We're heading toward the dog days of the baseball season, when the heat separates the men from the boys. But separating the man from the boy in Ted Turner, the motor-mouthed owner of the Atlanta Braves, was almost too much for Peter Ross Range, who had to match Turner's daily pace to obtain this month's Playboy Interview. "Turner does more and talks more in two hours than you can possibly imagine," says Range. "He's so busy that in order to remember names and appointments, he writes them on the back of his hand. The first day we met, whenever he introduced me to someone, he looked at his hand first."
Playboy, August, 1978, Volume 25, Number 8, Published Monthly By Playboy, Playboy Building, 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Subscriptions: In The United States And Its Possessions, $33 For Three Years, $25 For Two Years, $14 For One Year. Canada, $15 Per Year. Elsewhere, $25 Per Year, Allow 45 Days For New Subscriptions And Renewals. Change Of Address: Send Both Old And New Addresses To Playboy. Post Office Box 2420, Boulder, Colorado 80302, And Allow 45 Days For Change, Marketing: Ed Condon. Director / Direct Marketing: Michael J. Murphy Circulation Promotion Director. Advertising: Henry W. Marks. Advertising Director: Harold Duchin. National Sales Manager, Mark Evens, Associate Advertising Manager, 747, Third Ave., New York, N.Y. 10017; Chicago, Russ Weller, Associate Advertising Manager. 919 N. Michigan Ave.: Detroit. William F. Moore. Manager. 818 Fisher Bldg.: Los Angeles. Stanley L. Perkins, Manager, 8721 Beverly Blvd.: San Francisco, Robert E. Stephens, Manager, 417 Montgomery St.
Last January 17, 40 years and a day after one of jazzdom's hallmark events, Benny Goodman's Carnegie Hall concert, that grande dame of concert halls once more resounded with the music of the unquenchable B.G. Benny Goodman live at Carnegie Hall / 40th Anniversary Concert (London) offers vinyl proof that some things and some people improve with age. Benny has with him a few friends who were around in the early days---Martha Tilton Lionel Hampton, Mary Lou Williams---but the big band onstage with him to re-create and refurbish a slew of nostalgia-drenched oldies (Stephen Sondheim's Send in the Clowns and Lennon and McCartney's Rocky Raccoon and Yesterday are the only "contemporary" items) is made up of studio jazz musicians of somewhat more recent vintage. The high point for us is the small-group work with Hampton and Goodman. The musical symbiosis of those two gentlemen is still a minor miracle. Change that to major.
First, two brief words about Paul Theroux's new novel, Picture Palace (Houghton Mifflin): Read it. If nothing else this summer, treat yourself to this versatile author's eighth novel, an extremely well-told story about Maude Pratt, photographer now in her 70s, whose life's work is being gathered for a retrospective show. Her relationship with archivist Frank Fusco is merely the thin frame for the real story: Maude's incestuous feelings for her brother Orlando. In Maude, Theroux has treated one of the best fictional women in years. Her verve, determination and spirit mark her as a feminist and an original in the finest senses of both words. She's at her feisty best when describing her subjects; among them, Ernest Hemingway, Pablo Picasso, General George S. Patton, Graham Greene, T. S. Eliot, William Faulkner and Gertrude Stein. Theroux's novel is---besides being witty, perceptive and ironic---admirably written. The rich prose is punctuated by visual images that always please and surprise: "I lived there happily, room within room, in the Chinese box of my body, feeding shillings into the meter and toasting crumpets on the gas-fire. London made me feel elderly and genteel, like some brave old dear in bombazine, secure in what seemed an eternal old age. That was how I lived, alone and unpestered, among dog lovers." Picture Palace is Theroux's most satisfying novel to date---it will long be remembered as a brilliant piece of fiction.
Oh, Woody. Who would have thought, back when What's New Pussycat? was playing the boonies, that one day you'd be waved like a flag by corporate feminists? These silly females (and their opportunist male mentors---writers, directors and producers) have taken your honest neuroses, your fear of being looked down on by tall shiksas, your asexual clumsiness, your very bald spot and turned them into virtues. And they're doing the same to every leading man who wants to be seen on the "woman's film" screen.
Topping a slew of movies most easily categorized as the Sons of American Graffiti are Almost Summer and Our Winning Season. Both are set in high schools and both become convenient showcases for some of Hollywood's bright young talent. Director Martin Davidson churned out Summer by combining two projected film scripts, titled High School and Senior Prom. The result is a neatly crafted moral tale about a student election, which turns out OK, with everyone going to a formal dance at the end. Bruno Kirby, John Friedrich, Didi Conn (star of last year's You Light Up My Life) and Lee Purcell (who looks so much like Jane Fonda they ought to play mother and daughter one day) prove they can carry a movie that's as lightweight as an old Mickey Rooney-Judy Garland musical, without the songs.
