SUMMITS AND CIRCUITS
The dog days of summer traditionally generate a sort of benign madness in men, as well as dogs; things seem out of joint, out of place, as though distorted by shimmering heat waves. Here, for instance, are some peculiar scenes: a perilous pillar of judges and timers anxiously attending a finish at Stockholm's European Games; a nonplused band of Frenchmen finding a patriotic art exhibition on a peak in the Caucasus; Coach Percy Cerutty, his premier pupil Herb Elliott and a file of faithful gamboling up an Australian sand cliff in their summer; harness racing fans setting a record handle at Yonkers (N.Y.) Raceway; and in the gaunt, cavernous Polo Grounds, stock cars blatting where Willie Mays once, in his ingenuous abandon, ran out of his cap.
A foothill of officials watch P. O. Trollsas win at Stockholm.
Assaulting a dune at Portsea Beach, 62 miles from Melbourne, is all in a day's grind for Coach Percy Cerutty, 63 (top), Miler Herb Elliott and other determined Aussies. Cerutty's radicalism pays off: Elliott set a 1,500-meter record this week (see page 5).
On top of old Elbrus, 18,480 feet up in the Caucasus, Alpinists Lucien Caillot, Henri Bouchez, Robert Bouillot, Guy Pelat and Charles Lelong find a singular cache left by previous Soviet expeditions: two busts of Lenin and one of Stalin but no Khrushchev. These are the first Frenchmen to attain this summit since 1909.
Jughead followers, averaging 30,339 a night, jammed the elegantly refurbished Yonkers Raceway and, by waiting with great expectations as they shuffled slowly to the windows, set a one-week harness-racing betting record of $12,536,306.
Abandoned playground of the Giants, the Polo Grounds, drew still meager crowd, some 3,000 in the rain, for a new, noisy game, stock-car racing. Forty disreputable-looking machines competed for some $2,500 in prize money.
THE HOUNDS OF HUNTINGTON
Twice a week, a pack of lop-eared, sad-faced bloodhounds and their owners descend upon the Long Island home of Nancy and Robert Lindsay to take part in a unique sport which can only be called "people-tracking." Each of the dogs is made to follow and find a person hiding in the surrounding countryside. But behind the fun is a serious purpose. Some day these hounds may be called upon, as they have in the past, to find a lost child or a missing person, and this informal training keeps them in shape for a job they do better than any other breed of dog. The bloodhound's huge nose is his Geiger counter, and on a very old trail where the scent has almost disappeared, his wrinkled brow comes into special use. Head down, the loose skin of his forehead falls forward, forming a cup to trap scent rising from the ground. Properly trained, he can follow a trail two or even three days old. And like the Mounted Police, a bloodhound always gets his man.
Waiting for work, a bloodhound sprawls in lazy comfort, wearing leather harness or "saddle" used when tracking.