We won a war of 100 hours and, from the nose of laser-guided bombs, it looked easy. But not all wars have been fought with computers on video screens. Even stormin' General Norman Schwarzkopf says that soldiers are still at the heart of any war, including Desert Storm. This month's The Face of War is a riveting grunt's-eye view of combat by a modern master of war words taken from TheJames JonesReader: Outstanding Selections from His War Writings (due this month from Birch Lane Press of the Carol Publishing Group), edited by James R. Giles and J. Michael Lennon. Written in 1945, these never-before-published passages remind us that war is not TV--war is hell. Playboy excerpted Jones's The Thin Red Line in 1962. To accompany this month's unique text, we've reduxed the art from that project. Read it and raise your Stars and Bars.
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), June 1991, Volume 38, Number 6. Published Monthly by Playboy, 680 North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, Illinois 60611. Subscriptions: $29.97 for 12 Issues. U.S. Canada, $43.97 for 12 issues. All other foreign, $45 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 and allow 45 days for change. Postmaster: send form 3579 to Playboy, P.O. Box 2007, Harlan, Iowa 51537-4007. Advertising: New York; 747 Third Avenue, New York 10017; Chicago: 680 North Lake Shore Drive, Chicago 60611; West Coast: 8560 Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA 90069. Metropolitan Publishers Representatives, Inc.; Atlanta; 3017 Piedmont Road NE, Suite 100, Atlanta, GA 30305; Miami: 2500 South Dixie Highway, Miami, FL 33133; Tampa: 3016 Mason Place, Tampa, FL 33629.
What has eight legs, a five-octave range and a serious cult following? No, not an octopus starring in a David Lynch spin on Don Giovanni. It's Rockapella--the hippest and hottest a cappella group to hit the airwaves in years. Developing their act by singing sans instruments on Manhattan street corners and at corporate dinner parties, the leather-clad "Awesome Foursome"--tenor Sean Altman, high tenor Steve Keyes, baritone Elliott Kerman and bass Barry Carl--soon caught the industry's ear and began popping up on such mainstream shows as Entertainment Tonight and Live with Regis and Kathie Lee. Along came film director Spike Lee, who featured the pitch-pipe-toting quartet on his PBS special, Spike & Co.: Do It A-Cappella. It was there that the group introduced to America its signature song, an updated version of Zombie Jamboree (a ditty about Manhattan voodoo set to a hip-swirling calypso beat).
Congressmen, Middle Eastern strongmen, televangelists, S&L execs, former Drexel employees: Don't despair. Seemingly insoluble problems melt away when you join the French Foreign Legion. Yes, it still exists, and it could be helpful to familiarize yourself with enlistment policy. Here's how to join:
Her Amazing performance as a strapping Southern woman named Miss Amelia in The Ballad of the Sad Cafe (Anjelika) proves again that Vanessa Redgrave is one hell of an actress--even when her deep-drawling accent wavers, she has the soul of the part in her pocket. Directed by British actor Simon Callow, this adaptation of the short novel by Carson McCullers--who called it "my strange fairy story"--is a haunting piece of work, full of the quirkiness and languid savagery that seem to be the birthright of writers bred in Dixie. Miss Amelia, as tall and strong as a man, runs the store in a deadly dull small town where unrequited love wreaks havoc on a mythic scale. Oscar-winning cinematographer Walter Lassally (of Zorba the Creek and Tom Jones) gives the burg the look of a classically bleak Depression-era hellhole. Briefly married to the charismatic Marvin (Keith Carradine), a wastrel she detests, Miss Amelia really loves her cousin Lymon (Cork Hubbert), a dwarfed hunchback who helps transform her country store into a café. But Lymon prefers the company of Marvin. The wild, unforgettable climax of Sad Cafe is a hand-to-hand battle of the sexes, a struggle that assumes almost epic proportions. A character eloquently played by Rod Steiger provides some commentary. As mysterious, simple and tantalizing as the title itself, it's a movie for literate audiences who may--if only for a change--prefer a challenge to a car chase. [rating]4 bunnies[/rating]
Baby-faced Frank Whaley, 27, who plays lead guitarist Robby Krieger in The Doors, is actually a musician--a drummer who moonlights with the Niagaras, his brother Robert's rock band. "Really, my brother is a much better actor than I am," Frank notes modestly. "More a leading-man type." But he hasn't had the exposure that Frank--currently shooting his 11th film, Midnight Clear--has.
Silliest Golf Video Title:Three Men and a Bogey;Best Fair-Fight Video:Archery Hunting Tactics for Deer;Best I-Really-Want-My-MTV Videos:Direct Art: Good Lovin' Guitar Man; Heterosexual Love; Bloody Stump (music videos of the Jickets); Best "Ride 'Em, Cowboy" Video:Reno Gay Rodeo;Best Thrill-a-Minute Video:Trolley Coach Review 1937;Best It's-a-Living Video:Be a Food Detective.
