In New York County Surrogate's Court, the last will and testament of Marilyn Monroe was filed for probate, showing that for all her troubled personal life, her business affairs seemed in extraordinarily good order. Unencumbered by the debts, tax claims and pending lawsuits so common to Hollywood's money minters, the value of her estate was listed "in excess of $500,000," a legalism often meaning much more. She left $100,000 in trust for her mentally ill mother, $50,000 to her onetime secretary, May Reis, $93,750 to her Manhattan psychiatrist, Marianne Kris, the rest to her sister and friends, chief among them Method Director-Teacher Lee Strasberg, 60, who reportedly will get a munificent $240,000 and all her personal belongings.

Next to Hiroshima A-bomber the Enola Gay, an early-model B-17D named the Swoose was the most famous bomber in the Pacific Theater in World War II. Named after the hybrid hero of a hit song ("Half swan, half goose, Alexander is a swoose") and piloted by a nerveless captain named Frank Kurtz, the Swoose flew hundreds of missions in the South Pacific, once force-landed in the Australian bush with a covey of Congressmen aboard, but was jollied back into the air by Kurtz and his crew, who earned the grateful thanks of, among others, Texas Congressman Lyndon B. Johnson. Kurtz's outfit soon was known as "The Swoose Group," and when his first child was born, newspapers headlined that the stork had delivered "a new Swoosie." By some whim the name got entered on the little girl's birth certificate, and Mrs. Kurtz let it stand. Last week Swoosie Kurtz, 17, entered the University of Southern California to study drama, and it was obvious that the captivating blonde was all swan.

"I quit running at 95," he said, and he gave up mowing his own lawn at 98. Now on his 100th birthday, the Grand Old Man of Athletics, Amos Alonzo Stagg, was still active enough to surprise some 400 friends who had gathered in Stockton, Calif., to celebrate the great day. Against medical advice (Stagg's legs are growing weak and his sight is dimming), the man who invented the T formation and the huddle, never drank, smoked or cussed (his most scathing epithet: "quadruple jackass"), unexpectedly showed up at the party, gamely limped to the speaker's platform, where he listened to the tributes of his admirers. The old coach may not have noticed it, but his former players on the football, baseball, track and basketball teams that he coached for 70 years had hung a sign testifying to their regard for his teachings: "Sorry, folks. No alcohol sold tonight. Remember that the man we are honoring has refrained from the use of alcohol for 100 years."