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Connie Francis, legendary singer of ‘Who’s Sorry Now?’ and ‘Where the Boys Are,’ dies at 87

Connie Francis, the angelic-voiced singer who was one of the biggest recording stars of the late 1950s and early 1960s, has died. She was 87.

Her friend and publicist, Ron Roberts, announced the singer’s death Thursday, according to the Associated Press.

A month prior to her death, Francis was hospitalized for “extreme pain” following a fracture in her pelvic area. The singer, who shared details about her health with fans on social media, used a wheelchair in her later years and said she lived with a “troublesome painful hip.”

Francis emerged when rock ’n’ roll first captivated America. Her earliest hits — a dreamy arrangement of the old standard “Who’s Sorry Now?,” the cheerfully silly “Stupid Cupid” and the galloping “Lipstick on Your Collar” — fit neatly into the emerging genre’s lighter side. Although she targeted teen listeners with such songs as the spring break anthem “Where the Boys Are,” Francis ultimately gravitated toward the middle of the road, singing softly lit, tasteful pop for adult audiences.

Francis’ commercial peak roughly spanned from Elvis Presley’s induction into the U.S. Army to the Beatles first setting foot on American soil. Over that five-year period, Francis was one of the biggest stars in music, earning three No. 1 hits: “Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool,” “My Heart Has a Mind of Its Own” and “Don’t Break the Heart That Loves You.” As her singles offered familiar adolescent fare, her albums were constructed for specific demographics. During the early ’60s, she cut records dedicated to “Italian Favorites,” “Rock ’n’ Roll Million Sellers,” “Country & Western,” “Fun Songs for Children,” “Jewish Favorites” and “Spanish and Latin American Favorites,” even recording versions of her hits in Italian, German, Spanish and Japanese.

This adaptability became a considerable asset once her pop hits dried up in the mid-’60s. Francis continued to be a popular concert attraction through the 1960s, her live success sustaining her as she eased into adult contemporary fare. A number of personal tragedies stalled her career in the 1970s, but by the ’90s, her life stabilized enough for her to return to the stage, playing venues in Las Vegas, Atlantic City and elsewhere until her retirement in the 2010s.

Connie Francis circa 1960.

Connie Francis circa 1960.

(Archive Photos/Getty Images)

Connie Francis was born Concetta Maria Franconero on Dec. 12, 1938, in Newark, N.J. When she was 3, her father bought her an accordion and she spent her childhood learning Italian folk songs. By age 10, her parents enrolled her in local talent contests. When her father attempted to book her on the New York-based television show “Startime,” producer George Scheck only agreed because Francis played the accordion and he was “up to here in singers.” Francis remained a fixture on “Startime” through her early teens — Scheck served as her manager during these formative years — during which time she also appeared on Arthur Grodfrey’s “Talent Scouts.” Godfrey stumbled over her Italian name, suggesting she shorten it to something “easy and Irish,” thereby giving birth to her stage name.

Scheck managed to secure Francis a record contract with MGM in 1955. As she received work dubbing her singing voice for film actresses — she subbed for Tuesday Weld in 1956’s “Rock, Rock, Rock” and Freda Holloway in 1957’s “Jamboree” — MGM steadily attempted to move her from pop to rock. Nothing clicked until Francis recorded “Who’s Sorry Now?” as a favor to her father, giving the 1923 tune a romantic sway.

“Who’s Sorry Now?” caught the ear of Dick Clark, who regularly played the record on his “American Bandstand,” which had just expanded into the national market. Clark’s endorsement helped break “Who’s Sorry Now?” and sent it into the Billboard Top 10. MGM attempted to replicate its success by having Francis spruce up old chestnuts, but to no avail. The singer didn’t have another hit until she cut “Stupid Cupid,” a song co-written by Neil Sedaka and Howie Greenfield, a pair of young songwriters at the Brill Building who were navigating the distance separating Broadway-bound pop and rock ’n’ roll.

“Stupid Cupid” was the first of many hits she’d have with the songwriters, including the slinky ‘Fallin’” and the ballad “Frankie.” She later said, “Neil and Howie never failed to come up with a hit for me. It was a great marriage. We thought the same way.” Sedaka and Greenfield weren’t the only Brill Building songwriters to command Francis’ attention: She developed a romance with a pre-fame Bobby Darin, who was chased away by her father.

