Sinatra

by J. Randy Taraborrelli

  The Frank that Mia thought she knew would never have caused such a scene. Or maybe she didn’t know him at all. Maybe her mother was right, maybe she was making a terrible mistake. The way she was raised, never was a cross word ever spoken to anyone. Of course, her parents had their share of marital problems, but they handled them with a sense of decorum that, while often strange and removed, somehow felt polite and dignified.

  The next night, after work on Peyton Place, Mia decided to have a conversation with someone she sensed would be able to explain what had happened at the Swifty Lazar party: Frank’s longtime valet, George Jacobs. The two got along quite well; it didn’t take long for them to become friends. To her, he seemed like a straight shooter. “So, tell me, George, what happened between Frank and Lauren Bacall?” she asked. George said she didn’t want to know; she really didn’t want to know. However, she insisted that she did want to know, and in fact, she thought she needed to know, especially after what had transpired at Swifty’s party. She was putting George in a tough spot, he said. It wasn’t his place to talk about it, he explained, and if Frank ever found out that he’d discussed such a personal matter with her, he would be finished for sure. He liked his job, he said, and he didn’t want to lose it. “But I won’t tell him,” Mia insisted. “You can trust me. I swear to God, I would never tell him.”

  After about fifteen minutes of working on him, Mia finally wore George down. He very reluctantly explained why Frank ended it with Betty Bacall two years earlier: He thought she had blabbed to a gossip columnist that he was going to marry her. It turned out, it hadn’t been Betty who had told the reporter, it had been Swifty Lazar. “You poor kid,” George added. “Must have been quite the scene.”

  “Do you mean to tell me that Frank ended an engagement because of that?” Mia asked. Now she didn’t even care about the scene he had caused. She was more concerned about the way he had conducted himself in a romantic relationship with someone.

  “Yep,” George answered. “Betty didn’t know what happened. She was blindsided.”

  “Why didn’t he and Betty sort it all out?” she asked. “It was obviously a misunderstanding.”

  “Oh, little girl, that’s not Mr. S.’s way,” George said matter-of-factly, all of this according to his memory of the conversation. “Mr. S. doesn’t wait for explanations. He just drops out of sight. One day, you’re in. Next day, you’re out. That’s just the way Mr. S. operates. One day, you’re in,” he repeated. “Next day, you’re out.”

  “Well, I have to ask him about it,” Mia said.

  “Hell no, don’t do it,” George warned. “Just forget it, Mia. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just forget all about it.”

  Now Mia didn’t know what to think. None of this made sense to her. “Well, he would never do that kind of thing to me,” she concluded to George. But from the way George winced, now she wasn’t so sure. In fact, she was beginning to fear that she really didn’t know Frank Sinatra at all.

  Confronting Sinatra

  Mia couldn’t resist asking Frank about Betty Bacall, even though George Jacobs had specifically warned her not to do it. She had to know Frank’s side of the story. “I need to know something,” she began over dinner that night as Jacobs helped serve the meal. Then she laid it on the line. “I heard that you ended your engagement to Betty Bacall because you thought she told the press about the two of you. And rather than ask her about it, you just never called her back,” she said, the words just spilling out, almost as if she was babbling. “And last night you found out that Swifty Lazar was the one who told the press, not Betty. And that’s why you were so upset. Is that true, Charlie Brown?”

  Frank put his fork down. He stared at her menacingly. He demanded to know who she had been talking to about him. Mia said, “No one,” as she glanced nervously at George; she knew she had to protect him. Frank wasn’t buying it, though. “Well, someone told you that,” he said, his anger rising. “Who was it?” he asked, now looking at George. George looked away, avoiding Frank’s steady gaze. Mia then lied and said that she thought she had read about it in Sheila Graham’s gossip column. It didn’t make any difference how she’d heard about it, though, she said. She just wanted to know if it was true.

  “I’m not going to have this discussion with you, Mia,” Frank announced.

  “But . . .”

  “Enough!” Frank shouted, raising his voice so loud that Mia became frightened. He then pounded the table with both fists. “I told you, I am not having this discussion with you.” And with that he rose and stormed off, leaving Mia pale and shaking at the table.

