Although George Jacobs paints a compassionate portrait of Sinatra,
casting himself as "the filament that lit up the party", is a laughable overreach.

And when William Stadiem, the collaborator, leans on the "complexities" and "intricacies" of the Sinatra/Jacobs "relationship", as the "nexus" of the book,he strains credulity.

>From my personal observations, and talks with Jacobs at that time, he was a WELL liked "go-fer/facilitator" employee, not the "peer", Jacobs
incredulously now suggests.

Jacobs was able to "read" Sinatra really well, as is demonstrated by his reference to Sinatra's "Remorse" Code. But Jacob's ego and pride often
made him lose his "place", and his "gaffe" with Mia was the "last straw".
====================================
RUNNING WITH MR. S

George Jacobs was Frank Sinatra's valet -- and a lot more than that, baby. His insider's memoir recalls a complicated relationship.

By Lynell George
Los Angeles Times
Times Staff Writer
July 26, 2003

...George Jacobs is ringed by a lifetime of mementos, his Palm Springs apartment a shrine to... Frank Sinatra...

Jacobs' business card announces him as "The Last of the Rat Pack." And his flinty new book, "Mr. S: My Life With Frank Sinatra" casts him in the familiar role of caretaker — not to the man, this time, but to his memory.

"Mr. S," written with William Stadiem, is a complex portrait of two complex men at a crossroads in history. Already, the book is gathering flattering reviews, and it popped up to No. 3 on The Times' bestseller list the week of July 13.

It's full of the expected tantalizing tidbits about Sinatra, his women, the mob, Joe and Jack Kennedy, Dino and Sammy. Ava Gardner's presence haunts the memoir like lingering perfume.

...But what makes "Mr. S" compelling is Jacobs' unique view not just of his boss' comings and goings, but of the intricacies of their relationship and the changing social landscape they traversed. The book is about Sinatra, yes, but it's also a look into an upstairs-downstairs world and Jacobs, the man who navigated it.

...There was the Sinatra who on their first, chance encounter in a parking lot returned Jacobs' boldly casual request for a smoke by bringing a gold bowl heaped with cigarettes — for a black chauffeur he didn't know...
 
 

...For 15 years, Jacobs was in name Sinatra's personal valet. But in practice, he did much more: He was the head chef who could whip up an Italian feast, the escort for Sinatra's estranged lovers, buddy to his mother, the filament that lit up the party, confidant to his love-wrecked boss in the wee, small hours...

...There's nothing fawning or obsequious about Jacobs in person. He's as salty as ...brine . He may have been hired help, but his paycheck, he makes clear, didn't buy his pride. "He never treated me like a servant."...

With the distance of years, Jacobs isn't simply candid — he's stripped down and unadorned. He has only a few good words, for instance, about Sammy Davis Jr. ("Until I got to know him he was the only person in Mr. S' world who made me aware of being black and made me feel second-class for it.")...

"Being Frank Sinatra meant never having to say you're sorry, but it didn't mean he was without remorse. You just had to know how to read his Remorse Code."

Jacobs had wanted to be a performer. He'd studied piano and guitar, loved to sing. But real life intervened. After serving time in the Navy, he ended up in Watts with a wife and kids, in need of a steady paycheck. A revolving door of odd jobs finally opened up to a stint as a gentleman's gentleman, working for super-agent Irving "Swifty" Lazar and, finally, Sinatra...

"I was familiar with the era and had a lot of background, the milieu."...

In that setting, says Jacobs, "I never missed singing. I had all I wanted. It was the people. The travel. I loved geography. I got to see all those places. Look. Look at the goose pimples."

A wrong-place-wrong-time scenario toppled everything: An errant piece of gossip twined Jacobs with Mr. S' just out-the-door wife — Mia Farrow — and only for one dance. The news shot back to Sinatra before Jacobs could get home with his version of the story. And when he arrived, he says, "I found that my key to the Sinatra compound didn't fit the lock."

Jacobs says he lived his immediate post-Sinatra years in a fog. "I did carpentry. Opened a little shop which I ran out of the garage." He worked for other stars, but it wasn't the same.

The loss still stings. He admits it's taken him some time to figure out when fury stopped and hurt took over...

Anger still flashes, but the memoir is ultimately a compassionate portrait of Sinatra. And how might it have settled with his old friend?

"He would have liked it," says Jacobs, "because it is honest."...

There is one last matter of business, one more stop on memory lane: A glimpse of Sinatra's first Palm Springs hideaway — open for tours, parties, shoots — just minutes away from where Jacobs now lives.

...He leans forward on his cane and gestures vaguely outdoors toward the cabanas on the other side of the piano-shaped pool: "Against that wall, where that table is, there was an orange piano."..."That's where he'd run through the scales. I'd serve him tea with lemon and honey — there was no drinking when he was working."...

Running with Mr. S http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/printedition/calendar/
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