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

Still energetically sightseeing in the sixth month of his world tour, Japan's 19-year-old Crown Prince Akihito moved up the Atlantic seaboard after his week in Washington and Williamsburg, Va. He toured Philadelphia (his hostess-guide: Mrs. Elizabeth Gray Vining, once his tutor in Tokyo), took the Pennsylvania Turnpike at 75 m.p.h.. and, at the R.C.A. laboratory in Princeton, N.J., watched color television and inspected the egg of a sea urchin (magnified 10,000 times by an electron microscope). In New York the Prince turned up at a Yankees-Browns night game, was a red-carpet guest at City Hall, visited the Stock Exchange and United Nations headquarters, and was feted at a Waldorf-Astoria dinner. On the way to Hyde Park to lay a wreath at the grave of Franklin D. Roosevelt, the Prince and his party got out for a stretch at Shrub Oak, Westchester, were routed by a woman who came flying out of a motel, crying: "You people get off here! Stop taking those pictures! If you don't, I'll call the police." The Prince journeyed on to New England before heading for Detroit and points west.

Onetime Movie Moppet Margaret O'Brien, out of pigtails and into evening dress at 16, came demurely up the celebrity line at the CinemaScopic premiere of The Robe (see CINEMA) with a man at her arm: Toastmaster George Jessel, 55. Flashbulbs popped as Jessel hastened to explain that there was nothing between them: "My date tonight is with Margaret's mother."

After a busy holiday eve lunching with Irish Premier Eamon de Valera, holding a full Cabinet meeting and clearing his desk, Sir Winston Churchill slipped away for a two-week vacation at the Riviera villa owned by Publisher Lord Beaverbrook. Puckishly traveling incognito as "Mr. Hyde," although 300 well-wishers gathered at London Airport to see him off and several hundred more met him at Cap d'Ail, Sir Winston was accompanied by his daughter Mary and her husband, Captain Christopher Soames, two secretaries and three Scotland Yard inspectors. "Cap d'Ail has received its mayor in a fitting manner," he remarked as the townspeople cheered him as their "honorary mayor" (a title conferred a year ago). "I have come to rest and paint," Churchill told reporters. "This is a holiday and I have a strong desire to get the best of it."

In Las Vegas, Nev., while bodyguards hovered nearby, photographers were let in to shoot Rita Hay worth, reunited with daughters Rebecca, 8 (by second husband Orson Welles), and Yasmin, 3 (by third husband Aly Khan). Then came some rapid-fire news: Rita and her crooning suitor, Dick Haymes, signed a pact safeguarding her money for her own use. Dick's third wife, Nora, divorced him in California and signed a waiver agreeing to his Nevada divorce. Haymes and Hayworth announced that their wedding would finally come off this week.

"There is no place in my kind of life for a wife," Wisconsin's Senator Joe McCarthy used to say. "I can't work at politics if I have to call home every half hour and if I can't stay away from supper when I want to." Next week in Washington's St. Matthew's Cathedral, Bachelor McCarthy, 43, will make a place in his life for tall, auburn-haired Jean Kerr, 29, "the most beautiful girl" at George Washington University in 1945 and for four years a research assistant in McCarthy's office. Said the prospective bridegroom: "She's the prettiest and brainiest girl I've ever known. She got beside me when things were darkest."

While parading with fellow cadets at Sandhurst, the 17-year-old Duke of Kent, seventh in succession to the throne, glanced up briefly as a flight of jets buzzed low over the parade ground. His sharp-eyed sergeant major halted the company, read off the duke (addressing him as "Prince Edward Sir"), gave him the same punishment extended to several other eye rollers: writing 100 times, "I must not look up at airplanes while on parade."

The Chicago Tribune's Colonel Robert R. McCormick, still dredging up obscure heroes and scoundrels of history for his Saturday-night radio talks, had taken a moment out before his discussion of "An English Benedict Arnold--George Monk" for a special announcement: "Before I begin this week's broadcast I wish to convey to my listeners the desire to obtain two statues of Virginia Revolutionary statesmen and heroes that would fit into alcoves six feet high." Behind his cryptic appeal was a plan to embellish the wall of the "Nathan Hale Court," which fronts the Tribune Building. Within the week a factory offered to make plaster statues of any historical figures the colonel cared to name, but that wouldn't do. He was after the weather-resistant kind.

After seven days of going their separate, well-publicized ways and living in different hotels, Crooner Frank Sinatra and his cinemactress wife Ava Gardner patched up their lovers' spat in his mother's New Jersey home. Later, when Ava caught Frankie's act at a Jersey nightclub, the New York Journal-American was pleased to report: "As their glances locked, thunder boomed and lightning flashed . . . The Voice unleashed a torrent of sound at the sultry Ava. Emotion poured from him like molten lava . . ."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.