People: Sep. 27, 1982

His salad days may be over, but his dressing still cuts the mustard. Chef de Cinéma Paul Newman, 57, is hustling his chef-d’oeuvre, an oil-and-vinegar salad dressing labeled Newman’s Own, “l’étoile du vinaigre et de l’huile—l’huile et le vinaigre des étoiles ” (the star of vinegar and oil, the oil and vinegar of the stars). Newman, a man for all seasonings who is not otherwise much of a culinary performer, has been brewing the au naturel dressing in his Connecticut cave for years and giving the bottles away as Christmas gifts. With a pinch of immodesty, he says he became “a prisoner of my own excellence.” With the help of his chum A.E. Hotchner, 62, whose concoctions are usually literary (Papa Heming way), the actor is marketing the dressing in supermarkets around the country. The bottle, adorned with Newman’s visage and the glint of his Iceberg-blue eyes, is priced between $1.19 and $1.39. The profits, if any (some critics say the vinaigrette reeks of dehydrated onion and garlic), will go to tax-deductible charities and causes selected to Newman’s taste.

His fingers are unearthly batons. The furrows on his brow resemble a music staff, and his body is about the size of a shriveled cello. He can hear the harmony of the spheres, and his rhythm is out of this world. So E.T. seemed to be marching to the beat of an interstellar drummer when he waddled onto the stage of the Hollywood Bowl, in a surprise appearance after Maestro John Williams conducted the theme from E.T. Williams, 50, who composed the score for E. T. as well as for Star Wars, graciously shook hands with the world’s most familiar otherworldly character (animated on this occasion by a midget within). The audience went wild. Who knows, E.T. may now develop an itch for show biz. Cut to the munchkin megastar, reclining by the pool, sporting dark shades, puffing a cigar. A voice over the loudspeaker says, “E.T, phone office.”

Old rock bands never die, they just give farewell concert tours. Can it be true? The Who, those open-throttled apostles of adolescent rebellion who once sang “Hope I die before I get old,” will retire quietly like four old pensioners? Is Peter Townshend’s flailing guitar now gently weeping for its lost youth? Confessing that touring is too difficult for “old guys like us,” seraphic-looking Lead Singer Roger Daltrey, 38, has announced that their American journey—beginning this week with a sold-out date at the Capital Centre in Maryland—is their last waltz. But don’t consign them to premature senility quite yet, for the band will continue to make albums and perform in a few concerts. In other words, the answer to “After The Who, who?” is The Who, Phase 2.

Like its namesake, the bald eagle, the Eagle Scout is something of an endangered species. Only an exiguous 2.5% of all Boy Scouts become Eagles, and the number of Scouts as a whole has dwindled. Yet be prepared for this statistic: the 1 millionth Eagle Scout, Alexander Holsinger, 13, made the grade last week. And it seemed perfectly fitting that he hailed from Normal, Ill. Even Normal Scouts, though, are rather more cosmopolitan than their earliest predecessors were in 1912. In addition to old standbys like rubbing two sticks together, today’s Scouts must study things like the fine points of the U.N. Charter. At the ceremony, Holsinger, despite having pledged to uphold the Scout motto, seemed unprepared for a telephone call from the genial Old Scout himself, Ronald Reagan, Honorary President of the Boy Scouts of America. Gasped Holsinger: “I thought I was going to faint.”

—By Richard Stengel