Full Circle

On May 14, 1998, millions of television viewers watched the final episode of "Seinfeld." At 10:50pm Pacific Standard Time, Frank Sinatra died at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles following a lengthy illness.

The following day, media pundits turned in mixed reviews for the grand finale of Jerry Seinfeld's critically acclaimed sit-com "about nothing." However, Sinatra's lengthy career had certainly been about something, and journalists and popular culture historians were faced with the daunting task of summarizing the contributions of arguably the greatest popular singer of the 20th century.

A decade later, Sinatra's legacy remains assured. The Frank Sinatra Estate, created and operated by his family, are creating entertainment product for the market place with the same efficiency as Elvis Presley's TCB (Taking Care of Business) Enterprises. Most notable among the giant array of reissues set for release this month will be Nothing but the Best, a 22-song CD featuring selections from Sinatra's tenure at Reprise, the record label he created in 1960. The album will come with a previously unreleased version of "Body and Soul," and a commemorative United States Postal Service Sinatra stamp. (Post offices will also be selling the stamp on May 13.)

The San Diego Troubadour recently contacted a distinguished group of local Sinatra aficionados for their memories of Frank, ten years later.

Harry "Happy Hare" Martin is a San Diego radio legend, whose intuitive knowledge of what was hip allowed him to make a smooth transition between the end of the big bands and the arrival of rock and roll. His philanthropic projects outside of the radio studio were also admirable. This hare has a tale to share.

Harry Martin: I doubt that any episode captured his spirit more graphically than the adventure when I, along with [my wife] Carol, were his sole invitees backstage when Frank performed one of his "Frank Sinatra, a Man and His Music" television shows at NBC Burbank.

Carol and I arrived amid the controlled back stage bedlam as the minutes ticked down to Don Costa's downbeat and Ed McMahon's brisk opening show announcement, all aimed at heralding Frank Sinatra's take-over of their lives for the next hour. Frank's had a gravitational pull stronger than anyone else I ever knew.

A deafening silence fell over the back stage area. I looked to McMahon and mouthed, "What's happening?" He subtly motioned to me to look behind us. It was Frank, sweeping out of his dressing room, smiling broadly, those blue eyes twinkling, and he was headed straight for Carol and me.

We turned and ran toward him, closing the distance between us. Carol had known him in Miami when he came to star in Tony Rome at her dad's "Flipper" Studio. During the Tony Rome shoot, acting as her producer father's administrative aide, she often dealt with Frank and the "Rome" company, which had leased the studio.

Apparently she had done a good job; she got the first hug.

I had seen him alone several times in the past years, the most gripping being in Miami on the Tony Rome set. I had come to pick up Carol, marry her, and whisk her back to Detroit where Specs Howard and I were to begin our new radio show. I happened on him in a corner on the set when he was on the phone, speaking heatedly with his wife, Mia Farrow, apparently dusting her off with finality, because she wouldn't come join him in Miami during her production break on A Dandy in Aspic, a film she was shooting in London.

Realizing what was going on, I started to leave him to his call, but he had grabbed me by the arm, making me a reluctant witness to one of the seminal events in his life.

But, that sad event happened a couple of years ago. Frank was aglow at our Burbank reunion. Mainly, he asked playfully about our marriage and how it was going. Realizing that we were on a short tether, I started to give him a short version review when his sharp blue eyes lost focus, and he went into an alpha state that all good entertainers enter just before a performance. I recognized what was happening and cut it short, when his handler jumped in to clear the path for his entry on stage.

Frank smiled at us through a mental fog this time and turned toward the stairs that led up a flight to the stage and his mark where he would stand when the theme hit the air. He reached the foot of the stairs when he stopped to greet Florence LaRue, the darling cupcake of the Fifth Dimension, who just happened to be standing where he would have to pass her on his way to the stage. Florence was grinning expectantly at Frank, and we saw why. Frank, his fog momentarily lifted, reached out, swept her up in his arms and almost shouted, "Hey baby! Do you want to go with me later?" Florence exuberantly shouted, "Yeah!" Frank had accomplished this transaction, barely breaking stride on his way to the stage.

