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

Bound for one of Harvey Crowley Couch's princely parties on Lake Catherine, Ark., Winthrop Williams

Aldrich, reserved, immaculate chairman of Manhattan's Chase National Bank, put on a pair of overalls at Minden, La., climbed into the cab of a locomotive on Mr. Couch's Louisiana & Arkansas R. R. Mrs. Aldrich boarded a coach and the train chuffed off to Hope, Ark. There Utilitarian Couch had a hillbilly band at the station to meet them. The Aldriches climbed out, danced a square dance on the platform before Host Couch whisked them off to his island lodge.

Bundled off to the Illinois insane asylum at Kankakee was "Leaping Lena" Levy,

boisterous sister and longtime manager of clownish Fisticuffer Harry Krakow ("King Levinsky"). To a Chicago court Fisticuffer Levinsky and two brothers complained that Sister Lena had not been ''quite right" since she was beaten in a North Side hotel three months ago. She talked and leaped more than usual, stuck out her tongue, smoked cigarets in violation of "No Smoking" signs.

Seriously ill with pneumonia in an El Paso, Tex., hospital, Albert Bacon Fall,

74, onetime Secretary of the Interior, convicted bribe-taker, grandson of a co-founder of the Disciples of Christ (Camp-bellites). was visited by priests, baptized a Roman Catholic.

Invited as guest of honor to a London banquet, Professor Henry Edward Armstrong, 87, Ph. D.. LI. D., D. Sc., famed British chemist and oldest Fellow of the Royal Society, appeared in brown velvet jacket and bright magenta waistcoat with one mauve lapel, one blue. Chirped he: "I want to do everything that everybody else doesn't do. I am trying my hardest to overcome the indecent shyness of Englishmen."

Tide, marketing tradesheet. investigated the drugstore buying habits of Postmaster General James Aloysius Farley, reported: "Mr. Farley buys Squibb toothpaste. He also buys Squibb Shaving Cream. He's a heavy user of Listerine and pretty regular on Wrigley's (Spearmint). He never buys patent medicines. . . ."

Having searched in vain for a banker who would admit telling President Roosevelt that the U. S. could support a public debt of 855,000,000,000 to 870,000,000,000, the Press went at last to Princeton's small, bald "Money Doctor" Edwin Walter Kemmerer, whose twin enthusiasms are the gold standard and shimmy dancing. Such a debt, declared owlish Economist Kemmerer, ''would be very oppressive but doubtless could be carried."

Said Screenwriter Ben Hechtt: "Everybody in California is nuts."

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