Frank_ The Voice Part 35

From Here to Eternity got thirteen nominations: for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actress (Deborah Kerr), Best Actor (both Montgomery Clift and Burt Lancaster), Best Supporting Actress (Donna Reed), Best Screenplay, Best Cinematography, Best Costume Design (Black-and-White), Best Sound Recording, Best Film Editing, Best Music Scoring. And, of course, Best Supporting Actor (Frank Sinatra). got thirteen nominations: for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actress (Deborah Kerr), Best Actor (both Montgomery Clift and Burt Lancaster), Best Supporting Actress (Donna Reed), Best Screenplay, Best Cinematography, Best Costume Design (Black-and-White), Best Sound Recording, Best Film Editing, Best Music Scoring. And, of course, Best Supporting Actor (Frank Sinatra).

Ava was also nominated, as Best Actress in a Leading Role, for Mogambo Mogambo. When she heard about it in Rome, she laughed out loud.

Frank, however, began to pray. We know this; what he said was between him and G.o.d. He could barely remember the last time he'd set foot in a church-every once in a great while, when he was in New York, he stopped by St. Patrick's and lit a candle for his sins (though he never dared to set foot in a confessional: where would he start?)-but that Monday afternoon, before going to the airport (and several times in the weeks that followed), he drove over to the Good Shepherd Catholic Church, a lovely, Spanish Missionstyle complex on Bedford and Santa Monica in Beverly Hills, went inside, and knelt in a pew.

The interior was cool and fragrant with the scents of incense and polished wood, the nave flanked with simple arches in smooth white stucco, the altar standing in a light-washed apse surrounded by tall stained-gla.s.s windows. He was alone in the sanctuary, except for one woman sitting a few rows ahead. Frank bowed his head.

Joe DiMaggio was advising his new bride to face down 20th Century Fox the way he'd faced down the New York Yankees: the studio owed her a raise, he told Marilyn, and something a h.e.l.l of a lot better to do than Pink Tights Pink Tights. In the meantime, Zanuck looked for another female lead-maybe Jane Russell, maybe a sultry blond ingenue named Sheree North-and Sinatra consoled himself with the cash. "Frank Sinatra-who's collecting $50,000 for not working in 'Pink Tights'-grabs $23,000 for 9 nights at the Miami Beachcomber," Earl Wilson wrote in early February. And, a few days later: "There's a tug-of-war going on between La Vie en Rose and the Copacabana over Frank Sinatra's next NY singing date. Monte Proser of La Vie says Frank promised to appear for him. 'If he doesn't,' says Proser, 'I'll get out of the business.' Frank's also got a fat offer from the Copacabana, which has about twice the capacity of La Vie and could therefore pay him about twice as much."

Everybody wanted him except Ava. But everybody else wanted him a lot. All at once, he was hot as a pistol. There were nightclub dates, TV spots, and, most of all, all kinds of movie offers: Besides the role of Nathan Detroit in Guys and Dolls Guys and Dolls (for which a director had already been tapped-Joseph L. Mankiewicz), he'd been offered the t.i.tle role in another adaptation of a Broadway musical, (for which a director had already been tapped-Joseph L. Mankiewicz), he'd been offered the t.i.tle role in another adaptation of a Broadway musical, Pal Joey Pal Joey. And then there was a dark thriller, in which the lead role, a crazed presidential a.s.sa.s.sin, was a showpiece for a real actor. The script was called Suddenly Suddenly, and Frank liked it a good deal.

While he rehea.r.s.ed at the Beachcomber, the wire services ran, next to reports of Marilyn Monroe's spectacularly successful trip to entertain the U.S. Marines in Korea, a story picked up from New York's Daily News Daily News. QUADRANGLE: ROME COMIC SINATRA'S TOP RIVAL was the headline; the piece was datelined Rome, February 16.

