Though October off calls up such bucolic images as fat harvest moons and romantic hay rides, autumnal visions this year have taken on a sunny, Latin flavor for millions of spectator sportsmen. From the 12th through the 27th, the wide world of sports will be centered on the Olympic games in Mexico City: and as a fact-filled complement to the event. Travel Editor Len Deighton presents !Mexico!. a selective Baedeker to the 19th Olympiad's capital city and wise words plus a detailed chart designed especially for aficionados of the tropical pleasures and sybaritic resorts that beckon south of the Rio Grande.
Playboy, October, 1968, Vol. 15, No. 10. Published monthly by HMH Publishing Co. Inc., Playboy building, 919 N. Michigan Ave., 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 subscriptions and renewals. Change of Address. Send both old and new Addresses to playboy, playboy building, 919 N Michigan Ave., Chicago, Illinois 60611 and allow 30 days for change Advertising: Howard W. Lederer, Advertising Director; Jules Kase, Joseph Guenther, Associate advertising Managers, 405 Park Ave., New York, new York 10022, MU 8-3030; Sherman Keats, Chicago Manager, 919 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, Illinois 60611, M1 2-1000; Detroit, Robert A Mc Kenzie, 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; Southeastern Representative, Pirnie & Brown, 3106 RD, N. E., Atlanta, Ga. 30305, 233-6729.
In the interest of setting before our readers a viable alternative to the Republican and Democratic Parties' nominees for the Presidency, we contribute this editorial space, as a public service, to a mini-Interview with the darkest of dark-horse candidates--Pat Paulsen. He is a man whose fearless Sunday-night editorials on The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour have opened the door to a grass-roots Presidential draft; a man who has dared to tell the voters. "I never met a bigot I didn't like": a man about whom the term "credibility gap" could be applied only to the space between his ears. Competing against such formidable opposition as Snoopy (the World War One flying ace), the ever-popular Mrs. Yetta Bronstein, Lar ("America First") Daly, Mrs. Lucy Mayberry (a 62-year-old great-grandmother from Sacramento) and Louis Abolafia (the Love Party candidate), among others. Paulsen--nominated by acclamation at the recent Stag Party convention in Tijuana. Mexico--has far outdistanced his adversaries by being willing to meet "any time, anyplace" with the press.
Thanks for clearing up the record on John Dillinger's penis (The Playboy Forum. April and August). Now would you straighten us out on his criminal record? Did he really rob hundreds of banks or only three or four?--R. S., New York, New York.
Ralph Nader, whose headline-making indictments of auto safety angered Detroit, prompted one car company's abortive investigation of his private life and finally spurred passage of the 1966 Traffic Safety Act, would seem at first glance an unlikely nemesis for the auto--or any other--industry. Nader's parents emigrated from Lebanon to the United States in 1925 and gravitated to the small town of Winsted, Connecticut, a WASP-ishly conservative community of 10,000, where Ralph was born in 1934. His father, Nathra, transformed a seedy diner into a prosperous restaurant, the Highland Arms. and with Shaf. Ralph's 40-year-old brother, threw himself into local politics and such civic issues as banning parking meters from Main Street and creating a community college. Nader's parents also imbued him with a deep sense of the individual's responsibility to improve society. Ralph learned this lesson well, and a pattern of passionate idealism and uncompromising individualism was ingrained in him at an early age; by the time he was admitted to Princeton University in 1951, Nader was already a dropout from his "silent generation."
After Balthazar's father died his mother moved from the big house off Avenue Foch to a sprawling apartment overlooking the gardens of the Palais Royal. Miss Hortense the English governess with her tall flowing gay willing way came each Christmas. Easter and summer holiday. Taking Balthazar back and forth to Paris from the green zar back and forth to Paris from the green low hills of England and the echoing classrooms of school. While his mother went hither and thither to Baden Baden, Liechtenstein and Biarritz, to one for a cure, to the next for taxes and to the last to swim.