Allegedly based on the actual case history of a pervert known as "the enema bandit," Waterpower is a realistic but repulsive little movie that will probably prove a turn-on only for feces fetishists. Jamie Gillis plays, very convincingly, a creepy Peeping Tomcat whose standard equipment includes a high-powered telescope, hoses and a collection of enema bags. Once he espies a filthy slut in need of "cleansing"---and this appears to mean any girl he catches in flagrante delicto---his S.O.P. for illegal entry is to administer an enema before balling her, either anally or in the usual manner. John Buco and C. J. Laing play the detectives assigned to the case, with C. J. as the lady law-person who becomes the decoy---and, of course, the enema bandit's helpless captive while help is on the way but painfully slow in arriving. Few details are spared, and quite a few victims are turned bottoms up and reamed before the movie has emptied everything, probably even the theaters where it plays. Surprisingly, the perpetrator of Waterpower, which marks a new low in hardcore tastelessness, is none other than Gerard Damiano, director of such milestone sex epics as Deep Throat and The Devil in Miss Jones. Although Waterpower pretends to break "tired old taboos" and expand the horizons of hard-core, it looks more like a desperate move to try something shockingly different. The performances are better than average, and there's even a touch of genuine suspense here and there, but Damiano wastes his solid professionalism on an anal action melodrama that's about as sexy as a proctoscopic probe.
For a while there, the organizers of the First Ever Electrolert Radar Rallye thought they could run a trick 118-mile automobile event, sans racing, through the Hollywood Hills and across the freeway system down to Balboa at an average speed of, say, 38 miles per hour. They thought that. For a while.
Idol Gossip: Harvey Korman and Buddy Hackett will star in NBC's upcoming biopic Bud and Lou, Korman as Abbott, Hackett as Costello . . . . Don DeLillo's new novel, Running Dog, will be out this fall. It's about a search for---get this---a pornographic film of Hitler during his last days in the bunker. . . . Mel Brooks has been playing around with four ideas for his next comedy flick: Galactic Mishegas (a sci-fi film parody), Bombs Away (a war-film satire), Follies of 1979 and The History of the World Part I. Mel's apparently leaning toward the last one. . . . Angel Jaclyn Smith joins Tony Curtis and Michelle Phillips in ABC's teleflick of The Users . . . . Author Harold Brodkey is still at work on A Party of Animals, his long-awaited first novel (he's been at it for 12 years and bits of it keep appearing in various magazines). Brodkey apparently delivered a 3000-page manuscript to his publisher and is currently trying to cut it down to a manageable 1000 pages. . . . Henry Fonda will play an aristocratic Southern colonel in ABC's Roots: The Next Generation . . . . The animated film version of J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings will be released for Thanks giving. Directed by Ralph Bakshi, the entire movie was first filmed in live action with costumed actors. Frame-by-frame footage was then enlarged and used by the animators as a guide for their drawings. . . . Thomas McGuane's new novel, Panama, a comedy about fame and the aftermath of stardom, is due out this fall. . . . Bruce Dern will play the role of Sinclair Lewis in a Broadway production of Intimate Strangers skedded to open mid-November. . . . Andrea McArdle will play the lead in NBC's telefilm Rainbow about the early years in the life of Judy Garland . . . . Rumor has it that Italian film director Bernardo Bertolucci wants Carly Simon to make her movie debut in one of his next films.
I have heard that some women have tissues covering their clitorises that prevent them from becoming aroused when their clitorises are stimulated. I really can't tell if my girlfriend has these, but I can seldom even get her to blink during intercourse. Is there a way to tell, and can some sort of clitoral stimulation help? Help!---J. F., Cleveland, Ohio.
Last January, after long debate and much compromise, the U.S. Senate voted 72 to 15 to pass a bill intended to drastically revise Federal criminal laws. Both conservatives and liberals support most of the bill's provisions while disagreeing sharply on some. Now the issue is before the House of Representatives, where agreement or compromise may be even more difficult. Our concern is that certain highly authoritarian features of the bill will be retained or even strengthened, and we have asked former U. S. Attorney General Ramsey Clark to comment.