Walter Chiari, 28-year-old comedian known as the Danny Kaye of Italy, is the reason why Ava Gardner and Frankie Sinatra have not kissed and made up, according to the talk in Rome film circles today.Ava and Chiari have been seen together frequently, both before and since Frankie flew here for four days last month in a fruitless attempt at reconciliation.One Italian newspaper today named Ava as the fourth corner of a quadrangle, saying that Chiari had split with Lucia Bose, Miss Italy of 1947, because of Miss Gardner.

It was all gossip, of course, but it was hard to ignore. And the quadrangle image, while picturesque, omitted a fifth leg, which complicated the romantic geometry considerably: the bullfighter Dominguin.1

Frank did a week at the Beachcomber, relaxed for a few days in the Florida Keys, then Chester flew him up to New York to try to put a smile on his face. While there, he had a brief but memorable encounter, as noted by Winch.e.l.l on February 26: "Frank Sinatra and Artie Shaw met in Lindy's revolving door the other 2 a.m. Both took a coolish 5-second take and then walked away."

Frank kept busy. There was work and there was after work-paid company, chance encounters, old flames. The work made him happy, but it still left a lot of hours in the day. Winning the Oscar, he sometimes thought (knowing the thought was childish), would solve everything, would bring him work and wealth and maybe bring Ava back too.

At the same time, he felt pessimistic, superst.i.tious. The other nominees-Eddie Albert and Robert Strauss and Jack Palance and Brandon De Wilde-were actors actors. What was he? (One thing he knew he wasn't, in an era when academy members voted only within their own categories, was popular among other performers. Albert and Palance were very popular.) Frank told Bob Thomas of the a.s.sociated Press that he probably wouldn't even be in Los Angeles for the Oscars. "I'm a saloon singer," he said plaintively. "I gotta go where the work is."

But remarkably, his wandering wife seemed discontent, too. In a lengthy syndicated interview at the end of the month, Laura Lee of the North American Newspaper Alliance sat down with Ava in Rome and found her in somber, regretful spirits. "What does Ava Gardner want most in the world? A baby," Lee wrote.

She didn't have to think twice before answering. The thing she has wanted most in life for a long time is a couple of babies and a normal, happy marriage.What stands in the way?Miss Gardner swallows, bows her head and shakes it ever so slightly, as if to say, "Who knows?" ..."Some day" is all she ventures by way of reply-"It must be some day."If she is putting on an act, Hollywood's No. 1 box-office star is a better actress even than her many fans believe."Marriage for two people in the field of entertainment is a very difficult thing," Ava concedes. "Bogie..., who has been married to four actresses, and I were discussing this just this morning."

What they were discussing, no doubt, was the fact that the fourth and final actress Bogart had married, who had flown seven thousand miles to join him in Rome, was missing her her couple of babies, badly, longing to fly back to them-and never forgetting the movie career she'd put in abeyance to be their mother. couple of babies, badly, longing to fly back to them-and never forgetting the movie career she'd put in abeyance to be their mother.

"There isn't a single thing about this lousy business I like," Ava told Lee.

I hate acting and hate not having a private life. You aren't allowed any privacy in this business.I haven't got a home. I haven't got a chauffeur or a car or even a mink coat [!]. I work for only one reason. The same reason everyone works, because I need the money and I can make more this way than any other I know of...I could walk out of making pictures tomorrow and never have a moment's regret.

Lauren Bacall carried a coconut cake from Frank to Ava when she went to Rome to visit her husband, Humphrey Bogart, on the set of The Barefoot Contessa The Barefoot Contessa. Ava ignored the cake. Bacall and Sinatra later formed a close friends.h.i.+p. (photo credit 39.2) (photo credit 39.2) "A friend of Ava's," Lee wrote, "says she talks about Frankie constantly, but confesses that they 'Can't live together and can't live apart.' What the trouble is neither of them is willing to admit in public-if either really knows."

40.

