With 120-m.p.h. winds and torrential rains lashing San Francisco, Baseball Commissioner Ford Frick waded through a Candlestick Park that the groundskeeper called "fit only for synchronized swimming," kept calling off the sixth game between the Giants and Yankees, thus making the 1962 World's Series the most oft-postponed since the six-day wait in 1911 when the Giants were playing the Philadelphia Athletics.
Such an awful lot of celebrities live around the tony shores of Lake Geneva in Switzerland, and one young German photographer set out to snap them all. Among the least camera-shy in the chalet colony was Old Litterateur Noel Coward, 62, who obligingly posed for a seraphic portrait before a pair of huge gilt wings that perch above his fireplace. Coward was highly pleased with the result. "It is a pleasant thought," said he, "to know that I have a top-class photographer so much at hand."
His elders thought Ohio's private Hawken School was just the place for the heir to a $150 million fortune. Endsville, thought the 16-year-old heir, Cyrus Eaton III, grandson of the Industrialist Cyrus Sr. There was no football team at Hawken, and worse yet, no girls. So Cyrus III took off for Nashville, Tenn., where public West End High School, he heard, has both football and the coeds to go with it. Trying to enroll as a penniless orphan named Seth French, he let it slip that he knew Latin, and before long the jig was up. Said Cyrus: "I'm not happy. After eleven years in a private school, I wanted to see what it was like in a public school."
An astronaut's wife needs a sense of humor to weather the high risks of her husband's job. explained Rene Carpenter to the National Council of Women. For example, she said, take Jo Schirra, 38, whose husband Walter recently returned home safely after orbiting the earth six times. At one point in the program an admiral thoughtfully reassured the spacemen's wives that if by any chance the parachute failed and the capsule sank, an explosive signal device would automatically detonate, thus alerting recovery forces. "Oh?" said Jo. "So they'll know where to drop the wreath?"
Seventeen years after the man whose name became a synonym for traitor was tried and shot for his Nazi collaboration, Norwegians learned the whereabouts of Vidkun Quisling's ashes. Long locked up by the Norwegian government in the fear that neo-Nazis might turn a burial site into a shrine, Quisling's ashes were finally released two years ago and laid to rest by his widow Maria in the family plot near Skien.
Under the auctioneer's hammer went the best preserved collection of U.S. gold coins outside of the Treasury. Belonging to Florida Construction Tycoon Samuel W. Wolfson, 50, it brought $535,000 in two sessions at Manhattan's Americana Hotel. Rarest of the lot: an 1854s $5 half eagle, one of three extant, which fetched $16,500 from a buyer. Why was Wolfson cashing in his collection? Fingering the 1850 gold dollars (value: $150) that adorn his cuff links, he explained: "I've come within 8% of getting one of every gold coin minted in this country. It's been a thrill, but I'd never have been able to complete it."
A Gothic bell tower soaring 140 feet above the campus of Southwestern at Memphis College, in his native Tennessee, will be dedicated to the late Richard Halliburton, the most roisterous rover boy since Byron, and author of The Royal Road to Romance. Built at a cost of $450,000 by his 92-year-old father, whose wealth came from real estate, the tower bears Halliburton's carefree credo: "I wanted freedom, freedom to indulge in whatever caprice struck my fancy, freedom to search in the farthermost corners of the earth for the beautiful, the joyous and romantic." During his last caprice in 1939, sailing a tiny Chinese junk across the Pacific, the 39-year-old adventurer vanished in a typhoon.
The pace was accelerating for the rum young Englishman who was hacksawed out of the wreckage of his Lotus Grand Prix racer last April and spent two months partially paralyzed from a brutal bruising of the right side of his brain. Turning up at the U.S. Grand Prix at Watkins Glen, N.Y., Stirling Moss, 33, spent the day as honorary track steward, shifting smoothly from clocking cars to charming pretty girls. His former 120-m.p.h. clip was still too much. "But I can now drive 60 m.p.h.," said Moss, "with the standard of perfection I'm used to." Proving it on his way back to New York to hop a flight to the Bahamas, he was indicating a precise 60 when a state trooper nabbed him in a 50-m.p.h. zone. "I won't argue," said Moss, and the cop let him pay the $10 fine by mail.
One month after her 75th birthday, England's unofficial Poetess Laureate Dame Edith Sitwell got around to celebrating the occasion. "Sharp-nosed and inscrutable as a Renaissance Pope," as London's fusty Financial Times saw her at the packed Royal Festival Hall, the arthritic spinster was rolled onstage in a wheelchair, regal in a red velvet gown, her hands glittering with four robin's egg-size aquamarine rings. In her precise, lilting voice, she read seven of her poems, then was seated in a box between her literary brothers, sartorial Sacheverell, 65, and palsied Sir Osbert, 69, to hear musical renditions of her poetry conducted by Composer William Walton.
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