<p>They call Arteaga the knifeman, but he's a lot more than that. For example, he plays chess. All right, you're good, Vasily, you can beat me three times out of four, but Romeo could spot you a rook and trim your ass every time. Back in Havana, they called him a budding Capablanca. So he's got the brains as well as the guts. He was the one who wrote the script on how to extract Castro.</p>
Violence in fashion---or violence made fashionable, whichever way you want to look at it---is the mysterious moving force unleashed in Eyes of Laura Mars, a psychological suspense drama that promises to be a mind bender made to order for escapists on a hot midsummer night. At least that's more or less the plan hatched under a shroud of secrecy by producer Jon Peters, who was---among other things---Barbra Streisand's favorite hairdresser before he left the beauty salon to join his lady in bringing forth A Star Is Born. Peters' first film venture, though generally spurned by critics, was a showbiz El Dorado (to the tune of $60,000,000 in film rentals, plus $80,000,000 in album sales, according to Peters). Hairdresser, schmairdresser---in Hollywood, when a neophyte hits the jackpot on such an epic scale, he has earned the right to be listened to.
Albhy Galuten looks like he's been stuck in an elevator for a couple of years. He's got the half-mad, blind smile, the dilated pupils of someone who's been trapped a very long time. Albhy is barefoot (always is) and his toes clench the thick shag carpet. His eyes and the shadows that circle them are one. Albhy survives on quarts of Red Zinger tea, avocado sandwiches and his share, as coproducer, of the 12,000,000 albums the Bee Gees have sold in 1978.
I heard they had a frozen guy in Southern California. I tracked him down to a small factory that tests and makes thermal equipment for natural-gas companies. At the time, I didn't realize he was a famous frozen guy, the first fellow ever to have himself packed away in ice.
We accept these truths as self-evident, that all men are created equal and that given a choice of several females, the red-blooded male wants them all. Sex researcher Alfred Kinsey reported that 72 percent of married men yearned for extramarital affairs. "The human male," he wrote, "would be promiscuous . . . throughout the whole of his life if there were no social restrictions." And he needed a survey to tell him that. Men often speak of the joy of conquest, the mysterious quality that makes a new woman appear especially exciting, a quality that fades (at least temporarily) after she has been bedded. Most men will attest to the sweet delight of making love to a new woman for the first, second and third times. (First nights are often spectacular performances.) Something comes over you. Of course, if you are caught by your spouse or roommate, you may be at a loss to explain just what it was that did come over you. Some men (continued on page 160)Double Standard (continued from page 109) invoke the double standard: A man's got to do what a man's got to do; it's natural.
One day not too long ago, Vicki Witt put her childhood behind her. It was time. Vicki had grown up in a family of seven children in and around Lansing, Michigan. She had never traveled. Her education was spotty, grabbed on the run as her family moved from one city in Michigan to another. She learned early to look out for herself, as people in large families do. She learned about relationships quickly, too. "I've got the boy-girl thing down," she says with assurance. The fact is, she has more than that: She has Vicki down, which is more than some people can say at 90, much less at 19.
It was quite a weekend," groaned the office Casanova to a buddy after he'd drag-assed in on Monday morning. "I spent it with that new twenty-year-old file clerk and she turned out, man, to have a really insatiable pussy."
Hold on to your hats! Or at least your disposable income, because come this fall, you're going to want to do some considerable revamping of your wardrobe, once you see what's fresh off the drawing boards of today's top male-fashion designers. We're not sure whether it's the fact that men's suit sales have been disappointing recently or that there's been a resurgence of interest in dressing up, but the pure design energy that's going into the latest selections---especially suits---is really unbelievable.
To most of us, beer is beer---cold, wet and quenching. But an avant minority has taken one small step for man and begun mixing with beer. Scout's honor! While beer drinks aren't sweeping the country---at least not yet---assiduous trend spotters have already noticed signs of a surge. One indication is the rash of beer-based mixtures surfacing spontaneously nationwide, and they're not the province of any particular clique or social group. Midwestern factoryworkers are forsaking their traditional brandy and wash for the depth charge---a shot of peppermint schnapps dropped into a stein of beer, shot glass and all. The campus vanguard does the same number with tequila and salt in beer to make a submarino; and (continued on page 216) Beer Plus(continued from page 133) the shandygaff---beer and ginger ale---is increasingly noted in West Coast watering holes.
