His Way

by Kitty Kelley

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out two one-dollar bills, and stuffed them into the plastic glass Mrs. Cheshire was holding. “Here, baby, that’s what you’re used to.” Grabbing Barbara he said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “I couldn’t believe it,” said Malatesta, who was standing by Frank’s side. “Here I was, all set to introduce him to the Republican hierarchy, and he’s got to play Johnny Macho! I nearly died. As Frank and Barbara left, I ran to the bar for a few quick pops to get the nerve to go back home. When I walked in, Frank and Barbara were sitting in the living room in the two wing chairs, staring at the wall. No words. Nothing, Finally Frank said, ‘I told you we shouldn’t have gone.’

  “He was so upset that he did not leave the house for two days, and he canceled his appearance at several inaugural events. The President was enraged when he heard what happened, and then the White House started getting on my back because Nixon had already asked Frank to appear at the state dinner for the president of Italy, and Haldeman [White House Chief of Staff] was now trying to get him to cancel because they didn’t want to be tarred with the Maxine incident. He blamed Agnew for bringing Sinatra into GOP court circles to begin with, and wanted us to tell Frank he couldn’t sing for Prime Minister and Mrs. Guilio Andreotti. There’s no question that everyone in Washington was shocked by Sinatra’s behavior, and every newspaper in the country was writing about it. I was a mess trying to figure out how to keep everything intact. Then Frank nearly blew everything sky high.

  “He sent his driver out to every pharmacy in town to buy up hundreds of bottles of vaginal sprays and douches and wrote a note to Maxine saying she would know how to use those products and why. He asked me to have them delivered to her at The Washington Post, and I thought, Oh, God, not this on top of everything else. So I called Rudin and told him what had happened. Mickey told me to just say I did it, but not to do it. He said he had too many problems with him as it was and that he didn’t need that one. So I didn’t send them, although Frank thought I did.”

  The attack on Mrs. Cheshire seemed indefensible, even to Frank’s closest friends, and Edward Bennett Williams, the attorney for The Washington Post, asked Mickey Rudin for “an acceptable apology,” which was not forthcoming. Mrs. Cheshire threatened to sue for slander, if for no other reason than to force that apology.

  “If he had attacked me as a reporter, I would have taken it, but he attacked me as a woman,” she said. “I feel I owe it to my children to sue. I’m square enough that virtue means something to me. I take my reputation and the sanctity of my home very seriously.”

  In the end, she decided against a lawsuit, but Frank never apologized for his vulgar tirade against her. In fact, he laced into the press months later.

  “I call them garbage collectors: the columnists without a conscience, the reporters who take long shots based on the idea that where there’s smoke there’s fire, all for the sake of a story,” he said. “I’m blunt and honest. I could easily call them pimps and ‘hos’ [whores]. They’d sell their mother out. How dare they say what they do about me?”

  As always, Frank’s seventy-nine-year-old mother back in Palm Springs supported him. Dolly Sinatra listened to the graphic details of his performance in Washington without raising an eyebrow. Nor did she blanch when told that her son had called Mrs. Cheshire one of the vilest words in the English language. In fact, she bristled only when she heard about the two one-dollar bills he had stuffed into the reporter’s glass.

  “Hmmmpf,” she snorted. “Frank overpaid.”

  30

  Frank had won the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award in 1971, and had received the annual Screen Actors Guild Award in 1972 for his generosity “to persons whom he has never even met.” A visiting Englishwoman who was forced by a New York cab driver to pay $237.70 for a thirty-dollar ride had received a check from Frank for $250 with a letter from his press agents: “Our client, who has always been royally treated by the English, was very upset about your experience with the taxi driver. He has asked us to send you this check to make up for the money you lost and he sincerely hopes the rest of your trip will be a pleasant one.”

  When Mr. and Mrs. Sam Labeiko, an elderly immigrant couple, were to be evicted from their $46.80-a-month apartment on Manhattan’s Lower East Side because they couldn’t pay a ten-dollar rent increase, Frank provided them with a lawyer to fight their cause.

