Sinatra

by J. Randy Taraborrelli

  “Pop, there’s a woman down front who’s hot for you,” Frank Jr. told him one night before the show.

  “No kiddin’?” Frank asked. “How do you know?”

  “Because she said she’s gonna give you the Tom Jones treatment.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You know, the way women throw their panties at Tom, and their brassieres?” Frank Jr. explained.

  “What? She’s gonna do that to me?” Frank asked, wide-eyed.

  “Well, she mentioned that it might be a little more age-appropriate,” Frank Jr. said with a wink. “I think she said she’s gonna throw a pair of support hose at you, and maybe her hearing aid too.”

  Father and son shared a good laugh; these were the good times they’d always needed. “That’s when our relationship became really strong, during those years,” Frank Jr. recalled. “It meant an awful lot to me. You know, as a boy you need your father, and that’s a fact of life. But now he needed me. And that’s what made it so endearing.”

  Indeed, Frank Jr. offered moral support when his fatigued father most needed it. He remembered, “I’d say to him, ‘Listen, champ, you’re too old an athlete to give up now.’ Those are the exact words I said. ‘You must not give up until the time comes that deep down inside yourself you know it’s right. Until that time, do not be influenced by external forces; you’re too old to quit. Now get in there and fight.’ At night, when he’d be onstage and he’d get tired, I’d give him this,” Frank Jr. said, showing a clenched fist. “Now get in there and fight.”

  Frank Jr. was there for his father when, as one friend put it, “the chips weren’t just down, they almost didn’t exist.” In conducting the large orchestra for the Diamond Jubilee World Tour, Frankie would attempt to focus on his massive job with the music charts and the musicians as much as possible. However, on some nights he looked visibly concerned about his dad’s shaky performance, especially as Frank’s troubled, smoky voice would lose power in the middle of a simple song like “Strangers in the Night.”

  “It’s as if the kid is hoping the old man doesn’t just keel over in the middle of ‘My Way,’ ” noted one cynical critic.

  “I would see him very up, then very down, and sometimes very sad,” Frank Jr. would recall in 2012. “It often came to it that I simply held him, just held on to him and told him I was here for him. I owed him that.”

  Considered by many of his friends to be a loner, Frank Jr. would marry Cynthia McMurry in 1998 and divorce two years later. He had one son from a previous relationship, Michael, born on March 1, 1987. Other women have claimed to have had illegitimate children by Frank Jr., but McMurry’s is the only child he and the family recognize as a true Sinatra. “He is twenty-five now, almost twenty-six,” Frank would say in 2012 of his son. “He lives in Japan, a college professor. He gets back to the United States probably once a year and I make damn well sure that we stay in contact. Whenever he does visit, we go to dinner, just the two of us. I want him to have what I didn’t.”

  For the last seven or so years of his father’s life, Frank Sinatra Jr. had only one concern: to see to it that his father kept performing to the best of his ability. “Those seven years went by so fast, it felt like seven days,” he said. “Seven of the best days of my life.”

  A Sad Ending for Jilly

  The Diamond Jubilee World Tour had not been easy for Frank Sinatra. Among other problems, the four teleprompters at the edge of the stage, which scrolled the lyrics to all of his songs, had become more difficult for him to read because of cataracts in both his eyes. Without the teleprompters, however, he simply couldn’t remember the lyrics. This memory loss was becoming concerning not only for Frank but also for his fans, who felt enormous sympathy for him. When he returned home to Palm Springs for a few days between dates, the issue of memory was even more pronounced. “At about midnight, I would go into the kitchen, and there he would be,” remembered James Wright. “And I’d say, ‘Can I help you, Mr. Sinatra?’ And he’d be standing there in a fog and would answer, ‘You know what? I don’t even remember what I came in here for.’ It was for the jar of pickled pigs’ feet, of course, which he would eat every night. ‘Make me a grilled cheese sandwich, will ya?’ he’d then ask, and I would comply.”