It's his passion that distinguishes talk-show host Geraldo Rivera from the rest. No surprise, then, that he's equally intense when talking about his favorite home videos. "I like films that are transporting in some Walter Mittyesque sense," Geraldo says. "My favorite is Lawrence of Arabia. It's the best big film ever made, and Peter O'Toole gives one of the finest rookie performances in film history. I also like Body Double-- Melanie Griffith is my first reason, [director] Brian De Palma is my second reason and Melanie Griffith my third and fourth reasons." Also on Geraldo's hit list are Rebel Without a Cause ("for James Dean's outlaw power") and They Died with Their Boots On!, starring Errol Flynn. "That movie taught me the glory and folly of reckless courage." Oh. That explains the broken nose.
Kristen Vigard'seponymous Private Music debut gleefully rebels against the stylistic dicta many albums obey. Speeding from funk to jazz to pop and folk, Vigard exhibits an eerie confidence in her intuition, and she has the chameleon singing voice to meet her intuition's demands. Both as singer and as writer, she refuses to play it safe. That same refusal from King's X is what attracted her to its second LP, "Faith Hope Love."
Alexey Pajitnov was a Soviet computer scientist at the Academy of Sciences in Moscow. Although his specialty was speech-recognition problems, his passion was always mathematical puzzles and computer games. Several years ago, on an archaic Soviet microcomputer called the Electronica 60, Pajitnov spent evenings chain-smoking his filterless cigarettes and writing lines of the code for a game that had come to obsess him. He based it on a puzzle called Pentamino, which had been played in ancient Rome. The original game consisted of 12 pieces made up of different configurations of five squares. The challenge was to arrange the pieces into a perfect rectangle on the board. As Pajitnov says, if yon take the pieces off the board and mix them up, "it is a big problem to put them back."
Some Nonfiction is stranger than fiction, and Turning the Tide (Dutton), by Sidney D. Kirkpatrick and Peter Abrahams, subtitled "One Man Against the Medellín Cartel," is a remarkable example of the incredible-but-true genre, a larger-than-life morality tale of good battling the forces of evil. Richard Novak, a 57-year-old college professor with a passionate interest in sharks, went down to Norman's Cay in the Bahamas to study hammerheads in 1978. What he could not have known was that Carlos Lehder, a leader of Colombia's Medellín drug cartel, was setting up the island as the transportation center for cocaine shipments into the United States. Posing as a real-estate developer, Lehder had already coerced other residents of the island to sell out and leave. Not the sort of man easily coerced, Novak stood his ground. In the ensuing battle of wills, he discovered that Lehder was not just a greedy developer and went to the Bahamian police with information about his operation.
My girlfriend and I are tattoo freaks. We have had several done and are constantly looking for unusual designs. Tattooing is an erotic turn-on for us. The first time we made love, we spent the entire night discovering each other's hidden art. Recently, my girlfriend confessed that she'd always wanted a butterfly between her legs, so that when she spreads her lips, behold, a thing of beauty in flight! I must admit the idea is intriguing, but how would we go about doing it? Is there a painless way to apply such a tattoo? Would any tattoo parlor be willing to accommodate us?--T. W., Newark, New Jersey.
Last November, the editors of Popular Photography ran an article celebrating the human form. They titled it "They Still Shoot Nudes, Don't They?" They were prepared for the debate that resulted but not for the deluge of condemnation:
It doesn't matter what the scandal or the crime, it doesn't matter that there are eye witnesses or that you actually committed the crime--don't worry, it's not your fault! Welcome to the blameless society. If you murder the mayor of San Francisco, you can blame it on the Twinkies; if you are a self-righteous hypocrite and get caught having kinky sex, you shift the blame to Satan or television or some arcane psychological disorder. More and more accused sinners, we've noticed, conveniently point their fingers at a growing list of alibis provided by the fields of law, medicine and pop psychology. Here's our record of recent reckless fingers of blame. If you booze it up and seriously injure yourself on a subway train track, you are not the guilty party--blame your fall on the transit system for not patrolling you closely enough. Sure, some do-gooder will try to make you take the heat. Evidently, you don't have to. Use your imagination.
When we watched the video tape of Rasheeda Moore helping trap Marion Barry, we recalled a scene from a James Bond movie. In From Russia with Love, it was the enemy who filmed the hero in a compromising position. Now we don't even flinch when our Government adopts the tactics of totalitarian states. We have become the enemy.
A few decades ago, the network evening news was presided over by a single dignified anchor. This Spartan presentation of the day's pressing events was as elemental to the lives of millions of Americans as their morning newspaper. The "CBS Evening News" was particularly valued, due in large part to "the most trusted man in America," Walter Cronkite, who would eventually man the program for a formidable 19-year tenure. Emulated to varying degrees by his rivals at NBC and ABC, Cronkite's grave but avuncular manner exemplified the basic philosophy of the evening news show: that TV journalism was serious business.
