When Bo Derek first appeared in a bikini on our cover last March, she was apparently just what winter-weary Playboy readers needed to warm them up for spring. More copies of that issue were sold than any other March issue in Playboy's history. Now, Bo ... Is Back, compliments of John Derek's loving photographic eye. John (oh, most fortunate of husbands) says he likes to share Bo through his photography, "so that we can all feast on her beauty." Thanks from all of us, John. The pictures are delicious. The Dereks are currently at work on their latest joint film venture, Me, Jane, a remake of the Tarzan story starring Bo in the title role. We've already got jungle fever.
Inspecting Hef's newly unveiled star--which is right next to one honoring W. C. Fields at 7000 Hollywood Boulevard--are (from left) Bill Hertz, chairman of the Hollywood Walk of Fame; KTTV's Bill Welsh, who is the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce president; Hef; and Hollywood's honorary mayor Monty Hall.
Playboy, (ISSN 0032--1478), August, 1980, Volume 27, Number 8. Published Monthly by Playboy, Playboy Bldg., 919 N, Michigan Ave., Chicago, Ill., 60611. Subscriptions: In the united states and its possessions, $39 for 36 issues, $28 for 24 issues, $16 for 12 issues. Canada, $24 for 12 issues. Elsewhere, $31 for 12 issues. 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; Richard Atkins, Fashion Advertising Manager, 747 Third Avenue, New York, New York 10017; Chicago 60611, Russ Weller, Associate Advertising Manager, 919 North Michigan Avenue; Troy, Michigan 48084, Jess Ballew, Manager, 3001 W. Big Beaver Road; Los Angeles 90010, Stanley L. Perkins, Manager, 4311 Wilshire Boulevard; San Francisco 94104, Tom Jones, Manager, 417 Montgomery Street.
Comedian Mark Russell has headlined at The Shoreham Hotel in Washington, D.C., for 15 years, dishing out biting political satire. Last year, Russell's humor went national on the NBC-TV show "Real People," and now he also has his own "Mark Russell Comedy Special" on PBS. Chicago free-lance writer Sharon Spence asked him about the current political climate.
The myth of the American West has surfaced once again and with it nostalgia for the lives of those sturdy pioneers, the great white immigrants who farmed their way across the frontier. Maxine Hong Kingston, in China Men (Knopf), gives a different version of the American pioneer; she relates extraordinary stories about the Chinese men who smuggled themselves into the U. S., who moved mountains for the railroads and who went mad with guilt and grief for their families left behind. This is a powerful biography that includes legends and dreams, conjecture and reality and that links the past with the Chinese-American men of the present.
Get Elvis: There are more good songs and more pure energy in Elvis Costello and the Attractions' Get Happy!! (Columbia) than most groups come up with in an entire career. Through 20 cuts on this release, Costello treats us to machine-gun-like bursts of musical power while disdaining any sort of filler whatever. Rockers such as Love for Tender, The Imposter and I Stand Accused crank up enough electricity to keep the stereo running long after it's been shut down. As a friend of ours said, "Springsteen may be the Boss, but Elvis is still King."
Reeling and Rocking: Opening soon at a theater near you: Ralph Bakshi's animated film American Pop, which chronicles the history of America through its music. Everything from minstrel singers to Gershwin to punk will be included.
Frank Sinatra has retired, and then thought better of it, as often as Muhammad Ali--and for the same reason: Each man knows in his heart that he's still The Greatest, and neither can resist coming back just one more time to show the competition how it's done.
The first thing you notice as you approach and enter The Abbey at 163 Ponce de Leon Avenue, in Atlanta, Georgia, is that the bell tower, stained-glass windows, three-story vaulted ceiling and choir loft were not designed by some restaurant consultant eager to create a funky ecclesiastical atmosphere but by an architect answering to a higher calling. Built in 1915 as a Methodist Episcopal church, the structure's transformation into a restaurant has been handled with a maximum of taste and restraint. Off to the left of the entrance is a spacious bar that used to be the church's Sunday school--a transformation that probably has the place's founding Methodists twirling in their tombs. Tape-recorded jazz now bounces off its timbered walls, stained-glass ceiling panels and slender potted palms.
