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PLA

` ENTERTAINMENT FOR MEN

PLAYMATE Ё <:
SISTERS —

INSIDE THE
CULT SEX
CLASSIC
“CAFE FLESH”

MUSIC '85
| (DON'T MISS THE
| << 4 TINA TURNER

- WORKOUT)

A 3 ae
Cights!8 mg. "tar"; ig. nicatine, Lights 1005:

9 mg. "ter^; 03 mgeritütine; av. per cigarette by FTC method.

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

NewLights &

LIGHTS

ONY Omg ЛАН

P. М 8 З S GARY FENCIK
: AILPRO SAFETY
CHICAGO BEARS

A BEAR USE
MOUSSE?

New Consort Thickening Mousse.
For a thicker, fuller, powerful head of hair.
Gary Fencik wants to look good. No
matter what game he's playing. That's
why he counts on new Consort
Thickening Mousse for Men. ‘gh j
It literally makes hair foro DE N ae
look and feel thicker. EN wr
Adds powerful body. 1 n
And gives control, д
without looking stiff or ©
phony. Just foam it out: ш;
and massage it in after | |
you shampoo. Style. P
Then stand back. ;
Consort makes a real
guy look real good.

GROOMING GEAR FOR REAL GUYS. CONSORT.

яя — WWE жи шшш 7 NN 7

The size and color were right. But the shoes were all wrong.

You see, your shoes were designed for the sake of appearances, not
for the sake of your feet. Sure, they looked good; but how did they feel
when you actually walked in them?

That's why, when we designed the first RocSports'some five years
ago, Rockport studied your foot. How it's made, how it moves when
you walk, how to make it feel better. Then Rockport combined all
that research with new space-age materials to make RocSports a com-
pletely original shoe. With a bold, slightly futuristic look and a new
kind of lightweight comfort that's perfect for walking.

Fox eco! RocSports' Walk Support System"
WAS "А50 absorbs shocks, cushions your feet, and
ae, - А supports you in incredible comfort.
- They're durable, yet the average RocSport
weighs a scant 11 ounces. Over the course
of a year's walking, that's about a ton less

Full тап
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шү pire
ar * than ordinary shoes.
Supertight Morflex™ Vibram™
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ACCEPTED

Rockport is the lirst
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seal of ance for
promoting foot health.
ACCEPTED BY

THE AMERICAN PODIATRIC

MEDICAL ASSOCIATION INNOVATIONS IN COMFORT 72 Howe Street, Marlboro, MA 01752

Available at: OPEN COUNTRY • EDDIE BAUER • OVERLAND TRADING CO. • REI

For the Rockport dealer nearest you call 800-531-9014. (In Massachusetts, 800-221-5744), 9:00 am/5:00 pm EST.

"Come to think of it,
lll have a Heineken...
Special Dark?

PLAY BILL

PEOPLE HAVE DIFFERENT approaches to re:
start at the front and read straight throug!
ward; others unfold the Pla We'd like to suggest that this
month you alter your routine and begin with a little gem called
Signals, by Daniel Mork Epstein (illustrated by Stanislaw Fer-
nendes). In the best tradition of man-to-man conversation, Ep-
stein takes just a few priceless words to tell you everything you
need to know about reading a woman's sexual moods. If you're a
young man just starting to figure out the mysterious female psy
che, save this article. It will get funnier, if not more useful, with
the passage of time.

And as time goes by, it becomes increasingly clear that the Ed-
monton Oilers’ Wayne Gretzky is destined to become the greatest
hockey player ever seen in this comer of the universe. We sent
Scott Cohen to Canada to hang out with the Great Gretzky before
and after the Oilers won the Stanley Cup ріау-о t year, and
the result is this month's Playboy Interview. "When I learned that
Wayne didn't fight, usc drugs or cheat on his girlfriend, 1
I would be interviewing the dullest jock in the world,
Cohen, “but I was wrong.” If vou like reading about small. non-
violent guys who come cut on top in a game of muscle and thug-
gery, you'll love it.

Jerry Stahl describes what it's like to be a small, nonsleazoid
guy in a game of love muscle and buggery in “Café Flesh” and
Me: Confessions of a Cult Sex King, illustrated by Ed Poschke.
Stahl, who watched his screenplay—a serious statement about
what life might be like alter a nuclear war— transformed
underground porn-film classic, says life is looking up for him:
“Since 1 penned Flesh, the inevitable has happened. Now,
every other 7-Eleven clerk and car-wash attendant in Los
Angeles, 1 have a couple of screenplays ‘in development.’ " While
we're on the subject of cult sex idols, Morganno, famous for bust-
ing into ball games to buss the players, helps keep you abreast of
the latest in exercise equipment in Let "Em Rip! (Note the shot on
the indoor home-tanning bed.)

If you're looking for à more strenuous exercise routine, check
out the Tina Turner Workout in our all-new, all-wonderful
Playboy Music '85, which includes the results of our Playboy
Music Poll. (If you like our Music Awards’ new format, send let-
ters to Associate Editor Kate Nolan and Junior Art Director Karen
Gaebe.) On the other hand, if you don't know a break from a
Pop, you can reminisce with Sergio Romírez about the days when
exercise meant building a body of steel, not rubber. In Even
Charles Atlas Dies (illustrated by internationally renowned Mexi-
can artist José Luis Cuevas), Ramirez—who was writing fiction
long before he became part of the Sandinista revolution in
Nicaragua—reminds us that the Dynamic Tension method, for
us 97-pound weaklings who tried it, was more than a techniqu
it was a way of life and death. (Death must be on Ramirez’ mind:
his latest novel, published by Readers International, is titled To
Bury Our Fathers). For a different perspective on Central Amer-
ica, read Support Our Boys in Nicaragua, in which John Eskow
takes a wry look at U.S. involvement there.

If you've ever wished you could get on a sailboat and cast your
fate to the wind, you'll identify with rraynov"s former Travel Edi-
tor Reg Potterton, who gave up his cushy job for a captain's cap.
He got a lot more than he bargained for, as he tells us in What I
Learned at Sea. To round out this month's issue, we have a li
20 Questions with legal-services mogul Joel Hyatt, who is artfully
cross-examined by Bill Zehme; a Playboy Guide: Fashion; a preview
of Playboy's new video, Girls of Rock ES Roll, shot by Contribut-
ing Photographer Lorry L. Logon; and a spectacular pictorial on
four pairs of astonishingly beautiful Playmate Sisters, who posed
for Contributing Photographer Ken Marcus. If that docsn't double
your pleasure and double your fun, check our centerfold lady,
Cindy Brooks. It doesn't get any better than this.

to an

EPSTEIN

FERNANDES

STAHL

NOLAN. GAEBE

POTTERTON

MARCUS ZEHME

DEWAR'S PROFILE:

GARY JOBSON

HOME: Annapolis, MD.

AGE: 34

OCCUPATION: Yacht-racing tactician; author;
lecturer; editor-at-large, The Yacht.

HOBBY: Trying to stay home for more than a
week at a time.

LAST BOOK WRITTEN: Storm Sailing.
LATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT: Tactician of a
1983 America’s Cup contender; created the
Liberty Cup, a new world-class yacht-racing
event in New York Harbor.

WHY I DO WHAT I DO: "When you can make
aliving doing what you like most, you don’t really
have a choice?

QUOTE, “If you can't tie good knots, tie plenty

ет”
PROFILE: Наз а talent for being.
atthe right place at the right time.
Namely,the finish line.

HIS SCOTCH: “Dewar's ‘White
Label! When the race is over, ©
the only thing that can match

the taste of victory is a Dewar's
and soda" E

PLAYBOY

vol. 32, no. 4—april, 1985 CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE
[i i ———————————— TEER ———— M 5
THE WORLD OR PLAYBOY sorento AE SES е е ааа n
DEAR PLAYBOY............... EEUU Rn EE E APOPA E 13
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS. «coca sioe зэр SENSA anda par 17,
A жеени кы raten وو‎ - DAN JENKINS 37
MEN nega сег эз caries sentra BORRAR OR Aaa Ae ASA BABER 39
WOMEN. ——————"—tLe———— CYNTHIA HEIMEL 41
AGAINST THE WIND |. CRAIG VETTER 43
THEIPLAYBOY'ADVISOR Se ENO T2 e o PA M ERI ER Eu DUET 45
DEAR PLAYMATES! c. cero rua Аад E ТРО 49
THE PONDON FORUM. ias еее ена ТОРЕНЕ Tea 51
PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: WAYNE GRETZKY—candid сопуегѕойоп.................. 59

“CAFÉ FLESH" AND ME—article ..JERRY STAHL 78

ROCK VIDEO GETS HOT—pict: — 82 AE p 5 a
EVEN CHARLES ATLAS DIES—fiction . ..... SERGIO RAMIREZ 88 асас ES
WHITE MAGIC— drink. . AME ...EMANUEL GREENBERG 90 pa

SUPPORT OUR BOYS IN NICARAGUA—<satire.....- 222.2... JOHN ESKOW 94

OUR MISS BROOKS—ployboy's ploymate of the month ........................ 96

PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor ..... is 110

SIGNALS essay «y 235 ha cria DANIEL MARK EPSTEIN 112

LET ‘EM RIP!—modern living ......... 114

BRIEF TALES FROM KOREA—ribald clossic |... ee 19 Brooks Looks P. 96
20 QUESTIONS JOEL HYATT EAS dai tartas . 120 n—
WHAT I LEARNED AT SEA—memoir .......... Я .... REG POTTERTON 122

PLAYMATE SISTERS—pictorial............. Чеке ЕРИСИ 125

PLAYBOY MUSIC '8S—survey cce . 136

PLAYBOY FUNNIESChumor. RR eene 147 Д
PLAYBOY GUIDE: FASHION .... wks AAA RA CERA Oa 151

PLAYBOY ON THE SCENE sse eene 207 Hear, Hear P. 136

COVER STORY Octuple your pleasure іп PLareo this month with double expo-
sures of four dynamic duos. One poir adorns our April cover, shot by Contribut-
ing Photographer Stephen Wayda. Brunette Natalie Smith and her little sis >.
Donna— Miss March 1985—ore just two of the sensational siblings you'll see in 4
thismonth's sororal pictorial Playmote Sisters, opening soon on a page near you.

PLAYBOY

A simple demonstration of the dynamic range
of Toshibas stereo VCR.

The dynamic range of the Toshiba V-546 is a window rattling, speaker
blowing 80 dB. And there's much more to it than meets the ear Such as four
video heads for snow-free slow mo and freeze frame. A 20-function wireless

remote. Plus front loading and 117 cable channels InTouch with Tomorrow
Turn it up and you'll either want to buy a new pair TOSH IBA
of speakers. Or have to. Tota Aner Wire мса

HAVE A QUESTION
ABOUT YOUR SUBSCRIPTION?

PLAYBOY SUBSCRIBER SERVICE is ready to help. If you are a
PLAYBOY subscriber and you have a question or problem concern-
ing your subscription. . write to PLAYBOY SUBSCRIBER SERVICE.
It's the best way to get help quickly and
efficiently —whether you want to report an
address change, missed issue, mis-
spelled name or whatever.
As soon as your letter is re-
ceived (clearly stating the problem),
a representative will see that
you get a prompt answer. Be-
cause we need to check the
problem thoroughly, it will usually
take six to eight weeks. You can
help by including your mailing
label (on the wrapper PLAYBOY
is mailed in) with your letter.
The PLAYBOY SUBSCRIBER
SERVICE is one more way
PLAYBOY provides you with full
enjoyment of your subscription!

PLAYBOY SUBSCRIBER SERVICE
P.O. Box 2420
Boulder, CO 80322-1679

PLAYBOY

HUGH M. HEFNER
editor and publisher

NAT LEHRMAN associate publisher

ARTHUR KRETCHMER editorial director
ТОМ STAEBLER art director
GARY COLE photography director
G. BARRY GOLSON executive editor

EDITORIAL
NONFICTION: ¡ames MORGAN articles editor; ROB
FLEDER senior editor; FICTION: ALICE K. TURNER
editor; TERESA GROSCH associate editor; PLAYBOY
GUIDES: Mavay Z. LEVY editor; WEST COAST:
STEPHEN RANDALL editor; STAFF: GRETCHEN
EDGREN, WILLIAM J HELMER, PATRICIA PAPANGELIS
(administration), DAVID STEVENS senior editors;
ROBERT E. CARR, WALTER LOWE, JR. JAMES R. PETER.
SEN, JOHN REZER senior staff writers; KEVIN СООК,
BARBARA NELLIS, DAVID NIMMONS, KATE NOLAN, J Е
O'CONNOR, SUSAN MARGOLISAVINTER (пеш york)
associate editors; MONA PLUMER assistant. editor;
MODERN LIVING: ED WALKER associate editor:
JIM BARKER assistant editor; FASHION: HOLLIS
WAYNE editor; HOLLY BINDERUP assistant editor;
CARTOONS: MICHELLE URRY editor; COPY: лк.
LENE BOURAS editor; JOYCE RUBIN assistant editor;
NANCY BANKS, CAROLYN BROWNE, PHILLIP COOPER
JACKIE JOHNSON, MARCY MARCHI, MARY ZION
researchers; CONTRIBUTING EDITORS: Asa
BABER, STEPHEN BIRNBAUM (travel), JOHN BLUMEN:
THAL, E. JEAN CARROLL, LAURENCE GONZALES, LAW
RENCE GROBEL. D. KEITH MANO, ANSON MOUNT. PETER
ROSS RANGE, DAVID RENSIN, RICHARD RHODES, JOHN
SACK, TONY SCHWARTZ, DAVID SHEFF, DAVID STANDISH
BRUCE WILLIAMSON (movies), GARY WITZENBURG

ART
KERIG POPE managing director; CHET SUSKI, LEN
WILLIS senior directors; BRUCE HANSEN, THEO KOU
VATSOS associate directors; KAREN GAEBE, KAREN
GUTOWSKY junior directors; JOSEPH PACZEK assist
ant director; FRANK LINDNER, DANIEL REED, ANN
SEIDL art assistants; SUSAN HOLMSTROM traffic coor-
dinator; BARBARA HOFFMAN administrative manager

PHOTOGRAPHY
MARILYN GRABOWSKI west coast editor; JEFF COHEN
senior editor; LINDA KENNEY, JAMES LARSON, JANICE
MOSES, MICHAEL ANN SULLIVAN associate editors;
PATTY BEAUDET assistant editor; POMPEO POSAR sen
ior staff photographer; DAVID MECEY, KERRY MORRIS
staff photographers; DAVID CHAN, RICHARD FEGLEY,
ARNT FREYTAG, RICHARD IZUI, LARRY 1. LOGAN, KEN
MARCUS, STEPHEN WavDA contributing phologra-
phers; TRIA HERMSEN. ELYCE KAPOLAS, PATRICIA
TOMLINSON stylists; JAMES WARD color lab supervi
Sor; ROBERT CHELIUS business manager

PRODUCTION

JOHN MASTRO direclor; MARIA MANDIS manager;
ELEANORE WAGNER, JODY JURGETO, RICHARD
QUARTAROLI, RITA JOHNSON assistants

READER SERVICE

(CYNTHIA LACEY-SIKICH manager

CIRCULATION
RICHARD SMITH director; ALVIN WIENOLD subscrip-
tion manager

ADVERTISING
CHARLES M. STENTIFORD director

ADMINISTRATIVE
J. PF TIM DOLMAN assistant. publisher; MARCIA
TERRONES rights permissions manager; EILEEN
KENT contracts administrator

PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES, INC.
CHRISTIE HEFNER president

Gotten a
ticket

This... instead of these.

Last year, more than 8 million" citations
were issued for driving over 55 mph on US
highways.

If you were unfortunate enough to re-
ceive one of these tickets, maybe it's time to
protect yourself. With the Whistler? Spec-
trum" radar receiver.

Gives you earliest possible
warning of police radar.

MAX RANGE TEST | When Direct
TT] Response. Inc.
started looking
for a radar detec-
tor to offer our
customers, we
went to the ex-
perts first: car
magazines.
Their opinion
was nearly unan-
imous. Motor
Trend, Auto-
week, and BMW Roundel had all recently
completed independent, comprehensive
tests of all the leading radar detectors. And
all had picked a winner: the Whistler Spec-
trum. Motor Trend said “The Whistler
S resides at the top of the list. A

WARNING DISTANCE INELES

| OVER HILL TEST _
ETTTTETM

|| vessancoismnicemseconos.

mm...
© Motor Trend, Aug. 1983

world-class radar detector.”
Whistler is also first choice of truckers
and other professional drivers. Whistler

Read this.

Spectrum detects all kinds of speed radar.
Stationary - moving - trigger - even pulsed
radar. On the straightaway - from behind —
over hills and around curves. If there's po-
lice radar in the area, Spectrum lets you
know. Long before radar can lock onto you.

Spectrum cuts
down on annoying
false alarms.
Unfortunately, the FCC

authorizes some security

systems and traffic sig- Filter Mode for
nals to also operate on “Y driving.
police frequencies. And any sensitive radar
detector will report these signals.

That's why Spectrum developed two fea-
tures notavailable in any other radar detec-
tor: The Filter Mode™ and Pollution
Solution?" Both features cut down on false
alarm:

For city driving (where microwave intru-
sions are frequent) switch to the Filter
Mode. You'll get the same early warning —
but it will be quieter, less urgent. When the
microwave signal reaches a critical speed
radar level, you'll see the amber warning
light switch to a flashing red. And hear the
soft tone gear up to a high-frequency, gei-
ger-effect sound.

Most other radar detectors give
off false signals. Spectrum's
Pollution Solution, built into
each unit, can tell the differ-
ence between these signals
and real police radar. Spectrum auto-
matically screens the polluters out.

Dash! Visor or Remote model.
You have your choice of two top-line Spec-
trum models - both reliable performers.

"Source: Speed Limit Enforcement Certification Data. October 1, 1982 through September 30, 1983.

speedin:
lately? E

The S| im Dash/
Visor modelis portable
and compact. It plugs
into the cigarette lighter
socket, and mounts eas-

ily on dash or visor. It's

Remote receiver
quicklyremovedforuse hides behind
in another car, or to car grille.
prevent theft.

The Spectrum Remote gives you the
same great 360°radar protection. But it’s
hidden from view. The weather-proof re-
ceiver installs easily behind your car grille.
And the small console fits handily in, on, or
under the dash.

No-risk trial. Free gift.
Order your Whistler Sj - Dash!
Visor or е - from Direct Response,

Inc., for just $249 plus $5.95 shippiny
and handing. HENS

Call toll-free, 1-800-824-2408. Mon.-
Fri., 8 AM to 11 PM EST. Sat.-Sun.,
10 AM to5 PM. (In NH, 603-886-1310.)
Use your VISA, MasterCard, Diner's
Club, or American Express.

Write to Direct Response, Inc., at
472 Amherst St., Nashua, NH 03063.
Send us your credit card account num-
ber, expiration date, and your signature.
Or enclose a check or money order.
(Allow an additional 15 days for personal
checks.)

Or visit Direct Response, Inc.,
in Nashua.

Satisfaction guaranteed. We
tested it. Now test it your-
self. Use your Sj im for

30 days. If not completely

satisfied, return fora

full refund.
Free, Rand McNally Road Atlas & Travel
Guide, with map light, if you order
before May 15, 1985.

DIRECT RESPONSE, INC.
1-800-824-2408

Ask for Operator IR

Remote console

`. When you really get ít all together.

SS C

THE WORLD OF PLAYBOY

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

TWO'S COMPANY

Motoring in the 8400 block of L.A.'s Sunset Boulevard was held up for days
late last year by what radio traffic watchers calla gapers’ block. Theeye stop-
per (below) was a billboard announcing the engagement of the year—our
long-awaited reunion with Suzanne Somers, star of Vegas stage and TV screen.

NOT JUST
COUCH POTATOES

In their book The Red Couch: a
Portrait of America, Kevin
Clarke and Horst Wackerbarth
couch the cream of America's
‚ Crop. Не! appears in it with lo-
cal fauna (above); atthe Playboy
Mansion West book party
(inset), he greets Apollonia.

SUZI, WHERE IS THY STING? i

Here, says Miss August 1984, Suzi Schott
(right), cheering on the Chicago Sting
(below). Mascot Stanley Sting and players
Rudy Glenn, Pato Margetic and Karl-
Heinz Granitza gave Suzi that jersey.

THE
BUNNIES
INVADE IOWA

Ataribbon-cutting
fete in December,
VIPs and Bunnies
welcomed Playboy
to the Sheraton
Inn Des Moines,
where a Playboy
Club enlivens life
for those with the
right keyto the city.

CAN WE TALK—ER, LAUGH?

The three-part 1985 Girls of the Comedy Store
has plenty of laughs in store for viewers of The
Playboy Channel. Above, Janice Hart, Melissa
Harrison (left) and Shelley Werk (center) appear
in a skit called “The Invasion of Joan Rivers.”

The Mans Diamond.

she kept an urbane sense of style. looks as great in the city as it ing everything civilized.

The diamond ring shown above is just one of the exciting new designs in mens diamond accessories. "c The

For more noni И dcs end lor the naw 1985 bookies The Mars Dumond Теше ox e; LAE Mans Diamond.
a 16-page collection of the latest in mens diamond jewelry, Just send 51,25 to Diamond Information н
Center, Department DFM-C-PB, Р.О. Box 1344, New York, NY. 10105-1344. The gift of success.

DEAR PLAYBOY

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

GOOD AS GOLDIE

I was surprised and delighted to find
Goldie Hawn gracing the cover of your
January issue. Sensational! Thank you,
PLAYBOY, for an absolutely winning Inter-
view with the child woman I've been crazy
about for 12 years now. All that glitters is
Goldie.

n Harding
Saginaw, Michigan

Your January cover and Interview prove
that Goldie Hawn is in a glass by herself
Cheers for a most exquisite cover shot!

Marsha Jean MacDonald
La Jolla, California

Goldie Hawn pees? What a classy lady!
ГИ bet William F. Buckley, Jr., doesn't.
Next thing we know, you'll be telling us
that Richard Nixon had a mommy.

Chuck Militello
Colorado Springs, Colorado

SESQUIPEDALIA

I suppose a 25-year-old recognizes an
indisputable sign of advancing age when,
after reading the intellectual offerings of
William F. Buckley, Jr. (Redefining Smart,
pavor, January)—a task that in earlier
ycars was like chewing ground glass—he
has the impulse to let his mind ride the
ideas it has just perused. But because
Buckley has so cloquently “redefined
smart” for the pLaveoy readership, a frater-
nity to which I happily belong, I found
myself deliberating his subject while wan-
dering through Playboy's Bloopers, Boners
and F**k-Ups. As Buckley writes, "Man
knows more and more while . . . individual
men know less and less." His disquieting
theory would seem to foretell of future
generations that—due to the effects of
ime's acting as a grar

ibitor ag;
tapping into all there is to know—con-
gregate in tribal communities, Each
tribe would be identified not by ethnic her-
itage, religious posture or geographic loca-
tion but by the specific cell of information

it has chosen to pursue and master.
Intertribal relations might exist only
where specific expertise in one arca com-
mingled with specific expertise in another.
In more disturbing terms, it is conceivable
that specialized-information tribes whose
areas of expertise are opposed may be
given to tremendous conflict, even war. A
preposterous picture? Perhaps. But there
are times when Buckley really gets one to
thinking.

Byron L. de Arakal
Corona del Mar, California

When I was a youth, Buckley was a bit
of a joke. People were amused to see him
on talk shows, pencil in mouth, gesticulat-
ing to beat the band. All of a sudden—or
maybe I’m just realizing it—he is now
pe ed to be one of the most intelligent
people on carth. What happened? Is
Buckley really more intelligent than, say,
Heather Locklear? Personally, I would bet
my Funk & Wagnalls that Locklear is just
as intelligent as he. But why is Buckley
thought to be so much more intelligent?
One, he went to an Ivy League school;
two, he’s been on TV for a long time—his
celebrity is unquestioned; three, he has his
own TV talk show; four, he edits a maga-
zine; five, he uses big words; and six, he
dresses in a manner befitting our image of
the truly intelligent—that old sloppy-
preppic look that truly intelligent people
affect. Now, why is Heather Locklear gen-
erally considered not to be among those in
the higher echelon of the intellectual
world? One, she's young; two, she's
blonde; three, she doesn't write many
magazine articles; four, she appears on a
slurpy TV show; five, her name is
Heather. Another factor to consider is that
we know Buckley better. During all his
decades of appearing on talk shows and
writing articles, he has been visible longer.
Who, however, is to say that Locklear
won't be the Wilhelmina Buckley of the
2020s? Is there any substantive reason to

The Man's Diamond.

$1,000.

The gíft of success
from Zales.

Rings enlarged to show detail.

PLAYBOY

believe that Buckley's LO. is higher than
Locklear's? Has he satisfactorily redefined
smart? Hey, is Homer nodding? If so, is he
nodding yes, no or off?

Gary Ferguson

Shawnee Mission, Kansas

ROCK CANDY
1 love rock `n’ roll, and the pictorial The
Girls of Rock 'n' Roll (aveo, January) is
a sight for sore eyes. Seeing my favorite
stars as I have never seen them before is
unbelievable. There's only one problem:
Pamela Stoncbrook is not Lita Ford
Todd Reid
New York, New York

‘Terrific pictorial on The Girls of Rock т"
Roll. It's about time, ladies and dudes. But
you blooped; you fucked up. The girl you
identify at center right on page 104 as
Pamela Stoncbrook is, in fact, another
L.A. rocker, Lita Ford (she's the only onc
I know of with rar МЕ on the fret board of
her guitar)

Bill Fury

Pomona, California

Right you are, Ford fans. We regret the
ир.

BLOOP HIT

Playboy's Bloopers, Boners and F**k-Ups
(January) is thoroughly enjoyable. But
there's one thing about this humorous pic-
torial that puzzles me. How can all those
Playmates purposely look fucked-up and
at the same time still be the most
glamorous, alluring and desirable women
in existence?

Lanny R. Middings _
San Ramon, C;

Your January issue is devasta
only is it intellectually stimulating (as
usual), it is something close to an erotic
masterpiece. Playboy's Bloopers . . . proves
that the Playmates are incredible to
behold even when a given picture isn't the
"take." And any pictorial with Patricia
Farinelli in it is a true public service.

Mike Drumm
Denver, Colorado

Hallelujah! The ground hog has landed!
I thought I was over the hill, around the
bend, too old to cut the mustard, until I

saw Playboy's Bloopers, Boners and. F**k-
Ups. Y haven't felt so hot-cha-cha-doo-dah

се I read your magazine underground
32 years ago (the “authorities” had deter-
mined that rLaveov was hazardous to my
health; I ignored them). Gail Stanton's
expression is so perfect, I had to kick my
pickup truck and howl. Thank you mucho!
Bill Loren

Rockville, Maryland

JOAN'S TONE

After I had admired so many bronzed
Playmates in your centerfolds, it was quite
a change for me to sce Miss January,

Joan Bennet, and her b
peaches-and-cream complexion. Almost
unnoticeable swimsuit lines, too. And
wonderful photography, posing, props,
make-up and hair styling. Miss Bennett
owns the most perfectly proportioned fig-
ure I've seen in years.
Dale
Lite Rock,

cath-taking

1 can't think of a more delightful way to
start a new year than with such a lovely
Playmate as Joan Bennett. Thanks to Joan,
PLAYBOY and photographer Richard Fegley.
Mark Jackson
Scarcy, Arkansas

COED FEVER
We are Amherst College students who
thoroughly enjoy your magazine. We par-
ticularly enjoyed rıayuov’s guide to girls’
schools, Where the Girls Are Today, in the
January issue. We would, however, like to
point out a couple of errors: It is casy to
distinguish between Smith and Mount
Holyoke women at Amherst parties. The
correct saying is “Smith to bed, Holyoke
to wed and Amherst to talk.”
The Men of Delta Upsilon
Amherst College
Amherst, Massachusetts

It is a rare occasion, indeed, when your

magazine is littered with distortions.
Unfortunately, Where the Girls Are Today
gives Wells College of New York,

a superior rating. Authors Seth Rachlin
and George Van Hoomissen write, “These
girls don’t just want you to visit, they want
you to come back.” One quiet Friday
night, nine of us piled into a rented station
agon to attend a Wells dance party, hop-
g to spice up our weekend. Our evening
lasted but two hours. Ivy League schools
are not known for luscious coeds, but com-
g back to Cornell that night was like
returning to paradise. What we found at
Wells was a collection of obesc, sickly girls
and a dance floor filled with middle-aged
grease monkeys. Sure, we could have got-
ten lucky in that good old collegiate way,
but with what? The rating bestowed upon
Wells by your review as a “place we'd like
to roll up to late some Friday night" is a
gross misrepresentation of a worn-out, vile
school patrolled by a lone 90-year-old
night watchman and attended by an
assortment of hideous girls ridden with
contagious social diseases.

The Men of Zoo Hall

Cornell University

Ithaca, New York

We've given that night watchman your

address, men. He'll be coming around one
night soon, and he won't be alone.

IN MEMORIAM
‘Thank you for one last look at the great
works of Patrick Nagel (Patrick Nagel,

Loy, January). Im sure Alberto
Vargas would have been very flattered
with the comparison that you made

between him and Nagel. | was really
touched by this special gift from pLaynoy
and Pat.

Russell C. Smith
Mansfield, Texas

Pat Nagel's death marks the end of a
ing legend, one 1 had envisioned flourish-
ag long into the 21st Century. Nagel's
monthly drawings in pLavsoy captured
contemporary women in a unique, high-
tech atmosphere of sensuousness. The sim-
plicity of his lines, combined with hi
dramatic use of color, lent a person
ity to his paintings that was often imitated
but never equaled. As а fellow млувоу
contributor, I was fortunate enough to
meet Pat several years ago. We developed
a special friendship, one that I will cherish
forever. Pat's untimely death came as a
terrible shock to all of his friends. He was
a beautiful person, a rare human being
who brought a tranquil feeling into the
lives of all he knew. We will miss him for-
ever. Pat left us with a legacy— his beauti-
ful women, who have decorated the pages
of pLavsov for almost a decade. Thank you
for sharing his talent with the world.

Charles Martignette
Boston, Massachusetts

ART IMITATES ART
lam a native American artist/craftsman

specializi the innovative use of tradi
tional techniques. Enclosed is an example
of some of my recent work, inspired by
your centerfold of Victoria Cooke in your
August 1980 issuc. My works are executed
in traditional techniques of beadwork and,
as you may have guessed, require no small
expenditure of time and energy. I just
wanted to thank you for the inspirational
subject matter.

Marcus Amerman

Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
appreciate the time and energy, Mar-
cus, and you were faithful to your subject

THE JORDACHE LOCK.
угш ids

Available at—MACY’S MERRY GO ROUND BAMBERGER'S" CHESS KING

PLAYBOY

m
ance. of Ppnediclins—

PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS

EQUAL OPPORTUNITY

The Government sacrifices. innocent
dummies in safety crash tests, but accord-
ing to The New York Times, the dummi
get blown to smithereens in racial har-
mony. Remember the remote-control air-
plane slammed into the desert in order to
test its flame-retardant fuel mixture? The
one that exploded into a giant fireball?
From a special to the Times, we learn that
technicians routinely installed the first
batch of dummies in the forward cabin.
These dummies were all white, unlike the
next batch, made by a different manufac-
turer, which were all black. The black
dummies were strapped into the rear of the
plane until someone realized that news
photos of the interior during the crash
might appear racially imbalanced. So the
seating pattern changed. “We
switched because of a potential percep-
tion," said a Government spokesman,
thereby affirming our national commit-
ment to treating all dummies as equal,
regardless of race, creed or color.

Larry Nudelman, a nuclear-power-
plant electrician, thought his co-workers
needed a little morale boost in the morn-
ing, so he piped the Mister Rogers theme
song over the plant's P.A. system every
day for three months. And what did he get
for his troubles? Fired. Plant officials were
particularly irked when he amped “It’s a
beautiful day in the neighborhood . . .”
during a practice disaster drill

South Carolina's The State and the
Columbia Record let the following slip
through its classified ads: “Secretary. Sev-
eral positions with top co. Fuck your way
to the top!”

was

Slow times in Maine: When a motorist
complained to the Fort Fairfield police
that there was a chicken in his parked car,

the police arrested it. They booked the
chicken, "C. Little” of Main Street, on
charges of criminal trespass, criminal
mischief, public indecency, assault on an
officer and littering. At the station, officers
even ran a tape recording of C. Little’s
being read its rights.
.

‘The line forms at the rear. The Daily of
the University of Washington at Seattle ran
this special notice: "Earn $16/hour.
Healthy males needed to be demonstration
patients for physician-assistant students at
University of Washington learning to per-
form male-genitalia and rectal exams."

The N.B.A.’s seven-foot superrookie
Akeem Olajuwon has a big brother named
Kaka back home in Nigeria. It goes with-
out saying that Kaka, who helps run the
family's cement business, takes no shit
about his name. He never became a bas-
ketball player, though, possibly because

no play-by-play man would announce,
“There's Kaka on the floor tonight.”

For those who can't get enough of
Nigerian-name trivia, the name Olajuwon
translates to “always being on top.” We
wonder if Susan Brownmiller follows pro
basketball

OUR KIND OF TOWN

Chicago's politics aren't different from
any other city’s. Just more candid. For
instance, in a recent skirmish in our coun-
cil wars—the epic struggle between
Mayor Harold Washington and the major-
ity bloc of aldermen over how to control
the looting of the city treasury—
opposition Edward Burke
scolded the administration for spending
$25,000 to have 60 city executives take a
weekend est seminar. Burke declared the
est outing "a municipal joke," because
"people crawl around on the floor and
growl at one another and abuse each other
verbally and call each other obscene
names. They could have saved the money
and come to a city-council meeting."
.

It almost spoils the fun when we explain
that the word refers to a series of miniature
scenes based on the Christmas story, but
the Richmond Times-Dispatch wrote about
how “PUTZ COVERS SOCHRISTMASES. "

Low-rider fashion from the Belmont,
California, Carlmont Enquirer-Bulletin: An
indecent-exposure suspect was described

alderman

as a "white male adult with dark hair and
меагі

g blue jeans around his ankles.”
.

Hasbro Industries—creator of the
famous G.I. Joe doll series—apparently
didn't have its he:
labeled its newest fighting guy, Zartan the
Enemy, an "extreme paranoid schizo-
phrenic.” The Indiana Mental Health
Association went crazy when it discovered

on straight when it

SER

¿O YOU WANT TO BE A MONK

PLAYBOY's Guide to Where the Action Isn't

If your M.B.A., J.D. or Ph.D. in computer science isn't giving
you the satisfaction you thought it would, you may be ready for

a something completely different. Perhaps И time to contemplate committing yourself
to the monastic life. Wait. Consider the advantages: You receive guaranteed life-
time— and postlifetime— security. You enjoy the companionship of fellow men who
aren't trying to date your girl. With this guide, you can make the world your cloister.

| CHARTERHOUSE OF THE TRANSFIGURA-
TION, ARLINGTON, VERMONT. Men between
the ages of 21 and 45 who have liberal-
arts backgrounds, a working knowl-
edge of Latin and an ability and/or
desire to sing are eligible to become
Carthusians. The Charterhouse offers
each choir тотар four-room duplex
cell and garden for exercises both cor-
porcal and spiritual.

IMMACULATE HEART HERMITAGE, BIG SUR,
CALIFORNIA. Although ordinary postu-
lants inhabit hexagonal cells overlook-
ing the Pacific Ocean, Immaculate
Heart offers advanced reclusion pro-
grams in which anchorites live in
remote forests, sce other hermits but a
few times a year and speak only to their
prior and confessor. Candidates need
“a foundation of mental balance and
reasonable maturity,” and applicants
with "a dislike of people, a strong fear
of facing the challenges and responsi-
bilities of life, a tendency to moodi-
ness” haven't a prayer of getting in.

PENDLE HILL, WALLINGFORD, PENNSYLVA-
NIA. This Quaker institution functions
as a halfway house for temporary seck-
ers of every faith. On a refurbished
farm on the outskirts of Philadelphia,
students experience the friendly per-
suasions of Quaker life—equality, sim-
plicity, community, harmony—during
sojourns of one day to 12 months.

LAMA FOUNDATION, SAN CRISTOBAL, NEW
MEXICO. The Sixties survivors who con-
stitute this coeducational, nondenomi-
national commu the Sangre de
Cristo Mount; call themselves
Lama Beans and can take a joke
because “humor crops up between the
plants we're so seriously tending."
They live in A-frames and under
domes, and they earn their daily bread
by silk-screening Tibetan prayer flags,
publishing spiritual tomes and con-
ducting awareness seminars.

ORDER OF SAINT PAUL THE HERMIT,
CZESTOCHOWA MONASTERY, DOYLESTOWN,
PENNSYLVANIA. To join this Bucks County
branch of a Polish mother house, you
must have at least average intelligence,
threc endorsements of your good moral
character and a copy of your parents’
certificate. Monks endure
daily conscience examinations and sev-
eral yearly “white fasts” (no meat or
dairy products). The order was

founded in 1215 in honor of a hermit
а.

who had subsisted in the Egyptian
desert for 90 years on palm fruit and
bread morsels delivered by a friendly
raven.

SIDDHA MEDITATION ASHRAM, OAKLAND,
CALIFORNIA. À reborn hotel in one of
Oakland's more humble neighbor-
hoods serves as the West Coast ashram
for followers of the late Swami
Muktananda Paramahansa, who had
counseled such disparate pilgri
Jerry Brown, John Denver, Werner
Erhard, Diana Ross, Marsha Mason
and Carlos Castaneda. This coed com-
munity has no dress regulations and
requires no vows; most residents leave.
for day jobs after the morning rendition
of the 182-verse Guru Gita.

CAMALDOLESE HERMITS OF THE CONGRE-
GATION OF MONTE CORONA, HOLY FAMILY
HERMITAGE, BLOOMINGDALE, OHIO. There is
no monkey business whatsoever in this
purely contemplative—mo-work, all-
pray—order in which monks leave
their cells only for liturgy and enjoy the
sort of peace, quiet and unbroken soli-
tude that even a Garbo would envy.

DAI BOTSU ZENDO. LIVINGSTON MANOR,
NEW YORK. Full-time Zen monks and
weekend seckers mingle, meditate, eat
vegetarian meals, take hikes, boat,
swim— but do not fish—in а verdant
Catskill Mountain setting undisrupted
by even the sound of one hand clapping.

FECAMP ABBEY, FECAMP, FRANCE. Each
day in the life of these Benedictines
begins at five am. and includes Conti-
nental breakfast at 8:15, such white-
cowl work as writing, study and
administration in the morning, manual
labor in the afternoon, free time after
supper and lights out at 8:30. Where do
they find time to make the renowned
queur that bears their name? They
don’t. Although the Fécamp Benedi
lines invented the drink in 1500, since
the mid-1800s it's been produced by a
profane distiller with no connection to |
the righteous brothers.

ABBAYE DE BOQUEN, BRITTANY, FRANCE.
Although this Cistercian order can
comfortably lodge up to 120 visitors at
a time, it is not proper to refer to them
as Tourist Trappists, Guests who wish
to sample continence on the Continent
may participate in all regular monastic
activities, including house cleaning,
potato picking, yoga lessons, sexual
seminars and nightly postprandial
sing-alongs.

Is as

the wording, claiming that it misrepresent-
ed the mentally ill. Hasbro halted produc-
tion of the doll, changed the wording and
will make an unspecificd donation for
mental-health research, We think the situ-
ation is well adjusted.

Our favorite opening gambit: The Wall
Street Journal reports that Bobby Fischer
was invited to play in the chess Olympics
in Greece. Fischer demanded—and was
refused—$1000 simply to open the letter.

Is there sex in outer space? The Fort
Myers, Florida, News-Press thinks there
may be, judging from its headline about
our space shuttle: “DISCOVERY CLOSES IN FOR

LONG LIVE THE OFFICE

Megatrendists keep telling us that the
office as we know it is going to disappear
when computers really take over, and
we've been thinking about remote work
stations' replacing our well-lived-in sanc-
tuaries. The bility doesn't sit so
cheerily with us. Sure, our office isn't like
the conference
room, the comings and goings of Play-
mates, the camaraderie of putting out
the best magazine on the planet. But there
are parallels between what we do here and
what you do wherever your office is.

Here are a few of the advantages of hav-
g an office. One, you have someplace to
go to in the morning and leave from in the
evening. That's always a good thing. Next,
you get to go out for lunch as you like it,
whether it’s saucy Italian, gourmet French
or onion rings and a beer. And you get to
go with a wide variety of companions—
many more than you might find around
your work station. On the financial side,
you have a range of people from whom you
can borrow—or extort—money. Even
more important, offices are known to con-
tain women—to look at, talk to, fantasize
about, flirt with or start the relationship of
a lifetime with. Find that at your computer
screen.

Who's going to say you're out when
you're in at your remote station? And what
happens to office politics? And those deli-
cious office rumors? What good is a power
office when you can't tell what kind of desk
the computer is sitting on? An office pro-
les you with first-class mail and tele-
phone services, and at Christmas, you can
sneak an occasional tetrahedron-shaped
package into the outgoing stream. Worth
mentioning is the fact that you are auto-
matically on the hotline for the office joke
du jour. The coffee supply is endless, if not
always good, and there's always someone
willing to talk a
salaries on days when the work won't
come. When you think about it from the
right perspective, the office is one of the
marvels of the postindustrial age. Let's not
screw it up.

bout outrageous ballpla,

INTRODUCING
THE PLAYMATE

OFTHE
YEAR 227

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For the drive of your life, put a playmate in The mid-engine design of the MR2 gives
your life thats responsive and aggressive—like you excellent front/rear weight distribution
/ the all-new MR2. (4596/5556). Its rack-and-pinion steering, four-
Be selfish for a change. wheel fully independent suspension with
Climb into this swift 2-seater front and rear stabilizer bars and gas-filled
/ andfeelthe power that surges shocks provide outstanding responsiveness
from its racetrack-proven TC-16 and handling.
1) engine. This 4-valve-per-cylinder “The control
Electronically Fuel Injected Twin superb...
Yk Cam can fly you from 0-60 in areal
+ 8 seconds. Flat. drivers 7 н
Hold the leather-wrapped tilt steering саг"! Its lat- ; | 55%)
wheel. find а corner. take itand discover how eral accelera- > 3 2
this low-center-of-gravity beauty holds the road tion of .85g,
And watch the tachometer redline, redline, at along with high performance 185 x 60HRI4
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ales, USA, Inc

combine to deliver superb cornering. For preci- OH WHA A FEEL] NG |

sion stopping. MR2 is also equipped with 4-
wheel disc brakes with ventilated front rotors.
Nothing gets in the way of your fun
inthe cockpit, either. Full instrumenta-
tion, meticulously arranged for easy system. When you add the electronically-tuned
reading, is coupled with a close-ratio / #9 AM stereo/FM/MPX stereo receiver, including
5-speed transmission that lets you auto-reverse cassette with Dolby* you get
shift about as quick as you can blink. 7 sound thats better than most home systems.
Its all there. So you'll never have iN Let challenging curves come at you. Let
to reach or look for anything again. ` nonstop straightaways invite you. In the all-new
Settle into the body- e MR2 the fun is back— without sacrificing
gripping 7-way adjustable (TE dependability or affordability.
driver's Sport Seat. Ask for the XE You knew your turn was coming.
moonroof, and get a great way to watch the sky

fly by. For music theres an AM/FM/MPX stereo BUCKLE UP—ITS A GOOD FEELING!

¿NEW
MID-ENGINE SPORTS CAR.

Lynda Barry is ane of those cartaonists who don't necessarily make you
laugh; but sometimes, she'll make you smile. In Naked Ladies (The Real
Camet Press), her coloring book, she draws women and also tells you
what it’s like to grow up and become one. Read with a crayon set.

We asked Randall “Tex” Cobb—boxer, actor, full-contact
karate-kick boxer—to take us оп a tour of the talent
that has passed through the ring in recent years. Here he
shares with us his highly arbitrary review:

"Tommy Hearns is a good technician, works real hard, fast
hands, punches well. He's got a lot of physiological fea-
tures—like being tall and skinny-—

that help. It’s like being seven fect tall
in the N.B.A.

Ken Norton is a good guy. We
played together. He fought a very
clean fight. 1 enjoyed his company.
And he’s got the kind of body that
Pd kill him for, for just dressing
next to me.

Earnie Shavers. The Lord made
everybody; then He said, “Now I'm
gonna make s. And I'm
gonna put in extra punching power.”
He's a real class guy, which
this sport. He hits harder than
one alive. If I find someone who hits harder, I'm gonna shoot
him.

Marvin Hagler is probably, pound for pound, the finest
fighter ever. Hc has absolutely cvery angle covered. He's left-
d. Hagler

Загпіє Shay

f that to be effec-
tive. You've got to say “Fuck you" to being tired, to
the other guy in the ring. You've got to be able to say “I
don't care. Lets go at it right now.” Unfortunately, that
doesn’t work real well in society. But Leon isn't a backward
street kid, He's a beautiful guy, man to man. You can't find
no better partier. Leon told the rest of the world, “Hey,

G I Z MO

Think of it as Mohammed's microprocessor. The Prayer
Times Clock looks like a calculator, and it helps devout
Moslems who travel or who live in non-Moslem countries
turn toward Mecca to pray at the proper times of the day

The problem had been twofold: knowing the precise hour
for the prescribed five daily prayer sessions (dawn, noon,
afternoon, sunset and night) as determined by the angle
of the sun above and below the horizon at Mecca; and
knowing just where Mecca lay in relation to home base

The device allows you to call up the right times in 200
major cities. It also has a removable compass that shows
the route to Mecca from any other point. It costs $60 and
is available from Lockheed-Getex in Atlanta, Georgia

baby. 1 made it my way. I got to the championship doing
what Leon wants. And J am Le о if Leon wants to get
drunk and drive the wrong way down a one-way street in
somebody else’s car, well, fuck you. If you don't like it, then
motherfuck you.” Leon's great.

Michael Spinks has more social skills than Leon. He tries to
encourage more of society's respect
and admiration. Good heart. Good
chin. Fast han
Michael Dokes is a lot of fun. His
hands move at warp nine. Probably
the fastest guy in the division.
Michael Weaver is onc of the few
honest fighters I know, He says, “I
don't like to get I don't like to hit
nobody. | don't like to train. I like the
like the fame.” Got to g i
€ for honesty.
Roberto Duran is one of my all-time
favorites. I can guarantee you that he
s one of the most intense

He's one of th
of shit for quit
who say it was rigged.
really
ing. Duran wasn't scared of I
Larry Holmes once s
you were going 15 rounds with
done that, none but you was going forward." ГА love to get
into the ring with him again, but Larry told me no.

Gerry Cooney is the product of an incredible marketing
program. Please understand, Im I ne who can make
$10,000,000 and not bleed. God love him. I would give any-
thing this side of heaven to get the boy in the ring with me.

¢ who will go a
Leonard f

years after you started,

с. Of all the guys who have

SECRETS OF THE NEWSROOM

WHO ARE THE CUTE NEWSMEN?
Who are cute and who are sexy? Гус never really thought
of them as sexy. I can tell you the ones who are really
good. All right, Irving R. Levine is cute. Irving R. Levine
is very cute.

WE SEE YOU FROM THE WAIST UP.

WHAT GOES ON FROM THE WAIST DOWN?

Very little. 1 tap my foot from time to time when Fm
reading. Most times, I'm wearing jeans and sneakers or
Cowboy boots or very warm socks. It's cold in the studi

my underwear on from the w:
don't exist from the waist dowi
under the desk.

"There's nothing there

WHEN IS NEWS NO LONGER NEWS?
When it's Entertamment Tonight.

Finally, о use for the personal computer. To help you ease the
pain of learning Lotus 1-2-3 or some maddeningly difficult
word-pracessing program, stick FISHIES into your Apple Il and
turn it into an aquarium. You'll see swordtails, angelfish, gold
fish, seo horses, tiger barbs and diomond fish swim past your
screen. FISHIES is available through Harper & Row and casts
$15—ond best of all, you'll never have to clean out the tank

COFFEE-TABLE
BOOKS OF
THE MONTH

A lot of people talk about oral
sex, but not many do any-
thing about it. Bella Maydele
(55 Sutter Street, San
Francisco, California 94104)
is not one of thc latter group.
Her two tasteful, easy-to-read
guides take the worry out of
being close. You may want to
put your money ($6.95 each)
where your mouth has been

SIMPLE STEPS
FOR NOT

MAKING DECISIONS

* Listen carefully to the ques-
tion, proposition or list of

opportunity to introduce an
excuse. А favorite: “I'm

* Apologize profusely for tak-
ing so long to decide. Be hum-
ble and self-depreciating
"I'm sorry I'm taking so long
to decide, but I've never been
good at anything—especially
anthropology, bumper pool

gator hunting during tennis
camp in Florida
e Deny that

being difficult." Many people
equate indecisiveness with
crankiness. Insist that you're
not being indecisive just to be

уоште “just

alternatives. This is the е
est step, because you don't
have to do anything except
appear interested,

* Request that the question,
proposition or list of alterna-
tives be repeated. Slowly
Chances are, the questioner
will have no idea what you're
up to. Make sure you smile.
Stall for time. This is an
essential part of the process,
one you'll want to practice
This step provides the best

sorry. I didn't hear you."

* Once again, request that
the question be repeated

* Consider the question. its
implications and conse-
quences. But don't consider
them foo seriously

* Stall for more time. You'll
need a breather. Try a little
bit of flattery to divert the
questioner's attention, some-
thing such as, "You haven't
gained as much weight as Bob.
said you had."

and making decisions." contrary.
e Stall for still more time. Smile. Widely. Promise
Delaying the inevitable iscru- you'll come to a decision
cial. Say, “1 don't know...” soon. It'll help to remember
and stare off into space that promises were made to
* Consider regrets that fol- be broken.

lowed past decisions. Tell the ® If the questioning party
anecdote about how misera- hasn't given up all hope that
ble you were when you you'll make a decision, pro-
decided to join the late Junior ceed with the most dramatic
Weatherby when he went alli- step: Leave the room.

John Moriarty provided the abave. If you have advice an other sub-
jects, send it to Help File. If we use it, you will receive $300 in thanks.

avid Berkowitz. John Wayne Gacy.

Ted Bundy. Jim Jones. Richard Speck.
Famous names, famous wolves at the
door. These five men have killed hundreds
of innocents and, as Jack Levin and James
Alan Fox's Mass Murder: America's Growing
Menace (Plenum) makes clear in explicit
detail, they have plenty of company. The
rate of violent crime in the U.S. is falling,
but multiple murder is on the rise. Why?
Maybe there's a different set of reasons for
every crazed killer out there. Levin and
Fox present a well-crafted, well-written
overview of a complicated subject, but no
onc has yet answered the most intriguing
questions: Why are Americans so accom-
plished at lone-wolf brutality? And why do
those crimes so fascinate the rest of us?
Maybe it's because Americans like almost
anything grand, even if it's Guignol.

You cant help liking William F.
Buckley, Jr.'s, spy hero Blackford Oakes.
He is so much like his creator, they must
find cach other great company. In See You
Later Alligator (Doubleday), Oakes is sent
by President Kennedy to work out with
Ché Guevara a deal ending the U.S”
economic blockade in exchange for a
promise to contain communism in the
hemisphere to Cuba. But Alligator really
doesn't have to be about anything. It is
shamelessly chatty, erudite, intellectually
naughty, a diverting entertainment. It is,
of course, really about the way Buckley
rewrites thc history he has read about and
witnessed. And does he have fun doing it.

It would be hard to claim John le Carré
as undisputed master of the spy novel after
reading Len Deighton's Mexico Set
(Knopf). Last time we saw Deighton's
beleaguered hero Bernard Samson, his
wife had just defected to Moscow; it seems
she'd been a K.G.B. agent throughout
their marriage. In Mexico Set, his wife,
now on the other side, is leading the
charge to get him discredited. She learned
from him how to be very clever about it.
Samson himself is out to turn his wife's
chief assistant, a hardened K.G.B. agent.
"The book shuttles from Mexico to Berlin
to London, and Samson has to dodge his
wife's persistence, London Central's polit-
ical infighting and the very shifty young
wife of his lifelong friend Werner. The rcal
pleasure of Mexico Set is its conflicted and
thoughtful hero: Samson is the kind of per-
son who should be protecting our fragile
freedoms.

Ed McBain usually tells stories about
New York City's 87th Precinct police, but
in his newest novel, Snow White and Rose
Red (Holt, Rinehart & Winston), he
switches venue and goes to Florida with
lawyer Matthew Hope. Hope is trying to

Mexico Set: prickly spy thriller.

Deighton's British spy copes
with an ex-wife in the K.G.B.;
McBain shuttles to Florida.

Snow White and Rose Red: out of the 87th.

spring his wealthy client Sarah Whittaker
from a country-club mental hospital.
Sarah claims that her mother stashed her
away to get at the daughter's money; her
mother and doctor say that Sarah is totally
bonkers. Is Sarah crazy or isn't she? You'll
figure it out afier reading two thirds of the
novel, but seeing McBain weave together
all the loose ends is still fun.
P

Once you've read Andrew Tobias’
Money Angles and Benjamin J. Stein's
Financial Passages, you may think you
have everything you need to make your
financial bed and sleep in it, too. Wrongo,

junk-bonds breath. Chet Currier, who
covers Wall Street for the Associated Press
and writes that wire service's “On the
Money" column, offers The Investor's Ency-
clopedia (Franklin Watts) to round out
your financial library. Currier systemati-
cally reviews 77 investment possibilities
from A (annuities) to Z (zero-coupon
bonds), in each case providing a concise
description of the vehicle, telling how to
get information about it and advising on
its capital-gain and income potential,
risks, disadvantages, liquidity and conse-
quent tax impact. He also includes strate-
gic investment indexes that let you chart
how your investments perform in meeting
their goals.

Better yet, the Encyclopedia is being sup-
plemented yearly with ап Investors
Annual, a permanent record of market
performance listing the 52 weeks” highs
and lows for all stocks, bonds, Govern-
ment securities and mutual funds. We've
seen only the bound galleys of this book,
and we hope the publishers will produce
an especially sturdy hardback. Our copy is
already showing considerable wear.

BOOK BAG

The Sixties Papers: Documents of a Rebel-
lious Decade (Praeger), by Judith Clavir
Albert and Stewart Edward Albert: The
authors, both movement leaders in the
Sixties, have assembled, for the first time
under one cover, most of the important
writing from the decade, with their own.
comments and analysis. To understand
where we are now, we have to know where
we were then. This is the book to get.

Beatle! The Pete Best Story (Dell), by Pete
Best as told to Patrick Doncaster: Best,
who was there before Ringo, got bounced
out before the boys hit it big. He has a
cross to bear, but a story to tell.

Doubting Thomas (Crown), by Robert
Reeves: Thomas C. Theron is an English
prof and a sleuth. He plays the ponies,
solves a murder and lives through adven-
tures in Boston’s Combat Zone and at a
free-love nudist camp. Take the ride.

Playing Hardball: The Dynamics of Baseball
Folk Speech (Peter Lang), by Lawrence
Frank: A dry, often naive rendering of the
intricacies of baseball talk, Playing Hard-
ball gets interesting when Frank sticks to
the terms themselves. The next time you
see a creaky veteran strike out, remember
to yell, “Get older!"

Satisfaction: The Rolling Stones 1965-1967
(St, Martin's): The photography of Gered
Mankowitz, who first photographed the
Stones when he was 18 and shot a couple
of album covers and many wonderful can-
did moments. Buy it.

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масна Hester Us bad so no olber foreign orders.

You will notice another feature in this month's issue in which we suggest that Frank Sinatra is the
biggest punk arcund. We were about to accuse him cf being a heavy metalist, too, until we
looked more closely and noticed that the fellow surrounded by Great White was Joe Piscopo.

AVE TAKES A SOLO: Van Halen’s

lead singer, David Lee Roth, recently
released a four-song EP called Crazy After
the Heat (Warner)—the first solo effort
from a member of the band. We asked
Contributing Editor David Rensin to get
Roth to explain what he could do alone
that he couldn't do with Van Halen. Says
Rensin: “We met at the group's Holly-
wood offices. Roth strutted in, wrapped in
Ray-Bans and a high school letterman's
je He looked weathered, as if he had
just returned from camping in the jungles
of New Guinea—which, of course, he had.
I let him do all the talking.”

