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Original Issue


A trick-or-treating youngster visited Roger Staubach in Dallas and was appropriately rewarded with Halloween sweets. After leaving the house, the boy had second thoughts. He returned, knocked on the door again and asked the Cowboy quarterback if he could trade the candy back to him for an autograph. Good thinking, kid. He ended up with both.

Only God and old Elis are welcome at Yale, and even God gets a hostile reception sometimes. Certainly no exception to the rule is made for a minor deity such as Walter Cronkite. When the newscaster was invited by the campus radio station to be a halftime guest at the Yale-Cornell football game, he was unable to keep the commitment. A guard, showing splendid democratic, egalitarian, undiscriminating spirit, would not admit him to the Yale Bowl press box because he lacked the proper credentials. And that's the way it is, Walter.

Dallas Cowboy Guard John Niland was a guest of honor at the grand opening of a Dallas spaghetti house and was chatting with a group of fans when somebody mentioned Arkansas. "Arkansas produces only two things," said Niland, a New Yorker, "shady ladies and football players." A fan said, "Wait a minute, my wife is from Arkansas!" Niland said, "Oh, really? What position does she play?"

Horsepower is getting to be a big thing everywhere. Apparently a little cocky about the implications of the gasoline shortage, a yearling bay colt named Fittipaldi—after champion driver Emerson—strolled out to take a proprietary look around the driving school of former auto racer Jim Russell. Fittipaldi nuzzled Trainee Jane Alexander, and that was a gas, something horses might supplant soon at Sebring and Indianapolis.

John Sirica, the judge overseeing the Watergate case, is a fighter—a former boxer, to be precise. Although a phrase like "tale of the tape" tends to apply to something other than reach, height and biceps measurements now, Sirica was an excellent YMCA boxer in his youth and served as a sparring partner for department store magnate Bernard Gimbel, then a near-professional boxer. Sirica remembers that his father, a barber, warned him, "If you become a barber, I'll break your arm off."

Eric (Elbows) Nesterenko, now playing for the Chicago Cougars of the World Hockey Association after a tough 20 years in the NHL, detests flying. It makes him nervous. Nothing unusual there. A lot of pro athletes—like a lot of people—are nervous about flying. But Nester's wife Barbara is a social worker who specializes in psychiatry and has a master's degree in psychology from the University of Illinois. She suggested Nesterenko cure his fear by getting a private flying license. So far, Nester has 175 hours in the air and has found that "being behind the controls is fun." So Elbows is cured, and his wife is a genius, right? Nope. "When I climb into one of those big DC-10s I tense up all over again," he says mournfully. "If I don't last the season with the Cougars, the reason will be that flying got to me again. It's the reason I retired in the first place."

Catch this. Johnny Bench of the Cincinnati Reds singing eight songs—including such classics as King of the Road, Bad, Bad Leroy Brown and When You're Hot, You re Hot—while appearing as special soloist for the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra. Same ball game, Bench read Casey at the Bat while wearing a 19th century uniform. "Not my style," he admitted, but he worried more about hitting the right notes. "It was worse than trying out for the majors," he said.

In his debut as goalie for the Connecticut College field-hockey team, Owen Prague withstood all sorts of charges to preserve a 5-0 shutout for his women teammates. An avid ice-hockey player, Prague obtained his status as the squad's only male when the regular goalie quit. He says he enjoys being one of the girls and will go out for the team next year. He will if Coach Marilyn Conklin can defend his position against some pretty irate traditionalists.

A couple from Nacogdoches, Texas drove all the way to Little Rock to see Arkansas play, although they knew their son, Larry Brown, third-string quarterback for the Razorbacks, would only hold for kicks. To Mrs. Brown's surprise, Larry ran onto the field on every offensive down. He took in the play, then raced for the sideline before the snap. "It looks like the team just doesn't want him," she told her husband, sadly.

Governments are always pleading poverty, but this is ridiculous. Edward Stapf won $40 in the Pennsylvania lottery, and when he tried to cash his check it bounced. "Insufficient funds," the bank said. Russell McElhatten, Pennsylvania comptroller, tried to reassure Stapf. The state lottery, he insisted, is $51,964,742.92 on the credit side. Which should about cover the check.