Deconstructing Sammy

by Matt Birkbeck

  “Sammy gave it away before he died,” said Altovise.

  “And what about the paintings?”

  “There were a bunch of Realtors in here. They must have taken them,” she said.

  Ferko watched as other household items and possessions disappeared, and each time he questioned Altovise she pleaded ignorance. She also said she had no idea what Ferko was talking about when he asked about an angry call he received from an executive at the Sands casino in Las Vegas, who was looking for Altovise and Carter in regard to missing money from a benefit held there for Sammy.

  Ferko tried to explain that taking possessions from the home and the bad press that followed weren’t helping matters, especially after the IRS indicated it was willing to settle the debt. During Ferko’s initial conversations with the government, the IRS considered a settlement offer that included the sale of the home, an auction of its contents, and a percentage of future revenues from Sammy’s image and likeness for five years, and only up to $500,000. Ferko explained there’d be some pain losing the home, but it allowed Altovise to get out from under the debt and begin a new life, as well as oversee her husband’s estate. The deal, if accepted, made all the sense in the world, but Altovise wanted to keep the home and, ostensibly, her past life, so she kept delaying and lying, which infuriated the IRS, executors, and their attorney.

  Herb Sturman bore down hard on Ferko, telling him in several letters that his client wasn’t cooperating with the sale of the home or with the retrieval of numerous possessions. Frustration aside, Ferko felt a sadness for Altovise, who was desperately trying to hang on to her husband’s celebrity, which defined her life. Her celebrity existed only because of her husband, and now that she lost Sammy, all she had left was the home they shared for two decades, and to hold on to it, she relied on her own street smarts, which, at the end of the day, weren’t very smart.

  But Ferko also knew that Altovise was, in part, a victim. It was John Climaco, not Sy Marsh, whose firm created the Cannel City tax shelter, which helped send the estate spiraling into insolvency. Now Transamerican Entertainment received proceeds from a life insurance policy, and Rhodes was taking property from the estate that should have been turned over to the IRS, but wasn’t. Climaco also wanted to retain Sammy’s name and likeness for future exploitation.

  Ferko strongly suggested to Altovise that she file a lawsuit against the people who put her and Sammy into the tax shelters—chiefly, Climaco—and insist that the IRS begin an investigation. During tense court hearings and depositions, Ferko even told Climaco of his intent to sue.

  Climaco was a round, gruff, and loud man, and he didn’t take too kindly to Ferko’s threats of a lawsuit.

  “Do you know who I am?” he growled.

  “I don’t give a shit,” said Ferko. “I believe you have a conflict and I’m going after you.”

  It was Altovise who later told Ferko all he needed to know about John Climaco.

  “He’s a powerful guy,” she said. “Sammy was with him a long time.”

  Altovise said that among Climaco’s most notable clients, aside from Sammy Davis Jr., were the city of Cleveland, several alleged mobsters, the Teamsters union, and its former president Jackie Presser. Presser was also from Cleveland and led several local unions, including Local 507, prior to his election as Teamsters boss in 1984. Climaco, who had represented Presser through the 1970s, was elevated to chief counsel for the Teamsters, a position in which he continued to serve until Presser’s death in 1988.

  Ferko wanted Climaco and Rhodes removed as executors. He also believed that if Altovise moved quickly with a lawsuit, she would place herself publicly in a sympathetic position and receive more assistance from the IRS. But the IRS wasn’t interested in removing the executors or exploring any complaints of wrongdoing. Already painted as ogres for trying to kick a widow out onto the street, the IRS wanted the case to go away, while Sturman threatened to sue Altovise for her “baseless accusations” and “slanderous comments” about Climaco and Rhodes. If Altovise had any factual evidence, wrote Sturman in July 1991, then she should present it, otherwise back off. But Altovise didn’t have the wherewithal to press her claims, or the desire, and Ferko never filed suit against Climaco or Rhodes. Instead, he watched as Altovise’s deceitful actions and her trust in Carter and his cronies caught up with her and her tactics backfired.

  First came the missing items found in the storage locker in Burbank. Ferko learned about it not from Altovise, but from the radio. It would have been laughable if it wasn’t so stupid. All they had to do was pay the storage fee and the guy with the stolen license wouldn’t have known a thing. Instead, the bill was due, a call was made, and the caper was all over the evening news. Carter, Tiny, and Cheech, who were sporadically paying Ferko his growing legal fees with cash delivered in paper bags, were the Keystone Kops in disguise, a trio of incompetents who couldn’t help but stumble over their own feet. Altovise, of course, tearfully denied having any part in the Burbank fiasco, but Ferko believed otherwise.

  “It’s none of my business,” he said. “You’re not getting good advice. These people you think are your friends aren’t, and you need to realize that.”

  “I know, I know,” she cried. “I need to do something.”