Today, as readers of playboy know, the well-dressed American male is no longer a sartorial conservative; the ultranarrow tie and the natural-shoulder suit have been elegantly eclipsed by a host of turned-on togs that are fashionable without being faddist or far out. Epitomizing the new "now" look, say we, the latest in outerwear will go to great length to emphasize its long, lean line, fitted tailoring, wider lapels and higher Edwardian collars; and rain capes styled after those worn by London bobbies will be donned by an avantgarb minority. Also expect to see suede, fur and polished-leather outerwear in trim waist-length and trench-coat models.
The Perilous Plight of Sir George, Kandron the Dragon and the Twenty Delectable Virgins
Alexis A. Gilliland
Morality is a Useful Guide to behavior; and, like the law, it consists of principles that must perforce be illustrated with specific examples. Some of the cases in law are pretty farfetched, such as who owns a dead whale that A found floating with B's harpoon in him. Nevertheless, these cases--dead whales, escaped foxes and reasonable men--form the basis on which the law rests. Observe that the English separated law from equity at a fairly early date, since it was obvious that the proper working of the law excluded equity.
Talented Egg Chefs who've mastered and outstripped such breakfast clichés as ham and eggs or bacon and eggs, who've graduated to eggs at night rather than in the morning, take pride in owing allegianced to no pat formula. Every man whose culinary hobby is egg dishes seems compelled to draw up his own rules, to use or to cast aside as he pleases any meat. poultry or sealood. any sauce, garnish or spice within arm's reach.
Mommababy was in the Kitchen making another version of pyschedelic stew. "Be inventive," urged the author of the recipe. The creative cook had responded to an advertisement in Hallucination, a West Coast periodical. "psychedelic stew and other way-out items! Send 98 cents in stamps. no beads!" The recipe and extras arrived in a plain brown wrapper; the latter included seeds for an indoor marijuana patch, plans for a love-in bash and a photgraph of Doctor Timothy leary in the nude.
Phil bloom is a name to reckon with--not only because its unlikely owner is a girl but because of her favorite pastime: shedding her clothes in public. Shown on the preceding page in her least and most familiar guises (dressed and undressed), Phil appeared nude last season on Dutch television--a video first. But she's equally famous for a photo showing her all in front of Het Lieverdje--Amsterdam's statue of an urchin where the Provos (Holland's hippies) frequentoly hold Happenings. A parttime Provo herself, actress-model Phil staged her own Happening at the City Theater of Eindhoven when, when, in the buff, she played a few notes on a grand piano. This Dutch doll's ambition is "to spread happiness." The naked truth is, she's off to a good start.
In harlem, there once lived a dentist who didn't love his wife. In fact, he was sure she was insane. Even though he'd given her a fantastic wardrobe, a brownstone on the Hill and a cottage on Long Island, she still wasn't satisfied. She wanted one more thing--to cruise around the world. And so he asked her for a divorce.
Two Indian Artists made me what I am. These were my older brother. Uday, one of the greatest proponents of all things Indian and especially of our classical dance: and Allauddin Khan, called Baba, the master musician, who became my guru. When I was ten, in 1930, I joined a troupe of dancers and musicians that Uday had just formed. I was to dance in Paris and then around the world--including the United States--for the next eight years; but my progression to the sitar did not begin in earnest until I was 15, when Baba joined the troupe.
