In a ceremony more feather-filled than a pillow fight, Eleanor Roosevelt, 76, became an honorary Indian six times over in Beverly Hills, Calif. Presented with the traditional caparisons of his tribe by Chief Wah-Nee-Ota of the Creeks, Mrs. Roosevelt was also duly adopted as a member of the Crow, Seminole, Navaho, Apache and Mohawk tribes. The occasion, according to the Indians, was originally inspired by their gratitude to F.D.R., who during a 1938 drought helped them retrieve a sacred beaded thunderbird from the Smithsonian Institution, where it had been gathering dust and making no rain. On the day the thunderbird came back to its rightful owners, so did much rain, big thunder.

Generally accustomed to ignoring his aches, pains and hangovers, that durable old Slav, Nikita Khrushchev, 66, took to his bed with what was described as "a touch of influenza." One treat that Khrushchev was thereby obliged to forgo was a tea party given by Mrs. Khrushchev for Cleveland Industrialist Cyrus Eaton, capitalism's foremost coexister, and Mrs. Eaton. Another was a massive "friendship rally" for Red China's departing Chief of State Liu Shao-chi.

At the big auction of Black Angus cattle in San Antonio, few paid much attention to the lanky bleacher sitter attired in a battered Stetson, old sports jacket, khaki trousers and cowboy boots. But the inconspicuous bidder was none other than Vice President-elect Lyndon B. Johnson, just back from Paris. Spotted and called by name, L.B.J. uttered an annoyed "Shhh" to his discoverer: "I'm down here to buy something good and cheap." With his secret out, Johnson, partnered with a Houston oilman, bought four yearling bulls for $2,250.

In his 55 years of running for elective office, resourceful Speaker of the House Sam Rayburn, 78, should have perfected every possible defense against babies who try to reciprocate his professional affections. But last week in his home town of Bonham, Texas, Mister Sam, a childless bachelor of long standing, met a politician's minor Waterloo in eight-month-old Marty Grove, son of a Dallas reporter. Coming out of a clinch, Rayburn forgot to duck.

In his first public appearance without Britain's Princess Margaret since their marriage, ex-Photographer Antony Armstrong-Jones ventured forth to a Photographic Information Council awards luncheon in London. After greeting old shutterbug pals, Tony nerved himself up to his first speech as a representative of the royal family. He's a one-camera-at-a-time man. Said he: "I can only tell you what I personally use a camera for. Basically, it is to record a moment--a moment that is vital--to give the viewer a sensation of liveliness, sadness, joy and so on. One sees people wandering about looking like a photographic Christmas tree, and when they want to use any of their apparatus, it takes so long to disentangle it that the moment is lost." Is Tony still an active photographer? "Yes. Of course, my scope is a little limited now. Whenever I want to take a picture, there are often quite a lot of other photographers around wanting to take me."

After doing his best to keep his hometown troubles out of the papers (he urged newsmen not to cover the school integration story for three days), New Orleans' handsome Mayor de Lesseps ("Chep") Morrison made news himself in Manhat tan. In town to attend a conference of U.S. mayors, in a trice he found himself in the Stork Club and the clinging arms of Perennial Siren Zsa Zsa Gabor. Later, asked what they had talked about, Zsa Zsa seemed surprised at the question. "Of course," she said, "we talked about the problems of the South."

As renowned for his eccentricity as for his talent, Canadian-born Concert Pianist Glenn Gould, 28, often bundles up against the cold in mid-August. One day a year ago, as Gould tells it, he was sitting in the Manhattan offices of Steinway & Sons when William Hupfer, Steinway's chief technician, strode in overflowing with a he-man heartiness usually reserved for college reunions. On previous occasions, according to Gould, Hupfer had subjected him to "unduly strong handshakes and other demonstrative physical acts." This time, Gould claims, Hupfer approached him from behind and "recklessly or negligently let both forearms down with considerable force on [Gould's] neck and left shoulder, driving [Gould's] left elbow against the arm of the chair in which he was sitting." Last week, charging that injuries to his neck, shoulder and spinal disks had cost him $25,000 in doctor bills and missed concert fees, delicate Pianist Gould filed a $300,000 damage suit against Steinway for failing to curb Bill Hupfer's high-powered amiability.

Leafing through an account of a herd of camels imported in 1855 for use by the U.S. Army in the deserts of the Southwest, San Antonio Lawyer Maury Maverick Jr., son of Texas' late pugnacious Congressman, came across a statement that, as a lad, General of the Army Douglas MacArthur had been thoroughly frightened by one of the animals. (Proving of little use, some of the camels were sold to circuses, others allowed to go wild, but the roving herd did not die out for decades.) Fascinated, Amateur Historian Maverick dashed off a note to the general asking if the story were true. Last week Maverick got a reply insisting that, man or boy, Old Soldier Mac-Arthur never faded away from any dromedary. Recalled MacArthur: "About 1885, when my father [General Arthur Mac-Arthur] was in command of Fort Selden, New Mexico, I saw a camel feeding near the post guardhouse. I was then five years old. It would be incorrect to say I was frightened, but I was certainly excited to see such a strange animal."

A widower since 1943, tapir-nosed Comic Jimmy Duronte, 67, has long been a prime target for ladies in search of a mature man with wit. poise and rough-hewn charm. But Durante's only favorite since 1945 has been sometime Actress Margie Little, 39, who knows that a good man is not only hard to find but, in Durante's case, even harder to catch. The couple got engaged ten years ago, and by 1956 Jimmy mustered the courage to announce that they would be married the following year. The betrothal stretched out over the next four years. Last week gravel-voiced, grammar-fracturing Durante, usually as vague as yesterday's fog, proclaimed that him and Margie will definitely be hitched this week.

After a three-month search in the Hi malayas for the Abominable Snowman, New Zealand's famed Mountaineer Sir Edmund HiHary descended into Nepal with only one furry shred of evidence that the Snowman has any more substance than Santa Claus. Sir Edmund's trophy: a scalp that Himalayan natives, who have treasured it as a good-luck hairpiece for some 250 years, believe to be a genuine yeti remain. To get the scalp, Hillary had to do some sharp bargaining with local witch doctors, who feared that disaster might strike if the scalp were taken from their domain. In the end, he got the trinket on a month's loan by promising a donation to a village shrine, guaranteeing an education for a local lad and agreeing that a village elder could accompany the scalp to Chicago, where it will be examined by scientists.

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