For pro football freaks (and we are legion), happiness is a 16-game season. If you suffered from glassy-eyeball syndrome last fall, wait until next December. The munificent fathers of the game, ever eager to increase our autumnal joys, have not only extended the regular season by two weekends, they have appropriated several other segments of prime TV time. In addition to 16 Sunday-afternoon double-headers and 16 Monday-night games, television viewers in most areas will be treated to three Sunday-night games, two games on Thanksgiving, one other Thursday-night game and two Saturday-afternoon double-headers. All this adds up to 58 (count 'em) beer-and-pretzel sessions in your living room before the play-offs even begin.
It's a fact that the world is run by secretaries. Without them, thousands of seemingly important men would spend most of their time hunting down pieces of paper and punching out letters on the typewriter with two fingers. And, as anyone who has one knows, a secretary who's not only skilled but pretty is more than valuable; she's priceless---far better than coffee to get one's eyes open in the A.M. With that in mind, we went to Phoenix, Denver and Cleveland and asked three local radio stations to help us conduct a search for those cities' prettiest secretaries. Rules were simple: Any secretary (or someone in a similar occupation) could send her name, a photograph and a brief biography to a cosponsoring station (KXKX in Denver, WMMS in Cleveland (text concluded on page 190) and KRIZ in Phoenix). Each entry was screened by photographer Nicholas De Sciose and finalists were chosen in each city. The finalists were then test-photographed and treated to dinner with the disc jockey who had held the search (KXKX' Waylon Walker, KRIZ' Bruce Miles and WMMS' Jeff Kinzbach). From the finalists, Playboy photo editors selected the ones who appear in this pictorial. (There was also a drawing in each city that offered a weekend vacation for two at a Playboy hotel or resort; the winners were Dawn L. Vilmar, Cleveland; Gail Turner, Phoenix; and Denver's Nancy Jean Collins.)
Pull instead of push. The concept of front-wheel drive is that simple. It is so simple and so laden with advantages that one is led to wonder why we are only now singing its praises, nearly a century after the automobile became a viable transportation device. Now that the rush to front-wheel drive is on, with every automobile company from Hamtramck, Michigan, to Yokohama, Japan, to Wolfs-burg, Germany, rushing new F.D. vehicles into production, it is legitimate for us to pose two questions: (1) What is so much better about a car that pulls instead of pushes? And (2) accepting its advantages, what in the name of heaven prevented it from reaching the market sooner?
If your collection of life jackets or ski vests would look perfectly at home as props in a remake of Sink the Bismarck!, then perhaps it's time you thought about buoying up your water-top wardrobe with something a little more splashy---such as the following vests made of nylon over closed cellular foam. Clockwise from 12: A Rainbow Vest that's ideal for sailing, $36.95; a Crew Vest with stitched-in side panels for a snug fit, $32.20; a Tri-Color Ski Vest with G-buckle closures and a nonrestrictive-shoulder design, $34.95; a trim-fitting Blue Horizon Vest for general boating, $42.50; and a contour-foam Competition Ski Vest, $36, all by Gentex.
Drawin' Dirty Pictures Is Easy--If You Know How!! If You've Ever Sat and Drawn With a Ballpoint Pen on Shithouse Walls, You Can be a Filthy-Rich Filthy Cartoonist, Just Like The Artists In Playboy Funnies!
Tired of paying money to some landlord, with little to show for it except a pile of canceled rent checks? Not yet ready, or willing, to sink a fortune into buying your own house? It sounds as if you might be a prospect for a cooperative or a condominium. And it's easy enough to see why. With prices for ordinary houses now averaging more than $50,000 almost anywhere in the country, and with apartment rents in many cities ranging from $100 to $250 per room per month, things are rapidly getting out of hand. Cooperatives and condominiums are becoming increasingly attractive alternatives.
China! Ten years ago, it almost seemed easier to fly to the moon than to tread the streets of Peking or take a stroll along the Great Wall. Now all that has changed, and a new generation of old China hands has sprung up, having followed in the foot-steps of Teddy Kennedy and Candice Bergen. Last year alone, 5500 Americans visited China and twice that many are expected to make the pilgrimage in 1978. That doesn't mean, however, that you can dash off to the nearest Chinese consulate and come away with a tourist visa neatly stamped in your passport. Tourism is still new to the country and the People's Republic lacks ample hotel facilities as well as English-speaking personnel. China experts, nonetheless, are cautiously optimistic, predicting a substantial leap forward in tourism by 1980.
I have a friend who thinks he may have discovered the ultimate aphrodisiac---squash. No, not the zucchini-type squash. The game of squash, the fast-paced, indoor racket sport currently enjoying something of a boom in urban centers throughout the country. My friend had been a squash player since college and when he met a girl at a party who'd taken up the game a few months before, he suggested that they hit the ball around the next evening.
