• U.S.

People: Mar. 25, 1966

5 minute read

Alas, he arrived in Manhattan too late on St. Patrick’s Day to march in the Fifth Avenue parade, even though he did sport a fine green tie. Britain’s Prince Philip, 44, in a green tie? “Just a coincidence,” chuckled the consort. Thus avoiding controversy and the I.R.A., Philip continued his U.S. tour to promote Variety Clubs International charities and British exports, proving himself quite a salesman while firmly denying that that was his mission. “Any country that can sell tea sets to Russians, export one million bedstead knobs in 1964 and persuade foreigners to buy water from Glasgow can be relied upon to sell anything,” he commercialized at a luncheon. As New York’s Senator Jacob Javits, a bit mixed up on titles, proclaimed: “He’s a very relaxed monarch.”

Washington’s Gridiron show was a gasser, but hardly worth the hangover it cost Runyonesque Rabelaisian Toots Shor, 62, who had lumbered down from his Manhattan diner for the party. Packing up the day after, big Toots tripped on a hotel carpet, performed a dive of a high degree of difficulty and belted his 250-lb. bulk down onto the floor.

On the way to the hospital with a broken leg, Toots was asked if he’d like a drink and, to show either the shock he was in or his sense of historic drama, he replied: “Yes, I’d like a Coke.”

Holy barracuda! Now, thanks to that diabolical device, the camera, the truth is out! Divested of his bat cowl, the caped crusader is none other than U.S. Federal Communications Commission Chairman E. William Henry, 37, who roared out of his cave to do a comic song-and-dance at a Multiple Sclerosis Society benefit in Washington. But an evildoer took his picture. Would the caped commissioner repeat the act before the Women’s National Democratic Club as requested? Would the network archenemies of ABC-TV’s Batman think the chairman was giving dastardly publicity to the bat channel by wearing puce powder-blue tights? Gleeps! Henry decided to stay out of the women’s club show. From now on he’ll stick close to his cave at the FCC.

At first it seemed like a nice way to patch up the feud between city hall and the press: a touch football game in Central Park on a Sunday afternoon. But the field was muddy, the city hall eleven was mean, and the city room team was rusty. New York’s Mayor John Lindsay, 44, made it clear that he can tackle all kinds of problems. “Anyone lays a hand on the mayor gets shot,” called a police detective from the sidelines as the game began. He was joking, but that was the end of the joke. Lindsay’s Lancers played touch like a varsity of muggers. His Honor himself drew 15 yds. for nearly throttling the opposition quarterback, one radio writer landed in the hospital with a broken knee, and several others limped home with scars and loosened teeth. Lindsay, however, left the field without so much as a limp handshake.

It had been a long, rugged winter in Washington, and Defense Secretary Robert McNamara, 49, was certainly due for a rest. The trouble is that Bob McNamara never exactly rests. Flying into Switzerland for a week’s skiing vacation at Zermatt, he started tearing down the most difficult slopes in expert style. “It’s great to get those problems out of your system for a while,” he grinned. “And they’re not bothering me with cables and phone calls.”

For years the improbable gastronome had been dropping into the late Henri Soule’s Le Pavilion restaurant whenever he came to Manhattan. When he did so, recalled an aide to the eatery’s famed owner, “M. Soule saw to it that there was a bottle of Romance Conti at his table. Two of his favorite dishes are poulet mascotte and filet tie boeuf pe-rigourdinc.” And so in Soule’s will, filed for probate in Manhattan-and leaving the bulk of his estate of more than $1,000,000, including proceeds from the eventual sale of Le Pavilion and his newer Cote Basque, to his widow Olga and sister Madeleine-he bequeathed “a watch to my dear friend J. Edgar Hoover,” the FBI’s bonded epicurean.

The bride’s father had warned:

“You’ll be lucky to have five days before the press finds you.” Actually, The Netherlands’ newlyweds had a little more time than that, partly because they were lucky enough to arrange for U.S. Air Force transports to whisk them from Europe to the Mexican border-a press-dodging ruse for which they paid the U.S. $2 more than two first-class commercial fares. Then, after eight days’ honeymoon-hiding from reporters, The Netherlands’ Crown Princess Beatrix, 28, and her German bridegroom, Clous von Amsberg, 39, were at last chased down by a crowd of photographers as they arrived on the little Mexican island of Cozumel. The royal couple promptly went into seclusion again at the villa of former Mexican President Adolfo Lopez Mateos.

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