“The kind of music [m doing on this is
perfectly within the character of David
Lee Roth, right up my alley in terms
of my sense of humor and musical
consciousness—which has never been the
same as Edward's, Alex’ or Michael's.
Half of what's in my tape library is brass-
based: Edgar Winter playing saxophones.
Van Halen is sort of a generic rock unit,
the purest of the pure, the most simplified
of the purest. We like to create art within
those parameters. I wanted to take it ten
steps further and see what I could achieve
with a big-band sort of sound. I also like to
handicap myself a little bit so that the ulti-
mate outcome is not quite so predictable. I
know how to make a hit record, but Pd
rather kind of follow my little vision here.
After all, how can you achieve the impossi-
ble unless you attempt the absurd?

“California Girls is certainly a national
anthem and, morc specifically, it's a Dave
anthem. It sums up where my head has
been musically and lyrically for quite
some timc. It’s very positive and some-
thing you can take scriously as well as
lightly. Also melodic. It bears a resem-

blance to the Beach Boys' version. Гуе
always been convinced that the California.
sound is based on the early Beach Boys’
harmonies—so I wanted to retain some of
that instead of cutting it down to one syn-
thesizer and a beat box. It's also the first
single on the record and the first video—
David Lee Roth and 23 of the most beauti-
ful babes we could wrench out of
Hollywood.

hen there's the big brass sound of Just
a Gigolo, by Louis Prima, who, to me, has
always been—at least in personality and
lifestyle—one of the original rock-'n’-
rollers. The flip side is J Street, which is
from Edgar Winter's past—another brass
tune, sort of. 1 can imagine strippers tak-
ing to this song kindly. The last tune is
oanut Grove, the old Lovin’ Spoonful
thing, with the Eightics mix and the old
Dave interpretation, which kind of
changes the face of the song. It’s not really
a ballad, but 1 call it the first quiet song
that I've ever done, the first I've ever had
a feel for. There are a variety of session
and studio people on it, the most flexible.
No members of Toto, though. [Laughs] ОГ
course, Гуе hi comments about this
project, like, "That's not terribly commer-
cial, Dave’ or "That song's a little bit long,
Dave.’ But I had to do it. It's in my heart.”

THE BOYS IN THE BAND: The newest
British import is Brenski Beat, a product of
the London gay-bar circuit. At the center
of the two-thirds-Scottish trio is Jimmy
Somerville, who claims that the singer he
most wants to emulate is Connie Francis.
fellow electric fumkers, Larry
Steinbachek and Steve Bronski, discov-
ercd Somerville when he did an a cappella
version of a self-penned tune, Screaming

(Jimmy's term for his own vocalizing), for
an educational- TV show. Steinbachek and
Brons! eard it, set the words to music,

played it for the author, and the three

agreed to collaborate further “for a
laugh.”
Nobody's laughing now, 18 months

after their first exposure to the pul

the Bell, a notorious gay bar in King’s
Cross. The Bronskis have beaten their way
up the English charts by combining
Somerville’s high, piercing rock-’n’-roll
tenor with hard-edged lyrics and the kind
of driving disco wallpaper Giorgio
Moroder would be proud to produce (he
didn't; Mike Thorne did)

We won't promise you'll love it, but
their first U.S. LP, Age of Consent (MCA)
bears listening for, if nothing else, its
oddness. BARBARA PEPE

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE REPLACE-
MENTS: OK, guys, this is your last
chance. We hoped after your first album,
Hootenanny, that you'd soon develop a
consistent style, because at your best you
reminded us of the early Beatles. But after
hearing your second album, Let It Be (Twin/
Tone), on which your best song, / Will
Dare, also sounds wonderfully Beatlesque,
we've decided that you write too many
songs that make our teeth hurt. Ain't
nobody in your group got no taste? Musi-
cally speaking, boys, it's time to grow up or
die. Maybe you should switch to light beer.

REVIEWS

Nik Kershaw's The Riddle (MCA) is rock
disguised as reggae, and Kershaw's funny,
down-to-earth lyrics are a surprise in such
a setting. How can you dislike a guy who
asks Don Quixote for advice or who says of
his own status as a newborn rock-'n'-roll
star, “He got no sense but he got money”?
Kershaw sticks his head in the clouds long
enough to make a plea to Save the Whales,
and the title track is а whimsically
enchanting march that makes no actual
sense. But it also makes no sense that
America hasn't yet discovered Kershaw.

crazy *o follow Malcolm
McLaren everywhere he leads us? First
The Sex Pistols, then Bow Wow Wow,
later Buffalo Gals and now Fans (Island).
In his own words, he is “marrying R&B
and Puccini" here, and we like it. These
outrageous reinterpretations of parts of
Madame Butterfly and Carmen and other
operas are breath-taking, McLaren’s liner
notes suggest that "the real business of
fans is to attract attention.” Fans has done
that and more

Are we

On their third album, Hard Line (Slash/
Warner), The Blasters have again created
some good old rock "n' roll. The songs are
new, but the style bears echoes of Chuck

Й
x f

i s$

Its a whole new world.

¿AMEL

FILTERS

4. Camel Filters,
surprisingly smooth.

7,12 mg. nicotine av. per cigarette by FTC method.

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

FAST TRACKS

TELL LAURA (OR ANYONE ELSE) YOU LOVE HER DEPARTMENT: Got any spare change? You'll need
it for this one: Sakowitz, a Houston-based company, is offering a song, an album and a
music video tailored to you. For $7500, songwriter Jeff Barry will compose a tune for you;
$75,000 will get you a whole album; and if you've got an extra $100,000, you'll get the
video to go with it. Barry, who co-wrote such notable ditties as Chapel of Love and Leader of
the Pack, will obviously consult with you for details before beginning the job. What a deal!

jOCK AND WRESTLING: Cyndi Lauper has

another award to add to her grow-
ing collection: The World Wrestling
Federation has honored her contribu-
tions to the sport, especially to
women's wrestling. Her manager calls
it “a very unique situation.” We call it
cute. She-bop!

REELING AND ROCKING: Plans are in the
works to make a movie about the life of.
Otis Redding. Malcolm Leo, who did This
Is Elvis, is set to produce it. . . . Morris
Day is now under contract to 20th
Century-Fox for three films. . . . Dolly
Parton has written a movie, Brass
Angels, which she'd like to make with
old friends Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin.
Parton has also expressed interest in
starring in a TV movie based on the life
of cosmetics mogul Mary Коу Ash. . . .
Scandal, The Electric Light Orchestra, The
Polecats and The Ramones are among the
musicians contributing songs to a new
rock movie called Joey, about a young
rock singer's relationship with his
father, a singer in a famous group from
the Fifties. Onscreen performers in-
clude Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, The Ele-
gants and The Limelights. . .. Look for
DeBarge in the Motown movie The Last
Dragon, also starring Vanity.

NEWSBREAKS: The Sen Francisco Ballet's
production of King Lear, with music
composed by Stewart Copeland of The
Police, has been set for April 16-21, if
you happen to be in the City by the
Bay. . . . Bill Wyman’s autobiography,
based on diaries kept for the past 23
years, will be ready to show publishers
early in 1986. If you're looking for
definitive info on The Stones, this will

probably be it. We know Mick can't
bring himself to tell it like it was... .
Other Wyman-related news: Willie and
the Poor Boys, a.k.a. Wyman, Charlie
Watts, Kenny Jones, Andy Fairweather Low
et al., will be touring if their prior com-
mitments allow. In any case, they plan
to donate 25 percent of the world-wide
profits from their album, Up in Arms,
to Ronnie Lane's Multiple Sclerosis
Research Organization. . . . Monu-
ment Records, former label of Kris
Kristofferson, Roy Orbison and Dolly
Parton, went belly up. Dolly's interested
in buying the bankrupt company, but
so are MTM Productions’ music
division and an Oregon investment
group. . . . Remember we told you
about iron Maiden's trip behind the
Iron Curtain? The entire tour was
filmed and will be available for TV this
year. . . . Madonna has planned her
first tour, scheduled to begin about
now in the Northeast, to coincide with
the release of her movie we've been tell-
ing you about, Desperately Secking
Susan... . Nina Hagen plans to play
Poland and Hungary, but East Ger-
man officials have refused to allow
her to return to her homeland. Hagen
says, “Authorities are afraid people
will talk to me, ask for my autograph
and make a big commotion. They like
peace and quiet, very boring peace and
quiet. Culture Club will be back in
the States this month to tour cities west
of the Mississippi. . . . Yes will have a
one-hour video out this spring, pro-
duced by Charlex, the special-effects
company that brought us that wonder-
ful Cars video You Might Think.

— BARBARA NELLIS

Berry and Duane Eddy, with a country
overlay that will remind you of Marty
Robbins. The instrumental range of the
band includes everything from concertinas
to mandolins, and on three cuts, the back-
ground vocals are by the Jordanaires, who
make anything they touch worth the price
of admission. Our favorite cut: Hey Girl.
б

With exceptions, country singers аге а
pretty fickle bunch who can't be trusted
from one album to the next. One of those
exceptions is Reba McEntire. My Kind of
Country (MCA) is true to its title and to her
Oklahoma background and can transform
a Porsche into а pickup—musically
speaking—for anyone genetically predis-
posed to enjoy an honest country voice
and relatively traditional instrumentation.
She's the mistress of melancholy perform-
ing on a small stage in a rural night club
on the wet side of the county line, where
you can buy 3.2 beer or bring your own
bottle.

No, Sade is not the latest bondage-and-
leather crunch bunch from Canada. It’s
pronounced Shar-day, and it's the Chris-
tian name of this English quartet's lead
singer, Sade Adu. This Anglo-Nigerian's
smooth and sensuous voice combines well
with her songwriting partner Stuart
Matthewman's caressing sax and guitar.
Diamond Life (Portrait), Sade's first album,
slithers permanently into the unconscious
with such jazzy melodies as Your Love
Is King, Hang On to Your Love and
Frankie's First Affair. Choosing a favorite is
hard, but we suspect that with a record
like this, the answer to Sade's musical
question When Am I Going to Make a Liv-
ing? is "Now."

T's an old Nashville trick, but it works
nearly every time: Team one old or new
singer with one or more old or new singers
and call it a historical musical event that
justifies an album. With George Jones
doing a collection of duets with Barbara
Mandrell, Loretta Lynn, Brenda Lee,
Janie Fricke, Leona Williams, Lacy J.
Dalton, Deborah Allen, Terri Gibbs and a
prepop Emmylou Harris (for old times"
sake, presumably), how could it fail? In
Ladies' Choice (Epic), any fan of traditional
country gets the full spectrum of the best,
old and new, with ol' George calling the
tunes. The fact that he talked some of
these ladies into doing classic Jones-style
tavern songs must mean the girls really
love him, just like everybody says.

John Conlec has a country voice distinc-
tive enough that he ought to do more with
it. Blue Highway (MCA) docsn't transport
onc to the American truck stop or roadside
tavern or rural dance hall where musical
simplicity can be enjoyed by local kickers
and visiting slickers alike but more to the
tacky night club on the edge of town where

low rollers wcar plaid suits and try to get
their ladies drunk. "Blue" mainly in the
schmaltzy sense.

Clarinet Summit (India Navigation) indi-
cates that the once primary jazz instru-
ment could make a strong comeback.
Covering the spectrum of styles—from
traditional to swing to modern and avant-
garde—this live concert recording by
Alvin Batiste, John Carter, former
Ellington stalwart Jimmy Hamilton and
David Murray proves that the instrument,
in the right hands, can cover a lot of
ground and can swirg impressively

Danny Elfman's So-Lo (MCA) bears lis-
tening. He's new to us and has a cranky
sense of melody that lies somewhere
between accordion music and Brian Eno's
ambient sound. His lyrics are a little hard-
edged: A song called Tough as Nails takes a
fellow to task for loving cars and women
and violence and drinking. Sounds like
Super Bowl Sunday.

By far the oddest record we've heard
lately is Alaska Hit Singles ($10, Box 707,
Juneau, Alaska 99801). It's a collection of
singles from Alaskan bands and an inter-
esting curiosity. Plenty of homage is paid
to the mush-mush motif, with such titles as
Get Up, Dogs, Polar Bear Stomp and Moon-
light, Yukon and You

Another batch of Original Jazz Classics
albums has been reissued, and the hot
one this time is Songs I Like to Sing
(Contemporary/Fantasy), featuring Helen
Humes, who was popular in the late Thir-
ties and made a comeback in the early Six-
ties. This LP was cut at that time and finds
Humes in her finest hour, with awfully
good material: My Old Flame, Love Me or
Leave Me and Please Don't Talk About Me
When I'm Gone. We hope she knows we're
still talking about her.

SHORT CUTS

The Android Sisters/ Songs of Electronic
Despoir (Vanguard): The sisters arc the
invention of Tom Lopez, a synth wizard.
The songs are satirical and goofy and suc-
ceed on as many levels as they fail

Duran Duran / Arena (Capitol): Yes, we
know you bought it for Christmas, but it's
timc to point out that the wild boys are
always getting better. Good sampler for
late-comers.

Tom T. Hall / Natural Dreams (PolyGram): ps ү
Balladeering carried to its usual narrative CS nr

extreme. Fun if you don't know him or
aren't tired of the routine.

Lille Thomas / All of You (Capitol): If
you've met a new lady you'd like to invite

for dinner and dancing, |
pov mer ode т: BEEFEATER GIN.

ime Lillo sings I Like Your Style, you coul p.
УУ ЕЕ 4 The Crown Jewel of England:

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MOVIES

By BRUCE WILLIAMSON

DIANE KEATON channels her flakiness into a
subtle, first-class performance as Mrs. Soffel
(MGM/UA), which also marks a quiet tri-
umph for Australian director Gillian
Armstrong, proving here that her fine fe
¡st saga, My Brilliant Career (1978),
no flash-in-the-pan success. The true story
ofa prison warden’s wife who scandalized
turn-of-the-century Pittsburgh. when she
left her husband and children and ran off
with two condemned killers after helping
them escape, Mrs. Soffel is a hcadlong
romance that would be ridiculous if it were
mere fiction. But you will believe, the way
Keaton plays it, that a proper, deeply reli-
gious matron finds the gypsy in her soul
awakened by a prisoner on death row. The
way Mel Gibson plays the doomed Ed
Biddle, with more appealing vulnerabili
than he’s shown in any previous role,
you'll also believe he is a celebrity jailbird
who has lovelom women lined up in the
street to protest his innocence. Matthew
Modine, as Biddle's brother, and Edward
Herrmann, as the stolid Mr. Soffel, are
equally fine, though the movie’s major
plus is the Keaton-Gibson chemistry—
some sorely needed sizzle for a dark and
downbeat tale of passion behind bars. ¥¥¥
.

Movie fanatics and incurable Woody
Allen Би are far likelier than anyone else
to derive maximum enjoyment from
Allen’s weird, whimsical new comedy, Pur-
ple Rose of Cairo (Orion). The title comes
from a movie within the mo; ypical
Thirties romp in high society, all about
witty rich people who explore Egyptian
tombs and go to art-deco night clubs. And
that is what's playing at the local Bijou in
a dreary American town back in the great
Depression. Just the ticket to trigger the
fantasies of Cecilia (Mia Farrow), a drab
young woman who's married to a woman-
izing lout (Danny Aiello), can't seem to
handle her job as a waitress in a diner but
finds glamor at the movies—like you, me,
Woody and millions of others. What hap-
pens to Cecilia, though, is that one day the
handsome hero of Purple Rose stops the
action onscreen, steps out of the world of
illusion and tells Cecilia that he’s crazy
about her. Which creates chaos at the box
office as well as panic in the movie indus-
try and raises the question “What is real-
ity?" Soon a lantern-jawed matinee idol (a
dual role drolly played, onscreen and off-,
by Jeff Danicls, the diffident son-in-law of
Terms of Endearment) comes to town. Like
his stalwart screen persona, the star also
falls head over heels in love with Cecilia,
who's considerably perplexed by now, as a
decent married woman already involved

Diane Keaton memorable in Mrs. Soffel, with Matthew Modine (left) and Mel Gibson.

Diane Keaton, Mel Gibson
heat up the screen;
don't sit Dancing out.

with a wonderful guy who's completely fic-
tional. However, she notes, “You can't
have everything.”

With Allen in charge, Purple Rose has
of brilliance, plus ace performances
arrow and Daniels—abetted by John
Wood, Van Johnson and Edward Herr-
mann as several of the bitchy film actors
stranded in mid-screen and steaming
because they have to improvise their own
dialog. Woody's problem, which eventu-
ally becomes an irritating one for the audi-
ence, is that this elaborate conceit is like a
parlor trick by a man with virtually noth-
ing to say. So Woody starts pulling rabbits
out of a hat by making a movie about mov-
ies and movicgoers in movies and so on ad
infinitum. Although the
stretched pretty thin overall, Га call
Purple Rose a trivial pursuit brightened
nicely by inside jokes, savory showbiz
clichés and other small surprises. ¥¥¥

"The actors arc roughly twice as amusing
as the gags they are given in Johnny Dan-
gerously (Fox), a passable but sometimes
flaccid send-up of Thirties gangster mov-
ies. Michael Keaton, in the title role, and
Joe Piscopo as his nemesis—a rival crook
named Vermin—appear to have a good
time spitballing through a screenplay that
four writers could not quite get together.
Director Amy (Fast Times at Ridgemont

material has to be

High) Heckerling shows some flair for sat-
ire, though, and Johnny is recommendable
if only for Maureen Stapleton’s sure-fire
act as a movie mom who loves her son
the hoodlum no less than she loves her
son the prosccuting attorney. УУУ

To put it simply, every running, twirl-
ing, toe-tapping foot of That's Dancing!
(MGM) is pure delight. Well, let me qual-
ify that. If you thrill to Fred and Ginger,

Shirley Temple, or апу terpsichorean
showstopper Irom Cyd Charisse to Zorina,
from John Travolta to Michael Jackson,
this short, snappy history of dance in cin-
ema should prove to be one of 1985’s most
irresistible pleasures. There are lapses in
the narrative flow, as well as several glar-
ing omissions (where's Betty Grable?). But
don't fight it. Gene Kelly, Mikhail
Baryshnikov and Liza Minnelli are among
the genial hosts recruited to lead the way
down memory lane, pointing out any gems
of musical nostalgia not previously dusted
oll for That's Entertainment! and its sequel.
Trust me, one priceless bit of the Nicholas
Brothers at their peak in Doun Argentine
Way (1940) makes Francis Coppola's
costly Cotton Club look like unclaimed
goods. YYYY

Page after page of carnest voice-over
narration may clear up bits and pieces of
Dune (Universal); an almost incomprehen-
sible based ‘on Frank Herbert's
science-fiction classic set in the far-distant

movil

future. When the fancily costumed charac-
ters do speak, it's often in the hushed, rev.

erent tones of travelers touring a great

cathedral. Yet Dune is awesome mostly as
a monument to conspicuous waste—a few

minutes of Sting in a heavily promoted
minor role, plus a huge c: d so-called
state-of-the-art special effects, some of
which appear a shade less sophisticated
than TV's vintage Star Trek wizardry. All
ye faithful readers in a frenzy to see what
director David Lynch hath wrought are
apt to discover that he has used the spongy
morass of his own Eraserhead to redevelop
Dune. Go if you must. V

The big year is behind us, but 1984
(Atlantic) has arrived in a handsome,
starkly beautiful British-made movie ver-
sion of George Orwell's landmark satire.
In his last major film, Richard Burton uses
his sonorous vocal cords to stunning
advantage as O'Brien, Big Brother's ruth-
less mind bender, who breaks the wills of
the hero (John Hurt) and his girl, Julia
(Suzanna Hamilton)—a couple with the
temerity to write and think and have
unauthorized sexual intercourse in a total-
Marian state. Writer-director Michael
Radford's hard-edged treatment makes
1984 harrowing, indeed, with an appro-
priately surreal musical score by the
Eurythmics (the nearest thing to a take-
home tune is Sexcrime nineteen eighty-four).
Not quite the ticket for seekers of
Saturday-night escapism, yet Orwell still
packs a wallop. Brace yourself when
Burton brings in the rats. ¥¥¥

Try this for screen chemistry: Katharine
Hepburn and Nick Nolte. Cool your jets,
because The Ultimate Solution of Grace
Quigley (Cannon) is not a love story, at
least not the kind we're used to. Hepburn
plays a doddery old darling who feels she's
had it with the lonely life in a low-rent
Manhattan tenement. Nolte is the profes-
sional hit man whom she decides to hire as
her own right-to-die prerogative—by tak-
ing out a contract on herself. Of course,
the guy-and-grande-dame business be-
tween these two troupers works like a
charm, and director Anthony Harvey
(who steered Kate the Great toward her
third Oscar for The Lion in Winter) whips
it up until you may well feel you've got
charm up to here. Do I need to tell you
that Grace discovers new lust for life by
helping other poor old wretches shuffle off
this mortal coil? The moral implications of
Grace Quigley may set Right-to-Life zealots
back on their heels, yet who among them
would dare to argue geriatrics with
Hepburn? Too precious for my taste, but
probably catnip for connoisseurs of May-
December human comedy liberally laced
with schmaltz. YY

Capraesque is the word for Protocol
(Warner), starring Goldie Hawn as a cock-
tail waitress who could be a direct descend-
ant of James Stewart in Frank Capra's Mr.
Smith Goes to Washington. Goldie, though,
portrays a wide-eyed innocent who pre-
vents a political assassination, becomes a

Hurt marks time à la Orwell.

John Hurt, the late Richard
Burton and the Eurythmics
team in a chilling 1984.

national media heroine, then finds some
top-level Government bureaucrats pimp-
ing for the Middle Eastern emir whose life
she has saved—if she'll become one of his
wives, he'll permit a U.S. military base in
his country. It's a nasty business but
played for chuckles from a fitfully funny
screenplay by Buck Henry, directed by
Herbert Ross. Until the Mr. Smith speech
that wraps éverything up at the finale—
flags waving and "we, the people" praised
ad nauseam-— Goldie wades through most
of it with unstoppable élan. Protocol ul-
timately needs every ounce of élan she's
got. УУМ

Any enlightened liberal already com-
mitted to the cause of gay liberation is sure
to approve of The Times of Harvey Milk (Tele-
culture), a vivid and moving documentary
directed by Robert Epstein and Richard
Schmiechen. Milk, lest we forget, was the
professed homosexual who won election to
San Francisco's board of supervisors and
was subsequently gunned down, along
with Mayor George Moscone, by Dan
White—a former cop, fireman and col-
league on the board. Film clips and inter-
views with МИК associates are shaped
into an eloquent collage that is, alas,
unlikely to be seen or appreciated by the
people who necd to learn that the late
Harvey Milk was, first, a warm and funny
and normal human being and, second, a
passionate, effective politician who also

happened to be homosexual. Some of us
hardly knew ye, Harvey. But it's high time
we did. ¥¥¥

In Maria's Lovers (Cannon), Nastassja
Kinski carns another service stripe as the
most promising actress stalled in the least
promising vehicles. John Savage, Robert
Mitchum, Vincent Spano and Keith
Carradine show up among her admirers
under the direction of Andrei (Siberiade)
Konchalovsky, who came from Russia
with love to win the hearts of Hollywood.
Konchalovsky still has a long way to go,
on the dreary evidence here. Maria's Lov-
ers dawdles over the plight of a World War
Two veteran (Savage) who comes home to
marry the girl of his dreams, then can't get
it up because he loves her too much. Huh?
You heard me. YY

Out of Bondage to Ian Fleming for the
nonce, Roger Moore is caught up in
Sidney Sheldon's gilded trash, The Noked
Face (Cannon). Adapter-director Bryan
Forbes shot Chicago and probably
should have left it for dead or for late-night
television. Among the injured luminaries
at hand for an altogether implausible
Sheldon yarn about a shrink marked for
murder are Rod Steiger, Anne Archer, Art
Carney and Elliott Gould. ¥

"The Middle East crisis is worsened by a
well-meaning U.S. Ambassador to Israel
(Robert Mitchum) in Target Zone (Can-
non). As his restless wife, Ellen Burstyn is
photographed nude abed with her hand-
some lover from the P.L.O. (Fabio Testi).
As the Ambassador's chief security officer,
Rock Hudson has his hands full. YY

Heads roll and faint hearts tremble in
Zombie Island Massacre (Troma), an
unabashedly lurid little shocker about a
busload of tourists being picked off, one by
one, after a voodoo ceremony somewhere
in the Caribbean. Zombie Island's featured
attraction (with producer co-star
David Broadnax) is none other than Rita
Jenrette, the sexy swashbuckler known for
kicking up her heels in the Washington,
D.C, follies (and in two apolitical rravaov
pictorials). Clearly a born survivor, Rita's
among the last victims here, so her movie
debut gives her time to establish an amia-
ble, attractive screen presence that can
hold attention without the Allip of head-
lined notoriety. Otherwise, ho-hum. ¥

Horror-film freaks could do worse than
A Nightmare on Elm Street (New Line), a
sort of Gidget movie recycled with buckets
of gore and some spectacular, albeit sick-
ening, special effects. Writer-director Wes
Craven, already a cult favorite, offers
outrageous superschlock thats Grand
Guignol, guaranteed to make audiences
stay awake. VV

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== == ===

MOVIE SCORE CARD

capsule close-ups of current films
by bruce williamson

Amadeus Madness set to music in Milos
Forman's grand Mozart bio. wu
Beverly Hills Cop With Eddie Murphy,
who never misses a beat. vvv
Birdy Up and away, then . . . oops. ¥¥¥
Blood Simple Less gory than it sounds
but compelling from first to last. УУУУ
City Heat Clint and Burt as a crime-
busting odd couple. yyy
The Cotton Club Coppola goes to
Harlem, but who let in the weevils? YY
Dune (See review) Vast waste, y
The Falcon and the Snowman American
boys join Soviet spy ring. WI,
Fear City Psychostalksstrippers. Keep an
eye peeled for Melanie Griffith. УУУ
The Flamingo Kid In the title role, Matt
Dillon carns star billing. vee
Johnny Dangerously (Scc review) Gang-
war games with Piscopo, Keaton. УУУ

Maria's Lovers (Sce review) Alas,
Nastassja. yy
Mrs. Soffel (Sce review) Jailbird woos
the warden’s wife. yyy

The Noked Foce (See review) Roger
Moore flails gamely through a flop. ¥
A Nightmare on Elm Street (Sce review)
Teens having demonic dreams. v
Night of the Comet L.A. chicks face apoc-
alypse tongue in cheek. yyy
1984 (See review) Orwell’s year that
was, with Hurt, Burton. yyy
A Passage to India From E. M. Forster's
classic about an Englishwoman’s un-
settling experience. A
Protocol (See review) Pure Goldie. УУМ
Purple Rose of Cairo (Scc review) A
blooming hybrid from Woody. yyy
The River More country matters, this
time with Mel and Sissy. yyy
Secret Honor A satirical roast with
Richard M. Nixon on the griddle. ¥¥¥
Starman It’s Jeff Bridges as an E.T. dis-
covering earthly passion. wy
A Sunday in the Country Gallic, bucolic
and poignant human comedy. — ¥¥¥¥%
Target Zone (Sce review) Middling Mid-
dle East drama. Ww
That's Dancing! (See review) It'd be
crazy to sit this one out. УУУУ
The Times of Harvey Milk (Sce review)

San Francisco's gay political martyr in
memoriam. vu
2010 After Kubrick and still way
behind 2001. But not bad. WA

The Ultimate Solution of Grace Quigley
(See review) Hit me—Kate. YY
The Wild Duck Ullmann and Irons help
Ibsen take wing. yyy
Zombie Island Massacre (Sec review)
Jenrette in jeopardy; that's all. Y

¥¥¥¥ Don't miss
¥¥¥ Good show

YY Worth a look
¥ Forget it

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SPORTS

Y ou hear a lot about mambas, hippos,

rhinos, even terrorists and Commies,
but I say Africa takes a bad rap. Africa
gives you tall people. And in basketball,
you can't win without that guy who can
wheel and deal in the paint, work on top of
the iron, fill it with baby hooks. When I
can’t find a good prospect in Africa, I look
in Yugoslavia, Sweden, Germany, maybe
Russia. The Dominican Republic comes
through now and then. A scout never
knows where he'll have to be. But I always
start in Africa. They're taller. The kid i
Belgrade who's 7'2" comes in at 7'6" in
Ubangi. All I do is find 'em and place "em.
It’s the coaches who have to teach 'em how
to piss indoors.

You'll see me at the Final Four every
year. I go to all the partics, hang out with
the coaches, the SIDs, the media. The
Final Four is where | write up my orders
for the coming season. Everybody wants а
big guy, naturally, an intimidator, that
thing Al McGuire calls an aircraft carrier.
Today, the kid who can wham, jam, work
the back door, that ain't enough. He's got
to be able to intimidate.

Some coaches are hard to please. I was
trying to peddle this Dominican last year.
Good-looking kid, 7'2", looked like he
could cover the paint, which is what we
call the keyhole now. I offered him to a
four-comer coach in the A.C.C.

"Latins don't rebound," the coach said.
“Get me one of them dissidents.”

“A defector, you mean?”

“Yeah, one of them guys who parts his
hair on the iron. A poet.”

“How "bout an East German?” 1 said.
"He's six-ten, two hyphens."

“Not tall enough."

“Seven-foot spies are expensive,” I said.

He shrugged.

So I sold him a Czech. Kid named
Skobia, 7'4". He'll be OK as soon as he
learns to walk. Good student, though. 1
heard he came up with a 92 on his first
“An Introduction to Recrea-

Occasionally, I'm asked to find a short
guy, the kid who can serve you ice crea
chocolate éclairs. Teams need that onc li
Че guy, the player who can see the court,
spread the floor, bury the [s—the jump
shots. I know where to find that kind of
athlete.

Italv.

That's where I found Gozzi, Tonani, Ga-
betti, all those guys who could fill it in the
Pac 10. I got real lucky with Ugo Gozzi. I

By DAN JENKINS

TIPS FROM AN
ALL-WORLD SCOUT

heard about this kid on the Adriatic coast,
and I happened to be close. 1 could get
there in no time from the Nubian Desert.
Ugo was 4.3 seconds in the air on his flying
lay-up. Of course, he didn’t develop his
triple-pump reverse backdoor letter drop
until he went hardship at USC and signed
with the Rockets.

If you follow pro basketball, forget the
all-American team this year. It's a pastry
shop. I’ve got five franchises—big guys,
intimidators—who'll go in the first round
of the N.B.A. draft. Want a sneak preview?
Here are the kids who're gonna dominate
the pros.

Ernst Helmut Dorfner, Indiana Institute
of Liberal Arts & Grain:

He's 7'4" and a natural. I found him in a
pickup game on an outdoor court in
Dachau, a little town near Munich. His
dad used to work in some kind of plant
around there. His friends call him the
Fourth Reich. I don't get it, but what do I
know? All I see is an instinctive shot
blocker. The other team fires one, his
coach hollers, “Sieg Heil!"—somcething
weird like that—and Helmut's right arm
shoots straight up. The guy's murder on
defense. I like this kid a lot.

Kust Thorfelt, Loyola of Wichita Falls:

OK, the guy's 36 years old and he's
had only onc year of college ball, but he
played on four Olympic teams for Finland
and nobody laughs off a kid who's 7'5".

His dad won the Nobel Prize for Thrift.
They say he can't move. They say he talks
to scals, walks like a penguin. So he can't
move, no big deal. 1 say he's white and
that makes up for it. He'll go high, don't
worry.

Gatooma Metbu Gwanda, Northern Cali-
fornia Community College of Environ-
mental Worship and Total Sharing (Mill
Valley):

1 disagreed bitterly with Notre Dame,
Houston, UCLA, all the others. I say if a
kid's 7'8", he can take his pet cow to school
with him. Well, they blew it, so he wound
up at a small college. Can you believe
Houston passing on this guy? Now they
know better. For 56 points a game, you let
a guy play naked and cat raw dog. The
Knicks say he'll grow out of it. He's young.

Mohammed Khadr Ahmed El Mesba,
Kentucky AM&T (Agricultural, Mobile
Homes & Trucking):

I first knew him as Bobby Simpson. Just
an awkward kid of 7'9", but he could slam-

unk a concrete block into the rear end of
a G.M.C. pickup. Then he developed an
arc, and 1 knew | had something. He
comes from this rural town in Tennessee,
one of them places where they brush their
teeth with grits, and it was tough to com-
municate with him, take my word.
Porsche, Jaguar—those were the only
words he could chew. Гуе tried to tell him
he'll get more money in the pros if he plays
on both ends of the court. “Ain't no points
down there" is all he says about it. Stub-
born kid.

Chen “Slant Dunk” Hu-ching, Older
Dominion:

I guess I don't need to tell anybody that
Manchuria's no country club. How many
fish heads can you cat? But I'd go back if I
thought Pd find me another Chen Hu-
ching. At 8'3”, she's the tallest player I
ever recruited. And now that she's had the
sex-change operation, she'll be the tallest
player in the N.B.A. He, I mean. Want to
talk match-ups? The thing ] want to see is
Mohammed Khadr Ahmed El Mesba try
to deal in the paint against her. Him, 1
mean.

So that’s it for now. 1 got a
catch. There's this kid in Та
He's 8'4," has six fingers on each
You hear he's got a bone in his nose. So
what? I say tell me you don’t like him alter
he puts you in the N.B.A. play-offs.

Which I hope to get back for this year.
They're not over till sometime in
August, right?

ET year, DanWalchak neh b

37,546 miles in and out of NewYork City

without making awrong turn.Or gesture.
So he received a bottle of VO.

MEN

S: what should I do?" Jennifer

asked. “I think 1 love them both.
I'm orgasmic with cach of them. They're
wonderful lovers, Гуе never had it so
good. Im just afraid they'll drop me at the
same time. What will that leave me with?
My vibrator? Listen, Гуе got nothing
against vibrators, but I hatc loneliness.”

We were eating іп a Mexican restaurant,
and Jennifer's voice bounced off the tiles.
It was a fairly crowded room, but she
didn't seem to care. She talked on, listing
—size, heft, endurance, technique;
nothing was unmentionable—while I
stirred the guacamole with my chips.

“George is into a lot of oral sex, OK?
Hey, as long as it's fifty-fifty, I don't care.
Ken has satyriasis. He can do it for hours.
Literally hours. Am I happy? You bet. I
don't want to give either one of them up."

"What happened to Andy?" I asked.

"Oh, he's still around, but he's boring.
Missionary position all the way for old
Andy. No imagination.”

As Jennifer launched into a description
of Andy's sexual defects, I sat there like a
dunce and wondered why I was feeling so
uncomplimented, so stressful, so muscled.
There was something uneven about the
situation, but 1 could not immediately
define it. Jennifer, with her red hair and
kcen eyes and tough voice, was on a roll,
and it would not have surprised me had
she stood on her chair and read a list of her
fondest perversions to the crowd. Why did
that threaten me?

= s the matter, Ace," she asked
me, "cat got your tongue?"

“That's it!” I yelled.

“Easy, man,” she said, laughing.

“The cat's got my tongue!” I said.

“What are you saying?"

“What were you talking about just
now?” I asked her. “Your lovers, right?”

“Right.”

“George and Ken and Andy and a sup-
porting cast, right?”

“Yes.”

“Don't you get it?" I said. “That was
like male locker-room conversation—or
what used to be male locker-room conver-
sation."

“I talk like that because I enjoy it,"
Jennifer said. “1 have nothing to hide.
I'm not ashamed of my sexuality.”

“] know you talk like that,” I said, “but
I don't talk like that anymore. And I don't
know many guys who do. We just shut up.
We don't talk about anything.”

"What? You guys can't talk openly?

By ASA BABER

What are you, prudes? What do guys talk
about in the locker room? Football?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You got it: football,
business, weather, sometimes politics, but
only if we really trust one another. Other-
wise, the cat has our tongues.”

Jennifer smirked. “You keep saying that,
but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, yes, it does,” I said. “Men aren’t
talking anymore—not to one another. Not
to women, either, a lot of the time. Men
are walking on eggshells. And I’ve just fig-
ured out why.”

“From something [ said?”

“No,” I said, “from the things I haven't
said. From the way Гус shut up and let
you ramble and had nothing to contribute.
Guess what, Jennifer? The cat had my
tongue. I was afraid to say anything.
There you were, sexist to the gills, turning
men into meat, laughing at their sexuality,
taking over the role of the locker-room
clown, and I said not a word.”

“So you're chickenshit." Jennifer smiled
without meaning it

“Absolutely,” I said. “I live in the mid-
dle ofa revolution. I'm trying to stay alive.
l remember how it was in the Fi
People were terrified of being labeled Com-
munist. In the Eighties, men arc afraid
of being labeled sexist. That's death for men
today. That truly cuts our water off.”

“And well it should.”

“We're scared into silence," I said.

“Women can talk about anything, right?
In your locker room at the club, Pll bet
there are some pretty grubby conversa-
tions, right?”

“We get down to basics in there,” she
said, laughing. “As a matter of fact, when
it comes to locker-room gossip, we could
curdle your cream.”

“Tm sure you could,” I said. “But we
men are so afraid of being called sexist
that we don't really talk like that anymore,
not even with one another. It’s like the
McCarthy era. Were waiting for the
House Unfei Activities Committee to
subpoena us. ‘Are you now or have you
ever been a sexist?” they will ask. ‘Have
you ever known a sexist?” That's why it's
5o quiet in our locker room.”

“You know what's more fun than dat-
ing?” Jennifer asked. “Talking about it
later with my girlfriends.”

“You talk about everything, don't you?”
1 asked. “His breath, his skin, the lines he
used to get you in the sack, how fast
he came—the whole schmear, right?”
ight. Sometimes we all date the same
guy and compare notes. It’s such a
scream!”

“It’s a scream for you; it's a reign of
terror for us," I said. “It’s the time of the
sexist witch-hunt.

"The sexist werewolf-hunt, you mean,
don't you?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “It’s exclusively a
hunt for sexism in males. You women can
be sexist as hell and then chalk it off as
merely amusing. But if we men show even
a trace of sexism, it's all over for us. We're
charged, tried and convicted in about ten
seconds.”

"Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch of
guys.” Jennifer laughed.

“See, you get to swagger because 1 have
to retreat,” I said. “Any aggression on my
part, any even trading, and you'll say I’m
a sexist pig. And if I become known as a
sexist pig, my life will get very lonely.
"That's the blackmail of the Eighties.”

“And you're mad as hell and y:
going to lake it anymore?" Jenni
with an arched cyebrow.

“No, Pl take it some more,” I said.
love women. I need them in my life. But
I sure as hell feel as if Pm fighting with
both hands tied behind my back.”

"That's OK,” she said. “You've got a
cute butt. You look nice that way.”

“I like your breasts, Jennifer,” I said. “I
never met a breast I didn't like.”

“You pig,” Jennifer said.

E s

KING: 17 mg. "tar", 1.3 mg. nicotine, 100's: 17 mg. "tar",
14 mg. nicotine, av. per cigarette by FTC methad.

SA
Jl, Ve Got WHat itita

WOMEN

I ke a cosmic joke as much as the next
girl, but there are times when I wish
the gods would refrain from practical jokes
of the whoopee-cushion variety.

1 can just see them up there in the god-
lands on that fatal day when all the female
gods were off somewhere organizing day-
care policies.

“I have an adorable idea,” a real come-
dian god probably said. “You know how
all the broads on earth have got uppity?
Let's sec them squirm! Let's take all the
good men away!” Naturally, there was
instant hilarity, with the gods slapping
their thighs and giggling until tears came.

Yet—I don't know—I don’t think the
current male shortage is amusing. Call me
a bad sport.

The statistics alone are bloodcurdling. I
read somewhere that things are good for
women in San Diego, since there are 75
men to every 100 women. I feel that this
sucks. In Manhattan, where I live, there
are two men for every 100 women, once
you subtract gay men, married men, men
with prominent running sores and men
who turn up the collars of their sports
jackets and pretend to be sculptors.

Here's what happens to a woman who
lives in Manhatta

If she has a boyfriend or a husband, she
lives in fear. He goes out for a pack of ciga-
rettes, and after 20 minutes she has the
grisly fantasy that he has been surrounded
by a horde of hungry airline stewardesses
and dragged off to a den full of drugs and
strawberry-scented massage oil This
woman's friends come under the intensest
of scrutinies. If one of them so much as
pats the boyfriend's hand in a warmish
way, she is ostracized, humiliated, and no
one will go shopping with her for a month.

But the picture is far, far grimmer for a
woman without a fellow. Hope can spring
eternal for only so long. After months and
months, often stretching into years and
years, a woman tends to forget statistics.
She starts taking her loverless status per-
sonally and becomes convinced that she is
in some very subtle yet basic way com-
pletely unappealing. Too fat, too thin, too
strident, too tedious. Every day, in every
way, her self-esteem is eroded. Some
women eventually refuse to get out of bed.
Others take up rel

Maybe, possibly, someday this woman
may find herself a guy. Then come the fun
days of living in fear and casting fishy
glances at all her girlfriends.

Sometimes a woman finds a guy and he

By CYNTHIA HEIMEL

A GOOD MAN IS
HARDER TO FIND

turns out to be a dud. Keeps excusing him-
self at restaurants when the check comes,
has a secret cache of photos of naked
boys—that kind of guy-

Normally, the time between her finding

the photos of naked boys and the end of

the relationship would be measured in
minutes. But the specter of lonely Satur-
day nights with only a vibrator for com-
pany can make a girl hesitate. So she frets
and rationalizes. Maybe the photos were a
psychology research project. Possibly the re-
fusal to pay restaurant checks isa silly quirk
She hangs in there, knowing she’s a fool.
Politically, the situation is unfortunate,
since scarcity and conservatism are oft
intertwined. The male shortage divides the
women from the girls. The women pull up
their socks, grit their teeth and decide that
even if they never get laid again, they're
not giving up. The girls bite their lips and
wonder if it's such a terrible thing to pre-
tend to be fascinated with carburetors.
The situation isn’t so great for you guys,
either. I will wait a moment until the
laughter subsides and say it again: The sit-
vation isn't so great for you guys, either.
It's true that it's easy to get dates, that
you just have to phone any female friend
and ask, "Know anybody?" to have a
parade of women presented for your delec-
tation. But there is also a severe danger:
that of becoming arrogant.
Don't say “So what?" or you'll break

my heart. Arrogance is a major sin, even
worse than coveting thy neighbor's wife.

Here are some members of the Arro-
gance Hall of Fame: Adolf Hitler. Richard
Nixon. Jimmy Hoffa. Genghis Khan.

Arrogance leads a man to believe that
he is God's gift. An arrogant man will take
a woman to dinner, treat her to two hours
of explaining how clever he is at his
market-research job and then launch into
a few digressions about his shining college
career, the terrific mileage he gets on his
car and how his last girlfriend just didn’t,
well, grow with him. An arrogant man is
sleek and shining with the glow of his own
self-worth. An arrogant man assumes a
woman will listen to any drivel he cares to
spew. An arrogant man is just a toad by
another name. (So is an arrogant woman;
don’t get me wrong.)

I went to a party the other night with
my mother, Typical New York party—
champagne bottles in the bathtub, loud
music, the odd potato chip. Mom, who has
been divorced and living semireclusively
for eight years, couldn't get over the men.

“Look at that one over there in the red
shirt,” she pointed. “He thinks he is the
living end. He is thrilled to death with
himself. And that one over there in the
fuzzy sweater. Look at the way he stands
there, like a member of royalty. All the
men here look as if they woulda’t be sur-
prised if we walked up and put a picture
frame around them.”

“Ha-ha,” said Marta, who broke up
with her husband this year because he had
two other girlfriends.

“Hee-hee,” said Cleo, who finally
refused to let her boyfriend sponge off her
anymore, so he left her.

“Ho-ho,” said Rita, whose date was the
man in the red shirt.

Guys, I sympathize. No, really; it’s not
your fault there are fewer of you than
there are of us. You can’t help it if every
time you turn around, someone's flashing
some cleavage and offering you a nice tuna
casserole. It's bound to go to your head.

It’s true that there is power in numbers,
but it is a crass, boorish power. With men
and women, the operative numbers are
one on one. If you decide to take advan-
tage of the numbers, it will be impossible
for you to be open and loving with anyone,
and you are bound to become arrogant. If
that happens, you will have only your own
picture frame for company, since no
woman, however desperate, will put
up with an arrogant fool. El

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AGAINST THE WIND

bout a year ago, 1 had the awful luck

to fall into a sort of speed trap for
those who have been running too long in
the fast lane. Before it was over, I'd been
held incommunicado for 30 hours, badly
misdiagnosed, well frightened, drugged
and charged $1112. It was a lesson I'm not
ely to forget; and forced to put it into a
simple sentence, this is what I get: There is
more than one reason they put snakes on
the symbol for the medical profession

Га been in New York for about a week,
going too hard, the way you're supposed to
in Manhattan—except that day by day, 1
was feeling lousier and lousier: weak,
rummy, always thirsty. 1 had to have my
bags carried when 1 checked out of my
hotel, and halfway to the airport, my chest
got tight. When I couldn't stretch it out,
my adrenaline came up and I asked the
cabdriver to find me the nearest emer-
gency room. Hc got off the expressway and
within a block found the rear entrance of a
seedy little brick hospital that 1 will
always and forever think of as Saint Ofi-
ramp of the Vipers.

A nurse in the emergency room hooked
me to the machine that reads your heart.
While it ran, a gruff doctor with a heavy
accent asked me questions I couldn't
understand, then left with the paper read-
out. As soon as he was gone, the nurse
leaned over and whispered, “Don’t be
upset if they want to keep you.” It seemed
a strange thing to say without a diagnosis
and strange that she whispered it.

"Ten minutes later, I had relaxed and so
had my chest. Another doctor arrived, this
one tanned and groomed and smooth. I
told him 1 felt much better and that Pd
like to try to get back to Chicago. Much
too dangerous, he said. My E.K.G. seemed
normal, but there were some small glitches
that could mean I'd had a heart attack. He
needed blood studies to be sure, and that
would take a day. He said also that the air-
lines didn’t have the right equipment and
that if I had an episode in the air, I would
probably die. I asked him to give me a few
minutes to think about i

Another nurse pushed through my cur-
tain. “Going or staying?” she asked.

“Thinking about it,” I told her.

“Don’t take too long,” she said.

That pissed me off just enough that I
decided to get the hell out. I had my shirt
about halfway buttoned when both nurses,
then both doctors, showed up, and this
time I really got the stupid-boy speech:
You're nuts, they said . . . chances are,

By CRAIG VETTER

SAINT OFFRAMP
OF THE VIPERS

you've had a serious infarction . . . we
can’t make you stay, but if you leave, it will
be against our best medical advice... a
bad gamble

1 sat there trying to decide whether or
not the fear I was feeling was worth giving
in to. I felt pretiy good, but I was sitting
there alone in my underwear and the four
of them were standing in their white coats,
shaking their stethoscopes and their best
judgment at me. It's not exactly against
my religion to take a risk, but there has to
be a payoff; and at that moment, getting
back to Chicago didn't scem enough. "All
right," I told them. “PI stay.”

They congratulated me, asked about
insurance, took my valuables and let me
make onc phone call. I asked Dr. Smooth
to test my blood sugar, because my mother
is a diabetic and the galloping thirst Pd
been walking around with is one of the
symptoms. He said he'd check it; then they
wheeled me to the cardiac ward, stuck an
LV. into my hand, glued suction cups to
my chest so my heartbeat would register
on a monitor, took my blood and left.

For the next several hours, I lay there
watching the tracings of my heart on the
monitor. This is exactly the TV show no
man over 40 ever wants to see, 1 thought
All of us have known otherwise strong,
healthy men who dropped dead on their
water skis or in a handball court, and after
a certain number of those stories, you

can't help thinking of your heart as a lump
of unstable plastic explosive that may be
set off by no more than a good laugh. My
cings looked steady, but that didn't
make me feel any beuer. If my heart had
seized up on me, even momentarily, God
knows Га earned it, drinking and doping
and smoking and worrying the way I do.

The doctor came by that evening and
said the blood studies showed no evidence
of an attack but that I'd have to stay five
days for him to be sure. I wondered how it
had jumped from overnight to five days,
but I didn't want the you-gonna-die lec-
ture again, so 1 let it go and asked about
the blood sugar. A little high. he said, but
he wasn't going to worry about that till he
was positive about the heart. I pushed him
to give me the odds that I'd had an attack
He danced around the question, and when
I got petulant with him about it and about
the fact that I needed to get word to my
friends that I was alive, he ended our talk
and sent the nurse in with ten milligrams
of Valium, a dose that was delivered from
then on every four hours, whether I was
asleep or awake

When the doctor came in the next
morning, 1 went after him like an aquar-
ium shark that isn’t being properly fed. 1
told him that I wanted facts, that I wanted
to be in touch with friends, that he had to
quit being coy with me

“What's five days up against your life?”
he said. “You must learn to relax." Then
he suggested that one way to do that was
to develop a personal relationship with
Jesus, and that's pretty much the momen
at which I snapped. 1 got up quietly,
pulled the needle out of my hand, tore the
suction cups off my chest and started
dressing. Nurses flew in from everywhere:
the doctor told me he wouldn't be respon-
sible; then he said, “This is your life you're
ing." I told him Pd rather die in the
parking lot than spend another ten min-
utes in his care.

The cold, sunny air in front of the hospi.
tal went up my nose and into my spirits
like cocaine. I sat on my suitcase to wait
for a cab and smoked a cigarette. Then I
tested my heart with a big id laugh.

The next day, in Chicago, the doctors
ran all the tests I'd had in New York and
confirmed what I already knew: heart lik
a new Timex. The real problem was the
blood sugar—adult-onset diabetes. And I
suppose if 1 owe anything to the folks at
int Offramp, it's that the truth,
hard as it was, came as a great relief.

Sony introduces the audio

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THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR

The letter from M. R. (The Playboy Advi-

sor, December) concerning stimulation of
the male nipples is of great interest to me.
While still in my early teens, I discovered
that I could attain an immediate erection
by pinching and fondling my nipples. I
doubt that many men can achieve orgasm
from such stimulation alone, but it is а fan-
tastic form of foreplay. 1 have never been
embarrassed to ask my sex partners to
massage, lick and suck my breasts. All of
them have granted my requests, and they
seemed to enjoy the experience. My favor-
ite ritual leading to intercourse involves
my wife's performing fellatio on me while I
work on my nipples. Rather than sending
conflicting signals to my nervous system,
this simultaneous stimulation increases
the sensation in my cock and my breast
Several minutes of dual action leaves mi
a state of absolute ecstasy, and my arousal
level is at a peak. 1 am happy to see that
PLAYBOY endorses breast action for men as
well as for women. If every unwilling male
puts aside any macho hang-up he has
about this unmanly approach to sex, he
will discover a wonderful erogenous zone
above his belt.—T. T., Dallas, Texas.

Thanks for the tips.
Wi, girlfriend and 1 are tennis nuts, and
ig to think of something really
special to get her for her birthday. I figure
a surprise trip to Wimbledon this summer
wouldn't be too shabby, and Pd like to
know if it's possible to just show up
in London and get seats on the spot, or
do I have to make plans months in ad-
vance?— T. M., Boston, Massachusetts.
Tickets for Wimbledon, scheduled this year
for June 24 to July 7, are distributed by the
All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet
Club, which runs the tournament. Most of
the reserved seats are allocated by random
drawings, for which you can write for an
application to the club at 19 Church Road,
Wimbledon, London SW19. The ballot (as
they call the drawing) is held every March,
which means you're too late to apply this
year, but don't. despair. Keith Prowse and
Co., Lid., an outfit best known as a seller of
London theater tickets, is also the official
overseas tour operator for the Wimbledon
fortnight. Prices range from $369 per person
for the first week of matches to $1899 for a
tour that takes in the men’s quarter finals,
men's finals and ladies’ semifinals. (Prices do
not include air fare.) For more information,
contact Prowse at 234 West 44h Street, New
York, New York 10036 (800-223-4446 or
212-398-1430), but we'd suggest you do so
pronto, since Centre Court ducats go quickly.
If you just want tickets (without the land
package), contact Abbey Box Office, 1775

Broadway, Suite 530, New York, New York
10019 (212-265-7800). Prices are sleep
(they'll probably set you back $72 to $450
per), but at least your girlfriend will know it’s
not a backhanded compliment.

ММ. are writing this letter to you in the
hope that you will publish it in your maga-
zine. We believe that your readers will
enjoy it and may even get some good ideas
from it. It all happened when our class
had an orgy after a school party. We must
say that it was probably the most success-
ful orgy ever, and we know that everyone
had fun. Here are some of the most inter-
esting and erotic things that happened: (1)
The first thing we did was to gather every-
body (about 28 people) into the smallest
room in the house. (2) For the first half
hour or so, we let people do whatever they
wanted, wherever they wanted to; and by
the time everyone had arrived, everything
was going as planned. Let the games
begin! (3) When everybody had arrived,
we announced that we would start the con-
test. Each team consisted of two people
(male and female, of course) and was
given a container of yogurt. Then one of
the partners spread yogurt all over the
other person. At the sound of the signal,
the partner licked all the yogurt off. The
first team to finish won a box of condoms
and the second a bottle of Spanish-fly
drops. All in all, the night went very well,
and nobody left alone —J. W. M., O. A
S, F O, B..K., J. E. H, V. B.O, G.S.

O. K. A. RT. , H. M. O., K.J
Oslo, Norway
Why do we hear about these parties after

Ss Gils

they happen? Come on, guys. We like yogurt,
loo.

{т not a card-carrying car enthusiast,
but I do like to read magazine articles
(especially yours) and auto ads to keep up
on what's new and interesting on the mar-
ket. I consider myself fairly knowledgeable
technically, but I'm a little confused on
car handling and the related terminology.
What, exactly, is handling, and what do
auto writers mean by oversteer, under-
steer, neutral handling, etc2—F. H.,
Topeka, Kansas.

The word handling, as used by (ahem)
knowledgeable auto writers and drivers,
essentially refers to how a vehicle responds to
its driver's input and what it does when
pushed to its limit of control. It includes a
number of intangibles: how it feels at speed
and in fast corners, how stable and forgiving
it is at or near its limit and how well it com-
municates to the driver (through the seat and
steering wheel) what it's doing. It also takes
into consideration such measurable things
as skid-pad performance (sustained speed
around a given circle), speed through a
specific back-and-forth “slalom” maneuver,
lane-change exercises and more, Essentially,
its a function of tires, suspension, steer-
ing, weight distribution and other design fac-
lors. Handling is definitely not, as some
believe, how easy a vehicle is to drive or to
park. An oversteering vehicle has lost traction
at its rear tires, and the resulting skid causes
it to turn more than you want it lo. Con-
versely, an understeering vehicle turns less
ihan you intend, because its front tires have
lost traction. Most cars are designed lo
understeer at the limit of control, because
untrained drivers can deal with that better. A
neutral-handling vehicle tends to lose trac-
lion at both ends simultaneously and slide
perfectly sideways at its cornering limit, a
condition that many skilled drivers consider
ideal.

For some time, my girlfriend and I have
been pursuing a solution to our problem
without any success, and since we didn't
feel that “Dear Abby” would be too recep-
tive, we decided to write to you in hopes of
some legitimate help with an honest prob-
lem. We have been going together for quite
some time and enjoy a very active sex
life—not only physically but verbally.
Over the years, describing our fantasies
has played an enjoyable part in our love-
making. After much discussion, we have
agreed that the pre-eminent fantasy is of
adding another woman to our lovemaking.
However, we are at a loss as to how to
accomplish our goal. We considered
answering ads in so-called swingers’ mag-
azines, but we have quite a few doubts

PLAYBOY

about them. Our work docs not permit us
to cruise the bars trying to pick somebody
up—certainly a risky thing to do—
nor do we care to approach a professional.
And we certainly don't want to approach
any of our friends or co-workers. We have
considered renting an apartment in an
adult complex and using it for socializing
with the single ladies of the complex. How-
ever, we consider this risky, as we would
be leasing a residence that we would use
infrequently at best; and, of course, as
with anything else, there is no guarantee of
success. So we are at a dead end and need
some help. If you have any suggestions, we
would certainly appreciate your guid-
ance.—]. W., Los Angeles, Californi:
How to manage a ménage? Maybe we
should write a best seller called “The One-
Minute Ménager." Most of the triangles
we've heard about involve two women who
are already friends. Many women are curious
about other women; bringing up the subject
over drinks at lunch won't offend anyone.
Even in the Eighties, it's all right to publicly
acknowledge participation in sex, even kinky
sex. Another strategy is for you to pick up a
girl, take her home and have your girlfriend
pop out of the closet halfway through the first
act. Not as sophisticated (your new date, after
all, won't have consented to а package
deal)—but it's been known to work. You may
want to date another woman first, then intro-
duce the idea: Your place or ours? Think how
much fun the recruiting campaign could be.