Over the next few years, Francis recorded both standards and new songs from Sedaka and Greenfield, along with material from other emerging songwriters, such as George Goehring and Edna Lewis, who wrote the lively “Lipstick on Your Collar.” Within less than two years, her popularity was such that MGM released five different Connie Francis LPs for Christmas 1959: a set of holiday tunes, a greatest-hits record, an LP dedicated to country, one dedicated to rock ’n’ roll and a set of Italian music, performed partially in the original language.

Connie Francis and Neil Sedaka.

Connie Francis and Neil Sedaka in 2007.

(George Napolitano / FilmMagic / Getty Images)

With her popularity at an apex, Connie Francis made her cinematic debut in the 1960 teen comedy “Where the Boys Are,” which also featured a Sedaka and Greenfield song as its theme. Francis appeared in three quasi-sequels culminating in 1965’s “When the Boys Meet the Girls,” but she never felt entirely comfortable onscreen, preferring live performance. “Vacation” became her last Top 10 single in 1962 — the same year she published the book “For Every Young Heart: Connie Francis Talks to Teenagers.” Too young to be an oldies act, Francis spent the remainder of the 1960s chasing a few trends — in 1968, she released “Connie & Clyde — Hit Songs of the ’30s,” a rushed attempt to cash in on the popularity of Arthur Penn’s controversial hit film “Bonnie and Clyde” — while busying herself on a showbiz circuit that encompassed Vegas, television variety shows and singing for troops in Vietnam.

A comeback attempt in the early 1970s was swiftly derailed by tragedy. After appearing at Long Island’s Westbury Music Fair on Nov. 8, 1974, she was sexually assaulted in her Howard Johnson’s hotel room; the culprit was never caught. Francis sued the hotel chain; she’d later win a $2.5-million settlement that helped reshape security practices in the hospitality industry. As she was recovering from her assault, she underwent a nasal surgery that went astray, leading her to lose her voice for years; it took three subsequent surgeries before she regained her ability to sing. Francis spent much of the remainder of the ’70s battling severe depression, but once her voice returned, recordings happened on occasion, including a disco version of “Where the Boys Are” in 1978.

Connie Francis.

Connie Francis.

(ullstein bild via Getty Images)

Francis returned to the public eye in the early 1980s, first as a victims rights activist, then as a live performer. Her comeback was marred by further tragedy — the murder of her brother George, a lawyer who became a government witness after pleading guilty to bank fraud; the police indicated the killing was related to organized crime.

Francis continued to work in the wake of his death, playing shows and writing her 1984 autobiography, “Who’s Sorry Now?,” but she continued to be plagued with personal problems. She told the Village Voice’s Michael Musto, “In the ’80s I was involuntarily committed to mental institutions 17 times in nine years in five different states. I was misdiagnosed as bipolar, ADD, ADHD, and a few other letters the scientific community had never heard of.” After receiving a diagnosis for post-traumatic stress disorder, Francis returned to live performances in the 1990s; one of her shows was documented on “The Return Concert Live at Trump’s Castle,” a 1996 album that was her last major-label release. When asked by the Las Vegas Sun in 2004 if life was still a struggle, she responded, “Not for the past 12 years.”

Francis regularly played casinos and theaters in the 2000s as she developed a biopic of her life with Gloria Estefan, who planned to play the former teen idol. The film never materialized. In 2010, Francis became the national spokesperson for Mental Health America’s trauma campaign. By the end of the 2010s, she retired to Parkland, Fla., and published her second memoir, “Among My Souvenirs: The Real Story, Vol. 1,” in 2017.

Connie Francis married four times. Her first marriage, to Dick Kanellis in 1964, ended after three months; her second, to Izzy Marion, lasted from 1971 to 1972. She adopted a child with her third husband, Joseph Garzilli, to whom she was wed from 1973 to 1978. Her fourth marriage, to Bob Parkinson, ended in 1986 after one year.

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‘Social Studies’ team on cellphone bans, Instagram age limits, more

“If you’re a parent, Lauren Greenfield’s new doc about teens and social media ‘is a horror movie.’”

That Los Angeles Times headline ran on an August story about Greenfield’s acclaimed five-part docuseries that followed Los Angeles-area high school students during the 2021-22 school year, tracking their cellphone and social media use for a revealing portrait of their online life.

Greenfield remembers the headline.

“I’ve heard that from parents,” Greenfield says. “And I keep hearing it whenever we screen the series.”

