SPAN: October 1962

A goalie about to thwart a score in an ice hockey game. For other outstanding sports photographs, see page twenty-six.

c/ ~d:a TN FRONT of the Uni<;>nStation, .' Washington, in the' Distrid of ..Columbia,is the Columbus Memorial 'Fountain,opposite.

Figures represen·ting' the Eastern' and' Western. Hemispheres flq.nk the <;:entral globe• surmounted marble shaft from the base of which. a ship's prow emerges, qearing the figure of Columbus. In the foreground .is the Spirit'of Adventure.

The fbuntain, built in 1912, was created by, American sculptor Lorado Taft. Turning his art to history in this . monumental work, Taft paid tribute to the vision of his countrv's discoverer. :~~$.0 Christopher C.olu,mbus :Was pro~ PC bably not.the first whiteman to set, foot on tIie Western Hemisphere. The Norsemen and possibly Basque fisher. ·men may have been there long before him. But it is to Columbus, who des~ ·cribed and helped to.colonize the West Indies in the 1490'S, that credit is given for actually discovering and «penin!::) up America: Columbus was an Italian navigator in the service of King Ferdinand and Queen Is~bellaof Spain. His mission was to..discover a sea route for trade' with Asia. The existence of North and South America was not then known in Europe; so that, when sailing west",\lard he reac.hed America, Columbus ·did not realize that he had found a new world. He. insisted to the end of his life that he had done what he set out to·do--discovered a new route to an old worlel. He died in 1506, still believing that the islands he had ,fouhdwere in the Indian Ocean off China. . . It is an irony of history that America ryceived its·name from Amerigo Vespucci,. another, It~lian who explored the coast of Brazil in 150 I, butit was Qolurribus who really opened the door to the new world. To honour his mernory, Americans oelebrate October 12th as Columbus Day, that being the date,jn 1492 when Columbus first landed in the West Indies .Islands.•

/4

A CANDID HISTORY

by Robert H. Boyle

AO

A PHILOSOPHER'S

by Jacques Barzun

OF AMERICAN

VIEW

SPORTS

OF BASEBALL

JERRY LUCAS

by William G. Wilcox FROM SKATES TO SURGERY Photographs by Suzanne Szasz

)2

A CHAMPION

by V. S. Nanda

26

THE SPORTS PHOTOGRAPHER Photographs by John G. Zimmerman WHERE

ARE THEY

NOW?

MOBILE

POST OFFICE

by L. Wellstone

RADIOISOTOPES

by N. V. Sagar

BATTLE

CANCER

THE SCIENTIST AS ARTIST

by George Russell Harrison CLEAR CERAMIC

by Q. D. Penman

-48

ROBERT BUSSABARGER

by Lokenath Bhattacharya

EDITOR Edward

SENIOR STAFF EDITOR

ART DIRECTOR

Post

Zehra

V. S. Nanda

Sohindar

William

Lokenath

S. Rana

Avinash

Bhattacharya

United

H. Weathersby,

Director, United States Information

PHOTO EDITOR

FEATURE EDITOR

RESEARCH EDITOR

Rehmatulla

States

C. Pasricha

Information

Service,

Sikandra Road, New Delhi, on behalf of The American Embassy, New Delhi.

Service.

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A Cand id History of SPORT FASCINATES Americans.

It is axiomatic that foreign visitors to this shining land are startled-and left either amused or aghast-when banner headlines announcing World Series scores force international crises down to the bottom of the front page.

Sport permeates our language, our art, our politics. It also permeates our economy. Americans spend $20 billion a year on sport, approximately onesixth of the national disposable income.

What is American sport? Is it, as Francis Logan Paxson, the historian, .called it, the social safety valve 4-

Span

October I962

that replaced the frontier? Or did that dour observer, Thorstein Veblen, touch the heart of the matter when he wrote that sport was no more than an expression of the barbarian temperament? Lewis Mumford, urban development pioneer, let up on cities long enough to dismiss spectator sport as "one of the mass-duties of the machine age" and "a part of that universal regimentation of life." And Albert Parry, in the Encyclopedia oj the Social Sciences, found an even more sinister significance; he termed sport an instrument with which "the masses are

to be kept in check, awed or distracted." Was Parry right when he' said: "The wide in teres t of AngloSaxon masses in horse racing, football, baseball and similar sports tends to allay social unrest and lessens the possibility of political uprisings?"

These sociological pseudoprofundities tend to obscure the simple definition of sport as a pastime, a diversion, something to do. When man has time he does things. He writes, he paints, he diverts himself. Sport in America grew with the increase of leisure time and the liberalization of moral codes.

In the nation's earliest days, horse racing was the major sport.

American In Colonial days religion, in the form of New England Puritanism, tended to inhibit the rise of sport. The Puritans were, to generalize broadly, middle-class moralists in revolt against the Anglo-Catholic pomp and splendour of king and court. They transformed Sunday from a day of recreation, which it had been in Roman Catholic times, into the pious Sabbath of the Old Testament. They accepted the King James Bible, but they had the common hangman burn the Book of Sports, in which James I commended the games to be played after Sunday

Sports service. In Massachusetts the Puritans looked upon themselves as "saints, sacred and set apart from a wicked and persecu ting world," and the struggle for existence gave force to the ban on amusements. The settlers had to work to survive, and even after they prospered, their stern code persisted. "Let others," wrote John Adams, "waste their bloom of life at the card or billiard table among rakes and fools." But John Adams played bat and ball as a boy, and loved riding and shooting and boating; he seined for minnows and

by Robert

H. Boyle

turtles, hunted birds' eggs, played with bows and arrows, made toy windmills and watermills and whirligigs.

Sport grew up through Puritanism like flowers in a macadam prison yard.

In Virginia restrictive laws against sport also prevailed at first. But with the introduction of slavery, the establishment of the plantation system and the creation of a leisure class, Virginia's restrictions abated. When, in 1674, the York County court fined J ames Bullock, a tailor, 100 pounds of tobacco and a cask, it was not because racing was against the law but

History

of American

Sports

because Bullock came from the wrong class, "it being contrary to Law for a Labourer to make a race, being a sport only for Gentlemen."

The Middle Atlantic colonies, too, were more tolerant than New England.

Hempstead and Salisbury Plains on Long Island were celebrated for their racing, and the British garrisons in New York and Philadelphia lent encouragement to cricket, racquets and fives. To an officer of the garrison that evacuated New York in 1783 goes the distinction of having written The Sportsman's Companion, the first sporting book published in America.

After the Revolution racing was the major sport. The match between Sir Henry and Eclipse, the first intersectional race in the country, attracted a crowd of more than 50,000 in New York. In 1826 William Fuller, an English boxer, introduced the science of pugilism to New York. U nfortunately, boxing did not receive the upperclass blessing it had had in England, and it soon fell under the domination of native American and immigrant Irish political factions, who used it as a battleground for settling disputes.

But for the most part there was little diversion and little leisure. When Boston workmen agitated for a 10hour day, merchants and shipowners retorted that "the habits likely to be generated by this indulgence in idleness ... will be very detrimental to the journeymen individually and very costly to us as a community."

But here and there were glimmers of'the future. James Gordon Bennett Sr., seeking readers for his penny New York Herald, published accounts of races and prizefights, and so did Benjamin Day in the Sun. William T. Porter began publishing the sports sheet, Spirit of the Times, and gave employment to Henry William Herbert, who, using the pen name of Frank Forester, became the first writer in America to earn a living writing about horses and hunting. Technology, as John R. Betts pointed out in The Mississippi Valley Historical Review of September 1953, was beginning to play a part in the development of sport. By the late 1830Srailroads were transporting both horses and men to distant tracks. In 1852 Yale met Harvard in the first intercollegiate rowing race after the general superintendent of the Boston, Concord and Montreal Railroad offered free transportation to both crews to Lake Winnepesaukee, New Hampshire; the railroad made money on special excursion trains. Later in the century several railroads offered to transport horses or ball clubs at cost or half fare, and in the '80S and '90S lines carried canoes and bicycles at no charge. "Vith the slogan of "Go where You can have

Sport," the Bangor & Aroostook published a big-game and fishing guide; and a rival railroad advertised, "A Correct Way of Going to Maine for Hunting and Fishing is via the Maine Central Railroad."

In books published in the early part of the nineteenth century one can find references to a children's game called baseball, an offshoot of English rounders. In 1842 a group of professional men and merchants began meeting in a Manhattan lot to play, and a few years later they formed a club called the Knickerbockers.

Although baseball was the club's reason for being, the Knickerbockers were, according to Harold Seymour, a historian of the early game, "primarily a social club with a distinctly exclusive flavour-somewha t similar to what U.S. country clubs represented in the 1920'S and 1930's." A Knickerbocker had to have a certain standing in society, and the club used the blackball system to screen candidates.

But class lines were not rigid enough all sportto keep the game-and from spreading, and ability came to count more than breeding. "Baseball," Mark Twain wrote, "is the very symbol, the outward and visible expression of the drive and push and rush and struggle of the raging, tearing, booming nineteenth century."

BEGINNING WITH the professionalization of baseball in 1869, sport underwent fantastic growth as the tempo of the country accelerated. Industrially, the U.S. swept from fifth place in the world in 1840 to first by 1888. There was a noticeable shift in population from the farm towards the city, a trend complicated by the millions of immigrants from Europe.

Between 1865 and 1884 alone, seven million immigrants, half of them German and Irish, entered the country, bringing with them the relaxed European Sunday that contrasted with the rigorous Puritan Sabbath. "Where is the city in which the Sabbath Day is not losing ground?" a critic asked.

"To the mass of the workingmen Sunday is no more than a holiday ... it is a day for labor meetings, for excursions, for saloons, beer-gardens, baseball games and carousels." In Muncie, Indiana, a typical American town, the local newspaper reported that the citizens "do not want and will not have" Sunday baseball, but a year afterward a compromise was reached: the ball game was combined with a sacred concert, "the band playing at intervals." Elsewhere Protestant churches compromised by taking up the concept of "muscular

Christianity."