M. there any point in installing a
subwoofer in my car (a medium-size
sedan)? I love full-range sound, but is the
interior of my car too small for handling
the long wave lengths of true, full bass
tones?— M. C., Albany, New York

There's an old canard in audio lore that
says you cannot get real bass tones in a space
that is smaller than the low-frequency wave
lengths of those bass tones. Not so. The easiest
proof that bass can be produced in an “impos-
sibly small" space is the existence of head-
phones. The important thing in bass
production is to get a diaphragm to vibrate at
the required frequencies and then to couple
those vibrations with your ears. With head-
phones, the coupling is direct. With speakers
7n rooms or cars, the coupling occurs via the
prevailing acoustics of the space involved.
That factor can either help or hinder the per-
ception of whatever bass is being pumped out
by the speaker system. In any event, the better
bass you start with, the better you are likely to
hear it in any environment. A subwoofer, cor-
rectly installed and adequately powered, can
help the stereo in a car. If it sounds rough or
overpowering, you can simply turn down the
bass-tone control or—beiter yel—patch in an
equalizer, which can really bring things to a
fine tonal balance.

W have been living with my girlfriend for
about three years now. We are both 36 and
divorced. Our sex life was once a man’s
dream. She used to drop everything just to

be with me. We would make love any time
or place we pleased. It was as if she
couldn't get enough of me. It was great.
Last year, she started going to nursing
school, and things changed. My sex drive
is just as strong as before, if not stronger.
(She puts most of your centerfold girls to
shame.) She says I smother her now. She
doesn’t enjoy sex as much as before. She
doesn’t want any other man, just me, but
looks at sex as something she has to do.
She claims she must be going through her
change of life. She smokes heavily and
drinks moderately. Could any of those fac-
tors have an effect on her sex drive? Can I
buy any drugs to curb my sex drive, so as
to make our sex lives more compatible? 1
don't want to lose my sex drive altogether,
just slow it down a little. I don’t want
any other woman, just her. What can I
do?—M. B., Detroit, Michigan.

We wonder if her heavy-smoking-and-
drinking pattern is symptomatic of a deeper
problem or frustration. If she is under a lot of
pressure with her school schedule or is feeling
anxious, this could be a causal factor in her
lack of interest in sex. There aren't any over-
the-counter drugs you. can take to suppress
your sex drive, and we think it would be more
constructive for both of you to discuss your
feelings about this matter. Try to be as sup-
portive as you can, and see if you can't nego-
late this impasse to your mutual satisfaction.
You might try a vacation. Take her away from
the pressure for a few days. If the spark
doesn't return, it may be time for both of you
to move on.

BÀ, what physiological process do the
genital organs of a man and woman
engaged in intercourse seem occasionally
to undergo a marked increase in tempera-
ture? This has happened to me on an
irregular basis and has always been a
mutual expcrience—my partner has
invariably mentioned it to me each time.
The sensation is pronounced. It docs not
seem to affect the temperature ofthe rest of
our bodies. It is unmistakable when it does
happen. I know it must happen to others
but suspect that it does not happen to
everyone. Reference to heat is a part of our
sex language (hot date, hot pants, etc.)
Two of my partners used the term “hot
poker.” 1 have never seen this mentioned
in print.—W. M. F., Fort Worth, Texas.

The perceived rise in body heat is most
likely due to increased blood circulation.
After all, it is blood flow to the penis that
causes an erection, so you are nol alone in
feeling hot. Blood also collects in the female
pelvic area. Combine that with a little friction
and you have the makings of a fire.

IM) husband and 1 are in our 20s and
have an active sex life—that is, if 1 choose
it. Over the past several months, thc only
time we have made love has been when 1
initiated it. My husband turns me on
greatly. Sometimes it takes all I've got to
keep from tearing all his clothes off and
devouring him; such is the feeling of lust. I

have sexy lingerie, X-rated movies, books
and other sex aids, such as a vibrator and
equipment and handcuffs. I have used all
of these at various times to excite and
please him. 1 have tried everything from
caring, passionate sex to wild,
uninhibited, painless bondage. He claims
I am a nymphomaniac because I want to
have sex more than he docs and complains
that all we do is make love and that he
never gets any relief. But wherever our
lovemaking session begins, he will always
lie back and revel in the fellatio 1 love to
give. So even though he complains that 1
always want too much sex, he masturbates
daily to dirty movies, books, ctc., and
loves for me to do all the work during sex.
He does not "perform" except for inter-
course. The problem is, that is all he does.
He performs no cunnilingus, no special
treats or favors, no attempts to satisfy me.
He has assured me that neither I nor
my body turns him off. The rare times he
does take the initiative are when he hand-
си me to the bed and we become
involved in a painless but definitely
dominant/submissive session of sex. | am
getting very frustrated. I am tempted to
turn to another man for the attention and
satisfaction I deserve. What is to be said
about a man who claims his wife does not
turn him off yet complains that she wants
100 much sex, who masturbates daily but
is too tired (or whatever) to make love? 1
would appreciate vour expert opinion on
this—Mrs. C. K., Raleigh, North
Carolina.

We'd say that there's a distinct difference in
sexual appetites in your marriage, and that is
gomg to lead to further problems as time goes
on. Of course, all we have is your version of
the situation; but if it's accurate, it does
appear that your husband isn't really making.
an effort to please you. He does have an appe-
tite for masturbation and the occasional
chain job. Maybe you should try mutual mas-
turbation. Ask him what he fantasizes about
when he's alone. There may be a role for you.
It seems to us that counseling could be of ben-
efit to both of you. If your husband won't
accompany you, go alone. We think you need.
lo discuss your frustrations unth a trained
professional before deciding on your course of
action. A good place to start in your search
Jor answers is the American Association of
Sex Educators, Counselors and Therapists,
11 Dupont Circle N.W., Suite 220, Wash-
ington, D.C. 20036. Write to them for the.
name of a qualified counselor in your area.

All reasonable questions—from fashion,
food and drink, stereo and sports cars to dating
problems, taste and etiquette —will be person-
ally 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.

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The flavor is deep, rich and adventurous...
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DEAR PLAYMATES

F he question of the month:

Have you sometimes said yes to sex
when you really meant no?

li has todo with timing, and 1 think we've
all sometimes said yes when we meant no.
How about the times you've said yes when
you weren't in
the mood? But
you go ahcad
with sex any-
way and it
turns. out fine,
because you get
in the mood
and enjoy your-
self after all. 1
think we all
have to use
mental stimu-
lation when
we're having sex and more so on those
occasions when you start out not in the
mood.

PUT 4D T7,

LORRAINE MICHAELS
APRIL. 1981

М... because to me, sex is still sacred
It's still the ultimate expression of love
Um a very sex-

ual person, and 4
І like to show
my emotions
and feelings
I've never had
sex with any-
one I didn't
love, and be-
cause of that,
it’s always been
casy for me to
say yes. Гус
never had sex
with a stranger, so I've never been in sit-
uation where Гуе said yes when I really
meant no.

ARTHUR
JANUARY 1982

Sometimes 1 have. 1 guess 1 always
think that somewhere inside every person
is something nice to learn more about. I
think there are some people who can get to
know you only
through sex. So
sometimes 1
give a man a
chance that
way. And to tell
you the truth,
you can find
out a lot about
someone sexu-
ally, and it's a
smaller price to
pay than in-
vesting time
and emotion in a guy who turns out to be a
jerk. Of course, you have to have a basic
attraction to him to begin with, or you
wouldn't be out with him in the first place.
Right?

PENNY BAKER
JANUARY 1984

WM iiini everyone hawisaid ya sometimes
when she meant no. I have. You get your-
self into these situations where you really
like a guy and want to be friends but
he wants more,
so sometimes 1
just go ahead

nd have sex. It
removes a lot
of pressure. 1
would never go
to bed with a
guy 1 had no
feelings for or a
guy I found rc-
pulsive. 1 would
go to bed with
someone I want-
ed to be close to but maybe his timing was
different from mine. So what I've really
done is given in on how soon I might have
made the decision for myself.

PIE

ROBERTA VASQUEZ
NOVEMBER 1984

Ween 1 was younger, I used to say yes
and mean no. It seemed as if you couldn't
get a man to talk to you until you went to
bed with him.
He just couldn't.
get past the fact
that he was try-
ing to get you
in bed, so it was.
just easier to go
ahead and do it
so you could
have a conver-
sation. But as 1
got older, I d
covered that it
was very unful-
filling. Now I also know that no can mean
not right now but maybe later. Or in a
few minutes. Or maybe after some heavy

petting.
(acom

É TRACY М

rd осто!

ARO
1983

М, never, Sex isa really personal thing,
and I have to be very turned on. I can usu-
if

ally tell at the beginning of an evenin;
there is going to
be any chance
that a sexual
situation might
develop. If there
isn'tany chance Д
{ог that, then

it’s just going to

be a date and

good night I

don't see sex as

a chore. I scc

it as a treat,

and if Pm not

turned on and I have no sexual feel
the guy, then I just don't do it

gra

LIZ STEWART
JULY 1984

Send your questions to Dear Playmates,
Playboy Building, 919 North Michigan Ave-
nue, Chicago, Illinois 60611. We won't be
able to answer every question, but we'll try.

PLAYBOY

Come upto Kool

Kool gives you extra coolness
for the most refreshing sensation in smoking.

Asensation beyond the ordinary.

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

Filter Kings, 17
av. per cigarette, FTC

В mg. nicotine;
‘1.1 mg. nicotine
Report Mar. ‘84.

THE PLAYBOY FORUM

a continuing dialog on contemporary issues between playboy and its readers

THE SILENT GENERATION RETURNS

I attend a large Southern university that
has a good football team, lots of healthy
young women eagerly pursued by equally
healthy young men, a well-manicured
campus and a forbidden intellectual zone
(F.1.Z.) about three light-years in diame-
ter. Sometimes, when Um sober, it
depresses me. Recently, for example, while
a liberal-arts class (remember them?) was
discussing the press platoon that Emperor
Reagan will henceforth “allow” to accom-
pany surprise invasions of banana repub-
lics, we got into an argument over the
scope of reportorial freedom. The Reagan
youth contingent, dutifully clad in khaki
trousers and navy polos, felt that, as one
business major said, “there are times when
we shouldn't know everything about what
the Government does.”

From that followed corollary arguments
that “Knowing too much can be bad for
you" and “I get sick of all the bad news
anyway." In short, the hot topic post- 1984
is the right not to know. Although this is
just a legal variant of the ancient wisdom
that ignorance is bliss, the so-called infor-
mation age may have finally reversed
itself. Perhaps with the current Adminis-
tration, heroic delense of willful stupidity
is appropriate; but 1 wonder: Is this a
national phenomenon (60 percent of 18-to-
25-year-olds support Reagan) or are we
just lucky down here?

Kellam Burch
Mobile, Alabama

BODY SNATCHING

As the debate continues on the abortion
question, I have ed to find discussion of
what to my mind is a central issue. There
is a growing beli
carnation in this country and considerable
evidence to back it up. The assumed rights
of the unborn seem to be defended by the
Right-to-Lifers from the preposterous
viewpoint that there is only one life for
each soul. If that were true, then the
Right-to-Life coalition would have a dra-
atic cause, indeed. From the view of
lifetimes for a soul, it is the pro-
abortion side that wins the argument—:
body is a vehicle that can be selected or
replaced. The child's soul can just go out
and find another body and perhaps be
born into better circumstances.

A child has two expectations: to have a
body and to have a good life. Pro-abortion
advocates say quality of life is foremost,
while anti-abortion advocates say any
body and any quality will do. From the
viewpoint of an unborn soul, does the

prospect of being abandoned, unloved,
unwanted and poorly endowed balance
out with the difficulty of obtaining another
body? Can a lawyer expect to represent
the true interests of an unborn child in the
face of monumental ignorance of the
child's motivations or desires? Does
this particular soul require suffering
Hell’s Kitchen for its cosmic development?
It is just as incredible an argument to pre-
sume that a fetus has a right to life, as if
ghosts have rights senior to those of human.
beings. A thousand erudite questions can

There are times
when we shouldn't know
everything about what
the Government does.’”

be asked in this vein. Personally, I would
like to repossess the property that I have
accumulated in this lifetime when I come
around again. Do I have that right? Lama
corporeal being, yet can I exert my sup-
posed right to life upon some woman to
bear me and sustain me in a new life? Does
my right overwhelm hers? [ think not.
Why, then, should an unborn baby be scen
to have senior rights?

With rights come responsibilities, and
the responsibilities are those of the
mother. She has the burden, along with
her husband, of sacrificing for and raising

[ y

that child. When the Right-to-Life people
can demonstrate that a soul has only one
time around on this earth, that is the day I
will go anti-abortion. In the meantime, a
platform of ignorance is, as always, a
grand place from which to rage.

Leon Lundquist

Los Angeles, California

WELFARE ABORTIONS

It was insane enough to make me think
about changing my citizenship when I
read that the New Right had successfully
prohibited Medicare from paying for abor-
tions, but when I read in a newspaper that
a favorite Republican budget-cutting tar-
get is the Women, Infant and Children's
Feeding Program, it really made my head
spin. The article quoted Massachusetts
Representative Bamey Frank as having
said that the conservatives believe that life
begins at conception and ends at birth,
and that about wraps it up.

What is wrong with these people? On
the one hand, they insist that every welfare
pregnancy be brought to term, and on the
other, they try to make sure that the lives
of those children will be as miserable as
possible. Irs enough to make a person
turn socialist. These conservative politi-
cians might change their views if they
attempted to espouse their positions while
tied naked to a lamppost in a typical
inner-city neighborhood.

Donna Williams
, New York

LOGICAL EXTREMES

In discussing the abortion issue, my wife
and I decided that Right-to-Life propo-
nents don't really mean that all fetuses,
like human beings, have a right to life. If
that were true, then everyone would ulti-
mately have his rights violated once. No,
they must mean that no human being has
ht to deprive another human being or
a fetus of life. Or, if they are also pro c.
tal puni: aps they mean that
no human being has a right to deprive
another human bcing (or a fetus) of life
unless 12 other human beings (or fetuses),
chosen at random, say so.

In any event, my wife and I decided that
the Right-to-Life proponents have a
point. Therefore, we are now concerned
about the more serious question of what
other legal rights and responsibilities a
fetus, like any other human being, has. For
example:

1. If а woman conceives on December
31 of any given year, can she take an IRS
exemption for that year? And if she can,

PLAYBOY

and she is not married, does she take it as
a single person or as an unmarried head of
household?

2. How many exemptions does she take?
If only one, can she go back and amend
her tax form if it turns out to be two? How
many does she get if one is stillborn?

3. Who gets the exemptions if she is not
marricd?

4. If she has sexual intercourse two days
after conception, is her mate guilty of child
molestation?

5. If she is negligently involved in an
accident, killing thc fetus, is she guilty of
negligent homicide?

6. Do the rest of us have to add nine
months to our age? And if so, does the
Government have to rebate nine months’
worth of payments to people on Social
Security?

7. Ifa pregnant woman is jailed, can the
fetus sue for false imprisonment?

8. If the queen of England has twins, for
the purpose of succession to the throne,
which one is considered to have been con-
ceived first?

"Those are but a few of the thorny ques-
tions that we believe this nation should
immediately begin addressing. Let's quit
all this nitpicking and get on with it

This is a very small town, so
please. . ..
(Name withheld by request)
Mesquite, Texas
MAPLE-LEAF BLUES

I've come across a local casc that makes
must reading for Forum readers, though
whether for your Dumb Cop of the Year
award or for the Police Paranoia. Inhibits
Civil Liberties Department, 1 don't know.

It seems that a couple of overzealous
police officers came onto a man's private
property and stripped reddish-purple
leaves from a suspicious plant they found
there. These public protectors identified
the plant as marijuana and sent the leaves
to the state crime laboratory, which,
according to one of the officers, confirmed
the suspicion

The officers returned with a warrant,
confiscated more leaves and confronted the
plants’ owner—who, in turn, confronted
them with the truth: that the plants were,
in fact, dwarf Japanese red maples. The
man has sued the officers for distui his
peace of mind.

As a biologist and state of Mai
ist, 1 can attest that the miniature species
Acer palmatum has characteristic leaves
that do not resemble Cannabis but, in fact,
look like, uh, maple leaves.

Gregan Wortman
Greenville, Maine

ine chem-

SUPERMARKET CENSORSHIP

1 thought 1 might bring to your atten-
tion a local group that is waging a cam-
paign to improve our local “decency” by
picketing stores that sell pLaysoy and other
adult magazines. This self-appointed com-

mittee to "cleanse" our society has pres-
sured several supermarket chains and
some smaller stores to remove PLAYBOY.

Its clear message is truly an unfortunate
sign of our times: There will be no more tol-
erance in our society for alternative opin-
ions. If we don't like what you do, say or
publish, we will threaten, intimidate or do
violence against you until you either con-
form or cease to exist.

If a vegetarian group picketed their
stores demanding that meat be removed
from the shelves as a threat to America's
digestive tract, would these companies
cave in so quickly? And if stores can be
bullied into removing PLaygoy, how long
will it be until we can read only the bland
and noncontroversial magazines these self-
selected guardians of decency would have
us read?

Whatever happened to freedom of
choice? If you believe that pLaysoy or adult
magazines or Charmin toilet-paper ads
are evil, then fine; don't buy those prod-
ucts. Га defend with my life your right to
think, say or believe anything you please,
but please don't try to force your beliefs on
me. "Tolerance has been and must remain

"Tolerance must remain
a bench mark of America if
we are lo thrive as a
creative democracy.”

a bench mark of America if we are to
thrive as a creative democracy.

I'm sure you must be used by now to
defending yourself against stores that
remove PLAYBOY after threat of picketing. 1
only hope your readers will have the cour-
age to write to store owners to protest such
sniveling cowardice on a corporate level,
or we're all in trouble.

Paul L. Levy
Seattle, Washington

We hope so, too. It may please you to know
that these kinds of boycotts across the country
have flopped faster than you can say “Holier
than thou." As for the best way to make these
far-righteous types go away, do what we do:
If we can't find a magazine we're looking for,
we complain to the management.

RELIGIOUS IMPERIALISM.

I have a friend at school who recently
immigrated from Denmark. Her intelli-
gence is illustrated by her appreci
your magazine. Her youthful n:
shown by her surprise after reading the
Playboy Editorial “The Indecent Crusade”
(October). So 1 referred her to the 30th
Anniversary Issue and The Idea Killers
(January), by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

She was even more surprised to hear
about my own high school, where the head
of the English department walked out in

1972 in the middle of the school year. He
had submitted the curriculum for graduat-
ing seniors, which included A Tale of Two
Cities, For Whom the Bell Tolls and Johnny
Got His Gun. The curriculum was refused
by the “elected” school board. Those
books were removed from the school
library because they allegedly introduced
our children to extramarital sex, premar-
ital sex and unnatural sex acts. When
the school board threatened to officially
censure the teacher, he quit, and he's now
the successful editor of a local newspaper.

My wife told our Danish friend about
incidents around the country in which
self-righteous individuals have gathered
together in churchyards and parking lots
and burned those books that offended
them,

Our friend was appalled! Here she is, an
immigrant from a country that faces the
Tron Curtain, learning about the always
vehement and sometimes violent repres-
sion of ideas in the “land of the free.” You
see, in Europe, children are taught the
horrors of fascism, and they know of the
oppression under which others are forced
to live in a controlled society. They are
taught that democracy is our insurance
against enforcing the ideas of a few on
the majority.

Religious imperialism is an aptly coined
phrase. However, the perpetuators of any
restriction of free thought are not necessar-
ily religious by mature. Self-righteous,
indignant, obstinate, obnoxious and usu-
ally hypocritical, to be sure; but religious
convictions are not prerequisite.

I'm soon to be a parent myself, and
the issue of education and educating chil-
dren is very much on my mind. My own
parents have given me good examples—
such as defending my right to submit a
sixth-grade book report on an Ian Fleming
novel. Sull, no matter what has been done,
or what will be done, my children will
make up their own minds. They will exer-
cise their own free will as God intended.
My duty as a parent is to ensure that they
have a to exercise and the freedom to
do so as individuals.

Steven C. White
Atascadero, California

PRAYERS AND PAGANS

I salute The Playboy Forum for its intelli-
gent, tasteful and open discussion of
"Prayer in Schools" in your January issue.
Our Constitution gives us the right to free-
dom of religion. This means not only free-
dom to believe and practice our faiths as
we sec fit but freedom to do so un-
hindered, unmolested and unpersccutcd.
As most of us who have children or have
thought of having them can attest, we
would not lightly give up the right to rear
them as we choose.

Yet the present Administration seems
about to sanction the violation of one of
our primary constitutional rights if it per-
sists in allowing or encouraging prayer in
public schools. I don't intend this letter to

FORUM NEWSFRONT

what's happening in the sexual and social arenas

PRICE OF PRURIENCE

CARSON city—The Nevada Public
Service Commission has ordered the tele-
phone company in that state to refund
money to customers who didn't realize that
they were incurring an extra charge by
calling a sexually explicit “dial-a-porn”
number. Some 150,000 calls were made
to the number during its first month of
operation, and the commission said that

Nevada Bell had failed to conduct an
effective advertising campaign advising
that calls to certain recorded-message serv-
ices, including those with pornographic
messages, were billed to the caller at costs
ranging from 20 cents to ten dollars.

PILL POWER

CLAYTON, MISSOURI—ZÁ St. Louis
County judge has ruled that excessive use
of over-the-counter diet pills rendered a
man not responsible for his actions in
repeatedly stabbing three people with a
screwdriver. In a nonjury trial, three psy-
chiatrists testified that the 26-year-old
defendant apparently had become psy-
chotic after taking “heavy and sustained”
doses of the pills for about 30 days before.
the attacks, which were not fatal. The man
was ordered to undergo treatment at a
state mental hospital.

СОКЕ DECLARED ADDICTIVE

WASHINGTON, D.c—Under a modified
definition of addiction, cocaine has been
declared one of the most “powerfully
addictive” substances known, according to
the National Institute of Drug Abuse. The
traditional definition focused on the physi-
cal dependency and withdrawal symptoms
associated mainly with the opiates and a
few other drugs. The new definition recog-
nizes other nervous-system responses,

including what a NIDA report called
“compulsive self-administration.” In ad-
dition, one NIDA official said that
about 6000 coke-related emergency-room
admissions had occurred nationwide dur-
ing the first nine months of 1984, exceed-
ing the total number reported during the
previous year. This was believed to reflect
not only more cocaine use but more fre-
quent use in combination with other drugs
and more free-basing—inhaling fumes
from burning a distilled form of the drug.

GOD SQUAD

BEAUMONT, TEXAS—A slate trooper who
allegedly forced a 17-year-old to sign a
statement confessing his sins and dedicat-
ing his life to God is being sued by the
teenager for $750,000. The officer, who
arrived after the youth had crashed his
vehicle into a utility pole, reportedly
preached to him for two hours and then
cosigned the “confession” with the name
Jesus. According to the suit, the list of sins
included “sassing back Mom," “stealing
candy" and “cheating on tests."

TISSUE ISSUE

SAGRAMENTO— The California Supreme
Court has rejected the request of the Cath-
olic League for Civil and Religious
Rights to be allowed to bury ceremonially
some 16,500 aborted fetuses that were
found preserved in a storage container
after an incineration firm went bank-
rupt. The Los Angeles district attorney's
office has had custody of the remains since
1982, when groups on both sides of the
abortion issue started wrangling over
whether the remains should be treated as
human tissue or as human beings. The
attorney for the clinic that had performed
the abortions complimenied the California
court for respecting the separation of
church and state, but the attorney for the
Catholic group said the decision might be
appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court.

PORN AND PREJUDICE

WASHINGTON, D.C—A controversial Fed-
eral study of possible links between por-
nography and youth violence has been
scaled back to half its original $798,000
budget after widespread criticism that it
was a waste of money. The dean of Ameri-
can University’s school of education,
which was overseeing the research,
resigned during the dispute over the qual-
ifications of the research director and the
manner in which the contract was let.
Some critics argued thai the study would
reflect only preconceived positions of the
Reagan Administration.

WOMEN DO IT, MEN DO IT

SALT LAKE COUNTY, UTAH— When sex is
for sale, men aud women are now treated
equally under the law. Counsel for a
woman charged with prostitution argued
that the wording of the local ordinance
discriminated against his client. The court
found the woman guilty; however, local
officials agreed that a change was needed
and have amended the wording to person
instead of female.

SUCH A DEAL

WOLCOTT, NEW YORK— The historic 173-
year-old Wolcott Hotel, midway between
Syracuse and Rochester, which had been
doing less than land-office business, has
been playing to a full house every weekend
since its proprietor hit on а "booze and bed
and breakfast" plan to lure customers.
Serious patrons of the hotel bar can sign
up to spend the night, receive a free bottle.
of champagne delivered in an ice bucket
and be greeted in the morning with a Con-
tinental breakfast. The proprietor, Earl
Hoskins, said the arrangement not only is
good for business but helps keep drinking
drivers off the road,

HAPPY HOOKERS

SAN CARLOS, CALIFORNIA—A survey of
100 San Francisco—area hookers by a
private detective who runs a criminology
consulting firm has found responses that
tend to contradict some of the conven-
tional wisdom about prostitution. Eighty-
two of the women described themselves as

self-employed, 71 said that they enjoyed
their work and some said they earned as
much as $74,000 a year. More than half
said they wanted to stay in the business.

PLAYBOY

criticize any Judaeo-Christian beliefs;
however, I must say that I consider any
display of public proselytizing not only
objectionably pompous but arrogant,
assuming and, in a word, invasive.

For the record, I am pagan and practice
a way of life that I believe to be reverent
and responsible toward nature. [ will
bring up my offspring in that way of life
until they are old enough to choose their
own way without my interference. In the
meantime, I will not have them pressured
into any creed to which my household does
not adhere.

Just how would the Christians feel if the
situation were reversed? “Today, children,
we're going to enact a rite to the Mother
Goddess. Oh, yes, Johnny and Sally are
Christian . . . well, you two may just sit at
the back of the room, quietly, and watch
the rest of the class. Now, of course, you
may participate if you want to.”

Since when have we had a state religion
in this country? It seems to me that we'd
all be better off if the Christians kept their
sins and their Devil to themselves, let their
Christ shine forth in their lives instead of
their tongues and let my children go. Let’s
keep it the land of the free, shall we?

(Name withheld by request)

Arcata, California

Amen.

LADIES FIRST

Women's initiating sexual relationships
is argued about as though it were a new
phenomenon. Some of the writers obvi-
ously have not read their Old Testament,

Since the age of 18, I can modestly state,
I have had мотет iate sexual relation-
ships with me. They have used flattery,
eye signals and body language. Гуе had
no trouble getting their messages. Those

BUCKING THE DIVINE WIND

By Michael Delp

Such a poetic tribute to ovulation and
ejaculation is rare in these (and, probably,
other) pages but is no less than we might
expect from the new director of creative
writing at the Interlochen Arts Academy
in Michigan.

Once a month, one egg drops into
place and, on the average, per ejacu-
lation, 200,000,000 to 300,000,000
sperm get a chance to be the first one
in. Sperm are the metaphorical equiva-
lent of the Marines hitting a beach-
head. They have done this for
millennia, and they do it well. It is a
part of them. They are raised and
groomed with the express purpose of
being the kamikazes of the body: of
rushing in, without regard for their own
lives, to die so that others may live and
flourish, Evolution teaches us, among
other things, that old patterns, the
maps of behavior, are imprinted deep
inside us. As sentient creatures, we are
gifted with the ability to somehow con-
trol a good deal of those evolutionary
urges; i.e., most of us would not jump
Farrah Fawcett on the street. Rather,
we will settle back in our beds and pull,
so to speak, the fantasy toward our
dreams, But the imprinting of that
desire to somehow be raised for the per-
fect strike is something so deep, so over-
whelming, that we cannot totally
negate it.

It is no accident that the old imprint
of this mindless sperm struggling to get
to the single waiting egg has mush-
roomed into our consciousness as men.
We are ponderously and hopelessly the
victims of this old and ancient path-
way. We stalk and kowtow, drool and
bait. We plunge into a void of female

innuendo and glances fraught with sex-
val lightning and, for the most part,
come out in the dark.

How else can we explain our patient
waiting, the way our forefingers itch to
get beyond the edge of control, to feel
that old thrust and buck when the huge
sperm of the mind is thrashing its fla-
gellum in a frenzy known only to the
most fundamental worshipers? We
destroy ourselves in each union, know-
ing there are millions more ready in the
body, stupidly lined up to oblige the
call. Yet, for all our weaknesses, we can
find comfort in the idea that we are pro-
grammed, plotted like so many word
processors to edit, to find the right
pathway, the right DOS command to
get on, lcaping, into the breach.

The sad part is that our minds are
really clouded with sperm. mentality.
We do wait too much. We do hawk
women when they lift a skirt just
enough to reveal a bit of tanned leg, or
we find ourselves in a threc-A м. frenzy
remembering the exact angle of a lip,
the way a button works against a
blouse. We dash ourselves against them
again and again, surely conscious that
once a single sperm enters the cgg, a
wall is formed around the ovum and
the rest of the boys must stand and die
at a locked gate.

It is all too much. And on those long
nights when my wife rides the white
torso of the perfect dream lover, his
entire body one huge sperm, a flagel-
lum three feet long and invincible, I
think of myself awash in the imperfec-
tion of the hunt, the chase and the inev-
itable kill, then roll toward her,
panting at the gate.

invitations have been aimed at various
degrees of intimacy, a lesson I eventually
learned.

1 am now 67. The incidence of
approaches has sadly diminished, but I
still get them occasionally.

Never have I resented, nor insulted, a
woman's approach, unless it became evi-
dent that she had no interest in me and
was only satisfying her own ego. That is
the true problem, for both sexes.

My wife insists that she never looks at
PLAYBOY, so you may publish my name.

Frank Hammer
Groveland, California

PRESSURE TO PERFORM

The enclosed clipping is the sort of item
you should be publishing in your Forum
Newsfront section. 105 from USA Today,
and the headline says, "RUNNING FOR LONG
DISTANCES MAY REDUCE MALE SEX DRIVE." It
reports on a Canadian study that found
that 31 men who ran 40 or more miles
each week had up to 30 percent lower lev-
els of testosterone and prolactin than 18
sedentary men.

You should be running such stories to
comfort people like me, who cannot cur-
rently accommodate the insatiable sexual
demands of girlfriends—for whom run-
ning seems to increase their horniness
manifold—and who think they could do
better if they got off their sedentary butts
and started pounding the ground. If it
were understood that running could reduce
their performance from the barely ac-
ceptable—to the negative range . . . !

Gerry MacDonald
Detroit, Michigan

ROADSIDE PROHIBITION

I don’t go out nights or weekends any-
more. I don’t visit my friends, go to the
movies or out to dinner or attend sports
events. Why? Because I am afraid
Because my state, in its infinite wisdom,
has seen fit to install a series of roadblocks,
so it can stop every car and checl
proper registration, for valid licenses and,
most of all, for signs of intoxication. One
such recent operation stopped more than
1000 cars; it netted ten D.W.Ls, three
expired registrations and one expired
license.

I believe that because of massive media
exposure, drunk driving has been exag-
gerated out of proportion. Since it looks
good in the papers for the police to say
“We caught so-and-so-many D.W.Ls,”
they are using measures that I believe are
unconstitutional.

It seems we are headed for a second Pro-
hibition. Movements are afoot to ban
happy hours, all-you-can-drink promo-
tions and similar devices How many
times must the lawmakers be shown that
legislating morality just doesn't work? Evi-
dently, the reason for all of this is to get
drunks off the road. Whether or not it
works remains to be seen, but

these

America comes home to Jim Beam.

PLAYBOY

overzealous methods have turned me into
one scared citizen.
Michael Durell
Milford, Connecticut

UNDER THE INFLUENCE
It seems to me that while PLAYBOY has,
over the years, maintained reasonable
positions on most pressing social issues,
your discussion of drunk driving has been
conspicuous only by its absence. 1 would
hate to think that the reason you have
neglected discussing the perils of drunk
driving is that liquor, beer and spirits ads
are featured so prominently in your pages.

Laura Penington

Montpelier, Vermont
As our mail shows, nol everybody agrees on
the best answer to the drunk-driving problem.
But we've always worked on the assumption
that our readers have enough good sense not
to drive while under the influence—and that
it’s not in our interest, nor in the liquor
industry's, to suggest otherwise. The liquor
industry is concerned enough to have formed
its own task force on the problem, in which
PLAYBOY participates. Our own campaign

DON’T LET
DRIVING DRUNK
END

THE GOOD LIFE.

to combat drunk driving has been used by the
National Highway Traffic Safety Adminis-
tration and several states. The kudos are nice,
but the main point is that driving drunk is
not part of the good life we believe in.

THE WORM TURNED

I read with some amusement the item in
the December Forum Newsfront about the
English community where some residents
are upset about “worm torture,” which
apparently involves luring the poor,
unsuspecting worms from the ground to be
measured. If they think that is torture,
what must they think of the barbaric sport
of fishing, in which some of those worms
are impaled on a (gasp!) steel shaft for the

purpose of Juring an equally unsuspecting
fish to his (or her) doom? There's torture!
I'm as much against cruelty as the next
man, but somehow, I just can’t get too
worked up over worm measuring. But
then, I'm not English, either.
Ronald K. Koons
Hanover Park, Illinois
Makes sense to us. But then again, we're
not worms, either.

ОРЕ OUR BACKS

In the Novernber elections, the conserv-
atives were once again proclaiming that
they wanted to get Government “off the
backs of the people.” Compared with their
archenemies, the liberals, how sincere are
they in this claim? To find out, I listed
some contemporary issues and asked,
“Who would want more, or less, Govern-
ment control?"

ив CON
Handguns more less
Abortion less more
National health

insurance more less
Prostitution less more
Consumer protection more less
Marijuana less more
Environmental

protection more less
Censorship of

foreign films less тоге
Redistribution of

income more less
Adult entertainment less more

I submit that the conservatives make a
preposterous claim. But more important,
it should be observed that all of the above
issues must be deliberated on their own
merits. Only a simpleton or a libertarian
would guide himself on the general princi-
ple of keeping Government uninvolved.

George Maeda
Holmdel, New Jersey

FLAMING YOUTH

As we all know, the youth of America
are morally depraved and fiscally
sponsible and well on their way to perdi-
tion. The good news is that we've always
been like that, evidently, and still seem to
make it. I concluded that after finding a
booklet titled The Younger Generation and
Its Attitude Toward Life, whose first page
includes the following statement:

We know all about the corruption
of modern youth, how the evils of
jazz, gin and sex—the Unholy
"Three—are leading the youngsters to
perdition. We know that there have
never been so many criminals (and
first-class criminals at that!) among
our boys and girls. We know that they
are more or less “a godless bunch,"
that they do not honor their fathers
and mothers, that thcy arc burning
themselves out in an endless orgy of
sensual pleasures instead of equip-

ping themselves for the task of propa-
gating the race and making way for a
better civilization. . . .

"The booklet was published in 1927,
meaning that those hell-bent teenagers are
now parents and grandparents and doing
their thing, which is to worry about pot
and rock instead of gin and jazz.

Robert Evans
Boston, Massachusetts

BACK TO LOREN
More research may be needed on the
flabbergasm, a rare, near-psychotic rap-
ture experienced after a string of unex-
pected megaorgasms. Symptoms include
stark, staring eyes and a comalike relaxa-
tion of orificial musculature, rendering the
unfortunate subject more prone to inva-
sion from unexpected quarters. Astrin-
gents do little or nothing to relieve this
condition, against which the sole defense
seems to be a blind faith in the future.
Bill Loren
Rockville, Maryland

WHINING WOMEN

It seems as if every time I flip on the
TV, pick up a magazine or go out to see a
movie, my consciousness is assaulted by
images of women as stupid, whining, help-
less and dependent creatures whose mei
tal energies are consumed by trivialities
ranging from existential dread of yellowing
linoleum kitchen floors to metaphysical
considerations of panty hose. To me, this
continuous mass-media torrent of negative
female images is infinitely more demean-
ing to women than even violent pornogra-
phy, simply because it is so universally
accepted and so blandly pervasive. Which
brings me to PLaYBOY. I have read feminist

tracts that attack your magazine. I think
that the women who spend their time criti-
cizing PLAYBOY are misdirecting their ener-
gies. Unlike the sleazy publications that
portray women only as sex objects, you do
not mingle nudity with cither violence or
stupidity. Unlike Madison Avenue and
Hollywood, your magazine does not por-
tray women as emotional wrecks whose
lives can be shattered by a broken finger-
nail as casily as by a broken date. Your
women are merely naked.

Iris Kwapinski

Annapolis, Maryland

Our women, madam, are mot "merely

naked.” In addition, they are beautiful, trim
and healthy —im compliance with an agree-
ment we signed many years ago with the
National Fitness Lobby.

he Playboy Forum" offers the opportu-
nity for an extended dialog between readers
and editors on contemporary issues. Address
all correspondence to The Playboy Forum,
Playboy Building, 919 North Michigan Ave-
nue, Chicago, Illinois 60611

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PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: WAYNE GR ETZKY

a candid conversation about life on and off the ice with the young
hockey superstar considered by many to be the world's best athlete

In keeping with the Pı.avBoy tradition of
interviewing heads of state, we bring you
Wayne Douglas Gretzky of Canada. For
those who don’t follow the puck, he is Jim
Thorpe on skates, Jesse Owens with a stick,
Babe Ruth in hockey shorts. Going by statis-
tics alone, Wayne Gretzky is the greatest ath-
lete of the 20th Century. Going by the polls,
he is more famous than everyone else in Can-
ada combined.

Gretzky doesn't have the flash of Bobby
Hull or Bobby Orr; he can't skate like Gilbert
Perreault or Guy Lafleur; he can't muscle
like Phil Esposito or Bryan Trottier; he’s not
a pure shooter, like Mike Bossy. Still, barring
injury, Gretzky will score more goals than
anyone else who has ever played hockey.
Gordie Howe holds the all-time scoring
record, with 1850 points. It took him 26
years to score them. Gretzky has earned more
than 1000 points in fewer than six full sea-
sons. If he keeps up his present pace, he'll
pass Howe in len years. At the age of 24, he
already holds more records in hockey than any
other athlete in any sport, period.

What the Great Gretzky has is a sixth
sense—an ice sense, like Larry Bird's or
Magic Johnson's court sense. He
knows where everybody on the ice is, and he

“Although 1

didn't move away because of
hockey, I regret not growing up with my fam-
ily. I missed a lot of years. That's why I feel so
bitter when people tell me they want to send
their kid away from home at the age of 12.”

knows where the puck is going. He generally
gets there first.

When a hockey player scores, which isn't
often (hockey scores read like baseball scores),
the last player to touch the puck gets credit for
the goal. Usually, the two players on his team
who touch it before him each receive assists.
Goals and assists are worth a point apiece in
a player's stats. The reason they have equal
value is that the players who passed the puck
are often as important to the goal as the
scorer, if not more so.

Until recently, 50 goals was a magic num-
ber in hockey. Any 50-goal scorer was an
instant superstar. With expansion and longer
schedules, 100 points (goals and assists,
remember) became the household-name pla-
teau. At first, only Esposito and Orr were
doing it. Then a few more—Marcel Dionne,
Lafleur, Bossy and Trottier—joined them at
the summit, Now there are a number of
100-point men. And then there’s Gretzky,
who year after year finishes 40, 50, even 60
poinis ahead of everyone else. According to
his stats, Gretzky is 33'/ percent better than
the second-best player in hockey. It's unlike-
by that anyone else in any sport is, or has ever
been, that much better than his “peers.”

Wayne Douglas Gretzky was born in
Brantford, Ontario, on January 26, 1961.

“My feeling is, Let the puck do all the work.
People think that to be a good hockey player
you have to pick the puck up, deke around
everybody and take a shot. But nobody can
skate as fast as that little black thing.”

He's been famous ever since. His father,
Walter, taught him to skate when he was two
years old. By the time Wayne was five, he was
playing on an all-star team with 10- and 11-
year-olds. At the age of ten, he was averaging
six goals a game. At 14, he left home to play
Junior "B" hockey in Toronto, against 19-
and 20-year-olds. Three years later, he was a
pro, starring for the Indianapolis Racers of
the old World Hockey Association. After only
eight games, he was sold to the Edmonton
Oilers. The Indianapolis Racers promptly
folded. Wayne signed a 21-year personal-
service contract with Oilers owner Peter
Pocklington, making him—at 17—the
highest-paid player in hockey.

That summer of 1979, four teams from the
W.H.A., including Edmonton, merged with
the National Hockey League. The scouting
report on Gretzky was that at 5'11" and 170
pounds, he was too small and slow to compete
in the bruiser-dominated N.H.L. All he did
was tie for the 1979-1980 scoring title with
137 points. The next year, he totaled 164,
breaking a decade-old N.H.L. record by 12
points.

Grelzky's third season was astonishing. He
had 92 goals (the previous record was 76).
With 212 total points, he broke his oum scor-
ing record by 48. Mike Bossy of the New York

%
PHOTOGRAPHY BY DAVE BUSTON

“When a fight breaks out, 1 always look for
all the little guys I can grab. We talk about
whether or not we're going to each other's
charity golf tournament, how's business,
how's the wife and family."

PLAYBOY

Islanders had a great season, scoring 147
points—only 65 fewer than Gretzky.

Last season, Gretzky led the league with 87
goals and 205 points. Double-teamed at
every turn, he still led the Oilers into the
Stanley Cup finals against the Islanders,
winners of four straight Stanley Cups.
Gretzky and company won. The aurora bore-
alis came out over Alberta.

As his sixth season began last fall, Gretzky
held or shared at least 34 N.H.L. records. He
has the longest scoring streak in history—51
consecutive games (in one of them, his only
point, a goal, came with two seconds left in
the game). He has set the standards for most
goals and most total points in a season. He
has even shattered hocheys most sacred
record—tantamount to a baseball player's
breaking Joe DiMaggio's 56-game hitting
streak: Maurice “Rocket” Richard once scored
50 goals in the first 50 games of a season;
Gretzky broke that one in 39 games.

He makes about $1,000,000 a year play-
ing hockey, plus $2,000,000 or so for
endorsements, In Canada, he is as popular as
the maple leaf; and thanks to his squeaky-
clean image, he's a marketer's dream. There
are a Gretzky doll, a breakfast cereal, a
watch, a lunch box, a bedspread, wallpaper
and TV commercials. How many jocks have
their oum wallpaper? The hockey stick he
endorses went from 12th place to first in sales
in 18 months. In addition to the penthouse in
which he lives, he owns interests in office
buildings and shopping centers in Edmon-
ton and a high-rise in Calgary and hefty
amounts of gold bullion and securities. He
and his managers run the Gretzky empire
from lavish offices, appointed in oak, mar-
ble and brass, in two landmark buildings in
Edmonton. Their empire is multinational:
The 3000 letters Gretzky receives each month
come from everywhere, some of them simply
addressed WAYNE GRETZKY, CANADA.

To find out what makes the Great One so
great, we sent free-lance writer Scott Cohen lo
Edmonton to speak with him before and after
the Oilers’ Stanley Cup victory last season.
Cohen's report:

“Wayne Gretzky is unspectacular off the
ice. He looks more like a surfer than a hockey
player. The attribute that stands out most is
his genuineness—fame hasn't gone to his
head. He doesn't wear his money; he wears a
sweat shirt and jeans. He owns a sports car
but doesn't speed. He is loyal to his family and
calls home three times a week. When he's not
playing or doing endorsements, he's appear-
ing at a banquet or a benefit or hosting a golf
or tennis tournament on behalf of one of his
many charities. Any girl in the country would
be glad to break the ice with ham; he has one
girlfriend. His modesty is exasperating at
times. 1 had thought 1 might be interviewing
the most boring person on earth, but I, like a
lot of people, had underestimated his intelli-
gence and clarity of purpose.

“Gretzky's penthouse is tasteful, comfort-
able, low key. The decor is modern and mas-
culine. His only possession that even hints at
hype is a portrait of himself by Andy Warhol.
The ‘Interview,’ which took place in Wayne's

living room and at a restaurant over lunch,
began with the topic of his pervasive presence
in Canada."

PLAYBOY: Your facc is on billboards, post-
ers, cereal boxes, dolls and magazine cov-
ers all over Canada. Outside Canada,
you're fast becoming a household word.
You hear your name a thousand times a
day. You sign hundreds of autographs.
Don't you get tired of being Wayne
Gretzky?

GRETZKY: No. 1 drive to the rink, see a bil
board, look at it—and I can stand
[Grins] You hear Michael Jackson every
where, too, but he's stil! great to dance to.
PLAYBOY: Don't you get tired of signing all
those autographs, or do you accept that as
part of the job?

GRETZKY: It really isn't part of the job. You
don't have to sign autographs. Nobody is
going to throw you in jail for not signing. I
believe it goes with being a professional
athlete.

PLAYBOY: At what point would fame
become a liability?

I don't think it will ever become
y. How can I ever become more

“Т got a head start
by playing at the
age of two. By the
tine I was five, I
was playing against
11-year-olds.”

famous than Reggie Jackson? It's impossi-
ble, just because of numbers. There are
almost as many people living in New York
State as there are in all of Canada. If I
ever became too well known, I could move
to Houston, where nobody would know
me. I don't think you can become too
famous as a hockey player.

PLAYBOY: Your fame is based, of course, on
your being considered by many the most
talented athlete in the world. How do you
account for your gift?

GRETZKY: I think the success I have comes
from believing in myself as a person and as
a hockey player, utilizing all my team-
mates properly and having respect for the
other player, that he's as good as I am.
"Those are the three major reasons.
PLAYBOY: That's a little vague. Any good
player could say that.

GREIZKY: Well, I also got a head start by
playing at the age of two. By the time I was
five, I was playing against 11-ycar-olds.
PLAYBOY: Still, you must have had some-
thing special, something you were born
with, to be able to play with kids twice
your age.

GRETZKY: | had natural ability—plus,

there was no ather league for me to play in
at that time. Either I played with older
kids or 1 didn't play. At that time, kids
didn’t learn to play hockey until they were
six or seven. I had been skating as long as
most ten-year-olds.

You know, when 1 was two years old, I
was doing the drills—taught to me by my
father—that 1 saw eight years later, in
1972, when the Russians came over. Peo-
ple were saying, “Look at those drills; look
at what they're doing," but I had been
doing those things for eight or nine years,
and they were nothing to me. My father is
a very intelligent man, and to him, cvery-
thing in life is fundamentals and basics.
PLAYBOY: You were pushed to work pretty
hard at it, weren't you?

GRETZKY: I worked hard, but there are a lot
of others who worked hard at a young age,
too. A lot of it has to do with being gifted.
But there are a lot of people who are
gifted. Whether it’s in business, schooling
or sports, you have to utilize your gifts. I
also believe there are players who arcn't
doing as well as 1 am who are more tal-
ented than I.

PLAYBOY: Who do you think is the best
player?

GRETZKY: I don't know who the best is, but
I can tell you whom I respect most: Denis
Potvin, Mike Bossy and Bryan Trottier.
PLAYBOY: Who else would be on your all-
star team?

GRETZKY: Gilbert Perreault and Paul
Coffey. The goal tender has to be Billy
Smith. He's won four Stanley Cups.
PLAYBOY: What have you learned from
those players?

GRETZKY: I can't do what other players do,
so 1 really haven't learned much. I can't
hit people like Trottier can. I can't shoot
as quickly as Bossy. I can’t deke like Guy
Lafleur. I'm not strong, like Potvin. I have
to be Wayne Gretzky.

PLAYBOY: Yet cach year, you outscore those
players by a very wide margin. Let's see if
we cart pin down the way you assess your
abilitics, starting with the most obvious—
passing and scoring.
GRETZKY: My feeling is, Let the puck do all
the work. That's why Bossy and Trottier
and Jari Kurri and І have success. People
think that to be a good hockey player you
have to pick the puck up, deke around
everybody and take a shot, which is not
true. Nobody can skate as fast as that little
black thing. We move the puck, give and
get it back, give and get it back.

PLAYBOY: What about your shooting?
GRETZKY: You don’t have to have a hard
shot. You just have to be quick and bang it
in there as fast as possible. Bossy can shoot
that puck quicker than anyone else. Bang,
it’s in the net. As simple as that. Then
there are guys with a hard shot, but I can’t
do that.

PLAYBOY: One reason you do score as much
as you do is your knack of being in the
right place at the right time. How do you
explain your ability to anticipate plays?
GRETZKY: I developed that just by being a

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PLAYBOY

smaller hockey player than everyone else.
1 had to be ahead of everybody else or I
wouldn't have survived. If I weren't think-
ing, I could have been seriously injured
My dad always argues that instinct can be
taught. Some guys are smart enough to
learn it, but there are other guys in the
league who are not smart enough and
can't learn.

PLAYBOY: How about your stamina? You
play longer and harder than most players
in the league, and you seem to be strongest.
at the end of the game, when others are the
most tired.

GRETZKY: I used to do track and ficld as a
kid. I was in a track club when I was six
and seven, and I used to run three-, four-
mile races. As I got older, the races got
longer. The fact that I grew up running
built up my endurance to a high level.
PLAYBOY: Have you been tested by medical
experts to sec if there is something special
about you?

GRETZKY: Yes. Our team doctors tested my
endurance, strength, refiexes and flexibil-
ity with machines, bicycles and drills.
They tested every guy on the team and I
did bad in all the tests—except endurance.
PLAYBOY: What do you think that demon-
strated?

GRETZKY: You can't measure a guy's enthu-
siasm or intensity by having him sit on a
bike or push on a machine. If you test a
dull guy, you're going to gct an accuratc
reading; but if you test an emotional guy,
you won't.

PLAYBOY: Sportswriters have said you seem
to be able to see everything that's going on
on the ice. Do you have exceptional
peripheral vision?

GRETZKY: They call it peripheral vision; 1
call it fear. You would be able to get out of
the way, too, if Potvin were going to hit
you. He’s a big, strong boy. And, again,
growing up, 1 was always the small guy
When I was five and playing against 11-
year-olds, who were bigger, stronger,
faster, I just had to figure out a way to play
with them. When I was 14, I played
against 20-year-olds, and when I was 17, 1
played with men. Basically, I had to play
the same style all the way through, I
couldn't beat people with my strength; T
don't have a hard shot; I’m not the quick-
est skater in the league, though at times 1
can be as fast as anybody. My cycs and my
mind have to do most of the work.
PLAYBOY: But are you able to see the entire
game in a way others can't?

GRETZKY: І try to but, of course, I can't see
everybody on the ice. | try my best to
know where everybody is. So do all the
good players in the league. I think that
when Pm on the ice and teams see I have
the puck, they send two or three players at
me. That leaves openings for other players.
I think that’s why I get a lot of assists.
PLAYBOY: Do you see other players or do
you sense them?

GRETZKY: I sense them more than 1 actu-
ally see them. I get a feeling about where a
teammate is going to be. A lot of times, I

can turn and pass without even looking.
Somebody will say, “Gosh, he didn't look
but knew exactly where Jari Kurri was.”
‘True but not true. We've worked together
for four years and have been to countless
practices, and he knows I’m going to
throw the puck there and 1 know he's
going to be there. That's why it's impor-
tant to know the other players and play
together.

PLAYBOY: When you're skating up ice with
the puck, are you aware of who the defense
man is on that side of the ice?

GRETZKY: All the time. When I’m on the
ice, I know who else is on the ice, and
when I go into our zone, I can even tell
when somebody new has come onto the
ice. A perfect example is when I play
against the Rangers. It's no secret that if
Barry Beck hit me, he would kill mc. It's
not as if he would intentionally hurt me.
He's a big, strong man, and if I got myself
into a position where I got hit by him, for-
get it. He could seriously hurt me. So when
I'm on the ice, I try to go to the side oppo-
site from where he is. The same with
Potvin. I don't think there's any question
that Potvin is the best defense man in the

“It’s no secret that if
Barry Beck hit me, he
would kill me. He’s a big,
strong man, and if I
got into a position where
I got hit by him, forget it.”

league. I think he’s one of the reasons the
Islanders won four Stanley Cups in a row,
PLAYBOY: How would you stop Wayne
Gretzky?

GRETZKY: I can't tell you that. If I tell you,
then Pm in trouble. I know the best way to
defend against Wayne Gretzky, the way
that bothers him the most. Obviously, the
Islanders know. They're killing me. Steve
Kasper of Boston knows.

PLAYBOY: What do they do that other
teams don't?

GRETZKY: They play a lot more intelli-
gently. First of all, they have morc talent
than other teams. Obviously, that's going
to make it harder right off the bat. And
then, if I'm fortunate enough to get by
their players, both teams have great goal
tenders.

PLAYBOY: If a guy covers you too closely
and keeps getting in your way, will you
pretend you were tripped or hooked to
draw a penalty?

GRETZKY: Would I take a dive? Sure I
would. I'll tell you why. A lot of times,
when you're hooked, the penalty isn't
called, which is finc; but if fighters—
not necessarily Kasper—know they can

get away with hooking players, they will
do it all night. But if you start diving when
a guy’s hooking you and he gets a penalty
here and there, he's going to give you
room. He's going to think that if he does
that again, he'll get a penalty. That's the
only reason 1 dive. If a guy is really stick-
ing close to me throughout the hockey
game, again, I can't knock him over, I
can't stop and drill him in a fight, so I
е to figure out ways to shake him.
PLAYBOY: Is it getting more difficult now for
you to avoid drawing penalties?

GRETZKY: I think more people are trying to
check me now than ever before, and I have
to take a stand at some point. My stand
may not be very forceful, but I have to let
them know they can't just elbow, slash or
push me around and expect me to take it
with a smile. But looking back on my pen-
alties, I see that most have been for
ping, all accidental. Bossy gets four, five
penalties a year, and three of them are for
accidental tripping. I'm amazed that some
guys go an entire year without a penalty.
How do they do that? A lot of times, you
get a tripping penalty because you're tired
at the end of a shift or you're lazy on a
play. It depends on how disciplined you
are.

PLAYBOY: In the past, the N.H.L. placed a
lot of emphasis on physical strength. Given
your size and build, do you think you
would have becn the player you arc today?
GRETZKY: | might never have played 20
years ago. There's no question that I
might not have made it. I remember peo-
ple saying to me ten years ago that I might
not make it, because I was too small. No,
20 years ago, I definitely would not have
been able to play in the N.H.L.

PLAYBOY: Even though there were a lot of
small players who made it?

GRETZKY: But those guys had something
special. They were fabulous skaters.
Maurice Richard, Yvan Cournoyer—they
were flamboyant skaters. I was never a
smooth skater. The game in the Sixties
was a lot rougher and a lot more defensive-
minded, Today it's a lot quicker, the puck
is moved morc, the training is better, the
travel is better, there are more players
from the U.S., Europe and maybe Russi
there is more technique. I just can't imag-
ine that every professional group in the
world—from writers to doctors to lawyers
to football players—has improved and
hockey is the only one that has gotten
worse. I don't buy that.

PLAYBOY: Let's talk about the most promi
nent topic in the game: Is violence neces-
sary in hockey?

GRETZKY: First of all, I don't think there's
any question that hockey was violent back
in the late Sixties, early Seventies, with
bench-clearing brawls and that type of
but since then, the league has doi

a tremendous job of deaning up the vio-
lence. That's evident by the fact that a
person of my size, 5'11”, 170 pounds, can
play the game without being seriously
injured. I think the European influence is

PLAYBOY

also a big factor in changing the emphasis
of the game from being able to fight to
being able to skate.

