His Way

by Kitty Kelley

  Concerned that delaying the announcement might dilute its effectiveness in breaking the blacklist, Maitz called Frank at the Fontainebleau in Miami, where he was appearing. “I asked him openly if he wanted to delay because he was raising money for Kennedy and was worried that being publicly involved with a blacklisted writer might dry up finances, but he said, ‘No, I support Kennedy because I think he’s the best man for the job, but I’m not doing anything special for him.’ So I suggested we make the announcement right away, and he said fine.”

  Hours after the announcement, the Hearst press bludgeoned Frank in editorials across the country, demanding that he fire Maitz immediately. “What kind of thinking motivates Frank Sinatra in hiring an unrepentant enemy of his country—not a liberal, not an underdog, not a free thinker, but a hard revolutionist who has never done anything to remove himself from the Communist camp or to disassociate himself from the Communist record?” asked the New York Mirror.

  In contrast, the New York Post proffered “An Oscar!” to Frank, writing, “He has joined the select company of Hollywood valiants who declared their independence from the Un-American Activities Committee and the American Legion. … In defying the secret blacklist that has terrorized the movie industry for more than a decade, Sinatra—like Stanley Kramer and Otto Preminger before him—has rendered a service to the cause of artistic freedom. …”

  In Washington, a Senate investigating subcommittee announced that it would be sending men to Hollywood “within a week” to look into attempts by Communists to infiltrate the motion picture industry. Actor John Wayne said, “I wonder how Sinatra’s crony, Senator John Kennedy, feels about him hiring such a man? I’d like to know his attitude because he’s the one who is making plans to run the administrative government of our country.”

  Outraged by Wayne’s attack, Frank bought full-page ads in the Hollywood trade papers: “This type of partisan politics is hitting below the belt. I make movies. I do not ask the advice of Senator Kennedy on whom I should hire. Senator Kennedy does not ask me how he should vote in the Senate. … I spoke to many screenwriters, but it was not until I talked to Albert Maitz that I found a writer who saw the screenplay in exactly the terms I wanted.… Under our Bill of Rights I was taught that no one may prescribe what shall be orthodox in politics, religion, or other matters of opinion.”

  Frank stated that as director and producer of the film: “I and I alone will be responsible for it. I am concerned that the screenplay reflects the true pro-American values of the story. I am prepared to stand on my principles and to await the verdict of the American people when they see The Execution of Private Slovik. I repeat: In my role as a picture-maker, I have—in my opinion—hired the best man to do the job.”

  That statement aroused widespread enmity and attacks by veterans’ groups throughout the country. The Los Angeles Examiner stated: “You are not giving employment to a poor little sheep who lost his way.… You are making available a story wide open for the Communist line.”

  Despite the outcry, Frank stood firm, insisting upon his inalienable right to hire whomever he wanted.

  Then prospective television sponsors threatened to withdraw if he did not disassociate himself from Maitz at once.

  “General Motors called me up—we had three Pontiac specials set—and they said that if he doesn’t rescind that association with Maitz, we’re pulling out,” said Nick Sevano. “If he doesn’t fire him in the next twenty-four hours, we’re canceling all our business dealings. I had recently gone back into business with Frank, and I had $250,000 at stake in those GM specials, so Hank [Sanicola], Mickey Rudin, and I flew to Palm Springs to try to talk Frank into firing Maitz, but he wouldn’t budge. Tuck ‘em,’ he said. ‘There will be other specials.’ When I pleaded with him to change his mind, he got so mad he fired me, and we had to break up our management company.”

  When priests stood up in their pulpits to sermonize against Frank, Ambassador Kennedy became alarmed and called Cardinal Spellman in New York and Cardinal Cushing in Boston, only to be told that Sinatra’s consorting with Communists could damage his son’s campaign among Roman Catholics. A few days later, Governor Wesley Powell of New Hampshire accused Senator Kennedy of “softness toward communism.”

  “That’s when old Joe called Frank and said, ‘It’s either Maitz or us. Make up your mind,’ ” said Peter Lawford. “He felt that Jack was getting rapped for being a Catholic and that was going to be tough enough to put to rest. He didn’t want him to get rapped for being pro-Communist as well, so Frank caved in, and dumped Maitz that day.”

