Thanksgiving with my always-amusing family, Jackie Gleason, Frank Sinatra, and a King

Alternate title: I love my Mom. And my Uncle. 

Just before Thanksgiving dinner, I noticed my favorite* uncle slink out the front door for some air or something. I not-so-stealthily followed him out in the chilly November evening. I always enjoy his candid insights into our amusing and interesting family gatherings. Whether it be relevant to the situation, or not. Somehow, Frank Sinatra's** name came up, which reminded him of a story.***

He began telling me how a 29-year old, relatively unknown Larry King, who had a three-hour, local, night-time radio show in LA, somehow connected with Jackie Gleason. Gleason apparently liked King and invited him to his house for dinner.

So Larry King arrives at Gleason's house for dinner.  It's not a star-studded event, just some of his non-celeb friends (doctors and businessmen and their wives) over for an evening of good food, drink, and cheer. During dinner, Gleason asks each guest to give him a seemingly impossible challenge—something he apparently did often, just to see if he might be able to perform the impossible or just impress people with the power of being an A-Lister. The doctors ask for medical miracles—synthetic blood, for example—and the business folks ask for similar things that probably sounded outlandish, especially for the time. Gleason just nods to each request, as if to say, "Okay, I'll see what I can do." 

It finally gets around to young Larry King. He has nothing. He finally says he wishes he could interview Frank Sinatra on the air, live, for 30 minutes. Now, this was 1964 and Frank Sinatra was at the height of fame and prestige, and he was not giving any interviews at the time, especially not to a no-name kid on a local LA station. To put this in perspective, creating synthetic blood that cured cancer was a more likely stunt Gleason could pull off than getting Ol' Blue Eyes to sit down with Suspender Boy. Anyway, King finishes his request, still thinking the whole exercise might be just a game that Gleason plays with his dinner guests.

"Done." Gleason says.  

King can't even muster a response and looked awkwardly at his host.

"Consider it done," says Gleason. "End of conversation." 

Astounded, Larry King, thanks him. He still doesn't know whether to believe him (and wonders if Gleason will even remember).

The next day, he tells his station manager that he thinks he's landed Sinatra for a 30 minute interview. 

The station goes nuts—they run promos, 24/7, telling Southern Californians to tune into the then-unknown Larry King's Monday night show, at 9 pm. They even take out a full-page ad in the LA Times. 

When Monday night finally arrived, every radio station employee, from execs to janitors, was lurking about the studio. People were lined up outside, just hoping for a glimpse.

8:30: No sign of Sinatra.

8:45: No Sinatra. People are getting nervous. 

8:55: Still no Sinatra, no phone call, no nothing  ... they begin scrambling to make up something to do for 30 minutes and to come up with an excuse for the false advertising.

8:59: Limo pulls up to front door; Sinatra beelines for studio, and is seated in front of the mic at exactly 9:00 p.m.

Sinatra not only honors the 30 minute commitment, but he stays for the entire 3 hours, giving an absolutely once-in-a-lifetime, completely endearing interview that ultimately helps springboard Larry King to national prominence. 

King and Sinatra in 1989, recounting that night in 1964.

Sinatra later explains that several years before, he'd come down with laryngitis on the night he was supposed to play some big gig in New York City. He called Jackie Gleason at the last minute and Gleason went on for him and absolutely killed it with his comedy. Sinatra asked him what he could do to thank and repay him. Gleason said "You owe me nothing, but I will ask you for a favor in the future and you will oblige." So, years later, Gleason called in his chips with Sinatra for an unknown, 29-year-old radio kid with giant glasses. 

Toots Shor, Sinatra, and Gleason in New York City, circa 1960-something

It was an interesting, touching story. But it was cold outside. And it was time to go back in to eat our Thanksgiving feast.

So now we're back inside Jen's wonderful new house, getting seated for dinner. Someone wanted to go around the room and have each person stand up and say what they are thankful for. This is a typical #quistmountyerkovichfergusonstiner family Thanksgiving, so it's important to understand that around 30 people (aged from 8 to 97) are gathered around tables. And I'm hungry, sitting there with a plate full of food and thinking this is going to be hellishly drawn out—it's all going to be super-genuine and deeply-heartfelt (and probably worth it), but it will lack much variation. After the first two toasts to how wonderful our family and our Thanksgiving traditions are****, my uncle gets up and walks to the middle of the room, presumably to be heard clearly by all three tables.

Imagine the food is cooked, the room is packed, and all three tables are in the picture. That way, you get a better visual of the situation. 

He proceeds to tell the entire Gleason-King-Sinatra story, which takes slightly longer than it did with me, just prior. As he begins to finish the peculiar tale, even he now realizes this story has absolutely nothing to do with our pre-dinner "thankful toasts" and he somehow—brilliantly—wraps it up with something about how you never give up hope, and good things happen to good people,  and we all should be thankful for good people and good families. I'm cringing a little—thoroughly amused, but still in mid-cringe. However, though mostly confused, everyone thought it was a wonderful and interesting story, which it was. (And it effectively put an end to everyone else's "thankful" toast, which I was quietly celebrating.)

He makes his way back to his seat. As he's sitting down, my Mom gets her brother's attention from directly across the table.

"George, that was just such a wonderful story!" she said, with a tinge of emotion, pride, etc. "But who is this Jerry King guy?!"

* No disrespect to the memory of my other uncles; sadly, none of whom, though, are still with us.  

** Not a family member.

*** I did not fact-check this story and may have taken the liberty of filling in some blanks, but that's not at all the point of this blog piece. I wrote it, based on how I heard it on Thanksgiving night.  If you're interested in the official version, here it is:Gleason, King, and Sinatra

**** It truly is something special. That's not the point.  I was hungry.