Deconstructing Sammy

by Matt Birkbeck

  While the revelations about Carter were disturbing, Sonny now had a more precise understanding of the estate’s debts. But there was more to learn, and he flew to Los Angeles in February 1995 to meet with Sammy’s insurance agent, Leonard “Bud” Isenberg.

  Isenberg was another polished Hollywood veteran, and a firm handshake was followed by an honest conversation regarding Sammy’s multiple life insurance policies and their beneficiaries. Sonny explained that he needed to review each and every policy to ensure a proper accounting with the IRS, and Isenberg readily obliged. Some of the policies were older, while others were taken out just a few years before Sammy’s death. Many of the policies had loans against them, which for Sonny was another indication of Sammy’s poor financial health. The records showed that beneficiaries were changed frequently. One policy for $1 million was changed just a month before Sammy died, and the beneficiaries were changed from Transamerican Entertainment to his children Tracey, Mark, and Jeff. Another $500,000 policy was also changed in their favor. And May received a generous gift of $241,248. Her relationship with Sammy officially ended in divorce in 1968, but over time the two reconciled, remained friends, and continued to care for each other deeply.

  Isenberg produced paperwork for the remaining policies, and Sonny was taken aback when he saw that Altovise got far more than the $1 million she claimed to have received. Isenberg said Altovise was sole beneficiary of several policies totaling a whopping $2.2 million. The money had been paid out within six weeks after Sammy died, but there was no indication that any of it remained.

  “What could Altovise have done with so much money?” said Sonny.

  Isenberg had no answers, and he braced Sonny for the next revelation. Sammy’s company, Transamerican Entertainment, received $3.8 million in insurance proceeds. Of the more than $7 million in insurance money paid following Sammy’s death, Transamerican received more than half. According to the estate filings, Transamerican reported receiving only $1 million. The whereabouts of the remaining $2.8 million remained at issue. Sonny speculated this was the reason why the executors weren’t cooperating with him.

  “And his kids got only $500,000 each?” said Sonny. “Why did Transamerican get more money than anybody else, and why wasn’t that money, and the $2 million Altovise received, used to help pay off the IRS debt?”

  “Hey,” said Isenberg. “I’m just the insurance guy.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The Qantas jetliner sat on the tarmac at the Sydney airport, its full load of passengers growing impatient waiting for mechanics to fix whatever problem ailed the plane, which delayed their flight to Los Angeles.

  Sammy sat in first class and played gin with his young publicist, David Steinberg, while road manager Murphy Bennett snored loudly behind them. The three men made the grueling eighteen-hour trip to Australia just three days earlier so Sammy could serve as a presenter for the 1974 Logies, the Australian version of the Emmy Awards. The show went off without a hitch, there was plenty of booze and laughs, and now it was time to go home. But the flight was delayed, and since the boarding stairs had already been moved, the passengers were forced to remain in their seats. One hour turned into two, and then three, and Sammy decided it was time to take action. So he stood up, his heavy jewelry dangling around his neck, and he walked over to a stewardess.

  “Excuse me, miss,” said Sammy. “I’m wondering, would it be a problem to send out?”

  “Send out?” said the surprised stewardess. “I’m sorry, Mr. Davis, but no one can leave the plane.”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying, baby,” said Sammy. “I want to send out…for some Chinese food. You dig where I’m coming from, baby? I’m famished.”

  The stewardess was taken aback for a moment, and then leaned over Sammy’s shoulder and pointed to the main cabin.

  “Well, Mr. Davis, as you can see there’s a plane full of people,” she whispered into his ear. “We can’t just send out for you.”

  “Oh no, no, baby. That’s quite all right,” said Sammy, smiling.

  “I’ll buy for the whole plane.”

  The stunned stewardess walked into the cockpit to inform the pilots of the unusual request and an hour later a truck pulled up filled with boxes of freshly cooked Chinese food. Quarts of wonton soup, dumplings, egg rolls, and other assorted delicacies were distributed to the plane’s passengers and flight crew while Sammy pulled out a wad of $100 bills and peeled them off one by one to pay the tab. It was U.S. currency, but this was Sammy Davis Jr., and they took it anyway. Sammy then sat down with Steinberg and the awakened Bennett to enjoy his tasty and expensive feast.

