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PLAYBOY 


COLLECTOR'S EDITIO 


D А, 
& 


AN ANNIVERSARY ISSUE TO REMEMBER! 
The 35th Anniversary Playmate Hunt » A Fidg- 
ety Interview with Robert De Niro + Plus a Gala 
Collection of the Beauty and the Brains That 
Helped Shape Mens Lives for Three and a 
Half Decades + Including: Marilyn Monroe, 
Jayne Mansfield, Bo Derek and Dozens of 
Other Great Beauties e Woody Allens War with 
Machines - Woodward and Bernstein on Nixon's 
Fall e Jack Kerouac on the Beat Generation ° 
The Now-Legendary Playboy Interviews with 
Jimmy Carter, Fidel Castro, Patty Hearst, Bill 
Cosby, Malcolm X, John а Lennon and 
John Wayne * The Wild Wit of Shel 
Silverstein • Outstanding Fiction by John Updike, 
Ray Bradbury and Joyce Carol Oates * Bruce 
Feirstein оп Real Men > Jules Feiffer оп 
Seduction + Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, on 
Hope * Larry L. King on the Best Little Whore- 
house in Texas • Truman Capote on Tennessee 
Williams - Not to Mention Sophisticated Car- 
toons, Classic Jokes and ( Yes, Its True) More 


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Б. in 1953, when I had this brash 


idea for a new mens magazine, who 
would have bet that we'd be holding ап 
anniversary celebration 35 years later? 
Certainly not I. The first issue of Playboy 
was undated, because I wasnt sure 
there'd be a second. But we've managed 
420 issues since then, counting this com- 
memorative edition, and Playboy has be- 
come a fixture of the cultural landscape, 
tion as universal as Disneyland 
and Coca-Cola. 

Other magazines have shaped politics, 
dictated fashion, legitimized gossip. 
Playboy freed a generation from guilt 
about sex, changed some laws and helped 
launch a revolution or two. Апа did it 
while having fun—perhaps the most lib- 
erating revolution of all. So you may not 
think it immodest of us to say Playboy is 
the magazine that changed America. 
isn't. Happy Days. The 

nting the portrait of a 
Norman Rockwell America—the family 
that prayed together stayed together— 
but it was a time of rigid conformity іп 
politics and lifestyle. The heavy hand of 
McCarthyist repression reached out to 
crush anyone who questioned the norm 
or wished to live outside it. Jules Feiffer 
called it “the Ike age.” 

From the beginning, Playboy charted 
ils own controversial course, offering a 
publishing home to authors whose work 
was too lusty or iconoclastic for other 
magazines. And it helped liberate the lan- 
guage by allowing them to write without 


euphemism. In the prudish moral climate 
of the Fifties, Playboy unabashedly cham- 
pioned sexual liberation. Before Playboy, 
women were typecast either as Madonna 
or as whore. But the wholesome, unself- 
conscious sexuality of Playboy's “girl- 
next-door” Playmates conveyed—to men 
and women alike—the unsettling and ex- 
citing message that nice girls like sex, too. 
‘That sex isn't sniggering or sinful. It’s 
what life is all about. 

In the decades since then, Playboy 
has continued to both influence and 
reflect the tumultuous times we've lived 
through. For two generations of Ameri- 
cans, Playboy has been a journal of their 
shared experience. As Thomas Weyr 
wrote in his book Reaching for Paradise: 
The Playboy Vision of America, “No intel- 
ligent reader can do without it and pre- 
tend to any serious understanding about 
the United States. Playboy is a mirror of 
the culture” 

Which may be why, halfway through 
our fourth decade, Playboy is still the 
best-selling men’s magazine іп America— 
and in the world, with 12 foreign editions 
languages from Greek to Japanese. As 
a35th Anniversary gift of gratitude to all 
of you, we'd like to offer this affectionate 
retrospective of memorable moments 
from Playboys of the past. We've designed 
the issuc as a kecper, and whether you've 
been with us since the Fifties or joined us 
in the Eighties, we hope you'll find, in 
these pages, the times of your lives. See 
you on our 50th! 


A 


Editor and Publisher 


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WHEN THE EDITORS of Playboy suggested to Hugh Hefner that we 
celebrate our 35th Anniversary with a grand retrospective issue, 
his response caught us up short. “Sounds promising.” Hef said, 
"but watch yourselves. Dont do a magazine that'll just show how 
smart we think we are. Do an issue that will get the essence of 
Playboy without any pretense. Do an issue,” he said, “that a 
reader will savor, not one that an editor will gloat over 

You, naturally, will be the judge of our effort 10 produce the 
distilled spirit of three and a half decades of Playboy. First and 
most importantly, we apologize for all the crimes of omission. We 
expect to be hearing from hordes of you, complaining that we've 
left out your personal favorites. God knows we've already heard 
from Hef. And although we haye never believed in the editorial 
adage “Less is more,” space constraints have forced us to 
condense some of the fiction and articles. Dont worry—the 
Playmates’ measurements haven't been reduced. 

Welcome to our Anniversary Issue: It’s a family affair. a black- 
tie party, Wander around and see if you recognize some of the 
guests. Ray Bradbury, author of Something Wicked This Way Comes 
and The Martian Chronicles, made his Playboy debut in our 
fourth issue, when we published the first of three installments of 
Fahrenheit 451. He has appeared almost three dozen times in the 
magazine since. A Sound of Thunder is one of his carly stories, 
from June 1956. 

Jules Feiffer was a struggling cartoonist at The Village Voice in 
1958. We thought that what was happening in Greenwich Village 
belonged 10 the entire world. We published his first collection. 
The Sick Little World of Jules Feiffer, and more than 100 other fea- 
tures, including The Seduction ( June 1959). 

Jack Kerouac, the subject of many novels, term papers and rock 
songs, was an American original. He came to Playboy іп 1958 
with a story, The Rumbling, Rambling Blues, and returned in June 
of 1959 to explain The Origins of the Beat Generation. 

Kerouac tried to blow your mind, but Roger Price tried simply 10 
explain it. During the Fifties, hc examined psychology and psy- 
chotherapy, making fun of the highbrow posturing of analysts. 
Avoidism (December 1954) is a typical humor attack 

In the Sixties, everyone who counted came to our party. Arthur 
C. Clarke, thc man who gave the universe 200]—the book—has 
written 27 stories and articles for Playboy. The Hazards of 
Prophecy (March 1962) tells of the pitfalls of being able to imag- 
ine the future. 

Woody Allen, stand-up comedian and, at the time, а would-be 
film maker, was introduced to Playboy ders in On the Scene, 
December 1963; his first piece for us was пагу 19655 My War 
with the Machines, We understand that he has actually made a few 
films since then. 

There were two people who had to be included in this issue. 
Alberto Vargas was one of them. The grand old man of pinup art 
bad split with Esquire when Hef sought him out. His work for 
Playboy re-established him as the master. His drawings sell for a 
quarter of a million dollars today. teRoy Neimans work has 
appeared in almost every issue of Playboy (he draws the Femlins 
on the Party Jokes page). When we met him, he wasa figure-draw- 
ing instructor at the Art Institute of Chicago. Last time we 
checked, he could buy the Art Institute. The Man at His Leisure 
disco scene from January 1967 that reappears here is ап arche- 
typal look at the good life 

Shel Silverstein, creator of Tzevee Jeebies and Silverstein’ Zoo and 
countless other laughs and insights over the years, was Playboy's 
all-star utility player. He took his sketch pad on the road and 
wryly turned the world’s capitals upside down. Later, he elabo- 
rated on the sketch-and-text style he developed here and turned 
ош а series of best-selling children’s book classics (for grown-up 
children, too). We knew him when he had hair. 

lan Flemings James Bond began a long relationship with 
the magazine in March 1960 with The Hildebrand Rarity, a 
noveleue. “I'm sure James Bond, if he were an actual person, 


PLAYBILL 


а. p 


FEIFFER 


BRADBURY 


* 


VARGAS 


SILVERSTEIN 


FLEMING 


HOLLAND 


UPDIKE 


SHEPHERD 


MAMET 


DATES 


YEAGER 


would be a registered reader of Playboy,” Fleming assured us. 
You mean he’s not an actual person? 

Vladimir Nabokov, arguably the best novelist of our lifetime, first 
appeared in Playboy in January 1965. We published his stories 
and previewed his novels over a decade, including the debut of 
his classic Ada in April 1969. Nabokov, a famed lepidopterist, 
even suggested the August 1976 cover design, sending us a sketch 
ofa fairy whose butterfly wings formed the familiar Rabbit 

Jean Shepherd's first piece for the magazine was a colloquium of 
jazz all-stars. He moved rapidly from nonfiction to a series of 
humorous reminiscences set in the Midwest. Long before Gar- 
rison Keillor invented Lake Wobegon, Shepherd gave us Ollie 
Hopnoodles Haven of Bliss, Waldo Grebb and His Electric Baton 
and Wanda Hickeys Night of Golden Memories ( June 1969). 

What would the Seventies be without Watergate? After the fall, 
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein put together the story behind the 
headlines. Playboy gave America its first look in May 1974 at the 
book that launched a million applications to journalism school. 

Every now and then, an article in Playboy takes off in surprising 
directions. Larry L. King’s look at the oldest profession as practiced 
in the second-largest state in the union, The Best Litile Whore- 
house in Texas (April 1974), became a Broadway musical and a 
movie. Brad Holland, one of our most talented artists, provided the 
illustration; his work regularly accompanied Ribald Classics, so it. 
was only natural to give him this modern parable. 

When we first attended a play by David Mamet, we knew ме were 
listening to a man with an саг for language. (The Pulitzer Prize 
committee later came to the same conclusion.) Sexual Perversity 
іт Chicago (March 1977) was a natural for us (even though Holly- 
wood had to change the title to About Last Night . . . to get the 
movie version into newspaper and television ads). 

Like Mamet, John Updike has had some erience with prud- 
егу. He brings us the stories that other publications are too str 
laced and cowardly to publish. The Faint (May 1978) is an 
example of one of more than a dozen appearances in Playboy. 

Joyce Carol Oates and Robert Coover arc among the most honored 
writers in the nation. We've selected Oates's The Sunken Woman 
(December 1981) and Cooxer's You Must Remember This ( January 
1985) for the present collection. Truman Capote chose Playboy's 
pages in which to pay homage to Tennessee Williams. Remembering 
Tennessee тап in January 1984. All of this goes to prove what 
Hefner has often remarked: Without a centerfold, Playboy would 
be just another literary п e. 

But we're more than a literary magazine: We are the magazine 
as museum of modern art. Andy Worhol, who was famous for say- 
ing that everyone would be famous for 15 minutes, but then 
proved himself wrong by being famous forever, provided the 
illustration for Capote piece—and the cover of our January 
1986 Holiday Anniversary Issue. We went to world-class sculptor 
Ernest Trova for the image that adorns this collection. 

No Playbill would be complete without homage to our photog- 
raphers and cartoonists. Bunny Yeager shot many of our early pic- 
torials. John Derek photographed three of his wives for us; one, 
Linda Evans, turned the camera on him for the July 1971 Playbill 
picture resurrected here. Pompeo Posar has been our pre-eminent 
Playmate photographer for 28 years, and ıs still, having captured 
63 gatefold girls with his camera. We had to show you what Gahan 
Wilson really looks like: This man has been weirder for longer 
than 

Nostalgia is fun, but we continue to live in the here and now. In 
addition to all the blasts from the past, this issue contains up-to- 
date columns, reviews, Fhe Playboy Advisor and The Playboy 
Forum, 35th Anniversary Pl. te Fawna Maclaren and, of 
course, the Playboy Interview—with the actor who's famous for 
not sitting still for interviews, Robert De Niro. His interrogator was 
Contributing Editor Lawrence Grobel. 

Putting together this issue has been a pleasure. The party has 
been going on for 35 years. The guests have been interesting, the 
women beautiful, the conversation stimulating. Playboy has been 
a spiritual men’s club, an assembly hall for wise guys dedicated to 
the good life. It has been a great place to hang out. We promise to 
do our best to keep the show going for another 35 years. 


JOHN WAYNE уч 


= AMERICAN 


The Wayne family authorizes a classic 
to honor the man and the country he loved 


| 


0 


Richly grained hardwood wall rack is fitted with solid brass pistol mounts and cnameled insignia of all five 
‘American military services. Shown smaller than actual size of 14-147 x 12.9/16" 


HE WAS ONE OF A KIND. 

Loved and respected around the 
world as the symbol of America at its 
very best. 

In more than 150 films. from Sands 
of lwo Jima to The Green Berets to The 
Longest Day, he captured our essence. 
Our strength. Our values. Our deep 
sense of purpose. 

In 1979, he became one of the few 
Americans ever to be awarded a 
Congressional Gold Medal for ser 
tothe nation. 

And now, John Way 
authorized the det 
the .45-caliber automatic 
carried in all those great military films. 
A fitting commemorative of the 
60th anniversary of his first movie role. 


inest imported display replicas, it 
allows neither the chambering nor 
firing of ammunition. 

And it, 100, is one of a kind. To be 
forever distinguished by your personal 
serial number. 

Celebrate the legend. Enter your 
order by February 28, 1989. 


‘Your replica will bear both John Wayne's signature and 
‘your own personalized “JW” serial number, 


"ORDER FORM Sam 
JOHN WAYNE'S .45 
Please тай by February 28, 1989. 


The Franklin Mint 
Franklin Center, Pennsylvania 19091 
Please enter my order for The John Wi 
Armed Forces Commemorative 
T need send по payment now. I will be 
notified when my signed. serially num- 
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iced for the bal- 
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* Plus my state sales tax. 
Spee ALL ORDERS AME SUBJECT TO ACCEPTANCE 
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Address 


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Please allow ао û weeks from date shown above for shipment 
Jane Woyre is ести of Wine Enterprises vcd ede ficere 


11185-107 


PLAYBOY 


vol. 36, no. I—january 1989 CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE 
INTRODUCTION ...... ru 2 HUGH M. HEFNER 5 
PLAYBILL . ..... 7 
DEAR PLAYBOY. 15 
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS . 23 
SPORIS pm DAN JENKINS 47 
ІМЕМ ЕЕ ASA BABER 48 
WOMEN... 2 777” ШІНАІНЫМНІ 46; 
THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 51 
DEAR PLAYMATES. - . 54 
THE PLAYBOY FORUM. 57 
PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: ROBERT DE NIRO—candid conversation. ................. 69 
92 

94 

96 


A SOUND OF THUNDER—fiction 


THE SEDUCTION — satire 


RAY BRADBURY 98 
. JULES FEIFFER 100 


THE ORIGINS OF THE BEAT GENERATION—opinion ............ JACK KEROUAC 101 
THE PIOUS PORNOGRAPHERS—article.................-.- WILLIAM IVERSEN 102 
REBEL WITH A CAUSTIC CAUSE—entertainment .................. LARRY SIEGEL 105 
THE PLAYBOY BED—modern living. 


AVOIDISM— humor. . ROGER PRICE 109 
WALTER 5. TEVIS 112 
WOMEN OF THE FIFTIES—pictorial |... cese 114 


THE SIXTIES 


THE HUSTLER—fiction . 


A TESTAMENT OF HOPE—article. . . - 
THE HAZARDS OF PROPHECY—article 
THE PLAYBOY INTERVIEW—candid conversations 


FIDEL CASTRO u... r eats enemy une apis Sealer yaw er ma ЕЛКЕ aime 

MEL BROOKS ... ................. NR PER aa E TT SES 

MALCOLM X- Е 135 
THE ORIENT EXPRESS—travel. . . E En WILLIAM SANSOM 136 
TEEVEE JEEMES— не. SHEL SILVERSTEIN 139 
MY WAR WITH THE MACHINES— humor ........ ers. WOODY ALLEN 140 


VARGAS СІКІ-рісісгісі.................................. ALBERTO VARGAS 141 


COVER STORY 


Cover artist Ernest Trova is a world-class sculptor whose works are in New 
Yorks Museum of Modern Art and Metropolitan Museum—and the Decem- 
ber 1970 issue of Playboy, which features his special paper multiple pull- 
out. More recently, Trova took time out from his work on a series of 
bronze troubadour figures, inspired by the music of Julio Iglesias, to create а 
distinctive stainless-steel hinged Rabbit Head for our 35th Anniversary cover. 


(MANJATIHISILEISURE- 22222222 LEROY NEIMAN 
WANDA HICKEY'S NIGHT OF GOLDEN MEMORIES—humor. .... JEAN SHEPHERD 
HOW I WOULD START AGAIN TODAY—orticle...........-...... J. PAUL СЕТТҮ 
АОА—бейоп..................- - VLADIMIR NABOKOV 
SILVERSTEIN'S ZOO-satire . . . SHEL SILVERSTEIN 
WOMEN OF THE SIXTIES—pictorial 
THE GREAT 35TH ANNIVERSARY PLAYMATE HUNT—pictorial . . 


PLAYBOY’S 35TH ANNIVERSARY PLAYMATE—playboy’s playmate of the month 
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor ........... 
ІНБЗЕУЕМПЕЗ: 2... E 
ALL THE PRESIDENT'S MEN—article ... CARL BERNSTEIN and BOB WOODWARD 
BORN ON THE FOURTH OF JULY—memoir .. . .. RON KOVIC 
FOR CHRIST'S SAKE—opinion. ..... 3 +... HARVEY COX 
THE BEST LITTLE WHOREHOUSE IN TEXAS—article .............. LARRY L. KING 
SEXUAL PERVERSITY IN CHICAGO—from the play. . .- - DAVID МАМЕТ 
THE PLAYBOY INTERVIEW—candid conversations ....... . 

JOHN WAYNE 

BARBRAISTREISAND. E 

JIMMY CARTER... 
THE FAINT—fiction. - JOHN UPDIKE 
WOMEN OF THE SEVENTIES—pictorial . . 
THE EIGHTIES .. 5 
TOURIST TRADE—fiction ROBERT SILVERBERG 


TRUMAN CAPOTE 
. BRUCE FEIRSTEIN 
ROBERT COOVER 


REMEMBERING TENNESSEE mem: 
REAL MEN DON'T EAT QUICHE—humor. 
YOU MUST REMEMBER THIS—fiction . . 
THE PLAYBOY INTERVIEW—candid conversations . 
BILL COSBY 
JOHN LENNON/YOKO ONO.. 
PATRICIA HEARST . 
THE SUNKEN WOMAN-fiction. ......... 
FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH—memoir . . . 
SYMBOLIC SEX—humor. 
HOW | INVENTED PLAYBOY—humor. 
WOMEN OF THE EIGHTIES—pictorial ......... 


-. CAMERON CROWE 
. DON ADDIS 
.. BUCK HENRY 


143 
147 
149 
150 
152 
154 
166 
176 
1B6 
188 
190 
194 
197 
198 
202 
205 
205 
205 
205 
206 
210 
222 
224 
228 
230 
234 
237 
237 
237 
237 
238 
240 
242 
244 
246 


Rah, Raquel 


Nixon Nixed 


Vanna Visions. P, 246 


Sunken Wamon 


PLAYBOY 


12 


Improve your 
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Toshiba's SV-970 Super VHS VCR offers an obvious 40% improvement 
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over all VCRs. 

According to Video Review, the SV-970^ ..stands out from the rest.” With 
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Апа”. just about every feature and technology that engineers have been 
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In other words the SV-970 hardly has 
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In Touch with Tomorrow 


TOSHIBA 


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PLAYBOY 


HUCH M. HEFNER 
editor and publisher 


ARTHUR KRETCHMER editorial director 
‘and associate publisher 
JONATHAN BLACK managing editor 
ТОМ STAEBLER art director 
GARY COLE photography director 
G. BARRY GOLSON execulive editor 


EDITORIAL 

ARTICLES: JOHN REZEK edilor; PETER MOORE asso- 
ciate editor; FICTION: ALICE К. TURNER editor; 
MODERN LIVING: DAVID STEVENS senior edi- 
lor; PHILLIP COOPER, ED WALKER associate editors; 
FORUM: TERESA CROSCH associate editor; WEST 
COAST: STEPHEN RANDALL edilor; STAFF: GRETCH- 
EN EDGREN senior editor; JAMES R. PETERSEN 
senior staff wriler; BRUCE KLUGER, BARBARA NELLIS, 
KATE NOLAN associate editors; JOHN LUSK traffic со 
ordinator; FASHION: HOLLIS WAYNE editor; CAR- 
‘TOONS: MICHELLE URRY editor; COPY: ARLENE 
BOURAS editor; LAURIE ROGERS assisiant editor; LEE 
BRAUER, CAROLYN BROWNE, RANDY LYNCH, BARI 
NASH, LYNN TRAVERS, MARY ZION researchers; CON- 
TRIBUTING EDITORS: ASA BABER, KEVIN COOK, 
LAURENCE GONZALES, LAWRENCE GROBEL. CYNTHIA 
HEIMEL, WILLIAM | HELMER, DAN JENKINS. WALTER 
LOWE, JR, D. KEITH MANO, REG POTTERTON, DAVID 
RENSIN, RICHARD RHODES, DAVID SHEFE DAVID 
STANDISH, BRUCE WILLIAMSON (movies) SUSAN 
MARGOLIS-WINTER, BILL ZEHME 


ART 


KERIG rore managing director; CHET SUSKI LEN 
WILLIS. senior directors: BRUCE HANSEN associate 
director; JOSEPH PACZEK. ERIC SHROPSHIRE assistant 
düreclors; DEBBIE KONG, KEN OVRYN Junior directors; 
ANNSEIDL senior heyline and paste-up агим; MIL 
BENWAY, DANIEL PRED arf acciclamis: BARBARA HOFF- 
MAN administrative manager 


PHOTOGRAPHY 

MARILYN GRABOWSKI west coast editor; JEFF COHEN. 
managing editor; LINDA KENNEY, JAMES LARSON, 
MICHAEL ANN SULLIVAN associale editors; PATTY 
BEAUDET assistant editor; POMPEO POSAR senior 
staff photographer; KERRY MORRIS Ма} photog- 
тарһег; DAVID CHAN. RICHARD FEGLEX ARNY 
FREVTAG, RICHARD 1701, DAVID MECEY BYRON 
NEWMAN, STEPHEN WAYDA contributing photogra- 
hers; SHELLEE WELLS stylist; STEVE LEVITT color 
Lab supervisor; JOHN coss business manager 


PRODUCTION 


JOHN MASTRO direclor; MARIA MANDIS manager; 
RITA JOHNSON assistant manager; ELEANORE WAC- 
NER, JODY JURGETO, RICHARD QUARTAROLL assistants 


READER SERVICE 


CYNTHIA LACEYSIKICH manager; LINDA STROM, 
MIKEOSTROWSKI correspondents 


CIRCULATION 


RICHARD SMITH direclor; BARBARA GUTMAN associ 
aie director. 


ADVERTISING. 
MICHAELT CARR advertising director; пов AQUILLA 
midwest manager; JAMES |. ARCHAMBAULT JR. пеш 
york manager; ROBERT TRAMONDO category man- 
‘ager; JOHN PEASLEY direct response 


ADMINISTRATIVE 
JOHN А scorr president, publishing group; 
EILEEN KENT contracts administrator; MARCIA TER- 
RONES rights ÉS permissions manager 


PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES, INC. 
сөгетін HEFNER president 


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ADDRESS DEAR PLAYBOY 
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ROGER CRAIG, А GIANT AMONG GIANIS 

Your interview with Roger Craig 
(Playboy, October) has confirmed all my 
beliefs about the man. Asa 90-ycar Giants 
fan, I had begun to wonder if I would ever 
have reason to cheer for a winning team 
again. Craigs arrival has returned the 
winning tradition to Candlestick Park. His 
vast knowledge of and great passion for 
the game have enhanced the hopes not on- 
ly of the Giants but of baseball itself. 

One thing about Craig that really stands 
out in the interview is his humanity. He is 
so intense during a game that nice to 
see how much of a regular Joe he really is. 

Robert J. Muniz 
Highland Park, 


California 


MORE ON ARAFAT 

Ironically, I read your September 
Playboy Interview with Yasir Arafat on my 
ay to Israel this past summer. At the time, 
I was very disturbed by it, but after spend- 
ing some time in Israel, I am appalled! 

As a journalism/Middle Eastern studies 
major at Columbia University, 1 cannot be- 
lieve that you would allow yourself to be 
manipulated by a known terrorist whose 
lifeblood depends on sensational media. 
Without coverage such as yours, terrorism 
would not survive. By giving the likes of 
Arafata world-wide platform to air his ide- 
ology, you are justifying the Killing of in- 
nocent people. By all legal and moral 
definitions, Arafat's PL.O. is a terrorist or- 
ganization. His members threaten, coerce 
and murder their own people. They have 
consistently violated international law by 
shielding themselves and their weapons 
in refugee camps, schools and hospitals, 
exposing their own people to extreme 
danger, in complete disregard for interna- 
попа! and humanitarian laws. 

When Arafat discusses Palestinian chil- 
dren, he fails to mention the fact that his 
seven-year-olds to be- 
come terrorists. They raise children to 
hate and kill. The interview also fails to 
mention that the Lebanese pcople dont 
want the PL.O. in their country; they are 
simply not strong enough to get rid of it. 


Glorifying the acts of terrorists only en- 
courages more violence; as long as journal- 
ists give legitimacy to their acts, the killing 
of innocent civilians will continue. In the 
future, take into account the motives of the 
people you interview. 

Suzanne Peters 

New York, New York 


COLLEGE FOOTBALL FORECAST 

Year after year, the worst college football 
forecast on God's green earth has been 
Playboy's Pigskin Preview (Playboy, Octo- 
ber). For some unknown reason, Anson 
Mount always felt the need to shun conyen- 
tional wisdom and graze through left field 
to compose his top 20. 

Now comes your new forecaster, Gary 
Cole, to take a swing (and a miss) at the 
subject. Most disturbing is that he has 
missed the power shift to the West in 1988. 
The real oversights are UCLA and USC. 
The Bruins and the Trojans һауе legiti- 
mate Heisman candidates in quarterbacks 
Troy Aikman and Rodney Peete; UCLA 
crushed number-five Nebraska and is now 
4—0, and Southern Cal rallied impressively 
in the fourth quarter to defeat a good 
Stanford team. 


Michacl Tuckman 
Portland, Oregon 
There seems lo be a gap between your opin- 
ion and the facts, Mike. A recognized author- 
ity is W. Judd Wyatt, whose annual Wyatt. 
Summaries are the Nielsen ratings of football 
forecasting: Anson Mount topped Wyalt's list 
five times and finished second six times, giv- 
ing Playboy the best prediction record of any 
publication, even outfits such as Sports Illus- 
trated, А.Р. and ОРІ. As for Gary Coles 
crystal ball, you may want to take another 
look. He picked UCLA in his top 20 and Troy 
Aikman is the quarterback on our All-Ameri- 
ca team. As for U: 
sulis are in, 


Congratulations are due to Gary Cole 
for another outstanding job of previewing 
the college football season. We would, how- 
ever, like 10 point out one item that has us 


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PLAYBOY 


16 


somewhat puzzled. In predicting that 
Auburn will be the number-12 team, he 
states, “Missing, however, are Bo Jackson 
and Brent Fullwood to run the ball.” 

Both of these great players were also 
missing from Auburn last year. Jackson, 
after winning the Heisman Trophy, spent 
1987 running the ball (for the Los Angeles 
Raiders), as well as hitting the ball and 
running the bases (for the Kansas City 
Is). Fullwood was a rookie for the 
Green Bay Packers in 1987. 

This is the only “fumble” we can find. In 
a town where solid information on college 
football is cagerly sought, your publication 
rates high marks, 
Frank Weatherholt, Director 
Race & Sporis Wagering 
Operations 
Ted Troxell 
Administrative Opera 
Sahara Hotel & Casino 
Las Vegas, Nevada 


ions 


CONTROVERSIAL MORT 

Fm writing to comment on your 20 
Questions with Morton Downey, Jr., in the 
October issue. In the past, no matter how 
controversial their subjects might be, your 
interviews were conducted in a humane 
and professional manner. 

But Downey is apparently a special case 
with you guys. Your lead-in suggests that 
he is a hypocrite (he couldnt quit smok- 
ing). All of your questions are designed 10 
be crushing blows to his persona. “On your 
show, you have the advantage and you can 
practice bullyboy tact Since when 
couldn't a talk-show host practice bullyboy 
tactics? 1 suppose its OK as long as Phil 
Donahue doe: 

“Given your questionable academic cre- 
dentials . . . what makes you think you are 
qualified to deal with the weighty issues 
discussed on your show? 

What credentials qualify Playboy pho- 
tographers to take pictures of naked 
women? What is the difference between 
yahooism, democracy and mob rule? What 
does Downey's bad-check passing have to 
do with his status as a talk-show host? 

Your questions about Moris mom's 
drinking problem and his stage-managing 
spontaneity and the “colorful weirdos' 
comment round out the interview nicely 
In short, this is one of the most blatant 
hatchet jobs I have ever read in a maga- 
zine. The portrait that emerges of Downey 
is that he is an uncredentialed bully, a hyp- 
ocrite, a demagog, a criminal and a racist. 

What are you guys afraid of? His popu- 


Bill Scott. 
Fresno, California 


Au least Morton Downey, Jr., is honest 
enough to admit that no minds will be 
changed by his show. He is honest, too, in 
admitting that his show is not intellectual 
At best, it panders to the basest instincts of 
his studio audience, and he ensures that 
they hear what they want in a most glandu- 


lar fashion. At its very worst, his show is a 
harbinger of the end of civilization as we 
know it. 
W Keith Adams 
Brighton, Michigan 


PLEASING PLAYGIRL 

Thank you for the outstanding pietorial 
Boy Meets “Girl on the lovely Nancie S. 
Martin (Playboy, October). The interview 
is candid, snappy and funny. As long as 


Martin is editor in chief of Playgirl, the 
magazine can't go wrong. Seems she has a 
beautiful brain as well as a sexy body. 
Darrell Baty 
Mountain Home, Idaho 


ELECTION HOSTAGES 
Гус subscribed to Playboy for more than 

20 years. In the past few, in particular, I 
have found that the magazine is losing 
ht of its entertainment value and is be- 
ginning to dabble in political issues from a 
most biased leftist viewpoint. 
An Election Held Hostage, by Abbie Hoff- 
nd Jonathan Silvers (Playboy, Octo- 
а clear case in point. This article, 
written in part by Hoffman—who, along 
with the rest of the Chicago Seven and 
Jane Fonda, did more to aid and abet the 
Communists during the late Sixties than 
all the propaganda Moscow and the North 
Vietnamese could muster—creates an im- 
pression of the Reagan Presidency that is a 
sham to even the most politically moderate 
person. 
hanks to the Constitution of the Unit 
ed States, Playboy is entitled to its political 
opinions. But if itis your intent to espouse 
a leftist political philosophy, may I suggest 
it be clearly labeled as an editorial, not 
masked as entertainment? 

Ron Winkler 

Yalenc К 


FEMINIST STUDIES 

As a graduate student in women's stud- 
ies at Duke University, I feel I must re- 
spond to Asa Babers September Men 
column, “Feminist U” On the basis of 
newspaper article, one college catalog and 


a secondhand conversation with a recep- 
попі. the author decries a "monopoly of 
feminist thought on today’s college cam- 
puses” and a consequent lack of “men's 
studies.” His research is painfully weak 
and his conclusions invalid. 

When one considers that Great Books of 
the Western World, the much-hailed com- 
pendium of all important thought since 
the beginning of recorded history, con- 
tains not one sentence penned by a woman 
in its 50-plus-volume set, or that Janson's 
History of Art, the acknowledged authority 
in the field, contained not one woman 
artist until very recent editions. it is evident 
that history, art апа philosophy—even 
knowledge—have been construed, for 
whatever reason, as being male provinces 
Studies of any kind have been and still are 
in many ways men’s studies. Our job, as 
womens-studies advocates, is to add to that 
body; and what upsets Baber is that men 
are not the focal point of that effort. It is 
not necessary to hate men in order to cele- 
brate women. And it is celebration. not 
hatred, that womens studies are all about 

Martha A. Simmons 
Wake Forest. North Carolina 


S.W.C. TALENT SCOUTS 

Ever since your first college-coed picto 
al appeared in 1977, you have received nu 
merous requests [rom readers to make this 
girl or that one the next Playmate of the 
Month. Indeed, several of your coeds— 
mest notably, Pamela Jean Bryant (Miss 
April 1978) and Devin DeVasquez (Miss 
June 1985)—have done just that. Afte 
viewing your October pictorial Girls of the 
Southwest Conference, | have decided that 
Sharyl Rudin, Leah Sternbaum and Bar- 
bara Anne Noelle have the potential to be 
Playmates. 


Stephen E Barcus 
Palmdale, California 


As an alumnus of Southern Methodist 
University, I (and many others) am pain 
fully aware of the current N.C.A.A. proba- 
tion status the school must endure for what 
seems like an eternity 

Compounding this unfortunate situa- 
tion is your October issue, containing Girls 
of the Southwest Conference and Playboys 
Pigskin Preview. Both seem to ignore the 
existence of SMU. Last years Pigskin 
briefly mentioned the probation: this ye: 
nada. Surely there are many beautiful co- 
eds strolling SMU's shaded lanes worthy of 
your S.WC. peck. Your avoidance of SMU 
in either piece seems overly harsh. I am 
very sorry that October's issue doesnt 
rank in my top 20. 

Ronald М. Ole 
Bridgewater, New Jersey 

Take another look at page 127, Ron. You'll 
find three (count ‘em, three) SMU coeds there. 
As for the “Pigskin Preview,” it will mention 
SMU when there is an SMU football team, 
Wait ll next year. 

El 


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Panasonic introduces 
the camcorder that can 
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even when you can't. 


Even when your feet are firmly planted on the ground, 

its not easy to hold your Camcorder steady. That's why 

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It seems like every sci-fi movie ever made 
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Once phones like these 
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P Integrated Telephone 
‚ ы This Panasonic integrated telephone ап- 
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PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 


HOORAY! 


Thirty-five years ago, if you read 
Playboy. you were onc of the 70,000 cool- 
est people їп America. Right now, you're 
one of the 12,359,000 coolest people in 
America and one of the reasons we're 
celebrating. 

But we're not the only ones reveling in 
1989, You can catch the hoopla around the 
100th Rose Bowl parade this month, or. if 
you're the baseball fanatic we are, you can 
visit the National Baseball Hall of Fame 
and Museum in Cooperstown, New York, 
and help celebrate its 50-year mark, 

In 1839 or so, Abner Doubleday threw 
the pitch, now revered as "first heat,” on 
Cooperstowns tiny Doubleday Field. A 
hundred years later, Stephen С. Clark, 
sewing-machine magnate and friend of 
baseball, had the consummate sports fans 
dream: He would build a hall to keep holy 
all the stuff that is baseball. And so it was 
done and the multitudes have been arriv- 
ing ever since to behold the accouterments 
of Ruth and Gehrig, of Aaron and Ap- 
pling, of Mantle and Mays on every day of 
the year except Thanksgiving, Christmas 
and New Year's. Visiting the hall, we eyed 
Doubledays inaugural ball, a petrified- 
looking rotted orange sphere that lies 
among countless baseball artifacts that will 
take your breath away—unul you realize 
you're holding your breath 

Doubleday Field is runt-sized, with slat- 
backed stands and wood-floored dugouts, 
three steps down to a painted plank bench. 
It measures 390 fect to the wall in straight- 
away center. The scoreboard refers to the 
visiting team as “guests,” and the chain- 
link mesh behind home plate is drawn taut 
gainst the wind that blows in over the 
right-ficld bleachers. 

Doubleday’s quiet simplicity provided us 
h momentary serenity in а world where 
even the Chicago Cubs have succumbed to 
prime time. Amid such peace, a kind of 
baseball satori settled upon the unsuspect- 
ing visitor. We spotted two old men sitting 
on the ball-park-style seats outside the 
main entrance to the hall, arguing a call 
from the 1937 world series, when Carl 
Hubbell pitched the New York Giants past 
the Yanks in game four. The gentlemen 


had never met before that morning. And 
that’s one reason we recommend a pil- 
grimage 10 Cooperstown this year. 


LOVE AT ANY COST 


Think of partnerselection services as 
head-hunters for the lovelorn. On both 
coasts, the new rash of high-end match- 
makers ranges from handwriting shrinks 
to computer-driven Cupids. What they 
haye in common is the claim that they take 
the guesswork out of hitting it off on a 
lifelong basis. In Chicago, a mating service 
called Quest International vows to com- 
pose a fail-safe profile of your ideal better 
half, then search for someone who fits the 
picture. 

Cost to you: ten grand, half in advance 
and half when you admit to bliss. Steep, 
you say? 

f you were a C.E.O. looking for ап ex- 
есшіуе, you wouldnt look for the right 
person in a bar" argues former trial 
lawyer Peggy Jacobs, who lounded Quest 
"You'd go to an expert.” Jacobs also points 
out that her fee is less than the sticker price 
of some new cars (and she might have 
added that Buicks dont look good in lin- 
gerie). In its first three months of match- 


ing, Quest has signed up 14 clients 
with empty hearts and deep pockets, then 
steered them through compatibility ques- 
tionnaires and talks with a psychologist. 
"Successful people," says Jacobs, "just are 
not comfortable with the bar scene. 

Still, the old mano-a-womano mating 
dance produced a few happy pairings be- 
lore it became unfashionable. We quizzed 
Jacobs on how she met her hubby, Harold 
"Fortuitously," she hedged. Meaning? 

“Ina ;" she conceded. “But we were 
very lucky, If меге single, I could never 
do that again.” 


LOST WRITINGS 


We didnt really want to read it, but 
there's something compelling about the 
words of a dead man, even il they don't 
make any sense. Wilderness—The Lost 
Writings of Jim Morrison has been pub- 
lished by Villard Books and the cover is 
stamped VOLUME one, implying that future 
volumes are forthcoming, One, trust us, is 
plenty. If you really like poetry such as this, 
take some ups, some downs, some acid and 
four shots of tequila and you can write 
your own to read later when your eyes get 
back into focus. However, one line of a po- 
em titled Ode ta LA. While Thinking of 
Brian Jones, Deceased makes a fitting eulo- 
gy for the lead singer of the Doors: “Will 
he stink/ Carried heavenward/ Thru the 
halls/of music” To which one might an- 
swer, “His music, no/ His poetry. yes.” 


SPOTLIGH 


One of National Public Radios most pop- 
ular call-in shows is WBUR Bostons "Car 
Talk." It features MIT graduates Tom and Ray 
Magliezzi, brothers whose nearly lunatic 
whimsy is for car repair. Herewith, a brief en- 
counter with the guys who call themselves 
“Click and Clack—the Tappet brothers. 
PLAYBOY: Off the top of your head, what are 
three of the worst cars ever made? 
том: Well, the Chevette comes to mind 
Worst brakes in the history of autodom. 
The cars should have been recalled the 
minute they rolled off the assembly line. 
nay: On the other hand, Tom, you have to 
admit that those suckers will last а long 


U2: Rattle & Hum + New livo set includes 
{he hit Desire, Sill Haven't Found What Im 
Looking For, more. Island 200596 


Anita Baker: Rapture = Sweet Love 
ht Up In The Rapture. You Bring Ме 
Son boon So Long. Ihren nom 
Elektra 173404 
tzhak Perlman: French Violin Show- 
ieces = Carmen Fantasy, Tzigane, 
сете, Havanaise, more. 
DG DIGITAL 115457 
Tracy Chapman + Extraordinary singer 
songwriter with hit Fast Car. Talk Bout A 
Revolution, Baby Can I Но You, Mountains 
O Things, Why? еіс Elektra 193582 
Guns N' Roses: Appetite For Destruction 
Welcome To The Jungle, Sweet Chid, O' 
Mine, Ц550 Easy, more. Gefen 170348 
Jerry Lee Lewis: Original Sun Greatest 
Hite > Whole Lota Shakin’ Goin On, Groat 
Balls Of Fire. Rhino 156118 
Kitaro: The Light О! The Spirit = Sun- 
dance, Mysterious Encounter The Field, in 
The Beginning, elc. бейеп DIGITAL 164228 
Richard Marx * Endiess Summer Nights 
Should've Known Better. Don't Mean 
Notting, etc. EMManhatian 134073 
Jimmy Page: Outricer = Wasting My Time. 
The Oniy Che. Prson Blues, more 
бейеп 123721 
Robert Plant: Now And Zen + Dance On 
My Own. Heaven Knows. Тай Cool One. 
Ship Of Fools, ele. Es Paranza 134362 
Lea Zeppelin: Houses О! The Holy 
Dyer Maker, Over The Hills And Far Away, 
etc. Atlantic 134321 


George Harrison: Cloud Nine = Title 
song, | Got My Mind Set On You, When We 
Was Fab, more. Warner/Oark Horse 174328. 


James Taylor's Greatest Hits 
Warner Bros. 123790 


Dire Straits: Brothers In Arms + Money 
For Nothing, Welk Of Life, So Far Away, 
‘more, Warner Bros. DIGITAL 114734 
Pops In Spece + John Wiliams & The 
Boston Pops. Music from Close Encounters, 
Star Wars, others. Philips DIGITAL 105392 


Rod Stewart: Greatest Hits + Do Ya Think 
fm Soxy?. Tonights The Night, Maggio May, 
Hot Legs, etc. Wamer Bros. 133779 


Andrés Segovia Plays Bach = Includes 
fhefamous Paco MCA 169600 


Poison: Open Up And Say.. Ahh + Nothin’ 
But A Good Time, Good Love, Fallen Angel, 
Love On The Rocks, elc. 

Captol/Enigma 173989 


Bobby McFerrin: Simple Pleasures 
Dont Worry Be Happy, Al Want. Drive Му 
Саг ше song, more. 

EMI-Manhatları 154165 
Cream: Disraeli Gears + Sunshine CI Your 
Love, more. Polydor 104888 
Simon & Gartunkel: The Concert In 
Central Park * Mrs. Robinson, Bridge Over 
Troubled Water, etc. Warner Bros. 244006 
‘Alabama: Live RCA 160027 
Previn: Gershwin * Rhapsody In Blue, 
Concertoin E more. Philips DIGITAL 115437 
Eagles Greatest Hits, Vol 1 Asylum 123481 
Keith Richards: Talk Is Cheap + Big 
Enough. How Wish. Take И So Hard. Strug- 
gle. | Could Have Stood You Up, more. 
Von 100518 


Steve 
Roll With It 


154633 


Liz Story: Speechless = Forgiveness, 

schless, Welcome Home, Back Porch, 
Vail, Frog Fark, more, НСА/Чомив 100494 
Decade/BestO! Steely Dan МСА 154135 


Boothoven, Symphony No. 7: Coriolan & 
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Jethro Tull: Aqualung Chrysalis 121705 


Whitney Houston: Whitney * | Wanna 
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Arista 152854 


Metallica: ..And Justice For Ай = One. 
Blackened, tile song. To Live Is To Die. 
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Talking Heads: Naked + (Nothing Ви) 
Flowers, Mr Jones, Totally Nude, Blind, The 
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Fiy/Sire DIGITAL 163610 
David Sanborn: Close-Up * Lush. jazz 
sax ettor! Slam, You Are Everything, J1. 
Goodbye, Same Girl, ete. 

Werner Bios. 134408 
‘Dwight Yoakam: Buenas Noches From А 
Lonely Room » Tile Song Streets Of 
Bakersfield (with Buck Owens), more. 
Reprise 100009 


The Best Df The Band Capitol 134485 


Classic Old 8 Gold, Vol. 1 20 hits! A Little 
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INXS: Kick + Need You Tonight, Devil In 
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Tne Glenn Miller Orchestra: In The 
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Tangerine Dream; Preda 109510 
Steve Winwood: Chronicles = Higher 
Love, Valerie, We You Soe A Chance, My 
Loves Leavin, Taking Back "b The Night 
тоге. Island 134501 
Pictures At An Exhibition, Night On The 
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Phony/Dutoit London DIGITAL 125814 
Whitesnake = Here | Go Again, Stil O! The 
Might, Give Me All Your Love, Crying In The 
Fain, Bad Boys. more. Gelen 163628 
ZZ Top: Afterburner Warner Bros. 164042 
Carly Simon: Greatest Hits Live 
Anticipation. You're So Vain. Coming 
‘Around Again, Nobody Does It Better, elc 
Алаа 154537 
Huey Lewis: Small World » Farlect Work 
Walking With The Kid, Word To Ne, Better 
Be True, Old Antone, ete 

Chrysalis 134347 


Horowitz Plays Mozart 115436 


Najeo: Day By Day» Personally, ttle song, 
Thats The Way Ol The World, Tonight rm 
Yours, Gina, Najee's Nasty Groove, etc 

ENI-Manhattan 100001 
Genesis: Invisible Touch = Land О! Con 
fusion. titie song, ele. Atlantic | 153740 
More Dirty Dancing » Do You Love Me 
Love Man, Big Girls Don't Cry, Wipeout, 
Боле nd Of Werder, Cry B Me cr 
RCA 130766 
The Who's Greatest Hits NCA 164160 
Tenalkovsky, 1812 Overture; Romeo & 
‚Juliet; Nutcracker Suite * Chicago 
Symphony/Sott Londen DIGITAL 125178 
James Galway: Greatest Hits ACA 173233 
The Moody Blues: Sur La Mer + 1 Know 
You're Ош There Somewhere, No Nore 
Lies, Here Comes The Weekend, Vintage 


Elton John: Greatest Hits, Vol. 1 
MCA 163322 
Vivaldi, The Four Seasons» English Con 
certiPinnock. Archiv DIGITAL 115256. 
Joe Cocker: Classics Contains 13 His! 
ABN 104887 


Bruce Hornsby апа the Range: Scenes 
From The Southside » The Valley Road 
and Jacob's Ladder, plus others. 

RCA 180187 
Grosny, Stils, Nash & Young: Greatest 
Hits (SO Far) + Sue: Judy Blue Eyes, etc 
Atlantic 730230 
New Age Bach: The Goldberg Variations 
Joel Spegaman plays te Kurzweil 250 
Oigial Keyboard East West 100488 
John Cougar Mellencamp: The Lone- 
some Jubilee = Paper in Fire, Check it Out 


‘Wine, etc. Polydor 124546 


Тһе Beach Boys: Endless Summer 
Customs бин. Hep Me Finds, Suer Elvis: 16 Number One Hits RCA 172190 
susce pu 2229) Robert Cray: Don't Be Afraid Of The Dark 
Cinderella: Long Cold Winter Gypsy Tile sorg. Dont You Even Care. more 
Fond, Don't Know Wal You Gol (Ne металу нкт 100471 
Gone}, The Last Mile, etc. Mercury 114780 een 
Haze, All Along The Watchtower, Voodoo 
Chis, Are You Expenenced, et 
Reprise 161919 
Parton/Rorstaet/Harris: Trio + To Know 
Нит To Love Гит, ee 
Warner Bros. 14804 
Chicago 19 = {Dorit Wanna Live Without 
Your Love, Hear! n Pieces, ele 
Reprise 154404 
Peter Cetera: One More Story « One 
Сова Woman. more. Warmer Воз 100483 
Buckwheat Zydeco: Taking It Home 
Why Does Love Gol o Be Зо Sad? (wih 
Ene Captor, Creole Cort more 


Cherry Bomb, Fooly Toct Toot, ес. 
Mercury 134420 


island 100597 
The Sound Of Music/Orig. Soundtrack 
Bon Jovi: New Jersey 100516 Ges 100046 


Strauss, Also sprach Zarathustra E 
Chicago Symphony Orzhestra/meiner 

RCA 163627 
Charlie Parker & Dizzy Gillespie: Bird 8 
би. = Leap Frog, My Melancholy Baby, 
Mohawk, elc. Verve 173413 


Robert Palmer: Heavy Nova = Simply 
Irresistible, Disturdng Behavior She Makes 
My Day, More Than Ever, Change His Ways, 
ек. ЕМЕМапгайап 100 
The Very Best Of The Everly Brothers 
Bye Bye Love Giving in The Ran, Bird Dog 
others, Werner Bros: 103626 
Kenny G: Silhouette = We've Saved The 
Y Last, tle sone, Tradewinds, Pastel. 
Against Doctors Orders, Let Go, more 
Айа. 100603 


DJ. Jazzy Jeff 8 The Fresh Prince: He's 


Randy Travis: Old 8x10 100008 


The Police: Every Breath You Taks-The 


The DJ. Em The Rapper + Parents dust 
‘Don't Understand, Nightmare On My Steet, 
etc. we 264154 
Patti: Singable Songs For The Very 
Young Storeine 144494 
Elton John: Feg Strikes Back A Word In 
Spanish, 1 Dont Warna Go On With You 
Like, That, Goodbye Marion Brando, Town 
Ol Plenty, etc. MCA DIGITAL 100602 


Singles « Don't Stard So Close To Me (86), 
Roxanne, eic. ASM 173924 
Sting: Nothing Like The Sun » We'll Be 
‘Together, They Dance Alone, Be Sill My 
Beating Heart, more, ABM 273966 


Mozart, Overtures ~ Academy of St. Mar 
In/Marrner. Marriage Of Figaro, В more. 
Angel DIGITAL 154257 


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Steve Miller: Born 2 В Blue + Ya Ya, Born 
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All; Make Ne Laugh; Out Of Sight, Out Of 
Mind; Schism; more. 

Island/Megalorce 100589 
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Prison Blues, Fing О! Fre, I Wak The Line, 
Got Rhythm, Cry, Cry, Cry, mere. 


Mercury. 100595 
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ARM 134445 


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jazz, wih 15 classic performances by Ella, 
Armstrong, Base. Getz etc 

PolyGram 173206 
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RUSH ME THESE 4 CDs naicate by number) 


б р] 
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always free to choose from any (check one only) 

АГ) EASY LISTENING (instrumental Vocal Moods) BL] COUNTRY 

СГ HARD ROCK ОО POPISOFT ROCK El] CLASSICAL 
Ома 
1 MRS. 
ES 
Address. = 3 


Dirty Dancing/Soundtrack 182522 


Scott Joplin, Piano Rags + Joshua Rifkin 
plays The Entertainer, Maple Leaf Rag. 
Gladiolus Rag, 14 more. Nonesuch 164055 
Eric Clapton: Time Pieces (The Best Of) 
Layla, 1 Shot Тһе Sherill Alter Midnight 
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DATA 


o honor our 35th 
anniversary, we hereby 
lake ап eye-opening 
look at America іп 
1954 and now. 


QUOTE 


“On May I 
the Constitution о! 
the United States was 
destroyed because of 
the Supreme Court's 
decision. You are not 
obliged to obey the 
decisions of any court 
which are plainly 
fraudulent.” —Mi: 
sippi Senator James 
stland, comment- 
ing on the Supreme 
Courts ruling in 
Brown us. Board of 


In 1950, 


Kansas. аге: 


Number of states ın 
the Union in 1954, 48; 
today, 50. 

. 

Number of amend- 
ments to the Constitution in 1954: 22 
(the 22nd limits the number of Presi- 
dential terms in office to two). 

Number of amendments today: 26 
(the 26th allows 18-year-olds to vote). 

. 

Number of United States Congress- 

men in 1954 and today: 435. 
. 

Number of Congressmen [rom C; 
fornia in 1954, 30; today, 45. Number 
from New York in 1954, 43; today, 34. 
Number from Flo 1954, eight; 
uu 19. Number from Illinois in 
Number {гөш Texas 
ау 27. 

. 


in il 22; toi 


Annual salary of a Congress 
1954, 812,500; in 1989, $89,500. 

Presidents salary in 1954, $100,000, 
today, $200,000, 


THE WASTELAND 


the Bureau of the 
Census reckoned the land arca 
of the United States to be 
Education of Topeka, 3,559,206 square п 


covered hy м 


most recent census (1980) indi- 


Number of televi- 
sion stations in Ше 
United States in 1954, 
415; today 1389. 


Most теріде tele- 
show of the 
on: 1 
Love Lucy. Second 
most popular teles 
sion show: Dragnet. 


CRIME STORY 


crime reports, the 
number of murders 
commiued in 1954, 
850; in 1986 (the 


les and the Number of auto 
ter, 66.564 thefts reported. 
s from the 1954, 
1986, 1. 
cate that the land mass has . 
3 Accordi 10 the 
18. Justice Depart- 


ment, total number of 
prisoners held in Fed- 


HOW FAR WE'VE COME 


World record for the men's 100-meter 
dash in 1954, 10.2 seconds: in 1988, 
9.83 seconds. 

World record for the women's 100- 
meter dash in 1954, ПА seconds; in 
1988, 10.49. 


. 
ме pole-vault world record in 
954. 15 feet. seven and three fourths 
ots п 19; 
hall inches. 


19 feet, ten and one 


. 

Mens long-jump world record іп 
1954, 26 feet, eight and one fourth 
inches; in 1988, 29 feet, two and one 
half inches. 


. 
World record in the mens one-mile 
race in 1954, 3:58 minutes; in 1988, 


| 


time. Also, they do great іп crash tests— 
they've had so much experience in that re- 
gard. And then, if you've listened to our show, 
you know how we feel about Peugeots. 
том: Yeah, but we've lightened up on them 
lately, since the French Mafia has threat- 
ened to kill us. 

rav: Right. Nice car, Peugeot. 


том: And then there аге А.М.С. cars. I 
think they're great cars. 

клу: They suck. The only thing good about 
is that you can't buy them anymore. 
том: Now, Ray Actually, they were most 
durable cars. They lasted forever. 

ray: They didn't last forever. It’s just that if 
you owned one, it seemed like forever. First 
ofall, they were all ugly. I mean ugly. 

том: OK, I admit that. A.M.C. never made 
a car that wasn't ugly. 

PLAYBOY: We understand that you guys 
havea couple of philanthropic projects go- 
ing. You want to give them a plug? 

том: Well, my personal project is promot 
ing the 35-mile-an-hour speed limit. All 
the troubles in the world сап be traced to 
things’ happening fast 

RAY: According to my brother, there were 
no troubles in the world when people 
walked and traveled by stagecoach. 

том: A horse can't run much more than 35 
miles an hour, so that must mean thats as 
fast as God wants us to go. And that 
doesn't apply just to cars. It also appl 
airplanes and rockets. Think about it. A 
35-mile-an-hour airplane. Now, that’s tech- 
nology. My way of thinking, if you can't go 
to the moon at 35 miles an hour, don't go. 
As for our other project—and Ray and 1 
are together on this one—it's called Save 
the Skeets. You see, it has come to our at- 
tention that people are shooting skeets at 
an alarming rate. They're becoming an 
endangered species, and nobody out there 
is trying to protect them. 

тлуюоу: Do you have a place where skeets 
can live in safety, sort of a skeet preserve? 
rav: Well, yes. We call it а skecting rink 
We're working very dosely with Jim and 
Tammy Bakker on this. They're behind us. 
And, of course, God is on our side, because 
nobody else is taking care of His little 
skeets. They're not populai 
том: My wife will not have them in the 
house—they shit all over the rug. They 
couldn't get anybody else to back them, so 
they ended up with us. Poor little skeets. 


сайы ИР 


SCOVER 


MES AR Y ІЗ ATW AC 1 ON 


A NEW COL TONE FOR MEN 


27 
© 1988 Shullon ec. USA. 


By BRUCE WILLIAMSON 


BRITAINS VERSATILE Gary Oldman has been 
stretching his talent and setting the screen 
ablaze since starring in Sid and Nancy 
in 1986. As a Boston defense attorney in 
Criminal Law (Tri-Star), Oldman, with an im- 
peccable American accent and a perform- 
ance to match, leaps another big step up 
the career ladder. Opposite him, Kevin Ba- 
con sheds his Brat Pack boyishness for a 
sharp change of pace as а smiling, insolent 
psychopath whose lawyer learns too late 
that һе has won acquittal for a serial killer. 
That's merely the beginning of the attor- 
ni involvement in the evil schemes his 
client devises to taunt him, perhaps even to. 
seduce him. From a devilishly clever— 
though not always logical—screenplay by 
Mark Kasdan, director Martin Campbell 
adopts an abrasive but vibrant style, all 
screeching sirens and subliminal shocks. It 
works, though, to keep Criminal Law mov- 
ing so fast that theres scarcely time to 
quibble or even to consider the film's obvi- 
ous questions: Does just winning matter 
more than truth and justice, and who will 
be the next victim? Tess Harper and Karen 
Young portray the women in the case, 
bringing some soft-shouldered comfort to 
an otherwise chilling two-man show. ¥¥¥ 
. 

Courtroom contretemps generate more 
light but less heat when a resolute assistant 
prosecutor (Kelly McGillis) launches a le- 
gal crusade on behalf of a rape victim 
(Jodie Foster) in The Accused (Paramount). 
Foster walks away with the movie—more 
accurately, saunters away with it—playing 
a brassy but vulnerable waitress who talks 
like a tart, drinks too much, smokes dope, 
shacks up with a dealer and still asserts her 
inherent right to refuse a gang bang. Near- 
ly all the men she encounters, on both sides 
of the law, are either arrant chauvinist pigs 
or brutes of subtler stripe. Any resem- 
blance between The Accused and the rape 
trials following the infamous case of a 
young woman assaulted on a pool table in 
a Massachusetts bar is officially denied. 
Certain salient points are similar but care- 
fully rearranged in Tom Topor's workman- 
like screenplay, directed by Jonathan 
Kaplan. Here, the three rapists go directly 
to jail after plea bargaining, and the louts 
brought to trial are those cheering by- 
standers who goaded their drunken bud- 
dies to do the deed, That odd plot twist 
somewhat defuses а generally potent dra- 
ma on a subject prime-time TV has tackled 
with fair frequency. Jodie Foster's poignant 
tour de force makes all the difference, 
preserving the emotional sting in what 
might have become a strident feminist 
manifesto, УУУ 


Spanish writer-director Pedro Almo- 
dovar is on the curling edge of New Wave 


Criminal Law's Bacon, Oldman. 


Tops this month: a pair 
of courtroom dramas 
and a wacky Spanish comedy. 


cinema in his homeland, and Women on the 
Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (Orion Clas- 
sics) blithely shows off the wicked humor 
and sophistication that have won him ın- 
ternational fame on the festival circuit. 
Law of Desire and the outrageous Matador 
were his previous hits. Women on the Verge, 
a much more accessible romp, plays like ап 
old Doris Day sex comedy recycled by a 
disciple of Buñuel and Fellini. Almo- 
dovars sympathetic main woman is Pepa 
(Carmen Maura), an actress who makes hi- 
lariously bad TV commercials and dubs 
the voices of better-known stars. Rejected 
by her inconstant lover, Ivan, she sets fire 
to her bed and contemplates suicide but in- 
stead uses her lethal potion—gazpacho 
spiked with lots of pills—to immobilize 
some troublesome house guests. The visi- 
tors include Ivars demented former mis- 
tress, who has murder in mind, and a 
frazzled friend in flight from her affair 
with a Shiite terrorist who's planning seri- 
ous mischief at the airport. These refu- 
gees from a macho man’s world are the 
women whose breakdowns provide Almo- 
dovar with material for an ebullient and 
saucy knockabout farce. ¥¥¥ 
e. 

Only diehard Charles Dickens fans will 
unqucstioningly pledge some six hours to. 
wallow in the two-part feature Little Dorrit 
(Cannon). Meticulously adapted and di- 
rected by Christine Edzard, its typical 
Dickensian melodrama with an edge of 
mordant satire—all about adversity, unre- 
quited love, fortunes lost and found and 


long-hidden family secrets. Diminutive 
discovery Sarah Pickering, who adequate- 
ly fills the mousy title role, is surrounded 
by a splendid company of actors who often 
make this marathon-length classic seem 
mercifully short. Alec Guinness as William 
Dorrit and Derek Jacobi as the kindly, 
dithering hero Arthur Clennam bring 
their usual virtuosity to a pair of bravura 
performances richly worth both the ume 
and the money spent. If you're drawn to 
such dusty, bookish treats, just lean back 
and treasure Little Dorrit, ¥¥¥ 
. 

Faye Dunaway, іп Burning Secret 
(Vestron), plays a Viennese belle whose 
hair and make-up appear flawless before 
she's ош of bed in the morning, It’s that 
sort of movie, a star vehicle for Ош 
and Klaus Maria Brandauer, both 


n high 
gear. He's a seriously ailing nobleman at an 
elegant Old World spa back in 1919, She's a 


passionate, repressed matron seeking 
treatment for her 12-year-old son, who 
begins to suspect he's being used as the 
couple's go-between. Adapted by writer-di- 
rector Andrew Birkin froma Stefan Zweig 
short story, Secret doesn’t exactly burn. But 
adeluxe, thoughtful period piece about 
loss of innocence—yes, again—with a 
striking debut by movie newcomer David 
Eberts as the pampered, asthmatic lad 
who grows up while becoming a reluctant 
accomplice to his mother's infidelity, 111% 
P 

Movies making fun of the Mafia are a 
major trend of the vear just ending. Writ- 
er-director Paul Morrissey's Spike of Ben- 
sonhurst (FilmDallas) ranks far below 
Married to the Mob or Things Change but 
still has its moments as a brash, cartoonish 
biography of a Brooklyn boxer named 
Spike Fumo (played with brio by handsome 
former model Sasha Mitchell). His dad's 
doing time, his moms a lesbian and Spike 
cheerfully throws fights whenever the fr 
. Small wonder he don't show no respect 


for the social codes of Bensonhurst, “How 
fuckin’ dare you talk to your fuckin’ moth- 
er like that?" scolds one advisor. Spike's 
problems multiply when he starts winning 


fights and impregnates two local bim- 
beues—one, the dors daughter (Maria 
Patillo), the other, a Puerto Rican moll 
(Talisa Soto, a beauty since recruited for 
the next James Bond epic). Spike exudes 
plenty of rude, crude energy to score as а 
bad movie with a cast of clowns (Ernest 
Borgnine, Anne DeSalvo and Sylvia Miles 
among them), generating more good 
cheap laughs than some better movies 
do. YY 


. 

The sizzling screen version of Talk Radio 
(Cineplex Odeon), a 1987 off-Broadway 
hit by performance artist Eric Bogosian, 
somewhat overplays its portrait of an 
abusive radio-talk-show host. You may 


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PLAYBOY 


think he’s a character out of classic Greek 
tragedy when his producer-mistress 
anxiously observes, "He's all alone ош 
there. . . . Hes going down in flames. 
Quibbles aside, under director Oliver 
Stone (of Platoon and Wall Street), Bogo- 
sian repeats the role he originated on 
stage, and his onslaught of invective is 


Y 


Going lo the Headly of the class. 
OFF CAMERA 


You've seen the face: Glenne Head- 
ly, a mainstay of the Chicago theater 
scene who has made big impressions 
in small parts in such movies as The 
Purple Rese of Cairo, Nadine and Pa- 
per House. The last, not yet released, 
she calls “a sort of Edward Gorey 
thriller. I was the only non-English 
person in it and found out they'd 
dubbed me over with a British wom- 
an. So 1 had to hop to London and 
redo the whole thing with an Eng- 
lish accent. Saved.” Now, at last, she 
hasa leading role in a major film op- 
posite two male superstars: Dirty 
Rotien Scoundrels, with Steve Maru 
and Michael Cainc, opening any day 


now. “They play two con artists on 
the Riviera. I'm the American wom- 
an they're conning, whom they erro- 
neously assume to be naive. Th. 
both sort of fall for her. Uh, I'm not 
supposed to tell too much.-Let's just 
say she teaches them something 
about peopl Between take 
Headly learned a bit about her co- 
stars and confides that funnyman 
Martin, nice as he was, isn't the guy 
to keep a girl in stitches. “Strangely 
enough, Steve's much the more seri 
ous of the two. Hed talk comedy 
with me, discuss what he wanted to 
do in a scene, even ask how I came 
up with certain stuff. Michael talked 
less about work, more about where 
he came from, his working-class 
roots. I love Cockney slang" We'd 
already been warned not to inquire 
about her relationship with another 
noted actor—her husband. Last fel- 
la who tried that was advised he was 
interviewing Miss Glenne Headh 
not Mrs. John Malkovich. So, we say, 
“Ats off to "Eadly” 


both riveting and brilliant. Не5 a Lenny 
Bruce-style master of insult called Barry 
Champlain, spewing venom on a Dallas- 
based late-night show thats about to go na- 
tional—maybe. Stone, who co-adapted the 
nade some key 
changes by combining it with details from 
a book about Alan Berg, the controversial 
Denver radio host who was murdered by 
rightwing extremists in 1984. The movie's 
flashbacks into Champlain origins add 
superfluous touches of soap opera to an 
otherwise mesmerizing vision of an Amer- 
ican landscape awash in racism and de- 
spair. While Bogosian's performance level 
sags a bit when he's off mike, Ellen Greene 
rides out the suds as his ex-wife, and 
there's fine backup by Alec Bald and 
John Pankow as a couple of media execs 
developing ulcers, plus a smashing cameo. 
by Michael Wincott as a freaky, doped-up 
studio guest. Little of the prime-time slick- 
ness of Broadcast News spoken here, but 
Talk Radio projects the hissing fascination 
of a snake pit. ¥¥¥ 


. 

Not many actors would refuse a call 
from Woody Allen. Which may explain 
why Gene Hackman, Blythe Danner, 
Sandy Dennis and Mia Farrow (well, Mia 
has Woody' private number) appear to be 
giving perfunctory command perform- 
ances in Another Woman (Orion). The most 
Bergmanesque and the least entertaining 
Allen movie since Stardust Memories, this 
diche-driven psychodrama stars Gena 
Rowlands as а bovkish 50ish lady whuse 
identity crisis is ignited when she rents a 
flat next to a shrink’s office—his patients” 
anguish, filtered through an air vent, gets 
her to thinking. Also got me to thinking 
that Another Woman is a one-note wh 


cept for Rowlands, 
mentary, unconvineing actors exercises on 
request: the husband's-best-friend-makes- 
a-pass scene, followed by wife-sees-hus- 
band-in-public-with-her-best-friend scene. 
Followed by, I'm afraid, an acute attack of 
déjà vu. Lets hope Allen has got all the 
angst out of his system for a while. ¥ 
. 

Freely adapted from a short story by 
Émile Zola, Manifesto (Cannon) plants a 
talented international cast in a mythical 
European village, where some inept rebels 
plan to ate a visiting monarch. Hol- 
Iywood's Eric (Mask) Stoltz plays a postman 
who's smitten by an ever-ready revolution- 
ary named Svetlana (Denmark's Camilla 
Söcberg), who, in turn, is smitten and se- 
duced by nearly every man she meets 
Manifesto's writer-director Dusan Makave- 
jev describes his films as being "like houses 
with many doors,” so abandon strict laws 
of logic, all ye who enter here, and you та 
have a pretty good time with the movie as a 
picturesque, erotic and zany period piece 
that doesn't waste a minute patching up 
holes in its plot. ¥¥ 


MOVIE SCORE CARD 


capsule close-ups of current films 
by bruce williamson 


The Accused (See review) Legal after 
math of a barroom gang rape. ¥¥¥ 
Alien Nation (Listed only) James Саап 
an L.A. cop, Mandy Patinkin his engag- 
ing extraterrestrial side-kick ¥ 
Another Woman (See review) Woody 
in his Bergmanesque mode. Y 
Bat 21 (Reviewed 12/88) On the lam in 
Vietnam with Gene Hackman. viv 
The Beast (Listed. 12/88) Surprisingly 
tough, suspenseful drama about stalk- 
ing a Soviet tank in Afghanistan. жу 
Burning Secret (See review) Faye meets 
Klaus for an old-fashioned liaison. ¥¥⁄2 
Criminel Law (Sec review) Legal cagle 
Gary Oldman brought to earth by psy- 
cho client Kevin Bacon. viv 
Crossing Delencey (11/55) Jewish princess 
Amy Irving meets her match in pickle 
peddler Peter Riegert vum 
Dead Ringers (12/88) Jeremy Irons 
as twin gynecologists in David Cro- 
nenberg's unsettling horror story. ¥¥¥% 
Gorillas in the Mist (11/38) Going ape 
with Sigourney Weaver. vu 
Hotel Terminus: The Life and Times of Klaus 


Barbie (12/88) Brisling documen- 
tary about the Butcher of n. IIA 
Imagine: John Lennon (11/88) More fond, 
engrossing Beatlemania. Wy 


The Last Temptation of Christ (Listed 
11/88) Pretty bland religiosity despite 
what those funda: 
tittle Dorrit (See review) Guinr 
Jacobi great; what the Dickens 
Madame Sousatıka (19/88) Human com- 
edy keyed up by Shirley MacLaine. ¥¥¥ 
Manifesto (See review) Randy rebels, ¥¥ 
Mystic Pizza (12/88) Three some 
young women go fora bite of life. ¥¥¥ 
Out Cold (11/88) Lithgow and Garr try- 
ing to conceal a couple of corpses. ¥¥¥ 
Patty Hearst (10/88) Strikingly played 
by Natasha Richardson, the abducted 
heiress lets it all hang out WA 
Punchline (12/88) Tom Hanks brilliant, 
indeed, but Sally Field plays stand-up 
comedy like па Кас on uppers. аж 
Running on Empty (10/88) Update on the 
family life of some Sixt 
tivi 


icntalists sa! 


s antiwar ac- 
lc. УУУУ 
view) Anoth- 


ts with no place to 
Spike of Bensonhurst (Sec 
er swipe at the Mafia, with slapstick. ¥¥ 
Talk Rodio (See review) A little high. 


pitched, but stay tuned. wy 
Things Change (12/88) Mamets Mob 
comedy stars odd couple Don Ameche 
and Joe Mantegna. wu 
Women on the Verge of a Nervous Break- 
down (See review) Sprightly sex farce 
from Spain, of all places. ‚Ole! ¥¥¥ 


YYYYY Outstanding 
¥¥¥ Don't miss ¥¥ Worth a look 
¥¥¥ Good show ¥ Forget it 


007 FANS AND PLAYBOY 
READERS SHARE A SPECIAL 
KIND OF BOND... 


JAMES 
BOND. 


The James Bond Collection—starring the 
Best Supporting Actor, Oscar® winner Sean 
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VIDEO 


BRUCE ON VIDEO 
our movie critic goes to the tape 

"If at first you succeed, remake it” is a max- 
im for movie moguls secking to milk a 
megahit for all йз worth—and more. 
How's a home viewer to know which ve 
sion of a frequently filmed classic is cer- 
tifiably best? Ask us, Here’s a holiday check 
list of some hardy perennials: 

A Christmas Carol: Alastair Sim is the 


definitive Scrooge in the superb 1951 
Albert 


British version of Dickens’ tale. 
Finney’ pretty good, too, in the 1 
sical Scrooge. Yes, Virginia, next year we'll 
probably see Bill Murray on tape in his 
brand-new, thoroughly modern Scrooged. 
Greystoke: The Legend of Torzan, Lord of the 
Apes: As sheer spectacle, Hugh (Chariots of 
Fire) Hudson's 1984 epic outshines the nos- 
talgic 1932 Tarzan, the Ape Man and sever- 
al dozen follow-ups. Another bonus: the 
late Ralph Richardson's last great screen 
performance. 

The Gospel According to St. Matthew: If you 
can find the rare video tape of Pasolini 
1966 Italian gem, go for it. Or try Jesus of 
Nazareth, Zeihrellis star-studded, overlong 
but solid 1977 miniseries, which beats Mar- 
tin Scorsese's current, controversial Last 
Temptation of Christ. Booby prize: the 1961 
King of Kings, with Jeffrey Hunter (memo- 
rably mocked as / Was a Teenaged Jesus). 
The Phantom of the Opera: Lon Chaney's 
eerie, atmospheric 1925 silent outspooks 
all Phantom talkies (four, induding Brian 
De Palmas rockin Phantom of the Paradise) 


WANT TO LAUGH 
gets loi 


Beetlejuice (Topper-like story with spooky Eighties едо 
Keaton and special FX vie for top honors); Biloxi Blues (Si 
moris Brighton Beach kid grows up, goes to boot comp, 
; Rockin’ Rennie (omusingly edited vid scrop- 
book; perfect viewing os Reogan boogies out of office). 


ШЕШЕ 


Best Oh-Shut-Up Video: Jimmy Swaggart 8 the 
Crusade Team; Best Oh-Grow-Up Video: / Taw а 
Putty Tat, Best Annette-and-Frankie-in-Hell 


Video: Geek Maggot Bingo; Worst Video-Bio 


Title: Hitler: A Career; Silliest Video Couple: 
Scooby and Scrappy-Doo; Shortest-lived Video: 
John Paul I; The Smiling Pope (26 minutes); 
Best Special-Interest-Group Video: Gay Athe- 
ists; Best We'd-Rather-Not-Know Video: Clay in 
a Special Way; Best It's-a-Living Video: Have 
Fun with Frosting. 


and is closest in spirit to Andrew Lloyd 
Webber’s current musical smash on stage. 
A Star Is Born: It's a draw between the 1937 
drama about Tinseltown success, with 
Janet Gaynor and Fredric March in early 
Technicolor, and the brilliant Judy Gar- 
land—James Mason musical version of 
4. Forget the Streisand-Kristofferson 
effort (1976), a dud except for a fine con- 
cert sequence. 


VIDEOSYNCRASIES 

Fast Cars & Beautiful Women: Seminude 
ladies writhe to pulsating rock music 
around Icrraris, Porsches and Dc Lorcans. 
Perfect for those who like that sort of 
thing, even though the cars’ chassis beat 
the ladies’ by a bumper (Simitar). 

Frasier the Sensuous Lion: outed as “а 


disturbi 
FEELING DECADENT 


TA 
FEELING SEASONAL | 
, 


The Night Porter (Charlotte Rampling in postwor Vienn 
ond erotic); And God Created Woman (Va 


family comedy about a sexually active lion 
at Lion Country Safari who uses mental 
telepathy to communicate with his keep- 
er.” A live-action made-for-TV movie you 
may have missed: call the kids, warn the 
neighbors (Prism). 


ШИШ 


For someone who has 

her own production 

company and syndi- 

cated newspaper 

column, multimedia 

maverick Linda Eller- 

bee is a relative late 

bloomer in the video 

department, having 
got her first VER only three years ago. Still, she 
has already managed to develop characteristic 
home-video tastes. “The common denominator 
of my video purchases is that | can watch them. 
ad infinitum and love them every time: Apoca- 
Туре Now, Thats Entertainment, The Big Easy. 1 
rent trash musicals of the Fifties the way some 
women read trash romances and eat bonbons: 
Calamity Jane, The Seven Little Мус, anything 
with Gene Nelson or Mitzi Gaynor. If I'm having a 
mental-health day and not getting out of bed, 
its Singin’ in the Rain; if | need a good cry, 
please bring me The Way We Were, When my 
boyfriend gets to choose, we watch spy movies, 
war movies, Dirty Harry stuff; with my kids, it's 
things | never would have rented myself but 
thoroughly enjoyed. Like, I've seen at least two 
of the Police Academy movies. Yep, really. Two.” 
Are there any tapes that Linda wont watch? 
“Yes. Elvis Presley movies, martial-arts films 
and any beach movie with Sandra Dee. You have 
to be from my era to understand the Sandra Dee 
problem.” And so it goes. БЕТІЛТІ 


THE HARDWARE CORNER 
Nice Noise News: VCRs аге sounding 
better all the time. Akais VS-A77U-B Hi- 
Fi model not only has a built-in ten-watt- 
per-channel amplifier but also features 
Dolby Surround Sound decoding for the- 
aterlike racket in your living room 

Heady Stuff: Matsushita has entered the 
personal-video market in Japan with a 
three-pound Hi-Fi Super VHS-C VCR/col- 
or LGD package that offers an interesting 
optional accessory: a minicamera mounted 
опа headband. Look for it in the States lat- 
er this year under the Panasonic label 
Playback Paradise: Chinons new 
camcorder—the E, 7. Movie/Color Vi 
model (CV-T65)—not only comes with a 
full-color one-inch display іп its view 
finder but also has a minispeaker within 
earshot, so you'll never again have to play 
back silent movies. 


HS 


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no longer merely just a song The science of sound 
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like the Technics Six-Disc CD Changer. 

This remarkable changer not only allows you to 
program up to six discs, but also lets you play any track 
from any disc in any order you like, for hours on end. 
Which means you can hear a little rock followed by 
a little Rachmaninoff. Or go to Motown, Mozart, then 
Mose Allison. 

Naturally, a CD player like this has all the features 
you'd expect from Technics. But it also has something 
you don't expect. The same kind of thinking that goes 
into some of the most sophisticated CD players in the 
world. Our professional series. Things like quadruple 
oversampling for incredibly accurate sound. A high 
resolution laser pickup. A floating suspension that can 
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© 1988 Schueliglin А Somerset Co . New York, NY, Blended Scotch Whisky 43 а. Alc/Vol{88 89) 


BOOKS 


By DIGBY DIEHL 


1F YOU CARE enough to give the very best 
this holiday season, be prepared to pay for 
it. The culturally suave are giving copies of 
Audubon’s Birds of America (Abbeville), with 
more than 1100 life-size birds peering out 
of those classic engravings, for a mere 
$22,000 per copy. 

Even if your accountant advises giving 
less, there’s still plenty to choose from on 
Santa's bookshelves. Take the high road 
and consider Eugene O'Neill—Complete 
Plays (Library of America), published in a 
100th-anniversary boxed set for a some- 
what more modest 5100. Long Days Jour- 
ney into Night, The Iceman Cometh and 48 
other works at the heart of American the- 
ater are carefully preserved on acid-free 
paper in three volumes. For sheer intellec- 
tual snobbery, however, you can't beat the 
comically pretentious The гу of Cul- 
tural Literacy (Houghton Mifflin), which 
tells us “what every American needs to 
know.” Thanks a lot. 

I prefer to learn from a poet such as 
Heathcote Williams, who has written a glo- 
rious epic poem called Whale Nation (Har- 
mony), surely the most eloquent cetacean 
tribute since Moby Dick. Like Melville, 
Williams provides copious annotation 
about whaling lore and ocean studies. His 
book is also beautifully illustrated but not 
quite as lavishly as Jacques Cousteau: Whales 
(Abrams), which makes a perfect compan- 
ion volume. Its 283 illustrations illuminate 
a comprehensive text by Cousteau and 
Yves Paccalet on every aspect of these 
huge, gentle creatures (including the 
cetacean Kama Sutra). Nature lovers will 
also want to see “In Wildness Is the Preserva- 
tion of the World” (Sierra Club). Seventy-two 
color photographs of the New England 
landscape are interwoven with selections. 
from the 19th Century journals of Henry 
David Thoreau to create a fresh celebra- 
tion of the natural world. 

Some of the most magnificent creations 
of the man-made world are brought to life 
in The Art of Florence (Abbeville), a two-vol- 
ume exploration of that city-wide museum. 
of the Renaissance. A staggering 1555 
illustrations take us through the Uffizi 
galleries, the Medici chapels and other 


landmarks to provide perspectives on Bot- 
ticelli, Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, 
Raphael, Giotto and hundreds of other 


retrospective npo 
ice with which Gauguin blended 
Impressionist techniques and Tahitian 
themes is explored in accompanying schol- 
arly essays. 

In his introduction, Nat Hentoff calls 
Jazz Giants (Billboard) “а photo microcosm 
of living jazz history" К. Abé has compiled 


Holiday books: the alpha and omega. 


A shelfful of gift 
bocks to delight the 
eyes as well as ihe mind. 


this collection of expressive and individu- 
istic camera portraits of jazz musicians 
dating from 1940 to the present. It is a re- 
markably vivid picture retrospective, but it 
would be a better microhistory if someone 
had bothered to provide a little text. Satch- 
mo (Doubleday), a pictorial biography of 
Louis Armstrong, has no such trouble. 
Jazz critic Gary Giddins provides а 
thoughtful analysis of Armstrong's far- 
reaching social and musical impact. He re- 
minds us that "Pops" was a gutsy civil 
rights pioneer as well as a great musician. 
Subtitled “Pickers, Slickers, Cheatin’ 
Hearts & Superstars,” Country: The Music 
and the Musicians (Abbeville) is a colorful 
yolume that pays tribute to those singers, 
from Bob Wills to Dolly Parton, who hi 
forged an authentic Southern folk-mu 
tradition. With more than 700 photo- 
graphs from the Country Music Founda- 
tion archives in Nashville, this is a lively 
history of the hillbilly sound. 

The care mage of John Lennon 
presented in Imagine (Ma lan), written 
and edited by Andrew Solt and Sam Egan, 
is so diametrically opposed to the demonic 
painted by Albert Goldman i 
controversial biography The Lives of John 
Lennon that it sible to reconcile the 
two. Imagine is a fan's delight, filled with 
original pictures culled from a purported 
two boxcars of material for the movie of 
the same title. As a sort of ultimate eulogy, 
it visually stimulates us to remember a 
time when the music was good. 

It may sound like one of those self-con- 


tradictory phrases (military music, intelli- 
gent life on earth, adult movies . . 

'k ‘n’ Roll Cuisine (Billboard), by Rol 
Mesurier and Peggy Sue Honey man-Scott, 
turns out to be a funny book with many 
strange recipes from such unlikely chefs as 
Mick Jagger, Егіс Clapton, Debbie Harry, 
Phil Collins and Sting. Then again, we're 
hardly talking haute cuisine, just Julian 
Lennons Chicken-Cinnamon Soup or 
Stevie Nickss Fleetwood Mac Fiesta Dip ог 
Cher's Boyfriend-Approved Macaroni Sal- 
ad. Come to think of it, 1 guess I'd eat any- 
thing Cher cooked. 

Inevitably, there are large picture books 
about sports, and former Sports Illustrated 
photographer Walter looss, Jr, creates 
some of the best. His new collection of 
spectacular action shots and revealing por- 
traits—Sports People (Abranıs)—is en- 
iched by that rarity of the genre, an 
intelligent text. Writer-broadcaster Frank 
Deford provides a smart commentary that 
weaves continuity through this colorful but 
disparate collection of photographs. On 
the other hand, The Babe: A Life in Pictures 
(Ticknor & Fields), by Lawrence 8. Ritter 
and Mark Rucker, is first and foremost a 
solid biography of George Herman “Babe” 
Ruth, the greatest baseball player ever to 


photographic record of his career (more 
than 


300 black-and-white photographs) is 


In hisintroduction, Walter J. Boyne calls 
the automobile “the ultimate mechanical 
love object,” and then proceeds to coo, са- 
ress and cuddle up to beautiful cars for the 
next 240 pages of Power Behind the Wheel 
(Stewart, Tabori & Chang), subtitled “Cre- 
ativity and the Evolution of the Automo- 
bile.” TI an erotic album, with close-up. 
shots of sexy tail fins and intimate angles 
оп sensuous fenders that would arouse all 
but the most dedicated pedest Person- 
ally, I fell in love with a hot red 1964 Ford 
Mustang Coupe, and I think she likes old- 
er men. Of course, a Freudian analyst will 
tell you that the Jaguar XK-E convertible is 
the most blatant sex symbol on wheels— 
does look like a good cigar 
istory of a Classic Marque (Orion), 
by Philip Porter, docs not indulge in this 
sort of levity in its handsome pictorial re- 
view of those great British chariots from 


detailed unders 
side the elegant Ja 
Count on Stephen King to come up with 
the weirdest gift book of the year: Night- 
mares in the Sky (Viking) is a gallery of gar- 
goyles and architectural grotesques by 
avant-garde photographer Í-stop Fitzger- 
ald. These distorted faces hanging off the 
corners of buildings are even uglier in a 

four-color centerfold of close-ups. 
Many of the outstanding gift books of 
this season don't fall into any of the usual 
(concluded on page 259) 


38 


CHARLES M. YOUNG 


or Att the boxed-set anthologies to come 
after the huge success of Егіс Clapton's, 
¡Viva Santana! (Columbia) is one of the 
most useful and welcome. A perennial fave 
in the Playboy Music Poll, Carlos Santana 
has one of those guitar styles you recog- 
nize instantly: highly melodic, informed 
by the blues, unafraid of rock, inclusive of 
many Third World sounds and inspired by 
an admirable sense of humanity. Somehow, 
the listener feels welcome with Santana, 
whereas another musician of equal virtu- 
osity might inspire intimidation. That said, 
the band Santana was an uneven affair. I 
always liked it least when someone was try- 
ing to sing MO.R., and I always liked it 
best when they were kicking ass on such 
songs as Everybodys Everything, which 
makes my top-ten adrenaline list. So I took 
it as a terrific omen that a kick-ass-to-the- 
max live version of Everybodys Everything 
opens Viva, No one can maintain that level 
of intensity, but the 29 other songs includ- 
ed here do seem to have been selected and 
mixed with the raucous rock fan in mind. 
If that’s you, t a monstrous bang for 
the buck. 

Nothing’s Shocking (Warner Bros.), by 
Jane’s Addiction, has already been banned 
hy several record-store chains that fear the 
wrath of social conservatives coming down 
on their shopping malls. The cover zs mild- 
ly shocking: naked female Siamese twins 
with their hair on fire. Be not put off, all ye 
who are not the РМ.К.С. Drive the extra 
mile to a record store with balls. Buy Jane's 
Addiction. These guys are wonderful. 
They are also difficult to describe, being 
far too original for a label such as “metal,” 
where the conventions are so well estab- 
lished; they play as hard as anyone and as 
sofi. This is called dynamics. It makes for 
great symphonies, and it makes for great 
rock bands. 


ROBERT CHRISTGAU 


The news that rap is where pop's cre- 
ative action is these days wont thrill the 
average rock-and-roll fan, because rap 
gets along fine without him. Targeting a 
loyal but discriminating audience of young 
black men, the best rap offers few sops 10 
outsiders who aren't attuned to its musical 
language. Its lyrics are no longer dominat- 
ed by sex-and-money boasts so unlikely 
they're unthreatening—these days, mili- 
tant black pride is a commonplace if not а 
commercial necessity. The prime example 
is Public Enemy's It Takes a Nation of Mil- 
lions to Hold Us Back (reviewed here by 
Nelson George in November), a major hit 
despite (or because of?) а beat harder than 
that of the toughest punk or funk and a 
dense mix whose atonalities recall the most 


Santana lives! 


Santana retrospective, 
plus the new folkies: 
Springsteen, U2, Little Richard, et al. 


abrasive harmolodic jazz. 

Public Enemy's members aren't as hos 
tile to white people on record as they are in 
interviews, but even a well-meaning Euro- 
American progressive such as yours truly 
is likely to find their music brilliantly pain- 
ful and their ideology hurtful. So I'm 
pleased to note equally militant but more 
humanistic raps on lesser albums 1 сап 
nevertheless recommend: Gettovetts’ Bat- 
tle Cail on Missionaries Moving (Island), 
Afrika Bambaataa and Familys World 
Racial War on The tight (Capitol) and 
Stetsasonic’s Central America— and South 
inspired Freedom or Death on In Full 
Gear (Tommy Boy). 


NELSON GEORGE 


Fishbone is a self-consciously freaking 
Los Angeles-bascd black-ska-rock-funk 
band that, with its first two albums, has 
built a devoted audience of skinheads and 
avant-garde blacks. Outside of college ra- 
dio, Fishbone has received minimal 
play, but this Sixties band's nonconformity 
and T-funk-meets-Black-Flag stage show 
has generated a strong word-of-mouth 
buzz in the alternative-music community. 
Truth and Soul (Columbia) contains no com- 
mercial calculation but may yet bring Fish- 
bone closer to the mainstream. The band 
still deals in off-color subjects (such as 
child abuse on the song Ma and Pa), but 
old-fashioned melodic songs, once шеге 
resting places between careening punk 


jams, now dominate its music. The hyp- 
notic Pouring Rain and the bouncy Mighty 
Long Way are typical of Fishbone's surpris- 
ing craftsmanship. А rock-oriented re- 
make of Curtis Mayfield's classic Freddie's 
Dead is right on time, mixing reverence 
for the original with Fishbone's distinctive 
approach. 


DAVE MARSH 


Even іп a time of country-music resur- 
gence, there are half a dozen reasons why 
Dwight Yoakam is exceptional. He has a 
far better voice than Steve Earle and a 
more telling car for a song than Randy 
Travis. His band, led by producer-guitarist 
Pete Anderson, is rock solid on everything 
from the honky-tonk ballad One More 
Name to the hillbilly-norteño Streets of Bak- 
ersfield. And there are those among us who 
will forgive Yoakam a great deal simply be- 
cause, with Bakersfield, he has brought the 
great Buck Owens back to records for the 
first time in a decade. 

It's a good thing that Yoakam inclines us 
toward forgiveness, too, because his artis- 
tic persona encompasses a multitude of 
sins. For instance, while it's commendable 


GUEST SHOT 


векове THE likes of Sade or Anita 
Baker, popljazR&B vocalist Angela 
Bofill was tassing out the rules of pop 
singing -Her ninth LP, “Intuition,” 
continues the untradilional tradition. 
Toni Childs is a new rule breaker on 
the scene; Bofill was curious about 
Childs debut album, “Union.” 

“Joni was compared to me in one 
review—now that I've heard her, 1 
couldnt be more flattered. What in- 
dividuality! Her voice is a unique 
combination of richness with a hard- 
driving R&B edge. The time is right 
for such individuality—we've gotten 
beyond the sameness of the singing 
from the disco era. 5 is also a 
good songwriter. Her lyrics are 
bona fide poctry—you can read 
them as such right off the record 
jacket. Musically, she takes a multi- 
tude of cultural influences and 
makes them her own. Trust me— 
Toni Childs is deep. 


“A FASCINATING POLITICALTOUR 
OF THE 19605” 


You may now include 
Remembering America 
in your choice of 


ANY 4, ALL FOR 2 


You simply agree 10 buy 4 books during the next 2 years. 


A VOICE FROM THE SIXTIES 


The '60 started with hope. 

With a young, enthusiastic John Ken- 
nedy at the helm, America took hold of a 
dear vision of what it could be. 

Richard Goodwin was there. A mem- 
ber of Kennedys senate staff, he followed 
Kennedy to the White House where as 
advisor, confidant, qa: counsel, and p 

ir- jJ 


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speech writer, he helped create the stir- 
ring oratory that galvanized the nation 
and the world. 

Remembering America is the dramatic 
chronicle of Goodwin's political odyssey 
—from the heady Kennedy years 
through the turbulent Johnson adminis- 
tration, where he originated the Great 
Society concept, to Sig McCarthy's 
antiwar campaign. and, ultimately, to 
Robert Kennedys 1968 presidential cam- 
paign, the last great crusade of the 605. 

Eloquent and impassioned, Goodwin evokes the spirit and emotion of 
that time, not only taking us back, but, at the same tine, imploring us to 
look forward, With its opt ic belief in the possibilities of the Future, 
Remembering America isa book of hope and inspiration for our times 


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39 


40 


FAST TRACKS 


OCK 


Tarra lena les lla | 


METER 


Young 


Fishbane | 
Truth and Soul 


B Poe pe 


Folkways: A Vi: en] 
Shared А- 


ala lo ls 


It Takes o Nation 
of Millions to 
Hold Us Back A 


Bruce Springsteen 
Chimes of Freedom B— 


Dwight Yoakam 
Buenos Noches from 


Lonely Room B+ 


| 
Public Enemy | 
| 


ler la 


B+ 


MONEY, THAT'S WHAT 1 WANT DEPARTMENT: 
Only in the Reagan Eighties could a 
band called the VPs have a hit LP called 
Annual Report, which includes such 
stant classics as Insider Tradin and 
Stockbroker on the Line (to the tune of 
Love Ройоп #9). Тһе guys perform in 
pinstripe suits and shades and, like all 
rock musicians, have day gigs—on 
Madison Avenue and Wall Street, 
less! Here's the address for all you 
M.B.A.s: 67 West 69th Street, Suite ІС, 
New York 10023. 

REELING AND ROCKING: We hear that the 
London Guitor Speak concert was filmed 
for eventual release. The musicians 
included Leslie West, Ronnie Montrose, 
Robbie Krieger, Rick Derringer and Alvin 
Lee. ..... Toni Basil will star in Rockula. . .. 
Carly Simon has written the theme song 
and co-written the score for Mike 
Nichols movie Working Girl. Carly will 
have a studio album out this со 
Dave Stewart is working on the music lor 
the film Rooftops, with Etta James doing 
some of the singin Glenn Frey's 
song I Did It for Your Love is being used 
in the movie An American Murder. . . . 
Look for Sting in Sandino, a film about 
the Fifties founder of the Sandinastas. 

NEWSBREAKS: Harry Nilsson's company 
‘Tail-Feather Productions is financing a 
documentary on the Doobie Brothers for 
cable TV—to be released, along with 
the LP, any day пом... . Just when you 
thought it was safe to go out: The Mon- 
sters of Rock will try a tour again next 
summer, confining it to a limited num- 
ber of major cities. . . . Егіс Burdon will 
write a book about his old friend Jimi 
Hendrix. . . . If Paul Newmon can make 
salad dressing, Jimmy Buffett can mar- 
ket a line of Caribbean foods and 
sauces. Jimmy's profits will go to his 
foundation, which aids environmental 


causes in Florida. . . . Nile Rodgers is 
working on a rock-oriented game show 
for TV syndication. . . . Look for a Dead 
and Dylan live album on CD. . . . All of 
George Michael's merchandise is selling 
like hot cakes at his concerts; and since 
he designed it all himself, he's laughing 
all the way to the bank. . . . Among 
's: The success of the Califor- 
Raisins means that Buddy Miles has 
an album ready and a tour in the 
. . Cyndi Laupers next LP will be 
out this month. __ . Seventy-three-year- 
old blu ixon is working on 
his autobiography, I Am the Blues, to be 
published in 1989, as well as another 
album, Hidden Charms, produced by 
T-Bone Burnett. . . . Maria McKee has left 
Lone Justice and is working on a solo al- 
bum. Madonna is i 
studio again. . . . The С 
оп CBS this year and will be broadcast 
from Los Angel . The Doors were 
picked as L.A.s greatest rock band in 
an informal survey of 34 industry heav- 
ies by the Los Angeles Times. The Beach 
Boys placed second, followed by the Ea- 
gles. ... Also according to the Los Ange 
les Times and Baltimore's Evening Sun, 
the worst songs of the Seventies include 
Feelings, You Light Up My Life, The Can- 
dy Man and Youre Having My Baby, 
which appeared independently on both 
newspapers’ shit lists. . . . Two of Eddie 
Murphy's brothers have released a rap 
album and Don Johnson's latest record is 
out. Makes you wonder how the great 
unknown musicians out there will ever 
get heard. .. . And if you agree with Roy 
Charles that America the Beautiful would 
make a beuer national anthem than the 
onc we have, he wants you to let him 
know at 8730 Sunset Boulevard, Sixth 
Floor, Los Angeles 90069. Really, he 
doe — BARBARA NELLIS 


that his third album, Buenos Noches from a 
Lonely Room (Reprise), features a five-song 
suite on side one that is something like a 
neo-honky-tonk answer to Tommy, it isn't SO 
swell that the theme of each of these songs 
is female treachery and that the singer 
solves his problems by threatcning murder 
or actually committing it. Blaming women 
for all your woes is an old tradition in 
country rock, but it reflects a crudity and 
emotional shallowness that infect too much 
of Yoakams allegedly purist music 

Those continual boasts of purism are 
Yoakam's other problem. Even though his 
best moves (such as the haunting One More 
Name) are sometimes “pure countr 
equal number are more typically Ате 
can: bastard lgamations of country, 
blues, rock-a-billy and even Mexican ele- 
nents. One result is Bakersfield, the finest 
recording he has ever made, precisely be- 
cause of its eclectic style. From anybody 
else, such diversity would be praiseworthy. 
But for Yoakam, its just a way of damning 
himself as a hypocrite. 


VIC GARBARINI 


Folkways: A Vision Shored/A Tribute to 
Woody Guthrie and Leadbelly (Columbia 
just that—more than a dozen contempo- 
тагу artists taking the social awareness and 
personal insights of their music and bring- 
ing them into the current idiom with 
tartling clarity and emotional resonance. 
Although the proceeds fro: 
will go toward preserving the histo 
Folkways labels catalog via the Sm 
sonian, this is no dry and dutiful archivists 
collection. Such artists as Bruce Spring- 
steen, John Cougar Mellencamp and U2 
completely inhabit these songs, demon- 
strating their relevance and power for our 
own generation, as well as creating some 
of the most compelling and entertaining 
music of the decade. Standouts include 
Mellencamp’s wonderfully wry, dobro- and 
fiddle-driven reading of Do Re Mi and 
Springsteen's hauntingly empathetic takes 
on 1 Ain't Gol No Home and Vigilante Man, 
Dylan's reading of Pretty Boy Floyd is a re- 
assuringly solid, if unspectacular, return 
to his roots. U2's Jesus Christ, on the other 
hand, is a simply astonishing explosion of 
joy and redemptive ecstasy—the sound of 
nd moving through the С 
into the К Little 
delirious romp with 
through Rock Island Line shows he can still 
strut his stuff, while Sweet Honey in the 
Rocks a cappella versions of Sylvie and 
Gray Goose are richly satisfying. Probably 
the most controversial ck is Br 
Wilson’ reading of Good Night, Irene. The 
ex-Beach Boy may be among the walking 
wounded, but this disturbing yet beautiful 
performance never loses touch with the 
basic dignity of the individual or with the 
hope that burns at the heart of hun 
perience. That hope is the essence of ev 
song on this masterwork 


a moody 


е 


n! 


ш Advertising Section 


~ A MODERN DAY TRADITION... 
On January 22nd, 1989,two football teams will face oft 
on the turt-of-Jóe-Robbie Stadium in Miami, Florida. 
The eveot/Will mark the twenty-third time in just as 
many years-in which a gang of superhumans—each 
one poised to founce—has gone head to head on a 
«sporting battlefield with a team of equally daunt- 
ing ability. | 
‚The game will be called the Super Bowl and, on that 
day, 70,009 lucky stadium spectators will have the 
opportunity lo Witness the combat firsthand. Mean- 
while; around the globe, millions of people will watch E 
thé game on television. Are they any less fortunate, | (( 
these home viewers, than those who will actually be 3 
breathing in tke Mrami night air? Nope. In fact, couch 
potato football fans nationwide can actually bring all . <<; 
the excitement of Joe Robbie Stadium straight to their 
home town—all that’s needed is a tittle know-how and 
a lot of Super Bowl spirit. Wik 


Here, then, is the definitive playbdük on how to сар- 
ture all the thrills and spills of Super Sunday— 
Playboy's Super Bow! Party Planner! 


\ e Ae 


bog 


Special Advertising Section 


TO EACH HIS OWN 


Just as no two Super Bowls are identical, 
neither are Super Bowl parties. A Super 
Sunday celebration can be anything from an 
informal gathering around the tube to а no- 
holds-barred blowout at the local bar. The 
choice is up to you! 


BUDGET BASH—Rec Room Royale: Just 
because you can't go to Joe Robbie Stadium 
doesn't mean you can't bring the stadium to your 
home. Start by decorating the walls of your rec 
room with football paraphernalia—pennants 
work nicely, so do posters and home team 
banners. Then exercise your artistic talents and 
throw in a few posterboard recreations of cheer- 
ing fans—a hollering dad here, a waving kid 
there, perhaps a couple of beer hawkers. Before 
Jong. you'll have the perfect backdrop for your 
next creation: your party playing field. Along one 
side of the room, place a buffet table stocked 
with classic stadium eats—from just-popped 
Popcorn to foot-long hoagies to the best in 
peanuts and pretzels; along the other side of the 
room, assemble your Super Bowl bar. Now that 
you've made your “sidelines,” simply set up а 
couple of benches for your guests in one “end 
zone" of the room and a large-screen TV in the 
other, and your rec room reconstruction will be 
complete. Who said pretending isn't as much fun 
as being there? (Alternate Budget Bash locales. 
Community center, high schoo! gym, local fire- 
house) 


SUNDAY CLASSIC—The Tailgater: You may have 
been to tailgate parties outside your home team 
stadium before, but not to а parking lot blowout 
like the one you can whip up for Super Bowl 
Sunday. A few days before the game, cruise the 
neighborhood to find yourself the perfect party 
parking lot, one open to the public but not too 
crowded on weekends—the local high school, 
for instance. Enlist the help of friends who own 
automobiles with ample trunk space—cars with 


hatchbacks work best. On the day of the game, 
several hours before kick-off, have the cars meet 
in the selected parking lot and line up side by 
side. When the guests arrive with the party 
goods, load up the trunks! One trunk canbe your 
kitchen/pantry on wheels—complete with mini- 
hibachi or barbecue grill; another trunk can serve 
as your portable bar; one trunk can hold folding 


chairs, footballs and Frisbees, etc. Then light up 
your fire, throw on the burgers, turn up the car 
radios (pre-game show) and you're as good as 
outside Robbie Stadium. And what's the best 
thing about your miles-irom-Miami tailgate 
party? Тһеге 5 no Super Bow! traffic on the way 
home! (Alternate Sunday Classic locales: Town 
Hall parking facility, scenic roadside parking 
areas, home stadium parking lot—if available) 


ON-THE-LAWN SPECIAL—Super-Bar-B-Q-Bowl: 
Here's an alternative to the parking lot party: a 
summer barbecue! Okay, its January—that 
doesn't mean you can't throw a barbecue bash 
like the ones they're throwing down on Miami 
Beach. First, find a friend who has an outdoor 
patio hes willing to designate as Super Bowl 
Party Central. Next, set about the imaginative. 
task of creating Miami Beach in his backyard: 
perhaps you can plant a couple of luau torches 
around the perimeter of the lawn; maybe you'll 
set out a few chaise lounges (with blankets, of 
course); you might even want to haul out the. 
kiddies' swimming pool and stock it with beer on. 
ice. The focal point of the setting will be the patio. 
itself, at the center of which you'll have your 
buffet table, barbecue grill and television set. 
(Wire your television through your home stereo 
for that extra dimension of sound.) Once the grill 
is going and the game is underway, you'll forget 
it's winter altogether—but it's a good idea to set 
up an extra TV inside for those who'd rather not 
brave the January weather. (Alternate On-the- 
Lawn locales: Local park, neighborhood sports 
field, nearby campgrounds) 


CCC ee eee 225222222224 OK OK OK KOK OK OK OK OK OK KX | 


PLAYBOY PRESENTS 


KKKKKKKNKKKKKKK 


"PARTY PLANNER 


ON-THE-TOWN EXTRAVAGANZA—Sports Bar 
Supreme: If you don't have a Sports Bar in your 
neighborhood, it's time for you to create one— 
for Super Bowl day, at least. A few weeks before 
the big game, shop around town for the perfect 
‘Super Bowl tavern—one with classic pub ambi- 
ance and just a touch of privacy. Tell the bar 
manager that you and your friends want to rent 


E 


an area ofthe bar for your party, preferably a side 
or back room. See if you can arrange for a 
personal gaslı-bar lu be sel up in Ural area, and 
also ask if bar policy allows guests to bring 
refreshments such as pizza and cold cuts (if you 
offer to share the goodies with the manager, he'll 
probably let you slide). Then you can come up 
with your bar settings—napkins and plates in 
Super Bowl team colors; drink coasters embla- 
zoned with the team helmets, scorecards at 
every seat. Finally, make sure a couple of your 
partiers bring along portable television sets, 
which you'll set up at various points around the 
table. With the TVs blaring, the guests cheering 
and the beer flowing, you'll have created your 
town’s best sports bar where there never was 
one to begin with! (Alternate On-the-Town 
locales: Theme restaurant, neighborhood night- 
club, local pool parlor) 


BUD LIGHTS GUIDE TO FOOTBALL 


Special Advertising Section 


HALF-TIME FUN 


a few ways that you can give the Miami con- 
tingent a run for its half-time money 


1. The Backyard Old Fashioned 

When it comes to the half-time stretch, the 
universal choice of Super Bowl viewers is the 
backyard, choose-up touch football game. If you 
want to hold a classic example of this scrappy 
contest, keep a few things in mind: 

— Draw up the teams beforehand so you can 
jump right into the game the moment the Super 
Bowl ref fires the half-time gun. 

—Remember, not everyone can play quarterback. 
--іп the event of a dispute or questionable play, 
the host's ruling always wins. It's his backyard. 
2. The Backyard New Fashioned 

The same as above, only coed. But remember: 
—Even though the game is called touch, watch 
out for “illegal use of hands,” pal! 

—And no jokes about “making passes” or "tight 
ends" —everyone's heard them all before. 

—In the event of a dispute, the lady's decision 
always rules. End of discussion. 

3. Instant Replay Roundup 

If you're tired of the networks always calling the 
shots—and the plays—now you can host your 
own half-time recap show. Set your VCR to 
record during the first half of the game. When an 
important play takes place, jot down the VCR's 
digital counter number 2s well as the play that 
transpired. When half-time rolls around, you'll 
have enough information to show game high- 
lights and deliver your own expert commentary 
provided that your rewind finger is in good 
shape. 


01-89 “slowed puejbug man au sano sag об, 
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PLAYBOY PRESENTS 


THE Y, UPER BOWL 


ck Ke OK RARA OC OO OK OC OO OK OC OK ORO cO OO e OK OK 


SUPER BOWL PARTY LINGO 


catch these Super Bow! Party catch phrases... 


1. OUR TEAM: Whichever team is winning, 

2. “THE YEAR | PLAYED SEMI-PRO BALL": 
“The year | tried out for my high school varsity 
squad and was cut after three days.” 

3. “REMIND ME TO CALL MY WIFE AT HALF- 
TIME”: “I forgot to tell my wife I was coming to a 
Super Bowl Party.” 

4. "WHO LIKES THEIR BURGERS WELL 
DONE?”: "Oops, I burned the burgers.” 

5. "WHO WANTS HOT 0052”: “Oops, I really 
burned the burgers.” 

6. "REMIND ME TO CALL MY WIFE AFTER THE 
THIRD QUARTER”: "| forgot to call my wife at 
half-time.” 

7. WINNING ISN'T EVERYTHING—IT'S HOW 
YOU PLAY THE GAME": "I can't believe how 
much money | just lost on the Super Bowl.” 


SUPER BOWL SUPER Q & A 


trivia to tackle during the commercial breaks 


1. Which team has the best Super Bowl win-loss 
record? The worst? 

2. Which quarterback holds the record for the 
most passes completed in a Super Bowl game? 
3. Which three men have been named Super 
Bowl Most Valuable Player twice by Sport 
Magazine? 

4. What were the winners and losers shares in 
the first Super Bowl? In last year's Super Bowl? 
5. Who coached a record six Super Bowl games? 
6. Which player holds the record for the most 
fumbles in a Super Bowl game? 

7. What was the largest stadium attendance 
recorded for a Super Bowl game? 

8. Who gained the most yards passing in a 
Super Bowl game? Rushing? 

9. What was the largest margin of victory in a 
Super Bowl game? 

10. Who holds the Super Bowl record for the 
longest kickoff return? 


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Via 


PARTY PLANNER 


SUPER BOWL PARTY BEST BETS 


THE BEST PICTURE: Since no picture can top the 
big picture, make sure your Super Bowl party 
guests are looking at the PHILIPS IDTV 31” large 
Screen television. 

