In Our Youth, we spent many sunny afternoons playing "treasure hunt," scrounging the neighborhood's vacant lots and hedgerows for returnable pop bottles, dropped dimes and the occasional lost baseball. Needless to say, our profits hardly justified the hours spent searching--unless you count sheer fun as part of the profits. So, naturally, we were just a wee bit jealous when Roger Simon returned from the Caribbean with tales of men finding sunken Spanish treasure galleons carrying cargoes worth millions (and millions). His story, Ocean Killings, may induce you to get fitted for a wet suit or at least set aside a few bucks to invest in a deep-sea treasure salvage operation. To help you out, John Grissim tells how to begin your own treasure hunt (in your back yard, even) in Seven Tough Challenges for Your Next Treasure Hunt and Treasure Hunting for Amateurs.
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), June, 1979, Volume 26, Number 6. Published Monthly by Playboy, Playboy Bldg., 919 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, Ill. 60611. Subscriptions: In the United States and its possessions, $33 for 36 Issues, $25 for 24 Issues, $14 for 12 Issues. Canada, $18 for 12 Issues. Elsewhere, $25 for 12 Issues. Allow 45 Days for New Sub. Scriptions 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.; L.A., Stanley L. Perkins, Manager, 8721 Deverly Blvd.; San Francisco, Robert E. Stephens, Manager, 417 Montgomery St.
Let me admit to being dead wrong in my expectations about Hair, for I stood with the skeptics who saw no way to make a 1979 movie musical from the definitive but outdated theatrical phenomenon that virtually begat the spirit of the late Sixties. The flower people and the antiwar protests are still part of it: Hair still opens with the burning of draft cards. And it is dated, in a sense, though transformed into a sad and funny and timeless fable about the way we were, or seemed to be, only a brief decade ago. One thing I should have remembered in anticipating too little too late is that Oscar-winning director Milos (One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest) Forman, when he first splashed into international prominence on top of the Czech New Wave, made his mark with such lightsome young-in-heart human comedies as Loves of a Blonde. Everything about Hair brings out the very best in Forman. When he piles all his principal actors into an open convertible to speed across the wide, wind-swept desert singing Good Morning Starshine, it's not just a reprise of that long-familiar tune, it's a symbol of eternal flaming youth of any era. They are madcaps who make love, not war, but they only happen to be Sixties potheads and dissidents, high on life itself and a lot less angry than they used to be.
Merchants of Grain (Viking), by Dan Morgan, is the first investigative report published in our time that tries to tell the complete story of "the only resource in the world that is even more central to modern civilization than oil." Books about the grain trade may not seem important to some people today, but it is only a matter of time (and weather and politics and population) before we will all have to give the subject more serious study. When grain supplies are understood to be as precious and vulnerable as oil supplies, then we will take notice. Morgan has given us the place to begin with a thorough, balanced, ambitious, pioneering effort.
By now, you probably know that Playboy has always reserved a special place in its heart for that most American of musical idioms--jazz. Since it was 20 years ago this summer that Playboy sponsored what one critic called "the greatest weekend in the 60-year history of jazz," we've decided to mark that occasion (and our 25th Anniversary as well) with another musical celebration that may be remembered as the greatest weekend in the 80-year history of jazz.
Idol Gossip: Word has it that Emerson, Lake and Palmer will be splitting up following their upcoming summer tour. Not to worry, fans--Atlantic Records has signed each of them to record a solo album.... Mary Gordon, author of Final Payments, is hard at work on her second novel, the story of a woman's relationship with a charismatic priest. Word has it the new one will probably be less commercial than Payments. ... Anne Bancroft will direct her first film, Fatso. Starring Anne and Dom DeLuise, the film is based on Bancroft's original script.... Peter Sellers will play two roles in Orion's Fu Manchu, based on the famous Sax Rohmer detective stories. Sellers will portray both Fu Manchu, the inscrutable criminal mastermind, and Fu's archnemesis, Inspector Nayland Smith.... Dino De Laurentiis will produce the movie version of Frank Herbert's 1965 sci-fi best seller, Dune. Herbert is penning the screenplay.... Lee Remick and Jason Robards have been signed to star in CBS' four-hour telemovie Haywire, based on the Brooke Hayward best seller.... Tommy Lee Jones will co-star with Sissy Spacek in Coal Miner's Daughter, the Loretta Lynn biopic.... Word has it that Elektra/Asylum will be pouring a lot of money into the promotion of John Klemmer, who recently signed with the record company. Klemmer will soon tour the U. S. and Europe with top recording artists.... Avco Embassy is talking about making a sequel to The Graduate. The current plan is to get Dorothy Malone to play Mrs. Robinson and Jeff Bridges to take up the Dustin Hoffman role.