Greenfield has taken “Social Studies” to schools around the country since its premiere last summer, airing episodes and answering questions, speaking alongside a rotating group of the show’s subjects. And, yes, the most common takeaway remains: Parents have no idea what’s going on with their teenagers — though “horror” is in the eye of the beholder.

Today, Greenfield and three of the “Social Studies” participants — Cooper Klein, Dominic Brown and Jonathan Gelfond, all now 21 — are in a Venice bungalow, just back from showing the series to some 6,000 teenagers in San Francisco — young people who, by and large, had a much different reaction than their elders to the depictions of online bullying, body-image issues, partying, hooking up and FOMO culture.

These teens were sometimes gasping and talking to the screen, laughing at points, fully immersed, fully relating, even feeling nostalgic for TikTok trends that were popping three years ago.

In one episode, teenager Sydney Shear is having a text exchange with a guy Greenfield describes as “creepy.” We see the message he sends: “Permission to beat.” Right after she tells him no, the group of girls sitting behind Greenfield screamed, “You know he did anyway!”

“It’s really fascinating how differently adults versus adolescents reacted to the show,” says Klein, now a junior at Vanderbilt. “Adults are terrified by it, but young people find it funny. It’s like watching reality TV.”

Lauren Greenfield.

Lauren Greenfield.

(Matt Seidel / For The Times)

Much has changed for these “Social Studies” subjects since Greenfield stopped filming in 2022. How could it not? The years immediately following high school usually bring about intense growth and change and, hopefully, a little maturity. The world around them is different. Palisades Charter High School, which many of the students in the series attended, was heavily damaged in the January wildfires. (“The show’s like a time capsule,” says Gelfond, a Pali High grad. “Looking back, the series is even more special now.”)

Some things haven’t changed at all, though. Technology remains addictive, they all agree. Even when you are aware that the algorithms exist to snare your time and attention, it can be hard to stop scrolling, the self-soothing leading to numbness and deepening insecurities.

“You can have a greater understanding about the effects, but it still pulls you in,” says Brown, who, like Gelfond and Cooper, has worked at teen mental health hotlines. “It’s hard to stay away from what is essentially our lifelines.”

Which is one reason why they all see the value in the Los Angeles Unified School District’s cellphone ban, which went into effect in February.

“The pull-away from tech only works if it applies to everyone,” Klein says. “When a whole group doesn’t have access, that’s when the magic happens. You’re going to start to connect with the people in front of you because …” She pauses, smiling. “I mean, you want to be engaging with something, right?”

Then you have time to do things like read and solve jigsaw puzzles with friends, two hobbies Klein says she has taken up again recently in a conscious effort to disengage from her phone. Reclaiming your time, she says, can only work if you’ve got a plan.

If the takeaway from the series was that parents couldn’t fully comprehend how technology shapes and defines their teens’ lives (“They’re the guinea pig generation,” Greenfield notes), watching “Social Studies,” either together or alone, has served as a conversation starter.

“I have always had a very open relationship with my parents,” Gelfond says, “but the way this really explains social media has led to eightfold more transparency.”

“It made me more grateful for the way my parents navigated all this,” Klein adds. “I thought they were overstepping boundaries, trying to protect me too much. And I think this show validated that they did a really great job. Because we were the first generation, they were kind of flying blind.”

Students sitting in a semi-circle in a library.

Gelfond, left, and Klein, right, join one of the group discussions in “Social Studies.”

(Lauren Greenfield / INSTITUTE)

Now Klein wonders what she’d do differently if she ever has kids. She started on Instagram at 12. If she could go back, she’d probably delay that entry, even though Klein says it now seems normal for kids to join the app when they turn 8 or 9.

So what would be the ideal starter age?

“Maybe I’m crazy for saying this, but I think it should be 16,” Brown says. Greenfield nods her head, noting Australia recently banned social media — Snapchat, TikTok, Instagram and X — for children under 16.

“I got on Instagram when I was 10 or 11, and I had no idea of the world that I had just gained access to,” Brown continues. “You should wait until you gain critical thinking skills. Sixteen, 17, 18, maybe.”

“It is the end of childhood,” Greenfield says. “You get that phone and everything that comes with it, and it is the end of innocence.”

In that respect, Greenfield sees “Social Studies” in conversation with “Adolescence,” the Netflix limited series about a 13-year-old boy suspected of killing a girl. The boy had been actively exploring incel culture online.

“What’s scary about ‘Adolescence’ is how did they not know he was involved in something so terrible,” Greenfield says. “But it makes sense. That’s the world we live in now.”

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