he says coldly, 
refusing to smile. Then he answers the 
question: “No, I'm not into him, man. 
I heard Blowin’ in the Wind, but 1 
don't know what he did for white folks. 
I'm not trying to do nothing like Blow- 
in’ in the Wind or Just like a Woman. 
What he do?” 

He took up from the beatniks and 
Woody Guthrie and helped start the 


protest movement in the early Sixties; 
isn't that enough?" 

“Man, we got protest songs that go all 
the way back to the 1700s,” he says. 

“Yeah, I know. But I'm talking abou 
a particular era and a particular gener: 
tion—so that’s why, when they compare 
you to him, I want to know how you feel 
about it. 

“Well, 1 didn't even know what t 
meant,” he admits, after a long silence. 
"Fm just now understanding what that 
means, and it’s an insult. I'm doing 
something else altogether, and 1 would 
gues that anyone with an adequate 
amount of perception would be able 
to dig that.” 

He glares at me balefully and con- 
tinucs, “I'm not really writing protest 
songs— protest is not what I'm about.” 

“It isn't?" I say, incredulously. “Then 
what are you about?” 

“Iv’s pretty obvious that there is an 
entire black experience that don't relate 
to no protest. And I be dealing with a 
whole lot of those things. When people 
get ready to write something about me 


d Brian and The Midnight Band, they 
all that we did. It a 


should look a "t all 
protesting. I mean, that's some of it. But. 
we deal with all the streets that go 
through the black community, and all 
of them streets ain't protesting. 

"You know," he says wearily, "people 
be coming to sce some wild-haired, wild- 
eyed motherfucker, because that's the 
impression they get of me from my songs; 
but most of the times when people pull 
me off to the side at concerts, the songs 
they want to discuss don't have noth- 
ing to do with politics—even though 
those are the ones that are most explicit. 
They want to say something about Your 
Daddy Loves You, because it stems to 
them that we wrote it about. them. Or 
they want to say something about Pieces 
of a Man. The songs that people want to 
talk about are the ones that are more 
personal than political, more private 
than public, more of an emotion than an 
issue. I like the fact that my mother is 
one of my biggest fans. It's important 
to me that she understands what my 
songs are about, because it proves to me 
that what I'm talking about ain't crazy. 
It's only crazy in terms of the fact that 
we still have all these things—the lack 
of application of them different laws 
and how black people have had to end 
up fighting for things they was supposed 
to have from jump street—that we have 
to sing about.” 

Originally, Scott-Heron and Jackson 
wanted to write and produce for other 
acts; but when they went to New York 
1970, jazz producer Bob Thicle recog- 
nized the volatile nature of Scott-Heron’s 
songs, the ferocious originality of hi 
tinged vocals and the magnetic pos: 
ies of his personality. He q 
him up asa solo artist. 

“I had done some singing, but it was 


secondary to my primary interest as a 
songwriter. I used to sing in this grou 
and we sang them soul jams by The 
Temptations and Sam and Dave. So I 
cm do that The question is whether 
somebody else can do what I can do, who 
call themselves singers. 

"The objective is to be more like an 
instrument in an attempt to blend in 
with the music, rather than have one 
over the other. When people used to de- 
scribe jazz to me, thcy would bc describ- 
ing modes and styles that different 
people fell into—and then they would 
always describe Coleman Hawkins as 
being off to the side, moving parallel to 
where everybody was at but not really 
in tootough contact with them. And 1 
can dig me and Brian as being like that. 
We be seeing what other people be 
nt to do this here.” 

In spite of his protestations to the 
contrary, Scott-Heron did become known 
se of song | poems such as The 
Revolution Will Not Be Televised and 
Whitey on the Moon—songs whose 
bitter, denunciatory rhetoric linked him 
ideologically in most peoples minds 
with the Black Panthers and Angela 
Davis. Even though there is another side 
to him, as can be heard on songs such 
as Lady Day and John Coltrane, even in 
those moments of calm reflection, it is 
impossible for him to avoid the mission 
he has taken on himself; to sound the 
warning. to be the voice of black rage 
the Seventies. 

“People have polarized,” he says, at- 
tempting to explain the changes in at- 
titudes and values that the venties 
have brought. “The middle-class people 
who were just in the movement for the 
adventure of the moment haye gone on 
to do whatever it is that middle-class 
people do. There's still a whole lot of 
programs in the community that can be 
qlective, but a lot of the people who 
were aiming their heads toward that 
when they were in college, they ain't 
there. They've been kidnaped by Exxon! 

“Surviving becomes the ideal after a 
while. A whole lot of people got killed 
for talking about helping the commu- 
nity. I never was too familiar with the 
Black Panthers—but a lot of ideas they 
ad came into focus with ideas I had, 
and a whole lot of them got killed, be- 
trayed or put in jail. I can't really say 
what mistake I thought the Black Pan- 
thers made, because hindsight is always 
20/20. It’s easy to look back and say 
what they should or should not have 
done. But they seemed like they was 
doing what they knew how to do, in 
Oakland. You have to do what you can 
with as many people as you can get to- 
gether, and if you can't get but a ceri 
number of people together, then maybe 

(continued on page 146) 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY DWIGHT HOOKER 


JAYNES GIRL 


for years jayne marie mansfield lived in the shadow 
of her famous mother. now she's letting the sunshine in 


“Because my mother was a very 
beautiful, well-known lady, 
Fue had hassles all my life— 
jokes and kidding. So I grew 
up very fast and wanted 

no part of show business.” 


“Tf you're going to be a 
movie star, you should 

live like one,” declared 
Jayne (above), and no one 
topped her as the Blonde 
Bombshell—five pictorials in 
PLAYBOY, living in a fairy- 
tale pink mansion with 

a heart-shaped pool— 
before her tragic death in 
1967. Then 17, Jayne 
Maric today says: “That 
sex-symbol thing of the 
Fifties was like a mask, a 
part my mother had to play. 
But times have changed.” 


15 FOR the million things she gave me.” And for a girl named Jayne 
Marie Mansfield, embarking upon a movie career of her own—with 
some inherited savvy and other obviously marketable assets as her 
birthright—that sloshy old Mother's Day sentiment may not be far 
wrong. She is her mother's daughter beyond question, though the blue eyes and 
chestnut hair and more subtly curved contours add up to a cool contemporary 
understatement of those pinup-girl attributes that Jayne the First deployed as if 
she meant to shake the world at least once a day with a 2Lgun barrage of 


“My mother and I were more like sisters, really . . . there wasn't 
much of an age difference. I know I'm very similar io her, 
though more petite. She was 3'6” and large—in places I'm 
nyway, 1 don't intend to be stereotyped in my mother's 

sexy image. That came from another era and ils just not 

me. 1 think of myself as a natural, realistic beach girl.” 


“Married from 18 to 19; then I left 
Hollywood, and wanted to keep 
to myself for a while. I spent four 
months in a Tibetan women's 
center in India. Now . . . well, 

I have a lot of movie offers." 


atinum curls, quotes and cleavage. Jayne Marie is a sexpot of the new breed 
and would rather be called a daredevil than a femme fatale. Just back from her 
debut film gig in the lead role of The Great Balloon Race, she talks like an 
excited homecoming athlete who's had a hot streak at the Olympics: “I should 
be put into the Guinness Book of World Records for this one. . . . | was the first 
woman to cross the Bermuda ‘Triangle and touch ground in a hotair balloon. It 
was a real race they used for the film, with lots of sinister lide subplots adde: 
play one of the good guys, a girl who just wants to win (concluded on page 172) 


PLAYBOY 


88 


BORN ON THE FOURTH OF JULY 


people moving in shadows of numbness. 
‘There is the man who was in the ambu- 
lance with me, screaming louder than 
ever, kicking his bloody stumps in the 
air, crying for his mother, crying for his 
morphine. 

Directly across from me there is a 
Korean who has not even been in the 
all. The nurse says he was going 
to buy a newspaper when he stepped on 
a booby trap and it blew off both his 
legs and an arm. And all that is left now 
is this slab of meat swinging one arm 
crazily in the air, moaning like an ani- 
mal gasping for its last bit of life, know- 
ing that death is rushing toward him. 
The Korean is screaming like a madman 
at the top of his lungs. I cannot wait for 
the shot of morphine. Oh, the morphine 
feels so good. It makes everything dark 
and quiet. 

I'm sleeping now. The lights are flash. 
ing. A black pilot is next to me. He says 
nothing. He stares at the ceiling all day 
long. He does nothing but that. But 
something is happening now, something 
is going wrong over there. The nurse is 
shouting for the machine and the corps- 
man is crawling on the black man’s 
chest; he has his knees on his chest and 
he's pounding it with his fists again and 
again. 

“His heart has stopped! 
nurse, 

Pounding, pounding, he's pounding 
his fist into his chest. “Get the machine!” 
screams the corpsman. 

The nurse is pulling the machine 
across the hangar floor as quickly as she 
can now. They are trying to put cur- 
tains around the whole thing, but the 
curtains keep slipping and falling down. 
All the wounded who can still see and 
think now watch what is happening to 
the pilot right next to me. The doctor 
hands the corpsman a syringe; they are 
laughing as the corpsman drives the 
syringe into the pilot’s chest like a knife. 
They are talking about the Green Bay 
Packers and the corpsman is driving his 
fist into the black man's chest again and 
again until the black pilot’s body begins 
to bloat up, until it doesn't look like a 
body at all anymore. His face is all puffy 
like a balloon and saliva rolls slowly 
from the sides of his mouth. He keeps 
staring at the ceiling and saying nothing, 
“The machine! The machine!” screams 
the doctor, nbing on top of the 
bed. taking the corpsman's place. “Turn 
on the machine!" screams the doctor. 

He grabs a long suction cup that is at- 
tached to the machine and places it care- 
fully against the black man’s chest. The 
black man’s body jumps up from the bed, 
almost arcing into the air trom cach bolt 
of electricity, jolting and arcing, bloating 
up more and more. 

“IH bet on the Packers,” 
corpsman. 


screams the 


ys the 


(continued from page 76) 


“Green Bay doesn't have a chance," 
the doctor says, laughing. 

The nurse is smiling now, making fun 
of both the doctor and the corpsman. 
"I don't understand football." she says. 

They are pulling the shect over the 
head of the black man and strapping him 
onto the gurney. He is taken out of the 
ward. 

The Korean civilian is still screaming 
and there is a baby now at the end of 
the ward. The nurse says it has been 
napalmed by our own jets. I cannot see 
the baby, but it screams all the time, like 
the Korean and the young man without 
any legs I met in the ambulance. 

I can hear a radio. It is the Armed 
Forces radio. The corpsman is telling 
the baby to shut the hell up and there 
is a young kid with half his head blown 
away. They have brought him in and 
put him where the black pilot has just 
died, right next to me. He has thick 
bandages wrapped all around his head 
till I can hardly see his face at all. He is 
like a vegetable—a 19-year-old vegetable, 
thrashing arms back and forth, bab- 
bling and pissing in his clean white 
sheets. 

‘There is a general walking down the 
aisles now, going to cach bed. He's 
marching down the aisles, marching and. 
facing cach wounded man in his bed. A 
skinny private with a Polaroid camera 
follows directly behind him. The general 
is dressed in an immaculate uniform with 
y shoes. “Good afternoon, Marine,” 
the general says. “In the name of the 
President of the United States and the 
United States Marine Corps, I am proud 
to present you with the Purple Heart, 
and a picture," the gencral says. Just 
then, the skinny man with the Polaroid 
camera jumps up, flashing a picture of 
the wounded man. “And a picture to 
send home to your folks. 

He comes up to my bed and says exact- 
ly the same thing he has said to all the 
rest. The skinny man jumps up, snap- 
ping a picture of the general handing the 
Purple Heart to me. "And here,” says the 
general, "here is a picture to send home 
to your folks" The general makes a 
sharp left face. He is marching to thc 
bed next to me, where the 19-year-old 
kid is still pissing in his pants, babbling 
like a little baby. 

n the name of the President of the 
United States," the general says. The 
is screaming now, almost tearing the 
bandages off his head, exposing the parts 
of his brains that are still left. present 
you with the Purple Heart. And here, 
the general says, handing the medal to 
the 19-year-old vegetable, the skinny guy 
j g up and snapping a picture, 
"here is a picture,” the general says, 
looking at the picture the skinny guy has 
just pulled out of the camera. The kid is 
still pissing in his white sheets. “And 


here is a picture to send home——" The 


general does not finish what he is saying. 
He stares at the 19-year-old for what 
seems a long time. He hands the picture 
back to his photographer and as sharply 
before marches to the next bed. 


All his life he'd wanted to be a 
ner. It was always so important to wi 
to be the very best. He thought back to 
high school and the wrestling team and 
to Lee Place and Hamilton Avenue, 
when he and the rest of the boys had 
played stickball or football. He thought 
back to that and remembered how hard 
he'd tried to win even in those simple 
games. 

But now all seemed ferent. All 
the hopes about being the best Marine, 
winning all those medals. They all 
seemed crushed now, they were gone for- 
ever. Like the man he had just killed 
th one shot, all these things had dis- 
appeared and he knew, he was certain, 
they would never come back a It 
had been so simple when he was back 
on the block with Richie or running 
down to the deli to pick up a pack of 
Topps baseball cards; even working in 
the food store that summer before he 
went to the war now seemed like a real 
nice thing. It seemed like so much nicer 
ing than what was happening around 
now. all the faces. the torn green 
fatigues, and just below his foot was the 
guy with a gaping hole through his 
throat. 

The amtrac was heading back to the 
thick barbed wire where the battalion 
lived and everyone around him was 
quiet. There was no question in his mind 
they all knew what had happened—that 
he had just pulled the little metal tr 
ger and put a slug through the corporal’s 
neck. 

Inside he felt everything sort of squeez- 
ing in on him. His hands kept rubbing 
up and down his leg. He was very nerv- 
ous and his finger, the one that had 
pulled the trigger, was sort of scratching 
his leg now. 

Later, when they got back to the bat 
talion area, he gave a quick report to a 
young lieutenant in the major's bunker. 
“They were attacking,” he said, looking 
at the lieutenant’s face, “and we moved 
backward.’ 

‘ou retreated.” the licutenant said. 
Yes, we retreated and he got shot. 
He lived a little while, but then he died. 
He died there in the sand and we called 
for help. And then we put him in the 
amtrac. He must have run away when 
they started firing. It was dark and I 
couldn't tell." 

"OK," said the younglooking lieu- 
tenant. “Come back again in the morn- 
ing and we can go over it again. Too bad 
about . . .” he said. 

“Yeah,” he s 


(continued on page 176) 


ART BUCHWALD’S SPECIAL 
COMMEMORATIVE BICENTENNIAL 
SOUVENIR ALBUM 


for the first time anywhere, new historical 
evidence shows what went on behind the 
scenes in our madcap colonial days 


“Now, over there will be the golf course and 
tennis courts and swimming pool, which will be free 
for anyone who buys one of our homes." 


here are many paintings 

and drawings depicting 
events of the Colonial | 
and Revolutionary period, 
and we know from studying 
them what the British 
and our patriots did. 
But no one is certain what 
was being said. 

No one, that is, but 

Art Buchwald, who has in 
his possession the tapes i 
that went with the pictures 1 
at that point in time. Here, 
inan exclusive exhibi- 
tion, he shares them with 
our readers. 


“That should keep them 1 
quiet about gun control!" 


sell Sage, 1910. 


89 


Walter Pforzhelmer Collection of Inteliigence Service, Washington, D.C. 


“Call Melvin Belli, I think I've got a malpractice suit." “Cherry took off her bra. Rock had never 
seen such a beautiful pair of boobs. "Now, Baby," 
he said, ‘I'm going to show you 

something.’ He dropped his pants and 

Cherry gasped, ‘It's too big, you'll kill me. . . .' © 


“What do you mean, “There, there. I'm sure he's soved a dance for you." 
we hung the wrong Nathan Hole?" 


A*eue tt Ss ; E es B 
“I don't give a N 


* goddomn what 
Gloria Steinem 
says. Get your 
ass out of here.” 


“I love coffee, | love tea. I love the 
girls and they love me 7772." 


| àv 
i E 
V 


i K : ? H 
a Ys \ j : 
\ = = j — 
^ à ee WN N 
d t a dime from Lockheed." 


“Of course we're going to re-enlist, General. 
Why do you ask?" 


ahi 


HER WORST DREAMS were coming true, 
The Funniest Lady in America was 
about to be followed around, tagged 
alter, scrutinized and pried upon by 
a reporter. You knew they were 
her worst dreams because in the 
Real Live Lily Tomlin Show that 
toured the country last fall, there 
was an obnoxious reporter, Deirdre 
Dutton, played by Lily Tomlin. 
Deirdre badgered Lily. She was 
whiny, creepy and sanctimonious. 
She wanted to know all about Lily's 
sex life. She interrupted; she was 
exasperating. It was all done on an 
ll-foothigh video screen, Deirdre, 
in a floppy straw hat and eyeglasses, 
popping onscreen to annoy the real 


live Lily with questions. 
Deirdre appears on the screen and 
peers at Lily. "Uh, Lily, I hope 


you're not going to hold back. I 


want this interview very much to 
reveal the real you. Uh, it's a long 
way. Lily, from Detroit, the city ol D 


cars, to Hooray for Hollywood, the 


city of stars. Uh, do you find it cor- 
rupting?” “Of course,” says Lily. 

Lily puts her hands on her hips 
and scowls at Deirdre on the screen: 
Deirdre persists. "Lily, I want very 
much now to discuss with you your 
frank film on heterosexuality. 1 


guess people are pretty much 
amazed. Lily, that a woman who 


looks like you do can play a hetero- 
sexual so realistically and still be 
perfecily" she pauses—" normal." 


The audience starts laughing on 
the word heterosexual. Most. people 
think Deirdre is talking about the 
role Lily played in Robert Aliman's 
film Nashville, but, in fact, Lily has 
been working on a bit in which Ju- 


dith Beasley, her housewife character 
from Calumet City, Illinois, gocs to 
a gay party and meets a man who is n 
the only other suaipht person in 


the place. 
Onstage, Lily relaxes into a soft 
chair and answers Deirdre with res- 
ignation. “Well, I did a lot of re- 
search, Deirdre, you know, so by the 
time we started filming, I was used 
to it. I've seen these women all my 
life. 1 know how they walk; I know Jn could 
how they talk; I spoke to some psy- start by asking 
chiatrists, but they don't know the c - 
answers . . . and of course my fam- ernestine or edith ann, 


ily, they said, “How could you do 
such a thing” People just don’t un- but the 


derstand"—Lily gives off a deep probably wouldnt 
sigh—"you don't have to be one to 


Tay onc know, either 


"here was a real live reporter on 
Lily's tail after her New York show. 
They met in the midst of a cham- 


pagneand fruit basket party for press ersonalit 
and bigwigs sponsored by Lily's rec- p 5 
ord company. Dick Cavett slumped By LOUISE BERNIKOW 


COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY BY STEVEN SILVERSTEIN 


PLAYBOY 


94 


unnoticed against the bar. Bob Alunan 
was deep in drink with a tableful of 
people. Everyone prowled. 

“A genius. She's a genius. 
he female Lenny Bruc 
avy. Really heavy." 
This was being said in spite of a per- 
dled with technical trouble. 
The sound system went out. You could 
hardly hear. ‘The video setup was off, 
flashing bits of Deirdre and Judith and 
Bobby Jeannine, the cocktail organist, at 
all the wrong moments. Tomlin stopped 
the show and stood there with her hands 
high over her head, saying, “Thank you 
all a lot. This has given me a wonderful 
opportunity to observe you all," while 
technicians tinkered madly to get it 
right. She sat down on the stage, saying, 
“l have learned to wait. There's a lot 
of technology in art," and the audience 
was with her, as the crowd was with her 

fterward at the party. 

‘The reporter sat unobtrusively among 
the paparazzi, sipping champagne. Ther 
had been a brief encounter in Tomlin's 
dressing room, a rather formal introduc- 
tion and a shy handshake. Now Tomlin 
moved around in the crowd, shepherded 
by her PR people. She smiled. She shook 
hands. She kissed Bette Midler. She wa 
not jive. She did not have that fuzzed- 
out, cardboard, When-can-I-get-out-of- 
here? look the reporter had seen on the 
faces of stars at a lot of those parties. 
Suddenly, Lily appeared at the report- 
ers right shoulder, leaned over and 
whispered, "Are you counting how many 
people I kiss? That's what PrAvmov 
wants, isn't it?” 

“Um,” said the reporter. It was not 
dear what PLAYsoY wanted. It was clear 


that the reporter wanted to know about 


energy. How did she do it? Two hours 
nonstop and solo on the stage and two 
hours more into the party. The report- 
er's feet ached, but Lily showed no signs 
of tiring. She disappeared into the crowd 
with a wink and the two did not meet 
again until the next night, backstage at 
Lisner Auditorium on the campus of 
George Washington University 
verything worked the next night and 
Lily warmed up, onstage, adlibbing a 
Je. Edith Ann, her surreal five-year-old 
character, said, “Sometimes I like to sit on 
the drain in the bathtub when the water's 
running out. It feels inner-esting,” and 
looked out at the audience with a gaga 
leer. There were two shows and, be- 
tween them, a party in Lily's dressing 
room. Lots of hip, denim-jacketed, boot- 
wearing women came to say, “It’s so 
great 10 see a woman comic who doesn’t 
put herself down,” and ask Lily for an 
mterview, an endorsement, benefit. 
“Hey, how come I do all this stuff for 
you and you guys never cyen play my 
album on the air or anything?" Lily 
said, and then right away she smiled so 
no one felt bad. She talked with a deaf 
wom ge. Everyone in 


the dressing room hung back, acting shy. 
People hugged the walls, licking the rims 
of their champagne ite staring 


room?" She 
ughed. No one spoke. Lily started jok- 
ng to break the silence, and then she 
spotted the reporter. 

"I had a dream about you last night.” 

The reporter froze. Everyone was lis- 
tening. What was it going to be? Did 
they shoot pool in their Maidenform 
bras? Did she sce the reporters face 
tumbling around in a whirring washing 
machine? No. She said, “I dreamed we 


talked this whole thing out and decided 
not to do it.” She meant no story. 
“Well,” the reporter shot back, “do 


you want to quit 
"No," Lily said, 71 think I cleared out 
Il my anxiety about it by drea 
Secretly, the reporter was flattered that 
fter her big-time New York opening, 
Lily Tomlin found room in her dre 
for the likes of herself. Louie, this could 
be the start of a beautiful friendship. 

After the second show, they went out 
for some food at the Bistro Francais in 
Seorgetown. Lily drank four hot choco- 
lates and three glasses of orange juice, 
but solid food would not go dow 
George Boyd was there, a tall, thin, rath- 
er devilish and amiable person, Lily's 
road manager for the tour. Secing that 
she was not eating. he remarked that 
she was getting too thin and that he had 
noticed from backstage that the pants 
she wore in the show looked loose. But 
it didn't work, because Lily was playing 
around, taking all the Domino sugar 
packets out of the bowl and spreading 
them on the table, casting about in her 
brain for a game to pl 


"Anybody got a hat? 
It was the same voice everyone had 
just heard in the show, the voice of 


kid. On- 
a balloon 


dith Ann, the nutsy, knowi 
stage, Edith Ann had filled 
with helium, held it to her lips and taken 
the gas in, holding it much the way 
people inhale dope. Then she had looked 


the audience and asked, “Anybody 
want a hi 
Someone happened to have a red base- 


I cap at the dinner table. Lily threw 
the sugar into it, along with one packet 
of Sweet "n. Low, "OK. Everybody ante 
up.” She slapped a quarter onto the 
table. but the game, which she hadn't 
quite invented yet, never happened, be- 
ause suddenly she was making faces at a 
guy who had been staring at her from the 
next table. They were strange Edith Ann 
aces, her tongue turned over and sticking 
oddly out of the side of her mouth. 


go of the strangest 
as ever heard. It is a 
laugh that ns somewhere near a 
witch's cackle and ends up like a broken 


record at a horror house in some amuse- 
ment park that doesn't exist anymore. 
She has her hands on her hips; her back 
bends; her knees come forward; her hair 
hearly touches the floor. She laughs that 
insane laugh. 

It comes out of nowhere, preceded by 
a line about Henry Kissinger (“I read 
somewhere in an interview that Henry 
Kissinger said power is the ultimate 
aphrodisiac. Reflect on what it just might 
take for him to get it up."), followed by 
another line that leaves the audience 
chuckling ("And 1 hope all the women 
in this audience know that FDS kills 
cockroaches”). Then that bizarre laugh. 

‘Guess who died? 

She laughs again. "You remember 
Fred? Betty Lou's Fred? 1 just read 
the paper this mornin’ that he kicked 
right over and Fm on my way to the 
funeral. . . . Well my goodness, this 
place is like a wake. . . . Betty Lou, what- 
ever possessed you to wear that black 
ensemble with that heavy v 
you're depressing everyone. .. . Wait a 
minute, where is Fred's secretary? Oooh, 
I didn't know she was tha 
You know, Betty, I tell yov 
pity you couldn't of had Fred's ch 
everybody else did.” 
he looks at the corpse and proceeds 
to fix it up with some blusher and then, 
laughing all the while, a blond wi, 
props up the corpse. She plays ventrilo- 
quist, talking through the corpse, then 
a snapshot of Fred and the 
ng and ends up leading everyone 
Powder your face with sunshine. put 
on a great big smile" and "Everyone 
right behind me, last one to the ceme- 
lery’sa rotten egg." 

Half the audience ight in panicky 
laughter. The other half is shocked, rat- 
ued, stunned. and maybe a little con- 
fused. Where is that cute, funny Tomlin 
they saw on TV? This is weird stuff. 


‘leveland was a bummer. Lily had 
agreed to do a benefit there for the 
Cleveland Women's Congress, but it 
wasn't what she thought it would bc. 
She got to Cleveland thinking she would 
play for a tunedin audience and she 
I wrong. Things were messed up 
that day, anyway, she should have 
known: problems about scheduling and 
then the show freaked her out, 

Vhere is a taped prelude that goes 
on the video screen before Lily comes 
onstage. It shows "Miss Tomlin” pn 
paring. She shaves her legs, plucks her 
eyebrows, chugs down a beer, brushes 
her teeth and washes it all down with 
more beer, then she leaves the dressing 
room and stops offstage for a deep snort 
of cocaine. Everywhere else, audiences 
cracked up. In Cleveland. silence. Lily 
listened backstage and couldn't figure 
out what was wrong. Then she walked 
(continued on page 188) 


humor 
By G. BARRY GOLlSONu 


IM BEGINNING to suspect that a lot of 
women have only one thing on their 
minds, 

Women touched or transformed by the. 

T movement—and I don't know 
many who haven't been—would probably 
regard me the way blacks look on white 
"liberals." I was one of those guys who 
welcomed the women’s movement from 
the standpoint of si 
illogic of sexual discr 
purely selfish reasons, since I felt men 
would be allowed to drop some of the 
roles they'd been conditioned to play. 
Since I wasn't born after 1970, I'm still 
part of the problem, of course. But I did 
look forward to many of the changes 1 
saw coming, and one of them was in the 
area of sex. 

We men are supposedly bred to be the 


aggressors, but from the time that both 
my skin problems and my interest in girls 
erupted, there were things that seemed to 
me patently unfair. Taking the initiative, 
for example—from the first shy approach 
after math class to the final cajolements in 
the back 
self, can't a girl give me the e 
can't a girl ask me out, run out of gas on 
a deserted lane and promise me she'll 
xespect me afterward? 

Now I'm getting answers: These day 
women can (concluded on page 166) 


ILLUSTRATION BY JOHN COLLIER 


our july playmate discovers there’s 
nothing wrong with painesville, ohio, 
that leaving it won't cure 


DECLARATION 
OF 
INDEPENDENCE 


“My sisters accepted the tradilional 
Japanese values—they all married and 
stayed home. But my mother under. 
stood that I had to get away. Besid 
she knew I could take care of myself.” 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY PHILLIP OIXON 


I am a natural woman 
who enjoys all the 
natural things in 
life—including 
my own fantasies." 


ou can tell at a 
glance that there 
is nothing ordinary 
about Deborah 
Borkman. As she says, “The 
jurasian combination cer- 
ainly gives you a different 
look." Deborah's mother 
Japanese; her father— 
whom she hasn't s in 
ght y Swedish- 
American. the 
fourth of six children 
and the first born in Amer- 
ica, is so swiking a woman 
that when she went to 
Japan with her mother a 
couple of years ago, she at 
cted just as many stares 
she always had in Paines 
ville, Ohio, where she grew 
up. As a matter of fact, all 
four Borkman girls looked 
so exotic that the neighbor- 
hood boys used to hang out 
on their front porch; when- 
ever the courting got diffi- 
cult, they would press Mrs. 
Borkman into Ann Lan- 
ders-type service: "She has 
always tried to help every 
onc, and she's the kind of 
person with whom you 
can't be anything but your- 
self.” Debbie's admiration 
for her mother is in sharp 
contrast to her negative 
feelings about her father— 
a soldier who wouldn't 
low Japanese to be spoken 
in his home—and about 
Painesville, a small indus- 
trial city that, for Debbie, 
has always lived up to its 
name. “There was nothing 
for me there,” she says. 
AIL T thought about was 
getting away.” Despite her 
obvious intelligence—she 
chooses her words with care 
and uses them with accu- 
racy—she dropped out of 
high school in her freshman 
year (“It was so violent 
they had armed guards in 
the corridors"). She worked 
as a cab dispatcher for a 
while. Then she broke a 


100 


kg in a motorcycle acci- 
dent; advised to swim 
part of her therapy, she bi 
came a lifeguard and spent 
a year working in Florida 
s OK because of the 
"m a child of the 
sun and as long as I get it, 
Im happy”). Then came 
the trip to Japan. Debbie 
and her mother traveled 
throughout the islands, vis- 
iting long-lost relative 
Deborah intended to stay 
there and model, but she 
found that ¢ 
new culture and a new pro: 
fession was a bit much. 
Back to Painesville—but 
not for long. Our heroine 
went to visit some friends 
in Los Angeles; while there, 
she was offered a fashion- 
modeling job. And, of 
course, she stayed. The 
are some things Debbie 
doesn't like about. L.A — 
such as the "meat mar- 
ket" singles scene and the 


Sex, lo me, isa private 
matter; but i[ you relate to 
somcone on a mental 
level, then the physical 

part just follows naturally. 


“It’s sad that people would pick up a magazine just to 
look between someone's legs, when there's so much more 
to appreciate about nudity. I can admire the beauty of 
a healthy body, even when it's a woman's. And I don't 
feel there's anything dirty about posing for PLAYBOY.” 


“You should pursue 
whatever you're good at, 
but when it comes to 
competing with men, 
forget it. Who wants to 
drive a truck, anyway?” 


rampant _ image-conscious- 
ness (“Sometimes I feel like 
saying. ‘Could you please 
scrape away the plastic, 
so I can get inside and 
talk to you?’ But, of 
course, she digs the great 
California outdoors She 
also likes to go dancing and 
to shop for funky items at 
L.A.s many antique shops 
and garage sales. Not too 
long ago, she visited Paines- 
ville—to help her mother 
move to Kent, some 90 
miles away—and realized 
how good things were on 
the West Coast: “I saw all 
my old friends who had 
tried to discourage me from 
quitting school. I'd expect- 
ed some of them to amount 
to something, but they were 
all just working and drink- 
ing, and they were all un- 
happy. I could remember 
feeling the same way—but 
at a much younger age.” 
Deborah, who is all of 19, 
couldn't resist walking 
down the block to see her 
old cherry tree: "I would 
sit up there in the summer- 
time, looking at the sky 
and eating cherries. That 
was where 1 found peace of 
mind; in a family of six 
kids, you've got to do 
something. So I looked 
up at it this time and I 
thought, How the hell did 
I ever get up there? And I 
didn't dare try it again. 
You're not going to write 
that, are you? It's pretty 
silly..." Not by us, it's not. 


PLAYBOY’S PARTY JOKES 


Mommy, Mommy,” cried little Sally as she ran 
into the house, “Bobby's been trying to get 
me to play ‘married’ with him again!” 

“Oh, that nasty boy!” exclaimed her mother. 
“I hope you were firm in your answer." 

“You bet, Mommy!” said Sally. “I told him 
no husband of mine was ever going to get a 
quickie just because Sesame Street would be on 
in five minutes!" 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines orgy as ass 
en masse. 


As the couple left the party and got into their 
car, the woman moved close against her hus- 
band and began working her hand up along 
his thigh. Later, at home, she hurried him up to 
their bedroom, raced him in undressing, urged 
him on to climax and, following a brief rest, 
began to stroke his body again; then she whis- 
pered in his ear, "Now you can take the baby 
sitter home." 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines humdinger 
as an electric dildo. 


The beaver of hot-pantied Pearl 
Incredibly just didn’t curl. 

When a hot-handed date 

Said, “Your twat hair's so straight!" 
She suggested he give it a whirl. 


When his oil field dried up, the sheik found 
himself in financial straits, so he decided to give 
up his harem and settle for one wife on the basis 
of who was best at fellatio. As one after another 
of the women went down on him night after 
night, he found it difficult to make up his mind. 
But then the last and youngest of his lovelies 
did him in a way that drove him out of his 
skull. “You're the one!” he gasped. “But tell 
me," he added, "just what is the secret of your 
fabulous technique?” 

“What I did, O Sovereign of the Sands, was 
to suck on ice cubes just before my time came 
to participate in the competition,” replied the 
girl. “You see, an old woman, wise in such mat- 
ters, once told me that the cooler head always 
prevails.” 


Behind the locked door of his private office, a 
businessman had just completed some extra- 
marital activity wih his shapely secretary when 
the phone rang. At a nod from her boss, the 
girl got up and answered the call. “No, Mrs. 
Smith,” she said, “ in at the moment— 
so I'll let you speak to him.” 


On their first date, the boy drove out to the 
edge of town and [rcm but when he put his 
hand on the girl's breast, she got out of the car 
in a huff and walked home. “Dear Diary,” she 
wrote before going to bed, “a girl's best friend 
is her legs!” 

She did go out with the same boy again, 
though, and he drove out into the country, but 
when he slipped his hand under her skirt, she 
again jumped out of the car and headed home. 
“Dear Diary, I repeat,” went her entry for that 
night, "that a girl's best friend is her legs!" 

But that incident blew over, too, and on their 
next date, the boy drove all the way to the 
county line. "Dear Diary," the girl wrote pen- 
sively some hours later, "there comes a time 
when even the best of friends must part.” 


aid one of the bar patrons, "that 

handsome devil over there is really hung!” 
“Lance, dear,” replied his companion, “you 

said a mouthful! 


A crab working hookers in Natchez 
Takes refuge, when one of them scratches, 
In her nook for a nap, 
For the shrewd little chap 
Finds he's safest when sleeping in snatches. 


We've heard of a female lab technician who 
has asked to be transferred from a genetics- 
rescarch project because the horny director 
keeps trying to get into her genes. 


pna 


To put it bluntly, doctor,” said the recent bride- 
groom, “my organ is so large and my wife's is 
so small that—well—each creates a difficulty for 
the other.” 

"In such cases,” announced the medical man, 
"my advice has always been that both spouses 
make an adjustment that will enable them to 
lick their respective problems." 


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


“Here, Prince. Right here, boy. Ah, yes, right there, Prince. . . .” 


108 


ISTEN, STUPID,” Mack told Billy, “You always say you ain't got no luck in life, 

but now that's changed. This is going to be the biggest thing ever happened to 

you, so you hear me good and you don't do nothing but what J tell you, sce?" 

“Sure, Mack, . It was night and moths were tumbling around 

the overhead light in Mack’s bungalow down near the waterfront. There 

was a third man in the room, a fat man in a white suit and dark glasses who sat in a 

comer, drinking beer from a paper cup. Anybody who wore dark glasses made Billy 
nervous, and he said: “Listen, I don't want to break no law." 

“Law? You ain't going to break the law." Mack laughed, screwing up his boxer's face 
with its mashed nose and ridges of scar tissue. “You going to be a hero, stupid. You going 
to have your picture in the papers, And you don't have to do a lick of work. You just 
going to take a vacation in the sun.” 

“Tell him,” said the fat man in the white suit. “I don’t have all night,” 

Mack took a pull at his beer bottle and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. 
"OK," he said to “You heard about them old Jap soldiers turning up thirty years 
after the war, and they don't know nothing about what's been happening, but all of a 
sudden they're famous, and people write books about them and all?” He grinned, squint- 
ing at Billy across the table. "Well, why let them Japs get all the glory? I mean, they lost 
the war. Who won it? We did. Well" 

"The fat man got impatiently to his feet. He had something in his hand that gleamed 
when it caught the light. “We've got it all worked out,” he said to Billy, and he tossed 
he was holding onto the table. It was a pair of military identification tags on a 
. “That's yours,” the man said. "You're a dead man come back to life. You're 
Robinson Crusoe." His face was pale and puffy and his teeth showed yellow when he 
spoke. “You're the last one out of World War Two.” 

The fat man was a publicity agent from Los Angeles named Carraway who for years 
had dreamed of some sudden, single success that would liberate him from the second-rate 
crooners and hoofers he served and despised. He needed to find 2 star—but where? How? 
There was no talent in the sleazy world he lived in. 

One day, as Carraway was leafing through the newspaper, his eye chanced to fall on 
a story about the discovery of an elderly Japanese soldier in a Philippine jungle. His first 
reaction had been one of envy, as he reflected on how profitably a Tokyo publicity man 


LOOT ODE 


could promote such an unusual client . . . magazine articles, personal appearances, a 
bestselling book, even a movie. If only he could have such luck! And then he thought: 
Why not? The idea made his pulse jump and brought hot sweat to his skin. “Why no 
he said aloud. "Why not?" He hurried to his apartment to think things out. 

He knew he couldn't plant a middle-aged American warrior on a populated island 
and pretend that he had been lurking in the bushes there for 30 years. No, his man would 
have to be found on some deserted atoll, where he could have drifted after his ship went 
down. Fine, thought Carraway. But what about the sailors identity? This would be a 
tricky problem, indeed. After further meditation, Carraway concluded that he would 
need a partner—not just any partner but one with special job qualifications. 

Carraway's long association with the entertainment world had sharpened his instinct 
for human corruptibility, and with a certain amount of patience, he managed to find 
what he wanted —a Naval records clerk willing to participate in a speculative enterpri 
With the help of this public servant, Carraway obtained the names and particulars of 
several sailors lost at sea who had no wives or other close relatives to come around 
raising difficult questions. All he had to do was make a final selection. In the meantime, 
he began sketching out projects for commercial exploitation. 

To play the part of his hero, Carraway needed a man with a Navy background who, 
if not handsome, was at least pleasing in appearance, as well as docile and trustworthy in 
nature. Beyond that, the fellow would have to be such a nonentity that he could vanish 
from his present life unnoticed. How could such a man be (continued on page 14) 


SCULPTURE BY DAVID BECK 


fiction 
Gy DGNVED EL 
it was a sensational 
publicity stunt—but 


there was more than 
coconuts on that island 


110 


t MAY SEEM unpatriotic or even treasonous, in this Bicen- 
tennial year, to suggest that our beloved frankfurter— 
America’s ubiquitous hot dog—is a German immigrant. 
Nevertheless, it's true—at least technically. As a member 
of the sausage family, of which there are more than 500 
varieties, the frankfurter has a long and noble genealogy. 
Born of necessity as a means of preserving food, sausage was 


ILLUSTRATION BY DENNIS MICHAEL MAGDICH 


known to Homer, Aristophanes and Api- 

cius. It was a favorite nosh of carousing Ro- 

mans during their periodic freak-outs. Sausages were 

so closely associated with pagan revels that the Emperor Con- 
stantine banned them after his conversion to Christianity. 
That experiment was no more successful than our own 
attempt at Prohibition. A big (continued on page 170) 


n 


where can the steelers’ front 
four wear shorts? anyplace they want to 


ONCE UPON A TIME, short pants were for little 
boys. And big boys like yourself wouldn't 
want to walk down the streets of your basic 
metropolis in a pair. A crack from someone 
and you might lose your cool, right? Well. 
that was once upon a time and now shorts 
on guys are as common as no bras on girls. 
OF course, it also doesn't hurt to be built 
like the four boys at right—whose names 
just happen to be Dwight White, L. C. 
Greenwood, Ernie Holmes and Steve 
Furness, and whose occupation is man- 
ning the defensive line for the world. 
champion Pittsburgh Steelers. When 
they want to horse around in the latest 
looks in shorts—styles that are about 
mid-thigh and trim—who's going to 

stop them? (The Cowboys sure 
couldn't.) You may not be as im- 

mune to smartass remarks in your 

shorts as these studs are, but 

you'll be every bit as cool. 


FHOTOGRAPHY BY BILL KING 


Opposite page: Steve 
Furness [he's the up-front 
guy) wears cotton pop- 
lin shorts with an ex- 
tension waistband and 
stitched-down double- 
pleated front, by 
Alexander Julian, about 
$55. Behind him, Dwight 
White sports cotton twill 
shorts with belt loops 
and patch pockets, by 
Campus Sportswear, $9. 


