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

During a routine day as U.S. Ambassador to Honduras, onetime Boston admiralty lawyer Whiting Willauer, 50, got a call for some strictly non-routine work. A twelve-year-old boy had drowned while swimming in a river pool near the capital city of Tegucigalpa, but the body could not be found. Would the Ambassador lend his skindiving equipment to help the search? "Whitey" Willauer gladly complied, but the borrowers did not understand how to use the equipment. The ambassador forthwith donned his own oxygen mask and tank, dived into the 40-ft. depths, found the boy's body and brought it to the surface. Explained Willauer: "Nobody else could do it, so I did it."

From Manhattan's studiously select swankery, the Stork Club, came notice that hefty (circa 260 Ibs.), raffish TV Comic Jackie Gleason had been tossed out on his leer. With him went his blonde companion of the evening. Complained the Stork's Boss Sherman Billingsley: "He was drunk and rowdy, and the girl was even drunker. We don't welcome that caliber of person as a patron." Wailed Gleason: "I thought it was a joke."

Dusting off his old five-star uniform, Fleet Admiral William F. ("Bull") Halsey, 74, momentarily dropped his affairs in his Manhattan offices, hopped over to Bayonne, N.J. to have his picture taken with an old friend, the aircraft carrier Enterprise, thereby giving many a veteran a disconcerting sensation of being jerked 15 years backward in time. The Navy has marked the Big E for the scrap heap, and Old Sailor Halsey, along with some 1,400 former men of the Big E, was trying to raise $350,000 to buy the carrier and convert it into a national relic.

Dwight and Mamie Eisenhower, cleaning up their social obligations for the season, played host at a reception for some 1,000 Government officials and Congressmen. Milling through the East Room and the State Dining Room, the guests munched cookies, sipped lemon-and-raspberry spikeless punch, took note of the resplendence of satin, lace and jewels, viz.: Ohio's Mrs. Frank Lausche, in eggshell taffeta; Kentucky's Mrs. Sherman Cooper in black silk; Tennessee's Mrs. Estes Kefauver in two shades of green chiffon. Blazing the way toward a new style was Mrs. Randolph Burgess, wife of the Under Secretary of the Treasury: in place of a corsage, she sported a miniature display of the medals that she won as a WAC in World War II. House Speaker Sam Rayburn, who does not hold with such flossy doings, hovered so long behind the punch bowl that a fellow finally offered him a cupful. Scotch-Drinker Mr. Sam was incredulous: "Are you serious?" he asked. This was the last chance this year to invite Wisconsin's Senator Joe McCarthy, and Ike pointedly passed it up. The only Congressman so neglected, Joe allowed that he didn't want to go to that old party anyhow.

Smiling her festivous best, Washington's party-giving Perle ("hostess with the mostes' ") Mesta took her place at the top of the reception line at the wingding opening of Philadelphia's brand-new $15 million Sheraton Hotel. Suddenly Perle froze, hand outstretched. Facing her: Perle's arch-rival in the hostessing game, elegantly gowned and bejeweled Gwen Cafritz. Perle wheeled, looked wildly around for an escape route just as an alert photographer recorded this historic moment of truth (see cut) for posterity. Gwen nervously shifted her white mink stole, swung her evening bag against an onlooker. The bag flew open and coins, handkerchief and vanity poured to the floor. "Isn't this what would happen when I come to a Perle Mesta party?" Gwen remarked, scooping up the debris. But then Perle, good sport that she is, turned back, shook hands with Gwen, who swept away to celebrate the short-lived truce on the dance floor.

From Aeronautical Wizard Igor Sikorsky came a wry glance into yesteryear and a full-faced peek into the future. Said he, at a Washington banquet: "The first instrument of transport was developed when man placed a load on his woman's back. Then came the pack mule. Now the day is at hand when a crane helicopter will be able to pick up a ready-made house, deliver it to its site while the owners are inside having dinner 2,000 ft. up."

From Playwright Tennessee Williams, chronicler of assorted tales of bottom-drawl Southern hot cats and baby dolls, came a candid, do-it-yourself interview, courtesy of NBC-TV's Wide Wide World--with Williams answering his own tape-recorded questions. Excerpts: Q. Why has there been a disturbing note of harshness and coldness and violence and anger in your more recent works? A. I have followed the developing tension and anger and violence of the world and time that I live in. Q. Haven't you ever known any nice people in your life? A. I've never met one I couldn't love if I completely knew him and understood him. Concluded Williams: "Will you have a drink now?" A. Thank you, no. I never drink till after 6. Q. A.m. or p.m.?

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