Litigation loomed last week over the wills of Luis Firpo and Oscar Hammerstein II. Heavyweight Firpo, who battled Jack Dempsey in one of boxing's most thrilling evenings in the same year (1923) that Lyricist Hammerstein. with Wildflower, gave Broadway his first real hit, amassed his fortune not as the "Wild Bull of the Pampas" but as the owner of six ranches on it. But to whom did Bachelor Firpo leave the bulk of his estimated $4,000,000 estate? To his longtime great and good friend. Miss Blanca Picard--a bequest his relatives are now contesting in Buenos Aires. The argument over Hammerstein's reported $10 million to $15 million estate was not among heirs (his widow will receive 49%, with his three children dividing the remainder), but between tax-hungry states--New York, where he worked, and Pennsylvania, where he resided.

When Congress adjourned without taking action on a bill to grant tax relief to World War I Hero Sergeant Alvin York, 72, a group of Tennessee American Legion posts kicked off a campaign to raise $29,000 to liquidate his longstanding obligation. But back in the hilly hinterlands near Pall Mall, Tenn., York was still muttering about the injustice of it all. Said he, recalling his $150,000 in royalties from a 1941 biographical movie: "When I got that money I paid them half and told 'em the other half was mine."

Winging from New York to Los Angeles last week were Actress Joan Crawford, fiftyish but as chic as ever, and her adopted 13-year-old twins, Cathy and Cindy, wearing polka-dot dresses. While Mother, a director of the Pepsi-Cola Co. (once headed by her late fourth husband, Alfred Steele), was heading West to promote soft-drinking, her daughters were just taking a final fling before going back to school.

Although the Greeks started Olympic competition, they have not done much about it in recent years; indeed, until last week, they had not won a gold medal since 1912. Ending the drought was a Dragon Class yachtsman--and crown prince--Constantino, 20. When the victorious, shorts-clad prince came ashore at Santa Lucia, King Paul and Queen Frederika--themselves sailing buffs--jettisoned royal reserve to hug the handsome champion. Then the queen stepped aside while Constantine's two royal sisters showed their exuberance by pushing him right back into Naples Bay.

After three years as ambassador to Outer Mongolia, Old Bolshevik Vyacheslav M. Molotov, 70, arrived in Vienna last week to represent Russia on the International Atomic Energy Agency. But there was no indication that his career was back in high Soviet orbit. Flying from Moscow (where news of his shift had not even been published), Molotov stopped off in Kiev, was recognized by a group of Soviet army officers, who nudged each other but neglected to pay any other recognition to the square-jawed Red who was once Stalin's right-hand man.

Observing their birthdays in sprightly fashion, Painter Grandma Moses, 100, partied with 125 visitors--and even did a jig with her doctor--in Eagle Bridge. N.Y., while Financier Joseph P. Kennedy, 72, shared birthday cake with a smaller family group. With guests including twelve of his 17 grandchildren, Joe maintained his current silence on matters of state. But Grandma did not hesitate to speak her mind. Said she: "They're spending money for those space things, while lots of people are starving. The Lord put us on earth, and we should stay here until he comes after us."

Visiting Japan for the first time and billed by local newspapers as "the father of the atomic bomb," U.S. Physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer told the badgering Tokyo press that the itinerary of his three-week lecture tour did not include a visit to Hiroshima. Said he: "I would like to, but it is not clear that it will be practical." Then the director of Princeton's Institute for Advanced Study, who has himself become as outspokenly opposed to the nuclear-weapons race as any of his Japanese hosts, added: "I do not think coming here has changed my sense of anguish about my part in this whole piece of history. Nor has it fully made me regret my responsibility for the technical success of the enterprise. It isn't that I don't feel bad; it is that I don't feel worse tonight than last night."

Although admitting that "nobody has to tell me how bad an actor I am," Tony Curtis' curly hair was bristling last week at a recent lofty lambasting he had received on Producer David Susskind's Open End TV talkathon. Cried Tony: "I've never met him, but when I do I'm going to punch him right in the nose." Informed of the threat, Susskind seemed unawed, flexed his cerebrum for reporters: "I've always believed that violence was the last recourse of an exhausted mind." And then, almost begging for a broken beak, Susskind concluded: "Curtis is, in my book, a passionate amoeba."

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