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WHAT TOM SELLECK KNOWS ABOUT WOMEN 


DYNASTY STAR GALA 
JOAN COLLINS "Né CHRISTMAS 
UNCOVERED Ж. ISSUE 
G liday St р =. SEX STARS 
David Halberstam АЯ OF 83 
Hunter Thompson 

William Manchester 


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PLAY BILL 


IF YOU'VE PAID ATTENTION to goings on in the Oval Office, you 
know that some White House tenants have style and some don’t. 
F.D.R. and Eisenhower had it. Ford and Carter didn’t. And no 
President’s style has had a greater impact on the voting public 
than John F. Kennedy’s. Now, on the 20th anniversary of Ken- 
nedy's assassination, his friend and advisor Williom Monchester has 
written a new book, One Brief Shining Moment: Remembering 
Kennedy (published by Little, Brown), which we excerpt here- 
in. Manchester's account of Kennedy's historic 1960 campaign 
reminds us that style need not replace substance. 

His critics have accused Tem Selleck of being all style and no 
substance, but the star of television’s Magnum, P.I. proves oth- 
erwise in our Playboy Interview, conducted by Devid Sheff. When 
Sheff probes for Selleck’s philosophy, he unleashes a forceful 
response that reveals that Selleck may be the Clark Gable of the 
Eighties—discreet in his social life, traditional in his politics. 

For all his visibility in commercials and on talk shows, Orson 
Welles is onc of Hollywood's most elusive figures. However, his 
biographer Barbera Leaming has been dining with him lately at 
his favorite Los Angeles restaurant, Ma Maison. In The Genius 
Takes On Tinseltown, she gives us a behind-the-scenes look at 
the man who made Citizen Kane. 

If Selleck and Welles are elusive, Joan Collins definitely is not. 
Our cover girl, the bitch-goddess star of television’s Dynasty, 
turned out to be a dream to photograph for Contributing Pho- 
tographer Morio Casilli and veteran Hollywood photographer 
George Hurrell. Our West Coast Photography Editor, Morilyn Gro- 
bowski, coordinated the pictorial. 

On the subject of sports, David Holberstom takes a nostalgic, if 
disenchanted, look at what has become of professional sports 
since the dawn of television in Notes ofa Fallen Fan, illustrated 
by Tereso Fosolino. In Playboy's College Basketball Preview, Anson 
Mount adds his voice to the chorus and says that the same prob- 
lems (big media, big money) that have afflicted pro sports have 
had a regrettable impact on the college game. 

From his article 7he Curse of Lono, it would seem that Hunter 
5. Thompson, world-renowned maniac, boozer, drug fiend and 
all-round nice guy, had his own inimitable impact on the sport 
of blue-marlin fishing from the day he hit the Hawaiian isles. 
His embellished tale of bedlam on the high seas was taken from 
his latest book (with Relph Steadman) of the same title, published 
by Bantam Books. 

“I was going to go into mourning for the death of sex,” says 
Craig Vetter, “but I didn’t have the wardrobe for it.” Instead, he 
decided sex wasn’t dead but merely unable to defend itself. He 
takes on the media’s naysayers in The Desexing of America. 

Some are inspired by sex, some by machines and some by sexy 
machines. If you’re among the last, turn immediately to the 
Playboy Guide: Electronic Entertainment, a magazine within a 
magazine devoted to the latest audio-video goodies and trends. 
To further enhance your lifestyle, Emanuel Greenberg reviews the 
Caribbean rums in The Cane Mutiny and Hollis Weyne shows you 
the latest party duds in Let’s Party! 

To round out the issue, we have a great selection of fiction this 
holiday month, with new stories from Donald E. Мез оке, Isooc 
Bashevis Singer (illustrated by Irving Petlin) and George V. Higgins. 
Also, Peter A. McWillioms concludes his three-part series on com- 
puters with A Personal Computer Christmas, illustrated by Scott. 
Gustofson. Andrew Tobios is back with another of his Quarterly 
Reports, and this one, Great Plays, reveals some tricks of the 
stock-market trade. There's also a pictorial on Morine Jahon and 
five other sexy Flashdancers, our annual Playboy's Christmas 
Cards to famous folks by Tom Koch, our review of the Sex Stars of 
1983 and our Playmate for this yule season, the gifted Terry 
Nihon. Settle back with a nice hot toddy and a full pipe and spend 
some time with our Christmas gift to you. Good tidings! 


VETTER x WESTLAKE 


SINGER HIGGINS 


GUSTAFSON TOBIAS 


German engineering is 
either expensive 2255525: 
or Volkswagen. 221 


| | D's not a car. 
The 1984 Jetta $7,390: It's a Volkswagen. 


ЕБЕ 


El. 


vol. 30, no. 12—december, 1983 CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE 
PLAYBILL 5 

THE WORLD OF PLAYBOY . 13 

DEAR PLAYBOY 15 

PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS ... 45 21 

MEN ...... ASA BABER 55 

WOMEN ..... A . CYNTHIA HEIMEL 57 

Ia oe ES Me 59 

DEAR PLAYMATES . TOU cH 63 S 
THE PLAYBOY FORUM 1... 65 БЕП 
PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: TOM SELLECK—candid conversation REN 

THE DESEXING OF AMERICA—artide ........................ CRAIG VETTER 108 

NOTES OF A FALLEN FAN—article ...... . DAVID HALBERSTAM 112 

PLAYBOY'S CHRISTMAS GIFT UIE. А E TENTE] 

DEVLIN'S МАКЕ fiction GEORGE V. HIGGINS 126 

THE CANE MUTINY—drink . ү EMANUEL GREENBERG 129 

THE CURSE OF LONO-article ........ HUNTER 5. THOMPSON 130 

JOAN COLLINS- pictorial ar 

REMNANTS—fiction — . ISAAC BASHEVIS SINGER 145 

PLAYBOY'S CHRISTMAS CARDS—verse ... А Р ... TOM KOCH 146 Desexed Americo 
[I E PRES HOLLIS WAYNE 148 

ONE BRIEF SHINING MOMENT- article WILLIAM MANCHESTER 154 

BACK TO BASICS—playbay’s playmate of the month - 156 

PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor ERE 170 

THE GENIUS TAKES ON TINSELTOWN personality - .... BARBARA LEAMING 172 

CHOICE CARTOONS OF CHRISTMAS PAST—humor . . Dre en seen ПУА 

QUARTERLY REPORTS: GREAT PLAYS—article . ANDREW TOBIAS 179 
FLASHDANCERS—pictorial ._...... AR gan ne 180 

DON'T YOU KNOW THERE'S А WAR ON?—fiction ...... DONALD E. WESTLAKE 190 

PHILIP GARNER'S BETTER LOVING CATALOG—humor ....... PHILIP GARNER 193 

А PERSONAL COMPUTER CHRISTMAS—article ......... PETER A. MC WILLIAMS 200 

SEX STARS OF 1983— pictorial essay ....... . ЛМ HARWOOD 202 

BERNARD AND HUEY-satire JULES FEIFFER 213 

PLAYBOY'S COLLEGE BASKETBALL PREVIEW sports ва ANSON MOUNT 215 

THE LATEST FROM LONDON—ribald classic ..... sss 219 

LITTLE ANNIE FANNY'S WORKOUT SHOW KURTZMAN, ELDER ond DOWNS 221 

PLAYBOY FUNNIESChumor. ... sse 236 

PLAYBOY GUIDE: ELECTRONIC ENTERTAINMENT - ЖАПА 241 

PLAYBOY ON THE SCENE ............... PRESSEN 323 Shining Moment P. 154 


COVER STORY Our cover this month comes odorned with os spectacular 
a Christmas pockogé os you'll find under опу tree—the stunning Joan Collins 
іп a sleek gown designed by Jerry Skeels and Randy McLoughlin of Jeran Designs 
af Los Angeles. But the cover is anly a hint of the delights in store for you in 
our lang-awailed (ond worth the wait) Collins pictorial (see page 134). 


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PLAYBOY 


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31 superb red, white and rosé wines are savored for their consistent taste and 
superior quality. Come enjoy the pleasure of our company. B&G. 


PLAYBOY 


HUGH M. HEFNER 
editor and publisher 


NAT LEHRMAN associate publisher 


ARTHUR KRETCHMER editorial director 
TOM STAEBLER art director 
DON GOLD managing editor 
GARY COLE photography director 
G. BARRY GOLSON execulive editor 


EDITORIAL 
ARTICLES: JAMES MORGAN editor; ROB FLEDER 
associate editor; FICTION: ALICE к. TURNER editor; 
TERESA GROSCH associate editor; PLAYBOY 
GUIDES: MAURY Z LEVY editor; WEST COAST: 
STEPHEN RANDALL editor, STAFF: WILLIAM у 
ELMER, GRETCHEN MCNEESE, PATRICIA PAPANGELIS 
(administration), DAVID STEVENS senior editors 
ROBERT E CARR, WALTER LOWE, JR. JAMES R PETER 
SEN senior staff writers; KEVIN COOK, BARBARA 
NELLIS, KATE NOLAN, J F. O'CONNOR, JOHN КЕЛЕК 
associate editors; SUSAN MARGOLIS-WINTER asso- 
сийе new york editor; DAVID SIMMONS assistant 
editor; MODERN LIVING: rn WALKER associate 
editor; JM BARKER assistant editor; FASHION: 
HOLLIS WAYNE contributing editor; HOLLY MINDER 
up assistant editor; CARTOONS: MICHELLE URRY 
editor; COPY: ARLENE BOURAS editor; JOYCE RUBIN 
assistant editor; NANCY BANKS, CAROLYN BROWNE 
JACKIE JOHNSON, MARCY MARCHI, BARE LYNN NASHI 
MARY ZION researchers; CONTRIBUTING EDI- 
TORS: ASA BABER, ЈОНА BLUMENTHAL, LAURENCE 
GONZALES, LAWRENCE GROBEL, D. KEITH MANO, AN. 
SON MOUNT, PETER ROSS RANGE. DAVID RENSIN 
RICHARD RHODES, JOHN SACK, TONY SCHWARTZ 
(television), DAVID STANDISH, BRUCE WILLIAMSON 
(movies), GARY WITZENBURG 


ART 
RERIG POP managing director, CHET SUSKI, LEN 
WILLIS senior directors; BRUCE HANSEN, THEO 
KOUVATSOS, SKIP WILLIAMSON associale directors; 
JOSEPH PACZEK assistant director; BETH KAS 
senior art assistant; ANN SEIDL, CRAIG SMITH art as- 
sistanls; SUSAN HOLMSTROM traffic coordinator; 
BARBARA HOFFMAN administrative manager 


PHOTOGRAPHY 

MARILYN GRABOWSKI West coast editor; JEFF COMEN 
senior editor; JAMES LARSON, JANICE MOSES аззо- 
ciate editors; PATTY BEAUDET, LINDA KENNEY. МІ. 
CHAEL ANN SULLIVAN assistant editors; POMPEO 
тозақ staff photographer; DAVID МЕСЕҮ. KERRY 
MORKIS associate staff photographers; DAVID CHAN 
RICHARD FEGLEY, AKNY FREVTAG, RICHARD IZUL 
LARRY L LOGAN, REN MARCUS, STEPHEN WAYDA CON- 
tributing photographers; WARWARA CAME, JANE 
FRIEDMAN, PATRICIA TOMLINSON stylists; JAMES 
WARD color lab supervisor; ROMERT CHELIUS bust= 
ness manager 


PRODUCTION 
JOHN MASTRO director; ALLEN VARGO manager 
MARIA MANDIS asst. MET. ELEANORE WAGNER, JODY 
JURGETO, RICHARD QUARTAROLI assistants 


READER SERVICE, 
CYNTHIA LACEY-SIKICH manager 


CIRCULATION 
RICHARD SMITH director; ALVIN WIE 
scription manager 


OLD sub- 


ADVERTISING 
HAL DUCHIN national sales director 
ADMINISTRATIVE 
J ¥ там DOLMAN assistant publisher; PAULETTE 
GAUDET rights & permissions manager; EILEEN 
KENT contracts administrator 


PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES, INC. 
CHRISTIE HEFNER president; MARVIN L- HUSTON 
execulive vice-president 


Sony Торе. 
The Perfect Blank. 


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Color it 
glowing. 


Stuff a stocking with a Sony Audio or Video Tape 
and what do you give? The perfect blank. E 

Electronically designed to capture more sound {зов Pes 
than you can hear, more color than you can see. ЕТ? 

Don't miss the Sony Tape holiday savings at 
your dealer now. 


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


MERIT 


Filter 


The low-tar cigarette that changed smoking. 
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© Philip Монда іне. 1983 


Bols goes to the source— ` 
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Simply because the principle that guided Lucas Bolsi 
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THE WORLD OF PLAYBOY 


in which we offer an insider's look at what's doing and who's doing it 


ADVISE AND CONSENT 


Our West Coast Editor, 
\ Stephen Randall (with the 
ҚЫ ^i headphones), can't quite 
believe his ears as he hears 
Some spicy sagacity on the 
new Playboy Advisor radio 
Show. Another person with 
incredible ears (and every- 
thing else) is Bunny Sandy 
of the L.A. Playboy Club, 
who joined Randall, produc- 
er Stephen Peeples (left) 
and Westwood One presi- 
dent and executive produc- 
er Norm Pattiz in the studio 
for the very best in aural 
sex and AM/FM Q. and A. 


SOMETHING TO 
CHAUFFEUR HER 
EFFORTS 


That's what up-and- 
coming actress Heidi 
Sorenson, Miss July 
1981, deserved after 
making the jump to 
Hollywood from her 
native Denmark a few 
years back. Now she 
has it—a feature role in 
the TV movie Sunset 
Limousine, which stars 
John Ritter at the wheel 
of the titular limo. 
We always knew Heidi 
was driven to succeed. 


IS THIS THE FACE THAT LAUNCHED DEPOSIT SLIPS? 


It could be, if Rodney Dangerfield can resist Miss January 1982, Kim 
McArthur, in his movie Easy Money. Rodney plays a guy who will inherit 
$10,000,000 if he gives up smoking, drinking, gambling and womaniz- 
ing for a year. With Kim around, the first three should be the easy part. 


E Я be a £ 


EVERYBODY LOVES SOME BUNNY SOMETIME 


But some are loved more than most. All 16 Bunnies 
of the Year (elected by keyholder vote) were feted at 
Mansion West recently by Hef and Alan Thicke 
of TV’s Thicke of the Night. Although great 
at formations, the B.O.Y.s are not a marching band. 


Wy py 
Au Nun, 


GOOD SHEPHERD 


Young Peter Billings- 
ley (left) yearns for a 
Red Ryder Air Gun in 
the new film A Christ- 
mas Story, co-written 
by Jean Shepherd 
and based on his 
PLAYBOY tale Red 
Ryder Nails the Ham- 
mond Kid (December 
1965). We can't give 
away the plot, but we 
bet it will charm you. 


“How 2 months salary 
wound up on Julie's finger” 


Take a look at Julie. No matter where we go, everyone does. So I wanted to get 
her the biggest diamond I could afford. One that other men could see without getting 
too close. Okay, now take a close look at the diamond. Sure, it's big, but it's also beautiful, 
Just like Julie. Now I’m not rich or anything. But I found out that 2 months’ salary is 


about what a really nice diamond costs nowadays. 1/3 carat 1/2carat 3/Acarat dora 


It comes down to a question of priorities. And | т 
what's more important than the woman you love? e ® e i 


$600- $1200- $2000 53000- 
$1700 $3500 $6000 $11000° 


*Prices shown cover diamonds of medium color and clarity ranges based on retail quotations 


which may vary. Send for the booklet, "Everything You'd Love to Know... About Diamonds" я , 
Just mail $1 to Diamond Information Center, Dept PL Box 1344, NY, NY. 10101-1344, A diamond is forever. De Beers 


DEAR PLAYBOY 


ADDRESS DEAR PLAYBOY 
PLAYBOY BUILDING 
919 N. MICHIGAN AVE. 
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 60611 


YOU SAY YOU WANT A REVOLUTION. 
Thank you, as usual, for the photo- 
graphs of acres and acres of skin, but spe- 
cial thanks for the Playboy Interview with 
the Sandinistas (September). It just may 
be the best interview I have ever read 
Maury Maverick, Jr. 
San Antonio, Texas 


I would like to think that PLAYBOY's 
extraordinary Interview with the Sandi- 
nista leadership put to rest the notion that 
Nicaragua is being ruled by hard-eyed, 
humorless ideologues controlled by Mos- 
cow and Havana. That will probably not 
be the case, however, since the hard-eyed, 
humorless ideologues who have seized 
power in Washington apparently will not 
be deterred from turning all of Central 
America into a bloody battleground. It is 
sad to note, though, that the behavior of 
Bonzo’s co-star is in keeping with one 
of the uglier traditions of his office; i.e., 
that of an American President's sending 
troops onto foreign soil without Congres- 
sional approval. 

Jeffrey Blankfort 
San Francisco, California 


The Playboy Interview with the San- 
dinistas is deplorably prejudiced and 
largely anti-American. Dreifus conven- 
iently forgets to mention to them that if the 
United States had not stopped its support 
for Somoza, the F.S.L.N. would never 
have come to power in Nicaragua, and 
that during the first two years of the San- 
dinistas’ government, the United States 
gave it more financial aid than it had given 
Somoza during all his years in power. 

Nikolaos G. Kondylis 
Watertown, Massachusetts 


In view of the present policy in Nicara- 
gua with regard to the media, Гт sure 
that obtaining approval for your Interview 
was not easy. You should be aware that 
your publication may have been chosen 


for this interview because of its wide- 
spread appeal to the American people. As 
you may know, the Nicaraguan govern- 
ment does not allow Nicaragua’s internal 
media to provide similar information to 
the Nicaraguan people regarding U.S. 
positions on this matter. 

W. С. Cousland, Brigadier General, 

US. Army 

Deputy Assistant Secretary 

Department of Defense 

Washington, D.C. 


TURNERBOUT 
Гуе known Ted Turner since he was in 
his late teens. We've sailed and raced 
together and against each other. I've spent 
hours with him at his Hope Plantation 
and can feel his love of the land. Hence, I 
read Peter Ross Range’s Playboy Inter- 
view (August) with special interest. My 
question is this: How could you have 
loused up an otherwise illuminating Jnter- 
view by inserting the interviewer's ill- 
informed opinions under the title The 
Demons of Ted Turner? Turner is not a 
saint; but he is the straightest man I know 
That very straightness gets him in trouble 
sometimes. While he doesn’t like criticism 
(who does?), he will accept it when it's 
warranted, and he remains intensely loyal 
to friends who differ with him. You have 
had two Interviews with him, but ГЇЇ bet 
you won't get a third; you have hit him 
below the belt by going beyond a good 
interview and ruminating on other aspects 
of the man—aspects you don’t know a 
damn thing about, 
Robert N. Bavier, Jr. 
Cos Cob, Connecticut 


THE FRONT 

Och-la-la! PLAYBOY is a real treat to 
read and, of course, the women are beauti- 
ful. But your September issue has an 
extreme treat—the cover. Kym Herrin is 
the perfect cover model. I cannot imagine 
any red-blooded male’s not picking up this 
issue on the merits of the cover alone. The 


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the location of the showroom nearest you, call 
800-446-9827 nationwide, except from Virginia, 
Alaska and Hawaii. From Virginia only, call 
800-552-9814. If you wish to order by phone, you 
may call the same toll-free number and pay by 
Visa or MasterCard only. 

“Reference pric determination of full retail price based 


‘on customary non-discount retailer markups for similar 
diamond jewelry. It is not ош present or former selling price 


Dolgins La Belles 
mms wa BEST 


PLAYBOY 


Whats 

a Rusty Nail? 

E 
+ 


a) the mate of the 
hammerhead shark. 


2 


X: 
Ч 
ii EL 


l 


b) a spring in a Hindu 
water bed. 


c) the delicious combination 
of equal parts of Drambuie 
and scotch over ice. 


BOPROOF LOUEUR IMPORTEOBYEWA TAYLORA CO мим FLORIDA ӨЗ 


issue is great, as usual. But aren’t all the 

people, places and things on the inside 

lucky to have Kym heading the parade? 
Bill Chaffin 
Richmond, Virginia 


In a world in which beauty is a rare 
commodity, Kym Herrin would do well to 
consider the advantages of personal incor- 
poration. 

E. Gilet 
Nashville, Tennessee 


HIGHEST TECH 
I must admit being significantly dis- 

appointed in, but not surprised by, Craig 
Vetter’s Technodarlings in the September 
PLAYBOY. My experience with MIT stu- 
dents suggests that his portrayal of them is 
narrow, shallow and uninvolved. Further, 
to paint our education as crushing—one 
that leads to young people’s becoming sui- 
cidal—is inaccurate in the extreme. Final- 
ly, Vetter’s treatment of women at MIT, 
though consonant with PLAYBOY's usual 
trivialization of them, is also regrettable. 
As an attempted fictional spoof, smoothly 
written by Vetter—not bad. As a piece of 
reasonable reporting—far off the mark. 

William J. Hecht, Executive 

Vice-President 
MIT Alumni Association 
Cambridge, Massachusetts 


Your portrayal of life at MIT is 
unnervingly close to the reality of it. 
Kudos to Vetter. As an undergraduate 
employee of the Artificial Intelligence 
Lab, I feel compelled to add to one com- 
ment made in the article. Although some 
folks here do manage to sit and hack unin- 
terrupted for days on end, some of us find 
the time to do other things as well—such 
as read your magazine. Keep up the good 
work. 

Michael J. Konopik 
Artificial Intelligence Laboratory 
Cambridge, Massachusetts 


‘SWEETHEART OF Z X 

As my brothers and I read the Septem- 
ber issue of PLAYBOY, we were particularly 
drawn to the beauty and wit of Miss Sep- 
tember, Barbara Edwards. But what 
really caught our eye (besides her obvious 
physical endowments) was her Playmate 
Data Sheet. Imagine our surprise at her 
listing her favorite turn-on as being a 
Sigma Chi sister! I’m sure the rest of the 
Greek world is outraged, but what can 
we say, guys? The lady knows quality. 
We love you, Barbara! 

The Men of the Sigma Chi Fraternity 

Zeta Psi Chapter 

Cincinnati, Ohio 


I leave for the U.S. Air Force at the end 
of August and couldn't have asked for a 
better going-away present than Miss Sep- 
tember, Barbara Edwards. Since having 


her come to boot camp with me in person 
is impossible, I'm trying to figure out a 
way to smuggle in her centerfold. If I get 
caught, ГЇЇ expect you either to bail me 
out or to let me see more of Barbara in the 
very near future. 


Michzel Davis 
Aurora, Colorado 
Don't worry about getting caught, 


Michael. One of the first things they teach 
you in the Air Force is bailing out. 


А. С. SCENERY 
Congratulations to Contributing Pho- 

tographer David Chan and all the Girls of 
the Atlantic Coast Conference (PLAYBOY 
September). Of the many young ladies 
depicted, I’m especially knocked out by 
Kerry McClurg, the Maryland lovely who 
admits that she’s wanted to appear in 
PLAYBOY since she was 14. Now that 
you've fulfilled her dream, how about sat- 
isfying one of mine? I would love to see 
Kerry in your centerfold. 

Jeff Morriss 

Edison, New Jersey 


As a student at the University of Vir- 
ginia and as one of the 70,000 boys in the 
A.C.C., 1 enjoyed Girls of the Atlantic 
Coast Conference immensely. It just goes 
to show that the best-looking girls really 
are in the South. Thanks, 

William Н. Arrington, III 
Charlottesville, Virginia 


I am a 19-year-old female college stu- 
dent who enjoys reading her dad's copy of 
PLAYBOY every month. Your text on the 
girls of the A.C.C. really points out the 
unfairness of many of the women’s move- 
ments on today’s campuses; that is, it is 
acceptable for a woman to display her 
intelligence, but it’s unacceptable for her 
to display her intelligence and her beauty. 
As a member of the female species, I feel 
there is nothing wrong with an intelligent 


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woman’s displaying her other attributes as 
well. Cara Lee Macdonald of Ми 
good example. Not only is she a 
ambitious law major but she also has a 
perfectly lovely pair of boobies. If it’s 
acceptable for her to exhibit her intel 
gence on the campus of Virginia, then it 
should also be acceptable for her to show 
off her knockers to the readers of PLAYBOY 
if she wants to. 1 cannot accept the argu- 
ments made by John Slaughter, Madge 
McQueen and John Rogers that women 
should be admired for their cerebral qual- 
ities but not their physical ones. Mac- 
donald and the rest of the A.C.C. girls 
have every right to be proud that they 
bared both their minds and their bodies. 
Denise L. Chilipka 
Rexville, New York 


CHEER, CHEER 
In regard to Anson Mount’s Playboy's 
Pigskin Previl® (pLavsov, September): 
With all due credit to Ara Parseghian’s 
record at Notre Dame, which was certain- 
ly notable, I question whether Ara was 
second only to Rockne in performance. 
Frank Leahy had an outstanding record at 
Notre Dame, including a 39-game un- 
defeated streak and national champion- 
ships in 1943, 1946, 1947 and 1949. 
Leahy’s record may have outshined Ara’s 
and should not be overlooked. And let’s 
give Gerry Faust a chance. He is recog- 
nized as a sterling recruiter and he pre- 
sents a good image for Notre Dame. 
Perhaps this season he will prove he is a 
great coach as well. 
John Nusskern 
Grand Junction, Colorado 


PASSIVE RESISTANCE 
Asa Baber usually does an excellent job, 
which is why I am concerned about a slip 
in his September Men column. He always 
tries to be fair in his consideration of 
women, but in “Ball-Bustin’ Blues, Part 
One,” he commits the ultimate misunder- 
standing. Baber states that feeling out of 
control of one’s life is a male problem and 
a relatively new one. He states that twice 
in his life, he felt the deep anger of being 
forced to be submissive. Just twice! Every 
woman should be as lucky. Necding to be 
in control of one’s life is a human need, a 
need for both men and women. Ask any 
psychologist. That men sometimes carry it 
too far and want also to control the women 
and the children in their life is more to 
their advantage than to their disadvan- 
tage. At least, when things start to go 
wrong, they can recognize the problem, as 
Baber does. Women who have been raised 
to be submissive don’t even know where to 
start looking. It is womankind’s largest 
problem. 
Linda Bairstow 
Albuquerque, New Mexico 


Crew Sweater 
Carrie Parka 


untains. Aspen, Colorado. 


ULTRA LIGHTS: 5 mg. "tar", 0.5 mg. nicotine, LIGHTS: 10 mg. 
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Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined 
That Cigarette Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health. 


x 


DEWAR’S PROFILE: y 
MARK STORY 


HOME: New York City. 


AGE: 35 A 

PROFESSION: Commercial film direetor, pe N 

Pfeifer-Story Productions. 2 

HOBBIES: Writing the ultimate self-help 
book for the non-gregarious, How to Spend 
the Least Amount of Time with People 

You Don't Like. 


LAST BOOK READ: Post Office, 
Charles Bukowski. 


LATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT: 
Directed Fur, a satirical short film, 
for Saturday Night Live. 


WHYIDOW LDO: “After eight 

years of taking orders in an advertising 
agency, the time had come. The directee 

would become the director. And I did.” 
PROFILE: Works well with people. 

Would prefer not to. “Closet recluse.” 

HIS SCOTCH: Dewar's? “White —- 
Label.” “Aftera long casting 
session and {00 many stage 
mothersghaying a Dewar's 
and soda is the only honor- 
able thing to do,” 


UPLIFTING MESSAGE 


In an article devoted to drug deals and 
addiction among attorneys, The National 
Law Journal reported the case of a Florida 
lawyer accused of negotiating for the sale 
of cocaine valued at $3,000,000. No 
stranger to dope deals, the accused attor- 
ney had specialized in defending clients in 
drug-related cases, advertising his services 
in High Times magazine under the head- 
ing "GIVE YOUR BUST A LIFT.” 

. 

The Bradford, Vermont, school board 
rejected a reference book on language 
skills prepared by teachers at Oxbow 
High School because it contained too 
many spelling and grammatical errors. 

. 

Our favorite headline this month comes 
from Australia’s Tasmanian Country: 
“STATE SEMEN SENT TO BUSH-FIRE VICTIMS.” 

. 

"Тһе San Diego chapter of Mensa, that 
weird club for ultra-brights, decided it 
would be fun to invite members of Densa, 
a group of self-proclaimed not-so-brights, 
to a chili party. It was fun, said Densa 
president Jack Canaan. But it would have 
been more fun if the Mensa people had 
remembered the chili 

. 

Drug-crazed crows, swacked on win- 
dow putty, are terrorizing a new suburb 
near Traunstein, West Germany, by 
smashing windowpanes with their beaks. 
Builders in the area have complained to 
authorities that the birds, made hyper- 
active and aggressive by something in the 
putty, have caused substantial vandalism. 
Perhaps the West Germans should enlist 
the aid of Crow-Magnum, P.I. 

. 


Yes, but how were the canapés? Arthur 
Prager, who attended a gala benefit at 


New York's South Street Seaport Muse- 
um in honor of Brooke Astor’s longtime 
support, was overheard to say, “Brooke 
Astor? I thought they were honoring 
Brooke Shields.” 

. 

Two dozen members of the Vagos Out- 
laws motorcycle club roared into Orange, 
California, pulled up outside St. Joseph 
Hospital, took the place by storm and 
donated 50 units of blood. Leader Tony 
“Rat” Simmons explained, “Many of us 
have needed blood transfusions. . . . You 
get out of life what you put into it.” 

б 

Members of the Southern Baptist Con- 
vention voted overwhelmingly to hold 
their 1989 meeting in Las Vegas. Donna 
Jethon, a Southern Baptist from Reids- 


ville, North Carolina, said after casting 
her vote, “There's going to be prostitution. 
There's going to be drinking. There's 
going to be gambling. That makes me even 
more determined to go there.” 

. 

Illinois secretary of state Jim Edgar 
says final figures indicate that of the 
16,385 vehicles given CV license plates— 
indicating they serve charitable organi- 
zations—there were 527 Cadillacs, 147 
Lincolns, 18 Mercedes and one Rolls. 

. 

Los Angeles residents aren't just into 
hot tubs these days. They’re also into cre- 
atively defacing bumper stickers issued by 
a local hamburger chain. What originally 
read IN-N-OUT BURGERS now advertises that 
even more appealing delicacy, the old m- 
N-OUT URGE. 

. 

When Return of the Jedi premiered in 
Kenya, one particular line brought the 
house down. When alien Nien Nunb said, 
“Atiriri inyui mwi hau inyouthe ukai 
haha” to the pilot of the starship Millen- 
nium Falcon, 1300 people broke into 
cheers. Apparently, the alien spoke fluent 
Kikuyu, the dialect of Kenya’s dominant 
tribe. The phrase means “Listen, you over 
there; come here, all of you.” 

. 

Richard W. Suter, Chicago numisma- 
tist and author of How Not to Get Ripped 
Off in the Coin Business, admitted in U.S. 
district court that he had swindled coin 
buyers out of at least $50,000. 

. 

A 20-year-old Paris housewife discov- 
ered that a violent headache she had been 
suffering for ten days had been caused by 
а .22-caliber bullet her husband had fired 
into her head while she was sleeping 
When she awoke, she noticed some blood 


21 


BEST SELLERS 


FICTION 


Rabbit Is Senile, by John Updike. 
Rabbit Angstrom runs away and for- 
gets why. The continuing story of an 
American hero. 

Rocky XII, by Sylvester Stallone. 
Another installment in the story of 
the boxer who became Pope. Based on 
the movie. 

"The Odd Sea, by Homer. A new inter- 
pretation and translation by A. J. Cob- 
son. 

Dune Buggy: God Emperor of the 
Road, by Frank Herbert. Science fic- 
tion for the motor-minded. 

Rural Routes, by Alex Haley. A black 
postman finds his route. 

2000 and : A Space Rip-Off, 
by Arthur С. Clarke. The long- 
awaited climax of the 2007: A Space 
Odyssey trilogy. Hal, the homicidal 
computer, becomes ап intergalactic 
banker. 

Sofia’s Joyce, by William Styron. The 
imaginative account of James Joyce in 
Bulgaria. 

Four by Fitzgerald: Trendy Is the 
Night, The Great Gretzky, This Side of 
Parody and The Last Raccoon. Four 
lost classics by Barry Fitzgerald. 
Waiting for Good Dough, by Samuel 
Bakit. A drama of rising expectations. 
A Hitchhiker’s Guide to Blooming- 
dale’s Short stories from The New 
Yorker. 

The Wimps of War, by Herman 
Woukie. The epic saga of three genera- 
tions of conscientious objectors. For the 
squeamish. 

Gross Encounters of the Behind, by 
Steven Spielberg. Psychic messages 
drive a man to do weird things with 
mashed potatoes. 

Gandhi with the Wind, by Margaret 
Bourke-Mitchell. The story of a Bos- 
ton Brahman who moves to the South 
to start a bean plantation. “Frankly, 
Mahatma, I don’t smell a thing.” 
Nancy Drew’s First Period. A serious 
novel about Nancy’s initiation into the 
world of punctuation; to be followed by 
Nancy Drew’s First Comma. 


NONFICTION 


Treasures of the Vatican Collection, 
with an introduction by Pope John 
Paul II. This official publication, au- 
thorized by the Vatican Museums, is a 
collection of the best confessions of 
1982 as selected by priests on five con- 
tinents. With a 30-page Celebrity Con- 
fessions Quiz. 

The Complete Scarsdale Prison 
Diet, by Jean Harris and Dr. Hi “Ap- 
ple” Turnover. Proper nutrition for 
the other woman. 

The Book of Lisps— “Great 

in History,” by Irving Wallathe, Amy 
Wallathe and David Wallethinthky. 
101 Uses for a Dead Katz: Dealing 
Creatively with Bereavement, by 
Sheila Katz. A personal story of cop- 


ing. 
Years of Raking It In, by Henry Kis- 
singer. Volume nine of his memoirs. 
Amazing Grace: The Biography of 
Grace Tarantella. A young girl from 
Passaic, New Jersey, grows up to 
become the mascot of the 82nd Air- 
borne Division. 

From Van der Rohe to Hi-De-Ho, by 
Cab Calloway. The jazz singer’s favor- 
ite houses. 

Ball One, by Jackson “Tiger” Mor- 
timer. The exploits of the popular 
baseball player, who continued to play 
despite the havoc resulting from a 
botched vasectomy. 

Real Flies Don’t Eat Shit, by Belle 
Zeboob. Dining cheaply in New York 
City. 

Like, Plie! Totally Pas de Deux! 
Y'Know—Grand Jeté—Fer Shoor! 
How to Be a Ballet Girl, by Allison 
McAllison. 

30 Days to a Slimmer You: “The 
Mahatma Gandhi Diet,” by Richard 
Attenborough. Passive resistance to 
food, from the author of Sexy Legs in 
20 Days: Where to Find Them—How 
to Make Them Yours. 

A Cut Above: "The Royal Circumci- 
sion," by Chuck and Di Windsor. 
With photographs, drawings and com- 
memorative cup. — —AVRUM JACOBSON 


on her pillow, got up, washed her hair and 
then went back to bed. The husband, 
charged with attempted murder, had been 
despondent over losing his job. 


OF MICE AND MEN 

Arnold Creeley, deputy sheriff of New 
York's Tioga County, was relaxing at the 
Rainbow Trail tavern in Owego one eve- 
ning when the bar hosted a mouse race. 
Creeley was swept up in the spirit of com- 
petition. After placing a bet on his vermin 
of choice, he accepted a challenge to eat 
race mouse if it didn’t rally for a win. 
Moments later, he was garnishing his 
rodent repast with salt, pepper and catsup. 
“He said the tail was wiggling in his 
throat,” said tavern owner Donald Whee- 
land. “It took him two swallows.” 

. 

Sign of the times: We found the follow- 
ing message, in tasteful calligraphy, on the 
back of the driver's seat in a local taxi: 
CASH ONLY. NO CHECKS, FOOD STAMPS, DRUGS, 
SEX, B--LS--T OR EXCUSES WILL BE ACCEPTED 
OR EXPECTED. TIP ONLY FOR GOOD SERVICE. 
WELCOME TO CHICAGO. 


A CLEAR CASE OF ENTRAPMENT 

After five weeks of intense law-enforce- 
ment effort, the Park Forest South, Illi- 
nois, police department's sting operation 
busted a thief who'd been stealing small 
amounts of marijuana from the depart- 
ment’s evidence lockers. 

Yes, a dope-eating mouse had been 
chewing its way through plastic bags filled 
with boo that were being held for an 
impending drug trial. Officers bought four 
“self-baited” traps, which contain a sub- 
stance mice allegedly can’t resist. Still, the 
little bugger ignored them and ended up 
absconding with about a half ounce of the 
pot—sign of a prodigious habit. 

Finally, a savvy Park Forest South 
detective suggested baiting a trap with a 
joint: “Good, California-grade pot,” said 
Police Chief Michael Dooley. “We knew 
the mouse wouldn’t mess with the bad 
stuff.” The culprit was found dead the 
next day, its final bite of wonder leaf still 
in its mouth. “That mouse,” said Dooley, 
“probably didn’t know it was dead.” 

. 


An article іп the Tucson Citizen about 
burial costs noted that cremation is often 
опе fourth as expensive as a traditional 
burial. Swan funeral director Edwin 
Hudgel added, “[Cremation] is really a 
lifesaver for people.” 

. 

Two American students returning from 
the Soviet Union were detained by 
Soviet customs agents who confiscated 
their printed matter—including a recent 
copy of PLAvsov. The students overheard 
the officials saying to each other, “Do we 
have this issue?” 

“Yes, we can give it back to them.” 


THERE ARE МЕМ WHO KNOW. 


inta's Sleigh, only one says “Season's Greetings” 
all year—PLAYBOY. Order now and save on 12 big issues. 


GIVE MORE/SAVEMORE 22 


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D Bill me after January 1, 1984. 
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TELEVISION 


By TONY SCHWARTZ 


FAITHFUL READERS of this column will 
recall that it began six months ago with a 
bold prediction: the demise of a major net- 
work—NBC—during the next ten years. 

May І amend that ever so slightly? The 
forces conspiring against the networks are 
no less powerful than they were. Still, on 
further reflection. I'm ready to concede 
that it may be impossible to lose money 
running a network. NBC, after all, ran a 
distant and dismal third last season and 
still eked out a $100,000,000 profit. 

What will happen is that NBC, as well 
as CBS and ABC, will become inexorably 
less profitable and less powerful as the 
competition grows. And the most impor- 
tant of those competitors may not be 
Home Box Office or Ted Turner's WTBS 
but one that doesn't exist yet: a fourth 
network composed of independent stations 
and opportunistic network affiliates. 

Before we get caught up in abstract 
concepts, let’s look at a specific fourth- 
network notion. This fall, several produc- 
ing partners introduced a show called 
Thicke of the Night on approximately 120 
stations around the country. The 90-min- 
ute program, starring Canadian talk-show 
star Alan Thicke, is designed as an alter- 
native—for viewers and advertisers—to 
NBC’s aging Tonight Show, with Johnny 
Carson. Among the stations that picked up 
Thicke are independents that might other- 
wise be programing old network reruns 
and affiliates of all three major networks, 
including at least two from NBC that are 
using Thicke in place of Carson. 

Other producers have been cooking up 
their own fourth-network projects. Em- 
bassy Telecommunications is about to be- 
gin a quarterly movie night on a group 
of 100 stations it has put together; 
Paramount Pictures has talked of a com- 
bination  movie-and-frst-run-specials 
network, in partnership with three of the 
largest group-television-station owners; 
and McCann-Erickson, the advertising 
agency, has considered helping develop a 
project in which independent stations 
would set aside two hours a week for first- 
run programing. 

If Thicke works, “it could mean Arma- 
geddon,” says Bob Bennett, president of 
Metromedia Television, which produces 
the program in partnership with MGM/ 
UA and Fred Silverman. 

Armageddon? A single show as the 
showdown? Well, look at Bennett’s logic. 
For years, Tonight has been among 
NBC’s most profitable shows—reportedly 
earning as much as $100,000,000 a year. 
The affiliates that run Tonight earn only 
a pittance by comparison; NBC pays each 
one a nominal fee (“compensation”) and 
gives it a couple of commercial spots at the 
beginning and the end of the show. 


So NBC won't play dead; 
there's still a threat 
of a fourth network. 


By contrast, the producers of Thicke are 
splitting the commercial time 50/50 with 
local stations—meaning that each side has 
90 spots a week to sell. If Thicke wins 
even half the audience that Tonight does, 
Bennett figures it will earn upwards of 
$80,000,000 a year—and that affiliated 
stations may earn ten times what they do 
now by carrying network offerings. That 
prospect could prove mighty seductive. 

Certainly, the affiliates have reason 
to feel restive. The networks, reacting to 
diminished audiences and rising costs, 
have already increased the number of 
national commercials they run, usurped 
morning and late-night time slots that 
affiliates used to program (and profit 
from) alone and failed to increase affiliate 
compensation to keep pace with inflation. 
“They’re fooling around with a delicate, 
sensitive relationship,” says Bennett. 

Now, thanks largely to satellite technol- 
ogy, affiliates have a way of striking back. 
Until recently, the networks, using tele- 
phone land lines, were the only ones that 
could transmit programs cost-effectively 
and quickly. Now most stations have their 
own satellite dishes. The result is an 
instant and inexpensive means of plucking 
from the sky whatever programs a produc- 
er transmits via satellite. Which is how 
Thicke is being distributed. 

For national advertisers, the lure of 
alternative networks is another competi- 
tive outlet. As long as network shows were 
the only ones that reached the entire coun- 
try, major advertisers paid whatever the 
networks demanded. But now that inde- 
pendently produced shows such as Thicke 


can reach nearly the same audience, ad- 
vertisers have an alternative. 

This fall, for example, a new half-hour 
news-and-feature show called Newscope 
is being delivered by satellite each day to 
stations covering 90 percent of the coun- 
try. Telepictures Corporation, the New 
York-based producer of the show, is offer- 
ing advertisers incentives the networks do 
not, including guarantees of audience. 
Among those who have signed up is Sears, 
Roebuck. “Sears is spending more than 
$2,000,000,” says Michael Garin, presi- 
dent of Telepictures. “That money would 
otherwise have gone to the networks.” 

Independent stations are another part 
of the equation. Up to now, they’ve built a 
remarkably good business with remark- 
ably little innovation—running old mov- 
ies, local sports and reruns of shows like 
M*A*S*H against the local news on net- 
work affiliates. But without their own 
programs, independents remain depend- 
ent—and bland. By banding together to 
produce original programing, they have 
an opportunity to become distinctive— 
and, perhaps, to compete effectively 
against network prime-time shows. 

Bennett's Metromedia is the best 
positioned, since the company owns in- 
dependent stations in the top three 
markets—New York, Los Angeles and 
Chicago—and has a total of seven stations 
that reach 25 percent of the viewing audi- 
ence. Indeed, Metromedia is active on sev- 
eral fronts. Beyond Thicke, it is helping 
keep alive Fame and Too Close for 
Comfort, two shows that the networks 
canceled. 

Metromedia is also initiating its own 
monthly movie night—offering a feature 
film on Sunday nights that hasn't previ- 
ously played on the networks. As with 
Thicke, participating stations will share in 
the ad revenues—and stand to earn far 
more than they would by running network 
fare. In Boston, for example, where 
Metromedia owns WCVB, an ABC affil- 
iate, Bennett figures that the station might 
easily earn $100,000 in ad revenues from 
a reasonably attractive two-hour’ movie, 
compared with $10,000 for using network 
programing. 

Unlike proponents of cable television in 
its first flush, few fourth-network advo- 
cates are suggesting that more interesting 
programing will be one of the outcomes of 
the competitive environment. 

Beneficiaries from fourth networks 
should include advertisers, independent 
Stations, affiliates and producers. But for 
viewers, the best hope may be more times 
in which to watch the same movies and 
sitcoms. 

“Any lip service paid to quality on tele- 
vison is exactly that: lip service,” says 
Garin. “All this fight is really over is a 
bigger share of the advertising dollars.” 


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¡copla (Knopf), by Harry Stein, is a 
fictional account of those years in 
the early part of this century when Ameri- 
can life was so wide open that somebody 
even found a way to fix the world series. 
Stein beautifully catches the aura, the lan- 
guage and the characters of the time. 
Luther Pond is his inspired invention, a 
grizzled old sportswriter who covered that 
rigged 1919 White Sox series, and Buck 
Weaver was one of the eight Chicago 
players who were accused of throwing the 
games and then were drummed out of 
baseball for life. Between them, they meet 
just about everybody who was anybody in 
those years, from Ty Cobb to John L. 
Sullivan to Shoeless Joe Jackson to Jack 
London (whom Pond calls a lout and a 
bad writer). And so do we. At one point, 
Cobb goes into the stands to beat a nasty 
fan half-senseless, then leads a players’ 
strike in the wake of the affair. That strike 
lasts only hours, though, because the rich 
men who owned baseball in those years 
were utterly shameless in their exploita- 
tion of the country boys who played for 
them. It makes it a little harder to 
begrudge the modern players their fat sal- 
aries or to believe that there were good old 
days when baseball was played mostly for 
the fun of it. 
. 

OK, kids, ready for your history lesson? 
Did you know that Vietnam veterans are 
not eligible for benefits under the GI Bill? 
That President Carter said, “Our concept 
of human rights is preserved in Poland”? 
That in the U.S.A. today, there is as much 
forest as there was when George Wash- 
ington was at Valley Forge? That 80 
percent of our air pollution stems from 
hydrocarbons released by vegetation? 
That fascism was really the basis for the 
New Deal? That General Anastasio So- 
moza, dictator of Nicaragua, resigned 
from office because the Organization of 
American States asked him to? That when 
the United States was the only country 
with nuclear weapons, it did not blackmail 
others with threats to use them? That it 
may be true that people go to bed hungry 
every night, but most of them are on diets? 
What? You don’t believe what you're 
hearing? But our President told us so! And 
Mark Green and Gail MacColl have com- 
piled an account of “Ronald Reagan’s 
Reign of Error.” The book is titled There 
He Goes Again (Pantheon). It’s good for a 
lot of laughs, but it’s also good for some- 
thing more profound, a basic question 
What does the President know? 


. 

The tide of Ron Hansen’s book The 
Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward 
Robert Ford (Knopf) hardly lets the reader 
know what a literary treat is in store for 
him. What he gets, though, is a historical 
novel, well researched, that provides a 


The 1919 Black Sox scandal retold. 


Baseball, Reagan, Jesse 
James, mystery and Paul 
Theroux on Britain. 


A Jesse James novel that works. 


gentle, poetic and vivid portrait of the 
James gang as living, breathing scum 
bags. This isn’t just ге! 
through the device of fictio: 
convincing contemporary view of socio- 
pathic depravity. Jesse has some redeem- 
ing eccentricities, but the others display 
worrisome forms of righteous and vicious 
redneckism. This, communicated with a 
fine style and careful wordsmithing, 
should secure honors for Hansen. 
. 

In the summer of 1929, а German doc- 
tor and his mistress turned their backs on 
middle-class Berlin society, sailed halfway 
around the world and set up housekeeping 
оп deserted Floreana Island in the Pacif- 


ic's Galápagos archipelago. Dr. Friedrich 
Ritter fancied himself a philosopher, and 
Dore Strauch saw a chance to escape 
from her schoolteacher husband. Both 
envisioned a pastoral retreat from the 
20th Century. But the Adam and Eve 
of Floreana, as Friedrich named them, 
were soon joined by other outcasts— 
notably, a gunslinging, self-titled baroness 
and her entourage of servile young men. 
By 1934, three islanders were dead. The 
Galápagos Affair (Random House) is a fas- 
cinating account of that eccentric commu- 
nity, as pieced together by Cambridge 
zoologist John Treherne. While Tre- 
herne’s expertise isn’t in journalism, his 
inquisitive and thoughtful nature unravels 
innumerable contradictions in the un- 
solved deaths. In this instance, truth is 
stranger than fiction. 
. 


Раш Theroux, author of two excellent 
travel books, The Great Railway Bazaar 
and The Old Patagonian Express, has 
just come through with his best effort, The 
Kingdom by the Sea (Houghton Miffin). 
“The longer I lived in London, the more I 
came to see how much of Englishness was 
bluff and what wet blankets they could 
be,” Theroux writes of his growing irrita- 
tion with that city, “but when I began to 
think about traveling around Britain, I 
became excited.” And travel around Brit- 
ain he does—around its coast line (“Brit- 
ain was its coast—nowhere in Britain was 
more than 65 miles from the sea”). In this 
volume, Theroux takes trains, hitchhikes, 
rows, walks, talks, observes, through 
Cornwall and Wales, Ulster and Scotland, 
from country lane and deserted beach to 
village and city. A fine book; don’t leave 
home without it. 


BOOK BAG 
The College Catalog (Quill), edited by 


Constance Masson: A serviceable, some- 
times funny primer for collegians who 
have no buddies in the upper class, The 
tone is properly sophomoric, the illustra- 
tions are cute, but there’s some bizarre 
advice here. Need extra bucks for tuition 
and books? Turn to page 86 and “Be Your 
Own Chimney Sweep.” 

Mr. Bedford ond the Muses (Viking), by 
Gail Godwin: This novella and five stories 
prove that sometimes even the smallest 
events in people’s lives can make for the 
most interesting tales. 

The Rescue of Miss Yoskell and Other Pipe 
Dreams (Congdon & Weed), by Russell 
Baker: To paraphrase a TV commer- 
cial—when Russell Baker writes, we 
read. 

Grand Delusions: The Cosmic Coreer of John 
De Lorean (Viking), by Hillel L. 
you didn’t know it, De Lorean is the real 
Great Gatsby. Read all about it. 


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2 


By BRUCE WILLIAMSON 


DIRECTOR Robert M. Young skillfully 
squeezes pathos from The Ballad of Gregorio 
Cortez (Embassy), based on the true story 
of a Mexican fugitive who became a leg- 
end after shooting and killing a Texas 
sheriff in 1901. While there’s no doubt 
that he pulled the trigger, Cortez’ essential 
guilt or innocence is studied, Rashomon 
style, from several points of view. He is 
evidently the victim of mistaken identity, 
plus faulty translation by a sheriff's depu- 
ty who tries to “talk Mexican.” Whether 
hot on the trail or hunkered down with a 
trainload of Texas Rangers, the exhaus- 
tive man hunt that brings Cortez to injus- 
tice is painstakingly re-created here. The 
vintage lifestyle and locations are photo- 
graphed by Ray Villalobos with an air of 
absolute authenticity. 105 a class act 
throughout, yet Gregorio Cortez is disti 
guished mostly for a magnificent, low-key 
performance in the title role by Edward 
James Olmos (best known heretofore as 
the star of the stage and screen musical 
Zoot Suit). Olmos’ wrenchingly honest 
underplaying stirs memories of Brando at 
his zenith in Viva Zapata. This conscien- 
tious chronicle doesn't begin to match that 
classic. Even so, Young makes it both sen- 
sitive and suspenseful—an underdog epic 
with plenty of bite. YY 
. 

Anyone old enough to remember Pearl 
Harbor may feel strong resistance to some 
aspects of Nagisa Oshima’s Merry Christmas 
Mr. Lawrence (Universal Classics). In a 
questionable coda to a harrowing tale of 
British soldiers in a Japanese prisoner- 
of-war camp, Oshima suggests that right 
or wrong is a judgment made by whoever 
holds the winning cards at a given mo- 
ment. But World War Two cannot be so 
easily equated with Vietnam, say, and 
Mr. Lawrence has rocks in its head as a 
thinking man’s war drama. The movie’s 
strength rests on two stellar performances, 
by Tom Conti, in the title role, and by 
singer David Bowie—once again proving 
his electric screen presence as a handsome 
young officer whose attractiveness pretty 
well unhinges the camp commandant 
(Ryuichi Sakamoto, the Japanese pop star 
who also composed the movie's arresting 
musical score). The homosexual under- 
currents somehow muddle the major 
issues about men at war, and Oshima— 
creator of two erotic classics; /п the Realm 
of the Senses and Empire of Passion —may 
be more comfortable studying men in love. 
In any case, he exploits Bowie's androgy- 
nous appeal to the max. Without it, Mr. 
Lawrence would be an earnest but weari- 
some antiwar tract. YY 


. 
No use fudging the fact that Bob 
Fosse's disturbing, brilliant Star 80 


World War Two 


Stellar performances from 
Conti, Bowie, Olmos; 
flawed, brilliant Siar 80. 


Star 80's Hemingway. Roberts. 


П 
culture clash. 


(Warner/Ladd) poses problems for a crit- 
ic from PLAYBOY. The subject is close to 
home, dealing as it does with the murder 
of the 1980 Playmate of the Year, Doro- 
thy Stratten. That said, let's give Star 80 
the nod as a totally personal and complex 
interpretation by Fosse of an American 
tragedy of our time—deeper than the 1981 
TV movie starring Jamie Lee Curtis, with 
much fiercer emphasis on the character of 
Paul Snider, the obsessed hustler and also- 
ran who found Dorothy, promoted her, 
married her and went berserk when he 
saw no place for himself in her bright 
future. As Snider, young Eric Roberts 
tops his sensitive performances in King of 
the Gypsies and Raggedy Man with an 
unnerving, hypnotic portrait of a congeni- 
tal loser. He's a composite of Lee Harvey 
Oswald, John Hinckley, Jr., and the 
have-not hero of Taxi Driver, a nobody 
who practices sleazy charm in front of his 
bathroom mirror and looks dangerous 
from the first moment we meet him, eying 
Dorothy with palpable greed rather than 
healthy lust. As Dorothy, Mariel Hem- 
ingway is sweet, blonde, vulnerable, 
reaching a bit but still a reasonable fac- 
simile of the Vancouver schoolgirl des- 
tined for fame and fortune well beyond 
her introduction on a centerfold. Interest- 
ing that Carroll Baker—a flaming film 
sexpot of the Fifties—is aptly cast as Dor- 
othy’s skeptical mother, who initially op- 
poses her daughter’s career move to L.A 
with a lout she derides as “а tango danc- 
er.” But is Carroll here to tell us, between 
the lines, that the love goddesses of yester- 
year look back in anger? Maybe. 

Minor quibbles aside, Fosse’s treat- 
ment of PLAYBOY is impeccably polite, 
though superficial. Cliff Robertson plays 
an avuncular Hugh Hefner, “Mr. Hef- 
ner” to Dorothy as she sashays through 
photo sessions and the Playboy Mansion 
West, apparently relishing the only “up” 
moments of her life as a Hollywood golden 
girl. The rest of the movie concentrates on 


EE 3 


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Snider’s malevolent rage, frequently cut- 
ting away to fast glimpses of the grisly 
murder scene or post-mortem interviews 
with various witnesses who knew Dorothy 
and Paul before her affair with a Holly- 
wood director (Roger Rees of Nicholas 
Nickleby, sympathetic as a carefully fic- 
tionalized Peter Bogdanovich) moves 
Snider to buy a shotgun. 

And there’s the rub. Whether inten- 
tional or subconscious, Fosse’s persistent 
visual linking of sex and violence evolves 
into a final statement that makes Star 80 
rather oppressive and likely to hearten 
those fanatic feminists who see any nude 
photograph of a woman as an invitation to 
enslavement and assault or worse. From 
Cabaret and Lenny to All That Jazz, there 
has always been a dark underside to the 
glittering sensuality of Fosse’s work— 
nobody does it better, yet his famous piz- 
zazz often feels guilt-edged. Because he is 
an enormously gifted moviemaker, Fosse 
will mesmerize you while Star 80 delivers 
the subliminal message that no good can 
come of all that bare skin and packaged 
sex appeal. It's an odd contradiction, since 
the film’s surface glamor (and chief sell- 
ing point) benefits from Mario Casilli’s 
flashy, pLAvBovesque stills of Hemingway 
as Stratten (see next month's pLaYBoY for a 
sampling); also, cinematographer Sven 
Nykvist’s unflagging genius helps keep 
this chilling case history looking very 
handsome. Dazzling but downbeat, Star 
80 is, in effect, all about Fosse himself as 
an ambivalent showman-cum-sociologist, 
all about Snider as a murderous psycho- 
path, with almost no fresh insight or truth 
about Dorothy. The previous public rec- 
ord remains, to show that truth. ҰҰҰ 


. 

Perhaps his daring-but-dreary flops of 
recent years explain, in part, why director 
Robert Aluman has started turning to the 
theater for source material. Anyway, the 
Altman film version of David Rabe’s 
award-winning Streamers (UA Classics) 
has lost nothing in a vivid translation from 
stage to screen. Confined to the claustro- 
phobic area of an Army barracks in the 
Sixties, when the Vietnam war and L.B.J- 
were part of our daily bread, Streamers 
breaks out like a dramatic brush fire. No 
American movie since Altman's own 
M*A*S*H has made a stronger antimili- 
tarist statement about violence. The erup- 
tion of hostility among four men awaiting 
orders to ship out—two black soldiers and 
two white—is prompted by fear for their 
lives in combat, though the explosive 
action appears to stem from racism and 
half-hidden homosexual tension. The title 
is an image of mortality supposedly taken 
from the jargon of airborne troops— 
streamers are parachutes that don’t open. 
And the over-all production is excitingly 
designed, from the opening credits (a 
snappy close-order drill, shrouded in mist) 
to the drab, grayish interior scenes, in 
which subtle touches of red hint at the 


Wright, Lichtenstein in Strearners. 


A winning play by 
Altman, a mishmash 
from Doug Trumbull. 


Brainstorm: Farewell to Natalie. 


Ne 


Lonely Hearts’ Kaye, Hughes. 


bloodshed to come. 

As usual, Altman’s casting is inspired, 
which means that the acting in Streamers 
could hardly be improved upon. All of 
these performers are stunning: David 
Alan Grier as the amiable black GI; 


Michael Wright as his chum, an angry 
outsider with the presence of a coiled 
cobra; Matthew Modine as the sexually 
confused Billy; Mitchell Lichtenstein 
(famed artist Roy is his father) in a 
vibrant turn as the gay provocateur. As a 
pair of battle-scarred old sergeants, 
George Dzundza and Guy Boyd will give 
you goose bumps with their jingoist 
brawling. By definition somewhat stagy 
and schematic, Streamers is nevertheless a 
hold-your-breath movie—cogent, dynam- 
ic, the smoothest Altman work since his 
prolific golden period of 1970-1975. ¥¥¥ 
. 


The high-tech idiocy of Brainstorm 
(MGM/UA) kept me totally confused, 
despite yeoman efforts by Christopher 
Walken, Louise Fletcher, Cliff Robertson 
and the late Natalie Wood. It’s the video- 
game school of cinema, all about a diaboli- 
cal machine that makes vicarious thrills a 
fact—in other words, one person’s physi- 
cal and emotional experiences can be 
taped and directly re-experienced by 
another individual. Well, of course, this 
invention falls into the wrong hands, as 
usual. And so does Brainstorm, 1 suspect. 
Producer-director Douglas Trumbull, a 
special-effects wizard whose illustrious 
credits include 2007: A Space Odyssey, 
Star Trek—The Motion Picture and Close 
Encounters of the Third Kind, appears to 
have better grasp of visual gimmickry than 
of plot and simple continuity. Most of the 
time, Brainstorm does not make a hell of a 
lot of sense. It’s the kind of movie that 
prompts you to nudge your neighbor and 
say, “Huh?” wondering whether you had 
dozed off and missed something impor- 
tant. Might be easier to just skip the whole 
show. ¥ 


. 

In 1982, the Australian Film Institute's 
Best Film award went to writer-director 
Paul Cox’s unassuming Lonely Hearts 
(Goldwyn). Down under, that’s as good as 
getting an Oscar. Lonely Hearts was also 
honored with nominations for best direc- 
tor, best actress and best actor. You will 
know why when you see this exceptional, 
tender little love story co-starring Wendy 
Hughes and Norman Kaye as a couple of 
ordinary people whose courtship proceeds 
with the classic, easy-does-it appeal of 
such movies as Brief Encounter and 
Marty. Cox takes his time exploring every 
nuance of the relationship between a 50- 
year-old bachelor, who wears a terrible 
toupee and has a penchant for shoplifting, 
and an uptight spinster who is deathly 
afraid of men and sex but even more 
afraid of her domineering parents. Kaye 
and Hughes do a beautiful job of ensemble 
playing in a comedy that is slow-paced, 
perhaps, but hypersensitive, spirited and 
virtually certain to leave a lump in your 
throat. ¥¥¥ 

. 

Once hooked on the films of director 

Nicolas Roeg, a fan is likely to become 


incurable despite frequent disappoint- 


ments. Roeg's Eureka (UA Classics), 
ou | lever e though somewhat апу and pretentious 
compared with his best work (Walkabout 


H А and Don’t Look Now, for example), is also 
dazzling, imaginative and hypnotic from 
Ol | I S Ir beginning to end. A bad movie but an 
O exciting one, redeemed by a reckless bra- 
vura style and a lusty performance by 
Gene Hackman as one of the world's 
wealthiest men, who struck it rich in the 
gold fields and has lived unhappily ever 
since on a private tropical island. He calls 
his island Eureka (from the classical 
Greek exclamation “I have found it”), and 
Roeg’s variations on the theme of obses- 
sion are seasoned with sex, murder, voo- 
doo, alcoholism and dark intrigue. Jane 
Lapotaire as Hackman’s drunken wife, 
Theresa Russell as his wayward daughter 
and Dutch dreamboat Rutger Hauer as 
the fortune-hunting son-in-law he de- 
spises head a charismatic company that 
includes Joe Pesci and Mickey Rourke 
among its smiling heavies. The screenplay 
really goes to pieces after a brutal murder 
(I won't give away the grisly details) and a 
ludicrous trial scene that would stymie 
any actress but definitely leaves the sensu- 
ous Miss Russell with egg on her face. 
Seldom has a courtroom drama been so 
sabotaged by self-indulgence. While that’s 
the worst of Eureka, even veteran Roeg 
addicts may occasionally see this garish 
modern tragedy as a loyalty test. жұу; 
. 

The charisma shown by Tom Berenger 
as one of the flashier performers in The 
Big Chill is nowhere evident in Eddie and 
the Cruisers (Embassy). This time out, Ber- 
enger plays a high school teacher who 
used to be a pianist-composer for 2 rock 
group led by the lengendary Eddie—a 
mythic figure in pop culture after he drove 
his car off a bridge and vanished back in 
1963. It’s 1983 when Eddie and the Cruis- 
ers begins, as a sort of musical suspense 
drama asking, “Is Eddie Wilson actually 
alive and about to reappear?” Berenger 
more or less spearheads the search party, 
but neither the screenplay nor the direc- 
tion ever truly lifts off, which means the 
actors are marooned in mediocrity. Eddie 
comes to life only in its flashbacks, star- 
ring movie newcomer Michael Paré, who 
expertly lip syncs the musical specialties 
(perfect pieces for the period, composed by 
John Cafferty and performed with the 
Beaver Brown Band) and leaves an indeli- 
ble image on the screen. As a star-is-born 
showcase for Paré, Eddie has single-track 
vision, obscuring all others. ¥¥ 

. 

Back in the Fifties, three country louts 
brutally rape a French farmer's German- 
born wife. Decades later, her somewhat 
deranged but beautiful daughter is driven 


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remember about this Gallic—and Goth- 
ic—suspense drama, directed by Jean 
Becker, is the magical screen presence of 
Isabelle Adjani. Her role may seem far- 
fetched at times, but Adjani’s portrayal of 
the sullen, shapely, maniacal provincial 
sexpot rivets attention from start to finish 
There’s gleaming steel beneath her wil- 
lowy starlet exterior, and she cuts through 
all the dramatic contradictions of Deadly 
Summer, the better to fit them into her 
own flashy, tarted-up portrait of a psycho. 
Just try to look away. ¥¥¥% 
. 

This year’s Oscar for best foreign film 
went to the Spanish entry, To Begin Again 
(Fox International Classics), a choice like- 
ly to confirm the suspicion that too many 
academy voters are geriatric cases doling 
out prizes to well-behaved underdogs. Al- 
together benign and trivial, not to mention 
familiar, Begin Again is the odyssey of an 
aging, ailing writer (Antonio Ferrandis) 
who has been to Stockholm to collect a 
Nobel Prize for literature and who stops 
off in Spain, after an absence of more than 
40 years, to see an old flame and to rekin- 
dle friendships with his old soccer team 
hefore going back to die in harness on the 
campus at Berkeley. It’s not bad, just una- 
bashedly sentimental, doggedly ordinary 
Cole Porter’s Begin the Beguine, which 
wells up on the sound track at regular 
intervals, made me shed a tear for one or 
two far worthier movies that might have 
won that Oscar. ¥¥ 

. 

Is there a law on the books decreeing 
that Gerard Depardieu must star in two 
out of every three movies made in France? 
There's hardly enough variety in his per- 
formances to justify such overexposure, 
and The Moon in the Gutter (Triumph) puts 
Virtually everyone in a bad light. Co- 
starred with Depardieu in this turgid, 
mannered melodrama about a stevedore 
who's obsessed with grief over his dead 
sister, a rape victim, is Nastassia Kinski as 
a kind of upper-crust dream girl. But even 
the Kinski charisma seems dampened by 
Gutter's aesthetic overkill. Director and 
co-author of the screenplay is Jean- 
Jacques Beineix, whose delightful Diva 
established him as one of last year’s most 
promising film makers. The stylistic tricks 
he used there were part of the fun, but the 
same self-consciousness undermines Moon 
in the Gutter, which is altogether preten- 
tious—with actors moving and speaking at 
the pace of sleepwalkers. Some signs of life 
are exhibited by a vital, earthy young 
actress named Victoria Abril, new to me, 
playing Depardieu’s vengeful girlfriend 
with flat-out, unaffected sexiness, as if she 
were on loan from a much better movie. ¥ 

. 

The ubiquitous Depardieu has the title 
role in Polish director Andrzej Wajda’s 
French-language Denten (Triumph). As a 
history lesson about Danton’s conflict 
with Robespierre (Wojciech Pszoniak) 


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after the French Revolution, the movie is 
solid, sober and enlightening. Through 
the lengthy trial scene before he goes to the 
guillotine, Depardieu, as Danton, talks, 
talks, talks. The production is opulent but 
seldom emotionally involving. If you pre- 
fer a learning experience to an exhilarat- 
ing night at the movies, join Gerard. ¥¥ 
. 

Credit Pia Zadora for scoring high 
marks against heavy odds in The Lonely Lady 
(Universal), a clinker adapted from Har- 
old Robbins’ book about a lady novelist 
not unlike the late Jacqueline Susann. 
When she finally goes onstage to claim her 
first screenplay Oscar, the embittered her- 
oine says, “I don't suppose Pm the only 
опе who's had to fuck her way to the top.” 
As a teenager, she is raped (with the пог- 
zle of a garden hose) beside the swimming 
pool of a famous Hollywood writer, whom 
she subsequently marries. Oh, everything 
happens to Jerilee Randall. The wonder 
is that Pia’s honest performance almost 
conquers the handicaps of a ludicrous 
script, lame direction, even costumes that 
occasionally smack of sabotage. She has 
dignity despite all, consistently projecting 
a sense of her own worth that takes the 
edge off Lonely Lady as laughable trash. 
Someday, if ever she lucks out with a rea- 
sonably intelligent screenplay and a direc- 
tor who knows his stuff, the last laugh 
may be Pia’s. Take her or leave her or let 
"em snicker up their sleeves at her, she is a 
pro, likely to come back swinging. YY 


. 

Talk, talk and more talk—all about 
l'amour, with some tumbling in the sack 
for a change of pace—dominates Pauline at 
the Beach (Orion Classics). French writer- 
director Eric Rohmer pegs it as one of a 
film series he calls Comedies and Proverbs, 
“a little dance of love” that is witty, be- 
guiling and featherweight. Pauline (en- 
gagingly played by Amanda Langlet) is a 
teenager vacationing at a scaside resort 
with her sophisticated cousine Marion 
from Paris—a stunning showcase role for 
blonde Arielle Dombasle. The plot poses 
such questions as: Will Marion find hap- 
piness with Henri? Should Pauline lose 
her virginity with Sylvain or Pierre? 
Who's going to tell Marion that Henri 
was caught in bed with Louisette, the pro- 
miscuous candy peddler? None of it mat- 
ters in the least, you understand, yet 
Rohmer makes this frivolous ode to sum- 
mer romance quite irresistible. Reserve 
some credit for cinematographer Nestor 
Almendros, one of the world’s best, who 
catches the casual holiday mood to perfec- 
tion—as easy to take as a snooze in the 
shade while the birds and the bees flit 
from flower to flower. УУУ 

° 

С. Gordon Liddy and Timothy Leary 
are the unlikely co-stars of Return Engage- 
ment (Island Alive), sharing the platform 
for a filmed debate—or maybe a vaude- 
ville act—that might reasonably be sub- 


titled “Crack Shot Meets Crackpot.” Only 
in America would a convicted Watergate 
conspirator and the guru of modern men- 
tal chemistry team up to air their political 
differences in a showbiz format that be- 
came a hit on tour. Don’t be surprised. In 
this era of best-selling books by crooks, 
nothing succeeds like excess. Return En- 
gagement may be an effrontery, but it is 
also astounding and audacious, cluttered 
with mind-boggling images. My favorite 
is the opening sequence: a giant U.S. flag 
as backdrop for a performance of America 
the Beautiful, lusty vocal by Liddy, piano 
accompaniment by Leary. УУУ; 
. 


Ostensibly the story of а would-be writ- 
er (John Shea) torn between the girl he 
loves (Kate Capshaw) and aimless tom- 
foolery with half a dozen boyhood chums, 
Windy City (Warner/CBS) blows it every 
which way. This studied romantic comedy 
hard sells charm and eccentricity, with 
Shea and Capshaw—two exceptionally 
attractive performers—undone by a whole 
series of cloyingly cute scenes that put my 
teeth on edge. Set in Chicago, to music 
that italicizes any thought or feeling the 
composer can pin down, City wrings 
poignancy from the terminal illness of one 
of the hero’s pals (Josh Mostel), a funny 
fat fellow who'd love to sail to Tortuga on 
a pirate ship before he dies, just like Errol 
Flynn. You think that’s impossible? Not 
for writer-director Armyan Bernstein, 
who waxes whimsical nearly all the time. 
Iwon't belabor details, except to warn you 
that Bernstein claims credit for writing 
Francis Coppola’s misguided One from 
the Heart. Any questions? ¥ 

. 

Low-key and all aglow, Basilous Quartet 
(Libra Cinema 5) plays like a piece of 
cinematic chamber music. The analogy is 
quite fitting for a wise little Italian come- 
dy about a world-famous classical ensem- 
ble—four aging, able musicians who have 
lived only for music and who decide to 
disband when their eldest member dies 
unexpectedly. What happens when a bril- 
liant young violinist persuades them to 
regroup is the tale told charmingly by 
writer-director Fabio Carpi. As the young 
musician, who introduces his fuddy-duddy 
colleagues to recreational drugs and 
spends his own off hours coaxing women 
into bed, Pierre Malet seems perfectly cast 
to emphasize the point that “youth is dan- 
gerous... also exhausting.” One of his 
older associates, a closet homosexual, be- 
comes psychotically fixed on the handsome 
young prodigy, whose presence shakes 
the Basileus Quartet in countless ways. 
Some exceptional musical interludes are a 
nice fringe benefit for those who care, yet 
knowledge of the classics is not essential 
for appreciation of what Carpi has 10 say 
about youth, age, life and love. Quartet 
moves from Paris to London to Vienna 
and Venice, scoring modest triumphs all 
the way. ¥¥¥ 


MOVIE SCORE CARD 


capsule close-ups of current films 
by bruce williamson 


The Ballad of Gregorio Cortez (Reviewed 


this month) 1901 man hunt. v 
Basileus Quarter (Reviewed this 
month) Love and music. We 


The Big Chill Lawrence Kasdan’s all- 
star reunion of Sixties rebels.  ¥¥¥¥ 
Brainstorm (Reviewed this month) 
More like a lull. ¥ 
Danton (Reviewed this month) After 
the Revolution, encore Depardieu. ¥¥ 
Eddie and the Cruisers (Reviewed this 
month) Michael Paré lively as a de- 
ceased rock star. WwW 
Educating Rita Michael Caine bril- 
liantly plays Pygmalion with an eager 
beautician (Julie Walters). yyy 
Eureka (Reviewed this month) Good 
bad movie. Ww 
Fanny & Alexander A surprisingly 
warm-blooded human comedy by Ing- 
mar Bergman. ww 
Heart Like a Wheel Race-car champion 
Shirley Muldowney, played with zest 
by Bonnie Bedelia. БЕ 
Heat and Dust Аз ап Englishwoman in 
India today, Julie Christie explores the 
romantic scandals of yesteryear. ¥¥¥ 
Lonely Hearts (Reviewed this month) 
Mating game, Australian style. ¥¥¥ 
The lonely lady (Reviewed this 
month) The perils of Pia. vv 
Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence (Re- 
viewed this month) It’s Bowie. | ҰҰУ; 
The Moon in the Gutter (Reviewed this 
month) Depardieu again, with the di- 
rector of Diva, both waning. y 
Never Cry Wolf Man meets Canis 
lupus in a grand outdoor еріс ¥¥¥ 
One Deadly Summer (Reviewed this 
month) Adjani for all seasons. | Y'A 
Pauline ot the Beach (Reviewed this 
month) Stylish ode to summer romance 
à la frangais. Wy 
Return Engagement (Reviewed this 
month) A headline act known as Leary 


and Liddy. w 
Risky Business Tom Cruise runs sub- 
urbia’s best little whorehouse. vv 


Star 80 (Reviewed this month) The 
Stratten tragedy according to Fosse— 
starring Mariel Hemingway. ¥¥¥ 

Streamers (Reviewed this month) 
Antiwar fireworks by Altman. ¥¥¥ 

To Begin Again (Reviewed this month) 
Oscar's Best Foreign Film, 1982. Cha- 


cun à son goût. vv 
Under Fire Nolte and Hackman as 
journalists in Nicaragua. wy 
Windy City (Reviewed this month) 
Chicago with whimsy. y 
Zolig Woody Allen’s cool deadpan 
spoof of documentaries. WY, 
¥¥¥¥ Don’t miss ¥¥ Worth a look 
УУУ Good show ¥ Forget it 


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41 


OUNDS OF AFRICA: Until recent- 

ly, all that most Americans knew of 
African music was the ominous rumbling of 
drums in jungle movies. Only bits of the 
real thing have filtered into American pop 
music, via Hugh Masekela, Manu Diban- 
go and the Missa Luba. Lately, though, 
action has stepped up, as Bow Wow Wow 
and Talking Heads have spiced their 
music with tribal drums and splashes of 
Afrobeat. If your curiosity has been 
aroused, here are a few categories to 
investigate. 

African soul: While it’s true that rock, 
blues, R&B and Gospel have some of their 
roots in Africa, Africans themselves have 
frequently borrowed from Western pop. 
James Brown is almost a bigger star in 
Africa than he is in the U.S., and perform- 
ers ranging from Stevie Wonder to Bob 
Marley have huge audiences over there. 
Masekela got his start with a pop hit 
called Grazing in the Grass but has done a 
number of albums mixing jazz with Afri- 
can rhythms. The newest Anglo-African 
connection is Juluka, а multiracial group 
from South Africa presented on the War- 
ner Bros. album Scatterlings as a sort of 
African equivalent of Fairport Conven- 
tion (see review). Long familiar to U.S. 
audiences is Miriam Makeba, whose 
fondness for traditional African music 
gives her songs a folkish simplicity. The 
less well-known Letta Mbulu, who relies 
upon more contemporary styles, sounds 
like an African Joan Armatrading. 

African pop: Fela Anikulapo Kuti is not 
only a major pop star but also a consider- 
able political presence in his native Ni- 
geria; his records abound with diatribes 
against Western corporate imperialism 
and African social hypocrisy. But support- 
ing his views is Africa 70, one of the hot- 
test, most infectious rhythm sections on 
the face of the carth—iv’s the group Talk- 


ing Heads emulated on Remain in Light. 
Fela’s albums here are all imports, but the 
опе to look for is Original Suffer Head, on 
Arista (UK). 

Juju music has quickly become a pas- 
sion for many pop hipsters, thanks to King 
Sunny Adé, Nigeria’s other reigning pop 
icon. Unlike Fela’s Afrobeat music, which 
owes much to the steamy rhythms of 
James Brown, juju is cool and insinuat- 
ingly infectious, built from a foundation of 
fluid, melodic drumming with added gui- 
tars, vocals, even synthesizer. Check out 
Adé's first American album, Juju Music 
(Mango), for a rich purée of rhythm and 
melody. Then try his new LP, SyncroSys- 
tern (Mango). 

The most far-flung of West Africa’s 
pop styles is high life, irrepressibly сһеег- 
ful music relying heavily on guitar and 
horns to push the percussion along. Prince 
Nico Mbarga (amazing how much royalty 
shows up on the African charts) calls his 
group Rocafil Jazz, but don't expect any 
bebop from him; just get his first Ameri- 
can release, Sweet Mother (Rounder), and 
clear the dance floor. Two domestic 
samplers, Sound d’Afrique and Sound 
d'Afrique II (Mango) offer appealing 
highlife variants from central Africa. 

African traditional music: The real Roots, 
if you will. Because this stuff is of endur- 
ing interest to musicologists, there is an 
awful lot of it on record; the problem lies 
in sorting the truly listenable from the 
merely ethnomusicological. One key factor 
is checking the label. The Nonesuch Ex- 
plorer Series, for example, offers good 
sound quality and excellent price (85.98 
list); Lyrichord has some superb music in 
its catalog, but others of its discs sound аз 
if they were recorded over the phone. 

Not sure which style you’re interested 
in? A good head start can be found in 
Music and Rhythm (PVC), a compilation 


that intersperses native sounds from Afri- 
ca and Asia with the work of Third 
World-conscious rockers. If you’re fond of 
xylophone or thumb piano (remember 
Earth, Wind & Fire’s Kalimba Story?), 
good records to have are Rhythms of the 
Grasslands and Shona Mbira Music, both 
on Nonesuch. Those curious as to where 
Bow Wow Wow and Adam Ant stole their 
thunder ought to seek out Burundi: 
Musiques Traditionelles, on the French 
Ocora label. As for vocal styles, perhaps 
the most fascinating belongs to the Pyg- 
mies, whose gorgeous yodeling—that's 
right, yodeling—is well represented on 
Lyrichord’s Music of the Rain Forest 
Pygmies of the North-East Congo and on 
Ocora's Gabon: Musiques des Pygmöes 
Bibayak. 

Because there is so much music to 
choose from, anthologies tend to be spotty, 
but two commendable tries are Africa 
Dances (Original Music) and the two-vol- 
ume Assalam Aleikoum Africa (Antilles). 
And, lest we forget some of the best- 
known natives of Africa, Animals of Africa 
(Nonesuch) is sure to make your neigh- 
bors wonder about the company you 
keep. —J. D. CONSIDINE. 


REVIEWS 


Both Neil Young and Billy Joel have 
tossed small bouquets at the foot of the 
rock-"n'-roll altar this month, each with 
an album of new songs that sounds as if it 
were dug from stacks of old 45s. It’s a little 
risky to reach back in spirit the way these 
albums do, because it’s unlikely that any- 
one else will ever bop and shake like the 
original boppers and shakers, but both of 
these loving counterfeits pull it off with 
style and feeling. 

Young’s collection, called Neil and the 
Shocking Pinks—Everybody’s Rockin’ (Geffen), 
is the simpler, purer tribute. The time- 
warp cover photo could be of Carl Perkins 
or Bill Haley in pompadour, pink suit, 
pink tie, black shirt and two-tone shoes, 
and the musical touches seem to have come 
out of the same attic trunk: echo chambers, 
sax solos, doo-wop backgrounds, Jerry 
Lee Lewis-like piano and Ricky Nelson 
high notes. Our favorite is Kinda Fonda 
Wanda, which gathers an all-star squad of 
rock-’n’-roll sweethearts—Skinny Min- 
nie, Long Tall Sally, Short Fat Fanny, 
Runaround Sue, Betty Lou, Peggy Sue, 
Donna, Barbara Ann and Jenny. 

Billy Joel’s An Innocent Man (Columbia) 
sounds and feels simpler than it really is. 
The bass lines, backgrounds and harmo- 
nies of these songs remind you of the 
Coasters and the Drifters, and the melo- 
dics are sweet ог growly in the spirit of the 
Fifties—but just below that, there is some- 
thing more sophisticated. “PI take my 
chances, I forgot how nice romance is,” 
say the lyrics of The Longest Time; but 


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Gilbey. A gin taste worth a toast. 


FAST TRACKS 


MIKE DOONESBURY LIVES: One thing is for certain—when Mike Doonesbury was a lowly 
Yale undergraduate, neither he nor we ever dreamed of Broadway. Mike thought just getting 
his degree was "а challenge for our times." Well, thanks to his creator, Garry Trudeau, 
Mike, Zonker, Joanie and the whole gang will meet nightly in New York's Biltmore 
Theater in Doonesbury: A New Musical. There will be a cast of ten and music by Elizabeth 
Swados. Not bad for a guy who started his college career with no social skills at all. 


UOTE OF THE MONTH: About his 

new basement studio in Buffalo, 
Rick James says, “I just put $800,000 
[into it] so I don’t have to record in 
L.A. if I don’t want to. L.A. is expen- 
sive and L.A. is shit. Here, we can do a 
quality job and we're at home. Pm 
going to rent the studio out, too. If 
Michael Jackson wants peace and quiet, 
he can come here to record. He can 
even stay at the ranch.” Are you listen- 
ing, Michael? 

REEUNG AND ROCKING: Delilah Films, 
which produced The Compleat Beatles 
and Girl Groups: The Story of а 
Sound, has acquired the world-wide 
film rights to the reunion concert by 
the Everly Brothers and the rights to 
their life story. . . . John Travolta, who 
plans to star in the Brian De Palma mov- 
ie Fire, says he may research his rock- 
star role by going on the road with a 
group. . . . Former Kinks and Whe pro- 
ducer Shel Talmy has sold a screenplay 
about Butch Cassidy and the Sundance 
Ki 


Newsereaks: Here's а story we like a 
lot: Dave Stewart of the Eurythmics 
says that MTV agreed to play their 
Love Is a Stranger video only after 
Annie Lennox produced legal documents 
that proved she—not a transvestite— 
was the one who had starred in it. 
Although the video won best of the year 
in Great Britain, MTV got viewer 
complaints the first time it was aired 
and took it off until Lennox produced 
the documents. Is it any wonder, then, 
that MTV has a slightly M.O.R. repu- 
tation? We know a great-looking wom- 
an when we see one. Lionel Richie 
shot a video with some pretty hot assist- 
ants: Five Easy Pieces director Bob 
Rafelson was behind the camera and 
Michael Nesmith produced. . . . Don’t 
expect to see the next J. Geils Band 
album until late this winter or early 
spring, and don’t expect to see the band 
perform, either. There will be no con- 


certs until the record is done. 
But after that, look for ап exten- 
sive American tour. . . . David Bowie 
has joined some exclusive company at 
Madame Tussaud’s. The model of 
Bowie will be added to those of Elvis, 
the Beatles and Elton, who represent 
rock at the wax museum. A Tussaud's 
spokesman says the cost runs between 
$5000 and $10,000. The subject usu- 
ally donates an outfit (would you want 
to see yourself in someone else's 
clothes?) and does an hourlong photo 
sitting. About Bowic, the spokcsman 
says, "David's eyes are more unusual 
than most—he has one blue eye and 
one brown eye—but it's no problem. 
We have a large stock of glass eyes in. 
every possible color." Well, thank the 
Lord. ... In case you haven't noticed, 
foreign artists have once again invaded 
the Billboard charts in record-breaking 
numbers. Last time, we called it a Brit- 
ish invasion; it now includes the other 
"colonies," Canada and Australia. In 
fact, if you give partial credit to such 
bands as The Police and Crosby, Stills & 
Nash, who have British members, the 
list includes more records by foreigners 
than by Americans. .. . Speaking of 
money in the bank, the FBI says it was 
tipped off to a huge counterfeit-tape 
operation by angry recording artists. 
In a surprise raid, agents confiscated 
250,000 bootleg tapes, many of them 
country. Some of them had already 
been loaded into two tractor-trailer 
trucks and bore shipping labels ad- 
dressed to truck stops, street vendors 
and even some major record stores. 
Agents say the equipment at the New 
Jersey facility was capable of making 
75,000 cassettes a day. Just think of all 
the royalties that wouldn’t have been 
paid. . . . Finally, did you get the 
album Girls’ Night Out, by Toronto? It 
has a 3-D jacket, a 3-D inner sleeve 
and a pair of 3-D glasses. Pretty hip, 
right? — BARBARA NELLIS 


The 
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No-Risk 30 Day Trial 


THE RADAR DEFENSE КЇТ 


ESCORT comes complete with a molded 
carrying case, detachable power cord, visor 
clip and hook and loop mounting, spare 
fuse and alert bulb, and a comprehensive 
owner's handbook. 


Overwhelm Your Favorite Driver 


A good gift is more than a surprise; the 
perfect gift hits the mark. If there's a driver 
on your list, you can give ESCORT with 
absolute confidence. Heres why. 


First Class Performance 

When radar is out there, ESCORT's 
superheterodyne circuitry will find it. Over 
hills, around curves, hidden in the bushes, 
anywhere. But don't take our word for it In 
its most recent comparison test, Car and 
Driver rated ESCORT number one, calling 
it ”...clearly the leader in value, customer 
service and performance..." 


Coveted Equipment 

For several years after its introduction, 
demand was so great that customers waited 
up to six months for delivery. We finally had 
to build a new factory to keep ahead of 
the demand. 

Users quickly came to depend on 
ESCORTs unique radar report—the way 
its variable-pulse audio warning, analog 
meter and amber alert lamp work together 
to give a precise indication of radar type 
and range. 


ry 
Processor 


And last spring we added our STatistical 
Operations Processor (ST/O/P™), a new 
electronic circuit—the first in the industry— 
which rejects false alarms caused by less 
elegantly designed detectors. With ST/O/P. 
ESCORT is more desirable than ever. 


Attention To Detail 

Owners also take great pleasure in 
ESCORT look and feel. Its extruded alu- 
minum housing has the right heft. The visor 
clip is a rugged combination of Lexan and 
spring steel. The volume control is as silky 
as that ofan exotic stereo. We even add a 
small photoelectric sensor (you can see it 
next to the red power-on indicator). Itsenses 
the ambient lighting in the car and adjusts 


the brightness of the alert lightto suit. These 
are just a few of the many details that make 
ESCORT unique. 

But all this sophistication doesnt mean 
that ESCORT is hard to use. Just install 
ESCORT on dash or visor, and plug it into 
the lighter. We even include an adapter for 
European lighter sockets. And ESCORT's 
low-profile shape, finished in non-glare 
black, looks right at home in any car. 


i= 


Power On LED Signal Strength 
and Sensor Meter 


Apart From The Crowd 

We've always felt that users of preci- 
sion electronics are entitled to deal with 
experts. That's why we only sell ESCORT 
direct from our factory. There are no middle- 
men. When it comes to customer satisfac- 
tion, we take full responsibility. 

Our system ofdirectsales offers special 
benefits to the gift giver. You needn't worry 
about inadvertently buying a discontinued 
model still in a store's stock. Your gift will 
never be seen marked down in the dis- 
countchains. Moreover, giving an ESCORT 
shows you were concerned enough about 
Quality to track down the only source. And 
there's another advantage 


Highway/City 
‘Switch 


Easy Access 

ESCORT lets you do your Christmas 
shopping by phone and avoid the retail has- 
sle. We're only a toll-free call and a parcel 
delivery away. And ESCORT is guaranteed 
to please. Holidays or any time, take the 
first thirty days asa trial. If you're not abso- 
lutely satisfied, return it and we'll promptly 
refund your purchase and mailing costs. 
We also back ESCORT with a full one year 


limited warranty. Car and Driver called us 
the “class act” in radar detection. So order 
now, ESCORT is the perfect driver's gift. 


Do It Today 
Its easy to order an ESCORT, 
by mail or by phone. 


By Phone: Call us toll free. A mem- 
ber of our sales staff will be glad to 
answer any questions and take your 
order. (Please have your Visa or 
MasterCard at hand when you call) 


CALLTOLLFREE. . . 800-543-1608 
IN OHIO CALL.. . . . 800-582-2696 


By Mail: We'll need to know your 
name and street address, daytime 
phone number, and how many 
ESCORTS you want. Please enclose 
a check, money order, or the card 
number and expiration date from 
your Visa or MasterCard. 


ES 69 


ESCORT (Includes Everything). . $245.00. 
Ohio residents add $13.48 sales tax. 
Speedy Delivery 

If you order with a bank check, 
money order, credit card, or wire trans- 
fer, your order is processed for ship- 
ment immediately. Personal or com- 
pany checks require an additional 
18 days. 


RADAR WARNING RECEIVER 


Cincinnati Microwave 
Department 1207 

One Microwave Plaza 
Cincinnati, Ohio 45242-9502 


Tune in: Talkback with Jerry Galvin’ America’s new weekly satellite call-in comedy talk show. Sunday evenings on public radio stations. Check local listings. 


PLAYBOY 


they also say, “Maybe this won’t last very 
long... maybe ГЇЇ be sorry when you're 
gone,” and, in fact, most of these songs 
hold out that teenage hope for the power 
of love, then take it back. An innocent 
man, perhaps, but not naive—and the 
combination is ambitious and interesting. 
. 

Jazz loyalists will be grateful to the 
moguls at Mosaic Records, a West Coast 
mail-order label, for reviving and hand- 
somely packaging the work of several 
titans. In its first release, Mosaic is offer- 
ing The Complete Blue Note Recordings of The- 
donious Monk, The Complete Pacific Jazz and 
Copitol Recordings of the Original Gerry Mulli- 
gan Quartet and Tentette with Chet Baker and 
The Complete Blue Note Recordings of Albert 
Ammons and Meade Lux Lewis, All are boxed 
with booklets, discographies, photos and 
more. For details, write to Mosaic, 1341 
Ocean Avenue, Suite 135, Santa Monica, 
California 90401. 

. 

Carnaval in Cuba (Folkways, 43 West 
61st Strect, New York, New York 10023) 
is like Independence Day and Mardi Gras 
combined—with a bit of pagan ritual 
thrown in for primal energy. Played by 
various Cuban street musicians, the dense 
drum rhythms tangle like cats on a hot tin 
roof. Horns of African and Chinese inflec- 
tion produce an earthy, jovial pugnacity 
Really, this is the only Cuban dance 
record you'll ever need. Copious historical 


WINTER IS when folks at Jack Daniel's id 


If traditional country must evolve from 


like to tell stories, especially on one another. |, Qe ATi a 


2 P A ide it safel t the pitfalls of 

The stove in Jack Daniel's old office draws a | pop thet have шиш Pent tesa al 
4 . a C&W ists. L 

lot of story-tellers this time of year. They like | желе ver ama, In Ұшу Moon 


to tell about such things as when someone's — | #21 nett ай conducive to good bar- 


room brawling or appropriate for inter- 


prize foxhound treed a screech owl. But before | mission a the loca stock-car races, but he 


3 i knows when to use an occasional minor 
long, one of the old-timers will start talking | ord о good ейеа. Nice sound for seri- 
. ous country courtin’. 
about Mr. Jack Daniel. That . 
2 Here's our rock-’n’-roll-party album of 
generally brings up what the month: The Animals Ak (LR.S.). 
Mr. Jack said about making 


Burdon and the boys are back, and while 
whiskey —'Every day we 


V you'd like a booklet about Jack Daniel's. drop us a hne- 


they'll never fill up Yankee Stadium in 
CHARCOAL | 1984, they sound like the best bar band 
MELLOWED | you stumbled onto in 1969. The Night is 


i í an unstoppable cut; Eric’s cover of Trying 
make it we make it che б to Get to You probably will; and the rest 
best we can.” And as DROP (six songs on each side!) rocks preity fine, 

à Р , too. This ain't House of the Rising Sun, 
you can imagine, that’s б but it ain't condo music, either. 
no joking matter. BY ROE SHORT CUT 


Howard Devoto/Junky Versions of the 
Dream (LR.S.): Future schlock from the 
Tennessee Whiskey • 90 Proof « Distilled and Bottled by Jack Daniel Distillery former leader of Britain's Magazine. 
Lem Motlow, Prop., Inc., Route 1, Lynchburg (Pop. 361), Tennessee 37352 There is no chance you'll like this record if 

Placed in the National Register of Historic Places by the United States Government. | your hair is its natural color. 


