Chasing Frankby Matt Cohn
 I learned very young that Frank held a lofty position in the music world. On Sunday evenings in the mid-'60s my family would listen to KMPC in the car on the way home from my grandmother's house. I noticed my father's hand instinctively reach for the volume dial when a Sinatra record would play among selections by Tom Jones, Steve and Eydie, Sergio Mendes, and DJ Johnny Magnus' "Weather With A Beat."  By
the '80s, my own musical career was in full swing. One week in 1985 I was
fortunate enough to do some recording at Capitol Records. After one evening
of record-making, I wandered into the legendary Studio A, where Frank recorded
some of his finest work. I dimmed the lights, sat behind the piano, and
soaked up the aura of one of L.A.'s most hallowed musical spots. Studio
A has since been remodeled, but in '85 it was exactly as it was when Frank
recorded there. I walked outside transported, with the pink "KFWB" neon
sign glowing nearby.
In 1992 I made a pilgrimage to the Copa Room at the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas, making sure to watch the Rat Pack's Vegas epic, "Ocean's 11," before heading out. In the Copa Room I enjoyed framed photographs of the Rat Pack's hey-day. I all but ignored the high-tech sextravaganza onstage, thinking instead of Frank, Dean, Sammy, Joey, and Peter cutting up for the delight of the assembled tourists and gamblers. The Sands is gone now, replaced by another mega-hotel. Early the next year I saw Frank perform. His memory for lyrics was aided by four huge tele-prompters, and his range was, of course, not what it used to be. This mattered not a bit to me--nor to anyone else in attendance. I'll never forget the sight of Frank slowly walking a gauntlet of flowers and flashbulbs as he made his exit, showered with love from every corner of the room. I must have played a hundred weddings during the '90s. It always struck me how the dance floor would fill with people of all generations when we'd play such Sinatra standards as "The Way You Look Tonight" and "I've Got You Under My Skin." It was living proof that Frank's greatness is timeless.
Two weeks later, my band was booked at the Olympus Club in Palm Springs (formerly Romanoff's On The Rocks--one of Frank's hangouts). During the day, I paid a visit to the humble memorial park where Frank rests. I found myself alone there, and soon found Frank's
grave, marked at the time only by flowers and a small American flag. I turned around and saw a knapsack leaning against a tree. I walked around the tree, and there was a woman of 50 or so, dressed in black, seated motionless, with a cassette player in her lap. She never acknowledged me. I listened for a moment, then left her alone as Frank's voice carried on the soft breeze: "Night and day.....you are the one.......". I read somewhere that the Desert Memorial Park has to
replace the sod regularly around Frank's grave from the steady stream of
pilgrims. I often think of my own pilgrimage there, when the lady in black
and I finally caught up with Frank.
©1999 by Matt Cohn. All rights reserved
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Last
May, the event Frank's late pal Jimmy Van Heusen once foresaw as "the end
of the 20th century" sadly came to pass. I drove up to Beverly Hills and
walked to Frank's funeral. Frank's fans and admirers shared an afternoon
of reverence and mourning, even among the hundreds of reporters, six hovering
helicopters, fundamentalist protestors, and a Sammy Davis Jr. impersonator.
Amazingly
enough, I began to hear the sound of Frank's voice. The hair stood
up on the back of my neck.