"The sedate but sometimes sensational Wall Street Journal caught up in breathless fashion with the news of an era past about Frank Sinatra's indissoluble camraderie with the Mafia. That wasn't a singing group by any stretch of the musical scale - unless one's imagery of rhythm encompasses the notion that fortissimo bursts of a tommy gun constitute some form of lyrical instrumentation. In a lead story on page one of its August 19, 1968 edition, the Journal raked Sinatra in the unkindest terms. To wit: "Ordinarily a man's friendships are nobody's business but his own. But Mr. Sinatra once again is back in public affairs - in politics, and Presidential politics at that." ...The Jouranl [sp] rehased [sp] much of the accounts we've narrated in this text about Sinatra's connections with Willie Moretti, Charles (Lucky) Luciano, the Fischetti brothers, and Momo Giancana. ...The most revealing thing about the story was mobster Willie Moretti's alleged attempt to intervene in Frankie's divorce from Nancy."  [pg 275]

"In order to succeed, it would appear that talent is helpful, as is luck.  But in many cases the seeds of failure are sown when the performer is unable to meet the (minimal) requirements of the cliche's of this profession.  Even after success has been achieved, entertainers are still seen - and publicised - in terms of cliche'.  The 'rising star' becomes the 'star' and, when that over-used word loses its potency, he or she achieves the status of the 'superstar'.  As each new superlative is brought into use, a fresher and more powerful one has to be found, and the ultimate weapon in a publicist's armoury is the phrase 'a legend in his/her own lifetime', one of the most abused tags around." [from the introduction, pg. 7]

"'Nasty, rude, inconsiderate, uncooperative and ungrateful', said Kendis Rocklin in a Los Angeles Mirror News article on Sinatra.  but, unlike cover stories in Time and Look magazines, Rocklin also gave prominence in his article to the Sinatra that could be 'quietly generous and considerate without even expecting thanks'. ...[J. Lee] Cobb had had a heart attack in the summer of 1955 and he recalled later, 'Frank in his typically unsentimental fashion, moved into my life... Frank flooded me with books, flowers, delicacies.  He kept telling me what fine acting I still had ahead of me... He built an insulating wall around me that shielded me from worry, tension and strain.' ...'After I recovered,' said Cobb, 'our relationship tapered off until I hardly saw him at all.  He seemed to disappear as my need for him was over.'"  [pg. 92]

"...Sinatra agreed to meet the Commission in a private, secret session.  His lawyer claimed he had never been opposed to testifying, he'd only objected to the atmosphere.  Following his appearance, Superior Court Judge Frank J. Kingfield dismissed the contempt citations and the warrant.  SIC chairman William F. Hyland said Siantra had "cooperated fully."
Two years later, it was a House investigation in Washington.  A House Select Committee on Crime, headed by Florida's Claude Pepper, was looking into mob influence in organized sports.  Frank had had an interest in Berkshire Downs, a racetrack in Hancock, Massachusetts, which, at the time of the investigation, was no longer in operation.
It was a drama worthy of the wide screen.  And, once again, Sinatra was the main attraction.  [pg. 110]

"The remarkable aspect of these sessions was his blend of ruthless concentration and gay self-mockery.  Apparently the range of one song was causing him some profound thought.  Halfway through the first take, he broke off while actually on the climactic line and emerged from the voice box waving his arms for the orchestra to stop.  To the studio in general he announced: 'I can't even talk in that key!'  Then as the clock pointed to 9.25 p.m., Frank drank a cup of coffee and exchanged a few friendly words with the Canadian conductor Robert Franon.  Then back to work.  This time he did a perfect take, and emerged from the box beaming and commenting: 'See what you get when you keep good hours and live a clean life?''  [pg. 114]

