WHAT DOES A BUM LOOK LIKE?
Back in the old East everyone knows what a Dodger looks like, thanks to Cartoonist Willard Mullin of the New York World-Telegram and Sun (see left), who did for Brooklyn's once-beloved Bum what Gilbert Stuart did for George Washington. Maybe the old boy has altered since he went west—or maybe he's just been moving around so much that nobody on the Coast has had a good look. At any rate, as shown by these pictures, California's artists are having a hard time catching a likeness.
Meanwhile, back at home, the boys who knew him best (Mullin and Leo O'Mealia of the New York Daily Newt) still fondly remember the Bum in pen and ink. If they don't know for sure what he looks like now he's a Californian, at least they know what he should look like (upper left and lover right). Portraitists west of the Rockies are herewith invited to return thoughtfully to their easels.
MUSICAL CHAIRS (CONT.)
January 27, 1958
The football season IS Supposed to be over, but half the news on the sports pages last week seemed devoted to football coaches—the game of musical chairs took to the air, and those coaches not for the moment hunting new jobs sang out on the subject of the new two-point conversion rule (see opposite page). By far the most enlightening event of the week was the journey of Navy Coach Eddie Erdelatz and a retinue of three assistants to Texas A&M to scout one of the finest empty-chair situations in football (SI, Jan. 20). "I had hoped it could have been done without any publicity," Eddie said later, but on departure from Washington Airport Monday morning he and his staff posed smiling on the ramp of a DC-7 like a squad of congressmen off for a European junket. Their mission became the subject of coast-to-coast speculation before their plane had crossed the Mississippi.
At Dallas' Love Field a few hours later (after a short interview with the press) the Erdelatz Mission took off for A&M in the twin-engined Beech-craft of an A&M alumnus. Alighting near College Station, Erdelatz, interviewed again, told the press: "Money is no factor—but I'll tell you one thing: I'm not a rich man." Before heading for the main interviews, he ordered his aides to fan out across town, pick up whatever intelligence they could and report back to him.
They met again over steak dinner, seven hours later, in a mutually head-shaking mood. Next day they flew back to Annapolis.
"They've got these two groups down there," Eddie said later. "They got this faculty group and then they got another group opposite that...."
The faculty group is the Faculty Athletic Council, which theoretically selects and recommends a coach to A&M's board of directors. The other group was the Athletic Committee, an alumni subcommittee of the board which wanted a good coach with a big name. The Faculty Council just wanted a good coach.
While the Faculty Council was interesting Good Coach Jim Myers of Iowa State in the job, Athletic Committeemen flew to Washington to sound out Big Name Erdelatz. The board was prepared to give Myers the job when the news leaked that Erdelatz was flying down. Dazzled by Erdelatz's imminence and eminence, the board gave Myers an opportunity to withdraw, which the disgruntled young coach, who had been assured he was the only one being considered, promptly did. "I liked A&M," Myers said, "but they hurt me more than anything that's ever happened to me. I don't know what's going on down there and I don't think they do either."
After Eddie and his scouts looked around, it seemed that way to them, too. "The division of athletic authority scared me," Eddie said.
An A&M official had another explanation: "With Myers out of the picture, suddenly Erdelatz became very hard to get. He thought he should get more money. He didn't like this hick town. He wasn't satisfied because there weren't any parochial schools for his boys. He was suddenly a precious commodity."
At week's end, A&M had neither a Good Coach nor a Name Coach.
Meanwhile, at the University of Utah where, rarely enough, he coached under a mere verbal agreement, Cactus Jack Curtice acknowledged he had just signed a five-year contract with Stanford, the other big empty chair in coaching. He gathered his Utah squad about him. "Kokomos," he said tenderly, "I hate to leave...but wherever I go, I'll still be Cactus Jack."
Cactus Jack Curtice, who has been appointed Stanford football coach, answers phone in his old Utah office. "It's funny how important a coach gets all of a sudden," he mused. "It's tough to leave. Kind of makes me feel like a sheep-killin' dog."
Texas A&M (stadium upper left) at week's end was still looking for a football coach.
REAL LOOK OF THE CROSBY
Bing Crosby invented the relaxed style of entertainment as well as the Bing Crosby golf tournament on California's Monterey Peninsula. National television was on hand for the tournament's annual renewal the other day, and what it caught was a blend of natural relaxation and rehearsed fashions. Bing was relaxed. The golf was relaxed—most of it, in fact, was strictly of the Sunday-afternoon-with-too-much-dinner variety. The fashion demonstration came off pretty well in a style show pertly described by pretty Kathy Grant Crosby; despite chilly weather the models posed sweetly. But here, caught unawares by SPORTS ILLUSTRATED'S camera, are Bing's guests as they reflected the authentic sporting look of stylish Americans at play.
Echoes of St. Andrews distinguish the ensemble of one spectator whose tartan tie and tarn recall headquarters of golf.
