Lawrence Peter Berra is short and squat. So, too, is the boy who stole his Thunderbird and drove it from New York to Florida a few days ago. There the resemblance ends, yet for 11 days the brash youngster passed himself off as Lawrence Berra, used Yogi's credit card to buy tires which he then resold for cash, and even autographed baseballs for clamoring children in St. Augustine. Giddy with success as a celebrity, he drove on to Fort Lauderdale, Yankee spring-training site, where word got around that Yogi was back in town. Since "Yogi" was both out of season and out of place (Berra is now a Met), someone got curious enough to take a look, a development which quickly led to the impostor's arrest. The 15-year-old did not look a bit like 39-year-old Yogi. But then, as Carmen Berra, Yogi's wife, explained to the confusion of all, "Yogi looks much younger in sports clothes."
According to the press agents, Cynthia Lee Clement, an education student at Eau Claire (Wis.) State College, "enjoys creative work such as choreography, designing her own clothes" and promoting sales of Evinrude and Johnson motors. The latter attribute, along with her natural endowments (below), may possibly account for the fact that Cynthia, jumping the calendar by a month or two, has just been named Miss Stern Drive of 1965.
Tilting shotguns at windfalls of partridges, Spanish Generalissimo Francisco Franco, Portuguese President Americo de Déus Rodrigues Tomàs and U.S. Air Force Chief of Staff Curtis Le-May spent a pair of mild autumn days hunting deep in the Don Quixote land of La Mancha. In the interest of international relations, El Caudillo declined to release figures on individual bags, leaving partisans to guess who shot how many of the 1,902 partridges killed.
Irrepressible Archie Moore, star of TV, the prize ring and an occasional movie, told the Honolulu Quarterback Club he was thinking of opening a health club in the Islands. "With my knowledge of foods, food supplements and weight reducing," said Moore, "the world's greatest health center could be right here." One Monday morning quarterback wanted to know how a man of 50 kept in such magnificent condition. "Fifty?" said the Mongoose, recoiling. "Let's say I'm around 47." Why does The Ring Record Book list his age as 50, then? Moore smiled conspiratorially. "They're joking." he said.
A letter from a father to his son's schoolmaster, which was put on sale in London, provides a clue to Rudyard Kipling's lifelong preoccupation with the warmer shores of Empire. "People are talking about sea bathing and its delights," Kipling's father wrote in 1878, "but I am afraid, indeed I am sure, Ruddy inherits a sensitiveness of liver which makes cold water bathing of any kind dangerous. All my misfortunes date from a chill and I should be immensely obliged if—supposing always no point of school discipline is involved—he can be prevented from cold water bathing. It is grievous, of course, that a boy should not be free to swim, but there really are in this infernal England only about live days per annum when a creature of his complexion can venture into cold water."
At ringside in Baltimore's Civic Center to watch such villainous wrestlers as Gorilla Monsoon and The Golden Terror was Baltimore's local Belasco, Edward J. Golden Jr., director of the city's resident theater company. Professional wrestling remains the longest-running and most profitable stage production in American theater, said the producer afterwards, because "it has the basic elements of children's theater and is keyed to an almost total naiveté. In some ways, it reminds me of a Jacobean tragedy, but the image is similar to that of Ionesco and Genet—the world is a madhouse with people knocking each other down. Becket has this too: man does nothing but contest and there is no intelligibility, just a series of images coming at you and some subliminal logic functioning." Gorilla Monsoon did all that?
No one need wonder what becomes of outgoing Russian premiers: they do what everyone else does during retirement. They just do it invisibly. That reassuring news comes from 36-year-old Sergei Mikoyan, the son of the most durable Bolshevik of all.
During a Thanksgiving Day visit to Millionaire Cyrus Eaton's farm in Ohio, young Mikoyan said, "Nikita Khrushchev didn't disappear. That was all newspaper talk. He lives 15 miles outside Moscow and spends much time hunting. He is in fine shape and beginning to do what he always planned to do when he retired."
Texas millionaire K. S. (Bud) Adams Jr., owner of the Houston Oilers, was happy as a boy of 10 showing Off his newest plaything. A bright-red fire engine, it was a lot more popular in Houston than Adams' losing football team. As for Bud, he was having so much fun cruising around the fashionable River Oaks section looking for drive-in fires that he decided to delay indefinitely sending the fire engine to his ranch.
More than 100,000 people jammed Philadelphia's newly named John F. Kennedy Memorial Stadium to pay honor to the late President and watch the Cadets beat the Midshipmen—and at least five of them bore the name Kennedy themselves. An inveterate sports fan as well as a loyal brother, Senator-elect Bobby Kennedy (below) was on hand with his sons Joseph. David, Bobby Jr. and his daughter Kathleen, cheering as lustily as any of the other 99,995 rooters.