People: Feb. 25, 1966

Denmark’s King Frederik gave her a robust goodbye buss at the airport, and off flew Daisy on the first leg of her seven-week Latin American good-will tour. Stopping for a day in Manhattan, the lass submitted to a press conference at the Danish Consulate, where reporters started asking whom she’s been dating lately. “That’s a bit of an odd question,” she sniffed. There were other nosy queries, but at last they were done and the searing TV lights went off. Gasped Daisy, better known as Princess Margrethe, 25, who will some day be Queen of Denmark, of the Wends and the Goths, Duchess of Slesvig, Holstein, Stormarn, Ditmarsken, Lauenborg and Oldenborg: “Phew! That was hot!”

In his best deadpan North Carolinian, NBC-TV News Star David Brinkley, 45, informed the audience at Columbia University’s second Elmer Davis Memorial lecture: “It might be all right for a program like Danny Kaye’s or Lucille Ball’s to have a star. But when this system is carried over into television’s coverage of news, it is absurd, irrelevant and inappropriate. It may be that Huntley, Cronkite and I are the last of a type.” Good night, David.

ROME SANITATION WORKERS LOVE THE

POPE! bannered the big greeting sign. Pope Paul VI beamed back at the 3,000 spanking-clean garbagemen and street sweepers who showed up smelling as fresh as flowers for the Pontiff’s visit at the downtown Municipal Sanitation Center. “One should not be ashamed of one’s work,” the Pope told them solemnly. “What would our city be like if it were not for work like yours that keeps it clean?” The garbagemen shouted back, “Viva il Papa!” Then two days later they answered his rhetoric by going on strike, leaving mountains of refuse all over Rome.

And now, the King of the Cowboys! Out into center ring rode Roy Rogers, 53, handsomely astride a white circus-trained stallion. He should have stayed on Trigger. Appearing with the Ringling Bros, and Barnum & Bailey Circus in Greensboro, N.C., Roy got saddled with a spirited nag that objected to Western spurs. Or perhaps it was the way Roy sat the English saddle. The stallion reared and a crowd of 6,000 gasped as the King, like any dude, tumbled off, landing on his rump in the sawdust.

Well, as the lady’s husband explained, “she would rather be an actress than a clotheshorse anyway.” She certainly is no nag, and Clay Felker, the editor of the New York Herald Tribune’s Sunday magazine, very broadmindedly decided he didn’t mind having his wife, Actress Pamela Tiffin, 23, acting in briefs like that. Besides, even though Pamela thinks indolent Italian Marcello Mastroianni is the best actor she’s ever acted against, “next to James Cagney,” their parts in this picture, something unwholesome called Paranoia, have Marcello very neurotically trying to sell Pam into the harem of a lecherous sheik. Feet of Clay, no doubt.

“Retire?” cried Actress Helen Hayes at a Manhattan Book and Author luncheon. “Never. I’ll come back gratefully wagging my tail just as soon as someone offers me a good part that doesn’t depress me.” Helen already had the offer. Next day she reported that, at 65, she is beginning a new career as a repertory player with Manhattan’s Association of Producing Artists-Phoenix troupe. “It has brought back the glow to my cheeks,” raved Helen. “I’m thrilled at the prospect of the sort of plays that I love—plays of substance and hope.” The first hopeful part: doing Walt Whitman’s “mother-image” next season in We Comrades Three, a drama based on the poet’s work.

Having prowled among the adolescents of Samoa, the housewives of Bali and the husbands of the Mundugumor on New Guinea, Anthropologist Margaret Mead, 64, should be prepared for her next field trip. Next fall she will teach elementary anthropology at darkest Yale.

Poor Huntington Hartford, 54, can’t abide the lines at the movie houses. “It’s boring,” he sighed. “It’s always such a hassle to get to the movie and then go out somewhere else for the ball.” And so, being heeled to deal with things he can’t stand, Hunt brought the show to the ball. At his Fete de Fevrier, a small social for 600 to raise funds for his Foundation of Modern Art, he arranged to have the U.S. premiere of the film souffle, Made in Paris, held right after dinner in the New York Hilton’s Grand Ballroom. Over their coffee and tea, Salvador Dali and the rest of his friends settled back to watch Ann-Margret tumble in love with Louis Jourdan in the film, which was not such a ball after all.

We got trouble! Right here in Windy City! The very reverend himself had taken up a cue in a West Madison Street billiard parlor in Chicago to try to shove a ball in a pocket. Looking like the fiercest shark in the pool, Nobel Prizewinner Martin Luther King Jr., 37, was making the best of a bad leave on the eleven with a thin-cut one-rail shot to the corner. Cracked the preacher, who had hustled in from a civil rights walking tour of the city for the game: “I’m just shooting my best stick.” No masse demonstrations, please.