Tight pants, a loose sweater and a gondolier's skimmer cover all contingencies.
Brother Bob Crosby likes his shots long and low, his stripes running up and down.
Cardigan sweater big enough for two is big enough for one from this viewpoint.
Brushed Alpaca insulates the manly chest of one young man who may or may not strangle his lady if putt stops short.
Leather jacket to keep off the wind will warm this sports fan on the ride home.
Brother Bing keeps the score straight in a Tyrolean hat and new boxy cardigan.
Brother Edgar (Eisenhower, that is) has "bellows" pockets for carrying power.
HONEST-TO-GOSH FAMILY BUS
Out of tiny Beaver Falls, N.Y. (pop. 640) one day last week, a diesel bus roared down snow-banked Highway 12. At the wheel, under a visored cap, sat Jim Lewis, president of a paper mill. In the rear, tending a steam table, was his wife Tony. And restless in their seats sat 22 non-paying passengers, the Beaver Falls "Skibums." For bus and boys (aged 6 to 17) it was a winter weekend like any other: they were headed for a ski slope. Lewis began regular ski trips for his three sons and other town boys six years ago, last winter bought the 1948 bus for $3,400 to accommodate the growing crowd. So far, it has ticked off some 3,500 miles to Snow Ridge, Lake Placid and Saranac Lake. Says Lewis: "We started the whole thing hoping we could generate a competitive ski spirit among Beaver Falls' schoolboys. From the looks of things, I think we're succeeding."
From built-in warmer, Tony serves hot dogs and hot chocolate donated by boys' parents. Day bed, for crack-ups, has never been, needed.
Onetime baggage rack was converted to ski rack, now holds 22 pairs. Skibus also has heavy-duty heaters to thaw out boys during breaks.
Lewis' Son Larry, 9, breezes down slope at Snow Ridge. Other "Skibums," noting his style, have nicknamed him Frantic.
MUSICAL COACHES: THAT NEW RULE
The NCAA Rules Committee's decision to revise the point-after-touchdown rule in college football (two points if the ball is rushed or passed over) drew a cacophonous chorus of reaction from some of the nation's leading coaches last week. Some of the choicer comments are recorded below. For Herman Hickman's analysis of new rules and their likely effect, see page 45.
Disdainful Duffy Daugherty of Michigan State: "Why not make touchdowns scored from the 10-yard line count six points, from outside the 10 seven points and from beyond the 50 eight points. That would have opened up the game if that's what they want. It was wrong for the NCAA Rules Committee to arbitrarily shove something through like this rule. They have just about killed the place kick in college."
Moderate Earl Blaik of Army: "I think the new rule will add more uncertainty to an uncertain game. Certainly it will be of more interest to the spectators, great for sportswriters or retired quarterbacks and a real headache to coaches. The inevitable question will be, should the coach have gone for the win or the tie. The rule merely increases the coach's occupational hazards and is, I think, a good tonic for the game."
Empirical Forest Evashevski of Iowa: "I don't think the rule is too bad.... We're going to try hundreds of kicks from the three-yard line in spring practice. We also will even up our teams and run every type of play we have from the three. We'll catalog the results, figure the percentage and give them to our quarterbacks.... The new rule emphasizes my thought that college football is getting away from the coaches."
Indignant Terry Brennan of Notre Dame: "It's ridiculous. You have to fight hard from any spot on the field to get six points. Now you get two more by going only three yards.... But we'll just have to see how it works out. It's in effect now, we can't do anything about it. We'll have to abide by it. I think most of the teams that score first will go for the two points; they won't want to be down 8-7."
Public-minded Red Sanders of UCLA: "We expect the public to pay for football and all of the public seems to like the rule. The public, you will agree, is entitled to some opinion on these things. I have not talked to a single layman who didn't like it. Too, a point I think should be brought out is that the better team will have the advantage. It will be better able to negotiate that three yards than the poorer team."
Vehement Jordan Olivar of Yale: "I'm disgusted. It's an unimportant change. It puts an extra premium on rushing or passing and virtually eliminates kicking. We Ivy League coaches have been thinking of restoring emphasis to the kicking phase of the game by returning the goal post to the goal line. The Ivy schools recommended this unanimously.... This is the worst bunch of rules the rule-makers have ever come up with."
Submissive Bennie Oosterbaan of Michigan (whose boss, Fritz Crisler, promoted the change): "I think it will be an exciting deal. The coach will have to second-guess himself and the fans, of course, will second-guess him and by and large it will be very interesting. I think some of the coaches who oppose the rule now will change their minds about it later, once they get a chance to live with the situation."
Democratic Art Guepe of Vanderbilt: "When—and if—we score a touchdown, I might just stand up on our bench and signal the stands that we' will attempt to pass the ball for the two points. I'll gauge their applause—or their boos. Then I'll signal a possible run and then a kick. Whichever suggestion finds the most favor, that's what I'll do. Then there should be no second-guessing in our democratic country where the majority rules."