Frank_ The Voice - James Kaplan [311]
Let’s go.
It was a long evening—ninety minutes, not nearly as long as the show is these days; but for Frank, endless. Donald O’Connor was the host, and he liked Donald; everyone did. But he couldn’t pay attention while O’Connor made his jokes and the audience tittered and the band played and the film clips were shown and the show halted for commercials and started again and the endless awards were given out: his knee wouldn’t stop shaking, and the only sound he could hear was white noise, a buzz in his head …
He was sitting on the left aisle, three-quarters of the way back. Little Nancy, beside him, was squeezing his arm; next to her, Frankie was leaning forward in his seat, his mouth slightly open, watching the proceedings avidly.
The buzz in Frank’s head stopped for a moment when Donna Reed won for Best Supporting Actress. Then it began again. When William Holden won Best Actor instead of Monty, his daughter gave Frank’s arm an extra squeeze. Don’t be too disappointed if you don’t win, Daddy, she whispered in his ear.
Don’t you be, either, he whispered back.
An hour and a quarter into the show, close to the end, Mercedes McCambridge walked to the podium. The buzz in Frank’s head stopped abruptly, and he watched her closely. She was a chunky little broad with a ringing voice and a short haircut, wearing an unflattering white strapless gown—not a looker, but she’d won Best Supporting Actress in 1949 for All the King’s Men.
“Nominees for the best performance by an actor in a supporting role,” she began, “are Eddie Albert, in Roman Holiday, Paramount; Brandon De Wilde, in Shane, Paramount; Jack Palance, in Shane, Paramount; Frank Sinatra, in From Here to Eternity, Columbia—”
Here, for the first time, there was applause.
“Robert Strauss, in Stalag 17, Paramount. And who, please, is the winner?” She turned and took the open envelope, saw the name on it before she returned to the microphone. With a gasp, she said, “The winner is Frank Sinatra, in From Here to Eternity.” And as the audience erupted, she hopped up and down, one small hop, like a little girl who’d just gotten exactly what she wanted for Christmas.
Barely anybody in the theater liked him, but at that moment everyone there felt exactly the way Mercedes McCambridge felt. A great gift had been given to them all: they had witnessed a miracle. Hollywood loves a show, and there was no show to compare to this. “A peculiar thing happened and I can’t explain it,” Louella Parsons wrote later. “I ran into person after person who said, ‘He’s a so-and-so but I hope he gets it. He was great!’ ”
Little Nancy burst into tears and couldn’t stop crying. Frankie was gazing at his father in astonishment. Frank kissed his daughter’s wet cheek, grasped his son’s hand, and first walked, then trotted down the aisle. It was an easy, graceful trot, as though a great weight had been removed from his shoulders. The applause grew louder. Frank climbed the stage steps, shook Donald O’Connor’s hand, and kissed him on the cheek. “Unbelievable,” Frank said, shaking his head. He went to the podium, kissed McCambridge—she cooed with pleasure—and took his Oscar. He bowed deeply as the audience shouted bravos. Then he looked carefully at the gleaming statuette in his hands.
“Um—” he began, glancing up, then looking back down nervously.
“That’s a clever opening,” he said, to laughter. He smiled. The theater then went dead silent: nobody quite dared to breathe. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Frank began, still finding it hard to face the crowd. He clearly hadn’t prepared a speech. “I’m, I’m deeply thrilled,” he stammered. “And, and very moved. And I really, really don’t know what to say, because this is a whole new kind of thing. You know, I—song-and-dance-man-type stuff—” He grinned and glanced over at O’Connor. “And, uh, I’m terribly pleased, and if I start thanking everybody, I’ll do a one-reeler up here, so I’d better not. And, uh, I’d just like to say, however, that, uh—” He smiled mischievously. “They’re doing a lot of songs here tonight,