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

At a London rally of Britain's Temperance Council of Christian Churches, twinkly-eyed Dr. Geoffrey Fisher, Archbishop of Canterbury, carefully explained why he is only a 99 44/100% teetotaler. Though voicing distress about the "amount of pressure to have something" to drink at present-day social gatherings, Dr. Fisher forthrightly said that he tries not to offend hostesses who serve spirits. But those who place all manner of grog before him are treated to no crass bacchanalian spectacle.When the festivities wind up, the liquor level in the Archbishop's glass is never lowered by more than "one-sixteenth of an inch." Confessed Slight Sipper Fisher: "It is no virtue on my part. It happens that I don't like it."

After grittily ignoring his sneezes and sniffles for several days, West Germany's Chancellor Konrad Adenauer, 79, was bedded down in Bonn with bronchitis, a fever of 104DEG, a later complication of bronchial pneumonia. At week's end, he was "considerably improved," but his countrymen were chillingly reminded that der Alte cannot lead them forever.

India's aging (69) Nizam of Hyderabad indicated that he intends to stay put there, even though next year's dissolution of his realm will put him out of a job. As unemployed potentates go, the adamant Nizam will get on pretty well. When Hyderabad agreed to union with India in 1949, the Nizam wangled some lofty guarantees of the style to which he is accustomed. Items: the continued right to be called His Exalted Highness, a taxfree privy purse of $1 million a year, plus a yearly $500,000 to run his menage and another half million partially to make up his loss of income from his sprawling estates taken over by India. Although the Nizam already has an estimated pile of roughly $500 million in cash, jewels and three palaces, the annual petty cash will come in handy to maintain his three wives, 42 concubines, 33 children and some 3,400 palace guards and flunkeys. Lately, however, the Nizam has been riled by repeated hotfoots from New Delhi, official hints that he ought to pack up his whole shebang and trundle out of Hyderabad to his flossy mansion in Bombay. India's Premier Nehru himself has penned some politely worded eviction notes to the Nizam, but for reasons beyond India's tottery postal system to explain away, the Nizam never seems to get them--even though he is the only Nizam in Hyderabad. Settling down to enjoy the winter last week, His Exalted Highness murmured languidly: "Come what may, I am not leaving."

In his customary proletarian mufti, Red China's pudgy Chairman Mao Tse-tung, looking like a reasonably good insurance risk at his age (68), emerged from Peking to make an inspection tour along the Yellow River, where the Communists say they are undertaking monumental flood-control projects.

In Boston, Army Chief of Staff Maxwell D. Taylor whimsically offered a soldier's-eye view of the Army's sister services in the big, though not always happy, Defense Department family: "A sailor is just a soldier who paddled out to sea, with or without the consent of his commanding officer, and an airman is equally a very recent ex-soldier." Neglecting to mention just where the stouthearted 179-year-old U.S. Marine Corps fits into the soldierly picture, General Taylor went on to tip his brass hat seaward and skyward: "The Army has a very friendly feeling toward both sailor and airman--slightly absent without leave though they may be--if only for the fact that we want to thumb a ride with them from time to time."

Olympian Actor-Author-Director Orson Welles, a jowly 40, strolled out with his Wellesian daughter Rebecca, 10, to see the sights of Pisa. With her half sister Yasmin, Rebecca was brought to Europe by her mother, much-married Cinemactress Rita Hayworth, now in Paris for Yasmin's reunion with her father, Prince Aly Khan (TIME, Oct. 17).

In Indianapolis to speak to the city's Council on World Affairs, Oil Heir John Davison Rockefeller III, 49, was pinned down on a personal matter by a local newshawk. Mindful of the $2.5 billion given away by the Rockefeller family in the sixty-odd years since John D. Sr. turned big-time philanthropist, an Indianapolis Star reporter popped a fast question: "Are you a multimillionaire?" Hemhawed John D. Ill: "Well, I guess you could call us that. My brothers and my sister, we--." The reporter interrupted: "I mean yourself." Sticking to the philanthropic "we," Rockefeller made the week's most gracious understatement: "Well, yes. You could say we have independent means."

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