“The new MinoltaTalker 
actually talks you 
into great pictures’ 


It's simply unbelievable. 

The new Talker from Minolta 
comes right out and tells you, 
"Load film; when the camera's 
empty. Or, when the light's too 
dim, it says, “Too dark, use flash” 
Or, when you're out of flash range, 
“Check distance” 

Amazing! 

The new Talker from Minolta is 
a totally automatic 35mm camera 
that just won't let you make a 
mistake 

It automatically loads the film 
and sets it for the first shot. After 
each shot, it automatically 
advances the film to the next shot 
When you come to the end of the 
roll, itautomatically re-winds. 

Itautomatically focuses the lens 
by infrared beam. Even in the dark 

You get laser sharp pictures at 
distances from 33 inches to infinity. 
Perfect for snapshots, 
Portraits and scenery, it 
produces a prolessional- 
size negative that gives 


© 1983 Minolta Corporation 


clear, sharp blow-ups. 

It has a built-in flash with 
an exclusive energy saver. 

And it accepts the new 
high-speed ISO 1000 
films for sharper outdoor 
action shots and more 
indoor shots without 
flash 

It even gives you a 
one-year Minolta U.S.A. 
limited warranty. 

Talk to one soon. At 
your Minolta dealer. 
USA limited warranty regis 
tration card is packaged with product 
For more information on the Talker (AF-S). 
wit rp. Dept T 101 Williams 
Drive. Ramsey, N.J. 07446. In Canada: 


Minolta Canada, Inc.. Mississauga. 
Ontario, Canada LAW 1А4 


“TOO DARK, 
USE FLASH! 


ONLY FROM THE MIND OF MINOLTA 


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52 


у COMING ATTRACTIONS +: 


By JOHN BLUMENTHAL 


mo Gossip: This month's Yondah Lies 
da Castle of My Faddah Award goes to 
Paramount for picking Richard Gere to 
top-line—are you ready for this?—The 
Story of David (alternative title, An Israel- 
ite and a Gentleman). Set to shoot in Italy 
under the direction of Bruce (Breaker 
Morant) Beresford, the film will follow the 
progress of its hero from his days as an 
innocent shepherd through his reign as 
king of Judah. No other casting news 
was available at presstime, but Mr. T 
sounds appropriate as Goliath and Debra 
Winger might be good as Bath- 
sheba. .. . God only knows why, but Co- 
lumbia is prepping Annie 11, with moppet 
en Quinn set to reprise her title role. 
This one, they say, will be less a tradition- 
al musical and more an action-adventure 
flick with songs. (Can’t wait for Annie 
3-D). Independent film maker Jan Egle- 
son, responsible for several worthy PBS 
productions, has been named as direc- 


Quinn 


tor. . . . Peter Boyle will play the leader of a 
Thirties New York gang who inducts 
Michael Keaton into a life of crime іп Fox's 
spoof of old gangster movies, Johnny Dan- 
gerously. Danny DeVito and Dom Delvise 
have also joined the cast.... “I have 
promised to do a comedy if I mess this 
up,” vows Bill Murray of his first serious 
dramatic role, a part in Columbia’s pro- 
duction of W. Somerset Maugham's The 
Razor’s Edge. Co-starring with Cotherine 
Hicks, Theresa Russell, Denholm t and 
James Keach, Murray plays a young man 
trying to come to terms with himself and 
the world as he finds it following World 
War One. (It’s the role played by Tyrone 
Power in the 1946 movie version.) The 
new picture is being shot on location in 
England, France and the Himalayas. . 
Mike Nichols will direct the movie of Nora 
Ephron’s best seller Heartburn. 
. 

RIOT SQUAD: The Ladd Company's Po- 
lice Academy is one of those wild-and-cra- 
zy ensemble comedies featuring a few 
name actors and a host of lesser-known 
thespians. Steve (Diner) Guttenberg, Kim 
(Tribute) Cattrall and Bubba (Oakland 
Raiders) Smith star in the picture, which 
involves the conversion of a group of kooks 
and maniacs into a crop of cops. Gutten- 


berg plays a guy given the choice of going 
to prison or becoming a police cadet, Cat 
trall wants to leave her humdrum Jui 


Cattrall 


League life behind and meet exciting peo- 
ple and Smith is fed up with being a florist. 
The rest of the cadets include a Latin 
Lothario, a momma’s boy, a henpecked 
Jewish-American prince, а compulsive 
sycophant, a weasel and a ghetto graduate. 
Putthosenuts up against three ultraserious 
police instructors, add jokes and stir and— 
presto!—you have comedy. (It worked for 
Animal House, anyway.) Police Academy 
is set for a 1984 release. 
. 

FRANKLY, МҮ DEAR...: Louisiana, 
starring Margot Kidder and lan (Chariots of 
Fire) Charleson, is one of those grand 
Southern epics in the classic tradition of 
Gone unth the Wind: In the breathless 
prose of the press release, “rich with pas- 
sion, intrigue and action, it ranges from 
the grandeur of vast plantations to . ... the 
battlefields of the Civil War.” Basically, 
105 a long story (it spans three genera- 
tions) about a beautiful, tempestuous 
woman (Kidder) who struggles to win 
back a plantation while torn between the 
men who desire and pursue her and the 
one man she truly loves but can never pos- 


¿Ad 
Charleson 
sess. Sound familiar? Louisiana, directed 
by French film maker Philippe (King of 
Hearts) de Broca (who recently became 
Kidder's third husband), co-stars Victor 
Lanoux, Andreo (La Grande Bouffe) Fer- 
reol, Lloyd Bochner, John (Topaz) Vernon 
and Hilly (Roots) Hicks. The film makers 
plan to release the film both theatrically 
and as a TV miniseries. 
. 

VIETNAM REVISITED: In Paramount's Last 
River to Cross, Gene Hackmon plays Marine 
colonel Jason Rhodes, a man obsessed with 


Kidder 


finding his son, who was among those miss- 
ing in action in Vietnam, After years of 
inquiries and shuttles from the U.S. to Asia 
and back, nothing has led Rhodes any closer 
to finding out whether or not his son is alive; 
so, with funding from а high-level corporate 
executive (Robert Stack), he plans an auda- 
cious mission through the Mekong jungle, 
prepared to use force if necessary tofind and 
release his son. Accompanying him on the 
expedition are six Vietnam veterans, por- 
trayed in the film by Fred Word, Reb Brown, 
Harold Sylvester, Tim Thomerson and Patrick 
Sweyze, all gifted veterans of the screen, 
and, in his starring debut, heavyweight con- 
tender Randall “Tex” Cobb. Also co-starring 
as Rhodes's estranged wife is Gail (Norma 
Rae) Strickland. Last River to Cross is 
directed by Ted (First Blood) Ketcheff, pro- 
duced by John Milius. 
. 

MURDER INK: What would Christmas be 
without Clint Eastwood? Yes, fans, the 
squinty-eyed star is back, this time as Dirty 
Harry after a seven-year absence from the 
role of homicide dick. The new adventure, 
called Sudden Impact, is the fourth in the 
series and the first to be directed by East- 
wood. (Sondra Locke co-stars, of course.) 


Eastwood 


Locke 
No need to detail the plot here—suffice it 


to say that Harry discovers, the hard way, 
that he is the target of a gangland assassi- 
nation scheme. You can’t beat a winning 
formula, folks. Eastwood, as director, 
seems to have developed a perspective 
about the character he plays. Says he, 
“Harry understands the difference between 
right and wrong. He is a determined, 
instinctive cop. Harry does not doubt him- 
self, he does not equivocate and he does 
not allow procedure to obscure justice.” 
. 

CLASS АСТ: American Playhouse, PBS’ 
critically acclaimed series, commences its 
third season this coming January with a 
full roster of programing in 27 original 
productions. Among them are The Cafele- 
ria, based on Isaac Bashevis Singer's 5101 
of lonely immigrants in New York; Р! 
Roth's The Ghost Writer, starring Clai 
Bloom and Sam Wanamaker; and an hour- 
long adaptation of Eugene O'Neill's Hugh- 
ie, with Jason Robards. 


Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined 


That Cigarette Smoking 5 Dangerous to Your Health. When you know 
what counts. 


1 mg. nicotine; 
"tar; 0.8 та. nicotine; 
av. per cigarette by FIC Method. 


у 
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She Haron: 


a. 


The best the world has to offer 


é жуап ител. Inc. 


© нез утам PERFUMES, әс. 


By ASA BABER 


rr was a truck stop just like any other. I 
parked my 18-wheeler and went inside to 
get off the road and out of the cold. It was 
Christmas Eve. Everybody with good 
sense was at home, but there I was, in a 
truck stop on Interstate 80 somewhere in 
Towa, eating steak and eggs and drinking 
coffee and watching the snow outside. The 
road can be as lonely as the ocean. 

Pretty soon, I noticed a fellow sitting at 
a table back in the corner, near the salami 
and the oil filters. He was slouched down 
in his seat and there were a dozen empty 
beer bottles in front of him. Damned if he 
didn’t look as sad as if he'd just totaled a 
new Peterbilt. 

Now, in a truck stop, you don't stare at 
another fellow, if you know what I mean. 
So I minded my own business and wrote 
out my Christmas list and listened to the 
jukebox; but every now and then, I 
watched that dude out of the corner of my 
eye. He looked familiar. Maybe it was the 
beard, maybe it was the boots, maybe it 
was that red suit with the white trim—I 
don't know—but it was him. He was 
chugging beer and hanging his head. I 
went over to talk to him. 

“Santa Claus,” I said, “how are you?” 

He looked around. “How the hell do 
you think I am, son?” he asked. 

“You don’t look so good, Santa. How 
come you're topping your tank with suds? 
It’s almost Christmas.” 

“So what?” he asked. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be flying over 
rooftops and climbing down chimneys 
right about now? Pull yourself together, 
man. You’ve got work to do.” 

“Better tell that to the judge, boy.” 

“The judge?” I asked. 

“Yep.” Santa Claus cracked another 
beer. “Let me tell you something, trucker. 
I used to be up to my armpits in work on 
Christmas Eve. I don’t have to bother 
now. She’s got it. Damn near all of it.” 

“Who?” 

“Mrs, Claus. My ex-wife.” 

“You two got divorced?” 

“Yep. And she got the kids. The judge 
cited mother love. Said they were in their 
tender years. Said she should take over 
and I should get the hell out of the way.” 

“What did you come out with?” I 
asked. 

“I got 50 percent interest in the house at 
the North Pole. And I got the sleigh. 
That’s about it.” 

“What about the reindeer?” 

“They turned on me, trucker. Dasher, 
Dancer, Blitzen, the whole bunch, They 
went with the money. ‘She got the gold 
mine, I got the shaft,’ ” he said. 

“So, from now on, it'll be Mrs. Claus 
who comes down the chimney?" 

“Indeed,” Santa Claus nodded. “Read 


A CHRISTMAS 
STORY 


“ "Santa Claus,’ | said, how are 
you? . . . You don't look so good... . 
How come you're topping 
your tank with suds?’ '" 


this. It’s the court order. Chimneys are 
out. I can’t go near them. It says so specif- 
ically. Besides, I can't get anywhere with- 
out my reindeer. The bailiff came out here 
and collected them this morning. They 
didn't even look back. That Prancer, Pd 
like to kick his rear end, he looked so snotty. 
He always did like Mrs. Claus better.” 

“Wow,” I said, “I guess I never thought 
of Santa Claus getting a divorce.” 

“Happens to the best of us, amigo,” 
Santa said. “I got problems just like any 
other man.” He stopped and looked em- 
barrassed. “I guess I shouldn’t say any- 
thing.” 

“Santa, you can talk to me.” 

“Tm not so sure,” Santa said. “I’m not 
sure we men know how to talk to one 
another about anything much. I tried to 
talk to one of my helpers about my trou- 
bles with my wife. Damned if that litle 
bastard didn’t nod his head and pretend to 
listen and then go try to hit on her. Now, 
what kind of treatment is that?” 

“Pretty common,” I said. 

“ГИ say it’s common. It’s crazy the way 
men treat one another, always competing, 
always looking for the edge.” 

“Merry Christmas,” I said, trying to 


cheer him up. 

“Bah! Humbug!” Santa Claus said. 

Now, I never thought I would hear 
Santa Claus say “Bah! Humbug!” to 
Christmas. 

"Santa, I'm ashamed of you,” I said. 
“You're feeling too sorry for yourself. I've 
been divorced. I know it’s hard. I know 
we're in trouble. But we can't just sit 
around and mope, damn it." 

Santa Claus was making а paper air- 
plane out of his divorce decree. "I think 
ТЇЇ have another beer,” he belched. 

“Please, Santa,” I said, “don’t do this to 
yourself." It was hard for me to say what I 
wanted to say next. "Santa, when I was а 
little boy, I was looking for only onc thing 
in life: I wanted to find men I could look 
up to, men I could respect and shape 
myself after. I think most of us guys are 
like that. 1 don't think we know any other 
way to live except to copy the men we 
respect. And, Santa, you were one hell of a 
role model for me. I wanted to be like you 
when I grew up, to be fair and funny and 
helpful and open and honest and gener- 
ous. But what I'm seeing here tonight is 
like the bad dream I call my life. Every 
damn role model I ever had gave out on 
me. My father died and the baseball play- 
ers got rich and the generals got mean and 
my buddies got scared and the politicians 
got greedy—well, you know. Come on, 
Santa, don't you give out on me, too.” 

Santa Claus looked at me for а long 
time. Something changed in him. He 
combed his beard with his fingers and 
straightened his cap and brushed the pret- 
zel crumbs off his suit. The color came 
back into his checks and he stood up care- 
fully, like a man getting out of a hospital 
bed. “Where's your truck, son?” 

“In back,” I 

"I got a trailer hitch on my sleigh. 
Reckon we could hook up? If you can get 
us started, I can get us flying.” 

“No problem, Santa.” 

“So what if I can’t go down the chim- 
ney? There are doors, aren’t there? 1 was 
getting too fat for chimneys, anyway. 
Come on, trucker, let’s haul. We got miles 
to go. ГЇЇ be damned if ТЇЇ disappear just 
because somebody tells me to.” 

Santa hitched his sleigh to my truck, 
and before I was out of second gear, we 
were flying as high as the moon. 

“Merry Christmas, son,” he sai 

“That's a big ten-four,” I laughed. 

We got presents through the door of the 
last house of the last child just before 
dawn. Then Santa flew me and my rig 
back to the truck stop in Iowa. “Ho, ho, 
ho,” Santa chortled. 

That was just before a Smokey Bear 
ticketed us for speeding, but we didn’t 
care. It was a truly fine Christmas, and 
that’s all you can ever ask for, all you 
can ever give. E 


BLENDED SCOTCH WHISKY 86.8 PROOF IMPORTED BY SOMERSET IMPORTERS, LTO! AN) 


N Ау, 


WOMEN 


By CYNTHIA HEIMEL 


ISUFFER, like many women of my ilk, from 
Nick Nolte mania. I can’t get enough of 
the guy. The rasp in his voice, the bewil- 
derment in his eyes and even his certain 
extra beefiness make me go all funny 
internally. 1 especially like the way he 
shrugs his shoulders. It’s a shrug that, if it 
could speak, would say, “I don’t know 
what is going on, and even if I did, Pd 
probably fuck ир.” 

I like existential angst in a man; it 
makes me think he knows what’s what. 
There is a certain comfort and coziness in 
a man who’s strong enough to show such 
vulnerability. Robert De Niro showed it 
in The Deer Hunter. Burt Reynolds 
showed it in Semi- Tough. Dustin Hoffman 
showed it, with a vengeance, in Tootsie. 

Unfortunately, Nick and Robert and 
Burt and Dustin are movie stars. In their 
private lives, they may well be smarmy 
twits who ooze all over the Polo Lounge 
and get excited only when their agents 
phone to tell them they’re getting three 
extra points. Who knows? 

What I do know is, there is a lot 
of counterfeit vulnerability making the 
rounds lately. It scems to be an epidemic. 
And there is nothing more unsettling than 
Vulnerable Man, the would-be superhero 
of the Eighties. Allow me to introduce him: 

+ Vulnerable Man hurts. Small puppies 
being mistreated bring visible and ex- 
tremely virulent emotional anguish to his 
countenance. Tales of starvation in India 
force him to take to his bed. For days. 

+» Vulnerable Man cares. Is it your 
birthday and nobody’s brought you a pres- 
ent? Vulnerable Man will rush right over 
with flowers. Toothache? Vulnerable Man 
knows how you feel; he’s been there. Job 
problems? Vulnerable Man knows what 
bastards those men at work can be. 

e Vulnerable Man understands. He's 
been through the grisly divorce, the death 
of a loved one, the problems of writer's 
block. He can empathize. 

* Vulnerable Man feels. Oh, God, does 
he feel. Sometimes, he just doesn’t know 
what to do with those feelings of his. 
Sometimes, they get so strong, he thinks 
he'll burst—he really does. He knows he's 
allowed to cry now, and he does so at every 
available opportunity. 

And not only all of the above but Vul- 
nerable Man also sympathizes. And tries. 
And isn’t perfect. And shows his anger. 

Vulnerable Man is a loathsome excres- 
cence. 1 want someone to push bamboo 
shoots under his toenails. I want him to 
lose his job. I want his landlord to evict 
him. In fact, if he keeled over and died, I 
might sing a little song. 

And I'm not the only one. Witness the 
following conversation, held in a random 
bar in Manhattan only days ago. 


THE VULNERABLE 
MAN SYNDROME 


“There is a lot of counterfeit 
vulnerability making the rounds 
lately. . . . And there is nothing more 
unsettling than Vulnerable Man.” 


youn: Fellow came up to me, 
wanted me to join a men’s group. 

сумтнл: Men's group? What kind 
of men’s group? 

тоны: Dunno. Something about 
understanding women’s oppression. 

SHARON: Yuck! Excuse me, I think 
Pm going to puke on my shoes. 

LesLie: You told him no, didn't 
you? I wouldn't want you to turn into 
one of those smarmy, sensitive guys. 

SHARON: Too right. My first hus- 
band turned into onc of those. There 
I was, minding my own business; and 
suddenly, he was acting like he was 
doing me a big favor by managing to 
get it up. He used to cry into his cere- 
al in the morning, too. Said Wheaties 
depressed him. 

JOHN: I told him to get stuffed, as a 
matter of fact. The way I figure it, 
men arc chauvinists, all of them. A 
woman told me that, and I believe 
her. Just like all white people are 
racists, even though they don't wanna 
be. So I'm a chauvinist; 1 know that. 
But I don't want to revel in it. I just 
try to bear it in mind before I act, so I 
don't do anything £oo stupid. 

SHARON: You know that fellow 
Alex? The one whose family has 


money? Well, all of a sudden, he's 
gone into fathers’ rights. A revolting 
concept. He takes video tapes of 
fathers during the birth of their chil- 
dren. My brother’s wife had a baby 
and he came running over, all wor- 
ried and sensitive-looking, and said, 
“How is he?” Meaning my brother. 

CYNTHIA: Not a word about the 
wife? Or the baby? He'll have to go. 

LESLIE: ] really hate this new male 
sensitivity. 

JOHN: Me, too. 

SHARON: Me, too. 


Me, too. And I'll tell you why. 176 all 
simply protective coloration. Vulnerable 
Man doesn’t really give a shit. He knows 
the right words, the glib phrases, since 
he’s boned up on his feminist treatises. But 
if one happens to glance at his eyes during 
one of his oozing, riddled-with-emotion 
diatribes, one notices a glassy, calculating 
coldness. And one realizes, with a frisson, 
that this man is simply trying to get on 
one's good side. 

What makes it all even more discour- 
aging is that not only is Vulnerable Man 
betraying women, he's also betraying his 
own sex. 

"This is a horrible story, but I’m going to 
tell it: When I was 11 years old, my best 
friend, Dede, started menstruating. And 
you know what 1, slimy creature that I 
was, did? I rushed right up to Johnnie 
Taylor, my obsession at the time, and told 
him all about it. Why? Because I wanted 
to identify with the guys, wanted to show 
them what a cool girl I was 

This is Vulnerable Man’s favorite ploy. 
He just can’t wait to show you. in word 
and gesture, what pigs other men are and 
how he’s so much better. 

Now, don't get me wrong. 1 am not 
advocating that all men must go back to 
their oppressive, male-chauvinist-piggish 
ways with no questions asked. Please. 

1 just think that every man in the world 
should shut up about how liberated he is. 
Instead of speaking, act. Help open a day- 
care center. Get up with the kids in the 
middle of the night. Wash a floor. Hire a 
woman. Just keep it to yourself is all 

Real, true vulnerability is incredibly 
courageous business. It’s the ability to grit 
your teeth, gird your loins and then man- 
age to tell someone that, yes, if she sleeps 
with another man, it'll kill you. Or that 
you’re scared she’s going to leave you. Or 
that you're afraid you're the biggest jack- 
ass in the world, but could she please love 
you anyway? Tough stuff. 

Nick and Robert and Burt and Dustin 
are professional actors. They get paid tons 
of money to simulate that honorable vul- 
nerability, because they're so good е 


at it. Amateurs, please refrain. 


{ 


57 


ALPACINO 


In the spring of 1980, 


the port at Mariel Harbor MARTIN BREGMAN 


was opened, and thousands mv PRODUCTION 
set sail for the United States. ; 


They came іп search 1 BRIAN DE PALMA 


of the American Dream. 


One of them found it on the d | AL PACINO 


sun-washed avenues of 


Miami...wealth, power and | 1 A “SCARFACE” 


passion beyond SCREENPLAY BY 


his wildest dreams. OLIVER STONE 


2: MES, nn pe hi MUSIC BY 
le World Will T! 

by Per иы BE GIORGIO MORODER 
SCARFACE. DIRECTOR OF PHOTOGRAPHY 
RA ATEN) 


EXECUTIVE PRODUCER 


LOUIS A.STROLLER 


He loved the American Dream. $ PRODUCED BY 


With a vengeance. Ei С MARTIN 
V $ 5 


BRIAN De ИЙ 


en REREAD THE BERKLEY oo x 


Coming in December 


to a Theatre Near You. 


THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 


МА, husband and I have been married 
for five years and had sex together at least 
three years before our marriage. During 
all that time, I have never had an orgasm 
from intercourse. My orgasms come from 
oral sex or masturbation, which I greatly 
enjoy—and my husband has said they 
really turn him on, too. But now he insists 
that I have a vaginal orgasm, which, it 
seems, I cannot achieve. During sex, he 
has refused me any kind of oral stimula- 
tion or even masturbation, stating that 1 
will never learn how to have a vaginal 
orgasm if he does that. Needless to say, 
lovemaking has gone downhill for both of 
us. Is there anything I can do, any tech- 
niques or exercises I can learn? We have 
tried different positions and different an- 
gles of penetration, as well as different 
speeds, but nothing seems to help or even 
come close. I have tried to find books that 
may help me, but so far, I cannot find 
what I am locking for. Can you help in 
апу way?—Mrs. A. C., St. Louis, Mis- 
souri. 

Research studies have shown that many 
women, for any number of reasons, never 
reach climax during intercourse. And sex 
therapists agree that when couples focus on 
orgasm, they create more problems than 
they had to begin with. Your husband’s 
tactics will not work. Instead of depriving 
you of what does, he should incorporate it 
into the sex act. Try touching yourself 
while you are making love. As for reading 
material, we suggest “The Playboy Advi- 
sor on Love and Sex” (it’s available for 
$10.95 from Putnam Publishing Group, 
Department PBM-5, 200 Madison Ave- 
nue, New York, New York 10016) or Lon- 
nie Barbach’s “For Each Other.” Both 
books give hints on what has worked for 
others, but there is still much to learn. We 
would like to hear from other women read- 
ers about their orgasmic experience. How 
did they learn to climax during inter- 
course? We'll publish the best letters in 
future “Playboy Advisor” columns. 


А. East Coast company has offered me 
a job. I’m still negotiating my salary, but 1 
am concerned about the cost of living in 
the new location. Pm comfortable now, 
but 1 understand housing is especially 
expensive there. Is there a way to gel a 
line on how far my money will go if I take 
the job?—S. T., Nashville, Tennessee. 
Your future employer is the best source 
Jor the information you want, and you 
shouldn't hesitate to ask for it. You will 
want to know how most employees get to 
work, where they live, what functions you 
will be required to attend and the cost of 
those functions. You will also need guide- 
lines on weather and dress requirements, 


which can add considerably to your living 
costs. It will also help to get a newspaper 
from the area to find out the costs of hous- 
ing and food. One major expense that 
many people overlook is that of state and 
local taxes. You will need to find out the 
level of income, sales, property and auto- 
mobile taxes in the new location to negoti- 
ate your salary properly. A ten percent 
increase in salary may sound good until 
you learn that moving from Nashville to 
New York, for instance, will increase your 
tax burden by 12 percent, leaving you not 
only without a raise but in the hole. 


For kicks, my girlfriend and I experi- 
mented with going for her orgasm by nip- 
ple stimulation only. She has rather small 
breasts but larger-than-average, firm nip- 
ples. After some ten minutes of kissing, 
rubbing, sucking and tonguing, it hap- 
pened! She reacted in the same way she 
does with a vaginal orgasm. We were so 
motivated that we pressed our good for- 
tune until she reached simultaneous nip- 
ple and clitoral orgasms. That is now a 
way of life with us, with quicker results 
each time: Two to three minutes for a cli- 
max is our present time, with even faster 
multiples. Needless to say, I am repaid for 
my efforts with fantastic reciprocation. 
Are we unique? I don’t know of a nipple 
orgasm other than our experience.— 
R. L. С., Los Angeles, California. 

We certainly don’t mean to take away 


from your new-found pleasure, but your 
ladyfriend is by no means unique. Many 
women are capable of experiencing or- 
gasm without clitoral (or vaginal) stimu- 
lation. We've even heard of women who 
could be stimulated on the ear lobe. Нош- 
ever, the two of you are to be commended 
Jor doing a little research on your own. 
Now you're both reaping the benefits. 


To help me control my weight, a friend 
has suggested that 1 use a concoction from 
a health-food store that contains some- 
thing called guarana. What is it? Is it safe 
to use?—L. D., Tacoma, Washington. 
Buying from a health-food store won't 
make you healthy any more than driving 
into a service station will gel you service. 
So don’t be misled by appearances. Gua- 
тапа is not new. It is, in fact, the national 
drink of Brazil. The active ingredient in 
guarana is caffeine, the very same stuff you 
find in coffee, cola and chocolate, but in far 
greater quantities. It is made from the 
seeds of a jungle shrub and is nothing 
more than a stimulant. Weight loss is a 
simple matter of burning more calories 
than you take in. You can do it by eating 
less and exercising more. A stimulant is 
Just a crutch people use in place of the will 
power it takes to eat less. Toss out the 
crutch; let your will govern your shape. 


М, husband is a voyeur. To arouse him 
requires almost exclusively that 1 relate 
intimate descriptions of naked women, 
women he knows. The better the detail, 
the more excited he becomes. He always 
thanks me warmly and profusely for my 
descriptions, but I resent having to give 
them. We have tried alternative foreplay 
and lovemaking techniques, but he always 
wants to return to that one. І work out 
daily to keep in top shape and keep my 
appearance at its best; and then, when 1 
am lying naked in bed, waiting for him, he 
is at the window, trying to catch a glimpse 
of the couple (or the Woman) at the win- 
dow across the way. If 1 had let myself go 
and were fat and ugly, his voyeurism 
would make more sense. As things are, I 
am hurt and have told him so. It seems as 
if all my effort to keep in great shape for 
him is wasted. I cannot see sharing this 
with a counselor, as the Peeping Tom 
bit is best kept under wraps. What do 
you suggest?—Mrs. М. O., Boston, 
Massachusetts. 

Have you considered moving into the 
apartment across the way? What we have 
here is a conflict of sexual styles. A voyeur 
is a person who likes his love at a dis- 
tance—he may feel overwhelmed if the 


PLAYBOY 


54 


HARDWARE ¿GENERAL STORE 


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Mr. Jack Daniel was the originator of the 
square bottle for his whiskey and always 
wanted to have a matching square glass. Well, 
here it is! This hefty square glass (each 
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to a bottle of Mr. Jack’s finest. The inside is 
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source of stimulation gets too close. On the 
other hand, you want more interaction— 
right now you are accommodating his fan- 
tasy and getting nothing in return. When 
sex becomes a duty, it’s as good as gone. 

The healthiest love styles are flexible. He 
should cater to your desires, or you should 
both create new ones. Don't be afraid of 
counseling; confidentiality is maintained. 


After taking a test drive in a new auto- 
mobile that I intended to buy, I’m still not 
certain that it’s the one I want. The reason 
is that the test drive was so short and the 
salesman rattled on in the passenger seat 
while I was driving. Is my experience typ- 
ical? Arc there dealers who will allow me 
more time and a private, extended drive to 
really test the car?—R. M., Glendale, 
California. 

It’s hard to fault the dealer for not want- 
ing you to play with his new car for a 
couple of days. But the opportunity would 
be welcome, considering that you're asked 
to make a fast judgment about a purchase 
you'll have to live with for several years. 
Many a driver has discovered that those 
soft seats he loved during the spin around 
the block offer no support at all during 
hard cornering on his daity commute. One 
good way to make your final judgment is to 
first rent the model you intend to buy. 
These days, rental companies offer a wide 
range of cars—anything from a Ford 


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Escort to a Maserati Quattroporte. A few 
calls to the rent-a-car agencies in your 
area just may turn up your dream car. 
Once you’ve got it, put it through every- 
thing you would expect your car to do, give 
it a top-to-bottom inspection or just sit in it 
and pretend you own it. A rental can tell 
you much about how the car is going to 
age, mechanically and cosmetically. Ex- 
pensive, you say? Not really. Like a dinner 
date, it’s a small investment up front that 
can save you a lot of grief later. 


М, lover and 1 enjoy oral sex frequent- 
ly. When the act is consummated, she has 
the thoughtfulness and the good taste to 
ingest my ejaculate. Together, we have 
noticed that when we abstain from that 
activity for a week or more, she seems to 
experience a greater number of facial 
blemishes. The question: Does the fre- 
quent (at least once every three or four 
days) ingestion of male ejaculate prevent 
facial blemishes? Additionally, since I 
equally enjoy and reciprocate with cunni- 
lingus, what is the effect on me of my 
ingestion of her love juices at approxi- 
mately the same intervals? Does the inges- 
tion of those precious bodily fluids have 
any other effects (for females, on breast 
size, hair texture and sheen, сїс.; for 
males, on nose size, mustache texture and 
sheen, etc.)?—P. A., Norman, Oklahoma. 

Oral sex produces only one physical 


effect—intense pleasure. It relieves tension 
(and stress has been connected with com- 
plexion problems). All other claimed ben- 
efits—from reducing spiraling inflation to 
raising the Dow Jones—are based on word 
of mouth. 


ІМ, running program has become some- 
thing of an obsession with me, and Pd like 
to continue it, even through our Minneso- 
ta winters. Can running in the cold hurt 
my body? Is there anything special I can 
do to keep myself warm without running 
in a down parka?—S. T., Minneapolis, 
Minnesota. 

When the mercury dips, we find our- 
selves more inclined toward indoor sports; 
push-ups in front of a roaring fireplace, for 
instance. But if you gotta run, you gotia 
run. So protect yourself with light layers of 
clothing, a good windbreaker and a hat. 
Ideally, your clothes should let moisture 
out while retaining heat. Fabrics such as 
Gore-Tex are perfect for that. Rapid 
movement in cold produces a wind-chill 
effect that makes you feel even colder than 
the surrounding air does, so a windbreaker 
is essential. Most body heat is lost through 
the head and the neck, so it is prudent to 
keep them covered. Of course, to produce 
body heat in cold weather, you have to 
raise your caloric intake. And don't forget 
Jogger's rule number one: The farther you 
run, the farther you have to run back. 


W am a male, 21 years old and straight. 
When I was about 16, a friend and I used 
to double date. After one such night, we 
went back to his house. We'd both been 
“unlucky” that night. Sitting in his room 
and talking about those broads, we got 
even more horny. My friend decided he 
had to jerk off immediately; and somehow, 
I joined him. Afterward, we used to mas- 
turbate together every so often. We never 
touched each other or anything like that 
We didn’t even think we had a problem 
with homosexuality. Anyway, somewhere 
around the age of 18 or 19, we just stopped 
doing it. (We started getting luckier.) Once 
in a while, we still double date; but after- 
ward, no solo performances. Do you think 
what we uscd to do makes us somewhat 
gay?—S. B., San Diego, California. 
No 


[Рт having problems with my girlfriend. 
Sometimes I reach out to touch her and 
she pulls away, saying, “Not now.” 1 feel 
rejected. She says that she doesn't like the 
way I touch her, that she doesn’t like to be 
pawed. Can you shed some light on her 
behavior?—R. W., Detroit, Michigan 
Alexandra Penney, author of “How to 
Make Love to Each Other,” has a very 
perceptive observation about the way men 


Anything can happen. 
т 


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and women differ with regard to touch: 
“Most women distinguish between two 
kinds of contact; that is, they separate sex- 
ual touch from affectionate touch in much 
the same way that men consciously ur sub- 
consciously differentiate between pure 
physical sex and making love. Most men 
don't realize that playful or affectionate 
touching, however, is central to most 
women’s sexual responsiveness. Extended 
touching and kissing and cuddling all over 
the body—nonsexual touching—are as es- 
sential to most women’s readiness to make 
love as is erotic or specifically breast/geni- 
tal touching. Many women feel that a 
man’s touch contains a demand for sexual 
intercourse. Touching can thus elicit the 
opposite response from the one you desire. 
You’re touching and stroking your part- 
ner, but instead of reacting with warmth, 
she is becoming increasingly unrespon- 
sive. .. . Generally, [men] perceive touch 
in sexual terms. If a woman hugs or 
embraces a man, he will not, as she does, 
think of it as purely a form of affection or 
warmth; he is likely to take it as a prelude 
to sexual activity. To further compli- 
cate the problem, since most men prefer 
direct and immediate genital stimulation, 
they tend to think of playful touching as a 
duty, as something to be done to please a 
woman. For many men, nonsexual louch- 
ing ts simply a series of stops along the way 
to genital touching, and this is exactly why 
women feel their touch as a demand,” 

Sounds hopeless, right? Penney makes 
the point that men touch women the way 
they would like to be touched and that 
women touch men the way they would like 
to be touched (light, feathery touches over 
the entire body). She recommends an 
exercise in role reversal: For ten minutes, 
let your lover show you exactly how she 
likes to be touched—then it’s your turn. 
“You are giving him the sensations that 
you would be most responsive to. You, for 
instance, prefer long, sensuous stroking of 
your legs and inner thighs. You like your 
nipples lo be sucked firmly; you enjoy the 
pressure of a palm placed above your pubic 
bone (many women do) while having 
your breasts caressed. Do these things to 
your partner so that he can experience as 
closely as possible what it is that feels good 
to you.” Sounds like good advice. 


All reasonable questions—from fashion, 
food and drink, stereo and sports cars to dating 
problems, taste and eliquette—will be personal- 
ly answered if the writer includes a stamped, 
self-addressed envelope. Send all letters to The 
Playboy Advisor, Playboy Building, 919 N. 
Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611. 
The most provocative, pertinent queries 
will be presented on these pages each month. 

You can hear a prerecorded message from 
The Playboy Advisor by dialing 312-976- 
4343. It’s not dial-a-prayer, but it’s close. 


Theitty bitty book light 


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DEAR PLAYMATES 


bre of the great myths of our time is 
that the sexual revolution has produced a 
generation of men and women who have 
rejected all traditional behavior. We 
thought we'd investigate this subject with 
our Playmate experts and get their views 
on being faithful. 
The question for the month: 


Is sexual fidelity important to you 
and can it be achieved in a relation- 
ship? 


В can be totally faithful in a relationship, 
and I have been. The few times I've 
strayed have 
been when the 
relationship I 
was in was go- 
ing badly. I 
think fidelity 
improves sex as 
time goes by, 
because a feel- 
ing of trust de- 
velops and you 
relax. Infidelity 
gets messy and 
someone gets 
the short end of the stick. I also think 
fidelity is easier for women than for men. 
It doesn’t take as much effort for women 
to be faithful. 


Lorine Mishara 


LORRAINE MICHAELS 
APRIL 1981 


[К rm in love with someone, I'm totally 
loyal. I do not mess around on him. Pm 
faithful, and that’s the way I like him to 
be, too. I don’t believe in a swinging type 
of relationship, 
where I can go 
out and so can 
he. That's not 
my ideal. Pm 
old-fashioned. 
I need to know 
my man is my 
man, and 1 
think he'd like 
to be sure of me 
in the same 
way. I wouldn't 
want to do the 
kind of thing that I would not like done to 
me. It’s that simple 


/ 
MARLENE JANSSEN 
NOVEMBER 1982 


Wery important. I don't like messing 
around. But if it happened, I'd hope for 
honesty. For example, if my boyfriend and 
I were sepa- i 

rated for a 
week and, after 
we both re- 
turned home, 
he told me he’d 
been up to 
something, I 
think I could 
accept it, be- 
cause he told 
the truth. I 
think men feel 
it’s morally OK 
for them to fool around but not OK for 
women. I couldn't fool around myself, I 
would never do it. If the urge ever hit me, 
I would tell my boyfriend before I did 
anything. 


Сүрә. aD Moun 


MARIANNE GRAVATTE 
OCTOBER 1982 


Wr a combination of the old school and 
the new generation. 1 have a razzmatazz, 
dazzle side and an old-fashioned, Victori- 
an side. On one 
hand, I think of 
being commit- 
ted to one man. 
On the other 
hand, 1 realize 
that no one 
person is going 
to supply all 
my basic needs. 
So I guess I see 
fidelity as a 
philosophical 
thing, because I 
accept the fact that it’s possible to be 
attracted to more than one person. I'm not 
too concerned with what he does with his 
body as long as he respects me and keeps 
his other stuff out of my face. That's 
where I'm at. Respect. 


Fr Ja 


AZIZI JOHARI 
JUNE 1975 


Tes possible in this day and age—diffi- 
cult but possible. Pm not altogether sure 
if marriage 


makes it less 
difficult or 
more. When 


you're married, 
you feel a deep- 
er commit- 
ment; but in a 
relationship, 1 


guess 1 feel 
I can fool 
around, if I 
find I like the 


other guy bet- 
ter. I'm not leaving a marriage. It's just 
not as complicated. In marriage, I think I 
will bc faithful to my husband, and I don't 
think ГЇЇ find it too hard to do. 


SUSIE SCOTT 
MAY 1983 


Mate sexuality and female sexuality are 
different with respect to fidelity. Men are 
basically in search of novelty and women 
are in search of 
monogamy. ГЇЇ 
probably catch 
hell for saying 
this, but I'd be 
more inclined 
to excuse a 
man. Why? It 
seems that men 
can have sex 
with an attrac- 
tive woman 
and not blink 
an eye. Women 
make a more emotional investment. I’m 
not talking about marriage, but I do need 
to know a man is interested in me as a 
person. So I'd be more likely to forgive a 
man even if I didn't appreciate his lapse. 


(6% P LE 


CATHY LARMOUTH 
JUNE 1981 


Send your questions to Dear Playmates, 
Playboy Building, 919 North Michigan 
Avenue, Chicago, Illinois6061 1. We won't be 
able to answer every question, but we'll try. 


E 


63 


x 


М 

um 
N 

Sg 


SS 


So 


ys 


THE PLAYBOY FORUM 


a continuing dialog on contemporary issues between playboy and its readers 


WHEN LIFE BEGINS 

It was with great delight that I discov- 
ered in the August issue a contemporary 
philosopher to rival Plato, Aristotle, Ploti- 
nus, Augustine, Ficino, Shaftesbury, 
Kant, Schelling, Hegel, Schopenhauer, 
Nietzsche, Croce, Dewey and Heideg- 
ger—even Professor Fred W. Lorenz and, 
most certainly, Hugo Carl Koch, whose 
interesting letters also appeared in the 
issue. 

1 refer, of course, to the grandmother of 
reader Morton Weiss, who, in closing the 
Lorenz-Koch exchange, quoted her wis- 
dom in concisely resolving the issue of 
when life begins. I predict long lines of 
pilgrims making their way to her door. 

Thomas L. Fernow 
Fort Thomas, Kentucky 

Grandmother Weiss, says her grandson 
in his letter, believes that “life begins when 
the children move out and the dog dies.” 


RELIGIOUS FREEDOM 
This is in response to the letter from 
Constance Robertson (The Playboy Fo- 
rum, September) and her opposition to 
1983’s being declared the “Year of the 
Bible,” which she considers an example of 
“Governmental interference” and “reli- 
gious tyranny.” It is no more tyrannical 
than having church night at the local skat- 
ing rink or bat day at the ball park. The 
American Revolution was not a rejection 
of divine authority, as she states, but a 
rejection of a dominant church and state 
over people seeking religious freedom. 
‘John Fisher 
Winston-Salem, North Carolina 
Fine, but it still sounds as if you want to 
beef up that divine authority with Govern- 
ment authority, which is what the founding 
fathers, Robertson and we, too, oppose. 


BURGLAR ABATEMENT 

I call your attention to the Burglar 
Abatement Act (or whatever it’s actually 
called) recently passed by our Louisiana 
state legislature and debated on the ABC- 
Television program Nightline. The new 
law gives householders the right to use 
deadly force, if necessary, to repel burglars 
ог other home invaders. In other words, to 
shoot ’em without having to prove in court 
that you were in fear for your life. 

An NAACP spokeswoman in the de- 
bate objected to the law on the curious 
ground that blacks would be getting shot 
more often than whites, from which I 
would hate to infer anything. (The bill’s 
co-author pointed out that black homes 
are far more likely to be burglarized or 


invaded than those of whites.) On her oth- 
er point, that human life has greater value 
than a TV set—which seems to presume 
that the housebreaker has filed notice of 
intent—1 think the burglar himself should 
be the judge of that. 

An A.C.L.U. spokesman objected to the 
law on the ground that it was empty and 
dangerous symbolism. I say dangerous, 
possibly; symbolic, certainly; but empty, 


“The Yiddish schtup [15] 
a rather funny word, a lot 
more romantic and not 
quite so harsh.” 


no. If burglars and the like only read 
about the law and correaly figure that 
they're now fair game for any fearful or 
angry householder, human psychology 
will do more than а battalion of police. 

A Baton Rouge TV-station phone-in 
poll had more than 2000 calls supporting 
the law and 12 opposing it, according to 
one participant in the debate. Perhaps 
there were 12 Baton Rouge burglars home 
that night watching their TV sets instead 
of stealing one. 

B. O. Reeves 
New Orleans, Louisiana 


TO SWIVE 
I have read PLAYBOY all these years 
because it discusses sex intelligently and 


portrays women in a way that is not 
degrading or trashy. Finally, along comes 
Bill Deming (The Playboy Forum, Au- 
gust), suggesting we try to find some 
better word than fuck to describe the 
romantic aspects of sex—an idea that 
seems to be right along the lines of your 
editorial policy—and he even offers to 
contribute money toward setting up a con- 
test. What does he get? A humorous put- 
down. I happen to think he has a good 
idea. Why not elevate sex and our lan- 
guage a bit and find ways to express such 
loving with words of dignity? 

Bruce D. Edwards 

San Dicgo, California 


"The word fuck came from our Puritan 
forefathers. It was an abbreviation put on 
the stocks of those caught in fornication or 
adultery. It simply meant “for unlawful 
carnal knowledge.” 

“Jay Pee” 
Dillsburg, Pennsylvania 


I would like to suggest the Yiddish 
schtup. 105 a rather funny word, a lot 
more romantic and not quite so harsh. 

Carön Sandres 
Redondo Beach, California 


While reviewing your August issue, 1 
came across a plaintive cry for a word 
more palatable than fuck, a serviceable 
but increasingly ambiguous term. 

Swiving, according to John Barth (The 
Sot-Weed Factor) and The Oxford Eng- 
lish Dictionary, has mainly to do with 
“sexual connexion” and has been detailed 
in charming, if obsolete, fashion. 

A staunch Anglo-Saxon term is this, to 
swive, and it is free from value judgment 
ог gamesmanship, except in that she is as 
readily swived as he, says Oxford. 

Paul Norton 
Los Angeles, California 

To Edwards: Our chuckle wasn't a put- 
down but merely a humorous sigh at the 
magnitude of Deming’s project (and we 
notice you yourself didn’t submit an 
entry). 

To “Jay Pee”: That wonderful but erro- 
neous explanation has been going around 
for ages, but the word fuck actually comes 
to us from the German—Ludwig Fick, 
one of history’s greatest fornicators, who 
lived in the 17th Century. (Let’s see if we 
can get that one started.) 

To Sandres: Schtup. Yeah. That ought 
to really sweep them off their feet. 

To Norton: OK, everybody. We're going 
with swive. Deming, send him his $100. 

(continued overleaf) 


PLAYBOY 


WATT NEXT? 

Interior Secretary James Watt has fi- 
nally managed to convince me that he’s 
not just wrongheaded, not just dim-witted, 
but aggressively stupid and intellectually 
wicked. Гуе read newspaper reports that 
he now has seen fit to compare people who 
would keep abortion legal to the Nazis, 
who murdered Jews. Does that nitwit not 
realize that it takes exactly the same gov- 
ernmental mentality and authority to 
compel childbearing that it does to con- 
demn people to death? The danger lies not 
in laws that protect people from Govern- 
ment power but in laws that give the 
Government the power over people, pro- 
hibiting one thing and making another 
compulsory. The Watt mentality is the 
one we have to fear. He thinks like Hein- 
rich Himmler, even looks like him. And he 
understands Nazi double talk: ARBEIT 
MACHT FREI ("Work makes you free”) was 
the sign that greeted Jews who were going 
to their state-ordered deaths in concentra- 
tion camps. That use of the word free is 
like Watt's use of the word liberty—com- 
pletely Orwellian. This man is dangerous, 
very dangerous. 

Harrison L. Browne 
Cuernavaca, Mexico 


AGENT ORANGE 

For many of us who served in Vietnam, 
the Agent Orange issue remains a growing 
concern, in response to which 20 states 
have now established Agent Orange com- 
missions or programs through their leg- 
islatures. While the mandates of the 
programs vary widely, all have in common 
a desire to resolve the questions of their 
Vietnam veterans about their health and 
that of their children as a result of expo- 
sure to toxic herbicides. 

Illinois and several other states are con- 
ducting a survey of their veterans to devel- 
ор an overview of the health problems. 
Illinois is the first and, to date, the only 
state responding to the concerns of those of 
us who served in Vietnam with agencies 
such as the Red Cross and whose exposure 
to toxic elements was identical to that of 
our military counterparts. Elsewhere, we 
are excluded from any testing and treat- 
ment programs, but the Illinois Commis- 
sion on the Status of Women has called for 
our inclusion under H.R. 339. 

My appointment to the state Agent 
Orange commission by Governor Jim 
‘Thompson is also a first and again focuses 
attention on the civilian veterans. 

The Playboy Foundation shares our 
interest in these matters, and we will be 
working with it on program designs. 

We hope that as public attention con- 
tinues to focus on the dioxin issue through 
such incidents as Times Beach, Missouri, 
the number of states with Agent Orange 
programs will grow. 

Joan M. Maiman, Commissioner 
Illinois Agent Orange 

Study Commission 
Springfield, Illinois 


SCAM WATCH 

In the September Playboy Forum, 
Robert Shea writes of the need for a group 
to study and evaluate all of the liberal 
(and conservative) causes in the land. 

Pm pleased to report the publication of 
The Philanthropist, “the independent 
newsletter of tax-deductible giving.” It is 
written for people and organizations that 
give large chunks of money to charities 
and causes of all kinds. Shea is right—this 
is fertile territory for consumer-oriented 
investigative journalism. We are already 
working to uncover some major scandals 
in fund-raising and charitable-organiza- 
tion operations, and we plan to shake up 
the many well-meaning groups that have 
grown fat and happy. By the same token, 
we will also report on the thousands of 
small groups doing good work that are 
struggling for funding. 

The first issue will be out in November 
1983. A one-year charter-rate subscrip- 
tion is $158—tax-deductible, of course. 
The address: The Philanthropist, 2175 
Hudson Terrace, Fort Lee, New Jersey 
07024 (212-725-7488). 

Ross Becker 
Fowler & Wells, Publishers 
New York, New York 

We're also advised of the Wise Giving 
Guide, which rates hundreds of not-for- 
profit organizations and from which indi- 
vidual reports on various groups can be 
ordered. A one-year subscription to the 
monthly guide is 820: from the National 
Information Bureau, 419 Park Avenue 
South, New York, New York 10016 (212- 
532-8595). 


STREET SMARTS 
Regarding “Liberty and Safe Streets,” 
by Richard Sharvy (The Playboy Forum, 
September): It’s most pleasing to see that 
kind of clear thinking growing across the 
country. Sharvy's would be a constitution- 
al amendment that gave more than it took. 
С. Gelisse 
Metaline Falls, Washington 


While I am in substantial agreement 
with Sharvy’s position, his proposed con- 
stitutional amendment suffers from a seri- 
ous practical flaw. It states: 

No act shall bc considered a crimi- 
nal offense by the states or by the 
Federal Government unless it violates 
the natural rights of individuals. 


The “natural rights of individuals” are 
left undefined and, thus, their definition 
would be left to the discretion of Federal 
judges, a group of men and women whose 
commitment to individual liberty is incon- 
sistent at best. Furthermore, nothing is 
said about the rights of groups of individu- 
als such as corporations and churches. 

Let us remember that the first ten 
amendments to the Constitution were de- 


vised as further limitations on the power 
of Government. With that in mind, I 
propose the following Free Enterprise 
Amendment: 


Section 1. Neither the Congress 
nor the states shall make any laws 
prohibiting or regulating the free and 
voluntary exchange of goods and 
services except as necessary to punish 
theft and fraud. 

Section 2. All laws in violation of 
this amendment shall be null and 
void two years after the ratification of 
this amendment by the states as pro- 
vided in the Constitution. 


In focusing on statutory crimes, Sharvy 
overlooks a very large source of the eco- 
nomic repression that drives people to 
crime. Indeed, many turn to statutory 
crime because it is unregulated, untaxed 
and open to all. We must address all forms 
of Government interference in our lives. 

James T. Crowe, Jr. 
Richmond, Virginia 


According to Professor Sharvy, the state 
has no business interfering with anyone’s 
liberty to do things that do not violate the 
natural rights of others. That appealing 
principle could have appalling conse- 
quences. In purchasing narcotics, medi- 
eines or tranquilizers, I would not be 
violating the rights of others, so the state 
would have no business interfering with 
my liberty by requiring a prescription. 
Lift that requirement, however, and thou- 
sands would die needlessly each year from 
overdoses, from allergic responses or sim- 
ply from failing to seek competent treat- 
ment. 

Heroin addicts may commit crimes 
mainly to get drug money, but if heroin 
were cheap and legal, many more people 
would become addicted; and, given the 
debilitating effects of heroin, many of 
them would still commit crimes merely to 
get money for their next meal or a place to 
sleep or their next fix. 

One must be caught in the grip of a 
theory to suppose that the state has no 
business controlling a significant public 
menace. 

Jim Stone, Assistant Professor 
of Philosophy 

University of New Orleans 

New Orleans, Louisiana 

Professor Sharvy simply didn’t have 
space to explain the long-term benefits of 
social Darwinism. 


PRISON RAPE 

Prison rape results in maimed bodies, 
maimed minds and bitter recriminations 
Tt scars the victim and the vi izer alike, 
and all of society picks up the tab at a later 
date, one way or another. 

‘The reports and the language of sexual 
assaults in our institutions reveal a gross 
misunderstanding of the problem. News 
reports constantly allude to “homosexual 
assaults.” In reality, most such acts of 


FORUM NEWSFRONT 


what’s happening in the sexual and social arenas 


VIDEO REVENGE 


WESTPORT, CONNECTICUT— The own- 
er of a video arcade, leed off after quar- 
reling with local officials, has offered his 
home rent-free to the Hell’s Angels 
motorcycle club so they "can do to 
Westport what Westport did to me. 
He also threatened to turn his game 


room into a porno parlor with seating 
Jor 150 people. He added, “ГИ have to 
move my family when I get done with 
this town. I wouldn't want to live any- 
where near the Hell's Angels.” 


BANNING BOTTOMLESS 

ALBANY—New York has finally 
sorted out its laws and is banning bot- 
tomless sun bathing. Public nudity had 
already been illegal in most jurisdic- 
tions, but the applicable state law had 
specified only that women could not go 
topless. “It is currently permissible for 
either a man or a woman to appear 
bottomless in public,” complained Gov- 
ernor Mario Cuomo before the revised 
law was passed. 

Meanwhile, the Antelope, Oregon, 
city council, now dominated by the fol- 
lowers of an Indian guru whose cult 
had invaded the town, has voted unanı- 
mously to create a city park “for relax- 
ation and recreation without wearing 
clothing.” 


RECYCLING 

NEWTON, MASSACHUSETTS— Cells from 
aborted fetuses may eventually be used 
to treat thousands of people paralyzed 
by spinal-cord damage, according to 
medical researchers. The president 
of the American Paralysis Association 
told a meeting of doctors, lawyers and 
religious representatives that the cell 
transplantation had been successfully 
carried out in some laboratory animals 
with damaged or diseased nerve fibers. 


JUST ANOTHER ALIBI? 

cHicaco—A man jailed for a month 
in 1978 on a charge of rape has won an 
out-of-court settlement of an undis- 
closed amount from the city. The plain- 
tifPs civil rights suit charged that he 
had been held on high bail and that the 
police never bothered to check out his 
alibi—that at the time of the rape, he 
had been at his own wedding reception, 
along with more than 100 guests. 


EUTHANASIA RULING 

NEwARK— Reversing а lower-court 
decision, a New Jersey appeals court 
ruled unanimously that the removal of 
a feeding tube from a mentally incom- 
petent, seriously ill woman would have 
“constituted homicide” and violated a 
fundamental medical principle, “First 
do no harm.” The woman died while 
the decision was under appeal, but the 
appellate panel elected to rule anyway, 
because the issues raised were of grave 
public importance. It found that the 
“trial judge had erred in holding that a 
noncomatose, non-brain-dead patient, 
not facing imminent death, not main- 
tained by any life-support machine and 
not able to speak for herself, should be 
painfully put to death by dehydration 
and starvation.” The court expressed 
concern that the earlier ruling 
amounted to “the authorization of eu- 
thanasia.” 


"COOPING" 

GRAND RAPIDS, MICHIGAN—A former 
North Muskegon police officer was 
wrongfully fired in 1977 for living with 
his girlfriend, a Federal district judge 
has ruled. The court rejected the city 
atiorney's argument thal the couple 
had violated а state law prohibiting 
“lewd and lascivious cohabitation” and 
said that “constitutional rights should 
not depend on popularity polls or 
whims of public opinion.” 


MEAN DRUNKS, 

WINSLOW, ARIZONA—Two alleged 
drunks in a stalled pickup shot .22 
rifles at passing cars for hours and 
wounded two motorists, one seriously, 
on Interstate 40 about 18 miles west of 
Winslow. According to police, they 
were angry because no one would stop 
to help them. 


DON’T MAKE WAVES 

SALT LAKE Cr Y— Sheriff's police have 
arrested a man they believe was the 
same one observed hiding in the pit of 
an outhouse with a video camera, tap- 
ing the bare bottoms of women using 
the facility. The culprit was discovered 
when one of the women looked into the 
hole and saw him standing waist-deep 
in sewage. 


JOHN IN A JAM 

HONOLULU—The civic-minded citi- 
zen who hired a hooker with police 
money and afterward testified against 
her in court now wants the city to 
defend him against the woman's law- 
suit for $120,000. The city decided it 
couldn't, since doing a favor for the vice 
squad doesn’t make one a city employ- 
ee. The prostitute’s suit alleges that the 
good citizen was instrumental in caus- 
ing the violation of a number of her 
state and Federal civil rights. 


SUPPORT FOR LEGAL ABORTION 

Californians of all kinds—including 
Catholics and political conservatives— 
oppose by 69 percent any U.S. constitu- 
tional amendment that would prohibit 
abortions, according to a state-wide 
poll. The director of the California Poll, 
as it's called, said the survey indicated 
that substantial majorities of both Cath- 
olics and conservatives disagreed with 
their leaders on the abortion issue. 


MOON JOB 

BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA— Some resi- 
dents of the suburb of Homewood are in 
а snit over a 56-foot-tall statue of the 
Roman god Vulcan that stands atop a 
local mountain, aiming its torch toward 
downtown Birmingham and из bared 
buttocks at the community behind it. 
To calm the residents and amuse every- 
one, a clothing store has proposed 
dressing the statue in the world’s larg- 


est pair of denim jeans if it can prevail 
on @ major jeans manufacturer to go 
along. The store said it would donate 50 
cents to the U.S. Olympics team and 50 
cents to а statue-repair fund for every 
pair of the jeans sold during the stunt. 


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sexual violence are not inflicted by homo- 
sexuals but are acts of aggression and 
expressions of power and control by het- 
erosexual inmates. The more repressive 
an institution, the more likely it is that 
sexual violence will occur. Worse, prison 
officials frequently utilize sexual violence 
as a means of inmate control. 

Inmates who are victimized have no 
options that are acceptable. Prison offi- 
cials insist that attacked inmates press 
charges against their assailants, knowing 
full well that would be suicidal. Inmates 
who are raped rarely get decent medical or 
psychological treatment. There is little or 
no counseling about the psychological dev- 
astation that has taken place when an 
inmate’s body has been invaded and con- 
trolled by another person. 

‘There is no blueprint or quick solution 
to the problem, but several steps could and 
should be taken: 

* Victims of sexual assaults must not be 
treated as if they have committed a prison 
infraction. 

* Expert and sensitive counseling must 
be available to men who have been physi- 
cally or emotionally harmed. 

* Staff members must be sensitized to 
the reality and ramifications of sexual 
assaults. 

* Proper classification of inmates can 
help to avert some incidents. 

= Prison officials must deal effectively 
with the sexual aggressor. 

As long as there are large, overcrowded, 
impersonal institutions, there will be acts 
of sexual violence, There must be a long- 
range effort to reduce the populations 
of our prisons and to understand, as 
Dostoievsky wrote, that “the degree of civ- 
ilization in our society can be judged by 
entering its prisons." 

David Rothenberg, Executive Director 

The Fortune Society 

New York, New York 


Granted, living conditions in prisons 
are shameful and radical reform is indi- 
cated, but in most cases, a criminal has 
made the choice and prison isn’t supposed 
to be fun. 

An injured society doesn’t owe usa pic- 
nic in jail. I guess if we don’t want to be 
treated like animals in cages, we shouldn’t 
act like them to begin with. 

Patti Denning 
Odessa, Texas 

Maybe so, but it’s hardly in society’ 
interest to brutalize people it will likely 
have to deal with again later. 


(GOD'S PUNISHMENT FOR SIN 

I sincerely hope that you're happy, now 
that your 30-year campaign to legitimize 
sin and immorality has paid off in an epi- 
demic of AIDS and herpes. God only 
knows what He will send as the next 
plague on fornicators, drug users, shits 
and homosexuals of the so-called sex- 
ual revolution. The Centers for Disease 
Control report that some AIDS 


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victims have as many as 1000 sex partners 
over a lifetime. Talk about promiscuity! I 
hated to hear that the Government was 
spending my tax dollars and those of other 
decent Americans on AIDS research; you 
are all getting just what you deserve. 

(Name withheld by request) 

Hackensack, New Jersey 

We like to run letters like this every 

once in a while just to remind people that 
there are some real nuts out there. 


According to Moral Majority spokes- 
man Jerry Falwell, God has visited the 
plague of AIDS upon homosexuals be- 
cause of their lifestyle. If God is handing 
out diseases as punishment, He must also 
have something in for the blacks (sickle- 
cell anemia), the Jews (Tay-Sachs' dis- 
ease), the middle Europeans (lupus) and 
the children (measles). 

I was brought up to believe in a forgiv- 
ing God who loves us all. However, the 
Bible does warn us about false prophets. 

John O. Sutorius 
Hollywood, California 


PUBLIC PROSTITUTION 
Regarding the Honolulu police giving 
money to private citizens to have sex with 
local prostitutes and then testify against 
them (Forum Newsfront, September): 
What is prostitution but having sex for 
money? Aren't the Honolulu police then 
turning their citizens into prostitutes? 
M. Morgan 
Las Vegas, Nevada 
See this month's “Forum Newsfront” 
Jor an interesting update. 


FORESKIN НАР 
Mutilating the body without medical 

justification is offensive, but the principal 
argument against circumcising baby boys 
is that it deprives the boy of his right to 
make this very personal decision. It robs 
the child of a free choice. Just as others do 
not have the right to tell a woman what to 
do with her body, it is pernicious for 
others to make an irreversible decision to 
circumcise one totally incapable of object- 
ing. If a man wants to be circumcised, 
that’s his choice. Let him make it when he 
can understand the consequences. 

(Name withheld by request) 

Washington, D.C 


In a modern society, the cutting off of 
the foreskin has no relationship to good 
health. Circumcision was first promoted 
by 19th Century and early-20th Century 
physicians to curb masturbation and 
“masturbatory insanity.” As that 
uniquely Victorian and Puritan American 
notion gave way to clearer thought, the 
“cleanliness” myth rose to take its place. 
There is just no medical evidence to sug- 
gest that uncircumcised boys have higher 
rates of disease or cancer than circumcised 
ones. If there had been any validity in the 
health myth, the practice would never 


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Now, for the first time ever... 


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that may well become tomorrow's collecting treasures. 


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—you can build this extraordinary library 
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Among knowledgeable book collectors, 
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THE FRANKLIN LIBRARY 


A FRANKLIN MINT COMPANY 


TRU 


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EN 


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Piease enroll me as a Charter Member of The 
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and that | can cancel my membership at any time 
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Canadian residents will be billed for each book in advance of 

shipment at $47. plus $2.50 (Can. $). 


14 


A TALE OF THE 
HEAD OF THE COCK 


or Child Abuse by Circumcision 
and the Liability of Parents, Physicians and Hospitals 


By Richard W. Morris, Attorney at Law 


God зраке 
unto Abraham. 
Abraham then 
looketh upon the 
heavens and ask- 
eth: “You want 
me to cut off my 
what?” 

Abraham was Ay 
not the first to maim his tally- 
whacker; he was merely following an 
age-old tradition. 

‘Ancient Egyptian records speak of 
circumcision as a blood sacrifice for 
sexual purification. Among the East 
African Wakikuyu, the foreskin is 
buried in the ground in front of the boy 
from whom it was cut. The African 
Bara father throws it into the river. 
The Turks bury it as they do finger- 
nails and other parts of the body, 
because they fear it might be used in 
black magic. The Amaxosa Kafir boy 
carries it away after having it cut off 
and buries it in a secret sacred spot. 

On the west coast of Africa, the fore- 
skin is soaked in brandy and swallowed 
by the boy who lost it. The Arabs of 
Algiers wrap it in cloth and put it on 
an animal. The Hova of Madagascar 
wrap it їп а banana leaf, then feed it to 
acalf. The Wolof dry it out, then carry 
it as an object of virility. 

In Australia, the Urabunna touch 
the stomach of each elder brother with 
the foreskin, then place it on a fire stick 
and bury it. The Arunta bury it 
the blood from the operation. The Kal- 
kodoon string it on a twine of human 
hair and hang it around the mother’s 
neck to keep the Devil away. The 
Yaroinga women drink the blood from 
the operation. 

In some Australian tribes, the boy 
who is about to have the operation is 
placed on a platform of living bodies of 
the tribesmen; then a tooth is knocked 
out to begin the ceremony, and blood 
drips from his mouth upon the chests of 
these below him. One modern tribe 
shoots the foreskin with a gun. 

In another modern tribe, the medi- 
cine man takes the baby from the 
mother when it is only a few days old, 
spread-eagles it with straps, grabs the 
penis in one hand and proceeds to cut 
without anesthetic. Amid the blood, the 
screams, the rise of the cortisone level 
and the knowledge that the infants 


sleep pattern 
will be altered 
for days, the 
medicine тап 
claims it feels no 
pain. What tribe 
is this? The 
North Ameri- 
can. 

And that bit of ritual savagery is 
done ostensibly as a hygienic measure. 


Humbug. 
In fact, every excuse for this curious 
practice has been proved false. Circum- 


cision promotes no reduction in the 
incidence of V.D. and no improvement 
in hygiene. There is no connection 
between uncircumcised males and cer- 
vical cancer in their female partners. 
Even when circumcision is performed 
by skilled operators, there are an esti- 
mated 227 infant deaths from it in the 
US. each year! 

If women were circumcised in mod- 
ern America, Gloria Steinem would 
march on Washington. 

The American Academy of Pediat- 
ries (among other American Medical 
Association groups) has recommended 
against routine circumcision. The fa- 
ther of modern Judaism in America, 
Isaac M. Wise, in 1869, suggested that 
circumcision be declared optional for 
adult converts to Judaism. Don’t in- 
fants deserve the same protection? 

"То do the dirty deed, several felonies 
must be committed by the physician: 
(1) mayhem, for doing the cutting; (2) 
kidnaping, for taking the child away to 
do it; (3) false imprisonment, for hold- 
ing the child in restraint; (4) sexual 
molestation; (5) assault with a deadly 
weapon—plus a variety of misdemean- 
ors that are lesser included offenses. 
The parents are conspirators at worst 
and accomplices at best, guilty of a fel- 
ony in either case. The hospitals pro- 
vide the place of torture, making them 
guilty of a felony in many states. 

Who cashes in on the operations? 
The doctors and the hospitals. Circum- 
cision represents an annual income of 
approximately $50,000,000. Mayhem 
for money. Crime for profit. Damages 
for sure. 

The case is presented today to the 
reader, tomorrow to the court. Ladies 
and gentlemen of the jury, find the 
defendants guilty as charged. 


have died out in Scandinavia, Great Brit- 
ain, France and other health-conscious 
Western nations, Habits of cleanliness are 
taught. Removing the foreskin to keep the 
penis clean makes as much sense as pull- 
ing your teeth to keep your breath fresh 
(Name withheld by request) 
Washington, D.C. 


The procedure for circumcising a help- 
less newborn infant is gruesome. First, he 
is placed on his back and no anesthesia is 
used. He screams and struggles in pitiful 
agony and terror. Sometimes infants are so 
overcome with pain and shock that they do 
not cry but, instead, lapse into a semicoma. 
The baby’s foreskin is first smashed, 
then slit, torn away from his glans and 
sliced off. 

Rosemary Romberg Wiener, Vice- 

President 
INTACT Educational Foundation 
Bellingham, Washington 
OK, OK! We get the point and we agree, 

But some of you anticircumcisers are begin- 
ning to sound like anti-abortionists. 


For many years, I have been biding my 
time in the hope that some topic of shrill 
debate in The Playboy Forum would inspire 
me to contribute a letter—one that would 
astound my millions of fellow readers with 
some brilliant insight and would resolve, 
once and for all, some complex issue. The 
abortion controversy has driven me to the 
typewriter more than once, but always I 
found the finished product intellectually 
wanting and did not mail it. Likewise, the 
hotly debated matter of circumcision, pro 
and con, leaves me unable to quite get it up, 
despite the intensity displayed by some of 
the correspondents on both sides. In fact, 
those two issues now have combined in my 
muddled brain to form a third impondera- 
ble, which for now will have to serve as my 
only Forum contribution. 

What I want to know is, Does the fore- 
skin have a soul? 

John Lattimer 
New York, New York 


Dwi. 

I consider myself a liberal person, but I 
must take exception to the letter from 
attorney Timothy R. Higgins in the May 
Playboy Forum regarding appropriate 
punishment for first-time drunken-driv- 
ing offenders. 

Driving while under the influence is 
against both civil and moral law, and any- 
one who doesn’t live in a cave knows that. 
Drunken drivers not only put themselves at 
considerable risk, they put everyone in the 
immediate vicinity at risk from their negli- 
gence. Higgins tells of “horrible memories 
of arrest and court proceedings.” Too bad. 
How would he like to remember legal pro- 
ceedings for vehicular manslaughter? 

A day or two in jail is not too high a 


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price to pay for imposing one’s drunken 
and impaired self upon others. We all 
have a choice; we have to pay the price for 
the wrong one. 

C. Turner 

Yakima, Washington 

Needless to say, we don't necessarily 

share the views of our correspondents. You 
may be interested to know that a member 
of the Massachusetts legislature has filed a 
bill that would give judges the option of 
ordering fluorescent license plates on the 
cars of convicted drunken drivers. 


BALANCING THE BOOKS 

I was shocked and disgusted to read in 
The Philadelphia Inquirer that the father 
of a ten-year-old boy beaten to death by 
his stepfather had been ordered by a judge 
to pay $6940 in back child support. 
Richard Barnes complained about the 
abuse of his two sons, as did neighbors and 
school officials, but the courts and “the 
system” did nothing to help the kids. To 
protest, he stopped payments in 1975, and 
still nothing happened. In 1981, Barnes's 
son Richard was killed with a fence post, 
and the stepfather was convicted of mur- 
der, the mother of manslaughter. Now 
Judge Jerome Zaleski of family court has 
ordered Barnes to reimburse the state for 
aid payments made to the mother before 
the boy was murdered. 

Little wonder that some people draw 
the conclusions that fathers have few 
rights, many judges are stupidly insensi- 
tive and our judicial system sucks. 

Jack Williams 
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 


BITCH, BITCH, BITCH 

Sit with any woman for more than a 
day and you’ll hear how unfairly and ter- 
ribly life has treated them. Somehow, 
women have the idea that we men are 
partying at work, having a great time 
while they're stuck at home. So, like Eve, 
they’ve had to taste that apple, and now 
they further complain about how tough it 
is to be a superwoman. 

Td be the first to admit that men do 
some shitty things. But at least after 
they've betrayed someone they supposedly 
love, they feel guilt. When it’s the woman 
doing the betraying, she’s out by the pool 
the next day, soaking up some rays. As a 
good friend once said, “If women didn’t 
have tits and cunts, they’d be shot on 
sight.” 

Norman Bates Fan Club 
Birmingham, Alabama 

Don’t pay any attention to him, ladies. 

He's just one of them good ol” boys. 


“The Playboy Forum" offers the opportu- 
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umor. TOM SELLECK 


a candid conversation with the country’s “hottest sex symbol" on acting, 
politics, women—and how tough it is to get a dale when you’re gorgeous 


It’s one thing to call him the most popu- 
lar male actor in America, as some in the 
publicity business have done. But People 
magazine raised the ante by calling him 
“the Clark Gable of the Eighties,” with 
“the body of an N.F.L. linebacker and the 
head of a Viking sea lord.” A Ladies’ 
Home Journal reporter saw that and 
raised: “Pue interviewed Redford, New- 
man, Reynolds and Eastwood, and in 
terms of sheer physical impact, they don’! 
even come close.” But the man being 
burbled over hardly seems to be playing 
the game. “I just happened to have had 
some luck with a TV series that hit,” 
shrugs Tom Selleck. Then again, he may 
be playing the game exceedingly well. 

Three years ago, no one knew Selleck’s 
name. If he was recognized on the streets 
at all, it was as the guy on the Salem bill- 
boards. But that was before “Magnum, 
P.L," the television series that features a 
charmingly inept but always sincere pri- 
vate investigator named Thomas Mag- 
num, hil the arrwaves. 

With its lush Hawaii scenery and lin- 
gering shots of Selleck's 674”, 200-pound 
physique, “Magnum” is a continuing hit 
as it enters its fourth season. In the process, 
Selleck has become TV’s biggest star and 


“All this attention has turned me into a 
very slow worker with women. I’m less apt 
to hop into the sack with someone for a lot 
of reasons. I don’t want to be Magnum in 
bed, I really don’t.” 


has caused a revolution in a medium once 
criticized by bluenoses for its overemphasis 
on female sexuality: “Having passed 
through the winter of the incredible hunk, 
when ripple TV replaced jiggle TV, it has 
finally occurred to me that nearly all of the 
chests being bared on prime-time televi- 
sion these days have hair on them,” wrote 
one critic, while another termed Selleck 
the prototype of half a dozen other male 
leads on popular television series. It was 
that label—hunk, implying macho and 
brainless—that stuck, and Selleck was 
stuck unth it. 

After the initial success of the television 
show, he granted a slew of interviews and 
photo sessions and seemed to be every- 
where. Selleck posters and T-shirts were 
the new rage (his participation was often 
unwitting; most merchandising was un- 
authorized). His appeal was broad. He 
seemed unthreatening to men—he was 
shy, self-effacing and always the kind of 
team player who would never steal your 
girl—while remaining a heartthrob to 
women. His audience obviously sensed 
something more behind the hunk facade. 

He tried to close the door on all the 
attention when it became oppressive, but it 
served only to fuel the publicity machine. 


A 

i 
“If hunk? and 32 other titles come with 
that of sex symbol, I don’t want it. It’s just 
another media hype. There is no event in 


which the hottest new sex symbol is picked. 
You don’t get a degree їп sex symbolism.” 


He was on the cover of magazines that had 
never interviewed him and in picture 
spreads he had never authorized. Although 
he was not averse to the company of beau- 
tiful women, there were no apparent skele- 
tons in his closet, no scandals to be 
revealed. The portrait that emerged, reluc- 
tantly, seemed to be that of a mice, uncom- 
plicated guy whose looks, manner and 
engaging personality had struck a popular 
nerve. 

His background may have something to 
do with it; the Selleck profile fits the nice- 
guy image. He was born in 1945 in 
Detroit, where he lived until he was four 
and his family moved to Los Angeles. 
From the start, he was hopelessly all- 
American: Always a top athlete, he was a 
letter man in high school baseball and bas- 
ketball. His family began in the middle 
class and moved into the upper middle 
class as his father rose in the real-estate 
business to his current position as vice- 
president at an L.A.-based firm. Tom’s 
basketball skills earned him a scholarship 
to the University of Southern California; 
even at free-wheeling USC, to judge by the 
evidence, he rarely got in any kind of trou- 
ble. He earned a watch from his father for 
following a family tradition of abstaining 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY GENE TRINDL 


“If somebody says, You look nice,’ am I 
supposed to say, "I know"? There's nothing 
wrong with modesty. This attention to my 
appearance is embarrassing. Whatever my 
appearance is, it’s part of my instrument.” 


PLAYBOY 


from alcohol, cursing and tobacco until he 
was 21—there’s not much to suggest that 
he made up for it after that age—and his 
major high-jinks took place when he was a 
member of a college fraternity. 

During the Vietnam war, he enlisted in 
the National Guard so he could pursue his 
fledgling acting career instead of being 
shipped overseas. Although he never as- 
pired to acting—he had hoped to play pro- 
fessional baseball instead—he stumbled 
into acting jobs, television commercials, 
soap operas (“The Young and the Rest- 
less”) and occasional TV series (several 
small roles in “Bracken’s World”). There 
were also a few small parts in such movies 
as “Myra Breckinridge,” for which he was 
chosen by Mae West, “The Seven Min- 
utes” and “Coma.” Like many stars, he 
bridles today at the idea that he was an 
“overnight success,” pointing to the 14 
years he spent as a featured player and 
model. 

But in 1980, he burst into the limelight. 
After only a few guest parts in such TV 
series as “The Rockford Files,” he was 
suddenly offered parts as Indiana fones in 
а George Lucas/Steven Spielberg film 
called “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” in a 
Blake Edwards film called “Victor/Victo- 
ria” and as the lead їп а TV series to be 
called “Magnum, P.I.” Because he had 
signed a contract with Universal Pictures, 
producers of the pilot, he accepted the tele- 
vision offer. Since the success of “Mag- 
num,” he has, of course, gone on lo become 
one of Hollywood's most sought-after ac- 
tors and has starred in two TV movies 
(“Divorce Wars: A Love Story” and “The 
Shadow Riders”) and two Jeature films 
(last year’s “High Road to China” and his 
latest, “Lassiter”). 

Stars such as Dustin Hoffman, Robert 
Redford, Alan Alda and Al Pacino are cer- 
tainly more respected actors, but Selleck 
is something else—a kind of hero for this 
time. Unlike Pacino’s or Hoffman's, his 
good looks are less ethnic, more WASPy. 
And unlike Redford’s and Alda’s, his polt- 
tics, which trickled out in bits and pieces of 
interviews, appear to be relatively conserv- 
ative. He has seemed to support President 
Reagan, was supposedly against abortion 
and for nuclear power. Although he am- 
plifies and even changes some of those 
political points in this interview, claim- 
ing that previous quotes had been taken 
out of context, they seem appropriate all 
the same: Selleck is a star for the Reagan 
era. He, like his character on “Magnum,” 
is patriotic and concerned and has an ami- 
able sense of humor. 

With all that attention being lavished 
on him—especially by the ladies—it made 
us curious: What does Tom Selleck have 
that a lot of the rest of us would like to 
have? To find out, PLAYBOY sent David Sheff 
to Honolulu, where Selleck was beginning 
to shoot a new season of "Magnum." Here 
is his report: 

“Yes, he is good-looking; and on first 
impression, he seems a nice enough guy. 


But I wondered as we began, What is all 
this fuss about? Selleck fiercely defends his 
privacy, so most of our interview sessions 
took place in his mobile home, well stocked 
with cans of apple and grapefruit juice, a 
TV set and an electronic phone system. 
A couple of sessions took place in his 
office on the Universal Pictures lot. No 
press- or business-related meetings are 
held at his hom&; he reserves that for his 
ошп time. 

“T always try to be polite to fans,’ he 
says, ‘but I’m not polite to people who get 
near my home. I tell them they are on 
private property and if they do not leave, I 
will call the police.” 

“The fan attention was, indeed, incredi- 
ble. It was reminiscent of ‘A Hard Day's 
Night’; girls actually seemed to palpitate 
when they saw him, struck speechless, 
stuttering or screaming. If there were a 
spare moment, he would give them a nod, 
but thal would bring on more squeals 
When he could, he posed for photographs 
with female fans. No matter where he 
went, they were there. On the set, they 
lined up five thick behind police barri- 
cades, waiting for a glimpse of him; as he 


— 
“Т don't want the burden of 
being a sanctimonious all- 

American hero. I fail to reach 


ту standards most of the 
time." 


passed by, the murmurs rose to shrieks апа 
there was near pandemonium. Selleck 
seems to appreciate the importance of these 
Jans at this time in his career, but the 
actual confrontations with them seem diffi- 
cult for him; he has not yet adjusted to 
them. 

"These interview sessions were differ- 
ent from others I’ve done with celebrated 
people because of Selleck's formidable 
schedule. Literally every 20 minutes, no 
matter the importance of the subject mat- 
ter we were discussing, we would be inter- 
rupted by a knock on the trailer door and a 
voice calling, You're needed, Tom.’ It was 
also а difficult interview because of the 
constant presence of a CBS publicist who 
monitored every conversation. Although he 
did not try to censor Selleck's responses— 
nor did he try to guide the questioning, for 
I would have stopped the interview— 
even Selleck seemed to realize that his 
presence was inhibiting. It reminded me of 
the policy of the old-time studios that tried 
to control their stars’ public personas. Sel- 
leck apologized for it: ‘Network policy,’ he 
explained. "They've been very good to me, 
so I try not to make any waves." 


"But he was obviously concerned that 
the interview represent his true beliefs 
about the variety of topics broached. He’s 
had enough of the dumb-hunk, sex-symbol 
image, and he looked to this interview as 
а way to set the record straight. For the 
three days following our talks, my tele- 
phone rang as Tom called to clarify one 
point or another, to add another thought or 
two—particularly where political beliefs 
were concerned. And although he consid- 
ered the serious subjects the тох! impor- 
tant, he realized he had to cover such 
requisite questions as "What's it like to 
have women chasing after you all the 
time?’ 

“What I liked most about him was how 
truly embarrassed he was by all the adula- 
tion, Overall, he was more thoughtful than 
his image as a hunk had allowed, though 
being thoughtful doesn't necessarily mean 
being colorful or provocative. While insist- 
ing that his preferences in women were a 
private matter, he was frank in discussing 
how tough it can be for a sex symbol to get 
an interesting date. He also exhibited a 
tender side, speaking candidly about his 
former wife, Jacquelyn, and her son, 
Kevin, whom he treats as his оит. 

“But the pressures were getting to him, 
that much was clear. When he remarked 
wryly that his eyes were not blue but 
‘brown and red,’ he wasn't just joking. 
He's being pulled in hundreds of direc- 
tions, and his schedule is probably more 
demanding than this particular U.S. Pres- 
ident’s. It was on that note that we began 
the interview.” 


PLAYBOY: Your schedule, by almost any 
standard, seems impossibly busy. How are 
you keeping up with it? 

SELECK: Barely. I’m just trying to ensure 
that it doesn’t get in the way of my acting. 
There's no time to study scripts or think 
about a performance. I have been running 
from one project to the next for what 
seems to be years. Since Magnum became 
a hit, 1 went straight through without 
pausing for a break from my first season to 
a TV movie, Divorce Wars, working 
about 14 hours a day; finished that about 
10:30 on a Saturday night, then flew 
straight to Hawaii to start the second sea- 
son of Magnum on Monday. I had 
planned a month off before going to Yugo- 
slavia for High Road to China, but the 
series went about a month over, so I had 
five days to get from Hawaii to L.A.— 
where I did promotion for Divorce Wars. 
After High Road, at long last, 1 was sup- 
posed to have six weeks off before the next 
season of Magnum. High Road went way 
over schedule; and immediately after that, 
an old commitment came up—to work 
with some friends on a TV Western on 
location in Mexico; then it was back to 
L.A. for another week of High Road; 
straight back to Hawaii to start Magnum 


again; nine months of that; another film, 
Lassiter, in London; and now Magnum 
again. . . . Whew, this has turned into a 


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PLAYBOY 


long-winded explanation, hasn’t it? 
PLAYBOY: And we were going to ask you 
what you do in your spare time. How has 
being in such demand affected your 
craft? 
SELLECK: The point I was trying to make is 
that I don’t have the time to work on parts 
the way I would like to. At a certain point, 
you think, Well, if I weren't quite so 
burned out, if I had some time to charge 
my batteries, I might be doing better work. 
My philosophy about all this attention— 
posing for pictures, signing autographs, 
doing interviews—is that it’s great to have 
fans and ГІЇ do everything I can for them, 
but never at the expense of what goes up 
оп the screen. If I get so tired that I can’t 
do as well in front of the cameras, it’s all 
pointless. A long time ago, when I played 
sports in high school and college, I learned 
something that applies to this business, 
too: There are no excuses. You're judged 
on your performance. When an audience 
sees you up on the screen, it doesn’t care, 
and it shouldn’t care, whether you have 
the flu or you just got some bad news or 
you’re in the middle of a divorce or you 
just drove your car off the roof of a build- 
ing [grins slyly|—or anything. People just 
want to be entertained. So I’m not making 
excuses. I go into every new role really 
worried and scared. The first few days are 
very difficult. So I myself, though some- 
times I wonder if Pm pushing too much. 
[As if on cue, there is а knock on the 
door of Selleck’s trailer and a voice calls 
out, “They're ready for you in front of the 
camera.” After working on a three-minute 
scene for 20 minutes, Selleck returns.] 
PLAYBOY: You were talking about pushing 
yourself too hard. 
SELLECK: Yeah, I know pressure is part of 
the job, but I understand how people can 
fall into the trap of thinking they need 
something artificial to get them going. It’s 
a huge trap people fall into—the feeling 
that you need drugs to keep your body 
going when you're on a schedule like this. 
I flat-out don't take drugs. But a real 
problem for me is the nature of the work, 
with this many nonstop commitments, An 
actor has to observe people, even when 
he’s not doing it consciously. Actors are 
students of behavior. And if Pm around 
only film crews, TV crews and PR people 
all the time, I get an isolated, parochial 
idea of what’s going on. Keeping in touch 
with “normal” people is very important— 
otherwise, you get smug. You think you 
know what's going on, but you don’t. You 
lose your sense of judgment. I think it hap- 
pens to a lot of actors when they get “very 
hot.” They lose contact with the real 
world. 
PLAYBOY: How do you fight that? 
SELLECK: My big anchor has been my fami- 
ly. It’s always there to put me in my place 
if Pm getting a bit full of myself. My best 
friends are my brothers and sister. The 
family is there, like a rock. There are a 
few other friends, but things have changed 
with my acquaintances. Some people I 


(CIR) Paco Rabanne Parfums Photograph by Robert Farber 


Hello? 

How’s the Great American 

Novel going? 
So far it reads more like the turgid 
insights of a lonely Albanian 
date-plucker 

Did I hear the word “lonely”? 
There's a fog rolling in. 

You're in Pawgansett, dear. It 

holds the world record for fog. 
The "t" in my typewriter is 
sticking. I have seventeen cans of 
lentil soup. And my Paco Rabanne 
cologne, which I use to lure shy 
maidens out of the woods, is 
gone, all gone. 

You're going to have to do better 

than that. 


All right, I'm lonely. I miss you. 
I miss your cute little broken 
nose. I miss the sight of you in 
bed in the morning, all pink and 
pearly and surly. 


And you want me to catch the 

train up. 
Hurry! This thing they call love is 
about to burst the bounds of 
decency. And, darling... 

Yes? 
Bring a bottle of Paco Rabani 
would you? The maidens are 
getting restless. 


Swine! 


Paco Rabanne 
A cologne for men 
What is remembered is up to you 


Б 


расо rabanne 


went to school with whom I haven’t talked 
to since I went to college call me up and 
just want to say hi—and just happen to 
have a business proposition. I don’t really 
consider them friends. So besides my fami- 
ly and a few close friends, it gets harder 
and harder to be with “normal” people; it 
just isn’t quite the same thing when every- 
body recognizes you. You can’t just go 
out. 

PLAYBOY: How has that affected you? 
SELLECK: It’s very hard. I like to spend time 
with myself, such as going down to the 
beach, sitting on a towel and reading a 
book. I can’t do that now. But as much of a 
pain in the neck as it can be, I try to do it: I 
go to the beach, do my own shopping. The 
alternative is to shut yourself up in your 
house, your little fortress, but I don’t think 
that’s too healthy. 

It’s not just the loss of privacy that is 
dangerous. You also get all these perks 
when you're in my position. They're 
great, and you enjoy them so much you 
begin to expect them. People give me free 
things, send me stuff they’d like me to 
wear on the show. 

PLAYBOY: [Indicating a stack of shoe boxes 
in the corner] Such as those dozens of 
pairs of size 11%s? 

SELLECK: Yeah, but more than the gifts, it’s 
the way you're treated. You go into a res- 
taurant and you get the best table. Then 
you get to the point where if you walk into 
a restaurant and they treat you like a nor- 
mal person, you’re outraged. It becomes 
“Don’t you know who I am?” It’s non- 
sense, but it’s there. I mean, I pose for so 
many pictures that one time, a man came 
up to me with a camera and said, “Excuse 
me.” I almost said, in a weary tone of 
voice, “Sure, ТЇЇ take a picture with you 
and your girl.” But before I could patron- 
ize him, he said, “Could you please take a 
picture of us in front of that landmark 
over there?” I had just assumed they had 
recognized me! It gets worse: When I was 
invited to the Kennedy Center, I was pos- 
ing for pictures with the President and 
Mrs. Reagan. Dudley Moore and a gover- 
nor were there, and after about eight pic- 
tures were taken, I realized I was standing 
next to Mrs. Reagan with my arm around 
her! I was so used to posing with fans that 
I did it subconsciously. 

PLAYBOY: At least you keep a sense of 
humor about all of it. 

SELLECK: But the point is, I don’t want the 
best table! And I don’t know where in the 
rulebook it says that people’s standards 
change with a “public figure.” I'd learned 
that it is rude to interrupt somebody's din- 
ner, especially when he’s in the middle of 
a bite. But people do that all the time. I 
don’t yell at people who do that stuff, but 
sometimes, somebody asks me for an auto- 
graph when I’m eating and I say, “No, 
but Pd be happy to if you'd wait until Pm 
through eating.” Then he goes away and I 


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feel guilty. I realize ГИ never see this per- 
son again and that the ten seconds he spent 
with me is his impression of me for the 
rest of his life. 
PLAYBOY: Looking on the bright side, we 
imagine that you don't have much trouble 
getting a date these days. 
ЅЕЦЕСК: It may be easier to date a group- 
ie; it's a lot harder to get a date with a 
woman I really find interesting. And I 
don't get specifically propositioned as 
much as people think. It might be refresh- 
ing if I did! [Laughs] Women think that 7 
think—it gets complicated [/aughs]— 
they're an easy mark for me because Pm 
on a television show. You get into this 
think-counterthink nonsense. Some wom- 
en don’t want 10 go out with me for dinner 
and end up in the gossip pages the next 
day. In general, Гуе found I have more to 
overcome with interesting women. 

All of that attention has turned me into 
a very slow worker with women. I’m less 
apt to hop in the sack with someone—for a 
lot of reasons. 1 don’t want to be Magnum 
in bed with somebody, I really don’t. I 
don’t think I can be that guy she has in her 
head. You're going to fail if you try to live 
up to that image. So, instead, you try to 
figure out where people are at. 
PLAYBOY: Are you pretty good at that? 
SELLECK: No. I’ve gotten burned quite a bit. 
Tm not great at it, and I have more trepi- 
dations than ever. I realize there is a 
certain natural curiosity, but sometimes 1 
feel like a mascot. I get asked to parties a 
lot. 1 don’t really have much time for 
them, but when I did, I'd spend about two 
hours taking pictures with very sophisti- 
cated, often very wealthy people, and 
they'd have their kids there and I'd feel 
like a pet at the party. I find that’s very 
insulting, It would be real nice to just go to 
a party and sit and talk with people. It can 
be the same thing with a woman who you 
finally figure out is mostly interested in 
being seen with you. For obvious reasons, 
you have a tendency to question people’s 
motives—and most people do have a mo- 
tive or an ax to grind, or they want some- 
thing. On my bad days, when I’m not 
thinking quite right, I have the feeling 
that everybody is tugging on my sleeve and 
wanting something—but it’s part of the 
job, as I say. 
PLAYBOY: It’s tough being a sex symbol, 
eh? 
ЅЕЦЕСК: Let's just say there are two sides 
to the coin. As Paul Newman once said 
when he was asked how he felt about all 
the women chasing him, “Where were 
they when I needed them?” I was always 
shy with women. When I was a teenager, 
there was an enormous preoccupation 
with girls; but I lost my virginity at a far 
more advanced age than my peer group. 

If you keep a sense of humor about it, 
you realize that the attention has nothing 
to do with you, It’s all image. I mean, it's 
flattering, it’s nice to get the attention, and 
I'm as weak as the next guy about it. Гуе 


been at parties and met somebody who 
obviously wanted to meet me because of 
the image of the show, which can be a fine 
way to be introduced. But the extent to 
which we actually dated was in direct pro- 
portion to how fast that syndrome went 
away. If what you do for a living is the 
main thing, it gets old real fast. 

PLAYBOY: What does a sex symbol feel 
like? 

SELLECK: The whole sex-symbol thing is 
absurd. It would be ridiculous if I started 
buying that stuff. And if macho and 
“hunk” and 32 other titles come with that 
of sex symbol, I don’t want it at all. I have 
a hunch that the best directors in Holly- 
wood don’t want to work with a sex sym- 
bol. They want to work with a good actor. 
105 just another media hype. There is no 
event in which the hottest new sex symbol 
is picked. You don’t get a degree in sex 
symbolism, I don't even see Magnum as a 
sex symbol. I think he is a well-rounded 
character. He screws up a lot. He's not 
always right. He doesn’t always say the 
right thing to women and he doesn't 
always get the girl. So the sex-symbol 
thing is meant to sell magazines; next 
year, there will be a new “hottest sex sym- 
bol.” The healthiest way to operate is to 
treat all of this as a job. In the over-all 
scheme of things, it's not that important. 
I've said it before: Pm not curing cancer. 
I'm not really that important. Everybody 
talks in terms of his career. When I hear 
myself doing that, I try to correct myself 
and refer to it as a job. That's what it is. 
It's a fun job—on my good days, I feel like 
Pm stealing money—but that’s what it is 
The biggest help I've had in keeping this 
in perspective is the 13 or 14 years when I 
wasn't the hottest thing since sliced 
bread. 

