Names make news. Last week these names made this news:

On the auction block in Cairo: a confiscated, outsize frogman outfit, once the property of Egypt's bullfrogsize ex-King Farouk.

With mischief aforethought, Colorado Springs's Free Press sent sketches of the projected Air Force Academy (TIME, May 23) to cantankerous old (85) Architectitan Frank Lloyd Wright, asked him for his comments. Replied Wright: "[It looks to me] as if another factory had moved in where it should not be. [It] will probably be known as Talbott's Aviary, or, more realistically, a factory for birdmen." Then Wright, suggesting that sketches of the Academy's controversial, spare-ribbed chapel be studied for ten years and then thrown away, lowered a cantilevered boom on his Chicago competition: "When the great art of architecture comes down to this sort of thing--what is the right name for such violation of nature?"

A Manhattan publishing firm announced that its September list will include a "tender, searching" volume titled Love Poems. The poetess: Heiress Gloria Vanderbilt, 31, whose first published work follows her renown as amateur artist, professional actress (The Time of Your Life--TIME, Jan. 31), and the estranged wife of mellowing (73) Conductor Leopold Stokowski. Explaining the poetry's origin, Gloria's publisher said: "She filled her diary with poetry--her own poignant expression of a mood, the lonely torture of young love, the ecstasy of fulfillment--all intensely personal." No advance peeks at the verses were permitted, but Gloria herself offered a hint of their content: "All of my poems spill from life, from feelings . . . tender and thunderous, serene and raging and unique and true . . . Nothing is anything unless it is done from feeling, which is the same thing as nothing is anything unless it is done from and with love."

Off crutches only a few days earlier, Massachusetts' Democratic Senator John F. Kennedy, 38. reappeared on the Capitol steps in Washington. At last relieved of the effects of an old World War II naval battle injury by a spinal operation last October, Jack Kennedy looked tan and hardy after five months of Florida sun shine and home care from his pretty wife Jacqueline. Nor was his convalescence wasted time : he had written a book about memorable moments in the Senate's his tory, had kept up with its current meanderings by daily browsings through the windy Congressional Record. Chuckled he: "It was an inspiring experience."

On the home stretch of her Far Eastern tour in behalf of overseas blind, Helen Keller, an indomitable 74, arrived in Burma, was promptly introduced to Premier U Nu. She explored his face with her sensitive hands, pronounced him "a philosopher and a poet." Later, meeting reporters in Rangoon, Helen Keller was asked by Roving Journalist Vincent (Rage of the Soul) Sheean how she felt about one of Playwright George Bernard Shaw's loftier dicta, which, as Sheean recalled, went: "Of all Americans, Miss Keller is the least blind and deaf." Miss Keller replied: "That is not what he actually said. It was at a meeting with G. B. Shaw when Lady Astor introduced me as the great blind and deaf social worker. She kept trying to impress the testy Shaw and make him take more notice of me. He was goaded into saying, 'All Americans are blind, deaf and dumb.' " As the listening newsmen politely registered indignation, Social Worker Keller sixth-sensed their reaction, graciously exonerated Shaw: "I do not hold it against him. In fact, I am a great admirer of his witticisms . . . He would have been more gracious if Lady Astor had not provoked him."

In Rome, a civil court ruled that Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer had sometimes made Italy's great Tenor Enrico Caruso appear far less than great in the movie The Great Caruso. Awarded to Caruso's heirs, for MGM's reflections upon the family's honor: $8,300 damages.

As most elementary schools in all countries do, a French school in Cannes drummed up an essay project on the subject: "What I want to be when I grow up." Most significant paper was turned in by Pupil Pierre Thorez, 10, son of France's ailing, villa-dwelling Communist Boss Maurice Thorez. Wrote Pierre: "I want to become an admiral and command a fleet of battleships ... I would review the sailors while listening to music played by naval bands. I would wear feathers in my ceremonial hat and gold braid." It all sounded quite a bourgeois concept of an admiral, especially since the Russian admirals, who like the elder Thorez are under Kremlin orders, wear no feathers, sport no dress uniforms.

Dropping in at a U.S. base on Okinawa, General Maxwell D. Taylor, 54, commander in chief of U.N. forces in the Far East, soon shed his stars, leaped into some shorts, was a study in muscular alertness as he awaited the serve of his tennis opponent. Later this month, he will shift his strategy to Washington, where he will take over from retiring General Matthew B. Ridgway as Army Chief of Staff.

Gathering at their home in Corbeil, Ont., Student Nurses Cecile and Yvonne, Piano Student Annette and Homebody Marie Dionne, survivors of the famed quintuplets (Emilie died during an epileptic seizure last August), celebrated their 21st birthday at a quiet family party. Without ceremony, they signed papers to carve up their trust fund of nearly $1 million. The shares: some $197,000 apiece, plus amounts of about $14,000 (from Emilie's portion) to each of them and to the other ten members of the family.

Indonesia's fickle Premier All Sastroamidjojo, in his own republic a wooer of politicians of all colors, spots and stripes, vastly enjoyed a trip to Peking, where he was greeted by Red China's Boss Mao Tse-tunq and assiduously wooed by Premier Chou Enlai, the suavest of all Red Romeos. On his arrival at Peking airport, Sastroamidjojo helped the courtship off to a cordial start by congratulating both Communist China and Indonesia for their common success in "overcoming a long period of colonial rule." At the portals of Berlin's gloomy Spandau Prison camped newsmen and photographers, awaiting the release of War Criminal Karl Doenitz, 63, onetime grand admiral of the German fleet and last, short-term (23 days) chief of the Nazi state. Sentenced to a ten-year stretch in October 1946, Doenitz has already, from the time of his arrest, put in a decade behind bars. At week's end, however, there were no pictures. Diplomatic insiders leaked the news that Admiral Doenitz will not be sprung until he has served his sentence through its final second.

Nearly five years after Italian-born Nuclear Physicist Bruno Pontecorvo stole away for a long weekend in the U.S.S.R., Britain's Home Office locked the door. After slipping behind the Iron Curtain in 1950, Communist Pontecorvo, 41, did not pop up in public again until last March, when he proudly waved a new passport at newsmen in Moscow and crowed: "I am a Soviet citizen!" This left the British with little choice but what they did last week: stripping naturalized British Subject Pontecorvo of his citizenship on the ground that "by act and speech" he was "disloyal or disaffected" in taking his headful of A-and H-bomb secrets to Russia.

At Monte Carlo's sumptuous Hotel de Paris, Dominican Playboy Porfirio Rubirosa confided that his romance with Cinemactress Zsa Zsa Gabor is still hot, although their marriage prospects are cold. Murmured he: "Marriage does something to a love affair, takes something delightful out of it. There is a piquancy about love --when two people know they can leave each other--that never exists inside the circle of a wedding ring."

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