There is a new police chief in Miami Beach and a new way of doing police business. A week ago the order went out: "Harass all known hoodlums." First on the agenda turned out to be Frankie Carbo, the underworld's major-domo in boxing and longtime friend of James D. Norris, president of the IBC. Not too long ago Carbo was boasting of his friendship with the then police chief, Romeo Shepard.
Carbo was picked up on the steps of the Fontainebleau Hotel by two detectives. For a man who protests that he has no interest in boxing, Carbo made a bad slip. He was there, he said, to visit a Washington fight promoter, name undisclosed. The detectives grunted and booked him on a charge of being "unable to give a satisfactory account of himself." He posted $100 bond and departed, meek and mild.
But last April, when Carbo was charged with speeding 100 miles an hour through Vero Beach, Florida, spring training camp of the Dodgers, and leaving the scene of an accident, he raged at the state trooper who caught him. Carbo boasted of his friendship with Police Chief Shepard and telephoned Miami Beach to prove it. Chief Shepard phoned back in a matter of minutes, and Carbo was released after posting $500 bond. After that became public, Shepard was in hot water and under investigation. His term was allowed to expire.
The new chief, Michael Fox, has indicated that Carbo will have no reason to boast about friendship with him—a cause for general rejoicing both inside and outside the State of Florida.
A VISIT TO NEWPORT
At the turn of the century, Newport, R.I. was a pretty important spot in the sports world. The first championship tennis was played there, as well as the first National Open and National Amateur golf tournaments. As the summer home of some of the country's richest industrial nabobs, it was a national center for the most elegant yachting classics. But as time marched onward and these pastimes became available to almost anyone who cared for them, Newport subsided into a quiet retreat for the descendants of the early rich. Only once in a long while does it now emerge from its opulent obscurity, such as it did last year for the 75th anniversary of tennis and does annually for its noisy jazz festival.
This year, however, Newport will again be much in the news as the chosen playground of President Eisenhower, when he gets around to his 1957 vacation. He and his family will be housed in a new residence at the Naval War College—just across the bay from the resort proper—and within easy reach of the area's three golf courses.
The Newport courses, like the rest of its activities, are rated in strict accordance with the prevailing social gradients. Ike, naturally, will play at the highest level. This course, the Newport Country Club, carries severe penalties for a hooker like Ike, with traps, out-of-bounds markers and ditches lining the left side of at least half of its 18 holes. The club has made no special provisions for the days when Ike plays; the other members will play, too, and the only special deference they will show the President is to allow him to play through. Ike's visit may not ruffle Newport's placid and self-assured existence, but it will for once give the ordinary man a bond with this last of the truly posh resorts and onetime mecca of American sport.
He's broken 70 at last,
Though still the worst of dubs.
I don't refer to score (don't dast),
I'm speaking of his clubs.