I recall that he sang "I've Got You Under My Skin" and "One for the Road." I learned that most of the songs he sang were from his classic Songs For Swingin' Lovers LP. Time compressed for us, and soon Frank finished the show and left the stage, obviously enraptured by his performance. Carol and I walked toward him, but his attention was focused on his manager who had arrived at his side, smiling. The manager's smile vanished by the time we arrived. We heard Frank say, "I can't do better than this. We're going with the dress rehearsal show," apparently meaning that he would not do the actual show, intended for the NBC brass, Budweiser distributors, and their bejeweled wives, waiting in the sweltering line outside.

His manager was aghast. "Frank, these are important people who have been standing out in the boiling sun for an hour. You can't do this."

Frank's tone hardened.,"Who says?"'

His manager, subdued by Frank's ominous tone, walked off to make the announcement out front, that Mr. Sinatra's performance had been cancelled. I have often wondered how he framed that one. Carol and I fell in silently with Frank when his handler asked him to walk to a microphone into which he would record a promo for radio and television.

The production man, handling the mic, told Frank, "It will take just a minute, Mr. Sinatra. We have to rewind the tape." Frank, with an icy stare, said, "You mean the tape isn't ready?" He walked away from the man like he wasn't there. We waited for him to come out of his funk, before thanking him and saying goodbye, but the ice melted as he walked over to Florence and took her arm. With Florence in tow, he walked to the huge doors, paused, turned, and waved goodbye to us. We waved back, but he had already faded away as if the doors were a star gate: one minute there, the next gone. Where? To Frank's galaxy, no doubt.

You may ask if this was the end of Frank's relationship with NBC and Budweiser.The ratings for his dress rehearsal show came out and scored big. Budweiser quickly re-upped for another show in the series.The principal reason he got away with it was he was right. The dress rehearsal was a dazzling show that could not have been improved upon, the greater truth. Everyone falls silent before the truth.

I'm sensitive to the number of young people in the media now who, reading this, may not relate to this allegory about Frank. This is not really about him, but about the spirit that he symbolized, a warrior who gave no ground and won when he knew he was right.

There is a disclaimer here. Do not try this at work unless you are damned good at what you do.

Pacific Beach businessman Joe Randazzo is the best-known Sinatra archivist in San Diego. He co-hosted the long-running radio show "Sinatra on Sunday" with the late Rod Page on KFMB-AM and, later, KPOP. Page, Randazzo, and this writer collaborated on a seminar titled "A Frank Discussion: Sinatra's Music" for Coronado Adult Education in 1999. By his own account, Randazzo estimates he saw Sinatra perform over 100 times.

Joe Randazzo: When did I first notice that there was a man named Sinatra? I cannot recall my first recollection of Frank Sinatra as he was there when I was born and now, ten years after his passing and in another century, he is still very much a part of my life and a positive influence on how to conduct myself.

My "baby song" as I recall was "Polka Dots and Moonbeams," a very successful tune that he did with Tommy Dorsey. I remember asking my parents about this man and why he stood out way above the other singers of his day. They always told me that he was the best and was very serious about his craft. I thought were they saying that just because we were also Italian, but then again they didn't say that about Perry Como or Johnny Desmond, Frankie Laine or Tony Bennett, and so many other Italian-Americans in the music business – only Frank Sinatra.

As the years went by I grew to appreciate Sinatra's talent more and more. In the '50s and '60s my appreciation grew even more with his work in films. How could such a mortal man become such a giant? And as time passed I discovered that Sinatra was always there for every occasion in my life with his songs. Sinatra was there when I was sad, glad, or bad; there is a song for every mood and a song for every occasion in your life.

