People: Jun. 23, 1967

The 65 girls in the graduating class of the Shipley School in Bryn Mawr, Pa., listened with solemn commencement faces as Dwight Eisenhower, 76, spoke to them of the glories of education and the unwisdom of picking a political leader "by his beauty or by his shock of hair." All of a sudden the girls began giggling and looking nervously at their knee-length skirts. The former President, basing his remarks on the fact that "I have been looking at good-looking girls since I was six," sounded off with some unexpected and decidedly unpolitical opinions about ladies' fashions. "Ankles are nearly always neat and good-looking," said Ike, whose 18-year-old granddaughter Anne was among the graduates, "but knees are always knobby." Then he calmed the miniskirt generation by adding with a smile: "I know you don't agree with me. Neither do the women in my family."

As Eisenhower was pausing to study the knee, Britain's dashing Prince Philip, 46, was scouting the higher ground. On a visit to the fashion-design department at Salford Technical College, Lancashire, the duke's eye fastened disapprovingly upon a miniskirt worn by 18-year-old Lorraine Hillier. "You are not being generous enough," he chided. "Compared with others, you are not showing enough leg." Since her hem was already three inches above the knee, Lorraine could but blush and tee-hee, but later she went solemnly to the heart of the matter: "My boy friend would like them shorter too. He's like the duke. All men are the same."

Wisconsin's Democratic Senator William Proxmire, 51, is a man of such nut-brown energy that he begins the day with assorted situps, nip-ups, bends, lifts, kicks, flutters, isometrics and 300 pushups. Neither these nor his labors in the Senate give him quite the exercise he craves. Last week a startled photographer caught the Senator in sweatshirt and tennis shorts midway through a brisk jog from home to work —a lung-flaying distance of 4.7 paved miles between Cleveland Park and Capitol Hill that Proxmire traces every morning, retraces every night. He covers the route in 35 minutes, beating the bus by 15 minutes, and estimates that he saves "about $1,000 a year by not having an extra car. The regimen agrees with me beautifully," says Proxmire, admitting to only one hardship: "When it gets near zero, my hands get awfully cold."

When it comes to exciting the citizenry, Flag Day usually ranks somewhere between Arbor Day and groundhog day, but Denver managed to come up with a bit of the old whoop and whistle last week. Some 20,000 people lined the streets as Lieut. General Lew Walt, 54, just back from his two-year stint as commanding officer of the Marines in Viet Nam, perched on the rear seat of a 1912 International Autowagon and led a parade of school bands, color guards, flag-waving children and the 70-man Marine Recruit Depot Band. Rousing as it all was, the real kick for Walt was his return visit to Colorado State University at Fort Collins, where the toughest general in the Corps posed beamishly in a football helmet, much like the one he'd worn as an all-conference guard and team captain in 1935.