Getting a Better Read on Miss October : As Ms. McCarthy read on . . . it wasn’t so hard to think of her as . . . well, maybe not the girl next door, but a nice young woman who likes kids and is liked in return.

National Library Week is, of course, one of the most exhilarating occasions of any year. This one promised to be extra-special, because Gayle Wilson, the First Lady of California, was to give a reading at the Canoga Park Branch of the Los Angeles Public Library. I planned to show up early to get a good seat.

Unfortunately, her appearance conflicted with a prior commitment. My next thought was to visit the Studio City Branch, where Charlton Heston was to read from the works of A. A. Milne.

But then I heard the ghost of Ward Cleaver. This might frighten some people, but whenever I’m in a crisis, I ask myself: “What would Ward Cleaver do?” I mean, has there ever been a soul as wise and responsible as the Beav’s dad? Anyway, Ward said: “Scott, National Library Week isn’t about personalities and celebrities! It’s about books and reading! Just pick any convenient library!”

And so it was that I ended up at the Panorama City library last Wednesday evening, where a young woman named Jennifer McCarthy gave a dramatic reading of “Green Eggs and Ham” and other works for children.

Ms. McCarthy is a model, an actress and Playboy magazine’s Miss October 1993.

“I am Sam . . . “ she began, sitting in a small huddle of rapt children.

Hugh Hefner would have been proud. For 41 years now, he has promoted the affectation that the young women featured in the centerfold of his magazines are “the girls next door.”

Men typically have one of two reactions to this notion. The most common is: “Yeah, right.” The more gullible wonder how they might move into Hef’s neighborhood, which is not so much a matter of geography as it is a matter of money, materialism and something Hef dubbed the Playboy Philosophy.

But as Ms. McCarthy read on--”I do not like that Sam-I-am!”--it wasn’t so hard to think of her as . . . well, maybe not the girl next door, but a nice young woman who likes kids and is liked in return.

The kids weren’t her only audience. There were some moms, dads, librarians and a surprising number of journalists. (Maybe they had scheduling conflicts, too.) It seemed curious that no female reporters were present, given the strides that women have made in the newsroom.

Unless you have a copy of last October’s Playboy, you are probably wondering about Ms. McCarthy’s appearance. Ordinarily, it strikes me as sexist to comment on something as superficial as a woman’s looks, unless these facts are relevant, which is the case with any Playmate. A Playboy press release describes her as “a vivacious beauty” with blond hair and blue eyes. Her Playmate Data Sheet gives her height as 5 feet, 7 inches and other dimensions as 38-24-34.

“Would you eat them in the house?” she read. “Would you eat them with a mouse?”

She was rolling. Miss October, it was obvious, could read “Green Eggs and Ham” with the best. The kids liked her. The dads liked her. The reporters liked her. And so did the librarians.

“She used to work in a preschool,” whispered the supervising librarian, Thea March.

Isn’t it funny that a Ms. March would find herself working with a Miss October? Funnier still is the way people reacted to news of the Playmate’s appearance.

The male reaction, Ms. March said, was one of approval. A few males, in fact, “were practically salivating--like my sons.”

The female reaction, the librarian said, was generally sarcastic. “The women said, ‘Oh? She can read???’ . . . But she’s really quite charming.”

Such is a price of being a Playmate. And it isn’t just women who take cheap shots.

A few years ago, when I covered Hugh Hefner’s wedding to a former Playmate of the Year, my editor, a man, suggested this start: “The bride wore clothes.” And just now, another colleague, also male, asked me whether Miss October gave a reading of the tactile children’s classic, “Pat the Bunny.”

People can be so cruel.

As Miss October entertained the children, I followed Ms. March into the office, where she happened to have a copy of last October’s Playboy, which the Panorama City staff had borrowed from another branch. They were as curious about Ms. McCarthy as anybody.

It was my journalistic duty to peruse Miss October’s photo spread. Even the librarian couldn’t resist a catty comment. “Well,” Ms. March observed, “she’s not a natural blonde.”

More important, I was able to learn that Jenny McCarthy is a native of Chicago who grew up in a close-knit Irish Catholic family. At Mother McAuley High School she was a cheerleader and a member of the field hockey team. She was studying nursing when financial problems “forced her to put her career on hold.” Friends urged her to try modeling. Soon she was in Playboy.

From the press release I learned of her strong family values, her zest for life and her can-do spirit. From her Playmate Data Sheet I discovered that her “Turn Ons” include “guys on Harleys, daredevils, men who aren’t afraid to cry or show their emotions.” And among her ambitions is to someday have a “Beaver Cleaver” kind of family.

So she’s a Ward Cleaver fan too!

Only in America could a young nursing student with financial troubles wind up becoming the prime candidate for Playmate of the Year. All that glamour and glitz--yet she holds on to the dream of being the mom next door.

I got all choked up just thinking about it. In fact, I wept. It made me think that maybe my neighborhood and Hef’s aren’t so far apart after all.

It was all I could think about as I headed home on my Harley.

Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Jennifer McCarthy and other readers may write to Harris at the Times Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth, Calif. 91311.