Frank escorts Frank Jr. and Little Nancy to the Academy Awards at the Pantages Theatre, Hollywood, March 25, 1954. (photo credit 40.1) (photo credit 40.1) Young at Heart" had entered the Billboard Billboard chart on February 13; two weeks later, it climbed to the Top 10. chart on February 13; two weeks later, it climbed to the Top 10. Songs for Young Lovers Songs for Young Lovers was also selling. Alan Livingston was ecstatic: time to start another alb.u.m. At the end of February, Sinatra flew back to Los Angeles; on March 1, he went back to meet Nelson Riddle in the Capitol studios. was also selling. Alan Livingston was ecstatic: time to start another alb.u.m. At the end of February, Sinatra flew back to Los Angeles; on March 1, he went back to meet Nelson Riddle in the Capitol studios.

Frank recorded three numbers that Monday night: Johnny Mercer and Rube Bloom's "Day In, Day Out," Harold Arlen and E. Y. Harburg's "Last Night When We Were Young," and a Sammy CahnJule Styne t.i.tle theme for an upcoming movie, "Three Coins in the Fountain." That insipid film, starring Louis Jourdan and Jean Peters, would premiere in June; Sinatra's singing over the t.i.tle credits was the best part of it. Neither of the other two songs would be heard for a while, though. "Last Night When We Were Young" landed on Frank's In the Wee Small Hours In the Wee Small Hours alb.u.m in 1955, but "Day In, Day Out" didn't officially resurface until 1991, when it appeared as a bonus track on a CD reissue of 1960's alb.u.m in 1955, but "Day In, Day Out" didn't officially resurface until 1991, when it appeared as a bonus track on a CD reissue of 1960's Nice 'n' Easy Nice 'n' Easy.

The lengthy obscurity of one of Sinatra's greatest recordings is something of a mystery. He had recorded the song, with an Axel Stordahl arrangement, on his first Capitol recording date the previous April. But the Stordahl version was problematic. On the one hand, there was Frank's vocal, which was sensational: tender, strong, and ardent. On the other, Axel's arrangement, to put a fine point on it, was corny, old-fas.h.i.+oned, and soporific, from the chimes-of-midnight pizzicato intro to the soupy wash of strings and harp glissandi that seem to want to recast this towering love song as the theme to a B movie. Alan Livingston's sharp young ears would have heard every bit of this, making his quest to link Sinatra and Riddle all the more urgent.

More important, though, Frank was eager to get the song right.

So he and Riddle made this magnificent recording, which languished in the Capitol vault for decades-in all likelihood, as the archivist Ed O'Brien has suggested, because Frank's concepts for each of his alb.u.ms were so specific that there was simply no place to put "Day In, Day Out" until it resurfaced as an asterisk in the singer's seventy-sixth year. It was an astounding omission, but we are the beneficiaries of the correction, able to hear singer and arranger already at the apex of their powers. In the thirty-two-year-old Riddle's hands, "Day In, Day Out" became a hymn to pa.s.sion, unashamedly romantic and forthrightly s.e.xual. It is real drama rather than melodrama. And the arrangement's richness is greatly enhanced by the presence of a seventeen-piece string section, as contrasted to a mere nine for the Stordahl session.

In Riddle's hands, the fiddles pulse in waves, lilting and halting, with all the teasing hesitancy and onward rush of first love; his flutes and harps are s.h.i.+mmering moon glow rather than schmaltz. The great Mercer lyric, at first all daydreams and possibility, rises to a peak of ardor when the lovers meet and kiss ("an ocean's roar, a thousand drums"), and this is when Riddle finally brings on all the horns and timpani...but that's not the end. The music and the singing grow gentle again- Can there be any doubt When there it is, day in-day out -before fading to a close. Riddle would later describe his methodology. "In working out arrangements for Frank," he said, I suppose I stuck to two main rules. First, find the peak of the song and build the whole arrangement to that peak, pacing it as he paces himself vocally. Second, when he's moving, get the h.e.l.l out of the way. When he's doing nothing, move in fast and establish something. After all, what arranger in the world would try to fight against Sinatra's voice? Give the singer room to breathe. When the singer rests, then there's a chance to write a fill that might be heard.Most of our best numbers were in what I call the tempo of the heartbeat. That's the tempo that strikes people easiest because, without their knowing it, they are moving to that pace all their waking hours. Music to me is s.e.x-it's all tied up somehow, and the rhythm of s.e.x is the heartbeat. I usually try to avoid scoring a song with a climax at the end. Better to build about two-thirds of the way through, and then fade to a surprise ending. More subtle. I don't really like to finish by blowing and beating in top gear.

