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

At a banquet during the Suez conference in London (see FOREIGN NEWS), square-cut Soviet Foreign Minister Dmitry Shepilov turned up in a brand-new dinner jacket, set fellow diplomats and male fashion authorities to buzzing. A spokesman for Britain's dictatorial but often waggish Tailor and Cutter magazine ripped into Shepilov's ensemble with a piece-by-piece analysis. Of the pre-tied, hook-on bow tie: "If you don't have a valet to tie your tie, which regrettably many people don't, then you should tie it up yourself.'' Of the hang of the long trousers: "The wrong sort of braces . . . assuming he would wear nothing so inexcusable as a belt." Tailor reserved its unkindest cut of all, however, for the brown suit that the burly Shepilov wore on his arrival in London: "All right, perhaps, for grouse shooting, but as Lord Curzon once said, 'No gentleman wears brown.' "

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In Brooklyn, Stockbroker Freeman Koo, 33, Harvard-educated son of Nationalist China's longtime (1946-56) Ambassador to the U.S. V. K. Wellington Koo, took the oath of U.S. citizenship.

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After the huzzas and groans of the Democratic Convention in Chicago (see NATIONAL AFFAIRS) died away, there was almost unanimous agreement that the Democrats' choicest doll is Lucille Clement, wife of Tennessee's give-'em-hellfire Governor Frank G. Clement, the convention's bombastic keynoter. Mother of three boys, Lucille, 36, whose figure is one of modern polities' most attractive gerrymanders, took time out to model some cute creations for a Hearst lensman.

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In Turkey, where the voice of civil liberties is thready and thin these days (TIME, July 9), trim (at 71) Opposition Leader Ismet Inoenue, head of the Republican People's Party, had trouble taking a foot-first dive at the resort island of Heybeli near Istanbul. His plunging technique was fine, but cops, who keep close track of Inoenue soon moved in to break up the crowd of onlookers. The ludicrous pretext for their action: Turkey's longtime (1938-50) President Inoenue and his fellow frolickers looked suspiciously like a political demonstration, barred (except for 45 days prior to general elections) under one of Turkey's oppressive new laws.

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A beautiful 20-year friendship, in which waspish Gossipist Walter Winchell played Damon to the Pythias of Manhattan Saloonkeeper Sherman Billingsley, had gone pffft, according to Winchell. The rift began, bleated keyhole journalism's grand old man, when ex-Bootlegger-Speakeasier Billingsley, whose flossy Stork Club got much of its floss from Winchell's ceaseless plugs, spatted with Winchell over a pack of cigarettes. The upshot was earthshaking, as Walter wailed last week: "At one time he thought I was a wonderful guy. I haven't been in the Stork in seven or eight weeks. I may go back, but, of course, I might be told to get out. I feel like an outcast." The New York Post, one of Winchell's many mortal enemies, gleefully reported that vindictive Host Billingsley had hauled off the wall a heroic portrait of Pariah Winchell. A couple of days later, however, vacationing Winchell hinted to his devoted readers: "WW's photo is back on the Stork Club foyer wall. (Tha-anks a large Lump!)." At week's end Billingsley seemed mystified by the large Lump: "It's clear that Winchell is angry about something. But he's as welcome here as any other customer." "' Had Billingsley really banished his old pal from the heroes' gallery? " I took that picture down long enough to make a dozen prints of i -just in case somebody, I won't say who, tried to steal it!"

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India's Prime Minister Nehru (TIME, July 30), 66, touring earthquake-racked towns in northwestern India, was catapulted from his jeep when it overturned, picked himself up and found that he had merely bruised a knee.

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Famed British Novelist Joyce (The Horse's Mouth) Cory, 67, failed to understand why the newspapers were so maudlin about his impending doom. Now in a wheelchair as a victim of an incurable paralytic disease, Author Cary was astonishingly sanguine over his fate: "I'm not being sentimental about it. I'm still alive and I can still work, and I might be dead anyway ... I don't think I'm going to die tomorrow. Perhaps in five or seven years, the doctors say."

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Emerging from the Atlantic surf on the New Jersey coast, power-packed Gertrude Ederle, 49, looked as if she could still swim the English Channel, a 35-mile trick that she was the first woman to perform. This week Gertrude was slated to get cheers and a commemorative plaque in the 30th anniversary month of her great triumph over winds, tides and waves.

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