Frank Sinatra Shares His Thoughts On Women, Friendship and Style With Bestselling Author Bill Zehme in His Last Official Interview
NEW YORK--(ENTERTAINMENT WIRE)--May 15, 1998--
"I think my real ambition is to pass on to others what I know," Frank Sinatra once said. "It took me a long, long time to learn what I
now know, and I don't want that to die with me."
Frank Sinatra once said, "You've gotta love livin', baby! Because dyin' is a pain in the ass!" And love living he did. Not only was the Chairman of the Board the preeminent entertainer of the 20th Century, he remained the barometer of all that was cool and the ambassador of a bygone ring-a-ding time.
The Way You Wear Your Hat: Frank Sinatra and the Lost Art of Livin' (HarperCollinsPublishers), the first book on "Old Blue Eyes" to hit the New York Times bestseller list in recent years, orchestrated and arranged by "Esquire" Magazine senior writer Bill Zehme, is a fresh, insightful look at Sinatra and the way he swaggered. Three years ago, Zehme wrote to Sinatra and asked him to answer essential questions -- questions that could save a guy's life. Sinatra agreed and answered nearly 30 -- making Zehme's interview the last long form Sinatra interview that Sinatra would give to this day. "I was told that his face lit up on occasion, when stating policies and summoning memories," writes Zehme.
To gain even further insight on the man Zehme also sifted wisdom from rare concert tapes where it is said that he spilled more autobiography in his "post-time" monologues than even to his friends. "Even more invaluable, however, were the recollections of his intimates, his family and friends," writes Zehme, "to whom he has repeated his theories of life so often as to make the words indelible." Among those who talked lovingly about Sinatra include: Nancy Jr., Tina, Angie Dickinson, Robert Wagner, Jill St. John, Don Rickles, Tony Bennett, Steve Lawrence and Joey Bishop. Because of their cooperation the book bursts open with the most personal details and gorgeous minutia of Sinatra's life.
However, it's the stories from the people who traveled and played with Sinatra like road manager Tony Oppedisano and Hank Cattaneo, who oversaw all technical aspects of the later concert years, that show a poignant side of him most fans won't know -- a man who was a soft touch for the downtrodden. "Frank's deeds were anonymous ones: Hospital bills were mysteriously paid, nuns found new school buses, impossible negotiations were suddenly resolved, underdogs got jobs, has beens got second chances -- children got new dogs, goons got clobbered," writes Zehme.
One such recipient of Sinatra's kindness was Bill Miller who played piano for him for 40 years. A 1964 freak flood killed his wife and left him unconscious. Sinatra rushed to Miller's side, assured him his daughter was all right and even took on the burden of identifying Miller's wife in the morgue for him. "He stayed in the hospital for two weeks (all bills paid), then Frank brought him to Palm Springs for another two," writes Zehme, "easing him back to the life that goes on. Then he found him a nice apartment, got it furnished, made sure father and daughter were comfortable readjusting."
Filtered throughout are the most intimate glimpses into his world:
-- On paparazzi: "...We gotta run all day long because of the parasites who chase us with automobiles. It's dangerous, too, on the road -- could cause an accident! They won't quit. Then they wonder why I won't talk to them -- I wouldn't drink their water! I say they're BUMS and they're always gonna be bums, every one of 'em."
-- On Dean Martin: The Martins, Dean and Jeanne, were throwing themselves an anniversary party...At just half past eleven o'clock, police sirens pierced the air and halted the festivities. Alarmed, the hostess searched for her husband but could not find him. She went to Frank, who calmed her and said, "...I'll take care of it." Frank strode out to find the Beverly Hills police planted on the lawn. "What's going on fellas?" he asked. He was told: "Well, Mr. Sinatra, we got a call about a loud party." Since most of the neighbors were in attendance, Frank said, "Who the hell would call?" The cop shuffled and said, "Well...the call came from inside the house." Frank shook his head, muttered under his breath, "That son of a bitch." He walked back into the house, climbed the stairs to Dean's bedroom, where Dag, in pajamas, lay in his bed, holding a putter, watching the evening news. Glancing over at Frank: "Hey pally." Frank: "I'll give you pally! Did you call the cops on your own party?" Dean, shrugging: "Hey, they ate, they drank. Let them go home. I gotta get up in the morning." "You," said Frank admiringly, "are one crazy bastard."