This is precisely the methodology of "Day In, Day Out." The heartbeat trips and quickens toward the climax, then eases back to a serene afterglow.

Sinatra was crazy about this arrangement, and his singing shows it. Here he is not only ardent and tender, as he was on the Stordahl record, but pa.s.sionate. His emotional and s.e.xual engagement with every syllable of the lyric, every note of the song, every bar of the arrangement, never wavers. This is not just a display of great singing but also a great work of art, rich with autobiographical meaning, shot through with longing and loss.

Infinitely restless, Frank flew to Palm Springs with Chester for fun and games, then, impatiently, flew back to Los Angeles. "Just for the record," Parsons sniffed possessively, two weeks to the day before the Oscars, "Frank Sinatra is here in town. He came in a few days ago from Palm Springs. He'll be on Bing Crosby's radio show, so the New York and Rome trips are canceled."

Rome: the world simply refused to stop believing-in much the same way the world couldn't stop believing in Santa Claus-that Frank and Ava would eventually get back together. But in the absence of hard news, writers were also coming up with their own material. Ava's new studio publicist, Dave Hanna, was probably responsible for the fanciful item Leonard Lyons used to lead his March 12 column-the subject, the famous coconut cake. "Ava was sure that a diamond ring, bracelet or necklace was inside the cake," Lyons wrote. "After all, a husband who is as carefree about money as Sinatra is wouldn't send an ordinary cake as a way of having a beautiful wife keep him in mind, 7,000 miles away.

"She therefore ate it all herself, chewing each bite carefully, in search of a hidden gem. 'I finished the whole cake,' she said, 'and all I found was that I couldn't get into my costume the next day.'"

Meanwhile, the real Frank and Ava behind the cartoonish images kept grabbing whatever pleasures they could, trying to keep the sadness at bay. Frank's method, as always, was ceaseless motion. Van Heusen kept the revels going, the plane warmed up. Just three days after she'd claimed Sinatra was staying put, Louella had to eat her words. "Frank Sinatra's excuse for missing the Look and Photoplay Magazine awards: 'I have business in New York' and the thought that Frankie's MOST important business is to attend all events furthering his career," she harrumphed, incoherent with indignation.

So there really had been a New York trip-was he on his way someplace else? Rome, perhaps? "Frank Sinatra off to Italy to escort Ava to the Academy Award doings-as though Ava couldn't find her way back to Hollywood," wrote Jimmie Fidler, who'd heard it from someone who'd heard it from someone else.

But it wasn't Rome; it was just New York. And it wasn't even business; it was just to keep moving.

Westbrook Pegler had laid off Frank for quite a while, not out of any merciful tendencies, but mainly because the Sinatra of the mid-1950s had fallen beneath the notice of the subversive-hunting columnist. For one thing, since Frank's Mafia scandals of the late 1940s, he had kept his contacts with the wiseguys as quiet as possible-not least because Ava hated the hoods even more than Pegler did. For another, Frank, with plenty to distract him, was no longer the liberal firebrand he had been in the 1940s. And in any case, the political climate of 1953 and 1954 was extremely unfriendly to liberalism. There was a Republican majority in Congress; Eisenhower was in the White House. It was one thing to rally for causes at Madison Square Garden when FDR was president; it was quite another to wear one's political heart on one's sleeve when the Hollywood blacklist was at its raging height. Even Bogart, who'd courageously gone to Was.h.i.+ngton to face down the House Un-American Activities Committee, felt compelled to distance himself from the Hollywood Ten.

