People: Dec. 6, 1968

On her 6,000-mile "Farewell Tour" of the U.S., Lady Bird Johnson strolled through the cathedral-like majesty of the redwood country of northern California. Pausing at the base of a 657-year-old giant, she placed a plaque designating the 27,000-acre Redwood National Park, a project that has pitted the Government and conservationists against private lumber concerns that have been felling great swatches of the dwindling redwood stands. "This is the crowning moment of a crusade that has lasted two generations," she said. "It would be a tragedy if tomorrow's tourists find a repetition of yesterday's mistakes: neon strips and honky-tonks."

In Germany, a country that has found little glory in World War II, one name still carries a hero's laurels: Erwin Rommel, brilliant Desert Fox of North Africa, admired by the Allies, despised by Hitler, who gave him a choice of suicide or execution for his role in the abortive 1944 plot against der Fűhrer (Rommel chose suicide). In West Germany today, streets and military barracks are named for Rommel. Now comes another honor: West Germany's biggest warship, a 4,500-ton guided-missile destroyer will be christened the Erwin Rommel.

One of Vice President Hubert Humphrey's favorite forms of relaxation is taking to the fields for a brisk go at game-bird hunting. Last week, for a day, he was able to indulge in his hunting hobby on a private preserve, and by noon he and his party had knocked down 75 birds for the bag. When asked by a reporter about his future plans, Humphrey smiled cryptically and said he expected to have "something to announce by Christmas. A semipublic position." That mystery introduced, the Veep potted a few more pheasant, then winged off to his Minnesota home for the holiday.

It was one of those moments that every performer dreads. Pianist Vladimir Horowitz was halfway through Rachmaninoff's Sonata in B-Flat at Manhattan's Carnegie Hall. And then—poing!—the sound of string #17 (bass A-note) giving way on the Steinway concert grand. An embarrassed unease settled over the hall while a technician frantically made repairs. Finally, Horowitz completed the piece and responded to the thunderous ovation with four encores. Said the famed firm's president, Henry Z. Steinway: "Each time this happens I want to crawl into the woodwork." Soothed Horowitz: "It's like a flat tire—it can happen any time." The odds: once in every 5,000 performances.

When Hong Kong's leftist Chinese spattered the British colony with posters proclaiming "Long Live Chairman Mao," it was hardly surprising. But there were other signs shrieking "Go Home Gregory Peck," and that seemed curious. What upset the left wing was The Chairman, a film in which Peck plays a U.S. scientist who enters Red China to help a Chinese colleague escape from Mao's clutches. The Chinese press railed at the moviemakers for "insulting the cultural revolution and provoking 700 million Chinese people." In Hong Kong, the anti-Peck campaign, complete with bomb threats and promises of demonstrations, finally reached a point where the government canceled the filming, which sent everyone off to Taiwan to shoot remaining scenes.