Reading Playboy for the articles: August 1966

My wife, Lisa, has acquired a large collection of vintage Playboy magazines. I'm flipping through those issues that catch my attention and offering my thoughts on the non-photographic content that filled its pages. You know, the articles.

Highlights: For once, I'm not starting out by citing the interview (don't worry, I'll get to it shortly) but rather the letter column. In response to reader complaints about the U.S. Postal Service prosecuting individuals over obscenity statues (not involving Playboy subscriptions, I should clarify, but rather a superintendent of schools in South Texas, who was arrested for exchanging dirty letter with adult pen pals across the country) the magazine contacted Senate Majority Leader Everett Dirksen and several others, whose attention prompted a detailed letter from H.B. Montague, chief inspector of the Post Office. Printed by Playboy in its entirety, disavowing any improper or unethical attempts to prosecute folks using obscenity statutes and taking offense at the idea the Post Office might entrap someone:

Only an employee opening dead mail by authority of the Postmaster General, or a person holding a search warrant authorized by law may open any letter or parcel of the first class which is in the custody of the Department.

Which is reassuring, until the next sentence, which reads, "Evidence reaches the hands of postal inspectors through many legal channels." Playboy instigated some investigative journalism and revealed that Montague was not entirely honest in his letter to the inquiring senators:

But our own investigation of the case has uncovered an important fact not mentioned in the newspaper acount: It wasn't necessary for the incriminating letter to be "intercepted," because of circumstances that do the Post Office Department no more credit than if a postal inspector actually had tampered with the superintendent's mail prior to delivery. It appears that the pair of passionate pen pals with whom Mr. Morgan had been corresponding were actually a "front" for postal authorities from the outset--established for the specific purpose of entrapping unsuspecting citizens into violations of the postal obscenity law.

One could look at recent rulings from the U.S. Supreme Court, along with the platforms of certain political parties in the U.S. and conclude that we, as a society, are not that far from backsliding into this type of intrusive government presence in our daily lives. Remember, SCOTUS ruled not so long ago that there is no such thing as a right to privacy.

And on that happy note, Playboy's interview subject for this issue was billionaire H.L. Hunt, someone I suspect would happily approve of those aforementioned SCOTUS rulings. I'd never heard of him before. A quick check of The Google informs me he was the father of Lamar Hunt, who I had heard of--the late Dallas businessman helped found the AFL and was owner of the Dallas Texans before moving the team to Kansas City where it rebranded as the Chiefs. Okay, that gives a little context. What else should I know about the elder Hunt? Well, he started out dirt poor, got lucky with some oil lease speculation and became a billionaire in short order. He was also an arch-conservative absolutely steeped with anti-Communist fervor, making him a prototype for the Koch brothers long before those two were born. He's also folksy and maddeningly evasive with his answers. The interview jumps around so I don't feel sharing a single excerpt would do it justice. Let's start with his thoughts on charity:

Playboy: You once said that you wanted to use your wealth "for the greater benefit of mankind." Do you feel that you have?

Hunt: I have never been very sanctimonious along those lines. And so I doubt that I said that, because I feel that people who have wealth should not throw their money around; to do so makes good propaganda for the Communists. When someone who has a reputation for having a lot of money spends it foolishly, the Communists can use that as an argument against private enterprise, capitalism and the incentive system.

Playboy: Is it foolish to spend your money for the benefit of mankind?

Hunt: People who have wealth should use it wisely, in a way that will do society the most good. They should be careful that in making supposedly charitable gifts their money will not be used to destroy or impair the American system and promote atheism.

Let's next consider Hunt's views on politics:

Playboy: How would you label yourself politically?

Hunt: I am a registered Democrat who often votes Republican.

Playboy: What would you call yourself--a middle-of-the-roader? A conservative?

Hunt: A constructive.

Playboy: What's that?

Hunt: A constructive is simply someone who is trying to do the best that can be done in public affairs and elsewhere.

Playboy: You really don't consider yourself a conservative? Most people do.

Hunt: Not a particle. The word "conservative" puts a weight around the necks of the liberty side.

Playboy: What do you mean by liberty?

Hunt: Freedom for the individual to do whatever he likes consistent with organized society and good taste. Now about the word "conservative"--I think it's an unfortunate word. It denotes mossback, reactionary and old-fogyism.

