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

Well away from his war-torn homeland, Egypt's fat, foolish ex-King Farouk waddled past a candy store in Rome, paused to inspect the goodies, then rippled with anger. Last week Farouk's lawyer filed a suit against a north Italian candymaker to prevent the confectioner from marketing any more fat, foolish chocolate bars under the brand name "Farouk."

Dashing off a guest column in the New York Herald Tribune, Manhattan's bustling Bishop Fulton J. Sheen, himself a television star, took a slant on the institutions of radio and TV that left even the crassest Madison Avenue hucksters gasping at his hard-sell eulogy. Wrote Sheen: "Television is a blessing. Spiritually, radio and television are beautiful examples of the inspired wisdom of the ages. Radio is like the Old Testament . . . hearing of wisdom without seeing; television is like the New Testament because in it the wis dom becomes flesh and dwells among us . . . We are thankful to radio and television for being the most spiritual symbols of the truth by which we are saved."

Last May New Jersey's handsome Democratic Governor Robert B. Meyner, 48, an unconfirmed bachelor, met handsome Helen Stevenson, 28, a distant but authentic cousin of Adlai E. Stevenson, at a mock political convention at Ohio's Oberlin College, of which Helen's daddy, Dr. William E. Stevenson, is prexy. Like any enterprising suitor, Meyner got Helen's phone number, but tarried, as shy bachelors will, for three weeks before calling her in Manhattan. During the Democratic National Convention last August they caucused and got engaged, but afterwards were both too busy politicking to tell anyone except their closest friends. Helen's father announced last week that ardent Democrats Meyner and Stevenson will be married in January. Was Helen now concerned about their 20-year difference in ages? Said she: "It's a matter of individuals." As for Governor Meyner--already a dark-horse candidate for the Democratic presidential nomination in 1960, his

White House eligibility immensely improved by the imminence of his marriage to a pretty lady--he's in politics "until the electorate says otherwise."

On a concert tour in the Union of South Africa, aging (40) boy-wonder Violinist Yehudi Menuhin played to an all-black audience (as stipulated in his contract bucking the Union's racial disunion), then responded to a grateful speech by a local leader of a "Non-European" association. Said Menuhin: "I have played for you because I owe your tradition in India and Africa a great deal--particularly Africa for the vivacity that people from Africa have brought to American music. My playing for you is thus an exchange, not a gift."

In Washington, Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas was the only U.S. Government notable in attendance at the Soviet embassy's party celebrating the 39th anniversary of the U.S.S.R.'s October Revolution (see FOREIGN NEWS). He was greeted warmly by bearish, beetle-browed Soviet Ambassador Georgy N. Zarubin, all tricked out in his fancy diplomatic uniform.

On their exhibition-game junket through Japan, the Brooklyn Dodgers, World Series losers, discovered in their own ranks a superb pantomimist whose antics delighted Japanese baseball fans and even amused his hard-shelled teammates. The newborn funnyman: First Baseman Gil Hodges, now playing in the outfield. In a land where pantomime is an exalted art, burly (6 ft. 2 in., 205 Ibs.), big-handed (size 14) Hodges was bringing down the house with his clownish imitations of pitchers, umpires and catchers. Sometimes he was a veritable Kabuki dancer, quivering his legs, shaking his fists, stamping the ground. Good will was roared forth by his onlookers demanding curtain calls.

Harvard Theologian Paul Tillich last week dealt a resounding uppercut to a piece of art that had invaded his preserve. Tillich's target: the new, vista-domed painting of The Last Supper by antenna-mustached Surrealist Salvador Dali. The big picture is now the public favorite at Washington's National Gallery of Art, where it has pushed Pierre Renoir's dear little Girl with a Watering Can into the mud as a runner-up. Declaiming before the Institute of Contemporary Arts, Dr. Tillich deplored Dali's work as a sample of the very worst in "what is called the religious revival of today." The depiction of Jesus did not fool Tillich: "A sentimental but very good athlete on an American baseball team . . . The technique is a beautifying naturalism of the worst kind. I am horrified by it!" Theologian Tillich added it all up: "Simply junk!" In Spain, Artist Dali seethed under the misimpression that Tillich had said "drunk." Retorted he, with mustaches atremble: "I have been drinking mineral water exclusively for more than ten years!"

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