My girlfriend accuses me of having a one-track mind. She claims that sex doesn't have any meaning if that's all I think about when I'm with her. Unfortunately, when I'm with her, that is all I think about. If you saw her, you'd know why. Even when I'm alone, I think about her. I'm wondering if it's some kind of obsession. Has anyone done research to discover how often a man thinks about sex?--S. K., Arlington, Virginia.
Because he already had helped another man rape her and had warned her he might come back to kill her, and because she was afraid, Inez Garcia took a .22 rifle and fatally shot Miguel Jimenez in Soledad, California, on a March evening in 1974. She was charged with murder--and convicted. In 1977, at her second trial after successful appeal, she was acquitted and her actions were vindicated. Still controversial, her case symbolizes a woman's right to fight back when sexually assaulted.
Dennis Kucinich, the 32-year-old mayor of Cleveland, is clearly not like any other mayor or perhaps any other politician. To his critics, he is a "cocky little bastard" on a power trip. To his admirers, he's a Robin Hood seeking gains for the poor and twitting the rich. There are few neutral observers of the Kucinich phenomenon, for he has avoided the normal habitat of successful politicians--the gray, safe middle ground. Kucinich is a self-proclaimed urban populist eager to do battle over what he considers to be the grand economic issue of the day--the excessive aggrandizement of corporate power at the expense of the ordinary citizenry.
They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters, These see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep. For He commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof.
There was A Time in Paris, during the latter part of the last century, when a gentleman could go to a dance hall, get swacked on overpriced nonvintage champagne and see a chorus of very sexy femmes kicking their legs about to show off their undergarments. Now, thanks to the noted English photographer James Wedge, we can take a peek at that era when "color" photographs were hand-tinted--like these.
This is a progress report. It's about immortality. I went out looking for signs, any signs, of progress in the work of making us immortal. What's happening in immortality research today? Are we getting any more immortal, or can we become immortal, or, failing immortality, can we live a lot longer, or, failing that, can we live a little longer, and does anyone know why we age in the first place? And how come, with all this top-of-the-line equipment of ours, these adaptable bodies and big, wily brains, we have to check out somewhere on the near side of 100 years?
My wife and I toured New York City with a group, and after our orientation lecture, which consisted mostly of a bag and body count, I suggested a stroll along the western front of Central Park for some fresh night air.
Twenty-Six Years Ago, I was a lowly private on the western front in Korea. I lived with a few other privates in a sand castle made of sandbags, a so-called hootch (from uchi, the word in Japanese for maison) on the mountaintop on the safer side of Old Baldy. In our man-made cave, the only light was a pale gray shaft of sunlight from the one embrasure (or, after dark, from a candle in a C-ration can) and the dim furniture was in the fashion of early ammunition crate--it said Explosive on every splinter-ridden table and chair. On our shelves, we had our own commissary of tamales, pumpernickel, anchovies, sardines, shrimps, kippered herring and two cans of after-dinner mints from the Gourmet's Club of Goshen, Indiana. And there beneath the almond eyes and the 82-millimeter mortars of our enemies, we sat around (continued on page 254)Tarnished Brass(continued from page 143) (in the words of e. e. cummings)in the deep mud etcetera(dreamingetcetera ofYour smileeyes knees and of your Etcetera)
Louann Fernald is proud of her Florida heritage. Her father worked in Satellite Beach, designing guidance systems for missiles. Now he raises oranges. She grew up in a house filled with good books a few blocks from one of the finest beaches in the world. Our Miss June is at home in the world of words and the world of pure physical activity. She divides her time at the University of Florida in Gainesville between studying and running. She almost never watches television. ("My life would have to be pretty boring to plug into the tube, wouldn't it?") Louann considers herself a product of her environment, and when she sat down to talk about a story that would go with her gatefold, the thought of protecting that environment was on her mind. She recalls the rock-climber who scaled a skyscraper and, when the TV crews arrived, unfurled