PLAYBOY: Don’t fans want to see violence?
GRETZKY: Teams used to think that vio-
lence brought people into the building.
Sure it does, but we have to appeal to a
bigger market than just the 15,000 people
it may bring to a particular rink. The
N.H.L. realized that and cleaned it up.
PLAYBOY: Nevertheless, don't players fight
because fans want them to, even if they
may not feel like it themselves?

GRETZKY: No. Rod Gilbert said it best:
“People used to ask me if fights in hockey
were fixed. If they were, I would have been
in more of them.” "They're real. You don't
fight just to please the fans. You fight for
reasons of temper, frustration. I don't
think you take 2 punch in the face for the
fans.

PLAYBOY: You say the N.H.L. has cleaned
up its act, but you cart deny that hockey
still seems more violent than other sports.
GRETZKY: That's only because there is
fighting. In other sports, 1 believe, if you
fight, you're automatically ejected from
the game. In hockey, you're not, the rea-
son being that you're carrying around a
hockey stick, which is a lethal weapon. I'd
rather take a punch in the face than a stick
over the head. That's why refs let the fight-
ing go on for a long time. If the referees
break up a fight that has just started,
chances are, those guys are going to fight
their next time on the ice anyway. If it's an
even fight, the referees let the players fight,
and if it's unfair, they break it up,

But I don't think bockey is any more
violent than other sports. Pd be more
scared standing in front of the plate with
the pitcher throwing a ball 100 mph at my
head. Nobody's ever been really hurt in
hockey fights. The worst that can happen
is a guy breaks a nose, I guess, but there
are only a few guys in the league who fight,
anyway—12 out of 20 guys on a team
don't fight. You don't see a fighter fighting
a nonfighter. That's just the way it is. It's
an unwritten rule that fighters fight and
guys who don't want to fight don't. A
fighter knows that if he drops his gloves off
with me, I'm not going to fight, so he
doesn't waste his time.

Who are regarded as the best
the N.H.L.?

GRETZKY: I guess Dave Semenko, Clark
Gillies, Behn Wilson and Barry Beck.
Those four are the guys 1 would name,
anyway. I don't think Гуе forgotten any-
body. I hope I haven't. I don't want any-
body to be upset with me.

PLAYBOY: When a fight breaks out on the
ice and players from opposing teams pair
off, whom do you look for as an opponent?
GRETZKY: I always look for Pierre
Larouche, Thomas Gradin, Neal Broten—
all the little guys I can grab [laughs].
PLAYBOY: What do you talk about while
you're grabbing each other?

GRETZKY: Well, the guys who don’t want to
fight might talk about whether or not

we're going to cach other's charity golf

tournament, how’s business, how’s the
wife and family. You mect a lot of people
around the league and you become
friends.

PLAYBOY: What would provoke you to fight?
GRETZKY: Frustration, temper, like any-
body else.

PLAYBOY: Would you throw the first punch?
GRETZKY: Yeah. I was in a fight where I
threw the first punch. A player did some-
thing I thought wasn’t called for. He
slashed me pretty hard a couple of times,
and 1 felt I was being taken advantage of.
It was silly and stupid of me to fight. I
mean, I'm not going to hurt anyone. For-
tunately for me, he was a good enough
guy, because he could have grabbed me
and broken me in half. Instead, he held on
to me.

PLAYBOY: Will an opposing player try to
draw you into a fight so that you get a pen-
alty and have to sit out part of the game?
GRETZKY: That happens a lot, but that's
where it comes back to common sense and
brains. A player having a good game must
realize that getting into a fight does neither
him nor the team any good. "That's why

“It’s tough, but no
different from football
when players are kicking
and stepping on guys”
fingers. It's all
part of winning."

people on a hockey team have different
roles, and without naming names or point-
ing a finger at a guy, people on our team
know when to step in and fight another
player.

PLAYBOY: Every team has its fighters. On
your team, isn't it Semenko's job to protect
you?

GRETZKY: I would be wrong to say that it
wasn't, but he's a policeman for the en-
tire team, not just for Wayne Gretzky. He
knows his responsibilities. He's not therc
to just take care of mc. Coach Glen Sather
doesn't say, “David, go out on the ice and
gel that guy.” But situations on the ice do
occur, and if David doesn't do his job, he's
spoken to. You get into a physical game
and that’s where guys on the team like
David and Mark Messier come through.
PLAYBOY: You say no one has really gotten
hurt from fights. But what about such tac-
tics as elbowing and high sticking?
GRETZKY: I guess those are the things most
players get injured from. It’s tough, but
t from a football game when
players are kicking other players and step-
ping on guys” fingers. It's all part of win-
ning. You can't blame a person for doing

what be can to win a hockey game.
PLAYBOY: Who are the dirtiest players in
hockey?

GRETZKY: I'd rather not say. There аге
some guys 1 would say 1 purposely stay
away from because 1 don't trust them, but
you'll find them in every sport. The tough-
est guys in the league, not necessarily the
dirtiest, without doubt, are Beck, the
Sutter brothers—all of them—Rob
Ramage of St. Louis, Glen Cochrane of
Philadelphia; and, when he wants to be, I
think Potvin is the toughest.

PLAYBOY: How have you avoided getting
hurt? You've been injured only twice.
GRETZKY: I’ve been lucky, I guess. The
style that I play makes for few chances of
injury. If you're moving around and see
what's coming, you have a better chance.
PLAYBOY: Some say the reason you don't
get hit hard is that you don't go into the
corners, where most of the hard hits—
elbows and high sticks—occur.

GRETZKY: No. That's where I get the most
points, from the corners. The real reason 1
don't get hit so much is that ] played
lacrosse. In lacrosse, there's always cross-
checking. You learn to roll with the checks
and never get hit straight on. 1 don't put
myself in a position where anyone can hit
me straight on. That's the biggest thing. 1
learned when I was a kid that it's tougher
to hit a moving target than a target that's
standing still.

PLAYBOY: Let's talk a bit about the way you
prepare for a game. What is the day of a
game like for a professional hockey player?
GRETZKY: The night before a game, I’m
always in bed before 10:30, 11 o'clock, reli-
giously. Pm up around 8:30 in the morn-
ing, have a cup of tea and something light
to cat, like a piece of toast, and read the
newspaper. I'll go to the rink where we'll
practice at 10:30, and after practice, at
about 12:30, 1 eat. Then I spend the rest of
the afternoon watching the soap operas. I
go down to the rink at about four or five.
When I get to the rink, ГЇЇ play ping-pong
with a couple of the guys. Most of the guys
show up about 5:30, except for about six
of us. Ping-pong loosens me up, relaxes
me and takes my mind off what's going
to happen.

PLAYBOY: When do you start thinking
about the game itself?

GRETZKY: I don't actually sit down and
think about what I will have to do in a
game. | know whom I'm playing against.
In the back of my mind, I know that I'm
playing, say, the New York Islanders. 1
worry about getting myself ready, thinking
about the way Pm feeling that day, if Fm
feeling more energetic than the previous
day or, if I have a nagging injury that day,
wondering if it's going to bother mc. Basi-
cally, 1 worry about mysclf and don't
think about the other team.

PLAYBOY: Arc you as superstitious as most
hockey players?

GRETZKY: Oh, yeah, about my sweater's
always being tucked into my pants. Im

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PLAYBOY

superstitious in that I follow the same rou-
tines: how I get dressed, being the first on
the ice at the start of the game and each
period.

PLAYBOY: Every team in the N.H.L. has at
least one player who is superstitious about
being the first on the ice. What happens
when two of you have that superstition?
GRETZKY: It goes by seniority. Гуе been
here for six years, and it would be pretty
tough to knock me out of that spot. The
other players may not admit to it, but it’s
even part of their superstition that I go out
first. I don't know how that came about. I
started doing it in the other league and
kept doing it.

PLAYBOY: Where did the superstition about
tucking your sweater into your pants come
from?

GRETZKY: From the fact that I was five
years old and playing with ten-year-olds;
the team bought sweaters for ten-year-
old kids and mine came down to my knees,
so my dad tucked it in for me. 1 kept
doing it.

PLAYBOY: Are you superstitious about your
number—99?

GRETZKY: Yes. That came about because I
had worn number nine as a kid, and when
I got drafted in Junior “A,” there was
already somebody with a number nine, so
the coach said I should wear two nines.
When I went to Edmonton, Bill Golds-
worthy wore nine, so I kept 99. One night,
my sweater was stolen—I think it was in

Pittsburgh—and the trainer was wonder-
ing what I was going to wear. He was
ready to get on the telephone and have my
dad fly down with a sweater from a previ-
ous year, because I wouldn't wear another
number. But they found it.

PLAYBOY: What about black tape on the
blade of your hockey stick? Is that be-
cause it makes it harder for the goalie to
see the black puck or is it another
superstition?

GRETZKY: Any goalic who can’t sec the
puck because of black tape is in the wrong
sport. Gordie Howe scored a lot of his
800 goals using white tape. I use black
tape that has white baby powder on it. I
find that when the puck is spinning, the
black tape seems to catch it and stop it
from spinning. As far as the baby powder
goes, I use it because the stick will collect
snow along the bottom and the baby pow-
der stops it from sticking. I use it for that
reason [smiles]—and also because it's a
superstition.

PLAYBOY: You're the guy goalies fear most,
but which goalies do you respect most?
GRETZKY: I respect the goalies on the bad
teams, because they handle more shots
Who do I think is the best? Well, I guess
the guy who's had the most success
against us is Billy Smith of the Islanders.
He's had a lot of success against other
teams, too. There's no question that he's
the best money goalie; but then again, he
has a very good team in front of him. He

won't get shots that other goalics will,
because his defense men are better and
smarter than those on a lot of other teams.
PLAYBOY: Great scorers have often claimed
that they shoot without aiming. Do you
aim or just shoot?

GRETZKY: Most shots I aim. Most shots.
There are a lot of shots that you're basi-
cally hoping will go in. The thing that I
remember is that 100 percent of the shots
you don't take don't go in. A lot of times,
you are in situations where you can aim
the shot. I mean, you can put it in a gen-
eral direction: top left corner, between the
goalie's pads.

PLAYBOY: Is it more satisfying to put it
between the goalie's legs?

GRETZKY: Nope. They don't ask you how at
the end of the year; they ask how many.
PLAYBOY: How many of your hundreds of
N.H.L. goals do you remember?

GRETZKY: Pretty much all of them. I can
tell you almost everything that happened
in my most recent hockey game.

PLAYBOY: Can most players do that?
GRETZKY: A lot of the guys can. My father
can tell you what happened from the first
minute to the last. I’m not kidding. He has
a photographic memory.

PLAYBOY: Could your father have been a
professional hockey player?

GRETZKY: He was an average hockey
player. He was too small to be a. profes-
sional, but he understood the mechanics.

If vou

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PLAYBOY: Could he have been a profes-
sional coach?

GRETZKY: First of all, I think you have to
aspire to be one, and he never did. I
believe he could have been a good hockey
coach, but he would have been a better
teacher for kids. We forget to teach the
kids step one before we teach them step
two. An example is coaches’ teaching ten-
year-olds how to slap the puck when they
Should be teaching them how to wrist the
puck. It’s senseless. You never see a ten-
year-old Russian slap the puck. For years,
1 played minor hockey, and the coaches
used to holler, “Dump it in, dump it in!”
What is that going to teach kids? Let them
carry the puck and pass it around, then go
in and score. That's a game. It's fun for
kids. There's no money involved. Sure, I
like to win, but you also have to do it prop-
erly. Ten-year-olds’ dumping it in will do
nothing for them when they’re 16. In order
for us to be the best, we have to come
together as a united country. We need a
system that teaches everybody the same
thing: how to stick-handle, how to shoot,
the proper way to skate. Forget hitting and
everything. When I was ten, the coach
used to yell, “Take his head off!” But no
one was going to hit me at that age. Other
kids couldn't skate as well as I could.
PLAYBOY: Do you think two-year-olds
should go to hockey school, as you did?
GRETZKY: I wouldn't want to send my two-
year-old son to hockey school. But when I

skated seven hours a day, I never consid-
ered it practice. It was fun. I never once
said, “I’m going to skate for seven hours
and practice as hard as I can." I guess
that's why I have been successful. When I
was four, five, six, I used to skate for seven
hours or cight hours a day, easily. I used to
be out there sometimes from eight in the
morning until lunch hour, sleep for a cou-
ple of hours, then skate from four to six
and then go back with my dad after dinner
for a couple more hours. Thats what I
enjoyed doing. I had no desire to go to the
movies or watch TV. Even when 1 got
older and other things came along, like
dating, nothing except hockey ever entered
my mind

PLAYBOY: Did you practice in your back
yard?

GRETZKY: Yeah. My dad would flood it
with a garden hose, make a rink with two-
by-fours along the sides and put up boards
at the ends so when Í shot the puck, it
wouldn't go into the neighbors yard
There were two nets and two night lights,
one at each end

PLAYBOY: What did you have in your back
yard during the summer?

GRETZKY: A pitcher's mound. We lived
about five houses from the corner, and
when I was nine years old, there was a lot
of dirt down there, and I would take a
wheelbarrow, fill it up with dirt and build
a pitcher's mound.

PLAYBOY: Whom did you pitch to?

GRETZKY: My father.

PLAYBOY: Your father spent a lot of time
with you on athletics; didn't he have to
work?

GRETZKY: Oh, yeah. He worked for the tel-
ephone company from cight to five Mon-
day through Friday. But he didn't do
anything else; he was devoted to his chi
dren. At that time, there were only my sis-
ter and myself. My little brother had just
been born.

PLAYBOY: How did your dad devote himself
to your sister?

GRETZKY: My sister was quite athletic, too,
and that made it a lot easier for my father.
There could have been a lot of problems
between my sister and myself and my
father and my mother. But she was
involved in figure skating and tack and
field, so it worked out very well. I moved
away from home when I was 14 and my
brother Keith was seven years old, so
my father had plenty of time for him. Now
he’s working with my youngest brother,
who's 12.

PLAYBOY: How talented are your brothers?
GRETZKY: I have three brothers and, quite
honestly, I think two of them will be pro-
fessional hockey players

PLAYBOY: Are they as good as you were at
their ages?

GRETZKY: One is, the youngest

PLAYBOY: Do you think it's hard to be a sib-
ling of Wayne Gretzky's?

GRETZKY: Very hard, but as hard as it is, it

Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined

That Cigarette Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health.

smoke

please try Carlton.

PLAYBOY

still has some fringe benefits. I'd like to be
a 16-year-old and have a brother who wins
a car and gives it to me. I'm sure Keith is
going through a lot of pressure being my
brother as far as hockey goes for b
compared with me; but then again, he may
get that extra chance because he is my
brother.

PLAYBOY: Getting back to the pitcher's
mound, could you have been a major-
league pitcher?

GRETZKY: I don't think so; but then again,
Т always had confidence that if] pursued it
properly, I would have had a chance. I did
well where I did play—in Ontario, ich
has the top leagues in Canada— but it's so
hard to compare Canadian talent with
American. 1 was offered a tryout by the
"Toronto Blue Jays when I was 17, but I
didn't take it. 1 was playing what they call
Junior Ball, which is what you play from
the age of 16 to 20, and I'm glad I decided
not to go.

PLAYBOY: Did you ever doubt that you
would become a professional hockey
player?

GRETZKY: Until the day I signed, I doubted
I would bc onc. I was in high school, plug-
ging away, getting my education. I was in
the 11th grade when I was offered a con-
tract with the Birmingham Bulls in the
W.H.A. I was 17; that was the first con-
tract offer 1 had had. Then the New
England Whalers offered me a contract.
But when the Whalers found out that they
had a chance of getting into the N.H.L.,
they phoned and said they couldn't sign
me, because I was underage and it would
ruin their chances. So Nelson Skalbania,
who owned the Indianapolis Racers,
signed me. After eight games, he sold
me, Eddie Mio and Peter Driscoll for
about $350,000, plus another $500,000 . . .
oh, I can't remember. I do remember get-
ting on an airplane and not knowing
whether we werc going to Edmonton or
Winnipeg. The three of us were taking off
in a private jet. We got into the air and
somebody said, “The deal is done; we're
going to Edmonton. But somcbody
hadn't paid the bill for the fight, and we
were told that if it weren't paid, we
wouldn't land. So Mio pulled out his
VISA card and paid for the flight. He had
a $600 limit and the guy tool
PLAYBOY: What would you be doing now if
you hadn't been signed?

GRETZKY: I have no idea. I was hoping to
go to the university. That was my only
goal.

PLAYBOY: Were you a good student?
GRETZKY: 1 had acceptable grades. I wasn't
a brilliant student. I missed a lot of school
because of hockey, but I still got by.
PLAYBOY: Did you ever fantasize about
playing hockey in the Olympics?

GRETZKY: I think the Olympics are great
and they're a good learning experience for
some people and they promote peace in
the world—but they're not the biggest
thing in the world. More emphasis is put

on the Olympics in the U.S. than in Can-
ada, Americans are brought up believi
that if you win a gold medal
pics, you'll be a national hero.
if you win an Olympic gold, it's nice, but
you still have to raise your own money and
pay for your travel and training. You're not
going to make $200,000 to $300,000 a year,
the way a guy from the U.S. who wins a
gold medal will.

PLAYBOY: You were locally famous by the
time you were 11. How did that affect you
at school?

GRETZKY: I would get embarrassed. When
I was 11 and 12, there would be a picture
of me in a magazine and the teacher would
hang it on the wall.

PLAYBOY: Were you very popular?
GRETZKY: No. 1 had friends, though. 1
knew all the girls, but I didn't socialize
except on the athletic teams.

PLAYBOY: You said you moved away from
home when you were 14. Are you sorry
you left home when you were so young?
GRETZKY: It's the only thing I do regret. T
would have loved to grow up with my fam-
ily and my brothers. | missed a lot of
years. That's why 1 feel so bitter when
people tell me they want to send their kid

"I make tremendous money.
I guess you don't know
how much you make unless
you spend the time
counting it. Basically,
it goes into the bank."

away from home at the age of 12. Parents
are thinking of themselves and not their
kid. In my case, 1 didn't move away
because ol hockey. Everyone thought
that's why I moved. Sure, I was going to
play against tougher competition, but the
reason I moved was so I could be just
another person ina big city, where nobody
would know who I was. I wanted to get
away from the pressure of having to per-
form at a certain level every day. My par-
cnts felt that the pressure might get to me.
As it turned out, it was the best thing that
could have happened to my career.
PLAYBOY: Did your parents want you tofin-
ish high school and go on to college?
GRETZKY: When I turned pro at 17, they
had to sign a contract to make it legal, and
they made me promise that I'd live with a
family and go to high school. I did that
until I was sold to Edmonton.

PLAYBOY: Will you ever finish school?
GRETZKY: Four years ago, I would have
said yeah. Now I don't think I need it. The
only reason for me to go back to school

would be to be able to say that I'd gotten
my diploma.

PLAYBOY: Wouldn't you like to take some
business courses?

GRETZKY: I would like to know more about
business, but I feel I'm learning about it
firsthand. In the past, the majority of play-
ers had to work at jobs in the off season.
Now they're making big money and they
have to take care of their finances. That is
your job in the summer. Players now have
to take the time to learn about business.
The category “dumb jock” has been
tossed out the window. Some guys, as
in every profession, are more intelligent
than others. Randy Gregg, on our team, is
a doctor. I don't know if he's the most
intelligent player in hockey, but he's doing
well apart from hockey. I don't know a
whole lot about business and ГЇЇ never say
I am a businessman, but I am studying
hard. I have some of my own stocks now
that I follow.

PLAYBOY: What do you do with the money
that you don't invest? Is it available to
your family?

GRETZKY: All of it is. If my brothers want to
go to college, Га love to pay for them. I
have X amount of dollars in the bank, and
if my family asked for it, I'd give it to
them.

PLAYBOY: Have they asked?

GRETZKY: No. I bought them a few acres ol
land two miles from where they live to
build a house. They said they'd build one,
but when I went away on a holiday and
came back, they had already started build-
ing an addition to their house. I knew then
that they would never build. Maybe ГЇЇ
build a house there someday.

PLAYBOY: If you're in a waiting room and
there’s a choice between Sports Illustrated
and Business Week-
GRETZKY: ГЇЇ pick up Business Week. 1
won't hesitate to do that. The
change in my life is my interest in business.
PLAYBOY: By the time you were 18, you
How were you pre-

pared to deal with it?

GRETZKY: I guess the big thing, whether or
not you have money when you're growing
up, is to have to answer to only one person,
yourself. As far as the money goes, I make
tremendous money. I guess you don’t
know how much you make unless i
spend the time counting it. Basically, i
goes into the bank. I live not on a fud
by ar jeans but with guidelines. Im for-
tunate in the sense that I have a nice car, a
beautiful place, 1 can travel; but if I stop
doing my job, I'll lose it all.

PLAYBOY: How much money per month do
you livc on?

GRETZKY: 1 live on about $1500 to $2000
pocket money, not counting bills. My con-
dominium is paid olf; 1 bought it for cash.
Now, if I want to go out and buy a leather
coat, I can do it. The great thing about the
money that 1 have is that Гуе carned it
myself; it's mine. I get advice from every-
body, parents included, but there are

times when I say, "Hey, I earned this
moncy.

PLAYBOY: When you received your first big
pay check, what was the most expensive
thing you bought?

GRETZKY: A 1979 silver Trans Am with a T
roof, C.B., stereo. I bought it in the States
when I was with Indianapolis, and when I
got sold to Edmonton, I sold it, because
I couldn't take it across the border.
PLAYBOY: How much money do you have in
your pocket right now?

GRETZKY: I don't have a cent. I carry one
credit card. I never carry cash. I just hate
going to the bank. I hate lines and waiting.
I'm patient in a lot of ways, but Im impa-
tient in a lot of other ways, such as stand-
ing around in airports, standing in line at
the bank.

PLAYBOY: There are many people who work
at harder, more meaningful jobs than
playing hockey. Do you feel guilty because
they earn a fraction of what you do?
GRETZKY: I think the greatest thing about
living in North America is our freedom to
do what we want to, and we all grow up
having the same choices. What these
people do is tremendous work. It’s not
rewarded the same way that ours is
rewarded, yet their work is more impor-
tant than our work. The only difference is
that they don't get 18,000 people paying
$20 a head to see them work.

I do my job to the best of my ability. m
making good money and I'm entertain-
ing. Then I look at somebody making
$40,000,000 a year singing and entertain-
ing people. How do you justify making
that much? Its unfortunate that those
people doing something more beneficial
aren't making more money than entertain-
ers. To the hockey players, it’s work, a job
and a responsibility to win the Stanley
Cup, but to the fan watching the game, it’s
entertainment. People in Moose Jaw,
Saskatchewan, don’t care who wins the
Stanley Cup as long as they're watching
good hockey.

PLAYBOY: Do you feel you've paid your
dues?

GRETZKY: Not like a lot of other people.
There are a lot of players who work harder
than Wayne Gretzky, who may be more
dedicated than Gretzky, who haven't
made it, who may still be on two-way con-
tracts. But that doesn't mean that I didn't
work hard and that I'm not dedicated. Гуе
just been a little more fortunate. I feel 1
made pro on my own, all by myself, and
I worked to get there.

PLAYBOY: Do athletes pay dues at all in the
larger sense?

GRETZKY: Looking at it realistically, you
play hockey from the age of 20 to 28, and
that's it. The average hockey player today
plays five years. Let's say you play eight.
Let’s say you make $100,000 a year. After
eight years, you've made $800,000. Out of
that, you pay your agent five percent, the
government 40 to 50 percent, so over cight
years, you've made only about $350,000.

People say, “How can you not have any
money left?” You've got to live. You have
to have a car. You may have a family to
support; you may have to buy a house.
You've got to work after you retire from
hockey. What is a hockcy player going to
do? A lot of guys have nothing to fall
back on.

PLAYBOY: The classic example of that
Derek Sanderson, who during the late Six
ties, early Seventies had the potential to be
a huge hockey superstar but ended up
blowing $2,000,000, alcoholic and with the
aid of crutches, hardly able to work. Do
you keep him in mind to keep yourself
honest?

GRETZKY: He's been through a lot of bad
times, and we don't like to use him as an
example. We don’t like to keep bringing
his name up publicly. Fm sure he's
depressed enough over what has hap-
pened. Sanderson is used as an example
by every hockey coach. I’ve never been
around other hockey teams or their dress-
ing rooms, but ГЇЇ bet hi used all the
time by other managers: "Don't do drugs!
You'll end up like Derek Sanderson!” I feel
sorry for Sanderson, but I don't feel sorry

“I don't think there's any
hockey player doing drugs
while he plays. I can't
imagine how a guy
could skate when he's
doing drugs."

for him. There are more than enough
people who went out of their way to help
him— teammates, coaches, friends. I know
a lot of the people who tried to help.
PLAYBOY: You said earlier that you couldn't
blame a plaver for doing what he had to do
to win a game. What if a player took an
undetectable drug that helped him play
better?

GRETZKY: That could be the best question
Гуе ever been asked. [Pause] I think that
in the long run, it's not going to help the
team. The proven history of drugs is that
they affect you in a way that is negative,
not positive. . . .

PLAYBOY: That's over the long run. What
about the short run—one game?

GRETZKY: 1 don't know. It's a tough ques-
tion. The individual will be hurt in the
long run. Personally, I would be opposed
to it, but-what are you going to say to a
guy who does a drug and scores two goals?
The big thing, 1 guess, is that drugs are
illegal.

PLAYBOY: Do fans offer you drugs?
GRETZKY: Not fans but people. "Hey,
Gretzky, you want to buy drugs?" Гуе
heard that since I was 12. It’s everywhere,

not just in sports. One good thing about
hockey is that they’ve cracked the whip on
it. But I don't think there's any hockey
player doing drugs while he plays. One
thing we have that no other sport has
is the art of skating, I have a hard cnough
time skating. I can't imagine how a guy
could skate when he’s doing drugs.
PLAYBOY: You've been exposed to a lot of
temptations since you were a kid; have you
ever wished you could be less disciplined,
live a more carefree life?

GRETZKY: Not at all. 1 don't stop doing the
things I want to do because I'm in the
public eye. I'm Wayne Gretzky, the indi-
vidual, the one person 1 have to answer to
when I get up in the morning, when I go to
practice, go to dinner. The question is
whether or not I did the right thing, and
all I have to say to myself is yes.

PLAYBOY: How docs your image of yourself
differ from the media's?

GRETZKY: I don't think there's much differ-
ence. The biggest problem was last season,
after we beat New Jersey 13 to 4 and I said
that thing about New Jersey's being a
Mickey Mouse operation. That was a mis-
take, to criticize another organization.
There's a difference between what Wayne
Gretzky thinks and what he says. Ordinar-
ily, I would have said what I did only to
friends. Two years ago, | wouldn't have
said it to the media; last year, I did.
PLAYBOY: What do you do to bust loose?
GRETZKY: I go to Las Vegas for a couple of
days. I'm not a big gambler, but I go down
once a year with a thousand dollars and
say, "If I lose it, I lose it." Гуе been lucky.
"The most I've ever won 15 $1000. It's nice
for me to sit at the table, which I do from.
eight at night to four or five in the morn-
ing. Then I go to sleep, get up, lie by the
pool, eat and do the same thing, and I love
it. It’s one of the few places you can go and
nobody cares. The dealer may know who
you are, but everybody else is gambling.
PLAYBOY: We know what you can do. What
can't you do?

GRETZKY: I can't sing and I can't dance.
I am the worst dancer you'll ever mect. I
have no musical intelligence, no feel for it.
PLAYBOY: What was the last record you
bought?

GRETZKY: The last record 1 bought, which
must have been three years ago, was by
Jack Green, on the suggestion of a friend. I
also bought a Cliff Richard record. But
I really can't spend a lot of time listening
to music.

PLAYBOY: What else can't you do?

GRETZKY: Fly; Im not comfortable in
planes. A couple of years ago, I went to a
hypnotist. It worked for five or six months,
and then I started getting progressively
worse. I guess my big fear is of putting my
entire life in the hands of pilots. I like to be
in control all the time.

Speed also bothers me. Гуе owned a
Ferrari for four years, and Гуе never had a
speeding ticket in my life. Everyone I lend
the car to gets a speeding ticket. People get

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PLAYBOY

the fecling that they have to go fast in this
car. I keep it in second gear and chug
along. I have to lend it to friends to have
them clean the carbon out.

PLAYBOY: Don’t you have any vices?
GRETZKY: Oh, yeah, I'm human. I do have
a bad habit of swearing on the ice. I forget
that there are people around the rink. It's
a problem. I hope I'm heading in a direc-
tion where I can correct it, but 1 don't
know if I will be able to.

PLAYBOY: Who are you cursing out—
yourself? The refs?

GRETZKY: Everybody. Everybody but my
teammates.

PLAYBOY: Since all you've ever done in life
is play hockey, do you wish you were more
well rounded?

GRETZKY: 1 think I’ve learned a lot of
things through hockey—about the people
I've met and the different fields they're in,
the places I've been, the cities I've seen,
the parties Гуе been to. I think I am a
more wellrounded person because of
hockey.

PLAYBOY: You said you watch soap operas
to relax before a game. Do you know
what's going on in all the soap operas to
date?

GRETZKY: Oh, yeah. I watch All My Chil-
dren, One Life to Live, General Hospital,
The Young and the Restless. | can tell you
what's going on in all of them.

PLAYBOY: Haven't you appeared on The

Young and the Restless?
GRETZKY: Yes. I was in Las Vegas last sum-
mer at an awards ceremony, and a lady
there who was part of the ceremony asked.
me if I would like to be on and I said,
"Sure." I played a bad guy

PLAYBOY: How did you prepare for your
role?

GRETZKY: | talked with Ed Marinaro [of
Hill Street Blues]. 1 had only five lines. I
had no problem remembering them, but it
was a difficult experience for me. I was
shaken, to be honest. It was the first time I
had ever acted. I just knew that people's
expectations would be so high and that
whether I did a good job or a bad one, I
was going to be criticized. But I also knew
that if I had read the papers, they would
have said that I would never be a pro
hockey player, that I was too small. I
knew I would be criticized, but you can’t
believe everything you read.

PLAYBOY: Would you like to act seriously?
GRETZKY: No. I have a curiosity about act-
ing, you might sav, but I don't lie in bed at
night thinking that I will be an actor or
that I want to be an actor. On the other
hand, it would be nice if there were some-
thing for me to step into when I was done
with hockey.

PLAYBOY: You say you know what's going
on in the soaps; do you know what’s going
on in Beirut?

GRETZKY: Yep.

PLAYBOY: Nicaragua?

GRETZKY: No, not so much Central Amer-
ica. I know that the stock markets falling
out. | know exactly where we're at on
nuclear power, and that scares me. 1
watch the news every night that I can. I
know what's going on in Poland, of course.
PLAYBOY: Your ancestry is Polish; how Pol-
ish do you feel?

GRETZKY: Very. 1 understand Polish. My
grandmother has relatives who are still
there.

PLAYBOY: Do you follow fashion?

GRETZKY: Yes. I love clothes. I read the
fashion sections in pLavsov; all the guys do.
That's basic reading around here.
PLAYBOY: What kind of clothes do you like?
GRETZKY: I'm flexible. If something looks
nice, ГЇЇ wear it, whether it's jeans or
leather pants, sweaters or sweat shirts.
PLAYBOY: Do you like loose- or tight-fitting
clothes?

GRETZKY: Very loose stuff. When I travel, 1
like to feel comfortable.

PLAYBOY: Do you notice what other guys
wear?

GRETZKY: Oh, yeah. I used to watch Tony
Geary in General Hospital. He's the same
height and has the same kind of build and
has blond hair, like me. I had never worn
green before I watched that show. I used
to hate green.

PLAYBOY: Since we're talking about light
topics, here's a light exercise: How do you

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think your hockey skills would translate to
other fields? With your skills, what sort of
statesman—or soldier or lover—do you
think Wayne Gretzky would make?
GRETZKY: I think that as a statesman, Га
be offensive. As a soldier, l'd be more
defensive; I'd be worried about my life and
I'd be watching every minute. And as a
lover . . . Pd probably be defensive. Pm a
very defensive person as far as letting peo-
ple into my life.

PLAYBOY: Are the women who are able to
break through your defenses the ones you
end up with?

GRETZKY: No, definitely not. I like to be the
one who opens the conversation. I'm
defensive when girls come up and get too
pushy with me.

PLAYBOY: Is that what happens when you
go to parties?

GRETZKY: Onc of the things that enable me
to live the way that I have is that I’m not a
very private person. Privacy is not a big
thing on my list. If I went toa party with
40 people and I knew ten or 12 people
there, I'd get right into the middle. The
only time I like to be alone is in the after-
noon before a game. That's when I watch
the soaps.

PLAYBOY: So no ambitions toward being a
sex symbol in the Joe Namath tradition?
GRETZKY: That's not a void I need to fill.
There are a lot of guys around who would

do better at being a sex symbol than
Wayne Gretzky.

PLAYBOY: How many women have been in
your life?

GRETZKY: Vickic Moss was my first. girl-
friend. I never dated anyone else.

PLAYBOY: How did you meet?

Teammate] Kevin Lowe and I
were at a night club in Edmonton, and she
was singing. I was 18 years old. A friend of
mine whom she knew introduced us
between one of her sets. Lasked her if she'd
like to have a drink, She sat down and
hasn't left since. The thing about her that
clicked in my mind was that she knew
nothing about hockey. My defenses went
right down. She does, however, have nine
brothers who are big sports fans. She told
them she was dating some hockey player.
Then, one day, ! showed up on their door-
step and they all panicked. [Laughs] So we
weren't exactly h school sweethearts
but the closest thing to it.

PLAYBOY: Wouldn't it be difficult. being.
Mrs. Wayne Gretzky?

GRETZKY: It would be harder than being
Wayne Gretzky. It's tougher for her to get
her own identity. She does have her own
identity with the people who know her,
but most people are asking her, "How's
Wayne's shoulder?" “Isn't it great that he
set a record?" “That was a great goal he
got last night!” Being Mrs. Wayne Gretzky
is a lot tougher.

PLAYBOY: Will you be getting married?
GRETZKY: I don't know. I've thought about
it. If I get married, I'm going to start a
family. She's just starting her career, trav-
eling down South and going to Japan to
cut an album, and I wouldn't want to
interfere.

PLAYBOY: Do you live together?

GRETZKY: No. She docs a lot of traveling in
her career, and I’m gone an awful lot, so
we don't. We do manage to see a lot of
each other. She gives me room for my
career and I give her room for her carcer,
and that's why we have a great relation-
ship. It's as simple as that.

PLAYBOY: All right, out there on the ice:
Besides career goals and assists, what
records are left for you to break that aren't
your own?

GRETZKY: Mike Bossy can say, “This year 1
want to get 50 goals in 50 gamcs"—and do
it. I can't. I have doubts about myself, and
if I don't accomplish the feat I set for
myself, it might really disappoint me.
Bossy is a strong enough person that he
said it and did it and that was it. I admire
him for that. I admire guys like Trottier,
Potvin, Bossy, guys who've played six,
seven years and maintain the same level
each year. That's the only goal I set for
myself, to be a consistent athlete. That sep-
arates the superstars from the stars.

if you're going to dabble in
postnuclear porn, you'd
better be ready for the fallout

article By JERRY STAHL

“CAFÉ FLESH”” AND ME

OK; How MANY pornographers do you know?

Huh? I'm not counting Uncle Buddy, who made a bundle after
the war peddling snapshots of wayward Stuttgart gals he lured off
the streets with the promise of nylons and. hot Sauerbraten if
they'd pose with Himmler, the barracks schnauzer.

No, sir. We're talking contempo twitch and wriggle here. The
loops you used to have to slide a quarter in the slot for have
spawned an industry-only slightly less legit than the one that

ILLUSTRATION BY ED PASCHKE

PLAYBOY

cranks out wholesome fodder of the Gandhi
II and Gidget Gets a Heat Rash variety. But
because they don't know any, scads of citi-
zens never realize that most of today's
thriving smutmeisters lead lives of no
greater raciness than 20-year men from
Mutual of Omaha.

Drab but true. Porno's ho-hum reality
remains a peculiar and little-known secret
to the world at large. Nobody assumes
that insurance guys gambol about their
pads on weekends, engaging in all sorts of
insurancy, actuary-packed shenanigans.
But if you've ever dabbled in dirt for
hire—if you happen to have "done
poundcake,” as insiders like to say—then
your status as sex-flick vet will likely give
folks the notion that your entire waking life
is spent in nonstop pornlike thought and
endeavor. It's not.

My own foray into X land, as а
cocreator of the strangely acclaimed
postnuke scorcher Café Flesh, left me
stamped with the sort of shady notoriety
shared by spouses of mass murderers and
Senate pages who tell all. Worse (or bet-
ter) yet, Pve been accosted by morons,
befriended by unsavory strangers, set
upon by a menagerie of Midwest swells
and slavcring innocents too numcrous to
cram into one lonely article. The best
thing, maybe, is not even to think of this as
"Think of it as sort of a strange-o
review in which you, lucky reader, will get
to meet some of the just plain folks who
saw our special movie and decided that,
more than anything, they wanted to step
out of their own lives and get their feet wet
in erotica. With mixed results.

But to fully appreciate the colossal
weirdness that followed Flesh's ascension
into cult-hit heaven, it helps for the reader
to have a peek at the Gehenna it popped
out of. Which means—hand me those
Valiums, dear—recalling how it all began,
risking a little visit back to the Days of
Slime and Bozos.

You'll have to wait for the PBS
docudrama to get the whole story, but
here's the gist. Way back in 1981, director
Rinse Dream and 1 cooked up a screenplay
about what life would bc like in the
postnuclear future. (Rinse Dream, of
Course, is not the name his mom and dad
gave him. But having opted to escape the
skin trade in order to try to crack
the lucrative Afterschool Special market, he
decided it might be best to let the whole
C.F. episode remain something only his
best friends know. My own movie mon-
iker, Herbert W. Day, was based on a
litle-league coach who used to swat me
about the coccyx for dropping flics.) Our
goal, in that apple-checked era, was to
perpetrate a World War Three musical.
We had in mind a kind of high-rad Cabaret
in which trendy mutants and atomic mob-
sters held sway over survivors bombed
beyond all normal pleasures. Lots of
people made movies about the end of the

world, but how many showed what the
night life would be like?

Back then, Dream and I reasoned, New
Wave loomed as the Next Big Thing. And
the Next Thing After That was sure to be
Nuclear Obsession (soon to set off a bat-
tery of Big Blast weepers from Testament to
The Day After). The point is, nonc of this
had happened yet. This was, for you
youngsters, pre-Road Warrior and Liquid
Sky, a season or two before Flashdance and
MTV made quick-cut, steamy visuals as
wholesome as Sheriff Andy's sinking his
choppers into Aunt Bee's cobbler. We
knew we were on to something. Only—go
figure!—none of the right-thinking agents
and studio execs we'd begun to badger
could recognize our prescience. We
weren't just turned down, we were
scorned, driven off like pinheads trying to
crash a Mensa dinner dance.

The horror! For half a year, Dream and
I made like duck-tailed pundits, foisting
our forecasts of postnuke greenbacks on
sniffy producers who plainly couldn't wait
to pry us off their sling chairs and spray
the room with Glade. “Now, Halloween,”
they'd declaim, “that’s a movie the kids’ll
lick up! That's an up!" But some film
about a gaggle of shell-shocked skecks
stranded on the planet after they bounce
the Big One... well, that was a
“downer.” Even if it did sport lots of girls
in leopardskin doing the dirty hula.

Finally—into the polyester inferno—we
got wind of a few “adult” financiers with a
hundred thou in quarters they wanted to
unload. These gentlemen made nice
money churning out low-grade tush 'n’
bush, but now they had an itch to add
“something a little classy” to their line.
(We had our first hint of what their idea of
class was when we saw their headquarters:
a three-room closet one flight up from a
16mm “‘art house” that offered round-the-
clock onc-handers.) Café Flesh, as it hap-
pened, caught the pornsters fancy. It was
the “poifect vehicle”—with certain key
additions. All we had to do was work in
some poochy, so the raincoat crowd
wouldn't give us a bad review. Otherwise,
it was smooth sailing.

So it was that our initial romp through
the holocaust, hardly PG-13 to begin with,
made its first, fatal stagger down the path
to flat-out obscenity. To make the back-
ers happy—and snag that ever-clusive
budget—we swore on our kneecaps to
stick in half a dozen squirting-hielbasa
scenes. But to nurse our integrity, we
crammed in all the disturbo words and
visuals we could. That way, see, it was still
“creative.” It was still “cool.” It was still,
if you sort of squinted, "our film."

Etc., etc. The entire epic was shot in ten
days, on a single set, in a studio the size of
a Dunkin' Donuts—for less than it costs to
shoot two and a half days of most normal
movies. But Café Flesh, for better or worse,
was never in real danger of ending up a

normal movie.

"The new plot, retooled for “wet shots.
hinged on the notion that after the apoc:
lypse, 99 percent of those who survived
would wake up D.O.A. between the legs.
"These were thc Sex Negatives. Unable to
relieve their lust—they got nauseated
when they tried—the Negs nevertheless
craved the sight of others who could still
pull off the act. These others, the function-
ing one percent, were called Sex Positives.
By rigidly enforced edict, Pozzies were
required to perform for Neggies. And the
"in" spot where all the ic and de
tured went to slaver? Café Flesh, postnuke
Copacabana.

Some fun! To keep things hopping
between cinema-gyno shots, we concocted
a little backstage romance. The hero was
the heroine a smoldering Posi-
and Jane Get Radiation. Toss
in a sicko lounge comic, a queen-of-the-
roller-derby hostess, a frantic synthesizer
sound track and the tragically hip bon
ton of Hollywood Boulevard as extras, and
what else do you need for a cult sensation?

If it wasn’t exactly the stuff of Gilbert
and Sullivan, it wasn’t quite Debbie Does
Decatur, either. The best part of the setup
was that most of the Chucks and Suzies
who had to lock femurs onscreen never
had to utter a word—a definite plus. Your
solid porn pro, as gifted as he may he at
expressive rooting, generally lacks dra-
matic verve when it comes to mouthing
dialog. But the way Flesh was remolded,
just about all the snappy patter could be
handled by “real” actors (out-of-work
Strasberg grads and sitcom hopefuls). And
the sex, pesky business, ended up in a
series of chorcographed side shows—stagy
diversions, 1 like to think, in the gala tradi-
tion of the June Taylor dance segments on
the old Jackie Gleason Show.

Imagine! By accident or by cosmic
design, a new genre had been created:
postatomic erotica. Apocalypse Wow! Even
more ludicrous, this mutant genesis estab-
lished a pair of fledgling film pups as the
Woodward and Bernstein of big-screen
bush. Lucky us.

But not to rush. ht out of the chute,
Flesh ran into static in the smut parlors.
Understandably, fellows who slipped into
Babs's House 0° Peeps for an evening of
Teeny Buns saw red when a batch of scab-
and-Mohawk types hit the screen instead.
They wanted those teenies! Rumor had it
that a battalion of Portland hard-core fans
had slashed some seats, and—this I
witnessed—at least six rows of Japancse
businessmen filed out to commit ritual bus
boarding halfway through a sneak preview
at Hollywood's famed Pussycat Theatre.

It wasn't pretty. A hot item in the
doors-barred, blinds-drawn home-video
market, Café quickly belly-upped in the
Adult Bund, In some places, it closed in a
day. And whole chains, such as the New

(continued on page 118)

:
b Tun

Ww 0 i VR

IL
AI E
"What is it? What's wrong?"

EVEN WITH MTV's tireless titil-
lation and Princes purple
bump and grind, there’s been
something missing from video
music. Call it heat for heat’s
sake. Hot women, hot music,
hot film—a synergy for eye and
саг. Now it's here. Playboy's
Girls of Rock & Roll, produced
by Carol Rosenstein and di-
rected by David Winters, is at
your video store. “It’s going to
be very successful,” says multi-
ple Emmy nominee Winters.
“It's music, film, nudity in ex-
tremely good taste, humor and
incredible production values.”
Unique in that it spotlights
stars a-borning—these videos
don’t promo old records but
new talent—Playboy's Girls of
Rock & Roll is being distrib-
uted by CBS-Fox. “These girls
are a break away from star-
dom,” Winters says. “They are
terrific.” And you can say you saw
them here first—all of them.

The tape (left) began as a ques-
tion: Why not hatch ptavsoy’s Janu-
ary pictorial The Girls of Rock ‘n’
Roll into a full-fledged audio-visual
thang? Coupled with a pile of dol-
lars ond on army of talented
auteurs, the girls—including a few
new discoveries—stepped off the
page and into the vanguard of
video music. Australia’s leonine
Cheryl Rixon (lounging below left,
roaring on the facing page) writhes
to a gender-bending beat in Secret
Love, a song that may be the
Eighties equivalent of Both Sides
Now. Director David Winters’
video Europopper is the well-
connected Dagmar Peterson. Once
one of Europe's leading fashion
models, Swedish-born Dagmor has
swapped magazine covers for Girls
of Rock & Roll's bed sheets. Her
husbond, Tom (below right, with
Dagmor), a founder of the super-
group Cheap Trick, appears with
her to add his own sax symbolism
to her vacals in Lose Your Mind.

ROCK VIDEO GETS HOT

you've never been moved like this before

PHOTOGRAPHY BY LARRY L. LOGAN

The music of Notolie Poce (left ond far left),
like Natolie herself, can be described os
modern psychedelic. “I sow her ot Modome
Wong's,” soys director Dovid Winters.
"She was enthrolling. Sometimes | chose the
girls with porticulor sequences in mind. This
was one of those. Natalie's so cute onstoge—
we tried to copture that." One clip thot
resulted is Machine World, loosely
bosed on Notalie's reol-life experiences as o
computer operotor. After stints with Com-
munique and No Prisoners, Notolie's now o
solo sensotion. Above left, she switches on.

“Very. very professionol," says Winters of
San Diego jozz/fusion artist Debra Roye
(left). Her bollad Nobody tells the story of
o singer ond her lighting technician (ployed
by husbend Scott Gorhom of the group Ipso
Focto), a man whose style (see the shower
scene with Debro, above left) is cs gripping
as his lody's soulful voice. Above ond right:
Brenda Hollidoy's sterling I'm the Other Wom-
an, in which she creates a sensotion among
a roving brigade of lady cops. Remember
the girl in Goldfinger? She kicked the gold
bucket. Silver girl Brendo's much tougher.

Once linked romonticolly with David
Bowie, for whom she song bockup,
former Chicago Bunny Avo Cherry
(above) hos mode it on her own with
records here ond abrood. Her Love
to Be Touched brings Groce Jones
ferocity and Ava femininity to Girls
of Rock & Roll. Actress/songstress
Celeno Allen (left ond below)
a.k.o. Dilithium Cristil of The Split-
ters, brings loco auto motion to My
Ford, while Miss January 1982,
Kimberly McArthur (right), mokes a
pretty picture crooning Maybe
Tonight. And the lody con sing.
Finally, in what Winters colls "on
Indiana Jones meets Dune” bit of
spoofery, Michelle Rohl (opposite) in
the creepy-crowly No Hongin' On.

ILLUSTRATION BY JOSÉ LUIS CUEVAS

EVEN
CHARLES
ATLAS
DIES

fiction

By SERGIO
RAMIREZ

i was transformed from
a 97-pound weakling into a
perfectly developed man. mr. atlas,
if i could only repay you

HOW WELL I REMEMBER Captain Hatfield, U.S.M.C.,
the day he came down to the dock at Blucficlds on
the Atlantic coast of Nicaragua to see me off on the
steamer to New York. He offered me his final
words of advice and pressed on me his cashmere
English overcoat—because it would be cold up
there, he said. He walked with me down the gang-
plank and then clasped my hand in a long, firm
handshake as I was about to step into the launch.
As we motored out to meet the steamer on the high
seas, 1 saw him for the last time, his figure slender
and arched in his fatigues and campaign boots,
waving goodbye with his cloth cap. I say for the
last time because three days later, he was shot ina
Sandinista assault on the Puerto Cabezas garrison,
where he was the commander.

Captain Hatfield, U.S.M.C., was a great friend.
He taught me English with his Cortina Method
records, which he played for me every night on the
windup Victrola there in the barracks of San
Fernando. It was through him that | came to know
American cigarettes. But above all else, I remem-
ber him for one thing: He enrolled me in the
Charles Atlas correspondence course and sent me
to New York to meet Charles Atlas in person

I first met Captain Hatfield, U.S.M.C., in the
town of San Fernando, in the northern mountains
of Nueva Segovia, where I was the telegraph oper-
ator. He arrived at the head of the first column of
U.S. Marines who were charged with forcing Gen-
eral Sandino and his (continued on page 146)

ENE
MAGGE

THE GRAND
ILLUSION

99 artful tricks
with vodka

drink By EMANUEL GREENBERG

ALMOST ANY ILLUSIONIST will admit that his bag of magic
tricks rests on a few simple principles, even if he won't
tell what they are. Vodka buffs, on the other hand, are
less secretive. They cheerfully reveal that their uncanny
ability to make one drink after another materialize flows
from the fact that almost any vodka creation inevitably
suggests a companion. That is eminently logical when
you consider that a major characteristic of the clean, vir-
tually flavorless spirit is its engaging versatility—its abil-
ity to smoothly complement a vast range of mixers.

During the past 30 years, as vodka has risen from odd-
ball specialty to America’s leading spirit, hundreds of
drinks and other applications have been concocted by
imaginative practitioners, both professional and ama-
teur. The following 99 examples of white magic are a
modest indication of the mother lode of vodka tricks.
Watch the prestidigitator carefully and see how the game
is played

Let's start the countdown with 12 drinks: the classic
screwdriver—vodka and orange juice—and 11 varia-
tions on the theme. For some of the alternatives, it's sim-
ply a matter of switching from о). to another juice. For
example, adam’s apple (apple juice, plus an apple slice),

PHOTOGRAPHY BY DAVE JORDANO

PLAYBOY

cape codder (cranberry-juice cocktail),
diamond head (pineapple juice), grape-
shot (grape juice with a lemon wedge),
greyhound (grapefruit juice), mandarin
(tangerine juice), redhead (equal parts
apple and cranberry juices) and yellow
fever (lemonade). But that's only the
beginning! Spike a traditional screwdriver
with a nip of Galliano and you have a
harvey wallbanger; add some Cointreau
for le screwdriver or Sambuca Romana for
a screwy sam.

Moving right along, it's a short step to
more cunning vodka-juice combos. The
seven that follow make ideal summer cool-
ers for beach, boat, pool or patio frolics:
hawaiian gold (1 ozs. vodka, 3 ozs. pine-
apple juice over ice in highball glass; fill
with tonic); minted cooler (1 oz. vodka, Y
Oz. green créme de menthe, 4 ozs. grape-
fruit juice, Ye teaspoon sugar; shake with
ice, pour unstrained into tall glass, splash
in club soda); sunrise rickey (14 ozs.
vodka, juice Y lime, 1 teaspoon grenadine
over ice in tall glass; add club soda);
moonglow (1% ozs. vodka, % oz.
Benedictine, 3 ozs. grapefruit juice over ice
in tall glass); catamaran (1 cz. vodka, Y
oz. curagao, 2 ozs. each pineapple juice
and guava nectar over ice in B-oz. highball
glass; splash in tonic); berry frost (1% ozs.
vodka, 3 ozs. apricot nectar, 5 fresh straw-
berries, cut up, | teaspoon each grenadine
and lemon juice, Y cup crushed ice; blend
until just smooth) and nantucket (1% ozs.
vodka, Y oz. triple sec, 4 ozs. cranberry-
juice cocktail, squeeze of lime over ice).

Here are seven more vodka coolers; only
in these, the juice is an accent rather than
the main mixer: parasol (2 ozs. each vodka
and orange juice, ¥ oz. lime juice; shake
with ice, pour unstrained into tall glass,
add bitter-lemon soda); double lime (1%
ozs. vodka, 1 oz. lime juice, 2 teaspoons
sweetened lime juice over ice in highball
glass; add club soda); vodka daisy (1%
ozs. vodka, 1 oz. lemon juice, Y oz. rasp-
berry syrup, 1 teaspoon sugar; shake with
cracked ice, pour unstrained into tall
glass, splash in club soda); valhalla (1%
ozs. vodka, V? oz. coconut liqueur, 2 ozs.
orange juice, V oz. lemon juice, 1 teaspoon
sugar; shake with ice, strain over fresh ice
into tall glass, add Seven-Up); vodka sling
(1% ozs. vodka, V^ oz. cherry liqueur, Y
oz. Benedictine, juice / lemon, dash bit-
ters; shake with ice, strain over fresh ice
into highball glass, add club soda); goldie
(1% ozs. vodka, % oz. apricot-flavored
brandy, juice Y lemon, % oz. grenadine
over ice; add club soda) and quencher (1%
ozs. vodka, Ye oz. crème de cassis, Ve oz.
triple sec, Ye oz. lime juice; shake with ice,
strain over fresh ice into 8-oz. glass, add
club soda).

Backing up a little, let’s explore other
vodka originals and the offspring they ve.
spawned. Score 11 more in this group.
Bloody mary—vodka, tomato juice,
seasonings— becomes a bloodhound when

you substitute % oz. dry sherry for the sea-
sonings or 2 clam digger when made with
clam-tomato cocktail instead of tomato
juice. Moscow mule— vodka, ginger beer,
juice and rind of % lime—converts to an
Irish mule with Guinness stout instead of
ginger beer; made with regular beer, it's a
dog's nose. Bullshot—vodka, bouillon,
dash Worcestershire and pepper—evolves
into a bloody bull when built with half
bouillon, half tomato juice. Black rus-
sian—equal parts vodka and Kahlüa—
gives rise to a white russian—a black rus-
sian, plus 1 part milk or cream—or to a
pola bear—a black russian briefly blended
with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Vodka's adaptability inspires yet
another direction; it’s now often called for
in drinks originally launched with other
spirits—as in these nine: as a replacement
for gin in a martini, gimlet, collins or
tonic, as a change from whiskey in a sour
or highball; as an alternate to white rum in
a colada or dai ; instead of brandy in a
stinger, to make it a spider.

Despite the wealth of past experimenta-
tion, the fascination with vodka drinks is
not slowing down. Quite the contrary.
Here are three recipes from—of all
places—London. British quaffers have
been rediscovering the cocktail, and the
happy hour is now a ritual in the livelier
bars. The current enthusiasm surfaced in
London’s hard-rock spots but has proved
to be upwardly mobile. London's Savoy
Hotel presents the vodka angel (Ye oz.
vodka, Y oz. Fraise de Bordeaux and Y.
oz. cream; shake with ice, strain into cock-
tail glass), while the bar at the London
Ritz offers serenity, a secret medley of
vodka, blue curacao, Galliano, dry ver-
mouth and orange juice. A moving force in
England's cocktail renaissance, Ваз
Basian, favors chop nut (1% ozs. vodka, %
oz. each coconut liqueur and créme de
banana, 1 oz. each orange juice and
cream; shake with ice, strain into glass).

While overseas, scoot across to Paris for
two more vodka offerings. Stop at Harry's
New York Bar for a blue lagoon (equal
parts vodka, blue curacao, lemon juice;
shake with ice, strain into saucer cham-
pagne over crushed icc) or at the Ritz bar
for a don giovanni (1% ozs. vodka, % oz.
Campari, 1% ozs. grapefruit juice; shake
with ice, strain into sour glass).

