'Tis the season of Christmas, and all through the book/Are the fruits of the labors our folks undertook./Our sections are hung from the binding with care;/They offer prime penwork and fair ladies bare./So before you go hibernate, waiting for spring,/Try our writers' and cameramen's yule seasoning.
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), December, 1981, Volume 28, Number 12. Published monthly by Playboy, Playboy Bldg., 919 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, Ill. 60611. Subscriptions: In the United States and its possessions, $48 for 36 issues, $34 for 24 issues, $18 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; Michael Druckman, New York Sales Manager; Milt Kaplan, 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.
Georgia's House of Representatives recently passed a bill outlawing the display of magazines, books and movies that could sexually stimulate minors. The vote in favor of the law sounds like an intersport contest between the Philadelphia 76ers and the Chicago Cubs. It was 127 to 0.
Mary Steenburgen married Malcolm McDowell in September 1980, four months before the birth of their daughter, Lilly Amanda. They live on the top floors of a town house in New York's West Village. How did they get their apartment? Malcolm went on the "Today" show and announced that they were desperate to find a place to live. A good Samaritan landlord called, and there you have it.
And you thought only their suits were peculiar! Not so, capitalist warmonger. Recent émigré from the Soviet Union Boris Berelyand and writer Steve Bhaerman have collected these examples of genuine Soviet gut busters. It just goes to show that not all Russian funny business is directed at Third World hot spots.
Gail Sheehy has made a cottage industry of life crises. Her best-selling Passages charted the various stages of adult development, labeling them with pop names (The Trying Twenties, Catch-30, Deadline Decade). On the tour promoting her book, Sheehy met countless people who said, "So now what? How do you get through these passages?" For those lost and troubled souls, Sheehy has produced Pathfinders (Morrow), subtitled "Overcoming the Crises of Adult Life and Finding Your Own Path to Well-Being." She discovered that there are certain heroic individuals who "have confronted a crossroads, chosen a path and emerged from the completed passage with renewed strength and expanded potential." Pathfinders tend to have the same coping devices. They risk change, face uncertainty by working more, depend more on friends, see humor in the situation and pray a lot. People who are not pathfinders drink more, eat more, take drugs, indulge themselves, pretend the problem does not exist, develop physical symptoms or escape into fantasy. And so forth. At times, the book reads like a Boy Scout Handbook for Grownups. You can get merit badges in "Willingness to Take Risks," "The Right Timing," "Capacity for Loving" and "Middleclass Magic-think." We're not sure the book will help you through a mid-life crisis--it's too long. But for those of you hooked on self-help books, this is it.
We're not back to the golden days of Fibber McGee and Molly, Kraft Music Hall and Lux Radio Theater, when virtually every home in America was tuned in to network radio, but several ambitious broadcasters are striving to lure listeners away from their everyday diet of news, sports, Top 40 and elevator music. We've reported previously on National Public Radio's Earplay and Star Wars; this month, we have news of further ventures.
Because she is a more accomplished actress than Joan Crawford ever was, Faye Dunaway pulls off an extraordinary stunt in the title role of Mommie Dearest (Paramount). She's not apt to win an Oscar but certainly deserves a carload of premium ham for her steam-roller performance as the fading, vengeful Hollywood legend at home with her adopted kiddies. Made up to resemble Groucho Marx as a female impersonator, or maybe a demon being exorcised by Max Factor, Dunaway does Joan to a turn. The performance is a series of show-stopping Great Moments from Mommie Dearest--the hysterical wire-hanger scene, the strangling scene, all the grisly birthday and Christmas parties, or Mommie just falling-down drunk. Need I remind anyone that Christina Crawford wrote the book on which all this is based? Mara Hobel and Diana Scarwid portray Tina at various ages, but Mommie Dearest is essentially a one-woman show for voyeurs with a streak of morbid curiosity about the fine art of child abuse in Hollywood. Producer Frank (The Other Side of Midnight) Yablans knows how to package such gilded trash, which is probably criticproof, and Frank Perry directed it with shameless glee, all but licking his lips over the juiciest parts. Well, no use kidding ourselves--it's pay dirt, and delicious. [rating]2-1/2bunnies[/rating]
The Rolling Stones sound younger and more energetic than other bands half their age on their much-anticipated new record, Tattoo You (Rolling Stones Records). Like the Stones' classic Seventies album Exile on Main Street, Tattoo is heavily drenched with gut-bucket blues and R&B. What could be funkier than Stones harmonies, with their characteristic bone-chilling jangle, echoing the finest of Stax/Volt R&B? Meanwhile, lush solo work from famed jazz saxophonist Sonny Rollins surveys some new landscapes for the group. All that, plus the picaresque yelps and screams that generally characterize a Stones set, makes for an album that doesn't have a bad cut. Welcome back to Main Street, guys.