a banner asking the world to save the whales. "Ideally, I would like to do the same thing with the pictorial. You know, 'As long as I have your attention, I would like to say the following.'" While walking along the beach in Daytona, Louann delivers an impassioned plea to save Florida from pollution, unthinking tourists and corporate criminals. She points out the beer cans left, she's sure, by visitors from the North. She points to the surf. "It's beautiful today, isn't it? Well, some days I run on this beach and look at the surf, and it's orange. Tankers dump their oil offshore before coming into port and it turns the surf orange. Don't they realize that someone lives here? Small acts by small-minded people ruin the world for the rest of us." In a complicated fashion, becoming a Playmate may be just one step in Louann's campaign to save the beaches. "I was working my way through college when I saw an ad for The Great Playmate Hunt. I decided to give it a try. The money would pay for my senior year and, for once, I could concentrate on my studies without the hassles of holding down a waitressing job. I'm majoring in public relations. I've given some thought to working for a conservation group after I graduate. It's going to be hard. There is a prejudice against outspoken women. People write off what you say with a 'You're cute when you're angry' attitude. It's not cute. I really care about this issue. A lot of people think that now that I'm a Playmate, I'm going to run off to Hollywood and live happily ever after. Not on your life. My commitment is here."
Calling a nurse he knew after midnight, the fellow said, "I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, Lorraine, but I have--well--an erection that just won't subside, and it occurred to me that you might know what to do about it."
It is Saturday at Bloomingdale's and I am standing in front of the garter-belt counter, trying to find a "lacy little white one" with satin ribbons. The purchase of a garter belt has not been my idea. But more on that later.
Handsome Men wear great-looking bathing suits and are often seen in the company of beautiful women. So what else is new? Not every man, of course, is as handsome as Jan-Michael Vincent, star of Big Wednesday and the forthcoming flick Defiance, but almost everyone can afford to buy a plane ticket to Hawaii and have enough left over to pick up the latest look in beachwear.
Playmates of the Year: Past Winners Take Another Bow
You Never Get Too Much of a good thing, it's said, and our readers seem to agree. The reprise of 303 Playmate pictures in January's Silver Anniversary Issue elicited calls for "Morel" So here's a look at all of the Playmates of the Year chosen since we began the practice in 1960. We reinterviewed most of these ladies recently and were impressed with their zest and eagerness to try new things--qualities that make them as outstanding now as they were then.
It Could Almost be Christmas. The ingredients are here: the scent of pine, an extraordinary gift, an air of joy. But the Southern scrub pines on the horizon are unadorned, the gift, a Porsche 928, is idling beside a dirt road outside Jacksonville and the holidays are already fading into memory. The car's new owner, Monique St. Pierre, is somebody very special. Born November 25, 1953, just a few days after a fledgling publication called Playboy made its first appearance on the newsstands, Monique has in a sense come of age with Playboy. The magazine is celebrating its Silver Anniversary and Monique has just been named its 20th Playmate of the Year. Now she sits behind the wheel of the Porsche, her catlike eyes wide with anticipation. Peter Gregg, who has been called America's best (text concluded on page 280) Playmate of the Year(continued from page 172) sports-car driver, is in the seat beside her. At a nod from him, she slips the stick into first, then second, third and fourth. When the purring Porsche approaches 100 mph, she considers shoving it into fifth but, mindful of the career ahead of her, lets the urge pass and sighs as the speedometer drops. "My God," she whispers, "so much power." Gregg smiles at her obvious pleasure. And who wouldn't be pleased? As Playmate of the Year, Monique is receiving a $145,000 cornucopia of gifts, including a royal flush of electronic gear, a 22-foot single-engine catamaran, equipment for both snow and water-skiing and, of course, the Porsche 928. Oh, yes, and $10,000 for parking meters and other incidentals.
My Story Tells of Olori the beautiful. If it were possible to close your eyes and see only beauty, then you would close your eyes and see only Olori. For those breasts that stood up, for that belly with a navel of gold, for those darker places, not even a god was ripe enough.