FILM AT ELEVEN: Set the half-time plays in motion 
and record them for posterity with SONY's HAN- 
DYCAM or PANASONIC's EIS CAMCORDER. 

THE BEST INSTANT REPLAYS: For the clearest 
Super Bowl instant replays in your own living 
room, rely on the state-of-the-art excellence of 
JVC's Super VHS VCR. 

THE BEST OFF-FIELO PROTECTION: After your 
half-time backyard scrimmage, settle into the Sec- 
‘ond half of the Super Bowl feeling protected with 
RIGHT GUARO from GILLETTE. 

THE BEST RAISED GLASS: Okay, so Canada's ina 
different league, you can still toast to your favorite. 
team in the spirit of good taste with CANADIAN. 
CLUB. 

THE BEST CATERING IOEA: The by-the-foot hero 
sandwich. And don't worry if you order a few more 
yards of hoagie than your guests can swallow— 
you'll have lunch for at least the next month 

BEST BREWS: What would a Super Bowl be with- 
out suds? Or Spuds. the original party animal, for 
thal matter? Best bet this Sunday? Longnecks 
from BUD LIGHT. 

BEST BEST SUPER BOWL PARTY: PLAYBOY'S 
World's Largest Super Bowl Party will take place 
this year at Penrod's Beach Club, One Ocean 
Drive in Miami Beach, Fla., Sunday, January 22, 
1989 from 10AM to 1AM. Join the gang—for 
further information, call (305) 538-1111. 


SUPER BOWL ETIQUETTE 


straight from the Super Bowi Party rulebook 


When Not to Root: a) When your team is win- 
ning, your host is for the other guys and, at the 
moment, he's pouring you a drink. b) There is a 
tense moment of play underway. с) There's a 
commercial on the TV screen. 

How to Ask Someone to Explain a Confusing 
Football Rule: Quickly, quietly and never within 
the last two minutes of a quarter. 

What to Wear: Football jerseys always look nice 
оп Super Bowl viewers. 

What Not to Wear: No matter how effective you 
think it might be, wearing a down jacket, mittens 
and a ski cap in front of the TV simply looks silly. 
How to Be a Good Loser: Don't throw things, 
don't tell everyone you knew your team would 
lose all along, and don't—we repeat, don't— 
start calling Robbie Stadium on your host's 
telephone to demand a re-match. 


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© 1988 The Gillette Company 


Lesson number one 
in the social graces: 
Never be offensive. 


5 к= 


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malodorous air? With Right Guard” 
- Sport Sticks. Anti-perspirant. And deodorant. 
Replete with major protection. Sleek dome top. 

And two splendid scents, "Fresh" and "Мивк” 
-For who wants to appear unschooled in such a 
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46 


PANA 


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SPORTS 


с are creeping up on that time of 
V V усаг when various clowns em- 
ployed by the TV networks will again cross 
their eyes, blow spit bubbles and start 
to clamor for a play-off to decide the па- 
tional champion of college football. It's not. 
because they want to sec a true national 
champion determined (as they lie through 
their teeth) but because they can envision a 
game played sometime in January that will 
attract 400 beer, car, hamburger and diet- 
soda commercials. TV people have always 
had the good of sports at heart. 

The simplest plan for a play-off put forth 
by network intellectuals is to take the two 
top-rated teams after the New Year's bowl 
games and let them play a national cham- 
pionship game. 

Well, if the N.C.A.A. ever approves this 
dopey idea, I think it ought to be called the 


By DAN JENKINS 


Budwciscr-Mobil-Mazda-McMuffin Bowl 
or maybe just the Greed Bowl. 

The fact is, there is only one kind of col- 
lege football play-off that would be fair, 
proper and sensible. It would have to i 
clude all the major conference champions, 
cochampions, trichampions, outstanding 


THEY’RE NUMBER ONE 


runners-up and deserving independents, 
which means it would have to involve at 


least 16 teams. It would have to begin after 
the II-game regular season and last four 
weeks. This means the college season 
would go on almost as long as N.EL. wres- 
ting, fumbling and flag dropping, a sport 
that has already crashed through my bore- 
dom threshold and now threatens to bore 
the cosmos. Furthermore, this kind of 
play-off would destroy the bowl games that 
have contributed so much to the rich, lusty 
history of college football. 

I should add that І would personally 
claw the skin off my body and cry out in 
the night for the rest of my life if any type 
of a lesser play-off plan were adopted, and 
God forbid that a blue-ribbon panel of TV 
and N.C.A.A. heathens should be allowed 
to select, lets say, the four teams that would 
be invited to compete for the hallowed 
Brent Musburger Trophy. 

What's wrong with the way things are? 
We've lived with it for more than 60 yea 
and there have been very few suicides that 
1 know of. What have we lived with? Polls. 

Т cay ће polls are great They create 
fun, suspense, debates, divorces, not to 
mention silly (concluded on page 259) 


College Football's National Champions Since Polls Began 


NOTRELANE. 10-0 
ALABAMA, 10-0 
 DARTNOUTH. 8-0. 
STANFORD. IOI 
ALABAMA, OI О Wolle Wade 
тшмазлаы at Zupphe 
GEOKGIATICH,10-0 bill Alexander 
Uc sel Moca Joe 
NOTREDANE.S-O have Rockne 
NOTRE DANE 10-0 Rnsie Rockne 
USC, 1-1 Howard Jones 
us mo, p 
MICHIGANA-O Ham Кайс 

USC. t1 Henani Jones 
MEXUCANOA Hany Rieke 
OMIOSIME 7-1 Som Willmar 
ALABAMA,D-O Frank Thema 
лаш uch Meyer 
меш Many bal 
MINNESOTA,B-0 Bernie Berman 
sus Berne Moore 
AUNNESOTA,T-I Bernie Berman 
CALIFORNIA. 001 Stub Alison 
PITISEURGH SO Jock неті 
КИ) Duh Meer 
TENNESSEE IID Bol Neyland 
ROTREDANE,8-1 Eimer Laden 
TEXASARM. I-A Homer Nonon 
[n Hovard Jones 
STANFORD.10-0 (эй Staughoessy 
TENNESSEE MI Bob Ney 
MINNESOTA.B- Вале Berman 
MINESUTA.8-0 ете Bernan 
TEXAS ELI Dara X. Bitte 
GEORGIA, 1-1 Way Mats 
VMOSTAT.S Рай вони 
WISCONSIN AH Harry Subdreher 
MOTREDAME,S-! Frank Lay 
ARMY 0 

ARMY, 9-0 


Knie Rachie 
Wallace Wade 
Jove Haney 
Pop Warner 


Fous won 


Mall Bete 5 
ARMY Ked isk . 
NOTRLUAME M Frank Leahy 
WO аы 

Frank Leahy 

Bennie Oven. 

Fenk Leahy 
TENNISSEL II-I Bob Reta 
OKLAHOMA, i-i Bud Wilkinson 
MABYLAND, 10-0 ЕТІ 
TENNESSEE, W-1 Bot Neyland 
MICHIGAN 
MICHIGAN 
STATE 9-0 
MARYLAND, 10-1 
NOTRE DAME, 90. 
'MIOSTNTE. 10-0 
чало 


YEAK TER RECON POLLS WON 


mê GEORGIA. n-o 


Be Nun 
Fin acen 
Frank Lahr 
Mendy Hayes 
OKLAHOMA, HO вы Wilkinson 
ORLAHOMA WO Bu ilie 
ONIOSEATES-| Woody Hayes 
MICHIGAN 

180, 11-0 
азы 
po 
OLE MUSS, 0-1 
WASHINGTON, 0-1 
OLE MISS 904 
MINNESOTA, A-1 
ALABAMA, 11-0 
OO SAE er 
USC. 11-0 
ALABAMA, 10-1 
ARKANSAS 11-0 
ALABAMA. KHI 
NOTKE DAME. 5-1 
MICHIGAN 9-1 


Dally Dauer 
Past pizel 

Foren hei 
Ben заманам 
Johany Каці 
Jim Owen 
p 
Мынау Warmth 
Bear Dent 

Ian Mckay 

bear era 

Frank Baler 

Bear Beram 


ГЕТЕ 


"TEAM, RECORD 
B6 MICHIGAN 
STATE 10-1 
NOTRE DAME, 001 
MICHIGAN 
с 
NOTRE DAME. 2 
TEXAS 11-0 
NEBRASKA ILE 
'OROSTATE. 9-1 
NEBRASEA 15-9 
NOTRE DAME, 11-0 
ALABAMA 114 
OKLAHOMA, 1.04 
OKLAHOMA, 1-0 
[n 
OLAMOMA 1-1 
ОШОУТАТЕ 11. Wed In 
pum rini Maja 
m Jin Robi 
NOTRE DAME. I=L Dan Derine 
mm Jorn Robinson 
OKLAHOMA M-N lay Sviuer 
ALABAMA 11-1 
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OKLAHOMA. 0-2 
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FENN STATE, 10-2 
[2o 
TEN STATE, іі 
ALAN ttt 
pou 
FLORIDA, $11 
‘OKLAHOMA, 11-1 
PENN STATE. 
'OFLAWOMA, 11-1 
MIANL 12-0 


Duly Daugherty 
Беи тан 


Ara Paneghisn 


Darrell Royal 
Wendy Hayes 
Bob Dewney 
he Mek 
Ara Pancghin 
Bear Hen 
Bams зей 
Barry Svitzer 
spite Mckay 
Maney Sis 


por 
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Vince Dooley 
богу емен 
Dann Fand 
Jee temo 


Mary Seien 

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Mere ier 
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47 


48 


МЕМ 


І » not sure there are any easygoing 
women left in America these days. I 
think they all checked into a Yuppie facto- 
ту somewhere in California one night in 
1970 for secret microchip brain implants. 
“Work, consume, work some more, don't let 
up, take yourself very seriously, wo 
mind everybody that you're working. 

That's what their microchips tell ме 
to do 28 hours a day, 476 days a ye: 
watch out, men, because we are now sur- 
rounded by the Stepford Sex. Women have 
bought off on workaholism, and we are 
paying heavy dues for it. 

Why do you think we are so afraid of 
women in the workplace, for example? We 
guys had a good gig going when it was just 
us boys: “You work a day, ГЇ work a day, 
we'll switch off, nobody busts a gut, a little 
golf, a little beer, then we go home,” we'd 
tell one another. But then those yukky girls 
came along with their M.B.A.s and precise 
gestures and computerized memories and 
severe suits and little bow ties—suits and 
ties we'd grown to hate about 100 years 
ago—and they spoiled it all. 

І can guarantee you that women aren't 
going to do anything about their problem. 
Nothing frightens their manic souls more 
than the possibility of slothfulness—that 
wonderful tendency that most men have of 
occasionally slowing down and taking time 
off. Women just don't do that anymore. 
The women in our lives today have no time 
for us, our children or our peis. They do 
have oodles and oodles of time for their 
careers, however. 

Where's my proof? Well, try this on for 
size: Only American women think serious- 
ly about the work ethic of the Japanese and 
are actually trying to outperform them! 
They are seriously concerned about the sit- 
uation, But no matter what you hear, 
American men couldnt care less. 

Oh, sure, as men, we pretend to li 
our lazy and inefficient wa 
pared with the Japanese. Forget i 
not serious. It’s all a male smoke screen. 
Secretly, we hope that the Japanese will 
win the world economic battle very soon 
"That way, we reason, we will then be able to 
enjoy the irresponsible, beer-sucking, pud- 
thumping lives we were made for. 
flash: If the Japanese will promise 
American men that they will leave us alone 
and let us loaf, we will hand over our por- 
tion of the corporate structure of the Unit- 
ed States to them tomorrow. The whole 
enchilada, lock, stock and barrel. And why 
not? All we have is a bunch of rusung lac- 


By ASA BABER 


THE STEPFORD 
SEX 


tories, poorly run service industries, a de- 
caying agricultural infrastructure and 
8,000,000 miles of traffic jams. Who the 
hell wants to work in the middle of all that? 

If the Japanese will just deal with us 
guys, and if they'll return Hawaii to us— 
sell it back to us at pre-Pearl Harbor 
prices, I mean—and if they'll guarantee us 
two meals of sushi per day, plus all the hot 
baths we want, we'll surrender in the wink 
of a kimono. 

But what about our women? Will they 
cooperate with this scheme? Nooooo. Not 
them. Not the Stepford Sex. They want to 
struggle and strive. They are first-genera- 
tion executives enjoying new-found power, 
and they like all that competitive bullshit. 
‘They seem ready to outwork the entire 
Pacific Basin on their way to burnout. 

As for us, we men Know that the work- 
place sucks. Were not out there hustling 
and schlepping because we enjoy it. We 
out there because cach male generation 
through recorded time has been told its 
supposed to be out there earning the bread, 
sweating the sweat, bearing the load. Вш 1 
have a secret: Every male I know 
to slow down and be a kept man. 1 sw 
on a stack of condoms. 

Itis up to us, gentlemen 
As men, we share a common bond: We 
know that we were born to love, screw, eat, 
drink and sleep. No half days at the office, 
no month on/month off, nothing like that. 


саг, 


nd fellow slugs. 


Every male in the universe was born for 
опе thing only: to lie on a wa 
beach, sip rum out of a coconut a 
massage from the fantasy of his choice. 
Yes, it's true. Ме make terrific beach pota- 
toes. But work? Work is for humorless 
drones who have never learned how to let 
up. Women, in other words. 

A day in the life of a woman 1 know: up. 
at 4:40 am, into jogging clothes, a fiv 
mile run, back for cleanup, into the office 
by 7:15, meetings all morning, no lunch, 
an afternoon spent supervising a training 
module she helped her corporation de- 
sign, straight to acrobics class at six вм. at 
the fanciest health club in the city, an 
hour's language class at nine, then home 
to—oh, joy!—a TV dinner and corporate 
reports until one лм. at the earliest. No 
weekends off for her, no vacations. And if 
that doesn't spook you, her four-year-old 
daughter is president of her preschool 
class. The Stepford Sex is multiplying ata 
phenomenal rate! 

I've never had the heart (or the energy, 
men, the energy) to confront this woman 
with my views about her workaholism. But 
I do consider her another lost dervish on 
the highway of life. To me, sheis the typical 
samurai businesswoman, a robot for pay, a 
microchip with curves. 

There are millions of such women now, 
and that is a sad statistic. I couldn't com- 
pete with them, even if my career depend- 
ed on it. 

Men of America! As the new matriarchy 
descends on us even more pervasively this 
year, as the women in our lives try even 
more desperately to drag us into their 
workaholism, and as they pursue their 
own self-absorbed careers like 
speed, let us make the following resolu- 
tions and hold to them for all of the new 
year: 

1. We declare 1989 the year of the sloth. 

2. We will subsist on coconuts and 

3. We will establish a perpetual rhythm 
n our lives: sex and а nap, sex and a nap, 
sex and а пар--а minimum of three ses- 
sions per day (preferably with a partner). 

4. When we are scolded by our women 
for our laziness, we will say to them what 
men throughout history have wanted to 
say: “Have a nice day at the office, dear 
And hand me that coconut before you 
leave, would you? I can't reach it from the 
bed.” 

Have a happy. lethargic new year, men. 


УУОМЕМ 


L: night, 1 went to Nell's, the posh 
New York night spot, where 1 oozed 
armed my way past many mono- 
doormen and hundreds of the surg- 
ing fashionable to get within ten feet of the 
stage. There I presumed upon the friend- 
ship of a poor girl who thought she would 
be having an entire chair to herself, sat on 
the two inches of hard wood she allotted 
me, waited through more than an hour of 
‘ing my knees smashed and my lap sat 
on by strangers, And why? 

So I would be there at 2:30 лм, when 
Prince did an “impromptu” set after hi 
Madison Square Garden gig, and then the 
next day I could call up my kid and say, 
“Guess what you missed, Mr. College Man, 
Мг. ОП оп Your Own, Мг. Dormitory Ке: 
dent? 

I did it, too. “I hate you," he said, 
became utterly gleeful. 

Last year, I kept thinking it was sort of a 
joke, kind of a goofy pastime, all this ap- 
plying to colleges and taking S.A.T-s and 
filling out forms. I didn't think it would 
actually come to anything. Wed gone 
through lots of major changes and crises 
before, but we'd always lived together; that. 
was the constant. 

It wasn't until we were actually packing 
the rented minivan that 1 went mental. 
“Youre taking your night table?” I yelled 
“You're taking the clock radio, too? Put 
back! You'll need it here!” 

“Mom,” he said slowly and pati 
I'm going to be living up there. I won't b 
living here anymore. I need my things. 

And so it finally sunk in. Luckily, his 
girlfriend was with us, or I would have 
tried to beat the shit out of him. 

Alter getting him setded in his new 
room, after touring the campus crawling 
with hyped-up teenagers rocking and 
rolling through the quad, after picking up 
keys and meal cards and seeing how much 
fun it would all be, I went to the train st 
tion to go home. I ordered a tuna melt at 
the snack bar, The waitress was maternal 
and garrulous and made my melt with 
€. І knew she was worried as I ate and 
cried all over my chips. For just that mo- 
ment, I really wanted to be the kind of pe 
son who could throw herself into the arms 
of a total stranger and say, “What should 1 
do? How do I handle this one?” 

Because I now сап, I have been walking, 
around my apartment naked. I have been 
taking two-hour baths. Because I no 
longer go home to find at least five 
teenaged boys sprawled throughout the 


and I 


ntly, 


By CYNTHIA HEIMEL 


FOR RENT: 
EMPTY NEST 


living room, eating my dinner and watch- 
g MTV I now spread out all over the en- 
ure sofa and watch PBS. I marvel at new 
miracles—the exact amount of food in the 
refrigerator on a given night is still there 
the next morning. Dirty dishes no longer 
multiply exponentially while 1 sleep. 
"There is always enough milk. 

And plenty of silence. No more Led Zep- 
pelin. No more cracked adolescent howl: 
One day, the urge to speak was bursting. 
So I spoke. I said, “Oh, jeez, I must get to 
the dry cleaner.” Right out loud. I looked 
around, all embarrassed. Nothing bad 
happened. "But I'm not in the fucking 
mood,” [told the air. 

Turns out all my single friends have 

been doing this for years. Mike gives him- 
self pep talks in the mirror. Herb yells ob- 
nities at the T V. 
y friends have been such a help. They 
take me for drinks, humor me when I beg 
them to stay overnight, grapple me to the 
floor when I start chasing insanely inap- 
propriate men. Women who have been 
through it before tell me that I'm normal, 
that they, 100, were inconsolable. 

Sundays I devote to major sobbing: 5 
day used to be the day we would both wake 
up late, burl cheerful insults at each other, 
go out and eat French toast and argue over 
which movie we might sec. Now I just line 
up the hankies and let rip. It is hell, I hate 
it. Lam pathetic. 


M 


I stare at photos, caress worn-out 
T-shirts. I dust off old memories: when he 
was an enormously fat baby who crawled 
around on the floor and sucked on ba- 
nanas, getting them in his ears, between 
histoes, up his nose. That day he had been 
home from grammar school for hours, we 
were playing Monopoly, and he casually 
said, “Oh, mom, I forgot to tell you, I have 
head lice.” The terrifying time he had 
blood poisoning. The time he caught the 
last out for the little-Icague championship. 
The time I left him alone when I shouldn't 
have. The time I screamed at him for no 
reason. The time I didn't listen when he re- 
ally needed me. 

The fucking guilt! When you're a young 
mother, your child is not the most priceless 
treasure in the world. Your child is just 
your child; each day is not precious. How 
are we to know that it all ends, that they go 
off on their own, a living histor I our 
slights, bad moods, pointed and pointless 
lusts, irrational distractions and just plain 
motherly cruelty? Now that I know how to 
doit right, I want to start over. 

Last night, I saw on T V that they acquit- 
ted this witch who had smothered her new- 
borns because shed had post partum 
depression. I would have given $100 to 
ave шу Kid there so I could have said, 
the fucking limit!" to him, and һе 
have said, “Somebody should 
smother her,” and we could have com- 
muned in our outrage. 

I go through entire days of fury, Never 
before have 1 separated from someone 
without a giant fight, and I dont know how 
to do it. Im just aching to punch someone 
in the nose. 

But not him. He's doing exactly what 
he’s supposed to. Last night on the phone, 
he told me he got his own “courtesy card” 
from the supei He has his own 
checking account big stuff. 

On the train going home, after that 
bout of grief. I uncovered a new feeling. 
One little part of my brain was actually 
congratulating me. “Well, that's done," the 
little part said. “You've got through the 
teething, the training, the baby sitters, 
the report cards, the tantrums, the base- 
ball cards. You've cleared the hurdles, 
verted the perils. Its been a mighty job, 
bur it's finished. You've raised a fine human 
being.” I was proud. Then I felt like shit 


El 


would 


49 


GIVENCHY 
GENTLEMAN 


Sa VEAN HY 
blaamingdale's 


тос заз 2082 


THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 


МІ, lover and 1 have enjoyed a loving, 
sensuous and progressive relationship for 
the past two years. While 1 have had a 
number of lovers before, no one has ever 
been nearly as dynamic, When we меге 
first nurturing this affair, before we actual- 
ly engaged in intercourse, we had a num- 
ber of heavy-petting sessions that left us 
both drained and longing for more. Dur- 
ing one particular session, my boyfriend 
began massaging my nipples, bringing 
them to swelling points. He would roll 
them between his teeth and tongue, nearly 
driving me crazy After no more than 
three or four minutes of this, I felt the be- 
ginnings of the most incredible orgasm 1 
had ever had. However, he had not even 
touched me below the waist. As he kept up 
the pace with his tongue on my nipples, the 
waves broke over me, as real as if he had 
been using his tongue on my clitoris. Leven 
felt the contractions that come after a par- 
ticularly long and intense orgasm. Need- 
less to say, I was blown away. Nothing like 
that had ever happened to me, and 1 м: 
overcome with tears of relief and wonder. 
My lover was fairly matter-of-fact about it 
ind acted surprised that I had never expe- 
nced this. He had me hooked from that 
point on, and we have repeated this act on 
occasion. It's the same every time, though 
he has discovered that if he whispers “Will 
you come for me?” il sets me off immedi- 
ately. He usually waits until he has me 
thoroughly worked up before he pulls that 
trick out of his hat. My question is, Have 
any of your other readers experienced this 
before? Could it all be in my mind, or is it 
possible to reach a satisfyi m with- 
ош being manually stimulated in the dli- 
toral area?— Miss H. L., Sarasota, Florid 
You bet. Kinsey found a woman who could 
reach orgasm by having her eyebrows stroked. 
Direct clitoral stimulation is not the only 
route to orgasm. The technique you describe 
dates back at least to the Fifties, when it was 
known as making out, or getting lo second 
base, There is a direct line between the mpples 
and the genitals—indeed, nipple stimulation 
is sometimes used lo bring on labor in preg- 
nant women. As a source of pleasure, its a 
great way to spend a Sunday afternoon. 


F want a really big boule of champagne to 
create excitement at a special occasion. 
What's the largest size, and how much does 
it hold?—P Т, Los Angeles, California. 

Champagne is available in a range of 
sizes, though the larger ones are not that easy 
to find. In addition to the regular-size bot- 
tle—750 milliliters—there are the magnum, 
1.5 liters, the equivalent of two bottles; the jer- 
oboam, four bottles; the rehoboam, six bottle 
the methuselah, eight bottles; the salmanasar, 
12 botiles; the balthazar, 16 bottles; and the 
nebuchadnezzax, 20 bottles. 

The largest bottle in which champagne is 


fermented is the magnum. Magnums look 
distinctive and there ате many who feel that 
the wine is slightly improved by going 
through its fermentation and storage in the 
larger bottle—probably because the propor- 
lion of air to wine is less than in the regular 
botile. The sizes beyond the magnum have to 
be filled with wine from smaller bottles, and 
the transfer may cause some small loss of 
quality because of oxidation—but its proba- 
bly insignificant, Almost certainly, any size 
beyond the magnum that you decide on will 
have to be specially ordered. Keep in mind 
that you'll need facilities for chilling the giant 
size, and you should also consider the logistics 
of pouring. You may require a special cradle 
lo hold the botile for easier handling. These 
problems should be discussed with your wine 
merchant well in advance of the time you 
want the bottle, so that all goes smoothly at 
your bash. 


Sex has turned into the same old same 
old. Can the Advisor dig into his vast li- 
brary of sex manuals and come up with 
some truly novel ways of making love?— 
TK. Ci го, Illinois. 

Lailan Youngs “Love Around the World” 
contains the following diversions for the ter- 
minally bored. We can only warn that these 
variations are performed by trained profes- 
sionals and should not be attempled at home: 
“Uplifted Woman: This love position requires 
four participants, though only tuo enjoy 
themselves, The woman is held high above 
their heads by two attendants; she curls up 
her legs and the man stands on a chair or 
stool, if necessary. [If necessary?] 

“Flying Through the Air: The partners are 
unclothed. She sits on a swing with her thighs 
apart and he sits on another swing. They 
swing toward each other and try to connect. 


“The Balancing Act: This is much favored 
by tea lovers. The man and Ihe woman bal- 
ance a bowl of tea on their heads and attempt 
union without spilling a drop.” 

Young also cites a trick mentioned in “The 
Perfumed Garden": “Women of great experi- 
ence, who, lying with a man, elevate one of 
their feet vertically in the air, and upon that 
foot alamp is set full of oil, and with the wick 
burning. While the тап is ramming them, 
they keep the lamp steady and burning and 
the oil is not spilled.” 

As we understand it, thats how the Great 
Chicago Fire started, 


WW hars the deal with tie t 
cumulated some great tie tack: 
over the years, but nobody's we: 
nymore. Is it OK to wear them? 
so, what is their proper placement?— 
G. G, Parlin, New Jersey. 

Maybe onc day soon tie tacks will be back 
m vogue, but until then, put them in safe 
keeping, Tie bars, though also not at the 
height of fashion, are more acceptable. If you 
feel that you want to display your “collection,” 
remember that plain and simple is best. Your 
tie tack or tie bar should never be so big or 
gaudy that it dominates your tie. As to plac 
ment, tie tacks belong in the center of the tie. 
Tie bars should go on the bottom half of the 
tie at a 45-degree angle. 


? I have ac- 
id tie bars 


Wan 21 years old and my girlfriend is 22. 
We are both very good-looking. Lam a 
blonde with blue eyes; she is a brunette 
with brown eyes. Not to blow our horns too 
loudly, but we could get any man we want- 
ed. We aren't married, but we both have 
boyfriends. When they are working, we 
ave a lot of free time together. We go out a 
d generally have a good time. The 
more I go out with her, the more I like her. 
My problem is that I think Гуе fallen іп 
love with her Гуе been having these 
dreams in which we are making love to 
ach other. I wouldn't mind being a lesbian 
or bisexual. How do I tell her? If she had 
the same feelings, | would dump my 
boyfriend for her. I want her to love me as 
I do her. How should I handle this delicate 
uation? I want to tell her, but if I do, she 
may tell everybody, and I dont want an 
body knowing about this. Help!— 
L. A., Boston, Massachusetts. 

We think you'd greatly benefit from reading 
the book “The New Our Bodies, Ourselves,” 
written by the Boston Womens Health Book 
Collective and published by Simon & Schus- 
ter. It covers every aspect of female sexuality, 
including bisexual and lesbian feelings and 
activities. It also provides msightful conver- 
sations with women of every possible orienta- 
tion, who discuss their feelings toward men 
and other women. One woman, for example, 
explains that she can readily identify with the 
notion of loving specific individuals who 


51 


52 


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happen to be male or female, rather than with 
the notion of being bisexual across the board. 

If you are good friends with this woman 
and feel that she cares about you—at least in 
a nonsexual context—you may not have to 
fear negative repercussions as a result of 
telling her what and how you've been feeling 
However, there is always the chance that she 
will shrink from the idea of any lesbian activ- 
ity and feel somewhat threatened; so you 
should be prepared to accept rejection. You 
should also be ready to reassure her that 
you will never bring up the subject again if 
shes not interested in exploring the idea. 


Лоо 
of the Super VHS video-tape for- 
mat, I borrowed a prerecorded S-VHS 
tape from a friend for a trial run on my 
VHS VCR at home, Imagine my surprise 
when there was no discernible difference. 
What gives? —L. G., Dallas, Texas. 

Sorry, but you can't have the best of both 
worlds. While the newer Super VHS VCRs 
will play and record your tapes in the regular 
VHS mode, older VCRs don't have the ability 
lo translate Ihe S-VHS information into апу- 
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ДА о усл ко entem (ре rado 
that everyone is getting taller, bigger and 
healthier. As 1 remember, the report said 
that both bra and cup sizes were getting 
larger. What is the ayerage bra and cup 


size today?—S, R., Nashville, Tennessee. 
According to the book “How Big Is Big?” 
by Dr. Zev Wanderer and Dr. David Radell, 
the size of the average American woman's 
bustline is 35.9 inches. Her bra size is a 36B. 


During a recent discussion with my girl- 
friend of the myth of female orgasm, I 
stupidly made the comment that men dont 
always reach orgasm, either. She claimed 
she'd never heard that. I maintained that 
mcn sometimes have to fake it, too. The 
male body doesn't always respond. Booze, 
fatigue, repeated lovemaking, confused 
emotions and any number of other things 
can impede the normal flow of sex. “That 
can't be.” she ‘Since men cannot al- 
ith women,” 1 said, “how would 
you ever know?” Discussing the subject 
was a mistake, because her next question 
was “Have you?” And since we're supposed 
to bein an honest relationship, I confessed 
to the occasional counterfeit orgasm. Ma- 
jor freak-out resulted. She iramediately 
thought it was all her fault: “I don't satisfy 
you; if I did, you would never fake 
always reach orgasm." Apparently, a wom- 
an is all that’s needed for a шап to do so. IF 
he doesn't, it is somehow her fault. Now the 
subject repeatedly comes up. After an 
cvening of lovemaking, the issue strikes, 
and in a strange turn of stereotype, I'm 
the one all but being asked. “Was it good 
for you?” So much for communication. 
What can you give me to make my point 


more understandable and acceptable 10 
the lady?—E J., Atlanta, Georgia. 

“The Playboy Readers’ Sex Survey" found 
that 65 percent of our women readers had 
faked orgasm; some 28 percent of our male 
readers had done so. Etiquette, expectations, 
exhaustion—all contribute. We've written be- 
fore that people who fake orgasm get what 
they deserve—fake orgasms. The first step m 
communication is honesty; the second is un- 
derstanding. Your girlfriend must realize that 
you are, after all, merely human. To reassure 
her, you might debrief her after sex (run 
around the room, whooping and hollering, 
fanning your crotch, or dip your diminishing 
erection into ice water to quell the incredible 
heat of astonishing sex. A simple thank you 
will sometimes suffice). Or be up-front—if 
you're tired, have had too much to drink or 
are just not in the mood for receiving pleas- 
ure, say so. You might experiment with ways 
to get her off while minimizing or eliminat- 
ing any concentration on your orgasm. At 
present, she is making a problem where there 
isn't one. 


Bam an avid amateur photographer, Re- 
cently, 1 was approached by a young lady 
who wanted me to help her put together a 
modeling portfolio. She wants some sw 
suit shots taken on a beach. What is the 
best way to meter a swimsuit shot? Do you 
recommend using reflectors (I own a silver 
and a gold reflector)? Whatis the best time 
of day to shoot these photos? I own a 


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70-210 zoom and а 135 and an 85 telepho- 
to. Which of these lenses would work 
best?2—] B., Milwaukee, Wisconsin. 

Here are some tips from our Photo Depart- 
ment. You should meter the skin tone of your 
subject with a spot meter. Use a white surface 
reflector for fill light. The best time to shoot is 
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АКМ, girlfriend and 1 really like to watch 
erotic videos, but so far, the selection has 
been hit and miss at the local video store. 
Do you have any suggestions on how to 
weed out the wheat from the chaffz— 
D. Q., Indianapolis, Indiana. 

Our local erotic-film fanatic says that the 
best way to explore films is to follow specific 
directors. Yes, Virginia: Auteur theory is 
alive and well, especially when it applies to 
tits and ass. So many of the same actors and 
actresses appear in porn flicks ihat the real 
novelty comes from examining the mind that 
puls them through their paces. Cecil Howard 
(“Firestorm,” “Snake Eyes"), for example, is 
well known for creating real characters and 
introducing some underlying tension. that 
shapes all the sex scenes. In “Snake Eyes,” ev- 
ery scene is поі sex as it happens to everyday 


people: It is the kind of sex a jealous spouse 
imagines that his partner is having. Alex de 
Renzy (“Pretty Peaches,” “Babyface”) is са- 


pable of taking the conventions of an X-rated 
movie and turning them inside out: His 
imagination borders on the surreal (he has 
filmed scenes in which partners wrap each 
other in cellophane—as strong an image of 
bondage as you'll ever see), Candida Royalles 
soft-focus feminist fantasies may appeal. 
Henri Pachard has an East Coast sensibility 
toward sex, if such a thing can be said to ex- 
ist. Its an interesting notion, and one that 
may add to your appreciation. Another sug- 
gestion: Find a copy of “The X-Rated 
Videotape Guide,” by Robert H. Rimmer 
(published by Harmony Books, a division of 
Crown Publishers, Inc, 225 Park Avenue 
South, New York 10003). The book reviews 
some 1300 films and provides info on an ad- 
ditional 2840. 


(esha mem alee ie man уоп 


have intercourse? 1 find that 1 cannot ejac- 
ulate easily inside a woman. When I am 
alone, I can bring myself to climax, but on- 
ly after fairly active masturbation. 1 won- 
der if I have conditioned myself. What do 
you say?—E. P, San Francisco, California. 

An article іп Sexuality Today suggests 
that nonejaculation during intercourse can 
be linked to masturbation technique. Accord- 
ing to Deena Andrews, a sex counselor, some 
men masturbate “stroking themselves with 


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such fury that their hands turn into a blur! 
These clients appear to have numbed their 
penis skin, without realizing it, through over- 
ly strenuous pumping (both in speed and 
grip). It is obvious that no vagina could 
compete with the intensity of their overly 
strenuous solo sex. After all, a man's hand is 
stronger and rougher than a vagina, so this 
could happen easily. Overly strenuous mas- 
turbators also tend to avoid using a lubricant 
(which means even more friction)." Andrews” 
Rx is simple: Use a condom that is lubricated 
on the mside while you masturbate, so that it 
slips and slides, thus simulating intercourse 
while reducing surface friction. If you dont 
reach orgasm within 15 or 20 minutes, quit 
and try again the next йау. Don't go back to 
the old pattern. She also suggests exercising 
the pubococcygeal muscles. If you ате uncon- 
sciously withholding ejaculation, those are 
the muscles you изе. By doing as many as 100 
contractions а day, you will become aware of 
the muscles and can take control. 


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


53 


РЕАК PLAYMATES 


Тіс question for the month 


Is sex important to your sense of 
well-being? 


©). definitely 1 dont think any of us 
could live without When 1 am with 
someone I love, itis a wonderful way to с 
press how I feel about him, I think sex 
brings out my 
sensitivity and 
my sensuous 
ness, 1 do make 
sunction 
between having 
sex and making 
love. Having 
sex isn't crucial 
to my lite, but 
making love is. 
Instead of iell- 
ing someone 
how I feel | 
can show him. Sex with someone special is 
‚one of the most important things to me. 


Ursula CELL 


TERRI LYNN DOSS 
JULY 1988 


Do you mean does it affect the way 1 feel 
about myself ? Sure, it’s important. When I 
am with someone | love, it gives me posi- 
tive energy and makes me feel happy. le 
insecure, aware 

of my feelings 
and of his. 
When Im not 
im a relation- 
ship, sex isn't 
importan lo 
me, because be 
ing in love is 
what fuels my 
sex drive. 1 
want to show 
my love phys 
cally; asa way of 
bringing us closer together, when Im in 
love. Sex is just а lot better when vou do it 
with someone you love, Thats all. 


KARI KENNELL 
FEBRUARY 


Vi Um in a relationship, 1 think ics really 
important. It makes me feel happy and 
fulfilled. IE Um not seeing someone, other 
things fill me up, like reading and enjoy- 
ing the compa- 

ny of friends. 
1 us my 
mind on other 
things. I think 
irs exciting to 
now yourself 
well enough to 
know you dont 
have to have 
sex. Otherwise, 
it’s just compul- 
sive behavior, 
Then 1 dont 
look good to myself. OF course. if Hm just 
horny, that can һа 
sense of well 


- a huge effect on my 
. Until I correct it. 


ELOISE BROADY 
APRIL 1988 


Funny you should ask me that, I just took 
а personality test and sex came up first. | 
joke around about sex a lot, but it is really 
portant to my well-being, It is a release 
of energy, а way to communicate with my 
lover and a way 
i УУ. [йт 
much he 
means to me. 
On my test, а 
need dor sex 
came before 
security, cre- 
nd in- 
telligence. It 
matters 10 me 


how 


ship. 1 get edgy 
withoutit and just the physical release gets 


out the tension. But Lam trying to tell you 
its beuer when you're in 
with someone s 


BRAND! BRANDT 
OCTOBER 1987 


П. used to be very important, but my rea- 
sons for having sex have changed. 1 used 
10 have sex to make sure somcon loved, 
ҺЕ Сара ni 
replacement Cocos ata IE 
myself. Now 1 

like to think 
about him when 
Lam having sex 


and find my 
good feelings 
for myself from 
sources other 
than se га 
rather find 
pleasure in cel- 
ebrating him 
than in cele- 


brating the fact 
that he loves me and thinks I'm so terrific 
1 dont need sexual reassurance that way 
anymore. l'm more honest with myself 


Eee dots 


LAURA RICHMOND 
SEPTEMBER 1958 


Ein a very, very sexual person, but that 
doesn't mean Г need sex ro validate myself. 
as а woma 


I'm very con 
dent about who 
Lam, so having 
sex doesnt af- 
fect my confi- 
dence level. 
Making love 
ates my 
of well- 

to un- 
believable 
heights. On the 
other hand, 
just having sex does nothing for me. So 1 
need to make love instead of having sex. 
Then my sense of well-being reaches the 
outer limits! 


М те 


JULIE PETERSON 
FEBRUARY 1987 


Send your questions to Dear Playmates, 
Playboy Building, 919 North Michigan Ave- 
nue, Chicago, Hlinois 60611. We wont be 
able 10 answer every question, but we'll try. 


© 1988 BAW TC. 


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THE PLAYBOY FORUM 


Decriminalize Drugs Now 


even some conservatives agree that i 


not as dumb an idea as it sounds 


Sometimes reason speaks through a 
chorus of voices. Kurt L. Schmoke, the 
mayor of Baltimore, told the United 
States Conference of Mayors that it was 
time to start rethinking our drug poli- 
су In a column in The Washington Post, 
he repeated the question: “Has the time 
come to add America’s ‘war on drugs’ 
to the long list of history's follies? 

“Just as Prohibition banned some- 
thing millions of people 
wanted, our current drug 
laws make it illegal to pos- 
sess a commodity that is 
in very high demand. As 
a result, the price of that 
commodity has soared far 
beyond its true cost. 

“This has led to enormous 
profits from illegal drugs 
and turned drug trafficking 
into the criminal enterprise 
of choice for pushers and 
manufacturers alike.” 

Schmoke was a prosecu- 
tor who, for seven years, 
waged the war on drugs. Itis 
shocking to hear a veteran 
admit that “the emperor has 
no clothes. The war on 
drugs is being lost, notwith- 
standing President Reagan's 
recent claim that we are 
digging our way out. And 
continuing our present poli- 
cy—even with more mon- 
cy—is unlikely to make any 
difference.” 

What is surprising is that 
the voices of reason span the 
political spectrum. Econo- 
mist Milton Friedman at- 
tacked the economics of 
drug prohibition. Attorney 
Louis Nizer asked, “How 
about low-cost drugs for addicts? 
William Е Buckley wrote several 
columns urging Government to legal- 
ize dope. Conservative law professor 
Ernest van den Haag urged the nation 
to “legalize those drugs we can't con- 
trol.” Harvard law professor Alan Der- 
showitz and writer Pete Hamill both 
argued for the end of drug prohibition. 

Columnist William Raspberry asked, 
“What is the worst thing about drug 
abuse in America? Is it the damage 


done by such concomitants of drug 
trafficking as robbery, burglary, gang- 
жегізіп and murder? Or is it the harm 
done by the drugs themselves? 

“Both categories are serious cnough. 
Drugs kill. They destroy minds. They 
stifle ambition. They account for bil- 
lions of dollars in lost productivity. We 
are right to worry about these things 

“But I suspect that the drug-i en 


€— 
SHOULD 


DRUGS 
BEMADE 


15 
ATION 
ти 


TSO wit, 
Lin 


problems we worry most about are less 
the result of drug abuse than of our ef- 
forts to control drugs. 

“The gangsterism, the organized 
crime, the execution-style murders 
and the subversion of neighborhoods, 
law-enforcement officials and even 
governments arc largely the results 
of the stupendous profits to be made 
in drug trafficking, and the profits 
are the direct result of efforts to 
stamp out the traflic 


“In other words, most of the actions 
we are taking because we are so wor- 
ried about the impact of drug abuse not 
only fail to reduce the amount of drug 
abuse but actually exacerbate the prob- 
lem.” 

"he most eloquent argument was put 
forth by Ethan A. Nadelmann, a pro- 
fessor of politics at Princeton: “Current 
drug-control policies have failed, are 
failing and will continue to 
fail, in good part because 
they аге fundamentally 
flawed. Many drug-control 
efforts are not only failing 
butalso proving highly cost- 
ly and counterproductiv 
indeed, many of the drug- 
related evils that Americans 
identify as part and parcel 
of the ‘drug problem’ are in 
fact caused by our drug pro- 
hibition policies. . 

"When laws intended to 
serve a moral end. inflict 
great damage on innocent 
parties, we must rethink our 
moral position." 

The voices for legalization 
spoke as the Government 
adopted zero tolerances its 
final solution and started 
seizing the shops, houses, 
and fishing 
boats of citizens suspected 
of drug use. In the first half 
of 1988, 245 of the 1099 bills 
before the House of Repre- 
sentatives dealt with the. 
drug crisis, calling for death 
penalties for drug kingpins. 
new rights of seizure of as- 
sets and mandatory drug 
testing for the military, for 
the bureaucrats and for the 
common man. Those 245 bills were 
pieces of legislation that could have in- 
iroduced new ideas in housing, job 
training, education, better highways 
and a cleaner environment. 

The antidrug frenzy has been fueled 
by anecdotes of street crime and a few 
well-publicized drug deaths. The de- 
criminalization forces have their own 
anecdotes. One newspaper article gives 
the following account of zero tolerance: 
"Instead of mending nets and readying 


57 


his boat for the salmon season, fisherman 
Kevin Hogan spends his days gather- 
ing petitions, worrying and pondering 
bankruptcy. 

“Hogan, 36, got a costly, firsthand look 
at the Federal Government’ zero-toler- 
ance antidrug program on May Ith, 
when Customs Service agents seized his 
new $140,000 fishing boat after allegedly 
finding 17 grams of marijuana in a crew 


oms officials acknowledge that 
Hogan knew nothing of the marijuana 
aboard his vessel, the Hold Tight, but ге- 
fuse to release the boat until Hogan pays 
a $10,000 fine and fires the crew member, 
Minh Van Le, who is his nephew. 

“Its outrageous; says Hogan. Ч 
haven't been charged with anything, and 
here they've seized my boat, my means of 
production 

When a crack addict 
steals your property, it's 
called a crime. When the 
Government does, its 
called a policy. 

The antidrug frenzy is 
fueled in part by a statis- 
tic engraved in stone— 
drugs have a social cost 
of 60 billion dollars (see 
The Playboy Forum, April 
1087). Án economist ar- 
rived at that figure from 
one study that stated that. 
people who smoke mari- 
juana once a day for 30 
days tend to earn 28 per- 
cent less than. поп- or 
light marijuana smokers. 

When we look at the 
social cost of drug pro- 
hibition, we find some 
startling figures. An ad- 
visory report of the 
Committee on Law Re- 
form of the New York 
County Lawyers' Association estimates 
that drug prohibition causes at least 7100 
deaths a year. That figure includes the 
750 gang-war murders, the 3500 people 
who will develop AIDS because of un- 
sterile-necdle use and the addicts who 
die because of the poor quality of black- 
market drugs. 

The soctal cost of lost productivity is 
equally staggering: There are 750,000 
arrests per year for drug crimes, 562,500 
of which are for possession. Few of those 
arrested can expect a career on the fast 
track. And there are other costs: clogged 
courts, misutilization of law-enforcement 
forces and an estimated 90 billion dollars 
per year spent on people in jail. None of 
those people are productive, unless one 
counts the manufacturing of license 


plates. The committee estimates that our 


economy loses 80 billion dollars a year 
through drug-price inflation and en- 
forcement costs. 

Drugs victimize a tiny portion of the 
30,000,000-plus users; drug laws victim- 
ize all of them, as well as innocent by- 
standers. 

Columnist Richard Cowan took on one 
of Reagan's most controversial policies: 
“In his antidrug speech, President Rea- 
gan urged, ‘Please remember this when 
your courage is tested. You are Ameri- 
cans. Youre the product of the freest 
society mankind has known. No one— 
ever—has the right to destroy your 
dreams and shatter your life.’ Precisely, 
Mr. President, and we should remember 
exactly the same thing when our urine is 
s tragicomical, degrading, de- 


REPRINTED BY PERMISSION: TRIBUNE MEDIA SERVICES 


prohibition, the logical conclusion of the 
n of the individual to a 

We are not going to be 
drug-free, just unfree.” 

The New York County Lawyers’ Asso- 
ciation noted the effect of drug laws 
on civil liberties: “The drug hysteria 
whipped up by politicians and the media 
has created an atmosphere in which 
long-cherished rights аге discarded 
whenever drugs are concerned: urine 
testing, roadblocks, routine strip search- 
es, school searches without probable 
cause, the good-faith exception to the ex- 
clusionary rule, preventive detention, 
nonjudicial forfeiture. These dangerous 
precedents are tolerated in the war on 
drugs, but they represent a permanent 
increase in Government power for all 
purposes. The tragedy is how cheaply we 


have sold our rights and our social val- 
ues. We once had a society in which the 
very thought of men and women being 
strip searched and forced to urinate in 
front of witnesses was revolting. That 
now seems like a long time ago. And all 
this for a policy that simply does not 
work.” 

Civil liberues aside, we should be ap- 
palled by the inefficiency of the drug 
war. According to R. Richard Banks, a 
writer, “[In 1987), the Air Force spent 
$45,600,000 to catch planes used to 
smuggle drugs into the country. That 
$15,600,000 resulted in two drug busts. 
Two. The Navy spent $37400,000 and 
seized 20 drug-carrying vessels" The 
military makes lousy nares. 

William E Buckley noted that the in- 
troduction of the military into the prohi- 
bition effort has practical problems. 
“One such was stated by 
acommentator who said, 
"We will wait for the first 
time an American den- 
tist flying his little plane 
back from a weekend's 
fishing in Key West is 
shot down by the Air 
Force.’ That will reintro- 
duce us to reality’ 

Without question, some 
drugs are very danger- 
ous and others are dan- 
gerous for some. Most 
of the decriminalizati 
proponents have 
to put illegal drugs into 
perspective by compar- 
ing the annual mortality 
figures of marijuana, co- 
caine and heroin (3652) 
with those of alcohol 
and cigareues (100,000 
and 320,000, respective- 
ly) and the mortality 
rates of illegal drugs with 
those of legal drugs (heart medication, 
for example, kills 125.000 people a year). 

One of the failures of people's im 
nation is tl inability to imagine a soci- 

which recreational drugs are 
inalized, inexpensive, of good 
quality and available through some sort. 
of regulated system. Foes of decriminal- 
ization say that a greater availability of 
drugs will result in increased use—and 
cause a public-health crisis. The New 
York County Lawyers’ Association calcu- 
lates that “a fivefold increase in drug use 
under decriminalization [from an esti- 
mated 30,000,000 to 150,000,000 users] 
would not increase the current number 
of drug-overdose deaths. Furthermore, it 
would take a 2200 percent increase in le- 
gal-drug use to produce as many deaths 
as prohibition—through murder, AIDS 


and рсізопей drugs—is already caus- 
ing.” 

Historians say we have only to look at 
history to see what will happen. Edward 
Becher points out that drugs were avail- 
able in the 19th Century and were not a 
menace. And Prohibition, the original 
experiment that failed, pertained to al- 
cohol—not drugs. Stanton Peele notes, 
“For most of human history, even under 
conditions of ready access to the most po- 
tent of drugs, people and societies have 
regulated their drug use without requir- 
ing massive education, legal and interdic- 
tion campaigns.” 

Ethan Nadelmann, in hisargument for 
legalization, points out that “it is impor- 
tant to stress what legalization is not. It is 
not a capitulation to the drug dealers— 
but rather a means to put them out of 
business. It is not an endorsement of 
drug use—but rather а recognition 
of the rights of adult Americans to make 
their own choices free of the fear of crim- 
inal sanctions. It is not a repudiation of 
the ‘Just say no’ approach—but rather an 
appeal to government to provide as- 
sistance and positive inducements, not 
criminal penalties and more repressive 
measures, in support of that approach. It 


E 


is not even a call for the elimination of 
the criminal-justice system from drug 
regulation—but rather a proposal for 
the redirection of its efforts and atten- 
tion. 

“There is no question that legalization 


“Civil liberties 
aside, we should 
be appalled by 
the inefficiency 
of the drug war.” 


is a risky policy, since it may lead to an 
increase in the number of people who 
abuse drugs. But that is a risk, not a cer- 
tainty А! the same time, current drug- 
control policies are failing and new 


proposals promise only to be cost- 
lier and more repressive. We know that 
repealing the drug-prohibition laws 
would eliminate or greatly reduce many 
of the ills that people commonly identify 
as part and parcel of the ‘drug problem.’ 
Yet legalization is repeatedly and vocife 
ously dismissed without any attempt to 
evaluate it openly and objectively. The 
past 20 years have demonstrated that а 
drug policy shaped by exaggerated 
rhetoric designed to arouse fear has only 
led to our current disaster. Unless we are 
willing to honestly evaluate our options, 
including various legalization strategies, 
we will run a still greater risk: We may 
never find the best solution for our drug 
problems.” 

For 20 years, Playboy has argued for a 
rational approach to drug abuse. We have 
fought against the Prohibition model. We 
have been pacifists in the war on drugs. 
We have acted as educators—trying 
to provide hard and fast information 
оп drugs and their consequences—so 
that those who choose to use drugs 
could do so with informed choice. We 
recognize the courage of these voices 
of reason. Now we can only hope that 
someone listens. 


DNE TO TAKE RI SE < 


фа another n reason to eredi xn 


іп 1859, John Stvort Mill wrote the es- 
say "On Liberty.” іп which he offered the 
following advice: “Тһе only purpose for 
which power con be rightfully exercised 
over any member of а civilized communi- 
ty, ogainst his 


body and mind, the individual is saver- 
eign Mills theory of individual autonomy 
is relevont todoy as we debate whether 
or not the Government should decrimi- 
nolize drugs. 

Americans ore schizophrenic in the woy 
they view certoin substonces. In the United 
Stotes, we can drink еуі alcohol, smoke 
cigarettes, hang glide or become obese 
without fear of criminal sanctions. But 
since 1914, when the Harrison Act—which 
criminolized the use of opiotes—wes en- 
acted, certain substonces have been selec- 
tively subjected to criminal sanctions. 
Does the selectivity make sense? Lets toke 
a look ot the facts: 

= Approximotely 100,000,000 Ameri- 
cons drink alcoholic beverages. Ten million 
to 12,000,000 of them ore alcoholics; 


By Loren Siegel 
100,000 people die each year from olco- 
hol-related diseases. 

* About 60,000,000 Americons smoke; 
smoking couses 320,000 deaths eoch year. 

Compore those statistics with the facts 
about illegal drugs: 

+ Approximately 20,000,000 Americans 
use marijuona regularly. lts long-term side 
effects ore unknown, but no one has died 
from morijuono use olone. 

* About 500,000 Americons ore heroin 
‚oddicts. Its most serious side effect is thot 
it is addictive. Heavy, prolonged use does 
not produce serious physical deteriora- 
tion. Heroin oddicts suffer more from the 
fact that the substance they crave is ille- 
gol—thus making it expensive to buy and 
criminol to use—thon from the drug itself. 

* Approximately 500,000 to 750,000 
people use cocaine on a daily basis. Co- 
caine is addictive ond con have serious 
physicol consequences. But it should 
be noted thot many cocaine addicts ore 
crock oddicts—and crock моз developed 
as о result of the criminol laws thot mode 
it imperative for suppliers to invent 


cheoper, more easily transportoble forms 
of cocoine. 

The combined death rate for alcohol 
‘ond tobacco use is 420,000 per year. The 
number of deaths ottributed to oll illegal 
drugs is 3652 per year. Using alcohol and 
tobacco is legal; using morijvono, heroin 
ond cocaine is illegal. And the penalty for 
using these drugs con be fines or incorcer- 
ation—penolties too horsh for marijuono 
users ond too inhumone for heroin ond 
crock addicts. 

Mlicit drugs should be decriminolized for 

reasons enumerated in “The War on 
Drugs” ond becouse it would reduce the 
problem to its most essentiol components: 
individual autonomy ond individual 
health. We must try to prevent the oddic- 
tion from occurring (by educotion) ond try 
to help those olready oddicted when we 
соп (by rehabilitation). Our present salu- 
tion of punishing the afflicted is helping no 
опе. 


Loren Siegel is speciol ossistont to the 
‘executive director of the Americon Civil 
Liberties Union. 


59 


CHILD PORNOGRAPHY 

Ав members of the Southern 
California Child Exploitation 
Task Force, we feel compelled to 
respond to Lawrence A. Stanley's 
"The Child-Pornography Myth" 
(The Playboy Forum, September). 
The article is factually іпасси- 
rate in several respects and 
misrepresents the scope of 
the child-pornography and -ex- 
ploitation problem, law-enforce- 
ment efforts to deal with it and 
the purposes of the child-por- 
nography legislation. 

Stanley neglected to contact 
any member of our task force, 
the longest-existing task force in 
the United States and one that 
has prosecuted all the child- 
pornography and Federal child- 
abuse cases in the Central 
District of California during the 
past ten years. Our task force has 
prosecuted more cases than any 
other district and consists of rep- 
resentatives of the U.S. Postal 
Inspection Service, the US. 
Customs Service, the Los Апре- 
les Police Departments Sexually 
Exploited Child Unit, the Los 
Angeles County Sheriff's Office, 
the FBI and the U.S. Attorneys 
office in Los Angeles. Members 
include Kenneth Elsesser, postal 
inspector (not an FBI agent as i 
dicated in the article), Joyce Kar- 
lin, Assistant U.S. Attorney (and 
the prosecutor in the Catherine 
Wilson case), and William Dwor- 
in, Los Angeles police detective, 
all nationally recognized experts 
in the field of child exploitation. 

The premise of Stanley's re- 
port appears to be that sig- 
nificant law-enforcement effort 
in the area of child exploitation із 
not warranted because there is 
not widespread commercial dis- 
tribution of child pornography 
in the United States. That 
premise is dangerously inaccu- 
rate, The threat imposed on our 
children has little to do with the 
extremely limited commercial 
aspect of the child-pornography 
business. 

We readily agree that we have 
successfully minimized the prob- 
lem of commercial production 
and distribution in the United 
States. That does not, however, 
solve the extent of the problem in 


FOR THE RECORD 


EPISCOPAL CHURCH, 
MEET THE 
PLAYBOY PHILOSOPHY 


“A warning needs to be issued to those institu- 
tional representatives of organized religion who 
still claim the power to define morality. The 
church must abandon its irrelevant ethical judg- 
ments that arise from realities that no longer exist 
and enter the arenas where life is lived, where peo- 
ple are hurt, where love is experienced, where ide- 
als are compromised, where people awaken from 
their dreams, and be a part of the debate that will 
separate the ethics of life from the ethics of death. 
The prohibitions of the past have been abandoned, 
not because people are evil ‘secular modernists’ 
but because life has changed and those prohibi- 
tions are simply no longer appropriate. 

“The time has come for the church, if it wishes to 
have any credibility as a relevant institution, to 
look at the issues of single people, divorcing peo- 
ple, postmarried people and gay and lesbian 
people from a point of view removed from the pa- 
triarchal patterns of the past and to help these 
people find a path that leads to life-affirming holi- 
ness. Is it too much to think that those gifts might 
come from the church? I think not.” 

—from Living in Sin? A Bishop Rethinks Human 

Sexuality, by John Shelby Spong, Episcopal 
bishop of Newark 


this country. 

Stanley's article ignores what 
child pornography is. It has 
nothing to do with pornography 
or the First Amendment or 
Playboy-type material. Rather, it 
consisis of pictures of children 
being raped, sodomized and 
orally copulated by adults and 
other children. These are not 
drawings or cartoons but real 
photographs of real children. 
Stanley overlooks the fact that 
you cannot have such material 
without the actual victimization 
of children. Each picture neces- 
sarily means another victim. 

Stanley suggests that the only 
child pornography is the Gov- 
ernments child pornography. 
The Government has never сге- 
ated any child pornography or 
any victims. The creators range 
from amateur photographers 
who photograph their own mo- 
lestations or those of other child 
molesters to professionals who 
photograph molestations for 
commercial distribution. Home- 
grown child pornography is по 
less damaging to the victim 
than аге commercially produced 
photographs. 

What happens to noncommer- 
cially produced child pornogra- 
phy? First, it is used by the 
molester to help him relive his 
fantasies and build a collection 
that he can share with other child 
molesters as a means of ассері- 
апсе and proof of his sexual in- 
volvement with children. Second, 
it is used to lower children’s in- 
hibitions by showing them that 
other children engage in such 
acts, thereby encouraging them 
to engage in similar acts. Third, 
¡vis shared among pedophiles. A 
pedophile, from a law-enforce- 
ment perspective, is an individu- 
al with a sexual preference for 
children. A pedophile is not пес- 
essarily a child molester, nor is 
a child molester necessarily a 
pedophile. A molester is a pe- 
dophile only ІҒ he acts out of a 
sexual love for children. 

The only consumers of child 
pornography are pedophiles. 
Unlike the readers of Playboy, 
who cover a wide spectrum, the 
consumers of child pornography 
are limited to pedophiles. Al- 


though that may seem like a gross gener- 
alization, nonpedophiles are repulsed by 
the sight of a three-year-old child orally 
copulating a grown male. 

According to Stanley, there is “a small, 
essentially insignificant group [of con- 
sumers of child pornography], by some 
estimates as few as 5000, in Europe and 
in America.” Understandably, the author 
has failed to identify any source for that 
statement, as that figure is inconsistent 
with what those of us who work in this 
field have learned over the past several 
years. Catherine Wilson, for example, 
operated out of her basement in Han- 
cock Park in Los Angeles, and she alone 
had more than 5000 active, repeat cus- 
tomers of child pornography. Numerous 
pedophiles have been identified who did 
not appear on her list. According to the 
US. Customs Service, a conservative esti- 
mate of the number of pedophiles in the 
United States is 15,000. It is impossible to 
accurately determine the number, be- 
cause pedophiles do everything possible 
to avoid detection. 

How would the public have us investi- 
gate those cases? According to Stanley, 
the Government entraps victims. Not on- 
ly have the courts decided that it does not 
entrap people, the judges have decided 
that it serves a valuable public service. No 
law-enforcement agency has ever sent un- 
solicited child pornography to anyone 
Nor has anyone been targeted who was 
not viewed as a pedophile with an inter- 
est in child pornography. 

What types of cases have we investigat- 
ed and prosecuted? We have frequently 
gone into homes with search warrants for 
child pornography and discovered chil- 
dren living in the home who have been 
molested by the target of our child- 
pornography investigation. We have also 
discovered photographs of the pedo- 
philes molesting children. In other cases, 
ме have found convicted child molesters 
as well as individuals who were providing 
children to molesters. One of the men 
prosecuted, who had 50,000 photo- 
graphs of noncommercial child pornog- 
тарһу in a storage locker, admitted 
molesting several hundred children fol- 
lowing his release from a state hospital 
for a child-molestation conviction. He 
even maintained a ledger listing those 
molestations. 

In another case, a convicted child mo- 
lester who was the subject of one of our 
investigations was found, after he had or- 
dered materials, to have homemade child 
pornography in his house—including a 
video tape depicting him molesting a 


child who was clearly under the influence 
of drugs or alcohol. 

‘The article cites a few cases in which 
individuals who claimed neither to be 
sexually active with children nor to pos- 
sess child pornography were the subjects 
of search and arrest warrants after they 
ordered child pornography from under- 
cover Government agents. While Gi 
ernment operations occasionally identify 
individuals who are not suitable for pros- 
ecution, those cases are the exception, 
not the rule. Moreover, the risks inherent 
in ignoring the potential hazards to chil- 
dren by individuals who have come to 
our attention demand that we conduct a 
thorough investigation in every case. 

A companion article suggests that the 
Government's actions drove individuals 
to suicide. Such an accusation is un- 
founded and irresponsible. As you well 


know, once an individual has been pub- 
lidy charged with a crime, or a search 
warrant has been executed, the press has 
access to this information. In fact, the 
press demands access to such informa- 
tion. It is not the Governments fault, nor 
will it accept responsibility for the fact 
that the press publicly identifies individu- 
als who have been arrested but not yet 
convicted of a crime. That happens not 
only in child-pornography cases but in 
all cases. Those individuals are then held 
up to ridicule in some cases and shame i 
most Cases, and some cannot cope 
that. The sad result is that occasionally, 
those people take their own lives. The 
other side of this coin is, however, that 
the public benefits from learning that 
specific individuals may pose a threat to 
children, particularly when they are free 
on bail. Many we prosecute actively seek 
employment and charity work, which 


puts them in contact with children. Par- 
ents have the right to know that they may 
be putting their children in a dangerous 
situation. For example, the man who had 
a ledger of his child molestations taught 
swimming and tennis to youngsters, 
some of whom became his victims. 

It is well recognized that child abuse is 
a problem that is plaguing our nati 
Child pornography is one aspect of child 
abuse. Playboy should encourage us for 
our efforts to combat the problem of 
child pornography. 

Joyce Karlin, Chief 

Major Crimes Section 
United States Attorney's Office 
Los Angeles, California 


Monica Bachner 

Assistant United States Attorney 
Major Narcotics Section 

Los Angeles, California 


Kelley M. S. Wilson, Special Agent 
United States Customs Service 


William Dworin, Detective 
Los Angeles Police Department 


Kenneth A. Elsesser, Postal Inspector 
United States Postal Inspection 
Depas tment Service 


Joseph L. Schouten, Postal Inspector 
United States Postal Inspection 
Department Service 

Lawrence A. Stanley, New York attorney 
and author of “The Child Pornography 
Myth,” responds: 

It is hardly surprising that members of 
the Southern California Child Exploitation 
Task Force portray their law-enforcement 
efforts with such self-righteous rhetoric— 
they need to sensationalize the child- 
pornography issue in order to excuse the 
Governments misguided sting operations 
and justify serious violations of our consti- 
tutional rights. 

The task force claims that “child pornog- 
raphy" has nothing to do with the First 
Amendment or Playboy-type material. 
Wrong. Under Federal lau, a child is any- 
one under the age of 18. Traci Lords, as 
many readers of Playboy are aware, was 
one such child. She began her career at the 
age of 16 by lying about her age. She ap- 
peared in Penthouse and in dozens of adult 
films before anyone discovered she was а ті- 
nor. Lordss agent and the producers of her 
film, “Those Young Girls,” are being prose- 
cuted by the Justice Department for “child 
exploitation.” The task force and other 
presecution teams throughout the United 
States are also prosecuting a number of in- 
dividuals for selling the айш films in 
which she appeared (“U.S. us. Kantor, et 


61 


62 


al"). Meanwhile, Lords has never com- 
plained to anyone about the films in which 
she willingly participated and for which 
she was handsomely paid. 

J. Spencer Letts, the Federal judge who 
issued the lower-court opinion in the 
“Kantor” case, evidently disagrees with 
the task force that “child pornography” 
has “nothing to do with the First Amend- 
ment.” Judge Letts stated in his opinion: 
“As the specified age is progressively 
raised, there comes a point at which the 
prohibition against employing underage 
performers becomes a transparent means 
jor prohibiting the performance itself 
That point is reached when the affected 
performers are sufficiently ‘adult, so as to 
be no longer the legitimate subjects of pro- 
tection of ‘children.’ Congress does nat 
have the right under the First Amendment 
to prohibit altogether the filming of sexu- 
ally explicit conduct. . . . Congress, in the 
interest of the protection of ‘children, can 
prohibit the use only of those who truly are 
children in such performances. In this 
courts view, the societal interest іп pro- 
tecting l6- and 17-year-old ‘children’ be- 
gins (о be strained.” 

Mt is doubtful that the task force can 
sertously argue that all the consumers of 
materials depicting Lords and other 
young adults are pedophiles. On the con- 
trary. according to every scientific study 
regarding age preferences of pedophiles 
that 1 have reviewed and according to a 
number of experts in the fields of psychi- 
atry and psychology who were consulted in 
connection with my research, the materi- 
als in which Lords appeared would be of 
little or no interest to pedophiles. Nor 
would the image of a three-year-old be of 
interest (as the task force indicates), for 
research shows that pedophiles are inter 
ested in children from the ages of six to 14. 

is is not to excuse the pedophiles attrac- 
tion to a child of any age but rather to 
show how the task force misuses facts. 

Psychologists and psychiatrists have al- 
so disagreed with the task forces charac- 
terization of the consumers of child 
pornography, In Medical Aspects of Hu- 
man Sexuality, Dr. Manuel Cepeda, as- 
sociale professor of psychiatry at the 
University of South Alabama College of 
Medicine, offers another explanation of 
why an individual might order or view 
child pornography: “The choice of sexuat- 
ly arousing material is idiosyncratic. 
Each individual is forming a unique set 
of experiences and associated mental 
images or fantasies [in childhood] that 
may be retained as sexually stimulating 
material for future use during adult 
sexual behavior: Child pornography тау 
be used to represent or enhance these early 
images. . . . [Thus], it is possible that most 
use of child pornography is not associated 


with a psychological disorder” 

Typically, the task force misrepresents 
tts discovery of truly abustve situations in 
child-pornography cases. Although it 
claims that и “frequently” discovers indi- 
viduals who are actually abusing children 
or photographing molestations, it careful- 
ly avoids providing any numbers—pri- 
marily because such cases are so rare. In 
Project. Looking Glass and Operation 
Borderline, which comprise approximately 
one third of all cases involving child 
pornography, euch defendant was 
charged with Ше mere receipt of a 
magazine or video tape supplied by and, 
in some cases, compiled and published 
(definable as “production” under Federal 
law) by the United States Government. 
Even by Ihe US. Postal Services most op- 
timistic estimate, 30 percent of the de- 
fendants were alleged lo have been 
involved т some other activities involving 
children. A grand tolal of 60 individuals 
nationwide who were involved in some 
sort of sexual activity with children were 


discovered in two massive operations that 
solicited thousands of targeted individu- 
als and lasted more than a year But an 
examination of a number of sting-opera- 
tion cases in which “more” was alleged re- 
veals such claims to be more prosecutorial 
posturing than fact, When arrests. are 
made, fantasy drawings, fictional writ- 
ings and scrapbook collages are commonly 
among the kinds of items likely to be cited 
ау evidence of actual molestations. 

The task forces claim that it has never 
sent unsolicited child pornography to sus- 
pects is disingenuous. Under such under 
cover names as William J. Ward, Paul 
Davis and Jack Roose, the task force has 
sent unsolicited erotic materials depicting 
nude and seminude children to at least 
three people in its attempt to meet “like- 
minded” individuals. Only one of the 
three people responded, and he was subse- 
quently arrested for exchanging child 


pornography but was acquitted after it 
was revealed that he was a bona fide sex 
researcher. There are, in all likelihood, 
similar cases. For instance, one agent is 
believed to have operated under the name 
Steve O'Brien and to have sent unsolicit- 
ed Polarvid photographs to anolher indi- 
vidual, claiming those photographs to be 
of his “young friends.” The pictures were 
copies taken from а child-pornography 
magazine from the early Seventies. 

The task forces estimate of Catherine 
Wilson's activities is similarly misleading 
Where did it obtain its figure of “5000 
active, repeat customers of child pornog- 
raphy’? That conflicts with Kenneth 
Elsessers own assessment of Wilsons cus- 
tomer list in his testimony before the Meese 
commission. According to Elsesser (a 
cosignatory of the task-force letter), 
Wilson was primarily a distributor of 
“straight heterosexual” pornography dur 
ing the early and mid-Seventies, who 
branched out into bestiality and child 
pornography in the late Seventies or early 
Eighties. When she was arrested in 1981, 
law-enforcement officials did not seize a 
list of 5000 child-porn consumers but 
rather 5000 mailing labels containing the 
names of all of Wilsons customers, of 
whatever persuasion. They also seized a 
customer list containing the names of an 
unspecified number of individuals who 
had previously purchased child pornogra- 
phy from her. (Remember that, according 
to Elsesser, Wilson's operation accounted 
for 80 percent of all child-pornography 
distribution in the United States.) The 
specter of the 5000 active, repeat cus- 
tomers cited by the task force in its letter is 
merely a rhetorical device useful in 
inflating numbers 

The numbers game is an easy one to 
play—but whether the number of polen- 
tial buyers of child porn from Uncle Sam 
18 5000 or 15,000, the task force misses 
the essential points of the article: First, 
that child-porn “sting” operations in 
which the Government is the producer 
and seller of child pornography do very 
litile to protect children; and second, that 
even if the results achieved by such sting 
operations were substantial rather than as 
meager as they are, the ends do not neces- 
sarily justify any means, The myth of child 
pornography and the law-enforcement ef- 
forts directed at it conveniently avoids the 
painful reality that the most serious inci- 
dents of child abuse—physical, sexual 
and emotional—occur largely within the 
family and are symptomatic of its break- 
down; moreover, these cases are perpetrat- 
ed not by those few individuals whose 
sexual fantasies are focused on children but 
by otherwise “normal” men and women. 


МОРЕ WSIE СҚС ON T 


whats happening in the sexual and social arenas 


eee (>... 


How many people lie to get laid? A 
California researcher, in a study of 422 
unmarried college students with sexual ex- 
perience, found that 35 percent of the men 
and len percent of the women admitted 
that they had told a lie to get someone to 


sleep with them. Conclusion: Asking part- 
ners about their drug use and sexual past 
is not as effective a precaution against ас- 
quiring AIDS or a venereal disease as is 
using condoms 


RIC: MARIJUANA 00 


WASHINGTON, DC—For more than 16 
years, the Federal Drug Enforcement Ad- 
ministration has beaten back efforts by the 
courts, the medical community and the 
National Organization for the Reform of 
Marijuana Laws to allow the use of pot 
for medical purposes. Now, even its oum 
chief administrative-law judge contra- 
dicts the DEAS position that pot should re- 
main ranked with heroin as medically 
useless and, therefore, illegal. Judge Fran- 
cis L. Young has issued 68 pages of 
findings and recommendations that de- 
scribe marijuana, m its natural form, as 
“one of the safest therapeutically active 
substances known to man.” The decision 
notes that it “can be safely used within а 
supervised routine of medical care." The 
recommendations are not binding on the 
DEA, but they remove the last technicality 
against rescheduling marijuana as a 
Class H drug, recognized for its medical 
usefulness. 


WASHINGTON, DC—The bad news for 
the polygraph industry and the good news 
for almost everyone else is a new Federal 
law prohibiting employers from requir- 
ing that employees or prospective em- 
ployees take lie-detector tests. Although 
polygraph tests have been used for more 
than 40 years—and will still be used by 
the Government—their reliability has al- 
ways been questionable. One labor attor- 
ney sees the new law as “the death knell 
for the polygraph.” 


ATLANTICCITY—A municipal judge de- 
livered a blow that could cripple prostitu- 
tion in Allantic City—or improve its 
intellectual quality. The judge gave a uet- 
eran prostitute the opportunity to reduce 
her 30-day jail sentence by writing an es- 
say, Subject: how to stamp out sex for pay. 
Her sentence will be reduced by one day 
for every 200 words she writes. The hook- 
ers attorney, with his own grammatical 
problems, said, “To you and I and other 
literate people, it seems easy, but for her, 
its quite a burden." 


ADS ROUNDUP — - 


+ A study reported in the Journal of the 
American Medical Association found 
that men who refuse to be tested for AIDS 
are five limes more likely to have the virus 
than are men who submit to the test. Inves- 
tigators determined the HIV status of pa- 
tients who refused to take the AIDS test by 
analyzing blood that had been drawn for 
а syphilis test. 

* The District of Columbia is anony- 
mously testing 20,000 newborn infants 
and 10,000 clinic patients as part of a 
Federally financed program to track the 
spread of the disease. 

* Psychiatrists report that an increasing 
number of mental patients who are not at 
risk for contracting AIDS nevertheless 
have delusions that they suffer from the 
disease, apparently caused in part by guilt 
associated with past behavior. 

* Тһе chairman of the Illinois State 
Medical Societys committee on AIDS re- 
signed to protest the organizations sup- 
port of a new law permitting doctors to 
secretly perform AIDS tests on patients 
who are receiving other medical treatment. 

“А nationwide study of 1829 female 
prostitutes found that only 12 percent test- 


ed positive for AIDS antibodies—and 
most of them were intravenous-drug users. 
And in New York, a study of 627 cus- 
tomers of prostitutes found that only three 
AIDS-posilive cases were traced to sex 
with prostitutes, 


THE HOLE STORY 


In urban areas, ozone is produced 
largely by auto exhaust, and in rural 
areas, primarily by lightning. With this 
knowledge, a California research team 
exposed latex condoms lo both smoggy 
weather and monsoon conditions and 
discovered that after a few days of expo- 
sure, the ozone ate holes in the rubber 
Americans aren't at risk from damaged 
condoms, because their product comes 
wrapped, but Third World countries’ con- 
doms are shipped and stored without 
wrappers and—not coincidentally—have 
а high failure rate. 


“IMPRISONED FOR PREGNANCY - 


A Washington, D.C., woman is in jail 
because she is pregnant, The woman orig- 
inally received probation for passing bad 
checks, but when the judge discovered that 


she had tested positive for cocaine and 
that she was pregnant, he sentenced her to 
jail in order to protect the fetus. Using the 
judges reasoning, a pregnant woman who 
has commatted a misdemeanor could, con- 
ceivably, also be jailed for smoking ciga- 
тейез or drinking alcohol—actunties that, 
like cocaine use, can result in premature 
birth and low birth weight 


63 


64 


EFNE 


FIRST AMENDMENT AWARDS 


Although the First Amendment has 
been part of the Constitution since 
1791, it was not truly part of the Ameri- 
can experience until this century. In 
1920, a scholar preparing a book on 
freedom of speech would have had 
about 20 Supreme Court cases to pon- 
der. In 1949, he would have had about 
100 cases; in 1974, more than 400. 
Jamie Kalven, in his introduction to A 
Worthy Tradition: Freedom of Speech in 
America (Harper & Row), concludes 
that freedom of speech is an adventure 
that is unfolding in our lifetime; the 
court cases reflect "the law working it- 
self pure.” 

What we can't tell from these statis- 
tics is that the heroes of the grand tra- 
dition of freedom of speech are not 
always lawyers and judges—and that 
not every First Amendment battle is 
fought in court. 

Леп years ago, the Playboy Foun- 
dation under the direction of Christie 
Hefner established the Hugh М. 
Hefner First Amendment Awards to 
honor indi als who have made sig- 
nificant contributions to the protection 
and enhancement of First Amendment 
rights. The Foundation wanted to cele- 
brate the men and women who had 
given, in Karl Llewellyn’s words, “ 
body, toughness and inspiration to 
what is now the worthiest tradition in 
American law, the tradition of freedom 
of speech, press and political action." 

The judges for this year’s awards 
were: Anthony Lewis, syndicated 
columnist for The New York Times; 
Charlayne Hunter-Gault, New York— 
based national correspondent for The 
MacNeil! Lehrer NewsHour; Steven Pico, 
First Amendment advocate/lecturer 
and past award winner; and Thomas 
Wicker, political columnist for The New 
York Times. Co-chairs for the award are: 
Christie Hefner, President and Chief 
Operating Officer, Playboy Enterprises, 
Inc.; Stanley Sheinbaum, immediate 
past chair, A.C.L.U. Foundation of 
Southern California, and Burton Jo- 
seph, chair, the Playboy Foundation. 


BOOK PUBLISHING 


Jamic Kalven, editor of A Worthy Tra- 
dition, is this years winner. Harry 
Kalven, Jr., Jamie's father, was among 
the country’s “most perceptive First 
Amendment commentators, known for 


his insights into the law and for the 
grace with which he expressed them.” 
When he died in 1974, he was at work 
on this book. Jamie spent more than a 
decade completing his father’s manu- 
script. His contributions to this ical 
examination of the American tradition 
of free speech, from which come the 
statistics quoted above, earned him a 
First Amendment award. 


EDUCATION 


Herbert Foerstel, head of the branch 
libraries at the University of Maryland, 
received an award for resisting FBI i 
trusions into libraries. Under its so- 
called Library Awareness Program, the 
FBI sought to have librarians report 
Suspicious patrons, especially those 
with foreign accents or names, who 
might be collecting information for the 


| Те Freedom ot speech is ап 
N adventure that ie — 
unfolding in our lifetime.” 


Soviet Union. The program, which 
Foerstel successfully battled, was in 
direct violation of American Library 
Associations library code of zthics and 
of the library confidentiality laws of 37 
states. 


PRINT JOURNALISM 


David С. Arnett, a student at Tulsa 
Junior College, was honored for his ef- 
forts to defend the right toa free press. 
After being removed from the editor- 
ship of the campus newspaper, the 
Horizon, for defying an administration 
ban on publication of editorials, Arnett 
founded the Independent Student News, 
which, with the help of donations, is 
now distributed on five northern Okla- 
homa campuses—a considerably wider 
readership than the 200 journalism 
students to whom Tulsa Junior College 
officials had limited distribution of the 
Horizon. hu was that limitation that 
Arnett had protested in the offending 
editorial. 


INDIVIDUAL CONSCIENCE 


The First Amendment guarantees 
the right to criticize—it does not pro- 
vide the courage to do so. Roy 


Woodruff is a former director of the 
Lawrence Livermore National Labora- 
tory and head of the nuclear-weapons- 
development program, which included 
the X-ray-laser project. In theory, the 
laser weapon could channel the power 
of an exploding nuclear device into 
multiple beams that would destroy ene- 
my targets. In 1983, after Reagan's fa- 
mous Star Wars speech, scientists 
questioned whether or not this weapon 
could be developed and, if so, whether 
or not it would work, Edward Teller, со- 
founder of Livermore and father of the 
H-bomb, lobbied enthusiastically for it, 
even going so far as to state that the de- 
velopment of the X-ray laser was a rea- 
son for delaying agreement at the 
Geneva arms talks. Information that 
did not support Star Wars was sup- 
pressed. As head of the project, 
Woodruff knew how misleading Teller's 
position was. Rather than participate іп 
selling Star Wars to the Administration 
and Congress, he resigned. 


LAW 


Rex Armstrong, attorney and volun- 
teer counsel to the American Civil 
Liberties Union of Oregon, has success- 
fully argued a number of cases on be- 
half of free expression. In one such 
instance, he convinced the Oregon 
Supreme Court that the state could not 
impose zoning restrictions оп book- 
stores and theaters based on the content 
of the materials offered by those estab- 
lishments (a position more protective of 
civil liberues than those expressed in 
several U.S. Supreme Court decisions). 


GOVERNMENT 


Convincing the Government that the 
public has the right to know requires 
skill and perseverance. Eric Robert 
Glitzenstein, staff attorney with the 
Public Citizen Litigation Group in 
Washington, D.C., has worked for five 
years to ensure public access to the 
workings of Government. He has won 
victories giving citizens access to the 
records of former Presidents, and pris- 
oners the right to obtain copies of their 
pre-sentence reports. 

In addition to our respect and grati- 
tude, each winner received a plaque 
and a $3000 award at a ceremony at 
Playboy Mansion West in November. 
The First Amendment is best exem- 
plified in practice. 


Асло (94.67.1005. Grain Neutral Sprits. © 1988 Schieelin & Somerset Со. New York. N.Y. 


Share the wreath. 
Give friends a sprig of imported English greenery. 


Tanqueray” 
A singular experience. 


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Most kids were content with a white Christ- 
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То keep everything іп the best light theres a 
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And once you've gathered together inside for 
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So be prepared for the snow season or any 
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PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: ROBERT DE NIRO 


a tooth-pulling, reluctant but revealing conversation with the fiercely 
private person considered by many to be the best actor of his generation 


Outside his bungalow at the Chäteau Mar- 
mont, two state-of-the-art exercise ma- 
chines—one for Ше legs, the other for the 
arms—are about to be picked up by the com- 
pany that delivered them to Robert De Niro 
during his stay in Los Angeles. Inside, his 
trunks are packed and he is cager lo return to 
New York, the only city in which he feels com- 
fortable enough to call it home, the city whose 
rhythms he understands and one that has 
served as а backdrop for so many of his 
films—"Taxi Driver,” “New York, New York,” 
‘Once upon a Time in America,” “Falling in 
Love" The country’s mast respected actor is 
going home. 

Some say De Niro is the individual who 
has taken the torch from Marlon Brando and 
run the farthest with i; Elia Kazan, who di- 
rected Brando as well as James Dean, said 
De Niro was the hardest-working actor he'd 
ever met; John Hancock, who directed him in 
"Bang the Drum Slowly,’ compared him to 
Alec Guinness; Liza Minnelli, his co-star in 
“New York, New York,” tagged him “the 
grealest actor around tode Yet despite the 
superlatives, De Niro can also be maddening, 
His penchant for indecision and perfection of 
craft has driven make-up artists, directors 
and screenwriters to muttering obscenities. It 
is that very perfectionism that makes De Nis 
as enigmatic as he is gifted: “I like Bob, 


“Theres a certain awkward period—even 1 
gel to the point where | have to say to myself, 
“Gee, why don't | just do the fucking thing?” 
instead of being worried about trying to solve 
every problem, superanalyzing.” 


Francis Ford Coppola said after directing 
him in “The Godfather, Part 11.” “1 just don't 
know if he likes himself” 

De Niro was born in Greenwich Village on 
August 17, 1943; his parents, both artists, 
separated when he was two. While his father, 
also named Robert, traveled to Europe to 
paint, the young De Niro lived in an apart- 
ment on West 14th Street with his mother, Vir- 
ginia Admiral, who supported them by 
running a typing service. It was in a public 
school production of "The Wizard of Oz" that 
audiences caught the ten-year-old De Niro in 
his first role: the Cowardly Lion. Soon after, 
he enrolled in the dramatic workshop at the 
New School for Social Research for a sum- 
mer. So shy he could scarcely stand up in front 
of strangers, he set aside his acting ambitions 
and joined a New York street gang, 

At 16, he dropped out of school and re- 
turned to acting class, this time studying with 
Stella Adler, the woman credited with teach- 
ing Brando. Actress Sally Kirkland, a friend 
of De Niro’ during those early years, remem- 
bers him going to auditions with a portfolio of 
pictures of himself in various disguises, just 
we to casting directors he wasn't an 
ic.” Gradually, he began appearing in 
plays and low-budget films. 

In 1963, he auditioned for Brian De Pal- 
ma's “The Wedding Party" and impressed the 


“I'm feeling angry about this. Pm being pres- 
sured into doing an interview, and I resent 
that. 1 don't like the feeling Why should I 
have to put myself in a position that makes me 
feel this way? Why bother?” 


young director with his chameleonlike ability 
to transform himself into the character. He got 
the part, for which he was paid $50, and 
went on to do two other De Palma films, 
“Greetings,” a film about a draft dodger, in 
1968 and “Hi, Mom!” in 1970. 

That same year; he appeared as one of Ma 
Barkers bad boys in “Bloody Mama,” star- 
ring Shelley Winters. Then Al Pacino 
dropped out of “The Gang That Couldn't 
Shoot Straight” to do “The Godfather” and 
De Niro took over his part in the comedy. 
That appearance, like his next three in “Jen 
nifer on My Mind,” “Born to Win” and 
“бата Song,” wasn't memorable, but a young 
director named Martin Scorsese had seen 
something in De Niros intensity and asked 
him to appear іп а film he was about to make 
called “Mean Streets.” De Niro thought 
Scorsese, whom he vaguely knew from their 
childhood days, understood film making, so 
he took the part, made it his own and ran 
away wilh the picture. But it was his per 
formance that same year—as а terminally 
ill catcher in the baseball film “Bang the 
Drum Slowty"—that many would consider 
De Niro’s breakthrough role. 

In 1974, Coppola chose De Niro to portray 
the young Vito Corleone in “The Godfather, 
Part П.“ Brando had created the role of the 
aging don in the original “Godfather” and 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY ROBERTA INTRATER 


^I got this image of [Taxi Drivers] Travis as 
а crab. To prepare for that, I swam around 
under water and looked at the sea life, Гус 
used a cat, a wolf, a rabbit, a snake, an owl. 
Certain animals give you certain feelings.” 


69 


PLAYBOY 


few moviegoers who saw both Brando’ and 
De Niro’ performances could have said 
which was stronger. Both won Oscars—Bran- 
do for Best Actor of 1972 and De Niro for 
Best Supporting Actor of 197- 

Bernardo Bertolucci was the next director 
to tap De Niro’ talents, this tine for his lav- 
ish, flawed еріс “1900.” It was after that ex 
hausting shoot that De Niro made his second 
and, perhaps, most controversial picture with 
Scorsese: “Taxi Driver” Based on Paul 
Schrader‘ script about a tormented and vio- 
lent New York City hackie named Таи 
Bickle, the 1976 film became a De Niro tour 
de force. It also caused an uproar five years 
Inter, when the defense team for John Hinck- 
ley, Jr, said the Bickle character had inspired 
ham to shoot President Ronald Reagan and 
three others oulside a hotel in Washington, 
D.C. Hinckley did it, they said, to get the at- 
tention of “Taxi Driver” co-star Jodie Foster, 
with whom he was obsessed; he'd seen the film 
15 times. 

In 19%, De Niro married a beautiful 
black actress, Diahnne Abbott, and adopted. 
her eight-year-old daughter from a previous 
marriage. He and Diahnne also had a son, 
Raphael, іп 1977. While Abbott would even- 
tually appear in a number of De Niro’ films 
(most notably, as his reluctant girlfriend in 
Scorseses “The King of Comedy"), the mar- 
riage didn't last. They were recently divorced. 

After friction with the movies director, 
Mike Nichols, De Niro was fired from his 
next film, “Bogart Slept Here.” Nor were his 
next two efforts—Kazany “The Last Tycoon," 
based on the life of Wunderkind producer 
Irving Thalberg, and Scorseses musical 
“New York, New York” —commercial or criti- 
«al successes. 

Controversy. also surrounded De Niro 
next movie, Michael CiminoS 1978 Vietnam- 
war story, "The Deer Hunter,” shot in Penn- 
sylvania and Thailand. Even though it was 
hailed as a masterpiece, it has never been 
shown on network ТҮ, for fear that its scene 
m which POWs play Russian roulette would 
inspire youngsters to repeat the deadly game. 

De Niro won has second Oscar, for best 
actor, for his 1980 portrayal of fighter Jake 
La Motta in his next Scorsese film, "Raging: 
Bull." Bringing to the screen a performance 
of equal parts of explosiveness and vulgarity, 
De Niro was reported to be characteristically 
obsessed with his role, befriending the real-life 
La Motta and gaining 60 pounds to resemble 
the bulky fighter in the films later sequences 

AIL of his subsequent performances have 
been studied as serious efforts, whether or not 
the films themselves were well received. Those 
roles are stunningly varied: the troubled 
priest in conjlict with his brother (Robert Du- 
тай) in “True Confessions”; Rupert Pupkin, 
the desperate, manic stand-up comic who kid- 
naps talk-show host Jerry Lewis in “The 
King of Comedy"; a Jewish Mobster in Sergio 
Leones gangster epic “Once upon a Time in 


America”; a married man having an affair 
with Meryl Streep in the quiet, warmly ro- 
mantic “Falling in Love"; a cameo as a 


wacky terrorist in Terry Gilliams brilliantly 
futuristic “Brazil”; a murderer turned Jesuit 


priest in Roland Joffe: he Mission”; the 
Devil in Alan Parkers “Angel Heart”; and 
gang lord Al Capone—a ten-minute appear- 
ance for which he was paid $2,000,000—in 
De Palmas “The Untouchables.” 

In 1956, De Niro appeared in the off- 
Broadway play “Cuba and His Teddy Bear” 
Then came last summer’ sleeper, Martin 
Brest’: hilarious “Midnight Run,” a film 
Universal Pictures considered—after all this 
time—De Niros commercial breakthrough. 

De Niro is almost as famous for his silence 
as he is for his movie roles. He has thrown a 
Garbolike cloak of mystery around himself, 
leaving gossip columnists a diet of hearsay 
lly looks on interviews as a form 
So rather than feed the rumor mill, 
De Niro chooses to work: By the time “Mid- 
night Run” was enjoying its success, he had 
already completed another film, “Jacknife; 
dealing with the stress syndrome of returning 
Vietnam vets, and was shooting "Letters" — 
formerly titled “Union Street” —with Jane 
Fonda, whose anti-Vietnam-war activities 
overshadowed the making of the movie itself 

To talk with this most extraordinary actor 
for the 35th Anniversary Issue, Playboy sent 
Contributing Editor Lawrence Grobel on his 


“Гое got to go.” 


trail. The assignment seemed fitting, since it 
robel who interviewed Marlon Brando 
boys 25th Anniversary Issue. Gro- 
Is report: 

"When I learned thal De Niro was actual. 
ly willing to meet with me, I found it hard to 
believe. 1 had been trying for years to inter- 
view him, unsuccessfully. When I finally 
went lo see De Niro at the Chàteau Marmont 
in Hollywood. 1 found a nervous, edgy, thin 
small-boned man who answered his own door 
and couldn't sit still for more than a few min- 
utes al a time, He wore a beard, as in "Angel 
Heart, and talked in half sentences when he 
spoke at all, leaving me with the uneasy feel- 
ing that it just might be impossible to expect to 
gel anything quoleworthy out of him. After 
half an how, he said he'd call me to arrange 
our first session, and he did, two days later. 

“We'd never really said we'd start here, he 
said. "Maybe we should start in New York. НУ 
something that may take a year or two, 
тов?” But | managed to persuade him to 
begin in L-A., where we talked for an hour 
and 1 worried that little actually was said. 
For De Niro, however, il way a breakthrough, 
He thought we had talked up a storm and he 
joked about our prevailing on Playboy to 
send us to China to continue our talks. 

“А few months later, 1 flew to New York to 
meet with him m my suite at the Drake Hotel. 


The beard was gone, but the restlessness 
wasnt. Always aware of the (аре recorder, he 
was constantly reaching to turn it off when he 
wanted 10 say something off the record. When 
1 suggested he just say, ‘Off the record; rather 
than turn off the machine, he said, ‘If 1 don't. 
turn it off, I may say it’s off the record, but it’s 
still on your tape. So its on, not off” 

“АЙет eight sessions over a period of seven 
months— waiting for De Niros calls, waiting 
for him to arrive late and knowing that he 
would leave early—1 began to understand 
that it wasn't just me he was juggling 
around; it was his life. Every day, weekends 
included, De Nivo lives a moment-to-moment 
existence, balancing his time among his chil- 
dren, his friends, his associates, his lovers 
and himself Like mercury, he slips right 
through your fingers; you cant grasp him, 
can't hold on lo him. Try to shake his hand 
and its limp. Тәу to look him in the eyes and 
theyre darling around. Corner him and he 
side-steps you: pin him down and he outfoxes 
you. Ask him about his childhood, his parents, 
his interracial marriage and he’s ducking out 
the door: Robert De Niro, it finally occurred to 
me, is the real-life White Rabbit, always on 
the move, always checking his watch, always 
late for a very important date 

“For a guy who arrived a long time ago, 
you'd think someone would have told him he 
doesn't have to look at his watch all the time. 
Because time stopped for De Niro a dozen 
years ago. He can be as late as he wants. Ev- 
erybody will шай for Bobby.” 


PLAYBOY. Aficr so many ycars of 
see you, it’s hard to believe that we 
y here. 


ying to. 
ге actu- 


ion. 


kit up next time. [Laughs] 
PLAYBOY: Seriously, this is your first in- 
depth interview, but lately, there have been 
a couple of cracks in your wall of silence. 
You even spent a few minutes on the Today 
show, Are we seeing a new Robert De 
Niro? Should we look for you next on The 
Tonight Show? 
DE NIRO: No. I like Johnny Carson, but I 
wouldn't do his show. Irs not my energy; its 
type of energy. He realizes that. 
PLAYBOY: Do print interviews interest you? 
Do you read them? 
DE NIRO: I read them. I read two of yours, 
ıd Brando. I'd like to read 
I just don't have the time. 
[Quickly glances at his watch) 
PLAYBOY: OK. Is the question you get asked 
most often the one about your weight? 
How you managed to put on 60 pounds for 
your role in Raging Bull? 
DE NIRO: Yeah, that's been asked a lot 
PLAYBOY: Lets get it out ol the wa 
How did you do it? And how did you feel: 
DE NIRO: АП right. At first it was fun. 1 
c cream and everything I wanted— 
like part of the fantasy that one has about 
yhing. 1 took a tour through 
a, staye 
ind ate. And for two weeks І was mi: 
erable, because as good as the food 
rich > you could еа only опе big meal а 


day and then lie there, digesting it. But ГІ 
never, ever eat like that ада it gets 
boring, ing and I did it in a fast way I 
was uncomfortable, I couldn't see my shoes 
ог bend over. My feet hurt because of the 
extra weight. I was breathing heavily. I felt 
terrible. After 15, 90 pounds, it was hard 
work. I had to get 


films—I won't even say which ones; you 
know which ones—are recognized for oth- 
er things. .. - 

PLAYBOY: Rocky sorts of movies? 

DE NIRO: You said it; I'm not gonna say it. 
[Checks watch again] 

PLAYBOY: Jake La Motta was almost 60 


in the top-20 middleweights of all time. 
Could he have taken you out with one 
punch? 

DE NIRO: If it carne 10 a real fight, of course 
he could; по question about it. The only 
thing would be the age difference; but 
even with that, he's still so skilled as a 


fighter. 


up early to eat a full 
breakfast and digest 
that in order to eat a 
full lunch and digest. 
that in order to cat a 
full dinner. And lots. 
of Di-Gel or Tums. 

PLAYBOY: The next 
question has to be: 
Why did you do it? 

DE NIRO: The trans- 
formation, to me, 
was interesting. 1 
didn't want to do it 
with just make-up. 1 
wanted to really do 
it so you could see 
his stomach. So I 
thought, Let me try 
this as an experi- 
ment. I said, "Shut 
down the produc- 
tion" Marty and [ 
planned it. There 
was something 
about Jake—he was 
a young fighter and 
then he let himself 


deterioration and to 


capture it on film 
was really interest- 
ing to me. 

PLAYBOY: Were you 


PLAYBOY: As a kid 
growing up in Man- 
hattai vou were 
pretty skilled, 100. 
Didn't you once be- 
long to a street gang? 
DE NIRO; Thats a 
whole other thing to 
talk about, not here. 
No big deal. 
PLAYBOY: Wasn't 
your 
by Milk? 
DE NIRO: That was 
one of a few I had. 
PLAYBOY: What were 
the others? 

DE NIRO: I dont want 
to get into that. 
PLAYBOY: Why Milk? 
DE NIRO: Maybe be- 
cause I drank milk. 
I don't want to go 
too much into that. 
PLAYBOY: We dont 
have to go too much, 
but maybe just 
enough to get some 
idea of wl 
came fron 


[Reaches over, turns 
off tape recorder, talks 
about the pressures on 
actors 10 do inter 


Just as interested іп 
getting the weight 


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views] 

PLAYBOY: Well keep 
things general, 
then. What kind of 


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ed to get it off. But I 
couldnt go back to 
eating the way I nor- 
mally did, because 1 
would then feel sick. 
1 had to let myself 
down gradually 

PLAYBOY: Raging 
Bull wasn't а com- 
mercial success, in 
spite of the Oscars 
you and the picture 
received. Did that 


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kid were you—in- 
troverted, extro- 
verted, shy, loud? 

DE NIRO: It's hard to 
talk about you 
about what ki 
kid you were, and so. 
on. So I don't feel 
that disposed to it. 

PLAYBOY: Why is it 
hard? 

DE NIRO: Ii just is. 
That's why 1 don't 
do interviews. I 
think self-evi- 


E 


surprise you? 
DE NIRO: No, I didnt expect it would be. We 
Just did the movie the way we wanted to do 
it and that was it. Of course, you always 
want people to sce it and hope that it will 
be OK, but its morc important to do 
movies that have a meaning and some rele- 
vance 50 years from now. ГА rather be part 
of a movie like that than of a movie thats 
not gonna be around. Ceri types of 


when you made Raging Bull. Did you go 
into the ring with him to learn how he 
fought? 

DE NIRO: Sometimes I would spar with him. 
He knew the language so well that you'd 
be making a mistake not keeping your 
guard up. He was a tough guy. 

PLAYBOY: La Моца paid you a big compli- 
ment: He said he would have ranked you 


dent. I know people 
who dont want to talk about things in their 
life. I's a personal thing and it's really no- 
body's business. 

PLAYBOY: Is your past something you've de- 
cided to shut out? Was ita happy past or an 
unhappy past? 

DE NIRO: No, it's not that. It's. . . . [Turns off 
recorder, and begins lo explain why he doesn't 
want to talk about his childhood, becomes 


71 


‘THERE'S NOTHING FINER THAN 


CANADIAN MIST 


LIGHT, 5МООТН, MELLOW..CANADA ATITS BEST. 


emotional, angry] This has nothing to do 
with you, its just that Im feeling angry 
about this. I'm being pressured into doing 
an interview, and I resent that. I don't like 
the feeling. Why should I have to put my 
self in a position that makes me feel this 
way? I know the studios think it’s impor- 
tant for a movie—that's their job. Every- 
one's got his job to do, so they all make like 
its important to do these interviews, when 
it's not. 1 know it's not. So why bother? 
PLAYBOY: So, you had an unhappy child- 
hood? 

[De Niro is not amused. Pacing the floor 
now, he calms down when room service 
brings the coffee he ordered.] 

PLAYBOY: Why turn off the tape recorder to 
say you don't want to talk about your child- 
hood? Why not just talk about why you 
dont want to? 

DE NIRO: І don't want to look like Pm com: 
plaining. ГЇЇ just say this: I'm not good at 
editing how I feel. And those personal 
things that I feel—like maybe who I would 
talk to in the past or something—are not 
something that I care to let anybody know 
about. Thats my own personal thing. 
PLAYBOY: Then why not talk about your 
need for privacy? Brando felt the same 
way and was articulate about it, saying he 
wouldn't hang his private laundry out in 
public. How about you? What are the de- 
mands of fame and success? 

DE NIRO: I cant even make а clear state- 
ment about that; there's no clear-cut rule 


PLAYBOY 


about it. My only rule is if I'm in discom- 
fort, if Im not feeling right about it, I back 
off and don't even subject myself to it 
PLAYBOY: Then we'll move on: Your film 
with Jane Fonda, Letters, produced head- 
lines such as “ANGRY WAR VETS TRY JANE FON- 
DA For TREASON,” referring to her trip to 
Hanoi in 1972. She then met with some of 
the vets and apologized. Did you get in- 
volved in the politics of the film? 
DENIRO: A little bit. Some vets sent me Шег- 
ature on Agent Orange and I said I would 
do something. And then Jane asked me to 
help raise money for the victims of Agent 
Orange, something they don't get much of. 
I hope that her having interaction with the 
vets will bring about better feelings and a 
better understanding. 
PLAYBOY: How strong an actress is Fonda? 
[De Niro turns off the tape recorder to ask 
what we mean by strong, then says he doesn't 
know her well enough to answer.) 
PLAYBOY: You also talked with vets about 
your role in Jacknife, the film you made 
with Ed Harris, which deals with the ef- 
fects the Vietnam war still has on those 
who were part of it. Did you hear a lot of 
horror stories? 
DE NIRO: I heard a lot of horror stories, 
yeah. Jacknife is about the post-Vietnam 
stress syndrome, the trauma of two veter- 
ans who have unresolved feelings about 
each other and a third friend who died in 
the war. We've all heard stories of the nega- 
tive feedback felt by returning vets, but it 


was brought home to me more by talking 
with some of them and watching docu- 
mentaries and imerviews with guys who 
hide in the woods in the Northwest and 
cant really deal with things. They're 
afraid of themselves, being around people 
That made a big impression on me. Com- 
ing back, they felt a real rejection. They 
were really persona non grata 

PLAYBOY: A number of your films—from 
Greetings to The Deer Hunter to Jacknife— 
have dealt with Vietnam. How politically 
aware were you of the Vietnam war? 

DE NIRO: I was aware. I thought that the 
war was wrong. What bothered me was 
that people who went to war became vic- 
tims of it; they were used for the whims of 
others. I didn't think that the policy ma 
ers had the smarts. I didn’t respect their 
decisions or what they were doing. 2 
was a right of many people to feel, 
should I go and get involved wi 
thing that’s unclear—and рау for it with 
my life?” It takes people like that to make 
changes. 

PLAYBOY: How did you manage to beat the 
draft? 

DE NIRO: That’s an area I don't want to talk 
about. [Looks at watch] 

PLAYBOY: All right, then, let's jump to the 
future: Theres a project called Stolen 
Flower, which you want to direct 

DE NIRO: It's about a girl who's kidnaped. 
Were working on the script and its go- 
ing through a lot of changes, so I don't 


© 1988 COMPARE 


to talk much about it—that's a kind of 
Alk about it, then nothing hap- 
100 much. Jin: 
PLAYBOY: Su you're superstitious? 

DE NIRO: Sometimes I'm very superstitious; 
other times, I think it’s all bullshit. A black 
cat walks by and I say, "What's going to 
happen?” Other times, I just don't саге 
PLAYBOY: Would you live in an apartment 
number 13? 

DE NIRO: 1 might not. Unless it was a nice 
apartment and I got a good deal. [Laughs] 
PLAYBOY: Well. Bob, where do we go from 
here? You don't want to talk about your 
past; you don't want to jinx your future 
and you're not real nuts about discussing 
the present. 

DE NIRO: [Turns off tape recorder, complains 
about having to do this interview) Are you 
going to show this to me? 

PLAYBOY: No. 

DE NIRO: I ask because someone told me 
that sometimes you get to see it. 

PLAYBOY: Its OK to ask. But it doesn't help 
the integrity of this interview if you get to 
see your answers and then edit your own 
copy. Then it really isn't journalism any- 
more, it’s promotion. 

DE NIRO: I can understand. I know its a 
form of censorship and that's not good, 
and I know it takes away from what you're 
doing—I know all that. But, on the other 
hand, if I could look at it, see if anything 
that I said 1 would feel very uncomfortable 
about, you know, then. ... Now I have to 


edit my own thoughts. There's a lot of 
things Га like to say, but 1 don't feel I am 


very clear in my thinking right now, so it 
comes out wishy-washy. “1 dont think this, 
I don't think that"—its boring; who cares? 


And why come off that way? I think, in 
time, down the line, maybe when I'm old, 
looking back, it will all © sense; ГЇЇ be 
able to say something. Right now, I can't 
say anything. There are real times and 
aces for everything, and when it’s not the 
right time, it’s upsetting. 

PLAYBOY: It’s tough on us, too. Мете pre- 
pared, we're waiting for you to do this, we 
have a lot of questions to ask, yet we don't 
want to upset you or get you angry, as you 
were before. 

DE NIRO: I never got angry. 

PLAYBOY: You certainly did when we asked 
you about у ildhood, unless we read 
you wrong. Right now, its hard. ing i 
these spurts, it's tough. 

саһ. It’s a tough one. 
PLAYBOY: Look, lets concentrate on your 
movies fora while. How did you meet Mar- 
tin Scorsese? 

DE NIRO: | met him ar a mutual frien 
house about 16 years ago, before he did 
Mean Streets. Vd seen Whos That Knocking 
at My Door? and Tliked it alot. 1 knew him 
off and on when I wasa kid. Then he asked 
me if 1 wanted to be in Mean Streets, He of- 
fered me the part. 

PLAYBOY: Johnny Boy? 

Yeah. Its like Rashomon—every- 


body has a different way of telling it—but 
my recollection is that Marty offered me a 
choice of any of the four parts, except Har- 
vey Keitel part, Charlie. At the time, I felt 
like I should be asking for the lead. There 
was a self-worth side of me; I had done a 
lead in The Gang That Couldn't Shoot 
Straight— һ was a total disaster—and 
I felt like this was a step down. I was think- 
ш, I want to work with Marty, but Pm go- 
to hold out for the lead. 

hen I ran into Harvey Keitel in the 
street. He said, “I think you should do that 
part.” I said, “I know, but, to be honest 
about it, I think I should have the part you 
have.” I said it in such a way that he wasn't 
offended by it; I was just being straight 
about it. He said, “Well, I think you would 
do very well with Johnny Boy.” I couldn't 
see it, But finally, I mulled it over and de- 
cided Га do it. 

PLAYBOY: It wound up being an explosive 
performance. Were you happy with it? 

t was OK. When you're working 
оп a movie, you never really get a full satis- 
faction, it's always anticlimactic, You're too 
connected to it to really be objective. Ten 
years later, I can look at it with a little dis- 
tance and say, “Yeah, that wasn't bad.” 
PLAYBOY: Francis Ford Coppola saw your 
Mean Streets performance, and you wound 
up playing the young Vito Corleone in his 
Godfather ПІ. How intimidating was it play- 
ing the young Brand 
DE NIRO: I wasnt inti 


ated. I just looked 


Quorum. The eofógne for 


PLAYBOY 


at it like a mathematical problem: Brando 
had already established the character, so I 
Just figured out how to connect 10 what he 
had done. We videoed scenes from the 
movie with a little cam nd Га play 
those back, look at them and see what 1 
could do to connect it all. 
PLAYBOY: You both used a mou 
you use the same dentist? 

DE NIRO: I went to Brando's dentist, Dr. 
Dwork. He made up a smaller piece, be- 
cause my character was younger. 


hpiece. Did 


Coppola? 

DE NIRO: He leaves you alone. Не helps you 
n certain areas where you're having trou- 
Ме. Makes it comfortable for yor 
PLAYBOY: Is that thc highest pr 
give а director—he leaves you 
DE NIRO: A director has to leave you alone 
and trust you. One thing about Francis, he 
casis people you wouldn't think would be 
good or right for the part and they turn 
out to be very good. I admire that. 

You've also got to develop a relationship 
with a director, so you can trust each other, 
so you can talk about the problems. Direc- 
tors can't be condescending or patronizing 
to actors. Actors want to be helped, guid- 
ed. given a lot of support. 

