Lady Blue Eyes_ My Life With Frank - Barbara Sinatra [157]
Although it was a closed casket, I wanted Frank to look his best, so I had the staff at the funeral home dress him in one of his finest navy blue suits and a striped tie. Friends and family gathered around his coffin before it was closed to place special mementos inside. He was to be buried with a flask of Jack Daniel’s, a roll of dimes, some stuffed toys from his grandchildren, and his favorite candies. Bobby added a packet of Camel cigarettes and his Zippo lighter. My gift to Frank was a gold Bulgari medallion I’d had inscribed and given to him for one of his birthdays. I slipped it into his pocket. The wording, translated into Italian, was: “You still give me a thrill.” It was something that held special meaning for us both.
The night before the funeral, we held a candlelit vigil with musical tributes and prayers in the chapel. Dear Suntan Charlie played “In the Wee Small Hours” and other classics. Friends stepped up and offered reminiscences, read poems or extracts from letters Frank had written to them. I stayed for the service but then prepared to go home, leaving some of those closest to Frank standing around his casket talking about him and telling jokes. My parting glimpse was of George and Jolene, Steve and Eydie, Don Rickles, and several others laughing and telling stories about Frank’s great humor, generosity, and warmth. I liked the idea of him still being the center of attention, even after he was gone. Frank would have enjoyed that.
The day of the funeral was surely one of the longest of my life. I don’t think I slept a wink the night before, and when I arrived at the flower-filled service, I was numb. I’d had official programs printed with a picture of Frank on the cover above the words “Francis Albert Sinatra, born into life December 12, 1915. Entered into eternal life May 14, 1998.” Someone handed me one, and I stared down at the photo, still unable to take in that he was really gone. The chief pallbearers included Don Rickles, Eliot Weisman, Bobby, Steve Lawrence, and Frank Jr. Tom Dreesen, who’d first heard Frank singing “Come Fly with Me” when he shined shoes in bars as a young boy and had gone on to “fly” with him for fourteen years, couldn’t believe he’d ended up carrying his coffin. Honorary pallbearers included old friends like Tony Bennett, Milton Berle, Ernest Borgnine, Kirk Douglas, Quincy Jones, Gregory Peck, Wayne Newton, and Jerry Vale. It was what Frank would call “a good crowd,” with other notable faces including Liza Minnelli, Tony Curtis, Mia Farrow, Anthony Quinn, Sidney Poitier, Larry King, and our good friend John Kluge.
After the introductory rites, there was a musical tribute by Bill Miller on the piano. “Ave Maria” was sung by the choir, followed by an address and prayers from Cardinal Mahony. There were readings from friends and family, then psalms from the choir and congregation. The homily preceded the communion, which was accompanied by Frank singing “Put Your Dreams Away” with its heartbreaking opening lines, “Put your dreams away for another day and I will take their place in your heart.” It was the perfect choice. When his voice filled that church, fragrant with the scent of gardenias, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
Remembrances were made by Kirk Douglas, my beloved Bobby, Gregory Peck, George Schlatter, Frank Jr., and R. J. Wagner, among others. George said afterward that all he could think of was that Frank was going to sit up suddenly and say, “Hey, Crazy? Get off!” George made the congregation laugh when he called Cardinal Mahony “Your Honor” (instead of “Your Eminence”) and told them, “When you think how old Frank was in people years, you realize he was awake longer than anyone else. He was eighty-two years old, but he’d been up for most