There are some---close observers of N.F.L. games---who think Walter Payton can fly. And there are others---defensive linemen, mostly---who are certain of it. On third and short, he has been known to leap skyward, where he hangs suspended some six feet off the turf until opposing linemen have passed beneath him. Then he glides down to a perfect one-point landing; sometimes the head hits first, sometimes a shoulder pad. After a short roll, he bounds to his feet, first-down yardage behind him.
If you are the cautious type, chances are you can motor around in a front-wheel-drive car for years without the slightest problem. But if you consider yourself an undiscovered Mario Andretti and operate your car with a certain brio, you may be in for some surprises the first time you try to go quickly in a car that pulls instead of pushes. To the man who cares about high-performance cars and driving, front drive is both a blessing and a curse. Its benefits lie in excellent traction in mud, ice, snow, etc., and in superior straight-line stability; but it can be a handicap to the uninitiated when trying to whistle through corners with the same driving techniques employed in conventional rear-drive machinery.
Get Up Any Morning Before Seven And You'll See Them---Running Every Whichaway In Pursuit Of Good Health... The Joggers. Annie. Trying Out Her Own Legs, Jogs Down To The Bridle Path In The Park. And So That You Can Better Appreciate Her Form, We See Her Jogging In Slow Motion... Very Slow, So That The Movement Of A Single Muscle Will Not Go Unnoticed By You Beady-Eyed Devils.
There go just you and your briefcase, strolling down the avenue on your way to an important job interview, marching into court to defend a wealthy client or putting on a one-man presentation to woo a prospective customer. The canny upward-mobile executive or professional man knows that the type of briefcase or attaché case he initially comes on with can have an effect on that all-important good first impression. Of course, you don't pick a case for looks alone. Legal briefs, for example, fit neatly into a thin leather envelope model. But if your calendar is booked up with out-of-town overnight appointments, you'd be wiser to purchase an attaché that expands to an overnighter when occasions dictate.
Traditionally, a flagship is the vessel that carries the commander of the fleet. In motorcycling, a flagship is the top-of-the-line bike that embodies state-of-the-art technology, that personifies the spirit and vision of a given corporation. A flagship motorcycle is not a mass-market compromise; it is a special creation for the select few who care enough to appreciate the ultimate--- even when the ultimate is illegal in its country of origin. The national speed limit of Japan is 50 mph. It is against the law to sell a bike to the domestic market that displaces more than 750 c.c. Yet four major Japanese motorcycle firms are sending 1000-c.c. bikes to America. The first--- the KZ 1000 from Kawasaki---was crowned the King of Beasts (see Playboy, May 1977). The three bikes shown here are the contenders to the throne. They all turn 11-second quarter miles and top end around 140 mph. The numbers may be the same, but the three bikes reach those numbers in distinctly different ways.
When men go down to the sea in ships, they want their portholes, running lamps, telegraphs and other nautical paraphernalia to withstand the ravages of wind, rain and, especially, salt water. This calls for brass, that traditional mariner's metal that looks terrific when polished. (And woe to any sailor who fails to keep his instruments and trim shipshape.) Several years ago, Arthur Court, of Arthur Court Designs---a San Francisco wholesaler/retailer of countless decorative exotica from elkhorn-and-glass cocktail tables to handsome rocks and shells---chanced upon a huge assortment of solid-brass seagoing relics languishing in a dockyard. He bought the lot, cleaned everything up and thus added a line of nautical curiosa to his business. A number of stores around the country, including Dallas' Neiman-Marcus, liked the look; now Court constantly scouts the world's wrecking yards, and also purchases shiny new products that are just as massive and impressive as the antique items he finds. And what can you do with this shiny flotsam and jetsam? Well, a 36-inch-high floor-model ship's telegraph makes an amusing addition to a bachelor's bedroom, what with speeds on it including Stand By, Dead Slow, Full And Finished With Engine. Ships' goodies ahoy, mates!
"The Great American Roller Coaster"---We May Be Becoming A Nation Of Junkies. In "Doctors And Drugs," We Learn From James Mc Kinley How The Big Pharmaceutical Houses Have Created A Lot Of Stuff We Don'T Necessarily Need; Arthur Stickgold'S "Street-Wise" Gives Us A Look At What'S Out There And How Good---Or Bad---It Is; And A Comprehensive Drug Chart, Listing The Uses And Misuses Of Common Mood-Altering Substances