Welcome. Maybe you've just come reeling in from a wall-bumping holiday collision with auld lang syne, picking up your January Playboy while you wait for your eyes to focus. However you got here, we're happy to have you. The magazine you hold is the ticket to some of the most exotic, erotic and refreshing encounters you're likely to find for $3.50. So sit back, ignore the snow piling up and relax. If this month's stirring line-up doesn't warm you, try a hot shower.
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), January, 1983, Volume 30, Number 1. Published Monthly by Playboy, Playboy Bldg., 919 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, Ill. 60611. Subscriptions: In the United States and its possessions $54 for 36 issues, $38 for 24 issues, $22 for 12 issues. Canada, $27 for 12 issues. Elsewhere, $35 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.
When author Nigey ("Mark Twain in California") Lennon apprehended underground cartoonistBill Griffith,he was switching from the Chateau Marmont bungalow in which John Belushi had breathed his last to another room in that Hollywood hotel. Although he cocreated the infamous "Young Lust" comic series in the early Seventies, Griffith is best known for his comic-strip character Zippy the Pinhead, a lovable male microcephalic whose favorite expression is "Yow! I am having fun!" and whose culinary tastes run to Ding Dongs with taco sauce. Lennon describes their meeting: "Griffith, a good-natured introvert who looks nothing like his pinhead protégé, poured himself a Hennessy on the rocks, turned down the volume of the Sergeant Bilko episode on his video recorder and lay down on the sofa without removing his tennis shoes."
Hollywood often runs itself into the ground, taking us with it. Just how far will science-fiction-movie premises be stretched? How many sequels will be sequeled? Dave Yuzo Spector made a survey of the screenplays currently making the studio rounds and tells us more than we want to know about them.
The best video-game play is still in arcades, but that may change in the next few years. Home video is coming of age, becoming sophisticated faster than a Tom Robbins character in a Harold Robbins novel. The master tech builders are gearing up for an assault on your wallet, and there's more going on than you can shake a joy stick at.
Holiday Gift Books: 'Tis the season to be giving, and we've got some suggestions for holiday buying to please your whole list. We always like to start by acknowledging the fiction excerpted in Playboy during the past year. Three novels in particular would make fine gifts: Space (Random House), by James Michener; 2010: Odyssey Two (Del Rey), by Arthur C. Clarke; and Stanley Elkin's George Mills (Dutton).
Rock 'N' Roll and Mistletoe: About this time of year, the record companies start grinding out slab after slab of greatest-hits anthologies and everyone short of Benji brings out a Christmas-carol album. We looked around for a few of the more imaginative offerings—and not just those on records—available this season.
Hooked on Swing (RCA), a catchy, discofied medley of big-band hits by Larry Elgart and His Manhattan Swing Orchestra, caught on this year. If you're now ready to sample real swing, here's a short but essential guide to the recordings that made the Big War so much fun. All records mentioned here are in print.
At right, note Alice Cooper's new impression of Talking Head David Byrne. Unfortunately, that's where the resemblance ends. As a matter of fact, we preferred Alice's previous incarnation as the Mikado.
Reeling and Rocking: Keep your eye out for the NBC-TV movie Living Proof, starring Richard Thomas as Hank Williams, Jr. The film traces the singer's life in the shadow of his father's legend, his near-fatal fall from Ajax Mountain, his recovery and his new musical success. In all, an inspiring bit of business.... James Brown will be reunited with Dan Aykroyd in the movie Dr. Detroit.... Twentieth Century-Fox has taped one of the concerts on The Who's farewell tour for TV and home video.... Dancing the Night Away Department: The Stones and Hal Ashby are requesting room for dancing in any theater where Time Is on Our Side plays.... Devo, The Cars, The Police, Oingo Boingo. and Blondie have all contributed songs to the sound track of a fairly sleazy-sounding movie, The Last American Virgin. Why? Says Billy Gerber, manager of Devo, "It's good business." ... Rick Springfield says he has yet another movie—a police story called Tango Palace—in the works, and rumor has it that Diana Ross may get involved with the project.
If there were a popularity contest to pick the most lovable screen character of the year, my prime candidate—running neck and neck with E.T., of course—would be Gandhi (Columbia). "This little brown man in the loincloth who led his country to freedom" is the subject of an engrossing, ennobling and grand biographical epic directed by England's Richard Attenborough. Assassinated in 1948, long before ashram and guru became buzz words for an entire generation, Mahatma Gandhi was a moral and spiritual giant among men, even among such illustrious world leaders as Roosevelt, Churchill and De Gaulle. Gandhi is portrayed with astonishing accuracy and inner light by a hitherto-little-known Anglo-Indian actor named Ben Kingsley, who makes the great exponent of nonviolent civil disobedience live again; his performance reminds us that we exist in an age hungry for heroes. That fact alone makes Gandhi an immensely moving saga.
