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.