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Др FOR MEN 


Gala y Fi 


Christmas | 
ssue / | Б 2I N HOLIDAY 
E vá / PICTORIAL 
KNOW TV'S PLAYBOY 
HOTTEST BABE’ INTERVIEWS 
COURTENEY / GEORGE 
сох | j. FOREMAN 
THE REAL ` N N m TRUTHS FROM 
BETTIE PAGE.) 7 ‘L DOMINICK DUNNE 
M DARYL GATES 
JERRY  \ % ON TERRORISM 
GARCIA . 3 / FICTION BY 
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\ AND ROBERT 
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THE RELIGIOUS RIGHT FOR THE LITTLE 


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PLAYBILL 


ITS HARD to get your game face on for winter. You can't find 
your gloves, your girlfriend wears so many layers she looks 
like a Christmas tree without lights and you spend days in- 
doors contemplating the previous year, wondering where 
your life went. On the upside, winter is the time of year when 
етеп that fat prankster in the red suit gets some. Then there 
are the holiday bonuses (this magazine, for one). So forget the 
past—we've already unwrapped a Christmas present for you 
Cover girl Farrah Faween. After Charlie's Angels and her best-sell- 
ing poster made her the sex symbol of the Seventies, she con- 
centrated on dramatic roles in TV films such as The Burning 
Bed. Now the ex-angel, who at one time covered more walls 
than Benjamin Moore, is ready to reclaim heavenly-body sta- 
tus in a timeless pictorial shot by Davis Factor. Then we honor 
the woman who made the modern swimsuit poster possible: 
Bettie Page. Second only to Marilyn Monroc as an American 
pinup legend, Page violated the taboos of the Fifties, incurred 
the wrath of a congressional subcommittee, redefined sexi- 
ness—and then vanished. In The Real Bettie Page (from Bettie 
Page: The Life of a Pinup Legend, published by General Pub- SWANSON, ESSEX 
lishing Group), James Swanson and Karen Essex reveal a myste- 
rious recluse who influenced fashion and photography for 
years to come. 

We admit it. Over the years, we have been responsible for a 
myth or two—particularly when it comes to third dates. But 
nothing compares with the ideas endorsed by the radical 
right, whose latest campaign is to put the biblical story of cre- 
ation on equal footing with evolution. In Very Weird Science (the 
accompanying artwork is by Tim O'Brien), Colin Campbell and 
Deborah Scroggins, writers for the Atlanta Journal and Constitu 
tion, relate how some fundamentalists ignore accepted tenets 
of biology. Creationists want kids to learn about $00-year-old 
men, snakes that talk and the idea that the Grand Canyon was 
created during Noah’s flood 

George Foreman rescued boxing from the standing eight- 
count that began when Mike Tyson was sent to his corner in 
an Indiana prison. Though Foreman is as old as the canyons. 
his punch is still potent. So is his mind, as he proves to our 
ringer Lawrence Lindermon in this month's Interview. Foreman 
talks about Iron Mike's rust, how a deer can be a bear and why 
Joe Frazier was the only boxer to scare him. 

In the superheavyweight division, we offer a bout with in- 
sanity from the fight capital of the world. Christmas in Las Vegas 
features the razor-sharp wit of 263-pound Penn Jillette and the 

of 263-plus-pound Tony Fitz 

pshoot, these triggermen have that fa 
MGM fairy lion in their sights. We have a eulogy of sorts for 
another American beauty, Jerry Gercia, in a skull-fucking style 
we're sure Mr. Steal Your Face would have enjoyed. Reck Scul- 
ly, who with David Dalton wrote the article Chronicles of the 
Dead (excerpted from Little, Brown's forthcoming book Living 
With the Dead by Scully with David Dalton), was the Grateful 
Dead's road manager. He documents Garcia's greatest hits: 
scarfing coke backstage, fighting the mud of Woodstock and 
working out long, strange riffs—incandescent solos that will 
always outshine his death. 

Hits and myths; Was the Oklahoma City bombing the work 
of terrorists or short-fused kooks? The latter, says Daryl Е. 
Gates. As former chief of the LAPD, he certainly knows a nut- 
case when he sees one. In Terrorism? Says Who? (illustrated by 
renowned painter Kent Williams), Gates explains why law en- 
forcement must gird itself against random violence rather 
than seek out conspiracies. To argue his case, he describes 


FACTOR 


LINDERMAN 


SCULLY GATES WILLIAMS 


Playboy (ISSN 0032-1478), December 1995, volume 42, number 12. Published monthly by Playboy in national and regional editions, Playboy, 
680 North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Second-class postage paid at Chicago, Illinois and at additional mailing offices 
Canada Post Canadian Publications Mail Sales Product Agreement No. 56162. Subscriptions: in the U.S., $29.97 for 12 issues. Postmaster: 
Send address change to Playboy, PO. Box 2007, Harlan, lowa 51537-4007. E-mail: edit @playboy.com. 3 


BAUSCH 


WARHOLA 


AZUMA 


real-life, narrowly averted disasters that you'll almost wish he 
had kept to himself. The guy with the biggest bombshells in 
Los Angeles is O.J. chronicler Dominick Dunne, who lives the 
life Jackie Collins wishes she had. Whether it’s as the produc- 
er of movies such as Boys in the Band or as an expert on do- 
mestic violence or Lyle Menendez” rug, Dunne has informed 
us of glamour's trashy side for years. He's also a dinner com- 
panion to the stars, which is how high-flying Contributing Ed- 
itor Lawrence Grobel first encountered him—nestled some- 
where between the soup course and Goldie Hawn. In t 
month's 20 Questions, Dunne chats about his belief that OJ. is 
on tranquilizers, assesses the shape of Ron Shipp and reveals 
why black leaders no longer attend the 

If you're like us, you wish you had a friend in low places— 
not just any friend but one in particular: Courteney Cox. As belle 
of the hit TV show Friends, she possesses a sexy but naive qual- 
ity that has convinced millions of ordinary guys that she is the 
only one for them. This impression was confirmed by writer 
Michael Angeli, who was sent to fall under her spell. He says 
she's, well, nice. In Babe of the Year, Courteney complains 
about Los Angeles, praises her buddies and describes dancing 
in the dark with Bruce Springsteen, Enough of our requests 
for Santa: Our diligent humorist Robert 5. Wieder spent hun- 
dreds of hours investigating the old Christmas wish lists of 
various celebrities. What he couldn't find, he made up. The 
result is Dear Santa, a collection of demands from, among oth- 
ers, іше Dennis Rodman, budding lawyer Johnnie Cochran 
and Newtie Gingrich. 

You'll want to savor this month’s collection of fiction like a 
fine holiday port. The Witch Door by science fiction shaman Ray 
Bradbury is a forthright allegory with classic elements of a win- 
tertime ghost story. It will unhinge you with its depiction of a 
repressive future, fearful fugitives and cramped, dark spaces. 
The artwork is by longtime contributor Kinuke Y. Craft, who 
now illustrates children’s books. Writer Richard Bausch presents 
a modern horror story in a more realistic vein with Fatality. To 
Bausch, being afraid for yourself doesn’t compare with fear- 
ing for your daughter—especially when her tormentor has 
her brainwashed. Robert Silverberg takes mind games to super- 
natural levels. His The Second Shield poses a problem for Beck- 
erman, an artist who can actually dream masterpieces into 
existence. When a rich client turns dangerous, however, 
Beckerman's dreams turn to nightmares. James Warhola (Andy 
Warhol's nephew), whose work has adorned the covers of 
many science fiction novels, did the illustration. 

Time to rip open some more treats. For this year’s Sex Stars, 
our crack team of gazers—Associate Photo Editor Patty 
Beaudet, Senior Art Director Chet Suski and Contributing Edi- 
tors Bruce Williamson and Gretchen Edgren—assembled a galaxy 
of supernovas that will melt your warp drive. The tabloid ex- 
ploits of Drew Barrymore and Pamela Anderson Lee only add 
more, um, dimension to their poses. 

If you think Chip Rowe, Assistant Editor, looks like a friendly 
guy, you're right. He's even more than that—he's a sex- 
friendly guy who likes the feel of his Corinthian leather couch. 
Read Chip's advice to the budding Rico Suaves out there in 
The Sex-Friendly Apartment. But maybe we're skipping a crucial 
step here. Wooing a babe always comes before woo-woo itself, 
and what better way to wow her than with some excellent trin- 
kets. Admittedly, photographer Bert Stern could make a soap 
dish look good, but believe us, the goodies he shot for All She 
Wants for Christmas will stand up to the most intense female 
scrutiny. Remember, the best part about shopping for her is 
shopping for yourself. You don’t need to get everything in 
Playboy's Christmas Gift Collection—just circle the items you can't 
afford and hand out copies to your family and friends. Send 
your thank-you notes to Den Azuma, who shot the photos. You 
can come back to earth—but only brieffy—to enjoy our Miss 
December, Samantha Torres. She's a one-woman cold snap of 
Spanish origin. We think you'll agree that she's the best fire 
starter you'll find this season. 


To senda git of J&B Rare anywhere in the US. call 1-80025COTCH. Void where prohibited. 1995 Imported by The Paddington Corporation. Fl. Lee. NJ. J&B Ran” Scotch Whiskey 40% ale. by vol 


ingle ells, 
ingle ells 


Don't forget the 


PLAYBOY 


vol. 42, no. 12—december 1995 


PLAYBILL. 
DEAR PLAYBOY 
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS... 
MUSIC . 
STYLE... 
WIRED ........ 
MOVIES .. 
VIDEO 
TRAVEL 
BOOKS 
MEN osos. y 
THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR. 
THE PLAYBOY FORUM . 


PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: GEORGE FOREMAN—candid c conversation 
VERY WEIRD SCIENCE—orticle . .. COLIN CAMPBELL and DEBORAH SCROGGINS 70 


SEX STARS 1995—pictorial. 


CHRISTMAS IN LAS VEGAS—orticle 
PLAYBOY'S CHRISTMAS GIFT COLLECTION—modern 


THE WITCH DOOR--fiction. 
PLAYBOY GALLERY: TULA 

DEAR SANTA—humor . 
BETTIE PAGE—pictorial . 


CHRONICLES OF THE DEAD—arlicle . . 


THE SECOND SHIELD—fiction . 


TORRID TORRES—ployboy's ploymote of the month HEN ЛӘК 110 
PARTY JOKES—humor = 122 
TERRORISM? SAYS WHO?—ortide |... ..DARYL F. GATES 124 
ALL SHE WANTS FOR CHRISTMAS—modern li 126 


BONDING YOUR WARDROBE—foshion. 
BABE OF THE YEAR—playboy profile... 
THE SEX-FRIENDLY APARTMENT—orticle. ..... 


FATALITY—fiction 
FARRAH! pictoriol 


HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE - CHRISTMAS modem living... ai 154 
20 QUESTIONS: DOMINICK DUNNE .. 


WHERE & HOW TO BUY .... 


PLAYBOY ON THE SCENE. ............ 


92 

95 

06 

text by KAREN ESSEX ond JAMES SWANSON 98 
.. ROCK SCULLY with DAVID DALTON 104 

08 


CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE 


TET. 15 
18 
СИА 24 
28 
..BRUCE WILLIAMSON — 30 
33 
34 
DIGBY DIEHL 35 Heavenly Farrah 
ASA BABER 36 
41 
45 
55 


. text by GRETCHEN EDGREN 74 
..PENN JILLETTE 82 


RAY BRADBURY 


ROBERT S. WIEDER 


. . ROBERT SILVERBERG 1 


.HOLLIS WAYNE 130 
MICHAEL ANGELI 134 
..CHIP ROWE 138 
RICHARD BAUSCH 140 


Merry Christmas. P154 


COVER STORY 


"It's oll obout guts,” says Forrah Fowcett of her puwsoy pictorial shot on St. 
Bor!'s. Farrah never quits looking for new chollenges. "It's about feeling whot's 


right ond doing it," she says. Cur cover wos shot by Dovis Foctor ond styled by 
Fronk Chevolier for Smashbox Beauty. Forroh's makeup was styled by Joanne 
Goir for Cloutier using Make-Up Forever. Her hair wos styled by Peter Sovic for 
Cloutier/Poul Mitchell Solon Haircare. You can't tell this Rabbit by its spots. 


Comision CALIFICADONA CE PUBLICACIONES Y REVISTAS ILUSTRADAS DEPENDIENTE DE LA SECRETARIA DE GOBERNACIÓN. MÉXICO RESERVA DE TITULO EN TRAMITE 


PRINTED IN U.S.A 


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Use your credit card end be sure to include your account 
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Planit Playboy includes these features 

* Quick data entry with more than 100 icons 
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* A video Playmate assistant to remind you 
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* 13 Playmates in full-action video segments— 
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* Multiple calendars, address books and to-do 
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PLAYBOY 


HUGH M. HEFNER 
editor-in-chief 


ARTHUR KRETCHMER editorial director 
JONATHAN BLACK managing editor 
ТОМ STAEBLER art director 
GARY COLE photography director 
KEVIN BUCKLEY execulive editor 
JOHN REZER assistant managing editor 


EDITORIAL. 

ARTICLES: PETER MOORE, STEPHEN RANDALL edi- 
tors; FICTION: ALICE K TURNER editor; FORU: 
JAMES R. PETERSEN senior мај] wriler; CHIP ROWE 
assistant editor; MODERN LIVING: олуш 
STEVENS editor; BETH TOMKIW associate editor; 
STAFF: BRUCE KLUGER, CHRISTOPHER NAPOLITANO. 
BARBARA NELLIS associate editor FASHION: HOL 
LIS WAYNE director; JENNIFER RYAN JONES assis- 
tant editor; CARTOONS: MICHELLE URRY editor: 
COPY: LEOPOLD FROEHLICH edifor; ARLAN BUSH- 
MAN assistant edilor; ANNE SHERMAN copy associ- 
ale; CAROLYN BROWNE Senior researcher; LEE 
BRAUER, REMA SNITH, SARI WILSON researchers; 
CONTRIBU NG EDITORS: ASA BABER. 
KEVIN COOK. GREICHEN EDGREN, LAWRENCE GRO- 
BEL, KEN GROSS automotive), CYNTHIA HEIMEL, 
WILLIAM J. HELMER, WARREN KALBACKER, D. KEITH. 
MANO, JOE MORGENSTERN, REG POTTERTON, DAVID 
RENSIN, DAVID SHEFF, DAVID STANDISH. MORGAN 
STRONG. BRUCE WILLIAMSON novies) 


ART 
KERIG POPE managing director; BRUCE HANSEN. 
CHET SUSKI, LEN WILLIS senior directors; KRISTIN 
KORJENEK associale direclor; ANN SEIDL supervisor, 
keyline/pasteup; PAUL CHAN, RICKIE THOMAS art 
assistants 


PHOTOGRAPHY 
MARILYN GRABOWSKI west coast editor; JIM LARSON 
MICHAEL ANN SULLIVAN senior editors; PATTY 
BEAUDET associate editor; STEPHANIE BARNETT 
BETH MULLINS assistant editors; DAVID CHAN 
RICHARD FEGLEY, ARNY FREYTAG, RICHARD 12171 
DAVID MECEY, BYRON NEWMAN, POMPEO POSAR. 
STEPHEN мура contributing photographers; 
SHELLEE WELLS stylist; TIM HAWKINS manager, pho- 
to archive 


RICHARD KINSLER publisher 


PRODUCTION 
MARIA MANDIS director; RITA JOHNSON manager; 
KATHERINE CAMPION, JODY JURGETO, RICHARD 
QUARTAROLI, TOM SIMONEK associate managers 


CIRCULATION 
LARRY A. DJERF newsstand sales director; PHYLLIS 
ROTUNNO subscription circulation direcior; CINDY 
RAROWITZ Communications director 


ADVERTISING 
ERNIE RENZULLI advertising director; JUDY BERK- 
Ovrrz national projects director; raw t. INTO sales 
director, eastern region; inv KORNBLAU marketing 
director: LISA NATALE research director 


READER SERVICE 
LINDA STROM, MIKE OSTROWSKI correspondents 


ADMINISTRATIVE 
EILEEN т new media director; MARCIA TER 
RONES rights & permissions administrator 


PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES, INC. 
CHRISTIE HEFNER chairman, chief executive officer 


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PLEASE INCLUDE YOUR DAYTIME PHONE NUMBER 


MEN 
Bravo, Asa Babcr. Your column on Bill 

Clinton (“А Good Man," September) is 
insightful and reasoned. Clinton has 
been one of the most proactive presi- 
dents in recent history, and while I may 
not agree with all of his decisions, he de- 
serves respect. Few of us could withstand 
such intense scrutiny and still lead the 
country effectively. It's refreshing to see 
you swimming against the national tide 
of media cynicism. 

Bill Osborg 

wosborg@pinn.net 

Virginia Beach, Virginia 


Asa Baber writes that Bill Clinton is 
"like you and me” and has a middle-class 
profile. Horseshit! Clinton has never. 
held a real-world job. Vote for Bubba if 
you must, Mr. Baber, but don't fool your- 
self into thinking he is anything more 
noble than a career politician. 

James Dawson 
StjamesplGaol.com 
Los Angeles, California 


Bill Clinton may be a good old boy, but 
that doesn't mean he'sa good president. 
Clinton makes decisions by sitting on the 
fence and then jumping onto the popu- 
lar side. We need 2 man vith the solid 
values of our founding fathers. Asa 
Baber should behave like a responsible 
journalist and encourage people to seek 
out the best candidate for the highest 
office in the country. Clinton isn’t it 
Leland Watson П 
Englewood, Colorado 


I would like to commend Asa Baber 
on his September column. It’s easy for us 
to criticize the president when none of 
us has walked in his shoes. 

Rebeca Musto 
Olathe, Kansas 


PRECIOUS JAID 
Thank you for the incredible pictures 
of Drew Barrymore's mom, [aid ( Jaid's 


Turn, September). I'm hoping that there 
will be a mother-daughter pictorial in 
the future. 
Rick Schwarz 
cu959@cleveland.freenet.cdu 
West Orange, New Jersey 


Ican honestly say that Jaid Barrymore 
is more beautiful than her daughter 
Drew. Please give us more of this stun- 
ning woman. 

Joseph Almanzo 
Waukegan, Illinois 


Jaid Barrymore is a heart-stopper. 
Women like her prove that looking old is 
not mandatory. 

Mike Kimball 
mkimball@nirvana.lib.utah.edu 
Salt Lake City, Utah 


Jaid Barrymore is 49? That must be a 
typo. It should read 19. 
Joe Morales 
Bronx, New York 


BILLIONS AND BILLIONS 
When I began reading David Heil- 

broner's The $6 Billion Rogue (Septem- 
ber), I thought it was a work of fiction 
and expected to encounter international 
drug dealers or spies. Then it dawned 
on me that this really happened. Gener- 
al Motors Acceptance Corp. has been de- 
frauded of an incredible amount of 
money. If I owed as little as $50 to 
GMAC, the company would hound me 
to Antares to recover that amount. But it. 
somehow left John McNamara with al- 
most $2 million. Looks as if white-collar 
crime pays. 

Michel Boutet 

Silverdale, Washington 


SANDRA BULLOCK 

The September 20 Questions with San- 
dra Bullock makes me proud to say that 
I buy ргАувоу for the articles. She is in- 
telligent, spunky, funny and single—a 
rarity in Los Angeles. And I am glad to 


see that someone else has a problem with 
their dogs making long-distance calls. 
Thanks to Sandra, my dog saw The Net 
and now is logging on. 
Michael Houbrick 
mistrbrick@aol.com 
Los Angeles, California 


I enjoyed David Rensin’s talk with 
Sandra Bullock, but he needs a refresher 
course in British slang, and Bullock 
needs one in German idiom. Bullock 
does not mean testicle but rather a 
young or castrated bull. The word for 
testicles, which sounds similar, is bol- 
locks. “Es ist mir Wurst” does indeed 
mean “I don't care" or "It's all the same 
to me.” However, the literal translation is 
not "It's my sausage" but rather "It's 
sausage to me." Next time, maybe you 
should ask Claudia Schiffer. 

Paul Ybarrondo 
Upland, California 


Sandra Bullock is а gentlewoman. 
She's smart, open, direct and loyal. And 
to top it all off, she loves adventure. San- 
dra, you might have to show me how to 
wire the damned thing, but I'd be proud 
to leave my nightlight on for you. 

David Browning 
St. Clairsville, Ohio 


LET'S HEAR IT FOR D.C. 

I'm disturbed by the fact that PLAYBOY 
has moved its political opinions to the far 
left. In his September column, Robert 
Scheer calls for a more powerful federal 
government to solve our woes and raise 
our taxes. I don't know what planet he 
grew up on, but here on earth, for every 
problem the federal government tries to 
solve, it usually creates ten more. Why 
not add a libertarian or Republican 
viewpoint to counter some of Scheer's 
essays? 

Scott Christie 
schristie@spectron.com 
San Diego, California 

Have you read “The Playboy Forum” late- 
ly? The libertarian point of view is alive and 
well in our pages. 


Robert Scheer must be а pencil- 
necked geek. I feel I inherited a great 
country—the strongest and the best. I 
love the U.S. and have fought for this 
nation, not against it. What has Scheer 
ever done to make this a better country? 

Tom Saunders 
Albuquerque, New Mexico 


Robert Scheer's article almost made 
me regurgitate. The socialist police state 
that he wants America to become is not 
acceptable to me or to thousands of oth- 
er American patriots. I believe our best 
alternative is the Libertarian Party, in 
which individuals maintain rights with- 
out government interference. Maybe 
Scheer should go live in North Korea. 

Ronald Patrias 
Dearborn Heights, Michigan 


PLAYBOY 


Our government earns its strength 
from public support. A voter's duty is to 
make sure those who govern do so with- 
in the Constitution. Criticism is the 
American way of blowing the whistle and 
the louder it gets, the greater indication 
that something is wrong. 

Jane Eckler 
Trona, California 


We can't possibly compare govern- 
ment spending in the U.S. to other ad- 
vanced capitalist economies. Our gov- 
ernment does not pay for health care, 
college costs or child care for most of our 
working population. Because most hon- 
est and hardworking Americans must 
pay for these things themselves, the cf- 
fective tax burden is among the most 
onerous in the world. 

Andrew Walzer 
Upper Saddle River, New Jersey 


I question, not attack, the government 
when its actions conflict with my beliefs. 
But I'm not packing my bags. I'll fight. 
with bytes, words and ballots. 

Ken Parmalee 
Atlanta, Georgia 


DRIVING: MISS DONNA 
One glance at Miss September, Donna 

D'Errico, and I know life doesn't get any 

better. I'd like to applaud the person 

who found this successful, gorgeous 

woman with the entrepreneurial spirit. 
Richard Reineke 
Seattle, Washington 


I don't know what kind of magic Don- 
na D'Errico has that doesn't allow me to 
go past page 109 in the September issue. 
She is the second most beautiful woman 
I've ever seen. The first one is my wife. 

Antonio Ramos 
San Francisco, California 


Donna and I are first cousins, but it 
has been years since I've seen her back 
home. While she was always a pretty girl, 
her Playmate pictorial is evidence that 
she has turned out to be a beautiful 
woman. Congratulations, Donna, and 
good luck. 1 know there are many more 
great things in store for you. 

Maranda ‘Tidwell 
Huntsville, Alabama 


1 ат in love. Donna is a perfect 10— 
12 and she has her own business. Donna, if 


you're ever in south central Texas, you 
can drive my truck any day. 
Jeff Reinhard 
Luling, Texas 


Great September issue. 1 love Play- 
mate Donna D'Errico's admission that 
she dreamed about the chief executive. 
Let's scc Newt or Rush top that. 
Joe Breen 
Chicago, Illinois 


TERRIFIC FICTION 
Joseph Monninger's short story First 
Night, Blind Date, All That (September) is 
beautifully crafted. Thanks to your edi- 
torial staff for selecting a winner. 
Cameron Hyers 
Norwalk, Connecticut 


CLASSIC KIMBERLEY 
After one look at Kimberley Conrad 
Hefner's pictorial (September) I reached 


for the thesaurus to find all the words 1 
would need to describe her in her tri- 
umphant return to the pages of PLAYBOY 
But then I stopped, knowing that 1 
wouldn't be able to find anything that 
would match her beauty. 

David Gorham 

Friendswood, Texas 


Afier seeing your pictorial of Kimber- 
ley Conrad Hefner, I'd like to thank 
Hef—for sharing, 
Peter Wulfsohn 
Aurora, Colorado 


„апа God created us 
. So forgive me for lusting 
after Hef's wife. 

Victor Koyano 
Seattle, Washington 


Even though she's rich and famous, 
Kimberley loves her kids and her hus- 
band, does charity work and has the am- 


bition to go back to school. She's beauti- 
ful inside and out. 


Da-Wen Huang 
Fort Worth, Texas 


CINDY CRAWFORD 
The September Interview with Cindy 

Crawford is shocking. This supermodel 
turned actress may be one of the most 
beautiful women in the world, but her 
use of profanity stuns me. 

Marshall Dalton 

Madison Heights, Virginia 


1 want to comment on something 
Cindy Crawford says about Naomi 
Wolf's book The Beauty Myth—that be- 
cause Wolf is beautiful she has no right 
to say women are valued simply because 
they are pretty. Haven't critics of femi- 
nism denounced feminists as ugly and 
jealous? The message seems to be that if 
you're ugly, you're envious, so shut up. 
Or if you are beautiful and have it made, 
shut up. I thought Wolf's point was that 
talented, beautiful women waste too 
much of their time and energy on how 
they look. 


Kelly Prince 
Atlanta, Georgia 


Cindy should be applauded for her 
straightforward comments. It's too bad 
that the press has nothing better to do 
than to find fault with her. She has made 
а name for herself as a spokesmodel, 
businesswoman and actress instead of 
relying only on her looks. 

John Theodoridis 
North York, Ontario 


I was expecting to discover that Cindy 
was dumb, and that her beauty would 
fade so 1 could go on with my life. Instead, 
1 discovered she's smart, funny, modest 
and self-aware. I'm hopelessly in love. 

Ray Balestri 
Dallas, ‘Texas 


You would think someone that beauti- 
ful, smart and rich would carry a heavy 
ego. What really surprised me was 
Cindy's modesty, 
Laurente Laffey 
Virginia Beach, Virginia 


CLASSIC CENTERFOLDS 
Your September Classic Cover and Cen- 
terfold feature with Gwen Wong sent me 
running to check my back issues. Were 
they that fantastic? They were! Now 
what happened to the feature? 
Jim Delaney 
Dayton, Ohio 
Our "Classic Centerfold" has led to more 
ambitious plans: the publication of a 1996 
companion to “The Playboy Book” that will 
feature all the Playmates. Well be sure to keep 


‘you posted. 
E 


Our position, word by word. 


Accommodation 


Accommodation is the reasonable way for smokers 
and nonsmokers to work out their differences. 

That is our position at Philip Morris. And it turns 
out that most Americans share this view. 

In a USA TODAY/CNN poll among both smokers 
and nonsmokers, nearly 7 out of 10 respondents said 
they think that rather than banning smoking in public 
places, smokcrs should be allowed to smoke in separate, 
designated areas. 

Philip Morris has a program that helps owners 
of businesses, such as restaurants, bars and hotels, 
accommodate the choices of both smoking and non- 
smoking customers by setting up designated smoking 
and nonsmoking areas. 

The program works because it respects the rights 
and wishes of both groups. So both get what they want. 
That's what makes accommodation a reasonable solution. 


PHILIP MORRIS US.A. 


We want you to know 
where we stand. 


F | The Accommodation Program is working in thousands of restaurants all over the country. On the other 
acts Matter > А e 
1 77 hand, some restaurants where smoking has been banned are struggling with sales losses of up to 30%. 


PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 


JUMPING CATFISH! 


Now we know why parties in New Or- 
leans go on all night: Unlike most waste 
products produced by our bodies and 
homes, cafleine passes intact through 
water treatment plants. Hydrologists at 
the U.S. Geological Survey studied dif- 
ferent sections of the Mississippi River 
and found large amounts of caffeine in 
the water near cities, with the highest 
concentration of caffeine occurring near 
the cities downstream. The announce- 
ment coincided with news that Andre 
Codrescu, author of The Blood Countess 
and resident of New Orleans, was begin- 
ning work on a documentary, Downflow 
Ethics. based on the premise that the 
more toxic the river gets downstream, 
the more outrageous the political scan- 
dals along its shores. “It is said.” notes 
Codrescu. "that every glass of water in 
the Mississippi has been drunk six times 
by the time it reaches the gulf.” 


GROUPIES WHO GO DOWN 


Young women have fainted at concerts 
ever since the days of Rudy Vallee. Now 
a study in the New England Journal of 
Medicine has isolated the causes of what it 
calls “rock-concert syncope.” Insufficient 
sleep, lack of food, crowded conditions, 
extended periods of standing and 
screaming combine to decrease blood 
flow to the heart. Incidentally, the study 
was based on girls who lost conscious- 
ness during а New Kids on the Block 
concert in Berlin. The researchers ap- 
parently overlooked the possible contri- 
butions of boredom and bad music. 


CALLING SIGMUND FREUD 


Who needs men when you can have a 
cigar? The most recent manifestation of 
the cigar craze is the ladies-only smoke- 
in. Molly Gleason, who organizes such 
events in San Francisco, calls them op- 
portunities for ladies to “just hold them, 
feel them, smell them and taste them for 
themselves with no men around.” We 
like to think there is no sexual symbolism 
involved here, especially when it comes 
to the part where they snip off the end 


LOVE IS BLIND 


It turns out there's some truth to the 
old wives’ tale about doing it until you go 
blind. According to a Johns Hopkins 
study, vigorous sexual activity can tem- 
porarily affect delicate ocular tissues and 
blood vessels, which results in blurred vi- 
sion. Fortunately, the problem is short- 
lived and reversible. 


MIGHTY TESTY POWER RANGERS 


Far-ranging film critic Roger Ebert 
predicted that the smash Japanese ani- 


mated feature Pompoko, about a family of 


cuddly, badgerlike creatures, would not 
be successful here. Seems the badgers 
have a secret weapon—they can crush 
their enemies with their enormously 
swollen testicles. If Disney had any balls, 
it would get distribution rights and re- 
lease the movie as Pompokohantas 


LORD OF THE JIBES 


From the Dead but Unbowed Depart- 
ment: The Times of London recently re- 
ported the death of an obscure member 
of the British aristocracy, the second 
Lord Erskine of Rerrick. In the obituary, 


ILLUSTRATION By GARY KELLEY 


it was noted that although the lord do- 
nated his body to science in his will, he 
also specified that “to the Royal Bank of 
Scotland I leave my balls, as they appear 
to have none of their own.” 


THE $0.05 MILLION MAN 


What's the market value of a used hus- 
band? According to the Mississippi judi- 
cial system, $50,000. An appeals court 
ruled that Janice Clay must pay that 
amount to Sandra Boozer for stealing 
her husband of 20 years, Larry Boozer, 
and marrying him herself. Given the 
number of women who would gladly 
take half that amount for their mates, 
Clay may want to appeal again—if not 
for a reversal, then for a rebate. 


CHIP SHOT 


In reporting on a month's worth of 
infections from new computer viruses 
(the total number of known viruses re- 
cently topped 6000), the makers of Dr. 
Solomon's Anti-Virus Toolkit alerted 
hackers to a strain known as the Big 
Caibua. It reconfigures MS/DOS pro- 
grams, reformats the hard drive and dis- 
plays its name while—in an outlaw move 
that shows signs of true cyber-spunk— 
a penis moves across the screen and 
ejaculates 


MAGIC WAND 


A talking vibrator is the new best-sell- 
ing sex toy in Britain, The battery-oper- 
ated dildo emits such husky male excla- 
mations of satisfaction as “Oh God!” and 
“Oh yeah!" mixed with a variety of oohs 
and aahs. Snores are not included, but 
we hope a thick Cockney accent is. 


SMOKING ROACHES 


Aman in Orange County, California 
had had it up to here with roaches. He 
figured that if one of those pesticide fu- 
migators could help, 25 canisters going 
at the same time would get rid of the 
pesky varmints once and for all. But as 
the chemicals filled his apartment, a sud- 
den explosion set the furniture on fire, 
blew out the windows and hurled the 


16 


RAW DATA 


SIGNIFICA, INSIGNIFICA, STATS AND FACTS | 


РАСТ ОЕ 
THE MONTH 

According to a rc- 
cent study on shin- 
splints and lower-leg 
stress fractures, 
wearing running 
shoes produced as 
much as 22 percent 
more strain on the 
legs during jogging 
and sprinting exercis- 
es than do military 
combat boats. 


QUOTE 

“Some of my elderly 
patients still enjoy 
good sex, although they can't al- 
ways remember the name of their 
partners.” —HELEN SINGER KAPLAN, DI- 
RECTOR OF THE HUMAN SEXUALITY CLINIC 
AT NEW YORK HOSPITAL 


TIP OF THE ICEBERG 

Until the House Oversight Com- 
mittee canceled door-to-door deliver- 
ies in April, number of buckets of ice 
delivered to congressional offices 
each day: 891. Number of employees 
who spent half a workday each to de- 
liver the ice: 28. Annual cost to tax- 
payers: $400,000. 


LOVE IN THE AFTERNOON 

In a recent study of the five top-rat- 
ed soap operas, average number of 
sexual incidents per hour-long 
episode: 6.6. Percentage of sexual in- 
cidents that were entirely verbal: 68. 
Of the sexual incidents visually por- 
trayed, percentage that consisted of 
long, passionate kisses: 53. In the 50 
hours of soap operas studied, num- 
ber of references to safe sex or 
contraception: 5. 


PC PDA 

Percentage of Ame 

ject to sceing senior citizens kissing in 

public: 12. Percentage of Americans 

who object to two women embracing: 

73. Percentage who object to secing 
two men kissing: 76. 


DO-SI-DOES IT 
With the recent addition of North 
Dakota, thc number of states that 


have designated the 
square dance as the 
official state dance: 
24. Number of states 
that have endorsed 
disco: 0. 


WELCOME TO 

HIGH SCHOOL 
In a national survey 
of 17,500 eighth 
graders, percentage 
who said they had 
inhaled glue, sol- 
vents or aerosols to 
get high: 20. 


LITTLE RED ROM 

Number of CD-ROM discs in the 
new set containing 46 years of back is- 
sues of People’s Daily, China's official 
Communist Party publication: 92. 
Cost: $19,800. 


DREAMING OF JEANNIE 
Ina survey by Roper Starch World- 
wide, percentage of Americans aged 
18 to 44 who had had a pleasant 
dream in the past 24 hours: 32. Per- 
centage over 45 who had a happy 
dream: 19. 


GRASS ROOTS 
Percentage of voters in last year's 
national election who called them- 
selves environmentalists: 83. Percent- 
age who are sympathetic to protect- 
ing wildlife rather than a local 
business and jobs: 38. 


WING FLAPS 
Average percentage of budget of 
major U.S. airlines in 1995 spent on 
promotion and sales: 18. Percentage 
spent on maintenance: 11. 


FINE TRIM 
Average number of hairs on the 
head of a person with red hair: 
90,000. Black hair: 108,000. Brown 
hair: 110,000. Blonde hair: 140,000. 


ОМ A ROW TO NOWHERE 
Percentage of treadmill owners 
who use their machines: 49. Percent- 
age of home stair-climbers in use: 44. 
Stationary bikes: 31. Rowing ma- 
chines: 20. —BETTY SCHAAL 


blinds across the street. A pilot light or 
burning incense apparently caused the 
heavy cloud of gas propellant to flash, 
resulting in $10,000 worth of damage. 
The accident may have inconvenienced 
the two-legged tenant, but his tiny—and 
apparently resilient—enemies didn't 
seem to care. "In fact," said the fire cap- 
tain at the scene, “when we arrived, 
there were still some running around.” 
OK, but weren't a couple of them at least 
coughing? 


A NATURAL PIT BOSS 


A group of counterfeiters successfully 
passed $20,000 worth of bogus $100 bills 
at various Atlantic City casinos before au- 
thorities were tipped off by a sharp-eyed 
recipient. Not a croupier, mind you, nor 
a cashier, but a prostitute. Leave it to 
someone trained to inspect wrinkled 
things close-up. 


OUR FAVORITE TELEGRAM 


One week before the execution of 22- 
year-old Tong Ching-man from Hong 
Kong (her offense: possession of 1.5 kilo- 
grams of heroin), her family received 
this heartwarming telegram from the 
Singaporean government: “Death sen- 
tence on Tong Ching-man will be carried 
into effect on April 21, 1995. Visit her 
from April 18, 1995 and claim body on 
April 21, 1995." 


UNREALIZED URNINGS 


Kurt Cobain's ashes have yet to find а 
final resting place, thanks to the grunge- 
meister's popularity. Seattle's Lake View 
Cemetery refused the remains on the 
grounds that the disruption caused by 
fans of permanent tenants Bruce and 
Brandon Lee already is too much to 
handle. The next stop, the Calvary 
Catholic Cemetery, wanted an annual 
$100,000 security fce. "Kurt didn't have 
that kind of money,” says widow Court- 
ney Love. Such is the high cost of being 
in Nirvana. 


THE LAST GASP 


Residents of Sedona, Arizona truly be- 
lieve in being health conscious, even for 
those who are neither healthy nor con- 
scious. The Sedona Funeral Home re- 
cently ran a notice in a local paper de- 
claring, “We are proud to announce that 
for the health of your loved ones, all of 
our caskets are smoke-free.” 


LIGHT ARMOR 


Distressed that drug dealers had shot 
out almost 4700 streetlights to make 
their corners more business-friendly, Mi- 
ami is switching to a new lamp that can 
withstand slugs from a .44 Magnum. 
More illuminztion, says the city, means 
greater public safety. Now all they have 
to do is figure out a way to outfit local 
residents in the bulletproof bulbs. 


BE 


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comes to life in a spectacular 
die-cast re-creation from Franklin 
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the real deal. From the fully 
equipped rack of air horns and 


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AHEAD. 


ROCK 


ONCE BRITANNIA ruled the radio airwaves. 
But during the Nineties, new English 
bands have been conspicuous by their 
absence from the U.S. album charts. 
What gives? PJ. Harvey, Elastica, Por- 
tishead and Tricky get critical raves, but 
the English still come across as emotion- 
al stiffs. While Americans embrace the 
cathartic release of grunge and rap, 
U.K. bands fixate on mope and gloom. 
But now, out of Oxford, comes Super- 
grass, the most refreshing English im- 
port of the decade. The band’s exuber- 
ant pop-punk attack, catchy melodies 
framed by high harmonies and quirky 
lyrics on I Should Coco (Capitol) suggest 
what Green Day might sound like if Green 
Day had been raised on the Beatles. 

It's Hard to Believe И: The Amazing World of 
Joe Meek (Razor and Tie) documents the 
eccentric brilliance of England's low-fi 
answer to Phil Spector. Meek cooked up 
cheesy masterpieces, including Telstar by 
the Tornados and Have I the Right by the 
Honeycombs. The other 18 gems are 
weirdly wonderful. — —VvICGARBARINI 


Noisy three-piece bands are hard to 
categorize when they're exceptionally 
good—and Everclear's debut, Sparkle 
and Fade (Capitol). suggests that it could 
become great. The density of the guitars 
suggests grunge, but the tempos are 
quicker. The bass lines invite compar- 
isons to punk, but the vocal sheen comes 
closer to the Hollywood hair bands. The 
grimy, smack-linked lyrics bear compari- 
son to Guns п' Roses. — DAVE MARSH 


PM. Dawn's Jesus Wept (Gee Street/Is- 
land) is a sparkling, passionate 14-song 
collection. Prince Be, the heart of the 
group, avoids his past hip-hop flirtations 
for a tight focus on pop rock and ballads. 
PM. Dawn's best-known recording, I'd 
Die Without You from the Boomerang 
soundtrack, is a gorgeous love song 
that's almost matched by two new com- 
positions on Jesus Wept: Miles From Any- 
thing and Sonchyenne. Both songs are 
beautifully arranged, sweetly chromatic 
and sung with great sensitivity. There 
are several vital pop rockers (Downtown 
Venus, The 9:45 Wake-Up Dream), but the 
record's highlight is a medley of Prince's 
1999, Talking Heads’ Once in a Lifetime 
and the Seventies novelty hit Coconut. Je- 
sus Wept is easily one of 1995's sharpest 
collections. —NELSON GEORGE 


Marshall Chapman is a lapsed South- 
ern belle whose amalgam of rock-and- 
roll toughness, Nashville song sense and 
rangy good looks got her pegged as a 
comer two decades ago. Although the 
hits never came, she stayed true to the 

18 game, working first for the big boys at 


A pop-punk attack from the U.K., 
Jesus Wept and B.B. King's 
collection of blues ballads. 


Epic, then for the folkies at Rounder. 
She eventually started her own Tall Gi 
label, where she made the best albums of 
her life—until she gathered her courage 
and cut It's About Time (Margaritaville), 
which was recorded live at the Tennessee 
State Prison for Women, Advisories like 
Booze in Your Blood and Betty’s Bein’ Bad 
help Chapman relate to a bunch of truly 
tough women who've never heard of 
her. Even if you think Real Smart Man is 
harsh, that doesn't mean you won't rec- 
ognize all the shitty relationships she 
sums up in a single line: "You haven't 
taken out the garbage yet." 

Dave Marsh calls The Who Sellout (MCA) 
“the band’s consummate masterpiece.” 
Is this remastered and expanded tribute 
to classic pop radio a greater Sixties al- 
bum than Sgt. Pepper? I’m here to tell 
anybody's generation that the Who nev- 
er sounded better. —ROBERT CHRISTGAU 


Pounding riffs, delicate acoustic inter- 
ludes and a bent satiric approach in the 
lyrics make Trepanation (Cellsum) by the 
Brain Surgeons a great listen. Rock critic 
Deborah Frost is convincing as a metallic 
diva. Cool covers (Ramblin’ Rose) and a 
cool co-writer (Richard Meltzer) add up 
to a cool album. — CHARLES M. YOUNG 


JAZZ 


"The Rite of Strings (IRS/Gaisaber), with 
bassist Stanley Clarke, guitarist Al DiMe- 


ola and violinist Jean-Luc Ponty, brings 
together three of the most Hamboyant 
exhibitionists jazz has ever known. At its 
best, Айе of Sirings mimics the bands led 
by Django Reinhardt in the Thirti 
the three string players support and 
challenge one another's quickening 
melodies. The album contains plenty of 
fireworks. But just as often, these three 
manage to submerge their musical egos 
and create something intricate 

The Jazz Crusaders’ new Happy Again 
(Sin-Drome) also attempts to recapture 
some of the subtlety and skill lost during 
the fusion years. A few tunes allow saxist 
Wilton Felder and trombonist Wayne 
Henderson to get back their soul-bop 


$ salad days of the Sixties. Special guests 


such as flutist Hubert Laws, percussion- 
ist Pancho Sanchez and trumpeter Don- 
ald Byrd uy to make up for the absence 
of Joc Sample. 

Instead, try the British saxist Court- 
ney Pine's fusion of Coltrane and hip- 
hop on Modem Day Jazz Stories (Antilles). 
By mixing rap beats, record scratches 
and rhythmically recurring samples be- 
hind his dark, vibrant tenor solos, Pine 
recasts the musics message without 
drowning it. —NEIL TESSER 


Jozz/Funk Unit (Funk Boy, PO. Box 
1331, Cooper Station, New York, New 
York 10276) is the name of both the 
band and the CD. Bassist-producer Ivan 
Bodley makes syncopated groove music 
out of jazz standards like Nefertiti and 
Stella by Starlight. It's both feisty and fun. 

—NELSON GEORGE 


BLUES 


The problem with today's blues re- 
vival, in which a first-rate sideman such 
as Buddy Guy achieves mediocrity as а 
star. comes from the current one-dimen- 
sional definition of the blues. The blues 
once included everything from blind 
Southern street singers with acou 
guitars to Jimmy Witherspoon shouting 
in front of a flashy big band. Blues has 
now been reduced to guitar-led combos 
in which the singing—the music's origi- 
nal point—has been reduced to after- 
thought. To hear how expansive the 
blues can be, check out B.B. King's Heort 
end Soul: A Collection of Blues Ballads (Point- 
blank ic). King takes hardly any 
guitar solos, instead singing in a style 
that stems directly from smooth croon- 
ers like Al Hibbler and Billy Eckstine. 
Listen to B.B.'s vocals, his phrasing and, 
most of all, the language and subject 
matter. Check out how he belts Don't Get 
Around Much Anymore against an Elling- 
tonian background. Heart and Soul will 
give purists a swift kick to their most 
cherished preconceptions. 


Chris Thomas takes far morc radical 
steps on 21st Century Blues From da Hood 
(Private/BMG). “I was the only kid 
around digging Guitar Slim and Lone- 
some Sundown,” he sings defiantly. "And 
now I've come of age, and in my hood 
re is all the rage./So I turned the 
homas' entire album argues this 
case, proving that the spirits of Jimi 
Hendrix, hip-hop, P-Funk's Eddie Hazel 
and Howlin' Wolf live close together in 
theory and in practice. — — DAVE MARSH 


The blues comes in two basic cate- 
gories: raw and cooked. If you prefer 
raw, then Mule (Capricorn/Fat Possum) 
by Paul "Wine" Jones might just be your 
bleeding hunk of flesh. A welder from 
Mississippi, Wine has never recorded be- 
fore and rarely ventured far from his 
home in Belzoni, which explains a lot 
about his outrageous guitar. It's electric, 
it's moderately distorted and it occasion- 
ally uses a wa-wa pedal. You might argue 
that this makes his style cooked, but 
you'd be wrong. It’s still Delta. It's so 
country in its reliance on drone in the 
bass lines and idiosyncrasy in the lead 
lines that raw is all the menu offers. And 
damn, does it swing. The blues was orig- 
inally dance music, and you can dance to 
all ten cuts here. My favorite song is 
probably My Baby Got Drunk, because it 
makes me laugh. 

The Нега Way (Deluge Records, Р.О. 
Box 2877, Waterville, Maine 04903) is by 
Christine Ohlman, and the first thing 
you notice is her tough, rousing, sexy 
voice. The second thing you notice is 
that she can write songs with booming 
choruses you want to sing along with the 
first time you hear them. The third thing 
you notice is that she’s on this really 
small label (did the majors give up 
оп blues rock?) and deserves a bigger 
audience. CHARLES M. YOUNG 


COUNTRY 


The Songs of Route 66: Music From the All- 
American Highway (Lazy SOB Recordings, 
P.O. Box 49884, Austin, Texas 78765- 
9884) is 2 compilation of 11 songs about 
the Mother Road. It’s assembled by 
David Sanger, drummer of Asleep at the 
Wheel. The most heartfelt moments 
come from the roadies such as Sanger 
who actually traveled Route 66. Jimmy 
LaFave delivers the honky-tonk Route 66 
Revisited with foot-to-the-floor passion, 
and the Red Dirt Rangers’ Used to Be is 
about an abandoned stretch of the road 
between Tulsa and Oklahoma City. 

Singer-songwriter Kevin Welch grew 
up a few miles north of Route 66 in 
Erick, Oklahoma. He uses jazz, tradi- 
tional country and Lightnin’ Hop- 
kins-tinged blues shuffles in Life Down 
Here on Earth (Dead Reckoning, PO. Box 
159178, Nashville, Tennessee 37215). 

— DAVE HOEKSTRA 


FAST TRACKS 


OCK METER 


Christgou | Garbarini | George | Marsh | Young 
Marshall Chopman 
It's About Time 8 Y 8 8 7 
Paul “Wine” Jones 
Mule А 8 8 6 8 
9 iL p 9 8 

Supergrass 
1 Should Coco 3 8 7 & 6 
Chris Thomas 
21st Century Blues 

From da Hood 4 8 8 8 7 

DINNER MUSIC DEPARTMENT: Customers Цеа. . . . Aretha Franklin has signed on 


ordering from Dial-a-Dinner in New 
York and Chicago can have a current 
CD delivered with their meal. A rotat- 
ing set of new releases will be on the 
menu in other cities before the end of 
the year. Think of it. You'll be able to 
match food and music, say venison 
and Ted Nugent. 

REELING AND ROCKING: Bette Midler is 
co-starring with Diane Keaton in The 
First Wives Club, about women out for 
revenge after their husbands drop 
them for trophy babes. . . . There is 
talk of a Blues Brothers sequel with Jim 
Belushi playing screen brother to his 
real brother John. If that isn't enough, 
look for an animated prime-time TV 
series with Jim and Dan Aykroyd doing 
Jake and Elwood's voices. . . . Lou Reed 
has refused to allow Velvet Under- 
ground's music to be used in a film, I 
Shot Andy Warhol, about Valerie Solanis, 
who actually did shoot Warhol. . . . Jon 
Bon Jovi will star in The Leading Man af- 
ter his concert tour is over. . .. Rhino 
is considering a theatrical release of a 
restored version of the home video 
Rainbow Bridge, a Jimi Hendrix mov- 
ie. . . . The Beatles Anthology, airing on 
ABC-TV, has been extended from two 
nights to three. . . . Peter Gabriel will 
make his screen debut in a science 
fiction movie, Recon, set ten years in 
the future, It will be directed by Breck 
Eisner, son of Disney chairman мї- 
chael Eisner, . . . Look for RuPaul in 
street clothes Red Ribbon Blues, an 
independent feature film about an 
HIV support group that robs a phar- 
maceutical company. 

NEWSBREAKS: Students at Savannah 
College of Art & Design have complet- 
ed a 76,726 square-foot portrait of 
Elvis. It tock 500 gallons of paint. Elvis 
didn’t get a chance to see the paint- 
ing: It was so big, it had to be disman- 


the dotted line to write her autobiog- 
raphy with journalist David Ritz. It will 
be published in the spring of 1997. .. . 
The B-52s are recording with Cindy 
Wilson back in the lineup. . . . The 
Black Crowes are playing Asia now, but 
cuts for a possible live CD are already 
in the can. . . . Michael Jackson is pro- 
ducing Sisterella, a musical adaptation 
of Cinderella, at the Pasadena Play- 
house. It opens in March. . . . Cynthia 
Lennon auctioned ott John Lennon's 
stash box at Christie's in London. . . . 
The Kinks are news: first comes a tour 
of small venues after the release of the 
band’s double live CD, then Ray 
Davies’ autobiography and his docu- 
mentary for British TV on Charles Min- 
gus will be released. . . . Celine Dion is 
recording with Phil Spector. .. . There 
is talk that Snoop Doggy Dogg's second 
CD, Dog Food, has been delayed while 
the rap controversy plays itself out. 
Snoop's label, Death Row, is a sub- 
sidiary of Time Warner. . . . When 
Johnette Napolitano was tipped off to 
some unpublished Janis Joplin lyrics, 
she put them to music for her new 
band Pretty and Twisted. But the Joplin 
estate put severe limits on usage. Even 
so, Napolitano says, "It had to be 
something that Janis would be doing 
if she were around today. I think 
she'd be mellower. The lyrics are very 
soothing and peaceful" . . . The 
Recording Industry Association of 
America says Pearl Jam’s Ten is now the 
best-selling debut CD of the Nine- 
ties. . .. Although a boxed set of all 58 
episodes of The Monkees was released, 
individual videocassettes will not be 
on the market until next year. It's too 
late to get the boxes with the official 
Monkees wristwatches. Only the first 
2000 sets had them. Hey, hey. 

— BARBARA NELLIS 


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STYLE 


LOUNGE ACTS 


Hef isn't alone in his passion for pajamas. Comfy flannel, cot- 
ton and silk pj's are one of the favored ways to dress warm 
during the long nights of winter. Depending on your mood, 
you can go with styles ranging from sophisticated to silly. 
Shadowboxer, for example, has gone to the dogs by creating 
100 percent cotton flannel pajamas with a Canine Couture 
pattern in blue (pictured 


24 


here) or bone ($68 each). 
A grizzly bear shows up 
on cotton flannel pajamas 
from Joe Boxer titled “Put 
a Lid on It” ($35). Tommy 
Hilfiger joins the pajama 
party for the first time with 
his cotton flannel pajamas 
featuring royal Stuart and 
Black Watch plaids pieced 
together ($65). PJ's 2 Go 
offers a cotton flannel style 
in red tartan with a tradi- 
tional button-down paja- 
ma-collar top and draw- 
string pants ($45). The 
Classics from Polo/Ralph 
Lauren includes a pair of cotton flannel pajamas in red with 
Martini Bear embroidery ($80). And when it comes to Fer- 
nando Sanchez’ midnight-blue paisley jacquard pajamas, 
pure silk means lounging in pure luxury ($575). 


SOMETHING SPECIAL IN MOHAIR 


Unlike the itchy mohair sweaters of old, this sea- 
son's updated models are less hairy than their an- 
cestors and the yarn is often blended with other fab- 
rics for improved texture. To get a feel for the new 
mohair, check out designer Thomas McLellon's 
light-gray crewneck sweater in alpaca and mo- 
hair or his charcoal V-neck style (about 
$200). Austyn Zung offers a virgin-mohair 
handknit turtleneck with a cross pattern in 
white with periwinkle blue (about $700). 
French Connection makes a black-and-gray 
ribbed-cable turtleneck ($104) in mohair 
and wool, while Laundry Industry, a line 
from Holland, has oversize medium-gray 
turtlenecks or V-necks with polo collars in a 
mohair, wool and nylon blend ($130 to 
$150). And for that cozy, curled-up-in-a- 
blanket effect, Tricots St. Raphael's Limited 
Edition line of menswear mixes modern mo- 4 
hair with luxurious chenille to create a loose- d 
fitted black crewneck with a gold, maroon, 

teal and rust pattern ($250). 


HOT SHOPPING: TAOS, NEW MEXICO 


As part of its traditional yuletide celebration, Taos will have a 
golden glow in December when the town plaza is lit by faroli- 


tos (paper bags with 
candles in them). 
It'll also be hopping 
with activities, in- 
cluding dogsled 
races (December 8 to 
10), Super Ski Week 
(from the 10th 
through the 16th) 
and great holiday 
shopping. Clarke & 
Co. (120 E. Bent St.): 
Guatemalan hand- 
loomed shirts and 
Southwestern-style 
sportswear. € Over- 
land Sheepskin Co. 
(three miles north 
of Taos on Highway 
522): Coats, jackets, 
slippers and rugs 
made from top-qual- 
ity sheepskin. ® An- 
dean Software (Taos 
Ski Valley complex): 
Handknit sweaters 
from Bolivia and Pe- 
ru and great aprés- 


CLOTHES LINE 


Alan Thicke and his character on 

NBC's Hope and Gloria, the smarmy 

TV talk-show host Dennis Dupree, 

share a sense of style 

and “the privilege of 

not having to pay for 

the wardrobe.” But 

їсКе recently shelled 

out big bucks for an Ar- 

mani three-piece suit 

with “substantial shoul- 

Я ders to make up for 

what nature didn't give 

me.” He likes to wear it 

with a white Calvin 

Klein dress shirt with 

an anchored collar and 

Cole-Haan oxblood 

loafers. As a gift to his new bride, 

the former briefs-wearing actor is 

learning to like boxers. "It's in my 

prenup,” he laughs, But the real 

joke is his collection of Looney 

Tunes cartoon-character underwear. 
What's up, Doc? 


m. ski boots from Italy. 


=r 


THE RIGHT TOUCH 


Set the mood with soft music and candles, warm 
some massage oil in your hands (just a table- 
spoonful) and glide into a soothing, sensual 
massage à deux for the holidays. Tantalizing 
scented oils from Judith Jackson Aromather- 
apy are used in dozens of spas, including 
Norwich Inn & Spa in Norwich, Connecti- 
cut. Our favorite pairing is Scentuality with 
sandalwood and patchouli for him, and 
Serenity with tangerine and ylang-ylang for 
her. La Costa Resort and Spa in Carlsbad, 
California sells its own massage oils scented 
with almond, lavender and other ingredi- 
ents. Want to experiment? You also can cre- 
ate your own custom blend using Aveda 
essential oils and adaptive massage base. 
And if you need to work on your technique, 
Playboy's Ultimate Sensual Massage video is a re- È 
fresher course you'll enjoy together. i 


M E T E 


SPORTS JACKETS 


OUT 


COLORS 


STYLES ЕІ Single-breasted with three buttons; soft Button bellows pockets; suede elbow patches 
shoulders; besom or open-patch pockets (unless you're landed gentry); boxy shapes 
FABRICS Soft textured wools in bouclés and tweeds; Flat-surfaced; washed silk; 100 percent 


chenille and herringbone weaves 


Traditional menswear hues in rich shades of 
brown, navy, olive and gray 


polyester; rayon hopsack 


Reds and golds; Versace-bright greens 
or shocking blues 


Where & How to Buy on page 203. 


MAN'S GUIDE DIAMONDS 


DIAMONDS r4is CHRISTMAS? Now you know 
how your wife feels shopping for GOLF CLUBS. 


Why is it a girl's best friend often turns into a 
man’s greatest fear? Hey, we're guys. We don't 
know diamonds as well as they do. 
It's time to unravel the mystery. And that starts with 
finding out what she has her heart set on. 

Is it a solitaire pendant or ear studs? You 
can find out by browsing with her, window 
shopping, watching her reactions to other women's 
jewelry. Go by body language, not just by what 
she says. Then, once you know the style, you 
can concentrate on the diamond. 

Diamonds are unique in the world. Like people, no 
two diamonds are alike. Formed in the earth 
millions of years ago and found in the most 
remote corners of the world, rough diamonds 
are sorted by DeBeers’ experts into over 5,000 
grades before they go on to be cut and polished. 
So be aware of what you are buying, ‘lwo diamonds 
of the same size may vary widely in quality. And 
if a price looks too good to be true, it probably is. 

Compromise now? Never! Geta diamond you 
can be proud of. Don’t be attracted to a jeweler 
because of “bargain prices? Like any purchase, with diamonds, you get what you pay for. Your guide to 
quality and value is a combination of four characteristics called // Cs. They are: Cuz. not the same as 
shape, but refers to the way the facets or flat surfaces are angled. A better cut offers more brilliance; 
Color, actually, close to no color is rarest; C/ari/y, the fewer natural marks or “inclusions” the better; 
Carat weight, the larger the diamond, usually the more rare. 

lst and ye shall find a good jeweler. Ask questions. Ask friends who've gone through it. Ask the jeweler 
you choose why two diamonds that look the same are priced differently. You want someone you can trust. 
Avoid Joe’s Mattress & Diamond Discounters. 

Learn more. For the booklet “How fo buy diamonds you'll be proud to give,’ call the American Gem Society, 
representing fine jewelers upholding gemological standards across the U.S., at 800-340-3028. 

Then make the most of it. Go for diamonds beyond her wildest dreams. Go for something that reflects how 
you really feel. After all, this is your chance to make this Christmas last forever. 


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You can’t catch what you can't sce 
With the new Spirit II, vou arc as invisible 
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n. The 2 10 3 mile range 
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B. New Spirit H Radar Jammer, 
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Straight from the year 2368 AD. 
Command your TV with the next. 
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Set your Phaser to ТУ, УСК, or even 
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New micro size voice disguiser even works with pay phones! 


Here's just some of the things you can do with our new palm-sized voice 
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protect women and children home alonc 
» x Unlike sophisticated desk top voice-changers, the Micro-Disgniser 
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e. XL сусг any pay phone's mouthpiece! Miniature electronics alter 

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WIRED 


VIRTUAL VERTIGO 


Talk about a lofty purpose: The Phobia 
Project, a research study being conduct- 
ed by the Georgia Institute of Technolo- 
gy, hopes to use virtual-reality environ- 
ments to cure acrophobes of their fear 
of heights. Unlike traditional therapy, 
which forces patients to face actual eleva- 
tion situations, the Georgia Tech project 
places them in computer-generated 
ones. Wearing a VR head-mounted dis- 
play, a patient may begin by looking out 
the window of a computer-rendered 
high-rise, for example, and then gradu- 
ally move to more intense environments, 
such as a footbridge suspended high 
above a river or a glass elevator that trav- 
els almost 50 stories skyward. Realistic 
graphics, combined with a greater sense 
of control and safety, have made the VR 


simulations a success, according to par- 
ticipants. As a result, Georgia Tech pre- 
dicts that similar “virtual therapy” will be 
developed to help people with other 
phobias. How about the fear of comput- 
ers? For more info, check out Georgia 
‘Tech's Web site at http://www.cc.gatech 
edu/gvu/virtual/. 


HEAR THE WARMTH 


Although the compact disc was intro- 
duced dozen years ago as “perfect 
sound forever,” engineers have contin- 
ued to tweak the digital medium in or- 
der to sweeten its steely demeanor. One 
of the latest and best curatives, high 
definition compatible digital, restores 
some of the musical warmth and airiness 
that audiophiles say are lacking in CDs. 
“The digital data juggling is mostly done 
in an encoding processor at the record- 
ing studio, and some improvements of 
an HDCD's disc can be reproduced 
through current CD players. (Give Neil 
Young's HDCD release Mirror Ball or his 
new multidisc retrospective a listen.) 
New HDCD-tuned compact disc players 
also are available with higher-grade dig- 


28 ital filtering chips. These pick up a hid- 


den control channel in new HDCD 
recordings, steering the signal recon- 
struction process. Prices start at $800 for 
first-generation equipment from salon 
brands such as Adcom, Audio Alchemy 
and Counterpoint Electronic Systems. 
However, mass market companies may 
soon introduce players priced between 
$300 and $500. Fxtra motivation to buy: 
The HDCD disc spinners should make 
your old CDs sound better, too. 


ELECTRONIC 
STOCKING STUFFERS 


Santa has some great gadgets to fill that. 
red stocking with this year. For rock and 
Rollerbladers, there's Panasonic's SL- 
S490 portable CD player ($219), which 
features a ten-second antishock memory 
for eliminating skips caused by bumpy 
terrain. Those who prefer to listen to 
music in an easy chair will appreciate 
Sennheiser’s HD414 Classic stereo head- 
phones ($99), an updated reissue of its 
first model released in 1967. Cyber- 
surfers can connect Toshiba’s superslim 
TCP-2000 cellular phone ($349) to a lap- 
top and go online, send e-mail or send 
and receive faxes from the road. For 
reading after lights-out, Lumatec offers 
the Nite Owl ($25), a bookmark-type 


If you cor! your camcorder more often 
thon your 35mm camera, you 
can still enjoy photos of 
your adventures with 
Sharp's GZ-P15U 
video printer (pic- 
tured here). When 
connected to с video 
source, such as a TV, 
VCR or camcorder, 
the four-pound unit 

lets you freeze an 
image ond print it 

out on special po- 
per, postcards or 
adhesive labels. The 
price: $1000. ө 
Football fans can 
ready their Super 
Bowl bets with Sports 
Predictor Football, a 
$20 pocket-size device 
developed by Micro 
Games of America and 
Roxy Roxborough, Las Ve- 
gos’ number one oddsmaker. 


Just plug in the stats for any two teams and the Sports Predic- 
tor will make on intelligent guess ot the final score, the total 
number of points in the gome and the point differential. e 


ME 


gadget with an arm that curves over the 
top of a book, illuminating the pages. 


For info junkies, there's Franklin's latest 
Electronic Bookman ($130). This 
smart handheld reference tool features 
dedicated Pocket Quicken financial soft- 
ware for tracking expenses on the go as 
well as two slots for additional software 
cartridges. Check out Movie Views, a 
guide to more than 5000 feature films; 
Bartender's Guide, featuring 2200 cock- 
tail recipes; and the Total Baseball Ency- 
dopedia, a database of more than 1 mil- 
lion stats. Each is priced at $45. 


Think of Case Logic's Gel-eez gel-filled rests as water beds for 
tired wrists. Priced between $13 and $17, they can even be 
chilled in the refrigerator for cool wrist comfort. 


MULTIMEDIA 
REVIEWS & NEWS 


ON CD-ROM 
Electronics and software retailers are 
hawking hundreds of new Mac and PC 
CD-ROM titles for the holidays. To sepa- 
rate the cool from the coal, we offer 
these recommendations. 


GAMES: Lucas Arts Archives Vol. I—You can 
enjoy more than 150 hours of playtime 
with this six-disc collection of CD-ROM 
titles, including Rebel Assault Special 
Edition, Day of the Tentacle and Sam & 
Max Hit the Road. There's also a sam- 
pler disc of demos, that features Dark 
Forces and Full Throttle—two games we 
reviewed last month—plus Rebel Assault 
П and the Dig, the long-awaited adven- 


YBER SCOOP 


Time is definitely money when 
you're online, and Claris’ new 
E-mailer saves both. This disk- 
based software for Mac gathers 
mail from the Net, AOL, Com- 
puserve, eWorld and Rodiomail 
so you con reod—off-line—from 
a single locotion. The price: $89. 


You can now weor FLAYBOY's Web 
site ond Rabbit Head logo close 
jo your һесгі by ordering our ex- 
clusive Home Poge T-shirt. Check 
out hitp://www.playboy.com for 
o photo and details. 


ture game inspired by Steven Spielberg. 
(For DOS, $30.) Paparazzi: Tales of Tinsel- 
town— You're a sleazebag photographer 
trying to nail tabloid celebrity shots in 
this hilarious two-disc title featuring 
more than 60 actors and two hours of 
live, interactive video. (From Activision, 
for Mac and Windows, $50.) Jam Pak— 
This boxed set includes Panzer Gener- 
al, which has you blasting your way 
through World War Two Europe; Fleet 
Defender, a Top 
Gun-style air-com- 
bat fighter дате; 
System Shock, a cy- 
berspace thriller; 
and Indycar Racing, 
which pits you 
against Indy racers 
on actual tracks from 
the circuit. (From 
Carbela Tek, for 
Windows, $80.) Mor- 
tol Kombat 3—The 
blood-and-guts Sega 
and Nintendo blockbuster comes to the 
PC with eight new characters, enhanced 
graphics and, best of all, network and 
modem capabilities that support up to 
eight players. (From GT Interactive Soft- 


Escape fram Alcatraz 


ware, for DOS, about $50.) Arcade Ameri- 
co—A goofball adolescent goes on a 
cross-country journey to collect his pet 
monsters, which were scattered from Al- 
catraz to the Alamo during an explosion. 
Sound like kid stuff? It’s not, thanks to 
Simpsons-style humor and outstanding 
computer animation. (From 7th Level, 
for Windows, $50.) 


SPORTS: Warren Miller's Ski 
World— Tips, tricks and in- 
structional advice for skiers 
of all levels are combined 
with info on nearly 1000 
worldwide ski resorts. You 
can zoom in on trail maps 
to get a closer look at 
specific runs. (From Multi- 
com Publishing, for Mac 
and Windows, $35.) Scuba 
Tune-Up Multimedia— This in- 
teractive review covers the 
fundamentals of diving by 
way of text, audio and 
video demonstrations and stunning still 
photography. (From PADI International, 
for Mac and Windows, $60.) Extreme 
Sports—A CD-ROM roundup of the 
world's most adrenaline-pumping 
sports, from sky surfing to white-water 
kayaking. Includes photos and video as 
well as advice on technique, destinations 
and the gear that will save your neck. 
(From Medio, for Windows, $60.) 


MUSIC: MTV Unplugged—This guaran- 
teed hit features a selection of top Un- 
plugged performances in full-motion, 
full-screen video, plus band biographies, 
interviews, backstage tours and previ- 
ously unreleased footage of rehearsals 
and sound checks by Melissa Etheridge, 
the Cranberries and others. (From Via- 
com New Media, for Mac and Windows, 
about $60.) The Grommys—Flash back 
through 35 years of Grammy history 
with a library's worth of facts and trivia 
plus performances by artists as diverse as 
Miles Davis and Metallica. (From Mind- 
scape, for Mac and Windows, $30.) Head 
Candy—Hallucinogenic graphics pulse 
to the beat of Brian 
Eno's techno tracks 
on this mind-alter- 
ing title, which also 
provides music-only 
on standard CD 
players. (From Ion, 
for Windows, $20.) 


SCREEN SAVERS: Totally 
Twisted After Dark— 
The company that’s 
behind the famous 
flying toasters paro- 
dies its own work with flying toilets, a 
lawn-mower man who terrorizes a field 
of cuddly kittens, mimes that you can 
shoot to kill and more. (From Berkeley 
Systems, for Mac and Windows, $30.) 


н. R. Giger Screen Saver—The Academy 
Award-winning surrealist behind Alien 
and Species brings this creepy collection 
of animated images to the small screen. 
(From MGM Interactive, for Mac and 
Windows, about $20.) 


