Perhaps an ex-prisoner is just the person to deal with prisoners. That seemed to be the idea when former Teamsters Union President James R. Hoffa, paroled from a federal penitentiary last December after serving nearly five years for jury tampering and mail fraud, tried to go to North Viet Nam to seek the release of P.O.W.s. The not-entirely-altruistic reason: Hoffa hoped that the Government might lift his own parole restrictions if the P.O.W.s were released. Secretary of State William P. Rogers, who until last week had not been privy to the plan, firmly disapproved.

Discomfited by the utterances of such Asian tourists as Jane Fonda and former Attorney General Ramsey Clark, Rogers had Hoffa's validation for travel to North Viet Nam voided on a technicality. "Private American citizens should not be involved in negotiations," said Rogers.

The pretty blonde was the guest of Queen Elizabeth II. But clearly Prince Charles, 23, had suggested that his mother invite Lucia Santa Cruz, 27, daughter of former Chilean Ambassador Victor Santa Cruz, for a weekend visit to the royal home in Aberdeenshire. After the holiday, Lucia accompanied the Prince overnight on the train from Aberdeen to London's King's Cross Station. To reporters' questions, Lucia declared: "There is no romantic attachment between us." Then, with the deference due Royalty, she walked a proper few yards behind the Prince to a waiting royal limousine, and they were whisked away.

"I have long cherished a desire to visit the United States and to meet and learn to know her people," Japan's Emperor Hirohito told United Press Correspondent Wilfred Fleisher in 1921. "I greatly regret that I am unable to carry out my wishes on this occasion, but since it is only a fortnight's trip from Japan to the United States, I hope it will only be a deferred pleasure." Hirohito's pleasure has been deferred for 51 years, but the trip is less formidable these days. So the Emperor, now 71, plans to accept President Nixon's invitation to visit the U.S. in 1973. Said Hirohito in a rush of nostalgia: "I would like to keep my promise."

The status--and income--of chess masters continue to soar. Up in Iceland, a relaxed and happy Bobby Fischer feasted on suckling pig, sipped a sinister-sounding potion called Viking's Blood, danced with a pretty blonde named Anna Thorsteinsdottir, and uncharacteristically arrived ten minutes early for a meeting with Iceland's President Kristjan Eldjarn. The world chess champion's chief worry, in fact, was how severely lawsuits would deplete the $154,687.50 purse he won for trouncing Russia's Boris Spassky. No matter. With offers flooding in (endorsements, book rights, exhibitions), Bobby's possible earnings could easily top the $1,000,000 mark. In parting, Fischer gave Spassky a camera, said he would welcome a rematch "if the prize pool is high enough." Meanwhile, back in New York, Chess Master Shelby Lyman mused over his own sudden stardom after acting as host for National Educational Television's coverage of the Reykjavik tournament. Lyman, who until recently lived in a $50-a-month cold-water flat and who earned only about $4,000 for his video stint, figures to make about $100,000 or so this year from books, lectures and personal appearances. Said he happily: "Now a top chess teacher will be able to command what a top psychiatrist gets."

At Bunny Collector Hugh Hefner's million-dollar hutch in Los Angeles, a hundred or so guests, including Warren Beany, Robert Culp and Peter Sellers had watched a screening of The Godfather beside the swimming pool. Some stayed on to play backgammon, sip their drinks and kibbitz. In another part of the pad, the action suddenly erupted into violence. Four intruders slipped through a gate in Hefner's electrified fence, bumped into a chauffeur and were challenged. Drawing knives, they attacked the chauffeur. When a guard saw the assault on a closed-circuit TV screen and rushed to help, he too was stabbed. Other employees joined the melee. Result: four intruders and their driver caught, both guard and chauffeur hospitalized.

"Gentlemen," chirped a girlish voice, "start your engines!" At the third annual California 500 in Ontario, Calif., the racing cars roared, bystanders gawked and pit lizards--the racing scene's version of groupies--quivered with anticipation. Despite the forceful command from Tricia Nixon Cox, it rained so hard that the whole thing had to be postponed for two hours. Besides her husband Edward Cox, among the aficionados were Otis Chandler, Candice Bergen, Paul Newman (who has a hotrod engine hidden beneath his Volkswagen's middle-class bustle) and Barry Goldwater (who arrived and departed via helicopter). For Tricia, a highlight of the day was awarding the trophy to Winner Roger McCluskey, who then planted a hearty kiss on her cheek. "She does look nice," admitted a model, admiring Tricia's sleeveless print dress. "That's something I'd wear to church. If I went to church."

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