PLAYBOY: What do you think of all the 
press coverage you've had these past cou- 
ple of years? 

SELLECK: I think some of the exposure is 
good. I just don’t want people to get tired 
of me. It’s been very frustrating trying to 
hold it down, especially when you very 
politely say no to people you think are 
ethical and they write about you anyway. 
Sometimes, the press can threaten you, 
which also amazes me: “We're going to do 
an article anyway, so you may as well 
cooperate and give us an interview.” 
PLAYBOY: Do you succumb to those 
threats? 

SELECK: When you talk with attorneys, 
you realize you have absolutely no legal 
right to stop them; it’s very frustrating. 
But you cannot give in to blackmail. The 
less scrupulous people in the business hide 
behind the First Amendment and “the 
public’s right to know.” Those are just 
excuses for the press to exploit you 
because you happen to sell magazines at 
that particular time. There is a difference 
between reporting news and exploiting 
people. Immediately after my son and I 
had the accident [in which Selleck’s car 


PLAYBOY 


was driven off the third story of a parking 
garage], I called my press agent so she 
could get out the word that we were OK, 
so my family and friends wouldn’t worry. 
A press release was put out that told about 
the accident and said that I was fine. But a 
friend heard a TV bulletin interrupting a 
program, saying—believe it or not— 
“Tom Selleck involved in accident. News 
at 11.” That's all it said! It is completely 
irresponsible and exploitative—they knew 
by then that there was nothing to the 
story—and that was by the so-called legit- 
imate press, not the National Enquirer. 
It’s a bit frightening. I believe strongly 
in a free press, and 1 think it’s one of the 
great strengths of our system of Govern- 
ment. But with every freedom comes a 
responsibility. If you abuse the responsi- 
bility, you run the risk of losing the frec- 
dom. If you're willing to give up the 
responsibility, you'll probably lose the 
freedom. 1 worry about that. 1 worry 
about an overreaction to a small element 
of the press that is unethical and makes a 
bad environment for the rest of the press. 
PLAYBOY: An unauthorized biography of 
you was published. Did you have any- 
thing to do with that? 
SELECK: Absolutely not. It’s quite bizarre 
to have someone you never met write your 
so-called life story. All of that was a shock 
to me. I felt a little raped one of the first 
times it happened. Гуе gotten thicker- 
skinned about it, but I don't like it. The 
fact that I could turn something down and 
people could still do it was a shock to me. 
And the fact that people could make up 
stories—literally make up lies and print 
them and get away with it—was a shock 
to me. 
PLAYBOY: All of that has a familiar ring to 
it. Isn’t it just the price of celebrity? 

: Says who? In a sense, they're say- 
ing, “Your only recourse is to sue,” which 
isn’t my favorite pastime. A lot of this does 
come with the territory, and my shoulders 
have to be broad enough for it. But it 
doesn't affect just me—it affects my son, it 
affects my ex-wife, it affects my mother, 
my father, my brothers and my sister. It 
affected my grandmother until she died 
When she was very ill in her hospital 
room, people showed her stories about me 
that were lies. It was upsetting for her. 
PLAYBOY: What sorts of stories are the most 
offensive? 

SELLECK: I may be a bit unrealistic, but 1 
don’t feel it’s anybody’s business whom | 
date. The public may be interested in 
whom I date, but I don't think it has the 
right to know. I think that’s my own busi- 
ness. There have been countless stories 
about people 1 supposedly dated—and 
sometimes we were a continent apart 
When I was in Yugoslavia, I was suppos- 
edly having a mad affair with Victoria 
Principal, who was in Texas or California 
or somewhere. Linda Evans is ап ac- 
quaintance, and we have mutual friends, 
and I like her very much—and sudden- 


ly, the press had us having a mad 
affair, because 1 joined a group she was 
with one night at a restaurant. I like her. 
Гуе met Victoria Principal, and she is very 
nice. I might be able to be friends with 
them. But I don’t want them to think that 
I'm encouraging stories about them to get 
publicity; that gets in the way of friend- 
ships. 

PLAYBOY: With the success of your show, 
are you concerned that you'll be typecast 
as Magnum? 

SELLECK: Of course it’s a concern. It puts 
you into a box, and you're trapped there. 
My solution is to always surprise the 
audience a little bit. There are surprises in 
Magnum. And there were surprises in my 
character in High Road to China and 
there are some in my new picture, Lassi- 
ter. І don't think the audience is going to 
accept my doing character parts yet, but I 
would like to do them in the future. For 
now, I think all I can do is try to expand 
myself each time 1 do something—a little 
bit, within the framework of what I figure 
the audience is going to accept. 

PLAYBOY: Do you really think you’ve done 
that with your movie roles? Critics have 
suggested you've simply played different 
versions of Tom Selleck. 

SEWECK: 1 think that if I'm doing my job 
right in a picture such as Lassiter, for 
instance, people are going to say, “He’s 
playing himself.” In a way, that’s a big 
compliment to me—I’ve made the roles 
believable. But in all the work Гуе done 
lately, from the series to the TV movies to 
Lassiter, I've considered my characters 
very different. To me, they’re all a bit of a 
stretch, which is very important. 

PLAYBOY: We’re not sure what you mean. 
‘Thomas Magnum and Patrick O'Malley 
in High Road, for example, are similar 
character types. 

SELLECK: I agree that they aren’t really dif- 
ferent, but if I go 180 degrees away from 
how the audience thinks of me just to 
prove I can act, Pm not so sure they're 
going to accept it. But if I try to stretch a 
litle bit here and a little bit there, gradu- 
ally, I will be able to do drastically differ- 
ent roles. It was important to me that 
there not be any Magnumisms in my 
characters in the feature films. 

In Lassiter, 1 play a thief, which posed 
an interesting acting problem: The way 
the film is structured, the audience has to 
like me, but I steal from people. I kind of 
wrestled with that for a while. I discovered 
that it’s important for a character like that 
to have a code. It’s not necessarily impor- 
tant that the audience know precisely 
what that code is, but it’s important that 
he operate consistently, whatever his code 
may be—important that it’s clear to the 
audience that he does operate from a set of 
values. Anyway, who knows what will 
happen? ГЇЇ let you know in about ten 
years whether or not it worked. I believe I 
can overcome typecasting. 

PLAYBOY: What the difference between 
working in television and in movies? 


SELLECK: The first thing I was aware of in 
the movies was that my eyeball was going 
to be ten feet tall. My mouth was going to 
be six feet wide. It’s so much larger than 
life that it’s a bit frightening. But movies 
and TV are largely the same techniques, 
the same cameras. The difference is the 
page count and the amount of time you 
spend on each scene. I have always felt 
that in either medium, an actor gets a lot 
more credit—or blame—than he deserves. 
Sometimes, you forget that a writer wrote 
the script. And film making is a collabora- 
tive effort. As self-centered as we want to 
get, we just can’t make it alone in 
movies. 

PLAYBOY: Would you eventually prefer to 
do only films? 

SELLECK: It's great being able to do both. 
There was a time, about five or six years 
ago, when if I had to leave a television 
series, nobody would touch me in a film. I 
think it's very positive and healthy that 
those barriers are breaking down. An 
actor should act. The problem was not the 
public but a prejudice within the industry 
It’s a myth that audiences won’t pay to see 
you in a movie if they can see you for free 
on TV. The television market is a huge, 
world-wide one now. Magnum was in 50 
countries after the first year and a half. 
High Road did the best in the countries 
that had broadcast Magnum, but five or 
six years ago, people would have consid- 
ered that a curse. 

PLAYBOY: Do you admit that the biggest 
selling factor in High Road was Tom 
Selleck? The picture made money, but the 
reviews were mixed, at best. 

SELLECK: Well, 1 think it was a good movie, 
but if people came to see me, that’s great. 1 
hope they keep coming, because I want to 
keep making movies. And 1 prefer calling 
them movies. I think we can really get full 
of ourselves when all of a sudden it’s “са- 
reers” and “films.” 

PLAYBOY: Didn't you almost become а 
movie star before becoming a TV star 
when George Lucas offered you Harrison 
Ford's role in Raiders of the Lost Ark? 
SELLECK: Yes. I was also going to do Victor/ 
Victoria, by Blake Edwards. Both would 
have been exciting projects, but when 
there were scheduling conflicts, I chose 
Magnum. 

PLAYBOY: Any regrets? 

SELECK: No. I can't imagine anybody 
doing a better job than Ford did. It’s his 
movie, his accomplishment. It was offered 
to me, and I tested for it. Га already done 
the pilot for Magnum, and when Lucas 
and Steven Spielberg offered me Raiders, 
CBS picked up my option for Magnum. 
The network tried to talk them into delay- 
ing it, but it didn’t work. I have always felt 
a sense of accomplishment in that 1 tested 
for the part and got it. 

I know it’s easy for me to say now, since 
Magnum became such a hit. Raiders was 
such a successful film that had Magnum 
gone on the air and been canceled 


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after four shows, I might have been 
depressed. Really depressed 

[Another knock. “Rehearsals, Tom!” 
After a half hour, the interview resumes.] 
PLAYBOY: You've been called the new 
Gable, the new Redford, the new New- 
man. Is that kind of PR hard to live up 
to? 
SELLECK: If it comes from the PR people, I 
say, “Forget it, guys.” I just laugh. If a 
critic says it, I think all you can be is 
flattered by that stuff. There isn’t going to 
be another Gable or Redford or Newman. 
“To be mentioned in the same sentence is 
real flattering. Pm a big fan of all those 
people. The problem with buying any of 
that stuff yourself is that next year, they'll 
be calling somebody else the new Gable. If 
you really buy that, you've got a long way 
to fall when it changes—and it will 
change. Actors have a lot of hills and 
valleys in their careers, and I see no reason 
that I won’t have a few more valleys in the 
future. I don’t want to fall that far. 
PLAYBOY: Perhaps even more flattering, 
there has been a lot of publicity about 
actors who are “new Sellecks.” How do 
you feel about all your imitators? 
SELLECK: Well, I guess it’s flattering to be 
considered a prototype, or whatever it is, 
but Гуе seen a lot of the shows you're 
talking about. The actors they're calling 
Selleck clones may be doing shows that 
follow a certain trend in TV, but they are 
all unique; they are all good actors and 
they work very hard. You don’t last very 
long in TV if you can't act. I just feel bad 
for the other actors—guys who have stud- 
ied their craft. I don't think they want to 
hear that stuff. They should be able to 
celebrate their own success. It’s their 
achievement; it has nothing to do with me. 
They are performing the best they know 
how. I’m sure it bugs them to be called a 
hunk or anybody’s clone. 
PLAYBOY: Do you have any theories about 
the phenomenal success of Magnum? 
SEUECK: I honestly don’t. I did six other 
pilots that were never sold, and in some of 
them, I was as good an actor as I was 
when I did Magnum. I think a lot of it is 
timing, and a lot of it is script. A lot of 
reviews call Magnum an action/adven- 
ture show or a hunk show, but I don’t 
think people who write those really watch 
it. To me, our show is about people. The 
interaction among the characters is every- 
thing. We don’t have a car chase in 
every show. I don’t shoot somebody in 
every show. What we always have is inter- 
action among the characters, particularly 
the regulars. In fact, I like the little sub- 
plots that always work better than the 
main plot—the case that’s being solved. 
Whatever it was, somehow we were lucky 
enough to catch an audience. 
PLAYBOY: Do you keep tabs on Magnum’s 
competition? 
ЅЕЦЕСК: No, I don't. I think all we can do 
is produce the best show possible. I don’t 


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have a lot of time to watch ТУ, which 
bothers me, because I want to keep my 
knowledge of the talent pool out there and 
a sense of the product that is being put out. 
When I have a chance to watch, ГЇЇ watch 
Magnum. I'm not one of those people who 
watch only educational ТУ and news and 
sports. I definitely like television. I just 
don't have much time. I used to really 
enjoy Harry-O and The Rockford Files. 
I'm a big James Garner fan. Oh, yeah, I 
love Hill Street Blues. 

PLAYBOY: How do you honestly rate yours 
against those other shows you like? 
ЅЕЦЕСК: I consider our show pretty heady. 
Pm very proud of it. We make people 
laugh—which is very difficult, probably 
more difficult than making them cry—and 
we have made them cry, too. Of course, 
we've done some episodes that were real 
turkeys. I think the audience will forgive 
you for the ones that don’t quite make it if 
you are adventurous. We work hard on 
each one. I don’t want them to come back 
to haunt me, showing that during the 
fourth and fifth years, I sold out, I really 
slacked off. You can do that; it’s real easy 
to get smug and complacent. 

PLAYBOY: How do you respond to the nega- 
tive reviews of the show? 

SELECK: 1 don't mind being reviewed by 
people who don’t like our show, but I 
don’t like the ones who claim it’s some- 
thing that it isn’t—such as a show where I 


run around with my shirt off all the time. 
Well, I don’t. Since the show’s inception, 
when Magnum is troubled, he goes out 
and swims laps. And when I’m swimming 
laps, I'm in swim trunks; it makes sense, 
doesn’t it? Sometimes, I even come out of 
the water. 

I do have the power to eliminate any- 
thing from a script that seems like gratu- 
itous nudity—and I do, because I don't 
like running around with my shirt off. T 
admit I'm sensitive about it now, because 
of all the press. But there are certain times 
when not wearing a shirt is very natural. I 
mean, we're shooting in Hawaii, for God's 
sake. 

PLAYBOY: Steve McGarrett of Hawaii 
Five-O wore a suit and a tie. 

SELLECK: The Honolulu police do that. Pm 
nat playing a policeman who has to go into 
the office. 

PLAYBOY: You mentioned the hunk label. 
That's been used a lot. How do you feel 
about it? 

SELLECK: Well, it’s a real interesting theory 
that I owe my success to being a hunk. But 
1 have been in the business for about 15 
years, and until Magnum, I wasn’t really 
doing that well. If that’s all there is to it, 
why didn’t it work for me all those years? 
Actually, it’s something writers concocted 
to sell magazines. A woman recently 
wrote a commentary in TV Guide on the 
“hunk shows.” First of all, to lump six or 
eight hard-working actors together in one 


category is very bigoted. She probably 
read two or three other articles and fig- 
ured that this was a trend and might sell 
some magazines. 

I do agree that there are trends in the 
business—that’s unmistakable. Magnum 
followed them, too. We couldn’t have bro- 
ken a lot of the barriers on Magnum with- 
out a show such as Rockford Files before 
us. It proved that a detective character can 
have a three-dimensional life; he doesn’t 
have to solve every case. 

PLAYBOY: But to stay with the subject, are 
you insulted by the hunk label? 

SELLECK: No, І don't get insulted by that if 
they're talking about my appearance. I’m 
Not going to sit with you and analyze that 
stufi—if somebody says, “You look nice,” 
am I supposed to say, “I know”? It just 
goes against my grain. I don’t think there’s 
anything wrong with a certain modesty. 
And it’s not phony. You can have self- 
confidence and not run around blowing 
your horn all the time. All the attention to 
my appearance is a little embarrassing. 
Whatever my appearance is, it is part оГ 
my instrument. 1 just try to watch that my 
publicity doesn’t get to a level where I 
consider it exploitative. As I say, I want to 
work in ten years. And, frankly, I think 
the jury is still out on me. If people want 
to say that I got this job on my looks, that’s 
fine. But, again, Рус been in this business 
for about 15 years, and my appearance 


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wasn’t any big deal until now. In fact, 
there are more instances where it hurt me 
rather than helped me. 

PLAYBOY: Such as? 

SELECK: Every actor I know has the same 
cross to bear: When he walks into an 
office, there are certain stereotypes he has 
to overcome to get that job. If you're trying 
for a serious part and they know you from 
comedy, it’s “Oh, no; he’s too funny.” 
Someone may, at first glance, seem too tall 
for a part or have the wrong voice. If you 
walk in and they know you’re a former 
basketball player from USC who has done 
modeling, they say, “Oh, here comes a big 
dummy.” You’re written off before you 
walk in. I did а lot of parts in commercials 
that were definitely first-impression parts. 
You walk into a room and they say, 
“Well, he looks fine." But I had a problem 
when it got past that, to having to speak. 

PLAYBOY: Why? 

SELLECK: When I was 25, I looked as if 1 
were in my 30s, but I sounded about 12 
But gradually, I got work. If you do a 
good job, people ask you back. Slowly— 
very slowly- you overcome whatever 
stereotype there was. 

PLAYBOY: Your complaint sounds like the 
male version of the dumb-blonde-actress 
stereotype. 

SELLECK: Well, I think it’s tougher on 
women. A lot of it is due to the fact that in 
our business, most of the people who give 


out the jobs are men. There's such a thing 


as chemistry. If a male producer finds an 
actress attractive, he's more likely to give 
her a job. But I've never had any kind of 
personal proposition from a man or a 
woman at an interview. Anyway, I think 
I'm being taken more seriously, so maybe 
T'm going in the right direction 

PLAYBOY: One reason your show is taken 
seriously is the presence of the Vietnam 
legacy in your scripts—with three Viet- 
nam vets as characters, Magnum is 
unique on TV. 

SELLECK: We do get a lot of mail from veter- 
ans who are grateful for our show. They 
have seen Vietnam veterans depicted on 
television as maladjusted sex maniacs or 
psychotic killers suffering from delayed 
stress. They can’t thank us enough for 
presenting an image that is relatively posi- 
tive of three guys who served in Vietnam, 
who had different views about it and who 
emerged as relatively normal people who 
have made relatively normal lives for 
themselves, And that is the case with most 
of the people who served in Vietnam. But 
some of the shows I'm proudest of are the 
silliest ones. Of course, I lean that way 
anyway. Pd rather make a fool out of 
myself than anything else. We've done 
ery silly shows 

How do you respond to the criti- 
cism of Magnum’s violence? 

SELLECK: Violence is one of the elements of 
drama, so a certain amount is necessary, 


particularly in a show with a detective 
plot. But Magnum isn’t excessively vio- 
lent. People who say it is don't watch the 
show. And I do worry about television’s 
preoccupation with violence. One reaction 
to that concern has been to show the same 
amount of violence but less of its results: 
The camera will zoom onto the gun and 
you won’t see the body. To me, that’s 
worse. You should show the consequences. 
There certainly is gratuitous violence on 
television. If a show doesn’t hold itself up, 
it has to rely on violence and car chases 
You see cars crashing into one another all 
over the place. Again, you don’t see the 
consequences. I've been in a car accident. 
It’s not that much fun. So, yes, I am con- 
cerned about the image we portray. Kids, 
in particular, don’t always separate reality 
from fiction. A letter from a kid saying, “I 
love to see you drive fast in the Ferrari” 
worries me. 

PLAYBOY: After a day on the set, do you get 
into a Ferrari? 

ЅЕЦЕСК: I don’t drive it. Ferrari has given 
me one to use, but it got impossible here— 
it was like driving a flag around. Too 
bad, because it’s a wonderful car. Who 
wouldn’t want to drive a Ferrari? 
PLAYBOY: In any case, is it hard not to be 
Magnum when you leave the set? 
SELLECK: I know Pm not Magnum when 
Pm off the set. Pm reminded enough of 


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my mortality: My knees hurt when I play 
sports and all sorts of things. 

PLAYBOY: Do you do any of your own 
stunts? 

SELLECK: I do some, but I don’t have a com- 
pulsion to do all my own stunts; I think it’s 
unprofessional. If I get hurt, 150 people 
on the Magnum set are hung up. There 
are not many days they can shoot our 
show without me. If Pm working on a 
movie, it could be many more people and 
lots of money. For a while, I stopped 
everything—including sports, which have 
always been a part of my life. But Гуе 
managed to break my nose a couple of 
times since I’ve been here. I play competi- 
tive volleyball, which is а very fast game; 
the ball can be spiked at about 90 mph. I 
worked with a very dark spot on my nose 
for a while. I try to be professional, but 
you can carry that only so far. 

The most unprofessional thing I ever 
did was this year, while I was working on 
Lassiter. 1 played on the Outrigger Canoe 
Club volleyball team and we made the 
championships, but I had to be in London 
when they were scheduled. By coinci- 
dence, I was asked to speak at Bob Hope’s 
80th birthday party at the Kennedy Cen- 
ter. I hate speaking publicly, but how do 
you say no to Hope and the President? 
Because of that, I was able to schedule 
time off from Lassiter, even though we 
had just started shooting that week. I got 
two days off. I asked for an extra day, 
claiming it was for rehearsal, then char- 
tered a Learjet to take me back and forth 
between Washington and Memphis, 
where the volleyball championships were 
being held. I holed up with the team in a 
motel—two to a room—and we won the 
championships! I was like a kid, laughing 
over what Pd done. But winning that 
tournament was the biggest achievement 
of my life. 

PLAYBOY: That certainly doesn’t rank up 
there with the worst crimes ever confessed. 
You mentioned earlier that you don’t do 
drug — 

SEUECK: And I think it's important to say 
that in interviews. I’ve lost close friends to 
drugs. I don’t want to sound puritanical, 
and I'm hardly a saint—I have my share 
of vices, but drugs aren’t one of them. 
PLAYBOY: What are? 

SELLECK: For starters, I no longer sneak 
around clotheslines and steal underwear. 
[Laughs] I don’t know. I've been known to 
drink too much. But I don’t enjoy getting 
drunk. I like some wine with dinner. 
PLAYBOY: OK. For the record, what is the 
story behind the headline-making accident 
involving you, your stepson and a parking 
garage? 

ешеск: Well, I had a few fender benders 
when my dad was teaching me how to 
drive. It was like that with my stepson, 
Kevin. I was teaching him how to drive a 
stick-shift car. He had a little problem 
with the clutch at just the right time: We 
happened to be on top of a three-story 
parking garage. We went over the edge 


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and hit the ground. We walked away; we 
couldn’t have been any luckier. But what 
was awful about it was that the poor kid 
made a small mistake and it was in the 
newspapers and they gave it to him at 
school. He’s weathered all that—he has it 
in the right perspective, I think—but it’s 
an example of what my family has to go 
through because of me. He is getting the 
brunt of my success without the perks. 
PLAYBOY: What is your relationship with 
him? 

SELLECK: It’s a heightened reality: dad for a 
month. But it’s nice in that the time is 
about as normal as possible. I don’t want 
to be Santa Claus for a month when I sce 
him, though that’s the tendency. I’m still 
dealing with the guilt that my marriage to 
his mother split up. But we manage to 
have some kind of normal life. At least we 
try. We went over to McDonald’s the 
other night for some hamburgers, and I 
had to sit in the car and he had to get them 
for us. We sneak into movies after the 
lights go down. It’s a little bizarre. 
PLAYBOY: During the split-up of your mar- 
riage, you were in Divorce Wars. Was 
that merely a coincidence? 

SELLECK: Believe it or not, it was. But your 
personal life does affect your work in front 
of the camera. It was scary. The character 
was very different from me and he didn’t 
handle the situation as I did, but I felt 
what he was going through. 

PLAYBOY: Did the split-up with your wife, 
Jacki, have anything to do with the pres- 
Sure on you when Magnum took off? 
SELECK: Not at all. Perhaps there would 
have been trouble, because doing a televi- 
sion series is one of the worst strains on a 
relationship there can ever be, but the 
plain and simple fact is that the problem 
my wife and I had had come to a head six 
months before I ever did the pilot for 
Magnum. Of course, stories were written 
about my getting hot and dumping my 
wife. There were other mean stories that 
spoke more derogatorily of my wife than 
of me. Maybe the writers figured she 
didn’t have the resources to pursue them 
legally; I don't know. It really infuriated 
me. I asked for this. She didn’t. 

PLAYBOY: Because of all that—and all the 
sex-symbol craziness we've talked about— 
would it be difficult for you to have a seri- 
ous relationship with a woman now? 
SEWECK: Yeah, and I worry about that. 
‘The nature of the work means there are 
long separations, which are hard enough. 
Then, when the articles start coming out 
about you and the leading lady becoming 
an item—and, no, I don’t get involved 
with people I work with—it eventually 
has some effect. Also, I work so hard, 1 go 
home like a zombie sometimes. At some 
point, the woman would—and should— 
say, “What about me? What about us?” 
Гуе resigned myself to the fact that it 
would be very tough to have that now. 
Whatever happens, happens. But I really 
worry that someone may not even be 


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getting a chance because of all this 
PLAYBOY: You don’t get involved with 
people you work with? 
ЅЕЦЕСК: I think it’s a big mistake. You 
can't control your emotions, but let's say 
you become infatuated with somebody 
you're going to be working with for the 
next four weeks. And you get involved. 
And something happens after the first 
week so you're not involved anymore. You 
have three weeks of hell in front of you. 
Especially if you are portraying lovers. 
PLAYBOY: Did you learn that from personal 
experience? 

[Selleck smiles.] 

Come on, "fess up. 
SELLECK: Sometimes you fail 
PLAYBOY: Anyone we'd know? 

[Selleck grins, points to sealed lips.] 

Let's move on—or back. Did you grow 
up a fan of movies and television? 
$ЕШЕСК: [ was a bigger sports fan than 
anything, but I grew up on Jimmy 
Stewart, John Wayne, Henry Fonda, 
Gary Cooper; Wayne, particularly. Pve 
always loved old movies. I've always 
watched a lot of movies on-TV. I will stay 
up until three AM. to watch a terrible hor- 
ror film. It’s got to be really bad, though. 
PLAYBOY: On your list of favorite leading 
ladies, is there one you would most want 
to work with? 
SELLECK: The list is enormous. I hate to list 
them, because ГЇЇ leave somebody out. 
There's one: Audrey Hepburn. Ill leave it 
at that. 
PLAYBOY: When did you decide to go into 
acting? 
SELIECK: At USC, I was in a fraternity— 
‘Animal House was a parody, but ours was 
sort of like that, a jock house. I certainly 
didn’t want to be an actor. I never even 
thought of this business. I fantasized about 
playing professional baseball, especially 
when I was younger. When I got offered a 
contract at Fox, I was still at college and 
I'd never done any acting. But a friend of 
mine talked me into trying it. I took a 
drama class in college—because it was 
supposed to be an easy course—and the 
teacher said my friend and I were good 
types for commercials. My friend went out 
and found a photographer to take pictures 
and all that, so I sort of followed his lead. 
Then, without really trying, I got the 
same commercial agent. 1 went on a few 
interviews and never got anything except 
something in an Air Force training film. 

Eventually, after my last season of 
basketball, I got a Pepsi commercial 
not because I gave a brilliant reading but 
because I could stuff a basketball with 
either hand. About that time, I also went 
on The Dating Game a couple of times. 
1 was bachelor number two—and, no, 
1 wasn’t picked. But somebody at Fox 
saw me on the show and called me to au- 
dition a scene, The studio put me under 
contract. I think I started out at $65 a 
week. "That's when I took acting classes, 
voice classes—though nothing helped my 


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voice—and dance class. 

PLAYBOY: So your first acting jobs were in 
television commercials? 

SELECK- Yeah, commercials were what 
kept me alive. I’ve always felt I’d rather do 
a silly commercial than take a silly acting 
part for the money. When I got more suc- 
cessful in commercials, it gave me the abil- 
ity to turn down the acting parts I knew I 
shouldn't do. I had one job in the year and 
a half before I did the pilot for Magnum, 
by my own choice. I was even able to say 
no to Magnum when they first offered it to 
me, because I didn’t feel it was right—it 
wasn’t quite the same show it is now. It 
was more in the James Bond category, 
and that wasn’t what I wanted to do. 
PLAYBOY: When did you begin acting in a 
series? 

SELECK: The commercials were in the 
early Seventies. I had already gotten some 
parts—one starring role and one lead in a 
pilot for a series. I also did a remake of 
The Best Years of Our Lives, in which I 
had one of the three leads. I had already 
done that stuff, and then I did a print 
commercial for Salem cigarettes and be- 
came known as the Salem Man. But I 
moved away from that, and for the next 12 
years or so, I did dozens of soap operas, 
pilots and movies of the week until 
Magnum came along. 

PLAYBOY: Your college years were in the 
late Sixties. What was your situation with 
Vietnam and the draft? 

БЕШЕСК: Around the time I was in college 
and got that contract from Fox, I got 
called for my physical, which meant I was 
going to be drafted in about three months. 
Thad a student deferment, and I was very 
concerned. I didn’t particularly want to 
get shot at, but I firmly believed in my 
commitment, my military obligation. 

It seemed as if the best way to fulfill my 
obligation and still work with Fox was to 
get into the National Guard. If I were 
drafted, I would have gone away for two 
or three years. By enlisting in the Nation- 
al Guard, I went on active duty for only 
six months of training and then served one 
weekend a month, plus two weeks in the 
summer, for six years. I was an Infantry 
soldier at the time things were getting a 
little dicey. Two days after I got back from 
active duty, we were activated to go to 
Vietnam. All of a sudden, after enlisting 
so I could stay in the States and work, I 
was in an Infantry unit that was going to 
Vietnam! Two days after that order came 
in, it was rescinded, but our unit was the 
first unit in the Guard, so every time any- 
thing happened—fires, floods—we were 
activated. I remember some terrible times 
when Bobby Kennedy was shot and we 
were sent to guard the armory in case 
something happened. 

It was a very political time, and the 
rhetoric got turned into such nonsense. 
Every once in a while, somebody would 
find out I was in the National Guard and 
Pd get accusations like "You're support- 


ing killing.” The National Guard was not 
the most popular place to be then. The 
scariest time for me was when we were 
called into the riots at Isla Vista near San- 
ta Barbara. William Kunstler spoke to a 
mass rally. He gave a speech, getting 
people riled up. But when a riot broke out, 
he wasn’t so courageous leaving right 
afterward. He was good at letting other 
people get arrested and leaving kids in vol- 
atile situations where they could be seri- 
ously hurt. Гуе never forgotten that. 

I was stationed in front of the Bank of 
America, where the riot started. We had 
roadblocks throughout the town. I didn’t 
want to be there. I did not like the idea of 
being stuck in an adversary situation 
against people I considered peers. Nobody 
did. That was about the time of Kent 
State, and we were all aware of the vola- 
tile situation we were in. After Kent State, 
we all asked, “How can anybody possibly 
shoot anybody, especially unarmed kids?” 
There's no answer to that question. But I 
got some insight into it in Isla Vista in the 
middle of one night. We didn’t know what 
was going on—we were not adequately 
trained for the situation. I didn’t want to 
hurt anybody. And somebody was going to 
get hurt; we were just waiting for some- 
thing to happen. 

We hadn't gotten much sleep in the past 
24 hours, and we were going to be up all 
night at our post. We were given orders to 
lock and load when we saw a mass of 
people coming down the street toward us. 
I refused to load. I don't know why—it 
was as if I couldn’t comprehend the seri- 
ousness of the situation. But the potential 
for tragedy was there. I remember one guy 
in charge of our unit panicked. That’s 
why I can at least understand the climate 
in which Kent State occurred. We were 
there muttering jokes at one another, try- 
ing to laugh off the situation, praying 
somebody wouldn’t throw a Molotov cock- 
tail at us. We didn’t want to admit that we 
were really in a life-threatening situation. 
We couldn't conceive of that. PI tell you 
what finally ended the riot: It started to 
rain. By that time, the kids were giving us 
cookies and coffee. And the riots were 
over. The kids went back to their apart- 
ments and started throwing parties. But 
what I really resented was that I could 
have hurt somebody. And over what? 
PLAYBOY: Do you feel any more or less 
political today? In the coming election 
year, will you endorse a candidate? 
SELLECK: I’m well read on politics and 1 
really have very firm beliefs, but until 
now, I’ve been determined to keep them 
pretty much private. I'm not sure that it’s 
fair for me to use my position as an actor 
to sway people. At the same time, I also 
feel my opinions should count less. 
PLAYBOY: But you have taken stands on 
such controversial issues as abortion and 
nuclear power. 

SELECK: No, not really. An article that 
came out recently summed up what I sup- 
posedly thought of the President, abortion 


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and nuclear power in one paragraph. It 
was yes, no and maybe. That was taken 
from an interview I did in Yugoslavia, and 
the writer drew broad generalizations 
from some comments | made. And that 
was in another respected magazine. 
PLAYBOY: Sci the record straight. 

SELLECK: When I was asked whether or not 
I supported the President, it was right 
after Reagan had been inaugurated, and | 
said yes. It was his first year in office and 
he definitely had a mandate, yet I saw a 
tendency for people to second-guess his 
economic policies, which was absurd. АЙ 1 
said in that interview was, “I think we 
ought to give his cconomic policies а 
chance.” He'd been increasingly ham- 
strung by the system of checi 
balances, which is fine, though I would 
have liked to see him have his way even 
more to find out whether or not his ideas 
worked. If we elect somebody, he’s got to 
be able to implement his policies. It seems 
to me that economically, an awful lot of 
things he's done are working quite effec- 
tively; I’m saying that two years after that 
article I thought it was a little unfair for 
somebody to quote me a year and a half 
later, but he did. 

As for abortion, 1 never spoke out. All 1 
said was that I didn’t think it was just a 
woman’s issue. When women’s groups try 
to usurp a man’s right to share in that 
decision, 1 disagree. It takes two people to 
conceive a child, and I believe the man 
ought to be included in the decision. 
That's all 1 said. The only thing beyond 
that I will say about abortion is that 
nobody has been able to figure out to my 
satisfaction when human life actually be- 
ins. That is the major problem in dealing 
with the abortion issue. Nobody knows at 
what point during the gestation period a 
fetus thinks and feels. I think those 
are important questions that have to be 
answered before you even deal with the 
subject. That’s all I really care to say 
about it 

As far as nuclear power goes, I said, in 
effect, “I think the jury is still out, but to 
my knowledge, no one has ever been killed 
in a nuclear-power accident” That 
doesnt mean we shouldn't have safe- 
guards, but people often get killed in the 
utilization of other sources of power, so I 
think we ought to give nuclear power a 
chance and watch it closely. We obviously 
are watching it closely; it's almost impo: 
ble to build a nuclear-power plant now 
that there are so many constraints. Beyond 
that, I don't want to really get into all of 
those issues, mainly because I don't think 
Tam prepared to talk about those compl 
cated issues and take stands on them so 
cavalierly. 

PLAYBOY: Where do you stand on the 
political spectrum? 

SELLECK: Oh, God, I don't want to get into 
all that. Yes, I have strong feelings about a 
lot of it, but | don't want to get that much 
into politics. I'd rather speak in general 


terms. I believe strongly in our free-mar- 
ket system, with its inherent rights—the 
ight to better yourself, the right to fail. 
Unless you have the right to fail in a free 
society—without opting for cradle-to- 
grave security—you're never truly going 
to have the ability 10 succeed. What we 
have in this country is rare in the world. 
We have a place where you can be born 
poor and end up rich; we have that mobil- 
ity. Now, it’s very difficult, and the odds 
are certainly stacked against you if you are 
born poor, but I do know that we have 
upward mobility and, consequently, less 
of a class system than other countries. A 
lot of rich people pay very little in taxes 
and they are doing it quite legally. They 
are always going to have a certain advan- 
tage, because they can hire the best attor- 
neys. That's just part of the human 
condition. There are always going to be 
those kinds of differences and inequities. 
You can't legislate them away. They cer- 
tainly haven't in Russia. There, the only 
people who get limousines are burcaucrats 
and athletes. Or actors. 

PLAYBOY: So you don’t think much of 
socialism? 

SEWLECK: I think that’s a bunch of nonsense. 
Show me one society that’s ever bought 
that scheme and has evolved past the dic- 
tatorship £o the proletariat. 1 think people 
are realizing that there is no free lunch. If 
you want the Government to do something 
for you, you're going to have to pay for it, 
and you can probably get it done more 
efficiently and cheaper by paying for it 
yourself than by paying for it in taxes, 
PLAYBOY: You're more conservative, even 
right wing, than we expected. 

SELECK: No, l'm middle of the road. I 
think the far right and the far left converge 
in totalitarianism. Now, Pm very much 
against big business, but I'm also against 
big unions and Big Government. Power in 
that proportion corrupts itself. Every 
Government project and agency should be 
subject to review and renewal. Unfortu- 
nately, when we establish а commission or 
an agency to handle a problem that is 
legitimate and should be handled, people 
are hired and have jobs they then want to 
protect. But the function of that agency 
should be the elimination of the problem 
and, therefore, of the need for 
you end up having people creating prob- 
lems just to justify their salaries. . . . 
T've said an awful lot about my pol 
feelings after telling you I didn’t want to 
talk too much about them! 

PLAYBOY: Why did you decide to let loose 
now? 

ЅЕМЕСК: Гус been quoted on all those 
things. I think that if my opinions are 
going to be quoted, they at least ought to 
be my opinions. This is by far the most I 
have ever spoken my mind about any- 
thing, and it’s because 1 choose to do so, 
because of your format. I think it’s the 
fairest format there is, I've always read the 
Playboy Interview—but I buy the maga- 
zine for the pictures. [Grins] 


PLAYBOY: All right, we can’t finish this 
interview without asking a couple of final 
questions. First, is it true you make 
87,000,000 for two seasons of Magnum? 
SELLECK: Pm not getting paid $7,000,000 
for two years. Pm making a lot of 
money—a lot more money than I ever 
thought Га make. What I make is my 
business. I don’t like leaking selective 
information about contracis and things 
like that. But, yes, Pm making a lot of 
money. Im making investments for the 
future and sore sort of a game plan so my 
family is taken care of. But these figures 
are mind-boggling to me. | mean, it's a 
cliché, but it’s true: How much can you 
spend? 

Somebody asked me in an interview if 1 
feel guilty because I'm making a lot of 
money now. I said absolutely not. I don't 
go home and stick the money in a mattress; 
1 invest it, I spend it and I go to better 
restaurants, and all those things create 
better jobs, and they are what our sys- 
tem—our free-market system, when it 
operates in the best and the purest way— 
is all about. What's the other question? 
PLAYBOY: Ап important one: How many 
Hawaiian shirts do you own? 

SEMECK: І have bunches, but I haven't 
bought one in, oh, about four years. I 
really don't want to run around Honolulu 
in a red Ferrari and a Hawaiian shirt, 
trying to stay young. 

PLAYBOY: Do you think about getting 
older? 

SELLECK: I think about it. Sure. At my age, 
it's quite сауу to fractionalize your life. 
There are a lot of little landmarks you hit: 
25 is half of 50; 38 is half of —what?—76. 
So I do wonder where I've been and what 
Pm doing. I ask, Am I going in the right 
direction? So I take stock a little bit, I 
guess. It doesn’t do much good to worry 
about it, though. I mean, none of us is 
going to get out of here alive. 

PLAYBOY: With all the pressure and anen- 
tion, you seem to be OK— pretty much in 
control. 

SELLECK: On good days. On bad days, I lose 
everything. It's a hard image to live up to. 
In an interview like this, I want to speak 
what is in my heart of hearts, but I do 
censor myself. Sometimes, I tell you not 
necessarily what you want to hear but 
what J want you to hear. That's not to say 
it's not honest, but it's a heightened reali- 
ty. I don't want the burden of being a 
sanctimonious all-American hero or sex 
symbol or anything else. I just do the best 
job I can. 1 fail to reach my standards most 
of the time. But 1 keep them; it’s impor- 
tant to talk about standards and goals, but 
that’s all they are—goals. I'd hate to be 
held accountable for not living up to 
everything I say. Somewhere between the 
standards and the striving for them, I’m 
doing pretty well and feeling very lucky 


about it. 
[y] 


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RACE YOURSELVES: There is a bogus 

rumble in certain parts of the 

media to make you believe the 
sexual mood of America hasturned from 
the open ground it gained over the past 
20 years back toward the cold, mean 
shade of the old Puritan morality. 

The message is subtle in some places 
and gross in others, but it is pretty 
much the same either way. We are 
being told that the sexual revolution 
has left us a bitter inheritance; that the 
freedom to discuss, study and experi- 
ment with our sexuality without the 
terrible burden of guilt and shame has 
produced more problems than it has 
solved; that God is angry; that the 
social order and even nature herself has 
turned on us for our hubris; and that 
the results are depression, despair, dis- 
ease and even death. 

The current media turn began five 
or six years ago with such stories and 
movies as Looking for Mr. Goodbar 
and Cruising, which implied that those 


who sought sex where it was openly 
available were likely to become victims 
of bizarre violence. And because most 
of us don’t look for our partners in 
bars or bathhouses, there was a tenden- 
cy to believe that the adventurous 
fringes of sexual pursuit were dark and 
dangerous. 

But there were other reports, small 
ones at first, that began to hint that the 
forces of sexual liberation were stalling 
out. Statistics on marriage and divorce 
were carefully monitored, and when 
they varied by even a few points, it was 
interpreted as a profound shift toward 
old values and styles. Story after story 
reported the barking of small dog packs 
such as the fanatic right-to-life Catho- 
lics and the people who call themselves 
the Moral Majority; they were against 
abortion, sex education and the dis- 
pensing of birth-control advice; and, 
finally, against erotic photos of any 


article By CRAIG VETTER 


kind on the absurd claim that such pic- 
tures inspire violence and pedophilia. 
The more radical elements of the 
women’s movement often played to 
that rhetoric by insisting that men as a 
group were sexually irresponsible 
animals who raped and otherwise 
exploited women, abandoned their 
children without qualm and clung vi- 
ciously to a double standard that 
wanted to cast women as concubines. 
More recently, columnists and other 
commentators have begun to theorize 
that the flood of sex manuals has left us 
wishing that the subject would just 
creep back into the closet and leave us 
alone. The message, stated in so many 
words by some writers, is that to 
demystify sex is to trivialize it, that to 
study it scientifically is to rob it of its 
purpose and its joy. Until, finally, the 
most profound charge of all was lev- 
eled at the new sexuality: that it had 
driven a wedge between love and sex 
and had rendered them hopelessly 


THE DESEXING OF AMERICA 


if you'll just take your hands off each other for a minute, 
certain media puritans would like to announce the death of sex 


LLUSTRATION BY MARVIN MATTELSON 


PLAYBOY 


по 


separate. Because the sexual revolution 
had suggested that sex and love could be 
separate events without anyone’s being 
hurt or degraded, the critics began to 
argue that such a split was what the liber- 
alizers had been after all along and that it 
was leading to a dangerous depersonaliz: 
tion of human behavior. Sex without love, 
they said, makes animals of us all. 

When enough of these reports had been 
published, they became the subjects of 
pieces such as the one by Fran R. Schumer 
that appeared in New York magazine of 
December 6, 1982, called “Is Sex Dead?” 

A few paragraphs into the article, the 
author says, “Indeed, a generation that 
skipped the hand-holding stage of adoles- 
cence is rediscovering dating. There’s ro- 
mance instead of lust, courtship in place of 
seduction. Pushed into the closet by the 
revolution, virginity has pushed its way 
back out. And in the offices of therapists, a 
new sexual dysfunction has made its 
debut: lack of desire.” 

‘Throughout the article, people referred 
to as veterans of the sexual revolution con- 
fess that random, loveless sex has left them 
empty and that they are secking something 
deeper and more selective these days. 
Schumer says that for some time now, 
“there was among many a deep-seated 
dissatisfaction with some aspects of the 
sexual revolution’s prescribed code of be- 
havior: the studied indifference with 
which people approached sex; the en- 
forced coolness, the thesis that sexual inti- 
macy was the best way to get to know 
someone.” 

Just who prescribed the behavior of the 
sexual revolution or who enforced the 
coolness is vague, of course, as are data 
indicating that people ever thought of love 
and lust as necessarily separate or that 
they want to retreat to the morality that 
insisted the two ought never to be separate 
on pain of sin and social disapproval. 

Sooner or later, someone was bound to 
seek those data, the statistical proof that 
we are repudiating sexual open-minded- 
ness in favor of the style practiced a gener- 
ation ago. Psychology Today took on that 
project last February, using as its starting 
point the hypothesis that romance had 
been a casualty of the new sexual moral- 
ity. It was obvious from the introduction to 
the questionnaire for their “Love and 
Romance Survey” what the editors ex- 
pected to find. 


We observe Valentine’s Day this 
month—an appropriate time, we 
thought, to consider our beliefs about 
love and romance. Have we begun a 
new infatuation with romance? The 
makers of Valentine cards might say 
so; sales have increased by about 
50,000,000 cards over the past dec- 
ade. Is the sexual revolution over? 
Are the forces of workaholism, finan- 
cial troubles and herpes turning us 


back to traditional romance? Have 
our feelings about love become more 
romantic and so, possibly, less 
realistic? 


They found what they were looking for, 
of course. And they found it at least partly 
because of the way they had structured 
part of the questionnaire. The results, 
published in July 1983 and quoted by 
newspapers and TV newspeople all over 
the country, announced that 53 percent of 
the respondents wanted love from their 
relationships, while only one percent 
wanted sex. The fact that these two things 
were made to seem mutually exclusive, 
however, was the result not of the sexual 
revolution but, rather, of the way Psychol- 
ogy Today had framed the question. 
Readers had been asked, *What do you 
look for in your relationship with your 
partner?" and had then been instructed to 
circle only one among these choices: finan- 
cial security, love, companionship, ro- 
mance, sex, other. It’s hard to imagine 
what could beat love in an either/or vote 
like that. And to oppose it to sex steals the 
brightest of possibilities from both. 

. 

In December 1982, Esquire published 
an article designed to remove any ques- 
tion about what modern erotic life had 
come to. A funeral wreath filled the cover 
under the bold headline “THE END or sex,” 
the title of George Leonard’s new book, 
excerpted within. 

Leonard is the author of the best-selling 
Education and Ecstasy, and for 15 years 
or so he has been the leading wordsmith 
for what used to be called the sensitivity 
movement and is now called humanistic 
psychology: the _ loving-caring-feeling- 
touching approach to life as lived at Esa- 
len, the most famous of its ranches. For a 
long time, Leonard was one of this move- 
ment’s most enthusiastic Pooh-Bahs, and 
he admits as much in the opening para- 
graph of The End of Sex. 

“Like millions of other Americans, I 
welcomed the sexual revolution of the Six- 
ties,” he writes. “I even did my own small 
part, through books, articles and special 
issues of Look, to help it along.” 

And, indeed, he did: In a January 13, 
1970, Look article called “Why We Need 
a New Sexuality,” he argues that al- 
though the old sexual taboos might have 
been useful before modern contraception 
and hygiene, it was time to let go of them. 
“Today,” he writes, “these same attitudes 
threaten the social order, heighten the 
chance of violence and war, increase pop- 
ulation pressures and needlessly restrict 
human pleasure and fulfillment.” 

In the same article, he calls for an end 
to all sexual censorship. “This means just 
what it says: Sexual intercourse and birth 
could be shown on network television and 
in family magazines. Nothing would be 
hidden.” He ends his rhapsodizing over 


the new sexual order like this: “The new 
sexuality leads eventually to the creation 
of a family as wide as all mankind that can 
weep together, laugh together and share 
the common ecstasy.” 

Between then and now, however, the 
sexual revolution somehow failed to live 
up to the promises that Leonard invented 
for it, and so, in The End of Sex, he is 
forced to renounce the whole thing. 
Throughout the book he separates sex and 
love and insists that sex is either mindless 
and exploitative or part of a deeply com- 
mitted romantic love that he calls “high 
monogamy.” 

“For example,” he writes, “the idea of 
sex for recreation has a lilting ring to it, 
suggesting the beautiful young people you 
see on television dancing from one partner 
to another . . . taking pleasure and adding 
delight. And those who support it would 
be quick to point out that sex for recre- 
ation can involve caring and intimacy. But 
we who live in a leisure society have seen 
where a surfeit of recreation can take us: 
to frantic, aimless travel, increased pollu- 
tion and stress, the desecration of ancient 
landmarks, the trivialization of history 
and culture. In the same way, ‘recreation 
al sex’ has already led to a frantic, aimless 
search for sensation and from there to the 
deadening of sensation, to sexual escala- 
tion and stress, to a desecration of court- 
ship and romance.” 

Nowhere in his opus does Leonard cite 
instances where the leading voices of scx- 
ual liberation called for hit-and-run sex as 
an ideal. Instead, he claims to have sensed 
а mood of boredom and despair among his 
friends and others he interviewed for the 
book. When he does get around to the pos- 
itive fruits of the sexual revolution, he 
admits he doesn't want to retreat from 
them. “Make no mistake,” he writes in 
Esquire. “1 do not sympathize with the 
methods or the aims of the so-called Moral 
Majority. I want to keep the best of the 
sexual revolution. The new freedom to 
talk openly about sexual matters is a bless- 
ed thing. A few straightforward words can 
sometimes clear up misunderstandings 
that would have produced a lifetime of 
guilt and shame in the devastating silence 
of times past. I want information on erotic 
feelings and actions, anatomy and physiol- 
ogy, venereal disease and disorders and 
birth control and abortion made available 
to young and old.” 

Still, he says, “The term sex might once 
have been useful in defining a field of 
study and focusing attention on certain 
modern problems, but it has outgrown its 
usefulness... It has become, in fact, an 
enemy of erotic love and must be seen as 
yet another aspect of the abstraction and 
depersonalization of life that now threaten 
human survival. ‘Sex,’ in short, is an idea 
whose time has passed.” 

Leonard is never without hope for 

(continued on page 318) 


ni 


husband tells me you're the slickest damn 
salesman at Amalgamated Software. 


“My 


PLAYBOY 


116 


to indulge in petty publicity stunts soon 
would have offended his owner, and we 
would have seen, after Steinbrenner’s in- 
stinctive need to be more important than 
any player, his equally instinctive need to 
punish. In the case of DiMaggio, it would 
have been not so much what he said as 
what he failed to say. One can see the 
tabloid headlines: “JOE SNUBS GEORGE/RE- 
FUSES TO SHOW АТ BOSS'S DAUGHTER'S BIRTH- 
pay party.” Followed, of course, by 
“STEINBRENNER BLASTS DIMAG/ONLY OUT FOR 
SELF/SAYS N.Y. OWNER.” Followed by “Joe's 
SILENCE STEAMS STEINY/‘HE'S PAID TO TALK/AS 
weit as rro " I realize that this is a pain- 
ful scenario for Yankee fans—the loss of 
the most treasured player of modern 
times—but Steinbrenner would have bal- 
anced it by signing Ted Williams a year 
later for $4,000,000. Again the headlines: 
“GEORGE GETS REVENGE/STEALS SPLENDID 
SPLINTER/FOR STADIUM SEATS.” That partic- 
ular melodrama, of Williams and Stein- 
brenner, given the immense egos of the 
two central characters, would not, we well 
know, have lasted very long, either. Once 
again, the headlines: “GEORGE TO TED: BUNT 
OR ELSE”; followed by “KID: rM NOT/PAID TO 
sunt.” Followed by “GEORGE BENCHES KID/ 
KID GIVES BOSS/HM FINGER.” Followed by 
“GEORGE MOVES RIGHT-FIELD FENCE BACK/75 
FEET TO SPITE SPLINTER.” Followed, inevita- 
bly, by “GEORGE FIRES BILLY AGAIN.” 
And so it goes. 


б 
Thave thought often of how I became so 
coldhearted about things that once meant 
as much to me as sports and the New York 
Yankees did. In my childhood, the Yan- 
kees were desperately important to me and 
my fantasies were connected with them. In 
the beginning, the myth of sports was tied 
up with baseball, for I grew up in the 
Forties, when professional football and 
basketball were either nonexistent or dis- 
tant minor sports. To children growing up 
in those days, life seemed humdrum, the 
deeds of athletes seemed more real; theirs 
were the first feats of excellence that I 
could understand and calibrate, and from 
an early age, I was fascinated by them. 
Thus, the journey of understanding 
musi begin for me, as it does for so many 
others of my generation, with DiMaggio. 
In 1939, when I was five years old, my 
father took me for the first time to Yankee 
Stadium. We had talked about that trip 
often before we actually made it, and I 
was well prepared for the wonders of it. 
To this day, I can remember the excite- 
ment I felt as we approached the stadium 
itself —the feverish rush 1 felt outside as 
we went up to the ticket windows, the 
need to move more quickly lest the game 
start without us, the awe I felt looking 
down at the field and seeing the greenest 
grass I had ever seen. It was a weekday 
game, and 1 was also surprised that there 
were so many empty seats. I had assumed 


that they'd all be taken because everyone 
else in the city would be as eager as I was 
to go. 

My father had been a good athlete, and 
he knew baseball and was careful in 
explaining what to look for in the game. 
“There,” he said, pointing to a tall figure 
standing by himself near the batting cage. 
“That is DiMaggio.” That was 44 years 
ago, and 1 can still remember him telling 
me to watch how DiMaggio rounded sec- 
ond base, to note that he had a particular 
grace for so tall a man. In addition, he told 
me to watch DiMaggio in center field 
when a ball was hi 
said, get а much саг 
than almost any other outfielder. I listened 
dutifully, though in retrospect, I do not 
think a five-year-old boy has a very good 
sense of getting a jump on a fly ball. 

The Yankees played Cleveland that 
day, and I rooted against the Indians with 
a passion that amused my father. The 
Yankees won and I was as happy as I had 
ever been. As we left, my father turned to 
me and said, “Well, you’re a Yankee fan 
now.” And, indeed, I was; I was com- 
mitted, ready to suffer through the war 
years with clinker teams until my heroes 
returned. Even now, I have a clear vision 
of DiMaggio rounding second, stretching 
a double into a triple. And my father was 
right—he was exceptionally graceful for 
so tall a man. 


. 

In subsequent years, as 1 wondered 
why I had taken sports so seriously for so 
long, it often seemed to me that much of it 
was the inevitable assimilation of an im- 
migrant family: Sports were so American 
that by knowing them well and by playing 
well, one became more accepted and less 
alien. Surrounded by a world that was not 
always psychologically comfortable, 1, like 
many youngsters, turned to the order 
apparent in sports. Morcover, sports 
seemed a safe place to invest my emotions 
and passions when I was young. But now, 
a father myself, I am apt to add a third 
reason: It was one of the few things that 1 
could share at an carly age with my father. 
I could not lightly share thc old military 
uniforms and medals in our attic, nor the 
memories that went with them, nor any 
talk about his work, nor, when he went 
back into the Army during the war, very 
much about what he was doing there. But 
we could share the Yankees and DiMag- 
gio, and it was part of our bond. In this 
urban age, 1 do not think young boys are 
easily bonded to their fathers—not as easi- 
ly as they are supposed to be—yet there 
are now, more than 33 years after his 
death, still a few things that connect me to 
mine: the smell of cigarettes mixed with 
shaving cream іп a bathroom; going fish- 
ing early in the morning; and entering 
Yankee Stadium and seeing again, every 
time I go, the miraculously green grass. I 


think now that part of the reason that I 
loved the Yankees and DiMaggio was that 
they were among the first things in my 
father’s world that I could share. So the 
Yankees became my team and, soon, my 
father went off to war. 

During the war, we lived in Winsted, 
Connecticut, and there my loyalty was 
confirmed. The Yankees were on WINS, 
1010 on your dial, and my brother and I 
would take our old radio to whatever cor- 
ner of the house provided the best recep- 
tion on that day and listen to Mel Allen’s 
honeyed voice describe the game. It was a 
world of Ballantine Blasts and White Owl 
Wallops. It was as if we knew Mel Allen 
and he knew the Yankees, and so we felt 
connected to them. 

Those years, the late Forties and the 
early Fifties, were my great years as a 
baseball fan. I was loyal first to the Yan- 
kees, then to the American League. Soon 
after that, 1 began to lose the faith. And 
there were, J suspect, secret increments to 
that process. Perhaps the first was the 
retirement of DiMaggio. For my genera- 
tion, he was the ultimate mythic figure— 
not just a great player but a man who had 
what we perceived as class. Above petti- 
ness, revered by his teammates, he did not 
need to speak for himself, because his 
deeds spoke for him. As boys, we were 
taught by a generation of sportswriters to 
respect his stoic heroism, just as Hem- 
ingway’s heroes were to be respected for 
their grace under pressure. Now, looking 
back at him and his career and knowing a 
good deal more about the egos of athletes 
and stars, I think he had an absolute sense 
of the theater of what he did. There is the 
story that Jimmy Cannon told about 
DiMaggio, at the end of his career, play- 
ing every day in considerable pain even 
though the Yankees had a comfortable 
lead. “ое,” Cannon had asked him, “why 
are you doing it—why are you putting out 
зо much?” 

“Because,” he is supposed to have 
answered, “there might be someone out 
there who's never seen me play before.” 

In retrospect, what was critical about 
DiMaggio and the special quality of his 
myth was that he was probably the last 
great athletic star of the pretelevisi 
By that I mean to say that w! 
his big games were on television, he him- 
self was not. We saw the action, but we 
did not see him talking afterward with 
Johnny or Merv or Howard. He re- 
mained as he played: elegant and aloof. 
We could make of him what we wanted 
and endow him with the qualities we 
chose. 

No man is a hero to his valet, and what 
valet’s-eye view оГ 
the crushing hype of 


1 have a suspicion that Reggie 
only is as good a hitter as DiMaggio 


“Га like to see Miss December. . .. I’m Mr. December.” 


117 


PLAYBOY 


118 


(though nowhere near the complete base- 
ball player he was) but shares one other 
quality with him, which is an instinct for 
the drama of an event and a capacity to 
rise to the great occasion. In the pretelevi- 
sion era, though, the deeds were done and 
they stood by themselves, to be savored 
and replayed by the fans in memory; they 
were mythic, in many cases, precisely 
because they were not widely seen and so 
had to be passed on by word of mouth. 
That, unlike the instant replay, is the path 
to true legend. In Jackson’s casc, the deeds 
have become mixed with a thousand video 
images of Reggie himself, predicting and 
acknowledging and explaining why he 
likes to play in the big games, all detract- 
ing, inevitably, from those moments of 
action, diminishing both deed and self. 
There was no subtraction from DiMag- 
gio’s accomplishments. It was not that he 
lived a life, athletic or personal, of a high- 
er order (indeed, the sense, from a di: 
tance, is that he was basically suspicious 
and almost surly with all but a few trusted 
insiders in those years); it was that he 
lived in a society that demanded, in return 
for its ticket, less of him. Perhaps there is 
some kind of lesson here, for when Di- 
Maggio played, the fan was still essen- 
tially in the seat and television was an 
ancillary force. The smaller crowd, which 
paid the player less money, got less of him 
in return. 


. 

When DiMaggio retired, іп 1951, 1 
was 17. The boy I had been was on his 
way to becoming a man, and the Yankees 
held less attraction for me. Mantle arrived 
to replace DiMaggio, and I was never able 
to accept him completely, for he had 
arrived with exorbitant predictions of his 
greatness, with too many comparisons, as 
yet unearned, with DiMaggio. I resented 
that and accepted him later, only in his 
declining years, when it became clear that 
(despite the amplification of his deeds 
by the New York media) he was, in fact, 
a player of great ability and decency 

But it was not just that DiMaggio had 
gone and a usurper had arrived; I had also 
changed. I was gradually going out into 
the real world, and I was gradually forced 
to view athletes as part of that world as 
well. By 1955, I was still a baseball fan, 
though perhaps a less passionate one, and 
that fall, I was working as a reporter in a 
small town in Mississippi. Each afternoon 
that October—for it was an afternoon 
paper and I was free by two rand base- 
ball was still played in the sunlight—I 
would join assorted local pols and busi- 
nessmen around the set in the lobby of the 
Henry Clay Hotel. Those were tense and 
angry days in Mississippi; it was just a 
year after the Supreme Coun had banned 
segregation in local schools, and it was the 
same year that two white men had lynched 
a young black boy named Emmett Till. 


The state was on fire with racial tension, 
and it showed in that group gathered 
around the old black-and-white set. They 
were all rooting vehemently for the Yan- 
kces, then a lily-white team. 

In truth, they were not so much for the 
Yankees as they were against the Dodgers, 
who had Robinson, Campanella, Gilliam 
and Newcombe. That Dodger team seems, 
in retrospect, infinitely more exciting and 
sympathetic than the Yankees. They were 
not just black ballplayers but exciting 
ones, players with speed and daring. 
The hotel room simply seethed with 
hatred; this was no longer a baseball 
game, this was а kind of war. 

Robinson was the focus of it, not 
because he had been the first—there were 
too many of them now and that was for- 
gotten—but because he was so fierce and 
so provocative. It was as if he knew those 
people were there and, by his body lan- 
guage alone, taunted not just the Yankees 
but those white fans who would not accept 
him for the consummate athlete he was. 
This they could not do. Men who loved a 
sport, who would have thrilled to his style 
had he been white, had to cut themselves 
off from something they held dear. That 
was no small victory for Robinson. 
Taunted by him, they responded bitterly. 
He was not Jackie Robinson to them that 
day, he was “Nigger Jackie.” If he got on 
first, it was “Emmett Till leading off 
first,” in honor of the lynched little boy. 

It was a room filled with rancor and 
anger; | did not know then—nor, most 
assuredly, did they—that it was part of a 
death gasp of а dying order, that very 
soon, their children and grandchildren 
would be playing with and rooting for 
great black athletes at West Point High 
and Ole Miss and Mississippi State. They 
were bitter because in some primal way 
that I did not yet understand, it had al- 
ready happened: They were playing in the 
world series, and it (the television box) 
was bringing it home to West Point; and 
though no black could yet play at West 
Point High or Ole Miss, it no longer mat- 
tered. 

In the lobby of the Henry Clay that 
day, the real world and the fantasy world 
became irretrievably mixed. Sport would 
never again be a place in which to escape, 
pure and immune from the real world, 
filled with only the heroic deeds of men 
who were different from the rest of us. My 
life now demanded that I cover issues that 
were filled with moral resonance; if in that 
part of my life the moral questions were so 
important, how could 1, in the other part 
of my life, the sports part, so completely 
suspend the values against which I now 
began to judge men and events? 

In that room, part of a childhood forev- 
er ended. It would be nice for the purpose 
of this article to report that 1 changed my 
loyalty and rooted for the Dodgers—but 


that is not true. What happened that day 
stilled something in me, and I remained 
almost mute, rooting silently for the Yan- 
kees but curiously ambivalent about it, 
pleased when Robinson defied them with 
his play, though not wanting them to lose. 
It was a joyless series for me. 

In the years that followed, my loyalty 
began to diminish and I cared less about 
sports. I was busy covering civil rights in 
the South, and Martin King was more 
important than Mickey Mantle and Wil- 
lie Mays. 

Then, in 1961, as Maris and Mantle 
chased Ruth's record, I (unlike most Yan- 
kee fans) rooted for Maris over Mantle— 
a sign of how alienated I had already 
become. But I paid little real attention. 1 
was on my way to the Congo to become a 
war correspondent. That fall, the Yankees 
were in the world series and I was in 
Katanga trying to stay alive. Two years 
later, the Yankees again were in the series, 
where Koufax destroyed them complete- 
ly, and I was in Vietnam. (“The Jews 
won the world series,” my brother wrote 
to me, clearly delighted by this news.) 

While I was back in the country briefly 
in 1964, to cover Robert Kennedy’s race 
for the Senate, I returned to the New York 
Times office one afternoon and found out 
that the Yankees had fired Mel Allen. For 
the boy who still existed in me, Allen was 
a treasured link to the pleasures of the 
past, of epic feats and grand moments. 
(The boy remembered that in 1948, when 
his father and his brother had visited an 
Eastern prep school, trying to get his 
brother registered as a student, they had 
gone in for an interview and the boy had 
remained in the car. Bored by the real 
events going on around him, he listened as 
Mel Allen described Henrich’s assault on 
a home-run record. He had hit four home 
runs with the bases loaded, which tied the 
existing season record. Now Henrich, up 
again with the bases full, swung on a 
pitch, and the boy thrilled as Mel Allen 
described with mounting excitement the 
mighty course of the ball, going, going . . . 
and then the excitement died as he 
described the ball hooking foul. The boy, 
who later could not remember the birth- 
days of close friends, would still remem- 
ber, courtesy of Mel Allen, that Henrich 
was from Massillon, Ohio.) The day of his 
firing, I walked into the Times city room 
and turned to Stan Levey, a fine labor 
reporter who sat next to те. 


“Gee, that’s sad news about Mel 
Allen," I said. 
“Mel Allen!” he said. "Sad news? 


You're crazy, Halberstam. He's the worst 
homer in baseball. He never says anything 
critical about the Yankees. Look at you, 
back from Vietnam; you win all those 
prizes for going against the grain, against 

(continued on page 124) 


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PLAYBOY 


Notes of а Fallen FAN (continued from page 118) 


“All that mattered was this: me with my best against 
you with your best; all else is wind and blather.” 


the Government, and you're rooting for 
Mel Allen.” 

He was astonished. But I was mourn- 
ing the loss of Mel Allen somewhat as one 
mourns the loss of a childhood friend. And 
with that, the boy finally connected his 
two worlds and became a man. 

. 

The man, it turned out, was now more 
liberated from the past. He still followed 
the sports pages closely but began to make 
judgments about athletes based on qualifi- 
cations other than regional loyalty. What 
kind of men were they? Was there a value 
system that connected them to the best of 
sport and to their teammates? Was there 
something about them that went even 
beyond sport? Were they about some- 
thing? Rusty Staub, slow of foot, was not 
necessarily a ballplayer I admired or 
found exciting. But I remembered how, in 
June 1968, after Robert Kennedy was 
assassinated, he had been one of the very 
few players who thought it an event of 
importance, and although he had not 
refused to play in succeeding games, he 
had worn a black arm band for a time. So 
I came to root for Staub. I also came to 
admire Bill Russell for his high intelli- 
gence and his fierce pride; I fancied that 1 
could understand why, shunned socially in 
Boston, underappreciated by the fans and 
the media, he had, as a policy, refused to 
sign autographs. I had been touched in the 
early Sixties by the innocence and the joy- 
ousness of the young Cassius Clay and 
came to respect the unshakable political 
integrity of Ali (whom I viewed as being 
the only holder of high public office to 
resign his position in protest over the Viet- 
nam war). 

As a man, I came to respect Johnny 
Unitas despite the fact that he had beaten 
the Giants and because he had endured. 
He said little but managed again and 
again to confound the odds. No one did the 
two-minute drill like Unitas, and I found 
nothing wrong with rooting for a man 
from a place as arcane as Baltimore. Very 
early on, І also came to like Vince Lom- 
bardi, in the days before his macho cult 
began 10 rank alongside that of John 
Wayne. I sensed in Lombardi the Italian 
immigrants rage 1 be accepted; he had 
been denied a rightful chance to coach the 
Giants, and that particular fire, more than 
anything else, seemed to burn in him. 1 
admired, as well, the play of Carl Ya- 
strzemski and the way he led the young 


Red Sox into a pennant fight in 1967. 
‘That team was exciting, and I gradually 
found it easy to forgive the descendants of 
my old nemeses, Pesky, Doerr, York and 
Parnell. 

That September, I found myself back in 
Vietnam. It was not a happy time. The 
war was at its height and Saigon had 
become a base for an immense American 
Army. A city I had loved in the past was 
now filled with too many soldiers and too 
many hookers. The war was not going 
well, and it had made me feel alienated 
not just from Saigon but from America 
itself. But in those days when the Red Sox 
were making their run, I took pleasure in 
getting up a little earlier every morning 
and walking over to the А.Р. office to 
check on the ticker what had happened in 
that pennant race. There was а 13-hour 
time difference, and the results sometimes 
would come in during the morning and I 
would go over and sit by myself and look 
at the box score that contained Yaz’s hero- 
ic deeds (vaz, it seemed to say each day: 
THREE FOR FOUR, TWO RIBIS, TWO HOME RUNS) 
and 1 would take sweet solace. 1 tried to 
see him as he was in Fenway Park—a 
place I had come to love, the huge wall 
looming over it all—with his cocky stance, 
as exaggerated as that of my beloved 
DiMaggio. It was an oddly comforting 
moment, a reminder of an America I still 
felt connected to when 1 felt so discon- 
nected from everything else. Then I would 
rejoin the war. I have always felt 1 owed 
Yaz something. 


D 

What was happening in those years, the 
Sixties, was that the world of sports was 
changing, almost under our noses, becom- 
ing more brazenly commercial. It had 
always been commercial, but now it was 
becoming married to television, and the 
commercialism was about to be un- 
checked. The nature of the game was 
about to change, and the impulse for the 
athletes, for the owners and, finally, for 
the fans, was to change, too. Hype had 
always been a part of the game; there had, 
after all, been hype about a Giants rookie 
named Clint Hartung, who not only 
would be the greatest hitter in history but 
every fourth day would pitch as well. But 
it was now a dominating factor. In the 
past, it had been limited—the chance to 
place a message on an outfield sign or to 
get an athlete to pose for a magazine ad 
touting the cigarette he smoked. But now 


Madison Avenue was about to find a new 
arena for its skills. 

Soon, athletes became salesmen. Madi- 
son Avenue had married television, which 
had, in tum, bought sport. 1 watched the 
process with mounting apprehension. I 
soon tended to root against athletes who 
were among the favored representatives of 
the advertising business or who in а par- 
ticular season had received hype beyond 
the call of duty. In 1968, the year in which 
Denny McLain won 31 games, I rooted 
for him to reach that high plateau but was 
also appalled by the media fever that it 
created. I watched the world series that 
fall with special pleasure, for Bob Gibson 
had become a favorite of mine; he was so 
good, so tough, so unyielding of his per- 
sonal and professional integrity that I had 
come to see him as someone special, a man 
not yet corrupted by the age. In the world 
series, he pitched that October day against 
McLain, and I had never seen the televi- 
sion camera report with such fidelity. It 
was the game in which he struck out 17 
Tigers, and the camera shot Gibson tight 
in image after image, showing only the 
ferocity of pride in his face—a tribal 
prince on the mound, I thought that day 
The picture did not need any voice-overs 
nor “supers” imposed while he was pitch- 
ing. The camera told all; it was as if he 
were flouting the world of media, of hype, 
of commercial endorsements (of which he 
had done, great pitcher though he was, 
precious few). All that mattered in the 
end, his face seemed to be saying, was this: 
me with my best against you with your 
best; all else is wind and blather. It was a 
moment as true as anything I have seen 
in sport in the past 20 years. It was 
the moment not of the hype but of 
the athlete. 

I did not even know what I was re- 
sponding to at the time, but now I can see 
that a wariness of spirit and commitment 
had begun even before I realized it. For 
better or worse, I think I would now mark 
its full flowering with the coming of the 
first Super Bowl, an event that symbolized 
the domination of sport by television. The 
immense hype and amplification of deed 
was now mandatory; for if high quality of 
event was now not necessarily a part of the 
ritual, then the pregame hype certainly 
was. Inevitably, the game itself, after a 
couple of weeks of Rozellian promotion, 
was almost always an anticlimax. (The 
two league-championship games that pre- 
ceded it, in which only football was at 
stake, were almost always excellent— 
much more about sport than about destiny 
and history.) So the coming of the Super 
Bowl was a critical moment in the new 
face of sport, marking a lack of essential 
harmony between event and amplification 

(continued on page 238) 


“What we have here is gluttony and abstinence, ribaldry and 
prayer, obscenities and solemn ceremonies, dancing, screwing 
around and saintliness—all in all, Christmas works.” 


ENDEN 
^ m 

so tell me, 

just how 
many affairs 


did this 
guy have? 


fiction by 


GEORGES 
PUIG IBIS 


Етн in the office of Ways and 
Means Reardon told Karen in | 
the office of Senator Bolter that 
Cecilia Dunn in the treasurer's | 
Е. office had refused to attend Ron- э 
ald Devlin's wake. “I couldn't X 
и” believe it,” Beth said. “I said to 
her, ‘Ceil, this is a guy that you 
knew all this time, am I right?” 
E And she goes, ‘Yeah, I guess so." 
4 Ye Like she wasn’t really sure and 
! 7 stuff? And I go, ‘Ceil, whaddaya 
mean, you guess so? This is the 
/ guy that two years ago when you 
first come in here, you get one 
look at the guy and you can’t 
Y even talk for two days, am I 
right? This is the same guy and 
they got him laid out for two 
{ nights down at Donovan’s, 
9 ` you're not even going, the 
wake?” And Сей kind of just 
P d shrugs her shoulders and won’t 
\ 8 look at me, you know how she 
; ж gets?” 
x ^ en 


” Karen said, “she does 


PLAYBOY 


128 


that with me, too. When you ask her 
something that she don’t want to tell you, 
she won't look at you when she says some- 
thing. It’s very annoying.” 

“Yeah,” Beth said. “Well, she did that. 
And then she goes, ‘I didn’t see Ronnie for 
quite a long time.’ Like that’s going to 
explain it or something, she hasn’t been 
seeing the guy.” 

“I don't think it explains it none,” Kar- 
en said. “When she was seeing the guy, 
she was seeing the guy just about every 
night. I couldn't keep track of it, what 
nights she was supposedly staying with 
me. It was kind of embarrassing, lots of 
those times, I’m afraid on the weekend, on 
Saturday morning, my mother wants me 
go down the store and pick up the meat for 
the week from Mr. Bemis, and I don’t 
know if I oughta go, you know? Because 
what if I run into Ceil’s mother down 
there and she starts talking to me about all 
the nights Ceil’s sleeping over my house, 
huh? I don’t суеп remember which nights 
they were, she’s supposed to be there. 
What if her mother asks me what Ceil and 
me did on last Tuesday night that she had- 
da stay over my house we got home? I 
didn’t see Ceil after work Tuesday night. 
All 1 saw of Ceil back on Tuesday was the 
back of her back, leaving the office at five 
when I was on my way down to the ladies’ 
room and I happened to sec her. What am 
I gonna say? I said to her many times, 
"Ceil, this is OK and everything, you wai 
na see Ronnie like this, but now in addi- 
tion to you probably getting in trouble if 
someone finds out, you got me where I'm 
going to get into trouble myself.” And she 
goes, ‘Don’t worry, Karen. Nobody’s go- 
ing to get into trouble? When her mother 
knows she’s been in my house, I got only 
one bed in my room and now that my 
brother’s separated from his wife, he’s 
back in his old room at home, and where 
did she sleep all those times at my house 
when she was supposedly there? But 
Cecilia don’t care. Cecilia’s in love.” 

“I know it,” Beth said. “I said to her, 
“Сей, all right? It isn't like nobody knew 
you were seeing each other, you know? It 
was all over the State House. All the girls 
knew it and so’d most of the men. It isn’t 
like nobody knew it.” ” 

“Of course they did,” Karen said. “I 
seen some of the men that found it out 
right when she first started seeing him, 
and that was practically all they could talk 
about. Even with us. The Senator asked 
me one day, he was trying to get Ronnie 
for something, and he couldn’t find him, 
and he calls me into his office and says, 
‘Karen, all right? Man to man? Has Dev- 
lin got something going on on the side with 
that kid in the treasurer’s office” And I 
like the Senator, you know? ] didn’t want 
to lie to the guy. He’s been nice to me. But 
at the same time, I don’t want to just go 
and tell him that Ceil’s seeing Ronnie like 
that, so I goes, ‘I don’t know.’ And he just 


looks at me like he knows I am lying, 
which naturally makes my face get all red, 
"cause I am, and he just shakes his head 
and goes, ‘Jesus H. Christ. It’s not hard 
enough around here that I got to ride herd 
on these guys so I know how they’re voting 
on something, I got also to keep track of 
who they’re seducing and all of that kind 
of shit. It isn’t fair, Karen, it just isn’t fair, 
a grown man like that should know better, 
chasing around with a teenager like 
that?” 

“Yeah, Karen,” Beth said, “but from 
the way Ceil was talking when she came 
in here, it wasn't like Ron was the first 
guy, you know? Plus which, she was 
twenty. Ceil knew what was going on. She 
didn’t think it was Frenching made ba- 
bies.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Karen said. “I’m just 
saying, is all. If Ceil thought she was 
keeping a secret and stuff, she was wrong. 
All the girls knew it and so did the men. 
She just liked to pretend.” 

“Yeah,” Beth said. “Well, she’s still at 
it, I guess. I says to her yesterday, I saw 
her at lunch, I said, “Сей, and I told her I 
drove in so 1 had the car, and did she want 
to come with me, the wake down to Don- 
ovan's there, and then I'd drive her home. 
See, I figured she's not gonna want to take 
the T after dark, all of them dead beats 
around when you get on the next car at 
Park Street, just waiting to see which one 
you pick and there isn’t anybody clse 
around or anything. And she goes, ‘Oh. 1 
ain't going, and then she won't look at 
me. And fora minute or so, I just looked at 
her, because I could not believe that I just 
heard her say that. And I said to her, 
‘Ceil, you’re not going? You were close to 
this guy.’ And she goes, ‘I don't care. I'm 
not going? And I figure she's thinking, 
people will talk if she shows up the wake, 
and I tell her, I said, ‘Ceil, listen to me, all 
right? We’ve been friends a long time, or 
so Гуе been thinking, you first come 
around and ask me start lying for you, and 
I feel like I must have some rights in this 
thing. If yowre staying away from Ron 
Devlin’s wake on account you were seeing 
Ron and you think itll make people talk if 
you go, just forget it. Because people were 
already talking, all right? Talking long 
before this. And all you’re gonna make 
them do if you don’t go to this is make 
them talk some more. And what they’re 
gonna say this time if you do that will not 
be better. It will be a whole lot worse and 
it won't help you none.’ ” 

“Of course it won’t,” Karen said. “It’s 
just like she admitted it, she stayed away 
like that.” 

“That’s exactly what I told her,” Beth 
said. “I said, “Сей, I said, ‘if you don't 
show up down to Donovan's tonight, it 
will be just like you went down there and 
put up a big sign that said that you and 
Ron was having an affair and that was 


why you didn’t go, because you were 
afraid to face his family.’ And she looks at 
me and she goes, ‘Well, so what, Beth, all 
right? 1 was having an affair with him, 
and I am afraid to face his family. That 
time last year when they had the party for 
the speaker leaving there and Ronnie 
brought his wife? She had too much to 
drink and she got mad at me. She was all 
right at the beginning of the evening, but 
then she had a lot to drink, and I lost track 
of her in the crowd, and I’m gonna go the 
ladies’ room before I leave, all right? And 
she followed me right in there, like she’d 
been waiting the whole night just to catch 
me in there by myself, and I hadda sit 
there in the stall until finally he sent 
someone in to get her out while she was 
screaming at me and calling me just about 
every filthy name that you could think of 
and saying if it wasn’t for me he would’ve 
still been living with her and he never 
would’ve left her like he did with those 
three kids.’ ” 

“Well,” Karen said, “that isn’t true. 
Old Ronnie there was pretty careful and 
he never went around talking all the time 
about the things that he was doing, maybe, 
but I happen to know it for a fact he never 
spent much more time in his house than he 
absolutely had to.” 

“I know you do, Karen,” Beth said. 

“That was a long time ago, Beth,” Kar- 
en said. “It was a long time ago, and he 
was a lot younger then’n he was when he 
started seeing Ceil there, and I was a lot 
older’n Ceil was when I was seeing him, 
and, anyway, it was just something that 
happened because we both had way too 
much to drink down the Cape outing there 
for the Fourth July. And a few times after 
that. That was all there was, and it was a 
long time ago.” 

“Quite a few times, Karen,” Beth said. 

“It wasn’t that many times, Beth,” 
Karen said. “It was all over by Christmas 
of that same year. I just got tired of him, 
that’s all, and the sneaking around, and it 
was all over.” 

“That’s not what I remember being 
told when it was over, Karen,” Beth said. 
“That isn’t what you told me at the 
time. 

“Well,” Karen said, “maybe that isn’t 
what I then, but I was upset then. I 
don't know what I might've said.” 

“You said he dumped you,” Beth said. 
“That's what I told Сей. I said, ‘Ceil, you 
look, all right? All you’re doing here is 
you are making yourself like you were 
something different than a lot of people in 
this building that could say exactly the 
same thing. That they know Ronnie Dev- 
lin’s dead but they’re not going down the 
wake because they got the same excuse 
you got, and you don’t see them doing 
that. Karen, she’s going there. You don’t 
see her just hanging back and pretending 

(concluded on page 232) 


drink Dy EMANUEL GREENDERG уучкктз of all kinds abound these 
days, but as far as we know, a rum tour of the Caribbean has never been 
proposed—an oversight we’re about to address. It’s a stay-at-home trip, 
о you won't need beachwear or nautical threads. Iu fact, all that’s 
uired is a receptive palate. Old Caribbean hands claim that English- 
nd French-speaking islands are the sources of fuller-bodied specimens, 
hile rums from Spanish-speaking arcas are on the lighter side. Despite a 
exceptions, that theory holds up rather well. (Obviously, the rum- 
pping lass on this page is from an English- or (continued on page 233) 


this christmas, trade 
your candy canes 

Jor sugar cane and 
take a rum tour 
of the caribbean 


130 


article By HUNTER S. THOMPSON 


THE 
U 
OF 


WE WERE about 40 minutes out of San 
Francisco when the crew finally decided to 
take action on the problem in lavatory 1B. 
The door had been locked since take-off, 
and now the chief stewardess had sum- 
moned the copilot down from the flight 
deck. He appeared in the aisle right beside 
me, carrying a strange-looking black tool, 
like a flashlight with blades or some kind 
of electric chisel. He nodded calmly as he 
listened to the stewardess’ urgent whisper- 
ing. “I сап talk to him,” she said, pointing 
a long red fingernail at the occurien sign 
on the locked toilet door, “but I can’t get 
him out.” 

The copilot nodded thoughtfully, keep- 
ing his back to the passengers while he 
made some adjustments on the commando 
tool he was holding. “Any 1.D.?” he asked. 

She glanced at a list on her clipboard 
“Mr. Ackerman,” she said. “Address: Box 
99, Kailua-Kona.” 

“The big island,” he said. 

She nodded, still consulting her clip- 
board. “Red Carpet Club member,” she 
said. “Frequent traveler, no previous 
history . . . boarded in San Francisco, one- 
way first class to Honolulu. А perfect 
gentleman. No connections booked.” She 
continued, “No hotel reservations, no 
rental саг... .” She shrugged. “Very po- 
lite, sober, relaxed. . . .” 

“Yeah,” he said. “I know the type.” He 
stared down at his tool for a moment, then 
raised his other hand and knocked sharply 
on the door. “Mr. Ackerman?” he called. 
“Can you hear me?” 

There was no answer, but I was close 
enough to the door to hear sounds of 
movement inside: first the bang of a toilet 
seat dropping, then running water. 

I didn’t know Ackerman, but I remem- 
bered him coming aboard. He had the look 
of a man who had once been a tennis pro 


RSE 
LON 


hawaiians wailed 
centuries for the 
return of lono, 

the god of excess, 
but the good doctor 
showed up instead 


ILLUSTRATION BY JOHN KURTZ 


PLAYBOY 


in Hong Kong, then gone on to bigger 
things. The gold Rolex, the white-linen 
bush jacket, the Thai bhat chain around 
his neck, the heavy leather briefcase with 
combination locks on every zipper... . 
‘These were not the signs of a man who 
would lock himself in the bathroom imme- 
diately after take-off and stay inside for 
almost an hour. 

Which is too long on any flight. That 
kind of behavior raises questions that 
eventually become hard to ignore—espe- 
cially in the spacious first-class compart- 
ment of a 747 on a five-hour flight to 
Hawaii. People who pay that kind of 
money don’t like the idea of having to 
stand in line to use the only available 
bathroom while something clearly wrong 
is going on in the other one. 

I was one of those people. My social 
contract with United Airlines entitled me, 
1 felt, to at least the use of a tin stand-up 
bathroom with a lock on the door. I had 
spent six hours hanging around the Red 
Carpet Room in the San Francisco airport 
arguing with ticket agents and drinking 
heavily and had finally secured a seat for 
myself and one for my girlfriend, Laila, on 
the last 747 flight of the day to Honolulu. 
Now I needed to get myself cleaned up. 

My plan on that night was to look at all 
the research material I had on Hawaii. 
There were memos and pamphlets to 
read—even books. My task looked simple 
enough at the time: Some poor, misguided 
editor named Perry wanted to give me a 
month in Hawaii for Christmas, and all I 
had to do was cover the Honolulu Mara- 
thon for his magazine, a thing called Run- 
ning. 1 didn’t know then what queer and 
hopelessly confused reasons were, in fact, 
taking me to Hawaii. I never asked myself 
until much later what kind of awful power 
it was that caused me—after years of 
refusing all (and even the most lucrative) 
magazine assignments as cheap and un- 
worthy—to suddenly agree to fly out into 
the middle of the Pacific Ocean to confront 
the half-wit spectacle of 8000 rich people 
torturing themselves for 26 miles through 
the streets of Honolulu, and calling it 
sport. There were many things to write, 
for many people—but I spurned them all 
until this strange call came. 

And then I persuaded my friend Ralph 
Steadman—the British artist and my 
partner in more terrible misadventures 
than he cares to remember—not only to go 
with me but to take his whole family half- 
way around the world from London, for 
no good or practical reason, to spend what 
would turn out to be the weirdest month of 
our lives. 

We are talking, here, about a thing 
with more power than I knew. 

“These islands are full of mystery,” 
Perry had told me. “Never mind Don Ho 
and all the tourist gibberish—there's a 


hell of a lot more there than most people 
understand.” 

Wonderful, 1 thought. Deal with the 
mystery. Do it now. Anything that can 
create itself by erupting out of the bowels 
of the Pacific Ocean is worth looking at. 
Now I needed a place to shave, brush my 
teeth and maybe just stand there and look 
at myself in the mirror and wonder, as 
always, who might be looking back. 

I have never really believed that mirrors 
in airplane bathrooms are what they seem 
to be. There is no possible economic argu- 
ment for a genuinely private place of any 
kind on a $10,000,000 flying machine. 
No. That makes no sense. The risk is too 
high. Too many people, like master ser- 
geants forced into early retirement, have 
tried to set themselves on fire in those tin 
cubicles . . . too many psychotics and half- 
mad dope addicts have locked themselves 
inside, then gobbled pills and tried to flush 
themselves down the long blue tube. 

The copilot rapped on the door again 
with his knuckles. “Mr. Ackerman! Are 
you all right?” 

He hesitated, then called again, much 
louder this time. “Mr. Ackerman! This is 
your captain speaking. Are you sick?” 

“What?” said a voice from inside. 

The stewardess leaned close to the door. 
“This is a medical emergency, Mr. Acker- 
man—we can get you out of there in 30 
seconds if we have to.” She smiled trium- 
phantly at Captain Goodwrench as the 
voice inside came alive again. 

“Pm fine,” it said. “PH be out in a min- 
ute.” The copilot stood back and watched 
the door. There were more sounds of 
movement inside—but nothing else except 
the sound of running water. 

By this time, the entire first-class cabin 
was alerted to the crisis. “Get that freak 
out of there!” an old man shouted. “He 
might have a bomb!” 

The copilot flinched, then turned to face 
the passengers. He pointed his tool at the 
old man, who was now becoming hysteri- 
cal. “You!” he snapped. “Shut up! PI 
handle this.” 

Suddenly, the door opened and Acker- 
man stepped out. He moved quickly into 
the aisle and smiled at the stewardess. 
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “It’s 
all yours now.” He was backing down the 
aisle, his bush jacket draped casually over 
his arm but not covering it. 

From where I was sitting, I could see 
that the arm he was trying to hide from 
the stewardess was bright blue all the way 
up to the shoulder. The sight of it made 
me coil nervously into my seat. I had liked 
Ackerman at first. He'd had the look of a 
man who might share my own tastes—but 
now he was looking like trouble, and I was 
ready to kick him in the ball ike a mule, 
for any reason at all. My original impres- 
sion of the man had gone all to pieces by 
that time. This geek who had locked him- 


self in the bathroom for so long that one of 
his arms had turned blue was not the same 
gracious, linen-draped Pacific yachtsman 
who'd boarded the plane in San Francisco. 

Most of the other passengers seemed 
happy enough just to see the problem 
come out of the bathroom peacefully: no 
sign of a weapon, no dynamite taped to his 
chest, no screaming of incomprehensible 
terrorist slogans or threats to slit people’s 
throats. The copilot, however, was staring 
at Ackerman with an expression of pure 
horror on his face. He had seen the blue 
arm—and so had the stewardess, who was 
saying nothing at all. None of the other 
passengers had noticed it—or, if they had, 
they didn’t know what it meant. 

But I did, and so did the bug-eyed stew- 
ardess. The copilot gave Ackerman one 
last withering glance, then shuddered with 
obvious disgust as he closed up his com- 
mando tool and moved away. On his way 
to the spiral staircase that led back up- 
stairs to the flight deck, he paused beside 
me in the aisle and whispered to Acker- 
man, “You filthy bastard, don’t ever let me 
catch you on one of my flights again.” 

I saw Ackerman nod politely, then slide 
into his seat just across the aisle from me. I 
quickly stood up and moved toward the 
bathroom with my shaving kit in my 
hand—and when I'd locked myself safely 
inside, I carefully closed the toilet seat 
before I did anything else. 

"There is only one way to get your arm 
dyed blue on a 747 flying at 38,000 feet 
over the Pacific. But the truth is so rare 
and unlikely that not even the most fre- 
quent air travelers have ever had to con- 
front it—and it’s not a thing that the few 
who understand usually want to discuss. 

The powerful disinfectant that most 
airlines use in their toilet-flushing facili- 
ties is a chemical compound known as 
Dejerm, which is colored a very vivid blue. 
The only other time I ever saw a man 
come out of an airplane bathroom with a 
blue arm was on a flight from London to 
Zaire, en route to the Ali-Foreman fight. 
A British news correspondent from Reu- 
ters had gone into the bathroom and had 
somehow managed to drop his only key to 
the Reuters telex machine in Kinshasa 
down the aluminum bowl. He emerged 
about 30 minutes later, and he had a row 
to himself the rest of the way to Zaire. 

It was almost midnight when 1 emerged 
from lavatory 1B and went back to my 
seat to gather up my books and papers. 
The overhead lights were out and the oth- 
er passengers were sleeping. It was time to 
go upstairs to the dome lounge and get 
some work done. 

When I got to the top of the spiral 

(continued on page 144) 


“Don’t bother looking for erogenous zones, because when I see a diamond 
like this one on my finger, my whole body becomes erogenous.” 


JOAN COLLINS 


ows ruts as a plot line for Dynasty, ABC's soapy series of 
| | sex and corporate intrigue that’s become a national mania 

Alexis Carrington Colby—a woman so evil and conniving 
she makes J. К. Ewing look like Mother Teresa—decides to pose 
for maysoy. The word goes out to Blake, her slick and sometimes 
sinister ex-husband, and Krystle, his stunning, goody-two-shoes 
second wife. Of course, Alexis will have to tell her two sons, the 
mentally unstable Adam (don't (text continued on page 306) 


BLACK/WHITE PHOTOGRAPHY BY GEORGE HURRELL 
COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY BY MARIO CASILLI 


two great photographers 


meet one great star— 


an exclusive portfolio 


It took two of the biggest names in 
photography to do justice to TV's 
reigning sex queen. Above, George 
Hurrell’s classic style coptures Joon 
in black ond white. Left, veteran 
Ptavsoy Contributing Photogropher 
Mario Casilli works his particular 
brand of magic in color. 


135 


“Until now, when an actress turned 
30, she kept it a secret," says Ca- 
silli, the man behind the lens for 
the series of color portraits. 

“Joan will change that. It was ex- 
citing working with her. There's а 
little bit of animal in her that she 
lets sneak out. You feel as if 
you're with a panther.” 


`I haven't photographed anyone like 
her іп ages,” says Hurrell. "Look at 
that block hair against her pale skin. 
The other stars of today can't cam- 
pare—in looks or personality.” 


PLAYBOY 


144 


CURSE OF LONO 


(continued from page 132) 


“Топо was a chronic brawler with an ungovernable 


temper and a taste for strong drink at all times. 