ONLINE 
The best thing about shopping for holi- 
day gifts in cyberspace is that you're al- 


Aliens in the machine 


ways first in line. Here are a few places to 
start. (Remember to type http:// at the 
beginning of each URL.) Kaleidospace 
(kspace.com): An electronic catalog fea- 
turing the work of independent artists 
and musicians. Onsale (www.onsale. 

com): Bids on merchandise ranging 
from movie, music and sports memora- 
bilia to an authentic railroad caboose in 
this online auction. Cyboutique (www.ro 
mantasy.com): A one-stop shop for eroti- 
ca, with lingerie, literature and fetish 
furniture designed to “create a more 
sex-positive world." merketplaceMCI (www2. 
pcy.mci.net/marketplace/marketplace.ht 
ml): This cybermall features merchan- 
dise from retailers such as Foot Locker 
and Hammacher Schlemmer. Stevens 
Magie Emporium (www.southwind.net/ 
IMS/magic/): A unique collection of 
equipment and videos for budding 
magicians. Cheetah’s Gold (www. 
cheetahs-gold.com/): Top-quality travel 
and adventure clothing from Tilley En- 
durables. Direct Alternatives (www.sof 
com.com.au/DA/index.html): An Aus 

tralian supplier of ecofriendly foods, 
fashions, grooming goods and morc. 


DIGITAL DUDS 


Launch: A digital magozine 
overloaded with ods? No thank 
you. 


Atari 2600 Pack for Windows, 
Volumes I and Il: Cramming a 
bunch of prehistoric video games 
onto CD-ROM is pretty lome. We 
will toke Doom over Kaboom any 
time. 


See whot’s happen 
Home Роде ot http://www. playboy.com. 


WHERE & HOW To BUY ON PAGE 202. 


29 


MOVIES 


By BRUCE WILLIAMSON 


THE ARTY English social set that waived 
all rules of behavior more than 70 years 
ago may not be an ideal subject for to- 
day's moviegoers, but Carrington (Gra- 
mercy) casts a spell—if only because its 
actors are so commanding. Indomitable 
Emma Thompson has the title role as a 
boyish-looking artist with a yen for 
handsome men but a fixation on Lytton 
Strachey, the unabashedly gay writer 
and social critic (played with outrageous 
high style by England’s Jonathan Pryce). 
Writer and director Christopher Hamp- 
ton, whose screen adaptation of Danger- 
ous Liaisons won a 1988 Oscar, takes his 
time telling the true story of Dora Car- 
rington’s 17-year live-in relationship 
with Strachey. They remain soul mates 


even as Carrington breaks the heart of 


artist Mark Gertler (Rufus Sewell), mar- 
ries a handsome war veteran (Steven 
Waddington) and has a fling with her 
husband's friend (Samuel West). Mean- 
while, Strachey openly lusts after Dora's 
husband, flaunts his indiscretions and 
defuses every near-debacle with wither- 
ing wit. Carrington is a vivid valentine to 
some blithe British spirits playing musi- 
cal chairs through the Jazz age. YYV 


For the first time, an Elmore Leonard 
novel has been made into a screen com- 
edy as funny, cryptic and compelling as 
the original be: ller The film is Get 
Shorty (MGM), directed by Barry Son- 
nenfeld and adapted by Scott Frank, 
with John Travolta brilliantly following 
his Pulp Fiction triumph as anoth 
reputable sharpie, Chili Palmer. Chili is a 
Miami loan shark as well as a passionate 
film buff. He is sent to Las Vegas and Los 
Angeles to collect some money and—the 
way things work out —worm 
the movie industry. One of his collabora- 
tors turns out to be Harry (Gene Hack- 
man). a would-be Hollywood player 
known for producing movies with titles 
such as Slime Creature. Now plotting big- 
ger things, Harry promises “a block- 
buster, no mutants or maniacs—th 


man’s frenzy is a hilarious counterpoint 
to Travolta's implacable cool. Abetting 
them are Renee Russo as Harry's droll 
girlfriend Karen, and Danny DeVito as 
her former husband, the movie star—a 
celebrity so big he never orders what's 
on the menu at the best restaurants. 
David Paymer, Dennis Farina and a 
horde of other miscreants play key roles 
in a quick plot that starts with an insur- 
ance scam and moves along to drug-run- 
ning, murder and some curious ways to 
raise development money for motion- 
30 picture projects. Director Sonnenfeld, 


Travolta and Russo do right by Shorty. 


Making waves in Tinseltown, 
losing ground in Vegas 
and living free in England. 


who made both Addams Family movies, 
has collected a top cast to transform 
Leonard's satire into a real winner. ¥¥¥¥ 


Adapted from the Truman Capote 
novella set in the Forties, The Grass Harp 
(Fine Line) is a dewy-eyed comedy about 
some quirky Southern characters who 
det convention by taking up residence 
ree house. Co-producer and direc- 
tor Charles Matthau casts his dad, Wal- 
ter, in a key role as Judge Cool. The 
judge warms up to Dolly (Piper Laurie), 
one of two maiden sisters taking care of 
their 11-year-old orphaned cousin 
Collin (Edward Furlong), who prefers 
Dolly to her stern sibling Verena (Sissy 
Spacek). Nell Carter plays the outspoken 
housemaid in this trio of female ec 
centrics. Peripheral hamming by Jack 
Lemmon, Mary Steenburgen, Charles 
Durning and Roddy McDowall shores 
up this precious tale of growing pains in 
the deep South. ¥¥ 


Alcoholics and good-hearted hookers 
have staggered and strutted across the 
screen since movies began. Оп that 
t, Leaving Las Vegas (MGM) looks fa- 
miliar but delivers potent emotional im- 
pact anyway. olas Cage and Elizabeth 
Shue play the kind of loser roles that 
paradoxically often win Oscars. He's a 
hard-drinking Hollywood castaway who 


is fired from his studio job and moves to 
Vegas to kill himself with booze. She's a 
streetwalker who can't save him—but 
has the free time to try after her brutal 
pimp (Julian Sands) is eliminated by 
some nasty associates. Cage is the most 
convincing, bleary-eyed movie drunk 
since Ray Milland in The Lost Weekend, 
and Shue more than holds her own as 
the whore who appears to be confiding 
the lurid details of their affair to an off- 
screen psychiatrist. Despite that awk- 
ward device, there is a strain of stark 
conviction as the actors spout British 
writer-director Mike Figgis’ blunt dia- 
logue. When the two outcasts decide to 
move in together, Shue tells Cage: “In- 
cluded with the rent around here is a 
complimentary blow job.” Adapted by 
Figgis from a novel by John O'Brien, 
who committed suicide before the movie 
was made, Leaving Las Vegas pulls no 
punches. ¥¥¥ 


Steal Big, Steal Little (Savoy Pictures) is 
conscientiously heartwarming schmaltz— 
director Andrew Davis’ first movie since 
The Fugitive, which starred Har 
Ford. Here, his prime asset is Andy Gar 
да, charismatic and accomplished in his 
dual role as identical twin brothers 
adopted in childhood by a wealthy bo- 
hemian (Holland Taylor) who leaves 
them feuding over their inheritance of a 
40,000-acre ranch in Santa Barbara. 
Ruben, the good brother, wants to pre- 
serve the place as is; sibling Robby wants 
to develop it as urban sprawl. Rachel 
Ticotin as Ruben's estranged wife and 
Alan Arkin in an irrelevant role as a car 
dealer join a company of Chicano labor- 
ers, do-gooders, land-grabbers, friends 
of the family and hangers-on whose rol- 
licking confrontations are seldom as 
charming as they're meant to be. УЗУ; 


Director Gary Fleder's grisly first fea- 
ture, Things to Do in Denver When You're 
Dead (Miramax), written by Scott Rosen- 
berg, is а darkly comic crime drama that 
makes Tarantino's films look softheart- 
ed. There is a kinky but compelling sen- 
sibility underlying this tale of love, death 
and defeat. Andy Garcia (again) stars as 
aretired Denver crook, Jimmy the Saint, 
whose legit business is making videos 
that doomed-to-die clients can leave be- 
hind for their loved ones. Jimmy has just 
met the girl of his dreams (Gabrielle An- 
war) when he is lured into one fast scam 
by the Man (Christopher Walken, doing 
his patented imitation of a psychotic 
master criminal). A simple job of intimi- 
dation turns into a bloody fiasco when 
Jimmy recruits four unstable former 


Grand Marnier, slightly less mysterious than chemistry. 


32 


Sorvino: Paul's daughter a-peeling. 


OFF CAMERA 


About to leave for Italy's Venice 
Film Festival to promote Mighty 
Aphrodite, Mira Sorvino, 25, said she 
relished her role as Woody Allen's 
leading lady. "It's a part you thank 
your lucky stars for. My character 
is Linda, a call girl and aspiring 
porn actress. She's a bit ridiculous 
and vulgar—uses a lot of four-let- 
ter words—but so endearing and 
fresh. I wanted to make her a 
failed sex star.” 

The eldest daughter of actor 
Paul Sorvino, Mira is a Harvard 
graduate who majored in Chinese 
studies and lived in Beijing in the 
tumultuous days before the 
Tiananmen Square outbreak. “A 
great time to be there. I guess I 
was exploring alternatives. 1 had 
lots of parental pressure not to be 
an actor.” Now her dad is her 
mentor, and they hope to appear 
onstage together in King Lear. 

For the moment, Mira has a full 
plate. It all began with her first 
movie job, in Rob Weiss’ Amongst 
Friends. "I was assistant director, 
interning as a reader and story ed- 
itor at "Tribeca Productions. I tried 
to help Rob find the right girl for 
the part and wound up doing it 
myself." This year, watch for her 
cameo role with Harvey Keitel in 
Blue in the Face (see review) and a 
stint as Matt Dillon’s troubled girl- 
friend ("she's struggling, a border- 
line anorexic”) in Beautiful Girls, 
plus her work as “an ebullient, 
very passionate Brazilian girl” in a 
BBC miniseries based on Edith 
Wharton's The Buccaneers. And 
there's more to come. Sorvino, 
who is 59” and beautiful, ruefully 
recalls her days as a gangly, uncer- 
tain high school girl in Tenafly, 
New Jersey. "Brooke Shields was 
at my school, too, in an upper 
class. 1 remember seeing her on a 
Vogue cover and comparing all our 
features. All I wound up liking was 
my lower lip—and maybe my 
eyes.” That was then, this is now. 
Everything is looking good. 


gangsters to help. William Forsythe, 
Treat Williams, Christopher Lloyd and 
Bill Nunn are his team—all condemned 
to die awful deaths after their mission 
goes wildly awry. Some great camera 
work, implausible but intriguing charac- 
ters and crudely clever dialogue con- 
spire to make Things to Do in Denver an 
ordeal to remember. УУУ: 


Set in backwoods North Carolina 
decades before the Civil War, The Journey 
of August King (Miramax) is a strikingly 
suspenseful saga of a runaway slave and 
the widowed homesteader who es 
her. Thandie Newton plays the fugitive 
Annalees, the bastard daughter of a rich 
slave owner. She meets August (Jason 
Patric) as he heads home in his horse- 
drawn cart with a new cow. Director 
John Duigan, who made Sirens and Fürt- 
ing, underplays the inevitable sexual ten- 
sion between Newton and Patric but 
doesn't lose track of it. Co-producer Sam 
Waterston also takes a minor role. 
Adapted by John Ehle from his own 
popular novel, this is a humane, intelli- 
gent drama. ¥¥¥ 


Roseanne, Madonna, Lou Reed, Lily 
‘Tomlin, Michael J. Fox and director Jim 
Jarmusch are a few of the celebrities who 
show up to improvise Blue in the Face 
(Miramax). Inspired by their successful 
Smoke, moviemaker Wayne Wang and 
novelist Paul Auster return to the same 
Brooklyn cigar store with Harvey Keitel 
as proprietor. This time he's host to a 
collection of big names, all winging it 
without benefit of a script. The actors 
seem as pleased with themselves as a 
pack of unleashed hams can be, but au- 
diences get a measly share of the good 
time they're having. Y/ 


The female stars of How to Make an 
American Quilt (Universal) exchange so 
many wise, intuitive, womanly glances 
that the average guy may be driven to 
make rude noises in protest. It's all tartly 
sweet and romantic—with Ellen Bur- 
styn, Anne Bancroft, Jean Simmons, 
Kate Nelligan and poct Maya Angelou 
among the women making a wedding 
quilt for Winona Ryder as a girl named 
Finn. She is Burstyn’s granddaughter, at 
work on her graduate thesis while 
schmoozing with her family and won- 
dering whether to go ahead and marry a 
handsome Mr. Right (Dermot Mul- 
roney). Jocelyn Moorhouse directed the 
screenplay by Jane Anderson. Although 
American Quilt is stitched together with 
flawless professionalism, it still plays like 
a dismissable feminist’s answer to Mon- 
day Night Football. W% 


MOVIE SCORE CARD 


capsule close-ups of current films 
by bruce williamson 


Blue in the Face (Sce review) A few prize 


hams blow Smoke rings. A 
Carrington (See review) Some British 
bohos, way back when. wy 


Clockers (Reviewed 11/95) Spike Lee's 
look at Richard Price’s world of drug 
dealers. Wh 
Coldblooded (11/95) Jason Priestley on 
target as an apprentice hit man. ¥¥¥ 
Devil in a Blue Dress (10/95) She's a dan- 
gerous dame, tamed by Denzel. ¥¥¥ 
Frankie Starlight (Listed only) Dwarf 
hero's life, loves and blarney. УУ 
Get Shorty (See review) Finally, an El- 
more Leonard film with flair. УУУУ 
The Grass Harp (See review) Truman 
Capote novella begets a fey tale. ¥¥ 
How to Make an American Quilt (See re- 
view) Girl talk ad infinitum. vv 
The Innocent (11/95) S| on the job 
on the east side of Berlin's infamous 
wall. yy 
Jack and Sarah (11/95) Widowed father 
hires a charming nanny who helps 


him to forget. LU 
The Journey of August King (See review) 
Runaway slave trip. wy 


Kicking and Screaming (11/95) College 
grads get ready to face real life. УУУ 
Kids (10/95) Urban sexual vandals in a 
vibrant take on teenage morals. УУУУ 
Last Summer in the Hamptons (Listed on- 
ly) A Jaglom garden party. w 
Leaving Los Vegas (See review) Cage 
and Shue ina high-risk affair. УУУ 
Les Misérables (11/95) Fine French ac- 
tors don't go by the book. yy 
Moonlight and Valentino (11/95) Women 
join Bon Jovi for grief therapy. YY 
Steal Big, Steal Little (See review) Sibling 
rivalry over ranchland. Wh 
Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead 
(See review) Crooks condemned after 
a bungled caper. Wr 
To Die For (10/95) Kidman scores as a 
scheming, small-town bitch. — ¥¥¥/2 
Unstrung Heroes (11/95) A tearjerker 
deftly directed by Diane Keaton. ¥¥¥ 
Unzipped (10/95) High-fashion low 
jinks spotlighting designer Isaac 
Mizrahi Wr 
The Usual Suspects (9/95) Brilliant edge- 
of-your-seat caper film. УУУУ 
When Night Is Falling (Listed only) A 
man-loving lesbian comes out. ¥¥/2 
White Man's Burden (10/95) Racial role- 
switchers Belafonte and Travolta turn 
social issues upside down. wy 


¥¥¥¥ Don't miss 
¥¥¥ Good show 


¥¥ Worth a look 
Y Forget it 


5 


^ 


“tar? 11 mgnicotine av. per cigarette by FTC method: 


SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Cigarette 
Smoke Contains Carbon Monoxide. 


20 STATE-OF-THE-ART RAIL CARS. 


16mg “tar” 11 mg nicotine av. per cigarerte by FIC method. 


Marlboro! 


Bs 
E 


CAR 

14 CHARLIE RUSSELL'S 
The game is straight and 
drinks are on the house. 


DESIGNED, BUILT AND OUTFITTED EXC 


CAR = CARS 
15 THUNDER € LIGHTNING 4-11 STATEROOMS 


The rolling club and priva! 
that rocks all night. in a bunkhouse for two. 


SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Cigarette 
Smoke Contains Carbon Monoxide. 


— YT 


Hot tubs on rails j 
with a view of the clouds. "i 


NARLBORO 
UNLIMITED MN 


SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Cigarette 
Smoke Contains Carbon Monoxide. 


18 mg "tar; 1.1 mg nicotine av. per 
cigarette by FTC method. 


SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Cigarette 


Smoke Contains Carbon Monoxide. 


16mg tar; 11 mg nicotine av. per cigarette by FTC method. pu 


Marlboro 


Every winner brings a friend for 5 days and 5 nights of 
= Ч riding; hiking, mountain-biking, white-water rafting, 
: == Y Todeoing, ballooning апа taking on thé West. It all . ..\ 
happens on the route of the Marlboro Unlimited, a train _: 


designed, built and outfitted exclusively for Marlboro 
smöhkers. With hot tubs, 
| ENTER ==>" 
movie theater and 
ў: NOW 2 restaurants serving up all. ^ 
m. the flavor of the West. 


UNLIMITED 


SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Cigarette 
Smoke Contains Carbon Monoxide. 


NEW ITEMS MADE TO TAKE | . 

ON A LAND THAT HNOWS NO LIMITS. 
YOU MAY NOT WIN THE TRIP, 

BUT YOU CAN STILL GET THE GEAR. 
JUST GET THE MILES. 


"961-9-S6 ТЫ "ANON puey AQ 6L6} D dew 


MARLBORO UNLIMITED SWEEPSTAKES 


OFFICIAL RULES-NO PURCHASE NECESSARY 
TO ENTER, YOU MUST BE A SMOKER, 21 YEARS OF AGE OR OLDER 


1. HERE'S HOW THE MARLBORO UNLIMITEO SWEEPSTAKES 
WORKS: Two thousand (2,000) prizes of a 6-day/S-night trip 
(including travel to/from point of embarkation/debarkation) for 
two on the Marlboro Unlimited train plus $1,000 cash will be 
awarded in a random drawing. 


2. HERE'S HOW TO ENTER: On an official entry form only, in 
{һе spaces provided, indicate your complele name, address 
(including ZIP Code) and your date of birth. 


IMPORTANT! In order to be eligible for a prize, you must sign 
your name in the space provided, certifying that you are a 
smoker, 21 years of age or older as of date of entry. 


3. WHERE TO MAIL YOUR COMPLETEO ENTRY FORM: Mail 
your completed entry in a hand-addressed 4-1/8" x 9-1/2" #10 
(business-size) envelope, with a first-class postage stamp 
affixed, to: Marlboro Unlimited Sweepstakes, P.O. Box ZEEE 
Blair, NE 68009. Limit one entry per outer mailing envelope. 
Entries must be received by 4/30/96. 


4. ENTRIES MUST BE ON OFFICIAL ENTRY FORMS ONLY. NO’ 
PHOTOCOPIEO OR MECHANICALLY REPROOUCEO ENTRY, 
FORMS ACCEPTED. For each additional entry form you Would 
like to receive, send a separate, self-addressed, stamped, #10 
(business-si j envelope to: Marlboro Unlimited Requests, 
P.0. Box 4148, Blair, NE 68009. Limit one request perouter 
mailing envelope. Residents of the states of Vand WA need 
not affix postage to return envelopes. Participation timited to 
residents of the U.S. who are smokers, 24years of age or 
older. Entry form requests must be received by.4/12/95. 


5. GENERAL RULES: Sweepstakes open to residents of the 
U.S. who are smokers and 21 years of age or older at lime of 
entry, Employees of Philip Morris Incorporated, its affiliates, 
‘subsidiaries, advertising and promotion agencies, and the 
immediate family members of each are nol eligible. All entries 
become the exclusive property of Philip Morris Incorporated 
and will not be returned: Sponsor will not be responsible 
for lost, late, damaged, postage due or misdirected 
mail. Incomplete/illegible/mutilated entries, E 
entries without a Signature or entries not 4 
including agate of birth will be deemed > 
nul! and void. Sweepstakes void in MA 
and МЕ@П@ where prohibited by 


b 


law. The odds of winning a prize will depend upon the number 
ot eligible entries received. Sweepstakes random drawing will 
be conducted on or about 5/7/96 by D.L. Blair, Inc., an 
independent judging organization whose decisions are final on 
all matters relating to this offer. All federal, state and local 
taws and regulations apply. Winners are responsible for all 
federal, state and local taxes on the complete trip for two 
Potential prizewinners will be required to sign and return a 
Prize Acceptance Form/Atfidavit of Eligibility/Release of 
LrabilityMedical Release Publicity Release within 14 days of 
attempted notification. Noncompliance within this time period 
may result in disqualification. All traveling companions must 
sign and return a Release of Liability/Medical Release/ 
Publicity Release prior to departure. Traveling companion 
must be 21 years of age or older at time of winner's 
notification. Any prize notification returned to Sponsor as 
undeliverable will result in disqualification and an alternate 
will be selected. Sponsor reserves the right to provide a cash 
alternative at ils sole discretion. No substitution or transfer of 
prize permitted. Alt prizes will be awarded. Limit one prize рег 
person. Winners will be notified by mail on or about 6/17/96. 
Acceptance Wf prize offered constitutes permission to use 
winner's namiband/or likeness for purposes of advertising and 
trade without fuller compensation, unless prohibited by law. 
қ 


6. PRIZES: 2,000 Grapd Prizes- a 6-day/S-night trip for two on 
the Marlboro Unilimitettrain, including round-trip coach air 
transportation to/from pülat of embarkation/debarkation, 
meals (aboard train}, 1009102 (one room, double occupancy) 
and activities plus $1,000 im€ash (approximate retail value: 
$6,000 each prize). Train will Travel through the stales of CO, 
10, MT and WY. Winner$’must afee to travel on scheduled 
dates specified by Sponsor- Winnefe)trips will be scheduled 
depending upon space availability andweather conditions. 
Winners must accomplish travel on daleS designated by 
Sponsor between August, 1996.201 the fall bi1997. If for 
reasons beyond the Sponsor's control the traimis not in service 
In 1996, all prizewinner travel-wiil take place in 1997. 


N 7. For the names of prizewinners, avaílalile atier 
ON 7/8/96, send a separate, Self-addressed, 
stamped, #10 (business-size) envelüp&lto: 
Marlboro Unlimited Winners, P.O Box 
4161, Blair, NE 68009. 


EN 
ON 


THE TRAIN. THE TRIP. THE GEAR.| 3 


` 


“16mg "tar? 11 mgnicotine ev. par 
cigarette by FTC mathdd. 
C Phiip Moris Ine. 1895 


" E Sm 


SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Cigarette 


Smoke Contains Carbon Monoxide. 


VIDEO 


GUEST SAIT 


EET BE) Dont ask Friends‘ 
David Schwimmer, 
whose character is 
best known for his 
pet primate, if his fa- 
vorite film is King 

Kong. He won't 
ke laugh. “It gets a little 

grating," Schwimmer 
admits, “to walk down the street and be 
called Monkey Boy." So how does he get 
rid of his anthropoid aggravation? “By 
watching almost anything by Peter Sellers. 
My favorite kind of comedy is physical 
clowning, and he's the best at it.” Also a 
faithful collector of Woody Allen films, 
Schwimmer shares the Woodman's neb- 
bish-as-paradigm shtick: "If people em- 
brace my character on Friends as a nerd 
hunk, so be it. I will step up to the chal- 
lenge." Does any one video capture the 
quirky actor's fancy time and again? Sure: 
"Fellini Satyricon." There are no monkeys 
in that, right? —DOWNA COE 


VIDBITS 


Kino on Video has uncovered another 
bit of old gold: She (1935) is an action ad- 
venture about an Arctic snow goddess 
discovered by explorers searching for 
the fountain of youth. The film features 
art deco sets and a Max Steiner score, 
and stars Helen Gahagan, later known 
as Helen Gahagan Douglas—the politi- 
cian who was one of Richard Nixon's 
first smear victims. Rhino's First Works 
is a filmographer's fantasy—a two-vol- 
ume close-up on today's top film direc- 
tors. Included are interviews with а 
dozen celebrated lensmen—among 
them Spike Lee, Oliver Stone, Ron 
Howard, Martin Scorsese and B-movie 
king Roger Corman—as well as samples 
of their college films and clips from their 
later triumphs. From BBC Video and 
CBS/Fox comes the tape debut of Eliza- 
beth R, the Emmy-winning miniseries 
first aired on PBS' Masterpiece Theater in 
the early Seventies. Chronicling the 
reign of Queen Elizabeth I in six cyclical 
plays, the saga remains among the most 
loved series ever produced by the BBC. 
‘Two-time Oscar winner Glenda Jackson 
stars as Her Majesty. 


VIDEO MOUTHFULS 


To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie 
Neumar is the latest in off-the-marquee 
tiles that are just as tongue-tripping at 
the video checkout, Space prevents 
lengthy reviews of other standouts, but 
their titles tell more than enough: 

Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in 


Paris (1975): French musical revue. 

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Wor- 
rying and Love the Bomb (1964): Cold War 
à la Kubrick. 

The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the 
Desert (1994): Drag queens on a bus. 

Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mama’s Hung You in the 
Closet and I'm Feeling So Sad (1967): Dad is 
dead. Hearsehold humor. 

The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul. 
Marat as Performed by Inmates of the Asylum 
of Charenton Under the Direction of the Mar- 
quis de Sade (1967): Funny farm francaise. 
Koyaanisqatsi (198: Cosmic kaleido- 
scope—best when you're stoned. 
Powaggatsi (1988): Son of Koyaanisqatsi. 
It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (1963): 
Mad. 

How to Succeed in Business Without Really Try- 
ing (1967): Boardroom songfest. 

Can Hieronymus Merkin Ever Forget Mercy 
Humppe and Find True Happiness? (1969); 
X-rated musical (still a virgin to vid). 
Mary Poppins (1964): Short title, but re- 
member Supercalifrogilisticexpialidocious? 
Try that with a spoonful of sugar in your 
mouth. —DAVID STINE, 


LASER FARE 


Since its release in 1943, For Whom the Bell 
Tolls, the Hemingway saga starring In- 
grid Bergman and Gary Cooper, has be- 
come increasingly shorter—first when 
critics of the era complained it was too 
long, then when TV began paring it 
down to air it. But in 1994, the UCLA 
film archives restored all of the excised 
material—including the overture and 


VIDEO OF 
THE MONTH 


EYEFUL 


In what can only be “А 
called а public ser- р 
vice, Showtime re- 
kindles the nation's 
love affair with its 
legendary poster 
girls. The Pin-Ups, 


a one-hour apprecia- 

tion of the thumbtackable female form, 
features a bounty of sweet glimpses 
back—from imported French postcards to 
Ziegfeld's lobby cards to the centerfolds of 
quess which men's magazine. Included in 
the libido-warming scrapbook: picture- 
perfect homages to the Varga and Petty 
girls, Grable and Bardot—and, sure, Mari- 
lyn and Madonna ($19.95). 


intermission music composed by Victor 
Young—and now MCA/Universal has re- 
leased the whole shebang in a special re- 
mastered laser edition ($44.98). The 
package also includes a booklet that con- 
tains liner notes, photos and reprints of 
the film's original lobby cards. .. . On.the 
heels of their promise to remove the Star 
Wars space epic from retail circulation 
next year, Twentieth Century Home En- 
tertainment and George Lucas are now 
offering the trilogy on individual discs 
(CLV mode, $60), as well as in the usual 
boxed set (CAV, $250). The big plus: All 
soundtracks feature THX quality sound 
previously available only on the Special 
Edition. — GREGORY Р FAGAN 


TRAVEL 


FEAST AND FLY 


Some of America’s top restaurants are situated within 20 min- 
utes of a major airport. So if you're trapped by an extended 
layover or can't stomach another microwaved meal, here's 
where to dine well and still catch your flight. O'Hare: The cel- 
ebrated Le Francais (269 South Milwaukee Avenue in Wheel- 
ing, Illinois) is a stellar dining room that features haute 
French cuisine. Nightly specials are wollied to your table on 
Christofle silver, and you'll choose from one of the great wine 
lists of the world. Reservations are tight, but it’s worth a call to 
708-541-7470 to see if a last-minute cancellation has opened 
up a table. Coat and tie are de rigueur. La Guardia and JFK. 
Amerigo's (3587 East Tremont Avenue) is ten minutes from 
the former, 20 minutes from JFK. The food—steaks, chops 
and Italian fare—is some of the best in New York. Hot tip: Try 
the osso buco (718-792-3600). Washington National: Washing- 
ton, D.C.'s proximity to the airport makes dining at 1789 
Restaurant (1226 36th Street, NW) in Georgetown an easy 
commute. The American menu features hearty soups and 
New England seafood, and the wine list includes some terrific 
domestic bottlings (202-965-1789). Miam: International: For 
Florida cuisine with a French spin, cab it to Grand Cafe (2669 
South Bayshore Drive), 
where you can dine on 
such delicacies as pom- 
pano and spicy stone 
crabs (305-858-9600) 
Los Angeles International: 
Santa Monica is your 
best bet when dining 
near LAX, and Valenti- 
no (3115 Pico Boule- 
vard) is the best place for 
terrific Italian food in 
high-energy, celebrity- 
packed surroundings 
(310-829-4313). 


NIGHT MOVES: PARIS 


Paris may be the world's most beautiful city by day, but after 
dusk during Christmas and New Year's, it truly lives up to its 
sobriquet, the City of Light. Start with cocktails at Altitude 95, 
the new restaurant and bar on the lower level of the Eiffel 
"Iower, or choose from more than 100 vintages at Willi's Wine 
Bar (13 Rue des Petits-Champs). English owner Mark Wil- 
liamson loves American visitors. RESTAURANTS: Pint-sized and 
glamorous, Paris (45 Boulevard Raspair), designed by Sonia 
Rykiel, features the cuisine of hot new chef Philippe Renard. 
In winter he serves wonderful game dishes such as venison 
with figs, lemon and braised endive, as well as great holiday 
desserts. The Left Bank bistro Les Bookinistes (53 Quai des 
Grands Augustins), just off the Seine, is owned by chef Guy 
Savoy. The food is sumptuous yct homey, and the prices make 
it the best culinary bargain in Paris. (Dinner for two without 
wine: about $80.) Also consider dinner at the Café Terminus 
in the Hotel Saint-Lazare (108 Rue Saint-Lazare), followed by 
pool in the magnificent mirrored billiard room next to the 
bar. niGurtire: The Lido (116 Avenue des Champs Elysées) 
offers a spectacular New Year's Eve show for $500 a couple, 
including dinner and a boule of champagne. The best French 
jazz musicians appear at New Morning (7-9 Rue des Petites 
Ecuries), and there's blues and African jazz at Le Petit Journal 
Montparnasse (13 Rue du Cdt. Mouchotte). Young Parisians 
flock to a nightclub called L'Arc (12 Rue de Presbourg). Mod- 
els and their look-alikes are the draw at Les Bains Douches (7 


34 Rue de Bourg-l'Abbe), set in a former bathhouse. 


—— GREAT ESCAPE —— 


NANTUCKET NOEL 


On the day after Thanksgiving, the Gray Lady of the Sea 
(Nantucket Island, 30 miles off the coast of Massachu- 
setts) puts on her yuletide party dress. More than 200 
lighted Christmas trees line the town’s cobblestone Main 
Street, and the crisp sea air 
is spiced with wood smoke 
and pine. Carolers and bell 
ringers in period costumes 
stroll about, and Santa ar- 
rives aboard a vintage 
Coast Guard vessel. But the 
real fun of a Nantucket noel 
is watching the frivolity and 
falling snow from indoors. 
Most hotels, inns, bed and 
breakfasts and bars on the 
island are aglow with sea- 
sonal splendor. Our fa- 
vorites include the Island 
Reef Guest House (12 
rooms with fireplaces), the 
Centerboard (“a Victorian 
guesthouse of quiet coun- 
try elegance”) and the Jared 
Coffin House (а restored 1845 mansion). Le Languedoc 
and 21 Federal are excellent restaurants that celebrate the 
holidays with special fare. And for a hot toddy or two, 
there's the Brotherhood of Thieves pub up the street from 
Steamboat Wharf and the Boarding House bar on Federal. 


ROAD STUFF 


The cunningly designed Stuffed Shirt Case is the perfect car- 
ry-on for business travelers. Small enough to fit into a brief- 
case, it holds a shirt and tie in an outer case and underwear 
and valuables in a zippered compartment that fits inside the 
neck of the shirt. Among the several styles available are the 
cotton twill Stafford Deluxe (pictured here open and closed), 
with leather side panels 
and a detachable toilet- 
ry Ки ($100), and the 
Durham, which is made of 
black napa leather ($130). 
e Nicnat Inc. has іп 
duced the Sock-et, an аі 
sock with an invisible pocket 
that can hold an ID, keys or 
money. It’s great for the gym 
and for travel. About $10. 


WHERE & HOW TO BUY ON PAGE 20. 


By DIGBY DIEHL 


ROCK AND ROLL is too immediate and rau- 
cous to intellectualize. The best rock crit- 
icism has always been fueled by frenzied 
enthusiasm. In Reek & Рой: An Unruly Histo- 
ry (Harmony/Crown) former New York 
Times rock critic and Rolling Stone con- 
tributing editor Robert Palmer indulges 
in some enthusiastic storytelling. But he 
also offers musicological ights, tidbits 
of cthnography and a seemingly ency- 
clopedic knowledge of recordings, key 
performances and relationships among 
musicians. 

Designed to be a companion guide to 
the PBS/BBC ten-part series, Palmer's 
book covers the years from 1928 (when 
Clarence “Pinetop” Smith unleashed 
Pinetop's Boogie Woogie) through 1953 
(Bill Haley's Crazy Man Crazy), 1965 (Bob 
Dylan picks up the electric guitar) and 
1969 (Altamont) to 1992 (Nirvana leads 
the trend of Northwest rock). 

Palmer grapples with racism, chang- 
ing sexual mores, drugs, the youth- 
quake, violence and other social issues. 
“Teddy Reig, Alan Freed's tour manager, 
describes the crazed rock concert fans in 
box seats in the early Fifties: "Everybody 
was doing everything up there: fucking, 
sucking, smoking, drinking. A lot of 
those theaters, they had to nail up the 
boxes.” In 1960, the 15-year-old Palmer 
attended a show in central Arkansas, 
where he saw Sam Cooke turn up the 
erotic heat so high that when Cooke 
tossed a glove off the stage and onto 
Palmer's ringside table, a half-dozen 
women leaped over him, collapsing the 
table and smashing chairs in a fight over 
the glove. An Unruly History is a perfect 
combination of passion and scholarship. 

In Paul Theroux's The Pillars of Hercules 
(Putnam), he lets us tag along on his 
yearlong solo odyssey to circumnavigate 
the Mediterranean, from one pillar of 
Hercules to the other. Beginning at the 
Rock of Gibraltar (the northern pillar) 
and ending across the strait at Ceuta in 
Morocco (the southern pillar), he traces 
the Mediterranean shoreline, denounces 
the “sport” of bullfighting, copes with 
hopeless Albania, lampoons the "essence 
of pigeon with pistachio dumpling” 
lifestyle aboard a luxury cruise ship and 
shares a hotel in Dubrovnik with ref- 
ugees from the war in Croa 

It's Theroux at his best. While he cov- 
ers the familiar tourist. geography— 
especially the well-worn and ill-used 
coastal areas of Spain, France and Italy— 
he also takes unexpected detours: “It 
seemed incontestable to me that a coun- 
try's pornography was a glimpse into its 
subconscious mind. . . . Japanese porno 
is unlike anything in Germany, French is 
unlike Swedish, American unlike Mexi- 


Robert Palmer's Unruly History. 


The turbulent history of rock 
and roll and Theroux's odyssey 
through the Mediterranean. 


can and so forth. Spanish pornography 
baffled me. It scemed beyond sex, most 
of it. It involved children and dogs and 
torture; men torturing women, women 
being beastly to men; much of it was 
worse than German varieties, possibly 
the most repellent porno in the world. 
The strangest I have ever seen con- 
cerned a Moroccan boy of about 13 or 14 
and a very bewildered goat." An arm- 
chair trip with Theroux is sometimes 
dark, but always a delight. 

In his ninth thriller, Chain of Evidence 
(Hyperion), Ridley Pearson scores big 
with the story of Joc Dartelli, a cop who 
sees an eerie similarity between two sui- 
cides—both of them committed by sex 
offenders. A computer simulation pro- 
gram suggests that the deaths were mur- 
ders, and Dartelli follows this lead to 
his former partner, a forensic specialist 
who may have turned vigilante. Pearson 
weaves psychology and suspense into this 
tale of high-tech clues and complex mo- 
tives. Save this one for a weekend, be- 
cause you won't put it down until you 
reach the heart-pounding conclusion. 

1 bet you thought that Phil Jackson, 
coach of the Chicago Bulls, was one 
of those hard-driving, win-at-any-cost 
types. You thought that the reason the 
Bulls won the NBA championship in 
1991, 1992 and 1993 was Michael Jor- 
dan, right? Wrong, declare Jackson апа 
Hugh Delehanty in their book Sacred 
Hoops: Spiritual Lessons of a Hardwood War- 
rior (Hyperion). Jackson says he is seck- 


ing spiritual enlightenment on the court 
and quotes Zen Buddhist texts as back- 
up. He writes that the Bulls perfected a 
sort of Zen “oneness,” a sense of unity. 

A consistency and quiet dignity in the 

y Jackson explains his own spiritual 
journey makes this book more than a 
new spin on old bromides. In a chapter 
tided Jf You Meet the Buddha in the Lane, 
Feed Him the Ball, he describes reading 
William James’ Varieties of Religious Expe- 
rience and rediscovering Zen. He made 
compassion—"toward yourself, your 
tcammates and your opponents"—fun- 
damental to his coaching ph 
integrated ideas from Lakota Sioux spi 
¡tual beliefs into his coaching sessi 
basketball team is like a band of warriors, 
a secret society with rites of initiation, a 
strict code of honor and a sacred quest.” 
“That may be too New Age for most bas- 
ketball fans, but no one can doubt Jack- 
son's sincerity. 

Finally, books of short stories appear 
to come in unpredictable flurries, and 
this month brings two noteworthy collec- 
tions. The Collected Short Fiction of Bruce Joy 
Friedmen (Donald I. Fine), stories pub- 
lished between 1953 and 1995, includes 
48 diverse comic scenes that can be dat- 
ed only by their settings. Friedman, 
a pLaveov regular, delineates various 
shades of black humor and brilliant 
characterization in stories such as Yes, We 
Have No Ritchard and The Night Boxing 
Ended. Yn contrast, The Stories of Vladimir 
Nabokov (Knopf), edited by Dmitri 
Nabokov, are 65 wonderfully separate 
creations—one a riddle, another a fairy 
tale, a philosophical meditation, a sweet 
vignette. Nabokov expresses cach idea 
with stylistic touches so precise as to 
confirm genius. 


BOOK BAG 


Spooks, Spies and Private Eyes (Double- 
day), edited by Paula L. Woods: An an- 
thology of African American crime 
fiction that includes both Harlem Re- 
sance writer George S. Schuyler and 
Walter Mosley. 

The Life and Times of Miami Beach 
(Knopf), by Ann Armbruster: From co- 
conut plantation to jet-set playground, 
the Beach is a sun-soaked chunk of 
American social history. 

The Cocktail: The Influence of Spirits on the 
American Psyche (St. Martin's Press), by 
Joseph Lanza: A fascinating study of the 
Cocktail and its impact on politics, mov- 
ies, popular songs and social interaction. 

The Dustbin of History (Harvard Univer- 
sity Press), by Greil Marcus: America's 
foremost music writer presents an exhil- 
arating history lesson in 26 takes. 


35 


МЕМ 


y friend Marty came to town 

and asked me to join him for 
dinner. He is a writer of some repute 
whom I have known for more than 25 
years, and I was eager to see him. 

Marty and I launched our writing ca- 
reers around the same time. Back then, 
we griped all the time about the prob- 
lems we were having in the world of 
publishing. But our conversations al- 
ways ended with a discussion about the 
women in our lives: the women we had 
loved, could love, might love, should not 
love and were currently loving. Guy talk, 
in other words. 

When Marty and 1 met for dinner a 
few weeks ago, I could see that he had 
aged well. Or perhaps I should say he 
had aged carefully. He had undergone a 
face-lift ("just eye tucks and a little bit off 
my jowls”) and was thinking of having 
another. He had colored his hair. His 
nails were manicured. He was wearing a 
stylish flannel suit. Italian loafers. an off- 
white Egyptian cotton shirt, small gold 
cuff links and a $300 silk tie. This, I 
asked myself, is the guy I used to drink 
beer and play pool with? 

The dust jacket photo on Marty's lat- 
est book was taken at a middle distance. 
Tn it he is standing under a palm trec. 
The reader might see him as a 30-year- 
old, maybe 40, but certainly not 50 (he is 
now 56). 

"T've gone through some tremendous 
changes, and I have something to tell 
you, Ace," Marty said quietly over his 
cappuccino. *I hope it doesn't shock 
you, but I've had several male lovers 
recently." 

I view myself as a modern man, so I 
tried to make things easy for him. “Hey, 
Marty, relax," I said. “If you're here to 
tell me that you're gay and out of the 
closet, it's OK with me. Your sexuality is 
your business." 

I remember feeling quite compassion- 
ate and humane as I said that. Wasn't 1 
an unbiased individual? I puffed on my 
cigar with a sense of selt-satisfaction. 

“You've got it wrong, Ace. I'm not 
gay,” Marty said, "I'm bisexual. I like 
men and women." He paused for my re- 
action. “I hope you're not a biphobe,” he 


said, somewhat nervously. "There are a 
lot of them out there." 
"Not me,” I said. "I have no phi 


about gays or lesbians or bisexuals. Like 
I said, whatever turns you on is your 


36 business." 


By ASA BABER 


MULTISEXUAL 
IN 1996! 


Suddenly, I felt a surge of resentment 
at Marty's pronouncement. It had noth- 
ing to do with bisexuality. It had to do 
with how hip and cool and on the cutting 
edge Marty had become—and how out 
of style and out of touch I now seemed 
to be. 

Here I am, I thought, hopelessly 
straight, still infatuated with the Ever- 
lasting Beaver Huntand all its pleasures. 
But Marty is the perfect 21st century 
man. He may spouta lot of clichés about 
life and sexuality, but he is in fashion and 
Iam out of fashion. 

As if he could read my mind, Marty 
fanned the flames of my envy. “I just 
signed a contract for a book about biscx- 
ity,” he said. “It’s the hot topic in New 
York publishing circles. These days, су- 
erybody who's anybody is bi.” 

“Uh-huh,” I said. 

“Freud said that we're all bisexual, He 
said anyone who claims to be solely het- 
erosexual has a problem. And I agree. 
Being exclusively straight or gay is too 
limiting for me. We are all sexually at- 
tracted to people of both genders. I'm 
just being more honest about it than you 
are, Ace.” 

“Better yet, you're making a lot of 
money at it,” I said, nodding. 

“Yes, that's true,” Marty said, smiling 
with some condescension. "There's no 


money in being straight these days.” 

That's when I cracked. That's when I 
decided how I will market myself as a 
writer in 1996; Throughout the next 
year, I will become the world’s first mul- 
tisexual person. If the concept files, it 
should get me megabucks and a nation- 
wide lecture tour. 

In January I will announce on this 
page that while I have been heterosexu- 
al for my entire life and have made love 
only with women, 1 am now homosexual 
and will sleep only with men. This self- 
outing will not make my career, but it 
will probably surprise my girlfriend, my 
sons and my readers. 

In April I will publish an essay in The 
New York Times (it worked for the Una- 
bomber). I will say that 1 am now bisexu- 
al and can swing both ways. This confes- 
sion comes a little late in the game, and I 
may not get the book contract I want out 
of it, but it is a necessary step. 

In June I will publicly declare that I'm 
a trisexual. By my definition, a trisexual 
is someone who likes to be sexually in- 
volved with men, women and small fur- 
ry animals (such as rabbits, squirrels and 
other defenseless woodland creatures). 
I'm counting on a book contract here, 
though I will have to worry about ani- 
mal-rights activists. 

In September I will reveal on Larry 
King Live that 1 am now a practicing 
quadrisexual. To clarify what a quadri- 
sexual is, I will say that 1 am attracted to 
men, women, animals and all things 
made of wood. “ГЇЇ fuck a fence if it 
has a knothole in it,” I will state on the 
air before they can censor it. This an- 
nouncement will raise Larry's ratings, 
and no doubt book and motion picture 
deals vill follow. 

In November I vill complete my sexu- 
al transformation: On that date I will an- 
nounce that 1 have become the world's 
first pentasexual. From the White House 
rose garden I will declare that as a pen- 
tasexual, I am attracted to men, women, 
small animals, all things made of wood 
and extraterrestrials. “1 hereby obliter- 
ate all sexual boundaries,” I will say. 
“The universe is now my stamping 
ground, and that includes all those lite 
green beings in flying saucers.” 

Call it Close Encounters of the Fifth 
Kind. And don't knock it until you've 
tried it, fella. 


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18 


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IT SATISFIES 


SINCE 1822 


A lot has changed since 1822. But not the way a cowboy feels about his gear. 
From the leather on his saddle to the stitching on his boots, it still has to be the best. 
Just like Copenhagen. Back then, we only used the finest premium quality tobacco. 

Still do. Back then, it only came in one honest flavor. 
ЫШ бег, T gt кеуш it, if you start out being the best, why change. 
t's Copenhagen. An American original. 


©1995 US. Tobacco Co. 


THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 


V enjoyed your response in the July is- 
sue about rhe classic blow job. But 
please, please, won't you provide de- 
tailed instructions to men on how to pro- 
vide better oral sex for women? My ex- 
perience has been that for the most part 
men don't understand the need to be 
gentle, rhythmic and teasing, and as 
they don't respond to hints, I can't 
figure out a way to teach them. If you 
can, I'm sure millions of women will 
praise you.—D.C., Baltimore, Maryland 

Educating the American male is not a task 
for the faint of heart, but we're primed for 
the challenge. Listen up, fellas. Cunnilingus 
requires you to think glacially—constantly in 
motion but advancing slowly. Your goal is to 
convey the idea that you're licking her be- 
cause you find it inci vedibly erotic, and that 
time has lost all meaning (drop all thoughts 
of getting her orgasm “out of the way" —is 
not in the way). To begin, work from her 
mouth to her nipples to her belly, covering as 
many square inches as possible. Once you've 
camped between her thighs, start building а 
fire. Use your fingertips (cut those nails) to 
spread her vaginal lips and expose her cli- 
toris. Explore the sensitive folds of skin. 
When she arches her back or moans, slide a 
finger or two inside her. Play with her a bit, 
then extend the tip of your tongue to meet her 
clit. (Make sure your tongue is wet—lubrica- 
tion and warmth are important.) Dart your 
tongue in and out. Press firmly, Lick gently. 
Throw in some longer, flatter strokes over the 
length of her vagina, as if you were licking 
ап ice cream cone, Hum or moan to create 
vibration. Pull away so you're just inches 
from her, as if contemplating what to do next. 
Blow lightly across her vagina. Tell her how 
good she tastes, how much you like licking 
her, how you could stay there for hours. 
Draw her clit gently between your lips and 
flick it or massage it with your tongue, Stop. 
Lick. Kiss. Finger. Repeat as necessary. 
What you're after is a combination of rhythm 
and intrigue: She can't guess whats coming 
next, but once it does, she won't want you 
to stop. 


After reading your response about the 
classic blow job, 1 realize that I must be 
better at giving head than 1 thought. If 
you really want a man to beg for it, start 
licking at the tip of his penis and gently 
nibble around the frenulum and down 
the shaft on the underside. Circle the 
head with a moist finger as you suck on 
his balls. Nibble back up the underside 
and take the head into your mouth. Flick 
your tongue on the tip, then take his 
cock into your mouth. Lick the under- 
side of his penis as best you can by mov- 
ing your tongue back and forth. Create 
suction by applying pressure with your 

ips. If you can take it into your throat 
without gagging, try that. All the while, 


fondle his balls with one hand and the 
exposed part of his shaft with the other. 
I don't know how other men will react, 
but my husband certainly can't stop 
thanking me when I'm done.—PH., 
Seattle, Washington. 

We can't take much more of this. 


A local radio morning host recently 
mentioned a position called the three- 
eyed turtle, but he said he couldn't ex- 
plain it on the air. Have you ever heard 
of it? —N.N., Minneapolis, Minnesota. 

The three-eyed turtle. got dis name in 1993 
from two disc jockeys in Cleveland who 
heard Dr. Judy Kurianshy describe the posi- 
tion on her syndicated radio program, “Love 
Phones.” The first eye is the urethral open- 
ing of an uncircumcised penis, which 
emerges from its “shell” as it becomes erect. 
The head of the penis is rubbed against the 
second cye, the clitoris, while the partners 
watch with a third eye—their own—straight 
оп or with a mirror. Not exactly а new posi- 
tion, but great sex often comes out of making 
the mundane mysterious. 


Your recent optimism regarding digi- 
tal video and how it will enable everyone 
to make perfect copies of their tapes may 
lead to disappointment. The motion pic- 
ture industry is set to make the preserva- 
tion of video recordings impossible by 
following the music industry's lead with 

а serial copy management system. This 
chip, when present in a recorder, pre- 
vents users from making a copy of a 
copy. "Therefore, you would be able to 
preserve your digital tapes for only one 
generation. This SCMS bullshit is de- 
signed to deter piracy, but it's really a 
scheme to make you buy a new copy 


ILLUSTRATION ev PATER SATO 


when the original wears out —D.G., De- 
troit, Michigan. 

We understand your concern, but the situ- 
ation isn't as foreboding as you believe. First, 
unlike analog VHS tapes, digital videos 
won't wear out from use or age. Second, 
SCMS is far from a certainty. Moviemakers 
are leading the charge, but consumer elec- 
tronics makers haven't embraced the ideo. 
SCMS may be unnecessary simply because 
buying a recordable compact disc to pirate a 
movie will cost more than buying a new copy 
of the movie. As for home videos, one way to 
gel around SCMS might be to feed your dig- 
ital video into a computer, then record it 


from there to a blank disc. But you didn't 


hear that from из. 


Ore thing about my girlfriend bothers 
me. She never says whether or not she 
finds me attractive. I assume she does 
since she's sleepi g with me, but she has 
never flat-out said, "I think you're hand- 
some.” Am 1 being unreasonable?— 
T.M., Dayton, Ohio. 

Not at all. А common misperception is that 
guys don’t need to hear that “mushy” stuff 
in fact, men spend their lives searching for 
someone to overlook their physical flaws. Be- 
ing told he's virile, handsome or particularly 
well-hung indicates to a guy that he may 
have found that special sucker . . . er, some- 
one. More important, flattery is the sincerest 
form of foreplay. Having a lover run her 
hands over his chest as she whispers “You are 
so hot” can make a guy want to prove it. 


WI, boyfriend has a unique sexual in- 
terest. He loves to see women in tight 
blue jeans that are soaking wet. Are 
there any sources of erotica that deal 
with this? I'd like to surprise him for his 
birthday. Т). Atlanta, Georgia. 

И sounds like your partner has a simple 
recipe for better sex: Just add water. It’s not 
difficult to find erotica that depicts women in 
wet clothing (or even sprawled in mud or 
covered in heichup, if his fetish develops fur- 
ther). Sample a few of Playboy's “Wet & 
Wild" videos, or write Messy Fun, PO. Box 
181030, Austin, Texas 78718, which carries 
a variety of wet clothing magazines and 
videas. Belter yet, why not get involved your- 
self? If the weather’s warm on his birthday, 
let your boyfriend discover you washing the 
car or swimming in cutoffs. Or shower in 
nothing but Levi's, then call him in to hand 
you a new bar of soap. The only drawback 
will be that wet denim is about as easy lo 
shed as a chastity belt. 


Last week, my girlfriend and I were 
sharing fantasies and she said she has al- 
ways wanted to have sex with another 
woman. How can 1 encourage her to 
pursue this without giving her the idea 


41 


that I'm just a horny guy who wants to 
watch two women make love?—PK., 
Tampa, Florida. 

When did she invite you? Don't confuse 
her curiosity as a request for a ménage à 
trois. Then again, don't rule out the possibil- 
ity. A man's presence can act as an approba- 
tion (and has been the excuse for more great 
sex in the past few decades than any other 
ploy). The next time you're sharing fantasies, 
tell her that yours would be watching hers. 


RATEN 


The condom ripped as my girlfriend 
and 1 were having sex last night. What 
are the chances that she's now pregnant? 
This is the third condom we've ripped in 
the past three weeks.—H.N., Trenton, 
New Jersey. 

Chance has nothing to do with it. By now, 
either she's pregnant or she isn't. That many 
torn condoms in such a short time signal hu- 
man error; it's extremely rare for condoms to 
break because of structural defects. Our 
guess is that you're pulling them on too tight. 
Once you've unrolled the condom over your 
erection, gently pinch at least a half inch of 
airless space at the tip. This allows a place 
for the semen to be deposited, and it provides 
room for the condom to move as you thrust. 


IM, fiancée is considering breast aug- 
mentation as a wedding gift to me. But 
all the negative publicity makes me won- 
der if implants are safe.—H.A., Washing- 
ton, D.C. 

The most recent study on the subject, like 
others before it, found litile to indicate that 
implants are unsafe. The controversy you've 
heard about centers on silicone gel implants, 
which were taken off the market three years 
ago after the FDA raised concerns that the 
devices might be associated with connective- 
tissue diseases (like many medical devices in- 
troduced before FDA regulation began in 
1976, breast implants were never fully test- 
ed). The latest research hasn't stopped а 
lengthy court battle over the issue, especially 
since four implant makers receutly agreed to 
pay $4.2 billion to 450,000 women who 
claim their health problems were caused by 
silicone implants. That said, we would dis- 
courage any woman from gelling cosmetic 
implants unless they're some thing she desires 
for herself. If your fiancée wants larger 
breasts solely to please you, tell her she al- 
ready does. 


1 have heard that only long, slow work- 
outs burn fat. Now I'm reading that 
shorter, more intense exercise burns fat 
better. Which is true?—T.M., Richmond, 
Virginia. 

The best way to burn fat is moderate aero- 
bic exercise for at least 30 minutes (and 
preferably longer) five to seven days a week. 
Moderate is defined as maintaining 60 per- 
cent to 75 percent of your target heart rate 
(220 minus your age). Quick bursts of in- 
tense activity are less efficient because you 
don't begin to burn excess calories and 

42 fat until 20 minutes into your workout. 


Fast and furious also invites burnout and 
injuries. 


МІ, best friend met his wife through 
me. The three of us started a business to- 
gether, then he took another job, so she 
and 1 run the business. The problem is 
that I have fallen in love with her. 1 
would never hurt my buddy, but it's 
killing me to work with her all day. 
Should I tell them?—S.D., San Diego, 
Californi: 

Don't say a word. You're in an impossible 
situation, and confessing will only create 
more of а mess. Your longing stems їп part 
from all the time you spend with a woman 
you can't have. Take a vacation (it sounds 
like you need it), then try hard to find a gi 
friend. Your feelings for your frieud's wife 
тау never disappear completely, but they 
shouldn't stop you from falling in love with 
someone else. 


A couple of nights ago my wife and I 
were in a 69 and I climaxed. Later, she 
told me that as I came, my scrotum 
shrank. I didn’t believe her, so she set 
up a video camera and gave me a blow 
job. Sure enough, as I came, my sac 
shrank and pulled up close to my body. 
Should 1 be concerned?—T.G., Ux- 
bridge, Massachusetts. 

Didn't we see this on "America's Funniest 
Home Videos”? Relax, it’s natural. As you 
become aroused your scroium tightens and 
the testes rotate until they're resting against 
the tissue between your scrotum and anus. 
When the scrotum rises to its peak, as your 
wife discovered, orgasm is imminent. Sex re- 
searchers believe that а man’s body recog- 
nizes its vulnerability in the throes of ecstasy 
and takes steps to protect the testes. From 
what, you ask? If you're lucky, just your 
partner's enthusiasm. 


White reading a book about Seminole 
Indian traditions, I came across a refer- 
ence to spiderwort sap. Rubbed on the 
penis, this supposedly causes the organ 
to "swell to the size that would satisfy any 
woman. The tumescence later subsides 
with no ill effect.” Does spiderwort really 
work?—C.P., Brooklyn, New York. 

It might if you're allergic to spiderwort, 
The flower is just one of many supposed pe- 
nis enlargers and aphrodisiacs that have 
been touted through the centuries—none of 
which have any effect other than psychologi- 
cal (you believe it works, so it does). During 
the Middle Ages, myrtle was the aphrodisiac 
of choice: Some people ground the flowering 
shrub into a pulp and rubbed it on their bod- 
ies in an effort to enhance sexual perfor- 
mance. You'll do better bringing her flowers 
than rubbing them on your penis. 


(Ore of the things I enjoy doing most 
with a woman is to take a shower with 
her and then slowly dry her with a soft 
towel. After that I ask her to lie on her 
stomach. I massage and kiss her back, 


then move down to her ass and lick her 
anus. I get immense pleasure out of this, 
and most of the women I have done it to 
like it. Are there any risks in this prac- 
tice?—PR., Denver, Colorado. 

None that can't be minimized. You're on 
the right track by seducing your partner af- 
ter she takes a shower, espectally if she thor- 
oughly cleans her nether regions. Be careful 
not to move from her anus to her vagina or 
mouth, as that’s an easy way to spread bacte- 
ria. And you may want to consider a dental 
dam or barrier, though they can be awkward. 
Helping your partner to relax before any 
type of anal stimulation will make the expe- 
rience more rewarding. As Cathy Winks and 
Anne Semans note in “The Good Vibrations 
Guide to 5, nuses are the scat of much 
tension, so that any kind of tender tonguing 
will doubtless feel extremely relaxing and 
pleasurable to your partner.” 


Ive heard that you can tell how well 
your car is running by checking the floor 
of your garage. What are you supposed 
to look for?—T'S., Alexandria, Virginia. 

Stains. Yellowish green, pastel blue or 
fluorescent orange puddles indicate an over- 
heated engine or antifreeze leak. An ойу 
dark brown or black deposit means you could 
have a bad seal or gasket. An oily red spot in- 
dicales that your transmission or power 
steering leaks fluid. The only thing that 
shouldn't concern you is dripping water, 
which is just condensation from your uir 
conditioner. 


М, boyfriend wants me to talk dirty in 
bed, but I'm not sure what to say. Any 
suggestions?—M.C., Savannah, Georgia. 

Speak up. Talking dirty is easier than or- 
dering a pizza, and you can't do it wrong, no 
matter what you try. Explicit isn’t always the 
same as erotic, so there's no need to talk a 
blue streak if that doesn't turn you on. In- 
stead, describe in simple language what your 
lover is doing to you ("you're kissing my 
neck,” “you're touching my breasts”), what 
you're doing to him, what you want io he do- 
ing and what lovers elsewhere might be do- 
ing while you're doing what you're doing. As 
things heat up, you'll be talking dirty with- 
ош even trying. 


All reasonable questions— from fashion, food 
and drink, stereo and sports cars to dating 
problems, taste and etiquette—will be per- 
sonally answered if the writer includes a self- 
addressed, stamped envelope. The most 
provocative, pertinent questions will be pre- 
sented in these pages each month. Send all 
letters to The Playboy Advisor, PLAYBOY, 680 
North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois 
60611, or by e-mail to advisor @playboy. 
com. Look for responses to our most fre- 
quently asked questions on the World Wide 
Web al http://hwww.playbay.com/faq/fag.html. 


CITRUS ON A New WAVELENGTH 


some people need you inside them. 


KIMBERLEY HEFNER 


JOIN PETA'S ORGAN DONOR DRIVE. You'll help people while saving animals who are killed 
Ре TA for “spare parts” due to a lack of human donors. For your free organ donor card, 


write People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, PO. Box 42516, Washington, DC 20015 


"There it was, in huge letters on the 
cover of the May 15, 1995 issue of 
Time magazine: Ralph Reed, the 33- 
year-old head of the Christian Coali- 
tion, anointed by the editors as THE 
RIGHT HAND OF GOD. 

We wondered what Time knew that 
we didn't. Had the old newsweekly 
opened a bureau in heaven? 

We read the accompanying article. 
Ralph Reed, a cross between a choir- 
boy and an Eagle Scout, is the front 
man for Pat Robertson. Using the 
Freedom Council mailing list from 
Robertson's failed presi- 
dential bid, he expanded 
the Christian Coalition 
to some 1.6 million peo- 
ple willing to pour $25 
million into a war chest 
for those interested in 
turning America into a 
theocracy. Admittedly, 
Reed is a technonerd— 
with his own home page 
on the World Wide Web, 
an arsenal of fax ma- 
chines and satellite dish- 
es and those wonderful 
lists. Direct mail is hot, 
but is it enough to el- 
evate one to the right 
hand of God? 

A quick check on Nex- 
is—a database of news- 
paper and magazine 
articles—turned up hun- 
dreds of contenders for 
that elite seat. Of course, 
Jesus is there. “Having 
been crucified, dead and 
buried, he descended in- 
to hell. The third day, he rose again 
from the dead. He ascended into 
heaven and sitteth at the right hand 
of God, the Father Almighty.” 

Journalists seem willing to nomi- 
nate anyone to the position. One re- 
porter wrote, “I grew up in the Sixties 
believing Ralph Nader sat on the 
right-hand side of God.” Another 
confesses, “I may have been raised to 
believe that Willie Nelson and Way- 
lon Jennings are at the right hand of 
God. But then I learned better. Texan 
George Jones was there first.” 

Time used the term to evoke images 


THE PLAYBOY FORUM 


THE RIGHT HAND OF GOD? 


you don't find the job listed in the classifieds 


By JAMES R. PETERSEN 


of muscular Christianity, as though 
the coming presidential election 
would resemble a clash of gladiators. 
Athletes are often confused with the 
divine. A sportswriter asked Washing- 
ton Caps goalie Jim Carey if a partic- 
ular save (glove hand sweeping from 
nowhere to capture a puck) had been 
performed by the right hand of God. 
Carey looked down at his bare hands 
and said, “It was the left.” When the 
Reverend George Foreman socked 
Michael Moorer, an ecstatic reporter 
wrote, “It wasn't the right hand of 


God, necessarily, but it was indeed a 
miraculous old one-two.” 

Reed will at least find himself sur- 
rounded by fellow politicians. A biog- 
raphy of Francois Mitterrand, a pres- 
ident who by France's standards was 
actually humble, is called simply The 
Right Hand of God. Barry Goldwater 
described a former Democratic presi- 
dent (the one who goes around build- 
ing houses for the poor with his bare 
hands) this way: “The longer he's out 
of office, the better he looks. Every 
president thinks he sits on the right 
hand of God. But Carter is probably 


closer than the rest of 'em." 

But by far the most daunting sto- 
ries concern religious figures who 
usurp the phrase. Members of the 
Islamic Jihad, for instance, like to 
"scare the Jews"—something that 
Reed and Robertson have been ac- 
cused of, though their tactics differ. 
After one member of the Jihad 
wrapped himself in explosives and 
blew up a bus, killing 17 Israeli citi- 
zens, Sheikh Shami explained why: 
“The martyr gets to sit on the right- 
hand side of God and enjoy the atten- 
tions of 72 nymphs. The 
Jihad is the shortest path 
to this life." 

David Koresh chose a 
similar end. The Mail on 
Sunday told Derek Love- 
lock's story (he was one 
of the few survivors of 
Waco): "Koresh based 
his teachings on the 
Book of Revelation and 
its reference to a book 
which sits at God's right. 
hand, sealed with seven 
seals, and contains the 
mysteries to be revealed 
to the people of the Ear- 
ly. Only he who is worthy 
may open the seals and 
reveal these mysteries. 
Koresh believed he was 
chosen by God to open 
the seals and discover 
events that would come 
to pass. Accordingly, he 
informed the Bureau of 
Alcohol, Tobacco and 
Firearms that he would 
lead his people out after he had writ- 
ten his interpretation of the seals.” 

Then, said Lovelock, a tank 
punched a hole through the wall, tear 
gas poured in and someone yelled 
fire. Children began to die. 

It's hard to tell if the right hand of 
God is a phrase whose time has come 
or whose time is past. The new po- 
litically correct Bible eliminates the 
phrase entirely, so as not to offend the 
left-handed or ambidextrous, rewrit- 
ing scripture so that Jesus sits on 
God's “mighty hand.” The one he us- 
es to give fools the finger. 


45 


ws and gor at: WHAT THE FOUNDING 


ever wonder what the 


y 


Militias. Distrust of government. 
Abuse of power. The right to bear 
arms. Not a day passed without a pas- 
sionate article or an editorial on the 
role of guns in American life. The year 
was 1775. More than 200 years later, 
the serninal debate undertaken as John 
Adams, Thomas Jefferson and James 
Madison formulated the laws of the 
land still echoes. Is the Michigan Mili- 
tia an aberration or the Constitution 
in action? Is Gordon Liddy a danger- 
ous demagogue or a devoted patriot? 
What exactly did the founding fathers 
mean when they penned the Second 
Amendment? 

No sampler can do justice to the de- 
bate, but we hope the following scrap- 
book helps shed light on the relation 
between arms and liberty. Our sources 
were Alexander Hamilton, Madison 
and John Jay's Federalist, That Every 
Man Be Armed: The Evolution of a Consti- 
tutional Right by Stephen Halbrook, The 
Road to the Bill of Rights by Craig Smith, 
and a collection of quotes compiled by 
Charles Curley. 

TO TAKE ARMS AGAINST THE BRITISH 

From A Journal of the Times, calling 
the citizens of Boston to arm them- 
selves in response to British abuses of 
power, 1769: 

“Instances of the licentious and out- 
rageous behavior of the military con- 
servators of the peace still multiply up- 
on us, some of which are of such 
nature and have been carried to so 
great lengths as must serve fully to 
evince that a late vote of this town, call- 
ing upon the inhabitants to provide 
themselves with arms for their defense, 
was a measure as prudent as it was 
legal. It is а natural right which the 
people have reserved to themselves, 
confirmed by the [English] Bill of 
Righis, to keep arms for their own de- 
fense, and as Mr. Blackstone observes, 
it is to be made use of when the sanc- 
tions of society and law are found in- 
suffi t to restrain the violence of 
oppression." 


ASSAULT RIFLES, COLONIAL STYLE 

George Mason's Fairfax County Mili- 
tia Plan, 1775: 

“And we do each of us, for ourselves 
respectively, promise and engage to 
keep a good firelock in proper order, & 
to furnish ourselves as soon as possible 
with, & always keep by us, one pound 
of gunpowder, four pounds of lead, 
one dozen gunflints, & a pair of bullet 
moulds, with a cartouch box, or pow- 
der horn, and bag for balls.” 


GIVE ME FLINTLOCKS OR GIVE ME DEATH 

Patrick Henry, 1775: 

“They tell us that we are weak—un- 
able to cope with so formidable an ad- 
versary. But when shalll we be stronger? 
Will it be when we are totally disarmed, 
and when a British guard shall be sta- 
tioned in every house? Three million 
people, armed in the holy cause of 
liberty, are invincible by any 
force which our enemy 
can send against us." 


THOUGHTS ON 
DEFENSIVE WAR 
Thomas 
Paine, writ- 
ing to reli 
gious paci- 
Bsts in 1775: 
*The sup- 
posed qui- 
etude of a 
good man al- 
lures the ruf- 
lian; while on 
the other hand, arms 
like laws discourage and keep the in- 
vader and the plunderer in awe, and 
preserve order in the world as well as 
property. The balance of power is the 
scale of peace. The same balance would 
be preserved were all the world desti- 
tute of arms, for all would be alike; but 
since some vill not, others dare not lay 
them aside. Horrid mischief would en- 
sue were one half the world deprived 
of the use of them; the weak would be- 
come a prey to the strong.” 


SOUND BITES FROM 
BEFORE AND AFTER THE REVOLUTION 
Samuel Adams: 

“Among the natural rights of the 
colonists are these: first, a right to life, 
secondly to liberty, thirdly to property; 


together with the right to defend them 
in the best manner they can.” 


uli 


John Adams: 

"Arms in the hands of the citizens 
may be used at individual discretion 
for the defense of the country, the 
overthrow of tyranny or private self- 
defense." 


Thomas Jefferson: 
“The strongest reason for the people 
to retain the 
right to keep 

and bear 


arms is, as a last 

resort, to protect 
themselves against 
tyranny in government.” 


Thomas Jefferson, in an early draft 
of the Virginia constitution: 

“No free man shall ever be debarred 
the use of arms in his own lands." 


en 


WE HAVE SEEN THE ENEMY AND HE IS US 

Patrick Henry: 

“Guard with jealous attention the 
public liberty. Suspect everyone who 
approaches that jewel. Unfortunately, 
nothing will preserve it but downright 
force. Whenever you give up that 
force, you are ruined. The great object 
is that every man be armed. Everyone 
who is able may have a gun.” 


