Frank Sinatra grew up in Hoboken. His suave, his charm, his musical fame all developed from this little mile square town I now call home. It fits. We have wine bars, sushi, young lovers and young singles, and an inspiring view of the Manhattan skyline. Like Sinatra, it’s full of romance. Or so it seems…
According to Internet Movie Database (I know, such a reliable source, right?), “growing up on the streets of Hoboken, New Jersey, made Frank Sinatra determined to work hard to get ahead…his image was shaped into that of a street thug and punk who was saved by his first wife.”
Perhaps IMDB is mistaken, perhaps Sinatra actually grew up in that hostel where I stayed for a while, where a mouse ate my bread and foreigners kept offering me alcohol. But indeed, people tell me that this charming little Hoboken was once a seedy place, run by mobsters and so infiltrated with homeless along the railroad tracks that people coined the word “hobo.”
But how could a town have character without a history? So Sinatra somehow became a gentleman and Hoboken, likewise, became gentrified. And my image of the charming little town grows with intrigue and respect.