Later, Hunt goes on at length how he was a strong supporter of Gen. Douglas MacArthur for president and how disappointing it was when Gen. Dwight Eisenhower became president. Hunt claimed Eisenhower was in the mold of Harry Truman and F.D.R.--the latter of whom Hunt condemned for taking the U.S. into World War II after promising not to involve the country in the conflict during his 1940 presidential campaign:

Playboy: In view of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, do you think Roosevelt can be taken to task for violating a pledge to the mothers of America?

Hunt: This is a big subject that would require much more time than we have to discuss it.

Yes, that's certainly evasive, and just one of many examples peppering the article. I had a growing suspicion that Hunt harbored no objections to the fascist regimes in Germany, Italy and Japan for the simple reason that they weren't Communist. Let's move on to the Civil Rights movement:

Hunt: Many Negro teachers prefer to teach in Negro schools, and many Negro students prefer to attend Negro schools.

Playboy: Nationwide demonstrations to integrate schools would seem to indicate that the majority feel otherwise. How do you feel about demonstrations?

Hunt: Demonstrations are not the proper way to enact laws. They should not be incited by agitators seeking power and votes.

Playboy: Don't you think Negroes should have the vote?

Hunt: I favor suffrage for all 21 years and older.

Playboy: Even for illiterates?

Hunt: Yes. No one was barred in the mythical country Alpaca. [Note: Alpaca is a political utopian novel Hunt published in 1960]

Playboy: Do you regard Martin Luther King as an "agitator seeking power and votes"?

Hunt: I share J. Edgar Hoover's opinion of him.

Playboy: Are you saying that you agree with Hoover that King is "the biggest liar in the United States"?

Hunt: I cannot detect that King has any regard for the truth, religion, sincerity, peace, morality or the best interest of the Negro people.

I cannot help but think the late Mr. Hunt would feel right at home in today's political environment, expounding upon the dangers of socialism (the fall of the Soviet Union and capitalism-takeover of the People's Republic of China would not so much as give him pause) while excoriating Black Lives Matter and other demonstration movements as wholly inappropriate. As the saying goes, history doesn't repeat itself but it certainly rhymes.

Other thoughts: Have you heard of steam-engine time? That refers to the phenomenon of multiple inventors around the world, with no connection, independently invented a version the steam-engine at roughly the same time. The reasons for this are complex, but essentially coming down to technology and culture reaching the point where inventing such a thing is not only physically possible but there's also a societal demand for it that makes such a thing almost inevitable. With that in mind, I have to wonder if 1966 is Japanese motorbike time judging from the ads in this issue. Granted, there are only two, from Honda and Suzuki, but they're stylish and splashy enough to make these small and relatively inexpensive imported motorcycles appealing, trendy transportation options for the Playboy reader. The Japanese motorcycle craze may have started in earnest with the Beach Boys' "Little Honda" two years earlier, but these ads reframe them as a legitimate option for adults, albeit with different approaches. Honda's ad features five different photographs of a wedding with the bride and groom departing on a red Honda. I mean, is there anything more suggestive of "this is grown-up business, not kids' stuff?" The Suzuki ad, on the other hand, features a single photo of a groovy dude in dark shades straddling his cycle with three different women draped over him. The ad is shot voyeuristically through out-of-focus tree leaves in the foreground, suggesting that this guy pulled over to chat with one of the ladies and the other two were so attracted to him and his bike that they swooped in. Rather than the "this motorcycle is for adults" message of the Honda ad, Suzuki goes for the "this motorcycle is for players" messaging. Interestingly enough, neither ad uses the word motorcycle in its copy.

"The Death of God" is an opinion piece by Reverend William Hamilton (1924-2013) billed as a "Christian atheist." For background, he and co-author Thomas Altizer published Radical Theology and the Death of God nine months prior. That, coupled with the Time magazine article "Is God dead?" later in the year sparked outrage and furor that I still see occasional references to, even if those are largely disconnected from the 1966 source of the whole "God is dead" concept. The 1960s really were a crucible from new thinking and radical ideas that challenged the status quo. Many reacted with outright hostility. Like the Civil Rights movement, a lot of had been fomenting for decades prior but erupted into the public consciousness and refused to cede ground in the mid-1960s. We certainly live in tumultuous times in the 2020s but despite ongoing tensions and strife nothing quite matches the absolute sea change in societal attitudes and norms as what went down in the 1960s:

I am a Christian theologian by profession: I have recently been involved in the death-of-God fuss, and I am, as well, committed to the death of God as a theological and human event.

