Sinatra

by J. Randy Taraborrelli

  Frank and Marty had become close pals, particularly over the last twenty years, as Frank, in his thirties and forties, began to appreciate Marty’s quiet wisdom and sensible approach to life. “He always knew the right thing to say,” Frank would recall of his dad. “Without him, I felt like I had no anchor.”

  The funeral Mass was held at Fort Lee’s Madonna Church; the burial, at Jersey City’s Holy Name Cemetery. The townsfolk caused a huge traffic jam to catch a look at the hearse and procession of twenty-five limousines as it made its way from the church to the cemetery. “Frank was very unhappy with his mother,” said Joey D’Orazio, his childhood friend. “She had told too many people too many things about the details of the funeral, made too many announcements, and so the scene was madness. There were cops and firemen everywhere, and it was a circus, something Frank didn’t want.”

  Dolly, distraught and always one with a flair for the dramatic, actually attempted to throw herself onto the casket at the cemetery as she sobbed, “Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. It can’t be true.” Frank and Jilly held her back. Frank then pleaded with the priest, Father Robert Perrella, to “hurry it up with the prayers” as his mother screamed out, “Marty, Marty, please don’t leave me.” The priest raced through the service as quickly as he could while everyone, strangers and friends alike, wailed, sobbed, and moaned loudly, all led by the widow’s understandable outpouring of deeply felt emotion.

  “It was a funeral like you’ve never seen before,” said Diane Phipps, a fan who observed the Sinatras at the gravesite. “It was like a movie, it was so dramatic. You could tell that Frank had had it up to here with his mother. There were bodyguards everywhere with walkie-talkies, and people were taking pictures, and there were television cameras and people running around with microphones, and Dolly was sort of the center of attention. She was like the star of the whole thing. Obviously, she was genuinely grieving, but oh my, the show she put on! Frank and two other guys had to practically drag her away from the gravesite into a limousine.”

  On January 15, 1971, the Martin Anthony Sinatra Medical Education Center was dedicated in Palm Springs. Frank had personally raised the funds for the medical building and dedicated it to his father. At its dedication, Sinatra said of his beloved dad, “He’s here,” pointing to his head. “And here,” he added, pointing to his heart. “This splendid structure is my dad’s kind of dream, just as it is yours and mine. I remember a line in a childhood prayer that said, ‘Send me blessed dreams and let them all come true.’ ”

  A $22.5 Million Deal . . . at Dolly’s House

  By 1969, Frank’s Reprise Records had been sold twice, first to Warner Bros.–Seven Arts, Inc. in 1963, and then a few years later to a Canadian investor named Eliot Hyman, who helped cofound Seven Arts Productions. The way Mickey Rudin had structured the 1963 deal was that Frank retained a 20 percent ownership of the Reprise subsidiary, which Mickey felt would benefit him if Warner Bros.–Seven Arts ever changed hands. However, when Eliot Hyman purchased the company, he wasn’t interested in having Frank divest his 20 percent. That was fine with Mickey and Frank; they knew that eventually Hyman would sell and Frank would then profit. That happened in 1969. Steven J. Ross, an investor who had made his money in the funeral business, wanted to invest in his first love, the entertainment world. He approached Hyman with a very good offer to buy Warner Bros.–Seven Arts. Ross also wanted Frank’s 20 percent of Reprise.

  At this time, New York had a very high stock transfer tax that applied not only to the transferring of stock in New York corporations but also in non–New York corporations using New York as the city in which the transfer was made. As a result, most Manhattan lawyers would move the entire transaction to Fort Lee, New Jersey. They’d find a bank that would be willing to cooperate and then use that bank to make the official transaction, thereby legally eluding the heavy taxation. Warners and Reprise were both Delaware corporations, but were represented by the top Manhattan law firm of Paul, Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton & Garrison (which represented many high-profile notables and would soon represent Spiro Agnew in his plea bargain after the Watergate scandal). Allan B. Ecker, who worked for the firm, suggested that the stock transfer not occur in the attorneys’ New York office, but in Fort Lee. To that end, he leased out a conference room at a bank there. Of course, it just so happened that Frank already had a headquarters in Fort Lee: the home he had purchased for Dolly and Marty. Why not do the transfer there?

