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Frank Sinatra’s Lesson In Loyalty (Swipe)

Some people are so big during their lives, even death doesn’t seem to entirely take them away.

So it is with Frank Sinatra. He left this earth in May of 1998, yet there is seldom a day when you don’t hear his voice drifting out of a radio, seldom a week when you don’t catch a flash of his face on a television screen, or read a reference to him in a newspaper or a magazine. Sinatra: The word itself signals something. Those three quick syllables: sharp, snappy, staccato. The images the name brings to mind: the Rat Pack, ring-a-ding-ding, very good years, strangers in the night. Many adored him, some despised him; few were indifferent.

In New York, especially, his voice remains omnipresent. His “New York, New York” might as well be the city’s official anthem. Many times when I’ve visited Manhattan I have walked past what was said to be Sinatra’s favorite restaurant: an unprepossessing-enough-looking Italian place on West 56th Street called Patsy’s. This, Sinatra legend has it, is the spot where he could relax, where he felt most at home.

I’d never gone inside. I had imagined it as a peak-of-the-mountain place, a restaurant where only the most savvy would congregate, men and women who were at the pinnacle of their games, who had long ago learned and mastered all the angles. After all, this was where Sinatra had his regular table, wasn’t it? How could mere mortals have a shot at fitting in? Read more of this post

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