American bartenders are certainly no
less inventive; witness thesc cight housc
vodka specials from domestic bars:
mudslide, Le St. Germain restaurant, Los
Angeles (for two—1 oz. vodka, 2 ozs.
Myers's Original Rum Cream, scoop
rocky-road ice cream, И cup crushed ice;
blend thorcughly); calgary red, Washing-
ton Square Bar & Grill, San Francisco
(1% ozs. vodka, 5 ozs. beer, 2 ozs. tomato
juice, squeeze of lime, grind of pepper;

combine in beer glass); sea breeze,
Miguel's, Los Angeles (over ice in 13-oz.
glass: 2 ozs. Smirnoff vodka; fill glass %
full with cranberry-juice cocktail, float on
splash each orange juice, pineapple juice,
cub soda); Roxanne's heat wave,
Roxanne’s, New York City (1% оз.
vodka, 1 teaspoon fresh lime juice over ice
in wineglass; fill with chilled fresh water-
melon juice); boston bracer, Jimmy's
Harborside Restaurant, Boston (1% ozs.
each vodka and grapefruit juice over ice;
fill with Schweppes tonic water, garnish
with lime wedge); vodka bellini, Tony's,
Houston (1Y ozs. vodka over ice in high-
ball glass; fill with fresh peach or nectarine
juice); autumn cocktail, The Four Sea-
sons, New York City (2 ozs. vodka, % oz.
dry vermouth, % oz. Tuaca liqueur; stir
with ice, strain into cocktail glass, garnish
with orange peel); colorado bulldog, Win-
dows on the World, New York City (equal
parts vodka, coffee liqueur, cream; shake
with ice, pour unstrained into highball
glass, fill with chilled cola).

The current appeal of drinks made with
milk, cream or ice cream is documented by
these seven vodka smoothies: alexis (1%
ozs. vodka, % oz. chocolate-mint liqueur,
l oz. cream; shake with ice, strain into
glass); coco shake (1 oz. each vodka and
créme de cacao, small scoop chocolate ice
cream, 2 ozs. milk; blend, pour into glass,
top with club soda); green cow (1%e ozs.
vodka, Ve oz. each green créme de menthe
and white créme de cacao, 3 ozs. milk over
ice); jungle jim (equal parts vodka, créme
de banana, milk over ice); new yorker (1%
ozs. each vodka and créme de cacao, 3 ozs.
milk over ice in tall glass; fill with club
soda); snow snake (1 oz. vodka, % oz.
white crème de cacao, '% oz. tequila, 2 ozs.
milk; shake with ice, pour unstrained into
glass, squirt on whipped topping); vodka
silk (1% ozs. vodka, 3 ozs. peach nectar,
1% ozs. cream, | tablespoon maraschino-
cherry juice, 1 teaspoon lemon juice, 3 ozs.
crushed ice; blend until almost smooth;
pour into collins glass).

From dairy-based drinks, it seems a nat-
ural transition to vodka in food. Here are
seven ways to provide a piquant culinary
accent with vodka:

A splash of ice-cold vodka adds zing to
citrus sherbets or ripe melon.

James Beard, dean of the American food
establishment, suggests dipping raw finger
vegetables into chilled vodka, then into
coarse salt, as a nippy low-calorie nibble.

A light drizzle of vodka over oysters and
clams sharpens the briny mollusks.

An ounce of vodka does the same for a
bowl of gazpacho.

“To draw more intense aroma and flavor
from dried herbs, seeds or spices, steep
them in a small amount of vodka for an
hour or so; then strain off the liquid and

(concluded on page 194)

“You're so inventive!”

sure, vietnam taught us not to get
mired in an unpopular war. so how do
we make this war popular?

JOHN]ESKOV)

©? Sweet, quiet Jeffrey

Coates? Altack Desi Arnaz with a rolled-up copy of Soldier of
Fortune magazine? Man, I was the last guy in the world
that you'd figure for that kind of psycho scene—before I went to
Nick, that is. Hey, pre-Nick, I used to watch “I Love Lucy” all
the time. Ricky Ricardo was my hero. But after I came home from
my tour of Nick, my whole take on Desi started changing. One
afternoon, for absolutely no reason, I set fire to my bon-
gos. . . . Every time I heard a mambo, Га break out in a cold
sweat. I didn’t realize in my, like, conscious mind how much
Desi reminded me of that "raguan lieutenant that captured.
me... . But then, one night, I'm walking down 57th Street in
N.Y.C., right, givin’ all the rich folks my jungle-warfare stare,
and suddenly I'm eye-locked with old Desi himself. But, like, he
wasn't Desi anymore—he was that Sandy lieutenant crouchin"
down in the brambles! And I just went into total Nick flash-
back. . .. It's been a tough recovery. Both Desi and Lucy have
come to visit me in the rehab center—separately, natch—and
that's a class move on their part. But what about my buddies out
there on the street? They're walking time bombs, man! They
could freak any time and start dynamiting Mexican restaurants
or whatever. . . . And what about the boys who'll be shipped down
there by the boatload? What about the ones who won't come back?”
—JEFFREY LEE COATES,

Nicaragua vel

Those are poignant questions that Jeff Coates asks from
his cot in the CÍA compound in Langley, Virginia. (Since
the American presence in Nicaragua is still a covert one, we
can't yet treat its veterans in V.A. hospitals.) The war in
Vietnam ended 12 years ago, and we waited far too long to
start helping those soldiers recover from their ordeal. Fortu-
nately, word has come down from the President himself:
Let's not make that same tragic mistake again. This time,
let's not wait until thousands of (continued on page 196)

ILLUSTRATION BY SEYMOUR CHWAST

OUR MISS BROOKS

better bone up on your history
if you want to make the grade with cindy

CINDY BROOKS makes you want to watch your language. She
bombards you with her squeaky-clean vibes and, if you're not
careful, you find yourself saying such things as “Golly,
Cindy, that's keen!"

Consider her background:

“1 grew up in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. My father was one
of the first people, along with Walt Disney, to build a story-
book park. It was called Fantasyland, and I grew up with that
as my back yard. 1 worked there even through college. 1 was

PHOTOGRAPHY BY STEVE WAYDA

Sixscore and two years
later, the battlefield at
Gettysburg makes a
pleasant picnic ground
for Cindy and (from
left) her brother-in-law
John, sister Jackie and
father and mother. Not
Јат away was the park
Fantasyland, owned by
her father, where Cindy
played and worked dur-
ing her school days.

At left, Cindy shows the proper form for a downfield
shot on the polo field in Santa Barbara, California.
Later (above), members of the Santa Barbara Polo and
Racquet Club gather for a postmatch portrait. Word
to the wise: You'll need about four of those agile
and expensive polo ponies to get started in this game.

Little Bopeep and Little Red Ridinghood, and I sold cot-
ton candy and snow cones. 1 lived in this fantasy world. I
don't think I've grown up yet.”

You'd think growing up in Fantasyland would leave
one lacking in sophistication. But Cindy knows her way
around and has accomplished a lot in her 33 years. For
instance, she put down her shepherdess' staff long
enough to go to High Point College and earn a degree in
history.

“Living in Gettysburg, having so much history around
me, probably influenced my decision to choose a history
major. You could stand where Pickett’s charge was and
see the entrance to Fantasyland. But it wasn't until I got
into college and had some good history teachers that it
became interesting to me. They were smart enough to
get away from wars and what years they happened and
who was President at the time—all the boring things.
The result is that I am so much more interested in poli-
tics now. I'm interested in world history; I love watching
the news and reading the newspaper. I try to keep up on

On a bike ride in Gettysburg, Cindy stops to soak up a
little motherly wisdom before heading back to Los
Angeles and work. Although she concentrates on
modeling, Cindy has extensive credits in community
theater and college musical productions. With a lit-
tle Hollywood luck, more acting is a possibility.

The 15th reunion of the
Gettysburg Area Senior
High School class of
1969 brought together
old classmates (from
left) Randy Phiel, Wes
Ayre, Jim Kunkel, Bob
Hoylman and Paul
Witt, not to mention
Miss April 1985, who
received far more atten-
tion than she ever did
as a student there.

“What makes a good relationship for me? Anything I say will sound trite. One of
the words that come to mind to describe the perfect man for me is comforting. Not
just someone who will put his arms around me and hug me, though I think a lot
of that, but I mean comforting in a lot of ways. Im a baby, so to speak. I want
someone stronger to protect me and watch out for me.” Cindy, yow're beginning
to sound like the kind of good old-fashioned girl that married dear old Dad.

what's going on in the world. I think it makes me an interesting While we can understand the practical applications, history
person. I'm taking care of my own investments and trying to still seems pretty dry fare, an idea that Cindy is quick to refute

really understand IRAs and money markets. I don't go too much "Oh, а lot goes on. That's why history is so interesting. You
into the stock market, but I'll listen when someone has some- know, kings and queens fooling around on each other, and
thing to say about it. I just want to be aware, cognizant of what's separate entrances so that when the king comes home, he won't
going on around me that can help me." know she's had someone up (text continued on page 104)

ирен
151 nt

t‏ 1 ھر
*

in the bedroom. Unbelievable! Juicy! Documented!”

Cindy would have a thoroughly modern outlook on history.
She has come of age in a liberated era. And she's thankful for the
changes—but not particularly eager to take advantage of them.

“Women in the Eighties are able to go for what they want,
have interests, get out of the home. Yet they can stay there if they
want, and it’s OK. In the Seventies, the women who wanted to
stay home were ridiculed. People would say, ‘What’s the matter
with you? Why don’t you want to get out and have this wonderful
career?” Well, maybe they don’t want to, and 1 think that’s ter-
Tific, too.

“I have definite feelings about women’s lib. I think the main
idea is terrific. I think they've gotten carried away with it. 1 don't
want to say that women shouldn't be equal to men, but let's
not lose our sensitivity and our femininity. One of our greatest
joys is doing something for a man who appreciates it. I can’t help
thinking that all those women who don’t want to do things for
men have men around who don’t appreciate them.

“If you cook for a man and when he’s finished eating, he says,
‘Baby, come here, I want to tell you something. That was
terrific well, you can't tell me (text concluded on page 204)

“When my boyfriend comes home, I really like to make a big
deal of it: ‘Oh, baby, thanks for coming home! That's a very
Special moment, because he did come home to me. Men in the
work force are surrounded by attractive women all day.

PLAYMATE DATA SHEET

NAME: EIER fox

msr. IL wis: 23 res: IL
HEIGHT: S77" wem: L

BIRTH vare: ИДУ BIRTHPLACE: Создал, I.

AMBITIONS:

MEE ашаа
A Дале жа delas hal e UU

TURN-0NS :

TURN corr 22 PU pa S Ae Ce Plis,

FAVORITE BOOKS: Bl ee tou De Kı Western Ant, nado
Kiels (OCP DA EZ e Bem

— PERFORMERS: Tif ap UIT

FAVORITE SHORTS: SU 124

ETE Um O PY ore
а. а ЫЗА

PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES

Marcel, the famous chef, said he'd tickle my pal-
ate if I had dinner at his apartment on his free
night,” the girl confided to a confidante, “but
сап you guess what he wanted to tickle it with?"

Sign on door of bondage-and-domination club:
WIPE KNEES BEFORE ENTERT

The girls who staff a popular massage parlor
recently treated a group of their faithful clients to
a midnight cruise. The vessel they chartered was,
naturally enough, a tugboat.

Three Vanessa Williams jokes we hope we never
hear again:

Democratic Party strategists, agonizing over
the results of the election, are said to be bewail-
ing the fact that Vanessa Williams wasn't chosen
as Mondale’s running mate. Their thinking i
that she certainly could have licked Bush.

It’s being rumored that Vanessa Williams will
be honored with a novel commemorative postage
stamp. The novelty is that it can be licked on
both sides.

A tasteless porno promoter is sponsoring a
Vanessa Williams lick-alike contest.

Irıhe IRS begins specifically demanding a share
of my take as a part of tax reform,” the callgirl
complained bitterly, “Pl be getting doubly
screwed!

Said a writer of porn who'd been stricken
By а lovely who made his pulse quicken:
“Just the thought of your twat
Has suggested a plot—
And, my dear, it's beginning to thicken!”

е heard," the man told a fellow club member,
that а mad scientist somewhere has managed to
develop a beautiful, lifelike female android
endowed with incomparable sexual skills."
"That certainly gives a new meaning," com-
mented his listener, “to the old saying ‘She fucks
like a robot."

As the result of answering a personals ad for a
sales female traveling companion,” said the
girl, "I went on a South Seas cruise, during
which we crossed both the Tropic of Capricorn
and the Tropic of Cancer."
“That sounds romantic and maybe astrologi-

cally significant ushed her listener.
“Romantic, not really —but astrologically sig-
nificant,” she said. “The guy I went with was an

old goat! And the bastard gave me a case of the
crabs!”

Medical report: A plastic surgeon's development
of a replacement hymen has caused quite a flap.

There's an N.F.L. groupie who's cracking,
“I provide uhat al home may be lacking:
Since I lure them to bed
With the promise of head,
Fm an expert at quarterback sacking.”

Graffito on washroom wall next to prophylact
dispensing machine: BUY TWO AND BE ONE JUMP
AHEAD.

And then there was the fellow whose tongue was
so long that when he stuck it out for the doctor, it
was the nurse who went, "Aaaaah!"

prm

г organization ever happens to go to
Nevada for its convention," the woman
remarked to the business-association official she
was seated next to on the plane, “I think its
members might enjoy visiting my place."
7 asked the man.
cervices," the woman replied. “OF both the
and the nookie variety

s quite interesting,” said her fel-
¡ell me, what's the name of this
c establishment of yours?”
"The Odds and Ends Ranch."

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

of the minor ailments

by any

“With the wearing of this mystic talisman,
gued
usually handled by over-the-counter drugs!”

you will never be pla,

HEN THEY DONT WANT to make love,
Ww they talk about their lovers and
husbands.

When they don't want to make love,
they pay extraordinary attention to their
cats and dogs, or horses if you are riding
on a clear day in autumn, when trees and
clouds are full of sexual innuendoes. They
smoke cigarettes and chew gum so you
can't kiss them.

Sometimes they send you on long
errands when they don't want you, in
search of improbable brand names, pills
and salves, elixirs. Sometimes they tell you
that you are too big and other times that
you are too small. They say you are so
handsome they are afraid they might fall
їп love with you or so ugly they could not
possibly fall in love with you. Who knows
which is worse?

They may say they have just broken up
with their lover and are too sad or bitter to
make love. They say their fathers hated
them or that their fathers loved them too
much. They may say they are queer or
have some social disease. They say their
mothers frightened them or gave them too
much encouragement, expecting the
daughter to want to make love as much as
the mother wanted to make it. And so you
ask to meet the mother, and they say you
are rude. How could they ever make love

with somebody so rude?

When they want to make love, some-
times they will tell you they don't want to
make love, and the no means yes. But usu-
ally not, so you have to be careful. No is a
rare way for a woman to say yes, and a
common vanity is to think they would lie
to confuse us. When they want to make
love, they never talk about it. I say this
with total confidence based on too many
conversations that have led to my sleeping
alone, Maybe there are some who want to
make love and discuss it first, but I have
never known any, and I suspect this is a
sexual perversion, though nothing human
disgusts me.

You must look for other signs. Some-
times heavy breathing, but that might be
altitude or terror, or you could even be
imagining it. Clothing is helpful. You
would think that women in bathing suits
want to make love, but that has not been
my experience. Maybe the sun and sea
make our desires seem even more ridicu-
lous than they really are.

When they want to make love, they
wear these full white blouses cut low
across the breasts, so that leaning toward
you over the table, they shine naked. Or
they wear light cotton skirts with slits and
stand rounded, with a leg peeking, bright
as a knife. When they want to make love,

does no mean yes?
does yes mean maybe?
can a man ever tell?

essay

Dy DANIEL MARK EPSTEIN

ILLUSTRATION BY STANISLAW FERNANDES,

they wear dresses that come loose with the
single pull of a string and zip off with a
shrug and underwear, if any, that presents
the least resistance to eye and hand. I
appreciate that.

But clothes do not make the woman any
more than clothes make the man. And
besides, she might have dressed for some-
one else when you came upon her by sur-
prise or just after she had been in bed for
hours with someone new.

Do not pay too much attention to
women’s clothing. Look deeply into their
eyes as if they were naked or as if they had
on the most outlandish apparel of feathers
and patchwork silks and flowing ribbons
and none of it mattered to you in the least.

I used to think you could tell when a
woman wanted to make love, because sud-
denly it wouldn't matter so much. But
experience has made me wiser. I tried not
caring, nonchalance, thinking about other
things: baseball, the stock market, razors,
other women, pretending scx was thc far-
thest thing from my mind. But all the
women I met in this frame of mind seemed
wonderfully satisfied to go on not making
love for hours, days and even years, as if
this were the happiest game of all, not
making love, as if nothing could be more
agreeable than desire conquered.

T once knew a woman I thought wanted
to make love. I could tell from clothing,
silence and the absence of pets. After a
dinner of the best filet mignon, champagne
and strawberries, she told me she had to
go and do her laundry. She threw the bag
over her shoulder and went out. I waited
for hours. I never saw her again.

When they are plump, they eat a great
deal at dinner, and when they are thin,
they sigh and pick at their food. When
they want to make love, they are not inter-
ested in gifts or praise. They do not care
about age or 1.Q. or fortune. Sometimes
vou may notice a luxurious drowsiness
toward midnight, a stretching languor,
low voice; and maybe a hand caresses your
cheek and the hem sneaks up around her
thighs as she lies carelessly on the couch or
carpet. Or the blouse comes loose from the
skirt, revealing her skin there. And the
wineglass has only a sip left for the two of
you....

But never be too sure of anything.

Do not take her hand until there is shy
confusion about who is rcaching and
whose bedroom is waiting there at the end
of the hall.

In short, there is no end of false signs,
no end of beginnings. And the single end
that is shared must be unforeseen

Sometimes when they don't want to
make love, they talk about God instead,
and sometimes they talk about God when
they do. But always when making love
they are talking about God: Oh, God,
God, good God, oh, God, good God!

LET
'EM
RIP!

our bosom buddy
morganna’s
guide to spring-
training gear

and bucking aboard
the rugged Workhorse,
Huffy Sporting Goods’
aerobics and muscle-
toning machine that
employs a cam-driven
resistance system for
upper- and lower-body
exercise, plus cardiovas-
cular aid, about $250.

Above: Morganna has
stepped aboard Sun-
beam's Motivator, the
first in-home scale that
provides a voice feed-
bock of current weight,
history, target weight
and a vocabulary of
144 sentences and 150
instructional messages
designed to en-
courage behavior mod-
ification, about $250.

Ts time for spring training with

Morganna, baseball's buxom

(60-24-39) Kissing Bandit. Sprint-
ing onto the playing field to smooch big
stars and small, from Pete Rose to Otto
Valez, Morganna is anathema to secu-
rity guards but the next best thing to
the national anthem for the players.
Last year, in fact, she expanded her
already prodigious horizons and added
basketball s Kelly Tripucka to her list

catch a wayward buss. But a girl has
to do something during the off season to
keep in shape for surprise Monday-
night boob-tube baseball appearances,

Below: For those surprise sprints onto
the ball field, Morganna keeps im
shape on the Tredex Model 2924, œ
monitored revolving track with con-
trols that ollow you to vary its speed
from zero to eight miles per hour, by
Universal Gym Equipment, $2995.

Above: The Huffy Triathlon workout bike is about as close as you
can get to the real thing; features include an Avocet racing seat,
racing pedals with toe clips, a heavy-duty steel frame, a chrome-
cast-metal flywheel, a speedometer/odometer, padded racing
handle bars and a belt system that evenly distributes tension,
$250. Morganna generates about all the tension we can handle.

and that's what she's up to here. All the
equipment shown—from the Huffy
Workhorse to the home tanning bed for
getting an early start on beach and
bleacher rays—will give you a leg up on
your fellow jocks come summer. And
justto make certain you don't break train-
ing, we've included the Sunbeam Moti-
vator, an electronic coach/scale with
a 235-word vocabulary. We've worked
up a sweat just looking at Morganna.

Left: The big pull in exer-
cise equipment is still to
rowing machines. Mor-
ganna is giving the heave
ho to AMF's electro-
magnetic Benchmark
model, which produces
a motion similar to a
real scull'sand has an LED
readout that displays
calories consumed, $695.

Above: Next to a nude beach in Negril, we'll take indoor tan-
ning with Morganna on Wolff System's Model WSS/20 tan-
ning bed any time. Twenty Bellarium "S" Superlamps give an
even glow (the unit is safer than old Sol), and four fans, plus
head and foot cushions ensure comfort. Because UV-B rays
are so low, you don't even need to use a suntan lotion, $3995.

PLAYBOY

118

:
"CAFE FLESH” ue)

“I had a premonition that ‘Flesh’s’ exposure in the
heartland would generate some grotesque fallout.”

England Motion Picture web, refused to
book it at all. Tough sledding! The origi-
nal backers, swilling their Bromos, pan-
icked and sold the pic for a song. And
then—I still have to pinch myself—more
than a year after dying as a dirty movie,
Café Flesh was born again . . . as an art
film, hailed as a bona fide bit of midnight
cult cinema: “The Rocky Horror Picture
Shaw of the Eighties.”

Mirabile dictu! This unheard-of phe-
nomenon kicked off in ever-hep Los
Angeles, where the trendy Nuart Theater
plopped us into the Friday slot then occu-
pied by Pink Flamingos. Flamingos had
also premiered there, ten years before, and
my only fear was that one night, a tizzed-
off Divine would burst through my French
doors, wielding a bullwhip and a tub of
Happy Boy margarine, bent on revenge.
Success, as I soon learned, always packs a
hidden risk.

Meanwhile, word of our cult coronation
had brought us a spate of cryptic and
unsavory acclaim. The Hollywood Reporter
dubbed the film “Brechtian.” The Village
Voice warned that it was "only for the
truly alienated.” L.A.’s Herald Examiner
labeled it “one of the strangest movies ever
presented to an unwary public.” And in
no time, the unwary could get strange
at scads of perfectly respectable venues.
Cajé Flesh ran in New York, Boston,
D.C.—all the places you'd expect. But
reports also filtered back from such lonely
outposts as the El Paseo in Santa Fe,
Greensboro's Janus, even the Kalamazoo
Campus, where puzzled distribution vets
declared that it had outgrossed a week of
Rumble Fish in two midnight showings.

““CAFE FLESH' SWEEPS KALAMAZOO!” We'd
done the undoable! And yet—awful
truth—I had begun to suffer recurring
nightmares about dumping that twisted
thing in all these normal little towns.

Sure, they called me paranoid. But 1
had a premonition that Flesh's exposure in
the heartland would generate some gro-
tesque fallout. Unless we pulled all the
prints and dashed them with battery acid,
like, right away, it could be Uh-Oh City.

I was right. Weeks after we broke into
the White Bread Belt, the first blown-out
devotee tracked me down, railing from the
depths of the Midwest that Flesh had
inspired him to drop everything and take
his own stab at porno glory. My worst
nightmare: He knew I was just the man to
make his dream come true!

Seymour, it turned out, was a conven-

ience-mart mogul from Indianapolis. He

called up—no word on how he had gotten
the number—to let yours truly know he
had “а wad of cabbage thick as whale
dong" if I wanted to work up this wild idea
he had for a movic.

“Do апу bun whackin'?" he asked, hav-
ing waked me out of a deep, troubled sleep
at nine AM.

“Excuse me?” 1 mumbled.

"Bun whackin’,” Seymour repeated,
shouting this time and making a thwack-
ing noise with his check. “I was wonderin’
if you got into much of that out there on
the Coast. Here in Indy, it's just catchin’
on, so I figured you people out there were
beyond that into somethin’ else.”

I gave a little grunt, which the Mart
King somehow took for an affirmative. “1
thought so,” he said. “I bet you guys get
to try all kinds of kooky stuff. That’s how I
know you're gonna love Hamper.”

Too groggy to protest, I plumped the
pillow and listened with grim fascination
as he described Hamper Girls, a brain
storm inspired by a roguish vending-
machine repairman he paid to keep things
up to snuff at his Piggly Wigglys or what-
ever they were. *My guy moonlights on
dollar-bill changers, and he tells me these
little launderettes are so full of quiff, you
gotta slap it off. I'm not kiddin'," he
chuckled, as chummy as a lodge brother.
“The way I figure, we go in and shoot
some nice poochy pokin’ out of a top
loader. Real cute stuff. What say I whip
you guys out the treatment and we slide.
right into development. . . .”

At what point, 1 wondered, did people
in Indianapolis start talking "treatments"
and "development deals"? Does anybody
know the exact date? Seymour seemed to
have a firmer grasp on the lingo than my
own agent, who boasted a background in
Renaissance lit. He went prattling on
about "gross points" and “a rich back
end" until he wound himself down, then
suggested he scoot something out by
Purolator so we could get the ball rolling.

I confess that for one foggy minute, 1
considered telling him that Hamper was
the best thing I'd ever heard, maybe ask-
ing him to send off a little start-up check
of, say, 90 Gs, then just cashing in and
going nameless in Tijuana for a season in
case he got antsy and dispatched some
strapping Indiana lad to drag me back and
make me work off every penny stocking
shelves at a Terre Haute all-nighter. But it
was too big a decision to make before
noon.

“Mr. Seymour,” 1 whispered, cupping
the receiver so none of my immediate

neighbors would hear. (These condo walls
are so thin, and some people still didn't
know.) "Mr. Seymour, йз not like you
think. . . . I’m not really a porno guy.”

“Whaddaya talkin’? You made the son
of a bitch, didn’t you?”

“A one-shot,” 1 said, still sotto voce. “I
start dental school in the fall.”

"Is this some kind of stunt?" he hol-
lered. The man had cut his teeth in the
dog-eat-dog world of Hoosier mart man-
agement, and he wasn’t used to hearing no
for an answer. “If it's price you're worried
about, forget it. Say the word and you can
make yourself a sweet wad of cabbage.”

I swore it wasn’t the cabbage, but the
denial only brought on more wheedling.
“C'mon, guy, level with your uncle Sy.
Am I getting bullshit or am I getting fruit
salad?"

“What?”

Call me a softy, but I just can’t hang up
on people. I couldn't even hang up on
Uncle Sy.

Finally, dusüng off a few old Dale
Carnegie techniques, I told him that if I
were going to tackle a Hamfer-size deal,
Та want to give it 110 percent; but right
now, I was just swamped with other proj-
ects. (I didn't tell him the big one was
delivering circulars for Goodwill, but I
didn't think Dale would want me to.) For a
dizzy month or so, there had actually been
talk of a Café Flesh cable series; and before
that fizzled, there were hints of a French
financier dying to spring for a reshot R
version of the movie. This being Holly-
wood and all, it turned out that both par-
ties wanted to pay in Monopoly money.
Still, for a while there, I was a guy with
projects.

"Okeydoke, business over," Seymour
snapped, suddenly shifting gears and get-
ting reverential. “Can I be personal now,
kiddo? I just wanna tell you I think Café
Flesh is the greatest flick this country's
seen since The Stepford Wives. And 1 mean
that. I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true.”

It took a minute for this to sink in, dur-
ing which Seymour asked quickly if Pd
mind showing him and a buddy around
if they ever happened to drop into
Tinseltown. “A guy like you must know all
the hot spots, huh?”

“You bet,” I said. It was the only way to
get him off the phone before Meet the Press.

Two weeks later— "Surprise!" —Sy
called to say that he was at the Hollywood
Holiday Inn with a lodge brother named
Babe and they were dying to catch some
hotcha-hotcha. “So where's the action?"
he wanted to know. “Whats on the
agenda?"

Well, what the hell. An artist owes
something to his fans. That's just as true
for a giant like Julio Iglesias as it is for you
and me. Just having any fans at all was a
new experience, and 1 was sort of curious
to see what an out-of-stater was like. And

(continued on page 199)

brief tales from korea tom Ondoru Yawa, Korean Nights

TWO INTERESTING LIES

Once there was a minister who de-
lighted in clever lies, and he an-
nounced that any man who could tell
bim two truly interesting lies could
marry his beautiful daughter. So it was
that all the best liars came to his house
with their tales. But he was never satis-
fied with both lies, and his daughter
remained unwon and unwed.

One day, a young man from the
north came to the house and tried his
luck. “You should go out and dig a
huge pit under the main street of
Seoul,” he said, “When the hot weather
comes, 1 predict that you will be able to
sell the cool, damp pit and grow rich.”

“That's wonderful,” said the minis-
ter as usual. “And the second?”

“Before your father died," the young
man said, “he borrowed one hundred
thousand yang from me. 1 now ask for
the payment."

The minister was in a dilemma: “If I
say it is a lie, I must give the young
man my daughter. If I say it is the
truth, I must pay him my fortune.”

“This strikes me as the most interest-
ing lie I have ever heard," he said at
last, whereat his lovely daughter
sighed with pleasure.

THE FOOLISH BRIDES

Once there were three sisters whose
mother had died when they were
young. When it came time for them to
be married, they had no one to give
them advice about the ways of men.

On her wedding night, the first sister
was frightened when at last alone with
the brid , and she modestly
refused to undress. Insulted, the young
man went away and never returned.

The second sister took note of this,
and on her wedding night, she took off
her clothes outside the bridal chamber
and walked boldly to her husband quite
naked. He was astounded. It seemed
to him that only a very experienced
woman would be so immodest. He, too,
left the house, never to return.

The third sister was terribly worried,
so on the night of her marriage, she
stood outside the room and called,
“Shall I come in dressed or naked?"

The husband was dumfounded. It
seemed incredible that she should have
to ask, and so he, as well, got up and
left the house forever.

THE UNMARKED GRAVE

One day, a young traveler on his way
to the city stopped and urinated on a

Ribald Classic

flat place by the roadside. He could not
know it, but that place was the un-
marked grave of a young woman.

That night, he dreamed that a beauti-
ful girl appeared to him and said,
“Traveler, my greatest thanks for lift-
ing the curse on me. Today you showed.
me your lovely pink member. Never їп
my lifetime did any man so favor me,
and so I was full of bitterness and was
condemned to walk the earth as a
ghost. Now you have freed me to go to
another world. I shall repay you.”

The young man went on to the city,
and it so happened that, while he was
there, he met the beautiful daughter of
a magistrate, fell in love and married
her. On his wedding night, he sud-
denly felt a ghostly touch on his mem-
ber and heard the voice of the girl in
his dream say, “1 have repaid the debt.
Farewell!”

From that time on in Korea, a virgin
who dies is buried not under a circular
mound, like other dead, but beneath

flat ground.
— Retold by Charles Chandu ED

20 QUESTIONS: JOEL HYATT

the king of storefront law grills the legal profession, recalls some
corpus delicti and tells us about his briefs

joel Hyatt, al 34, is the Ray Kroc of law.

Despite widespread criticism. from his
professional contemporaries, his low-cost
Hyatt Legal Services chain (at the mo-
ment with 155 offices in 20 states) threatens
not only to become the largest law firm of any
kind in the world but to change America's
ambivalent opinion of lawyers. His method: a
slick national-television ad campaign (star-
ring Joel Hyatt), storefront offices located in
shopping centers with evening and weekend
hours and extremely cheap rates. Bill Zehme
caught up with Hyatt in Kansas City, Mis-
souri, the firm's headquarters, and reports:
"Hyatt is every bit as earnest as he seems in
those commercials. He could probably be
Wally and Beaver's other brother. In his
office, visitors are greeted by a huge Andy
Warhol lithograph of Justice Louis Brandeis,
from the series “Ten Great Jews of the 20th
Century.’ Hyatt swears that he often looks up
from his desk and catches the legendary jurist
winking at him.”

riavsoy: Chief Justice Warren Burger
believes that lawyers enjoy such low public
esteem that they are near “the bottom of
the barrel” because some advertise like
used-car salesmen. How do you plead?
нүлтт: Not guilty. He doesn’t condemn
lawyer advertising; he complains about
lawyers who engage in advertising not up
to the standards we, as a profession,
should set. I don't know what Burger's
standards are, but I doubt they're any
higher than mine. My ads have been
acclaimed even by staunch opponents of
lawyer advertising, precisely because they
dignify the profession, not demean it.

Lawyers have been held in very low
regard for a long time in this country—
indeed, for far longer than we've had the
right to advertise. It’s very important to
point out that, while the Chief Justice has
made it clear how essential itis for the pro-
fession to make legal services more widely
available at a lower cost, he has ignored
the critical link between having the ability
to advertise and reaching that goal. Ad-
vertising creates competition and competi-
tion reduces the cost to consumers. Hyatt
Legal Services is dramatic evidence of how
to do that best, because we're doing it for
more people than any other law firm in the
country. And we couldn't do it without
advertising.

PLAYBOY: Why are most Americans leery of
lawyers?

PHOTOGRAPHY BY WILLIAM COUPON

HYATT: It didn't help when our country
went through a period during which the
President of the United States, the Attor-
ney General and the special counsel to the
President—all lawyers—were indicted
and all but Nixon were convicted of violat-
ing laws. Lawyers have been perceived as
protecting and enforcing the rights of the
rich and powerful and as simply being
unavailable and inapplicable to the rights
and needs of middle-income people.
Indeed, professional attempts to limit
competition and oppose lawyer advertis-
ing are viewed by the public as being
exactly what they are—cynical and greedy
efforts to protect lawyers' turf rather than
serve the people.

PLAYBOY: Give us your word on this: Would
you trust a lawyer if vour life depended on it?
HYATT: Yes. There are many honest, com-
mitted and talented lawyers whom 1
would trust if I were in serious trouble.
That’s not to say there aren't many law-
yers whose talent and integrity don't
inspire my confidence. The profession has
never properly addressed its responsibility
for self-regulation.

PLAYBOY: What really slows down justice?
HYATT: Several things. Until the advent of
lower-cost delivery of legal services,
obtaining a lawyer was prohibitively
expensive for most people. That meant
that a person could not protect or enforce
his rights. That’s changing, but there’s a
lot more change necessary. First, we need
to develop ways of resolving disputes with-
out the legal system. There are many
things—divorce, for one—that might be
better done outside a courthouse.

PLAYBOY: Why haven't you hired John
Houseman to do your ads?

нултт: I don’t think he'd do as good a job
as 1 do. Actually, we couldn't afford John
Houseman. Also, many states prohibit the
use of actors in legal ads. In Ohio, where
we started, for example, the law requires
that only a lawyer in full-time practice
with the firm appear as the spokesperson.
I was the only one of the three cofounders
of Hyatt Legal Services who could practice
law in Ohio. So, by default, I became the
spokesperson. Most people thought that it
was because of my large cgo, but, in fact, it
was legally mandated. Now that my wife,
Suzi, has become a full partner, people

keep suggesting that she do the ads. She
would do a great job. But I’m not sure that
my ego could withstand the increase in
business that would result.

PLAYBOY: Here's a literary question. Give
Shakespeare an assist: What would be the
most efficient way to “kill all the lawyers"?
HYATT: Require them to keep silent for
a week.

PLAYBOY: Yov're the pre-eminent attorney
of the TV age; what's your assessment:
Did Perry Mason ever have competition?
HYATT: No. Perry Mason will always stand
alone. I loved that show. Then, unfortu-
nately, 1 went to law school and learned
that everything in Perry Mason's court-
room is unrealistic. He asks witnesses
questions that are totally improper and
would never be permitted in any court. He
always solves the case by capturing the
person who really committed the crime—
who just so happens to be sitting in the
courtroom. It’s a wonderful show that, if
anything, exacerbates the lack of informa-
tion people have about our legal system.

The recent Paul Newman film The Ver-
dict was actually more relevant to impor-
tant issues facing the legal profession: the
need for quality standards, the role that
powerful institutions can play, the incom-
petence of some judges. But the movie
went to extremes. For example, it wasn’t
necessary to have Newman be a lawyer
with only one client to prove he was strug-
gling. There are, unfortunately, many
struggling lawyers who make the kind of
improper ethical judgments he made. But
there are very few lawyers who are as sad
and pathetic as he was, and by carrying
the characterization too far, the movie lost
credibility.

PLAYBOY: Lawyers are always tossing
around Latin terms. Do you guys really
know what that stuff means? That is, when
is a corpus delicti?

HYATT: | used to refer to the women I
wanted to date in college as corpus delicti.
In truth, I don't know what many of those
terms and phrases mean. The arcane and
unique language that lawyers insist upon
using is an attempt to keep themselves
on a pedestal. They try to enshroud the
law ina big mystery so that the public feels
that it needs lawyers to explain what
seems to beso (continued on page 184)

121

WHAT I
LEARNED
AT SEA

the author chucked a great job to
become a ship's skipper—so what
if he didn’t know how to sail?

By REG POTTERTON

1 HAVE NO Satisfactory explanation
for this, but for almost ten years, I
was employed by PLAYBOY magazine
in a position that many. people
described (somewhat carelessly, 1
often thought) as the greatest job in
the world. For an aspiring young
writer who'd spent ‘years day-
dreaming about exotic lands, it
probably seemed as close to perfec-
tion as any job could be. The work
consisted of foreign travel, with an
open expense acconnt. and a
walletful of company credit cards,

and taking notes. It was the kind of
job that allowed me to go where I
wanted when I wanted, and I did.
Someone had to do it, and for rea-
sons best known to those who made
the choice, I was chosen. Y
Perhaps nobody at the Chicago
head office fully understood why
this privilége had come my way.
Certainly, none of us ever knew
exactly what the job was, for the
issue was co: by the fact that

my title on the masthead changed
every year or sa. It was assumed

ihat I was a kind of travel editor,
and for a time T think I was, though
at least one editor remained con-
vinced that I was employed by a
foreign intelligence service.
There was only one formal defi-

nition of my function in the

PLAYBOY empire, and that came on
the first assignment, a tour of
hotels, restanrants and places of
amusement in nine European
countries, the first of which was
Portugal. In Lisbon, I checked into
& suite at the Ritz, took a bath in a

` ble and

from a quarry of pink
went out into the city to

room that appeared to have been
mar-
into the resort suburbs of Estoril

‚and Cascais. Within a week, Pd col- -

lected so many receipts that I had
to buy a new bag'to hold them and
had to invent a new category
‘nightlife research—for the come
pany expense-accouni forms.
Alarmed by the extravagant costs
of the expedition, I phoned
Chicago front Lisbon to suggest

PLAYBOY

124

that we drop the remaining eight countries
from the itinerary. Over the crackle of the
transatlantic line, I heard the Managing
Editor’s kindly, confident chuckle: “Don’t
you worry about that, my boy. You just
stay on the road and spend the money.
That’s your job.”

I followed those orders faithfully. Other
men might have behaved otherwise in the
circumstances, but to me it was work that
called for systematic and fairly relentless
self-gratification, and through the full, rich
years from 1966 to 1975, I applied myself
to the task with energy and dedication on
a global scale.

Throughout most of that time, I lived in
England and went to the office only for the
occasional meeting and to collect money
for the next journey. When a Senior Editor
asked me why, as a staff member of a com-
pany based in Chicago, I lived in another
country, I could only say that it was more
convenient.

It is difficult to convey the enormous
sense of well-being that comes to those
who travel the world on other people's
money; and in my case, perhaps it was
inevitable that the money would some-
times be used to gratify powerful cravings.
For several weeks of a three-month canoe
and river-boat journey across the Amazon
Basin in the rainy season, my guide was a
man who claimed a deep and almost mys-
tical intimacy with Amazon geography,
which he first demonstrated when we
became hopelessly lost within a mile of his
native village. It took us more than a week
to get out and another two weeks before we
reached the city of Manaus.

Throughout that period, my guide had
only one subject on his mind, and he
talked about it with an enthusiasm that
never waned during those endless days of
rain and epic discomfort: He had a passion
for the German city of Frankfurt; it was his
lifelong ambition to go there.

This soon became a difficult and
intensely boring subject to sustain, since
neither of us had been to Frankfurt or
knew anything about the place, but my
guide adopted the playful attitude that
because I had traveled widely, I must also
have been to Frankfurt and would one day
break down and tell him everything I
knew if he kept on about it long enough.

In Manaus, in exchange for his services
on the river and in part payment for the
occasion when he had led me to a swim-
ming hole infested with piranhas, I helped
my guide obtain a passport and gave him a

one-way ticket from the jungle to his city of `

dreams. He went, but he never wrote.
М

As the years rolled splendidly by, there
were warning tremors offstage, the rum-
bling sound of things breaking up in the
background. Marriage. Family. Home. In
Hong Kong in 1972 I met an American
woman who came back to my hotel room
and waited until we were in bed before

reminding me that we'd been there once
before, in Morocco in 1969. She verified
this with a summary of incidents from our
first encounter: swimming at night in the
surf at Agadir, the broken shower in her
room, the workmen and their drills out-
side her window at daybreak. I remem-
bered that, 1 remembered a woman, but 1
didn't remember her. I said:

“You've changed your hair; that’s what
fooled me.”

“No, it’s the same.”

"And you're still singing with that
band?"

“No, I'm still a lawyer."

Another wobble came a year later in a
movie theater in Tokyo, when I sat in the
darkness, sober and wide-awake, timing
myselffor more than a minute while I tried
to remember the answers to these ques-
tions: What country am I in? Why am I
here?

To coincide with my 39th birthday, in
April 1975, and with the intention of writ-
ing about charter yachting in the West
Indies, I arranged for the magazine to
charter а 72-foot schooner and a 60-foot
ketch for a two-week cruise in the eastern
Caribbean. My fellow passengers were a
photographer, his assistants, a stylist, a
hairdresser and five models.

“What we're looking for," the photogra-
pher said as we set off from Martinique,
"are pictures of mature young adults
doing mature-young-adult things with
each other.”

In the Caribbean, 1 made myself obnox-
ious among my colleagues by brooding
loudly and often about a theme that had
developed into a monotonous diatribe—
filled with whining and self-pity, no
doubt—the gist being that while I'd been
everywhere and done practically every-
thing I wanted, I couldn't actually do any-
thing that was of any real value to anyone,
and it seemed to me that I didn’t know
anything of lasting value to myself.

As we sailed from island to island, I
couldn’t help comparing my way of life
with that of the crews of our two chartered
yachts and with that of the other sailors we
met during the charter. There was a
humor and a practical wisdom about them
that struck a chord; 1 admired them for
what they could do, for their skills, their
knowledge of tools and materials; I envied
them for the simplicity of their existence,
which seemed to me to combine the great-
est freedom with the greatest responsibil-
ity. Unlike many of the people I knew,
they didn't spend their time in neurotic
contemplation of men, women, issues and
events that were far removed from them
and over which they had no control and
that rarely mattered anyway. They were
unconcerned about the latest fads or
obsessions, the newest celebrities, current
movies, books or diets or cults. Morc
important, there was a refreshing and
unself-conscious sense of friendship among

them, a mutual dependency and trust that
took no account of nationality, age or sex.
It occurred to me that for the first time in
my life, I was among a group of people
who did what they did for the love of it,
and that what they did was worth doing.

From this it was a short step to the con-
dusion that 1 wanted to know what they
knew, to be like them, to be one of them;
and at dinner on the boat one night, after
yet another day of watching naked young
models diving from the boat and running
along the beach, I said so. One of the mod-
els said, “Do you know that nine out of ten
people think you're an asshole?"

“That's all right,” said Mike Perkins,
cur skipper. "Nine out of ten assholes
think he’s OK.”

1 didn't write the story about the
charter-yacht business. In Antigua, where
our charter ended, there was an old
wooden ketch called Fortuna that was
leaving the next week for the south of
France. Í got a place on the boat as a
deckhand and flew back to Chicago to
hand in the world's greatest job and the
company credit cards; there was a brief
interview with Arthur Kretchmer, the
Editorial Director.

“You must be out of your fucking
mind,” he said.

I didn't think so. All I knew was that I
wanted to pump out the contents of my
mind and fill it up with everything it knew
nothing about—the sea, boats, weather,
navigation, engines, electronics. I wanted
to learn how to usc tools and to make bro-
ken things work again. I wanted to learn
enough so that I could take a boat any-
where a boat could go; I wanted to be an
ocean sailor.

"The drawback to this new passion was a
lifelong aversion to the sea; in my experi-
ence, the ocean had been mostly a cold
and miserable setting for unpleasant mem-
ories. Some years before the PLAYBOY
charter, I had joined my then-father-in-
law, the major, and three of his friends
when they sailed his boat from England to
Portugal. This was probably nothing more
than an attempt to smarm myself into the
good books of the old man, a stiff and bris-
tly ex-British-army officer whose sailing
philosophy derived from the belief that a
dean ship is a happy ship. Ours was nei-
ther; for the week or so that the nightmare
lasted, I threw up on him, his friends, their
bunks, in the galley, over the engine and
everywhere on the boat except over the
side. When we flew back to London, he sat
at the opposite end of the plane from me.
We've never spoken since. His daughter,
my wife, later sealed the disgrace by drum-
ming me out of the family regiment.

But as I flew from Chicago to Antigua to
join the crew of Fortuna, I don't remember
being worried by those memories. A new
life was starting. 1 would sail to the

(continued on page 134)

a breath-taking look at togetherness

LAYMATE SISTERS

“mencisno friend like a sister,” a lady paet once wrote. We'll buy thot—some of our best friends ore sisters. Indeed,
the genetic mysteries that have produced our Ploymates have often been similarly at work omong their siblings. And
to celebrote thot fact we've produced the family portroits on these pages, storring Toni St. George ond her August
1982 Ploymote sister Cothy (cbove left); Gail Chin and January 1983's Lonny (obove right); lost month's Ploymote,
Donna Smith, ond Notalie (below left); ond Leilani and Morch 1983's Alana Soores (below right). Bear this thought
in mind while viewing this portfolio: Nobody can giggle, fight or sing close hormony the woy sisters con.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY KEN MARCUS

125

LONNY AND GAIL CHIN: Toke two sisters who are close in age
‘ond you'll be amazed ot how mony lifetime firsts they've experi-
enced together. It is o commonly unremarked-upon fact thot girls
prepare for life's mojor moments together. Especially during adoles-
cence, sisters experience a sort of extended boot comp of life
together. Therefore, mony sisters hove exchonged their first tender
embraces, their first mushy kisses ond life's dearest secrets. Histori-
cally, thot kinda mokes sis the first date. And, os you might well
expect, the biggest disogreements ore often over who gets to play
the girl. Sisters learn to donce together. Have you ever noticed how
they dance? Like Astoire ond Rogers, right? Thot's because they stort
reheorsals around the age of nine. By the time they get to high
school, they move like Michoel Jackson. And they expect you to cut
in on thot? Here ore some major (odmit it) moments in the lives of the
Chins, who grew up together in Colgary, Alberta: Thot's Lonny ot
bottom left, Goil at left and both sisters enjoying breokfost in bed
below. In both of the shots ot right, Lonny’s on the left. Whew!

128

CATHY AND TONI ST. GEORGE: Once upon a time in
America, there was a phenamenon knawn os the Gabor
sisters—Zsa Zsa and Evo. They were very pretty and dressed
ord talked alike ond, in fact, very few people, except for Merv
Griffin, could tell them apart—and that's why they weren't as
stupefyingly seductive as the St. Georges. If we're not mis-
token, sisters ore at their sexiest when their differences ore
allowed ta interact with their similarities. A kind of tease takes
place when you peer into the eyes of one woman and fleetingly
see the other one. Or, if sisters don't look alike, sometimes
they speak and—zing!—the sameness of their voices will star-
tle you. If you're nat careful, you'll fall in love every time yaur
girlfriend’s little sister answers the phone. The St. Georges, as
a collective experience, offer that kind af thrill. Cathy, the
blande New Yorker, may be 5'4" ta Tani's 5'7" and may con-
sider herself reserved when campared with talkative Toni, but
whom do yau see when yau loak into ane set of eyes?

ALANA AND LEILANI SOARES: The fact thot the Soares sisters
have been neatly benched by three interested gentlemen (tcp) roises a
somewhat untidy but admittedly interesting topic—no, not that other
untidy but interesting topic—we mean sibling rivalry. (Attentian, psy-
chalogy mojors.) There ore many varieties of sibling rivolry: “Mom
always liked you best,“ “1 hate you becouse you're skinny," “Make а
move an him ond you die, sucker.” What do two beautiful sisters who
ore bath enrolled at major universities—Alcna ct USC and Leilani ot
UCLA—think of rivalry? Well, it seems they're toa absorbed in sports
ta compete with each other. They're bath mod far skiing and tennis, and
Alana wants to wind up awning on N.F.L. fronchise—probobly because
she found aut that's where lettermen go when they grow up. Above:
Alona ond Leilani shaw some up-frant determination while studying. At

right: Reprising а childhood memory in a leisurely both together.

DONNA AND NATALIE SMITH: Holly Near sings a song about
her older sister called You've Got Me Flying. It illustrates the simple
truth that sometimes an older sister works as a pretty good launching
pad. She can do the exploring, make all the mistakes for the younger
one. She can go on dates, kiss real boys ond learn how to end-run
around Mom and Dad. Some may say older sisters have all the fun.
Hoir styling, make-up, how to apply for a job, where to go to college—
those are all areas in which the experienced sibling can be called upon
for invaluable assistance. (But we must remember her contribution to
the wardrobe: hand-me-downs. Younger sisters don't, as a rule, mind
getting them; but one of the younger sisters here, who shall remain
anonymous, said, “I'l accept all hand-me-downs—except for bras-
sieres and men.") In the case of the Smiths, dark-haired Natalie is two
years the senior of Donna. Therefore, it is her duty to introduce little
sister to new friends, at left. At right: The sisters exchange services.
Guys, you probably never realized just how awkward painting your
‘own toenails con be, but you know a back rub's best from one you love.

PLAYBOY

AT SEA ..........

“Tools lost their mystery, while fingers and other
parts of the body lost their feeling."

Mediterranean, learn what I could on For-
tuna and then buy a boat of my own in Eu-
rope. It would have to be small, because
I didn't have the money for anything large,
and it would probably be old and made of
wood. I'd learn to navigate and sail back
to the West Indies before winter.

On the plane, I carried a box of 48 sea
books and a short length of line with which
I practiced tying knots. By the time we
landed, I could almost do the bowline.

In Antigua, I found that Fortuna's mast
had snapped off during my absence and
the owner had put the boat up for sale.
"The Atlantic crossing was off. There would
be no dolphins, no dicing with death, no
spray in the rigging or rousing chanteys
with the lads in the fo’c’sle. Instead, I was
39, unemployed and stuck in the West
Indies with 48 sea books and Arthur
Kretchmer's parting words echoing in my
ears.

I bought a sailor’s knife—a knife in a
holster, with a pair of pliers in a pouch and
an instrument called a marlinespike in
another pouch. This accessory had a com-
manding, nautical appearance, and I wore
it daily as I made my way around the
dockyard at English Harbour, looking for a
place on a boat bound for Europe. I didn't
know what a marlinespike did or why pli-
ers would be more useful to a sailor than,
say, a hammer, but I felt that by wearing
them on my belt, I'd stand a better chance
of being taken on, that a captain would
say, "You're just the man we're looking
for; you've got your own knife and pliers.”

Unfortunately, with the hurricane sea-
son about to start, most boats had already
left the Caribbean, and the few that were
still in port were fully crewed or were stay-
ing in the islands. There was only one
exception, and that was a large schooner
that 1 will call Diamond (for reasons that
will soon become obvious, many names in
this journal have been changed).

Diamond was going to Gibraltar as soon
as she could be made ready. I knew the
boat—she had been tied up stern to
at the dock when I arrived in Antigua—
and she was so beautiful that 1 badn't
dared ask the skipper if he needed crew.
She had elegance and power in every
detail: two towering masts, a broad sweep
of scrubbed teak deck, highly polished var-
nish on the deckhouse and hatches and an
open cockpit with a large spoked wheel. A
classic yacht.

But her captain was not a deeply
beloved man; taken as a whole, the sum-
mary of dockyard intelligence on Dia-

134 mond’s skipper described a man who

combined the social graces of Himmler
and Torquemada. The kindest thing said
of him was that he was a maniac. Sailors I
met around the dockyard talked about the
boat in terms of rape, overwork, bad food,
random violence, imprisonment and men-
tal cruelty of various kinds. “Captain
Demento, psycho of the seven seas,” was
how one ex-crew member described him,
I decided that such talk could only be gos-
sip and rumor and wasted no further time
in presenting myself at Diamond's gang-
way, wearing my knife and pliers. The
skipper was a small, stocky man with a
lopsided grin and bright-blue, lively eyes;
he was polite, affable and to the point.

"What can you do?" he asked.

"Nothing."

“When do you want to move aboard?”

We stayed in Antigua for more than a
month, working every day of the week
from first light to late at night. Much of the
work required moving heavy things from
one inaccessible place to another. It took
six of us to carry the mainsail ashore to be
sewed. Tons of lead had to be removed,
collected and taken off the stern gangway
in a wheelbarrow. We sanded, scraped,
varnished, painted, scrubbed, built a new
freezer, installed wiring, fitted new rig-
ging, mended sails and awnings. Tools lost
their mystery, while fingers and other
parts of the body lost their feeling. On
Diamond, I began to understand why sail-
ors described themselves as boat niggers.

We took turns being janitor of the day, a
form of penal servitude under Bertha, the
18-year-old cook, a large, fierce girl from
Los Angeles. One of her recurring special-
ties was half-frozen chicken on a bed of
charred vegetables, spattered with sauce
clots and liberally dusted with gravy pow-
der. Some of us called it chicken outrage,
though not when Bertha was around; lev-
ity wasn’t her strongest point.

The first mate was called Two-Six; he
was Bertha’s boyfriend, 2 Nebraskan who
had once made a living by grappling with
powerful animals on the rodco circuit.
Two-six was the timing phrase he used
when we pulled on lines against a load.
The other deckhand was Zack, a tall and
Biblical New Yorker who performed ritual
calisthenics on deck in homage to a rcli-
gion that combined cosmic overdrive and
gravity fields. There was very little com-
munication among any of us except when
work was concerned. The crew ate up for-
ward; the captain and his wife dined alone
in the main saloon.

Our captain had a skin disease on both

arms that made him scratch with two
hands at once, which sometimes gave the
impression that he was plucking an invisi-
ble stringed instrument. As he scratched,
showers of dust and flakes dropped to the
deck; when he was angry, his fingers
picked at double speed and his quick blue
eyes jiggled in their sockets like steel balls
in a child's puzzle.

About an hour before we were due to
pick up the anchor and sail, Zack decided
to quit. It was a question of bad karma in
the force field and planetary death
pragmatics, he explained. Two-Six took
him ashore in the dinghy and returned half
an hour later with a young French couple
and their duffel bags.

“Isn't that nice?” the captain said as we
watched the girl, a fresh-faced, pretty
blonde in a bikini and sarong, lift her leg
over the rail.

It took us 31 days to reach Gibraltar. I
was seasick once, the first day, and for the
last time since. Between watches, we kept
on working, scraping, sanding and var-
nishing; the captain sat in the cockpit,
watching us with his bright eyes, scratch-
ing energetically at his arms. Except for
the first few days, when we ran into one
violent squall after another, the Atlantic
proved to be an anticlimax; it just lay there
and heaved gently, one long, hot and
windless day after another.

But two weeks after we had left Antigua,
the French couple were prisoners in the
fo'c’sle, forbidden to go on deck except for
an hour in the morning and restricted to
bread and water. The captain said it was
because they had complained about the
food. Another version of the truth was
revealed in a trial—if it can be called
that—held in the main saloon. The cap-
tain sat at a large gimbaled table while the
rest of us—the accused, Two-Six and
myself—stood around the table, bracing
ourselves against the occasional swell. The
French couple spoke no English; ld been
called in as interpreter. For the sound
track, we had Wagner at high volume on
the saloon stereo.

“Tell these slimy frogs Pve had it up to
here with their fucking whining about the
food,” the captain said, using the conver-
sational tone a man might take when ask-
ing his gardener to trim the lawn. “Tell
them all frogs are slimy; tell them 1 shit on
their flag."

I explained that the captain understood
they were unhappy about Bertha's cook-
ing. The girl burst into tears and said that
wasn’t the problem; everyone complained
about the pig swill that Bertha called food;
the problem was that she had refused to
sleep with the captain and his wife. Cet
homme dégoittant, she said, had come on
deck at night while she was at the wheel
and had chased her from one end of the
boat to the other, naked and waving

(continued on page 150)

"Last night, she blew ten thousand and the dealer with the red tie."

the message this year was: she bop till you drop

Cyndi Lauper may be a flash-in-the-pan
popster, but as a philosopher, she has
already proved herself to be a straight
thinker and a woman of unerring intuition
She has come up with a Gestalt for the
Eighties: fun. Having some expertise in
this arca, we can only say that this woman
secs things our way. We may not dye our
hair orange, dress up in rhinestones and
fast-dance on the sidewalk, but we appre-
ciate a smart and funny woman who does.
And we were ready for Lauper's music
Recently, Billboard reprinted the top hits
for each year since it started keeping track.
Interesting reading—until we got to the
late Seventies. Gosh, we'll probably never
repay our debt to the Bee Gees, because it
would be so difficult to give them what
they really deserve.
Fortunately, a musical r

racle has been
evolving in post- Bee Gees Americ
years ago, there was a vague sei
tain fringes: punk, reggae, jaz
(gasp!) synthesizer musi

funk and
. The Police and

Earth, Wind & Fire can be credited with
successfully blending these elements and
with training our cars for w!
come. This year—bingo!—the musicians
were ready and we were ready.

