Deconstructing Sammy

by Matt Birkbeck

  Sonny was mystified. It didn’t make any sense that Sammy Davis Jr. could have had the pick of any good entertainment law attorney in Los Angeles or New York yet would rely on an attorney from Cleveland who put him into a bad tax shelter. Sonny was also deeply concerned about Climaco’s representation of the estate: he believed Climaco was involved in causing the debt, and he was now one of the people controlling the debt.

  Sonny immediately raised the Climaco and Rhodes issue with the IRS, which, Sonny believed, had either ignored or missed the concerns he raised.

  What to do about it was another matter.

  Sonny demanded that Climaco and Rhodes be removed as executors. The IRS said they’d get back to him. In the interim, Sonny wanted copies of Sammy’s financial information, including all the probate material, the will, and tax returns. Sonny now knew how much the estate owed the IRS, but he needed to know the actual amounts of Sammy’s other debts. All of Sammy’s financial information was in Los Angeles and in the custody of attorney Herb Sturman, who represented the executors, Rhodes and Climaco. And like the executors, Sturman ignored Sonny’s numerous letters seeking access to all of Sammy’s financial records. So Sonny called the IRS to exert pressure on the estate to turn over the information. He knew how the federal system worked and, from the very beginning, his strategy was to let the IRS know he was not only their friend but also the one man who could resolve the oldest and biggest open individual tax case in their system. Unlike Sturman and the executors, who thought Sonny was just some country-bumpkin lawyer Altovise dug up from the hinterlands, the IRS was well aware of Sonny’s national reputation and background handling tax fraud and other financial cases, particularly E. F. Hutton.

  The IRS responded quickly and ordered Sturman to give Sonny access to all the documents he sought. Sturman agreed, but he declined to give Sonny physical custody. Instead, Sonny could view and copy the documents, but only in Sturman’s office in Los Angeles.

  Sonny scheduled an appointment and, a week later, he was sitting in a conference room inside Sturman’s office, surrounded by more than two dozen boxes. Sonny rolled up his sleeves and spent three long days examining each and every document.

  During a career that spanned more than six decades, Sammy Davis Jr. grossed over $50 million in earnings. From the early days in the 1930s, when he filled his pockets with coins tossed on stage by appreciative audiences, to earning over $150,000 a week performing three shows a night at the Las Vegas casinos in the mid-1970s, Sammy’s income followed the same trajectory as his stardom.

  By 1975, when Sammy turned fifty, the bulk of his income was derived from his live performances, particularly in Las Vegas, where along with Frank Sinatra he was among the top-grossing acts. Sammy and Frank drew more people than three conventions, and they were well compensated. Revenues from other sources, including television, stage plays, movies, and recording royalties and residuals, grossed less than 10 percent of his annual income.

  Sammy no doubt made money, but he also knew how to spend it, buying expensive gifts for friends and maintaining a growing gambling habit. He had a myriad of other expenses, including $1.4 million in annual salaries for his musicians, dancers, road crew, and other bills that went with maintaining a large road crew. Another $1 million went to expenses related to his company, SYNI.

  Sammy’s performance earnings remained fairly level through the late 1970s and early 1980s, but by the mid-1980s they began to fall, dipping below $3 million, which wasn’t enough to pay the bills for his extravagant lifestyle as well as the salaries of his extended staff, many of whom were family to Sammy. Among them were longtime employees like George Rhodes, Sammy’s pianist and conductor who had been with him since Mr. Wonderful in 1956. George’s wife, Shirley, who began as a secretary, was later elevated to serve as Sammy’s manager and an officer in his new company, Transamerican Entertainment, following his breakup with Sy Marsh in 1981. Murphy Bennett, a father of five, joined Sammy in the late 1950s and became his road manager and good friend. Brian Dellow headed a six-man security crew that included the shotgun-toting Akram Mankarios, whom Brian personally recruited out of Las Vegas. Shirley’s niece Eygie worked in the office along with Treva Wilson, a young beauty with a penchant for crunching numbers. Jolly Brown was the heavyset road crew manager overseeing a small staff that included Dino Meminger, a twentysomething who ran Sammy’s errands and was known as his “road son,” and Fortunatas “Fip” Ricard, a trumpet player.

