DW Opinion
Sinatra, ‘Swingers,’ And America’s Golden Age
It's money, baby!
Jenna Stocker
“Heya pal, got a cigarette?”
Frank Sinatra was walking outside the Moulin Rouge in Los Angeles, heading west. Outside the club, the guests at the evening’s charity event had started heading out, getting some fresh, damp spring air to cure their mild drunkenness — not as drunk as Spencer Tracy or Clark Gable, but enough that a few stumbles were caught beneath the circular words, perched on the building’s broad side facing Sunset Boulevard: “Thru These Portals Pass The Most Beautiful Girls In The World,” and the rendering of a woman’s profile illuminated in neon — a relic that the club’s manager, Frank Sennes, wouldn’t dare remove, lest the cache of the club go down in the dumps with it. No, this was Hollywood and no one made a move without having some well-connected friends or a bulletproof reputation. Frank Sinatra had both.
