Most people think of Frank Sinatra as a singer. But it's now quite clear that singing is only a part-time job with The Voice. Of recent months, he has been stepping into the spotlight repeatedly in roles far removed from that of a microphone's bosom friend.

The number of things he does besides sing is astounding. They range from lecturing on prejudice and writing on economics to associating with shady characters, presumably for a worthy purpose, and socking people he doesn't like.

There's no telling where it's going to end. Frankie's many-sided career promises to develop still more variety in the future. There's only one side to Frankie that probably won't change. If one can judge by past experience, Sinatra's itchy right fist promises to go right on socking people.

Sinatra Uses His Fist

The range of his activities was brought sharply to America's attention recently by two of the most widely publicized of his extracurricular pursuits. One of them, as most people know by now, was his shaking hands with gangster Charles “Lucky” Luciano in Havana early last winter. Then, a few weeks later, that springy fist of Frankie's connected again. That was in the celebrated tussle with columnist Lee Mortimer.

The celebrated Affaire Mortimer was a good example of Sinatra's impulsiveness at work. It was also a fairly expensive example. Unlike previous punches Sinatra had thrown, that one cost him $9,000 in an out-of-court settlement with Mortimer. That was in addition to some funds he had to shell out to cover Mortimer's expenses in taking the case to court.

Mortimer had been heckling Sinatra for quite a while in his columns. Sinatra on his part had indicated a readiness to take direct action in retaliation for the journalist's severely critical remarks. The columnist's comments had hit at Frankie's singing, at his non-singing activities and at the general intelligence level of his fans, which Mortimer had appraised as moronic. Then the two ran into each other in a Hollywood night club and Mortimer took it on the chin.

The Columnists Were for Him

Now that all the furore has died down, it is interesting to note the attitude of other columnists in the furious controversy that followed the encounter. A surprisingly large number of them sided not with their colleague, but with his assailant. Jimmy Fidler graciously offered Sinatra unrestricted use of his radio time in case he had any statements he cared to make on his own behalf. Walter Winchell said, in one of his own immortal phrases, “I know nothing about Frank Sinatra's right hand, but I can testify to his right heart.” Ed Sullivan concluded a length, dissertation on Sinatra with, “Basically, Sinatra is a warm-hearted decent person, and I think it's about time they stopped kicking him around.” And Elsa Maxwell who had been vacillating wildly since 1943 between ardent rever once and utter disdain for Sinatra threw all her weight solidly behind him.

Just how Mortimer was alleged to have incited Sinatra was not clear. He was supposed to have called the singer a “Dago” or something or other, but Sinatra later acknowledged publicly that he was wrong in supposing that. Whatever happened, the general feeling among the journalists seemed to be that Sinatra's means might have been debatable be they were justified by the ends.

The editor of Metronome summed up this attitude neatly: “While disagreeing with the method of Frank's counter-attack, I can't seriously question his choice of target.” To knowing Sinatra fans, there is nothing unusual about such incidents as either the Mortimer or Luciano affairs. They have long been accustomed to the way The Voice pops into the news without singing a note.

In the case of the meeting with Lucky Luciano, Sinatra's followers had long been aware that his personal friendships differ as much as his occupational interests. Among his friends have always been a scattering of individuals who had little in common with his more respectable cronies. One of his acquaintances this past year, had been a Chicagoan named Joe Fischetti. He was a silent, dour man—of unsullied reputation himself, but a member of a family not unfamiliar with the due processes of the law. It was through relatives of Fischetti's that Sinatra, while vacationing in Cuba, was introduced to and shook hands with Lucky Luciano.

Long before Sinatra visited Havana, he had been attracted, from time to time, to people not unlike Luciano. The singer has always been beguiled by tough guys, much as millions of red-blooded American boys have been fascinated by the leading desperadoes of fact and fiction. Sinatra's fans have known about this and have accepted it as one of the quaint, lovable characteristics of their fella.

He Has Hit Many People

They have known, too, that he is exceptionally hot-tempered and is likely to try to inflict forthright corporal punishment on people whose views he finds distasteful. Once he hit a cab driver whom he saw pushing one of his fans around roughly. He has hit, among other citizens: a cafe counterman who gave voice to anti-Negro sentiments when he was within earshot; a musician who gave voice to anti-Semitic sentiments in his presence, and one or two others who have given voice to anti-The Voice sentiments.

Robert Ruark, the Scripps-Howard columnist, was the first who detected Sinatra holding hands with Luciano. Understandably, Mr. Ruark squeezed every columnar drop he could out of this event and made a great many deductions from his observation. Among them was the guess that Sinatra “is a menace to the mental and moral welfare of several million adolescents, a great majority of whom believe that anything is okay, so long as their idol indorses it.”

