Thursday, July 30, 2009

Reviewin' "Freezer Burn" by Miss Gayle Carline

Hey pallies, legend has it that as a lad, the first book that our Dino read was "Black Beauty." The story made him cry and our great man vowed to never read 'nother book in his life....and likely, bein' a man of his word, he never did.

Well, tryin' to follow in our Dino's footsteps, likes I am not much of a reader myself....oh yeah, I do makes 'ceptions when it comes to books 'bout our King of Cool....tomes likes Nick Tosches' stellar Dinobio, "DINO: Living High In The Dirty Business Of Dreams."

So when I learned that Miss Gayle Carline's first novel, a murder mystery tagged "Freezer Burn," features a character, Benny Needles,who was addicted to our Dino, I knew I woulda be willin' to make an 'ception and check it out.

Well pallies, the aformentioned book arrived at my local bookstore joint on Monday. Havin' just a bit of time that day, I read the first few chapters. But, I got so hooked on the plot yesterday that I stayed up past midnight last night to gets the book finished....just couldn't put it down.

"Freezer Burn" reminds me of our Dino in just so so many ways..likes our great man, FB is way cool, hip, and randy....

COOL....with a tagg likes "Freezer Burn" how coulda it not be.....

HIP.....solvin' murders is hard work, and private investigator Peri Minneopa relaxes with her fav drink....a dirty martini...and her fav man, detective Skip Carlton....

RANDY...P.I. Peri and Detective Skip not only work very very closely on solvin' the double homicide, but they finds themselves even more intimately involved after hours.....

And there are so many twists and turns in the plotline that just likes our Dino, you just never know what is comin' next. As our Dino has such fun with everythin' he is clear that Miss Gayle Carline has had great fun in writin' her first novel.

Gotta 'fess up what I likes best of Dinocourse is the character of Benny Needles...the dude the book revolves 'round. Benny hires P.I. Peri to search his iced over freezer section for his missin' Dinosigned ice cube tray from "Oceans 11."
When in doin' so Miss Minneopa finds in the freezer a hand without a body, that sets the stage for the murder and mayhem surroundin' the rest of the book.

As I was readin' Miss Gayle Carline's description of the Dino-wanna-be character of Benny just couldn't help but wonders how she coulda be describin' me to a Dino-T. I'm near Benny's age...and likes Benny gotta 'fess up that I'm just as big of a slob and he is...... Benny oftens asks himself...."What would Dino do"....and moves into Dinopersona....likes I do that all the time.

Benny has surrounded himself with Dinotreasures of all sorts....I wanna do the same. The bigg difference I noticed between Benny and myself is financial.....seems in the book Mr. Needles as never-endin' funds to make his Dinopurchases....well unfortunately pallies...not the case with his Dinoholic.

So simply for the fun of learnin' 'bout the Dinolife and Dinotimes of Dinoholic Benny Needles, the book is a great Dinoread....but there is so much more to enjoys as well. Miss Gayle Carline has a nack of introducin' characters and settin's that help the reader to really gets into the action...and she keeps us guessin' to the very end as to who the killer or killers are.....and we don't learn 'bout how the sawed-off hand gets into the freezer until the last page or two.

As I said, I stayed up late the other night....didn't wanna go to bed until I finished the read. "Freezer Burn" is a must read for all Dinoholicly inclined diggers of murder and mayhem.

So, y'all do yourselves a fav and treat yourself to a read of Miss Gayle Carline's stellar murder mystery "Freezer Burn." btw, if you clicks on the tagg of this Dinomessage you will be able to be transported to Miss Gayle Carline's offical page for "Freezer Burn" where you learn more 'bout it. Dinoreportin', DMP

The Return of Matt Helm, but not the return of Dino

Hey pallies, likes regular readers of this here Dinoblog knows that rumors of a new Matt Helm flick have been circulatin' for quite some Dinotime. Well my new Dinobud Republibot 3.0 has 'lerted me to news that Steven Spielberg may just be takin' up the Matt Helm franchise.

If you go to the Republiot blogg (clicks on tagg of this Dinogram) you will be able to clicks on the link to goes directly to the article from Variety. Below is the heads-up from our pallies at Republibot includin' patter from myself, Repubibot 3.0, and 'nother dude likes all 'gainst such action bein' taken.

Just looks at this pix of our cool, hip, and every randy Dino with Miss J in "Murder's Row." Likes who coulda ever be greater then our Dino and Mr. Matt Helm....NO ONE! Never was, never will be anyone as cool as the King of Cool....oh, to returns to the days when Dino walked the earth...


NEWS: Matt Helm Lives Again????
July 30, 2009 by Republibot 2.0
According to this article in Variety, Steven Spielberg is looking to revive the Matt Helm franchise.

According to sources, he plans on sticking a bit closer to the source material than the (soon to be reviewed on the 'Bot) Dean Martin films....

In other words... more grim 'n' gritty spy flicks.

Will nobody bring the funny?

Dean Martin Matt Helm Steven Spielberg
Republibot 2.0's blog Contact the author

#1 You so likes speaks the Dinotruth....
Submitted by dino martin peters on Thu, 07/30/2009 - 10:24.
Hey pallie, likes thanks for the heads-up on this...been wonderin' and watchin' 'bout this ever since plans were announced long time ago....of course as a true Dinoholic I'm like totally agin this one coulda ever play Matt likes our Dino....and I'm with you dude..."The stroke of Genius in the Dean Martin movies was that they completely subverted the format before they even hit the ground, turning the films in to a parody of the 60s spy genre. If you're going to do it straight, I don't really get what the point is."

No point what-so-ever in tryin' to improve on somethin' that can never ever be improved so hungry to read your impressions of our Dino and Mr. Helm....can't wait for August 7th to arrive-o.....

#2 why why
Submitted by neorandomizer on Thu, 07/30/2009 - 09:43.
I loved Matt Helm when I was a kid. do those people in Hollywood need to destroy every film and tv show from the 60's that i loved. they killed mission impossible and i spy for me now there going after Matt. what's next a live action Secret Squirrel or Inch High Private Eye.

reply Contact the author
#3 Why?
Submitted by Republibot 3.0 on Thu, 07/30/2009 - 09:03.
I've never read 'em, but I understand the Matt Helm novels were your fairly typical James Bond-by-way-of-Mack Bolan potboilers. The stroke of Genius in the Dean Martin movies was that they completely subverted the format before they even hit the ground, turning the films in to a parody of the 60s spy genre. If you're going to do it straight, I don't really get what the point is.

Oh, by the way, I"ll be reviewing "The Silencers," The first Dean Martin Helm movie on Friday, August 7th.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

In the meantime, please check out Mr. Dino Martin Peters' blog

Hey pallies, havin' just finished readin' Miss Gayle Carline's first novel, the murder mystery "Freezer Burn," that features our Dino, I just went to checks out her blogg to see what she was sharin' 'bout the tome....when to my total Dinodelight I found that she said the nicest thin's 'bout me and the ol' ilovedinomartin Dinoblog.

Her gracious words with a link to this here Dinoblog are shared below. If you woulda likes to read this whole blog post, just clicks on the tagg of this Dinogram.

I wanna thanks Miss Galyle Carline for the sweet kindness she has extended to this Dinoholic and to this little blogg devoted to our Dino. Watch for my review of "Freezer Burn" that will appear here in just a few. Dinotouched, DMP

In the meantime, please check out Mr. Dino Martin Peters' blog, whether you're a Dean Martin fan or no. I am truly falling in love with his Dino-speak, and when he posts anything I've done or said about Dean Martin, he refers to me as "Miss Gayle Carline", a moniker I find so endearing, I'd probably loan this man my car keys if he asked. Which would sound a lot better if I didn't drive a 12-year old minivan with 185,000 miles on it (but don't tell DMP).

By the way, I do love my life-sized cardboard Dean Martin. When I get home, I'm putting him in my guest room, just so I can say hello to him every morning. Until then...

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

The Rat Pack Pool Poster

Hey pallies, here's some Dinofun from a pad tagged "The Original Unoriginal." (ya can clicks on the tagg of this here Dinopost to goes there.) Looks like this site is one of 'em whose mission is to hawk Dinogoods on the net...but at least this one has a bit of class with some cool info and quotes from the original O11.

This is one cool pix of the pack....and note how our Dino is the coolest of 'em all....of Dinocourse. Dinosharin', DMP

The Rat Pack Pool Poster
Tags: cheap movie posters, rat pack poster, the rat pack pool poster

The Rat Pack Poster

Buy at

Here is the popular Rat Pack Pool Poster from the original Ocean’s Eleven movie with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Peter Lawford and Sammy Davis Jr. This is the sixties version of the Rat Pack (I was unaware the 50s version had Humphrey Bogart as chief, not Sinatra) on the set of the famous 1960 heist film that sparked the clever 2001 Clooney / Pitt remake of the same name.

Cheap Movie Poster: Not a bad price at $7.99 and the Art Print is priced decently at $23.99.

The Rat Pack

Art Print

Buy at

From Wikipedia:

Ocean’s Eleven (or Ocean’s 11) is a 1960 heist film directed by Lewis Milestone and starring five Rat Packers: Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, Jr., Joey Bishop and Peter Lawford.

Centered around a series of Las Vegas casino robberies, the film’s other stars included Angie Dickinson, Cesar Romero, Richard Conte, Akim Tamiroff, Henry Silva, Ilka Chase, Norman Fell, Harry Wilson, and Buddy Lester, as well as cameo appearances by Shirley MacLaine, Red Skelton, and George Raft.

A gang of ten World War II 82nd Airborne veterans led by Danny Ocean (Sinatra) rob five different Las Vegas casinos (Sands, Desert Inn, Flamingo, Riviera, and Sahara) on a single night.

The gang plans the elaborate New Year’s Eve heist with the precision of a military operation. Josh (Davis) takes a job driving a garbage truck while others work to scope out the various casinos. Demolition charges are planted on an electrical transmission tower and the backup electrical systems are covertly rewired in each casino.

At exactly midnight, while everyone in every Vegas casino is singing “Auld Lang Syne” the tower is blown up, Vegas goes dark. The backup electrical systems open the cashier cages instead of powering the emergency lights. The inside men sneak into the cashier cages and collect the money. They dump the bags of loot into hotel garbage bins, go back inside and mingle with the crowds. As soon as the lights come back on, the thieves stroll out of the casinos. A garbage truck driven by Josh picks up the bags and passes through the police blockade. It appears to have gone off without a hitch.
Anthony “Tony” Bergdorf (Conte), however, has a heart attack in the middle of the Las Vegas Strip and dies. Reformed gangster Duke Santos (Romero) offers to recover the casino bosses’ money for a price. He learns of Danny Ocean and his connection to his fiancée’s son, Jimmy Foster (Lawford), both of whom he knows to be in Vegas at the moment. Santos pieces together the puzzle by the time Bergdorf’s body arrives at the mortician.