PLAYBOY: So you dont think you could have 
worked with hcock, who said actors 
should be treated like caule? 

DE NIRO: I don't know. I'm not sure I 
couldn't have given Hitchcock what he 
wanted, as long as he treated me with re- 
spect. IF he was going to be an asshole, like 
1 heard about Опо Preminger, who wants 
10 work with somebody like that? 

Sometimes actors want to know c 
things before they feel comfortable. Actor: 
ask a lot of quest So it's not right when 
a director says, “Just do the fucker,” with- 
out taking the moment to try and work 
with you. Some directors enjoy pulling you 
through, and others are more bored with 
it, they dont have the patience. 

But then theres a certain awkward peri- 
od —cven / get toa point where I say, “ 
why dont I just do the fucking thing?" in- 
stead of being worried about trying to 
solve every problem, superanalyzing. 
PLAYBOY: After Godfather II, Coppe 
“I like Bob. I just don't know if he likes. 
himself.” 

DE NIRO: [Pauses] Thats an interesting 
thing to say. Sometimes 1 do wish I was a 


also—talking about superstition, some- 
ig goes up, it has to go down—I'm also 
being careful about what I do. Where or 
when I would get down, I'm not s 


E 
tha 
PLAYBOY: Da you like yourself? 

DE NIRO: Certain times. Sometimes I'm un- 


ing that about someone like me. I like 


happy about thin; 
PLAYBOY: Your next important role was in 
Taxi Driver—a picture smaller in scope but 
larger in controversy. Before we ask you 
about it, we should mention that Ulu Gros- 
d, your Falling in Love director, once 
warned a writer never to mention Taxi 
Driver in front of you. Is it that upsetting? 
DE NIRO: No. I don't know why Ulu would 
say that Maybe he had a reason that I'm 
not thinking of now. 

PLAYBOY: OK. then, how did you prepare: 
for Travis Bickle? 
DE МЕО: Well, 
[Laughs] 
PLAYBOY: Any other preparation? 

Well, 1 got this image of Travis as 
a crab. lo prepare for that, | swam around 
under water and looked at the sea life. [Al- 
most laughs] 1 dont know, 1 just had that 
age of him. You know how a crab sort of 
walks sideways and has a gawky, awkward 
movement? 

PLAYBOY: Not straightforward? 

DE NIRO: No, not devious in that sense. 
Crabs are усту straightforward, but 
straightforward to them is going to the left 
and to the right. They turn sideways, thats 
the way they're built. 
PLAYBOY: Do you ofien use 
to get a character? 


1 killed а few people. 


mal imagery 


DE NIRI 'ometimes. Гуе used а cat, a wolf, 
a rabbit, a snake, an owl, Certain animals 
give you certain feelings. 1 can use the im- 


age, take one little thing from that, and it 
can help me do something. Take a differ- 
еш slant to huw you са! 
acıer, give you an id 
PLAYBOY: Screenwriter Paul Schrader 
the schizophrenie quality you gave Travis 
Bickle was not in his Taxi Driver script 

DE NIRO: Which part of T 
talking about being schizoph 
PLAYBOY: His gener: 
don't agree with Schra 
DE NIRO: He was definitely unbalanced; but 
schizophrenic . . . | don't know. Га have an 
idea about something, talk to Marty about 
it, try different things. As an actor, you kid 
around and do something and the director 
will say, “Yes, do that,” and you'll say, “It’s 
too much.” But later, you can tone itdown, 
ape it, guide it. There were things that I 
did іп Taxi Driver that seemed right. We 
tried them. 

PLAYBOY: Is it true that the f; 


“You 


mous 


to те?” scene in front of the m 


п outtake? Unplanned? 

DE NIRO: No. it wasn't an outtake. Part of it 
was improvised. 

PLAYBOY: In 1981, John Hinckley, Jr., shot 
President Reagan in Washington, D.C. 
The similarities between Hinckley’s story 
and Taxi Driver were striking enough to 
reyive the theory that violent films breed 
real-life violen 
fect you? 
DE NIRO: 


. But 
people are gonna do what they're gonna 


ы Well, it did in a se 


do. Anything can affect anybody that wa 
if they're predisposed to it. It's a complicat- 
ed thing that, to this day 1 don't really un- 


derstand. Whether it was because he was 
obsessed with Jodie Foster or because һе 
identified with the character, I dont know. 
But to hang it all ou that makes no sense. 
PLAYBOY: Do you һаус any r of som 
ones going alter you like tha 
1 don't worry about it too much. It 
ppen with anybody, it takes only 
опе person. People are obsessive about get- 
ting hold of me sometimes, but what can 
you do? But if you do try it, you better 
make sure you do it right, because if I have 
anything left. 

PLAYBOY: Let's move to a film called Bogart. 
Slept Here, You had a disastrous encounter 
with the director, Mike Nichols. He fired 
you, then left the film himself. It eventua 
ly became The Goodbye Girl, and Richard 
Dreyfuss won an Oscar for the lead role. 
What happene 
DE NIRO: It didn't work, just didn't work out. 
PLAYBOY: Nichols said that you were 
undirectable. 

DE NIRO: He fired me, Then they tried not 
10 pay me 

PLAYBOY: Did they succeed? 

DE NIRO: No, they didn't succeed. 

PLAYBOY: Why did he fire you? 

DE NIRO: Because he felt it wasn't right. 
[Turns off tape recorder, discusses Nichols’ 
personality and his regret over having gotten 
involved with him] 

PLAYBOY: Was The Goodbye Girl anything 
like Bogart Slept Here? 

DE NIRO: It was different. 

PLAYBOY: There's an eyewitness who said 
that during Bogart Slept Here, ће saw you, 
Marsha Mason and Nichols in the studio 
commissary having lunch. You were bent 
over your food as Nichols pointed his 
finger at you, telling you what comedy was. 
Mason supposedly kicked you under the 
table and whispered that you should show 
more respect to Nichols. You looked up, 
aid you had to go, left the table, walked 
out the door, went to the airport and Hew 
to New York. 

DE NIRO: Who told you that, the Enquirer? 
People tell such fantastic stories, I'm al- 
ways amazed. But it always comes back to 
you—on the street, through the street— 
and never the way it really was. 

PLAYBOY: It’s not exactly a scandal. Is the 
story a myth 
DE NIRO: People think what they want, so 
what the hell's the difference? Those who 
know dont say; those who say don't know. 
If I hear something th: i 
myself, 1 
somebody else, would I really give a shit? 
The bottom line is, So what? 

Anyway; I had the good fortune of going 
from a very negative situation there to a 
great situation with [director 
in The Last Tycoon. И was like going trom 
the darkest depth 
from black to white; from tota 
ing with Kazan and Sam Spiegel. It was a 
whole other thing. Kazan's a great director. 
Very simple, too. 

PLAYBOY: But Spiegel, who produced such 
pictures as On the Waterfront and Lawrence 


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PLAYBOY 


of Arabia, was reputed to be tightlisted. 
DE NIRO: Yeah, Sam pulled one on me. He 
tried to finagle paying me what he said һе 
would. It was very simple. 1 don't under- 
stand why people do that. He was famous 
for it. And yet he had good taste and he 
was funny. 
PLAYBOY: Did he pay you the full amount? 
DE NIRO: Yeah. I still walked away from 
him, though. In the make-up trailer one 
night when we were shooting, Sam came 
over and said, "Bobby . . ." and I said, 
“Sam, you didn't do what you were sup- 
posed to do." “Well . . ." he said, and 1 just 
walked away from him, 

But I liked him. 
PLAYBOY: It's said that the one thing you 
dont excel in is playing aristocratic charac- 
ters. such as Thalberg in Tycoon. Was that 
atough characterization for you? 
DE NIRO: I suppose. It depends. You 
wouldnt use me in certain parts, 
PLAYBOY: So you admit that you have 
weaknesses? 
DE NIRO: Of course. But I'm not going to 
talk about them. 
PLAYBOY: No surprise there. Could you play 
a woman, as Dustin Hoffman did іп Tool- 
sie? Or an Asian, as Brando did in The Tea- 
house of the August Moon? 
DE NIRO: I've played Cuban, Hispanic, Rus- 
sian—but part of me feels that people who 
play a certain descent should be of that de- 
scent when possible. 
PLAYBOY: How valid was saxophonist Geor- 
gie Auld's critique of your learning to play 
the sax when he was your music advisor for 
New York, New York? He said that while you 
had the externals, you were like a robot at 
times, you didn't have the inside stuff. 
you believe that you had it? 
DE NIRO: You always feel like you could've 
done it better. If Td had my way, I would've 
been crealing material during the playing, 
instead of re-creating the illusion of what 
was being played. I can finger and breathe 
the way its supposed to be done—with his 
phrasing—but I can't do it as well as he 
does. It's like mouthing a song to playback. 

But to be able to do it authoritatively, it's 
not easy. I may have been stiff at times, but 
I tried to be the best I could. That's why I 
worked so hard. 
PLAYBOY: Auld said he came to resent your 
obsession with learning the sax for the 
movie; he said you were relentless. 
DE NIRO: I did spend a lot of time—I want- 
ed to know how to do it phonetically. It's 
how I learned it. Its like someone who 
knows how to talk but cant read or write; 
thats what I was doing. I was intent on be- 
ing able to control it and master it so I 
wasn't looking like I didn't know what I 
was doing. That was important. 
PLAYBOY: Are you your harshest critic? 
DE NIRO: Preity much. 
PLAYBOY: Do you still play the sax? 
DE NIRO: No; I wish I did. I have it. | always 
want to go back to it, and [ will sometime, 
because it’s a beautiful instrument. I had 
fun doing it and I have so much of the skill 
left that I just have to learn the other parts. 


PLAYBOY: Can you compare musical phras- 
ing to an actors rhythm and phrasing? 

DE NIRO: There are a lot of similarities. 
Ке actors working together—you have to 
jibe together, play off one another, have the 
same kind of tempo; your rhythms may be 
different, but somehow, you pick up from 
the other one, you're not at odds. Its im- 
portant that actors have some kind of con- 
nection. It is like a musical thing. 

Words can become ping-pong games. 
You take off from the other person. Cul- 
tures do that, communicating with one an- 
other. Thats how you can tell one culture 
from another. 115 the same with actors; 
that is, if you're fortunate enough to work 
with someone you can play off of. When 1 
did True Confessions with Bobby Duvall, we 
didn't have to talk that much, we just did 
the work. Just like two musicians. A pianist 
with a saxophone player. They play off 
each other. 

PLAYBOY: You told Liza Minnelli while 
you were doing New York, New York that 
you didn't mind being a bastard as long 
1 were an interesting bastard. Is that 


DE NIRO: What I might һауе meant is that if 
somebody has some quirks or wrinkles іп 
his character or personality, then people 
can identify with him, because that’s what 
life is. I've always been interested in people 
seeing parts of themselves in something | 
do, as opposed то just seeing something 
that they'd like to be. 
PLAYBOY: How much of New York, New York 
was improvised? 
DE NIRO: ['d say 30 to 40 percent. 
PLAYBOY: That's quite a bit. 
DE NIRO: Well. we worked on it very hard. 
When I say improvise, we had to work on it 
before we shot it to get it down. You have to 
һауе a format, a shape, a structure. 
PLAYBOY: Some of that improvisation land- 
ed you in an emergency room. 
DE NIRO: Yeah. [ was in a car, hitting the 
roof. | thought it would be funny to show, 
out of complete rage, an insane absurdity, 
where you get so nutty that you become 
funny, hopping mad. I saw that the root of 
the car was low and I hit it with my head, 
then 1 hit it with my hand. I felt that 1 
might have fractured something, so I went 
to the infirmary to have it checked. 
PLAYBOY: New York, New York didn't do very 
well at the box office. Can you tell when a 
film is good? For instance, crew members 
working on The Deer Hunter said that it 
wasn't going to be a good picture. Does 
anybody really know? 
DE NIRO: I always felt that The Deer Hunter 
was going to be a good movie; otherwise, 1 
wouldn't have done it. It had its flaws, but 
there was something very special about it. 
It was in the wake of Apocalypse Now, so 
everybody who was going to Thailand was 
worrying about that. They heard about the 
monsoons and the jungle and being forced 
to shut down the filming. Subconsciously, it 
affected people. 1 know it did me. I said, 
“I'm going to get stuck there.” It was the 
rainy season, we were going to be there for 


three months—around Bangkok, the Riv- 
er Kwai—and we did have some pretty 
hairy moments in the shooting. 

PLAYBOY: Like having to drop from a heli- 
copter into the River Kwai? 

DE NIRO: A few times. We spent a month in 
that river, shooting all the prison stuff. 
PLAYBOY: Didn't you narrowly escape death 
when the helicopter came into contact with 
the bridge? 

DENIRO: The helicopter pilot didn't want to 
go too low, because there were rocks on 
two sides and a narrow passage where the 
water rushed through. The runners un- 
derneath the helicopter caught under the 
bridge's cable and, without knowing it, the 
pilot lifted the whole bridge and twisted it 
‘ound while John Savage and 1 were 
hanging from it. It was dangerous. 1 
looked down and shouted “Drop!” and we 
just dropped. We came up out of the water 
and saw one of the stunt guys standing on 
the bridge and lifting the cable off the run 
ner of the helicopter. I thought that was it. 
PLAYBOY: You thought you would die? 

DE NIRO: Yeah. 1 thought the helicopter 
would drop down on us. That happens in 
movies; you have to be very, very careful. 
Nobody plans an accident, and the thing 
is, sometimes the stunts don't even look 
ke anything on film. Or the shot isn't even 
used. You could die doing one of those 
stunts, and when people look at it, they 
dont even know how dangerous it was. 
PLAYBOY: Aside from the occasional brush 
with death, did you have any hesitations 
about The Deer Hunter? 

DE NIRO: No. The only thing that I felt was 
that the Russian-rouleue stuff with the 
Viet Cong shouldn't have been played for 
money. To play for money in Saigon is one 
thing, but out in the field, the stakes should 
have been something else. The money sort 
of cheapened their reason for being out 
there. They were fighting for what they 
believed was right. Wi we were shoot- 
ing the scene, I said to Mike Cimino, “The 
money thing there is not right. It should be 
lor their idea, what they believe in. And it 
would be stronger, more powerful, more 
accurate than money, 
PLAYBOY: Did you ever say that that was 
your best performance up to that t 
DENIRO: I never said that. I never said that 
about any movie, [Stands to leave] Well, Га 
say we've accomplished quite a bit. 
PLAYBOY: The Deer Hunter has never been 
shown on network TV, and when it is 
shown on independent stations, there are 
‚often deaths caused by Rus: roulette— 
an estimated 98 people killed themselves, 
according to one finding. Can movies kill? 
DE NIRO: [Sitting down again] I don't know. 
I heard that, 100. Again, can you tie it 10 
the film? Did they need The Deer Hunter to 
set that off? 1 know one thing if I know 
anything; Those people who shot them- 
selves or others would be predisposed to 
finding another outlet if they hadu't found. 
it in that film. 

PLAYBOY: When you were in Thailand, did 
you smoke opium? 


DE NIRO: Yeah, I did that in upper Thai- 
land. I cant remember how I felt. 
PLAYBOY: During the Sixties, were you in- 
volved much in th style? 
DE NIRO: Not too much, I wassympathetic, 
but I wasn't an activist in 
PLAYBOY: Did you ever tak 
DE NIRO: No. 
PLAYBOY: Your name was linked with drugs 
in Wired, Bob Woodward's book about 
John Belushi. In the book, Woodward says 
you had used cocaine with Belushi and 
were with him the night before hi 
found dead. How did you feel— 
[De Niro turns off the tape recorder, com- 
municates that he hasn't read the book, doesn't 
know what й says, doesnt want to know and 
doesn't want to talk about it.) 
PLAYBOY: We just nt to straighten out 
what has already been published. For the 
record. 
DE NIRO: I'd rather not. I think it’s exploit- 
ing something that shouldn't be talked 
about. 
PLAYBOY: You've never talked about 
We're not trying to exploit, just to clarify 
: If you say you dont want to €: 
, [think it’s something you shouldn't 
bout. Maybe later in life Tl talk 
about it, in a book or something, if Lever 
even do that. But it's not something I want 
to talk about now. Its horrible enough 
what happened to him. 
PLAYBOY: Have you considered writing a 
book? 
DE NIRO: I don't know about that. [Very 
definitely wants to leave] 
PLAYBOY: We can understand your reluc- 
tance to talk about this, but —— 
DE NIRO: You just got to. For the record. 
Yeah? 
PLAYBOY: Woodward claimed that there 
was a scene in a movic Belushi wanted to 
make that called for him to shoot up hero- 
in. He supposedly went to you to ask you 
about it, and you thought it was a good 
idea for him to do it. Any truth to that? 
DE NIRO: I would never tell anybody to take 
heroin—or any drug—to see what it's like. 
Especially heroin. I would never, ever, e 
er. 1 don't know where they got that idea. 
Those are the kind of things that people 
hear and they get retold. 
PLAYBOY: Do you think about Belushi? 
DE NIRO: He was great. Great. | admired 
him so much and I'm so sad, to 
least. Such a wasted situation, Terrible. 
PLAYBOY: Were you close friends? 
DE NIRO: We weren't. We knew cach othe: 
respected and liked each other, It wasn't 
that we hung out so much, People thought 
we did, but we didi i 
[Dan] Aykroyd and other: 
were times we spent togeth 
PLAYBOY: Is it wrong to m 


ke a film about 


„ook, they can do it. 1 would ney 
Us wrong. 1 don't know what it’s 
about or what the slant is. But I find it hard 
10 believe. Maybe it's а very positive fil 
PLAYBOY: Could they feature you in it with- 
out your permission? 


DE NIRO: 1 dont know. 
was something that 1 felt was wrong, I 
might do something about it. People prey 
on other people; they have no respect. 
[Looks at his watch, says he has to до] 
PLAYBOY: OK, let's change the subject. 
Scorsese said there was no one who could 
surprise him on the screen as you can. 
Who surprises you? 

DE NIRO: Comedians | love, like Belushi, 
Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd. They're all te 
rific They surprise me. They do some 
crazy stuff. 

PLAYBOY: Moving back to Raging Bull, Mol- 
ly Haskell said that La Моца was the 
meanest, most mystifying, unmotivated 
antihero ever to grace the screen. 

DE NIRO: Sometimes the movie critic із not 
sympathetic enough. | never feh th. 
La Мона was an extremely evil persoi 
but these people who don't know enough 
about him see enough to know that they 
don't like him. Irs like anything. You learn 
about the Russians, you hear they're the 
‘vil Empire, but then you go there and see 
that they're people. And that they're tei 
rified of the Americans. 

PLAYBOY: Still, with La Motta, even at the 
end, he's spilling a drink over a politician's 
wife, hes crude, barbaric. There isnt 100 
much to like about him. Its a bru 
trait, yet audiences are won over by it. Why 
do you suppose that is? 

dont know. There's 
demption there, in his relationship with 
the brother and what they've done to each 
other. A lotof people go through those ex- 
perie "s nothing compared to the 
horrible, unmentionable things we read 
about in the paper every day that people 
do to others. So unbelievably monst 8 
Raging Bull is like а little domestic spat 
compared to what people can really do to 
one another. 

PLAYBOY: 115 more than 
nearly Kills his brother 
his fists. 

DE NIRO: He thinks the brother is screwin 
his wife—that’s a betrayal. He lives 
шөге violent, primitive world. 
PLAYBOY: Did you talk much with Jake 
about that incident? 

DE NIRO: I tried to ask him every kind of 
question, but it's hard to get somebody 10 
be straight and honest about himself, be- 
cause he is not even sure himself. Eventu- 
ally, из up to you to say, “OK, we've got 
what we can. Now make the mov 


a certain г 


a spat when Jake 
and his wife with 


PLAYBOY: Sort of like what we're up ag; 
with you. 


“хасйу. Thats why Га rather not 
merviews! Im only going to say some 
things. I'm not going to go into my life— 
that would be ridiculous. What am 1 going 
10 open up and reveal myself for? Impart 
wisdom in a certain way and you 
your own deductions out of that. 

PLAYBOY: Well, you've talked about wanting. 
10 do movies that are seen in 50 years. But 
what you say about yourself and your 
movies may become key reference points. 
If all that's available is books full of specu- 


lations and misquotes, you won't be fairly 
represented. Wouldnt you like to know 
nore about Kean or Shakespea 


view with Shakespeare 
PLAYBOY: You know what we're saying. Yo 
don't have to do a lot of interviews, but 
since you doing this on i 
could be iswer to the lies and 
DE NIRO: Theres a time and p 
What you're doing is good, that I se 
PLAYBOY: Hold the compliments; we have а 
way to go yet. Getting back to La Motta, he 
thought he was a pretty bad guy and that 
you helped him ch 
himself: What did you tell h 
DE NIRO: I just kept repeating in his car, 
“You're not so bad, you're not so bad.” 
[Laughs] People did not like him. Jake had 
done some low-life things that were sup- 
posed to be bad, but I felt that the drama 
n his life—with the brother and all that 
stuff—was real. He had to face a lot of 
problems, problems that a lot of. people 
faced coming out of the Sixties and Seven- 
ties—when you werent supposed to be 
feeling jealous or obsessive about someone, 
nd then you realized, "Wait a minute, it is 
а natural feeling, so why fight и?” Not that 
you should nourish those feelings, but 
there was a very primitive, basic way of 
showing them. The guy was a fighter—you 
go from here to there, you don't circu 
vent. He had a real direct way of de 
with things. 
PLAYBOY: During the making of the movie, 
did you ever reflect on why men beco 
boxers? 
DE NIRO: I did. Some of it may be from 
buse as а child. Then they a lot of 
се! fights. nd the re good ies and 
they те sma! tenough to capitalize on them 
у ing into fighti 
PLAYBOY: Do you admire Mike Tyson? 
DE NIRO: He's a great fighter. I just hope 
that hes born in the right time so he can 
find opponents. He could be unlucky, born 
in the wrong time, literally. 
PLAYBOY: What about all tl 
Ше? 
DE NIRO: It’s good that hi 
looked after. 
PLAYBOY: Are you in control of your 
finances? 
DE NIRO: І don't even have a quarter in my 
pocket. You got any money you can lend 
me? [Opens a small fancy jar of strawberry 
preserves that came with his toast and coffe 
notices a small indentation in the jam] This 
s what they send! I always send it back 
when somebody else has used it. I got that 
the other day on the plane. It's like at boy- 
scout camp—afier you've finished eating, 
they say, “Hand back everything.” What 
wasnt eaten was put back. 
PLAYBOY: You were a boy scout? 
DE NIRO: Once. Anything you didn’t cat 
they took back and re-served. I w; bout 
ten or 11 
PLAYBOY: Ha 
scout. 
DE NIRO: Don't picture me; I wasnt in it t00 


ng 


turmoil in his 


money is being 


1 to picture De Niro as a boy 


long. It was just a camp I went to for a short 
period of time. 

PLAYBOY: When you were growing up, what 
movies and which actors caught your at- 
tention? 

DE NIRO: A Streetcar Named Desire, On the 
Waterfront, East of Eden, the Катап films, 
A Place in the Sun, Splendor in the Grass — 
the ending was so good. Dean was terrific. 
Brando, Montgomery Clift, Geraldine 
Page, Kim Stanley, Spencer Tracy—he 
didn't vary a lot, but he had a great sense of 
truth. And Walter Huston—he was great 
in The Tieasure of the Sierra Madre. 
PLAYBOY: What about Bogart in that film? 
DENIRO: That's another kind of thing. Wal- 
ter Huston was the one who was spectacu- 
lar. Bogart was something else. [Turns off 
tape. He is not crazy about Bogart.] 
PLAYBOY: Why go off the record about an 
actor who died more than 30 years ago? 
DE NIRO: I dont like saying anything bad 
about actors. 

PLAYBOY: OK, then, let's go back 30 years to 
your childhood. Legend has it that you 
played the Cowardly Lion in a school pro- 
duction of The Wizard of Oz and that’s 
what made you want to be an actor. 

DE NIRO: 1 was ten when I did that and I 
was very nervous. И was very exciting. I 
маза kid. 

PLAYBOY: Were you іп a lot of school plays? 
DE NIRO: No. My mother did some work— 
typing and proofreading manuscripts— 
for Maria Ley Ри or, the wife of Erwin 
Piscator, who founded the Dramatic Work- 
shop. She knew I wanted to go to acting 
school, so in exchange for my mother's 
work, I began going on Saturdays. It was 
the biggest acting school in the city at that 
time. Stella Adler taught there. 

PLAYBOY: Was acting class easy for you? 

DE NIRO: They had so many students in the 
class, it was hard to get up; you had to try 
to overcome that. An actor is sensitive as it 
is—shy—and the whole point of your do- 
ing this is that you want to express your- 
self. There's a kind of thread there as to 
why people become actors, and if you're 
intimidated by the situation and not en- 
couraged, it's not helpful. 

PLAYBOY: How did Stella Adler, who also 
taught Marlon Brando, help you overcome 
your shyness as a teenager? 

DE NIRO: Stella Adler had a very good 
script-breakdown-and-analysis class that 
no one else was teaching. A lot of people I 
know took the class; it was just a way of 
making people aware of character, style, 
period, and so on. People could sit down in 
a classroom as opposed to having to get up 
and demonstrate it. 

PLAYBOY: Did you learn а lot from it? 

DE МКО: Oh, yeah. In fact, that’s a class I'd 
want to take again. It taught me that if you 
have a very balanced script, you can take 
from the script without putting anything 
into something that isn't there. That's what 
she would call fictionalizing—which is not 
real, there's no substance to it, it's not con- 
crete. [Turns off the tape recorder and makes 


a funny observation about his former teacher] 
PLAYBOY: Why give us the setup, then turn 
the tape recorder off for the punch lines: 
DE NIRO: I dont want to say something 
against anyone. That bothers people. I 
don't like it when someone says something 
negative about me. 

PLAYBOY: lt was funny, not negative, but 
we'll let it pass. 

Stella Adler's father, Lou Adler, once 
told Brando that actors should never give 
100 percent, they should always give a little 
less than they have. Can you relate to that? 
DENIRO: You can't give what you don't have 
or what you're not able to give. Once you 
give up more than what you have, you're 
lying, you're forcing something. You have 
to trust yourself and do it as simply as you 
can. Don't try to bring something that’s not 
there. Some actors do a lot more, and right 
away, you see it; you see they're trying very 
hard and it's not credible. Simple is hard. 
PLAYBOY: Bruce Willis, who knew we were 
talking with you, had one question for you 
about just that: He wanted to know how 
you keep it fresh and simple. 

DE NIRO: When I'm working, I believe in 
rhythms of things. One thing comple- 
ments another; it's a complete arc—a be- 
ginning, a middle and an end that comes 
about nicely. Make the point and move on. 
PLAYBOY: And what about the transition 
within a character, such as your murderer 
turned Jesuit priest in The Mission—— 

DE NIRO: That anybody could do anything, 
that therc arc all kinds of contradictions in 
life—that’s not a problem. It’s like the 
prostitute who becomes a nun. 

PLAYBOY: Interesting analogy. You once 
said that you wanted to feel that you've 
earned the right to play а character. What 
did you mean? 

DENIRO: To have done enough research on 
the character to feel that you have the 
right to play that character the way you see 
it—bringing what you've experienced, 
what you've learned, making it your own. 

Anactor hears these words all the time: 
“Make it your own, make it your own.” 
Stella Adler would say, “Your talent fies in 
your choice.” It’s one thing to know that, it 
sounds great; it's another thing to really 
feel it. And then you have the right to do it. 
PLAYBOY: You've been known to go pretty 
far in making characters your own. For ex- 
ample, early in your career, you appeared 
as one of Shelley Winters’ boys in Bloody 
Mama, when, according to Winters, you 
lay in an open grave after your character 
was dead, even though you couldn't be 
эсеп on camera. Why go so far? 

DE NIRO: What happened was, people 
broke for lunch and I was just lying in that 
state without getting up. It seemed like an 
easy thing to do and I wanted to help the 
actors, because once they saw me like that, 
they were forced to deal with it 

PLAYBOY: Have you ever surprised yourself 
when you've been working? 

DE NIRO: Sometimes, and that's a good 


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feeling. When you get that, you've got to 
really ride with 1. Sometimes, when I do 
something that | think 15 really funny, I 
break up and start laughing, because it 
feels so good. Then I get so mad at myself 
for breaking up. because the rhythm [ch 
so right—I was right there—and if ГА 
held ош just a little longer and not broken 
up, I wouldn't have ruined the take. That 
happened during Midnight Run, between 
me and Charles Grodin. 1 
fect, just perfect. 
PLAYBOY: Do you remember your first с 
perience before the cameras? 
DE NIRO: There was some little thing I did 
that I don't know whatever happened to. 
Some walk-on for an independent film: 1 
walked in and ordered a drink ata bar. 

1 remember a bunch of other young ac- 
tors hanging around, moaning and bitch- 
ing, all made up, with pieces of tissue in 
their collars; it was the kind of thing you 
always hear about actors—where they're 
just silly or vain, complaining back and 
forth, walking around primping, not want- 
ing to get the make-up on their shirts 
PLAYBOY: So you didn't exactly feel as if you 
had found a home. 

DE NIRO: No, I didn't want to be around 
those people at all. I just walked in and 
walked out. I was nervous, though, just to 
say the line "Gimme a drink.” It makes me 
think of that joke: “Hark! I hear the can- 
non roar!” You know that joke? 

PLAYBOY: No. 

DE NIRO: I’m surprised you never heard i 
its a famous actors joke. 

This guy hasn't acted in about 15 y 
because he always forgets hi: 
fi 
а gas station and gets a phone call from 
someone saying that they want him for a 
Shakespearean play—all he has to do is 
! I hear the cannon roar!" He 
says, "Well, God, I dont know.” The direc- 
tor says, “Look, irl be OK, You'll get paid 
and everything.” So he says, “OK, ГЇ do 
it.” The play has five acts and he has to go 
on in the third act and say, “Hark! I hear 
the cannon roar!” Thats all he has to do. 
So he rehearses it when he’s in his apart- 
ment: “Hark! I hear the cannon roar! 
Hark! | hear the cannon roar! Hark! I hear 
the cannon roar!” Ev lation, every 
possible emphasis. They're into reh 
and hes got it written on his mirror: 
*Hark! I hear the cannon roar! Hark! I 
hear the cannon roar! Hark! I hear the 
cannon roar!” And so on. Finally, comes 
opening night, first act, no problem. Sec- 
ond act, things go fine. Audience applauds. 
Stage manager says, "You have five m 
utes for the third act.” He tells him to get 
backstage. His time comes, he runs out, 
muttering to himself, "Hark! I hear the 
cannon roar! Hark! | hear the cannon 
roar! Hark! | hear the cannon roar!” 
And as he runs out, he hears a bi 
brrrooooom!! Turns around and says. 
What the fuck was that?” 

PLAYBOY: We knew if you gave this enough 
time, you'd loosen up. 


s 
lines, so. 
ally he has to give it up. He's working in 


уа 


Moving on: In 1981, you and Harvey 
Keitel were put up against a wall in Rome 
as the police aimed machine guns at you, 
then threw you into jail. Want to expl: 
DE NIRO: We weren't thrown 
paparazzi in aly are the worst. They're so 
bad. you have to laugh at them. They were 
chasing us in a cab and we couldn't get 

way from them, It then that I learned 
something: Its hard to escape, especially 
in Rome, where people drive up one-way 
streets the wrong way and Чоп! care about 
lights. Finally, the police came by and the 
cabdriver told them to stop those people 
behind us, that they had been following us. 
Then we made a U-turn and drove away, A 
couple of minutes later, the cops were be- 
hind us with their sirens and lights going. 
They stopped us, got us ош, they had ma- 
е guns оп us, put us up against the 
wall, and the paparazzi were right behind 
them, taking pictures of the whole thing. 
So I said to them, “You got what you want, 
right?" Then the chief of police came over 
to me and said, “I take all the cameras; put 
them over there. Don't worry, no problem.” 
And 1 said, “Yeah, this ГЇЇ believe.” They 
took us to the station. They didn’t put us in 
jail, we just sat around and talked. One or 
two of the cops were so stupid and belliger- 
lying, “Ah, so you were in this movie, 
acting like a bully" talking about Taxi 
Driver. They finally let us go. 

In the station, we were arguing with the 
saying they had no right to 
"They were saying they had a 
Lio Lake a picture. Those guys were ac 
ng that—they're the slimiest 
people who ever lived. 
PLAYBOY: Did the picture: 
the newspapers? 

DE NIRO: Yeah. two days later. in а London 
paper. There we were, up against the wall 
And the cop had told me no problem. The 
paparazzi know every angle. They show 
you a phony roll of film and pocket the real 
опе; it's an art with them. 

PLAYBOY: Do you think you could ever play 
a paparazzo? 

DE NIRO: | thought of it. See, its one thing 
to take pictures. 1 say, “Go ahead, take 
Bur in Italy, they don't know when to stop. 
They have no respect. No respect. You feel 
battered. You say, “Boys, cnough.” But its 
an incessant b: e of flashbulbs. They're 
just vultures. 
PLAYBOY: Have you ever gotten violent with 
a photograph: 
DE NIRO: A couple of 
away from one. It" 
ng. They! prey on you. 
It makes you feel very bad about people. 
Can't they find a better occupation? It’s fas- 
cinating to me to think what would make 
people want to do that for a living. 
PLAYBOY: Compare autograph hounds and 
groupies—which you studied for King of 
Comedy—with paparazzi. 

DE NIRO: Some of the people I used to 
into before І did King of Comedy 1 used 
the film, It was funny. Ud see them and 
“Wait, give me 


ever appear in 


your name, welll call you 


"These people are fascinated with celeb 
ties, famous people. Some of them who do 
when theyre younger become profes- 
photographers or gossip columnists 
they're old 


anger or rage or 
hostility n the scene with Jerry 
Lewis, when the woman says, “Jerry, сап 
you just say hello to my son on the phone? 
He tries to say no and she says, “You should 
get cancer!” That was from an actual story 
that he had told us. He was about to go on 
in Las Vegas and a woman was at a pay 
phone sked him that, and he sa 
“I'm going on, | can't.” So she turned a 
whole different color. did an about-face 


nti-Semitic 
just to push his button; 

DE NIRO: | dont know if 1 said anything 
mitic. 1 might have said something 
to really bust his balls. 


PLAYBOY: Lewis also supposcdly invited 
you to dinner once, but you didn't want lo 
go. because you didnt think he would in- 


vite Rupert Pupkin to dinner. 
DE NIRO: It would make sense not to have 
dinner wit ind of intensity and rela- 


with the y 
tionship we'd built—which you dont want 
to soften. 

PLAYBOY: Did you like Rupert Pupkin? 

DE NIRO: I had fun doing him. I always had 
a spindly image of him with those white 
shoes, like a cartoon. I can't explain; its an 
mage I had in шу head. 

PLAYBOY: An animal image? 

DE NIRO: He was some kind of bird. Gawky. 
A bird whose neck goes out as he walks. 
PLAYBOY: A chicken 
DE NIRO: A chicken! Exactly 

PLAYBOY: Did you want Meryl Streep for 
Masha, the role Sandra Bernhard played? 
DE NIRO: They asked Meryl, yeah. 1 
thought she'd be terrific, because she is 
very funny She's wonderful and she does 
funny stuff like pratfalls. Shes got a great 
sense ol humor. In fact, later on, when we 
were doing Falling in Love, we used to 
make fun of the script—well, not make fun 
of it, but read it in a different way, soap-op- 


y buts ted, wasn't d 
posed to it. And Sandra was terr 

PLAYBOY: Perhaps Sandra worked so well 
partly. Бес complete un- 
known. lt 
Pa 


often ones 
which you well known as 
you аге. Do you have any thoughts on that? 
DE NIRO: | could say what I think it is. I 
know what it is. but it's something I should 
talk about later in Ше, not now. [Gives a 
look: Enough, already! Wants to go) 

PLAYBOY: A number of your films have 
been severely edited because the studios 
thought they weren't working. Once upon a 
Time in America was shown in two versions, 
because the flashbacks in the longer one 
seemed too confusing for US. audiences 


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PLAYBOY 


and it was changed accordingly: 

DE NIRO: They tried to make it a linear pic- 
ture, which never worked. 1 dont under- 
stand why [director] Sergio [Leone] didn't 
come back to the U.S. and deal with it, con- 
front them, fight for it, say, "Listen, this is 
the way it has to be. ГЇЇ give you this, but I 
want to take that.” That's really what you 
have to do. It's like having a child: Y 
don't want somebody to come in and fool 
with it. 

EDE Some consider the film almost a 
ion of The Godfather. 

DE NIRO: It might have been. It was about 
gangsters and it маза saga. Sergio told me 
the story in two installments over seven 
hours. 

PLAYBOY: He got you to sit still for seve 
hours? 

DENIRO: I sat and listened through a trans- 
lator. He told the story almost shot by shot, 
with the flashbacks, and it was beautiful. 1 
is something that I'd like to be 


part of 
PLAYBOY: What did you know about Jewish 
gangsters before you made the film? 

DE NIRO: Т! nd that. I talked with a lot 
of people and got a picture of it. I realized 
there were a lot more Jewish gangsters 
than wed heard of. We hear the names 
Legs Diamond and Bugsy Siegel, but 
there's actually a long list of Jewish gang- 
sters—as many famous Jewish gangsters as 
there are Italian. 

PLAYBOY: Leone felt that the director came 
first, before the writer. Do you agree? 

DE NIRO: In movies, it’s basically true. The 
director has to construct the house. He's 
the architect and he also has to be the 
builder. He has to realize it in real terms, 
to make it exist. But if you follow a 
blueprint literally, it’s impossible—you're 
not allowing for weather, you're not allow- 
ing for a tilt in the earth. So you have to 
compensate for all those things. Other- 
wise, you're not allowing it to live and 
breathe on its journey. 1£ it's 100 locked іп 
by the writer, it's impossible. You have to 
have that freedom. You have to be able to 
make adjustments. 

PLAYBOY: You taught Lcone a lesson in col- 
laboration: He said that for the first time, 
he had to follow an actor's ideas without 
destroying his own. How much of a collab- 


good. understanding. 
For a director, he gave me a lot of freedom 
in his own way Sometimes I would say 
something like, “You can't have this kind of 
telephone booth in America at that time," 
and he'd listen to what I thought 

But ultimately, he had his own vision of 
America, and there are certain things that 
were oll, that were askew. It all added up 
eventually and ıhe American audience 
started getting a little glassy-eyed and lost 
interest. That was one concern of mine: 
that it was going to have an alien feeling, 
even though it was supposed to be shot in 
America. А lay audience can't put the 
inger on it, but they know something is 
not right and that distances them from it. 


PLAYBOY: How did Leone work differently 
from other directors? 

DE NIRO: European or Italian directors 
sometimes tell you how to do it. They say, 
“You go over there and you do this or 
that.” American actors don't like that, they 
want to find it for themselves, they don't 
want to be told where to go. 

But Sergio was very smart and clever 
and respectful enough not to do that in my 
case. As I got to know him better, I could 
see he had a style in his head and began to 
realize what kind of movie he was making, 
so Га ask him to demonstrate a a 
movement, a reaction—because he had the 
style. Nobody knew it better than he did. 
PLAYBOY: When Leone was asked to com- 
pare you with his spaghetti Western star, 
Clint Eastwood, he said you didnt belong 
n the same profession with Eastwood. He 
said you put on a personality the way 
someone else might put on a coat—natu 
rally and with elegance. He said you were 
an actor, Eastwood was a star; you suf- 
fered, Eastwood yawned. 

DE NIRO: You can't ask me a question about 
that, because Im not going to say any- 
thing. [Turns off tape recorder, looks at his 
watch] 

PLAYBOY: Leone said that actors a 
children: trusting, narcissistic, 
Do you agree with that? 

DE NIRO: [hat could be true 
tions. When 1 work with a director, it does 
become sort of a parental thing. But at the 
same ume, its an equal, collaborative ef- 
fort. You respect tl id you'ic loyal. 1 
don't like to waste time bickering, arguing, 
playing games. Из a waste of energy and it 
takes too long to make a movie. 

PLAYBOY: Is it that way with you often: ar- 
guing, b ring, No respect 
DE NIRO: No, not at all. I avoid it, | know 
who 1 work with, try to get a feeling about 
their work, who they are, and [ll trust 
somebody more because of what he gives, 
even if there are things he's done that I'm 
not too crazy about. I'll think, This time is 
ly the one that they re gonna do it. Lal- 
ways want to think that it's going to be 
their moment of greatness and. l'm going 
to be part of it. And that I like. 

PLAYBOY: Is Once upon a Time іп America 
onc of those films that will be remembered 
in 50 years? 

DE NIRO: I don't know. It’s the kind of movie 
that maybe ГЇЇ look at one day and say, 
“Well, it wasn't bad." 

PLAYBOY: Do you feel that way about Brazil? 
DE NIRO: I liked the script and I wanted to 
be part of it, That will be remembered іп 
no matter what you think 


thing that’s said in [di 
liams own eccentric way, something that I 
responded to. 

PLAYBOY: Your part as a manic heating 
gincer was a small role. You and Jack 
Nicholson sccm to be the only major stars 
who will take such parts without worrying 
about losing your big. 
DE NIRO: ПІ do a cameo 


1 like it and I 


don't have to carry the whole movie. I 
concentrate on just that, it’s more fun and I 
don't have the pressure. 
PLAYBOY: Is that what interested you about 
playing Louis Cyphre, the Devil, in Alan 
Parker's Angel Heart? 
DE NIRO: I just ted to do it; it was more 
like an exercise, 1 thought it would be fun 
and I wouldn't have to carry the whole 
movie. I liked [director] Alan Parker. Не 
offered me the other part. but I felt there 
was something wrong with the script. 
PLAYBOY: You're not alone. John Huston 
thought the first four fifths of Angel Heart 
was one of the best films he had ever seen 
but that it fell apart in the end 
DE NIRO: Thats what 1 felt. There was a 
very, very strong texture to it—what you 
hoped for—but if some things arent there 
structurally, they've got to be worked out. 
It has to have a certain kind of payofl that 
comes together, and if it’s not there, it’s not 
easy to come up with an idea to fix it. 
PLAYBOY: Then there was your ten-minute 
portra of Al Capone іп The Untouch- 
ables. You had a certain fascination with 
that role, didn't you? 
DE NIRO: He’ a bigger-than- 
and I liked the way it was written in the 
film. I had told Brian De Palma that 1 
would consider doing Capone if it was ever 
written right. I'd seen it done other times 
and I didnt particularly care for the way it 
was done. 
PLAYBOY: You didnt like Paul Mi 
nal Scarface? 
DE NIRO: | thought it was awful. Псу the 
biggest ham. It was so hammy. You could. 
see he was possibly a great stage actor, but 
alot of his movies were over the top. Like I 
Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang. 
PLAYBOY: What about Pacino's Scarface? 
DE NIRO: Well, that's a different thing. In 
fact, I wanted to do a remake of Scarface 
with Marty, then Pacino told me that he 
was thinking of doing it. I said to him, “If 
you dont do it, l'm gonna do it.” But I 
would have done it the way it was written, 
not the ма) y did it. 
PLAYBOY: Bob Hoskins was signed to play 
Capone, but you took over the role instead. 


s origi- 


DE NIRO: I felt | had gone through a lot of 
aggravation, too, so that as long as they 
had paid him and it hadn't gone too far, Î 
Felt it was OK to take the role. 
PLAYBOY: How much weight did you put on 
for Capone? 
DE NIRO: Twenty-three to 25 pounds. I 
couldn't gain any more weight, like the 
other time. | would never do that again. 
PLAYBOY: Did you have any animal in mind 
for him? 
DE NIRO: [David] Mamet wrote him so 
well—the rhythm was so strong and con- 
tent—that a lot of it was already there in 
the writing. For me, the most important 
physical thing was my face. I could 
body suit on, but | didn’t want to put 
ances on my face, taking six hours to 
put them on and just look funny 1 wanted 
(concluded on page 32 


WHAT SORT OF MAN READS PLAYBOY? 


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women the ones other men desire. Much about him has changed during Playboy's 35 years: 
his clothes, his hair, his cars—accessories all. One thing, though, has remained the 
same through four decades: The man's style is born of a love for the best things in life. 


WITH АМ ASSIST FROM MARILYN MONROE, А HOT NEW MAGAZINE 
MELTS “THE IKE AGE” 


N THE AUTUMN of 1953, at a card table in his living room, a 
skinny guy in khaki slacks, sweat socks and penny loalers 
put together a new magazine for men. He called it Stag 
Party, then changed his mind at the last minute and de- 
cided to call it Playboy. The rest, as they say, is history: 
The new magazines began piling up on newsstands all 

L over the country—and disappeared again, almost as 
quickly. A blonde young star named Marilyn Monroc was on 
the cover, waving hello beside a headline promising that in- 
side you'd find a copy of Marilyn's “famous nude.” Till then, if 
magazines ever featured any hint of nudity, the girls were ei- 
ther performing a tribal dance or whacking volleyballs in 
Sweden. Marilyn looked like a real live girl. the kind that 
could live next door. If you were real lucky. 

It was a magazine whose time had come. Esquire had toned 
down its racy ways, and the rest of the men’s monthlies were 
celebrating the exploits of macho males who preferred wres- 
tling alligators in the great outdoors to sparring with a female 
companion in their own apartment. Guns were in; girls were 
ош 

Not at Playboy. In the introduction to the first issue, Hefner 
compared the importance of his magazines debut 10 the re- 
cent publication of the Kinsey report. The sexual revolution 
was being born, and if Kinsey was its researcher, Hefner 
would be its pamphleteer: And nothing would ever be quite 
the same again. 

“Hefner's genius,” said Dr. Paul Gebhard of the Kinsey In- 
stitute, 10 assoc d mobility” The 
magazine was designed from the outset as a handbook for the 
young urban male—with lifestyle features on fashion, food 
and drink, hi-fi and jazz: The Basic Bar, The Compleat Sports 
Car Stable and the quintessential Playboy Bed, an extravagant 
playpen whose many uses even included sleeping 

The magazine in those carly days was crude but vita 
flawed by amateurish blunders but also full of freshness and 
wide-eyed enthusiasm. There was a go-to-hell zaniness about 
it, a healthy disregard for the tides of fashion. 


Fine fiction and savvy humor were important ingredients 
from the beginning, with science fiction such as Ray Brad- 
Бату now-elassic thriller Fahrenheit 451—a powerful indict- 
ment of censorship set in the dark future, when all books are 
burned—and satire such as Shepherd Mead’s best-selling 
How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, a spoof of 
the gray-flannel mind-set of the Fifties. He later transtormed 
that idea into a delightful Playboy series called How lo Succeed 
with Women Without Really Trying. 

Walter S. Tevis’ The Hustler, which we published in 
1957, would make it to the sereen—and into American mvthol- 
ogy—as the story of a hotshot young pool player who had 
the chutzpah to think he could ace the champ. And George 
Langelaan contributed an s-f masterpiece called The Fly. 
which created quite a buzz in two popular film versions 

Ata time when most magazine art was representational and 
predictable, Playboy graphics were an inspired innovation 
that influenced the direction of commercial illustration; and 
Playboy cartoonists Jack Cole, Jules Feiffer and Gahan Wilson 
were second to none. 

Then, in 1956, a young genius named Shel Silverstein 
walked in off the sucer with a sheaf of drawings. He would 
later travel the world as Playboys Innocent Abroad, armed 
with nothing but his wits and a sketch pad, keeping a cartoon 
diary of his misadventures from ‘Tokyo to Moscow. 

But lets not kid ourselves: The primary appeal of Playboy 
has always been its Playmates, and we wouldn't have it any oth- 
er way Before Playboy, the tradition in pinup photography 
was stylized and impersonal. but the Playmates were present- 
ed like, well, like real live girls. When we introduced Janet 
Pilgrim, our own Subscription Manager, as our first girl-next- 
door centerfold, she caused a sensation. Reappearing in sub- 
sequent issues throughout the decade, Janet joined the ranks 
of celebrity sex stars uncovered by the magazine in the Fifties: 
Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansheld, Brigitte Bardot, Gina Lol- 
lobrigida, Sophia Loren, Anita Ekberg and June “the Bosom” 
Wilkinson. Ah, yes, we remember them well. 


PLAYBOY 


ENTERTAINMENT FOR MEN | 


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VIP ОМ SEX 


mann. kl 


ТНЕ FLY ‚fiction By George Langelaan 


if she looked upon the horror any longer, 
she would scream for the rest of her life 


PHONES AND TELEPHONE BELLS have always made me uneasy, The worst is when the tele- 
phone ring: the dead of night. By the time I manage to grab the receiver, I am out- 
wardly calm, but I get back to a more normal state only when I recognize the voice at the 
other end and when I know what is wanted of me. 

This effort at dominating a purely animal reaction and fear had become so effective 
that when ту sister-in-law called me at two in the morning, asking me to come over, but 
first to warn the police that she bad just killed my brother, 1 spoke to her quietly. 

“Did you say that Andre is at the factory?” 

“Yes... under the steam hammer.” 

“Under the what?” 

“The steam hammer! But don't ask so many questions. Please come quickly, Francois! 
Please understand that I'm afraid . . . that my nerves won't stand it much longer!" 

1 bad just managed to pull on my trousers, wriggle into a sweater and graba hat and 
coat, when a black Citroén, headlights blazing, pulled up at the door. 

“I assume you have a night watchman at your Factory, Monsieur Delambre. Has he 
called you?” asked Comm ге Charas, letting in the clutch as I sat down beside him 
and slammed the door of the car. 

“No, he hasn't. Though of course my brother could have entered the factory through 
his laboratory, where he often works late at night . . . all night sometimes.” 

“Is Professor Delambre's work connected with your business?” 

“No, my brother is, or was, doing research work for the Ministère de l'Air. As he 
wanted to be away from Paris and yet within reach of where skilled workmen could fix up 
or make gadgets big and small for his experiments, I offered him one of the old work- 
shops of the factory and he came to live in the first house built by our grandfather on the 
top of the hill at the back of the factory. 

“Yes, І әсе. Did he talk about his work? What sort of research work?" 

“He rarely talked about it, you know; I suppose the Air Ministry could tell you. I 
only know that he was about to carry out a number of experiments he had been prepar- 
ing for some months, something to do with the disintegration of matter, he told ше.” 

. 

It was far less horrid than I had expected. Although I had never seen my brother 
drunk, he looked just as if he were sleeping off a terrific binge, flat on his stomach acros 
the narrow line on which the white-hot slabs of metal were rolled up to the hammer. I saw 
at a glance that his head and arm could only be a flattened mess, but that seemed quite 
impossible; it looked as il he had somehow pushed his head and arm right into the metal- 
lic mass of the hammer 

Having talked to his colleagues, the Commi 

“How can we г mer, Monsieur Del 

“Tl raise it for 

“Would you Us to get one of your men over?” 

“No, T'I be all right. Look, here is the switchboard. It was originally a steam hammer, 
but everythi is worked electrically here now. Look, Commissaire, the hammer has 
been set at fifty tons and its impact at zero.” 

“Perhaps it was set that way last night when work stopped?” 

“Certainly not. The drop is never set at zero, Monsieur le Commissaire" 

"I see. Can it be raised gently?" 

“No. The speed of the upstroke cannot be regulated. But in any case, it is not 
very fast when the hammer is set for single stroke (continued on page 307) 


e turned towards me: 
nbre?” 


96 


HOW TO APPLY FOR A JOB By SHEPHERD MEAD 


LET US ASSUME you are young, healthy, 
dear-eyed and eager, anxious to rise 
quickly to the top of the business world. 

You can! 

If you have intelligence and ability, зо 
much the better. But remember that thou- 
sands have reached the top without them 
You, too, can be among the lucky few. 

Just memorize these simple rules. 


CHOOSE THE RIGHT COMPANY 


Make sure your company fits these easy 
requirements: 

1. It must be BIG, the bigger the better. 
It should be big enough so that nobody 
knows exactly what anyone else is doing. 

2. Beware of “Service” Companies. Be 
e yours is a company that makes some- 
g, and that somebody else has to 


th 


make it, Any company witha factory will 
do. Beware of organizations offering 
personal services, whether they be law 
offices, advertising agencies or animal 
hospitals, They will give you few oppor- 
ics to relax or to plan your future, 


DON'T BE A SPECIALIST. 


If you have a special knack, such as 
drawing or writing, forget it. You don't 
want to wind up behind a filing case 
drawing or writing! 

It is the ability to Get Along and to Get 
Contacts that will drive you ahead. Be an 
“all-around” man of no special ability 
and you will rise to the top. 


HOW ТО GET THE INTERVIEW 


The first step is to get the appoint- 


ment. A friend's recommendation is help- 
ful, or a letter stating useful experience 
But if you have no useful friends or any 
related experience, don't be discouraged! 

Use an Idea, For Dad, a bright, chatty 
“come-on” letter and a snappy photo 
were enough. Not so today. Your prospect 
throws away a basketful of them every 
day. Your presentation will have to stand 
out. Be original! Be dramatic! 

Think how you would feel if you were a 
personnel man and a quartet arrived, 
singing a clever set of lyrics like "He's 
a Big Man, Rivers!” to the tune of Old 
Man River. Or, “Ihe Smith, a Mighty 
Man Is He.” 

Remember this: Its easy to drop 
a lener in the wastebasket, but its 
hard to overlook a piece of artillery or a 
Shetland pony. (concluded on page 268) 


the first of a series of articles on how to succeed in business without really trying 


“I ain't got по bod-eee. . . .” 


97 


THE SIGN ON THE WALL seemed to quaver under a film of slid- 
ing warm water. Eckels felt his eyelids blink over his stare, 
and the sign burned in this momentary darkness: 


TIME SAFARI. INC. 
SAFARIS TO ANY YEAR IN THE PAST. 
YOU МАМЕ THE ANIMAL. 

WE TAKE YOU THERE. 
YOU SHOOT IT 


А warm phlegm gathered in Eckels' throat; he swallowed 
and pushed it down. The muscles around his mouth formed 
asmile as he put his hand slowly out upon the air, and in that 
hand waved a check for $10,000 to the man behind the desk. 
“Does this safari guarantee 1 come back айм 
“We guarantee nothing,” said the official, “except di- 
nosaurs.” He turned. “This 15 Mr. Travis, your Safari Guide 


in the Past. He'll tell you what and where to shoot. If he says 
no shooting, no shooting. If you disobey instructions, there: 
a stiff penalty of another ten thousand dollars, plus possible 
government action, on your return.” 

Eckels glanced across the vast office at a mass and tangle, а 
snakingand humming of wires and steel boxes, at an aurora 
that flickered now orange, now silver, now blue. There was a 
sound like a gigantic bonfire burning all of Time, all the 
years and all the parchment calendars, all the hours piled 
high and set aflame. 

“Hell and damn,” Eckels breathed, the light of the Ma- 
chine on his thin face. “А real Time Machine.” He shook his 
head. “Makes you think. If the election had gone badly yes- 
terday, 1 might be here now running away from the results. 
Thank God Keith won. He'll make a fine President of the 
United States.” (continued on page 311) 


Ош of the mist, 100 yards away, came Tyrannosaurus rex. “Jesus God,” whispered Eckels. 


A Sound of THUNDER 


one of the greatest science-fiction thrillers ever written 


By RAY BRADBURY 


ILLUSTRATED BY FRANZ ALTSCHULER 99 


PLAYBOY 


100 


The Seduction by Ves ете. 


AURA, Tun ms 
doy REALLY : 
WANT HE ТО. m dos 


400 UNDERSTAND IT 

HAS NOTHING M 
WHATSOEVER ТО 2) 
00 WITE You! 


цоо DO UNDERSTAND 
DONT 4002 І 


BUT чо) HUST 


Know ONE THING TELL НЕ. 
BEFORE WE Do IT. = tL 

YOU HOST. UNDERSTAND, 
UNDERSTAND 

ABOUT М6. 


IT DOESNT MATTER 

I FEEL GUILTY 1M 

EVERY TIME 175 

A CHARACTERISTIC. 
\ 


AY 


1 MEAD 1 FEEL CULTA 
10 MATTER WHO IT 15 
IT DOESNT MATTER 
IF 116 400 OR. 
ANYBODY. ~ 


THIS ARTICLE necessarily'll have to be 
about myself. I’m going all out. 

That nutty picture of me on the cover 
of On the Road results from the fact that 


I had just gotten down from a high 
mountain where I'd been for two months 
completely alone and usually I was in the 
habit of combing my hair of course be- 
cause you have to get rides on the high- 
way and all that and you usually want 
girls to look at you as though you were a 
man and not a wild beast but my poet 


don't comb your hair!" so I spent several 
days around San Francisco going around 
with him and others like that, to parties, - 
arties, parts, jam sessions, bars, poetry > > 
readings, churches, walking talking po- ў 
etry in the streets, walking talking God 
in the streets (and at one point a strange 
gang of hoodlums got mad and said 
“What right does he got to wear that?” 
and my own gang of musicians and poets 
told them to cool it) and finally on the 
third day Mademoiselle magazine wanted 
to take pictures of us all so I posed just 
like that. wild hair. crucifix and all, with 
Gregory Corso, Allen Ginsberg and Phil 
Whalen, and the only publication which 
later did not erase the crucifix from my 
breast (from that plaid sleeveless cotton 
shirt front) was The New York Times, 
therefore The New York Times is as beat as 
Тат, and I'm glad I've gota friend. 

That wild eager picture of me on the 
cover of On the Road where I look so Beat 
goes back much further than 1948 when 
John Clellon Holmes (author of Go and 
Тһе Horn) and 1 were sitting around try- 
ing to think up the meaning of the Lost. 
Generation and the subsequent Existen- 
tialism and I said “You know, this is really 
a beat generation" and he leapt up and 
said “That's it, that's right!" It goes back 
to the 1880s when my grandfather Jean- 
Baptiste Kerouac used to go ош on the 
porch in big thunderstorms and swing 
his kerosene lamp at the lightning and 
yell “Со ahead, go, if you're more power- 
ful than I am strike me and put the light 
out!" while the mother and children cow- 
ered in the kitchen. And the light never 
went out. 

"The Beat Generation goes back to the 5 
wild parties (continued on page 346) out of king kong 


friend Gregory Corso opened his shirt vee 
and took out a silver crucifix that was opinion By JACK KEROUAC 
hanging from a chain and said “Wear 
this and wear it outside your shirt and 
сет аса 


Sad 


and krazy kat 


and old american whoopee 


101 


EF OOO PED SOE беге 


JAGUAR XKI4OMC MERCEDES-BENZ 20051 


“I haven't made up my mind about “You can come up if you like—what 
him. He’s either a perfect gentleman more have I got to lose?” 
or he’s terribly run-down.” 


ARNOLT-BRISTOL PORSCHE SPEEDSTER 


"Im tired of sneaking around “Don't worry, Mrs. Higgins — Pl have 
like this. Just what does your husband. your daughter in bed before midnight.” 
have against me, anyway?!” 


REBEL WITH A CAUSTIC CAUSE 


“THE LEAN YOUNG man in ivy stepped into 
the spotlight on the small stage of The 
Cloister in Chicago. “We have a celebrity 
with us in the audience this evening,” he 
said. “Sitting ringside is the star of the 
show that opens here two weeks from 
tonight. The management is sparing no 
expense in bringing him to you. Let's 
have a big hand for the lovable Adolf 
Hitler.” 

Most of the audience realized with 


entertainment 


sick comic lenny bruce 


milks and mulcts 


the sacred cows 


these opening lines that this was no ordi- 
nary club comic and that they were in for 
a very unusual evenings entertainment. 
If any question remained, the first sketch 
answered it. 

"I'd like to take you now to the head- 
quarters of Religions, Incorporated," he 
said, "where the Dodge-Plymouth deal- 
ers of America have just held their annu- 
al raffle and given away a new 1959 
church. Seated around the table are the 


By LARRY SIEGEL 


religious leaders of the country, includ- 
ing Billy Graham, Oral Roberts, Father 
Divine, Danny Thomas, Jane Russell. . . 

The chairman speaks: ‘Ladies and gen- 
tlemen, as you know, this year we've gota 
tie-in with Oldsmobile. Now, I realize that 
you cant get out there on the pulpit and 
hard-sell Oldsmobiles. But I was think- 
ing, why couldn't you, every now and 
then, throw ina few little lines like, Drive 
the car that He (concluded on page 340) 


105 


PLAYBOY 


106 


THE PLAYBOY BED 


modern living 


Touch-type electronic switch panel affords 
from-the-bed control of the entire aportment, 
‘opening or closing of windows and drapes, on- 
off controls for temperature ond lighting, etc. 


Reversible bock rest pulls ой on center- 
mounted slides and con lock in selected posi- 
tions. One side is oiled walnut, the other is 
comfortobly upholstered for sit-up lounging. 


Upholstered pull-out armrest provides luxury 
lounging, wells for drinking glasses, ashtray, 
cigorette lighter and humidor, level Formica 
surface for cocktail shaker, snacks ond such. DESIGNED BY JAMES E. TUCKER—RENDERINGS BY HUMEN TAN 


LAYBOY CONTENDS THAT A GENTLEMAN'S BED is much, much more than a place to placidly assume a supine position. It is, or should 

be, a major furnishing in any well-appointed bachelor’s diggings, a sumptuous haven in which the gentleman can take his ease, 
with eyes open or closed, yet not be completely cut off from the niceties and conveniences of apartment living. In addition to the 
solid comfort of the bed itself, he should have finger-tip control of what goes on, and off, in his pad, plusa convenient, functional 
setup for assuaging his basic entertainment and gustatorial needs. 

"The box spring and mattress area of the Playboy bed is six feet wide, seven feet long, in an oiled-walnut frame. Surveying your 
bedroom realm from 16 inches above the floor, you have a wide choice of diversions and controls. 

The handsome headboard (96" long, 18" deep, 59" high) houses matched stereo speakers at both ends. It has a bookcase within 
easy reach, for Playboy, Proust or Punch. An executive-style telephone—the Speakerphone—is judiciously tucked into the center 
of the headboard, Flanking the phone is an automatic clock-timer that gently awakens you in the morning and starts your coffee 
perking. A 29" expanse of open shelf space permits you to conduct your own exhibition of objets d'art. Light from the reading 
lamps can be beamed so that either side of the bed may remain in undisturbed darkness at any time. 

Directly above the armrest, an automatic on-off (voice activated) dictating machine takes care of your off-hours inspiration. 


designed for luxurious lounging апа sleeping 


At the right edge of the bed, a custom refrigerator awaits your midnight 
prowls, with a roll-top chest beneath it for additional snack supplies. Opposite 
the food corner is a bar at the foot of the bed, equipped with sliding Formica 
top and a hinged drop-front maple block that serves as counter and cutting 
board. The television set, suspended from the ceiling on a polished-brass tube 
and operated by remote control, is poised in air above the foot of the bed. 

The left side of the bed houses the stereo control center that is ready to 
bring Basie or Brahms to life at your bidding. Beneath the stereo center is a 
master switch panel that takes care of everything, right from the cozy comfort 
of your own bed; there's even a master switch for all the lights in the apartment 
and one that slowly dims the lights in the bedroom. 

Once your bed is assembled and rewardingly placed in your bachelor bed- 
room, it will shame all other beds, those naively constructed for slcep alone. 


Buttoned up, the Ployboy bed is о hondsome 
deis providing all that's needed to make 
the bedroom serve os а second living room 


when your pod's thrown open for a party. 


PLAYBOY 


“It's your turn, Shirley— I took 
care of the rent this month.” 


“Fred drank me under the table, and 
that's where 1 met Charlie.” 


“He's not the marrying kind — he's 
already married.” 


“Certainly I got the part— I even 
got а part for you.” 


humor 


Playboy is proud to publish a truly 


important contribution to the 


understanding of the human mind 


VOIDIS 


voipis 15 a new, optimistic philos- 

ophy designed to save modern 

man from himself. The principle 
of Avoidism is simple. An Avoidist simply 
avoids things. 

He avoids because nonavoiding leads 
to Involvement, and all of man’s troubles 
grow out of Involvement. 

Descartes said, “I think, therefore I 
am.” 

The Avoidist says, “I won't, therefore I 
ain't gonna.” 


WHY AVOIDISM? 


Every methodology of ethical conduct 
ог philosophy that man has so far 
evolved to guide his living and his think- 
ing has proved to be based on the same 
major fallacy. Namely, the idea that man 
must “do something.” 

It is this peculiar notion that has kept 
everything all loused up. 


AVOIDISM, THE ARGUMENT FOR 


Contemporary man is admittedly 
headed for Nowhere. This situation has 
occurred because man suffers from a 
compulsion to prove to himself that he is 
a unique and superior being; ic, he 
works to make money so that he can buy 
things his neighbors don't have; he wears 
purple underwear to prove that he is 
sexy ctc., etc. a 

Naturally, such attempts can lead only 
from anxiety through frustration, to 
Neurosis. (This is the second-best sen- 


By ROGER PRICE 


tence in the artide.) 

And is all unnecessary. 

‘Avoidism tells us that man is perfectly 
all right as he is. Man is already superior 
by virtue of his belonging to the species 
Homo sapiens.* 

Think how superior you are to a cher- 
rystone clam. 

Think how much more superior you 
are to the clam than the most important 
man who ever lived is superior to you. 


MOST IMPORTANT MAN WHO EVER LIVED 
(Check one) 

1. Julius Caesar 

2. Albert Einstein 

3. Plato 

4. Roger Price 

5. Napoleon Bonaparte 

6. Pablo Picasso 

7. Jefferson Davis 


You will see that ıhe difference be- 
tween you and апу of the above is very 
slight. Now let us look at the difference 
between man and the clam. In order to 
arrive at a scientific estimate of the con- 
trast, I recently compared my brother 
Clarence and an exceptionally fine speci- 
men of Long Island clam. I conducted an 
exhaustive series of tests, and I append 
here a table showing the results, which 
even exceeded my hopeful expectations: 


*If you do not belong, write me at once, in- 
cluding name, address and color of eyes 
and hair. 


Subject Clarence Clam 
Motor Abi ds m LS 
Sense of Humor + 40 + 30 
10. + 97 +121 
Physical Attractiveness + 3 + 2 
Ability to Remain Under 

Water = MEL 705) 
Neatness - 60 + 60 
‘Taste with Horseradish + 60 + 60 
Ability to Keep Mouth 

Shut aa = BM) 
Honesty = EM ар 59 
Ping-Pong +300 -300 
Sex Activity - 4+ 1 
Political Influence = 1 du 

TOTALS: Clarence: Plus (+) 516 

Clam:  Minus(-) 30 


"These tests proved Clarence's superi- 
ority over the clam beyond question.** 

Itisclear now that any man is infinitely 
more superior to a clam than any other 
man is superior to him! Think this over 
fora while. 

Once this conspicuous comparison is 
sufficiently impressed upon your mind, 
it will satisfy your ego, and there will 
be no need for you to try to prove that 
you are a superior being or a member of 


**One uninvited observer, a Dr. Carl Gas- 
soway, claimed that the differential in 
Clarence’: favor was due entirely to the in- 
clusion of ping-pong in the test, which he 
said was unfair. This is destructive think- 
ing I think this man should be рш ашау 
somewhere. 


109 


PLAYBOY 


110 


a superior group. 

Avoidism is anti-individualist and anti- 
collectivist. 

Avoidism is pro-you! 

(You may be interested in knowing 
that, shortly before this issue went to 
press, the editor and I were annoyed con- 
stantly by the clam that I had used in 
the intelligence tests with my brother 
Clarence. This clam, although he lost 
fairly, had adopted a very unsportsman- 
like attitude and had become quite a 
sorehead. He had, we soon discovered, 
been taking ping-pong lessons from a 
professional player and kept demanding 
that he be given a chance to take the tests 
over again. He kept bothering us and 
complaining and causing trouble, until 
we were forced to take drastic measures. 
We hired an assassin and instructed him 
to arm himself with a jar of horseradish 
and a fork. I think we shall hear no more 
from this bad loser.) 


‘THE ARGUMENT AGAINST 
Many reactionary, energetic, ambitious 


types will tell you that Avoidists are noth- 
ing but slobs. 
ANSWER TO THE ARGUMENT AGAINST 
This is true. 
HOW To BECOME AN AVOIDIST 

Avoiding will not be as easy as it first 
seems, and the eager beginner will do 
well to master the fundamentals thor- 
oughly before taking any further steps. 
Hereare a few basic exercises illustrating 
the technique of Avoiding that may be 
practiced by the novice: 


(A) Avoidist Avoiding Reading 
Story in Saturday Evening Post 


FIGURE 111: Non-Avoidist 
Conversationalist 


(B) Avoidist Avoiding 
Answering Doorbell 


Drawing (A) in Figure I shows the Bas- 
ic Avoidist Position. Drawings (B) and (C) 
show two interesting variations. Practice 
these positions several hours a day until 
you have mastered them. Do not be im- 
patient. Remember, “Easily learned, easi- 
ly forgotten.” Practice, practice, practice 
these positions until they are second na- 
ture to you. The New Avoidist should 
spend at least a year on the Basic Posi- 
tions. Then, and not before, he may go 
on to the Advanced Avoidist Position 
(Figure IT). 

CONVERSATIONAL AVOIDING 


Because of the volume of talk that 
constantly floods civilization, the New 
Avoidist will sometimes be trapped into 
listening to what is being said to him. 
The following rule should be obeyed at 
all times: 

The Only Thing an Avoidist Ever Listens 
to Is Nothing. 

Frequently, though, you will find it nec- 
essary to take certain steps to make sure 
that there is nothing for you not to listen 
to (this sentence must be read twice be- 
fore it makes any sense). Hence, Avoidist 
Conversation. 

Avoidist Conversation should be em- 
ployed immediately when anyone in- 
dines his torso toward you, the danger 
increasing in direct proportion to the 
square of the angle of inclination (Figure 
un. 

Whenever this sort of danger threat- 
ens (or any other time you feel like it), 
you may Avoid by employing Seven Test- 
ed Remarks of such extreme dullness 
that the Avoidee will experience a partial 


FIGURE I: Approved Methods of Avoiding 


м. 
y 


(С) Avoidist Avoiding Women 
(NOTE: This technique hasn't 
quite been perfected yet.) 


paralysis lasting approximately four 
minutes, while trying to think up an an- 
swer. These remarks are: 

1. A girl I used to go with when I was 
in high school just got a job with the 
telephone company. 

2.1 got this suit three years ago in 
Pittsburgh for $50. 

3.1 went to bed real early last night, 
but I didnt get to sleep until after 
midnight. 

4. I didn't hardly have anything to eat 
for lunch today, just a salad and 
some pie and coffee. 

5. My little boy will be eight years old 
next month. You oughta hear him 
talk. 

6.1 sure wish I'd kept up with my pi- 
ano lessons when 1 was a kid. 

7. І can take better pictures with a little 
Brownie box camera than I can with 
those real expensive ones. 


HISTORY OF AVOIDISM 


The true Father of Modern Avoidism 
was Clayton Slope. Clayton Slope was my 
step-uncle-in-law on my mother's side of 
the family, The first time I ever saw him, 
he was sitting in a rocker on the back 
porch of his sister-in-laws house in 
Charleston, West Virginia. He had been 
sitting in the rocker for 22 months with- 
out moving. (Irue, he had rocked once, 
but inadvertently, as the result of a slight 
gastric upset.) 

There was something about his weak, 
watery stare, the shifty set of his tiny 
chin, the way his small shoulders 
slumped forward, almost touching 

(concluded on page 302) 


FIGURE II: Advanced Position 
(Not for beginners) 


FIGURE V: Clayton's 
Feet. 


وھ کے 


FIGURE IV: Clay- 
ton as a Child 


FICURE VI: Avoidist 
Position (Slope Stoop) 


“Sherwood Forest . . . Robin Hood speaking.” 


12 


COLOR WOODCUT BY RICHARD TYLEK 


THE HUSTLER 


fiction By WALTER S. TEVIS 


all games are dangerous when the stakes are high 


THEY TOOK sam ош of the office, through 
the long passageway, and up to the big 
metal doors. The doors opened, slowly, 
and they stepped out. 

The sunlight was exquisite; warm on 
Sam's face. The air was clear and still. A 
few birds were circling in the sky. There 
was a gravel path, a road, and then, 
grass. Sam drew a deep breath. He could 
see as far as the horizon. 

A guard drove up in a gray station 
wagon, He opened the door and Sam got 


in, whistling softly to himself. They 
drove off, down the gravel path. Sam did 
not turn around to look at the prison 
walls; he kept his eyes on the grass that 
stretched ahead of them, and on the road 
through the grass. 

When the guard stopped to let him off 
in Richmond, he said, “A word of advice, 
Willis.” 

Advice?" Sam smiled at the guard. 

"That's right. You got a habit of getting 
in trouble, Willis. That's why they didn't 


parole you, made you serve full time, be- 
cause of that habit." 

“That's what the man told me," Sam 
said. “So?” 

"So stay out of poolrooms. You're 
smart. You can earn a living." 

Sam started climbing out of the station. 
wagon. “Sure,” he said. Не got out, 
slammed the door, and the guard drove 
away 

It wasstill early and the town was near- 
ly empty. Sam walked around, up and 
down different streets, for about an hour, 
looking at houses and stores, smiling at 
the people he saw, whistling or humming 
little tunes to himself. 

In his right hand, he was carrying his 
litle round tubular leather case, carry- 
ing it by the brass handle on the side. It 
was about 30 inchcs long, the case, and 
about as big around as a тап forearm. 

At ten o'dock, he went to the bank and 
drew out the $600 he had deposited 
there under the name of George Graves. 
Only it was $680; it had gathered that 
much interest. 

"Then he went to a dothing store and 


bought а sporty tan coat, а pair of brown 
slacks, brown suede shoes and a bright- 
green sport shirt. In the stores dressing 
room, he put the new outfit on, leaving 
the prison-issued suit and shoes on the 
floor. Then he bought two extra sets of 
underwear and socks, paid and left. 

About a block up the street, there was a 
clean-looking beauty parlor. He walked 
in and told the lady who seemed to be in 
charge, “I’m an actor. I have to play a 
part in Chicago tonight that requires red 
due He smiled at her. "Can you fix me 
up?" 

The lady was all efficiency. “Certainly,” 
she said. “If you'll just step back to a 
booth, we'll pick out a shade.” 

A half hour later, he was a redhead. In 
two hours, he was on board a plane for 
Chicago, with а little less than $600 in his 
pocket and one piece of luggage. He still 
had the underwear and socks in a paper 
sack. 

In Chicago, he took a $14-a-night 
room in the best hotel he could find. The 
room was big, and pleasant. It looked 
and smelled clean. 


He sat down on the side of the bed and 
opened his little leather case at the top. 
The two-piece billiard cue inside was in- 
tact. He took it out and screwed the brass 
joint together, pleased that it still fit per- 
fectly. Then he checked the butt for tight- 
ness. The weight was still firm and solid. 
The tip was good, its shape had held up; 
and the cue balance and stroke seemed 
easy, familiar, almost as though he still 
played with it every day. 

He checked himself in the mirror, 
They had done a perfect job on his hair; 
and its brightness against the green and 
brown of his new clothes gave him the 
sporty, race-track sort of look he had al- 
ways avoided before. His once ruddy 
complexion was very pale. Not а pool 
player in town should be able to recog- 
nize him; he could hardly recognize 
himself. 

If all went well, he would be out of 
Chicago for good in a few days; and no 
one would know for a long time that Big 
Sam Willis had even played there. Six 
years on a manslaughter charge could 
have its advantages. 


Inthe morning, he had to walk around 
town for a while before he found a pool- 
тоот of the kind he wanted. It was a few 
blocks off the Loop, small; and from the 
outside, it seemed to be fairly clean and 
quiet. 

Inside, there was a short-order and 
beer counter up front. In back, there 
were four tables; Sam could see them 
through the door in the partition that 
separated the lunchroom from the pool- 
room proper. There was no one in the 
place except for the tall blond boy behind 
the counter. 

Sam asked the boy if he could practice. 

“Sure.” The boys voice was friendly. 
“But it'll cost you a dollar an hour.” 

“Fair enough.” He gave the boy a five- 
dollar bill. “Let me know when this is 
used ир.” 

The boy raised his eyebrows and took 
the money. 

In the back room, Sam selected the 
best 20-ounce cue he could find in the 
wall rack, one with an ivory point and a 
tight butt, chalked the tip and broke the 
rack of balls (continued on page 297) 


13 


WOMEN OF THE 


os 


MARILYN MONROE Тһе milestone of 1953, per 
Life's 150 Years of Photography: “Playboy debuts with 
ап au naturel Marilyn Monroe as its Sweetheart of the 
Month and promises “а beautiful, full-color, unpinned 
pinup in each new issue.” We kept our promise. 


JANET PILGRIM Our first girl-next-door Play- 

mate, she changed the direction of pinup photog- 
raphy, enabling unknown beauties to vie successfully 
with established sex stars— most of whom at the time 
were foreign—for the attention of the American male. 


JUNE WILKINSON After the 
1958 feature in which we dubbed 
her “The Bosom,” June landed in 
Hollywood and stole the show at 
a publicists’ Ballyhoo Ball. 


JOYCE NIZZARI Miss Decem- 
ber 1958, Joyce was one of the 
early Playboy Club Bunnies before 
hanging up her tail and wedding 
‘actor Jack (Combat) Hogan. 


VIKKI DOUGAN Many papers 
cropped this photo of “The Back” 
when it flashed across the wires in 


1957. Not Playboy. "I'm not busty,” 


said Vikki, “so what's a girl to do?” 


BRIGITTE BARDOT Her very 
initials were magical, BB signifying 
the ultimate French sex kitten. Six 

Playboy pictorials span two decades 
(right: a December 1959 shot). 


TINA LOUISE Seeking a goddess to rival Bardot, Hollywood 
came up with Tina (left). In April 1959, Playboy editors ob- 
served, in the era's alliterative style, “Tinseitown titans think they 
may have found just the thing in titian-tressed Tina Louise.” 


ELSA SORENSEN Pop vocalist Guy Mitchell accompanied 

the Danish beauty above on a grocery-shopping spree for 
her September 1956 Playmate story. They made another 
trip—down the aisle—together, but the marriage foundered. 


ELLEN STRATTON А legal 
secretary when chosen as Miss 
December 1959, Ellen became 
our first Playmate of the Year 
in 1960. She was a Bunny 

and a New York model, too. 


GINA LOLLOBRIGIDA Back 
in September 1954, this Italian 
star was relatively unknown 

to U.S. audiences. A Playboy 
pictorial featuring this and 
other shots from Beauties of 
the Night remedied that. 


ANITA EKBERG Іп Playboy's 
August 1956 issue, this photo 
of the Swedish star was dis- 
creetly cropped. It would be 
more than a decade before 
full frontal nudity became 
acceptable in U.S. media. 


DIANA DORS Ап April 1956 Playboy feature 
introduced to the American public “the Marilyn 
Monroe of Great Britain,” who had understand- 
ably changed her name from Diana Fluck. 


BETTIE PAGE Her many fan magazines have 
brought Miss January 1955 an immense cult 
following; she also inspired rocker Chris 

Spedding's New Wave song Hey Miss Betty. 


SOPHIA LOREN A treat for her U.S. admirers 
in the November 1957 Playboy: a scene from the 
vintage Italian film Era Lui, Si, Si, revealing more 
ot her charms than they'd seen previously. 


LISA WINTERS Almost too shy to pose, 

Miss December 1956—in a precursor of the Data 
Sheet?—did divulge measurements (35-23-35) 
and a partiality to Poe, Hemingway and Kipling. 


LOREN У5. MANSFIELD “Feud for thought, іп the Hollywood tradition” 
the editors labeled the account that accompanies this celebrated photo 
in our November 1957 issue. Seated at Romanoff's, a decorous Sophia 
looks askance at Jayne as the latter inhales herself out of her dress, 


ELIZABETH ANN ROBERTS Her mother applauded JAYNE MANSFIELD Before becoming Miss February 
her becoming Miss January 1958, but a Chicago cop 1955, she was an unknown Texas actress. Іп a curious 
busted both Mom and Hefner on charges (later irony, the Fifties’ most famous Playmates—Mansfield 
dropped) that the Schoolmate Playmate was underage. and Monroe—died tragically in the Sixties. 


756 THUNDERBIRD 


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The Eldorado and the ‘Vette. The 
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They're all here! The Classic 
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detailed replicas, in the prized 1:43 
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124 


ТНЕ 


MAKING LOVE, NOT WAR, ON THE FRONT LINES ОҒ А STORMY 
SOCIAL REVOLUTION 


"HAT CAN YOU SAY about that decade of decades—the 
incomparable Sixties? A generation later, we're still 
trying to sort it out. It was a decade that began 
with a freshening of the winds. After the stifling 
Fifties, change was іп the air. Ike was still Presi- 
dent, but there was an election nearing, and a 
handsome, vigorous young man stood poised to 
win the hearts and minds of the American public. His name 
was Bond—James Bond. 

When our popular new President, John Е Kennedy, said 
that his favorite spy writer was Тап Fleming, 007 became а па- 
tional phenomenon. That came as no surprise to us: We had 
already introduced him to our readers with a story in our 
March 1960 issue. Bond was our kind of guy: exciting job, got 
the girls, knew how to dress, licensed to kill—what else could 
you want? So we published a lot of Bond over the next few 
years: four serialized novels, several pictorials of James 
Bond's girls, even a flinty interview with Sean Connery him- 
self. We'd have interviewed M if we could have found him. 

Fleming was only one of the names on a Sixties fiction roster 
that read like the guest list for an international awards ban- 
quet: reigning giants such as Carl Sandburg, Henry Miller, 
Nelson Algren, Lawrence Durrell and Vladimir Nabokov and 
the cream of a new generation: Philip Roth, John Cheever, 
Truman Capote and John Updike. On the lighter side of the 
table sat Woody Allen, Jonathan Winters, Mort Sahl and Mike 
Nichols, and—not so lightly—Lenny Bruce wrote his autobi- 
ography for us: How to Talk Dirty and Influence People. 

In 1962, our Editor-Publisher had a few words of his own to 
say. Sitting down to write an editorial condemning society's 
uptight sexual attitudes, Hefner found himself warming to 
the subject. ‘Twenty-five installments and 150,000 words later, 
The Playboy Philosophy had touched off a moral debate that 
raged from campus to pulpit. 

With the debut of the Playboy Interview feature that same 


year, the magazine began generating—and attracting—heat 
across a spectrum of social issues: most dramatically by airing 
the race struggle in Interviews with George Wallace and 
George Lincoln Rockwell, Malcolm X and Dr. Martin Luther 
King, Jr. (the last three conducted by a young freelancer 
named Alex Haley, who would later become the subject of an 
Interview after his monumental best seller, Roots). 

As the clamor of social protest and political dissent grew 
louder, Playboy spoke up and sounded off: Supreme Court 
Justice William O Douglas decried abuses to the environ- 
ment; Ralph Nader argued for consumer protection; Senator 
Stephen Young called for curbs on the CIA; Senator William 
Fulbright appealed for a reordering of our national priorities. 

It was on the issue of Vietnam that we spoke out most loud- 
ly—with essays and reportage by Kenneth ‘Tynan, Nat Hentoff 
and John Kenneth Galbraith that reflected the publics own 
antiwar views and, increasingly, those of our Servicemen in 
Southeast Asia. 

But Playboy was already the unofficial magazine of the war. 
As The Washington Post observed, Playboy was to Vietnam 
what Stars and Stripes was to World War Two. Barracks from 
Saigon to the Mekong Delta were plastered with Playmate cen- 
terfolds—including that of 1965 Playmate of the Year, Jo 
Collins. When a young second lieutenant stationed in Bien 
Hoa sent us a poignant letter asking for a Playmate to deliver 
his lifetime subscription to him in person, we sent “GI Jo.” 

We kept the hearth warm at home with pictorials of the Six- 
ties screen queens: Catherine Deneuve, Mamie Van Doren, 
Kim Novak, Ursula Andress (photographed by husband John 
Derek), Sharon Tate (lensed by husband Roman Polanski) and 
the empress herself, Elizabeth Taylor, in a peekaboo scene 
from the blockbuster bomb of the decade, Cleopatra. 

All in all, from Camelot to Aquarius, it was a decade that 
gave Playboy the chance to demonstrate the wisdom of that 
Sixties rallying cry: Make love, not war. 


PAINTING BY HERB DAVIDSON 


126 


british agent james bond 
takes a trip to chagrin with a brute, a blonde and death 


THE HILDEBRAND RARITY 


a new novelette By IAN FLEMING 


THE STING RAY WAS ABOUT SIX FEET from wing tip to wing tip and perhaps ten feet long from the blunt wedge of 
its nose to the end of its deadly tail. It was dark gray with that violet tinge that is so often a danger signal in the 
underwater world. When it rose up from the pale, golden sand and swam, it was as if a black towel were being 
waved through the water. 

It was ten o'clock in the morning of a day in April and the lagoon, Belle Anse, near the southernmost tip of 
Mahé, the largest island in the Seychelles group, was glassy calm. James Bond swam lazily on, keeping the sting 
ray just in sight. Bond had a Champion harpoon gun with double rubbers. The harpoon was tipped with a 
needle-sharp trident—a short-range weapon but the best for reef work. Bond pushed up the safety and moved 
slowly forward, his fins pulsing softly just below the surface so as to make no sound. There was a tiny movement 
in the sand. Two minute fountains of sand were dancing above the nostrillike holes of the spiracles. Behind the 
holes was the slight swelling of the things body. That was the target. An inch behind the holes. Bond estimated 
the possible upward lash of the tail and slowly pulled the trigger. 

Below him the sand erupted and for an anxious moment Bond could see nothing. Then the harpoon line 
came taut and the ray showed, pulling away from him while its tail, їп reflex aggression, lashed again and again 
over the body. At the base of the tail Bond could see the jagged poison spines standing up from the trunk. This 
tail was the old slave-drivers’ whip of the Indian Ocean. Today it is illegal even to possess one in the Seychelles, 
but they are handed down in the families for use on faithless wives and if the word goes around that this or that 
woman “a cu la crapule,” the Provencal name for the sting ray, it is as good as saying that that woman will not be 
about again for at least a week. Bond swam round and ahead of the ray, pulling it after him toward the shore. 

A short, fat white man in khaki shirt and trousers came out from under the palm trees and walked toward 
Bond through the scattering of sea grape and sun-dried wrack above high-water mark. When he was near 
enough, Fidele Barbey, the youngest of the innumerable Barbeys who own nearly everything in the Seychelles, 
stood looking down at the ray. “That's a good one. Lucky you hit the right spot or he'd have towed you over the 
reef. But come on. I've got to get you back to Victoria. Something's come up. Something good." 

On their way down the coast road in the station wagon Fidele said, “Ever hear of an American called Milton 
Krest? Well, apparently he owns the Krest hotels and a thing called the Krest Foundation. One thing 1 can tell 
you for sure. He owns the finest damned yacht in the Indian Ocean. Put in yesterday. The Wavekrest. Nearly two 
hundred tons. Everything in her from a beautiful wife down to a big transistor gramophone on gimbals so the 
waves won't jerk the needle.” 

“What's it got to do with you—or me, for that matter?” 

“Just this, my friend. We are going to spend a few days sailing with Mr. Krest—and Mrs. Krest, the beautiful 
Mrs. Krest. I have agreed to take the ship to Chagrin—the island off the African Banks. This man Krest wants 


ILLUSTRATED BY ALLAN PHILLIPS 


PLAYS OF 


128 


to go there. He's collecting marine speci- 
mens, something to do with his founda- 
tion, and there's some blasted little fish 
that's supposed to exist only around Cha- 
grin Island.” 

“Sounds fun. Where do 1 come іп?” 

“I knew you were bored and that you'd 
got a week before you sail, so I said that 
you were the local underwater ace and 
that you'd find the fish if it was there.” 


. 

The gleaming white yacht lay half а 
mile out in the roadstead. They took a 
pirogue with an outboard motor across 
the glassy bay and through the opening 
in the reef. The Wavekrest was not beau- 
tiful—the breadth of the beam and clut- 
tered superstructure stunted her lines— 
but Bond could see at once that she was a 
real ship, built to cruise the world and 
not just the Florida Keys. She seemed 
deserted, but as they came alongside, two 
smart-looking sailors in white shorts and 
singlets appeared and stood by the lad- 
der with boat hooks ready to fend the 
shabby pirogue off the yachts gleaming 
paint. They took the two bags and one of 
them slid back an aluminum hatch and 
gestured for them to go down. A breath 
of what seemed to Bond to be almost 
freezing air struck him as he went down 
the few steps into the lounge. 

The lounge was empty. It was not a 
cabin. It wasa room of solid richness and 
comfort with nothing to associate it with 
the interior ot a ship. The windows be- 
hind the half-closed Venetian blinds 
were full size as were the deep armchairs 
round the low central table. The carpet 
was the deepest pile in pale blue. The 
walls were paneled in a silvery wood and 
the ceiling was off-white. There was a 
desk with the usual writing materials and 
atelephone. Next to the big gramophone 
wasa sideboard laden with drinks. Above 
the sideboard was what looked like an ex- 
tremely good Renoir. 

“What did I tell you, Jame: 

Bond shook his head admiringly. “This 
is certainly the way to treat the sea— 
as if it damned well didn’t exist.” He 
breathed in deeply. “What a relief to get a 
mouthful of fresh air. I'd almost forgot- 
ten what it tastes like.” 

“It’s the stuff outside that's fresh, feller. 
This is canned.” Mr. Milton Krest had 
come quietly into the room and was 
standing looking at them. He was 2 
tough, leathery man in his early 50s. He 
looked hard and fit and the faded blue 
jeans, military-cut shirt and wide leather 
belt suggested that he made a fetish of 
doing so—looking tough. The pale 
brown eyes in the weather-beaten face 
were slightly hooded and their gaze was 
sleepy and contemptuous. The mouth 
had a downward twist that might be hu- 
morous or disdainful, probably the latter, 
and the words he had tossed into the 
room, innocuous in themselves except 


for the patronizing “feller,” had been 
tossed like small change to a couple of 
coolies. To Bond the oddest thing about 
Mr. Krest was his voice. It was a soft, 
most attractive lisping through the teeth. 
It was exactly the voice of the late 
Humphrey Bogart. Bond ran his eyes 
down the man. He thought: This man 
likes to be thought a Hemingway hero. 
I'm not going to like him. 

Mr. Krest came across the carpet and 
held out his hand. “You Bond? Glad to 
have you aboard, sir.” 

Bond was expecting the bone-crushing 
grip and parried with stiffened muscles. 

“Free-diving or aqualung?” 

“Free, and I don't go deep. It's only а 
hobby.” 

“Whaddaya do the rest of the time?” 

“Civil servant.” 

Mr. Krest gave a short, barking laugh. 
“Civility and servitude. You English 
make the best goddamn butlers and 
valets in the world. I reckon we're likely 
to get along fine. Civil servants are just 
what I like to have around me.” 

The click of the deck hatch sliding 
back saved Bond's temper. Mr. Krest was 
swept from his mind as a naked, sun- 
burned girl came down the steps into the 
saloon. No, she wasn't quite naked after 
all, but the pale brown satin scraps of 
bikini were designed to make one think 
she was. 

""Lo, treasure. Where have you been 
hiding? Long time no see. Meet Mr. Ваг- 
bey and Mr. Bond, the fellers who are 
coming along." Mr. Krest raised a hand 
in the direction of the girl. “Fellers, this is 
Mrs. Krest. The fifth Mrs. Krest. And 
just in case anybody should get any ideas, 
she loves Mr. Krest. Don't you, treasure?" 

“Oh, don't be silly, Milt, you know I 
do.” Mrs. Krest smiled prettily. “How do 
you do, Mr. Barbey And Mr. Bond. It's nice 
to have you with us. What about a drink?” 

“Now just a minute, treas. Suppose you 
let me fix things aboard my own ship, 
eh?” Mr. Krest’s voice was pleasant. 

The woman blushed. “Oh, yes, Milt.” 

“OK, then, just so we know who's skip- 
per aboard the good ship Wavekrest.” 
The amused smile embraced them all. 
“Now, then, Mr. Barbey. What's your first 
name, by the way? Fidele, eh? That's 
quite a name. Old Faithful.” Mr. Krest 
chuckled bonhomously. “Well, now, Fido, 
how’s about you and me go up on the 
bridge and get this little old skiff moving, 
eh? And Mr. Bond. First name? James, 
eh? Well, Jim, what say you practice a bit 
of that civility and servitude on Mrs. 
Krest. Call her Liz, by the way. Help her 
fix the canapés and so on for drinks be- 
fore lunch. OK? Move, Fido.” He sprang 
boyishly up the steps. 

When the hatch closed, Bond let out a 
deep breath. Mrs. Krest said apologeti- 
cally, “Please don't mind. It's just his sense 
of humor. He likes to see if he can rile 


people. But it’s really all in fun.” 

Bond smiled reassuringly How often 
did she have to make this speech? He 
said, “How long have you been married?” 

“Two years. I was working as a recep- 
tionist in one of his hotels. He owns the 
Krest group, you know. It was wonderful. 
Like a fairy story. I still have to pinch my- 
self sometimes to make sure I'm not 
dreaming. This, for instance," she waved 
a hand, “and he's terribly good to me. Al- 
ways giving me presents.” 

There came a deep rumble from below 
deck amidships. “There. We're off. Why 
don’t you watch us leave harbor from the 
afterdeck and I'll join you in a minute. 
This way.” She moved past him and slid 
open a door. “As a matter of fact, if 
you're sensible, you'll stake a claim to this 
for the nights. There are plenty of cush- 
ions and the cabins geta bit stuffy in spite 
of the air conditioning.” 

Bond thanked her and walked out and 
shut the door behind him. It was a big 
well deck with hemp flooring and a 
cream-colored semicircular foam-rubber 
settee in the stern. Rattan chairs were 
scattered about and there was a serving. 
bar in one corner. Itcrossed Bond's mind 
that Mr. Krest might be a heavy drinker. 
Was it his imagination, or was Mrs. Krest 
terrified of him? No doubt she had to pay 
heavily for her “fairy story.” 

“Well, feller. Taking it easy?” Mr. Krest 
was standing on the boat deck looking 
into the well. “Care to look over the ship?” 

Bond followed Mr. Krest down the nar- 
row passage that ran the length of the 
ship and for half an hour made appropri- 
ate comments on what was certainly the 
finest and most luxuriously designed 
yacht he had ever seen. In every detail, 
the margin was for extra comfort. Even 
the crew's bath and shower was full size 
and the stainless-steel galley, or kitchen 
as Мг. Krest called it, was as big as the 
Krest stateroom. Mr. Krest opened the 
door of the latter without knocking. Liz 
Krest was at the dressing table. “Why, 
treasure,” said Mr. Krest in his soft voice. 
“Puttin on a little extra ги? for Jim, eh?” 

“I'm sorry, Milt. I was just coming. A 
zipper got stuck.” The girl hurriedly 
picked up a compact and made for the 
door. She gave them both a nervous half- 
smile and went out. 

“Vermont birch paneling, Corning 
glass lamps, Mexican tuft rugs. That sail- 
ing ship pictures a genuine Montague 
Dawson, by the way. . . ." Mr. Krest's cata- 
log ran smoothly on. But Bond was look- 
ing at something that hung down almost. 
out of sight by the bedside table on what 
was obviously Mr. Krest's side of the huge 
double bed. It was a thin whip about 
three feet long with a leather-thonged 
handle. It was the tail of a sting гау. 

Casually, Bond walked over to the side 
of the bed and picked it up. He ran a 

(continued on page 321) 


“Its not for nothing that you are called Tuan the Terrible 


2% 


э» 


A TESTAMENT OF HOPE 


in his final published statement, the fallen civil rights leader points the 
way out of america's racial turmoil into the promised land of true equality 


By DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, ЈК. 


HENEVER! АМ ASKED my opinion of the current state of the civil rights movement, I am forced to pause; it is 

not easy to describe a crisis so profound that it has caused the most powerful nation in the world to stag- 

ger in confusion and bewilderment. Today's problems are so acute because the tragic evasions and de- 
faults of several centuries have accumulated to disaster proportions. The luxury of a leisurely approach to 
urgent solutions—the ease of gradualism—was forfeited by ignoring the issues for too long. The nation waited until 
the black man was explosive with fury before stirring itself even to partial concern. Confronted now with the interrelat- 
ed problems of war, inflation, urban decay, white backlash and a climate of violence, it is now forced to address itself 
to race relations and poverty, and it is tragically unprepared. What might once have been a series of separate prob- 
lems now merge into a social crisis of almost stupefying complexity. 

Lam not sad that black Americans are rebelling; this was not only inevitable but eminently desirable. Without this 
magnificent ferment among Negroes, the old evasions and procrastinations would have continued indefinitely. Black 
men have slammed the door shut on a past of deadening passivity. Except for the Reconstruction years, they have 
never in their long history on American soil struggled with such creativity and courage for their freedom. These are 
Our bright years of emergence; though they are painful ones, they cannot be avoided. 

These words may have an unexpectedly optimistic ring at a time when pessimism is the prevailing mood. People 
are often surprised to leam that | am an optimist. But | am profoundly secure in my knowledge that God loves us; He 
has not worked out a design for our failure. Man has the capacity to do right as well as wrong, and his history is a path 
upward, not downward. While it is a bitter fact that in America in 1968, | am denied equality solely because | am black, 
yet | am not a chattel slave. Millions of people have fought thousands of battles to enlarge my freedom; restricted as 
it still is, progress has been made. This is why | remain an optimist, though І am also a realist about the barriers 
before us. Why is the issue of equality still so far from solution in America, а nation that professes itself to be demo- 
cratic, inventive, hospitable to new ideas, rich, productive and awesomely powerful? The problem is so tenacious 
because, despite its virtues and attributes, America is deeply racist and its democracy is flawed both economically 
and socially. All too many Americans believe justice will unfold painlessly or that its absence for black people will be 
tolerated tranquilly. 

Justice for black people will not flow into society merely from court decisions nor from fountains of political orato- 
гу. Nor will a few token changes quell all the tempestuous yeamings of millions of disadvantaged black people. White 
America must recognize that justice for black people cannot be achieved without radical changes in the structure of 
Our society. The comfortable, the entrenched, the privileged cannot continue to tremble at the prospect of change in 
the status quo. 

Stephen Vincent Benet had a message for both white and black Americans in the title of a story, Freedom Is a 
Hard Bought Thing. When millions of people have been cheated for centuries, restitution is a costly process. Inferior 
education, poor housing, unemployment, inadequate health care—each is a bitter component of the oppression that 
has been our heritage. Each will require billions of dollars to correct. Justice so long deferred has accumulated inter- 
est and its cost for this society will be substantial in financial as well as human terms. This fact has not been fully 
grasped, because most of the gains of the past decade were obtained at bargain rates. The desegregation of public 
facilities cost nothing; neither did the election and appointment of a few black public officials. 

Millions of Americans are coming to see that we are fighting an immoral war that costs nearly 30 billion dollars a 
year, that we are perpetuating racism, that we are tolerating almost 40,000,000 poor during an overflowing material 
abundance. Yet they remain helpless to end the war, to feed the hungry, to make brotherhood a reality; this has to 
shake our faith in ourselves. If we look honestly at the realities of our national life, it is clear that we are not marching 
forward; we are groping and stumbling; we are divided and confused. Our moral values and our spiritual confidence 
Sink, even as our material wealth ascends. In these trying circumstances, the black revolution is much more than a 


ILLUSTRATION BY SHELLY CANTON 


PLAYBOY 


struggle for the rights of Negroes. It is 
forcing America to face all its interre- 
lated flaws—racism, poverty, militarism 
and materialism. It is exposing evils that 
are rooted deeply in the whole structure 
of our society. It reveals systemic rather 
than superficial flaws and suggests that 
radical reconstruction of society itself is 
the real issue to be faced. 

Itis time that we stopped our blithe lip 
service to the guarantees of life, liberty 
and pursuit of happiness. These fine sen- 
timents are embodied in the Declaration 
of Independence, but that document was 
always a declaration of intent rather than 
of reality. There were slaves when it was 
written; there were still slaves when it was 
adopted; and to this day, black Ameri- 
cans have not life, liberty nor the privi- 
lege of pursuing happiness, and mi 
of poor white Americans are in economic 
bondage that is scarcely less oppressive. 
Americans who genuinely treasure our 
national ideals, who know they are still 
elusive dreams for all too many, should 
welcome the stirring of Negro demands. 
They are shattering the complacency 
that allowed a multitude of social evils to 
accumulate. Negro agitation is requiring 
America to re-examine its comforting 
myths and may yet catalyze the drastic 
reforms that will save us from social 
catastrophe. 

In indicting white America for its in- 
grained and tenacious racism, I am using 
the term “white” to describe the majority, 
not all who are white. 

Yet the largest part of white America is 
still poisoned by racism, which is as na- 
tive to our soil as pine trees, sagebrush 
and buffalo grass. Equally native to us is 
the concept that gross exploitation of the 
Negrois acceptable, if not commendable. 
Many whites who concede that Negroes 
should have equal access to public facili- 
ties and the untrammeled right to vote 
cannot understand that we do not intend 
to remain in the basement of the eco- 
nomic structure; they cannot understand 
why a porter or a housemaid would dare 
dream of a day when his work will be 
more useful, more remunerative and a 
pathway to rising opportunity. This in- 
comprehension is a heavy burden in our 
efforts to win white allies for the long 
struggle. 

In society at large, abrasion between 
the races is now more evident—but the 
hostility was always there. Relations to- 
day are different only in the sense that 
Negroes are expressing the feelings that 
were so long muted. The constructive 
achievements of the decade 1955 to 1965 
deceived us. Everyone underestimated 
the amount of violence and rage Negroes 
were suppressing and the vast amount of 
bigotry the white majority was disguis- 
ing. Allblack organizations are a 
reflection of that alienation—but they 
are only a contemporary way station on 


the road to freedom. They аге a product 
of this period of identity crisis and direc- 
tionless confusion. As the human rights 
movement becomes more confident and 
aggressive, more nonviolently active, 
many of these emotional and intellectual 
problems will be resolved in the heat of 
battle, and we will not ask what is our 
neighbors color but whether he is a 
brother in the pursuit of racial justice. 
For much of the fervent idealism of the 
white liberals has been supplemented re- 
cently by a dispassionate recognition of 
some of the cold realities of the struggle 
for that justice. 

One of the most basic of these realities 
was pointed out by the President's Riot 
Commission, which observed that the na- 
ture of the American economy in the late 
19th and early 20th Centuries made it 
possible for the European immigrants of 
that time to escape from poverty. It was 
an economy that had room for—even a 
great need for—unskilled manual labor. 
But the American economy today is 
radically different. There are fewer and 
fewer jobs for the culturally and educa- 
tionally deprived; thus does present-day 
poverty feed upon and perpetuate itself. 
The Negro today cannot escape from his 
ghetto in the way that Irish, Italian, Jew- 
ish and Polish immigrants escaped from 
their ghettos 50 ycars ago. New methods 
ОЁ escape must be found. And one of 
these roads to escape will bea more equi- 
table sharing of political power between 
Negroes and whites. Integration is mean- 
ingless without the sharing of power. 
When I speak of integration, I don't 
mean a romantic mixing of colors, I 
mean a real sharing of power and re- 
sponsibility. We will eventually achieve 
this, but it is going to be much more 
difficult for us than for any other minori- 
ty After all, no other minority has been 
so constantly, brutally and deliberately 
exploited. But because of this very ex- 
ploitation, Negroes bring a special spirit- 
ual and moral contribution to American 
life—a contribution without which 
America could not survive. 

The implications of true racial integra- 
tion are more than just national in scope. 
I don't believe we сап have world peace 
until America has an “integrated” for- 
eign policy. Our disastrous experiences 
in Vietnam and the Dominican Republic 
have been, in one sense, a result of racist 
decision making. Men of the white West, 
whether or not they like it, have grown 
up in а racist culture, and their thinking 
is colored by that fact. They have been 
fed on a false mythology and tradition 
that blinds them to the aspirations and 
talents of other men. They don't really 
respect anyone who is not white. But we 
simply cannot have peace in the world 
without mutual respect. I honestly feel 
that a man without racial blinders—or, 
even better, a man with personal experi- 


ence of racial discrimination—would be 
їп а much better position to make policy 
decisions and to conduct negotiations 
with the underprivileged and emerging 
nations of the world (or even with Castro, 
for that matter) than would an Eisenhow- 
er ora Dulles. 

This is what we mean when we talk 
about redeeming the soul of America. 
Let me make it clear that I don't think 
white men have a monopoly on sin or 
greed. But I think there has been a kind 
of collective experience—a kind of 
shared misery in the black community— 
that makes it a little harder for us to ex- 
ploit other people. 

Although American Negroes could, if 
they were in decision-making positions, 
ive aid and encouragement to the un- 
leged and disenfranchised peo- 
ple in other lands, I don't think it can 
work the other way around. I don't think 
the nonwhites in other parts of the world 
can really be of any concrete help to us, 
given their own problems of develop- 
ment and self-determination. In fact, 
American Negroes have greater collec- 
tive buying power than Canada, greater 
than all four of the Scandinavian coun- 
tries combined. American Negroes have 
greater economic potential than most of 
the nations—perhaps even more than all 
of the nations—of Africa. We don't need 
to look for help from some power outside 
the boundaries of our country, except іп 
the sense of sympathy and identification. 
Our challenge, rather, is to organize the 
power we already have in our midst. 

A primary weapon іп the fight for so- 
cial justice will be the cumulative politi- 
cal power of the Negro. І can foresee the 
Negro vote becoming consistently the de- 
сізіуе vote in national elections. It is al- 
ready decisive in states that have large 
numbers of electoral votes. Even today, 
the Negroes in New York City strongly 
influence how New York State will go in 
national elections, and the Negroes of 
Chicago have a similar leverage in Ili- 
пов. Negroes are even the decisive 
balance of power in the elections in Geor- 
gia, South Carolina and Virginia. So the 
party and the candidate that get the sup- 
port of the Negro voter in national elec- 
tions have a very definite edge, and we 
intend to use this fact to win advances in 
the struggle for human rights. 

The election of Negro mayors, such as 
Richard Hatcher of Gary, in some of the 
nations larger cities has also had а 
tremendous psychological impact upon 
the Negro. It has shown him that he has 
the potential to participate in the deter- 
mination of his own destiny—and that of 
society. We will see more Negro mayors 
in major cities in the next ten years, but 
this is not the ultimate answer. Mayors 
are relatively impotent figures іп 
the scheme of national politics. The 

(continued on page 341) 


же] 


THE HAZARDS OF PROPHECY 


AN ARRESTING INQUIRY INTO THE LIMITS OF THE 
POSSIBLE: FAILURES ОҒ NERVE AND FAILURES OF 
IMAGINATION ARTICLE BY ARTHUR C. CLARKE 


With monotonous regularity, apparently competent men have laid down the law about what is technically possi- 
ble or impossible—and have been proved utterly wrong, sometimes while the ink was scarcely dry from their pens. 
On careful analysis, it appears that these debacles fall into two classes, which I will call Failures of Nerve and Failures 
of Imagination. 

