"The flames shot throught the roof and smoke belched skyward. the 500 Club was giving its final performance. Watching from across the street on this Sunday afternoon, June 10, 1973, Skinny D'Amato was being consoled by his two daughters, Paulajane and Cathy, and his son, Angelo. Reporters surrounded them.

Fighting back tears, Skinny pointed to the second-floor living quarters above the nightclub. "That's where my kids were born... where they grew up." The tears started running down his sunken cheeks. He lowered his head, wiped at his face, and looked up. "I'll rebuild," he said. "I don't know how, but I'll try. I'm going to keep going. I was born on this street." Then he shook his head. "People can't afford it anymore." What he meant was that the 500 had been in the bankruptcy courts.

A moment later, Skinny was entertaining the reporters with stories about Dean martin and Frank Sinatra. "They each called on Christmas and spoke to the whole family... to the kids." he said, now ignoring the flames that were ravaging the club. "Sinatra appeared here five times and never charged me a penny."

After the fire was brought under control, Skinny toured the smoking ruins. The roof had caved in, the rear wall had collapsed. He moved throught the muddy debris, shaking his head in disbelief at the skeletal remains. Then he stopped and stared in astonishment at a charred wall where he had hung a lifesize photograph of Sinatra. There it was, untouched by the flames. He took faltering steps toward it to make certain. How was it possible? The heat had been so intense that steel girders lay twisted in the ruins. He reached up and touched the photograph. Yes, it was true. It had survived. This had to be a good omen. God's way of assuring him that the future was secure. It was miracle......