Frank & Charli

by Frank Yandolino

  The strangest event was when my mother was visiting Charli and I at our apartment and several Angels showed up. Mom still talks about how the Hells Angels called her Mrs. Yandolino. Another night, while sitting with a few Angels on their outside stoop, a car drove by full of black men who suddenly opened fire on us. Bullets flying, I scrambled to my bike and never returned.

  Around that time, I grabbed another ball of opportunity when I was introduced to Bob Shay, owner and head of New Line Cinema. Bob hired me for a project that he had in the works, the New York Erotic Film Festival. I helped design several promotional pieces and organized the premiere party. He was about to launch a new movie, and since he was looking for marketing and distribution, I suggested Penthouse Films. The film was Pink Flamingos, directed by John Waters and starring a relatively unknown cult actress, a huge transvestite named Divine.

  This episode has become one of my favorite stories. After I’d presented Pink Flamingos to Guccione and he was considering the film for Penthouse, I arranged for a private screening at his apartment. I had it delivered with a projector and screen, because back then video didn’t exist. I can still hear Guccione now.

  “Kathy and I were in bed ready to watch a porn movie and you send me that shit.”

  Pink Flamingos was way beyond a porno flick. Divine, among many gross things, ate real dog shit in the last scene of the movie.

  “That was the dirtiest joke anyone ever played on me.”

  Hard to believe that, years, later John Waters went on to make Hairspray the movie and the Broadway musical. Continuing the saga, some thirty-five years later my daughter Jaime, now an accomplished public relations executive at Turner Broadcasting, met John Waters while working on his new TV series. She told him her name and reminded him about our meeting at my apartment.

  He said, “Say hello to your dad” and signed a copy of his new book, Till Death Do Us Part, which joined the corner space on our mantle next to a photo of Divine in Pink Flamingos.

  During this time I was working totally freelance, and I met Stewart Shapiro, owner of International Harmony Films, a small, independent avant-garde film production and distribution company that had an underground library that catered to our generation both in content and music. Films like Neil Young’s Rust Never Sleeps, the classic Reefer Madness, and Deborah Harry’s (Blondie) first movie, Union City. Stewart asked me to help him with a new film he was about to distribute called Effects. He wanted to market, advertise, and build a campaign to launch the controversial film built around rumors surrounding the film industry that Effects was a real snuff film about the making of a snuff film.

  I designed the ads and hired Barbara Neisem, the well-known artist-illustrator, to do the art. I still am not sure if it was a real snuff movie, but it sure looked like the actors were killed on camera.

  Mission Impossible

  If anything was a grab-the-ball opportunity, it was a phone call I got one summer morning in 1973, sitting in my apartment with Charli. It has become obvious to me I am blessed that after over thirty-five years my phone still rings with requests for me to work on one thing after another. And that I’m sure lucky to have had the same phone number all these years. People I haven’t spoken to for years call and say, “Boy am I glad you have the same number.” This time, Charli answered and handed it to me.

  “It’s for you.”

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Frank. My name is Sandy McCloud. I work for a company called Mission Impossible, you were recommended by a friend who said you might be able to help us with a project we are developing. We are hoping you could come to our office today at Mission Impossible. Rollin Binzer, project director, and Leslie Brooks would like to meet you.”

  Always ready to leap tall buildings in a single bound with ball in hand, I replied, “Sure, where is it?” The address sounded suspicious. Charli said, “If you don’t call me in an hour I’m calling the police.”

  I jumped in a cab headed to an address the driver wasn’t sure existed. We arrived to the middle of nowhere on the Lower West Side on 10th Avenue. The old brick building with steel doors seemed a strange place for a company, but there it was, a small hand-stenciled yellow sign that simply said “Mission Impossible.”

