City Desk: Gentle Souls

The whole thing reminded me of my grandfather. His record collection consists of two hundred albums, all by Sinatra, and listening to one of them with him is a lesson in what it means to be a fan. As the music begins, he sits back in his chair and closes his eyes, a look of delight on his face. Like Sinatra, he grew up in a working-class Northeastern neighborhood; a first-generation Italian-American in a time when being Italian was not easy. It matters to him that when bandleader Harry James asked the young Sinatra to change his name to the less ethnic-sounding Frankie Satin, he said no. When Sinatra died last May, my grandfather spent the whole day videotaping the television tributes.

Joining the fans at the conference were some of Sinatra’s friends—Quincy Jones and Skitch Henderson, for example, and journalist Pete Hamill, whose recently published Why Sinatra Matters pays thoughtful tribute to his old friend. Their presence lent an almost mystical authenticity to the proceedings: they had touched the hem of His gabardines. “Everywhere I go, people are talking about Sinatra and listening to his music,” I overheard a Frankophile say to his wife. “We’re in Heaven now!” The music coming from speakers set around the hall certainly sounded like Heaven, or at least Vegas on a really good day.

The whole thing reminded me of my grandfather. His record collection consists of two hundred albums, all by Sinatra, and listening to one of them with him is a lesson in what it means to be a fan. As the music begins, he sits back in his chair and closes his eyes, a look of delight on his face. Like Sinatra, he grew up in a working-class Northeastern neighborhood; a first-generation Italian-American in a time when being Italian was not easy. It matters to him that when bandleader Harry James asked the young Sinatra to change his name to the less ethnic-sounding Frankie Satin, he said no. When Sinatra died last May, my grandfather spent the whole day videotaping the television tributes.

Joining the fans at the conference were some of Sinatra’s friends—Quincy Jones and Skitch Henderson, for example, and journalist Pete Hamill, whose recently published Why Sinatra Matters pays thoughtful tribute to his old friend. Their presence lent an almost mystical authenticity to the proceedings: they had touched the hem of His gabardines. “Everywhere I go, people are talking about Sinatra and listening to his music,” I overheard a Frankophile say to his wife. “We’re in Heaven now!” The music coming from speakers set around the hall certainly sounded like Heaven, or at least Vegas on a really good day.