Word: sinatras
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Front teeth newly recapped and visible behind a more or less constant smile, Frank Sinatra, 51, returned to the sidewalks of New York as . . . as a cop, for goodness' sake. All just pretend, of course, as affable Frank lazed around the 19th Precinct station house in pursuit of the title role of a movie called The Detective. Sinatra also made his first appearance as chairman of the American Italian Anti-Defamation League, which seeks to remove the stigma of gangsterism from the land that produced Dante, Michelangelo, Columbus, Mussolini and Capone. Nearly 20,000 fans turned out at Madison...
While any list that claims "Somewhere My Love" by the Ray Connill Singers is the 88th all-time great hit is ludicrously far from being authoritative, still the WRKO programming this weekend will keep you on your toes and will have less than normal Nancy Sinatra. I just may be irrationally disappointed because, despite the obvious junk in the lower depths, not one of the three songs I voted for made the list...
...WIZARD (ABC, 7:30-8:30 p.m.). Maureen O'Hara, as Mother Goose, leads the gaggle in a musical gander at the pedagogical values of old nursery rhymes. Other participants in "Who's Afraid of Mother Goose?" include Frankie Avalon, Nancy Sinatra, Fred Clark, Rowan & Martin, Dick Shawn, Joanie Sommers and Margaret Hamilton...
...celebrities; during his frequent clashes over the pirating of talent, he put down Steve Allen and his manager as "two punks" and squelched Arthur Godfrey with the line, "By the way, what does he do now?" (He hosts a CBS Radio morning show.) During a contract dispute with Frank Sinatra some years ago, Sullivan took a full-page ad in Variety to lambaste the singer for "false and reckless charges"; Frankie countered with his own ad calling Sullivan "sick, sick, sick." Such is his relative benignity that the worst he can say for his old competitor Jack Paar is that...
...across the Brookline Avenue bridge to the park it was clear that they at least had not changed. Sausage-necked goons stiff-walked in time to their own larded drummers. Little boys in loose t-shirts whom I remembered as urchins had been transformed into juvenile delinquents by Nancy Sinatra and television commercials. Teenagers whom I remembered as juvenile delinquents had been transformed into flabby facists by the Record American and television commercials. And students from intown colleges, fat thighs wrapped in white levis, yellow shirt-tails dangling, would make good followers for bad leaders. We were a motley crew...