We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
My brother, Frankie Avalon
By Theresa Avallone
'When he calls a girl for a date he's a riot. 'Little brother, who are you fooling?9 I'm tempted to say9
photos by Curt Gunther, Topix
MAMA Avallone lets Frankie sample a meatball while his sister Theresa, the author of this story, looks on.
_l_ HE FIRST Frankie Avalon fan club started in South Philadelphia on September 18, 1940, the moment that a nurse told my happy father, "Itrs a boyf^
Its charter members are my father, Nicholas Avallone. my mother. Mary, and me. From the day he was born, we've adored Frankie. I suppose that the only reason he didn't turn into the worst spoiled brat in the neighborhood is that he loves us as much as we love him.
I'm three years older, and although it was my job to keep an eye on him while our parents worked, I never felt that I was his baby sitter. Frankie was too independent for that. He has always been full of both deviltry and goodness; a boy who could get into mischief, but who also took responsibility for himself.
His daring sometimes scared us. When he was four years old, a row of new houses was being built back of our home on Hamburger Street. Inventing games, the kids swarmed over the mounds of dirt left by the excavations. They buried Frankie alive. Workmen dug him out a few breaths short of suffocation. My mother had fits, but that didn't stop Frankie. He'd come in from play, scratched and dirty. When we asked what he had been doing, he'd answer, "I climbed a mountain."
Our school, St. Edmund's, was just down the block. Frankie was the champion at thinking up tricks to tease the Sisters. His grades were high, but he never got an A in obedience. Frankie wore a well-traveled path to the office of the Mother Superior. Yet in spite of his mischief, the Sisters liked Frankie. When, years later, that song, "Teacher's Pet," became one of my brother's first hits, there were old friends who said. "You sure knew what you were singing about. Frankie, that was you."
After school, each of us had our home chores. I could count on Frankie to quit his play and turn up on time to do his share. He refused to make beds or wash dishes, but he was no stranger to the vacuum cleaner. Even now,«when he's home, he helps tidy up. We call him the ash tray emptier.
As soon as he got his first coaster wagon, Frankie invented his first job. Standing outside the supermarket, he'd put on his brightest smile and offer, "Carry your packages, ma'am?" He earned all his own spending money. Boxing gloves were one of his first purchases. He was the best boxer of his age at his boys' club, and yearned to be a prizefighter when he grew up
continued on page 40