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Man found ball imprinted with name John F. Dowd. Man happened to know this particular Dowd, so stuffed ball in bag, intending to return it to Dowd at first opportunity. Saw Dowd at railroad station, said, "By the way, Dowd, I have a personalized golf ball of yours and will give it to you next time I see you at the club." Man did not happen to see Dowd at club. Saw Dowd at cocktail party, at theater, at supermarket, at gasoline station, said: "Don't forget I have that personalized ball of yours, Dowd. Remind me to give it to you next time I see you at the club." Again man went to club, again did not see Dowd. Saw Dowd at cookout, at bowling alley, at church bazaar. Said, " Dowd, I've been meaning to get that personalized golf ball of yours back to you. Remind me," etc., etc.
Blurted Dowd, "For Pete's sake, go ahead and use the ball and stop talking about it!"
Man offended by Dowd's tone and anyway could not see how, unless he played at night, could do anything so obviously larcenous. Next day Dowd got personalized ball back by mail. It was mashed to a pancake so it would fit into first-class envelope.
KING OF YALE
They were speaking of Mosey King at Yale the other day, and someone recalled the veteran boxing coach's aversion to crossing streets. "Funny," one said, "he was never scared of anything in the ring. He used to celebrate New Year's with a swim in Long Island Sound. But he hated to cross streets. Used to duck his head down and run like he was afraid he was gonna be hit."
Mosey never was punch shy. He had 125 fights in his youth, and, though he took a lot of leather, he was never knocked out. When he came to Yale in 1906 to become boxing coach, he was New England lightweight champion, a prot�g� of Gentleman Jim Corbett.
In his 50 years as boxing coach, Mosey became as much a symbol of Yale athletics as Handsome Dan, the bulldog. He coached Eddie Eagan, the great Olympic light heavyweight and later boxing commissioner of New York. The playwright Eugene O'Neill was also coached by King.
Although Yale dropped intercollegiate boxing in 1937, the college didn't retire Mosey officially until 1952, when he was 68. Maybe it was the unbreakable habit of half a century, maybe just his devotion to sport, but Mosey continued to work informally each day with undergraduates who enjoyed boxing for exercise. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I didn't come to the gym," he said.
Last week, as was his habit, Mosey spent the afternoon in the Payne Whitney gym. He taped up the hands of a couple of young boxers, gave others a few pointers and called it a day.
Outside, he ducked his head and started to run across the street. Before he reached the other side a car struck him, and four hours later he was dead.