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

A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Tablehoppers, a newly opened Hollywood saloon for members only. One of the founding Tablehoppers. Hotel Heir Conrad ("Nicky") Hilton Jr., 27, whooped his way out of the place in the tow of a good Samaritan, Cinemactor John (Surrender) Carroll, who tried to beach rudderless Nicky in a quiet berth in Carroll's apartment near by. On their long voyage home, Nicky got hold of the car door, expertly swung it to blacken Carroll's eye. Local cops, called by Carroll's neighbors, described the rest of the trip. To the echoes of cursing, screaming and collapsing furniture, Nicky greeted them with a manful challenge: "You want a fight? Here I am!" In handcuffs, Nicky was hauled in a radio car to the police station, where he hoarsely announced: "I can buy and sell the lot of you, and I'm going to do it, too." After kicking a cop in the shins, Nicky was calmed down. He gave his age as 22, his occupation as "loafer," his pleasure as getting sprung for $1,000 bribe (declined). Booked as a common drunk, Nicky was taken to county jail with exactly $14.16 in his jeans.

In Iran, an appeals tribunal upheld the punishment of former Premier Mohammed Mossadegh, who, in deference to his allergy to jail, had got one of history's shortest stretches for high treason: three years in prison, thus far livened only by a "fast unto death" that lasted two days.

Two of the nation's most venerable poets, New England's patriarchal Robert (Birches) Frost, 79, and the Midwest's lean-jawed Carl (Chicago) Sandburg, 76, looking more than ever like blood brothers, showed up at Manhattan's Waldorf-Astoria for some new laurels. To them and eight other U.S. authors went awards from the Limited Editions Club for having written "books which seem most likely to survive as classics."

In Madrid to relax at the bullfights, Author Ernest Hemingway claimed that his two plane crashes in Africa (TIME, Feb. 1) had come closer to killing him than anyone, including indestructible Poppa himself, suspected at the time. A ship's doctor, on the voyage from Africa to Italy, examined Hemingway, who complained of aches and pains, and, as Poppa fancifully recalled the diagnosis, spotted 1) three compressed vertebrae, 2) a ruptured kidney and liver, 3) a collapsed intestine, 4) a brain concussion, 5) partial blindness, 6) bad scalp burns. Moreover, before sailing from Mombasa, Poppa had rushed off into the bush as a volunteer firefighter. There he got badly burned again but never said much about it, because by then "people would have thought I was hamming it." Now on the mend under Spain's warm spring sun, Hemingway, planning to head for his Cuban home next month, had a welcome assurance for his readers: "The doctors said the head injury did not affect the section of the brain I use to write with." In Hollywood, Entrepreneur Elliott Roosevelt announced that, after rummaging through some old personal papers and other documents, he and a collaborator had reconstructed an original screenplay missing since 1923, when its author sent it to Paramount studios. It was called I Have Just Begun to Fight, a stirring film biography of Admiral John Paul Jones, a lifelong idol of the scenarist, Franklin D. Roosevelt, who wrote it when Assistant Secretary of the Navy.

A Los Angeles judge chided onetime Child Cinemactress Margaret O'Brien, 17, for extravagance. Margaret has recently been growing up at a cost of about $17,000 a year, which includes such bagatelles as a $46 lunch and an $800 hotel bill. Her assets have dwindled to $156,297.10. The court advised Margaret's guardian mother that the purse strings must be tightened"if Margaret is to have any assets at all when she reaches 21." After picking up an honorary Doctor of Music degree (his second) at Temple University's annual music convocation, gravel-voiced Composer Irving Berlin, 66, who luckily has not for years had to sing for a living, was pictured as he good-naturedly obliged his hosts with a faintly recognizable medley of his hit tunes.

One of radio's grand old (55) announcers whose autobiography, This Is Norman Brokenshire, was published last month, announced that he is hard at work on a sequel. It will tell how some 50 of Broke's fellow Alcoholics Anonymous conquered booze, as Broke did after a two-decade bout with the bottle. The new book's title: Coming Through the Rye.

Harsh words were bandied in Whittier, Calif, (pop. 29,265) over whether to name one of the city's main thoroughfares after a local boy who made good: Vice President Richard Milhous Nixon. The Whittier Democratic Club was dead set against any street named for a Nixon both alive and"controversial." East Whittier's Women's Improvement Association (predominantly Republican) plumped solidly for calling it Sixth Street.

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