"When it was done," moaned Actress Geraldine Chaplin, 22, "I felt weird. Naked. I felt I'd forgotten to put on my trousers or my sweater or something." It seems that for her part in a murder movie called Stranger in the House, Charlie's daughter had to have her 30-in. tresses snipped off, wound up looking more like her father than ever. "Well," she said on the set in London, "it was nice to be feminine once." She still looked distinctly like a girl, however, when she climbed a fence between scenes and displayed some of the graceful form she had inherited.

Settling for 23-c- on the dollar would not normally seem much of a bargain to the Internal Revenue Service. But then it has to consider recent Supreme Court decisions ruling that attorneys' fees in criminal proceedings are taxdeductible. And that certainly applies to Teamster Boss Jimmy Hoffa, 53, who has had some extra large lawyers' bills to pay in appealing his 1964 convictions for conspiracy and fraud and for attempting to suborn a jury. The IRS agreed in a Detroit U.S. tax court that Hoffa could deduct $81,880 in fees from his tax debt of $106,247 for six previous years, and settle for a mere $24,367.

"Some day I will be remembered as Jamie Wyeth's father," says Artist Andrew Wyeth. The boy certainly is his father's son. At 20, he is such a talented painter that already his portraits command up to $8,000, and late this month Manhattan's Knoedler Gallery will have a one-man show of 42 of Jamie's works. The gallery will not have what is bound to be one of the artist's most interesting works: an uncommissioned portrait of John F. Kennedy that Jamie has been working on for the last four months. Since he never met the late President, Jamie has been painting from photographs and movies, and has made several trips to Washington from Chadds Ford, Pa., in order to sketch Senator Ted Kennedy, "because friends told me he looks like his brother. It's much better working from life," said Jamie. "A half-hour with the man would be worth all the pictures."

In 1961, when the Cincinnati Reds won the National League pennant, Outfielder Frank Robinson was such a bright young star (37 home runs, 124 runs batted in, .323 average), that baseball writers voted him the league's Most Valuable Player. Four years later, Frank was still swinging respectably, batting .296, but the Reds decided that he was getting old and traded him all the way over into the American League. Too bad for the Reds. Last season Frank won the league's batting triple crown with 49 homers, 122 RBls, a .316 average, and led Baltimore to its first American League pennant and World Series championship. Now, at 31, Frank has been named the Most Valuable Player again, the first man ever to win the title in both leagues.

Womb days--Womb days--Dear old tummy tomb days . . .

Thus, with a Cummingsesque jingle, Designer-Philosopher R. Buclcminster Fuller, 70, set out to explain to the Saturday Review all that he had learned during his years since birth. The magazine had the temerity to ask Bucky to keep it down to 5,000 words--a paralyzing limitation for a man who can talk on for hours about his "dymaxion" concepts, geodesic domes, and practically everything else in the universe. Still, he managed. "I have not learned how or why the universe contrived to implode and intellectually code the myriadly unique, chromosomically orchestrated DNA-RNA, quadripartite moleculed, binary-paired, helically extended, and unzippingly dichotomied, regenerative symphonic jazz," he admitted^ in sesquipedalian Fullerese. In fact, "I am the most unlearned man I know." He did feel wise enough, however, to offer one small generalization: "It takes two to make a baby, but it takes God to make two."

The miniskirt in London had already risen as high on the thigh as Tarzan's loincloth when Designer Mary Quant, 32, grandam of Chelsea's fashion hippies, decided to hike the hems still higher. The new skirts flutter 11 in. above the knees, and require about as much cloth to make as a nice Victorian handkerchief. But the textile industry can take some heart. Mary has designed demure little matching boxer shorts for the birds to wear with their demi-minis. "They are the logical answer," she says, "for skirts so short that girls are showing everything."

Watching the volunteer nurse clean a soldier's gaping wound, the Army medic asked her a routine operating-room question: "Are you sterile?" Grinned Comedienne Martha Raye, 50: "At my age, you better believe it." Even the wounded G.I. managed to smile at that crack. It was the sort of thing Martha kept up all through the long night at the field hospital at Soctrang in the Mekong Delta as she gave her finest performance since arriving in South Viet Nam last month for her third visit to the troops. Heavy casualties had been airlifted into Soctrang from a withering battle several miles away, and Martha, who was at the base to do a show, immediately donated a pint of blood, then spent the next 18 hours making herself genuinely useful as a nurse. "She was terrific," said a sergeant, and last week General William Westmoreland, U.S. commander in Viet Nam, honored her with a rare Certificate of Achievement for patriotic civilian service for her "unselfish, humanitarian actions."

Washington's annual International Ball this year had almost none of the normal rites of a blast for charity--no drawings, no door prizes, no speeches. Just dancing and plenty of it. All of which was fine by Treasury Secretary Henry Fowler, 58, who cheered: "This is one of the nicest I've been to." Alas, Fowler felt constrained to sit out the frugs and watusis. Remember those undignified pictures they took last February when he did a warm frug at a party with Carol Channing? "I'm just like Lindbergh," sighed Fowler. "Made one flight, became famous and quit."

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