The Young Men's Christian Association founded a training school for physical education in Springfield, Massachusetts, and this only added to the flood. Only in the rural areas did sport languish in the Gilded Age. The swift rise of sport between 1875 and 1900 paralleled the immense changes in American society. The Golden Age of Invention saw the appearance of the telephone, electric light, Linotype, Kodak camera, portable typewriter and the Zipper and, not entirely coincidentally, it also saw the first running of the Kentucky Derby, the introduction of lawn tennis from England, the first HarvardYale football game, the founding of the National Baseball League, the introduction of polo, the first Westminster Kennel Club dog show, the first National Horse Show, the founding of the American Canoe Association and the National Archery Association, the reign of Heavyweight Boxing Champion John L. Sullivan (who with his size and swagger helped set the style for the American hero, sport or folkPaul Bunyan, Jack Dempsey, Babe Ruth, Tarzan of the Apes, Ernest Hemingway), the start of the summer camp movement by Ernest B. B::dch, the beginnings of the country club, the founding of the National Croquet Association, the first ski club, the first playground (a pile of sand in the yard of a Boston children's mission), the first national trapshooting tournament, the founding of the Audubon Society and the Amateur Athletic Union, Walter Camp's first All-America, the first gloved championship fight, the founding of the Boone and Crockett Club (by Theodore Roosevelt, who was elected its first president and later U.S. President), the start of the regular sports page, the founding of the United States Golf Association, the introduction of ice hockey from Canada, the first American automobile race (sponsored by Chicago's new TimesHerald, eager for circulation), the opening of Madison Square Garden, the founding of the Western Football Conference, the first automobile show and the start of Davis Cup play.

Perhaps there is no better numerical index to the sweep of sport than the story of A. G. Spalding & Bros.

Inc., manufacturers of sports equipment, which was begun in 1876 with a capitalization of $800. By the turn of the century Spalding's gross sales were $5 million annually. In 1892 Spalding offic:ials laughed when a salesman named Julian Curtiss returned with $400 worth of golf equipment from England. But by 1900 golf had become a subs tan tial part of Spalding's business, and the company brought Harry Vardon, the leading English

pro, over for a tour to publicize the gutta-percha ball. As befits such a tale, Curtiss later became chairman of the board of the Spalding Company.

All in all, sport had gained sufficient place in society to begin feeding back ideas and techniques, however ephemeral. Leland Stanford bet a friend $25,000 that all a trotter's hoofs left the ground simultaneously during its gait, and he hired an eccentric photographer named Eadweard Muybridge to prove his point.

Using a battery of twenty-four cameras, Muybridge not only proved Stanford correct but also laid the basis for motion-picture photography.

Frederick W. Taylor, the father of scientific management in business, found in golf and tennis "the value of the minute analysis of motions, the importance of methodical selection and training, the worth of time study and of standards based on rigorously exact observation." (His only lament was that American and English workmen didn't display the same fervour in the factory as they did on the athletic field.) When Marconi sought money to perfect his wireless, James Gordon Bennett Jr. paid him $5,000 to get it ready to report the finish of the America's Cup yachting race in 18gg.

Nothing in sport made a more important contribution, social or technical, than the bicycle. The impact it had seems almost unbelievable. "It is safe to say," wrote an official of the census bureau in 1900, "that few articles ever used by man have created so great a revolution as the bicycle." Invented in primitive form in 1818 by Baron Freiherr von Drais,

a Prussian forester, it attracted little attention in the U.S. until the exhibition of some improved French machines at the Philadelphia Centennial in 1876. Then the craze took hold. In the late evenings Bennett J r. wheeled around the block as his butler waited on the sidewalk, holding a bottle of brandy on a tray. A school with uniformed instructors taught Wall Street brokers how to pedal to band music, and Thomas Stevens of California rode a bicycle around the world. Although the Women's Rescue League warned that all lady cyclists would be invalids within a decade, Miss Frances Willard, the temperance leader, was so enthusiastic she penned A Wheel Within a Wheel: How I Learned to Ride the Bicycle. A magazine of the day hailed the bicycle as "a step towards the emancipation of woman from her usually too inactive indoor life." (There was truth in this remark: interest in the bicycle cut the piano trade in half.) "A few years ago," a writer reported in Scribner's, "no woman would dare venture on the street with a skirt that stopped above her ankles, and leggings that obviously reached to her knees. (The bicycle) has given to all American womankind the liberty of dress for which reformers have been sighing for generations."

The League of American Wheelmen, founded in 1880 by Louis Keller, publisher of the Social Register, and one million strong at its peak, began the campaign for good roads. By the end of the century half the states had passed legislation for improved highways.

To technology the bicycle gave the ball bearing, wire wheels, hub braking,

the pneumatic tyre (invented by Dr. John Dunlop, an Irish veterinarian, for his 1O-year-old son) and the variable speed transmission (the basis of the. automobile gearshift). The bicycle manufacturers, whose business reached $100 million annually in the 'gos, underwrote significant research in metallurgy-the metallurgical laboratory of the Pope Manufacturing Company, which developed tubular nickel steel, was the first outside the steel industry-and the manufacturers' use of mass-production methods, special-purpose machinery and interchangeable parts was of the greatest importance.

The technical advances of the bicycle stimulated progress in other fields. Orville Wright was a bicycle racer and, with his brother Wilbur, kept a shop in Dayton. Their interest overflowed into gliding, then powered flight. "We had taken up aeronautics simply as a sport," they later recalled.

"We reluctantly ent.ered upon the scientific side of it. But we soon found the work so fascinating that we were drawn into it deeper and deeper."

The bicycle played a key part in the development of the automobile.

Indeed, early cars were nothing more than covered bicycles with an engine.

From the bicycle manufacturers came car after car: the Lozier, the Rambler, the Peerless, the Columbia and the Pierce-Arrow. They were the property of the sporting rich who formed auto clubs and talked of opening a chain of gas stations that would service only club members. As late as 191O Americans regarded the car as a toy for the rich. "Nothing," said Woodrow

Span

October

I962

7

~z-~:=:_-_.--: --==~ -~ _.r

=-

--:~~-History

of American

Sports

Wilson, then president of Princeton University, "has spread socialistic feeling in this coun try more than the use of the automobile." He called the driver of that day "a picture of the arrogance of wealth, with all its independence and carelessness." "Nobody," said Stuyvesant Fish, "ever dreamed that the automobiles would come into general use." One man did: Henry Ford.

Ever since Charles Duryea had used a gas engine, then a radical device, to win the Chicago Times-Herald race in 1895, Ford had been overwhelmed by the potential of the automobile. He had ideas, and he resolved to get backing for them by winning races"advertising," he later wrote in My Life and Work, "of the only kind that people care to read." In I 90 I Ford challenged and beat Alexander Winton, racing champion of the U.S. Still he was not satisfied. He now wanted to build the fastest car in the world. In 1903, with Tom Cooper, a former bicycling champion of the U.S., Ford built two racing cars, the "999" and the Arrow.

"If an automobile was going to be known for speed," Ford wrote, "then I was going to make an automobile that would be known wherever speed was known. These were. I put in four great big cylinders giving 80 H.P. -which up to that time had been unheard of. The roar of those cylinders alone was enough to half kill a man ....

Cooper said he knew a man who lived on speed, that nothing could go too fast for him. He wired to Salt Lake City and on came a professional

bicycle rider named Barney Oldfield.

He had never driven a motor car, but he liked the idea of trying it. He said he would try anything once.

"I t took us only a week to teach him how to drive. The man did not know what fear was. All that he had to learn was how to control the monster (the '999') .... It was not known how much speed a motor car could develop. No one knew better than Oldfield what the turns meant and as he took his seat, while I was cranking for the start, he remarked cheerily: 'Well, this chariot may kill me, but they will say afterward that I was going like hell when she took me over the bank.'

"And he did go. He never dared to look around. He did not shut off on the curves. He simply let that car go-and go it did. He was about half a mile ahead of the next man at the end of the race!

"The '999' did what it was intended to do: It advertised the fact that I could build a fast motor car. A week after the race I formed the Ford Motor Company."

By the '20S the U.S. had become an urban nation. The majority of Americans were no longer tillers of the soil but workers in cities and towns.

They sought release not in their daily round of activities but in watching or listening to others, at home with the radio, in a movie palace or in a stadium. It was the age of the spectator. "America is reaching back for bigness to Greece and Rome, whose fun took material form in building giant sports arenas," a writer exulted

in Collier's. "So far we have not surpassed the ancients. But where Athens had one big stadium and Rome several, we are building them by the dozens."

Following the example set earlier by the Ivy League, colleges all over spent huge sums on huge fields. To fill these "lunar craters," as Football Coach Alonzo Stagg called them, they needed huge crowds. They got them by recruiting players. When faculties complained, Liberty magazine said the professors were jealous and added: "The problem is not the elimination or the restriction of football, but how long it will be before redblooded colleges demand the elimination or restriction of those afflicted with this inferiority complex." In honour of the great athletic coach Walter Camp, Yale alumni helped raise $180,000 for a memorial gateway, but other Yale admirers of Josiah Willard Gibbs, the greatest physicist the country had produced to that time, were unable to scratch up $ I 2,000 for a more modest tribute.

The spectator boom hit boxing almost as heavily as it did football. In all its previous history, boxing could boast only four $100,000 gates. In the '20S, with entrepreneur Tex Rickard leading the way, it had 45, four of more than $1 million, one of more than $2 million.

The new device of radio added to the ballyhoo, and sport, in turn, added to radio. For the DempseyCarpentier heavyweight championship fight, David Sarnoff, a young employee of RCA, who is now chairman of the Radio Corporation of America, patched together the first network, albeit a temporary one. Station WEAF in New York was the first to use longdistance phone lines, piping a football game from Chicago to New York.

Sport comprised a third of radio's time in the '20S. Spectator sport triumphed over education on the high school level in the I g20'S. In the typical town of Muncie, basketball swept all before it.

The 18go class motto had been "Deo Duce"; in 1924 it was "To the Bearcats." The city voted $ I 00,000 for a new gym at the same time it cut library funds to a point of inadequacy.

For all the restless millions, the crazy spending and the ballyhoo of the '20'S, American life had lost much of the physical vigour that had cheered observers in the 'gos. To be sure, golf was growing, but then Theodore Roosevelt-the advocate of "hit the line hard" and "play the game"-had once warned President Taft against it as a sissy game. To the stray bicyclist in the typical town, small boys were wont to shout, "Aw, get a machine."

And F: Scott Fitzgerald, who should

have known, wrote: "Americans were getting soft. There were signs everywhere: we still won the Olympic games but with champions whose names had few vowels in them-teams composed, like the fighting Irish combination of Notre Dame, of fresh overseas blood. Once the French became really interested, the Davis Cup gravitated automatically to their intensity in competition. The vacant lots of the Middle-Western cities were built up now-except for a short period in school, we were not turning out to be an athletic people like the British, after all ....

Of course, if we wanted to we could be in a minute; we still had all those reserves of ancestral vitality, but one day in 19'26we looked down and found we had flabby arms and a fat pot."

