People: Dec. 17, 1965

With fanfares from silver trumpets, the 1965 Nobel Prize winners stepped forward to accept the awards from Sweden’s King Gustav VI Adolf in Stockholm’s Concert Hall. Gathering afterward to compare their $56,400 notes were Harvard University’s Dr. Robert Burns Woodward, 48, with the prize for chemistry; Harvard’s Dr. Julian Schwinger, 47, and Dr. Richard P. Feynman, 47, of the California Institute of Technology, who share the physics prize with Tokyo’s Dr. Shin-ichiro Tomonaga, 59; Francois Jacob, 45, Andre Lwoff, 63, and Jacques Monod, 55, sharing the prize for medicine; and Cossack Novelist (And Quiet Flows the Don) Mikhail Shololchov, 60, who says he shares the prize for literature with the Soviet people even though the award does come “a little late.”

How do you cross a continent with a $2,300,000 Rembrandt without hiring a rent-a-tank? Play Santa Claus. California Industrialist Norton Simon, 58, had Rembrandt’s Titus brought to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art by Museum Registrar Frieda Kay Fall, who gift-wrapped it at Washington’s National Gallery where it’s been hanging for the past six months, labeled it “To Mother” and put it under her seat on the flight home.

Boston’s Crosscup-Pishon Post 281 of the American Legion printed its ecumenical announcements with pictures of its 1966 Good Government Award winners: Richard Cardinal Gushing, 70, Massachusetts Episcopal Bishop Anson Phelps Stokes Jr., 60, and Rabbi Roland B. Gittelsohn, 55, of Boston’s Temple Israel. Oops. The legionnaires discovered that Rabbi Gittelsohn had been a sponsor of the peace march on Washington, withdrew the rabbi’s award and printed new flyers showing Gushing and Stokes. Ouch. The Episcopal bishop protested that the rabbi had a right to protest and then himself refused the award. The Legion wearily ordered a third set of flyers picturing Gushing all by himself. The cardinal sighed, noted that “we have four priest-chaplains of the archdiocese serving the marines in Viet Nam” and expressed “heartfelt appreciation for the award.”

For about the 55th time, Librettist Alan Jay Lerner settled back to watch On a Clear Day You Can See Forever at Manhattan’s Mark Hellinger Theater. This time he brought along a fair lady, Jacqueline Kennedy, and afterward, as the cast applauded her backstage, Jackie smiled: “Oh, Alan, I haven’t seen anything I loved that much in years.” Lerner hadn’t gotten that big a rave in the seven weeks since the show opened, so he took the lady over to El Morocco and bought her a glass of champagne.

Juan Trippe, 66, didn’t even win his varsity letter at Yale and he once admitted ruefully: “I was a guard on a very poor football squad—we lost twice to Harvard and twice to Princeton in my two years.” But the National Football Foundation figured he would have got the “Y” if he hadn’t racked up his back in his sophomore year in 1919. Anyway, he’d run pretty well later on, founding Pan American Airways in 1927. Chairman and chief executive officer of Pan Am, Trippe accepted the foundation’s 1965 Gold Medal Award at the banquet in Manhattan’s Waldorf-Astoria and chuckled: “The selection committee must have gone berserk.”

It irritated some folks in California that Mrs. Ivy Baker Priest, 60, should have all those millions of dollars’ worth of free publicity in her campaign for the Republican nomination for state treasurer. Her real name has been Stevens ever since she married Real Estate Man Sidney Stevens four years ago, griped a Los Angeles registered nurse. Nonsense, said Ivy, “I’ve been using Ivy Baker Priest all along,” because she also has all the U.S. currency printed during the Eisenhower Administration circulating the name, which she signed as U.S. Treasurer. At last, Los Angeles Superior Court Judge Burnett Wolf son ruled that Ivy’s tender old name is legal.

Queen Elizabeth had been Christmas shopping among all the other jostling customers at Harrods department store in London. But when Harrods heard that the Beatles were coming, they arranged a privilege not granted to royalty, allowed the ragmopheads to do their buying after hours behind locked doors. While Harrods thus averted a mob scene, the boys were having trouble staging a riot sale on their own goodies. “Beatle John Lennon wishes to dispose of his 1965 Ferrari 330GT,” went the ad in the New York Times, and just below, there was Beatle George Harrison wishing to dispose of his 1965 Aston Martin DB5 Saloon. Sad to say, none of the faithful has so far been able to squeak together the total asking price of $27,580.