managed a movie theater in Dubuque, says he's going to return with his wife to
Alaska, not on foot, to settle. Once, he says, he was signing autographs up
there with Governor Bill Egan and doing a better business than the head man.
"Vern," said Egan, "you know, you ought to run for governor."
"I'd rather walk," said Vern. Carroll doesn't have to run or walk.
"They've given me a lot to build my house on in Anchorage," he says,
without wonder, "a year's supply of groceries and an acre to build the
first Boys' Club of America in Alaska."
One of the
purposes of Carroll's trip was to talk up the Boys' Club of America, which he
is as strong on as walking. "I've always wanted to do something for
someone," says Carroll. "What was I put here for? What good am I? I
used to ask myself that."
By Act of
Like a diner with
a whole Thanks-A giving turkey all his own, college football has been battening
for years, and by seemingly inalienable right, on the prime use of America's
fall Saturday afternoons. This year professional football, that ol' interloper,
has been edging toward Saturday with a hungry gleam.
The first rustle
of competition came a couple of weeks ago with word that the proposed American
Football League might play some games on Saturday afternoons and, worse yet,
televise them. The National Collegiate Athletic Association turned promptly to
Tennessee's sports-watching Senator, Estes Kefauver.
Head of the
Senate Antitrust and Monopoly Subcommittee, and a Senator who knows a monopoly
when one is pleading before him, Kefauver listened sympathetically to the NCAA
man. A bill will be introduced, he promised, to keep the professionals from
telecasting on Saturdays within 75 miles of any locale where a college game is
being played (unless the colleges concerned give permission and get a cut of
the TV bundle).
This seemed fine
to the NCAA, which has its own high-Trendex TV shows each Saturday. The
founders of the American Football League spoke up to say that they had never
had any real idea of playing on Saturday afternoons anyway. So there the matter
seems to stand, at least until Senator Kefauver sends along his legislation
giving college football its old inalienable right to Saturday afternoons by Act
When the Senator
does get around to it, we trust that some of the implications of the idea will
get a good old Capitol Hill airing—and we're for college football as much as
the Senator is. Tariff protection is a familiar idea, and farmer protection is
a familiar idea. It may be that the time has come for the welfare state to wrap
its arms around college football, too, and declare it Congress' chosen
instrument for the American people on Saturdays. Maybe college football can
testify to its social and moral right to be relieved of onerous competition.
But we'd like to hear the arguments and the testimony at a bit of length.
They have a song
down in Chapel Hill that is always pretty much on everybody's mind as the
University of North Carolina prepares to meet its old rival, Duke University,
each Thanksgiving week. At least it was on the mind of a Chapel Hill
clergyman's 5-year-old daughter last week as she and some friends prepared to
bury her dead chicken.