T

HE DEPRESSION and the New Deal turned the trend back towards participant sport. Although in the Depression millions were out of work, the average employed worker gained added leisure time because of increased industrial efficiency, legislation and union agitation. By the end of 1939 he had one day more of leisure than he had in 19'29 and two days more than his counterpart had had in 1890.

In its public works programmes, the Federal Government put heavy stress on recreation facilities, spending almost $1.5 billion by 1938. State, county and loca~ governments added another $500 million. The federal public works administration built 10,000 tennis courts, 3,0'26 athletic fields, '2,'261 horseshoe courts, 1,8I7 handball courts, 805 swimming pools, 318 ski trails and '254 golf courses.

Federal purchase of forest lands rose from half a million acres annually to two million, and in 1934 Congress authorized the establishment of fish and game sanctuaries in the national forests for the first time. In 1934 visitors to national parks totalled six million; in 1940 the total was twenty million.

Thanks to vigorous promotion by the railroads and department stores, skiing proliferated. In January 1931 the Boston and Maine Railroad, casting about for new business, ran the first ski special to Warner, New Hampshire. The ultimate came a few years later when the Union Pacific Railroad spent $4 million to build a resort at Sun Valley, Idaho, at the end of its spur line from Ketchum. Macy's department store in New York City set the pattern for store promotion by installing a 57-foot-long borax slope and hiring Austrian salesmen to sell skis.

The attitude towards sport was changing. In 1934 the National Rea creation Association published study of the leisure time of 5,000 persons. The completed report noted a wide divergence between what the respondents wanted to do and what they actually did. What they did was mainly sedentary: they listened to the radio, went to the movies or read. But what they wanted to do was active: golf, swim or-sail. Their desires were to come true after World War II, with increased leisure and income.

One brief statistic, on paid vacation weeks, tells much of the story behind the current boom in participant sport. In 19'29 there were 17.5 million paid vacation weeks in the U.S.; in 1941, 30 million; in 1947, 48.5; and in 1961, 65 million. New developments in technology-from the automatic bowling pinsetter to the fibre-glass boat hull-had their impact on sport. In 1958 retail sales of sporting goods passed the $'2 billion mark.

Signs of this are almost anywhere. A passenger flying north over the Mexican desert can tell when he has crossed into the U.S. by the swimming pools that begin to appear below.

And what of the future? Attendance at the major spectator sports appears to have reached its limit-which has prompted the assumption that the participant sports are taking over.

However, the unavoidable fact of television makes it clearly evident that the watching trend is still up; more Americans are watching more sport

more often than ever before. In 1940 few Americans living outside the handful of metropolitan centres had ever seen a big league baseball game.

Ev~n fewer had ever watched professional football. The U.S. Open Golf Tournament, the Kentucky Derby and the World Series were newspaper stories or radio broadcasts.

Almost no one, except for a very few of the most privileged sportswriters, sawall of them. Today a man living a dozen miles from nowhere needs only a television set and a high antenna to see more topflight sports events in one year than the famous sports radio commentator Grantland Rice ever did.

The heightened interest in watching has produced another paradox. Participating in sport has increased concomitantly with watching probably because watching via television does away with the exhausting and timeconsuming effort of travelling to and from sporting venues. Just before he settles down to watch the game of the week, the American sport fan may have finished a round of golf. Just after it he may take his family off for a run across the lake in his boa t.

But the American's interest in both "spectation" and participation, coupled with his new concern for physical fitness, means that sport in America today is being utilized more than ever before. It may be at its peak. But it seems more than likely that it is really just beginning to grow .â&#x20AC;˘ @ 1962 by SPORTS ILLUSTRATED.

THE ACTION PHOTOS illustrating this article were taken during the /961 World Series in which the New York Yankees, American League champions, defeated the Cincinnati Reds, National League champions, by winning four of the first five games of the seven-game series. The Cincinnati base-runner, left, is called "out" at home plate by the umpire, after being tagged with the ball by the New York catcher.

A Philosopher's

View of

BAS E BA L L

by Jacques Barzun THIS IS a philosopher's mildly satirical view Jacques Barzun, a native of France, went to America after World War I. In 1933, a(ter having completed his higher education in the United States, he became an American citi¡ zen. He is a well-known writer on philosophical and cultural topics. The article presented here is an excerpt (rom his book God's Country and Mine, published by Little, Brown and Company, which conveys his impressions o( his adopted country at mid-century.

of baseball.

IN

THE United States the gods decree a heavyweight boxing match only once in a while and a national election only every four years, but there is a World Series with every revolution of the earth around the sun. And in between, what varied pleasure long drawn out!

Whoever wants to know the heart and mind of America had better learn do it by watching first some baseball, the rules and realities of the game-and high school or small-town teams. The big league games are too fast for the beginner and the newspapers don't help. To read them with profit you have to know a language that comes easy only after philosophy has taught you to judge practice.

Here is scholarship that takes effort on the part of the outsider, but it is so bred into the native that it never becomes a dreary round of technicalities. The wonderful purging of the passions that all Americans experienced in the fall of '5 I, the despair groaned out over the fate of the Brooklyn Dodgers, from whom the league pennant was snatched at the last minute, gave us some idea of what Greek tragedy was like. Baseball is Greek in being national, heroic, and broken up in the rivalries of city-states ....

That baseball fitly expresses the powers of the nation's mind and body is a merit separate from the glory of being the most active, agile, varied, articulate, and brainy of all group games. It is of and for our century. Tennis belongs to the individualistic past-a hero, or at most a pair offriends or lovers, against the world.

The idea of baseball is a team, an outfit, a section, a gang, a union, a commando squad-in short, a twentieth-century setup of opposite numbers.

Baseball takes its mystic nine players and scatters them wide. A kind of individualism thereby returns, but it is limited-eternal vigilance is the price of victory.

With Whitey Ford pitching, New York won the opening game of the 1961 World Series, 2-0.

BASEBALL

New York's first baseman, top right, dives but misses a Cincinnati hit which was good for two bases.

Yankee base-runner, centre right, is forced out as he slides into second base.

Just because they're far apart, the outfield can't dream or play she-lovesme-not with daisies. The infield is like a steel net held in the hands of the catcher (who directs the pitcher and the defensive play of the team by signals). He is the psychologist and historian for the staff-or else his signals will give the opposition hits. The value of his headpiece is shown by the ironmongery worn to protect it. The pitcher, on the other hand, is the wayward man of genius, whom others will direct.

They will expect nothing from him but virtuosity. He is surrounded no doubt by mere talent, unless one excepts that transplanted acrobat, the shortstop.

What a brillia9t invention is his role despite its exposure to ludicrous lapses!

One man to each base, and then the free lance, the trouble shooter, the shortstop, the movable feast for the eyes, whose motion animates the whole foreground.

The rules keep pace with this imaginative creation so rich in allusions to real life. How excellent, for instance, that a foul tip muffed by the catcher gives the batter another chance. It is the recognition of Chance that knows no argument. But on the other hand, how wise and just that the third strike called must not be dropped by the catcher. This points to the fact that near the end of any struggle life asks for more than is needful in order to clinch success. A victory has to be won, not snatched. We also find American innocence in calling "World Series" the annual games between the winners in each big league during the regular season. The world doesn't know or care and couldn't compete if it wanted to; but since it's us children having fun, why, the world is our stage ....

Once the crack of the bat has sent the ball skimmiting left of second base between the infielder's legs, six men converge or distend their defence to keep the runner from advancing along the prescribed path. The ball is not the centre of interest as in those vulgar predatory games like football, basketball, and polo. Man running is the force to be contained. His getting to first or second base starts a capitalization dreadful to think of: every hit pushes him on. Bases full and a homer make four runs, while the defenders, helpless without the magic power of the ball now lying over the fence, cry out their anguish and dig up the sod with their spikes ....

Happy the man in the grandstand.

He is enjoying the spectacle that the gods on Olympus contrived only with difficulty when they sent Helen to Troy and picked their teams .â&#x20AC;˘

Umpire calls Cincinnati runner, bottom of heap, safe at home plate when Yankee catcher, top of heap, let a pitched ball get past him.

jerry Iucas ALL-AMERICAN

ATHLETE

~ FOR THREE years Jerry Lucas of Ohio State University has been collegiate basketball's greatest player. At the same time, he was an outstanding student, ranking continuously in the top four per cent of his class.

Now professional basketball is wooing Lucas and the ranks of this very popular and spectacular professional sport are expected to have a new superstar. At twenty-one, Jerry has won unprecedented honours in the game he so admirably represents. He has earned these distinctions at a time when competition has grown more intense than ever, with basketball being played with greater skill and enthusiasm by an increasing number of atWetes both in the United States and around the world.

During the three seasons he played for Ohio State his team was ranked NO.1 in the nation, won one national championship and came within one game of the same title in the next two years. Lucas himself was named to the mythical All-America team three years in a row, an honour achieved previously only by Tom Gola of La Salle University, in 1955, and Oscar Robertson of Cincinnati University, in 1960. For two consecutive seasons he was named college basketball's player of the year.

He was the outstanding player on the U.S. Olympic squad that won a gold medal in Rome. He went to Russia with a touring American team and helped bring it eight straight victories against competition so good that the This Grecian amphora was awarded to Jerry Lucas as the Sportsman of the Year for 196/. It is presented each year by Sports Illustrated to an outstanding athlete as a classic emblem of excellence in mind and body.

Russians had privately thought it was unbeatable. So impressed were American coaches with Lucas that his team was ranked No. I in the nation last year before the season had even started. And for the record, the big star helped keep his team in that spot the entire season.

Athletic superiority is only one side of this remarkable young man. He is poised, thoughtful and intelligent as well. During his four years at Ohio State he has maintained a near-perfect scholastic record, averaging only slightly below "A," which put him in the top four per cent of a student body that numbers more than 27,000.

Dean James R. McCoy of the College of Commerce and Administration at Ohio State calls his academic performance "truly outstanding."

When Jerry Lucas decided as a senior in his hometown high school at Middletown, Ohio, to enrol in Ohio State University, he was the most sought-after schoolboy basketball player in America. Middletown, a community of only 42,000 some 100 miles southwest of Columbus, is noted for producing steel, paper and basketball players.

The city's parks have five lighted outdoor basketball courts that are in constant use. So popular is the sport that residents of the city will stand in line all night to buy tickets to some of the big high school games. At the end of Lucas' senior year in highschclOl, residents of Middletown gave his coach a new automobile in appreciation, even though

his team that year lost the state title, the only losing game played by Lucas as a high school student.

