This is the story of Frankie Kane
who put a high wall around himself and hung a sign on it that said "No Trespassing."

Maybe it was being brought up in a Catholic orphanage—only to find out he was a Jew. Maybe he just grew up too fast. Or maybe it was the days Frankie grew up in—the days of 1929 and after, days that meant shoveling snow to eat or a seven-bucks-a-week job if you were lucky.

Whatever it was, no one ever really got behind that wall. Not even Ruth, who loved him—or Julie, or Marianne, or Terry, who loved him too.

Frankie's story is the story of the city streets, bread lines and the big time, of the price tag on ambition and success. It is also the story of what a man needs to give him roots in his society, a story that shows the world is willing to give you not what you tear from it but what you put into it.