So what docs this have to do with fun?
Well, now you can dance to the music
without fecling stupid— because the music
isn't stupid. "The regimental "everybody
lovesa march” disco beat has given way to
more playful stuf. Now we're perfectly
to dance all night, just as Wang
ucts.
rtain traditions persist. The long
and winding guitar solo, once the
hows, still exists, but usually
in the hands of only the deserving few:
Edd Van Hale Prince, Hall and
Oates's G. E. Smith and a few more. As for
the treasured inscrutable lyric, Billy Idol
is taking care of business. Meanwhile,
Tina Turner is keeping screaming alive.
And Sheila E. has brought new and pro-
found variations to the obligatory drum
solo—variations such as the net body

Eat your heart out Max

Even heavy metal was rechromed with
hits by a more innovative Van Halen, plus
Ratt and Sammy Hagar. And if parody
equals flattery, the beast rockers should be
proud of the inspired heavy-metal send-up
This Is Spinal Tap

A few final words about some of the
holes in this year's music wrap-up. First,
country. Nashville and Bakersfield didn't
have a bumper year. We really don't know
why. There is а back-to-the-barrooms
movement in country today that has pro-
duced some of the best work in years

And jazz. Every year about this time,
someone mentions “the jazz comeback.”
the comeback was М;
s, and the year before, it was Miles
ter a few years, it's not hard to
see that jazz has never gone away. But just
between you and us, this ycar the jazz
comeback will be Sting. Uh-huh, the one
with the gilt jockstrap. And don't forget,
you read it here

first.

———-——-————————— س

We've seen and heard a lot of Michael
Jackson in the past few years—enaugh, same
might say, to last a lifetime. In the two and a
half years since Thriller first tl d us, Michael
the megastar has authored more fashian and
dance trends than Madison Avenue and 42nd
Street put together. He's а record-selling
titleholder af Guinness proportions; a crossover
artist in its broadest definition, counting his
fans amang every race and generation. When
you're as good as Michael is at nearly every-
thing, we wonder where yau find a challenge

Michoel's recent rash of successes has natu-
rally led to review and scrutiny; thus, we've
seen clips of the petite moppet who franted the
Jackson 5 at an age when most kids are read-
ing Dick and Jane; we've learned of his lave for
Disney and his disdain for the press; we know
that he's a Jehavah's Witness, that he's had a
nose jab, that he squires Brooke Shields ta
awards shows.

HALL OF FAME: MICHAEL JACKSON

Yet for all his exposure, Michael Jackson
remains a mystery. Why is his vaice so high?
His love life nil? When is he going to grow up?
And why, with all of his well-documented tal-
ents, is he reported to be painfully shy?

We saw him last summer in the now-famaus
Jacksons’ Victory tour ond were frankly
amazed that anything as heavily hyped could
be such a pleasurable bash. Much of that suc-
cess had to do with Michael's rare talents, but
much of it had to do with his ability to back off
and be an ensemble player when the need
arose. It also had to da with some pretty neat
special effects.

We salute Michael for the countless special
effects af his 20-year career—for the magi
as he likes to call it, that he warks with music.
And we loak forward ta hearing fram the man
this magical boy will one day become. We wish
him a lifetime of wizardry.

I A

SCULPTURE BY JACK GREGORY/PHOTOGRAPHY BY SEYMOUR MEDNICK

READERS’

here are the lucky stars
of our music poll

Every November, when we publish the
Playboy Music Poll ballot, we're charmed
that, unlike other polls, ours is fun, though
it's not much fun to tabulate the results.
Here's the fun part: the winners according
to your ballots. For complete results, turn
to page 144

POP/ROCK

. Male Vocalist and Compaser / Songwriter:
Bruce Springsteen
Group: Bruce Springsteen & the E
Street Band

. Female Vocalist: Cyndi Lauper

Guitor: Edward Van Halen

. Keyboards: Billy Joel

Drums: Phil Collins

- Bass: Paul McCartney

Dusen

RHYTHM-AND-BLUES

- Male Vocalist: Prince

Group: Prince and the Revolution
. Female Vocalist: Madonna
. Camposer/ Songwriter: Lionel Richie

JAZZ

. Male Vocalist: Al Jarreau
. Female Vocalist: Ella Fitzgerald
. Brass: Chuck Mangione
- Keybaards: Herbie Hancock
Group: Herbie Hancock
- Vibes: Lionel Hampton
. Guitar: George Benson
. Woodwinds: Grover Washington, Jr.
. Bass: Stanley Clarke
. Percussion: Buddy Rich
. Composer / Songwriter: Quincy Jones

COUNTRY

. Male Vocalist and Composer / Songwriter:
Willie Nelson

. Female Vocalist: Crystal Gayle
String Instrumentalist: Roy Clark
Graup: Alabama

139

THE YEAR IN

in which we seek to clarify,
edify and sometimes magnify
current musical events

CAN YOU SPOT THE PUNK ON THIS PAGE?

Which of the gentlemen above is the punk? Is it Frank “Frank” Sinatra, pride of Hoboken, Palm Springs and the
National Republican Committee? Or is it Billy Idol, the boule blond with the Mad Max look and the Presley snarl?
We caught each of their acts during recent tours, and we took notes. Below, we submit our observations; you be the judge.

In his concert, Frank told his accompanist, “I’m ready. Do ya want me to beat ya with a stick?" When an admirer
placed flowers at his feet onstage, he asked, “Can we dry this up and smoke it?" When he forgot a band member's name,
he deadpanned to the audience, “How the hell do 1 know his first name?"

During his show, Billy apologized for the ticket price and asked, “But did I give something back?" When he was
asked if his song White Wedding was about drugs, Billy replied, “It’s about my sister!" And here's how Billy describes his
relationship with his band: “There's a sense of being, belonging with them and finding out about them as people."

Draw your own conclusions, but we think Frank makes Jello Biafra look like instant pudding.

STARS 'N' BARS
& ROCK 'N’ ROLL

the wave was big this year—
the flag wave

Huey Lewis and the News gave us the year’s best Star-Spangled Ban-
ner at the All-Star Game. Lionel Richie led the collective orgy that
concluded the 23rd Olympiad. Michael Jackson picked up his Life-
time Achievement Award at the White House. But, while the Reagan
re-election team prodded, most rockers wouldn't help win one for the
Gipper. Billy Joel declined a White House invitation. And John Cou-
gar Mellencamp turned down Reagan's request to use the Pink Houses
song and video, saying, “I didn't know whether to be more embar-
rassed for me or the President—obviously, he doesn’t understand the
song." Meanwhile, the Republicans saturated MTV with ads. The flap
of the year hit when the rockin” Republicans discovered Bruce
Springsteen. Drummer Max Weinberg invited George Will to a
show, which resulted in a rave for the Boss in Will’s column. Then
Reagan praised Springsteen for his "message of hope," claiming to be a
fan. At a later concert, Springsteen wondered aloud whether Reagan
had listened to his song Johnny 99, which is about an unemployed auto
worker who shoots his wife. Maybe Fritz Mondale said it best: “Bruce
may have been born to run, but he wasn't born yesterday." Personally,
we were encouraged when we spotted Boy George's campaign button

ILLUSTRATION BY MIKE ELINS

"Life is not a popularity con-

you burn a trail across the world, leav-

the year in quotes ing a permanent shadow of groupies
and rubble. . . and one day, it’s Miller
"The music business is full of Time." —DAVID LEE ROTH
sharks, barracudas and piranhas
These people scare me sometimes. “A lot of Michael's success is due to
They make the boxing world look like timing and luck. It could just as easily
a Sunday-schoolclass." —DONKING have been me." — —JERMAINE JACKSON
"There's a lot of negative. things “Insanity is a relative term. Behav-
that I could say, but I don't want to ior that might be acceptable in a rock
see these things in print." band might get you committed if you HEAD SASH

REPORT: Heavy
metal came back, with its

“You d b | LINDSEY BUCKINGHAM armies afleather-and-spike
fou don't have to be a surrealist to ipd hera cer ton

think the world is strange.” н y ond Iran Maiden, here ore our heavy metalists

— LAURIE ANDERSON cf the year—Chicaga fans (clockwise from

к left): Hippy Jim, Shackly, Spike,

“I always wanted to be a black New | Su EAT Con you AR cid
Yorker." — CHARLIE WATTS one is the art student?

THE TINA
TURNER
WORKOUT

Do you find it hard to believe
that this woman is 45? Do you
wish other 45-year-old women
looked like this?

In an effort to beautify Amer-
ica (and strengthen its thighs),
we present the Tina Turner
Workout

1. Buy a sturdy pair of five-
inch spikes, fish-net stockings
and a leather mini

2. Get a job as a singer in an
R&B band.

3. Book two shows a night, five
nights a week; dance your guts out

—MORRIS DAY work in a bank.”

onstage nonstop.
After 25 or 30 years of this
regimen, even if you can't
sing a lick, you'll be ready to
pose for a knockout album
cover. If you happen to be Tina
Turner, you will find that not
only are you singing better than
ever but everybody in the music
world wants to sing a duet with
you. Not a bad way to score a
knockout. We can't wait for
Tina's live-concert video. IPI
put all other workout videos to
shame.

ILLUSTRATION BY DENNIS MAGDICH

141

some have left marks of
distinction; some have been
marked for extinction

The You Know Who You Are
Award: To all the girls Julio Iglesias
and Willie Nelson have loved.

Producers of the Year: Joc and
Katherine Jackson.

Best Rock Film:
Sense.

Big Bam Boom Award: To U2,
whose Brussels show
caused tremors that
set off scismic-
monitoring equipment
operated by Belgium"
Royal Meteorological
Institute.

Stop Making

Best Break Dancer:
Mary Lov Rettan.

ILLUSTRATION BY PAUL MOCH

EYES-AND-EARS
AWARDS: Big budgets,
big-time Hollywood direc-
tors and big stars produce
big video bombs. Cars,
women, s-f. Enough, al-
ready. But don't turn that
dial; a few videos kept our
eyes open. Our choices:

Best White Feet: Daryl
Hall and John Oates. And
they never once hired a
chorcographer.

The Leave 'Em Pant-
ing Award: To Prince and
Madonna for never making us ask, “Was it good for you, too?”
Best Stunt Driving: To Chicago for Stay the Night.

Most Abused Authority Figure: Actor Mark Metcalf, star of not one but two
"Twisted Sister clips.

Deed to Boardwalk: To MTV, which responded to its first serious competi-

tion, from Ted Turner's Cable Music Channel, by acquiring CMC's assets after

the demise of the fledgling service on its 34th day of operation

Welcome Back Award:

lo performance videos. If God had meant for rock-

n’-rollers to act, He'd have sent them Lee Strasberg, not Elvis Presley.

Campus Drinking Song of the
Year: We're Not Gonna Take И by
Twisted Sister.

Yoko Ono Award: To Britt
land, who marricd The Stray Cats’
Jim McDonnell about six months
before the Cats broke up.

Best Book: The TV Theme Song

Sing-Along Song Book (St. Mar-

tin’s Press).

SLEEPERS: We salute the year’s
unsung (unsald) heroes.

Goodbye Cruel World/-
Elvis Costello: He deserves the
superlatives heaped an him.

Rescue / Clarence Clem-
mons and the Red Bank Rack-
ers: In the darkness at the edge
of Bruce's shadow, who can see
to Ісак?

New Sensations / Lou Reed:
The ‚older ond soberer he gets,
the better he sounds.

All over the Place/Ban-
gles: At lost! A girl group that
daes not trade on cuteness.

Too Tough to Die/The
Ramones: The true dads of punk
return ta the assault they started.

EB ‘84/The Everly Broth-
ers: Rock harmony singing
daesn't get any better thon this.

Hi-Res/Joe Ely: A veteran
salaon bad boy gets cozy with
some computers ond has himself
а real hat Saturday night.

Medical Story of the Year: Break-
Dance Back Syndrome, the term
coined by two Boston doctors who
studied the growing number of young,
gifted and broken brcakcrs

ILLUSTRATION BY ROBERT RISKO

Most Valuable Beards: ZZ Top, notch. When
Gillette offered the bearded two thirds af ZZ
оп opportunity to endarse its blades, the bays
а it. We still don't knaw if the price wasn't
igh enough ar they just don't like to shave.

MOST ROYALTIES: in 1984, the movie Purple
Rain yielded $70,000,000 in ticket soles;
10,000,000 sound-track records and 768,000
concert tickets were sold. Goad far Prince?
Yes, but alsa for Apollonio, Sheila E. and
Morris Doy, whase coreers are cruising. And
Prince donoled on unspecified portian of his
tour profits to the Morva Collins Westside Pre-
poratory Schaol National Teacher Training
Institute in Chicago. Note to Prince and com-
pony: Let o smile be yaur umbrella.

ILLUSTRATION BY DON IVAN PUNCHATZ

when
dam

144

PLAYBOY MUSIC '85

(continued from page 139)

10. Individual Choice I Jean-Luc Ponty

(Adantic)

RECORDS OF THE YEAR 4 тан Dancer | Tina Turner (Capi- BEST COUNTRY LP
BEST POP / ROCK LP tol
x Р 1. Roll On / Alabama (RCA)
А 5. Victory / Jacksons (Epic)
1.8 the U.S.A. / B i ? p 2. Maj (illi
ee ruce Springsteen 6G Couldn't Stand the Weather [Stevie Ray 2 Major Moves | Hank Williams, Jr.
2 Irem T Vaughan and Double Trouble (Epic) (Warner/Curb)
L wis uey Lewis and the News x a y y (illi
purius E 7. Break Out I Pointer Sisters (Planet) 3. City of New Orleans 1 Willie Nelson
(ovalada B. Future Shock 1 Herbie Hancock (Co- O
3. Purple Rain I A and the Revolu- lumbia) К 4. Don't Cheat in Our Hometown I Ricky
tion (Warner Bros. : Skaggs (Epic)
9. The Woman in Red sound wi кер
4. 1984 | Van Halen (Warner Bros.) e rack / 5. MyHeartsin Alabama! Alabama (RCA)
5. Heartbeat City | The Cars (Elektra) Mp 6. M. Steel | Hank Willi 1
: з | 10. I's Your Night I James Ingram (Qwest) i SE BRIE WIRE JE
6. She's So Unusual / Cyndi Lauper (Por- ^ 8 (Warner/Curb)
trait) BEST JAZZ LP 7. A Little Good News / Anne Murray
7. An Innocent Man / Billy Joel (Col е C: E
. An Innocent Man | Billy Joel (Colum- j ч (Capitol)
bia) eek Неа A В. Cage the Songbird | Crystal Gayle
8. Learning to Crawl | The Pretenders ~ prog) E (Warner Bros.)
(Sire) ; m 9. Does Fort Worth Ever Cross Your
9. 90125 1 Yes (ATCO) 3. LA. Is My Lady! Frank Sinatra (Qwest) Mind | George Strait (МСА.
IBN TERI T GS Е 4. Decoy / Miles Davis (Columbia) ч rg (MCA)
. Rebel Yell / Billy Idol (Chrysalis) 5. Access All Areas / Spyro Суга (MCA) 10- Kentucky Hearts | Exile (Epic)
PR Л 6. тш Thinking | Earl Klugh (Capi- HALL OF FAME
tol
1. Purple Rain / Prince and the Revolution 7. FirstCirele/PatMetheny Group (ECM) 1. Michael Jackson 6. Stevie Nicks
(Warner Bros.) r а 8. Hot House Flowers | Wynton Marsalis 2. Billy Joel 7. Robert Plant
2. Can't Slow Down І Lionel Richie (Mo- (Columbia) 3. Prince 8. Lionel Richie
town) 9. December | George Winston (Wind- 4. Bob Seger 9. Sting
3. Madonna (Sire) ham Hill) 5. Jimmy Page 10. Chuck Berry
FEMALE VOCALIST B. Della Re 7. Cl li ii lils:
„o, BEST MUSICIANS Ms uu cuu
. Carmine Appice 2. Diana Ross | 10. Carmen McRae 9. Jim Hall 7. Ricky Skages
MALE VOCALIST 9. Joc Vitale 3. Deniece Williams 9. Joc Pass 8. Johnny Cash
1. Bruce Springsteen 10, Bill Kreutzmann d Ardia Franklin. PET Nes
2. Huey Levis 5. Roberta Flask pass. 3 Waylon Jennings
3. Billy Jod 6 Chaka Khan 1. Chuck Mangione BASS. Merle Нарда!
4. Prince mass Gladys Knight 2 Herb Alpert 1. Stonley Clorke
5. Michael Jackson 1. Paul McCartney Turner S Wyma kai: Zu ar Bib FEMALE VOCALIST
6. David Bowie 2. Stanley Clarke 9. Patrice Rushen $ Dec Soiree 3. Bob Cranshaw 1. Crystol Goyle
2. Siere 3. John Entwistle 10, Nona Hehdryx 3. Miles Davis 4. Jaco Pastorius 2. Barbara Mandrell
& Billy al” $ Bill Wyman 6. Dizzy Gillespie 5. Ron Carter 3. Dolly Parton
9. Sting 5. John Paul Jones 7. Maynard Ferguson — 6. Rufus Reid 3. Emmylou Harris.
10. Paul McCartney € Greg Lake COMTOSERSONOWRITER 8. Randy Brecker 7. Monk Montgomery 5
6. Tina Weymouth 1, Honet Richie | Donal Byrd 8. Art Davis é
masoca YEN pu E Cx ech
Z Tha Tarer 10. John McVie a оона 8. Jane Fricke
3. Stevie Nicks 6. Michael Jackson. 1. Grover Washington, Jr. PERCUSSION 10. Loretta Lynn
4. Chrissie Hynde epee ee 7. Smokey Robinson 2. Benny Goodman 1. Бойду eh
5. Pat Benatar MPOSERSONGWRITER James Brown 3. David Sanborn 2 Sieve Gani STRING INSTRUMENTALIST
Soriano E Woes Herman Billy Cobham poy clone
EA ыры ionel Richie olas Ashlord 5 Sonny Rollins 4. Stix Hooper XE um
ne 3. Billy Joel во мес Simpson 6, John Klemmer 5. Ralph MacDonald — 3 for Re
9. Olivia Newton-John Paul McCartney жина nes Do iege 6. Willie Bobo P Ку Aik
10. Rickie Lee Jones 5. Daryl Hall & око 8. Phil Woods 7. Lenny White x
John Oates ee 9. Zoot Sims. 8. Art Blakey
6. Stevie Wonder ; Prince & the Revolution 10. Gerry Mulligan 9. Mongo Santamaria
GUITAR. 7. David Bowie Z Peiner Sisters 10. Elvin Jones
1. Edword Von Holen 8. Michael Jackson PU к=з Donna Md
2. Eric Clapton. 8. Ric Ocasek + Төп, Wine & Fire куин ; E RAT
3. Carlos Santana 10. Stevie Nicks 5. Kool & the Gang 1. Herbie Hancock COMPOSERSONGWRITER 0. Sonny James
4. Polo TA 6. Temptations 2. Chick Corea. 1, Quincy Jones
5. Jimmy Page T. Gladys Knight & 3. Dave Brubeck 2. Herbie Hancock e
6. Mark Knopfler crour the Pipe ке, ee Y Wie Nelson о
7. Keith Richards 1. Bruce Springsteen & 8. Gap Band Eo pud f ase Da melon, Jr. 2" Dolly Parton
8. Glenn Frey theEStreet Band ¡2 Black Uhuru 6. Oscar Peterson ee 3. Hank Williams, Jr.
9. Ted Nugent 2. Huey Lewis & the News 10 DeBarge dana Se Brae 3. Waylon Jennings
10. Joe Walsh 3 ZZ hp TE E les 3. Mele Haggard
на JAZZ 10. George Duke 9. Gil Scott-Heron 8
KEYBOARDS улке e Am 10. Stanley Clarke а
1. Billy Joel T. Rolling Stones 1. Aller 7 a
2 Joe Jackson & Daryl Hall & 2. George Benson 1 к
E ka Pasi Jobn Oates 3. Ray Chark 2.
SE as 9. Pink Floyd 4. Frank Sinatra 3
& Nal You = 10. Fleetwood Mac 5. Lou Rawls 4. Milt Jackson В 1
7. Todd Rundgren a рк uer MM Ry Claret 2
Үе" О M uu -
E EIE CETT 8. Joc Williams 8. Tommy Vig 7. Crusaders акпа rui
y ть Prince: 10. "Tony Benneit 9. Victor Feldman 8. Buddy Rich M Bad
2. Stevie Wonder 10. Bobby Hutcherson 9- Jeff Lorber Fusion لا ا‎
DRUMS 3. Michael Jackson FEMALE VOCALIST ا‎ B Кенар = =.
1. Phil Collins 4. George Benson 1. Ello Fitzgerald - GUITAR К? T un is
2. Mick Fleetwood 5. Ray Charles 2. Раш Austin 1. George Benson COUNTRY 8. Statler Brother
3. Stewart Copeland 6. Eddy Grant 3. Nancy Wilson 2. Pat Metheny MALE VOCALIST ESS
4 Charlie Watts i James Ingram 4. Lena Home 3. Al DiMeola 1. Willie Nelson шыш
5. Max Weinberg в. James Brown 5. Sarah Vaughan 3. Lee Ritenour 2. Kenny Rogers ı0
& Neil Fear 9. Smokey Robinson 6. Angela Bofill 5. Earl Klugh 3. Hank Williams, Jr
uss Kunkel 10. Peabo Bryson 7. Cleo Laine. 6. John McLaughlin 4. Charlie Daniels

Diet Quiz*1

Which has less calories and alcohol:
1.L15 oz. white wine?

2.05 oz. Bacardi rum and diet Соке?
(1 oz. Bacardi, 4 oz. diet Coke)

SILVER LABEL

Gn
BACARDI:
[ra

THE COCA-COLA COMPANY.

a4 pe n

According to US. Dept. of Based on data from the same BACARDI, rum.

"DIET COKE” IS A REGISTERED TRADE- MAA!

BACARO! AND THE BAT DEVICE ARE REGIS;

Agriculture data, a 5-oz. source, a drink made of 1 oz. Made in Puerto Rico.
serving of white wine contains 80-proof Bacardi rum and 4 oz. Enjoy it

121 calories. It has an alcohol diet Coke has only 66 calories. in moderation.
content of about 122%. And its alcohol content is

just 8%. So if you chose Bacardi
and diet Coke, youre a winner.

PLAYBOY

146

CHARLES ATLAS „ан page 89)

“Four short years after that bully had kicked sand in
my eyes, I was already a different man."

troops down from the heights of Chipote,
where they had taken refuge. It was I who
transmitted his messages to Sandino and
received Sandino's replies in return. But 1
think our intimate relationship. really
began the day that he presented me with a
list of people in San Fernando and 1
checked off each one I thought might be a
collaborator with the insurgents or had
relatives in the mountains with Sandino or
in any other way seemed suspicious. The
following day, he took every last one of
them prisoner and marched them off, tied
two by two, to the American barracks in
Ocotal. That night, to show his gratitude,
he gave me a whole pack of Camel ciga-
rettes and a magazine with photos of nude
women. In this magazine, I first saw the
advertisement that changed my life and
transformed me from a 97-pound weakling
into a new man.

THE 97-POUND WEAKLING
WHO TRANSFORMED HIMSELF INTO THE
WORLD'S MOST PERFECTLY DEVELOPED MAN

Ever since I was a little kid, I suffered the
fate of a weak and sickly child. I remember
one time I was passing the plaza of San
Fernando with my girlfriend Ethel after
Mass—I was 15—when two big guys
passed us and gave me a scornful look;
then one of them spun around and kicked
sand in my eyes. Ethel asked me, “Why
did you let them get away with that?”

I feebly responded, “In the first place,
couldn't you see that I had sand in my
eyes? And in the second place, he was a big
mother.”

I asked Captain Hatfield's assistance in
answering the advertisement, since I still
knew very little English, and on my behalf
he wrote to Charles Atlas, Ltd., requesting
the illustrated brochure advertised in the
magazine.

About a year later—San Fernando
being in the middle of the mountains,
where the worst fighting of the war was
—1 received the manila envelope
ing several color folders and a let-
ter signed by Charles Atlas himself. “The
Complete Course of Dynamic Tension, the
marvel of all physical-exercise programs
Just tell me where you want muscles of
steel. Are you overweight and listless?
Skinny and weak? Do you з
lack energy? Are you left behind while oth-
ers make off with the most beautiful girls,
the best jobs, etc.? Give me only seven
days and I'll prove to you that you, too,
can be a real man, healthy and full of con-
fidence in yourself and your
strength."

Mr. Atlas also announced in his letter
that the course would cost $30, a sum that.

own

І not only didn't have but could amass
only after years of scrimping and saving.
Thus, once again, I sought the aid of
Captain Hatfield, U.S.M.C., who in turn
presented. me with another let of
my neighbors. I checked off almost every
name, and soon the money was on its way
to New York. In about another year, The
Complete Course of Dynamic Tension
arrived, with all 13 lessons and 90 exer-
cises, and Captain Hatfield, U.S.M.C.,
began to give me personal instruction and
advice.

"The exercises take only 15 minutes a
day. The Dynamic Tension System is com-
pletely її doesn't require any
mechanical devices that might damage the
heart or other vital organs. One needs no
pills, special diets or equipment. Just а few
minutes а day of your spare time are suffi-
cient, and it will really be a pleasurable
diversion."

But since I had more spare time than I
knew what to do with, 1 dedicated myself
with perseverance and enthusiasm to the
exercises not just for 15 minutes but for
three hours a day. At night, [ studied
English with Captain Hatfield, U.S.M.C.
At the end of the month, my progress was
astonishing. My shoulders had widened,
my waist had slimmed down and my
thighs had firmed up. Four short years
after that bully had kicked sand in my
eyes, I was already а diflerent man. One
day, Ethel showed me a picture in a maga-
zine of the god Atlas. “Look,” she said,
“he looks just like you." Then I knew that
I was on the right track and that one day, I
would achieve my dreams.

Four months later, I had mastered
English well enough to write a letter to
Mr. Atlas myself to say, "Thanks, every-
things ОК!” I was a new man, with
biceps of steel, capable of the feat that 1
performed in Managua the day that Cap-
tain. Hatfield, U.S.M.C., took me to the
capital to demonstrate my strength. 1
pulled a freight car of The Great Pacific
Railroad for more than 200 yards with a
cargo of chorus girls clad only in tigerskin
briefs and halter tops. There to witness the
event were President Moncada himself,
the American Ambassador, Mr. Hani
and the commander of the U.S i

This feat, which was repor
papers, assured that Capta
U.S.M.C., would be successful in negoti-
ating the request that I had presented to
him before we left San Fernando: a trip to
the United States to meet Charles Atlas in
person. His superi Managua made
the formal application to Washington, and
although it took about a year, it was

finally approved. In the newspapers of the
time, specifically in La Noticia of Septem-
ber 18, I appeared with the cultural
attaché of the American Embassy, a cer-
tain Mr. Fox. I believe that this was the
first of many cultural-exchange programs
between the United States and Nicaragua
that would follow. Below the photo, it
said, ABOUT TO DEPART FOR TOUR OF PHYSICAL
CULTURE CENTERS IN THE UNITED STATES AND TO
MEET WITH RENOWNED FIGURES FROM THE
WORLD OF ATHLET!

Thus it was that after a tranquil voyage,
with a short stay in the port of Veracruz,
we arrived in New York on the 23rd of
November. 1 must confess that when the
ship was approaching the dock, I felt at a
loss despite all that Captain Hatfield,
U.S.M.C., had said to prepare me. From
his lectures, books, photographs and
maps, I had in my mind the image of New
York—perfect, even down to small details,
but completely static. It was the frantic
sensation of movement, affecting animate
and inanimate things alike, that whirled
me out of my own reality into a never-
ending phantasm, an impossible and lac-
erating world of invisible trains, a sky
blackened with an infinity of skyscrapers,
an atmosphere of coal smoke and sewage,
distant and dolorous the dense
fog and the interminable rumblings deep
within the carth.

I was met by an official of the Depart-
ment of State who whisked me through
immigration and took me directly to my
hotel—the Hotel Lexington, to be exact—
an enormous brick building on 48th
Street. The official informed me that my
visit with Charles Atlas had been arranged
for the following morning and that a driver
would call for me at the hotel to take me to
the offices of Charles Atlas, Ltd., where
everything would be explained to me.
‘Then, as he was to return to Washington
that same evening, he bade me farewell.

It was quite cold in New York, and I
retired early, filled with an indescribable
emotion—my journey had ended and soon
my wishes were to be fulfilled. I gazed out
at the infinity of lights sparkling in the
mist, the lighted windows of the skyscrap-
ers. I said to myself, “Behind one of these
windows is Charles Atlas. Perhaps he is
reading a book or having dinner or chat-
ting with someone or sleeping. Maybe.
fact, he is doing his nightly exercises, num-
ber 23 and number 24 of the manual—
flexion of the wrist and neck. Perhaps he
is even smiling—his temples gray but his
face fresh and joyful. Or maybe he is
answering the thousands of letiers he
receives a day and is filling the yellow
envelopes with the three-color folders."

But suddenly I realized something: |
couldn't imagine Charles Adas with his
clothes on. In my imagination, he was
always in his swimming trunks, with
his body in rigid tension. It was impossi-
ble to picture him in a three-piece suit,
with a fedora on his head. I rummaged

(continued on. page 188)

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BY BILL JOHNSON

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LISTEN: THERE 15 GROWING T MYoesessioN
EVIDENCE. THAT THE NATIONAL. WITH SEX ISN'T
OBSESSION WITH SEX 15 SUBSIDING, SUBSIDING.

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3 "MYTHS SHIP BETWEEN OUR ÎÎ | KING QMRK.. | MECHANISM.. JUST PUSH THIS/— y
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SIT LAST FOREVER A NEW VENUSIAN !

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AND ШЕ, MONTHS,

NINE MONTHS
THEN WHAT ТН!

149

PLAYBOY

150

AT SEA ...........

“One of them said, “So yowre crossing the Atlantic,
laddie. Is that this year or next?!"

his thing at her.

“Bullshit,” the captain responded; they
were slimy frogs, whiny, wimpy frogs who
deserved everything they had coming to
them. They could stay in the fo'c'sle and
eat bread and water, and if they tried to
come on deck without permission, Two-
Six would kick them back down the hatch.

I passed along the gist of this to the
Frenchman, a slight, popeyed young man
with a wisp of a mustache, who wisely took
no part in the proceedings except to put
his arm around his girl’s shoulders and
give her an occasional cautionary squeeze.

The captain brought this melodrama
to an end with a brief tirade against
France (Napoleon was a jerk and a faggot,
De Gaulle was a transvestite with smelly
armpits, etc.); then he told the mate to
escort the prisoners forward and lock them
up. I was left alone with him. His hands
scratched furiously at both arms so that a
little sunlit shower of skin dust floated
above the table, and his eyes rested on
mine for a moment before jittering off on
their hoppy little dance.

“You wanna sleep with my wife? Eh?
Keep her happy when I’m on watch?"

My trial took place a few days later,

after the French couple had been released.

They showed a remarkable change of

attitude toward the captain and his wife,
as if they had all become better friends.
Unfortunately, I'd been given a few pages
of bad script in the show in which I'd
refused the captain's offer of his wife, had

argued with him about the punishment of

the French couple and had taken the dra-
matic step of living on bread and water
until he set them free.

At my trial (the main saloon and
Wagner again), the captain talked about
England, my place of birth, and its well-
known and degenerate hopelessness in all
fields of human activity. For an hour, he
talked about British traffic lights and road
signs. He didn't like them. He didn't like
British astronomers, jockeys or musicians,
and the subject of cloud formations over
the British Isles brought him to his feet in
trembling rage. He hated British clouds.

I was an ingrate and a scheming trou-
blemaker. Who did I think I was, waking
up our French friend the previous night
just because he was a little late relieving
me on watch? (Our French friend had, in
fact, been more than half an hour late, and
I'd waked him twice.) As punishment, I
was to stay below for three days and take
my orders from Bertha, the teenaged
tyrant.

“But Pm 39 years old," I said.

“Tough titty,” the captain said. "You

just fuck off—and don't let's hear any
more of the old crapola about your fucking
furlongs and your imperial gallons. Teach
you bastards.”

The rest of the passage passed without
incident. A week or so later we were all
friends, after a fashion, and as we sailed
through the Strait of Gibraltar, the captain
served cakes and champagne in the cock-
pit.

Diamond was going on to the Riviera
coasts and Sardinia, but not with me,
though I was almost tempted to stay, hav-
ing grown unaccountably fond of Bertha
and Two-Six. But it was already July; 1
wanted to be back in the West Indies by
winter, which meant finding a boat and
learning everything I needed to know to
make the crossing. On Diamond, I'd
learned very little apart from routine
deckwork and steering a course; and
because the weather had been so bland
most of the time, I'd had no rough-passage
experience. Celestial navigation, engines
and electronics were as much of a mystery
when I left the boat in Gibraltar as they
had been when I joined in Antigua.

In England six weeks later, I got a letter
from Two-Six. He and Bertha had quit the
boat. Our old captain had been arrested in
Sardinia and jailed on a charge of murder-
ing the occupants of a fishing boat run
down by Diamond the previous year in the
Strait of Messina.

.
It took me two months to find a boat I
could afford. She was a 35-foot wooden
sloop, built in 1947, with a 20-horsepower
diesel and bunks for five; her name was
Khariessa, and she lay at a mooring on the
west coast of Scotland. The day after 1
signed the check, I drove a motorcycle into
an oncoming car that was being driven on
the wrong side of the road by an American
tourist. Although the police measured a
40-foot flight path from the point of impact
to the gutter where | landed, there were no
serious injuries; but the bandages around
my arms, legs and face and the stilIness
from numerous cuts and bruises made it
almost impossible for me to work on the
boat, and I couldn't pay anyone else to do
the work. All of this was depressing
beyond belief, as the boat had been hauled
out of the water for survey in a local ship-
yard and the diligent surveyor had torn
out much of the interior to examine the
frames and planks. The debris lay scat-
tered around the rocky, slimy floor of a
large shed. I had neither the strength nor
the competence to put it back together.
"To reach the West Indies by winter, I
had to get out of Scotland immediately
and down the Irish Sea to Falmouth, on

the west coast of England, where Pd
planned to look for crew for the crossing;
and if I were to avoid the North Atlantic
winter storms, 1 would need to leave
Falmouth by early October at the latest. It
was impossible. I still knew nothing about
celestial navigation—I hadn't even been
out in the boat yet; in fact, I knew nothing
except that 1 had dreamed myself into a
deep and troubling hole, one that I would
have given much to escape.

To make matters worse, the surveyor
had dashed any hopes of an honorable
retreat by turning in a report of nearly 30
pages, favorable in all respects. "She's
strong; she'll go anywhere,” he said. This
had been great news when I first heard it,
but after the accident—as I pondered my
situation during those weeks in that dismal
shed, while it rained without ceasing and
the days grew shorter, darker and colder—
it acquired a hollow tone.

On Diamond, I'd made baggywrinkle,
which is strands of old rope that you weave
into fluffy, sausage-shaped objects and
wrap around wire rigging to prevent the
sails from chafing against the metal. In
the shed, with the rain beating against the
corrugated-iron roof, I made enough
baggywrinkle for a tea clipper. The stuff
was soft and soothing to the touch and
reminded me of small, furry, friendly ani-
mals.

The yard workers used to watch me.
One of them said, “So you're crossing the
Atlantic, laddie. Is that this year or next?”

Crawford McInnes, Khariessa’s former
owner, began visiting the yard. He'd
owned the boat 12 years and had kept her
in immaculate condition; I'd been to his
house several times for advice on v:
ous bits of equipment. Only Crawford, his
family, possibly a few of his friends and the
entire labor force at the shipyard realized
that I was an incompetent pretender.

“Aye, what a passage to make,"
Crawford said one day when he found me
hobbling around in the shed, picking
things up and wandering around with
them before putting them down some-
where else. “All the way from Scotland to
the Caribbean with Khariessa. But do you
no’ think it’s getting a wee bit late?"

With Crawford's help and the help of an
electrician who was so drunk that he was
immune to the pain of constant electric
shock, the boat went back into the water at
the end of September. The two McInnes
children joined us for a trial sail, my first,
and we cast off the lines on a day when
there was a good stiff breeze on Holy Loch
and the local yacht club was holding a
dinghy race.

I was at the wheel when we headed out
across the loch toward the nuclear-
submarine base. We put up the sails and 1
pushed the engine throttle to full ahead so
that Khariessa went ramming through the
water, through the dinghy fleet, 12 tons of
wood surging along in one big lump at full

(continued on page 174)

THE HOT LOOKS!

Y A +:
y ;
E

COOL SUITS
FOR WARM
WEATHER

PLAYBOY'S
3EST-DRESSED
: LIST

A08AVUTd

152

FOR EVERYONE WHOSE IDEA OF A PERFECT SUMMER
THREE MONTHS WITHOUT WEARING A JACKET AND TIE.

This is about perfect summers.

Summers filled with short days
in the office and long weekends at the
beach.

And it's about the clothes you
love to wear during those long
weekends.

The old shorts, and T-shirts, and
sweatshirts that you live in all day
long.

And the faded jeans, and
polo shirts, and crew necks that you
change into when you feel like get-
ting dressed up at night.

And it's about the shoes that go
perfectly with those clothes.

A pair of Timberland handsewns.

Why Timberlands?

Well, we could tell you how the
leathers, like any fine leathers,
get even softer and more supple the
longer you wear them.

And how the genuine handsewn
moccasin construction makes them
comfortable instantly.

But the real reason is something
you'll discover for yourself.

And that’s how Timberlands become
a part of your wardrobe, like your
favorite shorts and jeans, that you
d hold onto and enjoy for years to come.
us - 2 Long enough, perhaps, for that
day when you get really lucky.
And your idea of a perfect summer
А becomes а reality.

The Tesberard Company BO, Ben 2008, Porumouth, New Hampshire DINI
D "es

Available at: Burdines; Rich's; Silverwoods; Streichers; Britches; Open Country; Foley's: Pope's; Aspen Leaf; González Padin.

153

PLAYBOY

154

Fine sportswear for men and women.

Boston Traders? • Showrooms: 15 West 55th Street, New York, NY 10019 + (212) 245-2919 Executive Offices, Boston: (617) 592-4603
Available at Aspen Leaf, Barneys New York, Boyd's, Davidson's, Daytons, Eddie Bauer, Goldwaters, Hahnes, The Hub, Jack Henry, 1. Magnin,
Jordan Marsh, New England Trading, Lord & Taylor, Macy's, Wallachs, ZCMI and other line stores

PLAYBOY GUIDE

PREVIEW

FEW WORDS here on how a great
A monthly organ is put out. To get a

focus on fashion, a small crew of us
is dispatched to shows and showrooms
across the country. We see what the manu-
facturers are making; we sce what the
retailers are going to be selling. And then
we try to make some sense out of it all.
That's the hardest part. Sometimes, this is
a very strange business. If there's onc
direction that has come out of our market
shopping this time, it's a trend toward
very bright colors and very bold prints.
And if there's one item of clothing that has
come out of that shopping, it’s the Hawai-
ian shirt
se, have their
place in pop culture. Harry Truman wore
onc on the cover of Life magazine in 1951.
y Clift wore one in From Here
1954. And my uncle Abe
worc one to a barbecue at our house
1958, along with a pair of white-plastic
lon Knee socks.
r., wears Hawaii

he rub. Some of the folks in the. n
business would have vou believe that
wearing a Hawaiian shirt will make you
k. Right. This is to
age guy and the
proud owner of a drawerful of butt
downs, have tried on Haw;
shirts. We're talkin’ Ed Begley here.
But there's a lesson in all this. You
should approach fashion as you do covert
ivity in Central America. You should be
an open-minded skeptic. You should look
at what the fashion industry is pushing;
you should look at what we're featuring:
and then you should look at yourself. The
third step is the most nt. It often

some an

npo

PLAYBOY GUIDE COVER PHOTOGRAPHY BY RICHARO IZUI

leads to compromise (I ended up buying
a Hawaiian buttondown from Kenneth
Gordon New Orleans). Best of all, though,
it leads to perspective. Fashion, as you
may have noticed, is not life and death.
Fashion is fun. Fashion is funky. Fashion is
a David Bowie song

AM you need to remember is that bold is
back. Why? Simple. The fashion industry
has gone as far as it can go with muted

men's fashion has taken a quick cue from
women's fashion: bright colors, large
graphics (not all Hawaiian) and strong
tropical colors.

You'll see some neons featured as ac-
cents. You'll sce casualwear getting even
more casual. If you li n Los Angeles,
though, this will come as no great scoop. A
lot of the looks featured in our spring-and-
summer Guide had their roots in L.A.,
where men aren't as uptight about
and experimentation as some of the rest of
us. That's why we went West to shoot most
of the sportswear you'll find on these
pages. The clothes, like the city, are looser,
a lot more livable and a lot less structured.

You'll see a similar influence in tailored
clothing this season. The look is more

‘SHIRT BY MERONA SPORT / FUR BY N. H. ROSENTHAL FURS, CHICAGO

casual, the fit more ample. Styling touches
include ventless backs, broader shoulders
and pleated trousers (industry sources tell
us that close to 40 percent of all tailored
pants now sold are pleated). The fashion
stress is no stress—comlortable, carefree
clothes that don't scream of obvious detail.
No zippers for the sake of zippers thi
time. While colors have gone bolder, styl-
ing has become much more subtle. And for
lc is always much more important
than fashion.

You'll sce that attitude reflected in our
annual selection of the best-dressed men in
America. We haven't just chosen the guys
with the big bucks—the ones who can
walk into the fancy-dancy places on Rodeo
Drive, lay down a bundle of bucks and say,
“Make me look great.” That's the thing
about fashion: Anybody with enough
money can buy it. But only those with a
special sense of style can wear it well. We
think you'll find our picks refreshing. And
listen, don't feel bad if you didn't make the
list. Neither did Ed Begley.

Maury шщ

Editor, Playboy Guides

155

Who says you can't have it all?
Not Jere O'Brien, who devotes long hours to his job as a real estate
developer, yet still finds time to indulge his passion for fishing on
his lunch hour.

“On the weekends I try to get out on the bay for some serious
fishing, but during the week this really helps keep me sane”

Jere wants it all in life and in the beer he drinks. He demands
super-premium taste and a less-filling beer. Thats wj he drinks
Michelob Light.

Why should you settle for anything less?

Youcan haveitall: Michelob Light.

PLAYBOY GUIDE

NO SHIRT
IS AN
ISLAND

but a few stand alone

ONCE AGAIN, fashion returns to the mission-
ary position. The men who took the fear of
God to the wild Hawaiians started by
insisting on clothing the natives’ naked-
ness. From basic work shirts, patterns
soon developed to mark important times—
birth, death, marriage, the tourist season

Now the prints cause a revolution. And
with our help, everybody's wearing them

“Why, yes, Charles, the shirt is terribly smash-
ing, but | think on A-line skirt would have
worked better.” His Highness wears a Mickey
Моше print, by Michel Bachoz, abaut $50.

In a White Hause ceremany, President Reagan
honars the winner af the Dan Ha look-alike con-
test. The lucky camrade is wearing a rayon shirt
with a New Yark motif, by Papaya, $23.50.

157

PLAYBOY GUIDE

Refusing comment on the Cubon royon crisis, Prime Minister Fidel Сото “Con you hond me another piña colodo?” Forgoing his troditionol Bush
today unveiled his new secret weopon to keep the boot people ot home. — jocket, the Vice-President shows off his “ВВ compaign style. Fons eye his
The turquoise woter-sport print with pojomo collor, by Robert Stock, $42. гоуоп vintage tropical shirt, from Civilion Clothing Compony, $50.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY RICHARD ZU

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160

PLAYBOY GUIDE

EASY DOES IT

fashion goes to hollywood
ES py

FASHION EDITOR: HOLLIS WAYNE

IN THE NOW-FAMOUS WORDS of an old friend of ours, "Wc love it!” Los
Angeles has long been the sportswear capital of the universe, the
place where no one serious owned serious shoes, the place where
ties were just a nasty rumor. Non-Angelenos called it laid-back
‘True L.A. lovers called it the only way to live. Now that special
style is about to have a very important influence on sportswcar
everywhere. The keynotes are a free-and-casy fit and a predomi-
nancc of natural fibers. Hold the papaya juice.

Below, the return of the cardigon adds sparty elegance ta a crisp camp
shirt and near-classic white-linen trousers. The sweater, a Swiss-linen
open weave, is by Roger Baugh, $225. The noturol-handkerchief-linen
short-sleeved shirt is by Christian Kenth, $125. The pleated pants, by
Zanella, $135; web-and-leather belt, by Noncy Knox, $18. At right,
high tech meets high foshion. The boseboll jacket is designed by com-
puter. The computer's name is Phil. The jacket is a hond-woven cot-
ton parquet with leather sleeves, from Bionculli, $500, worn with a
cotton rib-knit sweat shirt, by Bell's, $110, and five-pocket button-fly
jeans, by Liberta, $55. The ribbed-leather belt is fram Just Jamie, $55.
Ta unload the Nash in Venice (for right), prints ore principal. Driver's
side, the cottan cardigan vest, by Matinique, $70, is worn with a
pajama-callar cotton shirt, by Sahara Club, $22, and catton-twill
pleated Bermuda shorts, by Roger Bough, $85. The primitive-pattern
cotton shirt is by Hong Ten, $28, with cotton-twill pleated walk sharts,
by Ruff-Hewn, $40. (Sunglasses from Flash Fashion, by Opti-Ray.)

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CANVAS SEAM JEAN"

asual lote

left, to shield him from the
sond of Muscle Beach, a versa-
file cotton-canvos duster with
roglon sleeves and bellows
pockets, by Sohara Club, $B5.
It's worn over a cotton crew-
neck pullover with groffiti
motif, by Joseph Rokacz
Knitweor, $70, a cotton
Henley sport shirt, by Cadre
Sportswear, $25, ond pleated
cotton trousers, by Daniel
Hechter, $50. His calendar
quartz watch is by Accusplit,
$40. Below, o hand-woven cot-
ton crew-neck with diagonol-
stitch pottern, $175, is worn
with linen pleated ponts, $115,
both from Calvin Klein. His shirt,
a cotton minipoisley button-
down, is by Hang Ten, $42.

PLAYBOY GUIDE

Out there having fun in the warm California sun, he's
wearing a cotton knit cardigan with rib-knit trim and
knit-in pockets, $120, and a cotton rib-knit short-
sleeved shirt, $55, both by Andrew Fezza. Elastic-waist
cotton knit pants with drop belt loops and on-seam
pockets, by Matinique, $70, add the finishing element.

Fly First Class.

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It's expensive because it's the best.

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Resort, Gi E атте „ВУЛ,
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Vancouver, B.C, V5T 3J3. x

PLAYBOY GUIDE oS

BOLD
STROKES „а

bright colors are the key

to sporty accessories

OK. GUYS, it’s time to lighten up. The idea,
in case it hasn't struck you by now, is that |
fashion is something you should have fun

with. And while you're lightening up, try
brightening up. Go for it, as the tourists

say in L.A. Try a yellow-banded watch.

It’s fine. Trust us. Sporty accessories this
season take their cue from the hot-flash
colors of activewear.

Clockwise from top, yellow-cotton sport socks,
by Henry Grethel for Camp, $5.50; melon
cotton-ribbed socks, by [IXIZ], $6; New Bol-
ance 1300 running shoes, made of nylon mesh
and leather, $130, appeor even flashier with
royal-blue laces; New Wave, splashy tricolor
boat shoe with ribbed-rubber soles, by Zodiac,
USA, $69; yellow-cotton/linen socks with
grophic detail, from Monde, $14; yellow-nylon
wristbond with black quartz sport watch and
zipper pocket, from I. E. Sport, $5.95; aviator
sunglasses, $115, now with interchangeable
yellow lenses, $1B, by Porsche Design; blue |
ribbed-lambskin belt with black buckle, by Just
Jamie, $50; handmade electric-blue-flecked
sunglasses, $14, from Flash Fashion, with mir-
rored clip-on lenses, $10, from Coppertone
Sun Protectors, both by Opti-Ray. To keep up
with changing times, interchangeable watches:
yellow-rubber band with red bezel and blue
face, $189, blue band with yellow face and
"roll bar,” $193, black band with yellow bezel
and compass attachment, $202, all from
[IXkZ]. Stash your cash in yellow-and-red-
nylon sport trifolds with Velcro closure, by
[IXkz], $14 each; turquoise nylon-web belt
with square double-ring buckle, by Billy Belts, $6. %

PHOTOGRAPHY EY RAEANNE GIOVANNI
Р:

168

PLAYBOY GUIDE

dressy clothes are

lighter and livelier

тик EASE and comfort seen in this season's
sportswear carry right over into suits and
sports jackets. Tailor and ample.
and fabrics add int touch
There's a lot of silk, blended with linen
and wool. "Texture is more subtle, too, with
soft patterns of color pred

You'll even see a soft sheen to som

rics, Here are some shining examples.

Our spring line-up begins, from left, with the
reloxed silhouette of a deep-gorge wide-lopel
sports jacket. The cut alone puts more distonce
between this seoson's eosy fashion feel ond
your traditional business suit. The silk/wool
single-button jocket, $525, is wom over o
cotton-Jocquord shirt, $115, with o silk-
Jocquord tie, $42.50. Pleated linen trousers,
$160, ore the finishing touch. All from
Alexonder Julion. When o suit is in order, our
choice is ihis light-linen miniherringbone
weove, $345. A cotton striped shirt, $31.50,
ond o silk potterned tie, $21.50, add the right
polish to on already distinguished look. All
from Colvin KI For a more foshion-forword
step, there's o six-button double-breasted linen
Glen-ploid suit, by Gorrick Anderson, $800.
Note the pointed-peoked lapels, o definite
European influence on o still-importont ond
elegont cut. The crisp look of o white shirt is
back big this spring, along with wider ties and
even wider lopels. We've added o white-cotton
tone-on-tone dress shirt, from Ike Behor,
$92.50, o silk-Jocquord four-inch tie, from
Guy Loroche, $22.50, and o collar bar, from
J. P. Groytok, $8. Lost, we've coordinated
а colorfully flecked linen/silkAvool tweed
sports jocket, by Wolter Holmes for Society
8rond (Hortmorx), $320, with worsted-wool
ponts, by Chester Borrie (Hortmorx), $150.
The cotton-broadcloth tone-on-tone striped
shirt, from Gont, $30, and the silk-Jocquord
tie, by Italo Piccolo Neckwear, $27.50, pro-
vide some interesting injections of color.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY WILLIAM COUPON

169

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PLAYBOY GUIDE

FLASH

IF THE MEDIUM IS THE MESSAGE,
HOW COME THE T-SHIRTS ARE EXTRA-LARGE?

You history Бий in the crowd may remember the original mes-
sage T-shirts of the late Sixties and early Seventies: MAKE LOVE NOT
WAR, SAVE THE WHALES—weighty stuff. Now the message T returns
even bigger—oversized shirts with oversized type. And the mes-
sages? They range from the cosmic save THE WORLD to the ever-
ightful FRANKIE COMES FROM HOBOKEN. The ones shown here are
from New York's Flip and the T-Shirt Gallery. The hats arc from
Ace Hy Sales in Chatsworth, California. One message fits all.

DAVID MECEY

CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN
BUT NOT NECESSARILY THE NIELSENS

A lot of people who don’t watch MTV are loudly declaring
Miami Vice a new art form. No. Hill Street Blues and St. Elsewhere
are art forms. Miami Vice is a hot cop show with style, flash and
fashion. Its stars, Philip Michacl Thomas and Don Johnson, are
becoming TV's biggest fashion plates. Move over, Mr. Rogers.
Their wardrobes, from the likes of Versace, Kenzo and Kansai, are
what give the show much of its tone—bold colors, shimmering
pastels. The clothes bill came to $70,000 for the pilot alone. And
you thought everybody in Miami wore sponge-rubber leisure suits.

WE CAN WORK IT OUT

So you bought the running
shoes and the tennis shoes and
the racquetball shoes, and now
these guys are trying to sell you
aerobics shoes for working out.
Is it science or is it scam? We
conducted an in-depth investi-
gation. A few of us wore the
shoes shown here (from New
Balance, Reebok, Nike, Adidas
and Avia) to the gym one day.
And they worked. The outsoles
seemed to provide more stabil-
ity and lateral support than
those of our old running shoes
That should help avoid ankle

and calf injuries. The mid-soles
offered good shock absorption
and gave the Achilles’ tendon a
lift. The heel and toe wraps
provided increased stability in
latcral movements. The leather
uppers helped cushion the blow
when we dropped the dumb-
bells on our toes. So there is

something to these shoes. If

you're in the market, you may
want to try a pair. Or you may
want to wait for the next de-
velopment—specially
leather for those nasty spills at
the juice bar.

coated

IM IMBROGNC

PLAYBOY GUIDE

PLAYBOY'S
ANNUAL BEST-DRESSED LIST

NO FASHION MODELS here. This isn't your basic best-dressed list. We
Icave that to Mr. Blackwell, whoever the hell he is. What we're
talking about here is the difference between fashion and style. Our
criterion, then, is simply stated: It ain't the meat, it's the motion,
In previous years, we've cited the likes of Cary Grant, Dustin
Hoffman, Bill Cosby, John Irving, Prince Andrew and Bryant
Gumbel. Among those listed last year were Peter Jennings, Louis
Rukeyser, Dave Winfield, Michael Jackson and John Glenn. Say,
whatever happened to Michael Jackson? Oh, well; here, in the
name of science, are this ycar's choices.

Ed Bradley. The 60 Minutes
star gives poorly dressed re-
porters a bad name. He han-
dles a sharp suit just as easily
as he does a truly tough story.

Jimmy Stewart. The man is
pure clas. He's one of our
favorite actors ever, and dress-
ing well comes naturally to him.
Who else could wear a pinstripe
suit with a bomber jacket?

ARA

Peter Ueberroth. He made
the Olympics turn a profit,
he whipped baseball into shape
and he knows how to dress.
This guy is too good to be true.

Wynton Marsalis. His look is

very much in sync with his
music—he knows how to add
just the right jazz to pure clas-
sics. We add our sartorial salute
to those Grammys.

`r
z

Arthur Levitt, Jr. He heads
the American Stock Exchange

but dresses well beyond bank-
ers blue. Buy flannel futures.

Sam Shepard. Playwright,
actor, sensitive man, friend of
Jessica Lange; here's a man
who is comfortable with himself
and knows the lay of the land

Bruce Springsteen. Don't you
wish you could look like this for
a year? How about a night?
The Boss wears jeans better
than anyone else we know.
Watch the bandanna become
a major fashion accessory.

Carl Lewis. The Grace Jones
hair. The supershades. The
man is cool. But come on, Carl,
please make the last jump.

Henry Cisneros. The natty
mayor of San Antonio could be
one of the brightest stars on the
political scene. If dressing for
success counts, he’s made it

Dan Marino. So a sophomore
becomes the best quarterback
in football. The scary thing is
that this baby face knows how
to carry himself. Miami nice.

AND OUR WORST-DRESSED LIST

Some guys ha

all the luck and some jı

am get it together,

no matter how hard they try. Here, then, the bottom of the barrel:

Prince. Never mind the music;
please let the purple reign end.
Phil Donahue. He just works
too hard at not caring.
Richard Dawson. Good an-
swer, good answer. Bad dress-
er, bad dresser.

Donald Trump. Money buys a
lot of things, but style's not one
of them.

Sylvester Stallone. He's actu-

ally taking himself seriously

now. Will somebody remind
him he's from Philly?