  There was no bell to ring so I opened the door and entered into a gigantic open warehouse converted into some sort of office. The walls and ceiling were painted black, hanging fluorescent and neon lights accented the walls, and modern, industrial-style big yellow desks and furniture were scattered around in no particular order. I had never seen a working environment like this. There were about a dozen people casually dressed sitting in groups, some on the floor, immersed in conversation. A young girl wearing black high-top Converse sneakers and denim coveralls greeted me at the door. She was a cute curly-haired strawberry blonde.

  “Hi, I’m Sandy. You must be Frank.”

  As usual, when I’m presented with that salutation I answered with, “Always.” She got my remark, answering “Great.”

  We were joined by two people. Sandy introduced them. “This is Rollin Binzer and Leslie Brooks.”

  Rollin was quite a character. He had on a pullover with a flapping earmuff Tibetan-type burka tribesman hat and a handkerchief tied around his neck. His long black curly hair stuck out the back and sides, and you couldn’t help but notice his colorful paisley baggy pants and T-shirt. He was like a modern-day Dr. Seuss. Leslie was quite the opposite—a tall, slender girl with very short black hair, like a boy’s. She also wore a handkerchief around her neck.

  It was then explained to me where I was and why. Rollin had been appointed by the courts to try to turn around dozens of Arlan’s Department Stores that were in Chapter 11 bankruptcy. The stores were spread around the country, and it truly seemed a mission impossible. We discussed me joining the team as advertising media buyer for the chain. Although I wasn’t too sure about the media placement part, I had knowledge of advertising, so I grabbed the ball and took the job.

  I tried it for a few days but it was not my thing. Leslie realized it, but instead of firing me she spoke to my coworkers, who said I was much more capable of contributing in other creative ways. I became one of the appointed directors of designing and restocking the stores with contemporary, more appealing inventory. The working environment was great. Every day we added more people: a fashion buyer, painters, architects, writers and designers and, thank God, a media buyer. Charli became my assistant, answering phones and in charge of lunches and dinners, which were always an event, ranging from twenty-five pizzas to thirty hero sandwiches to mass amounts of Chinese food every day.

  In Charli’s Words

  At Mission Impossible we would all sit around the floor and on desks discussing plans while drinking beer and smoking a joint. What a great job. From that point on the only hair I cut was Frank’s, as I did when I met him forty years ago. The time we spent together on his projects taught me many things I apply to my job today at Weill Cornell Medical College in New York. As one of the directors of student relations, I take care of organizing college events, lunches, dinner parties, graduation ceremonies, travel accommodations, housing, Broadway and movie theater tickets, personal considerations, and countless other things. I am the person the students, scientists, and post-docs turn to for whatever they need. I have learned how to juggle many balls by watching Frank.

  Our team would go to a town on the Mission Impossible plane, which was painted with huge glittering letters on both sides, “The Flying Zombies.” Arriving at a store, we would paint the walls black and hang day-glow signs and neon lights and palm trees.

  Santa Claus would drop out of the sky onto the parking lot, handing out presents to the kids. Hot air zeppelins with the Arlan’s logo hovered above the stores. The local press loved it and we got tons of free publicity to complement our spectacular ad campaign. I was learning free publicity is worth more than paid advertising.

  Illustrator Charlie White did all the artwork for the campaign. Leslie hired the most fam
ous photographers and models, dressed them in creative combinations of apparel from the store shelves, and shot ads in underground and mysterious places throughout New York, choosing provocative locations and placing the models in bizarre situations like phone booths, pool halls, arcades, and public bathrooms. She and Rollin had assembled a great team of innovative, creative people.

  My philosophy continued to work and reap benefits. Once you grab the ball, you can do great things if you say you can do it and then do it. At this point Rollin, Leslie, and I were basically calling the shots.

