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

From S.W.R.D. Bandaranaike, Ceylon's Prime Minister, came the merest suggestion of a deadpan snicker. Newly appointed U.S. Ambassador to Ceylon Maxwell H. Gluck--the businessman who could not put his tongue to Bandaranaike's name nor pronounce Jawaharlal Nehru's when a Senate committee ambushed him (TIME, Aug. 12)--should not fret about his pronunciation difficulties, said the Prime Minister. Observed the Oxford-educated Bandaranaike dryly: "I can't pronounce his name either. I don't know whether it should be pronounced 'Click' or 'Gluck' [correct: Gluck]. I shouldn't think it is pronounced in the latter manner because that rhymes with 'cluck.' "

Roused at 4:30 a.m. by a dog's yapping, grizzled Author Ernest Hemingway poked his head out the door of his home near Havana, found a squad of soldiers scouring the bushes for an insurrecto, lent them a flashlight and went back to bed. Next morning Papa discovered his dog Machakos (breed: "Cuban") dead of a head wound, presumably inflicted with a rifle butt, stormed down to the local military post but got no explanation, mournfully listed the pooch "killed in action."

Snub-nosed, bright-eyed Princess Yasmin, 7, on leave from Mamma Rita Hayworth, who is filmmaking in California, for a holiday in France with Papa Aly Khan, trained for the event by chomping an eclair and sloshing it down with lemonade, then went to the post for the children's race at Saint-Pierre-Sur-Dives a two-to-one favorite. Steering her half-sized sulky and Shetland pony Conga, she caught the inside rail and held it, finished a three-length winner. Her purse: two kilos of hard candy. Absent from the railbirds: her horse-loving papa, who was 30 miles away at Deauville with Fiancee Bettina, watching his nag Shut Up dog it home fourth.

Nine years after she jumped from the third floor of the Russian consulate in Manhattan to escape being shanghaied back to Russia, 61-year-old former Schoolteacher Mrs. Oksana Kasenkina, still ailing, became a U.S. citizen at a heavily guarded ceremony in Boston.

Honored at Jamestown, Tenn. (pop. 2,115) by his old 82nd Division (long since an airborne outfit), old (69), ailing Sergeant Alvin York whispered his thanks for a new auto equipped to carry his wheelchair (he was crippled by a stroke in 1954). Then, exhausted, Medal-of-Honorman York beckoned to friends and was wheeled from the speaker's platform while the oratory rumbled on, returned by ambulance to his home in nearby Pall Mall.

Massachusetts' shock-haired Senator Jack Kennedy, 40, ambled up to Cinemactress Sophia Loren at a party thrown in her honor at the Italian embassy in Washington, shook hands gingerly, then skittered bashfully out of camera range. Asked Sophia, as she was crowded by less diffident legislators: "If that shy young man didn't want his picture taken with me, then why did he come here?"

In Washington, hazel-eyed, 19-year-old Ruth Eisenhower, daughter of Johns Hopkins' President Milton Eisenhower, jotted a new entry on her crowded September calendar: after her debut in Baltimore and before she returns for her sophomore year at Swarthmore College, she will reign as queen of the annual Potomac River President's Cup Regatta.

As summer heat boiled Broadway audiences away and frazzled actors' tempers, Happy Hunting's Ethel Merman and Fernando Lamas feuded over the firing of one of Lamas' buddies, found that their nightly onstage smooch grated too harshly on their star-crossed sensibilities, worked out a solution: instead of the kiss, a cool, coexistent hug.

Rattling on amiably for readers of the Paris Review, aging (32) Boy Author Truman (Other Voices, Other Rooms) Capote painted an impressionistic portrait of the Artist as a Young Manic: "I despised school. I played hooky at least twice a week, and once I ran away with a girl who in later life achieved a certain fame. Because she murdered a half-dozen people and was electrocuted at Sing Sing. But there, I'm wandering again. Well, finally, I guess I was around twelve, the principal at the school paid a call on my family, and told them that in his opinion I was 'subnormal.' He thought it would be the humane action to send me to some special school equipped to handle backward brats. Whatever they may have privately felt, my family as a whole took official umbrage, and pronto packed me off to a psychiatric study clinic where I had my IQ inspected. I enjoyed it thoroughly and--guess what?--came home a genius, so proclaimed by science. My former teachers refused to believe it; as for me, I was exceedingly pleased, and went around staring at myself in mirrors and sucking in my cheeks."

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