It is extremely difficult to pick a favorite Sinatra album as that again goes with mood and occasion and every stage of life. I am very fond of Trilogy because instead of dealing with a concept or theme, it deals with songs from different periods of time: the past, the present, and the future. "The Future" is a score of what Sinatra thought he should do before his time ran out; it was considered controversial by most of his fans, but I thought it was in great taste and Sinatra was very courageous in putting his ultimate ending in song. I have also grown to appreciate Come Dance with Me. Billy May teamed with Sinatra to do an album, now almost 50 years old, and yet it sounds as fresh as if it were pressed today

My favorite song is not a Sinatra signature song. In fact, not many people even know that there are words to the very beautiful "Moonlight Serenade." Glenn Miller's song was given words by Mitch Parrish ("Stardust," "Volare") and I think it has a very special place in my heart. Incidentally, behind it is "Just the Way You Look Tonight" and "Old Devil Moon." I do believe that the best recording of a tune that Sinatra ever made, considering the Nelson Riddle arrangement, the precision of the orchestra, the beautiful creation of Rogers and Hart and especially Sinatra's voice, which was at an absolute peak, was when he recorded "Spring Is Here." I find that to be the best of his best.

Local writer Dirk Sutro is the author of the best selling Jazz For Dummies, a popular text in the continuing "Dummies" series. From 1999 to 2004, Sutro hosted KPBS-FM's "The Lounge," a community arts talk show. He is currently the publicist for UCSD's music department.

Dirk Sutro: Frank Sinatra, to me, was a jazz singer – he did not have the usual prerequisite improvisational skill, but his interpretations of dozens of the finest American popular songs swung like crazy. Over the years he performed with countless jazz greats ranging from Tommy Dorsey to Ella Fitzgerald and Count Basie, who always had hot improvisers in his band, and his strong presence regardless of context is a testament to his subtle talent. My favorite Sinatra LP {I have it on vinyl; it sounds great] is Come Fly with Me, for songs including the title track as well as "Autumn in New York" and "Isle of Capri." Titles on this album run a global gamut as Sinatra captures the optimism and wanderlust of the late '50s, when the idea of jetting away for an exotic vacation was being discovered by middle class America.

Don Freeman wrote about entertainment for the San Diego Union-Tribune for more than 50 years. He was a guest on "The Lounge" in 2001 and recalled an interview he had with Sinatra backstage at Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas during the '70s.

Don Freeman: I met the publicist at Caesar's Palace, and he said, "Look, I've got bad news. Frank's got a tough schedule, and he can only give you 15 minutes." Well, I didn't like that. But we went in and he introduced me and we sat down at a table. I said, "Mr. Sinatra, Frank, you take these harsh consonant sounds and you make them come out so musical. How do you do that?"

Well, 45 minutes later, he was still talking about singing. Of course, I asked other questions in the interim, but mostly we talked about singing. For one thing, he told me that his hero was Bing Crosby, and that when he was growing up in Hoboken, he had a picture of Bing Crosby in his room. He said, "All of us would-be singers were Crosby-struck."

He talked about how he learned to sing from watching Tommy Dorsey. When he was the boy singer for Dorsey, he would sit there with Jo Stafford, and Frank would look at Tommy Dorsey playing the trombone. He couldn't figure out what he [Dorsey] did to sustain the long notes. What did he do? And Dorsey knew he was being watched, so after a couple of nights he said, "Well, kid, did you see what I did?" Frank said, "Well, I think so . . . what is it?" Dorsey said, "Well, I use what is called a pinhole. I open my mouth just a little bit on my side and I let a lot of air in, so that means I can play the note much longer than it's written."

Ida Garcia is the charismatic hostess of "Rugcutters Swing," heard Saturday mornings on Jazz 88.3 KSDS-FM. Her broadcasts always contain a segment devoted to Sinatra.

Ida Garcia: I feel he had style and class in the way he sang. He wanted things just right.  He was one of the artists of his time to take pride in his work. And he worked with some solid band leaders like Count Basie and Billy May. [My favorite Sinatra song is] "The Lady Is a Tramp," because it's me. [My favorite Sinatra album is] Come Dance with Me for the album cover alone. And the songs are wonderfully fun.

