COLLECT CALL

Frank Sinatra was at the height of his popularity. We were too

young to go to see him in person but my friends and I listened to him every

Saturday night on Your Hit Parade and bought all of his records. Every

month we would buy a movie magazine and cut out pictures from it to

add to our scrap book of our favorites. 

One movie magazine had a story about the Sinatra family and it

actually printed his home address. I got a crazy idea. Me and my two best

friends all squeezed into a pay phone booth and I dialed the long distance

operator. Assuming what I hoped was an adult voice I said, “This is a

personal friend of Nancy Sinatra. I have her home address but I somehow

misplaced her phone number.”  We had made up a name that sounded like

someone she might have call her collect.

The first two operators hung up immediately. But the third one

said in a tired voice, “Hang on…”

Who knows where Frank was that morning? Maybe Nancy was

bored or lonely or just curious, but miraculously—or so it seemed to

us—she accepted the call!  Suddenly we heard a woman say, “This is

Nancy,” Oh my God! I babbled—first apologizing for calling her collect

and then we began peppering her with inane questions such as,

“What did little Nancy eat for breakfast?” “What’s Frank’s favorite color??

and the like. 

Nancy asked our ages and I said, “Ruby and I are 12 and Mary

is 11.” Then she said, “What are we four girls going to do to keep the rest of

the girls in the world away from Frank?” Can you believe that? Mrs. Frank

Sinatra really said that to us. She wasn’t the least bit annoyed or nasty, but

warm and friendly. And maybe a little sad, now that I think about it.

We then told her we would send her the money for the phone call and

said goodbye. When the call ended, the operator informed us the

charge for the call was $4.40.  We raced home and emptied a Nestles

Quik can, drew boxes on a sheet of paper and started putting coins

in the can, and each time we made a deposit we would dutifully

record it in one of the boxes. “Ruby, 10 cents. Tina, 15 cents.” It took

a long time but finally we had four dollars and forty cents. 

We went to the post office and told the clerk we needed a

money order for $4.40 made out to Mr. Frank Sinatra. The postal

worked joked, “What? Frank needs your $4.40?” But nevertheless we

got our money order, mailed it, (along with our savings record), and

were happy to do so.

            Well, almost a full year went by (you can imagine the amount of

fan mail Frank received at the peak of his fame), but one day I

received an envelope in the mail. I opened it and out fluttered the

money order, and then a note. “You girls worked so hard to save this,

we think you should have it back and spend it yourselves.” (signed)

Frank Sinatra. Did we flip? You bet!!!