On a day where the passings of Captain Picard and Bob Hope’s Swedish-born bombshell were both widely reported on just about every entertainment news site one could imagine , the completion of the proverbial “death often comes in threes” adage was first reported on a Reddit board dedicated to a goofy 90s late night cable farce that starred a bunch of robots. It was through this unlikely source shared by an unapologetic geek that I learned of the passing of Sandy Frank.
The memorial page of King David Chapels of Putnam Valley, New York shared only his birth and death dates (July 11, 1929-October 20, 2026), that he had passed away at home and that gravesite services were held last Sunday. But to those many who ever encountered him, myself included, we didn’t need much prompting to induce memories of a truly unique and unforgettable person who at one time or another was the least desired name you’d want to see on a ‘while you were out” slip. Sandy left plenty of those messages in his heyday, sometimes several a day while pursuing the sale of one of his syndicated properties. Sometimes he’d even figure out a way to sneak onto your property and show up in your waiting room, a satchel of art cards with the latest ratings or clearance story ready to be shoved in your face if you were careless enough to wander through it on your way to the bathroom. He was almost always impeccably dressed in an expensive pinstriped suit that highlighted his snake-like features, rarely dispensing with amenities to anyone who stood between him and his perpetual goal of getting an offer on whatever schlock he was pitching. And as PEOPLE FOREVER shared, during the embryonic days of syndication few offered as much volume of schlock as he did:
In the fall of 1964 he went out on his own with Sandy Frank Program Sales, later Sandy Frank Film Syndication (1975) and Sandy Frank Entertainment, all based in New York City. His first successes were You Asked For It and Lassie. In the same year he famously got around a rule barring distributors from the NATPE meeting by booking a hotel suite and inviting the visiting program directors upstairs to screen his shows. In 1970 he guaranteed one million dollars to secure Bill Cosby’s first off network series.
The Federal Communications Commission’s prime time access rule of 1971 gave him his biggest opening. In 1972 Broadcasting magazine reported that his company had sold The Parent Game in 125 markets in just 100 days. He went on to handle The New Treasure Hunt, The Bobby Vinton Show, The Dating Game, The $1.98 Beauty Show, Face the Music and, above all, Name That Tune. “I was the first distributor to have three shows on in prime access during the same season,” he later said. “I became the king of syndication.”
I met Sandy when he was in the midst of not only selling but producing TUNE, a show with roots dating back to radio that was among the more successful of those efforts during its once (eventually twice)-a-week life in the 1970s. Sandy had dipped his toe in the producing waters a few years earlier with FACE THE MUSIC, a short-lived knock-off that is fondly remembered by game show geeks for its over-the-top yet remarkably cheap production helmed by a cheeky mannequin who once played TV’s Tarzan, Ron Ely. As his “response” to the outsized success that his arch-rival King World was able to achieve with WHEEL OF FORTUNE Sandy trumpeted a five-day-a-week version with the same $100,000 carrot the weekly version introduced to cement its success. 60 MINUTES decided this was all mainstream enough to send Morley Safer to the 1984 NATPE convention in San Francisco to explain to the masses how syndication had exploded and made Frank the focus of the story. They highlighted how he fought tooth and nail with his outdated and spartan efforts in the wake of the glitzy and modern efforts of the studios and far larger companies to claw TUNE onto a reasonably strong lineup of stations in spite of his inexplicable choice of the tone-deaf Jim Lange as this version’s host. 
As a straight man for Chuck Barris’ smarmy writing on THE DATING GAME, Lange was ideal. Lacking that, Lange was the very definition of bland. But he was willing to work for Sandy at what little he was willing to pay–two qualities that allowed Sandy to stay in business that long in the first place.
Sandy had a counter for that and just about anything else one would throw in this face as a reason not to clear his beloved show. As low man on the totem pole in my company that advised stations what they should buy, I drew the short straw on returning those “while you were out” messages. Sandy would never fail to take a minimum of 20 minutes to rattle off whatever he was able to dredge up from dusty decades-old ratings books about how well the earlier version had did in a particular market. The fact that I was hardly where the buck stopped in the decision-making process never stopped him. He never let an opportunity go by to give a pitch no matter who you were. The 60 MINUTES piece that Safer filed is a wonderful time capsule that captures the intensity and the ludicrousness all at once. I know people who were in the room when a flustered Frank dropped his oversized presentation all over his booth, nearly sending the usually unflappable Safer into giggling hysterics.
He gained even more fame–and infamy–as an international huckster for low-cost Japanese productions. Long before Haim Saban discovered what became POWER RANGERS while watching TV in a Tokyo hotel room Frank hit on his own bonanza as PEOPLE FOREVER further recalled:
At the MIP-TV market in Cannes in April 1977 Frank first saw Tatsunoko Production’s Gatchaman. After the success of Star Wars that May, he committed to the series and created Battle of the Planets, commissioning new footage and fresh English dialogue. Eighty five of the 105 original episodes were used in the 1978 adaptation. His company also dubbed and distributed Daiei’s Gamera monster films and other Japanese features, versions that later became staples of Mystery Science Theater 3000, whose writers lampooned him with “The Sandy Frank Song.”
Sandy’s tenacity often got him into trouble. Not only did he battle with security guards around the country he was also on several airlines’ “no fly” lists. I was on the receiving end of a call he was placing from a pay phone in a Detroit airport while he was trying to close a deal with one of my clients by a self-imposed deadline. What I later learned was that Sandy had faked a heart attack on a flight bound for New York to force the plane to immediately land and then slithered away in the hubbub at the gate to place the call. I heard the local authorities placing him under arrest once someone had apparently pointed him out. He never did serve time, and yes, he eventually sold my client.
Even in his later years he couldn’t stay out of trouble. In 2010 he was back in the news cycle courtesy of DNA INFO’s Shayna Jacobs:
The case against an aging film producer who’d been charged with assault after allegedly throwing a water glass at his wife was dismissed and sealed Friday. Television producer Sandy Frank, 81, and his wife Brenda, 57, were originally arrested at their 910 Fifth Avenue apartment on Aug. 23 after a violent dinnertime dispute that prosecutors said ended with them throwing glasses at each other. They were each charged assault and weapons possession. On Friday, prosecutors dropped charges against the husband. Charges against the wife are expected to also be dropped when she appears in court on Sept. 23. “He’s been exonerated. The case is dismissed and over as to him,” said Sandy Frank’s attorney, Robert Schwartz. “The two of them will go on with their lives.”
But let it not be said that he didn’t have his more noble qualities. He donated millions to an orphanage in Cannes he got to know during his many trips for international markets. He was a loving father to his daughter Alexandra and remained friends with her mother amidst his dalliances with the likes of Brenda. He was justifiably honored with induction in VideoAge’s International TV Distribution Hall of Fame in 2016, Those that did earn his trust benefitted for decades–I personally know several of his lieutenants who were given responsibilties and projects well past their expiration dates from the balance of the industry. Ask anyone who has recently put up an “open to work” banner on their LinkedIn profile if loyalty like that exists today or not. And yeah, he actually could read a rating book and respected those of us who also could.
Some that only knew him from his relentless badgering and the portrayals and lampooning that paid that homage reacted to his demise at age 97 with one word: “Finally”. Jokes that suggested his lanky frame would fit a devil suit well. But for those of us who knew and understood him slightly better, I suspect he probably switch-pitched whomever was deciding directions in purgatory and cajoled his way through the pearly gates. And hopefully arrived with his charts in one piece.
Until next time…