Santos confronts the thieves, demanding half of their take. In desperation, they hide the money in Bergdorf’s coffin, setting aside $10,000 for the widow. The group plans to take back the rest of the money, and make no payoff to Santos, after the coffin is shipped to San Francisco. Alas, this plan backfires when the funeral home talks the widow (Jean Willes) into having the funeral in Las Vegas, where the body (with coffin) is cremated.

Ocean’s Eleven quotes:

Danny Ocean: Why waste those cute little tricks that the Army taught us just because it’s sort of peaceful now.

Danny Ocean: [Answering the phone] Hello, this is a recording, you’ve dialed the right number, now hang up and don’t do it again.

Beatrice Ocean: There’s only one thing you love, Danny: that’s danger. Cliffhanging. You could never love a woman like you love danger.

Adele Ekstrom: Happy burial, dead dog.

Mrs. Restes: [speaking of her son] He met a jiggly little number who was Vegas-bound.
Adele Ekstrom: “Jiggly little number” isn’t exactly how I would describe Danny Ocean… more like a well-mannered shark.
Mrs. Restes: Is he?

Tipsy Girl: I’m so drunk, I don’t think I could lie down without holding on!

Jimmy Foster: I made a cardinal rule: never to answer the ‘phone in December.
Massuese: That’s crazy. Why?
Jimmy Foster: Because one December, every time I picked up the ‘phone they sent me out into the snow to play with my friends. That was at the Bulge.

‘Curly’ Steffens: You’re not gonna make yourself popular, knocking Danny.
Spyros Acebos: Who’s knocking him? I love him. I respect talent. All I’m asking is he should me a little.
‘Curly’ Steffens: Too tough. Don’ ask.

Vince Massler: If it’s so fool-proof, why hasn’t somebody done it yet.
Danny Ocean: Same reason nobody’s gone to the moon yet - no equipment.
Jimmy Foster: And we’re equipped.

Vince Massler: I can’t do it. I’ve got my wife to think of.
Danny Ocean: Think of her rich.
Vince Massler: Think of me dead.

Josh Howard: Look Vince - the brave ones don’t come home. You stay scared.
Vince Massler: Yeah. You were always one of those guys who didn’t want any brave ones on patrol with you, weren’t you?
Josh Howard: It’s simple enough - in my book “brave” rhymes with “stupid”, and it still does.

Josh Howard: They way I figure it is like this: the eleven of us cats against this one city…?

Beatrice Ocean: [to Sam Harmon] I’ll consider mistress, plaything, toy for a night, but I refuse to be your mother. That’s out!

Beatrice Ocean: [to Danny Oceans] Oh, Danny. What a prize you are. The only husband in the world who’d proposition his own wife.

Danny Ocean: Going down.
Lift attendant: Going down.
Danny Ocean: Where they serve the drinks.
Lift attendant: To the bar.

Jimmy Foster: [speaking on the 'phone] Speaking of finances. Could you let me have some more.
Mrs. Restes: More? More what?
Jimmy Foster: Money. M-O-N-Y.
Sam Harmon: “E”
Jimmy Foster: M-O-N-*E*-Y

Duke Santos: It’s not a zircon, it’s a diamond; a big diamond. You don’t think it’s too big, do you? Your mother has excellent taste.
Jimmy Foster: Has she?

Mrs. Restes: You’ll miss my wedding!
Jimmy Foster: Mother, I have never missed one of your weddings.
Mrs. Restes: Yes, you did. My first one.

Sam Harmon: The odds are always with the house,
[slams hand on pool table]
Sam Harmon: with the house!

Monday, July 27, 2009

Dean Martin Show

Hey pallies, a dude tagged Kelly has shared some Dinodevotion over at his swingin' bloggpad "The Sixties Beat." Clicks on the tagg of this Dinogram to goes there.

Obviously this guy loves everythin' '60's and certainly that era was stellar for our Dino....with our Dino rulin' the charts with his amazin' variety show. Hows I
wishes we could go back to that era when Thursday nights belonged to our great man and the greatest show that ever has or will hit the air waves....

Loves to see more and more pallies liftin' up the name of our Dino and helpin' others to know, loves, and honor our Dino. Dinodevotedly, DMP

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Dean Martin Show

One thing that sixties television had that people miss out on these days is "variety shows"....meaning they had comedy skits, different guests each week, different musical acts, etc.

One such show I remember from the sixties was The Dean Martin Show.
I remember how he slid down a pole at the star of each show. The theme song was " Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime." And of course there were the "Golddiggers" (chorus girls....can't quite remember what it was they did....) the show started in 1965.

Wikkepedia states that Dean Martin was actually drinking apple juice and portraying himself as a lush on the show. Some names you might remember that were regulars on the show (I'm going to leave out a ton of names here) were....Joey Heatherton, Paul Lynde, Dom DeLuise,, Nipsey Russel,Nelson Reilly, Rodney Dangerfield, Les Brown (band leader), Foster Brooks and one of my all time favorite comedians, Don Rickles........bring back any memories?

Sixties Beat! by Kel Studios
Posted by Kelly Gannon at 9:52 PM

catch our Dino in "Bells Are Ringing" tonight on TCM

Hey pallies, one of my totally fav Dinoflicks, "Bells Are Ringing," makes it's appearance on Turner Classic Movies this very Dinonight at 8 p.m.(ET)....if you clicks on the tagg of this Dinogram you can see all the TCM info 'bout this big Broadway musical brought to the screen with our Dino starrin' with musical comedy star Miss Judy Holliday. The TCM page for "Bells" has the original trailer as well as pixs from the flick.

While our Dino does singin' in many of his flicks, this is the one and only Broadway musical ever to feature the talents of our great man. I'm postin' below probably the most wonderful song and dance number from this wonderful film.....our Dino and Miss Judy doin' the showstoppin' number "Just In Time." Hopes all you pallies will be able to takes advantage of viewin' this classic Dinoflick this very Dinonight. Dinoreportin', DMP

Saturday, July 25, 2009

July 25, 1946 On This Day In Dinohistory

Hey pallies, from our pallies over at the Abadss (clicks on tagg of this Dinopost to go there) comes today's bit of was on this day in 1946 that our Dino and the jer officially teams up for the first time...10 years to the day before the split happened.

For 10 wonderful years our Dino and the kid took the entertainment world by storm...and likes as we have often said, the best thin' that ever happened to our Dino was teamin' with the jer, and then the best thin' that would ever happen was our Dino breakin' up his ties with the kid ten years later. Dino-only, DMP

Saturday, July 25, 2009


Crooner Dean Martin and comedian Jerry Lewis staged their first show as a team this day in 1946 at Club 500 in Atlantic City, NJ. Actually, the two had met while performing -- separately -- at the Glass Hat in New York City and decided to try an ad-lib act together. The rest is entertainment history.

The duo went from earning $350 a week to $5,000 a week in under eight months, with Martin playing the romantic straight man opposite Lewis as his goofy, unpredictable partner. Ten years later, the curtain came down on their final team performance at the Copacabana in New York. Over that decade, the zany two made seventeen movies including My Friend Irma, That’s My Boy, The Caddy, Pardners, Jumping Jacks and The Stooge.

Dean Martin went on to become a recording star (Memories are Made of This, Return to Me, Everybody Loves Somebody), movie star (The Young Lions, Rio Bravo, Sons of Katie Elder, the Matt Helm series) and host of his own TV variety show, The Dean Martin Show. Lewis pursued a solo career in Hollywood as comic lead (The Sad Sack, Cinderfella, The Nutty Professor); director (The Bellboy, The Errand Boy, The Patsy, Family Jewels, Which Way to the Front); producer; teacher (USC); and consummate entertainer. It would take 20 years for the two to speak publicly with each other again.

Martin died December 25, 1995. Lewis continues to set records in fund-raising during his annual Stars Across America! Labor Day Telethon for the Muscular Dystrophy Association (he has been chairman of the MDA since 1950). The Las Vegas resident continues to make nightclub appearances and returned to the stage in the Broadway revival production of **** Yankees in 1996. Critics called his performance as the Devil, a rip-roaring success.

Friday, July 24, 2009


Hey pallies, likes how cool to see this Hollywood Outbreak pad thinkin' 'long the same Dinothoughts as this Dinoholic...basically the Dinoinfo posted here is the same as I posted but with 'nother great pix of our Dino and the kid and a Dinovid to checks this out in it's original Dinoformat, just clicks on the tagg of this Dinogram.... Dinohistorically, DMP


On this day in 1956, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis perform their last comedy show together at New York’s Copacabana Club.

Born Dino Paul Crocetti in Steubenville, Ohio, Martin started a nightclub act after working as a prizefighter and a steelworker in the 1940s. Lewis, the son of performers, debuted in comedy acts with his parents at age five and was working steadily as a comic by 1946, when he met Dean Martin. The pair performed an act in which screwball Lewis constantly interrupted straight man Martin’s singing. They made their first appearance in 1946 at a club in Atlantic City and were an instant hit, soon in demand for radio and movie performances. The pair made 16 movies together, starting with My Friend Irma in 1949. By 1956, though, the pair decided to call it quits.

After the duo split up, Martin launched his own TV variety show, which ran from 1965 to 1974. In the late 1950s and early 1960s, Martin teamed up with Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, Jr., Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop to perform in Las Vegas. The group quickly became known as the Rat Pack, a suave group of young, fast-living entertainers. The group made several movies together in the early 1960s, including Ocean’s Eleven (1960), Sergeants Three (1962), and Robin and the Seven Hoods. Martin died in 1995.

Lewis went on to sign one of the most lucrative film contracts of the day, a $10 million deal for 14 films with Paramount. Lewis’ films, including Cinderfella (1960) and The Nutty Professor (1963), failed to attract much praise from American critics but made him a star in France, where he has long been considered a comic genius. After a long absence from film, he gave an acclaimed performance in the 1986 film The King of Comedy, co-starring Robert De Niro.

(With thanks to

Q&A with Deana Martin

Hey pallies, here's a q and a session with the Springfield, Missouri News-Leader....likes I think the last Dinoarticle on Deana that I posted was based on this interview. To checks this out at the original site, just clicks on the tagg of this Dinogram.

I share this with you pallies 'cause it contains a few insights into our great man. Again, all Dinodevoted readers of this blogg knows where I stand on Dino's girlpallie Deana...and gotta 'fess up if you read this interview you will discover why it only reinforces my less that inpressed view of her.

So unlike her daddy-o....very bold, very brass in her comments. Our Dino is a very private person, rarely givin' interiews...'cause he is so appears that Miss Deana is certainly a self-promoter and takes every opportunity to tell you all 'bout herself and what she wants.

I encourage all you Dinolovin' pallies to carefully read this interview...especially where Miss Martin tries to back-pedal here on her cruel statement that her daddy-o was "not a great father, but a great man." Likes when did she write this...when she was a little girl and wanted more of her father's time?...likes no, it was written when she was in her fifties and knew exactly what she was sayin. Read this carefully to learn 'bout the real Deana Martin and how different she is from our Dino. only devoted to our Dino, DMP

Q&A with Deana Martin
July 23, 2009

These are excerpts from an interview with Deana Martin, daughter of the late Dean Martin. Martin will be at the new Sam’s Club at 1 p.m. Thursday promoting her new CD “Volare” and signing her book.