  Still, once back on the road, Frank went on like a trouper and generated hysteria at each stop along the way. Sometimes he was brilliant onstage, sometimes not. But it was clear from the way he performed the songs that they still moved him. Through them—those “wonderful, wonderful songs,” as he called them—he manifested not only a sensitivity that he had never been able to fully express in his personal life but also a continuing sense of identity and dignity at a time when many of his older friends were beginning to lose theirs.

  Obviously seasoned professionals in their own right, Steve and Eydie could always rise to the occasion and handle any misstep that might occur. They were always concerned for Frank’s dignity, and if they noticed that he was drifting, they would gently take him by the arms and move him with them, gracefully bringing him back to alertness. If he forgot his lyrics, they would softly sing them from behind, jogging his memory, filling in the lost stanzas, urging him on. Certainly he never had truer friends.

  Sinatra valued his friends more than ever at this time in his life, which was why the death of his best friend was one of the greatest tragedies that could have befallen him. It happened on May 6, 1992, when Jilly Rizzo was killed in an automobile accident on the night of his seventy-fifth birthday.

  Jilly’s friend Jim Whiting remembers, “He was about to turn seventy-five. He wasn’t even in his own car. He was in a white Jag XJ that belonged to his girlfriend, Betty Jean. He was hit by a drunk driver, and the car just exploded into flames. He couldn’t get out. The doors were automatically locked. It was a horrible way to go.”

  Frank’s very good friend and road manager, Tony Oppedisano, broke the news to Barbara. Then she and Tony told Frank. He sank to his knees in despair. He was so devastated, he locked himself in his room and stayed there for days.

  “This was the toughest time for my father,” Frank Jr. would recall. “To have your best and closest friend die in that way? It was so devastating.”

  As difficult as it was for him, Frank still went to Jilly’s funeral at the St. Louis Church in Cathedral City, California. He was a pallbearer. His face was ashen and haggard; he seemed almost stricken as he and the other pallbearers carried the mahogany casket. Betty Jean Kelly, Jilly Rizzo’s girlfriend, recalled, “It broke my heart to see how much Frank was suffering. He and Jilly adored each other. There was such a look of agony in Frank’s eyes, it was hard to bear.”

  Prodigal Daughters

  It had been a couple of years since Nancy and Tina Sinatra decided to stop visiting Frank and Barbara at their home. Though they stayed in touch by phone and continued seeing Frank when he was on the road without Barbara, their hearts ached knowing they couldn’t see him whenever they wanted to because of their own decision. “It was killing them, actually,” said one friend of the Sinatra daughters. “It was bad on Tina, but I think it was really hard on Nancy. Nancy had such a close relationship with Frank, it was as if she could feel his pain over the separation. After the deaths of Ava, Sammy, and Jilly, both women just felt life was too short to not relish every single second they could with their father. So they decided to try again to be a part of his life. Frank Jr. told them he thought it was for the best.”

  In their absence, a number of legal maneuverings had taken place that favored Barbara. The daughters tried to keep abreast of what was happening, but it was getting more difficult to keep track with Mickey Rudin now gone. Barbara had her own team—Arthur Crowley as her lawyer, Marshall Gelfand as her business manager, and others. She was organized and strong. Barbara’s team even sought to stop Frank from paying Nancy Sr. alimony—which he had been doing the last forty years—from their community funds. Not only that, but they wanted the funds to be reimbursed for past payments!

 
Of course, the Sinatras had their own army of attorneys and business managers—including the savvy Eliot Weisman, who had replaced Rudin. But it seemed as if there was always a battle to be won, with poor, aging Frank Sinatra caught right in the middle of it all.

  Frank was happy to have his daughters back, of course. But according to those who knew him best, he couldn’t help but feel that a sacred trust had been broken by their boycott. How could he be sure it wouldn’t happen again? From this point onward, he would reserve a little bit of his heart where his family members were concerned . . . just in case.