In mid-March, though, Pegler had a halfhearted last whack at Frank. The occasion was the arrival at San Quentin of Jimmy Tarantino, the New Jersey lowlife and co-founder (with Hank Sanicola) of the short-lived scandal sheet Hollywood Nite Life Hollywood Nite Life. Under Tarantino's guidance, Hollywood Nite Life Hollywood Nite Life had been nothing more than a vehicle for shaking down film-colony denizens with s.e.xual and pharmaceutical idiosyncrasies: Frank had gone to lengths to distance himself, and to make sure Sanicola distanced himself, from the whole business. Tarantino had kept up his extortionate ways, had been nabbed and convicted, and now Pegler, who'd gotten mileage from the subject back in the day, was dredging up the past: "Frank Sinatra, an intimate friend of Tarantino..."; "Sinatra's partic.i.p.ation in an orgy of several days and nights in a de luxe hotel in Havana with Lucky Luciano..."; "Willie Moretti...Sinatra's original backer..." had been nothing more than a vehicle for shaking down film-colony denizens with s.e.xual and pharmaceutical idiosyncrasies: Frank had gone to lengths to distance himself, and to make sure Sanicola distanced himself, from the whole business. Tarantino had kept up his extortionate ways, had been nabbed and convicted, and now Pegler, who'd gotten mileage from the subject back in the day, was dredging up the past: "Frank Sinatra, an intimate friend of Tarantino..."; "Sinatra's partic.i.p.ation in an orgy of several days and nights in a de luxe hotel in Havana with Lucky Luciano..."; "Willie Moretti...Sinatra's original backer..."

It was a reminder to the Hearst-reading public that Frank had once been down-and-out and a little bit dirty. (Why Pegler didn't dig into Sinatra's recent investment in the Sands is a mystery.) The public didn't care. The public wanted to know about Frank and Ava and the Academy Awards. Pegler was growing more shrill and irrelevant by the week; even Joe McCarthy was running out of gas. America was in the mood to forgive Frank, and Frank had his eye on the bra.s.s ring.

He went to prizefights and harness races and jazz clubs, and the wh.o.r.es came to him. New York in the early spring of 1954 was a cavalcade of pleasures, and Van Heusen and Sanicola were working overtime to keep Frank away from the telephone, maybe even coax a smile from him now and then. They were finally beginning to get some results. His smile grew broader; his pals smiled back. Five nights in a row, he ate with them at La Scala on West Fifty-fourth Street, Frank and Hank and Jimmy and the music publisher Jackie Gale, plus whatever hangers-on happened to be hanging on. And five nights in a row, they all told Frank that he was going to take the Oscar. Every night they closed the joint: late nights with cigarettes and anisette and gorgeous broads and loud laughter. Frank would never let anyone else go near the check.

Then, very early in the morning of March 24, it was time to leave. Chester's plane was parked at Teterboro; the sun would be rising in an hour or two. As Frank and Hank and Jimmy left the restaurant, someone at the table called out: "Bring back that Oscar!"

Frank turned around to look at whoever it was, sitting there staring at him like he was G.o.d. He nodded. "I'm gettin' it," he said quietly.