  When Frank asked Dolly what she thought of the idea, of course she loved it. Her son coming to her for help? She lived for such moments!

  So one day a parade of stretch limousines pulled up in front of Dolly’s home, carrying Frank, Steve Ross, Mickey Rudin, and a team of attorneys from Paul, Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton & Garrison, including Allan B. Ecker. “Before the closing, Dolly insisted on showing us around,” recalled Allan B. Ecker. “She was particularly proud of what she called the ‘Photograph Gallery,’ a series of little shrines at which Frank was pictured with each of his wives.” Indeed, on the wall in her living room, Dolly had hung framed pictures of Frank with wives Nancy, Ava, and Mia, as well as pictures of him with other flames such as Betty Bacall and Juliet Prowse. The consummate tour guide, Dolly had a little anecdote to go along with each photo. Frank stood patiently by and let his mom take center stage as she told flattering stories about each of the women with whom he’d been romantically involved. “We gave Mrs. Sinatra’s collection respectful and admiring attention,” recalled Allan B. Ecker.

  The men then all gathered around Dolly’s dining room table. First, she brought out a tray of cookies that she had baked for the occasion. Then, as they sampled Dolly’s cookies, the men finalized the deal. “Frank signed the assignment form on the back of the stock certificate, transferring his 20 percent interest in Reprise to Warner Communications, Inc. and then handed the certificate to Steve,” said Ecker. As Dolly stood proudly behind her son, Steve Ross handed Frank a check. “How much is this check for, Ma?” Frank said, acting as if he couldn’t read the type on it. “Damn eyesight,” he said, acting exasperated. Dolly looked over her son’s shoulder. “It says . . .” she began. “Holy Christ!” she then exclaimed as the men all laughed. It was for $22.5 million. Frank beamed at his mother’s reaction. What a moment for him! “Do you think Pop would be proud?” he asked his mother. “He’s looking down on you and smiling right now,” Dolly said with tears in her eyes. “He’s so proud.”

  After the papers were signed, all of the lawyers and Steve Ross thanked Dolly Sinatra for her hospitality, got into their individual limousines, and left, headed back to New York. Frank stayed behind. He had a gift for his mom—a check for $1 million. He would also give checks for $1 million to Nancy, Tina, and Frank Jr.

  At about this time, Frank felt that Dolly should move to the West Coast so that he could care for her. She was against the idea. “Shut-uppa you mou!” she hollered at him when he first proposed it. Her life was in New Jersey, she said, and she didn’t want that to change. She needed her close friends, especially with Marty gone.

  The son of a friend of hers from Fort Lee said, “My mother and Dolly spent a lot of time talking over the pros and cons of moving to Los Angeles, and eventually there was a feeling that her life was actually over in Fort Lee. She and Marty never had the kind of relationship where they needed each other, but without him there, she knew it would never be the same. She was the type of woman who was always moving, always growing. She wanted a new life, and Frank gave her that opportunity. He built her a nice house right next to his estate and staffed it with servants to wait on her day and night. She loved that.”

  More Mob Questions

  On February 17, 1970, fifty-four-year-old Frank Sinatra found himself answering questions under oath. About a year earlier, the New Jersey State Commission of Investigation had served him with a subpoena, expecting him to testify about his connections to the underworld. He received the subpoena, explained Mickey Rudin, “while on a boat that stopped in New Jersey. This seemed t
o be the lark of an investigator who had a subpoena with him, filled it out on the spot, added Sinatra’s name, and served him with it.”

  Frank complained, “I’m tired of being considered an authority on organized crime.” He then filed a lawsuit in federal court in hopes of not having to testify before the committee. “I do not have any knowledge of the extent to which organized crime functions in the state of New Jersey,” he claimed, “or whether there is such a thing as ‘organized crime.’ ” When Sinatra’s suit was dismissed, he appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court. His appeal was rejected by a vote of four to three. Still he refused to testify, until finally the commission threatened to jail him for contempt in February 1970.