  Altovise, on paper, ran the house. In reality, those duties rested with Lessie Lee Jackson, Sammy’s longtime housekeeper who had been with him since his marriage to May Britt in the 1960s. Lessie Lee knew her place in Sammy’s life, and it occupied a big space—so big, in fact, that soon after Sammy married Altovise, Lessie Lee made it clear in no uncertain terms who had the real power in the house.

  “I was here long before you, and I’ll be here long after you’re gone,” she said to Altovise during one blowup.

  Bernard Wilson, the valet, and Eddie Peterson, the house secretary, rounded out the home detail. Others, such as attorney John Climaco and accountant George Louis, were paid either on retainer or fee, though the charges often headed into the six-figure range. Climaco, for instance, was paid a $5,000 monthly retainer in addition to other income, for directing Sammy in and out of various investments and business ventures. Louis worked for an accounting firm that did business out of Chicago.

  By the late 1980s Sammy’s annual income had steadily declined, a precipitous drop that appeared to mirror the trajectory of the aging star’s career: aside from filming two Cannonball Run movies in the early 1980s, Sammy was losing his earning power. Vegas still loved him, but his performance fees had dropped considerably after 1983. Things changed in 1988, and for the better, thanks to his reuniting with Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. The old Rat Pack friends scheduled a worldwide, two-year tour dubbed Together Again. But Dean lasted only a couple of weeks, leaving the tour in Chicago to check himself into Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles complaining of unidentified health issues. A replacement was found in Liza Minnelli, and when the tour restarted, it proved lucrative for Sammy. After several lean years, he reported gross earnings of $1.7 million on his 1988 tax return and $1.71 for 1989. He would have earned more but the tour was cut short in August 1989 following his cancer diagnosis. In 1990, the year he died, his adjusted gross income was minus $804,994.

  Sammy was broke.

  Sonny read through all the tax returns, from 1975 through 1990, and the numerous probate filings. Upon Sammy’s death, his assets, including his home and possessions, exceeded $5 million. But his debts totaled an astounding $15 million.

  In addition to the millions Sammy and Altovise owed the IRS for their involvement in the fraudulent tax shelters, they also owed $1.7 million to the California Franchise Tax Board, with interest and penalties accruing on both tax bills. Sammy also had a claim against him for $4 million by the estate of his late uncle, Will Mastin, and had numerous other debts, from $523 to the Roxbury Pharmacy to $1,754 to the Beverly Hills Camera Shop.

  Sturman, the former assistant U.S. attorney hired by Shirley to probate her husband George’s will after his sudden death in 1985, immediately discussed selling assets to reduce the IRS bill following Sammy’s death, including all remaining possessions and the Summit Drive home.

  Altovise’s attorneys, first Bill Choulos and then Richard Ferko, assured the estate of her cooperation. Altovise was allowed to remain in the home rent-free until its sale, but she was noncooperative and refused to allow Realtors to show the home to prospective buyers. Appointments were made, but when a broker arrived with a potential buyer, Altovise claimed she either forgot about the appointment or for whatever reason couldn’t make arrangements to leave a key behind. She also failed to cooperate with efforts to catalog all the possessions in the home and raged about how Climaco and Rhodes had placed her in this position in the first place.

  Sturman eventually was forced to seek help from the courts
in order to gain Altovise’s cooperation, claiming in court filings that Altovise had created an “extremely difficult and at times impossible situation.” Sammy, for instance, had an insurance policy with Lloyd’s of London, which covered hundreds of items, including 248 pieces of jewelry, 185 pieces of fine art, 4 furs, 85 guns, and other assorted china, crystal, furniture, music records and instruments, silver, cars, and appliances. After Sammy’s will was submitted for probate in September 1990, two paralegals from Sturman’s office visited with Altovise to begin preparing the inventory of her property. With a copy of the insurance policy in hand, the paralegals figured it would be easy enough to check off items against the policy, particularly all of Sammy’s jewelry. Instead, they found hundreds of items missing, including 185 pieces of jewelry, which were valued at over $500,000. Also missing were two important paintings—including an Andy Warhol work titled “Campbell’s Tomato Soup” that was valued at $80,000—and five fur coats.

