Her voice, as she freely admits, is as awful as her father's was good--a circumstance that in the world of pop has hurt her not one whit. With such best-selling noises as How Does That Grab You, Darlin'?, Nancy Sinatra, 25, can now claim to have made it in her own right. In fact, she does so well pressing platters that she is now hotly pursuing another pop line of work. In Manhattan with her mother Nancy, 47, Frankie's daughter witnessed the world premiere of her first starring film, The Last of the Secret Agents?

Writing prose as mauve as he does, it's no wonder that Novelist Irving Stone, 62, is salting away some of the profits from his biographical fiction against the day when his muse gets too flushed to continue. Now he's the proud landlord of a new $210,000 U.S. Post Office building in Sacramento, Calif., a fairly common circumstance these days, with the Post Office Department leasing many of its stations. The investment will enrich his royalty pile by $15,000 a year. Cracked Assistant Postmaster Gene Gibham, "If something goes wrong with the plumbing, we'll call him. He'll have the agony, and we'll have the ecstasy."

Ah, what a merry night it was in Vintners' Hall in London. The hearty Falstaffs of Franc-Pineau, a winegrowers' organization devoted to the promotion of happiness, were initiating new members into their jolly ranks. Alack, they had one joiner whose visage no vintage could sweeten: Oillionaire J. Paul Getty, 73. Beside him, U.S. Admiral Charles Griffin looked like Bacchus in his ceremonial garb. Poor Paul looked like Robin Hood with heartburn.

Piqued by the sort of obituary notices his father, Novelist Evelyn Waugh, had received, young Auberon Waugh, 26, displayed some of the malicious wit that he inherited, writing a series of parody obits for London's Daily Mirror, in which he buried some of the "dead" who are still quite quick. He took special delight in his "scabrous epitaph" for Critic Malcolm Muggeridge, 63, who had done one of the obits offensive to Auberon. "In an unsavoury and fashion-obsessed period of history," wrote Evelyn's lad, himself a novelist and journalist, "he taught us all how disgusting we were. It may well have been the case that in the last years of his life, he laid in front of the fire growling at anyone who approached him, losing great patches of fur on the carpet and only stirring himself occasionally to relieve a slight odour."

I love the feeling down inside me

That says to run away

To come and be a gypsy

And laugh the gypsy way.

The iambic trimeter is charming, in a wistful, childish way--like something from the bottom of a young Emily Dickinson's trunk. In this case, the poetess is Jacqueline Kennedy, whose two quatrains, titled Dream, are published in the June McCall's. She wrote them at 14.

Actor Henry Fonda, 61, squinted at the watercolor in Manhattan's Cober Gallery and grinned: "My, what a lovely painting. I wonder who did that." Actually, the masterpiece, entitled The Old Quarter, Gerona, was an original 1966 Fonda. Hank, who paints as much as he acts, donated Gerona to a benefit sale for the Gotham Chapter of Retarded Infants Services, an event that also featured the efforts of such old masters as Soupy Sales and Xavier Cugat. "I take such a joy in painting," said Fonda, inspecting the art with his wifely muse of five months, Shirlee Mae.

Manhattan's Grand Old Lady of 39th Street, the Metropolitan Opera House, has a lot of friends to save her from Goetterdaemmerung. A committee has been lobbying to prevent the building from being demolished to make way for an office skyscraper. Trouble is, the Met itself doesn't share their concern. The company, now housed in Lincoln Center, stands to lose $500,000 per annum in rent on the proposed office building; worse yet, the Met would have to pay a pretty penny just to keep its old home in repair. Taking all that into account, Brooklyn Democrat Emanuel Celler, 78, reported con brio in the U.S. House of Representatives: "By saving the building, they may destroy opera in New York." Besides, "some of the members of this citizens' group would think Puccini was the name of a spaghetti."

"Because he loved animals so, we put a watering trough in front of his grave," said Rhena Schweitzer Eclcert, 47. "A sheep lambed on his grave, and we think he would have liked that." Whether the late Albert Schweitzer would like what his daughter has been trying to do with his notoriously primitive hospital at Lambarene since the doctor died last September is another matter. "We have finished the electrification of the wards," she reported, on a rare trip to New York, adding that a refuse-disposal system has replaced the garbage barrels that the goats used to love so much.

Paroled after serving 16 years of a 30-year stretch for atomic spying, Biochemist Harry Gold, 55, emerged from Pennsylvania's Lewisburg Federal Penitentiary into a drenching rain. "The sun is shining for me," beamed Gold. He had told the Government all about his work as a Communist spy, and had testified in 1951 as a vital Government witness in the espionage trial of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. "I have wiped the slate clean as far as it is possible," he said. "I made a hideous mistake."

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