"Rhythmically, Sinatra had improved exceptionally - previously, he had hinted, but only hinted, at what was to come, with recordings such as 'The Birth of the Blues', 'Bim Bam Baby', and 'Sweet Lorraine'.  Now, on the non-ballad numbers that had become as essential part of his in-person and recording repertoire, he really swung.  Or put another way, his singing had become unquestionably jazz-orientated.  The vocal metamophosis was more easily discernable during his live performances.  Apart from the maturity and all-round improvement in his singing, the shy nice-boy-next-door entertainer of the 1940s had changed to one of a sharp, finger-snapping extrovert - sometimes arrogant, more overtly sexual, more instantly communicative to concert and club audiences of all types and ages."  [pg. 87]

"Francis Albert Sinatra long ago left Hoboken, New Jersey, where he spent the trying, formative years of his life.  But Hoboken has never completely left him.  Underneath the surface of the rich, literate, world-famous man he has become, there linger feelings generated in him as a lonely, sensitive kid, trying to cope with the coarse, cobblestone cosmos of the tough, riverside city.  In Hoboken he grew up as an only child, hungering for the affection and camaraderie of two busy parents; fighting with tough kids for whom his taste in natty clothes was a challenge and his spindly frame an easy mark; being beaten up by police who accused him of stealing a new outfit he wore; and enduring the gives of an uncle and a father who were trying to teach him the manly art of defense.  [pg. 111]

"You know, I adore making records.  I'd rather do that than almost anything else.  You can never do anything in life quite on your own, you don't live on your own little island.  I suppose you might be able to write a poem or paint a picture entirely on your own, but I doubt it.  I don't think you can ever sing a song that way, anyway.  Yet, in a sort of a paradoxical way, making a record is as near as  you can get to it - although , of course, the arranger and the orchestra play an enormous part.  But once you're on the record singing, it's you and you alone.  If it's bad and gets criticised, it's you who's to blame - no one else.  If it's good, it's also you.  With a film it's never like that; there are producers and script-writers and hundreds of men in offices and the thing is taken right out of your hands.  With a record, you're IT.  But I must admit something - I'd never argue with someone like Nelson on a record date.  It's his date, he's the leader." [pg 51]

"At various times, because of his loyalty to others or declining to dignify his attackers, he had sometimes lashed back, but most often he had subdued his feelings.  I had learned, as he had long since, that to most columnists it's not news that my father can be a nice guy or that my brother is a decent kid.  The many benefactions didn't start to come out until late in life.  Without a newspaper or a TV station at his command, the only forum open to him, he thought, was his microphone.  So he used it to vent some of his anger, sometimes humorously, sometimes viciously.  He reached only a few thousand people, whereas the liars reached millions through their media.  But it was a healthy outlet for him.  And for those of us who shared and understood his plight, each little jab he struck was significant and understandable.  [pg. 267]

"It was incontrovertibly those hordes of chemically desperate bobbysoxers (as they were then called, even though many painted their legs to simulate stockings) who first uplifted Sinatra.  Notice was given at once of the way things would go.  The theatre was sold out from first show to last for the month Benny Goodman stayed.  Sinatra was retained for another month after that, and newspapers and magazines were awash with stories attempting to explain the hysterical effect he had.  It was put down to everything from religious fanaticism to the mothering instinct.  He was frail; he also had a curl on his forehead.  'Not since the days of Rudolph Valentino has American womanhood made such unabashed public love to an entertainer,' said Time magazine, making a similar point to E.J. Kahn, who would however go back further to Listz and Struass for his parallels.  [pg. 51]

"Riddle was the key to Sinatra's Capitol sound, the model against which all his other arrangers then and since must be measured.  What Riddle offered was a sure sense of the swing-jazz sound from which Sinatra had emerged, a subtly masterful command of symphonic scoring, an understated ability to capture a song's dramatic essence with intrumental touches, and beyond all that, an irreducible individuality.  His "swinging" records with Sinatra offer jazzish drive without untoward brassy vulgarity.  But where Riddle comes into his own is with ballads, the lush moodiness rarely overstated or sentimentalized (as with Stordahl before him and Jenkins after him) yet all the more moving for its very spareness.  And he was able magically to blend fast and slow, underpinning a ballad with insinuating rhythmic impetus, thereby combining Sinatra's two main interpretive inclinations, sexual insouciance and emotional vulnerability."  [pg. 142]