» 


staircase, І saw my fellow traveler Mr. 
Ackerman sleeping peacefully on one of 
the couches near ће bar. He woke up as I 
passed by on my way toa table in the rear, 
and I thought I saw a flicker of recognition 
in the weary smile on his face. 

I nodded casually. “I hope you found 
it,” I said. 

He looked up at me. “Yeah,” he said. 
“Of course.” 

Whatever it was, I didn’t want to know 
about it. He had his problems and I had 
mine. 

T walked up to the bar and got some ice 
for my drink. On the way back to my 
table, I asked him, “How’s your arm?” 

“Blue,” he replied. “And it itches.” He 
sat up and lit a cigarette. “So what brings 
you to Hawaii?” he said. 

“Business,” I said. “Pm covering the 
Honolulu Marathon for a magazine.” 

He nodded thoughtfully and put his 
feet up on the table in front of him, then 
turned to smile at me. “You staying long 
in the islands?” 

“Not in Honolulu,” I said. “Just until 
Saturday, then we’re going over to a place 
called Kona.” 

“Копа?” 

“Yeah,” I said, leaning back and ореп- 
ing one of my books. 

“Why Kona?” he asked. “You want to 
catch fish?” 

I shrugged. “I want to get out on the 
water, do some diving.” 

He nodded again, staring down at the 
long fingers of his freshly blued hand. 
“The big island is different from the oth- 
ers,” he said. “Especially that mess in 
Honolulu. It’s like going back in time. 105 
probably the only place in the islands 
where the people have any sense of the old 
Hawaiian culture.” He smiled thought- 
fully and handed me his card, which said 
he was in the business of INVESTMENTS. 

"Call me when you get settled in," he 
said. “1 can take you around to some of the 
places where the old magic still lives." 

I put down my book and we talked for a 
while about the island lore—the old wars, 
the missionaries and some of the native 
legends. One of the things he mentioned 
with particular relish was a place on Kona 
that he called the City of Refuge. It was a 
sacred enclosure, a sort of ancient safe 
house that provided inviolable sanctu- 
ary—and not just to imperiled women and 
children but to thieves and murderers and 
all manner of fugitives on the run. It was 
the first time anybody had told me any- 
thing interesting about Hawai 

“This City of Refuge is intriguing,” 1 


said. “You don’t find many cultures with a 
sense of sanctuary that powerful.” 

“Yeah,” he said, “but you had to get 
there first, and you had to be faster than 
whoever was chasing you.” He chuckled. 
“It was a sporting proposition, for sure.” 

“But once you got there,” I said, “you 
were absolutely protected— right?" 

“Absolutely,” he said. “Not even the 
gods could touch you once you got through 
the gate.” 

“] might need a place like that,” I 
said. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too. That’s why 
I live where I do.” 

“Where?” 

He smiled and eased back in his seat 
again. “On a clear day, I can look down 
the mountain and see the City of Refuge 
from my front porch. It gives me a great 
sense of comfort.” 

I had a feeling that he was telling the 
truth. Whatever kind of life Ackerman 
lived seemed to require a built-in fall-back 
position. You don’t find many investment 
counselors, from Hawaii or anywhere 
else, who can drop anything so important 
down the tube in a 747 bathroom that they 
will get their arms dyed bright blue to 
retrieve it. 

We were alone in the dome with at least 
another two hours to go. We would be in 
Honolulu sometime around sunrise. Over 
the top of my book, I could see him, half- 
asleep now but constantly scratching his 
arm. His eyes were closed, but the fingers 
of his clean hand were wide-awake and 
his spastic movements were beginning to 
get on my nerves. 

Finally, he seemed to be asleep. The 
dome was dark except for the small glow 
of table lights, and I settled back on the 
couch to ponder my research material. 

‘The Christmas season in Hawaii is also 
the time of the annual Feast of Lono, the 
god of excess and abundance. The mis- 
sionaries may have taught the natives to 
love Jesus, but deep in their pagan hearts, 
they don’t really like him: Jesus is too suff 
for these people. He has no sense of 
humor. The ranking gods and goddesses of 
the old Hawaiian culture are mainly dis- 
tinguished by their power, not their puri- 
ty, and they are honored for their vices as 
well as for their awesome array of virtues. 
‘They are not intrinsically different from 
the people themselves—just bigger and 
bolder and better in every way. 

The favorite, King Lono, ruler of all 
the islands in a time long before the 
Hawaiians had a written language, was 


not made in the same mold as Jesus, 
though he seems to have had the same 
basically decent instincts. He was a wise 
ruler, and his reign is remembered in leg- 
end as a time of peace, happiness and 
great abundance in the kingdom—the 
good old days, as it were, before the white 
man came—which may have had some- 
thing to do with his elevation to the 
status of a god in the wake of his 
disappearance. 

Lono was also a chronic brawler with 
an ungovernable temper, a keen eye for 
the naked side of life and a taste for strong 
drink at all times. That side of his nature, 
though widely admired by his subjects, 
kept him in constant trouble at home. His 
wife, the lovely Queen Kaikilani Alii, had 
a nasty temper of her own, and the peace 
of the royal household was frequently 
shattered by monumental arguments. 

It was during one of those spats that 
King Lono belted his queen across the hut 
so violently that he accidentally killed her. 
Kaikilani’s death plunged King Lono into 
a fit of grief so profound that he aban- 
doned his royal duties and took to wander- 
ing around the islands, staging a series of 
boxing and wrestling matches in which he 
took on all comers. But he soon tired of 
that and retired undefeated, they say, 
sometime around the end of the Eighth or 
Ninth Century. Still bored and distraught, 
he took off in a magic canoe for a tour of 
foreign lands—whence he would return, he 
promised, as soon as the time was right. 

The natives have been waiting for that 
moment ever since, handing his promise 
down from one generation to another and 
faithfully celebrating the memory of their 
long-lost god/king at the end of each year 
with a two-week frenzy of wild parties 
and industrial-strength fireworks. The 
missionaries did everything in their power 
to wean the natives away from their faith 
in what amounted to a kind of long-over- 
due alter-Christ, and modern politicians 
have been trying for years to curtail or 
even ban the annual orgy of fireworks 
during the Christmas season; but so far, 
nothing has worked. 

I was still reading when the stewardess 
appeared to announce that we would be 
landing in 30 minutes. "You'll have to 
take your regular seats down below,” she 
said, not looking at Ackerman, who still 
seemed asleep. 

I began packing my gear. The sky out- 
side the portholes was getting light. As I 
dragged my satchel down the aisle, Acker- 
man woke up and lit a cigarette. “Tell "em 
I couldn't make it,” he said. “I think I can 
handle the landing from up here.” He 
grinned and fastened a seat belt that poked 
ош from the depths of the couch. “They 
won't miss me down there,” he said 

“ГЇЇ see you in Kona,” I said. 

“That's good,” he replied. “I have the 

(continued on poge 290) 


NEARLY ли. the members of the Yiddish Writers’ Club in Warsaw, where I 
went in the Twenties, considered themselves atheists. Free love was an 
accepted way of life. The younger generation was convinced that the institu- 
tion of marriage was obsolete and hypocritical. Many of them had become 
Marxists and proclaimed something they called “Jewish worldliness.” 

A different kind of writer altogether was Mottele Blendower, a little man, 
a descendant of famous Hasidic rabbis. He (continued оп page 152) 


ILLUSTRATION BY IRVING PETLIN 


145 


missives and missil 
for the jolly буы 


An 

New microchi 
You're seized with s! 
This Christmas Day. 


Our tortured lives may 
cheer м' 


oft 

we humbly pray 

soon be graced 

with words of е wait to hear: 
been erased. 


Your verbal program's 


سے 


ILLUSTRATION BY LOU BROOKS 


With steel-encased propriety. 
You've long stood fi id staunch 
While others in you 

From rowdy down to raunch. 
When Sister Meg had girlish flings, 
Your coolness Was convincing. 

You seldom even yelled at Phil 
When he sloughed off his princing- 
Domestic bouts of Charles and Di 


Were much too crass for you; 
But Andy found your limits when 
He pulled his palace Koo. 


LET’S 
PARTY! 


break out your 
dressy threads for a 
year-end holiday bash 


attire 
By HOLLIS WAYNE 


5 PaTvcoms кмом, if isn't just the ~ 


halls that get decked out come the 
year-end holidays. Our guy at left for- 
sakes the penguin look of basic black tie 
by choosing a wool double-breasted 
dinner jacket with Lurex thread thats 
combined with a vest and wool formal 
trousers, all from Tiger of Sweden, $550; 
plus а wing-collor shirt, by Yves Saint 
Laurent for After Six, about $55; ace- 
tate/satin bow tie, by Stephen J. 
Sotmick, about $8; and 
and-onyx cuff links, $170, and studs, 
$200, both by Alfred Dunhill of tendon. 
(His date's dress is by Marc Bouwer, 
Ltd., New York.) Above: The heavy swell 
at left makes strong fashion waves in a 
cotten pin-point dinner jacket, $300, 
and mohair / wool formal trousers, $125, 
beth from Windsor European Fashion; 
silk/cashmere /lamb's-wool sweater 
vest, by Yves Saint Laurent Menswear, 
$110; wing-collar shirt, by Henry 


Grethel, $40; and silk paisley bow tie, 
by Alan Flusser, about $25. His mortini- 
drinking mate likes a silk-blend woven 
jacket, $235, silk denim tweed slacks, 
$125, and a pleated cotton shirt, $55, 
all by Jhane Bornes Il; plus a suede 
necktie, by Stephen J. Sotnick, about 
$20; and a ee 
tie tack, by ivan Gregorovitch, 

Che elegant eje ur cin hs 
on a dress by Morc Bouwer, Ltd., 

York; her jewelry is by Vanessa ph. 
New York.) Right: The winning look of 
winter white—a wool smoking jacket 
and weolformal slacks, both by D. Cenci, 
$850; wing-collar striped shirt, by Lazo 
Shirts, $95; silk herringbone bow Не; by 
Vicky Davis, 510; and leather-and-rayon 
suspenders with brass clips/slides, Бу 
Alan Flusser, obout $50. (The lady wears 
a dress by Robert Molnar, New York; 
gloves by Sachiko for La Crasia, New York: 
and jewelry by Eric Beamon, New York.) 


E 


Above: Festive, funky and fun—a multicolor wool-blend plaid jacket with black-leather 
sleeves, a baseball-type collar and rib trim, by Bianculli for Fundamentals, $500; cotton 
striped formal shirt with a wing collar and pleated fly front, by Jhane Barnes И, $65; 
double-pleated suede slacks, by Andrew Fezza, $700; striped bow tie, from Colourstiks by 
Dunleigh-Tuxton, $13.50; and a black lizardskin belt, by Torino Belts, about $75. 


Above: "Didn't we meet in Rangoon?” he says. No, but we should have, she thinks—and 
she also likes the sophisticated night cool of his double-breasted block cashmere / wool 
dinner jacket with multicolor fine stripes, grosgrain notch lapels, and formal trousers, both 
by Alexander Julian, $850; cotton wing-collar shirt with pleated fly front and French cuffs, 
by Pancaldi & B., about $165; and silk bow tie with pin dots, by After Six, about $10. 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY ULI ROSE 


4 


1 


PLAYBOY 


152 


(continued from page 145) 


“There were rumors that she had invited all her for- 


mer lovers to the wedding.” 


had а dark, narrow face, a pointed beard 
and large black eyes that expressed the 
gentle humility of generations. He was the 
author of a book about Hasidic life in 
Poland. One of Mottele’s grandfathers 
had separated himself from his followers 
in his later years and had become a sort of 
divine recluse. After his death, his disci- 
ples destroyed his writings, because they 
hinted at blasphemy. Although Mouele 
had done away with his long gabardine 
and his rabbinical hat and had cut off his 
side locks, he spoke like a rabbi, used their 
solemn style of language, took on their 
exaggerated politeness, always on the 
watch, God forbid, not to insult anybody. 
Mottele attempted to combine Yiddishist 
modernism with the lore of the cabala. He 
undertook to translate into modern Yid- 
dish such mystical works as the Zohar, 
The Book of Creation, The Tree of Life 
and The Orchard of Pomegranates. In his 
essays, he preached that love and sex are 
attributes of the godhead and that the 
proper use of them can be a means to pen- 
etrate the illusion of the categories of pure 
reason and to grasp the thing in itself and 
the absolute. 

Sometime after I met him, Mottele had 
fallen in love with a woman named Zina, 
who was known for her beauty. She was 
blonde, tall and the daughter of a rich 
Warsaw family. One year, she was elected 
the Queen Esther of the Yiddish literary 
masked ball. She had married and di- 
vorced a rich young man, a lawyer. From 
her parents, she had inherited a large sum 
of money that evaporated with inflation. 
Zina was a distant relative of Mottele's. 
They had a large, noisy wedding. 

Those who knew the bride and the 
groom foresaw that the match wouldn’t 
last long. Mottele was gentle and weak, 
while Zina was robust. Her first husband, 
the lawyer, said openly that his ex-wife 
was a nymphomaniac. There were rumors 
in the Writers’ Club that she had invited 
all her former lovers to the wedding. An 
intimate friend had learned that Zina con- 
fessed all her sins to Mottele but he con- 
tended that he was not jealous about the 
past and that he would give her full free- 
dom in the future. Mottele was supposed 
to have told her, “The roots of both of our 
souls are in the sephira of splendor, and in 
those spheres, sins are virtues.” 

One of Zina’s lovers, whom she was 
supposed to have cared for most, was the 
writer Benjamin Rashkes. She told Mot- 
tele that she could never forget Rashkes. 


When he was forced to move from his 
bachelor’s furnished room because he had 
impregnated the maid in his boarding- 
house, Zina offered him a study in her 
new, spacious apartment. She put in a 
sofa, a writing table and even a Yiddish 
typewriter imported from America so that 
Rashkes could work there whenever the 
Muse granted him inspiration. The trou- 
ble was that he was less and less inspired 
to write. He poured all his energies into so 
many would-be love affairs that he had no 
time for anything else. 

‘There was constant talk in the Writers’ 
Club about the triangle of Mottele, Zina 
and Rashkes. Even though Rashkes prom- 
ised Zina to avoid the Writers’ Club and 
do his work, he came to the club every day 
and spent all the time on the telephone. 
Closing the door of the phone booth, he 
went on whispering his unending love dec- 
larations. Rashkes maintained that mo- 
nogamy had destroyed eroticism. Men and 
women are not jealous by nature; the only 
thing they dislike is to be deceived. Also, 
they prefer the truth to come to them in 
small portions and as a part of the love- 
play. Rashkes was telling his colleagues 
that many men enjoy sharing their wives 
with the right kind of lovers and that his 
ideas were based on his personal experi- 
ence. The husbands of his paramours 
were all his friends and admirers, he said. 
They often reproached him for neglecting 
their wives. Rashkes claimed that he kept 
peace between his lovers and their hus- 
bands. 

A year did not pass before the gossips in 
the Writers’ Club had a new sensation to 
talk about. Zina had become seriously 
enamored of a known Communist leader, 
Leon Poznik. The Trotsky purges had 
been in progress in Russia for some time, 
but Poznik remained an ardent Stalinist. 
He was the editor of two Communist 
magazines; one in Polish and one in Yid- 
dish. The Defensywa, the Polish political 
police, had arrested Poznik a number of 
times, but they always released him. They 
were not interested in keeping the leftist 
leaders in prison too long. Poland was 
officially a democracy. One could not jail 
people on the basis of their convictions. 
Besides, the leaders of the Defensywa did 
not want to root out communism in 
Poland and put themselves out of jobs. As 
for Poznik, he needed those short impris- 
onments to add to his prestige in the party 
and in the Soviet Union. He boasted about 
his courage during the interrogations, de- 
scribing how well he lectured to the Polish 


fascists about Leninism. However, the 
comrades called him, jokingly, the “Polish 
Lunacharsky”—a Communist of talk, not 
of deeds. 

Poznik was broad-shouldered, small 
and wore shoes with elevated soles and 
heels. His eyes, behind the horn-rimmed 
glasses with their thick lenses, seemed to 
sparkle with a light of their own. I often 
imagined that all the victories of world 
communism shone through those glasses. 

That Zina should fall in love with Poz- 
nik seemed unbelievable. He had a wife, a 
Communist functionary who had been 
sentenced to five years in prison. He 
bragged about his affair with an impor- 
tant woman in Moscow, where he was 
invited every few months. Besides, Zina 
had never shown any interest in poli 
She had been at one time a disciple of thi 
celebrated medium Kluski, who special- 
ized in materializing spirits of the dead. It 
was her fascination with the occult that 
initially attracted her to Mottele. But who 
can fathom the ways of love? It became 
known in the Writers’ Club that 
now took part in all of Warsaw’s leftist 
activities. The leftists published interviews 
with her in their magazines. She put on a 
leather jacket, the kind worn by the func- 
tionaries of the Cheka, the Soviet political 
police. She sold her jewelry for the sup- 
port of political prisoners. Zina had re- 
vealed to someone that the Defensywa had 
summoned her for an interrogation and 
that she had been kept overnight in the 
arrest house on Danilowiczowska Street 
where suspects were held. There was a 
saying in the Writers’ Club that commu- 
nism was like influenza; everybody had to 
go through it sooner or later. 

In the spring of 1927, Poznik and Zina 
left for Russia. They disappeared sudden- 
ly, without any notice to anybody in the 
club. I was told that not even their com- 
rades were informed. Neither Poznik nor 
Zina could have acquired a foreign pass- 
port. Those who were invited to the Soviet 
Union had to smuggle their way across the 
border at the town of Nieswiez. For a long 
time, one heard nothing in the Writers’ 
Club about Poznik or Zina. Then the 
rumor spread that Leon Poznik had been 
arrested in the U.S.S.R. and put into the 
infamous Lubyanka prison. Rashkes had 
received a single Yiddish postcard from 
Zina with an altered name—he recog- 
nized only the handwriting. She used the 
conspiratorial code language: "Uncle 
Leon is mortally sick and they put him 
into the Lubya hospital. The doctors give 
scanty hopes." She signed the card, "Your 
despairing Aunt Charatah,” which is the 
Hebrew word for regret. Later, it came 
out that in Kharkov, a Yiddish magazine 
had published an attack on an anthology 
Poznik had edited two years earlier. The 

(continued on page 308) 


Us slap the cuffs on “em and ask 
Mr. Scrooge where he got the drugs!” 


ILLUSTRATION BY KINUKO Ү. CRAFT 


before there was a camelot, 
there was a campaign—a 
young man meeting a nation, 
a legend in the making 


article 
By WILLIAM MANCHESTER 


William Manchester's friendship 
with John F. Kennedy began in Boston 
immediately after World War Two, 
when both were young veterans crip- 
pled by wounds. Their relationship 
continued during Kennedy’s White 
House years, when Manchester was the 
President’s trusted confidant. Early in 
1964, Jacqueline and Robert Kennedy 
asked the author to write “The Death of 
a President,” his definitive account of 
the Dallas tragedy. This fall, Manches- 
ter published his 15th book, “One Brief 
Shining Moment: Remembering Ken- 
nedy.” Here, he recalls the heady days 
of the 1960 Presidential campaign, the 
days of Camelot in the making, when 
the future was bright and everything 
seemed possible. 


IN THE high summer of 1959, Jack Ken- 
nedy was changing, deepening, given to 
longer silences, less eager for verbal 
fencing. As always, he was reading a 
lot; among the books scattered around 
154 were The (continued on page 276) 


ВАСК ТО 
BASICS 


our miss december is 
a daughter of the 
computer revolution 


er in Boston before leaving behind the 

red-brick buildings of Harvard, the 
white sails and the flashing oars, the jogging 
scholars, to head northwest toward Concord. 
The shot-heard-round-the-world Concord. 
lt had been years since any girl we knew 
lived next door to a national monument, but 
Terry Nihen (pronounced Ni’-yen), our first 
Massachusetts Playmate in recent memory, 
does. Of course, Concord bridge is still there, 
but New England is changing. The Colonial 
houses are still there, tucked in the dense 
green New England forests. But at every 
crossroads, there is a computer company, 
another building with Data or Digital in the 
company name. Terry Nihen grew up in this 
region, in Acton, and she has changed. 
In a. part of the country where every child 
gocs on to college, if not graduate school, she 
opted to enroll in a technical-trade high 
school in nearby Lexington. “1 wanted to try 
something new, to test myself against other 
kids. The school drew people from seven or 
eight towns. I was thrown in with a new 
crowd of very bright kids, just like that. I was 
studying something I was interested in." 
After graduation, she worked for a bank 
for four years. She added two more jobs to 
pay her way through a local community 


p ovre Two winds along the Charles Riv- 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY RICHARD FEGLEY 


"When I lived in the South, I found myself getting homesick. Atlanta was so new. 1 just had to come back. Boston has 
character, romance.” Terry and friends take a surrey with a fringe on top down one of the old streets in Boston (above). 
An early-morning stroll takes her past the swan boats of Boston Common (below right). “But it’s not all Victorian,” she 
says. “There are nights I hang out at Spit, a New Wave club. Boston is as old or as new as you want it to be. It's alive." 


“I get up about 
6:30,” says Terry. 


“I do some stretch- 


ing exercises, have 
a light breakfast WEB 
and go to work. I 
work until 4:30, 
then do some more 
exercising. My 
Pic сор! 
dinner. Afterward, 
p MU 
ie or go bowling or 
ice skating." Or, 
shall we say, she at- 
tempts to go ice 
skating. Terry 
practices her recov- 
ery on a rink at left 


college. She changed direction and went to 
work for a firm she calls Digital-in-the- 
Woods. “I looked at other places that were 
too ultraprofessional. Гуе learned that 
what appears to be professional isn't. A 
preppie look isn’t enough, I like something 
flexible. I get the work done and laugh.” 
She worked in an employment-relations 
program: “I was relating not just to com- 
puters but also to people. The best of both 
worlds.” Because her company had offices 
throughout the U.S., Terry decided to 
leave New England. She settled on Atlan- 
ta. She had apparently forgotten to pack 
the famous New England modesty—lucky 
for us. “I was a contestant in a bikini con- 
test at a disco. First prize was a trip to 
Fort Lauderdale. Melinda Mays [Miss 
February 1983] was one of the judges. She 
suggested that I try out for Playmate. I 
was fairly rude about it. There were other 
girls in the contest who were better-look- 
ing. It had never crossed my mind that I 
could be mistaken for one of the women in 
PLAYBOY. But I thought about it for a day, 
then called her.” There was no question in 
our mind that Terry Nihen deserved to be 
a Playmate. We had seldom seen a woman 
in such great shape. “I taught an exercise 
class three times a night. I got shin splints 
and had to cut down, but Pm sull pretty 
active. I want to get into weight training. I 
don’t want big muscles, just to get every- 
thing really hard, to be the best I can be.” 

As we talked with Terry, we revised 
our image of New England girls. “I liked 
Auanta, but New England is home. I 


And they didn’t believe we were from 
PLAYBOY. During the shooting, we 
came across a bunch of sun-crazed pic- 
nickers who were having a pie fight. 


Maybe we can call this the shot seen round the world: Terry poses for a picture 
just downstream from the famous little bridge in Concord. Until recently, the 
gristmill in the background of the shot below was in full operation. Say cheese. 


missed the character, the history, 
the people. Everyone has the 
wrong idea about New Eng- 
landers. We're not cold. We're 
just not easy. In Atlanta, there 
were more people willing to open 
up, but there were also more peo- 
ple willing to take you to the 
cleaners.” 

After less than a year in At- 
lanta, Terry returned to New 
England to be close to friends and 
family. “My best friends just hap- 
pen to be family. My sisters. My 
mother. They give me a lot of sup- 
port.” The result is an impressive 
blend of beauty and common 
sense, ol warmth and intelligence. 
“Pm not flighty. I'm not boring. 
Being in PLAYBOY is a major com- 
pliment, but I have to view it real- 
istically.” We discussed her plans. 
She will put some of her Playmate 
money into a tax shelter. She may 
break down and replace the 1967 
Le Mans with the jacked-up rear 
end that she uses for a car. She 
may try acting (“Гуе been told 
that I give a good show when 
Pm upset or very happy”). But 


in any event, she will do well. 


“My friends say I have a good 
ear, meaning I can relate to 
their problems. I am very hap- 
ру and willing to go cut on a 
limb to help. It’s worth it.” 


“My attitude toward modeling is a lot like my attitude 
toward exercise. You go as hard as your heart can go. ГЇЇ 
take it until I can’t take it anymore or until it takes me 
somewhere else. I’m doing this mostly because of a dare.” 


"I can't remember a time when PLAYBOY wasn't in my house. My brother brought it home, and each copy passed from 
sister to sister. I don’t know when I first thought of modeling as a career. I knew it was a clothes-on, clothes-off 
proposition. Just look at Vogue. Different magazine, same job. But I do know I couldn’t have done this when I was 18.1 
was too impressionable. I would have looked at the pictures and just seen the outside. Now I know myself inside and out.” 


% 
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PLAYMATE DATA SHEET 


BUST: ENT е HIPS: 


HEIGHT 294 b” WEIGHT :/00 4-85 


un, 


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PAOCAG ITI A Xa 


beach ws 


BIGGEST JOY: 


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TOET 7 
a $ te 2 CH coo-o 110% 


PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES 


As she delightedly unwrapped each Christmas 
present, the grateful mistress insisted on express- 
ing her appreciation to her generous lover with a 
juickie. “Darling,” the man panted after the 
fourth, "couldn't we consider a deferred-pay- 
ment plan?” 


Now, look here, Miss Patterson,” the resident 
manager said to the provocative-looking new 
tenant, “about that take-a-number device you've 
gone and mounted on your apartment 
loor. .. .” 


Someday, yours may be the hand that rocks the 
cradle,” the young man in the parked car told his 
date. “Tonight, though," he went on as he 
unzipped, “I'd like it to be the hand that cradles 
the rocks.” 


Following a threesome sex session, the girl 
relaxed contentedly for a few moments, then 
asked, “Was it good for you two?” 


When pinched on the fanny, Monique 
Succumbed to a peeved maiden’s pique 

By exclaiming with verve 

To her pincher, “Some nerve?” 
“And in your case,” he gloated, “some cheek!” 


That new salesman I dated last night turned out 
to be hung like a bull—like, maybe with eight 
inches!” the typist confided during an office hen 
session. 

“I wouldn't let myself be bedded by a nobody 
like that,” commented a co-worker. “My own 
preference has run to individuals like the con- 


“You can have the big wheels. 1 prefer the big 
axle rods.” 


Our Unabashed тагу defines bipartisan 
as an A.C./D.C. politician 


Singles-bar lore: The difference between a dog 
and a fox in the eye of the beholder is a m 
mum of five drinks. 


Û met the kinkiest producer at lunch today,” the 
Hollywood agent told his wife. “He spent most 
of the meal boasting about the conquests he’d 
made.” 

“So what’s so kinky about that?” asked the 
woman. “Surely you’ve been in this business 
long enough to be blasé about the casting 
couch." 

“Oh, I am, I am—but this guy happens to 
make nothing but animal pictures." 


An outrageous young lady named Kyle 
Likes to flirt in a whimsical style: 
She'll depanty, it’s said, 
And then stand on her head 
To display her most quimsical smile. 


Insult overheard in а bar: "You're such an 
asshole that you ought to be listed in the Guin- 


ness Book of Rectums" 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines Hula-Hoop 
as a Hawaiian 1.U.D. 


Word has reached us that the Yellow Pages 
people have refused a listing for an outcall serv- 
ice for stockbrokers titled Putz and Calls. 


Га like to have my money back,” the customer 
stated firmly. 

"What happens to be the problem, sir?" 
countered the sex-shop clerk 

“This love doll you sold me yesterday inflates 
with her legs crossed!” 


My wife and I split up because we have too 
much in common,” the solitary drinker confided 
morosely to the bartender. 

“Izzat so?” 

“Yeah—we both like to cat pussy.” 


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


“Oh, dear! I thought you'd be in Moscow by Christmas!” 


Іт 


THE GENIUS 
TAKES ON 


TINSELTOWN 


if orson welles 

is so smart, how 

come he can’t do 
bigger box office? 


personality By BARBARA LEAMING in 1975, The Ameri- 
can Film Institute gave Orson Welles a star-studded banquet in the Los 
Angeles Ballroom of the Century Plaza Hotel to present him with its Life 
Achievement Award. Film clips of the past two winners, director John 
Ford and actor James Cagney, flashed on a giant screen as the announcer 
said, “Tonight, we honor the third man.” Nelson Riddle and his orchestra 
struck up the theme from a movie with one of Welles’s most famous 
performances, The Third Man. Spotlights focused on the paneled door as 
the announcer continued, “The American Film Institute spotlights a direc- 
tor, an actor, a writer, a producer—and here they are: Orson Welles.” 
Into the glare slid the massive, gray-bearded Welles. For all his bulk, he 
rolled quickly and forcefully ahead, his great flat — (continued on page 178) 


Sy CHORE 
“6. CARTOONS 
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а” а compendium of wry 
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“Just holding the ladder will suffice, Mr. Jacobs.” “How'd you like to spend an old-fashioned Christmas 
at Grandma's?" 


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"Then, one cold winter's night, I said to myself, "I hate for this moment to end. but we mustn't N 


‘What the hell am I doing up here in the North Pole with monopolize the mistletoe.” ы wy 
а bunch of dumb-looking elves?” е 


“But, Nancy, couldn't you just leave cookies and milk for “Nothing like chestnuts roasting on an open fire, 
Santa, as you always did before?” ch, Miss Blythdale?” 


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“After all these years of giving, 1 said to myself, 
‘So why shouldn't 1 give myself a present?” 


“Memo lo the Christmas office-party committee: 


"Congratulations, etc, etc," signed B. J. Wilkens.” 


"Surprise, Grandmother! We've come to spend the 


Christmas holidays with you." 


PLAYBOY 


178 


ORSON WELLES г. pase 173) 


“Welles was guilty . . . of the only true sin: He had 
never been able to engineer a blockbuster.” 


feet as close to the ground as the treads of an 
armored tank. 

He wore a jumbo tuxedo and a flowing 
silk tie nearly the size of a pillowcase, and 
he carried a script under his arm ashe took 
his place at the red-draped dais facing a 
stage plastered with blowups of his many 
eminent film roles: the young shirt-sleeved 
maverick in Citizen Kane; the white- 
haired hulk of a Falstaff in Chimes at 
Midnight; the handsome Irish rogue in 
The Lady from Shanghai; the obscenely 
fat, dissipated slob in Touch of Evil. 

To Welles's right sat his darkly beauti- 
ful third wife, Paola—the Italian Countess 
di Girfalco—and to his left was his tow- 
ering blonde look-alike daughter Beatrice. 
Pecking each on the cheek, Welles turned 
to acknowledge the electric applause of the 
banquet hall, whose round pink tables 
were filled with Tinseltown elite: Charlton 
Heston, Jack Lemmon, Johnny Carson, 
Natalie Wood, Rosalind Russell, Groucho 
Marx,as well as assorted moguls and mon- 
ey men who had come to toast Welles’s film 
making as having “stood the test of time.” 

Frank Sinatra sang The Gentleman Is 
a Champ, to the tune of The Lady Is a 
Tramp—an unfortunate irony, since 
America’s greatest film maker had been 
tramping about Europe for years. He 
hadn't made a movie in Hollywood since 
Touch of Evil, in 1957; and before that, 
he'd spent a down-at-the-heels decade mak- 
ing low-budget pictures in Europe when- 
ever he could scrape together the cash. 

After Sinatra, Ingrid Bergman gave a 
testimonial: “1 think that it must have been 
a great burden for him to have made a 
masterpiece when he was 24 years old,” 
she said, talking about Kane, “and it must 
have been very hard to live up to it all those 
years. ... I've been working in Europe 
when Orson Welles was working in Eu- 
rope,andwehadhardships—bothofus. . . . 
I knew how he was working, and we saw 
pictures produced by Orson, directed by 
Orson, written by Orson, arranged by Or- 
son, acted by Orson and clothes by —— He 
had done everything. Still, he had his trou- 
bles. And the joke started in Europe that 
Orson Welles is running out of countries.” 

There was much laughter at this, indi- 
cating how aware all Hollywood was of 
Welles's plight. But no one howled more 
than Welles, his pudgy eyes crinkling with 
delight. For he grasped the evening’s irony 
better than anyone—and was prepared to 
milk the occasion for all it was worth. 

“Now he has come back to his own 
country,” Bergman continued, “and in 
great style.” 


In effect, although Welles had long been 
flitting in and out of Hollywood, the Amer- 
ican Film Institute tribute was supposed to 
be his official homecoming toa Tinseltown, 
whose citizens were slightly embarrassed 
about the unjust fate of the man who had 
made Citizen Kane. His problems were 
usually explained away by repeating the 
rumors that he was an extraordinarily 
expensive and troublesome director, which 
those who have worked with him will tell 
you is simply not true. But even if it were, 
egos and excess are accepted parts of the 
Hollywood scene; Welles, on the other 
hand, was guilty—admittedly, undeni- 
ably—of the only true sin: He had never 
been able to engineer a blockbuster. While 
the entire industry respected his artistic 
genius—to which the A.F.L dinner was a 
testimonial—it also thought he was just too 
artistic to be bankable. 

“Here we are,” Bergman concluded, 
“and I'm so happy that The American Film 
Institute has asked me to come so I also can 
pay my tribute to you and thank you that 
you have shown the world what rcal cour- 
age is and tenacity and, of course, your 
dazzling talent. So, therefore, 1 say bravo, 
Orson, and hit us again with your talent" 

After more speeches and a showing of 
clips from Welles’s classic films, Sinatra 
clasped the Great Man’s hand and led him 
tothe transparent Plexiglas rostrum, where 
Welles pressed the trophy to his great 
stomach. Then he began to thank his hosts 
in what composer Virgil Thomson calls 
“the most beautiful voice in the world.” 

“My father once told me,” gentleman 
Welles began, “that the art of receiving a 
compliment is, of all things, the sign of a 
civilized man. And he died soon after- 
ward, leaving my education in this im- 
portant matter sadly incomplete.” 

If the crowd tittered somewhat nerv- 
ously, it was because they weren't sure 
whether this was supposed to be a joke— 
a joke about someone's father dying? 

“My heart is full,” Welles continued, 
cooing. “With a full heart—with all of 
it—1 thank you.” 

He seemed to have finished. But no 
sooner had everyone applauded than he 
picked up again. 

“There are a few of us left in this con- 
glomerated world of ours,” he said, “who 
still trudge stubbornly along a lonely, 
rocky road, and this is, in fact, our contrari- 
ety. We don’t move nearly as fast as our 
cousins on the freeway. We don’t even get 
as much accomplished, just as the family- 
sized farm can’t possibly raise as many 
cropsor getasmuch profit asthe agricultur- 


al factory of today. What we do come up 
with has no special right to call itself better. 
It’s just different. No, if there’s any excuse 
for us at all, it’s that we're simply following 
the old American tradition of the maverick. 
And we area vanishing breed. This honor 
I can only accept in the name of all the 
mavericks. And also as a tribute to the gen- 
erosity of all the rest of you—to the giv- 
ers—to the ones with fixed addresses.” 

Fixed addresses. On those words, Welles 
paused, raised his eyebrows and stared 
intently at his evening's benefactors, who 
were not unaware that he was playfully 
indicting them, using the occasion toremind 
them that they had shut him out, that they 
had been cozily ensconced in Hollywood 
while he—the genius, the dazzling talent— 
had kicked around the world. 

Generosity. What generosity had they 
shown, denying him the money to make 
films all these years? 

“A maverick may go his own way,” 
Welles continued, “but he doesn’t think 
that it's the only way or ever claim that 
it’s the best one—except maybe for him- 
self. And don’t imagine that this raggle- 
taggle gypsy is daiming to be free. 105 
just that some of the necessities to which / 
am a slave are different from yours. As a 
director, for instance, I pay myself out of 
my acting jobs. I use my own work to 
subsidize my work. In other words, I'm 
crazy. But not crazy enough to pretend to 
be free. It’s a fact that many of the films 
you’ve seen tonight could never have been 
made otherwise. Or if otherwise—well, 
they might have been beuer. But certain- 
ly, they wouldn’t have been mine.” 

Finally, “just by way of saying good 
night,” Welles introduced a clip from his 
unfinished movie titled The Other Side of 
the Wind—about a legendary film maker 
named Jake Hannaford and his desper- 
ate struggle to raise funds. 

“The scene that you’re going to see,” 
explained Welles, clasping his hands and 
glaring at the money men around him, 
“takes place in a projection room, and 
waiting there is the Big Studio Boss. The 
director has a stooge, and the stooge is trying 
to sell the movie that Jake is mak- 
ing, for which he needs end money —” 

End money. This was what Welles really 
wanted—and deserved—from these people, 
not the trophy with the silver star on top. 

But the next morning, after the applause 
and the tributes and the toasts, he still 
couldn't get financing for a film. Nor the 
next morning, nor the next, nor the next. 


. 
In Hollywood, Welles is known as a 
most entertaining—and — prestigious— 
luncheon partner. Besideshistalesof Chap- 
lin and Garbo and Bogart, there аге the 
notorious, sometimes apocryphal stories 
about himself —such as the one about why 
William Randolph Hearst was really so 
livid about Citizen. Kane. In 1941, faced 
(continued on page 301) 


rly 


eports 


a timely accounting of timeless principles of personal finance 


article 


By ANDREW TOBIAS 


GREAT PLAYS 


you can win the stock-market game with dogged fundamentals— 
or use razzle-dazzle to go for the big score 


WANT TO TALK with you about great plays. Not 

stuff like The Night of the Iguana or The Frogs, 

though ГЇЇ grant there's some money in those, 

too—Pm talking about the kind of play where 

you dive into the third market and buy 40,000 

Kodak, butterfly the July and October options, 
link the two with a pile of September silvers, hedge with 
market-index options and interest-rate futures, close out 
the whole thing an hour later and leave for the helipad 
$408,000 to the good. 

Not because you’re greedy; because life’s a game. (As a 
currently popular T-shirt has it: WHOEVER HAS THE MOST 
THINGS WHEN HE DIES, WINS. There's not much room to 
mince words on a T-shirt.) 

A lot of people think that if they were just smarter, they 
could make a ton of money in the market. No. Smart 
alone won’t do it. It’s important also to be lucky, to have 
the right temperament and to have a good-sized stake to 
begin with. (The rich get richer, in part, because they can 
afford to take risks and to be patient.) It may also help to 
put in the hours. Not sitting in a broker’s gallery eyeball- 
ing the ticker day after day—that won’t help. Digging for 
something special. 

Among the several methods: 

1. What is loosely known as the Benjamin Graham 
approach, after the late father of Fundamental analysis, in 
which you analyze balance sheet after balance sheet until 
you find a company selling so blatantly beneath its net- 
asset value that you need not even sample its products or 
interview its management to know it’s a good bet—a situ- 
ation much less prevalent today than just a year or two 
ago, which is why this proved so profitable for the folks 
who made the effort a year or two ago. 

2. What might be called the arbitrager’s approach, 
which consists of finding wonderful little lapses of logic in 
the prices of related securities and exploiting the bejesus 
out of them. 

The first approach—hunting for value and then sitting 
tight—is widely known. The second—dancing around the 
edges of the game, looking for clever openings—is less 
often described. To quote Webster: 


AR’BI- TRAGE: Like when you see gold trading at 


$420 an ounce in London and at $422 in New York 
and you buy 1,000,000 ounces in London at the same 
time as you sell them in New York and you pocket 
the $2,000,000 spread. Like, man—it’s fantastic. 


Not everyone is adept at this sort of thing. 

I called a classmate who will earn $500,000 this year as 
an institutional salesman (not selling institutions, selling 
to them—as contrasted with “retail” salesmen, who sell 
securities to “the public”). He’s smart—and quick. I said, 
“Listen, Hotshot [not his real name], I need an example 
of something really brilliant you’ve done, something that 
involves a couple of different securities and some fancy 
footwork or a wrinkle. Give me an example of some great 
idea you've had and you'll be famous.” 

He immediately grasped the concept, then fell silent. “1 
know what you mean,” he finally said, “but I can’t think 
of anything." 

“Oh, come on— just onc idea!” 

Моге silence. 

“I can just see what you're going to write,” he chortled. 
“ Been in the business 15 years, never had an idea.’ ” 


THE WARNER PLAY: BUY THE STOCK, SHORT THE WARRANTS 


I start with this one because it’s one of two I've thought 
of myself. (Been in the business 15 years, had two ideas.) 
It has to do with the stock of Warner Communications. 

Warner hit an all-time high of 63 in 1982. It was not of 
much interest at that price, at least to me, because Гуе 
always been a sucker for the notion of “buying low”—a 
discipline that of necessity precludes buying stocks at or 
near their all-time highs. 

Not long afterward, Warner announced that its Atari 
division was in the tank and the stock dropped to 28%. 

In toying with the notion of buying some—at that 
price, it looked interesting—I remembered Warner war- 
rants. A warrant gives you the right to buy stock at some 
specified price (55 in this case) for a given length of time 
(through April 30, 1986, in this case). Warrants are also 
called rights, because that’s all they are: the right to buy 
stock at a certain price. They could be called options, too, 
for they operate in much the same way; only warrants are 
issued by the underlying company itself, while options are 
issued by bookies in Chicago, (continued on page 188) 


179 


^Ш ШШШ ШШШ 


The body beautiful below belongs to Marine 
Jahan, whose terpsichorean talents corried the 
filmic Flashdance. Also-beautiful Jennifer Beals 
starred, but most of the muscles you saw in 
motion were Marine's. At left: Linnéa Quigley, who 
knows that, above all, flashdancing is hip. 


a Р | = 
gli e. 
med XI 
| " 
маа. - ) 


Kathleen Corrs regimen 
(above) hos obvious benefits in 
muscle fone ond flexibility, 
though it’s absolute hell on the 
wardrobe. The omnipresent 
mirrors that ore part of flash- 


donce practice may have 
brought charges of narcissism, 
but they reflect well on Kothy. 


ST / 


mm 


ІШІШ 


PLAYBOY 


GREAT PLAYS continued rom page 179) 


“There’s no telling what folks will pay for little pieces 


of paper and a dream.” 


New York, Philadelphia and San Francis- 
co. (Also, options run for a maximum of 
nine months, while warrants generally do 
not expire for several years.) 

The Warner warrant trades on the 
American Stock Exchange. 1 figured if it 
were cheap enough, it might be a better 
way to bet on Warner’s future than simply 
to buy the stock. But what's cheap 
enough? What is the right to buy a stock 
at 55—when it's 28—worth? Clearly, that 
depends on how long the warrant has to 
run (the longer, the better) and how likely 
the stock is to shoot up in price. 

My guess was that the warrant would 
be selling around 5. For $500, that is, you 
could purchase the right to buy 100 shares 
of Warner stock at $55 each through April 
1986. For $5000, you could control 1000 
shares. Buying 1000 shares outright, by 
contrast, would have cost $28,250. 

Pm not saying I would have bought the 
warrants at 5, but that’s about what I fig- 
ured they were worth. 

I looked in the paper (WrnC wt) and 
was astonished to find them, in fact, at 
11%. People were actually plunking down 
$11.25 to control shares of Warner stock 
that they could have owned for $28.25 in 
the wild hope that sometime this side of 
April 30, 1986, Warner would climb from 
28% to well past 55. Which just goes to 
show there’s no telling what folks will pay 
for little pieces of paper and a dream. 

But if it’s hard to know what a warrant 
like this is worth with three years left to 
run, here’s almost exactly what it will be 
worth on the morning of expiration: 


The right to buy 
it at $55 will be 


If Warner stock 


is: worth: 
$ 55 or below $0 
65 10 
75 20 
100 45 


Only if the stock were above $66 a 
share would the right to bu; at $55 be 
worth more than $11 at expiration. 

The stock, at 28%, seemed perhaps 
undervalued. The warrant, at 11%, 
seemed ridiculously overvalued. So here 
was the play: Buy the stock and short the 
warrants. (Going short, you will recall, 
means selling something you don’t own. 
That would be larcenous were you not 
obligated cventually to buy it back— 
cheaper, you hope—to clear your ac- 
count.) I called my broker and put in an 
order to short 1000 warrants at 11%. Only 
when that transaction was completed (for 
it’s always trickier to short something than 


to buy it) did I buy an equal number of 
shares of Warner common stock. 

Tf the stock is 55 or below on April 30, 
1986, the warrants will expire worthless, 
which means I won’t have to pay anything 
to buy them back and clear my account. 
Pl be allowed to keep the full 11% points 
on the warrant—$11,250. 

If the stock is above 55, the warrant will 
have some value—but the more the better! 
Grab a pad and pencil and consider the 
possibilities. 

Let’s say the stock is 66. Well, the war- 
rant will be 11 or so (as it entitles you to 
buy a $66 stock for $55), and I won’t have 
any profit from having shorted it. But 
that’s OK—I will have made 38 points on 
the stock. Thirty-eight thousand dollars! 1 
tremble in anticipation. 

For every point Warner is above $66, 1 
will lose a point on the warrant but gain a 
point on the stock, and so still have a 38- 
point profit overall, What’s more, the gain 
willbelong-term, while any loss onthe war- 
rant will be short-term (gains and losses 
from short sales are always short-term), 
and that can work to my advantage. 

If Warner stock is exactly where it was 
when I did all this—28%—then I make 
nothing on it, but the warrants expire 
worthless and I get to keep $11,250. 

If Warner is someplace between 28 and 
55, ГІ make someplace between 11 and 
38 points. 

Of course, should Warner slump to 3, 
say, Га lose a lot more on the stock 
($25,250) than I’d make on the warrants 
($11,250). But you’ve got to take some risk 
if you want to join the Pepsi generation. 
(Another risk, please note, is that the com- 
pany could unilaterally extend the life of 
the warrants.) Nor, should the stock fall, 
does anyone say I have to sell it. The war- 
rants expire, but the stock lives on. 


THE TWO-FOR-ONE REVERSE WARRANT 
HEDGE: MORE OF THE SAME 


I was feeling quite pleascd with myself 
for figuring all this out when I ran into 
Jeff Tarr. At Harvard, years ago, Jeff had 
launched Operation Match, the original 
computerized-dating service. Now he is 
one of Wall Street’s most highly regarded 
arbitragers. We live in the same building, 
only he lives оп а much higher floor. (The 
entire floor.) 

“Рус finally got one for you,” I said, 
and I told my Warner story. 

“Sure,” he responded. “We've done a 
lot of that, only we figure you should be 
shorting two warrants for each share of 
the common. It’s a two-for-one reverse 


warrant hedge.” 

I went home, took out my pad and pen- 
cil to see what would happen at various 
prices if I were short two warrants for 
each share of the common stock, and then 
called my broker to short more warrants 

ALA MOANA: TAKE A GAIN 
ON THE STOCK, REPORT A LOSS 


Ala Moana would be worth mentioning 
even if it weren't a potentially great play, 
just for the voleanic passion of the name. 
But the idea was to buy the stock at 272 
and sit pat. Simple as that. Ala Moana 
Hawaii Properties, as it’s formally known 
and traded on the New York Stock Ex- 
change, is in the process of liquidating 
itself. Wiser minds than mine have 
guessed that the liquidating dividend will 
be in the neighborhood of $4—although 
wise minds, I cannot stress too forcefully, 
have been wrong before. They further 
guess that it will come sometime before the 
end of the century. Perhaps even before 
the end of next year. 

To turn $2.50 into $4 ain’t hay, but 
what makes this play interesting, if it 
works, is that at the same time as one is 
turning $2.50 into $4, one may get to 
report a sizable loss. This is possible 
because: (A) The properties it’s hoped will 
fetch $4 a share are on the books for a lot 
more; and (B) Ala Moana shares—never 
mind that they trade on the New York 
Stock Exchange—are not shares of stock 
but, rather, limited-partnership units. Ala 
Moana is not a corporation but a limited 
partnership. As such, profits and losses 
flow through to the partners. 

Its a neat play, but for a rarefied 
crowd. Beware! The $4 may never materi- 
alize. Or a portion of it may well have 
been distributed by the time you read this. 
Nor is this—even if it works—the sort of 
thing you’d take to H&R Block. The le- 
gal and accounting fees could be significant. 

For Jeff Tarr, such expenses are justifi- 
able. His group owns 890,000 shares. 


PAN AM: SHORT THE STOCK, 
BUY THE BONDS 


Tt is February 1983 and Pan Am is des- 
perate for cash to carry it through to sum- 
mer. Some people are buying the stock at 
5, hoping for a recovery. Others are buy- 
ing bonds E. F. Hutton has concocted— 
“Pan American World Airways, Inc., 15 
Percent Convertible Secured Trust Notes 
Due 1998.” They pay 15 percent a year 
interest, are convertible into stock at $5.50 
a share and are secured by a bevy of Boe- 
ing 747s. The smart money is buying the 
bonds and shorting the stock. 

Roughly speaking: 

If Pan Am should recover (which 
seemed doubtful in February), the stock 
could soar—but the bonds, being convert- 
ible into the stock, would soar with it. A 
break even. 

If Pan Am limped along and the stock 

(continued on page 274) 


“Т know when you’ve been good, and I know when you’ve 
been bad, so be good for goodness’ sake!” 


DON’T YOU KNOW 
THERE’S AWAR ON? 


there are two kinds of people—those who think 
there are two kinds of people and those who don’t 


fiction BY DONALD E.WESTLAKE 


FROM THE BEGINNING of Time, Man has been 
on the move, ever oulward. First he spread 
over his own planet, then across the Solar 
System, then outward to the Galaxies, all of 
them dotted, speckled, measled with the col- 
onies of Man. 

Then, one day in the year eleven thou- 
sand four hundred and six (11,406), an 
incredible discovery was made in the Master 
Imperial Computer back on Earth. Nearly 
500 years before, a clerical error had erased 
from the computer's memory more than 


e 


e === 
STARSHIP HOPEFUL STORY 


2 ph 
Woser ltl] 


| E 


PLAYBOY 


1000 colonies, all in Sector F.U.B.A.R.3. 
For half а millennium, those colonies, 
young end struggling when last heard 
from, had had no contact with the rest of 
Humanity. 

The Galactic Patrol Interstellar Ship 
Hopeful, Captain Gregory Standforth 
commanding, was at once dispatched to 
re-establish contact with the Thousand 
Lost Colonies and return them to the 
bosom of Mankind. 

The two armies were massed in terrible 
array, banners flying, the hosts facing 
each other across the verdant valley. The 
tents of the generals were magnificently 
bedecked, pennons whipping in the breeze. 
Down below, clergymen in white and 
black blessed the day and the pounded 
grass and the generals and the banners 
and the archers and the horses and those 
who sweep up behind the horses. Filled 
with a good breakfast, the soldiers on the 
slopes stood comfortably, happy to be 
a part of this historic moment, while 
the supreme commanders of both forces 
marched with their aides and their scribes 
down through their respective armies and 
out across the green sweep of neutral terri- 
tory toward the table and the altar set up 
in the very center of the valley under a 
yellow flag of truce. 

This was the first time these two 
supreme commanders had met, and they 
studied each other with a pardonable curi- 
osity while the various aides exchanged 
documents and provided signatures. Is he 
fiercer-looking than me? the supreme 
commanders wondered as they eyed each 
other. Is his jaw firmer and lean- 
er? Do his eyes flash more coldly and cru- 
elly? Is his backbone more ramrod-stiff? 

The ministers sprinkled holy water 
over the papers. The supreme command- 
ers firmly shook hands—very firmly shook 
hands—and a great cheer went up from 
the multitudes on the slopes. The ceremo- 
ny was complete. The name had been 
changed. The 300 Years’ War was now 
officially the 400 Years’ War. 

“Look out!” someone shouted. 

Soldiers gaped. Horses neighed and 
pawed the ground. Clergy and aides fled 
with cassocks and tunics flapping, su- 
preme commanders took to their heels and 
the great long silver bullet of the spaceship 
settled slowly, delicately, almost lazily into 
the very center of the valley, the massive 
base of the thing gently mashing the main 
altar into a dinner mat. 

. 

“Remember, Councilman," Ensign 
Kybee Benson said, pacing the council- 
man's cabin, "these are intelligent and 
subtle people, the descendants cf philoso- 
phers.” 

“Hardly a problem,” Councilman Mor- 
ton Luthguster responded. "I'm some- 
thing of a philosopher myself.” 

Ensign Benson and Councilman Luth- 


192 guster meshed imperfectly. Ensign Benson 


was almost painfully aware that the rea- 
son the councilman had been chosen to 
represent the Galactic Council on this 
endless, trivial, boring mission to the uni- 
versal boondocks was simply that nobody 
at the Galactic Council could stand the 
man’s pomposities anymore. Luthguster 
didn’t realize that; nor did he realize that 
it was Ensign Benson’s sharp-nosed per- 
sonality that had won him a berth on the 
Hopeful (neither did Ensign Benson); but 
he’d certainly noticed that all his conver- 
sations with Ensign Benson left him with 
the sense that his fur had been rubbed the 
wrong way. 

Ensign Benson’s face now wore the 
expression of a man eating a lemon. 
“Councilman, would you like to know 
which particular philosophy these philos- 
ophers philosophized about?” 

“You're the social engineer,” Luthgus- 
ter pointed out, getting a bit prickly him- 
self. “It’s your job to background me on 
these colonies.” 

“Dualists,” Ensign Benson said. “They 
were dualisıs.” 

“You mean they fought each other?” 

Lieutenant Billy Shelby, the Hopeful’s 
young second in command, knocked on the 
open door and entered the cabin, saying, 
“Sir, the ship has landed.” 

“Just a second, Billy.” Taking a deep 
breath, displaying his patience, Ensign 
Benson said, “Not duelists, Councilman, 
dualists. They believed in the philosophy 
of dualism. Simply stated, the idea that 
there are two sides to every story.” 

“At the very least,” Luthguster said. 
“Back in the Galactic Coun——” 

“Gemini,” Ensign Benson interrupted. 
“That’s what they named their colony, 
after the twins of the zodiac. They'd origi- 
nally considered Janus, after the two- 
faced god, but that suggested a duplicity 
they didn’t intend. Discussion and debate; 
that’s the core of their approach to life.” 

“A civilized and cultured people, obvi- 
ously.” Luthguster preened himself, pat- 
ting his big round belly. “We shall get 
along famously.” 

"No doubt,” Ensign Benson said. 
“Shall we begin?” 

They followed Billy Shelby down to the 
main hatch, where the ladder had already 
been extruded, but the door was not yet 
open. Waiting beside it was Captain 
Standforth, tall and thin and vague, his 
stun gun ready in his hand. Pointing to the 
weapon, Luthguster said, “We won’t be 
needing that, Captain. These are peaceful 
scholars." 

“I thought I might shoot some birds,” 
said the captain. “For stuffing.” Bird taxi- 
dermy was the only thing in life the cap- 
tain really cared about. Seven generations 
of Standforths had, unfortunately, made 
such magnificent careers in the Galactic 
Patrol that this Standforth had had no 
choice but to sign up when he'd attained 
the proper age, but the whole thing had 


been a ghastly mistake, which everybody 
now knew—and which was why he had 
been assigned to the Hopeful. 

"Shoot birds later," Luthguster said, 
somewhat stiffly. “Let us begin peaceably. 
Open the door, Billy.” 

Billy pushed the button, the door 
opened and Luthguster stepped out onto 
the platform at the head of the ladder. 
“Fellow thinkers,” he cried out and fell 
back into the ship with seven arrows stuck 
in him. 

. 

“Rotten aim,” Chief Engineer Hester 
Hanshaw said, wiping her hands on a 
greasy rag, then dropping it onto the clus- 
ter of pulled arrows. “You'll live.” 

“At least you could sound happier 
about it,” Luthguster told her. Lying 
there on the engine-room table, he was so 
enswathed in bandages that he looked like 
a gift-wrapped beach ball. 

“Its mostly all that blubber protected 
you,” Hester said unsympathetically 
"You're a very inefficient design.” 

“Well, thank you very much.” 

‘There was no doctor on the Hopeful, 
there being room for only five crew mem- 
bers and the councilman. Hester Han- 
shaw, 40ish, blunt of feature and speech 
and hand and mind, had taken a few first- 
aid courses before departure, with the atti- 
tude that the human body was merely a 
messier-than-usual kind of machine and 
that most of its ills could be repaired with 
a few turns of a screwdriver or taps of a 
hammer. (Pliers had been useful in the 
current case, plucking the arrows out of 
the councilman.) Hester never gave her 
engines sympathy while banging away at 
them, so why should she give sympathy to 
Luthguster? "I'll give you some coffee,” 
she offered grudgingly. 

Luthguster knew Hester’s coffee from 
hearsay. “No, thank you!” 

"Don't worry, you won't leak. I 
plugged all the holes.” 

Luthguster closed his eyes. А тоап 
leaked out. 

. 

Lieutenant Billy Shelby, handsome, ro- 
mantic, idealistic, bright as a bowling 
ball, clutched the microphone in his left 
hand, white flag in his right, and said, 
“Ready, sir.” 

The captain hesitated. “Are you sure, 
Billy?” 

“He already volunteered, Captain,” 
Ensign Benson pointed out. “Obviously 
we have to make contact with the Gemi- 
noids somehow.” 

“Pm sure, Captain,” Billy said. 

So the captain pushed the button, the 
door opened and Billy marched out onto 
the platform with the white flag high 
and the loud-speaker microphone to his 
mouth: “People of —” his voice boomed 
out over the valley, and a cannon Бай 

(continued on page 198) 


And yet, one essential area of human activity has been conspic- 

uously left out of the onslaught of automation .. . SEX. How сап 

& that be? My theory is that most inventors are prudish introverts and feel 
ill at ease dealing with this altogether normal life function. I, personally, 

harbor no such inhibitions and, to prove it, have created the following 
suite of erotic appliances, such as KWIK-LIK, the pacifier at left, de- 
signed for the teat-totaling executive. Let my work stand as one man’s 
rebuttal to the shortsightedness of 100 years of geniuses, rest their souls, 


Y: KNOW, today’s advanced technology staggers the imagination. 


Now you can forget those phony lines and show-off stunts thot used to be the only way to start a “meoningful” relotionship. Thanks to LUVcuffs, the 
mechanical matchmaker, you can be your plain old self ond still score big every time. Here's how it works: Just persuade your date to slip her wrist 


through the comfortoble retoining strap (you do the same), set the on-board computer to the desired length of interaction (one to 24 hours), switch on 
the tamperproof locking system and leave the rest to LUVeuffs. Inset: PUBIK'S CUBE. This tongue-in-chic desk novelty is a plush pleosure puzzle. 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY DAVID MECEY 


CHANGING HAT (below) has a “bathhouse 
in the brim.” Just release tabs, roll down 
polyethylene enclosure and you've got instant 
privacy. It’s also a dressing room for 
cheap boutiques or even a 
think tank. 


Above, the latest in office equipment includes PREPPY PANTIES (left), so perfect for those under- 
the-table deals; select wide tie (modest) or norrow tie (daring) as appropriate to the occasion; at 
right, the PRIVATE SECRETARY, with its patented "Loin-O-Type" jotter system that comes imme 

diately into play when wearer assumes sitting position, helps today’s busy steno stay on top of the 
situation even during stiffest dictation; a second pad may be worn at the rear for occosional entries. 


Fulfill your photo fantosies with AUTONUDE. It’s the 
next best thing to X-roy glosses. Just attoch the pre- 
cision-tooled unit to your camero, olign the subject's 
head with AUTONUDE' built-in naked body ond 
press the button. Presto! AUTONUDE strips ‘em 
bare. Try it on bystonders, passers-by, friends. Even 
relatives. Subjects con't refuse. Great fun ot parties. 


ILLUSTRATIONS BY DENNIS MAGDICH 


AUTONUDE is designed for maximum variation. 
There is the fully naked, stand-up pose and the fully 
naked waist-up pose. And for those who like to see 
women in stockings, garter belts and push-out bras, 
AUTONUDE cames through for them. If you want to 
try this at home, the technicians who designed 
AUTONUDE suggest using a lens wider than 35mm. 


VIBRAGATOR is a 
perky pet who'll tick- 
le your fancy (right) 
Wind him up and 
watch him go, but 
don’t let him out of 
your sight! We can't 
be responsible. Self. 
lubricoting. Caution: 
Do not overwind. 


Coming soon, com- 
panion ARMADILDO. 


Immortalize those 
moments of special 
intimacy with THE 
LOVER (below 
and right), on 
instant-picture 
self-portrait 
camera. Seduc- 
tively styled to 
fit the occasion, 

it features o 
posing mirror. 


Inset at left, the OPTICAL BREAST 
ENLARGER, developed for small- 
screen TV sets; it brings the small 
bosom to fuller stature instantly! 


PLAYBOY 


198 


THERE'S АМАН ON continues rom page 192) 


“ ‘Those people aren't a part of our war. They're in- 
nocent bystanders. The rules of battle don’t apply.’ ” 


ripped through the white flag to carom off 
the silver hull. 

Billy gaped at the hole in the flag. “Gee 
whizz,” his amplified voice told the sunny 
day. “Don’t you guys believe in a flag of 
truce?” 

“That ain’t no flag of truce!” 
yelled from upslope. “It’s white! 

“Well, what color do you want? 

“Yellow! The color of cowards!” 

“Wait right there,” Billy told the two 
encircling armies and went back into the 
ship. Carom! went a cannon ball in fare- 
well. 


а voice 


. 
“After dark,” Supreme Commander 

Krraich said, "we'll deploy a patrol to 

sneak up on the thing and set fire to it.” 

“I suspect, sir,” said an aide carefully 
(Krraich was known to dislike correction), 
“the thing is made of metal.” 

Krraich glowered. Sneaking up on 
things and setting fire to them was one of 
his favorite sports. “It’s a fort, isn’t it?” he 
demanded. “Could be just shiny paint.” 

“Sir, uh, cannon balls bounce off.” 

“Doesn’t mean it’s metal. Could be 
rubber.” 

“Rubber won't burn, si 

Krraich turned his gaze full upon this 
pestiferous aide, whose name was Major 
Invercairnochinchlie. In the bloodshot eye 
of his mind, Krraich watched Major 
Invercairnochinchlic burn to the ground— 
kilt, sporran, gnarled pipe, tam and all. 
“What do you suggest, Major?” 

Invercairnochinchlie swallowed. “Acid, 
sir?” 

The other aides, also in formal officers’ 
kilts, all snickered and shifted their feet, 
like a corralful of miniskirted horses; aides 
liked to see other aides in trouble. But 
then, Krraich’s least favorite and most 
intelligent aide (the two facts were not 
unconnected), a colonel named Alderpee, 
said, “Sir, if I may make a suggestion?” 

“You always do,” Krraich said, irri- 
tated because the suggestions were usually 


“That thing out there is a fort,” Alder- 
pee said. “A traveling fort. Think how we 
could use such a thing.” 

Krraich had no imagination. “Your 
suggestion?” 

“They’re about to send out a party 
under a flag of truce. We kidnap that par- 
ty, apply torture and learn how to invade 
the fort. Then we take it over.” 

Krraich was appalled and showed it. 
“Violate a yellow flag of truce?” 

“Those people aren’t a part of our 


war,” Alderpee pointed out. “They're 
innocent bystanders, The rules of battle 
don’t apply.” 

“Ah” 

“And if we don’t do it,” Alderpee 
added, “the Antibens will.” 

. 

“How do you do? I'm Lieutenant Billy 

Shelby of the Interstel — Mmf!” 
. 

“There!” Colonel Alderpee 

told you the Antibens would do i 
. 

The chaplain, in his black dress uni- 
form, sprinkled holy water over Billy, who 
sneezed. “Gesundheit,” said the chaplain. 

“Thank you.” 

“1 am the Right Reverend Beowulf 
Hengethorg,” the chaplain explained. “I 
am here to ready you for torture.” 

“Torture?” Billy gaped around at all 
the big, mean-looking, bulgy-armed men 
lining the periphery of the large, torchlit 
tent. “Gee whizz,” he said, “we're here to 
be friendly. We came all the way from 
Earth just to” 

“Earth?” Wide-eyed, Reverend Henge- 
thorg leaned close. “You wouldn’t lie to a 
reverend, would you?” 

“Oh, no, sir! You see, you were lost, 


nd on Earth,” the chaplain said, 
voice tensely trembling, “do they believe 
in Robert Benchley?” 

P 

"I'm the only possible volunteer. The 
councilman is wounded, Hester keeps the 
engines going, Pam Stokes astrogates and 
you understand the mission. I'm not nec- 
essary at all.” 

“Well, Captain,” Ensign Benson said 
as they strode doorward together, “I have 
to admit you’re right. All captains are 
unnecessary; you’re one of the rare ones 
who know it.”” 

“So I'll try to make peace with the other 
army,” the captain went on, “and ask 
them to help us rescue Billy.” 

“And find out what’s going on here.” 

“Well, I'll certainly ask," the captain 
said. 

They had reached the door, where 
firmly the captain pushed the button. 
“There's no point in carrying any flags,” 
he said. “These people don’t seem to 
respect any color.” He stepped outside. 

“Good luck, Captain.” 

The captain looked back over his shoul- 
der. “Did you зау some——" He dropped 
from sight. Thump crumple bunkle bong 
habingbing thud. 


Ensign Benson leaned out to gaze down 
at the captain, all in a heap at the foot of 
the stairs. “I said, good luck.” 

. 


“Another one!” cried Colonel Alderpee. 
“Men, get that one or we'll be using your 
heads for cannon balls!” 

. 

“The ultimate proof!” the Right Rev- 
erend Hengethorg was saying. “This fine 
young chap here has never even heard of 
Robert Benchley, much less read his 
work.” 

Proud of ‚norance, Billy smiled in 
modest self-satisfaction at Supreme Com- 
mander Mangle. “That's right, sir. What 
1 mostly read is The Adventures of Space 
Cadet Hooper and His Pals Fatso and 
Chang. They just have the most——” 

Supreme Commander Mangle, a knife 
of a man—a tall, glinty-eyed, bony, angry 
knife of a man—growled deep in his 
throat; a distant early warning. Billy 
blinked and decided after all not to give 
the supreme commander a plot summary 
of Cadet Hooper and His Pals Go to Betel- 
geuse. 

Mangle turned his laser eyes on Henge- 
thorg. “Reverend,” he said. His voice 
needed oiling. “Explain.” 

“The people of Earth are Antibens, just 
like us,” the chaplain explained. “They 
must be! Not only does that prove the 
truth of our philosophy but we can ally 
ourselves with Earth and destroy the Bens 
forever!” 

Manele brooded. Apparently, he was 
considering the advantages and disadvan- 
tages of allying himself with people like 
Billy Shelby, because when next he spoke, 
he asked, “Are there any more at home 
like you?” 


. 

“So you’re from Earth,” Colonel Alder- 
pee sai 

“Yes, I am,” Captain Standforth told 
him. “I’m terribly sorry, but would you 
mind scratching my nose? Just right on 
the very tip.” The captain had been tied 
with a lot of rope immediately upon arriv- 
al in this army’s camp, so now his fingers 
(and their nails) were imprisoned behind 
him. 

Colonel Alderpee at first looked con- 
fused, then seemed on the verge of actually 
scratching the captain’s nose, then obvi- 
ously bethought himself and snapped to 
several nearby soldiers, “Untie this man. I 
believe there are enough of us here to 
quell him if necessary.” 

“Oh, I won't need quelling,” the cap- 
tain promised. “Just scratching.” 

So the ropes were removed and the cap- 
tain indulged in a good scratch while 
Colonel Alderpee went off to consult with 
Supreme Commander Krraich and a cou- 
ple of chaplains in a far corner of the tent. 
Returning a minute later, looking as 

(continued on page 312) 


auser-friendly computer primer conclusion of a series 


COLOSSAL KEYBOARDS! ЛЕ 
MAGNIFICENT MICRO аз» Г Qe 


N 
А 


THIS FEATURE RATED РС PRACTICAL GUIDE 


ByPETER A. McWILLIAMS 


and may all your buying decisions be bright 


puter game around is Buying a Com- 

puter. It’s fraught with mystery, 
danger, intrigue and close calls. As in any 
adventure game, the primary players— 
whether they’re searching for the Lost 
Ark, the Maltese Falcon or the Right 
Computer—wonder, Whom can I trust? 
It’s a question worth pondering. 

First, don’t trust anyone who claims 
you need a personal computer right away. 
Computer fanatics have adopted some of 
the zeal—and some of the slogans—of 
religious enthusiasts. “Compute! ‘The end 
is near!” 

In fact, there’s no hurry. You’ve lived a 
long time without a computer, and you'll 
do fine a while longer. In purchasing a 
personal computer, one of the first rules is, 
Take your time. There is no need to buy a 
computer this week or by Christmas or 
before 1984. 

Purchasing a personal computer re- 
quires no small degree of patience, persist- 
ence—and time. If you're planning to give 
a computer for Christmas, consider in- 
stead a few introductory computer books 
and a gift certificate. Not only will the 
input be valuable to the recipient but the 
computer emporiums will be less crowded 
in January than they are in December. 

Don’t trust computer ads. Advertising 
passed from unintentional self-parody in 
the Seventies to surrealism in the Eighties. 
One current tampon ad uses the slogan 
“Out of sight means out of mind.” Satur- 
day Night Live would have had trouble 
doing that a few years аро. 

It’s not just the ads that cannot be 
trusted. Some computer magazines are 
becoming more like hi-fi magazines every 
day. Have you ever read a bad review of a 
major stereo producer (read: advertiser) in 
a hi-fi magazine? The reviews are so 
bland and so careful that they’re useless. 

Like hi-fi magazines, computer maga- 
zines depend upon the advertising revenue 
of the very products they must review. If 
they’re too honest too often, goodbye, 
advertisers; and, eventually, goodbye, 
magazine. Popular Computing refused 10 
publish a piece of mine on why the Apple 
Ile was a bad value. The reason? Accord- 
ing to the managing editor, “I happen to 
like the Apple Computer Corporation.” I 
think it’s permissible to speculate that he’s 
also fond of the many pages of full-color 
advertising from Apple each month. 

So whom can you trust? Friends who 


Т: intricate and exciting com- 


have computers? Not necessarily. Individ- 
uals tend to become addicted to the brand 
of whatever computer they own. ‘They 
don’t think, My personal computer is 
doing all this good stuff. They think, My 
Apple (or Kaypro or IBM or whatever) 
is doing it. Besides, after spending a not 
inconsiderable amount of money on a 
computer, few people say, “I made a mis- 
take. I should have gotten something else.” 
More people swear by their Chevrolets 
than at them. 

And while we’re on the subject of cars: 
You can trust computer salespeople about 
as much as you can trust used-car sales- 
people. I sometimes think that all the out- 
of-work car salesmen applied for and 
immediately received employment at com- 
puter stores from coast to coast. 

‘There are a few good computer sales- 
people. They know as well as I do that the 
majority is giving the minority a bad 
name. In all fairness, there’s too much 
happening too soon for any one person to 
keep up. I certainly can’t keep up, and I 
don't have to wait on customers eight 
hours a day. 

So, for heaven’s sake, don’t take my 
word for anything. Pm just a voice crying 
in the wilderness (Los Angeles). The 
thoughts expressed in this article are noth- 
ing more than my subjective, biased, high- 
ly personal opinions. 

So whom do you trust? If you want the 
right computer at the right price, the 
answer to that question is, trust yourself. 
Dive in, learn as much as you can, look at 
as much as you can, talk with as many 
people as possible and, eventually, what is 
hype filled will become distinct from what 
is helpful. 

What follows is a brief look at 40 or so 
personal computers, starting with the least 
expensive and going on into the personal- 
computer stratosphere. So here they are— 
and please keep in mind, all this is but one 
man’s opinion. 


‘TIMEX SINCLAIR 1000 


‘The Timex Sinclair is known as the 
world’s first disposable computer. You 
buy one for about $49.95, take it home, 
use it a few days and decide that (A) you 
like computers and want to get a better 
one or (B) you don't like computers and 
want nothing more to do with them. In 
either case, you get rid of the Timex Sin- 
clair with about as much ceremony as 
emptying a mousetrap. (Certainly, you 


ILLUSTRATION BY SCOTT GUSTAFSON 


have one nephew or niece who doesn’t 
have his or her own computer.) 


COMMODORE 


‘The VIC-20 and the Commodore 64 
represent an exceptional value in low-cost 
personal computers. At less than $100, the 
VIC-20 makes a much better disposable 
computer than the Timex Sinclair. At 
about $200, the Commodore 64 has nearly 
all the hardware features of the $1395 
Apple Ie. In the under-$500 home-com- 
puter range, the Commodore 64 is the 
clear winner. 


TEXAS INSTRUMENTS 99/4A 


Where did they ever get a name like 
99/4A? It looks as though even Bill Cosby 
was unable to save this machine. Texas 
Instruments sold it at a loss earlier this 
year, hoping to make up the difference in 
software cartridge sales. The plan didn’t 
work. A large quarterly loss was reported. 
The stock dropped. Not many computer 
watchers were surprised. Texas Instru- 
ments has strongly discouraged anyone 
else from making software for the 99/4A. 
That is as smart as discouraging Standard 
Oil from making gas for your car. If T.I. 
does not change that policy, and quickly, it 
will not be in the home-computer market 
much longer. 


ATARI 


All over Atariland, people are walking 
about with glassy-eyed stares, mumbling, 
“What happened?” For a while, it looked 
as though Atari had the home-computer 
market sewn up. It cost less than Apple. It 
had Pac-Man. It had a catchy jingle 
(“Have you played Atari today?”). What 
happened? Competition happened. Coleco 
offered better games; Commodore offered 
а cheaper computer. Many are saying that 
if Atari doesn’t pull something magical 
out of its corporate hat, and soon, it may 
wind up on the lengthening list of Califor- 
nia’s endangered species. 


MATTEUS AQUARIUS 
Fortunately, this is not the dawning of 
the Age of Aquarius. Yawn. 
APPLE He 


The Apple computer has not been a 
good value for at least two years. Both 
the Apple II and the Apple Ш have 
been overpriced, in comparison with simi- 
larly featured (continued on page 264) 


201 


? 
i Y 
” ж 
T 
1 


BLONDE BOMBSHELLS: euweov's August cover girl, Sybil Danning 
(left), should wow fans in Hercules, Chained Heat and Seven Magnificent 
Gladiators. Above, a bouquet of Heathers—Thomas at left, Locklear at 
right—is blossoming on television; Miss Thomas (here in her hit-poster 
pose) in The Fall Guy, Miss Locklear in both Dynasty and Т. J. Hooker. The 
beauty temporarily beached below is Randi Brooks of TV’s Wizards and 
Warriors, who had a small but unforgettable part in The Man with 
Two Brains. And on the opposite page, the girl we (and several experts) pre- 
dicted would make it big in Hollywood this year, Kim Basinger, now proving 
our point in Never Say Never Again and in The Man Who Loved Women. 


PLAYBOY 


212 


older than his latest protégé, Stallone 
seems determined to prove that physical 
fitness is the ultimate solution for every- 
thing from boxing to boffing. If he and 
Travolta do team up for Godfather III, as 
discussed, their gangsters will probably 
cat low-cal spaghetti and save the cement 
shoes for working out. 

The women have been busy building, 
too. Jane Fondo, at 45, has fashioned an 
entirely new career with a best-selling 
exercise book, records, video tapes and 
salons. Turning 41, Linda Evans also had a 
big beauty book on the market, as did 
younger Christie Brinkley, including her 
secrets for “navel maneuvers,” a prospect 
that would enlist even the lazy. 

With or without muscles, maturity has 
suddenly become sexy. It’s truly amazing 
how many of today’s sex superstars, across 
the board in film, television and music, are 
well into their late 30s, 40s or 50s. 

One reason is that after the postwar 
baby boom, the audience itself has moved 
on in years, taking some favorites with it 
and rediscovering others. (The number of 
career comebacks in recent years—espe- 
cially in soap operas—has been extraordi- 
nary.) If the trend continues, the Sex Stars 
of 1995 will be slipping into shawls 
instead of out of bikinis, and the word 
rocker will revert to its old meaning. Sec- 
ondly, the younger members of the audi- 
ence now seem totally confused about 
what is sexy. Given the relative enlighten- 
ment of society, they haven’t had the fun 
of discovering smut that their parents did. 
That could explain why they are so 
excited by technology. 

Still, the kids have good instincts. They 
are currently crazy about Michael Jackson, 
whose album Thriller was this year’s 
multihit blockbuster, followed by a popu- 
lar narrative record of E.T., which 
brought him into collaboration with Ste- 
ven Spielberg, with whom he now hopes to 
do a musical. Having been a singer since 
the age of five, Jackson often refers to his 
yen for an acting career, but Hollywood 
remains dubious about the thespian possi- 
bilities in the high-pitched voice that’s oth- 
erwise so popular. And since he's a grown 
man who still isn’t shaving, it’s hard to 
predict that his pipes will drop lower any 
time soon. 

Youngsters also continue to yearn for 
the sexpots close to their own ages, such as 
Nastassia Kinski and Brooke Shields, remain- 
ing entranced by their exciting private 
lives if not keenly interested in their recent 
films. Kinski dropped another bomb with 
Exposed. Better luck may lie ahead when 
she appears with Jodie Foster (an old friend 
with whom she’s long been swapping dirty 
jokes) in The Hotel New Hampshire. On 
location, the two girls shared an infatua- 
tion with handsome Rob Lowe, who previ- 


ously was the unlucky one who had to 
play Jacqueline Bisser's son instead of her 
adolescent lover in Class. 

Filming Sahara, Brooke and mother 
Teri were busy fending off older, admiring 
sheiks and princes, concentrating on her 
upcoming collegiate career at Princeton, 
which she chose after Harvard refused 
Mom’s demand that it promise to admit 
Brooke before she applied. Although she 
now concedes that her first boyfriend was 
Robby Benson and her friendship with 
Christopher Atkins was closc but brotherly, 
Brooke is still awaiting her first big 
romance, which she remains hopeful will 
be just like in the movies. 

Eddie Murphy captured the imagination 
of both younger and older audiences; his 
first two films, 48 HRS. and Trading 
Places, were such smashes that they en- 
couraged Paramount Pictures to nail 
down his services with an unprecedented 
$15,000,000 deal. Although his co-stars in 
each of the first two hits got the romantic 
roles, Murphy is expected to get his 
chance soon enough. 

Blonds are still popular, too—even 
slightly emaciated ones such as David 
Bowie. Always popular, Bowie has soared 
in the past couple of years, both dramati- 
cally and unexpectedly onstage in The 
Elephant Man and in music, which 
brought him a $10,000,000 recording con- 
tract and more millions in concert ap- 
pearances. Somehow, he also found time 
to appear in two movies, The Hunger and 
Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence. 

Some prefer more traditional blondes, 
of course, such as lovely Kim Basinger, 
whose long tresses made an astounding 
PLAYBOY cover in February (the rest of her 
was even more astounding in the layout 
inside). She co-stars with Burt Reynolds in 
The Man Who Loved Women and is Sean 
Connery's new woman in Never Say Never 
Again, his current return as James Bond. 
Oddly enough, she was spotted for the 
part by Connery’s wife, whose taste is 
obviously as good as her husband’s. 

Inspiring other blondes who get tired of 
not being taken seriously, Jessica Lange 
became a rare double Oscar nominee this 
year for her performances in Frances and 
Tootsie. Ironically, in Tootsie, Lange por- 
trayed a sexpot who didn’t remove her 
clothes, but in Frances, she played a seri- 
ous, troubled actress who bared all. 

‘Twenty years ago, the sight of a naked 
woman onscreen was supposed to thrill 
the old man but threaten his wife, who 
was fearful that she couldn’t compete with 
that perfection. The kids weren’t supposed 
to care, because they were too young. 

Now it’s the women who are peering at 
Richard Gere’s peepee in Breathless, while 
the men sit and sulk, convinced that none 
of that nudity is necessary to the plot, if 
there is one. One might suppose the 
younger generation had no such hang-ups; 
after all, the increasing leniency of the 


film-rating system theoretically takes into 
account the fact that kids are better 
adjusted and more sophisticated sexually 
than they used to be. 

Alas, it hasn't turned out to be so simple 
for those who make those sexy, R-rated 
films whose box-office survival depends 
on those between 12 and 17, who are sup- 
posed to attend with their parents but 
always manage to lose them along the 
way. Today’s big studios have expensive 
market-research departments pestering 
kids all over the country with questions 
about what they want to see in films. A 
couple of years ago, the experts found out 
quickly enough that young boys like the 
idea of being seduced by older women; 
the result was the highly profitable Pri- 
vate Lessons, starring Sylvia Kristel as the 
seductress. The producers wanted to do a 
sequel called Private School, about two 
beautiful young girls competing to seduce 
a handsome older guy, which the research 
showed was an attractive concept for both 
boys and girls. Then it got complicated. 

According to the initial research report, 
“Two sets of elements must be considered: 
raunchy sex that attracts the guys and 
puts off the girls versus innocent sex that 
attracts girls but is at best neutral for 
guys....Girls don't mind nudity of fe- 
males, as long as they like what’s going on 
around them. . . . Girls are not interested 
in sex for sex’s sake. . . . Girls like sex and 
raunch in context." 

Encouraged by the last comment, Pri- 
vate School's film makers went looking for 
sex and raunch in context, selecting for the 
competitive leads pretty and innocent 
Phoebe Cates and spicy Betsy Russell, who 
clinched the part when she removed her 
top in the producer’s office. 

Not surprisingly, the finished product 
satisfied no one, despite constant tinkering 
with such major questions as how much 
pubic hair was too much. In other words, 
what the boys liked, the girls didn’t, and 
vice versa, resulting in only middling box- 
office report cards. 

All in all, simple sleaze is a lot more 
fun, especially when it's running rampant 
оп television’s prime-time soaps. 

What Dallas started, Dynasty has now 
perfected, thanks to deliciously seductive 
performances by members of a scasoned 
cast who've been around long enough to 
know what sexy really is. At 50, Joan Col- 
lins fully deserved a career revival as the 
conniving Alexis Carrington, even if it did 
cost her a third husband when she split 
with producer Ron Kass. (Much the same 
thing happened when Dallas’ Linda Gray 
left her husband of 20 years.) 

Dynasty has also been a big career boost 
for lovely Linda Evans, who deserved 
more than the publicity she’d been getting 
as John Derek's third wife, whom he left 
for Bo Derek, whose public attention has 
now paled beside Linda's. And at 65, 
John Forsythe finds that his part as the 


MY CHICKS 
ARE BACK 


BERNARD mi ABE? 


MY EX 15 SEONG ME CHRISTMAS 
CARDS THREATENING SUICIDE. 
22 


THE HOOKERS ARE HOME 
WITH THEIR FAMILIES - 
\ 


BUT FOR A FORTY-SIX-UEAR-OLP LOVER, 
IT REALLY SUCKS. 


213 


PLAYBOY 


214 


powerful, ruthless Blake Carrington has 
brought him more attention than did 30 
years of playing nice guys. 

Some youth is necessary on the tube, to 
give the old folks a rest if nothing else. At 
22, beautiful Heather Locklear was Dynas- 
£y's darling slut, deserting a gay husband 
in search of new conquests, blackmailing 
Mom-in-law and having all sorts of si 
lar fun. (Who could believe this Heather 
is the same sweet girl who's so wholesome 
on Т: J. Hooker? Who, for that matter, 
could believe this is not the Heather 
Thomas who appears on The Fall Guy? 
Who cares? They're equally gorgeous.) 
22, blond, beefy Christopher Atkins 
g Dallas to bed down J.R.’s wife, 
long-suffering Sue Ellen (Linda Gray), 
who shouldn’t be suffering too much long- 
er. Nor will Atkins’ fans, since his contract 
calls specifically for him to bare as much 
of his body as ТУ allows. Having started 
in a loincloth with Shields in The Blue 
Lagoon, Atkins’ body has been busy since, 
appearing in a magazine centerfold and as 
that of a male stripper opposite Lestey Ann 
Warren in a picture titled Heaven. In pri- 
vate, however, the bod still belongs to 
longtime girlfriend Cindy Gibb, who stars 
in TV's Search for Tomorrow. 

Fourteen years older than Atkins, Les- 
ley Ann is also nearly a decade beyond her 
housemate, Jeffrey Hornaday (and weary of 
talking about the age difference). But her 
years of experience proved plenty lucky 
for him when Warren’s ex-husband, 
producer Jon Peters, dropped by to 
complain that he had to replace his chore- 
ographer for Flashdance. Warren gener- 
ously suggested her current beau, and 
that’s how Hornaday got his first big mov- 
ie job, which turned out to be a major 
box-office hit (and nobody ever really 
complained that he used sexy Marine 
Jehan as a dance double for equally sexy 
Jennifer Beals). 

All of which shows that Hollywood 
domesticity can be dandy at times. But 
back at the Peters house, Jon was having 
less luck with longtime ladylove Barbra 
Streisand, who had become a bit edgy with 
the pressures of her directorial debut on 
Yentl. Streisand built a fence at their 
ranch to separate her portion from his— 
and had his car towed away when he 
parked on the wrong side of it, ‘That was 
Hollywood’s best domestic dust-up this 
year, except for the subpoena Jeff Wald 
had served on ex-wife Helen Reddy during 
the reception after her wedding to drum- 
mer Milton Ruth. 

‘There was even talk that Streisand was 
smitten with Richard Gere after he cooled 
his romance with Brazilian artist Sylvia 
Martins. But Gere's fans seemed more 
interested in whether or not he might 
rebound to his Breathless co-star, preity 


French import Valerie Kaprisky. Their 
steamy nude scenes, however, didn’t seem 
to carry forward, though she said they 
were fun while they lasted—insisting that 
lovers in real life don’t cover themselves 
with sheets and she wouldn’t, either. 

Meanwhile, Gere’s previous screen dal- 
liance, Debra Winger, found herself in a 
whirlwind courtship, while shooting Terms 
of Endearment in Nebraska, with none 
other than the state’s handsome governor, 
Bob Kerrey, who once edged out Tom Selleck 
on U.P.l's list of the world’s ten most 
eligible bachelors. Although Winger’s 
wickedly foul mouth shocked many of the 
Nebraska locals, the gov didn’t seem to 
mind, and the romance flourished at a 
pace somewhere between that of Phyllis 
George's marriage to Kentucky gover- 
nor John Y. Brown and Linda Ronstadt’s 
breakup with California governor Jerry 
Brown—though the latter pair can still be 
seen together sometimes, now that he’s out 
of office. 

Romance blossoms a lot on location. 
Before leaving her native England to film 
The Thorn Birds in Hawaii, Rachel Ward 
was warned by a fortuneteller that true 
romance was on its way. But surely, the 
soothsayer didn’t actually mean Ward's 
Thorn Birds spouse, confirmed Australian 
bachelor Bryan Brown. After their first 
romantic scene beneath a waterfall by 
night, Brown's bachelorhood washed 
away quickly, and the pair were soon 
married. A few months later, fiery Bryan 
was threatening violence to whoever was 
feeding breakup rumors to the gossip 
mags. 

Dan Aykroyd married a very pretty 
blonde, Donna Dixon, while equally pretty 
and blond John Schneider of The Dukes of 
Hazzard found a bride in L.A. newscaster 
Tawny Little, a former Miss America, who 
was previously one of Burt Reynolds’ 
many ladies. As usual, Burt himself stayed 
free after a fling with his Stroker Ace co- 
star, Loni Anderson, who played the most 
improbable screen virgin since Doris Day. 
As Anderson was added to the list of 
Reynolds’ wraps, Stroker was added to the 
list of his film flops. But with that many 
beauties and that many millions, Burt has 
probably stopped counting both. 

One of the traditional side effects of 
marriage, of course, is a demanding little 
creature called a baby, something that 
brings pleasure even to Sex Stars. Among 
the new crop were sons born to Lindsay 
Wagner and Jaclyn Smith and a daughter to 
Charlene Tilton. At 34, Wagner is still 
shaking her Bionie Woman image for 
more serious roles and believes she’s in 
better shape to be a mom than she would 
have been while adjusting to fame in 1975. 
Dad, incidentally, is an American Indian 
A-Team stunt man, Henry Ki 


Smith, married to cinematographer 
Tony Richmond, takes baby Gaston with her 
everywhere, even into the shower; given 
Dad’s occupation, she has already collect- 
ed more than 1000 photos, plus video 
tapes, of the infant. Her parental enthusi- 
asm must have rubbed off on her Rage of 
Angels co-star, Armand Assante, who 
rushed home after each day's shooting to 
be with bride Karen McAm, who was 
expecting their first child. 

Tilton's tot caused her trouble with the 
tabloids after she refused them pictures of 
the baby. According to her, they retaliated 
with a series of stories alleging that her 
marriage to country singer Johnny Lee was 
falling apart. But home life is solid, the 
couple insists, and having the baby even 
caused Charlene to lose a lot of that baby 
fat that filled so much of the screen each 
Friday night on Dallas. It will be a few 
years yet before we learn whether or not 
the little girl really likes being named 
Cherish, one of the most precious baby 
names since Cher anointed Chastity. 

Speaking of baby names, one of the 
year’s most dubious predictions came from 
Laurene Landon, one of several lovelies 
appearing soon in a rash of Amazonian 
pictures. She has been quoted to the effect 
that once the world sees her scantily clad, 
athletic form dueling, wrestling and riding 
its way through a couple of dozen male 
victims in Hundra, women everywhere 
will want to name their little girls after 
that mythical heroine. 

Somehow, we doubt it. But if Landon’s 
right, then first grades a few years from 
now may be full of Hundras, sitting side 
by side with a lot of Sheenas (as played on 
film by tawny Tanya Roberts) and Ayeshas 
(brazenly portrayed by Sandahl Bergman 
in a new version of She, which starred 
Ursula Andress in 1965—though the name 
didn’t quite catch on back then). 

Or how about the melodic moniker 
Arianne, the name of a temptress played 
by statuesque Sybil Danning opposite Lou 
Ferrigno in Hercules? After reading the 
August pLavuov, however, future moms 
may simply christen their daughters Sybil 
in tribute to the Danning dimensions. 

We're hoping, though, that a new gen- 
eration of parents won’t be too influenced 
by Sex Star names, inspirational though 
their bearers be. It’s bad enough to think 
of thousands of sweet litle girls’ going 
through life known as Hundra. But for 
the little boys, it could be worse. Getting 
through school as Mr. T could be tough. 


PLAYBOY’S 


COLLEGE BASKETBALL PREVIEW 


Sports 


By Anson Mount 


PLAYBOY'S 1983-1984 ALL-AMERICA TEAM 


Front row: James Banks, forward, Georgia; leon Wood, guard, Fullerton St.; Lancaster Gordon, guard, 
Louisville. Second row: Michael Jordon, guard, NC; Lou Carnesecca, Coach of the Year, St. John's; 
Wayman Tisdale, forward, Oklahoma; Chris Mullin, guard, St. John’s. Third row: Melvin Turpin, forward, 
Kentucky; Akeem Olajuwon, center, Houston; Sam Bowie, center, Kentucky; Sam Perkins, forward, NC. 


IN THE PAST DECADE, college basketball has 
enjoyed the most explosive growth in 
popularity of any spectator sport since 
Romans started tossing Christians to the 
lions. Arenas sell out months in advance. 
‘Television audiences multiply astronomi- 
cally. Schools where basketballs once 
dribbled through the shadows of the foot- 
ball program now construct immense 
arenas. Dozens of small, otherwise ob- 
scure colleges are producing top-ranking 
teams. Lightning-quick point guards and 
seven-foot centers are becoming house- 
hold names, and—perhaps most signifi- 


MOUNT’S TOP 20 
1. Kentucky 11. Louisiana State 
2. North Corolina 12. Missouri 
3. Houston 13. UCLA 
4. Georgetown 14. Kansas 
5. St. John's 15. DePaul 
6. Oregon State 16. West Virginia 
7. Arkansas 17. Notre Dome 
8. Maryland 18. Georgia 
9. Ohio State 19. Indiana 
10. Louisville 20. Fresno State 


Possible Breakthroughs 
Wake Forest, lono, Texas-El Paso, 
lowa, Virginia Commonwealth, Santa 
Clara, Boston College, Xavier, Virginia 
Tech, Tulsa, George Washington. 


cant of all—an avalanche of bucks is 
pouring into athletic-department coffers. 
Unfortunately, however, today’s col- 
lege game finds itself beset with the 
problems that always attend a massive 
influx of fame and fortune. The dam- 
age done to young athletes who play the 
game and to the academic credibility of 
the schools they represent has become a 
hot potato that coaches and administra- 
tors keep passing to the next guy. 