Q. Why is your CD named Volare?

A. First of all, it’s one of my favorite songs my dad recorded so I had to put it on my new CD. (My husband and I) also named our plane Volare. We are both pilots and it’s written on the plane.

Q. When did you get a pilot’s license?

A. In 2004. I started writing the book, it was so intense, so as an outlet, a stress reliever, one wouldn’t think learning to fly a plane would be a stress reliever, I started taking lessons flying at Santa Monica airport. My husband has been a pilot for about 40 years and he wanted me to fly with him. He said if something happens to me when I’m flying, I think it would be great if you could land the plane. I started my training and loved it. It took about a year to complete that. I was very nervous on my first solo. What a thrilling, exciting experience to fly your own plane.

Q. What is your favorite song on the new album?

A. “Please Don’t Talk About Me When I’m Gone.” I play it every morning. It picks me up. It’s not that it’s encouraging, but the arrangement is great ... it will make you get up and dance.

Of course singing the songs of my father is such a treat. It’s an overwhelming experience to sing them. I do feel his presence as a I sing them. I also do a Billy Joel song, “Just The Way You Are.” It’s my interpretation of these great classics. That is what is so fun about this album. Hopefully we can bring this music to a whole new generation.

Q. What was your favorite song your father sang?

A. So many are fantastic. I love “I Will.” I put that on the album. It was a huge hit for him in 1965 and I remember the first time I heard it, I thought that is so beautiful.

Q. What did you learn from your father as an entertainer?

A. He respected people’s time. Arrive on time, know what you’re supposed to do and be professional.

(2 of 4)

I remember asking him if I could take voice lessons and he said ‘No. You’re going to sound like everyone the choir.’ He said ‘Be yourself and make it yours.’ That was easy for him to say because he had a natural voice. ... it’s a little more difficult for people who didn’t have that. Dad never needed one (voice coach).

I learned quite a bit from Frank Sinatra. He gave me my first singing lesson. I asked, ‘How do you get that great tone?’ He said, ‘It’s all about the breathing.’ He said, ‘Deana I can tell if I am going to hit the wrong note before it comes out.’

I said, ‘Really, does my dad do that?’ He said, ‘No, your dad has no idea. He’s a natural.’

I had some pretty good advice from pretty incredible singers. I am very lucky to be able to sing these songs.

Q. How old were you?

A. Probably about 17 years old. It’s a moment I will never forget. You have these aha moments in your life. I knew when I went to watch my dad perform ... “Memories Are Made Of This,” .... they adored him. That was a moment, I knew this is what I want to do.

Q. What was Dean Martin like as a father?

A. He was so funny. In my book, I have a quote that says he wasn’t a great father, he was a great man. I don’t want people to misunderstand that. I would have loved for him to be home more. He was home every night for dinner. I am this little daughter who wants her daddy all the time. He was an incredible provider, told us he loved us every day. I just wanted more personal time to myself. (This book) is a love letter to him and his success and our lives together.

It’s going to be made into a movie. ... Bonnie Hunt is writing the screenplay. And who the heck can be Dean Martin?

Q. What else would you like do with your life?

A. I have my gaze set on winning a Grammy. I would love this album to become a Grammy winner. My dad never won a Grammy award until the past year when he received lifetime Grammy achievement award. I thought that was odd. You see people who have not had the success of my father and have nine Grammies for one (album).

(3 of 4)

I would like to do a Broadway play, a musical. If I could learn how to fly, I can probably do this.

Q. So do you want to win a Grammy for yourself or more for your father?

A. I would love for him to know I was able to do this. Of course it’s for me and all the hard work. I think this album is so good it’s worthy of a Grammy. I think it would bring more recognition to this type of music and the Martin family and his namesake.

It brings his name back in the spotlight. The weight of everything he did in his life is so important for generations. He’s the soundtrack for so many lives. We lost him on Christmas morning 1995, but it’s like he’s still with us. You go into any restaurant and you’ll hear his music. I want to keep that alive.

Q. Did it bother your father that he never won a Grammy?

A. He never said anything because that is not the way he was. I am sure in his heart he probably couldn’t understand why he wasn’t getting one. ... I don’t think it was his fault. I think it was probably management ... there is no reason on earth he wouldn’t have something like that. It’s shocking to me. Now he does (have a lifetime achievement award) and we’re thrilled about that. That is something very, very special.

Q. He was funny on stage. What he funny in person?

A. Like you would not believe. What you saw in his TV show, that is what he was. He was funny, he was kind, he was cool. ‘The King of cool,’ Elvis Presley told me that.

In those days you would get around the studio on a bicycle. ... Elvis came up on this bicycle and stopped to say ‘Hi’ to my father and he (Dean Martin) said ‘Deana this is Elvis Presley.’ Elvis said ‘They call me the King of Rock and Roll but your dad is the King of cool.’ I almost died. It has to be true, Elvis Presley thinks my dad is the king of cool. I put one of Elvis Presley song on my album, “Love me Tender.”

Q. What is your favorite story from your book?

A. My 16th birthday, Dad said, “What would you like?” and I said I would like a coat from Wilson’s House of Suede. He said ‘Absolutely. Go get your coat.’ I said, ‘I would like you to be there with me and pick it out.’ There a story about Dad showing up after school one day ... he was surrounded by sales ladies. I tried on every coat they had and he sat there patiently. After about an hour, I could see he was ready to go back to golf game, he said ‘That is the coat.’ Then I said, ‘Now we have to pick out the color.’ After another 15 minutes ... I said. “Now we have to pick out the buttons.” He was so sweet to take the time out of his day while I tried on every coat and then decide what color, should the buttons be tortoise shell? He was kind and generous with his time on that day and that is one of my favorite moments in my life.

(4 of 4)

(The book) will make you laugh and make you cry. ... It’s not just a book for Dean Martin fans, it’s about life lessons. It’s my life. My mom was divorced from my dad and then we went to live with him. It’s how you get through obstacles in my life and how it all worked out great. I didn’t have a perfect little life, it was tough for all us, but you can come through and end up with a fabulous life. You can turn things around and be happy. Hopefully it will be an inspiration and touch people in different ways.

Q. What was it like to know people thought of your dad as a sex symbol?

A. I never thought of it in that way. I know I’m very naive. I knew men wanted to be around him and women wanted to be with him. I knew he had an incredible appeal for everyone. I never thought of it that way.

We were Catholic. I never heard him swear. The first time I heard him say a bad word I was 20-something in Las Vegas. He was very clean, down-to-earth. We never had any yelling in the house. You wouldn’t have thought of that with an Italian dad. I knew people just adored my father. It wasn’t until later in life that I thought of anything.

Q. Anything else you want to add?

A. I hope people will buy the album. It’s our record label. We put a lot of thought and money into it and picked the best musicians. We put so much of our time and love. It’s a labor of love, but a fabulous album. It’s a celebration. I hope they enjoy it.

July 24, 1956 On This Day In Dinohistory

Hey pallies, July 24, 1956 was a bitter sweet day in our Dino's life. Bitter in the way the partnership of Martin and Lewis ended....and sweet 'cause of Dino went solo and soared to new heights in stage, screen, clubs, recordings, and of course television.

So many people predicted that our Dino woulda go no where without the jer. But we know how wrong those dudes were. Without the breakup of our Dino and the kid, just think of the Dinowonders that probably woulda never ever been able to happen.

So while July 24 will always have a bit of saddness 'bout is also a wonderful day to celebrate how our Dino won his freedom from the kid....and made it huge on his very Dino-own.

The Dinoinfo below comes from the site and tagged "This Day In History." To go there, just clicks on the tagg of this Dinopost.

Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin Pictures, Images and Photos

July 24, 1956

Martin and Lewis' last show
On this day in 1956, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis perform their last comedy show together at New York's Copacabana Club.

Born Dino Paul Crocetti in Steubenville, Ohio, Martin started a nightclub act after working as a prizefighter and a steelworker in the 1940s. Lewis, the son of performers, debuted in comedy acts with his parents at age five and was working steadily as a comic by 1946, when he met Dean Martin. The pair performed an act in which screwball Lewis constantly interrupted straight man Martin's singing. They made their first appearance in 1946 at a club in Atlantic City and were an instant hit, soon in demand for radio and movie performances. The pair made 16 movies together, starting with My Friend Irma in 1949. By 1956, though, the pair decided to call it quits.

After the duo split up, Martin launched his own TV variety show, which ran from 1965 to 1974. In the late 1950s and early 1960s, Martin teamed up with Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, Jr., Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop to perform in Las Vegas. The group quickly became known as the Rat Pack, a suave group of young, fast-living entertainers. The group made several movies together in the early 1960s, including Ocean's Eleven (1960), Sergeants Three (1962), and Robin and the Seven Hoods. Martin died in 1995.

Lewis went on to sign one of the most lucrative film contracts of the day, a $10 million deal for 14 films with Paramount. Lewis' films, including Cinderfella (1960) and The Nutty Professor (1963), failed to attract much praise from American critics but made him a star in France, where he has long been considered a comic genius. After a long absence from film, he gave an acclaimed performance in the 1986 film The King of Comedy, co-starring Robert De Niro.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Deana Martin makes family legacy her own

Hey pallies, likes here's a story 'bout Dino's girlpallie Deana from the News-Leader goes there, just clicks on the tagg of this Dinogram. Regular followers of this blogg knows where I stand with Deana, but I does loves how she retells here how the Elvis dubbed our Dino as the "King of Cool."

I'm always glad to see the name of our Dino lifted up and am sure that Deana's work is at least helpin' that to happen a bit...but likes how brash of her to wanna have her new CD win a woulda never hear our Dino say such a thin'...woulda our Dino care if one of his albums got an way...our great man is detached from such thoughts.... Dinoreportin', DMP

Deana Martin makes family legacy her own

When Elvis Presley was introduced to Dean Martin's daughter Deana, Elvis leaned in and said, "'They call me the King of Rock and Roll, but your dad is the King of Cool ,'" recalls Deana Martin.

"I almost died," she said. "It has to be true, Elvis Presley thinks my dad is the King of Cool ."

Life for Deana Martin was anything but ordinary and not always easy.

She yearned to spend more time with her father.

Her first voice lesson was from Frank Sinatra.

She shares similar memories and more in her book, "Memories Are Made of This: Dean Martin Through His Daughter's Eyes."

Martin will be at the new Sam's Club, 745 W. El Camino Alto, at 1 p.m. today signing copies of her book and her latest CD, "Volare."

Volare means "To fly" in Italian.

It's one of her favorite songs recorded by her father, and it's the name of her plane. Martin and her husband are both pilots.

In its first week of release, the album debuted at No. 22 on the top jazz album chart, according to Billboard.

Martin hopes the album will win a Grammy. Dean Martin never received a Grammy for his music, but at the 2009 Grammys received a lifetime achievement award. He died in 1995.

