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

The whereabouts of the Soviet Union's denounced ex-Defense Minister, Marshal Georgy Zhukov, was imprecisely disclosed by his successor, Marshal Rodion Malinovsky. As a reward for cultivating his personality and for exalting army above party, Zhukov has won a three-month vacation. Zhukov will get a new job (probably a long steppe away from Moscow) after his happy holiday.

Back from an overseas vacation, Washington's gregarious Democratic Senator Warren G. Magnuson brought tidings to a private Seattle luncheon of a droll exchange between himself and Pope Pius XII. At the end of an audience with His Holiness, the Senator, having been tagged as a Lutheran, was about to leave. He clutched a box containing a rosary, a souvenir of his visit. The Pope asked him to tarry a moment and asked: "Did you look at what is in the box?" Magnuson allowed that he had peeked. Quipped the most urbane of modern pontiffs: "Sometimes when I give them to Lutherans, they're empty!"

The first slated appearance this season of one of the Metropolitan Opera's biggest-drawing stars, Soprano Renata Tebaldi, was canceled fortnight ago when her mother had a severe heart attack. At week's end Diva Tebaldi, agreeing to appear despite her desperate anxiety to remain at her mother's bedside, was again due to take the stage (in a matinee Aida). She never got near the Met. Mrs. Teobaldo Tebaldi died that morning. The singer, beside herself with grief, was put under heavy sedation. The only child of long-estranged Italian parents, Spinster Tebaldi, 35, recently described her attachment to Giuseppina Tebaldi, 68, her constant companion, cook, dressing-room maid and angel in the wings: "My mother never leaves me; she is always with me. To my mother, I am still her little girl."

Maine's doughty Republican Senator Margaret Chase Smith, 59, stickles without compromise about active-duty requirements for military promotion. Last August she successfully blocked the elevation of Cinemactor James (The Spirit of St. Louis) Stewart to reserve brigadier general in the Air Force. Her contention: Stewart's glamour could not justify the advancement. With no hint that she would like someday to be a chicken colonel (Stewart's rank), Senator Smith, light colonel in the U.S.A.F. Reserve, last week got back into uniform, prepared for a month's study of guided missiles.

Appearing on a TV chitchat show in Chicago, Boston Pops Orchestra Conductor Arthur Fiedler was hesitantly asked if he dislikes any special kind of music--such as, maybe, rock 'n' roll. He astonished many adult listeners by replying: "I like rock 'n' roll--a certain amount of it. I think that's completely American."

After semi-singing his way through more than 600 performances of Broadway's nonstop musical My Fair Lady, Actor Rex Harrison sailed away from his historic stint. Bound with him for Europe was his bride of five months, long-legged, luscious Cinemactress Kay (Les Girls) Kendall. The couple were headed for a seven-week holiday in Switzerland, then to Paris, where Kay will wrestle with Rex in a movie titled The Reluctant Debutante. When April trips round again next year, Harrison will be doing business in the same old stance--as misogynous Professor 'Enry 'Iggins in the London version of Lady.

True to his campaign promise that he would go to India soon after his election to Congress, California's Indian-born Democratic Representative Dalip Singh Saund, 58, winged into Calcutta, then flew on to New Delhi. Congressman Saund, traveling with his U.S.-born wife Marian and daughter Ellie, was greeted everywhere with garlands, cheers and open ears. After a 37-year absence from his homeland, tawny-skinned Congressman Saund made such clear headway with his erstwhile countrymen that he loomed as a just possible contender for the U.S. ambassadorship to New Delhi under some future Democratic administration. His only planned purchase in New Delhi: an ivory donkey, which he Democratically hopes some craftsman can carve expertly for him despite much past experience in whittling out elephants.

Educator Mortimer Adler, gadfly-philosopher who periodically stings U.S. culture to its short-falling quick, tried his wisdom-injection technique on some 500 San Francisco Boy Scouts, got little positive response to his sharp-pointed advice. The Scouts, in their mid-teens and of Explorer rank, listened in mounting disapproval as Adler told them: "The future of our country depends on your learning more than what the schools now require. A serious deficiency in the schools is that you're not given enough homework." This obviously unpopular statement drew a hearty chorus of boos and hisses. Snapped discomfited Schoolmaster Adler: "I didn't intend to make you angry, but you are no longer children."

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