One of the reasons the pros are examining their own good-conduct rules is that the tournament circuit and the tensions of the tournament circuit have been growing at approximately the same rate. Moreover, the number of tournament spectators has vastly increased since World War II. Put all these new fans on courses not always right for a pro tournament, combine with the touring professionals themselves (Carter admits some pros are surly) and you have the stage set for misunderstandings.
Ed Carter thinks it is just possible that he may have some tentative commandments, one of these days, for golf spectators.
"Of course," he says, "we must all remember the Bible wasn't written in a day."
VERY RESPECTED GUY
Americans who bet big money on football games phoned Winnipeg, Canada as usual last week (the number: 92-7210) and were startled by the odds that were quoted. Some of the odds, in fact, were downright nonsense, and the more knowing bettors hung up. The unknowing, however, didn't. Happily they wagered, never suspecting that the phones were being manned and the odds improvised on the spot by Winnipeg policemen.
For the Morality Squad, led by Inspector Jack Webster, had raided the O.K. Sales Co., Ltd., an enterprise with offices on Winnipeg's Main Street. It was incorporated only six weeks ago as a commission and brokerage house dealing in "wares, products, and merchandise of every kind and nature whatsoever...." Inspector Webster claimed, though, that O.K. Sales dealt in nothing but big bets—on American football, collegiate and professional; on the presidential elections; and (in season) on the World Series. He arrested five men and charged them with keeping a betting house.
Among them was a plump little Chicagoan named Leo Schaeffer. If Leo is found guilty in a Winnipeg court it will probably bring to an end the career of a senior figure (he is 56) in U.S. gambling. Leo has always had a first-class reputation among his pals. Some of them recall that from the very beginning of his big-time bookie career (in Chicago, just after World War II) Leo was "the nicest human being you ever talked to." When the mobsters demanded a piece of his operation around 1951, Leo quit Chicago and was able to take the business and the good will of his customers with him. Around 1952 he and a friend pioneered international betting in Montreal, and were so successful that other U.S. bookies swarmed after them, fleeing the mob. The mob followed; things got hot, and everybody left Montreal.
Leo's friends say he should have retired right then: his partner died, and he was rich from the good days in Chicago and Montreal. But Leo loved his pals and his work, football especially. Winnipeg caught his eye this year, and so the O.K. Sales Co., dealing in commodities of every kind whatsoever, was born. One of Leo's acquaintances estimates that O.K. Sales booked $50,000 a day in football alone and labels the estimate conservative.
The maximum penalty for keeping a betting house in Winnipeg is two years' imprisonment. Saddened U.S. bettors think that Leo will really retire now, whether he is found guilty or not.
"All that aggravation, running the risk," says one of them. "It's too much. Leo was a very highly respected guy. He was highly respected, you might say, in circles in which he was respected." In Corpus Christi, Milwaukee, Palm Beach, New York, everybody is going to miss Leo. "It's a blow to people who bet. Everybody's looking around for new bookmakers, but Leo's business is too big for one bookie to take over. You can't get off a big bet now—you've got to take it 40 times."