Playboy, February, 1966, Vol. 13, NO 2. Published Monthly by HMH Publishing Company, Inc., Playboy Building, 231 E. Ohio ST. Chicago, Illinois 60611. Subscriptions: In the U. S. Its Possessions. The Pan American Union and Canada. $20 for Three Years, $15 For Two Years, $8 For One Year. Elsewhere Add $4.60 per year for Foreign Postage. Allow 30 Days for new subsriptions and Renewals. Change od Address: Send both old and new address to Playboy, 232 E. Ohio St., Chicago, Illinois 60611. And allow 30 days for change. Advertising: Howard W Lederer, Advertising Director;Jules Kase,Associate Advirtising Manager, 405 Park Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10022, MU 8-3030; Joseph Fall, Advertising Manager Sherman Keats, Chicago Manager, 155 E. Dhio Street, Chicago, ILL. 60611, MI 2-1000 Detroit, Joseph Guenther, Manager, 2990 West Grand Boulevard, TR 5-7250: Los Angeles, Stanley L. Perkins, Manager, 8721 Beverly Boulevard, OL 2-8790; San Francisco. Robert E. Stephens, Manager, 110 Sutter Street, YU 2-7994, Souheastern Representative, Pirnie S Frown, 3180 Piedmont Road, N. E. Atlanta, GA 30305, 223-6729
General Offices: Playboy Building, 232 E. Ohio Street, Chicago, Illinois 60611, Return Postage Must Accompany All Manuscripts, Drawings And Photographs Submitted If They Are To Be Returned And No Responsibility Can Be Assumed For Unsolicited Materials. Contents Copyrighted • 1966 By HMH Publishing Co., Inc. All Rights Reserved. Nothing May Be Reprinted In Whole Or In Part Without Written Permission From The Publisher. Any Similarity Between The People And Places In The Fiction And Semifiction In This Magazine And Any Real People And Places Is Purely Coincidental. Credits: Cover: Model Sissy, Photo By Larry Gordon; P. 3 Photos By Mario Casilli, Al Urbanavicius, Maria Luisa Scott, J. Barry O'Rourke, Richard Saunders; P. 55 Photos By Franco Pinna; P. 79--83 Photos By O'Rourke (3), Jerry Yulsman (3), Dick Schaefer (2), Don Bronstein, William Claxton, H. George Huvos, Robert Parent, Mike Shea, Urban-Avicius, Ted Williams, William Read Wood-Field; P. 134--141 Photos From The Collections Of Gideon Bachmann (7), Penguin (7), Tony Crawley (3), Roy George (3), Maurice Bessy (2), William Claxton, Dr. J. M. Lo Duca, Stanley Paley, R. R. Stuart, Herman Weinberg.
SKI Buffs who consider the winter season too short will find excellent spring and summer schussing at several posh resorts in the Swiss and French Alps. From Reusch, Switzerland (eight miles from Gstaad, a fine base), you can make a half-hour cable-car trip along the Oldenegg-Cabane des Diablerets (4500 feet high) to the Diablerets Glacier at the foot of the Oldenhorn, a height of 10,000 feet. There are good restaurant facilities at both the Reusch and Oldenegg cable-car stations. In addition to year-round skiing, the new resort area offers guided tours over the Tsanfleuron Glacier and walks along the Martistal to the Ol-denalp, famed for its rare alpine flowers.
<p>A few months ago, during the closed-set filming of "Juliet of the Spirits," Federico Fellini's long-awaited latest film, Roman TV officials congratulated themselves on what promised to be a major video coup when il grande maestro unexpectedly rescinded his own ban on press coverage of the production in progress and acquiesced to their repeated requests for a sample snippet from the film. They were understandably baffled and bedazzled by the footage he supplied--an extraordinary comic-opera scene starring the elephantine, wild-haired whore from "8 1/2" outrageously decked out as D'Artagnan in feathers, velvets, boots and blond mustaches, surrounded by a motley chorus of nuns, clowns and gypsies, all cavorting about to the tune of a blaring Neapolitan aria.</p>
This Fashion Season may well be called "the year of the big change" in the clothes-conscious capitals of Europe. English gentlemen no longer slavishly follow the dictates of Savile Row when dressing for a night on the town or an afternoon at Epsom Downs. Elegant Romans have forsaken muscle-bound styles in favor of one featuring navy blazers and slim-fitting slacks. Parisian males --never before numbered among the Continent's best dressers--have exchanged many of their Charlie Chaplin baggy suits for models created by ultrafashionable haute couture salons. Debonair Spaniards are sobering their colorful wardrobes with deep new shades of black and brown. Men from the golden shores of Greece are giving up the Hellenic "native" look for something more cosmopolitan.
The Man and the Orchestra who are beyond category were ubiquitously triumphant during the past jazz year. At 66, the patrician Edward Kennedy "Duke" Ellington juggled a series of major projects while continually on the move. In the spring he was also the calm center of a tempest swirling around the decision of the Pulitzer Prize Advisory Board to reject the recommendation of its music jury that Ellington be given a special citation for "the vitality and originality of his total productivity" through nearly four decades. In protest against that rejection, two of the three Pulitzer music jurors resigned, and there were many mutterings in newspapers and magazines at the slighting of the Duke. Ellington himself, secure in his achievements, played it cool: "Fate is being kind to me. Fate doesn't want me to be too famous too young."