  A fellow worker I will keep nameless had a similar philosophy, but not the greatest execution. He was hired to restock the music department’s records and tapes. Little did we know all that new power went right to his head. For many reasons I would find out later, Arlan’s was not selling the most current inventory. If the doll Chatty Cathy was advertised on national TV, Arlan’s was still selling Chatty Irene. This strategy was especially evident in records for sale; Arlan’s shelves were full of old cut outs—records no longer distributed by the record labels. The record shelves rarely contained anything in the current top 40. Wanting to change this overnight, our nameless friend ordered tens of thousands of new product inventory from the major record labels. But the labels had already committed that year’s supply of polymer chips needed to manufacture vinyl records, and were not prepared to press and manufacture these unscheduled large orders with which this worker was planning to restock all the shelves in 150 stores. That wasn’t going to stop him, though, so he agreed to purchase and guarantee the record labels all the polymer chips they needed from Romania or some foreign country his father allegedly had connection to. As you could imagine, the record companies were thrilled. He would have instantly become one of their biggest distributors. The problem was he never figured out who was going to actually pay and guarantee it. Not being able to pay for his plan became a huge issue. This is a classic example of grabbing a ball and not knowing what to do with it. It drove him off the edge, and by the time we found out what was going on he had to be restrained and was taken away in a straitjacket from our office at Mission Impossible to Bellevue Psychiatric Hospital. The last I ever saw of this friend was on TV. Charli and I were watching a Knicks and LA Lakers game when security guards jumped him and knocked him out as he attempted to walk across the court during the game.

  One of the perks Rollin, Leslie and I enjoyed as directors was that after landing in our private plane, we’d hop into a white limo, pull up to an Arlan’s store, check in with the manager, and then proceed to the safe, from which we would take out bags of cash to cover our costs and expenses.

  Rollin taught me a key lesson in that period about the power of people working together. He was a true revolutionary genius, with a clear vision. He had strong appreciation for the strength of community, the utility of sharing the workspace, and working together on jobs and problems. The office was simple. You felt at home, everyone had the same desk; no one had a title on their business card. Everyone was a director. We all felt equal, like a family with instant access to each other. We all shared one another’s work and ideas, and looked out for each other. It was really the beginning of social networking. Working in that environment, we spent sometimes twenty hours a day, seven days a week for four months, until we turned the stores around from losing money to making profit using our creative marketing skills.

  One of the most innovative programs we developed at Arlan’s was the “Jean Heap.” These were huge piles of old jeans that were left at the exits of the stores so kids could take them and think they were stealing them. It was part of our word-of-mouth marketing plan, along with live llamas, goats, and other animals that walked freely around the aisles. The stores had a full-time nursery for children where parents would drop the kids off while they shopped and walked by potted palm trees and Astroturf mountains. Every employee wore a red T-shirt with a silver-glitter Arlan’s logo. Beautiful girls dressed as angels with wings and magic wands roamed the store, randomly touching a customer now and again to grant them whatever was in their shopping cart for free.

  Our campaign was working. Word continued to spread. Arlan’s was in every local newspaper, filled with photos, stories, and funny and artistic ads. Then we got fired. When all was said and done and the project was over, we were called and visited by the IRS for an audit. During my investigation the auditor said, “Mr. Yandolino, you and several of your group have $1.2 million in cash to account for. Can you back up these expenses and claims?”

  My immediate answer was, “No.”

  We never heard from them again. All I know is we had $1.2 million unaccounted for in petty cash. No one cared how we did it, since we turned the stores around from a deficit to a profit. I still wonder why they fired us, since we were doing our jobs.

  Years later, when Charli and I were sitting at John Revson’s pool, I was to find out why and learn a very important lesson.

  Ladies and Gentlemen, The Rolling Stones 1974

  After Arlan’s, Rollin was hired to produce and direct a Rolling Stones film. His job required that he piece together outtakes from a just-finished film the Stones had shot of their latest tour. After viewing the completed film, which included very provocative behind-the-scenes footage and explicit carryings on, the Stones did not want it released. The original film was titled “Cocksucker Blues.” Rollin changed the title after re-editing it to Ladies and Gentlemen: The Rolling Stones. He brought a few of us from the Arlan’s crew in to help promote and produce the film’s opening and coordinate a traveling road show to accompany the film’s release. We created a total experience. The re-cut and edited film was presented as if you were sitting front row dead center at the Stones concert, with no backstage, no talking, just the Stones as big as life performing on stage.