Grover gets over: At home in a leafy Philadelphia suburb, Grover Washington, Jr., slips onto the turntable the record he has just acquired, after much looking--the old Ray Charles--Betty Carter set on ABC-Paramount. He feasts his ears on the big-band sounds and the vocal harmonies. Then comes the first sax break by David Newman, and Grover is in ecstasy. "Ah," he sighs, "vintage Fathead."
Reeling and Rocking: Herb Jaffe, the producer of Bette Midler's new movie, Jinxed, has budgeted in ten percent for meshugas--that's Yiddish for craziness. Could Jinxed become the Jewish Heaven's Gate? ... Robert Stigwood and Allan Carr have started production on Grease Two. It's due out next summer.... The 1967 BBC-TV special Magical Mystery Tour, starring the Beatles, is now available on video cassettes.... Director Alan(Fame)Parker has finally started shooting Pink Floyd: The Wall, based on a screenplay by the group's Roger Waters. Look for it at the movies next summer.... And it comes as no surprise that another film about Elvis, titled E, will be made from the book Elvis: The Final Years.... The Sound of the City, British concert footage shot between 1964 and 1973, had a brief American debut last summer. It includes classic footage of The Stones, Jimi Hendrix, Otis Redding and Rod Stewart. It played briefly and then was pulled by a New York judge at the request of The Stones music-publishing company. At issue were copyright technicalities of five Jagger/Richard songs. We hope it will resurface. It sounds great.
Idol Gossip: Denver oilman Marvin Davis, who bought 20th Century-Fox some months ago, has already made his tastes known around Hollywood. Fox recently gave the green light for Kenny Rogers to star in his first feature, Six Pack, the story of a stock-car racer who takes six street kids under his wing. Davis is an avid Rogers fan. Also on the Fox agenda, by Davis' suggestion--a possible sequel to The Sound of Music, a project that may encounter some problems due to the fact that Rodgers and Hammerstein will not be available to score the film. They are both deceased.... Peter Yates will direct Krull, a futuristic fantasy, for Columbia. A special-effects bonanza, Krull (described by one source as "Star Wars without the hardware") is heavy on mysticism and the occult (i.e., people turn into animals and vice versa).... Also on the Columbia production schedule: Blue Thunder, starring Roy Scheider as a supercop in the chopper division, and Tootsie, a comedy scripted by Larry Gelbart with Dustin Hoffman as a night-club performer.... Paul Le Mat and Catherine Hicks star in Universal's Death Valley, the story of two couples who encounter terror during a vacation there.... "There will be no Rocky IV," says Sylvester Stallone, who has lost more than 30 pounds for Rocky III, set for release in June. Referring to the weight loss, Stallone reportedly quipped: "The way it's going, Rocky Balboa could be the only boxer in the world to abdicate as heavyweight and go for lightweight."
As recently as a couple of years ago, it really didn't make much difference which airline you flew. Individual planes were virtually identical, and so were the fares, so it hardly mattered whether check-in took place at Trans Orbital Airways or at the Wings of Irving.
This may sound ridiculous, but I think that I am too sensitive. Whenever I kiss or caress my girlfriend, I get an immediate, obvious erection, and I find it embarrassing. What can I do to prevent unwanted erections?--R. D., Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
The symbols in his Bel-Air home signify illness, recuperation, activity and creativity. There is a full-time male nurse with him as he slowly moves with the aid of a walker from one room to another. A hospital bed has been installed in a small room off the kitchen. Large cylindrical tanks of oxygen are delivered and stored in a corner of a bedroom. In another room, a new painting of a rumpled denim jacket hanging over a chair awaits his finishing touches. A half-read biography of Thomas Jefferson lies on a night table. On the dining-room table, 350 prints of several of his drawings are waiting to be picked up and sent to a dealer in New York and a gallery in Los Angeles for his first exhibition. And in the Galleria Room, his paintings, drawings and water colors line the walls--still lifes of fruit, a scene from the set of one of his Westerns, a London rooftop, an oil of a potted geranium on a chair and folksy drawings that reveal the Midwesterner: a pitchfork and bridle, three hats, work shoes, a Levi jacket on a pole.
It's April and I am in St.-Paul-de-Vence, France, eating breakfast and reading the American newspapers. I have been following the unprecedentedly publicized series of murders in Atlanta and now have an uneasy, unwilling feeling that soon I will almost certainly find myself in that city. For one thing, I am an honorary citizen of Atlanta, with the scroll and the key to the city, and have, I am very proud to tell you, an honorary degree from Morehouse College. In other words, I have friends there, people whom I love. I cannot read the news reports without thinking of those people and wondering what is happening to them. Most of them have children.