From Time to Time, the groves of academe can be counted on to supply our peripatetic lensmen with a coed candidate for cum laude centerfold honors. The latest matriculated miss to win gatefold laurels is 21-year-old Melinda Windsor, an opulently endowed (38-23-36) Ohiobred beauty who has been one of UCLA's comeliest coeds for the past two years. Eschewing the perennial distaff undergrad's custom of pursuing a bachelor's degree until the right bachelor comes along, Melinda, who's majoring in psychology (with a minor in languages), plans to put in a postgraduate stint with an eye toward a teaching career. "I'm not working my way through college just to earn an 'M.R.S.' degree," vows our Valentine Playmate. "I was holding down a daytime job as an insurance rater to pay for my night classes at UCLA, but with the money I've received for my Playmate appearance, I'm now able to give my undivided attention to the pursuit of a sheepskin." Occasionally, on winter weekends, Melinda will take a break from her baccalaureate endeavors and head for the beginners' slopes at nearby Big Bear ski resort. "I'm not ready for tough runs yet," she admits, "but my ski instructor says my form is nearly perfect." Hear! Hear!
Among Certain primitive tribes, even today, the men and women speak separate languages, members of one sex being strictly forbidden to utter or learn the language of the other. Since these same tribes procreate in great abundance, we can assume that courtships, complete with the equivalents of sweet nothings and passionate vows, are carried on in pantomime, like the game of charades.
No Bachelor who has invited a sweet young thing up to his apartment for dinner wants to spend most of his time in the kitchen fiddling over a hot stove. Even if he has promised her a meal fit for Escoffier, the idea is for our man to be out where the action is and not rattling around the scullery looking for a wire whisk.
The Negro Revolution is now ten years old. The new Jacobins, the angry young men and women who rose up to claim what belonged to them, are responsible for transforming a well-intentioned but slow-moving cause into a full-fledged revolutionary movement. What the new Jacobins demand today is total war to achieve total rights. If there is any word in this struggle more hated by these young militants than "moderation." it is "tokenism." This revolution exacts from its revolutionists and requires of its friends and allies a staunch and thoroughgoing commitment in both motivation and concrete actions. Nothing short of this absolute commitment is acceptable anymore. If anyone who fancies himself a supporter or an ally or even a leader does not, in the opinion of the revolutionists, "feel" the movement, does not, in the vernacular, "dig" the struggle in the streets, no number of words or even good deeds will fully qualify him for the Jacobins' trust. If, on the other hand, he appears to "dig" the movement but falters before the totality of its demands, then he is at best friction within the revolution's machinery, at worst a traitor.
He wore A Rose-Pink turban, white trousers, an open brocade jacket, and he came in softly without a word. Placing the tea tray on the low bedside teak stand, he bowed gracefully to the knees and withdrew, backing out, his bare feet whispering.
It's No Coincidence that Rio de Janeiro has been dubbed the queen of the world's seaports by many a male traveler. With the lush tropical verdure of its mountain peaks, public parks and nearby rain forests, its ambivalent ambiance of Old World and New, its contrapuntal tempo of Latin languor and metropolitan bustle, those who follow the sun--and its well-tanned daughters--find Rio the most sybaritic of settings to satisfy their wanderlust. Some come just to revel in the infectious abandon of its annual pre-Lenten carnaval. Many seek it out as a mecca of South American art, education and culture. And many come in the hope of carving out careers and living the good life as fulltime residents of a city whose past 20 years of explosive economic growth has been unequaled by any other port in Latin America. But the main reason most males still go flying down to Rio is its cosmopolitan potpourri of infinitely varied, uncommonly attractive, disarmingly charming, pleasantly plentiful, emphatically eligible senhoritas.
In the City of Prato, at one time, there existed a harsh statute that decreed the penalty of death by burning to any woman discovered in adultery by her husband. It befell, while this law was in force, that the noble and beautiful Madam Filippa, a lady well known to all for her extraordinary propensity and prowess in amatory pursuits, was surprised one night by her husband, Rinaldo, in her own chambers and deep in the arms of one Lazzarino, a youth of the city.
The Sights and Sounds being served up this season have renewed our faith in all of the hoary precepts of dynamic capitalism. Adam Smith couldn't have predicted it more accurately. Just as the venerable economist said they would, brisk competition, technological improvements and increased production have bred improved quality at eminently reasonable prices. Today's audiophile investing in listening (text continued on page 133) and looking gear can take advantage of the soundest values we've come across in years.
"The Trouble With Sound," a film historian once observed, "was not that movies talked, but that no one could understand them." In the 30-odd years of silent pictures, film makers had evolved storytelling techniques that were universally understood, and discovered themes that could be universally enjoyed. But the arrival of sound, which swept the studios of the world in 1929 and 1930, brought all of this to an abrupt halt. Attempts at "dubbing" foreign films into English--matching American voices to the lip movements on the screen--failed dismally, as Paramount learned to its chagrin with its "American version" of Germany's The Blue Angel. Audiences wanted the real thing or nothing. And, at least for the majority of America's movie-going public, subtitles were no more satisfactory: They went to the "talkies" to listen and to look, not to read captions. Almost overnight, the market for foreign films all but disappeared. No longer could the producer of a European epic anticipate a first night on Broadway. In the United States, imports were relegated to a handful of art theaters and to a scattering of "language houses," as they were called, that catered to the various ethnic groups concentrated in certain cities and communities.