Back home and full of bounce after a five-week tour of Western Europe was Dwight Eisenhower, 71; bouncing back nicely in a Manhattan hospital after an operation to remove a polypoid lesion from his large intestine was Herbert Hoover, 88; perennially bouncy Harry Truman, 78, was gadding about Manhattan.

Struck by the fact that, as far as he knew, no photograph of the three living U.S. ex-Presidents existed, Utica Press Copy Editor Joseph Ray, of Oneida, N.Y., wrote the New York Herald Tribune that one ought to be made. "Let's get this historic shot taken while there's still time," he said. Noting the letter, Alan Richards, a Princeton, N.J., freelance photographer, dug through his files and came up with just such a rare shot, taken at Princeton University's 200th anniversary celebration in 1947. "Truman was still Ike's boss at the time," recalls Richards, "but I told him when I snapped the picture that he might well have a Republican on his right as well as his left." ... Stoically stowing away an on-the-run diet of rice trimmed with goat intestines, chicken heads and "thousand-day-old" eggs, Peace Corps Director R. Sargent Shriver, 46, roughed his way by helicopter and Jeep through a 25-day, 10,000-mile tour of the Philippines, Thailand, Malaya, Sarawak and North Borneo to see how his troops were faring. He found them hard at work--so hard that at one Filipino hamlet he got a message from four volunteers saying: "Sorry, but we are too busy to see you." At another village, a volunteer proudly showed Shriver a pungent compost pile he had collected to demonstrate the wonders of fertilizer to local farmers. "Just feel that heat, sir," enthused the volunteer as Shriver gingerly patted the reeking mound. At tour's end in Singapore, Shriver gratefully shucked his beat-up sneakers, khaki pants and sweat shirt for a natty tropical suit and reported that the corps is "doing better than I or anyone expected." Making the London scene was filmdom's Little Caesar Edward G. Robinson, 68, ten weeks after suffering a heart attack on location for Sammy Going South 6,000 feet up among the foothills of Tanganyika. He comforted himself during his recuperation by gazing on the works of two of his favorite painters, Cezanne and Raoul Dufy, lent by a local gallery, and by pondering his long film career, in which he played mostly the no-good. Conclusion: "Some people have youth, some have beauty. I had menace." After mulling over the situation for four days with top executives at a Maine resort, Paul Sonnabend, 35, vice president of the Hotel Corporation of America (New York's Plaza, Washington's Mayflower), summed up the innkeepers' conclusions: "They said that we may not be in a recession--but we are in the worst boom we ever had."

Ill lay: sphinx-faced Columnist and TV Impresario Ed Sullivan, 59-recovering at St. Mary's hospital in Rochester, Minn., from an operation that parted him from an inflamed gall bladder; Bestselling Novelist (Ship of Fools) Katherine Anne Porter, 72, who tripped down a dark flight of stairs in her Washington, D.C., home while calling for a kitten, cracking six ribs; and broad-toothed Comedian Joe E. Brown, 70, in Pittsburgh, Pa., melted by 90DEG heat while playing the Allegheny County Fair.

Swept onto Broadway with the growing tide of English hit plays, London Producer John Fernald, 56, who is making his American directing debut with a stage adaptation of C. P. Snow's novel, The Affair, had a few pronunciamentos on theater in the colonies. On U.S. actors: "They lack precision." On Tennessee Williams: "A very tedious phenomenon . . .

like a little boy who has just discovered sex." And Arthur Miller: "He's a magnificent craftsman, but I wish he had the saving grace of comedy to make his characters fully rounded." Having done the Far East and San Francisco, it was time for honeymooning Prince Juan Carlos of Spain, 24, and his bride, Princess Sophie of Greece, 23, to do the U.S. East Coast, jet set division.

As though they were just plain U.S. society, they gyrated a passable twist at the Newport, R.I., estate of former U.S.

Chief of Protocol Wiley T. Buchanan, spent a day yachting and water-skiing--the prince on a single ski, no less--dropped in at West Point and Annapolis.

There was a side trip to Washington, where they chatted for half an hour with President Kennedy ("We talked about what one usually talks about," said Sophie), then off to Cape Canaveral for a peek at the rockets. A mad rush back to Southampton for weekend parties, and the 3 1/2month honeymoon was nearly over.

Back in Europe, things will probably seem pretty dull for a while.

One going for power, the other for poetry, Secretary of the Interior Stewart Udall, 42, and Poet Robert Frost, 88, shared a plane to Moscow to see what the Russians are up to in both fields. Udall was soon flying off to Siberian sites at Bratsk, Irkutsk and Kuibyshev, on the Volga River, to mosey around hydroelectric plants, high dams, and extra-high-voltage transmission lines; Frost, escorted by Russian Literary Editor Aleksandr Tvardovsky, 52, and Angry Young Poet Evgeny Evtushenlco (TIME cover, April 13, 1962), began searching for common mind-meeting ground. The search led him far afield--so far that at times he seemed willing to go to almost any length to gain rapport. "We admire each other, don't we?" asked Frost. Russian silence, and a wan Evtushenko smile. "Great nations don't take pleasure in belittling each other." More silence. "If Russia beat my country in everything, then I would become a Russian." At that the Russians roared with laughter.

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