  Tina’s Miniseries

  In November 1992, CBS-TV aired a television miniseries based on Frank Sinatra’s life entitled Sinatra. With his blessing, Tina, now forty-four, was executive producer.

  After Kitty Kelley’s 1986 biography received so much attention, Frank had wanted to write an autobiography to “set the record straight.” Tina explained, “Though he knew he could fill volumes, he said, ‘The biggest part of my life would be missing. My music. My songs. You couldn’t hear my songs in a book.’ ” It was decided to produce a miniseries, which would be seven years (and three different writers) in the making.

  The four-hour-long program spanned the years 1920–74, ending with Frank’s return to the stage at Madison Square Garden after his “retirement.” Originally the script was for a ten-hour-long miniseries. Certainly it would have had to be at least that long to do Frank’s life complete justice. As it was, at four hours, it had its superficial moments, with a few sketchily drawn characters. However, it was a very good show, and the performances were first-rate, particularly Philip Casnoff’s emotionally involving portrayal of Sinatra.

  Much to the surprise of many critics, the miniseries didn’t avoid the various controversies in Frank’s life. The script even admitted to Dolly’s “illegal operations” (as they were referenced in the network’s press kit). In one powerful scene, Dolly (portrayed by Olympia Dukakis) and Frank (Casnoff) argue about her tarnished reputation in Hoboken after her first arrest. Sinatra’s relationship with Sam Giancana (played by Rod Steiger) was also portrayed in the miniseries, as was his friendship with other gangsters. His volatile affair with Ava (Marcia Gay Harden) also received considerable attention. Tina’s miniseries, the most expensive miniseries to date at $18.5 million, was definitely the truth about his life; certainly not all of the truth, but as much of it as she could squeeze into four hours.

  Frank was scheduled to visit the set once the production was up and running, and Tina, the actors, and crew were very excited. Tina couldn’t wait to show her dad off to the cast and crew, and to share with him stories about the production so far. She also desperately wanted to impress her father. But at the last minute, Frank decided not to visit the set, saying he wasn’t feeling well. Tina was crushed.

  He knew, of course, that his appearance on the set was vitally important to her. The truth, though, was that he was just too nervous to go through with it. He felt that expectations of him were just too high. Could he live up to them? After all, his whole life had been on display for this cast and crew for months. They knew about the suicide attempt, for instance, when Manie Sacks saved him at the last possible moment. It was in the script. They knew about his vulnerable passion for Ava and about at least one of her abortions. They knew about his battles with the media over his mob ties. All of it was in the script. Now he was expected to be the physical embodiment of all of this legend, and it was just too heavy a load for him to shoulder at this time in his life. No longer the cocky guy of his youth, the aging Sinatra was more and more riddled with insecurities about the way he was perceived by his adoring public. He knew he had changed—he was older, more feeble, less invincible—but he also knew the public still viewed him the same way: as an icon.

  When Frank confessed his fears to Barbara, she told him, quite simply, that he shouldn’t have to do anything he truly didn’t want to do, not at this stage of his life, anyway. “You have been keeping commitments for fifty years,” she said. “Now is the time to start begging off.” She also told him to be very open to Tina about his reasons, because she didn’t want Tina blaming her for the decision. Of course, Frank didn’t do that, he just said he was not well and that was the end of it. The date wasn’t even rescheduled. Tina did her best to get over it and move on, but she was deeply hurt.

  In the fall, with the miniseries done, CBS was determined to give it the launch it deserved. The network intended to host a splashy reception at the Rainbow Room for the cast, crew, and press. Afterward, the plan was for everyone to then attend a concert by Frank Sinatra and Shirley MacLaine at Radio City Music Hall. It promised to be a grand event, befitting the premiere of a miniseries about an American legend, produced by his own daughter.

  On the day of the concert, Tina got an urgent call from Eliot Weisman. Frank wasn’t well. Tina didn’t know it at the time but, again, her father was filled with anxiety. The idea of the miniseries had become such a hot-button issue for him, just the mere thought of it made him apprehensive. Yes, of course, he had authorized the project. Now he just wanted the entire business to go away.

