Deadeyes at Wildwood

Late in March, the kids began toting their marbles to school in Roanoke, Va. At recess, there were shrill cries of "knuckle-down tight" and "whoa marble," as the boys plunked nibs out of a 10ft. ring. The game was strictly for keeps, and towheaded, ten-year-old Larry Vinson (known around school as "Big Lick") suffered the penalty of being too good. He complained: "I broke every kid in school . . . can't get anybody to play with me any more."

Last week, with his rabbit's foot dangling at his belt, Roanoke's champ coolly sized up 39 rival deadeye marbles champs from Montana to Georgia. Larry had to lick them all to win the 23rd annual National Marbles Tournament at Wildwood, N.J.

"I Ain't Worried." Some of his competitors got up at 6 a.m. to get in some practice on the fast cork rings out by the boardwalk. Larry was used to getting up early: his dad is a brakeman on the Norfolk & Western. He didn't know his rivals' names, and he didn't bother to find out: he addressed them by the cities pinned on their sweaters, Chicago, Monongahela, Steubenville. Larry was one of the smallest of the lot, but unlike the older competitors he did not worry about losing; he just thought about how to win. Said he: "I ain't afraid of Pittsburgh . . . he leaves too many edgers. And Cleveland has a wart on his thumb, or sumphin', and can't make his shooter stick. . . . I ain't worried."

Roanoke acted grown-up about it. The kid from Philadelphia (age 10) tried to, too, but two big tears rolled down his face after he lost one tough game. The Indianapolis champ got homesick despite roller coasters, popcorn and free rides on fire engines. Said he: "I'm worried about my rabbits." When they talked shop, they debated only one question: who had backspin on shooters and who didn't. Backspin, to make the shooter stick in the ring, was the key to success on the slick cork rings, which were faster than dirt. No one gave away any trade secrets. Roanoke asked Columbia, S.C.: "Ever play for fun?" Columbia answered scornfully: "Whaddaya mean, for fun!"

Unlucky Rabbit's Foot. After three days, Roanoke's Larry Vinson had eliminated five rivals. His backspin was working fine, he drew his marble nicely, cleaned out the ring time after time in one turn. But on the last day, Larry's rabbit's foot failed just when he needed it most. He bit his lip, said nothing, shed not a tear.

The 1947 marbles champion, like the two previous champs, was a boy from Pittsburgh. He was wan, twelve-year-old Benjamin Sklar, son of Russian-born parents. Ben had borrowed the well-worn agate shooter of the Pittsburgh kid who won the crown two years ago. He had also prepared for Wildwood's fast rings by doing most of his marble-shooting on an asphalt tennis court near his home on Winterburn Avenue. His secret: "Just roll it into the ring and put a little spin on it, that's all."

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