The Failure of Nerve seems to be the more common; it occurs when even given all the relevant facts, the would- 
be prophet cannot see that they point to an inescapable conclusion. Some of these failures are so ludicrous as to be 
almost unbelievable. 

When the first locomotives were being built, critics gravely asserted that suffocation lay in wait for anyone who 
reached the awful speed of 30 miles an hour. Only 80 years ago, the idea of the domestic electric light was pooh- 
poohed by all the experts. When gas securities nose-dived in 1878 because Thomas Edison announced that he was 
working on the incandescent lamp, the British Parliament set up a committee to look into the matter. The distin- 
guished witnesses reported, to the relief of the gas companies, that Edison's ideas were “good enough for our transat- 
lantic friends . . . but unworthy of the attention of practical or scientific men.” 

The most famous Failures of Nerve have occurred in the fields of aero- and astronautics. At the beginning of the 
20th Century, scientists were almost unanimous in declaring that heavier-than-air flight was impossible, and that 
anyone who attempted to build airplanes was a fool. 

Closer to the present, when the existence of the 200-mile-range V-2 was disclosed, there was considerable specu- 
lation about intercontinental missiles. This was firmly squashed by Dr. Vannevar Bush, the civilian general of the 
US. scientific war effort, in evidence before a Senate Committee on December 3, 1945. Listen: 

“The people who have been writing these things that annoy me have been talking about a 3000-mile high-angle 
rocket shot from one continent to another, carrying an atomic bomb and so directed as to bea precise weapon which 
would land exactly on a certain target, such asa city. 

“T say, technically, I don't think anyone in the world knows how to do such a thing, and I feel confident that it will 
not be done for a very long period of time to come. . . . I wish the American public would leave that out of their 
thinking.” 

The outcome was the greatest Failure of Nerve in all history. Faced with the same facts, American and Russian 
technology took two separate roads. The Russians, faced with the need for a 200-ton rocket, went ahead and built it. 
By the time it was perfected, it was no longer required for intercontinental rocketry; but with it they won the race 
into space. 

Of the many lessons to be drawn from this slice of recent history, the one that 1 wish to emphasize is this: Апу- 
thing that is theoretically possible will be achieved, no matter what the technical difficulties, if it is desired greatly 
enough. 

The second kind of prophetic failure is less blameworthy. Failure of Imagination arises when all the available 
facts are appreciated and marshaled correctly—but when the really vital facts are still undiscovered, and the possi- 
bility of their existence is not admitted. 

One celebrated Failure of Imagination was that persisted in by Lord Rutherford, who laid bare the internal 
structure of the atom. Rutherford made fun of those who predicted that we should be (continued on page 342) 


лһлоялута 


“I think your father likes me, Ralph." 


194 


THE PLAYBOY INTERVIEW 


candid conversations with cuba's revolutionary leader, comedy’s 
wackiest improviser and the founding father of black power 


FIDEL CASTRO 


PLAYBOY: When you came to power in 
1959, did you think that Cuba and the 
US. were going to get along better than 
they actually have? 

CASTRO: Yes, that was one of my illusions. 
At that time, we believed that the revolu- 
tionary program could be carried out 
with a great degree of comprehension on 
the part of the people of the United 
States. We believed that because it was 
just, it would be accepted. True, we didnt 
think about the Government of the Unit- 
ed States. We thought about the people of 
the United States, that in some way their 
opinion would influence the decisions of 
the Government What we didnt see 
clearly was that the North American in- 
terests affected by the revolution pos- 
sessed the means to bring about a change 
of public opinion in the United States 
and to distort everything that was hap- 
pening in Cuba and present it to the U.S. 
public in the worst form. 

PLAYBOY: Were you personally a Commu- 
nist when you seized power in 1959? 
CASTRO: It is possible that I appeared less 
radical than (concluded on page 262) 


ROBERT COHEN 


“The United States represents the most reac- 
tionary ideas in the world. Especially its 
self-appointed role of world gendarme, its 
desire to impose the government system it 
thinks other peoples should have.” 


MEL BROOKS 


PLAYBOY: Mel, we'd like to ask you— 
BROOKS: Who's we? І see one person in 
the room. Not counting me. 

PLAYBOY: By “we” we mean Playboy. 
BROOKS: In other words, you're asking 
questions for the entire sexually liberat- 
ed Playboy organization? 

PLAYBOY: Mel, can we begin now? 

‘ine, do you gavotte? 

PLAYBOY: Let's sit this one out. You've 
recently completed a series of radio com- 
mercials as Ballantine Beer's “2500-year- 
old Brewmaster.” It’s a character quite 
similar to your famous 2000-year-old 
man, in that once again you jog satirical- 
ly through the pages of history. But the 
big difference is: Now you're peddling 
beer. Why did you sell out to Madison 
Avenue, like they say? 

BROOKS: [ decided that I had given 
enough of myself to mankind. After all, 
my definitive 12-volume series on en- 
lightened penology was completed; my 
staff and I had UNESCO running in ap- 
ple-pie order; and of course I had just 
come up with the vaccine to wipe out 
cystic fibrosis. — (concluded on page 266) 


MARVIN KONER 


“The trouble with Playmates is that they're 
too openly sexy. Гие been taught since 1 
was a kid that sex is filthy and forbidden, 
and I think it should be. The filihier and 
more forbidden it 2s, the more exciting it 15.” 


MALCOLM X - 


PLAYBOY: What is the ambition of the 
Black Muslims? 

MALCOLM X: Freedom, justice and equali- 
ty are our principal ambitions. And to 
faithfully serve and follow the Honorable 
Elijah Muhammad is the guiding goal of 
every Muslim. Mr. Muhammad teaches 
us the knowledge of our own selves, and 
of our own people. He cleans us up— 
morally, mentally and spiritually—and 
he reforms us of the vices that have 
blinded us here in the Western society. 
He stops black men from getting drunk, 
stops their dope addiction if they had 
it, stops nicotine, gambling, stealing, ly- 
ing, cheating, fornication, adultery, pros- 
titution, juvenile delinquency. I think of 
this whenever somebody talks about 
someone investigating us. Why investi- 
gate the Honorable Elijah Muhammad? 
They should subsidize him. Не% cleaning 
up the mess that white men have made. 
Hes saving the Government millions of 
dollars, taking black men off welfare, 
showing them how to do something for 
themselves. And Mr. Muhammad teach- 
es us love for (concluded on page 296) 


FICHARO SAUNDERS 


"I read everything I could put my hands on 
in the prison library. I found out that either 
the history-whitening process had left out 
great things that black men had done or the 
great black men had gotten whitened.” 


135 


mystery, legend and 
TH N] П intrigue still ride that 
crack continental train 


PAINTING BY ROY SCHNACKENBERG 


travel By WILLIAM SANSOM “i was srrriNG . . . in the outer seat of a table for four in the Pullman dining 
car of the Orient Express. On a curve just outside Munich, owing to a rail's being out of place, our carriage suddenly 
leaned over hard to the left and I was forced violently against my companion. When the carriage righted itself, I found 
that an Austrian couple had both fallen over, making a complete somersault. The lady's head (concluded on page 146) 137 


оялта 


“Му alimony check is in the usual place, І suppose.” 


138 


TEEVEE JEEBIES 


new dialog for the late late show 
salire By SHEL SILVERSTEIN 


“A lot of cowboys grow attached to their horses, but let's 
face it—you're involved!” 


que 


“Hello, Mom? This is Ernie. I just decided to call “Look, it shouldn't be so difficult to remember: The back 
and wish you a happy birthday . . of your collar goes down and the back of your hat goes up!" 


мо 


MY WAR WITH 
THE MACHINES 


humor By WOODY ALLEN how to get the lower hand when dealing with cybernetic superiors 


YEARS АСО I went to Hollywood looking 
for a job. Actually, I had seen an ad in 
The New York Times that said, “Boy want- 
ed, part time, to direct Cleopatra.” So 1 
went out to the Coast and while I was 
there, I went to this big party I took a 
produccrs very unattractive daughter, 
but I was social climbing. She was а really 
bad-looking girl. Facially, she resembled 
Louis Armstrong's voice. And while I was 
at the party, I met a very big Hollywood 
producer who spoke to me about a job. 
At that time, they wanted to make an 
elaborate CinemaScope musical comedy 
based on the Dewey decimal system, and 
they wanted me to punch it up. I had 
worked as a writer in New York. I had 
written а TV show called Surprise Di- 
vorce. We used to take a happily married 
couple out of the audience every week 
and divorce them on television. Anyhow, 
1 got the job. 

So I go out to the producer's office in 
Burbank, and I walk into his building, 
and I get into the elevator, and there's 
nobody in the elevator. No people. No 
buttons on the wall. No elevator opera- 
tor, Nothing. And I hear a voice say. 
“Kindly call out your floors, please.” And 
1 look around, and there's nothing. And 
1 hear it again. “Kindly call out your 
floors, please.” Now, I'm a great pan- 
icker. In the event of any type of emer- 
gency, I lose control of the sphincter 
muscle. Anyway, I hear this voice, and 1 
look on the wall and its printed: “This el- 
evator runs оп a sonic principle. Please 
state your floor and the elevator will take 
you there.” 

So I said, “Three, please.” 

And the doors close. And the elevator 
starts going up to three. And on the way 
up, I felt very self-conscious, because I 
speak with a slight New York accent; and 
the elevator spoke quite well. And I get 
off, and as I'm walking down the hall, I 
thought I heard the elevator make a re- 
mark. So I turn quickly, but the doors are 
shut and its gone down. I didn’t want to 
get involved with an elevator anyway— 
notin Hollywood. 

But here's the paranoid part of the sto- 
ry. I have never had good relations with 
mechanical objects. Anything I can't rea- 
son with or kiss or fondle, I get into 
trouble with. I have a clock that runs 
counterclockwise, and my toaster shakes 
my toast from side to side and burns it, 
and I hate my shower. My shower hated 
me first, but then it got to be a thing of 
counterhostility If I'm taking a shower 
and someone in America uses their wa- 
ter, that's it for me! I leap from the tub 


STU GROSS 


with a red streak down my back. I paid 
$150 for a tape recorder, and as I talk in- 
to it, it goes, "I know, І know 

l have a Polaroid camera; it started 
putting out pictures in two minutes. 
"Then it started putting out pictures іп 
five minutes. Finally, I got a little note 
that said, "Come in tomorrow for them!" 
So be nice to your camera. 

I have a suntan lamp. As I sit under it, 
it rains on me. 

All right, one night some years ago, I 
was home alone. I called a meeting of my 
possessions. I got everything I owned— 
my toaster, my clock, my blender—into 
the living room. They had never been in 
the living room before. I spoke to them. I 
spoke to cach appliance. I said, “I know 
whats going on, and cut it out!” 1 was 
brilliant. You would've loved me. I 
opened with a joke, and then I moved on 
and made each point 

I was very firm. Then I put them back 
where they belonged. And I felt good. 
Strong. Two days later, Im watching ту 
portable television set—Dr. Joyce Broth- 
ers—when suddenly the picture begins 
to jump up and down. All right, 1 always 
talk betore I hit. 1 went up to the set and 
I said, “1 thought we had discussed this.” 
But the set kept going up and down, up 
and down, so I hit it I felt good hitting it! 
And I beat the hell out of it! 1 kicked іп 
the screen. I ripped off the knobs. I tore 
off the antenna (That appeared in a 
dream three nights later.) And I felt fab- 
ulous. Very Hemingway. I destroyed the 
machine. Man triumphs. 

‘Two days later, I go to my dentist. I 
had gone to my dentist, but 1 had a very 
deep cavity and he had sent me to a chi- 
ropodist, and I'm in a building in mid- 
town Manhattan, and they have those 
sonic elevators. So 1 get in, and I hear a 
voice say, “Kindly call out your floors, 
please.” And now I'm hip because I was 
to the Coast, and I say, “Sixteen, please.” 
On the way up, it says to me, “Are you 
the guy that hit the television set!" 

‘Then it took me up and down fast be- 
tween floors and it threw me out in the 
basement and it yelled out something 
that was anti-Semitic. 

And the upshot of the whole story is, 
that day I called my parents, and my 
mother tells me my father was fired. My 
father, who worked 12 years for the same 
firm, was fired. He was replaced with a 
tiny gadget that does everything my fa- 
ther does, only much better. The de- 
pressing thing is, my mother ran out and 
bought one. 

El 


man 
at his 


leisure 


leroy neiman limns 
the sophisticated 
frenetics of gotham's 
in-est discotheques 


DISCOTHEQUES, in the past few years, 
have become the delight of New York's in- 
ternational jet set. Le Club (left), most 
exclusive of these pulsating pleasure 
domes, was the first “pure” (records- 
only) discothèque in Manhattan. It still 
flourishes in the smart East 50s, under 
the guidance of publisher-social arbiter 
Igor Cassini. Playboy artist LeRoy Nei- 
man was impressed with the Old World 
flavor of Le Club. “It suffuses the whole 
atmosphere,” Neiman said. “The joys of 
the dance are celebrated ina 16th Centu- 
ту Flemish tapestry of heroic ргорог- 
tions. Opposite it, over the hearth, 15 а 
full-length portrait from the Louis XVI 
era. Looking down on the fruggers is a 
set of regal deer heads, surrounded by 
antique hunting horns and firearms. The 
only overtly modern furnishings are the 
vertical speakers flanking the tapestry. 
The members, all socialites and celebri- 
Чез, dress with studied formality” Of 
course, there are discothéques that are 
more accessible to Manhattanites with a 
contemporary terpsichorean bent. Sybil 
Burtons Arthur remains de rigueur on 
the disco circuit. Ondine—which, like 
Arthur, has a live-music policy—appeals 
to the madly Mod set, while the Andy 
Warhol spirit of the East Village is vested 
in The Dom. And ebullient teeny-bop- 
pers of all ages are their own best enter- 
tainment at The Scene, Downtown, 
"Irude Heller's or Cheetah. Says Neiman, 
“Whatever their differences, all of these 
clubs manifest a common spirit. The 
People who frequent them are out for 
wiggy kicks, and they're full of adren- 
aline—but they go about it with style and 
aplomb. The male discothéquenician has 
become much more fastidious about 
his appearance since the antediluvian 
Peppermint Lounge phase of the rock 
revolution. Clothes may not make the 
man, but apparently they help make the 
woman; and today's young blade tends to 
be as modest about his out-of-sight Mod 
outfit as a peacock is about its plumage.” 


i BFS 4 m 1 
Newest of New York's "in" discothèques is 
Yellowfingers (obove), which boosts o woll- 
sized mirror to sotisfy its style-conscious 
potrons. The club is а chic showcase for high- 
fashion models, who bocgoloo nightly in bell- 
bottoms or mid-thigh miniskirts (top), their 
eyes hidden by spoce-age sun visors. The mu- 
sic ot Yellowfingers flows overheod, loud, but 
not so loud оз to hinder friendly discourse 
(right). Reports Neiman, “Dancing in these 
discothèques is no longer simply doncing. 
There is improvisotion, but the emphasis is on 
monnerism. The object is to look awore—not 
to get hung up on feeling the music but 
to concentrate on feeling your own presence. 
In the ‘now’ crowd discos, the ‘t's’ have it.” 


PEL ACT R LOTTY 


ТЇК ORIKTIT САЙД comin om pase 37 


“After 1800 miles, five religions, seven borders and 
God knows how many peaked caps, there is more.” 


had got underneath our table and her 
legs were upright in the air. While the 
other ladies in the carriage screamed 
with laughter and the men endeavored to 
kee] we faces, I grappled with the 
difficult task of holding the inverted la- 
dy's petticoats together and at the same 
time freeing her head from the table legs. 

“Three days later, in Vienna, 1 re- 
ceived a pressing invitation from the 
archduchess, asking me to call at her 
house at the hour of afternoon coffee. 
When I went into the room, the arch- 
duchess got up from her chair and came 
forward to meet me, telling her guests, 
who were chiefly ladies, "This is my 
English friend, who saved my life, and 
has seen more of me than my husband 
himself.” 

Thus wrote the good Colonel Cromp- 
ton in his Reminiscences of golden days 
long before the Kaiser came to mess up 
Europe. But with the years, with changes 
of economics and sodety, the long, luxu- 
rious snake has played the chameleon. In 
fact and fiction, it pops up decade after 
decade, according to the virtuosity of its 
storyteller, either glaring with gas and 
pearls or fulminating with electricity and 
spies. Those 1800 miles of track between 
Paris and Istanbul are like Aypaper to 
the romantic traveler. 

So now let us see what it is like to travel 
оп the famous train today. 

At 11:30 on either of only two sched- 
uled nights a week, passengers for Istan- 
bul and stations en route begin to gather 
at the Gare de Lyon in Paris for the mo- 
ment of departure, 23 hours, 50 minutes. 
Along the Direct Orient platform, one 
searches for the one sleeping coach that 
bears the word isrANBUL. As the hand of 
the electric clock whips round like a cane 
to 11:50, somebody peeps a little whistle 
and imperceptibly, most casually for such 
along journey, the great train slides off. 

“Bonne nuit,” says the keeper. “ПІ call 
you tomorrow at Lausanne.” The door 
closes and that’s that. Beds already made 
up, two toa compartment; chromium fit- 
tings everywhere. Everything opening 
and shutting into everything else, in a 
fine essay of compactness. 

So to sleep, with the wheels beneath 
playing something like the opening of 
Beethoven's Fifth over and over again. A 
useful lullaby. Before you can say “E peri- 
coloso sporgesi,” the long night is gone, 
and there is a tap on the door and the 
words “Lausanne, monsieur.” 

Up with the washbasin, off with the pa- 
jama top. Up with the blind. Down with 


the blind. Forgot we were in Lausanne 
station, with a line of gray Swiss com- 
muters staring straight in the window. 

Now (нелер ed valleys lush with 
vine and orchard, high mountain walls 
going straight up to either side. The fast 
gray rivers of Switzerland flow backward 
past us, a smart new Swiss ordinary ticket 
collector flows forward in his pressed 
dark-gray uniform. Looking up at the 
snow-capped monsters above, one of 
the English says placidly “I wonder if 
we'rein Switzerland yet." 

Then, in a blaze of color—Maggiore, 
Italy. It looks like heaven. Why on earth 
go on all that way to the wretched Ori- 
ent? Wide blue waters, distant moun- 
tains, little red-roofed lakeside towns, 
islands, the first lowering of the palm 
alongside a cool pleasantry of darker firs. 
"The station at Stresa is covered with ros- 
es and hydrangeas—difficult, indeed, 
not to Hing oneself off. Better just lower 
the sun blind and taste the noonday 
shade. 

We now approach Trieste and soon 
afterward the Yugoslay frontier—which 
is, though, no Iron Curtain but, as it 
were, Tito’s Venetian blind. Early morn- 
ing and over the broad brown Danube to 
Belgrade—or веосвар, as in Cyrillic let- 
ters the battered old station-building 
pediment dedares. An hour's wait and 
we descend to look for breakfast 
station buffet. Immediate impression of 
the people is of a fresh, bourgeois lot: 
gone the elegance, the fleshpot lock of 
the West. Little, if any, lipstick on wom- 
ens faces, and men in unpressed suits 
and with, it seems, very wiry hair disin- 
clined to lie down. 

Off we glide through the modern sub- 
urbs of Belgrade, glance a moment at а 
rust-brown river and one high baroque- 
towered church, and then away south 
and east on parallels now with Genoa and 
Warsaw. It was along another river, south 
of here, that the conductors of this anec- 
dotal train at one time had instructions 
to lower the blinds to save the passengers" 
blushes, as the local ladies had a habit 
of enjoying the river quite naked. 

Sofia greets us somewhere around 
six, and with an instant air of gaiety. A 
bright evening crowd welcomes the train. 
Kisses, yelps, hoots, laughter everywhere, 
several girls with bouquets to greet de- 
scending passengers—we are suddenly 
like an evening ship coming into an із- 
land port. And there is, indeed, an 
essence of the island in Ѕоба% position. 
Nobody had ever told me that this city is 


situated in a basin prettily surrounded 

with mountains, some of them snow 

capped, and just the right distance away. 
. 


For the first time, ме аге awakened іп 
the night. At some ungodly time, we 
touch Pythion, on the Greek outward 
border, and a soft-voiced gentleman 
without a uniform pokes his head in and 
takes away the passports. Back to sleep, 
but another call in an hours time. The 
passports back, and out of the window a 
suddenly different scene: the red flag of 
Turkey, with its white crescent and star, 
and, sure enough, the penciling of a 
minaret. 

And now a big moment—the reedy 
rural end ofan inlet from the Sea of Mar- 
mara. The sea, the sea! And at last the 
broken towers and walls of old Byzan- 
tium. We are into Istanbul: and literally 
what that word means—"into the city” 
Immense gray mosques, many domed, 
like giant schools of stone bubbles, show 
themselves to the left; then the venerable 
high dome and yellow walls of St. Sophia; 
and rounding the point, the great 
Seraglio of the Grand Turk, fortress of 
felicity and murderous intrigue, its 
kitchens for 10,000 people fretting the 
sky with chimneys, and a huge buzzard 
slowly wheeling above the surrounding 
trees. On the right-hand southern coast, 
Asia ten minutes away. 

Sirkeci station, the terminus. And out 
into a milling, sweating, battering crowd 
that declaims that Asia has come to Eu- 
торе: no need for geographical niceties 
about the Bosporus neatly dividing two 
continents. And intoa taxiand across the 
Golden Horn to your hotel—and what? 
Lashings of Circassian chicken? Grilled 
swordfish? The sweetmeat called Lady's 
Navel? Or true navel—for, as once the 
dervishes whirled, now hired navels 
from all over the Near East rotate each 
night in a hundred danses de ventre in the 
night clubs. 

After 1800 miles, five religions, seven 
borders, three literations and God knows 
how many peaked caps, there is all this 
offered to the person of him described 
now on his Turkish return bulletin as 
“Sansom Bey.” Yet there is always more to 
be found. Thus, not only bare dancers 
but dancing bears, trapped in local 
forests. And an island of peace an hour 
away—Büyük, where only horse traffic is 
allowed and the horses must wear silent 
rubber shoes. And, in season and beyond 
belief, wrestling matches between cam- 
els. And, in any season on the chance 
menu, а foodstuff called amanex. 
Amanex? Ham and eggs. No end to the 
subtle tricks of the wily Turk. The jour- 
ney was worth it. It would have been 
madness to descend at Maggiore. 


WANDA НІСКЕ(5 MIGHT OF 


“PUBERTY RITES in the more primitive trib- 
al societies are almost invariably painful 
and traumatic experiences.” 

I half dozed in front of my TV set as 
the speaker droned on in his high, nasal 
voice, One night a week, as a form of 
masochistic self-discipline, 1 sentence 
myself to a minimum of three hours 
viewing educational television 

“А classic example is the Ugga Buggah 
tribe of lower Micronesia,” the speaker 
continued, tapping a pointer on the map 
behind him. 

A shot of an Ugga Buggah teenager 


humor 
3 JEAN SHEPHERD 


in which the proust ofthe indiana 
plains recalls a heart-rending 
celebration of that most american 
of adolescent rituals, 
the junior prom 


GOLDEN MEMOR 


appeared on the screen, eyes rolling in 
misery, face bathed in sweat. I leaned for- 
ward. His expression was strangely fa- 
miliar. 

When ап Ugga Buggah reaches pu- 
berty, the rites are rigorous and unvary- 
ing for both sexes. Difficult dances are 
performed and the candidate for adult- 
hood must drink sickening ritual liba- 
tions during the postdance banquet. You 
will also notice that his costume is as un- 
comfortable as it is decorative. 

“Of course, we in more sophisticated 
societies no (continued on page 334) 


PLAYBOY 


148 


“I hate interrupting your yoga exercises, 
Miss Higgins, but you're wanted on the phone.” 


“Either of you gentlemen 
care for something lo nibble on?” 


2 


“<. And so you see, Mr. Shaw, 
if everybody went without clothes, 
there simply wouldn't be any more wars!” 


HOW I WOULD 


START AGAIN TODAY 
INDUSTRY'S ELYSIAN FIELDS—CURRENT 
AND FUTURE— AWAIT THE YOUNG MAN 
ABOUT TO EMBARK ON A CAREER OR 
LAUNCH A BUSINESS OF HIS OWN 


ARTICLE BY J. PAUL GETTY 


AFEW MONTHS AGO, I was interviewed by a correspondent for a European business publication. 
After asking a great many questions about my business career, he paused, shook his head sadly 
and declared, “It is a pity your countrymen of today do not enjoy the same opportunities to 
achieve success as were present when you started in business.” 

I'm afraid I reacted rather violently, for, as I told the journalist, there is more opportunity 
for the beginner in business today than ever before in our history. A fabulous business land- 
scape spreads literally into infinity before the eyes of the imaginative beginner. Itis a landscape 
rich in opportunity—richer by far than even those that unfolded during the golden eras of the 
Industrial Revolution, the American expansion and the postwar boom. 

The important thing is that the surface has barely been scratched. The biggest leaps for- 
ward—US. frec-enterprise style, I hasten to make clear, and nol the Red Chinese variety—and 
the most tempting plums lie ahead. 

Since the over-all business trend is up, with burgeoning populations, enlightened economic 
policies and other factors pointing to continuing expansion and growth, there is a fine future 
for the tyro in most areas. However, the ambitious beginner is especially likely to achieve suc- 
cess along two different but interconnected avenues. Both are equally broad, challenging and 
open—and equally liable to be paved with gold. 

The first avenue to success for the beginner is offered by those older—what might be called 
traditional—industries that are undergoing, or that will soon undergo, revolutionary changes 
that will completely transform their character. An example that comes immediately to mind 
is the transportation industry. The revolution in transportation has been under way for thou- 
sands of years, but since the turn of the century, its pace has been accelerated at a fantastic rate. 
Supertankers, jet aircraft, “ground-effect machines"—like the “hovercraft” and "aircars"—hy- 
drofoil vessels and superspeed monorails are already with us. So are giant pipelines that carry 
petroleum products, wood pulp, coal slurry, sulphur, sugar cane and many other fluids and 
semisolids. And then, of course, there is space travel. . . . 

But, even as his imagination boggles at the picture of the transportation industry of the 
near future, the imaginative young businessman can readily grasp the potentials and possibili- 
ties offered by this revolution in moving things and people. It doesnt matter how he wants to 
get in on the ground floor—by offering his talents as an executive or by supplying his capital as 
an investor. 

The materials industries provide another example of an area of business and industrial 
activity that is in the process of metamorphosis. Dr. Lee DuBridge has coined the expression 

“molecular engineering” to describe the technology of changing the characteristics of materi- 
als. Tremendous strides have already been made in this direction. Unnumbered new synthetics, 
alloys and combinations of materials have appeared on the market for use in everything from 
children’s clothing to space rockets. 

“It is hard to think of an industrial or consumer product that will not be made stronger, 
lighter, cheaper, more attractive or more durable by taking advantage of new materials,” James 
R. Bright wrote in a recent Harvard Business Review article. 

There are many other traditional industries that are undergoing top-to-bottom transfor- 
mations. In general, what applies to the two examples I have cited—transportation and materi- 
als—applies to these as well. The period of transition, in which the old is phased out and the 
new is phased in, is an ideal time for the beginner. Acquainted with the old, but not hidebound 
by it, he is also fresh and adaptable enough to grasp the new and to make the most of the chang- 
ing developments around him 

. 

Now I would like to discuss the second avenue to success that, I believe, offers particular 
promise to the beginner. It is represented by the completely new industries that have recently 
emerged—and will continue to emerge in large numbers іп the future—as a result of major 
scientific and technological breakthroughs. 

Energy is one of the most important of these areas. At present, oil, coal, gas and hydro- 
electric power are still the world's principal energy sources, (concluded on page 280) 


из 


fiction Ву VLADIMIR NABOKOV 


ardor at ardis: hot summer a country estate—and suddenly the arcane al- 
chemy of love burst into flame, kindled by the fire that blazed in the night 


WAS SHE REALLY PRETTY, at 12? Did he want—would he ever want—to caress her, to really caress her? Her black hair cas- 
caded over one clavicle and the gesture she made of shaking it back and the dimple on her pale cheek were revelations with 
an element of immediate recognition about them. Her pallor shone, her blackness blazed. The pleated skirts she liked were 
becomingly short. Even her bare limbs were so free from suntan that one’s gaze, stroking her white shins and forearms, 
could follow upon them the regular slants of fine dark hairs, the silks of her girlhood. The iridal dark brown of her serious 
eyes had the enigmatic opacity of an Oriental hypnotist’s look (in a magazine's back-page advertisement) and seemed to be 
placed higher than usual, so that between their lower rim and the moist lower lid a cradle crescent of white remained when 
she stared straight at you. Her long eyelashes seemed blackened and, in fact, were. Her features were saved from elfin 
prettiness by the thickish shape of her parched lips. Her plain Irish nose was Van's in miniature. Her teeth were fairly 
white but not very even. 

Her poor pretty hands—one could not help cooing with pity over them—rosy in comparison with the translucent skin 
of the arm, rosier even than the elbow that seemed to be blushing for the state of her nails: She bit them so thoroughly that 
all vestige of free margin was replaced by a groove cutting into the flesh with the tightness of wire and lending an addition- 
al spatule of length to her naked finger tips. Later, when he was so fond of kissing her cold hands, she would clench them, 
allowing his lips nothing but knuckle, but he would fiercely pry her hand open to get at those flat blind little cushions. (But, 
oh, my, oh, the long, languid, rose-and-silver, painted and pointed, delicately stinging onyxes of her adolescent and adult 
years!) 

What Van experienced in those first strange days when she showed him the house—and those nooks in it where they 
were to make love so soon—combined elements of ravishment and exasperation. Ravishment—because of her pale, volup- 
tuous, impermissible skin, her hair, her legs, her angular movements, her gazelle-grass odor, the sudden black stare of her 
wide-set eyes, the rustic nudity under her dress; exasperation—because between him, an awkward schoolboy of genius, 
and that precocious, affected, impenetrable child there extended a void of light and a veil of shade that no force could 
overcome and pierce. He swore wretchedly in the hopelessness of his bed as he focused his swollen senses on the glimpse of 
her he had engulfed when, on their second excursion to the top of the house, she had mounted a captain’s trunk to unhasp 
a sort of illuminator through which one acceded to the roof (even the dog had once gone there), and a bracket or some- 
thing wrenched up her skirt and he saw—as one sees some sickening miracle in a Biblical fable or a moth's shocking meta- 
morphosis—that the child was darkly flossed. He noticed that she seemed to have noticed that he had or might have 
noticed (what he not only noticed but retained with tender terror until he freed himself of that (continued on page 164) 


ILLUSTRATION EY ROBERT ANOREW PARKER. 


an imaginary menagerie SOFT-SHELLED PHIZZINT 


for children of all ages 


SILVERSTEIN’S 
ZOO 


PROLOGUE 
Now the Bears and the Bees and the Chimpanzees THE CONSIDERATE 
Are creatures with which we're familiar. SOFT-SHELLED PHIZZINT 


But what do we know of the Humplebacked Мо, You'll never know an animal _ 
more considerate of human feelings 


Or the ring-tailed breckspeckled Hillyar? than the Soft-Shelled Phizzint. 
Or the tongue-twisted rubber-necked Bylliar? Someone has mistaken this one 

B ikozilliar? for a pincushion 
Or the Gorp-eating Kallikozilliar? and he's too polite to say he isn't. 


salire By SHEL SILVERSTEIN 


FLYING FESTOON 


GRAVEYARK 


ТНЕ FLYING FESTOON AND I 


lam going to ride on the Flying Festoon, 
IIl jump on his back and I'll whistle a tune, 
And we'll fly to the outermost tip of the moon, 


THE GRAVEYARK The Flying Festoon and I. 
See the Graveyark in his cage, Oh, I'm taking some crackers, a ball and a prune, 
His claws are sharp, his teeth are double. And we're leaving this evening precisely at noon, 
"Thank heaven һе% locked up safe inside, For I'm going to fly with the Flying Festoon, 


Or we'd all be in terrible trouble! Just as soon as he learns how to fly. 


LONG- 
NECKED 


PREPOSTEROUS 


DONALD 
This is Donald, 
A Long-Necked Preposterous, 
Looking around for a female 
Long-Necked Preposterous. 
But there aren't any. 


WENTY-EIGHT-TON GHELI 


‘THE GHELI 


See the twenty-eight-ton Gheli. 
He'd love for you to scratch his belly. 


MAN-EATING FULLIT 


ТНЕ TAILOF THE FULLIT 
This is the tail of the 
Man-Eating Fullit. 

Let's not pull it. 


IM 


SIXTIES 


DONNA MICHELLE Miss December 1963, then 

1964 Playmate of the Year, Donna was one of our most 
popular Playmates and the first recipient of a Playmate 
Pink convertible—a custom Ford Mustang. Films, TV, 
summer stock and a photography career ensued. 


PETER SELLERS No, he wasn't a woman of the 

Sixties, but this consummate character actor nonethe- 
less became one of our favorite pictorial stars via his 
spoofs of such screen luminaries as Rudolph Valentino 
in Sellers Mimes the Movie Lovers (April 1964). 


MAMIE VAN DOREN It’s easy to see why 
Playboy showcased Van Doren twice in the 
same year (1964). Still, this blonde bombshell 
never ignited as did Monroe and Mansfield. 


CYNTHIA MYERS Wholly Toledo! the KIM NOVAK In At Home with Kim (February 1965), the 


editors titled the story of Ohio's bounteously accomplished actress explains why she deserted Chicago and Bel 
endowed Miss December 1968, who'd pre- Air for the seclusion of Big Sur, California: “It's the haven I’ve always 
dicted at 15 that she'd be a Playmate. wanted.” Readers found this the picture they'd always wanted. 


THE NUDE LOOK When we invented some see- CAROL DODA From 1964 to 1985, this siliconed 
through styles for a July 1960 parody, we thought we pioneer (showcased іп The New Barbary Coast, April 
were kidding Then Rudi Gernreich's topless swimsuit 1965) danced topless at San Francisco's Condor Club. 
heralded a real Nude Look feature (November 1965). Ап era ended last January: The Condor clothed its girls. 


CARROLL BAKER Baker іп the Boudoir (December CATHERINE DENEUVE Her first Playboy exposure, as 
1964) quotes Carroll on nudity: “1 see nothing extraor- one of Europe's New Sex Sirens (September 1963), was 
dinary about removing my clothes for the camera.” followed by October 1965's France's Deneuve Wave, 
Two decades later (Ironweed), she remains striking. shot during the filming of Repulsion, when she was 21. 


ARLENE DAHL "Moviedom's most ravishing redhead” CHRISTA SPECK First a bank secretary, then a Playboy 
Playboy dubs her In Elegant Dahl (December 1962). Club Bunny, Christa quickened heartbeats as Miss Sep- 
This versatile lady has been a model, an actress, an tember 1961 and, the following April, as Playmate of the 
author—and mother of Eighties hunk Lorenzo Lamas. Year. Subsequently, she wed puppeteer Marty Krofft. 


JO COLLINS By the Six- 

ties, Playboy's Playmates had 
surpassed movie stars as Gls’ 
favorite pinaps; 1965 Playmate 
of the Year Jo (near right), 
visited troops in Vietnarn. 


STELLA STEVENS Miss 

January 1960 was in mid- 
Playmate shooting when she 
got a call offering the role of 
Appassionata von Climax іп 

Lil Abner. The rest is history. 


PAULA KELLY These 

multiple images of the taxi- 
dancing star of Sweet Charity 
mark the first appearance 

of pubic hair on Playboy's 
pages (August 1969) 


SHARON TATE Director Roman Polanski took this and other shots of the star of 

his horror-movie spoof, The Fearless Vampire Killers, for Playboy's March 1967 issue. 
They wed in 1968, with a gala reception at the London Playboy Club, but their 
happiness was cut short by the insanity of the Manson family murders in 1969. 


WOODY ALLEN “Entertainment for men” often JOAN COLLINS She looks oddly demure in this 


means entertainment by men—notably, Woody Allen, 1969 feature on then-husband Anthony Newley's film 
whose February 1969 send-up Shindait, with model Can Hieronymus Merkin Ever Forget Mercy Humppe and 
Bettina Brenna, is опе of his ten Playboy contributions. Find True Happiness? (Playmate Connie Kreski is Mercy). 


JUNE COCHRAN A beauty-contest winner from URSULA ANDRESS A perennial favorite, and the 
Indiana, this Hoosier hot-shot graces Playboy's De- first of three wives John Derek has photographed for the 
cember 1962 gatefold. She triumphed again in com- magazine, Ursula made her Playboy pictorial debut with 


petition for the title of Playmate of the Year 1963. SHE Is Ursula Andress, published in June 1965. 


PLAYBOY 


164 


GWU ce en 


“Their first free and frantic caresses had been pre- 
ceded by a brief period of strange craftiness.” 


vision—much later—and in strange 
ways), and an odd, dull, arrogant look 
passed across her face: Her sunken 
cheeks and fat pale lips moved as if she 
were chewing something, and she emit- 
ted a yelp of joyless laughter when he, big 
Van. slipped on a tile after wriggling in 
his turn through the skylight. And in the 
sudden sun, he realized that until then, 
he, small Van, had been a blind virgin, 
since haste, dust and dusk had obscured 
the mousy charms of his first harlot, so 
often possessed. 

His sentimental education now wenton 
fast. Next morning, he happened to 
catch sight of her washing her face and 
arms over an old-fashioned basin on a ro- 
coco stand, her hair knotted on the top of 
her head, her nightgown twisted around 
her waist like a clumsy corolla out of 
which issued her slim back, rib-shaded 
on the near side. A fat snake of porcelain 
curled around the basin, and as both the 
reptile and he stopped to watch Eve and 
the soft woggle of her bud breasts in 
profile, a big mulberry-colored cake of 
soap slithered out of her hand, and her 
black-socked toot hooked the door shut 
with a bang that was more the echo of the 
soap's crashing against the marble board 
than a sign of pudic displeasure. 

. 


Their first free and frantic caresses 
had been preceded by a brief period of 
strange craftiness, of cringing stealth. 
"The masked offender was Van, but Ada's 
passive acceptance of the poor boy’s be- 
havior seemed tacitly to acknowledge its 
disreputable and even monstrous nature. 
A few weeks later, both were to regard 
that phase of his courtship with amused 
condescension; at the time, however, its 
implicit cowardice puzzled her and dis- 
tressed him—mainly because he was 
keenly conscious of her being puzzled. 

Although Van had never had the occa- 
sion to witness anything close to virginal 
revolt on the part of Ada—not an easily 
frightened or overfastidious little girl, he 
could rely on two or three dreadful 
dreams to imagine her, in real, or at least 
responsible, life, recoiling with a wild 
look as she left his lust іп the lurch to 
summon her governess or mother, or a 
gigantic footman (not existing in the 
house but killable in the dream—punch- 
able with sharp-ringed knuckles, punc- 
turable like a bladder of blood), after 
which he knew he would be expelled 
from Ardis—but even if he were to will 
himself to mock that image so as to blast 
it out of all consciousness, he could not 


feel proud of his conduct: In those actual 
undercover dealings of his with Ada, by 
doing what he did and the way he did it, 
with that unpublished relish, he seemed 
to himself to be either taking advantage 
of her innocence or else inducing her to 
conceal from him, the concealer, her 
awareness of what he concealed. 

After the first contact, so light, so 
mute, between his soft lips and her softer 
skin had been established—high up in 
that dappled tree, with only that stray 
ardilla daintily leavesdropping—nothing 
seemed changed іп one sense, all was lost 
in another. Such contacts evolve their 
own texture; a tactile sensation is a blind 
spot; we touch in silhouette. 

He could not say afterward, when dis- 
cussing with her that rather pathetic nas- 
tiness, whether he really feared that his 
avournine might react with an outburst 
of real or well-feigned resentment to a 
stark display of desire, or whether a 
glum, cunning approach was dictated to 
him by considerations of pity and decen- 
cy toward a chaste child, whose charm 
was too compelling not to be tasted in 
secret and too sacred to be openly violat- 
ed: But something went wrong—that 
much was clear. The vague common- 
places of vague modesty so dreadfully in 
vogue 80 years ago, the unsufferable ba- 
nalities of shy wooing buried in old ro- 
mances as arch as Arcady, those moods, 
those modes, lurked, no doubt, behind 
the hush of his ambuscades and that of 
her toleration. No record has remained 
of the exact summer day when his wary 
and elaborate coddlings began; but 
simultaneously with her sensing that at 
certain moments he stood indecently 
close behind her, with his burning breath 
and gliding lips, she was aware that those 
silent, exotic approximations must have 
started long ago in some indefinite and 
infinite past and could no longer be 
stopped by her, without her acknowledg- 
ing a tacit acceptance of their routine 
repetition in that past. 

Оп those relentlessly hot July аНег- 
noons, Ada liked to sit on a coal piano 
stool of ivoried wood at a white-oilcloth'd 
table in the sunny music room, her favor- 
ite botanical atlas open before her, and 
copy out in color on creamy paper some 
singular flower. She might choose, for in- 
Stance, ап insect-mimicking orchid, 
which she would proceed to enlarge with 
remarkable skill. Or else she combined 
one species with another (unrecorded 
but possible, introducing odd Іше 
changes and twists that secmed almost 


morbid in so young a girl so nakedly 
dressed. The long beam slanting in from 
the French window glowed in the faceted 
tumbler, in the tinted water and on the 
tin of the paintbox—and while she deli- 
cately painted an eyespot or the lobes of a 
lip, rapturous concentration caused the 
tip of her tongue to curl at the corner of 
her mouth; and as the sun looked on, the 
fantastic, black-blue-brown-haired child 
seemed in her turn to mimic the mirror- 
of-Venus blossom. Her flimsy, loose frock 
happened to be so deeply cut out behind 
that whenever she concaved her back 
while moving her prominent scapulae to 
and fro and tilting her head—as with air- 
poised brush she surveyed her damp 
achievement, or with the outside of her 
left wrist wiped a strand of hair off her 
temple—Van, who had drawn up to 
her seat as close as he dared, could see 
down her sleek ensellure as far as her 
coccyx and inhale the warmth of her 
entire body. His heart thumping, one 
miserable hand deep in his trouser pock- 
et—where he kept a purse with half a 
dozen ten-dollar gold pieces to disguise 
his state—he bent over her, as she bent 
over her work. Very lightly, he let his 
parched lips travel down her warm hair 
and hot nape. It was the sweetest, the 
strongest, the most mysterious sensa- 
tion that the boy had ever experienced; 
nothing in his sordid venery of the past 
winter could duplicate that downy ten- 
derness, that despair of desire. He would 
have lingered forever on the little middle 
knob of rounded delight on the back of 
her neck, had she kept it inclined 
forever—and had the unfortunate fellow 
been able to endure much longer the ec- 
stasy of its touch under his wax-still 
mouth without rubbing against her with 
mad abandon. The vivid crimsoning of 
an exposed ear and the gradual torpor 
invading her paintbrush were the only 
signs—fearful signs—of her feeling the 
increased pressure of his caress. Silently, 
he would slink away to his room, lock the 
door, grasp a towel, uncover himself and 
call forth the image he had just left be- 
hind, an image still as safe and brightas а 
hand-cupped Aame—carried into the 
dark, only to be got rid of there with sav- 
age zeal; after which, drained for a while, 
with shaky loins and weak calves, Van 
would return to the purity ofthe sun-suf- 
fused room, where a little girl, now glis- 
tening with sweat, was still painting her 
flower: the marvelous flower that simu- 
lated a bright moth that in turn simulat- 
ed a scarab. 

If the relief, any relief, of a lad's ar- 
dor had been Van's sole concern; if, in 
other words, no love had been involved, 
our young friend might have put up— 
for one casual summer—with the nasti- 
ness and ambiguity of his behavior. But 
since Van loved Ada, that complicated 

(continued сп. page 263) 


“Please, Chief—let те frisk just опе?!” 


: THE GREAT 55TH ° 
ANNIVERSARY PLAYMATE ШІМ 


three and a half decades ago, we began with 
marilyn monroe. last year, we searched for her successor 


ROM DAWN to dusk and coast to coast, we staged a transconti- 

nental romance with thousands of beautiful women. In Tam- 

pas Bay Harbor Inn, Detroit's Omni, New York's Doral 

Tuscany, the Union Square in San Francisco, the Delta Place 
in Vancouver and Hyatt Regencies from sea to sea, phones rang, 
cameras clicked and women undressed for photographers Kerry 
Morris, Pompco Posar, David Mecey and David Chan. The Hunt for 
Playboy's 35th Anniversary Playmate was on. Husbands and 
boyfriends, barred from the scene sublime, stewed in hotel bars 
many floors below “Some of the boyfriends were cranking a few 
drinks,” said Miss September 1978, Rosanne Katon, who joined the 
Hunt's staff in New York. As their men fidgeted downstairs, the 
hopeful prey of the Playmate Hunt posed and dreamed other 
dreams. “I’ve dreamed of being in Playboy since I was a baby sitter,” 
said Vancouver's Valerie Gulyban. “I wouldn't take my clothes off for 
any other magazine,” said Clearwater, Florida's, Pam Ward. Perhaps 
Terry VanWinkle of Lenexa, Kansas, put it best: “I have fantasized 
about Playboy since my teens. I think every girl wonders, dreams 
and wishes she could be in Playboy just once—it's as much an Ameri- 
can institution as baseball and Mom’ apple pie!” The Hunt attracted 
women from all 50 states and a sizable fraction of the rest of the 


globe. There were 17 flight attendants, 16 nurses, 15 strippers, two 


nannies and a beekeeper. There were doctors, cops, a mortician, a 


psychic and acowgirl. From Honolulu came Honey Bruce Friedman, ini естен Согым жетеу Ген Pie nes 
over his work (above). “Doing fine, excellent, hold it there,” he 
says. "Turn your hips a little bit. Arch the bock. Pretend you 


Four thousand, three hundred and two women later, we had our have a string attached to your tailbone.” Budding models all 
over Arizono now walk around with invisible strings tied to their 
35th Anniversary Playmate. You will find her lurking modestly hips. On the facing page, Hef ond his first lady, Miss January 
198B, Kimberley Conrad, encourage о bevy of 35th Anni- 
in the next few pages. Good hunting and Happy Anniversary versary hopefuls ot their home bose, Playboy Mansion West. 


Lenny Bruce's widow. There was a minister, a witch and an acrobat. 


167 


X-ray technician Lisa Luehmann (left) af Granite City, Illinois, is “а 
simple tomboy raised on my daddys grain farm.” Wild about sweet 
сот, she is equally crazy far loving, dark-haired men. San Cle- 
mente, California's, Simone Howe (below left), whose mom, Carol 
Eden, was Miss December 1960, will soon became our first second- 
generation Playmate. Renée Tenison (below) works in a deli in Boise 
‘and moy never run short of male customers who open conversations 
by ordering “you on rye.” A receptianist at Kent State University, 
Jennifer Jackson (right) dreams af lounging on the beach in Hawaii 
or the Bahamas—and paying off her student loan. Her other dream, 
looking glamarous in Playboy—is realized here. Jadi Del Ponte af 
litleton, Colorado (right, below), heard we were going to Denver 
‘and jumped at the chance to strike afew sultry poses for Kerry Morris. 


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Kelly girl Laurie Wood (far left) probably types more words рег 
minute thon Kim Basinger, whom she strongly resembles. The felici- 
tously nomed, ond endowed, Tawnni Cable (neor left) monoges Scru- 
ples night club in Honolulu. A fiscal conservative, Tawnni plons to put 
her Playboy modeling fee “in o money-morket account, until the 
stock morket stobilizes.” Future Playmote Monique Noel (opposite, 
below left) is о “showbiz type” who hos oppeored on Enfertoinment 
Tonight and in a movie, Whot Price Victory?, with Moc Davis. 
‘Monique looks farword to centerfolding “becouse Ployboy brings to 
life beautiful women and their bods!” Bespectacled Shonnon De 
Shay (opposite, below right) works in on Arlington, Texos, pawn- 
shop. Shannon says she never thought she was sexy until she posed 
for Playboy. A few minutes before the camera chonged her mind. 


Waitress Deondo Sisco (top right) serves longhorn steoks to the hun- 
gry men of Roswell, Georgio, ond plons o career оз оп ortist. As 
Senior Staff Photographer Pompeo Posars model, Deondo soys, “I 
was nervous of first. The professionolism with which everything was 
handled put my mind ot eose.” Equolly at ease is Kathorine Gorzel 
(above), an ex-cheerleoder for the ex-St. Louis football Cardinols, 
who calls posing for Ployboy “a dream come true.” At right, Con- 
tributing Photographer Dovid Chan looks over the results of o 35th 
‚Anniversary Ploymote Hunt session. A refreshingly down-to-earth jet 
setter, Chon fled his posh suite in Toronto’s Sutton Ploce Hotel for the 
Sportan accommodations of our Sutton Ploce heodquorters. “This i 
where I shower,” he told o reporter. "Thot other stuff is too foncy. 
Except for the women he photographs, Chon likes things ploi 


Erika Elenick (above), о Califamian of 
Russian extraction, has an intriguing fam- 
ily life. “My mother dotes my fioncés 
father,” she says. “If they get married, НІ 
be engaged to my stepbrather” Michelle 


Мініс (belaw) wants ta be the first wam- 
an on her Pittsburgh block to be a 
Playmate. The phata at right marks the 
realization of a “secret fantasy” far Petra 
Verkaik, who is a custamer-service repre- 
sentative for а California manufacturer. 


Arkansas men fall for Autumn Person of 
Homer (left), who “alwys thought the 
women in Playboy were much more becu- 
tiful than 1.“ Now she’ one of them. Elizo- 
beth Giordano (above) of Agoura, 


Californio, says, “Being a Playmate would 
be one of the most flattering compli- 
ments | could get.” We find it hard to 
believe, but “In high school, 1 didn't know 
what boys were,” soys Paris-trained 
foshion model Fawno MacLoren (below). 


Kelly Womock of Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey (left), “would love 
to take up photography!” During our Playmote Hunt, she made 
Posor glad thot he already hod. Austirís Tino Bockrath (below) is an 
incendiory blonde from the Southwest Conference. At bottom left, 
Posar, о 28-year Ployboy veteran ond perhops 1һе best known of 
the mogozines beauty hunters, gives Detroit's Christino Hutchison 
о tip on how best to suggest her allure. His studio in the Omni Ho- 
tel was, for one weekend, the most beautiful spot in Motown. 
“We dont have a formula, like for о new car. We dont say, “Next 
year oll models will have on oir bog or something,” Fosor soys 
in whot the Detroit Free Press described as his 


Speaking of Itolion, thots Amore—Giorno Amore—ot the upper 
left of the facing page. A Polm Bay, Florido, secretary, Gionno 
cansulted her mom before posing. “She said, ‘Nude? I'd never do 
if,’ Gionna recalls. “Then she soid, ‘Moybe if | looked like you, I 
would.’ Thanks, Mom!” Joonno London (above right, facing page) 
is o hypnotherapist who mesmerizes the men of Valencio, Colifor- 
піо. Minnesoton Lynn Morie (near right) wanted to be “the girl next 
door who Playboy mokes o reol womon.” Truth to tell, Lynn did't 
need us for that. Westlond, Michigons, Suson Farhat posed “os 
а |оке-- didn't expect onything to come of it—ond now here 
Lom, very surprised.” Photographer Chon was not surprised. Like 
the rest of our Hunt team, he knew that every beautiful girl next 
door hod a chonce to be Playboy's 35th Anniversary Playmote. 


176 


| 
| 


ШЫН 
NMA 


presenting 
fawna maclaren, 
the ex-skinny girl, now 
voluptuous jet-set winner 
of the greatest hunt ever 


"BEAN-POLE Wallflower” at Bev- 
erly Hills High, a too-tall sock- 
hop reject, she thought she 
was ugly. Her high school date 

total was zero. Then came breasts, 

cheekbones and a trip to France, 
where she was discovered by 

ЕШ, the Parisian fashion maga- 

zine. A few months later, strolling 

the Champs Élysées, she saw Elle 
on a newsstand. “I looked at the 
cover and thought, That girl's 
pretty,” she says. “Then I thought, 

Wait a minute, that girl’s me!” 

Was that the moment she knew 

she was beautiful? "No," says 


Fawna MacLaren. “This is.” 


^| believe in lust at first sight,” 
says Fawna, who to our eyes 
Is the living proof of her thesis. 
“| доп usually make the first 
move, but when the chemistry 
is right, | can be aggressive.” 


"Some people іп the States 
meke a big deal of nudity. 
In Europe, they think thats 
weird—they look at our 
movies and think we must 
like violence better than 
sex On balance, | guess | 
prefer the European style.” 


n Paris, Fawna acquired а 

taste for the bubbly, which 

she still pronounces the 

French way, cham-pahnye, 
and a résumé that turned Eu- 
ropes top models vertes with 
envy She worked in France, 
Italy, Germany Senegal, 
Tunisia, Morocco and Mar- 
tinique. Last year, she came 
home to L.A. and, as befits a 
jet setter, fell in with a fast 
crowd. Her new beau is Jan 
Nielsen. His big sister, Bri- 
gitte, acts. Yes, that Brigitte 
Nielsen. Fawna and Brigitte, a 
couple of tall girls sitting 
around talking one night, be- 
came fast friends. “She treats 
me like a sister,” says Fawna. 
“Plus—and thisisa big plus— 
І get to borrow her dothes. 
Tm going to spend some of 
my $35,000 on Rodeo Drive. 
I owe Brigitte a few outfits." 


» 3 
— 
“My deepest, dorkest vice? 
Іт a video-game junkie. | 
have Pac-Mania elbow. My 
alltime record is 253,000. If 
you see my initials, FAM, 
оп a Pac-Mania machines 


fame board in Westwood, 
youll know | was there." 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY 
RICHARD FEGLEY 


5 our 35th Anniver- 

sary Playmate, Faw- 

na receives a check 

for $35,000. That 
portion not slated for 
shopping or interest 
gathering—"Most of it 
will go straight to the 
bank,” she says—will pay 
for acting lessons. Fawna 
wants to follow Brigitte 
into movies and is al- 
ready fielding offers 
from Hollywood. Still, 
she says, the money and 
the chance to repay 
Brigitte are far from 
her mind as Fawna 
MacLaren, ex-wallflower, 
ponders her role as 
Playboy's 35th Anniver- 
sary Playmate. “Posing 
for these pictures, I tried 
very hard to be pretty. 
This is such an honor—I 
tried to do justice to it,” 
she says. “Being in front 
of this camera was a 
thrill. E thought, This is 
my moment. When I saw 
my face on the cover of 
Elle, Y guess then I 
thought, I must look OK. 
But I never really felt 
sexy before this. And let 
me tell you, sexy—that's 


truly a great fecling. 


"If theres one thing I'd 
say to the girl | шо», 
ond to every girl who 
thinks shes ugly its 
this: Let yourself evolve. 
The best thing obout 
adolescence is that, 
one doy it ends.” 


PLAYMATE DATA SHEET 


NAME: 


sus: DD йш Me s urs: A. 


Y 
HEIGHT: 5 меген 122. lbs. - 


BIRTH DATE: 122 19- (o 5 BIRTHPLACE: nenn 


AMBITIONS: . 
= 


TURN-ONS: 


APHRODISIACS: 


MY LINGERIE DRAWER: 


ROLE MODELS: | E 


CHER, Joe HER Cec; MARIOS Мыс бю, Nu d ER 
SENSUOUDAESS) DR. Band, Yor dra Hegn 
King „Ашым DANCING Reana — 


FAVORITE SPORTS: 
LENS CM 


FREUDIAN DREAM : In 


ا 


«ша Denring Mora Birbaday One © M EURSYER? HE on MY tew Stap Ax 
with litle sister me ax" Мае 21е (SERS AT Ә\ yer 14 eS oD + 
IF Mears! 


ЖИ 


PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES 


Leaving the poker party late, as usual, two 
friends compared notes. “I can never fool my 
," the first complained, “1 turn off the сагу 
engine and coast into the garage, take off my 
shoes, sneak upstairs and undress in the bath 
room, but she always wakes up and yells like 
crazy about my being late.” 

“You just have the wrong technique.” the 
friend advised. “I roar into the garage, honk the 
horn a couple of times, slam the front door, 
stomp up the stairs, pat my wife on the ass and 
say, “How about it, beautiful? She always pre- 
tends she's asleep.” 


Alter rushing into a drugstore, the nervous 
youth was obviously embarrassed when a prim, 
iddle-aged woman asked if she could serve 


n. 
N-no," he stammered, “Pd rather see the 
druggist.” 
“Im the druggist,” she responded cheerfully. 
“What can 1 do for you?” 
Оһ well, uh, its nothing i 
said, and turned to leave 
"Young man,” said the woman, “my sister and I 
have been running this drugstore for nearly thir- 
ty years. There is nothing you can tell us that will 
embarrass us.” 
“Well, all right,” he said. “I have this awful sex- 
ual hunger that nothing will appease. No matter 
how many times I make love, I still want to make 
love again. 15 there anything you can give me for 
ГЕ 


һе 


portant, 


"Mhave to 


“Just a moment," said the little lady. 
discuss this with my sister." 

A few minutes later, she returned. “The best 
we can offer,” she said, "is two hundred dollars 
week and а half interest in the busine: 


But, officer,” protested the young man in the 
parked car, “we were only necki 
OK," said the cop, “then put 
your pants and get out of here 


your neck back in 


Awakening the morning alter the orgy, the god 
of war was stretching sleepily when he noticed а 
lovely Valkyrie standing in the doorw: 
"Good morning,” he said, “l'm Thor. 
“You're thor?" she replied. “Fm tho thor I can 
hardly pith.” 


For five consecutive nights, the regular atthe bar 
wimessed a repeated phenomenon: Attractive 
girls, alone or in groups of two or three, would 
wander in and soon be picked up by a funi 
looking customer sitting in a corner booth. “I 
understand it,” the man grumbled to the 
bartender after the sixth such incident. “I don't 
see how that guy does it.” 

“Ме neither, Mac,” said the sympathetic bar- 
keep. “I've been watching him for weeks. Нез 
certainly not handsome, hes a lousy dresser and 
he hardly ever says a word. In fact, he just sits 
there, licking his eyebrows, 


The dazzling young thing was strolling down the 
street in skintight hip huggers when a curious 
bachelor approached and said, “Excuse me, miss, 
but how does anyone get into those pants?” 

“Well,” she replied demurely “you сап start by 
buying mea drink.” 


Alter trying to fix a flat tire during a raging bl 
zard, the young man jumped back into the car 
with his date and began rubbing his m 
frozen hands. “Let me warm them for you,” 
offered, placing his hands between her thighs 

When his fingers had thawed out, the chap 
rushed back to continue working on the ure, but 
he returned again, complaining that his hands 
were numb with cold. As he reached under her 
skirt, she slid forward and whispered ecstatical 
“Darling, aren't your ears cold, too?” 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines transvestite 
as a fellow who likes to eat, drink and be Mary, 


While attending confession, the first of three 
roommates admitted to the priest that she had let 

man fondle her breasts. The priest told her to 
wash them with holy water. 

The second roomie confessed that she had 
touched a man’s sexual organ. The priest told her 
to wash her hands with holy wate 

The two girls were busy washing at the font 
when their friend joined them. “Move over, 
girls,” she said. “I have to gargle.” 


Heard a funny one lately? Send it on a post- 
card, please, to Party Jokes Editor, Playboy, 
Playboy Bldg, 919 N. Michigan Ave, Chicago, 
HL 60611. $100 will be paid to the contributor 
whose card is selected. Jokes cannot be returned. 


“Well, it looks suspicious as hell to me!” 


COVERING THE BIG STORIES: VIETNAM, WATERGATE, LUST IN 
JIMMY CARTER’S HEART 


5 DECADES СО, the Seventies dont get much respect. 
They were a comedown from the Sixties. Apart from 
Vietnam and Wätergate, what was there to the Seven- 
ties besides glitter and gas lines? Well, at Playboy, it 
seemed an exhilarating time—full of drama, up- 
heaval and good conversation (much ofit on tape). 

As 1970 dawned, the country was at war with itself. 
over Vietnam, and Playboy reflected both the tension іп the 
country and the need to escape from it. In the January issue 
of that watershed year, George McGovern and Cesar Chavez, 
among others, pleaded to Bring Us Together, wo Supreme 
Court Justices wrote about rebellion and theologian Harvey 
Cox wrote For Christ's Sake, a passionate essay on Jesus as a 
joyous revolutionary, illustrated with a haunting portrait of a 
laughing Christ. 

Over there, in Southeast Asia, Playboy continued to be—as 
it was in the Sixties—a kind of US.O.-with-a-centerfold for 
the troops. The articles undoubtedly had an effect on how the 
men felt about the war, but the magazine also reminded them 
of what they were fighting for back at home. To judge by the 
Miss Junes and Miss Octobers hanging on barracks walls, it 
sure wasn't just mom and apple pie. 

In those early years of the decade, there were streaks of 
light through the war clouds. One was Barbi Benton, a pretty 
lady who caught the eye of a highly placed Playboy executive. 
Another sparkler was the Germaine Greer Interview, in which 
the raunchy feminist gave Playboy hell, caught some in return, 
and everyone learned something. And in 1974, good ol’ boy 
Larry L. King wrote an article called The Best Lille Whore- 
house in Texas. We hear he made enough off that property to 
pen up his own place. 

By the time the bitter conflict in Vietnam was finally re- 
duced to a single chopper lifting off a rooftop in Saigon, 
America was caught up in another drama: Watergate. Early 
оп, before all the dirty linen came out of the hamper, Playboy 
ran a spoof, The Walergate Tapes, whose absurd premise was 
that President Nixon might have—come on!—bugged his 


own office. A year later, Playboy published the Watergate story 
іп earnest: Woodward and Bernstein's All the Presidents Men, 
which made headlines and gave the magazine's readers a 
ringside seat for the most stirring political story of the decade. 

"Тһе first postwar book to really sear the national conscience 
about Vietnam was Ron Kovic's magnificent memoir, Born on 
the Fourth of July, which Playboy excerpted in July 1976. But 
the moment Playboy—and perhaps its readers—will remem- 
ber best from the Seventies is the Interview in which Presiden- 
tial candidate Jimmy Carter confessed that he had “lusted” in 
his heart. That remark became a major campaign issue—and 
that issue of Playboy became a collector's item, disappearing 
within days from every newsstand in the world. 

By the last half of the Seventies, lust had surfaced as a na- 
tional pastime—or at least a media obsession—when journal- 
ists began venturing into the steamier regions of rampant 
sexual freedom that seemed to be cropping up from coast to 
coast. Reporting for Playboy, Dan Greenburg held tight to his 
pencil at a touchy-feely group-sex-and-granola commune in 
the mountains near Malibu, and our own Playboy Advisor, 
James Petersen, took his tape recorder to Plato's Retreat, a 
hard-core meat-and-potatoes sex palace on New York's West 
Side, and found the place full of other reporters gleaning 
firsthand research. 

It was during this glitzy period—the disco days—that 
Playboy interviewed dancer-of-the-decade John Travolta, the 
entire Saturday Night Live gang and the sharp-tongued Bar- 
bra Streisand, who also agreed to pose for the cover in her 
shorts. Finally, in 1978, taking note of Playboys 25th Anniver- 
sary in its usual low-key manner, the magazine held a huge 
party at the Playboy Mansion in Los Angeles and hailed the 
successful conclusion of the Great Playmate Hunt for the most 
bountiful, beautiful girl in the world. After scouring every 
hamlet in the 50 states and the Northwest Territories, we 
found her: not only the perfect face, the perfect figure, the 
perfect personality but the perfect name—so help us—Candy 
Loving. After that, the rest of the decade was an anticlimax. 


190 


article By CARL BERNSTEIN and BOB WOODWARD 


ALL THE PRESIDENTS 


JUNE 1,1972. Nine o'clock Saturday morning. Early 
for the telephone. Bob Woodward furnbled for 
the receiver and snapped awake. The city editor 
of The Washington Post was on the line. Five men 
had been arrested earlier that morning in a bur- 
glary at Democratic headquarters, carrying photographic 
equipment and electronic gear. Could he come іп? 

Woodward left his apartment in downtown Washington and 
walked the six blocks to the Post. He checked in with the city 
editor and learned with surprise that the burglars had not bro- 
ken into the small local Democratic Party office but the head- 
quarters of the Democratic National Committee in the 
Watergate office-apartment-hotel complex. 

Аз Woodward began making phone calls, he noticed that 
Carl Bernstein, one of the papers two Virginia political re- 
porters, was working on the burglary story, too. 

Oh, God, not Bernstein, Woodward thought, recalling sev- 
eral office rumors about Bernstein's ability to push his way— 
and his by-line—onto a good story. 

Bernstein was 2 college dropout. He had started as a copy- 
boy at the Washington Evening Star when he was 16, became a 
full-time reporter at 19 and had worked at the Post since 1966. 
Не occasionally did an investigative series and had covered 
both the courts and city hall. But he preferred doing long dis- 
cursive articles about the capital’s people and neighborhoods 

That morning, Bernstein had made copies of notes from re- 
porters at the scene, then told the city editor that he would do 
some more checking around, The city editor shrugged accept. 
ance and Bernstein began calling everybody he could reach at 
the Watergate—desk clerks, bellmen, maids, 
waiters in the restaurant. 

Between calls, Bernstein looked across the 
newsroom to Woodward's desk about 20 feet 
away. He could see that Woodward was also 
working on the story 

That figured, Bernstein thought. Woodward 
was a prima donna who played heavily at office 
politics. Bernstein thought his rapid rise at the 
Post had had less to do with ability than with his 
establishment credentials: Yale, Navy Officers 


COPYRIGHT © 1974 BY CARL BERNSTEIN AND BOB WOODWARD 


MEN 


they were nixon's 
palace guard— 
hard-working, loyal, 


self-righteous—and 
very nearly 


all-powerful 


Corps, lawns, staterooms and grass tennis courts. 
(He'd even been invited to Presidential aide John 
Ehrlichmar's tennis party at Camp David but 
hadn't been able to attend.) 

They had never worked on a story together. 
Woodward was 29, Bernstein 28. 

б 

The Post's first Watergate story described an elaborate at- 
tempt by hve burglars to bug the Democratic headquarters. 
The next day, June 18, the reporters wrote that one of the five 
burglars was James McCord, security coordinator for the Com- 
mittee for the Re-election of the President. Attorney General 
John Mitchell issued a statement denying that McCord was acı- 
ing under instructions from him or from any other senior 
official ar СЕР. 

After midnight, Woodward received a call at home from Eu- 
gene Bachinski, the Posts regular night police reporter. 

Bachinski had something from one of his police sources. 
“Two address books, belonging to two of five men arrested in- 
side the Watergate, contained the name and phone number of 
E. Howard Hunt, with the small notations “W. House” and 
“WH” 

At the office the next day, Woodward called an old friend 
and sometime source who worked for the Federal Govern- 
ment. The friend said hurriedly that the break-in case was go- 
ing to “heat up,” but he couldn't explain and hung up. 

Woodward picked up the telephone and dialed 456-1414— 
the White House. He asked for Howard Hunt. The switch- 
board operator rang an extension. There was no answer. 
“There is one other place he might be,” the op- 
erator said. “In Mr. Colson's office.” Charles W. 
Colson was President Nixon’s special counsel 
and “hatchet man.” 

“Mr, Hunt is not here now,” Colson's secre- 
tary told Woodward, and gave him the number 
of а Washington public-relations firm, Robert 
R. Mullen & Company, where she said Hunt 
worked as a writer. 

Woodward called the Mullen public-relations 
firm and asked for Howard Hunt. On reaching 


е e .533ЇЄҸ1ИТМҸ<ҸС‏ ا 
an‏ 


ave т 


PLAYBOY 


192 


him, Woodward asked Hunt why his 
name was in the address books of two of 
the men arrested at the Watergate. 

“Good God!" Hunt said. Then he 
quickly added, “In view that the mater is 
under adjudication, I have no comment,” 
and slammed down the phone. 

The story, on June 20, was headlined, 
"WHITE HOUSE CONSULTANT TIED TO BUGGING 
FIGURE." 

That morning at the Florida White 
House in Key Biscayne, Presidential 
press secretary Ronald L. Ziegler briefly 
answered a question about the break- 
in at the Watergate by observing: "Cer- 
tain elements may try to stretch this 
beyond what it is." Ziegler described the 
incident as “а third-rate burglary at- 
tempt” not worthy of further White 
House comment. 


. 

Bernstein meanwhile set ош to learn 
what he could about Colson. He called a 
former official of the Nixon Administra- 
tion who he thought might be able to 
supply some helpful biographical data. 
Instead of biography, the man told Bern- 
stein: “Whoever was responsible for the 
Watergate break-in would have to be 
somebody who doesn't know about poli- 
tics but thought he did. 1 suppose that’s 
why Colson's name comes up. . . . Any- 
body who knew anything wouldn't be 
looking over there for real political infor- 
mation. They'd be looking for something 


The man knew the inner workings of 
the White House, of which Bernstein 
and Woodward were almost totally ig- 
norant, and, better yet, he maintained 
extensive contacts with his former col- 
leagues 

Bernstein asked if he thought there 
were any possibility that the President's 
campaign committee or—even less like- 
ly—the White House would sponsor such 
a stupid mission as the Watergate raid. 
Bernstein waited to be told no. 

“I know the President well enough to 
know if he needed something like this 
done, it certainly wouldn't be a shoddy 
job,” said the former official. But it was 
not inconceivable that the President 
would want his campaign aides to have 
every piece of political intelligence and 
gossip available. “There was always a 
great preoccupation at the White House 
with all this intelligence nonsense,” he 
said. “Some of those people are dumb 
enough to think there would be some- 
thing there.” 

This picture of the White House was in 
sharp contrast to the smooth, well-oiled 
machine Bernstein was accustomed to 
reading about in the newspapers: those 
careful, disciplined, look-alike guards to 
the palace who were invariably referred 
to as “the President's men.” 

. 


On the evening of September 14, 


Bernstein knocked at the front door ofa 
small tract house in a Washington sub- 
urb. The owner of the house was a wom- 
an who worked for Maurice Stans, the 
finance chairman for СЕР. “She knows a 
lot," he had been told. 

A woman opened the door and let 
Bernstein in. “You don't want me, you 
want my sister,” she said. Her sister came 
into the room. He had expected a typical 
bookkeeper, a woman in her 50s, proba- 
bly gray; but she was much younger. 

“Oh, my God,” she said, “you're from 
The Washington Past. You'll have to go, 
I'm sorry" 

Bernstein tried to hold his ground. He 
had the feeling he was either going out 
the door any minute or staying till she 
had told the whole story. 

Her hands were shaking. She looked at 
her sister, who shrugged her shoulders 
noncommittally. Bernstein decided to 
take a chance. He took a notebook and 
pencil from his inner breast pocket. The 
bookkeeper stared at him. She was not 
going to say anything that they probably 
didn't know already, Bernstein told her, 
and absolutely nothing would go into the 
paper that couldn't be verified elsewhere. 

“There are a lot of things that are 
wrong and a lot of things that are bad at 
the committee,” the bookkeeper said. “I 
was called by the grand jury very early, 
but nobody knew what questions to ask. 
People had already lied to them.” The 
bookkeeper had worked for Hugh Sloan, 
the treasurer for CRP “Sloan is the sac- 
rificial lamb. His wife was going to leave 
him if he didnt stand up and do what was 
right. He left CRP because he saw it and 
didn't want any part of it.” 

How much money was paid out? 

“A lot.” 

More than half a million? 

“You've had it in print.” 

Finally it clicked. Sometimes he could 
be incredibly slow, Bernstein thought to 
himself. It was a slush fund of cash kept 
in Stanss safe. 

(On Saturday, August 26, four days aft- 
er the President was renominated in Mi- 
ami, Woodward received a Government 
Accounting Office report that listed 11 
“apparent and possible violations” of the 
new campaign-contributions law and re- 
ferred the matter to the Justice Depart- 
ment for possible prosecution. It also 
stated that Maurice Stans maintained a 
secret slush fund in his office totaling at 
least $350,000.) 

Hugh Sloan knew the whole story, too, 
she said. He had handed out the money. 

. 

Two days later, Bernstein called Sloan 
at his McLean, Virgina, home. Sloan said 
he had to clean up the house before his 
in-laws arrived, butif the reporters could 
get to McLean quickly, they could stop by 
for a few minutes. 


Sloan was dressed in sports dothes 
and, except for the broom he was holding 
in his hand, he still looked like the 
Princeton undergraduate he once had 
been. He introduced himself to Wood- 
ward, who immediately volunteered to 
help clean up the house. Sloan declined 
the offer and served coffee. 

Bernstein and Sloan discussed an alle- 
gation that Mitchell almost certainly 
knew of the cash outlays from the secret 
fund. Was he one of those authorized to 
approve disbursements? 

“Obviously,” Sloan said. There were 
five people with authorizing authority 
over the fund, and Mitchell was one of 
them. Stans was another. 

How had it worked? How had Mitchell 
exercised his authority over the fund? By 
voucher? 

Bernstein and Woodward avoided 
looking at each other. While Attorney 
General of the United States, John Mitch- 
ell had authorized the expenditure оГ 
campaign funds for apparently illegal ac- 
tivities against the political opposition. 

E 

It was past noon when the reporters 
gotto the office. They met with executive 
editor Ben Bradlee, managing editor 
Howard Simons, metropolitan editor 
Harry Rosenfeld and city editor Barry 
Sussman in Bradlee's office, a comfort- 
able carpeted room with a picture win- 
dow looking out into the newsroom. 
isten, fellas,” said Bradlee, "are you 
certain on Mitchell?" A pause. “Absolute- 
ly certain?" He stared at each of the re- 
porters as they nodded, "Can you write it 
now?" 

They said they could. 

Bradlec stood up. "Well, then, let's do 


And, he presumed aloud, the re- 
porters realized the implications of such 
a story, that Mitchell was not someone to 
be trifled with, that now they were play- 
ing real hardball? Bradlee was not inter- 
rogating them. He was administering ап 
oath. 

They nodded, aware that they were 
about to take the biggest step yet. 

Writing the story took surprisingly 
little time. It moved from Bernsteins 
typewriter to Woodward's, then to Ro- 
senfeld and Sussman and finally to Brad- 
lee and Simons. Only minor changes 
were made. By six rm., it was in the com- 
posing room: 


John N. Mitchell, while serving as 
US. Attorney General, personally 
controlled a secret Republican fund 
that was used to gather information 
about the Democrats, according to. 
sources involved in the Watergate 
investigation. 

Beginning in the spring of 1971, 
almost a year before he left the 

(continued оп page 315) 


193 


“AIL I sell is cheeseburgers, but I sell а lol of cheeseburgers.” 


Coo o —— > VOS 
BORN on THE FOURTH ор JULY 
memoir By RON КОЛО an ex—maring Sergeant brings yor 


45 close to the searing horror that was vietnam AS YOU re likely to gel 


ooo RN - 


There isa loud crack and I hear him begin to Sob. 
ing finger off Lets 50, Sarge! Ler, 


Watch him 80 runnin, 
Sarge, are you all right?» Someone else is calling to me now and I ty, to 
turn агош - Again there is the sudden Crack of y bullet an, OY'S voice cry. 
ing. “Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus Christ!” I hear his body fallin back of me. 

Ithink he must be dead, but ү feel Nothing for him, I just Want to live, р 
feel nothing. 


ILLUSTRATION By сөге WRAY 


PLAYBOY 


196 


те. “Get оша here!” І scream. “Get the 
fuck outa here!” 

A tall black man with long skinny arms 
and enormous hands picks me up and 
throws me over his shoulder as bullets 
begin cracking over our heads like 
strings of firecrackers. Again and again 
they crack as the sky swirls around us like 
a cyclone, “Motherfuckers, motherfuck- 
ers!” he screams. And the rounds keep 
cracking and the sky and the sun on my 
face and my body all gone, all twisted up, 
gangling like a puppets, diving again 
and again into the sand, up and down, 
rolling and cursing, gasping for breath. 
“Goddamn, goddamn motherfuckers!” 

And finally Lam dragged into a hole in 
the sand with the bottom of my body that 
can no longer feel twisted and bent un- 
derneath me. The black man runs from 
the hole without ever saying a thing. The 
only thing I can think of, the only thing 
that crosses my mind, 

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

“Mother!” screams а man without a 
face. 

“Oh, I don't want to die!” screams а 
young boy cupping his intestines with his 
hands. “Oh, please, oh, no, oh, God, oh, 
help! Mother!” he screams again. 

. 


We are moving slowly through the wa- 
ter, the amtrac (amphibious tractor) 
rocking back and forth. We cannot be 
brave anymore; there is no reason. It 
means nothing now We hold on to 
ourselves, to things around us, to memo- 
ries, to thoughts, to dreams. 1 breathe 
slowly, desperately trying to stay awake. 

The steel trap door of the amtrac is 
opening. | see faces. Corpsmen, I think. 
Others, curious, looking in at us. Air, 
fresh, I feel, I smell. They are carrying 
me out now. Over wounded bodies, past 
wounded screams. I'm in a helicopter 
now, lofting above the battalion area. I'm 
leaving the war. I'm going to live, 1 am 
still breathing, I keep thinking over and 
over, I'm going to live and get out of here. 

They are shoving needles and tubes 
into my arms. Now we are being packed 
into planes and as each hour passes, I be- 
gin to believe that I am going to live. I 
begin to realize more and more as 1 
watch the other wounded packed around 
me on shelves that I am going to live. 

The journey seems to take a very long 
time, but soon we are at the place where 
the wounded are sent. 

“What's your name?” the voice shouts. 

"Wh-wh-what?" 1 say. 

“What's your name?” the voice says 
again. 

"K-K-Kovic;" I say. 

“No!” says the voice. “I want your name, 


rank and Service number, date of birth, 
the name of your father and mother.” 

“Kovic. Sergeant. “Two-oh-three-oh- 
two-six-one, uh, when are you going 
o" 

“Date of birth!" the voice shouts. 

“July fourth, nineteen forty-six. 1 
was born on the Fourth of July I can't 
feel —" 

“What outfit did you come from?" 

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

“Тһе doctors will operate," he says. 
“Don't worry,” he says confidently. “They 
are very busy and there are many wound- 
ed, but they will take care of you soon.” 

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

Т am taken to a long room where there 
are many doctors and nurses. They move 
quickly around me. They are acting very 


competent. “You will be fine,” says one 
nurse calmly. 

“Breathe deeply into the mask,” the 
doctor says. 


“Are you going to operate?” I ask. 

“Yes. Now breathe deeply into the 
mask.” As the darkness of the mask slow- 
ly covers my face, І pray with all my be- 
ing that I will live through this operation 
and sce the light of day once again. I 
want to live so much. And even before I 
go to sleep, with the blackness still 
swirling around my head and the numb- 
ness of sleep, I begin to fight as I have 
never fought before in my life. 

I awake to the screams of other men 
around me. I have made it. 1 think that 
maybe the wound is my punishment for 
killing the corporal and the children. 
That now everything is OK and the score 
is evened up. And now I am packed in 
this place with the others who have been 
wounded like myself, strapped onto a 
strange circular bed. I feel tubes going 
into my nose and hear the clanking, 
pumping sound of a machine. I still can- 
not feel any of my body, but I know Lam 
alive. I feel a terrible pain in my chest. 
My body is so cold. It has never been this 
weak. It feels so tired and out of touch, so 
lost and in pain. I can still barely breathe. 
I look around me, at people moving in 
shadows of numbness. 

I can hear a radio. It is the Armed 
Forces radio. There is a young kid with 
half his head blown away They have 
brought him in and put him right next to 
me. He has thick bandages wrapped all 
around his head till I can hardly see his 
face at all. He is like a vegetable—a 19- 
year-old vegetable, thrashing his arms 
back and forth, babbling and pissing in 


his clean white sheets. 

There is a general walking down the 
aisles now, going to each bed. A skinny 
private with a Polaroid camera follows 
directly behind him. The general is 
dressed in an immaculate uniform with 
shiny shoes. “Good afternoon, Marine,” 
the general says. “In the name of the 
President of the United States and the 
United States Marine Corps, Гат proud 
to present you with the Purple Heart,” 
the general says. Just then, the skinny 
man with the Polaroid camera jumps up, 
flashing a picture of the wounded man. 
“And a picture to send home to your 
folks.” 

He comes up to my bed and says ехасі- 
ly the same thing he said to all the rest. 
The skinny man jumps up, snapping а 
picture of the general handing the Pur- 
ple Heart to me. “And here,” says the 
general, “here is a picture to send home 
to your folks.” The general makes a 
sharp left face. He is marching to the bed 
next to me, where the 19-year-old kid is 
still pissing in his pants, babbling like a 
little baby. 

“In the name of the President of the 
United States,” the general says. The kid 
is screaming now, almost tearing the 
bandages off his head, exposing the parts 
of his brains that are still left. The gener- 
al does not finish what he is saying. He 
stares at Ihe 19-year-old for what seems a 
long time. He sharply marches to the 
next bed, 


. 

All his life he'd wanted to be a winner. 
It was always so important to win, to be 
the very best. But now it all seemed dif- 
ferent. All the hopes about being the best 
Marine, winning all those medals. They 
all seemed crushed now, they were gone 
forever. Like the man he had just killed 
with one shot, all these things had disap- 
peared and he knew, he was certain, they 
would never come back again. Even 
working in the food store that summer 
before he went to the war now seemed 
like a real nice thing. It seemed like so 
much nicer a thing than what was hap- 
pening to him now, all the faces, the torn 
green fatigues, and just below his foot 
was the guy with a gaping hole through 
his throat. 

The amtrac was heading back to the 
thick barbed wire where the battalion 
lived and everyone around him was 
quiet. There was no question in his mind 
they all knew what had happened—that 
he had just pulled the little metal trigger 
and put a slug through the corporal's 
neck. He was very nervous and his finger, 
the one that had pulled the trigger, was 
sort of scratching his leg now. 

When they got back to the battalion 
area, he gave а quick report to a young 
lieutenant in the major's bunker. “They 
were attacking,” he said, looking at the 

(continued on page 283) 


FOR CHRIST'S SARE 


renouncing the image of jesus as a melancholy ascetic, а progressive 
theologian calls out for his resurrection as а joyous revolutionary 


opinion By HARVEY COX 4 улғтия rossr: 
Lift the brimming beaker to the much-maligned and bad- 
ly misunderstood figure in Christmas lore, Ebenezer 
Scrooge. A heavy too Jong in hearthside morality tales, 
Ebenezer deserves an immediate rehabilitation, if only 
for one reason: His classic two-word description of 
Christmas is so elegant, so succinct and so true that say- 
ing anything more seems almost redundant. “Christmas? 


Bah, humbug!” 

Christmas is humbug in the precise dictionary sense; 
i.e., “a fraud or imposition, sham, trickery, deception or 
swindle.” Christmas is all these things and more. Oh, I’m 
not denying there are some good things about it. The 
whole season exudes a funny magic that gets to almost 
everyone іп some way. But this happens despite what we've 
done to Christmas, not because (continued on page 314) 


ILLUSTRATION BY FRED BERGER 


198 


article 


By LARRY LING 


|) 


I] 


ІК ЖОЛ 
IN TEA 


when a true son of texas discovers they've 
dosed down “the chicken farm,” he 
tahes his business to the free-lancers. 
mans got to do what a mans got to do 


rr was as NICE a little whorchouse as you ever saw. It sat in 
а green Texas glade, white-shuttered and tidy, surround- 
cd by leafy oak trees and a few slim renegade pines and 
the kind of pure clean air the menthol-cigarette people 
advertise, 

Way back yonder, during the Hoover Depression, they 
raised chickens out there. Money was hard to come by; 
every jack rabbit had three families chasing it with the 
stewpot in mind. Back then, in rural Texas, people said 
things like, “You can hear everthang in these woods but 
meat afryin' and coins aclankin:” No matter where a boy 
itched and no matter how high his fevers, it wasn't easy to 
come up with three dollars, even in exchange for a girls 
sweetest gift. And so the girls began accepting poultry in 
trade. That's how the place got its name, and if you grew 
up most anywhere in Texas, you knew at an carly age 
what the Chicken Farm sold other than pullets. (Genera- 
tions since mine have called it the Chicken Ranch. I won't 
argue the point.) 

You might have originally thought it a honeymoon 
cottage. Except that as you came closer on the winding 
dirt road that skittered into the woods off the Austin- 
to-Houston highway on the southeastern outskirts of 
La Grange, near the Bap curve sign, you would have no- 
ticed that it was too sprawling and too jerry-built: run- 
ning off on odd tangents, owning more sides and nooks 
and crannies than the Pentagon. Then there were all 
those casement-window air conditioners—15 or 20 of 
"ет, Miss Edna wanting ber girls to work in comfort. 

Since the 1890s, at least, the Chicken Farm had been 
one of the better pleasure palaces in all Texas. Miss Edna, 


PAINTING BY BRAD HOLLAND 


PLAYBOY 


like Miss Jessie before her, didn't cotton 
to hard-drinking rowdies. Should you 
come in bawling profanities or grabbing 
ш, Miss Edna would employ the tele- 
phone. And before you could say double- 
dip-blankety-blank obscenity, old Sheriff 
Т. J. Flournoy would materialize to sug- 
gest a choice between overnight lodgings 
in Fayette County's crossbar hotel and 
your rapid cooperative leave-taking. Yes, 
neighbors, it was as cozy and comfortable 
as a family reunion, though many times 
more profitable. Then, one sad day last 
summer, the professional meddlers and 
candy-assed politicians closed "ег down. 

Man, listen: The Chicken Farm was 
gooder than grass and better than rain. 
Registered with the county clerk as 
Edna's Ranch Boarding House, it paid 
double its weight in taxes and led the 
community in charitable gifts. It plowed 
a goodly percentage of its earnings back 
into local shops to the glee of hairdress- 
ers, car dealers and notions-counter at- 
tendants. It wasa good citizen, protected 
and appreciated, its indiscretions winked 
at. When Miss Jessie died, her obituary 
identified her as “a local businesswom- 
an.” Yeah, they had ‘em a real bird's nest 
on the ground out there. Then along 
came Marvin Zindler. 

Marvin Zindler was a deputy sheriff in 
Houston, enforcing consumer-protection 
laws, until they fired him. Not for in- 
efficiency or malfeasance—Lord, no! 
Marvin мше mvc guns, Маши», 
buckles and badges than a troop of Texas 
Rangers; he brought more folks to court 
than did bankruptcy proceedings. Mar- 
vin got fired for being "controversial — 
which meant that he couldn't, or 
wouldn't, make those fine distinctions re- 
quired of successful politicians. After all, 
Marvin's boss was dependent on public 
favor. Nosir, the law was the law to Mar- 
vin. Anyhow, they fired Marvin. Who 
landed on his feet as a television news- 
man for Houston's channel 13. 

Marvin approached news gathering 
with the same zeal he'd brought to badge 
toting. So Marvin began telling folks 
out in TV land how a whorehouse was 
running wide open down the road at 
La Grange, which was news to Yankee 
tourists and to all Texans taking their 
suppers in high chairs. Even though peo- 
ple yawned, Marvin stayed on the case; 
you might have thought murder was in- 
volved. Soon he repeatedly hinted at “or- 
ganized-crime" influences at the Chicken 
Farm. 

One day in late July, Marvin Zindler 
drove to La Grange and accosted Sheriff 
Flournoy with cameras, microphones 
and embarrassing questions. The old 
sheriff made it perfectly clear he was not 
real proud to see Marvin. Later, the sher- 
iff—a very lean and mean 70-year-old, 
indeed—would say he hadn't realized the 
microphone was live when he chewed on 


Marvin for meddling in Fayette County 
affairs; perhaps that explains why the old 
man peppered his lecture with so many 
hells and goddamns and shits. Marvin 
Zindler drove home and displayed the 
cussing sheriff on television. 

Then Marvin called on State Attorney 
General John Hill and Governor Dolph 
Briscoe: “How come yawl have failed to 
close the La Grange sin shop down?" 
Those good politicians harrumphed and 
declared their official astonishment that 
‘Texas had a whorehouse in it. Governor 
Briscoe issued a solemn statement saying 
that organized crime was a terrible 
thing, against the American grain, and 
since it might possibly be sprouting out at 
the Chicken Farm, he would call on local 
authorities to shuuer that sinful place. 
Me, too, said Attorney General Hill. Vet- 
cran legislators, many of whom could 
have driven to the Chicken Farm without 
headlights even in a midnight rainstorm, 
expressed concern that Texans might be 
openly permitted loveless fucks outside 
the home. 

Old Sheriff Flournoy was incensed: “If 
the governor wants Miss Edna closed, all 
he's gotta do is make one phone call and 
ГЇЇ do it.” The sheriff may be old and 
country, but his shit detector tells him 
when grander men are pissing on his feet 
and telling him it’s rain. The governor 
didn't have to bother with the telephone 
charade. Soon after the story hit the па- 
tivual news wires, Juluny Carson was 
cracking simpering jokes about it and ev- 
ery idle journalist with a pen was cn 
route to La Grange. They found the 
Chicken Farm locked and shuttered, a 
big ctosen sign advertising а new purity. 
Miss Edna and her girls had fled to parts 
unknown, leaving behind a town full of 
riled people. 

. 

Sheriff Flournoy маз extracting his 
long legs from the patrol car, with maybe 
nothing more on hıs mind than a plate of 
Cottonwood Inn barbecue, when this fat 
bearded journalist shoved a hand in his 
face and began singing his credentials. 
Startled, the old lawman recoiled as if 
he'd spotted a pink snake; for a moment 
it seemed he might tuck his legs back in 
and drive away. 

But after a slight hesitation he came 
out, unwinding in full coil to about six 
feet, five inches. Given the tall-crowned 
cowboy hat, he appeared to register 
nearer to seven feet, three and some- 
odd. The fat bearded journalist sensed 
that the old sheriff may have done plumb 
et his fill of outsiders asking picky ques- 
tions; he was real real polite and friendly, 
grinning until his jawbone ached, and 
careful to let all the old native nasal notes 
ring, in saying he sure would admire 10 
talk a little bit about the Chicken Farm 
situation, and would the sheriff give him 
a few minutes? 


The old sheriff's face reddened alarm- 
ingly. He said, “Naw! I'm tard a talkin’ to 
you sons a bitches. My town’s кешіп” a 
black eye. All the TVs and newspapers— 
hell, all the mediums—they've flat lied. 
Been misquotin’ our local people. Makin’ 
"ет look bad.” 

Had the sheriff himself been misquot- 
ed? 

“You goddamned right.” 

To what extent? 

“About half of it was goddamn lies.” 

Well, sheriff, which half? 

The sheriff puta hard eye on the visi- 
tor. The visiting journalist recognized 
bedrock character and righteous anger, 
knowing, instinctively, that T. J. Flournoy 
was the type of man described years ago 
by his father: “Son, you got to learn that 
some folks won't do to fart with.” 

Had the sheriff . . . uh, you know... 
received апу er—ah—gratuities for 
services to Miss Edna? 

The sheriff put a hand on his gun 
buti—Oh, Jesus!—and fired twin bursts 
of pure ol’ mad out of his cold blue eyes. 
“Listen, boy, that place has been open 
since before I was borned and never hurt 
asoul. Them girls are clean, they got reg- 
ular inspections, and we didn't allow 
rough stuff. Now, after all this notoriety, 
this little town’s gettin’ a bad name it don't. 
deserve. The mediums, the shitasses, 
they been printir all kinds of crap." 

Had the sheriff talked to Governor 
Briscoe or to the attorney general? 

“Naw. No reason to. The place is 
closed.” 

Would it stay closed? 

“It's closed now, ain't it?” 

Yes. Right. And, uh, what was the pre- 
vailing community sentiment. about the 
Chicken Farms future? 

“1 ain't answering no more questions," 
the old sheriff said, stomping his ciga- 
rette butt with a booted heel. At the door 
to the restaurant, he turned and paused 
то stare his tormentor out of sight. 

. 


Buddy Zapalac, ordering another beer, 
recalled ıhe Chicken Farm of his youth. 
He is a gleeful 50ish, of iron-gray hair, a 
stubby heavyweight's torso and а blue- 
ribbon grin. You see him and you like 
him. 

“In the Thirties," Buddy said, “they 
had a big parlor with a jukebox, see, that 
they used to break the ice. You could ask 
a girl to dance, or she'd ask you. And 
pretty soon, why, you could git a little 
business on. Three dollars’ worth.” Не 
laughed in memory of those good old 
days when Roosevelt pussy had been 
cheaper than Nixon chicken 

“You couldnt get any exotic extras. 
Miss Jessie—she ran the farm back 
then—she didn't believe in perversions. 
They had wall mirrors in the parlor, see, 
where the girls could sit in chairs and 

(concluded on page 274) 


“I turn you on. 1 turn everybody on!” 


= (ЖЕ 


Sexual Perverrity in 


А НОТ NEW AMERICAN 
PLAYWRIGHT SHOWS 
HOWA COFFEE SHOP 
PICKUP CAN TURN INTO 
A KINKY STRAFING RUN 


DANNY SHAPIRO and BERNIE LITKO are 
seated at a singles bar. 
panny: So how'd you do last 
night? 
serie: Are you kidding me? 
DANNY: Yeah? 
Bernie: Are you fucking kidding 
me? 
panny: Yeah? 
BERNIE: Are you pulling my leg? 
Danny: So? 
BERNIE: So tits out to here so. 
DANNY: Yeah? 
BERNIE: Twenty, a couple years 
old. 
DANNY: You gotta be fooling, 
Bernie: Nope. 
panny: You devil. 
вевме: You think she hadn't 
been around? 
Danny: Yeah? 
arenie: She hadn't gone the 
route? 
pannv: She knew the route, huh? 
Е seais: Are you fucking kidding 
me? 
DANNY: Yeah? 
: She wrote the route. 
No shit, around 20, huh? 
веямі: Nineteen, 20. 
panny: You're talking about a 
girl. 
BERNIE: Damn right. 
panny: You're telling me about 
some underage stuff. 
nernie: She don't gotta be but 18. 
Danny: Was she? 
Bernie: Shit, yes. 
DANNY: Then OK. 
——— Bernie: She made 18 easy. 
vanny: Well, then. 
srante: Had to punch in at 20, 25 
easy. 
| Danny: Then you got no problem. 
sernie: I know I got no problem. 
/ — panny: So tell me. 
“© arante: So OK, so where am I? 
Danny: When? 
(continued on page 328) 


hicago BAND MAMET 


^ 


PLAYBOY 


“Ts it just me, or have you sensed a pagan revival in 
this country recently?” 


“You've had enough.” 


THE PLAYBOY INTERVIEW 


candid conversations with the duke of wayne, a funny girl with a 
serious voice and a candidate with one last thing hed like to say 


JOHN WAYNE 


PLAYBOY: How do you feel about the state 
of the motion-picture business today? 

WAYNE: I'm glad I won't be around much 
longer to see what they do with it. The 
men who control the big studios today 
are stock manipulators and bankers. 
They know nothing about our business. 
They're in it for the buck. The only thing 
they can do is say, “Jeez, that picture with 
whats-her-name running around the 
park naked made money зо let's make 
another onc. If that's what they want, let's 
give it to them.” Some of these guys re- 
mind me of high-class whores. Look at 
20th Century Fox, where they're making 
movies like Myra Breckinridge. As much 
as I couldn't stand some of the old-time 
moguls—especially Harry Cohn—these 
men took an interest in the future of 
their business. They had integrity. There 
was a stretch when they realized that 
they'd made a hero out of the goddamn 
gangster heavy in crime movies, that 
they were doing a discredit to our coun- 
try So the moguls voluntarily took it 
upon themselves to stop making gang- 
Ster pictures. (concluded on page 278) 


“We can't all of a sudden get down on our 
knees and turn everything over to the lead- 
ership of the blacks. I believe in white 
supremacy until the blacks are educated lo a 
point of responsibility.” 


BARBRA STREISAND 


PLAYBOY: Since you seem bent on setting 
the record straight, lets discuss the strong 
criticism you've received about your rep- 
utation for being difficult and the obses- 
sion you seem to have for taking control 
of whatever projects you are involved 
with, 

STREISAND: OK, but first let's clarify the 
word control, because it has negative im- 
plications. Let's just say when I use the 
word control, I mean artistic responsi 
ty If you mean that I am completely ded- 
icated and care deeply about carrying 
ош a total vision of a project—yes, that’s 
true. I'm interested in all aspects of my 
work, down to the copy on the radio com- 
mercials. It all fascinates me. 

PLAYBOY: We'll ask the question in a 
blunter way: Why do you think you have 
a reputation as a bitch? 

STREISAND: It's a very male-chauvinist 
word, bitch. I resent it deeply. It's an un- 
kind, mean word. It implies uncalled-for 
anger. A person who's bitchy would seem 
to be mean for no reason. I am not a 
mean person. I dont like meanness іп 
anyone around (concluded on page 273) 


STEVE SCHAPIRO 


“I never thought about the womens move- 
ment while I was moving as a woman, I 
didn't realize thal I was fighting this battle 
all the time, Actually, I believe women are 
superior to men. I don't think we're equal.” 


JIMMY CARTER 


PLAYBOY: How do you feel about the me- 
dia in general and about the job they do 
in covering the election issues? 

carrer: Issues? The local media are in- 
terested, all right, but the national news 
media have absolutely no interest in is- 
sues al all. Sometimes we freeze out the 
national media so we can open up press 
conferences to local people. At least we 
get questions from them—on timber 
management, on health care, on educa- 
ion. But the traveling press have zero in- 
terest in any issue unless it's a matter of 
making a mistake. What they're looking 
for is a 47-second argument between me 
and another candidate or something like 
that. There's nobody in the back of this 
plane who would ask an issue question 
unless he thought he could trick me into 
some crazy statement. 

PLAYBOY: Both the press and the public 
seem to have made an issue out of your 
Baptist beliefs. Why do you think this has 
happened? 

CARTER: I'm not unique. There are a lot 
of people in this country who have the 
same religious (concluded on page 345) 


“Tm human and Um tempted. I've looked on 
а lot of women with lust. I've committed 
adultery in ту heart many times. This is 
something that God recognizes I will do, 
and God forgives me for it.” 


А 
һе decided they 


had played out their string— nothing 
was going to tie him to her after tonight 


fiction By JOHN UPDIKE 


reddy 
Python was a well-known developer around Boston, 
always putting together real-estate packages that, 
though they seldom came to anything, somehow kept 
him in sports cars, tailored suits and attractive wom- 
en. He lived with his mother and a Filipino servant 
in a choice slice of house on the good side of Beacon 


Hill. His first and only marriage had ended quickly, 
without children. In the decade since, he had almost 
forgotten this wife; she was the most distant figure 
in a long line of women he had escorted and se- 
duced, enjoyed spats and vacations with, got sun- 
burned and frostbitten with, loved and forgotten 
each in her turn. In his memory, the succession was 
clamorous and indignant, like the Complaints line 
in a department store, with a few conspicuously si- 
lent, sullen sufferers hoping to make their case that 
way. Freddy had finessed them all: the weeper, the 
screamer, the tedious reasoner, the holder of heated 
silences. At the end of a date, however fraught, he 
would skillfully sail his Porsche through the bright 
morass of Park Square and the erratic rapids of 
Charles Street traffic, tack uphill into his narrow alley 
and nose the car to safety in its space below his moth- 
еге window. He would let himself in softly and 
ascend the carpeted stairs to his bedroom, a vast 
master bedroom that floated, all puffs and pillows 
and matching satin, like a dulcet blimp above the 
contagion of the city and its dreams. The Filipino 
would have turned his coverlet down. His mother 
would have left him a note, saying, “The mayor 
called" or “Don't forget your lecithin.” Freddy 
would undress, checking his gym-hardened body for 


signs of wear in the full-length mirror before unfold- 
ing his pajamas. Composing his pajamaed self for 
sleep, he closed his eyes and folded his mind around 
the evening's seized pleasures. His trophies were about 
him, from the framed citation of the Charlestown 
Realty Board to the plated statuette signifying sec- 
ond prize іп the Malden Teens Tennis Competition 
in 1959. His mother was below him. The Hill was 
quiet but for the burst of a muffler or the scamper- 
ing footsteps of a mugging. Corinna (or whoever) 
was alone in her (rumpled) bed. Freddy was alone 
in his. What a life. 

Corinna. Perhaps they had played out their string. 
He was of two minds about her, and she was of two 
minds about everything. A tallish, staring blonde of 
at least 25, with an ass like two moons, she looked 
good with Freddy in public, yet she avoided going 
out. She said she hated crowds. He would appear at 
her apartment in flared chalk stripes and polished 
Guccis and find her in the bathtub, drugged by the 
steam. Around midnight, he would manage to or- 
ganize her into walking over to Boylston Street for a 
cheeseburger. Or they would wind up sharing a 
sweet-and-sour-chicken TV dinner by the fireplace— 
she had no wood, so they set a reluctant blaze of 
rolled-up newspapers kept compact with rubber 
bands—while old jazz singles tumbled from WGBH 
on the bookshelf. She took dictation all day and after 
work seemed to need to express herself, to rotate lan- 
guidly through her two rooms, shedding clothes and 
emptying ashtrays in a kind of monolog of slow 
motion, developing her own space. Freddy tossed 
the theater tickets they didn’t use into the greasy 
blue flames and announced, “There's twenty-two 
bucks up the chimney.” 

"Did you really want to go? Wasn't this nicer? 
Just us?” 

“We can be just us any time. We can only see The 
Belle of Amherst this week.” 

“Freddy, you really did want to go. I'm sorry, I 
was just so tired, I still (continued on page 276) 


077 


“Could you put your clothes on, ma'am? You're scaring the horses!” 


WOMEN OF THE 


SEVENTIES 


BARBI BENTON She met Hef in 1968 on the set of 
his Playboy After Dark TV show, they had their first 
date that very night. Soon his main squeeze—their 
relationship was to span eight years—she was formally 
introduced to readers in Barbi Doll (March 1970). 


RAQUEL WELCH In the text accompanying Decem- 
ber 19795 photographic tribute to Raquel, Buck Henry 
compares this cultural icon to the fabled Helen of 

Troy. Playboy's editors, in a more contemporary mood, 
simply label her “America’s premiere sex symbol.” 


MARGOT KIDDER We could 

publish her pictures— 

“Prettiest ever taken of me,” | 

she said—if she could write | 

the accompanying text. 4 
The felicitous results (left) аге + А 

іп our March 1975 issue. = | Қ 


SARAH MILES Her love 
scenes with Kris Kristofferson Ey = 
sear the screen in The Sailor n 
Who Fell from Grace with Ц 
the Sea—not to mention 1 
Playboy's July 1976 pages, | = 
with even hotter outtakes. m, = “ 


BARBARA BACH We've | 
prided ourselves іп uncover- 

ing the coming attractions of 

James Bond films, such as 

Bach, who stars in Bonded | 
Barbara (June 1977) and in 

The Spy Who Loved Me. = 


DEBRA JO FONDREN With her 
siiken blonde tresses, she could have 
starred in a movie version of 
Rapunzel; instead, this сотеіу Техап 
became Miss September 1977 

and 19785 Playmate of the Year. 


MARILYN CHAMBERS Lovelace's 
rival as porn queen of the Seventies, 
the star of Behind the Green Door 
(and former Ivory Snow soapbox 
model) comes clean (below) in 

Sex, Soap and Success (April 1974). 


VERUSCHKA Franco Rubartelli shot LINDA LOVELACE She has 
unforgettable pictures of this hot since eaten her words, but for April 
model, a.ka. Countess Vera 1973: Say “Ahl,” porn's champion 
Gottlieb von Lehndorff, for the sword swallower (right) told a 
Playboy pictorial Stalking the Wild Playboy staffer that "Deep Throat 
Veruschka (January 1971, above). was really just me, acting naturally." 


LINDA EVANS The second of John Derek's wives to CANDY LOVING Our Silver Anniversary Playmate was 


be caught by his camera for Playboy, Linda was consid- given the run of Chicago's Playboy Mansion—including 
ering abandoning TV at the time she posed for Bloom- the famous round bed—for August 1979's Another Lov- 
ing Beauty (July 1971). Dynasty fans are glad she didn't. ing Look, a memorable sequel to her January gatefold. 


ELKE SOMMER Another husbandly tribute to a photo- CLAUDIA JENNINGS Miss November 1969 and the 
genic actress/wife: Elke (September 1970, near right), 1970 Playmate of the Year, Claudia (far right) enjoyed a 
with pictures and text by Joe Hyams. As readers will flourishing film career as “Queen of the B's"—cut 


soon releam, Sommer still wears her summers well. tragically short by a fatal auto accident in 1979. 


LIV LINDELAND Readers 

and editors fell for Liv—whose name 
means “life” in her native Norwe- 
gian—crowning her Playmate of the 
Year in 1972. She's best known for 
her January 1971 gatefold (below), 
first to reveal pubic hair, 


PATTI MCGUIRE Miss Novem- 

ber 1976 adoms the cover of the 
issue that features Jimmy Carter's 
notorious “lust in the heart” Playboy 
Interview. Patti, who became 1977's 
Playmate of the Year, is married 

to tennis champ Jimmy Connors. 


DOROTHY STRATTEN A decade 
after Claudia Jennings’ reign, 1980's 
Playmate of the Year (Miss August 
1979) also met an untimely demise. 
Her murder by a jealous husband 
(subject of the film Star 80) scrawled 
“the end” on her Hollywood career. 


> 


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ТНЕ 


ЇЇ 


SEEMS LIKE OLD TIMES АТ PLAYBOY AS SEXUAL POLITICS ТАКЕ А 
SHARP RIGHT TURN 


AY YOU LIVE in interesting times,” goes the old Chi- 
nese curse. Well, things got real interesting for 
Playboy ın the Eighties. Americans were being held 
hostage by the ayatollah, interest rates were high 
and we had a President who carried his own lug- 
gage. What’s worse, no one had yet had the decen- 
cy to put disco out of its misery. When Reagan was 
elected, those of us who disagreed with his politics thought, 
Atleast he'll lay off Playboy; he wants government off the peo- 
ple's backs. But поооооооооо. Instead, we got more self-right- 
eous finger wagging than in any decade since the Fifties. And 
Lord, those TV evangelists. .. . 

We lobbed a warning at our readers as early as 1980 with 
Heavenly Hosts, a viewer's guide to television preachers, and 
The Astonishing Wrongs of the New Moral Right. Later on in 
the decade, we would publish James Baldwin's powerful mem- 
oir of evangelism, To Crush the Serpent, which was nominated 
for a National Magazine Award. (And in 1985 we'd win one for 
the general excellence of our fiction.) 

In December 1980, in one of those moments of uncanny 
timing ‘that seem a heritage of Playboy journalism, John 

last interview was on the stands the night he was 
he had said to us, speaking of 
King and Gandhi, “when you're such a pacifist, you get shot?” 

