The real Eddie Arcaro was present when they unveiled the replica Arcaro at the National Historical Wax Museum in Washington, and professed to be pretty pleased. The silks were fine and the stance was good, he said, although "they got me a little heavy." He even approved of the figure's nose, which, as every racing fan knows, is statuesque.
As for that sporty statue shown to the right of the Arcaros, that is no dummy. That happens to be the real Casey Stengel. When Stengel's tailor says to stand still, man, Casey stands still.
SPORTING KANSAS: I
If the University of Kansas had just let George Kimball stage his Jock Liberation jog-in on the school track, George might be sheriff-elect of Lawrence today. The Yippie-White Panther candidate, running on the Democratic line, had his campaign steaming along with the slogan "Everything for Everybody" (that was his printable slogan) and, who knows, a rally in sympathy with what has been described as "a loose formation of athletic freaks, former jocks, Women's Lib people and health-food freaks" might have crushed the bid of Republican incumbent Rex Johnson. On the other hand, of course, it might not have.
SPORTING KANSAS: II
November 16, 1970
But the guy who really minds that Kimball lost is a friend who won, the city's new justice of the peace, Phillip Hill. Another Yippie-White Panther Democrat, Hill conducted his campaign in such secrecy that his parents didn't know he was running, and the voters didn't know who he was. They do now. The new office permits Hill to perform marriages and to handle lawsuits involving amounts of less than one dollar. Justice Hill plans to file daily 99¢ suits against a local plant which, he says, "is polluting the whole county." Hill gave his occupation—after the election—as a "dope marketer," and noted that it involves a lot of accounting. What with the accounting, the daily lawsuits and the wear and tear of performing group marriages, Hill is going to be pretty busy, to say nothing of bearing the burdens of office with what is expected to be the minimal support of Lawrence Sheriff Rex Johnson.
Washington baseball writers invited Martha Mitchell to address their fourth annual banquet in January because "we wanted a cleanup hitter, and there's no one in the Administration who can hit like Martha." In case she misses, however, Martha is bringing John along. "Honey," she told a reporter, "the way I've been going I don't dare go anywhere without a lawyer."
"I didn't mind it so much when fire billowed out of an engine," said Orlando Panther Tackle Wallace Dickey, "but when the nosewheel wouldn't even touch the runway I figured maybe it was time to get out." The Panthers were ready to take off for a game in Virginia in a borrowed plane, being too strapped at the time to go even tourist on a commercial flight, when an engine burst into flame. Then the stewardess came back to ask the big guys to move up front so they could maybe get that wheel down enough to take off, which is when, as Dickey said, he moved not just up but out. Later he announced he was getting out of the Panthers' organization as well as their airplanes because "all the aggravation about the financial situation has taken the fun out of the game." Right on. Especially if getting there is supposed to be half the fun.
In Puyallup, Wash. Dan Andrews, poultry specialist at Washington State's Research and Extension Service, had to advise folks to close their drapes. Seems the local wild birds were getting smashed on fermenting mountain-ash berries and zinging into picture windows.
It's the same old story: The shky ish falling and I musht tell the King.
Ready when you are, C.B.:
Here we are at a Russellville, Ky. festival, reenacting the stickup of the old Southern Bank by Jesse James. Out of the bank dashes John Hite Jr. with the pretend loot. And up on his horse to wheel and make the getaway. Whereupon the horse slips and stumbles against a parked car, denting the fender. It turns out to be a state police car.
Thanks, John. And, listen, about next year's festival. Don't call us. We'll call you.
Young Chris Holloway is built along the lines of Mr. Peepers, but he can get about as angry as anybody. So when his car collided with another in London, out popped Chris to confront the other driver. "I hit him twice in the face," said Chris, "but it didn't seem to have any effect on him." Then the other driver popped Chris with a short punch, enough to put Holloway into the hospital with a broken jaw. In court former world middleweight champion Terry Downes explained that he had hit Chris "with my right, which is my bad side, actually." The decision: Downes was acquitted when experts testified that if he had really wanted to hurt Holloway he would have used his left.
The girls at Creighton U. in Nebraska got together for a football game and Miss Katie Mellen was voted Best Back. Miss Pat Shiely was voted Best Front.
"Fish provide me with sport, and I don't see any sense in letting them die," announced one Nancy Guerra of Brooklyn. And that's why Nancy brought her entry for a striper derby alive and happy in a water-filled plastic bag. After it had been officially weighed in Nancy took the bass off to release it in Sheepshead Bay. As things turned out, the fish, at 27½ pounds, was not a winner anyway. Not of the contest, that is.