Usually ideas which are exciting over a lazy weekend don't look so good the next day. But Frank called me at home on Tuesday,'Smokey, let's do it. It will be hard work but it would be exciting.And I think it would be great for Dean. Get him out. For that alone it would be worth doing.' He was alluding to the death of Dean's son, Dean Paul, in a plane crash six months earlier.

A few weeks later there was a dinner at Frank's home in Beverly Hills. He took Dean and me off in a corner. 'The train is out.It would have been fun and colourful, but it won't work logistically.We'd be travelling for a week to play two dates. We'd be carrying forty musicians and a tech crew of another twenty five. Then I've got six staff. Dean's got two, and Sammy's got three. Besides ourselves that's eighty-one people. We can't afford to house and feed that many for almost a week between each performance. We'll have to fly. I'll use my plane and we can charter another G-2 for you guys.
The reason for the two planes was that though we're thought of as a 'rat pack' the three of us have different habits. Dean and I like to be in town the night before. I like to get a little feel for the atmosphere. When Frank plays Vegas he uses his plane to commute to his home in Palm Springs. His style is to arrive an hour before his performance, have his tea, do his make-up, then the show starts. When he leaves the stage he goes straight to the car to wherever he's going, with the tuxedo on. Dean will dress up in his suite, come down, do the show, and go right back up to his suite. He never goes into his dressing room. If he does it will be to look at television and that will be it, but there are no pictures on the wall, no bar set up. I try to create a little theatrical atmosphere, homey. That's my focus. The theatricality of everything. I love the entertaining in the dressing room, friends coming back afterwards. When Dean works Vegas he does only one show a night so that he can get to sleep early and be on the golf course in the morning.

The way Frank envisioned it we would play 15,000 or 20,000 seat indoor stadiums, and large theatres like the music Hall in New York.
"You think we can draw that much?' "Dean asked.
I said, "If there not going to come and see us, then there is no show business.

From the beginning Dean had less enthusiasm for the tour than Frank and I. Losing Dean Paul had shattered him. They had been very close, and Dean Paul was a golden child, a near professional level tennis player, likable, a beautiful young man. Dean had cont9need playing Vegas as therapy, but that was completely different from what our tour would be. In Vegas he has his own audience and there's no travel involved. Being on the road would be stimulating because of the challenge of fresh and different audiences, but physically taxing. Dean certainly didn't need the money, because apart from being wealthy he lives humbly, dresses simply. When he plays Vegas he brings one tuxedo, that's it. One shirt, one tuxedo. You go into his dressing room and there was nothing there, no make-up, nothing. He wears a pinky ring which Frank gave him and a watch he himself designed. That's it! It's a lifestyle not at all like Frank's and mine. I had learned from friends that Dean did not really want to do it, but we were all aware that much of the allure was the return of the Rat Pack thirty years later and he didn't want to let us down.
Although the news of the tour had leaked out and had appeared in trade papers and columns, it was appropriate to announce it officially. We invited the press to Chasen's at noon. For a smile our plan was to arrive together at the hour in tuxedos and black tie. We met at Frank's house and drove over together.

As we walked in Frank put his hand on my shoulder. 'You start it off Sam.' He was still highlighting me, putting me up front. We'd expected a good turnout but the crowd awaiting us was like for a major news event: all wire services, local newspapers, all TV networks and radio, major magazines and the foreign press.We took our places on a dais and I started it off. Ladies and Gentlemen, we thank you for coming here today...'
From behind me I heard Dean's voice. 'Is there any way we can call this whole thing off?'

When the laugh quieted I continued. ‘We want to officially announce that we’re going to be ‘Together Again’, the first time since Las Vegas in the sixties...’
Frank called out. ‘And definitely the last time’
A reporter asked. ‘Then this is not the first of an annual event?’
‘Look’ Frank explained, ‘Sammy is sixty two, and he’s the kid. I’m seventy two and Dean is seventy. At our ages the only annual event you hope for is your birthday’.

I started doing my makeup. Morty came in dressed in his tux and new black silk shoes. ‘You’re not very excited are you?’ I was looking pointedly at his feet. He blushed. ‘Who ever sees conductor’s shoes’.

I looked in on Frank. Dean was sitting on the couch. Frank beckoned and we followed him out, past the people in the hall, to the point at which the curtain concealed the backstage from the stadium. Frank opened the curtain enough for us to look through. All of the seats which at 5 o clock had been shinning back in our eyes were occupied. He said ‘ remember when we did the Summit at the sands? With all the excitement of packing the place every night? He looked at Dean. ‘Remember when you came running back all excited and said ‘The place is packed’

Dean had a how could have I been so stupid look on his face. ‘Of course we packed it. The joint could only seat400 people. And we were three big stars’.

The show was starting. Over the speaker in my dressing room I heard our overture and then Dean’s music. I could picture him looking at the audience, laid back, playing the drunk, taking a sip from a glass, then asking the pianist, ‘How long have I been on?’ I heard the sure laugh and him singing, ‘When it rains it always rains, bourbon from heaven...’ to the tune of pennies from heaven’. When he finished he asked, ‘Have I got time for another one?’ and he sang ‘When your’re drinking, you get stinking...and the whole world smiles at you...’
I had about twenty minutes. I was going to follow Dean and do around 35 minutes. Frank would open the second half of the show and then the three of us would work together.
I waited in the wings as Dean closed with ‘Volare’.
I felt grateful for the fact of being there. After all the fears, after all the mistakes, still it wasn’t ending for me as Bojangles there were no frayed cuffs and collar, I was not a disappointment to the friends, to the events, to the opportunities which had brought me to that moment in which 15,000 people were waiting for me. Lord thank you. For this, for the friends you’ve let me have, this wonderful life...I still don’t know why you want me here, and I’m not asking anymore ‘cause I know you ain't ever going to tell me, but I hope I’m doing it the way you want me to...’

I heard them applauding Dean. I had a few seconds. The euphoria which had balmed my body, gentled my mind, began lifting, displaced by an awakening, as drastically different moment to moment as when the earliest rays of morning sun first soften darkness of night, then penetrate, crashing through, awakening everyone to the need to get up and work.
I felt that old, familiar hunger. For 50 years I’d stood in the wings of theatres and clubs and felt the need to please the people, to stay with them until they loved me. I felt the airiness in my chest that could only be filled by the people who were waiting for me. God had brought me to where I was standing. Now it was up to me. My hands and lips were dry. My mind flashed forward to the walk down the aisle, past the rows of people, then up three stairs to the stage.
I picked up the mike and I was aware of myself turning, facing the audience on all sides. Banks of blinding light poured down on me from every direction. Morty had begun my opening number, but the people were applauding, so he was vamping till I was ready. For as far as I could see before the lights dissolved everything into a platinum infinity, they were standing, applauding, smiling. I felt the clarity of mind that I wanted, the strength in my chest, my legs, my arms. The applause was pumping power into me. The music softened, the people were settling down.
I said, ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen...’