It is hard to know just exactly why the furor started last fall. I had been defending the death of God, off and on for years, on C.B.S. television programs, coast to coast, as the saying goes. But this was in the decent obscurity of the Sunday-morning cultural ghetto, and no one really listens to the words people say on television anyhow. What matters is if you are sincere, like Hugh Downs. A book or two came out in 1963, and in 1964 and 1965 a few articles began to appear indicating a common interest in doing Christianity without God. Ther or four of us seemed to be working similar lines, and critics--both fearful and interested--began to call us a movement, and we looked around and decided that perhaps they were right. This was the first decisive alteration in Protestant theology to take place since the communications explosion of the early Fifties, and no one was prepared for the rapidity of information passing when the snowball really started to pick up momentum.

Not that I'm an expert by any measure, but suffice to say theology, as a discipline, has evolved a bit since 1966. But Hamilton was as significant thought leader in his time and shows that religion or theology or whatever you want to call it has never been monolithic. His influence still carries on to this day.

The British Invasion began in earnest in early 1964 with the arrival of Beatlemania in the U.S. and by the end of the year ushered in a parade of hits by the Rolling Stones, the Hollies, the Zombies and (my personal favorite) the Kinks. One might have assumed the fervor surrounding the Beatles would've subsided by 1966, but it hadn't. In August 1966 (the same month as this Playboy issue, the band put out Revolver, which was more overtly steeped with counterculture, Eastern influences and other elements foreign to the U.S. mainstream. But their mop-top image persisted to a degree and retailers such as Las Vegas-based Knight 'n Squire capitalized on this with ad "Authentic Look-Alike Beatle MOD" and a checklist of slacks, shirts and turtlenecks guaranteed to make the wearer a hip member of the Mod scene. Is it any wonder that the Kinks would release the satirical "Dedicated Follower of Fashion" that same year? I think not.

This issue we also get "On the Secret Service of His Majesty the Queen" by Sol Weinstein, the conclusion of another James Bond parody. I have to report that I find this installment as unfunny as my previous encounters with agent Oy Oy Seven. I'll just accept the fact that I'm not the target audience and move on. But before we go, here's a glimpse of Bond seducing a flight attendant... er, stewardess on a commercial Air India flight:

With the unruffled efficiency of a trained servant of the air, she stripped Bond's Levi Strauss one-piece sky-diver jump suit from his lithe, hard body and allowed a bronze, muscular arm to draw her head against his chest.

"My name is Israel, O solicitious daughter of the Ganges," he said through cyanotic lips.

"Indira," she breathed. "Indira."

"Look baby," he snapped. "I know where. I've done this before."

"No, Mr. Bond--Indira--it's my name."

Two gems from the "Playboy After Hours" column I must share. First up, a musical observation:

Atop the hit parade in Jackson, Mississippi, as we go to press, is an inspiration ballad entitled Jesus Is God's Atomic Bomb.

Folks, I am not making this up. This was a for-true gospel song recorded by the Swan Silvertone Singers released in 1947. Why it achieved popularity in Jackson nearly two decades later is anyone's guess. Listen to it yourself:

The other item of note has to do with TV's Batman series, which burst upon the scene in 1966 to become a full-fledged cultural phenomenon:

Like many of television's Top Ten shows, Batman seems destined to become an international hit when it goes into syndication overseas, dutifully dubbed with a dozen tongues. The elemental language of "BIF!" "BAM!" "POW!" is probably universal, but we suspect that the series may lose something in translation--though perhaps in name only. In Germany, for example, the caped crusader would strike terror in the hearts of criminals everywhere as the redoubtable Fledermaus-Mensch. Somewhat more mellifluously, he would be known to French fans as the debonair Chauve-souris-Homme, to Italian high-camp followers as the picaresque Pipistrello-Uomo and to Chinese viewers as the sage Bien-fu-jen. However, in Lithuania--predictably enough--he'd be almost unpronounceably named Shikshnosparnis-Zhmogus. But our super-hero's mouth-filling moniker on Polish TV would be the musical challenge of the lot: Nietoperz-Czlowick. Let's see Neal Hefti, composer of The Batman Theme, put that to music.

Finally, as a kid growing up in the 70s and early 80s, pretty much every second pair of pants I wore were corduroy. Seriously, they were ubiquitous. Then, suddenly, they were gone. I haven't seen a pair in decades, much less worn any. The interwebs assure me that corduroy is having a comeback moment in 2024, but I have not seen it. If cords are indeed the trendy new thing, maybe this guy can step up and help newcomers get hip to the concept of wale-count. Remember, folks, the "W" is silent.

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