'OL BLUE EYES... CHAIRMAN OF THE BOARD

He made Las Vegas Ring-a-Ding-Ding. Even though his album of the same “Ring” made meteoric rise on the charts, it paled by comparison to Frank Sinatra’s contribution to Las Vegas. Sinatra was not only a pop music legend; he was a one man chamber of commerce who gave the Meadow Land something equally important…an image. He did it back in the days before “demographics” and “visitor volume” were buzzwords.

Francis Albert Sinatra was born on December 12, 1915 in Hoboken, New Jersey. He was the only child of Italian immigrants Natalie Della Garaventa and Antonino Martino Sinatra. He weighed over 13 pounds at birth, and had to be delivered by forceps; as a result, one of his ears was nearly severed and an eardrum was damaged. The latter is the reason most often given for his being classified 4F (exempted from service) during World War II. Showing no signs of life, he was held by his grandmother under cold running water, and suddenly he began to breathe and cry. His mother and father had been hoping for a girl and had already chosen the name Frances. So they gave him the masculine form of the name, Francis.

Francis left high school after having attended only 47 days, being expelled because of his rowdy conduct. Sinatra’s father, known as Marty to his friends, served with the Hoboken Fire Department as a Captain. His mother, known as Dolly, was influential in local Democrat Party circles and ran an illegal abortion business from her home. Dolly Sinatra was arrested several times and convicted twice for the offense. Nevertheless, during the Great Depression, she provided money to her son for outings with friends and expensive clothes. Young Francis started his career as a womanizer at an early age. While still in his teens he was arrested for carrying on with a married woman, a criminal offense at the time. Years later he was reported to say, “A well balanced girl is the one who has an empty head and a full sweater.”

He did various odd jobs in his youth that helped to keep him busy and sometimes out of trouble. He worked as a delivery boy at the Jersey Observer newspaper and as a riveter at a shipyard, but music was Frank Sinatra’s main interest and he carefully studied big band jazz. Growing up on the streets of Hoboken made Sinatra determined to work hard to get ahead. Before reaching adolescence he was singing for tips, standing on top of the bar at a local nightclub in Hoboken. The saloons were musty little dives, and to set himself apart from his shabby local competitors, he carried his own P.A. system. In less than a decade Sinatra began performing professionally as a teenager in the 1930’s. He picked up all his musical training by ear and throughout his entire singing profession he never learned how to read music. Sinatra got his first break in 1935 when his mother persuaded a local singing group, The Three Flashes, to let him join. With Frank Sinatra, the group became known as The Hoboken Four. After booking an appearance on the radio show, Major Bowes Amateur Hour, they were an instant hit. They attracted 40,000 votes and won the first prize, a six-month contract to perform on stage and radio across the country. Hoboken, New Jersey was a tough town to leave behind. “When I was there, I just wanted to get the hell out,” Sinatra once said of the town where he was born. “It took me a long time to realize how much of it I took with me.”

Frank eventually left The Hoboken Four. He kicked around for a while as a single in small clubs and made a demo recording of the song, “Our Love”, with the Frank Mane band. That recording has become a valuable collector’s item to this day. Frank Sinatra had autographed the front of it and the bandleader kept the original record in a safe for nearly 60 years. Except for his education on the boards, nothing remarkable happened for Frank until 1939. In June of that year Harry James hired Sinatra on a one-year contract for $75 a week. It was with the Harry James Orchestra that Sinatra released his first commercial record “From The Bottom Of My Heart.” Fewer than 8,000 copies of “From The Bottom Of My Heart” were sold, making it a rare find as well that is sought after by record collectors worldwide. Sinatra released ten commercial tracks with Harry James through 1939, including “All Or Nothing At All”, which had weak sales on its initial release, but then sold millions of copies when re-released by Columbia Records at the height of Sinatra’s popularity a few years later. In November 1939, in a meeting at the Palmer House in Chicago, Sinatra was asked by bandleader Tommy Dorsey to join him. The meeting was a turning point in Sinatra’s career, because by signing with Dorsey’s band, one of the hottest bands at the time, his visibility greatly increased. Though Frank Sinatra was still under contract with Harry James, James recognized the opportunity Dorsey offered and graciously released Sinatra from his contract. Sinatra recognized his debt to James throughout his life, and upon hearing of Harry James’ death in 1983 stated, “He is the one that made it all possible.”

