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Original Issue



There is danger in sport. "Danger and delight," wrote John Lyly in 1578, "grow on one stalk." And, wrote John Milton 56 years later, "Danger will wink on opportunity."

Britain's Donald Campbell, who holds the speed record on water of 260.35 mph, winked at opportunity last week and smashed his car (considerably) and himself (somewhat) when aiming at the world's land speed mark of 394.2 mph.

Why do sportsmen try at such risk to conquer space and time—and fear? For glory, yes, for practical reasons and for the flag, too. Donald Campbell, before he came to the Bonneville Salt Flats of Utah, said he would like to "flutter the flag a bit for Britain," renew his love affair with the American West and push back the frontiers of automotive engineering. He is a sort of sports commando, as are men and women in other fields of sports adventure.

Some call them foolhardy; we call them brave. A few moralists question their right to risk their lives; we feel that so long as they are taking calculated risks without obvious danger to spectators or others in their path, it is their privilege and their honor.

Campbell said in England before he left for Utah and his near-tragic trial that he doesn't like "uncalculated risks. There is always a factor of ignorance in these projects," he added, "even after a design is tested and re tested, and to my nervous mind that is enough danger."

Men climb mountains and fail, or succeed, and go on to harder challenges. Of his own effort to better John Cobb's land record (Cobb was killed when his speedboat disintegrated on Loch Ness in 1952), Donald Campbell also said: "The whole idea is a little like climbing a mountain, but there's no summit to it. You're trying to better anything mankind has done before."

These are good words. The challenge in the dangerous sports outweighs the hazard; the triumph over fear enriches mankind as much as does the conquest of space and time.

Men are trying here and elsewhere to reach the moon, the stars and other planets, as they used to explore the seas and deserts. Campbell was right when he said, "While it's frightfully exciting to think of going to the moon, there's still a lot to be learned on this planet."


Three aging sports stars bowed out last week, and one, unbowed, elected to stay in. We salute all four of them. Maurice Richard, the fiery, 39-year-old Rocket who has scored 626 goals, finally has been convinced by injuries and age that he should hereafter promote ice hockey from the sidelines. Amos Alonzo Stagg, labeled on sports pages "The Grand Old Man of Football," also called it quits as volunteer advisory coach for Stockton College, California. "For the past 70 years I have been a coach," Mr. Stagg wrote. "At 98 years of age, it seems a good time to stop." Lou Groza, known as "The Toe" in Cleveland and throughout pro football, decided after 10 National League seasons and a record number of field goals (131) that a sore back made it advisable, at 36, to yield to the bright young men of the Cleveland Browns.

Meanwhile, Stan Musial, admired in St. Louis and throughout baseball as "The Man," decided—at the same age as the Rocket—that he would try for at least one more World Series chance.

The sports scene must be impoverished by these three departures. But a decision to go when the going is good is difficult for the best men in every walk of life. Sport also gains when its top stars reveal moral and mental maturity, when they prove that humility can be combined with intense competitiveness.

As for Stan Musial, we hope his decision is wise. Maybe the game does owe him one last big year.