Frank Sinatra and Don Rickles

 Frank Sinatra and Don Rickles were great friends. Rickles loved needling Sinatra and Sinatra loved pranking Rickles. There are many great stories about them. The following is one of many anecdotes Don Rickles shared in his memoir:

Sinatra was the Sands.

He ran the place.

Those were the days of the Rat Pack in Vegas. I never received an official membership card, but Frank made me feel part of the fun. He invited me to the party.

The party took different forms. All of them, of course, were designed by Frank, master party-planner and prankster.

It was Frank's court. Frank was the king and we were happy to be court jesters. Sometimes the jesting came when you least expected it.

I'm onstage at the Casbah Lounge at the Sahara Hotel.

By now, I've been playing the lounge a couple of years. I've built up a little reputation. For the first time, they've even slapped on a cover charge. It's only five bucks, but it makes me feel good. I'm no longer free. You have to buy me.

Things are going good. Suddenly, I see two state troopers walk on stage.

"Mr. Rickles," says the first trooper. "You'll have to come with us."

The audience is taken aback. They don't know what the hell is happening. Neither do I. Then the crowd starts laughing. Before I know it, I'm led offstage, escorted through the casino and whisked into a sheriff's car. Sirens blaring, we race over to the Sands, where I'm taken to Sinatra's table. Frank is sitting with Dean Martin and a trio of gorgeous gals. "Anything wrong, Don?" asks Sinatra.

"Not at all, Frank. Who needs a job at the Sahara anyway?"

Sinatra looks up and smiles. "I figured as much."

For a half-hour or so, we have a few drinks and many laughs. Sinatra keeps the vodka coming, and I don't know how to say, "Frank, I don't want another drink. Can I go now?"

"Relax, Bullethead," Sinatra says. "Have one for the road.”

“No thanks, Frank. I gotta go. I gotta start pushing your new album.