Airborne L. C. Greenwood 
prefers denim Jamaica 
shorts with a double- 
crossover belted waist, 

by UFO, $20. Ernie 
Holmes aids L. C.'s 

lift-off wearing polyester/ 
cotton shorts featuring 

a pleated front, by 
Franklin Bober for 

Arthur Richords 

Sport, about $20. 


PLAYBOY 


LOOT ODE OUT (continued from page 108) 


found? Carraway could hardly run an 
ad in the papers. 

One day he went to San Diego to pro- 
mote a burlesque dancer and ran into 
an old acquaintance, a beefy night-club 
bouncer named Mack O'Neill. After a 
few drinks, Carraway hinted at his diffi- 
cult casting requirements. “Say, J know 
just the guy you want," Mack told him. 
“Matter of fact, he's right outside the 
bar, waiting for me. Come over to the 
winder here and you can scc him good. 


There he is, Carraway. That's Billy 
Johnson.” 
Carraway took a look. Across the street 


stood a tall, gaunt man with shaggy gray 
hair and a slightly bewildered expression. 

"Bill's kind of dumb," Mack said, 
“but he "t feeble-minded. He's just 
slow. Know what I mean? When I tell 
him something, he don't forget it. And 
when I tell him to do something, he does 
it.” He gave Carraway a wink. “I told 
him to wait for me there, and I been in 
here over an hour and he t moved." 

“I need a man,” said Carraway. 
a dog.” 

“Don't get me wrong, Carraway. Billy's 
OK. It's just he's loyal to his friends. 
And I'm his friend. He ain't got no 
others. One's enough. Hell, I'm good to 
him. When he don't have no money, I 
slip him a few bucks. 

“Has he ever been in trouble?" 

“No, he ain't got no police record. 
No wile, neither, and no folks, nothing.” 

“What does he do’ 

“Do? Why, Billy don't do much. Some- 
times he washes dishes and sometimes he 
digs ditches or picks fruit, stuff like that.” 

Carraway nodded, frowning thought- 
fully. “And you say he was in the Navy 
in the war?” 

“Yep. We was on the same ship. A 
can—you know, a destroyer. I was pretty 
wild in them days—looking for trouble, 
you know?—and they wasn't a man on 
the ship I didn't take on.” Mack burst 
out laughing. “Them gooneys didn't 
know I was a pro, see. They couldn't un- 
derstand how come I was cooling them 
so quick! But Billy, he stood up against 
me an hour or more, even though they 
wasn't much left of him when 1 was 
done. It didn't leave him no smarter, 
that's for sure!" Mack cocked his big, 
battered head and gave Carraway a 
shrewd glance. “Listen, Carraway,” he 
said. “I don't know what you got in 
mind, but if you're lookin’ for some guy 
you can make up any shape you want, 
Billys your boy." He chuckled. "Provid- 
ed you cut me in. Because Billy, he does 
what I say, seei 

"Get him over here,” said Carraway. 
"I want to scc how he walks and I want 
to hear his voice.” 

"Sun said Mack. He went to the 
door. "Hey, stupid!" he bellowed, and 


ot 


1M Billy jerked his head up at the sound of 


the familiar voice. "See if you can get 
across the street without gettin’ run 


say watched Billy approach. 
he said under his breath. Billy 
moved with a dreamy hesitation, gazing 
around as if he'd never seen a car 
before—or a street, either, for that mat- 
ter—and his long-jawed face bore an 
expression of innocent wonder. A Gary 
Cooper type, thought Carraway, already 
envisioning him bearded and in cast- 
away rags. But he wasn't sure about him 
yet. “You sure he’s got all his marbles?” 
he asked Mack. 

"Depends what you want him for," 
said Mack. "You ain't plannin' to run 
him for governor, are you? Hey, dum- 
my,” he said to Billy, as Billy came up, 
“this here's a talent scout who's goin’ 
to make you a big movie star, so say 
hi to the man." 

Billy looked at Carraw; 
extended hand and shook it. 

"He wants to hear what you sound 
like, stupid," Mack told him, "so you 
speak out and say somethi; 

Billy thought for a few m 
in't nothin’ comes to my mi 
said finally. 

“Tell him that poem I learnt you 
month.” 

Billy thought again. Then he recited 
an obscene version of Mary Had a Little 
Lamb. He spoke slowly, but his voice 
was firm and deep, and Carraway was 
satisfied. 


noticed the 


ents. 
he 


t 


he asked. 


led and Carraway noticed that 
l most of his teeth. “I had a 
Billy said, “but she took off 
last month. Nina wasa nice girl.” 

“She was a cheap whore,” Mack said. 
“She wasn't no good for you, Billy, and 
you know it.” Billy looked down at his 
shoes but d y anything. “You know 
that, don’t yoi Mack repeated, with 
irritation in his voice. “That Nina was 
just a cheap, no-good whore, right?” 

"Guess so," said Billy, still staring 
down, 

“I run that bitch off," Mack told Car- 
raway. “These women, they latch on to 
Billy like barnacles, see, so ever’ so 
often I got to scrape ‘em off. They take 
advantage of his trustin’ nature, under- 
stand, and he’s like a slave to them.” 

"Lucky he's got a friend like you to 
protect his independence,” Carraway re- 
marked dryly. He stepped back a pace 
and looked Billy up and down. “All 
right,” he said to Mack. lell do. Let's 
have a drink and I'll tell you what it’s 
all about." 

The two men met several times in the 
next few wecks, working out the details. 
At the end of that time, Carraway went 
down to Mack's bungalow with the 


woman, 


^ 


identification tags and Billy was told 
what was going to happen to him. 


The following week, Billy and Mack 
flew to Hawaii and stayed in a shack up 
in the mountains that belonged to a 
friend of Mack's, and it was there that 
Mack taught Billy the part he had to 
play, following the material Carraway 
had written 

“They ai 
Mack said. 


't no more Billy Johnson,” 
You never even heard that 
OK, 


Billy shook his head. “Don't know.” 

“That's right,” said Mack. Then he 
squinted at Billys neck. "Whats that 
you got there? What's that you're wear- 
in'?" He reached out and lifted up the 
taps. “Hey, here it says 
E. Williams, Jr’ That your name? 


“Well, you're wearin’ these dog tags, 

so you must be Williams. That right?" 
"Seems I heard that name somewhere, 

but I don't know if i 
“Why, it's got to be yours, sailor 


Carraway had 
drilled on this point. Loss of memory 
would be the only protection against the 
questions that only the real Williams 
could answer. And suppose some ex- 
shipmate showed up to chat about old 
imes? "He won't need to say he's Wil- 
liams," Carraway assured Mack. “Once 
he's found down there, the newspapers 
will identify him as Williams fast 
enough." 

"Suppose they take his pri 
had asked. 
"ve taken care of that," said Carra- 
way. He had made up a fake Service 
record for Williams, with Billy's fingei 
prints on it, which the cooperative 
clerk had substituted for the origi 
Carraway wasn't anxious to have this 
forgery subjected to a close inspection, 
however, and had decided that Billy 
would not apply for Williams’ back pay. 
No point in being greedy, he thought. 

Billy spent every day in the sun to tan 
his body and he let his hair and beard 
grow. "Ain't nobody going to recognize 
you,” Mack with satisfaction. Every 
Saturday, Mack went into Honolulu for 
some recreation, but he didn't take Billy. 
"Suppose when they find you, they give 
you a checkup and you got the clap?" 
Mack said. mean, where the hell 
would you have got it? From a sea gull?” 
So Billy stayed in che cabin and thought 
about Nina and waited for Mack to come 
back. 
You're 


is?" Mack 


man thats been throwed 
away on an island for so long you can't 
remember,” Mack would tell Billy as 
they sat outside by a stream, fishing. 
(continued on page 173) 


PLAYBOY'S HISTORY OF 
ASSASSINATION 


Se) |) VILE 0] 


article By JAMES MCKINLEY the concluding chapter—as of this 


bicentennial year —1o the nation’s bitterest legacy: the killing of robert kennedy, 
the near-fatal shooting of george wallace and the attempts on gerald ford 


"We must recognize 
that this short life can 
neither be ennobled nor 
-enriched by hatred or 
revenge. Our lives on 
this planet are too 
short and the work to 
be done too great to let 
this spirit flourish any 
longer in our land. 

— SENATOR ROBERT F. 
KENNEDY, April 5, 
1968, on the 
assassination. of 
Martin Luther 
King, Jr. 
ROBERT Francis Kennedy's 
life was to be short, indeed, 
in that flourishing spirit of 
hatred and violence. Only 
62 days after Memphis and 
the murder of Martin Lu- 
ther King, Jr., the spirit 
descended out of Los An- 
geles’ midnight skies into 
the tawdry confines of a pan- 
try in the Ambassador Ho- 
tel as a Jordanian refugee 
named Sirhan Bishara Sir- 
han put a .22-caliber mini- 
mag bullet into Kennedy's 
(text continued on page 118) 


ANOTHER KENNEDY FALLS 


Above, the eight-shot .22 revolver taken from Sirhan Sirhon on the 
night Robert Kennedy was shot. Minutes after his victory speech, 
Kennedy stopped to shoke hands with the hotel kitchen staff. Just 
outside this kitchen, the gunmon owoited him in the pantry. 


ILLUSTRATION BY VINCENT TOPAZIO 


Sirhan empties his gun (left) and Kennedy is down 
in a pool of blood. He is barely conscious (tap) when 
busbay Juan Romera comfarts him with a rosary he 
presses inta his hand, "Am I all right?" Kennedy 
asks, and wife, Ethel, and sister Mrs. Stephen 
Smith whisper encauragement to him (above left). 
When the ambulance arrives, Kennedy is comatose. 


c2 


After being subdued by Roosevelt Grier and Rafer 
Johnson, Sirhan is hustled out af the Ambassador 
Hatel (above right). The caption on this photograph, 
when it was. published, read, "The man has 
refused to give his name and police ore checking 
fingerprint files." Sirhan's brothers saw the photo- 
graph in the maming paper ond identified him. 


CRIPPLING A CANDIDATE 
at xw : 


Like the assassination of John Kennedy, the shooting af George Wallace was caught on film. 
TV cameras show Arthur Bremer in the crowd, wearing a Wallace compoign button (top left 
and right). Without warning, he steps forward and begins firing (center left). As Wallace 
falls, Bremer continues to pump slugs into him (center right). Bremer subdued, Wallace lies bleed- 
ing fram numerous wounds (bottom lefi), os his wife throws herself over him (bottom right). 


brain. Kennedy died 2514 
hours later, on D day, June 6, 
1968, at the age of 42. With 
him died his hopes of gain- 
ing the Presidency. With 
him died, too, any linger- 
ing illusion that somehow 
America, with the deaths of 
John Kennedy, Malcolm X 
and King, had been purged 
of her destructive urges. In- 
deed, by the end of 1968, it 
was clear the year was one 
of the most violent since the 
end of World War Two. In 
the burgeoning horror of 


Vietnam, the year began 
with news of the Tet offen- 
sive, then careened through 
broad-scale campus antiwar 
revolts and the decision of 
President Lyndon Johnson 
not to seek re-election, 
through the martyrdom of 
King and its attendant 
ghetto riots, on to the mur- 
der of Bobby Kennedy and 
the nightmare of the Dem- 
ocratic Convention's police 
riot and, finally, to the elec- 
tion of Richard M. Nixon. 

Obviously, 1968 was a 


year to remember, if only to 
avoid repeating, for it was 
certain that the spirit of 
hatred and reveni that 
Bobby Kennedy reviled had 
come to dwell among Amer- 
icans as seldom before. Yet, 
for Kennedy, in the City of 
Angels on the evening of 
his greatest triumph, in the 
vital California primary, it 
may well have seemed oth- 
erwise. It may have seemed 
that it was again possible 
to believe, as he said ten 
minutes before he was as- 


sassinated: “We can work 
together [despite] the di- 
vision, the violence, the 
disenchantment with our 
society, the division, wheth- 
er it’s between blacks and 
whites, between the 

and the more affluent, be- 
tween age groups or over 
the war in Vietnam. We are 
a great country, an un- 
selfish country, a compas- 
sionate country.” ` 

Sirhan Sirhan didn’t, as 
far as is known, hear Ken- 
nedy speak those words. 
Kennedy had ended his 
short victory speech in the 
hotel's Embassy Ballroom 
about 12:10 am. on June 
fifth, He could then have 
moved off the podium to his 
left, exiting through the 
mass of jubilant supporters, 
the lines of Kennedy Girls. 
His bodyguards thought he 
would and started clearing 
a way. Simultaneously, a 
hotel employee suggested 
he go toward the right. But 
Karl Uecker, an assistant 
maitre de, surveyed the 
crowd and led the Senator 
toward the rear through a 
curtain in the direction of 
a nearby service pantry. 
That seemed a good way 
to avoid the mauling 
Bobby had taken through- 
out the campaign from en- 
thusiastic fans and was a 
good way to get to his inter- 
view with the “pencil press” 
in another meeting room. 
In retrospect, it also seemed 
a random choice, one that 
might confound a con- 
spiracy. 

It didn'tconfoundSirhan. 
Near a crude sign reading 
THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING, 
he waited by a steam table 
in the narrow pantry and 
watched as Kennedy moved 
along, shaking hands with 
the kitchen help, trailed 
by his outdistanced body- 
guards, surrounded by jour- 
nalists who had divided the 
route. Precisely what hap- 
pened next is debated. But 
several things seem clear. 
There is Sirhan in a pecul- 
iar half crouch, smiling, 
his hand moving to his belt 
and a little gun coming up 
in it—like a cap gun, a 
witness said—and then the 
gun fires as Sirhan lunges 
toward Kennedy, almost as 
though striking at him with 
a knife, one man said, and 


then Kennedy is falling 
backward toward an ice 
machine, down to the con- 
crete floor, while the gun 
kecps firing, again and 
again, even though Uecker 
has grabbed Sirhan, and 
then the shooting stops as 
others mob the Jordanian, 
throw him over a steam 
table and try to tear the 
gun away. All around, 
the screams go up: "My 
God." . . . “Oh, no”... 
“Jesus Christ.” A radio an- 
nouncer blabbers into his 
recorder and a TV man 
films the hysteria, both of 
them disassociated, unbe- 
lieving. Five others are 
wounded also, but Bobby 
draws the fhost attention. 
His blood pools as the strug. 
gle continues to subdue the 
slender, unexpectedly strong 
assassin. Bobby's friends are 
among the subduers. Gi d 
Plimpton takes hold of Sir- 
han. Later, he will remem- 
ber Sirhan's “enormously 
peaceful" eyes. Roosevelt 
Grier finally secures the 
gun. He gives it to Rafer 
johnson. The two black 
men shout oaths while 

ple call out, "Kill him, 

ill the bastard." Rafer 
fights the lynchers off and 
Jesse Unruh, characteristi- 
cally polemical, jumps to 
the top of the steam table 
and announces, “We don't 
want another Dallas. If 
the system works at all, we 
are going to try this one.” 
People twist Sirhan’s leg, 
but Grier pins him down 
while they wait for the coj 

Kennedy, meanwhile, 
asks, “Am I all right?" Next 
to his heart, he holds a 
rosary volunteered by one 
of theencircling prope and 
twisted around his thumb 
by juan Romero, a busboy 
who has cradled Bobby's 
head and said, "Come on, 
Mr. Kennedy, you can 
make it." 

Dr. Stanley Abo probes 
the wound behind Ken- 
nedy's right ear with his 
finger to relieve the pres 
sure, and Ethel Kennedy, 
pregnant with their llith 
child, and her sister-in-law 
Mrs. Stephen Smith comfort 

` the near-comatose victim. It 
takes 17 terrible minutes to 
get Kennedy out of the mad- 
ned pantry and into an 
ambulance. By that time, 


A “FAMILY” AFFAIR 


raf 


On September 5, 1975, on the grounds of Colifornio's copitol, the first known ottempt on 
President Ford's life was mode. Lynette "Squeoky" Fromme, o member of the Charles Manson 
fomily, approached Ford in a crowd, pulled out a military-style .45 outomotic, pointed it at him and 
fired. Although she had put a loaded clip inta the pistol, there was no cartridge in the chamber. 


THE SECOND WAVE 


Little more thon two weeks ofter the first ottempt, Sara Jane Moore, an ex-FBl informant, fred o 
shot ot the President with o .38 revolver. Immediotely below, Ford reocts in shock when the sound 
of the shot reoches him os he woits in a crowd in front of the St. Froncis Hotel in San Francisco. 
At bottom, police wrestle Moore to the ground. She later stated that she hod meant to kill him. 

DEZ UAM ITE 


aF 
A 


PLAYBOY 


Sirhan is in custody. The cops have 
pulled him from under Grier at 12:25, 
hustled him out, read him his rights and 
thought he looked remarkably collected, 
almost "smirky" Hoping he can help 
prevent another Oswald disaster, Unruh 
rides to the precinct station with the a: 
sassin—who refuses to give his name— 
and later says the swarthy boy mumbled, 
“I did it for my country.” That's hotly 
disputed, but it’s true that in the hours to 
come, the suspect displays a canny cool- 
ness, a sure knowledge of his rights (like 
Oswald, he'll ask for an A.C.L.U. lawyer 
unlike Oswald, he'll get one). an inter- 
est in famous murders and remains anony- 
mous until his brothers see his picture in 
the morning newspaper and tell the 
police who he is. For now, all the police 
know is that he probably shot Kennedy 
with the eightshot Iver-Johnson .22 re- 
volver that Rafer Johnson had handed 
over, all eight chambers containing ex- 
pended cartridge cases, and that he was 
carrying $410.66, a dipped David Law- 
rence column speculating on Kennedy's 
inconsistency in opposing the Victnam 
war while supporting military aid for 
Israel. two unexpended -22 cartridges, one 
expended .22 slug, a Kennedy campaign 
song sheet and an ad inviting the public 
to an R.F.K. rally at the Ambassador on 
Sunday, June second. The police wonder 
if the expended slug was used in target 
practice and if the ad means he had been 
stalking the Senator. 


If so, he succeeded. Kennedy was fa- 
tally wounded, although neurosurgeons 
did all they could to remove the bone 
shards and lead fragments from the kill- 
ing shot, which entered the right mas- 
toid—a honeycomblike bone—to sever 
arteries and lacerate cells. Had he lived, 
Kennedy, at best, would have been deaf 
in the right ear and paralyzed on the 
right side of his face and would have suf- 
fered bad vision and spastic spells. Ted 
Kennedy and Ethel and Jackie, in from 
London, looked on as Bobby's lile seeped 
away. His brain died at 6:30 r.«. on June 
fifth, the EEG wave hardening to a line. 
His body followed at 1:44 a.m. on June 
sixth. Now for Sirhan it was murder and. 
for America the agony of another Ken 
nedy funeral. Following a painstaking au 
topsy, Bobby's body was flown to New 
York, where it lay in state at St. Patrick's 
Cathedral on June seventh, the day Sir- 
han was indicted for R.F.K.’s murder. 
Coretta King. widowed two months be- 
fore, came 10 pay her respects. So 
Ralph Abernathy, up from Washington, 
where the Poor People’s March that King 
had hoped to lead now languished by the 
Mall in a shantytown called Resurrec- 
tion City, its members hoping moral 
suasion would bring the stronger anti 
poverty legislation Robert Kennedy had 


120 endorsed. President Johnson attended the 


High Requiem Mass of June eighth— 
the day a no-account thief named James 
Earl Ray was caught in London—and 
heard Ted Kennedy eulogize his brother: 
"He should be remembered simply as a 
good and decent mam who saw wrong 
and tried 10 right it, saw suffering and 
tried to heal it, saw war and tried to stop 
it.” Fittingly, only two days before, L.B.J. 
had issued a call, doomed, as it turned 
out, for gun-control legislation that 
would prevent mailorder sale of all fire- 
arms and their interstate. trade. (Such a 
law wouldn't have stopped Sirhan, ho 
ever. since he got his $25 gun through hi 
brother, who got it from a man who'd 
gotten it from a woman, who'd gotten 
it for protection after the Watts riots.) 

Robert Kennedy’s remains were moved 
down the roadbed from New York to 
Washington in a funeral train all too 
reminiscent of Lincoln's. Kennedy's 
people, the ones he had counted on to 
help make him President, filled each 
window and lined the tracks: black and 
white, men and women, the aged and the 
children, people rich and poor, offering 
homage as best they could. 

Robert Kennedy was buried that eve- 
ning in Arlington Cemetery on a gentle 
knoll 60 feet from his brother's grave. 
Unlike his brother's, Robert Kennedy's 
funeral ceremony was simple, but like 
his brother's, dampened by rain. After a 
short liturgy, Bobby's son Joseph Ken- 
nedy III received the caskets covering 
flag. He passed it to his mother. The 
Kennedys. familystrong and ghostly in 
the light of myriad candles, moved one by 
one to kneel and kiss the mahogany 
cofhn, Then it was over. 

Sirhan Bishara Sirhan, for now every- 
one knew his name, spent June eighth 
reading and listening to radio music in 
his jail's infirmary. His leg and finger 
had been injured in the pantry fracas. 
He had a few bruises. Otherwise, he was 
in good health, small (5'3", 120 pounds) 
and lithe and, according to the New 
County Jail doctor, “self-satisfied, smug: 
and unremorseful.” That fagade would 
crumble frequently in the months to 
come, as through his lawyers Sirhan 


learned of the massive evidence agai 


only plead that Sirhan's mental capacity 
to premeditate the crime was diminished, 
and so Sirhan was really guilty only of 
second-degree murder. Certainly, their 
his violent mood 
suggested that the "diminished 
notion might be true. A con- 
sulting psychiatrist, Dr. Bernard Dia- 
mond, even suspected that Sirhan might 
have been in some sort of trance when he 
shot Kennedy—an idea shared by Robert 
Blair Kaiser, a writer-investigator who 
participated in the defense planning and 
later published an invaluable history of 


the case. The trance idea was interest- 
ing—and jibed with Sirhan's interest in 
the occult, in thought transference, self- 
hypnosis and Rosicrucian doctrines—but 
it was hard to sell to a jury. Sirhan's own 
story wouldn't stand up, either. Who 
would believe, even if it were true, that 
he'd gone to the Ambassador, gotten 

izzy” on tom collinses and decided to 
drive home but was too drunk, took his 
gun from the car so it wouldn't be stolen, 
went again into the hotel for coffee, found 
some in the area behind the Embassy 
Ballroom stage and then was somehow 
in the pantry, where he guessed he did 
shoot Kennedy, but he couldn't remem- 
ber a thing about it? No, liquor-induced 
might contribute, but it couldn't 
carry the whole defense. Sirhan's attorneys 
in time agreed on a narrow defense. He 
killed Kennedy, but he wasn't in a ration- 
al state of mind; was, in fact, rather crazy. 

For its part, the prosecution set out to 
prove that Sirhan assasinated Kennedy 
With malice aforethought, motivated by 
Kennedy's pro-Israel statements. They rea- 
soned that those statements, particularly 
after the Six-Day War humiliated the 
Arabs in 1967. had so inflamed the Jor- 
danian that he undertook vengeance, thus 
becoming the prototypal lone assassin: a 
paranoiac but legally sane young man 
with a political fixation and a savior 
complex. The state's expert. psychiatric 
witnesses would debunk the defense's con- 
rention that Sirhan was demented. Of 
course, the state had plenty of other 
evidence, too, eventually ten full volumes 
assembled by an investigative team called 
Special Unit Senator. (Those volumes, al- 
though repeatedly sought by interested 
parties, have remained secret, causing 
speculation that not everything in them 
fingers Sirhan as a lone killer.) 

"The trial began January 7, 1969, and 
ended three months later with a guilty 
verdict. Sirhan, the jury decided, had 
willfully killed Kennedy. The convicted. 
assassin remained cool and cocky, even 
alter he was—despite a plea from Ted 
Kennedy—condemned to death. “But I 
am famous,” Sirhan said. “I achieved in 
a day what it took Kennedy all his life to 
do.” Sirhan also asserted, as he had be- 
fore, that there was no conspiracy and 
that he was not afraid to die. (In fact, 
Sirhan's death sentence later was reduced 
to life imprisonment and he now is eligi- 
ble for parole in 1986.) For the state, the 
victory was twofold: Not only had it 
proved Sirhan was a lone killer but it 
had protected him and his rights, and at 
last—after John Kennedy and King— 
brought an assassin to justice. 

Not without considerable help, to be. 
sure. The state had the usual abundance of 
investigative resources (the trial alone 
«ost $609,792) and the ability to select 
from the immense bank of data what best 
suited its case. The press, which other 
wise might have published items that 

(continued on page 148) 


“We should work out a signal to let me know when the coast 
is clear, Betsy. Y’ know, a flag ov. ...” 


121 


122 


KRIS AND SARAH 


IN A SCENE OF ELECTRIFYING EROTIC INTENSITY, KRISTOFFERSON 
AND MILES MAKE LOVE FOR THE MOVIE CAMERAS —AND FOR "PLAYBOY" 


o wester The Sailor Who Fell from Grace 
with the Sea, a novel by the late Japanese novelist Yukio Mishima, producer Martin Poll 
and adapter-director Lewis John Carlino changed the Yokohama setting to a seacoast village 
in Devon. They then teamed England's provocative Sarah Miles with Kris Kristofferson (now co- 
starring with Barbra Streisand in A Star Is Born) as ill-starred widow and able-bodied American 
seaman whose headlong sexual collision is no secret to a gang of dangerously precocious British 
schoolboys. Anglicizing does little to inhibit Mishima’s heady blend of romance, eroticism and 
horror in a movie that takes liberties—occasionally startling ones, even in the present permissive 
era—to flesh out the unique, decadent spirit of an author, too little known in the West, who 
was once hailed by The New York Times as "a master of gorgeous and perverse surprises.” 


Alone (top right), the unsuspecting widow Anne masturbates in front of her lote husband's portrait, observed thraugh a 
peephole by her young san. The bay maintains a vigilant watch over her subsequent encounters with a virile sailar. 


124 


In story terms, The Sailor Who Fell from Grace combines elements of Last Tango in Paris with 
the intellectual rigors of Lord of the Flies. Kristofferson's sailor destroys “the perfect order" of 
existence by forsaking his anchorless life at sca for a sensuous, landed lady—a crime that the woman's 
son and a band of wayward chums judge punishable by death. The climax of this strangely tangled 
tale reflects the credo, as well as the kinkiness, of Mishim Japanese nationalist who committed 
hara-kiri in 1970, at the age of 45, to dramatize his political views. Though a self-absorbed bi- 
sexu mily man, fanatical bodybuilder (he liked posing nude) and actor in gangster movies. 
Mishima was also a prolific literary genius (three times nominated for a Nobel Prize for his novels, 
plays and short stories) who dreaded old age and called hara-kiri “the ultimate masturbation." The 
first English-language film based on his work catches his undertones of cool violence, played against 
some of the hottest love scenes in nonporn cinema history, and may prove an exhilarating wip for 
movie audiences only now discovering that the world of Mishima reaches to far-out aesthetic shores. 


The man's body is scarred, his muscles ripple. Adult love games (above) seem “fantastic” to the boy—until cyni- 
Sarah and Kris re-create the film's erotic intensity exclusively for PLAYBOY. 


cal peers mock his innocence. Opposite: 


126 


During ten weeks of shooting through unreliable English weather in Dartmouth, the community's 
lady mayor declared herself gratified to find people at work on “a nice family picture.” The 
mayores, when and if she sees The Sailor, will be surprised to learn tl Miles, Kristofferson, 
Carlino and a company of ruddy-checked pubescent lads have used a slew of local landmarks as 
background for a drama richly garnished with sex, sadism, voyeurism, exhibitionism and ritual 
murder. Thomas Hardy country may never be quite the same alter playing host to The Sailor's 
lusty co-stars, who all but shiver the timbers in several sequences that add graphic body English 
to Oriental erotic art. There's been no comparable breakthrough by big-name actors since Julie 
Christie and Donald Sutherland, making it, made a sizzling bedtime story of Don't Look Now. 


Doomsday looms (above) when the unlucky sailor lands back in the love-starved widow's bed. But only here will 
you see scenes such as that opposite depicting other plaisirs d'amour from our Miles-Kristofferson special coverage. 


life explorer. 
consummate actress 
and aspiring poet, 
ms. miles is—fo say 
the least—singular 


re 


By BRUCE WILLIAMSON  rickixc ur, three years late, on a canceled interview with Sarah Miles 
is not the first thing a weary Easterner wants to do on arriving in L.A.—City of Angels and of love goddesses 
en masse. Storm warnings have been posted by people who speak of Sarah in a whisper, the way they might speak 
about being trapped somewhere during the last big earthquake: "She's impossible.” “Careful how you handle 
her." “Unpredictable, but you'll probably like her . . . she's great with men.” “Completely flaky . . . and 
don't bring up that David Whiting business.” “Very difficult.” "No comment." Oh, well. It helps a little that 
she's so unequivocally damned brilliant in The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with (continued on page 161) 


Iam happy as Woman—free to lose, 
free to choose to be chaste. 

Man stays linked by our pearls 
tothe mystery of girls, 

Yet while we pursue Woman's truth, 
Man is chased. 


In the pictures on these pages, 
Sarah Miles is trying to tell us 
something about herself, the man- 
woman relationship and today's 
changing sex roles. The poems 
that follow are her interpre- 
tations in verse of the pictures. 
I've been there and back, man, 
narrowed the gap, that gap 

between master and slave . . . 
But don't ask me to tell you 
which is witch, 
All my trips are avery close 
shave. 


NowI’m straddling time and sex 
and space—what an electric 
place to be, 

Floating in limbo, rooted in earth— 
I'm neither Man nor Woman 
but me. 


128 


PLAYBOY 


130 


“Now it’s everybody into the sack! God, how I hate planned parties!” 


gawain and the scarlet lady from a medieval Arthurian romance 


APTER KING ARTHUR had established his 
court at Caerleon-on-Usk, he set out to 
find a lady to comfort his despondent 
nephew, Gawain. Riding far afield, 
Arthur one day reached the castle of an 
evil Caitiff, who could cast a spell such 
that no knight could face him but 
straightway his strength decayed. Arthur 
challenged the Caitiff, but he, too, suc- 
cumbed to the magician, whe refused to 
release Arthur except under the condi- 
tion that he return at the end of a year, 
bringing the one mue answer to the 
question: What thing is it that women 
most desire? 

After giving his oath to return at the 
appointed time, Arthur set out. He rode 
all over Christendom, posing the ques- 
tion to those he met. Some answered 
worldly goods, some mirth, some flattery — 
and many the pleasures of love. But in 
such diverse answers, Arthur could find 
no sure dependence, 

The year was well-nigh spent when 
Arthur, riding through the forest, spied 
a scarletclad crone sitting in a bush, a 
woman of such hideous aspect that he 
would fain avert his eyes. When she 
greeted him, he turned his head and 
made no response. "What man are you,” 
screeched the old hag, “who will not 
speak with me? For though I be not fair 
of face, mayhap I can end your quest.” 

“If thou canst do this, grim lady, 
choose whit reward thou wilt and it 
shall be yours," Arthur replied. 

"Swear this upon faith and sword, 
said the woman; and Arthur swore. Then 
she told Arthur the true answer to the 
question—and demanded her reward, 
which was that she receive as lover a fair 
nd courtly knight. 

Arthur hastened to the castle of the 
Caitiff and told him one by one all the 
mswers he had received in his travels— 
without revealing the true answer. Then, 


when the Caitiff thought Arthur had 
spoken all, without speaking truth, 
Arthur said: 


“This mom as I rode over moor, 

I spied a lady set 

Amongst the oak and green briar tree 
And clad in bright scarlet. 


“She said: *AH women would have 
their will. 

That ts their true desire. 

Now grant, as thou are Caitiff bold, 

That I have paid my hire.” 


Cursing the crone who had revealed 
the secret, the Caitiff freed Arthur, who 
rode liomeward, heavy of heart, for he 
knew he must now find a knightly lover 
for the scarlet hag in the woods. Reach- 
ing Caerleon, he opened his sorrows to 
Gawain, who replied: “Be not sad. my 
lord, for in my quest didst thou encounter 


athly lady, and now shall I bed 
Arthur reluctantly consented and 
iglts forth to fetch the old 
Upon her arrival, Gawain was 
scoffed at and jeered by his fellow knights. 
And at night, when he found himself 
lone with the crone, he could scarce 
conceal his disgust. The lady languished 
on the bed and asked him why he sighed 
so heavily and averted his face. Gawain 
replied, in candor, that this was on ac- 
count of three things: her low degree, 
her age and her ugliness. Whereupon 
she asked Gawain to turn his face toward 
her and look upon her. He did this with 
great reluctance, but when he turned 
his eyes, he saw, lying on the sheet, not 
the crone but a beautiful damsel, eyes 
black as the sloe, whose red lip swelled 
like the ripe cherry and whose snowy 
skin was covered only in the rosered 
blush of her maiden modesty. 

While the delighted Gawain caressed 
her, she told him that. the form she had 
worn. was not her true one but a disguise 
imposed upon her by the Caitiff. She was 
condemned to wear it until two th 
should happen: one, that she should ob- 
tain a fair and gallant knight to be her 


wom: 


ILLUSTRATION BY BRAD HOLLANO 


Ribald Classic 


lover. This done, she explained, half the 
charm was removed. She was now at 
liberty to wear her wue form half the 
time and bade G; 
would have her fair by day and ugly 
by night or the reverse. Pressing his lips 
to her breast and recalling that the sun 
had only shortly sunk beneath the hori 
zon, wain said he would have the lady 
beauteous by night, when he alone would 
enjoy her charms. But she reminded him 
how much more pleasant it would be for 
them to taste the fruits of love by light 
of day. when she could also wear her best 
looks in the throng of knights and ladies. 
Stricken by her beauty. Gawain yielded 
and gave up his will to hers. 

This alone was wanting to dissolve 
the charm. The lovely lady now joyously 
assured him that she would change no 
that she was now, so would she 
remain by night and as well by day; and 
as she did now (lor, indeed, she was 
then in his embrace), so would she 
always, And for many nights thereafter, 
Gawain enjoyed the charms of his lovely 
scarlet mistress, swearing that as he was a 
true knight, never was spice so sweet 

—Retold by Michael Laurence ED 


in choose whether he 


more 


131 


p 
ultimate in cruising’sailboats—th 

Westsail 32, a lovely wide-beamed,s 
dovble-hulted 32-foatef that sleeps 

four (si pinch) cludes 

such practical ore os 
as a low freeboord, à sm ilin: 
cackpit and a full ke@l. Insi Wer 
Westsoil is a shipshape sanctum of rich. .— 
woodwork. Fully equipped far the high’ 
seas, the Westsail runs abaut $60,000. — 


e 


Below: Weekend sailors itching ta mess 
about in some type af small portable 
craft should check aut the British- 

made Avon Redcrest inflatable 

Dar't laugh; this 9' 3” wander will 

carry four persons (ar c load of 

700 pounds), takes up ta a faur-hp 
mator, inflates by faot pump in six 
minutes ond—get this—is what 

the British army uses far landing 


"GALLANT 
D 


- STABLE 


modern living By BROCK YATES 


3 Sterilizing the highways and the ski slopes and the moun- 
sides and the great wilderness—where adventure comes 
adon amid a barrage of regulations and cautious sanctions 
on the surface of the water, he’ and “by the state. Yet boats remain essentially free. Once afloat, 
Masts and little portholes instead " ey per yel you can do about anything you please, which may be the 
it all, useless as they might be, boats are, MRR: ones, gftindérlying reason why recreational boating is the fastest 
midget ones, kayaks, catamarans, tall Ones; stubby Ones, —gfowing sport in America. In view of this booming popu- 
ketches, canoes; you name itjand ‘you've. góta ^ lagity, it may be time for you to shed your landlubber's 
a brand of hedonism that) dates back (0—Cleopatra's ` boots in favor of a pair of Top-Siders. It is time to go 
barge. To hell with utility; boats may beithe-Iastrefuge ^ ówn to the sea—in boats; time to take part in that 
for pure foolishness on: the. face of the" eon On Tandy? vast.armada of plcasure (text continued on page 138) 


THERE 15 NO RATIONAL justification for a bo: vA 6 ca elbowing the crazies into tight little aie 
might dredge up some legitimat 


R cod fisherman or’ Jacques 
but let's face it, if God had’ motor f 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY ALEXAS URBA 


Right: Built för fun, the Hobie 16 
catamaran is also one of the fastest. 
sailing craft afloat, having been 
officially timed at 25.9 mph. Hobies. 
have anly a 10” draft; thus, they're 
adaptable ta a variety of sailing 
conditions. When the day's outing is 
over, they can be run right up anto all 
but the roughest beaches and easily 
disassembled for trailer or van-rack. 
toting. At $2050, it's the cat's meow. 


Far right: Skindiving, anyone? Water- 
skiing? Fishing? Or just jazzing about on 
a fresh-water lake or the open sea? Get 
yourself a fiberglass Aquasport 

Open Fisherman. Its 19' 6" can be. 
equipped with a variety of outboards— 
including the new 185-hp behemoths. 
And because the Aquasport’s helm 

is positioned at a center console, there's 
a clear walkway fram stem ta stern, Five 
thou will get you one sensibly equipped. 


Below: If you want to haul things, buy 
a barge. But if you want to haul ass, 
buy a Cigarette 28-SS, the fastest 
production powerboat available any- 
where. Within its low, 2B’ rakish hull are 
a head and an inviting forward berth— 
fer two, af course. Loaded for bear— 
including twin 395-hp enginos—a 
Cigorette will see 70 mph in scant, 
breath-taking secands. The price? 
$40,000 or sa. Still breathing? 


Below you see the stuff thot an ocean- 
going hedonist's dreams are mode of—the 
Bertram 58; when fully equipped (ond in 
this baby, thot's the only way to fly), 

it'll set you back 350,000 smackers. 
Everything on this yacht is designed to 
toke you out to sea in a style thot 

most people don't enjoy bock home. In 
the coplain's quarters, there's a king- 
sized bed with heodboard console to 
control the lights, stereo, etc., and etse- 
where, a luxe galley, a full head with 
shower, plus more, more, more. The view 
of and from the bridge is equally im- 
pressive. (Twin turbocharged GM diesels 
do the work.) Bon voyoge, you lucky devil. 


v^ wn 


vessels sometimes referred to as plastic 
toys for girls and boys. 

If you yourself as a high roller, 
you will take pleasure in learning that 
We have selected a complete flect for 
your delectation—six boats, rang 
length from nine feet to 58 [eet which 
should fill every water-borne need except 
victories in selected sail- and powerboat 
es. ica’s Cup, ctc, costs 
extra) Moreover, we have shown con- 
cern for the allowances of your tr 
fund in these difficult times by trying to 
keep costs at a reasonable level. This has 
prompted us to feature only boats avail- 
able on the general market, as opposed 
10. custom-built vessels that would boost 
l price well beyond our ar- 
of $500,000. Yes, thanks to 


PLAYBOY 


10 present for your approval the Playboy 
Boat Stable for under a half-million dol- 
s, delivered to your dock. Now, it may 
be that market setbacks, some reluctance 
on the part of your estate's trustees, other 
investment requirements, etc, prevent 
you from buying the full package. After 
all, not everyone $500,000 in re: 
cash. Crafty devils that we are, we have 
made provisions for individual purchases, 
so that your fleet can be accumulated 
over a period of time, thus causing less 
strain on your bank account. In fact, 
our first offering can be yours for under 
51000, which & n own 
one sixth of our pleasure fleet for less 
than 1/500th of the total cost. 

Should any of you suspect that we in- 
cluded the Avon Rederest inflatable 
dinghy as a sop to latent rubber fetishists 
in the crowd, forget it. This ti ly 
portable 9/5" British-made wonder is one 
of the most versatile seacraft available, 
hence its inclusion in the boat stable. 
In fact, if all British-amanufactured goods 
embodied the kind of creative quality 
found Avon line, the Empire might 
still be intact. When one considers that 
the Rederest will carry four persons—or 
a load of 700 pounds—yet weighs a mere 
43 pounds 
small duffel bag, the wi 
utility begins to come into focus. Its 
primary application is a combination 
tender/life raft for larger yachts, but 
the Redcrest can serve as a perfect week- 
end messabout craft, especially for the 
camped apartment dweller with no 
space to store a full-sized boat. 

The Rederest can be inflated with its 
ingenious loot pump in about six 
minutes, although optional CO: bottles 

ave available for the weakhearted. It 
comes with a pair of stout wooden oars 
(collapsible for storage) and provisions 
for mounting an outboard motor up to 
four hp. Now, you can trundle down to 
you ] discount store and buy an 
Hatable dinghy for less than one quarter 
the price of an Avon Rederest (which 
will run you about $600), but let the 
138 buyer beware, especially the first time he 


loca 


runs it onto 
stones or h 
Rederest i 
which mea 


beach covered with sharp 
s some rough water. The 
used by the British army, 
ns that its reputation for rug- 

bility is not without 
le vessel with the 


sooty-gray hull is about as tough as a 
Brontosaurus and considerably more 
divid- 


exactly J. P. Morgan's Corsair, but i 
you happen to be looking for low price, 
durability, compactness, versatility and 
a maximum of laughs per dollar, there 
are a lot sillier ways to start your fleet. 
Of course, you have other options: an 
even smaller, cheaper two-man Avon 
Redstart (8'2", $510) and a whole line 
of really elaborate, more expensive ver- 
sions, including a 17-footer that will 
camy up to eight people and, with an 
80-hp motor hung on the transom, will 
run over 40 mph. 

