Voices in the Night

To Frank Sinatra, Master of His Trade:

Dear Frank:

Let me begin by saying that without you, Humphrey Bogart, Groucho Marx, John Steinbeck, Winston Churchill and maybe Captain Kangaroo, my generation would not have survived. The Mousketeers? Them too.

You have brought us pleasure and eloquence and, especially in your case, music to build dreams on.

I cannot count the number of times I have sat in dim light on cognac-colored nights and listened to you make it one more for my baby . . .

However, this letter is not intended to stare up at you in love and wonder the way Nancy stared at Ron with large, liquid eyes during his presidency.

The intent of this letter is to inform you that you are threatening to sue Nick Edenetti. Again.

I bring this to your attention only because stardom often becomes a game played by lawyers, and you might not even be aware of what they are doing on your behalf. An old friend of yours tells me the likelihood is you do not.

Who is Nick Edenetti, you ask?

Nick is a saloon singer who, given half a chance, would look up at you the way Nancy looked at Ron.

I hear that in Nick’s home there is a small shrine, complete with candles, dominated by your picture. Star worship never had a better friend.

Despite this, you are threatening to sue him because, according to your attorney, Nick is exploiting your name, voice and likeness in the lounge of a little Italian restaurant on Sunset Boulevard called Grappa Ristorante.

This is like suing a priest for loving Jesus.

A little background, Frank.

For years, Nick was doing something he called a “playography” based on you and your music.

It was not on Broadway, off Broadway or anywhere near Broadway, but in a Burbank restaurant called the China Trader, where Nick’s name was only slightly higher on the menu than the Szechwan pork.

I stopped by one night because it was late and I was hungry. Nick was on a small stage singing to a crowd that included me, the owner and two waiters.

He did a good job, and in the right light even looked a little like you. But it wasn’t his music I admired. It was the tenacity of a guy on a side road giving his all when hardly anyone was noticing.

I wrote about Nick and subsequently followed his fortunes through a half-dozen little clubs in town. Places like Kelbo’s Polynesian Hut, where he performed under plastic palms, and Gio’s, where the spotlight caught fire.

Then Nick got a break. He got together some partners, scrounged up enough money and brought his Sinatra playography to the Las Palmas Theater.

It was going great until your lawyers heard about it. They wrote a letter to Nick to cease and desist, which he refused to do. Nick’s a lot like you were in the beginning, Frank, when you’d never give up.

That’s a quality I admired in you, and one I admire in him. It comes from the strength you find deep inside when the lights are out and you’re alone with your soul.

Well, the lawyers finally threatened to sue the owner of the Las Palmas, who shut the playography down. Nick went bankrupt. He lost his house, his car and every cent he had . . . but he never lost his confidence.

The guy dragged himself to his feet and began playing the small clubs again, belting into empty houses, one hand holding the mike, the other moving in a kind of wavy motion, like he was playing the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.

Finally, after two years, he ended up at Grappa’s. It’s a lovely place, Frank. The food is terrific, the ambience superb. Nick was packing them in every night. It was like he’d found a home at last.

He made one mistake. He hung a banner out front that said, “Nick Edenetti Sings Sinatra.”

Your lawyer pounced on it like he was the King of Burgundy saving Brunhild from the flames. He sent a letter to Grappa owner Roberto Somma to cease and desist.

Let me tell you, Frank, Nick isn’t doing Sinatra. He doesn’t look like you and he isn’t trying to sound like you. He’s a saloon singer, doing what he can to stay afloat.

He’s taken the sign down and now has one that says, “Nick Edenetti, Star of the Award Winning Hit Musical ‘Sinatra’ Playography.”

Is he still using your name? I suppose. Is he defaming you? Never. I can’t imagine what anyone could ever do to tarnish a name like Sinatra.

Leave him alone, Frank. Let him sing. It ill becomes a legend to stomp out one small voice in the night. Say three little words to your lawyer: Cease and desist. It’s a language he’ll understand.

Your lifelong fan,

Another Voice in the Night