June has always been songwriters' favorite month because it rhymes with so many words--spoon, tune, jejune. June has also been a favorite month for Playboy readers, because that is when they moon, croon and otherwise swoon over the latest dazzling Playmate of the Year. Admirers of this year's model, of course, are in special company:Kimberley Conrad (a.k.a. Miss January 1988) is Editor-in-Chief Hugh M. Hefner's bride-to-be. So she'll go from the cover in June to a Hefner honeymoon. Somebody ought to write a song.
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), June 1989, Volume 36, Number 6. Published monthly by Playboy. Playboy Building, 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Subscription: $26 for 12 issues, U.S. Canada, $39 for 12 issues, All other foreign, $39 U.S. Currency only. For new and renewal orders and change of address, send to Playboy Subscriptions, P.O. Box 2007, Harlan, Iowa 51537-4007. Please allow 6--8 weeks for processing. For change of Address, send new and old addresses. Postmaster send form 3579 to Playboy, P.O. Box 2007, Harlan, Iowa 51537-4007, and allow 45 days for change. Advertising: New York: 747 Third Avenue, New York 10017; Chicago: 919 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago 60611. West Coast: Perkins, Fox & Perkins, 3205 Ocean Park Boulevard, Suite 100, Santa Monica, California 90405.
Three years ago, Kadeem Hardison was, in his words, "just another Brooklyn B-boy, out here tryin' to get over." Today, Hardison, 23, has gotten over as Dwayne Wayne, the woman-crazy leading man on NBC's A Different World. When Hardison arrived--sans flip-up shades--for his interview at MTM studios, he flashed that Dwayne Wayne jive-ass smile that gives Eddie Murphy's a run for its money. We asked him to summarize Dwayne's approach to women.
What can you reasonably hope for in life? "Not too damn much," drawls Scott Glenn, playing a carnival roustabout, pretty much summing up the philosophy and psychology of Miss Firecracker (Corsair). Director Thomas Schlamme's cheeky film version of the off-Broadway hit play The Miss Firecracker Contest, by Beth (Crimes of the Heart) Henley, is a human comedy with heart, high spirits and another flashy performance by Holly Hunter, a 1988 Oscar nominee for Broadcast News. In the role she originated on stage, Hunter plays Carnelle Scott, a do-or-die beauty contestant with touched-up red hair and a reputation as "Miss Hot Tamale," one of the easiest gals in Yazoo City, Mississippi. Carnelle is one of those valiant losers who are heroines to author Henley. Her role model is her cousin Elaine, a faded Miss Firecracker of 1972, played with fine, giddy desperation by Mary Steenburgen. Tim Robbins plays another cousin, recently sprung from a mental hospital, who finds himself attracted to a cuddlesome black seamstress known as Popeye (Alfre Woodard). All too often, the line between character and caricature is so dim that Miss Firecracker could be mistaken for a Tennessee Williams parody. But in its strongest scenes, Henley's unabashed affection for these Southernfried scamps becomes contagious.
Lorraine Bracco, 34, is a striking exception to the rule that gorgeous models in movies usually become either leading ladies or living statues but rarely make it as respected character actresses. Bracco accomplished the switch with the same panache that got her started modeling as a teenager, when she showed up unannounced at Manhattan's ultrachic Wilhelmina Agency. "I had no portfolio, no experience. Wilhelmina eyed me and said, 'I don't know what you've got, kid, but you've got something.'" While working in Paris, she met actor Harvey Keitel. Before long, the two were married and she abandoned the world of haute couture for that of showbiz. A couple of bit roles led to a part in a David Rabe play at New York's Lincoln Center along with Keitel, Madonna and Sean Penn ("I was terrified...but whatever you may hear, they're both kind, giving people"). The play brought her to the attention of an agent, who got her screen-tested for her breakthrough role as Tom Berenger's betrayed wife in Someone to Watch over Me. Her Queens-housewife angst stole the movie, and Bracco was on her way. She has subsequently been cast as "a mugged music teacher" in Sing, as the addled former love of Michael Keaton in The Dream Team (see review), as AI Pacino's ex-wife in the upcoming Sea of Love--and has just finished "a little gem" of a role in a film by Italy's Lina Wertmüller. "I love being a chameleon, breaking the notions people have about former models who act. It's a real charge to see yourself on the cover of a fashion magazine, but films are a more soul-searching experience, something you've lived."
Listen up, guys. You don't have to pump up your biceps or perfect your backhand to impress the woman in your life. Instead, fix her leaky faucet, build her some book-shelves, tune her car--these are the manly arts about which she'll brag to her friends. Here are a few fix-it videos to help you hammer your way into her heart.
