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Original Issue


Fullback-actor-announcer-publicist Jimmy Brown, though not wanting for sideline pursuits, revealed another last week: working with Cassius Clay, an old friend, in a closed-circuit television boxing enterprise. Part of Brown's profit will be channeled into Cleveland's developing Negro Industrial Economic Union, through which he seeks ways for Negroes to become more involved in an integrated world of business. This seemed somewhat at odds with Partner Clay's Black Muslim philosophy of racial separation, but Brown implied it did not matter: "I never could see eye to eye with Cassius' way of worship, but whether he is Muslim, black or white makes no difference. He has to be dealt with."

Coming up this weekend—-and dutifully to be celebrated Saturday on NBC-TV—is the 25th anniversary of the Crosby proam golf tournament. It's all pretty big time now—Pebble Beach on the swanky Monterey coast, prizes amounting to $104,500 instead of the $10,000 customary in the old days—and, at those prices, Bing Crosby is maybe a mite more decorous than he used to be. Some of the newsreel film on the anniversary program shows him in an early, rainy tournament (below). Dressed in baggy shorts, he slogs out of a rain-puddle sand trap, then breaks into a little song and dance in the drizzle. "It's hard to remember what I was up to," says Crosby. "I guess I was just monkeying around a little bit."

"Exceptional recipes from the private kitchens of America's top-name athletes," tootles the dust jacket of The All-Star Athletes Cook Book, explaining itself. Within, indeed, one finds details of Rocky Marciano's flaming beef collops, Julius Boros' sweet 'n' sour liver fingers, Blanton Collier's Kentucky burgoo and Don Meredith's prairie jackrabbit. But, sorry to say, nothing at all from Beans Reardon, Taters Lary and Peanuts Lowrey.

"In my opinion, there is nothing in the world that brings people together more than doll collecting; a collector in Tierra del Fuego has a warm friendship for a collector in Greenwich, Conn., or vice versa." That's the happy outlook, anyway, of Gene Tunney, and who's going to pick a fight with him? Collector Tunney is a close friend of Pan American Airways Consultant Sam Pryor, owner of one of the largest collections in the world, and that's how he got started. Now he's just back from his first buying trip in Europe, where he and Pryor purchased dolls in Barcelona, Paris and Berlin.

Science of Personal Achievement, taught at the Napoleon Hill Academy, promises that anyone can become "indispensable to others in his chosen field of endeavor." Holding the academy's teaching franchise in Minneapolis are Rich Rollins and Bernie Allen, two Minnesota irregulars who both would like to become indispensable to Manager Sam Mele in their chosen field of endeavor—namely, playing second base for the Twins. The two acknowledge the paradox facing them, and already are making minor adjustments in their positive thinking. "There are other positions we can play," says Allen. "The Twins aren't the only team," says Rollins.

That old urge to put yourself in, say, Jimmy Clark's seat can soon be fulfilled. Carroll Shelby, auto racing's shrewd manipulator of pistons and profit, has joined Hertz to provide renters with a super sports car named the Shelby GT-350-H. The Shelby will have all the usual stuff, like superfluous horsepower, chromy lug nuts and spiffy racing stripes, plus extra-wide seatbelts just like real derring-do race drivers use. To heighten the drama further, a driver wishing to rent a Shelby with nonautomatic transmission must be "checked out." Meaning: you'd best learn how to shift gears before you drop into the driver's seat.

The owner of the Oilers, Bud Adams, was patting his lips and preparing to leave when the waiter who had served him a Scotch and water at a private Houston club muttered mysteriously: "If you ever want to make a favor to an Argentine, remember me." The favor Eduardo Lloret had in mind was for Adams to hold a football while he showed off the powerful kick he had developed playing Rugby back home. Adams agreed, next day held while Lloret kicked the ball from the 50-yard line through the uprights. "Here," said Adams, producing a pen and contract.

Small as it is, Newberry, S.C. has its social problems. But then, too, it has Atlanta Braves Pitcher Billy O'Dell. As director of Boys Farm, Inc., a shelter for homeless youth, O'Dell is chairman of a $100,000 fund-raising drive in Newberry, his native town. "I have three adopted children of my own," says O'Dell. "I know what it is to be unwanted."

Having been more or less preoccupied with navigating Gemini 6 while other Texas deer hunters were blazing away on the ground (and running out the open season), Walter Schirra Jr. took rifle and son (below) to a private hunting preserve near San Antonio and not much later posed happily with an exotic kill. "It was more difficult than the rendezvous with Gemini 7," said the astronaut, obliging newsmen with a ho-ho quote, although he got his black buck antelope and Walter III his axis deer within the space of an hour.