Idol Gossip: Sylvester Stallone has been set to co-write, co-produce (with Robert Stigwood) and direct Paramount's sequel to Saturday Night Fever. Titled Staying Alive (after the popular Bee Gees song), the follow-up will star John Travolta, reprising his Tony Manero role. One fervently hopes that this will not mean the re-emergence of the disco craze.... Timothy Hutton and Ed Asner will Star in the Book of Daniel, based on E. L. Doctorow's novel loosely based on the Rosenbergs.... The three talented wackos who gave us Airplane!—Jerry Zucker, David Zucker and Jim Abrahams—have a new film project in the works called Top Secret. So far, it seems to be living up to its title: Paramount publicists were unable to say whether the title denotes the film's subject or simply means that the subject is top secret.... Universal is planning a sequel to Jaws 2, tentatively titled Jaws 3-D....Al Pacino has been set to star in Scarface, based on the classic 1932 film that Starred Paul Muni and George Raft. While the original was about Al Capone, the new version involves a Cuban who becomes a crime overlord.... The agenda at CBS-TV includes a made-for-TV movie based on the old Leave It to Beaver series. Called Still the Beaver, the film stars original-cast members Jerry Mathers (Beaver), Tony Dow (Wally), Barbara Billingsley (Mrs. Cleaver) and Ken Osmond (Eddie Haskell). The network also plans to reunite Robert Vaughn and David McCallum in Return of the Man from U.N.C.L.E.... Woody Allen, who customarily waits until postproduction to title his films, has named his new one prior to production. The Orion feature will be called Broadway Danny Rose.
The new year is not a bad time for us men to take stock of our situation, to ask ourselves where we've been and where we're going and how we'll get there. For 15 to 20 years, we've moved to the side lines while we've watched a necessary and revolutionary change in our society: the renewed fight for women's rights. That's where the action has been; that's where the sea change is occurring. So one of the questions we men confront today is whether or not we have anything to offer ourselves, our mates, our children, one another. Or are we essentially footnotes in the history of this time, unmindful of another struggle to which we have not attended: equal rights for men?
This is the first time I have written to you. I often read your column and find it most entertaining and helpful. I hope you can help me now. For the past few years, I have wanted to go to an orgy, a fuck fest, a party at which I could meet someone and swing just for the sake of sex. Now I have the opportunity to do it. My girlfriend knows someone (actually, he is someone she dated for a brief while) who can introduce us to that lifestyle. He may also prove to be an important business acquaintance for me. He is willing to help us if we can find him a suitable date. Apparently, this man is very successful, goes only to high-class parties of this type and wants a date who is successful, intelligent and attractive. This is an opportunity I don't want to miss. Therefore, I have two questions: Since we don't have any female friends who are interested in this sort of activity (we have already checked) and since my girlfriend already knows that he is not interested in her, how do we find a suitable date for him? And assuming that we attend one of those parties, is there a particular etiquette to follow? It would be the first time for both of us. How can we make the most of it?—J. G., Los Angeles, California.
After all the publicity in the past few years about the new woman, we want to find out what our Playmates think about a demon that haunted women in the past: envy of men. For all we know, the very word envy is out now, but we're checking on the feeling, whatever it's called these days.
When Thomas Lynn Brady left prison, his North Carolina homecoming was a moving demonstration of loyalty. He was met by his entire family, including elderly parents, young wife, daughter, brothers, a sister and in-laws; by the private investigator, the attorney and the various local officials who had helped secure his release. Earlier, the Playboy Defense Team had been there. Senior Editor William J. Helmer twice flew to Asheboro for hearings on a new trial. Brady himself already had spent three and a half years behind bars for allegedly abducting and raping—twice—a young Asheboro woman, who later aroused suspicion by accusing friends and members of Brady's family of crimes ranging from rape to arson to leaving threatening messages. After days of testimony and weeks of waiting, the judge decided that, in fact, the woman lacked credibility; that, except for the arson, possibly none of the crimes had ever occurred. Two days later, the prosecutor called a press conference to announce that he was dropping charges. Brady, in 1982, was a free man.
If an audition had been held just a few years ago to find someone who would become, by 1982, one of America's most popular sex symbols, Dudley Moore wouldn't have got past the stage door. At 5'2" and 47 years of age, with a clubfoot and a dirty mind, Moore isn't exactly cut from heroic cloth. But with two huge successes—in " '10' " and in "Arthur"—behind him and with three more big movies either breaking or in the offing, the British-born actor and comedian is one of the hottest screen talents in the world today. The fact that he both composes and plays music to professional and critical acclaim only adds to his popularity.
