Los Vegas, 1966 (2026) - Foreword

Foreword

Sinatra tightens and adjusts his necktie while posing at the mirror above his dressing table at the Sands. It’s late January 1966, and Francis Albert Sinatra turned fifty a few weeks ago. Although fuller in the face and body than in his youth, the singer appears fit and trim in his tux. His trademark blue eyes still sparkle with the magic that in the 1940s made female fans swoon and throw themselves at him.

He slept well the previous evening and the shallow shadows beneath his eyes were erased by the skills of a pretty twenty-something cosmetologist provided for Frank by Jack Entrator, the manager of the Sands Hotel and Casino. The dressing room is filled with flowers from the management as well as from the many fans who have joined him year after year at the Sands, a venue in which he has only recently been permitted to purchase a share. Frank pulls a pair of cheater glasses from the inside pocket of his tux jacket and looks over the song sheet provided by his young arranger and conductor, Quincy Jones. It includes old chestnuts he’s recorded throughout his career: songs by the Gershwins, Rodgers and Hart, Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer, along with Frank’s signature song,“My Kind of Town”, written for him by Sammy Cahn and Jimmy Van Heusen. He notices that Jones has added a few duets, including one with Ella Fitzgerald, who happens to be in town for the opening, and a few guest artists he’s never heard of, along with a couple of tunes he’s never previously recorded or even performed.

Frank’s confident that he can start anywhere on the song sheet and nail the performances despite his lack of familiarity with the material or the people with whom he’ll sing. Even though he was never trained to read music, he’s got a sixth sense for it and has been playing bars, clubs, radio and TV for more than 30 years. Besides that, he’s backed up by Basie on piano and the Count’s full orchestra, with arrangements created by Jones, who’s

also been hired to conduct.

Though he has no recollection of rehearsing with the band or the guest stars he’ll soon meet, he has a fairly accurate idea of how each song will sound. He’s also got the patter and the jokes to soften the audience, and will

use any ignorance of the songs to his advantage. If he goofs up a line, it will only improve the performance. He’ll pull out his glasses from his jacket pocket, pick up the score and complain. “You shmucks! D’you expect a guy my age to read type this small? Where’s Sammy? His one eye’s better than both of mine.”

This will be a crowd that loves him. Many have been following him since they were teenagers and have grown older along with him, rebelling against the unromantic squawking of hard rock, and searching for memories of lost youth in the days when Sinatra was the latest craze.

The audience may be surprised by a few songs they’ve never heard done by Sinatra, as they will by the choice of artists selected for him to engage a new generation of listeners. Some may be curious as to why they’ve been invited to spend an evening listening to a man who’s been dead for more than thirty years, inside a venue torn down in 1996.

Sinatra knows what he’s up against, but he’s survived Elvis and the Beatles and successfully collaborated with Antonio Carlos Jobim on songs that introduced the Bossa Nova beat to the U. S., so he’s prepared for the challenge.

Frank doesn’t drink or smoke before or during performances, but often sips on stage from what appears to be a glass of Jack Daniel’s with three cubes of ice and a splash of water. In reality it’s tea with lemon, and he often holds a Camel or a Chesterfield, trailing a stream of smoke between his thumb and

index finger. He knows his voice is his treasure and he’s as kind to it as he can be, considering the lifetime of abuse he’s put it through.

Frank’s mellowed, but is often moody, and after the shows he drinks whiskey and martinis heavily. He’s prone to fits of anger, and has tried to commit suicide several times, once almost shooting himself while fighting with his then wife, Ava Gardner. He’s been single for more than eight years,

and the new woman in his life is Mia Farrow, a teenage TV star thirty years his junior and the daughter of Tarzan’s “Jane”, the actress Maureen O’Sullivan.

Frank needs the rush of love and the companionship of women to

remain at the top of a game he feels, inside, that he’s always just about to lose.

A call comes in over the intercom from the stage manager, “Ten minutes until you’re on, Mr. Sinatra.”

Frank takes a sip of tea, secures his hairpiece, and poses for the mirror with a confident smile that reminds him of the charm he can successfully apply to an audience of whatever age.

He turns off the lights in the dressing room and walks down the long corridor to the stage thinking of how fortunate he is to have made it this far along without having become a failure.

The house is packed with people of all ages, income levels, education, and nationalities. He notes that except for those walking to their seats, they

are wearing Apple Vision Pro glasses. Sinatra can see what the audience can not, as Basie’s orchestra starts to play several bars of “Come Fly with Me.”

The man known as the Sultan of Swoon, the Chairman of the Board, and Ol’ Blue Eyes walks casually onto the stage carrying the drink he brought from his dressing room. When he reaches center stage, he bows to thunderous applause and nods to Basie and Jones, who provide a long intro as he settles onto a stool. He lights a cigarette and places the Zippo lighter and the pack of Camels next to his drink on the small upright table at his right, and waits for Jones to give him his cue...

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