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

Old and honored enough to behave like one of his own characters, British Satirist Evelyn (The Loved One) Waugh showed up as honor guest at a London literary luncheon bearing an elegantly Victorian, 2-ft.-long ear trumpet. Waugh, not widely known to be hard of hearing, waggled his antique radar about happily while chatting with table companions, clowned his listening gear with a flourish when an old enemy, Punch Editor Malcolm Muggeridge rose to speak, crowed later: "I did not listen to a word he said. I do not like that man. We met once in Africa and did not get on at all."

While Pianist Liberace and brother George performed at a Sunset Boulevard nightclub, two hooded thugs hid in the garage of Liberace's home in suburban Los Angeles, grabbed their 68-year-old mother, Mrs. Frances Casadonte, as she stepped outside the house, and kicked her unconscious. The attackers stole nothing from the $75,000 house. Said one, as Mrs. Casadonte lay gasping from bruises and a fractured rib: "This will give him something to laugh about." Said the other: "Kick her again and we'll have something to laugh about." Said Liberace:,."We are unaware of the reason."

A couple of weeks after he announced pettishly that he did not care whether his new comedy A King in New York would be shown in the U.S. ("Over there, one is not free to say what one wishes. In Europe it is different"), famed Filmmaker Charles (City Lights) Chaplin, having voted himself a vacation from both business and petulance, posed smilingly with his wife Oona and five of their six children on a footbridge near their vacation villa on the French Riviera.

While the Administration beat the bushes for a successor to Defense Secretary Charles Wilson (see NATIONAL AFFAIRS), Charlie celebrated his 67th birthday at a dinner party in the gold-carpeted dining room of Wilson's Pentagon suite, beamed as Mrs. Wilson (Jessie Ann) bestowed on him a china caviar bowl and a Christian Dior shirt.

In Washington, U.S. District Judge Charles McLaughlin upheld the conviction of Playwright Arthur (Death of a Salesman) Miller on one count of contempt of Congress for refusing to answer two questions on the identity of persons attending a Communist writers' meeting, put to him last year by the House Un-American Activities Committee. Judge McLaughlin, who had already dismissed the first count on Miller's plea that the Supreme Court had ruled in the Watkins case that Congress may investigate only to alter or initiate legislation, last week fined him $500 and gave him a one-month suspended sentence on the second. Technicality behind the decision: Miller had not challenged the pertinence of the second question, therefore was not shielded by the Watkins ruling. Miller announced he would appeal.

In the state penitentiary at Columbus, Ohio, where he is serving a life sentence for bludgeoning his wife to death three years ago, 35-year-old Dr. Sam Sheppard was told that a 23-year-old convict and drug addict named Donald Wedler had confessed to the crime in Florida, and that a lie detector test indicated he was telling the truth. Unemotional at the news--24 other persons have signed similar "confessions"--Dr. Sam nevertheless agreed for the first time since the slaying to take a lie detector test himself. Shown a picture of Wedler, he said he had a "vague feeling" that Wedler was the "bushy-haired intruder" he claimed had attacked him on the night of the murder.

Further cementing her bond with the people, Scots-descended Queen Elizabeth scanned the royal phone bill (estimate: $70,000 a year), reached a housewifely conclusion: too high. Her solution: install pay phones in Buckingham Palace.

For a high bid of $2,184, a U.S. dealer pocketed a sheaf of 20 tumultuous love letters to Alice Lockett, a red-haired nurse, written in London three-quarters of a century ago by an impoverished Irish suitor named George Bernard Shaw. Some excerpts: "Granted that I am a buffoon--one whose profession is to bribe people to listen to me by literary antics such as silly tales of lovemaking and so forth. But has anyone been more serious with you than I? If you have made me feel, have I not made you think?" "Write to me, and I will make love to you--to relieve the enormous solitude which I carry about with me. I do not like myself, and sometimes I do not like you; but there are moments when our two unfortunate souls seem to cling to the same spar in a gleam of sunshine, free of the other wreckage for a moment." "My pleasures are music, conversation, the grapple of my intelligence with fresher ones. All this I can sweeten with a kiss, but I cannot saturate and spoil it with fifty thousand . . . Beware. When all the love has gone out of me, I am remorseless; I hurl the truth about like destroying lightning." Upshot: Alice Lockett married a physician.

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