September 12, 1977 12:00 PM

Jack down; Billy up

Neither was planning to go around the world in 80 days, but there were Jack Ford in San Francisco and Billy Carter in Springfield, Ill., both doing their Phileas Fogg bit in hot-air balloons. Former park ranger Ford, now 25 and assistant to the publisher of a new magazine called Outside, aimed to cross the Yosemite Valley as a promotional stunt. Carter, meanwhile, donned satin top hat to participate in a race to benefit the muscular dystrophy fund. Gusts of 20 miles per hour grounded Ford, but Carter took off and stayed aloft for three minutes. TV announcer Ed Mc-Mahon won the race, but Carter felt one up anyway. Why? Because, Billy pointed out, he ended up with “the cleanest white tuxedo.”

Jr. gets the boot

Hitting the happy trails once again to promote his first film in 24 years—Mackintosh and T.J.—as well as to check out another Roy Rogers Restaurant (he has 191 across the country), the King of the Cowboys decided to pay a visit to New York’s mounted police detail in Central Park. Afterward Rogers, being helped out of his boots by son Roy Jr., admitted to some misgivings about venturing into the park—namely a lingering “fear of rustlers.”

Caroline, Meg and John

The scene was the Robert F. Kennedy Pro-Celebrity Tennis Tournament at Forest Hills, so naturally there was a gaggle of Kennedys on hand to watch the action. Squeezed between Caroline, 19, and John, now 16, was John’s date, Caroline lookalike Meg Azzoni. Now going into his senior year at Phillips Academy, Andover, Mass., John had also turned up with Meg at the pretourney bash the night before, and during the matches clasped her hand—as well as a can of diet beer. Remarked one Secret Service man who hadn’t seen John in years: “What have you been eating?”

An even Keeler

The barefoot turista on Rio de Janeiro’s Avenida Copacabana was none other than Christine Keeler, famed femme fatale of Britain’s 1963 Profumo scandal. On a scouting holiday with sons Seymour, 5, and James, 11 (not shown), the twice-divorced Keeler, now 35, is urging Brazilian publishers to buy her account of the affair, which no British book publisher will touch. “I am at peace with myself,” claims Keeler, who adds that in England “everybody hates me.” Her goal? “Above all, to be an old, happy woman.”

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