Friday, August 1, 2008

The Night I Met Frank




It was Spring Break, April 1966. As a college student I wasn't going to do the classic "Where the Boys are" Florida trip until the following year. But it was still exciting. We lived in Baldwin Long Island and my parents were going to take the family to Las Vegas.

Ever since 1959's "Mack The Knife" by Bobby Darin my wayward ways away from my generation had begun. Presley, classic rock and roll , Motown and the Beatles were ok but not my cup of tea. Months before Darin's big hit, on July 4th 1958 at age 12 I went to my first jazz concert in Atlantic City New Jersey. And what a concert it was. The Count Basie Orchestra, The Dave Brubeck Quartet, Dinah Washington, Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers. I was hooked, then after Darin I progressed to Frank Sinatra. In the New York City area WNEW was the summit for this type of music and people like Ted Brown and William B Williams, the first to call Frank Sinatra "Chairman of the Board", fed me more and more of Frank and Jazz.

In 1964 I was the office boy in New York at my father's advertising agency at 488 Madison avenue, "The Look Magazine Building". I worked as a gofer with the graphic artists the Walsh Brothers, Mike and Marty. Both were great fun, they loved jazz and the movies. Sometimes at their drafting tables the would run though all the diologue between John Wayne and Montgomery Clift in "Red River".




Marty was the younger of the two and he tooked me under his wing, especially during lunch time. We would go to the Blarney Stone or another Irish bar on Third Avenue for French Dipped sandwiches. On the way he would guide me in building my collection of Frank Sinatra LP's. I would have to get "A Swingin' Affair" but in the seminal "Song's for Swinging Lover's" I must notice the way Frank gets in all the words in phrasing of "Too Marvelous for For Words" when he repeats "ever be ever be in Webster's Dictionary". On the way back to the office we would go to a record shop up creaking wooden steps on 44th street. As you went up you saw the words painted on some of the steps "Everything from Bunk to Monk" Legend had it that the great Jazz sax player Lester Young would slip up there surrounded by a million LP's, listen to Sinatra ballads and have tears in his eyes. At eighteen I had some educational lunches. Fast forward 20 months.

So now we were landing in Vegas six years after the original "Ocean's Eleven" and five months after Sinatra's 50th birthday. He had been everywhere for that celebration, I had seen him the first time at Forest Hills Tennis Stadium. The first of his great TV specials, then getting a pie in the face on The Soupy Sales Show (along with William B Willams, Sammy Davis and Trini Lopez), the LP's "Sinatra At the Sands" and "A Man and His Music". Then there was the movie "Von Ryan's Express" with ending that still bothers a lot of people.

We checked into the Dunes hotel next to a new hole in the Vegas ground. Something called Caesar's Palace was going to be built soon. The marque at the Sands said Dean Martin so I thought we would at least see a piece of the pack but not the leader. I was 19 but was trying to act adult as I wandered through the Dunes during the day. I was really there, slots, people yelling at the crap tables. Under age but tall, security left me alone. Then some at the crap tables started to whisper to each other. As I walked on I heard people walking around talking excitedly. I heard "Did you hear..." What the hell was it? I walked where the crap yellers weren't so loud. "Sinatra's turning his plane around. He's coming here!" Then I heard it again. "He's coming in with a bunch of people. Mexico wouldn't let him land!" I ran up to my parents in the room.

My father wasn't sure if it was really true. My mother thought it was probably wrong gossip. I pressed on. "What if it was true? They say he will take the stage tonight! You gotta call Murray."
Most of the ad agency's business in New York was industrial chemicals, BASF, Continental Oil but there was a sports connection. Some business conducted with offices space leased to people like Murray Goodman. Murray was a classic old time boxing promoter and columnist, short of stature, cigar in hand and a devilish grin on his face. He knew everyone from Joe Lewis to Jane Mansfield. His son, Bob, a little older than me, would sometimes come to the office with him. Bob is now Don King's main man. So my father finally did call Murray back in New York. Murray called Jack Entratter in Vegas who ran the Sands.. Murray secured us ringside seats for that night, but did not verify who would be on stage besides Dean Martin.