Few local entertainers have done more to keep the Sinatra songs in circulation than David Patrone. The vocalist's current CD is titled Uptown. 

David Patrone: I never really knew much about Frank Sinatra as a kid. When you grow up in a place like Philly, you certainly hear him everywhere, but it just becomes a part of the landscape – like something you never notice until it's gone. Sometimes you feel it when you move to another part of the country or the world. I joined the Marines at 17 and in the next ten years, I found myself in some strange places. Maybe it escaped me at first what was different about these new places, because the soundtrack still played on in the background; familiar music always drifted from some café or lobby nearby and I felt at home, without even knowing the words.

I hated pop music as an adolescent, preferring to listen to classical music and Americana, but when I saw the movie The Blues Brothers, something in the music tugged at my core. Both Johnny Lee Hooker and Cab Calloway planted seeds in my soul and I couldn't get over the dichotomy of holiness and criminal that the Blues Brothers embodied. A sympathetic chord vibrated throughout my being. There was something true underneath. I had an emotionally troubled childhood and although the blues too had always been playing in the Philly background, I never heard it until that movie.

When I got into the Marines, I started to hear different music. I started to hear the blues in the places I was stationed. Dirty blues from down south, Mississippi, Memphis, South Carolina, and North Carolina, not to mention being around people who were very different than a white Philly boy, wannabe blues man who was knockin' on their daughters' doors, courtesy of the USMC. I played harmonica back then, although I was horrible and knew virtually nothing about how to play the instrument. I searched for the blues [not knowing it was already inside me] and the social aspect that came with it. I tried to make it happen. I drank myself poor and stayed out all night. I heard the blues in my voice when I called running cadence for the company and I felt an amazing wellspring of power that I tapped into when I sang it out.

Despite the comfort I felt in the blues, I soon began to yearn again for something. The blues wasn't enough. The music was repetitive and I found that the only thing I was really listening to was the soul of the singer. I can remember saying to myself, "I wish some of these guys would sing classical music, it would be amazing." [Someone should have slapped me and given me an old gospel album.] About the time that Garth Brooks began to wail about low places and whiskey rounds, I found Ray Charles.

Without knowing it, I was beginning to yearn for jazz. I didn't understand what I thought was jazz at the time – way out ruminations by cats who were trying to be Dizzy or Coltrane. None of that made any sense to me. I was yearning for something though and yearning hard. I learned every Ray Charles song from the Atlantic recordings, every one. I couldn't afford the CDs, so I shoplifted them out of a Marine Corps seven-day store on Cherry Point, North Carolina. That was the only time I had ever reverted back to my pre-Marine Corps street ethos and having just remembered that, I'll have to find a way to make amends. That's how strong my need was for the music. I risked the Marine Corps brig to get my hands on a three-CD compilation of Ray Charles' Atlantic recordings, not even knowing what it would sound like. I read the liner notes on the back and whatever that cat said was what I thought I needed, and we were right. I couldn't wait for my roommate to leave so I could use his CD player. When no one was around, I tried to play along on a trumpet I had picked up in a pawn shop for $75 in Havelock, North Carolina.

A couple of years later I was 21 and I found myself standing in front of a CD display looking for a classical piece, "Romance For Strings No. 1 in G" by Beethoven; that never fails to bring tears to my eyes [except when it's played too fast]. They didn't have the conductor I was looking for. I glanced to my left [the jazz section was next to the classical] and there was Frank Sinatra tipping his hat to me from the cover of the Best of Reprise CD. I thought, "I should check this guy out. He's got the right kind of hat, I've heard his name all my life, and I have ten bucks burning a hole in my pocket. "

$8.99 had never changed so much in a man's life. Here it was: a man singing the "complicated blues" tunes I was looking for in a way I immediately connected with. It was the stepping stone for a young man who somehow missed the beginnings of jazz while growing up in the town that produced the likes of Dizzy, Coltrane, and Philly Joe Jones. Without Sinatra I would have languished in a musically unsatisfied existence, not sure where I fit in between modern pop, hip hop, and soul/blues/ R&B, drinking my nights and working my days without a musical compass and without a spiritual leader.