TREAD LIGHTLY 
Thomas Jefferson's advice to his 15- 
year-old nephew: 
“A strong body makes the mind 
strong. As to the species of exercise, 1 


FATHERS SAID ABOUT GUNS 


advise the gun. While this gives moder- 
ate exercise to the body, it gives bold- 
ness, enterprise and independence to 
the mind. Games played with the ball 
and others of that nature are too vio- 
lent for the body and stamp no charac- 
ter on the mind. Let your gun there- 
fore be the constant companion of your 
walks." 


Noah Webster, 1787: 

“Before a standing army can rule, 
the people must be disarmed, as they 
are in almost every kingdom in Eu- 
rope. The supreme power in America 

cannot enforce unjust 


OO ата 


A 
heut ien 
pare n eit 


laws by the sword, because the whole of 
the people are armed, and constitute a 
force superior to any band of regular 
troops.” 


ON THE ROLE OF A MILITIA 

James Madison, “The Influence of 
the State and Federal Governments 
Compared,” 46 Federalist New York Pack- 


. Pri Mira qp el AIDS 
О RPE orate sane) voti peri) oo ndr ite 


PE RES 
n Dr En 


Momed Arpi Ае Rma een 
ort ЙМ o cr 


et, January 29, 1788: 

"Besides the advantage of being 
armed, which the Americans possess 
over the people of almost every other 
nation, the existence of subordinate 
governments, to which the people are 
attached, and by which the militia 
officers are appointed, forms a barrier 
against the enterprises of ambition 
more insurmountable than any which a 
simple government of any form can ad- 
mit of. Notwithstanding the military es- 
tablishments in the several kingdoms 
of Europe, which are carried as far as 
the public resources will bear, the gov- 
ernments are afraid to trust the people 
with arms. And it is not certain that 
with this aid alone they would not be 
able to shake off their yokes. But were 

the people to pos- 

sess the addition- 
al advantages 
of local gov- 
ernments cho- 
sen by them- 
selves, that could 
collect the national 
will and direct the na- 
tional force, and of 
officers appointed out 
of the militia, by these 
governments and at- 
tached both to them 
and to the militia, 
it may be affirmed 
with the greatest as- 
surance that thc 
throne of every 
tyranny in Europe 
would be specdily 
overturned in spite of 
the legions which sur- 
round it.” 


Alexander Hamilton, 

“Concerning the Mili- 

tia,” 29 Federalist Daily 

Advertiser, January 
10, 1788: 

“There is some- 
thing so far-fetched and so extravagant 
in the idea of danger to liberty from 
the militia that one is at a loss whether 
to treat it with gravity or raillery. 
Where, in the name of common sense, 
are our fears to end if we may not trust 
our sons, our brothers, our neighbors, 
our fellow citizens? What shadow of 
danger can there be from men who are 


daily mingling with the rest of their 
countrymen and who participate with 
them in the same feelings, sentiments, 
habits and interests? What reasonable 
cause of apprehension can be inferred 
from a power in the Union to prescribe 
regulations for the militia, and to com- 
mand its services when necessary, while 
the particular states are to have the sole 
and exclusive appointment of the of- 
ficers? If it were possible seriously to 
indulge a jealousy of the militia upon 
any conceivable establishment under 
the federal government, the circum- 
stance of the officers being in the ap- 
pointment of the states ought at once 
to extinguish it. There can be no doubt 
that this circumstance will always se- 
cure to them a preponderating influ- 
ence over the militia.” 


e 


Richard Henry Lee, Additional Letters 
from the Federal Farmer, 1788: 

“Militias, when properly formed, are 
in fact the people themselves and in- 
clude all men capable of bearing arms. 
To preserve liberty it is essential that 
the whole body of the people always 
possess arms and be taught alike, espe- 
cially when young, how to use them." 


“a 


Tench Coxe, writing as “the Pennsyl- 
vanian” in the Philadelphia Federal 
Gazette, 1788: 

“The power of the sword, say the mi- 
nority of Pennsylvania, is in the hands 
of Congress. My friends and country- 
men, it is not so, for the powers of the 
sword are in the hands of the yeoman- 
ry of America from 16 to 60. The mili- 
tia of these free commonwealths, enti- 
tled and accustomed to their arms, 
when compared with any possible ar- 
my, must be tremendous and irre- 
sistible. Who are the militia? Are they 
not ourselves? Is it feared, then, that 
we shall turn our arms each man 
against his own bosom? Congress has 
no power to disarm the militia. Their 
swords, and every other terrible imple- 
ment of the soldier, are the birthright 
of an American. The unlimited power 


47 


of the sword is not in the hands of ei- 
ther the federal or state governments, 
but where I trust in God it will ever 
remain, in the hands of the people." 


er [774 
a 
ANTECEDENTS 
Connecticut gun code of 1650: 
“All persons shall bear arms, and 
every male person shall have in con- 


tinual readiness a good muskitt or 
other gunn, fitt for service.” 


Article 3 of the West Virginia state 
constitution: 

“A person has the right to keep and 
bear arms for the defense of self, fam- 
ily, home and state, and for lawful 
hunting and recreational use.” 


Virginia Declaration of Rights 13 
(June 12, 1776), drafted by George 
Mason: 

“That a well-regulated militia, com- 
posed of the body of the people, 
trained to arms, is the proper, natural 
and safe defense of a free state; that 
standing armies, in time of peace, 
should be avoided as dangerous to 
liberty; and that, in all cases, the mili- 
tary should be under strict suburdi- 
nation to, and governed by, the civil 


power.” 


We have lang 
been bothered 
by the term 
assigned by 
reporters and 
politicians to that 
relatively smoll group of Americans 
who, by virtue of a personal pipeline 
to God, know what's best far the U.S. 
and each of its citizens. They use 
weighty names such os the Christian 
Coalition, the Maral Majority, Focus 
оп the Family and the American Fam- 
ily Assaciotion. Collectively, they're 
known as the religious right. 

We're bothered by the term be- 
cause we hove never found its mem- 
bers to be particularly religious nor 
generally right. With its homophobic, 
narrow-minded, self-righteous and 
judgmental appracch to the issues, 
the religious right has monaged to 
give Christianity o bad nome. 

That’s why, in the spirit of straight- 
shooting discourse you have come to 
expect from The Playboy Forum, we're 
launching an effart ta coin a new 
name for the religious right. Once a 


ZEALO 


A proposed amendment to the 
Federal Constitution, as passed by the 
Pennsylvania legislature: 

“That the people have a right to 
bear arms for the defense of them- 
selves and their own states or the 
United States, or for the purpose of 
killing game; and no law shall be 
passed for disarming the people or 
any of them, unless for crimes com- 
mitted, or real danger of public in- 
jury from individuals." 


oa 


ROUGH DRAFT 

An amendment to the Constitu- 
tion, proposed by James Madison: 

“The right of the people to keep 
and bear arms shall not be infringed, 
a well-armed and well-regulated mili- 
tia being the best security of a free 
country; but no person religiously 
scrupulous of bearing arms shall be 
compelled to render military service 
in person.” 


THE FINAL DRAFT 

The Second Amendment, as passed 
September 25, 1789: 

“A well regulated Militia, being nec- 
essary to the security of a free State, 
the right of the people to keep and 
bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” 


‚ NAME THAT 


more suitable moniker is chosen, we 
will inform each U.S. senator ond rep- 
resentative, os well as members of the 
media, so they can immediately begin 
using it in their discussions, speeches 
ond reporting. 

What are we looking for? During 
long Sunday morning meeting, The 
Playboy Forum's editors compiled а 
dizzying list of suitable possibilities, 
including “Sa Right They're Wrong,” 
"The Wacko Wing," "God's Litile 
Yelpers” and “They Wha Know on In- 
tolerant Gad.” None of the sugges- 
tians mode anyone really want ta 
stand up and sing, however, so we're 
asking PLAYBOY's readers far help. 

We know what yau're about to soy: 
"What's in it for me?” Well, how's this 
for a prize: The author of the winning 
entry will receive с chaperaned date 
with a Playmate at a church social 


T 


WHAT BECOMES A LEGEND MOST 

George Washington's address to 
the second session of the First U.S. 
Congress: 

“Firearms stand next in impor- 
tance to the Constitution itself. They 
are the American people’s liberty, 
teeth and keystone under indepen- 
dence. The church, the plow, the 
prairie wagon and citizens’ firearms 
are indelibly related. From the hour 
the pilgrims landed to the present 
day, events, occurrences and tenden- 
cies prove that, to ensure peace, secu- 
rity and happiness, the rifle and pistol 
are equally indispensable. Every cor- 
ner of this land knows firearms, and 
more than 99 and °% percent of 
them by their silence indicate that 
they are in safe and sane hands. The 
very atmosphere of firearms any- 
where and everywhere restrains evil 
influence. They deserve a place of 
honor with all that’s good. When 
firearms go, all goes. We need them 
every hour.” 


7 


(Compiled by James R. Petersen) 


in the winner's 
hometown. For 
real. (Natural- 
ly, we will also 
print the most 
promising entries 

in The Playboy Forum.) 

Each entry can be accompanied by 
a 100-word stotement that explains 
why you selected it. This may help 
sway the judging panel, which will 
consist of Hef and three Playboy Fa- 
rum editors. Some advice: Be prudent 
about using the words "Christion" ar 
"religious," os nat all Christians are 
wockos and not all religians ore 
Christian. Alsa avoid prafanity or 
other coarse language, for we want 
the new name ta have widespread 
acceptance. 

Entries must be postmarked by Jan- 
vary 31, 1996. Mail your best stuff to 
Religious Right Name Game, The 
Playbay Forum, PLAYBOY, 680 North 
Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois 
60611. You can alsa fox entries to 
312-951-2939 or e-mail them ta 
forum@playboy.cam. 


М E W 


S.P R 


O N T 


what's happening in the sexual and social arenas 


THE EYES HAVE IT 


MINNEAPOLIS—When a public works 
official circulated a memo instructing con- 
struction workers to keep their eyes on the 


road instead of on passing women, one 
paver endorsed the policy with enthusiasm: 
He festooned a downtown construction site 
with signs proclaiming it an “ogle-free” 
zone and drew a large pair of eyes on the 
back of his orange safety vest. Then he of- 
fered his own tongue-in-cheek interpreta- 
tion of the city's new ban on "visual ha- 
rassment”: “Anything over nine seconds is 
considered ogling. Anything under nine 
seconds is just looking.” His boss was not 
amused, noting that repeat offenders 
would be fired. 


CYBERCENSORS 


CINCINNATI—Acting on complaints 
that а commercial computer bulletin board 
provided access to pornography, the sher- 
iff's department seized $45,000 worth of 
hardware and threatened its owner with 
criminal prosecution. Board operator Bob 
Emerson has fired back with a lawsuit al- 
leging violation of his First Amendment 
rights and claiming losses of $28,000 in 
monthly subscriber revenue. The suit notes 
that any sexually oriented material on the 
board was restricted to adult subscribers 
who first had to request access. In a sur- 
prise move, seven of the board's subscribers 
filed a precedent-setting class-action law- 
suit against local authorities, contending 
that the seizure violated their rights to free 


speech and privacy, as well as the Elec- 
tronic Communications Privacy Act. The 
plaintiffs state that only the allegedly ob- 
scene images should have been seized. 


TRASH TALK 


DETROIT—Michigan’s court of appeals 
has ruled that a nun and an Operation 
Rescue spokeswoman who pulled docu- 
ments out of an abortion clinic's garbage 
and then plastered the names of two 
teenage patients on posters during a 
protest in 1991 can be sued for invasion of 
privacy. Privacy laws do not always apply 
to garbage, but the appellate panel held 
that the teenagers had not consented to 
have their names made public. The court 
sent the case back to a lower court to decide 
if the protesters caused more than “mere 
insults, indignities, threats, annoyances or 
petty oppressions” to the girls, aged 14 and 
18 at the time of the incident, who are seek- 
ing $350,000 in damages. 


RAP CAP 


LOS ANGELES—A new magazine, "Mu- 
sic Monitor,” analyzes pop music for po- 
tentially offensive content. Founder Char- 
lie Gilreath says he does not advocate 
censorship but hopes the publication will 
attract the support of parents’ groups, reli- 
gious organizations, educators and politi- 
cians by providing plot summaries of pop- 
ular rock and rap songs. The tunes are 
graded by the amount of sex, violence and 
drug referentes they contain, and slang is 
translated (in case members of the older 
generation don't know that “bustin' a cap" 
means firing a gun). 


LOSER ALERT 


ОАК RIDGE, TENNESSEE—A small plane 
violated the airspace of a Department of 
Energy nuclear weapons plant with a low- 
level bombing run that showered the 
grounds with more than 100 sheets of 
pornographic photos of a female employee. 
The woman's ex-boyfriend was suspected 
in the attack. 


POOR RECEPTION 


WASHINGTON, D.C—The U.S. Court of 
Appeals ruled that the FCC's efforts to pre- 
vent radio and TV stations from airing in- 
decent programs during hours when chil- 


dren may be in the audience are consti- 
tutional. The decision came less than a 
month after the same court ordered the 
FCC to extend its ban from 8 P.M. to 10 
P.M. The FCC can fine a station up to 
$10,000 for the transmission and up to 
$250,000 for continuing violations. De- 
spite its ruling, the court said it found the 
ЕСС review process "troubling," especially 
because stations can receive notices about 
violations up to three years after a pro- 
gram airs. FCC Chairman Reed Hundt 
has also interpreted the ruling as a green 
light for his agency to regulate violent 
programming. 


SEX AND THE LAW 


TORONTO—The city council is pressing 
forthe right to license street prostitutes and 
has asked the federal government for per- 
mission to do so, perhaps by creating a red- 
light district 

FORT LAUDERDALE—A federal judge 
has surprised a Florida hooker by agreeing 
to hear her legal challenge to state prosti- 
tution laws with arguments previously ad- 
vanced in “Roe us. Wade.” In her suit, the 
woman argues that if the Constitution sup- 
ports a woman's right to have an abortion, 
the same freedom should extend to other 
transactions involving her reproductive 
stem. The woman, who calls herself Jane 


Roe П in court documents, argues that 
legally, prostitution compares favorably 
with abortion: It doesn’t involve a fetus, 
the activity is pleasurable, and и is prof- 
itable for the woman, 


COMMON SENSE 

I like Philip Howard's no- 
tions about cutting back on bu- 
reaucracy (“The Death of Com- 
mon Sense,” The Playboy Forum, 
September) by adding common 
sense to the process, but I find 
his vision somewhat naive. By 
suggesting that regulations 
governing small businesses can 
be reduced to a 12-page pam- 
phlet, he seems to expect busi- 
nesspeople, out of the goodness 
of their hearts, to look out for 
the safety and benefit of their 
workers and communities, 
even at the expense of profits. 
God tried that once (he called it 
the Ten Commandments) and 
look how well those guidelines 
are followed. To think that a 
vague regulation such as "Ma- |... 
chinery and equipment shall be 
reasonably suited to the use in- 
tended in accord with industry 
standards” will eliminate red 
tape defies reason. It gives 
footholds for lawyers to spend 
many billable hours in court ar- 
guing what “reasonable” means 
or who sets “industry stan- 
dards.” My suspicion is that the 
federal books are thick with 
regulations (including the 
ridiculous few that everyone 
loves to note) because business 
owners, driven by greed, have 


ШЇП 


"Condoms don't belong to the taste buds." 

— BISHOP JESUS VARELA, PROTESTING THE SALE 
OF STRAWBERRY-FLAVORED CONDOMS IN THE 
PHILIPPINES AFTER A GROUP CALLED COUPLES 
FOR CHRIST REQUESTED A BAN BY THE BUREAU OF 
FOODAND DRUGS IN MANILA. UNDAUNTED BY THE 
RELIGIOUS OUTCRY, U.S-BASED MANUFACTURER 
DKT INTERNATIONAL HAS PLANS FOR MINT AND 


CHOCOLATE MOCHA VARIETIES 


Е R 


sense. He may rush to blame 
bureaucrats and regulators, but 
the rest of us who let decision 
drift away from us are equally 
to blame. Some people have 
proposed whittling the regula- 
tory machine down by revert- 
ing rights back to smaller gov- 
ing units, such as states or 
cities. Without an electorate 
willing to wrest control from 
bureaucratic experts, such 
plans will be doomed. When 
experts govern us, we revert to 
being subjects and not citizens. 
So, don't blame the regulators; 
we put them there. 

Tom Curtis 

Chicago, Illinois 


Philip Howard is dead on tar- 
get in his analysis of bureau- 
cratic entanglements and excess 
regulation. I especially like his 
ideas about the essential (non- 
intrusive) role government 
should play in assisting its citi- 
zens and encouraging common 
sense. I claim an especially sea- 
soned perspective on this from 
the viewpoint of an armed ser- 
vices veteran. While I'm sure a 
lot of the red tape surrounding 
rules and regs for vets could be 
eliminated, until such time, 
some of your readers might 
want a іше information in the 


shown they can't be trusted 
to do the right thing. Despite what 
Howard condones, there won't be any 
real change in this country until citi- 
zens start doing what they know 
is right instead of what they can get 
away with. 
Richard Thompson 
Milwaukee, Wisconsin 


A simple warning sticker on plastic 
buckets costs little and could alert par- 
ents of small children to a latent dan- 
ger. Accusing the paralyzed bicyclist of 
stupidity misses the point: An owner's 
manual reinforces the fact that head- 
lights prevent accidents, yet the bike is 
sold without one. Bicycle retailers now 
go over safety features and require- 
ments before consummating a sale. Lit- 
igation creates an absurd and unsafe 
world? I think not. Petersen may 
lament the rules and regulations of 
modern society, but I doubt that he 
wants America to return to the days of 


maimed factory workers and polluted 
rivers. By holding reckless parties ac- 
countable for their behavior and forc- 
ing them to change their conduct, our 
civil justice system ensures a safer and 
healthier America. 

Claude Wyle 

New York, New York 


The Forum interview with Philip 
Howard reminded me of another 
champion of everyday wisdom, 
Thomas Paine. In his 1776 pamphlet 
Common Sense, Paine argued that peo- 
ple shouldn't consider themselves to be 
the subject of laws but as citizens enti- 
rled to shape their own laws. Howard 
speaks of the power of simplicity, of 
how the Constitution and Bill of Rights 
proved flexible enough to sustain our 
democracy. But it was the Constitu- 
tion’s flexibility that created our bu- 
reaucratic republic and removed deci- 
sion making from democratic common 


interest of self-reliance. The 
National Veterans Legal Services Pro- 
gram publishes a Self-Help Guide for Vet- 
erans of the Gulf War. Ws designed to be 
a working tool for the tens of thou- 
sands of Persian Gulf veterans suffer- 
ing from illness as a result of their ser- 
vice. Topics covered are strategies for 
obtaining compensation and medical 
care, unique eligibility requirements, 
VA services and special self-help sec- 
tions for active duty veterans. To re- 
ceive a copy of the guide. send a $5 
check or money order to NVLSP, Attn: 
PGl-ad, Drawer 17, Washington, D.C. 
20055. 

David Addlestone 
Washington, D.C. 


GENDER JUSTICE—PART II 

In response to Armin A. Вгош “Be 
Gentle, Justice” (The Playboy Forum, Au- 
gust): Our legal system is based on 
three derivatives: Roman law, English 
common law and—you guessed it—the 


R-E 6S 


chivalric code. 1 suggest we take the 
chivalric code out of our legal system 
and give feminists real equality—not 
the selective equality that they current- 
ly enjoy. 
Michael Peters 
Redding, California 


I have worked with families with 
abuse problems for years and nowhere 
do 1 sce such an inequality of justice аз 
in cases of domestic violence. Our 
office tends to deal with women and 
men in different ways, even though 
their problems are the same. Men who 
abuse their wives, girlfriends or chil- 
dren are kicked out, then prosecuted. 
Women who abuse their husbands, 
boyfriends or children are told that 
their spouses (or other extenuating cir- 
cumstances) are responsible for their 
violent behavior, and they receive 
counseling. Our culture has a belief 
that motherhood is saintly and moth- 
ers can do little wrong. It would be 
helpful if leaders within the feminist 
movement would admit that women 
can be just as violent and uncontrol- 
lable as men. Then we could start deal- 
ing with the needs of an individual 
without regard to gender. 

Tom Scott 

Los Angeles, California 


According to figures from the Bu- 
reau of Prisons and the Department of 
Education, the portion of our tax dol- 
lars that goes to support federal pris- 
oners each year grows faster than any 
other federal expenditure. The De- 
partment of Justice's budget has grown 
162 percent since the enactment of 
mandatory minimum sentences. Each 
day, we spend $3.4 million to guard, 
clothe, feed and house more than 
60,000 drug-law violators. It costs 
more to send a person to prison for 
four years than it does to send them 
through a private university. Federal 
taxpayers spend more per year to in- 
carcerate one inmate ($20,804) than 
we do to educate one child ($5,421). 
Can Armin Brott really be advocating 
more equality when it translates to 
more tax dollars skewed in the wrong 
direction? 

Alicia Davis 

Silver Spring, Maryland 


OVERKILL 
According to an article in Roll Call, 
the newsletter created for Congress 


р. © 


by Congress, Representative Helen 
Chenoweth of Idaho recently distrib- 
uted copies of “Overkill,” James Bo- 
vard's account of the FBI assault on 
Idaho homesteader Randy Weaver 
(The Playboy Forum, June). Chenoweth 
stated that she had never read “a bet- 
ter, more compelling and uuerly fac- 
tual account" of the case, and urged 
fellow House members to read the 
magazine. Congratulations. 

Bob Perry 

Tempe, Arizona 

First we learn the Supreme Court reads 

PLAYBOY (“What Sort of Judge,” "The 
Playboy Forum,” July). Now we find Con- 
gress reads the Forum. Our guess is Clinton 
looks at the pictures. 


I'm sure you followed the Senate 
hearings on Ruby Ridge. Did you no- 
исе that the week sniper Lon Horiuchi 
was supposed to testify on his role in 
the killing of Vicki Weaver—and ended 
up taking the Filth Amendment—the 
Justice Department announced it was 
investigating Calvin Klein for child 
pornography? Klein has used sex to at- 
tract our attention (and sell under- 
wear). Now Janet Reno uses sex to dis- 
tract our attention from a politically 
embarrassing moment. Both cases 
reflect government overkill. The feds 


WE'RE GOING To MAKE 
DESECRATION OF THE 
FLAG ILLEGAL 


THEN YOURE GOING To HAVE To 
CHANGE THE FIRST AMENDMENT. 


N -S B 


disliked Weaver's politics and used 
snipers to take him out. Culture war- 
lord Don Wildmon found the Calvin 
Klein ads offensive and used the Jus- 
tice Department to employ character 
assassins. This was trial by press re- 
lease, not law enforcement. 

Nathaniel Bynner 

Chicago, Illinois 


Congratulations on scooping the 
world on the Ruby Ridge story. You 
might be interested in the media's ex- 
planation of why it had missed the sto- 
Ty. Washington Post ombudsman Geneva 
Overholser wrote, “A number of callers 
have asked me: Why didn’t the media 
make this picture of federal abuses 
dearer from the beginning? A big part 
of the answer is, the media couldn't 
Law enforcement officials in this case, 
as in many, were virtually the only 
sources available." Pravda, anyone? 

Deke Reynolds 
Washington, D.C. 


We would like to hear your pon of view. 
Send questions, opinions and quirky stuff 
to: The Playboy Forum Reader Response, 
PLAYBOY, 680 North Lake Shore Drive, 
Chicago, Illinois 60611. Please include a 
daytime phone number. Fax number: 312- 
951-2939. E-mail: forum@playboy.com. 


DOESNT ‘DESECRATION’ IMPLY 
THAT THE FLAG I$ SACRED? 


THEN YOU'RE GOING To HAVE То 
CHANGE THE FIRST COMMANDMENT 


б 


ANS Sale 
HOW MANY STATES DOES TWAT TAKE y 


51 


THE RIDICULOUS RIGHT 


say it ain't so, barney 


Where do they find these guys? 

The Reverend Joseph Chambers, a 
Pentecostal minister from Charlotte, 
North Carolina, has decided that two 
beloved American figures are poster 
boys for depravity. We're speaking, of 
course, of Bert and Ernie. 

“They're two grown men sharing 
a house—and a bedroom!” bellows 
Chambers, who has a radio ministry 
that broadcasts in four Southern 
states. “They share clothes. They eat 
and cook together. They vacation 
together and have effeminate charac- 
teristics. In one show, Bert 
teaches Ernie how to sew. 

In another they tend plants 
together. If this isn't meant 
to represent a homosexual 
union, I can't imagine what 
it's supposed to represent.” 

Chambers is also the 
author of Barney: The Pur- 
ple Messiah—a tract that 
denounces the world’s 
most insipid dinosaur as a 
tool of Satan and homosex- 
uals. It’s not just that Bar- 
ney is purple (a clear sign 
of deviant sexuality); 
Chambers sees a greater 
threat: “Barney is much 
more than just a fun crea- 
ture of kids’ imaginations. 

He is a politically correct 

teacher of everything on 

the liberal left's agenda, 

from New Age evolution to 

radical ecology. To many 
children, Barney has 

become a guru of sorts. He 

teaches transcendental 

thought and mystical ideas. 

Nothing comes through 

Barney's teachings more 

clearly than the New Age 

idea of using our minds to create mir- 
acles. No one should deny that posi- 
tive or negative thinking can tre- 
mendously affect our lives. But such 
powers are clearly physical and end 
with the normal experiences we en- 
joy. God alone is supernatural.” 

And here's the heavy stuff: "The 
idea of a séance is at the forefront of 
almost every Barney program. On one 
show Mother Goose talks to the chil- 
dren from one of her books, Led by 
Barney, the children commune with 
Mother Goose and conduct a séance 
to bring her to them. Asthey sing and 


dance their little ditty she—poof!— 
appears in their presence. The Bible 
calls that necromancy and says a per- 
son who participates in such behavior 
is an abomination unto the Lord. 
This kind of occult activity fills the 
Barney material. Conjuring someone 
up is certainly not kids’ play." 

It would all be funny if it weren't so 
fashionable among the religious right 
to attack PBS—home of Bert, Ernie 
and Barney—for sponsoring "anü- 
Christian" programming. They call it 
the culture war—Saturday morning 


cartoons versus Sunday morning ser- 
mons. Who will win the souls of our 
children? In Chambers' view, every- 
thing that happens outside of church 
is the work of Satan—including the 
antics of big puppets. 

Chambers' most recent target is 
The Lion King, which he denounces as 
"the newest idolatry and witchcraft 
being pawned off on the children 
of America.” Among other things, 
Chambers says, the animated movie 
promotes voodoo, necromancy (see 
Barney), astrology and ESP. Our 
other favorite religious dingbat, the 


Reverend Donald Wildmon, has 
joined the battle against Disney, 
claiming that two stars of The Lion 
King—Timon the meerkat and Pum- 
baa the warthog—are “the first 
homosexual Disney characters ever 
to come to the screen.” Wildmon 
latched on to an interview with Ernie 
Sabella and Nathan Lane (the actors 
who provided voices for the cartoon 
characters) that ran in The New York 
Times. "Timon is a feisty little cheerful 
fellow," Lane says. *He and Pumbaa 
seem to have a very nice arrange- 
ment—though I couldn't 
say what the extent of their 
relationship is." 

Sabella laughingly dis- 
misses the suggestion, say- 
ing, "I know what Nathan 
says about them—these are 
the first homosexual Dis- 
ney characters ever to 
come to the screen. You 
can call Timon a gay char- 
acter. Just don't say he 
reminds you of Jackie 
Gleason.” 

And then there's the 
American Life League, а 
Virginia-based anti-abor- 
tion group. The league 
claims that clouds in The 
Lion King form the word 
sex over Simba's head, that 
the minister in The Little 
Mermaid has a hard-on and 
that a voice on the sound- 
track of Aladdin urges, 
“Good teenagers, take off 
your clothes.” 

Finding Satan's hand in 
the world of entertainment 
is almost as old as religion. 
The Roman philosopher 
"Tertullian condemned the 

“pleasures of the spectacle" —exhort- 
ing his fellow Christians to avoid 
wrestling, chariot racing, the circus, 
the theater and the show of gladia- 
tors. But our modern crusaders are 
fixated on art forms that are far less 
adult. That Chambers and Wildmon 
find deviance lurking behind a child's 
delight is not surprising. Their view 
of sexuality is a cartoon. We hear that 
Chambers' next target will be the 
incredibly decadent and morally mis- 
chevious Mighty Morphin Power 
Rangers. When will the ridiculous 
right grow up? — —JAMES R. PETERSEN 


PARLIAMENT 


PERFECT RECESS 


SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Smoking 
By Pregnant Women May Result in Fetal 
Injury, Premature Birth, And Low Birth Weight. 


Piip Morris nc. 1995 


PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: GEORGE FOREMAN 


a candid conversation with the grand old man of heavyweight boxing—about 
aging and eating, punching and preaching, and still having the stuff of champions 


No one—except George Foreman—reck- 
oned he had a chance. In 1987 when he be- 
gan his boxing comeback, Foreman said his 
mission was to recapture the heavyweight 
championship, which he had held between 
1973 and 1974. Foreman was then 38 and 
weighed 315 pounds. If he wasn't joking 
about regaining the title, he certainly seemed 
to be kidding. Instead of appearing as the 
menacing mauler he had been during the 
early Seventies, Foreman came al the pr 
and his opponents—wüh a newly developed, 
self-deprecating sense of humor. He talked. 
about his special seafood diet (“I eat every- 
thing 1 see”), confessed to an addiction to 
cheeseburgers and spoke fondly of his affini- 
ty for “roasts of beef, legs of lamb and porks 
of chop.” 

In the ring, his taste ran to a succession of 
tomato cans, fighters whose main lalent was 
their ability to get knocked senseless. Fore- 
man accommodated them, and in so doing 
proved that, though he had lost his waistline, 
he probably hadn't lost all of his punch. Un- 
fortunately, he seemed to deliver his haymak- 
ers only slightly faster than the U.S. Postal 
Service delivers mail. Still, that didn't stop 
him from starching а nonstop series of stiffs. 
After four years on the comeback trail, Fore- 
man had compiled a record of 24-0. 

By then, big George had slimmed down to 
267 pounds and had become master of what 


“When 1 got back into boxing Don King 
thought | wanted a favor, and 1 told him, 
‘Listen, 1 made myself and I made you. Just 
stay out of my life.’ He laughed and T told 
him, ‘Twill be champ of the world.” 


politicians consider the holy grail—the TV 
sound bite. To wit: After watching 210- 
pound heavyweight champ Evander Holy- 
field knock out an opponent, Foreman 
“My left foot weighs more than 210 


In a down period for boxing, with Mike 
Tyson in prison and with few other heavy- 
weights of promise on the scene, Foreman 
had become boxing's biggest draw. In 1991 
Holyfield gave him a shot al the heavyweight 
crown. The matchup appeared to be a mis- 
match, offering an easy victory for Holyfield. 
True, Holyfield clearly won on points—but 
Foreman rocked him in every round. When 
ihe decision was announced in Holyfield's 
favor, a packed crowd of more than 19,000 
at Atlantic City's Convention Hall booed 
lustily. But Foreman had plenty to be thank- 
Jul for: His cut of the pay-per-view bonanza 
came to a reported $12.5 million. To all ap- 
pearances, Foreman's comeback had ended, 
and sportswriters waited for the annowice- 
ment that he was hanging up his gloves 
for good. 

Instead he resumed his odyssey, and stayed 
in the public eye. He became a boxing ana- 
lyst for HBO, and ABC even gave him his 
own short-lived sitcom, “George.” 

Last November Foreman had another 
chance at the heavyweight crown. This time 
his opponent was Michael Mooren a st 


“Boxing's never been about who was the 
toughest, 175 always been about: "Step right 
up, ladies and gentlemen, see the bearded la- 
dy,’ It's Barnum and Bailey—let's get under 
the tent. It's never been anything else.” 


who had wrested the title from Holyfield in 
April 1994. For nine rounds, Moorer pep- 
pered Foreman with jabs and an assortment 
of swift salvos. In the tenth, though, Fore- 
man abruptly nailed Moorer with a right 
cross, and Moorer was down—and out. 
Foreman strode to his corner and fell to his 
knees in prayer. At 45—20 years after he 
had lost the litle to Muhammad Ali—George 
Foreman had become the oldest heavyweight 
champion in boxing history. After Foreman’s 
victory over Moorer, three heavyweight asso- 
ciations named Foreman champion: the In- 
ternational Boxing Federation, the World 
Boxing Association and the World Boxing 
Union. After controversies surrounding Fore- 
man's choice of opponents, however, he now 
retains only the WBU championship belt. 

Born in Marshall, Texas and reared in the 
toughest part of Houston, Foreman was one 
of four brothers and three sisters raised by 
their divorced mother. George was a tough 
hid who duked it oul whenever the opportu- 
nity presented itself. AL 16, he dropped out of 
high school and joined the Job Corps, where 
he was taught to be an electrician. 

He also learned how to box. Less than two 
years after his first amateur bout, Foreman 
won а gold medal ai the 1968 summer 
Olympics in Mexico City. He turned profes- 
sional the next year, and in 1973 won the 
world heavyweight title by punching out Joe 


“Joe Frazier was the only guy 1 was afraid of 
When I got into the ring with him, 1 was re- 
ally scared. He would always keep coming. 
He had that look. When I beat him, 1 felt so 


proud. I thought, Man, 1 can beat anybody.” 55 


PLAYBOY 


Frazier in round two of their Kingston, Ja- 
maica clash. The following year Foreman 
was the odds-on favorite when he met Ali for 
their Rumble in the Jungle, a much-publi- 
cized face-off in Kinshasa, Zaire. For seven 
rounds, Ali employed his "rope-a-dope" de- 
fense, carefully covering up as Foreman trot- 
ted out every punch in his arsenal. But Ali's 
strategy won out: By the eighth round, Fore- 
man was exhausted. Ali promptly knocked 
him out. 

George Foreman was never the same after 
the Zaire defeat. In 1977, in his dressing 
room after dropping a decision to Jimmy 
Young, Foreman had a religious vision. He 
quit boxing that night and became an evan- 
gelist. For the next ten years he preached 
throughout the Southwest, as well as in the 
church he built in Houston. Convinced his 
fighting career had made him lose sight of 
important things—such as family —Foreman 
abandoned his boxing identity. He even 
changed his look, shaving his head and los- 
ing his trademark mustache. 

But by 1987, money was running out. I 
an effort to earn enough to run the gym he 
had built for Houston youth, Foreman re- 
turned to the ring, This time, though, he act- 
ed as his cun manager, which meant that 
every dollar he fought for ended up in his 
pocket. The decision paid off: In addition to 
regaining his title as champ, Foreman's ring 
earnings since coming out of retirement have 
totaled an estimated $75 million, making 
him the wealthiest boxer who ever lived. 

To interview the world heavyweight cham- 
pion, we dispatched Lawrence Linderman lo 
Foreman country in Houston. Linderman’s 
25-year history of interviews for PLAYBOY in- 
cludes conversations with other boxing 
greats, among them Ali and Sugar Ray 
Leonard. Here's Linderman's report. 

“George Foreman likes to laugh and loves 
lo preach, and he can do the latter without 
sounding at all preachy, But that’s his public 
facade. There's absolutely no way this 46- 
year-old (if you believe "Ring" magazine, 
Foreman is about to turn 48) could have 
climbed back into the heavyweight piclure— 
let alone emerged with the utle—withont 
possessing the kind of overwhelmingly com- 
pulsive, competitive streak that's the mark of 
a champion. 

“On TV, Foreman comes across as a sweet 
uncle, but in person he's a giant of a man. 
He is 63" tall and has long muscular arms 
and the biggest fists I've ever seen. I checked: 
They measure 13% around. 

‘After we shook hands gently—every boxer 
Tue ever mel never forgets to protect his 
fingers—we retreated to an air-conditioned 
trailer parked close to the George Foreman 
Youth and Community Center. We spoke 
there for a short time before Foreman went 
into the gym to spar for a dozen rounds. Two 
days later we mel again, 200 miles northeast 
in Marshall, Texas, where George had driv- 
en with his fifth wife, Mary, and several of 
his children (he has nine). He owns a brick 
house ten miles south of town, built atop a 
Texas-size spread—300 acres—where he 


56 raises Clydesdales and Tennessee walking 


horses, cows, chickens, ducks and geese. 

“When I got there, Foreman, dressed in 
light warm-ups, was silting on a swinging 
bench in front of the house. His youngest 
son, George V (the four other boys are also 
named George), came pedaling out from the 
garage on his tricycle, and zoomed up lo us. 
Foreman introduced me to his boy, whom he 
calls Red. ‘We call him Red for the stop- 
light—meaning no more children,” Foreman 
joked. 

“When Red took off again, 1 sat down on 
а lawn chair and turned on my tape record- 
er, and we began our conversation: 


PLAYBOY: When you began your boxing 
comeback eight years ago, you said you 
were tired of being known as the former 
heavyweight champion of the world. 
Now that you've regained the title, are 
you over your identity crisis? 

FOREMAN: It's strange, but if you had 
traveled around with me from 1974 un- 
til last November, that’s all you would 
have heard: “And here he is, ladies and 
genüemen: the former heavyweight 
champion of the world, George Fore- 
man.” Now I'm introduced as the heavy- 


The first time I won 
the title I forgot about my 
family. I didn’t care about 
anything but the title— 


I was married to it. 


weight champ, but that's almost fright- 
ening because [ think, Is this a joke? I'm 
actually being called something other 
than the former champion? I keep ex- 
pecting someone else to stand up. It's a 
pleasure, don’t get me wrong, but it is 
kind of strange. 

PLAYBOY: So you still haven't gotten used 
to it? 

FOREMAN: Not this time around, no. The 
first time 1 became champ of the world, 
in 1973, I enjoyed it. As a youngster I 
figured I should have the title—that it 
belonged to me—so 1 took it, and no- 
body could keep it from me. But this 
time I tell myself, “Man, you sure got a 
blessing.” I'ma little more humble. 
PLAYBOY: Why? 

FOREMAN: It's like, if you're in a race and 
you're leading the pack all the way and 
you win, it’s no big deal; you're sup- 
posed to win. But if you come from 
behind—and I mean from way behind— 
and you get to the finish line first, you 
enjoy it a lot more. That's how I feel 
about winning the title again. I started 
from the back of the pack. 

PLAYBOY: You left boxing in 1977. Did 


you miss the sport after you retired? 
FOREMAN: Not at all. When I stopped 1 
went into preaching—my evangelistic 
work—and I traveled. I didn't want to be 
a boxer anymore. I didn't even want to 
talk about boxing. 

PLAYBOY: Why not? 

FOREMAN: Because the first time I won 
the title I forgot about my family. I didn't 
care about anything but the title—I was 
married to it. But after I got out of that 
frame of mind, the fact that I had been a 
fighter actually became embarrassing to 
me. So I shaved off my mustache and the 
hair on my head, threw away all my 
flashy dothes—I got rid of everything. I 
didn't want to be known as an athlete, let 
alone a boxer. I found a new life, and for 
ten years I enjoyed it. 1 began to think I 
had wasted my time until then trying to 
achieve foolishness. All I could see in that 
George Foreman was a guy who was 
striving for some phantom thing that 
doesn't exist. 

PLAYBOY: In a 1991 PLAYBOY 20 Questions, 
you said you had returned to the ring 
not only to win the title but also to earn 
enough money to run the gym you had 
built for kids in Houston. Now that 
you've achieved your goals, tell us: Is 
there really any reason for you to contin- 
ue fighting? | 

FOREMAN: My mother would put it this 
way: “The cat chases the rat. When he 
gets the rat, he plays with it a little bit.” 
PLAYBOY: In other words? 

FOREMAN: In other words, I chased the 
title, 1 won it and I've played with it a lit- 
tle bit. 

PLAYBOY: How much longer do you in- 
tend to keep playing, George? 
FOREMAN: I will not box beyond this year. 
PLAYBOY: You told us the same thing 
in 1991. 

FOREMAN: It's true. I've said a lot of 
things like that before, but this time I re- 
ally mean it. I'm just happy I was able to 
stretch out my boxing career this long 
and make it a long-term investment for 
what I could do the rest of my life. 
PLAYBOY: When you started your come- 
back, you certainly knew you had a 
chance to make money, but did you be- 
lieve you would win the title again? 
FOREMAN: I've said this throughout my 
life and ГЇЇ say it again: Every year in 
boxing, maybe a thousand heavyweights 
turn professional, but only one has it in 
his heart to be the champion. Some guys 
want a truck, a house, a car. When I 
made up my mind to get back into box- 
ing, I said 1 wanted to become heavy- 
weight champ of the world and make 
money. And I did it. I've always tried to 
pursue excellence. 

I learned boxing early on from Dick 
Sadler, my original manager and trainer. 
He taught me how to fight and how to 
get in shape, and Гуе never forgotten 
that: Going to the gym, skipping rope, 
hitting the punching bags, sparring—I 
like all that. I never knew 1 appreciated 


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PLAYBOY 


it. After ten years, when I got back into 
the ring and started sparring again, I re- 
alized, “Hey, this is what I do. I like what 
Ido.” 

PLAYBOY: When did you realize that you 
might be able to regain the title? 
FOREMAN: First ] had to look at myself. 
When I made my reentry into boxing, 
most people said, "Oh, he's old." But I 
never saw that. People also said, "Yeah, 
he's fat too." [Laughs] OK, that was true. 
But the point is, when 1 looked into the 
mirror I always saw a slim young man. 
PLAYBOY: How did you swing that? Did 
you have trick mirrors installed in your 
training gym? 

FOREMAN: l'm telling you that's all I 
could see—a slim young man. In the 
morning newspaper I'd read, “This guy 
should leave it alone, he’s too old.” But 
when I'd look in the mirror, I'd see a 
fresh youngster. And that would propel 
me to run ten miles, to go to the gym 
and hit the bags for an hour, skip rope, 
maybe box 17 rounds with four or five 
guys. I couldn't see the guy the reporters 
saw because I don't respond to anything 
negative. For instance, if someone says, 
“George, your jab is too slow," I can't 
hear that. But if someone says, "I'm go- 
ing to show you how to make your jab 
faster"—great! I can't digest anything 
unless it's positive. 

PLAYBOY: When you compare yourself. 
now with the boxer you were in the Sev- 
enties, how do you rate? 

FOREMAN: I'm a better fighter today than 
I was then. 

PLAYBOY: Seriously? In what way? 
FOREMAN: The first time around I was 
like a windup doll. I'd do whatever my 
trainers told me to do. I was a slugger. 
This time around Гуе perfected my pro- 
fession. I've got the skills now, and I'm 
able to face opponents with waves that 
just keep coming, one after another. I 
know exactly what I'm doing. I know 
how to fight offensively and I know how 
to fight defensively. I know what I can do 
to whip the other guy, and what whips 
me. Ifa guy stays away from my right all 
night, great, I'm prepared for that. If he 
stays away from my left all night, I'm 
prepared for that, too. 

PLAYBOY: You just said you know what 
beats you. Care to tell us? 

FOREMAN: What gets me now is the pitiful 
look a guy gives me after I hit him a cou- 
ple of times. Oh, man. And being in a 
ring with kids who are young enough to 
be my sons sometimes gets me to the 
point where I say, "Take it easy on the 
baby.” That's a disadvantage for me, and 
I've fought only one boxer who really 
understood that. 

PLAYBOY: Who was that? 

FOREMAN: Tommy Morrison, who fought 
me on pay-per-view TV for the WBO ti- 
tle. Before that fight, every time we were 
together at a press conference, he called 
me Mr. Foreman. He never pouted or 


58 smarted off to me. When the bout start- 


ed, he ran a little bit and I threw jabs. In 
the last round 1 finally hit him with a 
good right hand—boom! 
on my chest. I told mysel 
him off and finish him." Then I looked 
back in his corner and told myself, “I'm 
not going to do it. He's made it through 
12 rounds, and I've got a decision won. 
I'm not going to go crazy and knock this 
kid out.” And I didn't, but the judges 
gave him the decision. 

Morrison's presence before the fight 
was what you would call a good tactical 
move: He totally respected me. He treat- 
ed me like good old Uncle George. Now, 
how am I going to hurt a kid I like? Mor- 
rison was so nice to me that I let him off 
the hook. I really did. It wasn't so smart 
on my part—anybody who wants to be a 
champion has to win. 

PLAYBOY: Nice story, Uncle George, but 
Morrison kept his distance from you 
throughout the fight. Even though you 
stalked him, you didn't seem too con- 
cerned about not catching up with him. 
How did that experience affect the way 
you fought Michael Moorer a year ago 
for the heavyweight title? 

FOREMAN: 1 felt the same way when I 
fought Moorer. I had in my mind, "Oh, 
he's just a kid.” I knew I wasn't going to 
hit Michael Moorer with five punches 
in a row—boom, boom, boom, boom, 
boom! I just wasn't going to do that. T 
had to be more precise with him: whop, 
pop and down! 

PLAYBOY: You were able to do just that. 
FOREMAN: Right, because I’m quicker 
today than I've ever been. After 1 beat 
him, I read an interview with Moorer in 
which he said, “I don’t know what hap- 
pened. George hit me, and just before 1 
was going to hit him, he hit me again. 
He's a quick man." But who will ever 
read that? It’s up to me to keep that 
camouflaged. I've got to keep it from the 
announcers. 

PLAYBOY: Your secret is safe with us. One 
thing we've noticed is that you seem 
much more mellow in the ring than you 
used to be. Any particular reason? 
FOREMAN: When I was young I wanted to 
intimidate guys. I'd stare them in the 
face and get them scared and all that 
stuff. But the old saying “It’s not win- 
ning that counts but how you play the 
game” has meant a lot to me this time 
around. I didn’t want to get back into 
this business to scare the whole world, to 
frighten guys, psych them out, all that 
stuff. I didn't want to act like a schizo- 
phrenic, with one personality in the ring 
and another outsid 1 wanted to be 
one kind of guy: What you see is what 
you get. 

So I don't try to scare guys; I'm their 
friend. I'm boxing them and trying to 
win, but there’s never a punch thrown in 
anger. I'm natural and I'm relaxed, and 
1 let the other guy get natural and re- 
laxed, too. And may the best man vin. 
PLAYBOY: And you haven't seen any falloff 


in your abilities? 
FOREMAN: No, 1 do everything better 
There was a time when I would move iı 
the ring and move and move. Now, I 
know why I'm moving, moving, moving. 
And I can wear out a fighter's sight. 
PLAYBOY: Come again? 

FOREMAN: When I move to a guy's right, 
it's not about moving, it's about getting 
his eyes and his brain to follow me in 
that direction. When | stop, his brain 
keeps going in that direction, and that's 
when I can get my shot in. See, I'm bet- 
ter now because I know why I'm doing 
certain things. 

PLAYBOY: You were 38 when you began 
your comeback. Did you have a time- 
table as to how long you'd have to wait 
for that title fight to come your way? 
FOREMAN: Yeah. When I first turned pro 
in 1969, Dick Sadler said, “Young man, 
it's going to take three and a half years 
before you're ready to fight for the tide.” 
"Three and a half years later, I was ready 
for Joe Frazier. But when you get to be 
39 or 40, people say, “You'd better hurry 
up and do it.” Well, 1 never forgot what 
Sadler taught me, and I always thought 
that if I made the sacrifice and took the 
time to perfect my boxing, I could do it 
again. And three and a half years after 1 
started my comeback, I got my shot at 
Evander Holyfield. Not only did I go 12 
rounds in that fight, I also had Holyfield 
holding on in the last round. When that 
happened I thought, If they don't give 
me this decision, then I'll know that I 
should have gone for the knockout in 
the later rounds. 

PLAYBOY: Why didn't you? 

FOREMAN: To be honest. it goes back to 
my knockout of Gerry Cooney. That had 
bugged me for a long time. People 
would show the knockout on film, and I 
didn't like that—it wasn't the way I want- 
ed to be remembered. 

PLAYBOY: What didn't you like about the 
Cooney KO—your ferocity? 

FOREMAN: Yeah. I just went off on him. 
But Cooney had hurt me and 1 wanted 
to get it over with. He hit harder than 
any guy I'd fought since starting my 
comeback, and 1 realized 1 couldn't play 
around in there. I had to finish him. 
PLAYBOY: 
FOREMAN: But it didn't look right. So 
when I fought Holyfield, I was still un- 
der that Cooney influence. I wanted a 
clean knockout, and none of this ham- 
mering and hammering, with the guy 
crashing to the floor and all that. I hit 
Holyfield with a good right hand in the 
last round and staggered him, and then 
I tried to be real cool with it. I wasn't go- 
ing to go after him with the bang-bang- 
bang anymore. | tried to knock him out 
with one shot and be done with it. But I 
wasn't able to do that. He almost went, 
and when he started holding on to me I 
should have pushed him away and gone 
crazy on him. But I'm not going to have 
film like that of me again. I didn't get 


- 


HUH 


Just watch the Cuervo Margarita Bowl, 
January 27 on espna, 


> him with the clean stuff and I wasn't go- the details with Don King," he won't get him, "I will be champ of the world.” Af 
о ing to go after him with the raggedy even a conversation out of me. ter that, King did nothing but try to take 
stuff. If I couldn't drop him with one PLAYBOY: What do you have against Don ту name out of the ratings of heavy- 
® punch, I didn't want a knockout. King? weight contenders. So what will he do to 
>» PLAYBOY, Even if that meant losing by a FOREMAN: In 1973 he came to me crying, Mike Tyson? Tyson should leavc him 
< decision? orge, I need your help, man. They alone. When Tyson looks in the mirror, 
FOREMAN: Well, I have bad habits as a won't give me a chance to be a promot- he should see me, George Foreman. I 
7 fighter, and probably the worst of them er—they're discriminating against me." love Don King, but he's not a nice guy. 
M ds that I relax in the ring and play He begged and pleaded, so I let him in He’s strictly a creature of the flesh. Is 
around too much. I get satisfaction in boxing. I gave him the chance to pro- that enough about Don King? 
beating a guy at certain things the crowd mote the Muhammad Ali-George Fore- PLAYBOY: Let's stick with Tyson for a 
and the judges can't sce, even though I man fight. After I lost the title, King minute. What's your assessment of his 
know I got the guy whipped. I'll j worked with Muhammad, and when skills? 
play with him—I'll get in under his jab, Muhammad dropped him I picked him FOREMAN: When Tyson won the title, he 
jab him as soon as he tries to touch me, up because he was still uying to do his was young and had the style, size and en- 
fake him, scare him off, make him look best. I let him negotiate a big contract ergy to be champion of the world. But as 
to his corner for help. That's my habit, for me with ABC, and with that he was you get older you lose a bit of this and 
but I lose fights on that. When ‘Tyson 
points. became less daring, 
I think jazz has Я Я m he started gettin, 
found itself in che donee Magazine rated BEL 645STi whipped ЕЕ 
E lus Radar/Laser detector number on ; 
same predicament, Heel ie nem Reque He'll never be able 
because musicians B Introducing BEL 745STi Plus—the latest in to get back what he 
sometimes play just rotection ЭЙСЕМ Кайы act ese ton kom had because he will 
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and they forget all Shadow Technology” means undetectability old again. If Tyson 
about the audience. you can buy Automobile Magazine's findings confirm іс “ants to recapture 
After the Holyfield Shadow Technology? *... proved totally спу of Mrs he had, 
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yourself, but the and laser. desees dese v edlen ДАУ, Rooney, who fur- 
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for the title you're average 25 percent more range than the D'Amato style that 
going to have to get Automobile Magazine, second-place finisher and up to 150 per- Tyson used. If he 
SU Rr eae December '94 cent that of the also-rans.” Quite an doesn't get back 
last November, I did achievement. with Rooney, it will 
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PLAYBOY: Most box- dealer near you, call toll-free today again, but he won't 
ing observers be- 1-800-541-1401 usa be able to start on 
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just hanging around start from the bot- 
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FOREMAN: Not really. ed ender US. and beige ponts. ing that Tyson's day 
Tyson would have has come and gone. 
been important to Do you really be- 
me when he was lieve that? 
heavyweight champ of the world. Or able to stage a championship tourna- FOREMAN: It has. When he lost to Buster 
when I was broke. I could have made ment and then have a big-time career as Douglas, I said, "Humpty-Dumpty sat 
some money and been the tideholder. а promoter. 1 gave him his chance. Then on a wall, Humpty-Dumpty had a great 
ғідүвот: What do you think of Tyson? a couple of years later, when I was out of fall. All Don King's horses and all Don 
FOREMAN: He's a kid who has to get his boxing, I tried to call him and he King’s men will never be able to put him 
life together. His sole purpose in life now wouldn't even answer my calls. His sec- back together again.” That's Mike Tyson 
should be to enjoy his freedom—to go retary said, “Look, Don is busy. We have PLAYBOY: Tyson is smaller than most of 
down to the corner store and buy Fritos things to do.” Not only did he not take the top heavyweights now fighting. Do 
and have a refrigerator he can go to all my calls, he also offended me by having you think that works against him? 
night. If he wants to fight me he is wel- his secretary tell me not to call anymore. FOREMAN: Boxing has never been about 
come 10 do so. But he has to do it this That's what I have against Don King. size; it has always been the art of self- 
year, because I will not box beyond 1995 When I got back into boxing, he defense. Heavyweights who might be a 
And I will not say, "OK, Mike Tyson, thought I wanted a favor, and | told him, little smaller than their opponents are 
wanna fight?” I won't do that. Not inter- "Listen, I made myself the first time and supposed to find a way to beat tougher, 
ested. He'll have to call me and say, 1 actually made you. I don't need you to bigger men. To take the full effect of this 
“Look, George, I want to fight for the ti- repay any favors. Just stay out of my sport, you're almost supposed to be a lit- 
Че. Work out the details.” I'll say great. life.” I said, “I'll be champ of the world Ше smaller than the guy you're fighting. 
60 But if he calls me and says, "Work out again.” He laughed at me and I told Boxing wasn't created so bears could 


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attack deer, if you know what I mean. 
PLAYBOY: We take it you see yourself as 
a bear? 

FOREMAN: That's true, but when I made 
my comeback I had to combine both an- 
imals. I mean, I had to be a bear, but I al- 
so had to have the temperament of a 
deer to make these guys attack me. 
PLAYBOY: Give us an example. 

FOREMAN: When I fought Michael Moor- 
er for the title, I thought, How in the 
world, in my wildest imagination, can 1 
convince him to stand in front of me? 
You look at Moorer, you look at George 
Foreman—how do I convince a kid like 
that to slug it out with me? I had to make 
him see a deer. Even more, 1 had to cre- 
ate the illusion that a deer could actually 
whip a bear. Finally, this foolish deer 
went out and attacked the bear. And the 
bear licked his chops. The media helped 
me by saying, “Foreman’s old, he’s fat, 
he's out of shape.” So that was my illu- 
sion, and I tricked everybody. 

PLAYBOY: How did you trick Moorer once 
the fight got under way? 

FOREMAN: I jabbed him a lot and held 
back my power. You see, if I had hit him 
real hard and knocked him down and he 
got up, he was going to run. And if he 
ran for 12 rounds, they would have giv- 
en him the decision—they did that with 
Holyfield. So in every picture of the 
Moorer fight, you'll notice I have my 
hands up to protect myself. But what do 
I have to protect myself from? Nothing. 
And there's nothing for me to hide from, 
either. I'm what people hide from. You 
understand? 

But I had to give Moorer the illusion 
that he had nothing to worry about. 
That's what you have to do in the vil 
when you want to eat: You have to act 
tame, especially when you can't run and. 
catch what you're hunting for. 

PLAYBOY: So in other words, you were 
playing possum with Moorer? 

FOREMAN: Ycs, and hc fcll for it. It was 
like in my favorite poem, by Mary 
Howitt: 


"Would you walk into my parlor?" 
said the spider to the fly. 

"It's the prettiest little parlor that 
you ever did spy. 

"The way into my parlor is up a 
winding si 

"And Гуе got many curious things 
to show when you are there." 

"Oh no,” said the fly. “To ask me 
is in vain 

“For who goes up your winding 
stairs will never come down again.” 


That means I have to try something 
else: 
"I'm sure you must be weary, 
dear, from soaring up so high. 
"Won't you rest upon my bed?" 
said the spider to the fly. 


PLAYBOY: And this tells us? 


FOREMAN: This tells us that you've got to 
keep it up until you get the fly inside— 
and then boom-boom! [Foreman throws a 
left-right combination in the air] You got 
him! Туе always had to do that, starting 
when I was a little 
PLAYBOY: You've always suckered guys in- 
то fights with you? 

FOREMAN: No, that's not what I mean. I 
was a big baby and the other kids’ par- 
ents didn’t want them to play with me 
because they thought, Oh, he’s going to 
hurt my child. But I needed to play and, 
of course, I needed kids to play with. So 
1 did what I had to do. Other little kids 
would come around and I'd let them get 
me into wrestling holds, and I'd go, 
"Ahh!" and then fall down and say, 
"Don't hurt me anymore." You see, 1 
needed to play the next day, too. 
PLAYBOY: Did you really do that? 
FOREMAN: Yeah. When | was a teenager I 
also wanted to play basketball, and I'd 
bump a lot of the kids I played against. 
Га go in for a layup, and after a while 
they'd all move out of the way and let me 
have the shot. But soon I noticed that. 
they no longer wanted me to play with 
them. So I began missing a lot of shots. 
Then most of the kids would say, "OK, 
let him play again.” 

I've had to pick my winning spots all 
through my life, I knew that when I got 
out there with Michael Moorer, I had to 
be old. I had to be everything the writers 
said I was before I could get him to stand 
in front of me. 

PLAYBOY: Are you telling us that you actu- 
ally planned to let Moorer pile up a com- 
manding lead before you went for a 
knockout late in the fight? 

FOREMAN: Well, before the bout my in- 
tentions were to knock Moorer down 
three times—quick—in the first or sec- 
ond round, and get a knockout through 
the three-knockdown rule. But just be- 
fore the fight started, the referee came 
back to my dressing room and told me 
that the three-knockdown rule had been 
waived. I didn’t know about that, be- 
cause I hadn't gone to the rules meeting. 
And I was shocked. 

PLAYBOY: Why? 

FOREMAN: Because I don't want to hurt 
any of these young kids. If I couldn't get 
the three-knockdown rule, it meant I 
was going to have to hit him and hit him 
and hit him until I knocked him down 
and he stayed down. That was not an 
easy decision for me to make, because 1 
like these young fellas. 

Also, I Knew that if I tried for an early 
knockout, he would run from me for the 
rest of the fight. So I had to keep jab- 
bing. Finally, in the tenth round, he 
didn't have any juice left because I'd 
drained him with my jab. It was like he 
was thinking, Гуе got to stand here, 
what else can I do? That's when I caught 
him with a left and right combination 
and—boom!—that was it. 


PLAYBOY: We know that before he came 
out for the tenth round, Moorer was told 
by his corner to stay away from you. 
Why didn't he? 

FOREMAN: Once you're in the spider's 
web, you don't need anyone to tell you 
what to do, because it’s too late. Moorer 
let me jab him for nine rounds, and 
those punches took their toll. Jt was too 
late for him to run. Too late. 

PLAYBOY: Teddy Atlas, Moorer's trainer, 
warned him that you would be danger- 
ous—he feels you never got over losing 
your title to Muhammad Ali. Atlas said 
you know you quit in that fight. Did 
you quit? 

FOREMAN: It's hard to comment on what 
he's talking about, but I remember what 
happened in Zaire in 1974. Muhammad 
knocked me down, and I remember 
looking up and waiting for Dick Sadler 
to tell me to get up. When you get 
knocked down, your corner tells you 
when to get up—you're not supposed to 
do that yourself. But Sadler told me to 
stay down. Then, when he yelled, “Get 
up!” I jumped up right quick, but the 
referee told me the fight was over. 
PLAYBOY: Were you crushed by that? 
FOREMAN: Yes, but not because I believed 
I was going to jump up and win. I 
figured if I got up, I could get knocked 
down again—but I could live with being 
beat up. I could not live with the knowl- 
edge that I didn’t get a chance to give my 
all. While the referee was counting, I was 
thinking that Ali was going to rush in 
and try to finish me. That was OK with 
me because every time I went after him, 
he covered up and made me throw my- 
self away—he wouldn't mix it up. And I 
do believe that if Ali had tried to mix it 
up with me, I would have caught him, 
because I believe in my punch. 

For months after the fight, 1 lived in 
agony and blamed myself. I said to my- 
self, “You didn’t even die. If you're ng 
to lose, at least get killed." I couldn't live 
with myself because I hadn't given 100 
percent. And 100 percent for me at that 
time would have been dying in the ring. 
PLAYBOY: How long did it take you to get 
over the Ali fight? 

FOREMAN: It wasn't until 1976, when I 
fought Ron Lyle at Caesars Palace in Las 
Vegas. I made up my mind before that 
fight that the only way to count me out 
would be if I needed a stretcher, because 
Га already used every excuse for losing 
the Ali fight. Well, Lyle hit me hard and 
knocked me down—you'd be surprised 
how quick you can think when you're 
knocked down and waiting to get up— 
and I remember thinking, Here I am on 
this canvas, and I'm not dead. I'm not 
going to wait for the count. I'm jumping 
up because I can't tell people about a 
short count this time. Even if he knocks 
me down again, he hasn't killed me. And 
1 jumped up and got right back into it, 
thinking, Let him kill me. Before the 


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63 


fight was over, I had knocked Lyle down, 
and he had knocked me down again. We 
had each other rocking and rolling. In 
the sixth round Lyle just passed out and 
my life came back to me. I could live with 
myself again. 

PLAYBOY: Ali had outfoxed you by using 
his rope-a-dope defense. If you could 
have changed the way you fought him, 
what would you have done differently? 
FOREMAN: The biggest mistake I made 
was not recognizing that Ali was the most 
intelligent, pure boxer I'd ever fought. 
He knew, like I know now, that you have 
to fight not only with your physical 
strength but with your brainpower as 
well. And he was the only fighter I ran 
into who knew that. 

I was going to be a puncher until I 
died. I exploded on guys, and not every- 
body could do that. Muhammad knew 
that about me. That's why he covered 
up. lay on the ropes and let the dope 
throw his explosives. But every guy I'd 
fought had tried to do the same thing— 
survive—and I'd been getting them all, 
so I wasn't worried. Before that, it was al- 
ways me running after every guy I 
fought, just wasting my muscle power 
and my strength. I finally told myself, 
"Aha, I am explosive. Гус got to find a 
way to distribute my explosiveness over 
12 rounds.” That's what I have now. 
PLAYBOY: Do you b , as most people 


PLAYBOY 


do, that Ali's Parkinson's disease is in 
some way related to the many blows to 
the head he took over the years? 
FOREMAN: No, I think Muhammad has 
always had something wrong with him. 
And his nonstop talking when he was 
younger was a symptom of it. 

PLAYBOY: In what way? 

FOREMAN: Ali would go on and on and on 
and on, and after maybe five hours of 
this, at about three in the morning, his 
friends and family would leave the 
room. They would come back a few 
hours later, and he would still be going. 
Muhammad could go on like that for 
nights and days. Ask some of the people 
who knew him then and they'll tell you: 
This guy would start talking at, say, ten 
o'clock at night, and it would be six in 
the morning before he'd stop. He had 
only a few faithful friends who would sit 
there and endure this. And he never had 
anything new to say. Same things over 
and over. 

PLAYBOY: Was listening part of the duties 
of the people who worked for him? 
FOREMAN: Yes, they sat there and lis- 
tened. And nobody ever said, "Hey, 
there's something wrong with Muham- 
mad." Hc wasn't crazy or anything. 
There was just something wrong with 
him that he couldn't control. Maybe if 
someone had paid attention and correct- 
ed it then, it wouldn't have gotten to 


where it is today. The way Muhammad 
can't function now was the way he over- 
functioned back then. I see now that it 
was there all the time. 

PLAYBOY: Are there moments when he's 
like the old Ali? 

FOREMAN: Certainly, he's still sharp. And 
if you're real nice to him he'll even do 
that shuffle—and it'll still look like his 
feet aren't moving off the floor. He's still 
got it. He'll entertain you and he'll joke, 
but then the symptoms take over and he 
can't speak much. He's a beautiful guy 
and you love to be around him, but he 
hasn't just gotten sick. It has always 
been there. 

PLAYBOY: Recently, superfeatherweight 
boxer Jimmy Garcia died of brain in- 
juries sustained during a bout, and not 
long before that middleweight Gerald 
McClellan almost died after a bout in 
London. England is now debating 
whether it will ban boxing altogether, an 
idea that has also met with some favor in 
the U.S. Do you think boxing will even- 
tually become a thing of the past? 
FOREMAN: ‘There will never—and every- 
body had better understand this—be an 
end to professional boxing. It’s like say- 
ing, “We're going to outlaw earthquakes 
and hurricanes.” It's not possible. I don't 
care what legislation is passed, there will 
always be earthquakes and hurricanes— 
they come with nature. Well, boxing 


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comes with mankind—it's our nature. 
You can legislate all you vant. You can 
stop it and knock it down, but you can't 
knock it out. Boxing is the granddaddy 
of all sports—including chess. A good 
chess player goes for the knockout; he 
goes for the finish. But he gets there 
from the actual boom-boom! of boxing. 
Man-to-man. That's it. 
PLAYBOY: So you don't think boxing will 
come close to being abolished? 
FOREMAN: You can try to fight it, but you 
can't erase it. What all the intellectuals 
and doctors don't understand is that, 
while they're bickering and trying to 
outlaw our sport, we're getting killed. 
Boxers are dying. Why don't they put 
their energy toward our safety? Give us 
headgear, mats, gloves—give us some- 
thing. Since you can't outlaw us, make us 
safer. Or, until you outlaw us, are you go- 
ing to let us die? Keep us alive, please. 
But even if you outlaw it, men will still 
be boxing in the fields somewhere. And 
before you know it, the arenas will get 
bigger, and then you'll start paying the 
police to make sure they don't arrest the 
fighters. Then you'll pay the judges and 
pay the lawyers and even pay the doctors 
again. But before all that happens, give 
us some safety. 
PLAYBOY: Let's move on. Many fight fans 
feel that most of the current top heavy- 
weights don't measure up to their Seven- 
ties predecessors—who include, among 
others, Ali, Joe Frazier, Larry Holmes, 
Ken Norton and the young George 
Foreman. Do you share that view? 
FOREMAN: Well, that's nice to say, but ba- 
sically it comes from old guys, and old 
guys always want to think that yesterday 
was better. That's one thing Гуе tried to 
refrain from: going back into the past. 
Let the past be where it is, and let today 
speak for itself. I like to compliment the 
past, of course, but the guys who were 
fighting then could not dance to the 
rhythms of today's boxers, and you can't 
compare the two. This is a whole other 
deal here, and you have to get in it to ap- 
preciate it. 
PLAYBOY: Do you think any current 
heavyweights could have beaten you 
when you were in your 20s? 
FOREMAN: Boxing has never been about 
who is the toughest. It's always been 
about: “Step right up, ladies and gentle- 
men, and see the bearded lady.” Or the 
fattest lady, or the tallest man. It's Bar- 
num and Bailey—let's get in under the 
tent—and it's never been anything else. 
It’s writers telling us things that will 
make us want to watch a fight. Muham- 
mad was the Louisville Lip, Sonny Lis- 
ton was the Bear—writers created these 
things and made them real for people 
PLAYBOY: How could writers have helped 
your comeback? Before your title fights 
with Holyfield and Moorer, sportswrit- 
ers throughout the country all predicted 


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that the bouts would be travesties. 
FOREMAN: There you go. You just said the 
magic word: all. There was so much stuff 
about me in the newspapers before the 
Holyfield fight. “It shouldn't take place," 
big articles, writers showing off their 
style, everybody reading every word of 
it. It made the fight. I even jumped on 
the bandwagon because, as I've learned, 
you never go against the writers. Ride 
the wave, and they'll take you there. I 
got the writers talking so much before 
the Holyfield fight that, do you know 
what happened? We broke the pay-per- 
view TV record. 

PLAYBOY: Yet wasn't it a little painful for 
you to read that you were fat and over 
the hill? 

FOREMAN: It's not painful if you have a 
family to feed. It's painful if you're living 
just on ego—but, hey, what if I came 
home with an ego and nothing else? 
What if I came home and my nine kids 
were sitting at the table, and all I had 
were two shotgun shells and an excuse: 
“It wasn't my fault we got nothing to eat. 
I had one shot at a rabbit, but it jumped 
out of the way.” The kids are still going 
to sit there hungry. They can’t eat excus- 
es. 1 realized, “Hey, I have to feed these 
kids. I can't go out with just an ego. I've 
got to go out with an appetite and feed 
my family.” So I've learned to ride with 
the media. Go with them and you can go 
a long way. 

