This ode to Frank was e-mailed to us by Walker Joe Jackson, a fan of over 50 years.
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Francis Albert Sinatra
THE FIRST CHORUS
One Sunday morn, a child was born
From this shaky entree, the first on his way.
From Papa and Mama, Marty and Dolly
Influenced by Bing. He starts to sing.
By age fifteen, he stood lanky and lean,
There were dues to pay along the way,
The Hoboken Four triumphed with their score,
On Fifty-two, he starts to view and soak up all that sound.
But at Tony's place, sat a lady in lace,
Now twenty-three, with a master degree
In Thirty-nine, all wasn't fine.
On opening night, it was a sheer delight
The Harry James stint was short but well spent.
Sinatra and Haines joined the Dorsey campaigns.
On the road again, a bus and some gin.
On a June night in Forty, the crowd was quite hoity,
Alive on the scene his peers were quite keen.
His destiny grew while he tamed a few shrew.
Backed by the Piper (Pied), with Stafford the hyper,
On "Your Hit Parade," Frank's songs were played.
Good Lord it was real. Frank learned a great deal.
Now simply a solo, long stripped of his halo.
Let's picture the scene, they wore bobby socks and jeans.
His Paramount gig was too much to dig.
At the local flick, he was starting to click.
At Twenty-One he was there having fun.
THE BRIDGE
Forty-three was the year. There was little to cheer.
Forty-four the score. Jan. tenth the event.
It starts to turn sour, for our man of the hour.
The Saloon singer - no ring-a-dinger.
Frank's thirty-four and can't crack a door.
His world on a string had lost it's swing.
His skin somewhat thin, becomes thick from within.
Amidst all the woe. One life would glow.
THE LAST EIGHT BARS
While dancing down town, swinging Turner around.
Ava! Ava! Mama! Mama!
To be continued . . .
Suffice it to say he did it his way.
© 1997 / Walker Joe Jackson
in the town called Hoboken.
His cheek was scarred, and an ear was jarred
in their frantic haste to save.
But the child looked still, and fate would will
that Rosa take the babe.
And douse the chap, under a cold water tap.
And thus Francis Albert God gave.
The year was nineteen fifteen.
He made it three. The way it would be
in this home from old Italy.
he learned much self esteem.
From Marty he got's, the Sicilian hot's.
And from Dolly he learned to be seen.
A singing career, would be full of cheer.
But Marty said no, it's the wrong way to go.
So Frank slipped around, and improved on his sound.
and dressed with such pizazz.
From Demarest High, he'd say goodbye,
and be off to all that jazz.
so he joined the Hoboken Four.
Goodness knows along came Bowes
and his fabulous Amateur Hour.
and off on a tour they were sent.
The Hoboken Four were soon to bore,
and back to the Apple Frank went.
At the Famous Door, there was Basie galore.
And at the Hickory House they jammed.
At Club Eighteen, he was often seen, gassing with all those clown.
who sang with such lyrical grace.
From Mable he took, his phrasing book.
And from Basie he found the right sound.
from a school atop a bar stool.
He took on a wife. The first in his life.
Miss Nancy made great company.
His career was moving quite slow.
But along came James of trumpet fame,
not to table the famous "Legs" Grable.
While Frank gazed from the Paramount stand.
It was obvious to all, he was having a ball,
"whaling" with the Harry James Band.
Already he'd gained a small following.
But in Hollywood came, the end of James
and back to Nancy he went calling.
In the Windy city, one town without pity.
A break more or less to continue his quest.
To top all the rest, by being the best.
And an occasional blast from a trumpet.
Around and around from town to town.
And often they only just made it.
As Frank sang on the roof of the Astor.
Only a few would know, that during the show.
A blessed event would take place.
For in Jersey City, the birth of a filly.
Little Nancy with the laughing face.
So Frank would work much harder.
To upstage an Eberle, Crosby or Miller, (Glenn)
would require being better - much smarter.