As he does in his stand-up act, comedian Louie Anderson feeds his VCRs ("I have four of them--one for each TV") a balanced diet of both the silly and the significant. "I like movies that deal with reality--that make you look deep inside yourself. Like Dominick and Eugene--that's about real feelings, real people; and Big is great because it combines the horrors of being an adult with the dreams of being a child. Being There is a summation of how simple and difficult life is, and Blue Velvet is extraordinary--the sort of movie I might watch with someone else, but not with Dennis Hopper." For lighter viewing, Anderson chooses early John Hughes--Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club--"and, of course, I love Casablanca," he adds. "You can watch that alone or with a thousand people and still feel the same way each time."
Best Video Sedative:About Jerry Falwell;Second-Best Video Sedative:In Conversation with Joan Collins;Most Redundant Video Title:Fundamentalist Jokes;Best Thrill-a-Minute Video:Kosher Labels on Foods;Grossest Parenting Video Title:How to Give Baby;Worst Video Tax Guide:Reverend Moon & Tax Exemptions;Favorite Video Onomatopoeia:Boom! Bang! Whap! Doink!: John Madden on Football;Best It's-a-Living Video:Violin Bow Rehairing.
Talk to Me: "Your Interactive Home Video Psychiatrist": Yep, a 30-minute shrink session for only ten bucks. Stars avuncular Laugh-In vet Jack Hanrahan, who elicits your heart-to-TV confessions with such responses as "How long have you felt this way?" "Don't hold back" and, everyone's favorite, "Um-hmm" (Horizon Entertainment).
Hot Hitachi: Driving to Grandma's but don't want to miss the big game? Hitachi is rolling out a five-inch LCD TV made exclusively for your car. It has a scanning tuner with a 20-watt-per-channel stereo audio amp, A/V inputs and a nifty computer-controlled antenna system that keeps your picture picture-perfect.... Meanwhile, if you're tired of trying to make sense out of VCR manuals, check out Hitachi's VT-3044. It has a feature called Intelescan, a built-in on-screen manual for directions and trouble shooting that you can access straight from your remote control--assuming you know how to work that.
Showbiz Biography is traditionally a disgusting form of literary necrophagia. What puts two new biographies a cut above the grave robbers is that they concentrate on the work (as opposed to the "intimate, personal lives") of two extraordinary men.
I have an idea that the people who run singles ads in these give-away weeklies, which have names like Beach Gazette, Reflections and Folio, are not having much luck because none of them seem to be sports fans. I'm certainly not antifucking, but isn't there a place for Wimbledon, or a Yankee--Red Sox series, or a Notre Dame--USC game in their lives?
Paul was a hell of a kid," Joseph Kinney says of his younger brother. "He was a fourth grader when I was in Vietnam. His school class adopted me and my fellow grunts. We were their heroes. They sent us letters and drawings and small gifts. I was thirteen thousand miles away from those kids, but every time I got a package from them, they reminded me that there was something left to live for."
There's something we have to talk about. I thought it was all settled years ago, 1975 maybe, when men and women were in the throes of ironing out their differences. Way before we figured out who opened the door for whom, who got to call whom for a date, whose orgasm was most important, I thought we'd already sorted out the money thing.
Where does one carry a condom so that he's prepared in case a too-good-to-pass-up opportunity presents itself? A wallet seems to be a poor storage place. So does a pocket in a pair of trousers. Keeping condoms in a vehicle's glove box would put them closer than the nearest drugstore but not as convenient as having them stashed somewhere on or near my person. I've been pleasantly surprised often enough on first dates that I'd like to have condoms available, without their being conspicuous in case nothing happens. Any suggestions of places to carry them? How about a combination business-card case and condom holder? Is there such a thing?--J. S., Hoffman Estates, Illinois.
"I think people need to recognize that...those of us who have been so much influenced by violence in the media, in particular pornographic violence, are not some kind of inherent monsters. We are your sons and we are your husbands. And we grew up in regular families. And pornography can reach out and snatch a kid out of any house today. It snatched me out of my home twenty, thirty years ago. And as diligent as my parents were--and they were diligent in protecting their children--and as good a Christian home as we had--and we had a wonderful Christian home--there is no protection against the kind of influences that are loose in society. ...I've lived in prison for a long time now, and I've met a lot of men who were motivated to commit violence, just like me. And without exception, every one of them was deeply involved in pornography, without question, without exception, deeply influenced and consumed by an addiction to pornography."--Ted Bundy, in an interview with James Dobson, a religious broadcaster, on the eve of his execution for murder.
The state may have an interest in seeing that a child, like any other citizen, comes within its reach. This same interest, however, when it deals with potential human life, leads to a logical conclusion that could become legal tyranny.