Young Jerry, son of a paper company pressman, had his first taste of basketball competi tion in the fourth grade at about age ten. By the time he was a high school sophomore and eligible for varsity competition, he was 6 feet 7 inches tall. That year he averaged 28.7 points a game and colleges and universities from far and near were casting hopeful eyes in his direction.

In his senior year in high school, Lucas was president of his class and an honour student as well as a star basketball player. He had become such a prize attraction that by actual count more than 150 colleges and universities from Hawaii to New York University were after him.

The professional Cincinnati Royals, located less than forty miles away, went so far as to draft him for four years hence.

This scramble by colleges and universities for outstanding schoolboy athletes sometimes has an adverse effect on the ego and equilibrium of young athletes. Not so Jerry Lucas. With the cool intelligence and judgment that marked his play on the floor, he early decided he was going to enrol in his nearby State university and he did just that. The offers of money, cars, jobs and other attractions, including employment for his father at twice his pressman's pay, were ignored.

jerry lucas "I stopped even reading the letters from the schools," says Jerry. "I come from an ordinary family. I could picture myself with a new car, my dad with a lot of money, and right away I could see myself getting into a lot of trouble. I felt I had a good future. A wrong decision could have ruined everything. You've got to look at the future in life, not at what is being offered you right now. I knew I wanted to go to school in Ohio, and Ohio State was the only school out of all of them that talked about academics first. The rest talked about athletics. It was as ifmy whole future was going to revolve around basketball. It isn't."

Furthermore, he insisted on an academic scholarship so that he could quit basketball if he wanted to.

Any thought that he might receive preferential treatment in the big university was quickly dispelled. On his first day in a Freshman history class, Lucas sat in the rear of the room. The instructor looked in his direction and said: "If any athlete thinks he can sit in the back of the room and do nothing and pass my class, he is sadly mistaken." Lucas stared straight ahead. A few weeks later he got the highest marks in the first history examination.

"Surprise, surprise," the teacher remarked. Lucas went on to earn an "A" in the course.

Lucas successfully defends Ohio State's goal against a scoring attempt by a St. John's player.

RESPECT FOR Lucas the student, as well as Lucas the athlete, has grown with the years. Despite the rigorous and tiine-consuming demands of his sport, Lucas carried more hours of classes per semester during his university career than the average Ohio State student.

Lest there be an erroneous impression that Lucas has been a hookish recluse, let it be said that he became known early as one who liked to help his less able classmates with their studies. He also established himself as one who makes up his own mind, a characteristic that has been constant in his career thus far.

In his junior year, Jerry Lucas married his campus sweetheart, 18-year-old Treva Geib, daughter of a barber in Columbus, Ohio, where Ohio State is located. Treva was a sophomore in the university at that time.

Although not one to socialize regularly with his friends, when Jerry and his slender brunette wife do go out he is the gregarious hit of the party. He has a lengthy repertoire of jokes and can tell them by the hour. He also is known for a unique parlour trick. Given a word, he spells it aloud instantly but arranges its letters in alphabetical order. For example, basketball becomes aabbekllst.

"I started it about five years ago," he says. "I don't know how I do it, or why. I've never seen anybody else do it." By some strange quirk his mind actually sorts the letters so quickly that he has the proper order faster than he can say the letters.

Lucas is essentially a team man, so much so that spectators seeing him for the first time are apt to wonder, "What's so great?" The question arises because he seems to be doing so little, and to be bored'by the little he apparently does. He doesn't get excited. He shows no temper.

Someone has said that he wouldn't get excited if the roof fell in. He simply plays excellent basketball without wasting energy on show. This serious maturity led one fan to remark, "I wonder how old he was when he was born?"

"I have never even seen a pro who was any better," was the high tribute paid to Lucas by Coach Joe Lapchick of St. John'S College after Lucas had effortlessly demolished a great St. John team in a big holiday tournament last season. "The best I have ever coached," exclaimed University of California's Coach Pete Newell after handling the Lucas-led Olympic squad. "The greatest thing

since sliced bread," is the way Lucas' own coach, Fred Taylor, sums it up in a simile he reserves for highest praise.

Essentially shy, Lucas has treated fame as a commodity of little intrinsic worth and in a sense has shunned it by playing as the perfect team man. He has accepted victory with poise and grace and taken his few defeats (six losing games in thirteen years of amateur play) without emotion, displaying neither an appetite for remorse nor a thirst for revenge.

His attitude about losing a game amazes even his teammates. "I playa defeat over and over and over," says his All-America team captain, John Havlicek.

"With Luke, it is as if a curtain comes down. As if it never happened."

"You should worry about the problems of the future, not the past," is Jerry's philosophy.

Nor has his coach, a former All-America player himself, tried to change his approach. "He has tremen-

dous pride," says Taylor. "Nobody works harder. When the chips are down, he is fantastic. What more should I ask of him?"

He has come by his honours as college basketball's outstanding player deservedly. He has given his own generation a wholesome example of fitness, awareness and common sense.

"VVeare advancing into a different age, but humanity has always been facing the dangers of a new age," he said.

"They thought no one would survive the plague. They thought the machine gun was the ultimate weapon of war.

Jow this is the atomic age, but it is just another phase of history. Someday I think people will look back on atom bombs as we look back on all the other things that it was once thought would end civilization. Meanwhile, my generation must realize that it will soon have the responsibility for running this country, that it must accept this responsibility as a challenge, not fear it."

On the wall in the dressing room of the big 13,600seat basketball arena at Ohio State there is posted a poem where Jerry Lucas and his mates could see it every day.

The poem ends with these lines: The moral oj this quaint example Is to dojust the best that you can.

Be proud of yourself but remember, There is no indispensable man.

Lucas never accepted the notion that he was the indispensable man, although the other Ohio State players knew he was and secretly marvelled that he was so selfeffacing about it. They respected him. Near the close of last season the Ohio State team had won forty-seven games in a row with him. Without him they might not have won half that many.

In the past two seasons Lucas led all major college players in shooting accuracy. He scored a phenomenal sixty-five per cent of all field goal attempts during his senior year. And, if colleges kept records of assists he would have been the undoubted leader in the number of times he passed the ball to teammates so they could try to score.

His selection to the United Press International AllAmerica team was unanimous, the first in history to receive all votes.

His 6-foot 7t-inch, 220-pound frame fairly flowed up and down the court in Ohio State's famous fast-break offence. All this he did with an effortless ease that continually fooled opposing teams. One second he would be standing motionless near the basket in a semi-crouch, hands on knees, following the ball with nothing but his eyes. The next second he had the ball and just as quickly had passed it on to a teammate who was wide open for a shot. If the shot was missed, it would be Lucas who leaped high with matchless timing to flick the ball into the basket with his sensitive touch. Many spectators would not even know who scored until the announcer droned "Basket by Lucas." In fact, he was the nation's leading rebounder.

Lucas has a superb jump shot and one of the finest hook shots in the game. Coaches say he could score fifty points a game if he wanted to. But he rarely tops thirty. "The more I play, the less I care about points," he says. "Anybody can score these days if his teammates set him up."

Jerry was an 18-year-old sophomore when his team won the 1960 national championship, defeating the University of California in the annual National Collegiate Athletic Association tournament. A year later his team went through the season as No. 1 in the nation only to lose the national championship to neighbouring University of Cincinnati in an overtime game. He took defeat as casually as he had victory. Team Captain Larry Siegfried bowed his head and wept as did thousands of Ohio State fans watching the game on national television.

Not Big Luke. He never lost his poise. The winners received self-winding watches. "The losers got watches also," Lucas wryly remarked, "but we have to wind ours."

It was after that long and demanding season that the opportunity came for Lucas to tour Russia with a group of young stars assembled by the American Athletic Union. His coach and friends advised against it. Luke was tired, but he wanted to go. It meant dropping out of school for three months. Characteristically, Lucas made up his own mind, and the resulting tour, he says, was the most interesting experience of his life.

"It wasn't the basketball," he says. "I wanted to see the Russian people. I would go out with an interpreter every chance I had, and we would talk to people on the streets, in stores and in restaurants. The anti-American propaganda turns your stomach, but I think the average Russian wants to be friendly and have peace every bit as much as we do. When you talk with them you get the feeling that the problems between our countries will be settled one day. Until then we have to stick to our ideals.

I hope to raise three or four children-mostly boysand I just intend to teach them the kind of principles I was taught."

And incidentally, as is his custom, it was Jerry Lucas who led the team through the tour undefeated .â&#x20AC;˘

FROM SKATES Photographs by Suzanne

Szasz

At twenty, Ten/ey had wan the U.S. figure-skating championship for five consecutive years.

T

ENLEY ALBRIGHT, former Olympic Figure Skating Champion, has won many honours in her twentyseven years but none so important to her as the medical degree from Harvard University which she received last year.

Looking back on her four years of medical training, the young physician admits that the 18-hour day of study and hospital work required of a medical student is an even greater test of physical endurance than training for the Olympics. She came out a champion again, qualifying in the top rank of her class of 140 men and six women graduates.

No one can deny that Tenley Albright has always had what it takes to make a champion. At the age of twenty, she had won the United States figure-skating championship for five consecutive years. This was her eighth victory in nine major competitions. She won the Olympic championship in 1956 and holds the world title for 1953 and 1955¡ She first proved her championship qualities when she was stricken with non-paralytic polio at the age of eleven. She had shown promise as a figure skater before her illness and when she began to recover, she was eager to get back on the ice. It took courage and persistence to regain the use of her weakened legs: it was just these qualities that later earned her the Olympic championship.

It took a strong sense of purpose, too, for the same talented and very pretty young lady to reject offers of Hollywood movie contracts and professional skating engagements, to adhere to the study of medicine. Having known a serious affliction herself, she chose to follow in the steps of her father, Dr. Hollis Albright, a distinguished Boston surgeon, and to devote herself to the care of the sick.

Specializing in surgery, she is now a resident physician at the Beverly Hospital just outside of Boston .â&#x20AC;˘

TO SURGERY

FROM SKATES TO SURGERY

The Albright family in the garden of their home near Boston: Dr. and Mrs. Hollis Albright, their daughter Dr. Tenley Albright, and Niles, their son, who is a medical student at Harvard.

Young Dr. Albright, above, is a graduate University School of Medicine.

At right, she checks on a baby born prematurely who survived in an incub.ator.

of Harvard

A CHAMPION

T

HE- ANNALS of boxing are dotted with unusual thrills and dramatic surprises. B1:ltthere has been no more dramatic event in the recent history of this sport than the triumphant comeback of Floyd Patterson.