  Tina raced to his apartment at the Waldorf, and, sure enough, there he was in bed, feigning illness. “You’re not performing tonight?” she asked, fearful of the answer. No, he wasn’t. It was devastating. It felt to Tina as if Frank didn’t care enough about her to overcome his anxiety and support her hard work. Then, with either the worst timing ever (or maybe the most deliberate?), Barbara came into the bedroom and offered a small box to Tina. “This is for you from your dad,” she explained. “It’s for all the hard work you did on the show.” When Tina opened the box, she found a gold cigarette lighter from Cartier. It looked like something Frank might have given an employee for a few years of dedicated service. Of course, it wasn’t the value of the gift that hurt Tina; it was that it seemed so dismissive of the work she’d put into her labor of love for her dad.

  When it was broadcast, the Sinatra miniseries was not only a ratings success, but it also garnered many Emmy nominations and eventually won a Golden Globe for best miniseries. Tina, always the pragmatist, felt, when she finally saw the completed product, that it could have been even better, but on the whole she was very happy with it. The professional achievement—her biggest to date—was all well and good, but what really mattered to her was Frank’s approval of it.

  Tina sent a tape of the show to the Palm Springs compound for Frank to watch. A few days later, she called to see how he liked it. Barbara answered the telephone; she made it clear that she didn’t much care for the miniseries. Who knows, but maybe she resented the fact that she wasn’t portrayed in it? The time line ended in the early 1970s before Frank met her, which, if one considered the dramatic possibilities given that the program was produced by Tina, was probably in Barbara’s best interest. When Frank came on the line, he seemed blasé and uninterested. Was his medication off? Was he just not feeling well? Or did he really not care?

  According to someone in the Sinatra household with knowledge of the situation, Frank actually did begin watching the miniseries, with Barbara at his side. He knew it would be difficult, but he wanted to do his best to get through it for Tina. By the time the program began to depict Marilyn Maxwell wearing the bracelet Nancy thought had been intended for her, he knew where the plot line was headed—after all, he had lived it. How could he now watch it all unfold on television as entertainment? For him, this was gut-wrenching stuff. “I can’t do it,” he told Barbara. “I’m sorry, but this is just too much for me.” She understood. She got up and turned off the television.

  Frank’s Secret Daughter?

  The Sinatra miniseries may have ended up being more trouble than it was worth for the family. It was while watching the program on television that Julie Lyma in California began to suspect that her mother, Dorothy Bonucelli, might have had an affair with Frank—and that she, Julie, might actually be Frank’s daughter.

  In fact, Dorothy did have a long romance w
ith Frank. She was the woman known by the stage name Alora Gooding, with whom Frank was romantically involved for a time. Dorothy’s daughter, Julie, started putting the pieces of her life together after watching Tina’s miniseries, even though the affair was not depicted. However, a scene in which Alora Gooding was portrayed as swooning over Frank on the set of Las Vegas Nights started her thinking.

  The day after the broadcast, Julie telephoned Dorothy—from whom she had been long estranged—to ask if in fact Frank Sinatra was her biological father. Her mother confirmed it, almost fifty years after the fact. Dorothy said she had her reasons for keeping the secret. She explained that Frank’s press agent, George Evans, had threatened her with the morals clause of her contract—which he was wont to do to Frank’s girls at that time. Also, he promised to represent her if she kept her mouth shut about the pregnancy. She says she decided at that time not to tell anyone. She says that even Frank didn’t know she was pregnant.

  Dorothy had the baby on February 10, 1943, and claimed that the father was her husband, a traveling salesman named Tom Lyma. However, her career foundered, and when George Evans dropped her as a client, she plunged into a spiral of alcohol abuse. She became moody and unhappy, and according to Julie was abusive to her. In the end, Dorothy lived a difficult, tragic life.