Died. Red Foley, 58, who sang his way to the top of the country-and-Western music charts with Chattanooga Shoeshine Boy, Peace in the Valley and others; of pulmonary edema; in Fort Wayne, Ind.

Died. Henry Barnes, 61, New York City traffic commissioner since 1962, who mounted a scrappy, unrelenting campaign to unclog the streets; after a heart attack in his office. "You can't be a nice guy and solve traffic," Barnes liked to say. He railed against privileged double-parkers and street repairmen, created miles of one-way avenues in Manhattan, and set up one of the largest electronically controlled signal systems in the U.S.

Died. Chester Carlson, 62, inventor of xerography, the dry-copying process that changed the routine in countless offices; of a heart attack; in Manhattan. In 1934, Carlson, a physicist in a New York electrical firm, became so frustrated over the lack of copies of documents that he decided to do something about it. He worked four years to develop an electrostatic copying process, which has since become Xerox, an $800 million-a-year firm whose growth gave Carlson a fortune estimated at more than $150 million.

Died. Franchot Tone, 63, longtime movie star whose off-camera tiffs sometimes overshadowed his considerable acting ability; of lung cancer; in Manhattan. Suave son of a wealthy industrialist, Tone moved quickly from lead roles on Broadway to Hollywood, where he made 53 films, including Mutiny on the Bounty and Advise and Consent. His personal life was littered with four broken marriages and several fights, one of which--against Bit Actor Tom Neal over the affections of Tone's third wife, Barbara Payton, in 1951 --left him with a battered face that required plastic surgery.

Died. Michael Carr (born Cohen), 64, a Dublin-reared Jew who wrote the music of some of the most popular Irish songs, including Did Your Mother Come from Ireland? and Everybody's Got a Touch of Irish; in London. Carr ran away to sea as a teenager, worked as a Hollywood bit player before moving to England, where he composed South of the Border and Hang Out the Washing on the Siegfried Line.

Died. Charles Jackson, 65, melancholy novelist of guilt and frustration; in Manhattan. After striking it rich in 1944 with The Lost Weekend, the story of a classic binge, he had a long dry spell, writing mediocre books about homosexuality and paranoia. His last work was A Second-Hand Life, a novel of nymphomania published in 1967.

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