People: Dec. 31, 1965

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A big holiday wreath was on the front door of the Gettysburg farmhouse, the tree was trimmed, and Dwight Eisenhower, 75, just a week out of Washington's Walter Reed Hospital after recovery from his November heart attack in Augusta, Ga., settled down with Mamie, his son John and four grandchildren for a private and grateful Christmas. His doctors' greetings: he can take short strolls and climb stairs now. Said Ike with a grin: "I expect I'll be playing golf again within a month—but slowly."

As Bob Hope, 61, explained it: "A funny thing happened to me on the way to take a bow." All set to start the laughs for 2,000 G.I.s at Thailand's Korat Air Base as part of his 14th an nual Christmas tour of U.S. overseas installations, the comic slipped off a backstage platform and sailed into the arms of a burly security man, who broke the fall a bit. With two ligaments torn in his left ankle, Bob went on anyhow, even limped through a soft-shoe routine with Actress Carroll Baker. Later the leg was taped up to ease the "shooting pains," but Hope was cracking happily that his North Hollywood draft board had already given him a physical exam. "And then," he said, "they burned my draft card."

And when they tangle with Alworth

and Ladd,

The Buffalo Bills will know they've

been had.

Cassius Clay? Not this time. California's Governor Pat Brown, 60, was sicking his doggerel on New York's Nelson Rockefeller, 57, betting him "one box of assorted fresh California fruit" that the San Diego Chargers would whip the Bills for the American Football League championship. Nelson, stout feller, staked a crate of New York State apples on it, and after some musing wrote Brown:

When the game's final whistle

Makes the stadium mute

You'll be left to your sighing

While I'm munching your fruit.

"My body is only incidental. It's my spirit that's real," averred World Citizen Garry, Davis, 44, two years after he gave up his U.S. passport in 1948 to found his cult of statelessness and world unity. Now, long after the crusades in which he enlisted Albert Camus and André Gide into Les Compagnons de Garry Davis, issued Jawaharlal Nehru one of his "world passports" and transformed himself temporarily from a freak into something of a world figure, Davis is living in Strasbourg, France. The son of U.S. Society Bandleader Meyer Davis, he is still nobody's citizen, but he has a wife, two children, and he keeps body and soul together with a real spirited little business: the Garry Davis Diaper Service.

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