Harper's journeyed to South Carolina for its August issue and brought back the corollary of a famous truism: Money corrupts, and gambling money corrupts absolutely.

David Plotz reports that income generated by video poker has enveloped the state's political structure, while not even providing the broad economic spinoffs that, to some, counter gaming's negative aspects. Altogether, there seems to be absolutely nothing redeeming about the South Carolina model, except as a case study in how not to go about it:

"The state collects no taxes, imposes virtually no regulations, does not restrict who can own machines, does not require that the machines be honest, does not forbid children from playing them," Plotz writes.

Where, say, Las Vegas lays on layers of glitz, "South Carolina has done the reverse. It has distilled gambling to its purest essence: an icy transaction between man and machine. No liquor, no food, no dealers, no glamour, no perfume, no neon, no cigarette girls, only cigarettes. . . . All that remains is the grind," Plotz says, adding pointedly that "not a single one of the prosperous pro-poker lawyers, lobbyists, politicians, and machine owners I talked to plays video poker." Of course, they don't have to; for them, gaming is a sure thing.

South Carolina has not held a statewide referendum on whether gambling should be legal, and when countywide votes were conducted in 1994 -- and a dozen voted to ban it -- a court voided the election. The state's courts have repeatedly come down on the side of gambling. When Governor David Beasley, a Republican, proposed banning video poker in 1998, it provoked an outpouring of money from gambling moguls that amounted to $6 for every vote against him, and he was tossed out in favor of Democrat Jim Hodges.

As a state senator, Hodges was an outspoken foe of gambling. He says that after the '94 referendums, however, he decided the people, not politicians, should determine whether gambling would be allowed. As long as they didn't vote to remove it, he would just regulate and tax it. That was just fine with the pro-gambling forces. Such actions merely institutionalize -- and perpetuate -- their industry, Plotz points out.

And regardless, the massive spending in last year's election loudly proclaimed the gaming interests' indomitability, Plotz says: "In slaughtering Beasley, they warned every politician in the state: Challenge us and die."

Esquire also looks southward this month, but where Harper's returned with a great story about evil, Esquire returned with a weak story about greatness.

Its subject was Georgian Max Cleland, a heroic figure almost without parallel. He is the soldier who lost both his legs and part of his right arm in Vietnam, but has persevered to continue in service to his nation, as Veterans Administration chief under Jimmy Carter, now as a first-term US senator.

Writer Charles Bowden and photographer Bruce Davidson were given full access to the senator, which resulted in a startling nude shot of Cleland as he goes through the stretching that's part of his three-hour regimen to prepare for each day. But the writing is flat, not at all up to the level of its subject.

In death, John F. Kennedy Jr. is dominating the magazine racks in a way his magazine, George, was never able to while he was alive.

His beautiful visage peers out from more than a half-dozen tributes, ranging from extra (which is not to say special) editions of Time and Life and People to publications from Celebrity Style Presents, Gold Collector Series, and Shout Out Communications, whatever those are. There's even one in Spanish; altogether, you could spend better than $30 indulging your sorrow.

The August George is there too, but unfortunately, it is not a particularly entertaining issue. The highlight is Ann Louise Bardach's profile of Mary Bono, whom no one ever thought of as congressional timber, right up until husband Sonny died and she stepped in. There is plenty of interesting detail, about the enmity of her mother-in-law, and about Sonny's ties to the Church of Scientology.

But there is little else of value. Ben Stiller occupies the cover, just as he is purported to have occupied the editor's chair for this "political humor" issue. It is at its worst in a Stiller-attended interview with heartthrob Ricky Martin that either actually transpired or is just a premise for Stiller's low-level yuks. In his "editor's letter," Stiller says it was "moderated by gonzo scribe Jerry Stahl," which suggests it is real, but the article is too preposterous to be taken seriously.

Stiller does provide one valuable service. Those wishing not to speak ill of the dead can blame this waste of ink on him and not on John Jr.