An alarming number of college ath- 
letes are turning into prima donnas. 
Most leave the game in their early or 


215 


216 


middle 20s, woefully unprepared for the next 
50 years of their lives (even if they make it 
to the N.B.A., the average pro basketball ca- 
reer lasts less than five years). 

The average player grows up in modest 
circumstances, with limited intellectual hori- 
zons. In high school, he’s courted by famous 
coaches and rich alumni. In college, he’s given 
make-believe summer jobs, ludicrously easy 
classroom work and freebies of all kinds. He 
is a campus hero pursued by pretty girls, 
breathless sportswriters and avaricious agents. 
By the time his athletic eligibility runs out, he 
is marginally educated but insufferably arro- 
gant. A few top players escape this scenario, 


Clockwise from upper right (in honor of Coach of 
the Year Lou Carnesecco's renowned clock wis- 
dom): Chalk-talk translation of the St. John's give 
and go; the first half of Fullerton State stor Leon 
Wood's runnin'-and-gunnin' routine; Georgia's 
James Banks (left) tries to plug the hole against 
North Carolina's Michael Jordan; and the battle of 
the biceps (left to right): Oklahoma's Waymon Tis- 
dale, Banks and Jordan. At right: How about a 
big hand (it's actuol size) for Akeem Olajuwon, Ni- 
geria’s gift to the University of Houston? A soccer 
goalie until three years ago, Olojuwon led Hous- 
ton's Cougars to a neor miss in last year's 
N.C.A.A. finals. Anson Mount is picking them third 
this season (we didn't tell Olojuwon). 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY RICHARD rEGLEY 


218 


but not many. The universities, mean- 
while, have become show-business opera- 
tions as much as educational institutions, 
more famed for their sports franchises 
than for their academic facilities. Admin- 
istrators are harassed by influential but 
narrow-minded alumni and are saddled 
with gigantic athletic budgets. Today, ac- 
cusations of under-the-table payments to 
athletes are exceeded only by the num- 
ber of new and increasingly complex 
N.C.A.A. rules. The resultant headaches 
have caused some schools, such as Miami 
and San Francisco, to throw up their 
hands and drop basketball. 

The core of the problem, says St. John’s 
coach, Lou Carnesecca, is that young men 
from relatively poor backgrounds are the 
central attraction in a business that reaps 
vast amounts of money. It is only natural, 
he says, that they want to share in a few of 
the sport’s lush rewards. Room, board and 


tuition don’t seem much compensation to a 
kid who thinks he’ll be worth half a mil- 
lion bucks a year in the N.B.A. 

“Someday,” says Carnesecca, “some 
smart person is going to figure out a way 
to legitimately give the players their fair 
share of the financial take in this business, 
and a lot of our problems will be solved.” 

Coach Digger Phelps of Notre Dame, 
however, says that college coaches can 
already reduce those problems—by refus- 
ing to reinforce athletes’ overdeveloped 
egos and by insisting that each of their 
players get an education that will prepare 
him for life after athletics. 

Both suggestions are only partial solu- 
tions. The only way the problem will ever 
be solved is by two revolutionary changes. 
First, universitics must refuse to bestow 
scholarships on players who can’t make 
passing grades in legitimate academic 
courses. High schoolers who actually want 


THE BEST OF THE REST 


(All of whom are likely to make someone's 
All-American team) 


FORWARDS: Tony Campbell (Chio State), Alfredrick Hughes (Loyola of Chicago), 
Dallos Comegys (DePaul), Tom Sheehey (Virginia), Keith Lee (Memphis State), Charlie 
Sitton (Oregon Stote), Greg Gront (Utah State) 


CENTERS: Patrick Ewing (Georgetown), Uwe Blab (Indiana), Charles Barkley (Au- 


burn), Greg Dreiling (Kansas) 


GUARDS: Terence Stansbury (Temple), Adrion Branch (Maryland), Vern Fleming 
(Georgia), Alvin Robertson (Arkansas), Calvin Duncan (Virginia Commonwealth) 


TOP NEWCOMERS 


{Incoming freshmen and transfers who will 
make big contributions to their teams) 


Reggie Williams, forward . 
Harold Jensen, guard . 
Alvin Frederick, quard . 
Ricky Ewing, center . 


Anthony Webb, guard . 
Yvon Joseph, center . 
Winston Bennett, forward - 
James Blackmon, guard 
Darryl Greshom, guard 
Barry Sumpter, center 
Alton Lee Gipson, center . 
Malcolm Thomas. forward 
Greg Dreiling, center .. 
Winfred Case, guard 
Rickie Winslow, forward 
Stanley Wright, center . 
Montel Hatcher, guard . 
Kevin Johnson, guord 
Ken Mathio, center . 
Eric Willioms, guard 


- Georgetown 
Villanova 
Connecticut 


+ Washington State 
«++ San Jose State 


real college educations but can’t pass uni- 
versity entrance exams should be steered 
to junior colleges, where Federal assist- 
ance programs (Educational Opportunily 
Grants) are available. Then those play- 
ers could upgrade their academic skills 
enough to gain admission to four-year 
schools. 

All of this will force the second change. 
Professional leagues in both football and 
basketball will have to maintain and 
finance their own farm systems (as do 
major-league baseball clubs) to develop 
the abilities of those athletically promising 
young men who don't really want to spend 
four years playing academic charades. 

While we wait for the time when ath- 
letically ambitious young men don’t neces- 
sarily have to be annoyed by algebra and 
English literature, let’s take a look at the 
upcoming basketball season. There are so 
many roundball factories these days that 
we can’t discuss the prospects of every sin- 
gle one of them, but the odds are, your 
favorite team comes in for a few cheers or 
boos in the preview that follows. 


THE EAST 


Georgetown will finish higher in the 
rankings this year because all the princi- 
pal Hoyas return, to be joined by super- 
frosh Reggie Williams. Patrick Ewing is 
one of the three or four best centers in the 
country; his supporting cast will provide a 
lot more support than last year’s. 

Si. John's lost three of last season's 
starters, but the talent drain won't be very 
noticeable. Playboy All-America guard 
Chris Mullin leads a strong group of 
returnees. Transfer Mike Moses (from 
Florida) will join Mullin in the backcourt, 
and freshman Walter Berry will be a big 
contributor in the front court. By mid- 
season, the Redmen should be as strong 
as last year’s 28-5 squad. Most of the 
credit should go to coach Lou Carnesecca, 
a gentlemanly dynamo whose intellectual 
mastery of the game is unsurpassed. In a 
profession dominated by petty tyrants and 
egoists, Carnesecca is a warm and human 
coach who is genuinely liked by every- 
one—all of which adds up to our naming 
him Playboy’s Coach of the Year. 

Boston College set a school record with 
25 wins last winter, but now the Eagles 
face their toughest schedule ever without 
two of last year’s best players. A talent 
void in the middle will be the biggest prob- 
lem. Fabulous forward Jay Murphy will 
have to carry most of the load. 

Villanova’s main liability will be its 
inexperienced front court. High hopes are 
riding on the development of two sky- 
scraper sophomores, Chuck Everson and 
Wyatt Maker. Fellow soph Dwight Wil- 
bur can bomb from the seats and will fill 

(continued on page 220) 


the latest from london from Joe Miller's Jests, or the Wit’s Vade-Mecum, 1739 


A FAMOUS TEACHER of arithmetic had long 
been married without being able to get his 
wife with child. Once, a friend said to her, 
“Madam, 1 hear that your husband is an 
excellent arithmetician.” 

“Yes,” replied she, “except that he can’t 
multiply.” 


+ 

Mr. Dryden, once at dinner, was of- 
fered the rump of a fowl by a lady. When 
he refused it, she said, “Pray take it, Mr. 
Dryden; the rump is the best part of the 
fowl.” 

“Yes, madam,” said he, “and, I think, 
also the best part of the fair.” 


. 

A modest gentlewoman, being сот- 
pelled by her mother to go to court to 
accuse her husband of a certain defect, 
humbly desired of the judge that, for 
modesty’s sake, she might be permitted to 
write down her complaint rather than 
speak it. The judge gave her that liberty; 
and when pen, ink and paper were 
brought, she took the pen and began to 
write without dipping it into the inkwell 

“Madam, there is no ink in the pen,” 
said the clerk. 

“Truly, sir,” said she, “you have put 
my case very well and so described my 
husband.” 


. 

An amorous young fellow was making 
very warm addresses to a married woman. 
“Pray, sir, desist,” said she. “I have a hus- 
band who will not thank you for making 
him a cuckold.” 

Replied he, “No, madam, but I hope 
that you will.” 

. 

A vigorous young officer in love with a 
pretty widow, coming upon her unawares 
once, caught her fast in his arms. “Hey, 
day,” said she, “do you fight after the 


French way—that is, take towns before 
you have declared war?” 

“In faith, widow,” the officer replied, 
“I would be glad to imitate them if I could 
thrust into the middle of the country 
before your forces could resist.” 

. 

А woman once prosecuted а gentleman 
for rape. The judge at the trial asked her if 
she had made any resistance. 

“And it please you, my lord, I cried 
out,” said she. 

“Аус, she cried out,” said a witness, 
“but not until nine months later.” 


. 
A gentlewoman had two gallants, опе of 
them with a wooden leg. When she grew 
big with child, she put the question to 
them which should be named as the 
father. He with the wooden leg offered to 
decide it thus: “If the infant comes into the 
world with a wooden leg, I will father it. 
If not, it must be his.” 
. 

A gentleman once observed of a young 
woman who plied her trade about the Inns 
of Court that she had had more of the law 
in her tail than most judges in England 
had in their heads. 


. 

An old gentleman who had married a 
fine young lady, being terribly afraid of 
cuckoldry, took her to task one day. He 
asked her if she had considered what a 
crying sin it was to cuckold her husband. 

“Lord, my dear,” said she, “I never 
have such a sin in my head.” 

Replied he, “No, no; I shall have it in 
my head, but you will have it somewhere 
else.” 

. 

The emperor Augustus, being shown a 
young Grecian who very much resembled 
him in looks, asked the man if his mother 
had not been at Rome before he was born. 


ILLUSTRATION BY BRAD HOLLAND. 


Ribald Classic 


“No,” answered the youth, “but my father 


. 

Master Johnny, sitting with his moth- 
er's chambermaid one summer's evening 
on the green, was kissing her and pressing 
her bubbies and the like. He decided to 
inform himself as to whereabouts she tied 
her garters and, by a lucky slip, went far- 
ther than he should have done—at which 
cried she, “Stop, Mr. John, or else I have 
a stone to throw at your head.” 

Said he, “Aye, girl, and if you do, I have 
two stones to throw at your tail.” 

. 

A farmer going "cross his grounds in the 
dusk of the evening spied a young fellow 
and a lass very busy near a five-barred 
gate in one of his fields and called to them 
to ask what they were about. Said the 
young man, “No harm, farmer; we are 
only trying to prop a gate.” 


. 

Two Oxford scholars, meeting a York- 
shire ostler upon the road, fell to bantering 
with him and told him that, by sheer logic, 
they could prove that he was a horse. 

“And 1,” said the ostler, “can prove 
your saddle to be a mule.” 

“A mule?” they said. “How can that 
be?” 

Said the ostler, “Because it is something 
between a horse and an ass.” 


5 

A wild gentleman, coming home drunk- 
en, fell into his wife's bed by mistake, for 
he had intended the maid's. His servant 
soon took advantage by going to bed with 
the maid. When that was discovered in the 
morning, the fellow was obliged to atone 
Üy marrying іне ан. 

“Well!” said he. “Last night, little did 
my master and I know that we were 
robbing our own orchards!” El 


219 


PLAYBOY 


the need for a long-range gunner. 

The Syracuse squad will, as usual, 
have ample talent but will have to spend 
the early season regrouping (last year’s 
three best players have departed). Guard 
Dwayne Washington is the newcomer 
most likely to win a starting role. 

The player pool at Pittsburgh is im- 
proved. The Panthers hope their new kids 
can take some of the pressure off forward 
Clyde Vaughan, who shouldered much 
of the burden last season. Frosh Curtis 
Aiken will provide much-needed outside 


THE EAST 


BIG EAST CONFERENCE 


1. Georgetown 6 Pitt 
2 St. John's 

3 Boston Coege 
5. 


7, Connecticut 
8. Providence 
9. Seton Hall 


. Vilanova 
j. Syracuse 


ATLANTIC TEN 
6. St. Bonaventure 


1. William & Mary 
2. George Mason 
3. Nay 


STARSIN THE EAST: Es zate (Georgetown) 
ш лыы ш 
(Boston College); Pinckney (Vilanova); Viren 
(Syracuse); (Vata, Alen (Pitsburg). Kele 
Frederick (Connecticut ое (Howe 
McCloud (Selon Най); Tee Birey (West Virgin 
ia); Brown, Webster (George Washington); Stans- 
bury (Temple); Ellerbe (Rutgers); Lojewski (St. 
Joseph's); Sheehey (St. Bonaventure); Gibson, Col- 
fins (Penn State); Sellers (Duquesne); Hempel 
(Massachusetts), Upshaw (Rhode Island); Burtt, 
Springer (lona). Gibbs (St. Peter's): ES (la 
Salle); Mcintosh, Franco (Fordham); Runcie (Holy 
Cross}; Cozzens (Army); Cain (Manhattan); George 
Eire), pasar (Princeton); Graves, Ewing 
(iae; i faitkus, Langs (Brown); Ferry (Harvard); 
Racine (Pennsylvania), Bantum (Cornell; Ander- 
son (Dartmouth); Lay (Columbia); Cieplicki (William 
& Mary); Yates (George Mason); Butler, Romaine 
(Navy); Curran (Niagara); Hall (Canisius); Steele 
(James Madison). 


4. Niagara 
5. Canisius 
6. James Madison 


shooting, and transfer Jeff Robinson will 
add muscular elbows under the basket. 
And although Connecticut still lacks a 
true center, the scoring will be more pro- 
lific, because incoming swing man Alvin 
Frederick joins Earl Kelley to give the 
Huskies an exciting one-two punch 
Watch for an exciting, free-for-all sea- 
son in the Atlantic Ten conference. Most 


2) of last season's top teams suffered heavy 


graduation losses, and some of the also- 
rans will be much closer to the top 

The remaining talent at West Virginia, 
especially guard Dale Blaney, is good 
enough to make up for most of the Miners’ 
commencement losses. The Mountaincers 
will again be up-tempo run-and-gunners. 

George Washington coach Gerry Gim- 
elstob has almost completed the rebuilding 
job he began three years ago. He is one of 
the future greats of the coaching fraterni- 
ty. His team will benefit greatly from a 
little maturity (four freshmen and a soph 
were starters last winter) and from the 
arrival of a tio of quality recruits, 

Temple also escaped diploma depreda- 
tions, and this season’s team will be a 
duplicate of last year’s—only older and 
smarter. But only one starter, Brian El- 
lerbe, returns at Rutgers. Most of the oth- 
er team members will be raw rookies. 

Nine returning lettermen should enable 
St. Joseph's to post its sixth straight win- 
ning record. Bob Lojewski and Tony 
Costner give the Hawks one of the best 
front lines in the Atlantic Ten. 

St. Bonaventure is another bunch that 
will be dominated by youngsters. Big 
freshman front-court players hope to alle- 
viate the Bonnies’ rebounding woes. 

New Penn State coach Bruce Parkhill 
faces a long and tedious rebuilding job. 
His priority will be filling a depleted front 
line. Freshman forward Marshall Grier 
looks like part of the solution. 

Duquesne, with no big man on the 
squad, will have to be a running team. By 
midseason, it'll probably be run into the 
ground. Everyone returns at Massachu- 
setts, and new coach Ron Gerlufsen 
should make the Minutemen into winners 
(for a change) this year. 

Forward Marc Upshaw’s healed knee 
could make for a more successful season 
for Rhode Island, but the Rams still face a 
fight to avoid the conference cellar. 

Tona could casily wind up among the 
nation’s top 20 teams. This will be the 
third year that the five lona starters 
have played together. Prime recruits 
Wendell Walters and Chris O’Gorman 
will fill the Gaels’ only obvious need— 
depth up front. 

This year marks a turning point in the 
evolution of the Fordham basketball pro- 
gram. Seven incoming freshmen make up 
the best crop of recruits in school history. 
Four are good enough to win starting jobs 
by the opening game. The entire Manhat- 
tan attack will again be structured around 
long-distance gunner Tim Cain. 

Army took giant steps out of the basket- 
ball pits last year. The still-young Cadets 
will be even more improved this time. 
Randy Cozzens will take the reins as 
squad leader. 

Princeton will retain the Ivy League 
championship despite heavy graduation 
losses. The Tigers’ front line was wiped 


out, but a few nuggets among the ten 
incoming freshmen ought to make up for 
the losses. 

Yale and Brown will be the most 
improved teams in the league. Either 
could take the Ivy laurels if Princeton fal- 
ters. Yale has both the league’s most 
explosive guard (Butch Graves) and its 
tallest center (frosh Ricky Ewing). 

Few teams have ever been so completely 
wiped out by the diploma scourge as 
Columbia. All of last season’s starters and 
two top reserves are gone. It looks like a 
grim rebuilding year uptown. 

Barry Parkhill replaces his brother 
Bruce (now at Penn State) as coach of a 
William & Mary team that’s coming off 
its best season in 30 years. The Indians 
will again be a quality tribe, but the 
schedule is tough. 

Swing man Carlos Yates was the main 
reason for George Mason’s surprising 
success last year. He and his entire sup- 
porting cast return, so this should be an 
even bigger year for the Patriots. 

Navy recorded the most wins in Middie 
history last season. This year’s crew will 
be bigger and stronger inside but notice- 
ably slower. 

The Canisius team is looking forward 
to the arrival of long-range bombardier 
Eyal Yaffe from Israel. Canisius has 
apparently given up on attracting Leba- 
nese fans. 

Four James Madison starters went the 
diploma route, and this year’s team will be 
so young, says coach Lou Campanelli, 
“that seven players on the travel squad 
don’t shave yet.” 


THE MIDWEST 


This will be a chaotic season in the Big 
Ten. Injuries, luck and the vicissitudes of 
officiating may determine the final stand- 
ings. Several of last year’s best teams suf- 
fered heavy personnel losses, and some of 
the weaklings will be vastly improved. 

Ohio State appears to be the most stable 
team in the league. The Buckeyes will rely 
on a smothering defense and an extremely 
quick backcourt. One key to their success 
will be the quality of play of center Alan 
Kortokrax, who has yet to approach his 
potential. 

Center Uwe Blab is the only returnee 
among last season’s six top players at 
Indiana, so this will be a rebuilding year 
in Bloomington for Bobby Knight. A 
strong freshman contingent will provide 
some immediate help. Best of the newcom- 
ers? Steve Alford and Marty Simmons. 

lowa's graduation losses were moder- 
ate, so new coach George Raveling will 
inherit a squad that’s long on experience 
and front-court talent (Greg Stokes and 
Michael Payne) but short on consistent 
point-guard play. Newcomer Johnny Fort 
could solve the problem at the point. 

(continued on page 224) 


want to help annie with her exercise? surrre you do! 


By HARVEY KURTZMAN, WILL ELDER and SARAH DOWNS 


OU KNOW ABOUT aerobics, don’t you? It’s exercise combined with dancing combined with 
skintight leotards with wocka-wocka necklines—tons of fun for everyone. More to the point, 
there are those who believe in doing aerobic exercises and those who believe in watching those 
who believe in doing aerobic exercises. This feature is for the latter group, those who truly 
appreciate great moves. No matter that you follow more sedentary pursuits. You can still have 

a good time participating in Annie’s aerobics class, whether you're cutting through the skies in your Learjet 
or lolling by the quay on the fantail of your yacht at St-Tropez or accelerating through the metropolis with 
your current inamorata on the cross-town subway. Just get rid of the bimbo and hie yourself away to some 
private place you can call your own. Take out this copy of PLAYBOY, if you haven’t already, and turn to page 
00. Slip on your leg warmers. Pop the paper flap. Curl as directed. And stroke, stroke, stroke. If you follow 
our instructions carefully, vou'll have a wonderful experience secing Annie actually move. In fact, you'll see 
ber entire kinky aerobics class move. And if you're very, very lucky, you'll be moved, too. Wocka-wocka! 


1. To see Little 
Annie Fanny 
and her buddies 
do their exercise 
thing, first de- 
tach the panel 
below along the 
perforations, 
leaving the top 
part intact. 


2. Now roll An- 
nie and the gang 
upward, like a 
window shade. 
(Be gentle; this 
is just the 
warm-up.) Take 
a deep breath 
and clean and 
jerk a pencil. 


3. Thrust the 
pencil into your 
makeshift win- 
dow shade. Roll 
it up and down, 
chanting, “Опе, 
two! One, two!” 
Both you and 
Annie are guar- 
anteca fast re- 
sults. Phew! 


» 
A 
7 1 | ( | 


PLAYBOY 


BASKETBALL PREVIEW 


(continued from page 220) 


“Loyola enjoyed unexpected success last year... . Al- 
fredrick Hughes will again be the main man.” 


Michigan State and Michigan will be 
the two most improved teams in the Big 
Ten. State has excellent depth at all posi- 
tions, and the addition of muscular power 
forward Ken Johnson (a transfer from 
Southern Cal) could make the Spartans 
title contenders. 

Michigan’s main problems last winter 
were inexperience and a shallow back- 
court. Those liabilities will be eliminated 
by the return of nearly all of the top Wol- 
verines and the arrival of three blue-chip 
freshman guards. Superscorer Antoine 


THE MIDWEST 


MID-AMERICAN CONFERENCE 
1. Chio University 6. Northem поб 
2 Boxing Gen 7. Central Michigan 


8. Eastern Michigan 
i M 9. Kent State. 
5. Ball State 


10. Western Michigan 
MIDWESTERN CITY CONFERENCE 
i 5. Oral Roberts 


MIDSTATES GREATS: Campbell, Taylor (Ohio 
State), Blab, Morgan (indiana); Stokes (ома); Vin- 
cent, Skiles en State); Tumer, McCormick 


); Blackwel (Wisconsin; Aaron 
(Northwestern); Devereaux (Ohio est) Jen- 
fs Boing ren Epperson (Toledo): Karper 
Shelton ; Din 


тере Жу 
Roberts): Burden (St. Louis); McRoberts (Butler); 
Richmond (Oklahoma City); Corbin, Patterson (De- 


Pad Kempen aro (Noe Dare): Chapman 
(Dayton): D. 


. Johnson (Marquette). 


Joubert could be a hero by the end of his 
rookie season. 

Purdue, last year’s surprise Big Ten 
team, vill have difficulty adjusting to the 
loss of Russell Cross. Quick development 
of seven-footer Joe Gampfer could help 
ease the pain, Steve Reid may be the best 
little (59") player in the country. 

Last year's Minnesota team was also 
built around a since-departed great center, 
Randy Breuer. The Gophers will have to 


224 have a guard-oriented offense this winter 


unless either of two seven-foot recruits, 
Mike Carpenter and Paul VanDenEinde, 
grows up (pardon the expression) quickly. 

Illinois also lost a superstar— Derek 
Harper—and will have to make do with 
some classy young leftovers. Bruce Doug- 
las set school records for assists and steals 
as a freshman and could become one of the 
nation’s best point guards. The bench, 
unfortunately, is almost nonexistent. If a 
couple of starters foul out, the Шілі will 
be in trouble. 

Wisconsin will again be a very young 
team. Accrued experience will help the 
Badgers, but they'll have a tough climb 
out of the cellar. 

Severe graduation losses threaten to 
make this a lean winter for Northwestern. 
Incoming freshman Shawn Watts will 
probably start at point guard. 

Ohio University and Bowling Green 
are cofavorites in the Mid-American Con- 
ference. Ohio will benefit from depth, 
experience and a bumper crop of recruits. 
The front line, led by John Devereaux, 
was the Bobcats’ strength last year, and it 
returns intact. 

Bowling Green’s lack of height should 
be remedied by 6710” transfer Freddie 
Bryant and several lanky freshmen. The 
Falcons’ biggest problem will be finding a 
point guard. Brian Miller is the best bet to 
win the job. 

Toledo’s fortunes will again depend 
largely on the skills of superscorer Ken 
Epperson, but even he can’t do it alone. 
Miami, after suffering through five con- 
secutive losing seasons, should become a 
winner this year. Forward Ron Harper, 
only a sophomore, stands to become the 
best player in school history. 

Ball State, decimated by graduation, 
will be short of talent unless a couple of 
promising transfers make an immediate 
impact. In any case, the Cardinals won’t 
be flying as high this year as they have in 
recent campaigns. 

Northern Illinois can bushwhack a few 
unsuspecting opponents if only a compe- 
tent supporting cast arises around multi- 
skilled forward Tim Dillon. Two quality 
newcomers, Greg Washington and Dan 
Majerle, give Central Michigan a chance 
to end its string of four losing seasons. 

Eastern Michigan and Kent State both 
suffered crippling losses to senioritis, but 
strong rookie contingents at both schools 
will take up much of the slack. Transfers 
Fred Cofield and Percy Cooper will make 
big splashes right away at Eastern Michi- 
gan. Western Michigan, with more fresh- 
men than upperclassmen among the top 


ten players, will be short on experience 
but long on future prospects. 

Xavier and Loyola both enjoyed un- 
expected success last year and will be 
cofavorites for the Midwestern City Con- 
ference title this season. Freshman Leroy 
Greenidge will make a big contribution 
his first year at Xavier. Born-to-score 
Alfredrick Hughes will again be the main 
man at Loyola. 

Evansville, with all significant squad 
men back from last year, will be the 
М.С.С.5 dark horse. The best news for 
the Aces is that forward Richie Johnson's 
injured knee (which dashed their hopes 
last season) is now healed. 

Oral Roberts faces a severe shortage of 
manpower: Several key players quit in 
disgust last year when the Reverend 
Roberts, the school's founder and resident 
visionary, ordered the dismissal of coach 
Ken Hayes in midseason. New coach Dick 
Acres will be hard pressed to find five 
starters. Rumor has it that the reverend 
recently had a vision of a 15-foot basket- 
ball player with the quickness and the 
agility of a point guard. And a very light 
complexion. 

Butler, like Detroit, will spend this sea- 
son breaking in youngsters who must 
replace most of last year’s departed—but 
seldom lamented—regulars. 

Legendary coach Abe Lemons takes 
over at Oklahoma City this year, with a 
massive rebuilding job to do. 

This will be venerable and much-ven- 
erated coach Ray Meyer’s last season at 
DePaul, and his could be a Fourth of July 
exit. The Demons won 21 games during 
last year’s reconstruction efforts and will 
be deeper, more mature and more accurate 
with their jumpers. Freshmen Dallas 
Comegys and Lawrence West can count 
on clocking a lot of playing time. 

Notre Dame boasts a bunch of child 
prodigies. The starting line-up could be 
made up of five sophs, with three fresh- 
men as the top reserves. Anything the 
upper classes add will be a bonus. These 
kids are loaded with raw talent, and 
the Irish could mature into one of the na- 
tion’s top teams by season’s end. 

The Dayton Flyers will again revolve 
around scoring machine Roosevelt Chap- 
man. But the Flyers’ schedule is a downer. 
New Marquette coach Rick Majerus must 
whip a crew of individualists into disci- 
plined team players. He must also find a 
dependable center. The job will probably 
go to freshman Tom Copa, the pride of 
Coon Rapids, Minnesota. So now’s the 
time for some Milwaukee tavern owner to 
open a Copa Cabana. 


THE SOUTH 


Although North Carolina won 28 
games last season, the Tar Heels took it аз 
an off year. Their greed for excellence 
should be satisfied this winter, since nine 
of the top ten "Heels (or should that be 18 
of the top 20?) return—among them 


PLAYBOY 


Playboy All-Americas Michael Jordan 
and Sam Perkins. The only question 
coach Dean Smith must answer in fall 
practice is about a point guard, but he has 
three quality candidates available. With 
all that experience and depth, the Tar 
Heels will again—ho hum—be prime 
contenders for the national champion- 
ship. 

Maryland will also wind up high in the 
national rankings. Everyone, including 
the gifted Adrian Branch, returns from 
last year. 

Wake Forest should be the most im- 
proved team in the Atlantic Coast Confer- 
ence and could be the main spoiler in 


THE SOUTH 


ATLANTIC COAST CONFERENCE 


L North Carolina 5. North Carolina State 
2. Maryland 6. Duke 
7. Clemson 


3. Wake Forest 
4. Virginia 8. Georgia Tech 


‘SOUTHEASTERN CONFERENCE 


1. Kentucky 6. Nississippi 

2. Louisiana State 7. Tennessee 

3. Georgia Emm | 

4. Vanderbilt. ). Mississippi State 
5. Forida 10. Alabama 
METRO CONFERENCE 


. Louisville 
Virginia Tech 
. South Carolina 7. Southern Mississipi 
. Memphis State 8. Cincinnati 
SUN BELT CONFERENCE 
5. Ok Dominion 
6. UNC Charotte 
2. Nbama Birmingham 7. Jacksonvile 
3. South Flonda 8. Western Kentucky 
4. South Alabama 


REBEL-ROUSERS: Jordan, Perkins (North Caroli- 
па); Branch (Maryland); Teachey, Young (Wake 
rest); Wilson, Carlise (Virginia), Charles (North 
Carolina State); Dawkins (Duke); Jones, Hamilton 
(Clemson); Price (Georgia Tech): Bowe, Turpin, 
Master (Kentucky); Mitchell, Taylor (Louisiana 
State): Banks, Fleming (Georgia); Cox, Tumer (Van- 
бег); Willams, McDowell (Frida): Lard (Missis- 
sippi): Brooks (Tennessee); Barkley (Auburn): 
Pierre (Mississippi State); Hurt (Alabama); Gordon, 
Wagrer (Louisville); Curry, Young (Virginia Tech); 
Foster (South Carolina); Lee, Parks (Memphis 
State); Gipson (Florida State); Williams (Tulane); 
Green (Southern Mississippi); McMillan (Cincin- 
пай); Duncan, Jones (Virginia Commonwealth), 
Mitchell, Foster (Alabama-Birmingham); Bradley 
(South Florida); Gerren, Calledge (South Alabama), 
Smith (Old Dominion); Johnsen, Atkinson (UNC 
Charlotte); Smith, Murphy (Jacksonvile); Jones 
(Wester Kentucky). 


league play. Most impressive of the four 
returning starters is point guard Delaney 
Rudd, a sensation last year as a sopho- 
more. The top Deacon newcomer is Todd 
May, a transfer from Kentucky’s over- 
stocked program. 

Virginia without Ralph Sampson? It 
won't be the end of the world for Cavalier 
fans. Most of Sampson’s supporting play- 


296 ers return, and emerging from Ralph’s 


shadow will undoubtedly inspire them. 
They are joined by two frosh phenoms, 
Tom Shechey (who labors under the dis- 
advantage of being compared prematurely 
with Larry Bird) and Olden Polynice, a 
rather large young man who plays better 
than his name but has the Herculean task 
of filling Sampson's shoes. 

Defending N.C.A.A. champ North 
Carolina State suffered awful graduation 
losses, but the Wolfpack’s well hasn’t run 
dry. Best of a prime crop of recruits is 
junior transfer Spud “Kangaroo” Webb, 
an electrifying 576” point guard who made 
49 dunks and was called for goal tending 
several times during his junior college 
career. Honest. 

Duke and Clemson will both be much 
improved, and either could duplicate 
North Carolina State’s come-from-behind 
performance of last year. Duke’s ample 
but as-yet-ungelled cast will be reinforced 
by two rookies, Tommy Amaker (a certain 
starter at point guard) and Martin Ness- 
ley (Duke’s first seven-footer). 

The Clemson Tigers return virtually 
intact and will be reinforced by a colorful 
former redshirt, a superguard named Vin- 
cent Hamilton. 

Georgia Tech is progressing on the long 
road to respectability in the A.C.C. Last 
year’s freshman-dominated team will 
profit from its difficult experience, as well 
as from the arrival of newcomers Bruce 
Dalrymple and Yvon Joseph—a 6/11”, 
250-pound Haitian whose previous ath- 
letic experience is as a soccer goalie. Does 
that remind you of any particular center at 
Houston? 

Kentucky is—as it has been every year 
since Appomattox—the odds-on favorite 
to win the Southeastern Conference cham- 
pionship. If the Wildcats can overcome 
their narcoleptic tendencies in post-season 
play, they will carry home the national 
championship. A treasure-trove of talent, 
headed by Playboy All-America Melvin 
Turpin, returns from last year's squad 
and will be rejoined by fully recovered (at 
last) Playboy All-America Sam Bowie. 
Two golden recruits, Winston Bennett 
and James Blackmon, will make sterling 
contributions their first year. 

Louisiana State coach Dale Brown 
spent most of last season shuffling starting 
line-ups in search of a workable combina- 
tion. It paid off—the Tigers were the hot- 
test club in the league at the end of the 
year. Most of Brown’s line-up returns, 
and his Tigers will be reinforced by point 
guard Derrick Taylor, who has been hit- 
ting the books to regain his eligibil 
Look for LSU to be a top-20 club. 

Georgia and Vanderbilt begin the sea- 
son as the S.E.C. dark horses. Gradua- 
tion pillaged Georgia’s front court, but 
Playboy All-America forward James 
Banks is left to do most of the work under 
the basket. The Bulldogs’ backcourt, led 
by Vern Fleming, is the best in the confer- 


ence. Vandy’s prospects have been sky- 
rocketing since coach C. M. Newton—a 
low-key, high-class type—took over two 
years ago. The youthful Commodores 
can’t match most conference foes in speed 
or size, but their skills have been sharp- 
ened by overseas tournament play during 
the summer. 

Florida will be the most improved club 
in the S.E.C. All the key Gators are com- 
ing back, including a superb front-court 
trio. A good Florida harvest of recruits is 
led by guard Darryl Gresham. There are 
few front-court bench reserves, however, 
so the Gators could slip into foul trouble. 

Ole Miss will be hard pressed to repeat 
last year's heroics—it was the school's 
most successful campaign since 1938. A 
gem-quality contingent of newcomers is in 
camp, though, led by junior college trans- 
fer Braxton Clark and 6/11” freshman 
center Sylvester Kincheon. 

Four senior starters give Tennessee lots 
of experience and leadership. Still, last 
year’s main gun, Dale Ellis, can't easily be 
replaced. Most heralded of the new Vol- 
unteers is guard Fred Jenkins. 

Auburn’s fortunes rest on the quick 
assimilation of a prime crop of recruits 
Last year’s most glaring weakness, guard 
play, will glare less, thanks to freshmen 
Gerald White and Frank Ford. Mississip- 
pi State's three best players of last year 
have departed. ‘The most ballyhooed of a 
large contingent of MSU recruits is junior 
college center Jeff Wulff. 

Alabama lost half of its storehouse of 
talem when Ennis Whatley defected to the 
N.B.A. Allis not lost in Tuscaloosa, how- 
ever, because the Tide has much better 
depth than in recent seasons. Much will 
depend on the burgeoning talents of center 
Mark Farmer. 

With the departure of the McNificent 
McCray brothers, Louisville’s 1983-1984 
fortunes will ride on the play of incumbent 
forward Billy Thompson. The Cardinals, 
with a heavily loaded talent bank featur- 
ing Playboy All-America guard Lancaster 
Gordon, will once more dominate Metro 
Conference play. Rookie center Barry 
Sumpter will be seeing a lot of action his 
first year. 

Virginia Tech stunned even its follow- 
ers last season by winning 23 games with 
three freshmen and two sophs as the start- 
ing line-up. The Hokies will obviously 
benefit from the experience. At the same 
time, they're going to lose their ambush 
advantage. Nobody’s going to take them 
for granted. Hokie fans can take consola- 
tion in the prospect of Dell Curry’s 
becoming one of the best big players in the 
land by the time he graduates. 

Metro Conference newcomer South 
Carolina will be a dark-horse contender 
for the league title. The Gamecocks again 
have an enviably deep talent pool. New 
point guard Michael Foster will clock a 


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PLAYBOY 


lot of minutes in this, his first year. 

Memphis State has depth problems as 
bad as the bends, but some will be cured 
by four prime recruits. The most promis- 
ing is 611” center William Bedford. The 
Tigers will still be essentially a one-man 
team, with the outcome of all games heavi- 
ly dependent on the play of Keith Lee, the 
best player in school history. 

Florida State could be the surprise теат 
in the conference. Superstud transfer cen- 
ter Alton Lee Gipson joins a deep and 
experienced squad that plays a very soft 
nonconference schedule. 

Tulane, Southern Mississippi and Cin- 
cinnati all suffered withering graduation 
losses. John Williams at Tulane and Cur- 
tis Green at Southern Miss will be the 
cornerstones of their schools’ rebuilding 
efforts. First-year coach Tony Yates will 
make his Cincinnati debut with a team 
that is both small and green. 

Virginia Commonwealth has the inside 
track in the Sun Belt Conference race. If 
rookie point guard Nicky Jones learns his 
job quickly and well, he and do-it-all Cal- 
vin Duncan will make up one of the 
South’s best backcourts. 

Alabama-Birmingham, young but rela- 
tively experienced, lurks in the confer- 
ence's sleeper compartment. All those 
promising underclassmen at UAB could 
do a lot of growing up by season's end. 

Jacksonville will be the most improved 
Sun Belt team, but it's going to be a long 
trip out of the cellar. Freshman guard 
Ronnie Murphy is the primary cause for 
optimism among Dolphin watchers. 


THE NEAR WEST 


Its two best Tigers graduated last 
spring, but Missouri will still be favored 
in the Big Eight conference race. Why? 
Because a quality group of returnees will 
be joined by coach Norm Stewart's best- 
ever recruiting class. Transfers Malcolm 
"Thomas and Blake Wortham will be 
soaking up headline ink their first season. 
Two freshmen, Ted Mimlitz and Cecil 
Estes, will also make big contributions to 
the cause. 

Kansas will be nothing less than the 
nation’s most improved team. Whether 
that is enough to get the Jayhawks into the 
top 20 depends on (A) how quickly 71” 
center Greg Dreiling fulfills his enormous 
potential and (B) how much experience 
has helped last year’s freshman-domi- 
nated team. 

lowa State will also win a lot more 
games. Nearly every Cyclone returns, and 
the main minuses of last season—height 
and bench strength—are now pluses, 
thanks to four tall and talented newcom- 
ers. Point guard Jeff Hornacck will again 
be the catalyst for excellent team chemistry. 

Graduation gutted the Nebraska, Okla- 
homa and Oklahoma State teams. АП 
three will have a tough time trying to 
duplicate last season's 20-plus wins. Ne- 
braska and Oklahoma will be largely 
dependent on sophomore superstars. Cen- 
ter Dave Hoppen rewrote the Nebraska 
record book for freshmen last season, and 
he'll be even more forceful this year. 
Playboy All-America forward Wayman 


5... And a train, and a skate board, 
and a football, and. ...” 


Tisdale of Oklahoma was recognized as 
one of the top five front-court players in 
the country—before his freshman season 
was even half over. This year, he will be 
surrounded by a green but talented sup- 
porting cast. If it gels, Oklahoma may be a 
conference power by midwinter. It's got to 
happen sooner or later. 


THE NEAR WEST 

BIG EIGHT 
1. Missouri 
2. Kansas 


3, lowa State 
Nebraska 8. Kansas State 


‘SOUTHWEST CONFERENCE 


1. Houston 6. Tees A&M 
2. Arkansas 7. Texas Christian 
3 Southern Methodist 8. Baylor 

4 Texas Tech 9. Rice 
5. Texas 


MISSOURI VALLEY CONFERENCE 


1. Tulsa 6. Southern Illinois 
2. Wichita State 7. Drake 

3. Minois State 8. Creghton 

9. West Texas State 


5. Oklahoma 
6. Oklahoma State 
7. Colorado 


4. Bradley 

5. Indiana State 
BEST OF THE NEAR WEST: Cavener, Bridges (Mis- 
souri); Henry, Knight, Oreiing (Kansas); Stevens 
(она State); Hoppen (Nebraska); Tisdale (Okiaho- 
ma); Atkinson (Oklahoma State); Humphries (Colo- 
rado); Roder (Kansas State); Olajuwon, Young 
(Houston); Robertson, Kleine (Arkansas); Koncak 
(Southern Methodist; Jennings (Texas Tech); 
Wendlandt (Texas): Gibert (Texas A & M); Nutt 
(Texas Christian), Stern (Baylor): Bennett (Rice); 
Harris, Ross (Tulsa), McDaniel, Sherrod (Wichita 
State): Corley (llincis State); Winters (Bradey); 
Wiliams, Wright (Indiana State); Birch (Southern 
Minos); Mathis (Drake); Benjamin (Creighton); 
Jackson (West Texas State). 


Transfer point guard Winfred Case 
will be an immediate starter at Oklahoma 
State. He will be feeding the ball то one of 
the league’s better front lines. 

Two transfers from Creighton, Alex 
Stivrens and Tony Pruitt, have followed 
coach Tom Apke to Colorado, where 
they'll be starters this year. The Buffaloes 
sorely need a big man in the middle, but 
there's none to be found in this season's 
large rookie contingent. 

Kansas State also needs a big man. The 
Wildcats will again be very young (there 
isn’t a senior on the squad), but the spar- 
kling sophomore class should profit great- 
ly from a year’s experience 

The Southwest Conference looks like a 
dead heat between Houston and Arkan- 
sas, with Playboy All-America center 
Akeem Olajuwon giving the Cougars an 
edge. Houston’s freshman forward Rickie 
Winslow will be the next best thing to 
Clyde Drexler. Two other new players, 
Renaldo Thomas and Stacey Belcher, 
could also play big roles for the Cougars. 

Arkansas coach Eddie Sutton has had 
two recruiting bonanzas in a row. Conse- 
quently, he now has his deepest and 
classiest squad ever. This year's prize 
recruit is guard Kenny Hutchinson, who 
almost has to be a starter by midseason, 
Redshirt freshman guard Mike Ratliff is a 


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PLAYBOY 


real sleeper. He could be the surprise 
player of the league. 

If Houston and Arkansas bomb, South- 
ern Methodist will be waiting in the 
wings. The Mustangs were one of the 
nation’s most improved teams last season. 
"They'll be much better than that this year. 
Four starters and most of the best reserves 
return. Freshman Terry Williams will 
add depth at center. 

A scarcity of intact bodies will be a 
problem for Texas Tech and Texas. Both 
schools suited up only eight players for 
some games last year. The benches still 
won't be crowded. Added experience may 
benefit both teams, but it doesn’t look like 
that will be enough. 

The story’s not much different at Texas 
A & M and Texas Christian. Reconstruc- 
tion is the operative word. The Aggies will 
be handicapped by a lack of inside punch, 
while the Frogs, with no seniors on the 
scene, may suffer mightily from lack of 
leadership. 

For the first time in Baylor’s history, a 
truly big man—6’11” junior college trans- 
fer Paul Kuiper—is in camp. Kuiper 
brings accuracy as well as size. He'll help 
correct the dreadful shooting that plagued 
the Bears all last season. 

Rice’s guard play will be up there with 
the best in the conference, so the big con- 
cern is a grainy inside game. Rapid devel- 
opment of sophomore Terrence Cashaw 
and frosh Steve Brooks could smooth out 
that problem. 

‘The rebuilding job at Tulsa is finished. 
‘The Hurricane is ready to blow back to 
national prominence, as well as to the 
Missouri Valley throne room. Depth, size 
and offensive fire power are all over 
the place. Freshman Carlton McKinney is 
a future All-America. 

Wichita State emerges from the purga- 
tory of N.C.A.A. probation this year, just 
in time to face the impossible task of 
replacing departed superstar Antoine 
Carr. Front-line depth will be a problem 
unless Antoine’s little brother Henry (he’s 
697) comes on strong his freshman year. 

Illinois State will again be a disciplined 
no-stars outfit, but the Redbirds won’t be 
able to sneak up on unsuspecting oppo- 
nents this time. That spells trouble. 

Indiana State and Southern Illinois had 
bonanza recruiting seasons that will make 
them the most improved teams in the Val- 
ley. Center Stanley Wright and guard 
Chuck Taylor will take turns taking bows 
their first season at Indiana State. South- 
ern Illinois benefits from a large con- 
tingent of junior college transfers. The 
transfers are much better athletes than the 
seven players they replace, but if you 
remember last year’s team, you know 
that’s lukewarm praise. 


THE FAR WEST 


We are coming up on Oregon State's 
fifth consecutive 20-win season. Forward 
Charlie Sitton, reputed to be the best play- 


230 er in the Pac 10, will earn his accolades 


and lead the Beavers’ drive to recapture 
the conference title. Four incoming fresh- 
men (the best of them, guard Rick Berry) 
ought to make a big impact. 

Graduation took a heavy toll at UCLA. 
Kenny Fields will be the Bruins’ new 
main man. Point guard Ralph Jackson is 
the only backcourt player left with varsity 
experience, but he will get a lot of help 
from redshirt Montel Hatcher, who looks 
to us like a future superstar. 

California, taking a giant step forward, 
could be the big sleeper on the Left Coast. 


THE FAR WEST 


PACIFIC TEN 
6. Arizona State 

7. Stanford 

y 8. Oregon 

. Washington 9. Southern California 

5. Washingion State 10. Arizona 

WESTERN ATHLETIC CONFERENCE 


PACIFIC COAST ASSOCIATION 


1. Fresno State К New Mexico State 
2. Utah State 7. Pacific 
3. Fullerton State 8 ing Beach State 
4. Irvine 9. San Jose State 
5. Nevada-Las Vegas 10. Santa Barbara 
WEST COAST CONFERENCE. 
1. Santa Clara. 5. Portland 
2. Gonzaga 6. San Diego 
3. Pepperdine 7. Loyola Marymount 
4. St, Mary's 
BIG SKY CONFERENCE 
1. Weber State 5. Montana State 
2. Montana 6. Boise State 
3, Idaho 7. Nevada-Reno 
4. idaho State 8. Northern Arizona 


WESTERN HEROES: Sitton, Green (Oregon State); 


State); Beasley (Arzona ا‎ Jones 


(Wyoming): Strong (Colorado State); Beer (Air 
Force); Anderson, Thompson (Fresno State); 
Grant, Washington (Utah State); Wood, Neal (Ful- 
lerton State); Кы, Tumer (Irvine); Booker 
(Nevada-Las Vegas); Colter (New Mexico State); 
Franklin (Pacific); унше] State); Wit 
liams (San Jose State); (Santa Barbara); 
Keeling, Vanos (Santa Clara); Stockton (Gonzaga); 
Anger (Pepperdine); Pickett Gt Mary's); Black 
(Portland); Whitmarsh (San Diego); McKenzie 
(Loyola Marymount); Worster (Weber State); Selvig 
Sa Epp (игла Sido) Hd, Hanes 
te); Epperly (Montana State); Hi Hayes 
(Boise State); Jones (Nevada-Reno); Hurd (North- 
ern Arizona). 


The Bears have made progress in each of 
coach Dick Kuchen’s six years in Berke- 
ley. This may be the year they turn the 
corner. Two superstud recruits, guard 
Kevin Johnson and forward Jim Beatie, 
could be superstars by midseason. 
Washington may also be a contender їп 
what promises to be a wide-open confer- 
ence race. The Huskies, long in need of a 


true center, have one at last in German 
import Christian Welp. His countryman, 
the mellifluously named Detlef Schrempf, 
will make the improbable switch from 
center to point guard. 

Washington State lost four starters to 
the N.B.A., a talent hemorrhage that will 
bloody the Cougars. Nine of 13 scholar- 
ship players are freshmen or sophs. Seven- 
foot rookie Ken Mathia will have to 
mature quickly for the Cougars to have a 
winning season. But wait till next year! 

Arizona State’s best recruiting class in 
memory should help offset the loss of three 
starters, Six freshmen will clock a lot of 
playing time, but things look less than 
sunny at ASU this year. 

Stanford, as usual, will try to keep up 
in a major conference with only a small 
share of the talent. The Cardinals’ main 
hopes this year lie in the scoring touch of 
Keith Jones and the arrival of three prom- 
ising freshmen. 

Nearly everyone is returning at Ore- 
gon, so the Ducks figure to benefit from a 
litle more maturity (if nothing else). 
Rookie forward Greg Trapp will be a 
welcome addition; he'll never be given 
Mouse as a nickname. 

The Southern California Trojans are 
full of underclassmen. They will again be 
a conservative, unspectacular team featur- 
ing rugged defensive play. Forward Der- 
rick Dowell, the best of the new arrivals, 
will make his presence felt posthaste. 

Arizona’s new coach, Lute Olson, i 
herits virtually nothing. Last year’s piti- 
fully thin squad was nearly wiped out by 
graduation. Give Olson three years, how- 
ever, and he'll produce a winner. 

‘Texas-El Paso will have a lock on the 
Western Athletic Conference title if the 
point-guard position can be restocked. 
Rookie Jeep Jackson will probably motor 
right into the job. Several classy redshirts 
will reinforce four returning starters. 

San Diego State also needs a depend- 
able new point guard to go with a front 
line that’s five deep with starting-caliber 
players. Veteran forward Michael Cage is 
the best cager in school history. 

First-year Brigham Young coach La- 
dell Anderson must find a new starting 
center. His job was made much easier by 
the signing 047727 freshman Carl Pollard, 
but forward Devin Durrant will be the 
Cougars' main man once again. 

Hawaii also has a 7/2" center, Rogue 
Harris, whose impressive 260-pound 
musculature could get him drafted by the 
Dallas Cowboys. "Too Tall Rogue" 
would certainly be an intimidating moni- 
ker. The explosive leaping ability of for- 
ward Greg Hicks, however, will be the 
Rainbows’ box-office attraction. 

Either New Mexico or Wyoming could 
be the surprise team in the W.A.C. Add- 
ed experience and guard Phil Smith's 
healed ankle will be two New Mexico 
assets. Wyoming hopes to benefit from an 
end to last season's soap opera of injuries, 
sickness and personal problems. 


Fresno State has the momentum (12 
wins in its last 13 games), the mature 
leadership (book-end forwards Ron An- 
derson and Bernard Thompson) and the 
new talent (point guard Ron Strain and 
center Scott Barnes) to wrap up the Pacif- 
ic Coast Association championship. 

Utah States hopes for success are 
pinned to supersoph forward Greg Grant 
and transfer point guard Vince Washing- 
ton. Fullerton State’s big weapon will be 
Playboy All-America Leon Wood, a spec- 
tacular point guard who is also a charm- 
ing and intelligent young man. Too bad he 
seems so rare. Wood will team with trans- 
fer guard Darnell Fletcher—the best junior 
college player in California last season. 

A graduation crap-out at Nevada-Las 
Vegas can be only partly salvaged by 
recruits, so this will be a rebuilding year 
in Gaudy Gulch. 

Last year’s six best San Jose Staters are 
gone, and the few survivors must look to a 
good crop of recruits for timely reinforce- 
ment. Transfer guard Eric Williams will 
be the Spartans’ best player the moment 
he puts on his uniform. 

A talented, experienced and hungry 
Santa Clara team should put a lock on the 
West Coast Conference title. The team’s 
catalyst will again be point guard Steve 
Kenilvort. Santa Clara’s schedule is a kill- 
er, but from midseason on, the Broncos 
are going to be well-nigh unstoppable. 

Gonzaga’s great expectations are based 
on the leadership of a premier point 
guard. “John Stockton is as quick as any 
white guy Гуе ever seen,” raves coach Jay 
Hillock. 

Three of last year's Pepperdine starters 
are gone, but two promising redshirts— 
Dwayne Polee and Scott McCollum—will 
fill part of the void. The rest of the void 
will just have to remain one 

St. Mary’s and Portland will both 
improve with added experience (Portland 
also has the tallest team in school history). 
A productive recruiting campaign brought 
some height to Loyola Marymount, par- 
ticularly in the person of transfer center 
Dan Hornbuckle. 

Another transfer, seven-footer Shawn 
Campbell, will help Weber State retain its 
Big Sky championship. Montana, with its 
always excellent defensive play, should 
again be one of the league’s best teams, but 
catching Weber State seems too tall an 
order. Idaho State, Montana State and 
Boise State will all improve due to mini- 
mal graduation losses. 

Only one of Nevada-Reno’s best seven 
players of last season will return, so this 
will be a painful rebuilding year in Gaudy 
Gulch II. There will be nine (count ’em, > 
nine) newcomers on the squad. Soh 

Jay Arno, Northern Arizona's new 
coach, also takes on a tough reconstruction 


“ж. > 
4 THAN > 


project. He at least has supersoph Andy CG ‚ Z 
Hurd as a cornerstone, but 1/5 going to are SOME lonia ) TA 
A 


take a few years for Arnote to fill out the 
foundation. 


a IMPORTED. BY B-F SPIRITS LID., N.Y, М.Ү, CANADIAN WHISKY-A BLEND, 80 PROOF, ®) 1983 
Photographed at Stanley Glacier, Kootenay National Park, Canada 


PLAYBOY 


DAVES IAM 


(continued from page 128) 


“ ‘Ronnie Devlin is the first man 1 ever met who was 
more trouble dead than most men are alive.’ ” 


that she never knew the guy or anything 
like that." ” 

“Beth,” Karen said, “you little bastard. 
Did you go and tell Cecilia Dunn that I 
was seeing Ronnie?" 

“No, I didn't, Karen," Beth said. “I just 
said, all I said was that she didn't need to 
go around pretending she was any differ- 
ent from all the other girls in here that had 
a liule fling with Ronnie Devlin there or 
anything like that. Like she was better 
than the rest of us. And your name just 
happened to come up, when I was men- 
tioning it there.” 

“You little bitch, Beth Shaughnessey,” 
Karen said, “you little gabby bitch. Тей- 
ing things like that to her about me and 
mentioning my name that I was one the 
ones that was involved with Ronnie Dev- 
lin.” 

“Well,” Beth said, “I don't see what 
harm it did. You did see Ronnie for a 
while, and you also went the wake. You 
didn’t go around pretending like you were 
the one that was responsible, the guy had 


that high blood pressure and he didn’t do 
anything about it. Like you were the 
woman that should’ve been his widow 
there or something "cause you went to bed 
with him. That was all I said to her, that 
she didn’t have no reason she should act 
like that, and I just happened to use you 
for an example what I meant.” 

“Pm gonna kill you, Beth,” Karen said. 
“I don’t see why the hell you thought you 
hadda bring my name in this thing. The 
only other one that ever knew about me 
when I was seeing him was you.” 

“Sure,” Beth said, “because I had you 
all the time staying over my house when 
your parents might decide to call and ask 
somebody why they didn't get no answer 
when they tried to call the place that you 
and Ginger had there in Jamaica Р1аї 
Because you didn’t even want to tell 
ger. And I did that. But you went down 
his wake, didn’t you? I saw your name 
right there in the book when I signed 
mine. ‘Karen Jacques,’ it said, and it was 


“Phew! That's a relief. I was worried when you said 
Billy wanted a doll for Christmas.” 


your writing, too. You must've gone.” 

“I did go,” Karen said. 

“Well,” Beth said, “that’s all I said 
to her. That you went to his wake and 
she should do the same. I told her that she 
didn’t have no balls, and the next time she 
decided she was gonna play around with 
someone, she could find somebody else to 
cover up for her, because I wasn’t going to 
do it anymore if she was going to act like 
that.” 

“So you and her aren't speaking now, 1 
guess,” Karen said. 

Beth shrugged. “Well,” she said, “I 
don’t know if we are speaking or we 
aren't. And I don’t really care.” 

“And as a result of what you told her 
about me and Ron,” Karen said, “I sup- 
pose that me and her aren’t speaking, 
either.” 

“I can't say as І know,” Beth said. “I 
didn’t ask her that.” 

Karen gazed at her a moment. Then 
she smiled. “Well, Beth,” she said, “I cer- 
tainly got to hand it to you, һауеп 1?” 

“I don't understand,” Beth said. 

“Of course you do,” Karen said. “You 
come in here now and tell me about all 
this talk you had with Ceil, now that you 
and me both went down to Donovan’s and 
had ourselves one last look at that hand- 
some devil Ronnie lying dead there in that 
gray suit we both liked, and Ceil hasn’t 
got him anymore and so you rubbed it in 
to her, she didn’t even dare to go and see 
him off. Maybe throw a Hail Mary his 
way if it wouldn't do any harm. And then, 
when you get through reminding Сей she 
hasn’t got him anymore, you come in here 
and you give me the business about how I 
didn’t have him anymore even when the 
guy was still alive, because Ceil took him 
away from me. So you got Ceil feeling 
worse than she felt when she found out he 
was dead, and now you got me feeling 
worse than I felt when I heard the same 
thing, and that's not а bad day's work for 
one day, is it, Beth?" е 

"I don't," Beth said, “I can't imagine 
what you mean." 

“No,” Karen said, “not much you can’t. 
You know what I think, Beth? I think 
you're glad he’s dead. Now you know just 
where he is, and you always will know, 
too. Ronnie Devlin won't be going on no 
more outings on the Cape now, will he? 
And this time, when you said goodbye to 
him, you know he won't be coming back 
with me.” 

“You make me sick, Karen,” Beth said. 
“I never thought of that before until you 
mentioned it right now.” 

“Right,” Karen said. “I wish we had 
some booze right now. Ronnie Devlin is 
the first man I ever met who was more 
trouble dead than most men are alive. It 
could be worse, I suppose. Now that he is 
dead, you're the one who's got him back. I 
hope you're both quite happy.” 


САМЕ MUTI NY (continued from page 129) 


“There are pleasant surprises in Puerto Rican 


rums for those willing to explore.” 


French-speaking island.) Puerto Rico is a 
logical point of embarkation: Five out of 
six bottles of rum consumed in the States 
are from that commonwealth. Puerto 
Rico’s whites are among the lightest rums 
on the market; those labeled gold or 
amber have a stronger flavor. Bacardi is 
the leading brand, followed by Ronrico 
and Don Q. There are pleasanı sur- 
prises in Puerto Rican rums for those 
willing to explore. Captain Morgan 
Spiced Rum is made on a gold-rum 
base, lightly sweetened and laced with 
tropical botanicals and flavorings. It’s 
aromatic and a good mixer. Also appeal- 
ing to aficionados are the aged rums. 
They're smoother and richer than the 
ordinary golds—reflecting the extra 
years they've spent in cask. Bacardi Gold 
Reserve, Serralles’ El Dorado and Viz- 
сауа, marketed in a hand-blown decant- 
er, are brands given longer aging time. 
Ron del Barrilito, not available 
Stateside, is favored by locals for its bold 
character and flavor. There are also a 
number of 151-proof Puerto Rican bot- 
tlings that are useful for flam- 


ing dishes and exotic punches. 
Jamaican rums are diametrically oppo- 
site the Puerto Rican ones in every way, 
including appearance. They're dark am- 
ber to coffee-colored—and redolent of 
molasses. In the U.S., Myers’s Original 
Dark has been the most visible Jamaican 
rum. Appleton, Lemon Hart and Dagger 
also produce estimable dark Jamaican 
rums; Lemon Hart is the fullest. Some 
whites are also made, but that's not what 
Jamaican rum is all about. Piment-O- 
Dram, a peppery, spicy liqueur, and 
Myers’s Original Rum Cream are both 
made on a Jamaica-rum base. The former 
is curious; the latter, voluptuous. 
"Together, Haiti and the Dominican 
Republic form Hispaniola, the island set 
smack between Cuba and Puerto Rico. 
Haitian rums are represented by the name 
Barbancourt; note, however, that there are 
lavo Barbancourts. Jane Barbancourt is 
known for rum-based liqueurs, including 
such exotic flavors as mango, hibiscus, 
nougat, mint and spice. Rhum Barban- 
court (not affiliated with Jane) presents a 
light-to-medium, smooth, fruity rum dis- 


tilled from cane juice rather than from 
molasses, as is the usual practice. There 
are four levels of Barbancourt, ranging 
from a very young One Star to the vener- 
able Reserve du Domaine. The Domini- 
can half of Hispaniola also produces rum; 
but at this moment, only one, Brugal Айе- 
jo, is shipped to the States in glass. li's 
about five years old, medium-bodied, with 
а definite rum taste and a hint of perfume 
in the finish. Cuban rums are quite 
muted, with a shade more taste and char- 
acter than the Puerto Rican ones. They’re 
not currently imported to the U.S., but 
some Havana Club trickles in one way or 
another. 

That does it for the Greater Antilles, 
that group of islands strung across the 
northern edge of the Caribbean. The 
Lesser Antilles, so called because they're 
smaller, descend in an are from the Virgin 
Islands to Trinidad, just off the coast of 
Venezuela. Despite their diminutive 
they turn out a list of varied and distin- 
guished distillates—as some judicious is- 
land hopping will demonstrate 

Taking it from the top, American Vir- 
gin Island гит» are quite similar to those 
from Puerto Rico, and Virgin distillers 
candidly admit to emulating the style of 
the successful Puerto Rican rums. In fact, 
Ron Carioca—now a Virgin Island la- 
bel—was for many years produced in 
Puerto Rico. Cruzan and Old St. Croix, 


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PLAYBOY 


the major Virgin brands, ship both white- 
and gold-label rums. Cruzan Clipper, а 
dark rum, is relatively restrained in taste, 
considering it’s 120 proof. 

Hard by, the British Virgin Islands 
produce no rum, but they ship an unusual 
bottling nevertheless—British Navy Pus- 
ser’s Rum. It’s a blend of rums from Guy- 
ana and Trinidad and comes complete 
with legend. The name is a corruption of 
the shipboard word purser, and Pusser’s is 
allegedly made to the same formula as the 
official rum rations issued on British naval 
vessels until that endearing custom was 
deep-sixed. Pusser’s is dark amber, medi- 
um-full, aromatic, quite dry and bottled at 
a valor-inspiring 95.5 proof. 

Despite its geographic distance from it, 
Martinique is a fully vested department of 
France, and its rums are favored there. 
Like the Haitian product, Martinique 
rums are distilled from fresh cane juice. 
They're in the medium-full range and are 
flavorful but not as pungent as Jamaican 
rums. Rhum St. James and Rum Clément 
are both shipped here. Rum Clément is 
available in several versions—the moder- 
ately aged Terres Rouge, a six-year-old 
bottling, the white Rhum Blanc and a cap- 
tivating orange-flavored rum liqueur, 
Clément Créole Shrubb. 

Further along the Antillean arc, Bar- 
bados offers rums in the light-medium 
level. Bajan rums are balanced, with a 
pleasant aroma that hints of spice and 
molasses. Mount Gay has a following in 
the States, especially among boating peo- 
ple. Its Eclipse and Sugar Cane rums 
(both made from molasses) are on the 
lighter side; the Special Reserve has more 
body. All Mount Gay rums spend at least 
three years in cask before bottling. 

The islands of Tobago and Trinidad 
form one country, but the rums are dis- 
tilled in Trinidad. They're right down the 
middle, true, medium-bodied rums, with 
substantial character and flavor but with- 
out heaviness or molasses undertone. Sie- 
gert's Old Oak and Fernandes Vat 19 are 
popular brands. Both companies also 
proffer aged rums on occasion. 

Although it’s on the South American 
mainland, Guyana is very near the Carib- 
bean—and its Demerara rum is too 
distinctive to ignore. Smoky, hearty Dem- 
eraras are made from sugar cane growing 
along the Demerara River, hence the 
name. They are often bottled at high proof 
and were staples aboard whaling ships. 
Lemon Hart Demerara may be obtained 
in both 80 and 151 proof. 

Sometimes the appellation “West In- 
dies” is given to brands that are blends of 
rums from several islands. Rhum Negrita, 
a very dark, heavy product shipped from 
Bordeaux, contains rums from Marti 
nique, Guadeloupe and Réunion. It is 
favored for cooking. Lamb’s Navy Rum, 


bottled in England, is a combination of 
distillates from Barbados, Jamaica and 
Guyana, It’s a good example of the type 
once known as London Dock rum. 

Rum is also produced in Mexico, Ha- 
waii, India, Indonesia, Australia, Africa 
and South America—in almost any tropi- 
cal or subtropical area. With such a range 
of choices, there would seem to be a rum 
for every preference, every occasion and 
every application. 

Following is a roundup of rum drinks 
gleaned from a variety of Caribbean 
islands. They're uncommon—and uncom- 
monly good, as they should be, coming 
from the source. Enjoy them at your lei- 
sure but offer a toast to Christopher 
Columbus, who first brought sugar-cane 
cuttings to the Indies—before splicing the 
main brace. 


TROPICAL ITCH 


% oz. white Puerto Rican rum 

% oz. dark Puerto Rican rum 

% oz. vodka 

% oz. Grand Marnier 

% oz. lime juice 

2 ozs. mango nectar, chilled 

Dash Angostura bitters 

Lime slice, orange slice, cherry or fresh 

mint sprig for garnish 

Stir all ingredients but garnish in mix- 
ing glass with cracked ice. Fill highball 
glass one third full with crushed ice. 
Strain chilled drink into glass. Garnish 
with fruit. Serve with straws—and, tradi- 
tionally, with a back-scratcher. 


SPICED RUM FUNCH 


(About 24 portions) 


1 boule (750 ml.) Captain Morgan 
Spiced Rum 

3 cups orange juice 

1% cups lemon juice 

¥ cup pineapple juice 

% cup superfine sugar (or to taste) 

1% quarts ginger ale, chilled 

Orange and lemon slices, for garnish 

Combine spiced rum, juices and sugar; 
stir well to dissolve sugar. Chill. ‘To serve, 
pour over block of ice in large punch bowl 
and add ginger ale. Stir quickly. Float 
orange and lemon slices on top. 


MARTINIQUE SHRUBB 
(For two) 


4 ozs. Clément Créole Shrubb rum 
liqueur 

1 oz. fresh lime juice 

1 teaspoon sugar 

2 cups finely cracked ice 

Combine all ingredients in chilled 
blender container. Blend at medium speed 
for about 20 seconds. Divide between two 
chilled wineglasses. 


MARINER'S RUM 


2 ozs. Barbados rum 

1%-in. strip fresh orange peel 

Pour rum over ice in old fashioned 
glass. Light a wooden kitchen match and 


hold in one hand. With other hand, sharp- 
ly squeeze peel over glass and touch it 
with flame as oils are released. Immedi- 
ately drop peel into glass; stir. 


BLUE MOUNTAIN 


Based on a drink featured at the Jamai- 
ca Hilton, Ocho Rios. 

1 oz. Jamaica gold rum 

1 oz. Tia Maria liqueur 

2 ozs. orange juice 

1 oz. pineapple juice 

% oz. lime juice 

1 teaspoon superfine sugar 

Pineapple spear or watermelon cube 

and cherry on a pick, for garnish 

Shake rum, liqueur, juices and sugar 
together until well combined. Pour over 
ice in highball glass and garnish with 
fruit. 


DOCTOR BIRD 


Local name for Jamaica's national bird, 
the streamertail hummingbird. 

1% ozs. Jamaica whitc rum 

1 teaspoon honey 

1 teaspoon cream 

4 teaspoon grenadine 

Shake all ingredients with ice. Strain 
into chilled saucer champagne glass. 
Fresh-flower garnish is optional. 


RUM JUMBIE 


Cool idea from the Caribbean Beach 
Hotel, St. Thomas, Virgin Islands. 

1% ozs. Virgin Islands rum 

% oz. grenadine 

% oz. lime juice 

2 ozs. orange juice 

2 ozs. pineapple juice 
le wheel, for garnish 
Il collins glass with ice cubes. Pour in 
all ingredients but garnish. Stir well to 
chill. Hang lime wheel on rim of glass. 


THE PUSSER CANNONBALL 


2 ozs. Pusser’s Rum 

Ginger beer, chilled 

Lime wedge 

Pour rum over ice in highball glass or 
mug. Add ginger beer to taste. Squeeze 
lime wedge into glass. Drop in rind. Sur 
quickly. 


PAPA DOBLE, 


Favored by Ernest Hemingway. A 
single drink for Papa, it can serve two 
normal drinkers gencrously. 

4 ozs. light rum 

Juice of % lime 

1% ozs. fresh grapefruit juice 

Shake all ingredients with ice until well 
chilled. Pour unstrained into one double 
or two single old fashioned glasses. 

Rum is amiable, lending itself gracious- 
ly to innovation and experimentation. Get 
together with another spirit of suitably 
amiable disposition—add some rum—and 
get on with the experiments. 


FRIENDS. ..1 REALLY FEEL GATHERINGS. „ALL THOSE MET My MOTHER! 


YOU GUYS WITH NEW GIRL- ALL THOSE FAMILY ә 1 MY HAND HAS ALREADY \ 
You АТ AWKWARD INTRODUCTIONS... O 
SI Р 


CRUISER: 


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Boy, I'M V 
EXHAUSTED! 
pz “once A YEAR. B 
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THE WHOLE FAMILY 15 50 
ED YOU COULD COME. 


му 

NAME 15 
\ RICHARD, 
y кө „ MOM. 


GNE YOUR UNCLE RICK А BIG HUG 
AND KISS, JENNY. POOR UNCLE 

RICK DOESNT МАМЕ ANY CHILDREN.. 
THAT WE KNOW OF, Д 


BEATLES 
SPLIT UP! YOU, 


YOU WAVING TURKEY, KNOCK IT OFF, = 
SON? I THOUGHT DAD T HINENT 510. LNIN IN | 
You DIDN'T EAT MEAT VEGE | 


SIN WITH THAT 
BEEN A 2 
por CARNNORES TARIAN FOR | Mach le 


YOUR CLOTHES ARE GETTING WRINKLED, GREAT ТО BE BACK IN Т NOTICED 
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DROP By MY HICKSVILLE, HUA, KIDZ UNCLE RO 
STORE AND TLL FIX YOU UP WITH NOTHING EVER 
COUPLE. OF SURE SUITS, 


POLYESTER LE! 


PLAYBOY 


Notes of a Fallen Jan (continued from page 124) 


“Television so relentlessly pushed the new at us that 
it would, in the process, obliterate the past.” 


of event, a disharmony that lcads incvita- 
bly to disappointment. 

But the problem of the Super Bowl 
was, even more, that it reflected the com- 
ing of the great new American Sports 
Glut, Now there would be more games, 
more titles, more brilliant moments, but 
each brilliant moment meant less and less. 
For it was soon followed by other mo- 
ments, equally brilliant and equally 
memorable, that in the diminishing space 
allotted for memory, became less mean- 
ingful than ever. In sports, as in politics, 
television so relentlessly pushed the new at 
us that it would, in the process, obliterate 
the past. Thus did each event, no matter 
how heroic, recede ever more quickly. Yes, 
there were more sports now and more 


teams and longer seasons that overlapped. 
‘The end impression upon the brain of the 
fan was finally not unlike that of a glut- 
tonous movie fan who has chosen to see 
two or three great films on a given after- 
noon and cannot later separate one from 
the other. There was so much sport now 
that nothing could be remembered or 
cherished; there was more but there was 
less. 
. 

If DiMaggio was a hero of one genera- 
tion—his fame cumulative, the memory 
clearly focused of his deeds, a star only as 
he produced—then Joe Namath was the 
prototype of the new media athlete, for he 
became a star simply by signing. Sonny 
Werblin—he of show business—signed 


“Let’s get something straight. I don’t 
exploit elves and I never have. In fact, I’m the only 
person who even employs them!” 


Namath instead of other seemingly equal- 
ly skilled quarterbacks because, watching 
him walk into the room, Werblin judged 
him to have star quality. The very nature 
of his salary, $450,000 a year—the first 
big salary in the then-escalating football 
wars (wars that were not just between two 
football leagues but, more significant, be- 
tween two television networks) —guaran- 
teed that, given even a minimum level of 
competence on the field, he would be a 
celebrity. For the hype, as many another 
owner was to find later, was in the 
salary. 

Very quickly, starting with his signing, 
Namath became not so much a great play- 
er as a great media event. He was an 
instant celebrity. He was said to be excit- 
ing; indeed, like John F. Kennedy, he was 
said to have charisma—the charming, 
boyish athlete of great prowess, Unitas 
crossed with Huck Finn. 1 watched care- 
fully in those years, and his charm always 
eluded me; I remember him in various 
interviews as being basically suspicious 
the eyes heavy-lidded, at once shrewd and 
surly, as if wary of all the fuss going on 
around him yet aware that there might in 
the long run be some benefit in all of this. 
Not surprisingly, his persona for a long 
time obscured his football ability. 

‘The explosion of money and free agents 
that began with the signing of Namath 
changed sport in many ways. It did not 
necessarily make it worse, but it made it 
different. It changed, in many instances, 
the way the athletes perceived what they 
did and, equally important, it changed the 
way they were perceived by the fans. I do 
not doubt that there are thousands of 
young boys and girls out there today who 
love and admire Dave Winfield as purely 
as I loved and admired DiMaggio; but I 
also suspect that there are even greater 
numbers of young people who, instead of 
thinking that modern athletes do some- 
thing wonderful, admire them because 
they've got a good deal. 1 do not know that 
this is even a bad thing; it is perhaps a 
more realistic assessment of the athlete on 
the part of the fan (and certainly on the 
part of the athlete himself, who in the old 
days was quite likely to be suddenly disil- 
lusioned upon the end of so brief a career), 
but it marks an end of a special kind of 
innocence for the fan at a remarkably pre- 
cocious age. It leaves an altered relation- 
ship and it changes forever the sense of 
loyalty. When I was 12 years old, the 
Yankees traded Joe Gordon to the Cleve- 
land Indians for Allie Reynolds. 1 was 
shocked and wounded: Gordon was my 
second baseman and I had rooted for him; 
Reynolds was the enemy. I did not lightly 
accept him; it took a great deal of effort on 
the part of Mel Allen, talking in warm 
and friendly terms about the Big Chief 
and what a good man and a tough compet- 
itor he was, before I reluctantly bid fare- 
well to Gordon and accepted the Chief. 1 
do not know what it is like for a young boy 


ca 


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fo] 
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| 52 
Where the woodland farmer flourished, the miller was Le 
not far behind. Independent and enterprising, he signalled the coming [md 
of trade and prosperity. And looking to the future, he relaxed at Y 
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Old Grand-Dad still makes that Bourbon much as we ET 
did 100 years ago. It's the spirit of America. faba] 
For a 19" x 26” print of Mabry Mill, send a check | © B. S 
or money order for $4.95 to Spirit of America offer, PO. Box 183V, | 5-2 f 
Carle Place, N.Y. 11514. pur 


>. 


OldGrandDad ===? 


Merck tig Bourton Whiskey B6 Prol. Di rand Dad Oistilery Co, Franko. KY ©1083 Rational Ditters 


PLAYBOY 


240 


to follow baseball today, but in some way, 
conscious or unconscious, there must be a 
sense of the dominant role of money and 
an awareness that any player, no matter 
how wonderful his deeds, might pack his 
suitcase at the end of the season and 
depart for greener terrain. 

Oddly enough—given Namath’s role іп 
all this—I rooted for his Jets when they 
met Baltimore in Super Bowl III. Not 
because of Namath but because his team 
and, even more, his league, were under- 
dogs; and in my new incarnation as a fan, 
1 tilted toward underdogs. I also favored 
older athletes when they were matched 
against those who were younger (the 
old Connors against the young McEnroe) 
Age was the nemesis of the athlete; so, too, 
it was the nemesis of the fan. 1 rooted, as 
well, against certain cities: Dallas, for a 
time, because a President had been shot 
there (then, after those wounds had 
healed, because the Cowboys had decid- 
ed to call themselves America's Team), 
and Los Angeles because, like New York 
City, it was a citadel of hype and, even 
worse, of Hollywood hype—athletes 
mixed with stars, I rooted, moreover, for 
athletes who comported themselves with a 
personal dignity comparable to their ath- 

ic skill: Julius Erving, given his great 
dual talents, could have exploited his 
ability selfishly. Instead, he systematically 
sacrificed rare personel artistry for the 
betterment of his team and still managed 
to do things on the court that no mortal 
had ever done before. 

To my surprise, I came, in the midst of 
adjusting my preferences, to a reluctant 
respect for Steve Garvey. In the begi 
ning, he had been the epitome of the ath- 
lete I did not like, the Los Angeles athlete 
who was not just an all-American boy 
himself but even had an all-American 
wife. (Not since Tom Seaver and his wife 
had offered themselves in an advertising- 
trade journal to do joint commercials some 
ten years earlier had I been so suspicious.) 
He had a good bat, a good glove, good 
looks and would eventually run for the 
Senate. 1 thought he was packaged 
goods— perhaps the most damning charge 
of all. But that began to change in the 
1977 series. After all the hype about 
Dodger Blue that year and what a fine 
team of morally superior young men these 
were, they came apart at Yankee Stadium 
and only Garvey behaved with grace. In 
defeat, the others criticized the ball park, 
the city or the fans, or they ducked the 
press altogether. Only Garvey remained 
accessible. When Reggie Jackson hit his 
third home run, I saw, to my amazement, 
Garvey quietly clapping into his glove. It 
was an epiphany: I had thought he was a 
young man who was entirely about him- 
self, but this showed he had a sense of 
sport and of the occasion that need not be 
restricted by his ego. 1 watched that— 
more moved by Garvey, oddly enough, 
than by Jackson—and I thought, Well, 
Garvey, maybe you're OK after all. And 


then 1 looked more carefully 
The year І converted completely was 
1981. That was the year Garvey’s wife 
criticized him for being too plastic (per- 
haps the first time in history that a local 
talk-show person had accused someone 
else of being plastic). Worse, she soon ran 
off with Marvin Hamlisch. Shortly after 
that, Garvey was playing in the world 
series again. During the series, he ducked 
no question, though he had to know that 
every time he went to bat, some television 
director in the booth was saying, “There's 
Garvey—cut tight to his face. Tighter 
than that!” And, of course, while they did 
not add “supers” to the image, it was, 
in fact, on most people’s mind: 
GARVEY 20 2598.4... 29 HRS... WIFE R. 
WITH M. HAMLISCH.... It must have been a 
terrible time, yet he comported himself 
again with exceptional dignity. 1 rooted 
for Garvey and was pleased when he 
signed last spring with San Diego, because 
now I could root for him and not for the 


Dodgers. 


P 

But the final story I want to tell here is 
about something harder than picking a 
winning team or rooting for a sympathetic 
athlete against an unsympathetic one; it is 
about how I liberated myself from my past 
and how I kicked the habit. For now, I am 
pleased to report, Lam no longer a Yankee 
fan. 

It was not easy. The past is powerful, 
and when it is cloaked in myth—the myth 
of my father, the myth of a great athlete 
like DiMaggio—the past is more power- 
ful still. It took nothing less than the worst 
‘owner in sports to do the trick. It is pain- 
ful even to write about George Steinbren- 
ner, for, in a sense, the greatest aim of his 
tenure as head of the Yankees has been 
self-serving publicity 

Steinbrenner is the embodiment of the 
new modern owner at his worst, the rich 
man drawn to sport as a public exercise of 
ego, the chance to bask in the reflected 
glory of others’ deeds. He brings the word 
owner to its essential definition, for he is 
not just president, chairman of the board 
and chief executive officer but owner— 
and, no matter how high their price, these 
are not ships; these are human beings. 

No wonder he bought into the Yankees; 
he wanted, after all, to be famous when 
before he was only rich (in a society 
where neither has anything to do with 
true accomplishment—unless, of course, 
the making of vast sums of money is соп- 
sidered an art form). The team he ac- 
quired consists of genuinely accomplished 
men. He bought them, and now he praises 
them, chides them, feuds with them, dis- 
cusses before assembled press groups their 
levels of personal courage. He does this all 
the time. It is far more exciting than the 
life of a shipbuilder, which is boring. In 
the end, it becomes more his team than 
that of the fan. There is no time for the 
accrued loyalty to individual players that 


is necessary for a real relationship be- 
tween fan and team. The players come 
and go too quickly. In the end, his moral- 
ity triumphs, because the new [ans will 
now be loyal only if the team wins; even 
then, it is a new, colder kind of loyalty, as 
abiding and deep-rooted as the modern 
culture itself. But for Steinbrenner, it is a 
victory, because his personality dominates; 
the fan cannot think of the team without 
thinking of him. One thought of the Yan- 
kees of old and thought of DiMaggio hit- 
ting with men on base and Whitey Ford 
cuffing a ball. Now one thinks of them and 
thinks, inevitably, of George. Perhaps 
there will be a plaque for him in center 
field alongside those of the other greats, 
for he gives the fans victory after victory, 
as promised. But there is a price: He has 
taken the team away from them. 

The last time I rooted for the Yankees 
wasin 1978. That was partly a Steinbren- 
ner team but even more a Gabe Paul cre- 
ation. Paul had put together with 
shrewd trades, and Steinbrenner had add- 
ed just enough free agents to make it a fine 
club, tough and gritty. It had come from 
far behind to force the Red Sox into a 
special play-off that turned out to be a 
truly magnificent baseball game. That 
team went on to crush the Royals, then 
beat the Dodgers. Those Yankees were 
still a wonderful baseball team; they 
seemed to have their own special, almost 
cynical character. 

The end, for me, came in 1980. The 
Royals were going to win it that year; they 
were a good baseball club and they had 
lost too often by too little in the past. But 
in spite of it all, there was Steinbrenner 
screaming at Willie Randolph and at a 
third-base coach, shouting expletives at 
the field. The camera, which had done so 
much to inflate him, now stripped him 
naked. He was sitting there at the end, 
petulant, graceless, learning what all the 
rest of us have always known: that 
there are some things that moncy can't 
buy. The camera showed the Yankees" 
owner as a sad, foolish man— M«Enroe's 
manners without McEnroe’s talent. 

I, once a lover of the Yankees, true son 
of the stadium, watched my television set 
that day with absolute pleasure. I was 
astonished that Steinbrenner could have 
the best seat in the house and see so little, 
that he could be so close to the game and so 
far from understanding it. 1 thought how 
much he could learn from Bob Gibson 
about what baseball is really about —the 
best playing the best, the cutcome, thus, 
always uncertain. The sport was too fine 
for him; it could not be bought, as if at 
auction, before the season began. It would 
still have to be played on the field. I root- 
ed for the Royals that day, and I have 
rooted for other teams since. I have shed 
the past. Free at last, Martin Luther King 
said, free at last. Thank God Almighty, 
I'm free at last. 

Ba 


b __· 
PLAYBOY GU 


LIKMYOU'VE 


SEEN (OB HEA 


CMLIZATION HAS JUST ADVANCED 


In 1937, Fisher introduced high fidelity. 

And changed the world. 

And now, Fisher has taken another 
step into the future by utilizing the most 
advanced technology the world has 
ever known—the compact digital disc— 
and integrating this revolutionary concept 
into Fisher's perfectly matched audio/ 
video component system 4950. 

The ultimate experience in sight and 
sound. 


COMPACT DIGITAL DISC PLAYER. 


Unlike conventional methods, the disc 
player uses a laser beam to scan below 
the surface of an encased computer 
encoded disc. As a result, dust, scratches, 
and other surface noises have become 
sounds of the past. 

What remains is sound virtually indis- 
tinguishable from a live performance. 

Add to that sophisticated Fisher fea- 
tures like pre-programmed automatic 
playback, sample scanning and auto 
Search, and you have a disc player that's 
just short of incredible. 


100 WATT 
INTEGRATED STEREO AMPLIFIER. 


Todeliver the full dynamic range of digital 
disc, the Fisher Studio Standard Amplifier 
delivers 100 watts of power per channel. 
Optimum reproduction is further 
assured by a24-band graphic equalizer 
and Fisher's famous 15", 3-way speakers. 
In addition, the system includes a full- 
55 stereo cassette deck with Dolby* 


A quartz digital AM/FM tuner. 
* Dolby is the registered trademark of Dolby Labs. 


And, to make the most of conventional 
recordings, a programmable, direct-drive 
turntable. 


SYNCRO RECORD/AUTO FUNCTION. 


For the ultimate in recording convenience, 
the Fisher 4950 has yet another highly 
civilized feature—synchronous recording. 

Since the cassette deck is fully synchro- 
nized with the digital disk player and turn- 
table, it automatically starts recording your 
first selection when the music source 
starts and automatically shuts off after the 
selection ends. It’s as simple as that. 

And if you think all this sounds incredi- 
ble, you haven't seen anything yet. 


THE VHS 
STEREO CASSETTE RECORDER. 


Withremote control, stereo, and Dolby, plus 
a14-day, 9-program timer, the front-loading 
Fisher VHS has everything imaginable. 

That includes auto program selection 
and a sophisticated 4-head system for 
exceptional picture clarity and quality. 

For an even more exceptional picture, 
there's the optional Fisher 25” high reso- 
lution TV monitor and the ТЕМ Video 
Signal Controller. 

All together, the Fisher system 4950 is 
designed for a very special group. 

Namely, those who can appreciate the 
difference between the ordinary. 

And the extraordinary. 


7 FISHER 


THE ULTIMATE EXPERIENCE. 


Youre Entering 
Whistler Country. 


We challenged Escort and won. 


Motor Trend, Aug.'83 “Тһе Whistler Spectrum 
resides at the top of the list. A world class 
radar detector.” 

Autoweek, Nov. '89 “The Spectrum is the 
most sensitive radar detector Autoweek ha: 
ever seen,” 

BMW Roundel, July 83 "Fon 
Escort has a true rival, It is ij 
a winner." 


Last yeärwe challenged the editors of the major car magazines to prove that the Whistler *Spectrúm wasn't 
the best radar detector on the road. Е std “7” 

The results are in. Spectrum placed a triumphiant first with па, Autoweek, and BMW Roundel. And 
avery close second with Car and Driver (still scoring #1 i most critical out of 5 categoriés*), 

We're not surprised. After all З out of 4 truckers h. n choosing Whistler since the first Whistler was built. 

And now the Whistler Spectrum beats everyone with Ww. 
“Pollution Solution™; A unique circuit that not only "stomps out" 
interference from other units, butit enhancessensitivity.and eliminates 
falsing as it does so. 

Go with the name America's truckers trust. And America's leading 
‘Car magazine editors named #1. Start driving in Whistler Country, 


PS If yatr already own a’ we ıu can, by 
writing Controlonics Corp, 5 
"X band only —e 


PLAYBOY GUIDE 


ALL I WANT FOR 
CHRISTMAS.... 


we play electronic santa and stuff the 


stockings of the stars 


TED DANSON 


“What I could really use,” says the star 
of NBC's hit comedy Cheers, “is one of 
those compact, portable stereo systems. 1 
like to have music around me almost all 
the time—in my dressing room during the 
weeks that we’re taping the show, when 
Tm on location with a crew or, more 
peacefully, on vacation with my family. 
Because I move around a great deal, I 
really need a lot out of a stereo system. I 
want it to have good sound, but I want it 
to be compact. I just can’t lug a huge one 
around, but I want something better than 
those plastic models that the kids use on 
the beach. 

“There are a number of companies that 
make good units. I think JVC is among 
the best. It seems to be more geared to 
tapes than to records. And that’s what I 
prefer. Tapes are so much easier to pack 

“What do I usually listen to? That 
changes according to my mood and locale 
When I was filming a Western, I listened 
only to country-and-western songs. When 
Idid Body Heat, I listened to Fred Astaire 
songs. Filming Cheers seems to put me in 
much more of an up-tempo mood. In my 
dressing room now, I'd definitely listen to 
rock—something energizing, something to 
get the juices going. 

“When I have time off, ГЇ listen to 
more eclectic things—everything from Bil- 
ly Joel to the cast album from Cats. 1 do 
have a tendency to get hooked on one 
album and play it until the tape wears out, 
then I'll move on to something totally dif- 
ferent. It keeps it interesting. 

“I play a lot of the music for my three- 
and-a-half-year-old daughter. You should 
see her. Come to think of it, she’s the rea- 
son I treated myself to another electronic 
present. I bought an RCA video camera to 
hook up with my VCR. I spend so much 
time on the other side of the camera, I 
decided it was time for me to start taking 
movies of our daughter. She’s just so great, 
and video is the best way I can think of to 
try to keep up with her.” 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY BRUCE AYRES 


PLAYBOY GUIDE 


KATE JACKSON 


“If 1 had to pick just one thing,” says 
the angelic TV-and-movie star, “Pd get a 
home computer. When I was growing up, 


п 
ШІШІШІ 


246 


computers were the thing of the future, 
and now that the future is here, I don’t 
want to feel like I’m still living in the 
Stone Age. But, I must admit, I’m also a 
liule afraid of them. I've been reading 
computer magazines and I still understand 
only vaguely what floppy disks are. There 
are so many computers on the market that 
it's hard to choose. But the one Pd get is 
the IBM. It has the features I want now 
that Pm getting into scriptwriting—easy 
word processing, hookup to data systems, 
expandability—and, basically, I trust the 
company. Also, I like its optional services. 
Someone from IBM will teach you how to 
operate it and then stay with you. If you 
have trouble, you can call him and he'll 
answer any questions. If your computer 
breaks down, they'll even make house 
calls. When you're new to computerese, 
that’s a comforting thought. 

“There are a couple of other items on 
my Christmas list. I'd really like a new 
three-quarter-inch video-tape player. I get 
lots of cassettes from the networks and the 
studios, and the machine I have now is 
getting very old. I hear that the Sony 
BVU-820 is a really good one. 


“The other thing I'd like to get is a car 
phone. It’s a really useful thing to have, 
just for the peace of mind. If you get a flat 
tire, for instance, you don’t have to worry 
about being stranded. You can just call the 
garage and tell them where you are. 

“Some of those phones are real fun, too. 
When I was doing Charlie's Angels, loca- 
tions were always an hour or so away 
from home. I had a phone put in my trail- 
er so 1 could chat with my friends back 
home, even while the trailer was being 
driven around. 

“Now Pd get a model like the Motorola 
Pulsar. It can do just about everything: 
scan a couple of dozen channels until you 
get a clear one, hook up with the operator, 
dial or redial. And that’s before you’ve 
even picked it up off the receiver.” 


TOTO 


“We've been playing around a lot lately 
with video,” says Jeff Porcaro (at one 
o'clock below), drummer of the Grammy 
Award-winning group. “In fact, I copro- 
duced and codirected the video version of 
our last record. What I'd like to get for 
Christmas is some new, computerized 


video-editing and -mixing equipment. 
Panasonic makes some really nice editing 
controllers. And, while we're making 
wishes, JVC makes a really good special- 
effects generator. Play around with that 
baby for a while and you'll be ready to 
produce for the networks or for the music- 
video programs. I think some of the best 
production being done right now shows up 
on MTV-type programing 

“Another item that the group and I 
have been eying is a new video camera. I 
have a pretty fancy JVC now, and it's 
fine, but Pd like to get one that shoots 
underwater. You never know. One of us 
could be the next Lloyd Bridges 

“And, as long as Pm asking, I'd like one 
of the new compact-disc players. I was just 
in London with Paul McCartney and he 
had one. The reproduction was just fan- 
tastic. They’re great, not just for playing 
but for recording. You can get a good 60 
minutes on the single side of a compact 
disc, which is tremendous for an artist. It's 
a real drag to have to limit an album to 18 
minutes a side because of the sound-quali- 
ty restrictions of the vinyl. With CDs, the 
sound quality is terrific.”(Toto’s equip- 
ment courtesy of Pacific Video Product, 
Inc., Anaheim, California.) 


