People, Dec. 29, 1958

Steely-eyed customs lawmen at London Airport prodded the carpetbags of TV Horse Operactor Hugh (Wyatt Earp) O’Brian, got neither whimper nor glare from the traveling guntoter as they took temporary custody of three Colt .45s, one 14-in. long-barreled Buntline Special, 850 rounds of blank ammunition. On hand to keep Britain’s cowpoke fans in the saddle by starring in a wild West hootenanny, the frisked visitor jovially drawled an apology for appearing in grey flannel: “Shucks. I’d feel rather ridiculous riding around in the marshal’s outfit.”

For the 150th anniversary of the birth of Abraham Lincoln, President Eisenhower approved the first change in the penny’s design since the Indian disappeared in 1909. By Feb. 12, the U.S. Mint will be well stocked with bright new copper coins. On the face will be the familiar, haggard profile. On the reverse side will be a new front view of the Lincoln Memorial, a rearrangement of the old words: “One Cent.” “United States of America.” “E Pluribus Unum.”

Churning out a verse for friends’ Christmas cards. Veteran Poet Robert Frost, 84, turned his still-sure ironic hand to musings on the afterlife, stubbornly concluded his six-stanza effort (Away!) with a sardonically Frosty threat:

And I may return

If dissatisfied

With what I learn

From having died.

With the frazzled stare of a gal who wants to wash that fiber right out of her hair, svelte Capital Hostess Gwen Cafritz unwoolled herself after posing implausibly as Santa at a benefit. Supposedly a surprise to the guests, Gwen’s gambit had been detected by ear-to-the-martini-tray Columnist George Dixon, who ungallantly told all in the Washington Post and Times Herald the day before.

Happily home in Athens after two months of successful junketeering in the U.S.. where she handled everything from White House luncheons and atomic-science briefings to roadside snacks, e.g., a prickly-pear cactus malted at the Grand Canyon, lively Queen Frederika of Greece graciously turned the other cheek for a warming buss from King Paul, who stayed put to mind the palace.

Nine years away from the West End stage, frolicsome Actress Sarah Churchill buckled down for her mantelshelf solo as the protagonist in a forthcoming production of Sir James Barrie’s Peter Pan. At 44, comely Sarah will be one of the oldest of 32 London Peters (among them: Elsa Lanchester, Edna Best) to flit across the Darling’s nursery, nonetheless seemed ready to navigate her nearly 600 yds. of flying weekly in the sentimental old wheeze. Sure to be on hand for the opening: her parents. Sir Winston and Lady Churchill, who booked eight seats.

Braving the wrath of a doting papa, heavyweight Wagnerian Diva Helen Traubel had some grim memories (in the Ladies’ Home Journal) about her three years (1948-51) as teacher to semi-retired Soprano Margaret Truman. Not only was [Margaret’s] voice “inexperienced and rather bad,” said Traubel, but her own stature in the musical world went heavily down “for ever having my name connected with such a musical aspirant. My first, greatest and unconquerable difficulty with Margaret’s voice was simply keeping her on key. There simply was not enough of everything—or of anything to make her really a concert or light-opera singer. She failed because she had no gift for self-criticism.”

Back in Manhattan after finishing her first film role in two years (as a hip-rolling cutie in Director Billy Wilder’s Some Like It Hot), distraught Cinemactress Marilyn Monroe rested in seclusion from a bitter blow: only 16½ months after doctors had removed an embryo by surgery to save her life (TIME. Aug. 12, 1957). a miscarriage had, after some three months, ended her latest try for motherhood.

To the graduating class of the R.A.F. College at Cranwell. England, Air Marshal Sir Richard Atcherley, chief of the service’s flight training program, confided: “You are going to be passed out by a mountebank who never passed in.” The Atcherley secret: on their first try for Cranwell, Sir Richard and his twin brother David (killed in a 1952 air crash) flunked their physicals, he for weak eyes, David for a tricky kidney. Two months later they tried again. “In a contingency of this sort,” said the marshal, “there are obvious advantages in being twins. So when we returned, with very little subterfuge on our parts, the doctors got us completely mixed up. I passed in with flying colors on David’s eyes, and he on the strength and quality of my—er—more vulgar but nonetheless useful contribution.”

No teammates could help with key blocks, but Army’s sinewy, scholarly All-American Halfback Pete Dawkins scored anyway. Superstar Dawkins. whose home is Royal Oak, Mich., was one of four from the Great Lakes area elected to the coveted Rhodes scholarships at Oxford, elatedly announced that he would study philosophy, politics, economics.