Real brothers portray brothers in The Long Riders, and the casting turns out to be nigh perfect, with the Keach boys (James and Stacy) as Jesse and Frank James, the Carradines (David, Keith and Robert) as the Younger brothers, the Quaids (Randy and Dennis) as the Millers. Add Nicholas and Christopher Guest as Bob and Charlie Ford, the hired guns who ultimately shoot Jesse in the back, and you have a gimmick that never seems to be a gimmick. In fact, the acting is superior throughout, and Long Riders emerges as both a classy and a classic Western about the legendary James-Younger gang, by far the best movie yet from director Walter Hill (who made The Warriors and Charles Bronson's Hard Times). Hill has a special knack for creating mythic heroes, and on this occasion, he's got it all together--the family life of these wild Missouri boys, their womenfolk, their camaraderie and their hell-bent exploits cinematically choreographed so that bank jobs, stage-coach holdups and train robberies become breath-taking macho ballets, like sporting events. That approach is not inconsistent with the adulation of such outlaws in their time, when greedy bankers and railroad land-grabbers were the real bad guys.
Idol Gossip: Watch out, Newman and Redford--here come Bisset and Bergen. That's right--Jacqueline Bisset and Candice Bergen, a dynamic duo if ever there were one, will team up in MGM's Rich and Famous, based loosely on the Bette Davis Forties film Old Acquaintance. Set for two months of on-location shooting in New York and L.A., the flick is the story of two woman writers, one of whom achieves critical acclaim, the other commercial success. Their 20-year friendship--from college days at Smith in the early Sixties to the present--is the crux of the story. Bisset not only will star in this one, she also has some production duties.... Billy Dee Williams will play the role of Duke Ellington in a film version of the Duke's life.... Sally Field, fresh from her Oscar victory, will reteam with Norma Rae director Martin Ritt to make Back Roads, a comic love story Co-Starring Tommy Lee Jones .... In the works at CBS is a four-hour miniseries on the life of actor Errol Flynn. Producers of the teleflick are currently looking for a "new discovery" to play the lead. Would you believe Wayne Newton? Based on Flynn's autobiography, My Wicked, Wicked Ways, this particular life story will probably not deal with Flynn's alleged Nazi spy connections.
Alas, I find myself involved with an extremely jealous lover and it's driving me nuts. I mean, I like this girl and spend most of my time with her. I don't fool around, except on the rare occasion when someone makes me an offer I can't refuse. The problem is, she is jealous even when there is no reason to be. I can't talk about past affairs or even mention another woman's name in her presence. I find that attitude restrictive. If I could do something to make her feel better, I would, but it seems to be a no-win situation. Any suggestions?--E. C., Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Death-penalty advocates have fostered the idea that very few people are wrongly convicted and that our elaborate system of appeals virtually precludes their execution. That is a myth based on misunderstanding. Convictions are all too easily obtained on false or mistaken testimony by witnesses, and appellate courts rule not on evidence but on points of law. In 1978, we reported the case of a mentally disturbed Ohio woman who plausibly confessed to a multiple murder she had not committed and who was well on her way to a capital-crime conviction when the Playboy Defense Team intervened. Last year, the Playboy Foundation contributed to a group of prominent Arizona citizens whose efforts--and more than $30,000--have since "unsolved" the 1976 bombing murder of Phoenix reporter Don Bolles and secured new trials for Max Dunlap and James Robison, both convicted on plea-bargained testimony of the known bomber. Consider here the case of a young man with no family, friends or funds who avoided the electric chair mainly by a stroke of extraordinary good luck.
Fifteen years ago, William Bradford Shockley went public with his theory that "retrogressive evolution," or dysgenics, was occurring among American blacks--meaning that less intelligent blacks were having more children than those of significantly greater intelligence. His pronouncement, which amounted to a claim of black genetic inferiority, touched perhaps the most painful nerve that still exists in American society. After all, this was not a member of the Ku Klux Klan or the Nazi Party mouthing racial obscenities but an eminent scientist, a Nobel Prize winner at that, who was reviving an argument most Americans hoped had been forever discredited.
