S ome new

A ngles on a

B ritish beauty who

R eally knows

I t's what up

fro N t

th A t counts

Argosy , October 1960

British understatement suffered a blow when Sabrina, England's answer to Marilyn Monroe, bounced ashore on Manhattan Island. Alert to historic developments, ARGOSY assigned a reporter to cover her movements. Here is his report:

Picked up S at hotel. Suggested day at Coney, night at fights, then round of clubs. Typical American date. Two problems in travelling with S:

(1) always stared at;
(2) never alone.

"That's Sabrina," a kid in the crowd said.
Funny how some fellows get to recognise a girl from her smile.

Truck driver tried to make contact with us while waiting for light at Gowanus Canal. Made getaway. Crowd problem at Coney. What gets into these guys? Aquarium. Walrus tried to crawl into S's lap. Attendant explained it was okay. Female walrus. S nixed roller coaster, Tunnel of love.

Says would mess hair. Suggested spot of tea. Had spot. Suggested swim. Okay. S slid into beach regalia. Dangerous move. Teenagers in state of shock. Retreated. No damage except lost sneaker.

Simple stroll, reporter John Vergara found, tended to turn into a parade.

Went to fights. S asked if Marciano fighting. Explained he had retired. Suggested S might be contender for some sort of championship. Fight fans also fans of S. Stamping, whistling, etc. Fighter Al Milone very impressed. Looking over and winking. Knocked out in fifth. We left, Taxi to Roundtable night club. Roundtable full of gentlemen. Reaction good, but restrained. Asked S how she liked creating riots: "If men want to whistle and stare as I walk by, that's perfectly all right. I don't like them to touch me though (Boo!). If their outbursts are expressions of approval (Yay!), I think it's wonderful."

An animal lover, Sabrina asked to pet Ookie, the walrus. "In Florida," she explained, "I had my picture taken holding a porpoise."

[Dog only knows what 1960s American slang that refers to! - Ed]

Steaks (got to do these things right, boss), champagne (like I said). Alone (in a way) at last. S caught sight of boxer (dog this time) belonging to owner Morris Levy. Spent dinner time talking to dog. Dog licked her shoulder. Lucky dog! Headed back to hotel. Privacy? Cab driver very nice. Didn't charge. Hit three other cabs and a horse cop on way back. Told driver we'd pay if he'd face front.

Offered orange drink with hot dog, Sabrina asked, "What, no tea?"

At hotel. Zowie! S extended hand. "Good night. Lovely time. Hope you have enough material for your story." Big smile for Marvin, the photographer. Not even cheek-peck for me. All in day's work. Payday tomorrow. (Don't worry, boss, I'll pay, but to tell the truth, I feel a little cheated.)

At Morris Levy's swank Roundtable, lucky dog got a fond pat on the head and a chance to lick Sabrina's hand.

St. Nick's Arena fight fan shows he knows where real main event is taking place.
Said Sabrina, "I love the boxers, but I think it's a brutal sport."