Hobie Alter may be the most laid- 
back tycoon in the history of the Do 
Jones Industri Here is this old surfer 
and Southern California beach bum who 
has America superjazzed about that 
water-borne hotdogging known as cata- 
m sailing. Yes, he is the crcator of 
the sensational Hobie Cats and, perhaps 
id relaxed about 
ng and competition. Whereas most 
ilboat racing is bound up in the tight- 
ss world of yacht clubs, race committees, 
arcane rules, classes and stiffly fanatical 
competitors, Hobie Cat racing is de- 
cidedly relaxed and open-ended (which 
has caused it to become the largest single 
class of sailboat racing, although it is 
rely ignored by the establishment). 
Hobie has been quoted as sa 
run a lot of rega the place— 


more important, cool 
sail 


mong the nearly 215 
presently operating, one 
can find Hobie Cat freaks in such unsalty 


spots as Valparaiso, Indiana, and Wichi- 


ta, Kansas, and as far away as Fortaleza, 
Brazil, and Quiberon, France. These 
thousands of world-wide Hobie f 


ks 


are part of that ha 
own publication (Hobie Hot Line) and 
hundreds of parti and regattas that 
lead to world-championship competition 
in two Hobie classes, Heavy-duty mar- 
ng types consider this all an act 

part—but to 
him it’s the logical outcome of having 
a lot of laughs. A good thing is bound 
to get better, if you are cool, is the 
way people think along the California 
beaches, and Hobie is the embodiment 
of that menuility. 

Once a top surfer and surfboard man- 
turer (he pioneered the lightweight 
nd-foam fiberglass boards that re- 
d the traditional redwood versions 
were about as mancuverable as barn 
Alter first got stoked on big 

esian catamarans in Ha in the 
mid-Fifties. Then surfing superstar Phil 


Edwards built a 20-footer and Hol 
and his buddies were under way. A 1 
footer using a pair of reject foam suri- 
boards was created, which set the pattern 
for the Hobie Cat—a high-performance, 
fiberglass catamaran that would handle 
f and could be beached with ease. “A 
Hobie is a grown-up surfboard,” says 
one beach type, “superperfect for us who 
are too old for surfing but not old 


enough for sailing." 

nce Hobie st to market his 
original 14-footer in 1968, business has 
boomed. He has no formal office at 


Coast Catamaran's splendid 15-acre com- 
plex near Irv fornia, Hobie runs 
plenty loose, surrounded by his buddies, 
dirt bikes, cold beer. gliders and Cats— 
nd never far from the water. His con 
pany sells five different types of sail- 
boats (as well as the Hobie Hawk— 
radio-controlled — glider—surfboards, 
skate boards and a v nge of accessory 
items), of which all but the largest, the 
16-footer, are essentially one-man boats. 
But the Hobie 16 is perhaps the most 
versatile and broadly appealing of the 
lot. It is also one of the fastest sai ing 
cft in the world (officially timed at 
25.9 mph) and is the cpitome of quick 
handling and maneuverability in all but 
the meanest weather. With a ten-inch 
draft, the Hobie 16 can be sailed any- 
where, including a municipal wading 
pool, and can be run up on almost any 
beach. The craft is easy to sail in almost 
lI wind conditions and, once hiked up 
in a steady breeze, flying on one hull, it 
produces some of the most superjazzed, 
pumped, stoked, totally freaked fun on 
(s water i inable. Like all Hobies, 


callie i 
er or by vantop rack, and qui 
disassembles for storage. And all this for 
about $2050, complete with sails and rig- 
ip. Should you be a racer, over 700 
umily-style” regattas (totally loose beach 
scencs: beer, open fires, kids, wives, girl- 
friends and lots of good-natured compe- 
tition) are run each year in every part 
of the nation. Either way—racing or 
just catching some wind and sun—the 
Hobie 16 is built for gr which is 
exactly the way that old surfer who st 

ed the whole thing wants it. 
Fun is also the theme of a be 
Aquasport 19/6" Open Fisherm 
though its purpose is a trifle more utili- 
tarian than that of the Hobie Cat. Here 
is a strong, stable outboard boat per- 
fectly suited to fishing, in both fresh 
water and the open sca, skindiving, water- 
and weckend camping cruising. 
nike most old outboard boats, which 
placed the helmsman either at the stern, 
steering the motor tiller fashion, or in a 
cramped forward seat, new open fisher- 
men like the Aquasport position the helm 
at center console, where it is most 
efficient in terms of space and function. 
(continued on page 203) 


\ 


berenice sweet didn’t know what 


from the forthcoming novel 
By HARRY CREWS 


DR. AND MRS. SWEET'S DAUGHTER Candy—known to 

her friends as Hard Candy—felt the snake between 
her breasts, felt him there and loved him there, 
coiled, tumescent, ready to strike. They were roar- 


ing along in Duffy Decter’s Winnebago and the 
slanting light through the window ca 


ht the little 
snake—sign and mascot of the Mystic, Georgia, 
high school football team—where it was sewn 
onto her letter sweater. She particularly loved 
the snake because slumped against the wall 
directly across from her was Willard Miller, 
an enormous boy with a blunt head and 
small ears: Boss Snake of all the Mystic 
Rattlers. Her Boss Snake. The best 
running back in the state, the best 
back coach Tump Walker—who 
had four of his boys playing 


ILLUSTRATION BY RICHARO F. NEWTON 


in the N.F.L.—had ever coached. 
With one exception. The ex- 

ception was sitting across from 
her slumped just as drunkenly 
against the other wall of the 
Winnebago. Two years ago, 

in his senior year, he'd been 

Boss Snake not just of the 

Mystic Rattlers but of every- 

thing. He had offers from 50 
colleges. But it all went sour 

when they discovered he 

couldn't read very well. Hard- 

ly at all, really. 

Joe Lon Mackey was staring 

at Hard Candy's little snake and 

also at her titties, but mostly 


PLAYBOY 


140 up not to hunt s 


at the snake, be 
during Mystic, Georgia's Annual Rattle- 
snake Roundup, it was impossible for a 
rage not to start build him over 
what had happened to his life. One day 
he'd had everything and the next day 
he'd had nothing. He'd been left to 
deal nigger whiskey and rent out his ten- 
acre campground to halfcrazy snake 
hunters who came from as far away as 
Texas and Canada. They'd drink and 
they'd hunt snakes and they'd have a 
nd a burning, 30-foot-tall, 
-máché diamondback rattler and 
finally, while they munched on bar- 
becued snake steaks, they'd have a beauty 
contest to choose Miss Mystic Rattler. 

And he, Joc Lon, had been lelt here to 
suller it all because of that reading thing. 
When he was in high school, from what 
everybody said to him, and about him, 
and wrote about him in every newspay 
in the state, he had thought his job was 


use at this time of year, 


t to read, too. 
1 Candy's sister, who 
n head baton twirler and whom he'd 
fucked the last two years of high school, 
had left to become a. champion twirler 
at the University of Georgia and he'd 
been left here to bootleg whiskey because 
his daddy was now too old to do any- 
thing but raise pit bulldogs and curse 
Joe Lon's crazy, bedridden s 
that happened, he'd ied 
for reasons he still woke up in the ni 
trying to remember. 

Elf hadn't even been pregnant. But it 
didn't take her long ro ger that way. And 
she showed with the second boy belore 
the first one was a year old. Having the 
babies so close together caused her teeth 
10 rot and begin to fall out. And now 
Joe Lon was stuck with two football- 
Shaped babies who would not stop 
screaming for a minute if they didn't 
have a bottle in their mouths and a wife 
who had breasts like flaps and teeth so 
bad she couldn't smile. 

Well, it could have been worse, he 
often thought, he could've been born 
with a harelip or he could've been born 
without the fastest. pair of wheels in the 
state, Which he still owned. His 220 
record. still Hadn't even been 
i. But what was he doing with 
these possibly world-beating legs? Totin’ 
hall pints of moonshine to pulpwood 

iggers was what he was do 

Slow this 
Duffy,” roared 


ster—when 
My Carter 
ht 


stood. 


down, 
They 


vd Miller. 


scemed to be going about 110 in the top- 
Lwhipped Winnebago. 


steering wheel his fists in 
front of him. “Bring me giants!” he 
screamed. 


1 Gender, about 
d made the wip 
¢ Round- 
es but to bring along 


to the Myst 


young Susan Gender, who was i 
school at the University of Flo ida in 
Gainesville, where Duffy Deeter had a 
large Jaw practice and a small, unhappy 
family. It had been Susan Gender who had 
suggested they all go across the county line 
to a bar. She'd stood wide-legged in the 
Winnebago and shouted: “I wanta go to 
a tonk. I wanta eat a pickled pig's foot 
and shake my ass!" 

They had immediately wheeled out of 
Mystic, headed north, in Dully Deeter’s 
camper. Susan Gender always came up 
h good things to do. They loved her. 
Hard Candy, particularly, had found 
sister of the blood when she found out 
Susan Gender had been a baton twirler 
at the University of Alabama back in her 
undergraduate days. 
Now, full of beer and a kind of bellig- 
ent joy, they were on their way to Joc 
Lon Mackey’s trailer to eat an enormous 
meal of snake. Bur Joe Lon wasn't look- 
ing forward to it. He wasn't looking for- 
ward to anything. Everything that could 
so wrong seemed to be going wrong. 
More snake hunters had come this year 
than ever before. There were not enough 
Johnny on the Spots and the hunters’ 
were lined up in front of the little 
chemical shitters day and night. It even 
looked as though there might not be 
enough drinking water. Everybody in 
the world seemed to be there. 

Even Hard Candy's sister, Berenice, had 
come home from the university. She 
had brought a boy with her. Joe Lon had 
met them briefly out on the campground. 
The boy she was with was polyestered, 
double-knit ated. He 
had on a white belt and white shoes. 
Joe Lon could have cut off both the 
j clothes like 

roduced them. 
Id like you to meet Shep- 


E 


wiv 


The boy wanted to 
hand. "Call me Shep." 
body calls me Shep.” 

Shep? Joe Lon thought. Thats a 
fucking dog's name, ain't it? But they'd 
shaken nyway and promised to 
mect later 

If that had been all there was to it, 
Joe Lon would not have chewed the side 
of his mouth bloody. Six days before the 
hunt was scheduled to begin, he'd gotten 
a leucr from Berenice. It had come to 
the little store he sold the whiskey from 
and it said: 

Dear Joe Lon, I will sce you at 
vattlesnake time. 
NNXNNNXNNNXXNXNXX 
Love, Berenice 


take Joe Lows 
he said. 


very- 


It took him most of the afternoon to 
figure out what it said and when he did. 
it did not please him. Didn't them god- 
damn Xs mean kisses? He seemed to 
remember that Xs in a goddamn letter 
like that meant Kisses. What the hell was 


to do to him? And b 
a fucking boy with her, too. He could 
taste the bile in his throat and the 
pressure of his blood was pumping 
his ears just like he used to li 

do when he was about to get the ball 
in a game. 

When they got to Joe Lon's purple 
double-wide, he skinned the snakes with 
vengeance. He led everybody to a 
litle wire pen that had several metal 
drums inside it. He struck one of the 
drums hard with a hooked stick and the 
ir was suddenly shaken with the thickly 
rising yet strangely sharp rattle of dia- 
mondbacks. Then, with the ratde still 
reverberating, Joe Lon dipped the 
snakes out of the drum one at a time, 
He caught the slowly writhing rattler by 
the tail and swung it around and around 
his head and popped it like a 
whip, which caused the snake's head to 
explode. 

When he'd popped 12 good-sized ones, 
he nailed them up on a board in the pen 
and skinned them out with a pair of 
wire pliers. Elfy was standing in the door 
of the trailer behind them with a baby 
on her hip. Full of beer and fascinated 
with what Joe Lon was doing, none of 
them saw her. But Joe Lon could feel- 
or thought he could—the weight of her 
gaze on his back while he popped and 
skinned the snakes. He finally turned 
and looked at her, pulling his lips b. 
from his teeth in a smile that only 

med him. 

He called the yard 
“Thought we'd cook up some s 
stuff, darlin’, have ourselves a feas 
e brightened in the door and 
"'Course we cam, Joe Lon, 


she trying g 


it to 


cow 


to her. 
ake and 


across 


Elfy brought him a pan and Joe Lon 
cut the snakes into half-inch steaks. When 


Dully finally saw that Joe Lon wasn't 
going to introduce him, he turned to 


Elfy. "My name's Duffy Deeter and this 
is something fine. Want to tell me how 
you cook up snakes: 

Elly smiled, trying not to show her 
teeth, “It’s lots a Ua Way I do 
is I soak 'm in vinegar about ten m 


nner Pana on ‘m, roll "m 
and fry 'm is the way I mostly do.” 
God," said Susan Gender. 

Dully slapped Joe Lon on the ass and 
said, "Whered you pet this little lady, 
boy? You've got yourself some little lady 
here.” 

Elfy blushed and tried not to show her 
teeth. Joe Lon didn't answer and they 
followed n into the trailer. Joe Lon 
put on a stack of Haggard and Elfy took 
the snake into the kitchen, where she 
wouldn't let the two other girls come, 
room for one 
ve this cooked 


lc 
up in two shakes. 

Joe Lon got some beer out of the 
(continued on page 198) 


. By ROWLAND B. WILSON 


3d 


je 


= 
“A penny saved and forty-nine cents 
will buy you carfare bome.” you get out before her husband arrives.” 


"Early to bed and early to rise makes sure 


“You can't teach an old dog 


“A Rolling Stone gathers groupies.” 


144 who should know better amy bow." 


“God must have loved the common man “A fool and bis money are 
He made so many taxpayers.” the prime-time target audience.” 


"A watched pot wouldn't surprise me, 
considering what the FBI bas been up to” 


"Some people are born great, some people achieve greatness 


and some people are pretty much what you'd expect but get to be President, anyway.” 145 


146 


THE FIRE THIS TIME 


(continued from page 80) 
you shouldn't be having gun battles on 
M Street. 

“There shouldn't be no confusion i 
people's minds about whether or not 
they in a fight—tell them to look in 
their pocketbooks, Somebody done took 
their motherfucking money. There's a 
war going on in this country right now 
and you try to find your best weapon.” 

Scott-Heron’s weapons are his words 
nd his music, and he wields them de- 
csively: “I'm trying to get people who 
listen to me to realize that they are not 
lone and that certain things are po: 
ble. A lot of people who be believing 
n something that don't compare to what 
hourgeois people be into, they be thin 
ing that they not correct, because the 
normal nigger is headed for something 
dse. But we done secn how plastic and 
ificial some of those directions are— 
and we be trying to say to brothers and 
sisters, Let's pool our energies and talents 
and try to get all of this here, instead of 
this little bit you might be able to get on 
the corner. Just look at the Nation of 
Islam. How much more concentrated will 
and result could you want to see from 
a group of people? Whenever you sec 
something like that, you've got to say, 
Right on. 


not be conducive to its continued de- 
velopment and status as a world leader. 
I believe that a lot of life speeds and 
tendencies of American people will cause 
the country to suffer, and I believe that 
black people will be in a posi 
ay how a lot of things go down ii 
America. It’s related to a theory that 
Malcolm X used to express, about how 
the Whiteys be evenly divided, so which- 
ever way the black people go. that’s the 
way it’s going. The vote is another 
weapon, and when you fight, you 
use them all. But when we get into 
things that relate to politics, a lot of 
the time people be saying, Man, I'm just 
interested in cash. And I have to 
people to the fact that if they interested 
1 money, that’s the best reason to get 
nto politics. And that's one of my ob- 


jectives—to get people interested in pol 
tics in terms of cash motherfucki 
moncy. 


“You've got to understand that there 
‘am—and when the black move- 
became reality in terms of 


ment 


potential explosiveness, things were di- 


ted to women's lib and gay lib and 
a lot of different other things, and they 
keep the program shifting, and they 
keep people off balance, and it took 
ull now to focus on how all that was 
more than a coincidence and was hooked. 
up in some sort of pattern. And people see 
how they were ticked. But there are a 
lot of things that a lot of diverse people 


LYRICS BY SCOTT-HERON 


SOUTH CAROLINA (BARNWELL) 

I heard they buildin’ a fact'ry down in 
South Carolina 

With a death potential uncontrolled 
by government designer: 

Mt will house atomic wastes and be a 
constant reminder 

That they re buildin’ a great big bomb 
that’s tickin’ in South Carolina. . . . 

Whatever happened to the people who 
gave a damn? 

Or did they just apply to dyin’ in the 
jungles of Vietnam? 

COPYRIGHT © 1975 EROUHAHA MUSIC ASCAP.* 


H.Ogate BLUES 

How much more evidence do 
citizens need 

That the election was sabotaged by 
trickery and greed? 

And if this is so, and who we got 
didn't win, 

do the whole goddamn election 
over again. 

COPYRIGHT © 1973 BROUHAHA MUSIC ASCAP, * 


the 


Le 


BACK HOME 

There's been a whole lot said about 
your city living. 

They told us that the streets were 
paved with gold. 

And some of us believed, and left our 
homes and came looking, 

But that was just another story they 
told. 


COPYRIGHT 


1973 BROUHAHA MUSIC ASCAP.” 


THE BOTTLE 

Sec that black boy over there, runnin’ 
scared, 

His old man in a bottle. 

He done quit his nine-to-five, he drinks 
full time, 

w he's livin’ in a bottle. 

COPYRIGHT © 1973 BROUHAHA MUSIC ASCAP.* 


GUERRILLA 

I believe we will see us in my lifetime 

Standing tall on a mountain letting 
our light shine. 

I believe brothers been holding back 
too long 

And if you ain't blind, then you know 
it's time 

We were comin’ on strong. 

COPYRIGHT © 1974 BROUHAHA MUSIC ASCAP," 


A VERY PRECIOUS TIME 
Was there the faintest breeze? 
And did she have a ponytail? 
And could she make you feel ten fect 
tall 
Walking down a grassy trail? 
Wasn't your first love 
A very precious time? 


And now they got me 

Trying to define, in later life, 

How much a love means to me. 

And it keeps me struggling to remember 
My first touch of spring. 


corre 1913 BROUHAHA MUSIC ASCAP.” 


mi: 


ion. All rights reserved. 


have in common these days. Russell 
Means, who is the head of the American 
Indian movement, has a lot in common 
with Joanne Little, who has a lot in 
common with Incz Garcia, who has a 
lot in common with the San Quentin 
ix—in terms of being symbols of how 
America had to change but not. 
And that’s important. The total reality 
of course, is that the people are not 
helpless or defenseless or without the 
means to effect change. The realization 
has to be that nobody is gonna do 
everyd -but that we all can do some- 
thing and we should all be doing what 
we can." 

It is dificult for anyone with such 
suong beliefs to remain a mere poet, 
nd Scott-Heron's dilemma is that he has. 
presented himself as more than a poet 
but less than a political leader. He is as 
good a polemicist as he is a songwriter 
or a vocalist, and his admitted concern 
with how people sce him comes from the 


ess of the combi on. 
compa is a forced 
one. Scott-Heron has, at 27, done a 


eater variety of things. In addition to 
writing, he has been a college teacher 
of creative writing and a Johns Hopkins 
fellow. Furthermore, while Scott-Heron 
could easily be diverted into politics, it 
seems unlikely that Dylan ever could. 
But Dylan is a true poet, while there is 
always the suspicion that Scott-Heron 
may be just a political thinker t 
to pass. Poets conceal their bitterness, 
nd even at his best—Lady Day and 
John Coltrane—Scott-Heron is shrouded 
in bittern He can't back out from 
under the burden of Countee Cullen or 
Langston Hughes or Paul Robeson or 
ie Parker or Lester Young or Rich- 
ard Wright or W. E. B. Du Bois or any 
of those sad-eyed black poets or think- 
ers bending over stacks of paper or over 
a horn, trying for an answer; fretting 
their lives away for a race that found it 
too painful to think. He can't escape the 
ght of the years, nor does he want t0. 
k Ameri Gil Scott-Heron 
has a moral imperative to say what he 
says—but what we face in the closing 
decades of the 20th Century is not merely 
the question of the survival of a particular 
e within a part society but the 
survival of the huma Certainh 
when the shit hits the fan, the privileg 
will be the last to suffer, but no one will 
be able to escape. It is intriguing d 
for all his insight, Scou-Heron only su 
gests the scope of the problems and it is 
indicative of his entrapment in limbo as 
a spokesman and poet: singing out the 
agony of black America. 

Säll, he is the last poet—and the first 
or black thinker of the Seventies— 
nd itll be i ing to see whether 


eres 
he can overcome his limitations. His best 
album so far is The Revolution Will Not 
Be Televised. followed closely by Winter 
in America. The former is an anthology 


Why is Tareyton better? 


Others remove. 


fumo, 


Tareyton improves. 


The Reason is 


Activated Charcoal 


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M7 


PLAYBOY 


148 


of the best from his first three albums 
on Flying Dutchman. It's a must for any- 
one interested. in understanding where 
Scot-Heron is coming from. Winter in 
America may be hard to find, since it was 
small cooperative 


label with limited distribution. It contains 


The Bottle, which was a surprising hit 
in the New York and Paris discos. On 
their first two albums for Arista Records— 
The First Minute of a New Day and From 
South Africa to South Carolina—Scott- 
Heron and Jackson are dragged down 
by the unimaginative unprofessionalism 
of their producers. Songs with potential 
are ruined by the bland accompaniment 
of The Midnight Band and a second 
vocalist who wasn't needed. 

Of course, as an educator, a teacher, a 
preacher and a hip lip, Scott-Heron cares 
not a whit for such considerations. The 
message is the music. But for a singing 
poct, the music is also the message, and 
if it isn’t corrected, he might have to run 


for Congress, since no one will be buying 
the records, 

“But I'm not interested in politics; 
he says, “because there are too many 
gangsters involved in Government, Ac- 
, I could run it, because anybody 
could run it if they ran it according to 
the rules. The Government as it exists 
now could really respond to the needs 
of the country. But there are too many 
gangsters making too many deals, and 
compromises that don't benefit people 
except in a roundabout way. If they 
followed the Constitution, they would 
be a lot closer to what's happening, be- 
ise the Constitution and the Bill of 
Rights talk about justice, liberty and 
equality—and that damn near covers it 
all. But I heard they took a copy of the 
Constitution around to people on the 
street and they thought it was a Com- 
munist document. That’s how far we've 
come.” 


“Oh, damn! ‘Premature ejaculation’—go back 


ten spaces, lose your turn... .” 


» 


NO END TO THE MADNESS 


(continued from page 120) 
questioned the state's developing case, 
was gagged by a court ruling issued soon 
after Sirhan's arraignment (still, enter- 
prising newsmen chased down leads, per- 
haps figuring they couldn't prejudice the 
case any more than had Mayor Sam 
Yorty, who, right after the murder, pro- 
claimed that Sirhan was “a sort of loner 
who harbored Communist inclinations, 
favored Communists of all types. . . . [His 
diary said] that R.F.K. must be assas- 
sinated before June 5, 1968"). Then, too, 
the defense’s decision to say Sirhan was a 
victim of diminished mental capacity 
mcant the questions of a conspiracy, even 
important questions of physical evidence, 
were not deeply probed im Sirhan's be- 
half. Instead, the wial was mainly a show 
of psychiatric testimony. 

‘Thus, the trial of Sirhan did not solve 
Kennedy’s murder—an outcome to con- 
sider for those who believe a trial for 
James Earl Ray might have cleared up 
King's assassination. It’s true much was 
revealed about the sort of man Sirhan was 
and about facts pointing to his planning 
and execution of the crime. But much. 
else was slighted, leaving us with specula- 
tions that have survived. What do we 
now know—and what do we still ques- 
tion—about Sirhan and Kennedy? 

We know, thanks to Sirhan's notebook 
and the work of writers such as Kaiser, 
that the convicted assassin was a mightily 
disturbed young man. In his diary- 
notebook, snatched up by the police when 
Sirhan's brother allowed them to search 
his room (a seizure of dubious legality), 
he wrote: “May 18 9:45 AM—68 My 
determination to eliminate R.F.K. is be- 
coming more the more of an unshakable 
obsession. RF.K. must die—RFK 
must be killed Robert F. Kennedy must 


be assassinated... please pay to the 
order.” There are many such homicidal 
notes, several juxtaposed with entries 


about money. which has led some to 
suspect that Sirhan was paid to kill Ken- 
nedy (but no untoward sums were ever 
discovered —Sirhan worked, and in Apr 
1968, he got $1705 in workmen's compen 
sation, due after a fall from a horse in 
1966, an event to which we'll return). In 
one place, Sirhan writes that he advocates 
“the overthrow of the current President 
of the fucken United States of America, 
and in another, that the solution is to 
“do away with its leaders.” Certainly, it 
seems Sirh; attitude fits that of an 
assassin. His diary, according to Dr. 
David Rothstein, author of Presidential 
Assassination Syndrome, exhibits the 
same paranoia as that of those who write 
threatening letters to U.S. Presidents. 
(The notebooks are his, according to hand- 
writing experts, and not forgeries, a fact 
that some conspiracy bufls contest, saying 
the notebooks, like Arthur Bremer's, were 
dictated to Sirhan by master plotters.) 


rhan to this attitude? 
ng as any remark he 
ever made was one to his mother upon 
arriving in America in 1957. The 12-year- 
old boy asked, “When we become citizens, 
Momma, will we get blond hair and blue 
eyes?" His question came out of the 
miasmic sort of childhood psy i 
say is common to many of our assassins 
and accused assassins: one marked by a 
lack of love from the father (S 
lather, people testified, often beat the 
boy) and by traumatic upset (in 
case, the barbaric 1948 Jewish-Arab war, 
much of it carried on in Jerusalem, where 
the Sirhans lived before the fighting up- 
rooted them. The war also later provided 
Sirhan with a political cause simi 
John Wilkes Booth's Confederacy, Gui- 
teau's Stalwart Republicanism, Czolgosz 
anarchism, Oswald’s Cuba). Such early 
experiences can cause anomie, a fee 
that one belongs to nothing, and a conse- 
quent desire to become—however it's 


What brought 
Perhaps as reveal 


accomplished —someone who does belong. 
For 


example, the prototypal blond, 
eyed American—that, too, à 
1 not been ousted by Jews 
from his home, who had not seen bomb- 
ings in Jerusalem, who had not stood 
around refugee camps at the age of four 
in a spell cast by the horrors of continuous 
killing and maiming. Nor is that the only 
effect on embryonic assassins. Often there 
is a feeling of impotence (during the early 
morning hours after his arrest, Sirhan 
said, “We're all puppets”), which can 
spark desires for self-improvement, for 
secret societies, for anything to enhance 
self-esteem. That true of Sirhan. 

At Pasadena's John Muir High School, 
the swarthy foreigner was shy and envious 
of the white-skinned Americans, with 
their cars and money and fathers (Sirhan's 
deserted the family to return to Pales- 
tine after onl months in America). 
At Pasadena City College—whence issues 
the Rose Bowl Queen every year—he 
amassed Fs while flirting with colle 
communism (one leftish. fellow student, 
Walter Crowe, afterward feared he had 


ism. Sirhan then badly wanted a Mustang 
and money (awaiting trial, he zed 
blackmailing first Lyndon Johnson, then 
Richard Nixon, for a pardon and money, 
and then James Hoffa for $150,000, the 
threat always the same: They ordered 
him to kill Kennedy). In lieu of riches, 
Sirhan experimented with moving 
objects and people by transmitting 
thoughts to them. He tried. automati 
writing and gazed at candles, attempting 
self hypnosis. He boasted that he once 
conjured Kennedy's face in a mirror. Sir- 
han became excited by the success of 
black militancy during 1967 and 1968 
and enraged by Israel's victory over the 
Arabs in 1967 (June second of that year, 
he entered in his notebook, “A Decla- 


* However, next time, please try to have the correct change.” 


ration of War Against American Human- 
ity" lor injustices visited upon himself). 
In April 1968, Kaiser reports, Sirhan was 
intrigued by the successful escape of 
King's assassin, Assassination itself inter- 
ested him and he underlined pertinent 
passages in history books. And so Sirhan 
wandered through his early 20s, among 
odd doctrines and peoples, a lone- 
ly bed-wetting boy who had nightmares 
about walking into a great darkness, who 
worried about his food, who was both 
proud and ashamed of his Arabness and 
who detested Robert Kennedy's Zionist 
supporters—he once interrupted coitus 
when a girl confessed she was Jewish— 
although thinking with another mind 
that Bobby was for the underdog, and he 
was one of those for sure. 

Sirhan was also, one defense psychia- 
trist said, a chronic and deteriorating 
paranoid (in the top 95 pe! of tests) 
with persistent symptoms of “delusional 
false beliefs.” One such belief, incidental- 
ly, was the messianic notion that he had 
elected Nixon by shooting Kennedy, 
which i ory’s cold light seems not so 
Diamond believed Sirhan’s 
nce of lucidity came 
from [cigr y- That opinion came 
partly from Diamond's sessions with a 
hypnotized Sirhan—predictably, he went 
under casily—during one of which the 
Jordanian writhed in horror as he melded 
the bombings of his youth with the Phan- 
tom jets Kennedy approved sending to 
Israel. 

Israel, the detested usurper, obsessed 
Sirhan in both hypnotic and conscious 
states—a fixation that became fraught 
with ironies at his trial, where among 
his defenders he had both a Jewish civil 
rights attorney and Arabian-American 
lawyer (who apparently had been re- 
tained by Arab interests to ensure tha 
Sirhan’s trial provided maximum airing 


of Arab grievances). Israel's li 
edy was obvious. "I hated his gut. 
Sirhan told Diamond. In one hyp- 
notic session, according to Kaiser, Sirh: 
re-enacted the murder, reaching for his 
left hip, muttering, “You son of a bitch,” 
pointing his finger and crooking it severa 
times around the imagined trigger. Dia- 
mond in time hypothesized that Sirh 
was entranced when he shot Kei 
a dissociated state. brought into his Irag- 
mented mind by Kennedy's presence in 
the hotel, the booze and maybe the bright 
lights and mirrors of the campaign rooms 
through which he drifted before the 
shooting (at the trial, however, testimony 
was offered that Sirhan had lurked mostly 
in a dark corridor). Such a trance, some 
think, could have been induced by 
coconspirator who had programed 
han, one of his occultist acquainta 
perhaps. Special Unit 
gation, however, found no evidence of 
the numerous meetings many hypnotic- 
suggestion experts believe would have 
been necessary to assure control of a 
. Sirhan himself suggested. (and 
Diamond and Kaiser thought it possible) 
that he may have killed Kennedy due to 
autosuggestion, his hatred and lust for 
vengeance so strong in his subcon 
that they took over his body and r. 
mind. In the end, several questions bub- 
bled out of these psychological s 
For instance, did Sirhan, in and out of 

hypnosis, steadfastly deny there was a 

conspiracy because he had been pro- 

gramed to do so or because he was 

schizophrenic, or both? What, then, was 

the import of his blocking on psycholog- 

ical test questions asking if he felt people 

were controlling his mind? Did he block 

because he was controlled by others or 

beca he felt another of his selves 

steering him? Or was it all as some 

prosecutors felt, a screen erected by a 149 


n 


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basically sane, cunning man who had 
anned the crime and executed it alone, 
n cold blood? 

Whatever the answer, Sirhan obviously 
was not normal. His family, less fancy 


than the doctors, attributed Sirhan's in- 
creasingly bizarre behavior to that fall 
from the horse. After his college flunk- 
nted to be a jockey. He 
Anita 


out, Sirhan w. 
worked awhile at Santa and in 
1966 got a job as an exer ; actually 
riding, at a ranch called Granja Vista Del 
Rio near Corona, California. There, on a 
fogey September 25th morning, up on a 
horse named Hy-Ve n was thrown 
painst a metal post, where he lay crum- 
pled, crying and bleeding. "He never 
coulda become a jockey," his boss later 
said. “He sort of lost his nerve." After the 
mishap, Sirhan didn't work much, al- 
though his notebook suggested he con- 
tinued to covet the things America was 
supposed to bestow on her immigrants. 
His last job was at an organicfoods store 
in Pasadena. He quit in the spring of 
1968, about the time he got his gun and 
his workmen'scompensation checks (sev. 
eral of America's other assassins have 
been unemployed or unsuccessful when 
they pulled the trigger). From March on, 
Sirhan moved inexorably toward the Am- 
Lassador’s pantry, albeit through the half- 
light of facts and rumors that surrounds 
ation reconstructions, 

He took to practicing a lot with his gun 
and intensified his occult experiments. 
His notebook entries became more vio- 


Nass 


lent and disjointed. Sirhan watched the 
gathering California primary campaign 
and by May 18 (this. too, re-created in 


hypnosis) had confided those murderous 
desires to his diary. Then, it seems. he be- 
gan stalking Robert Kennedy. Witnesses 
later said they thought they had seen 
Sirhan at R.E.K. campaign functions on 
May 90 and 24. On June first, S 
han seems to have practiced shooting and 
bought some ammunition (the salesclerk 
at first said he was with two other men— 
coconspiratorsz—but he later recanted), 
Then, in the evening, he watched the key 
debate between R.F.K. and Eugene 
MeCarthy. 

The next day, Sirhan admits, he at 
tended the R.E.K. rally at the Ambassa- 
dor, enticed by the public invitation and 
beguiled by the notion that a Kennedy, 
even a hated Kennedy, would thus solicit 
the great unwashed. Sirhan's activities 
on Monday, June third, are unclear. He 
may have driven his 56 pink-and-white 
De Soto (so unlike the Mustangs he and. 
James Earl Ray liked) to San Diego to an 
R.EK. speech. More likely. he drove 
around awhile, maybe shot some pool or 
some targets, then went home to watch 
TV. But there is a story, admired by 
conspiracy theorists, that on June third, 
Sirhan and a Mexican-looking kid were 
picked up by a freakish Los Angeles 
character—minister, gambler and all- 
round  hustler—while hitchhiking in 


downtown L.A. The preacher siid he 
drove them to a brief sidewalk mecting 
with a slick dark-haired fellow and a 
blonde girl, then took Sirhan alone to 
another rendezvous with somebody who 
worked in the kitchen at the Ambassador. 
During all this, the man said he made a 
deal to sell Sirhan a horse, a deal to be 
consummated the next morning. But Sit- 
han didn't show. Instead, it was the dark- 
haired fellow, 


«companied by the girl 
ad the Mexican, who wanted the horse 
delivered near the Ambassador that eve- 
ning of June fourth; but no deal 
was struck and the preacher went off to 
Oxnard to sell the Gospel and the next 
day learned of the Kennedy shooting, 
and so came forward with this story. The 
police in time decided, based mostly on 
polygraph tests, that the minister had 
lied. Anyway, few thought it feasible that 
conspirators would plan to escape in a 
horse trailer. But the story didn't dic, 
ace it fit with other conspiracy tales, as 
Il see. 

In any event, most of Sirhan’s activities 
on June fourth are documented. About 
11:30 A, he was at the San Gabriel 
Valley Gun Club. There he stayed until 
it closed at five o'clock, firing almost 
100 rounds of mini-mags (uploaded .22 
long-rifle cartridges) and standard .99s. 
When asked by another shooter about his 
small gun, he said, “It could kill a dog. 
He also offered expert advice to a house- 
wife about her shooting (although her 
blonde hair and fondness for firearms 
were suspect, the woman I: 
of any role in a conspiracy). Le: 
range, Sirhan went to a hambu 
bee 


ger joint, 
ame distressed over two newspaper ac- 
counts—one of renewed skirmishing be- 
tween Jordan and Israel—visited with 


some Arabs he'd met i 
failing to find the rally, headed for the 
Ambassador 

rhan arrived about 8:30. Police think 
he carried his gun stuck in his waistband 
but Sirhan's hypnotic reconstruction has 
him fetching it later. Either way, he left 
his wallet and identification in his car 
parked two blocks away. Soon the slight 
figure in blue-velour shirt and denim 
pants was mixing with the Kennedy 
qowds He inquired of an electrician 
where Kennedy stayed and if he had body 
guards. Then he was seen in the press 
room, pecring at a teletype tapping out the 
news of Kennedy’s building victory. Next 
he seems to mingle with the crowd in the 
Embassy Ballroom, and then he's drinking 
a tom collins and remarking about the 
heat in the rooms, and then he's seeking 
entrance to the anteroom behind thes 
from which Kennedy will soon speak 
but is rebuffed and returns to the adjoin- 
ing pantry corridor, where he asks a bus 
bo: if Kennedy will be coming through 
there soon. All around him ascends the 
hysteria of victory, the noise of the m: 
chi bands, of the campaign song This 
Man Is Your Man, of the cheers, “We 


want Bobby! We want Bobby!" and the 
applause and laughter as the. candidate 
appears and addresses them, and thanks 
them, and then comes off the stage and 
down the corridor toward Sirhan, stand- 
ing between the steam table and the ice 
machine, waiting with those peaceful eyes 
Lastly, there is the sound of shots and 
serea 

Immediately after the murder, the din 
ntensified. Noise about the Girl in the 
Polka Dot Dress came first. Sandy Serrano, 
a campaign follower, said she was on a 
fire escape escaping the heat when a girl 
in a white dress with black polka dots 
came up, along with two young men, a 
chicano and a hirsute Anglo, one of them. 
maybe Si Then, a few minutes later, 
Serrano irl and a man came pelt- 
ingdown the fire escape, shouting, "We've 
shot him, we've shot him." A mystery was 
born (and one whose cast dovetailed with 
the minister's story). It deepened later, 
when Thomas Vincent DiPierro, son of 
an Ambassador maitre de, told police he'd 
seen the smiling assassin, holding on to a 
tray stand, just before the murder. He 
seemed to be with a pretty girl in a white 
dress with black polka dots. The press at 
once set out in full cry to find this van- 
ished conspirator. Before long, a gogo 
dancer named Cathey Fulmer volunteered 
that she might be the girl, since she was 
wearing a polka-dot scarf. But that didn't 
check out as anything except publi 
secking by a sick girl (Miss Fulmer com- 
mitted suicide ten months later and stu- 
dents of the "dying witnesses" in the J. 
assassination pondered the significance). 
Then Valerie Schulte, a Kennedy Girl 
who'd been in the pantry, said she was 
the polka-doued girl, a statement dis- 


ms. 


puted by other witnesses. Eventually, the 
police concluded that Serrano and 
“i ated” each other's 


statements, and. 
so discou the tale (they believed 
DiPierro's account. of. Sirhan's shooting 
Kennedy up close, though). Nonetheless, 
y many think there was a girl and 
that she was part of 2 conspiracy. 
Endlessly, the rumors came. A psy- 
chotic skyjacker and bad-check artist told 


the FBI that Castro had Bobby done in 
to complete vengeance on the Kennedys 


for their anti-Cuba activities. A French 
"investigator," and several Americans, 
suggested that Arab terrorists possibly 
dispatched by Nasser—had killed Ken- 
nedy in retaliation for the U. S/s friend. 
ship with Zionists. Donald Freed, who 


collaborated with Mark nthe 
ouspiracy film Executive Action, 
revived the programed- 


in a pulpish book that sup- 
poses programed through sex 
nd hypnotism to kill Kennedy for the 
me right-wingers who had arranged 
King’s death. Another writer previously 
vouchsafed to police that he had informa- 
tion indicating that the CIA had killed 
Bobby to keep him, when he became 


President, from investigating his brother's 
murder and discovering that the CIA had 
done it. What's more, the writer had told 
Jim Garrison of his suspicions and Big 
Jim had thundered, Why not? 

That made a weird sort of sense. 
rison and thu ‘dys were, 
after all, a spectral dance team twirling 
through America’s recent political mur- 
ders, as the ghosts of assassinations past. 
No wonder that rumors are still mongered 
tying together the deaths of John and 
Robert Kennedy via a convoluted guilt 
by-association of big labor, or 
ganized crime, o, anti-Castroites, 
dissident U. S. intelligence agents, Water- 
gate and even the late Howard Hughes. 

compared with such conjectures, the 
puzzles in the physical evidence 
heavy as gold. Dr. Thomas Noguc 
thorough autopsy provided the most 
data, which paradoxi ve impetus to 
several questions about the assassination. 
(Even so, the autopsy contrasted with the 
shoddy performance wrought on J.F.K. 
to assure proper procedures, the Gover 
ment flew three observers from the. 
Armed Forces Institute of Patholog, 
ironically including the much-maligned 
Colonel Pierre Finck, one of J.F.K.'s 
autopsy physicians.) Noguchi found three 
wounds: the fatal rightmastoid shot, 
which left a slug too shattered for testing; 
try behind the right armpit, 


i 


shoulder, leaving no tes 
ments; another wound one h 
away from the shot above in the right 
armpit, this slug coming to rest in the 
lower rear of the neck, whence it was 
extracted for ballistics testing. The killing 
shot, Noguchi established, laid a powder 
tattoo one inch long on Kennedy, which 
meant the gun was no farther away from 
him than three inches. The other, wound- 
ing shots came from within about six 
inches. An examination of Kennedy's suit. 
cket showed a fourth bullet had passed 
through his right shoulder pad, going on 
to bounce around and wound one of the 
five other victims—or so the police 
thought. Skeptics were not so sur 
their queries clustered around these cru- 
cial factors: (1) the assassin's loca 
deduced from the wounds versus cyewit- 
ness accounts of wh Sirhan and Ken- 
nedy were: (2) the fate of the missing 
bullets (indeed, how many shots actually 
were fired and where did they all go?); 
and (3) what the testable bullets re 
covered from Kennedy and two other 
victims revealed. 