Deana Martin knew she wanted to be a singer the moment she saw her dad perform "Memories are Made of This," and the crowd adored him.

"That was a moment, I knew this is what I want to do," she says.

She asked her dad for voice lessons and he said no.

"'You're going to sound like everyone else in the choir,' h e said. ' Be yourself and make it yours.' That was easy for him to say because he had a natural voice," she says.

But Frank Sinatra was willing to help and taught Deana that so much of singing is about breathing.

Martin does her own interpretation of her father's songs and pays homage to other singers, like Sinatra, on her latest album.

"Hopefully we can bring this music to a whole new generation," she says.

Maria: And here, direct from the bar.. Dean Martin!!

Hey pallies, likes I was so so pleased to find a google 'lert to a Dinoblog of one of our most active Dinoholics Maria from is like what I believe is her first post in English.

Loves this Dino and the kid pix that is her header....don't think that I have ever seen that cool pix of our great man and the jer in concert before...just wonderin' the Dinohistory on this pix.

Loves the Dinoprose that Maria shares with us as well...when asked she said that she took somes of it from the web and she wrote part of it as well. This is the part that likes I totally groove and and am in so much Dinoagreement with....

"Martin's success with his songs reflected a knowledge of life, from illegal distributorships and the fast world of gaming to being able to touch his audiences through the sincerity of his words. He pulled himself up to bask in the limelight of the entertainment world and showed that the essence of a good performer was reaching out to those in his audiences and to take the human responsibility of transforming a song into a message of fun, love, and hope."

No one is more knowin' of life then our Dino and no one has the power to tranform a song then our great man"

If you wanna see this in it's original Dinoformat, just clicks on the tagg of this Dinogram to go to Maria's Dinopad...where there is also a great Dinoclip as well.

So congrats to Maria for helpin' spread the Dinomessage helpin' other pallies to know, love, and honor our Dino. Dinodelightedly, DMP

And here, direct from the bar.. Dean Martin!!

Dean Martin, born Dino Paul Crocetti (June 7, 1917 – December 25, 1995), was an Italian American singer, film actor, and comedian. He was one of the most famous music artists in the 1950s and 1960s. His hit singles included songs such as "Memories Are Made Of This," "That's Amore," "Everybody Loves Somebody," "Mambo Italiano," "Sway," "Volare," and "The Beast and the Harlot." Martin received a gold record in 2004, for his fastest-selling album ever, which also hit the iTunes Top 5. Martin's success with his songs reflected a knowledge of life, from illegal distributorships and the fast world of gaming to being able to touch his audiences through the sincerity of his words. He pulled himself up to bask in the limelight of the entertainment world and showed that the essence of a good performer was reaching out to those in his audiences and to take the human responsibility of transforming a song into a message of fun, love, and hope.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Rememberin' the 40th Anniversary of the Moon Landin' with our Dino singin' "Blue Moon"

Hey pallies, likes wishes I could claim that this was an original Dinoidea...but gotta 'fess up that this notion first appear by 'nother blogger (clicks on tagg of this Dinopost to visit Pop Art Diva), but likes they didn't post this Dinovid....but what a cool idea to remember the July 20th 1969 moon landin' by sharin' our outta-this-world Dino singin' his stellar version of "Blue Moon" from the Dinoshow.....the one where our Dino sez "wisper" 'stead of whisper and likes totally cracks himself up as well as the audience.

Enjoys our flyin' high Dino singin' 'bout the moon.... Dinolovin', DMP

Dean Martin showed up for a photo op with Miss Gayle Carline.

Hey pallies, likes clicks on the tagg of this Dinogram to read 'bout Miss Gayle Carline's bash celebratin' the publication of her first book,"Freezer Burn," a murder mystery that features main character Benny Needles who's like a total Dinoholic. As you will see below, it was so cool of our Dino to show up for a pix op with Miss Gayle. You'll be hearin' more from Miss Gayle 'bout her Dinofocus in "Freezer Burn" in just a few right here at the ol' ilovedinomartin Dinoblog. Dinolovin', DMP

Friday, July 10, 2009 highlights ilovedinomartin Dinopost

Hey pallies, likes all I can say is WOW....just found that the pad picked up the ilovedinomartin Dinopost... Las Vegas Auction: Elvis Presley-Dean Martin-Jerry Osborne!

It's printed below, but please go to the pad by clickin' on the tagg of this Dinogram to see how this humble little Dinoblog has been honored by bein' shared with the world wide web.... Dinopsyched, DMP

Las Vegas Auction: Elvis Presley-Dean Martin-Jerry Osborne!

Source: — Friday, July 10, 2009

Hey pallies, gotta ‘fess up that I just loves how our Dino continues to guide and direct this pallie….sometimes with the aid of google ‘lerts to more and more cool Dinotreasure to share with all you committed Dinoholics. Here is a youtube clip of an auction held in 1999 of Elvis memorabilia where Jerry Osborne bids the big bucks to get a 1959 congratulatory telegram that Elvis and Col Parker sent to our Dino…if you looks closely at the vid you will see part of the telegram. Have tried to find more info on this historic ‘gram to our Dino…but to no avail. Enjoys watchin’ this clip…wishes I was the one who had gotten the high big on this piece of Dinohistory. In our Dino, DMP btw, clicks on tagg of this Dinogram to gives credit to who first put me on to this…. In late October 1999, the Elvis Presley Estate (Graceland) auctioned thousands of his personal items, with proceeds going to charity. Jerry Osborne is profiled in his quest to win a humorous telegram from Elvis and Col. Parker to Dean Martin, sent in 1959. …

Las Vegas Auction: Elvis Presley-Dean Martin-Jerry Osborne!

Hey pallies, gotta 'fess up that I just loves how our Dino continues to guide and direct this pallie....sometimes with the aid of google 'lerts to more and more cool Dinotreasure to share with all you committed Dinoholics.

Here is a youtube clip of an auction held in 1999 of Elvis memorabilia where Jerry Osborne bids the big bucks to get a 1959 congratulatory telegram that Elvis and Col Parker sent to our Dino...if you looks closely at the vid you will see part of the telegram. Have tried to find more info on this historic 'gram to our Dino...but to no avail. Enjoys watchin' this clip...wishes I was the one who had gotten the high big on this piece of Dinohistory. In our Dino, DMP btw, clicks on tagg of this Dinogram to gives credit to who first put me on to this....

In late October 1999, the Elvis Presley Estate (Graceland) auctioned thousands of his personal items, with proceeds going to charity. Jerry Osborne is profiled in his quest to win a humorous telegram from Elvis and Col. Parker to Dean Martin, sent in 1959.

Semi-Obscure Album Review: Dean Martin - The Nashville Sessions

Hey pallies, likes wow pallies....just loves to find so much pure Dinodevotion by bloggers. Check out a blogg tagged "Wack Beats" modded by pallie Scott and his cool review of our Dino's last vinyl ..."The Nashville Sessions." To read this in it's original format, just clicks on the tagg of this Dinopost...and pallies, might I ask that you takes the time to leave Scott some Dinopatter to encourage his will note that he sez that only ever comments on his blog posts/

How cool is it to find 'nother lover of our Dino sharin' his Dinodevotion in print...Scotty doesn't speak of the stellar Dinotune "Since I Met You Baby" so am gonna have to put him on to the Dinovid of that for Dinosure. Again, just lovin' findin' pallies all over the web who are sharin' their passion for our great man. Dinopassionately, DMP

Semi-Obscure Album Review: Dean Martin - The Nashville Sessions
With this "feature," making about 700 "things" I do on this blog nobody reads, I want to talk about albums that really nobody gives a flying shit out. All of five people on RateYourMusic have rated this particular piece of music, and we're talking about Dean freaking Martin here. It has never been given a CD release. I got a pretty copy of this baby on vinyl at an antique mall in Coloma, Michigan. It's one of my favorite pieces of my music collection. I wrote this review in 2005, shortly after purchasing it and giving it a curious listen.


The Nashville Sessions
1983, Warner Bros.

I suppose if this were particularly good, and/or worth recommending to much of anyone on earth, it wouldn't have been Dean's last studio album. However, in the great tradition of trying to defend things you like for no real reason - the albums you see the obvious flaws in but somehow warmly embrace them, the albums that you know if anyone else listened they wouldn't really get it - let me just say this: I liked it.

The Nashville Sessions is intriguing on a few levels, but this may only be intriguing to, well, me. I love Dean Martin and I have a special place in my heart for Billy Sherrill-style country production, with the cheesy ass-sounding guitars and repetitive drumming, the silly cornball strings. Everything about it is obnoxious, but I don't care. But Sherrill, and producers like him, need a voice in front of that shit or it's going to be absolutely horrible. George Jones and Tammy Wynette made Sherrill; Dean Martin makes Jimmy Bowen sound a lot better here. I know the production sucks, and I don't care.

Dino's voice sounds old, but what can you expect? I'm not entirely certain he was actually alive, because he is quite clearly a Dean Martin figure from a wax museum on both the front and back covers for this album. However, it's not a bad old. He just sounds like what you'd expect an old Dean Martin to sound like, sort of like the Cash American series.

Nothing about these songs would be any good unless it was Dean Martin singing them in vintage Dino style, aged like a fine wine. He gets some help from Merle Haggard ("Everybody's Had the Blues," the best song on the album) and Conway Twitty ("My First Country Song," which comes out far better than I expected), and in both instances, the two parties sound excited to work with one another, rather than doing it to make a buck. And that's good, because I'm pretty sure this didn't make any bucks at all.

"Old Bones" starts the album perfectly, as Dino puts it out there that he's an old fart, but he's had a good run, fighting the aging process with all he's got, but at the same time realistic that it's going to happen anyway. He also has that classic drunken slur, which is just nice to hear.

What can you say about songs like "Shoulder to Shoulder" or "Love Put a Song in My Heart"? They're gaudy, old woman songs; things you'd have expected even that curmudgeony Dorothy to like if the Golden Girls gave it a spin. But they work OK enough, really. I couldn't exactly tell you why. They just sort of do.

I wouldn't recommend this to anyone, but I'll go so far as to say I really do enjoy it, and it's probably going to be a frequent listen for me. It's totally flawed, in no way great, and I think about zero percent of anyone would get why I like it at all. But damned if I didn't try to explain anyway.

Posted by Scott at 5:00 AM
Labels: 1983 reviews, dean martin

Thursday, July 09, 2009


Hey pallies, back to more 'bout our detached Dino. Gotta warn you the language in this Dinoprose can be blue, but this Eugene Robinson writer dude shares deeply and passionately 'bout his "pure and clean" love for our Dino. To view this in it's original format, just clicks on the tagg of this Dinogram.

I loves the way that is Robinson dude describes our Dino and his detachment..."in life as in his art he sat outside of it all, a curiously
detached dues to the worlds he was creating.
Detached but not without his passions. Detached passions all oxymoronically as perfect
as perfect could be....."

