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Original Issue


"All men are equal before fishes," Herbert Hoover once wrote. Now, it seems, all fishes are equal before presidents. Henry G. Shakespeare, chief executive of the Shakespeare fishing tackle company, one of the world's largest, returned from a highly successful marlin fishing trip in the Gulf of Mexico last week, craving a simpler sort of excitement. Setting aside a big-game outfit worth hundreds of dollars, he grabbed a 65¢ cane pole and a cage of crickets and headed for a small lake near Panama City, Fla. There, as happy as Huck Finn on his raft, he caught a fine mess of pan-sized red-breasted bream, or, as the natives say, "He pure got with the brim." Now cars at company headquarters in Kalamazoo, Mich. are sporting a new bumper sticker: HENRY SHAKESPEARE USES CANE POLES.

Cardinal fans worshipped Stan Musial, and now, for always, the famous coiled stance is on display in front of Busch Stadium—on a pedestal, of course. "He almost got me—he came pretty close," Stan told crowds at unveiling ceremonies for the 10-foot statue, though few would guess who it was without the identifying inscription. He approved it after Sculptor Carl Mose increased the crouch and diminished the belly. "I feel 18 feet tall," Musial said, then wept along with several teammates from his rookie year, 1941. Cardinal manager and former teammate Red Schoendienst ribbed The Man: "Stan, you've done a lot for baseball. Now you're even going to give the pigeons a break."

Muhammad Ali ("I'm still the king") crashed Joe Frazier's singing debut at Atlantic City's Jet Set Lounge, and it was High Noon and the Cuban missile crisis rolled into one. "Listen to Frazier singing to himself," cracked Ali, and the sparse crowd tensed. "If I had six people listening to me I'd leave," he continued, and Frazier stripped off his tuxedo jacket. "Wait a few minutes and Rap Brown will be here," Ali added, doffing his own jacket. There was nervous laughter. Suddenly Ali was on stage with Frazier, but the two major powers were really only kidding. Each threw a few open-handed punches, and Ali did a little shuffle, but the tension was gone. They shook hands and inquired about each other's families. "Joe is my man," Ali said. "He's still keeping me on top, saying he won't feel right until he gets me." Frazier agreed. "I'd love to get you," he said, jaw set in a hard smile. "Frazier says he can whip your butt," someone in the audience shouted. And Ali showed that in some ways he is still Cassius Clay. "If you keep talking jive, you'll eat five," he warned, shaking his fist.

Arty aquanauts may soon take gallery tours in the depths off France's C√¥te d'Azur. A six-foot, 550-pound sculpture by Spanish Artist Joan Miró, called Goddess of the Sea, now rests in a vaulted grotto off Golfe Juan. "This first underwater statue marks a new era in my work," says the 75-year-old Miró. "I am working on other sculptures of a similar sort." Miró's deity is of multicolored ceramic material and has an enormous nose and bulging eyes. Twice yearly a skin diver will brush her clean of seaweed and mollusks, and in September Miró hopes to view the Goddess from Captain Jacques-Yves Cousteau's diving saucer.

Early word out of Palavas-les-Flots, France was that Olympic Gold Medal Skier Jean-Claude Killy looked even better in the bullring than on the slopes. Later, however, witnesses said that the bull was a cow and that Killy had run from, not after it. Jean-Claude explained, "That was during the first few minutes and I was getting to know the 'bull.' We fought for eight to 10 minutes and the result was a draw." Was this a new career? "No," he replied, "I would not like to take it up seriously, but it is fun to do on occasion."

Ashe's serve and Laver's backhand make headlines at Wimbledon, but at the Chichester Tennis Club the most deadly weapon is Peter Ustinov's paunch. "It's kind of a secret weapon," says the British author-writer-tennis amateur, patting his ample waistline. "People don't expect me to be agile on the courts, and it takes them by surprise when I dash—and don't waddle—to the net." Would Ustinov like the slim build of a Laver? "Not at all," he says. "If I became thin I would be completely off balance, and bang would go my secret weapon and possibly my career. You see, I act better after a game of tennis."