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...long as anyone can remember, Willie Hoppe (rhymes with sloppy) has been a synonym for billiards. When he was twelve, way back when Jim Jeffries ruled heavyweight boxing, Willie was the original boy wonder. The year after Ty Cobb broke into the majors, Willie Hoppe brought the world's 18.1 balkline championship home from Paris. Now 57, greying William Frederick Hoppe is not only the last of the sport giants, but goes right on being one. In only one respect has he slowed down: he no longer jogs around Manhattan's Central Park reservoir to keep in trim...
When the Golfer of Golfers ends his vacation next month, he will start on a new, part-time job as vice president and good-will salesman for Toledo's Haas-Jordon Co., makers of umbrellas. He is no green hand at selling. Ty Cobb once invited him to his Palo Alto home, hoping for an expert golf lesson, instead found himself teaching Nelson how to slide into second base...
...Bill Dickey, catcher (U.S. Navy); Lefty Grove, pitcher (Maryland coupon clipper); Walter Johnson, pitcher (Maryland farmer); Tris Speaker, center field (Cleveland wine distributer); and George Herman ("Babe") Ruth, right field (who lives on annuities in Manhattan). Absent were Lieut. Commander Mickey Cochrane, catcher, who failed to get leave, and Ty Cobb, left field, who wired from his California retirement that he had a bad case of poison...
...full-length study in English of the brilliant, plebeian, little-known prelate who "changed the whole history of the Mediterranean" and made one of Europe's most sensational poverty-to-power careers. "Had Alberoni been given two worlds like ours to destroy," grumbled Frederick the Great, an authori ty, "he would have asked for a third." Giulio Alberoni was born (1664) in the Grand Duchy of Parma - until then, chiefly famed as the home of Parmesan cheese...
...Says Sheean: "I sat there musing. . . . The seriousness of their interest in the question could not be doubted, and yet it was confounded with an incurable frivoli ty owing to their astronomical remoteness from the conditions of life of which they spoke. . . . In the exquisite little room, gleaming with glass and silver, over the flowers and champagne, all so enclosed and private and secure, one who had been King, one who had been dictator, and one who was to be: what did they have to speak of but the dirt on a miner's neck? In the realm...