Me Tarzan, who you? For the next two or three weeks Bobby Kennedy Jr., 20, will be swinging through the Kenya bush. As star and narrator of a forthcoming TV series, The Last Frontier, Bobby plays himself, an American city boy learning how to live in the wilds of Africa. His part demands several dangerous encounters, including a puffadder handling exhibition. So far he has demonstrated his cool by dangling at the end of a rope over the face of a sheer, 250-ft. cliff to inspect a vulture's nest. Then, wearing a bracelet of elephant's hair to deter a tusker's charge, he stepped out to meet the warriors in a Masai village. Recognizing Bobby right away as a brother, the ocher-smeared men shared a gourd of ox blood and milk with him. But he may have to do something about his hair. "The Masai men have elaborate hair styles molded with mud and ocher," explained long-haired Bobby. "They kept fingering my hair to see if it was real."

If Lloyd's of London insures the U.S. vice presidency against sporting gaffes, the premium must have risen last week. Vice President Jerry Ford stepped up to the first tee at a celebrity golf tournament in suburban Minneapolis and sliced his ball 150 yds. into the rough. It hit a tree, then ricocheted off the left side of the head of Spectator Tom Gerard, 17. Pronounced fit, Gerard, a high school senior, became the fifth survivor of inadvertent vice-presidential assault in recent years. Spiro Agnew beaned three spectators on the links and stunned Golf Pro Doug Sanders in a benefit tourney. Ford had another narrow escape after he had dealt with Tom. On the 16th tee he zapped the golf cart carrying two reserve police officers. Later, Ford, dressed in knickers and cap, took his wife Betty, in black satin and feather boa, to a Great Gatsby party in Washington. There they captured the prize for best costume. Jerry's award was almost too apt: a graphite club.

Richard Burton, 48, is a lonely man. There are lawyers, advisers, gofers, groupies, of course, and until last week, there was Liz. Now Dick must struggle on alone--or almost. Looking grim but fit the day after Liz obtained a Swiss divorce, Burton sailed from Manhattan to Europe last week accompanied by Ellen Rossen, 27, daughter of late Film Director Robert Rossen. Ellen and Burton got to know each other during the making of Daddy's epic Alexander the Great, released in 1956. Other meetings followed. Apparently Teen-Ager Ellen was a welcome backstage visitor when Dick starred in Camelot on Broadway in the early '60s. With Liz gone, Ellen has told friends, Dick really needs someone to talk to. So a couple of days before he was due to sail, Ellen, who is a writer-producer for a syndicated television news service, stepped up to her boss's desk and confessed: "I've been up all night trying to arrive at this decision. I'm leaving for Europe." Dick did not deny she might be Mrs. B. No. 3. But, he said, "I've known her since she was five years old, so it would seem like incest."

The affair was proving to be more taxing than Madame le Maire had budgeted for. Still "it is rare that a mother gets the pleasure of marrying her own son," said Baronne Alix de Rothschild last week as, in her capacity as mayor of the little Norman village of Reux, she prepared to wed her son David, 31, to Italian Heiress Olimpia Aldobrandini, 18. After the public town-hall ceremony and a religious service, the megamillion merger was to be toasted by the pick of tout Paris, many of them brought to the baronne's chateau by special train. Solving such problems as whether to serve Pol Roger or Moet et Chandon (solution: serve both) and the arrangement of bushels of country flowers was at least as exhausting as Mayor de Rothschild's more commonplace concerns, such as the town's road repair. At the end of it all, she said distractedly, there may be "plus de maire et plus de mere"--no more mayor and no more mother left.

Say, who does Princess Grace think she is, anyway? Last week in St.-Tropez, Sammy Davis Jr. counted up the snubs he had received in her domain. When he graciously agreed to headline the opening gala of Monte Carlo's posh new Sporting Club, Sammy accepted $30,000 in expenses, plus a specially hired eight-berth yacht. Still, the way he saw it, "I was giving a free performance." Then there was the matter of his arrival. "There was no one to meet me at the airport," he groused, ignoring the Air France director, the pretty girls bearing flowers and the limos--all of which were on hand at the Nice international airport, even though Sammy and his party of 16 arrived the day after he was expected. No sooner in Monaco than he was miffed again. The Rainiers were entertaining the players in a pro celebrity tennis tournament and had failed to include him. Next day, several hours before he was due to sing, Sammy boarded the Silver Gate and sailed away. Comic Bill Cosby retrieved the evening with the help of Burt Bacharach, Desi Arnaz Jr. and Josephine Baker. Grace remained serene. "When people get that pampered," she sighed, "there's not much you can do."

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