PLAYDOY. Do you сусг wonder why you 
weren't this popular the first time 
around? 

FOREMAN: I know why: I hated it the first 
time around. I'm going to tell you how 
ignorant I was when I won my first 
heavyweight title. I remember sceing a 
group of boxing writers in Jamaica. 
Then I went to Tokyo to fight again, and 
then to Caracas for another fight, and 
these same guys were there to ask me 
questions. This may sound strange, but I 
thought they were following me around 
just to mess with me. I had no idea that 
they all had jobs. A certain amount of ig- 
norance gocs with being a young cham- 
pion, because you dedicate everything to 
winning and don't look around and 
check everything out. If I had known 
these guys were newspapermen doing 
their jobs, I could have been as popular 
as Muhammad Ali. 

PLAYBOY: 105 certainly true that you've 
been known to charm the media better 
than any athlete since Ali. 

FOREMAN: That's because I'm aware of 
how people do their jobs. Look, I will die 
knowing this: Writers create personali- 
ties, and then television and movies cash 
in on those personalities. When TV and 
movies get tired of them, it's back to the 
writers again. You watch. You'll see guys 
such as Eddie Murphy going to press 
luncheons again because the studios 
have told them, “Hey, man, you have to 


66 create some press." 


PLAYBOY: You've not only created some 
press, you've also created a character: 
the cuddly heavyweight champ people 
to love. Is there a time when the 
ish Foreman of television commer- 
n't necessarily so cordial and ac- 
cessible to everyone? 

FOREMAN: Well, that’s why you have to 
surround yourself with the right people. 
For example, after the Holyfield fight, I 
remember saying to my wife, Mary, "All I 
want now is pancakes with bacon and 
sausage from the International House of 
" We found one on Westheimer 
Houston, and when we were 
seated and I got ready to eat, some guys 
came over and asked for my autograph 
I told them, “When I finish eating.” My 
wife leaned over to me and said, “You 
know, you're always out there smiling 
and being nice to everybody. Now unless 
you don’t mean it, don't put these peo- 
ple off." I told her, "I mean it.” So I 
called the guys back to our table and 
started eating with one hand and signing 
autographs with the other. I am what 1 
am, and I don’t want people thinking 


Liston treated people 
tough, and I thought 
that was the way you 
ought to act when you 


got to be a big-timer. 


I'm nice to them just to get them into the 
tent. I like people. I really get a kick out 
of them. 

PLAYBOY: You obviously enjoy all the at- 
tention you get, but do you ever long for 
some privacy? 

FOREMAN: No. Look, I had ten years 
when nobody knew who I was. Now 
when I sit on an airplane, the stewardess 
will tell me to come up front where 
there's bigger seat. People will give me 
the bigger piece of meat at the butcher 
shop. 

PLAYBOY: Thats just what you need, 
George: a bigger piece of meat. 
FOREMAN: Aha! [Laughs] But do you un- 
derstand? For ten years I was out of box- 
ing, and nobody knew who I was. One 
time I went to the Summit Arena to see 
[then Houston Rocket] Ralph Sampson 
play, and a guy spotted me and yelled, 
“Hey, man!” I was so happy. He said, “I 
know who you are—William ‘the Refrig- 
erator’ Perry.” That's as close as 1 came 
10 getting some recognition. So now 
when people see me and want my auto- 
graph, | love it. 

PLAYBOY: That's quite a change from the 


young George Foreman, who clearly 
wasn't interested in cozying up to the 


public. 
FOREMAN: Well, I was kind of a crude 
guy, because my image of a boxer was 
Sonny Liston. 

PLAYBOY: Why Liston? 

FOREMAN: Ile was my stablemate and 
role model. Before the Olympics in 
1968, I needed someone to spar with, 
and Dick Sadler—who I met through 
Doc Broadus, my trainer in the Job 
Corps—was training Sonny Liston. Lis- 
ton needed a sparring partner, too, so I 
sparred with him. He treated people 
tough, and 1 thought that was the way 
you ought to act when you got to be a 
big-timer. I didn't know any better. 

My other role model was [football 
player] Jim Brown, who was known to 
sling people out of windows. I wanted to 
be like my heroes. I didn't want to go 
around giggling all the time. I figured I 
was going to be a tough cookie. 
PLAYBOY: Did you get along well with 
Sonny Liston? 

FOREMAN: He became one of my best 
friends. The main thing I overed 
about Liston was that he was illiterate, 
and a lot of his problems—and a lot of 
the airs he put on—were just his attempt 
to conceal that. One day I wanted him to 
read something, not knowing that he 
couldn't, and he told me to get that blan- 
kety-blank book out of his face. Sadler 
came up to me and said, “The big man 
didn't mean any harm. He just can't 
rcad." At first ] was on the outs with 
Liston because of that, but then we got 
closcr. 

PLAYBOY: Boxing insiders have always be- 
lieved that Liston tanked his two tide 
fights with Ali, Did he ever level with you 
about what really happened? 

FOREMAN: One day I took а walk with 
him and he explained what happened. 
He said, “You know, George, when I got 
to be heavyweight champ of the world, 
everybody looked at me funny, like, 
"What are you doing with the tile?” Like 
trash. So when I fought Cassius 
and they said, ‘Why didn't you win? 
You should have won,’ I knew I should 
have won.” Liston wanted to be champ 
of the world so much—he thought it 
would give him something. Yet when he 
won the title, so many people said, 
“What are you doing here?" that it hurt 
him. So he figured, “Hey, forget it. I'm 
not gonna fight for them, I'm not gonna 
win nothing. So I get knocked down— 
what am I going to get up for?” 

The average person would never un- 
derstand how a big boxer could be that 
sensitive. He didn’t enjoy being the 
champ and he was looking for a way to 
get out of it. And he took it. 

PLAYBOY: By way of those two strange 
losses at the hands of Ali? 

FOREMAN: Yeah. And he didn't do it for 
the Mob or to make more money. Liston 


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PLAYBOY 


was hurting. But when he realized how 
much money was involved, he made a 
comeback. One day he said, "George, 
you want to be champ of the world, 
huh?" I was in the dressing room, before 
sparring, and I said, “Yeah, man. What 
do you think?” I thought I was going to 
get some magnificent advice, but Liston 
said, “When you get to be champ of the 
world, if you spit on the sidewalk they'll 
write about it in the newspaper. So all 1 
care about is the dough-re-mi.” 

But he lied, because when he lost to 
Leotis Martin, I caught him crying. He 
cared. He wanted the útle back again, 
but he never got it. Sonny Liston was the 
only man ever to stand up to me in the 
ring. Even Muhammad covered up. One 
guy tried—Ron Lyle—but he backed off 
before I knocked him out. 

PLAYBOY: What about Joe Frazier? 
FOREMAN: Frazier was the only guy I was 
afraid of. When I got into the ring with 
him, I was really scared. In his fights 
he'd always keep coming, keep coming. 
And he had that look: Of all the looks 
from all the kids I grew up with, Frazier 
had the one you'd get from the guys you 
don't mess with. Muhammad had the 
look of a guy who fights but who always 
had some sort of backup—the kind of 
guy who was popular and would fight 
only if he had to. Frazier had the look of 
a guy who didn't need a gang. There 
were no loopholes with Frazier. 1 had to 
fight him, and I was afraid of him. When 
1 beat him, I felt so proud of myself. I 
thought, Man, I can beat anybody. 
PLAYBOY: Why? Because you felt he was 
the toughest guy in the world? 
FOREMAN: Yeah, I really whipped some- 
body when I whipped Frazier. I kept 
knocking him down and he kept getting 
up. All I remember about the fight was 
thinking, Man, I got to get this over or 
this guy's going to get me. He kept 
smoking, though. That was one of my 
most famous fights, and it was the only 
time I was intimidated by a guy I fought. 
Nobody else, before or after. 

PLAYBOY: You compared Frazier and Ali 
to kids you grew up with. Was the Hous- 
ton neighborhood where you were 
raised all that dangerous? 

FOREMAN: Yeah, it was. There were two 
roads to travel when I grew up. There 
was the respectable road, where kids, 
parents and instructors told you to go to 
school, get a good education, go to col- 
lege and be a teacher or something. 
‘Then there was the other road, where 
the guys wanted to be nothing but thugs. 
I grew up near Lyons Avenue, in the 
Fifth Ward. At times they called it the 
Bloody Fifth because someone was al- 
ways being cut, stabbed or beaten to 
death. For some reason I was attracted 
to the wrong side of the road, and to get 
оп that side, 1 had to start from maybe 
three blocks away, working my way bit by 


68 bit to Lyons Avenue. 


PLAYBOY: And how did you work your 
way up? 

FOREMAN: By little fights here and there. 
I started when I was about 13, and by 
the time I was 16 Га made it to Lyons 
Avenue. I remember the first day I went 
to E.O. Smith Junior High School. I had 
heard so many rumors about this school 
and the kids being so bad that the first 
year I walked there on the back roads, 
just to avoid all the tough kids. And I 
kept wondering, “Why do I have to live 
like this?" The next year in E.O. Smith, I 
knew why: It was because of guys like 
me. Everybody had better get the hell 
out of the way, because I came down that 
street with thunder, looking like a terror. 
And I would see other kids walking 
down the back street just like I used to 
do. [Laughs] 

PLAYBOY: So the tough guys you hung out 
with were Frazier and Ali types? 
FOREMAN: Yeah, guys like Frazier, with 
that look, hard as stecl. And the Ali type, 
who had flash and flare. Then there was 
the guy like me, who lifted weights and 
said, “I'm going to work my way up, 


Iwas a juvenile 
delinquent, but I didn’t 
concentrate on being a 

criminal. I wanted to be the 
tough guy who beat up every 
other tough guy. 


block by block, to be the toughest guy in 
the Fifth Ward.” I was that guy. 
PLAYBOY: Did that guy get into any seri- 
ous trouble? 

FOREMAN: I stayed in trouble. I never 
served time in prison, but my biggest 
problems were drinking and mugging. 1 
was strictly a juvenile delinquent, but I 
didn't really concentrate on being a 
criminal. 1 wanted to be the tough guy 
who beat up every other tough guy. 
PLAYBOY: How did you happen to take up 
boxing? 

FOREMAN: When I dropped out of high 
school in 1965, I could no longer be pur- 
sued as a truant. There was no hiding 
for me anymore, and that's when my 
mother saw me for what 1 was. It was 
like, “Uh-oh, you really are a bad boy.” 
Someone in an employment office told 
me about the Job Corps, and I also 
heard acommercial with Jim Brown say- 
ing that if you joined you could get a sec- 
ond chance in life. 

So I joined the Job Corps and went to 
Grants Pass, Oregon, where they taught 
us basic education and vocational skills. 1 
stayed there for six months, and then 1 


was transferred to another center in 
Pleasanton, California. | wanted to be an 
amateur boxer and I knew they had a 
boxing program there. Doc Broadus was 
the coach, and when 1 told him I wanted 
to box, he told me to come down to the 
gym. That's how I got started. 
PLAYBOY: Was it then a clear wack to the 
Olympics? 
FOREMAN: I had a total of 24 amateur 
boxing matches, and the 24th was my 
Olympic gold medal fight. I had my first 
organized boxing match in February 
1967. In October of 1968, I had an 
Olympic gold medal around my neck. 
PLAYBOY: When your gold-medal bout 
was over, you skipped around the ring 
holding a tiny American flag above your 
head—a gesture that resulted in a 
mountain of publicity for you. Were you 
surprised by that? 
FOREMAN: Oh boy, it was the most amaz- 
ing thing in my life. That has been the 
core of my being cool. The Olympic vic- 
tory was such a big deal, and about 
months after that | turned pro. I fought 
on the undercard for Joe Frazier versus 
Jerry Quarry. I got $5000 for that fight 
and I was rich. Five thousand dollars! 
When I became champion in 1973 I was 
accustomed to publicity, because the 
Olympics had prepared me for that 
Same thing after I came back and won 
the title again last year: It was the most 
natural thing for me to do. 
PLAYBOY. But your hype is bigger now 
than it was then. 
FOREMAN: To your readers maybe, but to 
me it’s the same old shtick. 
PLAYBOY: And you insist that you're still 
the man you were 20 years ago? 
FOREMAN: If you mean physically, I'm a 
better man than I was then. When I 
fought Joe Frazier at the peak of my con- 
ditioning, I was running three, three 
and a half miles. When I got ready for 
my reentry into boxing, my wife would 
drop me off ten miles from home, and 
I'd run back. Then I got to the point 
where she would drop me off 17 miles 
from home—and Га run back. There's 
no way I could have done that or would 
have done that in my earlier career. Back 
then I would hire sparring partners and 
go maybe six rounds with two or three 
different guys. Now if I hire five guys, 
ГЇЇ take them for 17 rounds, and we'll 
stop only because they can't take it 
anymore. 
PLAYBOY: So reports of your old age are 
greatly exaggerated? 
FOREMAN: Look, I'm older, and I'm hap- 
py to be older. But my age has nothing to 
do with what I want to accomplish. Old 
age is not something that happens to 
you; it's a decision that you make. And I 
wasn't going to allow anyone to make 
that decision for me. 

I never decided to fight only for mon- 
ey and not for the title. If 1 had done 

(continued on page 175) 


WHAT SORT OF MAN READS PLAYBOY? 


He defies stereotypes, especially the myth that men hate to shop. Whether it's a new appliance or an 
antique lamp, he knows what she likes. He likes reading in bed—PLAYBOY, of course. It's the maga- 
zine that gives him great ideas for gifts. PLAYBOY men charge almost $20 billion—that's right, $20 
billion—on credit cards annually. That's more credit dollars than the readers of GQ and Esquire 
combined. At Christmastime or any time, PLAYBOY is the smart buy. (Source: 1995 Spring MRI.) 


70 


the religious right wants to smite darwin and teach 
schoolchildren that snakes used to talk, the 
theory of evolution is evil and the world was 


made entire in six days. leapin’ lizards! 


article by COLIN CAMPBELL and DEBORAH SCROGGINS 


THE OFFICE of Professor Kurt Wise could be a set in an Indiana 
Jones movie. Tall bookshelves, exotic fossils and stuffed birds 
Jostle for space with heaps of esoteric journals in fields ranging 
from geomorphology to the Hebrew scriptures. Wise—a slight, 
pale paleontologist in his mid-30s—is courteous, ahsentminded 
and given to laughing at his own slightly obscure jokes. He and 
his office, in fact, wouldn’t seem odd at Harvard, where Wise 
got his Ph.D. What sets him apart from most scientists is his view 
on how life, humankind and the physical world came into be 
ing. Wise believes in the literal truth of the biblical tale of cre- 
ation. Every word of it. 

He doesn't agree, as nearly all other scientists do, that the 
earth is roughly 4.5 billion years old and that complex organ- 
isms evolved from simpler ones over time. He believes instead 
that God created the world several thousand years ago in six 
days, that a serpent talked to the first woman in Eden, that ear- 
ly lions weren't carnivores and lay down with the lambs, that pa- 
uiarchs fathered children when they were hundreds of years 
old, that Noah's flood caused most of the fossils we see excavat- 
ed from the earth, and that, until original sin entered the pic- 
ture, humans and animals never died. 

Wise and his students at tiny Bryan College in Dayton, Ten- 
nessee belong to a new generation of Christian fundamentalists 
trying to overturn the scientific theory of evolution 

Dayton, of course, was the site of the notorious Monkey Trial 
of 1925, in which a local high school teacher named John 
Scopes was convicted of violating Tennessee law by telling his 
students that humans were descended from apes. Today's cre- 
ationists (as people who dispute the theory of evolution are 
called) still think Scopes was wrong. They mostly share the be- 
liefs of Bryan College's namesake, William Jennings Bryan, the 
Democratic politician who helped prosecute the teacher. And 
today’s creationists are more politically ambitious than ever. 

The modern creationist movement aims, as part of a larger 
agenda of the religious right, to supplant the teaching of evolu- 
tion with scenarios more compatible with divine creation. The 
movement bristles with scientific pretensions, but it’s essentially 


ILUSTRATION BY TIM O'BRIEN 


PLAYBOY 


72 


political. Its most effective backers 
aren't scientists but right-wing groups 
such as the Christian Coalition. Con- 
fronted in recent years with court rul- 
ings that find so-called creation science 
in the schools to be an illegal mixture 
of religion and government, creation- 
ists have resorted to new political tac- 
tics. They have removed references to 
God and the Bible from their literature 
and replaced them with secular-sound- 
ing explanations of life's origins such as 
"intelligent design theory" and “abrupt 
appearance thcor 

The movement is sufficiently well ог- 
ganized to attract money to fight its 
battles in court, win occasional school 
board elections, add creationist planks 
to the platforms of state Republican 
parties and even gain quiet support 
from Republicans of national stature. 
Clearly, creationism draws strength 
from today’s conservative mood and 
from politicians who don't care about 
pandering to a notion that has no basis 
in fact. 

Creationists today are better educat- 
ed, better financed and better or- 
ganized than they used to be. In 
Louisville, Ohio, for example, a retired 
teacher has called in the American Civ- 
il Liberties Union to try to block a 
flashy new textbook that creationists 
want in the school science curriculum. 
Raymond Vasvari, one of the ACLU's 
lawyers in the Ohio case, sounds ner- 
vous about its outcome. “Suddenly,” he 
says, “you have an organized group of 
80 people descending on school board 
meetings.” 

Creationists know the Christian Co- 
alition has reported that a full third of 
those who cast their ballots in the great 
Republican rout of 1994 identified 
themselves as Evangelicals or religious 
conservatives. The Christian Coalition 
claims its national office doesn't mea- 
sure elected officials on their evolution- 
ist or creationist stands. Nevertheless, a 
coalition spokesman, Mike Russell, says 
creationism should get “fair and equal” 
treatment alongside evolution. The 
coalition's state chapters often press 
creationist views on politicians and 
school boards. 

The Republican National Commit- 
tee doesn't take a position on creation- 
ism. But last spring Oklahoma’s GOP 
announced that it supported “the two- 
model approach to teaching origins in 
the public schools, giving balanced 
treatment to the views of evolutionists 
and creationists.” Fundamentalists in 
"Texas, Washington, Oregon, lowa and 
other states have forced similar decla- 
rations into state Republican Party 
platforms. 

Even seemingly secular Republicans 
are reluctant to alienate the creation- 
ists. Republican Governor George W. 


Bush of Texas—who most likely re- 
ceived an excellent scientific education 
at Andover and Yale—is on record as 
favoring local choice in the matter of 
teaching creationism. (“Choice”—the 
word used for the right to an abor- 
tion—is the term used by creationists to 
stress their right to teach an alternative 
to science.) 

Another Republican, former history 
professor Newt Gingrich (who once 
dreamed of becoming a zoologist), re- 
fused to say if he agrees with the Chri 
tian Coalition that public schools 
should give “equal time” to creation- 
ism. One of Gingrich’s spokesmen, Al- 
lan Lipset, told us amiably that he had 
posed our question to the speaker, but 
that Gingrich felt he could only get in 
trouble by answering. “No matter what 
he says on creationism,” Lipsett report- 
ed back to us, “it is a path he didn't 
want to go down.” 

Officials in the presidential cam- 
paigns of Senator Phil Gramm of 
‘Texas, Senator Robert Dole of Kansas, 
Representative Bob Dornan of Califor- 
nia, former Education Secretary La- 
mar Alexander and Pat Buchanan all 
failed to respond to repeated queries 
about the candidates’ stands on teach- 
ing evolution in public schools. A 
spokesman for California Governor 
Pete Wilson said his man had not taken 
a position. The only GOP candidate 
who endorsed evolution was Senator 
Arlen Specter of Pennsylvania. 

The Democrats haven't been radical- 
ly different. Many of them at the state 
and local levels backed creationist legis- 
lation during the Eighties, especially in 
the South. Bill Clinton, as a candidate 
for governor of Arkansas, opposed his 
state’s 1981 law mandating equal time 
for creationism in science classes. But 
as president he has suggested that 
prayer, proselytizing and religious lit- 
erature in public schools may all be 
accommodated. 

‘American political leaders have long 
been willing to make monkeys out of 
our children to advance their own po- 
litical ambitions. Although most scien- 
usts have treated evolution as essential- 
ly correct since the mid-19th century, 
teachers could not legally teach evolu- 
tion in some states until the Sixties. It 
took the Cold War, and especially the 
success of Sputnik in 1957, to force 
complacent politicians to see that scien- 
tific education was patriotic, and that a 
religious minority was keeping stu- 
dents ignorant. 

If creationism can bully its way into 
the schools, anything can. “It sets a ter- 
rible precedent,” says Kenneth Miller, 
a biologist at Brown University who 
frequently lectures on creationism and 
its errors. “There are a lot of things sci- 
ence comes up with that are opposed 


for political reasons by the right and by 
the left. It opens the curriculum to as- 
trology, belief in mystic powers, any 
kind of New Age thing. It basically says 
that if you can get enough votes, you 
can have your views taught as facts.” 


Most believers—Ch ans, Jews. 
Hindus, Muslims and Buddhists— 
manage to reconcile evolution with 
faith. But the creationists are different. 
They agree with parts of modern sci- 
ence but believe that to accept evolu- 
tion is to deny God. They think that 
how humans first appeared must fit 
their religious concept of how people 
ought to live today. Thus, to accept that. 
man evolved from natural selection, 
they say, means that there are no rules 
apart from those devised by man; for 
them, evolution renders human c: 
tence meaningless, even bestial. 

The creationists come from a Protes- 
tant tradition that stresses man's sinful- 
ness and the need for personal salva- 
tion through obedience to God and the 
Scriptures. They also link evolution 
with what they call naturalism, in 
which nature is all, and in which man 
is subject only to laws that are discover- 
able by man. 

A cartoon featured at a creationist 
conference in Roseville, Minnesota in 
1992 nicely summarizes their odd mix 
of philosophy and moral alarm. It 
shows a Christian soldier chopping 
down a tree. The breeze behind his ax 
is labeled “creation science message.” 
The tree's trunk reads "evolution"— 
and the branches being nourished by 
that trunk are labeled “paganism,” 


“abortion,” “sexual perversion,” “New 
Age religions,” "radical-feminist move- 
ment," "humanism," "racism," “рог- 
nography,” “Nazism,” “communism” 


and “euthanasia. 

“Creationists believe evolution is the 
first step down the slippery slope to 
secular humanism,” says Raymond 
Eve, a sociologist at the University of 
‘Texas at Arlington and co-author of 
The Creationist Movement in Modern 
America. "What they really mean by sec- 
ular humanism is humans deciding 
what is moral and what is not. These 
people tend to think human nature is 
generally bad and wicked, that humans 
will make the wrong decisions without 
the guidance of the Bible. For exam- 
ple, people might decide that it’s all 
night for unmarried women to have ba- 
bies. So evolution is for them the cata- 
lyst that encourages all the great social 
problems of the 20th century. And, the 
way they see it, if the schools teach evo- 
lution, you lose control of the socializa- 
поп of your own child. They feel they 

(continued on page 86) 


"All right! It's about time we put the X back in Xmas!” 


78 


PAMELA ANDERSON 
Bikini bride 


Time was, you 
knew where to find sex stars. They were bigger 
than life, up on the screen of a darkened movie 
theater. Hollywood's then powerful movie stu- 
dios turned out mile-high heaps of autographed 
publicity stills, sent for the asking to adoring 
fans. Those studios are gone, but some stars 
still shine on celluloid. Nowadays, though, 
they're just as likely to enter your conscious- 
ness via TV—syndicated TV, at that—or the in- 
formation superhighway. Last year's sex stars 
strutted off fashion-show runways and onto 
PLAYBOY's pages. This year, they're being down- 
loaded hot off the Internet. Take Pamela Ander- 
son. As Conan O’Brien quipped on Late Night: 
“А survey asking men who they would want to 
be stranded with on a deserted island has 
Pamela Anderson tied with Sharon Stone. Of 
course, that's the number one choice: Pamela 
Anderson tied to Sharon Stone." When Pam 
married Motley Crue drummer Tommy Lee in a 
seaside ceremony, the bride wore white—a 
white bikini. Pictures of the nuptials landed in 
all the tabloids, and more intimate wedding- 
night shots soon surfaced online. Pam's syndi- 
cated TV show, Baywatch, is the most watched 
on earth; this year she also did Baywatch the 
Movie: Forbidden Paradise, a made-for-TV Mike 
Hammer movie (Come Die With Me) and a 
PLAYBOY video, The Best of Pamela Anderson. At 
this year's Cannes (text continued on page 202) 


e 


| CINDY CRAWFORD 


| Free again 


ВАР РТ 
People's choice _ 


DENNIS RODMAN 
NBAs bad boy 


ELIZABETH HURLEY 
Hugh who? 


NATASHA HENSTRIDGE 
Creature feature — 


DREW BARRYMORE AMBER SMITH 
Two-way stretch Hollywood calling 


a | 


JOANNA LUMLEY 
Brit with wit 
L u 


ANTONIO BANDERAS 
Son of the Sheik 


COMING ACROSS transatlantic traffic is mostly westward- 

bound. Joanna Lumley’s performance on Absolutely Fabulous 

made such а hit with U.S. viewers that Roseanne bought the rights 

for a remake. Spain's Antonio Banderas, a Valentino for the 

x Nineties, has won roles in a half-dozen films (along with Melanie 

- Griffith's love). Irish-born Pierce Brosnan, stymied by earlier con- 
SOPHIE MARCEAU tract commitments, finally gets to be James Bond, and France's 
Oui, ош! Sophie Marceau endeared herself to Braveheort’s Mel Gibson. 


4 


JULIE CAIN EN 
The prize is right МАЖ 


ELLE MACPHERSON 
She'll love Lucy 


PAGED BY PLAYBOY Since the days of Marilyn Monroe and 
Jayne Mansfield, an appearance in PLAYBOY has conferred its 
own kind of stardom. The tradition continues with 1995 Play- 
mate of the Year Julie Cialini, a presenter on the nighttime ver- 
sion of The Price Is Right; Kimberley Conrad Hefner, the Play- 
mate for a Lifetime, whose latest pictorial demonstrates that 
marriage and motherhood have only enhanced her charms; 
supermodel Elle Macpherson, who signed to make If Lucy Fell; 
May cover girl Nancy Sinatra, who shed those boots and every- 
thing else to prove that she's still something at 54; Sandra Tay- 
lor, who appears with Steven Seagal in Under Siege 2; and Amy 
Lynn Baxter and Tempest, from August's Girls of Radio pictorial. 


KATO KAELIN 
Guest who? 


TRAC! ADELL p 
Phone-call ume [M 


HUGH GRANT 
Divine intervention 


СТ... - 


ANNA NICOLE SMITH 


Widow's peek 


Н 


^ 


У 
4 
y 
4 


hers lines 


I —.— — tve uso in Vegas about a year. I still own an apart- 

j ment a rifle shot from Times Square, but I'm most- 
ly here now. It doesn’t matter—Disney is filing dull 
the razor edge of New Jack as quickly as Walt wan- 
na-bes build “family hotels” in Sin City. 

Treasure Island and Excaliber are just Pirates of 
the Caribbean and Sleeping Beauty! s Case respec- 
tively. I don't care 
how much money | 
it makes, it's just 
wrong. Deeply, 
artistically wrong. 
Kids don't belong 
here—scorpions be- 
long here. 

Not having a 
stinger on my tail, 
there's only one | 
L— reason that I'm 
here: showgirls. I'm 66”, and the prettiest 
words in the English language are “Ooh, 
1 could wear heels with you." 

“That's right, baby, I could eat off your | 
head.” I'm a smooth-talking bastard, but Ш 
I don't need to be. If a six-foot-tall dancer wants to get decked out with 
makeup and heels for a night on the town without looking like a drag 
queen towering over a soon-to-be-stunned john, well, she needs a guy like 
me. I'm just 263 pounds of public service. 

Tony Fitzpatrick is over 263. Tony is the best artist who ever lived, and 
if you don't believe me, take a long look at these pictures. If you still don't 
believe me, don't you ever 
say it in front of me, moth- 
erfucker, or we'll have trou- 
ble. Tony is from Chicago 
and looks it. pıaysoy editors 
told Tone they wanted an 
Xmas in Las Vegas feature 
to be written by me and 
drawn by Tony. 

‘Tony was down for it. It 
didn't bother him that the 
deadline was before Xmas 
and that neither one of us 
had ever been in Vegas at 
Й Xmas. 

Tony, as 1 said, is from 
Chicago, and he wanted to 
dick around in some dry 
heat. Research. 

I picked up Tony in my 
truck, Pink Death. It’s a big 
stab-your-wife-and-a-homo 
Bronco, painted inner- 
labia pink, with 50 CD changers, a kachillion watts of power, pur- 
ple pimp ground neon, pinstripes and the license plate 6SIX6. 
I'm not fucking around, I live in Vegas. Tony hadn't been to Vegas since he boxed here in 1981. It has changed 
a lot. We had to drive by the stupid giant MGM fairy lion, but 1 didn't take Tony in. I wanted him to love Vegas, 
and there was no need to bum him out with the attempts at making a perfect evil paradise into a cheesy family 


Im Las Vesas 


ASFROM VEGAS -- Your Pal SATAN. — 


trap. We walk through the casino at Ballys to do research. Two atheists rti | b p Jil tt 
looking for Xmas in July. “I’m sketching a wild burro, a desert donkey, an 0 IC e y enn | e e 
a vild ass, a crazy ass, stubborn, mean, dangerous. That's all 

He shows me a sketch. * "They live in the desert, man 


{ешшм Wild ase oca Re рей pasce on the ial ort by Tony Fitzpatrick 


PEAS SOF 


84 


for the show Jubilee. It features а show- 
girl showing a lot of A with her span- 
gled 15. “You see, man, wild ass. It's all 
Just ass here.” 

Tony had been in Vegas a couple of 
hours. He had started the sketch on 
the airplane. Tony doesn't even need to 
see Vegas to draw its soul. 

We walk by a croupier who recog- 
nizes me and calls me over. 

They all know me here. The Penn & 
Teller show plays Ballys ten weeks а 
year, and my picture is on one side of 
the five-dollar chip. 

АП day long, dealers watch half-dol- 
lar-size pictures of me move from pa- 
tron to patron until they end up back 
in the till, ready for the next sucker. Of 
course, if someone wants to keep one 
as a souvenir, then the house just sold a 
small piece of wood and a print job for 
five bucks. With chip collecting getting 
to be a big thing, the casino's license to 
print money becomes literal. 

Tony can't believe that people are re- 
ally gambling with “my” chips. “Do you 
like seeing yourself on chips? Huh? 
You should be dead to be on money. 
You've become like Washington or 
something.” 

I start our research with the croupi- 
er: “Hey, listen, we're doing this article 
for PLAYBOY on Xmas in Vegas. This is 
my brother, Tony, from Chicago. He's 
an artist. We're doing this article and 
we've never been to Vegas at Xmas. 
Whar's it like?" 

He shrugs, but one of the other 
craps workers starts to talk. 

She's a tall, dark woman. She's wear- 
ing her dealer's tux shirt. 

She has a bone-deep awareness of all 
the ways two positive integers can sum 
to seven. "It's like July 18th, it's like 
September 3rd, it's like February 21st. 
It's always the same here, no change. 

“You can't tell that it's Xmas here. 
"There's a few more decorations on the 
streets, even more lights. But in here, 
nothing. 

“Nothing changes in here, ever." 

“Maybe some drunken hillbilly with 
a mistletoe belt?” 

Tony is rolling. 

“Maybe,” she says, and then decides 
to hang tough. “No, not even that. It’s 
always the same in here.” 

“It's like a wild donkey, a wild burro, 
wild ass. It's like that, isn't it?” They 
don’t know what Tony is talking about. 
I don't know what Tony is talking 
about. 

I'm being a reporter. "All the games 
are open? The shows are on?" 

“24, 7, 365." 

“That's great, Tony. It's always the 
same, always the same." 

Time can't get in here 
the Doc Pomus classi 


I'm quoting 
Viva Las Ve- 


gas... turning day into nighttime, 
turning night into daytime.” Vegas 
turns day into nighttime, night into 
daytime, and after a week, no one no- 
tices. You've accomplished nothing. 

No, Vegas has done more than that. 
Doc wrote Viva 28 years before he even 
set wheelchair in Vegas. Time doesn’t 
matter. Dates don’t matter. No wimpy 
Xtian solstice rip-off can get through 
those doors. Is that what you mean, 
time and dates mean nothing to a crazy 
desert ass? 

We're back in Pink Death. We're 
playing Viva Las Vegas and we're play- 
ing it stupid loud. Really stupid loud. 
A kind of stupid loud that only mid- 
dle-aged, slightly deaf guys can toler- 
ate stone-cold sober. Kids need to be 
fucked up for volume. It's Elvis 
singing. We don't like Elvis, but both of 
us love Vegas. Then it's ZZ Top rocking 
Viva Las Vegas. 

Then the Residents interpreting Vi- 
va Las Vegas. Then the Dead Kennedys 
ripping Viva Las Vegas. Did I mention 


е Tony up and down the strip. 
All that technology, all that pure hu- 
man thought in light-wave-particle 
form. Nature gives you jack shit out 
here, so we did it ourselves. Hoover 
Dam is pumping power into walls and 
ceilings of little man-made stars. 

It's not sloppy, fractal nature; it’s a 
pure, orderly beauty that only little 
kids and middle-aged geeks really love. 
It puts Apollo 13 tears in my eyes that 
humans have created this kind of pure 
beauty. It's like the pyramids. Hell, it is 
the pyramids! 

We have our own Vegas pyramid, 
the Luxor, with a light shining out of 
the top that the shuttle astronauts can 
read by when they pass over. It’s the 
brightest light in the goddamn world. 
Vegas does not fuck around. Vegas is 
flashing, chasing, dancing, atheist 
Xmas lights hung on the desert-dried 
bones of Georgia O'Keeffe. 

Xmas in Vegas would be stupid. 
Xmas isn't cool enough to dare set its 
superstitious foot here. Its God-loving, 
human-hating original sin is not wel- 
come here. Lose 200 clams gambling 
on the spin of a wheel if you must, but. 
don't waste your life gambling on a 
fairy-tale heaven and hell. We don't 
want a créche. We have a volcano. It's 
there, spewing fire. Pirate boats are 
fighting safely on man-made seas. 
Lights everywhere in the middle of 
nowhere. It may be stupid, it may be 
decadent, it may be overdone—the 
whole goddamn city may be built on 
the stupid, weak, bad math of gam- 
bling—but boy is it built. 

Vegas is beautiful. Viva 


Tony is riding and going nuts. He 
has a Polaroid he scammed off some 
friends. He has never used a camera 
before. I load the film while steering 
Pink Death with my knee and snap a 
picture of his bald hoodlum head. He 
starts snapping, first me in my TEAM SA- 
TAN 666 T-shirt and then through the 
windshield with a flash. E SLEPT 
HERE says опе sign. JOAN COLLINS Was 
MARRIED HERE Says another. Tony is tak- 
ing pictures of a flash reflecting in the 
windshield. Tony doesn't know, he's 
not looking at the pictures. Tony 
doesn't care. He doesn't need to draw 
from pictures. He'll draw from his 
heart. 

"Whar is it you say about the 
Siegfried and Roy show?" 

“I say it's a glitzy tractor pull." 

“Yeah, I'm going over there tomor- 
row to see the tigers. Can you see the 
tigers without seeing the show?” 

“Yup.” 

"I'm going to draw mutant white 
tigers. 

"They're all mutant. White tigers 
don’t exist in the wild. They have to be 
fucked with to come out like that.” 

"They're all cross-eyed, yeah. I'm 
going to draw the tigers but no Ger- 
mans, no S&R. Maybe a little bit of 
Siegfried meat hanging out of one 
tiger's mouth. Some plastic-surgery-al- 
tered Hesh just hanging out of the 
mouth. Are you going to write about 
Siegfried and Roy?" 

“TI write about you talking about 
them. I don't have much to say about 
them, myself. They've always been fine 
tome.” 

1 call Georgie on the cell phone. 
She’s one of the principal dancers in 
Jubilee and she's a buddy. 1 want Tony 
to see a little of Jubilee. It's a real Vegas 
show. Variety acts and the Titanic be- 
ing sunk to music with topless women 
running around. Naval disasters and 
tits— Vegas! 

There are all types of showbiz 
women working in Vegas, from the 
over-six-foot-tall, classy, no-kidding- 
ballet-trained-and-everything women 
of the take-your-mother-to-titty-shows- 
because-they-have-singing-and-sets- 
and-plate-spinners-and-stuff like 
Georgie to friction dancers with denim 
burns on their asses and wet stoner 
eyes like a house cat with a head cold. 
Lots of show folk in this burg. We'll 
start with /ubilee. Georgie sends out a 
friend to sneak us in halfway through 
the show. 

I'm giving Tony the show folk POV. 
“It’s great to be backstage right before 
the curtain goes up. They all have to 
get their nipples hard, and it's great. I 
mean Georgie just thinks chilly and it 

(continued on page 189) 


/ 
puc тон 


“If you're going to give me a present, Santa, wrap it!” 


PLAYBOY 


86 


VERY WEIRD SCIENCE 


(continued from page 72) 


“The layers of beauty on all sides are the grim re- 
minder of sin, judgment and destruction.” 


can’t pass along their own traditional 
values to their children.” 

Bryan College’s Kurt Wise and the 
members of the Institute for Creation 
Research near San Diego belong to a 
group of hard-line creationists called 
Young Earthers. In general, Young 
Earthers go along with the "flood geol- 
ogy” of George McCready Price, a Sev- 
enth-Day Adventist bookseller who 
tried in the early decades of the 20th 
century to prove that Noah’s flood had 
reshaped the earth and buried fossils. 
Young Earthers generally maintain 
that our planet is less than 10,000 years 
old and that the extensive fossil evi- 
dence of slow, continuous development 
is an illusion. Grand Canyon: Monument 
to Catastrophe, a slick creationist book 
published by the ICR, argues that the 
earth is only a few thousand years old 
and that Noah’s flood carved forma- 
tions such as the Grand Canyon. 

"Each time a scientist or guide teach- 
es that the Grand Canyon is the result 
of millions of years of slow and contin- 
uous processes, that person is question- 
ing the past judgment by God," the 
book asserts. “The evolutionary philos- 
ophy leads to the notion that each per- 
son owns himself, and is the master of 
his own destiny. This is contrary to the 
Bible teaching that mankind is in re- 
bellion against God.” The real battle, 
claims ICR, “is founded not just upon 
creation and Noah's flood versus evo- 
lution, but upon Christianity versus 
humanism.” Even stone has its reli- 
gious meaning: “The layers of beauty 
оп all sides are, in all likelihood, the 
grim reminder of sin, judgment and 
destruction.” 

Another group of creationists, some- 
times called Old Earthers, acknowl- 
edge the evidence for an older planet, 
but they stick to a fairly literal and anti- 
evolutionary interpretation of Genesis. 
"They argue, for example, that a “day” 
for God might mean thousands of 
years by human reckoning. Like Young 
Earthers, however, they reject the idea 
that all species evolved from a few life- 
forms by means of natural selection. 

A third, more recent bunch of cre- 
ationists doesn't even like to be called 
creationist. They call themselves intelli- 
gent design theorists, and they avoid 
religious language. They use the secu- 
lar language of science to attack evolu- 
tion and to argue for ideas that cre- 
ationists of all stripes find congenial. 


Each variety of creationism has its 
own organizations, publishes its own 
literature and conducts its own anti- 
evolutionary campaign. The book 
Grand Canyon, for example, is only one 
of a torrent of books, journals and 
videos put out by the ICR that purport 
to prove the validity of “flood geology.” 
Intelligent design theorists, mean- 
while, look for support to the Foun- 
dation for Thought and Ethics in 
Richardson, Texas. And if a citizen 
phones Pat Robertson's Christian Co- 
alition to ask how to stop a public 
school from teaching evolution, a coali- 
tion staffer may suggest that the caller 
contact one or another full-time cre- 
ationist group. “We are concerned 
about that issue,” a helpful woman at 
the Christian Coalition's national head- 
quarters told one recent caller, “but for 
real specific things about what you can 
do, let me see if I can refer you to 
someone else.” She quickly provided 
the names, addresses and telephone 
numbers of the ICR and the Bible-Sci- 
ence Association, a Minneapolis-based 
organization that publishes a range of 
creationist views. 


Creationism has nearly always been 
more about politics and religion than 
about science. Most scientists quickly 
accepted Darwin's evolutionary thesis 
after On the Origin of Species was pub- 
lished in 1859. And by the end of the 
19th century, notes Ronald Numbers, a 
historian at the University of Wiscon- 
sin, “belief in special creation seemed 
destined to go the way of the dinosaur.” 

The backlash occurred in America 
around the turn of the century, and it 
sharpened after World War One. Many 
Americans began to question the social 
influence of what they thought of as 
Darwinism. They wondered if ideas 
such as “survival of the fittest” and “de- 
scendants of apes” had helped spark 2 
savage war. As William Jennings Bryan, 
one of the first big anti-evolutionary 
crusaders, remarked: “The same sci- 
ence that manufactured poisonous gas- 
es to suffocate soldiers is preaching that 
man has a brute ancestry and is elimi- 
nating the miraculous and supernatu- 
ral from the Bible.” 

After the Monkey Trial, evolution 
was downplayed in American text- 
books—a suppression that continued 
for decades. Even in 1963, six years af- 
ter Sputnik and three years after a Hol- 


lywood movie, Inherit the Wind, por- 
trayed Scopes and his evolutionist de- 
fenders as cultural heroes, two univer- 
sity professors were reprimanded in 
Memphis for daring to discuss evolu- 
tion in a college class. That same year, 
though, American scientists managed 
to put evolution back in public schools. 
In the wake of Sputnik, Congress voted 
to spend millions on scientific research 
and education. Some of that money 
was funneled through the National Sci- 
ence Foundation to the Biological Sci- 
ences Curriculum Study, an academic 
organization that produced a new se- 
ries of textbooks in 1963. These books 
defined evolution as absolutely basic to 
modern biology. 

Meanwhile, the country had entered 
an era of liberal activism in the courts, 
including decisions that circumscribed 
religion in public schools. In 1968 the 
Supreme Court ruled in Epperson vs. 
Arkansas that laws against teaching evo- 
lution were unconstitutional because 
they were based on religion. Epperson 
set the stage for creation science, pleas 
for equal time and other creationist 
strategies that weren't always overtly 
religious. 

By 1980 there were enough votes 
among creationists that Ronald Reagan 
was questioning evolution on the cam- 
paign trail. “Well, it is a theory, it is а 
scientific theory only,” Reagan said. “It 
has in recent years been challenged in 
the world of science—that is, not be- 
lieved in the scientific community to be 
as infallible as it once was believed. But 
if it's going to be taught in the schools, 
then I think that also the biblical story 
of creation, which is not a theory but 
the biblical story of creation, should be 
taught.” 


Creationists see evolution as a threat 
to morality, but they can't legislate their 
views without bumping into the wall 
between church and state. So they've 
grown more deceptive. 

They use the paraphernalia of the 
scientific method to mask their agenda. 
They've also stolen a page from mod- 
ernism by appealing to the values of 
tolerance and openness that they've 
condemned for years as "moral rela- 
tivism." They accuse scientists who op- 
pose "equal time" of dogmatism and 
censorship. And in their lectures and 
publications, they attack all sorts of 
technical-sounding weaknesses they 
claim to have found in evolution. 

The pseudoscientific documentation 
is telling. Grand Canyon, for example, 
isn't just a Calvinist sermon. It's filled 
with tables, graphs and footnotes. It has 
maps, equations, color photographs 

(continued on page 200) 


d Playboy ғ Chris 
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The price: $3000. 


Top right: Sony's new 32-inch 
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player, This $2000 rack com- 
ponent connects to any stan- 
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ing you to record up to 60 
minutes of digital audio onto 
blank CDs that cost abou! $20. 


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of English golden willow with full-grain-leather straps, hinges and shield, it holds a bottle 
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WyéRee How то BUY on PAGE 23 


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A 
д 


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= 


GOL 


fiction by Ray Bradbury 


under the stairwell of the old house lies a secret kept 
hidden for centuries—why is it suddenly, 
frighteningly coming to light? 


r was a pounding on a door, a furious, frantic, insis- 

tent pounding, born of hysteria and fear and a 

great desire to be heard, to be freed, to be let loose, 

to escape. It was a wrenching at hidden paneling, it 

was a hollow knocking, a rapping, a testing, a daw- 
ing. It was a scratching at hollow boards, a ripping at bedded 
nails. It was a muffled shouting, demanding, a call to be noticed, 
followed by silence. 

The silence was the most empty and terrible of all. 

Robert and Martha Webb sat up in their bed. 

“Did you hear it?” 

“Yes, again.” 

“Downstairs.” 

Now, whatever it was that had pounded and rapped and 
wrenched and clawed had drawn into silence. Listening to hear if 
the cries and drumming had summoned help 

The winter night lay through the house, silence snowing in- 


to every room, drifting over tables and floors, banking up the 
stairwell 

‘Then the pounding started again. And then a sound of soft 
crying 


“Downstairs.” 
“Someone’s in the house.” 
ойе, do you think? The front door’s unlocked.” 

“She would have knocked.” 

"She's the only one it could be. She phoned.” 

They both glanced at the phone. It was dead. All the phones 
had died days ago with the riots in the towns and cities. Now in 
the receiver you heard only your own heartbeat. “Сап you put 
me up?" Lotie had cried, from 600 miles away in the last phone 
call. “Just overnight?” 


PLAYBOY 


94 


But before they could answer her, 
the phone had filled itself with long 
miles of silence. 

“That might be her,” said Martha 
Webb. 


“No,” said Robert Webb. “Dear 
God." 
They lay in their cold room in this 


farmhouse in the Massachusetts wil- 
derness, back from the main roads, 
away from the towns, near a bleak river 
and a black forest. It was the frozen 
middle of December. The white smell 
of snow cut the air. 

Гһеу arose. With an oil lamp lit they 
sat on the edge of the bed as if dangling 
their legs over a precipice. 

“Whoever it is sounds frightened.” 

“We're all frightened, damn it. 
That's why we came out here, to be 
away from cities, riots, all that damned 
foolishness. Now when we find peace at 
people call and upset us. And 
tonight, this. Christ!” He glanced at his 
wile. "You afraid 
І don't know. J don't believe in 
ghosts. I’m sane. Or like to think 1 am. 
Where's your gun?" 

"We won't need it. Don't ask me why, 
but we won't." 

‘They picked up the oil lamp. In an- 
other month the small power plant in 
the white barn behind the house would 
be finished and there would be power 
to spare. But now they came and went 
with dim lamps or candles. 

"They stood at the stairwell. The cry- 
ing, the sadness and the plea came 
from below. 

“She sounds so damned sad," said 
Robert. “God, I'm sorry for her, who- 
ever she is. Come on." 

They went downstairs. 

As if someone had heard their foot- 
steps, the crying grew louder. There 
was a dull thudding against a panel 
somewhere. 

"The witch door," 


said Martha, at 


They stood in the long hall looking 
at the place under the stairs where the 
panels trembled faintly. But now the 
E faded, as if the crier were ex- 
ted, or as if something had divert- 
ed her. Or perhaps their voices had 
startled her and she was listening for 
them to speak again. Now the house 
was silent and the man and woman 
waited, with the oil lamp quietly tum- 
ing in their hands. 

Robert stepped to the witch door 
and touched it, probing for the hidden 
button, the secret spring. "There can't 
be anyone in there,” he said. “Му God, 
we've been here six months, and that's 
just a cubby. Isn't that what the real es- 
late agent said? No one could hide in 
there and we'd not know it. We” 


“Listen!” 

They listened. 

Nothing. 

"She's gone, it's gone, whatever it 
was, hell, that door hasn't been opened 
in our lifetimes. Everyone's forgotten 
where the spring is that unlocks it. 1 
don't think there is a door, only a loose. 
panel and rats’ nests, that's all. The 
walls, scratching. Why not?" He turned 
to look at his wife, who was staring at 
the panel. 

“Rats don't cry,” she said. "That was 
a voice, asking to be saved. Lotte, I 
thought. Now 1 know it wasn't Lotte, 
but someone else in trouble.” 

Martha reached out and trembled 
her fingertips along the beveled edge 
of ancient maple. "Can't we open i 

“With a crowbar and hammer, first 
thing tomorrow.” 

“Oh Robert.” 

“Don't ‘Oh Robert’ me, I'm tired.” 

“You can't leave her in there to” 

“She's quiet now. Christ, I'm ex- 
hausted. ГЇЇ come down at the crack of 
dawn and knock the damned thing 
apart, OK?" 

“All right,” 
to her eyes. 

“Women,” said Robert. “Oh my God, 
you and Lotte, Lotte and you. If she 
gets here, if she makes it, ГЇЇ have a 
houseful of lunatics.” 

*Lotte's fine!” 

“Sure, but she should keep her 
mouth shut. It doesn't pay now to say 
you're socialist, Democrat, libertarian, 
pro-life, abortionist, Sinn Fein, fascist, 
Commie, any damn thing. The towns 
are bombed out. People are looking for 
scapegoats and Lotte shoots from the 
hip, gets herself smeared and now, 
hell, she's on the run." 

“They'll jail her if they catch her. Or 
kill her, yes, kill her. We're lucky to 
be here with food. Thank God we 
planned ahead, we saw it coming, the 
starvation, the massacres. We helped 
ourselves, Now we'll help Lotte if she 
makes it through.” 

He turned to the stairs. "I'm dead on 
my feet. I'm tired of saving anyone. 
Even Lotte. But, hell, if she gets 
through the front door, she's saved." 


she said, and tears came 


They went up the stairs, the lamp. 
advancing in an aura of a trembling 
white glow. The house was as silent as 
snow falling. "God," he whispered to 
himself. "Damn, 1 don’t like women 
crying like that." 

It had sounded like the whole world 
crying, he thought. The whole world 
dying, needing help and lonely. But 
what can you do? Live like this? Far off 
the main highway, away from all the 
stupidity and death? What can you do? 


They left the lamp lit and drew the 
covers over their bodies and lay listen: 
ing to the wind hit the house and creak 
the beams and parquetry. 

A moment later there was a cry from 
downstairs, a splintering crash, the 
sound of a door flung wide, a bursting 
out of air, footsteps echoing in all the 
rooms, sobbing almost in exultation. 
Then the front door banged open, the 
winter wind blowing wildly in, while 
footsteps rapped across the front porch 
and were gone. 

With the lamp, they ran downstairs. 
Wind smothered their faces as they 
turned toward the witch door, open 
wide, still on its hinges, then toward 
the front door where they held the 
lamp out upon a snowing white and 
darkness, with no moon. Snowflakes 
fell from the sky to the mattressed yard. 

“Gone,” she whispered. 

“Who?” 
“We'll never know, unless she comes 
back.” 

"She won't. Look.” 

They moved the lamplight toward 
the white earth and the tiny footprints 
going off, across the sofiness, toward 
the dark forest. 

“It was a woman, then. But why?" 

*God knows. Why anything?" 

They stood looking at the footprints 
a long while until, shivering, they 
moved back through the hall to the 
open witch door. They poked the lamp 
into the hollow under the stairs. 

“Lord, it's just a cell, hardly a closet, 
and look—— 

Inside were a small rocking chair, а 
braided rug, a used candle in a copper 
holder and an old, worn Bible. The 
place smelled of must and moss and 
dead flowers. 

"Is this where they used to hide 
people?" 

“Yes. A long time back they hi 
women people called witches 
witch trials. They 
some of them." 

"Yes, yes," they both. murmured, 
staring into the tiny cell. 

"And the witches hid here while the 
hunters searched the house and gave 
up and left?” 

“Yes, oh my God, yes." he whispered. 


She bent forward. Her face was pale 
as she stared at the small worn rocking 
chair and the faded Bible. 
“Rob? How old? This house, how 
old?" 
“Maybe 300 years.” 
Id?” 


“Houses, old like this. All the years 
(continued оп page 195) 


PLAYBOY GALLERY 


We always celebrate those who live on the sexual frontier. freed her to become a woman. She has appeared оп many 
Few, however, challenged rrvbov in quite the style of Caro- magazine covers, in the James Bond film For Your Eyes Only 
line Cossey, known in modeling circles as Tula. The Divine and in an ad campaign for Sauza tequila. This picture is 
Miss C lived life as a male until 20, when transsexual surgery — from our own landmark September 1991 pictorial. Salud, Tula! 


96 


INN INN 


L / 
before they were celebrities, they were kids. 
but little billy gates, jerry seinfeld, newtie gingrich 
and others knew exactly what they wanted 


Dear Santa: 

I know I should start off by telling you what a good boy Гуе been, 
minding my mom and doing good deeds and so on, but kids have been 
telling you that for years, and where has it gotten us? There are as many 
bad kids as ever. The system isn't working. Obviously, words don't mat- 
ter. So let's get to the point. 

I'm writing this letter in January for next Christmas, because 1 like to 
think way ahead. I mainly want the same things 1 ask for every Christ- 
mas, which are more history books. Especially war history books. Books 
about generals and conquerors and great battles and winning strategies 
and so on. Those history books that the kids who play sports and have 
lots of friends never want? Bring them to me. 

Also, more toy soldiers would be nice. 1 know, I always ask for that too, 
and I have hundreds of them already, but the way I see it, you can't have 
too many toy soldiers. It’s like Jonathan Swift wrote, “Every creature 
lives ina state of war by nature.” 

Other than that, I don't care, except for two things: (1) I want fancy 
mechanical toys, the kind that plug in or need batteries and come with 
instructions. Real advanced toys. And (2) I want more presents than oth- 
er kids, especially the kids who laugh at you for wearing glasses and call 
you Fruity Newtie or Lizard and pants you at recess. 

Now, you're probably asking, "Why should I bring Newtie more and 
neater presents than the other kids get?” A fair question, and I'll answer 
it. Because І have a plan. But for that plan to work, we both have to 
agree on how the Christmas em should go. 

The way I see it, the more good you are, the more presents you should 
get, no matter who you are. It should be a merit system. The problem is, 
too many kids want presents but don’t want to do anything to earn them. 
So my idea is that every kid has to send you a Contract With Santa, a ten. 
point goodness program, and if they do all ten things, they get whatever 
they want. (My Contract is enclosed.) 

IF you're with me on this, I think we can work together I think it is 
good for me, good for you and good for Christmas 

Thank you for your support. 


Yours truly. 

Neute Gingrich 

PS. I should ask for something for my little sister, Candy, but I don't 
know what. The Barbie doll didn’t work out at all. She kept dressing it in 


my G.L Joe's uniform. (Girl soldiers, that's crazy!) Maybe a toy truck, I 
don't know. 


Dear Mr. Claus 

Can I call you Santa? You can call me Connie. 1 want us to be best 
friends. I think you're wonderful. I'm your biggest fan, and I love your 
darling elves. They work so hard, all those little people. Do you pay 
them? How much? De any of them deliver presents? It's hard to sec how 
you could really visit every boy and girl on (continued on page 172) 


HUMOR BY ROBERT S. WIEDE 


ILLUSTRATION EY BLAIRORAWSON 


| he Great 

Pinup [Reveals 

Why She Vanished 
And How She 
Came To Star 


[п Every Mans 


[Fanta sy 


HE COULDNT imagine 
why we wanted to 
write a book about 
her. The “modeling 
days,” as she called 
them, ended decades 
ago. “Who wants to 
read about me? I'm 
not important. All I 
did was pose for some pictures.” 

Was she kidding? In the Fifties those 
pictures rocked America. They violat- 
ed sexual taboos, provoked the wrath 
of a congressional committee and 
made Bettie Page the greatest Ameri- 
can pinup before she vanished in 1957 
at the height of her fame. Today, be- 
cause of those pictures, she is a legend, 
influencing contemporary style, fash- 
ion and photography from Soho to 
Paris. She inspires artists worldwide— 
not to mention fans from her heyday 
and those young enough to be her 
grandchildren. With more magazine 
covers than Marilyn Monroe or Cindy 
Crawford, she is the model of the cen- 
tury, yet she remains one of its best- 


kept secrets. Like James Dean and Monroe, she left us early; 
like all the great ones, she left us a look and a mystique that 


have endured the test of time. 


Bettie Page embodied the stereotypical wholesomeness of 
the Fifties and the hidden sexuality straining beneath the 
surface. She was the ultimate model of the postwar pinup 
era—the girl next door, naughty and nice. Bettie was one of 


the first centerfolds for a fledgling 
men's magazine called PLAYBOY. More 
daring yet, she posed for fetish and 
bondage scenarios, which earned her a 
loyal underground following. As Amer- 
ica grappled with the duality of its sex- 
ual longings, she ripped through layers 
of repression and served as a harbinger 
to a more liberated time just around 
the corner. 

The real Bettie Page never under- 
stood that she had done something im- 
portant. During her 38-year self-im- 
posed exile she became a worldwide 
phenomenon. For decades, Page 
cultists, as well as journalists, publish- 
ers, photographers and the curious, 
tried to lure her out of seclusion. When 
bondage apparel became fashion, she 
was right back in the mainstream along 
with the garments she used to wear. 
Bettie glorified fetish, seduction and 
voyeurism long before Versace, Gaulti- 
er, Dolce & Gabbana and other top de- 


he [Real 


By KAREN ESSEX 
and JAMES SWANSON 


Bettie at age 17. Ca-editar of her high 
school paper and yearbook, she was voted 
“most likely to succeed” by classmates. 


ettie Lage 


signers. She is the dark Monroe and 
the precursor to Madonna, the third 
member of a triptych of American style 
and sexuality. 

She was always elusive, even before 
she vanished. She inspired Hugh Hef- 
ner, but he had never met her. An in- 
fatuated Howard Hughes summoned 
her, but she would not go. Gay Talese 
sought her for his book about the sexu- 
al revolution, Thy Neighbor's Wife, but 
he couldn’t find her. Willie Morris 
pined for her in one of Esquire’s 
“Women We Love” issues. Through 
the decades, public and private appeals 
for Bettie Page went unanswered. 

‘Then, in 1991, an article appeared їп 
USA Today about the missing pinup 
queen and the growing Page phenom- 
enon—posters, T-shirts, buttons, mod- 
el kits, a comic book and a motion pic- 
ture—surrounding а woman no one 
had seen for decades. 

In late 1992 Lifestyles of the Rich and 
Famous aired a segment with a man 
who said he was Bettie Page's brother. 
It included an audiotape of a woman 


insisting she was the real Bettie Page—alive and well, 
amazed at her popularity and refusing to be seen. Immedi- 


ately, Karen Essex contacted Bettie's brother, only to be told 


Modeling for camera club members in New 
York in 1955: “My glory days,” she scys 


he had engaged James Swanson, an attorney and writer who 
represents artists, models and photographers. Inundated 
with requests from merchandisers, producers, fans, cranks 
and opportunists, the family hired James to protect Bettie 


from the consequences of her fame. 

It became clear that someone was 
going to write a book about Bettie, with 
or without her cooperation. She re- 
mained uninterested because she be- 
lieved people wouldn't care about her 
story. But James began sending Bettie 
recent newspaper and magazine clip- 
pings about her. 

Finally, Bettie agreed to talk, but she 
didn’t want to see us (meaning she didn't 
want us to see her). She said she was 
old now and no longer beautiful. And 
wouldn't we be wasting our time travel- 
ing across the country to write a book 
about a woman no one remembered? 

We let her know that others were 
searching for her and planning to 
write about her. If there were a book to 
be written, shouldn't it be based on her 
recollections? Reluctantly, she told us 
to come—without cameras. 

As we drove into the California 
desert for our rendezvous, giddy with 


99 


100 


Bettie with a boyfriend in Miami, April 
1955 (above). "He was a greot kisser,” she 
says. Right: in a Florida amusement park. 


the idea that we would be the first writ- 
ers to meet her, we asked many ques- 
tions. Was she a feisty sexual renegade 
or а broken and bitter recluse? Did she 
see herself as a victim? What was the 
source of her magic? How was it that 
for the past four decades, she had be- 
come more famous? Most important, 
how could we be sure it was her? 

In the end, we didn't need identi- 
fication; we knew it was her the mo- 
ment we saw her. She opened the door 
and we felt the thrill of recognition. 
The same eyes, the same smile and 
even the same long hair, though now 
gray. The spirit in the old photos still 
radiated from the sporty 72-year-old 
woman standing before us 

The real Bettie Page is a sofi-spoken, 
unpretentious woman who has re- 
tained her Southern accent and man- 
ners. During our week with her she 
spoke candidly about her life and 


> demonstrated an uncanny recall of 
past events. As she reviewed photos she 
hadn't seen in more than 40 years, she 
identified the dresses she had made, 
the names of the streets she had walked 
down, her first bikini and what she was 
thinking as she sat on her grandmoth- 
er's stoop as a small child. She seemed 
shy at first. But once she relaxed, she 
was chatty and funny—and keenly in- 
terested in whether a picture of her 
was good or bad. 

The rcal Bcttie Page is a lot like the 
Bettie Page in the photographs. She 
communicates many of the same char- 
acteristics: authenticity, sweetness, a 
sense of fun, lack of guile, openness, 
accessibility, jauntiness. She is an intel- 
ligent woman with a great interest in 
books and films, an avid reader mostly 
of history and biography. She does not 
seem like the kind of person who 
would hide herself away for decades. 


Nothing about Bettie Page's back- 
ground suggests she was destined to be 
a star. She was born in Nashville in 
1923 to Roy and Edna Page, neither of 
whom advanced beyond the third 
grade. The family was so poor that, ac- 
cording to Bettie, the six children were 
lucky to get oranges in their Christmas 
stockings. Roy's philandering—the 
source of constant family arguments— 
resulted in the impregnation of a 15- 
year-old neighbor girl, and Edna threw 
him out. However, she received no 
child support and had to put her 
daughters into an orphanage for one 
year during the Depression. Bettie 
honed her modeling skills by playing 
glamour games with her sisters and 


Bettie clowns at home in Tennessee with sister Joyce, circa 1954 (above, center). Bettie 
frequently visited her family in Nashville during her modeling days in the Fifties. Bettie’s 
sisters Joyce and Goldie modeled professionally with her several times. Above: Bettie 
promotes the Irving Klow film Teaseroma during an interview with WABC Radia in New 
York, 1955. Left ond appasite: Twa sides af Bettie from photographer Bunny Yeager. 


102 


other girls in the orphanage. 

When she returned home from the 
orphanage, Bettie was confronted with 
a new problem. Edna allowed Roy, who 
was now finished with the 15-year-old, 
to rent a room in the family home. By 
the time Bettie was 13, Roy had begun 
to sexually abuse her, which she en- 
dured for the better part of a year. He 
bribed her with dimes to go to the 
movies, that he knew were her passion, 
in exchange for sexual favors. Bettie 
submitted to her father's wishes and 
told no one—for 59 years. 

Given the problems at home, Bettie 
decided that an education would be 
her ticket out of poverty. As a teenager, 
she spent afternoons and evenings at a 
community center, where she spent 
long hours reading and doing school- 
work. “I was never the smartest,” she 
says now, "but I studied all the time.” 
She entered Hume-Fogg High School 
in 1937, coveting the full scholarship to 
Vanderbilt that came with the honor of 
being valedictorian. Always a straight-A 
student despite her many extracurric- 
ular activities, Bettie skipped an art 
class to rehearse for a play and got her 
first B. The scholarship was lost, and 
she was devastated. 

Still, Bettie persevered. She worked 
her way through George Peabody Col- 
lege for Teachers as secretary to the 
professor of education Alfred Leland 
Crabb. After the breakup of her first 


Bettie by Bunny Yeager (obove ond top op- 
posite). Olivia De Bernordinis, о longtime 
PLAYBOY contributor, hos pointed Bettie 
Page for more than ten years ond has fea- 
тугей her in books, colendars, prints ond 
paintings. Her Crockers in Bed (opposite) 
was based on an Irving Klow photo. “I see 
breathtoking women oll the time,” says De 
Bernardinis of her fovorite subject, “but 
they can't get ocross this kind of magic. 
Bettie could. She poroded oround in 
possible high heels. She could play domi 
nant or submissive roles ond look as if she 
were having o ball. She wos remarkable.” 


The Rocketeer rescues Bettie Poge from her 
captors (left). In 1982 ortist Dove Stevens 
sel the Bettie Page revival in motion with 
the publicotion of his comic book, The 
Rocketeer. Combining nostalgio, odven- 
ture, a hero with a rocket pock and о 
roven-hoired дїп nomed Bettie, The Rocke- 
teer was on unexpected sensotion. The Vil- 
loge Voice voted it "the greotest comic 
book in the world." The Rocketeer phe- 
nomenon climaxed in 1991 with the re- 
leose of the Disney motion picture. Bettie 
Poge hod no ideo she was a comic-book 
heroine or thot the comic hod inspired o 
movie. She sow the film for the first time— 
опа loved it—ot о screening at the Playboy 
Monsion for her, Stevens ond o small group 
of friends. Stevens’ follow-up, Bettie Poge 
Comics, will be published lote this foll. 


marriage and a stint at teaching, she 
drifted from San Francisco to Haiti to 
Miami to Washington, D.C., eventually 
seuling in New York in 1950. There 
she was discovered on the beach at 
Coney Island. 

Page spent seven years modeling. 
She worked for camera clubs on week- 
ends, and on weekdays Irving “Pinup 
King” Klaw and his sister Paula pho- 
tographed her in a variety of poses, 
including the legendary bondage 
tableaux. She posed for dozens of 
men’s magazines. In the evenings she 
worked for studios that rented models 
and space to photographers by the 
hour. She did her own makeup, set her 
own hair, booked her own appoint- 
ments. She never had a publicist, 
agency, manager or lawyer. She 
worked with Bunny Yeager and other 


Florida photographers who immortal- 
ized her in series of postcards still sold 
widely today. But she never solicited 
work. She just let it all happen. The 
closest she came to a mentor was her 
acting teacher, Herbert Berghof, who 
encouraged her to audition for Broad- 
way plays. She never took his advice. 
“He believed in me, but 1 didn't believe 
1 could do it. I really lacked ambition in 
those days,” she says wistfully. “I did 
nothing to promote myself.” 

During her modeling carcer, Bettie 
had admirers, but she maintains that 
she had fewer dates during those days 
than at any other time in her life. “I 
think most men were afraid of models 
who had any kind of name." 

Nonetheless, she did have relation- 
ships with a few lucky men, though she 
never dated (continued on page 198) 


104 


in’ on reds, vitamin c and cocaine 


the gratefu dead '$ road manager takes 


Us the beginning of December 
1965, the night I first see the 
Grateful Dead. I'm promoting a 
Family Dog concert at San Fran- 
cisco's lovely old California 
Hall. The group's members live 
in a big house in Haight-Ash- 
bury where we hold parties on 
weekends. When the parties 
overflow to the sidewalk we 
move them to the old union 
halls. In our hapless way we have graduated to promoting 
concerts. If this works out we figure we can start booking 
acis like the Lovin’ Spoonful and Frank Zappa. Then maybe 
the Beatles, the Stones, Dylan. Well, it could happen. 

Around 11 o'clock the inscrutable Owsley Stanley, the acid 
king, shows up at California Hall. I knew him from various 
scenes in the Haight, where he would turn up, a mysterious 
presence in cloak and operatic hat, dispensing samples of his 
latest batch of acid to those he deemed worthy. Apparently, I 
am one of the elect, because he is handing me a tiny, mi 
shapen orange barrel of LSD. 

"Rock, come on over to the Fillmore later. There's some- 
thing I want you to see,” he says. Everything is enigmatic 
with Owsley. He's not going to tell the whole story right 
away. He first wants to zap a little of the misterioso amigo on 
me. I tell him I'll try to make “Be there,” he says darkly. 

By midnight 1 can't curb my curiosity any longer, so I 
jump on one of the shuttle buses. At the Fillmore, a scruffy 
group of musicians ambles about the stage, involved in what 

ill become a trademark of its concerts: the interminable 
setting up and tuning of ments. “Formerly the War- 
locks of Palo Alto,” the MC announces in his Don Pardo 

ice. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Grateful 


The what? A light plays over their name. GRATEFUL 
D-E-A.D. They are a bad-looking bunch. The most conspicu- 
ous member of the group is Pigpen, a greasy, overweight 
biker type in a headband, playing a Vox electric piano, 
standing up and wailing an old Howlin’ Wolf song. 1. 

in tie-dyed saris shrink back from the 

ing about the lot of them, but i 
hard to say what. Apart from the Hell's Angels dude, they 
aren't really all that mean looking—but, man, are they 
weird. My eye darts from one to the other. Just how did such 

oddities get together in the first plac 

But an hour or so into the set, something strange starts to 
happen. The room is breathing deeply, like a great sonic 
lung from which all sounds originate and which demands all 
the oxygen in the world. We are all under the hypnotic spell 
of this ghostly pulse. Whoever these guys are, they are un- 


cannily tuned into the wavelength of the room. They hover 
over the vibe like dragonflies. 