In a decade of media fixation on celebrities, People 
magazine, Entertainment Tonight, Phil and Oprah were in a 
feeding Frenzy. Did Playboy lower itself to join in? You bet we 
did—but while everybody else was trying to catch celebrities 
with their hair down, our hunch was that you'd enjoy seeing 
them with their clothes off. So, as a public service, we offered 
exclusive uncoverage of the perfect-ten Bo Derek, the still- 
sultry Joan Collins, the ripe Vikki LaMotta, that all-Ameri- 
can letter turner, Vanna White, the fundamental Jessica Hahn 
(before and after) and a young Madonna hot enough to make 
you understand why Sean Penn punched out photographers. 

In the spirit of equal time for men, we photographed Steve 
Martin ina diaper for the cover of our New Year's issue in Jan- 


uary 1980, and in the Playboy Interview solicited his insights 
into dealing with this confusing decade: When in doubt, he 
advised, get sılly. Make that very silly. We also sat down with 
Bill Cosby and asked him to explain how the Huxtables had 
managed to become white America’s favorite family. And long 
before it turned up on TV and movie screens, Patricia Hearst 
told us the story of her improbable transformation from 
heiress to terrorist to middle-class housewife. Before he was 
discovered by ABC, we sent Ron Reagan off on assignment to 
such exotic foreign capitals as Moscow and San Francisco. 

For those who like their celebrities in smaller portions, we 
began serving a regular snack called 20 Questions. And a cou- 
ple of up-front columns have made real waves with readers. 
For a decade in which the sexes seem to be going through an 
agonizing reappraisal of their identities and interrelation- 
ships, we posed the paradox: If we're equal, how come we're 
not the same? And offered Asa Baber and Cynthia Heimel 
space to геНесі on.the answer every month. Since there аге 
many magazines that wouldn't consider themselves fully 
dressed without а Men or а Women column anymore, im- 
modesty compels us to admit that Playboy was among the first. 

We had a couple of, ah, interesting moments in 1986 after 
Attorney General Meese sent a pornography commission on 
tour. It got poor reviews and closed out of town. For a while, 
though, there seemed to bea TV evangelist оп every channel. 
Well, we came through those moments better than ever. Now 
the commission is history; the Attorney General is gone, un- 
der a cloud; the TV evangelists have been canceled; and even 
the amiable President who so affected this decade is headed 
for the ranch. 

But to us, it was like a whiff of war paint. We had already 
swapped our staples for a sleeker look and redesigned the in- 
side of the magazine to keep pace with the times. 

It's the new us. 

Or is it? Here we are, at the end of the Eighties, talking back 
to the prudes, publishing good writers, chasing the bad guys, 
looking for pretty girls. Seems like old times. 


ILLUSTRATION BY JOANN OALEY 


TOURIST TRAD 
when they spent the night together, 
more than the earth moved 


fiction By ROBERT SILVERBERG 
THE CENTAURAN, seeing the red carnation in Eitel's 
pel, lifted his arm in a gesture like the extend- 
of a telescopic tube, and the woman smiled. 

Jas an amazing smile and it caught Eitel a lit- 
because for an instant, it made him 

entauran were back on Centaurus 

were sitting here alone. Не 

He was here to do a deal, 


“Hans Eitel, of Zurich,” he said. 

“Т am Anakhistos,” said the Centauran. His 
voice was like something out of a synthesizer, 
which perhaps it was, and his face was utterly 
opaque, a flat, motionless mask. For vision, he 
had a single bright strip of receptors an inch 
wide around his forehead; for air intake, he had 

le vents on his cheeks; and for eating, he had a 
three-sided oral slot, like the swinging top of a 
trash basket. “We are very happied you have 


ILLUSTRATION BY PATER SATO 


PLAYBOY 


come,” һе said. “This is Agila.” 

Eitel allowed himself to look straight at 
her. It was dazzling but painful, a little 
like staring into the sun. Her hair was 
red and thick, her eyes were emerald and 
very far apart, her lips were full, her 
teeth were bright. She was wearing a 
vaguely futuristic metal-mesh sheath, 
green, supple, clinging. What she looked 
like was something that belonged on a 
3-D billboard, one of those unreal, ideal- 
ized women who turn up in the ads for 
cognac or skiing holidays in Gstaad. 
There was something a little freakish 
about such excessive beauty. A profes- 
sional, he decided. 

То the Centauran he said, “This is a 
great pleasure for me. To meet a collector 
of your stature, to know that I will be 
able to be of assistance" 

“And a pleasure also for ourself. You 
are greatly recommended to me. You 
are called knowledgeable, discreet ——" 

“The traditions of our family. 1 was 
bred to my métier.” 

“We are drinking mint tea,” the wom- 
an said. “Will you drink mint tea with 
us?” Her voice was warm, deep, unfamil- 
iar. Swedish? Did they have redheads in 
Sweden? 

The waiter poured the tea in the tradi- 
tional way, cascading it down into the 
glass from three feet up. Eitel repressed a 
shudder. He admired the elaborate Mo- 
roccan cuisine, but the tea appalled him: 
hypersaccharine stuff—instant diabetes. 

She took a long pull of her mint tea, 
letting the syrupy stuff slide down her 
throat like motor oil. Then she wriggled 
her shoulders in a curious way. Eitel saw 
flesh shift interestingly beneath the 
metal mesh. Surely she was professional. 
Surely. He found himself speculating on 
whether or not there could be anything 
sexual going on between these two. He 
doubted that it was possible, but you nev- 
er could tell. More likely, though, she was 
merely one of the stellar pieces in 
Anakhistos' collection of the high-quality 
Earthesque: an object, an artifact. Eitel 
wondered how Anakhistos had managed 
to find her so fast. Was there some serv- 
ice that supplied visiting aliens with the 
finest of escorts, at the finest of prices? 

He was picking up an aroma from her 
now, not unpleasant but very strange: 
caviar and cumin? Sturgeon poached in 
Chartreuse? 

She signaled to the waiter for yet an- 
other tea. To Eitel she said, “The problem 
of the export certificates —do you think 
itis going to get worse?” 

That was unexpected and admirable, 
he thought. Discover what your client's 
concerns are, make them your own. 

He said, “It is a great difficulty, is it 
not?” 

“I think of little else,” said the Centau- 
ran, leaping in as if he had been waiting 
for Agila to provide the cue. “To me it 


is an abomination. These restrictions on 
removing works of art from your plan- 
et, these humiliating inspections, this 
agitation, this outcry for even tighter lim- 
itations—what will it come to?" 

Soothingly, Eitel said, "You must try to 
understand the nature of the panic. We 
are a small, backward world that has 
lived in isolation until just a few years 
ago. Suddenly, we have stumbled into 
contact with the great galactic civiliza- 
tions. You come among us, you are fasci- 
nated by us and by ourartifacts, you wish 
to collect our things. But we can hardly 
supply the entire civilized universe. 
There are only a few Leonardos, a few 
Vermeers; and there are so many of you. 
So there is fear that you will sweep upon 
us with your immense wealth, with your 
vast numbers, with your hunger for our 
art, and buy everything of value that 
we have ever produced and carry it off 
to places a hundred light-years away. 
So these laws are being passed.” 

“But 1 am not here to plunder! 1 am 
here to make legitimate purchase!” 

“I understand completely” Eitel said. 
He risked putting his hand gently, com- 
passionately on the Centaurans arm. 
Some of the E.Ts resented any intimate 
contact of this sort with Earthfolk. But 
apparently the Centauran didn’t mind. 
The alien's rubbery skin felt soft and 
smooth, like the finest condom imaginable. 

“Do you dance?” Agila said suddenly. 

He looked toward the dance Нсог The 
Rigelians were lurching around in a pre- 
posterously ponderous way, like dancing 
bears, Some Arcturans were on the 
dance floor, too, and a few Procyonites, 
bouncing up and down like bundles of 
shiny metal rods, and a Steropid doing 
an eerie pas seul in dreamy circles. 

“Yes, of course,” he said, startled. 

“Please dance with me?” 

He glanced uneasily toward the Cen- 
tauran, who nodded benignly She 
smiled and said, “Anakhistos does not 
dance. But I would like to. Would you 
oblige те?” 

Ейе! took her hand and led her out on- 
to the floor. Once they were dancing, he 
was able to regain his calm. He moved 
easily and well. Some of the Е.Л:5 were 
openly watching them—they had such 
curiosity about humans sometimes—but 
the staring didn't bother him. He found 
himself registering the pressure of her 
thighs against his thighs, her firm, heavy 
breasts against his chest. 

He said, “Agila is an interesting name. 
Israeli, is i?" 

“No,” she said. 

The way she said it, serenely and very 
finally, left him without room to maneu- 
ver. He was full of questions—who was 
she, how had she hooked up with the 
Centauran, what was her deal, how well 
did she think Eitel’s own deal with the 
Centauran was likely to go? But that one 


cool syllable seemed to have slammed a 
curtain down. He concentrated on danc- 
ing instead. She was supple, responsive, 
skillful. And yet, the way she danced was 
as strange as everything else about her: 
She moved almost as if her feet were 
some inches off the floor. Odd. And her 
voice—an accent, but what kind? He had 
been everywhere, and nothing in his ex- 
perience matched her way of speaking, a 
certain liquidity in the vowels, a certain 
resonance in the phrasing, as though she 
were hearing echoes as she spoke. She 
had to be something truly exotic—a Finn, 
а Bulgar, and even those did not seem ex- 
ойс enough. Albanian? Lithuanian? 

Most perplexing of all was her aroma. 
Eitel was gifted with a sense of smell wor- 
thy of a perfumer, and he heeded a wom- 
ans fragrance the way more ordinary 
men studied the curves of hip or bosom 
or thigh. Out of the pores and the axillae 
and the orifices came the truths of the 
body, he believed, the deepest, the most 
trustworthy, the most exciting communi- 
cations; he studied them with rabbinical 
fervor and the most minute scientific 
zeal. But he had never smelled anything 
like this, a juxtaposition of incongruous 
spices, a totally baffling mix of flavors. 
Some amazing new perfume? 

And then he understood. He realized 
now that the answer, impossible and im- 
plausible and terrifying, had been beck- 
oning to him all evening and that he 
could no longer go on rejecting it, impos- 
sible or not. And in the moment of ac- 
cepting it, he heard a sound within 
himself much like that of a wind begin- 
ning to rise. 

Eitel began to tremble. He had never 
felt himself so totally defenseless before. 

He said, “Its amazing how human you 
seem to be.” 

"Seem to be?" 

“Outwardly identical in every way. I 
didn't think it was possible for life forms 
of such adegree of similarity to evolve on 
different worlds.” 

“It isn’t,” she said. 

“You're not from Earth, though.” 

She was smiling. She seemed almost 
pleased, he thought, that he had seen 
through her masquerade. 

“No.” 

“What are you, then?” 

“Centauran.” 

Eitel closed his eyes a moment. The 
wind was a gale within him; he swayed 
and struggled to keep his balance. He 
was starting to feel as though he were 
conducting this conversation from a 
point somewhere behind his own right 
ear. “But Centaurans look like ——” 

“Like Anakhistos? Of course we do, 
when we are at home. But I am not at 
home now.” 

“I don't understand.” 

“This is my traveling body” she said. 

(continued on page 286) 


"It's а beautiful honeymoon, dear, but I still miss my vibrator.” 


227 


R E 


(Fa) 


a close friend reads the man between the playwrights lines 


memoir by 


ї К 


ETA 


U 


[2 


ІШІ А 


т 
© | 


N 
E 


“TENNESSEE WILLIAMS DEAD AT 71” 


SO ANNOUNCED the headline on the front 
page of The New York Times. He had stran- 
gled, it turned out, while using a plastic 
bottle cap to take barbiturates; incredibly, 
the cap had popped down his throat and 
choked him to death. All of this had hap- 
pened at the Elysée, a curious little hotel 
located in the East 50s. Actually, Tennessee 
had an apartment in New York. But when 
he was in the city, he always stayed at the 
Elysée. The apartment, a small jumble of 
sparsely furnished rooms “conveniently” 
located on West 42nd Street, was reserved 
for the entertainment of kind strangers. 

It was a strange end for a man obsessed 
witha rather poetic concept of death. Even 
as a young man, he was convinced that the 
next day would be his last. The only seri- 
ous quarrel we ever had involved his 
hypochondriac sensitivity to this subject. 
At the time, he had a play in rehearsal: 
Summer and Smoke. We were having din- 
ner together, and to amuse him (1 
thought), I began to tell him stories I had 
heard from members of the cast about the 
plays director, a woman from Texas. It 
seemed that at every rehearsal, she would 
assemble the cast and tell them what an ef- 


fort they must make, how hard they must 
work, “because this flower of genius is 
"lenn's last. He is dying. Yes, he is a dying 
man with only months to live. He told me 
so himself. Of course, he's always daiming 
to be dying. But this time, I'm afraid it's 
true. Even his agent believes it.” 

Far from amusing my old friend, the 
anecdote enraged him. First he broke 
glasses and plates, then he turned over the 
entire table and stalked out of the restau- 
rant, leaving me amazed—and also to pay 
for the destruction. 


. 

I was 16 years old when I met him. He 
was 13 years older than 1 was, a waiter at 
the Greenwich Village Café and a would- 
be playwright. We became great friends — 
it was really а sort of intellectual 
friendship, though people inevitably 
thought otherwise. In those early days, he 
used to give me all of his short, one-act 
plays to read, and we would act them out 
together. Gradually, over the years, we 
built up The Glass Menagerie. I would play 
the daughter. 

With his tendency toward around-the- 
clock sex and gin and general carousing, 
Tennessee, who was not a born survivor, 
probably would (concluded on page 282) 


PAINTING BY ANDY WARHOL 


е expected to ‘be sensitive, sympathetic 
"Pm A things were better. and split half the | household choi $ 


: За way to accept the concept of the 
jects. And:the rest of the world female orgasm and still command 
^ derstood: One false move and we'd tl 


to. ans, abuse women and find so ч 


somewhat impractical, : [ 
raise some important questions: - with offe le to adir the so- 
How—in а world in which you're cial tightrope that has come to be the 


world, the time has – 
come to draw the line - 


to imp; the toxic waste: 


PLAYBOY 


assembly lines. And formerly innocent 
pastimes such as barroom brawling, wag- 
ing war and whale hunting are no longer 
smiled upon by polite society. 

So what, then, makes someone a Real 
Man today? 

The answer is simple. 

A Real Man today is someone who can 
triumph over the challenges of modern 
society. 

Real Men, for example, don't buy flight 
insurance. 

Real Men aren't afraid to leave home 
without the American Express Card. 

Real Men don't count on the United 
Nations ("After 36 years, all its proved 
capable of doing is producing a nice 
Christmas card”). 

Real Men are secure enough to ad- 
mit they buy Playboy for more than the 
articles 

Basically, today’s Real Man is unaffect- 
ed by fads or fashion. In short, there's 
one phrase that sums up his existence: 
Real Men don't eat quiche. 


CHAPTER TWO 
Who's Who Among Real Men 


Essentially, the world can be divided 
into two categories of men: those who eat 
quiche and those who don't. 

Jimmy Carter, for example, eats 
quiche. George Bush doesn't. 

Elvis Presley was 2 Real Man; so was 
Anwar Sadat. John Chancellor, Curt 
Сомду, Pelé, George Harrison and Har 
гу Reasoner are Real Men. 

Morley Safer probably eats quiche; dit- 
to for Chevy Chase, Howard Baker, Ge- 
raldo Rivera, Tom Snyder and Wayne 
Newton. Paul McCartney eats quiche; по 
one is sure about Burt Reynolds. 

James Caan is a Real Man, and so are 
Robert Duvall and Jack Nicholson. Carol 
Burnett 15 а Real Man for taking on the 
National Enquirer. 

Robert Redford is too sensitive to be a 
Real Man; Alan Alda and Phil Donahue 
are terminally sincere quiche eaters. You 
can forget Halston—Real Men have two 
names. And Dick Cavett is eliminated 
simply because Real Men dont begin 
three out of four sentences with the 
phrase "When Woody and I...” 


REAL MAN QUIZ NUMBER ONE 


Q. How many Real Men does it take to 
change a light bulb? 

A. None. Real Men aren't afraid of the 
dark. 


CHAPTER THREE 


The Real Man; Credo 


Among Real Men, there has always 
been one simple rule: Never settle with 
words what you can accomplish with a 
flame thrower. 

(Given today's violent climate, however, 
its always best to defer to lunatics wield- 
ing howitzers, tanks, handguns or 9000- 


pound portable radios. Ivs a simple fact 
of life that no matter how tough and 
strong you are, it all means nothing if 
you're not alive to show it. This is an сх- 
ample of the modern Real Man's new- 
found intelligence—otherwise known as 
survival of the smartest.) 


CHAPTER FOUR 
The Real Man Vocabulary 


Real Men do not “relate” to anything. 
They do not have “meaningful dialogs.” 
They do not talk about “personal space,” 
“vibes,” “karma,” “bummers” or “shared 
experiences.” 

A Real Man cannot be “hung up” on 
anything. He doesn't care where some- 
body's “coming from"; hes not “into” 
anything and finds nothing “far out,” 
“cosmic,” “super” or “heavy.” 

And, most important, Real Men do not 
talk like Alexander Haig. When a simple 
yes or no answer is required, you will not 
hear one of these: 

“Well, according to our latest reports, 
at this point in time, within the usual 
parameters, answerwise, I'd have to re- 
spond with a definite guarded affirma- 
tive: The odds are good that I had 
quiche for dinner last night” Among 
Real Men, this is called “bullshit.” 


CHAPTER FIVE 


The Modern Real Man on Wheels 


Remember when being a Real Man 
meant fying down the highway at 100 
mph stone-drunk, with one hand оп а 17- 
year-old blonde and the other wrapped 
around a bottle of Schlitz? 

Fortunately, some things never 
change—and the automobile remains 
the sacred shrine of Real Men every- 
where. 

What do Real Men drive? 

Its simple: Chryslers—massive, hulk- 
ing, gas-guzzling Chryslers. Indy 500 
specials. With four-barrel carburetors, 
automatic transmissions and 5,000,000 
cubic inches under the hood. 

Real Men, after all, are realistic: 

How are you ever going to lose a state 
trooper in a Honda? 


REAL MAN QUIZ NUMBER TWO 


Q. How many Real Men does it take to 
crossa river? 

A. It takes 5000: 4999 to build the sus- 
pension bridge and one to drive across in 
a tractor trailer. 


CHAPTER SIX 
Great Moments in Real Man Literature 


“Strike a match,’ I said to Tex. ...I 
put the unburned outside of my left fore- 
arm directly over the flame.” 

—С. GORDON LIDDY 
in his autobiography, Will 


CHAPTER SEVEN 
Great Moments in Real Man History 


1440 вс. Moses parts the Red Sea. 

62 кс. Roman government completes 
highway system and issues first road 
map for summer vacationers. Real Men 
promptly start tradition of ignoring the 
map and refusing to make bathroom 
stops. A Roman gladiator on holiday ех- 
plains to his son: “Real Men can hold 
their urine.” 

1162 Genghis Khan develops role of 
Genghis Khan for Charles Bronson. 

1484 Leonardo invents the tank. 

1533 Henry VIII divorces Catherine 
of Aragon and marries Anne Boleyn; in- 
troduces concept of disposable wives. 

1618 Thirty Years' War begins. 

1762 First poker game. 

1773 Boston Tea Party. Real Men throw 
tea into harbor, demanding black coffee. 

1866 Jack Daniel’s introduced. 

1880 Dodge City, Kansas: first use of 
phrase “This town isnt big enough for 
both of us.” 

1923 Chuck Yeager born. 

1930 Clarence Birdseye introduces 
frozen food. 

1933 Prohibition repealed. 

Junc 6, 1944 156,000 Real Men storm 
French beaches at Normandy. 

1946 First bikini appears on same 
beaches. 

1948 Invention of the chain saw. 

1955 The Honeymooners airs. 

1962 First pop-top beer can. 

1964 The Pontiac CTO is introduced. 

1967 Super Bowl I. 

1974 Ali beats Foreman in Zaire. 

1979 Lee Marvin wins palimony case 
brought by Michelle Triola. 


CHAPTER ЕК 
Sex, Romance 
and the Modern Real Man 


"Today's Real Man is charming, enlight- 
ened, kind and understanding—at least 
until he knows a woman long enough to 
take her for granted (say, three weeks). 

A few other notes: 

1. Real Men don't like to “do it" on the 
first date. It makes them feel cheap. 

9. Real Men are no longer looking for a 
girl just like Mom—because Mom had no 
idea about 5/М, bondage or the more in- 
teresting uses for a video camera. 

3. Real Men offer to provide birth con- 
trol. 

4. Real Men have actually learned to 
enjoy it on the bottom. 

5, Real Men are quieter than most Real 
Women. 

6. Real Men still ask if it was good. 

7. Real Men still send flowers the next 
дау. 

What the old-style Real Man looked for 
in a woman: Trust funds. Big breasts. 

What today's Real Man looks for in а 
woman: Personality, intelligence, kind- 
ness, a sense of humor, a good job, a good 

(concluded on page 327) 


“Chemical spill? What chemical spill? Anybody here know 
anything about a chemical spill?” 


233 


234 


YOU MUST 
REMEMBER 


ІНІ 


he lies between ilsa’s silky thighs and wonders 
what it will cost him 


ın By ROBERT COOVER ikas 
fiction КУУ in Ricks 
apartment. Black-leader dark, heavy and abstract, silent but for a faint hoarse 
crackle like a voiceless plaint and brief as sleep. Then Rick opens the door and the 
light from the hall scissors in like a bellboy to open up space, deposit surfaces 
(there is a figure in the room), harbinger event (it is Ива). Rick follows, too preoc- 
cupied to notice: His café is closed, people have been shot, he has troubles. But 
then, with a stroke, he lights a small lamp (such a glow! The shadows retreat, ev- 
erything retreats: Where are the walls?), and there she is, facing him, holding 
open the drapery at the far window like the front of a nightgown, the light 
flickering upon her white but determined face like static. Rick pauses for a mo- 
ment in astonishment. Ilsa lets the drapery and its implications drop, takes a step 
forward into the strangely fretted light, her eyes searching his. 

“How did you get in?” he asks, though this is probably not the question on his 
mind. 

“The stairs from the street.” 

This answer seems to please him. He knows how vulnerable he is; after all, it’s 
the way he lives—his doors are open, his head is bare, his tuxedo jacket is snowy 
white—that’s not important. What matters is that by (continued on page 290) 


ILLUSTRATION BY JEFF GOLD 


PLAYBOY 


“Miss Reynolds, I'm afraid the patients 
Blue Cross doesn't cover that.” 


THE PLAYBOY INTERVIEW 


candid conversations with tus towering dad, the most influential 
songwriter of his generation and his wife, and a captivating heiress 


BILL COSBY 


PLAYBOY: What does it feel like to be an 
American institution? 

COSBY: Well, except for the fact that I was 
16 pounds lighter 16 years ago, it feels 
good. Its been good. 1 remember 1969 
very well. Couple of things have hap- 
pened since. [Grins through cigar smoke] 
Right about then, I had four albums in 
the top ten at the same time, and I don't 
think even Elvis Presley ever did that. 
Now, that was a high. Winning the Em- 
mys was a high, then going on to do my 
ТУ specials. . . . 111 tell you, when I was 
growing up in a lower-economic neigh- 
borhood in Philadelphia, these were 
things I thought happened only to peo- 
ple on the radio. 

PLAYBOY: For readers who may not know 
that there was such a thing as life before 
television, what do you mean by that? 
созвү: Oh, old radio programs, like The 
Lux Radio Theater. The announcer 
would say, “There goes Humphrey Bo- 
gart" or "Sitting next to me is Edward С. 
Robinson.” Pd picture those guys in my 
mind—I'm sure they weren't there—but 
thats how some (concluded on page 301) 


a 


HOWARO BINGHAM 
“T wanted to talk to husbands and put a few 
messages ош every now and then. Father- 
ing a child isn’t about being a macho man, 
and if you think it is, youre making a terri- 
ble mistake. It's about becoming a parent.” 


JOHN LENNON/ 
YOKO ONO 


PLAYBOY: The word is out: John Lennon 
and Yoko Ono are back in the studio, 
recording again for the first time since 
1975, when they vanished from public 
view. Let's start with you, John. What 
have you been doing? 

LENNON: Гуе been baking bread and 
looking after the baby. 

PLAYBOY: Why did you become a house- 
husband? 

LENNON: There were many reasons. 1 
had been under obligation or contract 
from the time I was 22 until well into my 
30s. After all those years, it was all I 
knew. I wasn't free. 1 was boxed in. My 
contract was the physical manifestation 
of being in prison. It was more important 
to face myself and face that reality than 
to continue a life of rock and roll—and to 
go up and down with the whims of either 
your own performance or the public's 
opinion of you. Rock and roll was not fun 
anymore. I chose not to take the standard 
options іп my (concluded on page 270) 


LENNON: “Everyone talks about a good 
thing coming to an end, as if life was over. 
But ГИ be 40 when this interview comes 
ош. Elton John, Bob Dylan—we're all relative- 
by young people. The game isr’t over yet.” 


PATRICIA HEARST 


PLAYBOY: Let’s go back to that night of 
February 4, 1974. You and Steven [Weed, 
her boyfriend at the time] were in your 
Berkeley apartment when there was a 
knock on the door. The next thing you 
know youre being carried outside, 
screaming, and thrown into the trunk of 
а car. What was going through your 
mind? 

HEARST: I just remember screaming my 
head off as loud as I could. I wanted the 
whole world to hear. It’s really hard to 
describe sheer terror. You just don't com- 
prehend being kidnaped unless it hap- 
pens to you. I don't believe there's 
anything quite like it. I just remember 
feeling cold, numb and scared. 

PLAYBOY: Did you ever find it darkly hu- 
morous that Steven was shouting, “Take 
anything you want," to them and — 
HEARST: Yes, of course. Кіріп. “Gee, 
thanks, well take her" Thar's probably 
why I said, “No, no, not me.” [Laughs] 
"Take the stereo! 

PLAYBOY: You were taken to an apartment. 
in San Francisco and kept blindfolded in 
a small closet (continued on page 302) 


LARRY L LOGAN 
“It would have been crazy nol lo have 
joined [the Symbionese Liberation Army]. 
They would have killed me. It would take 
more guts to say, ‘Never, I'd rather die.’ I'm 
sorry, Га a coward. I бат! want to die. 


THE 
SONKEN WOUN 


he watched her that evening as closely as he dared, 
and he thought that he might fall in love with her 


fiction 


By SVR CAROLOATES 


HE HAD BEEN FAMOUS as Liscl—sim- 
ply “Lisel”—for a period of about 18 months, And then her fame had 
been primarily a downtown phenomenon: She had done some modeling, 
she had been interviewed, she had been featured іп a number of Myron 
Falk's “experimental” films. Beyond Manhattan, it was doubtful that any- 
one had ever heard of her—or that her name was remembered for more 
than those quick 18 months. 

Still, to be “famous” even on those terms—to have been simply Lisel 
for those months — 

Constantine, who knew better, whose entire career (as a playwright, a 
poet, a critic, a hopeful man of letters) was predicated on his knowing 
better, nevertheless felt the power of her queer near-mute impassivity. 
“The first time he saw her, at a crowded party in Myron Falk's studio-loft, 
he had been much taken; and he hadn't even known her name at that 
time; in fact, she had had no name. She wasn't Lisel yet—she was simply 
another of Falk's freaks, a discovery he had made off the street (in Lisel’s 
case, it had been Seventh Avenue down around Houston—and although 
опе of the nastier tales made her out to have been soliciting, her activity 
had really been quite innocent: She had been lost). There was the sweet- 
faced and highly verbose homosexual dancer Gary; the 6'5" giantess 
Martha Blount, with her gift for improvised comedy; the street kid Win 
(who, like Lisel, had drifted to New York from the Midwest but seemed 
the very quintessence of the Village—and who, like Lisel, had come close 
to killing himself with drugs): These “stars,” these “names,” were all dis- 
coveries of Myron Falk's. He attracted them. He collected them. They 
were his “chicks.” He did not enlist them for his films so much as he 
improvised films to contain them. Working (continued on page 318) 


ILLUSTRATION BY MEL ODOM 


Т TIMES 
FAS T 
RIDGEMONT 


HIGH 


memoir By CAMERON CROWE 


їп the fall of 1979, the author re- 
turned to a high school he had attended 
briefly some years back. He registered as 
a student under an assumed name with 
the cooperation of the principal, who 
was the only one to know the secret. Be- 
cause of his youthful appearance, he was 
never under suspicion and was able to 
mingle freely in the classrooms, the 
schoolyard, the students’ homes and the 
fast-food parlors that were the focus of 
the lives of the kids in a typical town in 
California. The author has changed the 
name of the school, its location and the 
names of the students and teachers with 
whom he lived. The events and the di- 
alog, however, are real. 


MR. HAND. 


Stacy Hamilton took her seat in 
US. history on the first day of school. 
The third and final attendance bell 
rang. 

Тһе teacher came barreling down 
the aisle, then made a double-speed 
step to the green metal front door of 
the U.S. history bungalow. He kicked 
the door shut and /ocked it with the 
dead bolt. The windows гаШей in 
their frames. This man knew how to 
take the front of a classroom. 

“Aloha,” he said. “The name is Mr. 
Hand.” 

There was a lasting silence. He 
wrote his name on the blackboard. 
Every letter was a small explosion of 
chalk. 

“I have but one question for you on 
our first morning together,” the man 
said. “Can you attend my class?” 

He scanned the classroom full of 
curious sophomores, all of them with 


ILLUSTRATION BY CHARLES SHIELDS, 


being the 
true story of a 
year th high school 
reported by 
a witter in student 
disguise. rah! 


roughly the same look on their 
faces—there goes another summer. 

“Pakalo?” It was Hawaiian for “Do 
you understand?” 

Hand let his students take a 
good long look at him. In high 
school, where such crucial matters as 
confidence and social status can shift 
daily, there is one thing a student can 
depend on. Most people in high 
school look like their names. Mr. 
Hand was a perfect example, He had 
а porous, oblong face, just like a 
thumbprint. His stiff black hair rose 
up off his forehead like that of a late- 
night-television evangelist. Even at 
eight in the morning, his yellow Van 
Heusen shirt was soaked at the 
armpits. 

And he was not Hawaiian. 

The strange saga of Mr. Hand had 
been passed down to Stacy by her 
older brother Brad. Arnold Hand, 
Ridgemont’s U.S. history instructor, 
was one of those teachers. His was a 
special brand of eccentricity, the 
kind preserved only through Califor- 
nia state seniority laws. Mr. Hand 
had been at Ridgemont High for 
years, waging his highly theatrical 
battle against what he saw as the 
greatest threat to the youth of this 
Jand—truancy. 

Mr. Hand's other favorite activity 
was hailing the virtues of the three- 
bell system. At Ridgemont, the short 
first bell meant a student had three 
minutes to prepare for the end of the 
class. The long second bell dismissed 
the class. Then there were exactly 
seven minutes—and Мг Hand 
claimed that he personally fought the 
Education Center for those seven 

inutes—before the third and last at- 
(continued on page 304) 


FOR CRYIN о LOUD, 


SYMBOLIC SEX `0 


a sprightly probing of the signs of our times ES 
humor Ву DON ADDIS ОУ 


HE'S ОК, AS FAR. 
AS НЕ GOES 


G СО ] GONNA PIAY HARP Т5 GET, eH 2 


| DoNT KNOW Much ABoUT 
ART, Bor | KNOW WHAT 
I LIKE 


Guess Who! 


| ОМ You GUYS ARE 


OTHER THAN THAT, How Doing YouR BEST, BUT 
Do Yo) LIKE DooR-To-DocR SOMEBODY 15 GENS 
SALES WORK ? ROO GA To THE HAREM 
242 | © O 90 


“Pm not screwing my secretary, darling. This is my 
new boss, and shes screwing me!” 


243 


244 


HOW I INVENTED PLAYBOY 


there are two sides to every story—even ours 


humor BY BUGK HENRY 


Fifties, there was a scratching at my door. When I 

opened it, a bedraggled, sodden man fell into my 
apartment babbling incol Ку about needing money 
for a magazine. I thought, of course, that he wanted to 
buy Time or Newsweek to catch up on the news. Since 
that seemed like a nice thing for a man who was so 
down and out to want to do, I gave him 50 cents fora 
magazine. Apparently, it was that 50 cents that started 
what became this extraordinary empire. 

You can see why it’s difficult for me to discuss Playboy 
objectively. It’s not so much what Playboy has meant in 
my life as the part I've played in its life. | think if Hef — 
or “Ner,” as he is known to his closest friends—were to 
list the ten or 12 people who were most fundamental to 
the building of his empire, I'd be up there in the top 
two or three. He's had a lot of free—or at least cheap— 
advice from many people, but I've been the one who 
tried to give him a Zen sense of what to do in every 
area. He was always calling, asking for advice. I'd be in 
Paris at a gala party filled with movie stars and I'd get 
an emergency call from you-know-who, saying, “I’m 
stuck. What's my next move?” Often, one or two words, 
such as “Ace bandage” or “Reddi-Wip,” were all that he 
needed. Sometimes, it took hours of soothing advice. 

The Rabbit Head logo was not a suggestion I expect 
ed him to take seriously. It was a kind of joke. І had said 
something like, “If you're going to produce a fantasy 
for boys and girls to make them behave like rabbits, you 
may as well printit on lettuce.” Clearly, he was in a non- 
metaphorical mood and took me literally. 

As for the centerfold, 1 didn't say, “Look, why dont 
you put а foldout picture of a naked lady in the middle 
of the magazine?” What I did say—kiddingly of 
course—was, “If you want to sell the magazine, deliver 
it to the reader's door. And have a naked lady jump 
out” It was a whimsical notion; but, as usual, he took 
the idea seriously and ran with it. 

Tve also given him advice of a more personal nature. 
About 25 years ago, he was having trouble finding 
clothes that fit. He has a very odd build for a man and 
needs extra freedom to move his arms and smoke his 
pipe. I said, “Hef, you know what the Chinese do?" He 


L ATE ONE мент in Greenwich Village, early іп the 


didn't know. He didnt know about China. I said, “They 
wear pajamas. They don't bother with all that stuff.” 
Need I say more? I've probably saved him $60,000 in 
clothing bills. 

I remember dark, rainy evenings talking with Hef. 
I'd rattle off names. “Are you familiar with Jorge Luis 
Borges?" He didnt know who that was, so I'd tell him. 
"Do you know about Malcolm X? Have you heard of 
Lord Bertrand Russell? Jean-Paul Sartre? "Timothy 
Leary?” I tried to give him a sense of what people were 
looking for in literature, politics and philosophy. 

I hope you understand that none of this in the slight- 
est degree means 1 think that Playboy owes me anything 
materially, though 1 will say that people in similar situa- 
tions have heen well compensated. I read about a guy 
who invented a ratchet for Sears. He got a $1,000,000 
judgment and is going for more. A ratchet is just a tool. 
"That's hardly the unique and incalculable measure of 
the given idea—a couple of cogent, well-meant phrases 
that become 100 bound editions of an eagerly collected 
magazine and the awards and riches that follow. 

I've given Hef so much, in fact, that it would probably 
be difficult for him to know where to begin to repay me. 
For instance, there's the story I told him about some- 
thing that had happened to me. 1 had come upon а 
bizarre accident in the middle of the road late one 
night. A truck driver had crashed into a limousine, and 
the results were devastating — parts of the truck driver 
ended up in the back seat of the limousine with parts of 
what we later found out was the captain of an industrial 
empire. You couldn't tell one part from the other—they 
were just mangled men. If someone could find a way to 
bring the truck driver and the millionaire together in 
life, before death consigned them to that generalized 
country we will all visit someday, that person would be 
doing something truly meaningful. 

Hef was always taken by that story, and I like to think 
he was slightly inspired by it. And that's why we now 
have the truck driver barreling along the road reading 
astory by Jorge Luis Borges and the multimillionaire in 
the back seat of his limo, looking at those centerfolds 
and gently touching his pants. 


ILLUSTRATION BY CAVE WILLAROSON 


N 


EIGHTIES 


VANNA WHITE The letter-perfect lady from Wheel of MADONNA Like Vanna, and like Marilyn Monroe 
Fortune may represent the typical star of the Eighties: before either of them, Madonna Louise Ciccone mod- 
more celebrity than Hollywood heroine. See-throu; eled with little or nothing on in precelebrity days. The 
lingerie pictures for which she posed in her pre-Wheel Material Girl posed for art photographers and students; 


days make our May 1987 issue a collector's item. this shot introduces Sex Stars of 1985 (December). 


MARIEL HEMINGWAY Already ап established 
actress, she wanted the role of Dorothy Stratten 
in Star 80 so badly, she had her breasts augment- 
ed. A January 1984 pictorial covers the film, 


VIKKI LA MOTTA She was 51 when she posed 
for our November 1981 issue, and Vikki (left), 
stunning ex of boxer Jake, buried the canard that 
Playboy wouldn't feature “older women.” 


SHANNON TWEED The first of three Canadian-bred beauties to capture the boss's heart, Shannon became 
Miss November 1981 and 1982's Playmate of the Year. Her relationship with Hefner ended amicably when she 
decided to pursue an acting career, for some time, she has been the leading lady of Kiss's Gene Simmons, 
and the two are expecting a baby. This January 1983 shot is by veteran Hollywood glamor photographer Hurrell. 


JOAN COLLINS Seemingly shed of 
her inhibitions, not to mention that 
sheet she clutched in her 1969 
appearance, Joan swats a triple in our 
December 1983 issue. She's on the 
cover, in Sex Stars of 1983 and in her 
own pictorial with studies by 

Mario Casilli and (here) Hurrell. 


BRIGITTE NIELSEN In Manhattan 
to shoot her first Playboy pictorial in 


1985, she wangled Sylvester Stalione's 


attention by sending him her photo. 
By the time Herb Ritts focused his 
camera on Gitte for her third Playboy 
gig (December 1987), she and 

Sly had wed and split. 


VALERIE PERRINE Unknown 
when she made her film (and 
Playboy) bow with Slaughter- 
house-Five, this ex-Vegas 
showgirl has gone on to a 
Cannes Best Actress win and 
more pictorials: near right, 
Viva Valerie! (August 1981). 


TANYA ROBERTS The last 

of Charlie's Angels, Tanya suc- 
ceeded Farrah Fawcett and 
Sheiiey Hack in the hot ТУ 
series. Playboy readers can 
see a lot more of her in a 
feature about her movie The 
Beastmaster (October 1982). 


49419 
y PARE AN КИ n 
и! 


Д РУ | 


ELLEN STOHL Paralyzed in an auto 
accident, this plucky coed crusades for 
the rights of the disabled. Her July 1987 
pictorial (above) drew wide acciaim. 


BARBARA SCHANTZ The Springfield, Ohio, 
policewoman below posed for Beauty & 
the Badge (May 1982), which inspired a 
TV movie, Policewoman Centerfold. 


г 


KIMBERLEY CONRAD О Canada, we titled the January 1988 Playmate 
story of another north-of-the-border beauty; she was Бот in Alabama 
but called Vancouver her home. Kimberley turned out to be even more 
special than we'd realized; she's soon to become Mrs. Hugh M. Hefner. 


ROXANNE PULITZER After coming out on the short PENNY BAKER Lucky Penny, our 30th Anniversary 
end of a sensational society divorce trial, she told—and Playmate (below) was a New York model when she 
revealed (above) —all for Playboy in June 1985. More won our Great Playmate Hunt. Among her subsequent 
recently, she has written a book, The Prize Pulitzer. film credits: Million Dollar Mystery and The Меп Club. 


KATHY SHOWER Both mother and gatefold girl, Miss 
May 1985 was a popular choice as 1986 Playmate of 
the Year, her two daughters attended the announce- 
ment party. Meanwhile, her movie career is thriving. 


blew moviegoers away in the title role of “10,” which made 


Here's a shot from the first of her four Playboy pictorials. 


TERRY MOORE Her secret marriage to Howard 
Hughes had taken place 35 years earlier, but not until 
1983 did heirs to the billionaire's estate admit her claim. 
"Then The Merriest Widow posed for us (August 1984). 


BO DEREK Yet another of John Derek's brides, Bo 


her the pre-eminent sex symbol of the early Eighties. 


VANITY What is it about 
singers with single names? 
She may not collect the 
megabucks Madonna does, 
but Vanity makes an 

awesome impact on LP, video 
or screen (her Action Jackson 
debut coincided with these 
April 1988 Playboy photos). 


JESSICA HAHN The for- 

mer church secretary, who 
tells her story of abuse by 
fallen televangelist Jim Bakker 
in Playboy's November 1987 
issue, treated herself to some 
bodily improvements, show- 
cased in Jessica: A New Life 
(September 1988). 


KIM BASINGER We know a 
winner when we see one. So, 
in predicting stardom for Kim, 
did actor Sean Connery, 
writer George Plimpton and 
director Bob Fosse, whose 
lavish praises of this talented 
blonde accompany Betting on 
Kim (February 1983). 


año Its better 
than a partridge. 
And you dont 


need apear tree. 


WILD 


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BOOKS 


(continued from page 37) 
categories—in fact, two of them are comic 
books. Uncle Scrooge MeDuck: His Life & Times 
(Celestial Arts), written and drawn by Carl 
Barks, is a remarkable combination of 
history, art, economic satire and memoi 
Several inventive Uncle Scrooge co 
book stories from the early Fifties to the 
present are elucidated by their creator in a 
gorgeous full-color volume. In Japan, geki- 
ga, or adult comic books, often sell more 
than half a million copies, and Japan, Inc. 
(University of California), by Shotaro 
Ishinomori, is one of the most popular. 
This is a relatively sophisticated introdu 
tion to Japanese economics, in 313 pages of 
jazzy comic panels. 

Oversized picture books do a particular- 
ly good job of showing us large foreign 
places, and The Contemporary Atlas of China 
(Houghton Mifflin), while not a conven- 
tional travelog, delivers an impressive look 
into a still-mysterious country. This au- 
thoritative reference book is crammed 
with maps and charts and data, but it also 
contains readable, well-illustrated essays 
on topics that range from religion to food 
to politics. New York: Culture Capital of the 
World 1940-1965 (Rizzoli), edited by Leon- 
ard Wallock, captures the intellectual fer- 
ment and creative passion that poured out 
of New York City in a 25-year burst. The 
staggering array of talent surveyed easily 
fills this exciting volume and gives you a 
delicious slice of the Big Apple at its ripest. 

Finally, Hollywood chronicler Anne 
Edwards has conjured a biographical epic 
titled The DeMilles: An American Family 
(Abrams). Beginning with his 19th Centu- 
ry forebears and moving quickly to Cecil 
B.'s 70 movies, with special attention to The 
Ten Commandments and his other Biblical 
extravaganzas, Edwards tells the story of a 
multigenerational showbiz family. Other 
members of the clan, such as Cecil's niece 
Agnes, the legendary dancer and choreog- 
rapher, add unusual depth to this gener- 
ously illustrated family album. And that's 
the finishing touch on the holiday book 
line-up, so "Ready when you аге, S.C." 


BOOK ВАС 


Fast Copy (Simon & Schuster), by Dan 
Jenkins: Our man Jenkins spins quite a 
yarn about football (what else?), murder, 
romance and the newspaper bidness. 

Monte Carlo Chase (Van Der Marck), by 
LeRoy Neiman: Ninety-six pages of paint- 
ings and text as artist turns author in a 
fictional pursuit through Monaco. Clear off 
the coffee table: This one's a keeper. 

The Fox That Got Away (Lyle Stuart), by 
Stephen M. Silverman: This could be the 
sequel to The Rise and Fall of the Roman 
‚Empire. Instead, it’s the account of the last 
days of the Zanuck dynasty at 20th Cen- 
tury Fox. Rome was tamer. 


SPORTS 


(continued from page 47) 
hats, and, by and large, they've honored 
the most deserving teams. And so what if 
we continue to have seasons when two, 
three, even four schools lay claim to the 
mythical national championship? All we're 
talking about is a few extra bumper stickers. 

When it comes to college-football polls, I 
happen to be a scholar, which stems from 
being a lifelong fan of college football, the 
game that makes people go crazier than 
any other. 

The first ratings system was invented by 
a man named Frank Dickinson, an eco- 
nomics professor at the University of Ші- 
nois, back in the mid-Twenties. He devised 
a mathematical formula for selecting 
the nations top teams. In 1929, a mar- 
ket researcher named Dick Dunkel in 
Springfield, Ohio, came up with another 
formula, and in 1989, a geologist in New 
Orleans named Paul Williamson came up 
with yet another. The rankings of these 
men were syndicated in newspapers across 
the country and accepted as law by the 
fans. This is where polls came from. 

‘Today, of course, there are more polls 
than you can shake a jockstrap at. Every 
publication except Rod & Gun seems to be 
naminga national champion. / could name 
а national champion if I wanted to put out 
my own pamphlet. Fortunately, you don't 
need to pay any attention to most of the 
polls. The N.C.A.A., right for once, recog- 
nizcs only thosc national champions that 


have been selected by a grand total of eight 
reputable selectors since ratings systems 
began back in the Twenties. 

Those authorities are the Dickinson 
System (1924-1940); the Dunkel Index 
(1929-1987); the Williamson Rank- 
ings (1932-1963); the Associated Press 
(1936—1987); the Helms Athletic Founda- 
tion (1942-1982, with predated selections 
for earlier years); the United Press Inter- 
national (1950—1987); the Football Writers 
Association of America (1954-1987); and 
the National Football Foundation and Hall 
of Fame (1959-1987). 

This seemed like a good time to gel 
then all under one roof. Thatcharton the 
‘opening page displays the only recognized 
national champions of college football, as 
chosen by the leading authorities. 

Play as many games with the chart as 
you like, but here are a few facts: In the 
long history of polls, only 38 schools have 
won any kind of national championship 
and only 22 schools have won two or more. 
Notre Dame leads with 14, USC has 11 and 
Oklahoma and Alabama have ten each. 
Among coaches, OUS Barry Switzer has 
tied Bear Bryant with seven and looks like 
a lock to move ahead of the Bear before 
he’s done. 

Аз for those years when there is more 
than one claimant, everybody would do 
well to remember the words of Bryant, 
who once said to me, “All you need to win 
is one, then your fans can play like they 


won ‘em all.” 


“With whom am I having this meaningful relationship?” 


259 


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PLAYBOY 


CASTRO continue son ээ 


“Its true, everything that we say about the United 
States refers essentially to the worst aspects.” 


1 really was at that time. It is also possible 
that I was more radical than even I myself 
knew. Nobody сап say that he reaches cer- 
tain political conclusions except through a 
process. Nobody reaches those convictions 
іп а day, often not in a year. Long before I 
became a Marxist, I began to think of dif- 
ferent forms of the organization of pro- 
duction and of property, although in a 
completely idealistic way, without any sci- 
entific basis. You might say that I had be- 
gun to transform myself into a kind of 
utopian Socialist. At that time I had not 
read the Communist Manifesto. I had read 
hardly anything by Karl Marx. This was 
when I wasa studentin the second or third 
year of law. Later on, I did read the Mani- 
festo, and it made a deep impression on me; 
for the first time I saw a historical, system- 
atic explanation of the problem, phrased 
in a very militant way that captivated me 
completely. 

When Batista's coup d'état took place, ev- 
erything changed radically. My idea then 
became not to organize а movement but to 
try to unite all the different forces against 
Batista. I intended to participate in that 
suruggle simply as one more soldier. I be- 
gan to organize the first action cells, hop- 
ing to work alongside those leaders of the 
party who might be ready to fulfill the ele- 
mental duty of fighting against Batista. 

Ме had no money. But I said to my asso- 
ciates that we didn't have to import 
weapons from the outside, that our 
weapons were here, well oiled and cared 
for—in the stockades of Batista. It was to 
get hold of some of those weapons that we 
attacked the Moncada Barracks. 

PLAYBOY: What was your political stance at 
that time? 

CASTRO: My political ideas then were ex- 
pressed in my speech “History Will Ab- 
solve Me” to the court during our trial 
after the Moncada attack. Even then I 
analyzed the class composition of our soci- 
ety, the need to mobilize the workers, the 
farmers, the unemployed, the teachers, the 
intellectual workers and the small propri- 
elors against the Batista regime. Even then 
I proposed a program of planned develop- 
ment for our economy, utilizing all the 
resources of the country to promote its 
economic development. My Moncada 
speech was the seed of all the things that 
were done later on. It could be called 
Marxist if you wish, but probably a true 
Marxist would have said that it was not. 
Unquestionably, though, it was ап ad- 
vanced revolutionary program. And that 
program was openly proclaimed. 


ggg PLAYBOY: Wouldn't you admit that many of 


those middle- and upper-class Cubans who 
followed you because they believed in your 
program for five elections later had the 
right to feel deceived? 

CASTRO: I told no lies in the Moncada 
speech. That was how we thought at the 
moment; those were the honest goals we 
set ourselves. But we have since gone be- 
yond that program and are carrying out a 
much more profound revolution. 

PLAYBOY: In the five years since you an- 
nounced the true nature of the revolution 
and began to institute its sweeping social 
changes, several hundred thousand 
Cubans have renounced their country and 
fled to the United States. If the revolution 
is really for the good of the people, how do 
you account for this mass exodus? 

CASTRO: There were many different rea- 
sons. Many of those who emigrated were 
declassed. Lumpen elements who had lived 
from gambling, prostitution, drug traffic 
and other illicit activities before the revo- 
lution. They have gone with their vices to 
Miami and other cities in the United 
States, because they couldn't adapt them- 
selves to a society that has eradicated those 
social ills. Before the revolution, many 
stringent requirements were imposed on 
people applying for emigration to the 
United States; but after the revolution, 
even such unsavory parasites as these were 
admitted for the asking. All they had to do 
was say they were against communism. 

It is our thesis that no revolutionary 
movement, no guerrilla movement that 
is supported by the peasant population 
сап be defeated—unless, of course, the 
revolutionary leaders commit very grave 
errors. 

At the present time, the major concern 
of the United States seems to be to find a 
way by which revolutions outside of the 
United States can be avoided. Unquestion- 
ably, the United States today represents the 
most reactionary ideas in the world. And I 
think that they cause grave danger both to 
the world and to the people of the United 
States themselves. 

PLAYBOY: What do you mean by “reaction- 
ary ideas”? 

CASTRO: 1 mean especially its self-appoint- 
ed role of world gendarme, its desire to im- 
pose outside its frontiers the kind of 
government system it thinks other states 
and other peoples should have. The fact 
that the United States was itself at one time 
in the revolutionary avant-garde and had 
established the best and the most ad- 
vanced political institutions of its time is 
one of the historical factors that greatly 


contributed to the eminence and develop- 
ment of that country. 

PLAYBOY: Ло what extent does the curricu- 
lum in Cuban schools include political in- 
doctrination? 

CASTRO: What you call political indoctrina- 
tion would perhaps be more correctly 
called social education; after all, our chil- 
dren are being educated to live in a Com- 
munist society, From an early age, they 
must be discouraged from every egotisti- 
cal feeling in the enjoyment of material 
things, such as the sense of individual 
property, and be encouraged toward the 
greatest possible common effort and the 
spirit of cooperation. 

Р1АҮВОҮ: Could an author who wrote a 
novel that contained counterrevolutionary 
sentiments get it published in Cuba? 
CASTRO: At present, no. The day will come 
when all the paper and printing resources 
will be available; that is, when such a book 
would not be published to the detriment of 
a textbook or of a book having universal 
value in world literature. One will then be 
able to argue whatever one wishes about 
any theme. І am a partisan of the widest 
possible discussion in the intellectual 
realm. Why? Because I believe in the free 
man. 

PLAYBOY: Why isn't such an atmosphere 
possible at the present time? 

Castro: It would be an illusion to think it 
was. First, on account of the economic 
problems involved, and second, because of 
the struggle in which we are engaged. 
PLAYBOY: Is it also in the name of that 
“struggle” that the Cuban press writes so 
one-sidedly about the United States? 
CASTRO: I'm not going to tell you that we 
don't do that. It's true, everything that we 
say about the United States refers essen- 
tially to the worst aspects, and it is very 
rare that things in any way favorable to the 
United States will be published here. We 
simply have a similar attitude to the atti- 
tude of your country toward Cuba. The 
only difference is that we do not write 
falsehoods about the United States. I em- 
phasize the worst things, we omit things 
that could be viewed as positive, but we do 
not invent any lies. 

PLAYBOY: What role do you yourself expect 
to play in the government of the future, 
once the party is fully established and the 


CASTRO: I think that for a few more years I 
will figure as the leader of the party. If 1 
were to say that I didn't want that, people 
would think I was crazy. I believe that all 
of us ought to retire relatively young. 

But perhaps I will fall into the habit that 
comes to all of us, of thinking that the 
younger generation is bungling every- 
thing. That is a mania characteristic of all 
old people—but I'm going to try to remain 
alert against it. 

— January 1967, interviewed by Lee 

Lockwood 


MIR ЗЕ 


release could not be an end іп itself; 

it was only a dead end, because 
; because horribly hidden; be- 
cause not liable to melt into any subse- 
quent phase of incomparably greater 
rapture that, like a misty summit beyond 
the fierce mountain pass, promised to be 
the true pinnacle of his perilous relation- 
ship with Ada. During that midsummer 
week or fortnight, notwithstanding those 
daily butterfiy kisses on that hair, on that 
neck, Van felt even farther removed from 
her than he had been on the eve of the day 
when his mouth had accidentally come in- 
to contact with an inch of her skin hardly 
perceived by him sensually in the maze of 
the shattal tree. 

But nature is motion and growth. One 
afternoon, he came up behind her in the 
music room more noiselessly than ever be- 
fore, because he happened to be barefoot- 
ed—and, turning her head, little Ada shut 
her eyes and pressed her lips to his in a 
fresh-rose kiss that entranced and baffled 
Van. 

“Now run along,” she said, “quick, quick, 
Um busy” and as he lagged like an idiot, 
she anointed his flushed forehead with her 
paintbrush in the semblance of an ancient 
Estotian “sign of the cross.” “I have to 
finish this,” she added, pointing with her 
viclet-purple-soaked thin brush at a blend 
of Ophrys scolopax and Ophrys veenae, “and 
in a minute we must go down, because 
Marina wants Kim to take our picture— 
holding hands and grinning” (grinning, 
and then turning back to her hideous 
flower). 


. 

That night, because of the bothersome 
blink of remote sheet lightning through 
the black hearts of his sleeping arbor, Van 
had abandoned his two tulip trees and 
gone to bed in his room. The tumult in the 
house and the maid’s shriek interrupted a 
rare, brilliant, dramatic dream, whose 
subject he was unable to recollect later, al- 
though he still held it in a saved jewel box. 
As usual, he slept naked, and wavered now 
between pulling on a pair of shorts or 
draping himself in his tartan lap robe. He 
chose the second course, rattled a match- 
box, lit his bedside candle and swept out of 
his room, ready to save Ada and all herlar- 
vae. The corridor was dark; somewhere 
the dachshund was barking ecstatically. 
Van gleaned from subsiding cries that the 
so-called “baronial barn,” a huge beloved 
structure three miles away, was on fire. 
Fifty cows would have been without hay 
апа Lariviere without her morning coffee 
cream, had it happened later in the season. 
Van felt slighted. They've all gone and left 
me behind, as old Firs mumbles at the end 
of The Cherry Orchard (Marina was an ade- 
quate Mme. Ranevskaya). 

With the tartan toga around him, he ac- 
companied his black double down the ac- 
cessory spiral stairs leading to the library. 


Placing a bare knee on the shaggy divan 
under the window, Van drew back the 
heavy red curtains. 

As two last retainers, the cook and the 
night watchman, scurried across the lawn 
toward a horseless trap or break that stood 
beckoning them with erected thills (or was 
it a rickshaw? Uncle Dan once had a 
Japanese valet), Van was delighted and 
shocked to distinguish, right there in the 
inky shrubbery, Ada in her long night 
gown passing by with a lighted candle in 
one hand and a shoe in the other as if steal- 
ing after the belated ignicolists. It was only 
her reflection in the glass. She dropped the 
found shoe in a wastepaper basket and 
joined Van on the divan. 

“Can one see anything, oh, can one see?” 
the dark-haired child kept repeating, and 
a hundred barns blazed in her amber- 
black eyes, as she beamed and peered in 
blissful curiosity. Van relieved her of her 
candlestick, placing it near his own longer 
one on the window ledge. “You are naked, 
you are dreadfully indecent,” she observed 
without looking and without any emphasis 
or reproof, whereupon he cloaked himself 
tighter, Ramses the Scotsman, as she knelt 
beside him. For a moment they both con- 
templated the romantic night piece 
framed in the window. He had started to 
stroke her, shivering, staring ahead, fol- 
lowing with a blind man's hand the dip of 
her spine through the batiste. 

“Look, gypsies,” she whispered, point- 
ing at three shadowy forms—two men, one 
with a ladder, aud a child ur dwarf—cir- 
cumspectly moving across the gray lawn. 
They saw the candlelit window and de- 
camped, the smaller one walking @ recu- 
lons, as if taking pictures. 

“I stayed home on purpose, because I 
hoped you would, too—it was a contrived 
coincidence,” she said, or said later she'd 
said —while he continued to fondle the 
flow of her hair and to massage and rum- 
ple her nightdress, not daring yet to go un- 
der and up, daring, however, to mold her 
nates until, with a little hiss, she sat down 
on his hand and her heels, as the burning 
castle of cards collapsed. She turned to 
him and next moment he was kissing her 
bare shoulder and pushing against her. 

Van could not decide whether she really 
was utterly ignorant and as pure as the 
night sky—now drained of its fire color— 
or whether total experience advised her to 
indulge in a cold game, It did not really 
matter. 

Wait, not right now, he replied іп a half- 
muffled mutter. 

She insisted: Iwannask, Iwannano- 


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Не caressed and parted with his fleshy 
folds, parties tris charnues, in the case of 
our passionate siblings, her lank loosc, 
nearly lumbus-length (when she threw 
back her head as now) black silks as he 
tried to get at her bed-warm splenius. 

“I wannask,” she repeated as he greedily 
reached his hot pale goal 

“I want to ask you,” she said quite dis- 
tinctly, but also quite beside herself 


my check ог! order for four dollars which will be 
applied towards irsipurdwie US. Resins only). 
Name. 

Address, 

State. тр 


Tam an adult over 21 years of aj 


signature required) 


Xandria, 1245 16th St., San Francisco. Void where 
prohibited by law. 


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PLAYBOY 


because his ramping palm had now 
worked its way through at the armpit, and 
his thumb on a nipplet made her palate 
tingle: ringing for the maid in Georgian 
novels—inconceivable without the pres- 
ence of elettricità—"to ask you. . . .” 

“Ask,” cried Van, “but dont spoil every- 
thing" (such as feeding upon you, writh- 
ing against you). 

“Well, why” she asked (demanded, chal- 
lenged, one flame crepitated, one cushion 
was on the floor), “why do you get so fat 
and hard there when you——" 

“Get where? When I what?” 

In order to explain, tactfully, tactually, 
she belly-danced against him, still more or 
less kneeling, her long hair getting in the 
мау, one eye staring into his ear (their re- 
ciprocal positions had become rather mud- 
dled by then). 

“Repeat!” he cried as if she were far 
away, a reflection in a dark window. 

“you will show me at once,” said Ada 
firmly. 

He discarded his makeshift kilt, and her 
tone of voice changed immediately. 

“Oh, dear,” she said as one child to an- 
other. “Its all skinned and raw. Does it 
hurt? Does it hurt horribly?” 

“Touch it quick,” he implored. 

“Van, poor Уап,” she went on in the паг- 
row voice the sweet girl used when speak- 
ing to cats, caterpillars, pupating puppies. 
“Yes, I'm sure, it smarts, would it help if I'd 
touch, are you sure?” 

“You bet,” said Van, “on west pas bête à ce 
point” (“there are limits to stupidity,” collo- 
quial and rude). 


“Relief map,” said the primrose prig, 
“the rivers of Africa.” Her index traced 
the blue Nile down into its jungle and trav- 
eled up again. “Now what's this? The сар 
of the Red Bolete is not half as plushy. In 
fact" (positively chattering), "I'm remind- 
ed of geranium or, rather, pelargonium 
bloom." 

“God, we all are,” said Van. 

"Oh, 1 like this texture, Van, I like it! Re- 
ally 1 до!” 

"Squeeze, you goose, can't you see I'm. 
dying." 

But our young botanist had not the 
faintest idea how to handle the thing prop- 
erly—and Van, now in extremis, driving it 
roughly against the hem of her nightdress, 
could not help groaning as he dissolved in 
a puddle of pleasure. 

She locked down in dismay. 

"Not what you think," remarked Van 
calmly. “This is uot number one. Actually, 
it's as clean as grass sap. Well, now the Nile 
is settled stop Stanley.” 

Van stretched himself naked in the now 
motionless candlelight. 

"Let us sleep here,” he said. “They won't 
be back before dawn relights Uncle's 
cigar. 

My nightie is érempée,” she whispered. 
“Take it off; this plaid sleeps two.” 
“Don’t look, Van.” 

“That's not fair,” he said and helped her 
to slip it up and over her hair-shaking 
head. She was shaded with a mere touch of 
coal at the mystery point of her chalk- 
white body. А bad boil had left a pink scar 
between two ribs. He kissed it and lay back 


“Megadeaths! Man, this company has come a long 
way from typewriter spools.” 


on his clasped hands. She was inspecting 
from above his tanned body the ant cara- 
van to the oasis of the navel; he was decid- 
edly hirsute for so young a boy. Her young 
round breasts were just above his face. It is, 
however, true that Van was not unaware of 
a glass box of Turkish Traumatis on a con- 
sole too far to be reached with an indolent 
stretch. The tall clock struck an anony- 
mous quarter and Ada was presently 
waiching, cheek on fist, the impressive, 
though oddly morose, stirrings, steady 
clockwise launch and ponderous upswing 
of virile revival. 

But the shag of the couch was as tickly as 
the star-dusted sky. Before anything new 
happened, Ada went on all fours to re- 
arrange the lap robe and cushions. Na- 
tive girl imitating rabbit, He groped for 
and cupped her hot little slew from be- 
hind, then frantically scrambled into a 
boy's sand-castle-molding position; but she 
turned over, naively ready to embrace him 
the way Juliet is recommended to receive 
her Romeo. She was right. For the first 
time in their love story, the blessing, the ge- 
nius of lyrical speech descended upon the 
rough lad, he murmured and moaned, 
kissing her face with voluble tenderness, 
crying out in three languages—the three 
greatest in all the world —pet words upon 
which a dictionary of secret diminutives 
was to be based and go through many revi- 
sions till the definitive edition of 1967. 
When he grew too loud, she shushed, 
shushingly breathing into his mouth, and 
now her four limbs were frankly around 
him as if she had been lovemaking for 
years in all our dreams—but impatient 
young passion (brimming like Van's over- 
flowing bath while he is reworking this, a 
crotchety gray old word man on the edge 
of a hotel bed) did not survive the first few 
blind thrusts; it burst at the lip of the or- 
chid, and a bluebird uttered a warning 
warble, and the lights were now stealing 
back under a rugged dawn, the firefly sig- 
nals were circumscribing the reservoir, the 
dots of the carriage lamps became stars, 
wheels rasped on the gravel, all the dogs 
returned well pleased with the night treat, 
the cooks niece Blanche jumped out of a 
pumpkin-hued police van in her stock- 
inged feet (long, long after midnight, 
alas)—and our two naked children, grab- 
bing lap robe and nightdress and giving 
the couch a parting pat, pattered back with 
their candlesticks to their innocent bed- 
rooms. 


б 

“Апа do you remember,” said gray-mus- 
tached Van as he took a Cannabina 
cigarette from the bedside table and rat- 
Пед a yellow-blue matchbox, “how reckless 
we were, and how Larivière stopped snor- 
ing but а momentlater went on shaking the 
house, and how cold the iron steps were, 
and how disconcerted I was—by your— 
how shall I put it?—lack of restraint?” 

“Idiot,” said Ada, from the wall side, 
without turning her head. 


Ihe only thing 


eft to unwrap is you. 


1966 Schieilelin& Somerset Co., NY, NY. Cognac Hennessy at 


Cognac ^—ут 


Hennessy. 


The т ofthe Civilized Rogue. 


PLAYBOY 


BROOKS 


(continued from page 135) 
So 1 felt I could afford to allow myself a 
few monetary indulgences. 
PLAYBOY: Why Madison Avenue? 
BROOKS: Frankly, they made me the best 
offer. 
PLAYBOY: What were some of the other of- 
fers you received? 
BROOKS: Well, Fifth Avenue offered me 
$4000 a week, Lexington Avenue offered 
me $3500, and the Bowery’s offer was in- 
sulting. 
PLAYBOY: Why Ballantine Beer? 
BROOKS: They gave me carte blanche. І 
had complete script approval. Although, 
truthfully, we never used scripts. My inter- 
viewer, Dick Cavett, and I started with a 
premise and then winged it. We made all 
kinds of tapes, but they used only the ones 
that we liked. 
PLAYBOY: Do you enjoy working with Cavett 
as much as you do with Carl Reiner on 
your 2000-year-old-man records? 
BROOKS: They're completely different 
types. Dick is a bright, young, incredibly 
gentile person, and the juxtaposition of 
texture—the gentile alongside the Jew—is 
very effective. Farshtey? By the way, I'm 
spectacularly Jewish. 
PLAYBOY: We would never have guessed it. 
BROOKS: Vraiment? 
PLAYBOY: Why are so many top comedians 
and comedy writers Jewish? 
BROOKS: When the tall, blond Teutons have 
Leen nipping at your heels foi uivusands 
of years, you find it enervating to keep 
wailing. So you make jokes. If your enemy 
is laughing, how can he bludgeon you to 
death? 
PLAYBOY: Mel, you're co-creator of Get 
Smart. Since it violates every standard 
of tested TV comedy—a bumbling anti- 
hero, far-out satire, and so on—why is it so 
successful? 
BROOKS: Га say because of a bumbling 
antihero, far-out satire, and so on. 
PLAYBOY: What do you mean by “and so 
on"? 
BROOKS: What do you mean by "and so on"? 
PLAYBOY: Well, we meant that the public 
could identify with, and yet feel superior 
to, a nitwit like Maxwell Smart. 
BROOKS: That's what I meant. 
PLAYBOY: How does a clod like Smart differ 
from the bird-brained protagonists in situ- 
ation comedies such as Ozzie and Harriet? 
BROOKS: Guys like Ozzie Nelson are lovable 
boobs. There's nothing lovable about Don 
Adams Max Smart. He's а dangerously 
earnest nitwit who deals in monumental 
goofs. He doesn't trip over skates; he loses 
whole countries to the Communists. 
PLAYBOY: And standard situation comedies, 
on the other hand, deal with dull people in 
petty situations? 
ight. And in their supposedly 
true-to-life little episodes, they avoid any- 
thing approaching reality For years I've al- 
ways wanted to see an honest family TV 


266 series—maybe something called Half of 


Father Knows Best. The other half of him 
was paralyzed by a stroke in 1942 when he 
suspected we might lose the war. 

PLAYBOY: Living in New York, with a hit TV 
show being filmed on the Coast, you must. 
be doing a lot of traveling. 

BROOKS: I spend a lot of time in L.A. on 
business, but I also travel for pleasure. I 
just got back from Europe. 

PLAYBOY: How did you like it? 

BROOKS: I love it. Europe is very near and 
dear to my heart. Would you like to see a 
picture of it? 

PLAYBOY: You carry a picture of Europe? 
BROOKS: Sure, right here in my wallet. 
Here it 
PLAYBOY: It's very nice. 

BROOKS: Of course, Europe was a lot 
younger then. It’s really not a very good 
picture. Europe looks much better in per- 
son. 

PLAYBOY: It’s a fine-looking continent. 
BROOKS: It gives me a good deal of pleas- 
ure, but it's always fighting, fighting. I tell 
you, I'll be so happy when it finally settles 
down and gets married. 

PLAYBOY: So will we. Mel, most celebrities 
are asked questions like, “Where do you 
get your ideas?”; “Are you as funny off 
stage as you are on?” and so on. What 
question, asked of you by the public, bugs 
you the most? 

BROOKS: The one you just asked. 

PLAYBOY: Any others? 

BROOKS: “How's your beautiful wife?” 
PLAYBOY: How do you answer it? 

BROOKS: I say, “Haven't you heard? Her 
nose fell off.” 

PLAYBOY: Your wife, Anne Bancroft, is cer- 
tainly beautiful, anda very talented actress 
as well. She's also very successful. Tell us 
frankly, Mel, is she making more money 
than you? 

BROOKS: Right at this moment she is. She’s 
not sitting for free interviews. 

PLAYBOY: Would you like to be a director? 
BROOKS: Га love to be one. I think I'd be a 
great comedy director. Asa matter of fact, 
1 have just finished a screenplay called 
Marriage Is a Dirty, Rotten Fraud. Га like 
very much to direct it. 

PLAYBOY: Is it based on your own personal 
experience? 

BROOKS: No, it’s based on a very important 
conversation I overheard once while wait- 
ing for a bus at the Dixie Hotel terminal. 
PLAYBOY: What are the chances of a studio 
assigning you to direct it? 

BROOKS: Very, very good. Well, let me 
amend that slightly: None. 

PLAYBOY: What else are you working on? 
BROOKS: Springtime for Hitler. 

PLAYBOY: You're putting us on. 

BROOKS: No, it's the God's honest truth. It’s 
going to be a play within a play, or a play 
within a film—I haven't decided yet. It's a 
romp with Adolf and Eva at Berch- 
tesgaden. There was a whole nice side of 
Hitler. Не was a good dancer—no one 
knows that. He loved a parakect named 
Bob—no one knows that either. Its all 
brought out in the play. 


PLAYBOY: Enough of Hitler. Tell us how 
“Тһе Mel Brooks Story" began. 

BROOKS: I was the baby in the family. My 
job was to keep everybody amused and 
happy, and I was always content to be the 
family down. 

PLAYBOY: What did you think you'd be 
when you grew older? 

BROOKS: Tall. 

PLAYBOY: You didn't make it, did you? 
BROOKS: What do you mean? I’m five-sev- 
еп. My three brothers are all shorter than 
I am. At family reunions they call me 


ВЕООК5: Ben Favershan's atten- 
tions to my wife were of such a nature 
1 was forced to deal him a lesson in 
manners.” 
PLAYBOY: That's pretty funny. Do you recall 
to whom you said that? 
BROOKS: Very vividly. It was an elderly Jew- 
ish woman carrying an oilcloth shopping 
bag on the Brighton Beach Express. 
PLAYBOY: What was her reaction to the re- 
mark? 
BROOKS: She immediately got up and gave 
me her seat. 

Say, who's that guy that just walked into 
the room with a camera? 
PLAYBOY: That's one of our photographers. 
He's going to take a few shots of you to run 
with the interview. 
BROOKS: Should I undress? 
PLAYBOY: Its not for the gatefold, Mel. 
You'll be shot fully dressed. But while we're 
on the subject, do you think theres a sexu- 
al revolution going on in this country? 
BROOKS: Yes, I do think there's a sexual 
revolution going on, and I think that with 
our current foreign policy, we'll probably 
be sending troops in there any minute to 
break it up. 
PLAYBOY: In where? 
BROOKS: How do I know? We always send 
in troops when there's a revolution. 
PLAYBOY: We hate to get personal, but, 
speaking of sex, why haven't you asked us 
to introduce you to a Playmate ora Bunny? 
BROOKS: Three reasons: lt would be impo- 
lite; it would be beneath my dignity; and 
besides, I’m a fag. Anyway, the trouble with 
Playmates and Bunnies is that they're too 
openly sexy and clean-cut. I've been taught 
ever since I was a kid that sex is filthy and 
forbidden, and that's the way I think it 
should be. The filthier and more forbidden 
itis, the more exciting it is. 
PLAYBOY: By those criteria, can you give us 
an example of someone you consider sexy? 
BROOKS: То me anyone is sexy if they're not 
obvious about it. A 71-year-old man in а 
fur collar and spats could be enormously 
sexy under the right circumstances. 
PLAYBOY: What would be the right circum- 
stances? 
BROOKS: Well, if you're in the moonlight, if 
you're by a lazy lagoon—and if you're a 71- 
year-old woman іп а fur collar and spats. 

— October 1966, interviewed by Larry 
Siegel 
Ej 


SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Smoking 


Causes Lung Cancer, Heart Disease, 
Emphysema, And May Complicate Pregnancy. 


5 mg. tar”, 0,5 mg. nicotine av. per cigarette by FIC method. 


ULTRA TASTE PERFORMANCE 
IN AN ULTRA LICHT ен 


1988 R.J. REYNOLDS TOBACCO СО. 


PL ASEO Y 


HOW TO APPLY (continued from page 96) 


“The impression you must convey is that you don't 
really need this job—the job needs you.” 


Think up one yourself, The surface has 
barely been scratched. 

Warning: Avoid Sentimentalily. A lock of 
your hair, a photo of you as a tiny tot or a 
baby shoe may force a tear, but it will not 
get you а job, 


REFERENCES 


Always include references in your pres- 
entation. If few people will speak well of 
you, list uncles or cousins with different 
surnames. 

A good trick is to list a recently deceased 
tycoon, scratching his name off lightly 

“Poor Bunny,” you will say later in the 
interview, “ГЇЇ take his name off my new 
résumé.” 


SEIZE YOUR OPPORTUNITIES 


Suppose, for example, you happen to 
run into the head of a large corporation: 

“Oops, sorry, Mr. Biggley, didn't mean to 
knock you down!” 

“You blasted idiot!” 
was just coming to ask you for a job, 
sir” 


“Damn it, you imbecile, what do you 
think we have a personnel man for?” 

Seize vour opportunity! Go to the per- 
sonnel ma 


“J was speaking to J. B. Biggley only this 
morning.” 
"Biggley himself ?" 


Jh, yes. Just happened to run into 
17 


l, Mr. uh —" 


“Well, this may be over my level, 
Finch. Perhaps you ought to see Mr. Bratt.” 

‘And so, in one way or another, you will 
have stormed the gates and the company 
of your choice will be quick to grant you 
that important interview. 


HOW To DRESS 


The impression you must convey is that 
you dont really need this job—the job 
needs you. Dress with this in mind. 

The note is one of studied carelessness. 
Borrow any old suit from a comparatively 
shapeless friend, remove the padding and 
roll about in it on a clean level surface. 


“1 call it fure! " 


Accessories should be kept in the same 
minor key A black kn good for cre- 
ating the fecling that you don't really give a 
damn. Wear shoes of the same pair. No 
good being too relaxed. 


A WORD TO WOMEN 

It must be remembered that the well- 
bred girl is always fully clothed in the of- 
fice. The broken shoulder strap, the deeply 
split skirt and the bare midriff are de trop 
in most businesses. The bright girl soon 
learns that these devices are not only in 
bad taste but are not necessary. 

Itis not skin arca but contour that counts. 

A few simple experiments with sweaters, 
jerseys and a slightly smaller dress size will 
ing results, One 
young lady who made a careful study of 
contour planning found that results were 
litle short of breath-taking. The male 
workers were stimulated and encouraged, 
and although production dropped slightly, 
it was more than made up for in greatly im- 
proved esprit de corps. 

The fact that your contour-enhancing 
attire may seem sexy should not disturb 
you. Sex will be furthest from the male in- 
terviewer's thoughts! He will be thinking 
of your mind. However, he will have 
learned in the School of Hard Knocks that 
good minds are most often found in good 
bodies, and that beauty and brains only 
too often go hand in hand! 


"WHY DID YOU LEAVE" 

If you are leaving a job, or if you have a 
job and are seeking a better one, you may 
be asked, "Why did you leave?" or "Why do 
you want to leave?" 

Even if you were fired and thrown bodi- 
ly out the door, remember this: Don't be bit- 
ter. This would mark you as a sorchead ог 
a difficult personality 

Remember these phrases: 

"They're a grand bunch of people. 

0 

“They 
mighty” 

Since this will not answer your inter- 
viewers question, he may repeat, “Well, 
then, why did (do) you want to leave?” 

Tread carefully here! The impression 
you want to convey is that you can get 
along with anyone, no matter how difficult. 
Imply that you, somehow, were above them. 

“I felt that 1 had outgrown them,” is 
useful. 

Or: 

“Lets face it They're not up to you 
people.” 

Or: 


were mighty happy years, 


‘Well, it’s an old outfit. I want to work 
with young men” (If the interviewer is 
young.) 

Or (if he is old): 

“Somehow they seem a bit callow. I want 
ashop with experience!" 

After a few such interviews, you will be 
hired quickly You will then have your foot 
on the first rung of the ladder. 


El 


C... A...N.. О.Е. САМ ЕРТЕ 


The cologne for mem} 
% 


PLAYBOY 


270 


LENNON/ONO 


(continued from page 237) 
business—going to Vegas and singing 
your great hits, if you're lucky, or going to 
hell, which is where Elvis wen 
PLAYBOY: Why are you retur 
dio and public life? 
LENNON: You breathe in and you breathe 
out. We feel like doing it and we have 
something to say Also, Yoko and I at- 
tempted a few times to make music togeth- 
ex, but that was a long time ago and people 
still had the idea that the Beatles were 
some kind of sacred thing that shouldn't 
step outside its circle. It was hard for us to 
work together then. We think either peo- 
ple have forgotten or they have grown up 
by now, so we can make a second foray into. 
that place where she and I are together, 
making music—simply that. Its not like 
I'm some wondrous, mystic prince from 
the rock-and-roll world dabbling in 
strange music with this exotic, Oriental 
dragon lady. 
PLAYBOY: How do you feel about all 
the negative press thats been directed 
through the years at Yoko. 
LENNON: We are both sensitive people and 
we were hurt a lot by it. I mean, we couldn't 
understand it. When you're in love, when 
somebody says something like, “How can 
you be with that woman?” you say, “What 
do you mean? I am with this goddess of 
love, the fulfillment of my whole life. Why 
saying this?” Our love helped us 
survive it, but some of it was pretty violent. 
There were a few times when we nearly 
went under, but we managed to survive 
and here we are. [Looks upward] Thank 
you, thank you, thank you. 
PLAYBOY: You make it sound like a teacher- 
pupil relationship. 
LENNON: It is a teacher-pupil relationship. 
‘That's what people don't understand. She's 
the teacher and I'm the pupil. I'm the fa- 
mous one, the one who's supposed to know 
everything, but she’s my teacher. She's 
taught me everything I fucking know. She 
was there when I was nowhere, when I was 
the nowhere man. 
PLAYBOY: Yoko, how do you feel about be- 
ing John's teacher? 
ONO: Well, he had a lot of experience be- 
fore he met me, the kind of experience I 
never had, so J learned a lot from him, 
too. It's both ways. Maybe it’s that 1 have 
strength, a feminine strength. 
PLAYBOY: But what about the charge that 
‚John Lennon is under Yoko's spell, under 
her control? 
LENNON: Well, that’s rubbish, you know. 
Nobody controls me. I'm uncontrollable. 
The only one who controls me is me, and 
that’s just barely possible. 
PLAYBOY: Still, many people believe it. 
LENNON: Listen, if somebody's gonna im- 
press me, whether it be a Maharishi or a 
Yoko Ono, there comes a point when the 
emperor has no clothes. There comes a 
point when I will see. So for all you folks 
out there who think that I'm having the 


g to the stu- 


wool pulled over my eyes, well, thats an 
sult to me. Not that you think less of Yoko, 
because that's your problem. What I think 
of her is what counts! Because—fuck you, 
brother and sister—you don't know what's 
happening. I'm not here for you. I'm here 
for me and her and the baby! 

ONO: Of course, it's a total insult to me—— 
LENNON: Well, you're always insulted, my 
dear wife. It's natural 
ОМО: Why should I bother to control any- 
body? 

LENNON; She doesn’t need me. 

ONO: I have my ow с, you know. 
LENNON: She doesn't need a Beatle. Who 
needs a Beatle? 

ONO: Do people think I'm that much of a 
con? John lasted two months with the 
Mahari: Two months. I must be the 
biggest con in the world, because Гуе been 
with him 13 years. 

LENNON: But people do say that. 

PLAYBOY: That's our point. Why? 

LENNON: They want to hold on to some- 
thing they never had in the first place. 
Anybody who claims to have some interest 
in me as an individual artist or even as part 
of the Beatles has absolutely misunder- 
stood everything I ever said if they can't 
sce why I'm with Yoko. And if they cant 
see that, they don't see anything. They're 
just jacking off to—it could be anybody. 
Mick Jagger or somebody else. Let them 
go jack off to Mi 
PLAYBOY: He'll appre 
LENNON: I absolutely dont need it. Let 
them chase Wings. Just forget about me. If 
thats what you want, go after Paul or Mick. 
I ain't here for that. If that's not apparent 
in my past, I'm saying it in black and 
green, next to all the tits and asses on 
page 196. Go play with the other boys. Go 
play with the Rolling Wings. 

PLAYBOY: Do you—— 

LENNON: No, wait a minute. Let's stay with 
this a second; sometimes I can't let go of it. 
[He is on his feet, climbing up the refrigera- 
lor] Nobody ever said anything about 
Paul's having a spell on me or my having 
опе on Paul! They never thought thal was 
abnormal in those days, two guys together, 
or four guys together! Why nt they 
ever say, “How come those guys don't split 
up? I mean, whats going on backstage? 
What is this Paul and John business? How 
can they be together so long?” We spent 
more time together in the early days than 
John and Yoko: the four of us steeping in 
the same room, practically in the same 
bed, in the same truck, living together 
night and day, cating, sitting and pissing 
together! All right? Doing everything to- 
gether! Nobody said a damn thi 
being under a spell. Maybe they 
were under the spell of Brian 
George Martin [the Beatles’ 
and producer, respectively]. 
PLAYBOY: John, how critical are you of the 
Beatles’ music today? 

LENNON: When I was a Beatle, I thought 
we were the best fucking group in the god- 
damned world. And believing that is what 


made us what we were. 

But you play me those tracks today a 
want to remake every damn one of them. 
There's not a single one. . .. Iheard Lucy in 
the Sky with Diamonds on the radio last 
night. It’s abysmal, you know. The track is 
Just terrible. I mean, it’s great, but it wasn't 
made right, know what I mean? Bur that's 
the artistic trip, isn't it? 
PLAYBOY: It seems as if you're trying to say 
to the world, "We werc just a good band 
making some good music," while a lot of. 
the rest of the world is saying, “lt wasn't 
just some good music, it was the best.” 
LENNON: 1, if it was the best, so what? 
PLAYBOY: So— 

LENNON: // can never be again! Everyone al- 
ways talks about a good thing coming to 
an end, as if life was over. But Ill be 40 
when this interview comes out. Paul is 38. 
Elton John, Bob Dylan—we're all relatively 
young people. The game isnt over yet. 
PLAYBOY: Let's talk about the work you and 
Paul did together. Generally speaking, 
what did each of you contribute to the 
Lennon-McCartney songwriting team? 
LENNON: Well, you could say that he pro- 
vided a lightness, an optimism, while 1 
would always go for the sadness, the di 
cords, а certain bluesy edge. There was 
period when I thought I didnt write 
melodies, that Paul wrote those and I just 
wrote straight, shouting rock and roll. But, 
of course, when I think of some of my ow 
songs—In My Life—or some of the early 
stull—This Boy— was writing melody 
with the best of them. Paul had a lot of 
training. could play a lot of instruments. 
Га be the one to figure out where to go 
with a song—a story that Paul would start. 
In a lot of the songs, my stuff is the “middle 
eight,” the bridge. 
PLAYBOY: For example? 
LENNON: Take Michelle. Paul and 1 were 
staying somewhere, and he walked in and 
hummed the first few bars, with the words, 
you know [sings verse of "Michelle"], and he 
says, "Where do I go from һе "d been 
listening to blues singer Nina Simone, who 
did something like “I love you!” in one of 
her songs and that made me tl 
middle eight for Michelle [sin 
you, I love you, 1 Lo-ove you... 
PLAYBOY: What was the difference in terms 
of lyri 
LENNON: I always had an easier time with 
lyrics, though Paul is quite а capable lyri- 
cist who doesn’t think he is. So he docsn't 
go for it. Rather than face the problem, he 
would avoid it. Hey, Jude is a damn good 
set of lyrics. I made no contribution there. 
PLAYBOY: What's an example of a lyric you 
and Paul worked on together? 
LENNON: In We Can Work It Out, Paul did 
the first half, I did the middle eight. But 
you've got Paul writing, “We can work it 
out/ We can work it out"—real optimistic, 
yknow, and me, impatient: "Life is very 
short and there's no time/ For fussing and 
fighting, my friend...” 

— January 1981, interviewed by David 


Sheff 
Ej 


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STREISAND 


(continued from page 205) 
me. Maybe I'm rude without being aware 
of it—that’s possible 
PLAYBOY: So why da you suppose you have 
that reputation? Why are so many people 
saying those kinds of things about you? 
STREISAND: ] think it makes good copy. Bad 
news sells more magazines and news- 
Papers, and the public sees what the editor 
wants it to see. The New York Times did 
three separate stories on me that were 
all favorable. They were never printed. 1 
was told they were too nice—not spicy 
enough—puff pieces. Bad press also acts 
as an equalizer: “She's got fame and for- 
tune, Gad forbid she should be nice, too.” 
PLAYBOY: Why do critics seem to write 
about you so emotionally? 

STREISAND: 1 dor't know. Your guess is as 
good as mine. I don't have time to worry 
about those things. Maybe it's because I'm. 
not easily accessible. Maybe it's because 
they're prejudiced against ex-hairdressers. 
But with all the important things going on 
in the world, who really cares? In the final 
analysis, what I cant understand is, why 
don't we nurture our artists? Protect them? 
Support them? Encourage them? Why is it 
necessary to be so vicious? 

PLAYBOY: Which is easier for you, singing 
or acting? 

STREISAND: Singing is easier. A song is only 
three minutes long. If you have a good 
voice, a good instrument, youre halfway 
home. Three quarters of the way home 
Acting is indefinable, It's different. Its also 
less impressive, unless you have a crying 
scene or a very dramatic moment. When 
you sing a song, the sheer musicality of the 
experience can moye people; they don't 
еуеп have to hear the lyric. 

PLAYBOY: Do you listen to your own al- 
bums? 

STREISAND: Never, ever, ever. And dont 
play one around me. 

PLAYBOY: Really? Why? 

STREISAND: | can't stand to hear them. 
PLAYBOY: Why? 

STREISAND: Because I put so much into 
them when I'm making them: the choice 
of songs, working on the arrangements, 
the cover, the copy, the editing. It’s like 
cooking a meal: You don't want to eat it 
afterward. 

PLAYBOY: What about when friends are 
over and they say, “Come on, Barbra, sing 
People.. "2 

STREISAND: I'm totally embarrassed and 
shy about singing in front of people. To 
sing in a room where my friends are—I'll 
tell you what happens: I feel them listen- 
ing so hard, 1 feel my power, and it fright- 
ens me. Somehow, in a big place, when the 
lights are on you and it's total blackness out 
there, you're singing alone, it seems like it’s 
the place to do it, to do the thing I do. But 1 
no more could sing a song in a room with 
my friends than jump off a bridge. 
PLAYBOY: Is it difficult singing for 
Presidents, as you did for Kennedy and 


Johnson? 

STREISAND: | sang for Kennedy because I 
loved him. I remember meeting him—it 
was so incredible; he actually glowed! But 
when I sang at Johnson's Inauguration, it 
was the most depressing evening I ever 
had. Kennedy was dead and this man was 
there and it was just awful. 

PLAYBOY: What is it, do you think, that 
makes your voice so special? 

STREISAND: My deviated septum. If I ever 
had my nose fixed, it would ruin my 
career. 

PLAYBOY: Did you ever consider having it 
fixed? 

STREISAND: In my earlier periods, when I 
would have liked to look like Catherine 
Deneuve, I considered having my nose 
fixed. But I didn’t trust anyone cnough to 
fix it. IF I could do it myself with a mirror, I 
would straighten my nose and take off that 
Іше piece of cartilage from the tip. 

See, 1 wouldn't do it conventionally. 
PLAYBOY: A lot of plastic surgeons must 
have resented your rise to fame. 
STREISAND: Yeah, made business bad. 
PLAYBOY: Are you temperamental? 
STREISAND: You would be amazed. [Laughs] 
If you're talking about truly talented peo- 
ple, usually there is no false temperament. 
Tension is high on sets. Youre priming 
your inner life to be reviewed in front of 
this camera. All sorts of things are hap- 
pening—people are yelling, laughing, 
grips upstairs are just idly reading a news- 
paper, the lights keep burning out, some- 
body has to go to the bathroom—while 
you're, like, in gear. You're very easily set 
off. Youre an emotional charge. Whether 
you believe it or not, I am not a tempera- 
mental person, I constantly am around 
people who аге temperamental—that 
means they get crazy for the moment, 
they're going to walk off, and then they 
calm down and come back. I never do that, 
І never walk off. I keep my calm. 1 dont 
operate that way, with temperament. 
PLAYBOY: In A Star Is Born, you seemed to 
the sense that 
feminists have been using it. Are you, in 
fact, a feminist? 

STREISAND: Its funny 1 never thought 
about the women's movement while I was 
moving as a woman. I didr't even realize 
that I was fighting this battle all the time. 1 
just took it very personally; I didn't even 
separate it from the fact that I was a wom- 
an having a hard time in a male society. 
Then they started to burn the bras and I 
thought it was ridiculous, although I now 
understand it in the whole picture of revo- 
lution—one has to go to these crazy ex- 
tremes to come back to the middle. 
Actually, I believe women are superior 10 
men. I don't even think we're equal. 

But what interested me most about A 
Star Is Born was the woman issue. In the 
old version, the characters never fought or 
disagreed; the female character was will- 
ing to give up her career for her man; she 
used his name at the end. I wouldn't do 
that. I don't think women should do that. I 


terested in being more sexually ag- 
n this film—a different character 
than I've ever played before. I wanted to 
portray her as taking what she wants, 
something that's a big thing for women to- 
day, especially sexually So many women 
you hear about never have orgasms. It's а 
matter of taking for your own pleasure. In 
our first love scene in Star, I wanted tobe а 
sort of Clint Eastwood—you know, the guy 
always takes his belt off. That's why I have 
her being on top. Why should а man al- 
ways be the one shown opening his pants? 
PLAYBOY: What's your definition of the 
word fame? 
STREISAND: Not being left alone. 
PLAYBOY: Sounds like you might have had 
nightmares about the public and its per- 
ception of Barbra Streisand. 
STREISAND: Oh, yeah. My biggest night- 
mare is that I’m driving alone іп a car and 
1 get sick and have to go to the hospital. I'd 
Say, “Please, help me,” and the people 
would say, “Hey, you look Ке..." And Fm 
dying while they're talking and wondering 
whether I'm Barbra Streisand. 
PLAYBOY: Docs aging bother you? 
‘STREISAND: No. | mean, I don't like the idea 
of having a big double chin or anything, 
but I dont care about lines, wrinkles or 
playing the parts. I want to be able to con- 
trol my body—that's my goal—so it doesn't 
control me. 
PLAYBOY: When does your body control 
ои? 
STREISAND: When I get really frightened, I 
literally рее in my pants. 
PLAYBOY: Does that still happen? 
STREISAND: Yeah. Thelast time it happened 
was when I got caught in Customs. | didn't 
report a pair of boots I'd bought, and the 
guy went through my purse and found the 
slip for the boots. I couldn't believe it. 1 was 
dumb enough to have the receipt in my 
bag and he found it and said, “What's 
this?” I peed in my pants. 
PLAYBOY: How old were you? 
STREISAND: How old was I? It was last year, 
what are you talking about? By the way, I 
claim everything now, even a pack of 
Japanese gum. 
PLAYBOY: How would you summarize the 
Barbra Streisand behind all the conflicting 
images? 
STREISAND: I am very flawed, very imper- 
fect. 1 am my own worst critic. 1 put far 
more demands on myself than I do on any- 
опе else. As strong as my will can be at 
times, I can be easily swayed by the last 
person I talk to. I operate on instinct, and 
when my instinct says go, I go like a horse 
with blinders on, like a Taurus bull who 
sees red. But I can also be as wishy-washy 
as the next guy. When my vision's not clear 
about something, I can be queen of the 
definite maybe. I am а mass of contradic- 
tions. Lam constantly changing, so that by 
the time this interview appears, I shall be 
ina different place. 

—October 1977, interviewed by Lawrence 

Grobel 
El 


273 


274 


BEST UTE WHOREHOUSE comet ao 


“The topper was a salty-sounding young woman: 1 
think ше ought to have a studhouse for the women.’” 


flash their wares. But if Miss Jessie caught 
‘em flashing a little more than she thought 
was ladylike, she'd raise nine kinds of hell. 

“Miss Edna, who was thirty or forty 
years younger, was a little more modern. 
Ive heard you could get anything you'd 
pay for: ten bucks for straight, fifteen for 
half-and-half, twenty-five, I believe, tor 
pure French. I understand each girl kept 
half of her earnings and donated the rest 
to the house. And the house paid room 
and board.” 

Buddy Zapalac owns the biweekly La 
Grange Journal. When the Chicken Farm 
got busted, he said he intended to lend edi- 
torial support to the farm. 

Охег Cottonwood Inn beer he admit- 
ted: “I didnt do it. Lost too many of my 
supporters. Businessmen, even a couple of 
preachers, told me in private they'd back 
me up. But people in a little town can't 
stand much heat.” 


. 

Lloyd Kolbe. Lean. Well barbered. On 
the rise. Mid-to-late 30s. Quick to smile 
even when his eyes retain calculations in 
judging the moments worth or risk. The 
quintessential Young Businessman: no 
bullshit, what with children to educate and 
two cars to feed and status to climb. 

“Pm a native,” Kolbe said, drumming 
fingers on a polished desktop. “I grew up 
knowing the Chicken Farm was out 
there—no, I don't remember how early, it 
seems I just always knew. As kids, we joked 
about it, though it didn't preoccupy us; 
didn't mark us, didn't make any grand im- 
pression. You noticed as you grew up that 
adults didn't joke about it. Outsiders, 


speakers at the chamber-of-commerce 
banquet, and so on, they joked about it. Lo- 
cal people, you actually didn't hear them 
mention it until the big bust. 

“My own children, I've watched and lis- 
tened to see what effect the Chicken Farm 
might have on them. And I can’t see that 
it's had any They accept it, as I did—its 
just there, it has nothing to do with them 
or their lives. We talked about it one night 
right after the bust. 

“The thing I hate is that La Grange is 
now known nationwide as a whore town. 
And we're better people than that.” 

After the bust, Kolbe proposed that 
three each pro— and anti-Chicken Farm- 
ers debate on his radio station: “But it fell 
flat. People who privately favored it simply 
refused to go public. We settled for two 
programs where people called in. They 
could identify themselves or not. Most 
didn’t. And those who did, well, yeah, I've 
erased their names from the tapes. I don't 
want to take advantage of people.” 

Many invoked the Bible. Others award- 
ed brimstone to Marvin Zindler and Gov- 
ernor Briscoe. The majority cited the 
town's prosperity and cleanliness in ob- 
jecting to publicity “recognizing us for 
Just one thing.” The topper was a salty- 
sounding young woman: "I'm one hun- 
dred percent for the Chicken Farm. And I 
think we ought to have a studhouse for the 
women." 

Lloyd Kolbe shut off the tape, laughing: 
“Boy, we sure ‘nuff had some phone calls 
requesting that lady's name.” 

E 

An old friend—a lawyer who daily sees 

the seamy side in trade—shook his head at 


"I say, that is good!” 


the Chicken Farm's fate. “I went over there 
back in my law school days," he said, “апа 
it was so goddamned proper I felt out of 
place. It was just too damned wholesome for 
somebody with a hard pecker hunting 
raunchy sin and eager to whip up his old 
Baptist guilts! And right over here"—he 
jerked а thumb—‘just a few blocks from 
ling, there's a place where 
fags in drag will take you upstairs and do 
anything for money that you can get done 
in Tangier. And even with all the fine ama- 
teur stuff floating around—on capitol hill, 
at the university, all the hippie girls, di- 
vorcees and horny wives—you can buy а 
woman, if you insist on paying, of any col- 
or or creed. You've just got to know the 
right little ol’ crummy hotels or motels. 

“Probably the girls who tour the regular 
‘Texas circuit are owned by some syndicate. 
Anybody capable of reading knows that 
organized crime profits down here, but I'll 
be goddamned if I can see any Godfather 
tracks around La Grange. A guy who 
knows Marvin Zindler tells me that Marvin 
really believes that organized-crime horse- 
shit with respect to the Chicken Farm— 
but, he says, Marvin's idea of organized 
crime is two nigger pimps hauling four or 
five gals from town to town between beat- 
ing on them with coat hangers. And it 
looks as if our fearless governor has the 
same notion of it.” 


. 

] woke up in my Austin motel room to 
Second Coming headlines: In Houston, an 
hour's swift drive down the road from the 
Chicken Farm, had been discovered three 
monsters who routinely forced young boys 
into homosexual acts, tortured and abused. 
them until the mind refuses to think any- 
more of their probable final horrors, and 
then shot or strangled them to death. 
‘Twenty-seven bodies would be discovered; 
with each new find, people argued in bars 
over whether the total represented a пем 
national mass-murder record. 

"The remainder of the newspaper told of 
Watergate figures who resent investiga- 
tions, of illegal Cambodian bombings, of 
five Austin kids busted for pot, of short- 
ages and inflation and many balloons gone 
pop. 1 gazed out the motel window, toward 
the capitol dome taking the morning's sun, 
and thought of Charles Whitman, Lee 
Harvey Oswald, Jack Ruby; soon, softly, 1 
began semisinging the song they taught 
me in first grade, back in Putnam, all those 
cons and other lives ago: 


“Texas, our Texas! All hail the mighty 


state! 
Texas, our Texas! So wonderful, so 
great! 
Boldest and grandest, withstanding 
ev'ry test; 


0 empire wide and glorious, you stand 
supremely blest. . 


Marlboro 


LIGHTS 


SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Smoking 


Causes Lung Cancer, Heart Disease, 
Emphysema, And May Complicate Pregnancy. 


10 mg “tar; 0.7 mg nicotine av. per cigarette by FIC method. 


PLAYBOY 


276 


ә 
27. 
Tr Faint (continued from page 208) 
LEE 


“Corinna, clad in only an apron, bent low over him, 
her breasts half lit by the flickering fire.” 


haven't recovered from that all-male As 
You Like It” 

“You loved Equus.” 

"| didnt love it, I just loved the way it was 
only two acts.” 

“You said you liked the horses’ heads.” 

In mock consolation, Corinna, clad in 
only an apron, bent low over him, her 
breasts half lit by the same firelight that 
was flickering in the empty compartments 
of the tin-foil tray of their TV dinner. “I 
did like the horses’ heads, Freddy. And the 
way they made the stage spin to show neu- 
rosis. I'll go. Let's go tomorrow night. Can 
you get tickets again? I'll pay this time.” 

Actually, Freddy had not planned to see 
her tomorrow night. These evenings of a 
fresh shirt and his suit getting out of press 
for nothing were getting on his nerves. 
There was a Japanese girl, an assistant to a 
landscape designer he would be seeing at 
conference tomorrow, who had given him 
the eye at the last conference, though it was 
hard to tell with those eyes, those opaque 
little pools of racial ambition, noncommit- 
tal as camera apertures. Still, he had 


ا 


planned to leave things open. Yet if he said 
no, Corinna would think he didn't have 
the pull to come up with the tickets. 
“OK,” Freddy said. “But tell me you mean 
it. Otherwise, I'll wear the denim suitand a 
turtleneck.” 


. 

Atleast, when һе arrived, she was ош of 
the tub. But she didn't know what to wear. 
It wasa warm spring night, windy, ideal for 
walking to a cheeseburger, but unsettling 
otherwise. She padded back and forth 
from the living room to the bedroom, say- 
ing, “I hate my clothes.” She showed him a 
wool dress that was too wintry anda cotton 
that was too summery. Everything was like 
that, nothing was right and never had 
been, she hated to shop; if she bought 
something, she hated it; and if she didn’t, 
she hated herself. When she was a little 
girl, her mother used to dress her up in 
these frilly tight party dresses and she'd 
take the neck in her two hands and rip it 
right down the middle, brrruup! Her 
tongue was darting about like a rabbit in 


ЖА. 


“Му parents would die if they knew I was 
involved with a rhinoceros.” 


the headlights; her wheels were spinning. 
As a boy, Freddy had had a blue Lionel 
model train that he loved. The locomotive 
sometimes would leave the track, and 
when he picked it up, it was surprisingly 
heavy and would give a tingle of excited 
heat to his hand; and when he set it back 
on the track, its wheels would spin and the 
armature of its heart would whir, the elec- 
trical connection made with magical sud- 
denness. Corinna could be like that. 

From the extreme reaches of her closet 
she produced a dress of silvery-blue, pat- 
terned abstractly in white, with a high 
Chinese-style neck. The Oriental touch 
chimed with the Japanese girl on Freddy's 
mind. More than once, in conference to- 
day, she had referred, with an opaque 
glance at Freddy, to her husband, who ap- 
peared to be an architect. No commission 
for him, if that was her thought. On all 
sides, Freddy was betrayed by hidden loy- 
alties. First the Irish politicians, now the 
Japanese professionals. Corinna held the 
dress up against herself. The slim sheath 
cut of it made her look surprisingly tall. As 
firmly as, years ago, he had set the agitated 
little Lionel back on its track, Freddy told 
her to wear that dress. He was tired of 
babying her. He had had it. 

He told her, “You've made us too late to 
look for a taxi, we'll have to walk.” Spatter- 
ings of forsythia glowed in the brownstone 
churchyards of the Back Bay, and spots of 
daffodils behind the Public Garden fence. 
The dresss narrow skirt chopped her 
normally long stride to a hurried clatter. 
Fragrances of bloom, of car exhaust, of 
drained wine bottles were in the warm 
wind of Park Square. The Colonial The- 
ater lobby was deserted. They took their 
seats in the dark, disrupung the row. 
By stage light, Freddy noticed а glisten of 
sweat on Corinna's upper lip; he touched 
the silken sleeve of her dress and she 
pulled her arm away. Gradually the play 
absorbed his attention. The brave little fe- 
male figure, alone on a stage that герге- 
sented a spinsters house in Amherst, 
chatted with isible presences, recited 
Emily Dickinson's poetry and called out 
through a phantom window to the audi- 
ence. With her dark hair and plaintive, 
strained voice, she reminded Freddy of 
someone, someone very distant yet very fa- 
miliar. It came to him: his wife. Loretta, 
too, had parted her hair severely in the 
middle, brushed at her hips to smooth 
away agitation, called out in a voice of 
cracked, retracted melody, laughed as if to 
hint at an inner soreness, been shyly хару, 
had a pointed chin, had even written poet- 
ry, come to think of it. She inhabited an 
empty house, however, nowhere outside of 
Freddy's skull, for she had briskly remar- 
ried and borne two children; but this 
is how he saw her, breathing an aura 
of desertion, twitchily strumming the 
filaments of an irrecoverable loss. As the 


playwrights design proceeded to suggest 
that Emily Dickinson had triumphed in 
her loneliness, perversely choosing it, the 
parallel possibility unpleasantly dawned 
that he, Freddy, had not so much left 
Loretta as she had rejected him. Him. 

The curtain came down; the lights went 
up. Corinna's face looked ri las а 
moon, though pink, and broadly smiling. 
“Is it really only two acts? Isn't it stifling in 
here?" she asked. 

“I hadn't noticed." 

“You seem so preoccupied. Sad. What 
are you thinking about?" 

The blue of the dress as it enclosed her 
throat brought out the blue of her eyes 
startlingly; it thrilled him like a spurt of 
ice water to realize he must dump her. 
Nothing to lose through the truth, then. 
"My first wife," he answered. 
four only wife, as I understand it,” 
Corinna said. “Lets get up. 

He took her into the lobby and bought 
her a сопе of orangeade. Even in this 
crush, he imagined, she was being ad- 
mired—her rosy high color, her cool blue 
stare as she sucked at the straw. Her cheeks 
dented in, draining the last. The warning 
bell rang. As they shuffled toward thei 
isle, she placed her hand heavily on his 


forearm. “Freddy. l'm going to faint." 
“Faint?” It seemed a concept wildly out 


of fashion, like bastardy or 
ers. "Why would you do that?" 
feel von she said, staring ahead. 
Her rosy face had gone waxen, The crow's- 
feet at the corners of her eyes had 
smoothed away he noticed. ‘The weight of 
her hand on his arm slippingly intensified 
and he put his arm around her waist to 
hold her upright. Her legs seemed to be 
abdicating responsibility for her body. 
“You really want to do this?” he asked, 
and in the silence of her response, the calm 
of disaster descended upon him. She 
mustnt fall to the floor here, to be tram- 
pled by Italian leather. He spotted a sign 
that spelled Labies at the corner of the lob- 
by, past some pilasters. “Hold tight,” he 
muttered, Corinna was still conscious but 
leaning against him like a flying buttress. 
He pulled her toward the archway; there 
was no door to push through, just some as- 
tonished faces to brush aside. A female at- 
tendant the size and age of Freddy's 
mother, and with the same hobbling 
thrust, strode forward indignantly. “She' 


family pray- 


nting,” Freddy called to her, and the in- 
dignation on the old ladys face hesitantly 
dissolved. Corinna's weight went altogeth- 


er dead, a silken ton of blood. 

“Poor thing,” the attendant said, and 
bent to share Freddy's responsibility. 

In less than a second, he had appraised 
his surro That pink door must 
lead to the toilets. There was no plumbing 
in sight, just mirrors and dollops of gilt, as 
if squeezed from a giant icing tube. So this 
was a ladies lounge. Everywhere there 
were places to sit, for ladies to be faint 
upon, chairs and sofas. The room, emp- 


tying as the second warning bell sounded, 
still held women, perhaps a dozen; they 
formed an audience as Freddy and the 
motherly attendant lowered Corinna's ut- 
terly limp and ponderous body onto the 
nearest receptacle, a chaise longue covered 
with blue stripes that complemented the 
skyey pallors of her dress. 

She was out cold, and looked lovely. Di 
played thus on the dainty chaise, her long 
legs trailing to the floor, she had grown 
huge іп unconsciousness. Bent above her, 
Freddy felt himself engorged by pride. She 
was his, his, with her wide hips tugging the 
dress into horizontal wrinkles and her 
hands flopped palm up at the end of arms 
longer than swans’ necks and her oblivious 
face impassive and wide as that of a Mayan 
idol. Only he, in the audience gathered 
around her body, knew her name; it, and 
all of the trivial facts with which she might 
have described herself, had sunk into the 
depths of her sudden, majestic abdication. 
He was one of these details and he, too, 
with his money and his mother and his 
cunning, his maddening resistance to mar- 
riage, had sunk with them, without a trace; 
he had ceased to grieve her, he was lost 
within her, as within the universe. How 
big she was, his doll! How beautiful and 
mysterious! The inside of his chest felt 
crammed, scraped, distended, In panic, 
he wanted to call her back into being, from 
behind her face, this untouchable mask 
with a strand of disarrayed hair pasted to 
one cheek, lest it find peace too blissful and. 
begin to decompose. He was inside her, 
somehow, every detail of him down to his 
mediocre record at Colgate and his fa- 
ther's humiliating shoe store. He wanted 
to sce her lips move, her eyelids flutter. He 
wanted to be allowed to put their lives back 
on the track. 