It is hard to tell precisely what Sinatra indorses in this connection. He has made a great many other pronouncements to adolescents about their behavior, though he has never given them definite instructions about consorting with vice kings. But Mr. Ruark's fears would seem to be a trifle exaggerated.

Why He Mixes with Bums

For one thing, it has not yet been conclusively established that Sinatra's fans try to imitate every minute deed of their hero. Not a single one of them, so far as is known, has ever tried, for instance, to hoist Tami Mauriello to her shoulders, as The Voice once hoisted the heavyweight prizefighter on his shoulders. For another thing, although Mr. Ruark and many other journalists have intimated that gangsters tend to influence Sinatra to lead a life of evil, there is some evidence to the contrary. That evidence is that Sinatra tends to influence them to lead a life of good.

On one occasion, a couple of exceedingly tough-looking men happened to be among the motley crew at a night-club table over which the singer was presiding. Sinatra turned toward a clean-living companion, pointed to the unsavory pair, and said cheerfully, “Get a load of those two. What a parlay! Well, we'll put some polish on those bums yet.”

He Is Restless, Ambitious

It's easy to see that Frankie has been gifted with other things besides a pleasing voice. He has a restless temperament, a driving ambition and an enormous store of energy. A man thus blessed could hardly be expected to confine himself to his principal vocation. Sinatra is as hungry for variety as he appears to be for food.

This has proved to be just what Sinatraites want. His fanatical admirers have an enormous and insatiable appetite for information about him. In branching out into many other fields of accomplishment, Sinatra has provided a wide selection of tidbits to meet that appetite.

His followers know, for instance, that in 1943 a pair of the singular young man's shoelaces accounted for the sale of one hundred dollars' worth of war bonds at a patriotic auction. In the same year, he was beaten, 11 to 6, in a public ping-pong exhibition held in the ballroom of an elegant New York hotel.

Then, in 1944, his fans are aware, a full page was devoted to their frail idol by Yedigün, an illustrated weekly published in Istanbul. He himself also devoted a full page of Variety to an advertisment extending his thanks to the New York City police for their efficient handling of swarms of fans outside a theater while he was appearing inside it. It was in 1944, too, that he exchanged conversational pleasantries at the White House with the President of the United States.

The Sinatrivia Is Endless

The Voice's fans can glibly recite lots of other Sinatra trivia (or Sinatrivia, as one of them might put it). In 1945, they'll recall, Frankie made his debut as a tolerance lecturer by being unable to get to the New York radio station where he was to deliver the lecture – so many were the young ladies blocking his path. That was also the year when a Hollywood radio station put up a sign in its parking lot saying, “This way to Sinatra.” And 3,000 miles in the opposite direction, he exchanged conversational pleasantries at the Vatican with the Pope.

Accomplishments of another kind came in 1946. A band of hijackers thought a truckload of Sinatra records valuable enough for them to try to rob the driver of his precious cargo. Then the singer stole the show at a UN conclave on Long Island. Dropping in on the meeting, he attracted more attention than all the delegates of the United Nations combined.

It is interesting to speculate which of all these Sinatrivia his legions of followers are likely to treasure in their memories in the years to come. Off-hand, you might think they would unquestionably remember his principal 1947 exploits, when he shook hands with a gangster and socked a columnist in the jaw.

Sinatra's fans, though, have a diverting habit of gently distorting facts in order to suit the convenience of their adoration. For example, a couple of years ago, it became known that Sinatra was fond of the nickname “Angles.” Some of his fans enthusiastically adopted it for their own use in referring to him, but not until they had altered it slightly to “Angels.” By the same token, today's bobby-soxers might well get mixed up some 30 years hence, when they are enthralling their own teen-age daughters by teaching them about the Era of Frank Sinatra. It is not at all unlikely that they will say, when they get around to the lesson that covers 1947, that that was the year in which Frankie shook hands with a columnist and socked a notorious gangster in the jaw.

In seeking additional fields of endeavor, as he so often does, The Voice has never been inhibited, as other men might be, by a lack of faith in his own ability to do what he has assigned himself. His self-confidence is colossal. And he embraces each new activity without an outward tremor of hesitancy. This holds true whether he is playing second base on a ball team or advising young ladies how to behave in public. It also holds true even if he is conducting a symphony orchestra—a feat he has performed nonchalantly despite his inability to read music.

He Undertakes Practically Anything

The list of his nonprofessional achievements during the four-and-a-half years of his fame can be extended practically indefinitely. But at no point has there been the slightest sign of panic at the undertaking. Among many other things, he has invented a new kind of bow tie; he has written a brief tract on economics (We–You and I–Make Inflation, was the title); he has interceded personally to try to settle a racial conflict in Gary, Indiana; he has played the role of Shakey in a celebrated Armed Forces Radio dramatization of Dick Tracy; he has had a PT boat named after him (its dinghy was named after his son); he has dabbled in real estate, sports promotion, music-publishing and a few other profitable businesses and he has inspired Rube Goldberg to concoct one of his traditional inventions. This one consists in part of a loud-speaker, a live dog, a monkey wrench and the usual complex arrangement of ropes and pulleys—a device calculated to curb “Sinatra-squealers.”