Last July, when Time magazine ran the cover story "Hispanic Culture Breaks Out of the Barrio," about the rise of the fastest-growing population in America, the face gracing the cover was that of Edward James Olmos. At that time, the craggy, intense face was familiar primarily to aficionados of "Miami Vice," on which he plays the darkly enigmatic Lieutenant Martin Castillo. But Time pinpointed what others in the entertainment industry had believed for years: "He is not only possibly the best Hispanic-American actor of his generation but one of the best performers working today." Olmos' 1988 portrayal of the heroic inner-city math teacher Jaime Escalante in "Stand and Deliver" served to confirm that status and earned him an Academy Award nomination for Best Actor.
Campus Racism A Special Report: Reassessing the Roots
David J. Dent
In 1960, 75 percent of all black American college students attended traditionally black schools. Then the civil rights movement and Federally funded financial-aid programs threw open the doors of previously white schools. The black colleges were virtually ignored in the rush by many black collegians to enroll in the theretofore forbidden white schools. The result: By 1984, only 14 percent of black American collegians were enrolled at black schools.
Unlike the average 24-year-old, Dana Plato did not spend a large portion of her youth watching television. She was too busy living television. For seven years, in the long-running comedy series Diff'rent Strokes, she was the sweetly smiling epitome of the teen-queen schoolgirl--5'2", freckle-faced, with twinkling blue-green eyes and a blonde ponytail. And by then, she was already considered an old-timer in the business. "I started when I was six," she recalls. "It wasn't the result of a master plan or anything. I was studying ballet and was having trouble at a recital. There I was on the stage, crying for my mommy, when an agent in the audience saw me. And that was that."
On My Way Back home from Europe, I saw a beautiful woman with a very small baby and a son of about 13. They were sitting across the aisle from me in the aircraft. The baby could not have been more than ten days old. It had abundant black fine hair standing up from its head the way hair lifts from a scalp under water, as if the hair had been combed, floating, by the waters of the womb. The pathetic little bent legs had never been used. The eyelids were thick and lifted slowly, a muscular impulse still being tested, revealing an old and wondering gaze: eyes very dark but no color that could be described as black or blue. Perhaps color has something to do with focus, and it was focusing only now and then--that was the wondering--on the face of the mother. Or, rather, the gaze of the mother. She would look into its face and its eyes would open like buds. The strange concentration between them was joined, frequently, by that of the boy.
Cat Fight! That's what the producers of Donahue were trying to stage, thought Erica Jong, when they booked her with Andrea Dworkin in the spring of 1987. Both were feminists, both were writers, but the parallels stopped there. Jong, author of the 1973 best seller Fear of Flying and other popular novels featuring frolicsome heroines, was one of the country's most widely recognized voices of sexual liberation. Her books spread the idea that women could emancipate themselves by adopting the same jaunty attitude toward sex long held by men. It was Jong who had coined that memorable phrase the zipless fuck.
To paraphrase an old axiom, you can never be too thin, too rich or own too many wrist watches. In fact, a well-chosen watch wardrobe says as much about a man's taste and personality as does his choice in cars, suits, ties and shoes. Also, less is often more when choosing a timepiece. Diamonds may be a girl's best friend, but to our taste, they shouldn't ring the perimeter of a man's wrist watch unless he wants it to look like a Barbie-doll necklace. And you should have at least one chronograph that has a stopwatch feature. It just may come in handy the next time you're at the race track timing the ponies.
<p>First off, that name. In an age in which names get changed at a whim, Tawnni Cable still has the one she was born with. She has the birth certificate to prove it. Still, when Miss June introduces herself, she gets looks that say "Suure!" She doesn't even like the name that much. To her, it sounds like tanned phone lines. Tawnni is, however, tawny. Her Waikiki tan--a shade darker than the pictures in Hawaiian Tropic ads--can be seen in swimsuit calendars sold to panting men all over Oahu. She is also impossible to pigeonhole. Raised in rainy northwest Oregon, she has carried on a lifelong love affair with sun, surf and sand. Too free-spirited to tolerate a clock-punching job, she nevertheless wears two wrist watches when she travels--one set for local time, the other for Hawaii time. She once spent a stint as that rarest of combinations, a busty New York fashion model. "I was as skinny as the rest of them," she says, "but I had boobs." On Waikiki Beach, she usually tans in glowing green and orange bikinis; off the beach, she wears black. Once a "wild and crazy girl," she now pines for monogamy and motherhood.</p>
While entering his limo, Vice-President Quayle spotted a mugger attacking an old woman in a nearby alley. Instinctively, he ran past his Secret Service agents, pounded the scoundrel on the head with his ostrichskin attaché case and saved the woman from further harm.
Risky Business tales of the outdoors: Smoke Jumpers
Early last summer, on a float trip down the Middle Fork of the Salmon River in Idaho, a group of us spotted a thin white plume of smoke against the otherwise perfectly blue wilderness sky. We watched for about a half hour, wondering out loud whether the U. S. Forest Service were going to let the blaze burn its course or try somehow to get fire fighters into this roadless spot to knock it down.