Canada's Erstwhile image this side of the border as a land of few surprises--a notion once and for all contradicted by the success of its swinging Expo and the panache of its new prime minister--should be put to rest by Montreal Bunny Majken Haugedal a transplanted Danish beauty whose current life epitomizes the international Sixties style. Mike--"It's so much less confusing than Majken"--immigrated with her family to an exurb of Montreal when she was 13, and a year ago last summer, after modeling school and a stint as a cosmetics demonstrator in a Montreal department store, began the busy routine that has made her one of the Quebec capital's most popular Bunnies and most sought-after mannequins. "Except for the fact that my days seem about five hours too short," Mike says, "the two careers have been wonderfully compatible. The sort of outgoing personality you have to develop to be a really good Bunny has helped me project myself in ads, too," Montreal lensmen have been concentrating on Mike's face, which in at least one case has proved almost too picture perfect to be true: "The art director for Avon here," Mike recalls, "sent my agent a photo of a green-eyed. blonde, sweet-and-innocent type, saying that she had the look he wanted. it was uncanny how much she looked like me; my agent said it was the easiest request she ever filled." As the modeling jobs have become more frequent, Miss October has cut back to just two or three nights of Bunnying a week. "I'd be too tired to be my best self at the Club if I worked more than that," Mike says. "It's not so much the photo sessions themselves that make modeling so hectic, but all the preparations, like test shots and hair appointments." Headquarters for Mike's two careers--and for her dinner-and-dancing social life--is a slice-of-pie apartment in a cylindrical Montreal high-rise. When not plying guests there with a favorite fondue or sm⊘rrebr⊘d, she's apt to be found of off-evenings at the ballet in Montreal's gleaming new Place des Arts or dancing herself in an out-of-the-way discothèque. "I think it's part of the city's Frenchness." says Mike, "that our discos are tinier and much more intimate than those in New York or Chicago. Even on a night when you know no one but your date, it seems like a private party." Miss October plans to satisfy her admitted penchant for things Parisian with a leisurely European trip this winter. She'll start with a visit to relatives in Denmark, fly south--"probably to Greece"--for a rest and then alight in the City of Light. where she hopes to keep in posing practice. "I've never seriously considered trying my luck in New York, where the girls are all tall-tall." says our 5'5" Miss October, "but I think there's a chance I'll have good luck in Paris." Chances are it's the Parisians who'll consider themselves lucky.
Mexico city is a world apart, a world unto itself. Never mind that the map locates it on the North American continent: the rules that govern the progression of daily urban life elsewhere simply do not apply to this huge and exuberant metropolis. Other cities lend themselves to generalities--they are sophisticated, brash, aloof or warm: but the capital of Mexico refuses to take a label, for it is all these and more. Like its electric power supply, which ebbs and flows with an irregularity that suggests a demented gnome is manning the master switch, Mexico City swoops from peak to abyss, playful one moment, sullen the next, often outrageous but always engaging. It is seldom the same city two days in a row, its mood being one of kaleidoscopic, even manic unpredictability, not to be trusted for any consistency save that of a sort of pulsating delirium, which gives the impression that somehow everything has gotten delightfully or dreadfully out of control--a notion reinforced by the knowledge that year by year, inch by inch, the city itself sinks lower and lower into the lake basin on which it was founded centuries ago.
The Boundary Lines separating the various forms of contemporary music continue to fade as jazz, rock, folk, country-and-western and pop meet and merge in the musical mainstream to form an eclectic whole. Last year, Playboy recognized the rapidly accelerating fusion and broadened the scope of its poll to encompass as many facets of his emergent art form as possible. The response from readers was enthusiastically approving.
I first saw him as I climbed into the patrol wagon. He was sitting well toward the back, all drawn up into a tight knot--head sunk between his shoulders, arms wrapped around his body, knees pressed together and pulled up toward his chin. He was wearing a trench coat several sizes too large that hung in loose folds around him, the bottom dragging on the floor, and a misshapen black felt hat with a wide brim pulled down over his forehead. He was thin--almost skeletal--and of a pale jaundice yellow color. His face was skull-like, with enormous eye sockets. The eyes were large and black brown, glazed and staring straight ahead. He was shivering and as I settled into my seat, he began shaking and shuddering, while his whole body jerked convulsively. Tears glistened at the corners of his eyes. His nose was running, a thin drop of mucus hanging from the tip. He was emitting a strange, almost waillike sound, occasionally groaning, babbling to himself in Spanish interspersed with broken English. The words "I'm sick. I'm sick, I'm sick" were all I could understand. Suddenly, he vomited, regurgitating globs of green bile, falling back afterward onto the seat, moaning.
