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Waving and smiling at the crowds lining the streets, the Soviet Union's latest space heroes, the Soyuz 4 and 5 cosmonauts, received a tumultuous welcome in Moscow. Then, as the 20-car motorcade began to pass through the Kremlin's Borovitsky Gate, a young man suddenly fired six pistol shots at the third car. The driver and a motorcycle outrider were wounded. Bystanders apparently overpowered the gunman and police hustled him away. Whom was he trying to kill? Possibly, the gunman thought he was aiming at Party Boss Leonid Brezhnev and Soviet President Nikolai Podgorny (Brezhnev and other Soviet leaders were reportedly in the following car). In any event, the Soviets dismissed him as a "mentally disturbed" youth of about 20. It was a convenient label, since a favorite Soviet device for dealing with political dissenters is to lock them up in insane asylums.
For a moment, it looked as if someone had doused her with water. No, said Twiggy, the outfit is supposed to look that way—sopping wet. At a show in London's Ritz Hotel, fashion's will-o'-the-wisp unveiled the latest shapes from her designing firm: slippery nylon tights that have a "liquid look." But why the bags in the knees and the sags in the ankles? "It's just Twiggy," explained Justin de Villeneuve, her perennial fiancé.
It seemed that no matter how much the Twig hitched up her waistline, her tights were not tight enough.
Snuggled into her cosiest leopard-skin dress, Gina Lollobrigida, 40, breezed into Manhattan to say a few good words for her 51st film, Buona Sera, Mrs. Campbell. She also passed some opinions on her favorite topic. "In America, women are so important and so selfish. They become so powerful that they're the equals of men," she said. "In Europe, we act small and stupid. And that makes us appealing." To whom was she appealing at the moment? asked a reporter. "Very many men. I am very generous,"was the answer. "Today, sexy comes from the personality and how you look at a man. The bust is not so important, any more. But, of course, I'm not bad."
While preparing for the opening curtain of La Gioconda at Miami's Dade County Auditorium, Tenor Richard Tucker suddenly noticed an air-conditioned chill. "Turn it off," he complained; the cool air, he said, would freeze his throat. But of course, said the impresario—and sotto voce told his assistant to leave it on. All through the first two acts, Tucker's anger mounted. Finally, just before the third act he announced: "Unless the air conditioning is turned off, I do not sing a note!" Someone mentioned that the audience might leave. "Let them!" Tucker roared. "They must accommodate to me, not me to them. The trouble with this business," he said solemnly as the air conditioning was shut down, "is that it is filled with egotistical maniacs."