From the bus stations of Rt. 66 to the smoky, neon-tinged jazz dives of the big cities, these wanton tales of longing introduce us to vixens on the fringe and those shifty men that drove them there.
Read the pulp novella that one reviewer called 'A potboiler in the style of old school writers like Mickey Spillane, Dashiell Hammett or Raymond Chandler...'
Dean Martin (June 7, 1917 – December 25, 1995), born Dino Paul Crocetti, was an American singer, film actor, television star and comedian. Martin's hit singles included "Memories Are Made of This", "That's Amore", "Everybody Loves Somebody", "Mambo Italiano", "Sway", "Volare" and smash hit "Ain't That a Kick in the Head?". Nicknamed the "King of Cool", he was one of the members of the "Rat Pack" and a major star in four areas of show business: concert stage/night clubs, recordings, motion pictures, and television. (Wikipedia)
Sinatra and gang take a stroll through the kitchen towards the stage at Miami's Eden Roc resort.
If you're a Rat Pack fan then this is a gift from above. I'm a sucker for candid photos and whenever I see a new picture of Sinatra and the gang that I've never seen, it feels like Christmas morning.
On the 50th anniversary of the original Rat Pack flick "Ocean's 11," Life.com has put together a stupendous gallery of never-before-seen pics of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Joey Bishop and Peter Lawford.
LIFE's photographers trailed the various members of the Pack through the early sixties. And of those thousands of shots taken, many have never been published — until now.
By 1967, I was buried deep in the bowels of the Bureau at Quantico -- with shitty clearance to boot.
I was a clerk in the Records Management Division. Oh sure, I was an agent for what it was worth. Basically, it came in handy at bars. Every chick within a 10 mile radius wanted to fuck a bonafide FBI agent and I helped them with that.
I started when I was discharged from Korea. A guy in my unit had an uncle who's friend was a G-man. I figured that I had enough Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity to serve my country overseas so why not stateside. After training, it was no time before the conformity of the day turned me into a working schnook and I found myself working as a glorified librarian.
You see, when Special Agents - the real guys - need information for their field agents, I get a either a wire or a phone call. I would pull thousands of case files -- everything from the militant "New Left" to homegrown Communists to the KKK. We feds were on it all.
But there was this one file called "Agent: Orange" that kept creeping across my desk. As conduits of information that often dealt with national security, we were forbidden to open them. And closed circuit cameras made sure we kept our peepers front and center. The rumor I kept hearing, though, was that The Pentagon was developing a new herbicidal warfare program just in case that conflict in Vietnam got any worse. "Agent: Orange" ... they said this was its name. The file kept getting thicker and I thought nothing more of it.
* * *
A year or two went by and truthfully, I was starting to get bored with the day-to-day doldrums of the job. I wasn't a young agent anymore and any chance I had at a normal life with a family was quickly evaporating. In fact, the sacred information that I doled out on a daily basis was all I had. The files were my kids and I would watch them grow and mature.
I loved them.
* * *
And then it happened. A horrific nor'easter wiped out one of the national grids and I was alone in the records room. Until power was restored, there was no chance of getting in or out since the door was on a magnetic timer. Moreover, the cameras were out. This was my chance. I would finally get to meet one of my babies.
Out came the flashlight and the first child that I saw was that infamous "Agent: Orange" file. Imagine the shock when I found out that the folder was not named for a classified weapons initiative but a person.
Out came my baloney sandwich, I combed through every line on every page and soaked up every photo.
The file centered on a particular FBI Agent - deep undercover - who, among many things, persuaded mob insider Joseph Valachi to spill the beans about the structure of La Cosa Nostra -- the American "mafia."
The dateline of the case report hit me like a ton of bricks.
09 MARCH 1967 LAS VEGAS/WASHINGTON OPERATION -- "AGENT: ORANGE" FIELD AGENT: FRANCIS A. SINATRA
Fuck me.
The more I thought about it and almost choking on baloney, it made perfect sense. It was a genius cover. What better way to infiltrate the mafia than by grooming a young Italian singer into an international icon who would eventually travel in their circles and become one of their most trusted friends? Oh sure, Hoover like to play up the fact that he was a gangster, but that was part of the cover. The Bureau even went so far as giving him a fake tough guy background by arresting him back when he was first recruited. All these years later, little do his fans know that there was a reason why he got away with everything.
But I couldn't figure out why they called him "Agent: Orange." About two hours later, the power came back on. It was the only file I got through. And boy, the stuff I learned...
