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January 20, 1964
There's nothing definite, mind you, but when former Heavyweight Champion Gene Tunney said, "One of the nicest tributes you could pay me would be to cast a vote for my son," California Democrats at a Palm Springs wingding got the distinct impression that 31-year-old John Varik Tunney would soon come out fighting for a seat in the House of Representatives.
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January 20, 1964

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There's nothing definite, mind you, but when former Heavyweight Champion Gene Tunney said, "One of the nicest tributes you could pay me would be to cast a vote for my son," California Democrats at a Palm Springs wingding got the distinct impression that 31-year-old John Varik Tunney would soon come out fighting for a seat in the House of Representatives.

"With the score tied at 3-3 and with two out, I worked the Navy pitcher for a base on balls. I was no Ty Cobb, but in those days I could run. So I went down on the first pitch and sure enough the catcher threw wild. The ball got away from the second baseman and I kept on going. The ball was heaved over the third baseman's head and I trotted home with what proved to be the winning run in a 4-3 contest. I was far from a brilliant ballplayer...but that game will always stand as one of my happiest memories." So writes ballplayer, General of the Army and now autobiographer Douglas Mac-Arthur in LIFE magazine of the game he helped win for West Point in 1901.

"I don't particularly want to be another Cary Grant," said handsome young screen star James Garner as he completed 18 holes at Hollywood's Bel-Air Country Club. "I'd rather be another Jack Nicklaus." Garner's score: a three-under-par 69.

As one of the original members of the "million dollar" syndicate that controls—or tries to—Cassius Marcellus Clay, recently retired tobacco man William Sol Cutchins dropped down to Miami the other day to check on the progress of his young investment. How was Clay planning to handle Liston, Cutchins wanted to know. "Just step out here on the terrace and I'll show you," said the greatest. Considerably less than one round later the tobacco man returned with his left ear noticeably reddened.

While the Southeastern Conference Coach of the Year, Mississippi State's Paul Davis, was concentrating on football with his fellow coaches at the NCAA convention in New York, his wife, Mary Earle Davis, dropped around to a TV show called Concentration and concentrated well enough to win a fur coat, several hundred dollars and a trip to Italy for both Davises.

As a two-time winner of the famed "500" on Indianapolis' Speedway, Rodger Ward rolled home with total prizes of $232,000. As a two-time loser on Indiana's highways, Rodger Ward may be walking home. Last week an Indiana judge upheld Ward's second speeding conviction, which gave the driving champion an aggregate of 12 penalty points, or enough to lose him his driving license.

In a press agent's West Indian hashish dream, Chock Full o' Nutsman Jackie Robinson (at right, using a baseball and bat), Cricketer Jackie Hendriks (using a cricket ball and bat), Track Star Herb McKenley (using his feet and a basketball), Dress Designer Fred Perry (using a tennis ball and racket) and the local golf pro, Caleb Haye (playing left-handed with a right-handed club), went through the motions of a hole of golf on a Kingston, Jamaica course. The cricketer won with a double-bogey 6.

Around the middle of the last century, Americans were goggle-eyed over London's Crystal Palace—a miracle of advanced architecture. Now it was England's turn to gape. Staring in disbelief at the huge, domed, $31 million stadium that will soon be the home of the Houston Colt .45s, Britain's Minister of Public Building and Works Geoffrey Rippon capitulated absolutely. "There has been nothing like it," he said, "since the Roman Colosseum."

If swim stars like Johnny Weismuller and Buster Crabbe can do it, why can't a football star like Frank Gifford swing through the trees and into the nation's living rooms as the newest Tarzan? That was the question asked by Sy Weintraub, and without waiting for an answer the bumptious TV producer started mentally measuring the Giant flanker back for a leopard skin. But Y. A. Tittle's top target was in no mood to take up residence in the jungle. "Me Tarzan?" he said in effect. "You insane."

In any other patient they would have diagnosed the trouble as tennis elbow, but "in this case," admitted Dr. Peter J. Borak, who was doing his best to ease Dwight D. Eisenhower's bothersome joint complaint, "I guess you might say it was golf elbow."

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