PEOPLE

On a tour of London factories with a Russian trade delegation, shy, unobtrusive Sergei Khrushchev, son of the Soviet leader, did not have much chance to pursue his favorite sport—which is butterfly hunting. But he did find time to watch his favorite movie: How the West Was Won.

When Clint Walker is not slapping leather as Cheyenne, the terror of TV's badmen, he is generally heading out into the Pacific to dry-gulch a shark or two with rod and reel and a 2½-mile line set with 30 hooks. But sometimes, like TV villains, the varmints fight back. "I nearly lost a finger picking up a shark head," said Cheyenne last week. "He'd been dead two hours, but that shark's jaws snapped right shut."

Hollywood's best-known expatriate, Orson Welles, has become so enamored of bullfights that he has given up his town house in London in order to spend more time at his villa in Madrid, which—since Orson is all Hollywood at heart—of course has a swimming pool. "Besides having all the bullfights I can ask for," says Welles, "I can tan and work at the same time. I start my day with a brisk 20-minute swim. Then if my mind or body becomes sluggish, another dip or swim tones me up again." Olé.

Cupcakes and crumpets served up on fine Wedgwood pottery have been adding inches to the British waistline for 10 generations. But Sir John Wedgwood, the current boss of the factory, is having none today, thank you very much. If he is to achieve his ambition and descend into France's 4,000-foot Berger Cave with the team of British spelunkers headed there this summer, he has to chop 40 pounds off his 200-pound figure. "I'm not really too big for the holes," says Sir John sheepishly. "I'm just too heavy to swing on the ladders."

The first horse she bet on pulled up lame and finished last. In the second race she backed another loser. But defeats only made Joan Baez, the barefoot girl of folk singing, feel like a better bettor. "I have a system," said compassionate Joan after her last bet at Churchill Downs. "I bet on the ones with the worst odds to make the horse and the jockey feel better."

Even at the age of 83, famed motorboat racer and designer Gar Wood has not relinquished his quest for speed. Still dreaming of further conquests in his trophy-packed Florida home, the man who in 1921 raced a motorboat against a railroad train from Miami to New York revealed last week that he and his younger brother Phil are now working on a high-speed golf cart that will zoom around the golf course at a breathless 40 mph.

Acting more like a stable boy than a princess, but looking mighty pretty in her fashionably baggy Fair Isle jersey, Queen Elizabeth's daughter Anne was all over the lot at Windsor Great Park, helping her father, Prince Philip, get ready for a polo game. When she paused for a moment to let the newsmen snap her picture (left), they could have sworn it was the Queen herself.

A 1932 Rolls-Royce, a 1937 Bentley, a 1964 Silver Cloud III, a Lincoln Continental and a Thunderbird stand gleaming and ready to go in Tony Curtis' Hollywood garage. But the young actor from The Bronx still is not satisfied. A compulsive car collector, he puts together plastic car models in his workshop when not driving the real ones. "I'm not going to let any kid in my neighborhood have a better car collection than mine," says Tony, competitively.

Seeing the seventh Earl of Lonsdale driving through London last week in a yellow Mercedes prompted one London columnist to reminisce about his great sporting ancestor, the fifth Earl. "Lord Lonsdale," wrote the Daily Telegraph's Peterborough, whose humor is more often unconscious than intended, "was known for his boxing belt and sporting library. He drove to Ascot every year in a yellow wagonette with matched chestnuts and postillions in yellow livery. He was known universally from his own home in Rutland to the East End homes of his friends the costers as the Yellow Earl."

As head of the famed Hanover Shoe stables, Pennsylvania horseman L. B. Sheppard is an old hand at picking winners. Come this summer, he will get a chance to test his handicapping in a new kind of race—picking potential presidents as an official delegate to the Republican National Convention.

The champion blue-water fisherman of the Bay of Biscay refused to accept delivery of his brand-new 62-foot sport-fishing cruiser until the Belgian navy gave its fancy navigational gadgets the once over. Why this special attention? The champion of the Bay of Biscay is Baudouin, King of the Belgians.

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