Sony creates seventh row, се 


INTRO! NG THE SONY COMP; turntable could ever deliver st you hear the Sony Ci 
DISC PLAYER. ТІ ghest of fidelity remains faith- pact Disc Player soon. Ест а sound you 
You are looking at an invential ful too. Because the digital discs are can't from the audio innove 
extraordinary that High Fidelity maga- е у eam, olute you uredly can. 


fundamen- no phy: J dis 
y in more tortion from such annoy © ONY. 


en р п 5618 5 ТНЕ ОМЕ АМР ОМҮ 
А piece of audio equipment that 
€ you to hear something you ve 
never h foi е tr d lets you 
ny is ple 5 a c from your 


THEEND oF HI-INF IDELITY 
The СОР-1@ u: 
act di а far: more 
‘mation than conventional 


ult: fidelity :DP-l0l is ج‎ 
onventional акен ты nt you may own 3 


tn | Sony Drive. Park Rid 


is means to you 1s more while doubling as a potent stereo tuner, 
lever in putting together a $1500. Next, а remote-controlled, C. 
inment system. At this equipped Pioneer LD-1100 LaserDisc video 
first decision may well be player, $800. Atop the Pioneer, a Surround 
jot to invest in a digital Sound decoder that can pull the necessary 
player. Actually, the real — rear-channel information from your stereo 
"t be whether but when. mix and bring movie-theater sound to your 
The triumph of the living room, from Fosgate Research, $575. 
compact-disc system The decoder is well matched with the Alli- 
over standard LPs and son:Three loud-speakers for rear-channel 
turntables is inevita- sound, $790 per pair. Completing the 
ble—not because the Surround Sound are Allison:Nine front- 
silvery little discs and channel speakers, $990 per pair. To top off 
their laser-equipped this supersystem, we've rolled out the 
computer players are Kloss Model Two portable projection televi- 
sion with T-1 video tuner, $2820. Any of 
the video sources can be patched into it. 


\ 


4 [рик ү! 


PLAYBOY GUIDE COVER AND 
Be Шы столну meann zu 


PLAYBOY GUIDE 


light-years more advanced than their 
analog predecessors (which they are) 
but because the system takes the confu- 
sion and the frustration out of assem- 
bling a high-quality audio setup. 

Since the performance of a compact- 
disc player is largely predetermined by 
standards established by Philips, play- 
ers from all manufacturers should per- 
form almost identically. And that 
performance Jevel makes LPs look sad, 
indeed. 

CD players have no styluses, nothing 
to wear out the grooves. Discs are “read” 
by a low-power laser beam in the play- 
er. And they never wear out. The laser, 
by ignoring such surface imperfections 
аз dust, fingerprints and minor 
scratches, makes playback noise-free. 

CD-playback quality in general is as 
close to perfect as any audiophile 
has ever imagined. Frequency response 
is ruler flat, and dynamic range— 
the ability to capture both the softest 
and the loudest sounds of a live 
performance—is superb. Also, one side 


of the four-and-three-quarter-inch disc 
can hold up to 60 minutes of stereo: 
sound without compromising a lick. 

Eventually, CD players will be 
priced by their complement of spe- 
cial features. Paying less for a player 
will give you fewer frills but the same 
level of performance. Right now, most 
machines will set you back somewhere 
from $600 to $1100. By this time 
next year, industry analysts predict, 
stripped-down playerswillbé going for 
about half that: 

And if you're willing to invest the 
money in hardware, be assured that 
there will be lots of software to play on 
it. Almost every American record label, 
as well as the PolyGram conglomerate 
of European labels, is busy issuing CDs. 
There are more than 500 titles avail- 
able in the U.S. right now (the likes of 
Beethoven’s Concerto in D, by Itzhak 
Perlman; Miles Davis’ Sketches of 
Spain; Willie Nelson’s Stardust, and 
Def Leppard’s Pyromania), a number 
that should double in less than a year. 


Everyone seems to be jumping on 
the hardware band wagon. Companies 
with existing or planned players in- 
clude Sony, Denon, Magnavox, Hita- 
chi, Phase Linear, Fisher, Akai, 
Marantz and Sansui. Ready to join the 
fray within the year are Aiwa, Ken- 
wood, Mitsubishi, Onkyo, Pioneer, 
Sanyo and Toshiba. 

We've chosen to spotlight Mag- 
mavox' top-of-the-line FD3000SL 
CD player in our first system. But 
it could just as easily work їп our 
second setup or, eventually, sub- 
stitute for the turntable or the 
cassette deck in our third system. 

CD players plug into any re- 
ceiver's or amplifier's auxiliary 
inputs. Those of you who have 
cursed (concluded on page 262) 


252 


PLAYBOY GUIDE 


Hor STUFF 


the very latest in electronic wizardry 


1. Remote possibility. For those 
who'd prefer to spend time turning on a 
date instead of a stereo, we offer Acoustic 
Research's Stereo Remote Control (SRC- 
1). A control unit that hooks up to both 
your A.C. power line and your stereo sys- 
tem is activated by a hand-held wireless 
transmitter. It turns on or off, regulates 
volume and balance and can select an out- 
side source. There’s even a sleep timer 
that turns off the music after 30 minutes of 
play. You get the lights. $160. 

2. A home-movie star is born. Sony’s 
Betamovie one-piece camera/VCR is the 
first truly portable method of making vid- 
ео home movies. No need to tote extra 
equipment; this self-contained compact 
unit uses standard, instantly replayable 
Beta cassettes the way Super-8 cameras 
use film. A rechargeable battery pack pro- 
vides up to one hour of uninterrupted 
recording. $1500. 

3. Brief encounter. Sharp's PC-5000 
computer is an incredible portable, offer- 
ing 128K memory and an 80-column-by- 
8-line LCD display. It's compatible with 
IBM personal-computer programs. For 
versatility, there’s an optional printer that 
plugs into the top of the computer. For 
travel, the display panel folds flat over the 
keyboard and the unit fits into a briefcase 
$2195 


4. Three easy pieces. For maximum 
sound in minimum space, the Acoustic 
Design Group Triad 50 speaker system 
packs a wallop. Small enough to fit into 
the palm of your hand (after a while, you 
may want to put them on a bookshelf), two 
tiny, phase-lincd satellites (847 x 5%” x 
514”) complement a self-powered woofer 
driven by a signal-conditioning amplifier 
rated at 50 watts. With a three-position 
switch, the bass response is adjustable to 
your listening environment. $500. Option- 
al oak stands, $250 the set 

5. Monkey business. Nintendo, the 
creator of Donkey Kong, is now making 
its best arcade games in hand-held and 
tabletop versions. Here's the Mario Bros. 
game, featuring cartoonlike characters in 
simultaneous multisereen action. It dou- 
bles as a timepiece, too. In an easily pack- 


able case, it replaces your old travel alarm 
while allowing you to climb to new 
heights with the latest descendant of the 
great ape. 840. 

6. Taking the show on the road. The 
next best thing to a drive-in movie may be 
American Audio's Indash Car Video. It's 
a combination two-inch TV, stereo cas- 
seue player, AM/FM radio (with 50-watt 
stereo amplifier) and digital quartz dock. 
The unit can be installed in most dash- 
boards—where, for driving safety, the TV 
screen blacks out when you start the 
car—or in the rear-seal area for 
continuous viewing. $995. 

7. Fancy footwork. And 
the joy stick begat the Joy- 
board. Amiga's skateboard- 


like controller plugs into A 
y 


your game or computer 
console and lets you 
direct the action 
with foot and 

body move- 

ment. Sail ha 


“ DHBBBOR 
<ппппийпппипп 
"BBUBBUSBGHHE:' 
BBHEBBDUBHHH = + 
E 51 


down ski slopes in Amiga’s Mogul Maniac game or wrestle the 
waves with Surf's Up. The Joyboard is compatible with most game 
and computer software. Joyboard with Mogul Maniac game, $50. 
8. Personal boost. Want more from your personal stereo? The 
dbx Silencer PPA-1 plugs into the headphone jack and provides 
Dolby В or dbx noise reduction, $49. 9. The Audio Source EQ- 
Three, a five-band equalizer, provides sophisticated tone control for 
any portable, $39.95. Both are battery operated and clip onto your belt 


THE LONGER 
YOU OWN IT. THE 
LESS OBSOLETE 
IT WILL BECOME. 


Alot of stereo equipment starts 
becoming outdated as soon as you lift it 
out of the box. 

But not Pioneers SX-60 Receiver. 
Its been planned for the future, not for 
obsolescence. 

Because it's not just designed to 
be a stereo receiver, but the control center 
for the home entertainment system of 
the future. 

The SX-60 has both the perform- 
ance and features necessary to interface 
with the video and digital 
recording hardware and 
software you will cer- 


tainly be buying over the next two decades. 


To begin with, the SX-60 has the 
ability to accurately reproduce the wide 
dynamic range of digital recordings be- 
cause of its revolutionary Non-Switching, 
low distortion amp (80 watts per channel 


des oo GU ua 


into 8 ohms, 20-20000 Hz with no more 
than 0.005% THD). Its incredible 95dB 
signal-to-noise ratio can easily handle the 
90dB digital range. 

And when the video/audio 
marriage is consummated, you'll have a 
receiver that will remain compatible. 

A video input in the SX-60 enables you to 
listen to VCR or video disc programs 
through your stereo system. And a simu- 
lated stereo circuit transforms the mono 
output of video (and AM) broadcasts to 
create theatre-quality, stereo-like imaging. 

The SX-60 features Quartz-PLL 
digital synthesized tuning that locks in 
stations and prevents any drift. Plus there 
are 10 FM and 10 AM electronic station 
pre-sets and precise digital readout. 

As for ease and accuracy of opera- 
tion, all of the SX-605 circuits are 
completely microcomputer controlled. 

Finally, 
a fluorescent 
pictographic 
display provides visual reference to the 
receivers vital operating mode. 

While this display may give the 
SX-60 a futuristic appearance today, you 
can rest assured that 10 or 15 years from 
now, it will fit right in. 


Q PIONEER: 


Because the music matters. 


800 4471700 In Minois: (8032-44 


PLAYBOY GUIDE 


FLASH 


some news you can’t 


live without 


PLAYBOY’S VIDEO GAME 
HALL OF FAME 

Ah, it all used to be so easy. A year and 
a half ago, we put together the first Video 
Game Hall of Fame. It appeared in the 
Playboy Guide to Electronic Entertain- 
ment and was followed by award ceremo- 
nies at the Chicago Playboy Mansion. 
Four companies making cartridges for 
three game machines were honored. 

Well, times have changed. Just a bit. 
Several hundred cartridges, many millions 
of dollars and about 1000 calluses later, 
we're ready to enshrine a second group of 
games that no victim of joy-stick finger 
should be without. 

‘Just to refresh your memory, our first 
inductees were Asteroids (Atari), Astro- 
smash (Intellivision), Conquest of the 
World (Odyssey), Freeway (Activision), 
Kaboom! (Activision), К.С. Munchkin 
(Odyssey?), Major League Baseball (In- 
tellivision), Missile Command (Atari), 
NEL Football (Intellivision), Pac-Man 
(Atari), Space Battle (Intellivision), 
Space Invaders (Atari), Tennis (Activi- 
sion), Video Pinball (Atari) and Utopia 
(Intellivision) 

This year’s winners are: 

B-17 Bomber (Intellivision). Voice- 
synthesized commands send you on a 
bombing mission over occupied Europe, 
helping relive all the fun of World War 
Two. 

BurgerTime (Intellivision). Combine 
fast food with fast action and you just can’t 
miss. Other food-fight games don’t hold a 
pickle to this опе. 

Decathlon (Activision for Atari 2600). 
You try to do it all in this video version of 
the Olympic competition. If your hands 
can stand the rapid joy-stick action, you 
win Bruce Jenner. 

Defender (Atari 5200). The cream of 
the space games is at its most vivid here. 
Use your lasers and your smart bombs to 
save your humanoids—not to mention the 
world as we know it. 

Demon Attack (Imagic for Atari 
2600). Those little devils put up one hell 


of a fight. Try to stop them before they hit 
and split. 

Donkey Kong (ColecoVision). The 
original ColecoVision version of this great 
аре chase is the best, but if you want even 
better monkey business, try 

Donkey Kong Jr. (ColecoVision). If 
movie sequels were this good, we wouldn’t 
have spent the summer playing video 
games. 

Jungle Hunt (Atari 5200). Superb ani- 
mation (more detailed than the 2600 ver- 
sion) sets you off on an adventure that 
makes Tarzan look meek. 

К.С.% Krazy Chase (Odyssey?). К.С. 
returns, this time with a voice, to fight the 
dreaded Dratapillar in a manic maze. 

Pitfall! (Activision for Atari 2600). 
The best jungle-adventure game going. As 
you go for the treasure, try to avoid the 
scorpions and the snakes. They're the 
pits. 

Pole Position (Atari 5200). This one's 
a winner from start to finish. Not only are 
the three courses tough but you have to 
qualify high even to run the race. 

Soccer (Atari 5200). A sophisticated 
game that manages to make the world’s 
simplest sport rather complex. You really 
need to use your head to figure out how to 
pass 

Turbo (ColecoVision). This one comes 
with a steering wheel and a gas pedal, just 
like in the arcade. A race against time, the 
elements and your budget. 

Zaxxon (ColecoVision). A new genera- 
tion of graphics makes this 3-D space bat- 
tle both a challenge to your gamesmanship 
and a test of your depth perception. 


STOP GIVING YOUR GAMES 
THE FINGER 

Tired of working your trigger finger to 
the bone over your favorite video game? 
Well, now there’s relief. The Videomax 
game glove not only covers your sweaty 
palm, it protects your precious trigger fin- 
ger. The net glove lets your hand breathe, 
while the leather palm is great for the 
grip. It’s available from Nancy and Com- 
pany, 22594 Mission Boulevard, Suite 
302, Hayward, California 94541, for 
$7.45, postpaid. It comes in left- or right- 
handed models in sizes for men, women 
and kids. You can get yours in white, gold 
or our favorite, the navy-blue model. It 

just goes so well with a pinstripe suit. 


12 GREAT PARTY CASSETTES 

At last count, there were 4,876,912 
titles available for home-video players. 
Something like that. So how do you, with 
a limited budget, decide which ones to buy 
or rent to help make your next party one 
to remember? Worry not. After years in 
the screening room, we've made your 
choices for you. You just don't need any 
more than these: 


Cocaine Fiends (Media Home Enter- 
tainment) 

Coke Time with Eddie Fisher (Video 
Yesteryear) 

Famous T and A (Culiideo) 

The Fundamentals of Cheerleading 
(Cinema Associates) 

Emmanuelle, the Joys of a Woman 
(Paramount Home Video) 


ILLUSTRATIONS BY ROBERT CRAWFORO 


255 


PLAYBOY GUIDE 


The Eruption of Mount St. Helens 
(Cinema Associates) 

How to Do Your Own Income Tax 
(Cinema Associates) 

How to Marry a Millionaire (CBS/ 
Fox Home Video) 

The Harder They Come (RCA Vid- 
eodiscs) 

The Harder They Fall (RCA/Colum- 
bia Pictures Home Video) 


WHAT TURNS ON 
MARILYN CHAMBERS 
With all the erotic video cassettes 
flashing on the market, we thought 
you might need some help deciding 
which ones had real staying power. 
So we went to one of the best 
experts we know. Here, then (in- 
cluding only a few of her own 
films), are Marilyn Chambers’ top 
ten turn-ons. 
1. Up n' Coming (Caballero) 
2. Insatiable (Eros) 
3. Behind the Green Door 
(Mitchell Brothers) 
4. Devil їп Miss Jones (Arrow) 
5. Devil in Miss Jones Part II 
(УСА) 
6. 1 Like to Watch (Caballero) 
7. Taboo (VCX) 
8. Talk Dirty to Me (Caballero) 
9. Nurses of the 407 (Caballero) 
0. Bad Girls (Collectors) 


ІЕ time to go 
back to work! 


ON SECOND THOUGHT 

There may be some of you out there old 
enough to remember when watches did 
nothing but tell time. These days, that 
seems to be a relatively minor function for 
‘most tickers. 
Witness the Seiko Voice Recorder 
watch. You push a button, talk into your 
wrist and record messages of up to eight 
seconds. You can play your messages back 


later, use the recorder as a note taker or set 
the alarm for automatic playback. 


STICK IT IN YOUR EAR 
They're getting smaller all the time 
AM/FM radios, that is. This one’s from 
Recoton, and it measures 2%” x 3% x 36”. 
It's barely bigger than a credit card and 
can get you in a lot less trouble. 


NAME THAT GIRL GROUP 

They were the glory days of rock "n 
roll. In 1958, Jerry Lee Lewis married his 
13-year-old cousin. In 1959, Chuck Berry 
was charged with violation of the Mann 
Act, and later served time in prison. Those 
were the days. But somewhere on the 
streets of Detroit and in the heights of 
Brooklyn, a new sound was going down. 
Girl groups. Former backup singers were 
suddenly fronting million sellers. If you 
think that Bette Midler first did Da Doo 
Ron Ron or that Linda Ronstadt created a 
Heat Wave, it’s time to sell your heart to 
the junkman. Try taking this little test at 
your next party. Just match the song with 
the girl group that recorded it. If you get 
all the answers right, we have a special 
prize for you. To find out what it is, phone 
Beachwood 4-5789. 


1. My Boyfriend’s a. Cookies 
Back 

2. I Have a b. Little Eva 
Boyfriend 

3. Chains c. Marvelettes 

4. He Hit Me d. Angels 

5. Keep Your Hands e. Crystals 
Off My Baby 

6. Nowhere to Run f. Shangri-Las 

7. Don't Mess with g. Orlons 
Bill 

8. Don't Hang Up h. Martha and 

the Vandellas 

9. Walkin’ in the т. Ronettes 
Rain 

10. Walkin’ in the у. Chiffons 
Sand 


Answers: 1. d; 2. j; 3. a; 4. e; 5. b; 6. h; 
Fe Bigs 9. 1; 10. f. 


S ESE ESA ЕДЕ 


` 
E 
4 
5 


E 
EM 


\ 
> 


THE GLORY. 

Presenting, in all its glory, the 
RCA CC030 Solid State Color 
Video Camera. A breakthrough 
in form and function. How has 
RCA combined the most 
advanced video technology 
with unequaled design? Turn 
the page for the inside story. 


CEO. OFT Ese RA 


[КОМ в ажени e 


THE FIRST DETACHABLE COLOR VIEWFINDER 
WITH REMOTE CONTROLS. The only one that shows 
you what you're shooting-in color. Doubles as a 
color monitor for instant replays. Detaches 

for remote taping. 


THE FIRST CONSTANT AUTOMATIC 

WHITE BALANCE. 

Automatically adjusts and monitors the color balance 
whenever lighting conditions change. 


NEW SOLID STATE M.OS.IMAGE SENSOR. 
The innovative M.O.S. (metal oxide semicon- 
ductor) pickup system is free of troublesome 


THEFIRST AUTO FOCUS 
WITH “VIDEO DETAIL” 
Goes beyond infrared 


image "lag" Gives you superb overall color, 
reproduction. 


THE GUTS. 
The CC030 is as remarkable inside time to stop reading aa 


as itis outside. 

An innovative, solid-state 
image sensor combines with an 
impressive list of “firsts” in the 
U.S. to make this RCAs smartest 
camera ever. 

The first Electronic Color 
Viewfinder. (And it's detachable.) 
The first Constant Automatic White 
Balance, so you'll never have to 
check color levels again. The first 
“Video Detail” Automatic Focus 
with “Focus Lock” 

There's more, of course. More 
than twenty other outstanding 
features, including an amazing 
62-Character Title/Display with 
Calendar and Stopwatch. But it's 


start experiencing a 
degree of sophistication 
you won't find with any 
other camera. 

See your RCA dealer for 
a demonstration. You'll realize 
that with the CC030, you don't 
say, “What can | do with this 
сатега?", but rather, "What can't 
Ido with it” 

And while you're there, attach 
the CC030 to ВСА incredible 900 
Convertible VCR. You'll see why we 
say: 


WE'LL OPEN YOUR EYES. 


and ultrasonic technologies 

to give you сое pcia 
Actually "sees" the camera'a 

subject and adjusts the focus 

accordingly. 


For the complete line of SelectaVision Color Video Cameras and VOR models, write to 
RCA Consumer Electronics, Department 32-312R, P.O. Box 1976, Indianapolis, IN 46206 


009 ЧЫН O Oe O I 


PLAYBOY GUIDE 


THE How-TO-DO-ALMOST- 
EVERYTHING GUIDE | 


SEVEN STEPS TO BETTER COLOR 

When the NBC peacock starts to look 
peaked, your TV may need some ad- 
justment. Here’s a simple procedure 
that guarantees the best color. 

1. Disengage any automatic color cir- 
cuits and turn the color control all the 
way down, so that you have a black- 
and-white image. 

2. Turn the brightness control up 
fairly high. 


3. Adjust the contrast control. Start 
with minimum contrast and then turn 
it up until you get pure whites and solid 
blacks. 

4, Adjust the brightness until you get 
the most comfortable setting for the 
room lighting. 

5. Now you're ready for color. Turn 
the color control up until the picture 
looks natural. If it’s set too low, colors 
will seem washed out; if it’s set too 


ILLUSTRATION BY GORDON KIBBEE 


high, they will seem to leap out at you, 
and the image probably will lose some 
of its definition, 

6. Adjust the hue, or tint, control for 
the most natural flesh tones. 

7. At this point, you may want to 
switch back and forth between your 
manual settings and the TV’s automatic 
mode (if it has one). You should find 
your settings at least as good as the 
set’s, and most likely better. If neither is 


PLAYBOY 


satisfactory, it's time for professional 
help—or a new set. 


APPLES AND ORANGES 

What do you need to know when buy- 
ing computer software? More than just 
what program you want. Other concerns 
include packaging (does your machine 
take cassettes, five-and-a-quarter- or eight- 
inch floppy disks or plug-in cartridges?), 
the operating system and formatting. The 
operating system is a program that tells all 
those integrated circuits how to be a com- 
puter; without it, no other software will 
run. Operating systems come in an alpha- 
bet soup of flavors. One of the most 
popular is CP/M. An IBM Personal 
Computer, though, runs with either 
PC/DOS or, as an option, CP/M86 
(which is not the same as regular CP/M). 
The computer can be plugged into A.C. or 
D.C. and it won't interfere with your AM 
or FM. You get the idea. It’s not impera- 
tive that you memorize all those codes— 


I лавата) 
A ОЧУ 


just that you know they exist. Many pro- 
grams, you see, are available for more 
than one operating system. If you buy a 
program on floppy disk, make certain the 
disk is formatted for your machine. Other- 
wise, you may not be able to get the pro- 
gram off the disk and into the computer. 


CABLE-READY OR NOT 

Don’t be fooled. Newer televisions and 
VCRs are labeled cable-ready, but that 
doesn’t always mean that you can watch 
all cable channels without use of an exter- 
nal cable-converter box. The main prob- 
lem is that premium channels, such as 
HBO, are often scrambled to prevent 
unauthorized reception. For those, you 
need the decoders built into the cable 
boxes. 

Look for cable-ready sets that have con- 
nections enabling you to switch on a 
decoder box when you need it. Or you can 
rig up an equivalent with an inexpensive 
two-way signal splitter and a simple 


“Та like to present a part of my 
vast repertory of growls, smears, shouis, moans, 
groans and exclamations.” 


antenna switch. Connect the cable to the 
splitter's input and one of the splitter’s 
two outputs to the input of the cable box. 
The cable converter’s output then goes to 
опе of the switch’s inputs; the switch’s 
other input takes the feed from the split- 
ter’s second output. The last step is to con- 
nect the output from the switch to the 
cable input on your TV or VCR. When 
you don’t need the cable box, you can 
bypass it with the flick of a switch and use 
your VCR’s timer or your television’s 
remote control for channel selection. 


HOT LICKS 

Got a record that seems unplayably 
warped? Here’s a sure cure. Get two 
sheets of quarter-inch plate glass about 13 
inches square. Thoroughly clean both the 
glass and the record. Place the record 
between the two sheets of glass. Preheat 
your oven for about 15 minutes at its low- 
est setting, then turn it off. Put the glass- 
encased record on one of the oven racks, 
close the door and let it sit there for 15 
minutes, then open the oven door and let 
the record cool for at least 40 minutes. (In 
ovens with pilot lights, omit the preheat- 
ing and cool the record out of the oven.) 
When you take it out, it should be almost 
perfectly flat. Add pepperoni to taste. 


GETTING GOOD HEAD 

Do the highs from your tape deck sound 
as if they went South for the winter? Try 
cleaning the heads. Soak a cotton swab in 
pure isopropyl alcohol. (It’s available at 
most drug stores. Just make sure you don’t 
get rubbing alcohol containing lubricants 
that may gum up the innards of a tape 
recorder.) Rub the swab across one of the 
heads, turning it as you go, until it is dis- 
colored. Discard it and continue with a 
new swab until no more dirt comes off. 
Then move on to the remaining heads, the 
pinch rollers, the capstans and the tape 
guides—cleaning everything with which 
the tape comes in contact. 

To maintain top performance, repeat 
that procedure after every 20 hours of use. 
If that seems too tedious, use cleaning cas- 
settes such as those made by Discwasher 
and Allsop. (These are especially nice for 
cleaning the usually inaccessible heads in 
car tape decks.) 


NOT-SO-HEAVY METAL 

Today, most cassette decks are billed as 
“metal ready,” which means that you can 
use them to record and play back cassettes 
with pure-metal tape coatings. But do you 
really need that capability? Metal tape 
does provide better high-frequency per- 
formance than lesser varieties, but only 
while listening to classical music will you 
ever need that extra margin—so why pay 
for it? There are excellent premium-qual- 
ity chrome and ferric tapes that will work 
just as well for most recordings—at only 
half to two thirds the price. 


ы PRESENTING THE END OF THE DARK AGES. 


BEE Or “Еее ЕО 


RCA INTRODUCES ITS BEST AND BRIGHTEST GENERATION OF BIG-SCREEN TV'S. 


BIG, BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL The picture you 
see on RCAs big 45-inch screen (measured di- 
agonally) marks the beginning of a bright new era. 

+ Its remarkable 65% increase in peak brightness 
and 200% increase in contrast make it light-years 
ahead of earlier RCA projection sets. Watching 
projection television in the dark is a thing of the 
past. 

Another improvement is a big, crowd-pleasing 
viewing angle that makes just about every seat in 
the house the best seat in the house. 

VIDEO MONITOR CAPABILITY. Our high- 
performance giant is also a video monitor. Its 
convenient i 
hook up your 
player, and stereo 


ә”. 


SIZE ISN'T EVERYTHING. RCAs best and ^ 
brightest features our exclusive Digital Command 
Center. The total contro! remote control that en- 
ables you to switch from broadcast to VCR to 


* videodisc viewing at the touch of a button. 


All of this comes wrapped in the most compact 
cabinet in RCA big-screen history. To see-our best 
generation of big-screen TV’s ever, visit your 
RCA dealer. 

It promises to be a most enlightening experience. 

For more information and a free copy of “Living 
With Video” (a $2.50 reta i value), write: RCA 
Consumer е 
PO: Bo: 


PLAYBOY 


COME TOGETHER 


(continued from page 251) 


“A VCR in the bedroom becomes more appealing 
if you decide to pursue home moviemaking.” 


mightily at the setup procedure many 
turntables demand— installing the phono 
cartridge, setting the tracking force and 
antiskating bias—will find CD-player 
setup a breeze. Remove a packing screw or 
two, plug it in and you're ready to go. 

Future applications of the compact disc 
are fairly amazing. Since it is really a 
computer medium—the disc itself stores 
digital codes that are analyzed and inter- 
preted by the player’s preprogrammed 
processors—a CD might eventually con- 
tain digital codes representing album liner 
notes or even include graphic information 
such as road maps that could be called up 
on a tiny monitor installed in a car's dash- 
board. Oh, yes—next: CD car stereo. 

A CD player, then, is really a computer 
dedicated to music. It becomes a logical 
complement of a personal computer that 
can be dedicated to almost any task. The 
inclusion of personal computers in our two 
main systems points firmly to a redefini- 
tion of home-entertainment systems. 

Coleco's new Adam computer, for in- 
stance, is amenable to a host of sober tasks 
but it will play games with a gusto that 
makes lots of other so-called computer/ 
game machines seem tired. 

With a full keyboard, 80 kilobytes of 
random-access memory, а letter-quality 
printer and a tape-based storage drive, the 
Adam is startlingly low priced ($600). In 
our top system, we’ve integrated it with a 
Kloss projection TV, making game play- 
ing a TRONIike experience. Coleco has a 
whole new line of high-resolution super- 
games designed to take advantage of the 
Adam’s expanded capabilities. 

Our second system has a game-playing 
unit that’s not as sophisticated but just as 
much fun: Mattel’s Intellivision II—to 


which you can easily add a Computer 
Module; a System Changer, which lets 
you play Atari 2600-compatible games; 
and even a 49-key Music Synthesizer. 

One major home-entertainment devel- 
opment that's not computerized (not yet, 
anyway) is Beta Hi-Fi, Sony's technique 
for recording a stereo sound track on video 
cassette with a level of fidelity that 
approaches that of the compact disc. 

In its most basic form, the technique 
takes a stereo signal and processes it in 
much the same way an FM station proc- 
esses music for broadcast. In Beta Hi-Fi, 
though, the FM signal is mixed with the 
video information and the two are re- 
corded together on the video tape. The TV 
image with the tinny little sound now has 
the capability of full-fledged stereo. You 
just jack your stereo speakers into this new 
VCR and you're in business. As with a 
standard stereo system, it will play your 
mono tapes as well—in mono. 

VHS Hi-Fi, available in Japan, has 
been the victim of heel dragging here. 
Expect to see models next year. 

What Beta Hi-Fi and, eventually, VHS 
Hi-Fi offer is, first, an alternative to stand- 
ard audio recorders. With fidelity simply 
unachievable on an audio-cassette deck, 
you'll be able to record five hours of music 
on one video tape. Second, you'll be able to 
enjoy theaterlike Surround Sound at home 
from movies produced in Dolby stereo. 

Actually, any high-quality stereo-video 
source, such as a Pioneer LaserDisc or an 
RCA CED video disc, will enable you to 
make use of the Dolby-stereo information 
“hidden” in two-channel movie sound 
tracks. With the addition of a special 
decoder, such as the Fosgate Research 
Model 101A featured in our top system, 


The list of titles available for com- 
pact-disc play is growing faster than 
you can say Shostakovich. Just in time 
for Christmas shopping, here’s a list of 
late entries: 

Billy Joel, Innocent Man; Placido 
Domingo, Perhaps Love; Chuck Man- 
gione, Journey to a Rainbow; Men at 
Work, Cargo; Toto, Turn Back; Chi- 
cago, Chicago 16; Judy Collins, Judith; 
The Pretenders, Pretenders; The Cars, 
Shake П Up; Bette Midler, No Frills; 
Robert Plant, The Principle of Mo- 
ments; Michael Jackson, Thriller; 
Flashdance sound track. 

Andre Previn, Debussy: Images for 
Orchestra; Vienna Philharmonic, Lo- 


COMING ON COMPACT 


гїп Maazel, conductor, Beethoven: 
Symphony No. 5; New York Philhar- 
monic, Zubin Mehta, conductor, Mahler: 
Symphony No. 1 (The Titan); Chica- 
go Symphony Orchestra, James Le- 
vine, conductor, Mozart: Symphonies 
No. 40 and 41 (Jupiter); Dallas Sym- 
phony Orchestra, Eduardo Mata, 
conductor, Ravel: Bolero; Boston Sym- 
phony, Serkin, Ozawa, Beethoven Pi- 
ano Concerto No. § (Emperor); Los 
Angeles Chamber Orchestra, Amen- 
can Music; St. Paul Chamber Orches- 
tra, Pinchas Zukerman, conductor, 
Vivaldi: The Four Seasons; Boston 
Symphony, Schubert Octet; Suther- 
land, Pavarotti, Verdi: La Traviata. 


plus a second stereo amplifier and two 
rear speakers (the ones we chose are by 
Allison), movies will take on an exciting 
extra dimension. 

And while you're going for the works, 
you may as well include a projection tele- 
vision. We chose the Kloss Model Two 
because it’s smaller and more portable 
than its predecessors. It comes on wheels. 
Video sources for the system are a Sony 
SL-2700 Beta Hi-Fi VCR and a Pioneer 
LD-1100 LaserDisc. 

The marriage of video and audio tech- 
nologies is also changing the configuration 
of traditional audio componentry. The 
folks at Jensen are the first to combine a 
video tuner and a stereo receiver in one 
chassis. Their AVS-1500 Audio+ Video 
receiver (for FM and 133 TV channels) 
and matching 19-inch monitor are a high- 
quality, space-saving alternative to sepa- 
rate components hooked together with a 
rats nest of wires. Plus, the Jensen system 
is totally remote controlled, making it per- 
fect for the bedroom. It’s also one of 
the few TVs that are truly cable-ready. 
The receiver has two sets of RF inputs— 
one for regular cable, the other for de- 
scrambled pay channels. 

Although the Jensen receiver easily 
accommodates a CD player, you may 
want to wait a bit and rely on stereo VCR 
for music plus video. We've chosen JVC's 
HR-D225U, a new VHS deck that has 
four-head technology for great picture 
quality and special effects at even the 
slowest tape speed, as well as stereo sound 
with Dolby noise reduction. 

By the way, using that VCR in the bed- 
room becomes even more appealing if you 
decide to pursue the artistically rewarding 
hobby of home moviemaking. JVC's new 
low-light GX-N70 seems perfect for this 
use. It records with the illumination of just 
one foot candle. And it has infrared auto 
focus, which allows you to put it on a 
tripod and have hands-free operation. 

If you want to hold off on all this fancy 
equipment until the prices come down, we 
suggest the following system as one that’s 
basic but capable of providing excellent 
sound at a reasonable price. 

Its centerpiece is Sony’s STR-VX550 
receiver ($360), which has enough inputs 
and switching to accommodate the extra 
goodies you'll eventually want to add. The 
receiver drives a pair of Boston Acoustics 
A70 two-way acoustic suspension loud- 
speakers ($140 each). As main program 
sources, we’ve chosen an Onkyo TA-2044 
two-head cassette deck with Dolby B and 
C noise reduction ($300) and a Pioneer 
PL-S50 direct-drive automatic turntable 
($165) with a Shure MLI40HE moving- 
magnet phono cartridge ($190). For your 
first fanciful foray, try a Sony RM-S750 
Remote Commander system ($40). ІРІП 
save you lots of effort and give you tons of 
time to drool over the CD and the Beta 
Hi-Fi ads. Dream on. 


Thanks To Cobra Your Next 
Clock-Radio 
Will Include A Telephone 


Combining a clock and a radio was so practical no one realized something obvious 
was left out: the third bedside basic, a telephone. Cobra has now combined all three, 
to simplify life on your crowded night table. Or in your kitchen, den or family room. 
Cobra telephone-clock radios are available with either cordless or corded tele- 
phones. All feature an AM-FM radio, lighted digital clock, and alarm settings for radio 
or alarm wake-up. 2-їп-1 used to be ok. Today you can get 3-in-1. Shouldn't 
your next clock-radio include a telephone? At leading retailers. 


/ 


Cobra Cordless Telephone-Clock Radios 


« 
Deluxe model featuresa Cobra Includes a Cobra cordless phone 1 
cordless phone with 300° range.“ with 300° range” you can take г 
bullt-ın speakerphone for hands- anywhere around your home. NY 


free conversanon and 9-number Automate last number redial 


memory for ашотапс dialing тиме button for privacy 


„Cobra Standard Telephone-Clock Radios 


Deluxe model includes a Cobra Features a Cobra push-button 
push-button telephone with9- telephone with mute button for 
number memory for automane ^ privacy Push and the caller cant 
dialing Plus mute feature and hear while you speak to someone 
last-rumker redial near you. Plus automan last 

dial 


number 


“Range may vary dependingon local environmental conditions 


bra 


Innovative Products For Changing Lifestyles 


Cobra Consumer Products Group 
DYNASCAN CORPORATION 


6460 W Cortland, Chicago. Ilinois 60 


PLAYBOY 


PERSONAL COMPUTER CHRISTMAS 


(continued from page 201) 


“The worthwhile Apple programs . . . have already 
been rewritten for the IBM Personal Computer.” 


computers, since 1980. The Apple He 
(Apple says the е stands for enhanced. I 
say it stands for expensive) added a few 
keys, lower-case letters, a bit more memo- 
ry anda printer port; reduced the number 
of chips (the reduction has no value to the 
consumer but makes the computer less 
expensive to produce) and raised the price 
(from $1330 to $1395). Even 1, who have 
little faith in Apple, had thought it was 
going to offer more and charge less. 

Keep in mind that that price does not 
include a screen or a disk drive or a single 
piece of software. 

The main reason people buy Apple Ies 
is the software and the peripherals pro- 
duced by other manufacturers. Most of 
that comes from the late Seventies, when 
the Apple II was the only color computer 
on the block 

But Apple is losing that advantage. Sev- 
eral fine computers that will run the 
Apple software are available. With a spe- 
cial expansion card, even the IBM will 
run it. The worthwhile Apple programs, 
from a business standpoint, have already 
been rewritten for the IBM Personal 
Computer. 


The fact is, if you look at the telephone- 
directory-sized listing of 16,000 programs 
available for the Apple, the vast majority 
of them are worthless. They look like 
entries in a high school program-writing 
contest. (“You will have three hours to 
write a computer program. Go.”) 

When you compare, hardware feature 
for hardware feature, the Apple Ie 
($1395) with the Commodore 64 (about 
$200 and falling), you'll see that Apple 
can obviously afford to sell the He for a lot 
less. 


FRANKLIN ACE 1000 AND 1200 


If, for some reason, you feel you must 
buy an Apple Пе, you may want to inves- 
tigate the Franklin ACE 1000 or 1200. 
The basic ACE 1000 costs less than the 
Apple Пе but includes a better keyboard 
(though, like the Apple's, it is not detach- 
able) and a numeric keypad. АП of the 
plug-in cards, programs and peripherals 
made for the Apple will work with the 
Franklin ACEs. 

The ACE 1200 is both Apple compati- 
ble and CP/M compatible. The 1200 has 
an 80-column display, a Z-80 (CP/M) 


"He's from the store next door and it's their 
lunch break." 


processor, 128K of memory and both seri- 
al and parallel printer ports. The 1200 
and the 1000 both have color capability. 


BASIS 108 


Even if it were not Apple compatible, 
the Basis 108 would have a lot to recom- 
mend it: great keyboard (detachable), lots 
of free software (CP/M, Perfect Writer, 
Perfect Calc, Perfect Filer, Perfect Spell- 
cr), 128K of memory and two 160K 
drives, all for about $2600. 

A monochrome monitor is included. A 
color monitor is about $700 extra. The 
Basis I used had an Amdex amber monitor 
that produced sharp characters—easy on 
the eyes and pleasant to work with. Made 
in West Germany, the machine has the 
feeling of solid, reliable construction. In 
all, an impressive computer. 


RADIO SHACK 


Radio Shack was one of the first com- 
panies (Commodore and Apple were the 
others) to offer preassembled personal 
computers. After a dull few years in which 
it seemed that Radio Shack, like Apple, 
was resting on its laurels (Apple's no long- 
er resting—it’s homesteading), it has come 
out with a few good computers—and one 
very good one. 

The Model 4 is the least expensive. 
Two disk drives, attached keyboard, 
$1999. Nothing great; but, for the price, it 
docs the job. 

The Radio Shack Model 12 is a bit 
bland, a bit big and a bit overpriced (Ra- 
dio Shack is the Chevrolet of computers), 
but Radio Shack is everywhere and service 
and availability are as important to com- 
puters as they are to cars. You can do 
worse for word processing or general 
office computing than the Model 12. (You 
can do worse without leaving Radio 
Shack.) It has a detachable keyboard, two 
disk drives (eight-inch) that hold a most 
generous 1200K per drive, a 12-inch 
green screen, and it retails for $3999. 

The Model 16, at $4999, is over- 
priced. 

The good news at Radio Shack is the 
Model 100. You wouldn’t want to run 
your office with it, but you might want to 
throw one into your briefcase. The 100 is 
light (about four pounds), compact (small- 
er than a three-ring binder) and highly 
portable. The full-sized keyboard has a 
great feel. The screen is liquid crystal (like 
a pocket calculator’s) and displays eight 
40-character lines. It's not what you'd call 
a word processor—more a word recorder. 
Whatever you store in the 100 can be 
transferred to another computer for later 
editing and revision. Documents are 
stored in a kind of RAM that never for- 
gets. After files are transferred to another 
medium or are printed, the memory can be 
erased for future computing. 

The 8K machine costs $799, the 24K 


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PLAYBOY 


machine $999 and the 32K $1120, plus 
installation. I’d recommend the 24K as a 
minimum. 


EPSON HX-20 


The Epson includes a full keyboard, a 
20-character four-line screen and a built- 
in 20-column dot-matrix printer. 105 
about (Һе size of the Radio Shack 100. 
The price is $795. 

Text is stored on microcassettes, mak- 
ing the Epson a better traveling com- 
panion than the 100. The batteries of the 
HX-20 are rechargeable and last а re- 
markable 50 hours. 


HEATH Н-89/2ЕМІТН 7-89 


This vintage computer comes as a 
build-it-yourself kit (the H-89) or assem- 
bled (the Z-89). The machine is the same. 
Heath is a hobbyist company, well estab- 
lished in the do-it-yourself tradition, and 
its catalog reflects that. To figure out the 
number of possible optional configura- 
tions of the H-89 would require, well, an 
H-89. If you want this, you must also 
order that; and if you buy two thats, you 
get a special discount on one of these 
However, if you buy one of these, you 
don’t need this, because this is included in 
these. And if you buy two of those, you can 
get one of them at half price. All in all, if 
you can put together an H-89 system 
using the catalog, you should have no 


trouble putting together the H-89 itself. 
The price—$1429 unassembled, $1999 
assembled—is high. 


ZENITH Z-100/HEATH H-100 


For a machine that Zenith and Heath 
hope to usc to conquer the vistas of com- 
puterdom, the Z-100 is surprisingly prim- 
itive. "The screen display is not very good. 
The keyboard is nondetachable. It is an 
eight-bit and 16-bit machine, but the 
amount of software that will run on the 
machine scems limited. 

It has some good points. It uses an 
8-100 bus, for example. The S-100 bus is 
а standard for which hundreds of plug-in 
expansion boards are available. It pro- 
vides great flexibility, but I'm afraid it 
requires a tinkerer’s mentality. This ma- 
chine, then, is right up a Heathkit-lover's 
avenue. I’m not sure how well it will fare 
in business, where nontinkerers abound. 

It’s not cheap, either: $3599 for 128K of 
memory, two 320K drives, a monochrome 
screen and the Z-DOS operating system 
(don’t ask). 


KAYPROI AND 4 


The Kaypro II has a nine-inch green- 
Phosphor screen that allows for a full 24 
lines with 80 characters per line. Its de- 
tachable keyboard is excellent. It has a 
good feel, a numeric keypad and separate 
cursor-movement keys. The two built-in 
disk drives each hold 191K of information; 


64K of memory is standard. Cost: $1595. 

The Kaypro II offers a small soft- 
ware store free with purchase: CP/M, 
M-BASIC, Profit Plan, Perfect Writer, 
Perfect Filer, WordStar, Perfect Calc, 
Perfect Speller, The WORD Plus, U; 
form and games. If you want MailMerge, 
it’s $49.95 extra. 

Yes, the Kaypro II represents a re- 
markable value. With an inexpensive let- 
ter-quality printer, it gives you a great 
word processor for less than 82500. 

The Kaypro 4 is the same as the Kay- 
pro II except that it has double-density, 
double-sided drives holding 394K each. 
The Kaypro 4 is $1995 and includes a 
different package of software: WordStar, 
The WORD Plus, Microplan, M-BAS- 
IC, S-BASIC, C-BASIC and CP/M. 


KAYPRO 10 


The Kaypro 10 is very much like the 
Kaypro 4 (what happened to the five in 
between?) except that the Kaypro 10 has 
only one floppy-disk drive and а built-in 
ten-megabyte hard disk. Kaypro continues 
to astound with the price: $2795. 

The machine is wonderful, a superb 
value and all that, but I have one major 
concern: the hard disk. In the world of 
personal computers, hard disks are consid- 
ered delicate beasties. They must be 
treated gently and with the respect that’s 
due anything that can destroy, on whim, 
5000 typewritten pages of information. 


CHANGING THE TYPING HABITS 


You make 

an error, you correct it, 
you continue typing. 
The visual display lets you 
proofread before it's on. 
the paper. 


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A new Shure 
phono cartridge can 
improve your sound more 
than a new $500 receiver. 


A new receiver might make your stereo system look 
better. But to make it sound better, don't overlook the 
cartridge. A new Shure phono cartridge could improve 
your sound more than a new receiver, and at a fraction 
of the cost. 

Shure cartridges put advanced technology at that crit- 
ical point where sound is lifted from the record. Our 
carefully contoured diamond tips trace the record 


groove more pr 


When a hard disk is put into a portable 
computer, considering the knocks and 
bangs to which portable anythings are 
subjected, I become worried. The Kaypro 
people assure me that the disk drive is of a 
new design and double shock mounted and 
on and on. I still keep thinking about 5000 
typewritten pages’ being wiped out by one 
careless porter. 

This computer is heaven-sent for 
people with tens of thousands of things to 
file. The inventory of entire libraries or 
auto-parts companies or baseball-card col- 
lections can be put on this computer. 

Ten megabytes is a lot. It’s very power- 
ful but very dangerous. Please, with this 
or any other hard-disk computer, back up 
your irreplaceable information regularly. 
Backup information is like a seat belt: If 
it’s used only once in ten years, it’s worth 
the effort. 


MORROW MICRO DECISION 


This is a fine computer and an excellent 
value. The standard Morrow Micro Deci- 
sion computer comes with two disk drives 
(186K formatted capacity); a 12-inch 
green-phosphor screen (24 80-character 
lines); a Z-80A microprocessor; 64K of 
RAM; a detachable keyboard with a nu- 
meric keypad, separate cursor-movement 
keys and seven function keys. 

And that’s not all: Morrow is a member 
in good standing of the great software- 
giveaway program. You get, free with 


purchase, CP/M, Microsoft BASIC 
(M-BASIC), WordStar, Correct-It (a 
spell-check program) and Personal Pearl. 

All that for $1599. With double-density 
drives (384K per drive), the price is 
$1899. Remarkable. 

‘The screen display is sharp, clear and 
legible. The keyboard is solid, with a good 
feel. My only complaint is the noise the 
disk drives make. Sometimes they sound 
like a subway train braking. At other 
times, they sound like Darth Vader 
breathing. But not everyone is as sensitive 
about the sound of disk drives as I am. 

In all, the Morrow Micro Decision is a 
great computer at a great price and well 
worth your consideration. 


OTRONA ATTACHE, 


One gets two disk drives, each with 
380K of memory; a five-inch monitor that 
displays, sharply and clearly, 24 80-col- 
umn lines; a green-phosphor screen capa- 
ble of graphics; and lots of software: 
CP/M, WordStar Plus, Valet, Charton 
II, Multiplan and Disk Manager. All this 
in a package weighing only 18 pounds for 
$2995. 


TELERAM T-3000 


The Teleram is the most portable full- 
function computer available. It weighs 
about nine pounds, has a full-function 
keyboard and four 80-character lines of 
display. The display is liquid crystal. One 


cisely, to pick up more of that sound. 


Our exclusive “shock absorber” system compensates 
for record warps. 

For a stereo that looks good, buy a new receiver. But 
for a stereo that sounds good, buy a new Shure car- 
tridge. For our free brochure, write Shure Brothers Inc., 
Dept. 65Р, 222 Hartrey Ave., Evanston, IL 60204, or 
visit your local authorized Shure dealer. 


SHURE 


You'll hear more from us. 


+ 


wouldn't want to write a magnum opus on 
a four-line screen, but it’s usable. 

The Teleram stores information on a 
bubble memory. Bubble memory, like 
КАМ, is user changeable, but it keeps the 
information indefinitely, the way ROM 
does, even when the power is turned off. 
It’s a great combination of the two but, at 
the moment, fairly expensive. The $2495 
price includes 128K of bubble memory. 
An additional 128K is $500. 


TOSHIBA T100 


The Toshiba personal computer in- 
cludes a full-function keyboard, a mono- 
chrome (green) screen, Z-80 processor, 
64K of memory, two 280K five-and-a- 
quarter-inch disk drives and CP/M. All 
that for $1695. Not bad. The weak link in 
the system is the video display. The letters 
look broken and spotty. A positive aspect 
of the video display is that, with the simple 
addition of a color monitor, the T100 is 
capable of full-color graphic display. 


CROMEMCO C-10 


The Cromemco offers a keyboard, 
monochrome (green) video screen, Z-80A 
processor, 64K of memory, two 390K 
five-and-a-quarter-inch disk drives, a 
CP/M-like operating system, a word- 
processing program, a spread-sheet pro- 
gram and a structured BASIC program. 
АП that will cost you $2380. The 
keyboard, though detachable, is small and 


PLAYBOY 


268 


does not include a numeric keypad. The 
programs аге Cromemco's own. 


NORTHSTAR ADVANTAGE 


A nondetachable keyboard is about as 
limiting as a car seat that cannot be 
adjusted. If you're an “average” driver, 
you may never notice its inflexibility. If 
you're shorter or taller than the norm, you 
will find operating the machinery a study 
in discomfort, 

Another keyboard oddity—one the Ad- 
vantage shares with the IBM Personal 
Computer—is that the cursor-movement 
keys and the numeric-keypad keys are the 
same. One can use the numeric keypad to 
either record numbers or move the cursor 
about the document. A cursor-lock key 
must be depressed to change from one 
mode to another. That can be inconvenient 
if you want to work with numbers and 
move the cursor at the same time. The 
Advantage is, however, rugged and reli- 
able. 


NEC АРС 


The NEC people, who make the finest 
letter-quality printer around, make sever- 
al small computers marketed by at least 
two divisions. The one that seems to be 
getting the most attention is the APC, 
which stands for Advanced Personal Com- 
puter. As fond as I am of the NEC print- 
ers, I must admit that I am not very fond 
of the APC. 

The keyboard is solid and the screen 
display is clear—but then so are the key- 
board and screen display of computers 


costing half as much. The drives are eight- 
inch only. They are also the noisiest drives 
1 have heard on a small computer. 

It comes with CP/M-86, WordStar, 
SpellStar, MailMerge, dBase II, Super- 
Calc II and the Millionaire package. All 
that for $3448. If the machine were $1500 
cheaper, it might be a breakthrough. As it 
is, it’s not a great value. Its strength seems 
to be in the addition of a color monitor. If 
sharp, full-color graphics are required in 
your business, you should certainly have a 
look at the APC. And if you’re someone 
who must do word processing in color, this 
is a machine to investigate. (The color 
monitor adds about $1000 to the price.) 


TELEVIDEO 802 


To build a personal computer, Tele- 
Video began with the best: its own 950 
terminal. TeleVideo has been manufac- 
turing high-quality, low-cost video termi- 
nals for years. The 950 is near the top of a 
line of a dozen or so models. It has a 
detachable keyboard, 24 80-column lines, 
numeric keypad, 22 programmable func- 
tion keys, ete. 

Starting with an excellent keyboard and 
video screen, TeleVideo added a Z-80A 
microprocessor, 64K of user-program- 
mable memory, a CP/M operating system 
and two five-and-a-quarter-inch disk 
drives, each holding 340K of information. 
The TeleVideo 802 is $3495. A hard-disk 
version of the 802, the 802H, is available. 
I used to recommend the TeleVideo 802 as 


“Since we put Miss Simpson on straight commission, 
she’s really giving it the hard sell.” 


a good value until the even better value 
below came along. 


TELEVIDEO TS803 


If this computer does not win some 
design award somewhere, there is no 
justice. Aesthetics aside, the TS803 is a 
powerful, full-featured computer at a 
great price ($2495). The two disk drives 
each hold 340K of information. 

The screen is green phosphor and 
measures not 12 but 14 inches. (Does this 
mark the beginning of a size war among 
manufacturers?) The screen tilts up and 
down. The keyboard has every key imag- 
inable, plus 16 special-function keys, la- 
beled word-processing keys and a numeric 
keypad. TeleVideo has made some of my 
favorite keyboards, and this one is no 
exception. The keyboard is detachable, of 
course, and has a long cord. 

There is no fan, so the unit is quiet— 
silent, in fact. For those deep thinkers who 
prefer creation without the whir of white 
noise, this machine is certainly worth lis- 
tening to. 


XEROX 820-1 


The Xerox 820-П is the revised version 
of the Xerox 820. It has a detachable key- 
board with numeric keypad and separate 
cursor keys, black-and-white video display 
(24 80-character lines), two 322K disk 
drives (five-and-a-quarter-inch), 64K of 
RAM and a Z-80A microprocessor. It 
costs $2995. CP/M is included. 


EAGLE ПЕ 


There is lots of good news and one piece 
of bad news about the Eagle ПЕ comput- 
er. First, the good news: 

It has a good keyboard, a fine screen, а 
Z-80 processor, 64K of memory, two 
390K five-and-a-quarter-inch disk drives 
and costs but $1995. More good news: 
The $1995 price also includes CP/M, 
C-BASIC, UltraCalc spread sheet and the 
Spellbinder word-processing program. 

A good buy, that. Now for the bad 
news: It does not have a detachable 
keyboard. To quote Charlie Brown, 
“Arghhhh!” 


EPSON Qx-10 


The processor of the QX-10 is an 
eight-bit 2-80, and the machine has a gen- 
erous 256K of RAM. It has two five-and- 
a-quarter-inch disk drives, each holding 
380K of storage. The screen is green, 
exceptionally sharp and casy to read. It 
has 25 80-column lines. The screen is also 
capable of high-resolution graphics. The 
keyboard is, precisely, State of the Art. It 
is where keyboard design has been headed 
all along and will probably be the most 
imitated keyboard in a very imitative busi- 
ness. It has a great touch and is a pleasure 
to work with. It is, of course, detachable. 
The over-all design (that is, the way the 
QX-10 looks) is delightful. 

The QX-10 comes with an easy-to- 
learn word-processing program called 


Hennessy . — - 


The civilized way 
to top off the penny 


PLAYBOY 


Valdocs. It is easy to learn, but the first 
release was too slow and too buggy. There 
have been four major revisions already— 
each an improvement. One gets the feeling 
that Epson and its software partner Rising 
Star Industries are striving for excellence 
and they’re going to achieve it. 

The entire package costs $2995—a 
great value. (A no-software, CP/M ver- 
sion, with less RAM, costs $2495.) 


1ВМ PERSONAL COMPUTER 


IBM has built a terrific personal com- 
puter. Rather than patch together a small 
computer using a little from this IBM 
machine and a little from that one, IBM 
assembled a group of engincers, designers, 
programmers and, yes, a few personal- 
computer lovers and sent them off to 
design and build the IBM PC. 

There was fear in the land of small 
computers that IBM would swallow up 
the personal-computer market. Instead, it 
looks as though IBM has created a whole 
new industry called Supporting the IBM 
Personal Computer, Inc. Everyone’s get- 
ting a franchise: peripheral manufactur- 
ers, software vendors, mail-order houses 
and retailers. One program, for example, 
called Keynote, allows you to customize 
the IBM's keys to perform in one stroke 
tasks that previously might have taken 30 
commands and a half hour to accomplish; 
MicroPro, for another example, updated 
its popular word-processing program 
WordStar for the IBM and has already 
released a revision. 

IBM is being unusually cooperative 
with people who want to make things that 
go in, go on or attach to the IBM PC. 
Prior to this, its policy was: If it isn't made 
by IBM, it shouldn't be used on an IBM 
Now IBM is releasing schematics of the 


PC and is offering all possible help. 

105 even, wonder of wonders, market- 
ing another company’s products under the 
IBM name. The IBM printer is a Japa- 
nese-made Epson with an IBM name 
plate added. This is as radical as Stein- 
way’s putting its name on Japanese-made 
pianos. On the down side, the IBM/ 
Epson is looking a bit old next to the new 
Epson printers. 

The Personal Computer is available in 
component parts. One can, for example, 
buy just the basic computer, plug it into a 
TV and store BASIC programs on а cas- 
sette. But most people who decide to go 
IBM go all the way: monochrome screen, 
dual disk drives (360K per drive), 64K of 
memory and detachable keyboard. This 
will set you back about $3200. 

The monochrome screen display on the 
IBM is very good. It’s green phosphor, 
with 24 80-column lines. A color monitor 
can be added. 

The keyboard is unique. Some people 
love it and some hate it. The IBM key- 
board was designed with what is known as 
“audio tactile feedback.” When you push 
down a button, you hear and feel a click. It 
is not the same as the electronic beep or 
boop one finds as an option on some com- 
puters. The click is built into the keys. 
There's no way to get rid of it. 

Another strange clement of the key- 
board is the placement of the ѕніғт key. 
For years, small-computer manufacturers, 
wanting to point with pride at the quality 
of their keyboards, referred to them as 
“Selectric-siyle.” The keys were in the 
same positions as on the IBM Selectric. 

IBM, for reasons known only to the 
Creator and the creators, did not follow 
the Selectric format. The ѕніғт key on the 
left-hand side of the keyboard is tradition- 


“Marvin’s a con artist.” 


ally the width of two keys and is located 
next to the z. On the IBM Personal Com- 
puter keyboard, it’s the width of one key 
and is not located next to the z. Further, 
the RETURN key is smaller than that of a 
Selecıris 

Also, the keyboard does not have sepa- 
rate cursor-movement keys; they are lo- 
cated on the numeric keypad. One can use 
either the cursor keys or the numeric keys 
but not both. That would pose more of a 
problem to electronic spread sheeters, say, 
than to word processors. 

But Keytronics has already introduced 
a keyboard that attaches to the IBM and 
corrects all those, uh, eccentricities. That’s 
the nice thing about the IBM: It’s likely to 
be the most supported personal computer 
in history. In fact, it already is. 

As with the Apple Пе, for anything you 
want to do on a personal computer, you'll 
no doubt find a peripheral or a program 
that will let you do it. The Apple Ile, 
though, does it on the high school level. 
The IBM does it for adults. 


IBM XT 


Would you have believed, even a year 
ago, that IBM would ever market a prod- 
uct named ХТ? Sounds like a sports car 
or an improved mouthwash. How quickly 
the big guys let their image slip when 
there’s money to be made. 

The XT adds 64K more of memory (for 
a total of 128K) and replaces one of the 
disk drives with a ten-megabyte hard disk. 
The price is $4995. 


DIGITAL EQUIPMENT CORPORATION 
RAINBOW 100 


The Rainbow comes, ironically, with a 
black-and-white screen. It displays 24 
lines of either 80 or 132 characters. (The 
screen switches easily between the two.) 
The keyboard is detachable and excellent. 
It Чез with the TeleVideo keyboard as my 
favorite. It has a numeric keypad (with 
add, subtract, multiply and divide sym- 
bols), separate cursor-movement keys and 
more special-function keys than anyone is 
ever likely to need (there are 36 extra keys 
on the keyboard). 

The basic unit uses a dual disk drive 
that holds two five-and-a-quarter-inch 
disks. Each disk holds 400K of informa- 
tion for a total of 800K. The Rainbow is 
an eight-bit and a 16-bit machine. It will 
run either CP/M or CP/M-86 software. 
For $250 more, you can run programs in 
the MS-DOS (IBM-DOS) format, and 
64K of RAM is standard. It is expandable 
to 256K. The cost is $3495. 

A plug-in card permits high-resolution 
graphics, and the addition of a color moni- 
tor permits graphics in full color. 


VICTOR 9000 
‘The Victor 9000 is a State-of-the-Art 
computer. The screen display is the best 


I've seen on a computer. As on the IBM, 
the characters on the Victor are made up 


Lamborghini 
has the Alpine touch. 


For your nearest Alpine Dealer, call toll free: 4-800-424-1395. In California g Place. Torrance, CA 90501 


Even the person who has everything 
occasionally runs out. 


“The Best In The House? 


To send “The Best In The House" to their house, simply call 1-800-238-4373. 
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of serifs—thicks and thins in the design of 
each letter. The result looks more like 
printing than like a computer display. 
The keyboard is, of course, detachable. 

‘The disk drives are five-and-a-quarter- 
inch and hold a massive 612K each; 128K 
of user-programmable memory is stand- 
ard. The price is $3495. 

While the Victor 9000 does excellent 
monochrome graphics, it will not do color 
graphics. It is also not likely to get the 
support that the IBM will be (and is) get- 
ting from the manufacturers of peripher- 
als and software. 

[Editor's Note: As we go to press, the 
world is waiting for the arrival of Coleco’s 
Adam and IBM’s Peanut. Both are ex- 
pected to be breakthroughs in the under- 
$1000 category. Adam is a bold idea—an 
80K-memory computer, with word-proc- 
essing software and а letter-quality print- 
er included in the basic package. All for 
about $700. The storage system is a newly 
designed tape drive that’s supposed to be 
comparable in speed to the slower disk 
drives out there. All software will have to 
be new or rewritten specifically for Adam. 
‘That could be a serious limitation, but 
Coleco has shown impressive marketing 
speed and resourcefulness in the past. At 
carly press showings, there were enthusi- 
astic reports about Adam’s feel and func- 
tion, but we couldn't get McWilliams’ 
probing fingers on one, so we'll have to 
reserve judgment. 

[The IBM Peanut will most likely be a 
true baby brother to the PC. Same 64K, 
100 percent compatibility so it will run the 
scrillions of programs written for the PC. 
Without a disk drive (in other words, usc- 
less), it is supposed to cost about $700; 
with one drive, just over $1000. If it 
works, it’s going to be hard to resist; and 
in the shakeout many people expect in this 
business, the Peanut will be rocking the 
tree. IBM is not openmouthed about this 
(or anything else) and there have been 
delays. So the guesswork will go on awhile 


longer.] 


PRINTERS, PERIPHERALS, PROGRAMS 
AND THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT 


То do a complete review of all the 
printers (40, at least), peripherals (there 
must be more than 4000) and programs 
(estimates range from 40,000 to 80,000) 
for personal computers would fill not just 
this month's issue of PLAYBOY but also next 
month’s Gala 30th Anniversary Issue and 
most issues of 1984. 

Instead, let me give you some starting 
points. Each industry has its standards, 
brand names that are, for one reason or 
another, more popular than others. Гуе 
listed a few of those de facto standards for 
personal computers below. They are not 


recommendations of the best, just a point 
of reference from which to make your 
comparisons. 


MODEMS 


‘The recognized leader in modems is 
the Hayes Smartmodem. A close second: 
Novation’s Smart-Cat. 


PRINTERS 


The leader in letter-quality printers is 
the NEC. The leader in dot matrix is 
Epson. 


PROGRAMS 


Word Processing. The most popular 
word-processing program is WordStar. 
The best spell-check program is The 
WORD Plus. (Please see The Word Proc- 
essing Book or Word Processing on the 
IBM for a fuller description of word- 
processing programs and letter-quality 
printers.) 

Accounting. The most popular account- 
ing packages are from Peachtree. The 
Champion series seems easiest to learn. 

Electronic spread sheeting. VisiCalc, 
the program that started it all, is certainly 
popular. The best seller these days is 
1-2-3, a program designed with the IBM 
in mind that some people say gives the 
IBM PC power beyond the dreams of 
mainframe computer designers of five 
years ago. 

Data bases. The most popular data- 
base-management system is dBase II. For 


subjective data bases (that is, information 
that must be classified by assigned key 
words), the best is SuperFile. 

Communications programs, No clear 
popular favorites here. Гуе found LYNC 
to be very good. 

. 

And so it goes. The good news and the 
bad news about the world of personal 
computers is that it’s changing quickly. 
No one can keep up, but have I got a deal 
for you. I publish occasional “Updates” 
for my computer books (The Word Proc- 
essing Book, The Personal Computer Book 
and others). Readers of my books are 
invited to write in for the “Updates,” and 
now that you’ve taken this short course, 
you are as well. Please ask for “Update 
C”—it’s such a fast world that A and B 
have already been incorporated into this 
article. The service is free, but please send 
a self-addressed, stamped (37 cents) enve- 
lope. Pd appreciate your including a dol- 
lar or two to help pay for printing, though 
it’s not required. Send everything to Peter 
A. McWilliams, “Update С,” Box 6969B, 
Los Angeles, California 90069. 

Now you get some time off to go out 
and touch the merchandise. ГЇЇ be back in 
a couple of months with part four of this 
three-part series, and we'll explore what 
to do once you get your computer home. 
See you then. 


“Attention, everyone, we'll be experiencing a little 
turbulence for the next few minutes.” 


23 


PLAYBOY 


274 


GREAT PLAYS шоп page 155 


“Ed Thorp’s previous book was the one that showed 
the world how to count cards at blackjack.” 


sat around 5, the bonds wouldn't move 
much, either—but would be paying 15 
percent for your trouble. Not bad. 

If Pan Am went broke, the stock would 
collapse, yielding a huge profit to those 
who had shorted it—but the bond, secured 
by those 747s, might retain much of its 
value, Bingo! 

. 

Тһе common thread in all of these plays 
is limited risk. His is a running, not a 
passing, game, Jeff Tarr says. Three 
yards at a time. (A friend who has run his 
$6000 trust fund up to $800,000 in 14 
years puts it this way: “All I try to do is 
make 30 percent a year. Anything after 
that is gravy.”) But the fellow I should 
really talk to about all this, Tarr says, is 
former MIT math professor Edward О. 
Thorp. Ed Thorp, Tarr says, wrote the 
book on this kind of thing. 


ED THORP'S BOOK 


Ed Thorp's book, co-authored by fellow 
math whiz Sheen Т. Kassouf and pub- 
lished in 1967, was called Beat the Mar- 
ket, A Scientific Market System. One 
should, of course, be highly skeptical of 
books with such titles, but Thorp’s previ- 
ous book, in 1962, was called Beat the 
Dealer. It was the one that showed the 
world how to count cards at blackjack. 

“Wall Street is a bigger game,” Thorp 
grins, sitting at the conference table in his 
Newport Beach, California, office, “and 
you don’t have to worry about anyone 
breaking your knees if you win.” He and 
his partner in Princeton, James “Jay” 
Regan, manage a nine-figure sum for pri- 
vate clients. Since forming Princeton/ 
Newport Partners in 1969, they've 
averaged nearly a 20 percent annual 
return, less their own hefty profit share. 
(Compounded at 20 percent for 14 years, 
a dollar grows thirteenfold. Invested in the 
Standard & Poor’s 500 index over the 
same period, with dividends, it would 
merely have tripled.) 

Guided by a pair of Serious Computers, 
soon to be replaced by an Even More Seri- 
ous pair, the partnership trades like crazy 
to exploit the glitches in the market. Bro- 
kerage fees run into the millions each 
year. Some 90 percent of their trades suc- 
ceed, Thorp says, albeit on a modest scale. 
A few succeed on an immodest scale. 

RESORTS INTERNATIONAL: BUY THE 
WARRANTS, SHORT THE STOCK 

In 1972, stock in badly troubled Re- 
sorts International was 8, and warrants 
that entitled you to buy it at 40 were, 
understandably, cheap. But 27 cents? 


Thorp’s model, weighing the length of 
time to expiration, expected interest rates 
and the volatility of the underlying stock, 
told him the warrants were worth $4. He 
bought all he could—10,800 of them—for 
a total outlay, including commissions, of 
$3200. But rather than risk even so 
modest a sum, he shorted 800 shares of the 
common stock to hedge his bet. Remem- 
ber, we're talking arbitrage, not spccula- 
tion. 

A few months later, the stock fell to 1%, 
so Thorp covered his short for a profit that 
more than paid for the warrants—which 
he kept. 

Years passed. 

Around 1978, he began getting calls 
from people who wanted to buy his war- 
rants. They were offering $3 and $4—not 
bad for 27-cent warrants—but by then, 
Resorts was trading around 15, and 
Thorp's model told him the warrants were 
worth $7 or $8. So he bought more (and 
began shorting the stock again as a 
hedge). 

He ultimately sold his original 10,800 
warrants, purchased at 27 cents, for $100 
apiece. “All those guys in the Resorts casi- 
no counting cards,” Thorp chuckles at the 
irony. “We found an even better way.” 


MARKET INDEX FUTURES: SELL THE. 
INDEX, BUY ITS COMPONENTS 


When futures contracts were first of- 
fered on the Standard & Poor's 500, in 
April 1982, investors were able, in effect, 
to go long or short the whole market—all 
500 S&P stocks at once. But, especially at 
first, the prices at which those contracts 
traded were often a little out of whack. 

If I were to show you a 85 bill and a roll 
of 100 20-cent stamps, you’d pretty quick- 
ly figure it was worth $25. You'd be 
unlikely to offer more; I'd be unlikely to 
accept less. But if I showed you 38,420 
lire, 62 guilder, 2,000,000 yen and some 
peso-denominated traveler's checks and 
offered you the right to buy the whole 
works six months from now, you might be 
less certain what to pay. And, frankly, 
who would care if you paid a tiny bit too 
much? Ed Thorp's computer cares. 

And Ed Thorp's computer was ready to 
run those calculations the moment S&P 
futures contracts began trading. Few other 
traders were quite so fast off the mark. 

So from June to October 1982, Thorp’s 
group busied itself selling (and buying) 
S&P futures contracts and buying (or sell- 
ing) the stocks those contracts represented. 
The idea wasn't to guess which way the 
market was headed—quite the contrary. 
The idea was to exploit the inefficiencies 


of the market place. In effect, to buy $5 
bills for $4.90 or sell them for $5.10. 

This entailed truly extraordinary activ- 
ity. Every time the command went out to 
sell overvalued S&P contracts, orders 
would also go out to buy corresponding 
numbers of shares of 265 different stocks. 
(Calculations showed that risk could be 
sufficiently reduced using 265 rather than 
all 500 of the stocks in the S&P 500.) The 
partnership was doing 700 trades a day at 
one point—generating more than one per- 
cent of the total New York Stock Ex- 
change volume on some days—turning 
over, in all, something like half a billion 
dollars of securities over the four- 
month period. It meant tying up about 
$25,000,000 of the partnership’s capital 
and racking up monumental brokerage 
commissions. But the four-month profit 
came to $6,000,000. 

The game petered out as other players 
wised up. Now 85 sells for so close to $5, it 
hardly pays to play. 

BANCROFT CONVERTIBLE FUND: 
RAZZLE-DAZZLE 


Can you stand one more? 

Bancroft is a closed-end mutual fund— 
one of those rare mutual funds that, after 
it was sold to the public, closed its doors to 
future investment (most mutual funds will 
eagerly accept as much new money as 
people want to pitch into them). Its shares, 
representing tiny slices of the fund, trade 
on the American Stock Exchange. In 
theory, if a fund’s portfolio is worth 
$50,000,000 and the fund is divided into 
10,000,000 shares, each of them should 
be worth $5—right? Typically, though, 
closed-end funds sell at a discount. 

So, pleased at the thought of buying $5 
bills for $4, Thorp and Regan went into 
the open market and from July 1977 
through July 1978 accumulated nine per- 
cent of all Bancroft’s shares at a 20 to 25 
percent discount from their net asset value. 

To hedge against a general market 
decline, they sold short many of the very 
same securities Bancroft owned. 

The thought was perhaps to persuade 
Bancroft management to convert itself to 
an open-end fund or to liquidate, either of 
which would allow shareholders to redeem 
their shares at full, undiscounted, value. 

Meanwhile, a Florida bank holding 
company called Combanks had had much 
the same idea. It had purchased 11 percent 
of Bancroft (from Carl Icahn, yet another 
well-known arbitrager). So in September 
1978, Thorp and Regan graciously agreed 
to sell Combanks their shares—at a ten 
percent discount to net asset value. Five- 
dollar bills they had bought for less than 
$4 each they were now selling for $4.50. 
Fat profit number one. 

The following summer, they went back 
into the market and began buying up 
another five percent of Bancroft, still trad- 
ing at a hefty 15 percent to 20 percent 
discount. They sold these shares not 
long afterward to financial conglomerate 


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Baldwin United at a slim five percent dis- 
count. Fat profit number two. 

Then Baldwin, which had also bought 
Combanks’ holding and some others, got 
into a cash bind. So it sold the whole block 
of Bancroft—now fully 31 percent of all 
the shares outstanding—back to Thorp 
and Regan at an 11 percent discount. 
Five-dollar bills for $4.45. 

Less than 90 days later, Thorp and 
Regan were successful in forcing Bancroft 
management, with which by then they had 
more than a little dout, to make a public 
tender offer for their shares at a mere one 
percent discount from net asset value. Fat 
profit number three. 

(Had all Bancroft shareholders ten- 
dered—which it would seem to have been 
unquestionably in their interest to do— 
Bancroft management would have had to 
sell off its portfolio, distribute the cash and 
find other work. Interestingly, few share- 
holders other than Thorp and Regan ten- 
dered their shares. This may have had 
something to do with the fact that, where 
most tender offers are advertised with 
blaring enthusiasm, Bancroft manage- 
ment chose to make this опе... quietly.) 


THE CHRYSLER PLAY: BUY THE 
PREFERRED, SHORT THE COMMON 


"This was my other great idea. 1 never 
actually got around to doing it, but it did 
seem awfully smart at the time. 

There was Chrysler іп 1981, $6 a share 
and headed for zero, and there was 
Chrysler preferred, also $6 but a very dif- 
ferent animal. The preferred stock came 
with a 82.75 dividend—never to be raised 
or lowered—and the promise that if 
Chrysler ever fell behind in paying that 
dividend, not a penny could be paid 10 the 
common-stock holders until every cent due 
the preferred sharcholders was paid. At 
the time, about $5 in preferred dividends 
had been omitted, and more was accruing, 
every quarter. My thought was to short 
the common stock and buy the preferred. 

Two things could happen: 

1. Chrysler could go bust. In that event, 
the creditors might eventually get some 
small portion of the money owing to them, 
but there would surely not be enough to 
pay everybody off and have anything 
meaningful left over for the common 
shareholders. So the common stock would 
trade at next to nothing. The preferred 
stock would also be worth next to nothing, 
except that in bankruptcy, preferred stock 
gets in line ahead of common stock, so 
maybe it would be worth a little some- 
thing after all. My gain from shorting the 
common stock should equal or exceed my 
loss on the preferred. 

All in all, not a terrible prospect. 

2. Chrysler could hang in there, catch 
an upswing in the economy and survive 
another cycle. How would the two securi- 
ties act then? 

Well, ultimately, the value in а com- 
mon stock derives from the stream of divi- 
dends it will pay out over the decades. Yet 


before Chrysler could restore so much as 
five cents of the ten-cent-a-share quarterly 
dividend it had discontinued on the com- 
mon in the summer of 1980, it would have 
to pay off the entire arrearage on the pre- 
ferred stock, which would have been 
cumulating (as they say) inexorably at 
$2.75 per year. 

So if Chrysler began to show marginal 
signs of health, the common stock might 
bounce a little (how high could it bounce 
under that Alpine debt, besieged by С.М. 
and Japan?), but the preferred might 
really mean something. There would be 
the prospect of a one-time payment of bet- 
ter than $11 a share (if it came, say, in 
December 1983) to clear up the arrear- 
ages, plus an additional $2.75 a year For 
the Rest of Time. Surely, under such cir- 
cumstances, you'd have a valuable little 
piece of paper on your hands. Whatever it 
would be worth, it would be a heck of a lot 
more than the $6 you paid for it! 

So what little you might lose covering 
your short in the common you would 
make up, very handily, on the profit and 
the dividends from the preferred. How- 
ever well the common did, I figured—and 
I couldn't imagine its doing very well— 
the preferred would have to do better. 

Obviously, two things were at work 
here to make my opportunity. The com- 
mon was selling unrealistically high, at 6, 
bid up by unsophisticates excited by Тасос- 
ca and prone to invest with their hearts 
rather than their calculators; while the 
preferred was selling unrealistically low, 


dumped by the folks who ordinarily do 
buy preferreds—white-shoc types whe 
were not about to scuff those shoes with an 
issue as scruffy as this onc. 

3. I had not considered the third possi- 
bility, which was that Chrysler would 
do brilliantly, pay off its Government- 
guaranteed loan seven ycars carly and 
show substantial signs of robustitude. As 1 
write this, Chrysler preferred is up from 
$6 to $30.25 (and you can just taste the 
announcement that the dividend arrearage 
will be paid off), which is the part I had 
hoped would happen—a huge, long-term 
capital gain, plus the prospect of a huge, 
lump-sum dividend payment. What I did 
not expect was that Chrysler common 
would climb even higher, from $6 to $31. 
All told, I would have broken even, more 
or less, before some possibly advantageous 
tax consequence—and before considering 
the smarter things I could have done with 
that money. Like depositing it in a savings 
account. 

. 

Опе could go on. Have we even men- 
tioned options? Straddles? Spreads? No, 
we have not. But this sort of thing is more 
fun to read about when the dollars 
involved are one’s own. However, the 
important point may not be that you or 1 
should try playing these games but that we 
should appreciate the kind of pros we're 
up against when we do. 


“But, Momma, this is not your ordinary 


May-December romance. . . . 


» 


PLAYBOY 


One BRIEF SHINING MOMENT (continued from page 154) 


“ Why do you think you can be President?’ He stared 
Jor a moment, then gave a little lopsided grin.” 


Organization Man, The Last Hurrah, the 
new Barth, the latest Camus, an Angus 
Wilson play, Nevil Shute’s On the Beach, 
Parkinson’s Law, The Ugly American 
and, looking out of place, two Тап Fleming 
thrillers, Diamonds Are Forever and From 
Russia, with Love. But these were diver- 
sions. It was politics that pre-empted his 
thoughts in these months. 

A President was about to move out of 
the White House, and while Vice-Presi- 
dent Richard Nixon was certain to be his 
party’s nominee, the line of prospective 
tenants on the Democratic side was 
lengthy. Most men with Potomac fever 
juggle the idea for a while, contemplate it, 
feel its pull growing or diminishing until 
time and events force their hands. Kenne- 
dy’s case was different. Two years earlier, 
he and his father, Joe, “the Ambassador,” 
a former American envoy to Britain, had 
gone over the latest nationwide election 
statistics provided by analysts the Ambas- 
sador had hired for that one job, and had 
concluded that the time to lunge for the 
supreme prize of American politics was 
upon them. Not the announcement; that 
would be delayed until the first week of 
1960. But from this point forward, the 
junior Senator from Massachusetts would 
have to step up his speaking activities, 
organize his campaign and travel ссазс- 
lessly, talking with local party leaders and 
entertaining the men and women who 
would be delegates. 

In those days, only 16 states held open 
primaries. The majority of delegates to the 
convention were lined up elsewhere, by 
barter, patronage, back-scratching or, now 
and then, plain bribery. But those 16 
offered the only route to power for outsid- 
ers like Kennedy and Hubert Humphrey. 
If neither could establish popular strength 
there, the party would turn away. If, on 
the other hand, one of them built up a 
head of steam, knocking off all challeng- 
ers, denying him the nomination would 
not only be difficult; it would brand the 
convention’s nominee as boss-picked. Ken- 
nedy saw that. It was the key to his strate- 
gy. He knew the country would refuse the 
Presidency toaman whoseemed tohaveswin- 
dled another candidate out of the office. 

That, in sum, is how the young Massa- 
chusetts Senator outwitted the party's 
three most formidable contenders—Lyn- 
don Johnson, Stuart Symington and Adlai 
Stevenson. Outschemed, they forfeited the 
race. Because Kennedy and Humphrey 
were the only two Democrats in the field, 
and they confronted each other in only two 
states—Wisconsin and West Virginia— 


26 the issue would be decided there. 


In the summer of 1959, all that lay over 
the horizon. Nevertheless, thoughts of it 
were never far away. If you were a friend 
of Kennedy’s, sitting with him on the 
porch of his Hyannis Port cottage, sur- 
rounded by his summer reading, you 
remember asking him the big question 
then, the one you had been shaping in 
your mind for a very long time: “Why do 
you think you can be President?” 

He stared for a moment, then gave a 
little lopsided grin and looked out to sea. 
“Don’t you suppose Pve asked myself that 
a thousand times? The thought is intimi- 
dating. But then, you know, I look around 
me at the others in the race, and I say to 
myself, ‘Well, if they think they can do it, 
why not me? Why not me?” That's the 
answer, and I think it’s enough.” 


. 

On April 5, 1960, in Wisconsin, Ken- 
nedy won more popular votes than any 
candidate in the history of the state's pri- 
maries, carrying six Congressional dis- 
tricts and two thirds of the delegate votes. 
Those around him were elated. He 
wasn’t. He had been watching the televi- 
sion commentators in silence, sipping a 
bowl of chicken-noodle soup, ignoring the 
whoops around him. Eunice, the sister 
closest to him, sensed his mood. “What 
does it mean, Jack?” she asked. 

In a bitter voice, he replied, “It means 
that we have to do it all over again. We 
have to go through every one and win every 
one of them, all the way to the convention.” 

Jack understood how the results would 
be interpreted by the East Coast bosses 
who could deliver the delegates he needed. 
He had won 56 percent of the popular 
vote, but he had lost all four Protestant 
icts, had carried one of mixed reli- 
gions by a hair and had rolled up all of his 
popular majority from heavily Catholic 
areas. It had been his great hope to stifle 
the religious issue—what one Massachu- 
setts politician had delicately called “the 
canonical impediment"—in Wisconsin. 
He had failed, and now he had to tackle it 
on a far more ominous battleground— 
West Virginia, deeply religious and 95 
percent Protestant. 

By now, it was obvious that Johnson's, 
Symington’s and Stevenson’s supporters 
wanted to use Humphrey as a pawn, hop- 
ing he could stop Kennedy on the first 
ballot and give them room to maneuver. 
But Jack's men were still confident— 
indeed, overconfident—as Bobby Kennedy 
and an advance party flew to Charleston, 
West Virginia, where Bob McDonough, a 
seasoned pol, had been organizing the 
state for more than a year. According lo a 


Harris Poll taken four months before the 
Wisconsin primary, Kennedy could de- 
stroy Humphrey in West Virginia, 70 to 
30 percent. As the newcomers entered the 
room in the Kanawha Hotel, where 
McDonough’s key workers were meeting, 
they were surprised to see that everyone 
there was silent and glowering. 

"Well," Bobby said cordially. "What 
are our problems?” 

А man jumped up and yelled, "He's a 
Catholic! That's our goddamned prob- 
lem!” Suddenly, the entire room erupted. 
Men were shouting that West Virginians 
would never vote for a Catholic, whatever 
the race, for President or dogcatcher. Bob- 
by stared at them. These people had been 
working for Kennedy for months, and no 
one had told them that their candidate was 
a Catholic. He checked the Harris Poll, 
which had been the source of so much 
optimism. Harris had made the same 
omission. Here in West Virginia, he now 
realized, religion was more than a key 
issue; it was the issue. The new Harris 
figures were Humphrey 60, Kennedy 40. 

So new tactics were devised. Because 
West Virginians admired heroes, radio 
and TV spots were prepared showing a 
shot of a PT boat and Jack, the decorated 
war hero. And he would begin to call 
Humphrey a “front man” for politicians 
who wouldn’t face him now, here, on 
West Virginia soil. 

He asked crowds, “If Johnson and the 
other candidates want your vote in No- 
vember, why don’t they have enough 
respect for you to come here and ask for 
your support in the primary?” In a state 
that had long felt slighted, the response 
was impressive. He visited their villages in 
the mountain hollows, went into the im- 
poverished mining areas and had himself 
lowered into a mine. The desolation, the 
bleakness and the hunger touched him 
more than anything else in the entire cam- 
paign. Still blackened with soot, he 
stepped up to a microphone and said, 
vibrantly, “President Eisenhower should 
take Vice-President Nixon by the hand 
and lead him into these homes in McDow- 
ell County and Mingo County and Logan 
County so he can see how the families of 
West Virginia are trying to live.” He was 
making a total effort now, shaking every 
hand stretched toward him and speaking 
until, having lost his voice, he signaled 
Teddy to substitute for him. Teddy made 
a rousing, impassioned speech, and the 
cheering was so prolonged that Jack 
stepped to the mike to croak that his 
brother was not old enough to meet the 
constitutional minimum-age requirement 
for the Presidency. 

Usually, Kennedy’s most conspicuous 
supporters were young. In Logan and 
Mingo and McDowell and Slab Fork, 
however, his “touchers”—feminine sup- 
porters actually wanted to feel him—were 
not shrill high school kids. They were old 
women, older than he would ever live to 
be, deformed by years of cruel labor, and 


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PLAYBOY 


they reached out with wembling fingers to 
brush his sleeve or jacket. He had a special 
way with them. He would lean over, smil- 
ing tenderly, and let his cheek glide 
against theirs. In that intimate moment, 
he would say softly, so softly that you had 
to be right there to hear it, “Thank you, 
dear. Thank you.” 

But the Harris Polls continued to 
report that the key to the election was the 
religious question. Kennedy's advisors, 
searching for ways to cope with it, were 
split. Ken O'Donnell and other members 
of the Washington staff urged him not 
to raise the matter in public; it was too 
explosive. Kennedy's West Virginians dis- 
agreed completely. Their neighbors and 
friends didn't hate Catholics; they feared 
them. Silence would only feed and 
strengthen that fear. Louis Harris, shuf- 
fling a sheaf of poll reports, said he was in 
complete agreement. 

After a major speech in Washington in 
mid-April, just two weeks before the poll- 
ing day, Kennedy reassembled his staff to 
tell them he would attack, breaking the 
silence about his faith and encouraging 
discussion of it. He was prepared to an- 
swer all charges, questions, accusations 
and insinuations without consulting cleri- 
cal authorities. "Let's face it.” he said. 
“It's the most important and the biggest 
issue in this campaign. Hubert can't talk 
about it, though it hasn’t escaped my 
notice that he uses Give Us That Old- 
Time Religion as his theme song. So when 
Т talk about it, ГЇЇ be the only candidate 
talking about the most important issue 
that all the voters are thinking about.” 

Speaking at a rally on Main Street in 
Morgamown, Kennedy told a small, in- 
different crowd that the need for change 
in the Federal Government was urgent— 
then he paused. His voice changed, 
picking up a cutting edge, and you 
suddenly realized he was ringing changes 
on a talk he had given in Boston 14 
years earlier. In that Congressional race, 
his first campaign, he had been defending 
himself against charges that he was a car- 
peibagger. Here in Morgantown, he put 
the stratagem to different use: “Nobody 
asked me if I was a Catholic when I joined 
the United States Navy!” The crowd 
stared at him. In those days, there were 
many social taboos, and one of them was 
that you never discussed your religion 
with anyone except your priest or preach- 
er or members of your family. So the peo- 
ple of Morgantown’s Main Street gaped 
Politicians didn’t say things like that. But 
Jack was saying them, and he was picking 
up momentum. 

“Did 40,000,000 Americans lose their 
right to run for the Presidency on the day 
they were baptizedas Catholics?” he asked. 
“Nobody asked my brother if he was a 
Catholic or a Protestant before he climbed 
into an American bomber plane to fly his 
last mission!” 

A few feet to your right, one man mur- 
тигей, “Pretty good talker, I'd say." 


As the crowd drifted away and he slid 
into the car, he said, “How did it go?” 

Still shaken, all you could manage was, 
“Very good. Keep it up.” But you could 
see he was proud. It had been on his mind 
a long time, and he'd taken the plunge 
and found that the water felt fine. 

Thus far, though, he was still on the 
stump. Newspapers rarely carry the re- 
marks candidates make on street corners, 
and while his new line was undoubtedly 
passed along by word of mouth, only a 
minority had actually heard and seen him. 
That changed on May eighth, two days 
before the Tuesday election. Kennedy ap- 
peared on a half-hour paid telecast with 
Frank Roosevelt, son of F.D.R., the Presi- 
dent most West Virginians remembered as 
having given them the best deal—new or 
old—they ever got. There was no script. 
Roosevelt asked questions and Kennedy 
replied extemporaneously. The religious 
question, the whole point of the program, 
was raised by Roosevelt after they had 
been on the air three or four minutes 
and could be sure the families out there 
had poured their coffee and settled down. 
Jack’s answer occupied nearly half of the 
broadcast. He reviewed the long struggle 
between church and state and the monu- 
mental decision to separate the two. Then, 
looking directly into the camera, he said: 

“So when any man stands on the steps 
of the Capitol and takes the oath of office 
of President, he is swearing to support the 
separation of church and state; he puts one 
hand on the Bible and raises the other hand 
to God and he takes the oath. And if he 
breaks his oath, he is not only committing 
a crime against the Constitution, for 
which Congress can impeach him—and 
should impeach him—but he is commit- 
ling a sin against God.” 

At that point, Kennedy raised his hand 
from an imaginary Bible and, repeating 
himself softly, said, “A sin against God, 
for he has sworn on the Bible.” 

Theodore H. White described this as 
“the finest TV broadcast I have ever heard 
any political candidate make.” It turned 
the tide of voter opinion, and that tide was 
now running strong. Harris’ pollsters, sta- 
tioned all over the state, were checking 
and rechecking certain streets in certain 
communities at certain intervals on a day- 
to-day basis. “You could see them switch,” 
Harris said. 

On Monday, the day after the state- 
ment—the day before the election—Har- 
ris found, for the first time, a narrow 
Kennedy lead. 

It was an ironic turn of events for 
Humphrey, who, in these final days of the 
campaign, was the most thwarted, pro- 
voked and aggravated politician in the 
United States. His entire life had been a 
testament to tolerance and charity. But a 
West Vii ian determined to demon- 
strate his tolerance, if only to himself, 
almost had to vote for Kennedy. 

Tuesday dawned bleak and drizzly, and 
Jack awoke with an overwhelming, pre- 


monition of defeat. Harris was wrong, he 
thought; he could feel it. He told Bobby 
that he was going home, he didn’t want to 
see the others, and it was still early when 
his plane, the Caroline, the Convair Jack 
had bought for the campaign (“ИЛИ save 
money”), set him down in Washington. 
He asked Jackie to invite their friends Ben 
and Tony Bradlee to dinner. Later, the 
four of them could take in a movie. The 
Bradlees arrived with a bottle of cham- 
pagne. “One way or another, well crack it 
open this evening,” Jack said. Before leav- 
ing for the film, he called Bobby at 
Charleston’s Kanawha Hotel. The polls 
had closed at eight РМ, but no returns 
were in. “OK,” Jack said to the others. 
“Let's go to the pictures.” 

In the Kanawha, Bob waited for the 
first figures. When the results started 
coming in, early precincts reporting from 
the Eastern Panhandle, where people 
lived their whole lives without laying eyes 
оп a Catholic, were voting heavily for 
Kennedy. By 9:20, Kennedy was taking 
Humphrey 60 to 40. Suburbs, factory 
towns, hill slopes, pocket villages; there 
were no exceptions. A half hour later, 
another deluge of returns arrived. The 
same pattern was emerging in the cities. 

Well before midnight, Humphrey de- 
cided to concede. Prolonging the agony 
was pointless. From his room in the 
Ruffner Hotel, he sent out the appropriate 
telegrams and phoned generous support- 
ers. His graceful telegram of congratula- 
tions did not reach Kennedy headquarters 
until one лм. Bobby muttered, “God, poor 
Hubert. Wisconsin and now this. He 
works and works and spends and spends 
and loses and loses.” 

Since Jack was in Washington, Bob, as 
always, saw to it that what his brother 
ought to do was done. He walked through 
Charleston’s rainy streets—bareheaded, 
as always—to express his personal appre- 
ciation for Hubert’s telegram. Humphrey 
said he wanted to greet Jack on his return. 
He intended to be a good loser; it was 
important to him. Bob sensed that and 
wanted to help him. On Capitol Street, 
they stepped into Humphrey headquar- 
ters, Jimmy Wofford, a folk singer who 
had accompanied him throughout the 
campaign, was strumming his guitar—old 
Depression songs, songs of the New 
Deal, of. Humphrey's youth, of a poorer 
but infinitely more generous America. 
Humphrey's eyes were bright with tears 
as he started to read his statement. He 
didn't finish; Jimmy started sobbing. Hu- 
bert patted his shoulder. Bobby went over 
and put his arm around Humphrey. He 
led them up to the Kanawha, and he, too, 
was crying. That was Bobby Kennedy, the 
man everybody called ruthles: 

In Washington, Jack and his party had 
piled into his car and headed for the 
Trans-Lux to see Suddenly, Last Sum- 
mer. Unfortunately, they were late and 
couldn’t get in. They walked across New 


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York Avenue to the Plaza, which showed 
blue movies. Pornography was less outra- 
geous then than it later became, but Pri- 
vate Property was nasty enough, starring 
one Katie Manx as a horny housewife 
who spread-eagled for every milkman, 
newsboy and iceman who wandered near 
her grasp. Halfway through the movie, 
someone wondered if this sordid little 
Valentine were on the Catholic index of 
forbidden films. It was. The man who 
would presently become the first Catholic 
President, whose scholarly bent had en- 
chanted West Virginians the previous 
Sunday, was watching a dirty movie. 