Salvation! A performance resurrection is upon us. Just as automotive enthusiasts everywhere were resigning themselves to levels of stimulation heretofore associated with mopeds and single-cylinder garden tractors, a massive revival in the more visceral aspects of motoring has appeared. And it has come almost at the last possible moment. Until recently, it seemed that a ragged cabal of Government agencies, anticar Luddites, environmental zealots and OPEC loonies was succeeding in banishing all inherent excitement in automobiles in the sacred name of its own varied interests. But now we stand in amazed witness at the appearance of a small mechanical talisman that, when attached to an internal-combustion engine, can in a large measure restore the horsepower that because of increasing profits for a varied collection of desert fiefdoms has been squeezed out of engines for the sake of hotly debated improvements in air quality and reduced fuel consumption.
Can a 19th Century illusionist find happiness touring Poland as he peddles his magic and juggles his women? You'll find the answer in the forthcoming movie The Magician of Lublin, taken from the novel by Playboy contributor and Nobel laureate Isaac Bashevis Singer. Alan Arkin plays Yasha Mazur, who wants two things in life--to fly and to perform at Warsaw's Alhambra Theater. On the road to Warsaw, he romances his wife, his assistant and a buxom peasant, among others. We won't tell you whether or not he ever learns to fly, but you can see from the photos that Yasha is no dull boy, either on the stage or off it.
To be perfectly honest, when we conceived of this humor contest last year, we figured maybe 1000, possibly 2000 of you would enter. The editors would screen the 1000 or so entries down to a manageable number; then we'd send them off to our Distinguished Panel of Judges (David Brenner, Art Buchwald, Bill Cosby, Rodney Dangerfield Buck Henry, Martin Mull and David Steinberg) and run the results several months later. That was the plan, anyway. As it turned out, our predictions were way off--we received over 12,000 entries. If you multiply that number by the number of gags and one-liners in each entry (18), the figure is 216,000. Do you have any idea how taxing it is to the human brain to read 216,000 jokes? Let's put it this way--three of our editors have defected to Russia. But don't feel guilty. All you did was fill in the entry blank. Anyway, that's all behind us, thank God! Now, for the winners. For the best over-all entries, the Grand Prize of $1000 goes to Jeff Kwit, Chicago, Illinois; there was a tie for Runner-Up, so $500 will go to Frieda and Scott Fivelson, Niles, Illinois, and Dennis Miller, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Over-all means that those entries scored the most laughs out of a possible 18 laughs. However, in going over the entries, we found a considerable number in which one or two lines were great; so what we've done is choose the very best gags for each section. The people responsible for those receive Honorable Mentions and a check for $100. Where two entries had the same line, we chose the one with the earlier postmark.
Constant readers will recall a story in our October 1975 issue regarding the conversion of a boxy little Honda Civic CVCC into a wacky, neatly packaged miniature GT car. The project, which included flared fenders, custom wheels and tires, special bucket seats, new instrumentation and a coat of black epoxy paint, was the creation of Ron Nash Engineering, located in the pastoral Upstate New York village of Perry. That effort involved basic cosmetics. Only minor modifications were done to the power plant and the running gear. However, since that time, Nash has moved his operation into custom turbocharging, joining the two dozen firms in the field.
There Are many theories of how and why the Mafia actually began, but most mafiosi agree that it was created in June of 1479 by Sicilian tailor-philosopher Don Turridu Laminula. Known also as the father of symbolism, Laminula invented the Black Hand logo, designed the first club jacket and came up with the idea of putting a canary in a man's mouth if he talked. Since its humble beginnings, the honored society has flourished. Membership now numbers in the thousands, and almost every member is celebrating this year, 1979, as the Cinquecento--the 500th birthday of the Mafia. Blow out the candles!
