How, We Asked Ourselves as we were preparing this third College Issue, did Playboy become the most popular periodical on the college campuses of America? Except for one issue each year, Playboy virtually ignores college life in its articles, fiction, photo features and cartoons -- why, then, does it sell more copies at campus newsstands than the multi-million circulation magazines? The answer isn't really too difficult to discover, because the average college male is less interested in the cloistered here-and-now than the world that lies ahead. He dreams of the future bachelor apartment, the hi-fi set, the well-stocked liquor cabinet, the sports car -- and the bedroom-eyed beauties who will help him enjoy it all. These are the dreams, of course, that Playboy is made of; this is the world the college man reads about in Playboy's pages -- reads and re-reads, passes on, promotes and parodies. As the most popular magazine on campus, Playboy is also the most kidded: college editors at the University of Texas, Penn State, Indiana University, Syracuse College, Oregon State and the University of Arizona all turned issues of their humor magazines into Playboy parodies this past year. Nothing better expresses the impact Playboy has had on the collective college campus than a recent issue of Northwestern's Profile, however: it featured a coverfull of students ditching their copies of the Northwestern feature magazine to crowd around one fellow holding a copy of you-know-what. Other schools across the country have been giving Playboy parties, dances and variety shows, and one of them -- Dartmouth -- enjoyed a visit from Playmate Janet Pilgrim. Subscription supervisor Janet's weekend on that all-male campus is covered in this College Issue. And Janet, somewhat uncovered, puts in a new Playmate appearance.
Playboy, October, 1956, Vol. 3, No. 10. Playboy is published monthly by HMH Publishing Co., Inc., 11 E. Superior St., Chicago 11, Illinois. In the U.S., its possessions and Canada, subscriptions are $13 for three years; $10 for two years; $6 for one year; elsewhere, add $3 per year to cover foreign postage. Please allow three weeks for entering new subscriptions, renewals and for change of address. Entered as second class matter August 5, 1955, at the post office at Chicago, Illinois, under the act of March 3, 1879. Printed in U.S.A. Contents copyrighted 1956 by HMH Publishing Co., Inc.
As we go to press, the spiritual leader of the Night People is looking for a sponsor. His name is Jean Shepherd, and he is (or was) the wee-hours d.j. of New York's WOR. "There's a great body of people who flower at night," according to Shepherd, "for night is the time people truly become individuals." Such folk, says he, "are embattled against the official, organized, righteous Day People who are completely bound by their switchboards and their red tape." Shaking the Day People from their smug complacency is the dearest joy of the Night People, and to this noble end, Shepherd and his night-owl listeners recently conspired in creating a mythical historical novel by a non-existent author. Bookstore clerks (archetypal Day People), when asked by Shepherd-inspired Night People for I, Libertine, by Frederick R. Ewing, consulted their all-powerful lists and haughtily informed the Night People that no such book or author existed. Their faith in Dayism was shattered when (a) requests for the tome poured in to bookstores in New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Miami, Paris and Helsinki; (b) a Pennsylvania d.j. interviewed British-accented author "Ewing" over the air; (c) the title cropped up in the Books-to-be-Published section of The New York Times Book Review; (d) the Catholic Legions of Decency banned it; (e) a confirmed Day Person (sub-species Librarian) found a card for the book in the index of the Philadelphia Public Library (in the corner of the card appeared the strange device Excelsior, a favorite Shepherd battle-cry); and (f) 25,000 copies of the book itself miraculously appeared in bookstores everywhere.
The Gourmet Room of St. Louis' Park Plaza Hotel (at the Kings Highway entrance to Forest Park) is a grand little wickiup in which to sample some elegant vittles. Emphasis here is on the haute cuisine delivered to your table, whenever possible, on a flaming sword or, more accurately, a flaming epèe: whole honed squab, roast rack of lamb persillade. Chateaubriand Bearnaise and other gastronomical glories. We found the Rock Cornish game hen with a perregordine sauce (sherry, truffles, shallots) and stuffed with wild rice to be something those cats up on Mount Olympus might have fought over. August Sabadell. the Paris-born food comptroller, confided to us that the secret of serving fine meats and fowl is in the buying, and beamingly declared that his buyers shout out their numbers loud and strong at the nearby Chicago stockyards. M. Sabadell also told us that there is no continental dish that is not available at the Gourmet Room, but for some inexplicablereason the room's decor is Japanese. Well, anyway, a trio plays whispery music while you nibble, and there's a multivintaged wine cellar. Open every night.
A sloe-eyed, slow-singing Parisian lass name of Juliette Greco is currently batting a thousand with her sexy singing of ballads in the better bars along the bistro belt of Babylon-by-the-Seine. Now, on Juliette Greco (Columbia ML 5088) you can hear why the jive-happy eggheads of the international set think she is absolument le most. La Greco goes in for songs of many-leveled sophistication: the most macabre theme gets a sweet-sexy treatment -- and predictably vice versa; a screwball animal story is sung with tremendous feeling -- and then given a shrug-it-off, ludicrous ending; a ballad about the desolation of war is sung with startling insoussiance; all this in a husky voice which makes a lot of Piaf sound like a virginal conservatory soprano. A free translation of each song is supplied on the liner, to help you over the harder French.
One of the reasons New York is "a nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there" is the frustrating squeeze on Broadway theatre tickets. If a play's a hit, double ducats for a Saturday night (or any other night) immediately become as rare as grass in Times Square.