  In December 1990, Sturman wrote to Altovise demanding immediate return of all the missing items, which included many spectacular jewelry pieces often seen hanging on Sammy’s chest or on his fingers. Among the missing was a fourteen-karat yellow gold necklace, with a thirty-nine-inch-long cable link chain with ten pavéd stars set with eleven single-cut diamonds in each star, totaling one hundred ten diamonds, all with near-perfect clarity and color. Another item was a thirty-six-inch chain featuring four diamond clusters with twenty-eight diamonds weighing 5.6 karats. A fourteen-karat yellow gold, satin-finish bracelet with white gold initials MR. D soldered on the rectangle identification bar, and eighteen-karat yellow gold, rectangular cuff links, made by Piaget, to match a ring, set with thirty round brilliant-cut diamonds in each link for a total of sixty diamonds of near perfect color and quality. The missing jewelry included other necklaces, rings, bracelets, and dozens of watches. It was an incredible collection, but it was gone.

  Sturman included a complete inventory of the missing items in his thirty-page letter, in which he wrote: “it would appear that there is either a plausible explanation with respect to the fact that the abovementioned items are missing, or, alternatively, that there has been a mysterious disappearance or theft of these items.”

  Altovise ignored the letter, so Sturman filed a complaint with the Beverly Hills Police Department on January 21, 1991, alleging that subsequent to the death of Sammy Davis Jr., many of his personal items were missing, and possibly stolen. The report was for documentation purposes only, and a copy was delivered to the IRS. Sturman filed a motion a month later, in February 1991, on behalf of the executors seeking the court to compel Altovise to return the missing items. Even under optimum conditions, with Altovise’s full cooperation, Sturman said it would be difficult to remedy Sammy’s debts. But with Altovise’s noncooperation, it was proving to be an impossible situation.

  Altovise was later compelled to appear for two depositions, during which she denied any knowledge of the whereabouts of the missing items, even after Sturman produced FedEx receipts for packages she sent immediately after Sammy’s death, addressed to her father in New York and in Jamaica, and to attorney Bill Choulos in San Francisco. Aside from missing jewelry, furniture, and paintings, Altovise also said she didn’t know the whereabouts of twenty-one photographs and nude studio stills of Marilyn Monroe. Her response to the location of the photos, along with dozens of other missing items, was “I don’t know.”

  By July 1991 Sturman finally received an offer to buy the Summit Drive home, but at $2.2 million it was well below the $4.2 million asking price and was rejected. Another offer came in a month later at $2 million, which was also rejected. Two more offers came in later that month, but neither was above $3 million. The home had been on the market for eight months with no significant offers, but with a monthly operating bill of $40,000—which included payments of first and second mortgages, taxes, insurance, and other costs—the estate was falling deeper into debt.

  With the hope of selling the home quickly, the listing price was lowered to $3.1 million, and on September 12, 1991, Sturman received a fifth offer for the full asking price, subject to an inspection of the home by the buyer, who was from out of state. Altovise refused to show the home, and the offer was withdrawn.

  Ten days later, the auction of Sammy and Altovise’s possessions began on Sunday, September 22, 1991, at Butterfield & Butterfield. The auction was a testament to Sammy’s celebrity, and his excess. More than 1,300 people, including celebrities, collectors, and curious onlookers, crammed into the Hollywood auction house. Among the thousands of items available for sale were household furniture from every room, celebrity-inscribed photographs, numerous paintings, 160 home video tapes and dozens of taped movies in a fiber case, a Mod Squad script, 3 scripts from 1960s Laugh-In program, gold and diamond watches, including a Snoopy watch, and assorted other jewelry, 70 bowties and 50 neckties, a white satin jumpsuit with cascading rhinestones and lace-trimmed sleeves dotted with gold sequins, dozens of shoes and boots, hundreds of shirts, dozens of felt hats, and scrapbooks noting important periods and events in Sammy’s life, including a signed thank-you letter from President Richard Nixon for entertaining the troops in Vietnam, and a collection of President John F. Kennedy clippings.