Hopes all you Dinoholics will takes the time to read and reflect on Robinson's understandin' of our unknowable Dino....and woulda loves to have some Dinodialogues on portions of this Dinopost if any of you are Dinowillin'... Dinoawed, DMP

BYLINE: Eugene Robinson
The drill is one that’s familiar to habitués of the halls of musology at this point. The knee
bone is connected to the ankle bone and the ankle bone is connected to the foot bone and
voila you have the beginning of the magical monster parts that make the artist that you
like just a cross-hatched reference on either side of the lame calculus “sounds like a cross
between the ‘making the same record again Sonic Youth’ and ‘making the same bad
record again Beck’.”
And then there’ll be a stumble and a rush onto the next music morsel and so we catalog
and catalog everything that was joyful into dust.
So yeah, the whole enterprise is a rotten one.
Translation: EPIPHANIES, my ass.
Because the sounds that have formed the basis for OXBOW ( and
the music that WE make are the sounds that thrum along in the throb of bloodstream and
are most noticed in moments say when the hand is becoming a fist and it all slips into that
double time theater where everything rushes comic quick and it’s not over until someone
is crying. Yes, the sounds of violence, because violence does have an animal sound that’s
all its own, as well as a taste and a timbre, and it’s this that has captivated us for so very
long of a time.
So then strange for me to have discovered this skulking in the recesses of my voluminous
vanity and quiet rages and attached, inescapably, to the avatar of dead-eyed, late-stage
debauchery: DEAN MARTIN.
I’ll wait while you laugh. Go ahead, laugh, laugh if you want, but the irony here is not
post-modern because the irony here is that there’s no irony here at all. My love for Dean
Martin is pure and clean.
Let’s slide back a bit. In time. To a time when vocalists roamed the Earth. Not just
singers but vocalists, that is, artists who sing. From a place that’s as inaccessible as the
place that gives rise to life’s big FUCK YOU items: loss, love, longing, lust. JOHNNY
WILLIAMS. SAMMY DAVIS JR. and a passel of others whose stars dimmed or died.
All eventually done in first by musicians who had lost sight of the fact that in full Greek
chorus fashion the vocalist was the demiurge without which they were just, oh I don’t
know, free jazz players doing the sound, doing the fury, and signifying if not nothing than
surely the fact that some exercises in ego are more fun to play than to listen to. Later, the
terrible troika of bad singing (read: Britney), no singing (read: Mogwai) or non-singing
(read: D.J’s), would make singing if not unnecessary, then horribly misunderstood, as
was the vocalists that were responsible for it.
Which is where we are now. With no referents. No coordinates. Up shit creek, drifting
through a crap causeway because everybody’s gone all egalitarian and thinks that singing
is as easy as opening your fucking mouth.
Well it’s not.
And in the gloam of my imaginings I can see them all now, these purveyors of the
violence of cool: Bing Crosby. Dean Martin. And Elvis. All of a type with Crosby the
Father, Elvis the son, and Dean the Holy Fucking Ghost of the Killing Disconnect. You
see after reading everything there is to read about Dean Martin I know this much about a
man that I’ve lionized straight-facedly as a Saint (to which a waggish detractor decried,
“he’s just a sleazy boozehound.”): in life as in his art he sat outside of it all, a curiously
detached dues to the worlds he was creating.
Detached but not without his passions. Detached passions all oxymoronically as perfect
as perfect could be, this former boxer (boxed as Kid Crochet. Not after the knitting but
his real last name Crocetti) insinuated his way into my life for the first time when I was
five years old. The song was “STANDING ON THE CORNER” and while I don’t
remember that I knew it then it seems to me at this remove that the song’s signature line
for me—“Brother you can’t go to jail for what you’re thinking, or for the woo look in
your eye”—was blasting out of every Italian house in New Rochelle, New York, when
Italians still lived in New Rochelle, New York, as gardeners and chauffeurs for the rich
ensconced in nearby Westchester.
“For what you’re thinking.” Indeed. Because as leastways as anyone could figure out
they could never figure out what Dean was thinking. When he knocked the Beatles off
the charts in 1964. When he moved over to good films, The Young Lions, and bad TV in
those endless, drunken variety shows. When his son died.
Like his former partner Jerry Lewis (a genius in France) used to say: NOTHING.
Or to quote author and son of the famous Groucho, Arthur Marx in his hard-to-find
Martin bio "Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime…(Especially Himself)," the
mystery to Dean was no mystery at all because “Looking backward, the secret of Dean
Martin's extraordinary success has always seemed to be 'complete indifference' when
opportunity comes knocking.”
And rather than understanding this as the end result of that horrible product of the stupid
and beautiful—cool—I understood it totally differently. As incredible hostility. Sure,
sure, sure we KNOW that they say that every biography and certainly every hagiography,
is really a writer’s attempt to write about themselves and hearing OXBOW music you
might be tempted to say “sure he sees hostility there…he probably sees hostility
EVERYwhere.” But it’s there I tell you.
Trojan horsing its way into the collective subconscious of an entire generation who
would later see this music pawned with the pejorative EASY LISTENING, or mocked by
the jive ass lounge revival, Dean Martin’s vocals say one thing to my ears: FUCK YOU.
Or as he most honestly sang in his long suppressed nightclub sides where everybody,
regardless of relation, was a “Pally,” “Blow me…a kiss before you go.”
Out. On the arches. Away from him. His disdain was elementally existential.
I’ll wait while you laugh. Go ahead, laugh, laugh if you want, but the irony here is not
post-modern because the irony here is that there’s no irony here at all. My love for Dean
Martin is pure and clean.

Wednesday, July 08, 2009

Will Johnny Depp portray Dean Martin in a new film?

Hey pallies, there is hot news in Dinoland today. Dig this [post from the Examiner pad (clicks on tagg of this Dinogram to go there) where reported Brittny Nielsen has reported that Deana Martin has given the nod to Mr. Johnny Depp to play her daddy-o in the big screen version of her Dinobio "Memories Are Made Of This."

Will Deana get her wish...only time will tell. Also note that Dinoholic Bonnie Hunt has been hired to write the screen play...which is wonderful Dinonews...and as shared before Mr. Joe Mantegna, who once played our Dino in a made for a small screen flick, will direct the Dinoepic. So, wonderin' what do all you pallies think of Johnny playin' our Dino? Dinoreportin', DMP

Will Johnny Depp portray Dean Martin in a new film?
July 8, 11:53 AM

Brittny Nielsen

Celebrity News Examiner

Will Johnny Depp be tapped to play Dean Martin in a biopic of his life? Martin's daughter Deana reveals that Depp was her top choice to portray late singer Martin in a movie.

Deana acknowledged that a film is in the works, and will be directed by Joe Mantegna and written by comedian and actress Bonnie Hunt. Deana was speaking as a guest on a Boston radio program when she said, "[Depp] is a tremendous actor, he has that charm, that swagger, and the resemblance of my father is there. I’m sure he would do the role justice!”

Deana recently released a book called Memories Are Made of This, Dean Martin Through His Daughter’s Eyes and is a singer in her own right with a CD titled "Volare."

Golden Voice Dino For Free

Hey pallies, now how cool is this...have been seein' some Dino 'lerts 'bout this but just got 'round to day to checks it out...from Amazon...a free download of our Dino singin' "I Don't Care If The Sun Don't Shine" along with sultry tunes by 4 great classy lady vocalists....Miss Ella, Miss Edith, Miss Eartha, and Miss Billie.

How cool is it that our Dino was chosen as the only male singer in this golden voice collection...musta be 'cause the only male vocalist worthy of bein' tagged golden is our Dino!!!!! And what an ensemble of ladies to be on the same programme...the best of jazz, classic, pop, and blues....

So clicks on the tagg of this Dinogram to see how you can get some free Dinomusic along with these great female vocalists.... Dinodevotedly, DMP

X5 Free Sampler - Golden Voices
by Various Artists
Price: FREE
Song Title Artist Time Price
1. I Don't Care If The Sun Don't Shine Dean Martin 1:55 FREE
2. Goodnight My Love Ella Fitzgerald 3:10 FREE
3. La Vie En Rose Edith Piaf 3:06 FREE
4. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes Eartha Kitt 3:03 FREE
5. All of Me Billie Holiday 3:04 FREE

Sold by Amazon Digital Services, Inc . Additional taxes may apply . By placing your order, you agree to our Terms of Use.

Tuesday, July 07, 2009

Come Swing With Me

Hey pallies, still hot on the trail of more Dinoprose with the accent on our Dino's amazin' detachment. This here Dinotrib from a place tagged Metro Active (clicks on the tagg of this Dinogram to go there) has been one of my favs over the loves the Dinographic of our Dino as sorta a cut out paper doll figure...

This Kelly Luker person seems to have some understandin'of our Dino...but can't agree with their thoughts on our Dino's massive recordin' career or his amazin' big screen appearances either....but loves to read their take on our Dino's amazin' persona... Enjoys readin' 'nother take on our great man. Dinoengaged, DMP

Come Swing With Me

Don't get us wrong--Dino could hold a note, and his acting was passable. But Martin's charm was in his lethal double-punch of drop-dead good looks and who-gives-a-damn swagger.

Dancing in the dark till the tune ends
We're dancing in the dark and it soon ends
We're waltzing in the wonder of why we're here
Time hurries by, we're here and we're gone
"Dancing in the Dark" (Schwartz/Dietz)

By Kelly Luker

DINO AND BOOZE. Booze and Dino. The two went together like scotch and soda, like gin and vermouth. Try to remember a photo of Dean Martin--on stage, hanging with the Rat Pack, fronting the Golddiggers on The Dean Martin Show. Now, try to remember him without that precious shot glass of brown elixir clutched in one hand and a cigarette dangling carelessly between the fingers of the other.

Leave running the Rat Pack to Ol' Blue Eyes--we'd pick Dino to show us how to drink in this town. Of course, if Martin wasn't already dead, he'd up and croak again when he saw what passes for gin mills near the millennium. No smoking in bars? Midori shooters? A long, sloe screw against the wall, for cryin' out loud?

Who knows how much the man actually drank. Some say it was an act, like W.C. Fields' legendary dislike for children. But like most good legends, the truth is irrelevant. We remember the crooner for his martini-fueled cool. Sinatra played at cool, but those who knew him swear that Martin was the one who truly didn't give a rat's pack about that group's opinion--or anybody else's, for that matter. Rumor has it that it was the Chairman of the Board who was hungry for Martin's approval--never, ever the other way around.

But that's the secret of cool, of course. To not give a damn who loves you, who likes you--or who hates you. Unlike pathetic little Sammy Davis Jr. Davis sold his soul to be a member of the Pack. It's ironic, since Davis had the talent. Don't get us wrong--Dino could hold a note, and his acting was passable. But Martin's charm was in his lethal double-punch of drop-dead good looks and who-gives-a-damn swagger. Those curaçao-blue eyes and gorgeous Italian puss could melt the hearts of the most forbidding ice queens.