  “You know,” said Steinberg, “when you die, people are going to wonder why you didn’t die with a shitload of money, and I’m going to tell them stories like this.”

  IRS transcripts and other financial documents littered a large conference table inside Weseloh & Company. Sonny had hired the small East Stroudsburg accounting firm to help with the process of reconstructing the IRS debt owed by Mr. and Mrs. Sammy Davis Jr. After nearly a year, what once appeared to be a gargantuan task had finally been streamlined, and numbers were coming into focus.

  Sammy’s tax problems indeed began long before he invested in the bogus shelters. Despite annual earnings in the millions, Sammy spent more than he earned, presumably to maintain his lavish lifestyle. What was woefully clear to all was that Sammy lived according to his gross, not his net, and he failed to consider saving 40 percent from each payment to cover local, state, and federal taxes. Sammy thought a million dollars meant he had a million to spend, and he appeared to be unaware of or uninterested in the consequences. If he wanted to buy an expensive gift for a friend, he did. If he wanted to stay in a duplex suite with bowls full of caviar and cocaine, he did, as one legendary story goes. And if he wanted to entertain dozens of friends with thousands of dollars’ worth of food at his home during movie nights, where he would show prereleased, first-run films, he did.

  While Sammy Davis Jr. may have been one of the greatest entertainers of the twentieth century, as a business entity, he was a dismal failure. Aside from the fraudulent tax shelters there were failed investments in food companies, real estate ventures, restaurants, video production facilities, and, in 1975, a proposed investment to become a partner in the Tropicana Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, which ultimately fizzled. After assembling and reviewing Sammy’s entire portfolio, Sonny couldn’t understand why Sammy didn’t have the smarts to hire experienced and competent people to manage his affairs. It was a question that had gnawed at him for months, and he needed to reach out to someone who knew Sammy well. So Sonny reached out to Brian Dellow.

  Sonny obtained Brian’s phone number months earlier from an associate of Sammy’s who explained that Brian was the head of Sammy’s security team and a close confidant. A former British intelligence officer based at Scotland Yard, Brian was head of security at the Grosvenor House in London in 1977 when Sammy had arrived for a weeklong schedule of shows. The two men were introduced and Sammy admired Brian’s security expertise during his short stay there and invited Brian to work with him on a two-month tour of Australia. Brian agreed and became one of the few white men to travel with Sammy’s entourage.

  Brian was tall, soft-spoken, and reserved in typical British fashion. His knowledge, commitment, and professionalism were a breath of fresh air for Sammy but drew groans from others, particularly Shirley Rhodes, who felt threatened by Brian. He traveled in slacks and a jacket, sometimes a suit, with top collar and tie, while everyone else, including Shirley, traveled in sweatshirts and sweatpants. Whenever the group deplaned, it was Brian, not Shirley, who looked the part of manager and would be the first to be greeted by local dignitaries.

  “No, not me,” he’d say, pointing them toward Shirley.

  Brian’s duties included protecting Sammy not only from his adoring fans but from himself. During another visit to Australia, Brian was awakened in the middle of the night with an urgent telephone call. The hotel securi
ty staff learned that Adnan Khashoggi, the wealthy and notorious Saudi arms dealer, was en route to the same hotel. Khashoggi’s wife, Soraya, had been secretly traveling with Sammy, and Khashoggi was due to arrive at six fifteen A.M.

  “Boss, we’ve got a problem,” Brian said, explaining that Khashoggi was no doubt traveling with several of his own highly skilled security personnel.

  “Ninja bastards,” said Brian. “We can’t deal with them.”

  “Well fuck ’em,” said Sammy. “I’m not telling her to leave.”

  Brian explained this wasn’t a debate and Sammy had no choice but to help rush Soraya out of the hotel, which he did, at six ten A.M. and just minutes before Khashoggi arrived.