By now they swooned when he crooned.
What he needed the most was a record to boast.
The in - "I'll Never Smile Again."
the record zoomed to the top.
And it wasn't long, 'til our crooner of song
was crowned the king of the pop.
"Night And Day" "The Night We Called It A Day."
"The Song Is You" Just to mention a few.
And his presence grew and grew.
He was getting to big for Dorsey to dig.
So quitting and splitting seemed fitting.
Dorsey had been good and Frank understood.
That those three short years, matched several careers.
And Frank would acquire a drive to inspire.
He continued his right in the limelight.
With the "King of Swing," at a Paramount fling.
A billing, so thrilling, it was chilling.
Mostly gals barely into their teens.
Their eyes full of fire, as only Frank could inspire
and their hearts pounding with desire.
Frank's intro swells amidst screams and yells,
and the ovation could be heard thru the Nation.
He crooned. They swooned. He peaked. They shrieked.
And some passed out from elation.
But none threw bras and few owned cars
And none passed out from sedation.
The Riobamba bash was simply a smash.
At the Wedgewood Room, it was quiet as a tomb.
In the record game, it was quite the same.
"You'll Never Know" was magnifico.
"Anchors Away" was one big payday.
"Higher And Higher" might describe our young flyer.
Sporting around town with some ladies in gowns.
With some classy chicks, he was getting his kicks.
Maxwell and Turner were on the front burner.
Nancy was pregnant, and third or fourth runner.
It was close harmony at the chick Colony.
At Toot's and the Stork, he was popping a cork.
Boy! What joy! Remember Kilroy!
The world was at war, in a land afar.
Uncle Sam needs you, for the Red, White, and Blue.
So Frank stood tall, and answered the call.
A Marine let me be, in our fight to be free.
But the hole in his ear was to severe.
So he used his career, to spread hope and cheer.
To brighten his life, and also his wife.
For Nancy begot, another Sinatt.
Francis Wayne was the name. A natural for fame.
For nothing would click, not even a flick.
While the "Bandit Was Kissing," the audience was hissing.
And the "Clouds Rolled By," leaving Frank high and dry.
The "Bells" did not chime and bring him a dime.
It was quite the same for the "Old Ball Game."
"Mule Train" Laine was causing Frank pain.
With his "Wild Goose" call, Laine was having a ball.
And his "Jezebel" spell was simply hell.
Johnny Ray's "Cry" made Frank nearly die.
And Vaughan Monroe was stealing the show.
Nat King Cole was a merry old sole.
And Billy Eckstien was simply divine.
But an Opera star (Tibett) was going too far.
What was harder to fend. He had not one friend.
At home the scene was less than serene.
While deep in depression, he look's for expression.
And starts to paint clowns, and becomes quite renown.
He wondered at length and prayed for the strength.
To find a way, for one big payday.
To turn it around and get back on the town.
This experience as a whole, would temper his soul.
And build his character, for the road ever after.
'Though down for nine, Frank would raise his spine.
And get off his back and back on the track.
For Nancy begot, one last Sinatt.
A little ballerina, by the name of Tina.
Who should Frank meet, so sassy and neat.
Miss Ava Gardner. Howard Hughes was her partner.
But not for long, 'cause Frank came on strong.
A red haired goddess who was slightly modest.
With feline eyes that hypnotized and tantalized.
Frank's body and soul, and his world as a whole.
"CODA" [ 5/15/98 ]
One take Charlie that's Sinatra by golly.
He took great pleasure in sharing his treasure.
With the chicks, he was quick, as a flick of a Bic.
A super stud who thought press were crud.
He admired the power, the man of the hour.
A musician's musician who respected musicians.
Who knew the orchestration was half the elation.
Remember that jive back in forty five.
Frank's not gone. His songs will live on.
Brought from obscurity by "From Here to Eternity."
His eternity now found. With beautiful sound all around.
Rest in peace. Your work's one masterpiece.