Martin hit his stride playing straight man to Jerry Lewis' pratfalls and yucks. "The organ grinder and the monkey," as some called them. The bucks were rolling in and the laughs never stopped when the two were on stage, TV or the silver screen. Of course, that was the audience chortling--not the duo. Within years, Martin came to loathe Lewis, and it got harder and harder to keep up the front. So, he stopped bothering, and after a string of stunningly successful movies, Dino bid that clown arrivederci.

Dino kept cranking out the music, and except for a hit or two like "That's Amore," most were execrable messes. Think "My Rifle, My Pony and Me." Or when the Italian stud "stretched" with an album of Southern ballads.

It didn't matter, really: Dino had the world by the short hairs. He was a made man in the Pack--swingin' and singin' and swearin' with Sinatra, Davis and Bishop. His adoring audience would pay to see that kisser in movie after movie no matter how bad the role. Of the 55 flicks notched on his belt, only a few even make it to late-night TV anymore (Some Came Running, Rio Bravo, a few from the Matt Helm series, a smattering of the Jerry Lewis movies).

But the downside to not caring is just that--not caring. Like most of his Hollywood cronies, Martin went through wives and gorgeous starlets like Kleenex. But as Wife No. 2, Jeanne Martin, put it, "Dean doesn't have an overwhelming desire to be loved. He doesn't give a damn. He doesn't get involved with people, because he really isn't interested in them."

That's a deadly way to go through life. After the glitter of gold and the glow of the spotlights wears off, after enough booze to sink a battleship and enough broads to fill a dancehall, it's empty. Over the years, Martin slowly retreated into himself. If truth be known, a game of golf was more satisfying than the applause of the crowds or the cooing of a gorgeous gal on his arm. It all just got to be ... Too. Much. Work.

But that's not the Dino we see strolling down First Street, taking in the Fairmont, rolling down El Camino or up Santa Cruz Avenue towards his watering hole du jour. Close your eyes and listen for the background music. No, not his Italian love songs but instead the funky, rinky-dink jazz riffs behind those Rat Pack movies. Now throw on a peach-colored angora sweater, pour a few fingers of Haig & Haig into a flask and start walking.

It's late at night and you can almost see Martin moving on ahead, breaking through the fog, just settling in around the neighborhood. He's whistling one of his favorites, a light sports jacket thrown casually over one shoulder. He'll take a pass on lowdown dives and neighborhood nooks, thank you, and head to where the women are red-hot and the martinis ice-cold. Look for Dino to find a welcome mat wherever Earth Shoes wouldn't, if you get our drift. The man exuded style and didn't have much use for a place that didn't have a dress code.

After leaving the hatcheck girl with a 20 and a wink in exchange for a phone number, Dino would stroll in, bigger than life. Most men pretend not to notice the hungry stares from women, the envious looks from men. Martin noticed--he just didn't care. Grabbing a pack of Viceroys from the cigarette girl, the debonair Dino would find himself with one elbow on the bar as he surveyed the ebb and flow of humanity around him.

At the end of the evening, follow the slow fade-out. A baby spot remains on Dean Martin and his eyes are closed now, listening to the music that will always define him: The tinkle of ice cubes in a glass, the roar of a blender, and the gentle shoosh shoosh of a martini shaker.
From the June 11-17, 1998 issue of Metro.
Copyright © Metro Publishing Inc. Maintained by Boulevards New Media.

It was one of the first major venues to host Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin

Hey pallies, it is always so great to learn more details of our Dino's life and times. Thinks I have posted 'bout Ciro's Nightclub and it's Dinoconnections before...but this post contains more Dinodetails then before. I found this posted at couple of places...but have reposted this from a site tagged New Haven usual to read this in it's original format, just clicks on the tagg of this Dinogram.

Loves the Dinodetails in this report. Ain't it so cool that our Dino wed wife #2, the Jeanne at this here nightclub? appro for our great man to have such a settin' for his weddin'. Ain't it like our great man to go clubbin' on his day of wed.... And hadn't realized he did the weddin' gig before he and the kid ever played the club.

So enjoys learnin' more facts and figures 'bout our amazin' Dino... Dinosharin', DMP

And loves readin' 'bout our Dino's strong showin' of loyalty to Herman Hoover by always only takin' his original salary when he and the jer played the club even after they had struck it huge on the nightclub circuit. How cool of our great man and the kid to only take 7 grand when they were pullin' in 100 grand aweek at other clubs. Certainly shows the strength of our Dino's character..


Ciro’s Nightclub: An Icon Of Entertainment History
By Shane Northrup | July 6, 2009

by Ross Everett
Today, the Comedy Story sits on the same spot and has for over twenty years. In it’s earlier incarnation it was Ciro’s, and it was for a time the center of the entertainment universe.

From the early 1940’s until it closed on the eve of the 1960’s, Ciro’s launched countless entertainment icons along the path to superstardom. It was one of the first major venues to host Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin before they took over the comedy world in 1950. A year later, an unheralded opening act called the Will Mastin Trio stole the show from the headliner. This was due in large part to a young entertainer that would before long outgrow his membership in the group–arguably the most talented entertainer in show biz history, Sammy Davis, Jr. After the car accident that cost Sammy his right eye, it was the site of his return to live performing. Countless other top entertainers performed there, from Sinatra sidekick comic Joe E. Louis to Nat King Cole.

The regulars at Ciro’s comprised a mind boggling array of the greatest entertainers in history–Frank Sinatra, Humphrey Bogart, Marilyn Monroe, Cary Grant, Judy Garland and countless others. It became the clubhouse for the Hollywood elite to drink, mingle and network.

During a more civilized time, a network of top nightclubs hosted entertainment, drinking, dining and other hijinx in the major cities of the US. Ciro’s was among this elite group of nightspots dating back to the early 1940’s when the icons of that era including Bogart, Jimmy Cagney, Lauren Bacall and George Raft would frequent the place. It started to ‘cool off’ and by 1942 was forced to close its doors for a time. It didn’t stay closed for long, as Herman Hoover implemented his plan to re-open and revitalize the nightspot.

Hoover, who had a background in running a nightclub”he was lured away from Columbia Universitys Law School by the potent mix of wiseguys and chorus girls at New Yorks Silver Slipper, which was a prohibition era joint owned by Arnold Rothstein and Charles Lucky Luciano among others. Hoover became a fixture at the club, along with Harlems Cotton Club before moving to Los Angeles in 1936.

Ciros reopened on December 26, 1942 with longtime Sinatra pal Joe E. Lewis on stage and such stars as Mickey Rooney, Lucille Ball, Desi Arnaz, Joan Crawford and Cary Grant in the audience. Xavier Cugat (whod later marry a Latin dancer named Charo) became a regular headliner at the club, preceding the arrival of Martin, Lewis and Sammy Davis, Jr.

Hoover had hosted Dean Martins wedding in 1949 to second wife Jeanne, and Martin and Lewis debuted at Ciros in 1950. They remained loyal to Hoover and his club, and even when they were pulling down an astounding (for the 1950s) $100,000 a week to perform they insisted on holding their fee at Ciros to what they were originally paid–$7,000 a week. Sammy Davis, Jr. got his start at Ciro’s and returned to the stage after his mid 1950’s car accident in what may have been the biggest event ever at the club. Following an introduction by Frank Sinatra, Davis put on a scorching performance before an adoring and emotional crowd of the biggest stars on the planet.

Ironically, the growth of the desert gambling oasis to the east would eventually spell the end for Ciro’s and the nightclub circuit nationwide. Las Vegas simply had the money, connections and amenities to lure away the best talent to play in its showrooms. Headliners didn’t have to travel to earn a tidy sum as casino headliners, and they were able to live the showbiz life 24 hours a day in “Paris in the Desert.” Eventually Ciro’s closed its doors in 1957 and was sold at a public auction two years later.

It also represented the end of an era in Los Angeles. Sunset Boulevard remained a vital commercial artery, but the glamorous strip of adult entertainment that became part of American mythology gave way to a tacky mishmash of restaurants, strip clubs, and tattoo parlors intermingled with more upscale businesses. Although another revolution would emerge from Sunset Boulevard”a culinary superstar named Wolfgang Puck, and his restaurant Spago”the world became a little less civilized with the passing of Ciros. The building has been the Comedy Store for the past 26 years, and has started its own crop of stars along the path to fame.

About the Author:
Ross Everett is a Las Vegas and hospitality industry historian as well as an expert on Internet sports betting. He has served as a management consultant for many restaurants, casinos and nightclubs. In addition, he’s a noted fight sport journalist, and writes extensively on strategies to successfully bet on UFC, MMA and boxing.
Topics: Travel |

Monday, July 06, 2009

Introducin' Dinoholic Ry "Dino" Decker

Hey pallies, likes a new Dinofeature is debutin' this very Dinoday at ilovedinomartin. For quite the few now, I have been desirin' to feature the stories of others who loves our Dino as much as I do some written interviews with pallies who know, love, and desire to become more like our Dino.

I wanna thank my pallie Ry "Dino" Decker for bein' the first to consent to be interviewed and have his Dinotale shared here at this little ilovedinomartin Dinoblog. I got to know Ry over at myspace where I found him through his association with the Dino music site there. I have found him to be one totally sold out dude to our Dino and I knows you are goin' love to get to know him as well.

On of the thin's I love 'bout my pallie Ry is pure and simply this is one guy who loves our Dino and ain't afraid to share it with others...helpin' to turn others on to our great man and makin' 'em Dinoholics as well.

So enjoy readin' Ry's Dinojourney, and if you woulda likes to have your Dinostory told here, just let's me know....I think it is gonna be great to read how others were led to our Dino and how it has changed their lives. Dinopsyched, DMP

Would you begin by tellin' us a little bit 'bout your self?

Well, my name is Ryan. I'm 23 and just about to get out of the army. I figure six years and two deployments is good enough for 'em

Please tell us about when and how you first encountered our Dino?

I first encountered our Dino when I saw the movie Rio Bravo. What a great movie that is. I knew right then and there he was the king of cool. How many cowboys are named just Dude? The man was incredible!

What changes in your life did you start to notice as you became more and more under the influence of our Dino?

I started to explore the lounge music more and then I started making more sarcastic jokes. I learned that being serious wasnt any fun.

How have you tried to emulate our Dino?

Well, my nickname at the local bar is Dino on account of my lucky strikes, whiskey, and ability to drink. Also, my personality, attitude and jokes.

In what ways have you experienced our Dino guidin' and directin' your life?

This is a good question. Dino has guided me through my musical life and in my relationships with women by always giving me advice through his great music. Also, believe it or not but a lot of ladies love to just sit back, relax, and enjoy some Dino.

What does knowin' our Dino mean to you?

Knowing Dino means the party is never gonna end. Even without all the fun stuff like booze just jamming to Dino is a good time in itself.

I know as a military man that you have had to spend time in the Sand Box (middle east). Would you tell us the ways that our Dino has comforted and sustained you during this difficult time?

