Blogs by Walker Joe Jackson
Ole Blue Eyes
5/25/2009 4:27:30 AM
FRANCIS ALBERT SINATRA
© 1997 Walker Joe Jackson
The First Chorus
One Sunday morn, a child was born
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.
From this shaky entree, the first on his way.
The year was nineteen fifteen.
He made it three. The way it would be
in this home from old Italy.
From Papa and Mama, Marty and Dolly
he learned much self esteem.
From Marty he got's, the Sicilian hot's.
And from Dolly he learned to be seen.
Influenced by Bing. He starts to sing.
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.
By age fifteen, he stood lanky and lean,
and dressed with such pizazz.
From Demarest High, he'd say goodbye,
and be off to all that jazz.
There were dues to pay along the way,
so he joined the Hoboken Four.
Goodness knows along came Bowes
and his fabulous Amateur Hour.
The Hoboken Four triumphed with their score,
and off on a tour they were sent.
The Hoboken Four were soon to bore,
and back to the Apple Frank went.
On Fifty-two, he starts to view and soak up all that sound.
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.
But at Tony's place, sat a lady in lace,
who sang with such lyrical grace.
From Mable he took, his phrasing book.
And from Basie he found the right sound.
Now twenty-three, with a master degree
from a school atop a bar stool.
He took on a wife. The first in his life.
Miss Nancy made great company.
In Thirty-nine, all wasn’t fine.
His career was moving quite slow.
But along came James of trumpet fame,
not to table the famous "Legs" Grable.
On opening night, it was a sheer delight
While Frank gazed from the Paramount stand.
It was obvious to all, he was having a ball,
"whaling" with the Harry James Band.
The Harry James stint was short but well spent.
Already he'd gained a small following.
But in Hollywood came, the end of James
and back to Nancy he went calling.
Sinatra and Haines joined the Dorsey campaigns.
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.
On the road again, a bus and some gin.
And an occasional blast from a trumpet.
Around and around from town to town.
And often they only just made it.
On a June night in Forty, the crowd was quite hoity,
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.
Alive on the scene his peers were quite keen.
So Frank would work much harder.
To upstage an Eberle, Crosby or Miller, (Glenn)
would require being better - much smarter.
His destiny grew while he tamed a few shrew.
By now they swooned when he crooned.
What he needed the most was a record to boast.
The in - "I'll Never Smile Again."
Backed by the Piper (Pied), with Stafford the hyper,
the record zoomed to the top.
And it wasn't long, 'til our crooner of song
was crowned the king of the pop.
On "Your Hit Parade," Frank's songs were played.
"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.
Good Lord it was real. Frank learned a great deal.
Dorsey had been good and Frank understood.
That those three short years, matched several careers.
And Frank would acquire a drive to inspire.
Now simply a solo, long stripped of his halo.
He continued his right in the limelight.
With the "King of Swing," at a Paramount fling.
A billing, so thrilling, it was chilling.
Let's picture the scene, they wore bobby socks and jeans.
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.
His Paramount gig was too much to dig.
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.
At the local flick, he was starting to click.
"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.
At Twenty-One he was there having fun.
It was close harmony at the chick Colony.
At Toot's and the Stork, he was popping a cork.
Boy! What joy! Remember Kilroy!
Forty-three was the year. There was little to cheer.
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.
Forty-four the score. Jan. tenth the event.
To brighten his life, and also his wife.
For Nancy begot, another Sinatt.
Francis Wayne was the name. A natural for fame.
It starts to turn sour, for our man of the hour.
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."
The Saloon singer - no ring-a-dinger.
"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.
Frank's thirty-four and can't crack a door.
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.
His world on a string had lost it's swing.
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.
His skin somewhat thin, becomes thick from within.
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.
Amidst all the woe. One life would glow.
For Nancy begot, one last Sinatt.
A little ballerina, by the name of Tina.
The Last Eight Bars
While dancing down town, swinging Turner around.
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.
Ava! Ava! Mama! Mama!
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. To be continued . . .
Frank's not gone. His songs will live on.
Brought from obscurity by "From Here to Eternity."
His eternity now found, beautiful sounds all around
Rest in peace. Your work's one masterpiece.
Suffice it to say Frank did it his way.
One take Charlie that's Sinatra by golly.
He took great pleasure in sharing his treasure.
He admired the power, the man of the hour.
A musician's musician who respected musicians.
He knew the orchestration was half the elation.
With the chicks, he was quick, as a flick of a Bic.
A super stud who thought press were crud.
Remember that jive back in forty five.
To be continued . . .
The Chairman of the Board has risen. The Author will now finish his life in verse. Come back!
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