He drove straight from Van Nuys Airport to 320 North Carolwood, for an Italian dinner. It was cool and rainy in Los Angeles, but the house was warm and smelled wonderful; after the kids jumped on him and he kissed Nancy on the cheek, Frank put La Boheme La Boheme on the hi-fiand, just for a moment, with tomato sauce in his nostrils and Puccini in his ears, thought of another household long ago. He sat in the den-his den-and put his feet up and sipped Jack Daniel's and listened to the splendid music; Nancy came in and sat down, smoothing her skirt decorously, and they talked for a bit, for all the world like an old married couple, about how the kids were doing. Nancy Sandra, in the eighth grade, was loving school and had a ton of friends-male and female-but while Frankie was getting decent marks in fourth grade, he never on the hi-fiand, just for a moment, with tomato sauce in his nostrils and Puccini in his ears, thought of another household long ago. He sat in the den-his den-and put his feet up and sipped Jack Daniel's and listened to the splendid music; Nancy came in and sat down, smoothing her skirt decorously, and they talked for a bit, for all the world like an old married couple, about how the kids were doing. Nancy Sandra, in the eighth grade, was loving school and had a ton of friends-male and female-but while Frankie was getting decent marks in fourth grade, he never said said anything. He played with his planes and trains and cars and kept to himself. And little Tina's first-grade teacher said that she was daydreaming instead of paying attention (it would turn out that she had astigmatism). anything. He played with his planes and trains and cars and kept to himself. And little Tina's first-grade teacher said that she was daydreaming instead of paying attention (it would turn out that she had astigmatism).

When they sat down at the table, though, all four of them were smiling at him mysteriously.

He looked around the table-Tina giggled-and raised an eyebrow. Nancy ordered them all to eat before the food got cold.

They ate. Family chitchat, about school, about the coyotes they sometimes heard howling in the hills at night. Frank grilled his older daughter about boys; Frankie watched his father as if he were trying to memorize something. The maid cleared the table and put coffee cups at Nancy's and Frank's places. Frank's attention was distracted for a second; when he turned back, there was a small white box tied with blue ribbon sitting next to his cup.

He looked around the table at them.

It was a small gold medal on a thin chain, with Saint Genesius of Rome, the patron saint of actors, on one side and on the reverse a little Oscar statuette in bas-relief. "To Daddy-all our love from here to eternity," the inscription read.

Tears started to his eyes.

Frank looked at Big Nancy, for it had been her doing, of course: she was smiling that d.a.m.n Mona Lisa smile of hers. He thanked her.

She just kept smiling.

The kids shouted for him to put it on.

He hung the chain around his neck and slid the medal under his s.h.i.+rt collar. He patted it twice as he looked at his family.

Then he went home alone.

The next day he awoke with a headache. It was still raining; the sky was the color of slate. George brought him the Times Times and the and the Examiner Examiner and yesterday afternoon's and yesterday afternoon's Herald-Express Herald-Express and made him coffee. Frank opened the papers and looked for his name. Louella had called late last night; she must have something. There he was in Winch.e.l.l: "After being exiled too long, F. Sinatra rejoined the jukebox royalty. His balladandy, 'Young at Heart,' is among the Top Ten." Good. A headline caught his eye: NEWCOMER IS HOT FAVORITE FOR ANNUAL SCREEN AWARD. Good. But then, under Aline Mosby's byline, the piece, datelined Hollywood, March 24, began: "Audrey Hepburn, a newcomer to movies who says she's flat-chested and homely, is the hot favorite to reign as 1953's best actress at tomorrow night's 26th annual academy awards." and made him coffee. Frank opened the papers and looked for his name. Louella had called late last night; she must have something. There he was in Winch.e.l.l: "After being exiled too long, F. Sinatra rejoined the jukebox royalty. His balladandy, 'Young at Heart,' is among the Top Ten." Good. A headline caught his eye: NEWCOMER IS HOT FAVORITE FOR ANNUAL SCREEN AWARD. Good. But then, under Aline Mosby's byline, the piece, datelined Hollywood, March 24, began: "Audrey Hepburn, a newcomer to movies who says she's flat-chested and homely, is the hot favorite to reign as 1953's best actress at tomorrow night's 26th annual academy awards."

He read on: This year's race of the celluloid kings and queens was turned into a $275,000 telecast that will make it the most gala, colorful Oscar derby in 10 years. And by now the movie colonists, as eager as if this were a presidential election, have been predicting around their swimming pools who is likely to win the coveted gold statuettes.

