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

Addressing a pack of peace-loving fellow travelers, Britain's white-maned Dr. Hewlett Johnson, 82, the Red Dean of Canterbury, tartly reported that he was "shocked" recently to be accosted in London by a prostitute. Said he, in view of his age and clerical garb: "I didn't approve of the girl's taste." Moral of his story: "Such a thing would never happen in the Soviet Union!"

In Brussels, where he is attached to the British embassy, Group Captain Peter Townsend, 41, ex-suitor of Princess Margaret, announced that he has resigned from the R.A.F., effective next fall. His plans for the future: an 18-month, globe-girdling tour in a Land Rover (the British blowup of a jeep), driving wherever there is the semblance of a road, traveling between hemispheres by ship. He will journey alone. Purpose of the trip: "I just want to go."

In Manhattan, TIME Inc.'s Editor-in-Chief Henry R. Luce received the annual Gold Brotherhood Award from the National Conference of Christians and Jews. In his acceptance speech, Editor Luce listed five goals of mankind that Americans are prepared to work for: freedom of religion, peace with justice that permits change, freedom to seek truth, economic abundance, a democratic world.

Looking every inch the dowager, aging (43) Five & Dime Heiress Barbara Hutton and her sixth husband, ex-Tennistar Baron Gottfried von Cramm, turned out for a France v. West Germany tennis match, a regional Davis Cup competition in Duisburg, West Germany. Despite gossip that No. 6 is also bound for the rocks, unsmiling Barbara appeared to be neither rollicking nor rifting with jobless Von Cramm.

Party-Lining Baritone Paul Robeson, 58, battling for six years to get a passport in order to visit behind the Iron Curtain, was as far from the promised land as ever. The U.S. Court of Appeals unanimously upheld a dismissal of Robeson's suit against Secretary of State John Foster Dulles. Robeson's perennial dilemma: until he unclams about his past and present Red ties he will not even be considered for a passport.

At his home in Cuba, Author Ernest Hemingway was mad enough to fight a duel over an affair of honor. A shabby tale, widely spread by prattling European magazines, was depicting Papa as the very worst kind of literary thief. Nobelman Hemingway, went the yarn, had promised a poor Cuban fisherman a new boat in exchange for the old man's own true sea stories, from which Papa then drew his famed novelette, The Old Man and the Sea. With callous ingratitude, he had never even thanked his pitiful source of such profitable material. When the ugly canard, headed "Old Miguel and Hemingway's Word," hit Page One of Havana's big (circ. 52,000) morning daily, Excelsior, it bloomed too close to home. Thoroughly enraged, Hemingway went to the Warner Bros, unit now filming The Old Man in Cuba, borrowed a tape-recorder man, a cameraman and a pressagent. Soon, Papa was set up in his favorite local bistro, La Terraza Cafe, on the harbor of Cojimar, a fishing village near Havana. With him sat grizzled Miguel Ramirez, 68, named in the stories as Papa's real Old Man. In colorfully fractured Spanish, Papa drew from Ramirez an admission: "It's all a lie." Next day Havana's Excelsior grudgingly headlined: HEMINGWAY DENIES HE MADE ANY PROMISES.

Backstage, all was not serene with Old Trouper Mae West and her touring menage of Bikini-diapered musclemen (TIME, May 21). One of Mae's big hunks, Miklos ("Mickey") Hargitay, 32, a likable sort of Hungarian Li'l Abner, renowned in physical-culture circles as Mr. Universe (6 ft. 2 in., 220 Ibs.), had crashingly fallen for Broadway's Daisy-Mae-Westish Actress Jayne (Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?) Mansfield, 23, in full view of the tabloids. A stern theatrical disciplinarian, Sexagenarian West, punishing Mickey for openly airing his romance, demoted him in her show by putting him back on the biceps line. Since everything Mickey had now seemed to be Jayne's, Mae also killed a scene in which Mr. Universe had husked to her, twice nightly, the vintage tune Everything I Have Is Yours. Mae's beefcake troupe rolled on to Washington, D.C., and there the backstage tensions erupted last week at a 'tween-shows press conference. Scarcely had the interview begun when Biceps Boy (212 Ibs.) Chuck Krauser, Mr. California, took exception to Mickey's remarks and belabored Mr. Universe's face, mousing his left eye and dazing him. Mr. Universe, blue suede shoes splattered with his own blood, hung on to a door jamb. Crowed Mae of the groggy Adonis: "He's dangerous. You can see what he's trying to do ... I'm an institution! You can't drag an institution down!" Then Mae pointed to her chaise longue and barked at Mickey: "Lay down! Go on, lay down!" Whimpered Mr. Universe: "I don't want to lay down, Miss West." Mr. California's assault trial was set for late this month, and Mr. Universe was suing for $50,000. At week's end, Mickey flew to New York City and Daisy Mae Mansfield.

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