As I'm leaving the Fillmore, Owsley grabs me by the arm 
He wants to know what I think of the group. Who's kidding 
whom? 1 can't even speak! I'm the highest I've ever been, 
and on Owsley's own acid. "Groovy," I say, beaming the rest 
of the information directly through his third eye. I figure 
that should cover it. 

The next night Owsley and I are driving to one of Ken 
Kescy's famous acid tests. 

“You're going to hear a band,” he says. “The Dead. The 
Grateful Dead. The guys you saw at the Fillmore last night.” 
“Those guys," I say. "They're the world’s ugliest band.” 

“Forget about how they look. 

“But that’s a big part of rock and roll. Look at the Beatles.” 

“Forget the Beatles," Owsley says. “All you have to know is 
that the Grateful Dead are going to be the greatest band in 
the history of the world." 

Poor deluded man. How can I tell him? 1 promise to hire 
them for a few shows. 

“Мо, no, no! You don’t want to become a promoter. They 
all end up ripping people off.” 

"So?" 

“So you manage them,” he says. “Find gigs for them." 

For the next two decades, that's what I did. 


Despite himself, Jerry Garcia becomes the leader of the 
band. Not that this causes any great friction. The Dead has 
always been a band without a leader and without a plan. Jer- 
ry does everything humanly possible to live down this role, 
but sooner or later he is thrust into that position. And he is 
a natural leader. He grew up with it. His dad, who was the 
leader of a Dixieland band, knew what it took to hold any- 
where from ten to 15 instruments together. And when the 
Grateful Dead turns into the Hippie Buffalo Bill Show, Jer- 
ry is the obvious focal point. He's the innovator. The symbol. 
There will be no ice cream flavors named after Phil Lesh. 

The Grateful Dead's manner of writing songs is a haphaz- 
ard, hit-or-miss business. Nothing is nailed down. First the 
guys try out their songs in front of an audience. For most 
groups a song is written and arranged, then is put out on 
record. The tracks get played on the radio. Only then does 
the band go out on the road and back up the record. It basi- 
cally lip-synchs its own songs. But Dead sets are four-hour 
exercises in “let's see what happens.” Never have a playlist, 
never write it down. 

There is no such thing as a finished Dead song. It always 
changes. You never know what will pop up at a Dead con- 
cert, or in what form it will appear. The main thing is the 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY HARRY BENSON 


PLAYBOY 


106 


freedom to fuck up. This is something 
we took to heart from all those acid 
tests. Bobby Weir will often forget a 
new song in front of 15,000 people 
The crowd loves it. 

What is that? It's a new song. And 
the Dead don't make announcements. 
They дог say, "This is from our new 
album, it's called New Potato Caboose.” YF 
they can't remember it, they just stum- 
ble through it, make a mistake and get 
back to the groove. If they start out. 
tentatively because someone in the 
band can't remember the changes, 
then it just becomes a hiccup of a song 
and they slide into something else. 

Sometimes it takes two or three years 
of performing a song before it gets a 
personality. It's only through playing 
these tunes to a live audience that you 
would ever get such a radical transfor- 
mation of Good Lovin’, which began life 
as a funky boogaloo and then after 
years of being played and leaned on 
turned into a reggae island hip-hop 
number. But despite all the fiddling 
with songs and procrastination, the 
Dead eventually develop a big book of 
songs. In the Seventies we played a 
five-night stand in San Francisco and 
repeated only four songs. At the clos- 
ing of Winterland in San Francisco 
some fans hung a huge banner that 
said: 1535TH NIGHT SINCE YOU LAST PLAYED 
“park star.” Now, thar's devotion 


The Monterey International Pop 
Festival rolls for June 16, 17 and 18, 
1967. I get to the fairgrounds early to 
help take care of all the stuff the pro- 
moters forgot about. We know that 
people will be coming in from commu- 
nities up and down the coast: Big Sur, 
Shasta, the communes in Oregon. Two 
days before the festival opens, the bus- 
es begin arriving, filled with people 
who want to know where they can pitch 
their tents and tepees. We realize we'll 
have to look after them, because the 
Los Angeles contingent certainly isn't. 
going to. The kind of people who come 
to see the Grateful Dead want to camp 
out. We get Monterey Peninsula Col- 
lege to provide free camping on the 
football field and to open up the show- 
ers and turn on hot water and all that 
good stuff. We make arrangements to 
use a pavilion to accommodate the 
overflow of people who have nowhere 
to stay. 

When you walk through the fair- 
grounds at twilight with the tepees 
painted with Sioux symbols, people 
playing guitars and children and dogs 
running around the tents, it's worth all 
the hassles in the world. We've infiltrar- 
ed the enemy camp, turned it into our 
own event. We have our peyote tents 


set up just as you walk in the gate. 
There àre bonfires going, and smoke 
coming out of tepees 

Soon we dream up a new piece of fol- 
ly. It starts, like so many great ideas, 
with a simple desideratum. Jerry says, 
“A jam or something might be nice. 
Yeah, a jam might be real nice." Stop. 
the presses! The great Garcia has spo- 
ken (I think). We'll undercut the 
greedy promoters by giving music 
away for free. 

“Well,” say I, “what about the pavil- 
ion? Or even the football field? It’s full 
ofall those people who couldn't get in- 
to the shows.” 

Garcia is up for it, so is Pigpen (Ron 
McKernan). The plot hatches at the 
Jokers Club (where the musicians hang 
out, behind the main stage). And аз 
soon as it's been conjured up, Jimi 
Hendrix says, “Hey, now that sounds 
like serious fun." Pigpen, Hendrix, Jer- 
ry Garcia. They're all into it. And as 
soon as the other musicians hear about 
it they're going, "Yes, yes, yes—count 
us in, too." 

At one end of the pavilion we set up 
the public address system on a little 
platform. The hippies skank the elec- 
tricity and get juice into the hall, and 
we borrow some amplifiers off the 
stage and move them in. All this is done 
furtively as people fall asleep, so no- 
body will twig. The lights are off, so the 
setting up is done with flashlights, We 
get everything ready, and then Jorma 
Kaukonen and Jack Casady from Jef- 
ferson Airplane, Garcia and Hendrix 
come out to the stage. 

With the first chord the lights go on 
and the projectors flash their amoeba- 
like images. People wake up to bubbles 
moving across the ceiling (one of the 
light companies has installed a liquid 
light projector), and here's the Air- 
plane, the Grateful Dead and Jimi 
Hendrix cranking through Walking the 
Dog. The Dead are like grease. Take 
another tab, and everybody knows 
Good Morning Little Schoolgirl, right? 

The best part of it for me is seeing 
the faces when the lights come on. 
Some of these people have never even 
been to San Francisco. Most of them 
have never seen a Haight show with 
all the lights and bubbles. It is stoned 
psychedelic. 

The last day of the festival comes 
and—surprise—the promoters tell us 
that all the money has mysteriously dis- 
appeared. They claim that someone 
ran off to Mexico with it. The amount 
of the embezzlement is estimated at 
$50,000, but it’s a lot more than that 
since $35,000 of it is later recovered. 
And then there is the money from the 
film and the TV rights and the double 
albums, none of which we will see a 


penny of. 


The forces of darkness have ripped 
us off. They have stolen our music, 
stolen the San Francisco vibe, for 
Christ's sake. So we figure that the best 
way to respond is to show how little we 
care about this stuff by giving it away. 
We plan a little prank. A big prank, 
actually. 

Fender has lent all this equipment to 
the festival in return for advertising— 
“Used exclusively at the world famous 
Monterey Pop Festival.” It is the most 
beautiful gear we have ever seen. We 
commandeer a T-shirt van, back it up 
to the stage and load what we need. 

All the way back to San Francisco 
we're still high. Jerry, Phil and Pig, who 
headed home before the heist, come 
out of our place there. Their eyes are 
big as saucers. Now what are we going 
to do? Let the wild rumpus start! The 
question becomes, who would you like 
to hear play if you could choose any 
lineup from Monterey? 

Jerry peruses the list. “Well, I'd have 
the Who and the Animals. Otis Red- 
ding, natch. And J 
nitely has to come. What more could 
you ask for?” 

We set up the borrowed equipment 
in a city park and bootleg the electrici- 
ty. We park the Hell's Angels on top of 
the amps. Everyone gets to play a set 

We get a bit of a tongue-lashing in 
the press, but the San Francisco Chroni- 
cle makes us out to he Robin Hoods 
who steal from the rich to give our mu- 
sic away to the milling throngs. We get 
more press for stealing equipment that 
we actually return (we even replace the 
bulbs) than the promoters do for steal- 
ing our money. 


It's easy to spot Jerry's special fans. 
The guy who's nodding off in his coffee 
has downers, the guy with big burns 
around his nostrils like he's been eating 
doughnuts is obviously the coke freak. 
Usually I don't even have to look, they 
come up to me. 

“Scully, hey Scully, can you get me 
backstage?" 

“You got any?" 

“Hell, yeah! A solid eight ball, man.” 

“How is iP" 

"Best you ever had, I swear, ma 

"Sure, sure. OK, come with m 

1 loop a plastic pass on him and it's 
full speed ahead and don't spare the 
horses. 

“This is Jerry Garcia,” 1 say, opening 
the door to his dressing room, but Jer- 
ry doesn't have time to socialize. 

He goes, “Break it out!” 

Scronnnk, ah-ha-ha. And that is the 
end of the audience. 

І go, "Say goodbye to Jerry.” The 

(continued en page 190) 


“Is this heartwarming or what? Each of them searching for something to gladden 
the heart of a loved one.” 


108 


tecketman can diam up masterpieces 
oul Y thin ait, tul never has he had the 
same {чат twice. nol «even at gunpoinl 
/ 


fiction Фу ROBERT SILYERBEXG 


IN THE NIGHT, despite the unsettling trouble brewing with the 
client from Miami, the blustering and importuning and the im- 
plied or even outright threats, Beckerman managed to dream 
satisfactorily after all. He dreamed a little freestanding staircase 
of alabaster and malachite that pivoted in the middle and went 
back down itself tlirougli anutheı dimension like something 
out of an Escher print; he dreamed an attenuated, one-legged 
bronze statuette with three skinny arms and a funny spiral top- 
knot, Giacometti meets Dr. Seuss, so to speak. He dreamed a 
squat, puckery-skinned, cast-iron froggy thing with bulging 
ivory eyeballs that periodically opened its huge mouth and 
emitted little soprano squeaks. Everything was a bit on the 
bizarre side, even for Beckerman; he had a tendency to go over 
the edge a little when things got tense. The three pieces were 
arrayed in a neat row by the side of his bed when he woke, just 
before noon. It was, he thought, a fine batch of work. 

He didn't take the time just yet to give the latest products a 
close inspection. His shower came first, and then breakfast—a 
whole grapefruit and half of another one, nearly a dozen 
sausages, a platter of scrambled eggs, half a loaf of bread, a cou- 
ple of bottles of beer. He had woken drenched with sweat, as he 
always was these mornings: stinking acrid sweat, clammy and 
thick, the sweat of an artisan who has been going at it full throt- 
tle for many hours. Beckerman's work took a lot out of him. He 


worked every bit as hard as any sculptor who hammered away 
at marble slabs or one who wrestled with heavy iron struts, ex- 
cept that he worked lying down with his eyes closed, and no ac- 
tual physical labor was involved. Good productive dreams like 
these could burn up five or six pounds’ worth of energy in a 
single night. It was all Beckerman could do to keep his weight 
up, despite a constantly ravenous appetite. At best he was a 
slender man, but a busy season of work would reduce him to 
skin and bones, and his clothes would hang from his gaunt 
limbs like rags flapping in the wind 

After he washed and dressed and (continued on page 162) 


TN 


"JORRID CORE 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY STEPHEN WAYDA AND ARNY FREYTAG 


miss december is 
spain's hottest 
export since salsa 


WICKED squall bursts across 
South Beach, Miami's mecca for 
models, and it's headed straight for 
Samantha Torres. "Doesn't that 
figure,” says Miss December, eyeing 
the approaching storm. “1 wear 
sheer white, and it pours.” The rain 
is now seconds away from drench- 
ing her teeny halter top and micro- 
skirt and rendering them all but 
transparent. Shrugging off a sug- 
gestion that she take cover, Saman- 
tha presses on, as fast as her three- 
inch platform shoes will allow. As if 
startled by the audacity of this 22- 
year-old blonde, the storm sudden- 
ly turns to a drizzle. Still dry, 
Samantha continues her march up 
Ocean Drive, finally settling in for 
cappuccino at trendy Caffe Milano. 
“You have to seize the moment,” she 
says, laughing at her luck with the 
weather. 

That philosophy drives almost 
everything Samantha does. Take the 
way she fell into modeling. Two 
years ago, as a goof, some friends 
entered her in a beauty contest on 
Ibiza, the Spanish island where 


Samantha grew up. She won that 


"1 have a lot af different looks when I 
model, which will be good if | become 
on actress. Usually, though, | get as- 
signments that call for someone who's 
sensuous and strong. | could never be 
one of those flat-chested Armani types.” 


pageant and went on to be 
crowned Miss Spain and then be- 
come one of Europe's hottest 
models. “I do well as a model," she 
concedes, “but I think of it only as 
a stepping-stone to acting, which is 
my true love. I don't havea master 
plan, but I know what I want to 
do: become a sexy, sensual actress 
like Kim Basinger in 9% Weeks.” 
Samantha has never been shy 
about getting what she wants. 


Some of her first words as a child 
were a command to the family 
cook: “Harold, beans on toast.” It's 
still a favorite meal. As a toddler, 
she once commandeered a lift in a 
hotel and wouldn't give up the 
controls until the staff gave her 
chocolates. Samantha speaks Eng- 
lish like a native Brit, having spent 


Samantha learned to swim at оде 18 
months and studied gymnastics for 
seven years. Here, she practices both 
skills os she kicks up her high heels in 
оп exotic version af underwater ballet. 


“I'm not afrai 


three years at a boarding school 
in London. The accent vanishes 
when she speaks Spanish or Ibi- 
cenco, the dialect of Ibiza. 

Now that she keeps an apart- 
ment in Miami, Samantha rarely 
gets back home, but it’s definitely 
where her heart is. "It's magical. I 
water-ski, swim, scuba dive, play 
squash, ride my horse to the 
beach. I never sit still. And Span- 
ish men are so special because 
they're strong and never boring.” 

Samantha admits some men are 
put off by her independence and 
stubborn streak, but she’s not 
about to change. “I'm happy with 
who I am, how I look and what 


I'm doing. This is me, like it or 


lumj —TOM WOTHERSPOON 


“I'm shy in © way, and hard to figure 
out," claims Samantha, “but when I'm 
onstage ar in front af a camera, | 
bring out what I Зап shaw in public 


PLAYMATE DATA SHEET 


. = 1 
BIRTH DATE: 6:01" J- Эртвтнртлсв: IORA ESA _ 


AMBITIONS: 


e 


I'LL NEVER: А à Y 
NOBODY KNOWS: That im TUTTO RN 


SO please Dont ewe Hekle me 
CALL ME CRAZY, BUT: 28 eat _baled_beans on 


I MAY LOOK INNOCENT: 


17 POR QUÉ ME BJGIERON 
PARA REPRESENTAR A [^ 


Se») eyes over ait | The Becali 


PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES 


А man ordered four expensive 30-year-old 
single malts and had the bartender line them 
up in front of him. Then, without pausing, he 
downed each one. 

“Whew,” the barkeep remarked, “you seem 
to be ina hurry.” 

“You would be too if you had what I have.” 
Nhat do you have?" the bartender sympa- 
ally asked. 

ifty cents.” 


How do prostitutes go to college? On the 
Hugh Grant, of course. 


While scavenging behind a toaster, a mouse 
bumped into an old acquaintance. “It's been a 
long time,” the first said. "How's everything?” 

“Great,” the other replied. “I have three 
brothers in pharmaceutical testing and a sister 
in heart research.” 


Р, лувох ciassic: Alter a heavy necking session 
ended short of consummation, the young 
man’s date told him he would be welcome to 
come over the following Sunday when her par- 
ents would be at church. “Only this time,” she 
said with a grin, “bring condoms 
„the fellow stopped at the lo- 
on his way home and asked the 
pharmacist to give him the best condoms on 
the market. 

Sunday, he headed to the girl's house and 
rang the bell. Her father opened the door and 
glared long and hard before admitting him. 

When the time came for the parents to leave. 
for church, the young man asked if he could 

n them. His surprised girlfriend whispered, 
ince when are you a churchgo« 
“Since when is your dad a pharma 


Ww 


at do you call 100 lawyers skydiving out of 
plane? Skeet. 


The Irishman was always getting into brawls. 
His wife decided to put a stop to it the night he 
came home with a black eye, a swollen lip and 
a few missing teeth. 
“All right, who was it this time?" she asked. 
“Oh, me and O'Leary had a few words, 
that's all." 


?" she shrieked. "You mean to 
and tell me a weak, sniveling little 
pipsqueak like O'Leary did all that to you?" 
ow, now, love," he said. *"Iain't nice to 
speak ill of the dead y 


While at dinner, a man struck up a conversa- 
tion with a woman in the dining car of a cross- 
country train. Both, it turned out, were mar- 
ried and both were traveling on busin 

Following several after-dinner di 
woman confessed that she was sure her skirt- 
chasing husband would be unfaithful while she 
was away. The man admitted he had a similar 
fear about his wife. “Since we are in the same 
situation,” the man suggested with an eager 
gleam in his eye, “perhaps we could exact re- 
venge together.” 

Without another word, the two made their 
way to his sleeping compartment, where their 
partners adultery was passionately avenged. 

The two lay sull for several minutes after- 
ward. Then, as her lover turned over to sleep, 
the woman whispered, “How about one more 
аа of revenge?” 
he yawned, “ 


“I've already forgiven 


Why do men love cars more than women? Be- 
cause there’s a better chance that their cars will 
turn over in the morning. 


A middle-aged fellow was approached by a 
hooker on а downtown street. “How about a 
blow job for 50 bucks, honey?” she asked. 

“No way,” the man said. “I'm married." 


This MONTH'S Most FREQUENT SUBMISSION: What 
do you call 100 heavily armed lesbians? Militia 
Etheridge. 


A Wall Street broker came home unexpected- 
ly one afternoon and found his wife in bed 
with a handsome young man. The husband's 
e reddened. “How are you going to explain 
this?” he exploded 
“I's simple,” his wife calmly replied. “I've 
gone public.” 


Heard a funny one lately? Send it on a post- 
card, please, to Party Jokes Editor, PLAYBOY, 
680 North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois 
60611. 8100 will be paid to the contributor 
whose card is selected. Jokes cannot be returned. 


"Quite frankly, Pue had enough of good little boys and girls for one night." 


123 


los angeles’ 
former top cop 
says jittery 
feds grabbed 
broad new 
powers in the 
wake of 
oklahoma city 
that could 
handcuff our 
best line of 
defense: К, 
y the police 


Сӣ 


ON THE MORNING of February 22, a man parked a truck 
containing 2000 pounds of explosives across the 
street frum a six-story office building. The building 
was filled with people just starting their workday, 
including the people on the fifth floor, who worked 
for the IRS. 

The city was Los Angeles. The time: 1990—five 
years before the Oklahoma City bombing. 

The man had already made two trial runs at this 
building, which was owned by City National Bank 
and situated on busy Olympic Boulevard on Los 
Angeles’ fashionable West Side. In September 1988 
he had placed a pipe bomb in a car inside the build- 
ing's garage. The bomb exploded, causing minor 
damage to cars and to the garage. Not satisfied, he 
returned the following year and planted three pipe 
bombs near the building, but none detonated. He 
had also tried to blow up a building in nearby Cul- 
ver City that houses IRS offices, and two buildings 
in Laguna Niguel in Orange County, using pipe 
bombs and mortars. Like the Unabomber, he decid- 
ed we weren't paying enough attention, so he sent 
two letters. Both were signed “Up the IRS, Inc.” 
and declared that future bombings of IRS facilities, 
of greater magnitude, would be forthcoming. 

We got the picture. 

I was chief of police in Los Angeles at the time, 
and the thought that someone—or some p— 
was running A the (continued on page 128) 


ARTICLE BY DARILE GATES 


m о " WW 


F 
3 
= 
Ё 
= 
E 
E 
В 
E 


coking for a gift that will make your lody's eyes sparkle brighter than the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center? With the help of six 
of our favorite Playmates, we offer these suggestions. Left to right: Barbora Moore with Rolph Lauren's Safari parfum in o cut-crys- 

tal bottle ($300). Lisa Marie Scott in a black lace teddy by Aubade Paris ($160). De Beers diamonds are a girl's best friend, and 

ш Kelly Gallagher wears nearly three carats’ worth in the form of Cartier's Panther 1925 watch featuring an 1B-karat-gold panther 
design ($33,000). Carrie Westcott looks great in a 17-carat diamond necklace set in 18-karat gold with a South Sea cultured pearl 
($46,500) and four-carct diamond and pearl earrings ($10,000), both from Harry Winston Inc. Julie Cialini cuddles a Siberian husky 
puppy from Artik Sno Siberian Huskies (about $500). And Anna-Marie Goddard, in с terrycloth robe from the Golden Door spa, revels 
in the royal treatment: a weeklong trip of pampering, fitness and relaxation at California's preeminent health spa ($4250). 


MÁKEUP BY BARBARA FARMAN 7 
FOR CÍDUTER ANDEY ALEXIS VOGEL, | 


HAIR By, SERENA RADAELLI FORCLOUTIE 
"AND BY VICTOR VIOAL FOR CLOUTIER 


STYLING BY JENNIFER ROONEY 


MHEREA HOW TO BUY ON PAGEZ03 


FROM PERFUME TO A PUP TO DIAMONDS, en 
HERE ARE SEVEN DAZZLING PRESENTS FOR 
GIVING (AND MAYBE GETTING) 


AHRIZTNAZ 


PLAYBOY 


TERRORISM? SAYS WHO? suat fron page 124 


The bomb would have leveled the six-story building 
and damaged eight square blocks of Los Angeles. 


city detonating explosives scared me to 
death. So far, no one had been injured, 
but in time, maybe he would construct 
a big bomb, big enough to grab the at- 
tention he wasn't getting from the little 
bombs. I had assigned our Anti- 
terrorist Division to the case, and this 
task force was later joined by the FBI, 
the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and 
Firearms, the IRS and several other lo- 
cal police departments. But we got 
nowhere. 

After the attempts on City National 
Bank in 1988 and 1989, one of our de- 
tectives took it upon himself to swing 
by the building each day on his way 
to work. 

On the morning of February 22, 
1990 he noticed a yellow truck parked 
across the street. It was a pickup 
draped with canvas. As he slowed to 
take a closer look, he noticed smoke 
drifting out from under the canvas. 
The detective called the fire depart- 
ment. The fire department took one 
look at the truck and called the LAPD 
bomb squad. The squad confirmed the 
presence of a bomb. 

1 immediately sent a uniformed task 
force of several hundred police officers 
10 the scene. They evacuated the build- 
ing and the blocks surrounding it 
Then, loading the yellow truck onto a 
larger flatbed, they transported the 
bomb to the desert. When the bomb 
squad detonated it, they were stunned. 
Made with 2000 pounds of ammonia 
nitrate and fuel oil, it would have lev- 
eled the six-story building and dam- 
aged a good eight square blocks of 
West Los Angeles. 

Now I was really scared. I called in 
our detectives practically every day to 
check on their progress. Still, it took 
another year—and two more failed at- 
tempts in Fresno—before we finally ar- 
rested the “mad” bomber. 

Dean Harvey Hicks was not a mem- 
ber of a militia group or any political 
organization that we were aware of. 
Rather, he was an electrical engineer 
with a good job, a kindly demeanor 
and a hobby as a bicyclist. When anoth- 
er riders bike broke down, Hicks was 
always the first to offer assistance. He 
had no criminal record. What he had 
was a tax problem. According to his 
story, when he called the IRS to resolve 
his tax concerns, whomever he spoke 
with had laughed at him. Apparently, 
this did not sit well with Hicks. He's 


now serving time in federal prison 

L relate this story for two reasons 
One, Los Angeles could have been 
Oklahoma City. But because the bombs 
didn't kill people, there was no atten- 
tion paid to the danger by either the 
media or federal politicians. No one 
bothered to look at our situation and 
say, Wait a minute, maybe we need 
to find out what is going on. Two, 1 
want to raise the question of domestic 
terrorism. 

Did Hicks, the kindly electrical engi- 
neer with a tax problem, fit the classic 
profile of a terrorist? Or was he a kook, 
fueled beyond reason by the anger and 
frustration many of us feel when trying 
to deal with the federal government? 
Few of us, even those of us who have 
worked in government, can even begin 
to comprehend this amorphous, face- 
less entity that operates out of Wash- 
ington. When you reach out to touch it, 
it is vapor. 


‘TERRORISM 


Although the Oklahoma City bomb- 
ing has been labeled an act of domestic 
terrorism, it was not. It was a violent 
act by some kooks—I can’t think of an- 
other word—who wanted to get re- 
venge specifically for—and I'm specu- 
lating on this, but all indicators support. 
it—the Waco standoff and the resulting 
carnage. 

Terrorism is not a violent act by a 
disaffected soul; in its truest sense it is a 
way to wage war. It is a political strate- 
gy used by people who do not have the 
capability to wage conventional war to 
influence a political situation. So they 
set out to engage in war, either within 
their own country or outside of it, by 
using terrorist acts in attempts to de- 
stroy the people's will and to achieve 
their goals of overthrowing a govern- 
ment or a political process. 

This is not, from all appearances, 
what took place in Oklahoma City. 
More than 150 people were killed in 
that disaster, and it was indescribable in 
terms of its tragedy. But if you look at 
whar's been happening on the streets 
of our cities, i's comparable to one 
street gang fighting another gang and 
indiscriminately shooting people. Los 
Angeles has well over 200 gang-related 
killings every year. If you want to add 
up body bags and look at old people, 
young people and children who be- 
come victims, you have exactly the 


NOT 


same kind of human toll that result- 
ed from Oklahoma City. Except that 
the street crime occurs day after day 
after day. 

The point I'm making is that while 
there is terror on the streets of Los An- 
geles and certainly terror in Oklahoma 
City, it ts not traditional terrorism in 
terms of people wanting to destroy the 
federal government. In the case of 
street gangs, their issue is territory. As 
for militia groups, I doubt they under- 
stand the workings of the federal gov- 
ernment well enough (who does?) to 
know how to change it. Angry and frus- 
trated because government defies their 
understanding, they choose a recourse 

They kill the messenger. 

The messenger takes the form of the 
most visible people in government— 
the IRS, Secret Service, Bureau of 
Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms and, 
of course, the local police. But these 
visible people aren't the government. 
They are plain, ordinary folks trying to 
do their jobs as these have been enact- 
ed into law by politicians. These folks 
enforce the law, they don't make it. 

The irony is that many of the targets 
in law enforcement share conservative. 
views and values with their attackers. 
They even share the kooks' frustration 
with government—they don't like pay- 
ing taxes, either. If you were to sit 
down with people in law enforcement, 
you would probably find their funda- 
mental values are basically the same as 
those of civilians who decry Waco and 
the so-called tyranny of government 

In looking at the government's re- 
sponse to Oklahoma City as a de- 
plorable act of domestic terrorism, 1 
recognize that no such national anger 
surged forth after the 1992 riots in Los 
Angeles. At least not anger toward the 
perpetrators. No one has excused what 
happened in Oklahoma City. But how 
many times has it been said that 
the riots, which killed 52 people, prac- 
tically destroyed the cohesiveness of 
Los Angeles and caused far more prop- 
erty damage than occurred in Okla- 
homa City, were nothing more than a 
“rebellion”? 

Why was this “rebellion"—which 
struck terror in the hearts of all Ange- 
lenos—something to be explained, and 
perhaps even excused? If the Okla- 
homa City bombing was ап act against 
government, what were the riots? They 
broke out as a result of a jury decision 
based on the actions of four police 
officers. Aren't the courts, and the 
police, once again, representatives of 
government? 

Yetin the wake of the terror of the ri- 
ots, there was no legislation, no beefing 

(continued on page 178) 


128 


ng last night!” 


"I knew I heard carolir 


T1311 1 1-0 
ES A 
EEES 
EEES 
EEE 
и ји Е Е Е Е Е Е А 
ЕТЕ 138 


> 
Left: Our 007 look-olike 


hangs tough in a wool 
© glen plaid two-button 
| single-breosted suit 


©) (obout $1500), a cotton 


shirt with French cuffs 
($185), o silk tie ($85) 
and leather monk-strap 
shoes (about $400), all 
by Ralph Lauren Purple 
Lobel, plus a silk crepe 
pocket square ($20) and 
gold cuff links with moth- 
er-of-pearl inlays ($80), 
both by Tino Cosmo, end 
socks by Polo Rolph 
Lauren (obout $20). 


FASHION BY 
HOLLIS WAYNE 


“GOLDENEYE” 
SHOWS OFF THE 
NEW PLAYBOY LOOK 
AS SUITS TRIM 
DOWN AND POWER 


UP FOR 1996 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY CHUCK BAKER 


Above: In Goldeneye, Bond goes block-lie in this wool three-piece tuxedo by Brioni 
(53150). We've poired it with a cotton tuxedo shirt by Luigi Borrelli ($275), o silk foille bow 
tie by Sulko ($50) and o silk pocket squore by Robert Tolbott (obout $30), plus gold Ployboy 
Robbit Head cuff links by Butler & Wilson (obout $60) ond o wotch by Cortier ($6000). 


ames Bond is back in Goldeneye, and Pierce Brosnan comes off as the suavest 
007 yet—thanks to his clothes. Whereas Timothy Dalton's 007 looked "soft" 
in the slouchy styles of the Eighties (when the previous Bond film was released), 
Brosnan's wardrobe is elegant and refined—exactly what you might expect 
of a modern playboy. Of course, we're not surprised that this "playboy look,” 
asit was christened by The New York Times in a fall fashion review, is hot. As ev- 
idenced by the outfits on our Bond wanna-be, suits and sports jackets with strong 
shoulders and trim silhouettes create an air of confidence and success. We like the 
latest two- and three-button single-breasted styles as well as three-piece models 
with high-button vests. We're also glad to see that the navy blazer with gold met- 
al buttons has returned. Try it, as we have, with an ascot. And for black-tie occa- 
sions, combine a dinner jacket and vest with a traditional tuxedo shirt and bow tie. 


131 


: Look familiar? 

e Brosnan wore this wool 
bird's-eye three-piece suit with 
double-pleated trousers by 
Brioi 
too. We've paired it with a cot- 
ten piqué shirt with French 
cuffs, by Sulka ($225), a woven 
silk tie from Best of Class by 
Robert Talbott (about $100), с 
silk faille pocket square by 
Tino Cosma ($25) and leather 
wing-tip shoes by Kenneth 
Cole ($140), plus 18-kt.-gold 
oval cuff links by Cartier 
($3800) and с stainless-steel 
Sec Master Professional Diver 
watch by Omego ($1750). 
Right: The nautically inspired 
navy blazer with gold buttons 
is buck. This worsted-wool 
double-breasted model by 
Hart Schaffner & Marx ($325) 
is teamed with wool double- 
pleated trousers by Dimitri 
Couture ($295), a cotton shirt 
by Ike Behar ($165), a silk 
‘ascot by Robert Talbott ($90) 
and a stainless-steel Pasha 
Chronoreflex watch by 

Cartier ($6000). 


a 


«аф 
> ® 


9% 


HAIR & MAKEUP BY GARETH GREEN FOR ZOLIILLUSIONS 


WOMAN'S STYLING BY LISA VON WEISE FOR NAREK & ASSOCIATES. 


WHERE A HOWTO BUY ON PAGE 203, 


134 


Babe 
ШШ 


COURTENEY СОХ OF “FRIENDS” IS TV'S MOST ADORABLE 
FEMALE STAR SINCE MARY TYLER MOORE 


BY MICHAEL ANGELI 


1 mer Courteney Cox about a while a fourth gave her a 
year and a half ago, before [ORG Te) 28.3: Te т ЛЕШЕ comforting peck on the top 
she charmed her way past of her head. Even back then 


Roseanne, Crace, Ellen and 

Helen to become belle of the sitcom ball on 
the hit NBC series Friends. She was shooting a 
film at an abandoned hospital in Los Angeles, 
and she was the talk of our set—not for her 
acting ability, charm, beauty or her potential 
to become the 1995 Babe of the Year, but for 
the $80,000 silver Porsche Carrera crouched 
behind her dressing trailer. 

As the writer of the film—a Showtime 
weeper called Sketch Artist Il: Hands That 
See—1 ate lunch with the crew and respect- 
fully averted my eyes when an actor would 
pass. So I was surprised when Cox took the 
empty seat next to me. More important, I 
was thankful: I had had a dark premonition 
about the spaghetti (which is never easy to 
eat among strangers) and chosen the fish in- 
stead. I noticed her incredible eyes flashing 
in the direction of my plate. She had the fish 
100, so I took it as a sign to engage, as Picard 
would say. 

“How fast have you gone in it?” 1 said, 
pointing to the Porsche. Everyone stopped 
chewing to listen. When she answered “90” 
the entire table roundly booed her. Playing 
along, Cox hung her head in shame, the sin 
of forbearance conflicting with a body, as the 
saying goes, built for speed. Her disfavor last- 
ed about as long as it takes for Steven Seagal 
to snap off someone's arm at the elbow. 
Three people hugged her in quick succession 


Cox was playing Monica— 
vulnerable, open, cuddly and self-conscious. 
Sure, Monica would never drive a Porsche, 
especially one the color of Johnny Carson's 
hair. But like Gox, Monica would certainly 
have no qualms about eating with the help. 


Eighteen months and 24 Friends episodes 
later, we meet in a Brentwood deli for break- 
fast. Lam prepared to accept that Courteney 
Cox and Monica are one and the same, like 
Clint and Dirty Harry, Melanie Griffith and 
Minnie Mouse. She may be just a shade over 
5/5", but as she approaches my booth she has 
the shamble of a tall woman, that clunky 
blitheness of models who get up late and nev- 
er stay in one place long. Because most of the 
action in Friends involves walking into a room 
full of people and sitting down, she's had 
plenty of practice. It shows as she slides into 
the booth with the grace of a trapeze artist. 
After ordering a breakfast of grand-slam pro- 
portions, Courteney plucks my sunglasses 
from the table and slips them on. One wall of 
the deli is mirrors (we are in Brentwood, af- 
ter all), and she checks herself out. 

"Oh, see, these are way too cool for me," 
she insists, bobbing from side to side to catch 
her profile. 

"Here," she remarks as she returns the 


ILLUSTRATION BY OAVIO LEVINE 


PLAYBOY 


136 


sunglasses. "For my taste, 1 have to go 
simple." 

"But you're wearing three earrings 
in each ear,” I point out. 

"Hmmm," she considers, touching 
her earlobe, “maybe I'm a little hipper 
than I thought.” 

She's certainly hipper than Monica, 
den mother to an ensemble of young 
turks engaged in a weekly marathon of 
crises management. Monica makes the 
fewest gaffes, rights the most wrongs 
and serves up more fat pitches (in the 
form of straight lines) than a batting 
pitcher. But Courteney's dark 
at worst partly cloudy—what 
you see is what you get: niceness. She 
sits before me devouring an appetizer 
of bagel chips and ranch dressing, hair 
still damp from the shower, peasant 
shirt so baggy it could conceal a 
shoplifted rump roast. Is this really 
Monica I see or, to borrow a phrase 
from one of Cox’ dance partners, just a 
brilliant disguise? 

“I'm more complex than Monica,” 
she says, "but it would be more inter- 
esting for you to come up with the rea- 
sons than for me to tell you them.” 

As she builds a big, sloppy sandwich 
out of her bacon, eggs, potatoes and 
toast, she finds time between bites to 
talk about growing up in a tony suburb 
of Birmingham, Alabama. 

Hei father owned a constuction 
company, her mother maintained the 
household and raised four children. 
Cox’ parents divorced when she was 
ten, and they both remarried partners 
with children, providing her with nine 
new siblings. Through the magic of 
marital mitosis, Cox and former Police 
drummer Stewart Copeland are 
cousins. She got her first job when she 
was 15, as a salesperson in a swimming 
pool store. When I ask her if there's 
anybody back in Birmingham she 
would like to see again, she carefully 
sets down her jumbo sandwich. 

“If I wanted to see them, I would 
have,” she says, grinning and extract- 
ing a poppy seed from between her 
front teeth with a swipe of her tongue. 
“ГЇЇ say this about Los Angeles: I don’t 
like it that much and I feel a litle emp- 
ty being here. But it's so spread out 
that, in a way, you can't really become 
a regular. Not everybody knows you 
when you walk into a place. Obviously, 
it's totally different where I'm from. If 
you walk into a grocery store there, 
forget it. Everybody knows you, and I 
can't stand that. 'C.C., I'm so proud of 
ya," she says, laying on a thick South- 
ern accent. "Why, dawlin, you're no 
bigger than a minute, but you're зо... 
big. Tell us how you doin’. What's goin’ 
on with y'all?" 

1 compliment her on her accent, and 
she cocks an eyebrow. "I got my poise 


from cotillions. Acting, now that's an- 
other story. In Birmingham acting is 
not a viable option, believe me." 


Cox started modeling in New York 
the year after high school, dropping 
her plans for a career in architecture. 
Like Fabio, she posed for book covers 
and illustrations. There were print ads 
for Noxema and Maybelline that aptly 
branded her as having “scrubbed good 
looks.” Nynex cast her in one of its 
commercials—her first television ap- 
pearance. With the money she earned, 
she hired a speech coach. Those of us 
who turn into sweet potato pie when 
any woman (other than Brett Butler) 
drawls have Madison Avenue to blame 
for the absence of Southern accents. 
Once Сох successfully eliminated her 
drawl she began to acquire speak- 
ing roles. 

"You look really . . . hot,” she an- 
nounces, and 1 feel my posture (and 
prospects) radically improving. Then 
she adds, “That was my first real speak- 
ing line, when I was on As the World 
Turns. I think I was 19. I played a debu- 
tante, and I had to say it to this guy. 
“You look really . ... sizzling. That was 
it. Sizzling. Whatever it was, it was pret- 
ty embarrassing.” 

If there was a defining moment in 
the early part of Cox’ career, it was 
when Bruce Springsteen reached out 
and touched her. Director Brian De 
Palma picked her to play the adoring 
fan whom Springsteen beckons on- 
stage fora little New Jersey two-ste| 
his Dancing in the Dark video. "We 


а 
the shoot over two days,” says Cox, 
who describes herself as anything but a 
dancer. “We did the close-ups the first 
day—all that stuff with my eyes widen- 
ing, my speechless look—then we shot 


it live, in concert. I thought we had i 
but Bruce grabbed the microphone: 
and yelled to the audience, ‘What do 
you do if you like something a lot? You 
do it again" So we shot it twice. Same 
song" 

Although she was 20 at the time, Cox 
looked much younger. "I had that lit- 
tle-boy haircut, and my sleeveless T- 
shirt helped. I think I got paid less 
than $500. It was a buyout. That video 
has been on for more than ten years, 
and I don't get residuals.” 

Nonetheless, the exposure she got 
for doing an uncredited rump shake 
with the Boss enabled her to enter the 
marathon dance contest of sitcoms. 
Her first effort, NBC's Misfils of Science, 
got the hook after less than one season 
Fortunately, though, the producers of 
Family Ties liked her enough to cast her 
as Michael J. Fox’ girlfriend for the 
show's last two seasons. “When I start- 


ed acting, I didn't know what I was do- 
ing," Cox admits. “1 studied, but no 
matter how much you study acting, 
you still don't know until you do it.” 

After Family Ties, Cox took on work 
with the abandon of a dog-track bettor. 
Features included Mr Destiny, Blue 
Desert, The Opposite Sex, Shaking the Tree 
and the TV movie /f It's Tuesday, This 
Still Must Be Belgium. That's Cox as a 
marine biologist in Cocoon: The Re- 
turn, and that's her playing Roxanne 
Pulitzer's best friend, Jackie Kimberly, 
in NBC's Prize Pulitzer. There were 
spots on Murder, She Wrote and Dream 
On and a TV pilot, Topper, with John 
Landis. 

“The idea back then was if 1 was do- 
ing it and it was OK, then I was doing 
the right thing," Cox explains, refer- 
ring to her prodigious (and sometimes 
lackluster) output. "You see, it's easy 
for me to live in denial. I forget my 
problems. I'm a putterer. I keep busy. 1 
сап get the worst news in the world and 
not even think about it. Maybe it'll all 
come down on me one day. But I'm 
good at keeping in motion. 

“Oh my God, you're bored!" she 
suddenly blurts ош. “1 saw you look 
over my shoulder. You're bored." I am 
instead imagining that somewhere, 
buzzing across the horizon of her life, a 
little plane is towing a sign that reads: 
SEVERE TIRE DAMAGE. DO NOT BACK UP She 
accepts my explanation with cordial 
skepticism and then adds, “I’m very 
perceptive, and | see a lot. By watching 
people I learn a lot about them.” 


Cox' success playing straight man for 
the flurry of one-liners on Friends can 
probably be traced to her part in a film 
for which Warner Bros. expected mod- 
est acceptance at best. Ace Ventura: Pet 
Detective went on to gross well over 
$100 million and transformed Jim Car- 
rey into an offshore bank (Carrey was 
paid $350,000 for Ace Ventura; Colum- 
bia will pay him $20 million to star in 
The Cable Guy). Capitalizing on both the 
success of Ace Ventura and the likability 
of Cox’ character, CBS promptly of- 
fered her a starring role (her first in a 
sitcom) in The Trouble With Larry, with 
Bronson Pinchot. Larrys problems 
never had a chance to be aired, let 
alone resolved; the network pulled the 
show after six episodes 

“The Trouble With Larry was not a suc- 
cess by any means,” says Cox, “but 1 
liked the character, and playing that 
part is what got the producers of 
Friends interested in me.” 

Warner Bros. Television had this sit- 
com concept about six close friends 
who gather at a coffeehouse called 

(continued on page 196) 


ER / Hu 


"Isn't it unfortunate that business took us away from our families this Christmas?” 


137 


THE 


some astute 
advice about 

how to make 

your bachelor pad 
more conducive 
to romance 


article by CHIP ROWE 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY RICHARD FEGLEY 


FRIENDLY 


YOU'VE REACHED that point where you 
feel at peace with your place. The 
light from your bay windows blankets 
what can be called the spoils of inde- 
pendence. The remote sits within 
reach, the posters have been framed, 
the carpet is clean and the bed is 
made. Your corner of the world has 
found its voice, inviting guests to put 
up their feet and stay awhile. Every- 
thing stands out, but nothing stands 
out of place. 

You're ready for the next step: 
making your place sex-friendly. 
You're old enough to know that any 
spot on earth can be sex-friendly if 
you're adventurous enough—even 
the backscat of a Volvo or tlic rest 
room in ап airplane—but what you're 
after is sex-friendly and comfortable. 
The men from the boys, as they say. 

You may have a girlfriend, you may 
be looking for a girlfriend or you may 
be looking for another girlfriend. No 
matter. At some point, your living 
quarters will be put on trial. Your guy 
friends have already given it a once- 
over, and because you have a com- 
fortable couch and two varieties of 
beer in the fridge, you passed with 
flying colors. A woman won't let you 
slide so easily. Whether she’s on her 
way over for that crucial third date or 
your place has become her home 
away from home, making your pad 
female-friendly has distinct benefits. 
Done right, the feeling that great sex 
must happen here will settle over 
every room. The change will be sub- 
Че, a shift in style but not lifestyle. Af- 
ter all, you don’t want to change so 
much that it becomes her place. You 
simply will adjust the balance and col- 
or, much like you sharpen and bright- 
en the image on your television. Your 
home will become a place where a 
woman can kick off her heels, where 
she feels comfortable inviting you 
over to her side of your couch, a place 
to which she'll return but also a place 
where she knows she can't stay. A guy 
needs his space, but his space needs a 
woman. Just not all the time. 


APARTMENT 


We're not even going to bother 
telling you to take down the Pam An- 
derson posters, recycle the empty. 
beer bottles, vacuum all the pizza 
crumbs off the floor and pick up апу- 
thing that might be tripped over. 
You've already done all that, sensing 
that the unpredictable nature of a 
certain someone means she could 
pop in et any time. More important, 
а woman other than your mother 
might visit unexpectedly. Plus, you're 
a working stiff now; you like to come 
home to something more than a bunk 
bed and cable television. 

Let's begin with the main room. 
Give it a little extra attention. A 
leather reading chair can be a nice 
fixture; it says you're durable yet pli- 
able. It also announces MAN. A wom- 
an usually doesn’t dream of owning 
expensive leather furniture, but un- 
less she’s a member of PETA, she 
won't mind sinking into it. (To soft- 
єп the appearance of a full leather 
couch, drape a Mexican blanket over 
the back.) If you don’t own leather, 
have one piece of furniture that cost 
entirely too much, or one that comes 
with an entertaining story that takes 
more than 30 seconds but less than 
five minutes to tell. This could be a 
coffee table made from the ceiling 
panel of a monastery in Thailand, an 
heirloom mantel clock or a bookshelf 
built and handpainted by a blind car- 
penter you met on a road trip. 

Speaking of books, show variety 
rather than precision in your library. 
Reference books are fine, but make 
sure you have some great fiction (in- 
cluding a mystery on your bedside 
table) and some offbeat volumes sal- 
vaged at a garage sale. She'll peruse 
them as you prepare dinner. You 
should provide enough titles that 
she'll find one to slip off the shelf, 
turn over in her hands and say, “I 
loved this book." (It's a good idea to 
have read the dust jacket—if not the 
book—so you can make small talk.) 
Choose coffee-table books by Annie 
Leibovitz or (continued on page 179) 


138 


10 


FATALITY 


he has hurt your daughter, insulted 
your wife and ignored your warnings. 


now it’s time for action 


fiction by RICHARD BAUSCH 


SHORTLY AFTER her marriage to Delbert Chase, the 
Kaufmans’ daughter and only child broke offall con- 
tact with them. The newlyweds lived on the other 
side of town, on Delany Street, above a retired 
farmer's garage. Driving by in the mornings on his 
way to work at the real estate office, Frank Kaufman 
would see their new Ford parked out front. It was a 

demo: Delbert had landed a job selling cars at Tom Nixx New 

& Used Cars. Some days, the car was still there when Kauf- 

man came back past, оп his way home for lunch. 

“Lazy good-for-nothing- ^ he muttered, talking with his 
wife about it. "How can he get away with that? Nixx ought to 
have his head examined.” 

“Is she any better?” his wife said. “Mrs. Mertock said she 
saw her at Rite-Aid in overalls and a T-shirt, buying beer and 
cigarettes at nine in the morning. Nine in the morning.” 

Frank shook his head. “Ungrateful little. . . ." He didn’t 
finish the sentence. He had spoken merely to punctuate his 
wife’s anger. “Well,” he went on, “I wish her the best. It’s her 
life now. If that’s the way she wants it, so be it. Maybe she'll 
come back when she grows up a little. 

“This door is locked, if she does. That's the way I feel about 
it. This door is locked.” 

“Caroline—you don’t mean that.” 

But her mouth was set in a straight, determined line. 

With a roiling stomach, he headed back to work. When he 
passed the little garage, if the new Ford was gone, he would 
think of stopping. But then the fact of her neglect, of her 
heartless treatment of her mother, would go through him, a 
poison in his blood. 

They had opposed the marriage vigorously, it was true, 
having found it almost more than they could stand to watch 
the girl simply throw herself away in that starry-eyed fash- 
ion—quitting the university, discarding the opportunities 
they had labored so hard to provide for her—for someone 
like Delbert Chase. Delbert Chase. Delbert Chase. Kaufman 
kept saying the name, unable to believe any of it—this ex- 
sailor who had a tattoo of an anchor and chain on his upper 
arm and who had actually made several passing innuendos 
about whores in foreign ports, joking about it in that cavalier 
manner, as though his listeners would be impressed with the 
dissipated life he had led out in the world. And you could see 
how proud he was of it all. 

His arrival in their lives had been a trouble that came upon 
the Kaufmans from the blind side. But they had made every 
effort after the marriage was a fact to smooth things over, and 
to get beyond all the fuss, as Caroline had said to the girl once, 


PAINTING EY KEN WARNEKE 


PLAYBOY 


142 


talking on the telephone—more than 
six weeks ago, now. 

“Why don't you just call her?" Kauf- 
man suggested one early afternoon. 
“Just say hello." 

“I was the last one to call,” Caroline 
told him. "Remember? She was posi- 
tively rude, `1 have to go, Mother." 
Kaufman's wife drew her small mouth 
into a sour, downturning frown, mim- 
icking her daughter's voice. "And she 
hung up before I could manage to say 
goodbye." 

"What if I called her?" Kaufman 
id. “What if I just dialed the number 
and asked to speak to her? I could do 
that, couldn't I? ‘Hello, Fay. Hello, dar- 
your old father. How's 


“You go right ahead. As far as I'm 
concerned, it’s up to her now.” 

They went through the spring and 
into the hot weather this way. He hated 
what it was doing to his wife and didn't 
like what he felt in his own heart. 
Things were getting away from them 
both. Each passing day made them feel 
all the more at a loss, filled them with 
helpless frustration, a strange combi- 
nation of petulance and sorrow. Yet 
when he tried to talk about it, Caro- 
line's mouth drew into that deter- 
mined line. 

^I showed concern for her welfare,” 
she said. "I gave a damn what hap- 
pened to her. And that's what I'm be- 
ing punished for.” 

He went back and forth to work, 
drove past the garage with the new 
Ford parked out front. He thought 
about Delbert Chase being in there 
with her. 


Every morning. Every afternoon. 


In early August, Mrs. Mertock said 
she'd seen Fay at the Rite-Aid again, 
and that there were large bruises on 
her arms. Mrs. Mertock had wied to 
engage her in conversation, but Fay 
only seemed anxious to be gone. “I 
took hold of her hand and she just 
slipped out of my grip, just went away 
from me as if I had tried to get ahold of 
smoke. I couldn't get her to stand still 
and then she was off. She seemed— 
well, like a scared deer." 

Kaufman listened to this, standing in 
his kitchen in the sounds of the sum- 
mer night. He had been drinking a 
beer. Caroline and Mrs. Mertock were 
sitting at the table. 

“He's manhandling her?” Caroline 
said, after a pause. 

"I don't know," said Mrs. Mertock. “I 
just know what I saw." 


"I'm going over there," Kaufman 
said. 
"No, you are not" said Caroline. 


“You're not going over there making a 
fool of yourself. She’s made her bed, 
and if there's something she's unhappy 
about, let her come to us. For all we 
know she got the bruises some inno- 
cent way.” 

“But what if she didn't?" he said. 

His wife straightened, and folded 
her hands on the table. “She knows 
where we live.” 

Since Fay's adolescence, he had been 
Painfully conscious of himself as being 
only an interested bystander in the 
lives of the two women; they possessed 
shared experiences that he couldn't 
know, and there had developed, over 
the years, a sort of tender distance be- 
tween father and daughter, a tentative- 
ness that he wished he could put be- 
hind him. Whenever he drove by the 
garage on Delany Street, he enter- 
tained fantasies of what he might say 
and what she might say if he could 
bring himself to stop in on her. If he 
could shake the feeling that she would 
simply close the door in his face. 

One morning. perhaps three weeks 
after Mrs. Mertock's revelations, Fay 
showed up at his work. He was sitting 
at his desk. in his glass-bordered cubi- 
cle, talking on the telephone with a 
client, when he saw her standing at the 
entrance. His heart jumped in his 
chest. He interrupted the man on the 
other end of the line. “I've got to go, 
I'll call you back,” and without waiting 
for an answer, he hung up the phone 
and hurried out to her. 

She stiffened as he approached, and 
he took hold of her elbow. “Hey, 
Princess,” he said. 

“Don't.” She pulled away—seemed 
to wince. “I don't want to be touched, 


He looked for bruises on her thin 
arms, but her arms were dark from 
time in the sun. 

“Can we go somewhere?” she said 

They went out onto the landing, at 
the entrance of the building. It was 
hot; the air blasted at them as they 
emerged. She pushed the dark hair 
back from her brow and looked at him 
a moment. 

“Dol geta kiss?" he said. 
seemed to offend her. 


"Oh, 


ms 

He stood under her gaze, heartbro- 
ken, unable to speak. 

"I'm sure Mrs. Mertock has talked to 
you,” she said. And then, as if to her- 
self: “IF I know Mrs. Mertock." 

“Fay, if there is something that you 
need” 

She looked off. “I feel spied on. I 
don't like it. I can work things out for 
myself.” 

“We worry about you,” he said. “Of 
course.” 

“OK, listen,” she told him. "It wasn't 


anything. It was a Ише fight and it’s 
been apologized for. 1 can't even go to 
the store without ——^ 
incess," he began. 

But she was already walking away. “1 
don't need your help. Tell that to 
Mother. 1 don't want her help, or any- 
one's help. I’m fine.” 

“Sweetie,” he said. "Can we call 
you? 

She had turned her back, going on 
down to the street and across it, look- 
ing one way and then the other, but not 
back at him. When she got to the cor- 
ner, he shouted, "We'll call you." 


But Caroline would not make the 
call. "I'm not begging for the affection 
of my child," she said. "And I won't 
have you beg for it, either." 

“We wouldn't be begging for it,” he 
said. “Would we? Is that what we would 
be doing?” 

“T've said all I'm going to say on the 
subject. You were not on the phone the 
last time. You didn't hear the tone she 
used with me.” 

Caroline would not be moved. Even 
when, a few weeks later, he learned 
from a client whose wife worked as a 
nurse at Fauquier Hospital that Fay 
had been a patient one night in the 
emergency room, claiming that she 
had incurred injuries in a fall. Kaut- 
man learned this when the client asked 
after Fay. Was she feeling any better? A 
chill washed over Kaufman as the 
client went on about accidents in the 
home, so many—the scary percentages 
of broken limbs and lacerations in the 
one place that was supposed to be safe. 

“Broken bones,” Kaufman said. 

The client gave him a look. “I think 
it was just cuts and bruises.” 

As soon as he could extricate himsel 
from the client, he called Fay. “What 
she said, sounding sullen and half- 
awake. It was almost noon. 

“Fay, is Delbert hitting you? He's hit- 
ting you, isn't he? 

“Leave me alone.” The line clicked. 


He drove to the police station and 
the man he spoke to, а tall, long-jawed, 
middle-aged sergeant, seemed puz- 
zled. “You want to report what?" 

"Beatings. My daughter.” 

“Where is she?” 

“Home.” 

“I'm sorry—your home?” 

“No. Where she lives. Her husband 
beats her up. 1 want it stopped." 

"Did she send you here?” 

"Look. She's been beaten up. Her 
husband did ii 

"Did you see him do it?” 

(continued on page 182) 


B ue SS. 


“Not a very auspicious beginning to the Yuletide season, dear.” 


143 


Farrah Fawcett 
stars in a 


personal best 


ШШ 


HAT ıs stardom? To some it means 

money, bright lights, fans clam- 

oring for a split second of your 

time. But to Farrah Fawcett, a 
woman we have loved since she was 
our December 1978 cover girl, star- 
dom means freedom. “I can choose my 
own projects." she says in that sweet, 
melodic voice of hers—the kittenish 
voice of a tigress. "That means other 
people no longer can invent my image 
for me." It means that Farrah, who 
bravely quit TV's top-rated Charlie's 
Angels to test herself in films, the stage 
drama Extremities and а series of ac- 
claimed television movies, never quits 
looking for new challenges 

Now she's doing another brave 
thing. Yes, the rumors are true: Farrah 
does PLAYBOY. We spent ten days to- 
gether on the isle of St. Barthélemy in 
the West Indies. The setting was gor- 
geous; Farrah made it look plain by 
comparison. What happened between 
us was just what you would expect: 
truth and beauty. 

“I wanted to make an artistic state- 
ment,” Farrah says. “For years I've 
dealt with an image of me that other 
people created. Fans hand me posters, 
pictures, T-shirts to sign, and they talk 
about having fantasies about me! I 
decided, if they're going to have fan- 
tasies, ГЇЇ give them what | think they 
should have. 

"As much as I wanted this, it wasn't 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY DAVIS FACTOR 


STYLING BY STEPHEN EARABINO/SMASHBOX BEAUTY • MAKEUP By JOANNE GAIR FOR CLOUTIER USING MAKE UP FOREVER 
HAIR BY WARD « HAIR COLORIST ROBERTORAMOS/ESTLO SALON 


easy," she continues. Нег 
famous lover-housemate- 
hero Ryan O'Neal "gave 
me courage. I'm shy, even 
with Ryan. After 14 years I 
still can't let him see me 
change clothes! But he 
said, “You look incredible. 
You have the most beauti- 
ful body, not a flaw.” Ryan 
played pLaYBoY photogra- 
pher at home, shooting 
practice Polaroids until 
Farrah's doubts melted. 
On St. Bart's she surprised 
photographer Davis Fac- 
tor, who had shot an Es- 
quire Gentleman pictorial 
with her but hadn't met 
this new Farrah. “She 
amazed me,” Factor says. 
“Farrah is shy about her 
body—don't ask me why, 
it’s the body of an 18-year- 
old—and that shyness did 
not disappear. But some- 
thing new did appear on 
St. Bart’s. Something like 
the ultimate Farrah.” Fac- 
tor cites a blend of timing, 
setting and star that made 
"a moment that was meant. 
to be." 

More vital, perhaps, was 
a factor Farrah prizes most 
of all. “It’s all about guts,” 
she says. "It's about feel- 
ing what's right and then 
doing it.” Best example: 
Before she flew to St. 
Bart's, Ryan asked, “How 
will you do this if you can't 
stand even me seeing you 
nude?" Farrah bit her 
famed lip and said, "Don't 
worry. When the üme's 
right, it'll come to me.” 

Right again, Farrah. 


This is no act. “1 can't be sexy 
ап command,” Farrah says. 
“In fact, the worst thing a 
photographer or director can 
say to me is, ‘Be sexy.’ I lock 
up and have no idea what it 
means.” On St. Bart's she 
spent long days indulging 
“my heart and my mind's 
eye,” with all-natural results. 


“3 wanted these photographs to. be works of art,” says Farrah, 

“so the viewer's eye doesn t necessarily go-to. the nudity, but rather 

to the expression, the composition, the thought. 9 expect these photos to. 
be controversial. Most of my life has been. So why not the photos, too?” 


Ha ve ourself A ALL THE NRERT STVFF 


YOV SOT WHEN YOV 


MERRYSEHRISTMAS, WERE A KD 15 КАК 


BRETTER THAN EVER 


Left: Mickey & Co.'s 
block-steel chronograph 
meosures elapsed time 
in 1/100th of a second, 
displays doy, date and 
month ot the press of o 
button, ond offers ono- 
log and digitol time in 
two zones. It features on 
hourly ond a daily olorm 
(about $300). 


Ҹ 
Right: The Special is ап Ah 
eight-inch diescast-alu- "€ 
minum art deco car that а 

has been painted Бу = 

hand (and it even has 
Firestone balloori/ires). 

Only 4000 ore being 

produced, and each: 

comes in o vintoge-style 


bor with о signed certifi 
tole, by Neveo (5165). ~ E Y 
а E 


PHOTOGRAPHY БҮ JAMES IMEROGNO Right: Nopoléon ond his 
26 marshols are on the 

move again in this 

hand-pointed pewter 

limited-edition (250) 

minioture by Chris Viner 

of Soldiers of Rye. It 

comes mounted on o 

6"x15" wood bose, from 

Bryerton’s Militory 
Miniotures ($500). 


Below: This fourccar re- 


authentic grophics, by 
^* Lionel ($650). The S- 
“gouge track is from 
7 Scenery Unlimited ($3 

per piece for stroight 
4rock and $4 for curved). 


a Mt wv 


DOMINICK DUN 


Е ver since Judge Lance Ito granted опе 

of the few permanent seats т his court- 
room to writer Dominick Dunne (he sits next 
to the Goldmans), Dunne has become a 
fixture for Simpsonophiles. Everyone wants 
the inside scoop, and Dunne is cne who 
seems Lo have it, just as he did when he cov- 
ered the Menendez brothers’ trial. He can 
entertain with tales of conversing with de- 
fense attorney Johnnie Cochran in the men's 
room outside the ninth floor courtroom, or 
with stories of Hollywood from his days as a 
producer (“Panic in Needle Park,” “Ash 
Wednesday,” "Play It as It Lays,” “Boys in 
the Band," "The Users"). Two of the five 
‚films he produced were written by his broth- 
er, John Gregory Dunne, ond John's wife, 
Joan Didion. Bul the Dunnes aren't on 
speaking terms these days. 

In 1982 Dominick's 22-year-old daugh- 
tex, Dominique, an actress who played the 
older sister in “Poltergeist,” was murdered by 
her boyfriend John Sweeney, head chef at 
Los Angeles’ Ma Maison. Dunne attended 
Sweeney's trial and wrote about it. Dunne's 
older son Griffin is an actor and director, 
and his younger son Alex does volunteer 
work with children in San Francisco and 
hopes to be a writer. Dunne has written 
five novels, including "The Tuo Mrs 
Grenvilles,” which was made into a TV 
miniseries with Ann-Margret, and “A Sea- 
son in Purgatory,” subject of an upcoming 
miniseries. He told maveoy Contributing 

Editor Lawrence 


our most Grobel that he 
would not return to 
observant pralucing Бегде 
= а “I love my two- 
social critic  pronged writing 
life of novels and 
and court journalism, or 
whatever it is that 1 
reporter do. This came to me 
late in life, so 1 
talks about treasue being able 
x lo do it.” 
race and jus- n 
tice, the bur- — sso: So how 
5 id you manage 
den of being to get a perma- 
" = nent seat at the 
capote's heir Simpson trial? 


DUNNE: I wrote a 
leter to Judge 
Ito months be- 
fore the trial 
started. I've cov- 
ered many trials 
now, I'm interest- 
ed in the justice 
system, and 


and why he 
thinks 0.j.'s 
guilty as sin 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY JEFFREY THURNHER 


when it's abused I like to write about it. 
I told him all that. More specifically, in 
my own personal life I have had a child 
murdered and have been through it. 
That was the genesis—I had never 
been to a trial until the trial of that 
man. It awakened in me the fact that 
the rights of the defendant exceed the 
rights of the victim. That perhaps is 
why the judge placed me directly next 
to the Goldman family. I so totally un- 
derstand the feelings of the Goldman 
and Brown families. 


2. 


PLAYBOY: As a matter of interest and so- 
cial significance, which trial held you 
more: Simpsons or the Menendez 
brothers’? 

DUNNE: Simpson's does. I was riveted 
by the Menendez trial and I got emo- 
tionally involved in that, but this is the 
more interesting case because of the 
significance of what will happen when 
it’s over. This is going to be a defining 
moment racially. It's gone beyond а 
great trash novel. I look at it now as an 
American pageant. The whole country 
has a free front-row seat and we're 
watching all the justice money can buy. 
And it is a repulsive picture. What we 
are consumed with at the moment will 
forevermore be in the folklore of Hol- 
lywood—even though it's not truly a 
Hollywood story But because О] 
made a couple of rotten movies, it falls 
into that category. 


3 


PLAYBOY: Has the trial divided the me- 
dia, as it has divided the country, along 
racial lines? 

DUNNE: Absolutely. When Ron Shipp, 
the African American former police 
officer who was a great friend of O.].'s, 
took the stand asa witness for the pros- 
ecution and said O.J. told him he had a 
dream of killing Nicole, to almost all of 
us he was the most compelling witness. 
То me, there was something Shake- 
spearean about him. He knew about. 
the domestic abuse, had done nothing 
about it and was guilt-ridden. I was so 
touched by him. When he left the 
courtroom that day all of us realized 
for the first time that black and white 
members of the media had two totally 
different interpretations of Shipp. The 
whites admired him and thought he 
was wonderful. The blacks hated him. 
There was this black reporter whom 
I'm very friendly with, and she said to 
me, “He's a sneak, a snake, he's disloy- 


N S 


al" It was the total opposite of my re- 
action. It’s not as if there are any racial 
problems between us, but we are all 
aware that this exists. 


4 


PLAYBOY: If O.J. were white, would this 
trial be the same? 

DUNNE: No, of course not. That is why 
everyone deals with O.J. with such kid 
gloves. If O.J. were white and the two 
victims were black, this would have 
been over long ago. 


5. 


PLAYBOY: You are outspoken about his 
guilt. Are there still people you talk 
with in Hollywood who believe in 
Simpson's innocence? 

DUNNE: Ann-Margret told me she did. 1 
couldn't believe it. 


6. 


pLavnov: Do you think O.J. has con- 
fided his guilt to anyone—or has he de- 
nied it even to himself? 

Dunne: I believe totally he told [lawyer] 
Howard Weitzman. He has probably 
told Al Cowlings. Robert Shapiro prob- 
ably knows. Then he went into the 
mind-set that he doesn't remember 
what happened. I heard a fascinating 
story that I couldn't confirm so didn't 
use, but I can tell it here. It was told to 
me that on the first day the jury was 
seated, O.J. said to Johnnie Cochran, 
“If this jury convicts me, maybe I did 
kill Nicole in а blackout.” 


Ye 


pLaYROY: Do you think that O.J. is on 
tranquilizers? 

DUNNE: I absolutely believe it, because I 
don't think it would be possible for a 
guy with a short fuse like he has—and 
we have heard him scream on those 
911 calls—to listen to what has been 
said about him in this case without hav- 
ing some real rage come out of him. I 
have felt that he is tranquilized. One 
person close to the defense said he is 
under the care of two psychiatrists, and 
they can prescribe anything. 


8. 


PLAYBOY: Whatever happened to Rosey 
Grier, Jesse Jackson and other respect- 
ed members of the black community? 

DUNNE: Very interesting point. Why 
haven't they returned? Especially 
Rosey Grier, the spiritual advisor, the 
constant visitor. He has not been here. 
He's the one to whom O.J. is alleged to 


PLAYBOY 


158 


have confessed in the sealed papers. If 
we can believe what the National Enquirer 
printed, a guard heard O.J. tell Grier 
something like, “All right, goddamn it, 1 
did it, I killed “em both.” Judge Ito right- 
ly sealed that because Grier was there in 
the role of spiritual advisor, but I hope 
they're going to open that afterward. 
Since then Grier has appeared only 
once, during the terrible fight that 
Robert Shapiro and F. Lee Bailey had. 
Grier came to say a prayer. 

From the beginning I thought black 
leaders would come and sit in the court- 
room, but it just hasn't happened. The 
black leaders have stayed away. 


9. 


PLAYBOY: What's going to happen to O.J. 
if he walks? 

DUNNE: I know it's unfashionable to say 
this, but the fact is that he's a black man 
who has led a white man's life. And yet 
his salvation in this case has been or will 
be his blackness. It is as if he has revert- 
ed to what was. His days in the Riviera 
Country Club world are at an end. Life is 


Duck буу) 


going to have го be a lot different from 
the life he was used to. Faye Resnick 
said, "The kind of people who don’t 
think O.J. did it are not the kind of peo- 
ple he likes to be with." Fascinating line, 
don't you think? I'm also not sure how 
safe his life is going to be. 


10. 


PLAYBOY: Why do people like to talk 
to you? 

DUNNE: It's happened to me all my life. 
Somebody said I look like a defrocked 
priest. I’m one of six kids and when my 
parents had a party we would be 
brought down to say good evening to the 
guests and spend ten minutes. The next 
morning I would tell my mother all the 
stuff I'd learned and she would say, 
"How do you know that?" 


12. 


PLAYBOY: Erik Menendez’ lawyer, Leslie 
Abramson, told the BBC you were trying 
hard to be Truman Capote, but you 
didn't have his talents. Is that a fair 
analysis? And where have you gone right 


“Would Santa ask you to do anything that didn't turn him on?” 


where Capote went wrong? 

pUNNE: It’s not a fair analysis, but she's 
right. I don't have his talent. Truman 
was a better writer than I am, there are 
no two ways about it. But for her even to 
say that just shows how effective what 1 
wrote was, It really got to her. 

