Golf, Gambling & Auctioneers

Arriving in Las Vegas last week, the touring golf professionals—all 21 of them winners of some big tournament during the past year—were fully prepared to drown themselves in a sea of celebrities, and Las Vegas did not disappoint. Walter Winchell was there to pick up a share of the Tournament of Champions swag for the Damon Runyon Fund. Bob Hope showed up; so did Patti Page and Dagmar, and John Daly the TV performer, and Bob Considine the columnist, and Frankie Laine the crooner, and Joe E. Lewis the comedian. And there were quite a lot of other crooners and comedians and almost as many blondes as slot machines.

Despite the nonpareil golfing talent on hand, the fellows who really stole the show were some faceless plungers named F. Hudspeth, C. Anderson, R. Kolod, M. Kleinman. These and a few others, including Bob Hope and Frankie Laine themselves, bid up the largest Calcutta pool on a golf tournament that anyone can remember—$202,500. And around Vegas they have a pretty good memory for such statistics.

The origins of the Calcutta dinner appear to be lost in antiquity. Most men know it as a pleasant pre-tournament get-together, plentifully fortified by schnapps, where everyone takes part in a friendly little pool on the tournament entries. Whoever buys the eventual winner gets the lion's share of the pot, with the owners of the next half dozen or so finishers splitting the remainder. Inevitably, Las Vegas adorned the custom with a miasma of Nevada lettuce, known in other circles as $1,000 bills.

At 8 o'clock on Wednesday night, the 21 competing golfers, resplendent in new white blazers supplied by the promoters, sat down to eat a free steak dinner and watch a full-dress floor show with some 200 high-rollers, newspapermen and show business personalities in the Desert Inn's Painted Desert Room.

But the real business at hand began about 9:30, when a Los Angeles auctioneer and amateur golfer, Milt Wershow, rose to suggest to the golfers: "If you want to go to bed, now's the time." The links stars dutifully filed out, save for Lloyd Mangrum. The audience was next reminded that 10% of the gross Calcutta take would go to the Cancer Fund, an announcement which made Columnist Walter Winchell, seated at the choice table, first mezzanine center, beam with pride.

The auctioning began with little Bob Toski, a 127-pound golfer who got rich in one tournament, George S. May's "World Championship," last year. Bidding started at $5,000, went quickly up to six and seven before it stalled at 10. A gentleman who gave his name as F. Hudspeth paid the check, but throughout most of the auctioning it was understood that the ostensible purchasers were fronting for syndicates who were the real bidders on the players.

DAGMAR AND DIVOTS

Eric Monti, a quiet teaching pro from the rich Hillcrest Country Club in Los Angeles, was next auctioned off and in spite of loud boasts that the movie rich would bid him in heavily out of pure sentiment, Auctioneer Wershow had to threaten to bid in himself to beef up the action. Finally, the Wilshire Country Club's front man, Carl Anderson, got Eric for $7,000.

Terrible-tempered Tommy Bolt hit the auction block next. Auctioneer Ray Bradford boasted, "He has won more tournaments—four—than any other player in here." But the punters were wary. Tommy sold for $8,500, modest for Las Vegas, to a man named Willoughby.

When Bob Hope strode to the stage to take over the ceremonies he put PGA Champion Chick Harbert on the block. A starting bid of $5,000 horrified Hope, who announced, "I'll bid six myself." A man named Al Behrstock outdid Bob, got Harbert for $7,000.