Your article by Walter Bingham on the recent professional tennis tournament (A Legend Dies on the Court, July 8) left me and, I am certain, many thousands of others with a heavy heart.
Those of us who have followed tennis for more than just a few years will always remember Pancho Gonzalez as one of the really great ones in tennis history. To read that his defeat was "one of the happiest moments in tennis" for Tony Trabert does not endear my fellow Cincinnatian to me.
CARL M. GUTMANN
Trabert could not have chosen a better time to get in his below-the-belt blows than this one, since he caught "the king" after a 21-month layoff and a convincing beating at the hands of Alex Olmedo, who only a few years ago was such a flop at Forest Hills. Oh, well, to the victor goes the spoils, and you, Tony boy, have had yours. Pancho might not be the biggest diplomat on the court, but after seeing him play in Oklahoma City there's no doubt in my mind of his greatness. I will put my money on Pancho any day if he wants to make a comeback on the pro tour. I don't suppose I would have to look far to find others who feel the same way, would I?
I couldn't help thinking of the world's two fine, highly respected athletes, Rafer Johnson and C. K. Yang. Is it possible that if Rafer attempted a comeback at this time and failed Yang "would have his happiest moment in track and field"? I think not!
Newport Beach, Calif.
Thank you for showing us how really small Tony Trabert is! Even his home-town fans here disown him. Pancho Gonzalez has been, and always will be, an asset to the game of tennis.
The woman pictured in the sailboat with Bill Muncey in your July issue (Special: The Large Economy Size in Gold Cups) and identified as his wife is Miss Peggy Lawton of Seattle, a member of my Adams Cup crew.
MRS. BILL MUNCEY
Mercer Island, Wash.
•For a clearer view of Mrs. Muncey, see above.—ED.
Since when is the Glen Flora Country Club located in Chicago (The Rich Get Richer, July 8)? Please advise all of your millions of readers that the Glen Flora Country Club is located in Waukegan, Ill., the Seaport to the World.
We are proud of our town.
ASK A QUESTION...
My friend and I had an argument over why a boxer develops a strong neck. He said that it is to prevent his neck from being broken. I said this wasn't the real reason. They do it to avoid being knocked out.
I am 5 feet 6 inches tall and weigh 128 pounds. Do you think a blow from a fighter such as Liston or Patterson would break my neck?
FUN ON THE LINKS
Here is perhaps a note worthy golf feat. My wife and I play golf at the Galion Country Club. Six years ago I was fortunate in having a hole in one on our 135-yard second hole. This year my wife had a hole in one on the 116-yard fourth hole. Just wondering how many other husband-and-wife hole-in-one combinations are on record. My father-in-law also had a hole in one. His occurred five years ago.
Robert Smethers recently took his two sons with him to the Moses Lake Golf Club to celebrate Father's Day. On the 150-yard second hole his son, Ranny, age 19, showed his regard for his father by shooting a hole in one. Robert then stepped up to the tee and scored a birdie 2 on the hole. His youngest son, Greg, age 16, not to be outdone, then fired away for a par 3, resulting in scores of 1, 2, 3 on the hole.
NORMAN L. EILERT
My husband, Jim Leavell, had 18 putts for 18 holes on the golf course, and I thought you might want to publish something about this unusual accomplishment.
MRS. JIM LEAVELL
THE NEW GAME
My wife's father, the late Paul T. B. Ward, treasurer of Samuel Ward Manufacturing Co., stationers of Boston, spent the summer of 1897 working at the Mount Pleasant House in the White Mountains, earning funds for his next year at Amherst College. That year he wrote a letter about a new kind of game to his mother in Newton Center, Mass.:
"Dear Mother," it ran. "My college friend, Arthur Howard (Amherst '98), came up yesterday and asked me if I wanted to play golf. I said yes. And off we went. A.C. Howe came along also.
"We took turns caddying, one caddying, two playing. We went out across the river to the teeing ground of the first hole. It is a little elevated piece of bare ground from which the ball is driven in the direction of the first putting green.
"The ball is some sort of rubber or chemical compound about one and a quarter inches through, and perfectly round.
"We took a handful of dirt from a box placed there for that purpose, and making a little pile placed the ball on it. Then we took our sticks and drove the ball as far as we could.
"The sticks used in driving from the teeing ground are either the driver bulger or brassy masher. They are a good deal the same, the brassy masher having a little different shaped head and a brass bottom. They are sticks somewhat like a hockey stick only with slender half-inch handles and a knoblike bulge at the end, the knob almost round and about two and a half inches through.
"By elevating the ball a little it can be driven farther.
"The object of the game is to take as few strokes as possible and hence to hit the ball as far as possible and avoid all ditches and brooks and water. There are long grass, ditches, swamps and brooks everywhere called hazards, which are meant to make it hard for the players.
"About 180 yards off is the putting green, a circular level spot in the centre of which is a hole, the goal of the first route. So it is through nine holes.
"As caddy I had to carry the clubs, for there are four varieties almost everyone used, and some used more. Besides doing this, the caddy has to keep score of the number of strokes used, and watch and find each ball. So it is no light task being everywhere at once and keeping watch of what everyone is doing.
"We have had three ball games, with Franconia Inn, North Conway and Bethlehem. We won all three. Foster, Class of '99, Morse '97, Chase and Boyden, all played."
There is another paragraph which has nothing to do with golf, but I hate to leave it out. "Monday," it runs, "one of the girls was fired for appearing in the dining hall drunk. She was an old hand and a bold, bad girl. Nobody chummed with her though everyone talked with her and had good laughs together.
"Next week the people and the girls begin to leave, and I probably will write earlier. But for now goodbye." The letter was signed, "Your loving son, Paul T. B. Ward."
REV. HARRY W. FOOT