-- On Mia Farrow: Before they married on July 19, 1996, Frank told Nancy Jr.: "I don't know, maybe we'll only have a couple of years together. She's so young. But we have to try." Twenty Five years later, when she (Mia) found nude photographs of her adopted daughter taken by Woody Allen, Frank gallantly offered to have Allen's legs broken. Whatever she wanted she would need only to have asked.
-- On being alone and sleep: He sleeps only on rare occasions and he does not like to be alone. His pallies could not hit the hay before him. Hank Cattaneo, who technically oversaw his latter concert years, would recall, "By four in the morning, I'd have enough Jack Daniels, so I got a bartender to color Coca-Cola with water so he'd think I'm still with him."
-- On being rejected: Comedian Tom Dreesen who spent 12 years opening for Sinatra offered the following story of how Sinatra got him out of bed to go get a drink. "There was no one in the joint. Just one guy way in the corner, and Frank and me standing at the bar... We were talking for a few minutes, when a woman, about 65 years old, came running up to the bar. She said, 'Excuse me! Excuse me! Do you have a jukebox in here?' Frank looked around the room and he said, 'No, I guess not' Then, as an afterthought, he said, 'But I'll sing for you.' And she said, 'No thanks.'"
And she turned and walked out. What's funny was, he watched her walk out the door with this kind of sad, cute look on his face... I said to him in that sort of awkward silence, 'She obviously didn't recognize you.' "And he shrugged and said, 'Maybe she did.'"
-- On Piano Bars: On the night of his 80th birthday spectacular, when he got out of the Shrine, his group took over a back room at the Four Seasons Hotel, which was dead at that hour. The hotel manager placed a panicked phone call to the regular lounge pianist, woke him up, and got him back there. Frank was getting crankier by the minute. "Where the hell have you been?" he barked when the piano played arrived. There Sinatra stood with Steve Lawrence on the opposite side of the piano, working his way through the old tunes again, for an intimate cluster accustomed to such scenes -- Eydie Gorme, Robert Wagner, Jill St. John, Tony Bennett.
-- On "The Clan:" Before they were the Rat Pack, this is what they were called: himself and Dag and Sam and Pete Lawford and Joey Bishop. When they gathered on stage, he always preferred that their convocation be known as the Summit. But this mattered little, for they were, alas and forever, the Rat Pack, whose satellite Charleys included Little Sister MacLaine (Shirl), Tony Curtis (Boinie, as in Bernie), Jimmy Van Heusen (Chester), Steve Lawrence (Boy Singer), Kirk Douglas, Don Rickles, Robert Wagner and whomever else Frank wished to see drunk.
-- On Jack Daniels and Jackie Gleason: Any man who drank it was his friend. Sammy did, with Coke -- a desecration, the Leader thought, but in the right ballpark at least. Call for it in his presence and his face would light up. His love affair with the beverage began in the '40s. "I feel like getting smashed," said an uninitiated Frank. "All right, said Gleason, who implicitly understood all such circumstances. Determined, Frank quietly tapped the bar top and asked, "Now what's a good drink?" Gleason gave him the withering eye: "You mean you've never gotten smashed?" Impossible but true: Sinatra shrugged no. Gleason bellowed: "Jack Daniels! That's a good place to start!"
-- On tightwads: Occasionally, while drinking, he amused himself by putting together his El Cheapo All-Time All-Star baseball team. Rudy Vallee was always pitcher. Even friends like Cary Grant and Bob Hope and Fred McMurray usually made the line-up.
