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

Covering Middle East hot spots through a glass darkly, high-spirited Journalist Randolph Churchill, son of Sir Winston, managed to set a short-tour record (45 minutes) for strife-torn Beirut. Lumbering into the Palm Beach Hotel after curfew, Randy demanded 1) a room, 2) whisky, 3) an explanation from the British embassy's second secretary for not meeting him at the airport. When the secretary explained about curfew, Churchill decided to go higher, hung up with "I'll telephone the ambassador--you're not much use." Hoisting another round, he ran afoul of an aide, who refused to disturb Ambassador George Middleton. Schemes agley, Randolph Churchill ordered a seat on a London-bound plane leaving within the hour, gave his thought for the day to bystanders: "Do you know, tomorrow I'll be back among my roses in the country."

Even in the grave, Health Hound Bernarr Macfadden, who died three years ago at 87, seemed unsafe from the fury of a woman scorned. In a Miami court, Mary Williamson Macfadden, third of his four wives, described her faddist ex as a "predatory philanderer" and a "lecherous spouse," asked that his divorce from her of twelve years ago be set aside on the grounds of fraud and perjury.

While her erstwhile friend, General Rafael Trujillo Jr., nonflying chief of the Dominican Republic's air force and army, whooped it up in Los Angeles Harbor with an all-night party or two aboard his one-gunned warship Angelita, fluff-tressed Cinemacaroon Kim Novak gazed dazzle-eyed at a solid, if less spectacular catch: Cancer Researcher Ernest L. Wynder, M.D. (TIME, May 5), who escorted Kim on a tour of Manhattan night life.

Dropping political tiffs for the day, a pair of Oxford Old Grads--Prime Minister Harold Macmillan and Laborite Leader Hugh Gaitskell--donned flowing robes and floppy velvet bonnets to receive honorary Doctorates of Civil Laws at the university's centuries-old Encaenia--the first time opposing party heads have ever been jointly honored there. In the Sheldonian Theater, a Public Orator read out the traditionally glowing, donnishly funny praises in Latin, described Macmillan (Greats, 1919) as an "imperturbable Scot" who "watches the signs of the sky most attentively, but above all the Great Bear, whose progeny has lately added a bleep to the music of the spheres." (". . . caeli signa attentissime observat, ante omnia ursam maiorem, quae caelestium choro progeniem blantem nuper immiscuit.") Less vividly, Gaitskell (Mod. Greats, 1927) was hailed as a debater who "does not shirk the task of leadership when the free world is at stake."

After a smiling, muscle-clutching reunion with an old wartime friend, General of the Army Douglas MacArthur, President Carlos Garcia of the Philippines flew off to a banquet in Phoenix, fell victim to feckless staff work in ad-libbing a surprise, honor-giving speech for Arizona Newsman Fritz Marquardt. Said Garcia: "I would like to award a decoration to one who has done a great deal for the Philippines: Governor Ernest McFarland." Democrat McFarland sat by red-faced as an aide rushed up to announce that the award was meant for Marquardt. Leaping after the fumble, Garcia failed to clear the air with another try: "Ladies and gentlemen, when he comes to Washington, Governor McFarland will receive his decoration," learned that Senatorial Hopeful Mac has an uphill fight against Republican Incumbent Barry Goldwater in the election this fall.

In regal acknowledgment of British inflation, Queen Elizabeth II ordered a 6.4% pay hike for her staff of 200, the second cost-of-living increase in Buckingham Palace wages in five years.

"Welcome Mr. De Sapio, Beloved Son of our Soil!" read the signs. Out of his long, black car stepped greying, carefully tailored Carmine De Sapio, Manhattan-born boss of Tammany Hall, on a visit to dusty, tiny (pop. 5,000) Monteforte Irpino, the Italian village his father left 50 years ago to migrate to the U.S. After viewing the site of the old family home (razed years ago), De Sapio, who speaks no Italian, walked through flower-and-confetti-strewn streets with the mayor, drew the hoopla reserved for rich visitors: a brass band, fireworks, cheering crowds. But with the splendor came word of Monteforte Irpino's terrible needs: the pastor asked Carmine to sponsor a sawmill in the factoryless village; the police chief wanted money for a sewage system. Smiling through it all, Democrat De Sapio promised to give $1,000 to the local orphanage, hospital and school, then climbed into his now-dusty limousine to drive the 23 miles back to Naples.

Joining the Golf Society of Great Britain as its 1,000th member, Foreign Secretary Selwyn Lloyd (handicap: 18), received a sturdy, useful gift: a wedge, "not for getting you into holes, but out of trouble." Posing like a duffer (head up, grip too far down on the shaft) with his new club, Lloyd mused about some off-course problems: "I am not a good golfer. But I am wondering whether this club is appropriate for a game of Summitry. I do, I know, spend quite a lot of time in the rough. I have a bad stance. I often have an East wind in my face and a gusty West wind behind me. So I suppose the rules of golf are not bad for my particular game: slow back, head down, eye on the ball--and follow through."

At a London party to launch a charity benefit for an actors-sponsored orphanage, Sir Laurence Olivier showed up with the ginger-tinted beard and undipped hair he let grow for his film version of Macbeth. His role: at the "Night of 100 Stars" revue July 24, Sir Laurence (in top hat, white tie and tails), with wife Vivien Leigh and Cinemactor John Mills, will trip onstage for a buck and wing.

Every Wednesday the editors of Punch sit down for lunch at a brown oval table in a high-windowed second-story dining room to pick the issue's political cartoon. In the magazine's 117 years only two outsiders, Humorist Mark Twain and Prince Philip, had ever been allowed to watch. Last week Punch made the slim list a trifle fatter, invited The New Yorker Humorist James Thurber, who lectured his hosts on the bad influence of political jargon, obligingly followed an old tradition, penciled his cartoon initials (Th) on the table.*

* Unlike Predecessor Twain. Invited to carve away, he noted the WMT of Punch Contributor William Makepeace Thackeray, answered: 'No, two-thirds of Thackeray will do for me."

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