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His Way_ The Unauthorized Biography of Frank Sinatra - Kitty Kelley [224]

By Root 1915 0
know Carl Cohen’s room number. The clerk refused to divulge it. This further incited Frank, who grabbed a house phone and demanded to be connected with Cohen’s room. The terrified operator connected him with her supervisor, Frances Scher, who decided to put the call through. Cohen was asleep and did not answer. Ten minutes later, Frank called the operator again, asking for Jack Entratter, who had left a Do Not Disturb notice on his phone. The operator told Frank, who yelled: “You had better get him and tell him I will tear up this goddamn fucking place and I’ll jerk out every wire in the phone room, too.”

Accosting a security guard, Frank demanded to be taken to the switchboard room, but the guard refused. Frank screamed at him, but the guard said that he did not take orders from him. Thrusting his finger at the guard, Frank said, “You’re pretty tough with a gun, aren’t you. Well, I’ll take that gun away and shove it up your ass.”

Finding the phone room on his own, Frank pounded on the doors and threatened to kick them in. “Open up this fucking door,” he screamed. The three telephone operators inside became so fearful that they called the security office and pleaded for someone to come to their aid.

Accompanied by Jilly Rizzo and a man named Stanley Parker, Frank returned to the hotel lobby and called Carl Cohen, demanding to see him at once. Cohen agreed, and at five forty-five A.M. he appeared in the Garden Room and sat down at a table with Frank and Parker. He asked Parker to leave, saying the conversation was private. “You son of a bitch, he can hear anything I have to say to you,” said Frank.

“What did you call me?”

“You heard me, you son of a bitch. What are you so nervous about?”

“You just got me out of bed.”

Frank kept repeating his question. “What are you so nervous about?”

Cohen rose from the table and said, “I’m tired of this one-sided conversation. Fuck you. I’m not going to listen to this bullshit.”

Getting ready to leave, Cohen backed his chair away from the table, but when Frank saw that he was actually going to walk out, he threw a handful of betting chips in his face. Then he lifted the table and spilled the contents in Cohen’s lap.

“I’ll get a guy to bury you, you son of a bitch motherfucker. You kike,” Sinatra screamed.

The ethnic slur galvanized Cohen. He smashed his right fist into Frank’s face, splitting his upper lip and knocking the caps off two front teeth.

“You broke my teeth,” Frank screamed. “I will kill you, you motherfucker son of a bitch.”

Frank lunged toward Cohen, who calmly stepped aside as a security guard intervened.

“Get him, Jilly. Get him,” Frank yelled to his friend, but Rizzo remained immobile.

Thrashing about in rage, Frank grabbed a chair, but instead of hitting Cohen, he missed and hit the security guard, opening a gash in his scalp that required two stitches. Apologizing to the man, he continued screaming at Cohen, who was leaving the room. “I’ll get a guy to bury you, motherfucker.”

Nevada Governor Paul Laxalt ordered an investigation, and the district attorney, after reading the sheriff’s report, considered filing charges against Frank.

“I don’t feel he should have the right to tear apart a hotel or run wild,” District Attorney George Franklin said. “If he gets out of control, he should be handled like anyone else.”

At the Sands, Cohen was being treated like a conquering hero, especially by employees who had suffered Frank’s wrath over the years. Some even considered giving him a testimonial dinner, and one wrote a letter to the editor of the Las Vegas Sun citing incidents of the dehumanizing treatment employees had been subjected to by Frank. According to the letter, Frank once threw a hamburger against a dressing room wall because it was not prepared to his liking and then had the employee who brought it to him fired.

“Now, after a few days and a few drinks,” the letter said, “this sheer genius of a man staggers into the office and as he blurringly gazes about decides the phone on his desk doesn’t match the new orange sweater he’s wearing. He calls you and

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