To the swank Lodge at Smugglers' Notch in Stowe, Vermont, bent on a little weekend schussing, went Freshman Senator Teddy Kennedy, Wife Joan, Attorney General Robert Kennedy, and others near and dear. It was all sparkling fun, until Teddy, in presumably unphotogenic apres-ski togs, was confronted outside the Smugglers' Den lounge by Roving Photographer Philip N. Lawson of the Vermont Sunday News. Elections over, the Senator declined to have his picture taken with a roving beauty queen, but Lawson clicked anyway. Bugged by the shutter. Teddy reddened, and the incident swiftly snowballed. Sunday News Publisher William Loeb, a New England Republican long immunized to the Kennedy magic, citing Lawson's confiscated film and torn camera case, said Teddy should apologize. The Senator, down in Washington presumably busy doing More for Massachusetts, said nothing.

Awaiting the outcome of tests for an acute intestinal infection, Protestant Evangelist Billy Graham, 44, lay bed-bound in Catholic territory--St. Francis Hospital in Honolulu. But all was concord, and the nuns in attendance made no attempt to reverse the Diet of Worms. Far from it. Said Sister Maureen, administrative chief of St. Francis: "I think, in the light of the ecumenical movement, that it's rather nice to have him here."

Obviously built for a wide-awake wardrobe was perpetual Cinema Starlet Jill St. John, 22, back to the grind in a Paramount peepshow called Who's Been Sleeping in My Bed? Whoever it was, it didn't seem to be her husband, hot rodding Five-and-Dime Heir Lance Reventlow, 27. All Jill wants from Lance these days is separate maintenance.

Accompanying each new copy of Columbia University's scholarly biannual Journal of International Affairs is this terse note from the editors: "We regret that the announced article on 'People to People Diplomacy' by Sargent Shriver was never received."

"More than Bobo!" cheered Mrs. Cecil Blaffer Hudson, 43, and that was what she got--$6.5 million, beating Bobo Rockefeller's 1954 divorce settlement by a cool $100,000. Not that the money mattered--she was already an heiress to the Humble Oil fortune amassed by her father, Robert Lee Blaffer--but it made the finish of her 17-year marriage to Edward Joseph Hudson, 56 (Hudson Oil and Gas), quite a bit brighter. "I'm so happy I could sing," said the ex-Mrs. Hudson as she considered a future sweetened by an estimated $5,000.000 in cash, $1,000,000 in paintings and sculpture, a $500,000 Texas estate, and custody of two children.

A sick thing happened on the way to the courtroom, but triple-sick Comedian Lenny Bruce, 37, wasn't laughing. Like he missed the trial. While a Chicago jury was convicting him for an "obscene" nightclub performance, Bruce was being arrested in Los Angeles, charged with possession of narcotics, and released on bail. Still pending: an earlier narcotics rap and three misdemeanors, two for obscenity and one for slugging a TV newsman.

Zanzibar, off Tanganyika's coast, offered a welcome respite to svelte Marie Claire Sandys, 34, who dressed down for carefree swimming parties while her statesman husband Duncan tried to settle local political disputes. The Moslem-oriented Indian Ocean isle seemed pleased with both guests, though Sandys objected strenuously when a photographer snapped his lady in definite un-purdah.

From the sumptuous isolation of his 70-room countryseat in Surrey, Billionaire J. Paul Getty, 70, told BBC tellyviewers how awful it was to be rich. Money wasn't everything, said J. Paul; "some of the best times I've had didn't cost money." What was more, "I wish I had a better personality so that I could entertain better. I'm worried that I may be on the dull side." Later, in Manhattan, jet-set Journalist Elsa Maxwell, 79, agreed with Getty all the way. "He's quite right to wish that," observed Elsa, "he's the dullest man that ever lived, and socially impossible." As for those good times that cost no money, Elsa recalled: "I attended a dinner party given by him at Maxim's, and he made all the people there pay for their own meal."

Car 837, 20th Precinct. Manhattan, checked in at the station house to pick up a spare passenger, then set off on a routine night patrol that included aiding an arrest, family squabbles, a threatened knife skirmish, and a checkup on two youthful narcotics users. Nobody recognized the "detective" in dark glasses and a borrowed fedora, even though his framed portrait hung on the wall in one shabby basement apartment. It was Astronaut John H. Glenn Jr., 41, prowling the streets incognito with New York's Finest. "He was interested mostly in the kids," reported Patrolman Thomas Gannon. "He said it looked just like West Side Story."

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