With the doings of the House Select Committee on Assassinations in the news, we think you'll take particular interest in The Hoffa Wars, an adaptation of Dan E. Moldea's book of the same name to be published by Paddington Press. Moldea, who has worked for Jack Anderson, The Detroit Free Press and NBC News, spent four years investigating the violent struggle for power within the Teamsters union. In the process, he gathered an enormous amount of evidence linking the Mob to the Teamsters--and has come up with what he thinks is the real reason for Jimmy Hoffa's disappearance. All this has taken guts: Moldea's life has been threatened several times since he began his book.
Playboy, November, 1978, Volume 25, Number 11. 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.
The night we visited the Lone Star Café in New York City, it featured the most curious performer-to-audience relationship: When the singer stood center stage, he or she would look out to a bar, a bartender, but no audience. The paying patrons were neatly tucked away upstairs or completely to the sides. Maybe that's what happens when you convert a very downtown Schrafft's into the city's only Texas-sized music bar.
In an office just off Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles, animated film creator Ralph Bakshi is busy whipping a team of more than 180 young artists into the sort of frenzy needed to complete part one of what will eventually be a five-hour animation of J. R. R. Tolkien's contemporary fantasy classic, The Lord of the Rings--which, in case you've been under a rock somewhere for the past decade or two, is the saga of the adventures of Frodo the Hobbit. Hobbits, as you probably know, are pint-sized creatures with hair on their feet who like nothing better than to sit about their hole-in-the-ground homes, smoking their pipes and eating six meals a day. About a year ago, NBC-TV presented an Arthur Rankin, Jr., version of The Hobbit, the Tolkien book that preceded the Rings trilogy. It was a hit, but the members of Bakshi's group--a totally separate operation--hope to top its success with this more ambitious project. If they don't, it won't be for lack of attention to detail: Odd signs dot the offices where they're working, offering such sage advice as Attention, Animators: All hobbits must have hair on their feet.
There has never been any doubt about Farrah Fawcett-Majors' status as top sex symbol and cover girl in these celebrity-smitten United States. But opinion was divided about whether the Charlie's Angel would make an equal splash as a full-fledged film star. You incurable skeptics who secretly expected Farrah to fall flat on her pretty face, don't hold your breath. Somebody Killed Her Husband is here, looking suspiciously like the romantic comedy--cliff-hanger most likely to succeed in 1978, and Farrah is just one of the happy surprises at hand. She's winsome (easy for her), breezy, totally unaffected and persuasive as a free-spirited but unhappily married Manhattan wife and mother who meets a toy salesman at Macy's and is about to do something reckless--and tell her husband the whole truth about it--when hubby (Laurence Guittard) unexpectedly gets a lethal blow from the business end of a murder weapon. Opposite Farrah, providing something for the girls, Jeff Bridges is sensational as the flabbergasted Macy's clerk who has written 29 unpublished children's books on the side and suddenly finds himself the prime suspect in what looks like a perfect crime of passion. He decides they'll have to stash the husband's body until the real murderer can be found. Then the killer strikes again, and again, with Bridges stumbling upon new bodies while deftly establishing a new image for himself as a top-notch light comedian and romantic leading man. In fact, the first 20 minutes or so of Somebody Killed Her Husband--when Jeff meets Farrah and makes love at first sight look as funny, fresh and warm-blooded as if the movies had just invented it--are a prime example of how to set up the pins in a sophisticated suspense comedy by involving the audience with a pair of irresistible protagonists.
Gail Palmer, formerly of Michigan State University, was no sooner uncovered as one of Playboy's Girls of the Big Ten (see our September 1977 issue) than she set off a blizzard of publicity for making her first hard-core movie, Hot Summer in the City, filmed with follow MSU students in active roles. Gail's second porno venture, The Erotic Adventures of Candy, features such sexual superstars as John C. Holmes, Georgina Spelvin, Paul Thomas and Carol Connors (best remembered as the nurse in Deep Throat until she graduated to a relatively straight role as the busty, comely greeter on TV's The Gong Show). Carol has the title role in Candy and--despite a farfetched screen credit for Voltaire's Candide as a story source--any resemblance between the misadventures of Candy and the French classic is purely coincidental. Although Miss Palmer may feel tempted to remind the world that she's a porno writer-director with a college education, her film studies in French are the usual kind. Candy is sweetest when Carol is oncamera as the quintessential dumb blonde, cantilevered 40-inch bosom bobbing, ready and willing to be corrupted by her daddy's handy man, her wicked uncle, her gynecologist and a guru who calls himself Balde Kishka. While director Palmer sometimes fumbles, Carol has a lusty air of innocence that should hold us well for a projected porno trilogy. Next titillater in the series will be Candy Goes to Hollywood, with Carol as a hopeful whose natural attributes attract the attention of one Johnny Farson and win her a spot on The Dong Show.
