According to Wikipedia, the Rat Pack was a group of popular entertainers most active between the Mid-1950s and mid-1960s. Its most famous line-up featured Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop, who appeared together on stage and in films in the early-l960s, including the movie Ocean’s Eleven.
My definition: they were the coolest guys ever.
And how lucky for me, even if it was after their Rat Pack heyday, to have met all but one of them. If you’re wondering, it was Peter Lawford I missed meeting. However, I did get to be in the presence of his brother-in-law, Ted Kennedy.
Joey Bishop, the actual comedian of the group, was always a sweetheart. A down to earth type of guy who, whenever you approached him would automatically reach out to shake your hand. And then would proceed to talk to you as if you were a long lost friend.
Sammy Davis, Jr. I saw several times, but the most memorable was when he came to CBS to do the Carol Burnett Show. He was so touched by the warm welcome he received from everyone in the building, so to show his gratitude he put on a one man show for all the employees to see at five o’clock. To this day, I can’t hear “The Candy Man†on the radio without picturing Sammy singing and dancing to the tune, only a few feet in front of me on Stage 33.
Then there was the man himself, so fondly known as “The Chairman of the Boardâ€, Mr. Sinatra. I must have seen him at least four or five times. I’m also happy to say, that he was always nice to me on all the occasions. Whenever he was in Vegas, people would just watch him. He was always surrounded by guards whose main job was to keep the public a safe distance away from him–otherwise he was sure to get mobbed. It was pretty funny to watch Frank move from one part of the to the other and see a group of people in a huddle follow him. Once he sat in an open restaurant inside Caesars Palace with a bunch of friends and his wife Barbara, eating and drinking and conversing. All the while, people just standing, watching his every move. And if you’re wondering, yes, I was front and center among the crowd.
Luckily I had my Polaroid camera with me, so I seized the opportunity by snapping a picture of him. When Frank realized it, he motioned for me to hand the picture over. Because you don’t say no to the Chairman of the Board, I did. He must have liked what he saw because he signed it and returned it to me. He then blew several kisses in the air at me. And to paraphrase Sally Field…“Frank liked me…he really, really liked meâ€. Considering my age at the time and being a brunette, I figured I must have reminded him of his daughter. Needless to say, I was the envy of all his fans that night.
Another time I was in Vegas and my mother spotted him and handed me the camera and went racing over to “Old Blue Eyesâ€. The security guard next to Mr. S. was about to push my mother away when Frank held up his hand to stop him. “It’s okayâ€, he said. When I saw this, I tossed the camera over to the guard and ran to stand next to Frank myself. With my mother on one side of him and me on the other, Frank looked over to me and asked, “And just who are you?†“Her daughterâ€, I boasted. “Oh, okayâ€, he said, as he wrapped an arm around me, posing in the middle between me and my mother. To this day, that picture is proudly displayed in my living room for all to see.
And then there was Dean Martin, the most elusive of them all. Unlike the rest of the Rat Packers, he seldom ever made any appearances around town. It almost seemed impossible to spot him anywhere in Hollywood. But then one day Ann Margaret was doing her special at TV City. I liked her, and more than curious to see her, I wanted to see her husband, Roger Smith (star of TV’s 77 Sunset Strip) who I’d had a crush on since before I was a teenager. Unfortunately, it turned out that since he was such a pest to have around, they had him banned from the set. Rumor had it that Ann was a doll to work with, but Roger kept interfering with what he thought the show needed and more important, what his wife needed. It ended up causing a lot of delays and the simplest solution was to ban Roger from coming on the set altogether.
I took a seat, front row, just as Ann Margaret was about to do her song. All dressed up in a black cocktail dress, she was perched on the bench seat of a buckboard. The wagon behind her was filled with hay and above her suspended in the air was a collection of elaborate crystal chandeliers. The whole set was one big contradiction. But since the TV special was called “From Hollywood with Loveâ€, the whole premise was to show that Hollywood is nothing but an illusion. Well, maybe not everything is an illusion. Certainly, not the tall dark handsome man dressed in a tuxedo, seated next to Ann. He was real. And nothing could have blown me away more. It was Dean Martin.
To say I went into shock would be an understatement. According to the man who had accompanied Dean to the studio that day, when he looked over at me, all color had drained from my face and I had gone completely white. He said he thought I was going to pass out. After I explained my love of Dino and all my unsuccessful attempts of trying to see him, the man nonchalantly asked, “What would you do if he kissed you?†Breathlessly, I replied, “Oh die…just dieâ€. That’s when this sweet, anonymous stranger must have realized he was in the company of a deeply disturbed young woman. But if he did, he never let on. All he did was smile and told me to stay where I was. I figured he was either going to get me a drink of water, or bring over security. But instead, he brought Dean Martin.