It used to be that all comediennes looked like Totie Fields or Moms Mabley. But comedy today isn't just pretty, it's downright sexy. Although a mere ten percent of the 4000 comedians currently working are women, some of them are knockouts. One such is Rhonda Shear. "When I started in stand-up," she recalls, "everyone said, 'You'll never make people laugh. You're too pretty.' Well, I wanted to prove that a woman can be attractive and sexy and still be a comic. So I went to Playboy with the idea for this pictorial." Rhonda, who started out in 1987 opening for Wayland Flowers and Madame, is now on the bill in Vegas with the likes of Joe Pis-copo and hosts cable's Up All Night cult-movie fest on Fridays. Rosanne Katon, Playboy's Miss September 1978, does reality-based stand-up. A recent example: "Saudi Arabia is the safest place for a black guy today. Only three black guys have been killed there since the war started. Three have been killed in L.A. in the past sixty minutes." Diana Jordan used to be a lounge singer. When she found herself spending more time on her patter than on her songs, she enrolled in a comedy class (fellow students: Robin Williams and John Ritter). Now she appears on cable and headlines at clubs across the country. Nine years ago, Ria Coyne boarded a Greyhound bus from Scranton, Pennsylvania, to Los Angeles with $75 in her pocket. After a succession of bizarre jobs, including wearing a six-foot chicken costume (she passed out from its weight) and selling lemonade at the Gay Pride Parade, she broke into acting (three films last year) and comedy, which she finds therapeutic. "A sense of humor can get you through anything," she says. "I like to think (text concluded on page 96) of myself as the Dr. Ruth of comedy." Ex-model Kitt Scott taxied off the fashion runway when, after a European stint, she "got tired of being a human pincushion." Whoopi Goldberg, whom she met in New York, told her she was funny; so did Arsenio Hall after he caught her five-minute ad-libbed act at The Comedy Store in Los Angeles. "That locked it in for me," she says. "I've been doing comedy ever since." So here they are, five women who explode the myth that looks, humor and intelligence are mutually exclusive. After all, if Woody Allen can be a sex symbol, then, damn it, so can Carol Burnett.
It was a small, private affair in the summer of 1985, attended by a few of Denver's new rich. Dinner hadn't yet been served and the guests stood in small groups, clutching glasses and cocktail napkins. An expensive-looking man excused himself from one of the groups, approached Neil Bush and introduced himself as Michael Wise, chairman of Silverado Banking.
You don't have to be the ultimate wave warrior to wear the latest swimwear, but as "Maui Air Force" top guns Buzzy Kerbox, Pete Cabrinha and Laird Hamilton demonstrated during our windsurfing photo session in Hawaii, these suits are made for more than soaking up rays. Those with tough, durable fabrics such as nylon, neoprene and spandex are built to withstand salty surf and high winds--some even filter out ultraviolet rays. Look for mid-thigh volley-length styles that provide plenty of room to move and muted-neon colors that are as radical as the latest boards and sails. If you don't want to come off like every other sandbagger on the beach, check out a pair of printed patchwork rayon trunks that are reminiscent of the early Beach Boys' days and top them off with a sun-and-wind-resistant tank top. Complete your look with surf accessories that are both fun and functional: Aqua Socks that stand up to the sand and waterproof packs with built-in water bottles and fog-resistant sunglasses.
Saskia Linssen has romantic dreams for a down-to-earth Dutch girl. Although she protests that she isn't impressed with the trappings of wealth, she waxes rhapsodic--in her alluring Hollander accent--when asked to describe her dream trip. "I'd love to ride horses in the Scottish Highlands, among the castles and the ruins. I'd go away for a week, take some food, stay in the shelters up there." For those of you imagining yourselves playing a Scottish Roy Rogers to her Dutch Dale Evans, whoa, boys!--rein yourselves in. She continues, "I like to ride alone, when the weather is not good. I want to hear the birds, see wild animals, not be with people." If you get the picture that Saskia is a solitary, untamed spirit, you're on the mark. Born the only child of a Venlo, Holland, sailor and his wife, Saskia seems to have inherited her poppa's wanderlust. She lives in Rotterdam with her parents but can't imagine staying there very long: "I don't want to get stuck all my life in a place I already know," she says. "I want to look at the world." Saskia, who speaks fluent English and German, in addition to her native Dutch, cites her country's historical inclinations to span the globe, saying, "We're so little we have to learn to deal with people from other countries." Still, Saskia's not likely to do it on anybody's terms but her own. With obvious relish, she tells the story of an encounter with a rude German woman with whom she once fought over a parking space. She stormed the woman's car, calling her a "Deutschland über Alles--er!" We can probably rule out diplomacy from Saskia's career ambitions. Surprisingly, she's not at all certain that modeling or acting is really for her, either. She once was the equivalent of Vanna White on a German TV game show but hated the experience, dismissing it as plastic and phony. And she's not even convinced of her own beauty. "I'm very unsure about myself and my looks," she says. "It's very strange to model in front of a camera. It's almost as if when I put on the make-up, I become a different person. I need lots of encouragement." There are plenty of people around to provide exactly that. Saskia made her pictorial debut in the Dutch edition of Playboy, and its staff was impressed enough to put her on the cover of the magazine and turn her into a statue. "They put plaster all over me and I had to stand there for an hour, while it hardened," she recalls. Copies of the finished life-sized effigy will be offered to readers and business associates of the Dutch Playboy. Allowing a bit of pride to seep through, she says, "I'm like a Greek statue, formed for eternity!" She gives an enticing new meaning to the word statuesque.
