Yesterday, December 12, would have been Frank Sinatra's 91st birthday. In some ways, thanks to recordings, movies, TV shows, DVDs and the rest, we never really have to say good-bye to talented giants like Old Blue Eyes. That's a good and comforting thing. The first Sinatra song I remember hearing on the radio was That's Life. This was back when radio stations played a wide variety of music...rather than just one particular kind. Today, it is more "Narrow-casting" than "Broad-casting." (Speaking of listening to the radio, one of the selling-points of Ipods and the like, as I understand it, is that you can program your own music list and never hear anything other than what you want, when you want. On the one hand that sounds good but it does eliminate the chance to discover something new. It also feeds into the increasing lack of patience we exhibit as a society. One other thing: when artists like Sinatra, Nat Cole, Ella, and many others made an album, there was a method to their madness. The songs were put in a certain order to achieve a certain mood. So, you kids get away from those pod things before they destroy us all!!! I'm sorry. I get a little carried away...or should be.) Anyway, with That's Life, I was hooked.

It was relatively odd for a kid my age to be a Sinatraphile when almost all my friends were listening to the Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan and Simon & Garfunkle. I discovered those acts later, but in the meantime, I started collecting Sinatra albums and news articles and other goodies. In 1977, Sinatra was appearing in East Troy, Wisconsin, of all places so my dad and I drove down there. I paid for the tickets, which set me back a bit. It happened to be the same day Elvis died and Sinatra sang a song in The King's honor. About a year later, I saw Sinatra on stage in Chicago. He was a little surly that night, but still sounded great.

When I lived in Las Vegas, I went to a benefit concert Sinatra was headlining. This was right in the middle of his New York, New York days and the place went crazy when the orchestra started the familiar vamp. Once, when a friend of mine was visiting from Wisconsin, we decided to see if we could actually get backstage and meet Sinatra. We went over to Caesar's Palace...headed through the kitchen, trying to look like we were supposed to be there and ended up backstage. Surprisingly, no one said a word to us for a very long time. I doubt we would be able to get that far in our mission, today. Soon, we heard a group of people coming our way from the wings. Maybe, it would be The Chairman of the Board. Turned out to be a group of musicians and stagehands, one of whom politely told us we had to skedaddle. He didn't use the word skedaddle and, really, he wasn't that polite but he did make his point, so we left.

As it turned out, our only brush with fame when my friend was visiting me in Las Vegas, happened at a local record store. We noticed Rodney Dangerfield talking to the store clerks about why his comedy albums were not more prominently displayed. We thought we should go up to him and ask for a photograph and, assuming he said yes, hand Mr. Dangerfield the camera to take a shot of us. We figured it would fit the whole "I don't get no respect..."schtick. But, by the time we thought of the idea and got up the nerve to do it, he was gone. He who hesitates is lost and, apparently, so is the chance to have a better finish to this story.

In high school, I made an audio-visual project, "audio-visual" is what it was called then...one step above a slide projector...about Sinatra. It took a long time and was only for a few points of extra credit but Mrs. Bierman, the AV lady, and I got it all done. We actually sent a copy of it to Sinatra himself. This was before the days of floppy discs, DVDs or video-attached e-mails. We had to mail two large, bulky reels out to Hollywood. As I think about it, the package probably would look very suspicious and Una-bomber-like, today. Weeks later, a nice little thank-you note arrived...apparently really signed by Sinatra. While I knew better, I did delude myself for awhile that he'd actually sat for 90 minutes and watched our patchwork documentary. I suspect he had other matters to attend to.

The last time I saw Frank Sinatra perform was here in Kansas City, 1990, at Kemper. My very pregnant wife had never seen him live and was excited. I had a feeling this would be the last hurrah for him in town, so I was eager but a little sad. He put on a great show hitting some notes he had no business hitting at his stage of the game. There were times he seemed a little lost but they were few and far between. Sinatra's effect on our yet unborn son was pretty profound. When he was born he was wearing a fedora and smoking a Lucky Strike with a top-coat thrown over his shoulder...his first words were "Ring-A-Ding-Ding." Okay, that part is not true but this particular son did develop a fondness for Sinatra's music early on and fell asleep listening to Sinatra at the Sands for many years.

In our house, we all listen to lots of different kinds of music. I think that comes from having had a dad who ran a radio station and was always bringing home whatever was the latest release and a mom who can play, sing and dance like a pro. Still, when it's all said and done, Sinatra ends up on the turntable more than anyone else. He makes it Nice and Easy to have The World On A String.