The Bunny Years (62 page)

J
acqueline Williams, an intoxicating ethnic blend of African-American, Jewish and Native American raised in Chicago's South Side, worked as a Bunny for 10 years, beginning in 1974 when she was 21 years old.

“I told my father I was going to apply for a job at Playboy and he gave me the saddest look that I can only translate as, ‘Oh, my poor child is going to have her feelings hurt.' I'm 5'8” and in those days, I weighed about 100 pounds. I looked like a Biafran child, but I was hired anyway. The Bunny Mother insisted I do something with my pulled-back hair, which she thought looked too severe. The Bunny Image in the 1970s required big hair, false eyelashes and vivid red lips. I went out and bought a fall
and did ‘big hair' for about six months—and looked horrid! One day I showed up without the wig, put the Bunny ears on my slicked-back hair and went out on the floor. From that point on, I wore my hair back and looked like me.

“When I started at the Club it was like being at a big party, but it was also a growing experience that was often very amusing. One white girl kept staring at my face because she couldn't believe a black girl could have freckles on her nose. Two different cultures coming face to face and discovering, ‘My God, they have freckles too.'

“At the time I was hired in 1974, there were 101 Bunnies in the Chicago Club; 10 of them black, two Hispanic, a few Asian, but mostly Caucasian blondes. Most of the black girls had very ethnic features: dark skin, wide nose, the butt, the Afro. And then along came me; not a dog, but not Queen Nefertiti either. I was just very different and became the black girl with the look everyone wanted. Shortly after I was hired, I became a candidate in the 1974 Bunny of the Year contest; I lost, but won the contest in 1982. During that time, not many black girls with complexions as dark as mine were being photographed for magazines, but Jean Louis Ginibre, the editor of
Oui
magazine, loved my look. I did a lot of work for Oui, and shot a pictorial for Playboy in Mexico. But when I was photographed for a Playboy centerfold, I was told my pictures looked too high-fashion, like a nude ad for Vogue, rather than the girl-next-door. Nevertheless, I was Playboy's promotion girl in the 1970s, and probably their most-photographed black girl. It was a grand time for me; as a Bunny and a model, I was making more than $50,000 a year.

Jacqueline Williams in Epicure, the Neiman Marcus gourmet shop.

“People always thought the Playmates were Bunnies—some were—and we were always being asked which issue of Playboy we had appeared in. But because of the costume and the mystique of the Bunny Image, Bunnies were always at an advantage over Playmates whenever they appeared together at any function. When I was asked to work as a Bunny greeting guests at a cocktail reception in Amsterdam for the launch of a new magazine, everyone paid more attention to the Bunnies than to the centerfolds.

“During my last five years with Playboy, I was a Training Bunny and a union steward, often troubleshooting in various other Clubs that were opening or running retraining ses
sions. At first I thought the ‘Bunny Dip' and our stylized table service was the corniest thing I'd ever seen until I compared the level of our service with that in other restaurants. Bunnies weren't just pretty girls; they were well-trained restaurant personnel, always attentive to the customer. We were instilled with a sense of pride in doing our job well and didn't feel demeaned by service. The Bunny Perch was all about remaining on the floor to serve customers, not just displaying yourself. If a woman across the room pulled out a cigarette, it was my pleasure to walk over and light it for her. The language we used was appealing: ‘May I refresh your cocktail?' Not ‘How ‘bout another?'

“Whoever came up with the idea of Bunny Image was probably a genius. I realized during the time I helped negotiate what would turn out to be the final Bunny contract that while Bunny Image was an important union issue, the term was never really defined. A Bunny couldn't claim she was fired because she was too fat or too old—only that she no longer had the Bunny Image. I was so proud of the contract we negotiated because we determined reasonable guidelines for severance pay based on longevity of Bunny Image. But I could also see the handwriting on the wall. Business had dropped off; times were changing.

“Shortly after negotiating that contract, I went to Miami with the Director of Bunnies ‘to hire and train new girls,' even though we suspected that Club would be closing in a month or so. After the ‘Bunny Hunt,' as these hiring sessions were called, we took the new recruits for dinner. One of the 18-year-olds couldn't believe that I had worked as a Bunny for 10 years, and I heard the Director of Bunnies say, ‘Well, I think there's a point when it's time to hang up your ears.' I've never been naive, but I was surprised to hear her say that.

“When I returned to Chicago, I told several of the Bunnies, ‘My advice is take your severance money and run.' But I was amazed by their reaction: Some of those girls preferred to be terminated for almost any infraction and leave with nothing rather than be dismissed for Bunny Image. There was something about losing Bunny Image that totally blew them away and ate at their self-esteem.

“I was 30 years old when I left Playboy in 1984. I had stayed 10 years because I'd had a tremendously productive, good time. I had been a union steward and worked closely with management so I knew the Club would be going through a major change, but I don't think even I foresaw the closing of all the Clubs. I left on a strange note: During my last week, the woman who had been Director of Bunnies was actually fired before any of us were terminated, but she had laid the way for the aftermath. I took my severance pay, about $15,000, and went to culinary school.

“In 1985 Rich Melman, the hot restaurateur who had started Ed Debevic's and a lot of other theme restaurants, was hired as a consultant to turn the Playboy Clubs around. I was going to New York on a visit and was invited to a preview of the new Club that was opening in the Hotel Lexington. Everyone was very excited about it, but I walked in and felt like I was in the Hard Rock Café. Hef's pajamas were hanging on the wall. Bunnies were wearing Carmen Miranda and Michael Jackson outfits. Male Bunnies with bare chests, but wearing collars and cuffs, were serving drinks. I returned to Chicago and said, ‘I give you six months. Maybe. What most clubs in New York budget for light and sound, you've spent on refurbishment and costumes.' Nobody was happy with my comments, but in six months, the Club was closed. And that's when the doors began to slam closed on all the Playboy Clubs.

“I still have three of my Bunny costumes: a yellow one, my silver Bunny of the Year costume, and the black costume I fought so long and hard to get—because black girls were seldom allowed to wear black costumes.

“I keep in touch with about 30 former Bunnies, many of whom stop in to see me at Epicure, the Neiman Marcus gourmet shop where I work, and once a year I have a brunch for almost 50 former Bunnies.”

LOS ANGELES
P
AT
L
ACEY

I
grew up in South Central Los Angeles, a black ghetto at the time but not at all the gang-ridden neighborhood it is today. My parents were hard-working. They were not in a position to pay for my college education, but that wasn't a big deal. I worked to pay for my own education.

“As a teenager, I tagged along with my older sister and her girlfriends one night as they cruised Sunset Strip, the happening street in the early 1960s. As we passed a construction site near the corner of Alta Loma Road, I saw huge white Bunny heads on a fence. I was so excited, hanging out the back window looking at those Playboy Club signs. I knew then that I wanted to be a Bunny.

Pat Lacey in the Bunny dressing room, Los Angeles Club, 1967.

“In the meantime I went to college, with the idea of going into some branch of law enforcement, and took a part-time job as a pharmacist's assistant in a drugstore that was near the Playboy Club. The pharmacist, who was a Keyholder, urged me to apply for a Bunny job after the Club opened New Year's Eve in 1964. When I turned 21 the following March, I did.