Cinemaddicts who enjoyed Stanley Kubrick's The Killing, mentioned here last month, will be glad to learn that French director Jules Dassin damn near out-Kubricks Kubrick with his nerve-rasping Rififi. This, too, is the case history of a heist through which you'll be rooting for the robbers all the way. They come to a sticky end, of course, and a dirty shame, too, because they're really a nice bunch of guys. We liked their girlfriends, also, especially the one in the transparent nightie.
Playboy is published monthly by the HMH Publishing Co., Inc., 11 E. Superior, Chicago 11, Illinois. Postage must accompany all manuscripts, drawings and photographs submitted if they are to be returned and no responsibility can be assumed for unsolicited materials. Entered as second class matter August 5, 1955, at the post office at Chicago, Illinois, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Printed in U. S. A. Contents copyrighted 1956 by HMH Publishing Co., Inc. Nothing may be reprinted in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher. Any similarity between the people and places mentioned in the fiction and semi-fiction in this magazine and any real people and places is purely coincidental.
Allen Turner, a busy man with creamy cheeks and a rapid, decisive speech, tempered his hard duty by smiling with the steadiness of a clock. The face supporting the smile broadened magnificently with approval of his words. He smiled past a missing tooth. "You don't play poker? OK," he said to Dan Shaper, "you don't have to. This is the free demcratic world. You don't like the programs the fellows all like? Okay, the TV isn't a law, just for rec-ration. You had a ticket to the last game and you didn't go? It's your prillege. But boy," he added mournfully, "you don't ever play poker."
Last month, you'll recall, we did a splash on the French film, Folies-Bergère, calling attention to the various versions of certain scenes, i.e., Rare, Medium and Overdone. The United States, of course, was scheduled to get the Overdone version, while other countries enjoyed the refreshing sight of torsos unadorned, or adorned only by a few rhinestones in the wrong places. This sagacious strategy we attributed (if we may quote ourselves) to "Gallic practicality" -- but now it appears that practicality is not an exclusively Gallic commodity.
Have you a better animal?" inquired a Columbia producer of a screenwriter via interoffice memo earlier this year. "They gave up gorillas at Universal and created the creature from beneath the sea, and it gave horror pictures new life."
To be called "shoe" on a college campus is a rare compliment indeed. Translated from the Ivy-ese, the expression means that the fellow on whom it is hung is damned well dressed. He is not over dressed, he is not gaudily dressed, he is not too conservatively dressed. He is simply -- "shoe."
After a couple of frothy, frantic weeks in Rome or Florence, what jaded gent wouldn't relish a respite on the Italian Riviera -- a 200-mile chunk of Technicolor land-and-seascape sprawled out near the top of the boot?
Captain Antonio Moro, a Venetian seafaring gentleman of great vigor and good looks, was walking with a friend along a canal when he saw a woman so beautiful, so sensuous, so altogether desirable, that he turned to his companion and said: "I must have her!"
The far-seeing husband knows how important it is for his wife to be well-groomed at all times. The sloppy, poorly-dressed wife creates a bad impression everywhere, can even be harmful to a man's standing in the community, and in his business relations.
Undergraduate gentlemen in the halls of ivy continue to roar for their trusty pullovers as loudly as they roar for their ale and wenches. Whether conning a volume of Yeats or the swing of a passing pigeon, a learned man looks to his sweater as the near-perfect knockabout attire. Though he may not fill it out as fetchingly as that cashmered Kappa across the aisle in Geology 101, he nevertheless keeps at least three or four on hand (sweaters, that is) for every exercise from skiing to she-ing. Favorites for the fall campus scene are found on the blackboard and each pullover boasts three worth-having features: no shrink, no stretch, no fade. Starting at board's top: a bright V-neck pullover in a red-and-gray vertical stripe, hand washable, in a blend of lambs' wool and orlon, $10. The powder blue V-neck is for richer tastes: a Bernhard Altmann cashmere that sets you back the price of a case of gin -- $32.50 -- but worth it. The big-stitched, bulky blue-and-white ski sweater with crew neck is another hand washable job loomed from 100% wool, $17.95. Even if you bust a fibula schussing down the mountain, you are assured the garment will look just as natty with a pair of black flannel slacks on campus. Crutches and a plaster cast add that devilish, worldly posture. The oxford gray crew neck is as traditional at eastern schools as the Harvard-Yale game, is usually worn with chino or flannel trousers. This one is blended of lambs' wool and orlon for simple scrubbing, and includes a good-looking cable stitch for $15.95. At the bottom of the heap is a perennial ski pal in taste on or off the slopes: a red hot turtleneck that's all wool and a yard wide. Washable, too, at $14.95.
A Man's Home is not only his castle, it is or should be, the outward reflection of his inner self -- a comfortable, livable, and yet exciting expression of the person he is and the life he leads. But the overwhelming percentage of homes are furnished by women. What of the bachelor and his need for a place to call his own? Here's the answer, Playboy's penthouse apartment, home for a sophisticated man of parts, a fit setting for his full life and a compliment to his guests of both sexes. Here a man, perhaps like you, can live in masculine elegance.
Every Jazz Fan will want to help choose the musicians for the 1957 Playboy all-star jazz band. No imaginary aggregation this -- the winners will appear in the greatest jazz spectacle of the year -- the first national Playboy all-star jazz concert. They will also record a Playboy all-star LP.
Consistent with Playboy's Policy of publishing timely, informative features of real worth and value to the urban male, here is the step-by-step procedure for properly bathing your poodle. Though we realize not all of our readers presently possess, or have immediate plans for procuring, a poodle, we are confident that every last one of you is, deep down (where it really counts), a poodle lover and so will be able to take at least an academic interest in these instructions. Miss Joan Bradshaw has very kindly consented to assist us in the demonstration.