  Bowing to Ambassador Kennedy, Frank issued a public statement: “In view of the reaction of my family, my friends, and the American public, I have instructed my attorneys to make a settlement with Albert Maitz and to inform him that he will not write the screenplay for The Execution of Private Slovik.

  “I had thought the major consideration was whether or not the resulting script would be in the best interests of the United States. Since my conversations with Mr. Maitz had indicated that he has an affirmative, pro-American approach to the story, and since I felt fully capable as producer of enforcing such standards, I have defended my hiring of Mr. Maitz.

  “But the American public has indicated it feels the morality of hiring Albert Maitz is the more crucial matter, and I will accept this majority opinion.”

  Frank had finally succumbed, after being subjected to public and private pressures few people ever experience in a lifetime. Family, friends, business associates, religious leaders, politicians, a galaxy of editorial writers and columnists had all advised—some demanded—that he throw Maitz to the wolves, or face the pack himself. Even after his statement, the controversy raged on like a fire in an oil well, stopping only when it ran dry.

  An eight-column streamer in. Hearst’s Los Angeles flagship paper ran in red above its own masthead: SINATRA OUSTS MALTZ AS WRITER. In an editorial headed “Sinatra Sees the Light,” the Examiner commended Frank for his “maturity” in Firing the blacklisted writer. In New York City, the Post condemned him for capitulating “to the know-nothings of cinema and journalism.” Publishers Weekly agreed: “Chalk up another victory for lynch-law mentality.”

  Frank paid Maitz’s agent $75,000, the full price he had agreed to pay for the screenplay, but he was too embarrassed to call the writer to explain what had happened or to apologize for going back on his word. He also abandoned the idea of directing and producing the Private Slovik story.

  A few nights later, Frank saw John Wayne at a celebrity-packed benefit dinner in the Moulin Rouge nightclub. Frank, who had been drinking, approached the six-foot-four-inch actor on the way to the parking lot.

  “You seem to disagree with me,” he said.

  “Now, now, Frank, we can discuss this somewhere else,” said Wayne.

  Frank snarled at the actor, but friends stepped in to hold him back. Wayne walked away and Sinatra stalked to his car after turning on the one newsman present: “I guess you’ll write all this down.”

  Angered, Sinatra stepped in front of a moving car, forcing the parking lot attendant behind the wheel to jam on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt.

  “Hey, Charley! You almost hit me! You know what I’m insured for?” Frank yelled. Confused and shaken, the parking lot attendant shook his head. Frank raced around to the driver’s side of the car, shoved the attendant, and tore the shirt off another. “Can you fight?” he yelled. “You’d better be able to.”

  “Aw, Frank, he wasn’t trying to hit you with the car,” said another parking attendant, Edward Moran. “He’s only trying to make a living.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” Frank roared, pushing Moran, who started to strike back trying to defend himself. Before the twenty-one-year-old could land a blow on Frank, the large fists of Big John Hopkins were punching Moran’s head and face. Hopkins, who had been standing a few feet away, was six feet tall, weighed 220 pounds, and worked for Sammy Davis, Jr. Moran claimed to the police that as
Hopkins beat him up, Frank yelled, “Tell that guy not to sue me if he knows what’s good for him! I’ll break both his legs.”

  Hopkins and Frank jumped into Sammy’s Rolls-Royce and drove off, while the parking lot attendant was taken to Hollywood Receiving Hospital and treated for facial cuts and bruises. He later filed suit against Frank for violent assault, asking $100,000 in damages.

  At that point, Big John Hopkins stepped forward to say that Frank wasn’t to blame. “There’s a little mixup and I’m standing right in the middle,” he said. “I separate them. Someone gets hurt in the separation and it isn’t me. And it isn’t Frank.” Before the case went to trial, Frank agreed to settle—no sum was disclosed.