On January 26, 1940 Sinatra made his first public appearance with Tommy Dorsey and his Orchestra at the Coronado Theater in Rockford, Illinois. In his first year with Dorsey, Sinatra released more than forty songs, with “I’ll Never Smile Again” topping the charts for twelve weeks. Sinatra’s relationship with Tommy Dorsey was troubled because of their contract, which awarded Dorsey one-third of Sinatra’s lifetime earnings in the entertainment industry. Sinatra left Tommy and his Orchestra late in 1942, in an incident that started rumors of his involvement with the Mafia. A story appeared in the Hearst newspapers that mobster Sam Giancana coerced Dorsey to let Sinatra out of his contract for a few thousand dollars. The alleged incident was also fictionalized years later in the movie The Godfather. In fact, his contract was bought out by MCA founder Jules Stein for $75,000.

Frank Sinatra was at the top of the male singer polls in the Billboard and Down Beat magazines. With the help of George Evans (Sinatra’s genius press agent), his image was shaped into that of a street thug and punk who was saved by his then first wife, Nancy Barbato. His appeal to bobby soxers, as teenage girls of that time were called, revealed a whole new audience for popular music, which had been recorded mainly for adults up to then. Sinatra-mania was sweeping America. The screams for “Frankie” could be heard from coast to coast. On December 31, 1942, Sinatra made a legendary opening at the Paramount Theatre in New York. Jack Benny later said, “I thought the goddamned building was going to cave in. I never heard such a commotion... All this for a fellow I never heard of.” When Sinatra returned to the Paramount in October 1944, 35,000 fans caused a near riot outside the venue because they were not allowed in.

In a short while his film career also started in earnest, striking box office gold early on, sharing the lead role with Gene Kelly in the 1945 production of Anchors Aweigh. Sinatra was awarded a special Oscar for his part in a short film against intolerance, The House I Live In (1946). His career on a high, Sinatra went from strength to stronger on record, on stage and on screen, peaking in 1949, once again with Gene Kelly, in the MGM musical On the Town (1949) and Take Me Out to the Ball Game (1949).

By the end of the decade, Sinatra felt that his career was stalling, something that was confirmed when he slipped to number 4 on Down Beat’s annual poll of most popular singers behind Billy Eckstine, Frankie Laine, and Bing Crosby. A controversial public affair with screen siren Ava Gardner broke up his marriage to Nancy and helped to further stall his career. Although he had a lot of affairs during his marriage with Nancy, it was his relationship with Ava Gardner that finally led to a divorce. Record sales dwindled in the early 1950s, although Sinatra continued to act now and then, appearing in more dramatic fare such as Meet Danny Wilson.