Dino was always my chill out music. When things would get to crazy I'd plug into some Dino via my Zune. He always helped me relax and reminded me never to be too serious.

What is your favorite favorite piece of Dinowisdom that you try to follow?

You ain't drunk if you can lay on the floor without hangin on.

Would you tell us about your Dinotreasure?

My Dino treasure is a picture I have of him from Rio Bravo, with his colt peacemaker. It goes every where with me. Probably one of my favorite Dinopieces.

Tell us about your favorite Dinosong and Dinoflick....what makes 'em your favs?

Rio Bravo is my favorite Dinoflick just because it shows what a great actor he is and it also shows how he loved to sing and that was his number one passion (next to booze of course). My favorite Dinotune is Everybody Loves Somebody because no matter where I am I always knows it Dino just by the string intro. It always makes me smile.

In what ways have you tried to help others come to know, love, and grow in our Dino?

I love introducing people to his great music and slick flicks by loaning out CDs and DVDs.

What does it mean to you to be welcomed into our Dino's world?

It means a lot. It means the King of Cool is watching over me and things are gonna be a real blast.

Anythin' else you would like us to know about your relationship with our Dino?

No matter what happens you can always rely on Dino for a little motivation and relaxation.

Deuce Of Clubs Book Club Celebrates "DINO: Living High in the Dirty Business of Dreams"

Hey pallies, doin' some more googlin' of our Dino with his bold declaration.."Nobody gets to know me" I found this great summary of Nick Tosches' Dinobio at this site tagged "Deuce of Clubs Book Club"...clicks on tagg of this Dinopost to go there.

The pallies at this Deuce of Clubs pad have gathered many of stellar moments from the Tosches Dinotome....sorta a mini-read of this magnificant piece of Dinoprose. For those who have never had the privilege of indulgin' this is must read Dinobook, here is a grand intro into this amazin' read...and for those who have enjoyed the pleasures of Tosches Dinorenderin', a great op to reacquaint ourselves with this award winnin' book.

So enjoys another stellar web find in praise of our Dino. Dinodiggin', DMP

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------DINO: Living High in the Dirty Business of Dreams
Nick Tosches (1992; rpt. 1999)

Read anything by Nick Tosches. That goes double for DINO: Living High in the Dirty Business of Dreams. It's Tom Wolfe-ish biographical art as practiced by Jim Thompson:

The old-timer taught Gaetano the trade. He told him too about the new law that had been passed just months earlier, the law that said men must now pay tax on what they earned; and he explained, as it had been explained to him, that they were among the more fortunate ones as far as this new income tax went, for they were not payroll workers like those in the mills; theirs was a business of coins, which none but them tallied. [12].

Tripodi was the first of many such characters whom Dino would encounter in his life: men—America called them the Mafia—who sought to wet their beaks (fari vagnari u pizzu, as the Sicilians said) in the lifeblood of every man's good fortune [51].

Those close to him could sense it: He was there, but he was not really there; a part of them, but apart from them as well. The glint in his eye was disarming, so captivating and so chilling at once, like lantern-light gleaming on nighttime sea: the tiny soft twinkling so gaily inviting, belying for an instant, then illuminating, a vast unseen cold blackness beneath and beyond. The secret in its depth seemed to be the most horrible secret of all: that there was no secret, no mystery other than that which resides, not as a puzzle to be solved or a revelation to be discovered, but as blank immanence, in emptiness itself. [54-5].

He was born alone. He would die alone. These truths he, like every punk, took to heart. But in him they framed another truth, another solitary, stubborn stone in the eye of nothing. There was something, a knowing, in him that others did not apprehend. He was born alone, and he would die alone, yes. But in between—somehow—the world in all its glory would hunker down before him like a sweet-lipped High Street whore. [55].

They used to make love and laugh. Now they fucked and fought. How long, after all, could butterflies live? Love was a racket. It was like booze. It exhilarated you, it transported you, and in the end it fucked you over and left you feeling like shit. [99].

It was hard to keep track of Dean's kaleidoscopic love life. "He fell in love with Jeannie, and it was a storybook romance," Jerry [Lewis] would say. "We were playing in Baltimore, and he was driving all night to Cumberland, Maryland, where—wait a minute: have I got the wrong broad? I have the wrong broad. What the hell was her name? This was another chick he was goin' with that he almost married." There was a song. Ivie Anderson had sung it with Duke Ellington back in 1936; it had been in the air that rainy springtime when Dean and Ross Monaco had come west with Joe DiNovo: "Love Is Like a Cigarette." Maybe that was what it came down to: a bad habit; a few drags of pleasure followed by a lousy taste. You put one out, you started another. Every once in a while, you coughed, you dumped the ashtray and said fuck it. [186]

The sophisticated, white-collared, and well-heeled New York Times itself, in an article published while Martin and Lewis were in Las Vegas, hailed their "refreshing brand of comic hysteria," their "wild and uninhibited imagination." And yet, these few years later, the nature of that appeal is as alien and as difficult to translate as the language, syntax, and meter of Catullus. There are no films or tapes of their nightclub act. Only secondary fragments have survived to be judged . . . none of them predating 1952. Those fragments convey almost nothing of the dazzling appeal of that hilarity proclaimed in contemporary accounts. And yet the howling laughter present in many of those fragments, in the radio shows and television performances, all done before live spectators, is unanswerable. Those spectators, who had lined up for free shows at network studios, were not the same urbane nightclub-goers who howled at the Copacabana or Chez Paree or the Flamingo. Their sense of yockery was perhaps homelier; but, on the other hand, it was less primed by booze. Jerry was right: Martin and Lewis appealed to everyone. But why? [204]

"Let us not be deceived," the New York Times had declared in April 1947, while Dean and Jerry had been playing at the Loew's Capitol; "we are today in the midst of a cold war." . . . —but America wanted nothing more than to be deceived. Martin and Lewis gave them that: not laughter in the dark, but a denial of darkness itself, a regression, a transporting to the preternatural bliss of infantile senselessness. It was a catharsis, a celebration of ignorance, absurdity, and stupidity, as meaningless, as primitive-seeming, and as droll today as the fallout shelters and beatnik posings which offered opposing sanctuary in those days so close in time but so distant in consciousness. [204-5]

Newsweek dismissed [My Friend Irma Goes West] as "light-fingered malarkey." [221]

At one point, Glucksman had suggested to Dean that they should have lunch and get to know one another better.
"Nobody gets to know me," Dean told him. There was no smile, no anything; just those words. [226]

That was what Dean loved about golf: One could be with other men but apart from them, in silence in the open air. The driver clubface and that little white rubber-cored ball barely met: 450 millionths of a second, that was it. It was the sort of contact Dean liked. [226]

Bosley Crowther's colleague at the New York Times dismissed the picture as a "consignment of corn." [233]

The early 1950s belonged to them. It was the age of television, of whitewalled, tail-finned mindlessness; a world gone mad with mediocrity. [245]

Jerry Lewis said it all: "Can you pay two men $9,000,000 to say `Did you take a bath this morning?' `Why, is there one missing?'—do you dare contemplate such a fuck-and-duck? Yet that's what we did. We did that onstage, and they paid us $9,000,000." [246]

That Herald Review review of Scared Stiff had been an anomaly. Not that it had held forth a kind word for Dean—it had not. But it had found Jerry unbearable. And that is the way Dean now found him: an overbearing egomaniacal obnoxious fucking Jew who was pushing thirty and still playing a thirteen-year-old palsied monkey and seeing it as fucking genius. [268]

[For Dean] there could be no happiness but in waving away the world; none but in being apart, unthinking, unfeeling. [281]

He needed something new, something different. "Memories Are Made of This" was pure romance; and Dean, who hated memory itself, whose marriage had once again turned to shit just two weeks before, wove it into a lie of gold. [282]

When Dean read the script, he came to Jerry in a rage.
"A fucking cop, hey?"
"That's right. A cop."
"I'm not playing a cop." [287]

Asked if it was true that he had objected to Jerry's desire to inject "pathos and heart" into their work, Dean said he would not have objected "if he knew how to do it." [297]

The role of Bama "was a snap for me. I just played cards and talked Southern." He already spoke with a drawl in real life. God only knew where it came from, that added growth of obscuring kudzu he had cultivated around the wall of lontananza that kept the world at bay. No one else from Steubenville ever talked that way. Yet, like the Stetson he wore in the movie, it somehow fit him. [308-9]

Dean, whose company Sinatra constantly pursued, was not one to play the sycophant. He liked Sinatra, but he knew him for what he was: a half-a-mozzarella that never grew up. Joey, Sammy, and Peter Lawford were nobodies. They needed Sinatra, he did not. Sinatra had given him and MacLaine their parts in Some Came Running; but they likely could have gotten the parts without him. Maybe MacLaine, Frankie's quondam comare, wanted to be one of the guys; he did not. He watched Sinatra call Davis "a dirty nigger bastard" when Davis told an interviewer that Sinatra was capable of being impolite; he had watched Davis beg to be returned to his good graces. Dean neither gave nor took that kind of shit. Sinatra could be a pain in the ass in other ways, too. Little more than a year earlier, at Romanoff's on the Rocks in Palm Springs, Dean had had to drag him bodily away from Bill Davidson, a journalist who had written negative things about him. Why he even read the shit that people wrote about him was beyond Dean; that he let it get to him was ridiculous. He took it all so fucking seriously. He thought he was a fucking artist, a fucking god. But, again, at the same time, he liked Frank. Their families had grown close. They drank together. They gambled together. They laughed together. If people wanted to call him part of Sinatra's Clan, so be it, fuck it; it made no difference. [312-13]

Sinatra, who lusted to rub against any power greater than his own, threw himself fully into Kennedy's campaign. Reverting to the Bogart days, the Clan became the Rat Pack, the sideshow of Kennedy's privileged Democratic dream. Kennedy was a glamour boy. He enjoyed being around celebrities, as Sinatra enjoyed being around power. The two of them waxed dreamy-eyed round each other. [313-14]

"Watching his special color show last evening," [columnist Harriet Van Horne] wrote, "I had the feeling that this pretty laddie with the careful ringlets and roguish grin would take great pleasure in spitting in the eye of the audience. His offhand air, his apparent lack of rehearsal and his highly personal ad libs all bespeak a faint contempt for his work."
On the other hand, Van Horne found the CBS production of For Whom the Bell Tolls to be "a massive accomplishment."
But for every Van Horne there were thousands of others who loved what Dean was doing. He was not spitting at them; he was spitting for them. His message was clear: All this fake-sincerity shit that was coming through television—not only through television: the newspapers, the pictures, every politician's false-faced caring word and grin—it was all a racket. It was a message that appealed to the menefreghismo in every heart: Fuck it all; eat, drink, and be merry, for even Sorelli the Mystic knew not what tomorrow might bring. [315-16]

In May 1958, Dean hosted the SHARE Boomtown party for Jeanne at the Moulin Rouge, where he was lowered to the stage seated astride a white saddle on a chandelier. [317]