This kind, wonderful stranger, without being asked, took it upon himself to bring my Dino over to me. Whoever he was, agent, friend or producer, I have no idea, but he had enough influence over Dean Martin to persuade him to come meet me. I vaguely remember the introduction. All I know for sure was of my own babbling and telling Dean how much he meant to me and my entire family. I’m certain that the king of cool was afraid he’d be held responsible if I dropped dead from all the excitement.
Now with just the two of us alone, Dean managed to coax me up from my seat and guide me over to an isolated part of the studio. And then in the manner you would use to try to sober someone up, he walked me around in circles, his arm entwined with mine. As we walked, he continually whispered words of assurance in my ear. “You’re going to be all right. Now take a deep breath…that’s right…you’re going to be all right.†And then he did the unthinkable, he put his arm around me to support me and then told me he wasn’t going to leave me until he knew that I was going to be all right. My heart stopped, as I looked away from him and focused my attention on his arm around my shoulder. Yes, I was going to die…happily die. Not only was he handsome, charming and nice…but he was caring. How sexy was that? And it only made me love him more, as I reminded myself this was not a dream and it was really happening.
When the color in my face apparently had returned and my breathing was back to normal, he asked me one final time if I was all right. I simply nodded and uttered, “Oh, yeahâ€. After he left, I didn’t walk–I ran–no, more like scampered back to my office and to the nearest phone. Because I had to share my excitement with someone, I called my mother at work. She was as thrilled for me as I was for myself. However, she ended our conversation with these words, “You do know that should have been me with himâ€. Yes, in the closest of families, there can always be a little bit of rivalry. Which proves the point, “Everybody Loves Somebody Sometimeâ€, and in this case it was Dean Martin.
I spend a lot of time in the backseat of a car, that is, my characters do in my April Spice release, Cleopatra’s Perfume. Here’s a short excerpt with the hero and heroine that takes place in a car parked in the shadow of Egypt’s Sphinx in 1939:
“My voice became raspy from the guttural sounds emitting from my throat and carrying through the open roof over the empty arid desert. The dry air was unforgiving on my vocal chords, making me cough and choke, as if to punish me for indulging in so much pleasure. I shouldn’t have opened the roof on such a hot afternoon and allowed swirling sand to invade our refuge, a 1937 Flying Twenty Standard motorcar, black and no longer as shiny as a paladin’s boots and covered with a light blanket of sand, but I did.”
You can see why I’m excited about a new video project put together by documentary filmmaker Terry Kate called “Romance in the Backseat: A Series of Author Interviews in the Backseat of a Car.” I met Terry at the RWA Conference in Atlanta a coupla years ago and I never forgot her enthusiasm and commitment to her projects. A film school graduate, she’s an avid romance reader and is dedicated to helping out both authors and readers in the romance community.
(Check out her bio page at: http://romanceinthebackseat.com/page3.html )
Terry will launch her new website http://romanceinthebackseat.com/ soon and I’m pleased to say she’s asked me to do a video interview. I’ll be reading an excerpt from Cleopatra’s Perfume and oh what fun we’ll have.
I’ll keep you updated on Terry’s project with the scoop on which OCC members she’ll also be filming in the backseat and when and where those video interviews will be available for you to enjoy.
My question to you is this: What’s your dream car where you’d like to be interviewed in the backseat? Inquiring OCC minds want to know.
Jina Bacarr is the author of The Blonde Geisha , Naughty Paris, Tokyo Rendezvous, a Spice Brief, and Spies, Lies & Naked Thighs, featuring an Indiana Jones in high heels.
“One whiff and every man was her slave.”
By Nancy Farrier
I’ve been thinking a lot about gifts lately. What did I do with the presents I received for Christmas? What did others do with the gifts I gave them? I asked my Bible study group about this and there were a variety of answers the ladies came up with.
The presents that weren’t right might have been exchanged, given to someone else, stored in a closet, or simply thrown away. A few were kept out of sight and only brought out when the giver came for a visit.
Perfect gifts, the ones the receiver got excited about were treated very differently. These were admired, used often, shared with others, shown off, and kept close at hand. They didn’t become boring, or get put aside—at least not for long, because the receiver was so excited about them.
Some took patience to learn to use and enjoy. For instance, one person mentioned getting a Wii Fit and trying it out. They had to work to do the various games, and many of the work outs took a lot of practice. Also, there was work involved, not just fun or the health benefits that came from using the program.
For me, the ability to write is a gift given by God. Writing isn’t easy and has taken years to learn, with still much more to grasp. I can choose to get discouraged and ignore my talent just like those presents that have been stuffed in the closet, or I can become excited over again. I can determine to not be discouraged when penning a book becomes hard work, or when criticism hurts. It’s my choice to continue on or quit.
