All eyes for their fetching daughter Victoria Kelly, 17, were Deb-of-the-Century Brenda Diana Duff Frazier, 42 (now Mrs. Robert Chatfield-Taylor), and First Husband John Sims ("Shipwreck") Kelly, 53. When the proud parents powwowed at their old Stork Club stamping ground, both agreed there will be none of that coming-out foolishness for Victoria. "Too many people see the debut as a goal," declares Brenda, "but perspective is more important. I want my daughter to have a full life." Recently ill, the former Glamour Girl admits that her own perspective was improved by two years of psychoanalysis. "I'm very happy now-and looking forward, not backward."

The house in a bleak suburb of Buenos Aires, Argentina, is heavily shuttered, its garden stifled by weeds. But it is home to Veronika Eichmann, widow of Nazi Criminal Adolf Eichmann. Last week, just a year after her husband's death, home she came with son Hassi, 7, from an unnamed hiding place in Western Germany. Barricaded once more behind the white-painted walls, Frau Eichmann and family (her son Dieter, his wife and child) remain in isolation, screaming at intruders, "Leave us alone! Haven't we suffered enough?" Their nearest neighbors merely shrug. "Eichmann built them a prison," says one, "and now they have to live in it."

Out of New York harbor sailed Holland-America's liner Rotterdam, carrying nearly 700 notables on a sort of floating crap game to benefit the American Cancer Society. With tickets sold at $125 to $750 apiece-and "gamblers" paid off in donated minks, diamonds, motor scooters and other goodies-the take was upwards of $123,000. But all-at-sea was the place to be for such socialites as Governor and Mrs. Rockefeller and the Duke and Duchess of Windsor (see THE NATION). An eye-catcher even in that company was svelte Shipmate Gloria Lee Barrie, 35, whose husband George, 49, president of Rayette Inc. (beauty preparations), contributed the initial ante of $25,000 to make the evening's cruise possible.

He has no more big expeditions in mind, says William Unsoeld, 36, a Peace Corps official and one of the five U.S. climbers who scaled Mount Everest last month. Unsoeld and National Geo graphic Photographer Barry Bishop, 30, had to be carried pickaback from a base camp to Namche Bazar, where a helicopter hustled them to the United Mission Hospital at Katmandu. Now recovered from respiratory infections, both men are still under treatment for severe cases of frostbite-with doctors hoping that only the tips of their toes may have to be amputated. And was their victory Pyrrhic? "An experience like Everest," says Bishop, "is something you wouldn't trade for anything, but wouldn't repeat. I had my one moment of truth, and one is enough."

Northeast 63, a prep school publication sprouting at Phillips Exeter Academy, interviewed Cartoonist Al Capp, 53-an alumnus of "the profound cultural influences of the gutter"-and got a Dogpatch double whammy for its trouble. "A prep school," said Capp, "is one great big gang, as vicious as any gang on any block in New York, except without the guts." A prep school lad differs from an ordinary student, adds Capp, in that "he has better manners; also, he's more of a sex fiend. A good prep school is comparable to Alcatraz, as an isolation ward for the most dangerous group in America-teen-agers."

Popping around at the Waldorf-Astoria like a man plugged into one of his own "inventions," Cartoonist Rube Goldberg (A) paid a call on General Douglas Mac Arthur ("He was always interested in cartoons-I used him in a lot of mine"), then (B) said hello to former President Herbert Hoover ("Hoover is an engineer like I am"), and finally came to rest at (C) a grand-ballroom luncheon where 1,000 guests helped celebrate his 80th birthday. Rube won't be 80 until July 4th, but that's when the firecrackers go off.

Two years ago Soviet Dancer Rudolf Nureyev, 25, defected to the West, now has joined Britain's Royal Ballet. But up in Toronto, police officers thought Rudolf looked more than a little bit red-nosed. After twisting at an opening-night party with Prima Ballerina Dame Margot Fonteyn, Nureyev leaped off in the direction of his hotel, was next seen pirouetting along the white center line of Yonge Street. The divertissement thrilled motorists, but a flatfoot, of course, rarely appreciates that sort of thing. When an officer said nyet, Rudolf aimed a high kick that brought him to earth in the local pokey, later apologized and went home to sleep it off.

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