  Following the Maitz episode, Frank avoided publicity until the Democratic National Convention in Los Angeles in July. By that time, the Dodgers were on a winning streak and the city was strewn with baseball pennants and political bunting. The Democrats arrived early to stage a $100-a-plate fund-raising dinner at the Beverly Hilton to be attended by 2,800 people, including all the Hollywood stars Frank could turn out—Judy Garland, Janet Leigh, Tony Curtis, Sammy Davis, Jr., Shirley MacLaine, Peter Lawford, Angie Dickinson, Milton Berle, George Jessel, Joe E. Lewis, and Mort Sahl.

  Jack Kennedy sat at the head table next to Garland. Frank sat at the end with the rest of the Democratic candidates—Adlai Stevenson, Stuart Symington, and Lyndon Johnson. After winning seven primaries and campaigning in fifty states, Jack Kennedy had arrived in Los Angeles with over 700 of the 1,520 delegates pledged to him. He was confident that by Wednesday, July 13, he would have the 761 votes necessary for a first ballot nomination.

  Frank and the rest of the Rat Pack opened the convention ceremonies in the sports arena on Monday, July 11, singing “The Star-Spangled Banner,” which was marred only by the delegates from Mississippi, who booed Sammy Davis, Jr. The jibes were so loud and ugly that Sammy lost his composure. As Davis tried to blink back his tears, Frank whispered to him: “Those dirty sons of bitches! Don’t let ’em get you, Charley. Hang on. Don’t let it get you!” But unable to hide his humiliation, Sammy left after the national anthem while Frank, Dean Martin, Peter Lawford, Janet Leigh, and Tony Curtis took their places on the floor in front row seats reserved for the press. They prowled the aisles restlessly, wanting to be part of the Kennedy power-brokering that was being handled by Kenny O’Donnell and Larry O’Brien. Although reporters, delegates, and even the Speaker of the House of Representatives were barred from the floor unless they could produce a highly coveted pass, Frank and the Rat Pack wandered at will from one delegation to the next, impervious to barriers and restrictions. Conscious of television, Frank had painted the back of his head black so that the cameras would not pick up his shiny bald pate.

  Ambassador and Mrs. Kennedy stayed at Marion Davies’s mansion in Beverly Hills, and while Rose attended the convention every day, her husband entertained labor leaders and big city bosses at home. On Wednesday, July 13, the day of the nominations, Frank was sitting with Jack Kennedy and his father when David McDonald, president of the steelworkers union, arrived.

  “Bobby was there … and quite a number of the members of the Kennedy family were there,” recalled McDonald. “I walked in and said hello to everybody. Jack said, ‘Would you like a drink, Dave?’ I said, ‘Yes, I’d love a beer.’ He said, ‘Right out there.’ So I went out there and Frankie Sinatra, of all people, was the bartender. So Frank said, ‘What would you like, Dave?’ I said, ‘Got an ice cold beer here?’ He said, ‘Sure.’ I said, ‘Frank, would you do me a favor? How about calling [my wife] Rosemary. She couldn’t be here because she has this terrible headache from the demonstration.’ So he called Rosemary. Her headache stopped immediately because she was such a great admirer of Sinatra, of his singing ability, anyway.”

  Jack Kennedy stayed at the house with his father to watch the nominating speeches while Frank returned to the convention hall, where the Stevenson demonstrators were threatening to tear down the hall in their fervor. As Senator Eugene J. McCarthy (D-Minn.) stepped to the podium to make his eloquent nominating speech for Stevenson (“Do not reject this man who has made us all proud to be Democrats. Do not leave this prophet without honor in his own party.”), the convention turned into a screaming, screeching mass of waving straw hats and blowing horns beseeching the heavens to thunder in praise of their man. Frank sat backstage, glumly watching the wild Stevenson demonstration. After five minutes of pandemonium, he signaled the orchestra leader, Johnny Green, giving him the “cut” sign with his hand to his throat, and effectively put a stop to the outpouring of adulation.

  Minutes later, Minnesota Governor Orville Freeman made the nominating speech for Kennedy, which didn’t match McCarthy’s rousing speech for Stevenson, but that made no difference, because by 10:07 P.M., when the roll of states was called and Wyoming gave its fifteen votes to Kennedy, the Democratic nomination was his. The convention hall erupted with excited Kennedy delegates screaming “All the way with JFK.” The Rat Pack jumped up and down, pounding one another on the back. “We’re on our way to the White House, buddy boy,” Frank said to Peter Lawford. “We’re on our way to the White House.”

