Who loves ya, Frankie? Me!! Me!! I do!!
I remember this day ten years ago. It was a Friday and I got home around 6.25, really happy--no reason, I was just in a good Friday arvo mood. I turned on the TV to catch the last of the news and heard Mal Walden say "Blah blah blah...on the day the world lost Ol' Blue Eyes."
Good mood? Gone. In its place was tears--what Oprah calls the ugly cry. Yes, we'd known Frankie wasn't doing well but he couldn't really have died. He was my mother's favorite singer, he'd been there all my life, so cool in his orange cardigan--the only person who could look cool in an orange cardy. While the news played a photo montage to My Way, I went into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of red and tried to open it. The damn thing wasn't going to give up without a fight. So there I was, sobbing the ugly sob, struggling to open the bottle. Then I looked out the kitchen window and there was Trevor, my next door neighbor the cop, in his kitchen. Staring at me.* Come on! Cut me some slack, Frankie died!
(*That is by far not the worst thing he ever saw me doing. There was the night Kurt and I were drinking absinthe and turned off the lights to watch the sugar burn in the spoon--then realized he probably thought we were cooking up crack. And then there was the time we painted the kitchen and Kurt lit up a joint to celebrate the end so I told him to smoke it in the living room where Trev couldn't see it--then I got involved and wandered into the kitchen to admire our handiwork with a big fat spliff in my gob. In our defense, though, that's nowhere near as bad as what he got up to. Cops. That's all I'll say.)
So, it's been 10 years since Frankie died and I still miss his crooning and his coolness*. I'm sure the animal shelters and other causes he funded miss him, too. It's high time he got his own stamp--look at those laughing eyes! Elvis will always be #1 on my hit parade but Frank, right there at #2. (And you know, while Frank was initially threatened by Elvis, they became friends to the point where it was Frank's plane carrying some of the Memphis Mafia to Vegas for Elvis and Priscilla's wedding.)
Re: coolness: Kurt and I watched the Dean Martin roast of Frank last year and were crying from laughter. Perhaps the funniest of all was, get this, Ronald Reagan! (Kinda makes me think of how George Bush'd be a fun guy to go drinking with--and that's where it should end.) Here's a clip (I do miss Ruth Buzzey):
This track is one of my favorites and never fails to make me smile. It's from an album I love, Some Nice Things I've Missed. The Amazon reviews are wildly mixed but I agree with the reviewer who said it sounds like Frankie was having fun. His voice was mature--he had less control but it was so warm, especially on You Turned My World Around and The Summer Knows. Actually, I think I liked his voice more as it matured, just as I liked his face more:

Although, he was cute back in 1938 when he got arrested for...get this...seduction! (A woman claimed Frank had sex with her twice on the promise of marriage. When the cops found out she was already married, they dropped the charges.)

Controversial, caustic, kind--a complex character, an awesome entertainer. They used to say it was Frank's world, we just lived in it. Thanks, Frank.
The adventures of an Eloise wannabe and her 2 roustabout kitties as they work on a book deal in the City of Lights, giggling all the way.







































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