REGISTRATION FORM

All tickets will be mailed if orders are received promptly, or may be picked up at ONE's offices Friday, January 27. The offices will NOT be open on Saturday or Sunday. Address all mail to: ONE Institute, 233 South Broadway, Los Angeles 12. Tel. MA 4-6983.

I enclose ...... to cover registration for the entire Institute, or

to cover registration

for the following

Name

Street

City

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Recommended reading in preparation for the Institute; may be ordered from ONE's Book Service. Cory, D. W., Homosexuality, A Cross Cultural Approach, $5.00.

Barr, James, Game of Fools, a play, $4.50.

Kronhausen, E. & H., Pornography and the Law, $5.00.

Lindner, Robert, Must You Conform, $3.00.

ONE Institute Quarterly #8, "The Right of Association," $4.00. Wildeblood, Peter, Against the Law, $3.95.

Hyde, E. M., The Three Trails of Oscar Wilde, $5.00

mosphere made him feel like Carmen. Had Jorge ever known any bull fighters? "No, but plenty of throwers. Hollywood's filled with them. Yeah, and a lot of rats posing as vice squad officers. They carry badges and use the same technique the real guys use. Should you ever run into one and need help, I'll give you my phone number. You can reach me there any time."

Jorge returned Ron to the Knickerbocker. He hated to leave him alone. He was such a babe in Hollywood's wolf packed woods he could easily lose his shirt. Then what? Luckily he had a round trip ticket.

Ron stayed in his room long enough to powder his thin face and dab Monteil's 'Seduction' behind his ears... He started for Hollywood and Vine but got no farther than the lengthy sidewalk newspaper stand on Las Palmas. Another busy place. Never had he seen so many young men in skin tight levis. He marveled at the frank display of male anatomy. But the women in their tight slacks ran them a close second. A greying, flat chested diesel was berating a giggling blonde for keeping her waiting. Near them a young Hindu, slender and dark in her rose tinted sari, chatted with a Stetson hat, Hollywood cowboy, his spotless suede outfit redolent with Max Factor's Desert Flower. Two blondes, their moon shaped derriers threatening to burst through their knitted slacks and waists piled out of a Lincoln convertible and yelled, "You cheap bastard," at a shining bald head behind the wheel. Nearby in a window cluttered with plas-

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