In CBS's Manhattan playhouse, at the Paramount, at the Lucky Strike Hit Parade, hundreds of little long-haired, round-faced girls in bobby socks sat transfixed. They were worshipers of one Francis Albert Sinatra, crooner extraordinary. Their idol, a gaunt young man (25), looked as if he could stand a square meal and considerable mothering. A composite picture of his idolaters' reactions to his public appearances last week:
As Sinatra intoned Night-And-Day-You-Are-The-One, the juvenile assemblage squealed "Ohhhhhhh!" He aimed his light blue eyes and careless locks at a front row devotee. It was too...
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