Marlene Dietrich received an accolade from Manhattan's autograph puppies, who rewarded her willingness to sign by adopting her as "Aunt Minnie." Top-ranking non-collaborators, reported the bobby-sox collectors, were "Gruesome Garson," "Gravel Gertie Nissen" and "Break-Your-Arm Benchley."

Robert Frost, four-time Pulitzer Prize-winning poet, got an honorary LL.D. from Kenyon College.

General Dwight D. Eisenhower, who got an honorary Doctor of Science degree from the University of Louvain, got top marks from Woman's Home Companion readers in a poll of the living Americans they most admired. Runners-up, in order: President Harry S. Truman, Columnist Eleanor Roosevelt, General Douglas MacArthur, ex-President Herbert Hoover and Motorman Henry Ford (tied for fifth place), ex-Secretary of State Cordell Hull, Congresswoman Clare Boothe Luce, Crooner Bing Crosby and Comedian Bob Hope (also tied).

President Juan Antonio Rios of Chile dropped into Manhattan to dedicate raffish Sixth Avenue as the Avenue of the Americas. He also decorated old friend Nelson Rockefeller, ex-Assistant Secretary of State, with Chile's Order of Merit, threw himself into an all-out Latin embrace that tickled Father John D. pink (see cut). Then he headed for Hollywood.

Men in Motion

Major Ernest A. Simpson, second husband of the Duchess of Windsor, sailed for Europe on the Queen Mary.

Edward R. Stettinius Jr. took time out from trying to unite nations, and returned from London to let Manhattan surgeons worry about his gallstones.

Carl Sandburg, white-haired poet of the Midwest, finally decided that Michigan was too cold for him, prepared to move to North Carolina. His new home: the Hendersonville house of the Confederacy's Secretary of the Treasury Christopher Memminger. With him in an auto-trailer he planned to take his wife Lillian and about a dozen goats.

Sir Gerald Campbell, British Minister in Washington and resident of the U.S. for 24 years, decided where to go when he retires next week: Britain's housing shortage, said he cheerfully, practically forced him to spend the winter in a little cottage near San Diego.

Senator Theodore G. ("The Man") Bilbo slipped through an anti-Bilbo picket line around his Washington apartment--by disguising himself as a laundryman with a sack slung over his shoulder. "I just went on about my country's business," he crowed.

Admiral William F. Halsey, guest of honor at a Los Angeles dinner, met an old friend, Mrs. Patricia Smart, fell into the swing of civilian life with no trouble at all.

Senator Claude Pepper of Florida escaped a shot of lead as he dined in Rome. A bullet fired in an unexplained shooting, described simply as having "nothing to do with Pepper's presence," zinged through a window and lodged in the woodwork.

Plain Talk

Pope Pius XII, taking note that Italian women were about to vote nationally for the first time, made it plain that the Church wanted them to: "Your day is here . . . public life needs you . . . direct action . . . is indispensable." He warned them against the "marvelous promises" of totalitarianism, and observed that "no wise woman favors a policy of class struggle or war."

Marion T. Bennett, Missouri's and the nation's youngest (31) Congressman, suggested that Congressional bottoms deserved better treatment. Let Congress's present seats go to "some prison or museum specializing in primitive instruments of torture," said he.

Bill (Up Front) Mauldin, Puckish looking, bitter-styled cartoonist of G.I. Joe and Willie, sued Wife Norma Jean for divorce in Los Angeles. The Pulitzer Prizewinner, married less than four years and away at the front most of the time, charged her with adultery and asked custody of their two-year-old son Bruce Patrick.

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