People: Mar. 25, 1966

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Alas, he arrived in Manhattan too late on St. Patrick's Day to march in the Fifth Avenue parade, even though he did sport a fine green tie. Britain's Prince Philip, 44, in a green tie? "Just a coincidence," chuckled the consort. Thus avoiding controversy and the I.R.A., Philip continued his U.S. tour to promote Variety Clubs International charities and British exports, proving himself quite a salesman while firmly denying that that was his mission. "Any country that can sell tea sets to Russians, export one million bedstead knobs in 1964 and persuade foreigners to buy water from Glasgow can be relied upon to sell anything," he commercialized at a luncheon. As New York's Senator Jacob Javits, a bit mixed up on titles, proclaimed: "He's a very relaxed monarch."

Washington's Gridiron show was a gasser, but hardly worth the hangover it cost Runyonesque Rabelaisian Toots Shor, 62, who had lumbered down from his Manhattan diner for the party. Packing up the day after, big Toots tripped on a hotel carpet, performed a dive of a high degree of difficulty and belted his 250-lb. bulk down onto the floor.

On the way to the hospital with a broken leg, Toots was asked if he'd like a drink and, to show either the shock he was in or his sense of historic drama, he replied: "Yes, I'd like a Coke."

Holy barracuda! Now, thanks to that diabolical device, the camera, the truth is out! Divested of his bat cowl, the caped crusader is none other than U.S. Federal Communications Commission Chairman E. William Henry, 37, who roared out of his cave to do a comic song-and-dance at a Multiple Sclerosis Society benefit in Washington. But an evildoer took his picture. Would the caped commissioner repeat the act before the Women's National Democratic Club as requested? Would the network archenemies of ABC-TV's Batman think the chairman was giving dastardly publicity to the bat channel by wearing puce powder-blue tights? Gleeps! Henry decided to stay out of the women's club show. From now on he'll stick close to his cave at the FCC.

At first it seemed like a nice way to patch up the feud between city hall and the press: a touch football game in Central Park on a Sunday afternoon. But the field was muddy, the city hall eleven was mean, and the city room team was rusty. New York's Mayor John Lindsay, 44, made it clear that he can tackle all kinds of problems. "Anyone lays a hand on the mayor gets shot," called a police detective from the sidelines as the game began. He was joking, but that was the end of the joke. Lindsay's Lancers played touch like a varsity of muggers. His Honor himself drew 15 yds. for nearly throttling the opposition quarterback, one radio writer landed in the hospital with a broken knee, and several others limped home with scars and loosened teeth. Lindsay, however, left the field without so much as a limp handshake.

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