Until september tenth of 1970, I was a banker, head of a group of banks in Basel, Zurich, Geneva, Lugano and Luxembourg, with joint ventures brewing in Scandinavia and the Far East, all affiliated with the eighth-largest banking entity in the U.S. Heady stuff for a 38-year-old fellow. By noon of that day, it was all over. The Swiss police had arrested me. The charge—at least the eventual charge: My bank had lost $50 million in unauthorized speculation in precious metals and commodities. Since I had both founded the bank and run it as C.E.O., the theory was that I had engineered that financial misadventure. So I spent the next ten months in a medieval dungeon while they tried to prove it. After they let me out, I left Switzerland hurriedly and banking permanently and embarked upon a new life as a novelist, first in England, then in California.
The bedroom walls are pink silk, the bed a mauve-draped four-poster from a cheerleader's daydream. Two TV-acting types are trading overwrought lines as the smoky Los Angeles light slips in through lace-trimmed windows.
I'm underneath my small house in Deadrock. The real-estate people call it a starter home, however late in life you buy one. It's a modest house that gives you the feeling either that you're going places or that this won't do. This starter home is different; this one is it.
This selection of works collected by Boston dealer Charles Martignettc is the second in a series we will run over the next few years (the first appeared in October 1980). Martignette has what he believes is the world's largest private collection of erotica. On this spread are reproductions of engravings from a rare eight-volume edition of Casanova's Memoirs, published in Brussels in 1872. The first major illustrative version of the Memoirs, the engravings were based on 279 original drawings by Jean Adolph Chauvet, from which 102 prints were struck by Barraud. One of the copies of the edition, with drawings, was confiscated by U. S. Customs officials in 1946. That copy is now smoking up the stacks in the Library of Congress.
Those eyes. Soft, brown and inviting. Lonny Chin's eyes seem to hide nothing. There's a disarming openness in her gaze that relaxes strangers and warms friends. Lonny wants to be liked, and she succeeds.
It used to be OK to love your car—or at least to like it a lot. Open-road driving was a ball before cars became boring and 55 miles per hour was decreed the national automotive norm. The good news is that auto makers are striving to put the fun back into car ownership. Styling is shifting from boxy to aerodynamic, suspensions are moving from mushy to agile and high-spirited performance is finally returning. Convertibles are coming back, driver-oriented sports coupes and sedans are rolling off assembly lines both here and abroad and even two-seat sports cars are once again becoming available.
Eddie Murphy, a man of 21 years, has a check for $45,000 in his back pocket, a manager with tinted sunglasses standing near the bar, a producer from a Hollywood studio watching him from the door, a sound-and-video crew recording his every word, a full house chanting his name over and over again, a real-estate tycoon spotting him as an investment, a clean sweater and blue jeans covering his long, thin body, a gold watch on his dark wrist, a mother and a stepfather sitting close at a reserved table, a Datsun 280-ZX double parked on Second Avenue, calling him to fly (its dark, shiny shell gorgeous in the lit frenzy of an Upper East Side New York May night). Eddie Murphy stands onstage at a comedy club and smiles, showing his puppy-white teeth. He grabs the mike hard.
Each January, we invite leading menswear designers to select from their forthcoming lines a specific outfit that they predict will be an important influence on the direction men's fashion takes in the near future. This year's designers are Gil Truedsson, Andrew Fezza, Alan Flusser and Gene Pressman and Lance Karesh, who create exclusively for Basco Sportswear. The message derived from their selections is that the subtle, unexpected use of colors and fabrics is often just as important as sweeping style changes that are more trendy than tasteful. Check out the way these designers have wed neutral shades to faded pastels. The looks are simple, stylish and fresh—fashion words to live by in the year ahead.
In my first years at the Warsaw Yiddish Writers' Club, I became known as an editor of manuscripts. Working as a proofreader for the Literarishe Bleter, I had published a few stories and reviews and had edited a book or two for the Kletzkin Publishing Company. They paid pennies, but I could live on pennies. I was a boarder in a private apartment where the rent was cheap, and I had no need for clothes; year in and year out, my clothes lasted. I had still (continued on page 212)Why Heisherik was Born(continued from page 155) not found my way as a writer, and I spent most of my time with beginners like myself.
Every American knows about Paul Revere's epic ride to immortality in 1775. With all due respect to the dauntless equestrian, we have something different, though equally exciting, in mind: an exuberant midnight-till-morn romp into the new Year. It may not ensure your place in the history books, but it's bound to be one hell of a fling. The climax of this come-late, stay-late revel is a rejuvenating New Year's breakfast as the morning sun smiles over the horizon.
Unless you are an orphan or an extraterrestrial, your parents probably expect you to return to the old homestead every year for the holidays. Never mind that you have a girlfriend or a wife with whom you would like to share those special days. Never mind that you're not eager to subject her to a visit with your folks. Never mind that she has parents who expect her to return to her old homestead.
