Even an old conservationist like Teddy Roosevelt could hardly ask for more. The Manhattan brownstone where he was born and Sagamore Hill, the Long Island home where he died, were given to the U.S. by the Theodore Roosevelt Association. The new national monuments are "Theodore Roosevelt as no other tangible thing in this world today is," said Interior Secretary Stewart Udall as he accepted for the government. And then, with his own conservation plans in mind, Udall enlisted T.R.'s posthumous support. "The deterioration of our environment has been the paramount conservation failure of the postwar years," said Udall. "Theodore Roosevelt would not view such deterioration without alarm."

As befits a real estate tycoon, he had three private phones at his elbow--one to the office, one to the outside world and one to the rostrum, 75 ft. away. But all those hot lines could not break the ice at the giant auction in the grand ballroom of Manhattan's Astor Hotel. In need of some hard cash, William Zeckendorf, 58, put 25 New York City properties up for grabs, hoping to get more than $7,500,000. Only ten of them drew any bid at all, sold for a near-minimum $2,622,000 (which will be whittled down to a mere $1,575,000 when Zeckendorf pays off the mortgages). Unbowed, Zeckendorf boomed, "It wasn't so bad," and vowed to stage a bigger show in September--this time with properties worth $20 million on the block.

"I suppose the intelligent thing to have done would have been to be a little more false and flowery," groused Stirling Moss, 33, after Acton (West London) Chief Driving Examiner Cyril Smith flunked him in his bid to renew a lapsed motor-scooter license. But he could still buzz around with the red "L" learner plates on the purple scooter. And there went the retired auto-racing champion, looking pretty purple himself in top hat and tails--until he explained that he was on his way to his sister's wedding reception.

The house party at Seal Harbor, Me., was a quiet family affair--the four Murphy children, Happy and Governor Nelson Rockefeller, who was celebrating his 55th birthday. After ice cream and a large birthday cake (with only one candle), Happy gave her husband a blue sailing shirt and two cashmere sweaters, and the kids gave their new stepfather birthday cards. Then for six days the New York Governor relaxed in the privacy of his vacation retreat and indulged an irresistible yen for Maine lobster--at almost every meal except breakfast.

"Here comes the star of the show," chortled Cassius Marcellus Clay, 21, and for once he didn't mean himself. With Brother Rudolph Valentino Clay, 20, he was escorting his paternal great-grandmother, Mrs. Betsy Greathouse ("The roots of a great champion," says Cassius), to her 99th birthday party. "It's a shame," he added, turning serious for a change. "I get all this attention for nothing, and she's never had her name in the paper."

It might be a long time between elephant rides for Economist John Kenneth Galbraith, 54, returning to Harvard after more than two years as U.S. Ambassador to India. Saying his goodbyes in New Delhi, the lanky professor paid a last visit with his family to the zoo, where they once spent a few queasy minutes getting used to the pachyderm pace. Though a certain tension had developed between Galbraith and his colleagues back home in Foggy Bottom, he declared himself "pleased, extremely pleased" with his tour of duty. India apparently was pleased too. In a rare break with protocol, Prime Minister Nehru publicly lauded Galbraith. "I am sorry he is going. He is a brilliant man and has helped India in many ways. We are thankful to him for all that he has done."

"Somewhere there's mu-u-u-sic, how high the moon?" sang the twelve voices of Mary Ford, while Les Paul furiously strummed what sounded like a million electric guitars. From 1948 to 1953, their "new sound" sold millions of hit recordings such as Tennessee Waltz and Mockin'bird Hill. While rock 'n' roll eventually knocked them off the top of the platter heap, the electronically blended couple remained a TV and nightclub attraction. But alas, after 14 years of marriage, there was no mu-u-u-sic somewhere. Mary is now suing for separate maintenance on the ground of mental cruelty.

He already belonged to one of the most exclusive clubs on earth. And last week Norman Dyhrenfurth, 44, leader of last May's U.S. assault on Mount Everest, joined another rarefied company. At White House ceremonies, President Kennedy handed him the National Geographic Society's seldom awarded (only 21 times in 57 years) Hubbard Medal, which put him among such trail blazers as Admiral Richard E. Byrd, Colonel Charles Lindbergh and--fittingly--Sir Edmund Hillary. The president also passed out replicas of the gold medal to the rest of Dyhrenfurth's 20-man American team, and to Nawang Gombu, the diminutive Sherpa mountaineer who helped Expedition Member James Whittaker, 34, plant the Stars and Stripes atop Everest for the first time.

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