What I do with the gifts I receive isn’t so much about the gift being just what I wanted, but about choosing to appreciate it and use it the best I can.
I first (and last) read Gone with the Wind when I was a teenager, which was, ahem, quite a few years ago. Recently, I started re-reading it – and I’m just as captivated and enthralled as I was first time around. In fact, more so.
The historial context resonates with me a lot more now, as do Margaret Mitchell’s subtle and not-so-subtle social commentaries. And as for Scarlett O’Hara…was there ever a more eye-poppingly outrageous heroine?! I’m agog to see what she’s going to do next…
What a wonderful book. Mitchell wrote it around 70 years after the events occurred, so I imagine she must have known people who still remembered those days. Although it was a “historical” novel even when it was written, I admire the way she keeps so firmly within her context, without letting social views from her present day affect the story. For example, abhorrent though Scarlett’s attititude to slaves etc is to our modern view, it’s very true to a Southern belle of her time whose very existence relied on slaves every moment of her day. A modern writer creating a novel set in the same time period must surely be tempted to make her pampered heroine a sympathizer with the abolition of slavery…which would be so out of keeping with Scarlett’s background lifestyle as to be impossible.
But enough about that…to get back to the essence of GWTW, which is a powerful romance…ah, that Rhett Butler! He makes my 21st-century heart go pitter-pat just as he did when I met him in the 20th century 🙂
I’m so glad I pulled this book from my crowded shelves and re-read it. Now I’m thinking it might Jane Eyre’s turn next. Does anyone else have any classics – old or new – that they love to revisit?
Abby
It’s cold and rainy outside, the news just gets more and more horrifically unbelievable, and Valentine’s Day lurks just around the corner. So, in case any of these reasons make you want to curl up to watch a wonderful romance, here are some dusty gems, pushed to the back of the jewel case . . .
In Crossing Delancy (1988) Amy Irving tries the traditional route – she lets her bubbe set her up with a nice young man. But then she decides to pursue romantic ideas of her own. Mmmruh!
Did you ever notice that many “romantic comedies” aren’t that funny? Well, The Guru is hilarious! And sooo heartwarming and curl-your-toes romantic! The Guru (2003) – not The Love Guru – stars Jimmy Mistry, Heather Graham, Marisa Tomei, Christine Baranski and Michael McKean. A winsome super-star wannabe arrives in New York from India and accidentally gets cast in a porno and then inadvertantly becomes famous as a self-help love guru. The stuff is pure comedy, not at all dirty except for using the words “wood” and “snatch.” And the love story between the hero and his co-star is surprisingly sweet and amazingly romantic! Mmmruh!
In Vivacious Lady (1938), shy botany professor Jimmy Stewart meets, falls in love with and marries nightclub singer Ginger Rogers in the space of one day. Then he takes her home and has to present her to his conservative family…and the hijinx begin. Mmmruh!
You will laugh your butt off when you watch Man’s Favorite Sport? (1968). Paula Prentiss finds out that dreamy fishing expert Rock Hudson is a complete phony who never fished a day in his life. So, she threatens to reveal his secret unless he does exactly what she wants. Jeez Louise, I love this one! Mmmruh!
Mogambo (1953) In Africa, big game hunter Clark Gable must choose between devil-may-care Ava Gardner, a woman he does not respect, and prim and proper Grace Kelly, a woman he wants despite her having a husband. Mmmruh!
In Murphy’s Romance (1985), struggling, sassy single mom Sally Field becomes friends, and maybe more, with the wise old town druggist, James Garner. Just perfect. Mmmruh!
Wild River (1960). Montgomery Clift from the Tennessee Valley Authority must kick Lee Remick and her family off the island home they have always known to make way for the new dam and the flooding it will cause. This one is intense, passionate and really sexy. Mmmruh!
Pick your poison and get your fix. Mmmruh!
Though she makes her film debut in Daryl From OnCar, our winsome blogger adores same-sex romantic movies such as Latter Days and Imagine Me and You . Geralyn co-hosts the radio show Better Times After 50 on AdviceRadio.com and her short story “Jane Austen Meets the New York Giants†is published in the New York Times Bestselling anthology The Right Words at the Right Time, Volume 2.
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Three books in one . . .
More info →A psychic thriller that tries to catch an arch terrorist who is like a greased cat.
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More info →A Slice of Orange is an affiliate with some of the booksellers listed on this website, including Barnes & Nobel, Books A Million, iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords. This means A Slice of Orange may earn a small advertising fee from sales made through the links used on this website. There are reminders of these affiliate links on the pages for individual books.
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