* * *
By the mid-seventies, I was retiring along with several other agents and an elite dinner was planned at the posh St. Regis Hotel in Washington, D.C. Along with President Gerald Ford, the event boasted a who's who that included Alexander Haig, Donald Rumsfeld, Nelson Rockefeller and Henry Kissinger.
Dreading the farewell speeches that were to come, I almost left but then I saw him at the bar and oddly, he was alone -- at least for the moment. I decided to make my move and as he drank his Jack on the rocks, I introduced myself and informed him that I worked in the Bureau's Records Management Division.
I winked. He stared.
I winked once more and Lord only knows where I got the courage to say, "I love your work... Agent Orange."
I winked. Again.
He'd clearly had it by this point and before he walked away,
leaned in and said, "What'sa matter, pal. You never saw a super spy before?"
As he sauntered towards the power brokers, it hit me. I knew why he was Agent Orange. It was his pocket square. I should've known that orange was his favorite color. Some agent I am...
Why? Because they all died on May 16. For me, however, Sammy will always have a special place in my heart and will resonate the most. As a child, one of the first songs I remember hearing was Sammy's "Candy Man." Granted, the addicting tune can be somewhat annoying but let's face it, to a little kid, a song about candy was the friggin' bomb...
I had older parents and the New York radio station WNEW-AM was always on in the house. Back in the '70s and '80s, the station was best known for its "Milkman's Matinee" and their "Make Believe Ballroom" standards which included everything from Benny Goodman and Sinatra to Sammy and Nat King Cole. Great stuff. That music was in my consciousness from when I was in grade school and I don't regret it for a second.
In 1987 when Sinatra, Sammy and Dino embarked on their Rat Pack Reunion tour, I was lucky enough to have a chick who, like me, also enjoyed that era's music. We snagged tickets for Radio City Music Hall in March of '88 and in the last frikkin' row, there we were seeing them: Frank Sinatra (who I would see several more times) and Sammy Davis, Jr. Dean Martin had backed out by then and would eventually be replaced by Liza Minnelli.
I saw Sammy again, however, later that year but it wasn't in concert. In September, the same gal encouraged me to volunteer with her to work on Jerry Lewis' Muscular Dystrophy Telethon on Labor Day. I'm sure I scoffed. But then she told me: Sammy would be emceeing the New York part of the show which really shot in Secaucus, New Jersey. That's all I had to hear. I prepped my wool double-breasted blazer and I was in.
Now this is where it gets fuzzy. I don't remember much from that day. I remember being there at WWOR backstage but truth be told, I don't remember working much, if at all.
I do remember seeing Sammy, however. And man, was he little. I was in college and a little guy at that and I remember Sammy being smaller than me. I also remember my chick telling me to go up to him but I punked out. It was Sammy... What would I say to him? I mean, he was like, three feet from me. What a mistake.
I'll never forget the next day. Many of the audience members were probably taken with Sammy's gaunt appearance on the telecast and the cat, by that point, was let out of the bag. That morning, I remember seeing the front page of The New York Post that read:
Sammy Has Cancer
A blow to the gut. My hero was sick and I never said hi. Nor would I ever...
Davis died in Beverly Hills, California on May 16, 1990, of complications from throat cancer. Earlier, when he was told he could be saved by surgery, Davis replied he would rather keep his voice than have a part of his throat removed; the result of that decision seemed to cost him his life.
This is my favorite Sammy tune by far...
A few things about "Mr. Bojangles" that some may not know. For me, it has to be one of the most powerful songs with the most poignant lyrics I've ever heard. Listen and you'll see why.
The popular country folk Song was written and recorded by country music artist Jerry Jeff Walker in 1968 and covered by many varied artists including Harry Chapin, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Whitney Houston, Billy Joel, Bob Dylan, Elton John, Jim Croce and Frank Sinatra. Sammy's rendition is most poignant. He always said the song was a rough for him to perform because, in essence, he could have become Bojangles at any time.
The ditty was inspired by an encounter with a street performer in the New Orleans First Precinct jail and does not refer to the famous stage and movie dancer Bill "Bojangles" Robinson.
According to songwriter Walker, a murder on the 4th of July weekend in 1965 precipitated the arrest of all the street people in the area. In the crowded cell, a disheveled homeless old man began to talk to Walker, who had been arrested earlier for drunkenness. The man told various stories of his life, but the tone darkened after 'Mr Bojangles' recalled his dog who'd been run over. Someone then asked for something to lighten the mood, and the man obliged with a tap dance. Wow...
