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Some followers of Dick Tracy, may have been surprised to see him playing golf on the moon, not having realized that he was a golfer, but as his creator, Chester Gould, points out, "You can't tell what is behind the scenes when you look at a busy fellow." Jack Nicklaus, for one, feels that Tracy has been too busy a fellow to develop a really threatening golf game. "His stance is a little too wide to get the accuracy you need on a long shot," Jack said, constructively critical, "and he's using a little bit too soft a shaft—it's bending an awful lot on the backswing. He's not going to revolutionize the golf business. Though I think," he added kindly, "that he will do well on the moon."

People who speak metaphorically of "the game of life" (to say nothing of those who happen to own and play the copyrighted game Life, with its squares labeled Truth, Honor, Disgrace, Intemperance, etc.) could do worse than listen to Novelist Kurt Vonnegut on the subject. In a recent interview Vonnegut expressed his views, pertinent and astringent, upon the state of this planet, and, as for games, he said, "Parker Brothers has one for every gathering, and there's a game for every season—ice hockey, basketball, baseball, football. Life soon appears to be a game, and it isn't. In games the object is to win. In life the object of the whole world had better be to preserve the game board and the pieces."

He has been busy, but that is not the only reason President Nixon waited a long time to try out the White House swimming pool. For one thing, according to Herb Klein, the water was too hot. For another, Nixon prefers saltwater swimming. "Someone should pour in about a ton of Morton's and then figure out a way to churn up waves," Klein said. "When I stuck my hand in, the water was so tepid you could have mixed instant coffee in it and drunk it." Clearly, they are more discriminating around the White House about their swimming than they are about their coffee.

It is Mrs. Elizabeth L. Post who carries on for her grandmother-in-law Emily, revising the book of etiquette and writing her own syndicated column. Mrs. Post is something of a fisherwoman, and she has now put down a few rules of behavior for ladies similarly inclined. Under "What to Do if You're in Trouble" Mrs. Post suggests that one say, "Would you mind putting your foot on my fish?"

In the NFL Players Golf Tournament in Palm Springs, Calif., Ralph Wenzel, a Steeler guard, scrupulously recorded his every stroke—all 378 of them for 54 holes. This was the worst gross score of the tournament, and for achieving it Honest Ralph was awarded a year's supply of toilet tissue. Later in the evening, however, he was called to the rostrum again, to find himself the flabbergasted recipient of a 1969 Ford LTD. It had been decided to calculate handicaps according to performance during the actual tournament (over nine holes not identified to the golfers) and Wenzel's came out a whopping 186. This gave him a net 192, so Wenzel managed to be, simultaneously, the tournament's high gross loser and low net winner—yea, verily, the last shall be first! Wenzel says modestly that it's all in the wrists.

The probable (and improbable) sexagenarian Satchel Paige, who was signed by the Atlanta Braves last year as a coach to make him eligible for a well-deserved pension, is looking ahead to August and the five-year benefits. "Man, maybe I'll take the lecture trail," he speculates. "When you're 6-foot-3½ and weigh only 180 like me, you got to eat all that chicken and mash potatoes so you'll be big enough to lift a heavy baseball." A fine idea, except that Paige may stop giving away such good stuff as his advice to rookie pitchers: "I tell 'em to watch out for strange love. It's a mighty powerful lure when you're away from home, almost as strong as doughballs is to a carp."

The annual spring extravaganza at Radio City Music Hall this year includes a 14-year-old ballerina, a baton twirler, a pair of comic acrobats and the voice of Race Caller Fred Capossela! In a number entitled "The Spring Thing" (which follows a number entitled "Glory of Easter") Cappy is heard for 20 seconds or so calling a race. He is not on stage, or even backstage—he is at Aqueduct, at least most afternoons, where the horses really are approaching the starting gate. The voice Music Hall patrons hear has been prerecorded and is duly listed among the credits. Along with "Rockette and Ballet hats and wigs by Pellicano" and "Feathers by Sittenberg" is "Mr. Capossela's voice by arrangement with the New York Racing Association Inc."