Whom might Novelist Meyer Levin have been thinking of when he wrote Gore and Igor (see BOOKS), about a randy, globe-hopping Russian poet whose inspiration goes from bed to verse? Nobody knows, naturally, but Evgeny Evtushenlco, 34, did happen to be whooping around South America on publication day. As if to make Levin's publisher even happier, Evtushenko was seen with a mysterious, unnamed Chilean admirer, who followed him to Montevideo and checked into an adjoining hotel room. Come check-out time and the Dark Lady of the Sonnets was still with him, hiding discreetly in one corner of the lobby while Evgeny bellowed at photographers: "Just one picture of me alone!" Then the poet and his muse popped into a Russian embassy car and headed for the airport, whence they left for parts unknown.

Unfrocked Heavyweight Champion Muhammad Ali, 26, born Cassius Clay, is not quite the patsy that Havana Radio thought he was. Castro's crier expected Cassius to contribute a few bitter words about the U.S. in connection with the opening in Havana of a movie biography, Cassius Clay, made by a French company but not released in the U.S. A Cuban reporter reached him by phone, began pumping him with on-the-air questions about everything from boxing to Viet Nam. Hold on, said Cassius: "This interview will not make me any money. No money, no conversation." Humphed Havana Radio: "We know something more about this boxer. Goodbye, Mr. Money."

Off the cold campaign trail and into a warm New York reception stepped dissident Democratic candidate Senator Eugene McCarthy, 51. The Minnesotan, who had spent the week slogging through wintry New Hampshire, found a more congenial welcome at the Manhattan town house of Socialite Gloria Vanderbilt Cooper. About 200 friendly writers, artists and jet-setters crowded around to hear him proclaim that "it is necessary now to admit to a kind of complete failure in Viet Nam." Poet Robert Lowell responded on the spot by announcing that he has formed a brand-new National Committee of Arts and Letters for McCarthy for President.

While South African Surgeon Christiaan Barnard, 44, pushed up his publicity chart in South America, some symptoms appeared back home--though not in the transplanted heart of recuperating Patient Philip Blaiberg (see MEDICINE). Barnard's wife Louwtjie, 39, in an interview with London's Sunday Express, had some heartfelt words about "this whole business of fame." Said Louwtjie: "The whole world is showering rose petals on Chris. He's getting fabulous offers, and women from all over the world write love letters to him. Suddenly he can do no wrong. But he can. He's not a saint. When Chris walks in our door, he walks into reality. If you pat a man on the back too often, he loses his balance and falls. I'm here to see that that never happens."

Now that he is 64, Choreographer George Balanchine's appearances as a dancer are rare and treasured, and he puckishly refuses to give out word of them in advance. The result, as New York Times Critic Clive Barnes put it, is that "picking which ballet he will do has become one of the greatest spectator sports since strip poker." Last week the great ballet master materialized for the first time this season--in the title role of his ballet Don Quixote--fluttering the audience like a stone thrown among pigeons. Sighed Barnes: "A legitimate thrill such as hearing Mozart play Mozart."

As historical footnotes go, this one was a gem--the news that Turkey's late Kemal Atatuerk its first President, had called the British ambassador to his deathbed in 1938 and offered to make him the next President of Turkey. The incredible story appeared last week as part of an otherwise sobersided biography of the late British diplomat, Sir Pierson Dixon, written by his son. Before the Turks could protest, Tory M.P. Sir Charles Mott-Radclyffe, a former diplomat, explained that it was all a 30-year-old joke perpetrated by himself. He had written a phony cable about Atatuerk's dying offer as a satire on diplomatese and shown it to Sir Pierson, his colleague. Dixon thought it so funny he took it home and stuck it, among his papers, where his unsuspecting son found it.

Could Chief Justice Earl Warren, 76, be a litterbug? That's what Robert I. Schramm, 29, legislative assistant to Georgia's Senator Herman Talmadge, claimed. Schramm bought a Washington town house bordering a vacant lot leased by the Supreme Court for employee parking. Evidently the lot was also used by the whole neighborhood as a combination dump and doggie-run. Schramm tried complaining to the Supreme Court building's superintendent, the Board of Health, the Supreme Court marshal and the coal company that owns the lot--all of whom passed the buck. Schramm finally filed suit, naming Warren as one of the three defendants. Next morning at 8 a.m., two janitors appeared to clean up.

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