A. There is no one story.....there are so many....but this story of friendship and loyalty ranks high;
In May 1998 shortly after Frank's death, Sidney Zion wrote the following column for the NY Daily News about his special friendship.
"One long ago night in the backroom of P.J. Clarke's, I asked Sinatra what he missed most by being Frank Sinatra. He dragged a Camel, sipped the Jack Daniel's and said: "The bars."
They wouldn't let him hang the bars; the bores and the boors and the broads would be on him. No way to stand up and do what he loved to do most drink and talk to pals and carry on till the sun came up. "It's a big price to pay," I said. Sinatra turned the blue rays on me, the eyes saying if you think I'm kidding, you're gone, buddy. When he knew I was serious, it was the beginning of a great friendship. "You're the first Jew since Toots Shor to understand this," he said. "Anytime you want somebody's legs broken, call me."
Woulda coulda shoulda there were plenty of legs I wanted broken in the years I hung out with Frank Sinatra. But I guess I was too Jewish to call the marker. Instead, I enjoyed him. Others may talk about his voice and his place in the pantheon of entertainers. I remember Frank as the best raconteur I ever knew.
After a pizza dinner at Rocky Lee's, he asked me where we should have nightcaps. I said the Players Club. Frank was a Player. He said, "Great."
It was a Thursday night, when usually the Players was crowded. But this night nobody was there. We hung the bar. I was embarrassed that we were alone. Eventually, a few poker players dropped down from upstairs, the word had gotten out that Sinatra was on the premises.
Ken Roberts, the father of Tony, walked up behind Sinatra and intoned: "From Frank Dailey's Meadowbrook on the Pompton Turnpike, ladies and gentlemen . . . Frank Sinatra!"
Without looking back, Sinatra said: "Kenny, you old sonofabitch." They embraced, these two guys who hadn't seen each other in 40 years not since Roberts announced Sinatra at the Jersey nightclub.
There followed two hours of Sinatra soliloquy, complete with a history of his big-band days, from Harry James to Tommy Dorsey.
He lived spectacularly in the worlds of politics, movies and money moguls. His formal education died before high school, but he read voraciously.
"I can't sleep more than two hours at a time," he told me, "So I pick up books in between." The insomnia helped him overcome an inferiority complex on schooling. And turned him into a virtual encyclopedia on our times.
When my daughter Libby died at the hands of doctors in New York Hospital in 1984, Frank invited my wife and me to '21.' When Elsa went to the ladies' room, he said: "You're coming to Palm Springs with me." I told him, "No chance." He said, "You need this, and I don't want you to say a word to Elsa until you're home. If she refuses, tell her that I'll be at your apartment tomorrow, and I will lay all my blue-eye charm on her." We went, and it helped to save us. A year later, I asked Sinatra to appear at Yale to do a lecture in Libby's memory.
"Book it!" he said. The result was a deep interview between Sinatra and me covering his career, including all the Mafia allegations against him.
This interview, on tape, proves what I said before: Frank Sinatra is a great raconteur. It's as if you could be with him and me at Jilly's.
The last time I was with him alone for hours was in Athens a few years ago. The promoters booked him into a coliseum the size of Rome. He drew 30,000 people and sang his heart out for 100 minutes.
After the show, we hung out. Near dawn, one of his people tried to get him to sleep.
"What?" he said. "It's the shank of the night! Bring more bottles."
If there's a heaven, the drinks are on Frank Sinatra. Sidney Zion (died August 2009)
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