Sinatra and Martin: There was something about them that brought out the biggest gamblers. . . . It was not just the dirty-rich giovanostri and padroni who were drawn to them, to their glamour, to the appeal of darkness made respectable. The world was full, it seemed, of would-be wops and woplings who lived vicariously through them, to whom the imitation of cool took on the religiosity of the Renaissance ideal of imitatio Christi. The very songs that Sinatra and Dean sang, the very images they projected, inspired lavish squandering among the countless men who would be them. [323]

"High Hopes," with new lyrics tailored by Sammy Cahn, would become Kennedy's campaign song. Along the way, it would become the anthem of a time's dumb optimism. [324]

On that same night of July 13, as Kennedy's nomination was being announced, Dean opened at the Sands.
"I'd like to tell you some of the good things the Mafia is doing," he said. There was a momentary hush, then a long, slow wave of rising laughter.
His singing had begun to take on a new tone. He was no longer merely selling the lie of romance. Stabbing sharply and coldly here and there into the songs with lines of wry disdain, he was exposing his own racket as well, selling the further delusion of their sharing in the secret of that lie itself. It was an elaboration on his tried and true style of singing to the men rather than the women, of singing to them as if they alone could truly understand him. It was also a natural emanation of the way he felt. He simply no longer cared. He began more songs than he finished, dismissing most of them with a wisecrack partway through. Some, with the help of lyricist Sammy Cahn, were simply reduced to gross parody.
"If you think I'm going to get serious, you're crazy. If you want to hear a serious song, buy one of my records." [329]

Cal-Neva was no longer of concern to Dean. After realizing the extent of Giancana's hidden involvement in the operation, he had pulled out. He knew Giancana's kind far better than Sinatra ever would. Where that kind wet their beaks, others went dry. [332]

Dean himself had known Marilyn since early 1953, before Sinatra had met her, before DiMaggio had married her. It seemed that everybody—man, woman, and beast—wanted to fuck her. But her sexiness was only desperation. It had been in her eyes for years: death like a Valentine. [335-6]

Sinatra continued to entertain delusions of his place in Camelot. The door of a guest room at his Palm Springs home bore a plaque with Kennedy's name on it. He had gone so far as to have a heliport constructed on his estate, in preparation for an anticipated presidential visit in March. Cottages were added for the Secret Service. There were extra telephone lines installed, a flagpole erected. It was fucking ridiculous.
. . . on February 27, Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy received a memo from Director J. Edgar Hoover of the FBI. During its investigation of Johnny Rosselli, the Bureau had been led to Judith Campbell, whose telephone records, in turn, had revealed several calls to President Kennedy's personal secretary at the White House, as well as to Sam Giancana in Chicago. Bobby advised his brother, increased his surveillance of Giancana, and called Peter Lawford: JFK would have to steer clear of Sinatra, who was obviously the catalyst in the Kennedy-Campbell-Giancana triangle. On his trip west in March, the president would stay at Bing Crosby's home. Lawford would have to break the news to Sinatra.
"Frank was livid," Lawford said. "He called Bobby every name in the book." When Lawford left, Sinatra's butler watched him go at the heliport with a sledgehammer.
The message and the messenger were one. As far as Sinatra was concerned, that was the end of Lawford. [341]

Sinatra himself headlined the opening of the new Cal-Neva on June 29. Dean opened there a month later, on July 27. Marilyn Monroe came to Cal-Neva on both occasions. On the first, she overdosed on pills and booze. On the second, wandering around in a ghostly stupor, she spoke to Skinny D'Amato of things of which, as he told her, people ought not to speak. Dean knew what was wrong with her, beyond the pills, beyond the whole endless lost-little-girl thing: She just could not handle the dirty knowledge into which she had wandered, the black forest of Sam Giancana and Johnny Rosselli and her darling scumbag Kennedys, that world that lay past the dreamland she had shared with those who paid to see her. She wanted back into the fairytale, but there was really no way back. Dean knew things that people would not believe, things about the government sucking up to men such as Rosselli and Giancana, dealing with them in death, while others in government persecuted them; things about the black knights and the white knights fucking the same broads, drinking from the same bottle, and sharing the same spoils and murderous plots. Marilyn had glimpsed these things through her own errant innocence, and they had terrified her. The great temptress had finally encountered a few wisps of what really lay in the garden of temptation. Dean could see it: She was not long for this world. If she did not shut her mouth, she would not even need the pills to take her where she was going. [344-5]

The body was no longer what it once had been: excrescences, aches, and skin like brittling caul. Mortality's inklings grew deeper; the flesh became a stranger's. On the fourth day of the new year, at Cedars of Lebanon hospital, he had a cyst removed from his left wrist. On January 22, when he opened with Sinatra at the Sands, he felt like an old man. They were billed as Dean Martin & Friend. They had their own bar cart onstage. The drunk routine was becoming less of an act and more of a hoked-up burlesque of drab reality. For years, he had been a man of moderation: a few drinks during the day, a few more and maybe a sleeping-pill at night. Now the nights were getting darker. Look at Sinatra: this guy wanted to be a kid forever. What more could one ask of life than a bottle of Scotch, a blowjob, and a million bucks? And Dean Martin had it. Why then did he go on? He was not like Frank; he got no thrill from this shit, being onstage, hearing himself on the radio, seeing himself ten feet tall on a screen. But he did not wonder long. Maybe it was like the philosopher said: Life was but a dream betwixt the cradle and the grave, and the less one pondered, the longer and more soundly he abided. Something like that. [358]

It was in late January that he first heard of them, along with just about everyone else in America. What a silly name: Beatles, with an a. "I Want to Hold Your Hand" appeared on the Billboard charts the week that he and Sinatra opened at the Sands. Their old label, too: Capitol. Frank, Dean, Sammy, and Peter; John, Paul, George, and Ringo. Everything changes, nothing abides. Who ever thought the day would come when America would buy back its own sense of cool secondhand from England? The days grew strange. [359]

The Beatles had by now had four number-one hits in as many months. All twelve-year-old Dino Jr. could talk about was the Beatles: the Beatles this, the Beatles that, she-loves-you-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah. Dean got sick of it. "I'm gonna knock your little pallies off the charts," he told the kid. [364]

In mid-August, "Everybody Loves Somebody" knocked the Beatles' "A Hard Day's Night" out of the number-one spot to become the biggest record in America. Two weeks later, it appeared on the pop charts in the Beatles' homeland as well. Little Dino Jr. beheld the old man in amazement. [364]

The Silencers, [Stella Stevens] remembered, "was the first time I had my dress ripped off in a film." [372]

"If Dean Martin in his first show," said The Christian Science Monitor, were any more relaxed, he'd fall on his face. Many of his opening remarks and jokes had to do with drinking. One wondered, watching Dean, whether this man cared whether his show went over or not."
But "The Dean Martin Show" was an immense and immediate success. His uncaring manner and good-natured boorishness endeared him to the millions who were sick of sincerity, relevance, and pseudosophistication. Dean was a man whose success and fortune no man begrudged him. He seemed somehow kindred, one of them but blessed beyond them by the Fates. In him, for one late hour before the final day of every workweek, the multitudes, tired and half-drunk and onward-slouching, found something of their own: lullaby and vindication, justification and inspiration, a bit of boozy song, and a glimpse of gal-meat. [373]

For Henry Miller, as for the masses of sub-literate and post-literate slobs who comprised the vast heart of Dean's viewership, Dean was the American spirit at its truest: fuck Vietnam, fuck politics, fuck morality, fuck culture and fuck the counterculture, fuck it all. We were here for but a breath; twice around the fountain and into the grave: fuck it. [374]

At a booth near their table sat Frederick R. Weisman, the fifty-four-year-old director of the board and former president of Hunt's Foods, and Franklin H. Fox, a businessman from Boston. The two men were about to become fathers-in-law through the marriage of their children, and they had come from dinner at Chasen's to have a drink together. They found the noisy vulgarity from the nearby table offensive. Weisman leaned over and commented to Sinatra that there were other people present in the room.
"You're out of line, buddy," Sinatra told him. Then Sinatra took a good look at him and, turning back to Dean and the others, muttered something about "this fucking Jew bastard." Weisman objected. The next thing Dean knew, he was pulling Sinatra off the fucking Jew bastard, who was now talking about dirty wops. When Dean heard that, he rapped him in his fucking Jew-bastard face with his dirty-wop fist. A table broke as Weisman went down. Then Dean, Sinatra, and the others were out of there, while Fox tried to help Weisman off the floor.
Twenty-four hours later, Weisman was still unconscious in the intensive-care unit of Mount Sinai Hospital. On Friday, June 10, in critical condition and not expected to live, he underwent two and a half hours of cranial surgery to alleviate the effects of a skull fracture. . . . Chief Anderson, who had questioned Dean and Sinatra concerning the incident, reported Dean's contention that "he hadn't seen a thing." The investigation was closed on June 30, with no charges pressed. [375-6]

Texas Across the River made money, too. Both [that and Murderers' Row] were among the sloppiest and most witless pictures of a sloppy and witless era. [378]

And Dean . . . in slow abdication, receded further into the shadow of his own unknowing. [380]

It was part of the image: the faithful family man beneath the vulgar abandon of the carefree boozer with the philandering eye. It was what made him acceptable. It was what endeared him. He reaffirmed the traditional values while flaunting them. HIs marriage of eighteen years and his old-world sense of family comforted his viewers while his good-humored blasphemy captivated them. They felt that difference between him and Sinatra, in whom, as a man, there was little for them to respect. This Christmas show illustrated that. Both families were supposed to have gathered, but Sinatra had not even been able to produce his latest wife, Mia Farrow, a simpering little flower child who was younger than his own daughter. [384]

As Dante, his Beatrice; so Dean, his Frostie Root Beer girl. Never under heaven had there been a truer love. HIs wealth and fame were as nothing; the beauty of his soul was all she craved. In the name of amore, she abdicated; in the name of amore, he bowed the knee of fealty to romance and eternal youth.
It lasted about three months. He waltzed around until March that way: like a fucking cafone with love-dust in his eyes. Then it got worse. [394]

On September 16, "The Dean Martin Show" began its seventh season. The sixties supposedly had been a baptism of liberation for America. Free love and free speech had sold well. But after all the Day-Glo debris, swami shit, and dead flowers were swept away, the puritan ethos emerged unvanquished. Beneath her new tie-dyed skirt, her whiter-than-white cotton panties remained undefiled. Now, however, her prudish tyranny governed not in the name of God and morality but in the name of sensitivity and liberty. That was the true legacy of the sixties' ideological boutique: censorship in the name of freedom. . . . Even the Ku Klux Klan was careful not to offend: "Every klansperson in Texas is invited," one Klan titan announced, eschewing sexism. Forced to tread gently among the myriad delicate whining isms of New Age sensitivity, the American language at last began to fulfill its promise as the world-voice of post-literate mediocrity. [401]

[On Martin's becoming a paid spokesman for AT&T:] As Dean himself explained, with a shit-eating grin on his face: "The telephone is something that is needed." [424]