And Put Some Swim Trunks on the David, Would You?

Farewell, my bare Diana. Or: the bronze cover-up.

When Chris O’Hara and her two children go to Balboa Park, a favorite sight is the statue of “The Youthful Diana” outside the Museum of Art.

There she’s been for decades--Roman goddess of the moon, protectress of young maidens, her bow pointed to the sky, smile of innocent joy on her youthful face, and, until recently, her lithe body absolutely au naturel.

“My children loved it,” O’Hara said.

“My 5-year-old boy used to look at her and say, ‘She’s so beautiful.’ My 3-year-old girl looked at her beautiful naked body and said, ‘I feel so free.’ ”

On a recent visit, though, O’Hara noticed something.

A flowing green bronze drapery has been incorporated into the statue to cover Diana’s Pubis symphysis.

“Obscene,” said O’Hara. “They’ve obliterated a beautiful free-form statue.”

What gives here? Some post-Mapplethorpe censorship? An attack of civic prudery?

First some history: “Diana” was donated to the city in 1926 by sculptor Anna Hyatt Huntington. (Legend says a young Bette Davis may have been the model.)

Around World War II, “Diana” was put in storage, only to re-emerge in her present spot in 1964.

It was quickly noticed that a drapery form that the artist had sculpted to cover the goddess’ southern parts was missing, gone, vandalized.

No matter. “Diana” was put on display naked. Nobody remembers anybody complaining.

But last year, the museum had some money left over after doing some fix-it work on another Huntington statue in Balboa Park, “El Cid.”

A decision was made to restore the drape to “Diana,” strictly for artistic fidelity, with no censorious intent.

“It was part of the artist’s original concept,” said Marty Peterson, the museum’s curator of American art.

Of course, there are Large Questions of Art when it comes to restoration: As in, would you glue the arms back on “Venus de Milo” if they were found?

Scholars like to debate these things.

On the smaller question of Diana buff or Diana semi-clad, Chris O’Hara’s vote is already in:

“I wish they’d have left her alone.”

Your Health, Comrade

Heard and seen.

* Newly added drink at McDougAl’s restaurant and oyster bar in downtown San Diego: the Gorby.

Fresh strawberries and raspberries blended with pineapple juice, $3.25. With vodka, $4.25.

It puts you out of action for three days, but then you come back ready to go to work.

* Review.

A federal judge in Detroit has struck down a school plan modeled after an idea being used in the San Diego Unified School District: that black males can benefit if separated from males of other races and females of all races.

Detroit had planned all-black male academies, for full-time instruction, until the judge found the plan unconstitutional, based on a suit by the National Organization for Women and the ACLU.

In San Diego, the black-males-only program is more limited: mostly counseling and black history, an hour a week in four schools during the school year and then a one-week summer camp.

But the philosophy of separatism is the same.

A lawyer for the San Diego district says the Detroit decision will be reviewed to see how it applies here.

* Political types are speculating on whether divorce will make Dick Silberman less of a liability when Susan Golding runs for mayor next year.

One operative unsympathetic to Golding isn’t buying that idea: “Before the campaign’s over, Silberman will be Golding’s Willie Horton.”

San Diego bumper sticker: “Sail Naked.”

Mixed Ricks

Not me.

Rick Griffin, an employee of San Diego Gas & Electric Co., can be forgiven for having mixed feelings when he read a Times obituary this week: “Rick Griffin; Psychedelic Artist Adorned Rock Music Posters.”

A shame that somebody has died at 47, but then again . . .

Griffin, 38, who works in advertising and public relations, says he’s spent his adult life being asked if he’s the illustrator for Surfer magazine who created the rock ‘n’ roll poster as an art form.

Griffin the living intends to donate $50 to the favorite charity of Griffin the late cult icon.

He figures that’s a nickel for each of the 1,000 times he’s had to say, no, I’m not that Rick Griffin.