CHARLIE WINDSORGOES TO SEA
England's 8-year-old Prince Charles climbed into the cockpit of his father'sDragon class Bluebottle last week and took part in his first yacht race—givingrise to qualms in his own stomach, rousing up criticism of his carefree parentin some British newspapers (which implied, without actually saying so, that theweather at Cowes was much too blustery for a child) and earning the respect ofmillions of his sea-conscious countrymen. The little prince, who was livingaboard the royal yacht Britannia with his father, had to beg hard for thechance to take part in the race. But after bounding about in the choppy waterfor an hour before the event it was evident that he had cause to reconsider—hisface looked pale. A barge from the Britannia nosed alongside, and an officercalled, "Does he want to leave?" His father looked inquiringly atCharles from his post at the tiller. "No," said Charles, albeitfaintly. "No," shouted his parent and added, "Cheer up, Charles.You'll be all right." He was. He brightened, as spray flew over him duringthe two-hour race (in which Bluebottle finished fourth), and afterward heachieved real triumph: his father let him sail Bluebottle himself on the returnto the Britannia.
Many a diehardSecessionist salted away Confederate money after the Civil War, crying,"The South will rise once more!" and there are still those whohopefully hold Imperial Russian bonds. But there is no evidence at all thatanyone spent the Depression years in buying up old raccoon coats. Last week itbegan to appear as if anyone who had done so—providing he did not end up in apadded cell—might very well have had a corner on a most curious commoditymarket. Until only a few days ago nobody really thought the market existed.Buyers for New York's fashionable Lord & Taylor however, noted that theadvent of the sports car had brought some old raccoon coats out of the closet,and were led to wonder what had happened to all the thousands of old raccoonswhich the Charleston-and-hip-flask set of the carefree 1920s had abandonedafter the Wall Street crash. What would happen if they were discovered andremarketed as furry antiques? They found coats by the score in basements andattics—one with a pair of bootleg-era brass knucks in a pocket. The first 500offered for sale—at $25—were gone by noon to the new generation of collegestudents. This week, with Macy's in the battle too, old raccoons were back,back, back.
Elegant Lord & Taylor started the raccoon renaissance with this ad onAugust 4, offering "a limited collection" of such heirlooms,"battle-scarred and in a guaranteed state of magnificent disrepair," at$25 per ("no mail or phone orders").
Popular Macy's jumped in week later with collection of its own (at $22.09, alsono mail or phone orders), warning of "lovely holes, a divine tear here orthere," but bragging of "a marvelous snobby seediness no other fur canboast."
WAITING FOR THEWHISTLE
With the kickoffwhistle only a month or so away, college football players across the countryare putting in their final hours of summer work. Their jobs, while possibly notas cool and refreshing as Red Grange's fabled ice route, somehow reflect thenation's tempo a quarter century after Grange. Many players found employmentthis summer in sprawling steel mills, in outfits engaged in classifiedgovernment projects and in construction crews whacking up new shopping centers.Other players, no less ambitious, cast a quiet and sober eye to their futurecareers and caught their fitness workouts in off-business hours. Here are sevenof this fall's cast of football characters—four laborers, a mailman, a scholarand a salesman—outfitted in the uniforms of summer toil. Come late September,you'll see them in shirts with numbers.
Michigan statetackle Pat Burke sells insurance, maintains fitness in school gym.
Syracuse end,powerful Dick Lasse, horses a cumbersome piece of casting equipment across thefloor of a Syracuse corporation which is engaged in classified missilework.
Illinoisquarterback Bill Offenbecher, a cog in last year's Michigan State upset, isplumber's digger on the Illini campus.
Colorado guard,burly John Wooten, a construction worker at a new Boulder shopping center,stacks heavy drums of oil.
Pitt halfback,scholarly pre-med Jim Theodore, studies analytical chemistry problems tolighten his fall laboratory load.
Penn halfbackFrank Riepl offers football writers a sure-fire cliché as he carries mail inhis home town of South River, N.J.
These midsummergamesmen in Boston's Paul Revere Mall (right) and New York's Washington Square(below) are serenely making the most of their right peaceably to assemble, asguaranteed by their Constitution, while enjoying an immunity from congressionallegislation not shared at this time by the moguls of professional baseball,football, basketball and hockey. Plaque beneath which modern Bostonians playcards commemorates a 1775 speech by Patriot Joseph Warren, enjoining (and it'sgood card-game advice too): "You will not turn your faces from yourfoes."
New York chessplayers scowl intently at their boards in sessions which are a daily part oflife in Washington Square.
Boston cardplayers, busy with a two-handed Italian pastime called briscola, foregatherunder plaque recalling their prerogatives under Article I of the Bill ofRights.