The attendant thrust some smelling 
salts under Corinna’s nose. The rapt face 
grimaced and then, in an instant, beaded 
all over with sweat. The watching women 
greeted this prodigy with murmurs, and 
Freddy, as somehow its father, took their 
applause as a compliment to himself. Exer- 
cising his prerogatives, he bent a shade 
closer, and Corinna’s nostrils perceptibly 


narrowed. The ammonium carbonate was 
reapplied, and this time her sou! pushed 
through the maze of her physiology and 
popped her eyes open. “Oh” was her single 
word. Her eyes in fright searched all their 
faces until they found his, and closed. Her 


hand, however, lingered to brush aside the 
strand now tickling her cheek. In ten min- 
utes, she was ready to walk out into the air. 

The second act, he supposed, would 
have been much like the first. 

She said it was the dress; that dress made 
her feel, the cut of it and fabric both, 
closed in, which is why she had put it, 
though she knew it was flattering, at the 
back of her close: 

They were married in the open, ona site 
where some slums had been cleared as 
part of one of Freddy's packages. 


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PLAYB 


WAYNE 
(continued from page 205) 


No censorship from the outside. They 
were responsible to the public. But today’ 
executives don't give a damn. In their ef- 
forts to grab the box office that these sex 
pictures are attracting, they're producing. 
garbage. Theyre taking advantage of the 
fact that nobody wants to be called a 
bluenose. I'm quite sure that within two or 
three years, Americans will be completely 
fed up with these perverted films. 
PLAYBOY: What kind of films do you consid- 
er perverted? 

WAYNE: Oh, Easy Rider, Midnight Cow- 
boy—that kind of thing, Wouldn't you say 
that the wonderful love of those two men 
in Midnight Cowboy, a story about two fags, 
qualifies? But don't get me wrong. As faras 
a man and a woman is concerned, I'm aw- 
fully happy there's a thing called sex. 105 
an extra something God gave us. I see no 
reason why it shouldnt be in pictures. 
Healthy, lusty sex is wonderful. 

PLAYBOY: How graphically do you think it 
should be depicted on the screen? 

WAYNE: When you get hairy, sweaty bodies 
in the foreground, it becomes distasteful, 
unless you use a pretty heavy gauze. When 
you think of the wonderful picture fare 
we've had through the years and realize 
we've come to this shit, it's disgusting. 
PLAYBOY: Isn't your kind of screen rebellion 
very different from that of today's young 
people? 

WAYNE: Sure. Mine is a personal rebellion 
against the monotony of life, against the 
status quo. The rebellion in these kids. 
especially the SDSers and those 
groups—seems to be a kind of dissension 
by rote. 

PLAYBOY: Meaning what? 

WAYNE: Just this: The articulate liberal 
group has caused certain things in our 
country, and I wonder how long the young. 
people who read Playboy are going to allow 
those things to go on. George Putnam, the 
Los Angeles news analyst, put it quite suc: 
cinctly when he said, “What kind of a па- 
tion is it that fails to understand that 
freedom of speech and assembly are one 
thing, and anarchy and treason are quite 
another, that allows known Communists to 
serve as teachers to pervert the loyalties 
and ideals of our kids, filling them with 
fear and doubt and hate and downgrading 
patriotism and all our heroes of the past? 
PLAYBOY: You blame all this on liberals? 
WAYNE: Well, the liberals seem to be quite 
willing to have Communists teach their 
kids in school. I don't want somebody like 
Angela Davis inculcating an enemy doc- 
trine in my kid's minds. 

PLAYBOY: Angela Davis claims that those 
who would revoke her teaching credentials 
on ideological grounds are actually dis- 


278 ‘timinating against her because she's 


black. Do you think that's true? 
WAYNE: With a lot of blacks, there's quite a 
bit of resentment along with their dissent, 
and possibly rightfully so. But we can't all 
of a sudden get down on our knees and 
turn everything over to the leadership of 
the blacks. I believe in white supremacy 
until the blacks are educated to a point of 
responsibility. I dont believe in giving 2u- 
thority and positions of leadership and 
Judgment to irresponsible people. 
PLAYBOY: Let's change the subject. For 
years American Indians have played an. 
important—if subordinate—role in your 
Westerns. Do you feel empathy with them? 
WAYNE: I don't feel we did wrong in tal 
this great country away from them, 
that’s what you're asking. Our so-called 
stealing of this country from them was just 
a matter of survival, There were great 
numbers of people who needed new land, 
and the Indians were selfishly trying to 
keep it for themselves. 
PLAYBOY: Weren't the Indians—by virtue of 
prior possession—the rightful owners of 
the land? 
WAYNE: Look, I’m sure there have been 
inequalities. If those inequalities аге 
presently affecting any of the Indians now 
alive, they have a right to a court hearing. 
But what happened 100 years ago in our 
country cant be blamed on us today What 
happened between their forefathers and 
our forefathers is so far back—right, 
wrong or indifferent—that I don't see why 
we owe them anything. I don't know why 
the Government should give them some- 
thing that it wouldn't give me. You can't 
whine and bellyache ‘cause somebody else 
gota good break and you didn't, like these 
Indians are. We'll all be on a reservation 
soon if the socialists keep subsidizing 
groups like them with our tax money. 
PLAYBOY: In your distaste for socialism, 
aren't you overlooking the fact that many 
worthwhile and necessary Government 
services—such as Social Security and 
Medicare—derived from essentially so- 
cialistic programs cvolved during the 
les? 
1 know all about that. In the late 
when I was a sophomore at USC, 
I was a socialist myself—but not when I 
left. The average college kid idealistically 
wishes everybody could have ice cream 
and cake for every meal. But as he gets old- 
ег and gives more thought to his and his 
fellow man's responsibilities, he finds that 
it can't work out that way—that some peo- 
ple just won't carry their load. Га like to 
know why well-educated idiots keep apolo- 
gizing for lazy and complaining people 
who think the world owes them a living. 
When I went to USC, if anybody had 
gone into the president's office and shit in 
his wastepaper basket and used the dirt to 
write vulgar words on the wall, not only 
the football team but the average kid on 
campus would have gone to work on the 


guy. There doesn't seem to be respect for 
authority anymore. 
PLAYBOY: What makes you, at the age of 63, 
feel qualified to comment on the fears and 
motivations of the younger generation? 
WAYNE: I've experienced a lot of the same 
things that kids today are going through, 
and I think many of them admire me be- 
cause I haven't been afraid to say that I 
drink a little whiskey, that I've done a lot of 
things wrong in my life, that m as im- 
perfect as they all are. Christ, 1 don't claim 
to have the answers, but I feel compelled to 
bring up the fact that under the guise of 
doing good, these kids are causing a hell of 
a lot of irreparable damage, and they're 
starting something they're not gonna be 
able to finish. Every bit of rampant anar- 
chy has provoked more from somebody 
else. And when they start shooting police- 
men, the time has come to start knocking 
them off, as far as I'm concerned. 
PLAYBOY: Do you think there's a credibility 
gap between the way the Vietnam war has 
been reported and the way йз being 
fought? 
WAYNE: It’s obvious to me, because I've 
been there. And you'll find that the young 
veterans who come back from Vietnam 
have a lot to say that the media haven't told 
us—eyen about our allies. These young 
men know what they're talking about, be- 
cause they own a piece of that war, and you 
should ask the man who owns one. 
PLAYBOY: Many of those young men who 
“own a piece of that war” never wanted to 
go to Vietnam. And the majority of the 
American people, according to every poll, 
think we never should have intervened in 
the first place. What's the justification for 
the Vietnam war? 
WAYNE: | honestly believe that there's as 
much need for us to help the Vietnamese 
as there was to help the Jews in Germany. 
The only difference is that we haven't had 
any leadership in this war. All the liberal 
Senators have stuck their noses in this, and 
its out of their bailiwick. They've already 
put far too many barriers in the way of the 
military. Our lack of leadership has gone 
so far that now no one man can come in, 
face the issue and tell people that we ought 
to be in an all-out war. 
PLAYBOY: Why do you favor an all-out war? 
WAYNE: I figure if we're going to send even 
опе man to die, we ought to be in an all-out 
conflict. If you fight, you fight to win. I 
don't advocate an all-out war 
essary. All I know is that we г 
should be backing up whatever the propo- 
sition is that we sent one man to die for. 
PLAYBOY: What legacy do you hope to leave 
behind? 
WAYNE: Well, you're going to think I'm be- 
ing corny, but this is how I really feel: I 
hope my family and my friends will be able 
to say that I was an honest, kind and fairly 
decent man 

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HOW IWOULD START 


(continued from page 149) 


“Computer development will make all that is familiar 
as antiquated as the hand-operated adding machine.” 


though the picture began to change when 
the development of the A-bomb opened 
the door to the utilization of atomic power. 

The potentials of nuclear energy аге 
fairly well known. There are already 
nuclear reactors producing power for 
peaceful purposes; there can be no doubt 
that we shall see a progressively wider ap- 
plication of this energy source in the years 
ahead. Only a short time ago, newspapers 
reported that, at least in theory, every 
home in the nation could one day be heat- 
ed by nuclear-fueled heating systems. 
RCA's David Sarnoff says: “I do not hesi- 
tate to forecast that atomic batteries will be 
commonplace long before 1980.” 

Withal, the new energy industries will 
offer the beginning businessman myriad 


opportunities for resounding success. And 
do not think for a moment that these will 
be limited to technicians. As just one off- 
the-cuff observation—which should serve 
to spark the imagination—think of what 
will happen when the atomic battery is 
perfected and placed on the market. For- 
tunes will be made by the individuals and 
companies who plan and implement the 
programs to convince an understandably 
atom-shy public that the new product will 
not make a Hiroshima out of Hartford or 
Hoboken. 

Electronics—although it has taken as- 
tounding giant steps in recent years—is 
also still in its infancy. Here is another new 
industry that will continue renewing itself 
during the career span of any young man 


“As I understand it, there's a merry-go-round upstairs.” 


now embarking on business life. There are 
no bounds to the uses to which electroni 
equipment might be put. Computer de: 
opment will make all that is familiar now 
seem as antiquated as the hand-operated 
adding machine. 

I could go on indefinitely, listing the 
electronic marvels that are even now un- 
der development—and some of which 
might well be on the market by the time 
this article sees print, such is the awesome 
speed of our progress. However, to extend 
the list would be unnecessary The 
fledgling businessman worth the name will 
see the fantastic promise of electronics. 
The beginner can get his big chance in re- 
search, development, production, sales 
and distribution or servicing—in any 
phase of the mushrooming industry. 

The space industries have awesome po- 
tential. True, they are now working almost 
exclusively оп Government contracts— 
and they may well continue to do so, for 
the capital expenditures needed seem far 
beyond the capacity of any private com- 
pany or even any private consortium. 
However, the companies that produce the 
equipment for the space program are 
largely private firms, operating under the 
free-enterprise system, and all signs indi- 
cate they will continue to do so. 

For the beginner in the space industries, 
the stars are the limit. The human animal 
being what he is, he will not rest but will 
continue to move ahead, from one un- 
known to another. It is no more possible to 
reverse or halt man’s exploration of space 
than it was to halt the global exploration 
that began in the 15th Сепин 

1 have not covered all the new industries. 
Lasers, ultrasonics, pantography, therm- 
ionics, the retardation/prevention of ог- 
ganic deterioration (irradiation, freezing, 
dehydration) are only some of the many 
areas that space limitations prevent me 
from discussing. However, if I were start- 
ing out on my business carcer today, I 
would certainly make a careful assessment 
of the possibilities offered by each of the 
industries and fields I have mentioned— 
as well, I might suggest, as those I have 
omitted. 

To the man who feels himself qualified 
to go into business for himself, 1 say “Start 
now!” There is no time like the present to 
get in on the ground floor and take full ad- 
vantage of the rising trend and of the new 
and unprecedented opportunities that 
present themselves in dozens of fields. 
Large fortunes will be made in the next 
two decades by men who are beginners to- 
day. The most exciting and promising 
golden age in the world's history lies before 
us. 

Starting vour business career now? 

Ifyou are, I envy your chances. I wish I 
could take them for you. It would be fun to 
do it all over again! 


рмет: AUTO THEFT 
*CLUB 2: * SUPER CLUB’ 


Statistics show your car has a 1 ın 50 chance of 
being stolen or vandalized, Of course you want to 
protect it. But how? 

You have several options: 


THE INEXPENSIVE 
IGNITION GUFF 
This litte device retails for up to $50. It wraps 
around the ignition lock and locks with its own key. 
Actually. a professional thielwon'tbother with it. He 
goes through the centerof the steering column with 
a tool 


THE VERY EXPENSIVE 
ELECTRONIC SYSTEM 
WITH A SIREN 
Have you ever walked past a car with ils siren 
blaring? Or its horn tocting? That's just it. People 
walk right past. These systems have “hidden” 
Switches which any thief can find. They have com- 
plex mechanisms that сап bring the cost up 10 
$1,000. But they re hardly fooiprodl. Maybe that's 

‘why they re always causing false alarms. 


THE 
MODERATE-TO-EXPENSIVE 
WHEEL-TO-PEDAL LOCK 
This medieval monster hooks on the steering wheel 
and extends down to the brake. I's much easier to 
doleat than it isto install, as any thief can demon: 
strate with a good Kick. It costs up to 579. A lot for 
something that ends up in the trunk SPECIAL 
CAUTION: The basic designof these locks is poten- 
tially dangerous as it interferes with the braking 
system. Because ol their low visibility. a driver can 
forget il's in place. Once a car is in gear braking іс 
relatively impossible. It's happened more than once, 

leaving devastating results, 


THE “HIDDEN” SWITCHES. 
Kill switches and fuel cut-offs only have so many 
places they canbe hidden, and i doesn’ttake a thief. 
very long to lind either type. Once athielhasbroken 
in, the damage is already done 


“THE CLUB” 
HOW IT WORKS 


THE CLUB" is a side-and-lock brace that once 
i'slockedinto place. steering isimpossible, The ex 
tension end issn long that it's stopper by anything 
immovable, such as the windshield. door post or 
seat. The steering wheel can NOT be turned enough 
tomate driving possible. “THE CLUB is bright red, 
ard it's position on the steering wheel makes it 
highly visible from theoutside. This visibility deters 
thieves BEFORE they attempt to break in. 


POLICE-TESTED 
POLICE-ENDORSED 


Pittsburgh Fraternal Order of Police deciared war 
оп auto theft in their слу, using "THE CLUB” as the 
heart of their campaign. With the combined efforts 
of the Pittsburgh police and "THE CLUB", their 
‘CURTAIL AUTO THEFT" campaign had fantastic 
results. Auto thettin their city was actually reduced 
by 40% in 90 days. 

Now many policemen are usingther in theirown 
vehicles. “I've never seen a more effective deterrent 
to auto theft,” stated Lt. John Mook, Pittsburgh 
PoliceDepartmen!. “1 wholeheartedly endorse "THE. 
CLUB” and recommend it to everyone for the best 
in auto theft protection.” stated LI. Ron Carnevale. 
LAP... head о! auto theft division in Los Angeles 
lor seven years, "THECLUB" is also used by major 
lieet owners to protect their vehicles. 


THE 
“SUPER CLUB” 


It works the same way as “THE CLUB”. butuses 
a special, state-of-the-art cross key lock The unit is 
self-locking & requires a key only to unlock. The 
‘SUPER CLUB" is enhanced security. for slightly 
more cost 
BEWARE OF CHEAP IMITATIONS. “THE CLUB“ 
does have a few look-alikes cut there Hit doesn't 
dearly read “THE CLUB" on its extension end. it's 
not the real thing 


GUARANTEED! 


‘We have offered the same guarantee for over two 
years, and will continue to do so. “THE CLUB" 
comes with a registration card, which when filed 
ош. will activate your guarantee. Ilyour car is stolen 
while “THE CLUB" іс properly inctallod, we'll roi 
bursa you for your insurance deductible up to $200. 

The "SUPER CLUB" is guaranteed for upto $500 
of your insurance deductible it your car is stolen 
while it’s in use. “Details inside package 


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ORDER YOURS TODAY. 


800-527-3345 outside of PA | 
412-981-1152 inside of PA 
412-981-1034 FAX 


Auto Club $5995 
Super Club 7995 
Truck Club. 6995 
UPS Charges 500 
Alaska/Haw all... 1100 
Overnight Express ..... 1600 
C.0.0. s, add 2.50. 


PA residents add 6% tax 
"Call for out of country freight charges, If 
ordering by mail, please include complete 
shipping address, daytime phone, charge 
card number and expiration date. Personal 
checks and money orders welcome, 


WINNER 


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Dept. WPPB. Winner Building 
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Dealer inquiries invited. 


281 


PLAYBOY 


282 


INESSE 


* (continued from page 228) 


“I think of the good times, the funny times. He was a 
person who, despite his pain, never stopped laughing” 


not have lasted beyond the age of 40 if it 
hadn't been for Frank Merlo. Frank was a 
sailor, a wartime discovery of mine. Some 
five years after I met him, and when he was 
no longer involved with the Navy, Tennes- 
see saw us-lunching in a cozy Italian 
restaurant. I never saw him so excited, el 
ther before or since. He deserted his own 
luncheon companion—his agent, байка) 
Wood —and swiftly, without any invi 
sat himself at our table. After I had a 
duced him to my friend, not two minutes 
passed before he said, “Could you have 
dinner with me tonight?” 

The invitation clearly did not include 
me. But Frank was embarrassed; he didn't 
know what to say. | answered for him: 
“Yes,” I said, “of course he'd like to have 
dinner with you. 

So he did. They were together for 14 
years, and those were the happiest years of 
Tennessee's life. Frank was like a husband, 
a lover, a business agent to him. Нс also 
had a great gift for parties, which suited 
“Tennessee just fine. When Yukio Mishima, 
the brilliant Japanese writer—the one who 
formed an army and confronted the 
Japanese military commander and ended 
up committing hara-kiri—when he came 
to New York in 1952, Tennessee told Frank 
that he wanted to throw a party in Mishi- 
таў honor. So Frank rounded up every 
geisha girl between. New York and San 
Francisco, but he didn't stop at that. Then 
he outfitted about 100 drag geishas. It was 
the most fantastic party Ud ever seen іп my 
entire life. And Tennessee dressed up as а 
great geisha dame and they drove through 
the park all night till dawn, drinking 
champagne. This was Mi 's first taste 
fe in the Western world, and he said, 
“I'm never going back to Japan!” 

When Frank died of cancer in 1962, Ten- 
nessee died a little, too. | remember all too 
well the last hours of Frank's life. He lived 
then in a New York hospital room, where 
crowds of friends drifted in and out. Final- 
ly, a stern doctor ordered the room rid of 
all visitors, including Tennessee. But he re- 
fused to leave. He knelt by the narrow bed 
and clutched Franks hand, pressing it 
against his cheek. 

Nevertheless, the doctor told him he 
must go. But suddenly Frank whispered, 
“No. Let him stay. It can't do me any hi 

The doctor sighed and left them alone. 
ennessee was never the same after that. 
He had always drunk a good deal, but he 
started combining drugs and alcohol. He 
was also meeting some verv strange рсо- 
ple. I think he lived the last two decades of 
his life alone—with the ghost of Frank. 

. 


But now when 1 remember Tennessee, I 


think of the good times, the funny times. 
He was a person who, despite his inner 
sadness, never stopped laughing. He had a 
remarkable laugh. It wasn't coarse or vul- 
gar or even especially loud. It just had an 
amazing sort of throaty Mississippi-river- 
man ring to it. You could always tell when 
he had walked into the room, no matter 
how many people were there. 

As for his sense of humor, normally it 
was pretty raucous. But when he got 
into a fury, he seemed to swing between 
two things: either very sick humor— 
laughing nonstop during those five-mar- 
tini lunches of his—or deep bitterness, 
about himself, about his father, about his 
family His father never understood him 
сетей to blame him for his si: 
ters insanity and Tennessee himself—well, 
I think he thought he was not very sane. 
You could see all of this in his eyes, which 
hada changing in them, like a Ferris wheel 
of merriment and bitterness, 

This isn't to say that he wasn't fun to be 
with. We used to go to the me 
and I guess I’ve been thrown 
movichouses with him than with anybody 
else in my life. He would always start recit- 
ing lines, making fun, doing Joan Craw- 
ford. Before long, the manager would 
come down and tell us to get out. 

My funniest memory, though, is of four 
or five years ago, when I was staying with 
Tennessee in Key West. We were in a ter 
rifically crowded bar—there were proba- 
bly 300 people in it, both gays and 
straights. A husband and wife were sitting 
at a table in the corner, and they were both 
quite drunk, She had on slacks anda halter 
top, and she approached our table and 
held out an eyebrow pencil, She wanted 
me to autograph her belly button 

1 just laughed and said, “Oh, no. Leave 
me alone.” 

“How can you be so cruel?” Tennessee 
said to me, and, as everybody in the place 
watched, he took the eyebrow pencil and 
wrote my name around her navel. When 
she got back to her table, her husband was 
furious. Before we knew it, he had 
grabbed the eyebrow pencil out of her 
hand and walked over to where we were 
sitting, whereupon he unzipped his pants 
and pulled out his cock and said—to me— 
“Since you're autographing everything to- 
day, would you mind autographing mine?” 

Thad never heard a place with 300 peo- 
ple in it get that quiet. I didn’t know what 
to say—1 just looked at him. 

Then ‘Tennessee reached up and took 
the eyebrow pencil out of the stranger's 
hand. “I don't know that there's room for 
Truman to autograph it,” he said, giving 


me a wink, “but I'll initial 
It brought down the house. 
б 

The last time I saw a few weeks 
before he died. We had dinner together at 
a very private little place called Le Club, 
and Tennessee was fine physically, but sad. 
He said he had no friends anymore, that I 
was one of the few people left in his life 
who really knew him. He wished we could 
be close the way we were in the old days. 

And as he talked and the fireplace 
blazed, І thought, Yes, I did know him. 
And 1 remembered a night many years be- 
fore when 1 first realized that was true. 

The year was 1947, and the opening 
night of A Streetcar Named Desire was a 
hauntingly dazzling event. As the lights 
dimmed on the final scene and Blanche 
DuBois, reaching out in darkness for the 
guiding hands of a nurse and a doctor, 
whispered, “Whoever you are—I have 
depended on the kindness 

"a thrilling silence immo 

nce. Terror and beauty had 
stopped their hearts. Even long aft 
curtain had descended, the hush coni 
ued. Then it was as if a cascade of balloons 
had exploded. The magnificent applause, 
the momentous rising of theau 
feet, wasas sudden and as breath-taking as 
a cyclone. 

The stars, Jessica Tandy and Marlon 
Brando, took 16 curtain calls before the 
“Author! Author!” demands were met. He 
was reluctant to be led on stage, this young 
Mr. Williams. He blushed as though it 
were the first time he had ever been kissed, 
and by strangers, at that. Certainly, he had 
not splurged on the evening (he had an 
overpowering fear of money, one so severe 
that even an occasion such as this could not 
make him succumb to thoughts of a new 
suit), so he was dressed in dark blue that 
manya subway seat had shined; and histie 
had become loosened; and one of the bu 
tons on his shirt was dangling. But he was 
beguiling: short but trim, sturdy, healthy 
colored. He held up two smallish plow- 
mans hands and quietened the ecstasy 
long enough to say, “Thank you. Thank 
you very, very, very . . .” in a voice as slug- 
gish and Southern as the Mississippi if the 
ег were polluted with gin. What he felt, 
one felt, was joy, not happiness: joy is co- 
caine brief, but happiness has at least a lit- 
Ue longer-lasting languor. 

‘Tennessee was an unhappy man, even 
when he was smiling the most, laughing 
his loudest. And the truth was, at least 
to me, that Blanche and her creator 
were interchangeable; they shared the 
same sensitivity, the same insecurity, the 
same wistful lust. And suddenly, as 
one was thinking that and was watching 
his bows to the deafening clamor, he 
seemed to recede on the stage, to 
fade through the curtains—led by the 
same doctor who had guided Blanche 
DuBois toward undesirable shadows. 


ways 


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BORN ON THE FOURTH 


(continued from page 196) 


“I just want you to know, Major. I think I was the 
one who killed the corporal. I think it was me.” 


lieutenants face, “and we moved back- 
ward.” 

“You retreated,” the lieutenant said. 

“Yes, we retreated and he got shot. He 
lived a little while, but then he died. He 
died there in the sand and we called for 
help. And then we put him in the amtrac. 
He must have run away when they started 
firing. It was dark and I couldn't tell.” 

"OK," said the young-looking lieu- 
tenant. "Come back again in the morn- 
ing and we can go over it again. Too bad 
about..." 

“Yeah,” he said. 

He was almost crying now as he turned 
and walked out of the big comi id 
bunker. There was sand all over the place 
outside and а cold monsoon wind was 
blowing. He looked out into the darknes: 
and heard the waves of the China Sea 
breaking softly far away 

I killed him, һе kept repeating over and 
over to himself. 

He's dead, he thought. 

Gripping his rifle, holding the trigger, 
he went through the whole thing again 
and again, tapping, touching the trigger 
lightly each time he saw the corporal from 
Geo running toward him just as һе 
had out there in the sand when everything: 
seemed so crazy and frightening. Each 
time he felt his heart racing as the thrce 
cracks went off and the dark figure 
slumped to the sand in front of him. 

Slowly he turned the rifle around and 
pointed the barrel toward his head. Oh, Je- 
sus God Almighty, he thought, Why? Why? 
Why? He began to cry, slowly at first. Why? 
I'm going to kill myself, he thought. I'm 
going to pull this trigger. He was going 
mad. One minute he wanted to pull the 
trigger and the next he was feeling the 
strange power of a man who had just 
killed someone. 

He laid the weapon down by the side оГ 
his rack and crawled in with his clothing 
still on. I killed him, he kept thinking, and 
when | wake up tomorrow, it will still be 
the same. 

He opened his eyes slowly as the light 
came into the tent like a bright triangle. 
They were all starting to stir, the other 
men, starting to get up. And then he re- 
membered again what had happened 

He went back to the big sandbagged 
bunker to see the major. 

“That was a pretty rough night, Ser- 
geant,” the major said, looking up from 
the green-plastic maps on his desk. 


he said. “It was pretty bad.” 
“Ran into a lot of them, didnt you?” the 
major said, almost smiling. 


“Yes, we sure did. I mean, they just sort 


of popped up оп usand started firin 

The major looked down at the maps 
again and frowned slightly. “What hap- 
pened out there?” he said. 

“There were a bunch of shots,” he said 
carefully. “Everybody was shooting; it was 
a bad fire fight.” He paused. “It was pretty 
bad and then Corporal was shot. He was 
shot and he fell down in front of us and a 
couple of the men ran out to get him. They 
pulled him back in. I think the others were 
still firing. The corpsman tried to help . . . 
the corporal was shot in the neck . . . the 
corpsman tried to help. . . ." 

It was becoming very difficult for him to 
talk now. “Major,” he said, “I think I might 


Шей the corporal" 
k so,” said the major quickly 

"It was very confusing. It was hard to tell 
what was happening.” 

“Yes, I know,” said the major. “Some- 
times it gets very hard out there. | was out 
a couple of weeks ago and sometimes it’s 
very hard to tell what's happening.” 

He stared down at the floor of the 
bunker until he could make himself say it 
again. He n't quite sure the major had 
heard him the first time, 

“But I just want you to know, Major. 1 
think I was the one who killed him. I think 
it might have been me.” 

There, he had said it. And now he was 
walking away: 

For some reason, he was feeling a lot bet- 
ter. Не had told the major everything and 
the major hadn't believed it. It was like go- 
ing to confession when he was a kid and 
the priest saying everything was OK. 

. 

It was his friend the major who gave him 
his second chance. He called him into the 
command bunker one day and told him he 
wanted him to become the leader of his 
new scout team. Here was his chance, he 


“The court sentences you 10, oh, 
four-and-a-half years.” 


283 


PLAYBOY 


284 


thought, to make everything good again. 
This young, strong Marine was getting a 
second crack at becominga hero. Here was 
his chance, he thought over and over. 

He went ош on patrol with the others 
the night of the ambush at exactly eight 
o'clock. One by one the scouts moved slow- 
ly past the thick barbed wire and began to 
walk along the bank of the river, heading 
toward the graveyard where the ambush 
would be set up. There was a rice paddy on 
the edge of the graveyard. No one said a 
word as they walked through it and he 
thought he could hear voices from the vil- 
lage. He could smell the familiar smoke 
from the fires in the huts and he knew that 
the people who went out fishing each day 
must have come home. He remembered 
how difficult it had been when he had first 
come to the war to tell the villagers from 
the enemy and sometimes it had seemed 
easier to hate all of them, but he had al- 
ways tried very hard not to. 

‘They were on the rice dike that bor- 
dered the graveyard. The voices from the 
huts nearby seemed quite loud. The lieu- 
tenant had sent one of the men, Molina, on 
across the rice dikes, almost to the edge of 
the village. The cold rain was coming 
down very hard. 

He could see him waving his arms excit- 
edly, trying to tell the licutenant some- 
thing. Stumbling over the dikes, almost 
crawling, Molina came back toward the 
lieutenant. He saw him whisper something 
in his ear. And now the lieutenant turned 
and looked at him. 

“Whatis it?” he cried. 

“Be quiet,” whispered the lieutenant 
sharply, grabbing his arm, almost throw- 
ing him into the paddy. He began talking 
very quickly and much louder than he 
should have. “I think we found them. I 
think we found them,” he repeated, almost 
shouting. 

He didn't know what the lieutenant 
meant. "What?" he said. 

“The sappers, the sappers! Let's go!” 
The lieutenant was taking over now. He 
seemed very sure of himsel 
very confident. “Let's go, goddamn it!” 

He clicked his rifle off s 
men up quickly urging them forward, 
following the lieutenant and Molina to- 
ward the edge of the village. They ran 
through the paddy, splashing like a family 
of ducks. Thistime he hoped and prayed it 
would be the real enemy. He would be 
ready for them this time. 

He saw a light, a fire, he thought, 
flickering in the distance, offto the right of 
the village, with Іше dark figures that 
seemed to be moving behind it. Не could 
nottell how far away they were from there. 
It was hard to tell distance in the dark. 

"The lieutenant moved next to him. "You 
see?” he whispered. "Look," he said, very 
keyed up now. "They've got rifles. Can you 
see the rifles? Can you see them?" the lieu- 
tenant asked him. 

He looked very hard through the rain. 

"Can you see them?" 


The lieutenant put his arm around him 
and whispered in his ear. “Tell them down 
at the end to give me ап illumination. 1 


ly to the man on his right, 
he told him what the lieutenant had said. 
He told him to pass the instructions all 
the way to the end of the line, where a 
Hare would be fired just above the small 
fire near the village. He felt the whole line. 
tense, then heard the w0000rshh of the flare 
cracking overhead in a tremendous ball of 
sputtering light, turning night into day, 
arching over their heads toward the small 
fire that he now saw was burning inside an 
open hut. 

Suddenly, someone was firing from the 
end of the line, and now all the men in the 
line opened up, roaring their weapons 
like thunder, pulling their triggers again 
and again without even thinking, emp- 
tying everything they had into the hut in a 
tremendous stream of bright-orange trac- 
ers that crisscrossed in the night. 

The flare arched its last sputtering bits 
into the village and it became dark, and all 
he could see were the bright-orange em- 
bers from the fire that had gone out 

And he could hear them. 

There were voices screaming. 
hat happened? Goddamn it, what 
happened?” yelled the lieutenant, 

The voices were screaming from inside 
the hut. 

“Who gave the order to fire? I wanna 
know who gave the order to fire.” 

“We better get a killer team out there,” 
he heard Molina say. 

“All right, all right. Sergeant,” the lieu- 
tenant said to him, “get out there with 
Molina and tell me how many we got.” 

He got to his feet and quickly got five of 
the men together, leading them over the 
dike and through the water to the hut 
from where the screams were still coming, 

Molina turned the beam of his flash- 
light into the hut. “Oh, God,” he said. “Oh, 
Jesus Christ.” He started to cry. “We just 
shot up a bunch of kids!” 

The floor of the small hut was covered 
with them, screaming and thrashing their 
arms back and forth, lying in pools of 
blood, crying wildly, screaming again and 
again. They were shot in the face, in the 
chest, in the legs, moaning and crying. 

“Oh, Jesus!” he cried. 

He could hear the lieutenant shouting at 
them, wanting to know how many they had 
killed. 

“What's happening? What's going on up 
there?” The lieutenant was getting impa- 
tient now. 

Molina shouted for the lieutenant to 
come quickly "You better get up here. 
There's a lot of wounded people up here." 

He heard a small girl moaning now. She 
was shot through the stomach and bleed- 
ing from the rear end. All he could see 


now was blood everywhere and he heard 
their screams with his heart racing like it 
had never raced before. He felt crazy and. 
weak as he stood there staring at them. 
with the rest of the men, staring down onto 
the floor as if it were a nightmare, as if it 
were some kind of dream and it really 
wasn't happening. He knelt down in the 
midst of the screaming bodies and began 
bandaging them. 

The lieutenant had just come up with 
the others. 

"Help me!" he screamed. "Somebody 
help!" 

“Well, goddamn it, Sergeant! What's the 
matter? How many did we kill?" 

“They're children!” he screamed at the 
lieutenant. 

“Children and old men!” cried Molina. 

“Where are their rifles?” The lieutenant. 
asked. 

“There aren't any rifles," he said. 

“Well, help him, then!" screamed the 
lieutenant to the rest of the men. The men. 
stood in the entrance to the hut, but they 
would not move. “Help him, help him. I'm 
ordering you to help him! 

Ihe men were not moving and some of 
them were crying now, dropping their 
rifles and sitting down on the wet ground. 
They were wecping now, with their hands 
faces. “Oh, Jesus, oh, God, 


forgive us. 

"Forgive us for what we've done!" he 
heard Molina cry. 

"You men! You men һауе got to start lis- 
tening to те. You gotta stop crying like ba- 
bies and start acting like Marines" The 
lieutenant was shoving the men, pleading 
with them to moye. "You're men, not ba- 
bies. It's all a mistake. It wasn't your fault. 
They got in the way Don't you under 
stand?—they got in the goddamn way!" 

And when it was all over and all the 
wounded had been taken away, he helped 
the lieutenant move the men back on pa- 
trol. They walked away from the hut in the 
rain. And now he felt his body go numb 
and heavy, feeling awful and sick inside, 
like the night the corporal had died, as 
they moved along in the dark and the rain 
behind the lieutenant toward the grave- 
yard. 


. 
They were ten men armed to the teeth, 

walking in a sweeping line toward the 

lage. It was beautiful, just like the movies. 

Thad started walking toward the village 
when the first bullet hit me. There was a 
sound like firecrackers going off all 
around my feet. Then a real loud crack 
and my leg went numb below the knee. 1 
looked down at my foot and there was 
blood at the back of it. The bullet had gone 
through the front and blown out nearly the 
whole of my heel. 

I had been shot. The war had finally 
caught up with my body. I felt good inside. 
Finally, the war was with me and I had 
been shot by the enemy. I was getting out 
of the war and I was going to be a hero. 


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286 


TOURIST TRADE 


(continued from page 226) 


“They had given her a navel, pubic hair erectile 
nipples. Unreal, Eitel thought, but magnificent.” 


“Yes,” he said. “Of cour: 

“Tell me: When was it that you first saw 
through my disguise?” 

“L felt right away that something was 
wrong. But it wasnt until a moment ago 
that I figured it out.” 

“No one else has guessed, [thi 
extremely excellent Earth bod 
not say?" 

"Extremely," Eitel said. 

“After each trip I always regret, at first, 
returning to my real body. This one seems 
quite genuine to me by now. You like it very 
much, yes?" 

“Yes,” Eitel said helplessly. 

. 

Eitel withdrew four paintings and an 
Olmec jade statuette from the false com- 
partment of his suitcase. The paintings 
were all unframed, small, genuine and 
unimportant. After a moment, he selected 
The Madonna. of the Palms from the atelier 
of Lorenzo Bellini: plainly apprentice 
work but enchanting, serene, pure, not 
bad, easily a $20,000 painting. He slipped 
it into a carrying case, put the others 
back—all but the statuette, which he fon- 
dled for a moment and put down on the 
dresser. in front of the mirror. as though 
setting up a little shrine. To beauty he 
thought, He started to put it away and 
changed his mind. It looked so lovely there 
that he decided to take his chances, Taking 
your chances, he thought. is sometimes 
good for the health. 


К. Itis an. 
would you 


б 

Seeing Agila standing in ıhe doorway of 
her hotel room, Eitel was startled again by. 
the impact of her presence, the over- 
whelming physical power of her beauty. 
Eitel looked from Agila to Anakhistos, 
who sat oddly folded, like a giant umbrel- 
la. That's what she really is, Ене! thought. 
She's Mrs. Anakhistos from Centaurus, 
and her skin is like rubber and her mouth 
is a hinged slot and this body that she hap- 
pens to be wearing right now was made in 
a laboratory And yet, and yet, and yet 
the wind was roaring; he was tossing wild- 
ly about—— 

What the hell is happening to me? 

“Show us what you have for us,” 
khistos said. 

Eitel slipped the lite painting from 
its case. His hands were shaking ever 
hily. In the closeness of the room, 
ked up two strong fragrances, 
something dry and musty coming from 
Anakhistos and the strange, irresistible 
mixtures of incongruous spices that Agi- 
145 synthetic body emanated. 

“The Madonna of the Palms, Lorenzo 
Bellini, Venice, fifteen ninety-seven,” Eitel 
said. “Very fine work.” 


Ana- 


“Bellini is extremely famous, I know.” 

“The famous ones are Giovanni and 
Gentile. This is Giovanni's grandson. He's 
just as good but not well known. I couldn't 
possibly get you paintings by Giovanni or 
Gentile. No one on Earth could.” 

“This is quite fine,” said Anakhistos. 
“True Renaissance beauty And very 
Earthesque. Of course it is genuine?” 

Fitel said stiffly, “Only a fool would try to 
sell a fake to a connoisseur such as your- 
self. But it would be easy enough for us to 
arrange a spectroscopic anal: Casa- 
blanca it” 

“Ah, no, no, no, I meant no suspicioning 
of your reputation. You are impeccable. We 
unquestion the genuinity But what is done 
about the export certificate?” 

“Easy. І have a document that says this is 
a recent copy, done by a student in Paris. 
They are not applying chemical tests of 
age to the paintings, not yet. You will be 
able to take the painting from Earth with 
such a certificate.’ 

“And the price?” said Anakhistos. 

Eitel took a deep breath. It was meant to 
steady him, but it dizzied him instead, for 
it filled his lungs with Agila. 

He said, “If the deal is straight cash, the 
price is four million dollars.” 

“And otherwise?” Agila asked. 

“I'd prefer to talk to you about that 
alone,” he said to her, 

“Whatever you want to say, you can say 
in front of Anakhistos. We are absolute 
mates. We have complete trust.” 

“Ld still prefer to speak more private! 

She shrugged. “All right. The balcon; 

Outside, where the sweetness of night- 
blooming flowers filled the air, her fra- 
grance was less overpowering. It made no 
difference. Looking straight at her only 
with difficulty, he said, “If сап spend the 
rest of this night making love to you, the 
price will be three million.” 

“This is a joke?" 

"In fact, no. Not at all 

“It is worth a million dollars to have sex- 
ual contact with me?" 

Eitel imagined how his father would 
have answered that question, his grandfa- 
ther, his great-grandfather. Their accumu- 
lated wisdom pressed on him like a hump. 
To hell with them, he thought. 

He said, listening in wonder to his own 
words, "Yes. It is. 

“You know that this body is not my real 
body?" 

“I kno: 

She smiled quickly, on-off. “I see. Well, 
let us confer with Anakhistos.” 

5 

When they were іп Eitel's room, Agila 

said, “First, I would please like to have 


some mint tea, yes? It is my addiction, you 
know My aphrodisiac.” 

Sizzling impatience seared Eitel's soul. 
God only knew how long it might take 
room service to fetch a pot of tea at this 
hour, and at $1,000,000 a night, һе pre- 
ferred not to waste even a minute. But 
there was no way to refuse. He could not 
allow himself to seem like some panting 
schoolboy. 

“ОГ course,” he said. 

The waiter—a boy in native costume, 
sleepy, openly envious of Eitel for having a 
woman like Agila in his room—took 
forever to set up the glasses and pour the 
tea, an infinitely slow process of raisingthe 
pot, aiming, letting the thick tea trickle 
down through the air. But at last he left. 
Agila drank greedily and beckoned to Ei- 
tel to have some also. He smiled and shook 
his head 

She said, “But you must. Hove it so—you 
must share it. It is a ritual of love between 
us, eh?” 

He did not choose to make an issue of it. 
A glass of mint tea must not get in the way, 
not now. 

“To us, 
tohis. 

He managed to drink a little. It was like 
pure liquid sugar. She had a second glass 
and then, maddeningly, a third. He pre- 
tended to sip at his. Then, at last, she 
touched her hand to a clasp on her shoul- 
der and her metal-mesh sheath fell away. 

They had done their research properly 
in the hody-making labs of Centaurus. She 
was flawless, sheer fantasy: heavy breasts 
that defied gravity; slender waist; hips that 
would drive a Moroccan camel driver 
berserk; buttocks like pale hemispheres. 
They had given her a navel, pubic hair, 
erectile nipples, dimples here and there, 
the hint of blue veins in her thighs. Unreal, 
yes, Eitel thought, but magnificent. 

“It is my fifth traveling body,” she said. 
“I have been Arcturan, Steropid, Dene 
an, Mizarian—and cach time it has been 
hard, hard, hard! After the transfer is 
done, there is a long training period, and it 
is always very difficult. But one learns. A 
moment comes when the body feels natu- 
ral and true. I will miss this one very much” 

“So will I,” Eitel sai 

Quickly he undressed. She came to him, 
touched her lips lightly to his, grazed his 
chest with her nipples. 

“And now you give mea gift,” she said. 

“What?” 

"It is the custom before making love. An 
exchange of gifts." She took from between 
her breasts the pendant she was wea 
a bright crystal carved in disturbing ali 
swirls. “This is for you. And for me’ 

Oh, God in heaven, he thought. № 

Her hand closed over the Olmec jade 
e that still was sitting on the dresser 
is,” she said. 

It sickened him. That litle statuette was 
$80,000 on the international antiquities 
market, maybe $1,000,000 or $2,000,000 
to the right E.T. buyer. A gift? A love 


j, she said, and touched her glass 


ing, 


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PLAYBOY 


token? He saw the gleam in her eye and 
knew he was trapped. Refuse, and every- 
thing else might be lost. He dare not show 
any trace of pettiness. Yes. So be it. Let her 
have the damned thing. We are being ro- 
mantic tonight. We are making grand ges- 
tures. We are not going to behave like a 


petit bourgeois Swiss art рей ег. Ене! took 
a deep breath. 
“Му pleasure,” he said magnificently. 


. 

Не was ап experienced and expert 
lover; supreme beauty always inspired the 
best in him, and pride alone made him 
want to send her back to Centaurus with 
incandescent memories of the erotic arts of 
Earth. His performance that night—and 
performance was the only word he could 
apply to it—might well have been the finest 
of his life. 

With the lips and tongue, first. Every- 
where. With the fingers, slowly, patiently, 
searching for the little secret key places, 
the unexpected triggering points. With 
the breath against the skin, and the 
fingernails, ever so lightly, and the eyelash- 
esand even the newly sprouting stubble of 
the cheek. These were all things that Eitel 
loved doing, not merely for the effects they 
produced in his bed partners but because 
they were delightful in and of themselves; 
yet he had never done them with greater 
dedication and skill, 

And now, he thought, perhaps 
show me some of her skills. 

But she lay there like a wax doll. Occa- 
«anally she stirred; occasionally «һе 
moved her hips a little. When he went into 
her, he found her warm and moist—why 
had they built that capacity in? Eitel won- 
dered—but he felt no response from her, 
none at all. 

He went on working at it, knowing he 
would not get it. But then, to his surpris 
something actually seemed to be happen- 
ing. Her face grew flushed and her eyes 
narrowed and took on a new gleam and 
her breath began to come in harsh little 
bursts and her breasts heaved and her nip- 
ples grew hard. All the signs, yes: Fitel had 
seen them so many times, and they had 
never been more welcome than at this mo- 
ment. He knew what to do. The unslacken- 
ing rhythm now, the steady building of 
tension, carrying her onward, steadily 
higher, leading her toward that magical 
moment of overload when the watchful 
conscious mind at last surrenders to the 
surging deeper forces. Yes. Yes. The val- 
iant Earthman giving his all for the sake of 
transgalactic passion, laboring like a galley 
slave to show the star-woman what the 
communion of the sexes is all about. 

She seemed almost there. Some panting 
now, even a little gasping. Eitel smiled in 
pleasant self-congratulation. Swiss preci- 
n, he thought: Never underestimate it. 

And then, somehow, she managed to slip 
free of him, between one thrust and the 
next, and she rolled to the side, so that he 
collapsed in amazement into the pillow as 


he will 


288 She left the bed. He sat up and looked at 


numbed. 
1, in the most casual 
way. “I thought Га have a little more tea, 
Shall I get some for you?” 

Eitel could barely speak. “No,” he said 
hoarsely 

She poured herself a glass, drank, gri- 
maced. “It doesn't taste as good as when it’s 
warm,” she said, returning to the bed. 


“Well, shall we go оп?” she asked. 

Silently, he reached for her. Somehow he 
was able to start again. But this time, a dis- 
tance of 1000 light-years seemed to sepa- 
rate 


him from her. There was no 
g that f flame, and after a few 
nents he gave up. He felt himself 
forever shut away from the inwardness of 
her, as Earth is shut away from the stars. 
Cold, weary, more furious with himself 
than with her, he let himself come. He kept 
his eyes open as long as he could, staring 
icily into hers, but the sensations were un- 
expectedly powerful, and in the end, he 
sank down against her breasts, clinging to 
her as the impact thundered through him. 

In that bleak moment came a surprise. 
For as he shook and quivered in the force 
of that dismal cjacula something 
opened between them—a barrier, a gate— 
and the hotel melted and disappeared and 
he saw himself in the midst of a bizarre 
landscape. The sky was a rich golden 
‚green; the sun was deep green and hot; the 
trees, 
nothing he had ever seen on Earth. The 
air was heavy, aromatic and of a pier 
flavor that stung his nos ying crea- 
tures that were not birds soar d unhur- 
riedly overhead, and some 
beasts that looked like red-velvet. pillows 
mounted on tripods were grazing on the 
lower branches of furry-limbed trees. On 
the horizon Eitel saw three jagged naked 
mountains of some yellow-brown stone 
that gleamed like polished metal in the 
sunlight. He trembled. Wonder and awe 
engulfed his spirit. This is a park, һе real- 
ized, the most beautiful park in the world. 
But this is not (his world. He found a little 
path that led over a gentle hill, and when 
he came to the far side, he looked down to 
sce Centaurans strolling two by two, hand 
in hand, through an elegant garden. 

Oh, my God, Eitel thought. Oh, my God 
in heaven! 

Then it all began to fade, growing thin, 
turning to something no more substantial 
than smoke, and in a moment more, it was 
all gone. He lay still, breathing raggedly, 
by her side, watching her breasts slowly 
rise and fall. 

He lifted his hcad. She was studying 
him. “You liked thai?" 

“Liked what?” 

“What you saw” 

“So you know 

She seemed surprised. “Of course! You 
thought it was an accident? Ir was my gift 
for you.” 

“Ah.” The picture postcard of the home 
world, bestowed on the earnest native for 
his diligent services. “ 


I've never seen anything so beautiful.” 

“It is very beautiful, yes,” she said com- 
placently. Then, smiling, “That was inter 
ig, what you did there at the end, when 
you were breathing so hard. Can you do 
that again?” she asked. as though he had 
executed an intricate juggling maneuver. 

Bleakly, he shook his head and turned 
away. He could not bear to look into those 
magnificent eyes any longer. Somehow— 
he would never have any way of knowing 
when it had happened, except that it w: 
somewhere between “Can you do that 
again?" and the dawn—he fell asleep. She 
was shaking him gently awake then. The 
light of a brilliant morning came bursting 
‘ough the fragile old silken draperies 

“Тат leaving now,” she whispered. “But 
I wish to thank you. It has been a night I 
shall never forget.” 

“Nor I,” said Eitel. 

“To experience the reality of Farthian 
ways at such close range—with such in 
macy, such immediacy —— 

“Yes. Of course. It must have been ex- 
traordinary for you.” 

“If ever you come to Centaurus—— 

“Certainly. Pl look you up.” 

She kissed him lightly, tip of nose, fore- 
head, lips. Then she walked toward the 
door. With her hand on the knob, she 
turned and said, “Oh, one little thing that 
may amuse you. I meant to tell yon last 
night. We don't have that kind of thing on 
our world, you know—that concept of 
owning one’s mates body. And in any case, 
Anakhistos is not male and I am not fe- 
male, not exactly. We mate, but our sex dis- 
are not so well defined as that. It 


say that Anak is my husband or that I 
am his wife. I thought you would like to 
know.” She blew him a kiss. “It has been 
very lovely.” she said 


When she was gone, he went to the win- 
dow and stared into the garden for a long 
while without looking at anything in par- 
ticular. He felt weary and burned out, and 
there was a taste of straw in his mouth. 
After a time, he turned away. 

His hands felt cold; his fingers were 
quivering a little. He became aware that he 
wanted more than anything else to see 
those things again. 

He wondered what it was like to go to 
bed with a Vegan or an Arcturan or a 
Steropid. God in heaven! Gould he do it? 
Yes, he told himself, thinking of green 
suns and the unforgettable fragrance of 
that alien Yes. OF course he could. 
Of course. 

There was a sudden strange sweetness 
his mouth. He realized that he had taken a 
deep gulp of the mint tea without paying 
attention to what he was doing. Eitel 
smiled. It hadnt made him sick, had it? 
Had it? He took another swig. Then, in a 
slow, determined way, he hed the rest 
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(continued from page 234) 


“One of his hands is already down between her legs, 
the other pulling a breast out of its brassiere.” 


such a reply, a kind of destiny is being 
fulfilled. Sam has а song about it told 
you this morning you'd come around,” Rick 
says, curling his lips as if to advertise his 
appetite for punishment, “but this is alittle 
ahead of schedule.” She faces him square- 
ly, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, 
a sash around her waist like a gun belt, 
something shiny in her tensed left hand. 
He raises both of his own, as if to show 
they are empty: “Well, won't you sit down?” 

His offer, whether in mockery or no, те- 
leases her. Her shoulders dip in relief, her 
breasts, she sweeps forward (it is only a 
small purse she is carrying: a toothbrush, 
perhaps, cosmetics, her hotel key), her face 
softening: “Richard!” He starts back in 
alarm, hands moving to his hips. "I had to 
see you!” 

She takes a deep breath, presses her lips 
together and, clutching her tiny purse with 
both hands, wheels about to pursue I 
“Richard!” This has worked befor 
works ag: he turns to face her new 
proach: “We luffed each other once. . 
Her voice catches in her throat, tears come 
to her eyes. She is beautiful there in the 
slatted shadows, her hair loosening around 
her ears, eyes glittering, throat bare and 
vulnerable in the open V-neck of her 
ruffled blouse. She's a good dresser. Even 
that little purse she squeezes: so like the 
other one, so lovely, hidden away. She 
shakes her head slightly in wistful appeal: 
“If those days meant. . . anything at all to 
you...” 

“I wouldn't bring up Paris if I were you,” 
he says stonily. “It’s poor salesmanship.” 


She gasps (she didn't bring it up: Is he a 
madman?), tosses her head back: “Please! 
Please listen to me!” She closes her eyes, 
her lower lip pushed forward as though 
bruised. 


“If you knew what really hap- 
you only knew the truth!” 

He stands over this display, as impassive 
as a Moorish executioner (That's it! He's 
to one of these bloody Arabs, 
inks). “I wouldn't believe you, no 
matter what you told me,” he says. In 
Ethiopia, after an attempt on the life ofan 
Italian officer, he saw 1600 Ethiopians get 
rounded up one night and shot in reprisal. 
Many were friends of his—or dients, any- 
way But somehow her deceit is worse. 
“You'd say anything now to get what you 
want.” Again he turns his back on her, 
strides away. 

He turns toward her but pulls up short, 
squints: She has drawn a revolver on him. 
So much for toothbrushes and hotel keys. 
“All right. I tried to reason with you. 1 
tried effrything. Now I want those letters.’ 
Distantly a melodic line suggests a fight for 
love and glory, an ironic case of do or die. 
“Get them for me.” 

“I don't have to.” He touches his jacket. 
“I got’em right here.” 

“Put them on the table.” 

He smiles and shakes his head. “No.” 
Smoke curls up from the cigarette he is 
holding at his side, like the steam that en- 
veloped the five-o’clock train to Marseilles. 
Her eyes fill with tears. Even as she presses 
on (“For the last time . .. !"), she knows that 
no is final. There is, behind his ironic 
smile, a profound sadness, the fatalistic 


survivor's wistful acknowledgment that, in 
the end, the fundamental things apply. 
Time, going by, leaves nothing behind, not 
even moments like this. “If Victor Laszlo 
and the cause mean so much to you,” he 
says, taunting her with her own uncertain- 
ties, “you wont stop at anything. . . ." 

He seems almost to recede. The ciga- 
теце disappears, the smoke. His sorrow 
gives way 10 something nor unlike eager- 
ness. "All right, I'll make it easier for you,” 
he says and walks toward her. "Go ahead 
and shoot. You'll be doing me a favor.” 

She seems taken aback, her eyes damp, 
her lips swollen and parted. Light licks at 
her face. He gazes steadily at her from his 
superior moral position, smoke drifting up 
from his hand once more, his white tuxedo 
pressed against the revolver barrel. Her 
eyes close as the gun lowers, and she gasps 
his name: “Richard!” It is like an invoca- 
tion. Or a profession of faith. “I tried to 
stay away,” she sighs. She opens her eyes, 
peers up at him in abject surrender. A tear 
moves slowly down her cheek toward the 
corner of her mouth, like secret writing. “1 
thought I would nefter see you again . . . 
that you were out off my life. 
blinks, cries out faintly—" 
seems moved at last, his mask of disdain 
falling away like perspiration) turns away, 
her head wrenched to one side as though 
in pain. 

Stricken with concern, or what looks like 
concern, he steps up behind her, clasping 
her breasts with both hands, nuzzling in 
her hair. “The day you left Paris . . . ! she 
sobs, though she seems unsure of herself. 
One of his hands is already down between 
her legs, the other inside her blouse, 
pulling a breast out of its brassiere cup. "If 
you only knew . . . what I. . ..” He is moan- 
ing, licking at one ear, the hand between 
her legs nearly lifting her off the floor, his 
pelvis bumping at her buttocks. “Is this... 
right?” she gasps. 

1-І don't know!" he groans, massag- 
ing her breast, the nipple between two 


fingers. “1 cant think!” 
"But . . . you must think!" she cries, 
squirming her hips. Tears are streaming 


down her cheeks now. “For . . . for. 

"What?" he gasps, tearing her blouse 
open, pulling on her breast as though to 
drag it over her shoulder where he might 
kiss it. Or eat it: He seems ravenous. 

“1...1 can't remember!" she sobs. She 
reaches behind to jerk at his fly (what else 
is she to do, for the love of Jesus?), then 
rips away her sash, unfastens her skirt, her 
fingers trembling. 

“Holy shit!" he wheezes, pushing his 
hand inside her girdle as her skirt falls. 
His cheeks, too, are wet with tears. “Ilsa! 

*Richard!" 

They fall to the floor, grabbing and 
pulling at each other's clothing, He's trying 
to get her bra off, which is tangled up now 
with her blouse; she's struggling with his 
belt, yanking at his black pants, wrenching 
them open. Buttons fly, straps pop; there's 
the soft, unfocused rip of silk, the jingle of 


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buckles and falling coins, grunts, gasps, 
whimpers of desire. He strips the tangled 
skein of underthings away (all these straps 
nd stays—how does she get in and out of 
this crazy elastic?); she works his pants 
down past his bucking hips, fumbles with 
his shoes. “Your elbow! 

"Mim!" 

“АМ” 

She pulls his pants and boxer shorts off, 
crawls round and (he strokes her shimmer- 
ing buttocks, swept by the light from the 
airport tower, watching her full breasts 
sway above him; it's all happening so fast, 
he'd like to slow it down, repeat some of 
the better bits—that view of her rippling 
haunches on her hands and knees just now, 
for example: like a 22, his lucky number— 
but there's a great urgency on them, they 
cant wait) straddles him, easing him into 
her like a train being guided into a station. 
"I luff you, Richard!” she declares breath- 
lessly, though she seems to be speaking, 
eyes squeezed shut and breasts heaving, 
notto him but to the ceiling, if there is one 
up there. His eyes, too, are closed now, his 
hands gripping her soft hips, pulling her 
down, his breath coming in short, an- 
guished snorts, his face puffy and damp 
with tears. There is, as always, something 
deeply wounded and vulnerable about 


Rick Blaine, a man annealed by loneliness 


and betrayal, but flawed—hopelessly, 
seems—by hope itself. He is, in the tragic 
sense, a true revolutionary: His gaping 
mouth bespeaks this, the spittle in the сог- 
ners of his lips, his eyes, open now and 
staring into some infinite distance not un- 
like the future, his knitted brow. He heaves 
upward, impaling her to the very core: 
“Oh, Gott!" she screams, her back arching, 
mouth agape as though to commence La 
Marseillaise. 

Now, for a moment, they pause, feeling 
themselves thus conjoined, his organ luxa 
riaung in the warm tub of her vagina, her 
enflamed womb closing around his pulsing 
penis like a mother embracing а lost child. 
"If you only knew . . ." she seems to say, 
though perhaps she has sa before 
and only now it can be heard. He fondles 
her breasts; she rips his shirt open, strokes 
his chest, leans forward to kiss his lips, his 
nipples. This is not Victor inside her, with 
his long, thin rapier, all too rare in its em- 
barrassed visits; this is not Yvonne, with 
her cunning professional muscles, her hol- 
low airy hole. This is love in all its cl; 
my mystery, the ultimate connection, the 
squishy rub of truth, flesh as a self-con- 
suming message. iS necessity, as in 
woman needs man and man must haye his 
mate. Еуеп their identities seem to be dis- 
solving; they have to whisper each other's 
names from time to time as though in reci- 
tive struggle against some ultimate en- 
chantment from which there may be по 
return. Then, slowly, she begins to wriggle 


292 ber hips above him, he to meet her gentle 


undulations with counterthrusts of his 
own, They hug each other close, panting, 
her breasts smashed against him, moving 
only from the waist down. She slides her 
thighs between his and squeezes his penis 
between them, as though to conceal it 
there, an. underground member on the 
run, wounded but unbowed. He lifts his 
stockinged feet and. plants them behind 
her knees as though in stirrups, her but- 
tocks above pinching and opening, pinch- 
ing and opening like a suction pump. And 
it is true about her vaunted radiance: She 
seems almost to glow from within, her 
flexing cheeks haloed in their own daz- 
zling luster 

“It feels so good, Richard! In there... . 
I've been so—ah!—so lonely!" 

“Yeah, me, too, kid. Ngh! Don't talk!” 

She slips her thighs back over his and 
draws them up beside his waist like a child 
curling around her Teddy bear, knees 
against his ribs, her fanny gently bobbing 
on its pike like a mind caressing a cher- 
ished memory: He lies there passively for a 
moment, stretched out, eyes closed, accept- 
ing this warm rhythmical ablution as one 
might accept а nannys teasing bath, a 
mother's care (a care, he's often said. de- 

i nocence— 

or seemingly so: In fact, his whole body is 
faintly atremble, as though, with great 
difficulty, shedding the last of its pride and 
es, its isolate neutrality. Then, slow- 
ly, his own hips begin to rock convulsively 
under hers, his knees to rise in involuntary 
surrender. She tongues his ear, her but- 
tocks thumping more vigorously now, kiss- 
es his throat, his nose, his scarred lip, then 
rears up, arching her back, tossing her 
head back (her hair is looser now, wilder; 
a flush has crept into the distinctive pallor 
of her cheeks and throat, and what was 
before a fierce determination is now raw 
intensity, what vulnerability now a slack- 
wed abandon), plunging him in more 
deeply than ever, his own buttocks bounc- 
ing up off the floor as though trying to 
take off like the next Aight to Lisbon— 
“Gott in Himmel, this is fonn!" she cries. 
She reaches behind her back to clutch hi 
testicles, he clasps her hand in both of his, 
his thighs spread, she falls forward, they 
roll over, he’s pounding away now from 
aboye (he lacks her famous radiance; if 
anything, his buttocks seem to suck in 
light, drawing a nostalgic 
around them like night fog, 
fundamental distance between them, and 
an irresistible attraction), she’s clawing at 
his back under the white jacket, at his hips, 
his thighs, her voracious nether mouth 
leaping up at him from below and sliding 
back, over and over, like a frantic greased- 
pole climber. Faster and faster they slap. 
their bodies together, submitting to this 
fierce rhythm as though to simplify them- 
selves, emitting grunts and whinnies and 
helpless little farts, no longer Rick Blaine 
and Ilsa Lund but some nameless conjunc- 
tion somewhere between them, time, 
space, being itself getting redefined by the 


rapidly narrowing focus of their incandes- 
cent passion; then, suddenly Rick rears 
back, his face seeming to puff out like a 
gourd, Ilsa cries out and kicks upward, 
crossing her ankles over Rick’s clenched 
buttocks; for a moment they seem almost 
to float, suspended, unloosed from the 
earth's gravity, and then—whumpf!—they 
the floor again, their bodies continuing 
to hammer together, though less regularly, 
plunging, twitching, prolonging this ex- 
clamatory dialog, drawing it out even as 
the intensity diminishes, even as it be- 
comes more a declaration than a demand, 
more an inquiry than a declaration. Ilsas 
feet uncross, slide slowly to the floor. 
“Foofi Gott!” They lie there, cheek to 
cheek, clutching each other tightly, gasp- 
ing for breath, their thighs quivering with 
the last involuntary spasms, the echoey re- 
verberations, deep in their loins, of pleas- 
ure's fading blasts. 

"Jesus," Rick wheezes, "I've been saving 
that one for a goddamn year and a half? 

“It was the best fokk I ever have had,” 
Ilsa replies with a tremulous sigh and kiss- 
es his ear, runs her fingers in his hair. He 
starts to roll off her, but she clasps him 
“Қо... wait!” A deeper, thicker 
pleasure, not so ecstatic yet somehow more 
moving, seems to well up from far inside 
her to embrace the swollen visitor snug- 
gled moistly in her womb, once a familiar 
friend, a comrade loyed and trusted, now 
almost a stranger, like one resurrected 
from the dead. 

“Ah!” he gasps. God, its almost like she's 
milking it! Then she lets go, surrounding 
him spongily with a kind of warm, wet, 
pulsating gratitude. “Аһ...” 

He lies there between llsa's damp, silky 
thighs, feeling his weight thicken, his 
mind soften and spread. will drains 
away as if it were some kind of morbid af- 
fection, lethargy overtaking him like an 
invading army. Even his jaw goes slack, his 
fingers (three sprawl idly on a dark-tipped 
breast) limp. He wears his snowy-white 
tuxedo jacket still, his shiny black sod 
which, together with the parentheses of П- 
sals white thighs, make his melancholy but- 
tocks—beaten in childhood, lashed at sea, 
lean in union skirmishes, sunburned 
in Eu ia and shot at in Spain—look 
gloomier than ever, swarthy and self-pity- 
ing, agape now with a kind of heroic sad- 
. A violent tenderness. These buttoc! 
are, it could be said, what the pose of isola- 
tion looks like at its best: proud, bitter, 
mournful and, as the prefect of police 
might have put it, tremendously attractive. 
Although his penis has slipped out of its 
vaginal pocket to lie limply like a fat Іше 
toe against her pursing lips, she clasps him. 
close still, clinging to something she can- 
not quite define, something like a spacious 
dream of freedom, or a monastery garden, 
or the discovery of electricity. “Do you have 
a gramophone on, Richard?’ 


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PLAYBOY 


Her question has startled him. 
His haunches snap shut, his head rears up; 
snorting, he seems to be reaching for the 
letters of transit. “Ah... no..." He rel 
es again, letting his weight fall back, 
though sliding one thigh over hers now, 
stretching his arms out as though to un- 
kink them, turning his face away. His scro- 
tum bulges up on her thigh like an emblem. 
of his serenity and generosity, all too often 
concealed, much as an authentic decency 
might shine through a mask of cynicism 
and dapi He takes a deep breath. (A 


She's smiling sweetly, bur is that 
a tear in her eye? 

“For old times’ sake. Say it. 

“Ah.” Yes, he'd forgotten. He's out of 
practice. He grunts, runs his hand down 


She fits two cigarettes in her lips, lights 
them both (there's a bit of fumbling with 
the lighter; she’s not very mechanical) and, 
gazing soulfully at Rick, passes him one of 
them. He grins. “Hey, where'd you learn 
he shrugs enigmatically. 


turning out tonight?" he asks around the 
butt, smoke curling out of his nose like 
thoughts reek, Her cheeks seem to pop 


CAIN sign cach 
irport heacon sweeps past, shift- 
ing slightly like a sequence of film frames. 
Time itself may be like that, he knows, 
a ceaseless flow but a rapid series of electri- 
cal leaps across tiny gaps between dis 


tinuous bits. It's what he likes to call his 
link-and-claw theory of time, though of 
course the theos not his. .. . 

“It may not be perfect, Richard, but it is 
better than if I haff shot you, isn't it?” 

“No, 1 meant. ^ Well, let it be. She's 
right; it beats eating a goddamn bullet. In 
it beats anything he can imagine. Не 
puts out his cigarette, tosses it aside, wraps 
arms around her thighs and pulls her 
buttocks (he is still thinking about time as 
a pulsing sequence of film frames and not 
so much about the frames, their useless 
ed content, as about the gaps between: 
finitesimally small when looked at two- 
dimensionally, yet in their third dimension 
as deep and mysterious as the cosmos) to- 
ward his face, pressing against them like a 
child ırying to see through a foggy win- 
dow. He kisses and nibbles at each cheek 
(and what if one were to slip between two of 
those frames, he wonders?), runs his 
tongue into (where would he be then?) her 
anus, kneading the flesh on her pubic knoll 
between his fingers all the while like Іше 
lumps of stiff taffy. 
rd, I don't know what's right 
he lifts one thigh in front of 
his face as though to erase his dark imag- 
inings. He strokes it, thinking, Well, what 
the hell; it probably doesn't amount to a 
hill of beans, anyway “Do you think I can 
haff another drink now 
Sure, kid. Why nor?” The cork pops, 
champagne spews out over the tabletop, 
some of it getting into the glasses. This 
seems to suggest somehow a revelation. Or 
another memory. The tune, as though re- 
leased, rides up once more around them. 
“Gott, Richard,” she sighs. “That music is 


“Would you like the estimate in English or 
іп its native language?” 


getting on my nerfs!" 
ah, I know.” 
“Time. Is it going by? Like the song is 


saying?" 
He looks up, startled. “That's funny; I 
was just —" 


"What time do you haff, Richard?" 

He sets the bottle down, glances at his 
empty wrist. "I dunno. My watch must 
have got torn off when we. 

"Mine is gone, too.” 

"They stare at each other a moment, Rick 
scowling slightly in the old style, Ilsa’s lips 
parted as though saying "story" or "glory. 

“I would not haff come if I had 
known. . . ." She releases her shoulders, 
picks up her ruffled blouse (the buttons are 
gone), pulls it on like a wrap. As the beacon 
wheels Бу, the room seems to expand with 
light, as though it were breathing. "Do you 
see my skirt? It was here, but—is it getting 
dark or something?" 

“I mean, of all the gin joints in all the 
towns in all the. . . .” He pauses, looks up. 
“What did you say? 

“I said, is it- p 
cah, I know. 

He sees she is trembling, and a icar 
slides down her nose, or seems to, it's hard 
10 tell. He feels like he's going ы а. “ 
ten. Maybe if we started over. 
та too tired, Richard 
No, I mean, go back to where you came 
in, see—the letters of transit and all that. 
Maybe we made some kinda mistake, І 
dunno. like when 1 put my hands on your 
jugs or something, and if —" 

“A mistake? You think putting your 
hands on my yugs was a mistake?” 

“Don't get offended, sweetheart, I only 
meant——" 

“Maybe my bringing my yugs here 
tonight was a mistake! Maybe my not 
shooting the trigger was a mistake!” 

“No, май а minute! Maybe you're right! 
Maybe going back isn't the right idea. . . " 

“Richard?” 


"Instead, maybe we gotta think 
ahead. . 

Richard, its a crazy world. .. ." 

Now, what was I— Right! Youre 


telling a story, so, uh, ШІ say. 

“But wherever you are. . . 

"And then— Yeah, that’s good. It's al- 
most like I'm remembering this. Youve 
stopped, see, but I want you to go on; 1 
want you to keep spilling what's on your 
mind, Um filling in all the blanks. 

"Whatever happens. 

“So I say: And then? C'mon, kid, can you 
hear me? Remember all those people 
downstairs! They're depending on us! Just 
think it—if you think it, you'll do it! And 
then 

“I want you to know. . . .” 

“And then? Ilsa? Oh, shit; Ilsa? Where 


? And then?” 


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PLAYBOY 


296 


MALCOLM X 


(continued from page 135) 
our own kind. Тһе white man has taught 
the black people in this country to hate 
themselves as inferior, to hate each other, 
to be divided against each other. Messen- 
ger Muhammad restores our love for our 
own kind, which enables us to work togeth- 
erin unity and harmony. 

PLAYBOY: How do you justify the announce- 
ment you made last year that Allah had 
brought you “the good news” that 120 
white Atlantans had just been killed in 
air crash en route to America from Paris? 
MALCOLM X: Sir, as I see the law of justice, it 
says as you sow, so shall you reap. The 
white man has reveled as the rope snapped 
black men's necks. He has reveled around 
the lynching fire. It’s only right for the 
black man's true God, Allah, to defend 
us—and for us to be joyous because our 
God manifests his ability to inflict pain on 
our enemy. We Muslims believe that the 
white race, which is guilty of having op- 
pressed and exploited and enslaved our 
people here in Ameri hould and will be 
the victims of God's divine wrath. 
PLAYBOY: Do you admire and respect any 
other American Negro leaders—Martin 
Luther King, for example? 

MALCOLM X: I am а Muslim, sir. Muslims 
can see only one leader who has the 
qualifications necessary to unite all ele- 
ments of black people in America. Thi 
the Honorable Elijah Muhammad, 
PLAYDOY: Many white religious leaders 
have also gone on record against the Black 
Muslims. Writing in the official NAACP 
magazine, a Catholic priest described you 
as “a fascist-minded hate group.” and 
B'nai B'rith has accused you of being not 
only anti-Christian but anti-Semitic. Do 
you consider this true? 

MALCOLM X: Let me say just a word about 
the Jew and the black man. The Jew is al- 
ways anxious to advise the black man. But 
they never advise him how to solve his 
problem the way the Jews solved their 
problem. The Jew never went siting-in 
and crawling-in and sliding-in and free- 
dom-riding, like he teaches and helps Ne- 
groes to do. The Jews stood up, and stood 
together, and they used their ultimate 
power, the economic weapon. That's exact- 
ly what the Honorable Elijah Muhammad 
is trying to teach black men to do. The 
Jews pooled their money and bought the 
hotels that barred them. They bought At- 
lantic City and Miami Beach and anything 
else they wanted. Who owns Hollywood? 
Who runs the garment industry, the 
largest industry in New York City? But 
the Jew that’s advising the Negro joins the 
NAACP, CORE, the Urban League and 
others. With money donations, the Jew 
gains control, then he sends the black п 
doing all this wading-in, boringin, even 
burying-in—everything but buying; 
PLAYBOY: Then you consider it impossible 
for the white man to be anything bu 
exploiter and a hypocrite in his relations 


with the Negro? 
MALCOLM X: White people are born devils 
by nature. They don't become so by deeds. 
If you never put popcorn in a skillet, it 
would still be popcorn. Put the heat to it, it 
will pop. 
PLAYBOY: You say that white men are devils 
by nature. Was Christ a devil? 
MALCOLM X: Christ wasn't white. Christ was 
a black man. 
PLAYBOY: On what Scripture do you base 
this assertion? 
MALCOLM X: Sir, Billy Graham has made 
the same statement in public. Why not ask 
him what Scripture he found it in? Only 
the poor, brainwashed American Negro 
has been made to believe that Christ was 
white. After becoming a Muslim in prison, 
1 read almost everything I could put my 
ids on in the prison library. I found out 
that the history-whitening process cither 
had left out great things that black men 
had done, or the great black men had got- 
ten whitened. 
PLAYBOY: Would you list a few of these 
men? 
MALCOLM X: Well, Hannibal, the most suc- 
cessful general that ever lived, was a black 
man. Beethoven's father was one of the 
blackamoors that hired themselves out in 
Europe as professional soldiers. Haydn, 
Beethoven’ teacher, was of African de- 
scent. Columbus, the discoverer of Ameri- 
са was а half-black man. Whole black 
empires, like the Moorish, have been 
whitened to hide the fact that a great black 
empire had conquered a white empire 
even before America was discovered. 
PLAYBOY: Do you believe white people are 
genetically inferior to black people? 
MALCOLM Thoughtful white people 
know they are inferior to black people. 
Anyone who has studied the genetic phase 
of biology knows that white is considered 
recessive and black is considered domi- 
nant. When you want strong coflee, you 
k for black coffee. If you want it light, 
you want it weak, integrated with white 
milk. Just like these Negroes who weaken 
themselves and their race by this integrat- 
ing and intermixing with whites. If you 
ant bread with no nutritional value, you 
ask for white bread. All the good that was 
it has been bleached out of it, and it will 
constipate you. If you want pure flour, you 
sk for dark flour, whole-wheat flour. If 
you want pure sugar, you want dar] 
PLAYBOY: If all whites are devilish by na- 
ture, do you view all black men—with the 
exception of their non-Muslim leaders—as 
fundamentally angelic? 
MALCOLM X: No, there is plenty wrong with 
Negroes. They have no society, They're 
robots, automatons. No minds of their 
own. I hate to say that about us, but it's the 
truth, They are a black body with a white 
brain. Like the monster Frankenstein. The 
top part is your bourgeois Negro. Не? 
terested in E 
lass to us are 


. This 
the fence-sitters. They have one eye on the 
white man and the other eye on the Mus- 


lims. They'll jump whichever way they see 
the wind blowing. 

Then there's the middle class of the Ne- 

gro masses, the ones not in the ghetto, who 
realize that life is a struggle. They re ready 
to take some stand against everything 
that’s against them. At the bottom of the 
social heap is the black man in the bi, y 
ghetto. He lives night and day with the rats 
and cockroaches and drowns himself with 
alcohol and anesthetizes himself with 
dope, to try and forget where and what he 
is. That Negro has given up all hope. He's 
the hardest one for us to reach, because 
he's the deepest in the mud. But when you 
get him, you've got the best kind of Mus- 
lim. Because he makes the most drastic 
change. He's the most fearless. He will 
stand the longest. He has nothing to lose, 
even his life, because he didn't have that in 
the first place. I look upon myself, sir, as a 
prime example of this category—and as 
graphic an example as you could find of 
the salvation of the black man. 
PLAYBOY: Is there anything then, in your 
opinion, that could be done—by either 
whites or blacks—to expedite the social 
and economic progress of the Negro? 
MALCOLM X: First of all, the white man 
must finally realize that he's the one who 
has committed the crimes that have pro- 
duced the ті 
people are Mr, Elijah Muhammad is 
warning this generation of white people 
that they, too, are also facing a time of har- 
yest in which they will have to pay for the 
crime committed when their grandfathers 
made slaves out of us. 

But there is something the white man 
can do to avert this fate. He must atone— 
and this can only be done by allowing 
black men, those who choose, to leave this. 
land of bondage and go to a land of our 
own. But if he doi want a ma ме- 
ment of our people away from this house 
of bondage, then he should separate this 
country He should give us several states 
here on American soil, where those of us 
who wish to can go and set up our own 
government, our own economic system, 
our own civilization, Since we have given 
over 300 ycars of our slave labor to the 
white man’s America, helped to build it up 
for him, its only right that white America 
should give us everything we need in 
finance and materials for the next 25 
years, until our own nation is able to stand 
on its feet. In the white world there has 
been nothing but slavery, suffering, death 
and colonialism. In the black world of to- 
morrow, there will be true freedom, justice 
d equality for all. And that day is com- 
ing—sooner than you think. 

PLAYBOY: If Muslims ultimately gain con- 
trol as you predict, do you plan to bestow 
“true freedom” on white people? 
MALCOLM X: It’s not a case of what would 
we do, it's a case of what would God do 
with whites. What does a judge do with the 
guilty? Either the guilty atone, or God exe- 
сше judgment. 

—May 1963, interviewed by Alex Haley 


THE HUSTLER 


(continued from page 113) 
оп what seemed to be the best of the four 
tables. 

He tried to break safe, a straight pool 
break, where you drive the two bottom cor- 
ner balls to the cushions and back into the 
stack where they came from, making the 
спе ball go two rails and return to the top 
of the table, killing itself on the cushion. 
The break didn't work, however; the rack 
of balls spread wide, five of them came out 
into the table and the cue ball stopped in 
the middle. It would have left an opponent 
wide open for a big run. Sam shuddered. 

He pocketed the 15 balls, missing only 
once—a long shot that had to be cut thin 
into a far corner—and he felt better, mak- 
ing balls. He had little confidence on the 
hard ones, he was awkward; but he still 
knew the game, he knew how to break up 
little clusters of balls on one shot so that he 
could pocket them on the next. He knew 
howto play position with very little English 
оп the cue, by shooting “natural” shots, 
and letting the speed of the cue ball do the 
work. He could still figure the spread, plan 
out his shots in advance from the positions 
of the balls on the table, and he knew what 
to shoot at first. 

He kept shooting for about three hours. 
Several times, other players came in and 
played for a while, but none of them paid 
any attention to him, and none of them 
stayed long. 

The place was empty again and Sam was 
practicing cutting balls down the rail, 
working on his cue ball and on his speed, 
when he looked up and saw the boy who 
ran the place coming back. He was carry- 
ing a plate with a hamburger in one hand 
and two bottles of beer in the other. 

“Hungry?” He set the sandwich down on 
the arm of a chair. “Or thirsty, maybe?” 

Sam looked at his watch. It was 1:30. 
“Come to think of it,” he said, “I am.” He 
went to the chair, picked up the ham- 
burger and sat down 

“Have a beer,” the boy said, affably. 

Sam took it and drank from the bottle. It 
tasted delicious. “What do I owe you?” he 
said, and took a bite out of the hamburger. 

“The burger’ thirty cents,” the boy said. 
“The beer’s on the house.” 

“Thanks,” Sam said, chewing, “How Чо 
Irate?” 

“You're a good customer,” the boy said. 
“Easy on the equipment, cash in advance, 
and I don’t even have to rack the balls for 
you.” 

“Thanks.” Sam was silent for a minute, 
eating. 

The boy was drinking the other beer. 
Abruptly, he set the bottle down. “You on 
the hustle?” he said. 

“Do I look like a hustler?” 

“You practice like one.” 

Sam sipped his beer quietly for a 
minute, looking over the top of the bottle, 
once, at the boy. Then he said, “I might 
be looking around.” He set the empty 


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bottle down on the wooden chair arm. “I'll 
be back tomorrow; we can talk about it 
then. There might be something in it for 
you, if you help out. 

“Sure, mister,” the boy said. 
good?” 

“I think so,” Sam said. Then, when the 
boy got up to leave, he added, “Don't try to 
finger me for anybody. It won't do you any 
good.” 

“1 won't.” The boy went back up front. 

Sam practiced, working mainly on his 
stroke and his position, for three more 
hours. When he finished, his arm was sore 
and his feet were tired; but he felt better. 
His stroke was beginning to work for him, 
he was getting smooth, making balls regu- 
larly, playing good position. Once, when he 
was running balls continuously, racking 14 
and one, he ran 47 without missing. 

The next morning, after а long nights 
rest, he was even better. He ran more than 
90 balls one time, missing, finally, on a dif- 
ficult rail shot. 

The boy came back at one o'clock, bring- 
ing a ham sandwich this time and two 
beers. “Here you go,” he said. “Time to 
make a break.” 

Sam thanked him, laid his cue stick on 
the table and sat down. 

“My name's Barney,” the boy said. 

“George Graves.” Sam held out his 
hand, and the boy shook it. “Just,” he 
smiled inwardly at the thought, “call me 
Red.” 

“You are good,” Barney said. “I watched 
you a couple of tim 

“I know." Sam took a drink from the 
beer bottle. “Tm looking for a straight 
pool game.” 

“L figured that, Mr. Graves. You won't 
find one here, though. Up at Benningtons, 
they play straight pool.” 

Sam had heard of Benningions. They 
said it was a hustler’s room, a big-money 
place. 

“You know who plays pool there, Bar- 
ney2” he said. 

“Sure. Bill Peyton, he plays there. And 
Shufala Kid, Louisville Fats, Johnny 
gas, Henry Kelle, a little guy they call ‘The 
Policeman.” 

Henry Keller was the only familiar 
name; Sam had played him once, in At- 
lantic City, maybe 14 years ago. But that 
had been even before the big days of Sams 
reputation, before he had got so good that 
he had to trick hustlers into playing him. 
‘That was a long time ago. And then there 
was the red hair; he ought to be able to get 
by. 

“Which one’s got money,” he asked, “and 
plays straight pool 
fell,” Barney looked doubtful, “I think 
Louisville Fats carries a big roll. He's one 
of the old Prohibition boys; they say he 
keeps an army of hoods working for him. 
He plays straights. But hes good. And he 
doesn’ t ш being hustled.” 
5. Does he bet 
"Yep. һе bets big. Big as you want” 


you pretty 


ggg Barney smiled. "But I tell you he's mighty 


good." 

"Rack the balls," Sam said, 
back. “ПІ show you something’ 

Barney racked. Sam broke them wide 
open and started running. He went 
through the rack, then another, another 
and another. Barney was counting the 
balls, racking them for him each time. 
When he got to 80, Sam said, “Now ГЇЇ 
bank a few" He banked seven, knocking 
them off the rails, across and into the 
pockets. When he missed the eighth, he 


and smiled 


"Fats is good; but you might take him." 


“ГІ take him," Sam said. “You lead me 
to him. Tomorrow night you get somebody 
to work for you. We're going up to Ben- 
nington's.” 

*Fair enough, Mr. Graves,” Barney said. 
He was grinning. “We'll have a beer on 
that.” 


. 

Louisville Fats must have weighed 300 
pounds. His face seemed to be bloated 
around the eyes like the face of an Eskimo, 
so that he was always squinting. His arms, 
hanging from the short sleeves of his 
white-silk shirt, were pink and doughlike. 
Sam noticed his hands; they were soft- 
looking, white and delicate. He wore three 
rings, one with a diamond. He had on dark 
green, wide suspenders. 

When Barney introduced him, Fats said, 
“How are you, George?" but didn't offer 
his hand. Sam noticed that his eyes, almost 
buried beneath the face. seemed to sl 
from side to side, so that he sene not re- 
ally to be looking at апу 

“Pm fine,” Sam said Then, after a 
pause, “I've heard a lot about yor 

“I got a reputation?" Fats's voice was flat, 
disinterested. “Then 1 must be pretty 
good, maybe? 

"I suppose so,” Sam said, trying to watch 
the eyes. 

“You a good pool player, George?” The 


eyes fickered, scanning Sam's face. 
“Fair. I like playing. Straight pool.” 
“Oh.” Fats grinned, abruptly, coldly. 


“Thats my game, too, George" He 
slapped Barney on the back. The boy 
pulled away, slightly, from him. “You pick 
good, Barney. He plays my game. You can 
finger for me, sometime, if you want.” 

“Sure,” Barney said. He looked nervous. 

“One thing.” Fats was still grinning. 
“You play for money, George? I mean, you 
gamble?” 

“When Ше bets right.” 

“What you think is a right bet, George?" 
y dollars. 

Fats grinned even more broadly, but his 
eyes still kept shifting. “Now that's close, 
George,” he said. “You play for a hundred 
and we play a few” 

“Fair enough,” Sam said, as calmly as he 
could. 

"Let's go upstairs. It's quieter.” 

“Fine. I'll take my boy if you don't mind. 
He can rack the balls.” 

Fats looked at Barney. “You level with 


that rack, Barney 
balls tight for Fats 

Sure," Bari ney said, 
you up." 

"You know better than that, 
OK." 

They walked up the back stairs to the 
third floor. There wasa small, bare-walled 
room, well lighted, with chairs lined up 
against the walls. The chairs were high 
Ones, the type used for watching pool 
games. T here was no one else in the room. 

They uncovered the table, and Barney 
racked the balls. Sam lost the toss and 
broke, making it safe, but not too safe. He 
undershot, purposely, and left the cuc ball 
almost a foot away from the end rail. 

‘They played around, shooting safe, for a 
while. Then Fats pulled a hard one off the 
edge of the rack, ran 35 and played him 
sale. Sam jockeyed with him, figuring to 
lose for a while, only wanting the money to 
hold out until he had the table down pat, 
until he had the other man’s game figured, 
until he was ready to raise the bet. 

Helost three in a row before he won one. 
He wasn’t playing his best game; but that 
meant little, since Fats was probably 
pulling Bis punches, too, trying 10 take 
him for as much as possible. After he won 
his first game, he let himself go a little and 
made a few tricky ones. Once he knifed a 
ball thin into the side pocket and went two 
cushions for a breakup; but Fats didn't 
even seem to notice. 

Neither of them tried to run more than 
40 at a turn. It would have looked like a 
game between only fair players, except 
that neither of them missed very often, In 
a tight spot, they didn't try anything fancy, 


I mean, you rack the 


“I wouldn't try to 
e 


Barney. 


just shot a safe and let the other man figure 


it out. Sam played safe оп some shots that 
he was sure he could make; he didnt want 
10 show his hand. Not yet. They kept play- 
ing and, after a while, Sam started. win- 
ning morc often. 

After about threc hours, he was five 
games ahead and shooting better all the 
time. Then, when he won still another 
game, Sam said, "You're losing money; Fats. 
Мы we should quit” He looked at 
Barney and winked. Barney gave him a 
puzzled, worried look. 

“Quit? You think we should quit?” Fats 
took a big silk handkerchief #тош his side 
pocket and wiped his face. “How much 
money you won, George?” he said. 

“That last makes six hundred.” He felt, 
suddenly, a little tense. It was coming. The 
big push. 

“Suppose we play for six hundred, 
George.” He put the handkerchief back in 
his pocket. "Then we sce who quits." 

“Fine.” He felt really ne us now, but he 
knew he would get over it. Nervousness 
didn't count. At $600 a game, he would be 
in clover and in San Francisco in two days. 
If he didn't lose. 

Barney racked the balls and Sam broke. 
He took the break slowly, putting to use his 
practice of three days and his experience 
of 27 years. The balls broke perfectly, 


reracking the original triangle, and the 
cue ball skidded to a stop right on the end 
cushion. 

“You shoot pretty good,” Fats said, look- 
ing at the safe table that Sam had left him. 
But he played safe, barely tipping the сис 
ball off one of the balls down at the foot of 
the table and returning back to the end 
rail. 

Sam tried to return the safe by repeat- 
ing the same thing; but the cue ball caught 
the object ball too thick and he brought out 
a shot, a long one, for Fats. Fats stepped up, 
shot the ball in, played position and ran 
out the rest of the rack. Then he ran out 
another rack and Sam sat down to watch; 
there was nothing he could do now. Fats 
ran 78 points and then, seeing a difficult 
shot, played him safe. 

Sam had been afraid that something like 
that might happen. He tried to fight his 
way out of the game but couldn't seem to 
get into the clear long enough for a good 
run. Fats beat him badly—125 to 30—and 
he had to give back the $600 from his 
pocket. It hurt. 

What hurt even worse was that he 
knew һе had less than $600 left of his own 
money. 

“Ком we see who quits.” Fats stuffed the 
money in his hip pocket. “You want to play 
for another six hundred? 
ım still holding my stidi 


7 Sam said. 
army of 
houds” that Barney had told him about. 

Sam stepped up to the table and broke. 
His hand shook a lit ut the break was a 
perfect one. 

In the middle of the game Fats missed 
an easy shot, leaving Sam a dead setup. 
Sam ran 53 and out. He won. It wasas easy 
as that. He was $600 ahead again and feel- 
ing better. 

Then something unlucky happened. 
Downstairs they must have closed up, be- 
cause six men came up during the next 
game and sat around the table. Five of 
them Sam had never seen, but one of them 
was Henry Keller. Henry was drunk no 
evidently, and he didn't seem to be paying 
much attention to what was going on; but 
Sam didnt like it. He didn’t like Keller, and 
he didn't like having a man who knew who 
he was around him. It was too much like 
that other time. That time in Richmond 
when Bernie James had come after him 
with a bottle. That fight had cost him six 
years. He didn't like it. It was getting time 
to wind things up here, time to be cutting 
out. If he could win two more games quick, 
he would have enough to set him up hus- 
tling on the West Coast. And on the West 
Coast, there weren't any Henry Kellers 
who knew that Big Sam Willis was once the 
best straight-pool shot in the game. 

After Sam had won the game by a close 
score, Fats looked at his fingernails and 
said, “George, you're a hustler. You shoot 
better straights than anybody in Chicago 
shoots. Except me.” 

This was the time, the time to make it 
quick and neat, the time to push as hard as 


he could. He caught his breath, held steady 
and said, “You've got it wrong, Fats. I'm 
better than you are. ГЇ play you for all of 
The whole twelve hundred.’ 

у quiet in the room. Then Fats 
corge, I like that kind of talk.” 
He started chalking his cue. “We play 
twelve hundred.” 

Barney racked the balls and Fats broke 
them. They both played safe, very safe, 
back and forth, keeping the cue ball on the 
rail, not leaving a shot for the other man. It 
was nerve-racking. Over and over. 

Then Sam missed. Missed the edge of 
the rack, coming at it from an outside an- 
gle. His cue ball bounced off the rail and 
into the rack of balls, spreading them wide, 
leaving Fats at least five shots. Sam didn't 
sit down. He just stood and watched Fats 
come up and start his run. He ran the 
balls, broke on the 15th and ran another 
rack, 28 points. And he was just getting 
started. He had his rack break set up per- 
fectly for the next shot. 

Then, as Fats began chalking up, pre- 
paring to shoot, Henry Keller stood up 
from his seat and pointed his finger at 
Sam. 


“You're the World’s Champion.” He sat 
back in his chair, heavily. “You got red hair, 
but you're Big Sam.” He sat silent, half 
slumped in the big chair, fora moment, his 
eyes glassy and red at the corners. Then he 
dosed his eyes and said, "There's nobody 
beats Big Sam, Fats. Nobody never” 

The room was quiet for what seemed to 
be a very long while. Sam noticed how 
thick the tobacco smoke had become in the 
air; motionless, it was like a heavy brown 
ind over the table, it was like a cloud 
he faces of the men in the chairs were im- 
passive; all of them, except Henry, watch- 
ing him. 


p 
5 


Fats turned to him. For once, his eyes 
were not shifting from side to side. He 
looked Sam in the face and said, in a 
voice that was flat and almost a whisper, 
“You Big Sam Willis, George?” 

"Thats right, Fats. 

“You must be pretty smart, Sam,” Fats 
said, “to play a trick like that. To make a 
sucker out of me.” 

“Maybe.” His chest and stomach felt very 
tight. It was like when Bernie James had 
caught him at the same game, except with- 
out the red hair, Bernie hadn't said any- 
thing, though; he had just picked up a 
bottle. 

But, then, Bernie James was dead now. 
Sam wondered, momentarily, if Fats had 
ever heard about that. 

Suddenly, Fats split the silence, laughing, 
The sound of his laughing filled the room, 
he threw his head back and laughed; and 
the men in the chairs looked at him, aston- 
ished, hearing the laughter. “Big Sam," he 
said, "you're a hustler. You put on a great 
act; and fool me good. A great act.” He 
slapped Sam on the back. “I think the 
joke’s on me.” 

It was hard to believe. But Fats could af- 
ford the money, and Sam knew that Fats 
knew who would be the best if it came to 
muscle. And there was no certainty whose 
side the other men were on. 

Fats shot, ran a few more balls, and then 
missed. 

When Sam stepped up to shoot, he said, 
“Go ahead, Big Sam, and shoot your best. 
You don't have to act nuw: I'm quitting you 
anyway after this one.” 
he funny thing was that Sam had been 
shooting his best for the past five or six 
games—or thought he had—but when he 
stepped up to the table this time, he was 
different. Maybe it was Fats or Keller, 
something made him feel as he hadn't felt 
fora long time. It was like being the old Big 


“It’s an obscene phone call.” 


298 


PLAYBOY 


Sam, back before he had quit playing the 
tournaments and exhibitions, the Big Sam 
who could run 125 when he was hot and 
the money was up. His stroke was smooth, 
steady, accur: 


the table, watching everything on the 
green, forgetting himself, forgetting even 
the money, just dropping the balls into the 


pockets, onc after another. 

Не did it. He ran the game. 125 points, 
125 shots without missing. When he 
finished, Fats took $1200 from his still-big 
roll and counted it out, slowly, to him. He 
said, “You're the best Гус ever seen, Big 
Sam.” Then he covered the table with the 
oilcloth cover. 

After Sam had dropped Barney off, he 
had the cab take him by his hotel and let 
him off at a little all-night lunchroom. Не 
ordered bacon and eggs, over light, and 
talked with the waitress while she fried 
them. The place seemed strange, gay al- 
most; his nerves felt electric, and there was 
a pleasant fuzziness in his head, a dim, in- 
ent ringing sound coming from far off. 
He tried to think for a moment; tried to 
think whether he should go to the airport 
now without even going back to the hotel, 
now that he had made out so well, had 
made out better, even, than he had 
planned to be able to do іп a week, But 
there was the waitress and then the food; 


and when he puta quarter in the jukebox, 
he couldn't hear the ringing in his ears 


it was a time for talk and music, time for 
the sense of triumph, the sense of being 


alive and having money again, and then 
time for sleep. He was in а chromium and 
plastic booth in the lunchroom and he 
st the padded plastic 
back rest and felt an abrupt, deep, gratify- 
ing sense of fatigue, loosening his muscles 
ір. finally, the tension that had 
m like a fury for the past three 
days. There would be plane flights enough 
tomorrow. Now he needed rest. It was a 
long way to San Francisco. 

The bed at his hotel was impeccably 
made; the pale-blue spread seemed drum 
tight, but soft and round at the edges and 
corners. He didn’t even take off his shoes. 

When he awoke, he awoke suddenly. The 
skin at the back of his neck was itching, 
sticky with sweat from where the collar of 
his shirt had been pressed, tight, against it. 
His mouth was dry and his feet felt swol- 
len, stuffed, in his shoes. The room was as 
quiet as death. Outside the window, a car's 
tires groaned gently, rounding a corner, 
then were still. 

He pulled the chain on the lamp by 
the bed and the light came on. Squinting, 
he stood up and realized that his legs were 
aching. The room seemed too big, too 
bright. He stumbled into the bathroom 
and threw handfuls of cold water on his 
face and neck. Then he dried off with a 
towel and looked in the mirror. Startled, 
he let go of the towel momentarily; the red 
hair had caught him off guard; and with 
the eyes now swollen, the lips pale, it was 
not his face at all. He finished drying 
quickly, ran his comb through his hair, 
shirt and slacks hur- 
riedly The startling strangeness of his 
own face had crystallized the dim, half- 


“Гие been ready for over an hour—you 
might at least try to 
be on time for our first date.” 


con: us feeling that had awakened him, 
the fecling that something was wrong. The 
hotel room, himself, Chicago, they were 
all wrong. He should not be here, по! now; 
he should be on the West Coast, іп San 
Francisco. 

He looked at his watch. Four o'clock. He 
had slept three hours. He did not feel 
tired, not now, although his bones ached 
and there was sand under his eyelids. He 
could sleep, if he had to, on the plane. But 
the important thing, now, was getting on 
the plane, clearing out, moving West. He 
had slept with his cue, in its case, on the 
bed. He took it and left the room. 

The lobby, too, seemed too bright and 
too empty. But when he had paid his bill 
and gone out to the street, the relative 
darkness seemed worse, He began to walk 
down the street hastily, looking for a cab 
stand. His own footsteps echoed around 
him as he walked. There seemed to be по 
cabs anywhere on the street. He began 
walking faster. The back of his neck was 
sweating age in. It was a very hot night; the 
air felt heavy against his skin. There were 
no cabs. 

And then, when he heard the slow, dense 
hum of a heavy car moving down the street 
in his direction, heard и from several 
blocks away and turned his head to see it 
and to see that there was no cab light on it, 
he knew—abruptly and lucidly, as some 
men at some certam times know these 
things—what was happening. 

He began to run; but he did not know 
where to run. He turned a corner while 
he was still two blocks ahead of the car and 
when he could feel its lights, palpably, on 
the back of his neck and tried to 
doorway, flattening himself out aga 
door. Then, when he saw the lights of the 
car as it began its turn around the corner, 
he realized that the doorway was too s 
low, that the lights would pick him out. 
Something in him wanted to scream. He 
pushed himself from his place, stumbled 
down the street, visualizing in his mind a 
place, some sort of a place between build- 
ings where he could hide completely and 
where the car could never follow him. But 
the buildings were all together, with no 
space at all between them; and when 
he saw that this was so, he als 
same instant that the car 
flooding him. And then he he 
stop. There was nothing more to do. He 
turned around and looked at the car, 
blinking. 

‘Two men had got out of the back seat; 
there were two more in front. He could see 
none of their faces but was relieved that he 
could not, could not see the one face that 
would be bloated like an Eskimo’s and with 
eyes like slits. 

The men were holding the door open 
for him. 

Well” he said. “Hello, boys,” and 
climbed into the back sı His hule 
leather case was still in his right hand. Не 
gripped it tightly. It was all he had. 


COSBY 
(continued from page 237) 


of all this Ессіз. I know the TV series has 
changed things for me, but up until it hit, 
Га been very successful. 

1 consider myself a master of stand-up 
comedy, and I still really enjoy perform- 
ing. 1 think even my commercials have 
been excellent, because Гуе done them 
only for products I believe in. But more 
than anything, I know how happy I am at 
home. My wife, Camille, and I are enjoy- 
ing each other more and more, mostly be- 
cause in the past eight or nine years, I've 
given up all of myself to her. I'm no longer 
holding anything back. 

PLAYBOY: What part of you were you hold- 
ing back? 

COSBY: The part of me that was devoting 
more thought to my work than to my wife. 
s a very selfish thing to do, and 1 
k there are people who'll tell you quite 
nly that if they had to choose between 
г mate and their work, they'd choose 
т work. Well, eight or nine years ago, 1 
realized that that was just silly, so I began 
releasing myself from my work—I'm not 
just talking about time now—and coming 
more and more together with my wife. 
And what happened was that I found my- 
self falling deeper in love with her. 

So it’s just pure and good with us. The 
children—some have their problems, but 
we're able to work them and talk with 
them, and they try k for more. So 
you're looking at someone who was a very. 
very happy man before this series hit, 
PLAYBOY: Despite all this success since we 
last spoke, there must have been moments 
that weren't as upbeat as all that. Wasn't 
there a time when Bill Cosby was in danger 
of going out of style? 

COSBY: Oh, there was a point where the 
the performance, or comedy, 
began to have trouble. In the ear- 
ly Seventies, when the younger culture 
went into a kind of LSD period, a lot of 
legitimate showbiz people—Bill Cosby, 
Harry Belafonte, Andy W ms, even 
Johnny Mathis—began to fcel like tumble- 
weed rolling through the back of the the- 
aters. The economy was in a dip, our fans 
were becoming parents, the time seemed 
wrong. It was tough for a lot of us. I went to 
Las Vegas, worked Vegas. I worked con- 
ventions, one-nighters. 
PLAYBOY: But you were still a young man 
then, іп your mid-30s. 

COSBY: Yeah, but I was talking old. I was 
talking to audiences about my marriage, 
my kids—I was out of Fat Albert by then. I 
really didn't want to do “I’m a child” any- 
more; | was more interested in the behav- 
ior of a parent toward a child. 

PLAYBOY: And the times finally caught up 
with you. Its being said that The Cosby 
Show may turn out to be the kind of 
comedic landmark that All i the Family 
was, so let’s spend some time on it. Few іп- 
dustry insiders expected it to survive its 
first season, let alone become the most 
popular series on television. Have you 


been surprised by the show’s success? 
COSBY: Yes, it's gone way past what I cx- 
pected. I decided I wanted to do a TV 
show that all my children could watch 
without my wife and I worrying about how 
it would affect them. Га heard a lot of peo- 
ple say, “I dont want to let my children 
watch television,” and I was fecling the 
same way. The situation comedies all 
seemed to get their laughs by using cu- 
phemisms for sexual parts of the body— 
lots of jokes about boobs and butts. The 
language was getting tougher, the women 
were stripping down faster, and if you had 
a five-year-old daughter, she was watching 
men shooting bullets and drawing blood. 
PLAYBOY: Who decided that Cliff Huxtable 
would be an obstet: 2 
COSBY: І did. I wanted to be able to talk to 
women who were about to give birth and 
make them feel comfortable. 1 also ted 
to talk to their husbands and put a few 
messages out every now and then. 

PLAYBOY: Such as? 

COSBY: That fathering a child isn’t about 
being a macho man, and if you think itis, 
you're making a terrible mistake. 15 about 
becoming a parent. 

PLAYBOY: Do you think you've succeeded in 
putting out those messages? 
cossy: Oh, sure. In one episode la 
son, a new husband comes into С 
and says, “Pm the man, the head of the 
household. Women should be kept bare 
foot and pregnant tells the guy that 
being a parent nothing to do wi 
kind of concept of manhood. And he acis 
ly straightens him out by telling him that 
neither he nor his wife will be in charge of 
the house—their children will. 

PLAYBOY: Do you feel any pressure about 
maintaining your top ranking? 

COSBY: The pressure in television is to stay 
in thc top 20. You fight to stay alivc cach 
week, and you do a lot of hoping. And 
meanwhile, you've got a show to put to- 
gether and then perform, and en route to 
doing that, you watch the numbers. It's al- 
most as if each wcek, you're a person look- 
ing back to see how you lived. You know, 
right now, it may look like I'm the boss, but 
the ratings dictate who's the boss, and 
when the numbers drop, you get a visit 
from the network SS m 
PLAYBOY: Who arc those horrible people 
and what tortures do they inflict? 

COSBY: Well, they're executives who seem 
to get younger and younger every year, 
and they say things like, "We think you 
ought to try to do it our way” which is not 
what you want to do. I've been there be- 
fore. If and when the rating erosion oc- 
curs, you weigh what they say, and if it's 
worth anything, you try to comply. This is 
а very cold business, and if you don't look 
at it that way, you can get hurt. 

PLAYBOY: People often compare your come 
dy work with Richard Ргуог and Eddi 
Murphy's. What's most obvious is the di 
ference between their use of profanity and 
your avoidance of it. Has that been a calcu- 
lated decision on your part? 

COSBY: No, it's just that I've never been 


comfortable with profanity. During the 
carly Seventies, there was a time when I 
ү on stage for about six 
g to get the audience to 
understand the language between a father 
and ason, and it involved a lot of cursing. 1 
did a bit that showed my father cursing me 
and 1 found that the audience just was 
not ready for me to curse on stage. So I cut 
it out, and I had to find another way of do- 
ing that € without using curse words. 
Now, 1 happen to think that. Richard's 
way of using four-letter words and 12-let- 
ter curse words has nothing to do with Ed- 
die Murphy's way of using 77-lcuer curse 
words. 
PLAYBOY: You sccm ambivalent in your fccl- 
ings toward Eddie Murphy. What do you 
think of the choices hes made? 
COSBY: Listen, Eddie Murphy is a young. 
man who is extremely, extremely intelli- 
gent. In terms of performing and self-ed- 
iting, Eddie Murphy has made a choice. He 
knows what's right, he knows what's wrong, 
he knows what will upset people and what 
will not upset people. He has decided he'll 
say what he wants to say, and if it upsets 
some people, fine—but he’s going to say 
it, anyway The question, perhaps, then 
comes down to this: Is Eddie Murphy, with 
his street language, harmful? 
PLAYBOY: How did you fecl when Murphy 
impersonated you on Saturday Night Live 
as a kind of pompous, cigar-waving Bob 
Hope figure? 
COSBY: I didn't mind it. I think there are al- 
ways these positions younger people take, 
coming into a field, looking at older people 
and thinking, Hey, you'rc not that good; I 
can be better. That's how you get pupils to 
surpass their teachers. 
PLAYBOY: So, overall, you like Murphy's 
brand of humor. 
like his movies—his movies. They 
make me laugh. 
PLAYBOY: You've become almost a national 
ich means that the me- 
ıe to ask you a lot of daddy 
stions. Do you have any parting advice 


qu 
on that topic? 
cosey: I'm doing a book on being a father. 


It'll be out around Fathers Day. 
PLAYBOY: You've already discussed the sub- 
ject with us, and the book wouldnt pre- 
clude some remarks from you on the 
subject, would it 
сову: It might. The publishers have р 
mean awful lot of money. And since this is 
only one brain I've ро... 
PLAYBOY: Come on, Bill. This isthe Playboy 
Interview—some of our readers are 
thers, and even more are moving into that 
time of life. 
COSBY: Yeah, I think that the subjects we've 
talked about аге interesting—especially 
for Playboy—because what you have here 
is a guy saying that he’s given all of himself 
to his wife and children. E think that may 
turn some lights on. 

— December 1985, interviewed by 

Lawrence Linderman 


301 


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AVOIDISM 

(continued from page 110) 
across his marrow chest, that fascinated 
me. Here, at last, 1 felt, was a happy man. 
At the time, Г didn’t know it, but Clayton 
Slope was a man who lived Avoidism. In 
addition to the physical advantages men- 
tioned above, he had developed the limp, 
repulsive handshake to a point of perfec- 
tion seldom reached by any of us today. He 
had a clever trick of saying any conceivable 
sentence so that it sounded like “I had one 
grunch but the eggplant over there.” 

He was the most avoidable man I ever 
saw. 

This is his story. 