Even with reservations there was a long line to wait to get into the dinner show (price $9.95 each). There was to be five of us, friends of my parents, Charlie and Milred Emmanuel and me . Charlie knew some other notorious Frank fans. Charlie ran most of the car rentals at JFK airport and had do deal with some colorful characters. My younger sister Barbara, earlier in the day had thrown a tantrum wanting to fly back to her friends on Long Island. She flew back that afternoon living to regret the night she would miss, April 13th, 1966.

The cocktail waitresses kept coming by the line with more drinks. Years later my father would have to join AA but he was in booze heaven that night. We finally are seated ringside thanks to Murray and ate and drank some more. I was not being carded. Just before the lights dim my father says "You better be right." It was dark and silent. Somewhere at mid stage, a match lit. Then the voice.."When I was seventeen it was a very good year...." The place went crazy. Needless to say what a great show it was. Dean Martin sang his recent hit "Houston" They did their stick with the portable bar rolled out. Joey Bishop skipped on stage carrying a lantern. Don't remember what that was about. Other friends like Tony Curtis who were on the plane were there. The night before they were trying to land Sinatra's private jet at Mexico City. Who ever was head of the Mexican government at that time told the airport not to let Sinatra land. It seems they were pissed at Frank's most recent film "Marriage on the Rock's" which made fun of quicky Mexican divorces. So fate was with Rat Pack fans that week in Las Vegas. As it turned out it was the very last time they were to be on stage together at The Sands.

And so my father kept drinking through the show. We left the Copa Room with the Basie beat in our ears. Yes we had the Count too. We found ourselves at the small cocktail lounge on the side of the casino. It led to the dining room. The women in our group went to the ladies room. My father and I approached the bar. It was full and we were standing behind two seated gentlemen. God it was Count Basie and his sax man Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis. So what does my marinated father do? He slaps Count Basie on the back. He didn't know Count Basie. "Hey Count! Let me buy you guys a drink!" Count and Lockjaw smile and say sure. It's neat but I'm concerned what my father is going to do next. After all I'm trying to be a cool adult.

Then oh shit out of the corner of my eye heading for the bar, alone, no bodyguards, comes Frank Sinatra. He approaches his pal Basie. We look like Basie pals. My father turns toward Frank. Oh shit. Why didn't I go to the ladies room too. "Frank!" he yells. My father didn't know Frank Sinatra. "This kid loves you! He's got all your records!" I was 19 trying to act 30. Now I'm six. "Frank, can he have your autograph?" I did not collect autographs. I turn to look at those blue eyes. Those eyes are penetrating my father's eyes. What was he thinking should be done with my father? Whatever it was, was probably kinder than what I wanted. Sinatra turns to look at me, in the throes of a nervous breakdown. The blue eyes soften. My father shoves a pen in his hand, Frank signs a table card and goes on into dinner with songwriter Sammy Cahn.

I look at my father. "What, what?", he says. I shake my head. The ladies return and they all head for the gambling. I tell them this night I'm staying out. I will see them later. I continue to stroll the casino. Sinatra is everywhere, laughing, greeting ladies at the slot machines. He goes to the change booth and kiddingly demands mexican pesos. I keep a safe distance to watch the fun. Hours race by. It's now 3 a.m. and there are good sounds coming out of the lounge. You could stand on the side and watch it for free.
This is what was going on......
www.youtube.com/watch?v=chldTHoJRi4


It was Louis Prima and fifth and final wife singer Gia Miaone along with Sam Butera and the Witnesses. The joint was jumping. I look and in the front row is Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. A few songs more and they are up on stage with the whole group. I can't believe what I am watching for free. It goes on and on. I leave at 6 am and begin walking down the strip towards The Dunes. The sun is coming up. Why isn't Sammy Davis next to me singing Eeee Oh Eleven?

What a night। When I get to the room my parents were packing while getting ready to call the police. We were flying out a 9 am. My father thought I had found a hooker. I didn't have money for one but it was a nice thought.


I saw Frank again in 1976 at Caesar's Palace and in 1986 at The Golden Nugget. He still sounded great but how could it match The Rat Pack's last stand at The Sands?

They blew it up in 1996. Now the stages are a mile wide. Magic acts, smoke, lasers and Celine Dione. I don't think so.