Mr. T. five turkey

Nick Nolte. True macho? No,
truc sloppo.

Steven Spielberg. Looks as if
the gremlins got to his closet
first.

Billy Joel. Uptown girl, down-
town clothes.

Billy Idol. This is punk? Time

for a new wave. Goodbye.

E
2
б
©
g
a

PLAYBOY

174

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AT SEA

(continued from page 150)
speed, with a frozen dummy at the helm.
My fingers gripped the wheel as if they'd
been welded to it; I couldn't think, I could
only stare rigidly ahead at an onrushing
submarine that was, in fact, a mile away,
anchored. Racing dinghies capsized; 1
didn’t see them, but I heard angry shouts
on the wind. The two McInnes children
clung to the steeply slanting roof of the
cabin; one of them shouted, “You never
did it like this, Daddy!"

Crawford discreetly prized my fingers
from the wheel and took over. He pulled
back the throttle and turned the boat into
the wind, bringing her to a stop. Then he
told me to try again but to take my time
and to maintain contact between the
hands and the brain, which I did, success-
fully. “You have to lose control sometimes
before you can learn how to get it back,"
Crawford said.

Over the next couple of weeks, he led me
through everything on the boat. Much of
this wisdom went straight into the mental
void; there wasn't the time for a prolonged
or detailed education, but he showed me
how to raise and drop the anchor, stop and
start the engine and move the boat around
under sail and power, and that would have
to do. For the passage from Scotland to
Falmouth, I would have to get someone
with oceangoing experience, a professional
who would teach me how to use a sextant

The man I found was recommended as
a widely experienced seaman and a quali-
fied navigator. “The name’s Pete, but my
friends call me Rhino, because I’m always
charging into things,” was the way he
introduced himself. He was a chunky
Irishman with no teeth and a face like a
clenched fist, hard and knotted, and he
said at our first meeting that he was in a
good mood because General Franco ("my
idol") had just ordered the execution of
cight Basque terrorists.

The other crew members, Barry and
Richard — who lived in my home county of
Suffolk and had never been to sea—were
already on the boat the day Rhino joined
He came out to the mooring in a dinghy
rowed by one of the shipyard men, and he
was dressed in a naval uniform of his own
gn, with an officer's peaked hat and

buttoned jacket. Rhino flung his bag
over the rail and climbed aboard just as a
small launch passed with a couple of peo-
ple I knew aboard. They waved pleas-
апу, and my hired professional shouted,
"What are you staring at, you slack-jawed
bunch of cunts? Get away from here with
that poxy boat before we get the flares
out" Then he unzipped his trousers,
pissed liberally over the side and gave me
a terrible wink, saying, "How do you like
it so far?”

.
Within 24 hours of leaving Holy Loch
and motoring down the Clyde and out into

more try! You don't want it to get around the
omnipotent, do you?"

Come on, one )
kingdom that you're omnip do you.

PLAYBOY

176

the Irish Sea, I'd learned everything I
needed to learn about sailing in heavy
weather. 1 learned that the most important
thing to know about heavy weather is to
try not to be there when it's happening.

We had motored into Loch Ryan, a
dead-end finger of the Irish Sea that pokes
into the Scottish coast in a southeasterly
direction, and had tied up the boat for a
few minutes while we went into a pub near
the dock at the head of the loch. The
weather changed the moment we stepped
back aboard, and within seconds the quiet
evening breeze had turned into a scream-
ing gale that blew directly from the north-
west, our only way out, and straight along
the unprotected shores of Loch Ryan. If
you filled a shallow basin with water and
then agitated it violently with your hand,
the surface of the water would look very
much like Loch Ryan looked that night,
and if you placed a small toy boat in the
basin, it would behave in much the same
way Khariessa did.

There was no possibility of escaping
from the loch, nor could we stay at the pub
dock, because the wind was blowing us
against it and we would have been
smashed if we'd stayed.

We spent the night in the deepest water
we could find, holding the bow into the
wind with the engine and praying that the
fuel would outlast the storm. Rhino and I
stayed in the cockpit and took turns driv-
ing. I don't know what happened to Barry
except that he was somewhere below, and
Richard wedged himself into a space
between the table and the saloon bunk,
unable to move. Rhino greeted each
vicious smash of sea with his three favorite
phrases, "And now for something
pletely different,” “How do you
far?" and “It’s no good, Captain, I can't
"old 'er."

It cleared before daybreak and we tied
up at the town dock and slept. There was a
note from Barry when I woke. He had
called home and had been told that his son
had an infected toe; he was sorry, but he
had to leave. He left his love on the note
and a jar of organic spices in the galley.

But there was no damage to the boat,
and that was reassuring. We spent a cou-
ple of days cleaning up in Loch Ryan and
then put back to sea. The clutch shaft
snapped a day later, and we drifted for two
days in a dead calm, moving steadily
toward the Irish coast with the ude. A fish-
ing boat eventually towed us into Dun
Laoghaire on Dublin Bay, and Rhino
jumped ashore before we tied up. I found
him in a pub three days later; he was in
one of his difficult phases. When asked if
and when he was coming back to the boat,
he said, “How would you like it, you
needle-nosed weasel, if I tore off one of
your arms and beat you to death with it?"

He came back the next day, sober and
contrite, and he brought a new crew mem-
ber, a man called Danny, a grinning,
shambling Irishman with a cleft palate

who snarfled and hing-honged incompre-
hensibly but who seemed to have a rapport.
with Rhino that I thought might make our
shipmate an easier man to live with. By
way of an apology, Rhino said, "It's the
pills I have to take for the pains I get in my
head. They make me go mad when I do
the drinking, and if I don't do the drink-
ing, I go crazy. You understand, don’t
you?"

In Falmouth, which we reached without
unpleasantness, a new and alarming prob-
lem developed: Pd paid Rhino—paid him
more than we'd originally agreed—but he
refused to leave the boat. At first, he said it
was because he wanted to help me get
Khariessa ready for the crossing; then,
when it became clear that he had no such
intention, he said he was staying because
he wanted to, whether I liked it or not. For
about a week, there were just the two of us
aboard. At night, I lay in my bunk and
cowered like a terrified rabbit while Rhino
rampaged around the saloon and the
fo'c’sle, kicking the bulkheads, smashing
empty bottles and shouting curses. I
thought about getting the police but real-
ized that this would only delay my depar-
ture even further, and it was already late
October. I considered clubbing him with
an oar, throwing him into a dinghy with
his bag and taking him ashore, but the
thought of what could happen if 1 killed
him by accident or if he woke before I got
him ashore was even more terrifying than
his awful presence

Finally, I told him Pd decided not to
take the boat anywhere, that there had
been a death in my family, that I was lock-
ing up and leaving. It wasn't hard to fake
the sorrow, but it didn't fool Rhino for a
minute; he derided the entire story as a
pack of lies. But it worked; he packed and
left. My last sight of him was on the wind-
lashed rainy streets of Falmouth, striding
along the middle of the road in his naval
uniform and bare feet.

Rhino dropped out of my life without
teaching me the first thing about celestial
navigation. He said I didn't deserve to
learn it and he had no intention of teach-
ing me. But I couldn't hold that against
п. During our stormy passage down the
Irish Sea, he'd taught me something more
valuable: He'd handled the boat beauti-
fully under power and sail, his seamanship
was superb and he made you do things his
way, fast and properly. He'd kept us alive.
Watching him provided many clues to the
central question about handling a boat
and sailing: “How do you do it?”

Khariessa left Falmouth on November
19, 1975. Aboard were Brian, whom I'd
met in a Falinouth pub and who'd done
some day sailing, and Mike Stratton, a
professional vacht-delivery skipper and
licensed navigator. Stratton would go with
the boat to the Canary Islands and teach
me how to use the sextant; Brian would ро
all the way to the West Indi

The dreaded winter storms in the North

Atlantic failed to materialize; in fact, the
winds were so light that we motored most
of the way from England to Portugal,
across the Bay of Biscay and down to
Lisbon, where we stopped to refuel before
carrying on to the Canary Islands.
Stratton patiently led me through the
intricate mysteries of celestial navigation,
which proved to be neither intricate nor
mysterious. The sextant measures an
angle between the object—sun, moon, star
or planet—and the horizon; the observer
writes down the angle and the exact time
of the observation; then, after consulting a
couple of reference tables, does some sim-
ple addition and subtraction to determine
the boat's position, which he marks on the
chart. On the way to the Canaries, 1 did it
dozens of times and felt fully confident
when Stratton left us and flew back to
England.

We picked up three more crew: Les, a
Canadian who had been swimming
around in the harbor looking for a ride,
and Sue and Elaine, who were camping on
Gran Cana None of them had ever
sailed before, which was probably just as
well, because the day after we raised the
anchor and left the Canaries for Barbados,
our next port, some 2700 miles to the
southwest, my first sextant sight showed
that we were in the Moroccan desert, in
the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. The
next day's sight was slightly better: It
placed us south of Marrakesh. I thought it
only fair to tell the crew that something
seemed to have gone wrong, but none of
them seemed worried. “Perhaps it’s un-
usually high tides," said Sue. If Га felt
more confident about being able to find
the Canaries, 1 would have turned back
and taken a quick refresher course in navi-
gation.

On the third day, the sextant calcula-
tions miraculously sorted themselves out
and showed that we were roughly where
we should have been, about 400 miles
southwest of Gran Canaria. Reassured by
this, I drew a straight line on the chart
from that point to Barbados and
instructed. everyone to enter in the log
every two hours the course sailed and the
distance traveled. Perhaps I thought that
at the end of a given time, Barbados would
suddenly jump out in front of us and we'd
have to slow down to avoid hitting it.

We rode the northeast trades for two
weeks on long, high ridges of sea that
marched across the ocean like ranks of
pyramids, building and falling and build-
ing again, sweeping everything before
them to the west and carrying us with
them on the long run downhill

The steering gave way at the start of the
third week. It happened after we'd
changed course to investigate red distress
flares; we found nothing after a search of
several hours, and when we turned to
resume our course, the rudder wouldn't
respond. Khariessa had a hydraulic stecr-
ing system, which meant that liquid was
stored in a reservoir and was pumped

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178

under pressure through pipes and into a
cylindrical ram connected to the rudder;
Crawford McInnes had explained it in
Scotland, but the wisdom had failed to
take. I no longer remembered how the sys-
tem worked or what the word hydraulic
meant. But I knew we had a length of steel
pipe that could be used as an emergency
tiller, so we bolted that onto the rudder
while we got the hammers out and tried to
beat some sense into the broken steering.
A few days later, we'd fixed it by taking
the system apart and finding out how it
worked.

We were now lost. There hadn't been
time to take sights for many days, and
even if there had been, the weather was
unsuitable: too much cloud and only a
rare glimpse of the sun or the moon. A
more experienced navigator would have
been able to use the stars; I tried a couple
of times, but the damned things wouldn't
cooperate, producing results that stag-
gered across the chart. I blamed my sex-
tant, which was a cheap plastic instrument
that looked like a gift in а box of corn
flakes, but then I discovered a new branch
of the science of navigating, and our prob-
lems werc over.

It was called creative navigation, and it
was based on the theory that when you're
lost, vou put a mark on the chart at the
place you think you ought to be and may
be, if you're lucky. This assumed position
can be used as the basis for the next posi-
tion, and so on. After you've done that for

the original posi
gradually grows that you were right in the.
first place. We swept onward to the west,
happy in our ignorance.

I was knocked overboard by the boom
one night when Elaine was stecring and
everyone else was below, asleep. Elaine
turned around to speak, and in that split
second of inattention, she forgot where the
wind was coming from, the sail filled from
the other side and the boom, with me lean-
ing on it, banged across on the opposite
tack. We jibed several times in quick suc-
cession, with Elaine screaming while I
shot across the boat, clinging to the boom,
a human yo-yo waiting for the string to
break. I was shaken off on the last pass
and went overboard backward, headfirst,
catching onc leg on the upper lifeline that
ran around the deck, so that my head
smashed against the hull. I had only one

“If you knew what I really took in last
year—I'm talking net, not gross—you'd show me a lot
more respect; 1 can tell you!"

hand free; the other held the radio direc-
tion finder, which I'd been using in a vain
attempt to pick up a land station. I was
probably in the water no more than ten
minutes, wondering whether the lifeline or
the leg would break first or whether the.
boat, which seemed to be out of control
and either pulled away from me or pushed
me under, would perhaps roll over and
remove all further worries. Then 1 saw
Brian's hairy, grinning face peering down
over the side, and he and Les lifted mc
back aboard. "Looks like you lost your
water skis," Brian said.

On our 31st night out of the Canaries,
Sue called me up on deck to look at some
lights. They didn't move; they weren't on
ships. Everyone came on deck and looked
through the binoculars. Then we all
jumped up and down, brokc out the bottle
of beer we'd been saving for the occasion
and hugged one another with tears run-
ning down our faces.

To have found the little island of
Barbados after our difficultics was a mira-
cle, a triumph. When I checked the chart
and discovered that what we were looking
at wasn't Barbados, 1 thought it best to
keep this from the crew and hope that it
might turn into Barbados in the morning.

The land, or what we could sce of it in
the darkness, was irritatingly mountai
ous. Barbados is flat. There were yellow
moving lights on shore. Cars. French cars
have yellow headlights. We were looking at
a French island, one with a big rock next
to it, a rock that, for a while, looked very
much like the rock we'd sailed 5000 miles
to hit. It was the rock at the north end of
Martinique.

Most of the crew left after a week or so;
Les had to go back to work in Canada,
Brian to his wife in Cornwall, and the girls
took jobs on a charter boat. The five of us
have never met since. A waitress, a bank
teller, a factory worker, a builder and a
writer—five ninnies on the ocean, stran-
gers for a lifetime and bound forever by
the split second we shared when we found
the land.

By the middle of April, I'd sailed down
to Trinidad for Carnival and was back in
Bequia, the old whaling station in the
Grenadines, to get ready for the last leg of
the journey. I was in a hurry to get north
to New York, where the Tall Ships Race
fleet would collect for the 76 Bicentennial.
New York City had been my home town
for ten years, and I had no intention of
missing that party. Nick, an English lad,
went with me when I left Bequia. He was
cager to get to New York to meet his
brother, who was sailing in one of thc tall-
ship entries.

We sailed directly from Bequia to St.
Lucia, arriving on a fine, warm morning
that we celebrated with a Martinique
ponche, white rum with a couple of limes
squcezed into it. An hour later, we were in
jail, in a cell that measured eight feet by
five and was already occupied by five West

Indians. From the cell window we could
see Khariessa's mast, a couple of hundred
yards along the dock.

“What exactly did you say to the guy at
customs?" asked Nick.

A number of things. When a boat clears
customs, the skipper usually goes ashore
with a crew list, passports and ship's
papers. In St. Lucia that day, there was a
cruise ship tied up at the main port of
Castries, and when 1 went ashore to clear,
the customs officer was giving his full, fiat-
tering attention to an officer from the ship.
"They finished their business and I handed
the customs man my papers. He looked at
the crew list and tossed it across the desk
onto the floor at my feet. “That piece of
paper too small,
man. Get a bigger
piece; don't bother
me with that kind
of thing."

Something
snapped. Words
were exchanged:
there was a laying
on of hands; thc
customs officer
was on the floor.
"Two others came
in the side door
and grabbed me
by the neck. There
was a quick flurry,
a few slippery
punches, and then
I was on the floor
under a customs
man and a police-
man.

They frog-
marched me along
the dock to where
Nick lay on the
cabin roof, enjoy-
ing the morning
sun. Several other
men had joined
our group. They
jumped ^ aboard
and began to tear
Khariessa's inte-
rior apart. In a
jacket pocket, they
found a marijuana
seed. In a small
tobacco tin, they found three fragments of
stalk and nine seeds.

“You're drug smugglers,” a police offi-
cer said. “You're both under arrest.”

From the jail I got a message to the Brit-
ish consulate to ask if they could either get
us out or into a bigger cell. The reply came
in the form of a badly smudged Xeroxed
list of local lawyers. It was confiscated by
the police, who told us that we were
allowed no paper in the cell, no books, no
cigarettes, no writing materials, nothing
except our pants.

Three times a day, we each received a
small loaf of bread and shared a tin mug,

taking water from a bottle whose contents
a policeman poured between the bars of
the cell door. Apart from the door and a
small window, there was nothing in the
cell except bare boards on the floor and
four walls, all of which had been clotted
with smears and dollops of shit all the way
to the ceiling. We slept as we could, fitting
together and around like loose cutlery
dropped into a drawer.

I asked an officer if we could be given
something to clean ої the walls and scrub
the floors. It was the thought of exercise,
as much as hygiene, that prompted this.
"The only lavatory, at the end of the pas-
sage outside, had overflowed, creating a
pool of wet stench that ebbed and flowed

"Schnapps
never tasted
socool.

across the floor outside our cell. Rats
rarely came into the cell, because there
was no way out apart from the door, but
they ran up and down through the night,
splashing around in the sewage. The
guards gave us brooms and buckets. The
other inmates refused to have anything to
do with the business and asked to be taken
out until we'd finished.

That night, it was my turn to sleep with
my feet resting on the horizontal bar of the
cell door. Someone grabbed my bare toes
and rubbed my instep against the steel
bars. It was a police sergeant. "You like
that, you honkie?” and he gave them

another scraping. The word honkie gave
him much satisfaction; he repeated it sev-
eral times, while I lay back on my elbows,
waiting for to get bored and let go.
“That boat of yours, honkie, that's my
boat," the sergeant said.

In the morning, Ї got permission to
speak with a police superintendent. I told
him that if we weren't allowed out to
pump Khariessa's bilges, she would sink
at the dock. She was old, she was made of
wood, she leaked. If she sank, the port
might be inconvenienced, and none of us
wanted that.

From then on, Nick and I took turns as
pumper of the day, escorted to the boat by
a policeman and a customs officer. The
customs man cut
the seal that he'd
locked the main
hatch with the pre-
vious day, then
joined the police-
man on the dock
while the pumper,
left alone on the
boat, stuffed him-
self with fruit,
smoked cigarettes,
read a book and
stowed a few treats
in the rolled-up
cuffs of his jeans to
take back to the
cell. Occasionally,
he would shout,
“Jesus wept, look
at the water!” or
“We got here just
in time today!"

The policeman
stayed оп the
dock, because it
was his job to tell
the pumper when
the water stopped
coming out of the
hole at the back of
the boat. The hole
was the exhaust
from Khariessa's
enginc.

À marine diesel,
unless its air-
cooled, is cooled
by water that's
sucked through an inlet in the hull,
pumped around the engine and squirted
out through the exhaust. Our engine was
water-cooled. The pumper's first job was
to run the engine; we had already told the
police that the engine was essential to
operate the pump. There was no leak in
Khariessa—she was as tight as the prover-
bial drum—but as soon as the engine was
tumed on, the water started squirting out
of the hole at the back; and for as long as
the engine continued to run, the water
squirted with it.

“You gotta lotta water today, man,” the
policeman would say; and half an hour

Produc ol Canada 60 Liqueur Imported by General Wine & Spits Co. N.Y. N.Y.

179

PLAYBOY

180

later, “Water still coming out. You gotta
big leak in that boat."

1 celebrated my 40th birthday in jail the
day before we were refused bail at a hear-
ing before a judge. The police told the
judge that we were notorious smugglers,
dangerous men and vagrant sailors, and it
would be only a matter of time before their
inquiries to Interpol, Scotland Yard and
the FBI started to produce results.

After a week, we were handcuffed and
loaded onto a truck to be taken for trial. In
court, all charges against Nick, whatever
they were—they were never specified—
were dropped. I had hired a local lawyer
for our defense. He knew exactly how
much money I had left, including a loan
from a friend in the States, because he'd
handled that transaction. It came to $1150
in local currency.

In court, the tobacco tin with the three
stalks and the nine seeds had sprouted into
a fair-sized bush in a cardboard box.

“You could go to prison for four
months,” the judge said and called my
lawyer to the bench for a brief consulta-
tion. “You could go to prison, but we shall
be lenient. We fine you $1150. №, jj

We sailed out of Castries the next day,
penniless and close to ecstasy, singing the
song we'd made up in the cell:

"Oh, Castries, what you done to me
Threw me in your jail under lock and
hey

Took all the money, tried to break us,
too
That's Castries, St. Loo.”

That was the refrain; the eight verses
were even worse.

We stayed another six weeks in the
Caribbean, living on fish and the occa-
sional food handout from charter-boat
crews we'd met down island. Further sup-
port came from one of my more villainous
cousins, who showed up unexpectedly in
Guadeloupe, where he'd been paid off as a
deckhand on a yacht chartered by an eld-
erly Swiss for a parrot-smuggling run from
South America to the West Indies. From.
Guadeloupe, the birds—all 29 of them—
were supposed to be flown to Europe; they
had been sedated for that purpose, but
they escaped on the dock and attracted
considerable attention. The smuggler's
claim that the birds were, in fact, not par-
rots but a common breed of South Ameri-
can duck was ignored by the customs
officers, and everyone on the boat except
for the skipper and the old Swiss—who
were sent back to sca with their raucous
cargo—had been obliged to leave in haste.
Probably only a sailor will fully appreciate
what it must have been like on the passage
from Colombia to Guadeloupe, beating
into the northeast trades for three wecks
on a 35-foot ketch full of unsedated par-
rots. I would like to be able to report that
my cousin listened when I said that parrot

“Getting the ideas is easy . . . the hard part
is hitting one key at a time.”

smuggling was an unworthy crime, but the
fact is that the money he'd earned helped
keep us in food, as he pointed out when-
ever the subject came up.

We spent most of the remaining time in
the islands anchored in the mangroves in
English Harbour, Antigua, where we
arrived just before Race Week. This is the
biggest annual sailing party in the West
Indies, and hundreds of boats of all flags
and sizes meet there in the last weeks of
April, before the hurricane season starts.
For destitute yachtsmen, Antigua is the
logical place to be at that time of year,
because that’s when boats clean out their
stores and pass the windfalls to those
greater need.

We painted the boat, sawed off the deck-
house, mended sails and took a few days
off to go racing as crew on larger boats.
Two friends flew in, one from London,
another from Utah, and between them
provided enough cash to cover fuel costs,
dock dues and other expenses on the jour-
ney north, If I had found one, Га have
bought a New York-harbor chart, but
none was available. All we had was the
North Atlantic chart, and on that, Man-
hattan is a microdot and Long Island
about half an inch long. I could only hope
that creative navigation would get us
through. And to those who recoil with con-
tempt at such unseamanlike methods, I'll
quote the sailor's oldest proverb: You do
what you've got to do with the things that
you've got.

The exploits and misadventures of
Kharicssa's crew had attracted an unex-
pected notoriety over the previous few
months, and while this had ceased to be a
novelty by the time we left Antigua, the
send-off we got when we sailed out of
English Harbour made even the worst
moments seem worth while. We had a new
crew member on board— Yoc! n Israeli
trumpeter—and while we tacked out
through the Race Week fleet, Yochi sat on
the stern rail playing Summertime, every
last beautiful note echoing across the
water. It was one of those quict West
Indian evenings, just before sunset, with
the lightest of breezes barely filling the
sails, and as we glided across the anchor-
age, people began to line the rails of the
assembled boats. Someone blew an air
hom, whistles and sirens sounded, a cai
non fired and the flares arced into the
darkening sky over the high ground
around Freeman's Bay. We could still hear
the noise reverberating in the hills when
we sailed out through the entrance and
picked up the first gust from the northeast
trades.

A week later, we were off Bermuda, sail-
ing among the tall ships that had gathered
for the last leg of the Bicentennial race.
Here again, creative navigation saved the
day: We found Bermuda by pointing a
transistor radio in the direction of the
strongest signal from Bermuda radio sta-
tions and stecring an appropriate course.
The horizon was a mass of squarc-rigged

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PLAYBOY

182

sails—brigantines, — barkentines, big
schooners and sailing craft of all types and
origins, all tacking for position at the start-
ing line. One of the ships, the 3300-ton
Khruzhenstern, a Russian, thundered past
us in 25 knots of wind, leaving Khariessa's
12 tons wallowing in a wake that might
have been left by a destroyer. We passed
her under engine two days later, totallı
becalmed, with a U.S. Coast Guard hel
copter hovering just off her stern, while a
row of nonchalant Russian cadets pissed
over the side and threw us cigarettes and
fresh fruit.

The tall ships were making for Newport,
but I wanted to get to Manhattan early, so
that | could sneak into a berth before they
left Newport for New York. As we sailed
from Bermuda toward America, however,
the summer haze thickened, and our lack
of a radio made it impossible for us to ask
passing ships to verily our position. We
crept slowly westward, all ears strained for
the horrible sound of engines, surf or traf-
fic, but the visibility grew steadily worse
and my imagination conjured up one
catastrophe after another as we groped
through the mist. Somewhere out there, I
thought, was the ship I'd been dreading,
the 200,000-ton tanker surging my way at
15 knots—one of those fully automated
beasts you read about, with a crew stupe-
fied by drugs and a stateless skipper whose
only credentials were the Panamanian
master’s papers he'd bought in а Tangier
disco. I thought about the story of the ship

that had entered Yokohama with a tangle
of yacht rigging and shreds of sails han;
ing from one of the bow anchors, An
accompanying tug radioed the ship to ask
about the accident. “What accident?” the
ship replied.

For a few years in the late Sixties, my
ex-wife and 1 had owned a house in Ocean
Bay Park on Fire Island, the barrier island
that runs along the Atlantic coast of Long
Island for some 30 miles. Our place was
about 100 yards inland from a small and
prominent house that had been built by a
friend, Harold Krieger. 1 hadn't seen
Harold or the house in six years, and as we
felt our way through the mist, it is certain
that of the numerous things on my mind,
neither Harold nor his house was among
them. One morning, however, the mist
evaporated—not all of it, just a large
ragged patch, and in it, perfectly framed,
was the unmistakable outline of Harold
Krieger's house, revealed for less than a
minute before the fog swallowed it up
again.

T swung the wheel hard over and turned
the boat around. In another ten minutes,
we would have been running up the beach.
We heard the engine of a small boat and
sounded the air horn. The other vessel
answered, and then we saw it, a small
yacht chugging along in the opposite
direction. I shouted across the gap
between us to ask if they had a spare chart
of the New York entrance. The other boat
passed us and came back around our

“Murray—are you worrying about business again?”

siern, and from out of the t sailed a
rolled-up chart that landed in the cockpit.
New York, New York.

We yelled a chorus of thanks and I
heard a man shout back, "You're wel-
come!" He sounded uncannily like Mel
Brooks.

We tied up at a Hudson River pier in
Greenwich Village on July 1, 1976. On
that date the previous year, I had been sit-
ting on Diamond's bowsprit, watching the
sun-speckled mass of Gibraltar take shape
n the Mediterrancan haze. In just over a
year, Pd covered 10,000 miles of ocean,
crossed the Atlantic twice, sailed from
Scotland down the west coast of Europe,
over to the Caribbean and north to a Man-
hattan pier only a few blocks from my old
apartment. Nobody knew better than I the
debts I owed to blind luck and good
fricnds

Almost nine years and another 60,000
miles of ocean have slipped by since we
tied up at that New York pier. Khariessa
was sold at the end of 1976; that winter, I
delivered a new boat from Florida down to
St. Vincent and worked in the islands as a
charter skipper for the first and last time.
Janitors in shorts, we called ourselves in
the fleet where I worked, and janitors who
could never escape from the clamorous
demands of their tenants.

The money from Khariessa went into a
partners! in another old wooden boat, a
50-foot teak ketch that was lying in
Majorca. Four of us sailed her from the
Mediterranean to the Caribbean and
spent an icebound winter in Annapolis,
supporting ourselves with the occasional
delivery down to the islands. After the
ketch was sold, ] rebuilt and refitted boats
in Europe, made deliveries, went ocean
racing for a few seasons, sailed a Hobie
Cat from Florida to the Bahamas and back
and worked as chief engineer on а 200-ton
vessel. In short, the past nine years have
been full of boats.

In 1975, I wanted to learn how to sail a
boat anywhere a boat could go, and if I
'en't accomplished that large and pre-
tentious objective, I've been lucky enough
to get my boats to their destinations with-
out loss or injury. I used to think that any-
one who sailed an ocean a few times would
know everything there was to know about
the sca, sailing, weather and boats, but
these are inexhaustible subjects, with layer
upon layer of knowledge and experience.

You could devote a lifetime to the sea and
barely scratch the surlace of the first layer.
Perhaps that's why you never meet an
occan sailor who says he knows it all; only
a liar would claim he did, and only a fool
would be

On Diamond, where I learned that the
land has no monopoly on loonies and
tyrants, I found that my illusions
about the sailing life were nothing more
than that, and that the only way to be rid

ve him.

of them was to accept and deal with the
realities. My old shipmate Rhino, the
swine, showed me that a man can be a
bully and half-crazy, yet still command
respect for his competence. He gave me
priceless insights into the business of sea-
manship and the art of keeping a boat
going in heavy weather, when the tempta-
tion to let go and wait for nature to take its
course is sometimes stronger than the will
to survive. From Rhino and from many
others later on, I learned that all storms
pass. All storms.

As a rule, sailors—those who make a
living at sea—aren’t boastful about their
work or achievements, and this is probably
because the sailing world is so unlike that
of any other society or community. It has
no cliques or special-interest groups, no
minorities or outcasts. There are no lead-
ers or followers, no fans or celebrities, no
government, no police, press or church,
and the only two authorities—wind and
sea—are impartial. To my mind, at least,
that's an ideal definition of democracy.

If you learn anything at sea, you learn
about the things that count and the things
that don't, and if that statement sounds
too dreamy to be true for these cynical
times, it must be seen in the context of tak-
ing a boat on a long ocean passage. There,
everybody aboard shares a common
purpose— to get to the destination quickly
and safely, each crew member making the
fullest possible contribution to that objec-
tive. Sailors rarely talk about humor,
endurance, dedication or commitment,
but these are the human qualities most
essential on an ocean-going boat.

Finally, of all the rewards to be gained
by sailing, there is the euphoria of that
unique and perfect experience, an ocean
passage under sail. On a cloudless nightin
the Atlantic, with the rest of the crew
asleep, you have another half hour at the
wheel before the next watch comes on
deck. A dim light in the compass and a
black sky brilliant with stars and planets.
A gleam of the rising moon along the rail
and the steady whoosh and hiss of break-
ing foam as you ride the westbound seas,
with the trades filling the sails and the
creak and stretch of lines and rigging when
they take the load. A mug of coffee, a ciga-
rette, Bob Marley honking away on the
deck speakers. A falling star and the first
pale crack of dawn over your shoulder.

"The other night, you saw an ocean liner
slide across the horizon in a streaming
blaze of lights, and as these dwindled and
vanished, you thought about the ship’s
passengers, dressing in their cabins, danc-
ing, laughing at a mirrored bar; you heard
music from a band on the afterdeck, a faint
throb of bass and a rising note on a trum-
pet. You won't forget that moment, that
sound, and the conflicting impressions it
left of happiness and loneliness, of being

remote from the world and part of it, of
longing and belonging.

After you came off watch, you put on the
headphones and listened to the short wave
before turning in. Someone was in trouble
off the Cuban coast, a leaking boat with
broken pumps and water up to the saloon
floor; three adults on board, one with a
fracturcd arm. A man's voice, calm and
deliberate, spoke to the Coast Guard sta-
tion: Yes, Coast Guard, this is a mayday,
you could say that. Roger your mayday,
sir; state your vessel's present. longitude
and latitude. Then the transmission faded
and you spun the dial through à babble of
static and propaganda, chanting Arabs
and a BBC lady disc jockey playing Stan
Getz for a Mr. Bungi in Nigeria.

On the U.S. Armed Forces Network, a
dark and menacing piano theme, stark and
urgent, like the music from Mission Impos-
sible, with a tough male voice-over: “Espi-
onage is a jigsaw puzzle—don't let them
have your piece of the puzzle. There is
somebody out there and he doesn't like us,
not one little bit.”

4 (иде E»...

And there was Radio Moscow, a smooth
American accent, as usual, explaining that
if а Korean airliner had been shot down
over Soviet territory by Soviet fighters, the
culprits could be found in Washington.

Ho hum, and a pox on all politics.

"You turn off the radio and climb into the
bunk, falling asleep to the sound of the
boat working and the seas bubbling and
sliding along the hull. In a few hours,
you'll make the bread and take the first
sights of the day while the dough rises. You
should be seeing land in a couple of weeks,
provided the wind stays where it is.
There'll be old friends there, people you
haven't seen in months or years. Maybe
some mail. If you've got the time, you may
cruise down to Trinidad for Carnival or
drop the hook for a week on one of those
perfect crystal bays in the Grenadines.

Escapism? Probably, but so what? Ifit is
an escape, it’s the kind everyone could use
a bit more of. Maybe you could, too.
There's only one way to find out.

"Let's just get one
thing straight, Vic. You can be n

best friend, or you can be my severest cri

Being

both is out of the question.”

183

PLAYBOY

184

JOEL HYATT «ican pre 120

“There are too many lawyers in government. But
you’ve got to be careful in indicting them.”

inexplicable, Lawyers maintain the m
tery in order to keep their very spec
place in society and keep their fees high.
A lot of law language is nonsense. I have
seen legal documents that have provoked
me—as a lawyer—to challenge the author
to explain. Often, the author cannot
explain the meaning except to say, “Well,
that paragraph’s always in the docu-
ment.” What a lousy reason. Our firm is
demystifying the law and trying to use

BUREAU

understandable, everyday language.
9.

ылувоу: What's most lacking in a lawyer's
education?

нултт: Anything to do with the practice of
law. Law schools teach the law. You learn
nothing about how to build a law practice
or how to deal with clients, and those arc
the two critical elements in delivering legal
services. Law schools are unwilling to

MISSING PERSONS

“1 guess I should have suspected something
was wrong. It was the first time he'd ever gone
Jogging with two suitcases.”

involve themselves in those issues, because
they are not viewed as scholarly matters.

10.

PLAYBOY: You were an undergrad at
Dartmouth, which is famous for its wild
weekends. How indefensible was your
behavior during all that revelry?

Hyatt: Т am pleased to tell you that almost
every weekend at Dartmouth is a wild onc.
There are many institutionalized blow-
outs, such as Winter Carnival and Green
Key Weekend, but those are simply formal-
ized justifications for typical weekends. As
for my behavior, I plead the Fifth Amend-
ment: Answering might incriminate me.

11.

pLavBov: Many attorneys marry their jobs;
you married your partner. Do you recom-
mend the strategy?

nvarr: Well, first, let me point out that I
married Suzi before she was my partner,
so to speak. But we have worked together
for a long time. Her father is Democratic
U.S. Senator Howard Metzenbaum of
Ohio. When I graduated from Yale Law
School, I came home to Cleveland and
was campaign director for his successful
bid for the Senate. Suzi and I ran that
campaign together. So, while I don't make
lifestyle recommendations to others, work-
ing together has been extremely rewarding
for us.

12.

PLAYBOY: It's no secret to those around you
that you harbor political aspirations. Dare
we elect one more lawyer to public office?
HYATT: An interesting question. There are
too many lawyers in government. But
you've got to be careful in indicting them.
Some of the great contributions made in
government have been made by lawyers.
Ivs very natural for lawyers to become
involved in public service at some point in
their careers, and I do hope one day to add
a public-service component to mine, It’s
important, however, that we have in gov-
ernment people whose previous experience
is wide-ranging and certainly not limited
to the practice of law. And were I to enter
government, [ would be bringing a lot
more to it than just my ig a lawyer.

13.

¢ your briefs.
art: My professional briefs are charac-
stark, with very clear,

con
personal briefs are, by virtue of their being
personal, known only to those who enter

14.

тлувоу: This is no reflection on your last
response, but why aren't lawyers funnier?
нултт: That is a reflection on my last
response. Unfortunately, a lawyer's train-
ing places a very low premium on humor

In Japan, where high-tech electronics
are a way of life, they pay $714.93
for an American-made radar detector

(You can get the same one for considerably less)

Even we were a little surprised. All we did
was build the best radar detector we knew
how. We shipped our first ESCORT in 1978,
and since then we've shipped over 600,000.
Along the way the ESCORT has earned quite
a reputation—among its owners, and also in
several automotive magazines.

Credentials
Over the past five years. Car and Driver
magazine has performed four radar detector
comparison tests. Escort has been rated
number one in each. Their most recent test
concluded “The Escort radar detector is
clearly the leader in the field in value, cus-
tomer service, and performance . . We think

that's quite an endorsement.

Our Responsibility

One of the reasons for our reputation is
our attention to detail. If we dont feel we can
do something very well, we simply won't do it.
That's why we sell Escorts direct from the
factory to you. Not only can we assure the
quality of the ESCORT. but we can also make
sure that the salesperson you speak to is
knowledgeable. And if an ESCORT ever
needs service, it will be done quickly. And
it will be done right.

50 States Only

And thats the reason we don't presently
sell ESCORTs outside of the United States.
Even in the countries that use identical radar
(Japan and Australia. to name two) we know
that we couldn't provide the kind of customer
service that ESCORT owners expect. So we
pass up the additional sales rather than risk
our reputation.

"Dear Sir...”

So well admit we were surprised when a
letter from one of our customers included an
advertisement from a Japanese automotive
magazine. The ad pictured an ESCORT, and
the price was 158,000 yen. Our customer was
kind enough to convert that to U.S. dollars.
Using that day'srate of exchange, an American-
made ESCORT was worth $714.93 in Japan.
Further translation revealed the phrase "The
real thing is here!” and warned against
imitations.

This У page ad was a total surprise.

Econ 101

Needless to say, we were flattered We
knew that ESCORT had an impressive repu-
lation, but we never expected to see it "boot-
legged' into other countries and sold at such
a premium. Butthe laws of supply and demand
are not so easy to ignore. V/hen there is a
Strong need for a product, there is an equally
Strong incentive for an enterprising capitalist
to fill that need. And apparently, thats just
what happened.

Easy Access
Of course, its easy for you to get an
ESCORT — just call us toll-free or write us at
the address below. The price is the same as
it's been for the last five years: $245. Quite
a deal for what the Japanese must think is
the best radar detector in the world.

Try ESCORT at no risk
Take the first 30 days with ESCORT asa
test. If you're not completely satisfied
return it fora full refund. You can't lose.

ESCORT is also backed with a one
year warranty on both parts and labor.
ESCORT $245 (Ohio res. add $13.48 tax)

TOLLFREE.. 800-543-1608
IN OHIO.. 800-582-2696

be) ВӘ

By mail send to address below. Credit
cards, money orders, bank checks, cer-
tified checks, wire transfers processed
immediately. Personal or company
checks require 18 days.

ESCORT

RADAR WARNING RECEIVER

Cincinnati Microwave
Department 100-007-A04
One Microwave Plaza
Cincinnati, Ohio 45296-0100

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

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and a very high premium on stuffiness.
Lawyers are trained to be cautious, con-
servative and concerned about decorum at
all times. Having said that, I think it’s a
bad rap. There are lots of lawyers who are
lots of fun, Gee, I hope you don't run those
two questions in a row.

15.

PLAYBOY: We wouldn't think of it. What are
the things most Americans don't know
about the law?

нултт: The list would be so long. You can
start with the most basic example: Most
Americans die without a will. They do so
despite the very tragic consequences that
can befall their loved ones. In most states,
there's a statute that determines exactly
how your property must be divided when
you die without a will. A person can
obtain a will ata very low cost, at very lit-
tle inconvenience, yet most Americans
don't. They do not have very basic inf
mation about areas of the law that exist
only to serve them.

16.

PLAYBOY: Why do judges still have those lit-
Че hammers?

Hart: A lot of what goes on in their court-
rooms is very boring, and once in a while a
judge bangs that thing to wake himself up.
It's a wadition worth continuing. I see
nothing pernicious about the hammers.

17.

PLAYBOY: Does anyone actually get away
with murder?

nyart: Yes, No lawyer would argue that all
people who are guilty of crimes are con-
victed. There are sometimes very impor-
tant constitutional reasons that people
who are guilty are not convicted; and
sometimes, there are people who benefit
from excellent lawyering. Protections exist
to benefit the innocent. When someone
who's guilty of a crime is prosecuted by
virtue of evidence obtained illegally, our

societal concern is really not with that
individual. The point is to protect the
guarantees of the system that apply to all
of us. Democracy is a very fragile form of
government.

18.

PLAYBOY: Your cheapest divorce rate is
$275. What kind of deal could Johnny
Carson get for that?

mart: First of all, Га rather represent his
wife, because she would be willing to pay
the fees out of her settlement. But for $275,
we wouldn't even represent Mrs. Carson.
They did not have a no-fault divorce, for
which that fee is applicable. Theirs was
what's more commonly referred to as a
humongous battle.

19.

PLAYBOY: You were born Joel Hyatt
Zylberberg. What's the real reason you

dropped the last part—fcar of anti-
Semitism?
HYATT: It wasn't pronounceable—because
it was spelled Z-Y-L. When I got out of
Law school, I just thought it would be more
useful to have a name that was phonetic
and pronounceable. At the time, 1 didn't
have the slightest inkling about Hyatt
Legal Services. Marketing strategy had
nothing to do with it. It was my father,
who is one of the very few members of his
family to have survived the holocaust, who
suggested I pick up my middle name. Peo-
ple who don't know me could surmise
Some reason relating to my religion that
caused me to change my last name, but
anyone who took a careful look at my com-
mitment to Jewish issues and charitable

involvements would know better.

20.
PLAYBOY: Know any good lawyer jokes?
нултг: I know many good lawyer jokes.
Have you heard the one about the dying
old man who decided that he could contra-
dict the adage that you can't take it with
you? He liquidated all of his assets and got
$1,500,000 in cash. He called to his hospi-
tal bed his minister, his doctor and his
lawyer. He told them, “I'm taking it with
me. I worked hard for this, and I want to
be buried with my cash. You're the three
people closest to me; our relationships are
based on trust. Here's what I'm asking
you to do: I'm giving each of you $500,000
in cash. When I die, I want you to put the
money into my casket just before they seal
it up.”

Well, he died shortly thereafter; and fol-
lowing the funeral, the minister, the doctor
and the lawyer got together at a neighbor-
hood bar for a couple of drinks. “Е have to
confess something,” said the minister.
“Our church has long needed renovation
and a new residence for the minister and
his family. I just knew our friend would
understand this and would want to make a
contribution, so I put $400,000 of the cash
into the casket,”

The doctor said, “Well, Im really glad
you had the courage to make that confes-
sion, because I must tell you that Гуе
worked hard all my life, curing and heal-
ing people, but 1 haven't made the kind of
money that I thought I would. Гуе wanted

à vacation home and a motorboat for so
long, and | knew our friend would not
begrudge me those things. So [ put
$300,000 of the cash into the casket.”

Well, it was the lawyer's turn, so he said
to the minister and the doctor, “Gentle-
men, I am appalled at your lack of integ-
rity. 1 put my personal check for the entire
$500,000 into the casket.”

I'm sure the check was good; aren't

you?

Quie simply, PASSPORT is the
smallest superheterodyne radar
detector ever made — only 34" tall,
234" wide, and 442" long. It fits your
pocket as easily as a cassette tape.

SMD Technology

This miniaturization is possible
only with SMDs (Surface Mounted
Devices), micro-electronics com
mon in satellites but unprecedented
in radar detectors. In fact, PASSPORT
so new the magazine testers
haven't even had a chance to select
their superlatives.

Press Release

When the magazines do catch
up, they'll report excellent per
formance. More than early warning,
PASSPORT also provides a precise
measure of radar range. Simply turn
PASSPORT on and set the volume
level. At radar contact, the alert lamp
lights and the variable-pulse audio
begins a slow warning: “beep” for
X band radar, "brap" for K band.
Simultaneously a bar graph of

PASSPORT is about the size of a cassette tape

Small Wonder

At last, pocket-size radar protection.
New PASSPORT can go with you anywhere.

Hewlett-Packard LEDs shows signal
strength. A photocell even adjusts

the alert brightness to the light level
in your ca

PASSPORT comes with a fitted leather case.

Behind the Wheel

As you get closer, the pulse
quickens and the bar graph
lengthens. And if you should want
to defeat the audio warning during
ak mg radar encounter, а special
“mute” switch allows you to defeat
the audio, vet leave PASSPORT fully
armed for the next encounter. You
get the complete radar picture.

Upwardly Mobile

You can take PASSPORT any-
where: on an airplane to another
city, or to work for trips in the
company car. Just install on dashtop
or visor, then plug into your lighter.
PASSPORT keeps such a low profile,
it can be on duty without anyone

noticing. And PASSPORT comes
complete with a visor clip, wind
shield mount, straight cord, coiled
cord — even a leather travel case.
And we back PASSPORT with a full
one vear limited warranty.

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Try a PASSPORT in your poc-

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mailing costs. You can't lose.

Call Toll Free 800-543-1608
In Ohio Call 800-582-2696

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$295 (OH res. add $16.23 tax)
Pocket-Size Radar Protection
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PASSPORT

RADAR-RECEIVER
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PLAYBOY

188

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“м,

CHARLES ATLAS

(continued from page 146)
through my bag to find thc 8 x 10 glossy
photo that he had signed and sent to me at
the end of the course. There he was, hands
behind his head, body slightly arched,
pectoral muscles swelling effortlessly, legs
together, one shoulder slightly higher than
the other. Who could clothe such a body? I
fell asleep with that thought drifting
through my mind

By five in the morning, 1 was already
wide-awake. While I was doing exercises
one and two (it was so moving to practice
them for the first time in New York), I
imagined that at that very moment,
Charles Atlas was doing his exercises as
well. After my workout, I slowly showered
and dressed, trying to kill time; at seven, 1
went down to the lobby to await the driver.
Although Charles Atlas advocated a nutri-
tious breakfast, I was not accustomed to
cating in the morning

At nine o'clock sharp, the representative
of Charles Atlas, Ltd., presented himself.
Outside, awaiting us, was a black limou-
sine with gold trim on the windows and
gray-velvet curtains. The representative of
Charles Atlas, Ltd., uttered not a single
word during our drive, nor did the chauf-
{сиг so much as glance in my direction.
During the half-hour drive, we passed an
endless succession of identical brick build-
ings with walls of glass in an opaque
design that suggested rain. When the car
finally came to a halt in front of the long-
awaited address, it was on a sad-looking
street of old warehouses and wholesale
storage lofts. Across the street from
Charles Atlas, Ltd. 1 remember an
umbrella factory and a little park of dusty,
withered trees, Instead of glass in the win-
dows of the building, there were boards
nailed across the frames.

To reach the main entrance of Charles
Atlas, Ltd., we climbed a stone staircase
that ended on a tiny mezzanine where a
life-sized statue of the god Atlas was sus-
taining the world on his shoulders. The
inscription chiseled into the stone base
read, MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO. We passed
through a squeaky revolving door of pol-
ished glass set in black-enamel frames. In
the vestibule, the walls were covered with
gigantic reproductions of all the photos of
Charles Atlas that 1 had ever seen. What а
pleasure to recognize one familiar pose
ter another. And there, right in the mid-
dle, the one I loved more than all the
rest— Charles Atlas with a harness around
his neck, pulling a string of ten autom
biles while a shower of confetti fell all
around him. Magnificent!

I was directed into the offices of William
Rideout, Jr., general manager of Charles
Adas, Ltd. Shortly I found myself facing a
middle-aged man with bony features and
decp-set eyes in dark sockets. He extended
me his pallid hand, covered with a web of
blue veins, and took his seat behind a
small, square, unadorned desk. He twisted

“No, what I said was, this is a one-whore town."

PLAYBOY

to turn on the shaded lamp behind him
despite the flood of light already entering
through the window.

The offices were rather shabby, and on
the desk, hundreds of envelopes—cxactly
like the one I had received—were piled
up. The wall behind the desk was domi-
nated by a huge photo (one I had never
seen before) of Charles Atlas proudly dis-
playing his pectoral muscles. Mr. Rideout,
Jr. asked me to be seated and began to
‘speak without looking at me. His eyes
were fixed on a paperweight on his desk,
and his hands were tightly folded in front
of him. The stress that showed on his face
indicated that it was a great effort for him
to speak. I was listening so intently to his
words, delivered in a slow monotone, that
it wasn’t until he paused for a moment to
pull out his handkerchief and wipe the
saliva from his lips that I noticed what my
nervousness had carlier obscured: The
strain of his clenched hands and the posi-
tion of his head could be nothing else but
exercise 18 of The Dynamic Tension Sys-
tem. I must admit that a flood of emotion
nearly brought tears to my eyes

“I most cordially welcome you,” said
Mr. Rideout, Jr., “and 1 hope that you
will have a most enjoyable stay in New
York. I am sorry that I am unable to
express myself correctly in Spanish, as
would have been my wish, but I speak
only un poquito." (Those last words were
measured out with a minimal gesture of
the thumb and index finger of his right
hand as he laughed for the first and only
time—as if he had said something terribly
funny.)

Mr. Rideout, Jr.. then smiled at me with
beatific condescension while he straight-
ened the knot of his tie.

“I am the general manager of Charles
Atlas, Ltd., and it is a great pleasure for

my firm to receive you in your special sta-
tus as an official guest of the Department
of State of the United States of America.
We will do everything possible to make
your visit with us a most pleasant one.”

Mr. Rideout, Jr. again applied his
handkerchief to his lips before he contin-
ued with his speech, affording me the
opportunity to notice his aged secretary
turning down the Venetian blinds at the
window that gave onto the street. The
pure, clear tone of the sunlight changed to
ocher; and for an instant, the appearance
of the room seemed to shift, offering a com-
pletely new array of objects—as if in the
photos displayed on the walls, Charles
Atlas were changing poses.

“1, of course, appreciate that you have
come such a great distance to meet
Charles Adas, though I must confess this
is the first case of its type that has pre-
sented itself in the entire history of the
firm,” continued Mr. Rideout, Jr. “Like
all commercial enterprises, we reserve the
right to keep private certain facts that, if
publicly disclosed, would damage our
interests. Therefore, with this in mind, 1
must request your solemn oath of silence
concerning what I am about to tell you.”

Mr. Ridcout, Jr., speaking dispassion-
ately and without the slightest tension,
reiterated the warning several times. I
could only swallow hard and nod my
head.

"Swear out loud," he demanded.

Yes, I swear,” I answered finally.

Although we were alone in the room
with only the whistle of a radiator, Mr.
Rideout, Jr., glanced around on all sides
before he spoke.

“Charles Atlas doesn't exist," he whis-
pered finally, leaning toward me over the
desk. When he settled back down, he fixed
his eyes upon me with a solemn look.

“Га like fame, fortune, love and understanding;

Th.

€ a tuna on rye with lettuce and mayonnaise,

a side of potato salad and tea with milk."

“I know that this comes as a great shock
to you, but it’s the truth. We invented this
product years ago, and Charles Atlas is a
company trademark, like any other—like
the codfisher on the box of Scott's Emul-
sion or the clean-shaven face on the
Gillette razor-blades package. It’s what
we sell; that's all.”

During our long talks aftcr thc English
classes back in San Fernando, Captain
Hatfield, U.S.M.C., had warned me
repeatedly about just this kind of situa-
tion: Never let them catch you with your
guard down. Be like a boxer—don't let
them surprise you. Demand your righ
Don't let them pull the wool over your
eyes.

“Very well,” I said, getting to my feet
suddenly, “I'll have to inform Washington
about this.”

“What?” exclaimed Mr. Rideout, Jr.,
jumping to his feet as well.

“Yes, that's right. Inform Washington of
this misfortune.” (Washington, Captain
Hatfield, U.S.M.C., had taught me, is a
magical word. Use it if you're in a jam;
and if that doesn't work, try the unfailing
Department of State.)

“I beg you to believe me. I'm telling you
the truth," Mr. Rideout, Jr., implored, but
already his tone of conviction had
wavered.

"] wish to send a telegram to thc
Department of State.”

“Pm not lying to you,” he continued as
he backed away from me toward the nar-
row door, which he opened without turn-
ing and through which he suddenly
disappeared, closing it behind him

I was left standing alone in the now-
darkening room. According to what Cap-
tain Hatfield, U.S.M.C., had told me, the
trembling that I felt beneath my feet was
caused by the subterranean trains.

It was late in the afternoon by the time

Mr. Rideout, Jr., returned. Hammer
away, keep hammering at them—I could
hear Captain Hatfield, U.S.M.C., repeat
it in my head.
“1 will never believe that Charles Atlas
doesn't exist," I started in immediately,
without allowing him a moment to speak.
He dropped into his chair like a beaten
man.

“All right, all right,” he repeated, wav-
ing a deprecatory hand in my direction.
“The firm has consented to allow you to
meet Mr. Atlas.”

1 smiled and thanked him with a defer-
ential nod of the head. Be friendly and
courteous when you know you have won,
Captain Hatfield, U.S.M.C., had always
told me.

“You must promise to follow strictly the
conditions I exact. I have consulted with
the State Department, and they have
approved the documents you arc about to
sign. You must promise to leave the coun-
try after secing Mr. Atlas, and to that
effect I have booked you passage on the

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S.S. Vermont, which sails at midnight
tonight. You must furthermore refrain
from commenting in public or private
about your visit and from referring to any-
one at all about the circumstances of samc
or your personal impressions thereof. [t is
only under these terms that the company’s
board of directors has granted its authori-
zation.”

The old woman once again entered and
handed a sheet of paper to Mr. Rideout,
Jr. He placed it in front of me.

“Well, then, sign here,” he said authori-
tatively.

Without replying, I signed on the dotted
line, where his finger was tapping. When
you've got what you want, sign anything
except your own dcath sentence: Captain
Hatfield, U.S.M.C.

Mr. Rideout, Jr., took the document
and, folding it with care, placed it in the
middle drawer of the desk. Even before he
had finished, I was scized from behind by
the arms; turning my head, I found myself
in the grip of two gigantic, muscle-bound
characters dressed in black, with identical
shaved heads and lugubrious scowls. 1
hadn't the slightest doubt that their bodies
had been formed through the discipline of
The Dynamic Tension System.

“They will accompany you. Follow your
instructions to the letter.” And Mr.
Rideout, Jr., disappeared once again
through the narrow doorway, without so
much as a handshake or a goodbye.

The two men, without once loosening
their grip, led me down a long hallway to
an unlit stair well and directed me down
into the darkness. Halted at the bottom, 1
could feel a muscular body brush past me
in the dark to knock at a door that sud-
denly opened to reveal a small concrete
dock wrapped in dense fog. I couldn't
see much, but we must have been along
the river front, because they quickly
rushed me aboard a waiting tugboat. The
tug, towing a garbage scow behind, imme-
diately set olf but at such an astonishingly
slow pace that the fetid odor was blowing
past us on the forward prow.

It was night by the time we disem-
barked from the tugboat into an alleyway
heaped up with towering crates of empty
bottles. We pushed our way through cir-
cles of black children playing marbles
beneath the halos of yellow gas lamps and
came out onto a park of dried-up wecds,
slicked over by the packed, sooty ice of a
recent snowfall. The hum of distant trafic
and the wail of trains, miles away, drifted
on the breeze through the smoke-filled
night.

Ahead of us loomed a block of darkened
buildings, crisscrossed by a skeletal maze
of fire escapes. In the middle of the block
was a strange black edifice that, as we
approached, I realized was a church.
Entering the courtyard, I could smell the
stale, humid pungency of the moldy stone
statuary of seraphim and saints entwined

along the massive walls in bas-relief trel-
lises of flowers and vines. One of my com-
panions lighted a match to find the door
knocker, and I could make out on a bronze
plaque the name THE ABYSSINIAN BAPTIST
CHURCH. Even before the echo of the metal-
lic knocker had faded, the door swung
open on a monstrously tall albino woman
in the stiffy starched white uniform of a
nurse. She bowed, revealing a pink scalp
beneath her thin white hair, and smiled
invitingly, showing her perfect horse teeth.
The two men released me finally and took
up sentry posts on either side of the
entrance.

“You have exactly one half hour,” one of
them told mc.

As I was led across the central nave of
the church and through a side door, I felt
uncertain of my fate. Sad and exhausted, I
regretted having insisted. But once again,
the voice of Captain Hatfield, U.S.M.C.,
buoyed me up: Once under way, my dear
boy, never turn back.

