When this magazine was in its infancy we were walking the floor with it one night, after a manner of speaking. We were trying to get out a promotion booklet, in an attempt to cope with some of its first growing pains. One of the founders stopped by, on his way home (we all worked long hours in those days, largely from habit and from lack of anything that was more fun to do), and suggested that we stick in a line somewhere to the effect that ours was a company in which “all the principals are under forty.”
Last September, Esquire published an analysis of a single play in a football game scheduled for December 8 between the Los Angeles Rams and Chicago Bears. The author, Elinor Kaine, predicted that the game would end in a tie, 17-17. As it happened, in one of the biggest upsets of the recently departed pro-football season, the Bears won, 17-16.
As an individual vitally concerned with railroad passenger service, it shocked me deeply to open the November issue of Esquire magazine, and read the erroneous assertion by your Travel Editor Richard Joseph that two of the Santa Fe Railway’s premium transcontinental trains, the Super Chief and the El Capitan, had been discontinued.
In the late elections, the American people for once showed some political sense. Voting within the limits of the democratic-state-capitalist system they have developed, or wandered into, in this century—a complex cocktail of confusedly mixed ideological potions, light on the democracy, please —they didn’t do at all badly.
What’s Good for Chrysler Is Good for Lynn Townsend
The bookkeeper who is Chairman of the fifth largest corporation in America owes it all to a good wife, Dodge fever and Lawrence Welk lovers everywhere
<p>Out in Detroit, where a one percent sliver of the booming auto market is an insomnia causative for executives, the big talk this year is the steady, inching-along performance of the resurgent tortoise, Chrysler Corporation. For the sixth straight year, Chrysler picked up one of those one percent slivers which fattens its gross revenue by about $300,000,000, won new respect from the giant General Motors and caused second-ranked Ford Motor Company to feel new competitive urges.</p>
A while back, Ingmar Bergman compared his craft to that of a single craftsman working on one small section of a cathedral. And although he is still the only man at work in this particular cathedral, he plugs along in the same spirit, not seduced into shooting up private shrines, pleasure domes, encrusted outhouses, but hammering methodically at his door.
The tapioca pudding at Frank's Diner is an experience you're not likely to forget!
<p>A NOTE TO READERS. This is a tour for Americans who : a) wish to help the United States’ balance of payments deficit; b) want to obey the request President Johnson made that Americans vacation at home; c) wish very much to help the United States’ balance of payments deficit.</p>
What makes one magazine different from another is easy enough ent from another is easy enough to account for by differences in interest, abilities and intentions among the editors, founders, and readers. What makes a magazine different from itself is a little harder to explain.
If Here he is, folks, back in his old corner and wearing purple trunks . . . everybody's “bad nigger"
<p>If there is ever to be a Mount Rushmore for Negroes, Charles “Sonny” Liston’s head should be carved first. What twentieth-century head befits stony grandeur more ? His physical properties are made for epic endeavors. His nose casually spreads across his face like a throw rug, overpowering the lazy anchovy of a moustache that swims above the crest of his upper lip.</p>
In the November issue I wrote an article on the fine rail service now available in many European countries and offered some opinions as to what I believe are declining standards of railroad service in this country. My hand was called, and rightly so—at least as far as the Santa Fe Railway is concerned, as President John Reed of The Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe points out in his letter to the Editor of Esquire this month (pages 14-16).
The four volumes of George Orwell’s collected essays, journalism and letters (Harcourt, Brace & World, $8.95 each except for the third volume, $7.95), impeccably edited by his widow Sonia Orwell and Ian Angus, are wonderfully readable, wonderfully illuminating, and a rare treasure for any aspiring writer.
"The man who came up with the conception for the Met’s Traviata,” says Sherrill Milnes, a big, confident young baritone who is reaching out for the mantle of the late Leonard Warren and may be good enough to wear it, “argued that Germont should leave his hat on halfway through the second act, to show his disrespect for Violetta.
In laboratories across America four scientists are developing synthetic intelligence for the ignorant. Interested?
Roger Kenneth Field
<p>Like most people, you probably think it takes effort to improve your mind. And, until recently, you were right. Now, however, scientists from many biological disciplines are combining their talents and knowledge to achieve a single, common goal: the synthetic enhancement of intelligence.</p>
<p>Where did Howard Robard Hughes go? No one is quite sure—no one is ever sure—but there is a strong suspicion these days that he is hiding out in Las Vegas, a reasonable assumption because he appears to be buying it. I thought it would be interesting to talk to Howard, so I went looking for him some two months before sitting, down to type up this report.</p>
<p>The gentlemen balloonists toasting themselves at right are about to drop ballast over the sides of their wicker basket and rise into the atmosphere like the bubbles in their own champagne—and with only slightly more control over their course of flight.</p>
About six inches from the left side of the page and about an inch up from the bottom you will see a sort of depression in the girl’s stomach. The girl is Barbara Eden and the depression is her navel. Quite ordinary-looking, right? And yet, for four years it has been a matter of concern in the higher echelons at NBC.
