Sinatra
A young lady named Jane Hoag, a reporter at Life’s Los Angeles bureau who had attended the same school as Sinatra’s daughter, Nancy, had once been invited to a party at Mrs. Sinatra’s California home at which Frank Sinatra, who maintains very cordial relations with his former wife, acted as host. Early in the party Miss Hoag, while leaning against a table, accidentally with her elbow knocked over one of a pair of alabaster birds to the floor, smashing it to pieces. Suddenly, Miss Hoag recalled, Sinatra’s daughter cried, “Oh, that was one of my mother’s favorite…” — but before she could complete the sentence, Sinatra glared at her, cutting her off, and while forty other guests in the room all stared in silence, Sinatra walked over, quickly with his finger flicked the other alabaster bird off the table, smashing it to pieces, and then put an arm gently around Jane Hoag and said, in a way that put her completely at ease, “That’s okay, kid.”
I always thought he was a bit of a cunt. But he was a nice guy after all. Who knew?
I prefer Trotty’s allegories. They have more guns in.
Saw Bob Newhart a few months back and he told a Frank story. Apparently there was a shoeshine guy on the set of the Tonight Show, where Frank was a frequent guest. Large-living Frank got a shoeshine and asked the guy what was the biggest tip he’d ever gotten. Guy replied “$100 Mr Sinatra”. Frank said “Oh yeah, well here’s $200! Tell me, who was the guy who gave you the $100 tip?” Shoeshine guy “It was you Mr Sinatra”. Badoom tish!
Gotta love the guy.