What a summer! Ari cruised in the Mediterranean. Caroline worked on a documentary on coal miners in Tennessee. John-John went on a bicycle trip. After a tiresome round of yachting, shopping and dodging photographers, Jacqueline Onassis ended up on Skorpios, her private Greek island. She climbed on her water skis, scooted across the water and went plop. But, then, even Jackie has her ups and downs.

Even in Japan, Marilyn Monroe is the subject of a cult, and devotion to her is growing. Small wonder, said Yukihiko Harada, president of the Japan Monroe Admiration Society: "She has contributed so much repose to the mind of man this side of the Pacific." At a Buddhist temple in Tokyo, the 100-member J.M.A.S. sponsored an anniversary service for Marilyn in strictly Buddhist style. In the main hall there were the usual representations of the Buddha, curling smoke from incense bars and deep-throated chanting of sutras by a monk with a drinking party later. But there was one variation in the ancient rite: a large still of Marilyn from The Seven Year Itch in front of the altar. In that setting, Marilyn's delight might even suggest satori.

The 25th Red Cross Ball was also Princess Caroline's coming out party. Wearing a halter-necked Dior gown printed with huge daisies, she joined her parents in greeting the 500 guests, danced one dance with her father Prince Rainier, and then sat out the others at the royal table. There was a sprinkling of Princess Grace's friends from the old days, including Cyd Charisse, Tony Martin and Ginger Rogers. Only Kennedy Clan Favorite Andy Williams, who sang, got the attention of the very shy, very pretty princess.

Show biz was beginning to sound a bit like the Wimbledon playoffs: Claire Bloom and Jane Fonda with their separate versions of A Doll's House, five versions of The Three Musketeers before the cameras in Europe, and two versions of Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra playing London. The more traditional of the two starred Janet Suzman (Nicholas and Alexandra). The other, a full-blast 20th century version, brought Rebel Vanessa Redgrave on stage. The actors' props were revolvers, hand grenades and Ronson lighters. Antony was a cigar-smoking swinger sporting a white cravat. Dominating all, even without the aid of her three-inch heels, was Vanessa Redgrave. Her Cleopatra was a rasping vamp leering through outsized orange sunspecs, her slacks held up by red suspenders, and green plastic combs in her hair. According to the director, Tony Richardson, Vanessa's ex-husband, all these bizarre goings on are intended as a comment on power politics today.

"I waited until the boy was three years old before I started teaching him the guitar," Andres Segovia, 80, said about the lessons he gives Carlos, his son by his second wife Emilia, 36. He is now two months past his third birthday, and Papa thinks "he's going to be very good. We practice one or two hours every day." Segovia, the world's master guitarist, has retired to Spain's Costa del Sol and stopped giving concerts: "How can I stomp the world again when all I want to do is be with him?"

Nope, it wasn't drugs or even payoffs that Pitcher Gaylord Perry of the Cleveland Indians was confessing. To the surprise of no American League batter, last year's Cy Young Award winner was making a clean breast of the spitball he threw "for the first, but hardly the last time" in 1964. In his autobiography, Me and the Spitter, to be published next year, Perry said that first spitball led him through "the mudball, the emery ball, the K-Y ball, the Vaselineball and the sweatball, to name a few. During the next eight years, I tried everything on the old apple but salt and pepper and chocolate-sauce toppin'."

It's not easy to be both a star and a champ. Last year Dustin Hoffman won the Robert F. Kennedy Pro-Celebrity Tennis Tournament, beating Pancho Gonzales and Charlton Heston. Ever since, Hoffman has been haunted by his success. "It's been on my mind more than my wife and my family," the 5-ft. 6-in. actor admitted. "I can't concentrate on anything else--Watergate, sex, going to the bathroom." Warming up with Dave DeBusschere for the R.F.K. tournament later this month, the ex-McGovern supporter reflected: "Beating Pancho was nice, but the meaningful win for me was against Heston. At the time, he was a Democrat for Nixon."

The Perfect Master had come to Detroit to sow peace, love and truth. What he reaped was a pie in the face. In town to accept a testimonial resolution, Guru Maharaj Ji, the 15-year-old Indian religious leader, was struck with a shaving-cream pie hurled by a bearded ill-wisher. The pie thrower, who had concealed his missile beneath a box of flowers, said the guru was on an ego trip and "I wanted to show he was mortal." Unfortunately not quick enough to turn his cheek, the guru did give his attacker his forgiveness blessing.

In Massachusetts' Walpole state prison, Albert DeSalvo, "the Boston Strangler," has been baring his sex-obsessed past with some 1,500 women to Steve Dunleavy, one of the writers who helped out Xaviera Hollander with The Happy Hooker. "Albert wants people to understand about an individual with his tremendous sexual drive," P.J. Piscitelli, DeSalvo's lawyer, explained. The reminiscences were due to be published early next year -- several publishers were bidding for them -- when the Supreme Court ruled on pornography. Now, says Piscitelli, "we are injecting a lot of corn in place of some of the porn. The book started out 80% sex, 20% less titillating. They want us to reverse the proportion." For Europe, the earlier weightings may prevail.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.