  Sinatra’s attorneys agreed to allow him to be questioned in a secret session in Trenton at midnight on February 17. The hope was that the veil of secrecy would prevent the media from reporting the event and turning it into a circus. Frank answered questions for a little more than an hour and repeatedly denied any association with any member of the underworld. In fact, he testified under oath that it had never been brought to his attention that Sam Giancana had ever been connected to either the Cosa Nostra, the Mafia, or the underworld. He added that he also was not familiar with Lucky Luciano’s reputation as a member of the Cosa Nostra or the Mafia, and he also denied any knowledge of the backgrounds or professions of a number of other known mobsters. Finally:

  Q: Do you know anyone who’s a member of the mob?

  A: No, sir.

  Q: Do you know anyone who’s a member of any organization that would come under the category of organized crime?

  A: No, sir.

  It’s not difficult to understand why Frank felt the need to lie. Of course he knew that Giancana was a Mafia figure. However, his attorneys warned him that to admit as much would only open the door to further inquiry and that a flat “no” would just end the questioning. Nevertheless, his unbelievable testimony, when leaked to the media, only served to provide more evidence to bolster the cynics’ opinion of him. His detractors thought he was protecting the Mafia; his testimony did little to disabuse anyone of that notion.

  “For many years, every time some Italian names are involved in any inquiry, I get a subpoena,” Sinatra angrily said afterward. “I appear. I am asked questions about scores of persons unknown to me based on rumors and events which have never happened. Then I am subjected to the type of publicity I do not desire and do not seek.”

  Surprising Political Support

  On July 9, 1970, Frank Sinatra, an avowed Democrat, made a surprise announcement: He decided to support Republican Ronald Reagan in his bid for a second term as governor of California (even though Frank would remain a registered Democrat). Reagan had begun his political career by becoming governor of California in 1966, campaigning for law and order. Liberal-minded Sinatra had never really admired Reagan; he always thought of him as stuffy and unimaginative. However, Frank may have had an ulterior motive in supporting Reagan. Reagan’s opponent was Jesse Unruh, former speaker of the California State Assembly, who had been a protege of Bobby Kennedy’s. It was thought by some pundits that Sinatra’s support of Reagan was really his way of settling the score with Kennedy by getting “even” with his disciple, Unruh.

  “I support the man, not the party anymore,” Frank explained. “I’m not voting for a man just because he’s a Democrat. If people don’t like that, screw ’em.” It would seem, though, that Sinatra was serious about his new policy of not voting for any specific party, because his allegiances were all over the political map in 1970: He was also supporting Democrat Edmund “Jerry” Brown Jr. for secretary of state of California, and he made it clear that he would support Nixon’s opponent in the next presidential election. He put his support behind Republican John Lindsay for mayor of New York and donated thousands of dollars to Republican Nelson Rockefeller’s campaign for his second bid for governor of New York.

  “I got a little cold about my team [the Democratic Party] there for a while; it wasn’t pleasing me,” Sinatra explained to Larry King in May 1988. “And I began to move around a little bit, and it’s a wonderful thing to be able to do, switch from one party to another. We have the right to do that.” Of course, the fact that Frank had felt betrayed by both Kennedy and Humphrey can’t be ignored as a possible factor in his sudden shift to Republican candidates. It begs the question of how deep his political convictions really were. He always publicly maintained, however, that previous slights had nothing to do with his decision to change parties.

  Most perplexing, however, to many Sinatra followers was the singer’s sudden friendship with and allegiance to Vice President Spiro T. Agnew. Politicians didn’t come more conservative than Agnew in 1970, and Sinatra’s relationship with him made him appear, at least from a public relations standpoint, about as “square” as Agnew, who was vehemently against student protesters, antiwar demonstrators, and “those damn hippies.”