Fanny, Being the True History of the Adventures of Fanny Hackabout-Jones
I Was Born in the Reign of Queen Anne, but the exact Date of my Birth I do not know, owing to the unfortunate Occurrence of my having been abandon'd upon a Doorstep in tenderest Infancy. Whether my Natural Parents were, as the Saying goes, poor but honest, or whether they were poor and vicious, I cannot in Good Conscience say. That they were poor is a fair enough Conjecture, else why would they have left a poor helpless Babe of their begetting upon the Doorstep of a Great House in the Neighbourhood?
In these dry, dusty days of August, we knew you'd enjoy seeing a photographic record of one wet afternoon in the life of Bo Derek. She's bathing in a traditional Japanese bathhouse on the Izu Peninsula just south of Tokyo. You may remember that when we last left Bo (in our first pictorial on her, Bo, last March), she and husband John were headed for a vacation in Japan. Now it turns out that the Japan trip was more than a vacation; it was a time of decision making for a young woman whose sudden fame had startled her as much as her beauty had startled millions of people who saw her in the movie "10." "I didn't expect "10" to cause such a reaction to me," she says, "and I wasn't prepared to see myself described in print as a sex goddess, 'the most beautiful woman' and all that." (text continued on page 222)Bo is Back(continued from page 111) Husband John, recognizing an incipient anxiety attack when he saw one, suggested that they get away so that Bo, in his words, "could begin to figure out who Bo was."
It was Friday, so, according to the schedule, it must have been Augusta, Georgia--steamy, sultry and dull--where we met the two ladies in the hotel lobby, wearing the current thigh-revealing, split-skirt fashion they were showing in New York. They sported the Reagan straw hats and buttons but also the pushed-up-cleavage look that one often finds at Republican dinners, a throwback to the Forties tease who played opposite Ronald Reagan the actor. And it must be conceded that a Reagan for President button pinned near the exposed portion of a woman's breast takes on a campy, rakish quality, making it less chilling when they flash that big smile and say they like Ronnie because he'll give us more bombs and throw the bums off welfare.
Victoria Cooke loves the great outdoors. It is the only place she feels truly at peace. She's energetic, physical, sensuous, adventurous and extremely athletic and soon becomes restive when surrounded by four walls. "Let's go outside," she always seems to be saying. "It's nicer outside." But then, ever since her childhood, she has gravitated toward the wide-open spaces. Born in California, the daughter of a real-estate developer, Victoria (one does not call her Vickie) moved to Arizona at 17. After studying real estate and finance at the University of Arizona (and appearing in Playboy's Girls of the Pac 10, October 1978), she became restless and just picked up and moved to Hawaii. "I got tired of being in the desert," she says. "I had a desire to go to some faraway place, far from school and family, and be independent." She'd never been to Hawaii before and found that her concept of the islands differed radically from the reality. "I had this romantic image that Hawaii was just a bunch of grass huts and deserted beaches," she recalls. "Boy, was I surprised flying into Honolulu Airport and seeing all those high-rises along the beach; but I decided to stay anyway--mainly because I didn't have enough money to leave." The first week, with a paltry $100 left in her purse, she took a bus tour around the island of Oahu and did some exploring on her own. "It was so beautiful," she says, "and I felt a lot better about it." But money was running low, so she applied for jobs at hotels on Waikiki Beach, only to be turned away: She'd arrived during the off season and nobody was hiring. Which turned out to be a blessing in disguise, since she eventually did get a job--an outdoor one--selling suntan lotion on the beach. "I became a beach bum," she says. "Eleven hours a day on the beach, in the sun, peddling lotions and surfboards." She prospered, mainly because, as she herself admits, "I've got the gift of gab and I'm excellent at selling things. Always have been." Figuring that she could sell anything, Victoria got her real-estate license and soon started selling time-sharing condos. And she prospered at that, too. "I'd stop people in the hotels and say, 'Aloha, folks,' and we'd take it from there. I did quite well at it." In fact, she did so well that she had plenty of time to get involved in sports during the day. "I'd work till three o'clock, then jog three or four miles, then swim a few laps, then do a little wind surfing or sailing, then just collapse on the beach and watch the sunset." She became particularly adept at sailing 16-foot catamarans and crewed on the boat that won the 1979 Hawaii State Championships. But then, Victoria Cooke doesn't strike you as the sort of person who loses at anything. She has certainly won us over.
