This may not clear up Watergate, but in the politicians' division of the Annual World Championship Cow Chip Throwing Contest, held at Beaver, Okla., Governor David Hall threw out the first chip—and won with a heave of 101 feet.
Jerry Reuss, Houston's leading pitcher, stands 6'5" in his stocking feet. He appeared for a game in Philadelphia with not only feet and stockings but elevated by two-tone blue suede shoes that had extra-large platform heels. Reuss looked a little grotesque to Catcher John Edwards. "You aren't tall enough already?" he asked. Reuss replied: "What do you want people to say: 'Look at how tall that man is!' or 'Look how well dressed that tall man is!'?"
Soon after being traded to Houston a year ago, Rocket Forward Jack Marin, a scratch golfer, hastened to join the prestigious Champions Golf Club owned by Jimmy Demaret and Jack Burke. Not long ago a fierce East Texas hailstorm—with hailstones as large as, oh, golf balls—struck Champions, causing considerable havoc. Marin went out to inspect the damage and said, "The next time the Almighty plays my course I wish He would fix His ball marks on the greens."
Jack Walsh, although certainly no beanstalk, is not really a giant either. But he may be, as he advertises himself, the strongest man in the world. Bending a 12-penny nail is just for warmups. Walsh claims to have carried a grown horse up a ladder, lifted a 4,000-pound elephant and lofted a platform filled with Hollywood lovelies weighing, in aggregate, 5,013 pounds.
And former circus strong man Walter Cornelius of Peterborough, England keeps in shape at age 51 by skipping rope—with an eight-foot steel chain that weighs 112 pounds.
"I love baseball," said David Eisenhower, former pitcher and shortstop. "When I was offered this chance to write about baseball this summer, it was something I just couldn't pass up." The grandson of President Dwight Eisenhower played ball in high school, worked briefly for the Washington Senators as an assistant to the general manager and will now report on the Phillies for the Philadelphia Bulletin, writing a Sunday column. David's first sight of his new subject came in a 7-1 loss to the Cincinnati Reds, a fitting introduction to the Phillies. Maybe that typical rout accounts for his remark. "I hope to sharpen my writing skills this summer," he said, "and write about more serious things in the future."
In a spirited defense of golf, County Councilman Jerome Hew of the Hawaiian island of Kauai is sponsoring a bill to restrict the use of liquor on the county's Wailua Golf Course. It seems that two men teed off at 8:30 a.m. one day recently and took a cooler of beer with them. Time passed and complaints began coming in. People were having trouble playing through. When the pro shop investigated, it found the two men passed out cold on the 17th hole. Hew says the bill is still in, ah, draft form.
The 45th official Calaveras County Jumping Frog contest was held this weekend. A dark horse contender this year was the stable of Bill Steed, proprietor of a sleep-learning school in San Francisco. Steed says he trains his frogs by hypnotizing them, ridding them of their hangups and psyching them into performing better. It was enough to make anybody jumpy, but his best frog finished well back.
Bob Skiver, an IBM branch manager in Cincinnati, and his wife Shirley decided to take in a day of racing at Keeneland. Skiver describes himself as "a rank amateur" at betting on horses, and Shirley had never even seen a Daily Racing Form. But she is some handicapper. With help from another couple, she studied one carefully and announced two horses would win the eighth race. Her choices, Land Commander and Fish Market, finished in a dead heat. Mrs. Skiver cashed both her tickets, getting $9.40 and $4.80. Razzle-dazzle stuff, all right, but she would have been smarter to have bet it all on Land Commander.
Eileen Disken is one marathoner whose 26.2-mile run turned into an ego trip even though she finished last. Neighbors had regarded the 26-year-old housewife as somewhat daft when she put in 140 miles a week training for the Penn Relays. But in training after the race, Eileen reports, "They recognized me and waved. I went by teen-agers and usually I hate that because they always have some raucous remark. But they stopped playing basketball and started to clap. My jaw almost dropped off."