Married. Lynda Bird Johnson, 23, and Marine Captain Charles Rohb, 28 (see THE NATION).

Died. Air Force Major Robert H. Lawrence Jr., 31, the first and only Negro named to the LI.S. astronaut team, chosen in June for the manned orbiting laboratory program; on a routine proficiency flight, when his F-104 jet went out of control and slammed into the runway at Edwards Air Force Base, Calif., thus making him the ninth fatality among those assigned to the manned spaceflight effort since it began in 1959.

Died. Harry Wismer, 54, veteran sports announcer; of a skull fracture; in Manhattan. What listener could ever forget when Harry roared into the mike: "He's at the 40, the 45, the 50, the 55 . . ." The bloopers notwithstanding, he was one of the best in the business from 1935 to 1952, when he broadcast for the Detroit Lions, Washington Redskins and New York Giants, and piled up enough of a fortune by 1959 to buy his own team, the A.F.L.'s New York Titans. The team went nowhere and the fans went elsewhere, forcing Wismer to sell out for $1,000,000 in 1963 to Sonny Werblin, who is now making it big with his New York Jets.

Died. Cora Baird, 55, puppeteer; of cancer; in Manhattan. With her husband Bil, she created a magic world of dancing figures and impish characters, and for 30 years their Baird puppets, starring Hedda Louella McBrood and Edward R. Bow-Wow, entertained countless children in films, on TV and in shows from India to the White House.

Died. Robert Helberg, 61, Boeing aircraft scientist, builder of the immensely successful Lunar Orbiter spacecraft; of a heart attack; in Seattle. As the prime contractor's man in charge of the venture since inception in 1963, Helberg gets much credit for the five camera-bearing vehicles that whizzed around the moon and snapped some of the most dramatic pictures in all science.

Died. Benton Spruance, 63, U.S. lithographer; of a heart attack; in Germantown, Pa. Etching vibrant colors into stone, he treated stories ranging from the Minotaur legend to the life of St. Francis, and, as museums across the country (Washington's National Gallery, Manhattan's Whitney) collected his prints, earned major recognition, most recently for The Passion of Ahab, 30 prints illustrating Moby Dick.

Died. Oscar Diego Gestido, 66, President of Uruguay since last March; of a heart attack; in Montevideo. A former air force general, Gestido was elected to succeed a free-spending nine-man council and save Uruguay from bankruptcy. It seemed a futile hope until October, when soaring inflation and rumors of a coup spurred him to impose a series of stiff reforms, which were greeted by such howls of indignation that he was forced to declare martial law.

Died. William Littlewood, 69, aircraft engineer and longtime (1937-1963) vice president of American Airlines; of a heart attack; in St. Michaels, Md. Mass air transport was still just a dream in the early 1930s, when Littlewood went to Douglas Aircraft with detailed specifications for the plane that American wanted: twin engines, 200 m.p.h. for 1,425 miles, 21 passengers in reclining armchairs. The result was the DC-3, which became the sturdy backbone of worldwide air travel for 20 years.

Died. Bert Lahr, 72, longtime comic great; of a massive internal hemorrhage; in Manhattan. "A plumber doesn't go out with his tools," he once groused. "Does a comedian have to be funny on the street?" No, but Lahr (TIME cover, Oct. 1, 1951) was never without the tools of his art--a nose like a tulip bulb, a pair of glistening eyes, and an elasticized face--all combined with a gravelly voice and a gift of timing that made him a star on any stage. Born Irving Lahrheim, son of German immigrants, he was known as "the boy wonder" of burlesque and vaudeville by the time he was 23, moved up to Broadway and then took on Hollywood in 1931, stealing Judy Garland's heart as the mincing, simpering Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz (1939). He appeared in more than 25 other movies, but Hollywood was never his real game. "After all," he cracked, "how many lion parts can you get?" In 1946 he returned to the stage, where he proved his extraordinary comic range as the bewildered tramp in Beckett's Waiting for Godot, as the bumbling weaver-actor in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream, and as the old Athenian bridegroom in Aristophanes' The Birds.

Died. Dr. Bela Schick, 90, foremost pediatrician and developer of the Schick test for diphtheria; of pleurisy; in Manhattan. No man worked harder or more successfully to end terrors of childhood disease than this gentle, Hungarian-born doctor. In Vienna in 1913, he devised a simple scratch test to check a child's susceptibility to diphtheria, and need for inoculation. In later years, he charted ways to avoid aftereffects of scarlet fever and infant tuberculosis. From 1923 to 1942, he was at Manhattan's Mount Sinai Hospital, where he treated tens of thousands of youngsters, often scrambling around the floor making faces at his charges, never embarrassed because, as he said, "to be a good pediatrician, it helps to be a little childish yourself."

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