John and Robert Kennedy personified the ideals of the Sixties; they were as golden as the future they hoped to bring about. Now John and Bobby are gone, and no one has missed their leadership more than their troubled, tarnished inheritors. This month, Peter Collier and David Horowitz, authors of Young Kennedys: The Decline of an American Dynasty (from their book The Kennedys, to be published in the U.S. by Summit and in the U.K. by Secker and Warburg), reveal how the heirs to the Kennedy legacy have lost their way on the road from Camelot. The result of four years' research, Young Kennedys finds J.F.K.'s nephews living a cycle of pain and self-destruction, getting in trouble with drugs, violence and the police. Due to the insularity of the Kennedy clan, "researching this story was riskier than investigating the Weather Underground, which we did several years ago," says Horowitz.
The February Playboy Interview with Paul Simon is excellent. In our mass-produced, no-return era of planned obsolescence, it's refreshing to find someone who has made a successful career out of quality. I was glad to find out that Simon at last realizes his work has made a difference in countless lives, but I find that revelation difficult to reconcile with his decision not to release his antinuclear work, Citizen of the Planet. If he believes his artistic statements can truly make a difference, why should he withhold a beautifully crafted song on the most important issue facing mankind?
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), May, 1984, Volume 31, Number 5. 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: Walter Joyce, Divisional Promotion Director; Ed Condon, Director/Direct Marketing; Jack Bernstein, Circulation Promotion Director. Advertising: Charles M. Stentiford, Advertising Director; Michael Druckman, Jeffrey Kleinman, Craig Vander Ploeg, Senior Associate Managers; Jay Remer, National Alcoholic Beverages Manager, 747 Third Avenue, New York, New York 10017; Russ Weller, Midwest Advertising Manager, 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611; 3001 W. Big Beaver Road, Troy, Michigan 48084; Los Angeles 90010, Stanley L. Perkins, Manager, 4311 Wilshire Boulevard; San Francisco 94104, Tom Jones, Manager, 417 Montgomery Street.
You gotta love a group that calls itself Burning Sensations. And the LP of the same name on Capitol contains our favorite should-be hit single since the Divinyls' Boys in Town. This one's called Belly of the Whale--as in "I feel like Jonah in the belly of"--and it's got moves Marcus Allen would envy. The Sensations' style is a smart pastiche of current hip influences, Caribbean ascendant, but slammed together aggressively, with hard New Wave as glue. In places, it sounds like heavy calypso or the darker side of island dreams. No wimping around here. Sensations, burn on!
Grace Note: A lot of pretty rock faces have come and gone since Grace Slick took her first flight with the Jefferson Airplane back in 1967. We asked Pamela Marin to talk with Slick for an assessment of the current crop of female rockers. Here's the score card.
From his lips to your Ear Department: Do you have your Stone Phone yet? The phone is designed to look like the tongue-and-lips trademark used by The Stones and is available now, according to Tri-Star International, the manufacturer. Lips, do your stuff.
Ed McBain's new Matthew Hope mystery, Jack and the Beanstalk (Holt, Rinehart & Winston), finds the likable Florida lawyer entangled with two gorgeous women who drop by to swim nude in his pool, as well as with some cattle rustling, a mysterious parentage or two and the unworthiest villain of the year. There's a big plot twist every 50 pages or so, but the tale's resolution, straight and flat as a Florida highway, is a letdown. McBain tries to mix old-fashioned, hard-boiled detection and quichy modernism, but we suspect Matthew Hope would be eaten alive in a real world full of real bad guys.
