Even after Sammy’s death, his handlers didn’t try to save the estate or help Altovise in her dealings with the IRS. Instead, they nibbled at the remaining scraps. Sturman charged over $260,000 for what he described as “extraordinary fees” for additional services, which, he claimed, included representing the estate in the sale of the Beverly Hills home, the celebrity auction, defense of a lawsuit filed against Sammy by the estate of Will Mastin Sr., and other matters.
On June 26, 1992, Sturman appeared before California Superior Court Judge Ann E. Stodden to make the case for his additional fees. But Stodden was in no mood to hear any argument, cutting Sturman off with questions about other bills that were charged to the estate, including $19,000 in expenses for John Climaco to travel back and forth from Cleveland to Los Angeles.
“I’m denying that,” said Stodden.
“But he’s made seven trips out here,” said Sturman.
“That’s why he is paid a fee, and he sure is getting plenty of fees on this one,” said Stodden, who then zeroed in on Sturman’s fees.
“I think a quarter of a million dollars in fees is pretty heavy stuff,” she said.
Sturman said his firm had to negotiate numerous debts, analyze and appeal the fatal IRS debt, handle a myriad of other legal duties, and deal with Altovise’s noncooperation, which caused multiple delays and legal burdens.
“Okay, I’m going to give you $160,000,” said Stodden.
“Your Honor, I really don’t think that’s fair,” said Sturman.
“You don’t?” said Stodden.
Sturman said a good deal of his firm’s time was spent tracking down numerous possessions and assets that had disappeared, but were included on an inventory listing taken before and after Sammy died. Sturman estimated at least $500,000 in assets were missing, some of which were found in a storage facility in Burbank rented with a stolen driver’s license. “I can tell you that at least $125,000 would not have had to be spent had Mrs. Davis been cooperative,” Sturman said.
“I think to charge an estate at $325 an hour is just obscene,” said Stodden, who ended the hearing with a wave of her hand.
“Thank you very much,” she said. “That’s a clerk order. That will save you fifty bucks.”
Sonny chuckled while reading the transcript. He’d been in front of judges like that before, and it was no picnic. But it appeared she had a point. The executors and their attorney were charging excessive fees for their work on the estate, including Climaco’s travel. Instead of protecting the estate, Climaco and Rhodes were profiting from its insolvency after they were named executors in Sammy’s will, which was dated March 12, 1990, and signed just two months before his death.
The ten-page document gifted $50,000 to his mother, Elvera, $75,000 to his sister, Ramona, $50,000 to his recently adopted son Manny, $25,000 to Shirley Rhodes to be used as “fun money,” and $100,000 to Murphy Bennett. He gave another $100,000 to his housekeeper Lessie Lee, a Gary Cooper gun to Clint Eastwood, a car and non-Western gun collection to his security chief Brian Dellow, and $100,000 to Morehouse Teachers College for a scholarship fund. Aside from the money for Manny, Sammy didn’t leave anything in his will for his other children.
The Beverly Hills home, jewelry, furniture, and all other possessions, including Sammy’s name and likeness, were left to Altovise, but Sammy gave absolute authority over the distribution of his estate to Rhodes and Climaco. Witnesses who signed the will included his former publicist David Steinberg, Treva Wilson, and Ben Garfunkel, a white businessman who became Shirley Rhodes’s love interest after George died.
Sammy’s signature was prominently visible on each page.
But the will was worthless, since the estate was insolvent and all the money and gifts had been claimed by the IRS. And despite payments from the auction and the sale of the home, the penalties and interest continued to accrue on the tax bill even after Sammy’s estate was finally closed out on August 12, 1992.
By the end of the third day at Sturman’s office, Sonny requested and received copies of the will, tax returns, and probate material. He thanked Sturman for his cooperation, flew back to New York, and drove home to Pennsylvania.
CHAPTER 7
The Judge and Mama were busy, as usual, preparing for yet another sold-out weekend at the Hillside. Since its reopening in 1989 with its new rooms, Olympic-size swimming pool, and other facilities, visitors flocked there content in the knowledge that they were staying at a black-owned resort and would be treated as family.