Critics of the police investigation 
pointed out that several cyewitnesses said 
Sirhan was never closer to Kennedy than 
a foot. How, then, could he have fired the 
l shot from three inches away? In ad- 
many witnesses (there were over 
70 in the pantry who were interviewed) 
thought Sithan was in front of Kennedy, 
and thus could not have shot him from 
behind, as the autopsy showed. Former 


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U.S. Congressman Allard Lowenstein is 
‘one who believes in a “second gun” and 
thinks Sirhan’s trial ignored the conspir- 
acy angle. He quotes the assistant maitre 
de, Karl Uecker (who was guiding Ken- 
nedy through the pantry), as saying Sir- 
han's gun was always in front of them 
nd no closer than 18 inches. Moreover, 
that Uecker believes Sirhan fired only 
two shots before Uecker knocked him 
back onto the steam table, so how could 
Kennedy have been hit by four bullets 
from Sirhan's gun? 

The question is tantalizing. Yet, at 
least two key witnesses dispute Uecker's 
recollection. A security guard named 
Thane Eugene Cesar, who figures i 
nother speculation, said Kennedy turned 
just before he was shot. Vincent DiPierro, 
who was close enough to Kennedy to be 
splattered with his blood, also says that 
while it’s true Sirhan was to Kennedy’s 
right front, about three fect away, before 
the shooting started, the gunman then 
lunged forward, coming close to Ken- 
nedy, and at the same time Kennedy 
turned leftward to shake more hands. 
That movement, these witnesses thin! 
brought Bobby's back to Sirhan. (Dr. 
Noguchi thinks a first shot into the head 
could have sent Kennedy into a “body 
spinning,” which would have brought his 
back toward Sirhan and account for the 
dditional wounds there.) As for the num- 
ber of shots, DiPierro, again with many 
others, remembered a burst of shots (pre- 
amably the first attack) and then several 
more as during his struggle Sirhan kept 
firing wildly, throwing bullets all over 


empty when it was all over. And si 
people were hit. Seven bullets or Irag- 
ments were retrieved from the victims 
(three of them wi ilated enough for 
ballistics testing), and the eighth—accord- 
ng to the police. the one that went 
through Kennedy's chest—went upward 
through ceiling panels and “was lost 
somewhere in the ceiling interspace.” 
Splendid, except that there were at least 
12 bullet tracks: three in Kennedy and 
one in his suit coat, three in the ceiling 
panels and one cach in Paul Schrade (a 
union leader and Kennedy supporter), 
William Weisel, Irwin Stroll, Ira Gold- 
stein and. Elizabeth (Evans) Young. How 
cam there be so many? Doesn't it mean 
another gun fired from someplace? It does 
to Lowenstein nd journalist Ted 
Charach (unsurprisingly, the maker of a 
movie called The Second Gun), and to 
Vincent Bugliosi, who as deputy district 
attorney in 1970 prosecuted and put away 
Charles Manson and part of the Fam 
wrote the best seller Helter Skelter and 
now is running for district attorney i 
Los Angeles. 

The police believe eight shots could, 
indeed, have caused all the holes and 
wounds. One bullet penetrated a sus- 


152 pended ceiling panel, they say, ricocheted 


off the concrete beyond it and went 
down through another panel to st 
Young's head. The third hole in the ceil- 
ing panels was made by the lost bullet 
(other wild shots bounced off the floor, 
they think, to wound people in odd 
places like the buttocks and lower leg). 
Critics say that’s absurd and bring forth 
they regard as refuting evidence. 
They contend the bullet that was recov- 
ered from Young is this case's "magic 
bulle." akin to that which wounded 
John Connally in Dallas, since it's sup- 
posed to have donc so many things 
and all without losing more than eight 
its original 39-grain weight. 
rmore, they think Young was bend- 
ng over when she was struck, so how 
did the deflected bullet hit her forehead? 
Defenders of the 
that bullets can do exceedingly peculiar 
things, and that no one. not even Mis. 
Young, knows what po: 
when hit. 

Unda 


ed, those who are skep 
the official explanation then ask why the 
ceiling panels in question were destroyed 
by the police? As part of a “monstrous 
cover-up” of second-gun evidence? Why, 
too, when the evidence was recently re- 
examined was the left sleeve missing from 
Kennedy's suit coat? Because there were 
more holes in it? And is the decision not. 
to release the investigative report simply 
more proof of a whitewash? The police 
reply that the panels were unfortunately 
destroyed by a low-ranking officer. a year 
after the trial, as part of what he thought 
was “routine.” The coat sleeve was re- 
moved by physicians at one of the hos- 
pitals Kennedy was sent to and, anyway, 
there were no bullet holes or other ev 
dence connected with it. The report is 
hhheld, authorities say, because it neces- 
sarily included interviews with people 
who might be harmed if whar they said 
about other people or organizations be- 
me public. There was no second gun- 
man, the police repeat. None. The bullets 
add up to eight. 

Bugliosi disagrees and says he has proof 
to the contrary. He cites photos showing 
ants Charles Wright and Robert 
Rozi by a doorframe, pointing at wl 
qued 1o them to be bullet holes (the 
doorframe, be it noted, is a goodly dis- 
tenes Ian s mto scenc). If they 
were bullet holes, of course, there had to 
be another gun, since Sirhan's revolver 
held only eight shots, each already ac- 
counted for, however curiously. Though 

i like his pred- 
ed Bugliosi the holes 
were not made by bullets, the Manson 
prosecutor obtained a written statement 
from Roza that said it looked to him like 
there was a "small-caliber bullet" lodged 
aside one hole, and whatever the object 
was, he thought somebody else had later 
removed it. Trying to check this story, 
Bugliosi talked by telephone with Wright, 
who, Bugliosi claims, told him it definitely 


was a bullet they'd seen and no doubt 
someone had removed it. But when 
Bugliosi met Wright the next day, the 
officer refused to give a deposition and 
softened his talk, saying that the object 
just looked like a bullet and he had only 
assumed someone had removed it. Lowen- 
stein points out that the police took 
several doorframes as evidence, presum- 
ably because they might pertain to the 
case. The police say the frames revealed 
no bullet holes (the frames were also 
routinely destroyed), just as a new search 
of the pantry area late in 1975 revealed 
no signs of additional shots. Predictably, 
Lowenstein, Bugliosi, et al, attack the 
official findings, claiming that two .22 
slugs booked as evidence bear traces of 
wood, though police said they were found 
in Sirhan's car S that. relates to the 
doorframe mystery is unclear) They 
maintain other cops and witnesses have 
said more shots were fired, even that 
there exists (in L.A.P.D. files) other clear 
evidence of a conspiracy, like Sirhan's 
fingerprints in that minister's pickup 
truck, proving that the itinerant preacher 
told the truth about Sirhan, the blonde, 
the “Las Vegas-type" slicker and the 
horse deal. Yet, to this date, unfortunately 
for the conspiracy theorists, none of these 
claims have been documented. 
Actually, the only second-gun theory 
with even faint plausibility doesn't much 
relate to such protestations. Its advocates, 
notably Charach, Delle (ex had the 
second gun. Cer 
in the p: 
trailing Kei 
were fired. Two TV men have said they 
saw Cesar with his gun drawn after the 
shooting, and Cesar once quoted 
as saying he drew his gun (though 
he also denied this). So, did Cesar shoot 
Kennedy from behind and up close? Not 
with his service revolver, which was a .38- 
caliber weapon. With what then? By the 
baroque reasoning of secondgun theo- 
concealed .99, a gun that he 
later disposed of to a friend variously re- 
ported as residing now in 
diana or other points east. Ci 
he has interviewed this mysterious 
and that. sure enough, he says Cesar sold 
him a .22 after the assassination, telling 
him there might be repercussions il it 
were found among Cesar’s possessions. 
is right, though, still 


a 22 might fear repercussions). No one 
has tied Cesar to n, and the odds 
wo independent assassins in the 
re long, indeed. As for Cesar's 
"s been suggested he 
was a rightwing racist who hated Bobby 
for his support of black civil rights. 
may be so, but it doesn't 
prove anything. At base, none of the Ce- 
sar story makes sense, except to those who 
cannot for whatever reasons—financial, 


ARIA WIN 


(SY £ j pe: 


S SRR 
RS a 


k 


153 


"What's more, she’s speaking into the wrong end of the phone.” 


PLAYBOY 


154 


emotional, political— 
did it alone. 
Nevertheless, the questioning of that 
conclusion continues. Most recently, a 
new ballistics test was made as a result of 
separate petitions filed in Los Angeles 
;jounty Super 
CBS (as part of its inquiry into the 
killing). Both parties wanted another 
test to determine if Sirham's pistol 
fired all the shots, But why? Hadn't 
the L.AP.D.’s ballistics man, DeWayne 
Wolfer, firmly established at the trial that 
test-fired slugs from Sirhan's gun matched 


‘cept that Sirhan 


those taken from the victims? Yes and 


no. The slugs were said to match. But we 
recall that the ballistics evidence was 
never challenged in court, since his attor- 
ney readily admitted Sirhan shot Ke 
nedy. No challenge, that is, despite 
conlusion sown by what Wolfer called 
"mislabeling" of a trial exhibit. It seems 
People's Exhibit Number 55, which con- 
tained the test slugs, bore a tag listing 
the slugs as fired by a revolver with a 
serial number different from that of Sir- 
han’s gun. Wolfer explained he had used 
another Iver-Johnson for powder-tattoo 
tests (thus sparing Sirhan's pistol any 
posible damage) and had by mistake 
put ifs serial number on the envelope 
containing what were, really and truly, 
slugs from Sirhan's pistol Skeptics 
doubted this and began claiming Sirhan's 
pistol was never testfired, had maybe 
even been destroyed (the L.A.P.D. said 
no, it had gotten rid of only the twin 
Iver-Johnson). Soon, skepticism became 
the rule as two criminalists announced 
that bullets taken from Kennedy did not 
match one taken from another victim. 
William Harper, a respected California 
expert, first studied the seven recovered 
bullets. Using a scanning camera rather 
than the conventional comparison micro- 
scope, Harper concluded in 1970 that the 
bullet taken from Kennedy's neck did 
not match that taken from the abdomen 
of Weisel, primarily beca 
slug had 23 minutes’ grea 
than did the Weisel slug (23 n 
001 percent of a circle). Harpe 
cided that the Kennedy bullet had only 
one cannelure (knurled groove circling 
the base), while the Weisel bullet had 
two. This assertion interested Herbert 
MacDonell, a professor of criminalistics 
and a frequent defense witness in noto- 
(MacDonell disputed the 
s evidence in the James Earl Ray 
ry hearing in 1974). Appearing 
1974 at hearings convened by 
er L.A. county supervisor Baxter 
Ward (who then, like Bugliosi now, was 
running for higher office), MacDonell ex- 
plained that the difference in cannelures 
meant there probably were two guns. You 
see, all Sirhan in his gun, so the 
cartridge cases prove, were mini-mags 
manufactured by Cascade Cartridge, 


rious 


cases 


Incorporated, in Lewiston, Idaho—a com- 
pany that puts two cannelures on all its 
mini-mags. 

With such claims abroad, the pressure 
for a new ballistics test mounted. It be- 
came irresistible alter Wolfer testified he 
couldn't exactly remember the test results 
other than the positive match of test slugs 
to Sirhan's gun. He remembered a spec- 
twographic test (which would show if all 
the bullets had the same metallic compo- 


sition, thus the same manufacturer), but 
the results apparently "had been de- 
stroyed.” i 


Also, hed nixed a 

ted. neutron-activation 
ble. 
, Judge Robert Wenke 
decided the matte; needed clearing up 
once and for all. He ordered retesting of 
Sirhan’s gun. A group of seven firearms 
experts, chosen with the agreement of all 
concerned, was impaneled, Four test slugs 
were fired from Sirhan’s revolver, ex: 
ined by each expert and on October 7, 
1975, the conclusions were announced. 

The experts agreed that there was no 
evidence that more than one gun fired 
the bullets; tha l| the slugs had two, 
not one, cannelures; that the Kennedy, 
Stroll, Goldstein and Weisel slugs had 
imilar characteristics’; and that there 
was no significant variation in rifling 
angle between the Kennedy and Weisel 
bullets. So much, it would seem, for the 
second-gun theory. Yet the “moral cru- 
sade,” as Charach calls it, marches on, 
ever seeking to prove a conspiracy, to 
get a new trial for Sirhan. It seems the 
conspiracy advocates would test anythi 
except the strength of their beliefs, 
against what seems, overwhelmingly, to 
be the central fact: Sirhan Bishara Sir- 
han, by himself, killed Robert Kennedy. 
He may have been drunk, or entranced, 
or possessed of a rational if murderous 
hatred, but it seems he did it. At last 
report—to CBS' Dan Rather—Sirhan 
said simply that there was no conspiracy, 
that he can't believe any external force 
influenced him, that so far as killing 
Kennedy goes, he just doesn't remember. 

But we remember. Perhaps remember 
too well how we had lost another leader 
to another assassin, and in the process 
perhaps lost another irreplaceable piece 
of our national self. And, in 1972—when 
we knew in full what Vietnam meant, 
even as Watergate was rising behind its 
stone wall—we had yet another memory. 
This one came courtesy of a fat-faced 
bundle of frustrations named Arthur 
Herman Breme 

Bremer's story is not long, nor should 
it be. He was, alter all, a failed assassin, 
and we've seen how most assassins are 
es to begin with. There he was on 
May 15, 1972, at the Laurel Shopping 
nd, blond and resplend- 
e and blue shirt all 
plastered with Wallace buttons, his empty 
eyes concealed by sunglasses, his perpet- 
wal smirky smile flashing from the second 


more 
nalysis, 


row, as he watched George Corley Wal- 
lace mumble platitudes, working the 
crowd, and then Bremer thrust his snub- 
nosed .38 between a couple named Spei- 
gle, across the rope, and fired five times 
at point-blank range. Amazingly, Wal- 
lace lived, albeit wounded four times and 
paralyzed from the waist down (three 
others also were hir in the yolley—they 
recovered). And so Bremer joined histor- 
ical company with the likes of John 
Schrank, who tried but failed to kill 
Teddy Roosevelt. It seems clear Bremer 
dreamed of himself as a great figure in 
history. “I am one three-billionth of the 
world's history," the 21 -ld wrote 
journal, filled clsewhere with his 
nd Sirhan. and with 
a corresponding hatred for Richard Nix- 
on, for George Wallace, for the haves of 
the world. “I am a Hamlet,” he wrote, 
while complaining about headaches and 
pains in his chest. On another occasio 
he confided he'd like to see his name 
the history books and after his arrest, he 
told a cop, “Just stay with me and you'll 
be a star, just like I am. 

Whether or not such sentiments moti- 
vated Bremer's attack is a moot question, 
though they strongly suggest megaloma 
nia, that flip side of the schizoid-paranoid 
personality a psychiatrist detected. after 
the attempt on Wallace. But it's far from. 
moot that Bremer's childhood in Milwau- 
kee provided the psydioenvironment 
we've learned is conducive to creating as- 
sassins. His father he perceived as weak, 
unsuccessful, a nonentity. His mother, he 
said, was lazy, inattentive and cruel— 
given to frequent beatings of Arthur and 
his brothers (one of whom became a con- 
fidence man who once was indicted for 
bilking fat ladies in a weight salon scam). 
An indifferent student (LQ. of 106), the 
young Bremer grew withdrawn, friend- 
less, invisibly moving into and through 
an adolescence apparently made bearable 
by the fantasies he drew from PLAYBOY, 
Gun Digest, various soft-core sex comics 
(these magazines later were found in his 
bachelor apartment). In his pre-Wallace 
life, Bremer had one girlfriend, a 15- 


year-old named Joan Pennich, who 
worked as a monitor in the elementary 
school where Bremer was a janitor. 


Arthur took it very seriously, pursued 
with sweaty earnestness. She did not 
reciprocate the fervent feelings. Their 
up in January 1972 helped turn 
Bremer's mind toward political murder, 
or so some think. Certainly by April, 
when he began his diary, Bremer's eye 
was on a compensation beyond love— 
he would achieve fame through assa 
nation. (That is, it's cer 
is his work and not E. Howard Hunt's, 
as Gore Vidal has speculated. Samples 
of Bremers handwriting seem to con- 
fim that he wrote the journal, a fact 
that doesn't, as we'll sec, unknot an 


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PLAYBOY 


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interesting tie to Hunt, Nixon and the 
Watergaters.) 

By April, Arthur had his gun. Two 
guns, in fact—the 38 and a 9mm Brown- 
ing automatic. 

They weren't his first weapons In 
November 1971—a few months after 
he'd bought a car and moved out of his 
folks’ house into an apartment—he w 
amested while parked in a fashionable 
residential area with a -38 and two boxes 
of ammunition. No one can say what, il 
anything, he intended, thou psych 


atrist has said Arthur was out ta 
practicing that day—like Sirhan, Guiteau, 
Oswald—and had then decided to rob 


some houses. Also, about this time, the 
doctor says, Bremer thought about shoot- 
his female boss at the Milwaukee 
Athletic Club, where he worked at 
second menial job. Thus, Bremer secm- 
ingly had violent urges before his trauma 
with Permich, which did, however, un- 
hinge him enough to make him shave his 
head and, like Sirhan, quit his jobs. 

He soon started working as à. Wallace 
volunteer, probably as much for the free 
mealsas for the ideology. One supposition 
has Bremer shooting Wallace out of an 
identification with oppressed blacks, a 


contention that the diarys rightwing 
rantings refute. Arthur was frugal. Much 


abont where he got the 
money to follow Nixon and Wallace, some 
g it came from a_conspiracy’s 
minds. Bur he had made about 
$9000 before he quit amd he had only 
about two dollars on him when he was ar- 
He recorded money worries in 
There were few luxuries. His 
d 1967 Rambler cost only 5795 
Aside from a fling at the Waldorl- 
Astoria, ed in modest lodgings. 
agance was a New York 
sage parlor, where a comely masseuse 
jerked him off and ripped him off for 
548.) The chronicle of his days is ac- 
tually that of a mind slipping from con- 
trol, as he trails Nixon to New York 
Canada, Washington. He writes, “Thi 
will be one of the most closely read 
pages since the Scrolls in those caves. . . . 
My fuse is about burnt. There's gona be 
an explosion soon.” He wants to kill 
millions, especially “Nixy." But the 
President, he finds, is too closely guarded, 
though he got within 12 feet of on's 
car in Ottawa. Then, in May, he writes, 
“I've decided Wallace w have the 
honor of—what would you call iv” 
Characteristically, he frets that editors 
won't cue if Wallace is assassinated. 
About then, too, Arthur began observ- 
ing and commenting on himself going 
mad. URSEL GET THE JACKE he 
scrawled. As Wallace's "Send ‘em a mes- 
sage” campaign accelerated, Bremer vo: 
yoed through Wisconsin and Michigan, 
appearing at rallies, even being photo- 
aphed in plastic Wallace boaters (after- 
ward, Wallace workers said, sure, they 
recognized the litle creep, and police 


once questioned him). He gleefully noted 
the many lapses in Wallace's security. 
Like Robert de Niro's taxi driver, he 
sometimes chatted with Secret Service- 
men. 

At last, after driving to Maryland on 
May 13, Bremer's chance came. Wallace 
now lies, like all the political victims 
before him, in his own pooling blood. 
A bullet has severed nerve ganglia n 
the 12th thoracic vertebra. He will never 
walk again, or control his bowels, or be 
elected President—something that the 
overwhelming primary victories in Michi- 
nd Maryland, after the shooting, had 
made seem quite possible. 

Like many of our acts of political 
violence, the reverberations are unex- 
pected, even ironic. For instance, no out- 
raged black shot Wallace, the man who 
had stood in the schoolhouse door. A 
whitedid. And Wallace, the law-and-order 
(and pro-gun) candidate, fell victim to 
an armed criminal. Moreover, a crim- 
inal whose study of Oswald and Sirhan 
demonstrated a domino effect more dev- 
astating to Wallace than the one he 
excoriated in Southeast Asia. And just as 
the deaths of King and Kennedy brought 
legislative effort for civil rights and 
against guns (only partly successful), so 
Wallace's crippling brings on calls for 
harsher, swifter justice—especially from 
Agnew and Nixon. 

Yet, some effects were to be expected. 
A wial for the accused, the contention 


he was sane enough to know what he 
was doing and the ev 


ntual guilty verdict 
and senteuce—in Bremer’s case, to 63 
years. And the rumors of conspiracies. 

Wallace to this day believes Bremer 
was an agent (no lone gunman could 
get him!) and he doubts that Arthur 
wrote the diary. Conspiracy lovers pre- 
dictably suppose a second gunman lurk- 
ing somewhere undetected in the crowd. 
Nearly half of Americans are disbelievers 
and suspect conspiracy, just as they do 
about the murders of the Kennedys and 
Kin Bremers father thinks his son 
needed to be directed to his act, not being 
much of a self-starter and certainly never 
before in trouble. Bremer's mother con- 
jectures it was something he ate, or maybe 
“one of those false cigarettes” that drove 
him mad (but Bremer seems not to have 
used any drugs). Even the Government 
kept open the question of a conspiracy. 
But, to date, only one curious set of occur- 
rences suggests anyone besides Bremer 
was involved. 

Enter the infamous E. Howa 
Watergate burglar, spybook author and 
former GIA spook. In testimony before 
the Senate committee investigating 
Watergate, Hunt said that the now- 
devout Charles Colson had suggested to 
Hunt that Hunt might want to “review 
the contents of Bremer's apartment.” Col- 
son was acting, it's reported, on Nixon's 
direct order, and though Colson denies 
having made any such suggestion to 


d Hunt, 


Hunt, the questions persist: Why were 
the plumbers interested in Bremer? 
Would White House tapes thus far with- 
held by President Ford reveal the reason? 

Further, what about the curiously 
complete amount of background infor- 
mation about Bremer that was found in 
his apartment? Was the reportorial 
ucasure-trove obligingly planted by the 
FBI and Secret Servicemen who pre- 
ceded newsmen there? Did they at the 
same time remove anything that might 
have implicated The Committee to Re- 
Elect the President (Nixon, that is)? 

ls possible to envision Bremer as 
t of a “dirty tricks" campaign, per- 
ps being manipulated to scare Wallace 
out of the race so that the incumbent 
President could take over the law-and- 
order issue. Or, if the ination runs 
riot, one could ntasize Bremer as the 
ultimate dirty trick, a directed killer, or 
as a dangerous psychotic who was sud- 
denly, madly, out of his employers’ con- 
trol. Frightening and unlikely as such 
speculations are, its true that a con- 
fessed dirty trickste 
sked by 
committee if he knew Bremer. Segretti 
firmly said no. 

We don't have evidence of anyone's 
contacts with possible conspirators. Or 
evidence of payoffs. Or evidence of any- 
thing except the smiling Bremer, his 
blond hair and his blue revolver glinting 
in the May sunshine. That, and the 
paralyzed Wallace—recently taunted by 
students in Bremer masks pushing wheel- 


chairs—who over and over muses that it 
just couldn’t be that simple. 

Yet, it comes to that, whether or not 
conspiracies exist. Booth, Guiteau, 
Czolgosz, Schrank, Zangara, Weiss, Os. 
wald, Ray, Sirhan, Bremer. They haye 
lockstepped through our history with 
guns and scarred psyches, with real ills 
nd imagined causes that become excuses 
to kill. Not long ago Lynette “Squeaky” 
Fromme and Sara Jane Moore brought 
femininity to the roster of those who 
would kill our leaders. We tried to ex- 
plain that as we have tried to explain the 
others, 

Its said the onc is Manson-crazy, act- 
g out of a soul diseased by her despica- 
ble guru. The other, it’s thought, is an 
unstable woman, who, in a liberated era, 
was trying to find her place and, frus- 
trated, decided on violence as the w 

But is there any answer to the riddle 
of why assassins are always with us? No 
sociology, no psychology, no political 
analysis, no commission has yet found 
answer or devised a cure. No jud, 
executioner has yet stayed an assassin's 
hand. Perhaps that is impossible. Perhaps 
there is a Cain deep in some of us, an urge 
pulsing through our hearts to kill the 
chief, to extinguish forever another's 
authority over us—an urge as primal, as 
fundamental, as implacable as evil itself. 
If so—and it seems that way—the ques- 
tion is not if another American assassin 
will suike, It is when. 


“Not the Mother Goose.” 


157 


PLAYBOY 


158 


PLAYBOY INTERVIEW (continued from page 72) 


position against. You're liable to end up 
liking them. 
PLAYBOY: Jerry Brown of California seems 
to embody many of the virtues you find 
missing in most American politicians. He 
prefers his apartment to the governor's 
n ordinary car to limousines. 
Do you think he represents a step in the 
right—or left—direction? 
HESS: It’s too early to tell. One of these 
he's going to be late for an appoint- 
then we'll see if he waits for a 
cab or commandeers a police car. 
Do you have any political 


mansion, 


HESS: ndhi is one. He was the first 


great spokesman for the neighborhood. 


His notion was that the world is com- 
posed of neighborhoods—a breath-taking 
perception. 

PLAYBOY: But Gandhi 
leader. And you're against leaders—and. 
nations. 

HESS: That's true. And ordinarily, I'd say 
if you've got a leader, even a great lead- 
er, the thing to do is run for the nearest 
exit and si 


was a national 


art collecting canned goods. 


But Gandhi was a leader whose own pro- 
gram prevented him from achieving any: 
thing but inspirational power. 
PLAYBOY: What do you think of Ch 
man Ma 


, à bureaucrat. For 
a is schizophrenic: far 


that reason, Chi 


“How about five do's and five dow t's?” 


left out in the countryside and still right- 
wing in Peking. 

PLAYBOY: In general, what is your view of 
the Chinese experiment? 

HESS: American mothers can no longer 
forcefeed their babies with the admoni- 
tion, “Eat, children in China are starv- 
ing.” In fact, we now know that there 
are more people starving in Appalachia 
than in China. We also know that people 
in China now leave their doors unlocked. 
So, clearly, communism there has had its 
blessings. 

PLAYBOY: Would you, then, call yourself 
proCommunise? 

Hess: I may have lost my faith in capital- 
ism, but I haven't lost my mind. I have 
no more desire to serve the commissars 
than the cashiers. 

PLAYBOY: Since it's the season, let's go 
back to talking about the Presidency. 
HESS: Arggh. 

PLAYBOY: What does it mean to you? 
HESS: ‘The Presidency doesn’t mean sh 
to me. But it means everything to most 
people, which is sad. Thomas Jefferson 
once had to go out to eat because the 
boardinghouse he was staying at stopped 
serving dinner at a certain time. Sounds 
like the folks then understood that what 
they had was an elected officer, not an 
elected deity. That’s why I used to like 
Jerry Ford. When I worked for him, he 
was studying ways in which the Execu- 
tive branch could be reduced in power. 
For a while there, he was even interested 
in a system whereby the President could 
be recalled. You know, this is one of the 
few democracies on earth where you elect 
a person and then can't get rid of him 
for four years, no matter what he docs. 
Even the Soviet Union is better with 
bureaucrats than we are. Khrushchev once 
boasted that he'd shot the head of the 
K.G.B. at a mecting. 

PLAYBOY; You spoke wistfuly about 
Thomas Jeflerson. Do we detect a fond- 
ness for America's founding fathers? 

HESS: They were a mixed group, and Jef- 
ferson was a man of mixed nature. But. 
he gave us the Declaration of Independ- 
ence, à document without parallel in the 
history of man's struggle for freedom. I 
understand that the Magna Charta was 
important, but the difference between a 
document that claimed some rights for 
some barons and a document that 
claimed sovereignty for an entire people 
is vast. I don't think it is without sensi. 
ble connection that Ho Chi Minh used 
our Declaration of Independence as the 
founding document for the North Viet- 
namese Republic. The Declaration is so 
lucid that we're afraid of it today. It scares 
the hell out of every modern bureaucrat, 
because it tells us that there comes a time 
when we must stop taking orders and start 
taking our lives back into our own hands. 
"That's why the Constitution is so diligently 


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PLAYBOY 


taught in every schoolroom, while the 
Declaration is largely ignored. 
PLAYBOY: How about the rest 
founding fathers? 

Hess: I like the anti-Federalists, the ones 
who argued for the Articles of Confeder- 
ation, the ones who took the position that 
we didn't go to all that trouble just to 
be great and rich—we went to all that 
trouble to be free. I think Hamilton was 
our Stalin. 

PLAYBOY: We thought F.D.R. was our 
Salin. 

Hess: No, F.D.R. was our Mussolini. 
You haven't been studying your lessons. 
PLAYBOY: Sorry. But the way most people 
read American history, the Articles of 
Confederation failed. 

HESS: The Articles of Confederation were 
voted down by a narrow margin at the 
Constitutional Convention. Their only 
failu as to carry the day against Ham- 
ilton's argument. 

PLAYBOY: Which was? 

HESS: Greatness founded on scarcity. “If 
there aren't enough goodies to go around, 
le's make sure we're big and strong 
enough to grab more than our share." 
Hamilton’s was an age-old argument and 
one that has always appealed to kings, 
priests, indus everyone but the 
common min. Yet we are told the Anicles 
of Confed led. Why? Because 
the contemporary records of every era 
are written by the courtiers of the central 
government, not by the tradesmen and 
farmer: 
PLAYBOY: Do you think the records of our 
own age are still kept by courtiers? 

HESS: What would you call Arthur Scile- 
singer, Jr, a guy who virtually invents 
the "imperial Presidency” when his class 
mate is in the White House, then con- 
own creation when a bunch 


of the 


denims 


of yahoos take over? 
PLAYBOY: Most people would call him a 
left-wing historian. 
HESS: 


He is neither left-wing nor 
Have you read Schlesinger 
ic essay in which he argues that there is 
> morality in foreign policy—that it is 
mply win or lose? He encouraged Ken- 
edy to do all the things 

ught for. Then he condemned N 
for being an imperial President, Th 


to 


like Dr. Frankenstein's publishing an 
ntimonster tract. 
PLAYBOY: w we note a touch of soft- 


ness for Nixon 

HESS: Although I have always disliked 
Nixon, I think Johnson and Kennedy 
were more reprehensible. Nixon w 
rchensible at the cloddish level, like a 
burglar. But there is no evidence that 
he was about to saddle us with fascisin. 1 
mean, if you were serious about esta 
lishing a fascist regime in this counury, I 
doubt very seriously that you'd hire a 


160 bunch of advertising executives to run it 


for you. Nixon used his power to commit 
vulgar but relatively petty larceny. Ken- 
nedy used his power to commit a people 
to war. 

PLAYBOY: So you wouldn't rate any of our 
modern Presidents very highly. 
HESS: I'd rate the ofhce at ze 
imagine anyone doing much with that 
office unless the access of inform 
were structurally changed. The Pre 
is dependent upon special sources for all 
he knows about the outside world. Ford 
is a decent cnough guy, but he's got a 
bunch of what the CIA would call case 
officers running him. Henry Kissinger is 
his foreign-policy case officer. So, again 
using CIA jargon, Nelson Rockefeller 
would say that he has “penetrated” the 
White House. And so it goes. if 
Thomas Aquinas or Kropotkin were 
the Oval Office, nothing would change 
much. 

PLAYBOY: Then how does one rate the 
Presidents? 

HESS: By trivializing them. Remember the 
good things. Eisenhower played golf. Ken- 
nedy was a snappy dresser, Truman used 
salty language. Things like that. Forget 
Vietnam, Korea, Greece, the Cold War, 
the McCarthy era, the black lists. Remem- 
ber how good old Harry used to say, 
“Give 'em hell"? Now, there was a Presi- 
dent. Forget the fact that he stomped the 
shit out of a burgeoning democracy in 
Greece. 

PLAYBOY: You don't like Presidents or 
bureaucrats, then. 

It’s not so much that J don't. like 
m but that all managerial functions 
are the most exalted and least important 
functions in our society. I mean, being a 


. I can't 


have no useful skills such as carp: 
have all the qualifications necessa 
manage things. You know, look at 
lists and make sure the paper clips ai 
on time. I'm not saying managers don't 
do anything. Fm just saying they don't 
do anything a chimpanzee couldu't do 
equally well. Or a pigeon. Pigeons can 
do simple repetitive tasks, especially if 
they're color-coded. 

PLAYBOY: But the President of the U. 
does more than simple repet s 
HESS: Oh, really? What does the Pr 
do? Or, more specifically, what does the 
President do for you? Can the President 
tell you who or what you should be sleep- 
ing with? No, he's got nothing to do with 
your sex life. Can the President tell you 
if you're in love or not? No, that’s out, 
He doesn't know anything about your 
emotional life. Does the President know 
whether or not your back wall is going to 
collapse? No, you'd have to discuss that 
with an engineer. And on and on it goes 
throughout the day. Would you call the 
President when you're sick? No, he 


medicine. 
n 


doesn't know anything abou 
Can he select your clothes for you? € 
he weave them? Would you go to the 
President if vou had a cinder in your 
cye? What would you go to the President 
for? I can think of only one instance: If 
you were strolling down Pennsylvania 
Avenue and suddenly thought, “God- 
damn, should we go to war with Den- 
mark?” Then, maybe, you'd want to drop 
into the White House and talk it over. 
But in every sensible enterprise of hu- 
mankind, you don't go to the President. 
You go to your neighbors. 

PLAYBOY: OK, you've done a lot of cri, 


HESS: Of course, I'd prefer anarchism. But 
given the situation we're in, l'd offer 
two suggestions that could be imple 
mented at once. First, I'd establish the 
machinery for the iate popul 
recall of elected officials—as you recall an 
automobile that’s defective. If the Presi- 
dent steers us. 
and th his brakes fail I think we 
should be able to return him to the shop 
for repairs. And, second, I'd call for a 
new Constitutional Convention to decide 
exactly what kind of government the 
Amcrican people w 
PLAYBOY: Have you ever been tempted to 
lead, rather than merely end 
revolution? 

hess: An anarchist leader is a contradic 
tion in terms. 

PLAYBOY: Would you consider being a 
leader even [or a brief, transitory period? 
HESS: No man should be the master of 
other for any period. I fear people who 
preach social change as though they were 
mere messengers of fate. Messengers 
change to masters as fast as they can 
Beneath all the noble rhetoric of history 
and destiny, there is a human brow itch- 
ing for a crown 

PLAYBOY: But no man is 
tion. What's yours? 

HESS: J want to be the perfect anarchist. 
PLAYBOY: Which i 
HESS: A good 
neighbor. 
PLAYBOY: That's all there is to being an 


immed 


into some outrageous 


ni—if any- 


ithout. ambi 


nd, good lover, good 


HESS: What did you expect, a lot of rule 
PLAYBOY: We expected one rule: “Resist 
authority at all cost." 

HESS: By resistance you seem to be im. 
plying armed revolution, But that’s not 
aly ample, the Pr 
dency could be overthrown tomorrow if 
the American people suddenly began 
laughing at it, or ignoring it. 

PLAYBOY: Are you saying that sometimes 
revolution can be accomplished throi 
ridicule? 

HESS: Sure, and why reach for the musket 
if all you necd is a custard pie? 


THE SOUL OF SARAH (continued from page 128) 


the Sea. But then, she's always brilliant. 

Such, understand, were a PLAYBOY re- 
porter’s wary thoughts nearly a full week 
before he prompted Sarah Miles to throw 
book at his head and learned that her 
mis good. 


ar voice on the tele- 
phone conveys no hint of menace and 
none of that chill, off-putting English 
reticence, either. And things happen fast. 
"here's really no time right now, says 
she, because she’s busy and will be work- 
ing into the wee hours with a director 
on a project she can't 
discuss. So come along soon, eh, say 15 
or 20 minutes? Either it's a bad connec- 
tion or one p 
because she's suddenly listing road s 
“You go up Benedict, pass West Wanda, 
turn right—it’s a big red-barn house. 
The outside lights don’t work, unfortu- 
nately, but there's a dirty gray, battered 


Volkswagen parked in front. That's 
mine—" 
Wait a minute, Is this one of those 


remote Beverly Hills moviestar hide-outs 
that don't show up on radar and taxis 
can never find? How does one get away 
againz The question provokes à pause, 
followed by a throaty snigger. “One can 
always get away. Don’t worry; I won't 
rape you. We might as well begin to get 
acquainted, just say hello, hmm? 
Off to see the wildcat. Forget that she 
was once described as “The Maiden 
Man-Eater" in an article by David Whit- 
ing, long before he became her man Fri 
day and died tragically in a motel room 
at Gila Bend, Arizona, in 1973. 
Twenty-five minutes later, she appears 
at the door in semidarkness, with a 
snappish Skye terri her heels. The 
dog’s name is Gladys, she says, as s 
leads us up the stairs to a room fur 
with a large pufly so nd a merry-go- 
round horse, still upright on its pole. 
There she stands, tremulously live, with 
an unruly Anglo mop of hair, eager 
child’s eyes of bluish gray and a mouth 
almost too big in a face she insists is 
far too small. She's wearing a tight white- 
terrycloth jump suit with little or noth- 
ing unde 
She has soon found glasse 
vodka—though she seldom d 
is about to settle down in an alcove at a 
table heaped high with a tape recorder, 
tapes, manuscripts, serawly notes, books, 
paper and what appears to be un- 
opened mail. The thought occurs that 
the slender dynamo who has played The 
Servant’s scheming minx, Ryan's Daugh- 
ter and Lady Caroline Lamb seems un- 
expectedly tall. Now, there’s a terrific 
opening gambit. Christ. But she answers 
it. “Well, of course. I'm fecling ten feet 


Li 


nd ice and 
ks—and 


tall tonight! Because I've been at my 
s funny, you know, be- 
eut 
Al- 


schools. 
though I've read Mr. Shakespeare.” 

An hour with Sarah, especially the first 
hour, induces a kind of alpha state. She 
is a bright, multicolored prism spinning 
slowly or swiltly before your eyes, effect- 
ing kaleidoscopic changes. Her mysterious 
colleagues keep wor whatever it 
is behind dosed doors while Sarah con- 
ducts a whirlwind tour through her past, 
present and future, with impromptu side 
trips into realms of fancy. 

On being herself, doing things Aer 
way, she has a hundred and one anec- 
dotes about how an overprivileged Eng- 
lih wench—daughter of an eminent 
consulting engineer—can get into trouble 
by saying exactly what she thinks. There 
was the time she left a Noel Coward 
comedy during rehearsals because she re- 
fused to play her part the way it was 
written and suggested to the author that 
it had been rather carelessly written in 
the first place. Revealingly, Noel and 
Sarah later became fast friends. There 
were the teacup tempests at boarding 
schools, highlighted by one involving the 
queen mother of England: “On this par- 
ticular occasion at Roedean, the queen 
mother came to visit us. 1 remember her 
standing in front of me, with her peri- 
winkleblue eyes. I've never seen such 


d eyes. So when she asked me, ‘How 
do you like it here” I said, 'I hate it, 
Mum,’ and burst into tears. Afterward, a 
friend of mine told the housemistress what 
Fd done and I was accused publicly in 
chapel—of telling the truth, "That's where 
1 learned that the truth is dangerous, 
people don't like it." 

On her recent divorce from playwright 
Robert Bolt, author of A Man for All 
Seasons and the script for Ryan's 
Daughter, she is candid and searchingly 
selfcritical: "There's no one to blame 
except me for anything I've done. When 
I married Robert, who's some years older 
than I am, I suppose I was choosing 
another father, My dear father is one of 
the most extraordinary men Tve ever 
met. But when you're married to a bril- 
liant man—and Robert is brilliant—you 
don't feel you can contribute much. 
which did put me in a strait jacket. I 
stopped acting for three years after Blow- 
Up. Not just retiring every other week, 
like Frank 1 came to a big, full 
stop. I had an ambition to breed horses, 
which I uccessfully. I also bred my- 
self a child. I thought I was really 
joying my private life. Meanwhile, 
something told me that wasn’t all I was 
meant to do. When I finally left, I didn't 
know why, where, who I was going to. 
what I intended to do. I just knew I had 
to go. 

On her relationship with her eight 
ycar-old son, Thomas, h slips into a 
rueful mood as heartrending as the 


"Let's get back to your mother. Did she 
believe in gun control?" 


161 


PLAYBOY 


heroine's third-act renunciation of home 
and hearth in A Doll’s House: “Thomas 
is not with me at the moment, because 
I'm going through a big change and I 
have to go through it alone, Therefore, 
I'm no good as a mother right now. He's 
with his father, going to school in 
England." 