  Nancy’s Marriage Ends

  It was 1965, the era of Motown and of the Beatles—rhythm and blues and the Liverpool sound—as well as youthful folk protest songs by artists such as Bob Dylan. The music business had changed dramatically, and by this time the youth set had little time for Elvis Presley, let alone Frank Sinatra. However, Frank could always find an appreciative audience, especially in Vegas. In fact, the prior year had ended with him playing the Sands Hotel for a two-week engagement that was a complete sellout. With Frank sharing the bill with the Count Basie orchestra conducted by Quincy Jones, the reviews were terrific. Frank easily held on to his rightful place as an American icon with older audiences. His record buyers had grown older with him; they were still loyal and supportive of pretty much everything he did—recordings, films, and concerts. He may have been almost fifty, but as far as his audiences were concerned, he was still in his prime.

  In the summer of 1965, Frank embarked on a six-city concert tour, which was promoted as “Frank Sinatra and Company with Count Basie and His Band,” marking the first time Frank had toured with a band in twenty years. Mia wanted to accompany him on the road, but she became ill and had to stay behind. The tour was a huge success, breaking box-office records at each stop along the way. A couple of days after it was over, Frank’s handprints, along with his signature, were immortalized in cement at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. Nancy and Tina accompanied him to the ceremony. Meanwhile, None but the Brave was released to critical raves. Another film, Marriage on the Rocks (with Deborah Kerr and Dean Martin), was also released, featuring Nancy as Frank’s daughter.

  Though her father seemed to be thriving professionally and personally, 1965 was not a good year for Nancy Sinatra. Ironically enough, while she was working on Marriage on the Rocks, her own marriage broke up. She had married former teenage idol Tommy Sands five years earlier, in September 1960. Now Sands—now an actor and pop singer—wanted out of the relationship. Nancy was stunned; she said she thought they had a good marriage. Actually, Tommy was in therapy at the time, and it was he and his therapist who decided that the marriage had to end, without asking Nancy’s opinion.

  Nancy recalled, “In my mother’s bed, crying and feeling sorry for myself, I thought it was the end of the world. Dad came in and he said, ‘I know you’re sad. I know you’re unhappy. And I know you’re miserable. But I can only tell you that it will pass and that I’m glad you’re not alone. You have me and Mom and your sister and brother.’ ”

  “Stay away from dark thoughts, Chicken,” Frank often told his daughter (using his special nickname for her), especially during this time. “Don’t despair,” he would tell her. She would hold fast to his words.

  Dolly on Mia: “This Is Trouble. Mark My Words.”

  By August 1965, Frank Sinatra was exhausted, having just returned from Israel where he had filmed United Artists’ Cast a Giant Shadow with Kirk Douglas. He needed some downtime. So he chartered a 170-foot-long yacht, the Southern Breeze, and invited Mia to sail along with him and nine other friends, including Rosalind Russell and Claudette Colbert and their husbands, Freddie Brisson and Joel Pressman.

  Mia and Frank flew to New England together on Frank’s private jet to begin their yachting vacation; rumors abounded that a wedding would take place either on the yacht or at one of its stopovers. The New York Daily News posed the question in its headline, “Sinatra a
nd Mia Sailing to Altar?” The Journal-American asked in its own headline, “Are They, or Aren’t They?”

  “Within twenty-four hours, you couldn’t see the ocean for the flotilla of paparazzi, and you couldn’t hear yourself think for the helicopters,” Mia remembered, “and you couldn’t watch television without seeing yourself and hearing about how ancient Frank Sinatra was and how young I was.”

  Frank had planned occasional stops along the way for Mia to enjoy. He loved showing her new sights, sharing his success and good fortune with her. At one point, he took her to the Kennedy compound in Hyannis Port. He actually hadn’t seen the Kennedys since JFK’s death, and he wondered what the reception might be like. Bobby wasn’t present. Jackie also wasn’t there; she was in New York. However, Ted welcomed Frank with open arms, as did the Kennedy sisters, Jean, Eunice, and Pat. Rose was also very gracious, though she did pull Eunice aside to inquire as to whether Mia was a friend of Frank’s or a friend of one of his children. When Eunice explained to Rose that Mia was Frank’s girlfriend, the Kennedy matriarch looked a little astonished. “I can’t say that I have ever quite understood that man,” she declared. The entire clan then came aboard Frank’s boat and played charades and drank liquor; they had a great time. Before taking her leave, Rose embraced Mia. “If you’ve found someone to take good care of you, then I say bully for you,” she told Mia in her plucky fashion. “Just make sure you take good care of him in return.” Mia said she would try her best.

