It was like displaying Venus draped in sackcloth. Yet there was Ursula Andress, 32, the smoky Swiss beauty of The Tenth Victim and Dr. No, all swaddled in an ankle-length car duster. And that about describes her latest flick, Southern Star, currently shooting in the wilds of Senegal. Ursula spends most of the movie jouncing around in a 1912 Rochet-Schneider trying to spring her fiance (George Segal) from the local hoosegow where he's been tossed by her dad as a suspected jewel thief. But voyeurs need not despair: hopefully, in Ursula's next film it's back to the undressed Andress.

To most pro football fans, Sonny Werblin, 58, president of the New York Jets, epitomized the American Football League; both were abristle with pioneer spunk and freewheeling showmanship. Werblin led the Great Money War against the entrenched N.F.L., shelled out more than $1,000,000 in bonuses to sign first-class players, regularly topped the league in attendance. Now Sonny is stepping out, will sell his 23.4% of the Jets (estimated initial cost: $200,000) to his four silent partners for a rumored $1,600,000. The trouble, complained Sonny, is that his partners want to share the show. Said Werblin: "When it was a failure, nobody came around. But the moment a profit appeared, we were suddenly running things by committee, and everyone knows you can't run an entertainment enterprise by committee."

Tricked out in gaudy tribal trappings, Black Power Warrior Stokely Carmichael, 26, and Click-Singer Miriam Makeba, 36, celebrated their recent marriage at a reception held in Mount Vernon, N.Y., by Akili Danieli, Tanzanian Ambassador to the U.N. Married secretly about a month ago in Washington, D.C., the couple canceled their plans for a mammoth reception because of Dr. Martin Luther King's assassination. Now the newlyweds have little time for honeymooning. Miriam went to South America for a monthlong concert tour; Stokely holed up in Washington and let the world know that Black Power machinations and marriage were not mutually exclusive pursuits. "My wife," he said, "has already been a freedom fighter."

For 30 years, his salon on Avenue George-V was the very citadel of haute-couture, and Cristobal Balenciaga, 73, was its lofty priest. The son of a Basque fisherman, Balenciaga created a legend rich in grace and splendor; elegant women--the Duchess of Windsor, Barbara Hutton, Queen Fabiola--cloaked themselves in the simple yet sumptuous designs that were his trademark. Thus the entire fashion world lost some of its sheen last week at the news that the House of Balenciaga is closing. Some said he is simply bored; others claimed that his disdain for "commercialism" and contemporary styles had caused business to decline. Whatever the reason, it does not diminish the loss. Said Coco Chanel: "The others are drafts men or copyists, or else they are inspired people, even geniuses, but Balenciaga alone is a couturier. He is the only one who can design, cut, put together and sew a gown entirely alone."

Model Trenny Robb, 20, Chuck's sister, has a disarmingly disingenuous way about her. In an interview with Women's Wear Daily, she was asked how long her hair is. Replied Trenny sweetly: "Down to my boobs."

The littlest Ford Continental, Alessandro Ford Uzielli, 18 months, woggled into international view for the first time at Paris' Orly Airport in the velvety clutches of Mother Anne Ford Uzielli, 25, and Aunt Charlotte Ford Niarchos, 27. Tiny Alex roundly ignored eager photographers, but perked up later at Grandma's house: Mme. Sybil Billotte's 14-room estate in suburban Senlis. The tyke and his doting entourage (including nanny, two bodyguards and chauffeur) then motored to Brussels, where he and Auntie Charlotte hopped a plane to New York, the last leg of his jet-set journey.

Harvard President Nathan Pusey called it "as festive an occasion as we've had in a long time." Students poured into Harvard Square brandishing banners proclaiming GROPIUS FOR PRESIDENT and THERE'S HOPE WITH GROPE. Orange, green and magenta Gropius buttons blossomed on lapels, and one admirer wrapped himself up in a flame-and-gold package as a "present to Mr. Gropius." Harvard's favorite-son candidate, Architect Walter Gropius, had just returned from an 85th-birthday visit to his native Germany, and his disciples in Cambridge were not to be outdone in their esteem. Said Gropius, touched: "This is the grand finale to two weeks of birthday parties."

Corporations in the business of keeping the world well groomed have long been dying to tell youth-hungry consumers that their embrocations were preferred by Cory Grant, 64, for his priceless epidermis. Commercially, Grant was a natural. The last of the great matinee idols, he symbolized male impeccability and the kind of ageless elegance everyone dreams of attaining. But Gary wasn't having any--until last week, when he agreed to join the board of directors of Rayette-Faberge. Grant, who will serve as a product and corporate consultant, jumped into the fragrant fray because he sees cosmetics as a means of unifying the sexes. Says Gary: "Why should they try to separate us so? We should all just smell well and enjoy ourselves more."

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