For a while there, self-help books resembled combat manuals. If not exactly sheer ruthlessness, at least enhanced self-interest was the operating principle of the rash of books that tried to teach us how to manipulate our way to the top of the heap. Upward Nobility: How of Win the Rat Race Without Becoming a Rat (Times Books), by Addison Steele, is a fine counterpoint to the savage career advice of Michael Korda and Robert Ringer. The pseudonymous Steele talks about her friends in the publishing world and how they create their own unhappiness. She tells us how not to buckle under pressure, that it's often better to turn down the wrong promotion and how to do it gracefully. Her best insights are on memos, about which she has gleaned some laws: "More people write memos than read them," "Memos are never written for the person to whom they are addressed" and "Unless you keep a copy of your own memo for future protection, there is no point in writing it in the first place." The quiz on memos--among several in the book designed to help the reader evaluate his own tolerance for corporate bullshit--tests the reader's ability to analyze the hidden power struggle involved in a series of seemingly innocuous communiques. The answers, gathered in score groups, are analyzed with personality traits, and Steele tells a reader who scores very high on one test, "I hope I shall never have to work for you." Well, unfortunately, people who have to work for anybody will most likely have to work, sometime, for someone like that, and nothing's going to help the situation--except maybe this book, which conveniently has a chapter on how to handle a boss who's a creep.
Idol Gossip: Gene Wilder has been signed to star in the comedy Western No-Knife, the story of a young eastern European rabbi who emigrates to America and treks to San Francisco, encountering along the way an array of humorous Western characters--it's sort of a Jewish Huck Finn.... Production on The Travels of Simon McKeever has been delayed due to conflicting schedules. The film was to feature both Henry and Jane Fonda--the first time the two would have appeared in the same movie. Meantime, Peter Fonda is busy directing Wanda Nevada, co-starring Brooke Shields.... John Updike's got a new novel coming out in December. Titled The Coup, it's about an African dictator of the fictitious sub-Saharan state of Kush: a man with four wives, a silver Mercedes, a Machiavellian mind and a fanatical dislike for the U.S.... ABC has acquired the TV rights to John Steinbeck's East of Eden. Although Warner Bros, made a film of the book as recently as 1955, execs at ABC note that the James Dean starrer covered only 25 percent of the novel.... Otto Preminger has signed playwright Tom Stoppard to pen the script for the film version of Graham Greene's novel The Human Factor.... Director Sydney Lumet envisions making two films based on Patricia Bosworth's bio of Monty Clift--one dealing mainly with Clift's mother, the other with Clift himself.... Comedian Albert Brooks's first feature film, Real Life, will probably be distributed soon. Described as "a staged documentary comedy," the flick stars Brooks and Charles Grodin.... NBC's prime-time line-up for this winter includes Ann-Margret in a Christmas show from Radio City, Steve Martin in two one-hour comedy specials, Bette Midler set for a winter telecast and Chevy Chase in two one-hour specials.
Maybe Playboy can help me. I'm 21 and single. Hopelessly single, from the looks of it. Every month, I look at the girls in your magazine and wonder where I can find one of my own. But I don't know where to begin to look. Any suggestions?--E. S., Rochester, New York.
Have you heard about the man whose girlfriend got so hung up on her vibrator that she no longer wanted to have sex with him? The crafty chap came up with an ingenious solution: Every night before he tiptoed to bed, he glued a photo of her plastic love machine to the middle of his forehead.
In the war zones of prison, books suffer a high mortality rate. Burning them is one common practice. Some convicts use this principle of rapid oxidation because they feel a need to wear their books. The end product is not for clothing but for ink, and here, at least, they always turn to the Bible in their times of need. I cannot explain the origin of this discovery, but I can report that Biblical paper, reduced to ashes, makes an excellent tattooing medium. More than one chapter of Revelations has been cremated only to be resurrected as a cross on someone's arm.
In 1972, while still in his late 20s, at an age when most journalists are still chasing police sirens, Geraldo Rivera had established himself as the hottest, hippest, most seriously committed newsman on the New York scene. His powerful ten-part series for WABC-Tv's "Eyewitness News" on the abhorrent conditions at the Willowbrook State School for the mentally retarded on Staten Island generated an unparalleled response from local viewers, politicians and community leaders and earned him more awards than you could shake a camera at. A year earlier, a local Associated Press organization had cited Rivera for excellence and inscribed its citation to him as "a special kind of individualist in a medium which too often breeds the plastic newsman."
