His Way_ The Unauthorized Biography of Frank Sinatra - Kitty Kelley [251]
Frank received a lot of hate mail because of his unstinting support for Agnew.
“I was criticized because Agnew was a friend of mine, and I stayed a friend after he had his troubles,” he said. “I don’t know about walking away from people when they’ve got troubles. I never knew that side of life. His problems were up to the law, not me. I’m just a friend.”
As Agnew was forced off the national stage, Frank bounded back on, announcing the end of his two years of retirement in the most expensive television special of 1973.
“I didn’t realize how much I’d miss this business—the records, the movies, the saloons,” he said. “So here I am for all the young people who wanted to know what I used to work like. …”
Backed by a fifty-four-piece orchestra with twenty violins that softened a ravished voice, Frank looked older and considerably heavier as he sang of how grateful he was to be back. His song told the audience that he couldn’t say goodbye.
Despite the carefully orchestrated special, the ratings were poor and the reviews disappointing.
“Not much of the voice remains, but the showmanship of Frank Sinatra is still enough to carry an hour special,” said Variety. Still, Frank was jubilant to be performing again and he followed his television special with the album, Ol’ Blue Eyes Is Back, ignoring critics like the one from the Toronto Globe and Mail, who called him “a vocal has-been, ripping off those who care about his music rather than his personality.”
Proud of the album, Frank played the master tape one night for a few friends, including Ed McMahon, Tom Malatesta, Peter’s brother, and Vic Gold, who recalled McMahon’s unsettling observation of his friend.
“When Sinatra walked into another room, Ed, who was sitting on the floor, said, ’Whenever I see Frank, I think of that poem, “Richard Cory,” by Edwin Arlington Robinson. “So on we worked, and waited for the light, And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, went home and put a bullet through his head.”
Weeks later, Frank stunned everyone by announcing his return to Caesars Palace. His mother, who had threatened to return to New Jersey if he ever went back to Las Vegas, was angry, until she learned that Sanford Waterman, who had pulled a gun on Frank in 1970, had been arrested for racketeering and was no longer at Caesars. George Franklin, the district attorney who had wanted to prosecute her son, had been defeated for reelection, and the sheriff, Ralph Lamb, now was ready to welcome him back to town.
With Caesars Palace under new management and willing to pay Frank $400,000 a week in addition to providing free bodyguards “to avoid any unpleasant incidents,” Dolly Sinatra agreed to go back to Las Vegas for Frank’s opening night, an event that sold out every hotel in town and packed 1,300 people into the casino’s Circus Maximus showroom.
To mark the occasion, Caesars Palace presented each guest with a medallion that was inscribed: “Hail Sinatra, The Noblest Roman Has Returned,” making January 25, 1974, an opening night unmatched in Las Vegas history, with an unprecedented number of stars in attendance, rounded up by the hotel’s publicity staff. Everyone from Eddie Albert to Leslie Uggams showed up. The Sinatra family, including Nancy, Jr., and Hugh Lambert, and Tina with her husband, Wes Farrell (a marriage that was to last only eleven months), sat ringside with Dolly and Big Nancy. The only one missing was Frank, Jr., who pleaded a previous engagement.
Frank insisted the press coverage be limited to a select group of reporters and refused entry to The Washington Post. Jim Mahoney explained: “It’s nothing personal, but The Washington Post is not welcome wherever Frank Sinatra performs.”
His obvious enthusiasm about being back before a live audience heightened the excitement of the evening and infused his performance with an electricity that brought the audience to its feet