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

Britain's wealthy, mink-loving Lady Docker, her temper bubbling to a boil, sat in Monaco's overstuffed Hotel de Paris and mulled over the insult: all she wanted was to take her son Lance, 19, to a reception given by Prince Rainier and his Grace to celebrate the baptism of their princeling, Albert--and some palace flunkies had had the nerve to turn Lance away. Crossing her own little Rubicon, Norah Docker seized a paper Monacan flag used as a table decoration and hurled it to the floor. Word of the indignity soon burned the ears of Their Serene Highnesses, and swiftly came unserene Grimaldi revenge: Norah and her free-spending third husband, Sir Bernard, were banned from the tiny ( 1/2 sq. mi.) country, and their christening gifts were frostily returned by messenger. What's more, by a 1951 friendship treaty with France, Monaco could, and did, invoke its right to bar the Dockers from the entire Riviera. Returning to London, Lady Docker huffed that she was "at war" with Rainier--"I call it the Kremlin down there." Added Sir Bernard: "We are not going back to that dreary little country. What is Monaco but a Coney Island for the winter, a tin-soldier outfit?"

Bundled up in a double-breasted blue suit over a long-sleeved blue pullover despite humid Texas temperatures in the 90s, owlish Poet Thomas Stearns Eliot, 69, read his own verse to some 11,000 in Austin and Dallas, had some clipped words for the Waste Landish poets of the ''Beat Generation": "I have always felt about any form of existentialism the way James Thurber felt about the Civil War--I beg your pardon, the War Between the States--I expect to see it blow over. I don't see why a whole generation should be so gloomy. There are a lot of things to be cheerful about."

Doe-eyed, wistful Princess Soraya Esfandiari Bakhtiari, 25, divorced wife of Iran's Shah, arrived in Manhattan aboard the liner Constitution, hoping for privacy, found instead some 125 press and TV reporters at dockside to welcome her. With eager local newsmen breathlessly reporting every other step, the shapely princess shopped on Fifth Avenue, dined at East Side nightspots, at week's end sailed off for some Bermuda sun--and probably some Bermuda privacy as well.

In Kansas City's Hotel Muehlebach, a herd of 756 Brangus cattle and 1,240 acres of good Missouri farm land owned by the late professional Gladhander Dale (How to Win Friends and Influence People) Carnegie were auctioned off on orders of his widow Dorothy, brought in some $319,000 to the estate.

After watching Britain's Prince Philip and his team of Welsh Guards gambol through a polo match, U.S. Embassy Secretary Elizabeth Davis (granddaughter of the late Norman H. Davis, an F.D.R. ambassador at large) approached the titled gamesman with pen and paper in hand, asked for an autograph. While aghast flunkies scurried to his rescue, the Prince obliquely hinted that the royal scrawl is not available to souvenir hunters, cracked: "Well, I know it's an old custom--but you see I don't know how to write," sped off in his Lagonda as Secretary Davis was hustled away. Said she: "The Prince seemed so informal among the ponies and crowds. I thought it would be all right." Said an embassy spokesman: "She has only been here three months--but she should have known better."

Looking about as shapeless as any other woman in a high-necked sack dress, Cinemactress Marilyn Monroe signed up for her first movie in nearly two years: Some Like It Hot, a comedy tailored specially for the Monroe talents by Old Pro Director Billy (The Seven Year Itch) Wilder.

Just as Britain's Foreign Secretary Selwyn Lloyd rose to tackle a question in the House of Commons, there were rafter-rattling cheers, and the Right Honorable Member for Woodford, Sir Winston Churchill, walked in through the great oak doors on his first visit to the House in four months. Pale and less cherubic than usual, the old parliamentarian made his way to a corner spot near the Treasury Bench, chatted with members from both sides, voted twice with the government on minor issues. Next day Churchill's chauffeur-driven Humber made a turn on Parliament Square, collided with a bus. Unperturbed, Sir Winston grinned at the crowds, proceeded uninjured, his car's fender dented, its bumper askew.

In Ottawa, Ill., ex-G.I. William Girard, who found a night-shift job back home bagging fertilizer after an undesirable discharge from the Army and a three-year sentence (suspended) from a Japanese court for killing a woman with an empty cartridge case on a firing range, confided that his Japanese-born wife Candy is expecting a tax exemption in August. Said he: "I think Candy wants a boy, and I certainly do."

Fresh from her election as first woman president of the 47-nation Federation Aeronautique Internationale, Aviatrix Jacqueline Cochran rested up on the 600-acre California ranch of Financier Husband Floyd Odium, whooped happily about the job: "Great guns! It never dawned on me a woman would be elected, considering the number of countries involved." Future assignments for Flyer Cochran: two trips to Paris for F.A.I. meetings, an astronautics convention at The Hague in August, the federation's general conference next May in Moscow.

Adlai Stevenson, addressing a Democratic women's conference, spent a whimsical paragraph on a sure laugh-getter, the sack dress. "The source of the sack is Moscow. It will be Khrushchev's greatest triumph. It spreads discontent, unrest, antagonism and hostility. It isn't even subliminal--its nonlinear." Speaker Stevenson suggested that women use the chemise in a dressed-up version of the gimmick from Aristophanes' Lysistrata, in which Greek women go on a sex strike until husbands give up warring: "Let women say--peace, or the sack.''

In Europe for a lecture tour. Physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer gave the Paris-Presse a meson's worth of comment on world problems: "I don't consider the banning of nuclear tests or supposed conversion to peaceful uses a serious or honest solution to the danger. I believe that only a world council of wise men can assure peace on a scientific basis. Throughout the world, scientists are ready and eager to cooperate in such a project. I believe that we can and will eventually cure atomic terror just as doctors have succeeded in combatting malaria--by banding together."

The fastest (632 m.p.h.) man on earth, sled-riding Colonel John Paul Stapp, zipped into Dayton for his new job as chief of the Aero Medical Laboratory at the Wright Air Development Center, disclosed that after almost 14 honors-laden, injury-ridden years as an Air Force Reserve officer on active duty, he has finally applied for a commission as a regular.

In Santa Monica, Calif. 's juvenile court, 14-year-old Cheryl Crane, a ward of the court since she fatally stabbed her mother's lover, Hoodlum Johnny Stompanato, was cleared, put in the custody of her maternal grandmother, Mrs. Mildred Turner, for two months. The court may then decide whether bewildered Cheryl will be returned to her mother, blonde Cinemactress Lana Turner, or given to her father, Restaurateur Stephen Crane, second of Lana's four husbands.

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