  With a settlement under discussion, the IRS wanted Altovise to return several “missing” items as a show of good faith, including a diamond pin and an Andy Warhol “Campbell’s Tomato Soup” painting, which Sammy bought at an auction at Sotheby’s in the 1970s. Altovise initially claimed she didn’t have the painting, but then admitted that she took it because Shirley had her eye on it. Ferko insisted she produce the painting and pin if she wanted to get the IRS off her back.

  “You don’t understand. This is a breaking point with the IRS,” said Ferko. “I’m close to making a deal and you’re close to screwing up everything. I’ll be back at your home tomorrow and they better be there. I don’t care how you do it. Give them to me and I’ll surrender them.”

  When he arrived the next day, the pin and the painting were in the foyer, wrapped in brown paper. Holding the painting under his arm, Ferko walked up the stairs of the central court in downtown Los Angeles. The IRS asked about other items, mostly jewelry. Ferko said he knew the exact location of one of Sammy’s rings, a yellow sapphire. It was on John Climaco’s hand, he said. He had also seen a gaudy diamond tennis bracelet last seen on Sammy’s wrist—on Altovise’s arm.

  Ferko believed the goodwill he had shown in delivering the pin and the painting brought him closer to a deal with the IRS. The Butterfield & Butterfield auction subsequently produced some cash and the Davis home was in the process of being sold. But any potential settlement was shattered when the IRS learned that Altovise somehow came up with $850,000 to buy another home, and placed the deed in the name of her mother. The money, the IRS learned, came from $1 million in unreported insurance money she had hidden. When the IRS got wind of it, Altovise tried to convince them the money had been given to her by Frank Sinatra.

  “It was a gift,” she said. “He doesn’t want to see me homeless.”

  But Ferko knew that Altovise complained bitterly to friends about Sinatra, who she said had abandoned her and refused to give her any money.

  “He won’t give me a dime!” she cried.

  The IRS immediately slapped a lien on the new home and took possession, and Ferko’s relationship with Altovise ended soon after with a phone call from Al Carter, who claimed that, as a fellow attorney, he could handle Altovise’s affairs.

  “What about my bill?” said Ferko, who was owed over $200,000 in legal fees.

  “Can’t do anything about that now,” said Carter. “But when we get her on her feet again we’re gonna take care of everything. You have my word.”

  Sonny’s phone conversation with Ferko was enlightening if only because, along with what he learned from security chief Brian Dellow, the two men shed light on the madness that consumed Sammy’s home before and after his death. Ferko and Sonny ag
reed to remain in touch, with Ferko half-jokingly reminding Sonny about the six-figure bill he was owed.

  “I believe we’re finally gonna settle this thing, and when we do I’ll get it back to you,” Sonny said.

  Given Sonny’s determination, Ferko almost believed him.

  “Well, you keep me up to date. And keep fighting,” said Ferko. “Altovise may be stubborn and has no grasp of reality, but she’s damaged and, in her own way, she wants what she believes is right.”

  CHAPTER 10

  More than six hundred of the world’s most famous and beautiful people assembled in Monte Carlo in June 1974 to attend the opening of the new Sporting Club. The gala was a benefit for the Red Cross, hosted by Monaco’s Princess Grace and Prince Rainier, and Sammy would headline the festivities.

  In lieu of payment, Sammy agreed to perform for $30,000 in expenses to cover the cost of his party of sixteen, which included his usual entourage of Altovise, Shirley and George Rhodes, David Steinberg, Sy and Molly Marsh, Murphy Bennett, and his road crew. Sammy was also given use of a fully stocked, eight-berth yacht, the Silver Gate, to cruise the Mediterranean for ten days, and he invited his good friend, French watchmaker Yves Piaget, and his wife to join the cruise.

  Sammy had known the former Grace Kelly since the 1950s, thanks to an introduction by Frank Sinatra, and he felt, as he did with other show business veterans, there was a kismet, a certain something that connected them. So Sammy didn’t think it was a problem when he arrived in Nice, France, a day late. But he did have a problem with the reception he received, which “only” included the director of Air France, flower girls, and several limos. Missing were any officials from Monaco to greet him. Things went downhill from there after Sammy arrived in the tiny principality. As part of the festivities, the Rainiers were receiving “special” guests at the palace, including athletes, business titans, various entertainers, and the like, but there was no invite for Sammy, who instructed Steinberg to find out what was going on and get him up there.

  Steinberg made the call, but he was politely informed by a representative of the Rainiers that Sammy would not have a private audience with the hosts. Steinberg also learned that Sammy would be seated at the main table with the Rainiers during the lavish affair, but Altovise would be elsewhere, sitting in the back.