Sinatra is still under 30, and obviously has many vigorous years ahead of him. So he seems likely to give further evidence of his belief in direct action as a means of indicating his approval or disapproval of other men's beliefs. Here is one plan with which his fancy has already toyed; he hasn't had an opportunity yet to put it into effect:

It concerns an idea for interrupting, if not disrupting, political rallies being held by American pro-fascists. As everyone knows, these are people among whom Sinatra is cordially disliked because of the liberal slant of his views on public affairs.

Fans' Squeals Will Help

Sinatra's plan is simple and potentially quite effective. He proposes to attend such right-wing gatherings in person, accompanied by a retinue of 50 picked bobby-soxers of demonstrated lung-power. They are to take seats up front, close to the speaker's platform. Then, whenever a speaker begins to utter some thought that Sinatra deems unfit for public consumption, the singer plans to touch his right cheek with his right forefinger. At this previously arranged cue, his chorus of 50 would burst into so clamorous a shriek that no other sound would come near reaching the audience's ears.

“They'd never hear the guy trying to speak,” Sinatra once said, as he described the scene in anticipation. He ought to know, many of his fellow citizens have been prevented by just some shrill outburst from hearing him when he has tried to sing.

Sinatra has been much criticized for his willingness to express his political beliefs publicly. But along with a great many other patriotic entertainers, he sees no reason why his professional calling should limit his rights of citizenship. He is partial to speaking up. And he justifies his doing so by saying, “Even a crooner can yell when he wants to.”

The singer has been vociferous on behalf of a number of social and humanitarian causes. He has also been a young man governed more by instinct than by knowledge; and so from time to time he has been used as a glittering sounding-board by left-wing groups such as American Youth for Democracy, with whose long-range ambitions, incidentally, he does not agree.

Of late, Sinatra has become very sensitive on this score and has become much more selective about his organizational affiliations. He has been notably less active in the work of the Progressive Citizens of America than he used to be in its predecessor—the Independent Citizens Committee of the Arts, Sciences and Professions. A few progressive friends of his even made much of a photograph taken at a Hollywood party not long ago. It showed Sinatra in a seemingly amiable powwow with that eminent spokesman of the right—Colonel Robert R. McCormick, publisher of the Chicago Tribune. But, to judge by Sinatra's past performances, this brief encounter can hardly be taken as meaning Sinatra approves of McCormick. There seems to be no more reason for thinking that than for taking his brief encounter with Luciano as showing his approval of the gangster.

He's Wary of Politics

Nowadays, Sinatra is relatively subdued as the result of his costly fracas with Mortimer. He is concentrating, for once, on his professional work. He has just about finished up a motion picture called The Kissing Bandit. Soon he will begin acting in a movie version of The Miracle of the Bells, in which he will play the part of a Catholic priest. Unlike the featured clergyman in Going My Way, he won't sing.

Sinatra is also getting ready to renew an old radio acquaintance with the American Tobacco Company, manufacturers of Lucky Strikes and sponsors of. He is to be starred on that program this fall, just as he was starred on it four years ago—his first sponsored network program as a solo act. Then, Lucky Strike started him off at $750 a week and soon increased his pay to $2,800. He was raised to $4,000 just at the end of his two year march in the Parade.

Sinatra's relations with his sponsors were not always tranquil. He likes to have his own way about things, and so did George Washington Hill, who was then president of the tobacco company but has since died. Sinatra resented his sponsors' occasional attempts to make a suggestion or two about the musical phase of their program. He used to say that since he didn't tell them how to roll cigarettes, he saw no reason for them to tell him how to sing.

People in show business are always looking for portents that other people in show business are, as the saying goes, slipping. Some people regard it as significant that in 1947 Sinatra, for all his ambitiousness, his diversity of interest and his energy, has had to patch up his differences with Lucky Strike and go back where he came from. The new deal, actually, is highly advantageous to both parties. The Lucky Strike sponsors know that FSMFT (Frank Sinatra Means Fine Tunes), and Sinatra knows that anyone earning $7,500 a week from one half-hour show (or just ten times what he got during his first Lucky Strike engagement) can hardly be said to be on the skids.

His fans, of course, know both these facts and many, many more. His fans will also tell you, though no one can know for sure, that Sinatra is certain to be very much in the limelight for endless years to come.

They wouldn't be so bold as to prophesy what he might do next. But if, in 1948, he were to fly nonstop around the world, swim the English Channel on his back, run for Congress and win the world's welterweight championship, it wouldn't surprise them. It wouldn't surprise me either.

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