  Sadly, the fantasy cruise ended badly on August 10 when a twenty-three-year-old crewman, who was returning to the yacht from shore, drowned after his boat capsized. Frank and Mia were stunned, as were all of the guests.

  Because news reports about the drowning focused on the fact that Frank and Mia were together on the cruise, Mia’s mother, Maureen O’Sullivan, was unhappy about the publicity. She urged Mia by telephone to just come home. After the decision was made to pull the plug on the cruise and set anchor in the Hudson River, Frank’s guests enjoyed a night on the town in Manhattan at the Aegean restaurant. Then it was on to Jilly’s for a nightcap, and then to Frank’s penthouse overlooking the East River.

  “It had been the most closely observed cruise since Cleopatra floated down the Nile to meet Mark Antony,” noted Time magazine after the cruise ended and no nuptials had taken place.

  “The only reason Mia was even on that yacht was because she burned her eye while shooting Peyton Place,” Maureen O’Sullivan told the press. “One misconception is that Mia was on the yacht un-chaperoned,” she went on. “Why, all those guests were there, and they’re all friends of mine; they would take care of her if she needed any taking care of—which she didn’t.” It seems clear that O’Sullivan either didn’t know or didn’t want to believe that Frank and Mia were sleeping together, and that her daughter certainly didn’t need a “chaperone.”

  Meanwhile, Frank’s mother, Dolly, had her own take on things. She insisted that Frank was only trying to help Mia launch her career. “How many times has he helped somebody to the top?” she asked one reporter. “That’s what he’s doing now.” Dolly maintained that her son would never marry Mia. After all, two of Frank’s children (Nancy and Frank) were older than Mia, she noted.

  Of course, Frank wanted Dolly’s approval of Mia. After the cruise, he brought Mia to Fort Lee to meet his parents over an Italian feast Dolly had spent two days preparing. Mia didn’t eat a thing, a sin in Dolly’s world. Though Mia politely explained that she was a vegetarian, Dolly tried to force her to at least eat one meatball—but it wasn’t going to happen.

  “This is the best Frank could do after Ava?” Dolly asked George Jacobs. She was perplexed. George didn’t know how to respond. He and Dolly were in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Frank was cuddling with Mia on a plastic-covered sofa in the living room. Keeping his voice low so that the boss couldn’t hear, George said that Mia was “a good kid, a good match.” However, Dolly wasn’t convinced. With all of the actresses of class and standing available to her son, she said she couldn’t understand why he would end up with a girl who seemed like an innocent little waif. “What TV show is she on, again?” Dolly asked.

  “Peyton Place,” George answered.

  “Never heard of it,” Dolly snapped. She continued, saying that a woman had to be tough in order to survive in a relationship with her son, and Mia didn’t look at all like she was up for the challenge. “Watch out for her, George,” Dolly advised Frank’s valet. She suggested that he “get Mia out of the picture before she gets hurt.”

  “Well, at least Mr. S. is happy,” George said as the two continued to watch Frank and Mia on the couch. “I haven’t seen him this happy in a while.”

  Dolly shook her head. “This is trouble,” she predicted. “Mark my words.”

  The Walter Cronkite Interview

  Right before Frank Sinatra turned fifty in December 1965, a major publicity campaign was launched with the significant birthday as its focus. At the end of the year, Reprise released the Grammy Award-winning September of My Years album. It was ironic that with Frank’s age being such a focus due to his relationship with Mia, he would release an album with the subject of aging as its theme. It featured songs such as the “September” title track, “Last Night When We Were Young,” and “Hello, Young Lovers.” Brilliantly arranged and conducted by Gordon Jenkins, each song was given a deeply personal, life-affirming performance by Sinatra. As he sang the lyrics of “How Old Am I?” (“You kiss me and I’m young”), it wasn’t difficult to imagine that he was singing about his relationship with Mia.

  The centerpiece of the September album was Frank’s rendition of the hauntingly reflective, autobiographical “It Was a Very Good Year,” for which he would be awarded a Grammy for Best Male Vocal Performance. In fact, the album won four Grammys, including Best Arranger (Gordon Jenkins for “It Was a Very Good Year”), Album of the Year, and Best Album Notes.

