Lean, blondish Erik Kirkland, 26, casting director for Movie Producer Otto Preminger, calls his boss Otto. But, Preminger revealed last week, Erik is entitled to call him something else; Erik is Otto's son by the late Stripper-Author Gypsy Rose Lee, who died last April at 56. Preminger, father of ten-year-old twins by his present wife, Hope, has Erik's formal adoption in the works. Gypsy did not want to marry him, Otto explained. "She was only interested in having the baby. She was a very independent woman, way ahead of her time."

. . .

As though it were not already suffering enough cleavage, the U.S. Left has received a new Word from Black Panther Leader Eldridge Cleaver on a tape recorded in his Algerian exile and broadcast last week by California Radio Station KPFA. From now on, drugs are a no-no for revolutionaries, said Cleaver--in token of which he announced that he had "busted" Fellow Exile Timothy Leary and his wife Rosemary in Algiers. Cleaver read out of the movement "the whole silly, psychedelic drug culture, quasi-political movement of which we have been a part in the past. We're through, we're finished relating to this madness." What Eldridge wants are "sober, stone-cold revolutionaries, motivated by revolutionary love--men and women who fit the description given by Che Guevara: 'Cool, calculating killing machines to be turned against the enemy.' "

. . .

It was quite an ego trip for that veteran ego tripper Maria Callas. She sat there behind a desk on the stage of Manhattan's Juilliard Theater for an hour and a half, answering questions from an audience that included music stars and music students, society folk and reporters. Some of the answers: "I dislike triumphs. It always puts you in too high a place. When I want to resume singing, people will want me to top the triumphs they remember. I dislike Puccini. But Puccini has given me more money on my records than anyone else." The final question came from Metropolitan Opera General Manager Rudolf Bing, with whom she has had several high-decibel differences: "Will you have lunch with me on Friday?" Big smile, no answer.

. . .

Moravia's Complaint might well be the title of Rome's bestselling new novel by Alberto Moravia. Instead the author calls it Me and Him. "Me" is a scriptwriter with higher ambitions; "Him" is his sexual organ, which demands too much of the writer's time and energy. "I have tried to tell on an artistic level what is usually described in psychoanalytical texts," says Moravia, 63. "Basically it is metaphorical--although I admit unusual."

. . .

Illinois' late secretary of state, Paul Powell, the veteran politician who managed to leave an estimated $2.5 million --hundreds of thousands of it in cash-stuffed shoeboxes--will receive a posthumous Americanism award from the American Veterans of World War II and Korea. It is doubtful that the citation will include the encomium of his Illinois colleague Senator Adlai Stevenson III: "His shoeboxes will be hard to fill."

. . .

Really now, what a bit of cheek! Britain's Master Tailors' Benevolent Association was holding a formal dinner --white tie and decorations, of course --and in strolled Prince Charles wearing (Gad!) an old tweed jacket over his boiled shirt. But--sighs of relief--it turned out to be just a royal rag on the article in Tailor & Cutter that had accused the Prince of studied "shabbiness" (TIME, Feb. 8). Charles donned a proper tailcoat after grace and made a polite speech, in the course of which he revealed why he and his father, the Duke of Edinburgh, often walk with their hands behind their backs. "It is not a genetic trait," said Charles. "It is because we both have the same tailor (M.T.B.A. Chairman Edward Watson), and he makes the sleeves so tight we can't get our hands in front."

. . .

O tempora! Hard on Paul McCartney's suit to dissolve the Beatles came more rock-rocking news: Rhythm-Guitarist Tom Fogerty was quitting The Creedence Clearwater Revival, which was just voted the world's top rock vocal group by Britain's New Musical Express. The California group, whose recent album Pendulum sold more than a million copies even before release, will continue as a trio. No Beatlesque bad blood, though. "It wasn't planned," says Tom. "It just dawned on me that whatever talent I have, I must develop on my own. I'm 29 now and soon I'll be 30. Then nobody will talk to me and I won't know where it's at."

. . .

White House servants gasped. There, one evening last week, was Jacqueline Onassis--Mrs. Kennedy, as they still think of her--with Caroline and John on a surprise visit to see the official portraits of President John F. Kennedy and herself commissioned from Painter Aaron Shikler. Patricia Nixon had arranged it all in secret with Jackie; President Nixon left his office early to join them for drinks and dinner. "We were anxious to keep it an evening the children would enjoy," said Pat Nixon, "so we talked sports a lot, and about schools and vacations." John was "a little gentleman," wide-eyed at seeing his former home, which he did not remember. "I didn't know it was so big," he exclaimed. Caroline reminisced with Julie Eisenhower and Tricia Nixon about the kindergarten class she had attended in the White House solarium, and how she used to ride her pony, Macaroni, on the south lawn. The portraits were hung and unveiled ahead of schedule to beat the publication of a cover picture and article by Painter Shikler in the March McCall's. They show Jacqueline as beautiful, cool and elongated in a pale-saffron Givenchy. J.F.K. is done in light, muted tones--arms folded, head down--a far cry from the heavy-hued stare of traditional presidential portraiture. Jackie enthusiastically approves. It was her first visit to the White House since her husband's assassination, and the pleasant evening helped to banish black memories. "She loved being back," said her hostess. "She really did."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.