Sean Penn, Nicolas Cage and Elizabeth McGovern are a dynamic trio of rising young stars who make Racing with the Moon (Paramount) look luminous even when the screenplay goes dim. The time is late 1942; the place is Point Muir, California, where Penn and Cage portray two teenaged buddies about to become Marine Corps cannon fodder during World War Two. It's all about youth and sex and bowling and abortions and small-town America's innocence and coming of age on the eve of doomsday. McGovern is an irresistible ingénue who lives in the big house on the hill and is thought to be rich, though she's actually the housemaid's daughter. But director Richard Benjamin and fledgling writer Steven Kloves, a 23-year-old UCLA dropout with a plucky sense of humor, seem so preoccupied with romantic period atmosphere that they often ignore such essentials as logic, perception and basic motivation. While Racing is a fudged throwback to such movies as American Graffiti and Summer of '42, the performers occasionally, against mounting odds, transform the film's deep-purple prose into poetry.[rating]2-1/2 bunnies[/rating]
Idol Gossip: Comedian Albert Brooks, whose last film was Modern Romance, is back before and behind the cameras with Lost in America, co-starring former Airplane! stewardess Julie Hagerty. Star, director and co-writer of the script, Brooks describes the flick as a contemporary romantic comedy "about a married couple who drop out of society ten years too late."... Margot Kidder, Ted (Cheers) Danson and Burt Lancaster are set to appear in Tri-Star's Little Treasure, a romance/adventure about an ex--bank robber (Lancaster) who leaves his daughter (Kidder) a treasure map and about her subsequent search for the buried loot.... Also on the roster at Tri-Star is Songwriter, a zany look at the ups and downs of the world of country-and-western music, starring Kris Kristofferson, Willie Nelson, Lesley Ann Warren, Rip Torn and Melinda Dillon.... Sexy Rebecca De Mornay, who played the young hooker in Risky Business, has been signed to co-star with Michael O'Keefe in Neil Simon'sThe Slugger's Wife.... Film maker Paul Bartel, whose low-budget black comedy Eating Raoul delighted critics and filmgoers alike, will make a sequel in which Paul and Mary enter a political race. Tentative title: Bland Ambition. Meanwhile, Bartel plans to release Not for Publication, a madcap comedy revolving around a gossip tabloid, starring David Naughton and Nancy Allen.... William Friedkin has been signed to direct Sea Trial, based on the Frank De Felitta novel about a couple who charter a sailboat and get themselves into a series of life-threatening situations.... Christopher Reeve and Rosanna Arquette co-star with Jack Warden and Sam Wanamaker in MGM/UA's The Aviator, based on the Ernest K. Gann tale about pilots flying the mail in the early days of aviation.
Order the noisemakers. Design the cake. MTV's coming up on its third birthday. Almost alone, the all-music channel has turned a promotional fillip called the music video into the biggest force in music since Mick first licked his lips.
Sure, it's a tough world out there in corporate America. The competition is fierce: new technologies to master, tightening budgets, fast-moving economies, more people qualified for fewer jobs--when you think about it, your own prospects for business success can sometimes seem more remote than ever.
Last Month, after writing my column, I felt guilty. I listed God knows how many complaints women have against men, and before I knew it, my time was up and I hadn't said one pleasant thing about the male gender.
This is probably the stupidest letter you've ever gotten, but it's about something that bothers me immensely. When I was 17 (I'm 19 now), I had a boyfriend whom I didn't especially like. He kept bugging me about having sex with him, saying I was too old to still be a virgin. One day, I went to his house with the intention of leaving with my virtue intact. He proceeded to tear off my pants. He was tearing my pubic hair so I decided to submit and let my pants down. Is it true that a girl can tighten herself up so much that a guy has no way to get through? Anyway, he tried to push his way through despite my protests. That pushing went on for ten to 15 minutes, then his father came home. Thank God! I didn't bleed after that, but I wasn't sure whether or not we'd made love, so I told all my friends that I finally "did it." Now there's a guy I really love, and I willingly went to bed with him. It was a much nicer experience, but afterward there was blood. I'm very religious and wanted to be with only one guy. But now I'm confused. Do you think I've had one or two lovers? It's really hard to explain to my friends (whom I told that I already made love with someone) that I was naïve and didn't know the difference. I would like your opinion on this, and please don't make a joke about it. Do you think I'm crazy?--Miss M. L., San Diego, California.
We like the answers to this month's question from a reader for two reasons: One, they are inventive and two, each of the Playmates apologized to her mother before responding. So with that in mind, we come to the subject of unusual places to make love.