Looking Ill at Ease in their tuxedos, The Doobie Brothers strode onstage at this year's Grammy Awards ceremony to receive a thunderous ovation and four of the little golden gramophones that signify overwhelming success in the record business. The rockers, who later posed for snapshots with beaming, well-fed record moguls, had ushered in the Seventies with Listen to the Music and ridden it out with Minute by Minute. It had been a long decade, and the band whose very name epitomized hippie values--doobie is San Francisco slang for joint--had followed rock 'n' roll through changing styles and passions into middle age. Now, after ten years of one-night stands, the Doobies even had their own celebrity golf tournament.
Few Activities make more sense in these energy-conscious days than running with the wind on open waters. And sailing the briny or a fresh-water lake is even more pleasurable when your first mate isn't Mr. Christian and you're togged out in gear that doesn't look as though it were designed for the movie Treasure Island. Clichéed yachting looks, in fact, have been deep-sixed in favor of more free-spirited styles that are in keeping with today's fashion currents. The gear, of course, is still designed for warmth and wearability, but that's no reason you can't go down to the sea in style--as we've done on these pages aboard the charter schooner Antares. Cast off!
And so it has come to this A guy I know, someone with whom I used to play football, a fellow who, you'll have to trust me, used to have a fair amount of gumption, called me last week to announce his belief that the vote should be taken away from men.
Salads? You mean tossed lettuce and tomato wedges, right? Not this time! Oh, you're doing the health-food number: alfalfa sprouts, soybeans, dandelion greens ... that stuff. No way! What we have in mind are main-dish salads--zesty concoctions that are eminently satisfying but not heavy. Hearty salads make a lot of sense--and not just as summer eating. They're composed rather than cooked, often with last-minute pickups from the deli and greengrocer, plus any cold treasures the refrigerator yields. The one dish covers you on everything but dessert, and extra guests are easily accommodated by adding more greens, cheese, slices of cold steak ... whatever comes to hand. As you can see, almost anything goes in a main-dish salad.
When, Just a Little Over 200 years ago, the British sea captain James Cook arrived at the tropical archipelago we now call the Hawaiian Islands (Cook himself named them the Sandwich Islands in honor of his patron, the Earl of Sandwich), he was astonished at the hospitality of the natives--particularly the females. "No women I ever met were less reserved," he wrote, noting their eagerness to "make a surrender of their persons." The Congregational missionaries from New England who followed him in the 1820s made note of the same-tendency and were particularly shocked at the expanses of bare skin that confronted them. They soon enveloped Hawaii's buxom wahines in baggy Mother Hubbard dresses (predecessors of today's colorful and casual muumuus). Ah, for the good old days. The tourist landing at bustling Honolulu International Airport today is unlikely to be surrounded by females (text concluded on page 250)Girls of Hawaii(continued from page 153) clamoring to "surrender their persons," nor is everybody running around Maui unclothed. But much of the islands' tradition of hospitality remains--as does their inhabitants' lack of reticence about their bodies. Maybe the weather has something to do with it, but Playboy staffers, scouting for this feature, found that most girls of Hawaii have a positive attitude toward their bodies.
In the Garish little world of professional football, none of the denizens are so enigmatic--so protected, privileged, pampered and so generally inept in their duties--as the franchise owners. Few of us ordinary fans are ever aware of their foibles, follies or fuck-ups, because they are protectively screened by a battalion of public-relations guards and treated with fearful deference by most of the sports press. Suitably obsequious writers and television reporters are continually treated to cornucopious hospitality by front-office moguls--expensive booze, lavish buffets, free rides on the team plane to and from out-of-town games, and a variety of goodies and gifts carefully tendered so as to avoid an appearance of bribery. Any ingrate who treads on an owner's ego will soon find his supply of his favorite Scotch sorely diminished. This writer once mistook multizillionaire Clint Murchison, Jr., for a hotel-service attendant at a Dallas Cowboys press reception, and Murchison's nose was out of joint for weeks.
