Not a creature was stirring, not even a grouse, on Lord Swinton's Yorkshire estate, when former Prime Minister Harold Macmillan and his friends went over for the start of the shooting season. Clad in traditional tweed caps, plus-fours and gaiters, the sportsmen spent four hours on the foggy moors and failed to flush a single bird. The day's only distinction went to the Jamieson brothers—Major David, who fired the only shot (he missed); and Jerry, who bagged the only prize (he smothered a bird in his cap as it scurried through the heather). "It was the worst opening day I can remember," said Macmillan.
It was tournament time at Southampton, and the grass on the Long Island estate of Humble Oil Heiress Mrs. Lloyd H. Smith looked somehow as expensive as the croquet sets that dotted it. "What we're playing here is a kind of turf chess," explained Portrait Painter John Lavalle, leaning on his mallet. "Bert here is pretty good," he said, nodding at His Grace, the 66-year-old 10th Duke of Marlborough, as the latter slowly straightened up after a crouching shot. "I understand that Westhampton wants to play us," said one of the players. Another, Mrs. M. Dorland Doyle, quickly dismissed any notion of that. "But we don't know anyone there," she said.
"I feel like I'm gonna die and I'm afraid I'm not," gasped Stan Musial after he collapsed at Busch Stadium in St. Louis last week. Then, as the man most responsible for the nation's fitness regained some of his own, his wife Lil explained, "Stan has been on the go almost constantly ever since he retired, and his work in physical fitness is just one of his many activities. When the ball club was going poorly he was running around for them [as a vice-president]. In addition, he is conscientious about his business [Stan Musial's and Biggie's restaurant in St. Louis] and his book [Stan Musial: " The Man's" Own Story as Told to Bob Broeg]." The Man's doctor added: "The demands on Stan's time have been tremendous. He was just pooped, that's all."
The market was steady and there were plenty of others in the firm to take care of the investors, so Broker Edward Allen Pierce of Merrill Lynch, Pierce, Fenner & Smith Inc. took the afternoon off to celebrate his birthday with a round of golf. He shot "around 90" for nine holes. But that was not too bad. Mr. Pierce is 90 himself.
Those exuberant French ski champions, Marielle and Christine Goitschel, were up to their old tricks, but this time in bikinis, not stretch pants. With parachutes strapped to their backs and clinging to lines from a speeding motorboat, the girls have been flying over the Mediterranean in a new sport called in French parachuttisme ascensionnel. "Anyone can do it, grandpas and kids," enthused Marielle, back at water level after a soaring flight. "I like going up in a chute so much that I'm going to try coming down a mountain under one this winter in the Alps."
Recovered at last from his rebuffed attempt to get in the presidential race, Pennsylvania's Governor William W. Scranton decided to run in another (right). Happily seizing an Olympic torch, he ran a fast 50 yards outside the state capitol in Harrisburg as one of the 3,000-odd runners selected to carry the flame across the nation to help raise $1 million for the U.S. Olympic fund.
"I'd like to play pro ball for four or five years, but I'd like to sing professionally, too," said Quarterback Jim Weatherly after completing an evening of musical passes at the Fiesta Lounge in Biloxi, Miss. "I'm supposed to cut my first record soon, and I've written a few songs I'd like to get published." But what about keeping in shape for Ole Miss? "Well, I get more sleep now than I did last summer when I was on the night shift loading freight in Florida," explained the 6-foot 183-pounder.
In all the far-fetched metaphors attached to America's Cup racing, it probably has never occurred to anyone to compare the hardships of a cup crew with those visited on members of the foreign legion. But it soon may. Aboard the British 12-meter yacht Kurrewa, salty tars eager to be picked as challenger obeyed the orders of her skipper, British Army Colonel Robert (Stug) Perry, and his second in command, Major General Ralph Farrant, without a whimper. But on hearing that Sovereign was the chosen boat, the first action of Kurrewa's crew was to leap overboard to the strains of an old English song: We Don't Want to Join the Army.
If a baseball man like Walter O'Malley can hunt big game, why can't a football man like Joe Foss? To answer the question himself, the American Football League Commissioner and a friend, Actor Bob Stack, headed into the Kenya jungle and emerged with a five-ton elephant, a Cape buffalo, a black-maned lion and an assortment of wart hogs, gazelles, zebras, impalas and elands. "Everything there either bites, sticks or eats you," said Foss, "but we really thoroughly enjoyed our first trip to Africa."
While two PT boats hovered close by, Fidel Castro removed his olive-green jacket, pulled up his olive-green trunks, fixed his face mask, strapped a knife around his calf and dived into the clear waters off Cuba for some spearfishing. He hit a blue-fish, missed a shark and then landed an 80-pound black grouper. Satisfied, he climbed back on board his cabin cruiser to return home. "Sometimes," said the dictator, dreamily stretching out on the deck, "I think I would like to be Robinson Crusoe. Just go away on an island and live in the outdoors."