Clayton Slope was destined to become 
an Avoidist. (He was an 11 months! baby) 
Аз he grew older, Clayton became a shy, 
timid introvert. He was frightened of ev- 
erything, and everybody always picked оп 
him. He grew up with his back to the wall. 
(Sec Figure IV) 

Clayton's early life was filled with confu- 
sion. For one thing, people used to make 
fun of him because of his feet. He thought 
this was unnecessary and uncalled for, be- 
cause, as you can see, his feet were perfect 
ly normal. He had ten toes, like anyone 
else. (Ser Figure V) 

In consequence of this, at a very early 
age, Clayton began to reject his environ- 
ment. And vice versa. He began to for- 
mulate, unconsciously, the principles of 
Avoidism. 

Clayton began to avoid making good 
grades in school. This was easy. He simply 
avoided going to school at all. His family 
tried to interest him in studies, and one 
time they hired a tutor, and Clayton start- 
ed to learn how to write. However, it took 
the tutor eight months to teach him how to 
make a period, and he finally gave up in 
disgust. 

By the time he was 18 years old, Clayton 
had developed a primitive Avoidist Posi- 
tion (still used by some of the older mem- 
bers) that he assumed during all of his 
waking hours (Figure V1). 

This position worked fine and kept Clay- 
ton from having to talk to a lot of people, 
but it worried his parents, and they took 
him to a doctor, who found that there was 
a physical reason for this position of Clay- 
tons. The doctor found that Clayton had a 
very weak spine and a heavy beard. 

today Clayton Slope is а complete 
Avoidist. He is still sitting on the back 
porch in his rocker, not watching the world 
go by a man with no worries, no cares, no 
problems, no troubles, no nothin: A Happy 
Man. 

And the sooner more of us get in that 
position, the sooner we'll have alittle peace 


and quiet. 


HEARST 


(continued from page 237) 
for 57 days, with the radio turned up loud 
to keep you from overhearing them and a 
foul-smelling mattress on the floor. Other 
than staying alive, did anything seem very 
important to you? 
HEARST: It seemed important to try and 
understand what they were talking about. 
They thought I was so stupid and bour- 
geois and horrible that, if I could under- 
stand what they were saying and spit it 
back at them, it would make it easier to get 
along with them. So that was important 
PLAYBOY: Was that when they were calling 
you Marie Antoinette? 
HEARST: That's how they felt about me: that 
I was just so oblivious to everythi 
by my lifestyle I was saying, 
cake” My lifestyle! І was just some dumb 
kid going to college! 

PLAYBOY: So you didnt see your kidnaping 
asa political act? 

HEARST: I don't think it's a very political act 
to kidnap somebody's daughter instead of 
her father, whom they could just as easily 
have kidnaped at that point. But [sarcasti- 
cally] they were afraid to go kidnap the 
great big man, so they went after a little 
bitty girl. 

PLAYBOY: At the beginning, did you see 
them as crazies or as reyolutionaries? 
HEARST: At first, I thought they were just 
absolutely insane, and that in itself was 
frightening. Later, I stopped viewing them 
as heing insane and decided they had 
some kind of purpose. But their purpose 
was really very confused. You just have no 
idea how creepy they were! 

PLAYBOY: During the first days, did you 
think you'd probably be rescued? 

HEARST: For a long time, | really thought I 
would be rescued—you know, a tunnel up 
through the floor or some Mission: Impos- 
sible type of rescue. But at the point where 
Cinque [Donald DeFreeze] came to the 
nd gave me my ultimatum—“Fight 
— I started thinking I wouldn't be 
rescued for quite some time. 

PLAYBOY: Were you pretending when you 
said you wanted to join the SIA. or did 
you really want to join? 

HEARST: It was a conscious act. I didn’t have 
to pretend desperately to want them to say, 
“Yeah, you can join.” The appropriate 
S.L.A. line on my conversion was that my 
parents had been horrible and they were 
so decadent and I was being rescued from 
this terrible bourgeois life that I was lead- 
ing and aren't I the lucky one to have been 
chosen by them? That was the approved 
story: my terrible mother and fascist fa- 
ther . . . and if you believe this, maybe we 
can interest you in some swampland in 
Florida. But people did believe it! 
PLAYBOY: Do you feel it took guts to join the 
S.A? 

HEARST: No. It would have been crazy not to 
have joined, because they would have just 
killed me. It vould take much more guts to. 
say, “Never, I'd rather die." I'm sorry, I'ma 


coward. І didn't want to die. 

PLAYBOY: When you became Tania, you 
must know that it captured the imagina- 
tion of a lot of people. 
HEARST: Maybe you liked it. 
PLAYBOY: Well, she was a symbol of defi- 
ance, antagonism, liveliness, antiestablish- 
ment at a time when many people were 
feeling that way. 

HEARST: It amazes me to sit here and hear 
you say that it was a lively image. It was a 
terribly violent image. It was the result of a 
violent kidnaping. For you to say it'sa lively, 
antiestablishment image . - . Tania never 
really existed except as a fantasy for most 
people. She existed as a propaganda tool 
for the S.L.A. She was created by them and. 
she lived as long as they could keep her liv- 
ing. 

PLAYBOY: So you sce her in the third per- 
son? 

HEARST: Yeah, 1 do. I look at her and think, 
Gosh, how maddening that they could get 
me to do that! And it upsets me; or Гі just 
laugh, depending on my mood. But it's a 
terrible thing to think that people can do 
that to you. 

PLAYBOY: If it ever did happen again—if a 
yan stopped in front of you and someone 
with a gun said get in—would you react 
differently, having gone through what 
you've gone through? 

HEARST: I wouldn't get in the van. Forget it. 
I'd rather be dead. At this point, I've got to 
assume I would not live through another 
experience like I went through. [Angrily, 
referring to tho earlier exchange] You have 
a really odd idea about the S.L.A.! Like 
other people, you have this romantic no- 
tion of what they are like, that it was all one 
great adventure! You lived it vicariously 
and it’s just too exciting for you and you 
can hardly control yourself, and its so dis- 
turbing to find out that I don't even think 
‘Tania lived except in people's imaginations. 
like yours—and she still lives in yours! 
PLAYBOY: You're getting mad—is that a 
hint of the angry ‘Tania the rest of us saw, 
and you say never existed? 

HEARST: There's no part of Tania that you 
saw except what the S.L.A. invented. Thats 
what you saw. It was a total invention. And 
while you saw a photograph of this per- 
son with the machine gun, the rest of the 
time what you didn't see was me sort of be- 
ing weepy and meek and not strong or an- 
gry at all. Listen to the tapes again; I don't 
think they're that tough and angry. I'm 
reading a script. Shoot, I can do that. They 
were rehearsed! 

PLAYBOY: Were you brainwashed? 

HEARST: Yeah, if that’s what you call the 
process that happened. Coercively per- 
suaded, brainwashed . . . yeah, I was! By 
brainwashed, 1 mean I was incapable of 
making rational decisions on my own. 1 
was not in control of myself, in spite of the 
fact that you probably could have come in 
and seen me and talked to me and said, 
“Wow, she seems OK, just got some crazy 
ideas" But I didn't start out with crazy 
ideas. 


PLAYBOY: Did you start out by thinking you 
were fooling them into thinking you be- 
lieved as they did? 
HEARST: Sure. I thought for a long time that 
1 was fooling them and Icading them on, 
but somewhere along the linc I got lost. I 
got confused and lost and caught up with 
what they were doing. I lost complete 
touch with reality, My reality became their 
reality. 
PLAYBOY: But you knew you were robbing a 
bank. You Anew you were fring an auto- 
matic weapon. You knew you were making 
atape. It wasnt like you were іп а fog. 
HEARST: Oh, no, it wasn't like I was in a fog 
and didnt know what was happening. At 
the same time, mentally and emotionally, 1 
was not fully in control of myself. 
PLAYBOY: But you felt that you must stay 
alive above all else, even if it meant killing 
other people- 
HEARST: Not in my mind! Not in my mind! 
If they said, “Shoot this person,” I don't 
believe I could have done that. It never 
came up. 
PLAYBOY: It came close, though. 
HEARST: When did it come close? 
PLAYBOY: At Mel's [а diner]. 
HEARST: It didn't come dose at Mel's. 
PLAYBOY: You shot above people and below 
them. 
HEARST: That's right. 
PLAYBOY: That's close, Patty. 
HEARST: ‘There was never a thought of kill 
or be killed, though. Never! 
PLAYBOY: The astonishment in a lot of peo- 
ples minds is that you never once made an 
attempt to escape during that missing 
year. You never even thought about it. 
Didn't you ever wonder about your 
ents, your sisters and your friends? Didn't 
you even consider calling to say you were 
still alive? 
HEARST: When I did have a thought like 
that, I would just put it out of my mind. 
"That was а bad thought to have. And I ac- 
tively kept myself from thinking bad 
thoughts. I shouldn't even be considering 
it. As far as escaping goes, in my mind, it 
would have been like saying, "Now I'll 
commit suicide.” Because 1 really thought 
I was going to be killed any second by the 
police. There was no escape! 
PLAYBOY: Why did so many people get an- 
gry at you? 
HEARST: I think I was very much a distrac- 
tion from what was going on in Washing- 
ton. At the time, there was Watergate and 
we were losing a President quickly. That's 
another reason why people got so emotion- 
aland angry about me. They felt betrayed 
by the Government, by the President—and 
here I was, sticking my tongue ош at them, 
It was just too much. I was a target for a lot 
of people who were still mad at their kids 
who were hippies in the Sixties. I came to 
symbolize a youth rebellion that I wasn't 
even a part of! [Laughs] 

—March 1982, inlerviewed by Lawrence 

Grobel 
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FAST TIMES „арни 


“Every school morning, Spicoli awoke before dawn, 
smoked three bowls of marijuana and surfed.” 


bell. If you did not have the ability to obey 
the three-bell system, Mr. Hand would say, 
then it was aloha time for you. You simply 
would not function in life. 

‘And functioning in life,” Mr. Hand said 
grandly on that first morning, “is the hid- 
den postulate of education.” 

At the age of 58, Mr. Hand had no inten- 
tion of leaving Ridgemont. Why, in the past 
ten years, he had just begun to hit his 
stride. Не had found one man, that one 
man who embodied all the proper autho: 
ty and power to exist “in the jungle.” It 
didn't bother him that his role model hap- 
pened to be none other than Steve McGa: 
теп, the humorless chief detective of 
Hawaii Five-O. 

First-year US, history students, sensing. 
something slightly odd about the man, 
would inch up to Mr. Hand a few days into 
1er. "Mr. Hand,” they would ask 
“how come you act like that guy on 


know what you're talking 

It was, of course, much too obvious for 

his considerable pride to admit. But Mr 
Hand pursued his students as tirelessly 
McGarrett pursued his weekly criminals. 
with cast-iron emotions and a paucity of 
words. Substitute truancy for drug traffic, 
ed tests for robbery, U.S. history for 
Hawai, and you had a class with Mr. 
Hand. Little by litle, his protean personal- 
ity had been taken over by McGarrett. He 
became possessed by Five-O. He even got 
out of his Oldsmobile sedan in the morn- 
ings at full stand, whipping his head both 
ways, like MeGarrett. 
History," Mr. Hand had barked on that 
first morning, . or otherwise, has 
proved one thing to us. Man does not do 
anything that is not for his own good. It is 
for your own good that you auend my 
dass. And if you can't make it. . . I сап 
make you. 

Ап impatient knock began at the front. 
door of the bungalow, but Mr. Hand ig- 
nored it. 

“There will be tests in this class," he said. 
immediately “We have a twenty-question 
quiz every Friday. It will cover all the mate- 
rial we've dealt with during the week. 
There will be no make-up exams. You can 
see it's important that you have your Land 
of Truth and Liberty textbook by Wednes- 
day at the latesi. 

‘The knock continued. 

“Your grade in this class is the average of 
all your quizzes, plus the mid-term and the 
final, which counts for one third.” 

The door knocker now sounded a lazy 
calypso beat. No one dared mention it. 

“Also. There will be no eating in this 


class, I want you to get used to doing your 
business on your time. That's one demand I 
make. You do your business on your time, 
nd I do my business on my time. I dont 
like staying after class with you on deten- 
tion. That's my time. Just like you wouldn't 
want me to come to your house sc 
evening and discuss U.S. history with you 
оп your time. Pakalo? 

Mr. Hand finally turned, as if he had 
just noticed the sound at the door, and be- 
gan to approach the green metal barrier 
between him and his mystery truant. He 
opened the door only an inch. 


“Yeah,” 
registered for this cla: 


said the student, a surfer. “I'm 


"Really?" Mr. Hand appeared en- 
thralled. 
“Yeah,” said the student, holding his all- 


important red add card up to th 
the door. “This is U.S. history, 
the globe in the window" 

Jeff Spicoli, a Ridgemont legend since 
third grade, lounged against the door- 
frame. His long dirty-blond hair was part- 
ed exactly in the middle. He spoke thickly, 
like molasses pouring from a jar. Most ev- 
school morning. Spicoli awoke before 
dawn, smoked three bowls of marijuana 
from a small steel bong, put on his wet suit 
and surfed before school. He was never at 
school on Fridays, and on Mondays only 
when he could handle it. He leaned a little 
into the room, red eyes glistening. His long 
hair was still wet, dampening the back of 


“Oh, please," replied Mr. Hand. "I get so 
lonely when that third auendance bell 
rings and I don't see all my Aids heri 
The surfer laughed—he was the only 
one—and handed over red add card. 
"Sorry Im late. This new schedule is total- 
ly confusing." 
Mr. Hand read the card aloud with utter 
n in his voice, "Mr. Spicoli 

“Yes, sir. That's the name they gave me. 

Mr. Hand slowly tore the red add card 
into little pieces, effectively destroying the 
very existence of Jeffrey Spicoli, 15, in the 
Redondo school system. Mr. Hand sprin- 
Мей the lite pieces over his wastebasket. 

It took a moment for the words to work 
their way out of Spicoli’s mouth. 

“You dick.” 

Mr. Hand cocked his head. He appeared 
poised on the edge of incredible violence. 
There was а sudden silence while the class 
wondered exactly what he might do to the 
surfer. Deck him? Throw him out of 
Ridgemont? Shoot him at sunrise? 

But Мг. Hand simply turned away from 
Spicoli as if the kid had just ceased to exist. 


Small potatoes. Mr. Hand simply conti 
ued with his first-day lecture. 

“Ive taken the trouble,” he said, “to 
print up a complete schedule of class 
quizzes and the chapters they cover. Please 
pass them to all the desks behind you. 

Spicoli remained at the front of the class, 
his face flushed, still trying to sort out 
what had happened. Mr. Hand coolly 
counted out stacks of his purple mim- 
eographed assignment sheets. After a 
ume, Spicoli fished a few bits of his red add 
card out of the wastebasket and hufled out 
of the room. 

“So,” said Mr. Hand just before the last 
bell, “let's recap. First test on Friday Be 
there. Aloha.” 


A BITCHIN DREAM. 


Jeff Spicoli had been having a dream. A 
totally bitchin’ dream. 

He had been standing in a deep, dark 
void. Then he detected a sliver of light in 
the distance. A cold hand pushed him to- 
ward the light. He was being led to some- 
thing important. That much he knew. 

As Spicoli drew closer, the curtains sud- 
denly opened and a floodlit vision was re- 
vealed to him. It was a wildly cheering 
studio audience—for him!—and there, ap- 
plauding from his Tonight Show desk, was 


Johnny Carson. 


Because it was the right thing to do, and 
because it was a dream, anyway, Spicoli 
gave the band a signal and launched into a 
cocktail rendition of AC/DC's Highway to 
Hell. When it was over, he took a seat next 
to Carson. 

“How are y; 
ing Spicoli’s arm. 

“Bitchin, Johnny. Nice to be here. I feel 
great.” 

“I was going to sa 
eyes look a little red. 

“Гус been swimming, Johnny" 

The audience laughed. It was a famous 


aid Johnny, lightly touch- 


97 said Carson, “your 


Spicoli line. 
“Swimming? In the winter?” 
“Yes,” said Spicoli, “and may a swim- 


ming beaver make love to your masticat 
sister” 

That broke Johnny up. Spico 
his legs and smiled serenely. “< 
Johnny, business is good. 1 was thin! 
about picking up some hash thi is weekend, 
maybe go up to the mounta 

“I want to talk a little bit about school,” 
said Carson. 
chool.” Spicoli sighed. “School is no 
problem. All you have to do is go, to getthe 
grades. And if you know anything, all you 
have to do is go half the time.” 

"How often do you go?" 

“I don't go at all,” said Spicoli. 

The audience howled again. He is Car- 
sons favorite guest 

^I hear you brought a film clip with you," 
said Carson. “Do you want to set it up for 
us? 


Мей, it pretty much speaks for itself,” 
said Spicoli. “Freddie, you want to run with 
TET" 

Тһе film clip begins. It is a mammoth 


wave cresting against the blue sky. 

Johnny” continued Spicoli, “this is the 
action down at Sunset Clifis at about six in 
the morning.” 

“Amazing.” 

A tiny figure appears in the foot of the 
wave. 

That's me, 

The audience ра 

“You're not going to ride that wave, 
you, Jeff?” 

You got it,” said Spicoli. 

He catches the perfect wave and it hur- 
tles him through a turquoise tube of water, 

“What's going through your mind right 
here, Jett? The danger of it all?” 

“Johnny” said Spicoli, “Pm thinking 
here that I only have about four good 
hours of surfing left 
before all those little 
clowns from Paul 
Revere Junior High 
start showing ир 
with their boogie 
boards.” 

The audience 
howled once again, 
and then Spicoli’s 
brother—that little 
fucker—woke him 
up. 


BLOW JOB LESSONS 


A new girl from 


Phoenix, Arizona, 
had transferred into 
Stacy's 1-devel- 
opment She 


looked a little scared 
standing at the front 
of the class. When 
Mrs. Melon placed 
her at Stacys table, 


Stacy decided 10 
make friends with 
her. 

Her name was 


Laurie Beckman. 
She was a doctors 
daughter. She want- 
ed to raise horses. 
She was a friendly 
girl, if a little sh; 
and she wore braces. 

Stacy had intro- 
duced her to Linda Barrett and the three 
had taken to eating lunch together. It 
wasn't long before Lau ‘alized what a 
gold mine of sexual expertise sitting 
before her every lunch period. Within two 
weeks, she was already into the hard stuff. 

Did you see that movie Carne?” asked 
Laurie, “Do you know when John ‘Travolta 
gets that girl to give him a blow job? 

“Yeah. 

“Yeah. 

“Do you do that 

Stacy looked at Linda. 

'Of course," said Linda. 
know how?” 

“No. Not really. 
about it in sex ed.” 


"Dont you 


Pause. “They don't talk 


247 То senda gift of Amaretto di Saranno any 
оно by volume 


Its no big deal,” said Linda. “Bring a 
banana to lunch tomorrow and ll show 
you.” 

. 

The next day, Laurie brought a banana 
to school. The three girls sat down togeth 
er on the very outskirts of lunch court 
Linda peeled the banana and handed it 
back to Laurie. 

“Now, what you've got to do,” she in- 
structed, “is treat it firmly but carefully. 
Move up and down and hold it at the bot- 
tom.” 

When am I supposed to do this?” 

“Do it now.” 

“Give it a try” said Stacy in fine deputy 
m. 

Laurie looked casually to the right, then 


а 


1987, Imported by The Paddle 


to the lefi. Then she mouthed the banana. 

“Is that right?” she asked. 

Her braces had created wide divots 
down the sides of the banana. 

You should try to be a little more саге- 
ful,” said Linda. She watched as Laurie 
tried again, with similar results. 

“I have a question,” said Laurie. 
happens? 
What do you mea 

“What happens . . . 1 mean, Гус never 
asked anyone about this—right—and 
nd don't laugh at me, OK 

Just say it, Lauri 
"OK, like whena guy has an orgasm. 
irie sighed heavily. “You know . 
always wondered . . . how much comes out?" 


“What 


. lve 


HB U.S. сай 1-800-243-3757. 
Corp., ForfLoo, NJ. Photo: Ken Nahoum. 


Linda leaned forward and stared Laurie 
in both eyes. “Quarts.” 

“Quarts?” Laurie's eyes popped. 

Stacy slugged Linda. “Don't do that to 
her" 

"OK ... not that much.” said Linda 
“You shouldn't worry about it. Really” 

Laurie looked relieved as she stared 
down at the peeled banana still in her 
hand. 


A LATE-NIGHT 


PHONE CONVERSATION 


“There's one thing you didn't tell me 
about guys,” said Stacy. "You didn't tell me 
that they can be so nice, so great but 
then you sleep with them and they start 
acting like they're about five years old.” 

“You're right,” 
said Linda, “I didn't 
tell you about that.” 


ALOHA, MR. HAND 


lt was nearly the 
end of the line. The 
awards were about 
to be announced, 
mimeographed caps- 
and-gowns informa- 
tion had gone out 10 
Ше seniors along 
with Grad Nite tick- 
els. Тіс annuals 
were almost ready. 
Spicoli was counting 
the hours. 


Since Spicoli was a 
sophomore, an un- 
derclassman, there 
werent many grad- 
uation functions he 
could attend. 10- 
night was one of the 
few, and he wasn't 
about to miss it. It 
was the Ditch Day 
party, the evening 
blowout of the day 
that 
secretly selected to- 
ward the end of the 
year to ditch en 
masse. Spicoli hadn't 
been at school all 
day and now he was 
just about ready to leave the house for the 
party out in Del Mar. He hadn't eaten all 
day He wanted the full effect of the hallucino- 
genic mushrooms he'd procured just for 
the poor man’s Grad Nite—Ditch Night 

Spicoli had taken just a little bit of one 
mushroom, just to check the potency. He 
could feel it coming on now as he sat in his 
room surrounded by his harem of naked 
women and surf posters. It was just a slight 
buzz, like a few hits off the bong. Spicoli 
knew they were good mushrooms. But if 
he didn't leave soon, he might be too high 
to drive before he reached the party, One 
had to craft his buzz, Spicoli was fond of 
saying. 

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. There 


underclassmen 


” 
грі 


305 


PLAYBOY 


was an unusual commotion in the living 
тоот. 

“Who is it, Mom?" 

"You've got company Jeffrey! Нез com- 
ing up thc stairs right now. Ї cant stop 
him!" 

There was a brief knock at the door. 

“Come in.” 


The door opened and Spicoli stood in 


stoned shock. There before him was The 
Man. 
“Mr. ... Mr. Hand.” 


“That's right, Jeff. Mind if I come in? 
Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Spicoli,” Mr. 
Hand called back down the stairs. He took 
off his suit jacket and laid it on the chair. 
“Were you going somewhere tonight, 


Jef?” 
“Ditch Night! Ive goua go to Ditch 
Night 
“Tm afraid we've got some things to d 
cuss, Jef” 


There were some things you just didn't 
эсс very often, Spi 
didn't see black surfers, for example. And 


you didn't see Baja Riders for less than $20 
a pair. And you sure didn't see Mr. Fue 
Hand sitting in your room. 

“Did I do something, Mr. Hand?" 

Mr. Hand opened his briefcase and be- 
gan taking out lecture notes. He laid them 
ош for himself on Spicoli’s desk. “Are you 
going to be sitting there?” 

“I don't know. I guess so. 

“Fine. You sit right there on your bed. 
ЕШ use the chair here.” Mr. Hand stopped 
to stare down last month's Playmate. 
“Tonight is a special night, Jeff. As 1 ex- 
plained to your parents just a moment ago, 
and to you many times since the very be- 
ginning of the year, I dont 
my time waiting for student 
I'd rather be preparing the lesson. 

“According to my calculations, Mr. Spi- 
coli, you wasted a total of eight hours of my 
ac this year. And rest assured that is a 
kind estimate. 

“But now, Spicoli, comes a rare moment 
for me. Now I have the unique pleasure of 
squaring our accounts. Tonight, you and 1 


“Not tonight, dear. . . I have a headache.” 


are going to talk in great detail about the 
David Amendment Now, if you can 
turn to chapter forty-seven of Land of 
Truth and Liberty. 

“Would you like an iced tea, Mr. Hand?" 
Mrs. Spicoli called through the door. 

Jeff was still orienting himself to what 
was happening. Was he too high? Was this 
real? He was not going to 
That was it. He was going to 
room tonight with Mr. Hand . . 
about the David Amendment, 

“Га love some iced te: 
“Whenever you get the 5 

Now, Mr. Hand had said they'd be there 
all night, but at 7:45 he wound up with the 
battle of Saratoga and started рас 

“Is that it?” 

“I think I've made my point with you, 


- to talk 


Mr. Hand. 


ou mean I can go to Ditch Night after 
all?" 

“1 don't care what you do with your time, 
Mr. Spicoli.” 

Spicoli (шеней up and reached to shake 
Mr. Han 

“Hey, Mr. H 
you a question: 

“What's that: 

“Do you have a guy like me every year? 
A guy to... 1 don't know, make a show of. 
Teach the other kids lessons and stuff?" 

Mr. Hand finished packing and looked 
at the surfer who'd hounded him all year 
long. “Well,” he said, “why don't you come 
back next year and find ош?” 

“No way,” said Spicoli. “Um not going to 
be like those guys who come back and 
hang around your classroom. I’m not even 
coming over to your side of the building. 
When I pass, Im оша there.” 

“Ifyou ра 

Spicoli was taken aback. Not pass? No 
thumbing up the Coast, mecting ladics 
and going to Hawaii for the dyno lobster 
season? Summer school? “Not passing?” he 
said. 

Mr. Hand broke into the nearest thing to 
а grin, for him. It wasn't much, of course, 
but it was noticeable to Jeff. His lips crin- 
kled at the ends. That was plenty for Mr. 
Hand. 

“Don't worry, Spicoli,” said Mr. Hand. 
“You'll probably squeak by.” 

“АП right!” 
loha, Spico 

“Aloha, Mr. Hand.” 

Mr. Hand descended the stairway of the 
Spicoli home, went out the door and on to 
his car, which he had parked just around 
the corner—always use the element of sur 
prise, Mr. Hand knew one day next year he 
would look to that green metal door and it 
would be Spicoli standing there. He'd act 
like he had a million other things to do, 
and then he'd probably stay all day. All his 
boys came back sooner or later. 

Mr. Hand drove back to his small apart- 
ment in Richards Bay to turn on his televi- 
sion and catch the evening's Five-O rerun. 


d,” said Spicoli, “can Lask 


THE FLY 


(continued from page 95) 

“Right. Will you show me what to do? It 
won't be very nice to watch, you know." 

Мо, по. Monsieur le Commissaire. ГЇЇ 
be all right.” 

“All set?” asked the Commissaire of the 
others. “All right then, Monsieur Delam- 
bre. Whenever you like.” 

Watching my brother's back, I slowly but 
firmly pushed the upstroke button. 

The unusual silence of the factory was 
broken by the sigh of compressed air rush- 
ing into the cylinders, a sigh that always 
makes me think of a giant taking a deep 
breath before solemnly socking another 
giant, and the steel mass of the hammer 
shuddered and then 
rose swiftly, I also 
heard the sucking 
sound as it left the 
metal base and 
thought I was going 
to panic when I saw 
Andre's body heave 
forward as a sick- 
ly gush of blood 
poured all over the 
ghastly mess bared 
by the hammer. 

“No danger of it 
coming down again, 
Monsicur Delan 
bre?” 

“No, none whatev- 
I mumbled as 
I threw the safety 
switch and, turning 
around, 1 was vio- 
lently sick in front of 
a young green-faced 
policeman. 

. 

After only a very 
few days in pri 
on, Helene had 
been transferred to 
a nearby asylum, 
one of the three 
France where insane 
criminals are taken 
care of. My nephew 
Henri, a boy of six, 
the very image of 
his father, was entrusted to me, and even- 
tually, all legal arrangements were made 
for me to become his guardian 

We were never able to obtain any infor- 
mation from my sister-in-law, who seemed 
to have become utterly indifferent. She 
rarely answered my questions and hardly 
ever those of the Commissaire. She spent a 
lot of her time sewing, but her favorite pas- 
time seemed to һе catching flies, which she 
invariably released unharmed after hav- 
ing examined them carefully. 

Helene had only one fit of raving—more 
like а nervous breakdown than а fit said 
the doctor who had administered morphia 
to quieten her—the day she saw a nurse 
swatting flies. 


The day after Helenes one and only fit, 
Commissaire Charas came to see me. 

“I have a strange feeling that there lies 
the key to the whole business, Monsieur 
Delambre,” he said. “Do you know if your 
brother ever experimented with flies?” 

“I really dont know, but I shouldn't 
think so. Have you asked the Air Ministry 
people? They knew all about the work? 

“Yes, and they laughed at me.” 

“1 can understand that.’ 

“You are yery fortunate to understand 
anything, Monsieur Delambre. 1 do 
not... but I hope to some day” 

. 

“Tell me, Uncle, do flies live a long time?" 

We were just finishing our lunch and, 
following an established tradition between 


(ойгот Amaratio di Saronno anywhere іп the U.S. call 1-800-243-3787. 
/ $987, ported by Tha Paddington Corp., Fort Lee, NJ. Photo: Ken Nahoum. 


I was just pouring some wine into Hen- 
glass for him to dip a biscuit in. 

Had Henri not been staring at his glass 
gradually being filled to the brim, some- 
thing in my look might have frightened 
him. 

“I don't know, Henri. Why do you ask?” 

“Because 1 have again seen the fly that 
Матап was looking for. 

“I did not know that your mother was 
looking for a Ну” 

“Yes, she was. It has grown quite a lot, 
but I recognized it all right” 

"Where did you see this fl 
and... how did you recognize it? 

"This morning on your desk, Uncle 
Francois. Its head is white instead of black, 


Henr 


and it hasa funny sort of leg.” 

Feeling more and more like Commis- 
saire Charas but trying to look uncon- 
cerned, І went on: 
shen did you see this fly for the 
ne?” 

“The day that Papa went away. I had 
caught it, but Maman made me let it go. 
And then, she wanted me to find it again. 
She'd changed her mind.” And shrugging 
his shoulders just as my brother used to, he 
added, “You know what women are.” 

“I think that fly must have died longago, 
and you must be mistaken, Henri,” 
getting up and walking to the door. 

But as soon as I was out of the dining 
room, I ran up the stairs to my study: 
There was no fly anywhere to be seen. 

Having finally 
decided not to 
tell Charas about 
my nephew's inno- 
cent revelations, 1 
thought I myself 
would try to ques- 
tion Helene. 

She seemed 10 
have been expecting 
my visit for she came 
into the parlor al- 
most as soon as 1 
had made myself. 
known to the ma- 
tron and been al- 
lowed inside. 

“Francois. I want 
to ask you some- 
thing,” said Helene 
after a while. 

“Anything 1 can 
do for you, Helene?" 
o, just some- 
thing | want to 
know. Do flies live 
very long?" 

Watching her 
carefully, | replied 

“I dont really 
know, Helene; but 
the fly you were 
looking for was in 
my study this morn- 
ing. 

Francois . . . did 
you kill it?” she whispered, her eyes 
searching every inch of my face. 

“No.” 

“Хош have it then... You have it on you! 
Give it to me!” she almost shouted, touch- 
ing me with both her hands, and I knew 
that had she felt strong enough, she would 
have tried to search me. 

“No, Helene, I haven't got it.” 

“But you know now . . . You 
guessed, havent you?” 

“No, Helene. I only know one thing, and 
that is that you аге not insane. But I must 
and will know how and why my brother 
died, Helene." 

“All right." 

Leaving me at the door of the parlor, 


have 


307 


PLAYBOY 


Helene ran upstairs to her room. In less 
than a minute, she was back with a large 
envelope. 


you are not nearly as 
poor brother, but you 
are not unintelligent. АП I ask is that you 
read this alone. After that, you may do as 
Һ” 


. 

It was only on reaching home, as I 
walked from the garage to the house, that 
1 read the inscription on the envelope: 


TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN 
(Probably Commissaire Charas) 


Slitting open Helenes fat envelope, E 
extracted a thick wad of closely written 
pages. I read the following lines neatly 
centered in the middle of the top page: 

This is nol a confession, because, although 
1 killed my husband, I am not a murderess. I 
‚simply and very faithfully carried out his last 
wish by crushing his head апа right атт un- 
der the steam hammer of his brothers factory. 

1 turned the page and started reading. 

. 

For very nearly a year before his death 
(the manuscript began), my husband had 
told me of some of his experiments. He 
new full well that his colleagues ofthe Air 
Ministry would have forbidden some of 
them as too dangerous, but he was keen on 
obtaining positive results before reporting 
his discovery. 

Whereas only sound and pictures had 
been, so far, transmitted through space by 
radio and television, Andre claimed 10 
have discovered a way of transmitting mat- 
ter. Matter, any solid object, placed in his 
“transmitter” was instantly disintegrated 
and reintegrated in a special receiving set. 

“It is possible, Helene, because the atoms 
that go to make up matter are not close 
together like the bricks of a wall. They 
are separated by relative immensities of 
space.” 

“Andre! You tried that experiment with 
Dandelo, didn't you?” 

“Yes. How did you know?” he answered 
sheepishly. “He disintegrated perfectly, but 
he never reappeared in the receiving set.” 


ing . . . there is just no more Dan- 
delo; only the dispersed atoms of a 
cat wandering, God knows where, in the 
universe.” 

Dandelo was a small white cat the cook 
had found one morning in the garden and 
which we had promptly adopted. Now 1 
knew how it had disappeared and was 
quite angry about the whole thing, but my 
husband was so miserable over it all that I 
said nothing. 


. 
One morning, Andre did not show up 

for lunch. I sent the maid down with at 

but she brought it back with a note she had 

le the laboratory door: 

s Lam working” 

He did occasionally pin such notes on his 


308 door and, though I noticed it, I paid no 


particular attention to the unusually large 
handwriting of his note. 

Tt was just after that, as I was drinking 
my coffee, that Henri came bouncing 
hat he had caught a funr 
fly, and would I like to see it. Refusing even 
to look at his closed fist, I ordered him to 
release it immediately. 

“But, Maman, it has a funny white 
head!” 

Marching the boy over to the open win- 
dow, I told him to release the Ну immedi- 
ately, which he did. 

At dinnertime that evening, Andre had 
still not shown up and, a little worried, I 
ran down to the laboratory and knocked. 

Не did not answer my knock, but 1 
heard him moving around and a moment 
later, he slipped a note under the door. It 
typewritten: 

HELENE, 1 AM HAVING TROUBLE. PUT THE BOY 
TO BED AND CONE BACK IN AN HOUR'S TIME. А. 

Frightened, I knocked and called, but 
Andre did not seem to pay any attention 
and, reassured by the familiar noise of his 
typewriter, I went back to the house. 

Having put Henri to bed, I returned to 
the laboratory where I found another note 
slipped under the door. My hand shook as 
I picked it up, because I knew by then that 
something must be wrong. I read: 

HELENE. FIRST OF ALL. 1 COUNT ON YOU NOT 
TO LOSE YOUR NERVE OR DO ANYTHING RASH, BE- 
CAUSE YOU ALONE CAN HELP ME. I HAVE HAD A SE- 
RIOUS ACCIDENT. 1 AM NOT IN ANY PARTICULAR 
DANGER FOR THE TIME REING, THOUGH IT IS A 
MATTER OF EXE AND DEATH IT 16 USELESS 
CALLING TO ME OR SAVING ANYTHING. | CANNOT 
ANSWER, 1 CANNOT SPEAK. 1 WANT YOU TO DO 
EXACTLY AND VERY CAREFULLY ALL THAT 1 ASK. 
AFTER HAVING KNOCKED THREE TIMES TO SHOW 
THAT YOU UNDERSTAND AND AGREE, FETCH ME A 
BOWL OF MILK LACED WITH RUM, 1 HAVE HAD 
NOTHING ALL DAY AND CAN DO WITH IT. 

Shaking with fear, not knowing what to 
think and repressing a curious desire to 
call Andre and bang away until he opened, 
1 knocked three times as requested and 
ran to fetch what he wanted. 

In five minutes I was back. Another note 
had been slipped under the door 

HELENE, FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS CARE 
FULLY. WHEN YOU KNOCK, FLL OPEN THE DOOR 
YOU ARE TO WALK OVER TO MY DESK AND PUT 
DOWN THE BOWL OF MILK. YOU WILL THEN GO 
INTO THE OTHER ROOM WHERE THE RECEIVER I! 
LOOK CAREFULLY AND TRY TO FIND А FLY THAT 
OUGHT TO BE THERE 

BEFORE YOU СОМЕ IN, YOU MUST PROMISE TO 
OBEY ME IMPLICITLY. DO NOT LOOK AT ME AND RE- 
MENBER THAT TALKING IS QUITE 1CAN- 
NOT ANSWER. KNOCK AGAIN THREE TIMES AND 
THAT WILL MEAN 1 HAVE YOUR PROMISE. MY LIFE 
DEPENDS ON THE HELP YOU CAN GIVE 

1 had to wait a while to pull myself to- 
gether, and then | knocked three times. 

I heard Andre shuffling behind the 
door, then his hand fumbling with the 
lock, and the door opened. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that 
he was standing behind the door, but with- 
out looking round, I carried the bowl of 


ilk to his desk. He was evidently watch- 
ing me and I must at all costs appear calm 
and collected. 

“Cheri, you сап count on me,” I said gen- 
y and, putting the bowl down under his 
desk lamp, I walked into the next room 
where all the lights were Ыал! 

Papers were scattered in every direc- 
tion, a whole row of test tubes lay smashed 
in a corner, chairs and stools were upset 
and one of the window curtains hung half 
torn from its bent rod. In a large enamel 
basin on the floor, a heap of burned docu- 
ments was still smoldering. 

1 heard Andre shuffling around in the 

next room, and then a strange gurgling 
and sucking as though he had trouble 
drinking his milk. 
‘Andre, there is no fly here. Can you 
give me any sort of indication that 
might help? If you can't speak, гар... once 
for yes, twice for no.” 

I had tried to control my voice and speak 
as though perfectly calm, but I had to 
choke down a sob of desperation when he 
rapped twice for no. 

“May I come to you, Andre? I don't 
know what can have happened, but what- 
ever itis, I'll be courageous, clear.” 

After a moment of silent hesitation, he 
tapped once on his desk. 

Au the door, I stopped aghast at the sight 
of Andre standing with his head and 
shoulders covered by the brown velvet 
cloth he had taken from a table by his desk. 
Suppressing a laugh that might easily have 
turned ta sobbing, | said 

“Andre, we'll search thoroughly tomor- 
row, by daylight. Why don't you go to bed? 
ГЇЇ lead you to the guest room if you like 
and wont let anyone else see you.” 

Twice he rapped “no” sharply. I did not 
know what to do. And then [ told him: 

“Henri caught a fly this morning that he 
wanted to show me, but I made him release 
it. Could it have been the one you are look- 
ing for? I didn't see it, but the boy said its 
head was white.” 

Andre cmittcd a strange metallic sigh, 
and I just had time to bite my fingers 
fiercely in order not to scream. He had let 
his right arm drop, and instead of his long- 
fingered muscular hand, a gray stick with 
little buds on it like the branch of a tree 
hung out of his sleeve almost to his knee. 

“Andre, mon cheri, tell me what hap- 
pened. I might be of more help to you if I 
knew, Andre .. . oh, it’s terrible!” 1 sobbed, 
unable to control myself. 

Having rapped once for yes, he pointed 
to the door with his left hand 

I stepped ош and sank down crying as 
he locked the door behind me, He was typ- 
ing again and I waited. Не shullled to the 
door and slid a sheet of paper under it. 

HELENE, COME BACK IN THE MORNING. | MUST 
THINK AND WILL HAVE TYPED OUT AN EXPLA. 
NATION FOR YOU. TAKE ONE OF MY SLEEPING 
TABLETS AND GO STRAIGHT TO BED. 1 NEED YOU 
FRESH AND STRONG TOMORROW: 

“Do you want anything for the night, 
Andre?” I shouted through the door. 


Не knocked twice for no, and a little lat- 

er, | heard the typewriter again. 
. 

The sun full on my face woke me up 
with a start. I had set the alarm dock for 
five but had not heard it, probably because 
of the sleeping tablet. I had indeed slept 
like a log, without a dream. Now I was bac 
in my living nightmare and, crying like a 
child, I sprang out of bed. It was seven! 

Rushing into the kitchen, without a word 
for the startled servants, I prepared a tray- 
load of coffee, bread and butter, with 
which I ran to the laboratory. 

Andre opened the door as soon as 1 
knocked and closed it again as 1 carried 
the tray to his desk. His head was still со) 
ered, but I saw from his crumpled suit and 
his open camp bed 
that he must have at 
least tried to rest. 

Оп his desk lay 
a typewritten sheet 
for me, which I 
picked up. Andre 
opened the other 
door, and taking 
this to mean that he 
wanted to be left 
alone, I walked into 
the next room. He 
pushed the door to 
and I heard him 
pouring the coffee 
as I read: 

1 “TRANSMITTED 
SUCCESSFULL 


BEFORE, 
LAST: DURING A SECOND 
EXPERIMENT VESTER- 


DAY, A FLY THAT 1 DID. 
NOT SEE MUST HAVE 
GOT INTO THE “DISIN- 
TEGRATOR™ MY ONLY 
HOPE 15 TO FIND THAT 
FLY AND GO THROUGH 
AGAIN WITH TT. PLEASE 
SEARCH FOR IT CARE- 
FULLY, SINCE, IF TT 15 
NOT FOUND, 1 SHALL 
HAVE TO FIND A WAY OF 
PUTTING AN END TO 
ты 

Pulling myself to- 
gether, I said: 

“Andre, may 1 come in! 

He opened the door. 
'Andre, dont be annoyed; please be 
calm. I won't do anything without first con- 
sulting you, but you must rely on me, hav 
faith in me and let me help you as best I 
can. Are you terribly disfigured, dear? 
Can't you let me sce your face? 1 wont be 
afraid. ... Lam your wife, you know. 
But my husband rapped a decisive 
nd pointed to the door. 
“АП right. I am going to search for the 


10 


ng rash or dangerous without first 
letting me know all about i 
He extended his left hand, 


nd I knew I 


hol by volume | 


had his promise. 

By nightfall we had still not found the 
fly. At dinnertime, as I prepared Andres 
tray I broke down and sobbed in the 
kitchen in front of the silent servants. Му 
maid thought that I had bad a row with my 
husband, probably about the mislaid Ну, 
but I learned later that the cook was al- 
ready quite sure that I was out of my mind. 

АП my nervousness had disappeared as 
Andre let me in and, after putting the tray 
of food down on his desk, I went into the 
other room, as agreed. 

“The first thing ] want to know,” I said 
as he closed the door behind me, "is what 
happened exactly. Can you please tell me?” 

1 waited patiently while he typed an an- 
swer, which he pushed under the door. 


1987, Im 


1 WOULD RATHER NOT TELL YOU. I MUST DE 
STROY MYSELF IN SUCH A WAY THAT NONE CAN 
POSSIBLY KNOW WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME. I 
AM ALREADY NO LONGER А MAN. AS TO MY BRAIN 
OR INTELLIGENCE. IT MAY DISAPPEAR AT ANY MO- 
MENT. 

Well, do you think that if you went 
through again a second time, you might 
come out the right way?" 

1 HAVE ALREADY THOUGHT OF THAT AND 
THAI WAS WHY I NEEDED THE FIY. IT HAS GOT TO 
GO THROUGH WITH ME. THERE IS NO HOPE OTH- 
ERWISE. L HAVE TRIED SEVEN TIMES ALREADY 
Try all the same, Andre. You never 
know!" 

Тһе answer gave me a flutter of hope, 
because no woman has ever understood, 


1 ever understand, how а man about 
anything 


or wi 
to die can possibly consid 
funny 

1 DEEPLY ADMIRE YOUR DELICIOUS FEMININE 
LOGIC, HOWEVER, JUST TO GIVE YOU PLEASURE, 
PROBABLY THE VERY LAST I SHALL EVER BE ABLE 
TO GIVE YOU, 1 WILL TRY ONCE МОВЕ IF YOU CAN 
NOT FIND THE DARK GLASSES. TURN YOUR BAC 
TO THE MACHINE AND PRESS YOUR HANDS OVER 
YOUR EVES. LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU ARE READY 

“Ready, Andre!” I shouted without even 
looking for the glasses and following his 
instructions. 

І turned around as the cabin door 
opened. 

His head and shoulders still covered 
with the brown velvet carpet, Andre was 
gingerly stepping out of it 

“How do you feel, 
Andre?” 1 asked, 
touching his arm. 

He tried to step 
away from me and 
caught his foot in 
one of the stools that 
І had not troubled 
to pick up. He made 
а violent effort to 
regain his balancı 
and the velvet car- 
pet slowly slid off his 
shoulders and head 
as he fell heavily 


The 
too much for me, 
too unexpected. 


horror was 


As a matter of 
fact, Lam sure that, 
even had 1 known, 
the horror impacı 
could hardly have 
been less powerful. 
Trying to push both 


hands into my 
mouth to stifle my 
screams апа al- 


though my fingers 
were bleeding, 1 
screamed again and 
again. 1 could nor 
e my eyes off 
him, I could not 
close them, and yet 
I knew that if I 
looked at the horror much longer, I would 
go on screaming for the rest of my life. 

Until I am totally extinct, nothing can, 
nothing will ever make me forget that 
dreadful white hairy head with its low flat 
skull and its two pointed ears. Pink and 
moist, the nose was also that of a cal, a 
huge cat. But the eyes! Or rather, where 
the eyes should have been were two brown 
bumps the size of saucers, Instead of a 
mouth, animal or human, was a long hairy 
vertical slit from which hung a black quiv- 
ering trunk that widened at the end, trum- 
petlike, and from which saliva dripped. 

I must have fainted, because I found my- 
self flat on my stomach on the cold cement 


PLAYBOY 


310 


floor of the laboratory, staring at the closed 
door behind which | could hear the noise 
of Andres typewriter. 

"The noise of the typewriter suddenly 
stopped and I felt I was going to scream 
again as something touched the door and 
a sheet of paper slid from under it 

Shivering with fear and disgust, I 
crawled over to where I could read it with- 
out touching it 

NOW YOU UNDERSTAND THAT LAST EXPERI- 
NENT WAS A NEW DISASTER, NY POOR HELENE. 1 
SUPPOSE YOU RECOGNIZED PART OF DANDELO'S 
HEAD. WHEN I WENT INTO THE DISINTEGRATOR 
JUST NOW MY HEAD WAS ONI 
NOW ONLY HAVE ITS EYES AND MOUTH LEFT 
REST HAS BEEN REPLACED BY PARTS OF THE € 
HEAD, POOR DANDELO WHOSE ATOMS HAD NEVER 
COME TOGETHER. YOU SEE NOW THAT THERE CAN 
ONLY BE ONE POSSIBLE SOLUTION. I MUST DI 
PEAR. KNOCK ON THE DOOR WHEN YOU ARE 
READY AND 1 SHALL EXPLAIN WHAT YOU HAVE 
тою. 

My head on fire but shivering with cold, 


THAT OF A FLY. 1 
THE 


like an automaton, 1 followed him into the 
silent factory In my hand was a full page 
of explanations: what 1 had to know about 
the steam hammer. 

Without stopping or looking back, he 
pointed to the switchboard that controlled 
the steam hammer as he passed it. I went 
no farther and watched him come to a halt 
before the terrible instrument. 

He knelt down, carefully wrapped the 
carpet round his head and then stretched 
out flat on the ground. 

Without hesitating, my eyes on the long 
still body, I firmly pushed the stroke but- 
ton right in. The great metallic mass 
seemed to drop slowly. lt was not so much 
the resounding dang of the hammer that 
made me jump as the sharp cracking that I 
had distinctly heard at the same time. Му 
hus . . . the things body shook a second 
and then lay still. 

It was then I noticed that he had for- 
gotten to put his right arm, his fly-leg, un- 


"But its not as if we were stealing the song, 
Charlie. We just borrow the tune and add our 
own original lyrics. Now in the first line, instead 
of 'O say can you see, we put...” 


der the hammer. The police would never 
understand, but the scientists would, and 
they must not! That had been Andres last 
wish, also! 

I had to do it and quickly, too; the night 
watchman must have heard the hammer 
and would be round any moment. | 
pushed the other button and the hammer 
slowly rose, Secing but trying not to look, I 
ran up, leaned down, lifted and moved 
forward the right arm, which seemed ter- 
ribly light. Back at the switchboard, again I 
pushed the red button, and down came the 
hammer a second time, 

You know the rest and can now do what- 
ever you think right. 

So ended Helene's manuscript. 

. 

The following day, Е telephoned Com- 
missaire Charas to invite him to dinner. 

“Merci,” he said as I handed him a glass 
of Pernod into which he tipped a few 
drops of water, watching it turn the golden 
amber liquid to pale-blue milk. 

“You heard about my poor sister- 
in-law 

“Yes, shortly after you telephoned me 
this morning. I am sorry, but perhaps it 
was all for the best.” 

“1 suppose it was suicide.” 

“Without a doubt. Cyanide the doctors 
say quite rightly; I found a second tablet in 
the unstitched hem of her dress.” 

“I would like to show you a very curious 


document, Chara: 

Without a word, he took the wad of 
sheets Helene had given me the day before 
and settled down to read them. 

“What do you think of it all?” I asked 
some 20 minutes later as he carefully 
folded Helene’s manuscript and put it into. 
the fire. 

Charas watched the flames licking the 
envelope from which wisps of gray smoke 
were escaping, and it was only when it 
burst. into aid, slowly 
raising his eyes to mine: 

*I think it proves very definitely that 
Madame Delambre was quite insane.” 

Fora long time, we watched the fire eat- 
ing up Helene's "confession. 

“A funny thing happened to me this 
morning, Charas. I went to the cemetery, 
where my brother is buried. It was quite 
empty and I was alone.” 

"Not quite, Monsieur Delambre. 1 was 
there, but I did not want to disturb you." 

“Then you saw тс...” 

"Yes. I saw you bury a matchbox.” 

“Do you know what was in it?" 

“A fly, I suppose.” 

"Yes. I had found it carly this morning, 
a spider's web in the garden." 


“No, not quite. 1... crushed it... 
between two stones. Its head маз... 
white . . . all white.” 


Sound of THUNDER (continued from page 98) 


“Stay on the Path. Dorit go off it. For any reason! 


And don’t shoot any animal we dont OK. 


>» 


“yes,” said the man behind the desk. 
“Were lucky If Deutscher had gotten in, 
we'd have the worst kind of dictatorship. 
There's an anti-everything man for you, a 
militarist, anti-Christ, antihuman, anti- 
intellectual. People called us up, you know, 
Joking but not joking, Said if Deutscher be- 
came President they wanted to go live in 
1492. Of course it’s not our business to con- 
duct Escapes, but to form Safaris. Anyway, 
Keith's President. All you got to worry 
about is——" 

“Shooting my dinosaur,” Eckels finished. 

“A Tyrannosaurus rex. The Thunder 
Lizard, the damnedest monster in history. 
Sign this release. Anything happens to 
you, we're not responsible. Those dino- 
saurs are hungry.” 

Eckels flushed. “Trying to scare me!" 

“Frankly, yes. We don't want anyone 
going who'll panic at the first shot. Six 
Safari leaders were killed last year, and a 
dozen hunters. Your personal check's still 
there. Tear it up.” 

Eckels looked at the check for a long 
time. His fingers twitched. 

“Good luck,” said the man behind the 
desk. “Mr. Travis, he's all yours.” 

They moved silently across the room, 
taking their guns with them, toward the 
Machine, toward the silver metal and the 
roaring light. 


. 

First а day and then a night and then а 
day and then a night, then it was day-night- 
day-night-day. A week, a month, a year, a 
decade! лр. 2055. a.n. 2019. 1999! 1957! 
Gone! The Machine roared. 

They put on their oxygen helmets and 
tested the intercoms. 

Eckels swayed on the padded seat, his 
face pale, his jaw stiff. He felt the trem- 
bling in his arms and he looked down and 
found his hands tight on the new rifle. 
There were four other men in the Ma- 
chine. Travis, the Safari Leader, his assist- 
ant, Lesperance, and two other hunters, 
Billings and Kramer. They looked at one 
another, and the years blazed around 
them. 

The Machine slowed; its scream fell to a 
murmur. The Machine stopped. 

The sun stopped in the sky. 

The fog that had enveloped the Ma- 
chine blew away and they were in an old 
time, a very old time indeed, three hunters 
and two Safari Heads with their blue- 
metal guns across their kni 

“That"—Travis pointed. the jungle 
of sixty million two thousand and fifty-five 
years before President Keith.” 

He indicated a metal path that struck 
off into green wilderness, over steaming 


swamp, among giant ferns and palms. 

“And that,” he said, “is the Path, laid by 
‘Time Safari for your use. It floats six inch- 
es above the earth. Doesn't touch so much 
as one grass blade, flower or tree, It’s an 
antigravity metal. Its purpose is to keep 
you from touching this world of the past in 
any way. Stay on the Path. Don't go off it. I 
repeat. Don't go off. For any reason! And 
don't shoot any animal we don't OK.” 

"Why?" asked Eckels. 

“All right,” Travis continued, "say we ac- 
cidentally kill one mouse here. That means 
all the future families of this one particu- 
lar mouse are destroyed, right?" 

"Right." 

"And all the families of the families of 
that one mouse! With a stamp of your foot, 
you annihilate one, then a dozen, then 
a thousand, a million, a billion possible 
mice!" 

“So they're dead," said Eckels. “So 
what?" 

"So what?" Travis snorted quietly. "Well, 
what about the foxes that'll need those 
mice to survive? For want of tcn mice, a fox 
dics. want of ten foxes, а starves. 
For want of a lion, all manner of insects, 
vultures, infinite billions of life forms are 
thrown into chaos and destruction. Even- 
tually, it all boils down to this: Fifty-nine 
million years later, a cave man, one of a 
dozen on the entire world, goes hunting 
wild boar or saber-toothed tiger for food. 
But you, friend, have stepped on all the 
tigers in that region. By stepping on one 
single mouse. So the cave man starves. 
And the cave man, please note, is not just 
any expendable man, no! He is an entire 
future nation. 

“I see,” said Eckels. “Then it wouldn't 
pay for us even to touch the grass?” 

“Correct. Crushing certain plants could 
add up infinitesimally. This Machine, this 
Path, your clothing and bodies, were steri- 
lized, as you know, before the journey. 
We wear these oxygen helmets so we can't 
introduce our bacteria into an ancient 
atmosphere.” 

“How do we know which animals to 
shoot?” 

“They're marked with red paint,” said 
‘Travis. “Today, before our journey, we sent 
Lesperance here back with the Machine. 
He came to this particular era and fol- 
lowed certain ai Is.” 

“Studying them? 

“Right,” said Lesperance. “I track them 
through their entire existence, noting 
which of them lives longest. Very few. How 
many times they mate. Not often. Life's 
short. When I find one that's going to die 


when a tree falls on him, or one that 
drowns in a tar pit, 1 note the exact hour, 
minute and second. I shoot a paint bomb. 
It leaves a red patch on his hide. We can't 
miss it. Then I correlate our arrival in the 
Past so that we meet the Monster not more 
than two minutes before he would have 
died anyway. This way, we kill only animals 
with no future, that are never going to 
mate again. You see how careful we are?” 

They were ready to leave the Machine. 

The jungle was high and the jungle was 
broad and the jungle was the entire world 
forever and forever. Sounds like music and 
sounds like flying tents filled the sky, 
and those were pterodactyls soaring with 
cavernous gray wings, gigantic bats out 
of a delirium and a night fever. Eckels, 
balanced on the Path, aimed his rifle 
playfully. 

"Stop that!” said Travis. “Don't even aim 
for fun, damn it!” 

Eckels flushed. "Where's our Tyranno- 
saurus?” 

Lesperance checked his wrist watch. 
“Up ahead. We'll bisect his trail in sixty 
seconds. Look for the red paint, for 
Christ's sake. Don't shoot ull we give the 
word. Stay on the Path. Stay on the Path!” 

They moved forward in the wind of 
morning 

“Safety catches off, everyone!” ordered 
Travis. “You, first shot, Eckels. Second, 
Billings. Third, Kramer.” 

“Гуе hunted tiger, wild boar, buffalo, ele- 
phant, but Jesus, this is it," said Eckels. 
“Pm shaking like a kid” 

“Ah,” said Travis. 

Everyone stopped. 

Travis raised his hand. “Ahead,” he 
whispered. “In the mist. There he is. 
There's His Royal Majesty now.” 

. 

The jungle was wide and full of twitter- 
ings, rustlings, murmurs and sighs. 

Suddenly, it all ceased, as if someone had 
shut a door. 

Silence. 

A sound of thunder, 

Out of the mist, 100 yards away, came 
Tyrannosaurus rex. 

“Jesus God,” whispered Eckels. 

“Shh!” 

It came on great oiled, resilient, striding 
legs. It towered 30 feet above half of the 
trees, a great cvil god, folding its delicate 
watchmaker's claws close to its oily reptil- 
ian chest. Each lower leg мава piston, 1000 
pounds of white bone, sunk in thick ropes 
of muscle, sheathed over in a gleam of peb- 
bled skin like the mail of a terrible warrior 
Fach thigh was a ton of meat, ivory and 
steel mesh. And from the great breathing 
саре of the upper body, those two delicate 
arms dangled out front, arıns with hands 
that might pick up and examine men like 
toys, while the snake neck coiled. And the 
head itself, a ton of sculptured stone, lifted 
easily upon the sky. Its mouth gaped, ex- 
posing a fence of teeth like daggers. Its 


зи 


PLAYBOY 


312 


eyes rolled, ostrich eggs, empty of all ex- 
pression save hunger. It closed its mouth in 
adeath grin. It ran, its pelvic bones crush- 
ing aside trees and bushes, its taloned feet 
clawing damp carth, leaving prints six 
inches deep wherever it settled its weight. 
It ran with a gliding ballet step, far too 
poised and balanced for its ten tons. It 
moved into a sunlit arena warily, its beauti- 
fully reptile hands fecling the air. 

“My God!” Eckels twitched his mouth. 

The Thunder Lizard raised itself. Its 
armored flesh glittered like 1000 green 
coins. The coins, crusted with slime, 
steamed. In the slime, tiny insects wri 
gled, so that the entire body seemed to 
hand undulate. It exhaled. The s 
iw flesh blew down the wilderness. 

“Get me ош of here,” said Eckel: 

“Don't run,” said Lesperance. 
around. Hide in the Machine.” 

“Yes.” Eckels seemed to be numb. He 
looked at his feet as if trying to make them. 
move. He gave a grunt of helplessness. 

“Eckels!” 

He took a few steps, blinking, shuffling. 

“Not that way 

The Monster, at the first motion, lunged 
forward with a terrible scream. It covered 
100 yards in four seconds. The rifles jerked 
up and blazed fire. A windstorm from the 
beast's mouth engulfed them in the stench 
of old blood. The Monster roared, teeth 
glittering with sun. 

Eckels walked blindly to the edge of the 
Path, his gun limp in his arms, stepped off 
the Path and walked, not knowing it, into 
the jungle, His feet sank into green moss. 
His legs moved him, and he felt alone and 
remote from the events behind. 

"Ihe rifles cracked again. Their sound 
was lost in shriek and lizard thunder. The 
great lever of the reptile’ tail swung up, 
lashed sideways. Trees exploded in clouds 
of leaf and branch. The Monster twitched 
its jeweler's hands down to fondle at the 
men, to twist them in half, to crush them 
like berries, to cram them into its teeth 
and its screaming throat. Its boulder-stone 
eyes leveled with the men. They saw them- 
selves mirrored. They fired at the metallic 
eyclids and the blazing black ir 

Like a stone idol, like а mountain ауа- 
lanche, Tyrannosaurus fell. Thundering, it 
dutched trees, pulled them with it. It 
wrenched and tore the metal Path. The 
men flung themselves back and away. The 
body hit, ten tons of cold flesh and stone. 
‘The guns fired. The Monster lashed its ar- 
mored tail, twitched its snake jaws and lay 
still A fount of blood spurted from its 
throat. Somewhere inside, a sac of fluids 
burst. Sickening gushes drenched the 
hunters. They stood, red and glistening. 

“The thunder faded. 

The jungle was silent. After the ava- 
che, a green peace. After the night- 
mare, morning. 

Billings and Kramer sat on the pathway 


of 


“Turn 


and threw up. Travis and Lesperance 


a FE ША eres ДЕ ОЕ At 
to the Path, climbed into the Machine. 

‘Travis came walking, glanced at Eckels, 
took cotton gauze from a metal box and 
returned to the others, who weresitting on 
the Path. 

“Clean up.” 

Another cracking sound. Overhead, a 
gigantic tree branch broke from its heavy 
mooring, fell. It crashed upon the dead 
beast with finality. 

“There.” Lesperance checked his watch. 

“Right on time. That's the giant tree that 
was scheduled to fall and kill this animal 
originally.” He glanced at the two hunters. 
“You want the trophy picture?” 

“What?” 

“We cant take a trophy back to the Fu- 
ture. The body has to stay right here 
where it would have died originally, so the 
insects, birds and bacteria can get at it, as 
they were intended to. Everything in bal- 
ance. The body stays. But we can take a 
picture of you standing near it.” 

The two men tried to think, but gave up, 
shaking their heads. 

They let themselves be led along the 
metal Path. They sank wearily into the 
Machine cushions. They gazed back at 
the ruined Monster, the stagnating 
mound, where already strange reptilian 
birds and golden insects were busy at the 
steaming armor. 

A sound on the floor of the ie Ma- 
chine stiffened them. Eckels sat there, 
shivering. 

“Um sorry,” he said at last. 

"Get up!" cried Travis. 

Eckels got up. 

“Со out on that Path alone,” said Travis. 
He had his rifle pointed. “You're not com- 


ing back in the Machine. Were leaving you 
here!” 

Lesperance seized Та arm. 
“Май” 


“Stay out of this!” Travis shook his hand 
away. “This son of a bitch nearly killed us. 
But it isn't that so much. Hell, no. It's his 
shoes! Look at them! He ran off the Path. 
My God, that ruins us! Christ knows how 
much well forfeit! Tens of thousands of 
dollars of insurance! We guarantee no one 
leaves the Path. He left 

Eckels fumbled his shirt. “I'll pay any- 
thing. A hundred thousand dollars!” 

Travis glared at Eckels' checkbook and 
spat. “Go out there. The Monsters next to 
the Path, Stick your arms up to your el- 
his mouth. Then you can come 


at's unreasonable!” 

“The Monsters dead, you yellow bas- 
tard. The bullets! The bullets can't be left 
behind. They don't belong in the Past; they 
might change something. Here's my knife. 
Dig them out!” 

The jungle was alive again, full of the 


old tremorings and bird cries. Eckels 
turned slowly to regard that primeval 
garbage dump, that hill of nightmares and 
terror. After а long time, like a sleepwalk- 
er, he shuffled out along thc Path. 

He returned, shuddering, five minutes 
later, his arms soaked and red to the cl- 
bows. He held out his hands. Each held a 
number of steel bullets. Then he fell. He 
lay there where he fell, not moving. 

“You didn't have to make him do that,” 
said Lesperance. 

“Didn't 1? It's too early to tell” Travis 
nudged the still body. “He'll live. Next time 
he wont go hunting game like this. OK." 
He jerked his thumb wearily at Lesper- 
ance. “Switch on. Let's go home.” 


. 

1492. 1776. 1812. 

They cleaned their hands and faces. 
They changed their caking shirts and 
pants. Eckels was up and around again, 
not speaking. Travis glared at him for a 
full ten minutes, 

1999. 2000. 2055. 

The Machine stopped. 

“Get out,” said Travis. 

The room was there as they had left it. 

“OK, Eckels, get out. Don't ever come 
back.” 

Eckels could not move. 

“You heard me,” said Travis. “What're 
you staring at" 

Somehow, the sign had changed: 


TYME SEFARI, INC. 
SEIALIS TU ANY YEER EN THE PAST 
YU NAIM THE ANIMALL- 

WEE TAEK YU THAIR- 

YU SHOOT ITT. 


Eckels felt himself fall into a chair. Не 
fumbled crazily at the thick c on his 
boots. He held up aclod of dirt, trembling. 
"No, it can't be. Not a little thing like that." 

Embedded in the mud, glistening green 
and gold and black, was a butterfly, very 
beautiful and very dead. 

"Not a little thing like that! Not a but- 
terfly” cried Eckels. 
face was cold. His mouth trembled, 
asking: “Who—who won the Presidential 
election yesterday?" 

I he man behind the desk laughed. “You 
joking? You know damn well. Deutscher, 
of course! Who else? Not that damn weak- 
ling Keith. We got an iron man now, a man 
with guts, by God!" The official stopped. 
“Whats wrong?" 

Eckels moaned. He dropped to his 
knees. He scrabbled at the golden butterfly 
with shaking fingers. "Can't we,” he plead- 
ed to the world, to himself, to the officials, 
to the Machine, "can't we take it back, cant 
we make it alive again? Can't we start over? 
Can't we——" 

He did not move. Eyes shut, he vaited, 
shivering. He heard "Iravis breathe loud in 
the room; he heard Travis shift his rifle, 
click the catch and raise the weapon. 

‘There was a sound of thunder. 


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PLAYBOY 


FORCH 


PISIS SAINE (continued from page 197) 


“Transgression is good for the soul. And it also might 
lower the humbug level of Christmas.” 


of it. Who is responsible for ruining 
Christmas? 

Religious people, of course, have an 
stant, pop-up answer to that question. 
Christmas was ruined by its “commercial- 
ization.” By now, this argument is very f 
miliar. Once upon a time, Christmas was a 
pure religious occasion, undefiled by huck- 
sters, admen and sales campaigns. Then 
came the spoilers. Like King Herod's vil- 
lainous soldiers, the scions of commerce 
debauched everything. 

"This account is also humbug. The stale 
yarn of the Christian goodies and the pa- 
gan baddies bears so little resemblance to 
the real history of Christmas it is surpri 
ing it has lasted as long as it has. The truth 
is that the last week in December, the win- 
ter solstice, was a pagan festival time 
before Christ was born, long before Chri 
пап decided to use it to celebrate Christ's 
birth. For most of Christian history, 
Chrisumas was a minor holiday. Ever since 
it really achieved popularity, in medi 
Europe and 19th Century Amer 
Christmas has been a mishmash of 
parate ingredients: raucous feasting, 
churchgoing, wassailing, revelry, hymn 
singing and Saturnalia. It is also the da 
on which there occur more murders, sui 
cides, personal assaults and psychotic 
breakdowns than on any other. Christmas 
has always been a glorious admixture of 
religion, paganism, hucksterism and con- 
viviality. That is not whats wrong with it. If 
it were purely a religious occasion, it would 
probably be worse. 

No. The blame for despoiling Christmas 
lies not with the hucksters, however boor- 
ish they may be. Christmas was messed up 
before they ever got hold of it. It was ru- 
ined not by the cannibals but by the Chris- 
tians. 

How have they mutilated Christianity 
and, in the process, reduced Christmas to 
humbug? In a number of wa: 

1. They have tried to make the story of 
Jesus over into a legend about an eviscerat- 
ed, bloodless ascetic and Christianity itself 
into a dreary life-denying philosophy of 
flesh-despising abstemiousness. Admitted- 
ly, this has often been a little hard to man- 
age, in view of the Biblical portrait of 
Jesus. On at least two occasions, the Gos- 
pels report that his enemies rejected Jesus 
because he had no interest in fasting and 
was “a glutton and winebibber.” He fre- 
quented parties, kept company with noto- 
riously shady characters and supplied 
some booze when an embarrassed wed- 
ding-reception host found he was running 
low. I wonder who drew those countless 
pictures distributed by churches and Sun- 


gı4 day schools of a pale, effete Jesus? Those 


pictures have done more to destroy Jesus 
than 100 of Herod's legions. 

Someday, theologians may even have the 
courage to speculate openly on an aspect 
of Jesus’ life that, until now, has remained 
strictly sub тоза: his relationship to women. 
If Jesus was fully man as well as fully God 
(which is orthodox Christian doctrine), 
then how did Jesus the man relate to wom- 
en? 

The Bible itself says nothing about the 
sexual aspects of Jesus’ relationships. In 
any case, Jesus explicitly rejected the way 
of the anchorite or the fakir. He did not 
flee to the desert with John the Baptist 
(though he apparently toyed with the idea 
at one time), nor did he join the puritanical 
Essenes on the shores of the Dead Sea. Je- 
sus was по! an ascetic. And the centuries- 
ics, especially celibate 
ones, to geld Jesus into a prissy androgyne 
is one of the reasons Christmas today is 
a bamboozle. Who wants to celebrate the 
birthday of a First Century teetotaling 
Myra Breckinridge? 

2. The churches have also helped dc- 
stroy Christmas by turning Christianity in- 
toa petty-rule system and picturing Jesus 
as a finicky moralizer who spent his 
telling people what not to do. Jesus himself 
spent his life breaking most of the taboos 
of his era—violating the Sabbath, rapping 
with “impure” men and women, wander- 
ing around with no visible means of sup- 
port, sharply ridiculing the righteous 
prudes of the day. When people did come 
to him with moral dilemmas, he invariably 
tossed the questions back at them at a 
deeper level. That is just what riled so 
many people. Не made them look within 
and decide for themselves. And that’s 
scary. 

Most people don't like to assume the re- 
sponsibility of making ethical decisions for 
themselves. They long desperately for 
someone, anyone, to do it for them: a 
shrink, a profes: пп Landers. Jesus ге- 
fused. He was crucified. But the churches 
have gladly obliged. So instead of a feast of 
freedom, the churches have turned Christ- 
mas into one more doleful reminder of 
how grievously we have all wandered 
astray. Perhaps the most appropriate way 
to mark the birthday of Christ, in his s 
it, would be to pick out a particularly offen- 
cultural taboo (not a sexual one; that’s 
too easy) and celebrate Christmas by trans- 
gressing it. Transgression is good for the 
о might lower the humbug 
christmas, if only by a cubit 

3, The ecclesiastical powers have also 
made Christmas into a flimflam by deradi- 
calizing Jesus. This is their most astonish- 
ing example of prestidigitation. After all, 


this man was executed by the Roman au- 
thorities (no, Lenny, your people didn 
it; we goyim did) because they со 
him to be a political threat. No imperial 
, boards and soldiers’ 
ntemplatives or harm- 
- Jesus was neither. His 


er ideolo; But the eld- 
ers are truly wise, and also inventive. The 
real mirade of transubstantiation is not 
that the Church turns wine into blood but 
that it has transformed Jesus into a cosmic 
‘Tory. 

The con game continues. And until the 
churches forgo their hard-won seats in 
the halls of the establishment and loose the 
radical potential in Christianity, the vast 
majority of the world's restive and enraged 
poor will rightly continue to see Christmas 
not only as humbug but as а fir-scented 
Opiate for the masses who are less and less 
willing to be drugged 

So there you have it. Christmas is a shell 
and the blame lies, for the most part, on 
those of us who call ourselves Christians. 
Why has it happened? Every religion has at 
least two sides, and Christianity is no ex- 
ception. The figure of Christ has inspired 
an endless succession of great men. Chris- 
tianity has also been used as a knout for 
social control, a whip to punish and impov- 
crish. There seem to be two Christs locked 
in combat. The clerical Christ, the one 


defined by ecclesiastical authority, is usual- 
ly, though not always, the oppressive one. 
On the other hand, the most moving and 
authentic depictions of Christ ofien come 

г completely out- 


from those on the edge 
side eedesiastical Chri 
vigorous modern retel 
was written by Nikos Kazantzal 
Last Temptation of Christ). But Kazantzakis 
was relentlessly attacked by the authorities 
of the Greek Orthodox Church and, when 
he died, was refused Christian burial. The 
reason Christmas is humbug is that the 


churches are jealous and anxious. They 
want a monopoly on the portrayal of 
Christ and the definition of his signifi- 


cance. But they no longer have it, and that 
is all to the good. Jesus is not the churches’ 
property Christmas will continue to be 
humbug until the churches realize that 
fact and loose their death grip on him. 

So why can't we just do without Christ- 
mas completely? Get rid of the whole bag? 
It's been tried—not only by the New Eng- 
land Puritans but in some Communist 
countries. But Christmas, humbug and all, 
keeps creeping back. Maybe it happens be- 
cause man urable celebrator and 
also an incorrigible dreamer; and Christ- 
mas, for all its sham and fakery, grabs hii 
at these two vital points. 

In industrial societies, we tend to 
man's festive and imaginative faculties, 
maybe because they make man less su 
able for the assembly line. All our 
can religions are deeply infected 
moralistic and antifestive quali 
industrial society. The truth is that in 


religion, dance precedes dogma; saturna- 
lia comes before sermon. Man is festive. He 
thrives on parties, fiestas, holidays, breaks 
in his routine, times for toasting, singing 
the old songs, remembering and hoping. 
Animals play or gambol; men celebrate. 
Also, man is a fantasizer. He keeps on 
dreaming of a world free of napalm and 
cancer and hunger, despite centuries of 
frustration. He wont stop hoping. The 
central symbols of Christmas, both pagan 
and Christian, speak to that unquenchable 
hope. So Christmas fuses Homo sapiens" 
tendencies to celebrate and to hope. If it 
were abolished, we would have to invent 
something else to take its place. 

Just as we had gotten comfortable with 
the idea that religion was disappearing— 
on the campuses, for example: 
back i 
mantras, tarot cards and / Ching. The in- 
cense business was never better. This cur- 
rent revival of often bizarre relig 
practices may be a muted scream of 
protest against the calibrated conformity 
of industrial society; or it may be a desper- 
ate search for a sense of belonging; or it 
may bea simple quest for God. Whatever it 
suggests to me that man is more essen- 
tially religious than many of us have as- 
sumed. He thirsts for mystery, meaning, 
community and even for some sort of ritu- 
al. Religion, Comte and Marx to the con- 
trary, will probably not just wither away. 

Neither can clerical Christianity, as it 
now exists, become the religion of the fu- 
ture, In fact, it is already slipping into Ше 
past. Christianity will find a place in the 
religious future of ind only if it un- 
and 


so far-reaching it will make the re 
upheaval of the 16th Century seem like a 


monks’ squabble. Even then, Christianity 
can never again be the single focus of 
faith, as it was (for Western man, at least) 
for nearly 1000 years. It will have to make 
its contribution along with the other great 
religious traditions of the world and along 
with the new symbols and rites that are 
bound to emerge in the future. And the 
contribution Christianity will bring to this 
emergent pluralistic faith will have to do 
with the man whose unknown birthday we 
mark on December 25 but whose story has 
been so grossly perverted by generations 
of anxious prelates and Grand or not-so- 
Grand Inquisitors that today we scarcely 
recognize him. 

So 1 lift my flagon to old Ebenezer. He 
tells it like But as I drink, I secretly 
have another toast in mind, too, a toast to 
Christmas. Not the humbug Christmas we 
Christians һауе foisted on the world, ad- 
mittedly with a little help from our friends 
at Gimbels and Saks. No, I drink to Christ- 
mas as it may someday be: a fiesta when we 
celebrate earth and flesh and, in the midst 
of all our hang-ups and tyrannies, remind 
ourselves that at least once one guy lived а 
reckless, ecstatic and fully free life every 
day—and that maybe someday we all can. 


ALL THE PRESIDENTS MEN 


(continued from page 192) 
Justice Department to becorne Presi- 
dent Nixons campaign manager on 
March |, Mitchell personally ap- 
proved. withdrawals from the fund, 
several reliable sources have told The 
Washington Posi. 


That night, Bernstein dialed the num- 
ber of the Essex House in New York. He 
asked for room 710. Mitchell answered. 
Bernstein recognized the voice and began 
scribbling notes. 


BERNSTEIN (after identifying him- 
self): Sir, Im sorry to bother you at 
this hour, but we are running a story 
іп tomorrow's paper that, in effect, 
says that you controlled secret funds 
at the committee while you were At- 
torney General. 

urcher: JEEEEEEEEESUS. You 
said that? What does it say? 

BERNSTEIN: I'll read you the first 
few paragraphs. (He got as far 
as the third. Mitchell respond- 
ed "JEEEEEEEEESUS" every few 
words.) 

MITCHELL: АП that crap, you're 
putting it in the paper? It’s all been 
denied. Katie Graham's gonna get her 
tit caught a big fat wringer 
if that’s published. Good Christ! 


"That's the most sickening thing I ever 
heard. [Katherine Graham is publish- 
er of The Washington Post.) 
BERNSTEIN: Sir, about the story—— 
MITCHELL: Call my law office in the 
morning. 
He hung up. 
. 

During a routine telephone check with a 
Justice Department official, Bernstein 
asked if the official had ever heard of Don- 
ald Segretti, who seemed to be involved in 
CRP's “dirty tricks” against rival cam- 
paigns. It had been a throwaway question. 

“I cant answer your question, because 
that’s part of the investigation,” the Justice 
official replied. 

"There could be no discussion of Segret- 
ti, because he was part of the Watergate in- 
vesti ‚right? 

That was correct, but the official would 
not listen to any more questions about Se- 
gretti. 

On Saturday, October seventh, Bern- 
stein called again. 
lo, I can't talk about him,” the official 
once more. “That's right, even though 
he’s not directly linked to Watergate, to the 
breal Obviously, 1 came across him 
through the investigation. Yes, political 
sabotage is associated with Ѕергеш. Гуе 
heard a term for it, 'ratfucking" There is 
some very powerful information, especial- 
ly if it comes out before November 


315 


PLAYBOY 


316 


seventh,” the day of the elect 

The official refused to say anything 
more. 

Bernstein hit with another call. 

"Ratfucking?" The word struck a raw 
nerve with a Justice Department attorney. 
“You can go right to the top on that one. | 
was shocked when I learned about it. I 
couldn't believe it. These are public ser 
ants? God. Its nauseating. You're talking 
about fellows who come from the best 
schools in the country. Men who run the 
Government!” 

Bernstein wondered what “right to the 
top” meant. Mitchell? 

“He can't say he didn't know about it, be- 
cause it was strategy—basic strategy that 
goes all the way to the top. Higher than 
him, even.” 

Basic strategy that goes all the way to the 
lop. The phrase unnerved Bernstein. For 


the first he considered the possibility 
that the President of the United States was 
the head ratfucker. 

. 


Woodward had a source in the Execu- 

tive branch who had access to information 
at CRP as well as at the White House. His 
lentity was unknown to anyone else. 
Woodward had promised he would never 
lentify him, or his position, to anyone. 
Further, he had agreed never to quote the 
man, even as an anonymous source. Their 
discussions could be only to confirm infor- 
mation that had been obtained elsewhere 
d to add some perspective. 
In newspaper terminology, this meant 
the discussions were on “deep back- 
ground.” Woodward explained the ar- 
Tangement to managing editor Howard 
Simons one day. He had taken to calling 
the source “my friend,” but Simons 
dubbed him “Deep Throat.” The name 
stuck, 

At first Woodward and Deep Throat 
talked by telephone, but as the Watergate 
stakes increased, Deep Throat nervous- 
ness grew. He t want to talk on the 
telephone but said they could meet some- 
where. 

Deep Throat didn't want to use the 
phone even to set up the meetings. So 
when Woodward had an important in- 
quiry to make, he would move a flowerpot 
with a red flag in it from its regular posi- 
tion at the front of his apartment balcony 
to a spot near the rear. During the day, 
Deep Throat would check to see if the pot 
had been moved. If it had, he and Wood- 
ward would meet that night about two am. 
in a predesignated underground garage. 

If Deep Throat wanted a meeting— 
which was rare—there was a different pro- 
cedure. Each morning, Woodward would 
check page 20 of his New York Times, deliv- 
ered to his apartment house before seven 
AM. If a meeting was requested, the page 
number would be circled and the hands of 
aclock indicating the time would appear in 
a lower corner of the page. Woodward did 
not know how Deep Throat got his paper. 

In their meetings, Deep Throat talked 


about how politics had infiltrated every 
corner of Government—a strong-arm 
take-over of the agencies by the Nixon 
White House. Junior White House aides 
were giving orders to the highest levels of 
the bureaucracy. He had once called it the 
hblade mentality"—and had re- 
ferred to the willingness of the President's 
men to fight dirty and for keeps, regard- 
less of what effect the slashing might have 
on the Government and the nation. There 
vas little bitterness on his part. Rather, 
Woodward sensed the resignation of one 
whose fight had been worn down in too 
many battles. 

“Check every lead,” Deep Throat ad- 
vised, “It goes all over the map, and that is 
Important. You could write stories from 
now until Christmas or well beyond 
that. . . . Not one of the games [his term for 
undercover operations] was free-lance. 
This is important. Every one was tied in." 


Woodward asked about the White 
House. 
“There were four basic personnel 


groupings for undercover operations,” 
Deep Throat said. The November Group, 
which handled CRP's publicity, including 
false ads in newspapers; а convention 
group, which handled intelligence gather- 
ing and sabotage planning for both the 
Republican and the Democratic conven- 
tions; a primary group, which did the same 
for the primaries of both parties; and the 
Howard Hunt group, which was the "really 
heavy operations team. 

“You can safely say that 50 people 
worked for the White House and CRP to 
play games and spy and sabotage and 
gather intelligence. Some of it is beyond 
g at the opposition in every 


Deep Throat confirmed items on a list of 
tactics that Woodward and Bernstein had 
heard were used against the political 
opposition: bugging, following people, 
false press leaks, fake letters, canceling 
campaign rallies, investigating campaign 
workers’ private lives, planting spics, steal- 
ing documents, planting provocateurs in 
political demonstrations. 

The White House had been willing to 
subvert—was that the right word?—the 
whole electoral process? Had actually gone 
ahead and tried to do it 

Deep Throat confirmed it all 

. 

[Editors note: In the months ahead, the re- 
porters, along with their peers at other news 
organizations, would trace the scandal to the 
highest levels of the Nixon Administration. In 
the end, a free and dogged crew of journalists 
was able to expose a secretive and corrupt Ех- 
ecutive branch.) 

At nine o'clock on the night of April 30, 
1973, President Nixon addressed the па- 
ion on network television. Bernstein and 
Woodward went into Howard Simons’ 
office to watch the speech with him and 
Mrs. Graham. 


“The President of the United States, 
the announcer said solemnly. Nixon sat at 
his desk, a picture of his family on one 
side, a bust of Abraham Lincoln on the 
other. 


“Oh, my God," Mrs. Graham said. “This 
is too much." 
The President began to speak: “I want 


to talk to you tonight from my heart. . . . 
There had been an effort to conceal the 
facts both from the public, from you, and 
from me. . . . I wanted to be fair . . . The 
easiest course would be for me to blame 
those to whom I delegated the responsibil- 
ity torun the campaign. But that would be 
а cowardly thing to do. .. . In any organi- 
zation, the man at the top must bear the re- 
sponsibility. That responsibility, therefore, 
belongs here in this office. І accept it. . . . It 
was the system that has brought the facts 
to light... .а system that in this case has in- 
cluded a determined grand jury, honest 
prosecutors, a courageous judge, John Si- 
rica, and a vigorous free press. . . . I must 
now turn my full attention—and I shall do 
so—once again to the larger duties of this 
office. [ owe it to this great office that I 
hold, and I owe it to you—to our coun- 
you 

"[here can be no whitewash at the 
White House. . .. Two wrongs do not make 
a right. . .. I love America. . .. God bless 
America and God bless each and every опе 
of you.” 


. 

Тһе day after the President's April 30 
speech, Bernstein was at his desk reading 
The New York Times and ıhe Washington 
Star-News. A copy aide dropped the follow- 
ing UPI. wire copy on his desk: 


Whit House press secretary 
Ronald Ziegler publicly apologized to- 
day to The Washington Post and two of 
its reporters for his earlier criticism of 
their investigative. reporting of the 
Watergate conspiracy. 

At the White House briefing, a ге- 
porter asked Ziegler if the White 
House didn't owe the Past an apology. 

“In thinking of it all at this point in 
time, yes,” Ziegler said, “1 would apol- 
ogize to Mr. Woodward and Mr. Bern- 
stein. . .. We would all have to say that 
mistakes were made in terms of com- 
ments. 1 overenthusiastic in my 
comments about the Post, particularly 
if you look at them in the context 
of developments that have taken 
place. . . . When we are wrong, we are 
wrong, as we were in that case." 

As Ziegler finished, he started to 
say, “But——" He was сш off by a re 
porter who said: “Now, don't take it 


back, Ron.” 


Later, Woodward called Ziegler at the 
White House to thank h 
“We all have our jobs, 


gler replied. 


317 


“For God's sake, Roderick—not on the Chippendale.” 


PLAYBOY 


318 


SONKEN WOMEN 


(continued from page 238) 


“Tall and near emaciated, long red һай, three-inch 
fingernails. This was Lisel.” 


quickly and with a disdain for technical 
proficiency (for Falk, of course, claimed to 
have no interest at all in commercial 
cess), Falk and his assistants could turn out 
a 16-millimeter film every week—with no 
sound, no editing, no fussy camerawork 
and only the most freneuically improvised 
of scripts. The films were all in black and 
white; sometimes they were, surprisingly, 
very beautiful 

Lisel's first film was called The Victim— 
18 minutes of a girl’s beautiful empty face 
while the camera moyes slowly back and it 
becomes increasingly clear—though never 
graphically or visually clear—that some- 
thing very strange is being done to hı 
Dear God, Constantine had thought, star- 
ing at that face. He had never, he liked to 
say, he had never sat through anything so 
excruciating. 

Within a few weeks, Lisel's face was 
known to everyone in the city with preten- 
sions of keeping up with avant-garde art— 
which is to say, many thousands, There 
were interviews with Falk in respectable 
middle-class publications. He was on tele- 
vision, accompanied by a mute—and 
starkly beautiful—"Lisel" The face w 
beautiful enough, but not very human 
was acclaimed as beautiful, pei 
cause it wasn't hum: 


It 
haps, be- 
The sharp cheek- 
bones and the prominent ridge of bone 


above the eyes . . . 
brows . .. the impassive, almost babyish 
mouth. .. the childlike that absorbed 
everything but did not judge. This was 
Lisel, Falk's chick. 

Later, when Falk had dropped her and 
Lisel was taken up (though only for a few 
months; she hadn't the discipline or the 
ambition) by a modeling agency, she had 
struck Constantine as far more conven- 
tionally beautiful. Tall and near emac 
ed, her long red hair alternately frizzed 
and braided and worn loose, dressed in 
the most fashionable of clothes, her eyes 
meticulously painted, her three-inch fin- 
gernails polished bronze—even her mood 
(bright, quick, nervous from ampheta- 
mines, but usually wordless) stylish and 
programed—Lisel had seemed to Con- 
stantine a creature of the inedia, a manu- 
factured product. She made a great deal of 
money modeling for Vogue and Harper’s 
Bazaar, but even in those magazines, the 
emphasis (and Constantine, who studied 
the chic lurid tableaux with extreme intei 
est, saw this clearly) was on her fragility, 
her deathly pallor, her exalted status 
victim. Lisel—simply Lisel—with no last 
name and no history. And no future. 

б 

Constantine was between 
he self-pityingly considered 


the unplucked eye- 


lovers— 
himself 


purged of love—when he first saw Myron 
5 1, She was close beside Falk, who 
was usually touching her; it was quite clear 
that she was his prize of the season, and 
while he was willing to exhibit her to oth- 
ers (and that was one of the points, surely, 
of the party—Lisel’s "coming out” in So- 
ho), he was not willing that anyone draw 
her away and speak to her in private. She 
looked, people thought, like a freaky 
daughter of his: at 5'9", taller than Myron, 
docile, obedient, tranquil, skinny, a high 
school girl to whom things are done—and 
the delicious part was, of course, that she 
appeared to be too young, too innocent, 
perhaps even too stupid, to know the 
names of these things, or to care greatly. 

Constantine was between lovers. Al- 
though he had made up his mind—the 
poor man, at the age of 35, he was forever 
making up his mind—not to open himself 
again to humiliation, even to the most ex- 
citing kind of humiliation. 

When he saw Lisel—who was not yet 
Lisel—standing with Falk that night some 
years ago, he had thought 
That one isn’t for me—she's entirely out of 
reach. And the insight had warmed him, 
had made him feel positively cheerful. 

Then, later, h g seen her on film—in 
The Victim, in Street, in Lisel itself—having 
seen her in the company of lesser members 
of Falk’s entourage, he had discovered 
himself contemplating strategies of ар- 
proaching her. Not her—not the girl her- 
self—but the trashy phenomenon she 
represented. Lisel who was only Lisel, after 
all; a girl who had to have come from some- 
where, just as Myron Falk had come from 
a notextraordinary background: bor 
in Buffalo, New York—attended public 
schools—and then a state teachers’ college 
in Buffalo, where he had taken art courses 
before transferring to à commercial art 
school. Constantine knew all about. Falk 
and the rise of trash art in the Sixties and 
Seventies, he certainly Anew the bankrupt- 
that informed all that Falk or 
hisimitators (and he had many imitators— 
he has them still) attempted—and. vet, 
was this peculiar fas- 
n—there was this arresting of at- 


tention by the most foolish of images: die 
17-foot-high lime Popsicle Falk had fash- 
for ex- 


ioned ош of real Popsicle sugar-icı 
and the most degra 
(the tireless copulatior 
films, which were languid 
ing and never normal—as if normal were 
word with any significance!—the artwork, 
in an expensive midtown gallery, that con- 
sisted ofa girl—had it been Lisel? It surely 
might have been Lisel—wallowing in 
white plasterish muck, naked, in a trough a 


foot or so beneath the level of the floor, a 
living sculpture of Falk's called The Sunken 
Woman about which innumerable jokes 
were made, not all of them angry or even 
sympathetic). Like many writers and 
rtists who imagine themselves exp 
mentalists, and even among the avant- 
arde, Constantine Reinhart deeply 
resented the wildly disproportionate me- 
dia attention two or three or four of his 
contemporaries enjoyed; he deeply resent- 
ed (and was he envious as well?) Myron 
Falk's notoriety and the fact that Falk, after 
a few weeks of interest, of fairly intense 
terest, had seemed to forget all about Со 
stantine Reinhart. 
he man who broke into that apa 
ment—the man who did the beating —was 
k's?” Constantine was to 
she lay shivering in his bed, in 
ined cashmere robe. She did not ге- 
ply; she was too exhausted even to pretend 
not to hear. But Constantine knew the 
probable answer—she did not remember. 

“Was he an enemy?" Constantine asked. 

And then, finally, raising his 
he have a name? 

Lisel's face tightened in sleep. She did 
юг turn away from him, but she did not 
respond. 


E 
Later, of course, she was to become quite 
dangerous. But that day she had been 
helplessas a small child. Lying agai 
ing him to undre 
hath, sleeping in his bed, in his robe, 
for 15 hou 
Constantine stood іп the doorway, 
watching as she slept. Her small pale face 
expressed more emotion in sleep than it 
did while she was awake. Her eyelids 
fluttered, her nose twitched, she appeared 
to be mouthing words, she squirmed and 
twisted beneath the covers, and kicked, 
and rolled her head from side to side. Yet 
she never woke: She slept sunken deep be- 
neath the surface of the waves of соп 
sciousness, where no one could touch her. 

How easy, nine thought, to be- 
come sentimental over Lisel. 

Over Lisel—who felt no sentiment for 
herself. 

She slept while Constantine watched. He 
might have embraced her—might have 
pped beneath the covers and made love 
10 her—certainly she would not have ге- 
sisted, would probably not even have trou- 
bled to wake. They had done such things 
to her, such wild extra nt whimsical 
deadpan things, down in Myron Falks 
Spring Street studio—! Some of the antics 
had been filmed, some had not been 
filmed. Constantine had heard rumors, of 
course. But as he watched Lisel sleep, he 
found it difficult to believe that she, that 
1, had actually participated; he found it 
icult to believe that she had been in- 
volved in violence of any kind, though he 
had, only a few hours previously, walked 
to a room in which one of her lovers lay 
conscious. It was so easy to forget. To let 
things slip through one’s mind. Lisel was 


not burdened by memory, and so, perhaps, 
in her presence, besotted with love for her, 
one ought to forget everything 
thing that was not immediately 

He walked quietly about the apartment. 
He was a bridegroom, an eager young hus- 
band. He was not in love, but the symp- 
toms of love distracted him: an irrational 
fear that someone would run upstairs and 
pound on his door and demand that he 
surrender Lisel. He had no right to her, aft- 
er all. 

And wasn't she now wanted by the po- 
lice? As a witness to an attempted murder? 
Or would it be called aggravated assault? 

Constantine made telephone calls, 
speaking softly. He listened to the radio. 
He hurried down to the corner to buy a 
newspaper. But the beating on 13th Street 
was not very important, evidently. The vi 
tims name was not available. And, of 
course, no one knew about Lisel—no one 
except a few people, who would never give 
her name to the police. 


e. 
Lisel was sleeping. So he slipped out to 
do some shopping. 
But even as he wheeled his cart to the 
cashier, Lisel, three blocks away, w. 


justing the cheap red belt around her 
waist, stepping into her shoes. The heels 
were quite high; she sometimes staggered 
in them. But they gave hera startling mod- 
ish look. 

She found her rabbit-fur jacket in Con- 
stantine's clothes closet. 

She prowled about the apartment—an 
apartment she had never seen before— 
humming under her breath. After 15 
hours’ sleep, she felt wonderfully re- 
freshed. Her soul had been given back to 
her—she was eager to return to the street. 

And so she slipped away—hurrying 
downstairs in her high heels—leaning on 
the railing. She was very weak; she hadn't 
eaten for two days. Her bridegroom was 
gaily paying for a hefiy shopping bag of 
groceries, but Lisel hadn't any interest in 
food. Her eyes were slightly puffy from so 
many hours of sleep—it was time, it was 
more than time, for her to escape. 

She was a child, Constantine told him- 
self afterward. When his hurt wasn't 50 
fresh. When it might even be interpreted 
as bemusement. 

Which makes us—? Constantine asked. 


. 

Lisel disappeared from Constantine's 
life and he heard nothing of her for many 
months. Then there were rumors: She had 
surfaced again in the city, far downtown, 
asa kind of “wife” to two homosexual men, 
опе of whom ran fairly well-known book- 
store in the Village called Peddlers. 

Other rumors, from time to time, sur- 
facing in casual conversations or relayed to 
him through his tight little network of 
friends: that Lisel had been seen once 
again in the company of Myron Falk, at a 
wild day-and-a-night-and-a-day party on 
Fire Island; she had been glimpsed in a 


limousine (though a rather second-rate 
sort of limousine) hurtling along lower 
Fifth Avenue, seated beside a person 
(whether male or female was unclear) in a 
tuxedo; she had sat for a life-drawing class 
at NYU but after 20 minutes rose from her 
seat and retired behind the screen and 
dressed and walked out, giving no expla- 
nation, hardly listening to the instructor’s 
surprised questions; she had tried to com- 
mit suicide in a typically inept manner— 
having swallowed two dozen barbiturates, 
she descended into the subway to ride 
about but soon collapsed and was discov- 
ered and taken to a hospital far, far away in 
Queens. There was a rumor that she had 
left New York City and returned to Oma- 
ha; there was a rumor, which Constantine 
found dismayingly credible, that she had 
gone on the street again—she was li 
with a man, a pimp, on the Lower East 
Side. 


. 

And then one morning in midsummer, 
he saw in the paper a headline on page 
“MYRON FALK ATTACKED. IN CRITICAL 


сох 

Martha Blount had had the weapon; the 
two others—Liscl and "Marcus"—had 
merely tried to hold him down. Eleven stab 
wounds, with an ice pick. Surprised in his 
studio on Spring Street. Nine-thirty at 
night. No warning. Falk had answered the 
door and three “former members of his 
entourage” had attacked him, throwing 
him to the floor А SZyear-old woman, 
Martha Blount, had stabbed him repeat- 
edly with an ice pick, and had even tried— 


a gesture Constantine winced at, it was so 
Falkish, so fey and allusive—to pierce his 
forehead with the point of the pick, lean- 
ing on it with both hands, throwing her 
considerable weight on it—! But the point 
slipped. And by then, Falk's terrified 
screams had brought help. 

The next day, a follow-up story on the as- 
sault would include a quote from Martha 
Blount (her co-assailants having remained 
mute); “It was his time.” 

. 

As the years pass, Constantine will al- 
lude to his “brief acquaintance with vio- 
lence and madness,” but his anecdotes (he 
is a consummate teller of anecdotes— 
sometimes he believes it is his single talent) 
will focus not upon Lisel Bier but upon 
Myron Falk. (For Falk, after all, is “fa- 
mous.” People are interested in Falk.) Only 
with very close friends will Constantine 
speak of Lisel, and then with an air of sar- 
donic bemusement. Whatever became of 
her after Bellevue—whatever became of 
the three of them, those three maniacs!— 
is it even worth while to imagine likely 
fates? 

Everyone wasa little crazy then, he says, 
alluding to that era—that span of time in 
his life and in the life of the city. Not every- 
‚one survived. 

But you survived, Constantine—? he is 
asked. 

Oh, yes, he says, laughing, running his 
hand through his hair as if embarrassed, 
oh, yes—in a manner of speaking. 

. 

One Мау afternoon, far uptown at West 

155th Street, Constantine is threading his 


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way through ап immense chattering 
crowd, іп scarch of Myron Falk. 

Years have passed. Myron Falk has just 
been inducted, along with 15 other per- 
sons (artists, composers, writers), into the 
American Academy-Institute. The cere- 
mony lasted two and a half hours, and now 
evervone—members of the Academy-In- 
stitute and their guests and journalists and 
photographers and innumerable hangers- 
on—is crowding onto the terrace beneath 
the canopy, for cocktails. Constantine 
Reinhart, with his major work still (still!) 
before him, has not yet been invited to join 
the Academy-Institute; he is only a guest 
this afternoon. 

However, Constantine is interested in 
only one thing at the present moment: 
hunting down Myron Falk. 

Of course, there is something amusing 
and melancholy about Falk's induction into 
For it certainly means—it all 
—that the avant-garde is dead; 
ageous "underground" art of 
Falk's prime is dead. Although Falk him- 
self did not dic eight years ago, a death of 
some kind did occur. The rebel, the bad 
boy, the criminal poseur, the mock dandy, 
the controversial Myron Falk has now be- 
come another establishment artist . . . just 
another aging bore. He even dresses nor- 
mally now. Or almost normally: It has been 
years since he smeared suntan make-up оп 
his face, or wore yellow-and-black-checked 
sports coats, or oxford shoes; it has been 
years since he released his last film—a 
chimsy attempt 
failed to acquire national distribution, and 
that no one, not even the most scholarly ex- 
perts of the cinema, felt obliged to see. 

Constantine moves gracefully through 
the crowd, which consists of tight little 
knots of celebrities talking earnestly to one 
another, while others gaze upon them 
hopefully, or edge toward them; it is death- 
ly to be stuck with the wrong people at 
such a gathering, as Constantine well 
knows; so he keeps in motion. 

‘There is Myron Falk, at the very end of 
the bar. Half-hidden behind a small group 
of well-wishers whom, in ordinar um- 
stances, Constantine would make every ef- 
fort to avoid. 

But Falk has seen him approaching. 
And, after a moment's hesitation (is he try- 
ing to place Constantine? or does he re- 
member him all too clearly?), he steps 
forward to meet him, extending his beefy 
hand. 

Constantine congratulates him on 
election. Falk shrugs and grimaces, as 
embarrassed, or suspecting mockery. He 

а to understand the symbolic 
meaning of his clection, but, at the same 
time, he cannot fail to feel pride: Now that 
his years of “artistic” adventuring are 
behind him, what can remain apart 
from such rewards, falling like overripe 
plums... ? One need only survive. 

Finally, Constantine says, in a voice not 
nearly so level as he would like: “That 
girl— You know—— The one who——" 


Falk makes a hissing sound, as if laugh- 
ing. 

“Lisel,” he says flatly. 
les —her—the one who. 
tine murmurs 

“You know her name perfectly well, so 
say it,” Falk says. His head is lowered; h 
gaze is fixed at their feet. Constantine can- 
not avoid looking at the scar on his fore- 
head. A tiny purple worm that shifts and 
writhes, asif with the strain of Falk's think- 


ing. 


onstan- 


tine asks quickly: 

“Still hospitalized? OF course not,” Falk 
says. He pauses, edging still nearer to Con- 
stantine. Is it possible that he fears the au- 
tograph seekers, or is he merely toying 
with them? He stares at the terrace and 
will not raise his eyes. They are hovering a 
few yards away, not knowing what to do. 
“Lisel. You want to know about Lisel. Well, 
she was in Bellevue for a while, and then I 
arranged to have her transferred to a pi 
vate hospital out on Long Island. Don't 
look surprised: It was only Lisel 1 did that 
for. As for the others—I didnt care 
whether they lived or died, whether they 
rotted in Bellevue or somewhere else. But 
Lisel was different. You and I know she was 
different. She spent a vear out on Long Is- 
land and by then an aunt of hers had come 
forward, a very nice middle-aged woman 
who was a high school principal some- 
where out in the Midwest—not Nebraska, 
it wasn't Nebraska— maybe lowa—Daven- 
port, lowa—and my lawyer dealt with 
her—1 talked with her only once, myself 
and Lisel went out there to live and met 
someone and got married. And that is 
what happened to Lisel. 

Constantine opened his mouth to 
protest. But it was a moment before he 
said, "Well but —— Do you mean—— 
Lisel is married?" 

“Married.” 

“But who is her husband? Who would 
marry her?” Constantine asks. 

“Someone in Davenport, lowa. A doctor, 
maybe. I don't know. The aunt told me— 
sent me a snapshot, even—Lisel and her 
husband and their baby, but I misplaced it. 
I forget the details." 

“But who would marry Lisel—: 
stantine says numbly. 

Falk grunts. He makes a gesture Соп- 
samine cannot interpret, and turns 
roughly aside, as if to grect the autograph 
hunters—and rebuff them at the same 
time. 

“I don't understand,” Constantine says, 
“I mean—you've seen a snapshot—Lisel is 
married and has had а baby? ing in 
lowa—she isn't dead, or hospitalized ——" 
Ik laughs softly, and closes his fingers 
over Constantines hand as it grips his arm. 
He says, in a voice so low and intimate 
Constantine must lean forward to hear: 
"Yes, she escaped us after all.” 


Ej 


Con- 


HILDEBRAND RARITY (continued from page 128) 


“The girl had spent the previous day in bed. Mx. 
Krest had said it was a headache.” 


finger down its spiny gristle. It hurt hi 
finger even to do that. He said, “Where did 
you pick that up? I was hunting one of 
these animals this morning.” 

"Bahrein. The Arabs use them on th 
wives.” Mr. Krest chuckled easily. “Haven't 
had to use more than one stroke at a time 
on Liz so far. Wonderful results. We call it 
my Corrector.” 

Bond put the thing back. He looked 
hard at Mr. Krest and said, “Is that so? In 
the Seychelles, where the Creoles are pretty 
tough, its illegal even to own one of those.” 

Mr. Krest moved toward the door. He 
said indifferently, “Feller, this pens to 
be United States territory. Let’s go get 
ourselves something to drink.” 

Mr. Krest drank three double bullshots 
before luncheon and beer with the meal. 
The pale eyes darkened a little and ac- 
quired a watery glitter, but the sibilant 
voice remained soft and unemphatic as, 
h a complete monopoly of the conversa- 
tion, he explained the object of the voyage. 
“Ya see, fellers, it’s like this. In the States 
we have this foundation system for the 
lucky guys that got plenty dough and don't 
happen to want to pay it into Uncle Sam's 
Treasury You make a f tion —like 
this one, the Krest Foundation—and you 
escape tax on it. So I put a matter of ten 
million dollars into the Krest Foundation 
and since 1 happen to like yachting and 
seeing the world, I built this yacht with two 
million of the money and told the Smith- 
sonian that I would go to any part of the 
world and collect specimens for them. So 
that makes me a scientific expedition, вес? 
For three months of every year І have a 
fine holiday that costs me next to nothing! 
Mr. Krest looked to his guests for applause. 
lele Barbey shook his head doubtfully. 
"That sounds fine, Mr. Krest. But these 
rare specimens. They аге casy to find? Тһе 
Smithsonian, it wants a giant panda, a sca 
shell. You can get hold of these things 
where they have failed?" 

Mr. Krest slowly shook his head. He said 
sorrowfully, "Feller, you sure were born 
yesterday. Money, that's all it takes. You 
want a panda? You buy it from some god- 
damn zoo that c. ford central heating 
for its reptile house or wants to build a new 
block for its tigers or something. The sea 
shell? You find a man thats got one and 
you offer him so much goddamn money 
that even if he cries for a week he sells 
you. Pretty smart, ch, Jim 

Bond said, “You'll probably get a medal 
when you get home. What about this f 

Mr. Krest got up from the table and 
rummaged in a drawer of his desk. He 
brought back a typewri 
you are.” He read out: 


ty Caught by Professor Hildebrand of the 
University of the Witwatersrand in a net 
off Chagrin Island in the Seychelles group, 
April 1925. The only specimen known is 
six inches long. The color is a bright pink 
with black transverse stripes. The anal, 
ventral and dorsal fins are pink. The tai 
fin is black. Eyes, large and dark blue. АШ 
fins аге sharply spiked. Professor Hilde- 
brand records that he found the specimen 
in three feet of water on the edge of the 
southwestern reci Mr. Krest threw the 
paper down on the table. “Well, there you 
are, fellers. We're traveling about a thou- 
sand miles at a cost of several thousand 
dollars to try and find a goddamn six-inch 
fish. And two years ago, the revenue peo- 
ple had the gall to suggest that my founda- 
tion was a phon: 

Krest broke in са 5 
Just it, Milt, isn't it? It's really rather impor- 
таш to bring back plenty of specimens and 
things this time. Weren't those horrible tax 
people talking about disallowing the yacht 
and the expenses and so on for the last five 
years if we didn’t show an outstanding sci- 
ic achievement?” 
Treasure.” Mr. Krest’s voice was soft as 


velvet. “You know what you just done, 
treas? You just earned yourself a little 
meeting with the Corrector this evening.” 


The girls hand flew to her mouth. Her 
eyes widened. She said in a whisper, “Oh, 
no, Milt. Oh, no, please.” 

E 

On the second day out, at dawn, they 
ie up with Chagrin Island. 
hey anchored outside the reef in ten 
fathoms and Fidele Barbey took them 
through the opening in the speedboat. In 
every detail Chagrin was the prototype 
coral island, It was about 20 acres of sand 
and dead coral and low scrub surrounded, 
after 50 yards of shallow lagoon, by a neck- 
lace of reef on which the quiet, long swell 
broke with a soft hiss. 

The glare from the white sand was daz- 
zling and there was no shade. Mr. Krest or 
dered a tent to be erected and sat in it 
smoking a cigar while gear of various 
kinds was ferried ashore. Mrs. Krest swam 
and picked up sea shells while Bond and 
Fidele Barbey put on masks and, swim- 
ming in opposing directions, began sys: 
tematically to comb the reef all the way 
round the island. 