On her ambivalent attitude toward 
life in L.A., Sarah discusses having rented. 
out her own Malibu beach pad so she 
could share this Beverly Hills barn house 
with a female chum in public relations, 
who's “oll on a European tour with Ra- 
quel” (yes, that Raquel): “The reason 1 
left Malibu is that 1 got myself stuck 
into a very busy lethargy at the beach. 
Besides, I like swimming in the sca, which 
practically makes you an eccentric in 
Malibu. And 1 was told off for hanging 
clothes to dry outside my window on a 
line, because I like the smell of fresh air 
them. They s didn't look nice, 

On a touchier subject (and the reason 
for postponement of our scheduled inter- 
view three years ago), the death of Whit- 
ing on location for the film The Man 
Who Loved Cat Dancing, she falters 
momentarily, then lets the words come 
tumb) That whole public fiasco, that 
mes of publicity, was overwhelmingly 
painful for me and for anybody who 
knew David well, because he was an 
extremely good young man. He was 
brilliant but unbalanced—I never use 
the word insane, yet he was not suficient- 
ly in touch with reality to stay among 
us. Or maybe he just chose to move on 
to the next life, 1 don’t know. Though 
1 do believe people sometimes take their 
lives because they feel they're going to 

nother place that’s better,” 
Sarah, who insists she has 
regular cigarette in weeks, takes a 
thoughtful break while lighting onc. 
"From the moment he fist came into 
contact with my husband and me, David 


t smoked a 


was lonely and strange, We were very 
dose, very fond of him, both of us— 


though there was ceri 
& trois, as so often implied, in the sense 
of three people having it off together. 
David's love for Robert and me was 
never physical. He placed us both so 
high, way up there; we were his king and 
queen, his god, his goddess, his father 
and mother, Of course, we knew he could 
be self-destructive, because he'd tried 
something like that the year before, 
and he had us sort of trapped. People who 
threaten death always have you trapped.” 

The publicity about Whiting’s death 
made life in England impossible for 
Sarah. “I was infamous, I couldn't go 
down to the village, I couldn't move 
without being pointed at and whispered 
about. I wanted to be free; and for me, 
the only place in the world where you 
can live and not be noticed is Los 


inly no ménage 


162 Angeles. So I left home, being thought 


a murderes, arrived here and accepted 
an offer to play Shaw's nt Joan at 
the Ahmanson Theater. It was very 
strange, as if people saw me as some kind 
of monster—and they were outraged that 
à monster was port nt. It was 
not a good production, nor a critical 
success, but we played to packed houses 
every night, However, to show where the 
local critics are at, one of them led off 
his review by saying: ‘This is not one 
of Shakespeare's better plays. " Her laugh 
is warm, without bitterness or reproach. 
Abruptly, she offers a lift back to your 
hotel, calls Gladys to wag along, wheels 
out the Volks and is tearing through 
Benedict Canyon as if she were an odds- 


on favorite in the Grand Prix. She con- 
fesses that she relishes danger: “I'm not 
proud of it, understand, but that's the 


way I am. I drive too fast, 1 swim too 
far out to sca; I climbed too high up in 
trees as a child—always did, always will. 
1 want to be way out there on a limb. 
When you're ont there, living on that 
thin edge, there’s a kind of smell, a 
magic to life that you don't feel when 
you're in snug, perfect safety. 

The two great evils of existence, in 
the Miles credo, are doubt and bore- 
dom—neither of which she can fully 
comprehend or take time out to practice. 
She enjoys quoting actor Robert Morley, 
who once remarked of her: “I'll say one 
thing for Sarah Miles, she never loses her 
enemies.” Nor friends: 
over the years, they have included Lau- 
rence Olivier, Dame Edith Evans, the 
late Margaret Leighton ("We were twin 
souls, I still see her sometimes just before 
I fall asleep at night"), Robert Mitchum 
(a perennial confidant since Ryan's 
Daughter, Sarah calls him * 
astute . . . one of my greatest teachers”) 
and Hollywood actor Bruce Davison (a 
more intimate friend for a year or so). 

Director David Lean, after Ryan's 
Daughter, hailed Sarah as the only actress 
who can act with her eyes alone. Adds 
Lewis John Carlino, writer-director of 
The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with 
the Sea: “Both as an actress and as a 
person, Si fourth-dimensional 
woman. If she once trusts you, she has 
no sense of scliprescrvation. Whatever 
you ask her to do, she'll reach. down 
inside herself and give you everything 
there is to be gotten, and then some. 
She's intensely emotional, a mercurial 
ty. But theres no guile in her. 
IG Gris that 


she short on 


n, an old ac- 
ntance, sums up succinctly: "The 
only problem with Sarah Miles is that 
so goddamned totally honest, it's 
more than most people can cope with.” 


she 


Sarah appears, with Gladys in tow, at 
rLAvsov's Hollywood offices a day or 


so later. Sarah's sizzling with excitement 
over a Stevie Wonder recordi ng session 
she had attended the evening before. 
She settles behind a carrousel projector in 
a small dark room to study her PLAYBOY 
photos and some stills from Sailor. 

“Thats not awfully good of me,” 
Sarah observes at one point, “but I like 
it of Kris. He has such a beautiful body; 
you can see the sweat on his back." Or 
she may remark, unexpectedly. “The 
reason my tits stay up is that I never 
shave under my arms and er in 
my life worn a bra.” Then a typical after- 
thought: "Perhaps I should have waited 
until I was 80 to be in praynoy. Mightn't. 
that have proved something?” she ven- 
tures mischievously. "I think TI insist 
they let me do it again when the time 
comes. 


Lunch with Sarah and the inseparable 
Gladys means finding a restaurant. where 
pets are welcome. Sarah suggests a small, 
nonchalant French bisuo with a pleas- 
ant garden and under-thetable crawl 
space for Gladys. If c: 
à virtuc, someone should erect a st; 
ali 


uc to 


iene! REN 
ated in Chelsea years ago by 
her huge Pyrenean mountain dog named 


was inii 


Addo. “People were frightened of Addo 
because he loose and detested any- 
one wearing a bowler hat. The resi- 


dents decided they had to get me or my 
dog away from Hasker Street and Ber- 
trand was the only one who came to our 
defense. He and Addo used to go for 
walks together. Then he started nz 
us both to tea; he'd do that whole ritual 
with silver and beautiful china and very 
thin cucumber sandwiches. When I es 
plained how ignorant | was, he just 
nd I listened." Her look of waif- 
nocence vanishes behind a worldly 
smile that makes it easy to imagine her 
in cozy tétea-tétes with C Men 
Through the Ages. You don't so readily 
picture her as the girl who goes home 
with Lassic, but out of loyalty to Addo, 
who refused to eat in her 
once took what she calls 
leave" from a film job in Madr 
refused for the next 11 years to make a 
movie away from England, where strin- 
gent health laws complicate foreign 
tavel for dogs. "When you choose a 
dog's life above anything else,” she ex 


plains flatly, "you must expect some 
compromises.” 
She will blame neither Addo nor 


Gladys, however, for what she views as the 
erratic course of her career, "I'm totally 
at fault, because I don't peddle my wares, 
avs part of the job. I don't mean 
as licking, even, but just looking grand— 
going out, being nice to the right people 
in the right place at the right time. I've 
en able to do that.” 
anding attention, though, has 


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PLAYBOY 


seldom been a problem since the early 
Sixties, when she excited critical raves 
and, more than incidentally, launched a 
new era of screen nudity in The Servant. 
“That film really made a great stir in 
England. There was a naked scene in the 
bathroom, which had never been done 
before. If you're first at anything, 
like wearing the frst miniskirt, you're 
stamped forever. The scene provoked 
m, especially from my parents, and 
their servants, who left because of it, My 
mother and father came to see me after 
a preview and said, ‘Sarah, you've 
destroyed your career and us and every- 
thing we stand for’ At least they ad- 
mitted they were wrong when the reviews 
came out.” 
ah waves away any hint that por- 
ng a series of wildly pa 
pegs her as a kind of sexpot. 
is the key word, not sexy. 
erotic scene I ever saw wi 
French film 
was simply putting rolls into a basket. 
Her own mightiest struggle with screen 
sex, which left her emotionally ravaged, 
was the masturbation sequence in The 
Sailor Who Fell from Grace: “In a love 
scene with a man, at least you've got 
him there. But when you're alone with 
a camera and a crew and a mirror, try- 
ing to pull off something so intimate and 
erotic, which still has to be elegant, it's 
frighteningly lonely—like having an 
abortion with your eyes open." 


The most 
in an old 
th Jean Cabin, where he 


Fating, drinking, driving and rapping 
around L.A. with Sarah is a good wip 
for anyone who can maintain the pace. 
No matter how rapid the Miles per hour, 
there are pungent bits to grab in passing: 

Her views of men, love and sex, she 
feels, are out of sync with the times. “Tr 


m 
ad, funnily enough, I still 
i uck- goodbye 
sort of thing is just not my way. If I 
were looking, which I'm not, I wouldn't 
be lool body . . . because I've 
never seen a man and said, Wow, let's 
go to hed. It's the brain that blows my 
mind.” 


Her favorite actor, after Olivier, is the 
late kung-fu master Bruce Lee. “I don't 
mean ] find him sexually attractive at 
all. I'd never heard of this man until 
one night we went to the local movie- 
house in Dartmouth, and there he was, 
like magic. There's one shot in Enter 
the Dragon, where the look on his face 
tells you he's just broken a man's neck, 
that is the most dramatic single moment 
I've ever seen on the screen. 

Her favorite bad movie, and she 
adores a real clinker Cleopatra. “You 
know, there’s Elizabeth as Cleopatra, and 
the way she says that line—"Tcll Octavius 
to get his arm-eeze outta here'—it's just 
beautiful, a classic.” 

Her overwhelming ambition is to be a 


184 funny girl. “I always made people laugh 


at school and became a professional ac- 
tress hoping to make people laugh. And 
there I was immediately in a weepy. I've 
never done a comedy. Except for The 
Sailor, I've always been stuck in historical 
clothes, too—playing those fucking 
trapped ladies." 


Back at her place on a Sunday, Sarah 
is in hip-huggers and a homespun shirt; 
also in a spiky temper that anyone would 
thoughtlessly arrive 30 minutes late. For 
a warmup topic, how about discussing 
her widespread reputation as a practical 
joker? It’s here—without warning—that 
she grabs a book and heaves ho, glancing 
it off the dome of an interviewer whose 
reflexes, worse luck, are a half beat too 
slow. 

She's instantly contrite, gentle and 
solicitous: “I hope that didn't hurt. I 
never intentionally hurt anyone. Usu- 
ally, I throw custard pies in pcople's 
faces, People are so barred up, with so 
much crap around them. If you catch 
them off guard, then look into their eyes, 
you can break right through. I did it on 
Cat Dancing with Marty Poll and he 
threw one back at me, which was excel- 
lent.” As the story—corroborated by pro- 
ducer Poll—goes, he went to a party well 
prepared for Sarah’s pie prank and they 
ended up wrestling on the floor in a 
friendly mess of pastry. 

Sarah also has a subtler trick for cut- 
ting the phonies out of her inner circle: 
"I go around L.A. asking people— 
mostly those who say they're interested 
in painting—if they have heard of this 
fantastic young painter who's coming up 
fast on the Left Bank. A fellow named 
Cabreu. Nine out of ten people pretend 
to know all about this remarkable gentle- 
man—who doesn’t exist." 

Perhaps it’s our unabashed ignorance 
of Cabreu, combined with a bump on 
the head, that convinces Sarah to Jet us 
in on the secret of the mysterious project 
she’s been sweating over. It will be a 
one-woman (or one-woman, onc-dog) 
show, mostly in freely rhymed verse, 
ten and performed by Sarah Miles, 
who intends to premiere it on the stage 
in L.A. or New York. "Gladys will be 
onstage with me the entire time, but she's 
just an ordinary dog, thank God, who 
doesn’t perform tricks. She'll simply act 
as my con nid everything clse.” 

Suddenly she’s on her feet, rummaging 
through the coffeetable clutter. “It's 
going to be a challenge to my sound men, 
a challenge to the musicians, certainly a 
challenge to me, and an enormous chal- 


nce 


lenge to Gladys" She pulls out a scrap 
of song ("Maybe I'm a whore 
I'm a lady 


be 
="), performs devastatingly 


tions ith Evans, - 
garet Rutherford) and is finally per- 
aded to unveil a somewhat fuller 


sampling of things to come: 
“I enter upstage right, dressed à la 


typical Las Vegas, or maybe like Oscar 
night. With breasts out for display, 
everything clinging to the right places, a 
wig, perfectly coifed. Then I begin, in 
verse, with my musicians, It goes: 


“T’'m on the Ultra-Ego trip— 

I pul my chips on me. 

No lime to wait to be fingered by 
Fate, 

I'll handle my own destiny. 


“The opening continues: 


“Td do it naked, but I'm afraid 
you'd hate it. 

I'd do it in the bath, just to get a 
little laugh. 

Id hang in midair to make you 
stare, 

I'd do any dare... .” 


Well, it sounds far better than it reads. 
In the flesh, Sarah can create soaring 
drama from a seed catalog. The new 
Sarah Miles may be seeking some kind 
of catharsis—a. cyni ht even call it 
psychological exhibitionism—but no one 
cn question her sincerity and flair- 
Either before or after the upcoming 
Sarah and Gladys show, her plans include 
a film, Animals, for Yugos| tor 
Dusan Makavejev, whose icon-shattering 
Sweet Movie and WR—Mysteries of the 
Organism created some sharp controver- 

rah will play a brittle, neurotic 


ron who meets a West Indian 
workingman in an elevator. "He's a 
happy window cleaner and she's an un- 

ppy rich lady. But it’s like a fairy tale, 


n which bis purity breaks through her 
dry shell of neurosis—theres far more 
to it than a good fuc! 

She also hopes to make a fem 
sounding comedy called Tarzana with 
her talented brother, director Christo- 
pher Miles. "Well switch the roles, of 
course. Fl] be Tarzana, while Jane be- 
comes this charming, rather effeminate 
young man who keeps his h: ice and 
complains about getting dirty. We don't 
know who will play the male part, but 
there are a good many Jan l. 

“What I won't do is any movie that's 
just a packaged commercial deal. Unless 
there’s something challenging in a role, 
I won't touch it" She pauses, bright 
eyed, resolute. “I've been forever flaming 
along in life, sort of putting the actress 
in me here, the woman there, never joi 
ing the two, Now I want to put myself 
right. So on my deathbed I can say: 
Well, Sarah, you've had a good try.” 

That's Sarah Miles, characteristically 
having the last word. Or the next to 
last. One still wonders: Is she Wonder 
Woman, a dog's best friend, the movie 
world's brainiest little bad girl or, and 
perhaps most probably, a deep.dish, dis- 
placed English eccentric masquerading 
in L.A. as a Hell's Angel? 


s aroui 


“Of course, the place wouldn't seem so small if we weren't elephants." 


PLAYBOY 


166 


sex object 5522552» 


and do, and, frankly, it's making me a 
little nervous. 

The signs are everywhere. Women's 
magazines are running male nude center- 
folds. Women are writing in books and 
declaring on talk shows that they enjoy 
sex just as much as men do, that they have 
just as large a lust quotient, that they give 
men the once-over, that in many cases 
they're just as willing to have sex for sex's 
sake—even the one-night-stand variety. In 
short, men have become physical sex ob- 
jects for a lot of women. 

It’s been well established by now that 
the sort of talk we men thought was exclu- 
sively ours in locker rooms and saloons 
gocs on among women with the same sort 
of candor. So I asked a number of free- 
spirited women friends what they talk 
about, what they look for in a man they'd 
like to get it on with, ziplessly. 

Ask a man in any century the same 
question about women, and the answer, 
with variations in period dialect, would 
always be: great boobs, pretty face, ter- 
rific legs. My conditioning had led me to 
expect that the answers from women 
would be along the lines of: a handsome, 


Redford/Newman face, a strong “build” 
but, most important, a slew of personal- 
ity traits—gentle, confident, thoughtful, 
romantic, decisive—since women are tra- 
ditionally supposed to be turned on 
“emotionally” by a man's total “aura.” 

But one answer I got—so frequendy 
that it took me completely by surprise— 
was the sort of thing that can suddenly 
erase the conditioning of centuries. 

“A ;" the women told me. “A 
, lean ass." Click! 

The implications are breath-taking. 
When I consider the time I've spent 
cocking an eye seductively into a mirror, 
trimming my mustache just so, honing 
my gentle, confident, decisive traits . . . 
and it now turns out that my most criti 
attribute may be my ass. I do not believe 
I've given my ass more than seven seconds 
of thought in my entire life. I have no 
idea whether it’s taut or lean; I haven't an 
inkling as to whether it's great. It is awe- 
some to consider that millions of men do 
nothing more with their most alluring 
attribute than sit on it or occasionally 
scratch. 

We men have spent some 


ta 


ie worrying 


“Hey! I'm not through seducing you yet." 


about the size of our organs, so I asked 
my women friends what they noticed first 
about the nude men in some of the more 
explicit women’s magazines. Again, their 
responses were unexpected. They said 
that if they were turned on at all (most 
of the men in the pictures were too faggy 
and too plastic, they said), it was by the 
tilt of the roguish hat on one guy's head 
or, when an occasional “real” man was 
featured, by the “craggy” look of his 
face. Click! 

Stunned again. How many guys own 
roguish hats? I peered closely into my 
bathroom mirror, and I'm damned if I 
could tell whether I had any crags at all. 
We men are vain, of course. (I've been 
using a hair blower for several years now, 
though I can't shake the feeling I'd. be 
embarrassed if the guy I beat at arm 
wrestling in junior high happened by 
some morning.) So I suppose 1 could shop 
around for a roguish hat. But is there a 
crag lotion being marketed that anyone 
knows of? 
en beyond the matter of specific 
physical attributes, the notion itself— 
that women are looking at men and their 
bodies critically, appraisingly—is an un- 
settling one. I'm a normal, reasonable- 
looking guy, no physical deformities or 
anything. But the very idea that a woman 
passing me on the street may do more 
than glance provocatively at me, then 
avert her eyes—which is the way it's sup- 
posed to be—and may instead drop her 
eyes down to the rest of my body and up 
again, licking her lips, well, it gives me 
the willies. 

I mean, where do we go from here? 
Will I have to wonder at my next job 
interview whether some woman executive 
is hiring me for my looks and figure? Will 
I have to worry if the cleavage at the seat 
of my pants is "appropriate" for some 
formal function? Will I have to tolerate 
whistles and catcalls from women on side- 
walk construction crews? Will a group of 
Puerto Rican women lounging in door- 
ways make terrible sucking noises and 
shriek, “Mira! Mira"? Will I have to 
warn my male friends to stay away from 
the Via Veneto, because Italian women 
are insatiable, the worst ass pinchers of 
them all? 

What I'm saying is that, at first, I did 
embrace the movement wholeheartedly: 
the equality, the prospect of women’s 
taking the initiative as often as men, the 
new honesty about women's sexual drives. 
But, as 1 said, I'm a liberal and I'm 
having second thoughts. This thing could 
go too far. 

Don't get me wrong; I still think it's a 
commendable thing. In principle. But the 
time has arrived for men to say to women: 
We have minds, too, you know. 


bh The Triumph TR75 strong suit is comfort; the cockpit is spacious (wider than either a Corvette's or a Z-car's) 
and the driving position is exceptionally good. 399 


bh The padded steering wheel almost entirely blocks the instruments in a Porsche Carrera, but every dial 
is visible in the Triumph TR7. The illuminated instruments reflect in the windshield of the Mercedes 450SL and. 


SLC at night, but there are no unwanted reflections in the Triumph TR7. 99 PATRICICEEDAREY SMEM OR CAR ANDORI VER TARIOS 


ÉÉ Devices like the Ferrari Dino 246 excepted, the cockpit of the TR7 is one of the most comfortable two-seaters 
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you wear it. 99 
ÉÉ The result is a ride that is surprising in ifs gentleness coupled with handling that is on a par with nearly anything 
of its type save the works of Messers Chapman, Ferrari and, in some instances, Porsche. JJ JOHN CHRISTY, EDITOR, 
MOTOR TREND, AUGUST '75 


Él The most important new British sports car in 14 years. 99 
PAUL FRERE & RON WAKEFIELD, 
EDITORS, ROAD & TRACK, APRIL '75 


FOR THE NAME OF YOUR NEAREST 
TRIUMPH DEALER CALL: B00-447-4 
IN ILLINOIS C 3 


CHARLES W. BUSH 


BERNIE MITCHELL breaking the sound barriers 


HARDLY ‘TEN YEARS AGO, owners of hi-fi systems—if they weren't 
simply rich and showing off—were usually pale, odd types 
who favored rimless mad-bomber glasses and had degrees in 
engineering framed on their walls. Bernie Mitchell, president 
of Pioneer Electronics, is one of the people who changed that. 
When he started there seven years ago, Pion ales were 
$3,000,000 a year; last year, in spite of a recession, they were 
up to $90,000,000, representing a 15 percent jump in the mar- 
ket share. It happened because Mitchell takes Pioneer's name 
seriously. In 1969, when he arrived after being head-hunted 
away from a smaller firm—he had spent nine years as a district 
manager for Westinghouse before that—much of the hi-fi in- 
dustry was hopelessly confused by the shift from tubes to 
transistors. "We took a leadership role in making what w: 
essentially a big hobby into a mature industry," Mitchell says. 
Ve talked loud and often, with a high visibility, about the 
industry's problems—we created the illusion that we under- 
stood them and could solve them. That's when I began to 
learn about mystique. Jf people believe that you can do things, 
jw can probably do them. We began to grow very rapidly, 
because people seemed desperately to want a leader." Under 
Mitchell, Pioneer was the first to take ads in nonspecialty 
zines—beginning with PLAvmoy, it should be noted. 
Mitchell is also the reason you've seen Gr llman and 
Elton John and Andy Warhol in those ads, grinning and 
fondling the equipment. They do it not for the cash but 
because they like the stuff. Which is saying something in 
fierce amp-eatamp market, Mitchell, who's married 
and has five children and lives in the wilds of New Jersey, is an 
opera buff, but he likes his rock "n' roll, too. “The best concert 
I ever saw was Chicago and The Beach Boys. Second was the 
‘ones. If Mick ran for President, I'd vote for him. He's got 
leadership skills that I really envy." Now, that’s a compliment. 


TONY BILL scrzpt miner 


Movie rropucer Tony Bill is one man who knows how to 
follow his own formula for success. “The only secret to finding 
good scripts is to keep your eyes and ears open and know a 
good idea when you hear one,” he says. Easier said than 
done—except for the 85-year-old Bill, who has discovered or 
produced such good ideas as The Sting and Taxi Driver, in 
ldition to the forthcoming Harry and Walter Go to New 
York, which stars James Caan and Elliott Gould. Such success 
in discovering young writers has led him to become a sort of 
guru to Hollywood apprentices, who appreciate his willingness 
to look at new material (all his films have been by rookie 
screenwriters, including David Ward of Sting fame), and 
that’s led to a mountain of scripts on his desk. Bur Bill's 
talents range a good deal beyond just producing movies. He 
started out in Hollywood as an actor, playing Frank Sinatra's 
brother in Come Blow Your Horn. He'd left Notre Dame with 
a master's degree after turning down a Fulbright scholarship 
in writing and scemed headed for a solid acting carcer, until 
the siren song of hehind-the-camera action intervened (he still 
keeps his hand in via such roles as Goldie Hawn's smoothy 
boyfriend in Shampoo, a part he took at the request of his 
friend Warren Beatty). Now that he’s proved himself as an 
actor and as a producer, he's looking for new worlds to 
conquer and has set his sights on directing. “One of my next 
two projects will see me as the director,” he says. “I'm really 
looking forward to it.” For all his ambition, Bill has managed 
to remain easygoing and totally relaxed in the Hollywood pres- 
sure cooker. A passionate sailor and collector of vintage autos 
(he’s shown here with his favorite, a Packard), he is always 
ready to hoist anchor in his 65-foot yawl and head for Mexico or 
the Caribbean. Tony is sanguine about Hollywood's future; he 
says that today’s young screenwriters look just as promising as 
the older ones. And with his record, who's going to doubt him? 


CHEVY CHASE fall guy 


WE poN'r KNow how you like your current events, but we 
take ours with a twist, via the “Weekend Update” spot on 
NBC's hit show Saturday Night. “Hello, I'm Chevy Chase and 
you're not. Our top story tonight: Gerald Ford pierced his 
left hand with a salad fork at à luncheon celebrating Tuna 
Salad Day at the White House. Alert Secret Service agents 
seized the fork and wrestled it to the ground.” Outrageous, 
but credible, Chase was originally hired as a writer for the 
show, but he soon proved his worth as gadfly, fall guy and by 
far the least prepared of the Not Ready for Prime Time 
Players. When the 32-yearold Chase parodied a Presidential 
press conference, the White House asked for a tape. A few 
weeks later, Chase ran into Ford at a Washington dinner. The 
President stumbled to the podium (knocking over a water 
pitcher, dropping his notes in the process) to congratulate 
the comic on the accuracy of his impersonation. “Mr. Chase, 
you are a very, very funny suburb." It turned out that the two 
had much in common: For one thing, they perform their own 
stunts, Chase perfected his pratfall playing soccer for Bard 
College: “I believe that most great comedians were great 
athletes; physical humor demands rhythm and timing. I love 
ing people think I've just killed myself.” Chase's irrever 
ence may scem suicidal (General Franco is still dead?), but his 
comic credentials are impeccable—Mad magazine, the National 
Lampoon, The Great American Dream Machine, The Groove 
Tube and the Woodstock parody, Lemmings. Insiders have 
predicted that he will replace the Prince, Johnny Carson, 
but Chase disagrees. “Doing his show would be fun for about 
two weeks. But it's not what I want to do. I have nightmares 
where I'm interviewing actors all the time, at home, in my 
shower.” Imitation may, indeed, be a form of flatiery, but, in 
recent months, the White House has soured on Chase. After 
all, said the Chief Executive, I'm Gerald Ford and he's not. 


DAVID CHAN 


PLAYBOY 


170 


Warning: The Surgeon General Has 


Determined That Cigarette Smoking 
ls Dangerous to Your Health. 


Fiter: 20 mg. "wr, 15 mg. nicotine 
av. per cigarette by FIC method, 


Het Dag! 


(continued from page 111) 
trade in bootleg sausage soon developed 
and the edict was ultimately repealed. 

The frankfurter is a relatively recent 
addition to the sausage tribe. Hot-dog 
annalists credit the butchers’ guild of 
Frankfurt am Main with formulating the 
prototype Hund, in 1852. It is further 
alleged that the sleck, low-slung silhou- 
ette was inspired by a pet dachshund, 
adored by one of the butchers. German 
trenchermen took to the trim, taut, spicy 
beef-and-pork mixture, eating it from a 
plate with potatoes, sauerkraut and a 
dab of sweet mustard—much as they do 
today. 

But superstardom lay only an ocean 
away. The 1904 Louisiana Purchase Ex- 
position St. Louis was the launching 
pad that sped the hot dog to glory and 
Anton Ludwig Feuchtwanger was the 
vehide. Feuchtwanger, whose name will 
rank with Paul Bunyan and Johnny 
Appleseed when the folk history of our 
country is written, was peddling his 
sizzling Wursts to hungry hordes at the 
Expo. Since the Hiindchen were too hot 
to handle and a mite greasy, the enter- 
prising vendor lent white cotton gloves 
to every customer. Larcenous souvenir 
hunters soon made off with his stock of 
gloves The dauntless  Feuchtwanger 
countered by incasing the wiener in a 
soft bread roll—an edible holder that 
also protected delicate digits. With this 
simple stroke of genius, Feuchtwanger 
transformed the frankfurter into the all- 
Amcrican hot dog. 

Actually thc term hot dog did not 
surface until a few years later. It is at- 
tributed to a clever sports cartoonist, 
Thomas A. “Tad” Dorgan, who worked 
a talking frankfurter into his cartoons— 
calling it a hot dog. Dorgan, something 
of a phrasemaker, is also responsible 
for dumbbell, 23 skidoo and drugstore 
cowboy. 

Americans gobble hot dogs at a fero- 
cious rate. The National Hot Dog and 
Sausage Council (there's also a hot-dog 
queen) expects that we'll do away with 
18 billion wieners this year—if everyone 
pitches in. On a roll, with mustard or 
mustard and sauerkraut is the most popu- 
lar way, but there are countless hotdog 
embellishments: catsup, chili sauce, Thou- 
sand Island dressing (if you can stomach 
that), chili with beans, bacon bits, pickle, 
barbecue sauce, pickle relish with crushed. 
pineapple and any number of cheeses, 
from taco-spiced to provolone. Califor- 
nians lean to the corn dog—dipped in 
corn-meal batter and deep-fried. In Kan- 
sas City, an intrepid gastronome can 
sample the Reuben Dog (sauerkraut, 
melted Swiss), the Chicago Dog (mustard, 
relish, onion), the Kansas Dog (mus- 
tard, cheddar cheese) and a New York 


Dog (cheddar, bacon) that the Big Apple 
has yet to see. New York vendors do offer 
savory stewed onions, originally a His- 
panic specialty, now as part of the city’s 
multinational cuisine. 

No matter how sophisticated one’s 
palate, there are places only a hot dog 
will do—circuses. carnivals, fairs, amuse- 
ment parks, political rallies, Independ- 
ence Day picnics and other outings. It 
was frontpage news when President 
Franklin Delano Roosevelt introduced 
the king of England to our national soul 
food at a Hyde Park picnic. But the one 
place where hot dogs are absolutely in- 
dispensable is the sports event. A whop- 
ping 60 percent of those who attend 
sports attractions will end up chomping 
a red-hot, according to concessionaires. 
And they're firm believers in the Vince 
Lombardi doctrine “Winning is the only 
thing.” If the home team takes a com- 
fortable lead early on, hot-dog sales are 
brisk. Sandy Koufax may have enthralled 
the faithful, but he'll never make the 
Vendors’ Hall of Fame. His 1-0 nail 
biters held the fans’ minds on the game, 
while concessionaires “sat on their 
hands." 

Frankfurters have not changed signif- 
icantly in their 124-year history. Today's 
hot dog is usually a combination of beef 
nd pork that is cured, seasoned, finely 
ground, stuffed into casings and linked. 
Finally, the franks are lightly smoked 
and given a hot-water bath, so that 
they're ready to cat as purchased. How- 
ever, it is advisable to reheat them, for 
both sensory and sanitary reasons. 

Hot dogs come off the linker in a 
variety of sizes and shapes, from the foot 
long to the diminutive Lily Pushin. If 
you assume Lily Pushin is the name of 
some celebrated diva, you're way off the 
mark. It happens to be the trade’s arrest- 
ing interpretation of Lilliputian. Your 
average frank runs a shade over five 
inches—seven to the yard on the linker. 
Dinner franks are somewhat plumper 
Knackwurst is ev 


plumper and spicier. 
The longest dog was a 164-footer, con- 
trived for the First Baptist Church of 
New Philadelphia, Ohio. 

Taste preferences are, of course, sub- 
jective—and, in the case of hot dogs, 
regional. Brands popular in the Mid- 
west are apt to be milder and softer. 
Easterners and people in ethnic centers 
want more seasoning. Beef frankfurters 
tend to be both firmer and spicier than 
meat frankfurters. (The terms allbecf 
and all-meat have been discontinued. 
The Government considers them inap- 
propriate for a product containing 15 
percent of other ingredients—ten percent 
added water, corn syrup, seasonings and 
preservatives.) Franks labeled imitation 
can be made with almost anything—and 
generally are. 

Connoisseurs say a top dog should be 


succulent, beefy, aromatic with spices, 
tender yet crisp and lightly tanged with 
smoke—but not smoky. They want a 
little pop, a spurt of juice and a fragrant 
puft of steam when they make contact. 
But that calls for natural, preferably 
sheep, casing. However, most hot dogs 
sold in the United States—and virtually 
all of those sold in 
skinless. There's a relatively new edible 
casing fabricated from beef collagen (a 
gelatinlike protein occurring in ver- 
tebrates), but, despite manufacturers’ 
claims, it is not identical to sheep 
casing. One bastion of natural casing is 
the kosher hot dog sold in delicatessens. 
Prior to World War Two, kosher franks 
were scarcely known beyond the Hudson 
River. But with the gourmet explosion, 
these beef frankfurters went public, 
thriving in such unlikely outposts as 
Colorado, Arizona and Texas. Kosher 
hot dogs are seasoned liberally. After 
several cases of garlic shock were re 
ported, the spicing mixture was tempered 
slightly to accommodate genteel palates 
but not enough to disappoint the 
lars. 

cent years, hot dogs have taken 
quite a panning—and the chief cook is 
Ralph Nader. It's a murky situation, but 
it would appear that hot dogs are neither 
the nutritional bargain painted by the 
industry nor the "deadly missiles" de. 
nounced by Nader. At this point, an 
intensive, coordinated, Government- 
sponsored research project is required. 
The controversy swirls, but it will not 
deter the avid frankophile in his pursuit 
of hotdog happiness. The following reci- 
pes can only advance this laudable 
endeavor 


HOT DOG ON A ROLL 


Put hot dogs in pan of cold water. 
Bring to a boil; lower heat and simmer 5 
minutes. Drain. Place in cold frying pan 
over medium heat. Grill until lightly 
browned. 6 or 7 minutes, turning often 
Serve on warmed roll—with mustard 
and sauerkraut. 

Note: For a tangy French touch, try 
potent Dijon or mellow, aromatic Pom- 
mery mustard. 


CHOUCROUTE AMERICAINE 


2 tablespoons oil or bacon drip| 

1 large onion, chopped 

27-07. can sauerkraut 

1 teaspoon caraway sceds 

12-02, can beer 

1 Ib. hot dogs 

Heat oil in large skillet and sauté 
onion until soft. Drain sauerkraut; rinse 
in cold water and drain well. Add sauer- 
kraut and caraway seeds to skillet; cook 
2 minutes. Add beer, reduce heat and 
cover skillet. Simmer 20 minutes. Place 
hot dogs on top of kraut; simmer 10 


minutes more, uncovered. Serve on plate 
with parsley potatoes. 


SUPER POOCH 


Slit frankfurters lengthwise, about half- 
way through. Shred sharp cheddar cheese 
and insert in frankfurters. Wrap a strip 
of bacon around cach and secure with 
toothpick. Place in shallow pan and bake 
in 425° oven until bacon is crisp. Re- 
move picks. Put franks in rolls and gar- 
nish to taste. 


FRANK AND BEANS 


2 cans (1 Ib. each) pork and beans in 

tomato sauce 
1⁄4 cup catsup 
2 tablespoons finely chopped onion 
spoon Worcestershire sauce 

2 teaspoons prepared mustard 

2 tablespoons brown sugar 

1 Ib. frankfurters 

Combine beans with catsup, onion, 
Worcestershire and mustard. Spoon into 
lightly greased baking dish. Sprinkle 
with brown sugar. Cut lengthwise slits 
in frankfurters, then cut cach in half 
crosswise. Arrange on top of beans. Bake 
in 325° oven 25 minutes or until beans 
are bubbly and frankfurters lightly 
browned. 


PAGAN'S POTAGE 


I can condensed black-bean or pea 
soup 

2 tablespoons dry sherry 

2 teaspoons finely chopped onion 

1 frankfurter, sliced 

Prepare soup according to directions 
on can. When hot, add sherry, onion 
and frankfurter. Simmer 10 minutes. 


CHILI DOG 


1 small onion, chopped 
1 clove garlic, chopped 
? tablespoons oil 
L-Ib. can red kidney beans 
8-07. can tomato sauce 
| teaspoon chili powder, or to taste 
alt, pepper, to taste 

8 frankfurters 

8 rolls, warmed 

1 cup shredded lettuce 

^4 Ib. Monterey Jack or Swiss cheese, 

shredded 

Heat oil in large skillet and sauté 
onion and garlic until soft. Add kidney 
beans with liquid, tomato sauce and 
seasonings. Bring to a boil; lower heat 
and simmer 5 minutes. Add frankfurters; 
simmer 10 minutes more. Fill rolls with 
hot dogsand beans. Top cach with lettuce 
and cheese. 

July is National Hot Dog Month. "Take 
a hot dog to lunch . . . brunch . . . the 
beach . .. the ball game . . . bed. What- 


ever turns you on! 


ll 


MENTHOL 


1205 


20 FILTEH CIGARETTES. 


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


171 


PLAYBOY 


172 


J 


the prize money so she can get married 
and ride off into the sunset or whatever.” 
While she may register as a reasonable 
facsimile of her famous mother, Jayne 
Marie will quickly point out where 
their lifelines diverge: Jayne, born Jayne 
Palmer, was a notso-plain small-town 
girl imbued with dreams of glory. Raised 
in a family of schoolteachers from Penn- 
sylvania and Texas, married and di- 
vorced, with a four-year-old child and a 
Buick among her souvenirs, she set off to 
conquer a star-spangled world where Jean 
Harlow and Lana Turner had proved 
how far a girl could go with a bit of luck 
and lots of moxie; her first job was at the 
candy counter of an L.A. movie theater. 
Jayne Marie—who began living out 
where the rainbow ends at an carly age— 
dreamed the simple homespun dreams 
her momma had traded for fame, fortune, 
three husbands, Joneliness and a Medi- 
terranean-style palazzo. She studied sing- 
ing and dancing, spent nearly half of 
every year squandering her childhood in 
Europe's grandest hotels. Most of the 
baby dolls she knew were backstage on 
Broadway or in Vegas, where she gradu- 


NES GIRL continued from page 87) 


ated from grammar school while Mother 
gother act together. 

Nowadays, she can Jook back at it all 
without regrets. Wearing a peachy-pink 
‘Thirties dress she designed herself, re- 
Jaxing beside the pool at L.A.’s grandiose 
Century Plaza Hotel—part of a vast high- 
rise complex built where the old 20th 
Century-Fox lot used to be—Jayne Marie 
manages a faraway smile for times past. 
“This was my playground, right here, 
when my mother made all those pictures 
for Fox. I'd run in and out, trying on 
gowns from the costume department. 
‘There are a lot of disadvantages in 
being a movie star’s daughter. I helped 
my mother learn her lines, did her hair, 
choreographed, even designed clothes for 
her. I practically brought up my younger 
half brothers and hall sister—five of us in 
all. I always lived as an adult, which 
wasn't normal. I guess that's why I want 
to devote my life to having a good time.” 

Tensions mounted, she recalls, as she 
began to mature. “Not on my side. But 
offers came to me, usually through my 
mother. I was asked to do a Broadw: 
play when I was 16 and she said absolute- 
ly not. It was a conflict for her, a threat, 


“Astroturf!” 


having a nearly grown-up daughter who 
might want to take over someday; that 
fear of competition made her irritable.” 

Jayne's death cast Jayne Marie in an 
even tougher role. “I'd been on someone 
else's merry-go-round my whole life, then 
suddenly I was on my own, angry at 
Hollywood and very distrustful.” She 
went to school, tried marriage, delved 
into religion, took odd jobs—induding 
one stint as a legal secretary—and finally 
became a globe-trotter. “The pink house 
was sold with all our clothes still in i 
hers and mine. I didn't know why, or 
even care, at the time. I had no money. 
If my mother amassed a fortune, she cei 
tainly kept it well hidden. But 1 knew 
people everywhere, and now I'm grateful 
that we traveled so much, because that 
gave me a fabulous education.” 

It was litle more than a year ago that 
Jayne Marie began to emerge from her 
period of adjustment and seek a more 
prominent place in the sun. She'd like, 
now, to do some high-fashion modeling. 
“One day I saw Margaux Hemingway on 
the cover of Time and thought to myself: 
If she can do that, I can do as well—or 
better. Determination is another thing T 
learned from my mother.” Jayne Marie's 
next move will be a movie based on the 
song Rhinestone Cowboy, and she's 
also planning, with help, to write a book 
about Jayne. “Mother once told me I'd 
end up writing a book about her. Maybe 
it was a premonition. She even gave me 
the title: My Mother the Sex Symbol— 
or Why I Became a Catholic. Which was 
partly a joke, because I went to two 
parochial schools and was baptized 
Catholic. I don’t know if the book will be 
a biography or an autobiography, but it 
will be a sort of Life with Mother about 
the two of us—as mother-daughter, gi 
friends, sisters, practical jokers. Its a 
tribute she deserves. 

"When you're put up on a pedestal, 
you attract the wrong kind of people— 
but you're still real, a person. Years ago, 
when we were out on the road, Mother 
would sometimes put on a brown wig and 
we'd go off and meet guys just for fun 
and if they told her she looked like Jayne 
Mansfield, she'd "Everybody tells me 
that’ She was very sad, in a way. So 
much was expected of her, She packed a 
lot into her life, but she missed a lot, 
too. I don't want to miss And we're 


to get caught up in the Hollywood s 

making machinery, unless you're hooked 
on money and glory. There's no way that 
will happen to me. My idea of a fine time 
is riding a horse down the beach or just 
sitting there alone watching the sun set, 


with a nice glass of wine and my flute.” 
Put ‘em all together, that’s wine, wor 
and song. Would you expect any less 
of Mansficld II? 

[| 


LOOT ODE OUP (continued rom page 111) 


"You don't know nothing. You ain't 
even sure who you are, except you're a 
sailor off a destroyer. What destroyer? 
What's the name of 12” 
“Don’t know. 
“The Kin 
"Can't r 
“Well, you got to be Williams, and 
that was the ship, and it got sunk by a 
sub in “forty-three, but man alive, you 
fetched up more than a thousand miles 
from there, and how come you survived, 
drifting all uh th no water? You 
must of have a boat and caught some 
huh?” 
Could be.” 
“OK. tell me—who won the war?” 
"Well, I don't . Its over, 


mned right it’s over, and 


we won it, Williams, And who's the 
President?” 
"Last 1 heard, it was Roosevelt. 


it ain't no more. 
Say, you know what television is 
‘Television? Never heard of ii 
“Well, at about the atom bomb? 
Know what that is? 
Nope. I never 
thing... 

