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Original Issue


Riding out the threat of Hurricane Dora in Gloucester Harbor, outboard motorman Ralph Evinrude sipped a dry martini, gazed fondly at one of the two loves of his life—ex-Movie Star Frances Langford Evinrude—and talked about the other: his graceful 118-foot diesel yacht Chanticleer. "There's no question but that her great liking for boats was one of the reasons I married Frances," he said of the former. And of the latter, "I'd say she has more engineering features than any other boat in the country. I've been around boats ever since I was so high," Evinrude went on, while the gentle lady, who once screamed like a fishwife at Don Ameche as a part of radio's bickering Bickersons, murmured an assent. "I've been interested in boats ever since I was old enough to know what one was," she said.

Him and Her were still reigning supreme at the White House pulling their master around—but not by the ears. Candidate Barry Goldwater's big bulldog, Cyclone, was licking his gold front tooth out in Arizona and, presumably, wondering what it would be like to bury a bone in that famous rose garden. But after eight years of trying, a third prominent political pooch at last relinquished all hope of succeeding to famed Fala's position as the first dog of the land. Full of years and dignity, Lawyer Richard M. Nixon's cocker spaniel Checkers died quietly in New York at the age of 12.

Nobody can accuse Rhode Island's staunchly Democratic Senator Claiborne Pell of being a Goldwater man, but he does have a way of contemplating the happy past. Last week, after panting through his regular morning routine of 60 push-ups, some neck-braces, toe-touches, body-stretches and a 10-lap jog around a quarter-mile track, Claiborne picked up a mass of ancient worsted and waved it at a reporter. "Don't forget to mention my sweater," gloated the 45-year-old ex-Princeton man. "It's 65 years old, and my father won it playing soccer at Harvard."

"This is worse than being red-dogged," gasped former San Francisco Quarterback Frankie Albert after his daughter Janie, the nation's 11th-best woman tennis player, missed an easy shot at the U.S. championships in Forest Hills, N.Y. "If this goes on all week I'll be dead." "Watching me play takes a lot out of him," his understanding daughter said after the match was done. "I only wish I could win more easily for his sake."

Up to now the biggest lawman anywhere around has been TV's Matt Dillon (as played by 6-foot 6-inch James Arness), but all that may change if the Republican candidate for sheriff of Jefferson County, Mo. gets elected. He is Clyde Lovellette, a 6-foot 9-inch basketball player whose hobby is practicing the fast draw (left). After 11 years as the bad boy of the NBA (2,287 personal fouls) Clyde has decided to reform and join the good guys even though sheriffs nowadays don't get a chance to shoot as often as they used to.

Matt Dillon may not be a lawman for long anyway, now that Chester isn't around to brew up that terrible coffee. Actor Dennis Weaver, who was once a decathlon star at the University of Oklahoma and owns three race horses, has given up the law-enforcement business (and his limp) to set up TV shop as a horse trainer turned veterinarian.

There was the threat of another Tory scandal in London last week. Education Secretary Quintin Hogg, so the rumor ran, was not really riding his bike to work—he was just riding it around the corner and out of sight, and there loading it into his Austin Princess. Why else, asked the scandalmongers, would he start off on a bike ride wearing a bowler and high boots? But Mr. Hogg, the ex-Lord Hailsham, had, as always, a ready answer. "I wear a bowler because it keeps my head warm," he said, "and boots because I have weak ankles." And with that, in full sight of press and public (below), he took off to pedal the full six miles from his home in Putney to Whitehall. "My doctor tells me it's good for me," explained the plump parliamentarian.

While Chase Manhattan's friendly bank president, David Rockefeller, cruised on the family yawl, his 23-year-old son, David, Jr., was sailing an International One-Design to a first-place finish in a Labor Day race off Bar Harbor, Maine. Victory was sweet to young Rockefeller, who spent his summer on the losing side as a crewman aboard the rejected would-be America's Cup defender Nefertiti.

"There's football players who sing and basketball players who sing, but they don't know how," said Outfielder Lee Maye of the Milwaukee Braves. "I do know how." And with that the chirping slugger whose recording of Halfway Out of Love has sold nearly half a million records went on to explain how he combines music with a .298 batting average. "When I go home I take my tape recorder and sing into it. That's how I write my songs. Of course, all I'm concentrating on now is hitting .300, but when the season's over I'm going on a tour of Europe with the Lionel Hampton orchestra." And write a new hit? Maybe: Halfway Out of Love and 12 Games Out of First Place.