The water was so buoyant that. Bond. 
could lie face downward on the surface 
without moving. Idly he broke up a sca egg 
with the tip of his spear and watched the 
horde of glittering reef fish darting for the 
shreds of yellow flesh among the needle- 
sharp black spines. How infernal that if he 
did find the Rarity it would benefit only 


са 


Mr. Krest! Should he say nothing if he 
found it? Rather childish, and, anyway, he 
was under contract, so to speak. Bond 
moved slowly on, his eyes automatically 
taking up the search again while his mind 
turned to considering the girl. She had 
spent the previous day in bed. Mr. Krest 
had said it was a headache. Bond put the 
Krests out of his mind and looked up. 
dele Barbey's snorkel was only 100 y. 
away: They had completed the circuit 

They came up with each other and 
swam to the shore and walked along the 
beach to the tent. Mr. Krest heard their 
voices and came out to meet them. “No 
dice, eh?” He scratched angrily at an 
armpit. “Goddamn sand fly bit me. This is 
one hell of a godawful island. Liz couldn't 
stand the smell, Gone back to the ship. 
Here, gimme one of those masks. How do 
you use the damn things? I guess I might 
as well take a peck while I'm about it." 

They sat in the hot tent and ate chicken 
salad and drank beer and тооду 
watched Mr. Krest poking and peering 
about in the shallows. Fidele Barbey said, 
It’s only the poor bloody frozen Eu- 
ropeans that dream of coral islands,” 

Bond laughed. He began, “Put ап adver- 
tisement in The Times and you'd get sack- 
loads" when, 50 yards away, Mr. Krest 
began to make frantic signals. Bond said, 
“Either the bastard’s found it or he's trod- 
den on a guitar fish,” and picked up his 
mask and ran to the = 

Mr. Krest was standing up to his waist 
among the shallow beginnings of the reef. 
He jabbed his finger excitedly at the sur- 
face. Bond swam softly forward. A red 
blur materialized through the far mist and 
came toward him. It cirded closely be- 
neath him as if showing itself of. The 
dark-bluc eyes examined him without fear. 
The small fish busied itself rather self-con- 
sciously with some algae on the underside 
of a niggerhead, made a dart at a speck of 
something suspended in the water and 
then, as if leaving the stage after showing 
its paces, swam off back into the mist. 

Mr. Krest pulled off his mask. “God- 
damn, I found i!" he said reverently. 
“Well, goddamn, I did." He slowly followed 
Bond to the shore. 

Fidele Barbey was waiting for them. Mr 
Krest said boisterously, “Fido, E found that 
goddamn fish. Me—Milton Krest. Whad- 
дауа say to that, eh. Fido: 

“That's good, Mr. Krest. Thats fine. 
Now, how do we catch it 

“Aha,” Mr. Krest winked slowly “I got 
just the ticket for that. Got it from a 


ds 


chemist fr Stuff called 
root. What 
il. Just pour 


it in the water where itll float over what 
you're after and it'll get him as sure as eggs 
is eggs. Sort of poison. Constricts the 
blood vessels in their gills. Suffocates 
them. No effect on humans because no 
gills, see?" Mr Krest turned to Bond 
“Here, Jim. You go on out and keep watch. 
Sce the darned fish dont vamoose. Fido 


321 


322 


From the makers of Jack 


aniels... 


and I'll bring the stuff out there” He 
pointed upcurrent from the vital area. 

Bond said, “All right,” and walked slow- 
ly down and into the water. He swam lazily 
ош to where he had stood before. In a 
minute, as if it had a rendezvous with 
Bond, the Hildebrand Rarity appeared. 
This time it swam up quite close to his face. 
It looked through the glass at his eyes and 
then, as if disturbed by what it had seen 
there, darted out of range. It played 
around among the rocks for a while and 
then went off into the mist. 

Slowly the little underwater world within 
Bond's vision began to take him for grant- 
ed. А small octopus that had been 
camouflaged asa piece of coral revealed its 
presence and groped carefully down to- 
ward the sand. A blue and yellow langouste 
came a few steps out from under a rock, 
wondering about him. Some very small 
fish like minnows nibbled at his legs and 
toes, tickling. Bond broke a sea egg for 
them and they darted to the better meal. 
Bond lifted his head. Mr. Krest, holding 
the flat can, was 20 yards away. 

Bond put his head down. There was the 
little community, everyone busied with his 
affairs. Soon, to get one fish that someone 
vaguely wanted in a museum 5000 miles 
away, 100, perhaps 1000 small people 
were going to die. When Bond gave the 
signal, the shadow of death would come 
down on the stream. How long would 
the poison last? How far would it travel on 


down the reef? Perhaps it would not be 
thousands but tens of thousands that 
would die. 

Bond pulled down his mask and lay 
again on the surface. At once he saw the 
beautiful red shadow coming out of the far 
mists. The fish swam fast up to him as if it 
now took bim for granted. It lay below 
him, looking up. Bond said into his mask, 
"Get away from here, damn you." Hc gave 
a sharp jab at the fish with his harpoon. 
The fish Acd back into the mist. Bond lift- 
ed his head and angrily raised his thumb. 
It was a ridiculous act of sabotage of which 
he was already ashamed. 

The stuff was creeping slowly down оп 
the current—a shiny, spreading stain that 
reflected the blue sky with a metallic glint. 
Mr. Krest, the giant reaper, was wading 
down with it. “Get set, fellers,” he called 
cheerfully. 

Bond put his head back under the sur- 
face. Everything was as before in the little 
community. And then, with stupefying 
suddenness, everyone went mad. It was as 
if they had all been seized with St. Vitus" 
dance. Several fish looped the loop crazily 
and then fell like heavy leaves to the sand. 
A moray eel came slowly out of a hole in 
the coral, its jaws wide. It stood carefully 
upright on its tail and gently toppled side- 
ways. The small langouste gave three kicks 
of its tail and turned over on its back, 
and the octopus let go its hold of the coral 
and drifted to the bottom upside down 


And then, into the arena drifted the 
corpses from upstream—white-bellied 
fish, shrimps, worms, hermit crabs, spot- 
ted and green morays, langoustes of all 
sizes. As if blown by some light breeze of 
death, the clumsy bodies, their colors al- 
ready fading, swept slowly past. A five- 
pound billfish struggled by with a 
snapping beak, fighting death. Down-reef 
there were splashes on the surface as still 
bigger fish tried to make for safety. One by 
onc, before Bond's cyes, the sca urchins 
dropped off the rocks to make black ink- 
blots on the sand. 

Bond felt a touch on his shoulder. Mr. 
Kresis eyes were bloodshot with the sun 
and glare. He had put white sunburn paste 
on his lips. He shouted impatiently at 
Bonds mask, “Where in hells our god- 
damn fish?” 

Bond lified his mask. “Looks as if it 
managed to get away just before the stuff 
came down. I'm still watching for it.” 

He didn't wait to hear Mr. Krest's reply 
but got his head quickly under water 
again. In the far mists there was а pink 
flash. The beautiful red and black fish 
scemed to pause and quiver. Then it shot 
straight through the water toward Bond 
and dived down to the sand at his feet and 
lay still. Bond only had to bend to pick it 
up. There was not even a last flap from the 
tail. It just filled Bond's hand. lightly prick- 
ing the palm with the spiny black dorsal 
fin. Bond carried it back under water so as 


to preserve its colors. When he got to Mr. 

Krest, he said, “Here,” and handed hin the 

small fish. Then he swam toward the shore. 
. 

That evening, with the Wavekrest head- 
ing for home down the path of a huge yel- 
low moon, Mr, Krest gave orders for what 
he called a wingding. 

Mr. Krest got very drunk that night. It 
did not show greatly, But it showed in the 
things Mr. Krest said. There was a violent 
cruelty, a pathological desire to wound 
quite near the surface in the man. It 
looked to Bond as if, unless Mr. Krest 
passed out, the time was not far off when 
Bond would have to hit Mr. Krest just once, 
very hard on the jaw. Before the next jibe 
could be uttered, Bond had pushed his 
chair back and had gone out into the well 
deck and pulled the door shut behind him. 

‘Ten minutes later Bond heard feet com- 
ing softly down the ladder from the boat 
deck. He turned. It was Liz Krest, She 
came over to where he was standing in the 
stern. She said in a strained voice, “I said 
Га go to bed. But then I thought Pd come 
back here and see if you'd got everything 
you want. I'm nota very good hostess, I'm 
afraid. Are you sure you don't mind sleep- 
ing out here? 

“I like it. And it's rather wonderful to 
have all those stars to look at. 

She laughed nervously. “You wont be- 
lieve me, but just to talk like this for a few 
minutes, to have someone like you to talk 


to, is something Га almost forgotten.” She 
suddenly reached for his hand and held it 
hard. “I'm sorry. I just wanted to do that. 
Now ГИ go to bed.” 

The soft voice came from behind them. 
The sibilants had slurred, but each word 
was carefully separated from the next 
“Well, well. Whaddaya know? Necking 
with the underwater help!" 

Mr Krest stood framed in the hatch to 
the saloon, He stood with his legs apart 
and his arms upstretched to the lintel 
above his head. With the light behind him 
he had the silhouette of a baboon. The 
cold, imprisoned breath of the saloon 
rushed out past him and for a moment 
chilled the warm night air in the well deck. 
Mr. Krest stepped out and softly pulled the 
door to behind him. 

Bond took a step toward him, his hands 
held loosely at his sides. He measured the 
distance to Mr. Krest’s solar plexus. He 
said, "Don't jump to conclusions." 

Mr. Krest swayed on his feet. “ОК, so 
lets all be friends again and get some shut- 
eye.” He reached for the lintel of the hatch 
and turned to his wife. He lifted his free 
hand and slowly crooked a finger. "Move, 
treasure. Time for bed. 

“Yes, Milt.” The wide, frightened eyes 
turned sideways. "Good night, Jame: 
Without waiting for an answer, she ducked 
under Мг. Krests arm and almost ran 
through the saloon. 

Mr. Krest lifted a hand. 


ke it easy 


feller. No hard feelings, ch?” 

Bond said nothing. He went on looking 
hard at Mr. Krest. Mr. Krest laughed un- 
certainly. He said, “OK, then.” He stepped 
into the saloon and slid the door shut. 
Through the window, Bond watched him 
walk unsteadily across the saloon and turn 
out the lights. He went into the corridor 
and there was a momentary gleam from 
the stateroom door, then it went dark 

Bond was making a bed for himself 
among the piled foam-rubber cushions 
when he heard a single, heart-rending 
scream. It tore briefly into the night and 
was smothered. It was the girl. Bond ran 
through the saloon and down the passage 
With his hand on the stateroom door, he 
stopped. He could hear her sobs and, 
above them, the soft, even drone of Mr. 
Krest's voice. He took his hand away from 
the latch. Hell! What was it to do with him? 
They were man and wife. As he was cro: 
ing the saloon, the scream, this time less 
piercing, rang out again. Bond cursed 
fluently and went ош and lay down on his 
bed and tried to focus his mind on the soft 
thud of the diesels. How could a girl have 
so little guts? Or was it that women could 
take almost anything from a man? 

б 

An hour later Bond had reached ıhe 
edge of unconsciousness when, up above 
him on the boat deck, Mr. Krest began to 
snore. He had left his cabin and had gone 
up 10 ıhe hammock that was Кері slung 


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324 


for him between the speedboat and the 
dinghy Now he was snoring with those 
deep, rattling, utterly lost snores that 
Ee g blue slecping pills on top 
of too much alcohol. 

This was too damned much. Bond 
looked at his watch. One-thirty. He had got 
to his feet and was gathering up his shirt 
and shorts when, from up on the boat 
deck, there came a heavy crash. The crash 
was immediately followed by scrabbling 
sounds and a dreadful choking and gur- 
gling. Had Mr. Krest fallen out of his ham- 
mock? Reluctantly, Bond dropped his 
things back on the deck and walked over 
and climbed the ladder. As his eyes came 
level with the boat deck, the choking 
stopped. Instead there was 
more dreadful sound—the q 
ming of heels. Bond knew that sound. He 
leaped up the last steps and ran toward the 
figure lying spread-eagled on its back 
the bright moonlight’ He stopped and 
knelt slowly down, aghast. The horror of 
the strangled face was bad enough, but it 
was not Mr. Krest's tongue that protruded 
from his gaping mouth. It was the tail of a 
fish. The colors were pink and black. It was 
the Hildebrand Rarit: 

Ihe man was dead—horribly dead. 
When the fish had been crammed into his 
mouth, he must have reached up and des- 
perately tried to tug it out. But the spines 
of the dorsal and anal fins had caught in- 
side the checks and the spiny tips now pro- 
truded through the blood-flecked 

Bond slowly got to his feet. He all ed 
over to the racks of glass specimen jars and 
peered under the protective awning The 
plastic cover of the end jar lay on the deck 
beside it. Bond wiped it carefully on the 
tarpaulin and then, holding it by the tips of 
his fingernails, laid it loosely back over the 
mouth of the jar. 

Bond looked round the deck. The snor- 
ing of the man could have been a signal for 
any potential murderer. There were lad- 
ders to the boat deck from both sides of the 
cabin deck amidships. The man ac the 
wheel in the pilothouse forward would 
have heard nothing above the noise from 
the engine room. To pick the small fish out 
of its formalin bath and slip it into Mr. 
Krest’s gaping mouth would have needed 
only seconds. 

Bond glanced over the edge of the boat 
deck. Supposing the hammock had broken 
and Mr. Krest had fallen and rolled under 
the speedboat and over the edge of the up- 
per deck, could he have reached the sea? 
Hardly, in this dead calm, but that was 
what he was going to have done. 

Bond got moving. With a table 
from the saloon he carefully frayed 


nife 
nd 


then broke one of the main cords of the 
Іш 


minock so that the hammock trailed re- 
stically on the deck. Next, with a damp 
doth, he cleaned up the specks of blood 
on the woodwork and the drops of fo 
lin that led from the specimen j 
came the hardest part—handling the 
corpse. Carefully, Bond pulled it to the 


very edge of the deck and himself went 
down the ladder and, bracing himself, 
reached up. The corpse came down on top 
of him in a heavy, drunken embrace. Bond 
staggered under it to the low rail and 
eased it over. There was a last hideous 
glimpse of the obscenely bulging face and 
the protruding fishtail, a sickening fume 
of stale whiskey, a heavy splash and it was 
rolling sluggishly away in the wak 
. 

The next morning there seemed to be a 
conspiracy to sleep late. Even Bond had not 
been awakened by the sun until ten 
odock. He showered in the crew's quar- 
ters and chatted with the helmsman before 
going below to see what had happened to 
Fidele Barbey. He was still in bed. He said 
he had a hangover. Had he been very rude 
to Mr. Krest? He couldn't remember much 
about it except that he seemed to recall Mr. 
Krest being very rude to him. “You re- 
member what I said about him from the 
beginning, James? A grand slam redou- 
bled in bastards. Now do you agree with 
me? One of these days, someone’ going to 
shut that soft ugly mouth of his forever." 

Inconclusive. Bond had fixed himself 
some breakfast in the galley and was eat- 
ing it there when Liz Krest had come in 
to do the same. She was dressed in a 
pale blue Shantung kimono to her knees. 
‘There were dark rings under her eyes and 
she ate her breakfast standing. But she 
seemed perfectly calm and at casc. She 
whispered conspiratorially, “I do apolo- 
gize about last night. Its only when he's 
had a bit too much that he gets sort of 
difficult. He's always sorry the next mo 
ing. You'll see’ 

When 11 o'clock came and neither of the 
other two showed any signs of, so t0 speak, 
blowing the gaff, Bond decided to force 
the pace. He looked very hard at Liz Krest, 
who was curled up in the well deck reading 
a magazine. He said, “By the way, where 
your husband? Still sleeping it off?” 

She frowned. 71 suppose so. He went up 
to his hammock on the boat deck. I've no 
idea what time. 1 took a sleeping pill and 
went straight off.” 

Fidele Barbey had a line ow for 
mber jack. Without looking around he 
1, "He's probably in the pilothouse.” 

Bond said. “If he’s asleep on the boat 
deck, hell be getting a hell of a sunburn. 

Liz Krest said. “Oh, poor Milt! I hadn't 
thought of that. I'll go and see.” 

She climbed the ladder. When her head 
was above the level of the boat deck she 
stopped. She called down, anxiou 
“James. Не not here. And the hammock 
broken.” 

Bond said, “Fidele's probably right. Ell 
ave a look forward.” 

He went to the pilothouse. Fritz, the 
mate, and the engineer were there. Bond 
aid, “Anyone seen Mr. Krest?” 

Fritz looked puzzled. “No, sir. Why? Is 
anything wrong?” 

Bond flooded his face with anxiety. 
"He's not aft. Here, come on! Look round 


sa 


everywhere. He was sleeping on the boat 
deck. He's not there and his hammocks 
broken. He was rather the worse for wear 
last night. Come on! Get cracking!” 

When the inevitable conclusion had 
been reached, Liz Krest had a short but 
credible fit of hysterics. Bond took her to 
her cabin and left her there in tears. “1 
all right, Liz,” he said. “You stay out of thi 
ГІ look after everything." 

“Oh, Milt! Poor darling Milt! Oh, why 
did this have to happen? 

Bond went out and softly shut the door. 

. 

The yacht rounded Cannon Point and 
reduced speed. Bond saw the Customs and 
Immigration launch move off from Long 
Pier to meet them. The Tittle community 
would already be buzzing with news that 
would have quickly leaked from the radio 
station to the Seychelles Club. 

Liz Krest turned to him. "I'm beginning 
to get nervous. Will you help me through 
the rest of this—these awful formalities 
and things?” 

“OF course.” 

Fidele Barbey said, “Dont worry too 
much. All these people are my friends. 
And the Chief Justice is my uncle. We shall 
all have to make a statement. They'll prob- 
ably have the inquest tomorrow. You'll 
be able to leave the day 

“You really t 
had sprung below her eyes. “The t 
1 dont really know where to I 
what to do next. I suppose.” she hesitated. 
not looking at Bond, “I suppose, James, 
you wouldn't like to come on to Mom! 

Bond lit a cigarette to cover his hesita- 
tion. Four days in a beautiful yacht with 
this girl! But the tail of that fish sticking 
ош of the mouth! Had she done it? Or had 
Fidele, who would know that his uncles 
and cousins on Mahé would somehow see 
that he came to no harm? If only one of 
them would make a slip. Bond said casily, 
“That's terribly nice of you, Liz. Of course 
Га love to come. 

Fidele Barbey chuckled. “Bravo, ıny 
friend. And I would love to be in your 
shoes, but for one thing. That damned 
fish. It is a great responsibility. I like to 
think of you both being deluged with ca- 
bles from the Smithsonian about it. Don't 
forget that you are now both trustees of a 
scientific Koh-i-noor." 

Bonds eyes were hard as flint as he 
watched the girl. Did that put the finger on 
hei? 

But the beautiful, candid blue eyes did 
not flicker. She looked up into Fidele Bar- 
beys face and said, easily, charmingly, 
“That won't be a problem. I've decided to 
give it to the British Museum. 

James Bond noticed that the swe: 
had now gathered at her temples, but, aft- 
er all, it was a desperately hot evening. . . . 

The thud of the engines stopped and 
the anchor chain roared down into the 
quiet bay. 


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PLAYBOY 


DE NIRO (continued from page 90) 


“La Motia was tougher than Capone, without question. 
Capone was a politician; he had to run an empire.” 


10 get as much weight onto my face as I 
could first and then make adjustments with 
the body suit and recede my hairline to 
round out the face some more. The only 


thing | didnt get was a recording—the 
none of h 


voice, as far as I know. Get 
the most difficult thing. 
PLAYBOY: Who was a tougher guy—Capone 
or La Motta 

DE NIRO: La Motta was tougher, without 
question; he was a fighter, Capone might 
have been ruthless, but he was more of a 
politician, more able to deal with people; 
he had to run an empire. And yet he in- 
stilled a lot of fear so people wouldn't dou- 
ble-cross him. 

PLAYBOY: Speaking of empires, you've mi 
a number of world leaders. What your 
impression of Mikhail Gorbachev? 

DE NIRO: | met him at the Russian embassy 
in Washington. There were 80 to 100 peo- 
ple there. I would have liked to have sai 
something, but I didn't. 

In Russia, they get up ake toasts, 
get a little drunk оп vodka—its very nice 
and very warm, they say beautiful things, 
everybody brings out the best in ever 
body It would have been nice to do that, 
but it was a more formal kind of thing I 
felt like we were in school. You don’t want 
to get up and make a schmuck of yourself, 
say a stupid thing. A couple of people said 
things—people from all walks of life, fa- 
mous scientists, philosophers, writers, ac 
s, politicians. I was listening. [Laughs] 
0 any people give ой an aura? 
Presidents. Its a thing that 
comes with age, years of experience, that 
sort of situation. There are people who be- 
come so well known that they become part 
of another layer of your consciousness. 
PLAYBOY: So whom would you be fascinat 
ed to шесі. Garbo, for instance? 

DE NIRO: No, but she was a wonderlul ac- 
tress, Га meet her if she wanted to. [Paus- 
es] Туе got to go. 

PLAYBOY: Do people get nervous 
you when they first meet you? 

DE NIRO: I dont know. Sometii people 
can hide the way id you don't no- 
tice it. It's like 
always screaming, ran aving 
bout this particular person, and | would 
tell her to shut up and stop bothering me 
about him. So one day, she met him and 
she was so cool, I couldn't belicve the way 
she acted. But it taught me something. If I 
didn't know how she had acted before, I 
never would have know II wh: 
going on inside her head 
PLAYBOY: Springsteen? 

DE NIRO: No. 

PLAYBOY: Does your daughter 


ng 


ound 


was 


gg Or her mother? 


DE NIRO: My daughter lives alone, She's 20. 
And who takes care of your I- 
year-old son, Raphael? 

DE NIRO: His mother, He might live with 
me. I spend a lot of time with him. I took 
him to New Zealand when we were shoot- 
ing Midnight Run. 

PLAYBOY: Do you let him see all of your 
filns— Raging Bull, Taxi Driver? 

DE NIRO; They scc them anyway, they sec 
them on cable. Kids have a whole other 
culture. He goes into a toy store and starts 
talking like an expert about a bunch of 
toys—the skate boards, the bikes, the СІ 
Joes, the Nintendos—they know all that 
stuff. [Taps 
PLAYBOY: What TV series did you grow up 
with? 

DE NIRO: I didn't like Howdy Doody or Mick- 
ey Mouse, Liked The Three Stooges. 
"hinking t 
this one day, what can you 
mother, Diahnne Abbott, that’s positive? 
DE NIRO: Something positive? How come 
you asked that question? Thars OK, Fm 
just curious about why you asked it. 
PLAYBOY: Because if we ask й апу other way, 
you're not going to answer 
DE NIRO: [Langhs, nods] What h 
that peopl 
to the kids 


ppens 
distort things and it goes bı 
hool and what are you р 
na do? People who ere е kinds of | 
uations have no fucking shame, no guilt 
ow what makes those people do i 
lot of things for mon- 
. But to feed olf the worst kind of nega- 
tive shit, propagate it—that’s awful. 
PLAYBOY: So, you were about to say about 
Diahnne...? 

[De Niro goes to turn off the tape recorder.] 
PLAYBOY: Lcavc it оп! 
DE NIRO: No, Гус got to go. 
PLAYBOY: You've been going ever since you 
started this interview. Lets just finish and 
be done with 
DE NIRO: Well . . re friends. 
She's very perceptive people . . . al- 
most psychically perceptive . . . and a good. 
iend.... 
PLAYBOY: Where does she live? 
DE NIRO: In New York. | really gotta go. 
PLAYBOY: Hang in there, were almost 
through. Weren't you once kicked out of 
The Beverly Hills Hotel because you 
sncaked in four cats? 
DE NIRO: Yeah, 1 had cats in there and they 
had this policy ... The manager w 
rd they have hookers ru 
‘ound the pool, and yet when you have 
cats. I was told not to have cats, but I 
did and they locked us out. They put a 
padlock on the door and put the cats out- 
side. 1 was furious. The шет threat- 
ened to call the police in front of me. We 


sin a cat house. 
were you doing traveling 


had to put the c 
PLAYBOY: W| 
with four 
DE NIRO: | was with my wife at the time and 
she had cats. We were going out there to 
work on a film, so I had the cats with me. It 
totally uncalled for, that type of behav- 
эг. You have somebody say, 
like you to do something with the c 
can't have them." But this was at night, wc 
got home at midnight and they had locked. 
us out. I wanted to sue—he was a pig. It 
looked like he enjoyed being a son of a 
bitch. I dont think hes there anymore. 
PLAYBOY: We haven't asked you about your 
father, who's an established avant-garde 
painter, Are you two clo: 
DE NIRO: Yeah . . . we're close. . . . [Looks at 
watch] What else? 
PLAYBOY: Is it true that you gave Francis 
Ford Coppola two of your father’s paint- 
ings for his birthday? 
DE NIRO: Yeah, he's very, very touchy about 
that stuff, so I have to convince him that 
the person I'm giving them to is worthy: 
It's about as nice a gift as you can give. 
[Rises to leave] 
PLAYBOY: Martin Scorsese originally want- 
ed you for Christ in his controversial film 
The Last Temptation of Christ. Any regrets 
for not having done it? 
DE NIRO: No. 
PLAYBOY: There's talk about you and Quin- 
cy Jones codirecting a musical movie star- 
ring Whitney Houston. 
DE NIRO: That's а good question. [Turns off 
tape recorder. Communicates his discomfort at 
talking about these things; wrong mood] 1 
know that the Directors Guild has a prob- 
lem with that. We had to go before the 
A. and explain our reasoning. They 
weren't for it, but 1 thought it was interest 
g. because then they could ask us ques- 
tions that would make us think about why 
we wanted to do it togethe 
But 1 can't answer that now—my mind is 
not focused, Гуе really got to go. I have 
things I want to say to balance what I've 
said already, but I'm late. I'm very late. 
God, I'm late. 
PLAYBOY: For what? 
DE NIRO: Some people are coming over; I 
dont want to be late. 
PLAYBOY: What pcople? 
DE NIRO: Friends. 
PLAYBOY: Friends will understand if you're 
late. Youre always late 
DE NIRO: Not if nobody's at the door. 
PLAYBOY: lı seems odd: Here you are at the 
pinnacle of your career, yct you are always 
on the move; you dont seem to have con- 
trol of your lif 
DE NIRO: [Practically out the door] You're 
right, I should take more control of my 
life! I haven't any time to relax, for myself. 
Geez, it’s already 7:15! 
PLAYBOY: No. it's not. 115 only seven. Why is 
your watch 15 minutes fast? 
DE NIRO: That way I won't be late. 
[We laugh. He leaves.) 


El 


м 


REAL MEN oun 


*Q. Why did the Real Мат cross the road? A. It's none 


of your goddamn business.” 


game of doubles and the ability to figure 
ош how to take depreciation allowances оп 
the IRS 1040 long form. 


CHAPTER NINE 
Real Men and Television 


When Vladimir Zworykin invented tele- 
vision in 1923, his goal was far grcat- 
er than the mere transmission of moving 
pictures. 

He wanted to invent something that 
would allow Real Men to avoid having to 
talk to their families after dinner. In its 
early years, television does just that. There 
are countless hours of Real Man value- 
confirming sports, violence and homicides. 


CHAPTER TEN 
The Real Man Film Festival 

Patton Taxi Driver 

Citizen Kane Ben-Hur 

Raging Bull The Warriors 

Spartacus Love Story 


GREAT LINES FROM 
OTHER REAL MAN MOVIES 


“I stick my neck out for nobody.” 
— HUMPHREY BOGART in Casablanca 
“Llove the smell of napalm in the morn- 
ing" --ковекг DUVALL in Apocalypse Now 


CHAPTER 11 
Four Things You Won't Find 
in a Real Man's Pockets 


1. Lip balm 
2. Breath freshener 
3. Opera tickets 

4. Recipes for quiche 


REAL MAN Qt 


Q. Why did the Real Man cross the 
road? 
A. Its none of your goddamn business. 


UMBER THREE 


CHAPTER 12 
The Real Man's Nutritional Guide 


By now you're probably wondering: If a 
Real Man doesn't eat quiche, just what does 
his diet consist of? Each day, Real Men try 
to eat something from each of the five crit- 
ical Real Man food groups: 


PROTEIN CARBOHYDRATES 
Steak Spaghetti 
Hamburger Macaroni and cheese 
Cheeseburger French fries 
Bacon cheese- Home fries 

burger Hashbrowns 
Big Mac Potato chips 
Whopper Pretzels 
Kentucky Fried 

Chicken 
Ham and Swiss 

on rye 


LIQUIDS NOURISHMENT 
Beer Ring Dings 
Gatorade Devil Dogs 
Jack Daniel’ Cheeze Whiz 
Twinkies 
Mallomars 


Double-stuffed Огеов 


FRUITS AND VEGETABLES 
Corn on the cob 
Orange soda 


CHAPTER 13 
Are You Todays Real Man? 


A short test for those who still aren't 
sure: 

1. A certain low-rent Middle Eastern na- 
tion grabs 52 Americans and holds them 
hostage. Do you (A) negotiate, (B) nuke 


‘em, (C) send qui 

2. Phil Donahue terviewing Alan Al- 
da on channel two; Dick Cavett is inter- 
viewing Woody Allen on channel four; 
Geraldo Rivera is interviewing himself on 
channel five; and the movie of the week on 
channel зеуеп is about a blind 18-year-old 
rape victim who can't decide whether to 
have an abortion or join the women’ pro- 
fessional-golf tour. Do you (A) go bowling, 
(B) smash the tube, (C) send $25 to Jerry 
Falwell, (D) rerun Deep Throat on the Beta- 
max? 

3. How many pairs of bikini underpants 
do you own? (A) none, (B) one (received as 
a gift), (C) more than one. 

4. Your girlfriend announces she's hav- 
ing an affair with another woman. Do you 
(A) nuke her, (B) send quiche, (C) ask if 
you can watch? 

5.How many women have you slept 
with in the past year? (A) 100-300, (B) 
300-1000, (C) more than 10007 

Scoring: To be honest, the perfect score 
is 0; Real Men domt take quizzes in 
magazines. 


327 


328 


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Sexual Perversity 


(continued from page 203) 
BERNIE: Last night, 2:30. 
panny: So 2:30 youre probably over at 


pernte: Left Yak-Zics at one. 
o you're probably over at 


BERNIE: 
license. 

panny: So you're probably over at the 
Commonwealth 

BERNIE: So OK, so I'm over at the Com- 
monwealth, in the pancake house off the 
lobby, and I'm working on a stack of those 
raisin-and-nut jobs — 

DA! "They're good. 

BERNIE: And I'm reading the paper, and 
I'm reading, and I'm casing the pancake 
house, and the usual shot, am I right? 


They only got а two-o'clock 


DANNY: Right. 

BERNIE: So who walks in over to the cash 
register but this chick. 

DANNY: Right. 

BERNIE: Nineteen-, 20-year-old chick —— 


DANNY: Who we're talking about. 

BERNIE: And she wants a pack of 
Viceroys. 

DANNY: І can believe that. 

BERI Gets the smokes and she does 
this number about how she forgot her 
purse up in her room. 

panny: Up in her room? 

BERNIE: Yeah. 

anny: Was she a pro? 

Bernie: At that age? 

DANNY: Yeah. 

BERNIE: Well, at this point, we don't know. 
So, anyway, I go over and ask her can 1 
front her for the smokes, and she says she 
couldn't, and then she says, Well, all right, 
and would I like to join her in a cup of 
coffee. 

DANNY: She asked you 

BERNIE: Yeah. 

panny: For a cup of coffee? 

BERNIE: Right. 

panny: And all this time she was 19? 

BERNIE: Nineteen, 20. So down we sit and 
get to talking. This, that, blah, blah, blah, 
and, “Come up to my room and ГЇЇ pay you 
back for the cigarettes.” 

DANNY: No. 

BERNIE: Yeah. 

DANNY: You're shitting me. 

BERNIE: I'm telling you. 

DANNY: And was she a pro? 

BERNIE: So at this point, we don't know. 
Pro, semipro, Betty Coed from college, 
regular young broad, its anybody's ball 
game. So, anyway, up we go. Fifth floor on 
the alley and it’s “Sit down, you wanna 
drink?” “What you got?” “Bourbon.” 
ine" And goddamn if she doesn't lay 
half a rock on me for the cigarettes. 

panny: Мо. 


BERNIE: Yeah. 
panny: So this changes the complexity of 
things. 


BERNIE: For a bit, yes. But then what shot 


does she up and pull? 

DANNY: You remind her of her ex. 

BERNIE: Мо. 

DANNY; She's never done anything like 
this before in her life? 

BERNIE: Ко. 

pansy: She just got into town, and do 
you know where a girl like her could make 
a little money? 

BERNIE: No. 

pansy: So Em not going to lic to you, 
what shot does she pu 

BERNIE: The shot she is pulling is the fol- 
lowing two things: A, she says, “I think 1 
want to take a shower: 

DANNY: No. 

BERNIE: Yes. And, B, she says, "And then 
let's fuck." 

DANNY h? 

BERNIE: What did I just tell vou? 

DANNY: She said that? 

BERNIE: I hope to tell you. 

panny: Nineteen years old? 

BERNIE: Nineteen, 20. 

DANNY: And was she a pro? 

BERNIE: So at this point, I don't know. But 
1 do say I'll join her іп the shower, if she 
has no objections. 

DANNY: Of course. 

BEI So into the old shower. And does 
this broad have a body? 

DANNY: Yeah? 


Bernie: Are you kidding me? 
pansy: 


So tell me. 
The tits — 


DANNY: 
BERNIE: Are you fucking fooling me? 
The ass on this broad. 

DANNY: Young ass. huh? 

BERNIE: Well, yeah, young broad, young 
255. 

DANNY: Right. 

BERNIE: And lathering һег- 

DANNY: Mmmm. 

BERNIE: And drop the soap. . . . This, 
that, and we get out. Toweling off, each of 
us in his or her full glory. So while were 
toweling off, I flick the towel at her, very 
playfully, and by accident it catches her a 
good one on the ass and, thwack, a big red 
mark. 

DANNY: No. 

BERNIE: So I'm all sorry, and so forth. But 
what does this broad do but let out a squeal 
of pleasure and relicf that would fucking 
killa horse, 

DANNY: Huh? 

BERNIE: So what the hell, I'm liberal. 

DANNY: If that’s her act, that's her act. 

BERNIE: Goes without saying. So I look 
around. figuring to follow in my footsteps, 
and what is handy but this little С.Е. doc 
radio. So 1 pick the mother up and heave it 
at her. Catches her across the shoulder 
blades and we've got this long welt 

DANNY: Draw blood? 

BERNIE: AL this point, 0 what does 
she do? She says, “Wait a minute,” and she 


crawls under the bed. From under the bed 
she pulls this suitcase, and from out of the 
suitcase comes this World War Two flak 
suit, 

pansy: They're hard to find. 

BERNIE: Zip, zip, zip, and she gets into the 
flak suit and we get down on the bed. 
re you doing? 
Fucking. 
the Bak suit? 


persa: Right. 
пахму: How do you get in? 
BERNIE: How do you think I get in? She 
leaves the zipper open. 
DANNY: That's what I thought. 
BERNIE: But the shot is, while we're fuck- 


ing, she wants me, every 30 seconds or so, 
to go Boom at the top of my lungs. 
: At her? 


general. So we're 
humping and bumping and greasing the 
old Hak suit and every once in a while 1 go 
Boom, and she starts in on те. “Turn me 
over,” she says, so I do. She's on her stom- 
ach. I'm on top—— 

DANNY: They gota flap in the back of the 
flak suit? 

BERNIE: Yes. So she's on her stomach, etc. 
In the middle of everything, she slithers 
over to the side of the bed, picks up the 
house phone and says, “Give me room 511." 

panny: Right. 

вен: “Who are you calling?" I say. “A 
friend,” she says. So OK. They answer the 
Patrice,” she says, "it's me. I'm up 
a friend and Т сопа use a little 
help. Could you help me out? 

DANNY: Аһ-һа! 

BERNIE: So wait. So I don't know what the 
So all of a sudden, 1 hear coming 
out of the phone: "Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat. Ki 
pow! Ak-ak-ak-ak-ak-ak-ak. Ka-pou!" So 
fine. I'm pumping away, the chick on the 
other end is making airplane noises, every 
once in a while I go Boom and the broad on 


the bed starts going crazy. She's moaning 
g and about to go the whole 
. Humping and bumping, and 


ming, "Red Dog One to Red 
Dog Squadron" . . . all of a sudden, she 
screams, “Wait!” She wriggles out, leans 


under the bed and pulls out this five-gal- 
lon jerry can. 
ght. 

praxis: Opens it up. . . . Its full of gaso- 
line. So she splashes the mother all over the 
walls, whips a fuckin’ Zippo out of the flak 
suit and Whoosh, the whole room is in 
flames. So the whole fuckin’ joint is 
going ир smoke, the telephone is go- 
ing “Rat-tat-tat,” the broad jumps back on 
the bed and yells, “Now, give it to 
me пош, for the love of Christ!” (Pause) So 
І look at the broad . and I fig- 
ше... fuck this nonsense. I grab my 
clothes, I peel a sawbuck off my wad, as I 
make the door, I fing it at her. "For cab 
fare,” 1 yell. She doesn't hear nothing. 
One, two, six, Im in the hall. Struggling 
into my shorts and hustling for the elev 
tor. Whole fucking hall is full of smok 
above the flames I just make out my 
broad—she's singing, "Off we go into the 
wild blue yonder"—and the elevator ar- 
rives, and the whole fucking hall is full of 
firemen. (Pause) ‘Those fucking firemen 
make out like bandits. (Pause) 


passy: Nobody does it normally any- 
more. 
Bernie: ИЗ these young broads. They 


don’t know what the fuck they want. 
fou think she was a pro? 
: A pro, Dan— 


5 how you think about yourself. 
You see my point? 

Yeah 

Well, all right, then. ЛІ tell you 
one thing . . . she knew all the pro moves. 


329 


PLAYBOY 


330 


Pious Pornographers continued from page 102) 


“I began to realize that sex wasn't exactly taboo in the 
ladies magazines. In fact, they welcomed it.” 


Jike an empty oil drum in a West Indian 
steel band, and 1 sat up all night drawing 
what comfort I could from a beaker of 
Jukewarm bourbon. 

Sometime between midnight and dawn, 
I went out to the kitchen to renew the pre- 
scription and found a pile of ladies’ 
magazines stashed away in a bottom cabi- 
net—things that my cleaning woman had 
apparently salvaged from the dumb-waiter 
to help while away the siesta hours she 
spends at my apartment each week 

In my lonely agony, I leafed through 
an old Redbook on the off chance that I 
might find a recipe for newburg that didn't 
call for little pieces of sea shell, but there 
wasn't a recipe in the book. There was a 
Piece on Jackie Gleason and a picture essay 
on The Doctors Who Fell in Love, but the 
one that made me lean against the 
Kelvinator and start reading was My Hus- 
band Avoids Making Love to Me, a Young 
Wifes Story, as told to Michael Drury. 

“The problem in my marriage is that my 
husband doesn't make love to me as often 
as 1 would like,” the Young Wife began, 
and went оп to explain that she had been 
married for four years to an accountant 
named Ken, who was always bringing 
work home from the offi Туе cried out 
my need on his shoulder,” she moaned, 
“but he only listens and pats me and does 
nothing, It's humiliating. Once 1 got so an- 
gry that I threw a hairbrush across the 
room at him.” 

T felt like throwing a hairbrush at him, 
too. How Ken could sit fiddling with his 
debits and credits while June was pawing 
the nap off the broadloom, I'll never know. 
She was only asking for a few minutes 
of his time—no longer than it takes the 
average accountant to make a simple cross 
entry. 

"One night I said quite early in the 
evening that I thought I'd go to bed,” she 
confided. "The truth was that I was excep- 
tionally tired, but he must have taken this 
as a seductive hint on my part, because 
about nine o'dock he went down in the 
basement and began painting the summer 
furniture.” 

Picking up a Ladies” Home Journal, 1 
found that it devoted a regular feature to 
matrimonial rescue work, with a special 
disaster squad headed by Paul Popenoe. 
Sc.D. “My HUSBAND WANTED МЕ AND THE ОТН- 
ER WOMAN, TOO. HE NEEDED Us BOTH,” the cov- 
er announced іп a coast-to-coast whisper. 
“CAN THIS MARRIAGE BE SAVED?” And on page 
69 there was an action photo of hubby 
and the Other Woman locked in a stand- 
up embrace, while wifey peeked in at 
the door. “Оп Thanksgiving I walked into 


the kitchen unexpectedly, Paul and Florence 
were in each others arms,” the caption said 
in horrified italics. 

1 began to realize that sex wasn't exact- 
ly taboo in the ladies’ maya: In fact, 
they almost scemed to welcome it. To fill 
the reader in оп а marriage headed for in- 
law trouble, for instance, another young 
wife felt obliged to lay bare the secrets of 
her wedding day to the whole April Jour- 
nal audience: “My bridal gown was or- 
dered from New York . . . we had a caterer, 
and so on. My mother and I planned every 
detail—and 1 mean every detail—with 
infinite care. But just before we left for the 
church, I suddenly began to menstruate. 
Sheer nervousness was responsible.” And, 
when his turn came, the lucky groom 
grumbled: “Susan probably told you about 
our honeymoon, but maybe she didn't 
mention that 1 spent a good part of our 
first year sleeping on the living-room sofa. 
Susan was terrified by the physical side of 
love. Whenever 1 would approach her, she 
was likely to become upset or to be so terri- 
bly tense that often the result was a пегу- 
ous illness of some kind. For at least six 
months, outbreaks of hives kept her miser- 
able." 

Looking into the May Journal, 1 soon 
discovered that Susan wasn't the only 
woman who could take sex or leave it alone. 
In his monthly Making Marriage Work fea- 
ture, Clifford R. Adams, Ph.D., quoted a 
couple of wives who would just as soon 
paint the porch chairs. “I couldn't ask for a 
better husband, but I don't like him when 
" one confessed. "Occasionally, 
Ican tolerate it, and a few times I've almost 
enjoyed it, but usually it sickens me. I don't. 
know how I can take it when he's home all 
the time.” 

Perhaps in the interest of restoring edi- 
torial balance, а money-problem case оп 
page 91 was illustrated by a shot of а 
bathrobed brunette leaning over a bed, 
tugging at her husband’s shoulder. “Long 
ago I lost any physical appeal I ever had for 
Ted,” she explained in the caption. “It has 
been months since he has shared my bed. 
Once, although I hated myself for being so 
unfeminine, 1 stopped beside his bed. He pre- 
tended to be asleep.” 

To help stem this rising tide of incom- 
patability, which threatened to swamp the 
entire issue, the Journal called in Dr. Abra- 
ham Stone, of marriage-manual fame, to 
tell Joan Younger What Wives Don't Know 
About Sex. 

After establishing the need for sex edu- 
cation, and the necessity for modern wom- 
an to shed her acquired inhibitions if she 
ever hoped to know the “joy of sex union,” 


Dr. Stone and Miss Younger began to close 
in on the subject with a series of questions 
that read like an entrance exam at Honey- 
moon Tech. 

“О. What are the chief differences between 
а woman's and a mans sexual reactions?” 

Humming a snatch of Hello, Young 
Lovers. I skipped to the next. 

“Q. There 15 so much talk about the ‘cold 
woman’ today. Is frigidity in women really 50 
common? 

“A. Well, there are different categories 
of frigidity. There are some women who 
have no sex desire at all. They have no sex- 
ual appetite and no pleasure from the sex 
relation. They are entirely indifferent to 
sex and submit to their husbands merely as 
a duty. Such instances of complete frigidity 
are comparatively rare. Lesser degrees of 
sexual coldness are, however, more fre- 
quent. These women may become sexually 
aroused now and then, but the inten 
their desire ison a minor scale. Th 
ness may be due to the psychological inhi- 
bitions we have already spoken about, to 
physiological dcficiencics, or, morc often, 
10 CONTINUED ON PAGE 126." 

1 leafed through to page 126 and contin- 
ued reading: “They sat down on a love 
seat that had been pushed into a corner. 
They began to talk. Sally forgot where she 
was. She was vaguely conscious of dim 
figures moving thickly in the background, 
and...” 

Ewas vaguely conscious that 1 had some- 
how wandered into the wrong column of 
print. Sure enough, it was a short story 
called You Must Meet Noel. But even here 
love came in for a clinical treatment. Be- 
sides having a mobile nose and being 
“vaguely conscious of dim figures moving 
thickly in the background,” Sally found 
that Noel's voice “gave her a queerly soft, 
clogged feeling in her chest.” 

As the story rode on to its inevitable 
clinch ending, with the sweet threat of 
nuptials in the offing, | wondered how Sal- 
ly and Noel would make ош in their mari- 
tal relations. Would she break out in hives 
every time Noel approached her with “the 
touch, the carcss, the kiss” and other “ргс- 
liminary loveplay,” or would she want "to. 
continue the affectionate intimacies and 
caresses” to the point where Noel would 
end up forming a small combo to play eı 
gagements at Birdland? 

Personally, I'd had all the sex 1 wanted 
for one night—but not quite enough to fill 
out an issue of the Ladies’ Home Journal. 
There was still Tell Me Doctor, a monthly 
mail-order dispensary conducted by Dr. 
Henry B. Safford under a shingle that fea- 
tured a snapshot of a Troubled Woman 
facing a Trusted Physician in his office. 
Her head was lowered as she pinched the 
bridge of her nose in distress. His brow was 
furrewed, and his right hand half extend- 
ed, as though he were either trying to 
make a difficult point or collect an old bill. 
“Eyery month I have a good deal of pain,” 


the Troubled Woman was quoted as say- 
ing. “Could that possibly have anything to 
do with my being unable to have a baby?" 

**] wonder if you know,’ the doctor be- 
gan, ‘that the uterus, or womb, is an organ 
about three inches long, composed of 
smooth muscle fibers and suspended by 
several sets of ligaments within the cavity 
of the pelvis. It is shaped like a small, m- 
verted pear, the lower third being called 
the cervix, or neck, and the more prom: 
nent part the body. 

“‘T learned that in freshman hygiene,’ 
remarked the young woman. 

“Excellent! What may not have been 
emphasized is the fact that this “pear” 
not perfectly symmetrical. Even in the пог- 
mal state it always has a slight forward 
bend.’ 

““Why is this, Doctor?" 

“I can't answer that. It is simply ап 
anatomical fact and it seems to work out 
pretty well in the scheme of reproduc- 
tion... .7” 

The upshot of it all was that “in a nor- 
mally placed uterus, the cervix lies in con- 
tact with the seminal pool after a normal 
intercourse,” whereas in this young lady's 
case it didn't. “Your uterus is acutely bent 
forward—so that it lies practically in the 
shape of a letter U on its side,” the doctor 
told her. “In s іс terms, you have 
what is called acute uterine anteflexion.” 

As the гозу dawn came to kiss the 
kitchen window, | found myself wondering 
how long this sort of thing had been going 
on. Certainly no one could quarrel with 
the idea of trying to improve the nation's 
sexual relations, but with so much empha- 
sis on malfunction and misery, the general 
effect struck me as being a trifle morbid. 
In not one of the back issues could I find a 
single case of sexual contentment or a 
cervix with a smile. Could it have been be- 
cause there weren't any to be found? Or 
was it because testimonials to sexual happi- 
ness were considered indecent— pos 
even lewd? 

By approaching the subject with a medi- 
cal license and a little black bag, there were 
clearly no limits to how far the ladies” 
books could go, and there seemed to be a 
strange double standard by which such 
“frankness” was judged. Consider, for ex- 
ample, what the reaction might be if a pop- 
ular men's magazine were to publish the 
following dialog: 

“I wonder if you know that the penis, or 
male member, is an elastic, extensible or- 
gan of variable length composed almost 
entirely of cavernous tissue capable of 
becoming turgid and hardening into a 
state of bonelike erection. In repose, it is 
shaped somewhat like a pendulant ba- 
nana, the fore part of which is called the 
glans.” 

“I learned that in freshman h 
remarked the young man. 

“Excellent! What may not have been em- 
phasized is the fact that this ‘banana’ does 


ic, 


not hang perfectly straight. Even in the 
normal state it always has a tendency to 
dangle a little to the left or to the right." 

“Why is this, Doctor? 

“I cant answer that. It is simply ап 
anatomical fact and it seems to work out 
pretty well in the scheme of reproduction. 
Your member, however, is not only ofi 
plumb but has an acute right hook—so 
that it hangs in the shape of an inverted 
question mark, the doctor explained, 
drawing a large, limp ¢ in the air. "In scien- 
tific terms, you have what is called acute in- 
terrogatory antefiexion-" 

Woozy by this time, from the high- 
octane combination of anteflexion and 
bourbon, I bundled the whole stack back 
on the dumb-waiter and toddled off to 
bed, making certain to set the alarm so as 
not to miss my dental appointment on the. 
morrow. 


. 

The dentist's waiting room was crowded 
the following morning. 1 squeezed in on 
the sofa between a teenaged girl and а 
white-haired grandmother type, both of 
whom were engrossed in magazines select- 
ed from the smorgasbord on the office 
table. The old girl was up to her pearl ear- 
rings in What Kinsey Is Doing Now, in the 
May Redbook, and the girl to my right was 
browsing through the Special Beautiful 
Women Issue of Cosmopolitan. Having 
flipped through Have a New Figure by 
Summer, which was illustrated with four- 
color shots of a nude with, apparently, no 
nipples, drying her face and knees, she 
turned back to the front of the book and 
settled down to read Sexual Problems of 
Beautiful Women—possibly against the day 
when the dentist would remove the braces 
from her teeth. 

Now that I was hip to the sick, sad sex 
kick of the ladies’ magazines, I bypassed 
National Geographic and reached for the 
current Ladies’ Home Journal. A young 
June bride gazed hopefully from the pink- 
and-blue cover. Her veil and gown were as 
chaste and white as the bouquet she 
clutched to her fragile bosom. A touching 
and uplifting sight, one calculated to sof- 
ten the heart of the sourest cynic and fill 
him with a warm glow of optimism and 
Positive Thinking. Imagine the letdown I 
experienced, then, upon opening the issue 
at random to page 109 and being bluntly 
asked, Can This Marriage Be Saved? 

“Now my second marriage is on the 
rocks, 31-year-old Ivy said in a flat, dulled 
voice. A handsome, big-boned woman, she 
sat hunched in an attitude of weary de- 
spair 

And in the lower right-hand corner was 
а fast-lens photo of Ivy hurling a cup of 
coffee in her husbands face. “Kip suspected. 
Toys carelessness with the hot coffee might not 
have been entirely accidental,” the caption 
said. “The night before, Ivy had put her arms 
around him and he had rebuffed her: He had 
become unable to respond to her sexually.” 


And there we were, back on that again. 
‘The dentists nurse beckoned for me to 
come climb up into the high chair, and I 
put the magazine aside, resolving to con- 
tinue my studies if | managed to come out 
alive, 

Riding home on the Novocain, I picked 
up a copy of the June Redbook, under- 
standably attracted by the question on the 
cover: “CAN YOU TRUST YOUR DENTIST?" But 
before I knew it, I was over my clavicle in а 
description of The Man No Woman Can 
Resist, by Laura Stewart. 

"I'm happily married. I'm expecting a 
baby. Yet. 1 have fallen in love with a man 
who is not my husband. 

“Tm in love with my obstetrician!” 

That just about did it, as far as | was con- 
cerned. But when the July Redbook came 
out with The Tragedy of a Young Girl, 1 
wished I was back in June with Mrs. Stew- 
art. 

Here again love and pregnancy had a 
bizarre medical twist. Only Jackie Smith 
wasn't married and never got to see an ob- 
stetrician. She died as the result of a bun- 
gled abortion performed by а hospital 
orderly in her lovers apartment, and her 
dissected body was disposed of piece by 
piece in Manhattan's trash baskets. 

. 

It was in April that I came across an ай 
for the Ladies’ Home Journal on the back 
page of the morning paper. 

“Where in the world is your wife this 
morning?” the heading inquired. “You 
probably think you are ‘getting ont into 
the world’ this morning. Your wife, оп the 
other hand, is home in a walled-in world 
completely bounded by the kitchen range 
and the sink . . . but is she? 

“If she is like the millions of women who 
will buy and read the April Ladies’ Home 
Journal, you might be surprised to find her 
with Dorothy Thompson in Iran... in 
Long Beach, California, with a How Ameri- 
са Lives family .. . trying on a flowered hat 
with fashion editor Wilhela Cushman . . . 
in Fort Worth, Texas, with a gaggle of 
multimultimillionaires . . . mentally sam- 
pling some recipes from China . . . or in 
Samoa with Margaret Mead." 

Since I had already read the April Jour- 
nal, it was with a “queerly soft, dogged 
feeling" in my chest that I realized she 
could also be mentally sampling the emo- 
tions of a young wife named Carolyn, 
as she "gave in" after being “terrifically 
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WANDA TICKETS MIGHT 


(continued from page 147) 


“Posing in my rented tuxedo, 1 noted the sparkle of 
my hagh-fashion cummerbund. What a feeling!” 


longer observe these rites.” 

Somehow, the scene was too painful 
for me to continue watching. Something 
dark and lurking had been awakened in 
my breast. 

“What the hell do you mean we don't ob- 
serve puberty rites?” I mumbled rhetori- 
cally as I got up and switched off the set. 
Reaching up to the top bookshelf, I took 
down a leatherette-covered volume. It was 
my high school class yearbook with а 
sharply etched photographic record of a 
true puberty rite among the primitive 
tribes of northern Indiana. Іп the gather- 
ing gloom of my Manhattan apartment, it 
all came back. 

. 

The Junior Class is proud lo invite 
уси to the Junior Prom, to be held at the 
Cherrywood Country Club beginning 
eight eu, June fifth. Dance to the music 
of Mickey Iscley and his Magic Music 
Makers. 

Summer formal required. 

The Committee 


It was the first engraved invitation I had 
ever received. The puberty rites had be- 
gun. 

‘That night around the supper table, the 
talk was of nothing else. 

“Who ya gonna take?” my old man 
asked, getting right to the heart of the 
matter. Who you were taking to the prom 
was considered a highly significant deci- 
sion, possibly affecting your whole life, 
which, in some tragic cases, it did. 

“Oh, I don't know. I was thinking of a 
couple of girls,” I replied in an offhand 
manner, as though this slight detail didn’t 
concern me at all. My mother paused while 
slicing the meat loaf- 

“Why not take that nice Wanda Hickey?” 

“Aw, come on, Ma. This is the prom. 
This is important. You don't take Wanda 
Hickey to the prom.” 

Wanda Hickey was the only girl who I 
knew for an absolute fact liked me. Ever 
since we had been in third grade, Wanda 
had been hanging around the outskirts of 
my social circle. She laughed at my jokes 
and once, when we were 12, actually sent 
me a valentine. 

“Nah, I haven't decided who I'm gonna 
take." 


. 

All week, I had been cleaning up my 
Ford for the big night. If there was one 
thing in my life that went all the мау my 
only true and total love, it was my Ford V8, 


зм а convertible that I had personally rebuilt 


at least 35 times. І had spent the past two 
days minutely cleaning the interior and 
body. Everything was set to go, except for 
one thing—no girl. 

A feeling of helpless rage settled over 
me as | sprayed the lawn later that 
evening. I kicked absent-mindedly at a 
ssing toad as I soaked down the dande- 
lions. 

“What are you doing?" 

So deeply was I involved in self-pity that 
at first my mind wouldn't focus. Startled, 1 
swung my hose around, spraying the white 
figure on the sidewalk ten feet away. 

“Pm sorry!" I blurted out, seeing at once 
that I had washed down a girl dressed іп 
white tennis clothes. 

"Oh, hi, Wanda. I didn't see you there." 

She dried herself with a Kleenex. 

"What are you doing?" she asked again 

"Pm sprinkling the lawn." The toad 
hopped past, going the other way now 1 
squirted him cut of general principles. 

Wanda swung her tennis racket at a June. 
bug that Aapped by barely above stall 
speed. She missed. The bug soared angrily 
up and whirred off into the darkness. 

"Then it happened. Without thinking, 
without even a shadow of a suspicion of 
planning, I heard myself asking: "You go- 
ing to the prom?” 

For a long instant she said nothing, just 
swung her tennis racket at the air. 

“ guess so,” she finally answered, weak- 


у 
“Wanda. Would you 
you, you see, I was thinking. .. 

“Ves?” 

Here 1 go, in over the horns: “Wanda, 
иһ... how about . . . going to the prom 
with me?” 

She stopped twitching her tennis racket. 
The crickets cheeped, the spring air was 
filled with the sound of singing froglets. A 
soft breeze carried with it the promise of 
arich summer and the vibrant aromas of a 
nearby refinery. 

She began softly, “Of course, I've had a 
lot of invitations, but I didn't say yes to any 
of them yet. I guess it would be fun to go 
with you,” she ended lamely. 

“Yeah, well, naturally, Гуе had four or 
five girls who wanted to go with me, but I 
figured they were mostly jerks, anyway, 
and... ah... I meant to ask you all along.” 

The die was cast. There was no turning 
back. It was an ironclad rule. Once a girl 
was asked to the prom, only a total 
bounder would even consider ducking out 
of it. There had been one or two cases in 


Imean... would 


the past, but the perpetrators had become 
social pariahs, driven from the tribe to 
fend for themselves in the woods. 

. 

I broke the news to Schwartz the next 
morning, after biology. We were hurrying 
through the halls between classes on our 
way to our lockers, which were side by side 
on the second floor. 

“Hey, Schwartz, how about double-dat- 
ing for the prom?” I asked. I knew he had 
no car and I needed moral support, any- 
way 

“Who are you taking?” he asked. 

“Wanda Hickey” 

“Wanda Hickey!" 

Schwartz was completely thrown by this 
bit of news. Wanda Hickey had never been 
what you could call a major star in our 
Milky Way. We walked on, saying nothing, 
until finally, as we opened our lockers, 
Schwartz said; “Well, she sure is good at al- 
gebra." 


P 

Saturday dawned bright and sunny, as 
perfect as a June day сап be—in a steel- 
mill town. Even the blast-furnace dust that 
drifted aimlessly through the soft air 
glowed with promise. 1 was out early, dust- 
ing off the car. It was going to be a top- 
down night. If there is anything more 
romantic than a convertible with the top. 
down in June going to a prom, I'd like to 
hear about it. 

Posing in my rented tuxedo before the 
full-length mirror on the bathroom door, 1 
noted the rich accent of my velvet stripes, 
the gleam of my pumps, the magnificent 
dash and sparkle of my high-fashion cum- 
merbund. What a sight! What a feeling! 
This is the way life should be. This is what 
it's all about. 

Taking my leave as Cary Grant would 
have done, I sauntered out the front door, 
turned to give my mother a jaunty wave— 
just in time for her to call me back to pick 
up Wanda's corsage, which Га left on the 
Front-hall table. 

Slipping carefully into the front seat 
with the celluloid-topped box safely beside. 
me, I leaned forward slightly, to avoid. 
wrinkling the back of my ccat, started the 
motor up and shoved off into the warm 
spring night. A soft June moon hung over- 
head, and the Ford purred like a kitten. 
When I pulled up before Wanda's house, it 
was lit up from top to bottom. Even before 
my brakes had stopped squealing, she маз 
out on the porch, her mother fluttering 
about her, her father lurking in the back- 
ground, beaming. 

With stately tread, 1 moved up the walk; 
my pants were so tight that if I'd taken one 
false step, God knows what would have 
happened. In my sweaty, Aqua Velva— 
scented palm, I clutched the ritual largess 
in its shiny box. 

Wanda wore a long turquoise taffeta 


MENTUCKV ES 
BOURBON 


ME AND MY GRAND-DAD 


PLAYBOY 


336 


gown, her milky skin and golden hair radi: 
ating in the glow of the porch light. This 
was not the old Wanda. For one thing, she 
didnt have her glasses on. and her e 
were unnaturally large and liquid, the way 
the true myopia victim's always are. 

"Gee, thanks for the orchid,” she whis- 
pered. Her voice sounded strained. In ac- 
cordance with the tribal custom, she, too, 
was being mercilessly damped by straps 
and girdles. 


Her mother, an almost exact copy of 


mily, don't start yapping,” her 
muttered in the darkness. 


old man 
“They're not kids anymore.” 


They stood in the doorway as we 
drove off through the soft night toward 
Schwartz's house, our conversation stilted, 
our excitement almost at the boiling point. 
Schwartz rushed out of his house, his wh 
coat like a ghost in the blackness, his hair 
agleam with Brylereem, and surrounded 
bya palpable aura of Lifebuoy. 

Five minutes later, his date, Clara Mae, 
piled into the back seat beside him, c 
fully holding up her daffodil-yellow 


her long slender neck arched. She, too, 
wasn't wearing her glasses. Schwartz, a 
good half head shorter, laughed nervously 
as we tooled on toward the Cherrywood 
Country Club. From all over town, other 
cars, polished and waxed, carried the rest 
of the junior class to their great trial by 
hre. 

Ihe club nestled amid the rolling hills, 
where the Sinclair-oil aroma was only bare- 
ly detectable. Parking the car in the lot, we 
threaded our way through the starched 
and c ed crowd—the girls’ girdles 
n unison—to the grand ball- 
room. Japanese lanterns danced in the 
breeze through the open doors to the gar- 
den, bathing the dance floor in a fairy-tale 
glow. 

1 felt tall, slim and beautiful, not realiz- 
ing at the time that everybody feels that 
way wearing a rented white coat and black 
nis. I could see myself standing on a 
nysterious balcony, a lonely, elegant figure, 
looking out over the lights of some exotic 
city, a scene of sophisticated gaiety behind 
me. 

Wanda and I began to maneuyer around 
the floor. My experience in dancing had 
been gained almost entirely from reading 


“Uh, professor, Га appreciate your opinion 
on the underpainting on this Rubens.” 


Arthur Murray ads and practicing with a 
pillow for a partner behind the locked 
door of the bathroom. As we shuffled 
across the floor, I could see the black foot- 
prints before my eyes, marching on a white 
3; then the white one that said, 


nd forth, up and down, we moved 
metronomically. My box step was so square 


that I wı ttle right angles for weeks 
afterward. 

During a brief intermission, Schwartz 
and I c; 'd paper cups dripping syr- 


upy punch back to the girls, who had just 
spent some time in the ladies’ room strug- 
gling unsuccessfully to repair the damage 
of the first half. Then we swung back into. 
action. They opened with Sleepy Lagoon. 
12-3-pause . . . 1-2-3-pause. 

. 


All of a sudden, it was over. The band 
played Good Night, Sweetheart and we were 
out—into a driving rain, A violent cloud- 
burst had begun just as we reached the 
door. My poor little car, the pride and joy 
of my life, was outside in the lot. With the 
top down. 

This had never, to my knowledge. hap- 
pened to Fred Astaire. 

Plunging into the downpour, I sloshed 
through the puddles and finally reached 
the Ford. She must have had a foot of water 
in her already, Hair streaming down over 
my eyes, soaked to the skin and muddied 
to the knees, I bailed it out with a coffee 
can from the trunk, slid behind the wheel 
and pressed the automatic-top lever. 

Wanda, Schwartz and Clara Mae piled 
in on the damp, soggy seats and we 
slogged intrepidly through the rain 10- 
ward the Red Rooste 

A giant red neon rooster with a blue 
neon tail that fli па down in the 
ain set the tone for this glamorous estab- 
lishment. An aura of undefined sin маз 
always connected with the name Red 
Rooster. Sly winks, nudgings and adoles- 
cent cacklings about what purportedly 
went on al the Rooster made it the “in” 
for such a momentous revel. Its w; 
were rumored really to be secret hench- 
men of the Mafia. But the only thing we 
new for sure about the Rooster w: 
nybody on the far side of seven years old 
could procure any known drink without 
on. 

We occupied the only rem 
Immediately, a beady-eyed м: 
over and hovered like a vulture. Distribut- 
the famous Red Rooster Ala Carte 
Deluxe Menu, he stood back, smi 
and waited for us to impr 

“Сап I bring you anything to drink, gen- 
" he 1, heavily accent 
gentlemen. 

My first impulse was to order my favor- 
ite drink of the period, a bottled chocolate 
called Kayo, the Wonder 


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Drink; but remembering that better 
things were expected of me on prom 
ht, I said, іп my deepest voice, “Uh . 
make mine bourbon.” 

АП around me, the merrymaking 
throng was swinging into high gear. Саг- 
ried away by it all, I added a phrase I had 
heard my old man use often: “And inake it 
a triple.” I had some vague idea that this 
was a brand or something 

“A triple? Yes, sir.” His eyes snapped 
wide—in respect, I gathered. He knew he 
n the presence of a serious drinker. 
The waiter turned his gaze in Schwartz's 
lircction. “And you, sir?" 

“Make it the same.” Schwartz had never 
been a leader 

The die was cast. Before me reposed a 
sparkling tumbler of beautiful amber 
liquid, ice cubes bobbing merrily on its 
surface, a swizzle stick sporting an спог- 
mous red rooster sticking out at a jaunty 
angle. Schwartz was similarly equipped. 
And the fluffy pink ladies, ordered for the 
girls at the waiters suggestion, looked love- 
ly in the reflected light of the pulsating 
jukebox. 

Thad seen my old man deal with just this 
sort of situation. Raising my beaded glass, 
1 looked around at my companions and 
said suavely, "Well, here's mud in yer eye.” 
Clara Mae giggled; Wanda sighed dreami- 
ly, now totally in love with this man of the 
world who sat across from her on this, our 
finest night 

“Yep,” Schwartz parried wittily, hoisting 
his glass high and slopping a little bourbon 
on his pants as he did so. 

Swiftly, I brought the bourbon to my 
lips, intending to down it in a single devil- 
may-care draught, the way Gary Cooper 
used to do in the Silver Dollar Saloon. I 
did, and Schwartz followed suit. Down it 
went—a screaming 100-proof rocket sear- 
ing savagely down my gullet. For an in- 
stant, | sat stunned, unable to comprehend 
what had happened. Eyes watering copi- 
ously, I had a brief urge to sneeze, but my 
throat seemed to be paralyzed. Wanda and 
Clara Mae swam before my misted vision; 
and Schwartz seemed to have disappeared 
under the table. He popped up again— 
face beet red, eyes bugging, jaw slack, 
tongue lolling. 

“Isn't this romantic? Isn't this the most 
wonderful night in all our lives? I will 
forever treasure the memories of this won- 
derful night.” From far off, echoing as 
from some subterranean tunnel, I heard 
Ча speaking. 
nother, gi 
still smirking. 

Schwartz nodded dumb! 
there, afraid to move. An inst 
more triple bourbons materi 
of us. 

Clara Mae raised her pink lady high and 
said reverently, “Let's drink to the happiest 
night of our | м 


2" Тһе waiter was back, 


T just sat 
nt later, two 
ed in front 


There was no turning back. Another 
screamer rocketed down the hatch. For an 
instant, it seemed as though this one wasn't 
going to be as lethal as the first, but then 
the room suddenly tilted sideways. I strug- 
gled to my feet. A strange rubbery numb- 
ness had struck my extremities. 1 tottered 
from chair to chair, grasping for the wall. 

‘Twenty seconds later, І was on my knees, 
gripping the bow! of the john like a life 
preserver in pitching seas. Schwart 
g me as usual, lay almost prostrate on 
the ules beside me, his body racked with 
heaving sobs. My double bourbons came 
rushing out of me in a great roaring tor- 
rent, out of my mouth, my nose, my cars, 
my very soul. Then Schwartz opened up, 
nd we took turns retching and shudder- 
ing. For long minutes, the two of us lay 
there limp and quivering, smelling to high 
heaven, too weak to get up. It was the abso- 
lute high point of the junior prom; the rest 
was anticlimax. 

We returned to the table, ashen-faced 
and shaking. Schwartz, his coat stained 
and rumpled, sat zombielike across from 
me. The girls didn't say much. Pink ladies 


just aren't straight bourbon. 


But our group played the scene out 
bravely to the end. The waiter returned as 
if on cue, bearing aslip of paper. 

“The damages, gentlemen.” 

Taking $20 out of my wallet, I handed it 
to him with as much of a flourish as I could 
muster. There wouldn't have been апу 
point in looking over the check; 1 wouldn't 
have been able to read it, anyway. In onc 
last attempt to recoup my cosmopolitan 
mage, I said offhandedly, “Keep the 
change.” Wanda beamed in unconcealed 
ecstasy. 

The drive home in the damp car was not 
quite the same as the one that had begun 
the evening so many weeks earlier. Only 
the girls preserved the joyousness of the 
occasion. Women always survive. 

In a daze, І dropped off Schwartz and 
Clara Mae and drove in silence toward 
Wanda’s home. 

We stood on her porch for the last ritual 
encounter 

“This was the most wonderful, wonder- 
ful night of my whole life. 1 always 
dreamed the prom would be like thi: 
breathed Wanda, gazing passionately up 
into my watering eyes 

“Ме, too,” was all I could manage. 

I knew what was expected of me now. 
Her eyes closed dreamily. Swaying slightly, 
I leaned forward—and the faint odor of 
pink lady from her parted lips coiled slow- 
ly up to my nostrils. This was not in the 
script. I knew I had better get off that 
porch fast, or else. Backpedaling desper- 
ately down the stairs, I blurted, “Bye! 
and—fighting down my rising gorge— 
clamped my mouth tight, leaped into the 
Ford, burned rubber and tore off into the 


dawn. 
El 


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REBEL 


(continued from page 105) 
drives? You know, you don't have to lay on 
just zing it in there, then jump to the 
Philistines or something.” 

In a single performance, comedian 
Lenny Bruce may find humor in such 
sacred and profane subjects as religion, 
homosexuality, funeral homes, race rela- 
tions, dope addiction and matricide. 
(John Graham Green is a guy who blew 
up a plane with 40 people and his mother,” 
Bruce reports, “and for this the state sent 
him to the gas chamber. Proving that the 
American people have lost their s 
humor. After all, anybody who blow 


upa 
plane with 40 people and his mother can’t 
be all bad.) The Bruce repertoire of 


ick" monologs, gags, dramatizations and 
mimicry is as apt to shock and outrage as 
to amuse. Yet he is not really an outrageous 
comic. Lenny Bruce is a freewheeling icon- 
oclast who pokes fun at some of the sickest 
aspects of our society. 

“Remember a year or so ago,” he asks, “а 
kid in Long Island was stuck in a well? 
‘They finally got him out, and the doctor 
who attended him sent his parents a bill. 
So dig what happens—everybody starts 
screaming, ‘What a fink that doctor is!” 
You know, what right has a doctor who 
went to school for 12 years and spent a for- 
tune for his education to charge us poor 
people for service rendered? Anyway, the 
whole country doesn't sleep for a week wor- 
tying about whether this crook of a doctor 
is going to steal a fee. In the meantime, you 
pick up any metropolitan paper and you 
‘Negroes can't live here, 
can't live there. Alv i 
the wrong things. 


“Anyway, so much public pressure is 
brought on the A.M.A. that they call in this 
poor doctor and they say, ‘Look, you can't 
get paid for that job, but we'll make it up to 
you. We'll give you а new disease for next 
year. We haven't done the grippe for a 
while, We'll pull a switch on the grippe and 
give it a new working title . . . something 
exotic... uh . . . Asiatic flu. Well call up 
Parke-Lily and get some new pills. For 
symptoms well try, lets see . . . nausea, 
headache, loss of appetite. How's that? For- 
get the well job and the disease is yours. 

“бо the doctor is taken care of, and the 
country breathes easier again, becausc 
now they know that that bill won't have to 
be paid after all. However, there's just one. 
thing. . . the child will have to be returned 
10 the well. 

Hollywood's puerile tolerance films bug 
Bruce, too: “Тһе scene opens in a school- 
yard. We see Juan Rodriguez, insecure іп 
his torn leather jacket, with all those clean, 
polished Anglo-Saxon types. He speaks to 
the other boys and we see democracy in ac- 
tion on the streets of a big city: 'Leesen to 
me, you guys. One theeng I cannot forget 
сез that I am a Spanish keed. OK? Pheel 
here is a Jewish keed. OK? And ће a 
colored keed and an Irish keed and an 
n Кеса, and, my friends, in thecs 
country, we all have to stick together—and 
beat up the Polacks!'” 

Mort Sahl, whose favorite prop is a news- 
paper, likes to retell Lenny's reaction to the 
news headline “FLOOD WATERS RISE. DIKES 
ТИНЕАТЕМЕ It’s always the same,” said 
Bruce. “In time of emergency, they pick on 
minority groups.” 

Like Mort's, Lenny's current night-club 
career began on the West Coast and he is 
almost unknown in the East. This is actu- 


“School dropout, no doubt.” 


5 second career as a performer. Не 
nce on the Godfrey Talent 
Scout Show, doing take-offs on Hollywood 
Nazi films, so popular in the Forties. From 
there he playcd the old New York Strand 
and similar spots. “But I bombed,” he say: 
“J was ready for them, but they weren't 
ready for me.” Audiences, however, are 
growing hipper and the “inside” comic is 
the order of the day in the Іше clubs 
across the country Lenny Bruce ік just a 
little more inside—or a little further out, 
depending on where you're standing— 
than any other comedian working today. 
He is an extremely sensitive performer 
and his audience can make or break a 
show. “I think most good comedians are 
insecure,” says Lenny "They're up there 
on that stage looking for acceptance and 
love. If I haven't. managed any rapport 
with my listeners in the first ten minutes, 
Pm dead. But when Um s g and I 
fecl that warmth coming up at me, I'd like 
to ball the whole audience." 

Bruces background could have easily 
been lifted verbatim from the jacket copy 
about the author of some current best sell- 
er. Bornon Long Island, he and formal ed- 
ucation had had it after grammar school, 
He worked on a farm, joined the Navy, saw 
action at Anzio and Salerno, came home, 
then worked his way to Asia and back 
aboard freighters. “Іп those days," he re- 
calls, "my burning ambition was to write a 
kind of seagoing Studs Lonigan. 1 figured 
that with my Navy experience, 1 should 
know more fourletter words than James 
Farrell.” But the only tangible thing he 
brought back from his sea service was a 
large tattoo on his arm that he got in Mal- 
ta, though he says, “I smoked Marlboros 
when I was six and it grew up.” 

‘The weird Mr. Bruce is 34 and a bache- 
lor. “I was married once, but it didn't last,” 
he explains on the stage. “This sounds 
like a typical comic routine, but my r 
riage was broken up by my mother-in-law. 
One day my wife came home early from 
work and caught us in bed together.” 

Lenny usually performs in a rather qui- 
et Brooks Brothers manner, but in his im- 
pression of Holy Roller Oral Roberts, he 
flails his arms, stomps his feet and waves a 
snake before his audience. His imperson- 
ations are excellent and always worked into 
the act, as when he depicts Bela Lugosi's 
Count Dracula and family as a group of 
itinerant actors between bookings (“АП 
right, Junior, comb your face, drink your 
blood, bite Momma goodnight and go to 
bed”). 

Herb 


Caen, the San Francisco oracle, 
has this to say about Bruc "hey call 
Lenny Bruce a sick comic—and sick he is. 
Sick of the pretentious phoniness of a gei 
eration that makes his vicious humor 
meaningful. He is a rebel, but not without 
a cause, for there are shirts that need un- 
stuffing, egos that need deflating and pre- 
cious few people to do the sticky job with 


talentand style.” 


ESTAMENT OF HOPE 

(continued from page 132) 
necessary money to deal with urban prob- 
lems must come from the Federal Govern- 
ment, and this money is ultimately 
controlled by the Congress of the United 
States. The success of these enlightened 
mayors is entirely dependent upon the 
financial support made available by Wash- 
ington. 

The past record of the Federal Govern- 
ment, however, has not been encouraging. 
No President has really done very much 
for the American Negro, though the past 
two Presidents have received much unde- 
served credit for helping us. This credit 
has accrued to Lyndon Johnson and John 
Kennedy only because it was during their 
Administrations that Negroes began do- 
ing more for themselves. Kennedy didnt 
yoluntarily submit a civil rights bill, nor 
did Lyndon Johnson. In fact, both told us 
at one time that such legislation was impos- 
sible. President Johnson did respond real- 
istically to the signs of the times and used 
his skills as a legislator to get bills through 
Congress that other men might not have 
gotten through. | must point out, in all 
honesty, however, that President Johnson 
has not heen nearly so diligent in imple- 
menting the bills he has helped shepherd 
through Congress. 

Although the fruits of our struggle have 
sometimes been nothing more than bitter 
despair, 1 must admit there have been 
some hopeful signs, some meaningful suc- 
cesses. One of the most hopeful of these 
changes is the attitude of the Southern Ne- 
gro himself. Benign acceptance of second- 
dass citizenship has been displaced һу 
vigorous demands for full citizenship 
rights and opportunities. In fact, most of 
our concrete accomplishments have been 
limited largely to the South. We have put 
an end to racial segregation in the South; 
we have brought about the beginnings of 
reform in the political system; and, as in- 
congruous as it may seem, a Negro is prob- 
ably safer in most Southern cities than he 
is in the cities of the North. We have con- 
fronted the racist policemen of the South 
and demanded reforms in the police de- 
partments. We have confronted the South- 
ern racist power structure and we have 
elected Negro and liberal white candidates 
through much of the South in the past ten 
years. George Wallace is certainly an ex- 
ception, and Lester Maddox is a sociologi- 
cal fo: But despite these anachronisms, 
and county levels, there is a new 
respect for black votes and black citizen- 
ship that just did not exist ten years ago. 
Although school integration has moved at 
a depressingly slow rate in the South, it has 
moved. Of far more significance is the fact 
that we have learned that the integration 
of schools does not necessarily solve the m- 
adequacy of schools. White schools are of- 
ten just about as bad as black schools, and 
integrated schools sometimes tend to 
merge the problems of the two without 


solving either of them. 

There are some changes. But the 
changes are basically in the social and po- 
litical areas; the problems we now face— 
providing jobs, better housing and better 
education for the poor throughout the 
country—will require money for their so- 
lution, a fact that makes those solutions all 
the more difficult. 

The need for solutions, meanwhile, be- 
comes more urgent every day, because 
these problems are far more serious now 
than they were just a few years ago. Before 
1964, things were getting better economi 
cally for the Negro: but after that year, 
things began to take a turn for the worse. 
In particular, automation began to cut into 
our jobs very badly, and this snuffed out 
the few sparks of hope the black people 
had begun to nurture. 

‘The fact that most white people do not 
comprehend this situation—which pre- 
‘ails in the North as well as in the South— 
is due largely to the press, which molds the 
opinions of the white community. Many 
whites hasten to congratulate themselves 
оп what little progress we Negroes have 
made. I'm sure that most whites felt that 
with the passage of the 1964 Civil Rights 
Act, all race problems were automatically 
solved. Because most white people are so 
far removed from the life of the average 
Negro, there has been little to challenge 
this assumption. Yet Negroes continue to 
live with racism every day. It doesn't matter 
where we are individually in the scheme of 
things, how near we may be either to the 
top or to the bottom of society; the cold 
facts of racism slap each one of us in the 
face. 

Solutions for these problems, urgent аз 
ге, must be constructive and ration- 

ing and violence provide no solu- 
tions for economic problems. Much of the 
justification for rioting has come from the 
thesis—origi set forth by Franz 
Fanon—that in cleans- 
ing effect. Perhaps, in a special psychologi- 
cal sense, he may have had a point. But we 
have seen a better and more constructive 
cleansing process in our nonviolent 
demonstrations, Another theory to justify 
violent revolution is that rioting enables 
Negroes to overcome their fear of the 
white man. But they are just as afraid of 
the power structure after a riot as before. 1 
remember that was true when our staff 
went into Rochester, New York, after the 
riot of 1964. When we discussed the possi- 
bility of going down to talk with the police, 
the people who had been most aggressive 
in the violence were afraid to talk. They 
still had a sense of inferiority; and not un- 
til they were bolstered by the presence of 
our staff and given reassurance of their 
political power and the rightness of their 
cause and the justness of their grievances: 
were they able and willing to sit down and 
talk to the police chief and the city man- 
ager about the conditions that had pro- 
duced the riot. 

As a matter of fact, I think the aura of 


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PLAYBOY 


342 


paramilitarism among the black militanı 
groups speaks much more of fear than 
does of confidence. I know, in my own ex- 
perience, that I was much more afraid in 
Montgomery when I had a gun in my 
house. When I decided that, as a teacher of 
the philosophy of nonviolence, I couldn't 
keep a gun, I came face to face with the 
question of death and [ dealt with it. And 
from that point on, I no longer needed 
gun nor have I been afraid. Ultimately, 
one’s sense of manhood must come from 
within him. 

The riots in Negro ghettos have been, in 
one sense, merely another expression of 
the growing climate of violence in Ameri- 
ca. When a culture begins to feel threat- 
ened by its own inadequacics, the majority 
of men tend to prop themselves up by ar- 
tificial means, rather than dig down deep 
to their spiritual and cultural well- 
springs. America scems to have reached 
this point. Americans as a whole feel 


threatened by communism on one hand 
and, on the other, by the rising tide of asp 
rations among the undeveloped nations. 1 
think most Americans know in their 
h hat their country has been terribly 
wrong in its dealings with other peoples 
around the world. When Rome began to 
disintegrate from within, it turned to a 
strengthening of the military establish- 
ment, rather than to a correction of the 
corruption within the society. We are doing 
the same thing in this country and the re- 
sult will probably be the same—unless, 
and here I admit to a bit of chauvinism, the 
black man in America can provide a new 
soul force for all Americans, a new expres- 
sion of the American dream that need not 
be realized at the expense of other men 
around the world, but a dream of opportu- 
nity and life that can be shared with the 
rest of the world. 


“What we need is a search for intelligent 
life on this planet.” 


HAZARDS OF PROPHECY 

(continued from page 133) 
able to harness the energy locked up in 
matter. Yet only five years alter his death in 
1937, the first chain reaction was started 
in Chicago. The wholly unexpected di 
covery of uranium fission had made it 
possible. 

T have made a list of the inventions and 
discoveries that have been anticipated— 
and those that have not. All the items list- 
ed below under The Unexpected have 
already been achieved or discovered. 

Listed under The Expected, however, are 
concepts that have been around for hun- 
dreds or thousands of years. Some have 
been achieved; others will be; others may 
be impossible. But which? 


THE UNEXPECTED 
X ray 
Nuclear energy 
dio, TV 
Electronics 
Photography 
Sound recording 
Quantum mechanics 
Relativity 
‘Transistors 
Masers; lasers 
Superconductors; superfluids 
Atomic clocks; Mossbauer Effect 
Determining composition of celes- 

tial bodies 
Dating the past (carbon 14, etc.) 
Detecting invisible planets 
‘The ionosphere; Van Allen belt 


THE EXPECTED 
Automobiles 
Flying machines 
Steam engines 
Submarines 
Spaceships 
Telephones 
Robots 
Death rays 
Transmutation 
Artificial life 


Levitation 

Teleportation 

Communication with the dead 
Observing the past, the future 
Telepathy 


The Expected includes sheer fantasy as 
well as serious scientific speculation, be 
cause the only way of discovering the limits 
of the possible is to venture a little way past 
them into the impossible. As a first penc- 
tration of this area, I suggest that we scr 
tinize the question of invisibility. 

The idea of invisibility, with all the pow- 
er it would bestow upon anyone who could 
command it, is eternally fascinating; 1 sus: 
pect that itis one of the commonest of pri- 
vate daydreams. But it is a long time since 
it has appeared in adult science fiction, be- 
cause it is a little too naive for this sophisti- 
cated age. It smacks of magic, which is now 
out of fash 


Yet invisibility is not one of those con- 
cepts that involve an obvious violation of 
the laws of nature; there are plenty of ob- 
jects that we know е yet cannot see. 
Most gases arc invisible. I have never had 
the privilege of looking for a large dia 
mond in a tumbler of water, but 1 have 
searched for a contact lens in a bath. 

Transparency is a most unusual proper- 
ty of a few exceptional substances, arising 
from the internal disposition. of their 
atoms. If their atoms were arranged dif- 
ferently, they would no longer be transpar- 
eni—and they would no longer be th 
same substances. You cannot take any com- 
pound at random and chemically torture it 
into transparency. And even if you could 
do so in the casc of one particular com- 
pound, this would hardly help you to be- 


come an Invisible Man, for there аге 
literally billions of unbelievably complex 
chemical compounds in the human body. 


Moreover, the essential properties of 
many depend upon the fact that they are 
nol transparent. If the light-sensitive 


chemicals at the back of the eye no longer 
trapped light, we should be unable to see; 
and if our flesh were transparent, the eye 
would be unable to function, since it would 
be flooded with radiation. You cant build a 
camera out of clear glass. Less obvious 
the fact that the biochemical reactions 
upon which life depends would be thrown 
utterly out of balance, or would cease alto- 
gether. А man who achieved invisibility 
would not only be blind; he would be dead, 

Many insects and land animals have 
developed remarkable powers of camou- 
Паре, but their disguise, being fixed, is ef 
fective only in the right surroundings. The 
greatest masters of deception are to be 
found in the sea. Flatfish and cuttlefish 
have an almost unbelievable control over 
the hues and patterns of their bodies and 
are able to change color within a few sec- 
onds when the need arises. A plaice lying 
on a checkerboard will reproduce the 
same pattern of squares on its upper su 
face, and is even reputed to make a cred- 
itable attempt at a Scots tartan. 

The ability to match the scene behind 
you would be a kind of pscudo transparen- 
су, but it could fool only observers looking 
at you from a single direction. It work: 
with the flatfish simply because it is flat and 
s trying to hide itself from predators 
swimming above iı 

Another conceivable method of achiev 
ing invisibil s by means of vibrations. 
Vibrational invisibility is based on a fa- 
miliar analogy: everyone knows how the 
blades of an electric fan ish when the 
motor gets up speed. Well, suppose all 
the atoms of our bodies could be set vi- 
brating or oscillating at a sufficiently high 
frequenc 

The analogy is, of course, fallacious. We 
dont see through the fan blades, but past 
them, at every moment some of the bac 
ground is uncovered, and at high enough 
specds, persistence of vision gives us the 


паг 


impression that we have a continuous view. 
If the fan blades overlapped, they would 
remain opaque—no matter how fast they 
were spinning. 

And there is another unfortunate com- 

plication. Vibration means heat—in fact it 
15 heat—and our molecules and atoms аге 
already moving as fast as we can take. 
Long before a man could be vibrated into 
invisibility, he would be cooked. 
The situation docs not look promising; 
yet now comes a surprise: perhaps we have 
been approaching it from the wrong angle. 
Objective invisibility may be impossible— 
but subjective invisibility is possible and has 
often been demonstrated. 

An expert hypnotist can induce by post- 
hypnotic suggestion what is known as a 
negative optical hallucination. This means 
that the subject will be unable to see a cer- 
tain person, even if that person is stand- 
ing in full view; the individual undei 
hypnosis may eventually get hysterical if, 
for example, he sces what he believes аге 
unattached articles such аза glass of cham- 
pagne moving around the room—carried, 
of course, by the invisible perso: 

This fact is almost as amazing as gen- 
wine invisibility would be, and it suggests 
that a person or object might be made ef- 
fectively invisible to a fairly large group of 
people who were quite sure that they were 
in ІШІ possession of their senses. 1 advance 
this idea with some diffidence; but [havea 
hunch that if invisibility is ever achieved, it 


nything interesting cr 


will be along these lines. 

And I advance, with somewhat less 
diffidence, the suggestion that we have 
here а case in which there was a splendid 
opportunity for a Failure of Imagination. 
The leap that we took at the end of our ex- 
amination of objective invi ity was 
where the imagination might have failed; 
that was where the temptation was great to 
declare categorically, “It сапт be done.” To 
be sure, the probability is overwhelming 
that it never will be done, but at least 1 have 
shown one way in which it might be done. 1 
сап be contacted by the Nobel Prize Com- 
mittee through Playboy magazine. 

What, then, about teleportation, lev 
tation and other items on the list оГ 
expected but heretofore unrealized ac 
complishments? Throughout my inquiries 
into the limits of the possible, I have been 
aware of one primary hazard: the dangers 
of incredulity. For, as I glance down the 
Unexpected column, 1 am aware of a few 
items that, only ten years ago. I should 
have thought were impossible. Even as I 
write these words, my body is sleeted by 
billions of particles that 1 can neither see 
nor sense. Some of them—unsuspected 
justa few years ago—are sweeping upward 


ich marvels, in- 
and it would be 
wise to be skeptical even of skepticism. 


ep into your tent lately?” 


343 


Christmas past. 


PLAYBOY 


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CARTER 


(continued from page 205) 
faith. It’s not a mysterious or mystical or 
magical thing. But for those who dont 
know the fecling of someone who believes 
in Christ, who is aware of the presence of 
God, there is, 1 presume, a quizzical atti- 
tude toward it. But it’s always been some- 
thing I’ve discussed very frankly. 
PLAYBOY: Do you think liberalization of the 
laws over the past decade by factors as di- 
verse as the pill and Playboy—an effect 
some people would term permissiveness— 
has been a harmful development? 

CARTER: Liberalization of some of the laws 
has been good. You can't legislate morality. 
We tried to outlaw consumption of alco- 
holic beverages. We found that violation of 
the law led to bigger crimes and bred dis- 
respect for the law. 

PLAYBOY: You say morality сапт be legislat- 
ed, yet you support certain laws because 
they preserve old moral standards. How 
do you reconcile the two positions? 
CARTER: I believe people should honor 
civil laws. If there is a conflict between 
God's law and civil law, we should honor 
God's law. But we should be willing to ас- 
cept civil punishment. Most of Christ's 
original followers were killed because of 
their beliefin Cl hey violated the civil 
law in following God's law. 

PLAYBOY: But isn't it these views about 
what's “sinful” and what's “immoral” that 
contribute to the feeling that you might get 
a call from God, or get inspired and push 
the wrong butte More realistically, 
wouldn't we expect a puritanical tone in 
the White House if you were clected? 
CARTER: Harry Truman 
Some people get very abusive about Ihe 
Baptist faith. If people want to know about 
it, they can read the New Testament. The 
main thing is that we dont think we're bet- 
ter than anyone else. We are taught not to 
judge other people. 

PLAYBOY: You've said you'll pardon men 
who refused military service because 
of the Vietnam war but not necessarily 
those who deserted while they were in the 
Armed Forces. Is that гірім? 

CARTER: That’s right. 1 would not include 
them. Deserters ought to be handled on a 
separate-case basis. There's a difference to 
me. I was in the Navy for a long time. 
Somebody who goes into the military joins 
a kind of mutual partnership arrange- 
ment, you know what I mean? Your life de- 
pends on other people; their lives depend 
on you. So I don't intend to pardon the 
deserters. As far as the other categories of 
'ar resisters go, to me the ones who stayed 
this country and let their opposition to 
the war be known publicly are more heroic 
than those who went and hid in Sweden. 
But I'm not capable of judging motives, so 


I'm just going to declare a blanket pa 
PLAYBOY: When? 


PLAYBOY: In preparing for this interview, 
we spoke with your mother, your son СІ 


and your sister Gloria. We asked them 
what single action would most disappoint 
them in a Carter Presidency. They ай 
replied that it would be if you cver sent 
troops to 
fact, Miss Lillian 
White House. 
carter: They share my views completely. 
PLAYBOY: People think some of what you 
say makes you sound like an evangeli: 
And that makes it all the more confusing 
when they read about your hanging out 
with people so different from you in 
lifestyle and beliefs. 

CARTER: Well, in the first place, I'm a hu- 
man being. I'm not a packaged article that 
you can put in a little box and say, "Here's 
Southern Baptist, an ignorant Georgi: 
peanut Farmer who doesn't have the right 
to enjoy music, who has no flexibility i 
mind, who cant understand the sensi 
ties of an intei 
gotta be pre 
ley and for the war. He's қопа be a liar. 
He's gotta b. 

You know, that's the sort of stereotype 

people tend to assume, and | hope it 
doesn't apply to me. Fm just a human be- 
ing like everybody else. I have different in- 
terests, different understandings of the 
world around me, different relationships: 
with different kinds of people. 
PLAYBOY: Thanks for all the time you've 
given us. Incidentally, do you have any 
problems with appearing in Playboy? Do 
you think you'll be criticized 
сактек: 1 don't object to that at al 
believe I'll be criticized. 

[AL the final session, which took place in 
the living room of Carters home in Plains, 
the allotted time was up. As the interviewer 
and the Playboy editor stood at the door, 
recording equipment in their arms, a final, 
seemingly casual question was tossed off. 
Carter then delivered a long, sofily spoken 
monolog that grew in intensily as he made his 
final points. One of the journalists signaled 
to Carter that they were still laping, to which 
Carter nodded has assent.) 

PLAYBOY: Do you feel you've reassured peo- 
ple h this interview, people who are un- 
easy about your religious beliefs, who 
wonder if you're going to make а rigid, 
unbending President? 

CARTER: I don't know if you've been to Sun- 
day school here yet; some of the press has 
attended. | teach there about every three 
or four weeks. It's a good way to learn wl 
I believe and what the Baptists believe. 

One thing the Baptists believe in is com- 
plete autonomy. I dont accept any domina- 


ig 
tid she would picket the 


1 dont 


ous. We don't accept domi 
of our church from the Southern. Baptist 
Conventi Ihe reason the Baptist 
Church was formed in this country was be- 
cause of our belief in absolute sepa 
of church and state 

When my sons were small, we went to 
church and they went, too. But when they 
got old enough to make their own deci 


sions, they decided when to go and they 
varied in their devoutness. Amy really 
looks forward to going to church, because 
she gets to s at Sunday 
school. 1 never knew anything except go- 
ing to church. My wife and 1 were born 
cent t 
thing to do was to go to chu 

What Christ taught about mos 
pride, that one person should пем 


was 


of the most vivid stories Christ told in one 
of his parables was about two people who 
went into a church. One was an offici, 
the church, a Pharisee, and he said, “ 
Tthank you that I'm not like all those other 
people. I keep all your commandments; 1 
give a tenth of everything I own. I'm here 
to give thanks for making me more accept- 
able in your sight.” The other guy was 
despised by the nation, and he went in, 
prostrated himself on the floor and said, 
“Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner, I'm not 
worthy to lift my eyes to heaven.” Christ 
asked the disciples which of the two had 
justified his life. The answer was obviously 
the one who was humble. 

I try not to commit a deliberate sin. I 
recognize that I'm going to do it anyhow, 
because l'm human and I'm tempted. And 
Christ set some almost impossible stand- 
ards for us. Christ said, “I tell you that 
anyone who looks оп a wor with lust has 
in his heart already committed adultery: 

I've looked on a lot of women with lust. 
I've committed adultery in my heart many 
times. This is something that God recog- 
nizes I will do—and 1 have done it—and. 
God forgives me for it. But that doesn't 
mean that I conde someone who not 
only looks on a woman w 


һ lust but who 
s wife and shacks up with some- 
of wedlock 

says. Don't consider yourself bet- 
ter than someone else because one guy 
screws a whole bunch of women while the 
other guy is loyal to his wife. The guy 
whos loyal to his wife ought not to be 
condescending or proud because of the 


s an’s cxistencc. 
апа his relationship with God and his fel- 
low man; and that once you stop ing 
and think you've got it made—at that 
point, you lose your religion. Constant re- 
assessment, searching іп ones heart—it 
gives me confidence. 

I don’t inject these beliefs in my answers 
to your secular questions. 

[Carter clenched his fist and gestured 
sharply] 

But I don't think 1 would ever take on the 
same frame of mind that Nixon or John- 
son did—lying, cheating and distorting 
the truth. Not taking into consideration 
my hope for my strength of character, 1 
think that my religious beliefs alone would 
prevent that from happening to me. I һауе 
that confidence. I hope i 

—November 1976, interviewed by Robert 


Scheer 
Ej 


345 


[3 
о 


PLAYB 


346 


THE BEAT GENERATION 


(continued from page 101) 
my father used to have at home in the 
Twenties and Thirtics in New England 
that were so fantastically loud nobody 
could sleep for blocks around and when 
the cops came they always had a drink. It 
goes back to the wild and raving childhood 
of playing the Shadow under wind-swept 
and’s gleeful autumn, 
the Moon Man on the 
sandbank until we caught him ina tree (he 
was an “older” guy of 15), the maniacal 
laugh of certain neighborhood madboys, 
the furious humor of whole gangs playing 
aball till long after dark in the park, it 
ck to those crazy days before World 
n teenagers drank beer on 
Friday nights at Lake ballrooms and 
worked off their hangovers playing base- 


"Hurry up—tI havent gol all night!” 


'ternoon followed by a 
the brook—and our fathers wore 
lr goes back to 
s babble of the 
ngs of the Marx 
of Angel Нагро 


ball on Saturday 


the completely sensel 
Three Stooges, the ra 
Brothers (the tenderne: 


It goes back to the inky ditti 
(Krazy Kat with the irra 


cula shivering and hiss- 
ing back before the Cross—to the Golem. 
ng the persecutors of the Ghetto— 
10 the quiet sage 
ned about the Бізден the gig; 
1 trotting down the 
ble Shanghai—to 
ing the hotbloods 


sidewalk of old 
the holy old Arab warn 
that Ramadan i: 
before a hou 


hold of furniture flying 
iggs and the boys at the 


bar and the corned beef and cabbage of 
old wood-fence noons—to King Kong his 
eyes looking into the hotel window with 
tender huge love for Fay Wray. Tò the glee 
of America, th the 


‘Trucks and slidi 
Clark Gable, 


h 


America was invested with wild self-believ- 
individuality and this had begun to 
disappear around the end of World War 
Two with so many great guys dea 
think of half a dozen fr 
hood groups) when suddenly it beg; 
emerge again, the hipsters began to ap- 
pear gliding around saying “Crazy, man.” 
When I first saw the hipsters creeping 
around Times Square in 1944 I didn't like 
them either. One of them, Huncke of 
Chicago, came up to me and said "Man, 
Fm beat" I knew right away what hc 
ant somehow. 
The hipsters, whose music was bop, they 
looked like criminals but they kept talking 
about the same things I liked, long outlines 
I experience and vision, night 
Іші of hope that had be- 
repressed by war, stirrings, 
rumblings of a new soul (that same okl hu- 
ul). And so Huncke appeared to us 
с t light shi 
ing out of his NAMES eyes... a word 
ps brought from some Midwest car- 
nival or | cafeteria. It was a new la 
guage, actually spade (Negro) jargon but 
you soon learned it, like "hung up" 
couldn't be a more economical term to 
mean so many things. Some of these hip- 
sters were raving mad and talked conti 
ally, It was jazzy. Symphony Sid's all-night 
modern jazz and bop show was always о 
By 1948 it began to take shape. That was 
wild vibrating year when a group of us 
would walk down the street and yell hello 
and even stop and talk to anybody that 
gave us a friendly look. The hipsters had 
eyes. That was the year I saw Montgomery 
Clift, u ‚ wearing a sloppy jacket, 
ng down M 


nueina bla jack turtleneck sweater with Babs 
Gonzales and a beautiful girl. 

By 1948 the 
divided into cool and hot. Much of the n 
understanding about hipsters and the Beat 
Generation in general today derives from 
1 styles 
of hipsterism: The “cool” today is your 
bearded laconic sage chlerm, before a 
hardly touched beer in а beatnik dive, 
whose speech is low and unfriendly, whose 
girls say nothing and wear black; the “hot” 
today is the crazy talkative shining eyed 
(often innocent and openhearted) nut who 
runs from bar to bar, pad to pad lool 


for everybody shouting, restless, lushy, ury- 
g to “make it” with the subterranean 
beatniks who ignore him. Most Beat Gen- 
eration artists belong to the hot school, 
naturally since that hard gemlike fame 
needs a little heat. It was a hot hipster like 
myself who finally cooled it in Buddhist 
meditation, though when I go in a jazz 
joint I still feel like yelling “Blow baby 
blow!” to the musicians though nowadays 
Га get 86ed for ti 

The word beat originally meant poor, 
down and out, dead-beat, on the bum, sad, 
sleeping in subways. Now that the word is 
belonging officially it is being made to 
stretch to include people who do not sleep 
іп subways but have a certain new gesture, 
or attitude, which I can only describe as a 
new more. "Beat Generation" has simply 
become the slogan or label for a revolution 
in manners in Amcrica. 

. 

1 wrote On the Road in three weeks in 
the beautiful month of May 1941 while 
ing in the Chelsea district of Lower West 
Side Manhattan, on a 100-foot roll and put 
the Beat Generation in words in there, say- 
ing atthe point where I am taking part in a 
wild kind of collegiate party with a bunch 
of kids in ап abandoned miners shack 
“These kids are great but where are Dean 
Moriarty and Carlo Marx? Oh well I guess 
they wouldn't belong in this gang, they're 
too dark, too strange, too subterranean 
and I am slowly beginning to join a new 
kind of beal generation.” 

Then in 1952 an article was publishe: 
The New York Times Sunday magazine say- 
ing, the headline, ““THIS 15 A REAT GENERA. 
Tion’” (in quotes like that) and in the 
article it said that I had come up with the 
term first “when the face was harder to 
recognize,” the face of the generation. So 
then the term moved a litte faster. The 
term and the cats. Everywhere began to 
appear strange hepcats and even college 
s went around hep and cool and using 
the terms ГА heard on Times Square іп 
the early Forties, it was growing somehow. 
But when the publishers finally took a dare 
and published On the Road in 1957 it burst 
open, it mushroomed, everybody began 
yelling about a Beat Generation. I was be- 
ing interviewed everywhere I went for 
“what I meant” by such a thing. People 
began to call themselves beatniks, beats, 
jazzniks, bopn and finally 1 
was called the “avatar” of all this. 

Yet it was as a Catholic, it was not at the 
insistence of any of these " and cer- 
tainly not with their approval either, that 1 
went one afternoon to the church of my 
childhood (one of them), Ste. Jeanne d'Arc 
in Lowell, Mass., and suddenly with tears 
in my eyes and had a vision of what 1 must 
have really meant with “Beat” anyhow 
when I heard the holy silence in the church 
(1 was the only one in there, it was five em., 
dogs were barking outside, children 
yelling, the fall leaves, the candles were 
flickering alone just for me), the vision of 
the word Beatas being to mean beati 


Theres the priest preaching on Sunday 
morning, all of a sudden through a side 
door of the church comes a group of Beat 
Generation characters 
coats like the LR.A. coming 
“dig” the religion. . . . I knew it then. 

But this was 1954, so then what horror I 
felt in 1957 and later 1958 naturally to sud- 
denly see "Beat" being taken up by every- 
body press and TV and Hollywood 
Borscht circuit to include the "juvenile de- 
linquency” shot and the horrors of a mad 
teeming billy-club New York and L.A. and 
they began to call that Beat, that beatific. 
Or, when a murder, a routine murder took 
place in North Beach, they labeled ita Bea 
Generation slaying although in my child- 
hood I'd been famous as an eccentric in 
my block for stopping the younger kids 
from throwing rocks at the squirrels, for 
stopping them from frying snakes in cans 
or trying to blow up frogs with straw 

And so now they have beatnik routines 
on TV, starting with satires about girls іп 
black and fellows in jeans with snap knives 
and sweat shirts and sw: 5 tattooed 
under their armpits, it will come to re- 
spectable ш.с of spectaculars coming out 
nattily attired in Brooks Brothe: 
type tailoring and sweater-type pull ons, 
other words mple change in fash- 
ion and manners, justa history crust—like 
from the Age of Reason, from old Voltaire 
in a chair to romantic Chatterton in the 
moonlight—from Teddy Roosevelt to Scott 
Fitzgerald. . . - So there's nothing to get ex- 
cited about. Beat comes out, actually, of old 
American whoopee and it will only change 
a few dresses and pants and make cha 
uscless in the living room and pretty soon 
we'll have Beat Secretaries of State and 
there will be instituted new reasons for 
malice and new reasons for virtue and new 
reasons for forgiveness. 

But yet, but yet, woc, woe unto those 
who think th n mear 
rime, del amoral- 
у... woe unto those who attack it on the 
grounds that they simply don't understand 
history and the yearnings of human 
souls . .. woe unto those who don't realize 
that America must, will, is, changing now, 
for the better I say. Woe unto those who be- 
lieve in the atom bomb, who believe in hat- 
ing mothers and fathers, who deny the 
most important of the Леп Command: 
ments, woe unto those (though) who dont 
believe in the unbelievable sweetness of 
sex love, woe unto those who are the stand- 
ard-bearers of death, woe unto those who 
believe in conflict and horror and violence 
and fill our books and sereens and living 
rooms with all that crap, woe in fact unto 
those who make evil movies about the Beat 
neration where innocent housewives 
raped by beatniks! Woe unto those 
who are the real dreary sinners that even 
God finds room to forgive woe unto 
those who spit on the Beat Generation, the 
wind 'll blow it back. 


El 


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347 


— 


GRAPEVINE 
The Force Is with Her ж 4 


Actress/author CARRIE FISHER has plenty to smile about, from the wonderful 

reviews of her first novel, Postcards from the Edge, to her upcoming movie The 
Burbs, co-starring superhot Tom Hanks. Two other movies await release, 
Loverboy and Harry, This Is Sally. Princess Leia is now firmly in earth's orbit. 


© VICTOR MALAFRONTE ¡CELEBRITY PHOTO 


aout presents 


e 
% 
E 
. e 3 
A Quick A. El 
Turnover % : 
Comedy may not al- W 
ways be pretty, butona 


good day, it's usually 

funny. At the American 
Comedy Avards in L.A. 
last year, HOWIE MAN- 


Basic Black 
We salute German rock 


singer AMANDA JONES. 
The military life never 
DEL and LOUIE ANDER- 


looked quite this good to 

us before. Amanda has 

SON had one of those days. | appeared іп music videos 
We can't speak for the lady and was featured inthe film 
involved, and, as you can / Der Kommisar. Another 
see, she can't speak very well great Grapevine moment 

348 for herself, either! to activate your fantasy life. 


Dressed to Thrill 


Actress SEAN YOUNG, who, you'll re- 
member, made some serious whoopie 
with Kevin Costner in No Way Out, is back 
on the big screen playing James Woods's 
wife in The Boost, about life in the fast lane. 


Dancin’ Fools 


Singer JOHNNY CLEGG (right) and his 
partner DUDU ZULU аге two of the six- 
member multiracial group Savuka, taking 
America by storm in concert and on the LP 
Shadow Man. The band does a lot of politi- 
cal work while making beautiful music. 


PAUL NATKIN/PHOTO RESERVE INC. 


© 1968 MARK LEIVDAL 


Go, Cat, Go 
CARL PERKINS wrote 
the little ditty Blue 
Suede Shoes, passed 
it on to a kid named 
Presley and you 

know the rest. 
Perkins has a 

new album 

and may 


Eat Right 
and Keep Fit 


CAROLINE LOMAS is 
goingto give carrots a 
big boost. Her other 
talents include an ар- 
pearance in the Fabu- 
lous Thunderbirds’ 
video and a movie 
called—are you 
ready!—Beach Blan- 
ket Blood Sucker. We 
haven't seen a review 
yet, but Caroline got 
our blood moving. 


349 


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