His gaze roved restlessly down the column. Hepburn a cinch...Best Actor's contest a photo finish between Bill Holden, star of Stalag 17 Stalag 17, and Burt Lancaster...

There.

"'Eternity' is favored to be awarded the best picture honor by members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, with 'Shane' a close rival," the piece continued.

Two stars of "Eternity," Donna Reed and Frank Sinatra, are popular choices for the supporting Oscars.Miss Hepburn, Holden, Miss Reed, Sinatra and "From Here to Eternity" won the annual straw poll of academy voters released yesterday by Daily Variety, a show business trade paper. But Lancaster was only a handful of votes behind.As usual, only eight of the 20 globe-trotting acting nominees will be in the audience of 2500 executives, fans and stars at the Pantages Theatre on busy Hollywood Boulevard.Not one "best actress" nominee is in town. Miss Hepburn, Maggie McNamara and Deborah Kerr will be telecast at a branch meeting of nominees in New York. Ava Gardner is in Rome and Leslie Caron in Was.h.i.+ngton.Holden will be on hand but Richard Burton is in England, Marlon Brando in New York, Montgomery Clift in Jamaica and Lancaster in Mexico. Miss Reed and Sinatra will be among many supporting nominees who will pull up in limousines before screaming fans outside the ornate theater.

Here was Louella. "Tonight's the night for Frank Sinatra," she wrote.

He'll either step up and get his Oscar for "From Here to Eternity," or else he and the rest of the audience will be surprised numb.[But] whether Frankie wins or not, he's delighted with the St. Genesius medal given him by 13-year-old Nancy, Jr. and Frankie, Jr.

Was Parsons giving him the win or taking it away? He thought of the oracular p.r.o.nouncement Chester had made when Frank had moaned that he didn't think he had a chance: Anything can happen. There are a lot of upsets in these contests Anything can happen. There are a lot of upsets in these contests.

It was cold and drizzly, a night for keeping the Cadillac's convertible top up. He pulled in to the drive at 320 North Carolwood and walked to the front door, umbrella in hand. The door opened, and there they all were in the sweet-smelling foyer: behind, Nancy holding the baby's hand, and in front, Frank's two dates for the evening, Nancy junior in a white fur cape and Frankie in an overcoat and bow tie. Their eyes were big.

He exclaimed: how beautiful; how handsome. Little Nancy beamed; Frankie frowned.

Big Nancy was smiling her smile. Good luck, Frank Good luck, Frank.

He kissed her on the cheek and thanked her. Then he kissed the grinning Tina and thanked her too.

He patted the pocket of his tux jacket, where the medal sat. His right knee kept shaking, as if he were running in place.

Let's go.

It was a long evening-ninety minutes, not nearly as long as the show is these days; but for Frank, endless. Donald O'Connor was the host, and he liked Donald; everyone did. But he couldn't pay attention while O'Connor made his jokes and the audience t.i.ttered and the band played and the film clips were shown and the show halted for commercials and started again and the endless awards were given out: his knee wouldn't stop shaking, and the only sound he could hear was white noise, a buzz in his head...

He was sitting on the left aisle, three-quarters of the way back. Little Nancy, beside him, was squeezing his arm; next to her, Frankie was leaning forward in his seat, his mouth slightly open, watching the proceedings avidly.

The buzz in Frank's head stopped for a moment when Donna Reed won for Best Supporting Actress. Then it began again. When William Holden won Best Actor instead of Monty, his daughter gave Frank's arm an extra squeeze. Don't be too disappointed if you don't win, Daddy Don't be too disappointed if you don't win, Daddy, she whispered in his ear.

Don't you be, either, he whispered back.

An hour and a quarter into the show, close to the end, Mercedes McCambridge walked to the podium. The buzz in Frank's head stopped abruptly, and he watched her closely. She was a chunky little broad with a ringing voice and a short haircut, wearing an unflattering white strapless gown-not a looker, but she'd won Best Supporting Actress in 1949 for All the King's Men All the King's Men.