He was not, however, enjoying it. Ordi- 
narily, he found sex fascinating—gossip 
about film stars and Congressmen who 
liked whips and almost any fetching girl 
who happened to roll by and catch his 
eye. Under other circumstances, he would 
have enjoyed Katie Manx's romps in 
various improbable positions. Tonight, his 
thoughts were in Charleston. He began to 
suspect that he had written himself off too 
quickly. Every 20 minutes, he would slip 
out to the lobby, call Bobby, return to 
whisper, “Nothing definite yet" and 
slump in his seat, flicking a fingernail 
against his teeth, Eventually, the last 
handy man pleasured Miss Manx for the 
last time, and it was time to head home. 

As he opened the door of his N Street 
house, the phone was ringing. It was Bob- 
by. Jack had won; had, in fact, rolled up a 
stunning majority. After war whoops and 
a call to the Ambassador, the Bradlees 
fetched their bottle of champagne from the 
refrigerator. A phone call alerted the crew 
of the Caroline for immediate departure. 
The Bradlees were invited; so were family 
members Steve and Jean Smith. At the 
airport, the press wanted a statement. 
Jack said, “I think we have now buried 
the religious issue once and for all.” 


. 
After Wisconsin and West Virginia, 
one would think Kennedy had earned a 
long rest. But in politics, it is the losers 
who rest. The next seven weeks again 
tested his stamina. He visited, and often 
revisited, 16 states, appearing before state 
conventions and state committee meetings, 
talking late into the night with governors 
and state leaders and bargaining with pro- 
fessional politicians, who, in the arithme- 
tic of conventions, counted more heavily 
than the delegates chosen in expensive, 
lengthy, wearing, enervating primaries. 
Almost a week before the national 
convention, Bobby arrived in Los Angeles 
with the Kennedy team’s vanguard and 
established a base in the Biltmore Hotel’s 
room 8315—actually a four-room suite. 
As the days passed and the excitement 
mounted, the feeling of confidence in 8315 
became a kind of intoxicant. It was under 
those circumstances that Jack’s team saw 
Lyndon Johnson hold a special press con- 
ference on July fifth, six days before the 
convention’s opening gavel. Kennedy men 
disliked Johnson; they thought him a 


hypocritical, unprincipled opportunist of 
illiberal views. He announced with his 
inimitable solemnity that he had searched 
his soul, found himself capable of serving 
his country as President and was, from 
that moment, available. Kennedy head- 
quarters rocked with laughter. 

More mirth followed. Johnson was 
claiming 502 and a half vores. The majori- 
ty, 385 delegates, came from the South 
and the Border States. He also said he had 
scattered backers in the Northeast, but— 
and this was new—he claimed 80 solid 
votes in the West and the Mountain 
States. In suite 8315, there were files on 
each of the convention’s 4509 delegates 
and alternates. After a few minutes of 
checking, chuckles were heard, and as 
notes were compared, they grew. As best 
Kennedy’s supporters could tell, the dele- 
gates Johnson thought he had recruited 
were all hidden Kennedy votes— Jack's 
second-ballot reserve. 

Kennedy’s family, friends and staff 
were scattered all over Los Angeles. The 
Biltmore suite was the nerve center. The 
key figures, veterans of Wisconsin and 
West Virginia, had all arrived. Bobby, 
Larry O'Brien, Ken O’Donnell and 
Pierre Salinger—Salinger was now han- 
dling Kennedy’s press relations—were 
based in the suite. The candidate, howev- 
er, needed seclusion. Suite 9333 was 
reserved for him, but Jack didn’t even 
want to be in the hotel. A week before the 
convention, he had sent Dave Powers to 
L.A. to find a hideaway. Its location 
would be known only to Bobby, Jack’s 
secretary, Evelyn Lincoln, and a few close 
friends. Dave found an apartment build- 
ing at 522 North Rossmore Boulevard 
owned by Jack Haley, the actor, who 
agreed to rent Kennedy the penthouse. 
Beneath him would be the apartment of 
William Gargan, another actor. Haley 
and Gargan were sworn to secrecy. Here, 
Jack would be only a ten-minute drive 
from the convention site, the Los Angeles 
Sports Arena. Four telephone lines were 
installed, including one for nightly talks 
between Jack and Jackie. It was a sound 
plan, and it worked until Wednesday, the 
third day of the convention. Kennedy was 
briefly at the Bi re was begging 
Dave to give him the hideaway address, 
arguing that once Jack had been nomi- 
nated, photographers and cameramen 
would need pictures of it. Dave refused: 
Jack wanted to return to North Rossmore 
and pick up his swimming trunks. His 
parents had moved into Marion Davies’ 
Beverly Hills villa. Kennedy planned to 
watch the nominating speeches on a televi- 
sion set beside the pool there; afier dining 
with his mother and father, he would 
return to his hideaway. Once he had 
joined his parents, the hideaway could be 
disclosed. The argument went back and 
forth. Finally, Jack intervened: “Oh, for 
God's sake, give him the address." 

Dave did, and Pierre rushed off happi- 
ly. At that moment, Frank Roosevelt 


arrived and dragged Jack off to a party of 
delegates, delaying his departure for 15 
minutes. By the time he and Dave reached 
the hideaway, the street was cluttered 
with television equipment, and a crowd of 
spectators had gathered. Jack glared at 
Dave, who had done everything in his 
power to prevent precisely this, only to be 
overruled by Kennedy. “Well,” Jack said, 
“this is one hell of a hideaway, isn’t it?” 
Leaving unseen was a real problem. Car- 
rying their swimming trunks, the next 
President of the United States and his 
closest aide stealthily descended a fire 
escape on the back of the building, climbed 
over a back fence into a neighbor's garden 
and made their way to the Davies villa. 
There they swam and then watched Or- 
ville Freeman nominate Kennedy. 

Unfortunately, some of the older party 
leaders seemed more interested in savag- 
ing Kennedy than in beating Nixon. 
Harry Truman had opened the attack 
in a televised press conference, asking 
Kennedy, “Are you certain you're quite 
ready for the country and the country is 
ready for you?” He clearly preferred more 
mature Democrats, naming Johnson 
(whom Kennedy suspected of stage-man- 
aging Truman’s performance), Missouri's 
Symington, Governor Robert Meyner of 
New Jersey and Connecticut’s Chester 
Bowles. Stevenson was unmentioned. 
Truman raised other arguments, but age 
was the real issue. The transfer of power 
from one generation to another cannot be 
painless. The four chieftains in suite 8315 
were Bob Kennedy, 34; O'Donnell, 36; 
Salinger, 35; and O'Brien, the old man on 
the Kennedy team, 43. Worse, Ted Soren- 
sen, Kennedy’s chief advisor in Wash- 
ington, was only 32. When Johnson had 
growled that he wouldn't “be pushed 
around by a 43-year-old boy,” he meant 
Jack. Eisenhower felt the same; he always 
referred to Kennedy as “that boy.” This 
convention, Scotty Reston wrote in The 
New York Times, would be remembered 
as “the assembly that witnessed the 
Changing of the Guard.” 

Charges by a former President of Ken- 
nedy’s own party could not be ignored. 
Truman’s idea of an open convention, 
Jack said in his sharp rebuttal, seemed to 
be one “that studies all the candidates, 
reviews their records and then takes his 
advice.” To call him inexperienced was, 
he said, downright absurd. His 14 years 
on Capitol Hill meant he was more sea- 
soned in national public life than any 20th 
Century President when elected to office, 
and that included Woodrow Wilson, 
Franklin Roosevelt—and Harry Truman. 
The White House, Kennedy said, needed 
precisely what he offered: “strength and 
health and vigor.” 

Monday evening, there was a respite 
from factional bloodletting. At the Demo- 
cratic Convention dinner, the speaker was 
the junior Senator from Massachusetts. 
He reviewed the recent record of the 
Republican President, and it was a highly 


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successful speech, largely because in the 
two months between the West Virginia 
primary and that night’s gathering, Eisen- 
hower had been lurching from one disas- 
ter to another. lt was a good year to be 
united against a Republican nominee. 

But despite Kennedy’s commanding 
lead, the day before the balloting, Johnson 
toured state delegations with a naked plea 
to “stop Kennedy.” He cited his record, 
told them he was entitled to and expected 
their support. That was L.B. J. the Major- 
ity Leader; if you didn’t vote his way, he'd 
stick it in you and break it off. But these 
were not Senators. They were delegates, 
most of whom were already committed 
one way or another. Johnson attacked 
Kennedy’s liberal credentials. Then, 
reaching back to Exodus 20:5, visited the 
sins of the father upon his child 
and painted the sins blacker than they had 
been, implying that Joe Kennedy had 
been not only an appeaser but also an 
admirer of the Nazis and had "thought 
Hitler was right.” Finally, and desperate- 
ly, rumors were spread that Jack was 
“diseased” —some even said the disease 
was “social.” 

Kennedy’s physicians testified to his fit- 
ness. Johnson threw up his hands. Of 
course he believed the medical testimony, 
and he couldn’t imagine who was respon- 
sible for such despicable tales. 

At Convention Hall, Sam Rayburn 
nominated Lyndon, but when Gene 
McCarthy, the freshman Senator from 
Minnesota, rose to nominate Governor 
Adlai Ewing Stevenson of Illinois, the 
convention erupted in excitement. All day, 
events had been building toward this mo- 
ment. Stevenson was not merely admired, 
he was cherished and deeply beloved. The 
galleries and the bays outside the hall 
were packed with Stevenson enthusiasts, 
and they went rocketing down the aisles. 
Yelling, wriggling, chanting, snake danc- 
ing, they congested the floor as balloons 
drifted overhead and popped, paper ban- 
ners streaming in every direction read WE 
WANT STEVENSON. The chanters picked it 
up as standards bobbed up and down. 

The Ambassador, watching Marion 
Davies’ poolside TV, was briefly alarmed. 
Jack phoned Bobby for the latest vote run- 
down. Bob said that the demonstration, 
though well organized, had influenced no 
votes. Indeed, in California, Stevenson’s 
delegates had dropped sharply. Hanging 
up, Jack said, “Don't worry, Dad; Steven- 
son has everything but delegates.” 

Kennedy reached his apartment just in 
time for the first ballot. As the states were 
called, he kept score on a tally board. By 
the time the roll reached Wyoming, his 
total was 748—only 13 more would put 
him over the top. As Jack peered at the 
screen, he saw his youngest brother 
crouching, the Wyoming delegation gath- 
ered around him. Teddy’s grin had never 
been broader. Jack said quietly, “This 
may be it.” And it was. The state's delega- 


tion went for him in one block, and that 
made him the Democratic Presidential 
nominee of 1960. 

After a brief talk with his wife, he hur- 
ried to the Sports Arena, where he would 
make a short appearance before the con- 
vention. A band played Toora-Loora- 
Loora and then, as he entered the hall and 
mounted the platform, Happy Days Are 
Here Again. The delegates cheered while 
he stood there smiling, flanked by his 
mother and his sisters. He spoke briefly, 
expressing his gratitude, and then re- 
turned to North Rossmore. 

Back in the apartment, Kennedy told 
Dave he was too tired for a celebration, 
but he was hungry. Dave fried him two 
eggs while Jack prepared for bed. Mean- 
while, his staff, with Bobby as chairman, 
was discussing the Vice-Presidency. Ev- 
eryone there was under the impression 
that Jack was considering only two Sena- 
tors: Symington of Missouri and Henry 
Jackson of Washington. Johnson’s name 
had not been raised. Only a few weeks 
before, Kennedy had said that if he could 
not be President, Johnson was the best- 
qualified alternative. But hard words had 
been spoken this week, and the big Texan 
was anathema to the men who had worked 
so hard for the Kennedy triumph, not to 
mention to the liberal bosses who had 
delivered their delegations and, perhaps, 
to a majority of those who had backed 
Kennedy in the primaries. 
Johnson had said that under no circum- 
stances would he swap his position as Sen- 
ate Majority Leader for the empty office 
of the Vice-Presidency. Reading congratu- 
latory telegrams, Jack had therefore been 
startled to find that the warmest and the 
most graceful had come from the candi- 
date who had run second in the balloting. 

Before going to sleep, he tried to phone 
Johnson, but L.B. J. had left instructions 
that he was not to be disturbed. Jack then 
sent a message to him asking for a ten 
AM. meeting. Powers thought, My God, 
he's going to olfer it to Johnson. His dis- 
may was matched by Lady Bird’s at 8:30, 
when Jack phoned to confirm the meeting 
with her husband. Hanging up, she 
blurted out, “Honey, I know he’s going to 
offer you the Viec-Presideney, and I hope 
you won't take it.” Lyndon phoned Sam 
Rayburn, who said much the same thing. 

Then the Texans started thinking. 
Whoever became President, the post of 
Senate Majority Leader would have only 
a shadow of its greatness under Eisenhow- 
er. The Vice-Presidency would free Lyn- 
don of his sectarian role and his Texas 
constituency. Finally—and for Rayburn, 
this was conclusive—they had to consider 
Nixon, whom the Republicans were about 
to nominate. Rayburn couldn't even bring 
himself ıo speak his name. “Lyndon,” he 
said, "you've got to go on that ticket.” 

What, L.B.J. asked, had changed his 
mind? Mr. Sam said he was wiser now. 


Moreover, 


“Besides, that other fellow called me a 
traitor, and I don’t want a man who calls 
me a traitor to be President.” 

Kennedy’s men took it much, much 
harder. After Jack had phoned Johnson, 
he called the Biltmore suite and told Bob- 
by his decision. Bob was shocked. Salinger 
and O'Donnell were outraged. Bobby re- 
covered quickly, however, and said they 
needed Texas to win in November. When 
he left, Powers told O'Donnell, “If Jack 
wanted to give it to Eleanor Roosevelt, 
Bobby probably would -have said, “All 
right. " O'Donnell's rage mounted as he 
thought of ihe anti- Johnson pledges they'd 
given to labor and civil rights leaders. 

Jack entered, took one look at him and 
said, "We'd better talk alone in the bath- 
room." He was in his toughest mood, but 
O'Donnell was entitled to an explanation. 
In the first place, Kennedy said, Johnson 
hadn't accepted his offer, and there was an 
excellent chance he wouldn't But he 
hoped he would take it. “I’m 43 years old 
and the healthiest candidate. I’m not going 
to die in office. So the Vice-Presidency 
doesn't mean anything.” What it did 
mean, he said, was that after a slim Dem- 
ocratic victory in November—he had no 
illusions about a landslide—“] won't be 
able to live with Lyndon Johnson as 
the leader of a small majority in the Sen- 
ate. Did it ever occur to you that if Lyndon 
becomes Vice-President, ГЇЇ have Mike 
Mansfield in the Senate, somebody I can 
trust and depend on?” 

O'Donnell began to cool down. Never- 
theless, the mood in the suite remained 
ugly. Walter Reuther, Arthur Goldberg 
and George Meany, according to those 
who had seen them, were apoplectic. Jack 
decided to offer Lyndon a way ош. He 
sent word to him that when his name was 
put in nomination, the convention might 
erupt in a floor fight. Back came the reply: 
There was nothing Johnson loved more 
than an old-fashioned floor fight. 

About the same time, the tide began 
turning in the Kennedy suite. The 
bosses—-Mike DiSalle of Ohio, John 
Bailey and Abe Ribicoff of Connecticut 
and David Lawrence of Pennsylvania 
were milling around Jack, congratulating 
him for strengthening the ticket. The lib- 
erals were still muttering about the 
“sellout” until Alex Rose of New York's 
Liberal Party called David Dubinsky, 
labor's elder statesman. After speaking 
with Dubinsky, he turned to Reuther 
and said, “He said Kennedy is making a 
smart move! He said picking Johnson is 
a political master stroke!” Johnson's 
nomination went through smoothly, and 
on Friday night, Kennedy delivered his 
acceptance speech to 80,000 spectators in 
the Los Angeles Coliseum, with anoth- 
er 35,000,000 Americans watching on 


PLAYBOY 


television. He told his countrymen that 
they were “on the edge ofa New Frontier.” 
. 

Great experiences are thought to 
change people, and those who know them 
look for evidence of it. Kennedy's whole 
life had been a process of change— indeed, 
one of his most remarkable traits was his 
capacity for growth—but as far as you 
could tell, he emerged from the convention 
(and remained, in the White House) the 
same man, with one interesting difference. 
He had always been generous toward his 
political opponents. He sympathized with 
the men he defeated at the polls. In his 
Senate office, he warned his staff that he 
wanted to hear no ugly remarks about pol- 
iticians who differed with him. But after 
Los Angeles, it became increasingly clear 
that he held Richard Nixon in contempt. 

Kennedy’s strategy was to appeal to the 
young, to the blue-collar workers and to 
the liberals. His two great bases were the 
Democratic South—holding it would be 
Johnson's task—and the industrial re- 
gions. While the theme of Kennedy’s drive 
was that American prestige was slipping 
and Americans must march forward— 
"Let's get this country moving again" 
was the slogan, coined by Walt Rostow— 
the bearer of the Republican standard 
preached the virtues of free enterprise, 
individual responsibility, inflexible anti- 
communism and a continuance of the 
peace and prosperity that had marked the 
Eisenhoweryears. Nixon'sadvantageswere 
support from big business, greater expe- 
rience, his strong middle-class roots and 
Eisenhower’s incumbency. But Ike dealt 
Nixon the worst blow of the campaign. 
During a press conference, he was asked, 
“What major decisions of your campaign 
has the Vice-President participated in?” 

The President’s almost unbelievable 
reply was, “If you give mea week, I might 
think of one.” 

After Nixon’s nomination, the Republi- 
can candidate had taken a slight lead in 
Gallup's reports, but by late August, the 
two nominees were running neck and 
neck, and there was never a time during 
the campaign when either could feel 
secure. Two events in the race were griev- 
ous to Nixon: Kennedy’s confrontation 
with religious bigotry and the television 
debates. West Virginia had demonstrated 
that while Kennedy’s faith could cost him 
votes if the issue were undiscussed, once 
the silence was broken, he would gain. 
Nixon had therefore instructed his staff to 
refrain from discussing Kenncdy's reli- 
gion. Unhappily for him, he could not 
restrain Dr. Norman Vincent Peale, per- 
haps the most famous Protestant clergy- 
man in the country and a Nixon friend. 
Dr. Peale led a group of Protestants in 
issuing a statement that expressed doubt 
that any Roman Catholic President could 
free himself from the influence of the Vat- 
ican. Nixon was helpless. He couldn’t 


attack Peale. Kennedy, meanwhile, had 
been offered an incomparable opportu- 
nity. The Greater Houston Ministerial 
Association had invited him to defend the 
right of a Catholic to become President. 
Nixon had also been invited but had 
declined. Kennedy accepted. 

The issue had been inflamed by Dr. 
Danicl Poling, a Philadelphia clergyman 
who had also run for office on the Re- 
publican ticket. Dr. Poling charged that 
Kennedy, as a young Congressman, had 
refused to attend a fund-raising dinner 
honoring four chaplains who had gone 
down with the U.S.S. Dorchester in 
World War Two. Kennedy had, indeed, 
declined, but his reason was that he had 
been asked to auend as a “spokesman” for 
the Roman Catholic Church. He could 
appear as a Congressman, a Navy veteran 
or a private citizen, he said, but he had no 
authority to represent his Church. John- 
son and Rayburn thought he ought to give 
Houston a miss, but Jack was adamant. 
He would go. Those running the meeting 
told him that he could make an opening 
statement, that questions would follow 
and that the event would be televised. 

Assembled in the ballroom that evening 
were 300 ministers, 300 spectators and tele- 
vision camera crews. Kennedy was tense and 
nervous, but, as usual, it showed only in his 
trembling, hidden hands. On the screen, he 
was sharp, forceful, precise and in complete 
command. The serious matters in this race, 
he told them, were not religion, Nixon’s or 
anyone else’s. They. were hungry children, 
elderly people who couldn't afford doctors" 
bills, slums, inadequate schools and inept 
US. foreign policies. 

“These,” he said, “are the real issues. 
But because I am a Catholic, the real 
issues in this campaign have been ob- 
scured. So it is apparently necessary for 
me to state once again not what kind of 
church I believe in—for that should be 
important only to me—but what kind of 
America I believe in.” 

He restated the position he had taken in 
West Virginia. Next come questions. 
They were obvious and vaguely stated; 
Kennedy handled them concisely and with 
complete ease. Poling’s grievance was 
served up to him, and he knocked it out of 
the ball park—how could he possibly have 
agreed to assume the role of “spokesman 
for the Catholic faith”? 

In an upstairs hotel room, Powers was 
watching it all with Rayburn. In Los 
Angeles, Rayburn's support of Kennedy 
had been tepid. Now he was shouting, 
“By God, look at him—and listen to him! 
He's eating 'em blood raw!" On Tuesday, 
in Austin and then їп Dallas, Rayburn 
told crowds that Kennedy was “the great- 
est Northern Democrat since Roosevelt.” 

As the calls came in and the telegrams 
piled up, Jack became euphoric. Houston 
was exactly the tonic he needed for the 
first debate against Nixon, now two weeks 
away. In the past decade, the number of 


American families owning television sets 
had increased eightfold. Awaiting the 
event, in living rooms all over the nation, 
were some 70,000,000 people. There were 
to be four debates, but the first was by far 
the most important. It drew the largest 
audience and it was a Kennedy triumph 
The result was dismaying for Nixon, and 
it startled him. He was an assured, skillful 
debater. Watching Kennedy’s televised ac- 
ceptance speech at the end of the Demo- 
cratic Convention and unaware of Jack’s 
exhaustion, he thought the Democratic 
nominee had spoken too rapidly, in a voice 
pitched too high and presented concepts 
too complicated for the average American. 
That was why Nixon accepted the chal- 
lenge of the debates. It was the biggest 
blunder in his political career—until, of 
course, he became President. 

Until then, he had been the more 
famous of the two, holding, as he did, the 
higher office. But in the debate, they stood 
toe to toe, and Kennedy held his own. 
More important—this shouldn't have 
mattered, but its significance was im- 
mense—he looked better. People who 
heard them on radio that evening thought 
both did well, but the larger television 
audience saw the Senator as tanned and 
fit, while the Vice-President, who had suf- 
fered a knee injury, had lost five pounds. 
He was haggard and he wore a shirt collar 
a half size too large for him. He slouched, 
his expression was dour and his complex- 
ion was pasty, a consequence of coating 
his face with make-up designed to hide 
afternoon beard growth. Another factor 
may have been Jack’s declining respect for 
his adversary. It seemed devastating and 
unmistakable to any viewer. Nixon would 
be making an important point and the 
camera would switch to Kennedy, whose 
amused, faintly disdainful expression 
would break the thread of the Republi- 
can’s argument. At the end of that debate, 
Nixon drew Jack aside for several minutes 
of earnest conversation. Afterward, you 
asked Jack what that had been all about. 

“Nothing,” he said crisply. “Absolutely 
nothing. The weather, for a while, and 
then how hard it was to sleep during a 
campaign. But all the time, he was keep- 
ing an eye on the photographers. If he saw 
one about to snap the ‘shutter, he would 
look firm and jab his finger on my chest, 
as though setting me straight on some big 
foreign-policy issue. Nice fellow.” Later, 
he asked, “Do you think the people realize 
I'm the only man standing between Nixon 
and the White House?” 

. 

In retrospect, what you remember best 
about Jack's Presidential campaign is its 
high good humor. In one specch, he said, 
“Campaign contributions will not be ге- 
garded as a substitute for training and 
experience for diplomatic positions.” A 
few days later, he added, “Ever since I 
made that statement, I have not received a 
single cent from my father.” At times, 
Jack played with his humorless opponent, 


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using as his straight man. Nixon 
called him “another Truman.” Kennedy 
shot back, “I have no hesitation in return- 
ing the compliment. I consider him anoth- 
er Dewey.” Republicans said (not for the 
first time) that Joe Kennedy was going to 
bribe voters. “My father,” Jack said, “told 
me not to buy one more vote than is neces- 
sary. He said he’s damned if he’s going to 
pay for a landslide.” Kennedy seemed 
almost to welcome hecklers. At New York 
University, he dedicated his closing re- 
marks to a group of Young Republican 
jeerers: “АШ you young Nixonites—all 
eight of you.” One of them shouted some- 
thing about their candidate’s standing up 
to Khrushchev in their Moscow “kitchen 
debate.” Jack said, “Mr. Nixon may be 
very experienced in kitchen debates, but so 
are many other married men I know.” 

Eisenhower made his move on Hallow- 
cen, eight days before the election, and a 
massive surge toward the Republican 
nominee came within a hairbreadth of 
carrying the popular vote. 

Theodore H. White wrote that Eisen- 
hower had “a magic in American politics 
that is peculiarly his: He makes people 
happy.” Ike was positive that the few 
problems still unsolved would vanish to- 
morrow, and his audiences believed him. 
Jack had been taking a very different line. 
Typically, he began, “I don’t run for the 
office of the Presidency to tell you what 
you want to hear. I run for the office of 
President because in a dangerous time we 
need to be told what we must do if we are 
going to maintain our freedom.” Now 
Kennedy felt his confidence shaken; he 
had intended to arouse the people, but 
perhaps he had merely frightened them 
In San Francisco, he sat soaking his back 
in a steaming tub, and there he told you of 
his own feas Last week, Dick Nixon hit 
the panic button and started Ike speaking. 
With every word he utters, 1 can feel the 
votes leaving me. If the election was 
tomorrow, l'd win easily, but six days 
from now, it’s up for grabs.” 

So anxiety arrived, an uninvited guest 
Yet fear eludes memory; the feeling sim- 
ply cannot be recaptured. Other recollec- 
tions flood back, a montage of sights and 
sounds: Kennedy’s mounting disgust for 
Nixon’s way of flinging his arms high 
in the air . . . Jack's own gestures, the 
chopping right hand used to stress 
points . - . Nixon's denunciation of Tru- 
man’s profanity, his vow never to sully the 
Presidency by using blasphemy in the 
White House . . . the enthusiasm on col- 
lege campuses when Kennedy spoke of the 
years ahead, “the challenging, revolution- 
ary Sixties” Nixon’s favoring a re- 
sumption of atom-bomb tests and charging 
that his opponents’ criticisms were “гип- 
ning America down and giving us an infe- 
riority complex.” 

Abruptly, the end approached and 
Kennedy was going home. The Caroline 
landed at Bridgeport, Connecticut, at mid- 


286 night and you joined the motorcade at 


Waterbury, where, on both sides of the 
road, for nearly 30 miles, cheering New 
Englanders, wearing coats over their paja- 
mas, waved torches and flashlights and 
red lights, and fire engines were lined up 
outside every firehouse, sirens screaming, 
bells ringing, and Kennedy, after reaching 
his hotel room at three AM, appeared on 
the balcony, urging people to go to bed, 
but the 40,000 people stayed outside, 
cheering until dawn. Sunday night, you 
arrived at Lewiston at 1:30 am; it was 
cold; the streets were silent, empty. Sud- 
denly, the motorcade entered a park, and 
more than 20,000 people switched on their 
flashlights. When they recognized Jack, 
the roaring began, a roar of joy, and here 
you were in a freezing Maine factory town 
in the middle of the night, feeling a 
warmth and exultation to enshrine in 
memory through all the years before you. 
The last day began in Providence and 
swung through Massachusetts, Connecti- 
cut, Vermont and New Hampshire, end- 
ing in the North End of Boston, where he 
had first campaigned 14 years earlier. He 
had to address a mass mecting in the Bos- 
ton Garden, but the streets were so 
jammed that he was late; then he had to 
struggle again to reach Faneuil Hall. 
There, where the Sons of Liberty had 
gathered 190 years earlier to plot the Bos- 
ton Tea Party, he made his farewell tele- 
vision talk to the nation. On the 14th floor 
of the Statler Hilton, he chatted with a 
couple of old friends while putting away a 
chicken sandwich and a glass of milk. In 
the past week, he had never had as much 
as four hours of sleep in one night. To- 
morrow, you thought, he can sleep late. 
But no; he wanted to be called at 7:30. 
Jackie would be arriving to vote with him. 
On that bright day, when you were 
young and the future promising, 
68,832,818 Americans went to the polls, 
among them Mr. and Mrs. John F. Ken- 
nedy of 122 Bowdoin Street, Boston, who 
cast their ballots in the Third Precinct of 
the Sixth Ward at 8:43 am. and then 
boarded the Caroline for Hyannis Port. 
The whole clan had gathered at Bob- 
by’s house to await the first returns. Bob’s 
brother carried Connecticut by 100,000 
votes, Their sisters were yelping with joy, 
assuming that that meant much more than 
it did. The Ambassador's friend Morton 
Downey, the tenor, was passing sand- 
wiches and crooning Did Your Mother 
Come from Ireland?; and upstairs, Lou 
Harris sat with a slide rule and reams of 
paper, checking his calculations against 
those of the networks’ computers. “It’s 
Lou against the machine,” Jack said with 
a chuckle, lighting up a Havana Royal. 
Presently, he, Jackie and a friend left to 
dine at Jacks house, and when they 
rejoined the others, no one was cheering. 
He was losing in Ohio, Wisconsin, Ken- 
tucky, Tennessee and the farm belt west of 
the Mississippi and was running behind 
expectations in Michigan and Illinois. Ev- 
eryone was visibly distressed—except the 


nominee. He retained his poise, detach 
ment, sense of humor. Johnson called 
from Texas, and Kennedy grinned as he 
hung up. He reported L.B.] 7 comment: 
"I see we won in Pennsylvania, but what 
happened to you in Ohio?" 

Ahcad of them lay what Jackie later 
called "the longest night in history." 
Slowly, a pattern emerged. Nixon had 
lost, but Kennedy, though ahead in elec- 
toral votes, had not won. The outcome 
seemed to hinge on four states: California, 
Illinois, Minnesota and Michigan. Any 
two of them would give Kennedy the Pres- 
idency; if he failed to take two, the election 
would be thrown into the House of Repre- 
sentatives. Jack yawned, rose and pre- 
pared to leave. A friend asked where he 
was going. He said, “То bed. The votes are 
all in. I can't change any of them now.” 

As he slept, the battles seesawed. Jack 
lost California but won Illinois, Michi- 
gan, Minnesota and New Mexico. He 
awoke to find that he had 303 electoral 
votes to Nixon's 219. Hc was President- 
elect. The Secret Service had moved in at 
5:45 Am, and your most vivid memory of 
that day is the horror on the Secret Service 
agents’ faces as they watched the fiercest 
touch-football game in the ferocious histo- 
ry of Kennedy sports, with the man they 
were sworn to protect being assailed on all 
sides by members of his own family. 

. 

Many months later, one evening in the 
White House, he invited you to join him 
in a stroll around the Ellipse, and while 
passing the Washington Monument, he 
asked whether, as a young Marine on 
Guadalcanal, you had studied the sky 
over the Solomons. All you could remem- 
ber was the Southern Cross. But as a skip- 
per of PT boats, he had been skilled in 
celestial navigation; he could still reel off 
the constellations and how they moved 
through the night down under. 

You remembered that talk on Novem- 
ber 22, 1963. If you were sitting up with 
Jim Swindal, the pilot of Air Force One, 
hurtling homeward from Texas, you be- 
came aware that night was approaching 
rapidly. Less than 45 minutes after you 
had left Dallas, shadows began to thicken 
over eastern Arkansas. Outside, twilight 
turned to gloaming and became dusk. 

You locked out upon the overarching 
sky and saw that the firmament was bril- 
liant. Jupiter lay over the Carolinas, the 
Big Dipper beyond Chicago; Arcturus 
was setting redly over Arkansas. But the 
brightest light in the deep-blue canopy 
was Capella. Always a star of the first 
magnitude, it seemed especially vivid that 
night, and as Air Force One rocketed 
toward West Virginia, it rose majestically 
1000 miles to the northeast, over Boston. 
Ever since, you have thought of Capella 
as Kennedy's star. It is brilliant, itisswift, it 
soars. Of course, to see it, you must lift your 
eyes. But he showed us how to do that. 


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PLAYBOY 


CURSE OF LONO 


(continued from page 144) 


“ ‘A gang of vicious bull fruits harassing the traffic 
on Main Street. No one warned me about this.’ ” 


feeling you’re going to need all the help 
you can get over here.” 
е 

We listened to the marathon on the 
radio and fled Honolulu after a week of 
steady rain, getting out just ahead of a 
storm that closed the airport and canceled 
the surfing tournaments on the north 
shore. But we were on our way to Kona 
now, and everyone assured us that it 
would be sun-soaked and placid. The 
houses were all set, and we’d soon be tak- 
ing the sun and doing some diving out in 
front of the compound, where the sea was 
calm as a lake. 

I was definitely ready for it—and even 
Ralph was excited. The wretched weather 
in Honolulu had broken his spirit, and 
when he'd waded out into the ocean one 
afternoon for some of the fine snorkeling 
we'd heard about, the surf had nearly bro- 
ken his spine. 

“You look sick,” I said to him as he 
staggered into the airport with a huge 
IBM Selectric that he'd stolen from 
the hotel. 

“I am sick,” he shouted. “My whole 


body is rotting. Thank God we're going to 
Kona. I must rest. I must see the sun. 
“Don't worry, Ralph,” I said. “A 


friend of mine has taken care of every- 
thing.” 

Mr. Heem, the realtor, was waiting 
when we arrived at Kailua-Kona airport, 
a palmy little oasis on the edge of the sea, 
about ten miles out of town. The sun was 
getting low and there were puddles of 
water on the runway, but Heem assured 
us the weather was fine. "We'll sometimes 
get a little shower in the late afternoon,” 
he said. “But 1 think you'll find it 
refreshing." 

There was not enough room in his car 
for all our luggage, so I rode into town 
with a local fisherman called Captain 
Steve, who befriended us at the airport 
and subsequently became our main man 
on the island. Captain Steve had a fully 
rigged fishing boat and was determined to 
take us out to catch a marlin—a gesture of 
hospitality that promised to make our stay 
in Kona even richer and more exciting than 
we'd known it was going to be all along. 

The highway from the airport into town 
was one of the ugliest stretches of road I'd 
ever seen. The whole landscape was a 
desert of hostile black rocks, mile after mile 
of raw moonscape and ominous, low-lying 
clouds. Captain Steve said we were cross- 
ing an old lava flow, one of the last erup- 
tions from the 14,000-foot hump of Mauna 


290 Кеа to our left, somewhere up in the fog. 


Far down to the right, a thin line of coco- 
nut palms marked the new western edge of 
America, a lonely-looking wall of jagged 
black lava cliffs looking out on the white- 
capped Pacific. We were 2500 miles west 
of the Seal Rock Inn, halfway to China, 
and the first thing I saw on the outskirts 
was a Texaco station, then a McDonald’s 
hamburger stand. 

Captain Steve seemed uneasy with my 
description of the estate he was taking me 
to. When I described the brace of elegant, 
Japanese-style beach houses looking out 
on a black-marble pool and a thick, green 
lawn rolling down to a placid bay, he 
shook his head sadly and changed the sub- 
ject. “We'll go out on my boat for some 
serious marlin fishing,” he said. 

“Гуе never caught a fish in my life,” 1 
said. “My temperament is wrong for it.” 

“You'll catch fish in Kona,” he assured 
me as we rounded a corner into downtown 
Kailua, a crowded commercial district on 
the rim of the bay, with half-naked people 
running back and forth through traffic, 
like sand crabs. 

We slowed to a crawl, trying to avoid 
pedestrians, but when we stopped at a red 
light, I noticed what appeared to be a clus- 
ter of garish-looking prostitutes standing 
in the shadows of a banyan tree on the 
sidewalk. Suddenly, there was a woman 
leaning in my window, yelling gibberish 
at Captain Steve. She was trying to get 
hold of him, but [ couldn’t roll up the 
window. When she reached across me 
again, I grabbed her hand and jammed my 
lit cigarette into her palm. The light 
changed and Captain Steve sped away, 
leaving the whore screeching on her knees 
in the middle of the intersection. “Good 
work,” he said to me. “That guy used to 
work for me. He was а first-class 
mechanic." 

"What?" I said. "That whore?" 

“That was no whore,” he said. “That 
was Hilo Bob, a shameless transvestite. 
He hangs out on that corner every night 
with all those other freaks. They’re all 
transvestites.” 

I wondered if Heem had brought Ralph 
and his family along this same scenic 
route. I had a vision of him struggling 
desperately with a gang of transvestites in 
the middle of a traffic jam, not knowing 
what it meant. Wild whores with crude, 
painted faces, bellowing in deep voices and 
shaking bags of dope in his face, demand- 
ing American money. 

We were stuck in this place for at least 
a month, and the rent was $1000 a 
week—half in advance, which we’d al- 
ready paid Heem. 

“It's a bad situation," Captain Steve 


was saying as we picked up speed on the 
“Those freaks have tak- 


way out of town. 
en over a тай 
can’t do anything about it. 
suddenly to avoid a pear-shaped jogger on 
the shoulder of the highway. “Hilo Bob 
goes crazy every time he sees my car,” he 
said. “I fired him when he wanted to have 
a sex-change operation, so he got a lawyer 
and sued me for mental anguish. He 
wants a half-million dollars.” 

“Jesus,” I said. “A gang of vicious bull 
fruits harassing the traffic on Main Street. 
Ко one warned me about this.” 

What kind of place had we come to? I 
wondered. And what would happen if 
we wanted to go fishing? Captain Steve 
seemed OK, but the stories he told were 
eerie. They ran counter to most notions of 
modern-day sportfishing. Many clients 
ate only cocaine for lunch, he said; others 
went crazy on beer and wanted to fight on 
days when the fish weren’t biting. No 
strikes before noon put bad pressure on 
the captain. For $500 a day, the clients 
wanted big fish, and a day with no strikes 
at all could flare up in mutiny on the long 
ride back to the harbor at sunset. “You 
never know,” he said. “Pve had people try 
to put a gaffing hook into me with no 
warning at all. That's why I carry the .45. 
There’s no point calling the cops when 
you're 20 miles out to sea. They can't help 
you out there.” He glanced in the direc- 
tion of the surf booming up on the rocks 
about 100 yards to our right. The ocean 
was out there, I knew, but the sun had 
gone down and all I could see was black- 
ness. The nearest landfall in that direction 
was Tahiti, 2600 miles south. 

It was raining now, and he turned on 
the windshield wipers. We were cruising 
slowly along in bumper-to-bumper traffic 
The highway was lined on both sides with 
what appeared to be unfinished apartment 
buildings, new condominiums and raw 
construction sites littered with bulldozers 
and cranes. The roadside was crowded 
with long-haired thugs carrying surf- 
boards, paying no attention to traffic 
Captain Steve was getting edgy, but he 
said we were almost there, 

“105 one of these hidden driveways,” he 
muttered, slowing down to examine the 
numbers on a row of tin mailboxes. 

“Impossible,” I said. “They told me it was 
out at the end of a narrow country road.” 

He laughed, then suddenly hit the 
brakes and swung right through a narrow 
slit in the shrubbery beside the road. 
“This is it,” he said, jamming the brakes 
again to keep from running up on the back 
of Heem’s car. It was parked, with all the 
doors open, in a cluster of cheap wooden 
shacks about 15 feet off the highway. 
There was nobody in sight and the rain 
was getting dense. We quickly loaded the 
baggage out of the El Camino and into the 
nearest shack, a barren little box with only 
two cots and a Salvation Army couch for 
furniture. The sliding glass doors looked 


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ош on the sea, like they said, but we were 
afraid to open them, for fear of the boom- 
ing surf. Huge waves crashed down on the 
black rocks in front of the porch. White 
foam lashed the glass and water ran into 
the living room, where the walls were 
alive with cockroaches. 

The storms continued all week: murky 
sun in the morning, rain in the afternoon 
and terrible surf all night. We couldn’t 
even swim in the pool, much less do any 
diving. Captain Steve was becoming more 
and more frantic about our inability to get 
in the water or even go near it. We con- 
ferred each day on the phone, checking the 
weather reports and hoping for a break. 

The problem, he explained, was an 
offshore storm somewhere out in the Pa- 
cific—maybe a hurricane on Guam or 
something worse down south, around Ta- 
hiti. In any case, something we couldn't 
control or even locate was sending big roll- 
ers across the ocean from some faraway 
place. Hawaii is so far out in the middle of 
nothing that a mild squall in the Strait of 
Malacca, 7000 miles away, can turn a six- 
inch ripple into а 16-foot wave by the time 
ithits Kona. There is no other place in the 
world that so consistently bears the brunt 
of other people’s weather. 

Waves like that are rare on the Kona 
Coast, though, where the waters are usu- 
ally more placid than anywhere else in the 
islands—except when the weather “turns 
around,” as they say, and the winds blow 
in from the west. 

The Kona Coast in December is as 
close to hell on earth as a half-bright 
mammal can get—and this is the leeward 
side of the big island; this is the calm side. 
God only knows what happens over there 
on the windward side, around Hilo. Andeven 
real-estate agents will warn you against 
going over there for any reason at all. 

But they will not warn you about 
Kona—so that will have to be my job for 
as long as the grass is green and the rivers 
flow to the sea. The Kona Coast of 
Hawaii may be a nice place to visit for a 
few hours on the hottest day in July—but 
not even fish will come near this place in 
the winter; if the surf doesn’t kill you, the 
surge will, and anybody who tries to tell 
you anything different should have his 
teeth gouged out with a chisel. 

. 

Ordinarily, the Kona Coast is the fish- 
ing capital of Hawaii, Kailua Bay is the 
social and commercial axis of the Kona 
Coast, and the huge, gallowslike rig of 
fish-weight scales on the pier in front of 
the King Kamehameha Hotel is where the 
fishing pros of Kona live or die every 
afternoon of the week—in full view of the 
public, such as it is. 

Sportfishing is big business in Kona, 
and four o’clock at the end of the city pier 
is show time for the local charter captains. 
That is where they bring their fish to be 


weighed and to have their pictures taken if 
they're bringing in anything big. The 
scales are where the victors show their 
stuff, and the vanquished don’t even show 
up. The boats with no blood on their decks 
take the short way home—to the Honoko- 
hau harbor, eight miles north. As cach 
boatload of failures ties up there at sun- 
down, the harbor curs rush to the edge of 
the black lava cliff that looks down on the 
dock and start barking. They want the 
leftover lunch meat, not fish, and it is an 
ugly scene to confront at the end of a long, 
futile day at sea. 

On any given day, most boats go back to 
Honokohau, but a few return to the pier, 
where the crowd begins gathering around 
three. Jimmy Sloan, the commercial pho- 
tographer who has the pier concession, 
will be there with his camera to make the 
moment live in history on 8 x 10 glossies 
at ten dollars each. And there will also be 
the man from Grey’s taxidermy, just in 
case you want your trophy mounted. 

Every successful charter-boat captain 
understands the difference between the 
fishing business and show business. Fish- 
ing is what happens out there on the 
deep-blue water, and the other is getting 
strangers to pay for it. So when you come 
swooping into Kailua Bay at sunset with a 
big fish to hang up on the scales, you want 
to do it with every ounce of style and slow- 
rumbling, boat-handling drama that you 
and your crew can muster. The Bringing 
In of the Fish is the only action in town at 
that hour of the day—or any other hour, 
for that matter—because big-time fishing 
is what the Kona Coast is all about (never 
mind those rumors about marijuana crops 
and bizarre real-estate scams). 

Kicking ass in Kona means rumbling 
into the harbor and up to the scales at 
sunset with a big fish, not three or four 
small ones, and the crowd on the pier 
understands this. They will laugh out loud 
at anything that can be lifted out of a boat 
by anything less than a crane. 

There is definite blood lust in the air 
around the scales at sundown. By five, the 
crowd is drunk and ugly and the tension 
picks up as each new boat comes in. On a 
good day, they are yelling for 1000- 
pounders, and woe unto the charter cap- 
tain who shows up with anything small. 

But after two weeks on the Kona Coast, 
Га had no occasion to show up at the Kai- 
lua pier at all. This filthy goddamn sea 
was still raging and pounding on the rocks 
in front of my porch. Somewhere to the 
west was a monster storm of some kind, 
with 40-knot winds and 35-foot seas. That 
is a typhoon, 1 think. We were paying 
$1000 a week to sit out here in the rain on 
the edge of this savage black rock and wait 
for the annual typhoon—like the fools 
they knew us to be. 

Ralph snapped first, as always—and, 
as always, he blamed it on me. Which was 
true, in a way. It was my plan that had 
gone wrong, not Ralph's, and now his 


entire family was in the throes of a pro- 
found psychotic experience. Some people 
can handle ten days in the eye of a hurri- 
cane and some can’t. 

Ralph was becoming morc and more 
concerned about that aspect of our situa- 
tion as it daily became more desperate. 
His primitive Welsh ancestry would allow 
him to cling almost indefinitely to his own 
sanity, he felt, but he was not confident 
about the ability of his wife or young 
daughter to survive a shock of this magni- 
tude. “How many days of abject terror can 
an eight-ycar-old girl endure?” he asked 
me one day as we shared a pint of hot gin 
in his kitchen. “I can already see the signs 
She’s withdrawing into herself, gnawing 
on balls of twine and talking to cock- 
roaches at night.” 

“That's why we have insane asylums,” 
I said. "When your neighbors start talking 
about their children at Oxford or Cam- 
bridge, you can brag that you have a 
daughter in Bedlam.” 

He stiffened, then shook it off and 
laughed harshly. “That's right,” he said. 
“T can visit her on weekends, invite all my 
neighbors to attend her graduation.” 

We were half-mad ourselves at this 
point. All of our desperate efforts to flee 
the big island had come to nought. We 
couldn't even get seats on a plane back to 
Honolulu, much less to anywhere else 
And our Will to Flee was real. But the 
storm had knocked out our telephones and 
there was no hope of getting through to 
anybody more than a mile or two away. 
The only place we could be sure of reach- 
ing was the bar at the Kona Inn. 

. 

It is Monday on the Kona Coast, two 
days before Christmas, three o'clock in the 
morning. No more Monday-night foot- 
ball. The season is over. No more Howard 
Cosell and no more of that shit-eating 
lunatic with the rainbow-suiped Afro 
wig. That freak should be put to sleep, 
and never mind the reasons We don’t 
need that kind of madness out here in 
Hawaii, not even on TV—and especially 
not now, with the surf so high and wild 
thugs in the streets and this weather so 
foul for so long that people are starting to 
act crazy. A lot more people than normal 
for this time of year are going to flip out if 
we don’t see the sun by Christmas 

They call it Kona weather: gray skies 
and rough seas, hot rain in the morning 
and mean drunks at night, bad weather 
for coke fiends and boat people. A huge, 
ugly cloud hangs over the island at all 
times, and this goddamn filthy sea pounds 
relentlessly on the rocks in front of my 
porch. The bastard never sleeps or even 
rests; it just keeps coming, rolling, boom- 
ing, slamming down on the rocks with a 
force that shudders the house every two or 
three minutes. 

Ican feel the sea in my feet as I sit here 
and type, even in those moments of nerv- 
ous quiet that usually mean a Big One is 


оп its way, gathering strength out there in 
the darkness for another crazed charge on 
the land. 

My shirt is damp with a mixture of 
sweat and salt spray. My cigarettes bend 
like rubber and the typing paper is so limp 
that we need waterproof pens to write on 
it—and now that evil white foam is com- 
ing up on my grass, just six feet away from 
the porch. 

This whole lawn might be halfway to 
Fiji next week. Last winter’s big storm 
took the furniture off every porch on this 
stretch of the coast and hurled boulders 
the size of TV sets into people’s bedrooms. 
Half the lawn disappeared overnight and 
the pool filled up with rocks so big that 
they had to be lifted out with heavy 
machinery. 

Our pool is a lot closer to the sea now. 
On the night we arrived, I was almost 
sucked into the surf by a wave that hit 
while I was standing on the diving board; 
and the next day, an even bigger one rolled 
over the pool and almost killed me. 

We stayed away from the pool for a few 
days after that. It makes a man queasy to 
swim laps in a pool where the sea might 
come and get you at any moment, with no 
warning at all. 

Ralph is hunkered down next door in a 
state of abject terror. The whole family is 
sleeping on the living-room floor. When 1 
tried to get inand steal Ralph’s TV for the 
late basketball game, I almost stepped on 
the child’s head as I came over the edge of 
that slimy wooden porch. All their bag- 
gage is packed and they're ready to flee for 
their lives on a moment's notice. 

But the goddamn surf is still thundering 
up on the lawn at five in the morning. 
This dirty Hawaiian nightmare has been 
going on for 13 straight days, and there is 
still no way out. 

E 

As New Year's Eve approached and the 
weather showed no signs of breaking, it 
was clear that we were going to have to do 
something desperate to get in the water. 
We had been trying to take Captain 
Steve's boat out for almost a week, but the 
sea was so rough that there was no point 
in even leaving the harbor. "We could 
probably get out," he said, “but we'd nev- 
er get back in. 

After a week of bad drinking and 
brooding, Captain Steve finally came up 
with a plan. If it was true that the weather 
had really turned around, then logic de- 
creed that the normally savage waters on 
the other side of the island would now be 
as calm as a lake. 

"No problem," he assured me. “It’s 
South Point for us, big guy. Let's get the 
boat ready. ..." 

Which we did. But the surf got worse, 
and after five or six more days of grim 
waiting, my brain began to go soft. We 
drove to the tops of volcanoes; we drank 
heavily, set off many bombs... More 
storms came, the bills mounted up, and the 


days dragged like dead animals. 

The first person I saw when we walked 
into the Kona Inn on the 28th night of our 
doomed Hawaiian vacation was Acker- 
man. He was sitting at the Kona Inn bar 
with a sleazy-looking person in bell- 
bottom Levi's whom I recognized as a 
notorious dope lawyer from California, a 
man I had met at a party in Honolulu, 
where he was passing out his business 
cards to everybody within reach and say- 
ing, “Hang on to this—you’ll need me 
sooner or later.” 

Jesus, I thought. These leeching bas- 
tards are everywhere. First they only 
smoked the stuff, then they started selling 
it, and now they’re gnawing at the roots of 
the whole drug culture, like a gang of wild 
moles. They will be standing, like pillars 
of salt, at all our doorways when the great 
bell rings. 

One reason I'd come to Hawaii was toget 
away from lawyers for a while, so I herded 
our partyin the other direction and down to 
our table looking out on the sea wall. Ralph 
and the family were already there, and 
Ralph was raving drunk. 

“We're off to South Point tomorrow,” I 
said. I sat down at the table and lit a joint, 
which nobody seemed to notice. Ralph 
was staring at me with a look of shock and 
disgust on his face. 

“I can't believe it, 


” he muttered. 


“You're really going out on that silly 
boat.” 

I nodded. “That’s right, Ralph. We 
finally figured it out—if this side of the 
island is rough, then the other side must 
be calm.” Captain Steve smiled and 
shrugged his shoulders, as if the logic 
spoke for itself. 

“And South Point,” I continued, “is the 
closest place we can get to the other side— 
that’s where the weather breaks.” 

“You should come with us, Ralph,” 
said Captain Steve. “It'll be calm as a lake 
down there, and it’s a real mysterious 
place.” 

“It's the Land of Po,” I said. “A deso- 
late, bottomless pit in the ocean, teeming 
with fish and within sight of the cliffs on 
shore.” I nodded wisely. 

“There are no fish,” he muttered, “not 
even on the menu. All they have tonight 
is some kind of frozen mush from 
Taiwan.” 

“Don’t worry, Ralph,” I said. “We'll 
have all the fresh fish we can eat when I 
get back from South Point. Once we get 
around the corner down there to some 
calm waters, I will plunder this sea like no 
man has ever plundered it before.” 

Just then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. 
“Hello, Doc,” said a voice behind me. 
“Гуе been wondering where you were.” 

I swung quickly around in my chair to 


“Will Suzy find happiness with her 
new vibrator? Will John and Mary invite 
Derek over for another threesome? Tune їп tomorrow, 
when Adult Cable Service brings you another 
thrilling chapter о)...” 


PLAYBOY 


29 


see Ackerman smiling down at me. The 
arm he extended was still blue. I was glad 
to see him, and now that he’d shaken the 
dope lawyer, І stood up and took him 
aside. We walked out to the lawn and I 
handed him the joint “Hey,” I said. 
“How'd you like to make a run down to 
South Point tomorrow?” 

“What?” he said. “South Point?” 

“Yeah,” I replied. “Just you and me 
and Steve. He says the weather should be 
OK once we get around the point.” 

He laughed. “That’s insane,” he said, 
“but what the hell; why not?” 

“Good,” I said, “lets do it. At least 
we'll get out on the water.” 

He chuckled. “Yeah. We will do that.” 
He finished off the joint and flipped it into 
the sea. “I'll bring some chemicals,” he 
said. “We may need them.” 

“Chemicals?” 

He nodded. “Yeah. I have some power- 
ful organic mescaline. Pll bring it 
along.” 

“Right,” I said. “That’s a good idea— 
just in case we get tired.” 

He slapped me on the back as we 
walked inside to the table. “Welcome to 
the Kona Coast, Doc. You're about to get 
what you came for.” 

° 

When I arrived at the Union Jack 
Liquor Store in the middle of downtown 
Kailua the next morning, Ackerman was 
waiting for me in a Datsun pickup full of 
grocery bags. “I got everything,” he said. 
“You owe me $355.” 

“Good God,” I muttered. Then we 
went into the Union Jack and loaded up 
my VISA card with four cases of Heine- 
ken, two quarts each of Chivas Regal and 
Wild Turkey, two bottles of gin and a 
gallon of orange juice, along with six bot- 
tles of their best wine and another six bot- 
tles of champagne for the cocktail party 
that night. 

The plan was for Laila, Ralph and the 
family to meet us at South Point around 
sunset for an elegant evening meal on the 
fantail of the Haere Marue. It would take 
us six hours to get there at trolling speed, 
but it was only an hour by road—so they 
could spend the afternoon at the City of 
Refuge and still get to South Point before 
we did. Captain Steve had arranged our 
meeting point—a small beach in a cove at 
the southernmost tip of the island. 

We left Honokohau not long after 
10:30, and as we passed the main channel 
buoy, I looked back and saw the peaks of 
both Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea for the 
first time since I'd been there. The whole 
island is normally covered with a ham- 
burger-shaped cloud for most of every day, 
but this morning of our departure for 
South Point was a rare exception. 

I took it as a good omen, but I was 
wrong. By nightfall, we would find our- 
selves locked in a death battle with the 
elements, wallowing helplessly on the 


ridge in the worst surf Pd ever seen 
and half-crazy with fear and strong 
chemicals. 

We had both The Wall Street Journal 
and Soldier of Fortune on the boat, but the 
run down to South Point was not calm 
enough for reading. We staggered around 
the boat like winos for most of the trip, 
keeping the boat headed due south against 
a crossing sea. The swell was coming 
strong out of the southwest. At one point, 
we stopped to pick up a rotted life preserv- 
er with the words sQUIRE/JAVA painted on 
the cork. 

Captain Steve spent most of his time at 
the wheel, high up on the flying bridge, 
while Ackerman and I stayed down in the 
cockpit smoking marijuana and waiting 
for the reels to go off. 

1 had long since got over the notion that 
just because we were fishing, we were 
going to catch fish. The idea of trailing 
big-bore lines from the outriggers and 
rumbling along at trolling speed was 
absurd. The only way we were going to 
get any fish, I insisted, was by going over 
the side with scuba tanks and spear guns, 
to hunt them where they lived 

We trolled all the way down, but the 
only signs of life we saw between Kailua 
and South Point were a school of por- 
poises and some birds. It was a long, hot 
ride, and by midafternoon, all three of us 
were jabbering drunk on beer. 

It was just before sundown when we 
finally rounded the corner at South Point. 
The sea had been rough on the run down 
the Kona side of the island—but it was 
nothing compared with what we encoun- 
tered when we came around the point. 

The sea was so high and wild that we 
could only gape at it. No words were nec- 
essary. We had found our own hurricane, 
and there was no place to hide from it. 

At sundown, I switched to gin and Ack- 
erman broke out a small vial of white 
powder that he sniffed up his nose off the 
tip of a number-ten fishhook, then offered 
the vial to me. 

“Be careful,” he said. “It’s not what 
you think.” 

I stared at the vial, examining the con- 
tents closely and bracing my feet on the 
deck as the boat suddenly tilted and went 
up on the hump of a swell. 

“It’s China White,” he said, gripping 
the back of the fighting chair as we came 
down hard in the slough. 

Jesus, I thought, Pm out here with 
junkies. The boat rolled again, throwing 
me off balance on the wet deck with a cup 
of gin in one hand and a vial of heroin in 
the other. 

I dropped them both as I slid past Ack- 
erman and grabbed the ladder to keep 
from going over the side. 

Ackerman lunged for the vial with the 
speed of a young cobra and caught it on 
one bounce, but it was already wet and he 
stared at it balefully, then tossed it away 
in the sea. “What the hell,” he said. “I 
never liked the stuff anyway.” 


I pulled myself over the chair and sat 
down. “Me either,” I said. “It’s hard on 
the stomach.” 

He eyed me darkly for a moment and I 
planted both feet, not knowing what to 
expect. It is bad business to drop other 
people's heroin—especially far out at sea 
with a storm coming up—and I didn't 
know Ackerman that well. He was a big, 
rangy bastard, with the long, loose mus- 
cles of a swimmer, and his move on the 
bouncing vial had been impressively fast. I 
knew he could get me with the gaffing 
hook before I reached the ladder. 

1 resisted the urge to call Captain Steve. 
Were they both junkies? I wondered, still 
poised on the edge of the white-Nauga- 
hyde chair. What kind of anglers carry 
China White to work? 

“It’s a good drug for the ocean,” Acker- 
man said, as if I'd been thinking out loud. 
“A lot of times, it's the only way to keep 
from killing the clients." 

I nodded, pondering the long night 
ahead. If the first mate routinely snorted 
smack at the cocktail hour, what was the 
captain into? 

It occurred to me that I didn't really 
know cither one of these people. "They 
were strangers, and now I was trapped on 
a boat with them, 20 miles off the far- 
western edge of America with the sun 
going down and deep black water all 
around us. 

The land was out of sight now, lost in a 
desolate night fog. The sun went down 
and the Haere Marue rumbled on 
through the waves toward the terrible 
Land of Po. The red and green running 
lights on our bow were barely visible from 
the stern, only 30 feet away. The night 
closed around us like smoke, cold and 
thick with the smell of our diesel exhaust. 

It was almost seven o’clock when the 
last red glow of the sun disappeared, 
leaving us to run blind and alone by the 
compass. We sat for a while on the stern, 
listening to the sea and the engines and the 
occasional dim crackling of voices on the 
short-wave radio up above the high 
bridge, where Captain Steve was perched, 
like some kind of ancient mariner. 

The sea was not getting any calmer as 
we approached our destination, a small 
beach at the foot of sheer black cliffs. Cap- 
tain Steve took us in about halfway, then 
slowed to a crawl and came scrambling 
down the ladder. “I don't know about 
this,” he said nervously. “The swell seems 
to be picking up.” 

Ackerman was staring at the beach, 
where huge breakers foamed. The first 
alarm came from Captain Steve, up above, 
when he suddenly shut down the engines 
and came back down the ladder. 

“Get ready,” he said. "We're in for a 
long night.” He stared nervously into the 
sea for a moment, then darted into the 
cabin and began hauling out life jackets. 

“Forget it,” said Ackerman. “Nothing 


ШИШИ 


| 


They'll know it was you. 


PLAYBOY 


can save us now. We may as well eat the 
mescaline.” He cursed Captain Steve. 
“This is your fault, you stupid little bas- 
tard. We'll all be dead before morning.” 

Captain Steve shrugged as he swal- 
lowed the pill. I ate mine and set about 
assembling the Aibachi l'd bought that 
morning to cook our fresh-fish dinner. 
Ackerman leaned back in his chair and 
opened a bottle of gin. 

We spent the rest of the night raving 
and wandering distractedly around the 
boat, like rats cast adrift in a shoe box, 
scrambling around the edges and trying to 
keep away from one another. The casual 
teamwork of the sundown hours became a 
feverish division of labor, with each of us 
jealously tending his own sector. 

I had the fire, Ackerman had the 
weather and Captain Steve was in charge 
of the fishing operation. The hibachi was 
tilting dangerously back and forth in the 
cockpit behind the fighting chair, belching 
columns of flame and greasy smoke every 
time I hit it with another whack of kero- 
sene. The importance of keeping the fire 
going had become paramount to every- 
thing else, despite the obvious and clearly 
suicidal danger. We had 300 gallons of 
diesel fuel in the tanks down below, and 
any queer pitch of sea could have spilled 
flaming charcoal all over the cockpit 
and turned the whole boat into a fire- 
ball—putting all three of us into the 
water, where we would instantly be 
picked up in the surf and dashed to death 
оп the rocks. 

No matter, I thought. We must keep the 
fire going. It had become a symbol of life, 
and I was not about to let it die down. 

The others agreed. We had long since 
abandoned any idea of cooking anything 
for dinner—and, in fact, we had thrown 
most of the food overboard by that time, 
thinking to use it for bait—but we all 
understood that as long as the fire burned, 
we would survive. My appetite had died 
around sundown, and now I was covered 
with layers of cold mescaline sweat. Every 
once in a while, a shudder would race up 
my spine, causing my whole body to trem- 
ble. In those moments, my conversation 
would collapse without warning, and my 
voice would quaver hysterically for a few 
seconds while I tried to calm down. 

“Jesus,” I said to Captain Steve some- 
time around midnight, “it’s lucky you got 
rid of that cocaine. The last thing we need 
right now is some kind of crank.” 

He nodded wisely, then suddenly spun 
around in his chair and uttered a series of 
wild cries. His eyes were unnaturally 
bright and his lips seemed to flap as he 
spoke. “Oh, yes!” he blurted. “Oh, hell, 
yes. That’s the /ast thing we need!” Cap- 
tain Steve had never tried mescaline be- 
fore, and I could see that it was reaching 
his brain. It was obvious from the confu- 
sion in his eyes that he had no recollection 
at all of taking our last bottle of stimulant 
with him, in the pocket of his trunks, 
when he'd gone down with the scuba 


tanks to secure our anchor line around a 
big rock on the bottom, about 90 feet 
below. Any fool who will dive to the bot- 
tom of the Pacific Ocean with two grams 
of cocaine in his pocket is capable of any- 
thing at all; and now he was losing his 
grip to the psychedelics. 

Bad business, I thought. It’s time to col- 
lect the knives. 

. 

When I woke up at sunrise, I found 
Ackerman passed out like a dead animal 
and Captain Steve wandering frantically 
round the cockpit, grappling with a tangle 
of ropes and saying over and over to him- 
self, “Holy Jesus, man! Let’s get out of 
here!” 

1 stumbled up from the cabin, where Pd 
spent two hours sleeping on a cushion cov- 
ered with fishhooks. We were still in the 
shadow of the diffs, and the morning wind 
was cold. The fire in the hibachi had gone 
out and our Thermos bottle of coffee had 
cracked open sometime during the night. 
The deck was awash with a slimy mixture 
of kerosene and floating soot. 

Ackerman had dropped a scuba tank on 
his foot, crushing the big toe and splatter- 
ing blood all over the deck. He’d then 
gobbled a handful of Dramamine and fall- 
en into a deep stupor. Captain Steve had 
been awake all night, he explained, never 
taking his eyes off the anchor line and 
ready, at any moment, to leap into the surf 
and swim for it. 

“PIL never understand how we sur- 
vived,” he muttered. “Now I know what 
they mean about South Point. It is a dan- 
gerous place.” 

“The Land of Po,” I said. 

“Yeah,” he said, reeling in the last of 
our all-night fishing lines. All the hot dogs 
had been gnawed off by eels, but the hooks 
were otherwise clean. Not even a sea 
snake had taken our wrong-minded bait, 
and the water all around us was littered 
with floating debris: beer bottles, orange 
peels, plastic Baggies and mangled tuna- 
fish cans. About ten yards off the stern 
was an empty Wild Turkey bottle with a 
piece of paper inside. Ackerman had 
tossed it over sometime during the night, 
after finishing off the whiskey and stuffing 
the bottle with a sheet of Kona Inn sta- 
tionery on which I had scrawled, BEWARE. 
THERE ARE NO FISH. 

I made my way up to the bridge, where 
I could look straight down on the main 
deck of the Haere Marue and see both the 
captain and the first mate badly disabled. 
One appeared to be dead, with his mouth 
hung open and his eyes rolled back in his 
head, and the other was twitching around 
like a fish with a broken neck. 

The maze of human wreckage down 
below looked like something the legendary 
King Kam might have brought back to 
Kona in one of his war canoes that got 
caught in an ambush on Maui. We were 
victims of the same flaky hubris that had 
killed off the cream of Hawaiian warriors 
in the time of the Great Wars. We had 


gone off in a frenzy of conquest—to the 
wrong place at the wrong time and proba- 
bly for all the wrong reasons—and now 
we were limping back home with our 
decks full of blood and our nerves turned 
to jelly. All we could hope for now was no 
more trouble and a welcoming party of 
good friends and beautiful women at the 
dock. After that, we could rest and lick our 
wounds, 

Nobody was there to meet us, but it 
didn’t matter. We were warriors, returned 
from the Land of Po, and we had terrible 
stories to tell. 

Captain Steve was still hunkered down 
on the bridge when Ackerman and I fin- 
ished off-loading our gear and prepared to 
leave. “Where’re you guys going?” he 
called out. “To Huggo’s?” 

“No,” Ackerman said. “There’s only 
one place for us now—the City of 
Refuge.” 

. 

Ackerman’s notion had seemed like а 
good idea at the time, but the scene we 
found back at the compound on our return 
from South Point was too ugly to cure by 
anything as simple as a drive down the 
coast to some temple of ancient supersti- 
tion where we might or might not find 
refuge. Right, I thought, never mind that 
silly native bullshit. It’s time to leave. 
Where’s a telephone? What we need now 
is a quick call to Aloha Airlines. 

Ackerman agreed. We were both 
stunned by the chaos we saw when we 
turned the little VW convertible into the 
driveway. The storm that had almost 
whipped us to death in the ocean off South 
Point the night before had moved north 
and was now pounding the Kona Coast 
with 15-foot waves and a blinding mon- 
soon rain. Both houses in the compound 
were empty, the pool was swamped, the 
surf was foaming up on the porch and 
deck chairs were scattered around the 
lawn in a maze of what looked like red 
seaweed, On closer examination, it turned 
out to be slimy wet remnants of 200,000 or 
300,000 Chinese firecrackers, a flood of 
red rice paper from the dozens of thunder 
bombs we’d been amusing ourselves with. 
I thought it had been washed out to sea— 
which was true for a while—but it had not 
washed out far enough, and now the sea 
was tossing it back. 

Ralph and the family were gone. The 
door to their house stood open and the 
place where hed parked his car was 
ankle-deep in salt water. The fronts of 
both houses were gummed up with а layer 
of red slime and there was no sign of life 
anywhere. Everything was gone; both 
houses had been abandoned to the ravag- 
ing surf and my first thought was that 
everything in them, including the occu- 
pants, had been sucked out to sea by rip 
tides and bashed to death on the rocks. 

I was still rummaging through the bed- 
rooms, looking for signs of life with one 
eye and watching the sea with the other. A 
big one, I knew, could come at any time 


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with no warning at all, rolling over me 
like a bomb. I had a vision of Ralph cling- 
ing, even now, to some jagged black rock 
far out in the roaring white surf, scream- 
ing for help and feeling the terrible jaws of 
a wolf cel grip his leg. 

I heard Ackerman’s voice just as a mon- 
ster wave hit the pool and blasted 10,000 
gallons of water straight up in the air. I 
scrambled over the porch railing and ran 
for the driveway. High ground, I thought. 
Uphill. Get out of here. 

‘Ackerman was calling from the balcony 
of the caretaker’s cottage. I rushed up the 
stairs, soaking wet, and found him sitting 
at a table with five or six people who were 
calmly drinking whiskey and smoking 
marijuana. All my luggage, including the 
typewriter, was piled in the corner. 

Nobody had drowned, nobody was 
missing. I accepted a joint from Laila and 
breathed deeply. Ralph had flipped out 
sometime around noon, they explained, 
when the sea hurled a 50-pound stalk of 
green bananas up onto his porch, followed 
by the wave of red slime. Hundreds of 
dead fish washed up onto the lawn, and 
the house was suddenly filled with thou- 
sands of flying cockroaches. 

The caretaker said Ralph had taken his 
family to the King Kam Hotel on the pier 
in downtown Kailua after failing to find 
seats on a night flight back to England. He 
handed me a crumpled piece of hotel sta- 
tionery, damp and dark with Ralph's 
scrawl and folded into a knot: 

“I can't stand it anymore," it said. 
“The storm almost killed us. Don't call. 
Leave us alone. Do it for Sadie. Her hair 
is turning white. It was a terrible experi- 
ence, I'll get even. Love, Ralph.” 

“Jesus,” I said. “Ralph went soft on 
us.” 

“He knew you’d say that,” said the 
caretaker, accepting the joint from Acker- 
man and inhaling deeply. 

Ralph was gone, and soon the whole 
family would be on a plane back to 
England, clinging desperately to one 
another and too exhausted to sleep for 
more than two or three hours at a time. 
Like survivors of some terrible shipwreck, 
only half understanding what had hap- 
pened to them, disturbing the other pas- 
sengers with sporadic moans and cries, 
finally sedated by the stewardess. 

. 


March 15 

Dear Ralph, 

OK. Things are really different now. It 
took a bit longer than I figured, but I think 
the Kona nut is finally cracked. 

Part of the reason it took so long to get 
to the bottom of this story was that your 
tragic and unexpected departure from the 
islands left me with a swarm of odd prob- 
lems. For starters, I still hadn’t caught my 
fish, which caused the charter captains 
and fishermen who sat around the bar at 
Huggo’s to constantly humiliate and de- 
grade me. I was drifting into a macho way 


298 Of life, you see. There was no doubt about 


it. And no help for it, either. I was living 
with these people, dealing with them on 
their own turf—which was usually out at 
sea, on their boats, mean drunk by noon 
and still unable to catch a goddamn fish. 

Then there was the problem of Heem, 
the realtor, who wanted the rent for the 
compound—at least $2000 in cash, and 
questions would certainly be raised about 
the crust of red scum on the property. 
Once it hardened, not even a diesel sand 
blaster could get it off. I drove past the 
compound a few times and noticed a 
strange red glow; the lawn seemed to glit- 
ter and the pool appeared to be full of 
blood. There was a certain beauty to it, 
but the effect was unsettling, and I could 
see where Heem might have trouble rent- 
ing to decent people. Problem was, Ralph, 
I didn't have the money. I had given 
Heem $2000 up front, and the rest of the 
debt was yours. 

Finally, even our fishermen friends at 
Huggo’s were getting nervous about why I 
was still hanging around so long after you 
left. By that time, even Ackerman had fled 
(to Bimini—or so he said). Rumors were 
beginning to take root all around me— 
most of them concerning our story. Leav- 
ing, as you did, battered and broken was a 
sure sign to our friends that whatever we 
finally published would not be good for 
business—specifically, the selling of real 
estate, which was all that ever concerned 
them. There are 600 registered realtors on 
the Kona Coast alone, and the last thing 
they need right now is an outburst of bad 
publicity in the mainland press. The mar- 
ket is already so overpriced and overex- 
tended that a lot of people are going to 
have to go back to fishing for a living. I 
knew it had reached a break point when 
even the bartenders at the Kona Inn began 
saying, “What kind of story are you really 
writing?” 

But nobody patronizes me anymore, 
Ralph. I could drink with the fishermen 
now. The big boys. We could gather at 
Huggo's around sundown, to trade lies 
and drink slammers and sing wild songs 
about scurvy. I am one of them now. I 
caught the big fish. 

It was, as you know, my first. And it 
came at an awkward time. I was ready to 
flee. We had an eight-o'clock flight to 
Honolulu, then an overnight haul to L.A. 
and Colorado. But the whole plan went 
wrong, due to booze, and by midnight my 
mood had turned so ugly that I decided— 
for some genuinely perverse reason—to go 
out and fish for marlin once again. 

All you need to know about my attitude 
at that point is that I didn’t pack that god- 
damn brutal Samoan war club in my sea- 
bag for the purpose of crushing ice. (You 
remember the war club, Ralph—the one I 
bought in Honolulu to pulverize aloe 
plants to treat your back wound.) There is 
a fearful amount of leverage in that bug- 
ger, and I knew in my heart that by the 
end of the day I would find a reason to use 
it—on something. 


Maybe on those drunken macho bas- 
tards at Huggo’s. They don’t dare even lie 
to one another about boating a 300-pound 
marlin in less than 45 minutes. Then it 
usually takes them another 15 minutes to 
kill it. My time was 16 minutes and 55 
seconds on the line and another five sec- 
onds to whack it stone-dead with the club. 

The beast fought savagely. It was in the 
air about half the time I was fighting it. 
The first leap came about ten seconds aft- 
er I clipped myself into the chair, a wild 
burst of white spray and bright-green 
flesh about 300 yards behind the boat, and 
the second one almost jerked my arms off. 
Those buggers are strong, and they have 
an evil sense of timing that can break a 
man’s spirit. Just about the time your 
arms go numb, they will rest for two or 
three seconds—and then, in that same 
split second when your muscles begin to 
relax, they will take off in some other 
direction like something shot out of a mis- 
sile launcher. 

Yeah .. . that poor doomed bastard was 
looking me straight in the eye when I 
reached far out over the side and bashed 
his brains loose with the Samoan war 
club. He died right at the peak of his last 
leap: One minute he was bright green and 
thrashing around in the air with that god- 
damn spear on his nose, trying to kill 
everything within reach. 

And then I smacked him. I had no 
choice. A terrible blood lust came on me 
when I saw him right beside the boat, so 
close that he almost leaped right into it, 
and when the captain started screaming, 
“Get the bat! Get the bat! He’s gone 
wild!” I sprang out of the goddamn fight- 
ing chair and, instead of grabbing that 
silly aluminum baseball bat they normally 
use to finish off these beasts with ten or 15 
whacks, I laughed wildly and said, “Fuck 
the bat, I brought my own tool.” 

That's when I reached into my kit bag 
and brought out the war club and, with a 
terrible shrick, I hit that bastard with a 
running shot that dropped him back into 
the water like a stone and caused about 60 
seconds of absolute silence in the cockpit. 

They weren’t ready for it. The last time 
anybody killed a big marlin in Hawaii 
with a short-handled Samoan war club 
was about 300 years ago. 

Ii was very fast and savage work, 
Ralph. You'd have been proud of me. I 
didn't fuck around. 

But the real story of that high-strung, 
blood-spattered day was not so much in 
the catching of the fish (any fool can do 
that) as in our arrival at the Kailua pier. 

We came in wild and bellowing. They 
said people could hear mie about a half 
mile out. ... I was shaking the war club 
and cursing every booze-crazy, incompe- 
tent son-of-a-pig-fucking missionary bas- 
tard that ever set foot in Hawaii. People 
cringed and shrunk back in silence as this 
terrible drunken screaming came closer 
and closer to the pier. 

They thought I was screaming at 


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them. Which was not the case. But to the 
big afternoon crowd on the pier, Laila said 
later, it sounded like the Second Coming of 
Lono. I raved for 15 minutes, the whole 
time it took us to tie up. Then I got out on 
the pier and gave the fish six or seven 
brutal shots with the war club while it was 
hanging by its tail on the gallows. 

‘The crowd was horrified. They hated 
everything we stood for, and when I 
jumped up on the pier and began whip- 
ping a little 15-pound tuna with the club, 
nobody even smiled. 

But there is one thing I feel you should 
know, Ralph: / am Lono. 

Yeah. That’s me. I am the one they’ve 
been waiting for all these years. 

Or maybe not—and this gets into reli- 
gion and the realm of the mystic, so I want 
you to listen carefully, because you alone 
might understand the full and terrible 
meaning of it. 

A quick look back to the origins of this 
saga will raise, I’m sure, the same inescap- 
able questions in your mind that it did in 
mine, for a while. ... 

"Think back on it, Ralph—how did this 
thing happen? What combination of 
queer and (until now) hopelessly muddled 
reasons brought me to Kona in the first 
place? What kind of awful power was it 
that suddenly caused me to agree to cover 
the Honolulu Marathon for one of the 
most obscure magazines in the history of 
publishing? 

And then I persuaded you to come 
along, Ralph—you, who should have 
known better. 

Strange, eh? 

But not really. Not when I look back on 
it all and finally detect the patern— 
which, in fact, I failed to see clearly myself 
until very recently. 

lam Lono ... that explains a lot of 
things, eh? It explains, for instance, why I 
am writing to you, now, from what 
appears to be my new home in the City; so 
make note of the address: 


C/O Kaleokeawe 
Gity of Refuge 
Kona Coast, Hawaii 


‘The trouble began when I came into the 
harbor bellowing, “/ am Lono!” in a 
thundering voice that could be heard by 
every Hawaiian on the whole waterfront. 
Many of those people were deeply dis- 
turbed by the spectacle. I don’t know what 
got into me, Ralph, I didn’t mean to say 
it—at least not that loud, with all those 
natives listening. Because they are super- 
shtious people, as you know, and they take 
their legends seriously. 

It is not surprising, in retrospect, that 
my King Kong-style arrival in Kailua 
Bay on that hot afternoon had a bad effect 
оп them. The word traveled swiftly up 
and down the coast, and by nightfall the 
downtown streets were crowded with 
people who had come from as far away as 
South Point and the Waipio Valley to see 
for themselves if the rumor was really 
true—that Lono had, in fact, returned in 
the form of a huge, drunken maniac who 
dragged fish out of the sea with his bare 
hands and then beat them to death on the 
deck with a short-handled Samoan war 
club. It was not easy for me, either, to 
accept the fact that I was born 1700 years 
ago in an ocean-going canoe somewhere 
off the Kona Coast of Hawaii, a prince of 
royal Polynesian blood, and lived my first 
life as King Lono, ruler of all the islands, 
god of excess, undefeated boxer. 

How's that for roots? 

What? 

Don’t argue with me, Ralph. You come 
from a race of eccentric degenerates; I was 
promoting my own fights all over Hawaii 
1500 years before your people even 
learned to take a bath. 

And besides, this is the red thread of 
high craziness that ties it all together. Sud- 
denly, the whole thing made sense. It was 
like seeing the green light for the first 
time. I immediately shed all religious and 


“Why must you always wait till the last minute to do 
your Christmas shopping?” 


rational constraints and embraced a New 
Truth. And I suggest you do likewise, old 
sport, because we have it now: The True 
Story of the Second Coming of Lono. 

The real-estate Bund won't like it. 
Indeed, they never liked us, despite all 
the money we gave them. And when the 
natives started calling me Lono and the 
whole town got stirred up, the realtors 
decided to make their move. 

I was forced to flee after they hired 
thugs to finish me off. But they killed a 
local Caucasian fisherman instead, by 
mistake. This is true. On the day before I 
left, thugs beat a local fisherman to death 
and left him either floating face down in 
the harbor or strangled with a brake cable 
and slumped in a jeep on the street in front 
of the Manago Hotel. News accounts 
were varied. 

That's when I got scared and took off 
for the City of Refuge. I came down the 
hill at 90 miles an hour and drove the car 
as far as I could, out on the rocks; then I 
ran like a bastard for the sanctuary—over 
the fence like a big kangaroo, kicked down 
the door, then crawled inside and started 
screaming, “I am Lono” at my pursuers, a 
gang of hired thugs and realtors, turned 
back by native park rangers. 

They can’t touch me now, Ralph. 1 ат 
in here with a battery-powered typewrit- 
er, two blankets from the King Kam, my 
miner’s head lamp, a kit bag full of speed 
and other vitals, and my fine Samoan war 
club. Laila brings me food and whiskey 
twice a day and the natives send me wom- 
en. But they won’t come into the hut—for 
the same reason nobody else will—so I 
have to sneak out at night and fuck them 
out there on the black rocks. 

I like it here. It's not a bad life. I can’t 
leave, because they’re waiting for me out 
there by the parking lot, but the natives 
won’t let them come any closer. 

Because 1 am Lono, and as long as I 
stay in the City, those lying swine can’t 
touch me. I want a telephone installed, but 
Captain Steve won't pay the deposit until 
Laila gives him $600 more for bad 
drugs. 

Which is no problem, no problem at all. 
I've already had several offers for my life 
story, and every night at sundown, I crawl 
out and collect all the joints, coins and 
other strange offerings thrown over the 
fence by natives and others of my own kind. 

So don't worry about me, Ralph. I've 
got mine. But I would naturally appre- 
ciate a visit and, perhaps, a bit of moncy 
for the odd expense here and there. 

T's a queer life, for sure; but right now, 
it’s all I have. Last night, around mid- 
night, I heard somebody scratching on the 
thatch, and then a female voice whispered, 
“You knew it would be like this.” 

“That's right” I shouted, “I love you!” 

‘There was no reply. Only the sound of 
this vast and bottomless sea, which talks to 
me every night and makes me smile in my 


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ORSON WELLES ег fom page 178) 


“Wouldn’t anyone who knew anything about movies 
want to back Hollywood’s most brilliant director?” 


with his wrath and the threat of lawsuits, 
Welles claimed that Kane hadn’t been 
based on Hearst and his mistress Marion 
Davies. But, more recently, he told a pal 
that somehow, before making the movie, he 
had found out the secret name by which 
Hearst called Davies’ genitalia: Rosebud. 
To Hearst, it was bad cnough that 
Rosebud is mentioned throughout the рїс- 
ture, but even worse was the idea that Kane 
died with Rosebud on his lips. Then there’s 
the wild tale about the lady who took 
Welles to a hotel room for a fling. The 
radio was playing, and no sooner was she 
about to pounce than he heard his own 
recorded voice: “Who knows what evil 
lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow 
knows!” —a character Welles played. “I 
went limp and stayed that way for two 
months,” he joked. 

On the day in 1979 when Henry Jaglom 
ran into himagain, Welles was dining with 
Warren Beatty. Back in 1970, Jaglom had 
directed Welles—whom he idolizes—in a 
movie called A Safe Place, after which 
Welles directed him in The Other Side of 
the Wind. 

“How are you?” Jaglom asked Welles, 
whom he hadn’t seen in a while. 

“Гуе lost my girlish enthusiasm,” 
Welles replied. 

“What happened?" said Jaglom—at 
which Welles launched into the tale of woe 
surrounding The Other Side of the Wind. 

As had been Welles’s custom over the 
years, he had scraped together financing 
however and whenever he could, the end 
money —$150,000-$200,000—coming 
from an Iranian group headed by the 
shah’s brother-in-law. Came the revolu- 
tion in Iran and Khomeini’s boys declared 
The Other Side of the Wind the property of 
the Iranian people. When the shah’s broth- 
er-in-law insisted the picture was his, the 
revolutionaries said he had stolen from the 
people and had noclaim to the film. Welles 
was caught in the middle. The negative was 
impounded—and deposited in a Parisian 
vault until the French courts could resolve 
the matter of its ownership (which they 
later did, in Welles's favor). 

Hearing of Welles's grotesque plight, 
Jaglom decided to take it upon himself to 
pitch a Welles script directly to the Holly- 
wood baby moguls who—like Jaglom— 
had long revered the man who made Citi- 
zen Kane. Now in their 30s and 40s, these 
guys were Jaglom’s contemporaries—and 
he figured that if only they knew that Orson 
Welles was available and willing to work 
for them, they'd jump at the chance. In that, 
Jaglom demonstrated both courage and 
common sense—as well as a certain 
naiveté. Wouldn’t anyone who knew any- 


thing about the movies want to back Holly- 
wood’s most brilliant director? 

Welles gave Jaglom a script he had writ- 
ten based on Isak Dinesen’s Gothic tale 
titled The Dreamers, and Jaglom thought 
the adaptation a “masterwork.” But when 
he went to his powerful friends, they were 
resistant to the very idea of Welles. Jaglom 
would remind them of how much Welles 
had once meant to them, to which they 
would respond with phrases about separat- 
ing youthful feelings from business prag- 
matism. Welles, they claimed, simply 
wasn’t commercial. His movies had never 
made money—not even Kane—so how 
could they justify bank-rolling him now? 

Shifting gears, Jaglom tried appeals to 
the baby moguls’ moral and aesthetic con- 
science: Since they were probably going to 
be fired eventually, anyway—a likelihood 
in Hollywood, where no one has job securi 
ty—didr’t they want to do something hon- 
orable for a change? That worked with 
some of the moneymen, who agreed at least 
to look at what Jaglom was peddling. The 
script, however, was exactly what they had 
feared. There was no audience for The 
Dreamers, they consistently told Jaglom— 
it was too poetic, too fanciful. 

Jaglom remained adamant—he wanted 
to see Orson Welles direct a Hollywood 
picture now and asked his friends how pre- 
cisely to bring it about. Pressed to the wall, 
the executives said the only way was for 
Welles to come up with a more convention- 
al, less poetic script—something to which 
mass audiences would respond. Also, the 
project would need a big star. Those were 
the ground rules for Welles to work in Hol- 
lywood again. Jaglom understocd. 

Lunching with Welles, Jaglom ex- 
plained the uniform response to the 
Dreamers script. Then, eying his monu- 
mental hero, he said, “Orson, I want you to 
write an original movie.” 

“I, I can't do that anymore,” Welles 
replied. “I don’ „Really, I have this one 
1 want to do— 

Jaglom cut him off, saying, “Please, I 
want you to write an original movie.” 

“What about?” Welles asked. 

“1 don’t know,” Jaglom said. “Tell me 
some stories—just tell me.” 

Several lunches—and many stories— 
later, Welles reeled off something about a 
Presidential candidate and his advisor. 
Jaglom asked for more, and Welles kept 
going—this was it. 

“Would you give me just four or five 
pages?” Jaglom asked. 

“No,” said Welles, “I can’t do that any- 
more.” 

“Please,” said Jaglom, “just try it.” 

“No, no, I can’t,” Welles demurred. 


Next morning, Welles called Jaglom to 
say he had been up all night and had 12 
pages for him, though he wasn't sure they 
were any good. Jaglom, however, found 
them “just spectacularly wonderful” and 
asked for eight more—and so on, until, 
cight months later, Welles finished an orig- 
inal script titled The Big Brass Ring. 

With The Big Brass Ring, the idea was 
for Welles to direct and act, the kind of 
setup he had always favored. The story 
concerns a young Senator—a Vietnam vet- 
eran—on the very brink of attaining the 
Presidency and the former Roosevelt aide 
whom he discovers in Africa advising a des- 
pot. The script includes an element of 
homosexuality, with the old-timer, played 
by Welles himself, becoming increasingly 
involved with the Senator, for which role 
Welles had Jack Nicholson in mind. Jag- 
lom says that after considerable discussion, 
Nicholson finally agreed in principle. 

Day after day, month after month, Jag- 
lom set Welles up for lunches with an end- 
less array of producers, all of whom were 
most eager to see and be seen with a living 
legend. But in the end, nobody in Holly- 
wood would touch The Big Brass Ring. 
One moneyman was willing to talk busi- 
ness but wanted to reserve for himself the 
right to final cut; that is, the producer 
would be able to re-edit the film as he 
pleased—something the artist in Welles 
just couldn't tolerate. 

Clearly, Welles was going to have to 
raise money his own way—he'd have to 
earn it. 

. 

Reading а book at a pebbled-glass table 
on a sunlit patio, there is Welles in a king- 
size flame-red sport shirt. “Margaret 
Mitchell began writing Gone with the 
Wind in 1926 and she finished it ten years 
later,” he says, ав if realizing we have just 
joined him. “The writing of a great book, 
or"— Welles pauses for what aestheticians 
call a pregnant moment to gaze fondly at 
the bottle on the table, his studied silence 
implicitly linking great book and great 
wine before he's even said it—“the making 
of a fine wine takes time,” arching his eye- 
brows as if he has just disclosed something 
important 

“What was true nearly a century ago is 
true today,” he enunciates. “Paul Masson 
will sell no wine"—again, the pause; the 
eyebrows: all to convey meaning to the 
meaningless —“before its time.” 

For someone who supposedly can’t make 
a commercial movie, Welles certainly 
seems comfortable selling products on tele- 
vision. Top commercial director Harry 
Hamburg, who has worked with Welles on 
ten or so spots, contrasts him with other 
stars he’s directed who find commercial 
work “a little unnatural.” 

“Not Welles,” says Hamburg. “He goes 
into commercials like he’s thought of the 
idea. He understands the dynamics of 
advertising. He respects the craft he's 
doing. He wants to do the best possible job. 
He reviews how much the product is selling, 


301 


PLAYBOY 


from the marketing people. I mean, he 
really goes into this shit.” 

In 1978, when Paul Masson hired 
Welles as spokesman, it was to reassure 
people that Masson wines were the right 
choice. “People have this incredible feeling 
and insecurity that they're going to serve 
wine to their friends, and then they’re 
going to start laughing at them,” says John 
Buckingham, the winery’s account execu- 
tive at Doyle Dane Bernbach. “Or they’re 
going to order a wine in a restaurant and 
the maitre d’ is going to laugh at their 
choice.” Welles, says Buckingham, “obvi- 
ously has the image of a person who likes 
food, so people find him very credible when 
he talks about wine.” 

Welles would arrive on the set with his 
make-up already done—by himself. 
Acutely conscious of his appearance in 
commercials, he has very specific ideas 
about how he should be lighted and photo- 
graphed. “1 know what makes me look the 
best,” he told Doyle Dane Bernbach. 
Before his first day of shooting on the Mas- 
son campaign, he dispatched written in- 
structions to the cameraman. Hamburg 
reports that Welles favors the brooding 
look he gets when the camera is positioned 
above his eyes so that he has to look up 
slightly. Also, he likes the hard light, three 
quarters on the left side. Hamburg says he 
would set up everything to Welles’s specifi- 
cations, so that he wouldn't balk the minute 
he showed; then, once Welles was satisfied, 
the director quietly altered the lighting and 
the camera angle to his own liking. Ham- 
burg insists Welles never noticed. 

Welles is agreeable to doing extra takes 
during shootings, but he insists upon each 
one’s being justified. 

“Why do you want it different?” Welles 
asked Hamburg, who had ordered another 
take. “If you say it faster, you can’t use it; if 
you say it slower, you can’t fit it.” 

“We're getting a hum from a refrigera- 
tor,” said the director, who didn’t want to 
tell Welles the client wanted him to speak 
louder. “If you talk a little louder, you'll 
talk above it, and we can drown it out.” 

When Welles did the take, Hamburg 
decided upon yet another. “Orson, you 
sound like you're really selling,” he said. 

“Well, Jesus,” Welles replied, “I don’t 
want that,” 

Another day, when Welles took 60 sec- 
onds to do a 30-second bit, Hamburg pro- 
tested, 

“It’s too long,” he told Welles. 

Welles disagreed. “It can’t be said any 
shorter,” he replied. 

“Well, we can’t cut any copy,” said the 
worried director. “That’s what we need.” 

“РІ give it a try,” said Welles, “but it’s 
not going to work.” 

He launched into action, taking 45 sec- 
onds to say the lines. He tried again and 
took 40 seconds. Again—and he’d reduced 
them to 30. The astonishing thing was that 
each time, he sounded exactly the same, 
seeming to speak as slowly and with the 
identical phrasing. 


To maintain his credibility, Welles has 

been known to balk at saying things or 
appearing in situations that would be 
entirely out of character for him. Presented 
with the line “Stradivarius took three years 
to make one of his violins; Paul Masson 
took. . . .” Welles was dismayed. 
‘ome on, gentlemen, now, really!” he 
admonished. “You have a nice, pleasant 
little cheap wine here. You haven’t got the 
presumption to compare it to a Stradivarius 
violin. It's odious.” 

