SI Vault
 
EVENTS & DISCOVERIES
July 23, 1956
LUXURIOUS VINDICATION IN WASHINGTON, THE TIME THE BALL BOUNCED OFF THE BIG GUY'S TOE, TRAFFIC JAM, LUNCHEON WITH BLINKY PALERMO, 70 MILES TO NOWHERE
Decrease font Decrease font
Enlarge font Enlarge font
July 23, 1956

Events & Discoveries

LUXURIOUS VINDICATION IN WASHINGTON, THE TIME THE BALL BOUNCED OFF THE BIG GUY'S TOE, TRAFFIC JAM, LUNCHEON WITH BLINKY PALERMO, 70 MILES TO NOWHERE

View CoverRead All Articles View This Issue
1 2 3 4 5 6 7

"I engaged a lawyer to negotiate for me and Johnny with our personal business. We'll do the business. Well, I'll do the business. But it's gotta be to the satisfaction of Johnny Saxton and to the benefit of Johnny Saxton and also to my benefit."

Saxton, by this time as bewildered as the rest, turned to a writer and asked: "Is he gonna sanction the fight up at Syracuse—Helfand?"

The writer said: "Of course he's gonna sanction the fight at Syracuse. Syracuse is in New York State, Johnny."

Helfand wasn't saying yes, and he wasn't saying no. But at week's end he had cleared up at least one point which has been bothering the boxing writers when he explained:

"When I made that decision [to allow Saxton to sign for his own bouts in New York] I was very careful that there was nothing in there stating that Palermo or anyone else could not negotiate for Saxton—negotiate his contract for a fight with Basilio. I realize someone has to handle the business end. All I said Saxton must do is sign for himself.

"I took a lot of criticism trying to get Basilio a fair shot at regaining his crown. That was the whole idea behind my ruling on Saxton signing for himself. I thought Basilio deserved this break. Now someone has to complete the business details for this fight. I can't say any more than that, though, until contracts are signed and certified through my office, understand?"

We understand perfectly. Let's not blink at the fact, then, that Blinky is Johnny's manager, even in New York.

THE ARM AND THE CAST

At sunrise on the banks of Lake Texoma, in the clear and motionless Texas air, a man stood casting, retrieving, casting again. A crow's call scratched through the daybreak quiet; the plug thumped into the water with a rich and heavy sound. It was a picture to lift a fisherman's heart, except that it wasn't quite what it seemed.

There were no hooks on the practice plug and no fish in the water, for the man stood beside a swimming pool instead of the nearby lake. A companion sat handy with a pocket clicker and a blackboard, counting casts. Bill Carter, 43, a Dallas fishing equipment salesman with a strong wrist and a flair for obscure knowledge, was out to see how many times a fisherman casts in a full day's fishing.

Continue Story
1 2 3 4 5 6 7