They's spirit folk livin' in these parts, mizz moonshine. Kin yo' hear 'Em?HooeeehoooThey's sayin'--moonshine, how come you allows Zeb 'N' Hootch 'N' Flem to bang thet patch o' yours?They's askin'--how come yo' Denies Po' Barf Mc Buns equal Bangin' time?
It's so small you may not even know it is there. Indeed, most of the time all you see of it is a small metal projection popularly called the needle--though by now you may have graduated to the more sophisticated term stylus. We're talking, of course, about the cartridge or pickup at the end of the tonearm on a record player, whose job it is to translate the mute wiggles engraved in the record groove into an electrical replica. This signal eventually becomes the sound you hear.
If the last thing you traded was a picture of Mickey Mantle that smelled of bubble gum, you probably haven't been approached by one of the more than 400 barter exchanges that have sprung up in the U. S. over the past three or four years. With the Internal Revenue Service keeping an anxious eye on the proceedings, thousands of individual businessmen and corporations are learning that barter can provide the equivalent of wholesale buying power. So dentists fill cavities in exchange for new office carpeting, lawyers prepare wills to get a week in the Caribbean and a restaurant owner serves his best steak and a bottle of wine in a swap for a new pair of shoes.
The Eighties may well be the decade of the scientist superstar, if the sudden popularity of Durk Pearson is any indication. He graduated from Massachusetts Institute of Technology in 1965 with a degree in physics and scored in the highest percentile in the United States for that year's graduate record exam. Putting his genius-range I.Q. to work, he started a scientific consulting business involving him in aerospace, energy and life-extension research. But his most exciting discoveries have come from his 12 years of research into life science, aimed at allowing a human being to live to 150 years with the physical and mental agility of someone in the prime of life. Durk "went public" when the Mery Griffin show found him by accident; and after a dozen national television appearances, he has become the largest male draw in the history of that show, resulting in a publishing contract and several high-budgeted consulting assignments from major corporations such as General Mills.
It's the morning after and a strange lady is asleep in his bed with a smile on her lips. Pleased but puzzled, he struggles to recall the details of the night before, but his hung-over brain cells won't cooperate. Luckily, we've recorded the highlights; unluckily, our photographer believes in only extreme close-ups. At any rate, see how you score: Simply identify the 15 objects or events pictured up close that had a role in this passion play.
For weekend getaways and quickie business trips, carry-on luggage is the only way to fly. Your gear won't wind up in Boise when you're going to Boston, and you can kiss that queue at the baggage counter goodbye as you breeze by to be first in the cab line. A lightweight style of bag with plenty of durability and a design that makes every inch count is what to look for. Most are made of waterproof canvas or a rugged type of nylon and often feature shoulder straps and easy-access exterior pockets in which you can stash a few paperbacks. Carry-on soft luggage fits nicely into the trunk of a snazzy sports car, too.
Thirty years ago, a man never left home without his fedora. But the problem was that not everyone looked like Ronald Colman when he snapped the brim. Then President Kennedy made the simple observation that he didn't feel comfortable in a hat and the business of making lids virtually died overnight. Now, however, hats are rapidly being rediscovered, partially because of our ongoing fascination with Western wear. The styles in favor today are a far cry from the serious fedora, Homburg business uniform. So hats off to fun-loving lids that bring yet another accent to your wardrobe.
You've probably heard the gag about having great teeth but those rotten gums have to go. Well, dental hygiene is no joke; if you don't take care of your choppers, it may be toot, toot, toothies, goodbye. The good news about tooth care is that there are so many products on the market that can do most of the work for you. Water-pulsating devices loosen food particles that an ordinary toothbrush won't budge. And plaque-removal gizmos are beneficial to anyone who's a coffee drinker or a heavy smoker. (Being called Old Blue Eyes is fine, but who wants to be known as Old Brown Smile?) None of these products is designed to take the place of regular dental checkups. Unattended-to cavities are for people with holes in their head.
"The New Rules of Romance"--As we enter a new decade, the givens of man-woman relationships have altered. Can you make real life romantic? You bet your life you can, and that life will be a hell of a lot more satisfying. Plus: "The Romantic Man of the Eighties"--What he's all about--A thoughtful essay by John Sack