LAST month’s Silver Anniversary issue is a tough act to follow. This number comes on stage at the moment when everybody’s asking, “What do you do for an encore?” And in the meantime, just to make it harder, our Silver Anniversary has been further celebrated by the publication of that much-discussed anthology, The Armchair Esquire.
The writer has served with honor in many wars and he does not care what people think about his politics. He does not want a magazine to reprint two of his stories about the Spanish Civil War in The Armchair Esquire, an anthology, because he wants to revise them.
The undersigned skippers, crews and officials at the 35th World’s Championship of the Star Class are desirous of expressing to Esquire Magazine their appreciation of the article on the Star Class in the September issue. Also please convey to Mr. Bailey our approval and compliments on his accurate, careful and sympathetic handling of the matter.
HE had not met anyone else. The man I am writing about had once loved the woman he married, and he had been in love with her, too, but those emotions were gone. At least he had convinced himself that they were. After that, he had decided, or she had decided, or they had decided—and maybe it was friendly, and perhaps it was bitter—that their life together was intolerable.
AN Irish wit once quipped that in the Emerald Isle there are only three careers: the farm, the priesthood, and Arthur Guinness Son & Co. Like most generalizations, this one is over-simplified, but close to the truth. Probably in no other nation is the public economy so pegged to a single private enterprise as is Eire to Guinness.
IT is as safe to say that a work by John P. Marquand will achieve wide success as it is to predict that the sun will come up in the morning—as safe, and for the same reason: it always does. Mr. Marquand’s most recent novel, Women and Thomas Harrow, was off to a roaring start before ever it was published as a thick and handsome book.
MEXICO can be more different things to more different kinds of visitors than almost any other country on earth. To the sophisticate and spender, Mexico is the international society of Mexico City and the golden beaches of Acapulco. For the sportsman it’s fishing ports like Guaymas, Mazatlán, Manzanillo, Tampico and Veracruz, and half a hundred hunting places in the mountains where you can shoot black or silver-tipped bear, puma and American panther, lynx, wild boar, deer and birds.
THE Utah Symphony Orchestra first swam into the ken of music critics some six years ago, when the Handel Society, an offshoot of Concert Hall Records, issued a recording of Judas Maccabaeus by the orchestra, a group of excellent young soloists and the “combined choruses” of Utah University, all under the direction of Maurice Abravanel.
As a result of his spread, Saratoga Sketchbook, in our August issue, Howard Baer (shown with Baer legs in the photograph) was asked by the Galerie Philadelphie (44 Rue de Seine, Paris 6) to open their new season with an exhibition of his work.
ANYONE interested in the history of the theatre—which encompasses a great many people everywhere—will find a new attraction in the city of Sarasota, on the West Coast of Florida: the Asolo Theatre. It is the only eighteenth-century theatre in America, and was opened with great fanfare at the John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art late last winter.
As writing is a notoriously dry and dusty business, especially when you’re writing about hot and sunny places, it is with considerable relief now that we welcome a communication from the Tower Isle Hotel, in Ocho Rios, Jamaica, giving us the latest batch of new drinks hot—or, rather, cool—off the beachside bar.
THE music of Bud Powell is the music of mental anguish. Bud has spent the greater portion of his adult life in mental hospitals or under analysis. He is introverted to the point of timidity and will rarely speak more than twenty-five words in a given day.
Reservations for reviewers: seats in ticklish spot
WILLIAM K. ZINSSER
As film critic of the New York Herald Tribune, I wrote more than six hundred movie reviews and columns in three and a half years. This almost killed my interest in movies forever, as you will understand if you ever try writing 600 movie reviews and columns in three and a half years.
Something has gone badly wrong with American men; but a solution exists for recovering masculinity
Arthur Schelsinger, Jr.
<p>WHAT has happened to the American male? For a long time, he seemed utterly confident in his manhood, sure of his masculine role in society, easy and definite in his sense of sexual identity. The frontiersmen of James Fenimore Cooper, for example, never had any concern about masculinity; they were men, and it did not occur to them to think twice about it.</p>
Despite the apparent religious boom, the currency of old-fashioned faith is ebbing and Hell's fire is cold
THE most amazing event to enter modern history has been generally snubbed by our chroniclers. It is the petering out of Christianity. Not only are the Bible stories going by the board, but a deeper side of religion seems also to be exiting. This is the mystic concept of the human soul and its survival after death.