Ever since longtime Playboy friend Alberto Vargas immortalized Bernadette Peters on canvas for her first album cover, an idea has been brewing around our offices. Not only do we appreciate Bernadette as an accomplished actress, singer and dancer but we think she epitomizes that rare quality of being able to dress up as if it were 1981 or 1891 outside, yet never seem out of place.
They went just about everywhere together and they seemed to share just about everything except women. None of the rest of us in the barracks knew just what they found to talk about during all those hours, but it was plain that they found something. You would see them sitting together in the mess hall, talking between forkloads of stringy beef and soft potatoes. They arranged to be manifested together on parachute jumps and you would see them coming off the drop zone, talking it over on the way to the assembly point. They bunked together and on Friday afternoons, they would shower and dress in the cheap drip-dry civvies they had bought from Robert Hall or J. C. Penney's and leave the reservation together to get drunk and brawl and look for women. It was not exactly what they wanted most from the world, but it was the available thing at the time. Monday mornings, we'd see them again, red-eyed and sometimes bruised and cut. Their faces would be gray from fatigue and epic drinking. They would sip the brutal mess-hall coffee and talk, or, if the hangovers were bad enough, simply sit and sip and hope, like the rest of us, that the training schedule would let them off easy.
Richard G. Rosenthal--Rosey to his longtime friends--was uncharacteristically edgy as he sat at his desk overlooking the cavernous trading floor of Salomon Brothers, the investment-banking firm, on this blustery Monday afternoon in mid-January 1978. The weekend had been a wipe-out. A blizzard, one of the heaviest in years, was blanketing the Eastern Seaboard. Rosenthal had not been able to log his customary twin-engine flying time, a pursuit that helps him achieve detachment from the pressure-cooker world he inhabits as one of Wall Street's most skilled traders. The job requires almost instant buy-or-sell decisions on deals that often involve tens of thousands of shares and millions of dollars.
There is so much to be said about women that Jeff Dunas prefers to use pictures to articulate his thoughts. Dunas has been shooting for ten years now, on both sides of the Atlantic, and recently gone through 500,000 slides to pick out his favorites. They are collected in Captured Women, a book out now from Melrose/Grove. Dunas (text concluded on page 171) started his career working for magazines such as Time and TV Guide and soon graduated to more challenging advertising and fashion jobs. For three years, he was the Paris photography editor for Oui magazine. In addition, he has photographed album covers for Olivia Newton-John, Helen Reddy, Bobby Caldwell and Isaac Hayes. Now, however, photographing women has become Dunas' real life work. "I maintain a large studio in Los Angeles, but I rarely use it, because I prefer to work on location--and finding good locations is an art in itself. Six months of each year, I spend working in Paris. I am constantly thinking pictures, forever jotting down ideas for photographs. You need to be a little possessed in this business." The secret of the perfect shot? "In order for a photograph of a woman to succeed, it must reveal the allure and mystery that is part of every woman--whether she's clothed or unclothed," he says. "A woman's unique sensuality lies in her power to project subtle, almost indiscernible nuances. I try to capture on film that special essence that is the fascination she holds for men and women alike: that fleeting, revealing moment, that private moment. Successful pictures tell the stories themselves. They transmit something emotional and linger in the memory." Of Dunas' work, novelist Harold Robbins says: "The photograph is an art of the 20th Century. Within the century, there has been a photographer for each decade. I feel Jeff Dunas will prove to be the photographer of the Eighties."
Suddenly, Gallagher had nothing to complain about. He had written a hit play; money poured in. He wanted a house; he had a house. He wanted a boat; a boat was his. His sons, formerly brooding, now smiled on him. After two years of marriage, his second wife looked at him as if he were a dish of ice cream. It was all he could do to fend off happiness.
The week after I signed my first N.F.L. contract with the Dallas Cowboys, I checked into the dormitory at their training camp in Thousand Oaks, California, carrying a little tack--some reefer, some acid and a couple hits of THC. I had no inkling of what that camp would be like, no inkling whatsoever. I had played football for 15 years, but I'd never seen it done the way Tom Landry did it. I didn't even know what a computer was before I got to the Cowboys' camp, and I suddenly found myself in a world of computerized systems. There was a quality-control system, a system of execution, a system of consistency, a system of percentages and a system of tendencies. Tendencies, man--that's what Landry is all about. He has the response to any tendency in football. Why, Landry does so much research that he knows what George Allen is thinking at night while Allen is sitting alone in his house.
Ordinarily, growing up in or near Hollywood leaves its mark on a person. Most folks end up with fantasies of upward mobility. But Patricia Farinelli has managed to avoid most of the glamor and pretension of Tinseltown: She leads a simple life and she likes it that way.
