Unable to straighten up completely because of her recent gall-bladder extraction (TIME, July 7), convalescent Cinemactress Marilyn Monroe, 35, was further bent by a madding mob of 300 as she was propelled out of Manhattan's Polyclinic Hospital. While some blamed her new tornado tresses on the shoddy protection of her eight-man flying wedge of hospital attendants, insiders suspected the genius of Jacqueline Kennedy's coiffeur, Mr. Kenneth.

Although his wife complained during the career-shattering crisis of 1956 that the Suez Canal seemed to cascade through their Downing Street drawing room, Sir Anthony Eden, 64, renewed by his recent peerage (TIME, July 14), was no longer afraid to go near the water. Honoring the bard-blessed stream that runs through his longtime Warwickshire constituency, the ex-Prime Minister selected "Earl of Avon" as his new title. To his son Nicholas, 30, will go a courtesy designation. Viscount of Royal Leamington Spa, to commemorate a last resort that has inspired more dowagers than iambs.

"Danny Kaye has generously contributed his services for this extraordinary musical adventure," announced Berkshire Festival advertisements for the annual Boston Symphony Orchestra Pension Fund Concert. "The orchestra," it continued, "simply cannot accept any responsibility." When the old (48) Mitty-slicker appeared at Tanglewood (following a warmup children's concert with the Boston Pops back on the Charles the day before), he shook hands with his concertmaster and then with most of the rest of the 104 pieces, broke up the audience by portraying a maestro with a psychosomatic itch, employing a flyswatter baton for Flight of the Bumble Bee.

Globe-flitting Evangelist Billy Graham thought that he had found heaven on earth--and right in his own headquarters state. Pinpointing church-going Minnesota as "a moral and spiritual paradise," where there is "less crime, immorality and open sin than anywhere else in the northern part of the United States," he happily surprised Minneapolitans among 18,500 listeners at the Minnesota State Fair Grounds. Unnoticed went some decidedly unparadisiacal facts: in the past month, their city was forced to boost taxes to fight a 30% increase in crime, heard itself berated by a convention of building managers for the most "open and blatant" prostitution they had seen.

While plumping before a House committee for a $10 million bill to battle juvenile delinquency, Health, Education and Welfare Secretary Abraham Ribicoff delivered an obiter dictum on child labor legislation. A New Britain, Conn. newsboy at eight and a milkman's helper at twelve, the Polish immigrant's son suspected that present statutes would have slowed his own running start, faulted "laws that do too much coddling of children." Said he: "I think it's better for a boy to take a job as delivery boy for a drugstore than to be hanging around a drugstore corner."

While slapping leather toward the opposition goal at the Cowdray Park polo grounds in Sussex, Windsor Park's slashing No. 3 man, Prince Philip, 40, snagged his toe in a teammate's stirrup, painfully twisted his left foot. After a brief rest, the plucky old Naval person remounted to finish the final two chukkers of the match. He did not find out until subsequent X rays that the wrench had broken his ankle, would for a fortnight again deplete the roster of royal greeters--which was recently decimated by the Queen Mother's fractured foot, Princess Margaret's pregnancy and the Duke of Kent's honeymoon.

The estate of the late, amok-running Earl Kemp Long proved as quagmirey as a Louisiana bayou but not nearly so liquid. Counting some 400 hogs at his "peapatch" farm, the political heir of the Kingfish, and a three-term Governor himself, left his wife assets of about $33,000, back taxes close to $60,000.

As his black shoes paced the Pentagon bridge for the final month, outgoing Chief of Naval Operations Arleigh ("31-Knot") Burke, 59, proposed his epitaph to a visiting newsman. "I have three achievements," declared the old "king of the cans," who in 1955 leapfrogged 92 surprised seniors to his present eminence. "I installed a pair of anchors in front of the Naval Observatory gate. I planted a hell of a lot of dogwood trees, because I like to plant dogwood trees. And I started the Polaris missile."

While a columnist happily proposed a "ship's pool" for commuters as a transfusion for the bleeding, bankrupt New Haven Railroad ("Commuters are sportsmen and gamblers at heart"), its beleaguered president since 1956, George Alpert, unhappily pondered the future. "I feel down, but I'm very far from out," said he, declining to discuss the possibility that the federal district court might appoint him a trustee and put him back at the shaky throttle on Aug. 1. Besides, sidetracked the old (63) Boston attorney: "I wouldn't be surprised if the shreds of my former practice couldn't be converted into a very good fabric, and very quickly."

"I'm everything I don't like in other women. I'm ambitious, aggressive and successful," summed up Suzy Parker, at 28 still America's most exquisite bonework and its highest-priced mannequin ($120 an hour). But at the same time, she mourned to a Redbook confessor, "A woman is only the total of the men she has loved, so I can't really be too much, because I haven't lived my life with one or more extraordinary men." That was a fine goodbye to the two she has already married (and divorced), but Suzy had another dilemma: "I don't know whether I want to be a wife with ten babies or have ten husbands with one baby each.''

Back from the near-dead for four months. Cinemactress Elizabeth Taylor was still talking about her operation. ''Suddenly thousands of voices seemed to be crying within me." Liz emoted before 1,000 guests at a benefit for Hollywood hospitals that raised $6,930,000. "It must have been death. They cajoled me, they commanded me to breathe, and then I coughed and moved and I was alive again.'' With tha, Liz and husband Eddie Fisher winged off to suture world relations as U.S. representatives at the Moscow Film Festival. Wondered Eddie on arriving at the Lenin-Stalin tomb in Red Square: "Where's Trotsky?" Asked if she hoped to see Khrushchev, Liz snapped independently: ''What for?'' At week's end came her comeuppance: during a Moscow function she ran into another visiting star, found Gina Lollobrigida wearing an identical Dior.

Braced for another twister after its invasion by such as British Rock-'n'-Roller Cliff Richard, Johannesburg found to its surprise that Tennessee-bred Pat Boone was a different kind of cat. "A Mr. P. Boone arrived from the U.S. yesterday," marveled the English-language Star, "and was greeted as though he were Mrs. J. Kennedy (they wear the same sort of hats)." What impressed Johannesburgers was the piety and sense under the crooner-counselor's chapeau. Concluded the Star: "This Mr. Boone seems to be the type of young man of whom both the late Lord Baden-Powell and Mrs. Grundy would have approved."

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