When guests arrived, Mama stood in the lobby to welcome them, greeting every man, woman, and child with a handshake, a hug, and a story. And everything, from the distinct Southern menu to the Sunday gospel hour, was designed to make guests feel like they were home. Dinner, which was served family-style to encourage conversation, featured collard greens, homemade bread pudding, peach and apple cobbler made by Mama, cornbread made by the Judge, candied yams, and grits. Fried fish was served on Sunday. Other amenities included live music at night, a one-acre lake, tennis and basketball courts, softball field, game room, an exercise room, and a three-hole executive golf course. Friday and Saturday nights featured live jazz and R&B bands—with no cover charge. Mama and the Judge would join the party around eleven P.M. Mama would dance with the Judge to “I Can’t Stop Loving You.” The Judge was gangly and awkward, but Mama was elegant and polished. She loved to dance, especially the line dances, and would teach the guests. Before they excused themselves for the night, the Judge made one last pass around the large room. They always wanted people to socialize, but they didn’t encourage excessive drinking and wanted to make sure before turning in that everyone was simply enjoying themselves.
Unlike at other hotels and resorts, guests weren’t required to check out before noon. Instead, after the gospel hour, Mama wanted everyone fed before they went home, and Sunday dinner was served at three P.M. Mama loved her guests, so much so she’d give away items for sale in the gift shop, whispering: “Please take it, only don’t tell the Judge.” When the Judge asked for the receipts, Mama made up the difference from her own money. Visitors were generally repeat customers the Murrays knew by name, or had found the Hillside through word of mouth, and new visitors marveled at the fact that they were staying at a successful black-owned resort.
And as the Hillside prospered, the Judge sold homes and townhouses at the Murray Pocono Estates across an open green field from the Hillside. With over one hundred acres, the Judge sought to capitalize on the westward migration of New York–area residents moving into the Poconos seeking cheaper housing, and he parceled his property and built thirty-five affordably priced homes and one- and two-bedroom town houses. The Hillside was successful and profitable and kept the Judge and Mama busy, which was a good thing for Sonny, given he was spending an inordinate amount of time on the Sammy Davis Jr. estate.
Altovise remained at the Alina Lodge, and visiting hours were restricted to Saturdays only. Preapproval was required for the few guests allowed to visit. Altovise’s parents, Sonny, and a close friend, singer Dionne Warwick, were among the few on Altovise’s list, as was Calvin, who always felt nervous coming here, as if it were an asylum. But Altovise wanted to see him. The perpetual alcoholic fog that hung over her like a heavy shroud had finally been lifted thanks to the intense regimen. Clarity also offered Altovise the ability to gather her thoughts, which were now centered not on her deceased husband but on the men she turned to following his death—Al Carter, Manny “Cheech” Illumanardi, and Timothy “Tiny” Alexander.
Calvin thought Carter was a smooth-talking huckster the moment he met him in 1993. Now, more than a year later, Altovise had a message for Calvin and she wanted him to pass it to Sonny: Get my stuff back from Carter. Altovise claimed Carter was holding numerous possessions, including jewelry, artwork, guns, records, music scores, more than a dozen boxes of clothes, furs, furniture, a Rolls-Royce, and money—more than $500,000 in cash.
There was also another $100,000 being held, some of
which was in the form of checks from the Screen Actors Guild, Sammy’s pension and welfare funds, and Israeli bonds. Altovise also said something about money from “London and Las Vegas.”
“You have all of this?” said Calvin.
“No, they have this, and I want it back,” said Altovise. “In my room in your house, inside the nightstand next to the bed, you’ll find letters. There’s one with a return address for Peggi Bongiovanni. Get it and show it to Sonny and tell him to do whatever he must to get my stuff back.”
Calvin returned home and found the envelope exactly where Altovise said it was. And inside the envelope were two letters, a police report, and criminal history record for Manny Illumanardi.
Altovise received the letter from Bongiovanni weeks before she was admitted to Alina Lodge. She didn’t say how she met or heard of Bongiovanni, who told Altovise in her letter that she and her husband, Joseph, had formed a telephone counseling service in 1992 with a woman named Elizabeth Savage. Bongiovanni said she and Savage were close friends for eighteen years but Savage had a new boyfriend, Manny Illumanardi, who also became Savage’s business partner. Bongiovanni said that Manny was a young, unscrupulous con man who quickly took over the counseling service. Concerned, Bongiovanni said she sought an audit, especially of all-important insurance documents required by the state, since the business, called the Talk It Out Line, counseled people in distress. But Manny refused Bongiovanni’s requests to audit the books and she hired an attorney, who dug into Manny’s past.
