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

Named greatest U. S. woman of the century (1832-1932) in a nation-wide free-for-all-women poll to select the twelve whose likenesses will appear in a frieze in the Social Science Building at Chicago's Century of Progress was Mary Baker Eddy with 102,762 votes. Second with 99,147 was Jane Addams, Others: Clara Barton, Frances Elizabeth Willard, Susan Brownell Anthony, Helen Adams Keller, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Julia Ward Howe, Carrie Chapman Catt, Amelia Earhart Putnam, Mary Lyon, Dr-Mary Emma Woolley.

In Chicago, Runner-up Addams announced her own list of twelve greatest, dropping six poll winners including herself. Her substitutes: Lacy Stone Blackwell, Julia Clifford Lathrop, Florence Kelley, Dr. Alice Hamilton, Dr. Florence Rena Sabin, Lillian Wald.

Last fortnight The New Yorker printed a rimed petition to the Mayor of New York, addressed by Poet Arthur Guiterman in behalf of the City's begrimed public statues. Next issue appeared with a five-stanza reply in fluent doggerel, signed by smart little Acting Mayor Joseph Vincent ("Holy Joe") McKee, Excerpt: I too had noted the condition That caused you, Sir, to make petition. I've pitied Washington and Skene, As poor white marble turned to green, And Booth and Tilden, Grant and

Payne,

Resembled something off the Maine. And with these statues I annoyed The men who find for unemployed The work they are assigned to do, While this depression they fight through.

Caught cribbing, a University of Utah class in Chinese political thought was thus reproved by its professor, Utah's Senator-elect Elbert Duncan Thomas: "If you are going to cheat or steal, get something worth while. Be clever and make the other fellow pay. Don't get caught. I have been fooling people all my life. The first people I fooled were my parents. When I grew up I fooled my wife when I married her. Now I have played a joke on 117,000 Utah voters. However, only about 2.000 of these knew whom they were voting for. There were some I couldn't fool, but that's all right, because they were being fooled by someone else [Reed Smoot]."

Bald, burly, able Artist George Benjamin Luks, 65, onetime signpainter, circus Wagon decorator, newspaper cartoonist in Cuba, oldtime rowdy Bohemian, began to worry about making a sideshow spectacle of himself after promising the Artists' Cooperative Market in Manhattan that he would paint a portrait of Dancer Doris Humphrey, for charity, before an audience of gaping New Yorkers. Coming well fortified for the ordeal, Artist Luks leaped on the platform, shouted at the astonished gathering: "I'm George Luks and I'm a rare bird! . . . You might as well leave the platform, young woman. I'm not going to paint a portrait, I'm going to tell these people something about the art racket. . . . This country has been imposed on by French superior salesmanship [see p. 32]. It is the victim of cheap little lawyers who become diplomats, and financiers who let their wives buy pictures from dealers who perfume them with bombast and saddle them with trash."

A large man broke into this harangue with loud cries of, "Braggart! Fakah!

Braggart!" George Luks charged down, seized the loud one by the scruff of the neck; "I'm old enough to be your father, but I'll lay you cold if you don't apologize. You're not talking to George Luks now, you're talking to 'Chicago Whitey,' the best barroom fighter in America. . . ." When most of the scandalized audience had fled, Artist Luks subsided, laughed, smoked a cigaret and then--for the benefit of a few adoring disciples--painted a skillful little sketch.

Arrested in New York on two grand larceny indictments was eccentric Jeanette M. Lewis, 50, stocky, grey-haired onetime Greenwich Village restaurant cook who was given a loud hail ("Savior of Labrador") and quick farewell by the Press when she offered to lend Newfoundland $109,000.000 during its 1931 financial crisis (TIME, Aug. 10, 1931). A Brooklyn druggist said he had paid her $4,000 for a quarter-interest in twelve Newfoundland mines, later found they were owned by Montreal's Henry Cosgrove Bellew. Snapped Financier Lewis, leaving court: "When I get ready to talk there will be plenty to tell."

Preparing to depart for a U. S. lecture tour, Britain's melancholy-looking Poet Laureate John Masefield announced he would not return to his famed home and private theatre on Boar's Hill near Oxford, would reside instead in Pinbury, Gloucestershire. Reason: the roaring planes of a new airfield two miles from Boar's Hill.

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