Unless you've been under a rock for the past three months or so, you've probably heard that Rena Mero's bounteous form is currently appearing in the undraped state in the April '99 Playboy. (At my newsstand, it's behind the counter, wrapped in brown paper, next to a similarly wrapped Cosmopolitan. (?) Another benefit of living in the "Buckle-on-the-Bible-Belt", folks!)

The lovely Rena, for those of you who are unfamiliar with her real moniker, is also known as "Sable", the current Women's Champ of the World Wrestling Federation, and a very shapely lady she is, too.

As the most recognizable "eye candy" in wrestling today, Rena's been involved in the Noble Sport since her first appearance at ringside as wrestler Hunter Hearst Helmsley's valet.

Sable's svelte figure and revealing apparel have been a weekly staple of WWF Monday Night RAW, and one of the main reasons why the show enjoys the popularity that it does. (Go figure!)

Not surprisingly, Sable has brains to go with the body. She has made no bones about using her celebrity status with the WWF as a stepping stone to bigger and better things, such as appearances on other TV shows, the late night chats, and guess what, a Playboy layout. Sable got big bucks for the pictorial. So did her boss, Vince McMahon, the owner of the WWF. Hugh Hefner's accountants are still shaking their heads...

Today, things are very different at Playboy from what they were back when I first held its smeary-inked weight in my sweaty hands.

Come with me now, as we board this neat-o Way-back Machine that I sorta "borrowed" from RPM Labs for a "test-drive".

Set the controls for 1967, and we're...

...there!

Everybody arrive in one piece? Don't mind the nausea; it's a side effect of the time travel matrix, and won't last long. Here, take a pull on some o' mah latest batch o' "squeezin's"... Double vision? That's fum th' squeezins, son; don' worry, it'll pass soon...

Yep, this is 1967, a time of wonder and unlimited possibility for all.

Where are we, you ask? Why, we are in the great state of North Carolina, the town of Salisbury to be specific, and outside my house on Catawba Street, to be even more specific. And here comes the young future Jurist now. He must be in a hurry; just look how fast he's pedaling that bike! There's a flying dismount, a quick dash across the porch and then into the house. Up the stairs two at a time, then down the hall to the last bedroom on the right. Check for presence of nosy brother, then slam the door, taking care to jam a chair under the knob. Place book-bag on bed, and kneel down reverently. Open the book-bag, dump contents onto bed, and, with feverish anticipation, lift a glossy blue-covered magazine from the debris.

There, the October 1967 issue of Playboy magazine!

(Visions of unbridled lust and debauchery zap my "reproductive urges" like a dose of raw moonshine, and suddenly, it's just me and "The Magazine" there, all in my own little world.)

I can feel where the centerfold is in the magazine, but not yet, not yet...

I begin to leisurely flip through the pages. I don't give two hoots about male fashion, Playboy After Dark, or the Jazz and Pop Music Poll. Where's the skin?!!

First pictorial is a plug for the movie The Fox. It stars Sandy Dennis, Keir Dullea, and Anne Heywood, who is apparently the subject of the pictorial.

Hey, I didn't know that women beat off in the bathroom too! (I'm fourteen, and innocent, remember?)

What's this, women kissing women? With passion? Like they MEAN it??!! (Anne's got a superb, small-breasted body, and a "come-hither" look that would melt steel.)

Whoo-ee, hot stuff indeed. But there is still a summit to be attained here.

Only a few more pages and...

There she is! Playmate of the Month for October, 1967: Miss Reagan Wilson. Blond hair, blue eyes, and a 40-25-35 figure that won't quit.

...Umm, uhh, read the bio...

Reagan lives in California, (photo of Reagan driving car in traffic); works at a PR firm, (photo of Reagan filing news-clippings in a desk drawer); and keeps her 40-25-35 figure trim by riding with her horse, Popcorn, (photo of Reagan hugging a surprised-looking horse).

The color photos show a sexy Reagan wearing a "revealing" (for 1967) bikini with a look on her face that clearly indicates she's only interested in "lap-swimming" if YOUR lap's involved.

Next, it's a demure Reagan looking pensively at the camera, while shielding her nudity from prying, lust-filled eyes with a big sun hat.

Then a shot of a playful Reagan, smiling coyly as she swings from an overhanging tree limb, in a pair of tight jeans, and that's all.

The centerfold features Miss Wilson in a hayloft setting, removing her work shirt to reveal one lovely, large and pendulous right breast. She's also nude from the waist down, but, since it's 1967, there's a strategically placed hay bale in the way. They've done her hair up into one of those bizarre "Beach Blanket Bingo" hair helmets, too. However, her lovely blue eyes seem to be saying "Wanna go fer a ride, cowboy?" Hey, I'm fourteen, remember?

Oohh yesss, Miz Wilson...(!)...

(Ummm. Folks, let's not intrude anymore, shall we? Back to the Wayback Machine. And hurry...)

I still have that issue, dog-eared, torn, and creased.

Can it truly be thirty-two years?

Reagan Wilson must be in her fifties by now. Yet her image still stirs me in a way that many of today's surgically enhanced, publicity-seeking "goddesses" (like Sable, for instance) do not. Ms. Wilson still evokes in me a nostalgic longing for an earlier time of wide-eyed awe and worshipful adoration of Playboy's "Gatefold Girls".

A callow, innocent time, where all the lovely ladies were composed of equal amounts of "sugar" AND "spice", and where Playboy was the ONLY place where you just might see the "Girl Next Door" as Playmate of the Month.

Sorry, Sable, but my thoughts are elsewhere.

Court's adjourned!

Judge Oaf
Senior Judge of the Superior Court of the BE-Archive