I had outgrown my parents' dreams and was toddling toward my own when I met Blowy John Twist in Memphis. He was the perfect confidant, the avid listener with lustrous dark eyes. His rapt stare, diverting only to catch the waitress' eye, encouraged me. His gaze surrounded me, held me in place while romantic illusions struck against my imagination and ignited my 20-year-old heart. I experienced a physical lightness, as if my lungs were filled with helium. Elation: a sensation I had experienced only once before, with Barry. Barry Silverstein.
Everyone knows nothing multiplies faster than rabbits. And, as you'll see on the following pages, our own crew of cottontails, the Playboy Bunnies, is growing larger and lovelier by--uh--leaps and bounds.
At presstime, the U.S. House Assassinations Committee was about to reveal some surprising details regarding the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Many of the same names that were to be discussed by the committee are also major characters in my book "The Hoffa Wars."
You will notice that the sled dogs at left seem to be smiling. We don't blame them. The lady holding the reins is Monique St. Pierre, a 25-year-old German-born model who, for the time being, is the great good fortune of Denver, where she's in extreme professional demand. The poster for Lange skiing equipment at the top of this page is an example of her work. Kinda makes you want to crawl around the slopes a little with her, doesn't it? "I always feel free in front of the camera," Monique says, "because no matter what the job is, I make it mine." Once, trying out for a national soft-drink ad, she made her entrance into the audition room by simply extending her arm through the cracked door, holding a bottle of the product in her hand. Her head followed, grinning from ear to ear, then the rest of her whizzed in like Loretta Young and she introduced herself. Needless to say, they called her back, "despite the fact that according to my agent, I was almost 'too sexy,' which, in the modeling business, means I have breasts." Indeed she does, and many other assets as well. She speaks fluent German and some French, and she holds a degree as a psychiatric technician. And she's an outdoors person with enough savvy to stalk the wild asparagus. "I'm incredibly well informed about the outdoors. I can look at any track in this part of the country and tell you exactly what animal made it." (So watch your step, fella.) Every morning, she gets up at six, eats breakfast, reads the paper, calls her agency and schedules her day. Then she goes out to swim, bicycle or jog five miles around a nearby lake. Part of Monique's appeal as a model is her obvious comfort with her body. She attributes her aura of healthy sexuality to her European upbringing. "Europeans are raised much more liberally as far as sex is concerned. For instance, in Europe, nude beaches are old hat. Here, they're still controversial." Monique was born in Wiesbaden, Germany, and when she was two and a half months old, moved with her parents to Munich, where she grew up. She graduated from high school in Munich at 17 and came to America to go to college and nursing school in Madison, Wisconsin. She moved from Madison to Boulder, Colorado, in 1973 and began her skyrocketing modeling career. She's serious about her independence. "My individuality is very important to me. I cannot stand to be dominated and I cannot stand being mediocre at what I'm doing." Right now, she's working on being the best model she can be, and she's studying to be the best actress she can be. "I've been studying acting here in Denver, and I love it. I've signed with Wilhelmina in New York and I'll be moving there soon. I'm going to find the best New York acting instructor I can and devote myself to the art until I know I have the ability to take a major role in a play or a movie." One source of Monique's admirable confidence is hypnosis. "My life last year was moving more quickly than I could handle. I desperately wanted to relax. By coincidence, I met a hypnotherapist, who put me under, then suggested that I wake up feeling calm and refreshed. I stayed under for three hours, just loving the feeling. Then, when he brought me out, I felt great. He hypnotized me out of a cold once; just made my fever vanish." We wondered if a strong-willed person like herself wasn't afraid to submit to hypnosis. "Not at all. You really won't do anything you don't want to do. As an experiment, the hypnotist suggested I meet him in his hotel room at a certain time. Of course, I didn't show up." On the other hand, he might be a better hypnotist than she suspects.
When the realtor offered coffee to the lusciously built house hunter, she appeared to be somewhat offended. "Look," the man reassured her, "we both know that you're a very attractive woman, but I'm not being presumptuous. It's pretty standard real-estate practice to discuss a customer's needs over a cup of coffee."
If There's anything more terrifying than running into a kid at a rock concert who tells you he wasn't even born when the Beatles came onto the scene, it's being reminded that the Sixties began 18 years ago. So even if you never thought the Sixties were a proper subject for nostalgia, test yourself on these questions. You may be surprised to find out how long ago it all happened. This quiz was excerpted from the forthcoming book of the same title.