Billy spent months in the mount. 
to let his hair get good and long. After 
the first few weeks, Mack moved to Hono- 
lulu, where he took a bouncers job. 
He went up to the shack once a week 


heard of such a 


with provisions. Billy practiced. making 
fires with dry wood and learned how to 
split coconuts on rocks. He ako got 


idy with the only tool they'd ler him 
an old Navy jackknife. They were 
g to leave him on his island for two 
ths, so he would have time to build 
a hut and cur paths and make the place 
look as if he'd been living there a long 
while. 

Carraway made one visit ne: 


the end 


and was pleased with the way Billy 
looked. 


"t thirty years! worth of h 


“IUIL be enough.” C; 
can say it got in your way, so y 
some off with the knife. Hair doesn't 
grow for more than a few years, anj- 
I looked it up. 

t about that for a minute, 
something else crossed his mind 
asked: “Them old Jap soldiers 
they been finding, how come they hid 
away so lon, 

“Brainwashed,” said Carraway. "They 
were told they couldn't surrender. They 
had to keep on fighting and never give 


Billy thou 
ind. the 


id Billy. “Hiding out and 
hting for thirty years? Why, they must 
be the toughest, meanest men alive, them 
Japs” 


Yes, yes, 


said Carraway impatiently. 


“Now, listen. As I told you before, after 
you've been down there those two 
months, we'll get the story going that 
there's somebody on that island, and the 
vy will send a patrol boat down for 
a look, d that's how they'll find you 
The news will hit the papers fast. TI 
make sure of that. Then the minute 
they bring you back, I'll show up and 
y I'm your cousin—Williams' cousin— 
and after that. you leave everything to 
me and Mack. 

Late one night, Mack drove Billy into 
the city and down to the waterfront, 
where they boarded a big, rusty fishing: 
boat. Down below a tougl-looking 
man with a scarred face 


Mack didn’t bother with introductions. 
all 


"You stay in this h the 
time,” he told Billy, 
he'll tell you when you 
you're going.” 

"You ain't going to forget about me 
down there 

“Don't worry, 
much ou you a 
well goin’ to get it back. 
Mack took Billy's wrist watch and all 
clothes. giving him in return a cos- 
tume of palm fronds he'd gotten an old 
Hawaiian granny to twist together. hand- 
ed him the jackknife and shook his hand 


re cibin 


€ got to where 


. We spent too. 
nd we're damned 


goodbye. “Watch out for them sharks,” 
he said encouragingly as he left. Billy 
settled down on the deck of the cabin, 
listening 10 the fading footsteps 
after a while he fell asleep. When he 
awoke, it was daylight and the ship was 
out of sight of land. 

On the fourth night, the ship anchored 
in a cilm sea. A rubber life raft was 
dropped into the water. Billy was taken 
up on deck. He climbed down a rope 
ladder to the raft. where one of the 
sailors was waiting. The man pushed 
off and rowed until the distant whisper 
gainst a reef got loud. 
1 began to buck and pull The 
yelled something at Billy and 
ured furiously at the water, so Billy 
his knife between his teeth, took a 
ind splashed into the Pacific. 
hadn't be warned about the 
he got 
1 that 
the cap the wrong 
place—suppose the reef was all there 
bur then he felt sand under his 
feet and caught the scent of plants and 
trees. He hauled himself up onto the 
beach and sat there gasping and shiver- 
ing to wait for the daw 

The island was a speck in the Pacific, 
the jagged tip of a dead volcano thrust 
up in a small Lagoon walled by the coral 


of water breaking 


The 


He 


gone to 


“Step onit, Alfred! My Valium’s wearing off!” 


173 


PLAYBOY 


reef. Its center was a miniature moun 


some 50 feet 
were clothed with ve; 
of curving palms. 
sweet. lazy smell to it 
there'd be coconuts and other fruit in 
the forest. He tried to estimate the size 
of the island as he walked along the 
beach, Must be two miles around and 
a half mile across, he thought. On the 
western side, there were some black 
boulders scattered down the slope and 
into the lagoon that looked as if they'd 
heen spit there by an ancient eruption 
The sand there was black, too, and at 
first he thought it might be from an oil 
spill, but when he picked up a handful 
and found no stains on his fingers, he 
realized it wava natural color. He stood 
there for several minutes, gazing ar the 
d, the water, the sky. Everything was 
nd fresh. Even the air tasted good 
He splashed some water on his cuts. The 
lt made him wince, but it was a clc: 
ing pain and he knew he'd heal | 

Just back from the beach were some 
trees he'd never seen before, with large, 
round, - He picked 
one, cut away the rind and tasted the in- 
"Can't say 1 much care for it. 
Billy said aloud. “but then, I ain't exact- 
ly in a position to be particular." He 
found a fallen coconut and opened it; 
ter he ate the meat, he decided to try 

ng some of the mealy fruit with 
it milk, and the result was quite 
ess D won't starve, anyhow,” 
he remarked. pleased by his success. 

At sunset, he ate 
the breadfruitand-coconut mixture and 
leamed back against one of the black 
boulders along the shore to watch the 
sky. In the lagoon, a fish broke the si 
face, sending out ripples that caught the 
multicolored light. 

Why, this here's a goddamned pai 
dise," Billy said. “Right out of the 
Bible." This reminded him that Car 
way had said they might make a s 
out of him, with his leather-brown skin 

nd long hair and beard. People in Cali 
Tornia would pay money just for a look 
at him. Billy wanted to know wha 
saint did. Mack told him that being a 
saint was soft work, except there'd be 
no drinking and he'd have to eat light. 
You think a saint can chow down 
steak aud potatoes?" Mack had asked. 
nis got to eat crackers and 
All this had depressed. Billy, 
for he didn't think it would be much of 
life for him. But he had no choice, so 
he had said nothing. He'd never had 
| of a choice, anyway. As far back 
s he could remember, there'd always 
been. Mack to decide things for him, and 
ow, sitting on rhe empty beach 
ng the sun drop, he almost expect- 


high, whose slopes 
ion and clumps 


rou 


side. 


some morc of 


a 


quà cd to see Mack step out from behind a 


tree and yell, “Hey, stupid.” and tell 
what to do. 

It got dark and the 
Billy realized he should at least have 
picked up some palm leaves for cover 

inst the night. "Got to start thinkin" 
for myself,” he muttered, shivering and 
rubbing his arms. In the morning he 
would start building a shelter, he decid 
ed, and it occurred to him that this 
would be the first place he'd ew 
of his own, which encouraged him. “It 

cold.” h himself more 
cheerfully, and he lay down on the sand 
and gazed up at the moon and the stars 
until his eyes got heavy and he fell 
asleep. 

The next day, he found a thicket of 
bamboo at the base of the slope and 
laboriously cut some for his shelter. 
There were pathways back in the forest, 
but he couldu’t tell if they were natural 
or not. He guessed that people might 
have tried living on the island once, be- 
se it didn't seem likely that the bam- 
boo and the breadfruit would be growing 
unless someone had brought in 
seedlings. But he siw no signs of them— 
no crumbled huts, uo graves, no ch 
ings. He didu'i climb the slope. He 
didn't the looks of it. The 
vegetation was thick and tangled and 
he thought there might be snakes. No- 
body would build up there, anyway, he 
thought. It was too steep. 

He found he could dig clams out 
with his hands. He built his first fire aud 
steamed a few dams on heated stones. 
He wasn't supposed to make fires after 
dark: he couldn't risk being spotted by 
some passing ship and rescued 100 soon. 
But he didn't think any ships ever passed 
that way. although he had no idea where 
the isand 

By evening. he had one wall of 

s shelter finished—20 bamboo stakes 
pounded into the sandy soil a few yards 
back from the beach. He'd gathered a 
pile of leaves for a mattress and stretched 
out in the moonlight. He awoke once 
the night and scrambled to his 
feet, peering over his bamboo screen up 
at the peak, but everything was quiet and 
he didu't notice anything moving any 
where, so he ly back down 

At the end of the w 
finished his shelter. It had three sides 
rool on whieh he laid palm leaves 
weighted. by stones. “That ain't bad for 
a starter.” he said, admiring it. “TI build 
c a real house back in the woods later 

He hadn't succeeded in. maki 
but he found he could spe 


r turned cool. 


ain't so told 


care for 


. Billy had 


and 


n 
or 
net 


fish 
with a sharpened stick of bamboo. After 


his midday meal of baked fish and 
steamed clams and breadfruit mixed with 
coconut milk, he felt peaceful and con- 
tented, His loneliness didn't bother him 
much, Going back into the world would 
king orders from Mack, and from 


meat 


away, too, and having to remember 
all the things they'd taught him to say 
d not to say, and he'd probably be 
ely there as he was now. 
He hoped that the rescue ship didn't 
armive carly. ^L ain't in no bury at all,” 
said Billy. 


It was on the morning of the tenth 
day that he found the footprint. He had 
gone around to the western shore col. 
lecting flat stones for the oven he was 
building and he was searching among the 
black volcanic boulders that lay in a 
tumbled chain down the slope and into 
the lagoon. like giant steppingstones. A 


man with springy legs could hop from 


one to the other, all the way from the 
water halfway up the hill, Billy reflected. 

Then he saw the print in the sand 
"Oh, Lord.” he said, and his heart 
jumped. Was it really a foorprint? He 
stooped down for a closer look. It had 
ihe general shape of a foot, bur he 
couldn't be sure. "A man don't make 
just one footprint, he told himsell, 
glancing anxiously about. "Not even a 
one-legged man." But the indenttion 
was just below one of the boulders, and 
he couldn't help thinking that a man 
who lost his balance and slipped off the 
rock might land on one foot and leave 
a depression just like the one before him. 

“Oh. Lord,” Billy said again, and he 
forgot about his oveustones and went 


back to the other side. 
‘d 10 convince himself. it 


adn't 
he t he had seen. “Some 
bird he muttered, although 
he knew better, No bird could have made 
- He thought of going back for 
second look. but he realized that by 
w the tide would have erased it, and 
this bothered him. for it meant that the 
mark had been made within the past 
Tew hor 


He ti 
à footpi 


done it. 


mar 


s. 


They ain't nobody else here" he 
said. and he looked despairingly up at 


the tiny mountain, the only part of the 
island he hadn't explored. and he won- 
dered now if it had been his instinct th 
had warned him not to climb up. 

He felt shaky. Someone hiding out on 
the island? ‘Someone who'd heen there 
all along him: He sucked in 
his breath and he yelled: "Hey, up ther 
Fm a friend! A friend!" His voice came 
out shrill and tight. "Cimon down and 
la's have some fish: how about it?” He 
thought he saw movement high up 
among the leaves near the peak, but it 
could have been from a breeze. “I'm Billy 
Johnson from San Diego!” he yelled. 
spreading his arms wide and grinning. 
"Cook you up a nice lunch, what d'ya 
say, huh 

There was no answer but silence. 

Billy wiped the sweat off his face. 
"Lord, Lord," he muttered. “Suppose he 


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don't understand English?” And he Iow- 
ered his arms and sat down on the sand, 
feeling sick. 

He was too upset to eat. “Ain't nobody 
else here,” he kept repeating, but he sat 
with his back to the water, scanning 
the peak, the slope and the tres along 
the edge of the beach, and he kept his 
knife and bamboo spear close at hand 

I made a mistake, hollering, he 
thought. Now he knows I seen his print. 

As the day wore on, he collected all 
the dry sticks and leaves he could find 
nearby, and at dusk he lighted a fire. 
“Why, that poor bastard's prob'ly a 
scared as I am," Billy told himself, but he 
doubted it. Everywhere he looked now, 
he seemed to see the gleam of watching 
eyes. 

“Hey, the war's over, 
the darkness beyond the fire. “Hey, 
banzai. Lets make friends, huh?" To 
keep awake, he chattered out everything 
he could think of, getting the Bible 
stories he remembered from Sunday 
school mixed up with the dirty poems 
Mack had taught him, and every so often 
yelling out to the unseen watcher. "Hey, 
kamikaze, I ain't going to hurt you 
Hey, Tokyo. C'mon down and let's shake 
hands!” 

Before dawn he fell asleep and the fire 
died. When the sun hit him, he jumped 
up in a fright. Lord, he thought. Can't 
go on like this. He tried to eat some 
coconut. but he gagged on it. He prowled 


he called into 


up and down the beach, carrying his 
knife and spear, casting glances into the 
forest. “Last man out of the war,” he 


muttered, remembering what Carraway 
had said. “Last one out, yeah—but it 
ain't me." He gazed about hopelessly at 
the sun-swept beach, the calm and shin- 
ing lagoon and the fragrant tangle of 
vines and wees that shimmered in the 
gentle air. "Just my rotten ol luck,” he 
whispered, ready to weep. "Same ol’ Billy 
Johnson lud 


The Navy patrol ship arrived a few 
weeks later, more or less on Carraway's 
schedule. It anchored outside the reef 
and sent its helicopter in for a pontoon 
landing in the la An ofhcer and 
two enlisted men climbed out, waded 
ashore and began looking around. They 
spent more thin an hour on the island 
but found no tace of habitation. Billy's 
shelter had vanished and all other signs 
of his brief visit had been erased. The 
Navy men didn't climb the tiny peak, 
but the helicopter had crossed over it 
before making its descent and they had 
observed nothing but the usual screen of 
topic 

The officer concluded that the fire re: 
ported by the fishing craft must. have 
been caused by lightning, although he 
could find no charred trunks or burned- 
over scrub. Finally. he gave the order to 
depart. The men waded out to the heli- 


goon, 


growth. 


if 


TE! 


“After his two-year Crusade, he'd forgotten I 
was still wearing my chastity belt.” 


copter, which lurched into the air, and 
flew back ro the patrol ship, and then 
the ship, too, turned and steamed away. 
Before long, the waters of the lagoon 
were calm again and the horizon was 
empty and everything was as it had been 
before. 

Billy swam out from behind one of 
the black boulders on the western side 


of the island, where he had hidden, “All 
clear!” he yelled, wavin From behind 
another boulder, farther out in the 
water, the Japanese cautiously d 


and smiled and waved back. Billy waded 
up to the beach. It wouldn't take them 
more than a couple of hours to r 
assemble their hut, he figured, and their 
Hule store of tools would be right where 
they'd concealed it, in a rock crevice up 
on the peak. 

He turned to wait for his companion 
to join him. They still had problems in 
understanding cach other, but with the 
help of gestures and sketches in the 


sand, Billy had figured out that there'd 
been a hospital plane from Kwajalein 
headed for Japan that was blown off 
in a storm and then crashed ar 
sea not far from the island, with just 
this one survivor. He gu 
a nurse, because she knew just which 
fresh leaves to put on his foot when 
he cut it once. She'd learned all about 


course 


ssed she'd been 


the island, too, and showed him where 
the different kinds of shoots and berries 
grew and how to catch the most elusive 
fish, and, best of all, she was a fine. strong, 
loving woman. Mack right, he 
thought. His luck had char don't 
see no reason to leave,” Billy remarked 
miably as she came up to him, wet from 
the water and laughing. She didn't know 
what he'd said, but she guessed what he 
meant, and she threw her arms around 
him and pressed her cheek against his 


chest, 


was 


aL 


175 


PLAYBOY 


176 ing, and when 1 w 


BORN ON THEFOURTHOFIULY (continued from page 88) 


He was almost crying now as he turned 
and walked out of the big command 
bunker. There was sand all over the 
place outside and a cold monsoon wind 
was blowing. He locked out into the 
darkne: 
China Sea breaking softly far a 

There was a path made of wooden 
ammo casings that led 
He walked on it like a man on a tight- 
rope, it was so dark and so very hard to 
sce. A couple of times he stumbled on 
the wooden boxes. It was quiet as he 
opened the tent flap, as quiet and dark 
as it had been outside the major's bunk- 
er. He dragged in, carrying his rifle in 
one hand and the map case in the other. 
They were all asleep, all curled up on 
their cots, inside their mosquito nets. He 
walked up to his rack and sat down, his 
head sinking down to the floor. Panic 
was still rushing through him like a 
wild train, his heart still raced through 
his chest as he saw over and over again 
the kid from Georgia running toward 


him and the crack of his rifle killing him 
dead. 
I killed him, he kept repeating over 


and over to himself. 

He's dead, he thought. 

Gripping his rifle, holding the trigger, 
he went through the whole thing again 
and again, tapping, touching the trigger 
lightly cach time he saw the corporal 
from Georgia running toward him just 
as he had out there in the sand when 
everything seemed so crazy and fright- 
ning. Each time he felt his heart racing 
the three cracks went off and the dark 

figure slumped to the sand in front of 
him. 
He's dead—go get him!" someone 
s yelling to his right. "Go get him, 
he meone was running now, 
running to the body, and they were pull- 
ing the guy in. They were bringing him 
back to the trench where they all lay 
scared and shivering. 

"Doc—doc—where's the corpsma 
somebody was yelling. 

“Hey, doc, hurry up! 

Then somebody said it. Somebody 
shouted real loud, “It’s Corporal. They 
got Corpo m 


“He's dead," somebody said. "He's 
sone. 

Slowly he turned the rifle around and 
pointed the barrel toward his head. Oh, 
hiy, he thought. Why? 
Why? Why? He began to cry, slowly at 
first. Why? I'm going to kill myself, he 
thought. I'm going to pull this trigger. 
He was going mad. One minute he want- 
ed to pull the trigger and the next he 
was feeling the strange power of a man 
who had just killed someone. 

He laid the weapon down by the side 
of his rack and crawled in with his doth- 
ng still on. I killed him, he kept think- 
€ up tomorrow, it 


will still be the same. He wanted to run 
and hide. He felt as if he were in boot 
camp again and there was no cs 
no vay off the island. He would wak 
with the rest of them the next day. He 
would get up and wash outside the tent 
in his tin dish, he would shave and go to 
chow. But everything would not be all 
right, he thought, nothing would be all 
right at all. It was starting to be very 
different now, very different from what 
he had ever thought possible. 

He opened his eyes slowly as the light 
came into the tent like a bright triangle. 
They were all starting to stir, the other 
men, starting to get up. And then he 
remembered again what had happened. 
He hadn't killed any Communist, he 
thought, he hadn't killed any Commu- 
nist. Panic swept through his body. In 
some wild and crazy moment the night 
before, he had pulled the trigger and 
killed one of his own people. 

He tried to slow everything down. He 
had to think of it as an accident. A lot 
of guys were firing their guns, there wa 
so much noise and confusion. And may- 
be, he tried real hard to think, maybe 
he didn't kill the corporal at all, may- 
be it was someone else. Didn't everyone 
else start firing after his first three shots? 
Didn't they all start screaming and 
shooting after that? Yes, he thought, 
that's exactly what happened. They were 
all firing, too, he thought. I wasn't the 
only one. It could have been any of 
them. Any of them could have put the 
slug through the corporal's neck. Maybe 
it was the Communists who killed him. 
Maybe. Bur that was awlully hard to 
believe, that wa 
lieve than the other men shooting the 
corporal. Something had gone wrong: 
something crazy had happened out there 
and he didn’t want to think about it. 

He went back to the big sandbagged 
bunker to see the major. 

“That was a pretty rough night, Ser- 
geant,” the major said, looking up from 
the green-plastic maps on his desk. 

“Yes, sir,” he said. “It was pretty bad 
n into a lot of them, didn’t you? 
the major said, almost smiling. 

“Yes, we sure did. I mea they just 
sort of popped up on us and started 
firing.” 

The major looked down at the maps 
again and frowned slightly. “What hap- 
he said. "What happened out 


even harder now to be- 


“Well, Major, like I siid, we were 
moving toward the village and we had 
just set up a perimeter on top of the 
hill We set it up so we could watch 
all around us and sce if anyone was 
coming out of the village.” 

“What time was that?" said the major. 

“Well’—he looked carefully at his 
watch—"I think it about four. It 
was starting to get dark and I told all 


the men to eat their rations. Then it 
became very dark and there were a few 
small lights the village and then the 
shooting started to the left. It was maybe 
a hundred meters from the big sand 
dune. The men started running toward 
the ocean, away from the dune. Some of 
them were very frightened. 1 kept yell- 
ing for them to stay, but everyone sort 
of scattered. Then they all seemed to be 
running in a line toward a long wench 
near the ocean. Most of them got back. 
Most of them?" said the major. 
"Yeah," he said, "they all got back in 
the trench except one. 
“Who was that?” 
“That was Corporal, he was the last 
to come back. And that was when it 


What happened?” 
‘That was when the corporal was 
killed.” 

The bald sergeant who worked for the 
major walked in then. He walked in just 
as he told the major the thing that had 
be i 


nt was putting some 
on the major's desk. He did that 
nd walked out. 

There were a bunch of shots" he 
said carefully. "Everybody was shooting; 
it was a bad fire fight.” He paused. “It 
was pretty bad and then Corporal was 
shot. He was shot and he fell down in 
front of us and a couple of the men ran 
out to get him. They pulled him back 

n. I think the others were still firing. 
The corpsman tried to help . . . the 
corporal was shot in the 
corpsman tried to help. . . 

It was becoming very difficult for him 
to talk now. 
I might h 
illed the corporal.” 
“I don't think so, 
quickly. 

“It was very confusing. It was hard to 
tell what was happening." 

“Yes, I know,” said the major. “Some- 
times it gets very hard out there. I was 
out a couple of weeks ago and sometimes 
it’s very hard to tell what's happening. 

He stared down at the floor of the 
bunker until he could make himself say 
it again. He wasn't quite sure the major 
1 him the first time. 

“But I just want you to know, Major, 
I think I was the one who killed n. 1 
think it might have been m. 
And now he was 


said the major 


v a lot 
id told the major everything 
ajor hadn't believed it. It wa 
like going to confession when he was 
nd the priest saying everything w 
OK. He walked by the men outside the 
radio shack. They turned their faces 
away as he passed. Let them talk, he 
thought. He was only human; he had 
made a mistake. The corporal was dead 


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PLAYBOY 


178 


now and no one could bring him back. 
The chaplain held a memorial service 
that afternoon for the man he had killed 
and he sat in the tent with the rest of 
the men. There was a wife and a kid, 
someone said. He tried to listen to the 
words the ch. was saying, the name 
he k g over and over agai 
Who was this man he'd just killed? Who 
had he been? He wanted to scream right 
there in the church tent, right there dur 
ing the ceremony. He kept hearing the 
name too many times, the name of the 
dead. man, the n with the friends, 


the man with the wife, the one he didn't 
from. 


know or care to know, the kid 
Georgia who was now being c 
pped up in some plastic bag 
ack in a cheap wooden box to be 
a the earth at 19 
He went back to his tent after the 
ceremony was over and sat down. There 
sldu't get 
in it, Someone had sent him 
ant Rock comic book. But it 
wasn't funny anymore. The good guys 
weren't supposed to kill the good guys. 
The next few weeks passed much 
slower than any time in his whole life. 
ch day dragged by until the night, 
the soft, soothing night, when he could 
close himself off from the pain, when he 
could forget the terrible thing for a 
few hours. The war was going a little 
worse than before; artillery and rockets 
Imost every day, 
nke 
major was still siting 
the big sandbagged 


were hiuing the camp. 
sending the men into the little bu 
they! 


id built. Th 
d his desk ii 


battalion tent, and whenever he walked 
past him, the major would return his 
sharp salute with a very confident smile 
on his face. He thought of the major as 
his friend. He had understood the whole 
ble thing. He | 1 that maybe it 


there, and the major he 
had been out there himself under heavy 
fire and he knew. 

He knew the major understood every- 
thing, like the men who whispered softly 
on the chow line and the men who stood 
talking by their tents, No one wants to. 
say, he thought, no one wants to talk 
about it. Who wanted to approach him 
and ask if he had done it. if he had 
Killed the corporal that night? No one. 
No one would ever do it, he thought. 

It was his friend the major who gave 
him his second chance. He called him 
into the command bunker one day and 
told him he wanted him to become the 
leader of his new scout team. The ma- 
jor who understood him told him he 
liked the wa ated and said he 
knew the sergeant could do a good job. 

Here was his chance, he thought. to 
make everything good again. TI 
strong Marine was geuing a second c 
at becoming a hero. He knew, he unda 
stood the thing the major was doing 
for him, and he left the bunker feeling 
stronger and better than he'd felt for a 
long time. Here was his chance, he 
thought over and over aga 

He walked down the twisting ammo- 
box sidewalk and saluted oue of the offi- 
cers as smartly as ever, much too smartly 


“Hey, and the other great thing about growing up to be 
President is that you get laid a lot!” 


for anyone who had been over there as 
long as he had. The thoughts of the 
night he'd killed the corporal were al- 
ready becoming faded as he began to 
think more and more about the scout 
team, how he would train the men 
and the things they would do to make up 
for all the things that had gone before. 

He wrote in his diary that n 
proud he was to have been n 
leader of the scouts, to be servir 
this. its most critical hour, just 
Kennedy had talked 
about. He might get killed, he wrote, 
but so had a lot of Americans who had 
fought for democracy. It was very im- 
portant to be there putting his life on 
the line, to be going out on patrol and 
lying in the rain for Sparky the barber 
ad God and the rest. He was proud. He 
was real proud of what he was doing. 
This, he thought, is what serving your 
country is supposed to be about. 

He went out on patrol with the others 
the tly eight. 
o'clock, loading a round into the cham- 
ber of his weapon before he walked 
out of the tent and into the dark and 
rain. As usual. he had made all the men 
put on camouflage from head to toe, 
de sure they had all blackened their 
faces and attached twigs and branches 
to their arms and legs with rubber bands. 

One by one the scouts moved slowly 

s nd began to 
k along the bank of the river, head- 
g toward the graveyard where the a 
bush would be set up. They w 
moving north exactly as planned, a 
of shadows tightly bunched in the r 
Sometimes it would 
they would spread out somewhat more 
but mostly they continued to bunch up, 

[they were afraid of losing their way- 
There was a rice paddy on the edge of 
the graveyard. No one said a word as 
they walked through it and he thought 
he could hear voices from the village. 
He could smell the familiar smoke from 
the fires in the huts and he knew that the 
people who went out fishing each day 
must have come home. He remembered 
how difficult it had been when he had 
irst come to the war to tell the villagers 
from the enemy and sometimes it had 
seemed easier to hate all of them, but 
he had always tried very hard not to. He 
wished he could be sure they understood 
that he and the men were there be- 
cause they were trying to help all of them 

ave their country from the Communists. 

They were on the rice dike that bor- 
dered the graveyard. The voices from 
the huts nearby seemed quite loud. He 
looked up ahead to where the licuten 
nt who had come along with them that 
night was standing. The lieutenant had 
sent one of the men, Molina, on across 
the rice dikes, almost. to the edge of the 
village. The cold rain was coming 
down very hard and the men behind him 


Doni facile is 
a halfway menthol 


Sa 


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PLAYBOY 


180 


were standing like a line of statues wait- 
ing for the next command. 

But now something was wrong up 
ahead, He could see Molina waving his 
arms excitedly, trying to tell the lieu- 
tenant something. Stumbling over the 
dikes, almost crawling, Molina came 
back toward the lieutenant. He saw him 
whisper something in his ear. And now 
the lieutenant turned and looked at him. 
he said, “Molina and I are 
going to get a look up ahead. Stay here 
with the team,” 

Balancing on the dike, he turned 
ound slowly after the lieutenant had 
gone, motioning with his rifle for all of 
the men in back of him to get down. 
They waited for what scemed a long time 
d then the lieutenant and Molina ap- 
peared suddenly through the darkness. 
He could tell from their faces that they 
had seen something. They had seen 
somethi ahead, he was sure. and 
they were going to tell him what it was. 
He stood up. too excited to stay kneel- 
ing down on the dike. 

"What is it?" he cried. 

Be quiet, ispered the lieutenant 
sharply, grabbing his arm, almost throw- 
ng him into the paddy. He began talk- 
ing very quickly and much louder than 
he should have. “I think we found them. 
1 think we found them,” he repeated, 
almost shouting. 

He didn't know what the lieutenant 
meant. “What?” he said. 

“The sappers, the saj 
The lieutenant was taking over now. He 
seemed very sure of himself; he was act- 
ng very confident. “Let’s go, goddamn 
[M 

He clicked his rifle off safety and got 
his men up quickly, urging them for- 
ward, following the lieutenant and. Mo- 
lina toward the edge of the village. 


ppers! Let's go!” 


They ran through the paddy, splashing 
like a family of ducks. This time he 
hoped and prayed it would be the real 
enemy. He would be dy for them 


this time. Here was another chanc 
thought. He was so excited he 
straight into the lieut t bounc 
clumsily off his chest. 

"I'm sorry, sir," he said. 

"Quiet! They're out there,” the lieu- 
tenant whispered to him, motioning to 
the rest of the men to get down on their 
hands and knees. They crawled to the 
tree line, then along the back of the 
rice paddy through a foot of 
water, until the whole te: a 
Jong line presed up against the dike, 
facing the village. 

He 


he 


fire. he thought, 
n the distance, off to the right 
h little dark figures that 
seemed to be moving behind it. He 
could not tell how far 
from there. It was very hard to tell dis- 
tance in the dark. 

The lieutenant moved next to 
“You see?” he whispered. "Look, 


him. 
he 


said, very keyed up now. “They've got 

rifles. Can you see the rifles? Can you 

see them?” the lieutenant asked him. 
He looked very hard through the r: 
“Can you see them?” 


“Yes, I see them. I see them," he said. 


He was very sure. 

The lieutenant put his arm around 
him and whispered in his ear. “Tell them 
down at the end to give me an illumina- 
tion. I want this whole place lit up like 
a fucking Christmas trec.” 

Turning quickly to the man on his 
right, he told h what the lieutenant 
had said. He told him to pass the instruc- 
tions all the way to the end of the linc, 
where a flare would be fired just above 
the small fire near the village. 

Lying there in the mud behind the 
dike, he stared at the fire that still 
Nickered the rain, He could still see 
the little figures moving back and forth 
against it like small shadows on a scree: 


He felt the whole line tense, then heard 


the woooorshh of the flare cracking over- 
head in a tremendous ball of sputtering 
light, turning night into day, arching 
ov their heads toward the small fire 
that he now saw was burning inside an 
open hur. 

Suddenly, someone was firing from 
the end of the line, and now all the men 
in the line opened up, roaring their 
weapons like thunder, pulling their trig- 
gers again and again without even think- 
ing, emptying everything they had into 
the hut in a tremendous stream of 
brightorange tracers that crisscrossed 
cach other in the night. 

The flare arched its last sputtering 
bits into the village and it, became dark, 
and all he could see were the bright 
orange embers from the fire that had 
gone out. 

And he could hear them. 

There were voices scream: 

“What happened? Goddamn it, what 
happened?" yelled the lieutenant. 

The voices were screaming from 
side the hut. 

Who gave the order to fire? I wanna 
know who gaye the order to fir 

The licutenant was standing up now, 
looking up and down the linc of mei 
still lying in the r: 
He found that he was shaki 
Il happened so quickly. 

“We better get a killer team out 
rd Molina 
ight, all right. Sergeant" the 
aid 1o him, "get out there 
and tell me how many 


we got. 
He got to hi 
of the men together, leading them over 


feet and quickly got five 


the dike and through the water to the 
hut from where the screams were still 
coming. It was much doser than he had 
first thought. Now he could see ve 
clearly the sinoldering embers of the fu 
that had been blown out by the terrific 
blast of their rifles. 


Molina turned the beam of his flash- 
light into thc hut. "Oh, God," he said. 
"Oh, Jesus Christ." He started to cry. 
"We just shot up a bunch of kids?" 

"The floor of the small hut was covered 
with them, screaming and thrashing their 
arms back 
blood, crying wildly, 
and again. They were 
the chest, in the legs, moaning and 
crying. 

“Oh, Jesus!” he cried. 

He could hear the lieutenant shout- 
hem, wanting to know how many 
d killed. 
an old man in the corner 
with his head blown off from his eyes 
up, his brains hanging out of his head 
like jelly. The sergeant kept looking at 
the strange sight; he had never seen 
anything like it before. 
to the old man was still alive, although 
he had been shot many times. He was 
crying softly, lying in a large pool of 
blood. His small foot had been shot 
most completely off and seemed to be 
hanging by a thread. 

“What's happening? What's going on 
up there" The lieutenant was getting 
very impatient now. 

Molina shouted for the lieutenant to 
come quickly. “You better get up here. 
"here's a lot of wounded people up 
here.” 

He heard a small girl moaning now. 
She was shot through the stomach and 
bleeding from the rear end. All he could 
sce now was blood everywhere and he 
heard their screams with his heart raci 
like it had never raced before. He felt 
crazy and weak as he stood there staring 
at them with the rest of the men, staring 
down onto the floor as if it were a night- 
mare, as if it were some d of dream 
and it really wasn't happening. 

And then he could no longer stand 
watching. They were people. he though 
children and old men, people like him- 
self, and he had to do something, hc 1 
to move, he had to help, do something. 
He jerked the green medical bag off his 
back, ripping it open and grabbing for 
bandages, yelling at Molina to please 
come and help him. He knelt down ii 


the midst of the screaming bodies and 


began bandaging them, trying to cover 
the holes where the blood was still spurt- 
ing out. “It’s gonna be OK. It’s gonna 
be OK," he tried to say, but he was cry 
ing now, crying and still trying to 
bandage them all up. He moved from 
body to body. searching in the dark with 
his fingers for the holes the bullets | 


made, bandaging cach one as quickly 
he could, his shaking hands wet with the 
blood. It was ng into the hut and 


a cold wind swept his face as he moved 
a the dark. 
The lieutenant had just come up with 
the others. 

"Help me!" he scr 
help!” 


amed. 


omebody 


"Well. goddamn it, Sergeant! What's 
the matter? How many did we kill?” 
“They're children!" he 
the licutenant. 
“Children and old men!" 
"Where are their rifles?" 


screamed at 


cried Molina 
the lieuten- 


ant 
ren't any rifles," he said. 

"Well, help him, then!" screamed the 

lieutenant to the rest of the men. The 


men stood in the entrance to the hut, 
but they would not move. "Help him, 
help him. Fm ordering you to help 
him 

The men were not moving and some 
of them were crying now, dropping their 


rifles and sitting down on the wet 
ground. They were weeping now, with 
their hands against their faces. “Oh, 


Jesus, oh, God, forgive u: 
“Forgive us for what we've done!” 
heard Molina cry. 
et up 
“What do you think this is? 
ing you all to get up." 
Some of the men began slowly crawl- 


he 


lieutenant, 
I'm order- 


screamed the 


ing over the bodies. grabbing for the 
bandages that were still left. 
By now some of the villagers had gath- 


He could hear 
He knew they 


ered outside the hut. 
them shouting angrily 
must be cursing them. 

You beuer get a fucking chopper in 
someone was yelli 


her 


"Where's the radioman? Get the ra- 


“Hello, Cactus Red. 
Two. Ahhh, this is Red Lig 
need an emergency evac. We got a lot 
of wounded ahhh. friendly 
wounded. A lot of friendly wounded out 
here.” He could hear the lieutenant on 
the radio, trying to tell the helicopters 
where to come. 

The men in the hut were just sitting 
there crying. They could not move and 
they did not listen to the lieutenant's 
orders. They just sat with the rain pour- 
ing down on them through the roof, cry- 
ing and not moving. 

“You men! You men have got to start 
listening to me. You gotta stop crying 
like start acting like Ma- 
rines!" The lieutenant, who was off the 
radio now, was shoving the men, plead. 


This is Red Light 
ht Two. We 


babies 


and 


ing with them to move. “You're men, 
not babies. It's all a mistake. It wasn't 
your fault. They got in the way. Don't 


you people understand? 
goddamn way!" 

When the medevac chopper came, he 
picked up the little boy who was lying 
next to the old man. His foot came off 
and he grabbed it up quickly and band- 
aged it against the stump of the boy's 
leg. He held him looking into his fright- 
ened eyes and carried him up to the 
open door of the helicopter. The boy 


they got in the 


was still crying softly when he handed 
him to the gunner 

And when it was 
wounded had 
helped the 
back on patrol. They walked away from 
the hut in the rain. And now he [elt his 
body go numb and heavy, feeling awful 
and sick inside, like the night the cor 
poral had died, as they moved along in 
the dark and the rain behind the lieu 
tenant toward the graveyard. 


all over and all the 
loaded aboard, he 
nt move men 


heen 


lieute the 


It was getting very cold and it wa 
aining almost every day now. Some guy 
s sent back home because a booby trap 
had blown up on him. And it was about 
then I started looking for booby traps to 
step on, taking all sorts of crazy chances, 
trying to forget about the rain and the 
cold and the dead children and the cor 
poral. I would go off alone sometimes on 
patrol look 
get blown up enough to be sent home 
but not enough to get killed. 
rough kind of game to play. I remember 
walking along, knowing goddamn well 
actly what I was dc just waiting 
for those metal splinters to go bursting 
up into my testicles, sending me home 
a wounded hero. That was the only way 
I was getting out of that place. I took 
more chances than ever befor 
dreaming as I strolled through uie mine 


w 


ng for the traps, hoping Vd 


It was a 


day 


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PC fields, thinking of the time I saw a guy 
named Johnny Temple play in Ebbets 
Field or the time Duke Snider struck out 
and tossed that old bat of his up into the 
air when the umpire threw him out of 
the game. 

One mor ttalion was blown 
almost completely apart by an artillery 
tack. We had been out on patrol most 
of the night lying in the rain. We 
weren't even awake when the first couple 
of rounds began to pou 
us. There was a whistle, then a a 
explosion, "They had us right on target. 
We all ran for our lives, trying to make 
it to the bunker we had dug for our- 
selves. I was still halfasleep and not 
quite conscious of what was happening 
to me. All I remember is that I had to 
get to the bunker. Finally, after what 
seemed a long time, we all crawled down 
nto the sandbags. We huddled together 
like children and I heard myself saying, 
“Oh, God. please, God, I want to live.” 

When the barrage finally lifted, we all 
looked at one another. feeling a little 
embarrassed for acting so frightened and 
praying behind the sandbags. Outside the 
bunker there was a sharp smell of gun- 
powder and people were begining to 
move. We had been hit by almost 150. 
rounds in only a few minutes. Everyone 
was walking around i . 

Th were scores of wounded. Ser- 
geant Peters had been hit in the eye and 
Corporal Swanson was lying in the com- 
mand tent with a large piece of met 
still stuck in his head. I went up to him 
and held his hand, telling him every 
was going to be all right. He told me to 
send a letter right away to his wife in 
talifornia and tell her what had hap- 
pened. I promised him I'd do it that 
ight, but I never did and T never heard 
from him again, 


PLAYBO 


We stopped going out on patrols in the 
beginning of the new year. We began 
ke showers every morning and even 
m. It seemed 
ne 10 fix up the tent. 


to 


three meals a day 


rfect 


like the p 


Michaelson brought in a can of dark 
oil that we swept all over the wood floor. 
Even more work was put in on the 


bunker. 
There was news one 
fight a little north. A lieutenant from the 
alion had hec illed there. I knelt 
over him with the chaplain when they 
brought his body in. He was covered with 
ncoar. There was a small bullet hole 


norning of a big 


a 


in his forehead and the whole back of hi 
head had been shot out 
like all the rest, 


He was dead 

and for some reason, 

ht then I felt something big was about 
to happen. 

The major called me over and told me 
to get the men ready to move out. We 
were going north across the river. 

When I got back to the tent, Michael- 

182 son told me he would see me in heaven 


after today. He was to die that after- 
noon. Every one of us seemed to have a 
funny feeling. 1 kept thinking over and 
over that I was going to get hit—that 
nothing would be quite the same after 
thatd 


We went to get some chow and I re- 
member the major yelled at me for not 
putting helmets on the men. We'd never 
used them in the past and 1 couldn't 
understand why on that day the majo 
flak 


wanted us to wear helmets and 
jackets. We had to walk all the way 
to our tent and put the stuf on. We felt 
like supermen in the cumbersome jackets 

s we got into the truck that took us to 
the southern bank of the river. We all 
got out and waited for a while, and 
then a small boat took us to the other 
ide, where everybody else was getting 
ready to sweep up north to where the 
licutenant's squad had been wiped out. 

I remember later moving along the 
ch beside the ocean. There were sand 
that reminded me of home and 
lots of scrub-pine trees. The men were 
in a very sloppy formation. It seemed 
everyone was carrying far too much 
equipment. "The sky was dear and the 
Vietnamese were walking and fishing. 
xcept for the noise o[ the tanks and 
amuacs that were moving slowly along 
with us, it seemed like a Sunday stroll 
with everyone dressed up in costumes. 
Tt was hard to remember that at any mo- 
ment the whole thing might bust wide 
open and you might get killed like all 


the other dead losers. There that 
alt air that smelled so familiar. 
Then the whole procession suddenly 


came to a stop and we were told to go 
back, There was something happening 
a the village on the north bank of the 
river. A big fight was going on and the 
Popular Forces were pinned down and 
in lots of trouble. I ran up to the 
in who had given the order 
him was he sure we weren't supposed to 
continue going north? The men d 

to go back, I said. Was it the major 
who had given the order? I asked. The 
captain said he'd try to get confirmation. 
I waited with the amurac engines roaring 
in my ears while he radioed the rea 
When he got off the radio, he told me 
the major had changed his mi 


w: 


1 dimbed on one of the amtracs to 
to the men. They seemed very quiet. 
"They had the same feeling I did that it 
was all about to come down, that this 
walk in the sand might be the last one 
for all of us. 

