People: Sep. 29, 1967

From the photo, it looked as if the Archbishop of Canterbury, 62, were being hustled off to the pokey—and in Las Vegas yet. Well, not quite. The Most Reverend and Right Honorable Arthur Michael Ramsey, stopping off for a day en route to an Episcopal conference in Seattle, was merely getting a V.I.P.’s reception, Nevada-style. His Grace drew a crowd of 8,000 businessmen, politicians and highrollers to the Convention Center for a talk on Christian unity. Las Vegas responded with a luncheon for 600, at which the Archbishop was observed guffawing at Comedian Danny Thomas. “Some of the jokes I understood,” said His Grace gracefully, “and others I didn’t.”

There was little chance that the item would have made the Moscow papers four years ago, when Nikita Khrushchev was in power and Son-in-Law Alelcsei Adzhubei was editor of Izvestia. But now Adzhubei, 43, is just a features editor on the magazine Soviet Union, and the Russian press was only too willing to note that he had been charged with reckless driving for running down a woman as she pushed her baby carriage across the street. Adzhubei could have been jailed for ten years if mother or child had been seriously injured. The woman did suffer a concussion, but the child was unhurt, and Adzhubei was let off with a small dose of humiliation and a public apology.

It started out like one more straightforward publicity triumph for India’s Reita Faria, 23, the reigning Miss World. Reita called a press conference in London to announce her efflorescence as a dress designer; a few days later, under the crest of Irvine Sellars’ House of Fashion, she modeled ten outfits that she said she had nimble-thimbled her self. Hold on, yelped Sellars Designer Jane Fox, 22. “I did the sketches, cut the material, had the patterns and samples cut. Reita Faria couldn’t tell sacking from silk.” Well, said dauntless Reita, “the ideas and the influence were mine.” Whose sari now?

New York’s Fordham University wanted a headliner for its liberal arts program, and it picked a winner. For a $30,000 salary, plus $70,000 for research assistants, the adventurous Roman Catholic university got Canada’s self-styled Mind-Massager Marshall McLuhan, 56, to come down for a year’s guest professorship. In his very first lecture, McLuhan told his 178 students that the Viet Nam war is “an all-outeducational effort” and that TV is “an Xray machine.” The one student who tried to take notes dissolved in utter confusion. But the rest were turned on—to say nothing of the reporters at a press conference where McLuhan went on about orchestra conductors (“janitors”) and the separation of church and state (“outlived its usefulness”). “It was a good show,” said campus Editor George Thomas. “He performed wonderfully for the press.”

Britain’s bookies had made Sir Winston Churchill the favorite at 3 to 1; Prince Charles and Princess Margaret were the second choices at 4 to 1. Not even Queen Elizabeth II (a 14 to 1 choice), who was to christen the ship, knew the name until launching day. Then, told the secret at last, the Queen stepped onto the platform at the bow of Britain’s new, 58,000-ton luxury liner and proclaimed: “I name this ship Queen Elizabeth II, and may God bless all who sail in her.”

It was the dangdest bunch of lobbyists anyone ever laid eyes on—a five-man Arkansas jug band appearing before a Senate subcommittee on behalf of Green Thumb, a Government project that gives old folks jobs beautifying Arkansas roadsides. As the jug band sawed away, someone passed out Green Thumb hard hats (worn as protection against falling tree branches). One of the hats wound up atop that dour Arkansan John McClellan, 71. Without a change in his grim expression, McClellan stood up and began dancing a jig to the Arkansas Traveler, all the while slapping at the hat to keep it in place. Before long it was too much even for Stoneface. “He’s actually smiling,” said an aide, and so he was.

“What we wanted to know,” explained an adman with London’s Ogilvy & Mather, “was whether the average girl’s tastes were way out and nouveau, or whether they were more traditional and sophisticated.” So the agency polled a sampling of London’s young ladies. Which of twelve women would the girls most want to look like? Twiggy, who figured to be an odds-on favorite, finished a very flat tenth. In front of her were a couple of more familiar matrons: Brigitte Bardot and Elizabeth Taylor. Ahead of them came Jacqueline Kennedy. At the top by a wide margin: Britain’s favorite model, Jean Shrimpton, 24, who pointed unerringly to her advantage over the likes of the Twig: “I’m not so thin.”