by Bob Westal
From the Immortal Chronicles #2 (Winter 1998)

So the pallies and me – that’s the Immortals to you, jack – are swaggering after a gasser of a night (we don’t walk, baby, we swing!) across the main floor of Carrows at 1 a.m. after a late show, when some clyde who can’t hold his iced-tea starts cracking wise, see?

I tell the dolly he’s hanging with to tell him to put the skids on the wise talk, or me and the pallies might have to get fancy with the fists – and then some.

The dame (she had some set of charleys, let me tell you), she did not like what we were intending to inflict on her harvey, so she says to us, “Who do you think you creeps are, the Rat Pack?”

Then it comes to me. She’s right. Think of it – those late night poolhall games with cigars and mixed drinks; swizzle sticks; the crisp white cuffs and starched collars; cutting a swaggering path across a crowded lounge after a late show, intimidating the harvs and impressing the twirls; crushing the careers of punk sams with clyde voices…

Frank, Dino, Sammy and the rest of the sharpies were the coolest cats and swinginest dudes in their day, but, they’re history, baby – they’re cashed out and sitting with the man at the big casino. It’s time to make room at the craps table for the new cats.

The Immortals are here and we’re livin’ large, you dig?

Still, I ain’t no bunter – after all, me and the pallies were into Sinatra and the whole lounge thing before these young punk Johnny-come-latelies thought it was time to take a sip at the trough of cool. (Hey, take a number, jack!) Makes you sick.

So before you toss this notion along with the same egghead theories that say that the Kennedy assassination was the Lincoln assassination all over again, check these out, my friend. The similarities are downright agitatin’!

Ring-a-ding-ding, baby!

Raymond Marcus – The Chairman – The failed marriage, his swingin’ past (he kept a bottle of port in his college locker for late night trysts!), and his total lack of respect for the twirls, definitely puts him in the same league as the Chairman. And let’s not forget Ray’s well known temper that can explode unpredictably – he’s been known to throw a bottle of port at a waitress when it arrived excessively chilled, instead of precisely 62° – “just right.” Ray’s mob ties are also notoriously well known; we’re not implying anything, but let’s just say that, despite some interference from a certain Santino “Boba Fett” Trafficante, his doctorate is finally in the bag if you catch our drift.

And, let us not forget that it was Raymond who dubbed us the Immortals – and no one had the guts to call him on it. (Who does this guy think he is anyway?)

Terry Delegeane – Definitely Dino – the curly top (well, what’s left of it) and that dreamy Mediterranean voice can’t hide it. I should point out that, while in college, Terry was constantly falling down for no apparent reason. It’s clear now that the Ter-Bear was cleverly hiding a drinking problem. Terry might not be quite as, er, relaxed as ol’ Dag, but like Dino in his later years, he’d rather stay at home with the family than hit the road on tour with the pallies.

Randy Reynaldo – All too easy: his diminutive size and well tanned complexion just scream Sammy. No glass eye, but he does have glasses, deprived of which he might as well be utterly bereft of peepers. And of course there’s the Filipino Firebrand’s flirtations with the occult and certain powerful psycho-active compounds. Okay, he’s not Jewish, but he date’s ’em, hangs with ’em, and eats pastrami like your Uncle Morty. His momma may not be yiddische, but he’s one meshugganeh mensch with spilkas to spare, if you get my drift. So don’t give us none of your tsuris, baby!

Bob “Sparky” Westal – Constantly cracking wise, short-crop hair, the bad shtick, ignored and bitter – can it be any doubt that he’s the Joey Bishop of the group? He wishes for his own talk show.

Scott Brick – The Brickman and Peter Lawford – both smooth talking second-rate actors. Babes dig ’em. Men tolerate ’em. Need we say more?

David Gordy – Well, he could’ve been Dino (he’s got the hair for it), or Joey…but those spots are taken. That leaves Don Rickles. Sorry, hockey-puck!

Homer Tom – Okay, it’s starting to get difficult… How about Louis Prima? Sure, yeah, Homer’s a lot like Louis Prima. Gets lots of freebies…no, that’s more like Lawford…No. Waitaminute, he’s really “Skinny” D’Amato, the chairman’s bud who organized all the freebies. Now we’re swingin’, jack!

John Thomas – J.T. is Henry Silva – yeah, you remember him, he’s that other guy in Ocean’s 11 (also a featured player in films as diverse as the Manchurian Candidate and Megaforce). With that badge he carries, he’s the torpedo of the group, and like Mr. Silva, he hasn’t been seen much lately hanging with the pallies, causing some to doubt whether he really exists.

NEXT: A rebuttal that conclusively rates on a scale of 1 to 10, (“1” being complete doubt, “10” being metaphysical certititude) that ­ FACT ­ the Immortals are actually the liberal version of the McLaughlin Group – bye-BYE!