George Hurrell sits in the darkroom of his San Fernando Valley house, working on his latest assignment—a photographic portrait of a Texas oil baron and his wife. With an X-acto knife, he scratches away at the gigantic 8" x 10" black-and-white negative, actually removing part of the man's cheeks, making him look slimmer, younger and, well, more glamorous. It's painstaking work—one slip will ruin the negative and send Hurrell into a sputtering rage—and it seems out of place for Hurrell to be doing it himself. He is, after all, one of the most famous men in photography, the legendary king of the Hollywood glamor photographers for more than 56 years, a man who can easily afford to have someone else do the drudgery—the developing, the retouching, the prints themselves.
<p>At first glance, it looked like a Wang word processor—it had a Wang keyboard and a Wang casing. It was only at second glance that Richard Hagstrom saw that the casing had been slit open (and not gently, either; it looked to him as if the job had been done with a hack-saw blade) to admit a slightly larger IBM cathode-ray tube. The archive disks that had come with this odd mongrel were not floppy at all; they were as hard as the 45s Richard had listened to as a kid.</p>
Hugh hefner's bucking the establishment again. No sooner does The Washington Post dub me "the Darth Vader of the Nixon Administration" than Playboy asks me to play Han Solo and tell you the kinds of things I find funny. Well, aside from the fact that I find such a request the funniest thing since they sat down to grade John Sirica's bar-exam paper, there are at least nine other things I find to laugh about in this world.
If you figure that about half of the world's four billion people are women, you'll understand our difficulty in choosing 12 of the most beautiful to grace our centerfolds each year. But it's a job we relish; and we're pretty good at it, if we do say so. Witness the pulchritudinous selection here. And just think: There are 1,999,999,988 girls to go before we collapse.
Once, near Onyang, there lived two brothers with a strange intelligence. They could understand the speech of birds and they could sense the origins of things. One day, when they were very young, they walked along a path through the rice fields. One of the brothers suddenly said,"Look, the grass on the left side of the path has been eaten."
For everything there is a season, and in keeping with this season of celebration, we take time out every January to cast an appreciative gaze on our contributors and reward them for work above and beyond the call of duty. Each of the editors in the three creative departments—Art, Editorial and Photography—votes, but the choice is not easy. Which article would you pick as the single best last year? Which short story moved you most? Which was the very best Playmate pictorial? Which was the most memorable cartoon? See what we mean? While we believe that everyone who makes it into these pages is special, some are more special than others. Suffice it to say that these winners hit us with their best shots, and we think they were right on target. Each writer, artist, photographer and cartoonist chosen will receive $1000 and an impressive medallion for the trophy room—and, we hope, a good dose of encouragement.
Herschel Walker is only 20 years old and in his junior year at the University of Georgia, but many football observers believe he is already the best running back in the history of the game. An honors student in both high school and college, he also has a fetish for clean living.
Here's our heroine with wanda in the rugged landscape of San Rafeal, just above San Francisco, where redwoods and hot tubs abound. Like San Rafael itself, the hot tub has a youthful appeal. It's healthy. It's clean. It's therapeutic. And mainly you know that if you get a girl into your tub, it's only a matter of time till you're into hers.
Come Labor Day, the fashion pundits of yore preached, it was out with the whites and in with the dark, somber shades of clothing, perhaps to pay subconscious homage to the dark months of the year. But, let's face it, the times they have a-changed. (It seems unnecessary to point out that mother nature herself dresses a good part of the country in white for the winter.) A white wool-tweed sports jacket combined with a not-too-subtly colored shirt (perhaps incorporating a contrasting white collar), plus charcoal slacks and a plaid tie, is just as stylish a fashion statement in January as it is in June. And the same goes for a colorful sweater teamed up with white-flannel slacks. Of course, if you step out dressed like Ricardo Montalban on Fantasy Island, expect people to greet you with good humor and order ice cream all around. But, treated as another color or as just a backdrop, winter white is beautiful, too.
With the temperature at ten below and two inches of ice on the streets, more and more joggers, cyclists and physical-fitness buffs are waking up to the advantages of spinning their wheels indoors. Exercise, after all, should be taken where you can get it, and a stationary bicycle can provide the same benefits that you'd derive from a good sprint in the park. But the real news is that stationary cycles have evolved into electronic supercoaches. They can now adjust your work load, count your progress, take your pulse and even give you a buzz when you've jacked up your heart rate beyond its recommended limit. (Several models even contain minicomputers into which you enter your age, weight and sex; the machine then tells you how long to work out.) So if you want to have the cardiovascular capacity of a sump pump but would rather not hazard the vagaries of cold weather and slick streets, put a little movable excitement between your legs. Be a pedal pusher.