"Nominees for the best performance by an actor in a supporting role," she began, "are Eddie Albert, in Roman Holiday Roman Holiday, Paramount; Brandon De Wilde, in Shane Shane, Paramount; Jack Palance, in Shane Shane, Paramount; Frank Sinatra, in From Here to Eternity From Here to Eternity, Columbia-"

Here, for the first time, there was applause.

"Robert Strauss, in Stalag 17 Stalag 17, Paramount. And who, please, is the winner?" She turned and took the open envelope, saw the name on it before she returned to the microphone. With a gasp, she said, "The winner is Frank Sinatra, in From Here to Eternity From Here to Eternity." And as the audience erupted, she hopped up and down, one small hop, like a little girl who'd just gotten exactly what she wanted for Christmas.

Barely anybody in the theater liked him, but at that moment everyone there felt exactly the way Mercedes McCambridge felt. A great gift had been given to them all: they had witnessed a miracle. Hollywood loves a show, and there was no show to compare to this. "A peculiar thing happened and I can't explain it," Louella Parsons wrote later. "I ran into person after person who said, 'He's a so-and-so but I hope he gets it. He was great!'"

Little Nancy burst into tears and couldn't stop crying. Frankie was gazing at his father in astonishment. Frank kissed his daughter's wet cheek, grasped his son's hand, and first walked, then trotted down the aisle. It was an easy, graceful trot, as though a great weight had been removed from his shoulders. The applause grew louder. Frank climbed the stage steps, shook Donald O'Connor's hand, and kissed him on the cheek. "Unbelievable," Frank said, shaking his head. He went to the podium, kissed McCambridge-she cooed with pleasure-and took his Oscar. He bowed deeply as the audience shouted bravos. Then he looked carefully at the gleaming statuette in his hands.

"Um-" he began, glancing up, then looking back down nervously.

"That's a clever opening," he said, to laughter. He smiled. The theater then went dead silent: n.o.body quite dared to breathe. "Ladies and gentlemen," Frank began, still finding it hard to face the crowd. He clearly hadn't prepared a speech. "I'm, I'm deeply thrilled," he stammered. "And, and very moved. And I really, really don't know what to say, because this is a whole new kind of thing. You know, I-song-and-dance-man-type stuff-" He grinned and glanced over at O'Connor. "And, uh, I'm terribly pleased, and if I start thanking everybody, I'll do a one-reeler up here, so I'd better not. And, uh, I'd just like to say, however, that, uh-" He smiled mischievously. "They're doing a lot of songs songs here tonight, but n.o.body asked me to-" here tonight, but n.o.body asked me to-"

He didn't have to say the last word. He had now proved, definitively, that he could do something besides sing.

He was grinning broadly as the crowd laughed, looking around and seeming at ease for the first time. "I love you, though, thank you very much," he said, adding, as if further explanation were necessary, "I'm absolutely thrilled." And he blew the crowd a big kiss, took McCambridge's arm, and walked off.

Watching on television in Santa Monica, Ralph Greenson turned to his wife. "That's it," the psychiatrist said. "We'll never see him again."

He was right.

Several of the biographies say that Frank thanked Harry Cohn, Buddy Adler, and Fred Zinnemann that night. In fact, he cleverly thanked everybody by thanking n.o.body. At his brief press conference backstage, amid the grinning faces of Cohn, Adler, Zinnemann, and Donna Reed-From Here to Eternity had virtually swept the evening, winning eight Oscars and tying had virtually swept the evening, winning eight Oscars and tying Gone With the Wind Gone With the Wind-Sinatra expressed his regret that the absent Montgomery Clift had failed to win the Academy Award he so deserved.1 "I wanted to thank Monty Clift personally," Frank said. "I learned more about acting from Clift-it was equal to what I learned about musicals from Gene Kelly." "I wanted to thank Monty Clift personally," Frank said. "I learned more about acting from Clift-it was equal to what I learned about musicals from Gene Kelly."