Search

SCORECARD

July 17, 1967
July 17, 1967

Table of Contents
July 17, 1967

Yesterday/Seesaw Giants
The Best
Wimbledon
The Birds
With A Flair
Harness Racing
Baseball's Week
19th Hole: The Readers Take Over

SCORECARD

A MATTER OF KLASS

This is an article from the July 17, 1967 issue Original Layout

The Ladies Professional Golfers Association has a knotty little problem, 10-year-old Beverly Klass, a California child who has been entering LPGA tournaments. Beverly, a fifth-grader, is a fine golfer, by 10-year-old standards, but she has no more place in a professional golf tournament than a midget did batting for the St. Louis Browns, and the suspicion is that the goal in each case is the same: publicity. Having put up with Beverly for three tournaments (she averaged 91 in the Dallas Civitan Open, 86 at St. Louis and 96 in the U.S. Open), Lennie Wirtz, the LPGA tournament director, tried to have her kept out of last week's Lady Carling Open in Baltimore on the grounds that her entry would violate Maryland's child labor laws. Not so, said the State, so Beverly played—and shot 86-92-92 to finish 63 shots behind winner Mickey Wright. Now the LPGA is changing its rules to prevent any professional who is not 18 years old from entering its tournaments.

Beverly's father, a Woodland Hills, Calif. contractor, says he does not think any such restrictive rule can be applied retroactively, and he is threatening to sue. The LPGA, with some sense of what is detrimental to the game, should have been wiser than to accept her initial entry at Dallas—and somebody in the Klass family deserves a spanking.

WINDY CITY

Some time ago Pablo Picasso designed a metal sculpture for the city of Chicago, and plans were to erect the five-story-tall, $300,000 structure in front of the new Civic Center. But now some local politicians feel they have a more apt idea. Instead of the Picasso they want a gigantic bronze of Ernie Banks, which would, they say, reflect the true spirit of the city. One of the mayor's aides says of Picasso's work: "If it's a bird or an animal they ought to put it in the zoo. If it is art, they ought to put it in the Art Institute."

Alderman John Hoellen introduced a resolution in the City Council last week to scrap Picasso's work and ship "the rising heap of rusting iron" back to France. He pointed out that Picasso is a Communist, and that the artist was possibly playing a joke on Chicagoans. "Picasso's work may be a heroic monument to some Barbary ape or some sort of Trojan dove," said Alderman Hoellen. "What we need is a statue to the eternal greatness of Chicago's own Achilles—Ernie Banks." If that metaphor seems mixed, remember that Banks was spiked in the heel in a game two weekends ago.

An opposing alderman argued meanwhile that Picasso's work is in the go-go spirit of the city, and in its way "is a monument to the Cubs and the Sox and everything they have accomplished this year." It would seem a politic assessment of Picasso.

THE ODYSSEY

Homer Shoop had a lifelong ambition—to play at Wimbledon. This year the 53-year-old North Webster, Ind. banker made it, appearing in the senior men's doubles with his friend Gardnar Mulloy, who had won that championship the past eight years. But sad to report, it was not quite as glorious an occasion as Homer had hoped. Using his underhand serve, he managed to score only one point for his side as he and Mulloy were beaten 6-1, 6-4. "I will never play with Homer again," said Mulloy, with a trace of a smile.

At match point a high lob had sailed over the net toward Homer; Mulloy shouted "cross," whereupon Homer made a loping rush, collided with his partner and knocked him down.

Mulloy said he should have known better than to play with Homer, anyway. When they teamed up in Monte Carlo not so long ago, Prince Rainier fell off his chair laughing. "I remember all I could see were the Prince's feet sticking up next to Princess Grace," Mulloy said. "But Homer wanted to play at Wimbledon so badly I couldn't bring myself to refuse. He is a very influential man in Indiana."

DONE WITH A TWINKLE

The current fad in Europe, prompted by the publishing a few weeks ago of The Dog Horoscope Book, is canine astrology. The author, Liz Tresilian, a 25-year-old British woman, claims, for example, that dogs born under the sign of Gemini are eternal babies and have split personalities, but nonetheless are intelligent, enjoy chasing cats and particularly adore having their ears scratched. A dog born under Taurus "will be a bore...dead from the neck up and tedious beyond compare. You will not have to teach him to sit but to stand, because saving energy will be one of his main preoccupations." A Virgoan "will have green feet. He will take a genuine interest in your garden." A dog born under Capricorn "will have an interest in class and social standing.... He will be aware that top people believe hunting, shooting and fishing should automatically be among the accomplishments of civilized beings, and he will put in a lot of time improving his standards in these sports." The Aquarian will be an avid, if unaccomplished, hunter. Having scented his quarry, "he will want to know why it was in such a hurry, how many brothers and sisters it has and how long it has been living in the district. To get this information he will have to go right back to the beginning, so instead of following the rabbit he will take the scent in the opposite direction."

Miss Tresilian admits she is only a casual student of astrology and has based her book on dogs she has known rather than on a feel for the stars. Her current astrological laboratory is limited to her 4-year-old basset, named Budget. He is an Aquarian.

