You can't expect newspaper timeliness from a monthly magazine, but sometimes playboy does almost that well. The picture-interview of Eartha Kitt in the January issue offered the only press preview of her on-stage breakdown during a February performance of Mrs. Patterson and Playboy's February issue, including a picture piece on television's Voluptua, went on sale the same week Life did a news story on her. A week after the Voluptua stories appeared, she lost her job. But we'll let Life take the credit for putting a hex on the girl--we insist that only good fortune results from the features appearing in Playboy.
Playboy is published monthly by the HMH Publishing Co., Inc., 11 E. Superior, Chicago 11, Illinois. Postage must accompany all manuscripts and drawings submitted if they are to be returned and no responsibility can be assumed for unsolicited materials. Entry as second-class matter applied for at the Post Office at Chicago, Illinois, October 14, 1954. Contents copyrighted 1955 by HMH Publishing Co., Inc. Nothing may be reprinted in whole or in part without written permission. Printed in U.S.A. Any similarity between the people and places mentioned in this magazine and any real people and places is purely coincidental.
The pass was high and wide and he jumped for it, feeling it slap flatly against his hands, as he shook his hips to throw off the halfback who was diving at him. The center floated by, his hands desperately brushing Darling's knee as Darling picked his feet up high and delicately ran over a blocker and an opposing linesman in a jumble on the ground near the scrimmage line. He had ten yards in the clear and picked up speed, breathing easily, feeling his thigh pads rising and falling against his legs, listening to the sound of cleats behind him, pulling away from them, watching the other backs heading him off toward the sideline, the whole picture, the men closing in on him, the blockers fighting for position, the ground he had to cross, all suddenly clear in his head, for the first time in his life not a meaningless confusion of men, sounds, speed. He smiled a little to himself as he ran, holding the ball lightly in front of him with his two hands, his knees pumping high, his hips twisting in the almost-girlish run of a back in a broken field. The first halfback came at him and he fed him without breaking stride, ran right through him, his cleats biting securely into the turf. There was only the safety man now, coming warily at him, his arms crooked, hands spread. Darling tucked the ball in, spurted at him, driving hard, hurling himself along, his legs pounding, knees high, all two hundred pounds bunched into controlled attack. He was sure he was going to get past the safety man. Without thought, his arms and legs working beautifully together, he headed right for the safety man, stiff-armed him, feeling blood spurt instantaneously from the man's nose onto his hand, seeing his face go awry, head turned, mouth pulled to one side. He pivoted away, keeping the arm locked, dropping the safety man as he ran easily toward the goal line, with the drumming of cleats diminishing behind him.
We doubt if any man nowadays puts a piece of toast in the bottom of his highball to improve the flavor, but at one time it was a standard ingredient of the cup that cheers. A soggy custom, perhaps, but it survives in the word we use to describe the friendly benediction good fellows bestow on each other when their glasses clink. Playboy recently toured the better bars and bistros, making note of some of the choicest toasts. We're passing them on to you with the hope that you'll find them livelier than the routine Skoal, Prosit, L'chayim, Na zdrowie, or Mud in your eye.
The other day, a member of our staff slunk into the office smoking a calabash pipe, wearing a deerstalker cap and muttering in nasal tones faintly reminiscent of Basil Rathbone. Since this individual has frequently displayed a marked tendency toward eccentric behavior, we shrugged it all off as the latest manifestation of his twisted though talented mind and went about our usual editorial task of (continued on next page) separating paper clips without giving the matter a second thought.
Marion Van Orton finished packing her dressing-case, opened her purse to make sure that her steamer tickets were still there, took one last look in the mirror and then descended the wide, polished staircase of the Van Orton mansion for the last time. Gorham, the butler, met her at the door.
Roughly two years ago, a cute and curvaceous Florida model took a long gander at her bank account, compared it with those of the photographers who hired her, and decided she was in the wrong end of the business. She sunk her next couple of paychecks into an inexpensive camera, a short course in photography, and a rubber stamp that read "Photo by Bunny Yeager."
Every successful host knows that a good party provides much more than shelter and sustenance for the gathered revelers. The hors d'oeuvres and canapés, to be sure, must delight both eye and palate, the drinks should be concocted with skill and imagination, but once spirits are buoyed by these stimulants, the time arrives for games.
Playboy presents the racy Society of Illustrators Show in a seven-page photographic portfolio ... John Collier contributes an ironic story of sudden death and a twist of fate ... Eve Meyer makes her Playboy debut as Playmate of the Month.