"Names make news." Last week these names made this news:

Elected chairman of the Yale Daily News for next year was Sophomore Jonathan Brewster Bingham, 19, youngest of the seven tall lean sons of tall lean Hiram ("Hi") Bingham, Yaleman (1898), onetime Yale Professor, onetime (1924-33) U. S. Senator from Connecticut. Career doings of the other six Bingham sons: Woodbridge, 32, is studying for a Ph. D. in Chinese history at Stanford University. Hiram Jr., 30, one of the U. S. Foreign Service, is at the U. S. Embassy in London. Alfred Mitchell, 29, an attorney, helps publish the pinko fortnightly Common Sense in Manhattan. Charles Tiffany, 27, is an interne at the Hartford Hospital. Brewster, 25, who during his Yale years used to go on long fasts, beg food from startled New Haven housewives as a religious discipline, is studying for the ministry at Manhattan's Union Theological Seminary. Mitchell, 23, after studying art in Paris, is a painter in Manhattan.

In Boston's South Station, flaxen-haired Anna Eleanor Roosevelt Dall boarded a Pullman for Washington, gave the conductor a lower-berth ticket. Said he: "The President's daughter can't ride in an ordinary lower berth. We have engaged the drawing room for you." Said she: 'I've $4.53 here in my purse and that's all. If you want to give me a drawing room for that I'm perfectly satisfied." She slept in the lower berth.

Leaving a directors' meeting of New York City's BMT (subway) in the Chase National Bank building, Herbert Bayard Swope (New York World) was trapped for 48 minutes in a stalled elevator. At his office in the Heckscher Building a few hours later Mr. Swope was locked in the washroom, rattled the doorknob until a secretary let him out.

Accosted by newshawks in Baltimore, where he had gone to have his eyes examined by famed Ophthalmologist William Holland Wilmer, J. Pierpont Morgan explained: "You see, if I expect to get any ducks my glasses must be right." Next day, from a New York Rod & Gun Club blind on Spesuti Island, he shot four black ducks and eight canvasbacks.

Nurses in the American Hospital in Paris told U. S. correspondents that a woman named Marguerite Clark had been brought into the hospital with head bandaged, bruises on her face, was lodged secretly in the maternity wing. Chicago Tribune Newshawk Edmond Taylor slipped into her room, recognized "Marguerite Clark" as Gladys Wallis Insull, wife of Runaway Samuel Insull, reported her face unmarked. Daily Mrs. Insull, a beauteous ingenue in the '90s, has a bowl of milk brought to her room, dips her fingers in it for 15 minutes to keep her nails from cracking.

In Chicago officials of the four utilities companies which have been paying Fugitive Insull pensions amounting to $21,000 per year decided to stop further payments to him Dec. 31.

Before returning to Tokyo, spry, friendly little Katsuji Debuchi, who has been recalled as Japan's Ambassador to the U. S., presented the Smithsonian Institution in Washington with a two-foot replica of George Washington's home at Mt. Vernon, made of mother-of-pearl and 13,000 pearls. A gift of Kokichi Mikimoto, Japanese cultivated pearl tycoon, it had been part of his firm's exhibit at the Chicago World's Fair.

The Seminole Indians in Miami made Fiorello Henry LaGuardia an honorary member of their tribe, christened him Chief Tiger Killer.

Some 3,000 music-lovers who jammed the doors of the sawdust-covered stock pavilion of University of Wisconsin's agricultural college forced curly-haired Violinist Fritz Kreisler to slog through mud to a rear entrance, postpone his concert until he had his shoes shined.

Visiting in Manhattan, hulking Novelist Erskine Caldwell (God's Little Acre, We Are the Living) talked about the natives in the vicinity of Augusta, Me. where he now lives. Said he: "They don't get married much in Maine. . . . The population is dying out from the top as well as from the bottom. Winter is so terrible up there and their stock has so petered out that the oncoming of fall is called the suicide season. The old people just can't face another winter and so they bump themselves off. . . . Down the road from me a piece lives a family which it would be extremely difficult to disentangle. The father has had children by his wife, his housekeeper and his eldest daughter. But this is by no means usual, for generally the Downeaster is too stingy to have any children at all."

In the U. S. for her first visit in nine years was stately Maxine Elliott (Jessie Dermot), 62, once famed as the most beauteous U. S. actress. Trained by Dion Boucicault, one of the numerous wives and leading ladies of Comedian Nat Good win, she became a star in 1903. When Ethel Barrymore met her in 1903, she exclaimed: "The Venus de Milo -- with arms!" Maxine Elliott toured the U. S.. Australia, and England, won the favor of Britain's merry monarch Edward VII. A shrewd business woman who multiplied her earnings, she abruptly left the stage in 1920, eleven years after building Manhattan's Maxine Elliott Theatre, went to live at Cannes. To Manhattan newshawks who tried to coax her to reminisce about her career, she roundly replied: "There's no good talking to me. I never really liked the theatre. I just happened to be in it. Night after night I have played in successes. They became drearier and drearier. They gave me my theatre. They provided for me so well that I was able to give a relative $500,000 and she got it while I was still living. But they were hopeless, deadening things. Anyone who has the task of interviewing a former actress of repute . . . might just as well be an undertaker. My idea of real happiness is to find some small corner of the world, crawl into it, and never again see my name in the paper until I die."

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