CELEBRITY TALES.......AS I REMEMBER THEM: FRANCIS ALBERT SINATRA

As I write this, the internet is inundated with everything you ever wanted to know about Frank Sinatra who would have been 100 years old this year. Most people have a tendency to venerate Ol' Blue Eyes. He is considered, perhaps, the greatest vocalist of all time, the singers singer, the most popular and influential musical artist of the 20th century. He is one of the best-selling music artists of all time, having sold more than 150 million records worldwide. There is no denying the impact the skinny kid from Hoboken had on popular culture in general and music in particular. That being acknowledged, I am afraid I have to admit to being a bit of a “fair weather” fan. There is a period of his career that, to me, can never be equaled. It began in 1946 with his debut album, “The Voice of Frank Sinatra” and wended it's way through the 1950's with a series of albums that shaped the foundation for all vocalists to come. Classics like - “Dedicated to You,” “Songs For Young Lovers,” “Swing Easy,” “In the Wee Small Hours,” “Come Fly With Me,” “Frank Sinatra Sings For Only the Lonely,” “Nice 'N' Easy,” “Sinatra's Swinging Session,” and, at least, a half a dozen more by the time we got into the 60's. He always worked with the best arrangers in the biz. Billy May, Nelson Riddle, Don Costa, Quincy Jones, Neil Hefti, Sy Oliver, Gordon Jenkins – giants all who understood Frank and he them. Each was a match made in a different musical heaven and they were all magical. Some of the finest music ever made. Then came the 60's and beyond, when the guy who lambasted rock and roll began doing Beatles songs and the likes of “My Way” and “It Was a Very Good Year,” which I like to refer to as “Sinatra: The Boring Years.” Homogenized versions of unimaginative music designed to please the “masses,” and that it did. Even so, there are certain artists that everyone just has to try and see at least once in their lives and Frankie was on the top of the list. I never got to see Elvis live. I missed the Beatles, although I DID see George Harrison at Madison Square Garden. He was with Bob Dylan, which almost made up for the absence of Paul, John & Ringo. I missed Liberace.....I saw Frank Sinatra. The celebration of Frank Sinatra's 77th birthday was going to be in Las Vegas and it was by invitation only. There was to be a celebrity studded cocktail party and dinner and, then, a short walk down a red carpet that was roped off to keep everyone else out, to a theater for a private concert from Francis Albert, himself. I got an invitation and was beside myself until I realized that I had signed an agreement with ABC, the company that paid my bills, not to accept certain gifts including a couple of tickets to a giant event in Sin City. At the time, however, I was in between marriages and dating a reporter for the Chicago Tribune who had just been transferred to Los Angeles as their entertainment reporter. She had also been invited and hadn't yet signed away her nose to spite her face as I had, so, off I went to meet her Vegas. The record company comped us a very nice room and I was excited that I was finally going to get to see Frank Sinatra live. We got on the elevator from the third floor to meet a limo that would take us to the venue and, standing there, having gotten on at the 4th floor, was Leslie Nielsen. I found him to be very personable and funny. We chatted for a few minutes and got into separate limos, headed to the same destination. After our credentials were examined, we were ushered into a private dining room that was loaded with celebrities and a few media people. As we sat at the table, I couldn't help but notice that I had been seated next to Barbara Eden. That's not something you ignore if you grew up with “Jeannie.” It was like I was living in my own fantasy until I saw Spiro Agnew sitting on the other side of us. I was not a fan. We made small talk and everyone was having a lovely time. When I told my dad that I had chatted with the disgraced Vice President, he said, without missing a beat, “Yeah? Did you tell that son of a bitch I hate his fucking guts?” “No. I'm sorry dad....it didn't come up.” When we finished the cocktails and our dinner, we were herded back down the red carpet to the small theater where Frank would be performing. Outside the ropes was a mass of “civilians” trying to figure out who was who. I'm sure they are still wondering who, the hell I was. Our seats were in the front.....right at the stage. All we had to do was look up and he was there. We could have touched him but in the attempt to maintain as much dignity as possible – we didn't. Frank Jr. was the orchestra leader and had to, occasionally, remind his dad of the lyrics. Frank was 77, after all, and you know what they say about the mind and age – once you reach a certain point, the mind is the 2nd thing to go.......I forget what the first one was. He was older, his voice was not at it's peak and he forgot lyrics. But here we were, sitting mere feet from one of the greatest of all time. Hell, we all fade – this was Frank Sinatra and he was singing - just for us - at a private party. What a weekend! When it was time to leave, my friend and I took separate planes. Hers flew to L.A. and mine brought me back to Dallas. The only thing that could have made this weekend nothing short of paradisiacal would have been if I could have gotten home with more money than I went with. We took one last trip to the casino before heading to the airport. I must have pumped $50 or $60 worth of quarters into a one armed bandit that was intent on living up to it's name. She took a quarter, walked over to a random machine, pulled the handle and out came $200. We never saw each other again. Shortly after I returned, I began to audition people to be my side-kick on the air and met the woman who was to become my wife. 23 years later, we are still happily married and I can truthfully say that, even though I lost a bunch of quarters in Vegas, I won the heart of the woman who has proven, over the years, that my trip to Frank Sinatra's 77th birthday party became, in the end, the luckiest trip I ever took.