  Sammy later realized, thanks to Brian, that he avoided what could have been a very unpleasant situation. None of Sammy’s other employees would have been so adamant. Once Sammy said no, they would have moved on with an “Okay, boss.” But Brian was different. He saw a situation and acted, providing the kind of counsel and decision-making Sammy needed and respected. Their relationship quickly grew beyond employer/employee, and Brian remained Sammy’s protector. Brian didn’t use drugs, but working for Sammy he had to deal with them, especially cocaine. Following performances on the road, Brian cleared Sammy’s suite of strangers and well-wishers so Sammy could enjoy copious amounts of cocaine, amyl nitrate, and curvy women. Sammy respected Brian’s position on drugs, and he never forced Brian to cross that barrier. Brian wished Sammy would simply give up the drugs, but he was the employee and the best he could do was simply make sure Sammy’s suite was secure, say good-night, close the door, and return to his own room.

  It was Brian, more than anyone else, whom Sammy trusted and confided in. When Sammy sought quiet time, usually in Arizona, it was Brian who accompanied him. Together they’d receive “special friends,” such as adult film star Marilyn Chambers and her husband, Chuck Traynor. Sammy had known Traynor since 1972, when he discovered the porn classic Deep Throat. Sammy was in London at the time and was so fascinated with the film he ordered a personal copy to show at special viewings for all his friends. The film’s star, Linda Lovelace, later became a regular guest at Sammy’s home along with Traynor, to whom she was married at the time. Traynor and Sammy collected guns, and Traynor gave Sammy a specially engraved Colt .45 as a gift.

  Brian saw people like Traynor drift in and out of Sammy’s life all the time. Some, like Harvey King, simply dropped in and wouldn’t leave for months. Harvey lived on a boat in Miami and was friendly with the Cowan family, the owners of the Diplomat hotel. Whenever Sammy performed at the Diplomat, Harvey would be there, accompanying mob figures from Chicago, Cleveland, and Miami. Brian could never figure out the mysterious Harvey, and he didn’t want to. Only five foot seven inches tall, and balding, Harvey seemed to have no other duties but to hang out with Sammy, read the newspaper, and direct Sammy’s other visitors out of the home. While Burt Boyar was researching Why Me?, when Harvey thought Boyar’s interviews with Sammy went too long, he looked at his watch and yelled, “Time to go!” and Burt scurried upstairs to his room. But Brian knew that Harvey was more than a traffic cop, especially after he found a black bag filled with cocaine, which Harvey had hidden under the seat of one of Sammy’s cars. It was but one of the many odd things involving Harvey King, along with other people in Sammy’s life whom Brian didn’t know much about and knew not to ask.

  And that applied to John Climaco.

  While Climaco was Sammy’s attorney, Sammy invested in business ventures that appeared to go belly-up as quickly as they were conceived. Restaurants, stocks, even a chili recipe with Sammy’s signature on the box, were all immediate failures. Brian brought up Climaco only once, but as close as Brian was to Sammy, the only reply was a cautious “He’s a heavy hitter,” and Sammy quickly changed the subject. Brian remained unsure if Climaco was really someone Sammy wanted in his life and he wondered why Sammy kept him as his attorney. And it wasn’t as if Sammy was happy with his business dealings. He wasn’t, and the failures overwhelmed Sammy to the point where he fell into a funk. Whenever Brian probed and asked if there was anything he could do, Sammy sighed and said, “I just got some shit going on.” He’d throw himself into his PacMan arcade game and play for hours. Brian thought the game served as a cathartic release from the unknown pains of Sammy’s daily life.

  The days got even darker following the terrible news about Sammy’s cancer.

  The radiation and chemotherapy treatments forced the cancer into remission before Christmas, and in January 1990 Sammy joined Eddie Murphy in Chicago to shoot a CBS television special. But Sammy’s neck was red and raw and he spent more time in the bathroom vomiting than he did anywhere else, and when he went to Cedars-Sinai upon his return to Los Angeles, he was told the cancer had spread and the diagnosis was terminal. Friends came to visit at his home, but after a brief hello, Sammy would leave and retreat to his bedroom. There wasn’t much anyone could do and he really didn’t want to see anyone, especially Altovise. More often than not she was drunk somewhere in the house. At times she was barred from entering her own bedroom for fear that in her inebriated state she’d trip and fall on Sammy or the medical equipment next to his bed.