This Playmate of the Year is a Playmate for a Lifetime
Seventeen Months Ago, she left her British Columbia home and flew to Los Angeles, touching off an international affair that has been chronicled around the world. As Miss January 1988, Canada's gift to Playboy mused, "I'm in control of my own destiny, and whatever it is, it's going to be fun." And fun it has been, for a mere six months later, standing beside the Wishing Well on the grounds of Playboy Mansion West, Kimberley Conrad said yes to a destiny she--and countless others--had long believed was fantasy. She agreed to wed Hugh M. Hefner, a man who was thought to be the pajama-clad icon of bachelorhood. Sitting in the Mansion Library, her long, perfect legs curled under her, Kimberley recalls the night Hefner popped the question no one thought he had in him. "It was July twenty-third of last year," she recalls. "It was a beautiful, romantic night, and Hef and I had been playing Foosball in the Game House. I was in a wonderful mood, since I had won, and as we walked back to the main house, Hef stopped me by the Wishing Well. He was very calm, very sweet. 'Will you marry me?' he asked. I said I would have to think it over. You should have seen his jaw drop." She laughs, remembering that magical evening. "I thought about it for about two seconds. Then I said, 'Of course I'll marry you.'" The wedding and gala reception are scheduled for July first at Playboy Mansion West. The ceremony itself will take place, naturally enough, beside the Wishing Well--where Hef proposed nearly a year earlier.
Seated behind the blinking phones in his well-appointed padded cell of an office on the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles, Marty Klein, superagent, speaks of clients current and former. "I met Steve Martin when he was playing the Icehouse in Pasadena in the early Seventies. I saw essentially a magic act. The first time I saw Andy Kaufman, he didn't get one laugh, not one. The audience hated him. But when I saw him on stage, I thought, This is something; this is different. I told him, 'You're a great comedian.' He looked at me and said, 'I'm not a comedian, I'm an entertainer.' I said, 'Entertainer, great,' and offered my services. When I met Rodney Dangerfield, he said, 'All I want is twenty-five thousand dollars a week in Vegas.' I said, 'If that's all you want, I don't want to represent you.' Peewee Herman I saw playing with the Groundlings in L.A. I went to see him ten weeks in a row. When I saw Sam Kinison the first time, it was on an HBO special. I tracked him down over the phone to Colorado, and when I finally got him on the line, he said, 'I've been waiting for you to call me for ten years.'"
It has been nearly 25 years since a man named Hoyle Schweitzer stood balanced on a surfboard holding a sail. The result was a sport that goes by the name of windsurfing, or boardsailing, or wavesailing, or simply holy-shit-this-is-fun. It occurs everywhere wind meets water, from mountain lakes to raging rivers to open ocean. Leaf through a copy of Wind Surf magazine and you will see boardsailors cruising beneath the gaze of the stone statues on Easter Island, beneath the steel bridges in the great harbors of San Francisco, Corpus Christi and New York, beneath the massive granite wall of Lake Garda in Italy or the red sandstone arches of Lake Powell in Utah. Ground zero for the sport is the island of Maui. The best sailors in the world--male and female-- go there to play at the beaches of Kanaha, Spreckelsville and the ultimate are na, Ho'okipa State Park. Stroll the rigging areas and you'll hear French, Japanese, Swedish, German and a mangled English that includes the words gnarly, awesome, radical and shred. The subculture is vivid--the streets of Paia and Haiku are lined with shops selling fluorescent boards, sails and swimwear. The locals shape and sell the toys of the trade in tiny lofts, then take them out to play. We asked photographer Sylvain Cazenave to capture some of these superb athletes in their natural habitat. He found Karla Weber and Sophie Laborie. Karla moved to Maui from Clearwater, Florida, to surf professionally. She designs bathing suits on the side. Sophie followed the winds from New Caledonia to be part of the sport at its best. Why do they love boardsailing? Let's talk reckless abandon. The sport combines the beauty of modern dance with the power of surfing: Imagine t'ai chi in a wind tunnel. You stand on an epoxy board that is just over eight feet long and hold a sail that is 40-some-odd square feet of Mylar and Dacron. The sail is a wing, an airfoil that propels you to speeds greater than 40 miles per hour. When you take off from a wave, you can fly--maximum height is somewhere around 50 feet.
Nicolas Cage's baleful expression has, paradoxically, enlivened such movies as "Birdy," "Peggy Sue Got Married" and, most recently, "Raising Arizona" and "Moonstruck." His new release is "Vampire's Kiss," in which he eats a cockroach. Robert Crane caught up with Cage at his office in Los Angeles. Crane reports, "Cage reacted to being interviewed as most people react to having root-canal work done. Unaccustomed to self-promotion, he paced the floor like an inmate on death row, constantly running his fingers through his shock of unruly hair. Yet he was very cordial."