"Ten years ago," the London Daily Express muses, "any suggestion that the 'In' dog of 1968 would be the Old English Sheepdog would have been faintly comic. Nevertheless, it has happened. Pop star Paul McCartney has one. So does politician Bobby Kennedy." Well, of course. Men are said to choose dogs that resemble themselves. In view of male hair styles, what did the Express expect? That Paul McCartney and Bobby Kennedy would elect the Mexican Hairless?
This is an article from the March 18, 1968 issue
Maine's Kenneth Curtis, at 37 the nation's youngest governor, recently held a summit meeting at the Summit Restaurant on the summit of Maine's Sugarloaf Mountain. The Democratic governor and his all-GOP council grappled with such questions as the state authorization of the State Bureau of Public Improvements' contracting with a Lewiston firm for $74,977 to build "a structure next to the state office building to house equipment for a modernized state office phone system," after which the governor went skiing. He hasn't skied for 14 years and describes himself as "a horrible skier," but it still had to have been more fun than that meeting.
The Dutch royal family is on its annual skiing holiday at Lech am Arlberg in Austria, and there are quite a lot of them—the group comprises Prince Bern-hard, Queen Juliana, Crown Princess Beatrix with husband Claus von Amsberg and baby Willem-Alexander (below), plus Princess Christina, Princess Margriet and husband Peter van Vollenhoven and Princess Irene with her husband, Prince Carlos Hugo of Borbón-Parma. A formidable assemblage, but, no matter how much royal strength can be brought to bear, some problems remain intractable. On the occasion of baby Willem-Alexander's first publicly photographed outing, the royal family cooed and cajoled. "Willempje," the Queen coaxed, "please smile into the camera." Willempje didn't. Prince Bern-hard got down in the snow on one royal knee. "Hello old man. Smile!" Willempje didn't. Well, that's the way it goes. King Canute had his troubles, too, with that ocean.
For years it was not so much the heart that leaped as the blood pressure when one encountered news of a Mosley in the public press—those were the days when Sir Oswald was busy as the head of the British Union of Fascists. Recent Mosley news, however, is of Sir Oswald's youngest son Max (above), who has announced that he plans to tackle the real European racing circuit this spring, beginning at Barcelona, Spain on March 31 or at Hockenheim, Germany on April 7. A London barrister, Mosley, at 27, has had only two seasons of club racing and observes, "I'll be at the tail end for a while, but it will be much more interesting.... You learn so much by competing with the very best."
Harold Hays, a linebacker for the Dallas Cowboys, is a fishing-tackle salesman in the off season. He admits that his football background opens a number of selling doors but, he says, "I don't get to talk about my products as much as I would like. Everybody just wants to know if it really was cold in Green Bay."
Vice-President Hubert Humphrey, that dauntless fan of the Minnesota Twins, has naturally been hanging around Orlando where the Twins are in training. Asked by a high school band member if he would autograph the bass drum, Humphrey complied but declined to sign on the spot indicated. "That's where you beat the drum, and Vice-Presidents get hit enough already," Humphrey said. "I'll just sign down here with Jim Kaat."
Chamonix, in the French Alps, may mean mountain climbing, skiing and sight-seeing to hundreds of thousands of people, but there are 7,000 Chamoniards to whom it is simply their town, with all the usual local administrative problems. Last week the 23 members of the town council of Chamonix elected the perfect mayor to take care of them—the Conqueror of Annapurna, Maurice Herzog, an administrator and tourist attraction all in one.