I've always maintained (and you can tell at around at around time 1:26), that Michael Jackson was undoubtedly inspired by Sammy's performance of this song. The hat. The fluid movements. Watch and you'll see.
So why did I love Sammy so much and even have a denim jacket with Sammy airbrushed on the back (!!)? He did it all. A child performer/hoofer; a teenage crooner; perfected his talents in the Will Mastin Trio as a young adult before going into the army (where he was confronted by strong racial prejudice); endured an awful car crash in 1954 that took his eye; became a charter member of Sinatra's Rat Pack; married white actress May Britt to the disdain of a racially-divided nation; famously supported Republican President Richard M. Nixon and endured lung cancer. What more he danced his booty off, did awesome impressions, churned out tune after swingin' tune. And sang 'em right up until the day he got sick.
Back around 2000 or so, I stumbled across the web site of Ed Walters, a pit boss for the Sands in the '60s, who knew Frank Sinatra and the rest of the Rat Pack. I thought it would be great to interview him for Casino Player, the publication I wrote extensively for. Originally, late editor Adam Fine wanted to run the piece in two parts because it was too long. Sadly, he never found the room (since it was the beginning of the magazine's dwindling ad space). The story turned out pretty good and and it remains one of my favorite pieces.
If you're interested in Sinatra, Dino, Sammy, vintage Vegas, Bogart or gambling, this is a must read. In our interview, Walters dished alot and told me stories about the gang that I 've never heard before.
Like I said, it's a tad long, feel free to bookmark and peruse at your leisure.
Reflections of a Pit Boss: Sinatra, the Sands and a Thousand Swingin' Nights
Former pit boss Ed Walters remembers it was a bad night for the Sands.
The baccarat pit was down around 80 large to some European high roller. Walters was nervous because they were on their way to losing more. Way more.
It was the early sixties. 80 thousand clams meant around $300,000 by modern standards. After alerting casino manager Carl Cohen, it was clear that there was only one thing to do.
The young pit boss didn't want to flirt with the Chairman's famous mood swings -- especially at 2 a.m. - and told Cohen, "I don't wanna call Frank. He won't listen to me."
"Look, don't be afraid of Sinatra." Cohen said. "He'll help us out." But why even call Sinatra in the first place? If there was one thing Cohen knew, it was that the singer understood the casino business. The high roller was in town with his wife, who was a huge Sinatra fan. If they kept her there, the husband would keep playing, hopefully long enough for the house odds to kick in. Simple as that.
After placing a call to his suite, the usually-nocturnal Sinatra showed up in pretty good spirits. Walters immediately informed him that the player was hotter than a two-dollar pistol.
"Relax," Sinatra said.
"But we got a lot of cash out..."
The Sultan of Swagger took one last drag of his cigarette, looked at Walters with those ice-blue peepers, and casually said, "Stop worrying, let me handle it. Just tell the dealers to pick up the speed and let's keep the action going."
Sinatra headed to the table with that trademark gait of confidence, took a seat smack dab next to the wife, asked for two grand, and started playing. She couldn't believe it. With Sinatra at the table, no one moved.
Cohen was right.
Two hours later, the house recouped its losses -- and then some. When the game broke up, a relieved Walters watched the tuxedoed Sinatra walk past the gold ropes of the pit, smiling.
"You owe me one, Kid..." he said with a wink.
Walters just heaved a huge sigh and thought, "Man, I sure as hell do."
Click play for some mood music Note: In honor of today's Google Doodle and the fact that everyone's favorite prehistoric cartoon i...
BUKOWSKI'S BASEMENT
Welcome to Bukowski's Basement and the blog of Anthony Venutolo. It's primarily a showcase for nuggets that can range from anywhere from Skid Row to the Savoy in the form of poems, flash fiction, noir or pop culture musings.
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Oh sure, Hoover like to play up the fact that he was a gangster, but that was part of the cover. The Bureau even went so far as giving him a fake tough guy background by arresting him back when he was first recruited. All these years later, little do his fans know that there was a reason why he got away with everything.
Kissinger.
rtin had backed out by then and would eventually be replaced by Liza Minnelli.
Walker, a murder on the 4th of July weekend in 1965 precipitated the arrest of all the street people in the area. In the crowded cell, a disheveled homeless old man began to talk to Walker, who had been arrested earlier for drunkenness. The man told various stories of his life, but the tone darkened after 'Mr Bojangles' recalled his dog who'd been run over. Someone then asked for something to lighten the mood, and the man obliged with a tap dance. Wow...