The cops and the rioters understand each other; it’s the poor slob in the middle who’s in trouble
<p>(Note: The following is a transcription of the audio portion of the program of March 4th, less the commercials. Certain descriptive phrases have been added in parentheses.) HOST (the well-known television moderator, Arthur Bader, a genialfaced man of medium size, dressed in dark, conventional clothing; he sits in a chair shaped like half an egg and is flanked by a guest on either side) : Tonight Controversy offers a discussion of the riot problem, or should I expand that to embrace any kind of protest by more than one person, versus some sort of institution.</p>
In their $60 custom-made skin-tight slacks they have hubris their haunches as they strut the streets of Harlem, as proud as the peacocks they aspire to be. Once it was the ownership of a Cadillac that conferred status on the bigcity Negroes of America, but now clothes are what maketh the black man.
You couldn’t get a reservation on St. Thomas this month if you knew the governor. There are a few places where you can, however, and at lower cost—with a few drawbacks hardly worth mentioning
If you’re thinking about a winter vacation at a top Caribbean resort next Christmas, or in February 1970, better think fast, because by the time you read this there might be no room at the inn, even at $100 a day for two, with meals. With hotel rates steadily rising throughout the West Indies, that promises—or threatens—to be the going price at the best resort hotels ; and the most expensive hotels are often the first ones to be sold out.
Some mornings are auspicious enough to require celebration of a bibulous sort; others are so dire they demand ministrations of the same order. For whichever reason, a lot of Americans drink before noon, and most of them choose a Bloody Mary.
<p>There have been lots of changes up on the Hill. On the eve of the 1952 elections, the reporter remembers a pantie raid. The October 1967 Pentagon confrontation has come to mean many things to many people. For myself, I can say that it gave me my first genuine dose of alumni pride.</p>
Excessive? Not at all—who's going to sail your yacht, guard your body, drive your car, tend your children and fly your jet for you?
Robert H. Williams
When Bernie Castro’s Southern Trail was built in 1926 she cost about $250,000. To duplicate her ninety-three feet of teak deck and brass fittings today would run in the neighborhood of $750,000—that’s how much the cost of labor has gone up. The rich had it working for them both ways in those days.
The makers of prescription drugs are concerned with a very important matter: health (theirs)
James L. Goddard
<p>An American buying prescription drugs is like no other American at any other counter of any other store in the country. He does not question the high price of the drug; he does not shop around for a cheaper variety; he does not wait for a sale (because there never are any) ; and he is usually unaware of the name of the drug he is buying, let alone the name of the manufacturer.</p>
Songs of the syringe: a box is stolen, a building burns, a man dies
<p>1 It was Sunday. the hardest hustling day in the week for dope fiends. Me and Suffering Sam was on the stroll looking for anything stealable. There wasn't anybody on the turf except Toughie the cop. When Sam spotted him, he said: You know, little man, all cops are kin to each other, they're all bastards.</p>
The newest of Manhattan’s seafood restaurants is also one of the oldest. Davy Jones, in its fourth move in thirty-one years, has now cast anchor for the first time on the East Side, at Five East Fifty-fourth Street. Early last year, just before the West Forty-ninth Street place gave way to a skyscraper, its sea atmosphere became even more salty with the good-byes of longtime patrons, although they’d been assured a new place would be ready before 1969.
But no one will ever forget the late, great Henry T. Grant, who, back in 1969, taught us how to use philanthropy for fund and profit
Alvin H. Reiss
The year is 1989. Buried somewhere in the dead files of the Internal Revenue Service, gathering layers of dust, is a group of folders bound together with string and simply marked M.A.M.A. Although few people today remember M.A.M.A., it was, during its peak years, one of the best-known and most powerful nonprofit organizations in America.
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Read Thoroughly Before Screwing Up ALASKA Our last frontier before us like a land of dreams; so glorious, so beautiful,so new. Fellow Americans, it's our last chance to do something right. Listen to Esquire. A Few Last Word On by Gay Talese Tension mounts as inquiry opened by this journal two and a half years ago reaches unbearable climax.