-- On friends: "I was in trouble, you know?" Sinatra recollected. "I was busted, a little short, and, I must say, I lost a great deal of faith in human nature because a lot of friends disappeared...I don't say it begrudging. Because I found something out about people after that. I understood that some people don't know how to help. They want to, but they don't quite know how to do it. They're either shy or they're afraid they'll louse it up and make it worse than it is." -- On reprisals: He believed in reprisals so he named his record company Reprise. Intentionally, he mispronounced it as reprize, lest his point be missed. After being denied credit at the Sands Casino in Las Vegas he yelled, "I built this hotel from a sandpile and, before I'm through, that's what it will be again!" The Sands became a sandpile again on Nov. 10, 1996. -- On his fortitude: It was March 6, 1994, a day whose dawn he had greeted after an endless night of carousal and fraternity. Indomitable at age 78, he had put it in the bag at 6:30 in the morning, slept most of the afternoon, grabbed only a cup of coffee, and gone over to the theater, which was stifling hot, airless. He thought he needed to sit and pulled over his stool, when he blacked out, went down...They went to the hospital...Behind a curtain, he sat on the edge of the table. Three doctors checked him again, found nothing again. Frank Jr. told his father, "Dad, they want to keep you 24 hours for observation. Hospital policy." Frank looked up and said, "Is the jet ready?" The jet was ready. "Car outside?" The car was outside. Then the three doctors -- internist, neurologist, cardiologist -- stated their diagnosis. Nothing seemed out of order, each said. It took 20 minutes to get to the plane. On board, they fixed him his Jack Daniels immediately. He let the ice settle and lit an unfiltered Camel. He sipped and sighed. "That's better," he said. The plane took flight, headed home for Palm Springs and the beautiful blond wife.
-- On how Bing Crosby disciplined his kids: Nancy Jr. says, "Dad loved Bing so much when he was young that it was hard for him to stop loving him later, even after he found out that he was a brutal parent. He was just awful on his kids. They used to end up at our house after being thrown out of their house. It almost stopped Dad from being his friend."
-- On ice: "Frankie loves the clink of ice in well-filled glasses," wrote Time magazine in 1955. Onstage, mid-seventies, tasting a vodka, recoiling: "Can't this place afford an ice bucket?"
-- On how he likes it: Always three or four ice cubes, two fingers of Jack Daniels, the rest water, in a traditional glass. "This," he would say, "is a gentleman's drink."
-- On martinis: Martinis were to be taken seriously, and made perfectly dry. Once, in 1949, he slugged a belligerent bartender who told him, "If you want it so special, mix it yourself." The perfect martini -- Stoli or excellent British gin, well-stirred or shaken in ice, with the tiniest drop of vermouth, served in cold glass and crowned by two olives.
-- On smoking: Frank never inhaled, saving his reed while maintaining la figura, the appearance, cupping them like Bogie did. After Lucky Strikes, he took up Camels, always unfiltered. Rarely did he take more than four drags before extinguishing.
-- On how to slant a hat: His back brim always curled aloft and the front snap was tugged down a couple of inches above his right brow. The move required two hands -- aft hiking up, fore pulling down.
In addition, the book includes over 60 photos, 25 never seen before and compiled for the first time, by famed photographer Phil Stern. Stern had private and exclusive opportunities to shoot Sinatra in every intimate area of his life. Capturing the timeless romance and classic style of the fifties and sixties when Sinatra was at his peak, the book is a lasting tribute to Sinatra, his style and love of livin'. -0- About the author: Author and Esquire senior writer Bill Zehme initiated a series of surprising exchanges with Frank Sinatra to learn exactly what the Leader knew and wished to pass on to others. In the resulting, widely celebrated 1996 Esquire profile of Sinatra, "And Then There Was One," he wrote, "Men had gone soft and needed help, needed a Leader, needed Frank Sinatra. I wanted to ask him essential questions, the kind that could save a guy's life. I wanted what might approximate Frank's rules of order. He took the clarion call..." And that was the starting point for perhaps the most comprehensive and unprecedented access to the world of Sinatra.
Zehme has coauthored beselling books by Jay Leno and Regis Philbin. He has guest hosted for Greg Kinnear on NBC-TV's Later and has hosted CNBC's Talk Live. In Chicago, he is a weekly contributor to the popular Fox Thing In The Morning, sharing his irreverent stories and prespectives on matters show business. He was selected by Frank Sinatra to compose the liner notes for the Grammy-winning Duets II album and by Barry Manilow to write the notes for his four-CD box set. -0- The Way You Wear Your Hat: Frank Sinatra And The Lost Art of Livin' Orchestrated and arranged by Bill Zehme HarperCollins Publishers Dec. 12, 1997 $23 0-06-018289-X |
