Hugh Hefner Faces Middle Age

THE rebellion of the middle-aged man is an American legend. He wakes up one morning and looks in the mirror --and there is a creased, faded, fuzzy carbon copy of the youth he once was. He is 40-odd, going to fat, bored with his job and his marriage. So--in the legend--he shaves, puts on his gaudiest tie, phones the boss to say he's not coming in, says so long to his wife, and walks off arm in arm with his mistress to find his soul.

Hugh M. Hefner is also an American legend. He is 42, and he is going through a change of life. But Hefner's Playboy empire has made him a millionaire 100 times over. He has no boss to bitch about, no wife to bore him, and he somewhat euphemistically claims to be "the biggest employer of beautiful women in the world." So what does he have to rebel against?

Popping Bennies. For one thing, a hang-up on work. A spasmodic, frenetic editor who refused to delegate authority, Hefner used to go on "work binges," during which he would labor for as long as 72 hours at a stretch, eating practically nothing, swigging Pepsi-Colas (25 a day) and popping bennies. "I developed a tremendous tolerance for amphetamines," he says. "My weight dropped from 175 lbs. to 135 lbs. It was a way of living not well calculated to be either lengthy or pleasant. I finally woke up to the fact that I had the world by the tail, and if I wanted to enjoy it, I'd better start taking care of myself."

Another Hefner hang-up is an almost Johnsonian concern for his place in history. As he told TIME Writer Charles Parmiter: "I would rather be me than, say, Richard Burton. Whatever I am is unique." Or: "I'm sure that I will be remembered as one significant part of our time. We live in a period of rapid sociological change, and I am on the side of the angels." That concern was reflected in his joy at receiving a letter from the Chicago Historical Society, asking him to preserve his correspondence and memorabilia for its archives. And it was underscored by his chagrin last August when he ventured out of the mansion to watch the rioting during the Democratic National Convention and got rapped across the butt by a cop who failed to recognize one of the town's biggest taxpayers. As part of his change of life, Hefner wants to be recognized and loved.

Flying Womb. Being recognized first requires being seen--and the spanking convinced longtime Recluse Hefner that he must widen his horizons. He began by widening his lapels: off came the bathrobes and cardigan sweaters, on went $15,000 worth of Edwardian suits from Chicago Tailor George Mashbitz. He quit taking amphetamines, started getting six or eight hours of sleep every day, worked out on a slant board and an exercise bicycle, and gradually built his weight back up to 175 lbs. He turned most of the day-to-day operation of his enterprises over to subordinates, and made travel plans--a tour of the Orient, a safari in Africa, Carnival in Rio, New Year's in Monaco.

Travel has always been a problem for Hefner, who speaks no foreign languages and got so nervous ("Call it womb sickness") on his only previous trip to Europe that he fled back to Chicago after a week. This time he plans to do it right. Moving along the production line at McDonnell Douglas Corp. is a $5,000,000 "stretched" version of the DC-9, already painted black.

"My big black mother in the sky," Hef calls it. A regular DC-9 jetliner can carry 115 passengers; Hefner's will seat 50 and sleep 15--or maybe 16, if there are two in the elliptical bed in Hef's own compartment. The compartment, which also boasts a stereo console, a movie screen and a step-down Roman bath, is reached through a special entrance in the underside of the plane.

Similarly symbolic of Hefner's desire for self-exposure is his appearance on television as host of Playboy After Dark, a new 26-week variety series that so far has been syndicated in 23 cities. Filmed at the CBS-TV studios in Hollywood on a special $35,000 set that includes a den, living room and rumpus room, PAD pretends to be an impromptu party, just Hef and 39 close friends (20 girls, 19 guys) turning on for the tuners-in. "Actually, there are two purposes behind the show," says Hefner. "One is to force me to change my life style; to do it, I had to get out of my mansion and go to Los Angeles. The other is to show the public that Hugh Hefner does not have horns. Fame is as meaningful to me as fortune."

Whether he stands to gain either out of PAD is debatable--because as an actor, Hefner makes a pretty good magazine publisher. He stands there woodenly in his tux and clipped-on bow tie, clutching a blonde model who is dressed in a yellow piece of chiffon stuck together with three safety pins. The model also acts a little camera-shy, probably because she has no bra on. "Good evening," huffs Hef. "I'm Hugh Hefner. Welcome to the party." On one typical show the two comic acts were Shari Lewis, a ventriloquist who looks like a Playboy bunny, and a duo called Yvonne Wilder and Jack Colvin--a sort of Skid Row Mike Nichols and Elaine May. The singers were Buddy Greco and Johnny Janis. Janis made history of sorts by being the first singer to perform at the Chicago Playboy Club, an honor from which he has never quite recovered. For cerebral chatter, there was Columnist Max Lerner, an old friend of Hef s. The conversation turned out badly. For one thing, Hef's cue-card questions ("Max, what about the sexual revolution Jack and Yvonne just illustrated for us . . . ? You've been calling for it for years. How do you like the way it's developing?") were shallow and awkward and Max was fairly addled. No wonder. Max may be 66, but he sat there looking for all the world like a man who is being teased to death, directly between a delicious Negro model in a low-cut dress and an extraordinarily endowed Playmate. During a break, Lerner was asked what he thought of the show. Said Max: "Some of my readers won't believe me when they see me sitting next to that girl. I think they put her next to me on purpose."

Quickening Stride. Criticism of PAD rolls right off Hefner's back. "I know how good the show is," he says. "It's better than the Johnny Carson Show or the Joey Bishop Show, and I do a better job hosting than Ed Sullivan does." He is so convinced that the show will be a success (and indeed, the ratings have been remarkably good) that he is already planning 26 more for next season, intends to expand Playboy's TV and movie operations. He is talking about buying a Hollywood studio.

He can afford one. While in many ways Playboy has become a bore--it seems more and more a triumph of distinctive packaging around a predictable product--the magazine sells 5,500,000 copies a month. The April issue will set an alltime record with almost $3,500,000 in advertising. The 17 Playboy Clubs and the Playboy resort hotels in Jamaica and Lake Geneva, Wis., have been so successful that plans are in the works for at least three new clubs, plus resorts in New Jersey, Nevada, Puerto Rico, Hawaii, Mexico and Spain. Hefner's empire earned him and his very few fellow stockholders $6,868,165 last year, after taxes. But for all his alchemistic talent, Hefner's enthusiasm for business seems to be waning. "When a man is in his 40s," he says, "he realizes that there are only so many years in which to do certain things. I have decided that putting my philosophy in book form can wait until I'm 60." Thank God for that.

In the meantime, there are places to go, things to see, and girls to meet. "Everyone should have the right to go to heaven or hell in his own way," he says. Hefner himself is trying for heaven. What is more, the mass producer of plastic-wrapped sex, the purveyor of pop hedonism, the great anti-Puritan who is out to make every square feel that he too can be a swinger, is looking for a heaven less in the style of Playboy than the Saturday Evening Post. "You know," says Hef wistfully, "in the next ten years I would rather meet a girl and fall in love and have her fall in love with me than make another hundred million dollars." He really means it, or thinks he does.

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