With 19 years of playing and coaching professional football behind him, Clyde Turner turned to horse racing, his pursuit of which has just been saluted by "Bulldog Turner Day" at New Mexico's Sunland Park. Owning a string of 25 horses running or in training, hard-bitten Bulldog is becoming sentimental and philosophical in the afternoon of his days. He races under silks of blue and orange, shades of his old team, the Chicago Bears, and he asserts that in training athletes and horses one finds certain resemblances, "except the horses are the easier to get along with."
This is an article from the April 4, 1966 issue
Hollywood's last authentic boulevardier, 66-year-old Tim Durant, for nearly 40 years the poolside playmate of filmland aristocrats, may have recently been living in relative obscurity—but no longer. This master of San Fernando Valley foxhounds captured the fancy and won the good wishes of hundreds of Britons when he rode King Pin in the most grueling of races, the Grand National Steeplechase at Aintree. Poor King Pin ran out of gas at the 20th jump, but Durant felt fulfilled. "If my being in it has put in focus the need for the British people to save this great race, I shall be satisfied," he said, referring to an all-too-present danger that the course will be converted into a housing development.
Scaling the mossy, lofty walls of the elect Académie Fran√ßaise has humbled more than one would-be Immortal—such as Émile Zola, the literary giant of the 19th century, who was refused membership 13 times. Preparing for what could be another long siege is Henri de Monfreid, the 86-year-old author and explorer, who thus far has been rebuffed by the academy twice. He is keeping himself in climbing trim by daily workouts in Paris' Bois de Boulogne—jogging for an hour, leaping piles of leaves, somersaulting, shinnying up the trunks of trees (below). Doctor's orders? Don't be silly. "I never consult a doctor," says De Monfreid. "Perhaps that's why I'm still alive."
With the sleep barely out of his eyes one recent weekend morning, Sammy Baugh blinked, thinking he had seen himself flicker across the television screen in a lurid episode of King of the Texas Rangers. Fact is, he had. The picture was a 12-part cliffhanger serial Texas Rancher Baugh made in 1941 for Republic Pictures. It opens with Sammy scoring the winning touchdown for Texas over Alabama—only to discover that gangsters have rubbed out his father. Eyes flashing, Baugh enlists in the Rangers to seek vengeance against the culprits, who are led—holy leopards, what a change of spots!—by Neil Hamilton, Gotham City's shaped-up police commissioner. "I still don't know whether I got the girl in the end," says Sammy, "but one thing I do know: they ought to burn the damn thing."
"I worked hard at that other game," said Allie Reynolds, one of the finest pitchers the New York Yankees ever had, "but I play golf for fun—for exercise and enjoyment." The Chief has the proper attitude, all right, for as he and his partner walked off the course at the end of Houston's Champions Cup amateur tournament, their 22-over-par score earned them the 66th position in a field of 70 teams. "Of course, I don't play golf well" Allie added amiably and not the least bit concerned.
Passing through Atlanta for a luncheon with fellow Republicans, sometime candidate Richard Nixon told a television reporter about to interview him: "Be sure to ask me something on sports. My favorite hobby is keeping up with the sports world." Duly prompted, the reporter steered the conversation that way, giving Nixon the opportunity to speak his mind about the hapless Mets and his own forgettable football days at Whittier College.
Falling for a 64-foot yawl he had spotted in dry dock. Shipping Executive Jakob Isbrandtsen was moved to buy her for an undisclosed lot of money. That raised the question of what to do with Wind Rose, the 48-foot yawl he already owned. Isbrandtsen has solved the problem by giving Wind Rose to the Marine Maritime Academy, which supplies many of the officers manning the ships of his huge American Export Isbrandtsen line. And, as an extra added attraction, Isbrandtsen will sponsor Wind Rose and an MMA crew in June's Newport-to-Bermuda yacht race.
Left to themselves, the rattlesnakes move right into downtown Sweetwater—hence the annual hunt to keep the rattlers at least outside the city limits. On hand this year was Texas Tech Halfback Donny Anderson, who is, additionally, Green Bay's $600,000 draft choice. Said Anderson, gingerly holding a wriggling five-foot diamond-back: "Maybe this is against my contract. I'm not supposed to participate in any sport without Coach Lombardi's permission."
"I'd rather have peace of mind than five points," said Broad Jumper Willye White with a shrug one night last year. She had just insisted that AAU judges, because of careless officiating, give England's Mary Rand a second chance to beat her—which Mary Rand thereupon did. The other day, given a fine bronze medal in Paris by UNESCO's International Committee for Fair Play Trophies to go with her peace of mind (below), Willye wondered what all the fuss was about. "My gesture toward Mary Rand," she said, "was the most natural thing in the world. I never would have thought it deserved a special prize."