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

Following the 17-day meeting of the World Council of Churches in Illinois (see RELIGION), Dr. Geoffrey Fisher, Archbishop of Canterbury, took a quick trip north into Canada. Asked at Calgary, Alberta, why he was making the trip, he replied with a twinkle: "If the Bishop is listening, I came to visit the Diocese of Western Canada. If he's not listening, I came to see the Rockies."

To Evangelist Billy Graham, who was conducting a revival meeting in Nashville, came an urgent invitation from the Ministerial Alliance of Phenix City, Ala. Would Preacher Graham bring his crusade to Phenix City for a "sin-killing, old-time revival, reaching into every soul?" This, to many, was just what the doctor ordered, since Phenix City, once known as Sodom, was in the midst of a political upheaval following the murder of a candidate for attorney general and the revelation of a pack of other high crimes (TIME, June 28). But before Graham could reply, the answer came from a different quarter. Announced Major General Walter J. Hanna who with his National Guardsmen is running the city under martial law: the invitation was "foolhardy"; Billy's appearance would create a police and traffic problem in a city where an impossible one already exists.

To the tabloid admirers of her marriage to Winthrop Rockefeller, nothing became Bobo Rockefeller like the leaving of it--with a settlement of $5,500,000 (TIME, Aug. 16). Since then reporters have watched her like the Hope Diamond, last week asked the inevitable question after she entertained 34-year-old Charles W. Mapes Jr., a Nevada hotelman, in her 15-room Park Avenue duplex. Bobo and Charles laughed good-naturedly and sort of denied everything before driving off together. Checking their files, the tabloids were comforted to find that Charles Mapes Jr. was not just a nobody; not only does he have his own million or so, but he is one of the fellows who used to date Shirley Temple.

British Novelist Graham (The Third Man) Greene, who is something of an internationalist Carry Nation out to smash the U.S.'s McCarran Act, stepped off a plane at San Juan airport, Puerto Rico and snapped a sharp yes when immigration officials asked the routine "have-you-ever-been-a-Communist?" question. Greene, who was en route to London from a vacation in Haiti, was politely detained overnight, next morning took off for Havana for a few days' nightclubbing and the chance to bemuse reporters with his story. The heart of the matter, explained famed Roman Catholic Convert Greene: 31 years ago, at 19, he and a friend decided, for a joke, to take control of the "Oxford branch" of the party. They joined but soon were found out and ousted. "They couldn't have picked on a person who is less a Communist," he said of his Puerto Rico detention. "It's all very silly."

From Hearst Columnist Elsa Maxwell, the rich man's Boswell, came breathless reports of voyagers at sea in international society. Cruising aboard a rented yacht for a month's relaxation were U.S. Ambassador to the Court of St. James's Winthrop Aldrich ("a nice man in spite of being ambassador") and his wife Harriet. They were among the 60-odd who joined Shipping Tycoon Aristotle Socrates Onassis for a drink on his yacht, "a small ocean liner ... a swimming pool that turns into playing fountains and then--into a dance floor."

Still officially grounded by CAA for impetuously buzzing the control tower at Teterboro Airport, N.J. last January, Radio-TV Favorite Arthur Godfrey nonetheless stepped up before the National Aviation Trades Association meeting at Virginia Beach to accept a diamond-studded silver punch bowl as a token of his contribution toward popularizing aviation. Humbly, he apologized for "getting into a little trouble with the CAA," then beat CAA to the punch by announcing that, come Sept. 16, Pilot Godfrey, who has passed a new physical exam, will have CAA's O.K. to fly again.

Taking time out from his business with the Writers' International Congress, Author William (A Fable) Faulkner decided to sightsee among the well-known Brazilian tourist spots, ended up in the Sao Paulo snake farm with a full-grown snake coiled around his neck. Calm in the knowledge that, as he has written, "man and his folly . . . will prevail," the Mississippi philosopher declared: "I'm not afraid of snakes. Man is man's most dangerous enemy." Then back to its keeper he handed the snake, which--on close inspection--turned out to be a thoroughly harmless South American species of coral snake.

In Venice, where the world's top moviemakers met for the 15th International Film Festival, Italy's Gina Lollobrigida chatted gaily with friends and admirers as she arrived for a showing of her newest film, Woman of Rome. She was dressed to show that, with her, first things come first: her silver evening gown had a deep V neck; a fluffy white-fox fur lightly covered her bare shoulders. When the picture was over, nearly everyone had to admit that it was pretty mediocre, but that Gina, in the part of a tough prostitute, had made mediocrity earthily interesting.

The letters columns of London's Sun day Times, traditional forum for readers who want to chatter about everything from EDC to lawn grubs, were pulsating with a lively controversy. The question: What is the most perfect line of poetry in the English language? Some of the entries: "The uncertain glory of an April day" (William Shakespeare), "If Winter Comes, can Spring be far behind?" (Percy Bysshe Shelley), "Dawn skims the sea with flying feet of gold" (Algernon Swinburne), "The moan of doves in immemorial elms" (Alfred Lord Tennyson), and finally, the suggestion of a reader named W. A. Ingram, who submitted: "As in old wine lies summer half asleep." The author, revealed Reader Ingram, was something less than immortal; he was an Unidentified American friend who penned the lines during an argument on "the merits of adapting poetry to commercial uses."

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