Carrie Enwright, Playmate of the Month July 1963, pictured in Playmate of the Month pictorial, Summertime Idyl. The text accompanying the photos read:
July Playmate Carrie Enwright is an unspoiled, happy homebody
While it may not necessarily be true, as the song says, that happiness lies under the skies back in one’s own back yard, there are occasions when back-yard life definitely has its attractions. Take, for example, a lazy July day, replete with wind-rippled greenery, fat bumblebees and warm, dappled sunlight, the type of day during which one may relax and observe at leisure the growing wonders of nature — such as Playmate Carrie Enwright, whom we here present at her simple but engaging back-yard pursuits. Like the best of mid-July days, Carrie seems to be destined expressly for the informal, easygoing pleasures of life, and is, as a consequence, a refreshingly unaffected companion. “I am,” says she in thoughtful self-summation, “a very healthy, well-adjusted, fun-loving kind of girl.” No close observer could quarrel with the buoyancy of her health: 5’5″, 123 lbs., 39-24-36. Nor is there any disputing her natural enthusiasm for life, an upbeat attitude which can best be conveyed by quoting her own observations on the short, happy life of Carrie Enwright: “I am 19 years old and have lived in California all my life, the last 11 years in Hollywood, California, where I went through high school and where I have had at various times various not-so-odd jobs. For a while I was cashier at the Hollywood Paramount, which was my closest fling with the movie business. Then I worked as a salesgirl in a candy store. Trouble was, I have this terrible sweet tooth and pretty soon I was eating more candy than I sold. Right now I’m living with my mother and studying like mad to take my state boards in cosmetology. My most active hobby involves artwork, from making seed mosaics of Siamese cats to painting wild, wild oils. I get excited over my finished products — but then, I’m not critically minded. I’m crazy about progressive jazz, lasagna, and playing practical jokes on people I like. For instance, I have been known to secretly put in cold mashed potatoes as the bottom scoop of someone’s root-beer float, which is a terrible thing to do, but fun. I am not the type who always has a book going. I rarely read novels, but occasionally I get on a self-improvement kick, the most recent of which was plowing through Hayakawa’s Language in Thought and Action. In movies, I’m a sucker for anything romantic or touching — The Miracle Worker was just perfect for me. As for entertainers, I love Nina Simone, Miles Davis, Frank Sinatra, Jerry Lewis, Jonathan Winters, Victor Borge, Joan Sutherland — oh, so many more. I’m very congenial toward most performers, and I enjoy nearly all. That probably relates to my main shortcoming as a person — too much of the time I use my heart and not my head. I’m really a very gullible girl. I wish on first stars and believe in miracles. When I go out with a boy, it really doesn’t make any difference what we do — for me it’s a successful date if I get the feeling he appreciates being with me. If we like each other, I would just as soon run through the park in Levis as have a fancy dinner at Frascati’s with the opera to follow. And I don’t much care whether I eventually live in a mansion or in a tree house, so long as the man I’m married to is fun to be with. Of course it’s a trite observation, but what I want most in life is happiness. What else is there?” Such an end in life can be persuasive — especially when pursued with the magnificent means apparent in our gatefold, where lush Playmate Carrie is shown sensibly doffing her duds prior to a swinging session in her secluded back-yard hammock.