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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."