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

What, asked a Manhattan newshawk, should one wear at the wedding? "Well, sir," replied the ex-President of the U.S., "you wear the best pair of pants you've got, and just so long as you're covered up you'll be in style!" Thus, with the earthy touch that is his trademark, Harry Truman set a folksy sartorial tone for the marriage of his daughter Margaret to the New York Times's suave Foreign Deskman E. (for Elbert) Clifton Daniel Jr., 43, a silvery-topped North Carolinian who picked up a faint British accent during six years in the Times's London bureau, developed an ulcer during a shorter (1954-55) stint in Moscow. Father-in-law-to-be Truman was "awful glad" that Cliff Daniel is a Democrat, "but anyone who's Margaret's choice is O.K. with me!" Did Prize Bachelor Daniel bring any musical talent to the musical Trumans? Grinned Margaret: "He sings very nicely--a high baritone." Added Daniel: "I now sing in the shower. Before I got my ulcer, I used to sing at parties."

Although the big news from Moscow concerned a dead Joseph Stalin (see FOREIGN NEWS), there was intelligence of another kind about a very live Premier Nikolai Bulganin,, At a party at the Danish embassy, which Nikita Khrushchev was too busy to attend, Bulganin roared toasts to every toastable cliche. At one excited peak he grabbed a martini and fervently cried: "Eisenhower opened the martini road in Geneva! We sometimes drank with him, in the intervals, in martinis to peace and friendship in the world." Feeling extremely euphoric, Bulganin then lurched over to a U.S. military attache, guffawed and grabbed his ear, droolishly whispered: "Someday we're gonna have peace!" Rough box score on the number of martinis downed in an hour and a half by roistering Nikolai Bulganin: a staggering 20.

Lawyer Franklin D, Roosevelt Jr., though never chummy with the Dominican Republic's Dictator Rafael Trujillo, came right out and registered as a foreign agent for the Caribbean nation. For representing Trujillo's legal interests and performing "such other services as required" in the U.S., Roosevelt's new law firm in Washington will get a handsome retainer of $60,000 for two years. F.D.R. Jr.'s partner is Lawyer Charles Patrick Clark, now a lobbyist for Spain's Dictator Francisco Franco, but better known for socking the nose of Columnist Drew Pearson in 1952 (Clark got off with a $25 fine).

Boston Red Sox Slugger Ted Williams, yanked out of baseball for 17 months when the Marine Corps sent him off to fly combat missions in Korea in 1952, sounded a wrathful cry over the plight of Johnny Podres. Now a 1-A military draft eligible, Brooklyn's A-1 Pitcher Podres, 23, winner of two of the four victories that gave the Dodgers their first world championship last fall, spent the past three years in the 4-F bracket because of a bad back. Ever mum about his own recall to a second long tour of duty, Marine Williams fumed: "When Podres became a hero, some politicians said, 'Why isn't a big strong kid like that in the Army?' " Who creates such situations? Williams' unminced answer: "Gutless draft boards, gutless politicians and gutless sportswriters." What's more, Ted Williams knew how to change the draft law: "Baseball careers are short, and they are depriving a player of 20% of his career by the draft.

There's no reason why--with no war--ballplayers shouldn't serve their time in the off season."

Prowling the fashionable reaches of Manhattan's Fifth Avenue, the New York World-Telegram and Sun's Pulitzer Prize-winning Staffer Frederick Woltman discovered that Le Pavilion, the town's poshest paradise for fat-walleted gourmets (sample price: $5 for a nibble of imported pate), is having landlord troubles. Le Pavilion's landlord: Columbia Pictures, which wants Pavillowner Henri Soule (rhymes with souffle) to cough up more rent than the piddling $16,500-a-year he now pays. The trouble began, went one version, when Columbia's President Harry Cohn drifted into Le Pavilion and was rushed to a low-rated corner table obscured by potted palms. Denying that he was ever so unkind to his landlord, Soule nonetheless allowed that his top table priorities are based on his patrons' seniority. Among his best-seated customers: the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, Composer Cole Porter, Grandma Marlene Dietrich, Bernard Baruch, J. Edgar Hoover. Where did Landlord Cohn rank in this spectacular array? Said humble Tenant Soule: "He is always welcome. I smiled and joked with him. Why should an important Hollywood person think a little restaurateur wouldn't talk to him?"

After nearly 15 years of marriage (one daughter) and four of separation, beefy Cafe Societyman John Sims ("Shipwreck") Kelly, 45, far past his pro football days and farther still from his native Kentucky town, slapped a divorce suit on his millionheiress wife, Brenda Diana Duff Frazier Kelly, 34, far past her own salad days as America's "No. 1 debutante and glamour girl." Grounds: desertion. Glamour kept haunting Brenda from the heady evening of her coming-out party (cost: a reported $60,000) in 1938. Moaned she, more than a decade later: "Being a glamour girl is the worst thing that can happen to you." In Manhattan, after she got news of Kelly's Florida action last week, Brenda sighed: "I'm not too surprised. But I hadn't expected Ship to file the suit quite so soon."

Speaking to a group of military schoo] heads in Washington, Army Chief of Staff Maxwell D. Taylor laid stress on the broad expanse of arts and sciences that must be understood by a future military leader. How knowledgeable is today's Army man? Confided General Taylor to a reporter later: "The profusion of skills and learning we have in the Army is astonishing. If I need a shortstop who plays the violin, I can find him some place!"

As spring crept up on the entertainment world, lovebirds, young and middle-agish. began to warble of making nests, although their fluty chirps were all but drowned out by the quasi-romantic uproar emanating from the welter of Kelly-Rainier prenuptial rites (see PRESS). Italy's limpid-eyed Cinemorsel Marisa Pavan, 23, an Oscar nominee for her supporting role in The Rose Tattoo, was going to marry France's dashing Cinemale Jean Pierre Aumont this summer; she thought he was "about 42" (he is 46), pooh-poohed his Riviera trysts with Grace Kelly as "just a publicity stunt." One of Grace's bridesmaids, TV and Movie Actress Rita Gam, 27, cooed throatily at her new fiance. Yaleman Thomas Guinzburg, 29, a co-founder of the new-directional, English-language quarterly Paris Review. Onetime Cineminor Joyce (Boy Trouble) Mathews, 36, a headliner in 1951 when she slashed her wrists and scared everybody by threatening a nosedive from the Manhattan apartment of Showman Billy Rose, clucked joyously of spring wedding bells for her and Billy, 56. Thrice-wed Comic George Jessel, 57, warily croaked that he has "an affectionate little ring" for unstarred Starlet Joan Tyler's engagement finger. Quipped Georgie: "It's not modern to say one is engaged!"

A reception committee of vice squad sleuths and Australian customs men wait ed at Sydney Airport to greet Sir Eugene Goossens, 62, composer of 64 worthy musical works (e.g., The Apocalypse), conductor of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra since 1947 and maestro of the Cincinnati Symphony for 16 seasons before that. London-born Sir Eugene, thrice-married father of five daughters, was startled by such a homecoming after a European concert tour. So were his welcomers. The "prohibited imports" strewn through Goossens' luggage: some 1,100 "indecent" photographs, several naughty books and movie films, three strange rubber masks. On his own request, Sir Eugene was "temporarily" relieved of his podium. At the moment his wife was holed up in a convent near Paris. One of his daughters. Sidonie, commented sadly: "My father has not been well lately."

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