  When Sharon Ehlers, a seventeen-year-old cerebral palsy victim, and her parents were stranded in New York City after a car thief stole their specially converted minibus, Frank dispatched his Gulfstream jet to fly them back to California. The girl, paralyzed since birth, could say only “mommy,” “daddy,” “yes,” and “no,” but her father expressed the family’s gratitude. “Whoever would think that a fellow like Frank Sinatra would think of a fellow like me,” he said.

  When Judy Wyatt was a sophomore at a San Antonio school for the orthopedically handicapped and was to undergo a fourth operation on her paralyzed leg, Frank offered to pay her hospital bills. Told that the costs were covered by the crippled children’s division of the Texas health department, he offered a one-thousand-dollar contribution to her doctor’s charity of choice, and then gave her family a sizable check.

  “We lived in a housing project at the time, but he made it possible for us to move to this house,” said Mrs. Wyatt. “He has given us a completely different life.”

  When Emogene Slayden of West Frankfort, Illinois, who was born with no arms and only one leg, lost her welfare payments because of a technicality in the law, Frank sent her one thousand dollars so she could hire a housekeeper to cook and clean and help her get dressed. “I just wanted to run out and buy the biggest color television I could find and then I could say Frankie bought me a television, but I didn’t dare,” she said. “I needed the money to live.”

  When Bernice Mitchell of Desert Hot Springs, California, lost most of her welfare grant due to a cut by the California health department and could not afford to buy Christmas presents for her son, Frank personally delivered a red bicycle to her eleven-year-old boy, saying it was a gift from Santa Claus sent by way of Governor Reagan.

  When Mario Victoria, an eight-year-old boy from El Monte, California, who was suffering from two malignant brain tumors, had to celebrate Christmas early because he would die before December, Frank sent him a check for five hundred dollars.

  When Morgan Rowe, a ten-year-old boy from Gainesville, Florida, fell from a tractor into a spinning thrasher that mangled his arms and upper torso, Frank sent him a check for fifteen thousand dollars.

  All of these spontaneous acts of generosity, accounts of which were published in newspapers around the world, contributed to Sinatra’s international reputation as a humanitarian and helped to bring him innumerable honors. He won the March of Dimes Foundation’s Man of the Year Award in 1973, followed by the Thomas A. Dooley Foundation’s “Splendid American Award.” He shared the latter tribute with his good friend Vice-President Agnew a few months after the inaugural, when both of them appeared at the organization’s annual fund-raising dinner at the Plaza Hotel in New York.

  “We chose Sinatra and Agnew because they reflect the true spirit of the ‘ugly American,’ ” said Dr. Verne Ghaney, president of the foundation that sponsors medical aid and health education in Southeast Asia. “They are people who reflect well the image of what this country stands for, the qualities that make people great—strength, integrity, courage, and forthrightness. No matter what Americans may think of them, these two men have a good image abroad. Besides, if we had chosen two Peace Corps volunteers, nobody would have paid to come.”

  The favorable press coverage of this event persuaded President Nixon to reinstate Frank as the featured performer at the White House state dinner on April 17 for the Italian prime minister and his wife. Frank gratefully came out of retirement for this occasion and was so excited by the invitation that he took all three of his children to Washington so they could hear the President of
the United States praise him to the hilt: “Frank Sinatra is to American music what the Washington Monument is to Washington—he’s the top.

  “This house is honored to have a man whose parents were born in Italy but yet from humble beginnings went to the very top in entertainment,” Nixon said.

  The two hundred twenty guests in the East Room sat enraptured as Frank sang a medley of his classics, including “Moonlight in Vermont,” “Fly Me to the Moon,” “OF Man River,” “I’ve Got the World on a String,” “One for My Baby,” “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” and “Try a Little Tenderness.”

