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

Eldest U.S. elder statesman, Bernard Baruch, 83, who was first tapped for White House advice (by President Wilson) when Dwight Eisenhower was a first lieutenant, dropped in at the presidential mansion for lunch and came out properly discreet. A reporter, trying a circuitous approach, asked Financier Baruch about the state of the economy. Replied he quickly: "I think I'll keep quiet about that." Then, seeing that such silence might be interpreted as a prophecy of doom, he hastily covered himself: "That doesn't mean I think it's bad." Striding on, Baruch had another afterthought. Pausing and turning to the pencil-poising newsmen, he nodded back toward the White House and said: "I will say this: the fellow in there knows what's going on."

In Long Beach. Calif., a South Carolina Sunday-school teacher, Miriam Stevenson, 21, matched bust (36 in.), waist (24 in.), hips (36 in.) and kinetic attributes against the charms of 32 foreign entries and wound up as this year's Miss Universe, with the usual movie contract, a $4,000 convertible and assorted knickknacks. Burbled she: "Ah woke up with all those roses in mah room an' Ah thought for a moment somebody had died."

Amidst a flurry of rumors that she is expecting, Queen Elizabeth II ventured forth to a posh wedding reception (for one of her coronation maids of honor) in London. She was pictured in a chic, form-fitting dress, which stopped some gossips but moved others to talk of the wonders of modern corseting. Just to spite the prattlers, London's Daily Herald ran the photograph with a smug caption: "The Queen with a nipped-in waist . . ."

From Tibet came word that the Dalai Lama, 19, whose country was grabbed by China's Communists in 1951, had departed his capital city of Lhasa to journey a long, sad way to Peking, where his secular masters will presumably try to enlighten the priest-king about the joys of cooperation with their regime. His brainwashing is expected to require from six to ten months.

After brooding for nearly a month over an imaginative newspaper account of his daughter Karen's wedding, Author Philip (Tomorrow!) Wylie suddenly decided that the story was all wet in portraying him as a "nervous" father of the bride. To the society editor of the Miami Herald Wylie batted out an explanatory note: "To be sure I was under a slight emotional strain as I came down the aisle with my daughter, owing to the fact that after a couple of false starts she went on with her customary apparent composure--but out of step ... I found myself reflecting on the many hundreds of hours of dancing lessons I had bought for my daughter and of the vanity of such effort. Here was a girl who could follow the most complicated mambo rhythms but couldn't keep step to Lohengrin."

In Yugoslavia, Marshal Tito, who has learned that one of the penalties of being a dissident Communist is the entertainment of all sorts of inquisitive capitalists, was in the midst of an even fancier social calendar. Ethiopia's Emperor Haile Selassie, first crowned head ever voluntarily to visit a Communist country, dropped in and celebrated his 62nd birthday in Belgrade. Later this summer, to repay Tito's visit of last June, Greece's King Paul and Queen Frederika will try out Tito's growing talents as a host.

In Havana, white-bearded Author Ernest Hemingway strode into the public eye with his head cropped bald (so that scalp wounds he picked up in his famed African plane crash will heal more quickly), was officially decorated on his 55th birthday with the Order of Carlos Manuel de Cespedes--the highest honor Cuba can bestow upon a foreigner. Later Papa displayed the decoration for wife Mary and friend Jaime Bofill, launched on his 56th year in a warm and sentimental glow.

On the prowl as guest conductor, youthful old (79) Maestro Pierre ("Papa") Monteaux, onetime of the San Francisco Symphony (TIME, April 21, 1952), drew rave notices and the season's biggest crowd at a Chicago summer concert. "Beethoven had real prospects as a composer," said he afterwards in his dressing room. "If he had lived longer, he might have fulfilled his promise."

Devil-may-care Porfirio Rubirosa and his current great & good friend, Cinemactress Zsa Zsa Gabor, showed up in Hollywood to start a horse opera called The Western Affair, an epic calculated to display polo-playing Rubirosa's short-in-the-saddle talents. But when Rubi, relishing his prospective role as a two-gun saloonkeeper, sashayed up to the immigration office to apply for a work permit the federals turned down his request. Their ostensible reason: Rubi, though surely one of the greatest amateur thespians of his age, is not a professional actor. Wailed Zsa Zsa: "It just can't be true. I can't believe it. What will we do?"

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