Wrapped in bandages and propped in a hospital bed in Moscow, Valeri Brumel placidly played chess with his wife Marina as if nothing at all had changed (below). There was at least hope that it hadn't. Though his right leg had been fractured when a friend lost control of a motorcycle, sending them both into a tree, Russia's world champion high jumper said he expected to recover his old form.
Timbertop has a new slushie. A slushie, in case you didn't know, is a student at Australia's rough-and-ready Timbertop school who has drawn the week's dishwashing and floor-scrubbing chores, and, beginning in February, Prince Charles will be one. High point of the Timbertop year is a run to the top of a mountain 16 miles away and 4,300 feet up; low point is denial of permission to spend a rainy weekend camping out. Of course, there are gentler diversions; after classes boys get to feed pigs, chop wood, take six-mile ski hikes, romp up-and downhill for four miles, cook johnnycakes and boil their own billies.
Try not to mention wires or trips to anyone in the University of Utah athletic department. Trouble with expense accounts? No. It appears that when the Utah team was in Albuquerque recently, struggling with the New Mexico Lobos in a muddy fourth-quarter 10-10 tie, Utah Coach Ray Nagel's telephone lines to his spotters in the press box suddenly went dead. Nagel pleaded with officials to delay the game until communication was restored. Nix, the officials said. Nagel asked if his spotter could run up and down the sidelines. No, said the officials. Finally, Lobo Coach Bill Weeks voluntarily hung up on his spotter to even things out. New Mexico won any way, 13-10. Too late, a repairman sent to the press box discovered the reason for the break: a nonworking member of the nonpress tripped over the wires. It was Utah basketball Coach Jack Gardner.
Whatever keeps indefatigable Satchel Paige, age 59 and up, going ought to be bottled and sold. Satch has just become the happy father of an eight-pound 12-ounce boy, Warren James Paige. Now if Papa can just hold onto that pitching job with the Kansas City Athletics until Warren is ready to relieve him....
The aftermath of all those student demonstrations brought an odd fusillade of phone calls to the Santa Fe (N. Mex.) Boys' Club. Basketball and ping-pong were repeatedly interrupted last Thursday by parents anxiously inquiring about Communist infiltration into the organization. Seems that FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover had said the Boys' Clubs were spawned by Communists in an interview reported by an Albuquerque radio station. The parents, after some confusion, were assured that J. Edgar had said "W. E. B. Du Bois Clubs," not "de Boys Clubs."
The name of the path in London's Hyde Park was Rotten Row and the fault was lousy aim. A youthful soccer player, in a Sunday kick-about, booted the one-pound ball full into the face of a passing stroller—Sir Winston's 80-year-old widow, Lady Spencer-Churchill. Totally undone by it all, the teenage boys manfully sent flowers to Lady Churchill's apartment, where she was confined to bed with a broken arm.
When two of his moose-hunting buddies were stranded for 54 hours outside Moonbeam, Ont., Jim Konstanty, an old hand at rescue work, turned in another emergency save. Konstanty and three friends had flown to an island 45 miles from Moonbeam and felled one moose, but they had problems when it was time to stop shooting. Without wind, their pilot couldn't risk lugging five men and all the equipment on one takeoff. Two hunters volunteered to remain behind while Konstanty and the fourth man flew to Moonbeam. A thick fog rolled in almost immediately, and the two stranded men ate prunes, discarded fish and peppermint candy while enduring subfreezing temperatures and 35-mile-an-hour winds. Konstanty, meanwhile, finally located one nervy helicopter pilot who agreed to attempt a rescue. "The helicopter was the only one in northern Ontario," says Konstanty, "everything else was grounded." After the pilot and he had finally brought back his pals, Konstanty admitted, "This was the most important rescue job of my life." And then, in a quote right out of his baseball days with the Phillies, the former pitcher added, "But it was a team effort."
Lindy Berry, who set alltime total-offense records as a tailback at Texas Christian in the late '40s, volunteered to help out his neighborhood Peewee League football team. The businessman-coach in charge, surveying Berry's slender build and horn-rimmed glasses, said, "No thanks. I'm waiting on a fellow to help me who knows something about the game."
That man down on the field in the striped shirt—the one pointing and yelling and throwing his handkerchief around. Isn't that the guy you sometimes see up on Capitol Hill stabbing his finger and waving his arms in the House of Representatives? Well, sure enough; that's the Hon. Sam Devine, Republican Congressman from Ohio's 12th district, who spends free weekends officiating college football games full tilt, calling them as he sees them, penalizing political friend and foe alike. Sounds precarious. "It's not too bad," Devine panted last week at the Ohio University-Miami of Ohio game in Oxford (below). "I've been called much worse names as a legislator."