It Rose Slowly Like A Gull Sensing

Hollywood Grew To Be The Most Flourishing Factory Of Popular Mythology Since The Greeks.

It Has Always Been Cited As An Irrepressible Symptom Of America's Vitality That Her People, In Fair Times And Foul, Believe In Themselves And Their Institutions.

I Wrote To Mr. Mcenroe, Senior. I Said: "here Is The Sentence Once Written By The Immortal Bobby Jones. I Thought You Might Like To Have It Done In Needlepoint And Mounted In A Suitable Frame To Hang Over Little John's Bed. It Says, The Rewards Of Golf - And Of Life, Too, I Expect - Are Worth Very Little If You Don't Play The Game By The Etiquette As Well As By The Rules." I Never Heard From Mr. Mcenroe, Senior. I Can Only Conclude That The Letter Went Astray.

More Than Anything Else, Though, To Anyone Who Would Write About It, Golf Offers A Four-hour Drama In Two Acts, Which Becomes Memorable Even In The Tape-recorded Reminiscenses Of Old Champs, And Which - In The Hands Of Someone Like Herb Wind - Can Become A Piece Of War Correspondence As Artfully Controlled As Alan Morehead's Account Of Gallipoli.

To Watch An American On A Beach, Or Crowding Into A Subway, Or Buying A Theatre Ticket, Or Sitting At Home With His Radio On, Tells You Something About One Aspect Of The American Character: The Capacity To Withstand A Great Deal Of Outside Interference, So To Speak; A Willing Acceptance Of Frenzy Which, Though It's Never Self-conscious, Amounts To A Willingness To Let Other People Have And Assert Their Own Lively, And Even Offensive, Character. They Are A Tough Race In This.