Pregnant and ailing with morning sickness, Jamelle Folsom, wife of Alabama's mountainous (6 ft. 8 in., 265 Ibs.) Governor James E. ("Kissin' Jim") Folsom, checked into a Montgomery hospital for treatment. Lumbering soon after her was Kissin' Jim himself, who sagged into a bed and summoned an old friend, Montgomery Advertiser Editor Grover Hall, for a hot scoop. The gubernatorial secret: although father of five by Jamelle (plus two by his late first wife, Sarah), sympathetic Big Jim gets morning sickness every time the lady of the house does. "Damn right," groaned he. Even liquor wouldn't cure this attack."

Michigan's bow-tied Governor G. Mennen Williams, running for a sixth term, revealed that his pretty campaign helpmate, wife Nancy, was bedded with a rare disease, "infectious polyneuritis," which results in severe pain and extreme difficulty in walking.

As advertised in the Hollywood Reporter, the House in Palm Springs, Calif, had everything: "Elegantly furn., new, modern, 3 brs plus 3 baths & guest house. Re-frige., air cond., heated and filt. pool. Artistically landscaped and compl. walled, unsurpassed view, exclu. south end location. Immed. poss." Sale price: $57,500. Owners: Eddie and Debbie.

Sour went the notes in the love song of Louis and Elaine Lorillard, he a tobacco millionheir, they co-founders and sponsors of the splashy, noisy Newport, R.I. annual jazz festival. Filing suit for separation, blonde, pretty Elaine--who met him in Italy during World War II, when he was an Army major, she a Red Cross aide--charged that Louis had locked her out of their Manhattan cooperative apartment and packed her belongings off to a nearby hotel while she was away for a weekend.

Unanswered was the key question for outsiders: Would the progressive welkin ring next year at Newport?--

The line, as hollered out by saggy, white-thatched Party Secretary Eugene Dennis, 53, and others of the hierarchy, had a familiar clang: U.S. foreign policy was "criminally dangerous," Ike "should be impeached," recognition of Red China would "make 600 million friends for America." But only 1,300 of the aging faithful were present in Manhattan's spacious (capacity: 2.760) Carnegie Hall to applaud, steadily but softly, at the 39th anniversary of the nation's dying Communist Party.

"Can This Be Me?" asked Cinemactress Sophia Loren in Hearst's Sunday-supplement American Weekly. Telling all in girlish, ghost-ridden prose, the sultry actress offered a first-person glimpse into how a poor, tomboyish beanpole from a little Italian town near Naples eventually blossomed into a bosomy international movie star. Life was hard in the slums, hardest of all when young Sophia learned that Mom and Dad had never married. "A shadow had fallen across my tiny world. Suddenly I was insecure." But a girl friend's advice helped: "I held my head high and my body erect and looked everyone in the eye." Soon others were looking back, not necessarily in the eye, and Sophia was off to fame and fortune. "On the whole," she mused (to be continued next week), "I think I will accept my life. It has made me strong."

At long last, dreamboat Private Elvis Presley was at sea. But before a military transport could waft him (along with 1,382 other G.I.s) to his truck-driving trick in West Germany, there was time at the dock for the slimmed-down crooner to record a tearful Christmas message to one and all (to be sold commercially), and drawl a quote or two for 100 waiting newsmen. Brightly confessing that his ideal girl was "female," Elvis showed why as he leaned down to give an impassioned fan a farewell nuzzle.

Majestic, Big Ben-like bongs pealed out across Washington last week, as carillon experts triumphantly tested, for the first time, the biggest of the 27 French-built bells in the stately, 100-ft. Robert Taft Memorial Tower on Capitol Hill. The tone proved just right, and the tower, built with almost $900,000 in private donations as a memorial to the late Republican Senator from Ohio, would be ready right on schedule for dedication--and presentation to Congress as a gift to the nation--next spring.

Does Princess Margaret still love Peter Townsend? Into print in the U.S. last week loomed the latest answer to the old poser: The Peter Townsend Story, by Political Journalist Norman Barrymaine, a friend of Townsend's. Barrymaine, leaning heavily on unidentified sources, says that the princess is still that way about her old flame, once told him that she "was too deeply in love with him ever to marry anyone else." "My belief," says Barrymaine, without unearthing any new evidence, "is that Princess Margaret would still like to marry Peter Townsend," although "at the moment the religious and political issues remain insurmountable." But London's big, bold Daily Express had another view, grandly reported that Margaret had found Peter's visits "sometimes rather trying," and was unhappy over "the way things turned out" after the romance had cooled.

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