  Other items included inscribed photos from Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe (offered at $3,750 and $5,500, respectively), an eight-foot-tall statue of a character from the film Planet of the Apes, which was offered for $2,500, and several hundred of Sammy’s musical arrangements, offered for $10,000.

  The auction drew worldwide interest and buyers paid $11,000 for a pair of Sammy’s tap shoes, while a collection of canes realized another $7,150. A director’s chair with Sammy’s name across the back fetched $3,850. A condolence book with letters from Mickey Rooney, Sugar Ray Robinson, and others sent to Sammy following his father’s death garnered $600. While many items sold, some didn’t, including Sammy’s collection of fur coats, several hats, shirts, and pants. When all was said and done, the event realized only $429,488. Missing from the sale was the bulk of Sammy’s jewelry collection, which was now valued at over $1.5 million.

  Days after the auction, a sixth offer for the Summit Drive home was received, at $2.7 million, but again Altovise proved impossible to deal with, denying access and refusing to give brokers keys to the front door and a “clicker” to open the iron gates that allowed entry onto the property. Sturman had enough and he petitioned the court to order Altovise to comply with requests for brokers to show the home. The court granted the order, and told Altovise to give a key to Shirley Rhodes.

  In October 1991, a seventh offer, for $2.71 million, from a doctor and his wife, was accepted by the executors. The IRS approved the sale, as did the California Franchise Tax Board, each of which had liens on the home, and a court order forced Altovise to finally move out by December 10, 1991. She left, but not before household fixtures were removed, with many stripped off of sinks, bathtubs, and showers. The subsequent damage to the home cost another $50,000 to repair, and the Realtors deducted the amount from the purchase price.

  When the sale of the home closed on December 20, 1991, and after subtracting amounts owed on the first and second mortgages, real estate commissions, and other costs, the estate sale realized only $279,584. And along with the income from the auction, the house and estate produced a combined gross of slightly more than $700,000, which barely made a dent in the overall debt.

  Sonny shook his head in disgust while contemplating the same question asked by Tracey Davis and others: Why was Sammy broke? All that money, earning capacity, and power, and after all these years Sammy had nothing to show for it but millions in debts.

  Sonny’s immediate thought was that Sammy was just another black superstar who followed a long list of black celebrities, including Joe Louis, Sugar Ray Robinson, and Billie Holiday, all of whom died without having anything to their name but bad debts. In Sonny’s mind, Sammy indeed was a minstrel, brilliant on the stage but someone without the smarts or wherewi
thal to keep any of his earnings. Instead he spent it—on parties, jewelry, cars, clothes, gifts. He lived in the here and now and never considered the future. Didn’t Sammy ever think about his children? His legacy? If only the Judge knew. Sonny could imagine his father sitting Sammy down for a lecture on fiscal responsibility and respect not only for himself but for his race.

  Sammy’s flagrant spending and dissolution of his fortune was sickening to Sonny, but as he perused the paperwork, other questions emerged, chief among them: Who was really minding Sammy’s finances? Sammy had a large entourage that, in the late 1980s, included his manager, accountant, and office, security, road, and household personnel. In 1989 he paid nearly $60,000 a month in salaries, including over $13,000 a month to Shirley Rhodes and a monthly retainer to John Climaco. But Rhodes was, after all, a secretary and Climaco was from Cleveland, of all places, and he clearly was not known as an entertainment lawyer. Something wasn’t right, Sonny reasoned. Sammy wasn’t protected. No one managed Sammy’s assets, determined proper salaries, cut down on household bills, or sought sound financial management. Instead, despite his exorbitant earnings, Sammy had inexplicably borrowed against insurance policies to pay bills, and had a revolving line of credit with various casinos in Las Vegas. If he needed money, he’d make a call to Las Vegas, and then work it off performing. It was a terrible and irresponsible way to manage the finances of an international celebrity.