The youngest boxer in history to become the world's heavyweight champion, Patterson is also the first boxer in history to regain the title. After his victory in the second bout with Ingemar Johansson in June Ig6o-when he knocked out the Swedish heavyweight with two devastating left-hand punches in the fifth round-Patterson commented: "It was worth losing the title for this. This is easily the most gratifying moment of my life."

Twenty-seven-year-old Patterson has ample reason for gratification, not only because he performed the unique feat of regaining the championship but because he has other and more important victories to his credit. Born in -~a cabin to poor parents and one of a family of eleven children, he suffered from many handicaps. He was only two years old when his family shifted from North Carolina to quarters in a slum area of Brooklyn, New York. The squalor and poverty of such an area often breeds juvenile delinquents, and at one time Patterson seemed to be shaping into one. He was a habitual truant from school and, at the age of eleven, had not learned either to read or to write. He had developed an unusual impassivity and a sense of inferiority which he has not been able to shed completely through the years in spite of his many successes.

Illustrative of this complex is an early incident. In the Patterson home was a photograph of young Floyd with two of his brothers. He used to look intently at the picture and to disapprove of his own likeness in it. The disapproval grew steadily into positive revulsion and one day he scratched X's all over his face in the photograph!

The first important influence in Patterson's life, apart from his parents', was that of the late Miss Vivian Costen, a teacher in the Wiltwyck School for incorrigible boys, near Esopus, New York. Patterson was sent to this institution after his long spell of truancy and found in Miss Costen a sympathetic teacher and mentor who gave him individual attention. Speaking of her later Patterson said: "She was like a mother to me. I began to catch on. I was learning to read. I even liked school." She and the athletic director of the school encouraged him to take up boxing and before long Patterson, then fourteen, was practising the sport at

Ingemar Johansson, left, begins to crumple under a barrage of blows from Floyd Patterson in their fight on June 20, 1960, when Patterson regained the heavyweight chompionship.

At /7, Patterson won the 1952 Olympic middleweight championship.

the Gramercy Gymnasium near the school. He found in boxing just the outlet he needed for his restless, abundant energy, and there followed a period of apprenticeship under the guidance of Constantine (Cuss) D'Amato, owner of the gymnasium.

After about a year's training Patterson had mastered the fundamentals of boxing-the correct stance for each punch, the techniques of dodging or stopping blows, moving in to hit or tie up a rival, faking punches, stepping to one side to dodge blows, and the art of co-ordinating these different movements. He was then ready for his first fight and entered the competitions for amateurs in 195I. Thus began an association with the ring which launched Patterson on a successful and highly rewarding career.

His relationship with D'Amato has also continued ever since, and Cuss has been his manager for more than ten years. The champion has a high regard for D'Amato and says: "Cuss never cheated me." In boxing circles this is considered the highest praise a manager can receive.

Patterson scored spectacular successes in the very first year of his entry into the ranks of amateur boxers at the age of sixteen. He annexed the U.S. Golden Gloves open middleweight title and nine other amateur titles including that of the U.S. rational Amateur Athletic Union. He crowned these achievements by winning the Olympic middleweight championship in 1952. At the Olympic Games at Helsinki he first won a three-round bout against Omar Tebbaka of France; then floored Leonard Janson of Holland in the first round. In the semifinals he won over Stig Sjolin of Sweden, who was disqualified after receiving a number of Patterson's blows.

In the Olympic finals it took him no more than twenty seconds to knock ou t Vasile Ti ta of Rumania.

Patterson has, however, had some reverses too, nor have all his triumphs been as impressive as those of his first year in the ring. After winning the gold medal at Helsinki he turned professional and was much in the limelight during the next two years when he won thirteen fights and lost none. But in one of these fights, with a wily and experienced light heavyweight named Dick Wagner, he got some severe jolting. A hard left to the stomach by his opponent almost knocked him out but he rallied and won on a split decision. This bout is supposed to have taught Patterson a good lesson about "in-fighting" and had a salutary effect on his technique. In 1954 he suffered his first professional defeat in an eight-round con test with Joey Maxim in New York City, although many expert observers did not agree with the judges' verdict.

THESE ISOLATED setbacks did not affect Patterson's rapid progress to the top and in 1956, when heavyweight champion Rocky Marciano, retired from the ring, the stage was set for Patterson's bid to capture the vacant title. In a memorable fight at Chicago Stadium he floored Archie Moore in the fifth round with a left hook which a critic described as "truly artistic in its delivery."

Moore stirred when the count was at six and dragged himself to his feet, but Patterson sprang at him and Moore went down again. The dramatic victory made Patterson, then twenty-one, famous throughout the world as the youngest boxer to win the much-coveted heavyweight championship.

In the next two years Patterson defended his title successfully against Tommy Jackson, Pete Rademacher, Roy Harris and Brian London, but lost it in his first fight witl}c>JheSwedish heavyweight Ingemar Johansson bnUune:'~6, 1959. Speaking after the fight, Patterson admitted i4.at'he had under-estimated Ingemar's capacity and that he 'had.never been hit so.hard before. In the third

round the Swede gave Patterson as many as eleven left jabs without a return and followed up the attack with a. powerful right to his nose. Patterson dropped to the floor, rose at the count of nine but was helpless. Indicative of his grit and sheer determination is the fact that he would not give up and had to be knocked down six more times before the referee stopped the fight.

This major defeat affected Patterson in more ways than one. He reviewed his fighting technique and decided it was "confidence without caution" that had led to the adverse result. He determined to get rid of his habit of "bobbing and weaving straight up and down instead of side to side," which had exposed him to Ingemar Johansson's deadly right. He also learned to manoeuvre with his left shoulder slightly forward, standing at an angle which, according to experts, makes his left jab more powerful.

Psychologically, too, the temporary loss of the title was not without its significance. It made him sceptical of fair-weather friends and fans who deserted him after his defeat, and truly appreciative of those who during the lonely months following the event sustained him with their sympathy and advice. Among the latter was Joe Louis, former world heavyweight champion, who helped him with his training and whom Floyd greatly admires. There were also hundreds of Swedish fans. While happy at the success of their compatriot, they paid their tribute to Patterson as a great fighter and wrote letters of encouragement to him. He repaid their kindness in person when he visited Sweden in the summer of 1961.

Patterson's second match with Johansson revealed the improvement in his methods. From the very beginning of the bout to the moment in the fifth round when he knocked out his rival, he was thoroughly aggressive and completely in charge. That this improvement was no passing phase and his superiority over his Swedish rival beyond dispute, was established in a third encounter between the two at Miami Beach, Florida, on March 13, 1961, when Patterson repeated his earlier performance and achieved a knock-out victory in the sixth round. As this issue of SPAN goes to press, the champion is preparing to defend his title against a new and formidable challenger, Sonny Liston.

Patterson believes that a boxer's mental attitude is a very important factor in a fight. Regardless of how hard he is hit, he must maintain a straight face and even smile to give his opponent the impression of supreme self-confidence. Sometimes, he thinks, a decision may be influenced by such small things as a look or a word of advice spoken before or between the rounds. For instance, he recalls that before his second fight with Johansson, Patterson's trainer, Buster Watson, became suddenly serious and as the bell rang he said, "This is it, Pat." This put him in the right mood and he went forth determined to win.

The champion is six feet tall and now weighs between 180 and 185 lbs. He is married and has three children.

Shy and retiring by nature, he makes few public appearances apart from his professional engagements. Earlier this year, however, he was persuaded to undertake a short. exhibition tour of the United Arab Republic, and was gratified by the welcome accorded to him by Egyptian boxing enthusiasts, sports organizations and the press.

There may be more successes and triumphs in store for him before he retires from the ring to live in the country and, according to his plans, raise horses and hunt small game.

Whatever his future, Floyd Patterson has already impressed upon "the history of sports the image of a genuine champion. Equally as important as the titles he has won in the boxing ring are the battles he first won outside the ring against his personal problems and his own personality. And like a true champion, he has worn his crown with modesty and a respect for fair play and clean sportsmanship .â&#x20AC;˘

Patterson is congratuloted by President Kennedy on his activities to help fatherless boys. Patterson House ;n New York City was financed by the champion to assist boys (rom poor environments in finding employment and to provide them with a desirable home.

The Sports Photographs

by

John G. Zimmerman

I

N THE seven years since J olm Zimmerman joined Sports Illustrated, his camera has looked at sports actions like a human eye transfixed by a sudden glare. His skill with his 3s-millimetre instrument has made him one of the most respected magazine photographers in America.

Zimmerman is a chronicler of the great crucial moments of sport: horses straining into the homestretch, basketball players p.oised mid-air in the struggle for a ball, goalies tensing before hurtling pucks, sprinters charging forward at the gun. Some photographers dissect the instant into little more than journalistic snapshots. Others, notably innovator Ernst Haas, record the beauty "which lies more between moments than within a moment."

Zimmerman does neither. He is a naturalistic photographer whose work focuses on the beauty of crisis.

These pages of SPAN show the basic characteristic of an ace sports photographer's art, in Zimmerman pictures reproduced by courtesy of Sports Illustrated. In addition to a studied portrayal of athletic skill that amounts to an anatomy of grace, Zimmerman captures the peak moment-the moment when an athlete's body and will explode into an action which is never resolved in the photograph. Whenever he can, Zimmerman frankly reinforces the drama of an event with pictorial analogues: brilliant exhalations of sun or klieg lights, blurred backgrounds, an off-centre focus. These techniques, however, do only half the job. Ifsports photography is an art, much of the art is being at the right place at the right time. And that's where Zimmerman usually manages to be .â&#x20AC;˘

The Detroit River boils behind o 2000-horsepower speedboat in an international meet.

Photographer

The Sports Photographer

In a rebound shot, basketball star, right, captures the ball from opponent. Below, a goalie tenses to defend his goal in a professional ice hockey game ..

The ~ports Photographer

The Sports Photographer

A collegiate football star, left, charges through the opposing line for a forty-yard run. Below, under arc lights at a night football game, a cheerleader jumps high in the air, urging her classmates to cheer their team to victory.

Where Are They Now?

EACH OF the athletes pictured on these two pages was an Olympic champion whose outstanding performance highlighted the Games in which he appeared.

Most member nations can claim such Olympic heroes. In these photographs are six American champions, showing how they look today and what they are doing many years after their Olympic achievements, which are also pictured.

