Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1963)

“Vinnie doesn't understand why I want him to write. He doesn’t know what I feel in my heart. When he calls, I talk to him. I’m thrilled, yes. My heart beats faster because of the excitement of hearing my son’s voice. But then the call ends and I’m alone again. Vince isn’t there. I can’t talk to him anymore and he can’t talk to me. If he wrote, I would have his letter in front of me. When I felt lonely again, when I got the urge to hear my son talk to me, I could take out the letter and read it. That’s the kind of little thing that makes a mother happy.” Although Vince Edwards’ mother blamed filmland’s functionaries for her son’s new attitudes and ways, she couldn’t help hut wonder whether Vince himself had not undergone some drastic changes since hitting the big-time. “Remember,” Mrs. Zoine said poignantly, “money makes a lot of difference, particularly with a person as impression able and young as Vinnie. In the old days when he knew nothing but hard times and he was struggling to make something of himself, when he was always broke, he managed one way or another to fulfill his obligations as a son. He wrote often and he came home to see us regularly. “Now that he is a big success, he seems to have changed. He blames it on the press of business. I’m not so sure. I am almost inclined to think he’s changed. But I blame any change in Vinnie on those people who seem to surround him constantly and run his life for him. I only wish they would leave him alone, let him think things out for himself, make his own decisions. If he could do those things himself, I’m sure Vinnie wouldn’t have any qualms about visiting me and his grandfather in Brooklyn. “And I’m sure he’d have the time to write home.” Mrs. Zoine dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. She looked very pathetic. “I’m a little ashamed of myself for talking this way, but I can’t help feeling the way I do. Vinnie is still my baby and I love him so very much. I know he is doing what he has struggled so hard for all these many years. Success, fame, and even fortune are his today. I don’t really have much to complain about. But because it is such a small thing that I’m asking, well. . . .” Mama Julie turned and glanced at me with a plaintive smile. “He’s making the whole world happy,” she said softly. “I really shouldn’t complain. . . Yes, indeed. Vince Edwards is making the whole world happy. His mother’s turn should come pretty soon. — Chrys Haranis Vince is in “The Victors,” for Columbia and ABC-TV’s “Ben Casey,” Mon., 10 P.M. EST. FRANK §i M SINATRA JR. Continued from page 34 moment. “Say, I didn’t get your name.” The teenager’s smile disappeared. His gaze came slowly back to the reporter’s inquisitive eyes. “My name,” he said softly, “is Frank Sinatra.” And added, “Junior.” “Well, well,” said the reporter, “the great man’s son, eh? Did you ever dream your sister Nancy would marry Tommy Sands? And bring another singer into the family?” “We weren’t sure,” replied Sinatra, Jr. “We only hoped that — ” “The great man’s son,” the reporter said again, interrupting. Now he stared at young Sinatra. “Say, you’ve certainly got a lot to live up to. That dad of yours never missed the action, not if he knew where it was — if you know what I mean.” The last was accompanied by a sly wink. Young Sinatra froze. He stared coldly back at the writer. “I know what you mean,” he said. “Now would you excuse me? I have something I’d like to discuss with my sister.” He turned and left. It was the first time Frank Sinatra, Jr. had ever been hit with his father’s reputation in public. It wasn’t the last. But today, two years later, he is almost used to it. Almost — because there is more to being his father’s son than he expected. Not long ago, in a talk with young Frank, we discovered that at eighteen the son of one of the most popular men in the world doesn’t let his legacy bother him as much as it once did. But there was a time when it troubled him plenty. The early years for Junior were deceptively easy. He enjoyed his inheritance. Being the son of Frank Sinatra immediP ately catapulted him to the top of any group outside his family. Even the kids he played with as a child realized that there was something special about Sinatra. Jr. Not that he was any different from the rest, really. It was just that — after all —his name was Frank Sinatra. As young Sinatra grew older and entered his teens, however, he began to notice that everything was fine until he mentioned his name. Then things changed. “They’d stare at me . . “I was very content to be just one of the group,” Frank, Jr. recalled. “I know now that I was trying to be myself. But things never stayed that way. The instant my name was out, everyone’s attitude changed. No one seemed to care about me anymore. They were too busy asking questions about my dad. And they’d stare at me. Trying to see the resemblance, I guess.” By the time he was sixteen, he could predict — with simple weariness — exactly what a stranger would do and say the moment he realized he was talking to the son of Frank Sinatra, Sr. The questions and comments conformed to an inevitable pattern . . . “Frank Sinatra’s son? . . . Well, you’ve certainly got a man to live up to. . . . You really don’t look like your dad. . . . Say, do you remember that time your father was involved with . . . now tell me what really happened?” In fact, Frankie knew little about his father’s private life. For, in contrast to the millions of words that have been written about Sinatra’s “personal affairs,” he was and is, without question, one of the best fathers in Hollywood. As Nancy, Jr. once put it, “My father may have left home, but he never left his family.” The reason for Sinatra’s utter devotion is best expressed in his own words. “When a man creates something he should take care of it. I created my family.” But for Sinatra, Jr., the right thing to do didn’t come that easy. His situation was without precedent. The sons of Bing Crosby at least had each other. Young Sinatra had no one. “Shortly after my sixteenth birthday,” he explains, “I realized that being Frank Sinatra, Jr. was something I’d have to understand. I couldn’t just accept it and carry the name. I had to decide what it wa^minsMcwneai^twn^vhol^ife/^^^ But for all his youthful good intentions, those closest to Frank, Jr. say that his fifteenth and sixteenth year were the worst. “It got so bad,” says a buddy, “that it began to show on him. I mean, you could see the little crisis coming in the expression on his face. “We’d be in a group and a new guy would join us. Let’s say I’d introduce myself to him by saying my name. So would the other guys. “But, man, was it tough on Frankie! It seemed as though he was dreading the moment he’d have to say, ‘And I’m Frank Sinatra. Junior.’ You know what I mean. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his name. It was what that name did to a stranger. I guess Frankie thought that every time he mentioned who he was, he lost his own identity. His real self just disappeared in the shadow of his great father. “It got so bad there for a while that when someone would ask him his name he’d hesitate, clam up. And just before the big change came over him. he began to stammer when he talked. He seemed edgy and nervous most of the time. “I asked him about it one day. Why he was beginning to mumble. Because he really wasn't that type of guy. He is bright, alert. I wish I had his brain. He could be anything he wants to be. “Anyhow, when I asked him about the stammering, he just asked me a question. I’ll never forget it, because it really brought home to me what his problem was. “He asked, ‘Tell me, Eddie, how would you act if someone asked your name and you’d say, ‘My name is Frank Sinatra.’ “I’ll never forget it, because though he was the son of one of the most popular men in the world — his words were drenched in loneliness.” In the last two years, however, young Sinatra has learned to accept his lot, though there are times when the old reluctance creeps back. Not long ago Frankie, who’d like very much to succeed on his own as a singer, visited Disneyland where the Elliott Brothers were entertaining hundreds of teenagers. He listened to them for a while and then the urge became irresistible. “I said to myself,” Frankie explained, “that I was going to have to go the route on my own. I was going to have to take