Authors: Kathryn Leigh Scott
The Bunny Years (41 page)
“If I were to meet Gloria Steinem, I would say, âThank you very much.' My marriage was over and I was a young single mother living in Brooklyn in the late summer of 1963 when my mother showed me Steinem's article in Show magazine. After reading the piece, I realized the Bunny job would be perfect for me because I could work at night and stay home with my daughter during the day. I put on a sheath dress and, because I had done some modeling before I got married, I brought along my portfolio for the interview. While I sat in the Bunny dressing room waiting to be interviewed, I watched the girls come in off the floor and listened to their banter and complaints. I was mesmerized.
“I failed the written test. I had no idea what a Cuba Libré was and I didn't know the names of any liqueurs. The only cocktail I'd ever had at that point was a brandy Alexanderâand I wasn't even sure what was in that. Keith Hefner called me into his office and said, âWe really want you to work for us and we're going to go over this Bunny Manual together.' He was very patient. He could see that I really needed the job and that I was very insecure.
“The rules for Bunnies were strictly enforced. Without any prior warning, women were let go when management determined they had lost the Bunny Image. The weekly schedule was posted in the dressing room on Saturday night, and if your name wasn't on the list, you were out of a job. We considered it a cruel and unfair labor practice that was stressful for
everyone, but especially for the Bunnies who were students or single mothers, like me. When the Bunnies decided to strike, I chose to walk the picket line instead of going in to work.
“Customers were lined up around the blockâit amazed me that they stood calmly watching us marching in the freezing cold, carrying our picket signs. If we had been truck drivers or postmen, would they cross that picket line? Many people waved at us and called out, âGood luck, girls!' as they went into the Club. My mother thought I was crazy, but during the day I brought my daughter along, because I wanted to show her what we were fighting for. She sat at the top of the steps at the door of the Playboy Club wearing her little muff and hat.
“My mother was with me when the telegram arrived telling me that I was fired because we had gone out on strike. She said, âOh, you foolish girl, now look what you've done! How are you going to support yourself?' I told her, âYou don't understand. We have to stick together and not accept a union chosen by management. We need a union that will support our grievances over pay and working conditions.' With all the publicity we attracted, I wonder that Gloria Steinem didn't volunteer to join our picket line, too. Changes needed to be made, and that's what we had set about doing.
“After the strike, we all got our jobs back. But when the Club closed September 1, 1974, for renovation (and did not reopen until February 29, 1976), we knew that many of us would not get our jobs back. It was in the Club's best interests to reorganize the operation and replace as many people as possible. They could hire a completely new staff of fresh faces and keep a few senior Bunnies to train new girls. That, of course, is what happened.
“Any woman who had worked at the Club for 10 years was presented with a watch. Unfortunately, I got the watch and a letter from Hugh Hefner congratulating me on my job performance at about the same time I was fired. The tribute was decidedly bittersweet. I thought, âWell, I'm being patted on the back and shoved out the door at the same time.'
“However, I had worked as a Bunny for 10 years, and the experience changed my life for the better. The job enabled me to live independently and care for my daughter. Today, my best friends are women I met working at the Playboy Club. Recently, when Al, my longtime companion, passed away unexpectedly, they were the friends who saw me through that terrible time.”
Lisa Aromi, a collector of vintage movie wardrobe and memorabilia, is a consultant for Kirn McGuire, LLC, a Manhattan antique shop.
“In 1964, I was selected New York City's Bunny of the Year, and six of us were given a grand tour of Paris and London as a prize,” says Liz Yee. “Four years later, I was told I no longer fit the Bunny Image, but I was offered a job as a Bunny Mother.”
T
hose were tumultuous times to be the Bunny Mother. Morale was low. The turnover rate in staff throughout the Club was outrageously high. Thirteen Bunny Mothers had preceded me, and during my six years in the job, I worked with several different general managers. While attending a Bunny Mothers' training conference in Chicago, I was called out of a meeting and told to have my suitcase packed, my airline ticket in hand because the Bunnies were on the verge of a strike at the New York Club.
Elizabeth “Jadee” Yee.
“That particular strike was averted, but the problems remained. I had to work in the Club from opening through closing hours seven days a week in an effort to restore good relations between management and the Bunnies. For one thing, there was friction between the Bunnies and room directors, who were in charge of assigning stations and seating customers but never made as much money as the girls. Meanwhile, the senior Bunnies had turned into barracudas protecting their territory; they were deeply resented by the new girls. It was survival of the fittest. But the bottom line was that these women were the sole reason any of the Playboy Clubs made money. People came to see Bunnies, not to drink or dine or see a show. When you realized that it was the girls who made the money for the Club, you realized how essential it was that they were protected.”
K
ELIA
W
AGNER
T
he stylized service was a performance, choreographed with precision. We were taught how to introduce ourselves [âGood evening, I'm your Bunny . . .'] and it set the tone. You could size up your audience by their reaction as
you approached the table, and we all developed our own individual âshtick' to entertain the customers.
“The training was hard and incredibly thorough. We had to carry the ounce-and-a-half shot glasses, with separate water or soda backs, and actually pour the drinks at the tableâusing a backhanded pour while doing the Bunny Dip. You learned never to âclaw' a glass by picking it up from the top so your fingers touched the rim. You always used a napkin and handled the glass in the middle. You never jammed a glass into the ice machine; you always used a scoop. You always âcapped' an ashtray with another ashtray before you removed it from the tableâand you never dumped ashes in a dinner plate!
“The Showrooms were so crowded, you had to be able to do the High Carry for safety's sake. We had strict rules about handling and serving food. Even if you had to quickly deliver eight dinners to a table before show time, each plate balanced on your tray had to be completely separated; âNo Food Touching Food' was the rule. When you set down each plate, the meat had to be positioned directly in front of the diner.
“Today, I run a Manhattan advertising agency with my husband, but I still find time to work two nights a week as a cocktail hostessâonly now I wear a black designer dress to serve drinks. Part of what I loved about working at the Club was moving to music. The place where I work now, a quiet, elegant cocktail lounge, has a pianist. I love to talk with customers. People come and goâmaybe you'll see them again, maybe you won't. It's relaxing, and a good balance to my daytime career. I really think it keeps me young and alive.”
“But the major problem was job security in a job where there was very little security. Nobody wanted to be terminated, but nobody could be a Bunny for 50 years, either. Management was simply not geared to dealing with an aging workforce of Bunnies. In 1968, there were a good number of women still working as Bunnies who had been hired when the Club first opened. Most still looked slim and youthful, even, in some cases, after several pregnancies. But they watched their friends fired for no longer having the Bunny Image.
“Those terminations were a double-edged sword for all the Bunnies. Even as a Bunny comforted a friend who had been fired and was thinking, âThat could be me,' she realized a very high standard had to be maintained.
“The Bunny costume, for example, looked simply ridiculous on a mature woman no matter how youthful or fit she appeared. Most of the girls were very clear about that and accepted it. It was painful but unavoidable. The aging problem was the same for professional models, ice skaters, ballerinas or tennis players. You have your dayâand you must prepare for the end of the ride while you are still going top speed.”
