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

On a crowded main street in downtown Sao Paulo, a lean, intense young man brandishing a length of rubber hose charged a paunchy, white-haired, grandfatherly type. "Nasty old man!" shouted the attacker. "I'll teach you a lesson!" The improvised truncheon whistled past the victim's head, thudded against his shoulder. After that the oldster did the teaching. He whipped off his glasses, grabbed the upswung truncheon with both hands, wrenched it away, then gave the young man several ferocious whacks with it before the cops put an end to the skirmish, a sequel to a talk-of-the-town scandal. The battlers: Dr. Gabriel Quadros, 67, father of Sao Paulo's Governor Janio Quadros, and Jose Guerreiro, 32, whose 25-year-old wife ran away with the old doctor a few weeks ago. Crowed Dr. Quadros, clearly the victor: "That woman is mine, and she will remain mine!" Muttered Guerreiro: "He can have that obscenity!" Sad-eyed Governor Quadros dismissed the street brawl as "none of my business," but he saw to it that his embarrassingly spry father was quietly nudged out of his interim seat in the state legislature.

After four months of radioactive cobalt treatment in a Moscow hospital, Mexico's pudgy Communist Artist Diego Rivera, 69, bounded out with a paean to the "miracle cure" of his skin cancer. The Communists picked up the tab for all his expenses, so Rivera made a grateful bid (untaken) to his hosts: "I would consider it the climax of my career if the Soviet government asked me to paint something for them here!" The U.S.S.R. struck Diego Rivera as little short of paradise. Said he: "I am very happy to have been sick here . . ."

Self-deported from the U.S. in order to beat a federal perjury rap, New Jersey Mobster Joe Adonis was greeted as a local boy who made good by admiring townfolk of Montemarano in southern Italy. In honor of "Don Giuseppe, the miliondrio Americano," a great big hero's welcome blared from the steps of the town hall, where the town fathers, a brass band and Montemarano's two carabinieri, got up in three-cornered hats and fulldress swallowtails, assembled for the banner day. Deeply touched, Milionario Adonis later reportedly choked out wet-eyed promises to shower Montemarano with philanthropy. Soon a Red delegate in Italy's Chamber of Deputies demanded that the government slap down Montemarano's mayor for putting on the vulgar demonstration. At week's end, Adonis drifted up to Rome on a little junket. Roman cops nabbed him in the outskirts of the city, told him he was a "socially undesirable element," handed him a oneway ticket back to Montemarano.

At Ikeja airport near Nigeria's capital city of Lagos, high-ranking British colonial officials thronged into a red-and-gold pavilion to welcome Britain's Queen Elizabeth II at the start of her three-week visit. One of the most dressed-up men present was Nigeria's own Minister of Labor and Welfare, Chief Festus Okotie-Eboh. But he was topped by the head of Lagos' town council, Chief Oba Adeniji-Adele, resplendent in raiment as majestic, but also wearing a glittering gold crown that outdid the Queen's own bright pink straw hat. Said one dusky onlooker: "I like her, but she's got to get fatter before she'll be a real Queen."

In their battle to remove the name of "homoerotic" Poet Walt (Leaves of Grass) Whitman from the bridge linking Philadelphia with Camden, N.J. (TIME, Dec. 26), Roman Catholic groups in the Camden area rallied around a new nomination. Their candidate to succeed Whitman: another famed New Jersey versemaker, Doughboy-Poet-Family Man Joyce (Trees) Kilmer, a Roman Catholic convert, killed at 32 in World War I and, in the view of one champion, "representative of American traditions, American family life and American soldiery."

Hopefully a winner in her third bedridden round with cancer, courageous Super-Athlete Babe Didrickson Zaharias, 42, checked out of a Galveston, Texas hospital. The leg and hip pains that brought her there were eased after intensive X-ray treatments. A full and final recovery? Said a doctor: "You can't always tell about those things."

Mrs. Iva Kkuko Toguri d'Aquino, more infamous as Tokyo Rose, whose seductive broadcasts in World War II aimed at demoralizing Allied forces in the Pacific but actually entertained them, wound up her ten-year treason stretch (with time off for rosy behavior) at the Federal women's pen in Alderson, W. Va. Although Rose was until her conviction a U.S. citizen (she was born of Japanese parents in Los Angeles on the Fourth of July, 1916), the Federals immediately moved to deport her. This raised a fine legal point: Is Rose now an undesirable resident alien, perhaps to be deported as a U.S.-born woman without a country? If she beats a booting, a job awaits her at Ronceverte, West Virginia's radio station WRON, as a late-hour disk jockey.

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