  Frank had arranged for political satirist Mort Sahl to address the convention before Kennedy’s acceptance speech the next night. Months before, Sinatra had solicited material from the thirty-three-year-old comedian for a Kennedy joke bank to compete with one Bob Hope was doing for the Republicans. Sahl had amused the Kennedys with his caustic political humor, referring to White House Press Secretary Jim Hagerty as “Ike’s right foot,” and deriding Eisenhower as the president who rode to the White House like a hero on a white horse. “Four years later we’ve still got the horse, but there’s nobody riding him,” he had said.

  Given these Republican jibes, Frank had figured that Sahl would provide good entertainment for 100,000 cheering Kennedy partisans. He certainly didn’t expect the comedian to make fun of the candidate, and he cringed when Sahl opened by announcing that Nixon had sent a wire to Joseph P. Kennedy, saying, “You haven’t lost a son. You’ve gained a country. Congratulations.” It was no better when Sahl ended by saying, “We’ve finally got a choice, the choice between the lesser of two evils. Nixon wants to sell the country, and Kennedy wants to buy it.”

  After that evening, Frank’s relationship with Sahl was never the same.

  The convention over, Frank campaigned hard for the Kennedy-Johnson ticket. He appeared before two thousand women at Janet Leigh’s Key Women for Kennedy tea and sang three songs. He sent a $2,500 check to the campaign headquarters. He brought Hollywood friends to the Democratic Governors’ Ball in Newark, New Jersey, and sang before forty thousand people. He staged luau benefits in Hawaii during the filming of The Devil at 4 O’Clock, and campaigned with Peter Lawford throughout the islands.

  “Frank and I won Honolulu for Jack by one hundred twenty-eight votes,” said Lawford. “We hit all the islands, just the two of us. I’d smile and Frank would sing, picking up local bands along the way.”

  Frank also arranged a behind-the-scenes meeting for Ambassador Kennedy with his good friend, Harold J. Gibbons, national vice-president of the Teamsters Union, so that the ambassador could try to heal the wounds caused by Bobby’s investigation of labor racketeering and get labor’s endorsement for his son’s presidential ticket. The teamsters never endorsed Kennedy, but Frank’s friend Sam Giancana steered teamster dollars out of their $200 million pension fund into the Kennedy campaign. Giancana did it partly to get Kennedy elected—and thereby end his own surveillance—but he also must have wanted to please Frank, with whom he now had a common business interest. A few months before, Giancana had quietly made preparations to become a secret owner of the Gal-Neva Lodge in Lake Tahoe. The owners of record were to be Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Hank Sanicola.

  Curiously, former Ambassador Joseph P. Kennedy was staying at Cal-Neva at the time as Sinatra’s guest, and, according to Justice Department files, “had been visited by
many gangsters with gambling interests.” The Justice Department refused in 1985 to release any further information to explain the “deal” made between Joseph Kennedy and the “gangsters with gambling interests.”

  Seeing an opportunity to embarrass the Republican nominee, Frank gave Bobby Kennedy, JFK’s campaign manager, a copy of a private investigator’s report disclosing that Richard Nixon had made periodic visits to a New York psychiatrist, Dr. Arnold Hutschnecker, news that would have been highly damaging if published in 1960. Bobby Kennedy’s aide recalled that Sinatra, who personally employed the private investigator, was surprised when Bobby refused to use the information and locked it in his office safe instead. “Frank then sent a reporter around to try to surface it, but Bobby was out of town at the time,” said the aide. “He never said anything to Frank, but he sat on the report and refused to make it public.”

  On September 12, 1960, Frank set aside politics for the wedding of his beloved daughter, Nancy, to Tommy Sands at the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas in front of thirty-five friends and family. Little Nancy had intended to marry Sands in the winter of 1960 after Tommy’s Air Force tour of duty was completed, but she pushed the marriage ahead because “my father goes to Honolulu to make a picture. … I couldn’t get married without my father.”