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

In the midst of a stormy week, Wisconsin's Senator Joseph R. McCarthy struck a brawny pose for an intimate picture snapped in the bathroom of his Washington home, where he lathered up his heavy beard for a shave. Meanwhile, some 600 University of Texas students rallied in protest against the choice of McCarthy "to speak for Texans" at the state's hallowed San Jacinto Day celebration on April 21. In Manhattan this week, the Senator, recovering from laryngitis and a virus bug, got back in voice to describe the nation's Red peril to Francis Cardinal Spellman, who, with about 6,000 New York City cops, roundly applauded McCarthy at a communion breakfast. "You said it, Joe!" shouted the cops. "Keep giving it to them!"

Crooner Johnnie (Cry) Ray arrived in London with a revolutionary approach to his art: "I think that crybaby routine has had its day. I was lucky to get over with it." But Johnnie was not certain that dry eyes would assure success. "I'm saving my money. Maybe next year I'll be through. Who knows?" On his first evening in England, Johnnie dined at the House of Commons with an old friend. Laborite M.P. Tom Driberg, long an admirer of Ray's standard technique.

For their "development of a fresh theatrical form, the musical play" (e.g., Oklahoma!, South Pacific), Composer Richard Rodgers and Librettist Oscar Hammerstein II received doctorates (of humane letters) from the University of Massachusetts. Next day Drs. Rodgers and Hammerstein did education a good turn, endowed Manhattan's famed Juilliard School of Music with a perpetual scholarship to go yearly to a promising young singer.

At an air show near Paris, France's Defense Minister Rene Pleven and Britain's Minister of Supply Duncan Sandys, a son-in-law of Sir Winston Churchill, had a brush with death when a Mystere IV jet fighter plane touched a wingtip to the ground, crashed and exploded before them, killing the pilot and sending flying wreckage over their heads.

Only a day and a half after leaving Milan and her last La Scala performance in The Devil's Daughter (TIME, April 5), Mezzo-Soprano Rise Stevens made a pretty transatlantic commuter's picture as she landed at New York's International Airport, that same afternoon was on stage at the Metropolitan Opera to sing the title role of Carmen.

Winding up their 57-day trek (of 14,450 miles) about Australia, Queen Elizabeth II and the Duke of Edinburgh drove out into the countryside from the bustling city of Perth and ate a leisurely picnic lunch. Two days later, leaving in her wake the cacophonous cheers and steam whistles, the Gothic hove westward across the Indian Ocean, bound for the Cocos Islands and Ceylon.

No sooner had The Netherlands' Prince Bernhard returned from a tour of U.S. aircraft plants than his wife, Queen Juliana, ignoring criticism of the Prince's risky flying exploits in America (the engine of one of his planes conked out; another crashed a week after he flew it, killing his recent copilot), promoted Bernhard in all of her armed forces. Tripling in brass, the Prince is now a lieutenant admiral in the Royal Netherlands Navy, a general in the Royal Army, a general in the Royal Air Force.

Britain's Virginia-born Lady Astor, 74, on her way home to England after a three months' visit in the U.S., delivered her customary valedictory and parcel of free advice. In a rare complimentary mood, Lady Astor considered U.S. television commercials and concluded that "it is a tribute to the people of this country that they are able to think at all." Then, opinionated as ever, she launched a rapid-fire dissertation on juvenile delinquency ("If . . . more women spanked their children . . ."), psychiatry ("Of the devil"), the merits of breast-fed babies ("I was not . . . and I never felt insecure") and the G.O.P. family quarrel: "If the left wing of the Republican Party doesn't win, [it will be] most unhealthy . . . because the right wing didn't win the election for the President."

On his recent swing through Turkey to promote trade and good will, West Germany's Chancellor Konrad Adenauer popped into the German embassy in Ankara, bent a friendly elbow while downing a stein of beer at a reception in his honor.

The loose and disjointed Honorable Order of Kentucky Colonels, which bestows its honorary titles by mandate of Kentucky's governors, corrected an incredible oversight. The newest colonel: Kentucky's No. i citizen, former Vice President Alben W. Berkley, a hale & hearty 76, who once, when awarding a colonelcy to a lesser dignitary, quipped: "I'm about the only Kentuckian in Washington, or perhaps anywhere else outside the state, who isn't a colonel."

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