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

Widow Grace Goodhue Coolidge sold The Beeches, the $39,000 eight-acre Northampton, Mass, estate on which Calvin Coolidge died in January 1933 to a local lumber dealer for a reputed $10,000. Mrs. Coolidge is building herself a new house in Northampton, now spends her winters in Columbus, N. C.

Weed-whiskered old Poultney Bigelow,

inveterate sage, author & traveler, arrived in Manhattan fresh from Doom and his annual spring visit with his bearded bosom friend, onetime Kaiser Wilhelm II. Minus his customary velvet jacket, his customary flowing bow tie, Octogenarian Bigelow in high good humor delivered himself to newshawks on this & that. On the Kaiser: "He doesn't set up as good a table as some of my neighbors." On Europe: "Next time I see you, Paris will be a provincial town of Germany with the people shouting 'Heil Hitler' in French." On Franklin Roosevelt: "President Roosevelt, I think, has all the makings of a good dictator and perhaps we ought to vote him President for life. He can sail a boat, has a pleasant smile, a warm heart, a beautiful mother, and he's well read."

Three-hundred-pound Frank S. Leavitt, Man Mountain Dean of the wrestling profession, announced he would try to get himself elected to the Georgia Legislature on a platform which included the breaking up of filibusters. "I will undertake," said hirsute Candidate Leavitt, "to throw any ten members of the Legislature out at the same time if they start anything."

In Manhattan, fortnight ago, handsome, 28-year-old Andrew Carnegie Whitfield,

little-publicized nephew of Mrs. Andrew Carnegie, went on a beer-drinking bout, returned home, had a spat with his bride of less than a year, told her he was "going to disappear." After spending the night in Long Island hotel, where employes reported he had arrived in a boisterous state, moody Andrew Whitfield drove to Roosevelt Field, climbed into the cockpit of his small, silver Taylor-Cub monoplane, told attendants he was off to Brentwood, 20-odd miles away. Flyer Whitfield then nosed his plane into a mild easterly wind, disappeared from sight. Next afternoon an eight-State search by plane, police and boat got under way. Most plausible of a welter of rumors--including one, later proved false, that he had been seen boarding a steamer for Europe--was advanced by a Norwalk, Conn, house painter who claimed he had heard a plane over Long Island Sound same day Whitfield took flight. The plane's motor sputtered, said he, then died, and he thought it might have dropped into the Sound. By last week's end private searchers had given up. Meantime, while Andrew Whitfield 's father & mother remained in Virginia, Brother John scoffed at hints of suicide, told the press he thought the missing flyer was hiding somewhere within the plane's 150-mile flying radius.*

Beauteous Adelaide Moffett Brooks,

widowed 24-year-old socialite who sometimes sings in nightclubs and is the daughter of Oilman James Andrew Moffett, filed a bankruptcy petition in Manhattan. Listing liabilities of $9,961 and assets of $1,800 (including two Sealyham dogs valued at $200), she blamed her financial distress on a spending spree. Said she: "I guess I was too fond of buying clothes."

*Although Andrew Carnegie Whitfield, whose father is Mrs. Andrew Carnegie's brother, is related to the late great steel tycoon by marriage only, he bears the distinction of being the only close relative, blood or by marriage, to be named after Carnegie. Andrew Carnegie had only one child, Margaret, who married Roswell Miller, civil engineer. They have three daughters, one son, Roswell III. Only other close Carnegie kin still alive are two grandnephews, Carter and Thomas Morrison Carnegie Jr.. sons of Andrew's late brother.

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