BOB MATHIAS, who twice won the decathlon championship, is a motion picture and television actor. In the 1948 Olympic Games in London, far right, Mathias, then 17, became the youngest man ever to win a gold medal in Olympic track and field competition. In 1952 at Helsinki, he won the gruelling decathlon far the secand time.

PATRICIA KELLER McCORMICK, former Olympic diving champion, is a hausewife and mother, married ta her farmer diving coach. In Olympic Games at Helsinki in 1952 and at Melbourne in 1956, Patricia McCormick won a total affour gald medals for both platform and springboard diving.

• ••• •.•••--

JESSE OWENS is director of an athletic programme for young boys under the Illinois Youth Commission. At Berlin in the 1936 Olympic Games, Owens gave the most memorable performance in modern Olympic history when he won four gold medals forthe U.S. team, setting a new world record in three events.

BUSTER CRABBE, who won a gold medal in swimming competition in the 1932 Olympics in Los Angeles, has had a long career as a film and television actor. He also operates a boys' camp. In the 400-metre freestyle race in 1932 he came from two lengths behind at the halfway mark to win.

HARRISON DILLARD, two-time gold medal winner, is an executive of a radio station in Ohio. In 1948, Dillard failed to qualify in the Olympic hurdles trials, though he had previously set a world record. He did qualify as a sprinter and, though not considered a serious contender, won the 100-metre dash over all favourites.ln 1952 he won the 110metre hurdles competition at Helsinki.

MEL PATTON, who won his gold medal in the 1948 Olympics, is a purchasing agent for an electronics manufacturer in California.ln the London Games, Patton finished the 200-metre race, far right, half a stride ahead of the strongest competition.

MOBILE POST OFFICE

SOUTHERN VOICE drawls through the early morning darkness, "Okay-all in. Let's go." A heavy door closes and a big bus eases out into the dimly-lighted street. Slowly it lumbers past Asheville's sleeping houses onto the highway that winds south and west through the North Carolina mountains. The mail is on its way again to expectant families in little towns all the way from Asheville to Blue Ridge, Georgia, lOO miles away.

This "highway post office" is one of over 200 buses which deliver mail in rural communities of thirty-eight States. The post office buses were initiated in 1940. In the early part of the century, remote areas received deliveries from mail-carrying passenger trains. 'When this service was discontinued, the Government used various means of transportation, finally establishing a systematic rural service.

The rolling post offices have become so dependable that country people sometimes even set their clocks when the buses go by.

A

A rural postman's broad smile greets a fat bag of mail.

by L. Wellstone

a daily trip across two states

I t is 5 : 10 a.m. when the post office bus reaches Asheville's city line and turns southward towards Blue Ridge.

Neat suburbs soon thin away to open country, and now the climbing road cuts through clusters of little industrial towns, where textile mills are just warming up for the new day. By eight o'clock the bus reaches Dillsboro, high in the mountains, and travelling gets steeper along a twisting, lonely road.

Twice it stops at a crossroads and transfers mail to a waiting truck or car from farther back in the hills. In many of the small towns a hotel or store serves as post office. Wherever it stops, people are waiting for what it brings: 38

SEan

October I96z

collecting

and delivering

letters from a son or daughter working in a large city far away; newspapers and magazines; a long-awaited air rifle from a mail-order house; and at Christmas a cheerful deluge of cards and presents. When the bus leaves Topton, peak of the journey, it shifts into a slow descent through the mountains that ends at Blue Ridge at noon.

After lunch it heads home, stopping at each town to permit the postmaster to throw aboard his sacks of outgoing mail. Only very rarely do weather conditions halt this post office on wheels and others like it which now serve about 4,000 of the nation's 37,000 post offices.â&#x20AC;˘

mail

atomic weapons

against disease

Radioisotopes Battle Cancer

ONE

OF the greatest challenges in the history of medicine has been the search for a cure of cancer. Now, in the atomic age, radioactive isotopes have been enlisted in efforts to conquer the disease.

In the United States radioisotopes for medical purposes are produced almost exclusively at the United States Atomic Energy Commission's Oak Ridge National Laboratory at Oak Ridge, Tennessee. The historic first shipment from the laboratory, consisting of one millicurie of radioactive carbon-14, a radioisotope of carbon, was made in 1946 to the Barnard Free Skin and Cancer Hospital in St. Louis, Missouri. Since then many hundreds of shipments of isotopes have been sent for use by physicians throughout the world.

Following a proposal by scientists of the Atomic Energy Commission in 1948, radioactive cobalt was first tried as a substitute for radium which had been extensively used in the external treatment of cancer. The original idea envisioned a simple substitution of radioactive cobalt for radium in a standard radium-pack type of machine but, after its adoption, the original IO-curie cobalt source was increased to 100 and then to 1,000 or more curies. (A curie is that amount of any radioactive substance which emits the same number of alpha rays per unit of time as one gram of radium.) A comprehensive study by the Medical Division of the Oak Ridge Institute of Nuclear Studies led to the designing of the first cobalt therapy unit in 1950. Since then more than two hundred such units have been manufactured in the United States, and radioactive cobalt now assumes an important role in the radio-therapy departments of leading hospitals.

Besides its use for external treatment of cancer, radioactive cobalt is also widely used for internal treatment or implantation therapy. Radio cobalt emits beta particles and powerful gamma rays. Small needles of radio cobalt can be surrounded by metal to stop the beta particles, and the gamma rays then used to destroy cancer cells within the body. Cobalt needles of special configurations are used to treat neoplasms, or tumours, such as carcinoma of the cervix.

Some distinct advantages of radio cobalt over radium are that it is cheaper, easier and safer to use. Also, a smaller size source can produce the desired dose of radiation.

Radioisotopes are proving especially beneficial in the treatment of malignant cancers of the brain, lungs and pancreas. With the object of getting cancer-destroying radiation directly into lung and brain cancers, plastic envelopes containing radioactive cesium are implanted in the chest or in the brain. In treating cancer of the pancreas, plastic tubing which contains radioactive iodine is used. The tubing is threaded through the tumour and the surrounding pancreas tissues.

Brain turn ours are also being treated by another method developed at the Brookhaven National Laboratory. In this method boron is injected into the patient's head which is then exposed to a flow of neutrons. This makes the boron radioactive inside the tumour and it gives off healing radiations. Since the effect of the radiation is confined to damaged brain area, greater concentration and effectiveness are achieved. The use of this method has resulted in the lives of many patients being prolonged for considerable periods.

Physicians have long known that destruction of the pituitary, the tiny master growth gland of the body, provides dramatic temporary relief for many cancer patients. Surgical removal of this gland is a difficult and dangerous operation, but scientists at the University of Chicago have recently developed a method of neutralizing it with the radioactive isotope yttrium 90. Tiny beads of this element are injected into the gland by a hollow needle inserted through the nasal passage, as in the picture at left.

Another application of radioisotopes in cancer therapy is the use of radioactive colloids. These are administered to the patient by intravenous injection, by direct injection into the tumour and by instillation into various body cavities. The most common use is that of radioactive gold colloids which are instilled into body cavities for the control of malignant liquid effusions. Results show that about half the patients treated by this method are benefited and relieved of discomfort, although there is no evidence yet of increased life expectancy.

In the relentless fight against cancer, victory will probably be achieved by the application and co-ordination of several methods, and of these one of the most promising would appear to be Mle use of radioactive¡ isotopes .â&#x20AC;˘

The Scientist by Dean

T

of the

As Artist

George Russell Harrison of Science. Massachusetts Institute of

School

HE IMAGE of the scientist held today in the minds of non-scientists is likely to be unduly conditioned by the impact of technology on modern life. Technology is easily confused with science, to which it is related in somewhat the same way that journalism is related to poetry. As a result, the scientist and the artist are often considered to be almost diametrically opposed in their methods of operation, the artist basing his activities primarily on emotion tempered by reason, and the scientist his on reason not tempered by anything. Indeed, science is supposed by many to carry out its operations so implacably under the dictates of blind logic that it is likely to overreach itself, and to land man in situations which are very disturbing to the humanist.

Typical of a common misunderstanding regarding the forces that drive the scientist is a statement which Boris Pasternak has Dr. Zhivago make in his diary: "Progress in science.is governed by the laws of repulsion, every step forward is made by the refutation of prevalent errors and false theories .... Forward steps in art are governed by the laws of attraction, are the result of the imitation of and the admiration for their beloved predecessors."

I have found no scientist who agrees with this statement; all urge insistently that science progresses, not by negation of what has gone before, but by attractions and imitations similar to those which stimulate progress in art. It was Sir Isaac Newton himself who said, "If I have seen farther, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants." .

The work of the true scientist is primarily directed and conditioned by aesthetic values. Advances in science result, not from purely rational considerations, but from the search for beauty, the seeking out of order, harmony, symmetry, and balance. No scientist could ever, with aesthetic guides, thread his way through the impenetrable thicket of all the possible deductions that result from a purely logical approach. Inspiration comes to the mind when apparently random fancies, welling up from the unconscious, are seen to fit into previously unperceived patterns. The creative imagination that invokes and evaluates such patterns is the major tool of artist and scientist alike.

Every scientific hypothesis or discovery is a work of art. It arouses in observers feelings of beauty to the degree that it appeals as true, and feelings of interest to the degree that it is new, disciplined, and fitting.

The panorama of modern science is like a vast mural painting on which thousands of artists have been filling

Technology.

in detail over the centuries, a hypothesis and its subsequent verification here, a discovery and its explanation there.

At times it can be seen that certain areas of the mural need working over, to bring out a previously unperceived degree of order, or to smooth together sections in which overlapping detail does not match. Seldom must an area of the mural be blanked out completely. When this happens the scientist painters have many traces to guide them, and never need start again at the very beginning.

The greater. a scientific hypothesis the more closely do the drives responsible for it resemble those which produce a great work of art. Einstein himself described his first tentative probings in the direction of relativity as being guided by the need for symmetry and order.

He might have been describing the approach of Beethoven, or Praxiteles, or Milton, to the working out of their respective inspirations.

Like a work of art, a scientific generalization needs technical understanding for its appreciation. My colleague in the School of Architecture and I stand mute before an abstractionist painting, he drinking it in, I feeling inadequate before what seem to be the scratchings of an adolescent. Later we stand together before a plaque setting forth Maxwell's equations and are mute again, but now it is my turn to be stimulated, and to have my imagination expanded. I am filled with wonder that in less space than is needed for the first two of the Ten Commandments, themselves no mean concentration of experience, is compressed the behaviour of all the electric charges and magnetic fields that man has ever met, whether in the nucleus of an atom, a beam of light, an electric motor, or a cosmic ray from a distant nebula.