A vocal cord hemorrhage all but ended his singing career. After a two year absence Sinatra returned to the concert stage. His voice suffered and he experienced hemorrhaging of his vocal cords at the Copacabana. Vocal cord hemorrhage is a complication of laryngitis and usually stems from strenuous use of the voice at the height of infection. Fortunately, the physical damage was temporary, but by then he had been dropped from his talent agency. When his voice did return, it had an extra dimension which many fans believed made his singing better than before. Even so, Sinatra’s career and appeal to new teen audiences declined as he moved into his mid-30s. This was a period of serious self-doubt about the trajectory of his career. In February 1951 he was walking through Times Square, past the Paramount Theatre, a keystone venue of his earlier phenomenal success. The Paramount marquee glowed in announcement of Eddie Fisher in concert. Swarms of teenage girls had gathered in frenzy, swooning over the current singing idol. For Sinatra, this public display of enthusiasm for Fisher validated a fear he had harbored in his own mind for a long time. The Sinatra star had fallen. The shouts of “Frankeee” were echoes of the past. By the end of 1951 he was broke. Ava Gardner had to pay his plane ticket, so he could accompany her to Africa, where she shot the movie Mogambo. Columbia and MCA dropped him. Rumors of attempted suicide circulated the tabloids. 1951 also triggered a seminal moment in the life of Ol’ Blue Eyes. At the age of 36 he had his first gig in Las Vegas. Sinatra made his Las Vegas debut at the Desert Inn. The Desert Inn Hotel and Casino was new in those days. It had only been in existence for a little more than a year. It was the fifth resort to open on the Las Vegas Strip. The property included an 18-hole golf course. Locals nicknamed the resort “The D.I.” Sinatra first played The D.I. just a few days after a reported suicide attempt in Lake Tahoe that was quickly discounted by both the singer and local authorities. He called it a sleeping pill miscalculation; others called it Ava-baiting. But you couldn’t keep the tough kid from Hoboken down.

Two years later Sinatra debuted at the Sands Hotel and Casino. He had divorced, remarried, and was almost divorced again. Determined to resume his career, Sinatra won the role of Maggio in the film “From Here to Eternity” at a huge pay cut. And by 1953 he earned an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for that role. The role and performance marked a turnaround in Sinatra’s career. After several years of critical and commercial decline, becoming an Oscar-winning actor helped him regain his position as the top recording artist in the world. He went on to star in several other movies and made numerous television appearances. In the mid-1950’s, Francis Albert resumed his singing, both on stage, TV, and in the recording studio. He had gained status as a musical legend. Sinatra’s renewed momentum had carried over to his recording career. After being picked up again by Columbia, he abruptly dropped them and signed with Capitol Records. “The best revenge is massive success,” he once said. In 1960, when he was in the process of forming his own label, Reprise Records, he pointed out the Capitol tower to a friend, saying, “See that? I helped build that. Now, it’s time to build one of my own.” A few years later, referring to his label’s success, he stated, “We may not be a Cadillac yet, but we ain’t no Bug (Volkswagen) neither.” Frank Sinatra’s music entered a second, more mature phase. Working with arranger Nelson Riddle, he emerged from the winter of 1953 with “Songs for Young Lovers”, one of the first conceptual long-playing record albums.

The Sands came along at a perfect time for Sinatra. Vegas suddenly had a new soundtrack, albeit in old standards, such as “My Funny Valentine” and “I Get A Kick Out Of You”. Sinatra helped to immortalize the music of Gershwin and Porter. It was an era when the hotel owners were all walking around in cowboy hats and then came these guys wearing mohair tuxes with the black satin shoes. The look was so cool. The guys became known as the “Rat Pack”, a name that was first used to refer to a group of friends in New York. The group’s original Den Mother, Lauren Bacall, after seeing her husband, Humphrey Bogart, and his friends return from a night in Las Vegas said words to the effect of, “You look like a goddamn rat pack.” The original members were Sinatra (pack master), Judy Garland (first vice-president), Bacall (den mother), Sid Luft (cage master), Bogart (rat in charge of public relations), Swifty Lazar (recording secretary and treasurer), Nathaniel Benchley (historian), David Niven, Katharine Hepburn, Spencer Tracy, George Cukor, Cary Grant, Rex Harrison, and Jimmy Van Heusen. The original Rat Pack members came and went, and by that time, Sinatra was firmly established at the Sands. His Board of Directors consisted of Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, Jr., Joey Bishop, Peter Lawford, and for a brief stint, Norman Fell. Marilyn Monroe, Angie Dickinson, Juliet Prowse, and Shirley MacLaine were often referred to as the “Rat Pack Mascots.” The post-Bogart version of the group (Bogart died in 1957) was reportedly never called that name by any of its members. They called it the Summit or the Clan. The Rat Pack, “I hate that stupid phrase,” Frank once said, was a term used by journalists and outsiders, although it remains the lasting name for the group.