Last December was abnormally harsh in Minneapolis. One of the century's worst cold snaps was augmented by a chilling union of radical feminists and moral conservatives, who together produced one of the most bizarre legal offspring ever to be born in that normally sensible city. It was an ordinance intended to combat pornography by allowing a woman to file charges against producers and sellers of sexually explicit materials on the grounds that such materials violated her civil rights. With the ordinance passed by a close vote in the city council, only a veto by Mayor Don Fraser saved his city from becoming a national laughing-stock. Nevertheless, the strange coalition that supported the bill was heartened by its limited success, and the show may now go on the road to other communities with less courageous mayors.
Like most drug-control agencies, the narcotics division of the Indiana State Police considers cocaine dangerous and believes that increasing public awareness of the problem is finally giving it the support needed to do something about it. So far, so good; the drug that for years was billed as a harmless plaything of the rich has proved to be as hard on some people as on the laboratory monkeys who decided they liked it better than food or sex. Unfortunately, the police can also become victims of excess, and in Indiana, they perceived that public support granted them license to return to the Reefer Madness school of crime control, sacrificing basic principles of justice along with good police work and good judgment in an exercise of zeal that once again has given law enforcement a bad name. In Indianapolis, a seven-month, no-holds-barred investigation culminated in the arrests of several harmless individuals whose criminality fell dismally short of the Scarface model. One actually went to jail for the sale of a small amount of cocaine to an undercover officer. Eight others pleaded guilty to reduced charges or were exonerated, thanks to the kind of bad police work that saddles good police work with the legal safeguards that serious lawbreakers rely on to stay in business.
Many have speculated on whether or not certain conditions predispose an individual to acquired immune-deficiency syndrome (AIDS). Genetic factors, drug use and certain viruses have all been suspected of breaking down the immune system and exposing the body to whatever infective agent (if any) causes AIDS. Certainly, medical authorities aren't the only ones who have guessed that anal sex may have something to do with AIDS among homosexuals. Until the present, nobody has shown us proof.
Calvin Klein sips vodka in the expansive living room of his Central Park West apartment, nervous, as usual, over the ritual of yet another fashion show--the introduction of his 1984 spring-and-summer collection. After days of fittings, choosing music, adjusting lights and warning the slightly androgynous-looking models not to wear any jewelry or too much make-up, Klein holds court on the phone, stretched out on a mammoth L-shaped couch.
There have been dozens of Playmate success stories, but the lady at the top of this page is the one to beat this season. Since she graced our June 1980 centerfold, multitalented Ola Ray has appeared in three feature films and several television commercials and, as the "Classy Curl" girl, has promoted that Johnson Products hair preparation (her face is on the box). But it's her performance as Michael Jackson's terrified girlfriend in his wildly popular rock video Thriller that has finally made Miss Ray's face as familiar to boogieing middle America as it is to her admiring Playboy fans. Although we've checked in with Ola a couple of times over the past few years, usually via The World of Playboy, her appearance in the lavishly produced Thriller (directed by John Landis, who brought you National Lampoon's Animal House, The Blues Brothers and Trading Places) was cause for a longer interview.
Jane Smart in her pleated whites tossed up the tennis ball. It became in mid-air a bat, its wings circled in small circumference at first and, next instant, snapped open like an umbrella as the creature flicked away with its pink, blind face. Jane shrieked, dropped her racket and called across the net, "That was not funny."