There was going to be some kind of 
crazy tactical maneuver where we were 
going ro march west along the bank of 
the river and make a direct assault on 
the village after crossing the razorback, 
which was the biggest sand dune in the 


area. A group of us would dismount 
from one of the amtracs and lead the 
primary assault and the two other am- 
tracs would sweep from north to south 
throngh the graveyard and attack from 
nother flank. It all sounded so crazy 
nd simple. I kept uying to get my 
thoughts together, trying to think how 
much 1 wanted to prove to myself that I 
was a brave man, a good Marine. No 
matter what happened out there, I 
thought to myself, 1 could never retreat. 
I had to be courageous. Here was my 
chance to win a medal: here was my 
chance to fight against the real enem 
e up for everything that had 
happened. 


There were ten of them walking to- 
ward the village, and he felt the vosary 
beads in his top pocket and knew that 
the litle black Bible they had given 
them all on the planes coming in was 
in his other pocket, too. The other men 
were getting off the "üacs in the grave- 


yard. He could see the heat still coming 
up from the big engines and the men 


looked real small in the distance, like 
litle toy soldiers jumping off tanks. 
He looked to the left and they were all 
there; it perfect line. He had 
trained the scouts well and everything 
looked good. There was pagoda 
up ahead and a long trench full of Pop- 
ular Forces. "There wasn't any liring 
going on and he asked the commander. 
of the Viet unit to help him in the as- 
sault that was about to take place. The 
t officer said they were staying put 
and none of them was even going to 
think about attacking the village. He 
nery as he moved the scouts ove 
the top of the long trench line. They're 
a bunch of fucking cowards, he thought. 
"Look at them!" he shouted to the 
scouts. “They're sitting out the war in 
that trench like a bunch of babies.” 

Lers go!” he said. And then they 
began to move into 
area. They were ten 
teeth, g in a sweepi 
d the village. It was b. 
like the movies. 

The firing started in the graveyard. 
There were loud cracks. and then the 
whole thing sounded like someone had 
set off a whole string of firecrack He 
could hear the mortars popping out, 
crashing like cymbals when they landed 
on top of the ‘tracs. The whole grave- 
yard was being raked by mortars and 
heavy machine-gun fire coming out of 
the village. 

1 remember we all sort of stopped and 
watched for a moment. Then all of a 
sudden, the cracks were blasting all 

(concluded on page 186) 


was 


to- 
, just 


“Just think, Miss Bridgewater, we’re doing it exactly the same way 
they did it two hundred years ago!” 


183 


184 


PLAYBOY POTPOURRI 


people, places, objects and events of interest or amusement 


THE RED AND THE GREEN 


Who else but the Chinese would portray 
their illustrious ideological leaders—Mao, 
Marx, Engels and Lenin—woven into 
pieces of pure silk? And who else but a 
very imaginative lady named Munda 
would think of sewing the pieces into 
extremely handsome wallets to stash 

filthy lucre in? Get yours from Munda. P.O. 
Box 5018, FDR Station, New York 10022, 
for just $28. Mao must be seeing red. 


HEAD STOPPERS 


You've got a super souped-up motorcycle, a tight-fitting leather suit and 
an appropriately stacked blonde to ride on the back seat, but there's 
something amiss. Your headgear makes you look like a bench warmer for 
the Detroit Lions. What you need is a gladiator-type helmet from 
Gurnie Coffey, 2135 Guava Circle NW, Huntsville, Alabama. Made to 
look like something out of Ben Hur, these colorful headpieces come 

in four styles and three sizes, are safety approved and can be custom 
painted—all for only $125. The Hell's Angels never had it so good. 


SEA WORTHIES 


Old salts who never got around to making 
it down to the sea in ships but who 
would still like to deck out their dens in 
nautical curiosa will wish to check with a 
company called Maidhof Bros. (1429 
Garnet Avenue, San Diego, California). 
Maidhof specializes in handsome flotsam 
and jetsam gleaned from vessels around 
the world. Its latest catalog costs §3 and 
contains such items as ships’ wheels and 
brass plaques. It even smells like the sea. 


GIMME SHELTER 
Well, if brain surgeons and stamp collectors can have their newsletters, 
why shouldn't the heads-up businessman—who can legally avoid paying 
some taxes if he's smart enough—have his? For $125 a year, Tax Haven 
News (1280 Saw Mill River Road, Yonkers, New York) will turn you 
on to tax facts in abundance, everything from nondisclosure laws and 
investment trusts to holding companies and mutual funds in such 
balmy ports of call as Liberia, the New Hebrides, Hong Kong and the 
Bahamas, to name but a few. Tax shelters and tax avoidance, we hasten 
to add, are wholly legal, far removed from tax evasion. In fact, with a 
little practice in artful dodging, you should be paying yourself taxes. 
Death is still a sure thing, but taxes aren't quite so inevitable. 


CHEST HIGH 
Remember the singing 
telegram? Now comes the 
Shirtogram. It seems that a 
North Hollywood, California, 
company called Fawn Inc, at 
7396 Greenbush Avenue, is 
peddling for $7.95 a message 
of 15 words or less printed 
Western Union-style on a 
‘Tshirt (DEAR JOE: I'M HORNY. 
NINE O'CLOCK FRIDAY, MY 
PLACE? LOVE, SUE). Fawn 
promises not to censor your 
message, which it tries to 
have delivered on the date 
you choose. But there's 
no guarantee you won't 
be arrested on the street. 


CUTTING AN LP 
Besides living in a genuine 
Playboy Pad (PLAvsov, June 
1973), Robert C. Pritikin 
happens to be our top concert. 
sawist. Sawist? Uh-huh. 
Pritikin, who makes his old 
woodcutter sound like a 
coloratura soprano, gets back- 
ing from the San Francisco 
Symphony string section and 
the Edwin Hawkins Singers 
a5 he cuts his way through 
some easy-listening standards 
on an LP, There's a Song In- 
side Your Saw. For your copy, 
send $4.98 to Saw, 2151 Sac- 
ramento Street, San Francisco 
94109. It's sawmething else. 


WOODEN EXPRESSION 
Those of you with a high 
degree of vanity, a fat wallet 
and a gnawing desire to be 
immortalized in wood should 
check out a wood carver 
named Peter Engler of Moun- 
tain Woodcarving, Box 504, 
Branson, Missouri 65616. 
Engler specializes in carving 
six-foot-tall cigar-store 
Indians in one's very own 
likeness for around $2000, 
depending on the choice of 
wood. (Linden is the most 
popular.) If you want to 

be wearing a war bonnet or 
smoking a peace pipe, that's 
up to you. But since the carv- 
ing takes several months, 

it's best to act fast and put. 
in your reservation. Ugh! 


LEAD FREE 
A few years ago, the notion of bulletproofing the 
family car would have qualified you for a quick 
trip to the booby hatch. Today? Well, we all read 
the headlines. . . . So if that’s the type of auto 
erotica you're seeking, contact Tetradyne Cor- 
poration, a Texas firm at 1681 South Broadway, 
Carrolleton 75006, that specializes in custom 
bulletproofing. Prices vary from $3000 to $30,000, 
depending on the machine and on what you 
want to stop. (A Jeep Wagoneer with fiberglass 
armor, firing ports and bulletproof glass costs 
about $14,000.) You, of course, provide the car. 


TENNIS, ANYONE? PATE? COGNAC? 
Another wine and food tour? Ho hum, Vacation 
at a tennis camp? Yawn. A wine, food and tennis 
tour of France? Now you're talking. Wine Tours 
International (1035 Bell Lane, Napa, California) 
is serving up a three-week jaunt leaving Sep- 
tember eighth, with refueling stops at three-star 
restaurants and country inns near tennis courts 
for running off the days foie gras. Led by 
noted gourmet Claude Rouas, you'll volley 
through Beaujolais, Chablis and Champagne 
territory, ending up $2100 later in Paris at 
Maxim's and the Racing Club, where, oddly 
enough, they play tennis. Vive la différence! 


PLAYBOY 


186 


BORN ON THE FOURTH OFJULY (continued from page 182) 


around our heads and everybody was 
running all over the place. We started 
firing back with full automatics. I emp- 
tied a whole clip into the pagoda 
and the village I was yelling to the 
men. I kept telling them to hold their 
ground and keep firing. though no one 
Knew what we were firing at. I looked 
to my left flank and all the men were 
gone. They had all run away to the trees 
near the river, and I yelled and cursed 
at them to come back, but nobody came. 
I kept emptying everything I had into 
the village, blasting holes through the 
pagoda and ripping bullets into the tree 
line. There was someone to my right 
lying on the ground still firing. 


ler hit me. There 


lage when the first bu 
was a sound like firecrackers going off all 
around my fect. Th al oud crack 
nd my leg went numb below the knee. 
I looked down at my foot and there was 
blood at the back of it. The bullet had 
gone through the front and blown out 
nearly the whole of my heel. 

I had been shot. The war had finally 
caught up with my body. I felt good 
inside. Finally. the war was with me and 
T had been shot by the enemy. I was get- 
ting out of the war and I was going to 


be a hero. For a moment I felt like run- 
ning back to the rear with my new mil- 
lion-dollar wound, but I decided to keep 
fighting out in the open. I kept firing my 
rifle into the tree line and boldly, with my 
new wound, moved closer to the village, 
daring them to hit me again. A great 
surge of strength went through me as 
I yelled for the other men to come 
out from the trees and join me. I was 
limping now and the foot was begin- 
ning to hurt so much, 1 finally lay down 
most a kneeling position, still firing 
into the village. still unable to see any- 
one. I seemed 10 be the only one left 
firing a rifle. Someone came up from 
behind me, took off my boot and began 
to bandage my foot. The whole thing 
was incredibly stupid, we were sitting 
ducks, but he bandaged my foot and 
then he took off back into the tree line. 
For a few seconds it was silent. I lay 
down prone and waited for the next 
bullet to hit me. It was only a matter of 
time, I thought. I wasn't retreating. I 
wasn't going back, | was lying right 
there and blasting everything 1 had into 
the pagoda. The rifle was full of sand 
and it was jamming. I had to pull the 
bolt back now each time, trying to get 
a round into the chamber. It was im- 


"It doesn't matter how you 
feel. It's a matter of definition, and according 
to the latest, you're legally dead." 


possible and I started to get up and a 
loud crack went off next to my right 
car as a .30-caliber slug tore through 
my right shoulder, blasted through my 
lung and smashed my spinal cord to 
pieces, 

I fel that everything from my chest 
dow as completely gone. I waited to 
die. I threw my hand back and felt my 
legs still there. There was no fe ing in 
them, but they were still there. I was 
still e. And, for some reason, I start- 
ed believing I might not die, ] might 
make it out of there and live and feel 
and go back home again. I could hardly 
breathe and w ng short little sucks 
with the one lung I had left. The blood 


n in my foot a 


nymore, I couldn't 
even feel my body. 1 was frightened to 
death. 1 didn't think about praying, all 
I could [cel was cheated. 

All 1 could feel was the worthlessness 
of dying right there in that place at that 
moment for nothing. 


The back yard, that was the place to 
be, it was where all the plans for the 
future, the trips to Africa, the romances 
with young high school girls, it was 
where all those wonderful things took 
place. Remember the Hula Hoop?—every- 
one, including my mother, doing it— 
and my sister—yes, my sister—teaching 
me the twist in the basement. Then out 
on the basketball court, with all the 
young linedlooking girls watching. Then 
back on the [ence for a walk around the 
whole back ya 
me balancing ni? Can you 
sce me hidi a submarine, 
on a jet? Can you see me flying a kite, 
making a model, breaching a s 

It. was all sort of easy, it had all come 
and gone—the snowstorms, the street 
Jamps telling us there was no school at 
midnight, the couch, the heater with 
all of us rolled up beside it in the thick 
blankets, the dogs—it was lovely, Get- 
ting nailed at home plate, studying the 
cub-scout handbook, tying knots, playing 
ping-pong, reading National Geographic. 
Mickey Manile was my hero and Joan 
Marfe was the girl I liked best. It all 
ended with a bang and it was lovely. 

There was a song called Runaway by 
a guy named Del Shannon playing one 
Saturday at the Il field. I remem- 
ber it was a beautiful spring day 
we were young back then Y 
alive and the air smelled fresh. 
song was playing and I really got into 
t and was hitting baseballs and feeling 
like I could live forever. 


‘am? 


This 


It was all sort of easy. 
Tt had all come and gone. 


Areyou . 


still smoking? 


In the years since the criticism against smoking first appeared, many 
people have given up cigarettes. But many more people havent. 

And that’s who wed like to talk to. That even larger group of people who 
are still smoking today. 

If you're still a smoker, you've probably heard the charges leveled against 
‘tar’ and nicotine. You may have become concerned. And chances are you even 
tried to do something about it. Like trying several of those empty-tasting low 
‘tar and nicotine cigarettes. 

If you're like alot of other smokers, you probably went right back to your 
old brand, and concluded that a good-tasting low ‘tar and nicotine cigarette has 
never been invented. 

Well, if that’s the case, you havent tried 
Vantage. 

Vantage cuts down substantially on the'tar’ 
and nicotine you may have become concerned 
about. Without cutting out that satisfying tobacco 
flavor you've come to appreciate. 

Now Vantage isnt the lowest ‘tar and 
nicotine cigarette you can smoke. But (ms. VANTAGE 
it may well be thelowestyoullenjoy GMS 

To put it simply, Vantage still tastes 
like a cigarette. 

So, if you still smoke, but would 
like to cut down on ‘tar and nicotine, 
Vantage is one cigarette you should 
seriously consider. 


ELTER. 


1E 


HANS 
img. En. / 
Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined UL 
That Cigarette Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health. 
FILTER, MENTHOL: 11 mg."tar", 0.7 mg. nicotine, cv. per cigarette, FTC Report SEPT. 75. 


187 


PLAYBOY 


188 


itt ny att DR cain ira page 94) 


out and looked at the audience. 
was full of these straight, e E 
class women,” she said later. “I mean, it 
was really strange.” So she did the show 
and played to the three rows of hip- 
looking women down front, feminists 
y women, and she was more than 
» little pissed off. 

In a taxicab neari 
port, Lily came clean. 
“I just don't th 
straight interv 
The reporter tried to look crooked. 
“Well, if you could write the thing your- 
self, what would it be What's your 
fantasy of the ideal piece about you 

“There wouldn't be any,” 
swered and she expl 

ight about Lily 

My thi 


vant 
ak I can do another 


Lily an- 


thing. 
stage or on television. 1 


t I do on the 
everything writ- 
ten about me, I sound so self-indulgent.” 
They were at an imp: 
silence along a busy interstate. Then 
Lily suggested, “Why don’t we get really 
stoned and see what happens? 

They didn't get stoned; they got on a 
plane for Philadelphia. Lily made her 
last attempt at the boarding gate. “What 
are they paying you to write this? What 
if I gave you five hundred dollars more 
not to write it?" No dice. She gave up. 
They talked about the trip, the gruel- 
ing one-night stands, and it was the re- 
porter who complained about the hours 
d the bad food and the "devasr. 
ecology of traveling around Amer 
Lily said, "say that. Say that I 
said that.” 

And they were on their w: 
borne, Lily went to work. She nad a 
pile of newspapers, magazines and a book 
on her lap. She flipped open the book, 
The New Woman Is Survival Source- 
book, a catalog-cwm-essays about the fem- 
inist counterculture. Someone had just 
given it to her and Lily went mad, her 
yellow pen flashing il 
ines through wh 


se, careening in 


t interested 
she was done, a page looked 


a yellowslated Venetian blind. 
George was meditating in his seat across 
the aisle to show 
him the description of a women’s hotel 
in Harper, Kansas. She wanted to go 
there. George wanted to know if they 
let men in 


Lily picked up a newspaper and 
read 


a woman who had 
32 years and whose 
mother would sit at her bedside ev 
day. “Look at that.” she said. 
e just sitting th 
by the shoulders and scream at her 
shout and shake her." No indulgence. 
They were sitting in the nonsmoking 
section of the aircraft and the reporter 
had a nicotine fit, She confessed to Lily. 


story abou 
n a coma for 


Again. no indulgence. “You don't really 
need it,” Lily said and she described how 
she had stopped smoking through hyp- 
nosis. In fact, she often goes to a hypno- 
list. Three sessions for the smoking, 
several for alle . just before 
sheille. Al The 
reporter's up behind « 
withdrawal, What about Nashville? 

Lily liked it. “I liked Bob Alman 
when we started wor ad I liked 
him better when we were finished.” She 
talked about how she had shaped her 
character, a middleclass wile with two 
deal children who sings in a black Gos- 
pel choir (Lily and Richard Baskin wrote 
the songs for that) and has a bricf en- 


counter with a folk-rock singer. She 
studied sign language. She and Altman 


lot about whether the charac- 
l slept around, whether she had 
done that sort of thing before. They 
never really decided. She and Keith Car- 
radine, who played the folk singer, did 
a lot of preparation for their bed scene 
together. They tried 


ch other stories 
Y bed and at one point she 
recited a poem to him. Lily worried 
about it. She told Altman she wasn't sure 
the character would go through with it 
and Altman said OK, if that's what hap- 
pened when they came to it, then that's 
what happened. 

They were interrupted by the FASTEN 
YOUR SEAT BELTS sign and the landing. 
Lily tries to walk through airports or eat 
in restaurants or check into hotels in- 
conspicuously. She has a few wicks in 
this line, but they don’t work. She lowers 
1 a little, she seems to shrink, she 
turns her face away and gazes into shop- 
windows if she | 


jadelphia and was 
bench near the baggage-claim 
carrousel while George went for the lug- 
gage. Henny Youngman had come off an- 
other flight. They embraced. "Wherere 
you playing? Where do you go next? 
Youngman had his fiddle; they laughe 
He went off to the Hilton and she sat 
down on the bench again. 

“Hey, aren't you Lily Tomlin?” She 
looked up. They were two young women. 


don't you?” Lily said. 
"Well, yeah"—4they were smiling and 
wncomfortable—"but we wanted to ask 


you something and we didn't know what 
av 
Vell, um"—Lily understands 
nes of not knowing what to s 
um, why don't you ask me for a dollar?” 
The women laughed and Lily slipped 
her hand imo the pocket of he cker. 
Her fingers wiggled in search of a dolla 
but when the hand ne out, il 


this 


was 
and 
dful of vi There 
were glassy Es and chalky calciums and 
big Cs lying in her palm and a benevo- 
lent grin on h ace. She doled them 
out. “A little white one for you. A little 
yellow one for you.” 

George signaled that he had the bags, 
but a young boy was passing by and 
joined the people standing around Lily. 
She gave him a C. People had begun to 
notice. It looked for a moment as though 
she would become Our Lady of the Vita- 
mins, as though children would come 
nd lie at her feet with upturned palms. 
George rescued her. He took Lily by the 
arm and led her out the airport door as 
she stuffed the remaining pills back into 
her pocket. 


dosed in a fist. She unclenched it 


revealed a hi 


Everybody has a theory. 
the Academy of Musi 
the local producer 


Backstage at 
in Philadelphia, 
atched the house 


fill. Lily's a big draw. If only he had 
gotten her to do a run 1 house, 
ights. ... Lily was inside the 


d. "You know 
She's the voice 


testing the sou 
what she is?” he said. 
of the audi 


person. OK. 
Sororit 

"Hello. My name is Edith Ann and 
I'm five years old. 

“Lines, lines go away, go and visit 
Doris Day.” That was Lupe, the World's 
Oldest Living Beauty Expert. 

Lily was unhappy with the quality of 
the sound. From the stage, she said to 


Andy Diraddo, her sound man, "No. It 
doesn't sound right. It necds more 
presence.” 

“Presence?” said Andy, decp in the 
darkened theater. “Do you mean vol- 


ume 
1 don't know. Presence.” 

Andy raised the volume. 

“The girls I knew in high school 
thought they ovulated Chiclets. 
Every time I see a viero sign on the high- 
way, I feel sexually threatened. . . .” 

It wasn't volume. Andy added some 
bass to the sound, then took it away. 
They got some of the voices to sound 
right but not all. Lily did Lucille, the 
Rubber Freak. Not enough presence. 
Andy added more bass for that one. 

The producer is wrong. She is 
the voice of the audience. She is 
one voice but many. Remember 
moments in The Exorcist when 


not 
not 
the 
the 


- you can come out of the closet now!” 


“Times have changed, Grandpa. . 


189 


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120 156 188 959 180 128 160 

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deep-throated male voice of the Devil 
suddenly speaks out of the mouth of the 
sweet little girl? There are times a 
Tomlin that get just as spook 
watching her run through her voices 
alone in a dark theater. Like out there 
trucking around in the world whe 
voice suddenly changes and the face with 
it. She will become Edith Ann or Erne: 
tine, slipping in and out so fast you lose 
your existential balance just watching. 
Where's Lily? Oh, there she is. Lost her 
lor a second. She knows it. About her 
gallery of characters, she says, “A psychic 
told me they're possessions. They pos- 
sess my body. I have nothing to do with 
it. Do you think Ernestine is not a 
eal person? Do you think my characters 
m't real? They're out there some- 
where. I just imitate them.” 


PLAYBOY 


Ah got good news for you tanight. 
Right up here on this stage—do ya feel 
i2—1 tell ya, } receive so many cards and 
letiers recently, they all start off |she. 
pulls her breath in] “Sister Boogie Wom- 
an, 1 don't know how to tell ya how ma 
life has changed since 1 invited boogie 
into ma heart.” .. . You say to me, Just 
what, Sister Boogie Woman, is boogie? 
How do 1 know if 1 got it? If 1 don’t 
gol it, how can 1 get il? Well, I'm gonna 
tell ya, friends and neighbors. - 

The voice is just rolling along. The 
body out of which the voice comes rolls 
along. too, sh and rollin’ and bounc- 
in’ around, picking up speed as it goes 
ou. She's the Bible Belt come to life, the 
arms failing, 


her pitch building. 


not a mcanin', 


boogics a 
feelin’. . . . Boogie takes the question 
marks outa yer eyes, puts little exclama- 
tion marks in they place. Ave ya on my 
beam? . . . Boogie’s when the rest of the 
world is lookin" you straight in the eye 
sayin’ you'll never be able ta make it 
and ya got your teeth in a jar and those 
teeth say, Yes I can, yes 1 can. [She 
wheezes and huffs.] Yes [She's a 
locomotive.) 1 say think of yourself as 
a potato chip and life as a dip. I say 
think of yourself as a chicken leg and 
life as Shake 'n Bake. Let me hear you 
say 4 got boogie. Oh, that’s pitiful. [She 
scowls ai ihe audience.] There's a whole 
bunch of dried-up peach pits in this audi- 
torium. When ah say boogie, ah mean 
abandon [wheeze], | mean sensation 
[wheeze]. Lemme hear ya say I got boogie- 
[Whoo, whoo, she says, squawking und 
flapping her arms] Oh, ulvoh, that 
hoogie’s takin’ over mah body. C'mon, 
dig down deep. 1 got boogie! {The audi- 
ence is screaming now vight along with 
her] Ooh, what a lark, what a lark, and 
ah thank ya! 


I can 


Another good show. The sound and 
192 video worked and Lily was really on, 


reaching out and touching the audience, 
playing with them. Three young guys 
leaned out of their first-tier box, calling, 
"Lily. Lily, up here, Lily, we love you. 

“Shut up, you dopers,” she said. Then 
laughed. “In the Fifties, nobody was gay. 
Only shy." The ncc roared and 
cheered. “Not anymore, huh?” said Lily. 
Then she was telling about how she 
hitchhiked from Detroit to Chicago in 
the snow in ballet slippers. 

“Is that all?” said a male voice in the 
front row. Lily stopped and looked at 
him. She got a really dopey, cockcyed 
look on her face and she spread her 
legs wide and very slowly, with the 
thumb and forefinger of her right hand, 
she made like she was jerking off a cock. 
good show. 

Next day, Lily and George rushed into 
all plantfilled restaurant for a fast 
lunch. The Chicago flight was leaving in 
an hour. A radio was playing, a man's 
voice urging women to wear pink and 
cook their husbands’ favorite meals that 
ay in opposition to a call for a women’s 
suike. It was Alice Doesn't Day. Lily 
sneered at the radio voice. Then Phoebe 
Snow came on the air. 

t, Phoebs 

Lily was off balance a little, Reviews 
were catching up with her, mailed in 
from the cities she had played, and they 
were almost entirely raves. The “almost 
threw her off. Someone in Miami wrote 
that her show was “cynical” and there 
was a negative notice in the New York 
Daily News. 

“They want to get you. Those guys 
shouldn't be allowed to get away with 
that.” Lily wanted to go punch the Daily 
News guy in the mouth. She crammed an 
omelet down her throat and sipped a 
bloody mary. “1 mean, you can’t fault 
my material, right? Cynical? It’s all com- 
passionate. I love the characters I do. I 
don't understand these people. You know 

dio show I did this morning? The 
guy said—why'd he have to say this?—he 
said, ‘I thought you were great, but I've 
he 


rd people say they didn’t think you 


w 


very good in Nashville. 
George looked at his watch 
We're late” The cab waited. Wait- 
resses were flustered. George paid the 
check. They dashed into the cab, sped 
d made it on time. Lily stopped 
r the gate to phone ahead, do some 
ties she was going 


ad cut i 


awa 


quick interviews in 
to. They took oll. 


Lily's brain whizzed with things she 
ited to work on. On her lap, she had 
the resolutions of the just-finished NOW 
convention. She wants to do a bit on 

ape, but she hasn't got it yet. And wile 
ting, too. Wife beating? She looked 
for an association in her past. "Here's 


Ww 


part of it," she said suddenly. 

bor in Detroit used to beat hi 
In Detroit? 
Oh, yes, she gr 


wife." 


grew up in Detroit, was 
the best white cheerleader Detroit ever 
saw, but the family’s from Kentucky. Just 
s an aside, she said. her name isn’t really 
Lily. Its Mary Jean. (Sometimes, in her 


, you 


became Lily when she was m: 
rounds in New York in the Sixties look- 
ing for work and she heard that someone 


English couple. She went to the audit 
with her brother, Richard, and decided 
that Mary 
Her mother's name is Lily. She admired 
Beatrice Lillie. She switched and kept the 
though they didn't get the parts. 
Back to the wife beater. “He was the 
d of man who used to watch Strike It 
Rich on television with my father and 
he'd sit there crying.” When Lily was a 
kid, he brought the family food from his 
back yard and once there were scallions, 
which Mary Jean found out had been 
grown with chicken fertilizer, so she re 
fused to eat them. Twenty years later, 
that far away and a star called Lily 
Tomlin by then, she visited the old 
neighborhood and saw the wife beater. 
“He sort of didn't know what to say to 
me. So you know what he said? ‘Hey, 
Lily, you want some of those scallions 
with chickenshit on them?’ Alter twenty 
years! One thing he said"—Lily stopped 
for a minute to be sure she had it right— 
“he used to say to his wife, ‘I don't 
know what you're complaining about, you 
always had just as good a clothes as 
anybody.’ ” 


‘There was a night off in Chicago. 

“Do you want to be hidden until the 
show starts?” 

Lily looked at the theater ma 
comprehendingly, wide-eyed and bl 
ing. What did he have in mind, a tunnel? 
A veil? She turned to George, who 
Uh, well, OK." The ma 
ybody backstage to hide out. 
Lily didn't like it. The actors, 
go on, were tense, but they gave her their 
attention. Barbara Rush kissed her and 
they talked, An ingénue looked as though 
she were about to ask Lily for an auto- 
graph. Excitement spread backstage: 
Tomlin is here! 

In the darkened theater, she slid into 
her seat way in the back and the play 
began. It was a Noel Coward play and 
Barbara Rush nd, but Noel 
Coward couldn't hold her interest. Near 
the lighted stage. she saw a row of middle 
aged matrons. nine of them looking alik 
none batting an eye throughout the p 
Lily watched them and nudged George. 
She smiled. There was something more 


is her fr 


amusing about the row of ladies than 
what was on the stage. 

It was like the time she saw a welfare 
mother on television in New York and 
“I just had to do her. I mean, she was 
so rightcous—in a street sense, you 
know—I had to do her. She was saying, 
“My people built this motherfucking 
country." " Like just a few nights before 
Chicago, Lily happened to turn on the 
television her hotd room and 
there Miss Teena America 

ageant on and one of the girls was say- 
ing, as Lily retold it, “I believe in equal 
work for equal pay, but I like-A boy to 
open-A door and I like-A boy to buy 
me dinner" and ever since then, Lily 
was saying that line, flipping her head 
from side to side, working it up. 

The theater lights went up for inter- 
mission and the manager returned, ask 
ing if she would like to wait backstage. 
"No. That feels weird. I don't like to 
interrupt the actors’ concentration. dur- 
ing a show.” At the theater bar, she drank 
a bloody mary and said she didn't like 
the play. "E just don’t understand why 
anybody would want to do an old play.” 
She had done some old plays herself, she 
said: "In Detroit coffeehouses, I did 
Pinter and Beckett, because you needed 
only one serious committed actor who 
was willing to work.” 

Gcorge asked Lily if she would be 
home for Thanksgiving. She smiled. She 
was thinking about home, which is in 


set in 


was the 


Los Angeles, where there is a bedroom 
with a ceiling painted with clouds, a 
brightblue Magritte kind of sky and a 
classic mid-Fifties Dodge sitting in the 
driveway and the oversize rocking chair 
Edith Ann uses locked up in the garage. 
Thanksgiving with people Lily loves 
and works with, the most important of 
whom are Jane and brother Richard. 

Jane is Jane Wagner, probably the 
most important person in her life. Jane 
coproduces Lily's shows and writes 
awful lot of the material. Jane is in 
California and when Lily goes through 
her reviews in the cities she plays, she 
cuts them out and sends them back to 
Jane. 

At the end of the play, Barbara Rush 
announced, “Ladies and nilemen, we 
have someone very special in the a 
Unobtrusively, Lily 
dropped her small handbag to the floor 
and, 
smiled. acknowledged all the turned 
heads and flapping hands. The li 
went up. Lily went backstage again : 
smiled at everybody, said nice, supportive 
showbiz things, and then Barbara Rush 
asked if she wanted t0 go to a dinner 
with Danny Kaye. Lily and George con- 
ferred. Lily was not sure. 

“What do you think itll be like 
mean, if it's real showbiz and uptight. . 
I don't want to go if I can't misbehave.” 

George thought there might be good 


dicnce tonight.” 


as the applause rose, she stood, 


food. After all, K: is known as a 
fantastic cook and there had been some- 
thing said about Chinese food. OK. She'd 
go. 

There was no Kaye after all and it 
was not a home-cooked meal but a group 
of people in a Chinese restaurant sitting 
at à large round table. Kaye, exhausted 
by his tour on behalf of UNICEF, had 
retired. Around thc cloth 
covered with stains and remains of a 
large meal, sat Irv Kupcinet of Kup's 
Show, Chicago's showbiz power broker: 
a prosperouslooking gynecologist in a 
three piece suit; the gynecologist’s wife: 
Essce Kupcinet. George slid in first, then 
Barbara Rush, then the reporter, then 
Lily. The waiters began to serve. 

The doctor was telling how hc had 
checked Kaye into a hotel earlier that 
evening. He had done the checking in 
so the hotel wouldn't know Kaye was 
there, but then he'd forgotten to take 
the room key with him. “Well,” he said 
to the new arrivals, “I offered to send 
my wife to get it and Kaye said, “OK 
But be sure to send her up to the room 
with it, too.” Har-h The doc shook 
with laughter, but Lily did not. She 
screwed up her face as though she had 
smelled something awful. Har-har. 

“Well, tell us," Kup said, “about Nash- 
ville. I loved it. What was it like work 
ing with Altman? 

Lily knew how to handle that sort of 
thing. She said she had liked Altman to 


table, its 


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PLAYBOY 


194 


begin with and had liked him better 
afterward. 

“He really works spontaneously, 
doesn’t he? Makes snap decisions, goes 
with his instincts? 

“Yup.” said Lily. “Those kids who 
played my deaf children, he hired them 
right there on the spot. They were the 
first ones who auditioned.” 

“I thought you were very movin 
Esee said. “Ies your first film, but 
isn't really your first acting job, is it? 
You're really always acting in what you 
do, 


h,” said Lily, over her soup, "in- 
ig right now." 
ht there, soupspoon in hand, Lily 
ded out and Ernestine faded in. “A 
gracious hello. (Snort, snort) This is In- 
and Repair Service, Miss Tom- 
ing clearly into her mouth 
Who's calling, please? (Pause) Thah-the 
A.M.A.? What's that stand for, Anna 
Alberghetti? (Humph) Oh, don't 
get so uptight. It’s just a little joke. 
Not unlike Medi x 

JE the doc got it, he didn't show it. 
His wife stepped in and tried to tell 
Lily about a women’s conference she had 
gone to. Her husband stopped her. “Oh, 
those hc said, "they get to- 
gether and they can't figure out what 
they want to talk about, so they start 
complaining about birth-control pills. 

Lily downed four cups of tea in a 
row. George squirmed in his chair and 
Barbara Rush said. "Well . . ." Kup 
flicked the heavy ash from his cigar from 
time to time. It boiled down to a mano- 
amano between Lily and the three 
piece suit. 

"Did you 
asked. 


women. 


ever hear this one?" he 


"There was a young fellow named. 
Skinner 
Who asked a young lady to dinner. 
By a quarter to nine 
They had opened the wine; 
By a quarter to ten it was in her.” 


Lily countered: 


There 
Paul 
Who went to the fancy dress ball. 
He said, “I will risk it, 
I'll go as a biscuit? 
But a dog ate him up in the hall.” 


as a young man from St. 


The doc was obsessed with the women’s 
conference, which he had not attended. 
“Those women, you know. They were 
complaining about having to shave their 
legs! Imagine! Who says they have to 
shave their legs? I don't give a rat's ass 
if they shave their legs.” 

“Well,” said Lily in her own voice, 
“when the group you depend on for 


Yeah, most women are dependent on 


men for survival. So you incorporate 
the values of the ruling class.” She pushed 
her plate away. "You know, you pick 
up the dominant male ethics and values 
ia^ 

"Well. 


he said, ike black families. 
run by women. Thats a ma- 
l society. I was in Mexico last 
year and that’s matriarchal. Look at the 
mess. Look at the way those people 
live... mud huts. . . . Everyone was 
f when it was a patriarchal 
ty... things were run better." 

Well, what about these women who 
are heads of state?” Barb; Rush asked, 
but so quietly that no one heard her. 

“Whats important about black 
people's lives,” said Lily, "is who co 
trols them. Black women don’ 52 

“What about some tea over here?” 
Kup called to a w 
nuol them. It's white people— 
mostly white men—who control black 
pcople's lives.” 

“What about women who don't want 
to be erated?” Essee, who seemed to 
be enjoying the conversation, put in 
that she had just read an interview with 
Larry Collins’ wife. “She said she really 
band having the carcer 
she staying at home—” 

“What about this pork dish?” said a 
waiter. 


much better ol 


soci 


liked her hus 


What about,” continued the doc 
“these men who leave home at seven 
in the morning and work hard all day 


while their wives have an 
time, their kids don't. 


y life? Mean- 
now who their 


father is and they have no idea what he 
docs all 
“My father used to work in a factory 


and he'd bring home brass parts that 
he'd made to show me,” Lily said quiet- 
ly. Then she revved up But 
what if that guy decides not to come 
home one day? What if he just doesn't 
get on that train and the woman has to 
support herself and maybe the kids, too?” 

No one was converted, The melee died 
down. Lily did Miss Teenage America— 
"E like-A boy to buy me dinner"—and 
the doc paid the check. On the way out, 
Lily said to Kup, "How do vou manage 
1 this controversy just by 
being here? You did. e this, didn't 
you?" Kup smiled a warm and knowing 
smile. 

Next day was Halloween. Lily w: 
cooking something up. She and George 
slipped out of the hotel midafternoon 
and cime back laden with peculiar ob- 
jects. They had a long black cape with 
redssilk lining, a high pointed black hat, 
a wig, a frumpy black dress strange 
shoes, elbow-length gloves and a broom. 

Lily appeared in the hotel lobby at 
five, dressed as Edith Ann in a witch 
costume, black cape and pointed hat. 
Her video man, Ed Brandey, took the 


video camera and they dimbed into the 
record company's limousine. Lily told 
the driver to go out into the suburbs (they 
were heading toward a school she had 
found out about where some kids. were 
having a costume party) and, as the car 
made its way through rush-hour trafic, 
she made up what she was going to do. 
"OK. We'll get Edith going into a 
building. OK? She'll go up the stairs 
and you shoot her going up, then she'll 
knock at a door and do trick or tea 
Ed nodded and checked the batteries in 
his camera. Lily had something in mind 
for later, something to be used in the 
show that night. She made some notes. 
"How am I going to work this?" she said. 
She stared out the window. Watching 
Lily Tomlin thinking something up is 
like watching Charlie Parker get down 
with his musi 
"OK, what will you get if you shoot 
out the window? 
"Not much." 
“Well, can you just get some establish- 
ing shots of the neighborhood, so we 
see it’s really a neighborhood?” 
Tl wy.” 
nd we get Edith in the ne 


ic. 


‘Then we do Emestine when we get back 


ghborhood. 


to the hotel. How many decks do we have 
ĉan we cut from Edith to 
e and then- ^ 

lost Ed. Lily was explaining, re- 

. working it out again when the 
car drove up to the school. 
Go ahead," Lily said to the reporter. 
ou do it. You're a good hustler.” It 
t take much. Inside the building, a 
young teacher was taking tickets. The 
first floor was full of children in costume. 
The reporter said, "Excuse me, do you 
know who Lily Fomlin is?” 

“Lily Tomlin?” The teacher's voice 
squeaked; her eyebrows went up near 
her hairline and her mouth dropped 
open. 

“Well, Lily Tomlin would like to- 

The teacher rushed off to alert anyone 
she could find. “Lily Tomlin! Oh, my 
God. Lily Tomlin!” 

Ed went in first with the camera. Lily 
stayed outside, fixing her make-up, and 
then she stuck her makeup case into a 
niche in the wall. She entered squatting, 
Edith Ann all done up as a witch, the 
cape trailing a foot behind her. She 
waddled up to the table, where the 
teacher was trying to keep a straight 
face. Two boys ran by, squirting each 
other with shaving-cream cans. Most of 
the kids paid no attention to Edith and 
ran down the corridor into a bi, 
room draped in crepe paper and bal- 
loons. Lily looked a litle like José 
Ferrer playing Lautrec as she went 
the hallway. Some older kids 
t on. She was standing next to a 


down 


cau 


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195 


PLAYBOY 


196 


ear- 


four-yearold ballerina and a thre 
old Superman when they s 
up to her. 


rted coming 


h Ann?" 
“Hey, I saw you on telev 
She grinned. 

‘C'mon, you're not Lily Tom 


re you Lillian Tomlin? 
girl had butterflies painted on her face. 
Lily nodded. 

I love you.” That was a 
boy dressed in Lederhosen and 
lean hat. 

Ir was 20 to seven. Lily had to go. A 
stream of openmouthed kids followed 
her outside, where she discovered that 
the make-up case had been stolen, “Oh, 
shit. Well, FI just have to get some 
more.” She got imo the car and told 
er to stop in front of Walgreen's 
store. Without the peaked hat, but 
wearing her flashing cape, Lily 
walked up to the make-up counter. "Let's 
see. There's a kind of lipstick I like, but 
I cannot remember who makes it. Um, 
Ill have some of this. Don't you have 


ny eye liner? Um, OK. $ 
have brushes. It's 
wearing false eyelashes onstage 

A young woman sidled up 10 
reporter. “Is she who I think she is 

Yes. 

“Here? Lily Tomlin’s here? 

The reporter shrugged and lent Lily 
$22 for the make-up. Inside the car, E 
reran what he had shot. They sped 


. they don't 
good thing I stopped 


the 


s Lily rode up to her suite. I 
the living room, her new wig sat on 
its stand, the front hair set in pin curls 
nd stuck with bobby pins. 
calm. The reporter left her but was 
back ten minutes later, knocking at the 
dooi 

"Come in.” 

It was a strange voice, a voice snort 
ing and dripping with mucus and orig- 
inating high in someone's adenoids. The 
voice came from the bedroom, which was 
to the left of where the reporter stood. 
The sitting room was dark and the re 
porter eagerly turned to the left, feeling 
cold chill somewhere, and walked 


"I'm too proud to go on welfare, that's why." 


through another dark room toward the 
open door of the second bedroom and 
the shaft of light. 

Ernestine stood in front of a bureau 
looking at the mirror on the wall, fuss 
h her hat and veil. 

"Oh, God, I don't know. How docs 


estine pulled the veil down over 
her eyes, raising it slightly at the forehead, 
where it waved over a Rita Hayworth 
hairdo. She tugged at her elbow-length, 
glittery gloves, The reporters palms 
sweated profusely. Ernestine kept talking. 

“De you think it looks O od, no. 
these earrings are (snort, wheeze) too 
classy. No. Vil have to wear the other 
ones... 

Ernestine’s black dress came mid-calf 
and she wore pumps. Suddenly, she 
rolled her eyes and scowled, “I can't let 
you see me like this. Oh, God! You're 
writing about m. 

