The New Year's Eve I Almost Partied with Frank Sinatra (a true story)

Okay, it's a snazzy title, but it is a true story and I really was disputably close to celebrating New Year's with Frank.

And it's a long story, but I will try to curtail my digressions ...

It was the Christmas break in 1981 and three of us 3rd-year engineering students at UBC in Vancouver BC had decided to do something really adventurous -- drive down to sunny California for the holidays.

Our organization was deplorable. The plan had been hatched in March 1981 and originally had five participants. But Richard Glue failed out that spring, and then Gary Sheffler backed out on December 23. That left myself and two classmates, Henry Man and David Fry.

We met at a Rent-A-Wreck in downtown Vancouver on Boxing Day, figuring we could just stroll in on a statutory holiday and rent a car. Amazingly, we could.

Feeling self-conscious about being the only traveller without a three-letter last name, I signed for the car. We had about $300 US cash amongst the three of us. Our collective analytical skills had determined that we could arrive in Los Angeles in 24 hours if we drove non-stop and rotated the driving.

Our arrival in LA was delayed by 24 hours for other amusing reasons, but we did make it and lived it up. We were staying in the le Parc hotel in LA and watched the sports news the night Wayne Gretzky scored 5 goals against the Flyers and hit 50 goals in 39 games.

The next morning, New Year's Eve, Henry suggested we visit a fellow UBC engineering student, Eddie Wentworth, whose family lived in 'nearby' Palm Desert. Eddie was taking Mechanical engineering and I never thought any of us knew him very well, but Henry was in Eddie's drafting class two years earlier, so I suppose that constituted a sufficient bond. Somehow, Henry found out that Eddie would be back home with his family for the holidays, and being the forthright person he is, Henry essentially invited us over to Eddie's place for the holidays. Eddie, being way too nice a guy, agreed. (Or maybe he was just not able to say no to Henry).

We were driving in the dark and were lost somewhere around Hemet, but grooving to the tunes of radio station XTRA, "the Mighty 690". All we had were some scribbled directions and Eddie's phone number. Being males, we ignored both sources of information and kept driving.

Finally, as we were becoming most unfashionably late for a New Year's Eve dinner, panic set in. A review of the directions suggested we were excruciatingly close, but must just be missing a minor detail. There was a phone booth outside a lonely but closed grocery story, so Henry and Dave tumbled out to call Eddie for directions. I opted for plan B, which was to make my way over to the Ranger station across the road.

It was pitch black, except for a street light by the phone booth across the road, one light outside the Ranger station, and one light inside. I knocked on the door but drew no response. Hearing voices and moving inexorably toward the light, I found myself looking into the kitchen and knocked on the window.

A Ranger was washing dishes at the sink; the sink was right below the window. When I banged loud enough, he looked up and was startled to see someone staring back at him. He motioned me to come to the front door.

Opening it cautiously, he asked me what I wanted. I told him I needed directions to the Wentworth's house. He asked me where the Wentworths lived and I said, "Pinyon Crescent".

He stopped short, looked me in the eyes, paused, and then demanded, "who do you know who lives on Pinyon Crescent?"

"The Wentworths!" I replied cheerfully. I assumed he must have known who they were.

He pulled out a plot plan and studied it carefully. With an air of surprise he declared, "well, what do you know, there is a Wentworth on Pinyon Crescent. How do you know them?"

"Oh, my friend Henry Man was in Eddie Wentworth's drafting class, and Eddie is home for Christmas, and he invited us for dinner tonight. How do we get there?"

The Ranger recited some directions which sounded simple enough, but did so as if describing how to defuse a bomb. When he got to the point about a fork in the road, his words became halting and he explained, "you turn left at the fork. Not right. You turn left. Understand? You turn left."

"Uh, sure. Left at the fork. Sure. Thanks!" I stammered.

"Remember, you turn left at the fork. And you're going to see the Wentworths, right?"

Wow, I thought. Eddie's family must be pretty special to get this kind of personal protection! I was daydreaming what kind of a mansion they must have -- maybe a swimming pool! A private vineyard and wine cellar! This must be California at its best!

I crossed the road back to the car, delighted that I had scored the good directions at last. But the wind was taken from my sails when Henry and David announced that Eddie was going to drive down to meet us and drive us to his place.

In about 20 minutes, Eddie arrived and we exchanged greetings, as if we were all old friends. Eddie told us to follow him in his car.

After about 15 minutes of slow going uphill on a dark, unlit road, Eddie stopped his car ahead of us in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. He got out and motioned us to get out, too.

Being a rational engineering student, my thoughts naturally turned to something logical like Eddie pulling out a gun, tying us up, robbing us and pushing us down the hill. What a way to go. I wouldn't even find out if I had passed Thermodynamics II.

But Eddie had his usual pleasant disposition and told us we were at a fork in the road. Aha! I knew where we were.

So did Eddie. He told us we had to follow him left to his house, because if we went right, we would be approaching Frank Sinatra's driveway.

* * *

We had a nice dinner with the Wentworths, and then Eddie took us to a night club in Palm Springs called Nasty's to ring in the New Year, and we had a decent time. But deep down I wished we had accidentally taken a right instead of a left, and partied with ol' Blue Eyes like it was 1982.