  “When I was a small boy in New Jersey, I thought it was a great boot if I could get a glimpse of the mayor in a parade,” Sinatra said. “Tonight, here with my President, the Italian prime minister, and their guests, it’s quite a boot to me. I’m honored and I’m privileged to be here. Today, after the rehearsal, I looked at the paintings of President and Mrs. Washington and thought about the modest dignity of the presidency up through the years to now and our President. It makes me very proud of my country. I love my country. We all do. That’s just it. I thank you, Mr. President, for inviting me here. It was wonderful to perform for the prime minister of my father’s country.” As a patriotic encore, Frank sang “The House I Live In,” which brought Nixon jumping to his feet to lead the applause.

  “Those of us who have had the privilege of being in this room and who have heard many great performances know that once in a while there is a moment when there is magic in this room, when a singer is able to move us and capture us all, and Frank Sinatra has done that tonight, and we thank him,” said the President.

  “Lovely words, sir,” said Frank, his eyes filling with tears. “See you very soon.”

  “July,” said Nixon. “I’ve got to practice. I haven’t played golf for a year.”

  Before Frank left that evening, the President took him aside and told him to seriously consider coming out of retirement. “After tonight, I’ll have to think about it,” said Frank.

  The rapport between Sinatra and the White House gave rise to FBI allegations, later dismissed, that his endorsement of the Nixon-Agnew ticket and his fifty-thousand-dollar campaign contribution, plus an “unrecorded contribution” of $100,000 in cash, had paved the way for the prison release of his distant relative, Angelo “Gyp” DeCarlo, the underboss of New York’s Mafia family. Having served only nineteen months of a twelve-year sentence for extortion, DeCarlo, who was described by prosecutors as “violent… homicidal… and a man who orders executions,” had received a commutation from President Nixon on December 20, 1972. The official reason given had been that DeCarlo was suffering from terminal cancer, but weeks later the FBI had learned that “certain associates” of DeCarlo credited the release to Frank’s intervention with the White House. Furthermore, Newsweek magazine reported that DeCarlo, though ailing, was “back at his rackets, boasting that his connections with Sinatra freed him.”

  After a two-month investigation, the Justice Department announced that although Frank’s name had been mentioned frequently on wire-tapped conversations of DeCarlo from 1961 to 1965, there was no evidence that he used his influence with the President to get his Mafia relative released.

  Senator Henry M. “Scoop” Jackson (D-Wash.) was not convinced. He charged that the pardon “bypassed normal procedures and safeguards.” He said his Senate Permanent Investigations Subcommittee had turned up information that raised “serious and disturbing questions as to the reasons and manner in which Angelo DeCarlo was released from federal custody,” but the mobster died in 1973 before the senator’s investigation was completed, and none of the information was released.

  * * *

  At the time, Frank was working to keep his good friend Spiro Agnew out of prison. Involved in a criminal Maryland kickback scheme, the Vice-President was being investigated for bribery, extortion, and tax fraud. Records of his election campaigns had been subpoenaed to determine possible violation of criminal laws covering conspiracy.

  “We were at Sinatra’s house in Palm Springs when the news broke that Agnew had been taking cash payoffs since 1967 of at least $100,000,” said Peter Malatesta. “We flew back to Washington right away with Mickey Rudin, whom Frank sent off to Baltimore to find out what was really going on. Rudin came back three days later saying that the Vice-President was dead-ass guilty. ‘So is Marvin Mandel,’ he said, ‘but he has his ducks in a row better than Agnew.’

  “I asked Mickey who he had talked to and he said, ‘Some guys.’ I asked what guys, and he put his fingers to his nose and squashed it, whatever that means. I was stunned.

  “Vic Gold had joined us, and Rudin was outlining a plan of action, saying that he could put together a cartel of the five best criminal lawyers in the country to defend Agnew and no jury in America would convict him unanimously. He reasoned that if Agnew would fight a long court battle, some of the Watergate pressure would be taken off Nixon. ‘After all,’ Rudin said, ‘a court case like this could drag on for years, and the man is innocent until proven guilty.’ He said that no one would dare attempt to force Nixon out of office because then Agnew would automatically become president, even if he were still on trial. He felt that Agnew would never be impeached by Congress, so he said that the best thing for him to do is stay and fight.”

