The Kid from Hoboken
In Hoboken, a Jersey waterfront town that does not shrink from comparison with Port Said, the old folks on the front steps tell the tale of a pretty little boy with rosy cheeks and light brown ringlets who went skipping along the sidewalk in one of the nation's hairiest neighborhoods--all dressed up in a Little Lord Fauntleroy suit. "Hey!" said one little denizen of the neighborhood. "Lookit momma's dolling!" It was the work of a moment for the roughneck and his pal to redecorate the object of their interest with a barrage of rotten fruit. Then they opened their mouths to laugh, but no sound came. When last seen, the two boys were disappearing rapidly in the direction of the Erie Railroad tracks, followed hard by Little Lord Fauntleroy himself, who was spouting profanity in a highly experienced manner and carving the breeze with a jagged chunk of broken bottle.
Thirty-odd years have passed over Hoboken since that day, but what was true then still holds true. Francis Albert Sinatra, long grown out of his Little Lord Fauntleroy suit, is one of the most charming children in everyman's neighborhood; yet it is well to remember the jagged weapon. The one he carries nowadays is of the mind, and called ambition, but it takes an ever more exciting edge. With charm and sharp edges and a snake-slick gift of song, he has dazzled and slashed and coiled his way through a career unparalleled in extravagance by any other entertainer of his generation. And last week, still four months shy of 40, he was well away on a second career that promises to be if anything more brilliant than the first.
Out of the Boudoir. "Frank Sinatra," says an agent who wishes he had Frank's account, "is just about the hottest item in show business today." Sinatra, who in Who's Who lists himself as "baritone" by occupation, has offers of more work than he could do in 20 years, and seems pleasantly certain to pay income tax for 1955 on something close to $1,000,000. Moreover, his new success spreads like a Hoboken cargo net across almost every area of show business.
In the movies, Frank Sinatra is currently in more demand than any other performer. His portrayal of Private Maggio in From Here to Eternity, which won him an Academy Award last year, burst on the public a new and fiercely burning star. To the amazement of millions, the boudoir johnny with the lotion tones stood revealed as a naturalistic actor of narrow but deep-cutting talents. He played what he is, The Kid from Hoboken, but he played him with rage and tenderness and grace, and he glinted in the barrel of human trash as poetically as an empty tin can in the light of a hobo's match.
Last week Sinatra was on public view in a musical, Young at Heart, and in a retread of a bestseller, Not As a Stranger, that was cashing in big. He also had two major movies in the can (The Tender Trap, a comedy, and Guys and Dolls, a musical in which he portrays Nathan Detroit, proprietor of "The world's oldest permanent floating crap game"), and had signed contracts for Carousel and three more. Probable total: five movies in twelve months. Probable personal income from pictures that period: $800,000.
In records, according to his worst enemy in show business, Frankie is "the biggest thing . . . so far this year." Whereas three years ago his best record (Good Night Irene) sold only 150,000 pressings, he has one on the market now (Learnin' the Blues) that is pushing 800,000 and another (Young at Heart) that is over the million mark. Furthermore, he is "the only pop singer who is a smash success in the album market." His three recent albums (Songs for Young Lovers, Swing Easy, and In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning) have reportedly sold 250,000 copies at $4.98 apiece.
