Floating in a funnel dreamscape , arms wide outstretched, adrift aimlessly…then Sha-zam! Eyes open wide to a technicolor burst…now, stepping thru a phantasmic portal, into the imagination and A-C-T-I-O-N! The 60s and Woodstock Nation live on here, alas, with a twist… eschewing recrudesced peering-thru-grimy-rear-view mirror retreads, in favor of a literary Opus on hippiedom and entrepreneurship, with a heaping, dollop dose of requisite (if not, at times, quixotic) Peace and Love.
Take a big hit and wrap your arms, like Sampson, around Mt. Olympus and, simply, move it! Grab the “ball” and run, as Frank would say, like Knute Rockne! If you’re a 70s fan of chem class bongs and dreamt of surround sound cinematic musical eruptions, Frank made it happen…egalitarian-wise, thawing Cold War tensions, as a white-robed-sandal-wearing-long-hair citizen “soldier”, with the able assistance of a famed Russian composer, in the shadow of Red Square’s colorful “swirled ice cream” constructs, with a bevy of nude models in tow, to bring back to the states…dropping the Lost City of Atlantis into the heart of redneck south…Done! He did it all! From dalliance with Dali, to Abbie Hoffman and erotic sheets, to genuflecting musical genius with screaming Tokyo teens…frolicking, fastidious wheel and deal Brooklyn Frank, not only made concessions, but, sold them, as well!
But, that’s only half the picture, in this enchanting roller coaster ride…the other, or, “better half”, as one says, is devoted wife Charli, a beauty with brains, who waxes eloquent her own version of events, in nicely spaced italicized form. “Frank and Charli” is a love story, through and through, full of all the right “stuff”!