Actually, any guy who wins the Olympic decathlon, becomes an NBC sports commentator, races cars for Ford and stars in a made-for-TV movie in which he's the only white player on an otherwise all-black football team can wear, as Ed McMahon would say, "anything he wants to" when playing golf, tennis, biking or boating. But Bruce Jenner wants the right stuff on his back just as much as you do, and that's why he (along with his lovely wife) agreed to appear in this feature. And even if you never get any closer to teeing off at Pebble beach than the 19th hole, pro togs are also fun to hang out in. Briefly, here's what to look for. Sailing: The function of sailing gear is to keep you dry and warm. Maneuverability is also important, along with bright colors--in case you take an unexpected dip. Play it smart and lay on extra layers to cut the morning chill; then shed them as the day progresses. Biking: Bike gear should fit snugly, like a second skin, to cut down on air drag. Colors are often bright but toughened up with black accents. If you're going for serious distance, cleatless shoes, special gloves, protective headgear and cycling shorts with a padded seat are the only way to fly. Tennis: Classic whites and natural fibers are fine, but shorts will travel better and stay crisp-looking longer if they're made from a fabric blend. Golf: The links are the place for flash. Madras slacks and a brightly colored shirt will ensure that you stand out against all that green. Everything should be roomy--to allow for your Nicklaus swing. Best of all, in these outfits, you can double-fault, dump the bike or the boat or wind up in the rough and you'll still look like a big winner.
Do you ever feel like the man who knew too much? Does that old Carly Simon line--"I wish that I never knew some of those secrets of yours"--ever ring a little too true? There is such a thing as excess information--and too much information can kill. (Ask James Bond.) There are certain questions that should not be answered. There are some that should not even be asked.
We were in phoenix, cruising in Patty Duffek's vintage Mustang, a '67 ragtop in the throes of restoration. Patty's driving style is all-American: Point it and punch it, left hand on the wheel and right hand darting periodically to the stereo. She loves the car. You can tell by the way she sits in it, head high, body hunched forward, like a jockey on a favorite horse.
It was years and years ago that the mayor of a small town went down to the livery stable as founder's day approached. "I'd like to rent the same stallion I did last year to lead the parade on," he told the owner.
There's an abiding myth that only Hell's Angels and bad guys in black hats take their liquor neat--in straight shots. It ain't necessarily so. Granted, social oracles have dubbed these times the era of the cocktail revolution, and the mixed drink is king. We wouldn't have it any other way. Nevertheless, there's always the danger of throwing out the baby with the bath water. In all the enthusiasm for cocktails, the fact that certain potions are structured to be taken in their purity has been overlooked. After all, Europeans still prefer their potables unblended and uniced--and they're old hands at the game. Situations abound in which shots are traditional. A nip of calvados taken neat in the middle of a meal is a feature of every substantial dinner in Normandy. The interlude even has a formal name, le trou Normand, or Norman hole--because it allegedly clears a path for the remainder of the meal. Beer may be the German national quaff, but when it comes to serious drinking, the Herren down clear white schnapps by the glassful. Bolshevik tipplers are even more serious; they've been known to dispatch a pint of vodka between the state liquor store and home. Grappa and marc, distillates of grapeskins, are standard eye openers, particularly in rural areas of Italy and France. Mexicans chug their claro tequila with a lick of salt and a bite of lime. No ice or agua, por favor. And after a bone-chilling day outdoors, what could thaw you better than a shot of some potent juice in its original undiluted form?
Given your druthers, you'd row your heart and circulatory system to better health--as well as build up the muscles in your back, stomach, arms, shoulders and legs--by shoving off for a brisk scull session on a lovely body of water (presumably, with another type of lovely body, plus liquid refreshments, waiting on the shore). If you can't pull that off, however, your next best move is to invest in a rowing machine. After all, how bad can it be when you can work out and watch TV at the same time? Assuming you've never rowed in your living room before, here are some tips. First, keep your rowing action smooth and flowing. Exhale during the catch (that's when your legs are pulled into your chest and the oars are at the starting point) and inhale on the release (when your legs are straight and the oars are pulled back). Keep your arms straight and pull them into your chest on the release. Always keep your back straight, bending at the hips rather than at the waist. Most come with more detailed rowing instructions, and all, you'll be happy to know, can be adjusted for different pulling resistances.
