Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
know whether women in the fifties didn't sleep with their husbands or what, but this ded-
ication to girlie magazines was pretty well universal. I think it may have had something to
do with the war.
The magazines our fathers read had names like Dude and Swell and the women in them
were unappealing, with breasts like deflated footballs and hips of abundant fleshiness. The
women in Playboy were young and pretty. They didn't look like somebody you'd meet on
shoreleave.BeyondtheincalculablepublicservicePlayboyperformedbyprintingpictures
of attractive naked women was the way it offered a whole attendant lifestyle. It was like a
monthly manual telling you how to live, how to play the stock market and buy a hi-fi and
mix sophisticated cocktails and intoxicate women with your wit and sense of style. Grow-
ing upin Iowa, youcould use help with such matters. Iused to read every issue from cover
to cover, even the postal regulations at the bottom of the table of contents page. We all did.
Hugh Hefner was a hero to all of us. Looking back now, I can hardly believe it because
really-let's be frank-Hugh Hefner has always been kind of an asshole. I mean honestly, if
you had all that money, would you want a huge circular bed and to spend your life in a
silk dressing gown and carpet slippers? Would you want to fill a wing of your house with
the sort of girls who would be happy to engage in pillow fights in the nude and wouldn't
mindyoutakingpicturesofthemwhilesooccupiedforpublicationinanationalmagazine?
WouldyouwanttocomedownstairsofaneveningandfindBuddyHackett,SammyDavis,
Jr., and Joey Bishop standing around the piano in your living room? Do I hear a chorus of
“Shit, no's” out there? Yet I bought it whole. We all did.
Playboy was like an older brother to my generation. And over the years, just like an older
brother, it had changed. It had had a couple of financial reversals, a little problem with
gambling,andhadeventuallymovedouttothecoast.Justlikerealbrothersdo.Wehadlost
touch.Ihadn'treallythoughtaboutitforyears.Andthenheresuddenly,inOxford,Missis-
sippi, of all places, who should I run into but Playboy magazine. It was exactly like seeing
anoldhigh-schoolheroanddiscoveringthathewasbaldandboringandstillwearingthose
lurid V-neck sweaters and shiny black shoes with gold braid that you thought were so neat
in about 1961. It was a shock to realize that both Playboy and I were a lot older than I had
thought and that we had nothing in common anymore. Sadly I returned the Playboy to the
rack and realized it would be a long time well, thirty days anyway-before I picked up an-
other one.
I looked at the other magazines. There were at least zoo of them, but they all had titles like
MachineGunCollector,ObeseBride,ChristianWoodworker,HomeSurgeryDigest.There
was nothing for a normal person, so I left.
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