  “It’s the amorality,” Frank said when asked why he felt this country was in trouble. “And so much restlessness. I guess we just got used to a way of life in my age bracket. Take the protestations, called for or uncalled for. I’m not against protestations if they’re for a cause. But I don’t like rebellion without a cause.” This from a former Rat Packer who had once lived his life on the edge of revolt just for the hell of it? It would seem that Sinatra—not unlike a lot of his older fans—was now losing touch with the free-spirited values of his youth.

  “There was instant chemistry—personally and politically—between Sinatra and Agnew,” recalled Peter Malatesta, an assistant of Agnew’s who also happened to be a nephew of Bob Hope’s, “and because of that we started spending a lot more time with Frank in Palm Springs. He treated the vice president like royalty, even named the guesthouse he had once built for JFK after Agnew: Agnew House.”

  To some, it sounded as if Frank was now just replacing his former hero worship of JFK with Agnew, a politician who was the antithesis of Kennedy. To an extent, that seems true. However, it’s also true that Sinatra was getting older and becoming more conservative. “He was now comfortable with Agnew’s right-wing extremism,” is how his daughter Tina put it, “much more than he would have been, say, ten years earlier. Some of us found it maddening. You could have a pretty good debate with Frank about these kinds of things, as I often did. But it was a good idea not to push too hard,” she concluded with a laugh, “because it could get a little explosive.”

  Another Vegas Showdown

  In September 1970, a situation occurred in Las Vegas during Frank Sinatra’s engagement at Caesars Palace that would further tarnish his public image.

  On September 6, one of Sinatra’s employees cashed in $7,500 worth of chips so that his boss could play blackjack. The transaction caught the attention of an undercover IRS agent who at the time just happened to be investigating the entertainment industry’s relationship with the underworld.

  As we saw earlier when he was contracted to the Sands, Frank always had IOUs on record with the casino for large amounts of money he had lost at the tables. These amounts were rarely deducted from his salary or ever paid back from his winnings. It was an unspoken courtesy, the hotel giving him money to gamble with and rarely, if ever, getting any of it back. If Frank won, he just kept the winnings. If he lost, it was on the casino, not him. Sinatra thought this little perk was fair business, using the argument that he brought millions of dollars into the hotel and casino during his sold-out engagements. The more people who came to see him perform, the more who gambled in the casinos. In the end, everyone made more money as a result of his presence, he would argue, so why not extend him the courtesy of $10,000 or so? As earlier noted, a disagreement over this very issue was what caused a rift between Sinatra and the Sands Hotel—which was precisely why he was now contracted to Caesars.

  Apparently a discussion between Sinatra and the casino manager, Sanford Waterman, about Sinatra’s IOUs became ugly when Sinatra called Waterman a “kike” and Waterman retaliated by
calling him a “guinea.” Waterman then pulled out a gun and pointed it at Frank’s head. “I hope you like that gun,” Frank said calmly, “because you may have to eat it.” In that moment, Jilly Rizzo—who was pretty fast for a big guy—lunged at Waterman and wrested the weapon away from him. Frank laughed in Waterman’s face and said he’d never work at Caesars Palace again. Then he turned and walked away.

  The press coverage that followed this melee was vociferous and very much against Frank. District Attorney George Franklin told the media that he wanted to interrogate Frank because, in a parting shot to Waterman, Sinatra supposedly said, “The mob will take care of you.” He said he wanted to ask Frank “about who owned the nightclubs where he sang, the early days, who started him on his way, and his friendships with the underworld.”

  This DA was clearly a man who, like a lot of people, had heard a great many titillating stories about Frank over the years and was now trying to bring to the forefront once again age-old stories about Sinatra and the mob. He also claimed that Waterman “still had finger marks on his throat where Sinatra grabbed him.”

  Frank had no choice but to offer some kind of public explanation. “There was no such argument about credit or for how much I was going to play,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I just sat down at the blackjack table and hadn’t even placed a bet, since the dealer was shuffling the cards. At that point, Waterman came over and said to the dealer, ‘Don’t deal to this man.’ I got up and said, ‘Put your name on the marquee and I’ll come to see what kind of business you do,’ and I walked away. As for his injuries, I never touched him. And as for the remarks attributed to me relative to the mob, they’re strictly out of a comic strip.”