The same concentration of information that one finds in the picture better than 10,000 words, or the poetic turn that stimulates a hundred echoes in the mind, is found in science in such equations as Einstein's E=mc2â&#x20AC;˘ The vast vistas of truth thus bundled in a tiny package can be bulked out in the mind of the beholder in accordance with his understanding. The very process of so bulking them out will, indeed, increase his powers of comprehension.

As Sir Edward Appleton has said, "So far from reducing life to something cold and mechanical, modern science . . . like poetry reveals depths and mysteries beyond and quite different from the ordinary matter-offact world to which we are accustomed."

The scientist feels that he has achieved one of his goals when he has "explained" something. By this he means that he has viewed a phenomenon from all sides, and

Like earlier men with their gods. we are able the unknown only in terms of the known.

to visualize

The aesthetic triumph af explaining all molecules as simple assemblies of atoms, fills any new scientist with stirrings similar to those which overwhelm a young sculptor first beholding the head of Nefertiti.

has seen that it fits comfortably into the mural that relates other "explained" phenomena. "Explanation," involving as it does the process of "laying out flat," seems to me to have been originally an artistic term. The scientist lays things out flat for the same reasons the artist does, so he can see them, perceive their relationships, and if necessary re-arrange them.

It is sometimes said that our picture of the atom is growing more and more vague. This is by no means the case; the atom itselflooks more blurry, to be sure, but this turns out to be the nature of atoms; the picture grows clearer and more definite. We remember more frequently than before that we are looking at pictures of atoms, not at atoms themselves. Recognizing the difference between an atom and its picture increases our ability to specify how atoms will behave in various circumstances. As we mature in aesthetic appreciation our need diminishes for pictures of atoms which resemble so closely the things that we see in the everyday world.

LIKE EARLIER men with their gods, we are able to visualize the unknown only in terms of the known. So the scientist has come to recognize that his molecules and neutrons and nuclei are artistic products of his creative imagination. They cannot look like the real thing, which is unseeable, but the pictures have validity in the degree that they enable' him to predict molecular or nuclear happenings correctly.

When the atom was found by Rutherford to contain electrons, it was natural to think at once of the analogy with planets in the solar system. How pleasan t to visualize in the microcosm 1,000,000,000 suns, each with planets circling about in tiny majesty! Bode had painted a detail of great beauty'on the mural by showing that the distances of the nearer planets from the sun bear a simple mathematical relationship to one another, and had by this means even located a missing planet where the asteroids were later found. Kepler discovered that a planet sweeps out in its orbit equal areas in equal times, no matter whether it is falling towards the sun or climbing from it. How exciting to imagine this harmonious music of the spheres transferred to the inner reaches of the atom! What a beautiful example of order if in the microcosm one should find the same stark mathematical beauty as in the cosmos!

Looking at neighbouring areas of the mural soon showed that this picture could not be exact. If it were true the atom would quickly collapse in a tiny flash of light as its electrons spiralled hurriedly into their nuclear sun. Many scientists were downcast at this failure of the universe to obey their visualizations. Then in 1913 Niels Bohr, working backward from the existence of lines in the spectrum, and using two radical new assumptions analogous to some found useful for other purposes, was able to calculate the wave lengths of the observed lines accurately to one part in 100,000. He showed that what was needed to understand the atom, at least as an emitter of radiation, was to relax a bit, deliberately suppose that everyone had been misled by the paintings of the hydrogen atom in other parts of the mural, and conclude that an electron can stay put in an orbit indefinitely, radiating no light unless it jumps to another orbit.

The point for us is that the new laws thus found to govern the motion of electrons in atoms, though in some ways different from those governing the planets, proved incredibly more beautiful and stimulating. And as a result, widely separated parts of the mural, previously out of kilter at the edges, could be fitted into a remarkable new unity when repainted in terms of these new assumptions.

like poetry, Then came the great perception that the go-odd kinds of chemical elements that exist on earth are not ninety differen t enti ties, but are merel y differing assemblies of three basic particles, neutrons, protons, and electrons, in various numbers of pa tterns. Tin is tin and oxygen is oxygen, not because they were spilled out of different bags at the Creation, but because tin comes into being when electrons are sent circling around a nucleus having fifty positive charges, and oxygen when there are only eight.

Thus, through the work of a host of artistic scientists, the great explanation dawned of why there is a Periodic Table of the chemical elements, and why each atom has its individual properties. Soon it became possible even to achieve some mastery over the transmutation of atoms.

As the world has learned to its present discomfort, but will live to learn to its great advantage, the new model of the atom works. It is a dynamic model, and will continue to grow in definiteness. From time to time new details will have to be painted in and some of the present ones will need revision. This will be because atoms will be subjected to new probings and investigations.

The aesthetic triumph of explaining all molecules as simple assemblies of atoms, and all atoms as arrangements of three basic types of particles, fills any new scientist with stirrings similar to those which overwhelm a young sculptor on first beholding the head of Nefertiti, or the Victory of Samothrace.

Like art, science has a periodic need to burst the bonds of the classical. To get the greatest aesthetic pleasure from contemplation of any sort of imaginative creation requires some degree of novelty. I can remember when it was exciting to a motion-picture audience just to watch the opening of a door. As Western architecture has moved from the romanesque to the gothic, to the baroque, to the modern, as painting has passed through its classical and romantic and impressionistic and abstractionist periods, so has science periodically made great shifts in emphasis.

After people had become accustomed to the fact tha t a two-dimensional painting could capture so much of the reality of the three-dimensional world, it was necessary to find new ways of looking at things. Gesture was added to give the illusion of movement. When Leonardo da Vinci began his work, perspective in painting was new. Much later in its turn the analytical cubist school introduced a new type of artistic assertion, which, instead of requiring the observer to have a roving eye which could look at things one after another, attempted to view a scene from several aspects at once, in the hope that new aesthetic values could be captured. Each new artistic movement was built on what had been done before, and each was to some degree freed from the old limitations. So is it with the quantum theory, and relativity, and the whole of modern physics. In science as in art the old is supplemented by the new rather than supplanted by it.

Einstein did not prove that Newton's law of gravitation was wrong. He showed rather that it was limited and consisted of a special vision, strikingly broad in its day, but only a part of a much greater vista which Einstein perceived and flashed to a startled world. Newton was one of the giants on whose shoulders Einstein stood to discover this amazing spectacle, which off on the horizon showed time and space, and again matter and energy, as to some degree one and the same. Both men, in their transports of discovery, experienced emotions vaster and deeper even than those which Keats envisaged in "stout Cortez ... silent, upon a peak in Darien." Columbus and Magellan bow before the artist and the scientist as explorers.

The scientist is just as likely as his artist cousin to suffer from temperament, and for the same reasons. Both Newton and Einstein, in their young and more productive days, were quite as insufferable to their companions as the deaf Beethoven, found sitting at noon in a darkened room,

depths and mysteries"

his piano cluttered with dirty dishes, with a chamberpot beneath. Yet there he was, in Phyllis McGinley's charming phrase, "bending silence into symphonies."

The similarities between Beethoven fitting together a symphony and Einstein constructing a hypothesis are amazing. The inspiration welling from the subconscious is moulded and polished, examined and adjusted, recast and refurbished, until the edifice so slowly erected bears the obvious stamp of exactness and of truth.

In the words of James B. Conant: "Scientific discovery begins, not in the findings of the laboratory, but in the glimpses of the imagination. The true scientist takes off as the true poet does, not from the notes on his desk, but from a 'hunch,' a feel in the bones, an intimation."

The artist must always be willing to forsake the literal and photographic for the sake of deeper truth. This may be thought a basic prerogative of art, but the scientist too must choose among various levels of trueness as he decides which complexities of an experiment to ignore.

T HE ARTIST

must rely on many aesthetic feelings for his value judgments. His response to truth, after a certain amount of analysis, is largely instinctive and intuitive.

Art is meant to be appreciated by the individual. The scientist, however, is trained to dissociate his science from his individuality, He wants to find out how the universe would behave if he and all others who probe it were removed. Heisenberg with his uncertainty principle, Bohr with his complementarity, and others, have shown that there well may exist no manner of bringing this about.

With this importa'nt conclusion Einstein felt that he must disagree. It troubled him until his death. His attitude shows that even in sci~nce each thinker, no matter how great, is finally led by aesthetic considerations. After almost a score of years of argument with Bohr, Einstein said of Bohr's position: "To believe this is logically possible without contradiction, but it is so very contradictory to my scientific instinct that I cannot forego the search for a more complete conception." Though the greatest scientist of many a century is speaking, surely this is an artist.

This "conference at the summit" (for Bohr inherited Einstein's mantle of "greatest living scientist") was a very gentle series of discussions. The humour, the courtesy, and the mutual esteem of the two participants kept it far from the realm of controversy. Whenever the pair could get together they discussed complementarity and causality and the effect of an observer on what he was trying to see in the world of atoms. The tiniest particles cannot be expected to remain uninfluenced by the light waves used to observe them; who then can say how they behave when unobserved? Thus, said Bohr with Heisenberg, some of our "common sense" conclusions about individual atomic occurrences are surely erroneous.

Einstein, while agreeing with Bohr as to logic, could not bring himself to this point of view, and tried endlessly for some way around the difficulty. He would suggest a "think" experiment, a mental exercise on the logic of which both men would agree, which seemed to contradict Bohr's argument. Bohr would retire, a bit puzzled, but the next day would emerge with an explanation of why complementarity was not violated after all. Einstein would be convinced by the specific argument but would remain dissatisfied, and would emerge in his turn with a different example. This, too, Bohr would after some thought demolish. Always the two would agree on the logical analysis, but still Einstein remained unsatisfied.

Probably most physicists feel that Bohr had the stronger position, and that Einstein was guilty of wishful

Darwin found an unusual orchid with throat so deep it could not be pollinated by any known insect. He predicted a capable moth would be found. else this kind of orchid would have vanished. The moth eventually appeared, its foot-long nectar-sipping tube coiled in a delicate spiral for portability.

@1959 by the Alumni Association of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

thinking. There are some who say, however, that the peculiarities of the quantum theory may themselves well spring from the position of man as an observer rather than being intrinsic in the natural world. Thus, while Bohr is correct in his own context, Einstein may in the long run prove the more farseeing of the two. vVhat concerns us here is not the merits of the argument, but the fact that Einstein, led to water by logic, could not be satisfied because of the depth of his intuitional thirst.

