"The young South African," he explained. "You mean you don't know him! He is going to be great. He was in the British Open. Finished 106th. But he would have won the French Open, except he blew a short putt on the last green and then lost the playoff. What are you laughing about? He won the Engadine Open the next week. And he was third in the Gevacolour Tournament at Stoke Poges, and I suppose you don't know that he won the West Australian Television Channel 7 Purse at Lake Karrinyup? I don't see why that's so funny. Why, he won the Dunlop Masters' at Royal Birkdale.
"And certainly you read about his winning the Wills Masters in Australia. He's the 23-year-old kid who blew the eight-stroke lead to Nicklaus on the last nine, but he held on to beat Jack. Stop laughing. He's going to be great, I tell you."
It was ludicrous. And then other similar conversations with Mark McCormack came to mind. There was the fall of 1960, when he kept saying that another South African, Gary Player, was good enough to win any U.S. tournament. Or the afternoon at the 1961 U.S. Open when he said he was going to persuade a college boy named Nicklaus that he could make a fast fortune if he would just turn pro. Or the Masters in 1962, when he raved about an unknown Australian named Bruce Devlin. Or early '63, when he kept saying, "I know he's a left-hander, but I'm telling you...," and Bob Charles came up from New Zealand to join the tour.
So we felt it only fair to pass on McCormack's latest name to you. Cobie Le Grange. Laugh if you wish.
While the frustrated surfcaster flails an empty sea, a school of hungry stripers may be cavorting near the beach 100 or so yards away. It is an old problem. Russell Fradkin and his partners have solved it. Each of them equipped with walkie-talkies, they spread out along the beach. When one hooks into a school, he summons the others.
The day's fishing over, Fradkin drives home to the crowded west side of Manhattan, where every evening the automobiles come in to spawn. On the way he alerts his wife by Sony. From their 13th floor apartment overlooking Riverside Drive Mrs. Fradkin reconnoiters for an empty parking space, then talks him in on the Citizens Band. Fradkin is one fisherman-motorist who is always in the right place at the right time.
SNAP COURSE IN SCRIMSHAW
In Canada's far north there are 850 boy scouts, of whom 80% are Eskimo, 10% are Indian and 10% are white. Their range extends as deep into the Arctic as Grise Fjord, which is 700 miles above the Arctic Circle.
An Eskimo scout does not have to learn to identify trees—there aren't any—nor is he likely to win a proficiency badge in swimming or cycling. What he must do is far more demanding. He must make and use well a bow and arrow, run a trapline, learn to drive a dog-sled and take part in a seal hunt. To qualify for a cub interpreter badge he must be able to carry on a conversation, give clear instructions and read from a newspaper or book—all in a second language. For an 11-year-old Eskimo kid, that is quite a stunt. Now, with a bow to Eskimo culture, the boy scouts of Canada have introduced a carver's badge. To get it, a scout has to design and carve a small sculpture in ivory taken from a seal or in bone from a whale. He does not have to catch the whale himself.