So you've just had a party and are now the proud owner of enough leftover beer to play host to half the teams in the N.F.L. Instead of downing a long cool one the morning after and trying to figure out what to do with the rest, take a cue from George Wendt, who plays the laid-back, suds-loving Norm Peterson on NBC's Cheers--pour a few brews into your next pot of homemade chili. Aside from adding such typical ingredients as pinto and kidney beans, tomato sauce and ground beef, Wendt, who admits he never measures anything, says, "I sometimes throw a few neck bones or a pound of ground pork into the pot for added flavor, along with any and all peppers I can find--green, red, yellow, black, white and jalapeño." To further spice things up, he adds Tabasco sauce, cayenne pepper, ground cumin and about six bottles of whatever beer happens to be in the fridge. "Make it hot," he advises. "If the wimps won't eat it, there's more left for you."
Hakeem "the dream" Olajuwon, the Houston Rockets' Nigerian-born colossus, was discontent. He'd been the most talented center, the king, for four or five years--a lifetime in the N.B.A., where reputations snap like cruciate ligaments. But when he read the sports pages, an uneasy feeling crept upon him, a sense that he was last week's Dream.
Lisa Matthews looks like an all-American girl, a point not lost on the photographers with whom she's such a popular model. One recently cast about for a prop that perfectly suited her appeal and automatically picked an American flag. Later, when the war in the Persian Gulf broke out, Lisa became concerned that the flag shot might be misinterpreted as exploitative--and insisted on reshooting it. That's typical of this year's Playmate of the Year. Sometimes Lisa seems so fresh-scrubbed and altogether pleasant you assume she's straight from some farm town that exists only in Garrison Keillor's imagination. There's even her unabashed love of animals--including her two pet chinchillas, Chester and Chelsea, and her dream of owning a cow named Hank. But Lisa is actually from Ventura County, just north of Los Angeles. It might not be a metropolis, but it's not Mayberry, either. "When I go on modeling auditions, a lot of people say to me, 'You're nice,' as if they expected me to be some sort of bitch. I guess growing up in Ventura County, you're not as competitive as if you'd grown up in L.A."
Writer and director John Milius gave us the "This is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world" speech in "Dirty Harry," as well as Robert Red-ford's vast silences in "Jeremiah Johnson." His directorial oeuvre includes "Conan the Barbarian," "The Wind and the Lion," "Red Dawn," "Big Wednesday" and the recent "Flight of the Intruder." Contributing Editor David Rensin recalls their meeting: "Milius loves the smell of cigars in the morning, especially those smuggled in from Cuba. Photographs peek through the haze in his Paramount Pictures office: Milius with the late John Huston, on a surfboard riding a giant wave, hunting. He speaks of honor and the codes by which men live. He is fond of quoting samurai. He knows what is wrong with this country and how to fix it. He is a puppy dog at heart."
Last fall, Playboy's Editor-in-Chief Hugh M. Hefner received a letter from Captain Bobby J. Simmons, Jr., of the 101st Airborne Division, stationed in Saudi Arabia. Captain Simmons suggested that letters from Playmates would boost his platoon's morale. Hef, an Army vet himself, saw his duty and did it. "In times of war or military action," he said, "Playboy Playmates can be fully appreciated for what they are--a part of the American dream." Hef and his wife, Kimberley, encouraged her fellow Playmates to enlist as pen pals. Word of Operation Playmate spread quickly; here we share just a few of the messages we received from lonely Servicemen.
That gym bag may be perfect for lugging around sneakers and sweats, but if you're planning on using it for a weekend getaway, don't expect to win any points for style. Luggage, like a car, says a lot about the owner. You wouldn't drive up to the Beverly Wilshire in a broken-down Chevette. Why hand the doorman the equivalent in a carry-on?