Bus Mosbacher, the famed racing yachtsman and twice a victorious America's Cup skipper, has been named Presidentelect Richard Nixon's Chief of Protocol. Other sportsmen upon whom Mr. Nixon has called are Bud Wilkinson and David Packard. Wilkinson, former Oklahoma football coach, broadcaster and head of President Kennedy's Council on Physical Fitness, is to be a special consultant to the President. Packard, the proposed Deputy Secretary of Defense, was a three-sport athlete—football, basketball and track—at Stanford, until a conflict arose with his engineering studies. He obviously retains a fondness for basketball, in particular, having donated $500,000 to the recently opened Roscoe Maples Memorial Basketball Pavilion at his alma mater.
Ken Fouts, who produces televised sports shows for WLW-TV in Cincinnati, was en route to Wichita, Kans. the other day to cover a U of C basketball game. At the St. Louis airport, a baggage handler dropped a piece of Fouts's luggage, which promptly began to emit ominous buzzing noises. Ominous buzzing noises are not acceptable around airports these days, and in no time the immediate authorities and the FBI were gathered around asking for explanations. "It could be my electric razor," Fouts said meekly. It was, and after a 25-minute delay Fouts was permitted to proceed to Wichita. When he got there he bought himself a safety razor.
Spring training is not too far off now, and the city of Scotts-dale, Ariz, is going to have to get busy and move that female out of Leo Durocher's personal shower. The female (she shall remain nameless not out of delicacy, but because she has no name) is a duck. For two years now Scottsdale City Manager Bill Donaldson has been keeping her in Leo's shower room in the off season, because "it was such a nice, warm, pleasant place, and we wanted to develop world-champion quackers. Where else but Leo's shower?" To date the duck has laid 27 eggs and from them has hatched 27 ducklings, all of which have been named Leo and released to quack for themselves in a lake in a Scottsdale park.
The Orange Bowl game turned out to be bad news from before the start until well after the finish for Kansas Governor Robert Docking. Leaving his hotel for the game, the governor discovered that the state trooper driving him had parked the car illegally, and it had been towed away. The trooper recovered the car and came back to tell Docking and his party, but when the group hit the street for the second time it was to find the car being towed away again—the driver had parked it illegally once more. Then, of course, Kansas lost the game to Penn State, which leaves Docking in the position of owing Governor Raymond Shafer of Pennsylvania one live buffalo, to be personally delivered. If it is any comfort to Docking, Shafer—far from gloating over the winning of his bet—has been quoted as asking plaintively, "What do I do with a live buffalo?"
"You can double the recipe if you wish, but if you make any more than one pound it ceases to be homemade fudge." And who is the author of so pure and austere a culinary statement? Phil Wrigley, the same Phil Wrigley who makes chewing gum and insists on daylight for his Chicago Cubs. To members of the Lake Geneva, Wis. Horticultural Society he is known as a fudgemaker. Fudge made by Mr. Wrigley is ordered well in advance of the Annual Flower and Garden Show in Lake Geneva, and such candy as even gets to the show is ordinarily sold out on the first day. Despite his following, Wrigley is a modest man. His fudge, he says, is a little grainy.
For the first time athletes as such have been admitted to the pages-of Who's Who in America, and the 1969-1970 edition will see listings for Carl Yastrzemski, Bob Gibson, Johnny Unitas, Mickey Mantle and Arnold Palmer. That will be very nice, but still the athletic whos in Who's Who do seem relatively few.
A surgeon at St. Thomas's Hospital in London has put forward a new explanation for the curious behavior of King Henry VIII during his later years. In a recent lecture at the Royal College of Surgeons Dr. Norman Barrett submitted that Henry's problem was not the accumulated strain of all that eating, drinking and marrying. Instead, he may have been a bit muddled from the rigors of his role as one of Europe's leading athletes. He is shown here as an archer, but it was the jousting, Barrett says, that was really hard on him. "The king jousted regularly for 20 years," Dr. Barrett told his audience, "and was hurt a number of times. After...an incident at Greenwich in 1536 he changed completely and was never the same again." The moral would appear to be: eat, drink and be merry, but joust not—or, anyhow, not much.
"I thought I'd like to have a cat instead of a dog, for a change," says Emmette Bryant of the Celtics, explaining how he happened to "mail $55 to a Miami pet shop for a baby jaguar. Explaining why he accepted $50 just to get rid of the animal about a month later he said, "The way our schedule is I didn't have time to stay home and train it. Anyway, I don't think I have the disposition, either. When he began to claw and scratch and Grrr and Bzzzz I said to myself, 'Emmette, sell him quick!' "