  To coincide with the birthday celebration, CBS News also scheduled a program to commemorate Sinatra’s twenty-fifth anniversary in show business. It was decided that Walter Cronkite would tape an interview with Frank at his Palm Springs home for the broadcast. Prior to the interview, the network was instructed by Mickey Rudin that Cronkite should not ask any questions about Mia Farrow, nor should he ask about Frank’s alleged mob ties. Producer Don Hewitt, ostensibly speaking for the network, agreed that any such line of questioning would be off-limits. “Hey, if that’s what Frank wants, that’s what he’ll get,” said Hewitt. However, Walter Cronkite customarily accepted no such parameters in planning his interviews. No one ever told Cronkite what to ask or what not to ask during his interviews.

  As the cameras rolled, Cronkite did ask about Mia. It was an innocuous question and one that Frank dodged easily. Still, Frank was annoyed by it. Then Cronkite tiptoed into more dangerous waters. As he remembered many years later, “Don [Hewitt] leaned over and whispered to me not to forget to ask him about the Mafia. So, my question was simply how did he want to respond to charges that he had Mafia connections. Sinatra’s lips tightened to a tiny line. He gave me a piercing look through narrowing eyes.”

  “That’s it,” Frank announced angrily. He practically leapt out of his chair and stormed off to a bedroom with Hewitt and Jilly Rizzo following. An argument ensued that, recalled Cronkite, “featured the great voice raised to a level seldom used in a concert hall. The only coherent phrase I picked up was a charge that Hewitt had promised that the Mafia questions would not be raised.”

  Finally, at a loss as to how to handle things, Jilly decided to call Mia Farrow, who was back in Beverly Hills. He felt that she could reason with him. Apparently—from Frank’s end of the conversation anyway—it appeared that Mia was trying to convince him to finish the interview. “Screw them,” Frank said crossly at one point. “You think I care about them?” Clearly he was frustrated and lashing out, and maybe understandably so, because his desire to control his image was so thoroughly being thwarted by the reality of his life. It was obvio
us that the stories most people wanted to know about were precisely the ones he didn’t want to talk about. After a few more moments, he said, “Okay, Mia. You’re right. When you’re right, you’re right.” After he hung up, he went back out and completed the interview. He responded to the question about the mob the way he usually did: “I do meet all kinds of people in the world because of the natural habitat from day to day; in the theatrical world, nightclub world, in concerts, in restaurants, you meet all kinds of people. So there’s really not much to be said about that, and I think the less said the better, because there’s no answer. When I say no, it’s no, and for some reason it keeps persisting, you see, and consequently I just refuse to discuss it because you can’t make a dent anywhere.”

  Two weeks before the show was to be broadcast, Mickey Rudin shot off an angry letter to CBS, charging the network with what can only be regarded as a novel crime: “breach of understanding.” In the end, CBS deleted all references to Mia Farrow (though Frank mentioned “Miss Farrow” in the telling of an anecdote) from its broadcast of Sinatra on November 16, 1965. The answer about the underworld remained intact. Despite that, the program turned out to be a well-produced, evenhanded study.

  Some interesting facts were revealed: Cronkite noted that Sinatra made $25 million while at Capitol and, as of the broadcast, $15 million at Reprise. He earned royalties of $60,000 a year from his recordings at Columbia. Frank Sinatra Enterprises brought in $4 million a year. “He uses his private jet like the average millionaire uses a limousine,” said Cronkite. “There are no commercial airlines that would take Sinatra to the unlikely places he goes at the unlikely times he wants to go there.”

  Studio footage of Sinatra—tie loosened, standing before his sheet music and recording “It Was a Very Good Year”—was put to great use; it was fascinating to watch him work, tailoring the song in his unique, self-assured way. The studio was filled with people, sitting in the studio on chairs in rapt attention as if watching a concert. In fact, Frank almost always had spectators in the studio, unlike many artists who preferred to record in solitude. On the CBS broadcast, during the playback of the song when Frank heard himself sing “When I was thirty-five, it was a very good year,” he turned to one of the studio personnel, flashed a boyish grin, and said, “Those were the swingin’ years.”