Since that day, Frank has traveled with me all over the globe. It started with the song "Nancy" because I had just broken up with a girl named Nancy and I didn't know anything about Nancy Sinatra or Jimmy Van Heusen, or Sammy Cahn, or Cole Porter or Frank's Conductor/arrangers at the time, Nelson Riddle and Billy May. His recordings and that music, American Standards, CHANGED EVERYTHING. Maybe it was the sum of all my circumstance and emotion. At 21 I'd already seen quite a few harrowing things and here was a guy whose voice said what I was feeling, perfectly, without remorse, in perfect pitch and effortless phrasing in a tonal quality that said "I love you" and "come and get me you bastards!" all at the same time. This was the "me I wanted to be" singing to the "me I was," only better, because I couldn't sing like that [that didn't stop me from trying though].

His library of recordings is so extensive that even 15 years later I haven't heard them all. My favorites change from season to season, moment to moment. Sometimes as soon as I hear my favorite, it's done and my new favorite is whatever is coming up next.

A couple of years ago, I picked up a recording from somewhere called Only the Lonely and it kills me, slays me dead, right there when I hear it. It's too slow to sing at a show, people just gloss over and die; but that song catapults me into the nethersphere where I flop around and writhe on the floor of my mind from relating to that pain he's laying down. I wonder if it's Ava he's thinking about, or Nancy Sr., or his own failures [or victories]. He sure wasn't immune to negative introspection. He called himself a "24-karat manic depressive" and it was true. You can hear it on the whole album but that song rips me to shreds, especially the last line and the last three notes: "the heartbreak only the lone-ly-know." Frank Sinatra Sings for Only the Lonely was another of his many stunning collaborations with Nelson Riddle.

I also love "Just One of Those Things" from Songs for Young Lovers/Swing Easy!, arranged by George Siravo and conducted by Nelson Riddle. It's a perfect arrangement and it swings while staying poignant. It's also the first album after Sinatra's "Great Slump" and the beginning of his work with Nelson Riddle. I believe it's considered one of the first "concept albums."

You hear this phrase a lot: "The thing about Frank Sinatra is…" Well, that's just it. Sinatra did it all – his life, his music, an Oscar, 11 Grammies, two Golden Globes, uncountable other awards, his philanthropy, his failures, his ups, his downs, his pain, his love, his luck [both good and bad], and his success tell an amazing story. His was a full life and if you haven't had a chance to read about it, you really should. You could learn a lot about livin' from Frank Sinatra. He climbed to the top and landed at the bottom and pulled it back up to the top again several times in global proportions. He was loved and hated and revered and despised, sometimes by the same person. His actual life was a piece of art, simultaneously beautiful and ignoble in the making, sublime and terrible in the examination. I've never heard anyone discount Sinatra as an artist; they may say something like, "I like so and so better" or, "that guy was a real @$$@!" but I've never heard anyone say, "I don't like Frank Sinatra." He was bonafide. He was 100 percent real.

Musically, his phrasing is pure natural and yet tremendously difficult to duplicate without sounding contrived. He worked with the best musicians in history, and he sang songs written by the greatest songwriters and lyricists of all time. His was a voice that still touches everyone, in every walk of life in and out of America.

Often I hear people say they remember where they were on September 11th or when JFK was shot. I remember where I was when I first heard Frank Sinatra had died. I was married at the time and we were lying in bed as my wife was flipping the channels on the TV. When I saw a glimpse of his face and heard the word "was," I yelled out, "Wait! Go back!" to the news that was briefly reviewing his life at 2am. I wanted to correct the reporter when she said, "Frank Sinatra was…" She should have said, "Frank Sinatra will forever be…"