It didn’t take long to discover that Manny was a convicted felon sentenced to the California Institution for Men at Chino after pleading guilty to grand theft on May 21, 1990. A police and criminal history report stated that Manny served a year in jail for defrauding a widow out of more than $1 million by using her credit cards, pawning her jewelry, and fleecing her out of her home left by her late husband. Other women had been swindled by Manny in the same manner, said Bongiovanni, and Manny had a criminal history that went back to 1982 and included charges of prostitution, pandering, and forgery.
Among Manny’s associates were Al Carter and Tiny Alexander.
Calvin delivered the letter and Altovise’s message to Sonny, who was shocked and angered. He was also concerned. The IRS wouldn’t look too kindly at the list of missing items, which Altovise apparently hid before and after Sammy died. If the IRS learned of the list, especially the cash, Sonny knew he’d have a hard time negotiating a settlement. He was also perturbed by Altovise’s participation in what amounted to the looting of her own possessions. He wrote the letter to Carter anyway, demanding the return of all personal items and cash belonging to Altovise. Carter didn’t respond, so Sonny wrote another letter, and then another. Six letters within two months were sent via certified mail to Carter, who had a Beverly Hills address. Carter finally responded with a letter of his own in January 1995. Sonny read it and was speechless. He gave it to Calvin to read, and Calvin was equally shocked. Carter denied taking any of Altovise’s money or possessions, saying that whatever he had was payment for the years he spent trying to help as her advisor. But Carter didn’t stop there. He intimated that if Sonny pursued any action against him, legal or otherwise, he would publicly humiliate Sammy and Altovise. Carter claimed that Sammy was deeply involved in the occult, particularly voodoo and devil worship. The satanic rituals, said Carter, included the use of sharp objects, sometimes broken bottles, to draw blood from sensitive and private areas of the body. Sonny recalled that Sammy admitted to a passing interest in devil worship in the 1970s in his book Why Me?, but Carter claimed it was far more involved than that, and it continued well into the 1980s.
Sonny and Calvin drove to the Alina Lodge and gave the letter to Altovise to read, and they watched as she silently reviewed each line, and her newfound sobriety brought her back to a not-too-distant past.
Al Carter and his wife, Patrice, were lounge singers who initially drew the attention of conductor George Rhodes in the early 1980s. Rather, it was Patrice who attracted George’s interest. The Carters were a husband-and-wife act trying to break into the business, but the act was awful and got little notice. That didn’t stop Carter, who routinely sent his wife out before and after gigs to soften up managers and booking agents. It worked with George, a notorious womanizer who immediately booked the pair to open for Sammy at Bally’s and the Desert Inn. The Carters soon became part of Sammy’s after-show entourage, which partied past dawn. Patrice was a beauty and quickly drew Sammy’s eye while Carter became intimate with Altovise.
And it was Carter whom Altovise, ostracized for years by Sammy’s employees and his children, turned to during Sammy’s illness. Carter also claimed to be an attorney, and he advised Altovise to take everything she could from the home and hide it from the IRS. Following his instructions, she took jewelry, furniture, paintings, furs, golf clubs, and pictures. She gave Carter her Rolls-Royce, which he hid at his father’s home in Las Vegas. Carter also suggested to Altovise to reach out to her celebrity friends for loans. Claiming she was broke, Altovise borrowed money from a host of people and the list was long and eye-opening. She took $50,000 from billionaire Kirk Kerkorian and $20,000 from Motown’s Berry Gordy. Composer Henry Mancini, hairdresser Vidal Sassoon, and Sammy’s best friend, Jack Haley Jr., the son of the actor who played the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz, each gave $10,000 while Bob Hope and actor Carroll O’Connor each loaned $15,000. Ed McMahon, Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show sidekick, and singer Gladys Knight lent $7,500 each, and Dionne Warwick pitched in $1,500. In total, Altovise borrowed over $250,000 from her celebrity friends and gave it to Carter, who said he’d deposit the money in his bank account to keep it away from the IRS.
