The weighty matters of the campaign ought to be saved until after the World Series when the voters are paying more attention, said would-be New York Senator Robert F. Kennedy. Accordingly, Senator Kenneth Keating mentioned no issues but made friends among the baseball crowd by dropping in on a Mets game at Shea Stadium. Keating, of course, conferred conspicuously with Casey Stengel, but up till then nobody knew Stengelese was catching. Keating's later description of the game he saw: "I was a good omen because the Mets scored one run when I was there and then there were two men on base when the last batter came up and if he had hit a home run which he didn't and in the next inning someone else had hit a home run the Mets would have won so you can see it was pretty close to winning."
Although sharing a strong family resemblance and a love of the stage, Geraldine Chaplin and father Charlie part company as ophiophilists. So, to celebrate her 20th birthday in London, Geraldine gave herself a five-foot (and growing) python and packed off to the Continent. "I adore all animals," she said, studiously casual and fondling embraceable Emily (below), "but I have a weakness for snakes. They are less demonstrative than dogs, make less noise, take up less room and are a pleasure to travel with. Besides," she added while the French douanier backed off, "for a young dancer like myself it's a treat to watch them move. Their suppleness and elegance are incomparable."
A&P Heir Huntington Hartford changed the name from Hog Island to Paradise Island but it must be true about the silk purse and the sow's ear. His society resort in the Bahamas is up for grabs for $32 million—but he'll dicker and maybe throw in Plaid Stamps. The island's elegant little hotel was just too small to sustain such luxuries as Pancho Gonzalez and Paradise Tennis. Said Hartford's real-estate broker: "You can't pay the salaries of people like Pancho and Gary Player, the resident pros, with only 52 paying guests."
The things that money won't buy! There stood Cassius Clay, to cite an instance, in a Miami haberdashery poised to pay out $300 for a matched set of those balloon-sleeved custom silk shirts his friend Jackie Gleason likes to wear. And already abroad was the news that Cassius was packing a gilt, single-shot .22 caliber derringer. "It's an antique," said Clay, but his pawnbroker said, "Who's he kidding? It's slightly used and I let him have it for $14." Well, anyway, Clay's life has been threatened at one time or another, and maybe he was getting prepared for the worst. "Shoot!" snorted the champ. "If I was afraid somebody was going to come after me, I'd get a great big pistol—one that shoots nine times without stopping."
The president of Avis Rent A Car, Winston V. Morrow Jr., was shaken, and who could blame him? His incentive-minded "We try harder" buttons had fallen into the wrong hands—namely, those of the seniors on Princeton's varsity football team, who were awarding them to underclassmen showing exceptional team effort. For Harvardman Morrow (Law '50) the outlook for next month's Tiger-Crimson game was dark: either way he lost.
Wise and witty, Pittsburgh's Bishop John J. Wright is not loth to put both faculties to work at once, as he did when he rose in the aula of St. Peter's and told the world's assembled Catholic bishops: "Unusquisque loquitur aut bona aut mala de cursu hippodromo seu curriculo equorum secundum fortunam equi sui proprio." Freely translated, Bishop Wright was saying a man judges a racetrack on the basis of how well his horse runs. He was reminding delegates to Vatican Council II that the laity would judge them strictly on what they had to say about the laity.
The shoeshine boy on a sidewalk in New York was once within jabbing distance of the world heavyweight championship. But that was before Tommy (Hurricane) Jackson (below) met his match in Floyd Patterson and Eddie Machen and was banned from the ring in 1957 for being physically unfit. "I'm trying to get me a good job—like helper on a truck," Hurricane told a newspaperman, "but it's tough with all those foreigners coming in. People are surprised to see me here. They ask what happened to all my money and I say 'I don't know' because I don't. I give free shines sometimes. You know, a shine, a real nice shine, can make you feel good and clean all over."
While the Duke of Windsor, sweating in his tweeds, stalked after the girls at the first women's international golf championship near Paris, reporters trotted along behind sweeping up the nuggets he scattered. "This is the first time I have ever watched women's golf," he said, "and I can see they play admirably. I fear they could give me a stroke on each hole. I never really count my strokes, though. I play for the fun of it. But notice that American Barbara McIntire. She's so smooth she must be a machine." What, Your Royal Highness, distinguishes the women golfers from the men golfers, one reporter-in-depth asked. The Duke reflected a bit. "Sex," he said.