Another time, while shooting a cham- 
pagne commercial, Welles found himself in 
a living room with a particularly plastic 
collection of extras, all of whom were over- 
joyed to be working with the Great Man. 
He looked disconcerted by their presence. 

“Who the hell are these people?" he 
asked Hamburg. 

“They're at a party, Orson,” Hamburg 
explained 

“A party at my house?” Welles said. 

“Yeah.” 

"I wouldn't have these people . . . ,” he 
said. “I mean, this is really lousy. I 
wouldn't have these people at a party at my 
house. These people look like a party 
Robert Young would have.” 

When he’s makinga commercial, Welles 
doesn’t like anyone besides the director to 
talk directly to him. Even the clients have to 
communicate with him through the direc- 
tor or through the cameraman, who refers 
it to the director. 

Once, when he was working on a com- 
mercial in England, a production person 
made the mistake of violating that rule. 

* "Peas grow there, ” Welles had said, 
monitoring the commercial, for which he 
was doing a voice-over. He and the director 
were disagreeing about its timing. 

“Pd start half a second later,” inter- 
rupted the director. 

“Don't you think you really want to say 
“July” over the snow?" Welles asked. “I 
think it’s so nice that you see a 
snow-covered field and say, ‘Every July, 
peas grow there. ” 

Without transition, he launched into the 
commercial copy as if it were Shakespeare: 
“ ‘We know a remote farm in Lincolnshire 
where Mrs. Buckley lives. Every July, peas 
grow there.” Breaking again, he ad- 
dressed his director, “We aren't even in the 
fields, you see. We're talking about "em 
growing and she's picked 'em." 

Welles cleared his throat. 

Then: “Can you emphasize in—in 
July?" asked the unknowing production 
person. 

“Why?” snapped Welles. “That doesn't 
make any sense! Sorry, there’s no known 
way of saying an English sentence in which 
you begin a sentence with ‘in’ and empha- 
size it! Get me a jury and show me how you 
сап say “in July’ and ГИ go down on you! 
That's just idiotic! If you'll forgive me my 
saying so. That's just stupid! Уп July? I'd 
love to know how you emphasize ‘in’ in ‘in 
July"! Impossible! Meaningless!” 

Anxious about having lost control, the 


director sputtered, “I think all they were 
thinking about was that they didn’t want 
ee; 


“He isn't thinking?” Welles said. 

“Orson,” the director pleaded, “can we 
just do one last” 

“Yes,” Welles agreed, shifting gears. 

“Tt was my fault,” assured the director. 
“I said, ‘In July.’ If you can leave ‘every 
July —” 

“You didn’t say it!” Welles exclaimed. 
“He said it—your friend” making 
friend sound like a dirty word. “ ‘Every 
July.’ No, you don’t really mean ‘every 
July.’ But that’s bad copy! There’s too 
much directing around here!” 

Even with a director such as Hamburg, 
with whom he has worked often and well, 
Welles can have a bad day. Making a Mas- 
son commercial in Los Angeles, Welles was 
sitting on the edge of his chair, as is his 
custom, so that Hamburg had to get down 
on hands and knees to instruct him—a 
position Hamburg compares to taking 
Communion. 

“T want to feel piqued in this thing,” said 
Welles. “You know, ‘As old Paul Masson 
said many years ago——' ” 

“What do you mean, piqued?” Ham- 
burg asked. 

"Piqued," Welles replied, speaking 
down. "You know what I mean. Now, 
you're the director, I’m the talent. You cre- 
ate this emotion. Do something. Do some 
directing with me. Get me in the mood.” 

Hamburg looked up at the bearded Bud- 
dha for a moment, then asked, “Orson, 
what are you doing?” 

Welles wasn't smiling. “This is your 
job,” he said. “You get me in the mood now. 
This is your art, and I want to feel it. You 
tell me now how I can feel this thing.” 

By now, the crew and clients were 
crowding around them for the showdown. 

“Why are you doing this?” Hamburg 
asked. 

“Because this is your art,” Welles 
replied, “and this is my art, and we're going 
to combine our arts now. Come on, do it. 
Do it. Tell me——” 

“Well, you're a fat slob,” Hamburg 
said. 

“No,” Welles shot back, “that doesn't do 
it, You're just going to make me laugh." 

“You're a has-been,” said Hamburg. 

“Nah, nah,” Welles complained, “that 
doesn't do it, either. You have some pretty 
weak acid you’re throwing in my face.” 

Really furious now, Hamburg didn’t 
care whether or not he ever worked with 
Welles again. 

Welles kept going: “Say something to me 
that will make me piqued,” he urged. 

“Well,” said Hamburg, alluding to a 
cruel and spurious rumor about the au- 
thorship of one of Welles’s classics, “how 
come you screwed Herman Mankiewicz 
out of the credit on Citizen Kane when he 
actually wrote it?” 

Welles went blood-red. 

“Obviously,” he said, "you can't 
differentiate between making someone 


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angry and making him piqued. Forget it. 
ГЇЇ do it myself!” 

Finally, like all good things, Welles’s 
association with Paul Masson came to an 
end. After three years, he was replaced by 
John Gielgud. As for the reason Welles got 
the boot, the introduction of Masson’s light 
wines is among the factors mentioned. 
“Obviously,” says account executive Buck- 
ingham, “that would not be appropriate.” 
More pointedly, one insider mentions а 
Welles appearance on a TV talk show 
whose host inquired about Welles’s recent 
weight loss, to which he replied that he’d 
stopped snacking and drinking wine. 

Despite all the jokes, Welles’s obesity 
poses a serious health problem to a 68- 
year-old man. It apparently poses financial 
problems as well. For while Henry Jaglom 
insists that Welles's health is tiptop (except 
for some trouble walking duc to arthritis), 
he admits that his size and physical condi- 
tion are among the first things Tinseltown 
investors inquire about. 

. 

Since losing out at Masson, Welles has 
lent his voice and image to a variety of 
projects. One of his latest commercial spots 
is for WABC Talk Radio. When the radio 
people decided to hire a spokesman, their 
initial concept wasto get Milton Berle. Mr. 
Television would come on and say some- 
thing like, “You think TV is really great? 
Let me tell you about a much-ignored 
medium—radio.” Some WABC staff 
members were discussing Uncle Miltie 
when, suddenly, the then-general manager 
had an inspiration: “Why not use Mr. 
Radio?” Mr. Radio was Welles. Even 
before he made Citizen Kane, he had 
acquired national celebrity—in 1938—for 
the notorious War of the Worlds Martian 
scare on radio, when people across the 
country believed the little men from Mars 
were rampaging through New Jersey. 

Besides admiring Welless peerless 
voice, WABC was impressed by the nice 
ratings he had received for his Masson 
spots. Welles explains that in a survey of 
the ten most credible commercial spokes- 
men in America, he came in number two. 

“You'll never guess who came in num- 
ber one,” he adds with a smirk, “Bill 
Cosby.” 

But commercials don’t begin to tax the 
creative range of Orson Welles. Lately, he 
has cast his giant shadow on the rock 
scene—on behalf of the popular heavy- 
metal group Manowar. When the group is 
introduced to screaming fans at concerts, it 
is Welles whose recorded voice blasts on the 
Р.А. system: “Ladies and gentlemen in the 
United States of America, all hail—Mano- 
war!” Teenaged aficionados of heavy 
metal are invariably impressed that Mano- 
war has the guy from the Paul Masson 
commercials working for it. 

Welles can also be heard on the group's 
rousing first album, Battle Hymns, narrat- 
ing something called Dark Avenger, about 
a viking warrior’s ascent from hell on a 
black horse. When he met the group in 


New York for the taping, the guys in the 
band— Joey DeMaio, Ross the Boss, Eric 
Adams and Donnie Hamzik—sent Welles 
a big fruit basket, wine and a limo to take 
him to the sound studio, where he had to 
ride upstairs in the freight elevator. 

Known in heavy-metal circles as “Bass 
Player of the Apocalypse,” 28-year-old 
DeMaio is Manowar’s lyricist, and Welles 
asked where he had gotten the inspiration 
for Dark Avenger. 

“Well,” said Joey, “this is just the way 
that I personally live my life and that we 
live our life. We believe in our hearts that 
we're all warriors on the battlefield of life, 
and anything you’re going to do in life, you 
have to get out there and achieve, and you 
have to strive for it. I mean, the world’s not 
going to come and knock on your door.” 

“You're absolutely right,” said Welles. 

Heavy-metal music isn’t the only way 
Welles has tuned in to the younger genera- 
tion. Last year, he agreed to deliver the 
opening address at the massive anti-nucle- 
ar-weapons rally in New York’s Central 
Park. His speech was to show that the old- 
timers were as deeply concerned about the 
Prospect of nuclear war as the kids. That 
morning, before the 900,000 demonstrators 
arrived, Welles was ushered through a cor- 
don of police to the speakers’ platform, 
which had been constructed high above the 
sprawling Great Lawn. Unfortunately, he 
quickly discovered he couldn’t walk up the 
exceedingly long ramp, which was much too 
steep for his bulk. Nor could he ascend it in 
the wheelchair he had brought with him. 

Figuring that the security guards hired 
to monitor the rally might be able to help, 
the ever-helpful Henry Jaglom searched 
out one of the supervisors. 

“Listen,” Jaglom told him, “I’ve got 
Orson Welles here.” 

“Hey, Orson Welles!” said Security. 
“No shit! Where is he?” 

“Га like you to come and meet him,” 
said Jaglom. 

“Yeah,” agreed Security, straightening 
his tie. “Га love to.” 

“But Гуе got a problem," Jaglom added, 
explaining the sticky situation. 

“No problem!” assured Security, who 
instantly called a Brooklyn friend em- 
ployed in construction. 

In an hour, Brooklyn arrived with a 
forklift used to construct skyscrapers. At- 
tached to a chain was a platform onto 
which Jaglom pushed Welles in his wheel- 
chair. As the forklift hoisted them up, Jag- 
lom gripped the chain with one hand and 
the wheelchair with the other, since the 
platform was swinging wildly to and fro in 
mid-air “What are they doing? What are 
they doing?” Welles asked with each dip. 
Nervous about rolling off if Jaglom let go, 
he was really sweating now. 

“Hey!” yelled Security from below. 
“There's no problem! Don’t worry!” 
When the platform was finally at rostrum 
level, several broad swings were necessary 
to maneuver it to where the wheelchair 
could easily be rolled off. “This is how it 


ends,” Welles blurted out as the platform 
tipped at an especially precarious angle. “I 
can see this is what the obituary is, New 
York Times, tomorrow: ‘Elderly over- 
weight actor rolls to his death, crushing 
young director friend in his path? ” 


. 

But, по, this is a Hollywood story, and 
Hollywood likes happy endings. Or at least 
surprise twists. 

Athis regular table for four at Ma Mai- 
son, concealed behind a latticework screen, 
Welles is dining beside his constant evening 
companion, a black toy poodle named 
Kiki—or Mademoiselle Kiki, as the res- 
taurant staff calls her. Mostly, Kiki 
snoozes in her regular chair at his left, 
awakening only to sip from a water dish on 
the table or to growl and snap her tiny teeth 
at anyone she suspects of ill will toward her 
master. 

Her master isn’t growling. In fact, an air 
of unabashed optimism hangs about him, 
since he's lately concocted a movie project 
that actually looks as if it may work out. 

“For two years,” he says, “I shopped 
around a very marketable commercial 
product”—he means The Big Brass 
‚Ring— “and по one would touch it.” Now, 
as he discloses his new plan, Welles’s eyes 
are twinkling as only his can. “Pm going to 
do King Lear!” 

King Lear? Orson Welles? In Holly- 
wood? 

Well, maybe. For despite the commer- 
cial possibilities of The Big Brass Ring, 
and despite the box-office potential of an 
Orson Welles/Jack Nicholson cast, and 
despite Henry Jaglom’s diligent sales 
work, Welles was apparently an idea 
whose time had not quite rearrived in Tin- 
seltown. Jaglom did manage to attract the 
serious interest of a major Israeli investor, 
but details were never finished, and a stoic 
Welles—who in the past has been respon- 
sible for some of the most eloquent Shake- 
spearean pictures ever made—returned to 
an old pet project. 

Today, as a result of the unanticipated 
box-office success of such films as Zeffirel- 
li's La Traviata, there's a sudden swell of 
excitement among the moneymen about the 
notion of putting classics on film. If the 
excitement continues, Welles may find 
himself artistic enough to be bankable. 

“Can you imagine it!” he chuckles, 
savoring the irony. “Orson Welles's King 
Lear is a commercial project!” 

Asked if he'd like a taste of chocolate 
cake, Welles refuses. He’s been scrupu- 
lously watching his diet at Ma Maison, 
forgoing wine and dessert and, at home, 
trying to get some regular exercise in his 
back-yard pool, all in hopes of being in 
peak condition for the mammoth task of 
directing a film again. 

“Tm in training for King Lear!” bellows 
America’s greatest film maker as Kiki 
opens her eyes to survey the Hollywood 
crowd and see how they’re treating her 


master now. 8 


*] wasn't pickin’ nobody's pocket, guu'nor— 
1 was merely fondlin’ the gent!” 


PLAYBOY 


fe K YAN C X 2 | INS (continued from page 135) 


“То me, Гое got a great body. If it’s photographed 


right, it can look absolutely great. 


>» 


mention the word breakdown or he'll Ну 
into a rage) and the homosexual Steven, 
who had such radical plastic surgery last 
season that it allowed the producers to 
pull the ultimate in soap-opera chutz- 
pah—to fire one actor and replace him 
with another without changing the char- 
acter. 

Let's say Alexis gathers all of them, 
plus her daughter, her ex-son-in-law and 
assorted others, in her penthouse office 
overlooking Denver. What will she say? 

“Pm appearing in PLAYBOY, with a 
modicum of tasteful eroticism, because I 
know that it looks good,” she’ll announce, 
sipping from her glass of Louis Roederer 
Cristal champagne. “If I didn’t look good, 
I wouldn't do it. I’m far too vain. I've too 
much pride and I’m too intelligent to stand 


there with fat arms and a big, fat belly.” 

Blake looks stunned; Krystle is envious. 
Steven seems puzzled and Adam starts to 
have flashbacks to the mental hospital in 
Montana. 

“To me, Pve got a great body,” Alexis 
will say. “Sometimes, it looks terrific; and 
if it's photographed right, it can look abso- 
lutely great.” 

Sound like the Alexis we've come to 
know and fantasize about? Regular Dy- 
nasty fans probably will not be surprised 
to learn that those words were actually 
uttered—during a taping session for a 
forthcoming Playboy Interview—by Joan 
Collins, the English actress who has made 
Alexis into TV’s top sex symbol for men 
and an unlikely heroine for women. Those 
who have followed her more than 50 mov- 


"It's from the Murrays ... 
them anything?” 


did we remember to send 


ies or her escapades that have scandalized 
Great Britain for years see it as a fitting 
role for their favorite legend. So when 
Joan agreed to pose for ғілувот, it was 
obvious that she deserved not one but two 
of America’s best photographers. 

George Hurrell, perhaps the most 
famous name in Hollywood glamor pho- 
tography, was the choice for the black- 
and-white series. He took his first photo of 
a film star, Ramon Novarro, in 1927 and, 
under contract to various movie studios, 
shot all the greats—Greta Garbo, Mar- 
lene Dietrich, Mae West, Bette Davis, 
Jean Harlow, Clark Gable and hundreds 
of others. As the star system died, he found 
himself in vogue with a new generation 
and, at 79, has taken album-cover shots 
for Arctha Franklin, Melissa Manchester, 
Chevy Chase, Keith Carradine, Lindsey 
Buckingham and Fleetwood Mac. 

If Hurrell missed any stars along the 
way, it’s likely that Mario Casilli covered 
for him. One of the original PLAYBOY pho- 
tographers who helped perfect the art of 
the centerfold (he has shot nearly 70 of 
them), he’s also one of the most sought- 
after celebrity photographers in the coun- 
try, with nearly 50 ТИ Guide covers to his 
credit. Ironically, it is Casilli, the junior 
member of the photo team, who has 
known Joan longer, photographing her at 
what was the beginning of both of their 
careers. 

“It was 1956 or 1957,” he recalls. “She 
had just come over from Britain 2s some- 
thing of a Liz Taylor look-alike. She was 
much more quiet at the time and was 
nowhere near the lady she is now. She 
has grown in confidence and has really 
become her own person. I was impressed 
with her then, but I would never have 
guessed that she'd become such a star.” 

For Joan, becoming a star was a long, 
bumpy ride. She entered the Royal Acade- 
my of Dramatic Arts when she was only 
15 and quickly made her movie debut in J 
Believe in You, with Laurence Harvey. 
Numerous films, most of them forgettable, 
followed. Of course, the quality of her 
work hardly mattered, since she managed, 
by dint of her colorful personal ‘life and 
her penchant for speaking her mind, to 
become a star in spite of her career. Few 
saw or remembered her movies; no one 
forgot her well-publicized affairs. And if 
people did, Joan reminded them by writ- 
ing her autobiography, Past Imperfect, in 
1978. Even for a work by a woman long 
known as "Britain's Bad Girl,” the book 
was so shocking and the uproar so loud 
that she demurely returned a $100,000 
advance to her American publisher to 
keep the book from being released here. 
She has since reworked it, toned some of it 
down and has agreed to let it be published 
early next year. Even her age is controver- 
sial. She tells interviewers she’s 48, but 


other sources see her as slightly more 
mature—say, 50ish. 

To read Past Imperfect is to realize how 
anemic the plot lines of even Dynasty can 
be. Take, for example, Joan's first mar- 
riage, to English actor Maxwell Reed. On 
their first date, he drugged and raped her. 
Then, seven months into their marriage, 
he tried to sell her to an Arab sheik. Not 
even Alexis would have the gall to try that 
with Krystle. 

After divorce number one, Joan learned 
10 enjoy life. She had affairs with a string 
of famous sons: Charlie Chaplin's son 
Sydney, Arthur Loew’s son Art, Jr., Con- 
rad Hilton’s boy Nicky and Rafael Tru- 
jillo, son of the then-dictator of the 
Dominican Republic. Terence Stamp and 
Harry Belafonte got their turns at bat, 
according to the book, while Richard Bur- 
ton tried and struck out. Warren Beatty 
asked Joan to marry him—he even 
slipped her an engagement ring in a car- 
ton of chopped liver—and their ill-fated 
engagement was the talk of Hollywood 

Her second marriage, to singer-song- 
writer-director Anthony Newley, was an 
improvement over her first but was still 
stormy enough to be charted by the 
National Weather Service. Seven years 
and two children later, they split, and 
Joan fell into the waiting arms of Ryan 
O’Neal. A third marriage, to Ron Kass, 
who at one time headed the Beatles’ Apple 
Records, was marked with tragedy when 
their youngest daughter, Katy, was hit by 
a car and suffered what doctors said was 
permanent brain damage. Joan and Ron 
dedicated their lives to helping her recov- 
er, and after years of both professional and 
home-grown therapy, Katy was able to 
resume a normal life. In fact, it was her 
recovery that allowed Joan the chance to 
work full time as Alexis, the only role in 
her career that has overshadowed her pri- 
vate life. 

Veteran star watcher Hurrell is sur- 
prised that Joan has never before reached 
superstar status through her work. “She 
has everything—the face, the figure, the 
talent, the enthusiasm, the tenacity,” 
he says. “The only thing I can figure out is 
that she probably had a lousy agent.” 

Casilli, on the other hand, thinks that 
the public was just slow to catch on. 
“Sometimes it takes the public a while to 
realize how exciting a certain character 
is,” he maintains. “Now Alexis is a fanta- 
sy figure—rich, tough, sexy.” After all, it 
says something about America that Alex- 
is—who gleefully grinds her spiked heels 
into the little people on her climb to the 
top—has been accepted as a sexual fanta- 
sy rather than a threat 

Of course, there’s one other important 
element to Joan's current success. She has 
put in years of hard work and has thrown 
herself into the role of Alexis—and that of 
Joan Collins the star—with enthusiasm 


and professionalism. The lessons of other 
actors and actresses who turned out to be 
flashes in the pan have been noted and 
filed, as the longevity of her career attests. 
It's a career she runs singlehandedly, often 
without the help of a manager, a business 
manager or a press agent. 

“She follows in the tradition of the stars 
of yesteryear,” says Casilli. “She has an 
image and she knows how to exploit it. It’s 
almost as if she’s a product. During our 
session, she knew exactly what she wanted 
to look like and what she wanted to wear. 
She even does her own make-up—that’s a 
lost art; none of today’s actresses can do 
their own theatrical make-up.” 

Hurrell agrees. “She cares about her 
public. She’s always dressed to the nth 
degree, always performing. She wants to 
look good for the public at all times. You 
don’t see that anymore. And I like the way 
she speaks with such certainty. When we 
went to her house to show her the pictures, 
she didn't fiddle around. She knew exactly 
which pictures made her look good—she 
has a great eye for photography.” 

Joan admits that she has been inspiréd 
by the great stars she watched as a child, 
and after realizing that few, if any, women 
on television paid attention to fashion, she 
saw a chance to stand out 

"] was very positive that I wanted to 
make a statement with clothes,” she ex- 
plains. “I’m not Glenda Jackson. I can’t 
just appear in an old serge skirt and a 
blouse.” 

“It’s fun to see that glamor come back,” 
says Casilli. “Joan has been so successful 
with it that I think we'll sec а lot more of it 
from others in the future.” 

That doesn’t mean that glamor has 
replaced controversy as a Collins trade- 
mark. Like Alexis, she seems to be able to 
have them both—-and her photos in 
PLAYBOY are proof positive that elegance 
can be scintillating. 

“The things I did in the pLayaoy layout 
are unrevealing rather than revealing, be- 
cause that’s more interesting,” she ex- 
plains. “I can project sex by my face and 
my bodily attitude. I can switch it on.” 

Sex isn’t all that gets switched on. 
People expect the outrageous from Joan, 
and she expects criticism from them. 

“Everybody says, ‘Oh, Joan, shocking 
girl. There she goes again, always doing 
the wrong thing, always shocking every- 
body and being controversial.” Everybody 
else rallies around, saying, ‘Oh, God, she’s 
so terrible." ” 

Is this pictorial the wrong thing? Is it 
terrible? That’s not what Joan told us. 

“1 can do what I want, and what 1 do is 
not shocking and is not bad,” she insists. 
“In my own mind, it’s OK. Pve got a good 
body. I'd do it only if I knew I could do it. 
"The instant I know I can't do it, I won't." 


Melvin Belli 
Celebrated Trial Lawyer 


Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey 114 Proof. 
Old Grand-Dad Distillers Co., Frankfort, KY 
© 1983 National Distillers 


PLAYBOY 


(continued from page 152) 


“Mottele’s marriage 


to Zina was annulled and his 


new wife was an 18-year-old girl.” 


writer of the article, a Comrade Dame- 
shek, had discovered in Poznik's introduc- 
tion to the book traces of Trotskyism. 

. 

Not long after Poznik and Zina left, the 
news spread in the Writers’ Club that 
Mottele Blendower had become a pen- 
itent—not of the modern type that com- 
promises Jewishness with worldliness but 
one who returned to extreme orthodoxy. 
He grew his beard and his side locks, 
exchanged his modern clothes for a long 
robe, and one could see his fringed gar- 
ment hanging down from behind his vest. 
He published a letter in the orthodox daily 
condemning all his former writings as her- 
esy and poison for the soul. He forbade all 
the Yiddish dramatic circles to use his play 
and sent back his membership card to the 
Writers’ Club. The owner of a Yiddish 
bookstore made it known that Mottele had 
bought from him all the copies of his book, 
spat on them and threw them into the gar- 
bage. Rashkes had gone to Mottele's 
apartment to get back some of his manu- 
scripts, but Mottele told him that he had 
thrown them into the stove. Mottele’s 
marriage to Zina was annulled and he was 
allowed to remarry after collecting the sig- 
natures of 100 rabbis. It was published in 
the Yiddish orthodox newspaper that Reb 
Mottele had married a pious Jewish 
daughter, a descendant of renowned rab- 
bis, and had become the head of a Yeshiva. 
The curious in the Writers’ Club found 
out that his new wife was an 18-year-old 
girl who, according to the Hasidic law and 
custom, had shaved her head the day after 
the wedding and had put on a bonnet, like 
а rebbitzen. Mottele had changed his tele- 
phone number so that heretics and mock- 
ers could not contact him. Once, when I 
met him in the street, I greeted him, but he 
turned his head away. It was hard for me 
to believe that only a year ago, Mottele 
had spoken with me about Kant, 
Nietzsche, Kierkegaard and Ouspensky. 
Previously, he had been inclined toward 
Zionism. Now he called the Zionists 
betrayers of the Jews. 

One winter evening, perhaps two years 
later, I received a telephone call at the 
furnished room I rented. I could not recog- 
nize the woman’s voice until she told me 
that she was Zina. I had never been one of 
her friends—I used to greet her in the 
Writers’ Club, but we seldom spoke. Now 
she spoke to me as if I were an old friend. 
She told me that she had smuggled her 
way back to Poland. While in Russia, she 
had learned that Mottele had remarried. 
Here in Warsaw, she had tried to call 


ха Rashkes, but it seemed he had moved out 


of the room where he boarded lately. She 
had asked for his address in the Writers’ 
Club, but no one knew it. She expected me 
to know Rashkes’ whereabouts, but I 
couldn’t help her. Zina’s voice had 
changed. It sounded hoarse and old. She 
asked me if I could meet her in the street, 
at the corner of Solna and Leszno. I told 
her that I was afraid to be seen with her, 
because I might be arrested. 

Zina assured me that the Polish author- 
ities knew that she had escaped from Rus- 
sia and there was no danger for me to be 
seen with her. She said, “Му dear, I’m not 
the same Zina. My own mother wouldn’t 
recognize me if she were alive. I lost every- 
thing in the Red Gehenna—my beauty, 
my faith in the human race. A living 
corpse is speaking to you.” 

I let myself be persuaded and went out 
to meet her. A mixture of snow and rain 
had fallen. An icy wind was blowing. At 
the corner of Leszno and Solna, I saw 
Zina. 1 would never have known it was 
she. She looked emaciated and aged. Her 
hair had turned dark and was disheveled 
and stringy. She had on a gray padded 
jacket—the kind market vendors wore. 
She extended her moist hand and said, 
“Pm hungry and half-frozen. I haven't 
slept for three nights. When we went to 
Russia, I left all my clothes in the apart- 
ment I had with Mottele. I tried to recover 
them, but his wife slammed the door in my 
face. The little money I had, I spent on 
telephone calls, but none of my former 
friends seem to be home. Where is 
Rashkes? Where is he hiding? They all 
run from me like from a leper. You won’t 
believe it—the receptionist at the club 
didn’t let me in. Well, I deserve it all.” 

Zina spoke and coughed. She spat into 
something that looked like a dirty napkin. 
She said, “My lungs are sick. I suffer from 
consumption or God knows what.” 

“What did they have against Poznik in 
Russia?” I asked. “He subscribed to all 
their lies.” 

“What do they have against anybody? 
They swallow one another like wild ani- 
mals. Have pity on me and take me some- 
where where it is warm.” 

After some hesitation, I took her to a 
café on Leszno 36. The waitress frowned 
when she saw Zina. I ordered tomato soup 
for her and a glass of tea for myself. Zina 
had abandoned all manners. She dunked 
the bread in the tomato soup. She spoke 
loudly, and the patrons around us winced. 
She tilted the bowl, drank the last of the 
soup and said, “I don’t recognize Warsaw. 
I don’t even recognize myself. What I 


went through from the day they arrested 
Poznik until now cannot be described. 1 
literally lived in the streets. I hoped they 
would imprison me just to have a roof over 
my head. But when a luckless person 
wants something, the very opposite hap- 
pens. I told them in clear words, “You are 
murderers, not socialists, worse than fas- 
cists. Your Stalin is a criminal.’ They just 
laughed. They were even unwilling to 
commit me to an insane asylum. When I 
crossed the border on the way back to 
Poland, they let me go without asking for 
documents. . . .” 

Zina began to cough again. She took out 
the dirty napkin and blew her nose. 
"Don't gape at me,” she said. “It’s me— 
Zina, the ball queen of the Yiddish Writ- 
ers’ Club, the crowned Queen Esther. 
Woe to me!” 

She smiled and, for a second, her face 
looked young and beautiful once more. 

° 

Years passed. I had left Warsaw and 
gone to the United States. The Hitler war 
broke out, and then the atomic bomb came 
and afterward the peace. Between 1945 
and 1950, we found out, more or less, who 
remained alive in Europe. I had heard 
that Poznik had died in prison in Moscow 
even before the war began. Others said 
that he had been sent to dig for gold in the 
north and that he died there from starva- 
tion. As far as I knew, both Mottele and 
Zina had perished in Poland. 

In the fall of 1954, I made my first trip 
to Israel. There I got more details about 
those who had vanished in the ghettos, in 
the concentration camps or in Russia. I 
heard gruesome facts about my own fami- 
ly. One day, in my Tel Aviv hotel, I was 
trying to read a book by the dim light that 
filtered through the shutters of the win- 
dow. I had closed them for protection 
against the thin desert sand that would be 
carried in by the hot khamsin wind. 

Someone knocked at my door. I had 
already become accustomed to unan- 
nounced visitors, since the telephone was 
seldom functioning. I opened the door and 
saw a little man with a white beard, 
dressed in a rabbinical hat, and beside him 
a tall woman in a wig covered with a 
shawl, her face golden from the khamsin 
sand. I looked at the couple and thought 
that they must be a pair of schnorrers out 
to collect alms for some cause. I noticed 
that the woman carried a box in one hand 
and an umbrella in the other. She looked 
me over from head to toe and said, “Yes, 
it's him!” 

“May I know with whom I have the 
honor?” 1 asked. 

“Little honor," she answered. “My name 
is Zina, and this is my husband, Mouele 
Blendower. Don’t be afraid; we didn’t 
come from the grave to strangle you.” 

I should have been shocked, but since 1 
had undertaken this journey, I had be- 
come used to the most astonishing encoun- 
ters. The little man said, "A surprise, 
heh? Yes, we are alive. I know that I was 


counted among the dead, They even pub- 
lished my obituary here, but Pm still in 
this world. Zina and I met in Lublin in 
1948. My other wife and my children 
were killed in the ghetto, and what hap- 
pened to me is а story of a thousand and 
one nights. We came here to the Jewish 
state only two months ago.” 

“Come in. Come in. This is really a 
startling event,” I mumbled. Zina imme- 
diately crossed the threshold and, after 
some hesitation, Mottele followed. 

He asked, “Why do you sit in the dark? 
Because of the khamsin? I have experi- 
enced all kinds of storm winds, but a hot, 
sandy wind like this I see for the first time. 
The winds in Russia are always cold, even 
in the summer.” 

“Everything there is cold,” Zina said. 
“In 1939, when the war began and the 
Polish radio announced that all men 
should cross the Praga bridge and run in 
the direction of Bialystok, I went with 
them—first to Bialystok and later to Vil- 
na, which belonged to Russia. I was sure 
that the Communists would know my 
record and send me to Siberia or to the 
wall of the firing squad; but somehow, no 
опе paid any attention to me. What 1 
endured in the Red paradise for the second 
time is not something to talk about now. I 
survived the siege of Leningrad and later 
found myself in the Caucasus Mountains, 
among Persian Jews. They had been there 
for the past two thousand years and spoke 
a mixture of Parsee, Hebrew and Rus- 
sian. In 1945, all the refugees attempted to 
return to Poland or reach the DP camps in 
Germany, but I said to myself, ‘Since 
Poland is nothing more than one big ceme- 
tery, what is the rush” But I became 
deadly sick with asthma. When I finally 
reached Warsaw, I walked among the 
ruins like that prophet—what was his 
name?—Jeremiah. I saw a young man 
ig up the earth with a spade. I 
asked him what he was trying to find and 
he told me, ‘Myself.’ He was not exactly 
mad, but queer. Later, 1 met some of our 
former Communists who used to visit the 
Writers’ Club. They had lost everything 
but their chutzpah. From there, I made 
my way to Lublin. One day, as I walked 
on Lewertow Street, I saw this helpless 
creature, my former husband. He had also 
managed to stay alive; isn’t that funny?” 

“Why are you standing?” I asked. “Sit 
down, both of you. I don’t have any 
refreshments. . . .” 

“What? We didn’t come for refresh- 
ments,” Mottele said. “We came to see 
you. You don’t look much older. We fol- 
lowed your work, even in Russia. In 
Poland, I found a book of yours. As you 
can see, my beard is all white. You must 
be wondering how we can be together 
again after what happened between us. 
The answer is that the signatures of a 
hundred rabbis cannot really annul the 


spirit of a marriage. Anyhow, our re- 
encounter was an act of providence. There 
is a lot in the Zohar about naked souls, 
and we two are naked souls.” 

“Why do you stare so at my wig?” 
asked me. “This was Mottele’s condition, 
that I should put on a wig and behave like 
a pious matron. I told him openly that I 
don't believe in anything anymore. But 
since this was his will, I gave in. What is a 
wig? Just some hair from a corpse. The 
truth is that I’m almost left without hair. I 
got typhoid fever while in Leningrad and 
became bald. I read somewhere that hair 
grows even on the heads of the dead in 
their graves. But my hair won't grow. 
This means that I’m worse than dead.” 

“Zina, don’t exaggerate,” Mouele 
said. 

“What? I don’t need to exaggerate. The 
truth is weird enough.” 

“Where do you two live?” I asked 

Mottele grabbed his beard. “Promise 
me that you won’t laugh at me and I will 
tell you.” 

“J will not laugh." 

“They made me a rabbi," he said 

“Nothing to laugh at. You are a son and 
a grandson of rabbis.” 

“Yes, yes, yes. We came here without a 
penny. The Joint Distribution Committee 


paid our expenses. Someone announced in 
the newspapers that I was alive. There are 
quite a number of my father’s Hasidim 
here, and they all came to me—from Tel 
Aviv, from Jerusalem, from Safad, even 
from Haifa, though Haifa is known as a 
town of radicals. They began to call me 
rabbi immediately. ‘What sort of a rabbi 
am I? I said to them. ‘And what about 
Zina” But they answered me, “You are a 
child from our school. You are the image 
of your saintly father.’ I will make it short: 
I became a rabbi and she a rebbitzen right 
here in Tel Aviv.” 

“In my eyes, you are more of a rabbi 
than all the others,” I said. 

“Thank you. Jews come to me on the 
Sabbath, we eat at the table and I recite 
Torah. What is there left to preach to 
them? Nothing but silence. They rented 
an apartment for us and they provide for 
us. What could I do here? I lost my 
strength. They offered me compensation 
money from Germany, but this money to 
me is an abomination.” 

For a while, we were silent. Outside, 
the wind howled, cried, laughed, like a 
bevy of jackals. Zina said, “Don’t be 
amazed that I wear make-up. I know that 
it does not suit a rebbitzen. But I suffer 


“However, my client agrees 
that he did, in fact, leave a dead body 
in the road, and is prepared to face the music 
on a charge of littering.” 


PLAYBOY 


310 


from eczema. A man can let his beard 
grow and cover his cheeks. Everything 
shows on a woman. In a wind like this, my 
face swells up.” 

We were silent again for a long while. 
Then Zina said, “Guess what I have in 
this box?” 

“Zinele, he’s a writer,” Mottele said, 
“not a mind reader. Tell him what is 
there.” 

“Rashkes’ 
said. 

“Yes, I understand.” 

“No, you don’t. That day in September 
when the Warsaw radio ordered all men 
to run to Russia, I went over to Rashkes 
and tried to persuade him that we should 
go together. But he refused. He was as 
pale as death. The first day of Rosh Ha- 
shana, he lay down on the bed and never 
wanted to get up again. From all his 
admirers, only one woman remained 
faithful to him—Molly Spitz, a bad writ- 
er, a psychopath.” 

“I knew Molly Spitz,” I said. “She used 
to come to the Writers’ Club.” 

“Yes, she.” 
“I didn’t 
lover,” I said. 

“Who wasn’t his lover?” Zina asked. 


unfinished novel,” Zina 


know she was Rashkes' 


“He ran after all women between fifteen 
and eighty. When the war broke out, they 
all forgot him—but Molly Spitz, that 
monkey, remained with him. The truth is 
that а Nazi bomb had exploded in the 
house where she lived and she was home- 
less. I had finished with him once and for 
all; still, I tried to save him. I pleaded with 
him, but he said, ‘Zinele, go wherever you 
want. I have lived my life and this is the 
end.” He told me to open a drawer, and 
there I found what I am carrying now. He 
said to me, ‘Take it if you insist. The 
Nazis don’t need my writings. Neither do 
the Reds. They can use these pages for 
cigarette paper.’ These were his last 
words.” 

“You carried it for all these years?” I 
asked. 

“Wherever І went—to Bialystok, to 
Vilna, to Leningrad. This is not just a 
novel. This is the story of our great love. I 
tried to get it published in Vilna, but they 
had all become flatterers of Stalin. The 
mountain Jews in the Caucasus didn’t 
know Yiddish. Here is his novel. 1 dragged 
it with me over all the frontiers, all the 
ruins. I lay with it in cold railroad 
stations. I took it with me to the hospital 
when I got typhoid fever. When I met 
Mottele in Lublin, I gave it to him to read 


“Don’t tell my parents about the diaphragm until 
after Christmas, OK?” 


and he said, ‘It’s a masterpiece.’ ” 

Mottele slowly lifted up his head. “For- 
give me, Zina; 1 never said this. 

“Yes, you did. It was your idea that 1 
should bring the novel to him,” Zina said, 
pointing at me. “Now that we are in the 
land of Israel, I want to publish it. I want 
you to write an introduction to it. This, 
too, was Mottele’s idea.” 

Mottele shrugged. “All I said was that 
he knew Rashkes better than the others 
did.” 

That day, I promised Zina to read the 
novel and write an introduction. The 
night after, I lay awake until three o'clock 
and I read the entire manuscript. I was 
reading and sighing. From time to time, I 
slapped my forehead. I had always consid- 
ered Rashkes a genuine talent. But what I 
read that night was the worst kind of 
mishmash. Had he become prematurely 
senile? Had he forgotten the Yiddish 
language? The protagonist of this novel 
was not Zina but a man who indulged 
in drawn-out polemics with the War- 
saw Yiddish critics in tedious pseudo- 
Freudian analysis, misquoting all sorts of 
writers, philosophers and politicians. I 
never would have believed that Rashkes 
was capable of writing this bewildering 
hodgepodge if I had not recognized his 
handwriting. He had even forgotten how 
to spell. Rashkes had a reputation for 
being а humorist, but there was not a trace 
of wit in this pathetic monolog. 

A few days later, Mottele called me, 
and I told him what I thought of Rashkes" 
last work. He began to stammer, “I never 
praised it. I said one thing and she heard 
the opposite. If Hitler could hypnotize 
Germany and Stalin Russia, something is 
the matter with the human race altogeth- 
er. Zina is sick. She was twice operated on 
for cancer. They cut off her left breast. I 
cannot tell her the truth about Rashkes. 
She will soon have to go to the hospital 
again. I myself suffer from angina pecto- 
ris. 1 shouldn’t have visited you in that 
sandstorm, but she actually dragged me. 
What can I tell her about your introduc- 
tion? Please find some excuse for declin- 
ing." 


ГА 
“Tell her that I will send her the intro- 
duction from America.” 

“Yes, a good idea. There is great wis- 
dom in delaying things. I would like to 
meet you alone, without her.” 

I made an appointment with Mottele, 
but a day before we were to meet, someone 
called me on the telephone and told me 
that Mottele and Zina had both been tak- 
en to the hospital. The man introduced 
himself as one of Mottele’s Hasidim and 
an ardent reader of mine. 

He said to me, “This may sound to you 
like a contradiction, huh? However, after 
Treblinka, one should not ask any ques- 
tions.” —Translated by the author and 
Lester Goran 


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PLAYBOY 


312 


THERE'S АМАН ON (continued from page 198) 


“TU find that middle ground where the language is 
vague enough so each side can believe it has won.” 


though his own nose were now a bit out of 
joint, he said, “Well, Captain Standforth, 
1 wouldn't do it this way—I think it's a 
waste of time—but before we get to the 
subject of our conversation, I am required 
to ask you, an absolute alien, your position 
on the Benchley Paradox. So listen care- 
fully.” 

‘The captain listened, idly scratching his 
nose (now more for fun than for need). 

“There are two kinds of people in the 
world,” Colonel Alderpee began. 

“This world?” the captain asked. “Or 
Earth?” 

“Any world! This is the Benchley Para- 
dox; now, listen.” 

“I do beg your pardon." 

“There are two kinds of people in the 
world,” the colonel repeated. “They are, 
Robert Benchley claimed, those who be- 
lieve there are two kinds of people in the 
world and those who don’t believe there 
are two kinds of people in the world. Now. 
Do you agree with that?” 

“Absolutely,” the captain said. “Seems 
perfectly clear to me.” 

° 


Ensign Benson did not entirely believe 
it. Billy and the captain were both back, 
and each had made a tentative alliance 
with the locals—with different sets of 
locals. Upon their return, Ensign Benson 
had brought them both up to the command 
deck and, while the wounded councilman 
and Hester and even the usually distracted 
Pam had all sat around listening, he had 
questioned both ex-prisoners. Their sto- 
ries had dovetailed so thoroughly that 
Ensign Benson really had no choice but to 
accept the reality. “They are fighting,” he 
said at last, “over Robert Benchley.” 

“A philosopher, I guess,” Billy said 
scratching his head. 

“Very important, anyway,” the captain 
added, scratching his nose. 

“A smart-aleck, to judge from his para- 
dox,” Ensign Benson said. “Perhaps even 
a deliberate humorist.” 

“Dangerous people, humorists,” Luth- 
guster opined. “They should not be taken 
lightly.” 

All around, the captain’s stuffed birds 
glared down from their perches, unwink- 
ing glass eyes peering from among feath- 
ers and beaks and claws of every color in 
the rainbow and a few colors outside the 
known rainbow of Earth. “All right,” 
Ensign Benson said. “I begin to see what 
happened. One of those original philoso- 
pher settlers, with that heavy-handed light 
touch professors love so well, introduced 
the Benchley Paradox, in which you prove 
Benchley right by disagreeing with him. 


Because if everybody agreed with the par- 
adox, then there'd be only one kind of per- 
son in the world, and the paradox would 
be wrong. Are any of you pinbrains get- 
ting this?” 

“Certainly,” said Luthguster, while the 
captain and Billy and Hester shook their 
heads and Pam doggedly worked her slide 
rule. The stuffed birds gaped down as 
though the very thought of the Benchley 
Paradox made them furious. 

“The Gemini philosophers,” Ensign 
Benson went on, “had found a topic with- 
out the usual comforting weight of prece- 
dent behind it. Rather than cite old texts 
at one another, they were forced to think 
Jor themselves. Unable to appeal to prior 
authority, they couldn't end the quarrel at 
all. Each succeeding generation became 
more rigid and less scholarly, until, by 
now——” 

“Total war,” Luthguster finished, dem- 
onstrating his grasp of the situation. 

“They sure don't like each other 
much,” Billy agreed. “Boy, what they said 
about the Bens.” 

“The Bens said some things, too,” the 
captain said, as though he felt it his job to 
defend his side in the war. “About the 
Antibens, I mean.” 

Ensign Benson cleared his throat in a 
hostile manner. When every person and 
bird in the room was looking at him, he 
said, “All right. The first question is, 
What do they want from us?” 

“An alliance,” Billy said. “To help 
them destroy the Bens.” 

“Well, no,” the captain said. “Actually, 
they want an alliance to help them destroy 
the Antibens.” 

Luthguster sighed, his wounds creak- 
ing. “Dealing with one colony at a time is 
trouble enough," he said. "When they 
begin to multiply —” 

"Divide," corrected Ensign Benson. 
“We're dealing here with mitosis, not sex- 
ual reproduction.” 

“Mitosis,” Pam said, looking bright. “I 
know what that is.” 

“You would,” Ensign Benson told her. 
“All right, let's concentrate on the prob- 
lem at hand. Obviously, Earth can't send 
technical assistance or start trade pro- 
grams while this war is going on, so our 
first job is to bring peace. Any sugges- 
tions?” 

“Once my wounds heal,” Councilman 
Luthguster said, “I shall engage in shuttle 
diplomacy. I'll speak with the political 
leaders, deliver their demands, conduct 
negotiations, and, eventually, Pl find that 
happy middle ground where the language 
is vague enough so each side can believe it 
has won. Yes.” The councilman gazed 


radiantly at some wonderful image of 
himself in the middle distance. “ "The 
Luthguster Реасе, " he quoted from some 
future history text. 

“In the first place,” Ensign Benson 
said, “there are no political leaders on 
Gemini. From what Billy and the captain 
say, the society has been taken over en- 
tirely by the two groups of military 
commanders, with the assistance of the 
religious establishment. In the second 
place, this isn’t a war of territory or trade 
routes or anything else rational that can be 
negotiated. A war of philosophical differ- 
ence is something else again. And in the 
third place, Councilman, Гуе seen you in 
action with local citizens before, and I 
don’t want to unite the bloodthirsty fac- 
tions on Gemini by making them form an 
alliance against Earth.” 

“Well, really,” Luthguster said, indig- 
nantly scratching his wounds. 

“If you want a thing done right,” 
Ensign Benson said in disgust, “you have 
to do it yourself. Unfortunately.” 

. 

“The Right Reverend Beowulf Henge- 
thorg,” Billy said, on his best behavior, 
“Td like you to meet Ensign Kybee Ben- 
son, social engineer of the Interstellar Ship 
Hopeful.” 

“Ensign,” echoed Reverend Henge- 
thorg, as he grasped Ensign Benson’s out- 
stretched hand in a grip of steel. “Is that a 
clerical rank, or military?” 

“Somewhere between the two,” Ensign 
Benson said through clenched teeth; it was 
the first time since elementary school that 
he’d tried to outsqueeze another person in 
a handshake. 

They were standing in the sunlight out- 
side the large command tent while dozens 
of men armed with arrows and broad- 
swords and maces and battle-axes and 
clubs and knives and metal-toed shoes sat 
around their several other tents, watching 
the two Earthlings with the flat expres- 
sions of carnivores looking at meat. 

Ensign Benson had understood it was 
his job to visit both encampments, being 
introduced first to the Antibens by Billy 
and later to the Bens by the captain in his 
own effort at shuttle diplomacy—or shut- 
tle philosophy. Now, feeling all those 
martial eyes on him, he reminded himself 
that this was, after all, the most sensible 
thing to do under the circumstances; риу 
he'd been smart enough to know it. 

“It was a great moment for us all,” 
Reverend Hengethorg was saying, as he at 
last released Ensign Benson’s hand with a 
little superior smile, “when Lieutenant 
Shelby confirmed what we have for so 
long believed: that Earth is firmly Anti- 
ben. I may say I took it as a personal 
vindication.” 

“Actually,” Ensign Benson said, mas- 
saging his fingers and speaking with cau- 
tion, “Earth’s philosophical position anent 
the Benchley Paradox is somewhat more 
sophisticated than that. Essentially, I 
would say Earth’s position encompasses 


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PLAYBOY 


314 


elements of both the Ben and the Antiben 
points of view.” 

Reverend Hengethorg’s frown had 
something of the Inquisition in it. “Both 
points of view? How can a position 
encompass absolute contradictions?” 

“Well, we don’t see the Bens and the 
Antibens as being absolutely contradicto- 
ry,” Ensign Benson explained. 

“They are on Gemini,” the reverend 
said. “But you must come with me to the 
chaplains’ tent and explain Earth’s posi- 
tion to the reverend fathers.” 

“Pd like that.” 

With the smiling, unconscious Billy 
trailing after, they walked together toward 
the chaplains’ tent, safely placed on the far 
side of the slope, and Ensign Benson said, 
“This is quite a large encampment. How 
many of your people are here?” 

“Why, all of us,” Reverend Henge- 
thorg said in some surprise. “Except for a 
few spies in the Bens’ camp, of course. 
Where else would we be?” 

“Don’t you have a town? Forts?” 

“I don’t know what you mean by 
town,” the reverend said. “We have had 
forts, but they were vulnerable to fire and 


siege and difficult to move, unlike that fort 
of yours, which we all admire very 
much.” 

“So the women are right here with the 
army.” 

“The women are in the army. We are 
all in the army.” 


“Military school, just over there,” the 
reverend said, pointing toward a nearby 
copse from which came the shrieks of 
childish savagery. 

“What about farms? Food?” 

“We have our herds. We hunt and we 
pick fruits and so on in season.” 

They walked past a smithy, where met- 
al bits for harnesses were being hammered 
into shape. “How many of you are there?” 
Ensign Benson asked. 

“Тас a military secret.” 

“More than five hundred, I'd guess," 
Ensign Benson said, looking around 
“Fewer than a thousand.” 

“If you say so.” The reverend clearly 
didn’t like having his military secret 
guessed at so easily and accurately. 

“But as the population grows —” 

“Why should it grow?” Gesturing 


“I think that the best Christmas present 
1 could get this year would be somehow to hang 
on to my rotten job.” 


around them, the reverend said, “We and 
the Bens have had stable populations for 
four hundred years.” 

Ensign Benson nodded. “Birth con- 
trol?” 

The reverend shook his head. “War,” 
he said. 

They had reached the chaplains’ tent. 
“My colleagues will be delighted to mect 
with you,” the reverend said. “There's 
nothing we all like more than lively philo- 
sophical debate.” 

“That’s fine.” 

“Of course,” the reverend went on, “the 
liveliest philosophical debates take place 
under torture. But there’s no question of 
that here,” he said, holding open the tent 
flap, smiling wistfully to show how brave- 
ly he was taking the deprivation, “is 
there—Earth being our ally against the 
Bens.” 

“Indeed,” Ensign Benson said and fol- 
lowed Reverend Hengethorg into the 
tent 


“Captain , tapping her fin- 
ger tips against the frame of the cabin’s 
open door. 

Captain Standforth looked up. A knife 
was in his right hand, a palmful of desic- 
cated guts in his left, and a pitiful lump of 
orange feathers lay before him on the 
desk, oozing green blood. “Yes, Pam? I’m 
very busy. I must finish stuffing this Nibe- 
lungen nuthatch before it dries out.” 

“There's someone here,” Pam told him 
“To see you. A man named Colonel 
Alderpee.” 

“Oh, yes,” the captain said, rising, wip- 
ing green phlug from his hands onto his 
uniform jacket. “I told him he could drop 
by. He was very interested in the ship.” 

“He certainly is,” said Pam 

He certainly was. The captain and Pam 
met him in a corridor well within the ship, 
one level above the entry port. Colonel 
Alderpee, looking very happy, was ac- 
companied by a small, skinny scribe, who 
earnestly scribbled notes to the colonel’s 
directives: “Granaries along here, I think. 
Horse stalls below; we'll need straw. Oh, 
and moat detail to report at fifteen hun- 
dred hours.” 

Secing the captain and Pam, «Colonel 
Alderpee said, “Ah, Captain, delighted! 
It's a different fort from anything I've seen 
before, but very adaptable.” 

“Colonel, what are you——" the cap- 
tain began, then stopped with a squawk 
when he saw, ambling around the far cor- 
ner of the corridor, a purple cow, closely 
followed by a yellow-and-white polka- 
dotted dog. “What—— What's that?” 

“Eh? Oh, the herd,” the colonel an- 
swered. 

And it was. It was the herd and the 
herders and the herders’ dogs and the herd- 
ers’ wives and children. And the army, with 
banners, marching to the squeal of bag- 
pipes. And the clergy, with collection bas- 
kets, and the cooks and the smithies and 


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PLAYBOY 


316 


the leatherworkers and the teachers and the 
glee club and the magicians and the story- 
tellers and the horses and the hay and the 
forges and the whips and the thumbscrews 
and the tents (folded) and the extra arrow 
feathers and the cooking pots and the bits of 
string that might be useful someday and the 
unfinished wooden statues of horses and 
the supreme commander, Krraich, who 
shook the captain’shand very hard and said, 
“I shall take command now.” 

“Oh, my goodness,” the captain said to 
Pam. “We've got the Bens!” 

. 


Ensign Benson sat on a low stool in the 
chaplains’ tent, in the midst of the rev- 
erend fathers, both hearing them and 
asking them questions. And what he’d 
already heard had not been at all encour- 
aging. He'd entered this den of iniquity 
intending by easy stages to lead the Anti- 
bens around to a more open point of view, 
but he'd soon seen it was hopeless. Never 
in his life had he met so many firmly 
dosed minds. 

Every approach he’d made to broaden 
the Benchley Paradox had brought angry 
frowns and mutterings of “Heresy.” 
Ensign Benson could imagine—far too 
well-—what happened to heretics on Gem- 
ini, so by now he was simply vamping 
along, trying to figure out some way to get 
out of there alive. “If we accept the 
Runyon Postulate,” he was saying, “that 
all of life is six to five against, as glossed 
by Sturgeon’s Second Law, that ninety 
percent of everything is crud, we can then 
see that Benchley’s Paradox merely ac- 
knowledges that there will at all times be 
unenlightened people who——” 

Were they mumbling “Heresy” again, 
for God’s sake? Was the word blasphemy 
being bandied about? “What I'm trying to 
say——” Ensign Benson began again, 
wondering what he was trying to say, and 
Billy came into the tent, crying, “Ensign 
Benson! Come look!” 

“Look?” 

“The ship!” 

More trouble? “Excuse me,” Ensign 
Benson told the chaplains. “I must be 
about my captain's business.” And he 
marched right on out of the chaplains’ 
tent. 

To see, down in the center of the valley, 
the Hopeful filling up with Bens. “Oh, 
now what?” Ensign Benson cried, at the 
end of his tether. 

“You,” said a knife-thin, harsh-faced, 
resplendently uniformed man pointing a 
bony finger at Ensign Benson, “shall pay 
for this treachery.” 

“Supreme Commander Mangle,” Billy 
said, with his party manners again, “may 
I present Ensign Kybee Benson.” 

“Hello,” the supreme commander said. 
“You die now.” 

“Wait a minute! J had nothing to do 
with that,” Ensign Benson said, pointing 
at the spaceship. Some clowns down there 


had started digging a moat. “I’ll take care 
of it right now.” 

Mangle’s thin lips curled. “You expect 
us to permit you to return to your fort?” 

Ensign Benson looked at Billy, who 
sighed but managed a brave little smile. “1 
know,” he said. “This is where I volunteer 
to stay as a hostage.” 

. 

“1 don’t care who you are,” Hester said. 
“You can’t start a lot of fires in my engine 
room.” 

“Tm the smithy,” the burly man ex- 
plained, stacking his firebricks near the 
reactor, “and the sergeant says this is 
where I set up.” 

“Well, you can tell your ser —” 

Ensign Benson entered the engine 
room. "Hester." 

“Would you tell this” 

“Ssh! Come here!” 

So Hester went there, and Ensign Ben- 
son said, “Forget him. Start the engines. 
Don’t worry about a thing.” 

. 


“Billy will be worried,” Pam said. 

“Billy will be all right,” Ensign Benson 
told her. “Well all be all right. You just 
plot the course. As for you, Captain, sure- 
ly you know how to drive this thing.” 

Pam and Ensign Benson and the cap- 
tain were together on the command deck 
with a lot of squalling babies; Colonel 
Alderpee had decreed this space was the 
nursery. Councilman Luthguster was off 
making a courtesy call on Supreme Com- 
mander Krraich. 

“Well,” said the captain doubtfully, “I 
have driven it, but that was a long time 

cd 
= ‘Just take her up,” Ensign Benson 
said, “and head southeast. Right, Pam?” 

“Mm,” Pam said, lost in her slide 
rule. 

. 

“Build boats,” Supreme Commander 
Mangle said. “Tonight, we cross that 
moat.” 

“Sir,” said an aide, coming into the 
tent, “the fort is leaving.” 

They all went outside. The fort was 
gone. The moat remained, a ring of mud- 
dy water around a crushed altar. 

“Sir? Do you still want the boats?” 

“Kill that idiot,” Mangle said. “And 
bring me the hostage Earthling.” 

. 

Ensign Benson went to the command- 
er’s tent (a.k.a. dining room) to explain 
the situation to a suspicious Colonel Al- 
derpee and a glowering Supreme Com- 
mander Krraich. “The fort,” the colonel 
pointed out, “is moving.” 

“Plague,” Ensign Benson said. 

‘They stared at him. They recoiled from 
each other. “Plague! Where?” 

“Back where we came from. The ship’s 
instruments showed there was a breakout 
just due. Congratulations, gentlemen,” 
Ensign Benson continued, “you have at 
last won your war. Within a week, there 


won't be a living Antiben on Gemini.” 


. 
Southeast across the surface of the plan- 
et ran the Hopeful, guided by Pam's slide 
rule and steered erratically by Captain 
Standforth, who had to keep picking 
babies out of the controls. Diagonally ran 
the ship, down from the Northern Hemi- 
sphere to the Southern, around from the 
Eastern Hemisphere to the Western. Ex- 
actly opposite the original encampment, in 
similar climate and terrain, where they 
would be easy for Earth’s supply ships to 
find but where they would never again 
meet their enemies, the Hopeful set down 
and unloaded the Bens. “You’ve done a 
fine thing for Robert Benchley,” Colonel 
Alderpee said as the Bens and their beasts, 
their tents and their babies all deshipped. 
“Tt was the least we could do,” Ensign 
Benson assured him. “After all, you had 
reached a stalemate in what was clearly a 
war of total extermination. Something had 
to be done.” 
“Peace, it’s wonderful,” the colonel 
id, then frowned. “At least, Гуе heard it 


is. 


Councilman Luthguster made a speech 
promising wonders in aid and technical 
assistance to come from Earth. Some arch- 
ers playfully lofted arrows in his direction, 
but they were only fooling, and the one 
flesh wound that resulted was easily 
patched by Hester with a snippet of stick- 
on plaster meant for stemming leaks in 
boilers. 

“I was beginning to rather like all those 
babies,” Captain Standforth said, a far- 
away look in his eye. “1 wonder how 
you. . . . Hmmmm.” He went away to 
study his taxidermy books. 

. 

“Plague,” Ensign Benson said, as Billy 
was untied from the rack. "You'll never 
see a living Ben on Gemini again.” 

“And you took them away,” Reverend 
Hengethorg said, “so they couldn't infect 
us 


“That's right.” 

“You've done wonders.” 

“I know,” Ensign Benson said. 

Billy came over, massaging his chafed 
wrists, He looked taller. “Gosh, Kybee,” 
he sai 

“Well, ta-ta,” Ensign Benson told the 
Antibens. “You'll be hearing from Earth. 
Our job here is finished now.” 

. 

“Sir,” an aide said to Colonel Alderpee, 
“there’s a dispute among the men.” 

The colonel gazed over the new en- 
campment, the tents still being raised, the 
thud-thud of posts being driven into 
the virgin ground. “Dispute? Over what?” 

“Well, some of the men say those 
people in the fort were from Earth, and 
some say they weren't." 

“Really? Call a meeting. We're mature 
adults; we'll discuss it.” 


Aig to give Wid key 
or 99) receive Wild ey 


PLAYBOY 


DESEXING OF AMERICA 


(continued from page 110) 


“Tt involves herpes and AIDS and turns on the cruel 
and heavy-handed equation of disease with sex.” 


the future, however, and his hopes for the 
high monogamous love he proposes are 
very much like his Look hopes for the new 
sexuality. In fact, they are exactly like his 
old hopes. The final paragraph of The 
End of Sex reads: “But I believe . .. that 
love will prevail, that love will eventually 
join us in a family as wide as all human- 
kind that can laugh together, weep togeth- 
er and share the common ecstasy.” 

Actually, he did change one word. In 
light of the women’s movement, he evi- 
dently felt that mankind should become 
humankind. 

. 

But if Leonard and others like him are 
silly in their premature announcements of 
the death of sex, there is a more sinister 
aspect to the erotophobic turn of the 
media. It involves herpes and AIDS and 
turns on the cruel and heavy-handed 
equation of disease with sex and the Chris- 
tian connection between sickness and sin. 

Herpes was the warm-up. The media 
discovered this ancient malady about four 
years ago and almost immediately elevated 
it to epidemic status. Reports of its conta- 
gion appeared everywhere, and since its 
physical manifestations are generally 
mild, the emphasis was on the fact that it 
was transmitted sexually and is, so far, 
incurable. Anxiety was whipped to a point 
way beyond the numerical realities until 
the disease became a metaphor for the 
kind of punishment that puritans have al- 
ways insisted is waiting for those who have 
sex with people they’re not married to. 

When Time got hold of herpes, it con- 
nected it to the angry morality of our past 
by calling it “The New Scarlet Letter.” 

The author of the Time story, John 
Leo, assembled the kind of sexual horror 
that used to come mostly from 
priests and nuns who were trying to terri- 
fy their young charges out of their sexual- 
ity by loading them with lurid scenarios 
that promised them that their bodies 
would somehow rot if they were sexual 
outside marriage. In a five-page cover sto- 
гу, Leo trots out no fewer than four sexual 
monsters, three of them women, who are 
out there somewhere consciously spread- 
ing herpes as some sort of insane revenge 
on their partners. “They were just one- 
night stands, so they deserved it anyway,” 
Leo quotes a Philadelphia man who brags 
that he has infected 20 women. A prosti- 
tute estimates that she and her sister have 


318 probably infected 1000 men. 


“Few modern ailments have altered so 
much basic behavior so quickly,” says Leo 
in describing the epidemic nature of the 
disease. And although such changes are 
difficult to measure, if behavior has been 
altered, it can be argued that it is not the 
true incidence of the disease that has 
changed it but the panic with which the 
press has reported it—an attitude that is 
explained in part by the fact that the sen- 
sational sells and in part by the fact that 
the morality behind those editorial voices 
is stuck somewhere in the past. 

Leo and Time betray their sense of sin 
in the last paragraph of their herpes story 
by finding something positive in the 
spread of this tenacious virus: 


It is a melancholy fact that it has 
rekindled old fears. But perhaps not 
so unhappily, it may be a prime mov- 
er in helping to bring to a close an era 
of mindless promiscuity. The monog- 
amous now have one more reason to 
remain so. For all the distress it has 
brought, the troublesome little bug 
may inadvertently be ushering in a 
period in which sex is linked more 
firmly to commitment and trust. 


In other words, if a little suffering and a 
lot of anxiety can turn things back toward 
Time's idea of what is sexually right and 
good, so be it. 

With the discovery of AIDS, of course, 
herpes began to look like the relatively 
minor irritation it had always been, and it 
was quickly replaced in the press by this 
less common but far more awful disease. 

Media coverage generally began on a 
misguided track, because the usual victims 
were male homosexuals and, again, be- 
cause the primary method of transmission 
was suspected to be sexual contact. The 
May 31, 1982, New York titled an AIDS 
story “The Gay Plague,” as if somehow 
this vicious breakdown of the immune sys- 
tem, unlike any other disease in the histo- 
ry of medicine, chose its victims by their 
sexual preference. In October 1982, The 
Saturday Evening Post titled its AIDS sto- 
ry “Being Gay Is a Health Hazard”; and 
the February 3, 1983, Rolling Stone, їп ап 
otherwise straightforward article about 
what was known about the disease, used 
the absurd question “is THERE DEATH AFTER 
SEX?" as its headline. 

It wasn’t long, however, before the new 
panic was expanded to the general popu- 
lation. In an editorial in The Journal of 
the American Medical Association of May 
6, 1983, the possibility was raised that 
AIDS could be contracted through 


ordinary close, nonsexual contact with a 
victim. The wire services and The New 
York Times moved that story along, and 
Geraldo Rivera, on 20/20, added to the 
panic and confusion by suggesting that 
because AIDS could be spread by transfu- 
sion, the nation’s blood supply might be 
contaminated and the best precaution was 
to begin storing your own blood. 

And so another disease was approached 
clumsily by the media because of its sexual 
connections. The press reported the out- 
break of AIDS as if it had been conceived 
and loosed on the world because of the 
sexual behavior of a small group. It was as 
if someone had suggested that the Ameri- 
can Legionnaires had brought sickness on 
themselves and on the rest of us because 
they were middle-aged men who went to 
conventions in Philadelphia. 

Тітез July 4, 1983, cover story on 
AIDS focuses on the efforts of the Centers 
for Disease Control to track the cause and 
is followed by a report called “The Real 
Epidemic: Fear and Despair,” which cat- 
alogs the changes in gay lifestyle attrib- 
uted to the scourge. “Footloose gays” are 
turning to monogamy, says the report; 
business in the bathhouses is down. A 
Moral Majority preacher named Dixon is 
quoted as saying that if homosexuals 
aren’t stopped, it will mean the destruc- 
tion of America. And then, in the last 
paragraph, Leo gets back up into Time's 
pulpit to take another swing at his idea of 
the real culprit. “The sexual revolution 
clearly is not over,” he writes, “but the 
Eighties are proving to be a dangerous 
decade both for gays and straights who 
like casual sex and plenty of it.” 

But if Time and Leo stop short of sug- 
gesting that God and nature were taking 
vengeance on the sexually permissive, syn- 
dicated columnist Patrick J. Buchanan 
does not. His column of May 24, 1983, in 
The New York Post is headlined, 
DISEASE: IT'S NATURE STRIKING BACK,” and it 
identifies him as a nasty moral retrograde. 
“The sexual revolution has begun to 
devour its children,” he writes. “And 
among the revolutionary vanguard, the 
gay-rights activists, the mortality rate is 
highest and climbing.” 

The story goes on to outline the spread 
of the disease, lists other homosexual mal- 
adies and then quotes medical researcher 
J- Gordon Muir as saying that male 
homosexuals should be allowed neither to 
give blood nor to handle food. Finally, of 
course, Buchanan finds a way of connect- 
ing Democrats with the disease. (He was 
Richard Nixon’s speechwriter.) He notes 
that Walter Mondale, Gary Hart and 
Alan Cranston are all committed to the 
cause of homosexual civil rights, in- 
cluding equal access to jobs, and then he 
asks, What of the rights of people who 
want to protect their children from the 


PLAYBOY 


proctoring of this infected group? He ends 
with a half-wiued sort of conservative 
Catholic righteousness that harks back not 
so much to Puritan America as to Spain 
during the Inquisition. “The poor homo- 
sexuals,” he says. “They have declared 
war upon nature, and now nature is exact- 
ing an awful retribution.” 
. 

It was no oversight that Ronald Reagan 
failed to send the pro forma telegram of 
welcome to the World Congress of Sexolo- 
gy when it met last May in Washington, 
D.C. This Administration represents al- 
most perfectly the Puritan streak that still 
is, and may always be, alive in this coun- 
try—a spirit that would just as soon have 
the lights all the way off whenever and 
however the subject of sex comes up. 

The sexologists ought to have expected 
it. Even under more enlightened Adminis- 
trations, they have had to struggle for their 
funding and their legitimacy. What they 
probably didn’t expect was the negative 
attitude with which the press ambushed 
the most important and interesting recent 
development in the field. 

The attack came from New York on 
July 19, 1982, and it was called “The Next 
Sexual Hype—The G Spot.” In it, author 


Linda Wolfe treated the renewed interest 
the Gräfenberg spot as if it had been 
discovered to sell books. 

“There have been some new discoveries 
about female sexuality—and they’ve got 
the world of book publishing all excited,” 
she writes in her lead paragraph. “The 
first is that inside the vagina there's a 
remarkable, pinpointable, dime-sized area 
of sensitivity that when stimulated will 
swell to the size of a half dollar and trigger 
an intense, unique orgasm. The second is 
that stimulation of this magical site . . . can 
cause some women to release, through 
their urethras, a fluid similar to semen— 
in other words, to ejaculate. The source of 
this intelligence is an outlandish book 
called The G Spot and Other Discoveries 
About Human Sexuality.” 

After listing the book clubs and the pa- 
perback houses that vied for the book, 
Wolfe carries her derisive tone through a 
list of the authors’ credentials and then 
begins an attack on the fact that the scien- 
tific method involved in their work was 
less than first-class. In fact, the authors 
anticipated her objections in the preface by 
admitting that they had, in effect, written 
a popular book, that much more research 
remained to be done and that they hoped 


“Oh, come on, Glen, more foreplay. This is 
Christmas Eve.” 


their hypothesis would be subjected to rig- 
orous scientific scrutiny for validation or 
rejection. Nevertheless, Wolfe goes to 
great length to point out the gaps in their 
technique and to ridicule the notion that 
women might ejaculate. She takes most of 
the courage for this attack from the fact 
that Kinsey and Masters and Johnson 
rejected the notion of the С spot after 
applying research techniques that she calls 
“elegant.” Wolfe ends her article by say- 
ing that whatever The G Spot is, it i 
science. “Indeed,” she says, “it often 
resembles a highly inventive piece of 
shock-the-bourgeoisie porn.” 

Since the publication of the book, and 
since Wolfe’s catty attack on it, post- 
mortem tissue studies by medical re- 
searchers in California and New York 
have confirmed not only the existence of 
the G spot but also a fundamental chemi- 
cal similarity between female ejaculate 
and semen. Both research teams say that 
their studies are not yet complete, but the 
New York researchers predict that within 
two years, the G-spot phenomenon will be 
an accepted fact of female sexuality. Nei- 
ther of the studies has been widely 
reported in the press. 

. 

In а way, the antisexual drift of the 
press should have been predictable. It’s 
very American, after all. No one loves the 
notion of the pendulum effect more than 
we do: A thing is either “in” or “out.” 
From one-piece bathing suits to disco to 
Western movies, the natural ebb and flow 
of our attention is portrayed as wanting 
either all of it or none of it. And while a 
thing is “in,” it is touted to be the answer, 
the panacea, the truth, and then, when 
its time has passed, it’s orange peels and 
coffee grounds. 

In the case of something аз complicated 
and as delicate as our sexuality, it should 
go without saying that each of us moves 
through a wide range of moods about it in 
our lifetime, and that these moods repre- 
sent no more and no less than a natural 
evolution, a maturing that is deeply con- 
nected to both mind and body and that 
each of us goes through on our own sched- 
ule, which is the often mysterious product 
of our experiences and our world view. 

The media are rough tools with which 
to deal with the subtleties of our daily 
realities. At best, they are a collection of 
thoughtful voices that admit their biases so 
that the audience can judge not only what 
is being said but who is saying it. Most of 
us come to the subject of sex with heavy 
and confused baggage that makes it diffi- 
cult to pursue our own changing sexuality 
without struggle, error and some fear. 
What we need for the job is all the infor- 
mation we can get as straight as we can get 
it. What we don’t need is the background 
rattle of judgmental nonsense from those 
in the media who cling to the timid belief 
that all sexual exploration leads to the fall 
of empire and then to hell. 


Low т, 
Самер ТАБ 


Camel Lights. 
Low tar. 
Camel taste. 


— ағ”, 


Ew 
~ СА 4 
Mur. LLL JA" ا‎ - 


ON: THE 


See NE 


GAMES 
ONE ON ONE 


ack in 1784, a chess-playing automaton named The 
Turk had Paris and London all agog as it defeated bi 
ginners and masters with equal aplomb. Its secret, 
of course, was that its flowing robes actually housed 
a human (some say a very smart midget). It’s no secret that 
Milton Bradley’s Grand-Master houses an advanced chess 


Above: The chess set (top center) is Grand-Master, an elect 
man you should play, by Milton Bradley, about $500. Left о! 


computer with 12 levels of skill. But what distinguishes it from 
other electronic chess games is that your invisible opponent's 
pieces move by themselves, just as though you were sitting 
across from Claude Rains, If that’s too bizarre, there are elec- 
tronic Scrabble, bridge, backgar or Ms. Pac-Man. All 
make worthy foes when you feel like challenging a microchip. 


nic game that moves the pieces automatically and even gives you a hint as to what 
is Monty Plays Scrabble, which pits you against an opponent with a 12,000-word 


vocabulary, $149.95; additional vocabulary modules, $29.95 each; all by Ritam Corporation. Right of Grand-Master: Gakken electronic back- 
bees which pits you against a wily computer (or another player), from Retrix Systems, Tustin, California, $69.95. Front row: Ms. Pac-Man, a 


-sized home version of the famous arcade game with two skill levels and best-score display, by Coleco, $50; and Voice Bridge Challenger Ill, 


Which can be your par er or уой appionenl: I(samouncer all bide In an abtihie voice and ree cir Шері OAE E БОГА Ee Ud ЕУ 


GIFTS. 
YULE LOG FOR THE LADIES 


he women in our lives give us so much that it's hard to 
come up with the perfect yuletide gift that says 
thanks without being cloying or corny. How can you 
let a woman know that you really appreciate the 
times she's forgiven you for showing up late and lit? How do 
you tell her that when you add up your assets and liabilitie: 


she somehow manages to top the asset list—even ahead 
your beach house on Montauk? Well, to get the point acro: 
you have to let go of some cash. Not mortgage the farı 
necessarily; but there's something about the cool silence 
extravagant jewels and furs that will articulate the ineffab 
Besides, she'll have all year to thank you. Suggestions follo 


> 


Below left: That gift box by milady's head contains three flacons of 
Joy Parfum, by Jean Patou, $450. On her ears are gold-and-pearl 
earrings, by Limoges Jewelers, $650; on her neck, a pearkand- 
diamond necklace, from Asprey, New York, $25,550; and on her bod, 

pure-silk jacket and trousers, from Henri Bendel, New York, $460. In 
the folding calfskin jewel box, from Asprey, $1200, are а 14-kt.-gold 
bangle, $2500, and matching ring, $600, both by Limoges Jewelers; a 
5.21-carat-diamond ring, by David S. Kwiat, $14,500; an 18-kL-gold 
necklace, by Honora Jewelry, $4200; 12.51-caral-diamond earrings, 


by David S. Kwiat, $34,000; 18-kt-gold-and-diamond bracelet, 
$6900, and necklace, $9750, both from Asprey; opera pearls, from 
The Sharper Image, San Francisco, $845; and a 24.40-carat-diamond 
bracelet, by Oscar Heyman, $120,000. (Mama mia! What a Christ- 
mas!) Below: Espresso Plus espresso/cappuccino maker, by Krups, 
$400. Silver-fox fling, by Coopchik Furs, $1200. Metal BriefCage, 
encasing a buttery-soft-leather sack, from Fabrications, New York, 
$195; containing brass dumbbells, $27.50 each, jump rope, $20, and 
hand gripper, $20, all from Unique Handicraft, Long Island Ci 


2 
% 
> 


326 


BRINGING OUT THE ANIMAL IN YOU 


While only a bonehead would hit the ski slopes or the cross-country trails 
without something woolly on his noggin, a real outdoorsman will also 
want to add a touch of the wild when keeping his numbed skull warm 
And the wildest winter hats we've stumbled upon are those of the acrylic 
Soft Animal line created by designer Melinda Pierce. For $24.95, post- 
paid, you've got your choice of a polar, brown or panda bear, as well as a 
raccoon or a rabbit. (The last, of course, is quite popular with snow bun- 
nies.) One size fits all, says the manufacturer, Rocking Horse, c/o Cran- 
borne Chase, 719 Warren Avenue North, Seattle, Washington 98109. 
Just don’t wear them during hunting season. 


STICK SHTICK 


The walking stick enjoys its 
finest hour in Cane Curiosa: 
From Gun to Gadget, а 374- 
page coffee-table tome that 
celebrates, in more than 1600 
photographs, the secret history 
of hundreds of canes housing 
almost every conceivable ob- 
ject, from a weapon to a vio- 
lin. The author, Catherine 
Dike, who herself has an ex- 
tensive stick collection, visited 
more than 75 private collec- 
tions and 100 museums while 
assembling the story, and the 
result is such a fascinating ac- 
cumulation of curiosa that it 
almost makes you want to 
walk with a limp. The 
Cooper- Hewitt Museum, 
Mail Order Department, Two 
East 91st Street, New York 
10128, sells the book for $72, 
postpaid. At that price, it’s a 
bargain for all cane harvest- 
ers. There’s even a 1976 
Jimmy Carter Presidential- 
campaign cane pictured, with 
a giant-peanut-shaped plastic 
handle, that his followers can 
lust for in their hearts. 


KILLER DISC 


The Vidmax people, who brought you 
the laser video game Murder, Anyone?, 
have just committed another perfect 
crime in Many Roads to Murder, their 
MysteryDisc II, which is currently avail- 
able in video stores for about $39.95 
Many Roads takes you back to 1938 and 


follows private investigator Stew Cava- 
naugh from a Harlem jazz joint to a 
private explorer's club in scarch of mur- 
derer, motive and method. There are 16 
plot lines and solutions. Start tracking. 


WHAT'LL YOU HAVE, HAL? 


Owners of Apple Пе or Apple II Plus 
computers can kiss their drink-recipe 
books goodbye and belly up to Micro 
Barmate, a floppy disk that contains reci- 
pes for 220 drinks (with room for 35 of. 
your own), all cataloged by name, by in- 
gredients you have on hand or by catego- 
ry. Virtual Combinatics, P.O. Box 755, 
Rockport, Massachusetts 01966, sells the 
disks for $42 cach, postpaid. The morn- 
ing after you've had your Micro sips, try 
a little hair of the dog that bytes you 


—— 


ROBOT TO 
THE RESCUE 


Tetsujin 28, а 16”-tall Japa- 
nese-made metal robot, con- 
tains more tricks than a 
roomful of hookers. His legs 
open to reveal an elevator in 
опе, and when you hit a but- 
ton on his wrist—kapow!— 
you get socked with a flying 
fist. The Afton Toy Shop, 
P.O. Box 98, Afton, Minneso- 
ta 55001, sells Tetsujin 28 for 
$59.50, postpaid. If he’s not 
menacing enough, there's al- 
ways Voltes V, who “сап be 
transformed into five assorted 
military machines or one giant 
space-age tank.” Now, that’s 
what we call tough. 


ROCKSHOTS FOR 
CHRISTMAS 

This past September, 
Potpourri featured a dirty 
dozen Rockshots matchbooks 
in all their tasteless glory. 
Now Rockshots is hack to take 
on the holidays with such sea- 
sonal subtleties as HE SEES YOU 
WHEN YOU'RE SLEEPING printed 
оп the matchbook cover and so 
CLOSE THE FUCKING BLINDS! іп- 
side. Just $7.50, postpaid, sent 
to it at 51 West 21st Street, 
New York 10010, gets you 
another indecent dozen that 
you can sprinkle under the 
tree. If Rockshots sets its tacky 
sights on Easter, we'll pass. 


MOTHER 

KNOWS BEST 
For the man who has every- 
thing but self-control, there’s 
Mom, an 18” x 24” poster of 
the eternally watchful mother 
that you can hang over your 
desk or in your bathroom 
or bedroom and look at the 
next time you're up to some- 
thing naughty and are psycho- 
logically seeking a scolding 
(Keep those hands on top of 
the sheets, you dirty little 
boy.) The poster sells for only 
$4.25, postpaid, sent to Love 
Your Mom Enterprises, P.O. 


Box 8887, Durham, North 
Carolina 27707. Now every 


day will be Mom day. 


NOW HEAR THIS, JARHEAD 


If you think Bouncing Betty is the nickname of 
a bimbo named Elizabeth, then you might con- 
sider ponying up $5.95, postpaid, for Soldier 
Talk, an 88-page softcover alphabetical com- 
pendium of military slang from World War 
One to Vietnam that’s available from D. Irving 
Publishers, 16 River Street, Braintree, Massa- 
chusetts 02184. (A Bouncing Betty was a Ger- 
man antipersonnel land mine that exploded a 
few feet off the ground, you Dogface Turtle.) 


DECK THE HALLS 


Why didn’t we think of this? Instead of the 
kind of Christmas card you mail, It’s A Good 
Deal, Inc., P.O. Box 10880, Chicago 60610, is 
offering Good Deal Christmas Playing 

Cards, featuring Santa Claus as the king, Mrs. 
Claus as the queen, Jack Frost as his 
namesake, twin elves as the jokers and a 
Christmas tree as the ace of spades. At $3.95 
per deck, postpaid, it’s a good deal for holiday 
shoppers, and that means more Christmas 
cheer for all of us—any way you cut it. 


327 


Party Doll 


Listen, it isn’t easy. CARLENE CARTER is the daughter 
of June Carter Cash and the wife of Nick Lowe. If that’s 
not enough, Johnny Cash is her stepfather. When she 
performs or cuts an album or shoots a video, people 
watch her and the musical baggage she carries with her, 
like it or not. So buy C'est C Bon and give her a break! 


Lemmon Aid 

Did the Dodgers commit an error last summer when they spent thal bundle for 
Rick Honeycutt? They could have had Lemmon for less. Actor JACK LEMMON, 
with some fellow celebs, played a tough LA. media team 10 a standoff, and 
now he’s in shape to tackle the screen version of the Broadway play Mass 
Appeal. He'll play a drinking priest, so he'll hit a few doubles in that role, too. 


Gorilla My Dreams 

Fifty years have passed since actress FAY WRAY has seen her 
most famous companion up close. It just doesn't seem pos- 
sible, but, as you can see, they're still good friends. We hear 
that the original Kong has forgiven Dino De Laurentiis for his 
1976 remake—even if it made a monkey 
out of him. 


the Marshall Plan 


AARSHALL CRENSHAW is 
ervous. He's got the critics in 
is corner, and now he’s trying 
o find his audience. His most 
есеп! album, Field Day, had a 
»t going for it, but not enough. 
However, when you describe 
‘our musical influences as rock- 
billy, soul, Phil Spector girl 
;roups and the Beatles, the way 
renshaw does, it’s only а mat- 
er of time. So give him a 
ecurity blanket and hang in 
here until next time. 


None of These Girls Can Help It 


What сап we tell you? When two albums, Wet 
(eft) and Black Magic (right and below), 
appeared on our doorstep from a Cana- 
dian label called Visual Vinyl, we 
immediately thought of our loyal 
Grapevine readers. The two 
women featured on Wet are— 
obviously—The Wet Girls; 
MICHELE’s the blonde and 
SHERYUS the brunette. Look 
for the album, Wet's third, out 
now. Black Magic'sreal name 

is MARGUERITE. Her single, 

Spellbound, is selling well 
and she's currently working 
on an album. Three cheers 
for the picture disc! 


BIRTH CONTROL IN THE 
NINETIES: NO JOKE 


Aman walks into a bar. He sits down 
next to a good-looking woman and 
opens his shirt. She quickly pulls a 
flashlight from her purse and shines iton 
his chest, which glows a light, iridescent 
blue, the way your hand glows in those 
singles joints where the bouncers stamp 
it for identification under a special light. 
Aha, he’s got protection, she thinks. 

What's going on here? Nothing that is 
a current reality. This is a fanciful scena 
по based on news of a revolutionary 
male contraceptive that Johns Hopkins 
University reproductive biologists are 
working on. It could be the most excit- 
ing development in male birth control 


The book The G Spot says that women 
can improve their sex lives by building 
the muscles of the pelvic floor. One 
С Spot author—Dr. John D. Perry—is 
selling the Personal Perineometer 
(above), a below-the-belt fitness rater. 
It's $750 from Biotechnologies, 50 
Lawn Avenue, Portland, Maine 04103. 
= 


since the invention of the condom— 
make that since the invention of oral 
sex—a contraceptive salve that guys 
could rub on their chests. Whenthe com- 
pound was administered, via implant, to 
rhesus monkeys, it was highly effective 
and showed no major side effects. 


SEX NEWS 


Larry Ewing, head of Hopkins’ Divi- 
sion of Reproductive Biology, has asked 
the Food and Drug Administration for 
permission to begin human tests on the 
substance, which contains both the 
male hormone testos- 
terone and the female 
hormone estradiol. The 
two combined have been 
found to suppress the 
bodys natural produc- 
tion of testosterone, 
which stimulates the 
body to produce sperm. 
Ewing, who has worked 
on developing the com- 
pound for the past 12 
years, claims that it re- 
duces neither sex drive 
nor potency. Nearly as 
many years of testing 
may elapse before the 
compound can be mar- 
keted. So look for it 
at your pharmacy some- 
time in the Nineties. By 
the way, the lescent 
variety is the product of 
the Sex News Editor's 
imagination. To date, 


©1983 CINDY GREEN. 


What did Fischman and Rankin find 
out? After four months, couples report- 
ed significant declines in sexual activi- 
ties and expressions of intimacy; those 
measured at the 12-month stage showed 


Above, members of Memphians Against Social Harass- 
ment (MASH) bare their chests in support of dancer 
Cherlyn Ross, who appeared topless in a scene from the 
Metropolitan Opera's production of Macbeth. Memphis 
vice cops were in the audience but made no arrests. 


there are no plans to 

market it. But women will still be the 
ones who get pregnant, so how will a 
woman know if a man has done his daily 
rub? She'll probably have to do it herself. 
Nothing ever really changes; get the rub? 


BABY MAKES 
THREE AND NOBODY 
MAKES OUT 


Researchers at the University of Mary- 
land School of Nursing have been look- 
ing into the sexual ramifications of being 
the parents of a newborn baby. Susan H. 
Fischman and Elizabeth A. Rankin 
designed a study that would assess 
couples’ changes in patterns of sexual 
conduct after the birth of a baby. The 
test was administered by mail to 68 
couples at four months after birth and 
128 couples at 12 months. 


only small improvement. Couples cited 
disruptions in touching, holding and 
feelings of closeness and of sexual 
fulfillment. There were some discrepan- 
cies between mommies and daddies. 
Median time for resumption of sexual 
intercourse was 5.6 weeks for women 
and six weeks for men. We suppose 
the researchers didn't ask the respond- 
ents who their partners were. The first 
sexual reunion was considered less than 
satisfactory by 34 percentof the women 
but by only four percent of the men. 
Reasons given for decline in intimacy 
were fatigue and physical discomfort 
during sex. Sounds like natural birth 
control. Of course, if those parents think 
their sex lives are suffering now, 

wait until the kids start dating ЁЗ 


Stop! is a new humor magazine that never treads lightly, never turns the other cheek and also happens to have a very 
naughty, bawdy approach. It’s at good newsstands in major cities, or you can send two dollars for a sample copy 
to Stop!, P.O. Box 529, Old Chelsea Station, New York, New York 10113. We sincerely hope it doesn’t stop. 


2 


EA 
(Ser Decent vous 


on oF ven сыр 


Bora 


1984 


PLAYMATE 
CALENDAR 


GIFT YOURSELF AND OTHERS WITH 
AMERICA’S FAVORITE CALENDAR, 
AT NEWSSTANDS NOW. 


To order by mail: Specify "desk" or "wall" type, 
and send $4.00 for each desk calendar 
and $3.50 for each wall calendar, plus $1.00 for 
postage and handling for each calendar 
ordered, to: PBC, P.O. Box 3386, 

60654 Allow 4 to 6 weeks for 
пог residents 


S 
Pt, 


YOURSELF 


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‘SHEET, AND 2 MATCHING PILLOW 
CASES. 


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IN CALIF. 1-800-428-7824 ext. 15 


Visa, Mastercharge, or American Ex- 
press number and expiration date, or 


SEND CHECK OR MONEY OROER TO: 


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COLORS 

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Add 6% Sales Tax for Calif. Residents 


SPECIAL ISSUE $4 


NEXT MONTH: 


RAY BRADBURY SPINS A YARN ABOUT A BOGUS TIME MACHINE THAT CAN 
REDEEM THE FUTURE IN “THE TOYNBEE CONVECTOR” 


DAN RATHER TALKS ABOUT HIS FIRST TWO YEARS IN WALTER CRONKITE'S 
CATBIRD SEAT IN A NO-HOLDS-BARRED PLAYBOY INTERVIEW 


TRUMAN CAPOTE REVEALS WHY IT WAS SOMETIMES FUNNY AND SOME- 
TIMES SAD BUT NEVER EASY TO MAINTAIN “MY FRIENDSHIP WITH 
TENNESSEE WILLIAMS” 


ART BUCHWALD LOOKS, WITH HIS USUAL WRY HUMOR, AT ANOTHER SIDE 
OF RELATIONSHIPS: “WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR?” 


PLAYBOYS ACE PHOTOGRAPHIC TEAM GOES ON SAFARI AGAIN TO CON- 
DUCT “THE 30TH ANNIVERSARY PLAYMATE HUNT” 


GABRIEL GARCIA MARQUEZ TELLS A HAUNTING STORY OF DEATH ON A 
HONEYMOON IN “THE TRAIL OF YOUR BLOOD IN THE SNOW” 


MARIEL HEMINGWAY, UNDER THE DIRECTION OF BOB FOSSE, STRIVES 
TO BECOME DOROTHY STRATTEN IN THE FILM STAR 80. WE SHOW YOU 
HOW IT WAS DONE IN A TEN-PAGE PICTORIAL 


IRWIN SHAW, AS HE EASES INTO HIS EIGHTH DECADE, SUMS IT ALL UP IN 
“WHAT PVE LEARNED ABOUT BEING A MAN” 


DAVID SHEFF REPORTS ON THE WILD STORIES AND THE PARANOIA THAT 
SURROUND JOHN LENNON'S MEMORY, WITH EXCLUSIVE REACTIONS FROM 
HIS WIDOW, IN “THE TRASHING OF JOHN AND YOKO” 


BUCK HENRY TELLS US “HOW I INVENTED PLAYBOY” 


A VISIT WITH MUHAMMAD ALI BY MARK KRAM; “PARTING ADVICE” 
FROM THE FATHERS OF DAVID CARRADINE, GEORGE PATTON, JR., PAT- 
RICK WAYNE, ARLO GUTHRIE, KATHY CRONKITE, PETER FONDA AND 
OTHERS; FICTION BY ANTON CHEKHOV AND POETRY BY JOHN ОРОКЕ; 
ANOTHER LOOK AT CHARLES MARTIGNETTE’S COLLECTION OF EROTIC 
ART; “THAT WAS THE YEAR THAT WAS”; KURT VONNEGUT'S THOUGHTS 
ON CENSORSHIP; LITTLE ANNIE FANNY; A TRIBUTE TO THE LOST ART OF 
SCREWING UP BY ROY BLOUNT JR.; AND MUCH, MUCH MORE. 


PLAYBOY INTERVIEWS WITH MOSES 
MALONE, DAVID LETTERMAN, PAUL SIMON AND CALVIN KLEIN; PIC- 
TORIAL UNCOVERAGE OF “THE GIRLS OF THE HEALTH CLUB” AND ALL- 
TIME FAVORITE “PLAYMATES OF THE YEAR”; AN EXCLUSIVE PORTFOLIO 
BY LORD LICHFIELD, PHOTOGRAPHER OF THE ROYAL WEDDING; A VISIT 
WITH SYLVIA KRISTELS SUCCESSOR AS EMMANUELLE IV, MIA NIGRIA; 
HARRY CREWS WRESTLES WITH A SUBJECT CLOSE TO HIS MANLY HEART, 
“THE VIOLENCE THAT FINDS YOU”; CHUCK YOUNG TAKES US TO PUNK- 
ROCK CLUBS FOR A ROUND OF SLAM DANCING IN “SKANKING WITH THE 
DEAD KENNEDYS”; VANCE BOURJAILLY ORBITS THE NATION WITH PRESI- 
DENTIAL HOPEFUL JOHN GLENN; E. JEAN CARROLL WARMS UP TO THE 
SUBJECT OF “FRIGID WOMEN”; ROY SCHEIDER TELLS WHAT IT WAS LIKE 
TO SUIT UP WITH THE DETROIT TIGERS FOR A NEW MOVIE; ASA BABER 
SPINS SOME FICTION ABOUT THE CHICAGO BEARS AND THEIR NEAR MISS. 
AT THE SUPER BOWL; PETER NELSON SCRIPTS AN IMAGINARY TV RERUN 
IN WHICH BEAVER CLEAVER, DOBIE GILLIS AND DENNIS THE MENACE 
TURN UP IN THE SAME PLATOON IN "МАМ, “Gl PLAYHOUSE”; MORE FIC- 
TION BY RAY BRADBURY, DONALD E. WESTLAKE AND ANDRE DUBUS Ш. 


IMGTAR 


Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined m 
That Cigarette Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health 99 % tar free 
. 


Сап you look this man straight in the eye 
d honestly say you deserve Crown Royal? , 


OMA Zs