By Rights, the daiquiri should be known as the conquistador. It was those Spanish adventurers who first compounded the soothing amalgam of rum, sugar and lime juice--quaffing it from conch shells, on sunny Caribbean shores. It could just as easily be called a rum sour, since that's what a daiquiri is, essentially. But the drink was christened officially around 1900 by a crew of fun-loving American mining engineers in Cuba, who guzzled it to ward off yellow fever. (Or so they claimed.) The name was borrowed from the Daiquiri iron mines, near Santiago, which the thirsty yanquis were developing for American interests. Perhaps the biggest daiquiri on record was concocted for steel tycoon Charlie Schwab and his entourage, when they toured the mines. Ten bottles of light Cuban rum, the juice of 100 limes, a pound of sugar and some ice--an American nicety--were slopped into a wooden keg and stirred with a paddle. As the executives emerged from the pits, each (continued on page 292)Daiquiri(continued from page 207) was greeted with a hefty dose of this "medicine."
The courts are becoming increasingly concerned with legal liability involving sports' participants and spectators. The law imposes liability in sports under a general rule of "reasonableness." You may find that while skiing, playing golf or racquetball, swimming or watching a hockey game, the law is there to protect or indemnify you or, if you're not so lucky, to make you pay big money for the consequences of your negligence. A lawyer experienced in negligence litigation would be in the best position to evaluate your claim or defense and to advise you of the probabilities of recovery or exposure.
Rut-strewn country roads, maddening city traffic, stratospheric gas prices, demented drivers and malevolent traffic cops waiting to pounce on you. You've heard all of those arguments against driving an auto in Europe, but still you're undeterred. There is something special about renting your own car and touring about the Continent as your whim may dictate.
Seven Tough Challenges For Your Next Treasure Hunt
If you plan to take up treasure hunting, you might as well set your sights on something big. Fortunately, there are still a good many stupendous treasures waiting to be discovered by some enterprising soul such as yourself. Take the seven listed below, for instance--if you can.
If There's Joy in giving (and there is), then Playboy is one of the happiest places in the world this month, because we've just helped our Playmate of the Year to a whole caboodle of elegant gifts. If you glance at this page and the one facing, the gifts (each better than the next) may well blend into a collage of opulence. But for our chosen lady, Monique St. Pierre, each one held a special appeal. "I was really thrilled with the Sony Betamax. There are so many TV shows I'd like to watch--either because someone I know is in them or because I'm in them--but which I have to miss because I have to be at a modeling or acting job. This way, I can go to work and still catch the shows I want. And the diamond necklace is so beautiful. It's so well designed and the black diamond is just incredible. I was completely delighted with the 50-inch television screen, too; it guarantees that during football season, I'll be the most popular girl on the block." If you aren't already, Monique, we think you live on a very weird block.
At first glance, you might think the outfits shown below were pieces borrowed from a Mondrian jigsaw puzzle rather than some very exciting men's apparel. But no, the colorful combination of interchangeable parts, all by a New York manufacturer with an equally colorful name, Rudi-Did-It, are eminently wearable and a lot more fun than a puzzle. The idea is shockingly simple: Each item in a classic three-piece-suit ensemble is made from the same fabric, cotton/polyester chintz, and each element (including the detachable shirt collar) is offered in a spectrum of primary colors, thus leaving it to the customer to put it all together in any combination he chooses, from monotone to basic bubble-gum machine. The look may not be right for the office, but watch for it at your local disco.
Kiss your foreign-language dictionary with the useless phrases goodbye. Hand-held electronic translators with vocabularies of about 1500 words and the capability to handle any language from French to Chinese or even Arabic are proving to be the biggest boon to international travelers since the invention of the drip-dry suit. To translate an English word to another language, or vice versa, all you do is spell it out on the keyboard and the equivalent word in the language selected appears on the display. The Lexicon one, below, even makes metric and currency conversions. Sacrebleu!
Last fall, Roving Eye was strolling the streets of New York when we came across an exhibit of erotic photographs by René Broebli. The 52-year-old Swiss artist has spent the past 30 years of his life behind the camera. The images (seven of which are shown here) were a labor of love. For those of you who missed the show, the prints have been collected in a limited-edition volume called Fantasies, available from Images Gallery (11 East 57th Street, New York, New York 10022) for $250--making it, we imagine, the most expensive photo book of the year. Click.
"Cardinal Sins: The Making Of The Popes, 1978"--For The First Time, An Insider's Look At The Machinations Behind The Elections Of John Pauls I And II, By Priest And Syndicated Columnist Andrew M. Greeley