  The traveling road show was designed to add excitement to the tour-like experience, opening in cities nationwide. It was the world’s first quadraphonic film with large, twenty-foot quad-sound speakers, stacked like a live outdoor concert in the four corners of the theaters. Blue laser lights and Rolling Stone–tongued glitter Frisbees flew. The 1972 Stones tour was their first North American tour since the Altamont tragedy in 1969 in California. The footage was shot at four shows just after the release of their Exile on Main Street album.

  Our plan was to launch the film and street fair wherever the Stones live tour wasn’t, enabling us to use the exposure of their tour advertising and press to help sell our tickets.

  Ladies and Gentlemen: The Rolling Stones was developed as one of the first films to “four wall,” meaning the producers—Dragonair Films, an independent distribution company—rented the theaters for a flat guaranteed fee and retained all ticket sales. The feature film launched in NYC at the Ziegfeld Theater and ran for a record-breaking eleven weeks. It came along with a controversial opening-day extravaganza that closed off 56th Street and covered it with white carpet, which was supplied by Charli’s cousin Linda’s boyfriend, Nassa Aftab, who was the Shah of Iran’s brother- in-law. I hired my cousin Frank Pedone to secure several classic cars that we remodeled; one was a rubber duck car Mick Jagger would arrive in.

  The street and surrounding areas were designed to look like a Fellini movie, lined with real palm trees, tattooed sword swallowers, Angels of Light, and a life-sized Balinese cow outfitted in gold and glitter, designed by Joe Lombardo and his girlfriend, Donna—the same Donna and Joe who’d made the Frank hat I wore to Dominica. The cow stood next to a giant, inflatable Rolling Stone tongue on the roof of the theater.

  The night before the opening at a private screening for the Stones, Mick was sitting right in front of me and Charli. Charli was a mess. Mick Jagger was her favorite person in the whole world and she could sing every word to all of his songs. When “Jumping Jack Flash” came on the screen Mick went into contortions, moving and fidgeting with his hair. This song really affected him, and he always performs it to this day. He is truly Jumping Jack Flash.

  After the screening
, Mick was asked by a reporter if he was concerned with all the press the film and he were getting, and whether the Hells Angels killing a concert-goer at the Altamont festival bothered him. He calmly answered,

  “Publicity is publicity.”

  That was a lesson I never forgot and I always apply that philosophy.

  At that time word on the street and pre-publicity tended to cause concern and fear for New York’s Mayor Beam and his administration. They were worried Woodstock or even worse Altamont would happen on 56th Street. Two days before our event we were asked to attend a meeting at police headquarters. We were instructed to bring our plans for the event, including evacuation and medical triage centers. We had all of that and more.

  Our entourage entered the police staging area meeting room, where cops of all sizes and shapes adorned in various gold braids, hats, stars, and medals were already seated at the large mahogany conference table. We sat down in the five unoccupied seats. I sat directly across from the soon-to-be-announced chief of police as he bellowed out his demands.

  “Okay, let’s see what you got.”

  We sheepishly answered his questions and showed him our plans. Well, that was not good enough for him. He had to prove a point.

  Looking directly at me, he said, “Let me tell you, if there is any problem at all, you will be the first person I arrest.”

  At that point he waved his baton directly in my face. Shit, he was dead serious. That was all my friend and personal protector August “Augie” Dela Pietro could take. He freaked and grabbed the chief and started to shake him, saying, “Who you gonna hit with that stick?”

  It took all the cops in the room to get August off the chief. That was it for us, but we luckily escaped arrest. The next day the mayor summoned us to a meeting at Gracie Square. I sat as his desk drinking a beer while we waited for him in his office. When he entered I gave him the finger. As you can imagine that meeting did not go well.