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

Inducted in Manhattan as President of the Poetry Society of America was Editor Henry Goddard Leach of Forum. Editor Leach would have taken office a month earlier if Central Park thugs had not mashed his face, closed his eyes on the day before the scheduled ceremony (TIME, Dec. 3).

By way of celebrating his 70th birthday, tall, lean, goat-bearded General Peyton Conway March, Chief of Staff during the last months of the War, welcomed newshawks in his Washington office, told them that the U. S. should build up its Army from 136,000 to 300,000 men in preparation for war in Europe. Warned he: "The situation in Europe is so bad that anything can happen at any time. The Saar at present is a tinder box. . . . Japan will never play a hand with us unless she has to."

Munitions maker Irenee du Pont remembered with a Christmas present Senator Gerald Prentice Nye and each member of his Senate Munitions Investigating Committee. Mr. du Pont's present, in each case: a copy of Kapoot (kaput: "done for"), an account of Russian poverty and industrial inefficiency by Grant Carveth Wells.

City fathers, bankers, businessmen, churchmen and miscellaneous bigwigs of Houston, Tex., gathered in Scottish Rite Cathedral for a solemn celebration of Jesse Holman Jones Day. In the audience, the big, genial chairman of Reconstruction Finance Corp. bowed his head, heard seven speakers eulogize him as a publicist, charitarian, politician, financier, "the most dominant and dynamic individual factor in the upbuilding and progress of our great city." Then a bronze bust was unveiled. Said Houstonman Jones: "I almost feel as if I have been listening to a funeral oration."

In shiny, black limousines, Manhattan's top-notch socialites rolled up to a musty midtown mansion, hurried past a pair of guards and through a big stone doorway. Inside, J. Pierpont Morgan was giving a dance for his eldest granddaughter, Junius Spencer Morgan's debutante daughter Louise. For every young friend of Louise, Grandfather Morgan had invited four of his own associates. All over the house prowled detectives to keep out "crashers" and newshawks. In the library Physick, the Morgan Butler, presided proudly over the first big entertainment since Mrs. Morgan died nine years before. At 9:30 Host Morgan nibbled lobster salad, sausages & scrambled eggs, then retired to be seen no more. After that a Hungarian orchestra played slow stately fox trots, with two waltzes, several tangoes. At 1 o'clock the last guests filed out. At 1:15 Physick dimmed the lights.

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