Not only in Korea and Turkey were students in revolt: last week some of the girls at Columbia University's Barnard College arose in anguish against a memo, issued by Barnard's able President Millicent McIntosh, requesting the students to wear skirts in classes and on the campus. The shorts contingent, a leggy minority, promptly got up an angry petition, attended a student assembly in abbreviated attire. But if they planned on pushing their long-stemmed rebellion much farther, they could count on a formidable adversary in Millicent McIntosh, 61, mother of five grown children, a niece of fiery Archfeminist M. (for Marry) Carey Thomas, who was Bryn Mawr's second president. Said Barnard's McIntosh, holding on to her generally good-humored state: "If we could be sure about the length of the shorts, or if we could regulate the size of the girls who wear them, it might be a different thing."

In one of his typically strenuous weeks, Herbert Hoover (whose secretary, explaining his pace, can only say: "He doesn't know he's 85") conferred with his old friend, No. 1 G-Man J. Edgar Hoover, who is no kin, about Manhattan's projected Herbert Hoover Building, new national headquarters of Boys' Clubs of America. Both Hoovers are on its national board, Herbert Hoover its chairman for the past 25 years. Day before the meeting, ex-President Hoover popped up by surprise at a lively Stanford University alumni luncheon in Manhattan. Hoover, a member of Stanford's first graduating class (A.B., '95), noted that none of the speakers had mentioned what sheer fun it was to be a university student. Recalling that "I had to be tutored for three months before I could even get into Stanford," Hoover told how he helped stage the first football game between Stanford and the University of California. Student Manager Hoover and others sold a lot of tickets in advance of the historic game: "That's why both teams had uniforms." Day of the game, gold and silver coins glutted the ticket office because "nobody used that dirty paper money." But when kickoff time came, there was nothing to kick off. A student had to be dispatched by street car to a nearby sporting-goods store to buy the vital prop of the spectacle: a ball. Still, it was a happy memory: Stanford won, 14-10.

With three new hotels already built in his mind, the world's No. 1 innkeeper, Conrad Hilton, arrived in Brazil, seemed in high good humor over his venture into what is, for his enterprises, virgin territory. On his Brazilian expedition, Hilton broke ground for hotels in Rio de Janeiro and Brasilia, made plans for construction of another in Sao Paulo. Total cost: about $21 million. A Brazilian corporation, partly financed by British interests, will build the hotels for operation by Hilton under his customary leaseback terms: a third of net profits will go to Hilton Hotels International, two-thirds to the owners.

Next only to soon-to-retire Theodore Francis Green, 92, in point of age among U.S. Senators, Montana Democrat James Edward Murray, 84, announced that he will not run for a sixth term. A millionaire lawyer with mining and other business interests, New-Dealing, Fair-Dealing Jim Murray achieved political success in mineral-rich, purse-poor Montana by championing the "common man," was among organized labor's most devoted Senate rooters. As late as last January, he was feeling perky about his chance for reelection, but a bitter primary battle began shaping up, and Murray faced a real chance of getting whipped. His stated reason for withdrawal: his family had asked him to take life easier.

In the opening week of a month's concert tour of Europe, at Paris' Palais de Chaillot, Crooner Nat ("King") Cole packed in the locals, racked up a whopping $10,000 gross in one big night. The house was his, in some individual cases hysterically, and foremost among his backstage admirers was glamorous Grandma Marlene Dietrich, who this week will begin her own tour of West Germany.

A transcontinental auction of paintings and sculptures for the benefit of Manhattan's Museum of Modern Art was held in Manhattan's flossy Parke-Bernet Galleries, with the proceedings carried to Dallas, Chicago and Los Angeles by closed-circuit TV. Top price knocked down was $200,000 for Cezanne's familiar Les Pommes, donated by U.S. Ambassador to Belgium William A. M. Burden. But the "sensation of the sale," according to Parke-Bernet, was the $145,000 paid by a New York gallery for Cubist Georges Braque's Composition: The Violin. Donor of the painting, which brought a record price for a Braque: New York's Republican Governor Nelson Rockefeller, Museum of Modern Art trustee.

Arriving in Manhattan for a five-day visit, Tokyo's Governor Ryutaro Azuma, 67, was greeted by Mayor Robert Wagner, paid a brief call on Japan's onetime military governor, General of the Army Douglas MacArthur, still recuperating from a recent prostate operation (TIME, April 4). Asked if Manhattan and Tokyo have anything in common, Azuma, a man of few English words, tersely replied: "Yes. Traffic jams." While touring the city, Azuma's wife Teruko, 62 and mother of five, stumped her guides by mischievously inquiring: "Who owns the Statue of Liberty--New York or New Jersey?" Its custodian: the National Park Service, U.S. Department of the Interior. Owner: the U.S. people.

One of the most durable moths of Manhattan society, Nightlifer Hope Hampton, 60 (within an order of magnitude), poured herself into a yellow chiffon gown encrusted and strung with 41 clusters and strings of precious rocks borrowed from a New York jeweler. The spectacular finery, reportedly worth $1,000,000, and billed as the world's most costly dress, was designed by Couturiere Livia Sylva. Hope wore it on NBC-TV's quiz show, Play Your Hunch, where contestants guessed about the number of constellations in her high-carat caparison. Hunch's master of ceremonies, Merv Griffin, suggested to her that they should quietly run away together. Hope declined, conjectured that cops would soon overtake them.

No longer a whiz at Latin, Britain's Prime Minister Harold Macmillan, 66, heard a few words in that language at a solemn Oxford University ceremony at which he was awarded an honorary doctor of civil law degree, 'installed as Oxford's new chancellor. Old Oxonian Mauricius Haraldus Macmillan expressed his gratitude for the honor in hesitant Latin, seemed relieved to return to his native tongue, in which he allowed: "My Latin pronunciation is almost as obsolete as the language itself."

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