The reporter laughed, a litle choked 
and feeling something not unlike fear. 
She knew that Ernestine, in real lile, was 
a terrible prankster, that she had done 
things like g people in L.A. in the 
middle of the night, people whose n; 
she had picked indom from 
phone book, d she had told th 
people that their telephone numbers had. 
been changed. In the middle of the 
night. And those people had believed 
her, and then she had said that she did 
not know the new numbers, that that 
was information belonging to another 
department. Ernestine had learned that 
there was no telling how easily people 
buckled under authority. No telling wha 
Ernestine might do, either. Right then, 
Emestine shared a problem with the 
reporter. 

“OK, lets figure out what I'm going 
to do. 1 go downstairs and walk through 
the ball and Ed shoots it, right? Then I 
go through the lobby and I get in the 
car, which is right outside, and we drive 
to the theater. Ed can get me coming 
out of the car. Then what 
Hallow 


mes 
the 


There was a 
on in the main ballroom of the hotel. 
Leaning close to the mirror, she applied 
one of the lipsticks just bought at Wal- 
green's, squinted and said, “Maybe some- 
one at the theater could say. ‘You 
can't come in here, its the Lily 
Tomlin show." Ernestine stopped to 

hen I can say, "But 1 am Lily 


reponer envisioned a dashing 
gesture like the one Clark Kent makes 


“I think so,” 


said Ernestine. "Don't 


No. I'm not sure. 
“Ob, maybe Ernestine isn't Lily.” She 
got a gleam in her eye. “Maybe Ernes- 
tine hates Lily Tomlin. OK. So I could 
drive up to the theater and I could 
say. ... Hey, wait a minute. If there's a 
poster outside the theater, I could just 
go up to it and draw a mustache on it. 
Let's sce. Do E have an cycbrow pencil?" 
Ernestine rummaged among all the make- 
up spread on the dresser. “Wait! Go call 
George and ask him if there's a poster 
out front.” 

The reporter obliged. George said 
there was. He also said, "What's she 
going to do now?” The reporter didn't 
know. Neither did Ernestine. She whip- 
ped through the hotel suite, tottering 
around in her funky black pumps and 
thinking out loud. “No, maybe I could 
set fire to the poster. Do you have any 
matches?” The reporter handed some over 
and Ernestine dropped them into the 
velvet handbag hanging from her wrist. 

Ernestine was thinking hard as she 
rode down in the elevator, emerging on 
the main floor. No one turned to look at 
her. The people who notice Lily Tomlin 
wherever she goes just passed Ernestine 
by. She might as well have been a reveler 
on her way to the ball, like everyone else 
the lobby. Someone in a silver-lameé eve- 
g gown and bouffant platinum wig 
whisked by. Someone else had on flashing 
red satin. Ed had the camera going as 
Ernestine made her way through the lobby. 
She passed and paused to admire a very 
frail person dressed as a candelabra. He 
wore a tight clectric-blue one-piece bath- 
ing suit and suspended from his shoul- 
ders were thin silver bars, jutting straight 
out and then up, topped by bright-blue 
idles. As he walked, four hangers-on 
dressed in ordinary street clothes ad- 
justed the contraption to keep it straight. 

Ed, still shooting, backed away and 
into the street as Ernestine walked 
toward him. The limousine waited at the 
curb, its door open, the uniformed chauf- 
feur standing at attention. Before her 
lay the city of Chicago, the restless crowd 
outside the Auditorium Theater, nine 
more one-night shows, California, tcle- 
vision, films, friends, lovers. .. . 

This is Lily Tomlin's prime. She has 
said herself that she just might be pea 
ing. She is on several edges at once: the 
edge between underground heroine and 
the big, big time, the edge between living 
in the real world and living feverishly 
in her own imagination. 

Ernestine got into the car, The Tomlin 
show would start late and then there 
would be a party back at the hotel and 
then an early flight to Des Moines. 
George stood on the sidewalk, watching 
the car pull away. “One of these days 
id, “she’s going to keep on going 
and never come back." 


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PLAYBOY 


198 


a feast of snakes 
(continued from page 140) 
icebox and they all sat in the little living 
room looking out through the picture 
window onto the campground. The 
babies lay in their playpen, where their 


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fusing to suck 
Lon pulled at hi: nd then 
something to Hard Candy that'd been 
on his mind ever since they decided to 
come back to his place and eat snake. 
"Why don't you call you house and 
tell that sister of yorn to come cat 
snake” Joe Lon was unable to make 
himself say the boy's name. “Tell ‘er to 
bring him she brought from school, too, 
she fecls like it. We got enough. snake 
lor everybody." 
Hard Candy got up and called her 
sister. Directly, she was back. “Berenice 
said she'd be sliding in here in a sec but 
not to wait the snak 
They all sat now without talking, 
sipping easy on the beer, a little stunned 
with alcohol and exhausted with dancing. 
Behind them through the window, smoke 
layering in the windless afternoon 
bove the open 
g up now among the pickup 
trucks and trailers and campers and 
tents. Men, women and children wan- 
dered through the barren clay field in the 
g November light with the 
full of sn 
pet snakes of on 
the hunt. Mostly they were constrictors 
and black snakes and water snakes. The 
hunters spent hours passing them from 
hand to hand, comparing them, describ- 


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names. 
Joe Lon had just come back from 


th more beer when Berenice 
d beside his 
aly. She had 
and she came 
g her brilliant 


the icebox w 
came sliding into the y: 
H 


pickup in her Aus 
two batons with her 
through the door, tum 
smile on all of them 
Shep had stayed to talk with her d 
because he was seriously considering be- 
coming a brain surgeon. 

“Besides,” she s little breathless, 
. “the notion of a snake- 
ipper just made 'm want to throw 
hep's got delicate dige wi 
she talked, the batons shipped through 
her long, slender hands in slow revolu- 


Duffy 
‘That's Miss 
from Gainesv 
blindi 
Georgi 


me's Duffy Deeter. 
both 

” He gave her his own 
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“Why, that’s the University of Florida, 
isn't it" said Berenice, whose finegrit 
voice education had turned to Cream of 
Wheat. 

“Tm 


n philosophy and theater arts 


ews 


ected with 


said Susan. “Duffy's not conr 
the university. He's a Lawyer. 

“Oh, I do wish Shep had come. He's 
so interested in philosophy and theater 
arts and law, A mind like a sponge, 
just like a big old sponge.” Susan and 
Dufly and Berenice beamed one upon 
the other. Joe Lon and Willard and 
Hard Candy sat bored and unsmiling 
along one wall. 

Elfy came out of the kitchen wiping 
flour on her pretty apron. “We can eat 
any——" Elfy stopped and looked at 
Berenice. “Any time we want to we can 
e smile fad- 
ing on her mouth. “Hi, Berenice. I didn't 
know you was here, 

Berenice highstepped across the li- 
noleum rug and hugged Elfy 
ust got here, 
through the door this minute. How you 
been, honey?” And without waiting for 
an answer: “You looking good. You look- 
ing one hundred percent.” She turned 
and pointed to the iwo babies lying 
now curled in cxhausted sleep in their 
playpen in the middle of the room. 
“You got two handsome little m 
babies, honey. I was just looking 
thinking how handsome them 
darlings were.” 

Elfy blushed. “Thank you. Me and 
Joe Lon . .. Joe Lon and me, why, we 
think that... think that, too." 

“You want a drink?” said Joe Lon. 

Berenice shifted her beatdown mag- 
nificent haunches and turned to look 
at him. “A lite light something might 
be nice before we eat,” she said. 

“Oh, Fl get it" said Elfy quickly. 
"Let me get 

"Let me help you,” said Berenice. 

“No, I can. . . ." But the two of them 
were gone through the door together 
before she could finish. 

When they were gone, Willard said: 
“She to bubble a bottle like a 
goddamn sawmill nigger. Now she wants 
a little light something. Jesus!” 

“I got a little light something I'm 
gone give her right here this afternoon,” 
d Joe Lon. 

“she needs to be opened up some so 
she cam breathe," said Hard Candy, 
"that of mine does.” 

Willard said: "You gone stick 'er right 
here in the wailer with the babies and 
the old lady and everthing?” Laughter 


nd 
Jiwe 


used 


rolled in his heavy throat. 
“Shut up, Willard,” said Joe Lon 

bitterly, “It ain't nothing funny here.” 
"Don't tell me to shut up,” said W 


lard Miller. "I'll come over there and 
let you smell you daddy's fist." 

They sat glaring at each other, but 
Joe Lon was bored with the litle game. 
Seemed it was one game after another. 

"Run that by me again,” said Duff 

“Them two used to be a case hae in 


Lebeau County,” said Willard evenly 


“Allin all, then, I think we're agreed. We 
leave liquor alone and go for tea. After all, who's going 
to object toa few pennies’ taxation on tea?" 


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without ever taking his eyes off Joe 
Lon. “They used to be a case when Joe 
Lon here was Boss Sna 
he's a finclooking gil,” said Duffy 


“The world's full of finelooking girls,” 
Joe Lon said sourly. 

"It ain't full of. Berenices," said Wil- 
lard. "Was, she couldn't strike a lick 
on you like she does." 

"Then it must be my turn." said Joe 
Lon. "Git everbody out of the trailer 
after we eat them snakes.” 

How the hell I'm s'posed do tha 
1 Willard. 

‘ou'll think of somcethii 
Lon. * 
goddamn job to think of something. 

But he di 
not the one. It was Susan Gender 
at the suggestion of Duffy Decter who 
thought of something. After they had eaten 
the snakes and Duffy Decter had found 
out that the next night there was going to 
be a dogfight—champion dogs on which 
ey could be bet—after all of that, 
g which time Berenice had talked 
excitedly and in detail about her tip 
to Europe to study French the previous 
summer and Joe Lon had sat listening, 
choking on both snake and the thought 
that he had spent his time and life 
carrying whiskey and watching 
teeth fall out, they were once 
cramped into the little living room 
when Susan Gender said, “Hard 
let's go outside and have us a iw 
Settle this snake down some. You feel 
up 10 a twirloffz" 


1 Joc 


You Boss Rattler now, It’s you 


dy. "I 
do." 

"You're up against a good one 
Berenice. “My sister is a good one 
crossed her strong baton-twirling thighs 
and Duffy Deeter felt his stomach. shift 
behind his belt. They were oni 
for Elfy to finish spooning the 
Gerber's into the older baby 


m Twirling Institute for two sum- 
s. Two summers cach, both of us.” 
Jesus,” Duffy said. “Reall 
liking the marvelously 
Dixie National Baton 
he loved the excited, enthusiastic way 
Berenice had heen babbling ever since 
she got there, as though she might have 
heen eating speed of some sort. 

“Right,” she said. “It's on the campus 
of Ole Miss. Held every summer.” 

Dynamite," said Duffy. 

She talked on, a litle br 
waving her hands, hi 
and again to check 
the baby lood. 

"When we were there, the director of 
the institute was Don Sartell. He's known 
as Mr. Baton, you kno 

"p didn't know that,” said Dulfy 
Decter. He was wishing he and Joe Lon 
could double-team her liule ass and 


hlessly, 
eyes turning now 
ly's progress with 


thereby force her to give up all her 
secrets. 

“Im done," said Flfy, turning her 
mile on them. “This young'un 

another bite. 

“Let's get to that uwirloff,” said Dufly. 
He looked at Elfy. “Want to take the 
playpen outside for the babies? 

“Oh, they'll sleep now they full," she 
said. "We can leave m right where they 
are. 

They let Elfy pass first through the 
door, followed by Willard, Susan Gender, 
Hard Candy and finally Duffy, who cast 
one lingering look over his shoulder 
toward Berenice just passing in front of 
Joe Lon. Joe Lon's face was gray and 
light. He looked a little out of control. 
Dufly closed the door. 

As the door closed, Joe Lon took her 
arm and spun her to face him. “Don't!” 
she said. "God, we can't, not here.” 

“Oh, Im I don't know 
what you think you doing, reminding . . . 
reminding me. 

She wasn't listening y. She'd al- 
ready broken one of her nails tearing at 
his belt. He took her by the wrist and 
led her down the short narrow hallway 

a little room and threw her onto thc 


naked and take a four-point 
he said. His teeth were damped 
ht his jaws hurt. 
Ihe bed was right next to a wall and 
she braced herself firmly 
dow led He struck her from behind 
like she'd been a tackling dummy. 

youll make me hollei Berenice 


inst the win. 


Holler. then,” said Joe Lon Mackey. 
You know how I always holler,” she 
said quickly. And then: “Oh, Jesus, 
honey, honey, honey, Jesus.” 

“Is that what you gone holler 
demanded. "Is that, goddamn 
you 
honey 

She could no longer talk He had 
driven her close against the window. 
The blinds were drawn, but around the 
edge, through a hall inch of warped glass, 
he could sce Hard Candy and Susan 
where they were twirling of while 
Willard and Duffy and Elfy squatted on 
the hard-packed dirt, watching. Elfy kept 
turning back to stare at the trailer, some- 
times right at the window where they 
were locked together looking out. On 


* he 
what 
one holler? Jesus, honey? Is it Jesus, 


the campground, men, women and chil- 
dren endlessly passed the snakes from 
hand to hand. Berenice’s hair lay in a 


damp tangle on her neck. Sweat ran on 
their bodies, darkening the sheet under 
them. 

Joe Lon held the sharp blades of her 
hipbones, one in cach hand, while he 
looked absenily through the window. 
Berenice slowly turned her head to gaze 
fondly back at him over her shoulder. 
Joe Lon felt inexpressibly awful. 


“I must tell you, darling," she said, "I 
love Shep.” 

He told himself that he didn't care 
one way or the other if she loved Shep 
but that talk of love was the last thing 
in the world he wanted to hear from her. 
From anybody. He refused to mect her 
eyes and finally she turned to gaze with 
him through the warped at Elfy 
where she still squatted outside the trailer 
with Willard Miller and Duffy Deeter 

“It doesn't mean I didn't love you,” 
she was saying. "Its not even that I 
don’t love you now." 

"I don't want to hear about i 


ED 


said. 
‘All right.” she said. 

. EM turned to look quickly 
back toward the trailer, but then she 
didn't look anymore, because Willard 
put his hand on her shoulder and started 
talking to her, pointing at the girls, who 
were taking turns testing each other in 
complicated little dance routines, their 
silver batons flashing like swords in thc 
sun. In the other room, the babies slowly 
started crying, almost like singing. a chorus 
of something sad and interminable. 

In a light conversational voice, while 
they warched Susan Gender skip across 
the Berenice said, 
“You know, on twirling is 
the second biggest young girls’ movement 
in America, Did you know that? Uh-huh, 
is, though. Girl Scouts is numero uno. 
That means first. But baton twirling is 
the biggest if you don’t count Girl Scouts, 
and who counts Girl Scouts?" She turned 
to smile at him over her shoulder. He 
gave her a single savage but unsatisfying 
thrust that made her grunt. “The reason 
is... well, there's three of them." She 
didn’t look back at him, but she braced 
herself with one hand and held up the 
other hand with three fingers for him to 

. “Three. First, you don't have to go 
nowheres. You can do it in the living 
room or, like them, out in the yard—out 
in the yard. Second. No expensive equip 
ment. Third. You can practice alone, 
right by yourself. You can become very 
tremendous right by yourself.” 

“What good is it?" said Joe Lon 
Mackey. 

Wh: 

“I said, goddamn it, what good is it?” 

“Well, now listen. All right. Here, 
think about this. Did you know it’s a 
Who's Who in Baton Twirling? 

“What the hell you tali 
Berenice Sw I be 
goddamn foi 
you mind, 

She said, “You honey,” smiling at him 
as she did. He made her grunt. She had 
to use two hands to keep from being 
punched through the window. “Who's 
Who in Baton Twirling's a book giving 
all our names. You know how many 
pages it’s got? Well,” she asked, “do 


about, 
ieve studying them 
uages is done rnint 


"Berenice, I don't know shit like that.” 
Six hundred pages is what its got. 
And costs twelve dollars a copy. Gives all 
our names and's got six hundred pages. 
Now what you think? 

He watched Elfy glancing over her 
shoulder toward the wailer, ignoring the 
splits, the whirls, the twirling, flashing 
batons. He did not know what love w 
And he did not know what good it was. 
But he knew he carried it around with 
him, a scabrous spot of rot, of contagion, 
for which there was no cure. Rage would 
not cure it. Indulgence made it worse, 
inflamed it, made it grow like a cancer. 
And it had ruined his life. Not now, not 
in this moment. Long before. 

The world ha 
livable place. Brutal, yes, but there was 
a certain joy in that. The brutality on 
the football field, in the tonks, was 
ion. Men were maimed with- 
lice, sometimes—olten, even—in 
friendship. Lonely, yes. Running was 
lonely. Sweat w: The pain of 
preparation was lonely. There's no w: 
to share a. pulled hamstring with some 
body else. There's no way to farm out 
part of a twisted knee. But who in God's 
name ever assumed otherwise? Once you 
knew that, it was bearable. 

But love, love seemed to mess up every. 
thing. It had messed up everything. He 
was as absurd as everything he had wit- 
nessed. He could not have said it, but 
he knew it. [t was knowledge that he 
carried in his blood like a disease. Elly 
was watching the window through which 
he was looking. He felt her eyes on his 
eyes. And the wavering window glass 
made her face softer, more vulnerable 

nd afllicted with the pain of childbear. 
ing than he could stand to look a 

The golden plain of Berenice’s back, 
gently indented along the spine by win 
rolls of smooth muscle, was speckled 
with glittering drops of drying sweat. 
The musking odor of her flared into his 
nostrils like something steaming olf a 


1 seemed a good and 


lonc! 


stove. It made the juices of his mouth 
run and caused an overwhelming desire 


ll the 


to eat, to suck onto his tongue 
flavors of her, to make her disippe 
an orgy of chewing. But she w 
talking, had never stopped talking. 

See, it’s beginning solo, intermediate 
solo, advanced solo, strutting, beginning 
always good at surut- 
ting—two-baton, firebaton, duet, trio 


abies were screaming now. The 
older boy was banging the barred play- 
pen in a rage with his rattle. Out in the 
yard, Elfy sat with her eyes steadily on 
the room where he held Berenice, she 
still compulsively talking, im her four 
point stance. Susan Gender and Hard 
Gandy Sweet were no longer twirling. 
They scemed to be in an argument about 
something, their fists balled on their hips, 
their legs straddling. 

“And they arguing right now because 


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PLAYBOY 


202 


competition is exact, It’s exact, Joe Lon, 
in your twirl-off, it is. In cach one, it's a 
judge and a scorekeeper. The score- 
keeper doesn't look. The judge looks. 
He never takes his eyes off the twirl-off. 
He calls out the points, what he sees, 
mistakes, good moves, things like th: 
And the scorekeeper writes it down. 
Thavs 
His mother 


had left for reasons of 
love. Deserted them all: Big Joe, him- 
self, his sister, Beeder, the big house. 
And in deserting them had left an enor- 
mous ragged hole in their lives. 

The note she left d said: I have 
gone with Billy. Forgwe me. But I love 
him and I have gone with him. 

They knew who Billy was well 
enough. He was a traveling shoe sales- 
man and Mystic was one of his stops. It 
had been for years. He was short and 
nearly bald, a soft, almost feminine- 
looking man who always wore the same 
shiny, wrinkled suit and drove a rusting 
Corvair. And the bitterest, most painful 
thing Joe Lon ever had to do was admit 
to himself that his mother had been 
fucking that little shoe salesman for rea- 
sons of Jove when she had a house and a 
husband and children and a flower 
garden and friends and a home town 
and a son famous through the whole 
South and meals to cook and clothes to 
wash, a woman like that—no, not a 
woman, his mother—lying down on her 
back with a little man who walked al- 
ways leaning slightly to the right from 
carrying a heavy suitcase full of shoe 
samples. 

“Oh, it’s exact, all right, the compe- 
tition is. You take your advanced solo, 
for instance." She moved her hips lan- 
guidly against him as she talked. "Your 
advanced solo has to Teast two min- 
utes and twenty seconds and not more 
than two minutes and thirty seconds. 
That's ten seconds to play with and 
when you're playing —" 

Big Joe had gone and got her. Billy 
ed in Atlanta and Big Joc had gone 
there and found his wife sitting in a 
little ratty flat on the edge of a neigh- 
borhood full of niggers (Big Joe had 
given all the details day in and day out 
for a year after it happened), found his 
wife sitting alone because Billy was out 
on his sales route with his suitcase full 
of shocs and Big Joc had picked her up 
like a sack of grain and brought her 
home. It morning when they got 
back to Mystic and Joe Lon and Beeder 
were in school. Beeder came home that 
afternoon still wearing her little tassled 
uniform from her cheerleading practice 
and found her mother sitting dead in her 
favorite rocker wearing Big Joe's tie. 
She was wearing her husband's tie and 
had a onesentence note pinned to her 
cotton dress. Beeder had never been the 
same since. 

“And Ole Miss, the home of the Dixie 
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IC Mlustrated eatalogue 258 


Oxford, Missippi, the home of William 
Faulkner.” She had developed an active 
regular stroke against him now and her 
breathing was getting in the way of 
her voice. "I don't know which it's 
famouser for, Faulkner or—" 

His daddy didn't own but one suit of 
clothes, a black thing made out of heavy 
wool cloth that he almost never wore 
except to certain championship dog- 
fights. The cuffs and sleeves were spotted 
with old blood. And since he didn't own 
bur one suit, he didn't find it necessary 
to own but one tie, which was black, too. 
He never untied it but simply loosened 
it until it would slide over his head and 
then hung it in the closet like a noose. 
When Beeder opened the door, she had 
found her mother sitting in the rocker 
with a plastic bag over her head and the 
tie cinched tightly at her throat. Her 
starting eyes were open under the plastic 
and her face was blue. The note pinned 
over her breast was not addressed to 
anyone. It said: Bring me back now, you 
son of a bitch. 

Through the window it looked as 
though Susan Gender and Hard Candy 
would fight. It looked as if they might 
start swinging their batons any minute. 
It was an old movie and he had seen it 
too many times to find it anything but 
boring. It no longer entertained. He 
pulled Berenice away from the window 
and turned her over. She moved to his 
asiest touch, smiling fondly upon him, 
but insisting upon talking of love. 
irst met Shep, L knew I'd marry 
him but I'd always love . . . love—” 
Take it," he said softly. 

He held her by her perfectly formed 
pink ears and drove his cock into her 
mouth; she took it willingly and deeply, 
her eyes still turned up, watching him 
where he was propped on Elf's pillow. 
She sucked like a calf at its mother and he 
never released her cars, forcing himself 
so deep she could only make little hum- 
ming noises 

Finally he said: "T want you ass.” 

She withdrew her throat and mouth 
and said as she turned, “You honey, you 
honey, you can have my - 
be easy.” But he wasn't easy at 
cause he knew she was about to 
love and he had her bowed 
plunging deeply into her ass by the time 
she got to the place where she could say, 
“But I can Tove you, too, love you with 


ng it out 
of you mouth and sticking it in you ass.” 

“Yes,” she said, “oh, yes, that's — 

“But true love,” he said, “goddamn 
true love is taking it out of you ass and 
sticking it in you mouth.” He flipped her 
like a doll and she—flushed and swoon- 
ing—went down in a great spasm of 
joy, sucking like a baby before she ever 


got there. 


s. 


PLAYBOY BOAT STABLE (552a from page 138) 


This leaves an open cavity from stem to 
stern, where fishing, skindiving, sun- 
bathing, eic, can be carried on with a 
of crowding, 
A strong, self-bailing 
with a modified deep-V design perm 
the Aquasport to run in blue water, 
where, equipped with outriggers 
other deepsea fishing gear, i 
saltwater game fish. An optional bait 
well and other extras are available for 
the serious fisherman, while a wide list 
of other accessories can be bad if the pi 
ion of the boat is short cruising 
1 recreation. A 50-gallon fuel 
tink, large storage compartments and 
fishingrod racks are standard with the 
Aquasport 196", which can he equipped 
with a variety of large outboard motors, 
including the new 150-plushp monsters, 
producing a top speed in excess of 40 
mph. 

The Aquasport is one of a new ge 
ation of open fishermen also being 
nufactured by ScaCraft, Mako, Ro 
balo and others. They represent thinking 
eby waditional concepts such as the 
large outboard motorboat have been 
ed in favor of direct utility. The 


fiberglass hull 


and brightwork, but in ter of funce 
nd performance, there is no compari- 
ports like their competitors, 
able in sizes from 15 feet to a 
um of 26 feet. They can be pur- 
chased with a variety of engine options, 
ying [rom mediumsized outboard mo- 
tors, operating singly or in tandem, to 
a pair of 225-hp V8s. Prices range from 
about $2500 for a bare boa ly 
520.000 for a loaded, oh-my-God, twin-V8 
sport fisherman, The Aquasport 19'6", 
sensibly equipped, will run about 55000. 
There is very little that can be de- 
scribed as sensible about the Ci 
28-55, an incredible floating Ferr: 
signed for pure, hell-raising blasts across 
the waves. This you can do, maintaining 
a serenity (despite your white knuckles) 
based on the knowledge that you are in 
partial control of the fastest production 
powerboat available anywhere. All of 
this is the contrivance of Don Aronow, 
a ballsy Miami sportsman who has dom- 
ated. the offshore powerboat scene for 
the past decade. Shortly after deep-V 
hulls revolutionized the high-perform- 
ance boat business in the early Sixties, 
Aronow arrived with a combination of 
brashnes nd bravery that left the com- 
petition far behind. His Formula boats. 
piloted by himself, began to rule the 
st. punishing sport of offshore power- 
. But more important, Aro- 
ow recognized the potential for sales 
of expensive, high-quality, ultrafast 


€ ava 


boat r 


production speedboats | 
designs. In a memorable display 
ness bravura, Aronow established Formu- 
Ia as a booming business, then sold out to 
form Donzi boats, which operated as a 
direct competitor. Donzi then gave way to 
Magnum, which was also sold. Aronow fi 
nally created the Cigarette Racing Team 
a firm specializing in the fabrication of 
the finest and fastest offshore racers and 
production boats. Named after a legend- 
ary rumrunner that worked along the 
New Jersey coast during Prohibi 
Aronow's Cigarettes have become Ie 


ends: six consecutive world champion- 
ships, 1969-1974 (Aronow designs have 
won a total of nine world titles), and. 


victories: 150 m 


n nearly aces. Much 
of this dazling record is personally 
Aronow’s; he is a superb offshore racer 
(when he retired from racing, he had more 
Victories than any other driver). 

Perhaps the most rakish of his produc- 
tion boats is his 28S (Super-Sleek), 
apable of over 70 mph. 
With simple modifications, the boat is 
eligible for participation in the produc- 
tion class of offshore racing, but a vast 
percentage of those sold are employed 
for pleasure—that of bashin ound 
protected bays, lakes and ch un- 
ning impromptu races with other hor- 
boat fanciers and short weekend jaunts 
in the company of a suitable companio! 
With accommodations for two (head 
and a lush forward berth), the Cigarette 
HSS may be the greatest development 
in mobile lovemaking since th 
vented back seats for automobiles. In 
fact, the rakish lines of arettes have 
been known to be such intense turn-ons 
for women that a bold lads have 
gotten laid smack in the middle of boat 
shows, right there in the freaking main 
hall, surrounded by Mr. and Mrs. Amer 
ica and their kids hauling around bags 
of free promotional literature! "If. you 


nels. 


n't get laid 


à Cigarette, you'd prob: 
bly strike out with a Times Square 
hooker, too,” is the way one veteran 
observer of the boat scene puts it. 

No, the Cigarette 28-SS isn't good for 
much besides basic hedonism. It is, in a 
sense, a motorized Hobie Cat; the quick- 
est, most glamorous boat of its kind, with 

n image as powerful as its performance 
capabilities. While it is usable for water- 
skiing. it almost flaunts its lack of util 
m. It gocs fast, and that is all that 
ry. If you want to haul things, 
ic. If you want to haul ass. buy 
tte. This particular boat, with a 
‘Of 280-hp MerCruiser V8s hooked up 
to stern drives, will cost you about 
)00. Loaded with all the goodies, in 
cluding the optional 395-hp engines 
(nec if you want that 70-plus top 
speed), it will cost closer to 340,000. But 
then. who ever said good sex, on the land 
or on the sea, was cheap: 

Your ultimate destination i 
rete may be no farther away 
forward berth, but there is no navi; 
ble place in the world beyond the range 
of the Westsail 32. This wonder! fully 
sturdy sailboat embodies within 
stubby hull all of the wanderlust f. 
tasies harbored by each of us: that mar- 
velous dream of shucking the niggling 
demands of daily life and simply 
off. boosted by w , to p 
the corners of the earth. This is the cen 
I theme of the Westsail 32—ir 
Id cruiser, designed with honest devo- 
tion to the lessons learned by blue-water 
mariners over the centuries. While most 
hits of this size are compromise 
ended for competition as well 
the Westsail, with its 
1 its sailing 
T I for longrange 
h maximum safety and efficien: 
the direct descendant of a Nor- 
pilot boat designed around the 
turn of the century by naval archi 
- Those original redning- 
e 46 fect long and. intended 


racc 


ece 


“Knock it off, Melvin! I told you ld lel you know 


the minule my divorce 


came through!” 


203 


PLAYBOY 


204 runs his imaginary M 


Tor the roughest weather. Moreover, they 
were rigged for operation by one man 
after the pilot had been transferred to 
the waiting freighter. 

The redningskoite was scaled down 
to 36 feet in the Thirties, ing ii 
employment ii 
navigations. In 1942-1943, Argentine 
Vito Dumas braved the elements’ isola- 
tion, and harassment from a varicty of 
combatants (“Don't you know there's a 
war on, Dumas?) to singlehandedly 
cirde the planet in 13 months. Others 
followed in Archer-inspired hulls. 

In 1969, this famous design was pro- 
duced in fiberglass and the Westsail suc- 
cess story was begun. Since that time, a 
small cult of blue-water cruising freaks 
grown up around the boat and de- 
mand has increased to the point where a 
second factory. in North Carolina, was 
opened to augment production in the 
original Costi Mesi, California, plant. 
What is there about a Westsail 32 that 
scts it le from other sailboats of si 
lar size? It is elemental, really, traceable 
hard truths of the sea 
opposed to fads that place priorities on 
speed, pretty lines and superficial luxury 
at the expense of simplicity and strength. 
Mariners know that cruising sailboats 
e more stable if they have a moderate- 
ly heavy displacement (9.75 tons in the 
Westsail's case), wide beam and full keel. 
They also know that a benefit of this 
design provides maximum ca 


as 


six if necessary). They unde 
doubleended-hull design is best for hig 
following seas and that things such as 
a low freeboard. a small, selbba 


And, knowing how they can break, old 
salis understand the limitations of the 
so-called conveniences and luxury trim- 
ming that adorn so many yachts. To 
quote a Westsail spokesman, "After a 
few days at sea, a luxury becomes any 
device that can be manually operated 
and easily rep " So it is with the 
Westsail, whose message of sturdiness and 
almost puritan utility has a special elo- 
quence in this frivolous age. This is not 
10 imply that the Westsail is a mere ma- 
chine, a st hulk intended for a kind 
of ascetic functionalism at the expense 
of aesthetics. Quite to the contrary, the 
cabin of the 32 is a cavern of rich wood- 
work, testimony in behalf of that much- 
used contention. form follows functio 

The Westsail is, in a sense, a more sei 
ous boat than some of the other members 
of our fleet. She is a capable, no-nonsense 
craft, overbuilt for the casual kind of 
sailing most owners will subject her to, 
but lying within her is a certain aura of 
fantasy. As the owner of the Cigarente 
iami-to-Nassau race 


red.’ 


each time he punches the throttles, a 
Westsail skipper turns cach cruise into 
a long reach to Pago Pago. Therein lies 
a hidden, ancillary benefit of boats: 
enough movement, enough flexibility, 
enough. breadth of experience to dream 
the wildest dreams. 

Equipped without compromise for 
world cruising, a Westsail 32 will cost 
you the better part of $60,000, delivered, 
although it can be purchased in a variety 
of semifinished forms, including the bare 
hull for $6550 and one requiring interior 
jeinawork and exterior detailing for 
ases, however, this sail- 
ad chic than many of 
its contemporaries—embodies that clear 
demand for wuth of purpose when deal- 
ing with the most powerful elements of 
the sea. In this sense, it may be the most 
honest of all the boats in our little fleet. 

There is also an clement of honesty in 
our Bertram 58 yacht—an honest com- 
mitment to the 20th Century idiom of 
lavish, superstar living based on unvar- 
nished conspicuous consumption. This 
credible vessel will cost you dose to 
$350,000 by the time you equip it w 
the electronic gear considered necessary 
in this class. And you've gol to have the 
right electronic props, even if you never 
take the boat beyond the si 
That is part of the high-roller me 
of big yachts; You must h 
Radar unit, loran, direction finder, 
pilot, depth indicator, hotshot radio 
transmitter and receiver, etc, are all 
de rigueur, as well as monog 
towels. linen, china and gl 
a sneaky little wallet-busting bonus—a 
full-time professional captain to run your 
toy. It cannot be emphasized enough that 
there are no compromises in this area; 
cither you go the full shot or forget it. 
Buying a stripped version of the Bertram 
58 would be like buying an estate in 
Palm Beach and furnishing it with dis- 
count plaza furniture or navigating your 
Learjet with a boy-scout compass. 

In a sense, the Bertram 58 is atypical 
of boats that established the Miami firm. 
us the Mercedes-Benz of the yacht busi- 
ness. Its reputation was built mainly on 
sport fishermen: fast, ultrarugged 31- and 
38-footers that were less frilly than the 
competition but faster, more seaworthy, 
more reliable and more expensive. Only 
one other manufacturer (excluding small, 
Iders) seriously competes with 
the field of top-quality motor. 
yachts. Hatteras, of High Point, North 
Carolina, is a company noted for superb. 
sport fishermen jutifully appointed 
luxury yachts, including no fewer than six 
different superships from 58 to 70 feet. 
According to most boating experts, there 
are powerboats and there are Bertrams 


All right, then, you have decided that 


you can handle the bucks for the Ber- 
tram 58 and want to know more details. 
We oblige as follows: Because you are a 
swinger (after all, what kind of geriatric 
basket case would want a boat like this?), 
we won't bore you with mechanical de- 
tails—twin turbocharged 12V-71 TI Gen- 
eral Motors diesels. 1250-gallon fuel 
capacity, electrohydraulic wim tabs, 
automatic fire-extinguisher system, 30-kw. 
dicsel generator, etc—and will get on to 
the important stuff. Naturally, you'll 
nt to know about the owners state- 
room, feat kingsize, walk-around 
bed with in Video headboard 
console to control the lights, sterco sys- 
tem (piped throughout the boat). your 
very own color telev nd a full head 
(oh. hell, call it a bathroom) with tub 
and shower. plus a concealed vanity with 
theatricil make-up mirror. Then we have 
the wet bar on the afterdeck, 
color television, the custom furniture in 
the main salon and the fully loaded gal- 
ley freezer, electric range/oven, garbage 
compacer (*Mayd. 
nine miles off Atlantic City, New Jersey. 
and the garbage compacter has jammed 
up!")—as well as a complete washer-drier 
setup to keep your white ducks looking 
spifly. 

Owning 
lot like goi 


5&foor Bertram yacht is a 
t0 sea in your three- 
bedroom split-level. The Bertram's crafts. 
manship is, for the most part, concealed 
by veneers of high-buck di . shag 
rugs and. decorated bulkheads, The bul- 
leproof engineering is generally over- 
shadowed by the plethora of gadgetry. 
For anyone seriously planning to spend 


more on a single vesscl than many people 
cam an entire lifetime, the Ber- 
tram 58 is an excellent choice, but it 


carries with it the kind of excess that 
old Karl Marx claimed should have done 
us in long ago. Purists are attracted to 
the leaner, more purposeful sport boats 
built by Berwam, but a strong demand 
exists at the top end of the luxury-yacht 
market and both Bertram and Hatteras 
are not shy about trying to satisfy the 
sybarites. 

There we have it: six basic boats for 
your fleet. A full spectrum of seagoing 
delights, and all bargain priced well 
under our halta-million-dollar budget. 
(actually, by cui a few 
options, you might actually end up with 
enough surplus cash to use the boats a 
few times before somebody gets wise 
and repossesses the whole pack 
it is not our place to fret over your fi 
nances other than to remind you of 
basic formula for 
strong: Buy now, pay later. / 
where does it say you can't sign off 
$500,000 on your Master Charge card? 

See you at the marina, Or Leaven- 


worth. 
B 


g corners on 


keeping 


“Bless you, no, sir. She told us all she knew weeks ago." 


205 


PLAYBOY 


206 


PLAYBOY 
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ROCK 'N' ROLL PORSCHE TURBO CARRERA 


OPEW-AIR SEX 


GIRL MEETS GIRL 


“THE WRATH OF GOD"—ISRAELI AGENTS, AVENGING THE 
SLAUGHTER AT MUNICH, KILLED 12 TERRORISTS. THE 13TH HIT 
WAS A MAJOR BLUNDER THAT LAID ISRAEL OPEN TO THE YOM 
KIPPUR ATTACK. A STARTLING EXPOSE—BY DAVID B. TINNIN 


“ME AND THE OTHER GIRLS"—IF TWO'S COMPANY,-CAN A 
MIXED THREESOME BE ALL THAT BAD? SOME FUNNY CONFES- 
SIONS ABOUT DABBLING IN BISEXUALITY—BY KATHY LOWRY 


^ROCK-'N'-ROLL TRIVIA QUIZ"—QUICK, NOW, WHAT WAS THE 
BIG BOPPER'S REAL NAME? AND WHAT WERE THOSE SEVEN LITTLE. 
GIRLS DOING IN THE BACK SEAT WITH FRED?—BY SCOT MORRIS 


“THE MAKE-UP MAN"-—AN EERIE TALE ABOUT A TIME WHEN 
UGLINESS BECOMES THE STANDARD OF BEAUTY—BY ROLLER- 
BALL AUTHOR WILLIAM HARRISON 


“SEX IN THE GREAT OUTDOORS"—THERE'S SOMETHING 
SPECIAL ABOUT DOING IT IN THE OPEN AIR. A FICTORIAL GUIDE 
TO BACK-TO-NATURE BALLING 


“WAVE GOODBYE!"—BEHIND THE WHEEL OF THE PORSCHE 
TURBO CARRERA, RATED BY MANY ASTHE HOTTEST PRODUCTION 
CAR ON THE AMERICAN ROAD—BY BROCK YATES 


“PLAYBOY'S PRO FOOTBALL PREVIEW''—EVERYBODY 
KNOWS THE BEARS WON'T WIN THE SUPER BOWL. FOR WHAT 
EVERYBODY DOESN'T KNOW, HUDDLE WITH OUR CUM LAUDE 
PROGNOSTICATOR, ANSON MOUNT 


“AMERICA SEEN THROUGH FFOREIGN EYES”—CARTOONS 
BY THE SHARPEST OBSERVER OF THIS COUNTRY SINCE DE 
TOCQUEVILLE, MICHAEL FFOLKES 


“LITTLE ANNIE FANNY” LEARNS ALL ABOUT LOVE... ON THE 
TENNIS COURT—BY HARVEY KURTZMAN AND WILL ELDER 


“OLYMPICS OF THE FUTURE" —WHEN IT COMES TO DEVEL- 
OPING ATHLETES, BREEDING IS EVERYTHING. CONSIDER GILLS 
AND WEBBED HANDS FOR SWIMMERS. OFF-THE-LOCKER-ROOM- 
WALL PREDICTIONS BY WAYNE MC LOUGHLIN 


Delicious. 
Smooth. 
Rich. 
Tempting. 
Delectable. 
Luscious. 
Toothsome. 
Tasty. 
Wet. 
Potent. 
Full-strength. 
Pre-mixed. 
and 
Ready-to-Pour. 


The Grasshopper 
from Heublein. 


Delicious. 
Smooth. 
Rich. 
Tempting. 
Delectable. 
Luscious. 
Toothsome. 
Tasty. 

Wet. 

Potent. 
Full-strength. 
Pre-mixed. 
and 
Ready-to-Pour. 


The Brandy Alexander 
from Heublein. 


Heublein* Grasshopper and Brandy Alexander. Both 35 proot, € 1976 Houbtein, Inc. Hartlord, Conn. 06101 


Of all filter kings: 


Nobodys 
ower than 


Carlton. 


Look at the latest U.S. Government figures for 
other top brands that call themselves “low "in tar. 


tar, nicotine, 
mg/cig. mg/cig. 


Brand D (Filter) — 14 1.0 


Carlton 


Brand D (Menthol) 13 1.0 
BrandV (Filter) 11 07 
Brand T (Menthol) 11 0.6 
Brand V (Menthol) 11 0.7 
Brand T (Filter) 11 0.6 
CarltonFilter R2 0.2 
Carlton Menthol *2 0.2 


Carlton 70's (lowest of all brands)— 
*1 mg. tar, 0.1 mg. nicotine 
*Av. per cigarette by FTC method 

INo wonder Carlton is 

fastest growing of the top 25. 


Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined 
That Cigarette Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health. 
Filter and Menthol: 2 mg. "tar", 0.2 mg. nicotine av. per cigarette, by FTC method.