Soon to join the company of such diverse prominents as Mao Tse-tung and Mick Jagger, pointe personality Karen Kain will become the first Canadian ever to become the subject of Andy Warhol’s brush. Warhol, who met Kain four years ago when she was dancing with Rudolf Nureyev and was smitten with her beauty then, shot a couple of hundred Polaroid snaps of her last month and will produce 200 limited-edition silkscreen prints and four acrylic canvases of her. Meanwhile, Kain is rumored to be helping Lee Majors get over his broken heart courtesy of Farrah Fawcett. Kain and Majors have been seen billing and cooing in restaurants, and in one Majors was overheard suggesting to a young boy, who had asked for his autograph when Karen left the room: “Why don’t you ask Karen for her autograph too?”
After primary wins in Maryland and Nebraska last week assured him of
§ 90 per cent of the 998 delegates he needs
1 to win the Republican nomination, ^ smilin’ Ronnie Reagan is almost certain to win his party’s vote of trust—and
2 that means wife Nancy is breathing down Rosalynn Carter’s neck and checking out White House bathrooms for color schemes. Mrs. Reagan released her autobiography, Nancy, to coincide with the campaign, and apparently had some tussles with co-writer Bill Libby over what vital statistics she would include. Presumably in an effort to keep up with her husband’s frantic search for eternal youth, Nancy absolutely refused to divulge her date of birth. Libby sneaked it into his foreword—July 6, 1923. Nancy was also reluctant to discuss her own offspring. The unliberated
Mrs. Reagan decided to gloss over her battles with daughter Patricia about a live-in boy-friend, and son Ronald’s love for ballet dancing: “Let’s leave it at the fact that they’re artistic.”
Watergate hero Bob Woodward, currently basking in the best sellerdom of The Brethren, an Upstairs
Downstairs look at the U.S. Supreme Court co-authored with Scott Armstrong, was highly amused by the irony of an invitation to address the Criminal Lawyers Association in Toronto last week. Woodward also got a chuckle out of the seating arrangements—he was planted between Ontario Chief Justice William Howland’s wife, Patsy, and Ria Jean, wife of Ontario Attorney-General Roy McMurtry. “Were I so seated in the United States,” he speculated on etiquette-based retaliation, “I might be the only reporter ever to be found dead with two dessertspoon wounds in his corpse.”
ui pive years after leaving the Toronto £ ■ bar circuit, where he romped along9 side Ronnie Hawkins, Ottawa-bred Pat a Travers, 24, is breaking into interna-
tional ranks with his two latest albums, Live! and Crash and Burn. Explaining the latter title, Travers says: “I got wrecked with a Cajun voodoo lady in New Orleans and she told me the world was going to crash and burn in 1980. Sounded like a good song title to me.” He tosses aside the heavy-metal tag he’s stuck with as “a dumb category” and, even at 24, has disdain for CanArt protectionism. “I don’t really feel like a Canadian—all that flag-waving stuff,” says Travers. “I don’t mean to sound cool, but I’m a citizen of the world. This country has an inferiority complex.”
Possibly the best quote from the Cannes Film Festival this year: “Would you write me a few personal notes about your fear of death?” No, it isn’t a line from an upcoming Woody Allen film. It was a request from Quebec director Gilles Carle to Carol Laure during the shooting of their latest collaboration, Fantástica. The film is Canada’s heavy-duty competitor this year, but it received much bad-mouthing after it unreeled. Carle didn’t help matters by immodestly comparing his efforts to Apocalypse Now. Carle, Lewis Furey, Laure’s co-star and composer of the music for Fantástica, and Laure made a grand entrance arm-in-arm at their very own gala opening dressed all in black—presumably having exchanged personal notes on their fear of death, which was nowhere in evidence as they smiled for the cameras.
Celia Guevara, 40-year-old sister of the late Cuban revolutionary, Che, will be in Canada this week denouncing the plight of another brother, Juan Martin, who has been in prison in Argentina since 1975 on political charges. “I am going on to Canada because I have many
friends there, and there are many enemies of the Argentine junta in Canada,” Celia told sympathizers last week in Washington. Celia even managed a joke about Argentina: “Down there you’re upside down all the time. The blood rushes to your head. That’s why there are so many revolutions.” She laughed and then stopped herself, reflecting: “That is what is most difficult for me. To live, to go to a party, to visit a museum, to have a life. And then to remember Che, and to think of Juan Martin in his cell.”
(flam neither a murderer nor a welIfare recipient,” says Mr. Tease, aka Ali Hussien Mohamad, puzzled by the mores of Ontario, where this month he was acquitted on charges of being nude in a public place. The 28-year-old male stripper has dropped his drawers with impunity in Victoria, Vancouver, Edmonton and Calgary, but met his nemesis when a 95-per-cent female audience in a Dundas, Ontario, tavern begged
him to “take it all off.” At the time, he was sporting only a streamlined Crown Royal whisky bag instead of a fig leaf. “I can’t take it all off,” said Mr. Tease, leaving the stage in an apparent attack of modesty. He then reappeared wearing briefs (which he shed) and a cape (which he waved). Much to Mohamad’s delight, a judge ruled his performance “in good taste”—compared to some.
Despite the occasional greying hair and paunches hanging over their jams, the Wilson brothers still refer to themselves as The Beach Boys. Brian, 37, Dennis, 35, and Carl, 33, are just fin-
ishing their 18th year of North American tours in the wake of their 35th album. Though the band still cuts an album of new material each year, its audiences reminisce back a whole generation to the surf-sentimental years of California Girls and Good Vibrations— before Dennis Wilson’s bizarre falling in with murderer-hippie Charles Manson (who ironically co-wrote Never Learn Not to Love) and Brian Wilson’s nervous collapse. Keepin’ the Summer Alive may wind up being more epitaph than epigram—Dennis splitting for solo efforts, Brian still shaky and Carl Wilson churning out songs with ex-Guess Whoer Randy Bachman “at the rate of one an hour.” Carl defends his assembly-line philosophy of writing tunes that “feel good,” whether they mean anything or not, by saying: “Well, at that rate, of course, you don’t have time to think about them.”
Nine years ago Roger Whittaker wrote a song called The Last Farewell, and the emotion-wringing ballad has haunted the whistling warbler ever since. “It was a very difficult song to follow,” he admits. “I guess people like to know they’re not the only ones who have suffered.” Whittaker, however, isn’t suffering these days. In concert, he’s relaxed enough to teach his audience the secret intricacies of Kenyan whistling (the secret’s all in a flip of the lip) and, for a TV special, he has been known to cajole producers into hoisting an elephant onto a balcony. On visits home to England between dates, Kenyan-born Whittaker, 44, helps his wife, Natalie, keep track of his 8,500-member fan club, answering even erotic fan mail with unswerving niceness. “I have to keep communicating with my audience,” says the jet-setting ex-biochemist. “It’s important to know that what you’re saying is still significant to people.”
In 18 seasons as an NFL quarterback, Fran Tarkenton clocked a lot of miles running away from ugly middle-linebackers. He is still on the move with the current Top 10-rated believe-it-or-not TV show That ’s Incredible, and will rejoin toupéed terror Howard Cosell for another season of Monday Night Football this fall. A big appealer even with non-jock audiences—Tarkenton’s hosting of Saturday Night Live has been rerun—the onetime pigskin hurler is also head of a management consultant firm and author of three books on football. While logging about 35,000 air miles a month, the frenetically busy Tarkenton, 40, makes use of spare moments by checking out his seatmates for educational potential: “If they’re interesting, I talk; if not, I read.”
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