By the end of the decade, Dean Martin, who split with partner Jerry Lewis and began working the nightclubs as a solo act, and Sammy Davis Jr., the young sensation of the Will Mastin Trio, became regulars. Joey Bishop was also welcomed into the fold as a warm-up and un-credited gag writer for much of the so-called improvised mayhem onstage. Vegas nightclub veterans the likes of Jimmy Durante, George Jessel, Rose Marie and Joe E. Lewis, were holdovers from a pre-war era. Suddenly, with the Rat Pack, it all jelled. “Now you’ve got the greatest, cool, hippest entertainers around,” Paul Anka said of the expanding circle of hepcats. The Vegas Strip wasn’t full of theme architecture and daytime diversions as it is today. The stars were the draw. The Rat Pack wasn’t the icing on the cake, they were the cake, because the stars came to see Sinatra. He was the king of Las Vegas. The moment he arrived in town, money was there. Sinatra drew in the big-money people. Every celebrity in Hollywood would come to Las Vegas to see him, and the tourists, as well as the locals, would turn-out to see them all. The Sands was Sinatra’s playground. Part of it was business, but part of it was loyalty to his old friend and the manager of the Sands Hotel and Casino, Jack Entratter. Frank and Jack went back to their days at the Copacabana club where Jack, as the then manager, stood by Sinatra through all his troubles.
The Rat Pack charmed Eisenhower era America separately and together, through every available forum: radio, television, movies and nightclubs. The Strip continued its expansion. By the end of the ‘50s, the Tropicana, Dunes, Stardust and Riviera had joined the horizon, while older hotels expanded. “We ain’t figured out ourselves what the hell we do up here,” stated the Chairman of the Board, stalking the stage. “But it’s fun, baby.” In 1960 he called forth the board members he liked, whose talents he enjoyed, and threw them together, en masse, to play ex-members of the 82nd Airborne out to rob five casinos on New Year’s Eve. This was Ocean’s Eleven, the celluloid epitome of Ring-a-Ding-Ding. Shooting by day, they cut loose at night, pacifying the boredom by becoming the Rat Pack. The routine became famous: two freewheeling, seltzer-spraying shows each night in the Copa Room of the Sands, followed by a 2:00am layover in the carefully-guarded Sands Lounge, where the boys would invariably end up onstage again. Sleep sometimes followed, depending upon when the filming schedule required a couple of hours on the set from one or more of the stars. Around 5:00am everyone convened in the Sands steam room: the unofficial Summit clubhouse where they met daily to clear the mucous of the previous night and plot ahead. There they spoke in colorful language, ate hot dogs and pizza, ignited cherry bombs, threw cream pies at each other, and wore white monogrammed robes, except for Sammy, whose white robe was switched for brown on a mirthful occasion. Across the back of his robe was written SMOKEY. Frank’s robe had FAS, Dean’s had DAG and Joey’s robe bore his trademark catchphrase SON OF A GUN.

