'PUT YOUR FOOT ON IT, MOTHER'
Tired of watching their sports-car-loving husbands and boy friends drive off for an afternoon of racing, a group of California women formed the Women's Sports Car Club last year. Today the W.S.C.C. boasts 84 members, many of whom are housewives, a few even grandmothers. Out at the track in Costa Mesa, now, it is Father who stands anxiously at the finish line while the shrill voices of the offspring call, "Put your foot on it, Mother. Faster!"
Grease monkey Helen DeOlivera receives helpful advice from fellow members as she tries to locate the steering mechanism troubles in her Triumph T.R. 2.
Young spectator arrives at races in his conventional vehicle; the sitter problem is solved.
Green flag is waved at Helen DeOlivera as she skids round one of the hairpin curves at Costa Mesa. Husbands and some of the girls usually act as officials for W.S.C.C. meets and the ladies sometimes help out by acting as minor officials for the men's races.
Traditional shooting grounds for a French president and his guests is a 2,500-acre preserve in Rambouillet Forest. Most important shoot is the Diplomatic Outing, organized to arouse amity between foreign ambassadors and the French chief of state. At this year's hunt, representatives from 13 countries showed up, and when the gunsmoke cleared 350 pheasants had been bagged.
Indian ambassador Sardar Hardit Singh Malik stands poised by roadside with his loader while beaters stir up the birds.
Brief respite between shooting rounds is enjoyed by Ambassador Malik who had done no hunting since diplomatic shoot of last year; he knocked down 50 birds by very unofficial count this year. In background is Soviet Ambassador Serge Vinogradov.
Counting kill after fourth drive are British Ambassador Sir Gladwyn Jebb (center) and Indonesian Ambassador Anak Agoeng Gede Agoeng (right). Total number of pheasants killed was far exceeded by sum of individual scores which were generously tallied by professionally obsequious game wardens. Since this was a diplomatic outing there were no embarrassing questions asked. Most of the bag was sent to hospitals for needy patients.
Sir Gladwyn brings his gun into position. He reportedly accounted for 56 birds.
Norwegian ambassador Rolf Andvord draws bead on pheasant overhead.
White-Smocked soldiers who served as beaters and loaders bring in some of the day's bag. The preserve normally contains about 10,000 pheasants and the weekly depredations of visiting firemen plus the transfer of stock to other French forests requires the government to add about 8,000 birds yearly to supply sufficient targets for guests.
MUDDY BUT UNBOWED
Ordinarily a rather unattractive substance to deal with, mud sometimes adds a certain zest to a sporting event, just as a dash of bitters contributes an indefinable something to an Old Fashioned. Recently sportsmen in two widely separated lands held traditional contests where good gooey muck was as much a part of the proceedings as the contestants. In the Florida Everglades the 6th annual Swamp Buggy Derby took place on a quarter-mile track known as the Mile o' Mud, and a sloppy time was had by all as the swamp-going vehicles churned over the track.
Across the Atlantic, Eton schoolboys wallowed on a muddy field in the 114-year-old Wall Game. When their days were done, swamp buggy jockeys and Wall Game players knew they had forged another link in traditions, covered themselves with an aqueous glory.
Swamp buggy derby begins on soggy track near Naples, Fla. with 5,000 spectators lining the course. The derby officials made mud hole even sloppier than normal by flooding it before the race. Most of the vehicles are ordinarily used for hunting the Everglades' wild game—boar, deer, turkeys. Almost all of the buggies are specially adapted for swamp travel with high chassis to clear mud and oversized tires for better traction. Derby rules require contestants to stop buggies 100 feet from finish line, get out, slog around vehicles, climb aboard and start up again. With rules like that even a driver who stayed out in front would have a hard time keeping himself clean. Cigar-smoking William A. Brook (above) shows what a loser looks like.
Wall game begins with players wearing clean uniforms, their schoolmates cheering from atop one wall. The field itself is a long, narrow oblong, walled on two sides and the goals are a door in one wall, an elm tree at the other end of the field. Object of the game is to touch the ball to the opponents' goal. Both teams attempt to move the ball by massive formations and employ all forms of physical violence short of manslaughter; very few points have been scored in the 114 years of this mayhem. On a muddy day the ball occasionally disappears beneath the ground, players look as if they crawled from beneath it when the game is finished.
'JUST ONE MORE, PLEASE'
A standard reward for Sporting achievement nowadays—along with the prize or the prize money—is a buss from a beauty queen. The resulting picture has become a sports-page standby.
When Bob Rosburg won the Miami Open last week by shooting a five-under-par last round, a suitable beauty queen, Miss Orange Bowl (Carolyn Stroupe), was on hand to do the honors. Rosburg, however, was luckier than most winners. All three major picture services had photographers covering the event and Miss Orange Bowl, eyes closed dreamily, had to go through her paces for all three while the age-old cry of photographers, "Just one more, please," fell on Rosburg's happy ears. Here, in the usual order, is how AP, INP and UP recorded the event.