Names make news. Last week these names made this news: A day after Dwight Eisenhower announced that he is expecting a fourth grandchild around Christmas time, strapping (6 ft. 1 in., 170 Ibs.) Major John Eisenhower, 32, looking startlingly like his father's son, brought out his wife Barbara and their brood--D. (for Dwight) David, 7, Barbara Anne, 6, and Susan, 3 --to meet the press. At his new post at Virginia's Fort Belvoir, Infantry Instructor Eisenhower showed an infantryman's skill in fielding grenadelike questions right back at their tossers. Asked slyly if he expected his Fort Belvoir assignment (probable term: three years) to last longer than Ike's stay in the White House, Major John flashed an Ikelike grin, replied: "Dad doesn't talk to me about those things. He prefers to talk to me about golf."

Just before 3 o'clock in the morning, as the Pacific purred foamily on the beach at Santa Monica, California's robustious Republican Governor Goodwin J. ("Goody") Knight, 58, was awakened by stealthy sounds in the bedroom of his waterfront apartment. Turning on a lamp, he saw a crouching prowler beside wife Virginia's bed. Never better in a crisis, Goody Knight, a nocturnal symphony in blue and white pajamas, leaped up, lunged toward the intruder, shouting, "I'll get him! You call the cops!" As Virginia screamed girlishly, the crook escaped over a 5-ft. wall outside. Later, Knight puffed proudly: "He sure left in a hurry."

A quarter-century ago this week, New York Supreme Court Justice Joseph F. Crater finished his dinner in Billy Haas's Manhattan restaurant, hailed a cab and rode off into the darkness. Although his disappearance was soon ranked as one of the most mysterious in the annals of U.S. missing persons,* Crater's wife Stella, 53, emerged only last week from her own self-chosen limbo (as a Brooklyn secretary) for her first press conference. Remarried in 1938 (after Crater was declared legally dead), Stella Crater Kunz had good reason to say: "The investigation into his disappearance was bungled." Item: a letter, addressed to her in the judge's shaky handwriting and enclosing $7,211 in cash and checks, turned up in the Crater apartment five months after he vanished, although police had supposedly fine-tooth-combed the place. Stella herself was at last ready to close the case: "It seems incredible that he or his body could disappear without clues. However, I am resigned to the fact of his death ... I am sure no trace of him will be found in the future."

At a gilded gambling resort in Las Vegas, shy, poker-faced TV Comic Wally (Mr. Peepers) Cox was dealt out of an 11,000-a-week hand for the second time in less than a fortnight (TIME, July 25). Reason: he again failed to draw a full house. After first firing Cox because his act, a medley of warmed-over Peeperisms, left the patrons cold, the Dunes Hotel rehired him three days later on his promise that he would whip up a scintillating potpourri of brand-new Peeperisms. But on his second chance, Funnyman Cox chiefly tried for laughs in a masochistic spectacle of eating crow and sadly cackling over the original egg he laid. Muttered a disconsolate Dunesman: "He laid another egg. There weren't enough clients to pay for the lights." Rejoined Cox: "Gosh!" He soon learned that even eggs can have a silver lining. His hastily hired replacement, Cinecomedian Mickey (The Atomic Kid) Rooney, showed up, took one look at mild-mannered Wally Cox, signed him up for a forthcoming Rooney Enterprises movie, Gentleman's Gentleman. The paradoxical script calls for Rooney to play hero to Cox's valet.

Egypt's pleasure-sated ex-King Farouk, most feckless monarch of modern times, celebrated the third anniversary of his dethronement by calling in Paris newsmen and weeping like a Nile crocodile over the plight of his former subjects. Blubbered fat, foolish Farouk, while sipping unloaded mineral water (booze was never one of his vices): "The revolution has turned into a tyrannical dictatorship. The army officers, the so-called 'liberators,' have become small despots. Egypt is now a police state and the Egyptians are a captive people."

In a full-dress rehearsal of last week's graduation parade at Sandhurst's Royal Military College, the hot-rodding Duke of Kent, 19, seventh in line to Britain's throne, marched smartly and looked none the worse for the recent wear and tear of his fourth car smashup in 13 months (Kent was at the controls in three of the crashes). After graduation (and orders to duty with the Royal Scots Grays), the Duke blushingly denied that his cousin, Queen Elizabeth II, had ordered him henceforth to do his landborne flying only with an experienced copilot at his side. His bland explanation for his plans to abstain from driving for a while: "I have simply not got a car to drive."

* Others: Philadelphia's Charley Ross, 4, the victim of the U.S.'s first (1874) famous child kidnaping; Manhattan's Dorothy Arnold, 25, daughter of a wealthy perfume importer, who bought a book called An Engaged Girl's Sketches in 1910, strolled out to Fifth Avenue and oblivion.

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