Truman was behaving alcoholically 
when he wrote Answered Prayers—that 
was what turned people off him. He nev- 
er recovered from that. He had this mis- 
guided idea that because of his genius 
and his brilliance there would be no con- 
sequences. He forgot about the closing 
of ranks when people of power are to- 
gether, which is one of the themes of my 
life. Every book I've ever written is about 
the ranks closing—either to protect 
somebody or exclude somebody. They 
closed to exclude him, and he never re- 
covered from that. He could have gotten 
away with everything he wrote except 
the story about Bill Paley. Babe Paley 
couldn't forgive what he wrote about her 
husband. And in a curious, alcoholic 
way, he could even have thought she 
would love him for it. As an ex-drunk 1 
can understand how your mind can go 
out of kilter. 


12. 


praygov: Have you seen Elizabeth Taylor 
while you've been here? 

DUNNE: Years ago, I produced a movie of 
hers, Ash Wednesday, and 1 have stayed 
friends with her since. I'm fond of her 
and have enormous admiration for her 
I've written about her, she and I are both 
AAers, and I see her every now and 
then. 1 had lunch with her during the 
trial on а Sunday at her house. There 
were five of us: Taylor, me, Larry 
Fortensky, Roddy McDowall and Victo- 
ria Brynner, Yul's daughter. I spent 
some time with Flizabeth alone and she 
was great. I'd heard these nightmare sto- 
ries that she was fat—ir's all bullshit. She 
looked great. This was just before her 
hip operation. And she played me 
Michael Jackson's new album before it 
came out. She and Jackson have this ex- 
traordinary friendship. Elizabeth Taylor 
once said to me when we were in Italy 
making Ash Wednesday and 1 was driving 
her one night during a blizzard, "I can't 
remember when I wasn't famous." She 
wasn't bragging. "This is my life," was 
what she was saying. Well, Michael Jack- 
son is like that too. And that is what they 
share. Lisa Marie has that too, from 
Graceland to Neverland. These people 
are at such a level of fame that they seek 
out one another. 

There were the most enormous speak- 
ers in her room. I thought they were 
pieces of sculpture. I asked her if they 
were new. They were speakers that Jack- 
son's technicians had come over and as- 
sembled for her to hear his new com- 
pact disc. I said, “Are you going to be 
able to keep these?” And she said, “1 
don't know." 


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13. 


PLAYBOY: What was the best—and most 
unexpected—advice you ever got? 

DUNNE: I went through this terrible peri- 
od of being on my ass for years. I'd lost. 
my Hollywood career, I was a flop, I had 
no money. I drank and said a couple of 
things that pissed off a few people. I was 
just dropped by everyone. I didn't get 
any more movies. In 1980 I went off and 
lived for six months in Oregon in a 
cabin in the Cascade Range, where 1 
stopped drinking and started with my 
new career as a writer, because 1 was all 
washed-up in Hollywood. While I was 
there I got a letter from Capote, and 1 
was astonished, because although 1 had 
known him for years we weren't letter- 
writing buddies. And he was famous and 
1 wasn't. His letter was one of admiration 
that I had dropped out of my life to start 
over again. He said he thought what I 
was doing was wonderful and he ended 
by saying, “But remember this. That is 
not where you belong. When you get out 
of it what you went there to get, you 
have to return to your own life.” It made 
such an impression on me. Because 
when I began to recover from the booze 
and the shame of failure, I was feeling so 
good about myself I thought maybe I'd 
stay there forever. His letter brought me 


Yos Knows if 
You ignote the past, 
You've doomed 
T yeyeat it. 
1 


back to the reality that you have to go 
back to your own life. 


M. 


PLAYBOY: Al Pacino had no real movie ex- 
perience when you cast him in Panic in 
Needle Fark. Did you consider anyone else? 
DUNNE: We were shooting it in New York 
and it was so low-budget that my apart- 
ment was the office. So we had to go with 
total unknowns. We whittled the lead 
down to two guys and did tests on each 
one. The studio thought they were too 
ethnic, but the director, Jerry Schatz- 
berg, and I knew that it was going to be 
one or the other. One of them knelt 
down on the floor and put his hands 
around my knees and said to me, "Dom- 
inick, don't give it to AI! Don't give it to 
Al!" That was Robert De Niro. 


15. 


PLAYBOY: Do you read your brother's or 
Joan Didion's books? 

DUNNE: 1 don't. My brother and I aren't 
friendly. We don't get on. We just don't 
see each other. I don't wish bad things 
for them. It's just that our lives take us in 
different directions. 


16. 


PLAYBOY: How many dinners at people's 
homes do you attend during the course 


Glenda Malloy 
one mofe Time? 


Tf it was only 
possible... 


ofa week? And who, in your vast experi- 
ence, do you consider to be the best host? 
Dunne: Five. All my life, I've gone out 
every night. 1 love hearing all the dish 
and all the dirt. And people want to hear 
about the trial and I've always got the 
kind of stuff they don't read in the news- 
paper. Tita Cahn, widow of Sammy 
Cahn, has these dinners of ten or 12 
people that are absolutely fascinating be- 
cause of the kinds of people she mixes 
Roddy McDowall is another one. In the 
high social world it's the Martin Davises 
who bring all different elements togeth- 
er. Dennis Hopper's birthday party was 
an amazing mixture of film stars and 
artists and writers, one of the best nights 
I've ever had. 


175 


PLAYpOY: How has our cultural life di- 
minished with the advent of technology? 
DUNNE: What I hate to see is the end of 
letter writing. I think letter writing is 
one of the most beautiful things—it's a 
way of communicating that faxes and 
telephones can't match. I love to write 
and to receive letters, but I think it's a 
thing of the past. 


18. 


PLAYBOY: Do you think the second 
Menendez trial will end differently? Will 
Erik turn on his brother, Lyle, in the sec- 
ond trial? 

DUNNE: Yes, I think it will end differently. 
1 think they're going to get them. And I 
think having Erik testify against his 
brother is what Leslie Abramson has in 
mind. That's why she wanted separate 
trials, but she didn't get them. Abramson 
has now become a TV personality and is 
about to become a talk show host. If she's 
going to be as rough on camera as she 
was during the first trial, it's going to be 
fascinating to watch. 


19. 


TLAYBOY: What's been Judge Ito's biggest 
mistake so far? 

DUNNE: When Rosa Lopez sai 
courtroom, "I'm tired, I don't want to 
answer any more questions, I'm going to 
go home now,” and deference was paid 
to her instead of putting her in jail over 
the weekend, which is exactly where she 
should have been because they already 
knew what a liar she was. I thought that 
was a very bad moment for Judge Ito. 


20. 


тлувоу: Do you think that Simpson de- 
serves to die? 

DUNNE: I don't. I truly don't believe in 
the death penalty. I could make an ex- 
ception, maybe, if it turns out that Timo- 
thy McVeigh really is the guilty person 
in Oklahoma City, with 168 deaths to 
his credit. 


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162 


SECOND SH IE [ED (nid Fert page 108) 


Beckerman disliked him instantly. The little man's 
eyes were troublesomely shifty and hard. 


breakfasted, he checked out the new 
items, poking and prodding them, look- 
ing for blemishes and flaws, areas of in- 
substantiality, indications of early disso- 
lution. None of Beckerman's work was 
permanent—he was careful to point that 
out to potential buyers, very careful, 
which was why this Miami thing was so 
maddening and disturbing—but it was a 
matter of professional pride for him nev- 
er to offer anything for sale that was like- 
ly to last less than a year. It wasn't always 
possible to predict à piece's life span ac- 
curately—he always pointed that out to 
them, too—but he could usually pin- 
point it within three months. Some ex- 
ceptionally evanescent items were gone 
within hours, some survived for years. 
Most lasted 30 to 40 months. The record 
thus far was 11 years, five months, for a 
Daliesque melted watch made of copper 
and inlaid with precious stones, set in a 
silver basin filled with mercury. It was 
one of his finest pieces. 

This group was promising. The Fsch- 
eresque staircase had a nice solid feel 
when he tapped it with his knuckle, and 
there were no soft places anywhere. 
Beckerman gave it three to five years. 
The goofy Giacometti, a lean, stripped- 
down thing of impressive tangibility and 
compaction, was a cinch for six or seven. 
Even the weakest of the three, the frog- 
gish thing (which had a hollow interior 
and some porous places on its surface 
and would therefore eventually begin to 
suffer molecular flyaway beginning from 
the inside out), looked good for at least. 
two and a half years, maybe three. 

He began running through the roster 
of possible purchasers. The frog would 
go to Michaelson, the cellular phone ty- 
coon, at about 30 grand: Michaelson 
loved strange-looking things that made 
weird sounds, and the relatively short 
life span—the fact that the artifact would 
vanish into the air in a couple of years— 
wouldn't be an issue to an art collector 
who had made his fortune out of some- 
thing as transient as phone calls. Mi- 
chaelson had once even said he was will- 
ing to buy six-month items, and even 
shorter-lived ones than that, if Becker- 
man would only put them on the mar- 
ket, which he steadfastly refused to do. 

Yes, Michaelson for the frog. The 
staircase he would offer, most likely, to 
Buddy Talbert, the leveraged-takeover 
man who had a weakness for mathemat- 
ical trickery, dimensional twists, mind- 
dazzling stuff like that. And as for the 
Giacometti-Seuss, well— 

The telephone rang. 

Not many people had Beckerman's 


number. “Yes?” 

"Alvarez," a quiet voice said. 

Again. Beckerman began taking deep 
breaths. "Look, there's no sense in you 
calling me. I told you I would phone just 
as soon as I had anything good to 
report.” 

“You haven't phoned, though.” 

“I'm still coming up short.” 

“Try harder, Beckerman.” 

“You don't seem willing to realize that 
these things aren't subject to conscious 
control. They're dreams, remember. 
Can you predetermine your dreams? Of 
course not. So why do you think I can?” 

“The things I dream about aren't sit- 
ting on the floor next to my bed when I 
wake up, either," Alvarez said. “The way 
I dream has nothing to do with the way 
you dream. Mr. Apostolides is getting 
very impatient for his shield.” 

"I'm doing my best.” 

“Give me an estimate. Two weeks? 
Three?” 

“How can I say? I try every night. I set 
my mind to it, last thing before I close 
my eyes: shield, shield, shield, shield. 
But | end up with different things in- 
stead, I can't help it.” 

"Focus your attention better, then." 

Beckerman's forehead began to throb. 
"I've told you and I've told you: I could 
focus for a million years and I still 
wouldn't be able to dream anything to 
order. Especially a complicated thing 
like that. The dream products are ran- 
dom creations of my subconscious mind. 
Why won't you understand that?" 
ell your subconscious mind to be 
less random. Mr. Apostolides paid a for- 
tune for that shield, and he loved it very 
much. He was tremendously proud of 
possessing it. He was extremely disap- 
pointed when it faded away.” 

"It lasted 16 months. 1 told you right 
at the outset it wasn't good for more 
than a couple of years." 

"Sixteen months is not a couple of 
years. He feels cheated." 

“The estimates that I give people are 
never 100 percent accurate. They know 
that up front. And I've offered to 
refund" 

“He doesn't want a refund. This isn't a 
question of money. He wants the shield 
on his wall. The patriotic pride, the 
sheer joy of possession—money can't re- 
place that. He wants a new one, just like 
the old. He feels very strongly about 
that. Very, very strongly. You have 
caused him great personal grief by gi 
ing him such a frustrating experience.” 

“I'm sorry,” Beckerman said. “I want 
only to please my clients. He can have 


his pick of anything else that I—" 

“The shield,” said Alvarez ominously. 
“The shield and nothing but the shield.” 

“When and if I can.” 
wo weeks, Beckerman.” 

"I simply can't promise that.” 

“Two weeks. You have given Mr. Apos- 
tolides deep emotional pain, Becker- 
man, and he can be extremely unpleas- 
ant to people who create anguish for 
him. Believe me, he can." 

"What are you telling me?" Becker- 
man demanded. 

But he was talking to a dead phone. 


The shield that Beckerman had made 
for Apostolides, had dreamed one hu- 
mid spring night three years ago, was 
one of his supreme masterpieces, one of 
his two or three finest works. He regret- 
ted its evaporation even more, perhaps, 
than Apostolides did. But he couldn't 
whip up another one, just like that, to re- 
place it. He could only trust to luck, the 
random scoop of his dreaming mind. 
And meanwhile Alvarez was hounding 
him, chivying, bullying, fulminating, dis- 
turbing his peace of mind in a hundred 
different ways. Couldn't he see that he 
was only making things worse? 

Apostolides was a shipping magnate— 
Greek, of course—and he was mixed up 
in a lot of things besides shipping. His 
name was on the Forbes list of interna- 
tional billionaires and his fingers were in 
all sorts of pies. His main residence, the 
one where he had so proudly displayed 
Beckerman's wondrous shield, was on a 
private island in Biscayne Bay back of 
Miami, but there were homes in London 
and Majorca and South Africa and Thai- 
land and Caracas, too, and business 
offices in Geneva, the Cayman Islands, 
Budapest, Kuwait, Singapore and one or 
two other places. Beckerman had never 
actually met or spoken with him. Not 
many people ever did, apparently. The 
artists dealings with Apostolides had 
been conducted entirely through the 
medium of Alvarez, who was some sort 
of agent. 

Alvarez had tracked Beckerman down 
on the beach at the Halekulani in Waiki- 
ki, where he had gone for a week or two 
of tropical sunshine during one of San 
Diego's rare spells of cool, wet winter 
weather. He was quietly sipping a 
daiquiri when Alvarez, a small smooth- 
faced man with rumpled sandy hair and 
a thin, graying goatee through which 
you could easily see his chin, came up to 
him and greeted him by name. 

Warily, Beckerman admitted that he 
was who he was. 

“I have a commission for you,” Alvarez 
said. 

Beckerman disliked and distrusted 
him instantly. The little man’s eyes were 
troublesomely shifty and hard, and 


"It's my fault. I couldn't resist telling them what a warm reception 
I received here last Christmas.” 


163 


PLAYBOY 


there was something weirdly incongru- 
ous, here on this sunny beach in 80 de- 
gree weather, about the fact that he was 
dressed in an elegant, closely cut Armani 
suit of some glossy gray-green fabric— 
jacket and tie, no less, probably the only 
necktie being worn anywhere in Hawaii 
that day. It made him look not only out 
of place but also in some way menacing. 
Beckerman, however, made it a rule nev- 
er to turn down the prospect of new 
business out of hand. After all these 
years of making money by pulling works 
of art out of thin air, he remained per- 
versely afraid that his prosperity would 
someday vanish, fading back to its mys- 
terious source just as his sculptures in- 
evitably did. 

“I represent one of the world’s wealth- 
¡est men and greatest connoisseurs of 
art,” Alvarez said. “You would recognize 
his name immediately if I were to tell it 
to you,” which he proceeded almost im- 
mediately to do. Beckerman did indeed 
recognize the name of Pericles Apos- 
tolides, and began to pay considerably 
more attention to Alvarez’ words. “Mr. 


Apostolides,” said Alvarez, "is, as per- 
haps you are aware, а student in the 
most intensely scholarly way of the hero- 
ic age of Greece, that is, the Mycenaean 
period, the time of the Trojan War. You 
may have heard of the Homeric theme 
park that he is constructing outside Nau- 
plia, with its full-scale replica of Aga- 
memnon's Mycenae, and life-size virtual 
reality reenactments of the great mo- 
ments of the Iliad and Odyssey, particular- 
ly the holographic simulations of Scylla 
and Charybdis and the blinding of 
Polyphemus, etc., etc." 

Beckerman had heard of the project. 
He thought it was tacky. But he went on 
listening. 

Alvarez said: "Mr. Apostolides is aware 
of the quality of your work and has ad- 
mired your splendid art in the collec- 
tions of many of his friends. In recent 
months he was particularly keenly taken 
by the remarkable figure of a centaur in 
the possession of the Earl of Dorset and 
by the extraordinary Medusa owned by 
the Comte de Bourgogne. Mr. Apos- 
tolides has sent me here to inquire of 


"He starts as a conservative Republican and ends up a knee-jerk 
liberal. What the hell happened to Scrooge?” 


you whether you would be willing to cre- 
ate something of a Homeric nature for 
him—not for the park, you understand, 
but for his personal and private gallery. 

"Mr. Apostolides must understand,” 
said Beckerman, "that I'm unable to 
work specifically to order—that is, he 
can't simply design a piece and expect 
me to execute it literally. My medium is 
dreams, dreams made tangible, and 
dreams are by their nature unpre- 
dictable things. I can attempt to create 
what he wants, and perhaps it will 
approximate what he has in mind, but 
I can make no guarantee of specific 
pieces." 

“Understood.” 

“Furthermore, Mr. Apostolides should 
realize that my work is quite costly.” 

“That would hardly be a problem, Mr. 
Beckerman.” 

“And finally, is Mr. Apostolides aware 
that the things I make are inherently im- 
permanent? They will last a year or two, 
perhaps five or six in some cases, but al- 
most never any longer than that. A man 
with his appreciation of ancient history 
may be unhappy to find he has commis- 
sioned something that has hardly any 
more substance than—well, than a 
dream.” 

Furrows appeared in Alvarez’ smooth 
forehead. 

“Are you sure about that? Isn't there 
any kind of preservative you can apply 
to particularly choice pieces?” 

“None whatever.” 

“Mr. Apostolides is a powerfully reten- 
tive man. He is a builder, a keeper. He 
does not sell the securities he invests in, 
he does not deaccession the works of art 
he collects.” 

“In that case perhaps he should give 
this commission some further thought,” 
Beckerman said. 

“He very much wants a piece of yours 
comparable to those he saw in the collec- 
tions of the Earl of Dorset and the 
Comte de Bourgogne.” 

“I would be extremely pleased to pro- 
vide one. But the limitations on the 
durability of my work are not, I'm 
afraid, within my power to control.” 

“I will explain that to him,” said Al- 
varez, who then turned swiftly and 
walked away. 

He reappeared two nights later, while 
Beckerman was enjoying a peaceful soli- 
tary dinner, looking out over the moon- 
lit Pacific, at the Halekulani's elegant sec- 
ond-story open-air French restaurant. 
Taking a seat opposite Beckerman with- 
out being asked, Alvarez said, “How 
soon can you deliver?” 

Beckerman had had an unusually pro- 
ductive autumn, to the point where by 
late November he had thought he might 
need to be hospitalized for exhaustion 
and general debilitation. By now he had 
recovered most of his loss of weight and 
was beginning to feel healthy again, but 


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166 


it had not been his plan to go back to 
work until the summer. 

“July?” he offered. 

“Sooner,” said Alvarez. 

“1 can't I simply can't." 

Alvarez named a price. 

Beckerman, concealing his astonish- 
ment with some effort, said, “That would. 
be quite adequate. But even so: My work 
very demanding—physically demand- 
ing is what I mean, with effects on my 
health—and I'm not ready just now to 
produce anything new, especially of the 
quality that Mr. Apostolides undoubted- 
ly expects.” 

Alvarez raised the offer by half. 

“1 could manage something by May, 
perhaps,” said Beckerman. “No earlier. 

“If the difficulty is that prior commi 
sions are in the way, would some addi- 
tional financial consideration persuade 
you to make changes in your working 
schedule?” 

"I have no other work waiting. The is- 
sue is entirely one of needing time to 
build up my strength.” 

"Maro" di 

"April 15 at the earliest," Beckerman 
said. 

“We will expect it at that time.” 

“Mr. Apostolides is fully aware of the 
conditions?” 

“Fully. It is his hope you will produce 


something that is unusually long-lived 
for him.” 

“Pl certainly try.” 

“Will there be preliminary sketches for 
him to see?” 

Beckerman felt the tiniest tweak of un- 
easiness. “You just told me that Mr. Apos- 
tolides is fully aware of the conditions. 
One of the conditions, as I attempted to 
make clear before, is that I have no a pri- 
ori ability to control the shape of the 
work that emerges, none at all. If he's 
dissatisfied with what I produce, he will, 
of course, be under no obligation to pur- 
chase it. But I cant give him anything 
like sketches.” 

"I see,” said Alvarez thoughtfully. 

"If he doesn't entirely realize that at 
this point, please see to it that it is made 
totally clear to him." 

“Of course,” said Alvarez. 

Which was the last Beckerman heard 
or saw of Alvarez for some months. He 
spent ten more days in Honolulu, until 
he felt fit and rested; and then, tanned 
and relaxed and almost back up to his 
normal weight from the rich island cui- 
sine, he returned to his studio in La Jol- 
la and set about preparing himself for 
the Apostolides project. 

Something Homeric, the man had 
said. Very well. Beckerman steeped him- 
self in Homer: the Iliad, the Odyssey, the 


“Miss, are you infused, as I am, with the spirit of goodwill 
toward men? And, if so, how much will it cost me?” 


Iliad again, reading this translation and 
that, returning to the poems again and 
again until the wrath of Achilles and the 
homeward journey of Odysseus seemed 
tobe more real to him than anything go- 
ing on in the world he actually inhabit- 
ed. He made no attempt at purposeful 
selection of design, and no effort at di- 
recting his subliminal consciousness. 
‘That would be pointless, useless, even 
counterproductive. 

After a while the dreams began. Not 
his special kind, not yet. Just ordinary 
dreams, anybody's kind of dreams, but 
they were rooted, nearly all of them, їп 
his Homeric readings. Images out of the 
two poems floated nightly through his 
mind, the faces of Agamemnon and 
Menelaus and Hector and Achilles, the 
loveliness of Helen and the tenderness 
of Andromache, the monsters and 
princesses encountered by Odysseus as 
he made his long way horne, the slaugh- 
ter of Penclope's suitors. Before long 
Beckerman knew he was at the threshold 
of readiness to work. He could feel it 
building in him, the sense of apprehen- 
sion, the tingling in his fingertips and 
the tightness along his shoulders, an al- 
most sexual tension that could find its 
release only in a tumultuous night of 
wild outpouring of artistic force. Becker- 
man pumped up his strength in antici- 
pation of that night by doubling his 
take of food, loading himself with milk 
shakes, ice cream, steak, mountains of 
pasta in heavy sauces, bread, potatoes, 
anything caloric that might give him 
some reserve of energy against the com- 
ing ordeal. 

And then he knew, getting into bed 
опе night in the first week of April, that 
the time was at hand. 


In the morning, after some of the 
most turbulent effort he had ever put 
forth, the shield was next to his bed, a 
great gleaming half-dome of metal that 
seemed to be aglow with the fire of its 
own inner light. 

Beckerman recognized it instantly. 
There is no mistaking the shield of 
Achilles: Homer devotes many pages to 
a description of it, the five sturdy layers, 
the shining triple rim of dazzling metal, 
the splendid silver baldric, above all the 
extraordinary intricacy of the designs 
that the god Hephaestus had engraved 
upon its face when he fashioned that as- 
tonishing shield for the foremost of the 
Greek warriors. 

Not that Beckerman's version of the 
shield was a literal rendition of the one 
that was so lovingly depicted by Homer. 
He never could have duplicated every 
one of the myriad details. A poet might 
be able to describe in words what a god 
had forged in his smithy, but Beckerman 
was constrained by the finite limitations 
of the medium in which he worked, and 


the best he could do was something that 
approached in general outline the 
vast and complex thing Homer had 
imagined. 

Still, it vas a remarkable job, a top-lev- 
el piece, perhaps his best one ever. The 
earth, the sea and the sky were there in 
the center of the shield’s face, and the 
sun and the moon, and more than a sug- 
gestion of the major constellations. In 
the next ring were images of bustling 
cities, with tiny but carefully sketched 
figures acting out the events of munici- 
pal life, weddings and public meetings 
and a battle between armies whose gen- 
erals were robed in gold. Outside that 
was a scene of farmers in their fields, and 
one of a landowner and his servants at a 
feast, and a vineyard and herds of gold- 
en cattle with horns of tin. Around 
everything, at the rim, ran the mighty 
stream of the all-encompassing ocean. 

He hadn't shown everything that 
Homer had said was on the shield, but 
he had done plenty. Beckerman stared 
at the work in awe and wonder, mar- 
veling that such a thing could have burst 
forth from his ovn sleeping mind in a 
single night. Surely it was the perfect 
thing for the Apostolides collection, well 
worth the staggering fee and more, a 
masterpiece beyond even the billion- 
aire's own high expectations. 

He called Alvarez in Miami. "I've got 
it," he said. "The shield of Achilles. Book 
T, the Iliad ” 

"How does it look?” 

“Terrific. Fantastic. If I say so myself.” 

“Mr. Apostolides is very involved emo- 
tionally with Achilles, you know. I might 
even put it that he thinks of himself as a 
kind of modern-day Achilles, the invinci- 
ble warrior, the all-conquering hero." 

"He'll love it," said Beckerman. “1 
guarantee it." 

Indeed he did. Apostolides paid Beck- 
erman an unsolicited five-figure bonus, 
and gave the shield pride of place in 
what was apparently one of the finest 
private museums in the world. He flew 
his billionaire friends in from Majorca 
and the Grenadines and the Azores and 
Lanai to stand before it and admire it 
He cherished that shield as though it 
were the Mona Lisa and the Apollo 
Belvedere and the David of Michelangelo 
all rolled into one. Which was the prob- 
lem. In less than a year and a half it be- 
gan to melt and sag, and then it was 
gone altogether, and suddenly Alvarez 
was on the phone to say, “He wants an- 
other one. He doesn't care how much it 
costs, but he wants another shield just 
like that one.” 


The days went by. Had Alvarez been 
serious about that two-week deadline, or 
was it simply a bluff? In either case, 
there was nothing Beckerman could do 
about it, He had been telling Alvarez the 


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167 


simple truth when he said he had no 
conscious control over the form of the 
drcam-objects he produced. He could 
givc himsclf little hints at bedtime, yes, 
and that was often helpful in guiding the 
basic direction in which his dreaming 
mind would go; but that was about as 
much control as he had. Dreaming up a 
specific object was something he had 
never succeeded in doing. 

He tried to go about the normal rou- 
tines of his business. He set up appoint- 
ments with the collectors to whom he in- 
tended to offer the three new pieces. He 
made arrangements to be interviewed by 
an important art magazine that had 
wanted for months to doa feature on his 
work. He met with his broker for the 
semiannual review of his stock portfolio. 

“I could retire,” he told the broker, af- 
ter he had gone over the portfolio and 
been apprised of the surprisingly strong 
gains it had made in the past six months. 
"I could sell all these stocks and put the 
money into municipal bonds and never 
do a night's work again in my life.” 

“Why would you want to do that?” the 
broker asked. “Itisn’t as if the work takes 
up a lot of your time. Didn’t you once 
tell me that you actually produce your 
entire annual output in just six or sev- 
en nights?" 

"Six or seven very strenuous and 
difficult nights, yes." 

"But you're a great artist. Great artists 
don't retire. no matter how wealthy they 
are. Did Picasso retire? Did Matisse? 
Monet was practically blind, and even 
richer than you are now, and he went on 
painting anyway, right to the end." 

"I am not Monet,” said Beckerman. “I 
am certainly not Picasso. I am Max Beck- 
erman and I find my work increasingly 
demanding, too demanding, and it is be- 
coming a great temptation to give it up 
altogether.” 

“You don't mean that, Max. You've 
just been working too hard lately, that’s 
all. Go to Hawaii again. Go to Majorca. 
You'll feel better in a week or two.” 

“Majorca,” Beckerman said bitterly. 
“Yes, sure, absolutely. I could go to Ma- 
jorca.” He said itas if the broker had rec- 
ommended a holiday in one of the sub- 
urbs of hell. Apostolides had a house on 
Majorca, didn't he? Everywhere he 
turned, something reminded him of 
Apostolides. 

He knew what was behind this sudden 
talk of retiring. It wasn't fatigue. The 
broker was right: He really did work on- 
ly six or seven nights a year, and, ardu- 
ous as those nights were, he recovered 
quickly enough from each ordeal, and 
there were new masterpieces to show for 
it. [fhe gave up work completely, his en- 
tire oeuvre would fade away in a few 
years, and then there would be nothing 
left to indicate he had ever lived at all. 
He would be utterly forgotten, a wealthy 
nobody who once had been a great 
168 artist, a rich old man sitting quietly on 


PLAYBOY 


some tropical beach waiting for the 
eventual end to arrive. The museums 
were full of Matisses, Picassos, Moncts, 
and always would be; but the moment 
Max Beckerman stopped working was 
the moment he would begin his slide 
into oblivion. He couldn't face that 
prospect. No, it was fear that had him 
thinking of retiring, of disappearing to 
some quiet and luxurious place where 
nobody would ever be able to find him 
again. Fear of Apostolides—of Alvarez, 
rather, because Apostolides was just a 
name to him, and Alvarez was a threat- 
ening voice on the telephone. The very 
rich, Beckerman knew, were utterly 
ruthless when they were thwarted. Run. 
Hide. Disappear. A villa in Monaco, 
an apartment in Zurich, a plantation in 
the Seychelles. He could afford to go 
anywhere. 

Beckerman went nowhere. He was 
surprised to find himself unexpectedly 
gliding into a work mode again, much 
too soon after the last episode of creativ- 
ity. He dreamed a small dinosaur- 
shaped animal the size of a large cat, and 
a perpetual-motion machine that ener- 
getically moved a complex arrangement 
of pistons through an elaborate pattern 
without pause even though it had no 
power source, and something that even 
he couldn't identify, an abstract bunch of 
metallic squiggles that to his relief melt- 
ed away within a couple of hours. Good 
work, lots of it. But not the shield, no. 
Not the shield. 

And then the two weeks were up. 


"Beckerman?" 

Alvarez, right on schedule. Becker- 
man hung up- 

‘The phone rang again. 

"Don't do that," Alvarez said. "Listen 
to me." 

“I'm listening." 

"What about the shield?" 

“Nothing. Nothing. I’m very sorry." 

“You'll be sorrier,” said Alvarez. “The 
dient is getting extremely displeased 
now, extremely. Holding my feet to the 
fire, as a matter of fact. I was the one 
who brought you to his attention. Now 
he requires me to obtain a second shield 
from you for him. Dream him another 
shield, Beckerman.” 

“I'm trying to. Believe me, I'm trying. 
‘The Iliad is the last thing I read every 
night before I close my eyes. I fill my 
head with Homer. Heroes, swords, 
shields. But what comes out? Little di- 
nosaurs. Perpetual-motion machines. 
You see the problem?” 

"I see the problem," Alvarez said. "Do 
you?" 

“Tell Mr. Apostolides that if he likes he 
can have my entire output for the next 
three years, free of charge, every single 
thing 1 produce. Only he must leave me 
alone on this matter of the shield.” 


“What he really wants is the shield, 
Beckerman.” 

“I can't give it to him." 

“Nobody tells things like that to Peri- 
cles Apostolides.” 

“One day the angel of death is going 
to come for Mr. Apostolides, just like he 
comes for everybody else, and the angel 
is going to say, ‘All right, Pericles, come 
along with me.’ Is he going to look the 
angel in the eye and say that nobody tells 
things like that to Fericles Apostolides?” 

“That's not my problem, Beckerman. 
My problem is the shield. Your problem 
is the shield.” 

"I'm doing the best I can. I can't do 
better than that.” 

“Two more weeks,” Alvarez said. 

“And then?” 

“Don't ask. Just produce. Sweet 
dreams, Beckerman.” 


He tried desperately to generate the 
shield. He lay rigid in bed with his eyes 
closed, envisioning the shield as though 
hoping it might spring fully formed 
from his forehead while he was still 
awake. But it didn't. Eventually he 
would drop off to sleep, and when he 
awoke the folloving morning he could 
tell at once from the way he was trem- 
bling and the ferocious hunger he felt 
and the stink of sweat in the bedroom 
that he had worked during the night, 
and he would look eagerly at the fioor 
beside his bed, and there would be 
something there, yes, a grinning ebony 
face with Picasso eyes, or a five-sided 
pyramid with a brilliant point of ruby 
light at its summit, or a formidable Wag- 
nerian horned helmet that might very 
well have belonged to Wotan himself; 
but the shield of Achilles, no, no, never 
that. 

He was exhausting himself in the ef- 
fort, dreaming every night as though his 
life depended on it, which quite possibly 
it did, and accomplishing nothing. Beck- 
erman was feverish all the time now, 
wild-eyed with weariness and fear. The 
effects of the energy drain were horrify- 
ingly apparent—he had the Auschwitz 
look, he'd become a walking skeleton. 
He tried every remedy he knew to keep 
up his strength. Steroids, glucose injec- 
tions, four meals a day, round-the-clock 
pizza deliveries, Nothing worked for 
long. He was wasting away. 

The telephone. Alvarez. 

“Well, Beckerman?” 

“Nothing.” 

“I'm going to have to visit you in per- 
son, right?” 

“What do you mean, visit me?” 

“What do you think I mean?" 

“Sit next to me while I sleep, and 
make me generate the shield?” 

“That isn't what I mean, no. 

"Don't threaten me, Alvarez!" 

"Who's threatening? I just said I 


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would come visiting. 

“Don't even think of it. There was a 
contract that said the object I delivered 
was by its inherent nature impermanent, 
and that I could not be held responsible 
for its disappearance after a stipulated 
period of time. The stipulated minimum 
was 12 months. Its in the contract, Al- 
varez. Which, as you know, Mr. Apos- 
tolides quite willingly signed." 

“You fulfilled that contract, yes. Mr. 
Apostolides now wants to enter into a 
second contract with you for a similar 
work of art. ГЇЇ be coming soon to get 
your signature on it.” 

“1 never sign contracts that stipulate 
the design of a particular work.” 

“You will this time.” 

“Keep away from me, Alvarez!” 

“Unfortunately, I can't. I'll be seeing 
you soon. And don't try to run away. ГЇЇ 
find you wherever you may be, Becker- 
man. You know that 1 will.” 


FEAT ROT 


Time was running out. Alvarez would 
be coming. The bell ringing downstairs, 
the voice on the intercom, and then the 
cold-eyed little man in the tight-fitting 
Armani suit, standing unsmilingly in the 
doorway, sadly shaking his head. And 
there would be no shield for Mr. Apos- 
tolides. Beckerman thought of a thou- 
sand different things he could do to pro- 
tect himself, each one more implausible 
than the one before, and finally he 
thought of the thousand-and-first, which 
was not merely implausible but appar- 
ently impossible, and that was the one he 
resolved to try. 

Never in his life had he been able to 
dream something to order. But that was 
what he intended to try now, with one 
last wild attempt born of desperation. 
Not the shield, no, plainly that was 
beyond his power. Not only was he try- 
ing to dream something at somebody 
else's command, but he was also trying 
to dream a piece that he had already 
created once, and apparently his mind 
was unwilling to go back over a track 
that it had already traversed. Every- 
thing he had ever made had been 
one ofa kind. 

But perhaps he could indeed by delib- 
erate intent dream something to his own 
specifications that he had never 
dreamed before, something that would 
rescue him from his dilemma. It was 
worth a try, anyway. 

That night he ate until he thought he 
would burst. He slept, and he dreamed. 
And even as he dreamed he felt a flood 
of sudden strange optimism, and what 
he found beside his bed the next morn- 
ing exceeded all his expectations. It was 
crude, it was badly proportioned, it was 
almost laughable. It would never fool Al- 
varez even for a moment. But it was a 

170 rough approximation of what he had set 


out to dream, and that was new, that was 
unique in his entire experience of the 
phenomenon about which he had built 
his life. 

He tried again the next night, and the 
next, ordering his dreaming mind to 
work with the material at hand and 
shape it toward perfection. The second 
night's work brought no visible improve- 
ment over what he already had, but to 
his delight there was a distinct transfor- 
mation a night later. When he awoke af- 
ter one more night of work he realized 
he had—in one paroxysm of despair 
over his dire predicament—produced 
precisely what he needed. 

If only I could have managed to do 
the second shield this way, he thought. 
Then I could have managed to keep my 
life intact. 

But this, at least, would give hima way 
of sidestepping the wrath of Apostolides 
and the vindictiveness of Alvarez. 

He looked down at the haggard figure 
lying on the floor next to his bed and 
said, “Stand up.” 

It shambled unsteadily to its feet. 

“Stand straight,” Beckerman said. 
“Hold yourself like a man, will you?” 

The figure attempted to improve its 
posture. It was, Beckerman saw, slightly 
lopsided, the left shoulder too narrow, 
the right leg a little short. Still, he was 
impressed with his own skill. 

“Can you speak?” he asked. 

“Yes. 1 can speak." 

The voice sounded rusty, and it 
seemed too high. But the faint European 
accent was a familiar one. 

“Do you know who I am?” 

“You are the artist Max Beckerman.” 

“Yes. And who are you?” 

A moment of silence. 

“1 am the artist Max Beckerman,” 
it said. 

"Good. Good. We are both the artist. 
Max Beckerman. Keep that in mind. Go 
to the closet, now. Find yourself some 
clothes, get yourself dressed.” 

“Lam hungry. I am in particular need 
ofa shower.” 

“Never mind any of that. Obey me. 
Get yourself dressed. And cover your 
body. Christ, you're nothing but a skele- 
ton with skin! I can't stand looking at 
those ribs of yours. Cover yourself. Cov- 
er yourself!” 

"What shall 1 wear?" 

"Anything you like," Beckerman said. 
"Whatever strikes your fancy." 

He went into the bathroom, took a 
quick shower. Then, ravenous, he 
grabbed up a loaf of bread and gnawed 
at it. The other Beckerman was dressed 
when he returned to the bedroom. It 
had chosen gray gabardine slacks, one of 
the good London shirts and Becker- 
man’s favorite black shoes, the John 
Lobbs. ‘Too bad about the shoes, he 
thought. But he could always have an- 
other pair run up for him. 


What time was it right now, he won- 
dered, in Zurich? Eight hours later, was 
it? Nine? Early evening, he figured. He 
picked up the phone and dialed Elise's 
number, 

Another miracle! She was there! 

“Wer spricht, bitte?” 

“It's me, Max. Listen, I'll be coming to 
stay with you for a little while, is that all 
right?" 

“Мах? Where are you, Max?" 

"California, still. But I'll be getting the 
next plane out. I'll be there in 24 hours, 
maybe less. Can you manage that, 
Elise?" 

"Of course. But why?" 

“I'll explain everything when 1 get 
there. Listen, I'll phone you again from 
the airport in an hour or two, when I 
know which flight I’m on. You can meet 
me when I land, can’t you? 

“Natürlich, liebchen, natürlich. It’s just 
that it's all such a surprise———" 

"I know," he said. “I love you, Elise." 
He blew her a kiss and hung up. He 
called the airport next and then phoned 
his usual taxi service to arrange for a cab 
in 30 minutes. 

The other Beckerman was still stand- 
ing next to the bed. 

"I am very hungry,” it said. 

Beckerman gestured impatiently. 
"Fat. Fat all you like. You know where to 
find it.” He began to shovel things into 
his suitcase: a couple of shirts, some 
slacks, his shaver, a pair of shoes, a few 
pairs of socks, some underwear, three 
neckties. 

‘The telephone rang. Beckerman went 
оп packing. After eight or nine rings the 
phone fell silent; and then, in another 
moment, it began to ring again. 

He closed his suitcase. Took a last look 
around. He probably would never be 
coming back here, he knew. 

The telephone was still ringing. 

“Should I answer it?" the other Beck- 
erman asked. 

"No," Beckerman said. “Just let it 
ring.” He picked up the suitcase and 
walked toward the door. The cab would 
be there in another five or ten minutes. 
He would wait for it downstairs. 

He paused at the door. The dream- 
Beckerman, dull-eyed, simpering, lop- 
sided, but his twin in all essential re- 
spects, gazed stupidly at him. 

"I'm expecting a visit shortly from a 
Mr. Alvarez,” Beckerman said. The oth- 
er Beckerman nodded. “He'll ring the 
bell downstairs. You press this buzzer to 
let him in. You got that?" 

"Yes. I have that." 

"Good. Well, so long, my friend," said 
Beckerman. "The place is yours now. 
Good luck." 

And be sure to tell Mr. Alvarez to give 
Mr. Apostolides my regards, he thought, 
as he headed down the stairs to the 
waiting cab. 


Prince Charming 


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DEAR SANTA (continued from page 96) 


PLAYBOY 


earth in just one night. I know that's 
what everyone believes, but I'm still curi- 
ous. I really want to know. How about, 
when you come to my house, ГИ wait up 
and you can tell me. You know, whisper 
the truth to me, and it will stay just be- 
tween us. 1 love you, Santa. 

I've been a good girl all year. I know 1 
got into trouble when my teacher de- 
moted me from chalk monitor for 
changing seats to sit next to Danny 
Anker. But he's the blackboard monitor 
and gets to sit in the front row next to 
the board, and the chalk monitor is just 
as important as the blackboard monitor, 
so I should have gotten to sit next to 
Danny. I bet 1 could have changed seats 
if 1 werent a girl. Also, Danny got real 
snotty when I switched, and he told the 
teacher I was talking too much. (1 think 
she was just upset that our class was in 
third place in grades, and she took it out. 
on me.) So you see, 1 didn't really do 
anything wrong. 

What I want for Christmas, please, is a 
Tiny Tears or some other baby doll, the 
kind that's just like a real baby. I'm not 
complaining, so please don't get mad, 
but this is the third time I've asked for a 
baby doll, and I still don't have onc. I 
don't understand why. Other girls get 
dolls all the time, even girls who don't 
want them. I think my parents worry 
that I would spend all my time playing 
mommy and not do my reading, so I'm 
asking you. 

But if you really can't do it, that's OK, 
because if I have to, I will save up and 
buy my own baby doll. 

That's all for now. I'll see you on 
Christmas Eve, and don't forget about 
our little private talk. I'm really looking 
forward to it. 1 believe in you Santa, 1 
truly do, but as my daddy says, you don't 
really know somebody until you meet 
him eye to eye. Merry Christmas to you 
and to Mrs. Claus. (How old is she now, 


by the way?) 
Counie Chung 


Dear Santa Claus 
My name is Alan. 1 have been a good 
boy this year. Not as good as last year, 
that's true. I figure I was about 15 per- 
cent less good this year. But compared 
with the year before last, when I had 
trouble being good because we had a 
new baby and they had to cut my al- 
lowance, I am about 20 percent more 
good overall. 1 think you have to take а 
long-term view of good and bad. 
There are a lot of things that 1 would 
172 like this year, but I don't know if I should 


So what do I want for Christmas? Are you kidding 
me? A little scoozini is what I want. 


ask for them all. The problem is, the 
more presents I get this year, the fewer I 
will probably get next year. It's impor- 
tant to keep 2 balance and spread your 
presents out evenly, so you don't 
get your expectations up and then get 
disappointed. 

On the other hand, the more presents 
1 get, the better it is for the companies 
that make presents, and I want them to 
have a good Christmas too. Plus, if every 
kid asked for fewer toys one year, some 
toy makers would have to go out of busi- 
ness. Then the next year we would all 
ask for more toys and there wouldn't be 
enough to go around. The ones in the 
stores would cost more because every- 
body would want them, and our parents 
would have less money for other things. 
It gets really complicated. 

And presents already cost more every 
year. I've been keeping track for the past 
three years, and I've worked out what I 
call my cost-of-giving index. If it keeps 
going up this way, it could really hurt 
Christmas in the future. I worry about 
that. (1 really like math, by the way.) 

Anyway, l've decided to ask for just 69 
percent of the toral number of presents 
оп my list. They are: 

© my own wallet 

© a new and bigger piggy bank 

* acoin collection set 

* aslide rule 

© an eyeshade 

If you want to bring me more than 
that, OK, but don't let it get out of con- 
trol. And another thing: Be careful 
flying your sleigh. The weather where I 
live gets really windy and stormy at 
Christmas, and more than anything 1 
want you to have a nice, soft landing. 
Happy holidays. 

Yours truly, 


Alan Greenspan 


Yo, Santy Claus! 

Hey, I was so good this year, they 
should put me in the newspapers. I was 
good to Audrey Ferrud, I was good to 
Lois Czienchek and I was good to Joanie 
Lapido—and that was just on the way 
home from catechism! So what do I want 
for Christmas? Are you kidding me? A 
little scoozini is what I want. A little 
yabyum, a little quim royale, a little 
pusstafazool. OK, so maybe I don't know 
exactly what all that means, but hey, I'm 
only nine frigging years old here. The 
thing is, I'm not gonna stay nine. Sooner 
or later I'm gonna know what all that 
stuff is and why I want it, and I want to 
be ready. 

You and the elves are good people, 


and I know you won't let me down. 
Your good pal, 


oey IDuttafuoco 
Joey Dutta 


PS. Why is Dasher's nose brown? 
Rudolph stopped too sudden. Ha, ha! 
That kills me. 


Dear Santa: 

I have been extremely good this year. 
At school I was on hall patrol for a 
month, and I caught 13 kids running 
and gave them notices for student court. 
That was the most of anyone. I helped 
Mommy with the housework a lot, and 
one night when she was sick I did the 
dishes by myself, including the pots and 
pans. (My sister tried to claim she did it, 
but 1 showed Mommy that my hands 
were all wrinkled from the water and 
that my sister’s weren't. I proved I was 
telling the truth, and my sister had to go 
to bed for fibbing.) 

Yesterday, I saw you at Macy's. You 
were so nice and I told you what I want, 
but just in case you weren't taking notes, 
I want a kid-size pool table (I loved The 
Hustler) and a Cutie Curls junior hair- 
style set, and for my Barbie doll, an ac- 
cessories briefcase, if you have one. (Ву 
the way, Jimmy Sampson, the boy who 
saw you before I did, lives on my block. 
He was telling you how good he was all 
year, but the truth is, he wrecked anoth- 
er kid's bike. One time he ran away from 
home for two days, and he picks his nose 
and wipes it on you on the bus. You can 
ask the other kids. So for him to say he 
was good is outrageous. I bet his Christ- 
mas stocking is a small. Anyway, I just 
wanted you to have all the facts in writ- 
ing before you decide what to give him.) 

1 hope you and the reindeer are hap- 
py and have a nice Christmas 

Your friend, 


Marcia С 


To Mr. Santa Claus 
Dear Sii 


ing this letter for myself 
I am writing it for my friend Jameel 
“Shakedown” Hooks. He is not good at 
writing and he is afraid you won't bring 
him anything because people say he's а 
bad boy. He is not a bad boy. Sometimes 
he isn’t nice, but everybody isn't nice 
sometimes. And that stuff thcy say about 
him, that he set fire to that car and killed 
Mr. Copeland's chickens with a shovel, 
well, that's just their word against his. 
Did they sec him do it? Can they prove 
that was his shovel? No! Until they can, I 
say it's just teachers and truant office 
picking on him, and he should get pres- 
ents like everybody else. And I want to 
remind Santa that Jameel is just nine, 
like me, and his family is poor and 
messed up and won't buy him much. So 
please bring him all the good toys and 
games that he deserves. And please 
make one of them a Tonka Toy model 
Rolls-Royce, because for writing this 


letter I get to choose one third of 
Jameel's presents for myself. By the way, 
I will also be writing letters for Hubie 
Roberts, Warren Hicks and Jerome 
Booker. If things work out, I won't even 
have to write a letter for me. 

You're a good and smart person, San- 
ta, and 1 know you will do the right 
thing, even though you're white. 

Sincerely, 


Dcar Santa: 

Have I been a good boy this ycar, or 
what? I’m asking. Frankly, I don't know. 
Are we talking in absolutes, like pure 
good versus pure evil, or are you grad- 
ing on the curve? I mean, I'm Jewish, 
and here I am asking a saint for pres- 
ents, which my grandmother would con- 
sider so nongood that she would cut me 
out of her vill. Also, about the letters: I 
hope I've been getting your name right 
all these years. 1 mean, you're called 
Saint Nicholas, Santa Claus, Kris Krin- 
gle, Father Christmas—what's with all 
the aliases? Is this about universal giving 
and goodwill or the federal Witness Pro- 
tection Program? Never mind, I'm sorry. 
I'm probably just making a big deal out 
of nothing (which I get accused of a lot), 
and I don't want to lose you. So let me 
close with this: All I need is my own TV, 
a Mr. Microphone set and some really 
sharp dothes. 

Thanks for listening. You have been 
terrific, 


Drive home safely, 


Jerry Seinfeld 


PS. You've been really good to me the 
past six or seven years. I'm grateful and 
I appreciate it, but I'm getting kind of 
big for this (I’m 14), so I think this will be 
my last year writing to you. Thanks for a 
heck of a run. 


Santa Claus, 

My name is Dennis Rodman. Don't 
forget it, OK? I'm writing to you this 
year because last year I went to see you 
at the department store, but there were 
about ten kids already in line, and 
there’s no way I stand in line with a 
bunch of chump kids. I don't even like 
most other kids, and having to stand in 
line with them is like being in the cafete- 
ria. | don't need toys that bad. I think it's 
a dumb rule, anyway. Nobody stand: 
line to see me. Also, that part about 
ting in your lap—I don't know about 
that. I'm just there to ask for some pres- 
ents, man. Doesn't mean I want to hang 
with you. But it is a little freaky, and that 
part is kind of cool. 

I'm not going to tell you that I was 
good all year because that’s what every 
kid writes, so how does that get you no- 
ticed? Plus, I think the whole good and 
bad thing is bogus. Call a dude bad, 
sometimes it means he's good. And 


when my mama says I could use a good 
whipping, that’s definitely bad. So TI 
just go on doing what I do, and you 
make up your mind. 

I will say this: I was real brave this 
year. At school I got my hand caught in 
the stapler, and I didn't even cry. Every- 
body got all excited, and 1 actually kind 
of liked it. And when the barber slipped 
and stuck a hole in my ear with his scis- 
sors, 1 just laughed. It was cool. 

As faras presents go, 1 know what I re- 
ally want, but I can't think of how you 
could actually bring me a tattoo. My ma- 
ma would roll back her eyes and fall on 
the floor. That's why I want one. You 
could bring me one of those Mr. T action 
toys, where he's got about a suitcase of 
chain on him. Or, if you want, you can 
keep the Mr. T and just bring me the 
chain: 

If you have any pirate stuff, I'd like 
that, especially the eye patch and the 
earring. And one of those parrots to put 
on my shoulder would be cool. But no 
cowboy stuff. Cowboy stuff is dumb. I 
mean, hey, spurs? 

You could also bring me a razor so I 
could shave my head. That would be 
very cool. Boom, there goes Mama 
again. Come to think of it, I wouldn't 
mind having my own stapler and some 
scissors. 

Oh yeah, Mama says I should ask you 
for some clothes, too. But whatever it is, 
just make it colorful. Day-Glo stuff, the 
brighter the better. I want to stand out 
like a barking dog. І want to turn some 
heads. “Yeah, I look like a stoplight, live 
with it.” I want the Christmas tree to 
look at me and go “Damn!” 

Anyway, just don't forget my name. 
That's the main thing. 


‘Thanks. Bye. 


Dear Santa, 

How are you? I am fine. My name is 
Brian, but some people call me Kato and 
you can, too. Kato is the Green Hornet's 
partner, and I like him because he's 
good-looking and sharp and most of all 
because he's on ТУ. That would be 
great, being on TV. 

I've been good this year. 1 help my 
mom а lot with cleaning the house. My 
dad always says, "Everybody has to earn. 
their keep” and "You live here, you're 
not a guest" and things like that. 1 don't 
mind the work, but someday I would like 
to be a real guest. 

Also, I did lots of good deeds for oth- 
ers. I picked up Mr. Boyd's mail when he 
was arrested for driving bad and helped 
the Stockers clean up after their play- 
room caught fire. When Lee Bloom wi 
going to get spanked for breaking a 
dow, I told how we were at a roller rink 
together when it happened. 1 like help- 
ing people who are having trouble. 

(About cleaning the house: I didn't 
mean that 1 do big jobs like waxing the 
floors or doing the laundry. But I do the 
dusting and run the vacuum and wash 
dishes. Maybe I didn’t make that real 
clear.) 

For presents I would like some slot 
cars and swim fins and a camera. And an 
О.]. Simpson football jersey. He plays for 
the Bills and won the Heisman trophy 
and he's my hero. I'd do anything for 
OJ. Other than that, instead of more 
presents, I would like more friends. 1 
like having lots of friends. Especially 
friends who live in big fancy houses with 
pools and lots of swell stuff to play with. 
Best of all would be friends whose dads 
work for TV shows. 

Do you stop at Johnny Carson's 
house? What's he like? Does he like kids? 
Do you think he would put a kid on his 
show? I tell jokes all the time, and my 


“Kris! It's seven o'clock already! Will you stop 
surfing that damn Net!” 


173 


friends think I'm really funny. Could 
you mention me if you see him? } bet 
you go to the homes of a lot of TV 
stars and producers. If I leave photos of 
myself by the fireplace, would you 
drop them off at some of those places, 
please? That would be the best present 
of all. 

(Again, about cleaning the house: 1 
run the vacuum only in my room, not all 
over the house, and I mostly just do the 
breakfast dishes during summer vaca- 
tion. I don't want you to think I’m lying 
or trying to hide anything.) 

Anyway, I hope you'll come to my 
house again this year. ] know you were 
here last year because you left me the 
surfer shirt and because you woke me 
up. I heard three thumps on the roof 
and I knew it was you. Well, 1 didn't re- 
ally know it was you because I didn't ac- 
tually see you or anything. So maybe you 
were leaving stuff someplace else. But it 
doesn't hurt to believe. 

I hope you have a merry Christmas. 
Anything you can do for me will be 
great. Thank you. 


PLAYBOY 


Your good friend, 


Santa Claus: 

I've been good this year. I'm good 
every year. But I'm not asking for any- 
thing from you. First, I think children 
should be good because they're sup- 
posed to be, not to get free toys and 
games that are just a waste of time. Also, 
giving things away is like communism. 
Second, I think something wrong is go- 
ing on here. Who are you, and where do 
you get all the money to give toys to chil- 
dren? Why do you make children sit on 
your lap? I don't think that’s right. 
Somebody should stop it or at least keep 
an eye on you. 

And what's going on up there at the 
North Pole? It's just you and a bunch of 
elves. There are no women around, and 
the elves wear those silly, girlie outfits. 
And what about that red suit? Why don't. 
you dress like a normal person? Red іх a 
communist color, you know. 

1 don't think you're a real saint. The 
real saints were skinny and had to suffer 
for being good Christians, but every 
time we see you, you're all jolly and go- 
ing ho-ho-ho. What's so funny? Are you 
on some kind of illegal drug? ] think 
what you're doing is perverting little 
children. Christmas is supposed to be 
about Jesus and church, not about get- 
ting toys and having parties and be- 
ing out of school. J hope somebody 


gets you. 


Dear Ms. Claus: 
I'm writing to you because why should 
174 your husband get all the attention? I'll 


bet that you do all the work around the 
North Pole, but he gets the credit for 
everything because he's a man. 

And another thing: If I want presents, 
why should I have to ask some man? Es- 
pecially when he makes litde girls sit on 
his lap if they want something. I think he 
just uses Christmas to put his hands on 
us. What a pig. Men stink. Boys do too. 
They're stuck-up and think they're so 
hot and they hate you if you beat them at 
arm wrestling. And they get all the best. 
toys, like Swiss Army knives and hiking 
boots and Junior Diesel Mechanic sets. 
"Those are the kinds of Christmas pres- 
ents [ want. They gave me a Little Pre- 
cious makeup kit last year and J took it 
outside and stomped on it. 

I think men invented Christmas so 
they could get all kinds of good toys 
while women have to bake stuff. You 
should start your own Christmas, one 
that's for girls only. Until then, Santa is 
just using you. Dump him. You can stay 
with те. 

Very seriously, 


Andrea workin 


Dear Santa: 

How are you doing? 1 hope you've 
had a successful year and have come up 
with a lot of new and interesting toys. It's 
really neat how you're able to do that 
year after year. 1 guess that's how you 
stay number one in the Christmas pres- 
ents business. 

Actually, I admire the way you run 
Christmas. You really have a handle on 
it. You find out what people want (with 
letters like this and having kids tell you 
in person), and then you make the pres- 
ents and control how they're delivered. 
It’s an impressive operation. 

I also like how you've got it to where 
when somebody says "Christmas pres- 
ents,” people automatically think Santa 
Claus. What a marketing advantage. 
Best of all, even though you're a huge 
success, people still don't know much 
about your private life. It’s just rumors. 
That's so neat. 

I think being at the North Pole helps. 
That was a good move. For example, 
when you're designing toys, only your 
elves know what you're doing, and 
you're way up there where nobody can 
spy on you and steal your ideas. And 
even if they do, you can always just let it 
out that you're making the same stuff to 
bring to people for free, so why would 
they buy the other guy's stuff? 

Also, other people who make Christ- 
mas presents cant deliver them like you 
can. Yours is the only sleigh on the distri- 
bution highway. You must get some 
great discounts from them, because if 
they don't play ball you can just refuse to 
give out their presents. Very sharp. 

What I don't get is why you give away 
stuff. That's the dumbest idea Гуе ever 


heard. I admit, it's why you're number 
onc—who could compete with a deal like 
that? But it must make it hard to stay in 
business, especially when you have to 
visit every kid in the world. You have to 
keep growing or fail. 

Here's an idea on how you can help 
finance your operation: Give everybody 
at least one battery-operated present at 
Christmas, then you could make batter- 
ies and sell them the rest of the year. It 
would create a demand: You give people 
something and then sell them what they 
need to make it work. 

Another thing, about you coming 
down the chimney. That's so slow and in- 
efficient. And what about all the people 
who don't have chimneys? Santa, 1 have 
опе word for you: windows. Everybody 
has windows. 

That's about all I have to say. You're 
probably wondering if] was good or bad 
this year, but I don't really like to talk 
about my personal life, if that's OK. (Just 
out of curiosity; When you were a boy, 
did any of the other kids call you a nerd?) 
Anyway, 1 don’t really have anything to 
ask for. Mostly I think up something to 
play with and then I build it myself. 1 
guess I'm sort of like you—1 make my 
own toys. 


Best of luck, 


Lilly Gates 
Santa Claus— 


I'm not going to tell you my name be- 
cause I'm mad at you. Anyway, if it's true 
that you're so smart and know when kids 
are sleeping and awake and whether 
they've been bad or good, then you'll 
know who 1 am. And if you don't, who 
cares? I just want to tell you that you had 
better start bringing different stuff. 

Last year I got a Lionel train set. Do 
you know that the railroads ruined thc 
country and split up the buffalo herds 
and hurt the Indians and made every- 
thing crowded and dirty and polluted? 
Well, it's true. Giving kids toy trains and 
cars and Erector sets just teaches them to 
love the cities and freeways and factories 
that spoil everything. If you know what's 
good for you, you'll go back to giving 
stuff like Lincoln Logs and Tinker Toys. 
wooden toys that don't mess up nature 
as much. Otherwise, maybe I will have to. 
mail you a “present” that you won't like. 
You know that chemistry set you gave 
me two years ago? | hated it. But I'll use 
it if I have to, even if it makes me look 
hypocritical. We wouldn't want Mrs. 
Claus to be a widow, would we? 

A friend 


(Alca “The Yalebouber') 


PS. You came to the mall last week in a 
helicopter. That was bad. Just stick with 
the reindeer and the sleigh. Or else you 
can look out. 


GEORGE FOREMAN (continu rom pase 68) 


1 just messed up. I had a good wife and 1 got to be 
heavyweight champ, and that blew my mind. 


that, there's no way I could have waited 
until the tenth round to win the title by a 
knockout. You cannot step over that bar- 
rier. It's like some horses—and I know 
because I raise them—that don't want to 
win. They'll act like they were edged out 
by a nose, but they know they didn't 
want to win. They were just running, 
running, running, even though they 
knew, “I'm not supposed to beat that 
horse. He’s trying to be a winner." 
PLAYBOY: You're saying that horses actu- 
ally have consciousness? 

FOREMAN: Sure they do. They'll run fast, 
as if they're bursting their hearts, but 
they know they're not supposed to pass 
certain horses. And the horses that re- 
fuse to be beaten are the real champions. 
PLAYBOY: And the same thing holds true 
for boxers? 

FOREMAN: Yes. But every now and then 
someone will hold the heavyweight title 
until a real champion comes along. 
Someone has to be in the White House 
until a real president comes along. 
‘There will come a time when one of the 
guys who is fighting just for money ends 
up with the title. And the winner is: "Oh, 
wow—me?” But when a champion 
comes along, the pretender knows he’s 
not supposed to be there. He knows. 
Like Michael Moorer. He knew. 
PLAYBOY: You're talking a great deal 
about will here. 

FOREMAN: It's called willpower—and ГЇЇ 
tell you a secret: In 1987, I heard the 
Lord speak to me and he said he was go- 
ing to give me the gilt of willpower. And 
now I have it. It's a gift that he gave to 
me, and I can decide what I'm going to 
do with it. 

PLAYBOY: You actually heard this? 
FOREMAN: I actually heard it. But to boast 
about it would be unfair. It’s like if some- 
one gave you a gold Rolex watch with di- 
amonds all over it, and you turned 
around and said, "Look what I got, man. 
You got to get like me." It's just a gift I 
was given. A gift of willpower. 

PLAYBOY: And when you woke up the 
next morning? 

FOREMAN: I kind of stuttered and said, 
“Well, maybe I missed something.” But 
the day my wife dropped me ten miles 
from home and 1 made it back running, 
І knew 1 was a different man. In fact, 
now I know I have two gifts: the gift of 
willpower and the gift of a good wife. 
[Laughs] 

PLAYBOY: Has combining the careers of a 
preacher and a boxer been difficult? 
FOREMAN: Not at all. As a matter of fact, 
it's helped me. When I began my return 
to boxing—my first fight back in Sacra- 


mento—hundreds of churches wanted 
me to speak. And because of the fight 1 
was right in the area. I got the prisons 
and I got the churches, and all at some- 
one else's [the promoter's] expense—be- 
cause I certainly wasn't going to ask the 
people who invited me to speak to pay 
me, even though I'd completely run out 
of money. I gave those people my mes- 
sage about the good life, and how 1 
found God and how it changed me for 
the better. 

PLAYBOY: What changes did you sec in 
yourself? 

FOREMAN: The major change is that I 
now have peace of mind. First you have 
to be totally crazy and unorganized and 
desperate to understand how great 
peace of mind is. I was definitely out 
there, and I'd explain to people about 
how my life had been and how it is now. 
PLAYBOY: How was your life? 

FOREMAN: I was always looking for some- 
thing, and whenever it looked like I was 
about to get it, it seemed that someone 
would snatch it from me. That would 
give me someone to hate, someone to 
distrust, someone to get even with. So 
I'd say, "Forget that,” and go after some- 
thing else. But someone would mess that. 
up, too. Eventually, I didn't want any- 
thing because I was sure I was going to 
lose it. I didn't trust nature, I didn't trust 
man and I didn't trust woman. 

PLAYBOY: Was your distrust in the last 
what broke up your first marriage? 
FOREMAN: Certainly, because I couldn't 


FRED T BARTHOLOMEW 


CHANNELING ST. NICK 


LLOYD'S NeW AGE GIFT SHOP. | 


trust. I was married once before I found 
religion. And my other marriages hap- 
pened after I found religion. With those 
I was looking to serve the good Lord, 
and I wanted a wife—one who would get 
into what I was doing. But they didn't 
want what I wanted. 

But that first marriage, of course, I 
just messed up. I had a good wife and I 
got to be heavyweight champ of the 
world, and that blew my mind. One day 
you're anonymous, and the next day, 
man, you're popular. And the prettiest 
girls in the world were sitting there say- 
ing, “Are you George?" I'd say, “You bet- 
ter believe I’m George." I just couldn't 
handle that. 1 lost my wife, but I lost my 
conscience first. 

PLAYBOY: You were sampling the fringe 
benefits of fame? 

FOREMAN: Yes. The first time anything 
happened I was in Jamaica. All of a sud- 
den the prettiest girls there were inter- 
ested in me. I couldn't make the flight. 
home that I was supposed to take, so I 
had to spend an extra night in Jamaica. 
I met a girl, and I courted her. Slept with 
her. It was a couple of days before I went 
home to my wife, who had just had a 
child. I felt like a dirty rat. That was the 
beginning of the crumbling of my mar- 
riage. The first time it happened 1 
thought, Oh, if I could only get myself 
clean—I actually wanted to burn my 
clothes. The second time it happened, it 
wasn't so tough. The third time it wasn't 
tough at all. After a while, it was like I 
didn't know what was right. During the 
ten years | didn’t box I reconsidered 
everything I'd done in my life, and what 
1 would have changed if Га had the 
chance. 

PLAYBOY: What changes would you have 
made? 


175 


PLAYBOY 


FOREMAN: I never would have courted 
women and not married them. I went 
around the world, and the only thing 
that was important to me was a date. 1 
never met people and shook hands and 
said, " How do you do? Look at this river, 
look at this sea!" But then I did get a 
chance to do it all over. This time when I 
went around the world, I never dated, 
because I had my nice wife with me. So 1 
did it right. 

And now I have peace of mind that's 
built on nothing but me. I mean, if a 
hurricane takes off the roof—or whatev- 
er comes next—it has nothing to do with 
how I feel about myself. I've got peace of 
mind that's not based on what I have or 
what I can get. 

PLAYBOY: You sure it has nothing to do 
with your success? 

FOREMAN: It has nothing at all to do with 
it. As a matter of fact, I was just sitting 
here, and if you hadn't stopped by, I 
wouldn't have even thought about being 


“Hey, boxing champion!" OK, there's 
going to be a boxing match in Las Vegas, 
and it’s for the championship. Right. 
And when I get there I'll box. But I don't 
rush into it, nor do I dwell on it. 

PLAYBOY. Your second—and, you say, 
final —retirement from boxing is now 
only a few weeks away. Do you intend to 
have any connection with the sport after 
you hang up your gloves? Dan Duva, a 
pretty fair promoter himself, thinks you 


could be a great promoter. In fact, he 
feels you already are a great promoter. 
FOREMAN: 1 wouldn't be true to it be- 
cause, basically, | wanted to box, get the 
heavyweight title and make money. And 
if I drop pieces of that, 1 would scorch 
my whole personality. So, no, I don't see 
myself involved in promotion at all. 
Maybe I've left boxing the way it 
should be now. Maybe 1 finally put on a 
good, honest boxing show. But I don't 
think Га be able to take this attitude 
about boxing and apply it as a promoter. 
PLAYBOY: What if you met a young fighter 
who possessed all the attributes you say а 
champion must have. Would you want to 
be his promoter or manager? 
FOREMAN: That would probably have to 
be the most mysterious. frightening, ex- 
citing, greatest thing in the world to feel. 
Wow. would I love to see that man! And 
I don't mean just a boxer. You got 999 
boxers, but there's only one champion. 
And that kind of thing flows. It's like, 
"Come on, champ!" You carry him 
around with you and he's got that fire. 
You wrap his hands and you can feel it. 
Actually, it's not one in a thousand, it's 
one in a million. I'm telling you, 1 would 
love to recognize that in a young fighter. 
In that case 1 would be a manager, 1 
would be a trainer, 1 would be a promot- 
er. But only then. Poor Dick Sadler— 
when he first saw me he must have gone, 
“Му gracious, this is it! This is it!" 
PLayoor. [lave you thought about anoth- 
er career after boxing? 


FOREMAN: | already have one. I’m an 
evangelist with the Church of the Lord 
Jesus Christ. That's what I do. 1 moon- 
light as a boxer, but my profession is 
preaching. Гуе preached all over the 
world—I even went back to Zaire to 
preach in the same arena where 1 lost to 
Muhammad Ali. And I had a bigger 
crowd than when I was defending my ti- 
ile. 1 tell people all the time, “There's a 
back door to the world and a front 
door.” Everybody considers boxing and 
its glamour as the front door, but I've al- 
ways drawn bigger crowds through the 
back door, preaching. There's not a 
whole lot of money in it, but you meet a 
lot of good people, and you eat a lot of 
chicken dinners. 

PLAYBOY: Chicken dinners? 

FOREMAN: Sure. Folks give you your food 
and you don't stay in swanky hotels. But 
some of the nicest people in the world al- 
lowed me to stay in their guest rooms 
and have breakfast with them. I traveled 
all over the country through that back 
door. Loved it. 

PLAYBOY: Do you think you'll feel all right 
about being out of boxing? 

FOREMAN: 1 was out of boxing for ten 
years. 

PLAYBOY: But you got back in. 

FOREMAN: But І got back in strictly for 
two things: to get that title and to get 
that money. 

PLAYBOY: True, but you also told us how 
no one recognized you for ten years. 
FOREMAN: OK, nobody knew me. I had 
on bib overalls and I'd be pushed out of 
a store by a salesman saying, " Hey you! 
It’s not your turn yet." Or I'd be moved 
aside for someone else—"Oh, that seat is 
for Mr. So-and-So." And it hurt for a 
while. The people with me would whis- 
per, "Tell them you're George Fore- 
man." But I didn't need to tell anybody. 
I know who I am. And I like being who 
Тат. 

