"Names make news." Last week these names made this news:

In the Federal Reserve Branch Bank of Memphis, Tennessee's bumbling old Senator Kenneth Douglas McKellar thought he would see how good the police were. He stepped on a burglar alarm. Police arrived in two minutes, took Senator McKellar to the lockup.

Calling at the chambers of the Missouri Supreme Court, Governor Guy Brasfield Park found one of the justices on the floor working feverishly to assemble his small son's electric train in time for Christmas. Sympathetic, the Governor squatted on his haunches, assembled the train, sent it zipping around the chambers for an hour and a half.

Max Beerbohm, merry British author and caricaturist, returned from his Italian expatriation to tell Londoners: "London has been cosmopolitanized, democratized, commercialized, mechanized, standardized and vulgarized. One feels, in showing London to a foreigner, rather as Virgil may have felt in showing hell to Dante. It is a bright, cheerful, salubrious hell, certainly, but still, to my mind, hell."

Said Tiremaker Harvey Samuel Firestone in Jacksonville, Fla.: "Federal production control and continued tax increases are very harmful, although I want it understood that I am not in the least antagonistic toward the Roosevelt Administration."

Out of their Astor Street apartment for one evening and into the massive family mansion on Chicago's Lake Shore Drive moved Mr. & Mrs-- Potter Palmer. Cleaned, redecorated, refurnished from warehouses, rehung with what paintings had not been given to galleries, the long-time citadel of Chicago society was open for the first time in two years for the debut of the Palmers' youngest daughter Pauline. That night 300 socialites rolled up to the carriage porch, hurried across the mosaic reception hall, danced in the highceilinged, velvet-paneled ballroom where the first Mrs. Palmer entertained King Edward VII, then Prince of Wales. Dark were two unfurnished upper stories. After the debut, the Palmers moved back to their apartment.

In process of formation in Chicago was a new local radio chain called the Affiliated Broadcasting Co., headed by Samuel Insull.

Novelist Booth Tarkington predicted: ''The novel and the poem may become extinct in 200 years, 100 years or in much less time. Radio and talking pictures already have displaced books in many homes and television will injure the popularity of books. There always will be books but perhaps the only books in the future will be reference books, scientific-books and research books."

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