A week before, Sam Boardman, who had been managing his son, denied that there was any Palermo deal. When he finally admitted the truth, Sam said that, well, it was only a 10% piece for Blinky as insurance that Larry would get proper matches and a shot at the championship. Blinky, however, would not stand for this degrading 10% version. "I own the boy," he said flatly. "He's mine."
He is indeed Blinky's, and that means that, with Blinky's influence with the wrong people in the right places, Larry Boardman is on his way to fame, fortune and, almost certainly, the lightweight championship. Julius Helfand's reaction to the news:
"I am very unhappy. I do not believe it is necessary for Boardman or anyone in Boardman's position to transfer 10% over to Palermo or any of his sort. If and when Boardman is to fight in New York there will be a thorough investigation of the matter...."
One of the most ingenious promotions of the summer of 1956, launched around the Fourth of July, was soup on the rocks. "Take a roomy glass—short or tall," the instructions read, "fill it up with ice cubes, pour Campbell's Beef Broth on the ice cubes just as it comes from the can. That's Soup on the Rocks...."
Here, as the prescription made clear, was a good, nourishing summer cooler. A temperance drink, too.
But the ads went on to suggest: "Take it straight—or experiment a bit."
This is to report that by end of summer the bright new drink out on the eastern tip of Long Island and elsewhere is the result of just such mixtures of bouillon and imagination: the Bullshot—a roomy glass, ice cubes, beef broth and vodka to taste.
The democrats have addressed themselves to the golf vote after all. A campaign sticker that appeared in Fort Worth last week blazons (in big letters) VOTE FOR BEN HOGAN. In small letters it adds: "If you're going to elect a golfer, elect a good one."