Fallen Skier of the Week: Beatle John Lennon, who was coaxed onto the slopes with difficulty in the first place. Accompanied by wife Cynthia, Lennon set off briskly enough from his St. Moritz hotel, but after 20 yards his enthusiasm and energy vanished. Only when a taxi was found to take him the remaining 180 yards to the cable railway did he continue. After 10 minutes of tying boots and fitting skis, Lennon again pronounced himself exhausted. Eventually he arrived at the nursery slopes at Chantarella Station where he promptly fell (below). While he was still untangling, two chic Englishwomen swept expertly by. Called one to the other, "I think that's Ringo, darling!"
This is an article from the Feb. 8, 1965 issue
New Republican National Committee Chairman Ray Bliss, who may be a harried man in coming months, was once a harrier. "Bliss is a capable runner on whom much can be depended in the hard grind of cross-country work," said his coach, Frank Thomas, at the University of Akron in 1927. Unfortunately for the Akron Zippers, thin-clad division, Bliss was lured away from cross-country by the attractions of campus politics. His political opponents, past and present, may wish to ponder another coaching evaluation of Ray Charles Bliss: "He had the guts," says Thomas, "to finish a race when others dropped out."
Johnny Dee, Notre Dame basketball coach, maintains that he has an absolutely sure-fire way to get out of his four-year contract should he so desire. "All I have to do," says Dee, "is give a scholarship to a kid in Florida who has been pestering me for one. His name is Johnny Goldfarb."
Princeton, which is already losing All-America Basketball Player Bill Bradley and Fullback Cosmo Iacavazzi, its best back since Dick Kazmaier, may also have to do without the services of J. Graham Findlay. Do not underestimate the importance of J. Graham Findlay: he generates fear in the hearts of opponents with his bloodthirsty roars and other acts of ferocity. Findlay, you see, is the Princeton Tiger, by consensus the best Tiger ever. To earn his stripes, Findlay had to qualify in size, authenticity of roar, length of tail and savagery of mien. Furthermore, he has not lost a hair of his $665 tawny fur suit, though last year 50 Penn freshmen tried to skin him. Now Findlay, a junior, is thinking of retiring. "It's hot inside all that fuzz," he complains. "I get tired roaring and often I cannot see the game. I want out."
Mrs. Gwendolyn Cafritz, Washington hostess with a bundle (if not the mostest), was the victim of a $400,000 jewelry robbery last week. Although she was bound, gagged, blindfolded and beaten by thieves disguised in bathing caps, Mrs. Cafritz was surprisingly cheerful after the theft. She attributed her ability to survive the shock to her excellent physical condition. Perhaps as a sort of carryover from her youth, when she once swam the Bosporus "because Lord Byron did it," Mrs. Cafritz swims a dozen or more laps daily in her pool.
Step right up and get your Willie Mays life insurance! The Willie Mays Agency, Inc., a division of Pennsylvania Life Insurance, has opened in San Francisco with branches in Los Angeles and Chicago. President Mays and a corps of agents recruited from professional athletes in all major sports will be waiting to serve you.
Lawrence Cardinal Shehan, 66, of Baltimore concedes he has given up tennis and swimming in favor of "good brisk walks," but contends that isn't as easy as it sounds. "People often recognize me and are eager to offer me a lift," he says. "To get a good walk I have to seem a little rude."
It was quite a shindig. In fact, that was the name of the television program—ABC's Shindig. There on the flickering screen 1,082 pounds of pro football players were singing and tripping a ponderous fantastic. Calling themselves "The Fearsome Four," Roosevelt Grier, Dave Jones, Lamar Lundy and Merlin Olsen of the Los Angeles Rams defensive unit thundered through a routine in which Rosy Grier sang the lead. The only fright the quartet admitted to was a generally shared fear that the stage might collapse.
Blinky Palermo, former undercover owner of Sonny Liston and manager of Ike Williams, is now basketball coach at the federal penitentiary in Lewisburg, Pa., his present place of residence.
Leroy (Satchel) Paige (below), age indefinite, has warmed up the old soupbone for a pitching comeback. This time, however, Satch is performing for the Harlem Globetrotters. Late in each game, reliefer Paige trots onto the court and serves up a home-run pitch to Globetrotter cleanup man Meadowlark Lemon, who then circles imaginary bases. Or at least Satch is supposed to throw gopher balls. Trouble is, recently that matchless old arm has mastered the knack of pitching even a 30-inch ball, and Lemon keeps striking out.