On a zooming 15-minute visit to the Press Photographers' show in Manhattan, Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt stopped to admire a large portrait. Asked a knowing guide: "Do you recognize him?" Surveying the picture of Wendell Willkie, she responded: "Oh yes, I remember him well."

Dark, dashing, Mayfairy M.P. Alec Stratford Cunningham-Reid spent the first year of the war shepherding refugee British children between Doris Duke Cromwell's New Jersey, Rhode Island, North Carolina and Hawaiian estates. Last autumn, after criticism in his constituency got pretty hot, he went home. Last week, he filed suit in London High Court to have the $20,000 a year he gets from the wife he divorced for adultery in 1939 upped to an annual $32,000.

Doe-eyed Stripteuse Rosita Royce, who danced with seven doves and that's all, to the delectation of New York World's Fair visitors, once observed: "If I fluttered past Hitler with my doves it would take his mind off war." Last week Miss Royce volunteered to help train pigeons for national defense. With Recruiting Officer Daniel Munster she fluttered off to Philadelphia's Reyburn Plaza, where she provided ready proof that even strange pigeons are drawn to her. Lieut. Munster took note of everything.

Beauteous, auburn-haired Mrs. Randolph Churchill, the British premier's socialite daughter-in-law, took an eight-hour-a-day typing job at the Ministry of Supply.

Announced beefy Elder Brother Herman Frederick Willkie, Louisville distilleryman, of the Leader of the Loyal Opposition: "Wendell's been living'off his fat,' so to speak, and he thinks it's time he started earning some money. At the same time, he wants to be free to speak his mind. He plans to practice law again."

On a visit to the Government's research farm outside Washington, 18-year-old Ann Wickard, daughter of Agriculture Secretary Claude Wickard, grabbed a jolly springling porker of the latest bacon-plus breed, thrust him squealing into the sun light for all to see his streamlined hams.

Sealed in her Washington bedroom by a paint-stopped lock, while her politically prognosticative husband partied at the Greek legation, blonde, handsome Mrs. Emil Hurja shouted and pounded until "the handsomest policemen you ever saw" arrived and freed her.

With the explanation: "It entertains me. . . . That is not enough. . . . People must tell me," Playboy William Saroyan, last year's Pulitzer Prizewinner, advertised in the newspapers for 750 people "who have never seen a Broadway play" to view his The Beautiful People, now in rehearsal, on the cuff. By noon a houseful of beautiful non-paying customers had applied for tickets.

With his wife of five months, gusty, marcelled Kansan John Daniel Miller Hamilton, who campaignmanaged Landon to victory in Maine & Vermont in 1936, bought a $100,000 Main Line estate, settled down to become a Philadelphia lawyer.

Back in London after barnstorming for a month across Australasia, Noel Coward told countrymen that his one-man war agency A.E.A. (An Englishman Abroad) had raised -L-10,000 for the Red Cross. Duty done, Patriot Coward, who reckoned he had wrung 1,400 hands a day during his concert tour, now hoped "my brains are of more service to my country than my body."

Members of Washington's Little Congress (secretaries of Senators and Representatives) assembled near the Capitol to watch curly-headed Senator Tom Connolly of Texas crown bonnie Bonnie Patton, 21-year-old daughter of Texas Congressman Nat Patton and receptionist at the Congressional ladies' cloakroom, as this year's "Miss Capitol Hill." Then, 150 strong, they sped to Manhattan on their eighth annual Easter outing, called duly upon Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia, whom they found in a reminiscent mood. Sighed he, harking back to his Congressional days: "I once had a good secretary down there, too. But I lost her--I married her."

Wishing Senators a Happy Easter and an ever-normal granary, Hybrid-Seed Grower Henry Wallace presented each of them with a nice box of sweet-corn seed--for planting April 15.

Years ago Les Wolfe of Little Rock used to promote a fight now & then for a skinny young puncher from Texas named Wildcat Jenkins. Last week, sauntering along Little Rock's main street, whom should he see but the Wildcat. "H'ya Wildcat old boy," drawled Les. "Haven't seen you in years. What you doing these days?" Said Boxer Jenkins, freckled and angular as ever: "Still fighting--or haven't you heard? They call me Lew now. I'm lightweight champion of the world."

When Winston Churchill, in company with U.S. Ambassador Winant, visited heavily bombed Swansea, a docker chided him for not carrying his gas mask. Churchill replied that it was in the car. "That's not the point, sir," said the man. "You should be carrying it." Churchill sent for the mask, slung it over his shoulder, said: "I shall carry it from now on."

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