PLAYBOY: Do you think you will miss 
boxing? 

FOREMAN: No. I didn't it at all after 1 
left itin 1977, and I won't miss it now. 
PLAYBOY: Do you think boxing will miss 
you? 

FOREMAN: No. Look, I had a good time, 
and people had a good time with me. I 
have my fans. But there's a baby being 
born today who's looking for a fan. And 
that fan will be excited by him or her. 
‘The fans will multiply in years to come, 
and they'll all need their own guiding 
lights, their own heroes. And they'll 
come to see their heroes in masses. 
They'll fill up arenas, and they'll break. 
every attendance record that's ever been 
set. And they'll all want to see—well, it 
won't be Tyson, and it won't be Foreman. 
It will be guys we don't even know about 
yet. And they will love it. And ГЇЇ be right 
there asking: “Who won?” 


Bartenders in elf hats. 
Disco Christmas carols. 


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PLAYBOY 


up of intelligence-gathering by the fed- 
cral government and no mandate for 
wire-tapping to help avoid future riots, 
rebellions or disruptions of an entire 
community. 


THE GOVERNMENT IN 
THE GRAY FLANNEL SUIT 


Sociologist Saul Alinsky is not my fa- 
vorite source, but I agree with some- 
thing he once wrote: “In the process 
of revolution, the real action is in the 
reaction.” 

In the aftermath of the Oklahoma City 
bombing, I look at the reaction of the 
political leaders, with whom—as even 
Alinsky might have agreed—the prob- 
lem really rests. One of the complaints 
that I have with politicians on both sides 
of the aisle is how they react to violence 
and crises. We get our worst legislation 
through crises. We always have. 

Within seven weeks of the federal 
building explosion in Oklahoma City, 
the Senate passed a bill intended to curb 
terrorism. Yet it reflects no well-thought- 
out policy, no understanding of the 
probleui that lurks ш ош sticcts. It is a 
flimsy bandage to cover a festering sore. 
Even more pathetic, this bill, hailed by a 
Democratic president, would allow activ- 
ities that liberal and moderate Demo- 
crats have abhorred for years. Naturally, 
the Republicans jumped in. But—and 
this is almost laughable—the Republi- 
cans are the ones who expressed reser- 
vations about wiretapping and other vio- 
lations of civil liberties. 

Adding 1000 federal law enforcement 
officers is nice, but would 1000 more 
(or 2000 more) have ferreted out 
‘Timothy McVeigh or Dean Harvey 
Hicks? Unless government is willing to 
tread further on our toes and restrict lib- 
erties more, that’s unlikely. Especially 
troubling in the president's bill is the 
proposal to allow the FBI to ask for mili- 
lary assistance in cases of chemical and 
biological attacks. The bill would also 
broaden surveillance provisions (includ- 
ing allowing federal agents, without 
court orders, to tap all phones used by a 
suspect) and provide new authority for 
FBI perusal of hotel, credit card and 
phone bills in cases of foreign terrorism. 

This bill flies in the face of how the 
Constitution set forth the duties of the 
federal government. Increasingly, Wash- 
ington enacts criminal statutes that the 
Constitution wisely left for the states to 
decide: the power to enact rules of con- 
duct red to their particular popu- 

178 lace. I cite the 55-miles-per-hour speed 


TERRORISM? SAYS WHO? oua fron paee 128) 


In reaction to a single violent act in Oklahoma City, 
Clinton is trying to bolster a national police agency. 


limit. Imposing such a limit in, say, Mon- 
tana, makes no sense at all, so it is not 
done. Two other examples of federal 
hegemony are making carjacking a fed- 
eral crime and the imposition of the 
death penalty for a growing list of feder- 
al felonies. Originally, the only crime 
subject to a federal death penalty was an 
act of treason. 

One of the greatest strengths of Amer- 
ica in terms of its freedoms and civil lib- 
erties has always been the diffusion of 
law enforcement into local police forces. 
States and cities decide independently 
what they want in the way of policing 
and how much they want to spend, It 
becomes a community decision. At the 
same time, safeguards make it impossi- 
ble for anyone to harness all U.S. law en- 
forcement agencies into one. 

We all know what happens when the 
balance shifts. In countries where liber- 
ties were eliminated—Germany under 
Hitler, the Soviet Union under Stalin, 
Italy under Mussolini—a national police 
force became the dominant law enforce- 
ment agency. J. Edgar Hoover tried to 
make the FBI die dominant police 
agency by inviting municipal police de- 
partments to train at Quantico. Hoover 
showed favoritism to police cl 
paid allegiance to him and publ 
dain to those who did not Without 
benefit of any legal fiat, he attempted to 
nationalize local police forces. He failed. 
Today, though local police departments 
work hand in hand with the FBI, many 
occasions arise when the local chief must 
stand up and say, “Hey, this is my city, 
I'm calling the shots here.” 

Now, in reaction to a single violent, 
reprehensible act in Oklahoma City, by 
perhaps only two or three persons, the 
Clinton administration is trying to bol- 
ster what amounts to a national police 
agency. By strengthening federal agen- 
cies, this government is doing precisely 
what angry citizens on both the right 
and the left complain about: putting 
more government in our faces. The 
politicians have not devised a rational 
plan to deal with the possibility of terror- 
ism. Instead, what we have is an unmov- 
able federal government that, at times, 
becomes undemocratic in its actions. 


SNOOPING AND MOLES 


In dealing with acts of terrorism, 
America's policies have historically been 
inconsistent. 

Clinton's cry for broad new antiter- 
rorism powers, including the authority 
to conduct increased electronic surveil- 


lance of U.S. citizens, is the opposite re- 
sponse to what occurred in the late Six- 
ties and early Seventies when acts of vio- 
lence were being committed by radicals 
on the left. The response then was to 
shrink the powers of law enforcement. 
In the Seventies Attorney General Ed- 
ward Levy imposed restrictive guide- 
lines on the FBI, The Los Angeles Police 
Department suffered the same fate. Our 
Public Disorder Intelligence Division 
gathered information about groups that 
we believed to be threats to public safety. 
"That was, as you may recall, a time of 
tremendous disorder for the country, 
ranging from angry demonstrations 
to actual bombings. We had antiwar 
groups, militants of all persuasions, ex- 
tremists who wanted to overthrow the 
government and, in every city, peo- 
ple who wanted to “kill the pigs.” We 
were attempting to anticipate disorder 
so we could be ready to handle it in a 
peaceful fashion. Or if there were poten- 
tially violent acts, to enable us to be ina 
position to prevent them. 

In March 1970 the PDID learned of a 
plot to assassinate Superior Court Judge 
Alfred Gitelson, who had ordered an 
end to de facto school segregation the 
month before. As so often happens, the 
information came to us in an unexpect- 
ed way. Reportedly, a juvenile in custody 
in a neighboring county told police that 
a gun shop owner named Bill Mezey had 
solicited him to blow up the West San 
Fernando Valley police station. 

‘The PDID assigned undercover agent 
Arleigh McCree to pose as a soldier of 
fortune. McCree wandered into Mezey's 
shop and led him to believe he owned an 
illegal machine gun in need of repair. As 
the two became acquainted, Mezey al- 
legedly expressed a hatred for blacks 
and a desire to kill them. Mezey soon in- 
troduced McCree to Robert Schurman, 
who offered McCree and a second un- 
dercover officer $1000 to kill Gitelson by 
riddling his body with machine-gun fire 
while he was in bed. As a finishing touch, 
the assassins would drive a tenpenny nail 
into the judge’s forehead, pinning down 
a note that read THIS [IS| FOR THE NIGGERS. 

We alerted the judge, took precau- 
tions for his safety and went after the 
people who had hatched this plot. We 
got them. 

During those years we infiltrated 
right-wing groups, left-wing groups and 
groups of foreign nationals. No one ever 
complained when we managed to in- 
filtrate Nazi groups or militia groups. 
When we infiltrated the Jewish Defense 
League, a very militant group, no one 
(other than the JDL, of course) said a 
word. But when we gathered informa- 
tion on left-wing groups, we were sued 
for invasion of civil rights. 

The suit produced intense media 
scrutiny of the PDID and a flood of 


discovery motions by the plaintiffs. As a 
result, many of our sensitive files fell in- 
to the public domain. Almost all of our 
intelligence sources clammed up for fear 
they would land on the front page of the 
Los Angeles Times or into the hands of the 
plaintiffs. With the impending summer 
Olympics, I feared what would happen if 
our intelligence sources were shut down 
when we had real threats of foreign ter- 
rorism. In 1983, against my better judg- 
ment, I settled the suit. 

The upshot of our settlement was that. 
Los Angeles, of all the cities in the U.S., 
was slapped with dramatic, specific, 
binding, impossible guidelines. If we 
wanted to launch an undercover investi- 
gation we would first have to get it ap- 
proved in writing by our five-person 
civilian Board of Police Commissioners. 
Any information that an officer might 
have collected, even years before, could 
not be shared with another agency, such 
as the FBI or the Sheriff's Department. 
unless it was subjected to a written civil- 
ian review. As a result, other agencies 
did not want to play ball with us. 

Although we survived the Olympics 
without incident, our intelligence gath- 
ering had been rendered practically 
ineffectual. 


MUZZLING THE POLS 


Most of these guidelines remain in ef- 
fect, making the LAPD one of the most 
hamstrung law enforcement agencies in 
the country. Now, the same knee-jerk 
mentality that designed those guidelines 
has permeated Congress in the wake 
of Oklahoma City. While Los Angeles 
politicians thought the best way to deal 
with left-wing violence and disorder was 
to stomp on the toes of intelligence gath- 
erers, President Clinton and Congress 
seem intent on stomping on the toes of 
the people. 

Americans would be better served if 
Congress passed a bill muzzling all 
politicians and imposing a ban on any 
legislation for at least 90 days after a ter- 
rorist incident. Instant fixes only exacer- 
bate an already bad situation by encour- 
aging the federal government to intrude 
more. I'm not saying we shouldn't 
strengthen various federal agencies. But 
the federal government ought to be a re- 
source for local Jaw enforcement, as was 
historically intended. Federal agenci: 
should be concentrating on internation- 
al terrorism as it affects the nation. They 
should defend our shores, not our 
streets. The power to investigate all do- 
тезис terrorism—and the acts of ran- 
dom psychopaths—should not drift to 
the federal government. For that is 
anathema to the very structure of our 


free society. 


Sea FRIENDLY APARTMENT 

(continued from page 139) 
about antique toys or someplace you've 
hiked. Place your copies of PLAYBOY 
in leather binders; don’t dog-ear this 
article. 

Position framed photos on the end ta- 
bles or the bookshelves. They should not 
be of old girlfriends. Those go in a draw- 
er that you'll open once you know this 
woman a little better. Or maybe not. A 
lot depends on what turns her on—your 
inexperience or your experience. Safe 
photos include those of your dog (but 
not your 1guana), your sister as a kid 
(so there's no confusion), your parents 
(smiling) and the ski trip you took to 
Italy. Don't put out the photo of you 
shaking hands with Ralph Nader or 
Rush Limbaugh. Leave the politics in 
the album. 

It's important to make the room look 
lived in. If it’s sterile, it will signal that 
you prepared for her visit, and that you 
expect something for your work. Or 
she'll think you have the personality of 


Saran Wrap. Your place will come off 
much better if it looks as if you're natu- 
rally neat and casual. The best way to get. 
this look is to spend time at home. Don't 
go out every night. Flop around once in 
a while. If the blanket you've tossed over 
your couch gets wrinkled while you're 
watching the tube, leave it that way until 
the next time you straighten up. Keep 
some mail by the phone. Let the books 
fall where they may. And never, ever, al- 
phabetize your compact discs. 

Although you eat dinner off your cof- 
fee table while watching the news, she 
won't enjoy that. You need a small table 
and chairs, so that you can serve her and 
then face her. The only candles in your 
place should be at the center of the table, 
tall and thin. Invest in a dimmer for the 
living and dining areas, for those smooth 
transitions. As for music, have a healthy 
supply of jazz, blues, classical and rock 
on hand. No samplers that you got for 
99 cents with a fill-up; no Mozart's Great- 
est Hits. IF you don't own a lot of music, 
preset your stereo to an all-night jazz sta- 
tion, a classical station that doesn't play 


"Oh, nothing special, dear. Just sitting here wondering 
what to get Billy for Christmas.” 


PLAYBOY 


Sousa marches and an alternative rock 
station. 

On to her second stop, the rest room. 
If a woman doesn't visit your bathroom 
within a half hour of seeing your place, 
she's probably not a woman. Even if she 
doesn't have to pec or powder her nose, 
à woman knows that the state of your 
head reflects the state of your head. 
We'll assume, for the sake of brevity, that 
your baule against mildew and wayward 
whiskers has become a personal crusade. 

Besides being clean, your bathroom 
should be fluffy. Women like the gende 
cycle. If you haven't already, because 
they feel so good on your tush, buy some 
sofi, oversize bath and hand towels. You 
should also have plenty of toilet paper— 
say, three extra rolls, which isn’t so many 
that she thinks, Why does he need so 
much toilet paper? You should also set 


out a fresh box of tissues, the square 
kind where you pull them out one at a 
time, not the rectangular kind where 
you can sce how many are left. Women 
like the square kind. 

1f you had your own dog as a kid, you 
can handle the responsibility of a plant. 
If you're especially daring, nurture two 
or three in different rooms. Basically, 
plants need water and light. If you can 
keep the plant healthy, she will think, He 
can keep me safe. He is a nurturer. If 
you can't, skip the plants. Most women 
do not find wilting sexy, whether in 
greenery or elsewhere. 

If you end the evening in bed with 
her, she'll make a second, more thor- 
ough pit stop at the bathroom, so scan 
your medicine cabinet and under the 
sink for any signs of other women who 
have passed this way. She doesn't have to 


"If the stores do half their business during 
the holiday season, so can we. Now let's go in there and 
shoplift till we drop." 


be a snoop to check either of those 
spots—maybe she needs a fresh towel or 
an aspirin. Or she's looking for con- 
doms, You have them in your bedside 
drawer, naturally—a gentleman is always 
prepared. 

Keep extra toothbrushes handy, al- 
though there should never be more than 
one unwrapped toothbrush in your 
home. (Like excess toilet paper, a stock- 
pile of toothbrushes looks suspicious.) 
You should also place scented soaps 
(Irish Spring doesn’t count) by the bath 
and on the back of the john. And have a 
delicate shampoo as much for your hair 
as for hers. 

Ло the bedroom. You already know 
enough to take your mattress off the 
floor, no matter how good you think it is 
for your back. Unless you're dating a 
hippie, purchase box springs and at least 
a queen-size mattress (if she asks why 
you have such a large bed, explain that 
you sleep diagonally). As in the bath- 
room, soft works here, so inv me 
Egyptian cotton sheets (silk is nice for 
special occasions, but a bear to wash). 
Big pillows—flufly, man, fluffy! Ьис 
nothing you don't find comfortable, for 
you'll be spending more nights alone 
than with another body resting nearby. 
Feathers are great unless she's allergic 
(who knew?), so have a nonorganic back- 
up. No single beds. And no sleeping bags 
doubling as comforters. You also don't 
want anything you'd be ashamed lo 
show the guys—that is, no pattcrns with 
big sunflowers or silhouetted horses. 

Quickly, the kitchen. Have a bottle 
of white wine on hand (lightly chilled 
means you keep it in the fridge door), 
along with crackers, cheese and at least 
two flavors of ice cream. The dishes 
should be done. The stove should be 
clean. The cupboards should not be 
filled with boxes of Velveeta and Shells. 
These days, a lot of women drink bottled 
water, and they cat light. So fruit is ap- 
propriate. Bakery-bought cookies arc 
great with fresh ground cofi 
works, too. Your refrigerator should 
have fresh orange juice, milk, English 
muffins, butter and eggs. A furry freezer 
and a fridge filled with sweet-and-sour 
packets from Chinese restaurants will 
not give her the impression that you 
spend quality time here. It’s OK to have 
a microwave. You're a guy. And it's also 
OK to have some home-cooked meals in 
the freezer that can be heated ир quick- 
ly. If your silverware doesn't match, that 
will be seen as charming, not dorky. Your 
es should match. 

There you have it: your home, her oa- 
sis. Food, music, wine, indirect lighting, 
clean, attractive surroundings. No grand 
romantic gestures to sweep her off her 
feet, just a light touch to bring her back. 
If nothing else, your place should say 
that you admire her taste in men. 


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181 


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FATALITY ыу но 


"When a woman is getting treated like that, its always 
partly her fault. You know that.” 


“He did it,” Kaufman said. “Jesus 
Christ." 

“I have to ask this," the policeman 
said. "Does she want to press charges?" 
m pressing charges, goddamn it. 
Calm down, Mr. Kaufman. Is your 
daughter going to press charges?" 

"Look, I came to press charges 

"Let me get this straight. You want to 
press charges?" 

He spent most of the afternoon there, 
talking with one officer and then anoth- 
ет. No help. The law unfortunately was 
clear. Virginia was not yet a state with 
provision for such cases as this: IF Kauf- 
man's daughter would not press charges 
herself, then. nothing at all could 
be donc. 

"I'm sorry about it," the officer said. 
“Why don't you talk to your daughter? 
See if you can get her to press charges." 

He chose, instead, to talk to Delbert 
Chase. He drove to the car dealership 
and walked into Delbert's little grotto of 
an office. Delbert sat with his feet up on 
the desk, talking on the telephone. 
When he saw Kaufman, he said, "Guess 
who just walked in here?" Then seemed 
to laugh. “Your old man.’ 

Kaufman waited, 

Delbert turned to him. “She doesn't 
believe me.” He offered the handset. 
“You want to say hell 

Kaufman took it, held it to his ear. 
“Princess,” he said. 

“If you say anything or you do any- 
thing —" she spoke quickly, breathless- 
ly. “Do you hear me? It'll only make 
things worse. Do you hear me?” 

"What's she saying?” Delbert wanted 
to know. 

“Your mother’s fine,” Kaufman said 
into the phone. 

“ГЇЇ bet she’s so happy,” Fay said, low. 
“If you say anything—please. He just 
needs to calm down. He doesn't mean 
it” She was crying. 

“Fay,” he said. “Princess.” 

“Please, Daddy, I have to hang up. Put 
him back on. Please don't screw this up." 
ГЇЇ tell her you said `Неу,” he said. 
“You take care." He handed the phone 
back to Delbert, who called Fay "lover" 
and said goodbye. "I won't be late get- 
ting home," he said. 

Kaufman sat down on the other side 
of the desk and put his hands on his 
knees. 

“So,” Delbert said, hanging the phone 
up. “To what do 1 owe this honor?” 

“We have a friend,” Kaufman said, 
“who told us she saw bruises on Fay's 
arms. 

The other man looked at him. 


“Fay doesn’t know I know. Do you un- 
derstand me?” 

“We had a couple of knock-down- 
drag-outs,” Delbert said evenly. “You 
never had a fight with your wife? I've 
promised it won't ever happen again. 
1 was very sorry about it. I felt like 
all hell." 

“Just so we understand each other,” 
Kaufman said. 

“I said I've promised it won't happen 
again.” 

"Good," Kaufman said. He stood. He 
felt almost elated. An unbidden wave of 
goodwill washed over him. “Let's try to 
get beyond this bad feeling.” He offered 
his hand, and Delbert stood to take it. 

“OK by me,” he said, smiling that boy- 
ish bright smile. “I always try to get 
along with everybody.” 

“Maybe we'll get the women back to- 
gether, too,” Kaufman told him. 

On his way home, he felt as though he 
had accomplished something important, 
and he told his wife, proudly, that she 
could expect a call from Fay any time. 

But Fay didn't call, and Caroline was 
adamant that it should be their daughter 
who made the first move. 

"This is ridiculous," Kaufman said. 
"I've called her. I've seen her and talked 
with her. She's got a hardship neither of 
us ever wanted for her—we've got to 
take part here, don't we?" 

"She's too proud to admit she was 
wrong and I was right." 

He looked at this woman, his wife, and 
decided not to say anything. 

“You don't see that,” she went on. 
“Well, men don't see this sort of thing. 
Women do.” 

“What are you telling me?” he said. 

"She's getting mistreated, and she 
won't do anything about it because if she 
does it’s an admission. You don't under- 
stand it. I understand it." 


He endured the hot, end-of-summer 
days. There wasn't anything he could do 
to alter the situation as it stood. Driving 
past the little garage, he would slow 
down, his heart racing, and once he even 
saw Fay washing the car. She looked all 
right. She wore a scarf and a sweatshirt 
and jeans—a young woman with this 
practical task to accomplish, out in the 
good weather. 

In early October, she called him at 
work. “It's me,” she said. - 

Не held the phone tight апа felt his 
own hope like a pulse. "Hey, Princess, 
how ve you been?" 

"I'm great." 


“We'd love to see you," he said. And 
then remembered to say, “Both of you.” 

She was silent. 

“Everything's all right?" he asked. 

“Just fine.” 

“Why don't you call your mother? I 
bet she hasn't eaten lunch." 

“I'm calling you. I wanted to ask you 
something." 

“shoot,” he said, hoping. 

"Did you ever mop up the floor with 
Mommy?" 

He couldn't bring himself to say any- 
thing for a few seconds. It came to him 
that she had been drinking. 

“Tell me, Daddy, did you ever hit 
Mommy?" 

Something buckled inside of him. 
"Princess, please, let me—if you would 
just let us help." 

"You can come in like the police. 
Right? That'll be great. You can tell him 
to be a good boy and stop waking up the 
neighbors by banging his wife's head on 
the walls. Tell me how you hit Mommy 
when you were pissed, Daddy." 

“1 never— Fay. Please." 

“Tell Mother she can tell everyone I 
got what I deserved." The line clicked. 

He sat at his desk with his head in his 
hands, in plain view of everyone in the 
office, crying. When the phone rang 
again, it startled him. "What," he said. 

It was Fay. She sounded breathless. “I 
was just mad,” she told him. “It wasn't. 
anything but me being spoiled and mad. 
I'm fine. And Delbert's fine. He's keep- 
ing his promise, really. He is. Keeping 
his promise." 

“Fay?” he said. "Baby?" 

"Im fne," she said quickly. "You 
take care. Goodbye." And she broke the 
connection. 


"She sounded frightened to death," 
he told his wife. “Terrified.” 

“He wouldn't really hurt her,” Caro- 
line said. “When a woman is getting 
treated like that, it’s always partly her 
fault. You know that.” 

“No,” he said. “I don't know that. Je- 
sus Christ, Caroline.” 

“We're here,” she said. “Aren’t we? We 
haven't moved to India or anything. 
We're six miles away. If she really wanted 
to and if it were all really that bad, she 
could come here and we'd take her in.” 

“Would we?" he said. 

And Caroline began to cry. “How 
could you suggest that I would be so 
hard-hearted? Don’t I love her too? 1 
love her so much, and she repays me 
with silence.” 

“She asks how you are,” Kaufman 
said, convincing himself that it was true. 

"Ifshe'd only call and ask me that. Is it 
too much to ask? Is it, Frank?" 

He put his arms around her. "I'm 
scared, Caroline. You see, the thing is, 
I'm—I'm just tremendously scared for 


her. And I don't know anymore—I have 
to do something, don't I? I have to make 
it stop some way, don’t J?" 

They rocked and swayed, sitting at the 
edge of the love seat in their bedroom 
that she had made to look oriental, with 
its paintings and the white rug and deep 
red hues in the walls, and delicate porce- 
lain dolls on the nightstands. 

“What did we do wrong?” Caroline 
said. “] don't understand where we went 


wrong.” 
“I hate this,” Kaufman said, getting up 
and pacing. “I'm going over there in the 


morning and bring her home.” 

“She won't come with you,” said his 
wife. 

“Tm telling you I'm not going to let it 
go on." 

She shrugged, standing slowly— 
someone with a great weight on her 
shoulders. Her eyes were moist, brim- 
ming with tears, and clearer than he 
could ever remember them. "There's 
not a thing in the world we can do." 


He went to sec Delbert again. Walked 
into the showroom at the dealership and 
asked for him. It was a preholiday sale, 
and the showroom was crowded. Delbert 
came in from the bank of offices in the 
back hall and stopped a few feet away. 
"Yeah?" 

“Delbert,” Kaufman said, in the tone 
of a simple greeting. 

"Unless you're here to buy a car," Del- 
bert said, "I'm kind of busy." 

"] wanted to ask if you and Fay want to 
come over for Thanksgiving." 

He seemed genuinely puzzled. 

“Well?” 

“Maybe it’s escaped you, man. Your 
wife and your daughter ain't speaking.” 

“Nevertheless, I'm inviting you." 

Delbert shrugged. "1 guess it's up to 
Fay. But I've got my doubts.” 

“You know what we talked about be- 
fore?” Kaufman said. 

The other only stared. 

"You're keeping to it, right?” 

Now he turned and moved off. 

Kaufman called after him. “Just re- 
member what I said, son.” 

"Yeah," Delbert said, without looking 
back. "I got it. Right.” 

“Don't forget Thanksgiving." 

He faced around, walking backward. 
“Hey, that’s between her and your old 
lady, man. That's got nothing at all to 
do with me.” 


The day before Thanksgiving, at 
Kaufman's insistence, Caroline made the 
call. She dialed the number and waited, 
standing in the entrance of the kitchen, 
wearing her apron and with her hair up 
in curlers, looking oddly stern and irrita- 
ble. "Please, Caroline," he said. 

She held the handset at arm's length 


toward him. "A machine." 

It was Fay's voice. "Leave your name 
and number and we'll get back to you 
later. Bye.” 

‘They are in Richmond, with his 
mother.” 

“Don't jump to conclusions,” Kauf- 
man said. 

“It's in the first part of the message.” 
She put the handset down and started to 
dial the number again. “Listen to the 
message. They're in Richmond." 

"OK," he said. "You don't need to call 
the number again." 

His wife fairly shouted at him, lower 
lip trembling. “Whatever her married 
troubles are, she can apparently stand 
them!” 


Christmas came and went. The Kauf- 
mans didn’t bother putting up a tree. 
Неа got Caroline a nightgown and a 
book. She bought him a pair of slippers 
and a flannel shirt. They sat side by side 
on the sofa in the living room in the 
dusky light from the picture window and 
opened the gifis, and then she began to 
cry. He put his arms around her and 
they remained there in the quiet while 
the window darkened and the intermit- 
tent sparkle of Christmas lights from 
neighboring houses began to show i 
“How can she let Christmas go by?” Car- 
oline said. “How can she hate me so 
much?” 

“Maybe she’s wondering the same 
about you.” 

“Stop it, Frank. She knows that she's 
welcome.” 

He went to bed alone, and lay awake, 
hearing the chatter of the TV, and an- 
other sound—the low murmur of her 
crying. 

The week leading up to New Year's 
was terrible. She seemed to draw down 
into herself even further. He couldn't 
find the words, the gestures, the refrain- 
ing from gestures that could break 
through to her. Sunday at church they 
saw Mrs. Mertock, who said she had seen 
Fay at the grocery that morning, but 
hadn't spoken to her. “She was on the 
other side of the counter from me, wear- 
ing sunglasses. Sunglasses, on the 
grayest, dreariest, drizzly day. She 
looked almost—well, like she was guilty 
about something." 

Kaufman said. “Му God." 

"I could be wrong," Mrs. Mertock 
hurried to add. 

“Why can't she come home?" Caroline 
said. "How can she let it go on?" 

On New Year's Eve, they went to bed 
early, without even a kiss. In the morn- 
ing he found her sitting in the living 
room, staring. 

“What're you thinking?" he asked. 

"Oh Frank. Can't you leave me 
alone?" 

He put on his ccat and went out into 


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the cold, closing the door behind him 
with a sense of having shut her away 
from him. But then he was standing 
there looking at the winter sky, thinking 
of Delbert Chase throwing Fay around 
the little rooms of that garage. 

There wasn't any wind. The stillness 
seemed almost supernatural. He walked 
up the block, past the quiet houses. 
There was a tavern at this end of the 
street, but it was closed. He stood in the 
entrance, looking out at the empty 
street, the Christmas tinsel on all the 
lampposts, the houses with their festive 
windows. Pride, dignity, respect—the 
words made no sense anymore. They 
had no application in his world. 


The next morning, he headed to the 
office with a shivery sense of purpose, 
tinged with an odd heady feeling, an 
edge of something like fear. It had 
snowed during the night—a light, wind- 
swept inch that swirled along the roofs of 
the houses. The Ford was in its place as 
he went by, looking iced, like a confec- 
tion. He had told Caroline he didn’t 
know if he would be coming home for 
lunch, and when he got to work he 
called to tell her he wouldn't be. He said 
he had to show a couple of houses in 


New Baltimore, but this excuse was a lie; 
he was showing them that morning, and 
would be finished with both of them be- 
fore 11 o'clock. 

The slow hour before 12 o'clock was 
purgatory. 

But at last he was in his car, heading 
back along the wind-driven, snow-pow- 
dered street. Color seemed to have been 
leached out of the world—a dull gray 
sky, gray light on snow, the darkening 
cloud: the distance, the black surface 
of the road showing in tire trails through 
the whiteness. Delany Street looked de- 
serted; there were only two tire tracks. 
He stopped the car, turned off the igni- 
tion and waited a moment, trying to 
gather his courage. He breathed, blew 
into his still-chilly palms, then got out. As 
though he were afraid that someone or 
something might seek to stop him, he 
walked quickly up the little stairwell 
along the side of the building and 
knocked on the door there, He knocked 
twice, feeling all the turns and twists of 
his digestive system. The air stung his 
face. He saw his own reflection in the 
bright window with its little white cur- 
tain. Aware that the cold would make his 
ruddy skin turn purple, he felt briefly 
like a man ringing for a date. It couldn't 
possibly matter to Fay how he looked, yet 
he was worried about it and tried to 


"Is it something seasonal or are you always on the make?” 


shield himself from the air, pulling his 
coat collar high. 

As the door opened, he heard some- 
thing like the crunch of glass at his feet. 
He looked down, saw her foot in a white 
slipper and tiny glittering pieces of 
something. Glass. He brought his eyes 
up the line of the door, and here was Fay, 
peering around the edge of it. Fay, with 
a badly swollen left eye—it was almost 
closed—a cut at the corner of her mouth 
and a welt on her cheek. 

He felt something go off, deep in his 
chest. "Fay?" he said. "Oh Fay.” 

“Leave me alone.” The door started 
to close. 

He put out his hand and stopped it. It 
took some pressure to keep it from click- 
ing shut in his face. 

“Princess,” he said. “This is the end of 
it. I'm taking you with me.” 

“Leave me,” she said. “Can't you, 
please?" 

"Wait. Princess—listen to me." 

“Oh Christ, can you stop calling me 
that?" She let go of the door and walked 
away from it. He followed her inside. 

"Good Christ," he said, looking at the 
room. The television, which was on 
wheels, was faced into the corner at an 
odd angle. as though it had been struck 
by something and knocked out of its nor- 
mal place. An end table had been turned 
upside down, one of the legs broken off 
Clothes and books were scattered every- 
where. Kaufman saw a small cereal box 
g in the middle of the floor, along 
with a bed pillow with part of the fe: 
ers torn ош. “Му good Christ," he в 
“Jesus Christ.” 

She let herself down gingerly on the 
sofa, her arms wrapped around herself. 
He was aware of music being played, 
coming from the small bedroom. A har- 
monica over an electi 

"You're coming with me,” 
"Right now." 

"Just go. will you? Delbert will be 
back soon. He'll clean everything up and 
be sorry again. This is none of your 
business." 

"But you can't stay here, Fay. I didn't 
raise you for this." 

She gave him a look, as though he had 
said something painfully funny. “I'm 
you caught us on one of our bad 
s." Her tone was that of someone 
ironically quoting someone else. "We 
seem to be having them more and more 
often, lately." 

"Fay. Baby. Pleas ^ 

"Look," she said. “When he comes 
back, he's going to be all sweet and sorry, 
unless he finds you here. If he finds you 
here, it'll make him mad again. Please. 
Please, Daddy.” 

“You can't—you're not serious," he 
said. "Don't you understand me? I’m 
taking you out of here. Now. I'm taking 
you home with me and if that son of a 
bitch comes near you, I'll kill him. Do 
you hear me, Fay? I will. 11 kill him." 


She stood. “I'm not coming with you, 
OK? I'm not doing anything 1 don't 
want to do. Because I'll tell you what'll 
happen, Daddy. He'll come to the house 
and you can't stop him. What makes you 
think you could? Look, just leave.” 

“Baby,” he said, "Haven't I always 
looked out for you?" 

They stood there, facing each other. 

“Jesus Christ,” she said, not looking at 
him. “You're kidding, right?" 

He couldn't speak for a moment. His 
throat caught. “Fay” 

“Со home," she said. 

He took a step toward her. "Princess, 
your mother never i 

“Just go,” she said. "I don't want you 
here. This is not a good day to just pop 
in and see how little Fay is doing.” 

He put out his hand. 

"If you touch me, I swear I'll scream.” 

“ГЇЇ help you——" he began. He took 
her arm. 

"Oh Christ!” she shouted, wincing. 
turning from him. “Just get out. Get out! 
Can't you see 1 don’t want you? You have 
to go now before Delbert comes back 
You'll ruin everything!” 

He tried again. “Honey—" He saw 
himself forcing her, had the image of 
what it would be to grapple with her, 
here where she had already been so bad 
ly manhandled. No, he could not do 
that, “Fay,” he be; 
to help us help you" 

She put her hands 
over her ears. He saw a scraped place on 
one knuckle. 

“We'll help,” he managed. “Please. 1 
won't let him hurt you anymore, baby, 
please.” 

Her back was turned, but he thought 
she nodded. “Go,” she said. “Now.” 

“Call из?” he said, helplessly. 

“Oh right,” she said in that ironic 
tone. “We'll all go have a picnic.” 


an, “please, you've got 


"I'm not listenin; 


"She didn't want to let me in," he told 
his wife. “You should've seen the place. 
You should've seen—that—that poor 
girl.” A sob broke out of him like a 
cough. "The son of a bitch must've used 
her to break up the place." 

Caroline said, "Can't the police do 
anything: 

She's afraid to say anything anymore. 
Can't you understand that?” 

They were in the kitchen, sitting 
across from each other, with the empty 
chair against the wall on the other side of 
the room. 

“She wouldn't come with m 
wouldn't let me do anything." 

For a time, they said nothing. The on- 
ly sound was the wind rushing at the 
windows. There would be more snow 
that night. 

“We can’t just sit by,” he said. There 
was a pressure, low in his chest. 

She didn't answer; he could not say 


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for certain, looking at her, that she had 
heard him. 

Later, they lay in the dark, wakeful, lis- 
tening to the night sounds the house 
made—and to a big storm rolling in off 
the mountains. 

“I'm going to call her in the morning," 
his wife said. 

“He's there during the mornings. 
Remember?" 

Caroline turned to him and put her 
arms around him. The windows shook 
with the force of the wind. "There's 
nothing keeping her from coming to us, 
really, is there?" 

“I just can't think of anything," he 
began. 

"Come on," she said. "Stop, now." 

She turned from him, settling into her 
side of the bed, and he listened for the 
breathing that vould tell him she was 
asleep. 

In the morning, in a heavy snow, he 
drove to the police station again. The 
sergeant said they would be glad to send 
a squad car over to ask Fay if she would 
press charges. But even in that case, 
Kaufman should understand that the 
young man would probably be free on 
bail in a matter of hours. Fay would have 
to take steps, move out of the house and 
take out a peace bond; then Delbert 
Chase could be arrested for any contact 
with her at all, including telephone con- 
tact. "If he comes to within 100 yards of 
her, we'll slap him in jail so fast it'll make 
his head swim.” 

“You don’t understand,” Kaufman 
said. “She’s too scared and confused 
to move. 

“Even with your help?” the officer 
asked. 

Kaufman thanked him for his time, 
and made his way home through the 
snow. His wife was waiting at the front 
door as he came up the walk, holding his 
hat on against the swirling wind. 

“Nothing,” he told her, kicking his 
boots against the threshold of the door, 
holding onto the frame, looking down. 
She was waiting for him to say more, and 
he couldn't bring himself to utter a 
single word. 

“I tried to call her,” she said. "Hung 
up at the sound of my voice.” She 
sobbed, and he went to her, held her in 
his arms in the cold from the open door. 


The snow lasted through the night 
and then turned to freezing rain. No- 
body could get out. It rained all day and 
into the following night, the drops crys- 
tallizing as they fell to earth, ice thicken- 
ing on every surface, layer by layer. Pow- 
er lines were down all over the county. 
The news was of fires caused by kerosene 
heaters, and of water pipes bursting 
from the cold. The Kaufmans heard 
sirens and thought of their daughter. Af 


186 ter the rain, the skies cleared, and at 


night a bright moon shone over a crust 
of snow and sheer ice, as though the 
world were encased in milky glass. Kauf- 
man paid two college boys to work at 
clearing his sidewalk and driveway, and 
went out to help them for a while. Most- 
ly he and his wife stayed inside, brood- 
ing about Fay, alone in the ice with Del- 
bert Chase. A lethargy seemed to have 
settled over them both. On Friday, the 
worst day of the cold snap, they never 
even got out of their pajamas. 

In the evening, as they were eating 
soup he had prepared for them, the 
phone rang. They both froze and looked 
at each other. It rang only once. A mo- 
ment passed. 

And it rang again. He leaped to his 
feet to get it. “Hello?” 

Nothing. 

"Hello?" he said, listening, and it 
seemed to him that he could hear the 
faintest music; someone on the other 
end of the line was in a room away from 
another room where music was being 
played. He thought he recognized the 
music, thought he heard the harmonica. 
“Hello? Fay?” 

And there was the small click on the 
other end. 

Behind him, Caroline asked, “Is 
م‎ 

“Wrong number,” he told her. 

She put her hands to her face, then 
took them away and looked at him. 

“I guess it was the wrong number." 

She shook her head. "No. You don't 
believe that yourself." 

He heard the snowplow go through 
for the second time at some point just 
before midnight. The scraping woke 
Caroline, who murmured something 
about the noise, and seemed to go back 
to sleep. In the next moment she sighed, 
and he knew she was awake. "I'm 54 
years old," he said. "I've had a good life. 
Do you understand me?" 

She waited a moment. “I suppose so." 

"I always said I'd never let anyone do 
that to her." 

aes." 

“I can't think of anything else. If she 
won't come home. If she herself won't do 
anything about it. I literally can't think 
of anything else." 

In the dark, she brought herself up on 
one elbow, kissed him, then lay down 
again and pulled the blankets to just un- 
der her chin. 

"What if you called her again?" he 
asked. 

She sighed. "What makes you think 
she'd talk to me now?" 

He waited a few moments, then got 
ош of the bed and made his way quietly 
down to the basement. It was a few de- 
grees colder here. The room smelled of 
plaster, and faintly of cleanser. When he 
put on the light over the desk, he could 
see condensation on his breath. In the 
back of the left-hand drawer of the desk 
with all his paperwork scattered on it 


was a small .22 caliber pistol he had 
bought for Caroline several summers 
ago, when he had donc some traveling 
for the company. Caroline never even al- 
lowed it upstairs, and he'd been intend- 
ing, for years really—the truth of this 
seemed to dawn on him now—to get rid 
of it. Carefully, he took it from the draw- 
er, pushed the work on the desktop aside 
and laid the gun down before him. Fora 
long time he simply stared at it, and then 
he dismantled and cleaned it, using the 
kit he had bought to go with it. When he 
had put it back together, he stared at its 
lines, this instrument he had carried into 
the house those summers ago to forge 
some sort of hedge against calamity. 

The metal shone under the light, 
smooth and functional, and perfectly 
wrought, precisely shaped for its pur- 
pose, completely itself. Reaching into the 
little box of ammo in the drawer, he 
brought out the first cartridge, held the 
pistol in one hand and the cartridge in 
the other. His fingers felt abruptly cold 
at the ends, tipped with ice, though his 
hands were steady. It took only a minute 
to load it. He checked the safety, then 
stood and turned. 

Caroline had come halfway down the 
stairs, 

“I didn’t hear you,” he said. 

She sighed. “I couldn't sleep.” 

For an interval, they simply seemed to 
wait. He held the pistol in his right hand, 
barrel pointed at the floor. She kept her 
eyes on his face. "I'm tired,” he said. 

She turned, there, and started back 
up. "Maybe you can sleep now." 

“Yes,” he said, but too low for her 
to hear. 

If she was awake when he left in the 
morning, she didn't give any sign of it. 
He made some toast and read the paper, 
sitting in the light by the kitchen table. 
‘The news was all about the health care 
crisis and the economy, the trouble in 
Africa and eastern Europe. He read 
through some of it, but couldn't really 
concentrate. The toast seemed too dry, 
and he ended up throwing most of it 
away. 

Outside, the cold was like a solid ele- 
ment that gave way slowly as he moved 
through it. He started the car and let it 
run while he scraped the frost off the 
windows. By the time he finished, it had 
warmed up inside. As he pulled away, he 
looked back at the picture window of the 
house, thinking he might sec her there, 
but the window showed only an empty 
reflection of the brightness, like a pool of 
clear water. 


There were only the faintest brush 
strokes of cirrus across the top of the sky, 
and the sun was making long shadows 
on the street: just the kind of winter 
morning he had always loved. There 
wasn’t much traffic. He was on Delany 


Street in no time at all, and he slowed 
down, feeling the need to be cautious, as 
if anyone would be watching for him. 
When he reached his daughter's house, 
he parked across the street, trying to 
decide how to proceed. The pistol was 
where he had put it last night, and even 
зо, he reached into the coat pocket and 
closed his hand around it. The only 
thing to do was wait, so he did that. Per- 
haps an hour went by, perhaps less, and 
then Delbert came out of the door and 
took leaps down the stairs, looking like 
an excited kid on his way to something 
fun. He strolled to the Ford, opened the 
passenger-side door, reached in and got. 
a scraper, then kicked the door shut. He 
was clearing ice from the windows, 
whistling and singing to himself, as 
Kaufman approached him. "You about 
finished with that?" 

Delbert turned, and started. He held 
both hands up, though the older man 
had not produced the gun yet. “Whoa, 
you scared me, man." Then he seemed 
to realize who it was. "Mr. Kaufman?" 

"Get in behind the wheel, son." Kauf- 
man brought the gun out of his pocket, 
and felt strangely like someone play- 
ing at cops and robbers. “Right now,” 
he said. 

“What is this?” 

“Do it." 

Delbert dropped the scraper, then 
bent down and picked it up. He held it 
as if to throw it. Kaufman took a step 
back and sighted along the barrel of the 
pistol. “I'll put one between your eyes, 
boy.” 

“Come on, man,” Delbert said. “Cut 
this out. This isn't funny.” 

“Just open that passenger door, and 
walk around and get in behind the 
wheel.” 

He dropped the scraper and did as he 
had been told. Kaufman eased in next to 
him, holding the pistol on him, arrang- 
ing himself. 

“Take it out toward Charlottesville.” 

“This isn't right.” Delbert raced the 
engine, then backed out and accelerated. 
He was concentrating on the road 
ahead, and his eyes were wide. “It isn't 
right, man." 

‘The whiteness of the lawns and the 
surrounding hills blazed at them, scintil- 
lating with what looked like grains of 
salt. Kaufman saw the snow-covered 
houses, the many windows with their 
fleeting glimpses of color and order. 
“There's a little farm road about four 
miles up on this side," he said, fighting 
the quaver in his voice. "Take it when 
you get there." 

Delbert put both hands on the wheel 
and stared straight ahead. “Listen,” he 
said after a sudden intake of breath 
“You are not—you don't really—this 
isn't 

"There's no use talking about it, son.” 

“Wait a minute—you've gotta hold 


on——" 


"Farm road up here on the right," 
Kaufman said. 

They were quiet, and there was a qual- 
ity to the silence now. Kaufman felt 
vaguely sick to his stomach, watching the 
side of the other man's face. The air was 
heavy with the smell of the oil he had 
used to clean the gun. At the farm road, 
Delbert made the turn, slowing down for 
the unevenness of the gravel surface un- 
der the snow. 

"Where are we going? You—you can't 
mean this. Look—I'm sorry. I'm being 
better, really. Ask Fay. Let's go back and 
ask her." 

“It’s just a little further." Kaufman had 
heard an element of something almost 
soothing in his own voice, the tone of a 
man trying to calm a child. He said, “Гуе 
seen Fay. I've seen what you did to her." 

“Oh Christ,” Delbert said, starting to 
cry. “Look, I didn't mean it, man. And 1 
was so sorry. I said it would never, ever 
happen again this time. I told her. I 


made an oath. You're not going to hurt 
me 
"Stop here," Kaufman told him. 

He slowed. The tears were streaming 
down his cheeks. "Shit," he said. "You've 
got me really scared, OK? If that’s what 
you set out to do.” 

“Open the door.” 

He did, and got out and walked a few 
unsteady paces up the road. Kaufman 
got out too. “That's good,” he said. 

Delbert turned. He was crying, mur- 
muring something to himself. Then, to 
Kaufman he said, “You just wanted to 
scare me, right? She can move back with 
you. You can have her.” 

“Be quiet, now,” Kaufman said. “Be 
still.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Kaufman's hands were shaking. He 
held the pistol up, aimed. 

Delbert sank slowly to his knees. 
“Please, Frank. Come on.” 

“I just can't have it,” Kaufman said, 


X 


NBD ы 


4 — 


“It can get pretty kinky around here on these 
long winter nights." 


187 


PLAYBOY 


walking around him. "I'm sorry, son. 
You did this to yourself.” The younger 
man was saying something, but Kauf- 
man didn't hear him now. He had en- 
tered some zone of stillness, remember- 
ing the powerlessness of knowing what 
Delbert had done to her, what she had 
suffered at his hands. Then he recalled, 
too, absurdly, with a kind of rush at his 
heart, the huge frustration and anger of 
the days when she was deciding in favor 
of this irritating boy over her parents— 
and in the next instant, as if to pause 
anymore might somehow dilute his will, 
he aimed the pistol, his whole body 
trembling. and squeezed the trigger. It 
seemed to fire before he wanted it to. 
The sound of the shot was surprisingly 
big, and at first he wasn't certain that the 
gun hadn't simply gone off in his hand. 
As the explosion came, Delbert seemed 
to throw himself onto the surface of the 
road, his hands working at his neck, as if 
he were trying to undo something too 
tight there. Everything had erupted in 
the sound of the gun going off, and now 
it was here. Delbert lay writhing in the 
road, seeming to try to run on his side, 
clutching at his neck. It was here. They 
had gone past everything now. It was 
done now. 

“Delbert?” Kaufman’s own voice 
seemed to come from somewhere far 
away. 

His son-in-law looked at him and tried 
to speak. lle held his hands over the 
moving dark place in his neck, and then 
Kaufman saw that blood was pouring 
through his fingers. Delbert coughed 
and spattered it everywhere. His eyes 
were wide, and he looked at the older 
man, coughing. He got out the words, 
"I'm shot. Jesus.” 

Kaufman said. "Oh God," and then, 
out of a kind of aghast and terrified 
reflex, aimed the pistol at the side of the 
boy's head, hearing the deep throat 
sound, looking at the intricate flesh of 
his ear, blood spattered. 

“It hurts,” Delbert got out, spitting 
blood. He coughed and tried to scream. 
What came from him did not sound 
human. 

Kaufman closed his eyes and tried to 
fire again, wanting only for the sound to 
stop. It was all he wanted in the world 
now. He had a vague sense of the need 
to end the other's pain. 

“Awghh, God,” Delbert said, cough- 
ing. "Awghh. Help. Christ.” 

The pistol went off, seeming to jump 
in Kaufman's hand once more. And for a 
little while the younger man simply lay 
there, staring, with a look of supreme 
disappointment and sorrow on his face, 
his left leg jerking oddly. The leg went 
оп jerking, and Kaufman stood in the 
appalling bright sun, waiting for it to 
stop. He walked a few paces away, then 
came back, hearing Delbert give forth 
another hard cough—almost a barking 


188 sound—and still another, lower, some- 


how farther down in the throat. It went 
on. There was more thrashing, the high, 
thin sound of an effort to breathe. 

“Goddamn it—I told you, boy. God- 
damn it.” 

The waiting was awful, and he 
thought he should fire again. The sec- 
ond bullet had gone in somewhere along 
the side of Delbert’s head and had done 
something to his eyesight, because the 
eyes did nothing when Kaufman 
dropped the gun and knelt down to 
speak to him. 

“Delbert? Jesus Christ, son.” 

The breathing was still going on, the 
high, beast-whistling, desperate sound 
of it. In the next instant. Kaufman 
lunged to his feet and ran wildly in the 
direction of the highway, falling, scrab- 
bling to his feet, crying for help. He 
reached the highway and found noth- 
ing—empty fields of snow and ice. Turn- 
ing, he came to the realization that the 
only sound now was his own ragged 
breathing. Delbert lay on his side, still in 
the road, and a little blast of the wind 
lifted the hair at the crown of his head. 
Kaufman started toward him, then 
paused. He was sick. He knelt down, 
sick, and his hands went into the melting 
snow and ice. He heard someone say, 
"Oh God,” and came quickly to his feet. 
But there wasn't anyone; it had been his 
own voice. “Oh God, oh God. God, God, 
God.” 

The car had both doors open. Spines 
of dry grass were sticking up out of the 
crust of snow in the fields on cither side. 
He noticed these things. Minute details: 
the curve of stones in the road surface, 
the colors of frozen carth and grass, flesh 
of the backs of his hands, blood-Aecked, 
somehow. There was a prodigious quiet, 
all around—a huge, unnatural silence. 
He coughed into it, breathed and then 
tried to breathe out. He couldn't look at 
the body, and then he couldn't keep 
from looking. 

He could not find in himself anything 
but this woozy, sinking, breath-stealing 
sickness and fascination. A sense of the 
terrible quiet. He walked to the car, 
closed the doors and then sat down in 
the road, holding his arms around him- 
self. The other man lay there, so still, not 
aman now, and he had never been any- 
thing but a spoiled, headlong, brutal, 
talkative boy. 

There was a voice speaking, and again 
it took another moment for him to real- 
ize it was his own. The knowledge came 
to him with a wave of revulsion. He had 
been mouthing the Lord's Prayer. 

He got into the car and drove it to his 
house. His wife stood in the window, 
wringing her hands, waiting. She 
opened the door for him. “Oh Frank.” 

“Better call the police,” he said. He 
couldn't believe the words. Something 
leaped in his stomach, and it was as 
though he had to remember it all over 
again—his son-in-law pitching and 


lurching and bleeding in the road. He 
had actually done this thing. 

"Oh honey." She reached for him. 

"Don't," he said. He went past her, in- 
to the kitchen, where he sat down and 
put his hands to his head. 

"Frank?" she said from the entrance. 
“Fay called. She was frantic. She saw you 
drive away together.” 

He looked at her. It came to him that 
he could not stand the thought of having 
her touch him; nor did he want to hear 
the sound of her voice or to have her 
near him at all. 

“I'm afraid. Frank. I'm so terrified. 
Tell me. You didn't actually——" She 
stopped. “You just scared him, right? 
Frank?” 

“Leave me alone,” he said. “Please.” 

She walked over and put her hands on 
his shoulders. It took everything he had 
t0 keep from striking her. 

“Get away from me,” he said. “Call the 
police. It's done. Understand? He won't 
be hurting her or anybody anymore. Do 
you understand me? It’s over with.” 

“Oh please- " she said. "Oh God." 

“I said call the police. Just take care of 
that much. You can do that, can’t you?" 

She left him there. He put his head 
down on his folded arms, trying not to 
be sick, and he could hear her moving 
around in the next room. She used the 
telephone, but he couldn’t tell what she 
said. Then there was just the quict of 
waiting for the rest of this, whatever it 
would be, to play itself out. He kept still. 
It came to him, like something surfacing 
out of memory, that he would never see 
anything anymore, closing his cyes, but 
what was on that farm road in the sun, 
not five miles away. 

He sat up and looked at the opposite 
wall, hearing Caroline crying in the oth- 
cr room. Without wanting to, he 
thought of all the countless, unremark- 
able, harmless disagreements of their 
long life together, and how they had al- 
ways managed gradually to find their 
way back to being civil, and then friend- 
ly, and then in love again. How it always 
was: the anger subsiding at last, the day's 
practical matters requiring attention, 
which led to talk, and the talk invariably 
leading them home to each other. He re- 
membered it all, and he wished with his 
whole heart that his daughter might one 
day know something of it: That life that 
was over for him now, unbridgeable dis- 
tances gone, and couldn't ever come 
back anymore. He understood quite well 
that it had been obliterated in the awful 
minutes it took Delbert Chase to die. 
And even so, some part of his mind kept 
insisting on its own motion, and Kauf- 
man felt again how it had been, in that 
life so far away—how it was to go 
through his days in the confidence, the 
perfectly reasonable and thoughtless ex- 
pectation, of happiness. 


= mas in Las Vegas 


(continued from page 84) 


At the juice bars the performers can be nude. If you 
can see pussy, she's under 21. It's really creepy. 


happens, but some of the tough chicks, 
they re back there twisting their knobs 
with a wrench. They don't like you to 
watch that." 

"Tony loves the women and the cos- 
tumes. I want him to see the transition. I 
want him to see Georgie change from 
the tall, perfect, headdressed, back- 
packed figment of someone else's imagi- 
nation (to quote the living Elvis) into the 
real woman she is—young, wild Kurt 
Cobain hair and a face full of life without 
her huge glued-on eyelashes. He can't 
recognize her. She has been dancing 
lead for ten years, since she turned 17, 
and no one has ever recognized her out 
of all that drag. Even Топу can't make 
show-Georgie and Georgie-Georgie be 
the same person. 

Bruce Wayne should be this good. 
Tony doesn't know which Georgie to 
draw—wild ass Georgie or genetically 
engineered white tiger Georgie. They 
are both Vegas. 

The next day the whole town does its 
Georgie act for Tony. 

I drive him out to my house. It's way 


southwest of the middle of nowhere. I'm 
doubling the size of my house and 
there's a lot of construction going on, 
construction in nowhere. There are rab- 
bits and ground squirrels and snakes 
and scorpions and scorpion spiders. 
(Scorpion spider—that's the real name 
of this thing. It's the two creepiest bad 
things rolled up into one butt-ugly bug. 
Its like a Don Johnson-Kreskin—how 
much bad can be in one critter?) 

This is also real Vegas. It's hot, really 
hot, 114, and we're walking around in 
the dirt of construction looking at all the 
tough-ass vegetation just beyond the 
mounds of topsoil. 

"This is shit that is so tough, it can live 
here. It chooses to live here. Man, it's 
beautiful. It isn’t lush. It's the desert. It's 
tough, and built on top of it isa modern 
city of lights. 

It's not God's land, goddamn it, it’s 
Satan's land. Nothing green can live 
here. I flourish. 

"I've got to draw a cactus flower, man, 
а bad-assed one." 


Vegas thinks that the major purpose of 
government is to regulate how women 
use their bodies. Here's how goofy it 
gets: If a club serves alcohol, the women 
have to leave their G-strings on (if booze 
touches pussy—man, it’s worse than the 
A-bombs they used to test here). 

Also, women under 21 can't “dance” 
where alcohol is served. 

So there are all these clubs with j 
soda pop that are full of dancers unde! 
21. These juice-bar clubs don't serve al- 
cohol, so the performers can be nude. It 
ends up, for the most part, that if you 
can see pussy, she's under 21. It's really 
creepy. 

It almost seems that it would be better 
to let adults decide for themselves. But 
this isn't a political article. We're here to 
learn about Xmas in Vegas. 

We spend five hours at the Palomino 
drinking cranberry juice and Seven-Up. 
(The Palomino was grandfathered in, 
so it can have alcohol and bottomless 
women. We don't drink, but we're more 
comfortable with naked women over 21.) 
One of the features, a sultry dark-haired 
woman with long golden fingernails, 
talks with us all night. Her name is Sa- 
mina. She and Tony compare tattoos 
and I get a lap dance from her. I ask her 
if the Palomino is open on Xmas. It is. 
"That research is done. 

The next night, Tony goes to see 
Lance Burton, the magician who buys 


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PLAYBOY 


190 


me dinner every ime I mention him in 
the press. He kills Tony dead. Tony can't 
stop talking about the hillbilly with the 
birds. Lance is good. 1 tell Tony that 
it used to be that when Lance rose into 
the air with the woman riding on top of 
him, she was topless and in the female- 
dominant pose as they fioated out of 
this world. 

“Why did he change?" 

“Lance got pimp-slapped by the Ve- 
gas-as-family-city thing. He cleaned up 
and got a $100 million contract." 

“It’s not worth it, man.” 

“I know, but to Lance it is. He's a great 
magician, but he's from Kentucky. He'll 
have a really big dressing room, really 
big. He'll be happy and he'll do great 
magic. He just won't be fucked out of 
this world.” 

I'm telling Lance this to his face. We're 
all out at the Peppermill Coffee Shop in 
the middle of the night, where they have 
gas jets underwater in the fountain so 
the water seems to burn. It's man-made, 
future water, burning pretty. Lance is 
good-natured. He knows that we love 
him and his act, so he'll take our end- 
less shit. 

He's carrying around four white para- 
keets in the pocket of his suit jacket (Ve- 
gas loves mutant white wildlifc) so they'll 
get used to him. 

"What's Xmas in Vegas like, Lance? 
You've been here.” 

“Xmas in Vegas is kind of like Xmas on 
a cruise ship—it's all the people whose 


families hate them.” 

It takes a while to persuade him to let 
me quote him. A lot of people expressed 
that idea, but Lance said it best. Vegas is 
a vacation from Xmas. The phony Xtian 
vibe of Xmas can't live here. I don't gam- 
ble and I don't drink and I don't smoke 
and Гуе never even paid for sex (not 
with money, anyway. With every fiber of 
my fucking soul? Yes). I'm from Massa- 
chusetts. I'm a puritan at heart, a puri- 
tan as only an atheist can be: pure, hard, 
unbending. And my heart is in Vegas. 1 
love my family and they love me. 1 love 
them whenever Vegas is open—24, 7, 
365. Tony loves his family the same way. 
Love is human. Vegas is human. 

But Vegas is also man-made. There is 
no spirituality. I wish it weren't built on 
bad math. I wish the bright-light cele- 
bration of technology could go all the 
way through. I want lower taxes, but I 
don't like my taxes being subsidized by 
people who think that big, dumb, un- 
stoppable statistics don't apply to them. 
I hate all the liquor and the sadness. But 
Vegas is so beautiful. Tony suggested we 
say "every day is Xmas in Vegas" and I 
talked him out of that. 

It's better than that in Vegas—it's nev- 
er Xmas. It’s just so goddamn beautiful, 
24, 7, 365. It’s sad and it's dangerous. 
It's a cheap holiday in other people's 
misery, and, well, it's a wild ass. It's just a 
wild ass—look at the pictures. 


“Tm not sending Christmas cards this year.” 


CHRONICLES of the Arad 
(continued from page 106) 


kid's happy just to have been in his pres- 
ence. He can go around the hall saying, 
“Jerry's doing my blow." 


Saturday, August 16, 1969. Jesus, 
we're almost to Max Yasgur's farm. Cue 
Crosby, Stills and Nash soundtrack! 

I'm late getting to Woodstock—some- 
thing I'll try never to do in the future. 
Гуе been tying up loose ends in New 
York, along with the rest of the man- 
agers. Our name is on the poster, the 
Dcad's appearance is being advertised 
on radio spots, ctc., so we want to be 
paid—right now, 

We're all jockeying for position. Hen- 
drix gets top billing, natch. (How's Mon- 
day at six AM., Jimi?) And in between 
we're all calling the weatherman because 
up in Woodstock it’s pouring rain. It’s al- 
ready Mud Hill up there. The cynics are 
saying it'll never work, but we know 
everyone in the world is headed for 
Woodstock. 

We finally get it all hammered out and 
leave in the middle of the night for 
Woodstock. Well, not quite to Wood- 
stock, because we get stuck in the middle 
of the mother of all traffic jams. I am ina 
wagon train of limousines with Bobby 
Weir and a bunch of stockbrokers who 
have dropped acid and want to invest 
money in the Grateful Dead and be the 
next Woodstock biggies. The movers and 
shakers send me out to clear the road 
while they sit back and drink mimosas 
and snort their breakfasts. 

“OK, we're coming through! It's the 
Grateful Dead!" I cry like I have the 
Holy Roman Emperor and his en- 
tourage behind me. Of course, it's only 
one Grateful Dead back there—Bobby 
Weir is stuffed in the back between two 
rich little stockbrokers’ girls. Six limos 
coming through with one band member. 

We straggle in to the backstage com- 
pound early in the morning. The rest of 
the band has already been there and 
gone. They tried to do their sound check 
but because of all the delays have gone 
back to their hotel, which is where I find 
Garcia. 

A measure of the insanity level even 
before the start of Woodstock is that the 
Merry Pranksters—Ken Kesey, all the 
rest—have been hired to do security. 
They drive all the way across the country 
to Woodstock, setting up their encamp- 
ment down in this gully with Wavy 
Gravy and his people. Freak Hollow. 

In the afternoon my girlfriend Nicki 
and I go swimming. We are going to 
make love in the water, but all of a sud- 
den there are magnets going in different 
directions. We are so high we can see the 
electricity, those LSD polarity warps, 
streaming through the water. We are 


tingling from head to toe as a thousand 
volts of ethereal electricity zap through 
us. Who needs sex? 

Finally, it’s time for the Dead to go on. 
We're getting ready to put our equip- 
ment onstage. It's all on risers, but our 
gear is so heavy it breaks the wheels and 
we have to move everything by hand, 
which takes forever. In the meantime, in- 
cessant nightmare announcements are 
coming over the PA. 

“Please do not rob the hot dog 
stands." 

“Please, everyone, get off the tower, 
someone just fell.” 

"Don't take the brown acid, there" 
bad acid out there, so don't take it. 
They don't say what the thousands who 
have already taken it should do. (Pre- 
sumably get off the towers.) 

Ominous announcements, no music, 
everybody scrambling around. All of us 
look tense and horrible and uptight. 
And then—that's right, folks—it's time 
for the Grateful Dead to go on. (So glad 
1 spent all that time hammering out our 
spot in the lineup.) 

I make the mistake of thinking, What 
more can happen? And then suddenly, 
as if someone has pulled a cord, dark- 
ness falls. Oh well, time for the light 
show—that should perk us up. Good old 
ойу polychrome globules oozing across 
the backdrop. This screen is huge, a tru- 
ly monstrous thing. 

But no sooner is the screen in place 
than the wind picks up and the stage— 
the largest stage you've ever seen, stand- 
ing 30 feet above the ground—starts vi- 
brating. This is not drug reaction: The 
entire thing is physically quaking. 

Our beautiful giant screen has turned 
into a sail and is moving the stage 
through the sea of mud like the good 
ship Mary Celeste. The screen is starting 
to slide, it is tipping over, and Dicken, 
my brother, has to climb the mizzenmast 
and slash it with a bowie knife. Not a 
good omen, Captain. 

The band looks petrified: the broken 
risers, the light and dark, the terrible an- 
nouncements, the stage taking off on its 
own. And Garcia and Weir—all those 
guys—when they're in front of people 
and they're high and there's fear in the 
air, well, they become fearful too. It 
would take a lot less than half a million 
people zapping jangled, weird vibes 
back at them to spook this band. 

And in the middle of their first num- 
ber, St. Stephen, this crazy guy we know 
runs out to the middle of the stage and 
starts flinging acid into the crowd. After 
all those announcements! His acid is 
purple, but it looks brown, like the acid 
you're not supposed to take. 

When Garcia sees this mad, crazy guy 
throwing what looks like brown acid off 
the stage—something he might under 
normal circumstances have thought 
droll and antic—he turns into Captain 
Ahab! Any minute he's going to harpoon 


Wavy Gravy or something cqually des- 
perate. That was Wavy Gravy, wasn't it? 

To make matters worse, the Dead are 
playing horribly. They just cannot get 
started, can't get it right. Not one song. 
The sound is awful, and it is windy and 
blustery and cold. 

We are all trapped in this quagmire 
(and grisly mind-set) when the State of 
New York declares the place a disaster 
area. With Army helicopters flying in 
with water, it’s beginning to look and 
sound like Vietnam. And it's a high old 
crowd. Actually, that's like Vietnam too. 
Even the music reminds me of Vietnam! 
Jesus, my mind is snapping. 

Finally the Dead finishes up with Turn 
On Your Lovelight, but even Pigpen's 
surefire rabble-rouser can't quite pull it 
out. Thank God that's over. We walk 
across the arca behind the stage and run 
into one of the Dead's roadies. I am talk- 
ing to him when all of a sudden all the 
paisley washes out of his face. Ah, nor- 
malcy! I never thought I would embrace 
it with such enthusiasm. 


Workingman’s Dead and American Beauty 
(both released in 1970) are the first 
Dead albums that we think of as having 
any commercial potential, Our previous 
approach had been that of lysergic storm 
troopers: We think the world should get 
cosmic so we're going to force this psy- 
chedelic shit down your throat. But the 
spaced-out psychedelic and blues jams 
оп Anthem of the Sun and Aoxomoxoa 
aren't working even on their own terms, 
and FM radio is moving away from its 
middle-of-the-night gonzo thing. It's go- 
ing into daytime programming. for 
Christ's sake. Long cuts are played only 
when the DJ has to take a leak. 

For the first time since our first album 
we are dealing with songs rather than 
jams. And these songs are all three and а 
half or four minutes long. We try to 
arrange the order in such a way that it 
will be casy for DJs to cue. The song we 
think will be the most popular is the first 
track of the first side, the next most pop- 
ular is the first track of the second side, 
third choice is the last track of the first 
side and the fourth choice is the last 
tack of the second side. 

Truckin’ (from American Beauty) is Jer- 
ry's favorite. It is timely since, coinciden- 
tally, the К. Crumb cartoon has just 
come out. The word's in the air. Truckin’ 
was a Haight word. It’s what we did 
down the avenue, and that momentum 
is part of the times. The Byrds, CSN, the 
Airplane, all our friends have had hits. 1 
figure, Fuck this, let's get one too. We're 
good enough. 

I meet a guy who is one of the most 
successful record pushers and AM radio 
fixers in the business (he ends up a beer 
distributor). And this guy manages to get 
Truckin’ played in heavy rotation—16 


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PLAYBOY 


192 


times a day on major AM stations. As a 
result, we actually have a minihit. We аге 
amazed. It actually works! Workingman's 
Dead sells some 250,000 copies and 
American Beauty more than doubles that. 
And to think all you have to dois lace the 
DJs with ап eight ball of blow, a few 
lunches and an occasional new Cadillac. 
Capitalism at its finest. 


October 4, 1970, Winterland. Janis 
Joplin ODsin Hollywood while the Dead. 
do their set. 

Later, somebody figures out she must 
have died during Cold Rain and Snow. We 
decide not to tell the band until the show 
is over. Maybe they'll want to do Death 
Don't Have No Mercy or some other blues 


dirge as an encore. But as I break the 
news I can see there won't be any en- 
cores tonight. Everybody is too broken 
up. She didn't take acid; she yelled at us 
a lot. But if anybody embodied the high- 
spirited, larger-than-life energy of the 
Haight, it was Janis. 

I can see that Jerry is blown away, but 
at moments like this he always manages 
to summon philosophical side. "She 
was on a real hard path. She picked it, 
she chose it, it's OK. She did what she 
had to do and closed her books. 1 would 
describe that as a good score in life writ- 
ing, with an appropriate ending." 


We're staying on one of the top floors 
at the Navarro on Central Park South in 


“Here he comes, back again—another 
goddamned 12 months of how many sexy girls he 
met, what great legs they had, how fantastic 
their tits were, how. . . .” 


New York. The Who are in town, and 
they're staying next door. Jerry and I are 
spending а quiet evening in the global 
village working on our hobbies: recre- 
ational drugs and watching TV. The 
eternal, endlessly shape-shifting box. Its 
nature changes with each new drug. 
With grass you want to turn the sound 
off and play records. On acid everything: 
that happens on the set is uncannily cal- 
ibrated to each fleeting thought: You аге 
TV. With coke you talk over it, talk back 
at it, shoot it dead if need be 

Tap-tap-tap-tap. 

“Did you hear that?" I ask. 

“Yeah, man, what was that?” 

It’s something outside the window! 

