People, Feb. 24, 1936

"Names make news." Last week these names made this news:

Asked by a Swiss photographer to look up from his play on the shore of an Alpine pond, Siam's canny King Ananda Mahid01,11, demanded 30¢, got it.

To see a production of Victoria Regina (TIME, Dec. 30), Playwright Laurence Housman, brother of famed Poet A. E. Housman, sailed from England, where his play was banned, to Manhattan. "I am," complained he, "the most censored of British playwrights. Bernard Shaw has had only four plays censored. I have had 32." The original version of Victoria Regina was a series of 32 one-act plays. Because three of Victoria's children, the Duke of Connaught, Princess Beatrice and the Princess Louise, were living, the Lord Chamberlain banned them all. Chuckled Playwright Housman last week: "We gave a private performance of the play and one of the ladies in waiting attended for Queen Mary to see if everything was all right. She reported favorably to Her Majesty, who then sent for the script. 'Dear, dear,' she said. 'There are only two plays that I wanted to see and I am forbidden to see either of them.' " Concluded Playwright Housman proudly: "They were my play and Shaw's Apple Cart." To Father Charles Edward Coughlin, who called him "a servant of the money changers," New York's Representative John Joseph O'Connor, sent the following telegram: "If you will please come to Washington, I shall guarantee to kick you all the way from the Capitol to the White House, with clerical garb and all the silver in your pockets which you got by speculating in Wall Street. . . ." Said the Radio-Priest: "I'll be on the Capitol steps at 10 o'clock Wednesday morning, Feb. 26."

Pleading with the Texas State Board of Control to repair the roof of the Executive Mansion, Governor James V. Allred declared: "When it rains hard we sometimes need tubs. Often I have to move my bed."

Revisiting Boys High School, Brooklyn, after 26 years, Florida's plump-jowled, energetic Governor Dave Sholtz examined the 1910 yearbook, which listed his nickname as "Busy Izzy."

Heavily muffled and bundled against the cold, Idaho's Senator William Edgar Borah is taking his daily stroll in Washington's Rock Creek Park. He is set upon by two young women in men's clothes. One pinions his arms. The other fumbles beneath his heavy overcoat in search of his wallet. The Senator breaks loose, casts about with his cane, whistles shrilly. Foiled, the two young women turn, flee.

When the Washington Daily News delightedly broke this story, Senator Borah dismissed it as nonsense. Newshawks-ap-pealed to Mrs. Borah. Bubbled she: "It would be too bad to spoil such a beautiful, sensational story. It happened right between our house and Kalorama corner on busy Connecticut Avenue. It was one of those bitter nights."

The Senator: "Mrs. Borah is perpetrating a joke. There's nothing to it."

Out of her private Pullman car in New Orleans bounced red-headed Editor Eleanor ("Cissy") Patterson of the Washington Herald, crowing: "I'd give everything I've got to be young and husky and a newspaper reporter. And would I be one hell-roaring reporter!''