Lady Blue Eyes_ My Life With Frank - Barbara Sinatra [107]
Greg Peck and Veronique were frequent visitors too, and Vero is still one of my closest friends. Greg and Frank had always been close, and Frank called him Ahab after his character in Moby Dick (“the movie with a fish”), but when Greg’s son Jonathan died, in 1975, Frank was one of the first at his side. He did the same for Dean Martin twelve years later when his son Dino was killed in a plane crash. That was one of the best things about my husband—if something went wrong in your life, boom, he was there. And if you had him on your side, it was like having an army at your disposal. Furthermore, he was on your side if you were right or wrong, and that is something very special in a friend; you don’t find that so often. Frank was the same with Sammy Davis, Jr., when he lost an eye in a car accident; Frank went to see Sammy in the hospital and then brought him back to Palm Springs to recuperate. Sammy loved Frank, so even though he was depressed, just being with his hero helped get him through that terrible time.
Frank took friendship and loyalty very seriously and believed that true friendship could only be tested in times of need. People just had to get word to him and he’d drop what he was doing and go spend time with them. He’d travel long distances to brighten someone’s day, and I went with him to numerous hospitals and homes for retired singers and actors to cheer up old friends. He took me to see Gene Kelly in Santa Monica when he was first sick and to the bedside of John Wayne when he was dying. “The Duke” and Frank had been friends for years and were as close as brothers, even though they were diametrically opposed politically and kidded each other constantly about it. They knew each other from the days when Frank hung out with Humphrey Bogart, Jimmy Cagney, and all those great movie stars, who took a shine to the skinny kid with the sticking-out ears. Frank had already taken me to visit John Wayne at his home in Newport Beach, and I liked him very much. He was a big drinker of tequila and a heavy smoker, but he had a terrific sense of humor and that incredible roar of a laugh.
Frank and Gene Kelly had been in several films together, and for Anchors Aweigh Gene taught Frank how to dance outside studio hours. Frank called Gene “the Irish taskmaster” but he never forgot that kindness. Thanks to Gene, Frank could really move. He could even jump up in the air and click his heels together, and he loved to do that. He was also a terrific ballroom dancer, which was terribly romantic, but he didn’t dance in public because as soon as he was on the floor, women would ask to cut in. When visiting Gene, I asked his nurse if she’d mind giving me a vitamin shot I needed. Gene laughed at me from his bed. “Sure, Barbara, put all your medical care on my bill and save Frank some money!”
At the Motion Picture Home, Frank took me to meet a couple of comedians he’d worked with decades earlier. His love for comedians knew no bounds. One year he even went out on tour with a bunch of old comics who weren’t working so much anymore, people like Charlie Callas, Jan Murray, Richard Stein, Jack Carter, and Norm Crosby. He did it as a kindness to them, but it was a lot of fun for him too. As Burt Lancaster once said, “If you say to Frank ‘I’m having a problem,’ then it becomes his problem.” Frank really had a calling for that.
Generosity came easily to Frank, and not just because he had a lot to give. Sure, he made great money; he knew he always could, and it meant little or nothing to him. He had a heart the size of New Jersey, and he wanted those he cared about to share in his success. There were some who played him for a sucker, of course, and managed to get anything they wanted out of him. Others stole from him more blatantly. Glancing one day at the CCTV monitors, I spotted