Nothing has ever compared to those evenings. To many, they were clearly the best show in the history of the Vegas community. Frank would clown around about the town lovingly saying, “Las Vegas is the only place I know where money really talks... It says, ‘Goodbye.’” The magic was fueled by the Camelot spirit of the election year. Pulling himself off the campaign trail for a breather, the young senator from Massachusetts knew Sinatra’s endorsement translated to fundraising dough. If Frank sang for him, his campaign coffers would brim. Meanwhile, Frank, who basked in power all his own, loved the idea of being near a potential White House power. To show unabashed support, he momentarily renamed his merry cabal the “Jack Pack.” John Fitzgerald Kennedy, who knew well how to party, partook of the ongoing revelry. He watched ribald Rat Pack meetings unfold onstage and afterward repaired to private suites to meet registered young female voters of Frank’s acquaintance. The Chairman found his way back to the top of the heap by bringing sophistication to a stretch of road that he traveled with his Rat Pack friends. He once said of Don Rickles: “I like him, but that’s because I have no taste. On Rat Pack buddy Sammy Davis Jr.: “He goes to the refrigerator for a snack, opens the door, and when that light hits him, he does 45 minutes of his act!” He was best friends with Dean Martin. Of all the members of the Rat Pack, he considered Dean his closest confidant. He had a longstanding dislike of Marlon Brando from the time they starred in Guys and Dolls in 1955. Sinatra nicknamed Brando “Mr. Mumbles”, while Brando called him “Mr. Baldy”. But his most memorable clash with another star is when he collided with the Duke. The evening before a big shoot, John Wayne was trying to get some sleep in his hotel room. The suite directly below his was occupied by Frank Sinatra, who was having a party. The noise kept Wayne awake, and each time he made a complaining phone call to the front desk, it quieted temporarily, but each time it eventually grew louder. Wayne at last appeared at Sinatra’s door and told Frank to stop the noise. A Sinatra bodyguard of Wayne’s size approached saying, “Nobody talks to Mr. Sinatra that way.” The Duke looked at the man, turned as though to leave, then backhanded the bodyguard. He fell to the floor, where Wayne knocked him out by crashing a chair on top of him. The party noise stopped.

As the old adage tells us, “All good things come to an end.” The common observation should leave us with the good and not dwell on the bad or negative things about someone’s life that has left us with so many accomplishments. If everyone was perfect, we would bore the angels to tears. The Rat Pack was the Chamber of Commerce for Las Vegas for about ten years. Eventually the early 60’s passed, with the assassination of JKF, the Vietnam War, and a British rock and roll invasion. Frank had his good and bad days. He had a 62 year span of top ten albums and sold over 250 million records worldwide. After that, leaving the Sands behind, he performed at Caesars Palace on and off for several years. He eventually cast his long shadow over the new MGM Grand during its grand opening New Year’s 1993-94, his last Vegas venue.

Frank Sinatra outlived Sammy Davis Jr., Ava Gardner and Dean Martin. Commenting on their passing he said, “I’m next. I ain’t scared, either. Everybody I ever knew is already over there.” On May 14th, 1998, the last day of his life, his family drove him to the hospital, frantically running stop signs and red lights. However, traffic was unusually light at that time, since many Americans were at home watching the final episode of the TV show Seinfeld. His last words were, “I’m losing it.”

Frank Sinatra’s funeral service was held at the Catholic Church of the Good Shepherd in Beverly Hills, California. Stars in attendance read like the who’s who of Hollywood. Everyone was there. Over a thousand Sinatra fans lined the streets outside the church during the funeral and gave him one final round of applause as his flower-draped coffin was carried out of the church. Friends and family members placed items in his coffin that had personal references: several Tootsie Roll candies, a pack of Black Jack chewing gum, a roll of wild cherry Life Savers, a ring engraved with the word “Dream”, a mini bottle of Jack Daniel’s whiskey, a pack of Camel cigarettes, and a Zippo cigarette lighter. Overhead a skywriting plane created a giant heart in the sky.

In his later years Frank liked to tell the ensuing tale: “A fella came up to me the other day with a nice story. He was in a bar somewhere and it was the quiet time of the night. Everybody’s staring down at the sauce and one of my saloon songs comes on the jukebox, “One For My Baby”, or something like that. After a while, a drunk at the end of the bar looks up and says, jerking his thumb toward the jukebox, ‘I wonder who he listens to?’” The epitaph on his headstone reads, “The best is yet to come.” SLV

“The Men Who Made Las Vegas” is a twelve-part series by Byron Craft, chronicling the growth of Sin City and the men who made it possible.

Issue 59 featuring: Jessie Andrews, Cassia Riley & Lauren WK