Tokyo-born and -trained, George Oka captures Culture in a kimono . . . his custom designs radiate dignity, opulence, comfort, whether modern or traditional. . . . Example: Oka’s formal costume reflecting tradition, centuries old. . . .
All that’s missing is a geisha: Lacquered palmleaf fan. Samisen a geisha would strum. Kome Zaru. filled with Japanese delicacies. Floor cushion of Fujiette. Akari globe, design of Isamu Noguchi. “Sambo” table for each honorable guest at formal banquets.
Automotive Gear Takes The Checkered Flag: Molded nylon horns will not rust or corrode; they’re lighter, easier to mount; tone and internal parts are same as those of metal horns; the shorter length horn has deep sound that carries long distance.
Your fiesta vacation in Mexico can mean many things and many places, but for the seeker of the offbeat, there's nothing like Yucatán
YUCATÁN is probably the only region on earth where you can probe around the deep-jungle-over-grown ruins of a civilization dating back fifteen hundred years, and then cross the road to a sparkling new hotel and cool off in a swimming pool festooned with colorful bougainvillaea blossoms.
To me an audience at a musical play is a tremendous, terrifying animal—a behemoth that wants to be conquered. It is many people suddenly fused into one being that has one heart and one eye. It can be loving and docile and happily approving. Or suddenly, it can turn and be vicious and make loud, booing sounds.
UNLIKE most wines and spirits, the principal ingredient of cognac is not alcohol or the mash of grape or grain. Rather, it is antiquity. It is patience. It is experience. It is tradition. It is the kind of craftsmanship that comes only with complete disregard for time and for fast profit.
There's always good shooting on preserve grounds—but is it fair game?
SHORTLY after nine o’clock one bright crisp morning this month, the rural quiet that normally hangs over the farming fringes of Doylestown, in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, was shattered by the urgent clanging of the school bell. As if warned to the sudden coming of an invading army, the farmers snapped into action.
HERE, by states and alphabetically by counties, are the preserves mentioned in the article beginning on page 103, Hunting's Big Change: Bay As You Kill. In the main, these are the commercial preserves which are open to the public and on which hunters pay a fee for each bird shot; however, a number of private-club (membership required) preserves with open enrollment are also listed, and these are indicated with an asterisk.
The lacquered palm-leaf fan (perched on the bamboo rack, $4) comes in green and red and natural, $2.50, Penthouse Gallery. The samisen, the three-stringed instrument which is similar—but not very—to our guitar, is about $75 and available only through decorators.
Esquire's Side Trip No. 7: Nassau and the Bahama Islands
IF it’s your own private Bahamas island you want for your escape into sunshine, peace and quiet, there’s no problem. You’ve only got about seven hundred islands to choose from, and most of them are uninhabited, so all you have to do is get yourself a boat at one of the inhabited ones, and row, sail or putt-putt your way over.
A photographic essay that'll keep you in the darkroom
IT pains me to disagree with people whose names bulk large in our national picture, but when Duke Ellington proclaims that a drum is a woman, well, that’s where the two of us part company. The case he presents is a patently flimsy one; so sleazy, in fact, that the flesh-and-blood woman need have no fear that her boy friend’ll jettison her in favor of some sexy snare drums or a beauteous bongo.
“Who does Scotty Reston think he is—trying to tell me how to run the country," says Eisenhower
WHAT Detroit is to motor-makers, Houston to wildcatters and Hollywood to actors, Washington is to the newspaperman. A shrine of representative government, its local deity is Public Opinion, of which the journalist is high priest—the more powerful for ministering to an unknown god.
<p>Jordan O’Leary, Public-Relations Director In June this Company will celebrate Its one-hundredth anniversary. A testimonial dinner has been planned At which the Chairman of our Board Will read the keynote speech That I am now preparing And then present awards For meritorious service.</p>
Whenever Holly Golightly left a man—as she did often —she left him bewildered; for although she was a girl of small character she had a lot of personality
<p>I AM always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and their neighborhoods. For instance, there is a brownstone in the East Seventies where, during the early years of the war, I had my first New York apartment. It was one room crowded with attic furniture, a sofa and fat chairs upholstered in that itchy, particular red velvet that one associates with hot days on a train.</p>
Each year we say that next year will be different . . . that were going to get our Christmas shopping done early, but somehow or other we're always found among the mad-last-minute-dashers, tearing our hair out and ending up with gifts-most-likely-to-be-exchanged.