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

Burly Cinematenor Mario [The Great Caruso'] Lanza, a devil-may-care sort of swashbuckler with four playful children, found himself in a peck of trouble in California courts. Net of two separate damage suits against him: home-wrecking --in the literal, unromantic sense. His hectic week began when a judge awarded a whopping $40,361.66 to a Beverly Hills couple named Kaiser to undo the swath cut through their $200,000 house in a mere 28 months by former Tenant Lanza and brood. (Lanza's lawyer promptly cried foul, claimed that the default decision was illegal because his client was never served with papers in the case.) Among the highlights listed in the Kaisers' complaint: 1) all the draperies had to be replaced because Lanza's dogs preferred them to trees or fire hydrants, 2) the roof leaked badly after TV Fan Lanza's five antennas were ripped out, 3) a hand-carved piano leg was tooth-carved, 4) all doors had to be rehung. Wailed Mrs. Kaiser: "[Amidst] the debris, dirt, filth and desecration . . . only the ceilings were intact." Couple of days later, a long-postponed suit, brought against ex-Tenant Lanza by another Hollywood landlord asking $17,000 for Lanzarations wrought on another $200,000 mansion, came up for trial, was again put off (so that lawyers could dicker over a cash settlement).

Movie fans with fading memories of a freckle-faced little girl got a jolt when onetime Cinemoppet Margaret {Journey for Margaret} O'Brien, 18, winner of a special 1944 Academy Award (as the year's best all-round child actress), marched up and got a diploma from Los Angeles' University High School.

A resolute entrant in his state's championship tennis tournament, New Jersey's outdoorsy Democratic Governor Robert B. Meyner, unseeded, wielded his racket as if he meant it, wound up with politics still a more rewarding dish for him. Weekend Tennist Meyner, 46, was eliminated, in his first round, in straight sets, 4-6, 3-6.

Touring her realm's hinterland, Greece's vivacious Queen Frederika, in a sporty getup, was in gay spirits at a festival in her honor in an Epirus village, won smiles and applause from the townsfolk as she stepped adroitly through the paces of a folk dance, relaxed folksily afterwards.

Purpling at rumors that he plans to sell his St. Louis Cardinals baseball club, Beer (Budweiser) Baron August ("Gussie") Busch foamed: "This is the lousiest, dirtiest, meanest thing that has ever happened to me . . . Damn it, that's the biggest kick I get out of life any more--even when we have a season like this one." With the team in seventh place in the National League, Owner Busch was still aghast to consider his own fate if he were to sell it down the river: "My life wouldn't be worth a plugged nickel in St. Louis. My God, I'd consider selling the brewery before I'd sell the Cards!"

One of the nation's most sought-after commencement speakers, phrasemaking Democrat Adlai Stevenson, hied himself to Ohio's Oberlin College and, after making a rare sour face while groping to adjust his mortarboard, spoke to 283 graduates about next month's Big Four parley. Along the way he wished President Eisenhower well in his efforts at the summit: "If we think war is inevitable, if we regard every Soviet proposal as a trick and a trap . . . then we the people will have ruled out bargaining. Not even the President can negotiate if we tie his hands . . . And we shall have to learn that diplomacy by hindsight is not good . . . learn not to denounce our representatives as traitors or suspicious characters if anything goes wrong in the future. Trading used to be considered a Yankee talent and I think it still is--even by Republicans--if we don't put our traders in a straitjacket or scare them stiff in advance."

In a special tribute to two of Britain's most popular radio stars, the British Broadcasting Corp. accorded an unprecedented nostalgic hour to two oldtime Hollywood veterans, Ben Lyon, 55, and bubbly Bebe Daniels, 54-real-life mainstays of BBC's Life With the Lyons, and U.S. expatriates in England for the past 19 years. The occasion: the Lyons' 25th wedding anniversary. At their glittering Hollywood wedding in 1930, Gossipist Louella Parsons was matron of honor, a gangling young oil heir named Howard Hughes was an usher, semi-retired Cinemactress Mary Pickford lent her own lace handkerchief to Bride Bebe as "something borrowed, something blue." BBC's sentimental Lyonization of the couple was sprinkled with recorded congratulations from Cinemaestro Cecil B. DeMille, fellow Expatriate Douglas Fairbanks Jr., was climaxed by the singing debut of the Lyons' daughter Barbara, 23, warbling Bebe's old hit, Rio Rita. There was scarcely a dry eye in the broadcasting studio nor among BBC's doting listeners.

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