Entertainers

Errol Flynn, a yacht, and a girl again made news. Nora Eddington, 19, recently an aircraft worker, was cruising with him off Acapulco, Mexico. Word got around that they were married. Actor Errol denied it; so did Nora. Her mother, who works in a Los Angeles bakery, told reporters that Nora had said "she didn't know whether she loved him for himself, or whether she just was in love with his glamor. So I kissed her good-by and I haven't heard from her since."

Jimmy Dorsey's blonde young wife protested that her ex-landlady, ex-wife of pasty-faced Comedian Al St. John of the early silents, had libeled the Dorseys' three dogs. The landlady's suit charged the dogs with doing $4,070 damage to rugs, furniture, draperies.

Bob Hope & Co. turned up in Algiers, headed into a tour of forward areas.

Elisabeth Bergner, playing in The Two Mrs. Carrolls (TIME, Aug. 16), looked forward with relish to her next play, John Webster's early 17th Century The Duchess of Malfi. "It is an incestuous play," she explained. "A woman almost gives birth to a baby on the stage, a woman almost rapes a man on the stage.

All in the most beautiful language." Thomas Franklyn ("Tommy") Manville Jr., 49, announced that his next (seventh) wife would be Macie Marie Ainsworth Ettinger ("Sunny") Moran, 19-year-old, twice-married ex-showgirl.

Five days later Sunny decided No, temporarily--"until I am sure it will last."

Warriors

Lieut. Henry Ford II, 25, was released from active service with the Navy to "take up important duties" at Ford Motor Co., following the death of his father, its president, Edsel Ford.

Captain Clark Gable, on his third operational flight, stood for seven hours in the Ain't It Gruesome to take training pictures while the Fortress led a raid on Gelsenkirchen (see p. 26).

Major Raymond Massey ("Abe Lincoln"), World War I veteran who has been in the Canadian Army eight months, was retired to the Reserves because of ill health.

Jere Knight, widow of Major Eric Knight (This Above All), was made a 2nd lieutenant in the WACs at Fort Des Moines.

Jan Valtin, 1941's best-selling tattletale (Out of the Night), German-born ex-agent for both the Ogpu and Gestapo, undesirable-alien parolee, passed his draft physical and was ordered to arms.

Veterans

Bertrand Russell, philosophical hot potato of U.S. campuses (TIME, Feb. 1, et seq.), let it be known that he could not support his family in the U.S., would therefore return to England. As a jobhunter he had been turned down, he said, by Harvard, Columbia, N.Y.U. and the Universities of Chicago and California.

In court to fight a postponement of his $24,000 salary suit against ex-employer Dr. Albert C. Barnes, the Nose Drop King (Argyrol), he listened to Dr. Barnes reciting a list of Greek philosophers, announced to reporters that "he didn't pronounce one of them correctly." Cried Dr. Barnes to the press: "I'll tell you what's wrong with that guy--no I won't either. You might print it!"

Winston Churchill, on a side trip to Niagara Falls before going to Hyde Park (see p. 77), brightened the lives of two baggage smashers, a cafe proprietor, an eleven-year-old girl, a number of wait resses. To one of the baggage smashers he tossed a cigar, to another his cigar case; the cafe proprietor got a promise of a book, the little girl caught a cigar band, and the waitress pounced on the napkin he tossed aside.

Bernarr Macfadden, perennial plumper for the body beautiful, reached 75, stood on his head, plumped for easier divorces and new marriages. "Either that," he declared, "or we'll be wiped out as a nation." He and his second wife are separated. "I might or might not remarry," said he.

Burns Mantle, pudgy, precise, placid dean of Manhattan drama critics, last week for the first time went home from the theater without stopping off at the Daily News to write about the show. "The glory of dying in harness appealed to me," said he of his retirement, "until the harness began to chafe." He was 69. He had become a critic by accident. As a 24-year-old typesetter on the Denver Times he had been unable to decipher the hasty, last-minute scrawl of the paper's drama man, so he wrote a review of his own. He kept right on doing it, presently moved to Chicago's old Inter Ocean, then the Tribune, then the New York Evening Mail, finally to the News in 1922. By then he had started compiling his prestigious annual Best Plays of 19. . . . There will be more of them; so he will continue going to shows. The man who will hurry to the News office and write about them is urbane John Chapman, 43, ex-Broadway and Hollywood columnist, longtime Mantle assistant. To Chapman his retired boss wrote last week: "Broadway is your oyster. Open it. Season it with a dash of salt and a lot of pep--but go easy with the tabasco."

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