It's not uncommon these days for performers to reach the room at the top by express elevator; but for Barbara McNair, the trip has been anything but fast or smooth. Though she's now established as one of the most sought-after night-club singers in the country, and has just launched a new career as a film star in If He Hollers Let Him Go, Barbara has more than paid her dues on the long way up. Starting out in Racine, Wisconsin, she got her first break from her parents--a foundry worker and a housekeeper at a retarded-children's institute--who saved their money and sent her to study music at UCLA. But after a year there, Barbara decided she needed experience more than theory and headed for New York, where countless auditions led finally to a monthlong singing stint at the Village Vanguard and a booking on the Arthur Godfrey Show. After that, and a brief go at a Broadway show, she began crisscrossing the country on the night-club circuit, worked in the national company of No Strings and interspersed frequent television appearances with dramatic roles in such shows as I Spy and The Eleventh Hour. But making If He Hollers, due for release later this month, has turned her on more than anything she's done. "I'm hooked," she explains. "I love singing, but it's hard to really develop a mood in a song; it's too short. Somehow, I feel freer in front of a movie camera; I can get down to the bottom pit of emotion." We couldn't agree more, as her nude love scene for If He Hollers--exclusively previewed on the following pages--amply demonstrates. We asked Barbara, as a bonus, to further mix her media credits by posing for a special Playboy shooting, above, off the set. Barbara sees If He Hollers Let Him Go--a tense account of the escape and capture of a Southern Negro convict--as an important advance in the civil rights of film making. After finally dumping the Stepin Fetchit stereotype, she feels, Hollywood created an equally false and condescending image: the Negro as an asexual automation, virtually devoid of romance. "Negroes never seemed to kiss and hug," says Barbara. But If He Hollers changes all that--and then some. As the fugitive condemned murderer, Raymond St. Jacques is not just black but human; during the relentless chase, his mind flashes back to happier --and more amorous--times with his night-club-singer girlfriend, played by Barbara. "This picture really socks it to all those other film makers who wouldn't allow love between a black man and woman," she declares. "The Indians win this time, baby." Barbara admits having had some reservations about doing the erotically explicit love scene shown on these pages: "I had already experienced public nudity at Esalen Institute's sulphur baths in Big Sur. It was there that I realized I had kind of been brainwashed, and I was mad at myself for being hung up about it. But I had to consider the possibility of sensationalism in the movie. Then the director explained that he wanted to contrast the tenderness of the remembered love scene with the brutality of the present, and I forgot my objections. Besides, screen nudity goes along with a lot of other things that are happening today. This country is finally coming around to the sort of freedom Europe's had for a long time. Things are opening up, in films, music, politics--everywhere. People are looking for a more honest approach to life, and that includes a more honest approach to the body."
Sex is not only the motor but also the navigator of the human psyche. A man's love life--whether he be single or married--is intimately related to his business career, to his social pastimes and even to the car he drives. In the current jargon of the social sciences, it can be said that the games you play in bed are structurally similar to the games you play in every arena of your life. Thus, your sexual profile approximates the contours of your entire personality. The purpose of this self-scoring questionnaire is to give you a better knowledge of your sexual self and, through that, a deeper insight into your total self.
For most ski enthusiasts, a trek to their favorite slope is an undertaking that should be planned weeks or months in advance: for bachelor John Koppes, the lifts are but a two-minute walk from his front door. Koppes, who is president of the Precision Ski Pole Manufacturing Corporation, tried most of the major runs of Europe and North and South America before deciding to build his dream pad in Sun Valley, Idaho, at the base of Baldy Mountain. Seen from nearby Warm Springs Road, Koppes' rock-bound domain has the formidable look of a medieval keep: seen from inside, it's a masculine, five-level hideaway that houses a surprise at every turn of its spiral staircase. The front door is at the second level: inside, one sees three pie-shaped tiers, separated by low built-in storage units, winding skyward to a Plexiglas dome that floods the tower with light during the day and becomes a romantic focal point at night. Additional light filters through 26 fortress-style window slits set at random heights in the wall.