Blow breeds paranoia. And it is conta- 
gious. There are enough demons flap- 
ping through our brains as it is without 
some alien entity crouching on the win- 
dowsill, tap-tap-tapping on the case- 
ment. I don't want to engage Garcia's 
alarm system over nothing, but this is, 
let's face it, a critical situation. It’s one of 
those dread occasions where you need 
another human being to tell you that 
you're simply imagining the entire 
thing. Although I know from bitter ex- 
perience Jerry isn't that guy. 

Tap! Tap! Tap! 

"Jesus! There it is again." 

“Turn the set off, man, so we can h 
the damn thing." 

Good! Jerry is being sensible. “It's 
probably a pigeon," I suggest. “It could 
be anything.” 

“It could be anything?" 

“Oh, man, you read too much science 
fiction.” 

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

“Holy shit! It must be fucking huge!” 

Jerry isn't taking any chances. He 
assumes the shield position from the 
high school manual What lo Do in Case of 
a Nuclear Attack, crouching under the 
writing desk. 

“You go check it out, Rock.” 

Oh, thanks, Jerry. And if you see my 
head getting chewed off by a fucking gi- 
gantic mutant mantis, be sure to inform 
the front desk so it doesn't disturb the 
other guests. 

But I'm not nearly as concerned about 
it as I'm putting out to Jerry. What, me 
worry? It's a game. It's something the 
Imp of Blow has cooked up in our 
scorched brains. It's going to be some 
bird with a broken wing or something. 
And when it sees me, a bug-eyed, teeth- 
grinding giant human, it's going to be 
scared out of its wits. 

I pull back the curtains with a dramat- 
ic flourish. And there outside the win- 
dow I see the fearsome popping eyes, 
the demented predatory grin—the fiend 
itself! 

“Aaah!” 

That Clockwork Orange orb of a face 
could belong only to—Keith Moon! The 
demon drummer of the Who blithely 


grimaces back at me from his precarious 
perch. 1 pull open the window and let 
him in. 

"Keith, what the hell are you doing 
out there?" 

In a barely recognizable imitation of 
the Queen's English he drones: “May I 
please crawl in your window, baby?” 

Keith is so paranoid from doing blow 
in his room alone all night that he has 
double-bolted his door, forgotten that 
he’s done it and is too stoned to figure 
out how to open it. Calling the front 
desk in this condition may arouse un- 
wanted questions and he logically de- 
cides to inch along the ledge between 
our connecting rooms. 

The cuphoria of rel 
the hotel room is intoxicating. 
in and do a few lines, man,” Jerry says 
sweepingly. 

“Don't mind if I do." 

Snort! 


Mama Cass is dead, you say? God, 
that’s right! And, fuck, Keith Moon's 
gone, too, so it's at least 1978. right? Oh 
well, right now exactitude isn't our main 
concern. These days we're trying to be- 
come more confused (and succeeding 
admirably) 

At least I know where we are: UC- 
fucking-LA! They have finally broken 
out the home team dressing rooms for 
us. The sanctum sanctorum. It has taken 
us five concerts at Pauley Payilion to get 
in here. Before this we had been ban- 
ished to the visiting team’s locker room, 
which is crummy. The home team’s 
dressing rooms are carpeted, with killer 
showers and big beautiful lockers and a 
lounge. We're getting the royal treat- 
ment because of Bill Walton, UCLA's star 
basketball player. He has even persuad- 
ed coach John Wooden to allow the team 
to practice to Grateful Dead music, if 
you can believe it. And now he has shoe- 
horned us into the locker room 

We have, as usual, made ourselves 
very much at home. Caterers out back 
are barbecuing steaks, and the sauternes 
and champagnes are chilling in various 
buckets. Blonde college girls in shorts 
and tank tops are running around, 
which is always nice. Who needs New 
Year's Eve? 

Hey, there's Captain Gas, without 
whom no party would be complete. He 
has a long gray ZZ Top beard and a cap- 
tain's hat with an anchor and scrambled 
eggs on it. And he has his tank of nitrous 
oxide with him, complete with eight 
plastic hoses, each equipped with a dead 
man's cutoff that shuts down if you pass 
out and fall over. Let's not waste natural 
resources! 

With eight people sucking ona tank, it 
becomes a giant frozen bomb so frosty 
you could write your name on it in Ti- 
juana in August. To free up the gas there 


are only two things you can do: You can 
turn it over, in which case the gas be- 
comes liquid and dangerous—it ll freeze 
your heart and lungs. Or you can drag it 
into the shower and heat it up, which is 
what we have just done. 

The team showers together, so there 
are like 16 showerheads per wall. We 
turn all of them on. It's a rain forest in 
here with this frozen tank of nitrous ox- 
ide slowly thawing, Meanwhile, the 
roadies have talked a few coeds into en- 
tering the shower. This wet-T-sl thing 
starts going on. One of the girls has tak- 
en off her shirt. Their bras are gone and 
they're frolicking in the showers, falling 
down, lathering themselves up with soap 
and bubbles and sucking on the octo- 
pus—each one has her own clear plastic 
hose. Another five minutes and every- 
body is stark naked 

Naturally, I would like to join them, 
but I have other things to do. I'm charg- 
ing down the hall when the promoter 
runs up to me and says, "Rock, man, you 
better pull the shit together. The UCLA 
regents are here.” 

“Ha-ha! Hey, that's not funny, dude. 
“I'm serious. They're right behind 
me!” he says. I look over his shoulder 
and—fuck!—there they are, these stern 
overlords of the executive caste wearing 
their Benjamin Franklin glasses. Very 
tucked-in, with their watch fobs and dis- 
creet lapel g them to a per- 
sunal u yonie crypt. Even the women are 
wearing three-piece suits. 

A phalanx of pinched faces walking in 
tight formation, their next destination is 
the locker room, and just beyond that 
the showers, where bacchanalian revels 
are in progress. Dr. Gas is naked except 
for that dopey captain's hat, which he 
wears even in the shower. People are 
passing out from the steam and the ni- 
trous. I know that there's no way I can 
stop the dour army of regents. They 
stride into the lounge. The leader of the 
delegation is like Rosemary Woods, a li- 
brarian from hell. Casting a beady eye 
around, briskly making a few marks on 
her clipboard. “The lounge and dressing 
rooms seem to be in order,” she says. 
“Now, let's move on. We'd like to inspect 
the showers next.” 

“Uh, you mean, like —" 

“Now!” 

“Um, [ don’t think that’s advisable just 
now, ma'am. I've got some crew in the 
shower, ma'am, you know, um, we're 
moving out of here tonight. Would you 
mind coming back another time?” 

“That's out of the question.” 

One of the gentlemen in the delega- 
tion pushes ahead of her: “Belinda, why 
don't I just go in there and take a look?” 
He goes into the locker room, peeks into 
the showers and stops dead in his tracks. 
He's speechless, riveted to the spot. His 
mind is split in two. Half of him wants to 
tear off his clothes and join them, but the 
other half (the half that owns 4000 


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shares of 3M) is appalled. 

It's the way he stops that alerts the rest 
of them. What could have so paralyzed 
our Mr. Metalfatigue? The regents want 
to know. They all rush in—including this 
woman. 

"There are half a dozen healthy south- 
ern California Valley girls cavorting with 
a bunch of degenerate beer-swizzling, 
gas-breathing crazies. And this naked 
guy wearing a captain's hat is passed out 
on the floor with a big hard-on. We blew 
their minds. I'm told some later moved 
to Denver. Would you be surprised to 
hear that we were booted out of there 
that afternoon and told we would never 
play there again? 

Not for another year, anyway. 


On the 1979 East Coast tour—cue 
Sweet Little Sixteen —we get tight with 
John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd from 
Saturday Night Live. They’ve bought a 
neighborhood saloon down in the meat- 
market district of Manhattan opposite a 
nude bar called the Sweet Shop or somc- 
thing. It's their own private bar where 
they can party all night long with their 
friends. It's almost invisible from the 
outside. All boarded up with steel roll- 
down gates in front and not a single 
neon beer sign to indicate that anything 
is going on there. 

Ws ancient, built in the 1800s, with 
wide plank floors. And behind the funky 
old bar there's a wooden trapdoor you 
can pull up to walk down steep wooden 
stairs into what might be a dungeon. 
‘There are stone walls and a low ceiling 


with wooden beams. Here the serious 
partying goes on. Jerry spends most of 
his time down here in a cloud of white 
dust. There are huge frigging lines laid 
out on top of cases of Heineken. Some- 
times there's a rail of coke on every stair 
as you go down. 

Garcia's most recent obse: 
Vonnegut's The Sirens of 
bought the movie rights. It’s playing in 
his head. "Hey, man, dig this: A man and 
his dog are about to—snort!—materialize 
out of thin air by way of the chronosyn- 
clastic infundibula on the lawn of a large 
estate.” He's there! The intercortical 
cameras are rolling. 

Few could resist the lure of the Blues 
Brothers’ club. One night Francis Cop- 
pola shows up and we try to interest him 
in doing the film of The Sirens of Titan 
He's astonished anyone would even try. 
“You can't make a movie of that, it's phi- 
losophy!" But Garcia is convinced it 
must be brought to the big screen! He 
begins casting about for screenwriters 
who'll take it on. 

In order to goose the project, a major 
meeting is held with Garcia and Aykroyd 
and some of the SNL writers about rais- 
ing development money for The Sirens of 
Tilan using some of their connections. 
Jerry hates meetings, so to keep 
his attention we bring piles of cocaine to 
get him through it. At this point Tom 
Davis and Michael O'Donoghue begin 
writing the screenplay. Its an almost im- 
possible task, the book is a satiro-cosmic 
tract. The funny bits aren't really 
filmable, they're verbal, and without 
them the plot is a preposterous interstel- 


WELL, WELL. IF iT IST RUDOLPH THE BROWN NoSe" Керер, 


Jar chicken without feathers. As far as 1 
know somebody may still be trying to get 
the shapeless thing to fly. 


One of the myths of the Grateful Dead 
is that it's a democracy. It’s an admirable 
ambition. Unfortunately, it's not true. 
The Grateful Dead has always been and 
always will be Jerry Garcia. And when 
the king abdicates—as Jerry docs con- 
stantly—the kingdom falls into thc 
hands of manipulators and thieves. Gar- 
cia has never been very good at being 
in charge, has he? He passes the buck 
any time he can. Jerry will squirm out 
of anything. He simply can't deal with 
unpleasantness. 

What E.M. Forster said of Tristram 
Shandy might easily have been said of the 
carly Dead: "There's a god at its center 
and its name is Muddle.” In those first 
rambunctious years we would have tak- 
en this as a compliment. As our fearless 
leader once said: “Formlessness and 
chaos can lead to new forms. And new 
order, Closer to, probably, what the real 
order is.” This was the high, cosmic en- 
ergy of the acid tests and the early 
Haight. 

For a long time anarchic mischief pro- 
pelled us. It was a magic force. But now 
the Dead have become engulfed and 
paralyzed by the forces of chaos they 
once rode. What we have now is no 
longer Taoist chaos or fertile anarchy 
but default. And we all know what flour- 
ishes in default. 

‘That Garcia is being held hostage by 
the Grateful Dead has been obvious for 
years. Jerry isn't blind. He can see that. 
the Dead are stultifying. But any mur- 
mur of taking a break—as we did in 
1974—10 rethink and revitalize the Dead 
is met by laying a huge guilt trip on Jer- 
ry. They bring out the babies, the Kids, 
the hospital bills. “We've all got families!" 
Big wringing of the hands and weeping 
There's a huge jones there for the mon- 
cy. Everybody who works for the Dead 
has been so well paid for so long they 
can't let the cash cow go to pasture. They 
have mortgages and car payments and 
all this has swamped the original ideals 
of the band. 
ith the Dead we had the chance to 
be different. In the old days, adventure 
and infinite possibility were our mis- 
sions. "Let's try it!" We always wanted to 
take the band to the Grand Canyon and 
play, but it seemed as the years went by, 
it got harder to do anything other than 
go to the same old places. 

It seems as if everything that starts out 
as genuine in America eventually hits the 
road and, in an amazingh 
of time, starts selling tickets to i 
turning into self-parody. Authenticity is 
just about the most marketable thing go- 
ing. And by God, Jerry had it. 


(Mitch Bear (continued from page 94) 


“I can't thank you enough,” cried Lotte. "You're at 
risk! I won't stay long, a few hours." 


And more years and more after that. 
God, feel! If you put your hand in, yes? 
Would you feel it change? What if I satin 
that rocking chair and shut the door, 
what? That woman, how long was she in 
there? From way, way back. Wouldn't it 
be strange?” 

“Bull!” 

“But if you wanted to run away badly 
enough, wished for it, prayed for it, and 
people ran after you and someone hid 
you in a place like this, a witch behind a 
door, and you heard the searchers run 
through the house, closer and closer, 
wouldn't you want to get away? Any- 
where? To another place? Why not an- 
other time? And then, in a house like 
this, a house so old nobody knows, 
wouldn't it be—if you wanted and asked 
for it enough—you could run to another 
time. Maybe,” she paused, “here?” 

“No,” he said. “That's stupid!” 

But still, some quiet motion within the 
closeted space caused both, at almost the 
same instant, to hold their hands out in 
the air, curious, like people testing invis- 
ible waters. The air seemed to move one 
way and then another, now warm, now 
cold, with a pulsation of light and a sud- 
den turning toward dark. All this they 
thought but could not say. There was 
weather here, now a quick touch of sum- 
mer and then a winter cold, which could 
not be, of course, but there it was. Pass- 
ing along their fingertips, but unseen by 
their eyes, a stream of shadows and sun 
ran as invisible as time itself, clear as 
crystal, but clouded by a shifting dark. 
Both felt that if they were to thrust their 
hands deep, they might be drawn in to 
drown in a storm of seasons within an in- 
credibly small space. All this, too, they 
thought or almost felt but could not say. 

They scizcd their frozen but sun- 
burned hands back, to stare down and 
hold them against their breasts. 

” whispered Robert. “Oh 


damn!" 

He backed off and went to open the 
front door again and look at the snowing 
night where the footprints had almost 
vanished. 

"No." he said. “No, no.” 


Just then the yellow flash of headlights 
on the road braked in front of the house. 

"Lote!" cried Martha, "It must be! 
Lotte!" 

The car lights went out. They ran to 
meet the running woman halfway up the 
front yard. 

"Lotte!" 

The woman, wild-eyed, hair wind- 


blown, threw herself at them. 

“Martha, Bob! God, I thought I'd nev- 
er find you! Lost! I'm being followed. 
Let's get inside. Oh, I didn't mean to get 
you up in the middle of the night. It’s 
good to see you! Jesus! Hide the car! 
Here are the keys!” 

Robert ran to drive the car behind the 
house. When he came back around he 
saw that the heavy snowfall was already 
covering its tracks. Then the three of 
them were inside the house, talking, 
holding on to one another. Robert kept 
glancing at the front door. 

"I can't thank you enough,” cried 
Lotte, huddled in a chair. “You're at risk! 
I won't stay long, a few hours. Until it's 
safe. Then" 

“Stay as long as you want.” 

"No. They'll follow. In the cities, the 
fires, the murders, everyone starving, 1 
stole gas. Do you have more? Enough to 
get me to Greenborough? 1—” 

"Lotte?" said Robert. 

“Yes?” Lotte stopped, breathless. 

“Did you see anyone on your way up 
here? A woman? Running on the road?” 

"What? I was driving so fast. A 
woman? Yes! I almost hit her. Then, she 
was gone! Why?" 

“Well” 

"She's not dangerous?" 

"No, no." 

"It isall right my being here?” 

“Yes, fine, fine. Sit down. We'll fix 
some coffee.” 

“Wait! ГЇЇ check!” Before they could 
stop her Lotte ran to the front door, 
opened it a crack and peered out. They 
stood with her and saw distant head- 
lights flourish over a low hill and dip in- 
toa valley. “They're coming,” said Lotte. 
“They might search here.” 

Martha and Robert glanced at each 
other. No, no, thought Robert. God, no! 
Preposterous, unimaginable. No, none 
of this! Get off, circumstance! Come 
back, Lotte, in ten years, five years, 
maybe a year, a month, a week. Even to- 
morrow! But don't come with coinci- 
dence in cach hand like idiot children 
and ask, only half an hour aficr one ter- 
ror, one miracle, to test our disbelief! 

"What's wrong?" said Lotte. 

“1. " said Robert. 

“No place to hide me?" 

"Yes," he said. "We have a place." 

"You do?" 

“Here” He turned slowly away, 
stunned. 

They walked down the hall to the half- 
open paneling. 

"This?" Lotte said. 
you?” 


“Secret? Did 


“No, it's been here since the house was 
built long аро.” 

Lotte touched and moved the door on 
its hinges. “Does it work? Will they know 
where to look and find и?” 

"No. It's beautifully made. Shut, you 
can't tell it's there.” 

Outside in the winter night cars 
rushed closer, their beams flashing up 
the road, across the house windows. 

Lotte peered into the witch door as if 
down a decp, lonely well. 

A filtering of dust moved about her. 
The small rocking chair trembled. 

Moving in silently, Lotte touched the 
half-burned candle. 

“Why, it's still warm!" 

Martha and Robert said nothing. 
"They held on to the witch door, smelling 
the odor of warm tallow. 

Lotte stood rigidly in the little space, 
bowing her head bencath the beamed 
ceiling. 

A horn blew in the snowing night. 
Lotte took a deep breath and said, “Shut 
the door.” 

They shut the witch door. There was 
no way to tell that а door was there. 

They blew out the lamp and stood in 
the cold dark house, waiting. 

The cars rushed down the road, their 
noise loud, and their ycllow headlights 
bright in the falling snow. The wind 
stirred the footprints in the yard, one 
pair going out, another coming in, and 
they watched the tracks of Lotte’s car 
fast vanishing, and at last, gone. 

“Thank God,” whispered Martha. 

The cars, honking, whipped around 
the last bend and down the hill and 
stopped, waiting, looking in at the dark 
house. Then, at last, they started up 
away into the snow and the hills. 

Soon their lights were gone and the 
sound gone with them. 

“We were lucky,” said Robert. 

"But she's not.” 

“She?” 

“That woman, whoever she was, ran 
out of here. They'll find her. Some- 
body'll find her.” 

"Christ, that's right.” 

"She has no ID, no proof of herself. 
She doesn't know what has happened to 
her. When she tells them who she is and 
where she came from——" 

“Yes, yes.” 

“God help her.” 

They looked into the snowing night 
but saw nothing. Everything was still. 
“You can't escape,” she said. "No matter 
what you do, you can't escape.” 


They moved away from the window 
and down the hall to the witch door and 
touched it 

“Lotte,” they called. 

The witch door did not tremble or 
move. 

“Lotte, you can come out now.” 


PLAYBOY 


196 


"There was no answer, not a breath nor 
a whisper. 

Robert tapped the door. "Hey, in 
there." 

“Lotte!” 

He knocked at the paneling, agitated. 

“Lotte!” 

“Open it!” 

"I'm trying, damn it!” 

“Lotte, we'll get you out, wait! Every- 
thing's all right!” 

He beat with both fists, cursing. Then 
he shouted, “Watch out,” took a step 
back, raised his leg and kicked once, 
twice, three times, vicious kicks at the 
paneling that crunched holes and crum- 
bled wood into kindling. He reached in 
and yanked the entire paneling free. 
"Lotte!" 

They leaned together into the small 
place under the stairs. The candle flick- 
ered on the small table. The Bible was 
gone. The small rocking chair moved 
quietly back and forth, in little arcs, and 
then stood still. 

"Lotte!" 

"They stared at the empty room. The 


candle flickered. 

"Lotte," they said. 

“You don't believe?” 

"I don't know. Old houses are old . . . 
old.” 

“You think Lotte . . . she- 

“I don't know, I don't know. 

"Then she's safe at least, safe! Thank 
God!" 

"Safe? Where's she gone? You really 
think that? A woman in new clothes, with 
red lipstick, high heels, short skirt, per- 
fume, plucked brows, diamond rings 
and pantyhose, safe? Safe!” he said, star- 
ing deep into the open frame of the 
witch door. 

"Why nop" 

He drew a deep breath. 

“A woman of that description who 
was lost in a town called Salem in the 
year 16922" 

He reached over and shut the splin- 
tered witch door. 


» 


They sat waiting by it for the rest of 


the long cold night. 


"OK, now I'll be the Ethics Committee and you'll be me.” 


COURTENEY COX 
(continued from page 136) 


Central Perk to reveal their insecurities 
and shepherd one another through the 
vagaries of life on the cusp of maturity. 
After signing on in 1994, Сох had some 
time to kill before shooting started in 
late July. Brad Krevoy, whose indepen- 
dent company MPCA produced Dumb 
and Dumber, offered Cox the female lead 
in the aforementioned Sketch Artist I af- 
ter watching her come out of the water 
near his home in Malibu. 

“You have not seen Courteney Cox in 
the proper light until you've seen her 
walking across the sand in a bikini. She 
makes Bo Derek look like a five," says 
Krevoy. "We all knew she could act, and 
we knew that the camera would love 
her, too.” 

Cox’ character in Sketch Artist IT is 
raped by a serial killer. She survives the 
assault and offers to give a description of 
her attacker to a police artist, despite the 
fact that she has been blind since the age 
often 

"I've never played a character whose 
entire life is pretty much a tragedy," says 
Cox. To prepare for the role, she sought. 
the advice of a sightless person and 
spent time at the Braille Institute of Los 
Angeles. “Му character is raped, chased, 
followed. 1 mean, there were no light 
moments in the film for her. So I stayed 
on this muribund level. And I kind of 
took it home with me, which I don’t usu- 
ally do." 

She had a different challenge on the 
set of the low-budget film The Opposite 
Sex. According to someone who worked 
on the film, Courteney was easy to work 
with, except in one way: She couldn't say 
the word nipple. “In the script, every 
other word she had was fuck or shit, but 
when she had to say nipple, she couldn't 
do it. In one scene, Courteney is at the 
beach with some friends, and one of the 
guys is sculpting breasts out of sand. 
When he uses stones or something for 
the nipples, she’s supposed to say, ‘Nah, 
I think you should use Hershey's Kisses 
for the nipples.’ She would get to that 
point and then gesture at the nipple re- 
gion. This was a movie about sex, and 
she would not say the word nipple.” 


"That's my hair, isn't it?" Cox points at 
her plate and we both see the hair there, 
like a prop in a Seinfeld episode. "If 
there's a hair on my food, I'm one of 
those people who will eat the food any- 
way. I don't know why it doesn't both- 
er me." 

Success helps one deal with minor an- 
noyances. With the enormous appeal of 
Friends, Cox wouldn't be bothered if 
Burt Reynolds’ rug were on her plate. 
The freshman sitcom spent most of 1995 
in the top ten and shot as high as 


number one. MTV chose Cox to co-host 
its movie awards with John Lovitz 
where, incidentally, she proved to be a 
beuer drummer (jamming with the 
house band) than a straight man to 
Lovitz’ comic haughtiness. 

Friends, like Mad About You and Seinfeld, 
features enough pop philosophizing by 
the first commercial break to eclipse the 
oeuvre of Dr. Joyce Brothers. Add the 
show's ensemble approach, and the re- 
sult is an Algonquin roundtable of 20- 
something angst. In real life, you could 
more easily find Casper than six perfect- 
ly coiffed, attractively neurotic, facile 
white people who happen to be bosom 
buddies. 

And at the center is Cox’ Monica—one 
part Florence Nightingale, one part 
Florence Henderson—nursing wounds 
and planning togetherness events. Mon- 
ica is carnest, supportive, communal. 1 
am able to witness a glimmer of these 
qualities in Courteney when our waitress 
presents her with a petition to save the 
deli, which had recently lost its lease. 

“I love this place,” Courteney tells me 
as she signs the petition. “There was a 
big town mecting to discuss the lease 
Monday night. I was going to go, but a 
friend flew in from New York.” 

Were it not for Cox, the Friends equa- 
tion might be entirely different. Director 
Jim Burrows (whose credits include Taxi 
and Cheers) initially wanted her for the 
role of Rachel. 

“It's like lightning in a bottle," says 
Burrows, who directed the pilot and ten 
of the show's 24 episodes. “You don't 
know what will work until you try it. 
When Courteney read for the show 1 
thought she would be great as Rachel. 
But she wanted to play Monica, and she 
was right." 

“Obviously, it's nice to be right, but 
more important for me to be under- 
stood,” Cox maintains. "That's probably 
the most important thing in my life. And 
T think I got it from my big family. When 
you're a kid trying to speak at the dinner 
table, or trying to get your point across, 
you're not always heard. 1 remember 
pulling each person aside and asking, 
"Do you at least understand what I'm 
trying to say? " 

To Burrows, it translates into "the abil- 
to be the center of a show. She has an 
ability, through her eyes, to let an audi- 
ence into the show. When we read the 
pilot, it wasn't so much about six people 
as it was about Monica's children. It's 
her apartment, it’s her brother, and she 
just welcomes you in. You want to hug 
her. Or you want her to hug you. That's 
a rare quality on television." 

“I kind of watch the show and don't 
notice the mother thing," Cox hedges, 
finishing the last of her hair McMuffin. 
She defines her character more by what 
she isn't: “I'm not the rich girl whois try- 
ing to make it. I'm not the vulnerable 
guy you want to hug. I'm not the one 


who сап only get close to someone by be- 
ing funny. I'm not the womanizer, and 
I'm not the ethereal kook.” 

“There are many avenues to take with 
her,” says Burrows, “but she does appear 
clean-cut, which is great. It helps be- 
cause a lot of the discussions on that 
show are sexual.” 

"The ability to project conscientiously 
objecting sex appeal, to be both the voice 
of reason and the whisper of temptation, 
is central to Cox’ success. 

"I think I'm a sexual person, especial- 
ly when I'm in love. Sex is a wonderful 
part of a relationship. I like to dress up 
and look as good as I can, but it doesn't 
really go past that. I don't think about it 
all the time. I don't think of the opposite 
sex in purely sexual terms, I guess. I 
hope that doesn't make me sound like 
I'm not a sexual human being. 

“There are things that are more im- 
portant than sex, but I have to be physi- 
cally attracted to stay in a relationship. 
"There's something very chemical about 
being with somebody. I believe in fate 
Otherwise, why am I attracted to only a 
certain number of people in my lifetime? 
"There could be a hundred gorgeous 
теп in a room, but I may be chemically 
attracted to only one of them." 

Over the past five years, that one man 
occasionally has worn a mask and a cape. 
While reluctant to discuss her rumored 
on-again, off-again relationship with 
Michael Keaton, Сох does surrender 
this much: “Anything is possible with 
Michael and me. The thing is, if you talk 
to the press about your lover or your re- 
lationship, it's out there. It’s way too 
much for both parties to live up to.” 

Аз Monica, Cox is once again playing 
young (she'll be 32 next June), but in 
this case the Cox mechanism of denial is 
not a consideration. “In this business, 
people find out everything about you. 
“There's no point in lying.” 

It should surprise no one that Cox’ 
sights are set on feature films. Burrows 
sees her departure as sad but inevitable. 
“She has a great face, great eyes, and ГЇ 
tell you what—she's funny,” he says, as- 
sessing Cox’ chances as a big-screen 
leading lady. "It's rare to find good-look- 
ing women who are funny. The audience 
does not expect good-looking people to 
be funn: 

We are in the parking lot admiring the 
sexy bulges of the silver Porsche, which 
is parked haphazardly with the rear 
wheel sitting on top of the yellow line. 
So, how fast have you gone in it 
now?” I ask. 

“Well, the other night I was going over 
the 405 bypass and I just sort of stepped 
on it. Then I got distracted by some- 
thing, and when I looked at the 
speedometer, I was doing 150." 

Beep, beep. Out of the way, mister: 
Courteney Cox is coming at you. 


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Bettie Page (continued from page 103) 


“This is my life. I have never told anyone these things 
and I want to get them off my chest.” 


her photographers. She was more inter- 
ested in regular guys. She dated college 
men, aspiring actors and enlisted men. 
While she dated a few prominent men 
such as Richard Arbib, the noted indus- 
trial designer, she thwarted the advances 
of the rich and famous. 

In 1955, Bettie was 32 years old but 
looked and claimed to be ten years 
younger. It was then that the bondage 
exploits caught up with her. Irving Klaw 
was hounded by a congressional com- 
mittee that attempted to link a bondage 


photograph of Bettie to the suicide of a 
17-year-old boy. Bettie was visited by 
federal agents who accused her and 
Klaw of making pornography. The com- 
mittee forced Klaw to shred thousands 
of photos of Bettie. In 1957 Irving and 
Paula Klaw ceased production of their 
pinups. 

Bettie was appalled by the govern- 
ment’s treatment of the Klaws, but she 
had bigger problems. She had become 
the victim of a stalker, a 16-year-old boy 
who wrote her anonymous letters full of 


“I don’t see the gizmo you'd push when you 
wanted, say, a samba beat.” 


ugly threats. Though he was caught by 
the FBI, the incident frightened her. 
Then there were romance problems. 
Bettie's boyfriend of three years began 
to pester her to marry him. She knew 
she didn't love him, and she began to 
think seriously about leaving New York. 

It was around this time that the police 
knocked on Bettie’s door with “porno- 
graphic” pictures of her that were being 
sold at newsstands. Years before, she had 
gone to a party where she was encour- 
aged to take a drink or two. She became 
intoxicated and ended up taking off her 
clothes and posing in more explicit ways 
than she had previously done. She re- 
membered the evening sketchily, but the 
police confronted her with a most un- 
happy reminder: The shutterbug, in se- 
rious debt from gambling, had sold the 
illicit photographs. 

It was timc to move оп. Quietly, Bettie 
Page left New York. She called Paula 
Klaw to say that she was going to Florida 
and that she would write. She put her 
belongings in storage in New Jersey, said 
goodbye to her friends and left the city. 


Bettie told us her story right up to the 
present. She apologized for not living a 
more fascinating life. “I guess you'll have 
to invent things about me to make it 
more interesting. Well, I trust you. Let 
your imaginations run wild." She insist- 
ed we leave in the grimmer personal ex- 
periences, including the childhood sexu- 
al abuse. 

We gave her ample time to change her 
mind. “Are you sure about this?” we 
would ask periodically. “Put it all in 
there,” she would say. “This is my life, 
both the good and the bad, 1 have never 
told anyone these things and I want to 
get them off my chest.” 

Веше, it should be noted, doesn't re- 
gard herself as a victim. "I never felt like 
a victim because of what my father did to 
me,” she says. She doesn't even believe 
that what happened with her father 
tainted her attitudes toward sex. “I've 
taken it in stride.” Bettie believes in a 
woman's right to express herself sexual- 
ly—in the bedroom and before the cam- 
era. She will happily talk about enjoying 
sex with the men she loved. “Women 
who do not express themselves sexually 
become repressed,” she insists, “And that 
causes them to suffer.” 

Bettie Page has a difficult time seeing 
herself as the sexual pioneer others de- 
scribe. She admits to no sexual arousal 
while being photographed, no feeling of 
power in front of the camera. “I was just 
worried about doing a good job,” she 
says. Yet she admits that she often pre- 
tended the camera was a man. 

Why would a proper Southern girl in 
the Fifties allow herself to be tied up, 
gagged and photographed? Bondage, 


bikinis, stockings and high heels—ac- 
cording to Bettie, they were all parts of 
the job. As far as the nudity was con- 
cerned, she always believed the body was 
beautiful. “I never had any bad feelings 
about posing nude because I always felt 
that God did not di: Inev- 
er felt ashamed. I like a good nude. I like 
to look at them. 1 even thought of join- 
ing a nudist colony" Laughing, she 
adds, “I was happy as a lark stark 
naked." 

Why, then, did she remain hidden all 
those years? According to Bettie, she 
didn't. The public perception was that 
she took steps to change her identity and 
to live in seclusion after she left New 
York, but she disputes those notions. “I 
don't know where those rumors came 
from. I was never in hiding about any- 
thing. I went right on living my life in 
the open." She didn't even bother to 
change her name. "I never tried to keep 
away from people. I just was through 
with my modeling carcer and went on to 
something else." 

Although Bettie has lived in California 
since 1978—in the midst of her fan- 
dom—she didn't know about the Bettie 
Page phenomenon. Over the years, а 
relative or friend would see a ure of 
her or tell her about an article, but Bet- 
tie dismissed each incident as an isolated 
one. Occasionally, someone would ask 
her if she was Bettie Page. She would 
usually just smile and say, "Who's that?" 
She didn't even know that a character in 
The Rocketeer is based on her. In fact, Bet- 
tie saw that film for the first time in 1994 
when Hugh Hefner screened it for her 
at the Playboy Mansion. As odd as it 
seems, she never had a clue about her 
popularity. And now that she does, it 
won't change her life. She receives fre- 
quent offers to make public appear- 
ances, but she would rather preserve her 
privacy and be remembered as she was 

Bettie was extremely honest with us. 
She told us everything she remembered 
about her life, from the trivial to the 
traumatic. We learned about the hus- 
bands, lovers and sexual transgressions. 
She spared nothing. Yet, in the end, we 
were less confident in speculating about 
Bettie’s life, and the motives behind her 
actions, than we were before we learned 
the facts. 

Like most people, Bettie is full of con- 
tradictions. One could say that she gave 
up too casily—on teaching, on acting, on 
two of her husbands. But with other 
things, she tried too hard—with her first 
husband, Billy, whom she married twice; 
with trying to please every two-bit pho- 
tographer in New York while ignoring 
better opportu 

Bettie is an unwitting symbol of liber- 
ated sexuality, a Southern gentlewoman 
delighted to admit that bondage model- 
ing was “a ball.” As she was enigmatic 
during her time as a model—the whole- 
some beach bunny in one shot, the dark 


angel of strange sexual proclivity in the 
next—so she remains today: unique, 
paradoxical, ingenuous. 

The real Bettie Page isn't articulate оп 
the subject of her legend. While she can 
point to pictures of Cindy Crawford or 
Claudia Schiffer and identify qualities 
that make them good models, she cannot 
do the same with herself. “I haven't the 
foggiest notion why I'm popular. I never 
considered myself anything special in 
the looks or any other department.” She 
is not, however, indifferent to her popu- 
larity. She is thrilled to find out that she 
has inspired designer Todd Oldham, or 
that Steven ‘Tyler of Acrosmith is one of 
her biggest fans. But despite her lack of 
greed and her unwillingness to “cash 
in,” she does look forward to some re- 
wards. She hopes that a movie about her 
life—always in discussion—will finally be 
made, and she considers endorsing a 
line of clothes. All this against the back- 
ground of her humility. “I wasn't trying 
to be anything,” she says modestly. “I 
was just myself.” 

In the end, Bettie's ambivalence is a 
key, not an impediment, to understand- 
ing her legend. The answer lies not in 
her life and what she makes of it but in 
her look and what she came to symbol- 
ize, in spite of herself. She was an unwit- 
ting standard-bearer of a new era of sex- 
uality. Bettie fascinates because she 
personifies what is sexually appealing to 
the American psyche—middle-America 
soda-shop good looks with an undercur- 
rent of sexual availability. In one body 
and one face, Bettie Page balanced the 
sexual contradictions of her time. 

When the exhausting week of inter- 
views was over, Bettie wanted to cele- 
brate with a long drive. She hadn't been 
to Hollywood in years—would we take 
her there? We stopped for a late lunch 
and then drove to Santa Monica so she 
could see the ocean. We walked to the 
end of the pier to watch the sunset and 
laughed at what we found there: a pho- 
tographer with his model catching the 
day’s last light. Magic hour. “How about 
a picture, Bettie?” we teased. “Forget it!” 
she answered, “You'll have to rely on 
your memory.” As we watched her toss 
her hair in the wind, we remembered 
her vow: never to be photographed 
again—not for our book, not for this ar- 
ticle. Yet she was still there. The face we 
saw—the face the public has not seen in 
nearly 40 years—is still the face of an 
icon. Not because she hasn't changed or 
grown older, but because the real Bettie 
Page never confused herself with the 
woman in the photos. She didn't manu- 
facture a false persona and spend the 
rest of her life failing to live up to it. She 
never tried to become a different person 
for the camera. Instead, she let the pic- 
tures capture the woman she always was. 


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VERY W 


IRD SCIENCE 


(continued from page 86) 


"I believe in God, and I think the good Lord gave us 
these big brains to figure out the world.” 


and a glossary. The advanced academic 
degrees the book's authors have earned— 
in geology, biology, geological engineer- 
ing and atmospheric science—are listed 
with their names, The book's editor, 
Steven Austin, has a Ph.D. in geology 
from Pennsylvania State University. 

Austin also stars in an ICR video that, 
like the book, has been distributed in 
private Christian schools. The video 
deals with the eruption of Mount St. 
Helens in 1980. A confident, scholarly 
sounding Austin explains to a receptive, 
adult audience that the changes wrought 
by the eruption—canyons, mud flows, 
devastated lakes—are proof for the cre- 
ationist case. He concludes that other 
apparently ancient features of the 
earth’s surface could have come into 
being just as rapidly—as the Bible says 
they did. 

America's widespread ignorance of 
science is precisely what makes so many 
people susceptible to creationist propa- 
ganda. “Americans are poorly equipped 
to judge the claims of scientific creation- 
ism,” sociologist Raymond Eve argues. 
“They can hardly be expected to analyze 
creationist claims about the second law 
of thermodynamics, for instance, if they 


lack any idea of what the first or third 
law is about. If they have no notion of 
the wealth and range of evidence for hu- 
man evolution, they may find reasonable. 
the daim that all Homo erectus fossils are 
either apes or modern humans." 

If creationists were truly interested in 
making a scientific case for their claims, 
they would have to play by the same 
rules of evidence and peer-judgment as 
the mainstream scientists they pretend 
to imitate. Creation scientists, however, 
do not publish in mainstream journals. 
They want to, they say, but complain that 
mainstream prejudice shuts them out. 
But, in fact, in a 1981 ruling against an 
equal-time law in Arkansas, a federal 
judge dismissed creationist claims that 
the scientific community was "close- 
minded" by reminding them “no witness 
produced a scientific article for which 
publication had been refused." 

In Richardson, Texas the Foundation 
for Thought and Ethics has sponsored 
a glossy supplementary text for high 
school biology classes, Of Pandas and 
People: The Central Question of Biological 
Origins. The book, which contains no 
overtly religious language, makes the 
seemingly nonreligious argument that 


“They caught him crawling down chimneys.” 


life on earth was "intelligently de- 
signed.” The book asserts that, statisti- 
cally speaking, life could not possibly 
have resulted from natural selection and 
genetic mutation over millions of years. 
Of Pandas points instead to a nameless 
creative “agent” in the development of 
life. Unfortunately, the book contains a 
number of serious errors, including con- 
fusion about the relationship between 
the extinct Tasmanian “wolf” and the 
modern North American wolf, serious 
misrepresentations of evolution and so 
many other errors that the biologist 
Kenneth Miller couldn't list them all in 
an hour-long lecture. 

Jon Buell, the foundation's director 
and a developer of Pandas, says anti-evo- 
lutionary theories are on the rise be- 
cause famous, but unnamed, scientists 
have been asking pointed questions 
about evolution and abandoning its 
premises. Meanwhile, almost 20,000 
copies of Pandas have been sold in the 
U.S—in many cases with a teacher's 
guide. And Buell is just getting started. 

Creationists have simultaneously 
opened other fronts to disguise their 
dogmatic messages. On college campus- 
es, for example, they sometimes endorse 
the kind of cultural diversity that asserts 
all beliefs are equally authentic. Accord- 
ing to The Chronicle of Higher Education, а 
trade journal for educators, increasing 
numbcrs of devout students and profes- 
suns “want to kuow why, in tliis era of 
pluralism and identity politics, acade- 
mics feel free to label themselves as fem- 
inists or Marxists ог gay scholars or mi- 
nority-group members—but not as 
religious people.” 


"It's not because it's stealth religion 
that I object to it,” says Miller, the Brown 
University professor of biology, “It’s be- 
cause it's really bad science." Miller is a 
practicing Catholic, and he considers it a 
slur against religion and science to con- 
tend that belief in evolution is incompat- 
ible with belief in God. "It's one thing to 
say, ‘I believe in a designer of the uni- 
verse." It's quite another to believe in a 
lot of bad science. I believe in God, and I 
think the good Lord gave us these big 
brains to figure out the world. And evo- 
lution is a part of that." 

Miller and others concerned about 
creationism's threat to education haven't 
been idle. Teachers, scientists and mem- 
bers of the clergy—along vith many par- 
ents—have begun to fight back. In 1981 
an informal network of local and state 
anticreationist groups formed the Na- 
tional Center for Science Education, 
which has worked with the ACLU, Peo- 
ple for the American Way and teachers” 
organizations. Over the years this loose 
alliance has won some important battles. 

In 1987, for example, the Supreme 
Court overturned a Louisiana law 


ordering equal time for creationism. It 
ruled in Edwards vs, Aguillard that cre- 
ation science is inherently religious and 
that teaching it in public schools violates 
the First Amendment. 

In 1989 the Texas Board of Education 
required publishers who wanted a piece 
of the state's mammoth textbook market 
to provide books that induded “reliable 
scientific theories” contradicting evolu- 
tion. But evolutionists convinced Texas 
to add the words, “if any.” And because 
there aren't any “reliable scientific theo- 
ries” contradicting evolution, the text- 
books haven't changed much yet. 

In 1993 an ICR staffer and other fun- 
damentalists on the Vista, California 
school board demanded that evolution's 
weaknesses be spelled out in the class- 
room. Parents rebelled, throwing the 
creationists out of office. And in 1994 
a clique of Florida state representatives 
introduced a resolution asserting "that 
the U.S. Supreme Court has not ruled 
against the teaching of creationism in 
public schools." The resolution died in 
committee. 

But America's small towns and sub- 
urbs offer countless opportunities for 
political pressure against teachers and 
school board members. In a decentral- 
ized educational system such as ours, 
with no national curriculum and with 
even state curricula often voluntary, 
many communities already pressure 
teachers to make a case against evoln- 
tion. Indeed, bad science is already the 
norm in many places, insists Eugenie 
Scott, director of the NCSE. “The notion 
that all teachers are teaching good sci- 
ence is wrong.” 

While creationists make progress at 
the local level, federal judges have pro- 
vided some encouragement. In 1987 
Supreme Court Chi 
Rehnquist and Justice Antonin Scalia 
dissented from the majority's pro-evolu- 
tion ruling in Edwards. Scalia's opinion 
endorsed “whatever scientific evidence 
there may be against evolution.” Rehn- 
quist has also declared that he believes 
the Court's traditional wall of separation 
between church and state should be 
“frankly and explicitly abandoned.” 

The growing popularity of “school 
choice” could provide the creationists 
with another opening to the schools. 
Milwaukee, Cleveland and other cities 
have begun tinkering with publicly 
funded vouchers to pay for private 
schooling. This past summer, the Wis- 
consin supreme court struck down a 
plan to allow parents in Milwaukee to 
use vouchers to send their children to 
religious schools. But supporters have 
raised money privately to keep 2300 stu- 
dents in those schools while the case is 
appealed in federal court. Of course, 
“School choice" is also one of the key ed. 
ucational goals of the Christian Coali- 
tion, according to spokesman Russell. 

1f politicians confronting Sputnik had 


fearcd the religious right as politicians 
do today, perhaps the Cold War would 
have ended differently. Americans rose 
to the occasion and reaffirmed this coun- 
try’s respect for education, science and 
reason. Today, by contrast, plenty of 
politicians apparently feel free to expose 
other people's children, if not their own, 
to superstition masquerading as science. 
‘Their laxity comes at a time when U.S. 
students—who already turn up dose to 
last in many tests comparing them with 
science students in other industrialized 
countries—must compete directly in the 
global economy. 

“If we start turning out kids who think 
the world was created in 6006 в.с. and 
who don't know the first thing about 
modern genetics,” says Eve, “then we're 
raising a generation of American kids 
who will be noncompetitive in the most 
lucrative sectors of the postindustrial 
economy.” 

The stakes are even higher than that, 
Where the creationists win a battle, they 
warp students’ trust in the rational pur- 
suit of knowledge. In free and open in- 
tellectual competition, the creationists 
have been losing for a long time. But 
now they're calling on the government 
to force their views on the schools. If 
they succeed, as Isaac Asimov warned 
nearly 15 years ago, “We will have estab- 
lished the full groundwork for legally 
enforced ignorance and for totalitarian 
thought control.” 

Maybe the hint of a resolution lies in 
Dayton. Refreshingly, Kurt Wise, the 
creationist with the Harvard Ph.D., 
doesn’t think Christianity should be leg- 
islated. Sitting in the living room of the 
modest house he shares with his wife 
and two daughters, Wise says people 
who are eager to teach creationism in 
the public schools have asked for his 
help, but he declined to get involved. 

His own quest, he says—a quixotic one 
by secular standards but, decently, a pri- 
vate one—is to try to beat the evolution- 
ists at their own game. Wise wants to de- 
vise, with other creationists, a scientific 
model so convincing that even evolu- 
tionists will accept it as scientific, And on- 
ly then, he says, should creationism get 
equal time in science classes. 

Meanwhile, he’s puzzling over how 
God’s first animals and humans were im- 
mune from death, as he believes they 
were until sin entered the world. "It's 
very hard to conceive of," the professor 
admits. “1 see it as a situation of dynamic 
equilibrium, where individual cells are 
dying, but we're replacing the cells as 
rapidly as they die." 

Wise is hunting for scientific evidenc 
to support Genesis. Most creat ists 
don't care that real scientists reject their 
ideas. They want to take over the 
schools—now. It’s shocking to think our 
political leaders might let them succeed. 


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ЗЕН STARS continued fom page 75 


Hugh Grant—who ran afoul with a hooker—de- 


scribed Hurley's breasts as 


“the best pair in London.” 


Film Festival, it was Pam who grabbed 
the paparazzi's attention, to the exclu- 
sion of almost everyone else. She was 
there promoting the forthcoming movie 
Barb Wire, in which she'll play the live 
version of the Dark Horse Comics char- 
acter. Through it all, she has retained 
her sense of humor, telling TV Guide that 
it's true that after her Playmate appear- 
ance (as Miss February 1990), she got 
breast implants. But, she said, rumor 
goes beyond fact: “Everybody says I'm 
plastic from head to toe. Can't stand 
next to a radiator or Ill melt.” 

Joining Pam in the most-wanted cate- 
gory this year were supermodel Cindy 
Crawford—cover girl for Esquire's annu- 
al “Women We Love” issue—who made 
her film debut in 1995's Fair Game and 
ended her marriage to Richard Gere, 
and actor Brad Pitt, hailed by Vanity Fair 
as “Hollywood's ultimate sex symbol" 
and by People as “the sexiest man alive.” 
Ever since he tickled Geena Davis’ fancy 
in Thelma & Louise, Pitt has been a lust 
object for millions of women; his perfor- 
mance in Legends of the Fall only turned 
up the thermestat. He, too, had his trou- 
bles with purlvined photos, threatening 
to sue when shots of him and girlfriend 
Gwyneth Paltrow appeared first in the 
English magazine The People and then— 
you guessed it—on the Internet. 

For Pam, Cindy and Brad, the path to 
fame led through well-marked routes— 


television, modeling, movies. But we're 
now seeing a new kind of sex stardom, 
one conferred by the tabloids. The O.] 
Simpson trial transformed Kato Kaelii 
Paula Barbieri and Playmate Traci 
Adell into instant stars. Kato went from 
houseguest to household word; one sur- 
vey had three out of four respondents 
preferring Kaelin to President Clinton 
as a dinner companion, and Heather 
Locklear chose him over Judge Lance 
Ito for a night of romance “Ыш only if 
he doesn’t talk.” Both Kaelin and Barbi- 
eri were picked to guest-star on rapper 
Sir Mix-a-Lot's anthology television se- 
ries, The Watcher. Barbieri, at least, may 
have a future: Jeff Trachta, who co- 
starred with her in Night Eyes IV: Forced 
Entry, told TV Guide that Paula's “a phe- 
nomenal kisser.” 

English model Elizabeth Hurley was 
best known as the beauty on the arm of 
Hugh Grant—who described her breasts 
as “magnificent, the best pair in Lon- 
don"—uniil the hapless Hugh ran afoul 
with a hooker on Sunset Boulevard. Eliz- 
abeth is now making a name for herself 
as spokesmodel for Estée Lauder cos- 
metics. Singer Courtney Love, widow of 
Kurt Cobain, couldr't seem to stay out of 
trouble, while actress Drew Barrymore 
delighted in thumbing her nose at soci- 
ety—notably by stripping at a Manhat- 
tan nightclub and flashing David Letter- 
man on live TV. Even her PLAYBOY 


“Something all eight of you will chip in for, right?” 


pictorial made a statement. Drew told 
Movieline’s Stephen Rebello: “Half the 
reason to do things is to provoke ‘Oh my 
God’ about everything.” 

PLAYBOY pictorials award their own 
celebrity status. Just ask Anna Nicole 
Smith, 1993 Playmate of the Year. She 
was visible as a CIA op in the movie Tò the 
Limit and as a guest on ABC-TV's Wilde 
Again (the latter replete with breast 
jokes) but made even more headlines 
with her performance as the griev- 
ing widow of nonagenarian oilman 
J. Howard Marshall. The latest exam- 
ples of pictorial celebrity are singer Nan- 
cy Sinatra, Steven Seagal's Under Siege 2 
sidekick Sandra Taylor, 1995 Playmate 
of the Year (and Price Is Right presenter) 
Julie Cialini, models Elle Macpherson, 
Amber Smith and Kimberley Conrad 
Hefner (1989's PMOY) and radio's Amy 
Lynn Baxter and Tempest, all of whom 
starred in recent PLAYBOY features. 

The Hollywood press seems more in- 
terested in bucks than bods, splits than 
screenplays. The trades trumpet the 
figures: Jim Carrey's $20-million- 
per-picture paycheck, Demi Moore's 
$12.5 million (a record among female 
stars), Sylvester Stallone’s three-movie, 
$60 million package. When the media 
aren't talking dollars, they're talking 
sensation—often speculating on the sex- 
ual preferences of the stars. Movieline's 
“Hollywood Ink" and "Guess Who. 
Don't Sue" columns dish out catty. 
anonymous hints every month. That sort 
of thing may have forced Nicole Kid- 
man to affirm (in both Vanity Fair and En- 
tertainment Weekly) the heterosexual na- 
ture of her relationship with hubby Tom 
Cruise, and Keanu Reeves to deny his 
alleged "marriage" to gay mogul David 
Geffen (saying the two, in fact, have nev- 
er met). Cindy Crawford, in her Septem- 
ber Playboy Interview, once again had to 
shoot down rumors that she was gay. 
Drew Barrymore, on the other hand, 
confided in the aforementioned Movie- 
line interview that she has gone both 
ways but is now limiting her attentions to 
heartthrob Eric Erlandson, guitarist in 
Courtney Love's band, Hole. (Sex-star 
land is a tight litle island. 

Although Drew seems blissfully enam- 
ored of Eric, this year has been one of 
nasty splits. Among them: Julia Roberts 
and Lyle Lovett, Liz Taylor and Larry 
Fortensky, Val Kilmer and Joanne 
Whalley-Kilmer—who grumbled about 
having to watch their kids while Val was 
“out gallivanting around the world with 
his friends or shacking up with some 
floozy,” Kelly LeBrock and Steven Sea- 
gal, Cheryl Tiegs and longtime spouse 
Anthony Peck, and Christie Brinkley 
and—in her second divorce in as many 
years—her husband of seven months, 
Ricky Taubman. Don Johnson and 
Melanie Griffith untied the knot yet 
again, but Melanie landed in the arms of 
her Tivo Much co-star, Antonio Banderas. 


Already a supernova in his native 
Spain, Banderas is the front-runner in a 
pack of foreigners being recruited by 
Hollywood to spice up its film fare. He 
came close to stealing Miami Rhapsody 
from Sarah Jessica Parker and Interview 
With the Vampire from Tom Cruise and 
Brad Pitt. And now Banderas is all over 
American screens—in Desperado, the se- 
quel to El Mariachi; with a cameo in Four 
Rooms; opposite Rebecca De Mornay in 
Never Talk to Strangers; and as a gun- 
crazed villain facing Sylvester Stallone in 
Assassins. He has also signed to don the 
mask of Zorro in next year's remake of 
the swashbuckling classic and croon the 
role of Che Guevara in the long-delayed 
movie version of Evita, starring Madon- 
na. Given the Material Girl's Antonio 
fixation, which she admitted to in her 
docubio Truth or Dare, that should turn 
out to be an interesting partnership. 
(Perhaps less interesting than that re- 
ported interlude with hoopster Dennis 
Rodman, who claims she wanted him to 
father her child. 

Another Latin lover, Swiss-born, half 
German-half Spanish cent Perez, 
made his name in French films—as 
Catherine Deneuve's lover in Indochine 
and Isabelle Adjani’s in Queen Margot— 
but has been enlisted to replace Bran- 
don Lee in the sequel to The Crou. 
France's Sophie Marceau enchanted au- 
diences and critics vith her performance 
as the Princess of Wales, dallying with 
Mel Gibson in Braveheart. Joanna Lum- 
ley has been wowing viewers of the 
British comedy Absolutely Fabulous on 
Comedy Central—so much so that 
Roseanne bought the rights for an 
American remake. And Pierce Brosnan 
has slipped elegantly into the role of 
James Bond (previously inhabited by 
Sean Connery, Roger Moore, Timothy 
Dalton and George Lazenby). Eat your 
hearts out, menswear mavens: Pierce 
gets to keep all the Brioni suits (price 
tags: $2500 to $7000) from his 007 
wardrobe. 

Who's next? We'll put our money on 
Linda Fiorentino and Johnny Depp. 
who sizzled, respectively, in The Last Se- 
duction and Don Juan DeMarco; Kevin 
Sorbo, who plays the mythological hero 
in Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, a syn- 
dicated series that's beginning to rival 
Baywatch in some markets; Natasha Hen- 
stridge, who's half femme but wholly fa- 
tale in Species; teen queen Alicia Silver- 
stone of Clueless; singer Celine Dion; 
Jimmy Smits of My Family and ABC-TV's 
NYPD Blue; Lois & Clark's Teri Hatcher 
and Mad About You's Helen Hunt, net- 
work TV's top e-mail recipients; and 
George Clooney and Julianna Mar- 
gulies of NB! "s ER. There be 
others. The great thing about tracking 
sex stars, after all, is that there is alwaysa 
stellar surprise on the horizon. 


El 


: "Lounge Acts": 
By Shadouborer, at 
Bloomingdale's. By Joe Box- 
er, at Marshall Field's. By 
Tommy Hilfiger, at Bloom- 
ingdale’s. By Руз 2 Go, at 
specialty stores. By Polo/ 
Ralph Lauren, at Polo/Ralph 
Lauren. By Fernando San- 
chez, 212-920-5060. "Mo- 
hair": Sweaters: By Thomas 
Мает. at select Bloom- 
ingdale's. By Austyn Zung, 
800-866-6997. By French Connection. By 
Laundry Industry, 212-719-0221. By Tricots 
St. Raphael, at Neiman Marcus, 312-642- 
5900. “Hot Shopping”: Yuletide: Chamber 
of Commerce, 800-732-1405. Dogsled races, 
B00-2ask-RIO. Ski week: Taos Ski Valley, 
505-775-2991. Clarke ¢ Co., 503-758-2696. 
Overland Sheepskin, 505-758-8820. Andean 
Softwear, 505-776-2508. “Clothes Line”: 
Suits by Giorgio Armani, at Giorgio Ar- 
mani. Shirt by Calvin Klein, at Calvin 
Klein. Loafers by Cole-Haan, at Cole- 
Haan. “Right Touch”: Oils: By Judith Jack- 
son, 800-548-9998. La Costa Resort & Spa, 
819-438-9111. Aveda, 800-328-0849. Vid- 
ео by Playboy, 800-423-9494. 


WIRED 

Pages 28-29: “Hear the Warmth”: HDCD 
players: By Adcom, 908-390-1130. By An- 
dio Alchemy, 818-707-8504. By Counterpoint 
Electronic, 619-431-5050, ext. 110. "Elec- 
tronic Stocking Stuffers": CD player by 
Panasonic, 201-348-9090. Headphones by 
Sennheiser, 203-434-9190. Phone by Toshi- 
ba, 800-631-3811. Light by Lumatec, 800- 
586-2832. Electronic book by Franklin 
Electronics, 800-266-5626. “Wild Things”: 
Printer by Sharp, 800-237-4977. Sports 
Predictor by Micro Games of America, 800- 
222-4685. Wrist rest by Case Logic, 800- 
447-4848, “Multimedia”: Software: Lucas 
Arts, 800-782-7927. Activision, 800-477- 
3650. Carbda Tek, 415-873-6484. GT Inter- 
active, 713-467-9272. 7th Level, 800-979- 
8466. Multicom Publishing, 206-622-5530. 
PADI International, 714-540-7234. Medio, 
800-788-3866. Viacom New Media, 800- 
469-2539. Mindscape, 800-234-3088. Jon. 
415-455-1466. Berkeley Systems, 800-344- 
5541. MGM Interactive, 800-646-5808. 
Claris, 800-544-8554. T-shirts by Playboy, 
800-663-3838. 


"Great Escape": Nantucket Accom- 
modations, 508-228-9559. "Road Stuff": 


BUY 


Case, 305-477-5789. Socks 
from Nicnat, 305-256-0411. 


CHRISTMAS GIFTS 
Pages 87-91: CD ипи by 
Denon, 201-575-7810. Bike. 
by Schuinn, at various retail- 
ers. TV by Sony, 201-930- 
7669. Camcorder by Pano- 
sonic, 201-348-9090. CD 
player by Pioneer, 800-746- 
6337. Hamper from Dom 
Pérignon, 800-621-5150. 
Game system by Nintendo, 
800-255-3700. Watch by TAG-Heuer, 201- 
467-1890. 


ALLSHE WANTS FOR CHRISTMAS 
Pages 126-127: Perfume by Ralph Lauren, 
at fine stores. Teddy by Aubade Paris, from 
Under G's, 310-659-6049. Watch by Carti- 
er, 800-CARTIER. Jewelry from Harry Win- 
ston, 371 N. Rodeo Dr., Beverly Hills. Puy 
py from Siberian Husky Club of America, 
Madera Dr, Victoria, TX 77905. Golden 
Door spa. 619-744-6677. 


BONDING YOUR WARDROBE 

Pages 130-133: Suit, shirt, tie, shoes by 
Ralph Lauren Purple Label and socks by Pe- 
lo/Ralph Lauren, at Polo/Ralph Lauren. 
Pocket squares and cuff links by Tino Cos- 
ma, 212-246-4005, Tuxedo by Brioni and 
shirt by Luigi Borrelli, at Neiman Marcus. 
Bow tie by Sulka, at Sulka. Pocket square 
by Robert Talbott, at Robert Talbou. Cuff 
links by Butler & Wilson, from Playboy cata- 
log. item 5384, 800-423-0404. Watch by 
Cartier, 800-CARTIER. Suit by Brioni, at 
Neiman Marcus. Shirt by Sulka, at Sulka. 
Tie and ascot at Robert Talbott. Shoes by 
Kenneth Cole, 800-KEN-COLE. Cuff links 
nd watch by Cartier, 800-CARTIER. Watch 
by Omega, 800-766-6342. Blazer by Hart 
Schaffner te Marx, at Nordstrom's Midwest. 
‘Trousers by Dimitri Couture, 215-545-2850. 
Shirt by Ike Behar, at specialty stores. 


A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS 

Pages 154-155: Watch from Mickey ts Co. 
by Seiko, 800-526-5293. Car by Nevco, 805- 
466-8685. Miniatures from Bryerton's 
Military Miniatures, 312-666-2800. Train 
by Lionel Trains, 800-454-6635. Track from 
Scenery Unlimited, 708-366-7763, 


ON THE SCENE. 

Page 205: Sleds: By Torpedo, 207-743- 
6896. By Snow Blade, 800-476-6938. By 
Quality Sled, Inc., 619-803-0681 


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ON- THE 


"S C EMNE 


—IT’S ALL DOWNHILL FROM HERE— 


f Hollywood remakes Citizen Kane, whoever plays the dying 
Kane should whisper “Laser Luge” or “Snow Blade” rather than 
“Rosebud.” But today's new breed of sleds isn't kid stuff, The 
Canadian-made Laser Luge, for example, weighs only nine 
pounds, yet it will whisk you down a hill with all the excitement of 
a 48-pound Olympic competition luge. Or, if you prefer to take 


by Torpedo ($60). Top: 


the hills sitting down, there's the Snow Blade—a lightweight 
downhill racer that resembles a bicycle for slopes that Frosty the 
Siunt Snowman would ride. Our last sled, Torpedo's Mad River 
Rocket, is aptly named. You strap yourself to an elliptical polyeth- 
ylene dish that's been fitted with sculpted kneepads, shove off and 
pray. Look ma, no handles. Body English and gravity do the rest. 


d 7, 
2n04 T 


Left: Here's a girl with guts. The Mad River 

Rocket's sculptured kneepads, deep reverse 
keel and molded runners combine with a low center 
of gravity to provide immediate response to body movements, 
II the speed and excitement of skiing with 


the case of sledding," claims the Snow Blade Corp. of its product. Aíter one trip downhill aboard a Snow Blade, we're not about to argue 
($50). Above: Bruce Smith, a 1980 Olympian and former coach of Canada's national senior and junior teams, designed Quality Sled's Laser 
Luge—a lightweight sled with a molded brake scoop (you'll need it) that's about as close as you can get to a real luge (about $80). 


Where & How to Buy on page 203. 


205 


GRAPEVINE 


Cool Rules 
COOLIO played the second stage at Lollapalooza, to first-rate 
reviews. You can hear him on the movie soundtracks to Clueless 


and Dangerous Minds, which stars Michelle Pfeiffer. Expect а 
studio CD early in 1996. Coolio is the hair apparent. 


No 
Doubting 
Thomas 
You first saw 
GRETA THOM- 
AS featured on 
Murder, She 
Wrote and Bay- 
watch, and in a 
supporting role 
in the movie 
Bikini Biker 
Beach Babes. 
Now she has 
her own lead in 
Grapevine. 


High on a Hog 
Former Raiders cheerleader JANINE JORDAN has her pedal to the metal. Janine's a Renaissance 
woman: She plays classical piano, writes country music, has co-hosted a Japanese talk show and recently received 
206 her stockbroker's license. You can bet her engine doesn't idle. 


Youth and 
Pleasure Meet 
THURSTON MOORE 
and KIM GORDON 
of Sonic Youth have 
been rocking. The 
group headlined Lol- 
lapalooza and has 
completed a fall tour. 
Its latest CD, Washing 
Machine, is in the 
spin cycle. 


She's Looking 

at You, Kid 
ME'SHELL NDEGEOCELLO 
had Wild Nights with John 
Mellencamp around the 
time she made musical 
mockery out of a 


‚o-tim- 
ing boyfriend. You can hear 
her on Jazzmatazz II while 
you wait for her next CD, 
coming early in 1996. The 
eyes have it. 


Campbell Served Hot 


The very beautiful NAOMI CAMPBELL struts on runways, at her 
restaurant, Fashion Café, and lately on the big screen in Miami 


Rhapsody, which stars Sarah Jessica Parker, Campbell knows all 
about the perfect little black dress. 


POTPOURRI 


GATHERING MOSS 


Supermodel Kate Moss ACE JACKET 

can be seen in bus shel- Ventile, a special weave of cotton that's 
ters, on billboards and weatherproof and breathable, was devel- 
now in bookstores, too. oped during World War Two to help 
Kate: The Kate Moss Book British pilots survive in frigid waters, 
(published by Universe, Now Barbour, the venerable British man- 
a division of Rizzoli) ufacturer of classic outerwear for men, 
contains about 150 of has introduced the Ventile Endurance 
Moss’ favorite pho- jacket, a replica of what was originally is- 
tographs of herself (50 sued to servicemen. Price: about $700 

in color) shot by such (including a padded lining) in sizes 38 to 
notable photographers 52. Call 800-338-3474 to order. 

as Helmut Newton, Al- 

bert Watson, Patrick 

Demarchelier and 


Steven Meisel. Kate is 
available in softcover 
for $22.50 or in limited 
edition (1500) hardcov- 
er for $45, including a 
signed print. "I am on 
my way out to dinner to 
eat a massive steak and 
potatoes with loads of 
butter,” says Moss in 
her introduction to the 
book. If that's the kind 
of food it takes to turn 
a waif into a supermod- 
el, have a second help- 
ing, Kate, please. 


IT’S ALL RACK 'N’ ROLL 


“Where the good times stow” is how the 
Rack `n’ Roll company in Boulder, Col- 
orado describes its 54”-tall storage tower 
for sports stuff. Bicycles roll right on- 
board, and there's siill plenty of room for 
ski equipment, golf clubs, skates, tennis 
rackets and anything else sporty. The 
unit weighs only about 20 pounds and 
costs about $250 at sporting goods stores. 
Or сай 800-587-765 


SOMETHING TO TOY WITH 


Robot Commando, Mr. Ed, Linus the Lionhearted and more than 400 
other crown jewels of kid-dom are colorfully brought back to life in Toy 
Bop, a 9" x 12" tribute to "kid classics of the Fi and Sixties." “1 had 
to publish Toy Bop myself,” says Tom Frey, a Philadelphia toy collector, 
“because the publishers I approached wanted it to be a black-and-white 
price guide instead of the coffee-table book I envisioned.” Toy Bop fea- 
tures playthings from Frey's collection, which number in the thousands. 
"I he postpaid prices аге $34.95 for the softcover edition and $44.95 for 
208 the hardcover, from Fuzzy Dice Productions at 800-5-Tov-Bor. 


IN LIKE FLYNN 


Errol Flynn: The Movie Posters, a 168-page 

11” x 14” soficover book, spotlights the collec- 
tion of Lawrence Bassoff, who also wrote the 
text. And what a show it is—180 color repro- 
ductions of Flynn movie posters with a fore- 
word by Flynn's friend and fellow screen 
swordsman Stewart Granger. If you're a serious 
Flynn fan, you know that 1995 is the 60th an- 
niversary of his rise to stardom in Captain Blood. 
Price: $24.95. To order, call 310-553-5148. 


VROOM! 


There's gold in them there Ў * 
hills, and it's in the shape of a / 
cute little 1%” 14-kt-gold mo- 
torcycle with wheels and han- 
dlebars that move, a diamond 
headlight, a ruby taillight and 
a gas tank inset with a sap- 
phire. You can hang the cycle 
from a chain as a gift for your 
girlfriend, treat it as a pocket 
watch or key fob or display it 
asa desk trinket. Price: $950, 
from All American at 400 
South U.S. 41 Bypass, Venice, 
Florida 34292. Or call 800- 
672-7296 if you're really hot 
to head for the bills. 


ALL THAT 
FIFTIES JAZZ 


The 1994 Acade- 
my Award-nomi- 
nated film A 
Great Day in 
Harlem show- 
cases a 1958 
event that at- 
tracted more 
than 50 of the 
world’s greatest 


jazz musicians SPIRIT OF THE SEASON 

for a special fea- If you have $20,000 burning a hole in your 
ture in Esquire pocket, give yourself a trip to Clermont, Ken- 
magazine. A portrait of the group is available as a 35"x 24” black- tucky as a guest of Jim Beam's grandson and 
and-white poster from the Jazz Store, PO. Box 917L, Upper master blender етегин, Booker Nos Unos 
Montclair, New Jersey 07043, for $28 postpaid. (Names of the there, you and Noe will select your own barrel 
performers are listed along the bottom border of the poster.) Also of Booker's bourbon (a straight-from-the- 
available from the store are a video of Great Day for $25.95 and a Багы, usentand unbiltered whiskey): Then 
$2 catalog jammed with dozens of other jazz goodies. Call the retire to his home for dinner and more treats, 
Jazz Store at 800-558-9513 to place an order. including a decanter and a cigar humidor 


stocked with 100 smokes. For more info, call 
708-948-8888, extension 2230. 


AIMING TO PLEASE 


Cil Elvgren's classic pinups 
are going three-dimensional. 
"The ten-inch resin cowgirl 
pictured here is titled Aiming 
to Please. Another work, The 
Сай; Were Stacked Against Me, 
depicts a blonde wearing 
nothing but a barrel. These 
sculptures are available 
unassembled and unpainted 
for $175 each or in finished 
form for $350 from One Big 
Eye Enterprises, 256 125th 
Street, Amery, Wisconsin 
54001. Other sculptures 
based on pinup and calendar 
art from the Forties, Fifties 
and Sixties are in the works. 


HOLIDAY ANNIVERSARY ISSUE 


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© The Paddington Corporation 1995. Swiss Tip #15: Visit us @ http://www.schlager.com 


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