As to Daly, quicksilver shone all around him, too (see page 46). He was suspended for refusal to testify last May. His license expired September 30 and he did not apply for renewal. Until he does apply Helfand is just about powerless to force Daly's testimony.
Under the pressure to find and keep first-class football players, Coach Woody Hayes of Ohio State has been making well-intended gifts and loans to some of his men out of the $4,000 or so he earns from his TV appearances (SI, Oct. 24). Coach Hayes has made no secret of these gestures, but the Ohio State Faculty Council has now decided to investigate. The practice appears, indeed, to be contrary to the rules of both the Big Ten and the National Collegiate Athletic Association. Insofar as the Council focuses on this one matter it will be investigating only a symptom. The underlying problem, not limited to Ohio State, is the pressure on coaches to win.
The early American Indian had a slick and quiet method of hunting ducks—he simply put a duckskin (with feathers attached) on his head like a bathing cap, slid silently into the waters of a pond on which a flock of mallards were feeding, swam into their midst, grabbed the nearest by its legs and yanked it under the surface. The white man, with his blunderbuss and blind, kept drier, but he had to get the duck to come close enough to be shot, and has lured—or tried to lure—his feathered targets into range with decoys and duck calls ever since. Some hunting outfitters, as a matter of fact, offer both in one package—a decoy with a reed caller in its neck and 50 feet of hollow tubing which can be laid under water to a blind. Simply squeeze a bulb and—"Quack!"
Getting ducks in range, however, is not quite as simple as this might make it seem—ducks make all sorts of sounds: a low chuckle when feeding, a long, slow quacking sound when contented, a squack of alarm when danger threatens, and the sounds are hard to imitate. Nobody knows this better than a 65-year-old retired Army colonel named Roger Hilsman, who now lives in San Francisco. "I've been hunting ducks since I was 14," he says, "and I can tell you 90% of duck callers run the ducks away. I've seen a good caller take ducks from a poor caller right over the blind." How can a poor caller get ducks? Why, just let Colonel Hilsman do it for him electronically.
The Colonel was a prisoner of the Japanese in the Philippines for three years during World War II and spent a good deal of that time thinking about ducks. Two years ago, as a result, he began manufacturing a 14-pound phonograph unit capable of being lugged into a duck blind and 45-rpm Vinylite records of sprig and mallard calls. The phonograph sells for $84.50 and the records—which Philco also plans to distribute with a new light battery-powered portable of its own—for $2.50. So far Hilsman has sold 100 machines and 500 records. Next year he hopes to get out a new six-pound transistor-equipped portable similar to the Philco machine but equipped with tape and a simple push button to start it—duck hunters get so excited that they have a terrible time setting a needle on a record. He is bullish about the future.
"These calls," he says, "were made by the best callers in California—Cliff Iverson on the sprig and William Crawford on the mallard. And a duck hunter is the craziest baboon in the world. continued on next page If it costs $85 to have the duck on his lap he'll spend it in a minute."
EL RHUBARBO GRANDE
The Dodger victory in the World Series has had repercussions far beyond the limits of Brooklyn and the adjoining United States, but nowhere has it created quite the rhubarb or raised such grave moral and political issues as in the South American village of Arenal, which lies on the hot plains of Departmento Cordoba in Colombia.
Dodger fans all, the young men of Arenal were so inflamed by the Brooklyn triumph that they had to work off steam by playing ball themselves. Lacking a field, they took over the village plaza, and soon, with the rest of the populace cheering them on, it was for all the world like Brooklyn.