But the response to the book has been so overwhelming that the famous Paris voyante, Mme. Frederika, who lives on the Rue St. Honoré in an apartment that is said to have been Robespierre's, has had to accede to her clients' requests for dog horoscopes. Mme. Frederika says she is a fortune teller "with no mind for numbers. Astrology is a kind of mathematical discipline, so my secretary is the one who handles these cases." When summoned, the secretary arrives carrying a tray with three glasses and a bottle of champagne. Everyone has a nip, the dog gets his stars read and the client departs, none the wiser.

TIP FROM THE TOP
Twelve years ago Jerry Cooper of Walnut Creek, Calif. was taken to Golden Gate Fields by his uncle, Ed Romero, the San Francisco Examiner horse racing handicapper. One of the track directors gave Jerry a money clip as a souvenir. The clip had on it the imprint of a win mutuel ticket, dated July 7, 1967 on the No. 7 horse in the seventh race. Over the years, Jerry saved up, waiting for July 7, 1967. Last Friday he took all his money—a little more than $100—and bet the No. 7 horse in the seventh race at the Alameda County (Calif.) Fair. The horse won, paying off at 4 to 1. Jerry collected $570.

STIRLING

The other day, in an interview in London, Britain's once-great racing driver, Stirling Moss, said he felt the urge to race again. Five years after his near-fatal crash, Moss admits he has even gone so far as to take out a competition driving license under an assumed name. "I used just a plain ordinary name," he said. "I won't tell you what it was, because it is the sort of thing one should save." The license, he believes, has expired, but his hopes of racing again have not. "I know that the barrier built by five years of development of drivers, cars, tires and experience could be almost insuperable," he said. "If only one could go back as a beginner and not be expected to jump into the top class again. But I have a tremendous number of business commitments, which are based on the reputation that took me so long to build up. I have to make up my mind whether I'm prepared to stake my reputation again on the race track."

And his life.

NEW ANGLE
Lionel L. Watson, a San Antonio angler, has an armchair method for determining if the fish in his neighborhood are biting. He keeps a pet black bass in a tub in his breezeway. If the bass only nibbles at his breakfast, Watson says, the fishing will not be worthwhile, but if the bass gulps down his morning perch, fishing in a 250-mile radius will be excellent.

DRAFT DODGER

The newly formed American Basketball Association has had to go after some relatively unknown players to fill out its teams, but none quite so unknown as the one the Louisville Colonels came up with recently. In the draft last April Louisville took one "6'10" Smith (first name unavailable) from Kent State." It turned out that Kent State had no Smiths on its squad at all. Then it was believed the player drafted might be 6'10" Roy Smith, a center from Kansas State. Apparently not. Smith was planning to enter graduate school at the University of Hawaii. So Louisville tried a Bob Smith at Kansas State. Two weeks ago Bob received the following letter: "This is to notify you of the basketball tryouts on June 26 to June 30 here in Louisville. We are somewhat familiar with your ability but we need to see you work and discuss the opportunity you have in playing with the Kentucky Colonels. Please try to arrive in good physical condition and bring your playing equipment with you. Yours in sports, John Givens, basketball coach."

Bob Smith is a 41-year-old, 5'8" civil engineering professor. "I do stay in pretty good shape," he said, "but I have decided not to go."

ONE FOR THE ROAD

Construction of a $1.7 million hotel on the 17th hole at St. Andrews' Old Course has begun, with the approval, surprisingly enough, of the Royal and Ancient. Tucked into the dogleg of the famed 453-yard hole known as The Road will be an 80-room structure of native sandstone, which the planners say will not "adversely affect the appearance of the Old Course as golfers know it."

Since this corner of the Old Course has in the past been occupied by a British Railways switching yard, a coal dump and a warehouse, retaining the atmosphere must have severely tested the creativity of the architects. But they apparently have succeeded in their design. A switchman's cottage will be converted into a pub, and the black, formidable railroad sheds that have long formed a natural hazard for big hitters trying to take the short way home across the dogleg, have been incorporated into the plans. They will be demolished, but a tearoom exactly the same length and height as the sheds will be built on the site. Then, to give it the authentic look, the tearoom will be covered with planks from the old sheds—which are pockmarked from being hit by golf balls. "Some of those timbers must be in a queer state," the St. Andrews' town clerk said recently, "but it will be an interesting link with the past." In addition, a special gutter system and downspout on the tearoom will return to the ground any errant golf balls that land on the roof.

Still, it won't be the same. A man could say he "hit one into the sheds" with a sense of pride in the boldness that led to misfortune. But how will he ever be able to stand at the bar and confess he "sliced one into the tearoom"?

SIGHT FOR SORE EYES
Lady Chichester turned up at her husband's knighting ceremony last week in a rumpled pants suit, which was variously described by the British press as red, lavender, crimson, scarlet, cherry red and as "an insult to our Lord Mayor and Corporation." Obviously the outfit was an eye-catcher.

ILLUSTRATION

THEY SAID IT

•Tom Murphy, 63-year-old Cincinnati Red assistant trainer, when asked why a man of his age was in the middle of a recent Reds-Cardinals brawl: "I was picking up the players' caps. They cost $6.50 apiece."

•Bob Ward, University of Maryland football coach, after 12 players flunked off the team: "I don't have all their names on the tip of my tongue, but if you come down to my office tomorrow I can give them all to you."

•Bob Feller, former Cleveland pitcher: "I was the originator of the three-hour game, and it's damn boring. The extra time is the result of overmanaging, overumpiring and overadvising."