But questions arose about Altovise in December 1991, when police in Burbank found a storage locker filled with Sammy’s possessions, including clothes, musical equipment, a jukebox, antique record player, and dozens of other items. The locker had been rented under the name of a man whose driver’s license had been stolen. When he received the $365 bill, the man called the police, who tracked down the individual who used the stolen identity to rent the space. It was Timothy “Tiny” Alexander, one of Carter’s crew and one of the three men Sonny saw in Calvin’s driveway. The locker had been rented in October 1991, just two weeks after the Butterfield & Butterfield auction. Tiny told police he was helping Altovise hide the property from the government. The instructions, he said, had come from Al Carter. The case was turned over to the IRS, which declined to press criminal charges.
Carter was also involved in a disastrous benefit concert at the Sands in Las Vegas in August 1991. What began as a star-studded tribute to Sammy turned into a fund-raiser for the “Sammy Davis Jr. Foundation,” a nonprofit organization for cancer research. With appearances by Joey Bishop, Quincy Jones, Ed Asner, Jayne Meadows, and her husband, Steve Allen, the event was initially deemed a success. But the proceeds were given to Carter and disappeared, and the Sands reported that $10,000 in outstanding bills went unpaid. Even worse, People magazine reported there was no official record of a “Sammy Davis Jr. Foundation” and that Carter wasn’t an attorney at all. He professed to the magazine to have a law degree from Santa Clara University, but officials there never heard of him nor had any record of him attending the university.
Ten months later, Carter was in the middle of another celebrity-filled benefit in London. It was Liza Minnelli’s “Tribute to Sammy” and it drew Princess Diana, Tom Jones, Jerry Lewis, and a host of other celebrities. The event was scheduled for June 1992 at Royal Albert Hall, to benefit the Royal Marsden Cancer Appeal, which was a pet project of Princess Diana and the Sloan-Kettering Memorial Cancer Hospital in New York. Large television monitors played a video salute to Sammy, which included a message from Frank Sinatra, and Liza performed the entire second half of the show.
Altovise was there, having agreed months earlier to attend the benefit. But she had a price: first-class plane tickets for herself and her entourage, which included Carter and Tiny, several hotel
suites, and $45,000, which would be paid out as part of “royalties” from a special CD set produced for the show and a “special” reissue of Sammy’s 1989 book, Why Me? Burt and Jane Boyar, who coauthored the book with Sammy and owned 50 percent of the royalties, never heard of or received any payment. The check, at Altovise’s insistence, was written to “Altovise Gore.” She explained in a letter to producer Geoff Morrow that using her maiden name was a “better way of handling finances at this time.” Altovise gave the check to Carter, who sent it to his bank in Los Angeles. The payment was never reported to the IRS. And Altovise had no idea what happened to the money destined for Sloan-Kettering. She suspected that money was also wired to Carter’s bank.
Upon Altovise’s return to the United States, Carter said the IRS was bearing down on her and he suggested they lay low for a while and she move in with her parents in New York. Her money, said Carter, was safe with him. Several months later, under crushing pressure from the IRS and increasingly strained relations with her father, she moved to Pennsylvania.
Altovise finished the letter, folded and slipped it back into the envelope, and then placed it in her back pants pocket.
“Anything we need to know?” said Calvin.
“Not really,” she replied.
“He’s going to keep all this stuff?”
Altovise didn’t answer.
“Wait a second,” said Sonny. “You said he stole your things, right? Do we need to discuss some of the other things he mentions?”
Altovise didn’t want to talk about the letter or its contents.
“How are we doing with the IRS?” she said.
Altovise had a problem, which was Al Carter, and it became increasingly clearer to Sonny and Calvin that she didn’t want to shine any light on Carter because that same light would reflect back on her.
Sonny was readying an Offer in Compromise, or OIC, to the IRS and he needed to know what was stolen, and if possible, where the missing items were hidden. Given what he knew about Carter, Sonny decided he had to list every known missing item on the OIC. That way, if they ever surfaced, the IRS wouldn’t be surprised. Sonny knew he had a client who was vulnerable and unstable, and, as a former assistant U.S. attorney, he knew that honesty was the best policy and he’d deal with whatever consequences arose.
Deconstructing Sammy Page 8