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April 1956


The Cruise of the Aphrodite

The Sport of Sports Car Racing



There were six of us to dinner that night at Mike Schofield's house in London: Mike and his wife and daughter, my wife and I, and a man called Richard Pratt.


The Cruise of the Aphrodite

We were sitting at North Avenue Beach, eating peanuts and watching pretty girls getting sleepy and careless in the sunshine. My friend, Marty, waved his hand graciously towards the water and said solemnly, "I see a new fate in store for us."


The Sport of Sports Car Racing

The sports car fan is a lover, and his car is his mistress. She is expensive, and she demands high-priced accessories. She is unpredictable, and she can be dangerous. She is a mystery whose Sortilege is axlegrease, a siren who sometimes purrs and sometimes sends her keeper home unsatisfied. "Not tonight," she says. "Not till you buy me those new cams." But doodlebug Renault or growling Maserati, she is an adventure in pure pleasure.


Wine Is Like a Woman

Almost every year some Frenchman falls into one of the big fermenting vats in the famous vineyards around Bordeaux.


Dear Playboy

The First Two Dozen

No More Gifts

Holding fast to the handrail, Avis hitched herself up the narrow bank of stairs. She paused at the landing to unlatch the door to the roof. As it swung full, someone moved in the shadows. Avis drew back, catching her breath. The figure lowered his gun with a laugh.


Goodman à la King

When The Glenn Miller story played to packed movie houses not long ago, I felt that Hollywood — or at least a few perceptive gentlemen in Hollywood — had at last solved the riddle of how to present popular-music-with-a-plot on the screen. The wild public acclaim for the picture certainly proved that the approach was the right one, and, beside that, the film turned out to be a husky money-maker. When the same company, writer and producer contacted me later and suggested they film The Benny Goodman Story, I gave my permission in one minute flat.


Selecting Your First Wife

You may ask the question which is on every lip: "Why marry?"


Samba City

We can never write about Rio de Janeiro without tapping our feet, jiggling at our desks, samba-swaying around the office. Tam tam-tam . . . tam tam-tam. There in three words is Rio—a pulsing samba city with a hooded look and the screaming colors of a parrot.


The Postman's Mistake

One day, Boniface, the Postman, found in leaving the post office that his route would not be so long and therefore felt a lively delight.

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