"Art," says Andre Malraux, "is an age-old struggle to remold the scheme of things." This statement can be paraphrased to fit both science and technology, and to differentiate them. Technology remoulds the things themselves; science remoulds the scheme.

Much aesthetic satisfaction comes to the scientist from his occasional ability to use his concepts for predicting.

Darwin found, in Madagascar, a very unusual orchid, with throat so deep that it could not possibly be pollinated by any insect known. The great evolutionist promptly predicted that a capable moth would be found, for otherwise this race of orchids would long since have been lost. Sure enough, the moth eventually appeared, its foot-long riectar-sipping tube coiled in a delicate spiral for portability.

Knowing how much of the great beauty of mathematics arises from hard unyielding logic, the scientist is helped to understand the need for classical disciplines in art. Why should there be four movements in a symphony?

There need not be, of course, but the aesthetic appeal of art is heightened by discipline; the facile fails to rouse our interest. Our pleasure in rhyme is less than it used to be, so new forms of poetry appear. Unless the artist disciplines his creativity, however, his works are soon forgotten.

The perspirqtion of genius comes somewhat from helping to bring ideas to birth, but even more from shaping them with the needed disciplines. Beethoven heard angelic music in his mind, but his notebooks show how thoroughly he worked over each theme, fitting them one to another, and all into a unified whole. Such activity results in a strong likelihood that a work of art will exceed in its entirety the parts the artist is putting together. vVitness the poet who said he could not tell what his poem would be about until it was completed. So with the scientist polishing a new hypothesis. The new relations he discovers are innate, and frequently not of his selection.

Though vast differences still remain between art and science, many of them are matters largely of degree. The scientist must think in rigorous quantitative terms, and he is likely to believe himself impatient with intuition.

He considers this vagueness and possibly prejudice. He objects also to taking things on faith. Nevertheless, intuition and faith are both his sharpest tools. What is important is that he follow through to check the results of his intuition and his faith. He knows that his new hypothesis, his work of art, must stand the close scrutiny of his fellows.

They, in assessing it in terms of other parts of the great mural of science, need only rely on the answers nature will give, in the laboratories and in the heavens, to the questions they propound.

The scientist is deliberately trained to be an intellectual who does not shrink from change, but welcomes and attempts to guide it. Most scientists are far more optimistic about the future of civilization than are the run of poets and painters. "Research," says Kettering, "is nothing but a friendly welcoming attitude toward change .... It is the tomorrow mind instead of the yester.day mind." Herein may lie the secret of the present ascendancy of science.

The resemblances of science and art are far greater than their differences, and deserve more emphasis.

Together they share the basic elements of beauty: reduction of chaos to order, of complexity to simplicity, and, above all, of universality .â&#x20AC;˘

Clear Ceramic

Bar of Lucalox, top, demonstrates heat resistance superior to bar of quartz which bends under own weight at 2,350 degrees F.

NEW material that transmits light almost like glass, resists AVERSATILE extreme heat, is remarkably strong and can be fabricated in any desired shape, has been created in the United States. With the composition of a ceramic and the structure of a metal, the new material, known as Lucalox, is a significant advance that shows promise as the solution to difficult scientific and industrial problems. The temperature of high-intensity incandescent and discharge lamps can be doubled by enclosing them in Lucalox instead of the less heat-resistant fused quartz. Similarly, Lucalox can increase the power of infrared lamps used to test many types of equipment, including missile nose cones and other parts of space vehicles. It shows promise as electrical insulation, as a material for gem bearings in delicate equipment and as an aid in extending the range of instruments and other scientific devices.

The creation of this extraordinary ceramic, previously considered impossible, represents a significant achievement by scientists of a private U.S. corporation. Production techniques consist of pressing fine-grain, high-purity aluminium oxide powder at room temperature, then firing it at high temperatures.

The pressing and sintering process bonds crystals to one another, eliminating the small pores, or bubbles, normally present in ceramics and producing a strong product that resists temperatures up to 3,600 degrees Fahrenheit. At a distance, the bubble-less material resembles frosted glass, but a polished piece of Lucalox placed flat over printed matter approaches glass in transparency.

Its transparency has the advantage of transmitting at least go per cent of the light in the visible spectrum .â&#x20AC;˘ Magnified a hundred times, sample of Lucafox, top, as compared with conventional ceramic, bottom, shows relative absences of bubbles (black spots) which reduce ability to transmit light and heat.

ROBERT HIS

PRINCIPAL interest being in ceramics, and more particularly in Indian terracotta art, Robert F. Bussabarger, American ceramist, looked forward for some years to visiting India. At last, a Fulbright research grant for the academic year 1961-62 made this possible.

Bussabarger arrived in Calcutta in September 196 I on leave from his present job as assistant professor of art in the University of Missouri. He was accompanied by his wife and two children. Whatever doubts he might have felt about finding a sympathetic medium in Indian terracotta were obviously groundless, judging by the one-man show he held at the Indo-American Society, Calcutta, in April. The exhibition of sculpture and pottery created by the artist while in India was an impressive and original collection.

During the ten months he spent in India, Bussabarger worked at several places in or near Calcutta, including the Design Centre of the All India Handicrafts Board of the Government of India at Uday Villa, Kamarhati, and Vallauris Potteries, a private studio at Calcutta.

He was also attached to Calcutta's Asutosh Museum where, apart from his research activities, he was invited to conduct special classes.

Several years ago, Bussabarger came across an article on Indian terracotta art in the American magazine Craft Horizons. It evoked an immediate deep interest in the subject and he commenced studying available materials on Indian terracotta sculpture. By then, his reputation as a. ceramist was already established in the United States and his works were included in a number of private collections and museums. His continued interest in and study of Indian art resulted in the Fulbright research grant for 196 I -62 and an affiliation with the Asutosh Museum, Calcutta.

Bussabarger, who was born and educated in the American Middle West, was drawn towards painting at a very early age. But he discovered during his studies in art practice at Michigan State University, where he received his M.A. degree in 1947, that his foremost interest lay in clay.

Shortly after, he took a teaching job as assistant professor of art at Michigan State College, and¡a couple of years later enrolled at Ohio State University for further study in ceramics and painting.

Ceramics has now become his main subject of study, research and teaching; it is also the principal medium for his creative expression. Ceramics has been developed as a practical and aesthetic art in most civilizations. Any ceramist wishing to evolve new and distinctive expression in the art, should, according to Bussabarger, have a wide knowledge

BUSSABARGER Robert Bussabarger discusses exhibits at the Asutosh Museum, Calcutta, with Curatar Devaprasad Ghose.

of techniques and styles of the ceramics of older cultures.

The Indian terra cotta art, which is now Bussabarger's special area of interest, has a rich history. Earth or clay being the primeval plastic material, the terracotta art form is of very ancient origin. In India, particularly, it has flourished through the ages and has produced certain characteristic elements of form and style. Far from being dead, this art form is still the livelihood for a sizable population of village artisans in India.

One great advantage of clay is that it is readily available almost anywhere and particularly in the riverine plains. Clay is also easily tractable. It responds to the creative impulse of the ordinary man who has always found it a ready medium for fashioning domestic utensils and ritualistic figures. What was originally a crude, primitive technique gradually acquired a more refined and more durable form when earlier craftsmen learned to harden their clay products by exposure to the sunol' by firing.

ACCORDING TO archaeological evidence, terracotta techniques seem to have started in India with Kulli and Zhob cultures which were peasant in origin and essence. The later urban cultures of Harappa and Mohenjodaro have left records of abundant terracotta production. But these also are of a style which represents a popular plastic idiom of the common man, having connections with the terracotta tradition of the peasant cultures, rather than an aesthetic expression of the more sophisticated people of that age and civilization. The higher art of the Indus Valley people of that age found expression in their stone and bronze sculptures, in sharp contrast to the simple, rounded terracotta figurines of the period.

Indian terracotta art has progressed through the ages. Not only pottery, but sculpted pottery and sculpture gradually became a part of the terracotta tradition.

The most prolific terracotta centres were Mathura, Sravasti, Kausambi and Rajghat in Uttar Pradesh, Padmavati in Madhya Pradesh, Patna, Buxar and Basarh in Bihar, and Tamluk, Mahasthan and Bankura in Bengal. In several of these centres the tradition is still very much alive.

The Ganga clays are said to possess a distinctive quality. Bussabarger's ten-month stay in Calcutta provided him an opportunity to work in indigenous

Indian clays. He also adapted traditional Indian forms and techniques and invested them with new ideas and creative imagination to show the living quality of this ancient art medium.

AMONG

THE many VIsItors who crowded the gallery each day during Bussabarger's exhibition were a number of local ceramists, some purely traditional, some desirous of breaking new grounds-all eager to learn how he shaped his objects and the methods he used for drying, firing and, particularly, glazing.

Bussabarger's sculpted figures possess a unique gusto. Among pieces he exhibited in Calcutta, "Horse and Rider" and "King and Queen" are both fine examples of the style he evolved in the Indian medium. They possess a mythical quality at once fierce and whimsical. His pottery, with coloured designs and glazed surfaces, has a detailed decorative finish that is equally skilful. All in all, the works he did in India, show an effective reconciliation between the modern techniques of high-temperature pottery with Indian folk art forms found in the works of village artisans-not a mean achievement for a foreign artist who spent only ten months in India.

Shy and modest but confident, Bussabarger eloquently urged the preservation of Indian terracotta art in this country's new industrial age. It would be a pity, he said, if, under the impact of industrialization and mass production, this great Indian heritage were allowed to deteriorate or perish. Artisans and craftsmen, he feels, should be given all possible help and encouragement not only to continue in the traditional way but to develop new ideas and techniques. As regards the latter, he welcomed India's present efforts to produce decorative objects of glazed pottery, a field which has traditionally been dominated in Asia by China, Japan and Persia.

Bussabarger hopes to publish a book based on his research in India. He confesses that what he saw in India had an emphatic impact on him, which has already become evident in his work. While in India, he travelled extensively in "'lest Bengal, which provides a rich source of terracotta temple art. In various other parts of India, he collected other authentic samples of folk art.

By the time he was ready to return to the U.S., Mr. Bussabarger's Calcutta flat looked like a veritable, small-scale folk museum. There were, among his many other specimens, the famed Panchmura horse of Bankura district and, from the same place, the beautiful threetiered group-figure featuring the snake goddess. All are now installed in Bussabarger's residence in America where, in the company of other clay-cast compatriots transported by the artist, they are helping acquaint an ever-widening circle of Americans with Indian folk art..

The winning run scores in a close play at home plate.

See page ten.