As onetime Secretary of the Interior Albert Bacon Fall lay in an Albuquerque hospital recovering from pneumonia, the famed 1,000,000-acre Three Rivers Ranch in New Mexico, on which Secretary Fall said he spent the $100,000 bribe which he took from Oilman Edward L. Doheny in the Teapot Dome scandal, was sold for a dude ranch.

Finding him "grossly negligent in the performance of his duties as a director," Judge John Clark Knox ruled in Manhattan Federal Court that pious, stockbreeding Chain-Storeman James Cash Penney, as chairman (and only non-dummy director) of Miami's defunct City National Bank, must pay for losses sustained by depositors and stockholders when the bank flopped in 1930. Likely sum due depositors (in addition to the 40% already paid them): $3,500,000.

In Washington to tell a grand jury about his campaign contributions, thin, knife-faced Tycoon Lammot du Pont backed off when cameramen began an encircling movement. Explained Photophobe Du Pont: "One time I received a letter asking for the loan of $15,000 from a fellow who said he had seen my picture in the paper and knew I would give him the money because my face was 'so kind.' He sent the clipping. It was a picture of someone else."

Onetime Lightweight Champion Benny Leonard, 44, and his old rival, hammer-hitting Lew Tendler, 42, sparred three rounds at a Philadelphia exhibition for charity, accorded each other the victory. Both now run restaurants, Leonard in Manhattan, Tendler in Philadelphia. Boxer Benny, who won a famous fight from Tendler in 1922 mostly by his wits, had already explained how the paunch-pushing would go: "He's going to hit me with a left hook--not too hard--and I'm going to talk him out of the fight all over again."

After announcing he might seek draft deferment because his football team needed him (TIME, Jan. 20), Sportsman-Socialite Dan Topping, angel of the Brooklyn Dodgers and husband of Skater Sonja Henie, got off because he had stomach ulcers.

Having written an essay entitled "How You Can't Know How Bad the Times Are," Vermonter Robert Frost confided he would like to be a Congressman. Observed Poet Frost: "Vermont hasn't heard about it yet."

Trapped by flames in the upper stories of their Mt. Vernon, N. Y. house, Author Vincent Sheean, his wife (Diana Forbes-Robertson) and their two small children escaped being burned to death by leaping from windows. Author Sheean sprained an ankle, singed his hair; his wife suffered severe burns. The eleven-room house, which they leased from Sinclair Lewis and his wife, Dorothy Thompson, burned to a crisp.

Pointing to "the studied informality of [his] clothes," the Merchant Tailors and Designers Association of America nominated shambling, walrusy Big Bill Knudsen, who likes stripes, to their honor roll of 1941's best-dressed citizens.

In Los Angeles court, Hedwig Eva Maria Kiesler Mandl Markey, 26, got her name legally changed to Hedy Lamarr.

Brandishing his .38-calibre pistol fearsomely upon his belated arrival from Manhattan, Asbestos Boy Tommy Manville discovered that neither searchlights on the terraces, a siren on the roof, dogs in the kennel, or five lurking guards, had prevented burglars from cracking a safe on his whopping New Rochelle, N. Y. estate and snaffling $7,500 in cash, $500 in gold plate.

When Puerto Ricans celebrated his induction into office, stocky. Pennsylvania Dutch Governor Guy J. Swope decreed no congas or rumbas at the reception in the ancient La Fortaleza--nothing more venturesome than a waltz. Reason: WPAsters readying the floors for the occasion had put on such a high polish that a pre-inaugural visitor slipped and broke her leg.

In a San Francisco court to answer charges of mismanaging his car, Douglas Gorce ("Wrong Way") Corrigan got off because the car he ran into was going the wrong way.

Dusty and tousled in grimy white ducks and sweater, with a knapsack at his shoulder and an umbrella in his hand, wanderlusty Pianist-Composer Percy Grainger trudged into the Cheyenne, Wyo., depot, was hailed by cops, who wanted to know his name. One officer heard it. grunted: "And I'm William Tell," marched him into the station. There Vagabond Grainger produced his proof, departed unperturbed for a concert engagement at Greeley, Colo.

"I dined with the next President of the U. S. last week," said shrewd, saturnine Lord Beaverbrook, British aircraft production boss, to a London friend. Wendell Willkie? Press Lord Beaverbrook grinned. He had also dined with Harry Hopkins, he pointed out.

As he does once a year, out from his Cambridge retirement crept crotchety, cantankerous Emeritus Professor Charles Townsend ("Copey") Copeland, 80. to read to 400 Harvard freshmen. He asked some questions about Gulliver's Travels and Henry Esmond. The students' replies showed that they did not know very much about either Swift or Thackeray. Moaned "Copey": "Gentlemen, I pray for you."

Haled into court for driving 40 m.p.h. on Atlanta's Peachtree Street, Eastern Air Lines Pilot Andrew C. McDonouoh (who last month dive-tested the Army's new P39 Airacobra pursuit at a record 620 m.p.h.) cracked: "I thought I was just creeping along," got his sentence suspended.

Glad enough for a new song and a new songwriter, BMI planned to broadcast (over WABC) /'// Spend the Rest of My Life with You, by Franklin D. Roosevelt Jr.

After a hard day's trust-busting in Manhattan, Assistant Attorney General Thurman Arnold tumbled drowsily into a berth on what he thought was the Washington train, awoke next morning in Boston's South Station.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.