Abe Gnippe (pronounced guh-nip), stocky, bespectacled cab driver and bowling fan, knocked off cruising in Chicago's Loop to watch the Petersen Bowling Tournament. Said he: "You have to throw 'em slow. You throw a fast ball and it goes bloop right through 'em."
The bowlers, most of them middle-aged and middle-thick, were leisurely, almost casual, seemingly unimpressed with their own skill. Among the spectators behind the brilliantly lighted alleys there was no excitement. Once, when a ball hung on the alley's edge, then curved in for a strike, a woman shouted: "What if it does come out of the gutter?—it looks good on the score."
Day & night, the best bowlers in the land spun the big balls down the alleys in the musty-aired, Victorian recreation building at Archer Avenue and 35th (Mr. Dooley's "Archey Road"). Only experts (averaging a score of 180 a game) were eligible (2,080 of them anted $25 each to build the prize total to $52,000).
On the tenth day, a powerful Swede, Adolph ("The Machine") Carlson, strode in, bowled his eight consecutive games. He always took three small steps, kept his eye on the head pin (he claims watching a spot on the alley is amateur stuff), threw a slow, curving ball. The Swede's score mounted, took the lead. Then Carlson sweated it out until the last ball rumbled down the alleys this week.
His total of 1,652 was good enough to earn the first cash prize ($5,100) and a diamond medal (value $600). It was something Swede Carlson had waited for since he was second-best in the Petersen Classic, 21 years ago.
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Duke Harding