If boredom is the mother of fashion invention, then black-tie bashes must have been putting guests to sleep for years. And with the current fashion renaissance in full flower, it's only logical that the classic soup-and-fish look would come under closer scrutiny by designers. Piero Dimitri, for example, went hell-bent for leather and created what surely must be one of the first punk tuxedos. While we don't recommend that you wear it to a serious old-line social event or if your black-tie invitation is stamped with the Presidential seal, it is true that the irrepressible spirit of fashion adventure is at work and men are exercising something of the logic that what is good for the goose is good for the gander. (Have you ever seen a ballroom where all the women were dressed alike?) There are many ways to vary the classic look, ranging from using offbeat accessories to combining an unusual sweat shirt with a wing-collar formal shirt. Keep in mind, however, that the key to the continuing success of the black-tie look is that it reflects the idea that the occasion is something special. Just as a business suit at a fancy-dress ball is inappropriately boring, so is failure to make some fashion gesture that reflects the specialness of a black-tie festivity. We applaud adventures in creative dressing as long as they're tastefully done in the spirit of things. That's why we go to parties, anyway.
John Kenneth Galbraith--author of "The Affluent Society" and "The New Industrial State," novelist and John Kennedy's Ambassador to India--has been associated with liberal economic policies longer than most liberal politicians. Because he isn't shuttling to Washington very often these days, Warren Kalbacker met with him at his mansion on Harvard's faculty row. Kalbacker reports: "This guy knows about the affluent society from primary sources. He possesses an enormous and good-natured self-confidence that is not entirely attributable to his great height. He also serves a good sherry."
Recruiting is the name of the game. In college basketball, more than in any other sport, the coach who signs the super-stud rookie is the coach who wins the laurels at season's end. Surround a truly great player with a few ordinary ones and any coach has a good shot at the national championship. A freshman hotshot can turn a losing team into a big winner instantly. No wonder college basketball recruiting is the scene of more vicious infighting than any conflict since the Peloponnesian War.
Everybody knows that Santa doesn't smoke cigars. So the puffer in the picture above must be our old friend George Burns. You can be sure it's George because his taste in reindeer is much better than Santa's. The ten-pointers he has selected are none other than The Playmates, a troupe of five Playboy centerfold stars (from left above, Kelly Tough, Heidi Sorenson, Michele Drake, Anne Randall and Sondra Theodore). The ensemble will land on your rooftops (via your TV antennas) on Monday, November 16, on the NBC-TV George Burns' Early, Early, Early Christmas Special.
Year after year, ever since she was a small child, Brooke Shields has ranked in the big leagues of sex stardom, all the while insisting she has barely had a date in real life and would be content to remain a virgin until she marries--sometime in her 20s. Yet here she is again in 1981, writhing through Endless Love with a look of sheer abandon on her beautiful little face. Director Franco Zeffirelli finally explained why--offcamera, he was pinching Brooke's beautiful big toe until it hurt enough to get the look he wanted. And that, dear fans, is how sex stars are created, if not made.
One Day a rabbit decided to get married, so that his life would be easier. For some time, his eye had been on a peasant's daughter. He had observed her carrying buckets of water from the river on a yoke, the water sloshing on her homespun blouse, making the material transparent and exposing her rigid little nipples.
It's two in the mornin' on Saturday nightAt Rosalie's Good Eats Café.The onions are fryin', the neon is brightAnd the jukebox is startin' to play.And the sign on the wall says, In God we trust, All others have to pay.And it's two in the mornin' on Saturday nightAt Rosalie's Good Eats Café.
To rephrase an ancient credo, "Giving well is the best reward." That's why we've assembled this array of distinguished potables for the holidays. Scan the collection shown here and then consult our superbottles listing farther on to get some idea of the sleek stuff we're talking about: magnificent cognacs and brandies, aged whiskeys, splendid liqueurs and champagnes. Although they're not unheralded, even sophisticated givers aren't clued in to these rarae aves--with good reason. Most are limited editions--the containers as distinguished as the contents--and sought by connoisseurs of the genre. Simply put, it's a seller's market and liquor moguls see no reason to promote them.
While you won't be showing up at a board meeting in chartreuse patent-leather pumps, it is nonetheless true that the parameters of business and evening footwear have broadened appreciably. Today, you can wear a slip-on with a three-piece pinstripe or a brown-suede oxford with navy gabardine. And just as there is a movement to break out of the cliché black-tie look (see our party-clothes feature this month), so is there one to liberalize the definition of just what is formal footwear. Although color has not yet changed radically in dress shoes, styles, materials and, above all, textures have for sure. Do you remember when reptileskin shoes were for snaky lounge lizards? No more. And it's a shoe thing that the luscious little lady pictured here wouldn't take a shine to anyone but a well-shod gentleman.