  “Mickey analyzed the Agnew situation brilliantly,” said Vic Gold, “and he was not in the least surprised by the cash payoffs. He said, ‘Let me tell you something about your man: He’s very close with a dollar. Every time he opened his wallet and handed Peter money to get something, it was always a fresh bill. That told me something … that he did everything by cash. That went out in Al Capone’s time. I tell all my clients not to do anything except by check or with a piece of paper.’ Despite that, though, Rudin and Frank both wanted Agnew to fight back, and so did I.”

  The Vice-President tried to follow the advice by branding as “damned lies” the reports that he took cash kickbacks from Maryland contractors, but federal prosecutors had sworn statements from some of the men who made the payoffs.

  “I am innocent of the charges,” Agnew maintained. “I will not resign if indicted.”

  But by October 10, 1973, he had no other choice. He had to give up the vice-presidency if he wanted to avoid criminal prosecution. He resigned and then pleaded nolo contendere to one count of income tax evasion.

  Frank felt heartsick. “As a citizen who loves America, and as a good friend of Mr. Agnew, this indeed is a sad day,” he said. “Certainly, I offer whatever sympathy and support my friend may need. It takes great courage to pursue the route he has chosen. And I have every hope that in the months and years to come, his action will result in a greater public understanding of his feelings and position as the man in the arena.”

  Frank sprang into action for his beleaguered friend, whose net worth of $198,000 was disappearing rapidly. Without his yearly salary of $62,500 as vice-president, Agnew was forced to sell his house in Bethesda and liquidate his stocks to pay his legal fees. He also lost his substantial government pension. Facing a $147,500 bill from the state of Maryland, plus disbarment proceedings, the former vice-president was nearly destitute.

  Frank sent Agnew $30,000 the day after he resigned to pay his $10,000 tax evasion fine and his family living expenses while he tried to find a job. He also lent him $200,000 to pay his back taxes, interest, and penalties, and then sent letters to his close friends, asking them to donate at least $3,000 each to help defray Agnew’s legal bills. The figure was kept at $3,000 so the donor would not have to pay federal gift taxes, but the response was unenthusiastic. Most recipients pretended the letter got lost in the mail, but William J. Green, chairman of the Clevepak Corporation, and one of Frank’s closest friends, openly refused to contribute, and said that Frank was putting too much pressure on their friendship by soliciting money for a man like Spiro Agnew.

  Frank contacted W. Clement Stone, the Chicago insurance tycoon who thought up PMA (Positive Mental Attitude), an
d set up a meeting to discuss a possible defense fund that would pay the legal bills. The multimillionaire philanthropist agreed to help, but the fund raised only $40,000, barely covering the lawyers’ retainer fee.

  Frank contacted publishers to see how much they’d offer for Agnew’s memoirs. He wanted at least $500,000 but was politely rebuffed.

  “Mr. Sinatra called me as a friend, hypothetically, to ask me if we would be interested if Agnew were to write a book,” said Thomas Guinzburg, then of Viking Press. “I told him it would depend entirely on what kind of book it was. If he [Agnew] came clean and said what happened and why it happened, it would be a valuable book. But I don’t think the American public is ready to buy a defense that says ‘I was just a good, honest, Greek boy minding my own business when a millionaire came along and said to me, “Here’s $5,000 for grocery money, Ted.’ ”

  Frank received a lot of hate mail because of his unstinting support for Agnew.

  “I was criticized because Agnew was a friend of mine, and I stayed a friend after he had his troubles,” he said. “I don’t know about walking away from people when they’ve got troubles. I never knew that side of life. His problems were up to the law, not me. I’m just a friend.”

  As Agnew was forced off the national stage, Frank bounded back on, announcing the end of his two years of retirement in the most expensive television special of 1973.

  “I didn’t realize how much I’d miss this business—the records, the movies, the saloons,” he said. “So here I am for all the young people who wanted to know what I used to work like. …”

  Backed by a fifty-four-piece orchestra with twenty violins that softened a ravished voice, Frank looked older and considerably heavier as he sang of how grateful he was to be back. His song told the audience that he couldn’t say goodbye.