  His fate certain, Sammy’s thoughts during his final weeks centered on the distribution of his estate, or whatever was left of it. Sammy’s financial condition mirrored his health, and he called Brian over to his bedside one night to review a handwritten list with names and gifts he wanted to give people. Included on the list was a $7,000 Piaget watch he gifted to Brian, who made a copy of the list before placing the original at Sammy’s bedside. The next day Altovise had the list and showed it to Brian, whose name she had removed. Brian didn’t say anything. It was a bad time and his thoughts were with his friend and employer. Besides, Brian always pitied Altovise. She desperately sought love and attention from Sammy but, aside from appearing together at public functions, Sammy had all but cut Altovise out of his life. During the years before his diagnosis Sammy had a live-in lover, a beautiful, young white woman named Sue Turner, and Altovise had no choice but to share her home with her husband’s girlfriend. Turner was an acquaintance of Harvey King, and the tension between her and Altovise became palpable and often exploded into angry arguments between the women. During one exchange, Altovise dragged Turner by her hair down a flight of stairs. Sammy was irate, and Altovise buried herself in a bottle and in the comfort of other men, including Al Carter.

  Brian knew Carter was a bad piece of work, and he could only shake his head when he peered outside Sammy’s bedroom a few weeks before Sammy died, to see Carter and Altovise dancing in the backyard under the moonlight. Brian took the night shift during those chaotic final weeks as Sammy lay dying and his home was being looted by his employees and Altovise. Overnights were calmer, with fewer people to deal with, especially Shirley, who issued a statement for the press telling the world that Sammy died peacefully with his family around him. Brian knew otherwise, but he kept quiet.

  Brian remained on the payroll for a scant month after Sammy’s death, helping with security arrangements for the funeral and accompanying Altovise on a dinner date with Donald Rumsfeld at the Century Plaza Towers hotel. The conservative former congressman from Illinois, whose help in securing Nixon’s victory in 1968 earned him a place on his staff as director of the Office of Economic Opportunity, hit it off with Sammy and Altovise. Rumsfeld later served as defense secretary under President Gerald Ford before leaving politics for private business. He was a regular visitor to Sammy’s home in the 1980s. Rumsfeld’s dinner with Altovise was a quiet affair. When she arrived home afterward, she immediately phoned Rumsfeld, putting her hand over the receiver and her mouth and whispering so Brian couldn’t hear. She sounded like a little girl on her first date. Brian had no idea as to the nature of the relationship, but he thought it was an odd pairing. Altovise claimed several relationships with powerful and successful men, yet, given her drinking and character flaws, none of them made sense to Br
ian.

  Shirley fired Brian soon after Altovise’s dinner with Rumsfeld, and five years later he was working as chief of security for Quincy Jones. Yet his anger over the events surrounding Sammy’s death remained. Sammy, Brian said, was surrounded by incompetents, people he remained loyal to for so many years but whom he should have dismissed long ago. Shirley, for instance, manipulated Sammy’s life and his home, particularly during his illness, he said. She selected the medical team to treat Sammy, who was under a steady stream of morphine while his employees looted the house.

  Shirley entered Sammy’s life after marrying George Rhodes, and by the mid-1970s she served as Sammy’s quasi-manager, overseeing Sammy’s bookings and itinerary. Shirley had no formal business experience, yet she earned the official title of manager in 1981, following Sammy’s breakup with Sy Marsh.

  Before he was let go, Brian saw how Joe Jackson, who remained in Sammy’s employ after serving as his stand-in for a number of movies, would be sent on errands just because Shirley wanted to get him out of the house. Sammy had hired Joe long ago to catalog his extensive record collection of nearly three thousand albums, which reflected a taste in music that was as wide and diverse as Sammy’s interests in life. The Beatles, Frank Zappa, Neil Young, The Shirelles, Elvis Presley, The Beach Boys, Hank Williams, Bob Dylan, John Coltrane, and Stevie Wonder were part of a collection that also included The Four Tops, Wilson Pickett, Kingston Trio, Charlie Parker, Buddy Rich, Slim Whitman, and The Rolling Stones. Sammy loved music—all music—and he entrusted Joe to keep his vast collection in order, particularly on days following evening parties.