The masterminds of baseball's American League put their masterminds together in Manhattan's Savoy Hilton Hotel, decided to award their Washington, D.C. franchise to none other than retired Air Force General Elwood Richard ("Pete") Quesada, 56, now Federal Aviation Administrator. Longtime Baseball Fan Quesada must quit his Government job to organize the club, which will fill the vacancy left when the unwinning Senators team moved to Minneapolis-St. Paul last month. Estimated cost of the franchise: $3,500,000. Says Quesada: "I don't have that, but I've got backers who do."

Sir Winston Churchill, 85, half-American but the most English of Englishmen, again seemed indestructible. He took a spill in the bedroom of his London home, broke a small bone in his back. Doctors consigned him to bed for a few weeks, said that the injury was not serious. Another bulletin was issued by his daughter, Mary Soames, who reported: "Sir Winston is bored." But the medics were clearly worried by his slow mending and "disturbed" nights.

Spain's aging (34) Matador Luis Miguel Domingin was both glad and mad in Madrid. His hair cropped down to a fine nap (to win a bet from friends), Domingin was all smiles upon being presented with a third child, second daughter, Paola, by his wife, sometime Italian Actress Lucia Bose. But his face dropped when local newsstands suddenly blossomed with a Spanish edition of LIFE that contained the first installment of The Dangerous Summer, the account by grizzled Aficionado Ernest Hemingway of Dominguin's perilous rivalry with his brother-in-law, Matador Antonio Ordonez, on the Spanish bullfighting circuit during the summer of 1959. Forewarned that Hemingway was setting him up for a critical clobbering by comparison with Ordonez, Dominguin had already made his reply. Said he in Spain's weekly Gaceta Illustrada: "Hemingway considers himself an expert. Perhaps so, but not as much as he thinks. He is undoubtedly a great writer, but it's not enough to be a great writer to understand something like this. Perhaps it wouldn't even be enough if he were Spanish. It is also necessary to have been a bullfighter."

As an Army technical sergeant in World War II, David Greenglass committed parts of the A-bomb to memory, passed on his data to his sister, Ethel Rosenberg, and her husband Julius for transmission to the Soviet Union. As an accomplice to the espionage, Greenglass turned state's evidence against the Rosenbergs, drew a 15-year stretch in 1951. Two years later, the Rosenbergs were electrocuted at Sing Sing. After more than nine years in a federal pen, Greenglass, 38, was turned loose in Manhattan last week, went off to join his wife Ruth and their two children. On emerging from a federal house of detention and entering a cab, surviving Traitor Greenglass was greeted by hecklers. Shouted one to Greenglass's cabbie: "Drive him off the pier, right into the river, the Red rat!" Instead, whatever he was or is, David Greenglass was driven off into obscurity, probably to pick up his interrupted civilian life elsewhere under a new name.

Seldom has a millionaire registered such deeply visible disappointment at not achieving another million as Sportsman Cornelius Vanderbilt Whitney did during a race at Louisville's Churchill Downs last week. Only one stable in U.S. turf annals has racked up such mountainous winnings in one year of racing (Calumet Farm has turned the trick six times). In Louisville, Whitney and fourth wife Mary had had high hopes of cracking the million mark with their grey filly, Bright Silver. Whitney was short of his goal by only $3,399, and the winner's purse in the race was $3,900. But Bright Silver, the favorite, uncooperatively came in sixth. As the week wore on, two of Whitney's horses placed, picked up an additional $1,060. The final day of Churchill Downs' fall meet came at week's end. Owner Whitney, with three horses in the running, copped a total of $18,525 on two of them, joyously left the track as the winner of $1,016,186 for the year.

For a long time, Norway's nautical Princess Astrid, 28, has been known to her countrymen as "the sad one." Her sadness began in 1951, when her father, King Olaf V, himself a topnotch sailor, searched for a good hand to sail in Sunday regattas with his daughter. On deck soon came a prosperous Oslo clothier, Johan Martin Ferner, one of Scandinavia's most eligible bachelors but. alas, a commoner. The pair became discreetly inseparable. In 1953 Astrid's older sister, Princess Ragnhild, married a shipowner and sailed off to Rio de Janeiro. Convinced that one commoner in the royal family was enough, Olaf set his foot down, insisted that Astrid marry some true blueblood. In fast succession. Astrid turned her nose up at a series of princelings who could not distinguish between the stern and the spinnaker. Meanwhile, frustrated Suitor Ferner drifted into a marriage with an Oslo model, but by 1956 he was divorced and once again afloat with Astrid. They won many a regatta together, but not until last week did they win their most cherished prize, each other, with reluctant Olaf's gritted-teeth approval. They will be married in January.

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