THE IROCIN PEACEMAKER
In a silly sulk after the Braves' Hank Aaron knocked him out of the box with a double one day last month, Giant Pitcher Sam Jones pouted:
"You can tell Aaron that the next time he sees me he's going flat." Jones's teammate Willie Mays, a less volatile sort, admonished the busily jotting reporters: "Don't print that." "Sure, print it," snarled Jones. "You shouldn't print it," Mays repeated.
But the papers did print it, and when Jones faced Aaron last week for the first time since his threat a roaring crowd in Milwaukee was anxious to see just how far Toothpick Jones would carry his big talk. Jones hitched up his pants, Aaron pointed his bat at the mound, and the showdown pitch came looping in to the strike zone. Hank Aaron did not duck, blink or hit the dust. He hit instead a vicious liner to third base and smack into a double play. For Jones, honor had been bloodlessly served.
June 14, 1959
The real damage came later—and, ironically, from Peacemaker Mays. In the eighth he came roaring in from first to score on a double, slid and broke the left leg of Catcher Del Rice, who was blocking the plate. "It wasn't Mays's fault," said Rice gallantly. "He had to slide, that's baseball. But he certainly slides hard."
Big pitch from Jones to Aaron, a curve, is zeroed in on strike zone, not batter's head. Neither did Aaron's hard drive down third-base line come anywhere near the pitcher.
Big slide by Willie Mays caught Braves Catcher Del Rice on inside of his left leg, fractured the fibula about an inch above ankle. Both men had to leave the game, but loss of shaken-up Mays did not bother Giants, who handily won the game 11-2.
ALL EYES RIGHT
The eyes of some 400,000 Britons, royalty and commoners alike, were trained on these horses last week as they hurtled down the backstretch hill and into the homestretch turn at Tattenham Corner. And if only a fourth of those present could see the finish, that was all right, too, for this was the Epsom Derby, the greatest horse race, carnival and picnic of them all. Winner of the 180th running was Parthia (1), said to be the laziest horse in all England, who woke up to run the mile and a half in 2:36. The Queen's horse, Above Suspicion (2), was never in the clear, ran fifth.
Royal eyes of Queen Elizabeth (top), Queen Mother Elizabeth and Princess Margaret are focused on the starting line of the world's most famous horse race, the venerable Derby at Epsom.
THERE WAS JUST ME
The picture above shows an epic moment in the history of flying. It was taken a few minutes after 9 a.m. last Thursday morning near Van Horn, Texas, at just about the point where Max Conrad, who usually makes his living ferrying planes to Europe for the Piper Aircraft Corporation, crossed the invisible line that marked a new record in long distance flight. In his blue and white Piper Comanche 250, Conrad had set out 53 hours before from Casablanca, Morocco, and had scudded along over sea and land mostly at 100 feet or so. He went on from Van Horn for another five and a half hours to land at last in Los Angeles, 7,683 miles from his take-off point, more than a third of the world away. The only reason he did not go farther was that he literally ran out of country—he had 30 gallons of gas left in his tanks but he had no place left to go.
For the 58 hours 38 minutes of his flight Conrad, a gray-haired grandfather of 56, was probably the loneliest and most committed flier since Charles A. Lindbergh. His tiny Comanche carried more than its own weight in gasoline—nearly 520 gallons, 800 pounds more than it had ever taken aloft before. Once in the air, Conrad could not possibly land his plane until its burden of fuel was consumed. His route, which he had chosen because of the boost he could expect from the trade winds, was almost entirely over empty ocean. He never saw a ship or plane—"There was," he said, "just me." But to Conrad it was all worthwhile, for out of his extraordinary ordeal he hopes to reap a harvest of publicity for flying, particularly for a youth aviation program to which he has dedicated most of his efforts for the last decade. He comes by his strong feelings for children and young people naturally—he has 10 children of his own, five of whom were on hand in San Francisco (below) to greet him when he flew his stout ship home.
COMING JULY 6
Max Conrad, in Los Angeles out of Casablanca, tells his own story of what has been called "the greatest solo flying performance since Charles Lindbergh."