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"First, don't have Calcuttas and, second, if you do, limit your players to members and guests only."
There was a word too from the United States Amateur Golf Association's Joseph Dey:
"Big-money Calcuttas are pernicious. Too much money and a club's lax attitude toward checking handicaps create a situation which is going to attract vultures. But most importantly, these big Calcuttas indicate a change in attitude among some golfers from wanting low handicaps as a matter of pride to turning in high handicaps to win something. Consciously or unconsciously, the men who support these pools are using golf as a medium to prostitute golf."
HORSES AND PAMELA
For scores of junior competitors, the 1955 National Horse Show at Madison Square Garden was a dream come true, but to none of them was the dream dearer than it was to Pamela Phillips, 13-year-old daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Michael Phillips of Stamford, Conn. To Pam, cover girl of SI's Oct. 31 issue, it was a triumph over fate's apparent conspiring to keep her out of the Garden and off horses entirely.
The conspiracy was of the most devious kind: no great catastrophes, just a succession of very little things. They date from the year the Phillipses moved from the city to their present three country acres. There was a dairy farm across the way and Pam, then a toddler, discovered a pony on it. She approached with affection, and the pony responded by nipping her. She loved him no less. A little later on Pam was lifted onto a horse for the first time. If possible, she loved him even more than the pony. The horse promptly threw her. That did it: Pam began begging for a horse of her own.
Eventually she got him: Burnable, the big black gelding who shared SI's cover with her. Moreover, she got a stable and a paddock all her own (largely a do-it-yourself project of her father) and instruction from Miss Felicia Townsend at the Ox Ridge club. In a little while Pam began to train Burnable as a jumper. He has had no other teacher.
But, as Pamela was soon to be reminded, there is more to this life than jumping horses. There is, her father said severely, schoolwork. At the first sign that Pamela's was suffering, Burnable would have to go. Pamela could take a hint: she won consistently high marks at school, participated in such other school sports as basketball and hockey, was elected president of the seventh grade and, just weeks ago, vice-president of the eighth.
When, in September, Pamela won the blue ribbon at Piping Rock and thus qualified for the Garden, she seemed to have outwitted fate on all fronts. Then, just before the National, Burnable bruised a leg in jumping.
Another horse, a chestnut named Mr. Brookville, was offered to Pamela and she accepted. Burnable got his name in the program, but that was all. He missed the great moment of entering the Garden ring.