"The nurse walked ahead of me down a
hallway painted pure, absolute white. The
ceiling, the walls, the doorways, even the
floor tiles were white, and the fluorescent
lamps radiated a cool, shadowless light.

With painfully mcasurcd steps, the old
nurse approached a double door at the end
of the corridor. One of the panels was
open, but the view into the room was
blocked by a white-linen screen. The
woman indicated with a trembling gesture
that I should enter, but I stood frozen in
the white light, with the bitter taste of anx-
icty filling my throat. Wishing that I could
abandon the entire venture, I hesitantly
raised my hand to knock on the white
panel, but the old woman, baring her
horse teeth again, stopped me.

“Goin,” she said. “Mr. Atlas is waiting
for you.”

Inside was the same whiteness, washed
over by a diaphanous light as if with infi-
nitely fine particles of white dust. All the
objects in the room were also white: chairs,
bedpans, a hospital cart with cotton balls,
gauze, flasks, catheters and nickcl-plated
surgical instruments.

At the back of the room was a high,

jointed bed with an intricate system of le-

vers, pulleys and springs mounted on a
platform. I approached slowly and
respectfully, and when I stopped midway,
nearly overcome with the fumes of disin-
fectant, and would have retreated to one of
the nearby chairs, the nurse, who had
already reached the bedside, motioned me
forward with a gesture of invitation and
yet another horse-toothed smile.

On the bed reposed the static apparition
of a gigantic, muscular body, its head
completely obscured in a pile of pillows.
When the woman leaned over and whis-
pered something, the body made a painful,
lurching motion and sat up slightly.

“Welcome,” said a voice that resonated
as if through an ancient loud-speaker.

I couldn't swallow the lump in my
throat, and at that moment I wished with
all my heart that I had not insisted.

“Thank you, thank you very much for
your visit,” the voice spoke again. “I
appreciate it a great deal, believe me."
The voice resonated and gurgled as
though drowning in a sca of saliva, and
then it fell silent again, the huge body
dropping back once more into the heap of
pillows.

My grief was indescribable. 1 would
have preferred a thousand times to have
believed that Charles Atlas was a fantasy,
that he had never existed, rather than
confront the reality that this was
Charles Atlas. He spokc to mc from
behind a mask of gauze, but 1 could see

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PLAYBOY

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that beneath—where the jawbone should
have been—there was a metallic appara-
tus screwed into the skull.

“Cancer of the mandible,” he said,
“extending now to all the vital organs. My
health was like iron until my nincty-fifth
year. Now that I'm past a hundred, this
isn't so bad—cancer. I never smoked or
drank, except maybe a sip of champagne
at Christmas or New Year's. I never had a
sickness more serious than the common
cold. The doctor just recently told me that
I could still have children if I wanted.
When I won the title of America's
Most Perfectly Developed Man . . . in
Madison Square Garden . . . I remem-
ber . . .” but his voice degenerated into a
succession of pitiful whistles, and for a
long time he remained silent.

“It’s so many years now since I dis-
covered The Dynamic Tension System
and started the correspondence courses,
thanks to the suggestion of the sculptress
Miss Ethel Whitney, who used me as a
model.”

Charles Atlas lifted his enormous arms
from under the sheets, flexing the biceps
while he brought his clenched hands
behind his head. The covers slipped off
and I could sce his torso—still the same as
in the photos, except for the white fuzz on
the chest. But the effort must have cost him
dearly, because he let out a long, deep
moan, and the nurse rushed t0 his side,
covering him again with the sheets and
tightening the bolts into his skull.

"When 1 left Italy with my mother,” he
began again, “I was only ten years old. 1
never could have imagined that one day
I would make a fortune with my courses.
I was born in Calabria. My name was
Angelo Siciliano. My father had come to
New York the year before, and we fol-
lowed. One day, when I was at Coney
Island with my new American girlfriend, a
big bully kicked sand in my face, and
6

“The same thing happened to те,” 1
tried to add, but he wenton speaking with-
any notice of me.

“I began to do my exercises, and my
body began to develop magnificently. One
day, my girlfriend pointed out a statue of
the god Atlas on the top of a hotel and said
to me, ‘Look, that statue looks just like
уоп?”

Listen," I tried to interrupt, “about
that statue; I . . .” but it was useless; the
thick voice just rolled on.

“I looked at that statue and thought,
Well, a name like mine isn't too popular
over here. There's a lot of prejudice. Why
don't I call myself Atlas? And then I
changed my first name from Angelo to
Charles. All the glory came afterward. I
remember the day I hauled that railroad
car filled with chorus girls for two hundred
yards.”

“Good heavens,” I exclaimed, “just like
me..." but the voice, metallic and cter-
nal, went on.

“Have you seen the statue of Alexander

Hamilton in Washington? Well, that’s
me!" And again he lified his arms in a ges-
ture of hauling some great weight, such as
a freight car full of chorus girls, but the
pain struck him again, and he let out
another long moan and collapsed on the
bed without moving for some time.

In those seemingly endless moments
before he began again, I could only think
of how to get out of there.

“I remember Calabria,” he said finally
and shifted painfully from side to side in
the bed sheets. The nurse tried to calm
him and then went to the medical cart for
a sedative.

“Calabria and Mother, with her face
aglow from the flames of the oven, sing-
ing. . .." Then his voice crackled one
octave higher in a language I couldn't
understand, and the sound seemed to mul-
tiply in the empty room into a series of
agonized echoes.

I had lost all track of what was happen-
ing when suddenly the incessant sound of
a buzzer brought me back to myself beside
the bed. It resounded through the corri-
dors of the entire building and rebounded
back to its point of origin in the room,
where I saw the nurse pumping the bell
cord above the bed and Charles Atlas
sprawled on his back on the floor, naked
and drenched in blood, the dislodged
apparatus dangling from what had once
been his jaw.

Immediately the room filled with foot-
steps, voices, shadows. I was suddenly
lifted from the chair by the same powerful
arms that had brought me to this place. As
I was carried out through the whirl of
images and the din of voices, I could hear
the nurse wail, “It was too much for him.
My God, he couldn't resist one last pose.”

lines, I still find it hard to believe that
Charles Atlas isn't alive. And I know that
I could never disillusion the thousands of
young men who are still writing to him
every day to solicit information about his
courses, attracted by his colossal figurc,
his smiling, confident face, holding in his
hands a trophy or pulling a railroad car
filled with chorus girls— 100 jam-packed
but happy young ladies in flowered bon-
nets waving from the windows and, among
the astonished crowd witnessing the spec-
tacle, a single hand doffing a straw hat
above the multitude.

I left New York that very same night,
filled with sadness and remorse, fecling
guilty for having witnessed such a trage-
dy. By the time I returned to Nicaragua,
the war was over and Captain Hatfield,
U.S.M.C., was dead, and I dedicated
myself to various pursuits. 1 was a circus
performer for a while, then a weight lifter
and, finally, a bodyguard. My body is not
what it used to be, but thanks to The
mic Tension System, I could still
have children. If 1 wanted to.

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194

WDE MAGIC

(continued from page 92)

“Vodka was born in northern climates, which reminds
us how comforting it can be in chill chasers.”

use as seasoning.
To give roasted poultry both dramatic
presentation and extra crispness, serve

flambé: Warm 2 ozs. 100-proof vodka in a
large ladle, ignite and pour, flaming, over
the freshly roasted bird.

Cream sauce for pasta gets a sprightly
lift from a couple of jolts of vodka that's
been flavored with red-pepper flakes.

It’s not difficult to make your own fla-
vored vodkas at home. We offer seven for
your pleasure, plus six ways to enjoy them.
For hot-red-pepper vodka, add V^ tea-
spoon red-pepper fakes to a bottle of
vodka; let stand two to three days, then
strain. Serve icy cold from the freezer or,
for a change of pace, use in a martini or a
bullshot. For cucumber vodka, another

winner, remove the peel of a scrubbed,
preferably unwaxed cucumber in length-
wise strips and drop into a bottle of vodka.
Let stand about four days, then, if you like,
remove the peel. This one is great with
lemonade. For lemon vodka, remove the
rind of a well-washed lemon in a continu-
ous spiral; carefully insert into a bottle of
vodka. Let stand a couple of days before
using. Same procedure for orange, grape-
fruit, lime or tangerine vodka. Pour them
neat, over ice, or mixed with tonic or a
compatible fruit juice.

A great variety of flavored vodkas are
produced commercially in Eastern
Europe, where they're popular. Regretta-
bly, only a few come into the States and
seldom on a regular basis. Here are three,
along with three interesting suggestions for
their consumption. Pertsovka is pepper-
flavored, with a sharp bite. Its American
importers tout it in what they call "the
ultimate bloody тагу” (1% ozs.
Pertsovka, 6 ozs. tomato juice, / teaspoon
horseradish). Okhotnichya, or “hunters
vodka,” is slightly sweetened, flavored
with an assortment of spices and herbs. A
tot in honcy-laced hot tea will allay win-
ter's ries. Zubrowka, one of the most
appealing, is flavored with fragrant buffalo
grass, and each bottle contains a blade of
the green. This item is very hard to find,
but if you do, try it on the rocks with a
citrus-peel twist.

Continentals often take their vodka neat
and icy. The following imports are like-
ly candidates for this stimulating exer-
cise: Stolichnaya (U.S.S.R.), Finlandia
(Finland), Absolut (Sweden), Seagram's
(Canada), Burrough's (England) and
Wyborowa (Poland).

Vodka was born in northern climates,
which reminds us how comforting it can be
in hot cups such as these six steamy chill
chasers. Brawny broth (1%, ozs. vodka, 4
ozs. hot beef bouillon, dash lemon-pepper
seasoning, lemon slice); T-bar (1% ozs.
vodka, 4 ozs. hot tea, sugar to taste, lemon
wedge); slalom (1% ozs. vodka, orange-
pecl twist, 4 ozs. hot chocolate); black-
berry toddy (Y oz. vodka, 1 oz.
blackberry cordial, 3 ozs. boiling water,
half orange slice); banana cow (1% ozs.
vodka, 3 ozs. hot milk, 2 teaspoons honey,
% ripe banana, mashed; blend in pre-
warmed blender container until smooth,
pour into warmed mug, sprinkle with nut-
meg); ski slope (1% ozs. vodka, % tea-
spoon instant-coffee crystals, 4 ozs. hot
chocolate; stir).

And as a precaution, after going
through 99 ways with vodka, you just may
want to know about this morning-after set-
tler. To the inoculated, it’s known as old
reliable: 1 oz. vodka, 1 teaspoon Fernet
Branca, 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice, Y
teaspoon superfine sugar; shake well with
ice. Down quickly.

When the friends are close and the
mood is right, the party starts in the Kitchen.
And, of course, Smirnoff? Vodka is there.
Because nothing but Smirnoff makes drinks that are
as light and friendly as the conversation.
Crisp, clean, incomparable Smirnoff.

Friends are worth it.

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PLAYBOY

196

MERRASUR

(continued from page 94)

“See, last time, those soldiers suffered because Viet-
nam was an unpopular war.”

our young men have suffered and died in
vain before we pay tribute to their cour-
age. Let's pay tribute before they suffer and
die in vain—and, most important, while
they're suffering and dying in vain.

So far, our casualtics in Central Amer-
ica have been small—a few CIA opera-
tives and some hard-core mercenaries, the
guys whose T-shirts say KILL 'EM ALL—LET
GOD SORT 'EM OUT. And some observers feel
that the Reagan Administration could
never “sell” America on the idea of send-

ing in ground troops. These skeptics point
out that Americans disapprove of such
action by more than three to one, accord-
ing to the latest polls. But PLAYBOY has
obtained copies of a brilliant top-secret
plan—code-named Operation Love Boat—
for waging what Reagan media experts
call “an upbeat war” in Central America.
Operation Love Boat, according to this
document, is a quasi-official project of the
U.S. Government, and it's supposed to
include Caspar Weinberger, several hun-

“It seems his horse stumbled and he was thrown against
the pommel of his saddle.”

dred students, Phyllis Diller, an anony-
mous California millionaire and a bunch
of weary comedy writers. Sound compli-
cated? It's just war politics, 1985 style.

Ever since Congress cut off some of the
funding for the covert war in Nicaragua,
members of the private sector have cheer-
fuly taken up the slack. I was able to
interview the anonymous California mil-
lionaire who is coordinating Operation
Love Boat at his seaside ranch, and when I
relayed Jeffrey Coates's questions to him,
he halted his magnificent palomino for a
moment and looked me straight in the eye.

"Everything we're doing is for the sol-
diers’ benefit. We've learned from Viet-
nam." Breaking into a canter again—I
rode along beside him—he shouted, “Ор
Love has three simple phases. Step one:
Get the soldiers into Central America. Step
two: Keep "em smiling while they're down
there. And step three: Bring 'em home just
as happy as they can be. Support 'em
every step of the way."

Later, over brunch, the tanned million-
aire explained the Love Boat rationale.
“See, last time, those soldiers suffered
because Vietnam was an unpopular war.”
It's strange to call wars popular or unpop-
ular, as if they were seniors at a ritzy high
school. But in that context, the millionaire
was right—Vietnam was the biggest
pimple-face in class. Still, it's starting to
look like a blond stud quarterback com-
pared with Nicaragua. Even the million-
aire admitted that "right now, folks just
don't see why we ought to fight there.” At
that point, he offered me some foie gras
and smiled. “Fortunately, work is already
under way to popularize this war. And 1
like to think J helped out a little . . . to the
tune of several million bucks!"

After careful study of the Grenada inva-
sion, this civic-minded millionaire—
teaming up with TV experts and
Government agencies—has taken step one
of Operation Love Boat. Working in secret
and using only contra labor, he has built
an American medical college in the jun-
gles of Nicaragua! Once the last piece
of equipment—an electrocardiograph
machine—is carted through the dense foli-
age, the Anastasio Somoza School of Med-
icine will be open for business. Positions
are now available for the class of 1988. 1
asked the tanned benefactor what kind of
student would risk going to college in the
middle of a civil war.

"Rich kids who can't get into med
school in America or Mexico or even
Grenada,” he said. “These med school
kids will be our finest and bravest—but
they may not be our smartest. Honor 'em
and respect ’em,” he said tearfully—
adding, with a chuckle, “but don't let "em
operate on your spleen!"

Students will be airlifted directly to
their dorms. Once enrolled, they will be
placed in some kind of vague jeopardy
from their Nicaraguan neighbors, but
their brief sacrifice will be repaid hand-

somely: After the Armed Forces of
America rescue them from menacing
Sandinistas, both the students and the sol-
diers will be flown straight to the White
House for an emotional chicken dinner.
And then, according to the plan, the war's
popularity will skyrocket—so that its vet-
erans won't have to walk the streets of
America feeling like they're wearing
Argyle socks and Bermuda shorts. Jeff
Coates and his buddies will be cool guys.
From a cool war. Popular.

OK, I said —assuming for the moment
that public opinion can be manipulated
that easily, how will the Government sup-
port its soldiers while they're down there
fighting a guerrilla war?

"Step two,” the millionaire said, teeing
off on his private nine-hole golf course.
“Once our boys are down in Nick, you
don’t think ol’ Ski-Nose will be too far
behind, do ya?”

I'd thought Bob Hope was too old for
another war, but I was proved wrong. In
fact, one clear sign of stepped-up military
planning came earlier this year, when
Hope put his gag writers on round-the-
clock shifts. Yes, it seems that America's
favorite war-zone comic is gearing up for
his final campaign, and I was allowed to
read some top-secret comedy patter from
an upcoming special, Bob Hope: On the
Road to Managua, which co-stars Brooke
Shields, Phyllis Diller, a bevy of Playmates
and the great Jerry Colonna. According to
the script, at one point, Hope gives the sol-
diers news of home: “Health clubs are big
now. And you men thought Nautilus was
just the name of a nuclear sub! But
seriously. . . . I hear that you enlisted men
have your own way of keeping slim down
here you drink the water! Speaking of
being in good shape, how about that
Brooke Shields, huh? Isn’t she something?
And speaking of . . . something, how about
that Phyllis Diller? Isn’t she a gutsy dame?
She offered to get secrets out of a
Sandinista general by seducing him—but
our top brass turned down the idea. They
said it might be considered a war crime!
But seriously. . . .”

Seeing the wan smile on my face as I
scanned the pages, the millionaire
snatched the script from my hand. “Well,
of course, you have to hear Bob say those
lines—it's all in his timing. . . .”

1 tried to assure him that I fully appreci-
ated the slow takes and sly pauses of ol”
Ski-Nose, but I also pointed out that
Hope's visits in and of themselves didn't
keep our Vietnam vets from being trauma-
tized. By this time, the millionaire was
stalking away from me, moving quickly
across the well-barbered lawn of his hugc
croquet field. I ran after him, but 1 could
sec that he was angry. "You know your
problem?” he said. “You see only the nega-
tives.”

Now I was getting a little heated myself.
“Wait a second!” I shouted as we crossed
a Japanese footbridge, with the evening
sun going down over the nearby San

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THE

ORIGINAL
BLOODY MARY

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Rafael mountains. “War is famous for its
negatives! What about the legacy of
Vietnam—the battle fatigue, the drug
abuse?"

The millionaire stopped and gazed into
the distance, in thc general direction of the
Reagan ranch. “You're living in the past,
my friend. Tell me something new. Tell me
about a problem specific to this war, and
maybe Op Love can solve it.”

“Fine. How about Jeff Coates's going
crazy and jumping Desi Arnaz? How
about the soldiers who'll come back from
the war with a deep hostility toward all
Latin Americans?”

To my surprise, the millionaire squinted
thoughtfully and nodded. “You know—
you're right. I certainly hope that every
veteran doesn't go around beating up
aging bandleaders! Xavier Cugat is frail
enough to begin with; he must no! be made
into a punching bag—a scapegoat for
global conflicts!

“Make a note,” he commanded, sud-
denly turning me into his assistant
"Arrange for a special concert at the
White House—where Marine and grunt
can mingle with Arnaz and Cugat; where a
single cha-cha can heal the wounds of gen-
erations, and”

“I think you're missing the point!” I
shouted, and by the time my voice echoed
back to me from the distant San Rafael
mountains, I felt sure that our inte
was over. But the tanned and white-haired
gentleman just leaned close to me
whispered, "The point is whatever we choose
to make it. The point is what people see on
TV. Once you understand that, every-
thing will start to become clear."

Unfortunately, it all stayed murky, but
dinner was amazing. Over canapés, I
asked him a long-shot question: What if
American ground troops are nol commit-
ted in Central America? What if we just
keep on fighting the war through surro-
tes? Will that spell the end of Operation
Love Boat?

"No way,

" he said. “With so much

American cash flowing into local wars, we
can truly say . . . todos somos contras."
(Actually, the way he said it, with three
bourbons in him, it sounded like “Todd is
an accountant"—but I knew what he
meant.) "We're all in this war together.

me of us may not come back; but the

boys get off the plane and set foot bac!
US. soil, it's gonna be hats-and-horns-
and-party-favors time!" He was rubbing
his palms together in giddy anticipation,
but then he went melancholy for a
moment. “See, that’s the one thing I hate
about a CIA war,” he said. “Where do
you send the musicians
“Musicians?”

Yeah. You know how the Vietnam vets
were always bitter because when they
came home from the war, there weren't
any brass bands to greet them at the air-
port? Well, a bunch of CIA operatives flew

back from "ragua last week, and I sent a
brass band to meet them—but nobody
would tell those poor damn tuba players
which plane to greet. So they just wan-
dered around with their instruments from
runway to runway, playing Tie a Yellow
Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree to all these
confused businessmen. God bless that
brass band, they went from tarmac to tar-
mac, looking for battle scars, hollow eyes—
you know, some clue as to who the CIA
men might be. But no luck. So I can't wait
until it’s official and we can play that
heavy Sousa stuff to men in uniform. And
the music is only the beginning."

1 had to admire his generosity once he

started describing the gifts that he and hi
fellow millionaires were going to la
Nicaragua veterans. "Remember
happened when the hostages came back
from Iran? Merchants gave them free
VCRs and complimentary hams and
son tickets and what not? Well, we're gon-
na make the hostages’ gifts look like
chickenshit, and you can quote me!” He
went on to catalog, in a rush of bourbon
enthusiasm, all the presents he would offer
the vets—appliances and clothes and
health-dub memberships, with bonuses
according to the degree of their injuries
But the last gift he mentioned was the most
generous—so generous that it should be
given only to the generals and policy mak-
, the ones who really believe in this war:
time passes to Walt Disney World.
The brandy was so heady, the desserts
so rich and silken, that I almost hesitated
to ask my last question. What about the
boys who don't come back, who'll never
enjoy the year's free Jazzercise classes or
the journey to Frontierland? What are you
planning to do for them?

"Not enough," he said, lapsing into one
last moment of sad reflection. "You can
never do enough for them, can you? But I
can tell you this. We've already started
planning the war memorial We're not
gonna wait all those years, like they did
after Vietnam—that was very bad. We've
got to avoid that unscemly lag time
between the deaths and the dedication cer-
emony.” He looked me over carefully, as if
seeing me for the first time, and apparently
decided that | was trustworthy. “Come
on. I want to show you something.”

We entered a richly appointed library. A
sheet of white Irish linen was draped over
a billiards table, with some unrecogniz-
able form lurking under it. With a
in his eye, the well-fed man squeeze
bit of drama from the moment. Finally, he
gripped the edge of the linen sheet and
said, "You want to sce a memorial that's
gonna knock your eyes out?" And with
that, he pulled back the sheet to reveal a
scale model of the sculpture—an enor-
mous banana peel of polished bronze

"Once the mourners take a good look at
this,” the millionaire promised, “they'll be
glad we planned ahead.”

2
^ CAFE FLESH” inca fon page 118)

“He hooted, slapping both hands on his ample bread-
basket. ‘Gladda see ya, you old porn dog!"

so, abandoning friends and family, an
hour later, I found myself with a case of
the willies in the Holiday Inn corridor.
The door I knocked on was opened by a
dead ringer for Mr. Mooney, the banker
on the old Lucy Show, and behind him, in a
pair of Army-issue boxers, was Seymour
the Mart King.

Seymour, happily, was every bit as
short, bald and paunchy as I'd imagined.
He looked like a miniature Jack E.
Leonard, as though the bulky insult comic
had been shipped off to a Korean toy fac-
tory, where he'd been measured and made
into a handy mold so they could stamp out
tiny, convenience-size versions after the
jumbo original passed on. I noticed he
wore a pinkie ring the size of a Chicklet,
but Seymour seemed to think I was staring
at his gut. “Nothin” but corn-fed pork,” he
hooted, slapping both hands on his ample
breadbasket. "Gladda see ya, you old porn
dog!"

Brother Babe was a slow dresser. He
fussed over the flyaway collar of his plaid
shirt jac, sneaking glances at the mirror to
adjust his toupee, while Sy took two sec-

onds to slip into his snug double knits. The
sporty flares made up the bottom half of a
baby-bluc leisure suit. “The missus never
lets me dress this way," he chuckled,
stretching out on an unmade twin and
crossing his plump arms behind his head.
"She don't know about a lot of things,
huh, Babe?"

Babe just snickered and patted down his
Mr. Mooney hairpiece, which I discovered
was about all you could expect of him.

More than once, as the evening pro-
gressed, I had the uncanny sense of having
been astrally projected onto a cocktail
napkin. It was that kind of fun. After a lit-
tle powwow in Seymour's suite (why
would a mogul check into a place like this?
"So's he can stay one, Buster!"), we
decided on a topless spot around the cor-
ner. Td been there twice, with my
accountant, who had sort of made it his
unofficial H.Q. since his wife left him with
three kids to run off with a pro wrestler. 1
only hoped we wouldn't bump into him. I
didn't want the boys to have to hear how
he came home from a loophole conference
to find his Prissie pinned to the mattress in

a half nelson by a 300-pounder in satin
trunks.

Luckily, the C.P.A. never showed. Min-
utes after his third boilermaker, Sy was
throwing crumpled 20s at anything with-
out an Adam's apple, while Babe, his tou-
pee askew, had begun shouting to the bus
drivers and merchant seamen at other
tables that “they didn't have stuff like this
back in Indianapolis." When he saw me
squirm, Sy told his pal to can it. Then he
leaned close, his florid baby cheeks just
inches from my own, and confided that
he'd really made this jaunt West for two
reasons. One was to check on a spot in
Forest Lawn for his mother-in-law (big
snicker and wig pat from Babe); the other,
as I'd already guessed, to try yet again to
persuade me to toss my hat in the ring
with Hamper.

The man wouldn't quit! When I
thanked him and said that I was flattered
but the answer was still “N-O!” he threw
himself back into his chair and slammed
his hands down on the flimsy cocktail
table. The impact upset Babe’s Schlitz
into his lap. Babe leaped to his feet and the
boule somehow shattered. When enough
lounge lizards had turned our way to make
it an occasion, Sy slipped his stubby arm
over my shoulders, broke into a big Jack E.
Leonard grin and boomed in a voice loud
enough for customers in adjacent auto-
parts stores to hear: "You sce this little
guy? This little guy writes the best dirty

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movie in the business. Any son of a bitch
here thinks different, they gotta talk to
Seymour!

Luckily, no one from Vice was there to
take down my name and prints. But the
episode lingers as one of the great. post-
Flesh mortifying moments. The gala
evening ended ир at the lvar a
superannuated strip joint north of Sunset
Boulevard, where we scrutinized half a
dozen lovelies before Seymour tried to pick
up a sturdy blonde who looked as if she
might hold down a day job in meat pack-
ing. “Check out the hoot owls on that
one!” he cackled, digging his elbow into
my windpipe. “Seymour likes!"

1 still don't know whether or not the
Mart King hit pay dirt. Right then, poor
Babe took sick on his shirt jac—it hardly
showed in that id—and had to be
helped off to the little boys’ room, where
he rested his head on the bowl and fanned
himself with his toupec. When we made it
back to our seats, Uncle Sy was gone.

As I recall, the last words I heard him
utter were that the hearty blonde was “just
right for the lead in Hamper-Scamper.”
(He'd announced the title change only
hours before, explaining that just being in
L.A. gave him the idea of sticking in some
kinky, Manson-style “commune action”
to spice up the laundromat stuff.) But that
was it. Until, about a month or so later, I
stumbled home one night to hear that
Midwestern rasp on my machine, thank-
ing me for a swell time and proclai
that Uncle Sy had decided to “deep.
pornski" and branch out into home dry
cleaning instead. He said he had some lit-
tle German units that were “real beau-
ties” They were going like hot cakes at
eight and a half; but if I was interested,
there was one with my name on it for three

seventy-five
Needless to say, I'm still saving up.
.
The oddest thing about the Uncle

Seymour saga is that it proved not to be
that odd at all. All sorts of benevolent
swells sailed forth in that twisted era, each
with his or her own fix on the Flesh biz.
The peculiar nature of our achievement
evoked equally peculiar reactions. Just
adnitting that you had seen the movie, in
some circles, could be construed as a dicey
personal confession, something sure to
crop up in a negative ad blitz if it fell into
the wrong hands during a no-holds-barred
gubernatorial bid.

Schizy stuff. If it remained semishame-
ful to have slid into porn, it was absurdly
enviable to have had a hand in a genuine
“cult sensation." The cult status induced
certain people to seek you out. But the
porn part, for some reason, gave them the
green light to launch into their own erotic
bents two seconds after you'd been intro-
duced. Which isn't as titillating as it may
sound.

At the height of Café madness, on a
cross-country flight to attend a relative's
funeral, I was feeling drunk and contrite

enough to loose my lips and blab about
having written you know what. Within
minutes, my seatmate, a former Marine
captain turned Ohio homicide dick, had
snapped open his leather-look attaché
case, fished under a stock of manuals on
police neck restraints and plucked out a
copy of “a little something" he'd been fid-
dling with between cases.

It was called—nobody ever believes
this—Buns 'n’ Ammo, authentic memoirs
of a crime-fighting stud in “a certain scum
basin back East that isn't Philadelphia
and isn't Newark, New Jersey." Whatever
that means. Oddest of all was that every
word was written in a neat-as-a-pin, girl-
ish backhand on loose-leaf note paper. (I
had this image of Detective Buzz slapping
on his .38 and popping into a Thrifty
Drugs at three AM. to get more paper, then
stopping off at his diner for a cruller and
Java while he banged out more two-fisted
schoolgirl sentences.)

Although 1 felt a little silly giving him
advice, the investigator provided a retreat
from reality on an otherwise morbid trek.
For some reason, he was dying to be "an
adult-screenplay author." And since just
about all the screen offerings he'd ever
scen had had “Teenage,” "Wet" or “Kit
ten” in their titles, he was cager to get a
Wet Teenage Kitten script under his belt as
soon as possible.

Buzz kept in touch for a while, occasion-
ally shipping out a few sizzling, action-
packed pages stocked with “Mafia
playthings” named Bunny or Chita who
"laid down and made like Oklahoma
while I fingered my Mauser"—that sort of
thing, all in the prissy, labored hand of a
conscientious 12-ycar-old.

Who knows? I wish now that Га saved
some of the officer’s tonier prose. At the
though, I had this irrational fea
being found keeled over ту Sı
Corona, with nothing to explain my
untimely demise but a couple of empty
Mickey's big mouths and a copy of Detec-
tive Buzz's Broad with a Badge stutfed into
my top drawer. In his last missive, I forgot
to mention, the scrappy law-and-order
scribe confided that he was shifting the
P.O.V. in Buns. The new version featured
Captain Poodle, "a buxom ex-prosty
who liked her men hot and her lead
even hotter.”

The dick's latc-inning switch may or
not explain that Suzy Penmanship
backhand. (Just kidding, Buzz. . . . Don't
shoot!) Either way, | didn’t want my loved
ones scratching their heads over it when 1
wasn't around to explain. “It all started
with that creepy movie,” they'd say. "He
was almost OK before that. . . ." So one
day, I just tossed the collected X-rated
Ammo epistles into the bin with the weekly
dunning ne fit turns out that Buzz is
the Hemingway of his gencration, the
joke's on me.

.
It makes sense, I suppose, that weird-
ness should be as contagious as hepatitis

or ringworm. And for a while there, 1
admit, nothing could kill that odd psychic
rash that Café Flesh had engendered. One
mondo-repulso incident seemed to bleed
right into another. But it was more than a
parade of porn-crazed normals and busi-
nessmen. 1 was receiving even gamier
entreaties: photo proposals from good
folks who'd seen Flesh and had a little
somebody special they wanted me to check
out for the sequel. “I think Tammi would
be just right for a classy erotic cult product
like your own.”

Uh-huh! Most of the smudgy Pola
slipped my way packed the same slightly
earnest sinfulness as the hopefuls in Hus-
der Beaver Hunts. Busloads of near
homecoming queens tricked out in
Frederick's of Hollywood motelwear.
Some aspirants scribbled little captions on
the snapshot margins for extra impact:
HERES MEG BEING NAUGHTY! But the most
arresting eight-by-ten glossy I ever got
proffered a mother-daughter team, whim-
sically buns up, grinning side by side on a
pair of velvet throw pillows for the lucky
shutterbug (Dad, I suppose, or a favorite
uncle). One or two guys also sent in pix of
themselves, though I don’t know whether
their partners made them or if they just got
the urge to pose for a few wind-swept can-
dids amid the driftwood all on their own.

In the classic Meshulam Riklis mode,
there was even one gentleman who offered
through intermediaries to pay for a movie
if we'd just agree to put “his Sheilah" in
the starring role. According to the spokes-
man, a smooth talker from Queens, the
girl had come in first in a Charo look-alike
contest. Га have loved to get in touch.
only to find out if Xavier Cugat himself
had been there doing any judging. But
Sheilah's four-color PR pack made this
doubtful, unless her sugar daddy had
somehow managed to buy off the famous
bandleader. But could the once great
Cugie be so hard up for cash that he'd
pawn off a Charo crown for a few measly
dollars?

1 didn't want to believe it. There was, in
one or two shots, a kind of wide-angle
brassiness to Sheilah’s features—the
young Kate Smith feel. Still, if Meshulam
baby could scoop up that plum Butterfly
script for his li'l Pia, how much hassle
would our man have snapping up the dis-
count notoriety of porn stardom? If that's
what he wanted. The only genuine sex
ns | ever met were both hed to
ered, Tony Dow kind of guys,
towheads who sat on the sidc lines boning
up for their state contractor's exams while
their lifemates took simultaneous dog and
whistle from fellows hung like Forties hood
ornaments. Since he didn't have to live off.
his swectheart's labors, though, it's tough
to say just what kick Sheilah’s backer got
out of her.

But, hey, no hard fcelings! Ultimately,
that all these worthy sup-
nts got what they wanted. I have yet

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PLAYBOY

ne Vintners Co.. М ҮС. to see Inside Sheilah blasting from the mar-
quee of my local theater, but maybe she
had to change her name for tax purposes

Lest it sound as if my entire post-X ex-
istence consisted of fending off unsavory
requests from aspiring pornophiles, I has-
ten to add that there were other unsavory
requests, as well. Some of them quite invit-
ing. Because of its ground-breaking (at the
time) synthesis of punk fashion and Fifties
dialog, Flesh boasted a particular appeal
to youthful art victims. In Los Angeles, at
least, part of what fueled its 18-month run
was that half the town’s underground
avant actually appeared in the movie, This
bestowed on us a built-in cachet among
local nuevo-ettes, a breed of heavily
mascaraed existential gals who smoked
Gitanes and kept tattered copies of Naked
Lunch in the glove compartments of their
Karmann-Ghias. For those rarefied few,
Café really said something. They men-
tioned it in their poetry and told their ther-
apists about it.

Pre-Café, my groupie experience was
negligible to nil. Before 1 wrangled my
meager cult status, any female who gave
me the time of day did so because she got
some strange kick out of it—not because of
the imagined glamor attached to my dubi-
ous achievement. That’s just the kind of
guy Гат

Anyhow, vou couldn't honestly call i
bevy, but in the wake of Café Flesh, a trickle
of interesting vixens did make themselves
known. Their motivation, as near as 1
could gather, hinged on the ill-conceived
prestige they attached to my having writ-
ten the movie's one-liners. Not a good
sign. Anyone who wanted to sleep with me
as a career move was either insane or will-
ing to settle for minimal advancement
One notably alarming offer came from a
doe-eyed Loretta Young-on- Quaaludes
type who sidled up to me at a barbecue
and announced that she wanted to get into
the movies more than anything else in the
world. "Like the kind you made," she
slurred.

“The kind I made is not the kind you think
1 made,” | replied, a tad hysterically.
Lately, Pd found myself repeating that
Zenlike snippet, often. with no provoca-
tion, to cashiers at burrito stands, priests in
elevators—anyone at all, really, who
would listen for a minute while I tried to
explain the truth about what I had done.

But a little bout of compulso babble
BOTTLED BY made no dif to Doc-cyes, who blew a

n strand of hair off her facc and announced
GWESTIER blandly, "Ace can pull the van around the
of the house when you're ready.”
Й PRODUCE OF FRANCE “Ace?”
NEGOCIANTS - ELEVEURS A BLANQUEFORT “He's my boyfriend, but it's cool,” she
insisted, “he’s also kind of my manager.
He'll wait in the front seat till we're

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ness, however,

the offscreen encounter with a concerned
Valley girl whose church group was dis-
cussing the Nightmare of Nuclear Mad-
ness pretty much steals the show. (Гуе
been saving this one for Merv, but what
the hell; his people haven't returned a sin-
gle call.) “Misty”—let's not shame her
congregation—called out of the proverbial
blue one day to announce that she'd heard
about the intense anti-atomic sentiment to
be found in Flesh. “We need more of that,”
she sighed, voice aquiver with righteous
fervor, “people willing to look at the situa-
tion the way it really is, people like Helen
Caldicott, you know, and film makers like
you and your partner Rinse. . . .”

Hard to believe she could have heard
about Flesh without also hearing about its
dirty little secret. But the concerned young
Val gave no sign that she had. It seemed
dangerous ard giddy to be discussing nuke
stuff like a guy who'd gone to the wall for
world disarmament, especially when the
truth was that the antinuke chunks of the
story had to compete for space with
the frontal slap and tickle. Still, on the
phone, Misty sounded sort of like Jeane
Kirkpatrick, always a turn-on, so [
decided there was no harm in hooking up.
(1 could always explain later about thc
meat and potatoes, if it came to that.)

Young Misty and I took a lunch in
Burbank. She turned out to be one of those
golden, beach-loving beauties I'd always
thought only lifeguards named Lance or
Skip could ever hope to get next to. As it
happened, I was pretty much right. But it
was all I could do not to choke on my
endives when the sun-tanned lovely
explained, in that Kirkpatrick voice of
hers, the reason she'd wanted to meet me:
to see if I'd pop in to her Wednesday-night
church group and give a “teensy talk.”

“But, Misty,” I sputtered, “a church
group. . . . I mean, don't you think——”

“Silly,” she interrupted, patting her
golden fingers atop mine on the tablecloth.
“It’s OK if you're Jewish. We've all seen
Jews before!”

After much imploring, 1 put the prayer
issue on hold and agreed to accompany
the clean-living California beauty to that
week's midnight show. Three minutes into
things, when the first throbbing gristle hit
the screen in the infamous rat-in-the-
milkman-suit sequence, 1 half expected
my date to let out a tortured shrick and
lash me with her pocket Bible. Instead,
weirder still, she nuzzled closer and whis-
pered that she had had no idea the film
would be so . . . colorful.

The fact is, nothing could have induced
me to show up at a church group, even if I
weren't a quasi pornster fearful of instant
shipment to Pitchfork City on general
principle. That ours was not a match
made in heaven merely lessened the odds.
Before the night was up, Misty was on the
phone to Lance. And I never got the
chance to hear any dulcet ambassadorial

sighs and whimpers. Kirkpatrick inter-
ruptus. It was all over when the voice of
God told her that my happy log was the
Devil's tool. Just because I'd penned some
silly film.

Still, I can't complain. Provided you get
vaccinated against dreaded gold-chain di
ease, porn itself stands out as such weird
turf that it's worth a visit for the pure
anthropological kick. (These days, who
can afford a trip to the Trobriand Islands?)
In the same way that Las Vegas, while
maintaining its status as the sin capital,
stands out as the squarest town on the
map, Adult Filmland is equally L-Seven, a
kind of D version of the "real" movie
industry. The only spooky part is the num-
ber of snuggle kings who believe their
product matters. As if all over the free
world, people walk the streets racked with
anticipation over the release of Key Punch
Girls in Bondage. Then again, after what
Гуе seen, it wouldn't surprise me if a few
did.

To this day, director Rinse Dream and
I are periodically tagged by one X syndi-
cate or another to sec if we want to “come
back to the fold." And when we break out
in hives, they always seem confused. (One
enterprising team even put out a sort of ur-
Flesh, called Smoker, promoted as picking
up where our little effort had left off—as if
that were something to be proud of.)

Or does all this sound like carping? In
its way, just to be fair, popular pornogra-
phy may not be such а bad carcer—
especially if you make enough on your first
film to pay for a lobotomy before you
tackle your second, third, fourth and 27th.

Weirdly enough, a handful of legitimate

worthies have ventured forth with projects.
Jerry Casale, of Devo, has a colorfully
deranged, Orwellian concept he'd like
scripted for himself and the band. He
wants to direct. Likewise, Larry Bishop,
veteran film actor and son of Jocy, has
expressed a serious affection for Flesh and
has approached those responsible about
expanding a certain little property he owns
to a few-million-dollar film. And so on.

“Terrific options, far and wide; and if
dime one ever rolls out of escrow, we'll be
in business. Until then, yours truly can
hang on for the odd royalty and stay
underground long enough to write a real
movie. In fact, I have this great idea about
a couple of arty young thugs who stumble
into porn when the rent's due and they
can't land any other deal, about how they
accidentally make a smash that snags
them all sorts of strange attention and
how, after that—but don't get me going.

Maybe I could talk Uncle Sy into fork-
ing over a few Gs for foreign rights. Prom-
ise him another night at the Ivar. If we can
scarf up some development money, we
could be shooting in a month. Or better
yet, maybe 20th will scoop up the film
rights. I mean, right off, 1 scc Chris Reeve
as the plucky hero, and Pia's a natural as
the sensitive Vassar grad who has a love
affair with the movies only to find herself
head over Heidegger in a World of Lust
and Terror.

OF course, the majors always change
your plot around, which is A-OK, as long
as they hire some other simp to write the
sex scenes. A guy can't be too careful with
his reputation. М

“Oh, and now the obligatory hump, I assume?"

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(continued from page 104)
any woman wouldn't want to cook or do
something else for him the next day.

“But I also think it's terrific when men
cook, too, and give the women a break
Boy, is that nice! Good for them, 1 s
And you know, it certainly doesn't t
anything away from their masculinity

"There may, however, be a shortage of
all-round men—supportive but secure in
their maleness—out there. “As a model, 1
am very much aware of competition, espe-
cially these days, when women will come
on to men. I was having a drink at a bar
with a polo player who was very good-
looking, and other women were actually
buying him drinks!”

Since leaving college, Cindy has called a
lot of places home.

“I lived in Hawaii for two years, San
Francisco for a year and a half, Atlanta for
one year and Savannah for three; I went to
school in North Carolina, and now I’m liv-
ing in Los Angeles. Can you believe this?
I'm not moving anymore for a long time!

“I guess I have an adventuresome heart
or something, but I like to have the oppor-
tunities that a new city seems to bring me.
Evidently, I am the type of person who
enjoys innocence, not knowing exactly
where I’m going. I’m excited by meeting
new pcople, putting myself in different sit-
uations and having to cope with them.”

Cindy obviously copes well. She worked
as a model in Hawaii and San Francisco,
and while she gets established in Los
Angeles, she is working as a Bunny at The
Playboy Club. None of which leaves much
time for her major passion, which is riding
horses. A champion horsewoman for much
of her life, she recently discovered polo.

“It’s one of the fastest and most danger-
ous games there is. I'll describe it this way
You're on a horse and you have a golf club
and you have to hit this little ball with the
club, but you also have to be going full

speed, say 40 miles an hour when you're
flat-out. Plus, people are trying to ride you
е you miss the shot; in addition,
you have to steer the horse and work with
your teammates. It's a difficult game. 105
not dull. You don’t get bored.”

Ennui is not one of Cindy’s problems,
anyway. She scems to be constantly on her
way somewhere else. But she docs keep
thoughts of settling down.

“It's great to have a career. And if you
can do something really important, say
find a cure for cancer, then you're helping
generations after you. But how many peo-
ple are fortunate enough to invent or dis-
cover something wonderful? So when you
get down to bas
all here for, for most of us, its
to find someone you love and have children
and be happy while we're on this earth.”

Sounds like a good plan.

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"When y finish, put the mule away and come on up to the house . . .
Гое got a little more plowing fer you to do.”

— Warning: The Surgeon General Has wer
That _ aca Smoking Is Dangerous to Your Health.

1984 R.J. REYNOLOS TOBACCO CO.

ОКЕН Е - SCENE

HABITAT.
THE BUTLER IS IN CHARGE

cod help may be hard to find, but great help is here You always have wanted to be addressed as master) Most

in the form of The Butler, a product from Total Com- important, everything The Butler can do, from turning the
puter Systems that answers the phone like John lights, heat or air conditioning up or down to recording coded
Gielgud while guarding your place like Charles messages on the answering machine, can be controlled over
Bronson—all the while responding to instructions in an elec- the phone. Thinking of catching the Concorde for cocktails in
tronic voice, using such phrases as “Yes, master." (Admit it: Paris tonight? Go ahead, m'lord; The Butler is in charge.

Below: Even Bertie Wooster's Jeeves couldn't remember the phone numbers of 75 ofhis closest friends, and that's just one of The Butler's minor
accomplishments, as this gentlemen's gentleman does everything to keep your household running smoothly, from automatically calling the
police/fire department (and reporting the emergency via your recorded voice) or making a prerecorded call at a time you select to controlling ир
1050 lamp and appliance outlets to making tea or even minding the temperature of the wine cellar. All for $699, plus $12.95 per extra module, by
Total Computer Systems Inc., Newport, Rhode Island. A very good buy, sir. Now, if we could just teach it how to make a dry martini... .

те BUTLER“

STYLE
NIGHT MOVES

ou say you've lined up a Baltic princess to share your
big night on the town? When this vision of loveliness
appears, do you doff your coonskin cap? Do you
scribble the address of her winter chalet with a golf
pencil? No way, night rider. Baltic princesses seldom make
passes at guys who are classless—and she'll definitely equate
your style with the elegance of your accessories. You'll

impress more princesses with gold than with cardboard, and
that's why the items here are more than pricy trinkets. They're
reminders of your sense of style. What better way to light her
Gauloises than with a tongue of flame from a handful of gold?
What better way to take down her address than with an 18-|

gold fountain pen? Even if your princess doesn't make a pass,
at least shell want to get her hands in your pockets.

From left to right: Elegant goodies to tote when you're on the prowl. Three boxed, black-leather address books embossed with BLONDES, BR

NETTES and REDHEADS, from Asprey, Trump Tower, New York, $70; plus an 18-kt.-gold-plated fountain pen, from Mark Cross, Chicago, $100. S. T.
Dupont's hand-crafted 18-kt.-gold-plated-and-Chinese-lacquer butane lighter, $385, provides a fine flame for the cigar you house in a brushed-
palladium-and-18-kt.-gold-plated cigar tube, from Alfred Dunhill of London, $125. Fora nip on the go, there's a black-leather-covered four-oz.
metal flask with an attached cap, from T. Anthony, New York, $49.50. Next to it: A sterling-silver money clip with a gold C initial, from les must de
Cartier, New York, $150; and a steeband-gold key-shaped key ring, from Bulgari, New York, $350. At bottom: Vermeil cuff links and studs, by
Polo/Ralph Lauren, $120; and a see-through 18-kt.- gold pocket watch, $8900, plus a 14-kt.-gold watch chain, $890, both from Tiffany, New York.

DAVE JORDAND

AAVV VA

210

POTPOURRI

SCUBA’S LATEST SKIN GAME

If you're into scuba diving but find the idea of wearing a wet suit or a
bathing suit about as appealing as sitting on a sea urchin, we've got the
perfect chub for you—the Watersports SCUBA Group, an organization for
scuba divers of both sexes who prefer to dive in the buff. Twelve dollars
sent to Р.О. Box 6812, Stockton, California 95206, gets you a bi-monthly
newsletter that keeps vou abreast of the best places to buff-dive. plus

info on group trips to such places as Baskin-in-the-Sun, Haiti, a classy
resort. Sorry, nondivers, the Buff Diver's Bulletin doesn’t publish pictures.

YOUR DEAL,

SAMURAI
First, there was James
Clavell's blockbuster novel
Shogun, which chronicled the
power struggles, treachery and
turmoil of samurai Japan
"Then came the exotic 12-hour
NBC miniseries of the same
name, starring Richard Cham-
berlain and Toshiro Mifune.
Now, for all vou dedicated

game players who have always

wanted to kill with karma

while warding off spies, geisha
girls and assassins, there's-
you guessed it, round eyes—a
Shogun game, for three to
eight players, that will have
you looking over your shoulder
for deadly knile-wielding ninjas
at every turn of a card. Shipps,
< Lad., P.O. Box 2279, Lincoln,
p» Nebraska 68502, Shógun's cre-
ator, sells the game for $14.95,
postpaid. (Shipps tells us that
no previous knowledge of the
story is needed to play.) And

when you've really got your

warrior act together, you can

move up to advanced Shogun
Irs a real scream. Hiyaaaaah!

SUCH BRASS

A solid-brass business-card case with an
unremovable reproduction of your own
card right on the cover? That should defi-
nitely dazzle them at the next mecting of
the Young Vice-Presidents of America
The price is also an eye catcher: $12 sent
10 Derfrm Inc., 310 South Main Street,
New City, New York 10956. Derfrm says
it prefers to work with nonembossed
cards with dark lettering. Who doesn"?

LET'S HEAR IT
FOR MUSICAL CARDS

“The best grecting cards you've ever
heard" is how Roca/Jon Productions of
Denver merchandises a product called
RPM's. musical greeting cards containing
small stereo records ol Elvis, Dylan and
Cash sound-alikes singing Happy Birth-
day, a loud-and-lavish “Thank vou" or a
Bogart impersonator à la Casablanca, ask-
ing someone for a date. RPM's are
able in card shops for $4 each. Hallm
must be spinning in its groove

ail-

WILLI'S WINE BAR

GIVE US THE WILLI’S
It's been stated that when the
famed French art-deco artist
A. M. Cassandre (Adolphe
Jean-Marie Mouron) put his
brush to canvas, "advertising
[approached] poetry.” We'll
drink to that—especially after
viewing a recently discovered
Cassandre poster for Will
Wine Bar, Paris, 1935. that
Wine Posters Publishing,
1701a Octavia Street,
Francisco 94109, is selling in
a limited edition for $47.50,
postpaid. Measuring 33" x 26",
excluding the border, the
poster is a grabber done on
fine stock and hand-pulled
from zinc plates. Go for it.

RING IN THE OLD

Edwardian undergarments,
pure sorghum, Bag Balm
lanolin-based salve for cows"
udders) or a reproduction of a
Gatling gun that can fire 200
rounds per minute—if it's a
product of yesieryear you seck,
we've got a contemporary
source. The American Historical
Supply Catalogue: A Nineteenth-
Century Sourcebook has just
been published in softcover by
Schocken Books of New York;
and for $16.95, you get a
where-to-buy reference to
newly manufactured items
from the past. The author's
name is Alan Wellikoff. not

Rip van Winkle

LOOK! UP
THE CEILING!

Remember the smell of banana
oil when you made a balsa-
wood plane that you later took
outside and flew? Executive
Hobbies, a company at P.O
Box 34, Livingston, New Jersey
07039, that sells kit reproduc-
tions of legends of land, sca and
air, has just launched a new
model, the Supermarine Spit-
fire airplane, in balsa wood;
and when you're done, you'll

c a thing of beauty with
a 27" wingspan for just $29,
postpaid, including paints,
knife, ete. Say, honey, let's
drop by my place and see how
my balsa Spitfire is hanging

TAKE THE STAIRS

Thorn ЕМІ Video has brought the civilized
goings on of the Bellamy family back to the small
screen with a 14-volume video-casseute series, The
Best of Upstairs, Downstairs, in both VHS and
Beta. Upstairs is Lord Bellamy, head of the aris-
tocratic family; downstairs are Hudson and Mrs.
Bridges, the rulers of the servants quarters. Is a
great place to visit for only $29.95 per episode,
and we wouldn't mind living there.

WE LOVE PARIS
Maybe 50,000,000 Frenchmen can't be wrong.
but you can be as you tackle Paris and the French
countryside without a savvy side-kick who knows
the terrain, Well, lucky you, Pierre, because La
Belle France, a monthly “sophisticated guide to
France" in the form ofa newsletter, has just
rolled off the press; and for $39 sent to it at 18:
University Circle, C
you'll receive inside
and more. Vive la différence!

211

GRAPEVINE

Teasing
Singer PATTY SMYTH of Scandal has arrived. Scandal's album Warrior
has gone gold. She's writing songs for the next one and observing good
grooming habits at the same time. And you thought the rock-n-roll
life was just a 4 2 — round of parties!

Beware: Soft Shoulders

We're fair-minded: Welike to look at things from both sides every
so often. Here's the extremely attractive back of dancer/actress
DEBBIE ALLEN of Fame fame. The next time we meet her nan
on, we'll bring you that report as well. God,
being a journalist is hard work!

thing, Kiss

i a ame energy and
ie same tailor. Here's PAUL
STANLEY doing the aerial
splits to prove our point. The
tour ends this month, the
album, Animalize, went
platinum and the video

Ain't Nothing
Like the Real Thing
After you spend a few minutes trying to
1 figure out the sex of DAVID LEE ROTH's two

security guards, turn to After Hours for a mini interview with the
flamboyant front man from Van Halen and find out what makes him Jump.

212

Bragadocio
Last October, actress SONIA BRAGA had a starring role in our feature The Girls from
Brazil; any minute, you can see her on the big screen, with Raul Julia and William Hurt, in
a staring role in Kiss of the Spider Woman. Outspoken as well as gorgeous, Braga
says, "Look at me. I have energy. I speak, I dance, I get high on life." We're looking.

Silly Billy

We know BILLY SQUIER's album Signs of Life
has gone platinum and he completed a tour. He's
probably tired. But somebody should tell him that

the only guy who successfully played the guè
tar upside down was Jimi Hendrix, and he died.

214

NEXT MONTH

DISSIPATION DIET

TOF PLAYMATE MOVIE MADNESS

“PLAYMATE OF THE YEAR"—SURPRISE! WERE IN-
TRODUCING OUR NUMBER-ONE GATEFOLD GIRL ONE
MONTH EARLIER THAN WE USED TO. WELL GIVE YOU
ONE HINT: YOU'RE GONNA LOVE HER

“THE RAT-RACE DIET: NUTRITION FOR AN IMPER-
FECT WORLD"—IF YOU'RE LIKE US, YOU'RE GETTING
SICK OF ADVICE ON EATING SENSIBLY AND GETTING
ENOUGH SLEEP. HERE ARE TIPS FROM ONE DOCTOR
WHO TELLS YOU HOW TO KEEP YOUR ENGINE RUN-
NING EVEN THOUGH ITS ON THE FAST TRACK—BY
STUART BERGER, M.D.

“SCORING”—IF HE CAN JUST FAKE A MOBSTER'S KID-
NAPING, VALENTINE MAY BE ABLE TO MAKE THE BIG
KILL. A FUNNY TALE BY JAY CRONLEY

“THE YEAR IN MOVIES”—OUR ANNUAL ROUNDUP OF
CINEMAS GOOD, BAD AND UGLY: HEROES, VILLAINS,
MONSTERS! AND BRUCE WILLIAMSON'S HIT LIST

“THE FALL OF SAIGON”—A DECADE LATER, ONE
OF THE MEN ON THE EMBASSY ROOF, A FORMER

HOODLUM HIT

PLAYBOY EDITOR, TELLS THE POIGNANT INSIDE STORY
OF THE PULL-OUT—BY DAVID BUTLER

“CAMPUS SEX AND THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR'S TRAV-
ELING ROAD SHOW"—ON THE COLLEGE LECTURE
CIRCUIT, YOU LEARN A LOT ABOUT YOUR AUDIENCE.
MUCH OF THE LEARNING TAKES PLACE AFTER THE
TALK IS OVER—BY JAMES R. PETERSEN

"MORE TASTE, LESS OVERACTING: RATING THE
JOCK COMMERCIALS”—WHO'S THE CHAMP AND
WHO'S THE CHUMP? CRITICS’ CHOICES FROM AT THE
MOVIES' ROGER EBERT AND GENE SISKEL

PLUS: A HARD-HITTING “20 QUESTIONS" WITH THE
HOTTEST BOXERS IN THE RING, MARVIN HAGLER AND
THOMAS HEARNS; "PLAYBOY'S TRAVEL GUIDE," BY
CONTRIBUTING EDITOR STEPHEN BIRNBAUM; A SUR-
PHISING PLAYBOY INTERVIEW WITH BOY GEORGE;
“MORE THAN THE SUM OF HIS PARTS,” A FICTIONAL
SAGA OF BIONIC EXPERIMENTATION, BY JOE HALDE-
MAN; “PLAYBOY FUNNIES”; DAN JENKINS ON
SPORTS; CRAIG VETTER GOING “AGAINST THE
WIND"; AND MUCH, MUCH MORE

rica

eee

The Spirit of Ame

Where the woodland farmer flourished, the miller was
not far behind. Independent and enterprising, he signalled the coming
of trade and prosperity. And looking to the future, he relaxed at
day's end with America's native whiskey: Kentucky Bourbon.
Old Grand-Dad still makes that Bourbon much as we
did 100 years ago. It's the spirit of America.

For a 19" x 26" print of Mabry Mill, send a check
or money order for $4.95 to Spirit of America offer, P.O. Box 183V,
Carle Place, М.Ү. 11514.

Old Grand-Dad

ch тарі But Me. Р D Grand Ded Dae Co Faro KY 40601 € 1984 tal Оде

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

17 mg "tar; 1.1 mg nicotine av. per cigarette, FTC Report Mar/84

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