Possibly, It originated in the theater when an actor was called on to play more than one role without adequate time to change, but the idea of reversible clothes has come of age in fashion. Not just as a cheapie, two-for-the-price-of-one notion, either. Sure, there are economies and conveniences to be considered: The savings in closet space is considerable. (And if you're having trouble checking your fur jacket in a restaurant, simply reverse it to corduroy.) Nevertheless, practicality was a secondary consideration in choosing the two-way garb we show here. Reversibles have turned the male fashion scene inside out--and everybody's better for it.
Nancy, an attractive brunette from Florida working on Capitol Hill, was understandably excited when a U.S. Senator invited her to lunch one day last spring. Upon arriving at their designated meeting place at the west front of the Capitol Building, Nancy--who had met the Senator during the Carter campaign--was startled to see him sitting on a bench, peacefully smoking a joint.
No Doubt About it; 1978 was the year in which the movies rediscovered women. Apart from the forthcoming Butch and Sundance: The Early Years, 20th Century-Fox's "prequel" to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, the decade of male-only buddy movies that began with Easy Rider and Midnight Cowboy would seem to be just about over. Occupying center stage--and capturing major awards during this past year--were such films as Annie Hall, Eyes of Laura Mars, The Turning Point, The Goodbye Girl and An Unmarried Woman, all of them focused on the female of the species. Not only that but the numerous disco-flavored offerings of the year--Saturday Night Fever, Grease, (text continued on page 236) Sex in Cinema (continued from page 180) The Buddy Holly Story, Hair--marked a definite return to the old he-she relationships.
This happened many years ago in Siam. Every night, an old fisherman and his wife would take their little boat out onto the canals in the countryside and, when he found a promising spot, the old man would cast his net.
David Greenwood, perhaps the best college basketball player in America, went 48 hours without sleep one weekend last spring, much of the time spent in partying--hardly appropriate for an athlete in training, but understandable, given the circumstances.
Ah Loves the way yo is stacked, honey-june!Thass No compliment, little albert! lovin' mah vital statistics is only (Sob) symbolically raping Me. Hit's downright de-personalizin, thass whut.... it hain't mah principal function in life to have big knockers in order to please Yo!
KKKRRRUUNNNNCH! That's you, joining an unexclusive club: the 28,000,000 drivers each year who play real-life bumper cars. Your fault? The other guy's? Maybe you're both squawking like squared-off roosters. Maybe your car's terminally kayoed. Maybe you're miles from home. What a mess! Keep cool. You're now in a poker game against an insurance company. Play your cards right and you'll cut your losses. First, of course, help anyone injured. And if your cars are blocking the highway, move them off, if you can. If the accident amounts to more than a scratch, call the police.
Ever wondered how muck they know? Do you sometimes have a feeling that Big Brother is keeping close tabs on you? Ever want to find out just how many times your name appears on the flap of a Government file? It may be more often than you think. "Federal agencies have amassed vast amounts of information about virtually every American citizen," Gerald Ford revealed. "Information about individuals conceivably could be used for other than legitimate purposes and without the prior knowledge or consent of the individual involved." In fact, there are over 7000 separate Government files, many of which have millions of individual records.
Like vegetarians who still crave the taste of a juicy hamburger, crisp bacon or a tender filet, so there are animal-loving humane-society types who still lust in their hearts for fur. Such desires being the mother of invention, many have tried to create attractive synthetic hides, while few have succeeded. But time and technology have taken great strides in the whole area of man-made fibers. While no one would claim that coats such as the two pictured here are nondead ringers for the real thing, the fact is that they look surprisingly authentic. Lou Nierenberg, who made the coats, points out that they are incredibly warm, don't cause allergic reactions and require no storage, since moths have not yet developed a taste for man-mades. Fake furs are also considerably lighter in weight than real skins--and cheaper. Those who are not averse to owning the real thing should read How to Buy a Man's Fur Coat in next month's Playboy's Pipeline. But if the A.S.P.C.A. is your bag, here's a way to provide a little reverse snobbery (nothing died for my coat), as well as look good. And now about those leather shoes you're wearing....
You may think the sounds of music in your life are the finest in hi-fi, but wait until you get a little help from the products pictured below. One is a vibration-free turntable that floats on fluid; another is a device that reproduces concerts by famous artists on any piano via computer-programmed cassette tape; the two others are electronic genies that work their magic to monitor radio performance and clean up unwanted stereo noises. Read on.