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PEOPLE
May 20, 1968
Actor Robert Redford, in Aspen to survey possible locations for the ski movie he is producing, ran across Billy Kidd, whom he had last seen crashing down the slopes at Grenoble. Maybe it is the memory of that ordeal that makes Redford, who took up skiing five years ago, so sure he knows just what he wants to say in the film, tentatively titled Downhill. "It will not be a nice movie," he says, "in fact, it will be quite brutal. When a racer falls, his broken body is dragged off the course to make room for the next man." That is pretty unconventional stuff for a conventional enough plot in which star Redford portrays a racer who does not make the national team because he can't get along with his coach. When a regular gets hurt, Redford is called in and posts the fastest time in the downhill. But even as hordes of admirers close in, it is announced that another racer is coming down with a faster time. Everyone leaves to greet the new winner, who proceeds to fall just before the finish line. Redford won't say whether Kidd is the model for his off-again, on-again, off-again, on-again hero.
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May 20, 1968

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Actor Robert Redford, in Aspen to survey possible locations for the ski movie he is producing, ran across Billy Kidd, whom he had last seen crashing down the slopes at Grenoble. Maybe it is the memory of that ordeal that makes Redford, who took up skiing five years ago, so sure he knows just what he wants to say in the film, tentatively titled Downhill. "It will not be a nice movie," he says, "in fact, it will be quite brutal. When a racer falls, his broken body is dragged off the course to make room for the next man." That is pretty unconventional stuff for a conventional enough plot in which star Redford portrays a racer who does not make the national team because he can't get along with his coach. When a regular gets hurt, Redford is called in and posts the fastest time in the downhill. But even as hordes of admirers close in, it is announced that another racer is coming down with a faster time. Everyone leaves to greet the new winner, who proceeds to fall just before the finish line. Redford won't say whether Kidd is the model for his off-again, on-again, off-again, on-again hero.

A young girl, wearing only a bathing suit under her coat, caught in a wild riot in the Latin Quarter of Paris—it has to be the filming of a movie. It wasn't. Canadian Skier Nancy Greene was water-skiing on the Seine for a French picture magazine when she remembered another appointment, flung on her coat and jumped into a cab. In no time she found herself caught on the Boulevard St. Michel in the midst of a battle between thousands of students and police, tear-gas grenades exploding around her and paving blocks flying over her head. The skirmish finally subsided, and the young skier emerged safe, if shaken. "I wasn't afraid" she reported, "but I did cry."

Charles de Gaulle's early tastes and tactics in games may have been portentous. A new biography, Le G�n�ral, reveals that as boys Charles and his brothers played war with toy soldiers. Brother Xavier always played emperor of Germany; Charles, king of France. As a young adult, President de Gaulle acquired a taste for dominoes but was a poor sport, and he was worse about bridge. Now De Gaulle is a rabid Rugby fan. During televised matches he comments out loud on the games and is furious when a French team is beaten. He even uses sports phrases in state business. When British Prime Minister Harold Wilson defied De Gaulle and tried to push England into the Common Market, De Gaulle quipped, "He's a linesman who thinks he's an offensive back."

It is easy enough to have your cake and eat it, too, if the cake weighs 569 pounds. Willie Mays was in Houston when his 37th birthday hit and Astro Owner Roy Hofheinz had his caterers whip up a little something. It took 3,800 eggs, 150 pounds of sugar, 150 pounds of butter, 300 pounds of flour and 100 pounds of almonds for a cake weighing in at one pound for each of Willie's home runs. Willie shared it with the Astros and his teammates and sent the rest to the Texas Children's Hospital. As for the ball game the Astros took it from the Giants 10-2, the real piece of cake in anybody's book.

Considering that she is a Scotswoman and the Scots are supposed to be pinchfists, plus the fact that she plays no golf herself, Mrs. Gena MacKinnon has been generous to the Linlithgow Golf Club near Edinburgh. Mrs. MacKinnon is chairman of the board of the Drambuie Liqueur Co. Ltd., her family having been fortunate enough to receive the recipe for his personal liqueur from Bonnie Prince Charlie and shrewd enough not to let anyone else have a look at it. Some time ago she not only saved the Linlithgow Club from the plow but purchased enough additional land to expand it from nine to 18 holes. The gesture won her the honor of making the opening shot of the new season. She put in a good deal of practice, swinging at little potatoes with a walking stick, but on opening day an honest observer could only say of her drive, "Well, she made contact."

Arnold Cream is running for county sheriff in Camden, N.J. The face is familiar, but the name? Why sure, it's Jersey Joe Walcott, former heavyweight champ, now 54 and 20 pounds over his ring weight. Joe is campaigning on a platform of peace, nonviolence and understanding among the races. "This is the greatest nation in the world," he says. "The opportunity is here, but if you want to take something out of it you must put something into it." The former champ has the backing of both Negro and white businessmen, who claim his work during the last 14 years as juvenile police officer and, more recently, as head of the city's Juvenile Affairs and Community Relations Committee has helped avoid rioting. "If you're around when trouble starts, it's easy to stop," he says. "It just takes a little understanding. They never ask for my autograph in the ghetto. Out there a handshake is more important." Why run as Arnold Cream? "I've never changed my name legally," he confesses.

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