Its that time of year again. After miles of aisles, we sat down to recall our favorite moments spent in dark theaters during the past 12 months. There was the air-bike ride through the forest in Return of the Jedi. There was the return of Sean Connery. One critic labeled The Right Stuff the best collection of male talent since The Magnificent Seven. The Big Chill and Terms of Endearment showed the power of big names' making small roles perfect. It was a year when women got tired of asking where the good parts were and played men (Linda Hunt in The Year of Living Dangerously, Anne Carlisle in Liquid Sky). If you believed that Streisand was a boy in Yentl, you've got problems. It was the year Clint Eastwood became the number-one box-office star. It was all that and more. For further highlights, turn the page.
The last time I checked, Buffalo Bob Smith was still living. But not in living color. It was a good 30 years ago that Buffalo Bob first visited our house. He was in the middle of a large piece of furniture and it took two men to carry him in. It was a very nice piece of furniture, a deep, rich mahogany that my mother polished at least twice a week; when it reached its highest gloss, she placed her finest vase of artificial flowers right on top. We would spend some of our best hours in front of that piece of furniture, watching Lucille Ball and Milton Berle and the Friday-night fights and Howdy Doody and Buffalo Bob. For a long time when I was a kid, it was a major life goal of mine to make it into Buffalo Bob's Peanut Gallery, his studio audience full of kids who obviously had better network connections than I did. Later in life, I would do the antler dance with Lily Tomlin on the stage of NBC's Saturday Night Live, but it just wasn't the same.
Understanding television was simple. There was no channel one. We all knew that. There were 12 V.H.F. channels (you got them by playing with rabbit ears) and 70 possible U.H.F. channels (you got them by moving a loop back and forth). V.H.F. had all the network stuff and the decent movies and the world series. U.H.F. had the Gilligan's Island reruns. Simple enough.
Learning how to use a computer is easy: You turn it on, put in a disk and push a few buttons. That's all there is to using a computer. Everything else is programs. When people want to "learn how to use a computer," what they usually want to do is learn a few computer programs.
Now that you're no longer intimidated by computer programs (oh, sure), we thought it would be helpful to give you some idea of what sort of software is out there. You've probably heard that computer programs can help you do everything from keeping an electronic datebook to storing your recipes. To tell you the truth, we're not sure why you'd need a computer to do those things. You want to remember how to make chicken Kiev? Put it on an index card. We've found many more exciting keyboard adventures for you. There are thousands of programs available, at just about every price. Our Playboy Guide test team tried hundreds of them. We recommend the following.
Perhaps the most important element of the big-league point of view is a clear perspective on the business transacted between the pitcher's mound and home plate. To appreciate how major-leaguers go about watching a baseball game, study the starting pitcher and study him hard, paying particular attention to the first inning. Both he and his foes are trying to figure out what he's got that night; his first dozen pitches will often set the tone for the game.
Jogging is in, but not as far in as it used to be. Now there's power walking, a new discipline that gets you to the same place in terms of distance and fitness using weights and a rhythmic stride. But whether you do a mile in four or 40 minutes, these ultratech accessories will help you keep the bionic pace with all those $6,000,000 speedsters out there, at only one-thousandth the price. Start with the Logjammer Weight Vest. Its 44 steel weights add 42 pounds to the load you're carrying, which will discourage sprinting but encourage cardiovascular ferocity. Grab some one-pound Heavyhands and one-half-pound Lace Weights and you'll be a real tour-de-force two-stepper.
Wearing the same watch every day is like wearing the same pair of pants. You can do it--but why would you want to? Nobody, except possibly Steve Martin, steps out in a tux and tennis shoes anymore, and the same rule of thumb extends to the wrist--a jogging watch is right for a five-mile lope, but at a black-tie dinner, forget it. There also are dual-time-zone watches, for those who cross continents the way some people cross the street, and even a model housing a compass. Possibly the ultimate display of hands, however, is the Rolex Oyster Perpetual Datejust. It's like a Rolls: If you have to ask how much it costs, you can't afford it
Jesse Jackson, the most charismatic black leader since Martin Luther King, Jr., talks about his presidential candidacy, his mission to Syria, the racial climate in America and his views on Jews, Blacks and Arabs in a hard-hitting Playboy Interview