George Jacobs, William Stadiem
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Customer Reviews:
Total reviews: 7
Average rating: 4.0 of 5
Chronicles What an Unrepetant Jackass Sinatra Really Was. 5 out of 5 stars.
9 of 11 people found this review helpful.
Don't get me wrong. I'm a Sinatra Fan. Of his music. I never did buy into the crock of b.s. that painted him as some sort of cultural hero. And I always figured it would just be a matter of time before someone who worked this close to Sinatra would spill the beans. And it's all here. His double standards shine like the Hope Diamond. Do as I say and not as I do seems to be the recurring theme in the Frank Sinatra mantra. He demanded fidelity from his wives, but kept hookers by the dozen at any given time and paid for their abortions like they were monthly Visa bills while everyone else painted him as the picture perfect father of Nancy, Tina and Frank, Jr. His mob ties are legendary and by now general knowledge. Here we find Jacobs giving us all the juicy details. For some reason, the pay was good enough for Jacobs to tolerate Sinatra's unending racial and ethnic slurs which he apparently tossed around freely, never fearing consequence. Yet, for his entire career Sinatra was championed as a great Civil Rights pioneer. Okay, but any Civil Rights pioneer shouldn't toss the N word around so freely. It's not until the late sixties that Sinatra becomes a philanthropist of sorts to untarnish his disgusting image. Jacobs paints an interesting portrait of Old Blue Eyes as the Ultimate Paradox. I found the writing tight, honest and overall it's a book I couldn't put down once I picked it up. Unfortunately, Jacobs himself was kicked out of the Sinatra fold eventually, which makes the story all that more credible. I walked away from the book with a bevy of emotions, angry mostly, that such a talent could be such a jerk for most of his life. There were consequences for the Chairman always wanting to have it his way in his personal and professional life, and now that he's gone we may never know how it might've played out. Today I imagine Frank Sinatra would've been diagnosed as some sort of bi-polar idiot. God knows half of our musicians use that condition as an excuse for their stupid behavior. There indeed is a fine line between genius and lunacy. You'll read Jacob's memoir and walk away satisfied yet ticked off. Guaranteed.
Editorial Review:
"Mr. S: My Life with Frank Sinatra, by former valet-aide George Jacobs with an oh-so-able assist by William Stadiem, has at least five quotable and shocking remarks about the famous on every page. The fifteen years Jacobs toiled for Frank produces a classic of its genre -- a gold-star gossip-lover's dream....
"The rest is showbiz history as it was, and only Ava Gardner, Humphrey Bogart, and Betty Bacall are spared. Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland, Juliet Prowse, Noel Coward, Cole Porter, Mia Farrow, Elvis Presley, Swifty Lazar, Dean Martin, Peggy Lee, Sammy Davis Jr., Marlene Dietrich, Greta Garbo, Jimmy van Heusen, Edie Goetz, Peter Lawford, and all of the Kennedys come in for heaping portions of 'deep dish,' served hot. Sordid, trashy, funny, and so rat-a-tat with its smart inside info and hip instant analysis that some of it seems too good to be true....