  Having been drinking champagne since early morning, Sammy was angered when he received the news. He firmly instructed Steinberg to call back and demand that he not only be given an audience with the Rainiers, but that Altovise be seated with him at the head table. The message was delivered, and Princess Grace, replying through her intermediary, said that there would be no preshow audience and there was no room at her table for Altovise. The princess suggested that after Sammy’s performance he should retrieve Altovise and bring her to the Rainiers’ table for the introduction.

  Sammy was irate.

  “Who do they fucking think I am!” he screamed between swigs from a champagne bottle. “The monkey on the end of the string with the organ grinder? That after I perform, THEN I bring Alto over? No fucking chance!”

  Sammy told Steinberg to relay his deep disappointment to Princess Grace and demand she reconsider. If not, then he would pack up and leave. Steinberg relayed the message to the princess’s intermediary, and when the phone rang again that afternoon, Steinberg took the call, only it wasn’t the intermediary on the line, but Princess Grace.

  “I understand Mr. Davis is out of sorts,” she said calmly. “Maybe he’s just a little too old to be doing this, and I suggest he should just get onto his little yacht and toddle off into the sea.”

  The young publicist was stunned and didn’t know what to say, but his awkward silence didn’t stop the princess, who delivered a verbal coup de grâce.

  “You may also tell Mr. Davis that I have six to seven hundred other guests here, all more important than he is.”

  “Well,” said a shaken Steinberg. “You don’t mind if I don’t deliver that message verbatim.”

  “Mr. Steinberg, you may do as you please,” said the princess, and abruptly hung up the phone.

  Steinberg delivered an edited version of the princess’s response, and Sammy angrily ordered the captain to sail away, taking Altovise and his guests with him but leaving Steinberg behind to inform the Rainiers he had taken ill and wouldn’t perform that evening. Josephine Baker served as Sammy’s replacement, assisted by Bill Cosby, Burt Bacharach, and others, while Sammy sailed off drunk into the Mediterranean Sea.

  As spring turned to summer, the Pocono vacation season was in full swing and the Hillside was a busy place. Each weekend a new group of visitors, usually urban dwellers or poor, inner-city kids from New York, New Jersey, or Philadelphia, would visit to take in the clean air and green surroundings.

  One special visitor arrived in June 1995. Her name was Patricia Vann and she was a young lawyer from Hong Kong, the daughter of a British businessman and a Chinese woman. Patricia and Sonny maintained a long-distance relationship for two years. She was only thirty years old, sixteen years younger than Sonny, and a rising legal star in Asia. They were introduced by a mutual friend and often talked for hours on the phone, his phone bills reaching into the thousands of dollars. They were of similar mind, both intellectually curious, and—at least from such a long distance—they were a perfect match. So it came as no surprise to the Judge and Mama when Sonny said he would marry. The wedding was a small affair inside his parents’ home, with only the Judge, Mama, Sonny, and his bride present. They celebrated with a dinner at a local restaurant, but conversation centered not on the future of the new couple but on the Hillside.

  The clientele at the Hillside, as always, was black, which was fine with The Judge and Mama. This was their dream, and it pleased them to provide their temporary oasis. But business was down and the Hillside was losing money. The solution, as far as Sonny was concerned, was to welcome a rainbow of ethnicities and races.

  But attracting nonblack customers would prove difficult. White and Hispanic couples and families seeking accommodations at the local Pocono visitors center were directed away from the Hillside, which had been deemed a “black” resort. And, all too often, a car filled with white vacationers would pull up to the front entrance only to quickly turn around upon seeing the guests who were lying out in the sun or mingling by the front doors. The quick departures saddened Sonny. These were immediate decisions based solely on race, without a clue as to the warmth and comfort offered by the Hillside’s owners. The turnarounds also brought back distant, hurtful memories, like that day in June 1985 when, as an assistant U.S. attorney, he was summoned to Washington, DC, to meet with the U.S. Attorney General Edwin Meese.

  The E. F. Hutton investigation was over, and Meese announced to the world that Hutton agreed to plead guilty to two thousand counts of mail and wire fraud. Sonny and his crew, including John Holland from the Postal Inspector’s Service, were flown from Scranton to Washington on a government jet. Meese held his press conference and afterward there were handshakes all around and other speeches by other officials commending Sonny, Holland, and the team for their stellar and important work. Meese presented Sonny with a plaque congratulating him for his efforts and a blue-and-white baseball cap that bore the slogan WHEN I TALK, PEOPLE LISTEN. Three long, difficult years produced one of the biggest Justice Department prosecutions in years, and the guilty plea drew international headlines. The plea was made that morning in Scranton, and not by Hutton’s attorneys. Instead, U.S. District Judge William Nealon demanded that E. F. Hutton’s president, Scott Pierce, personally make the guilty plea. Pierce was the brother of Barbara Bush and brother-in-law to Vice President George H. W. Bush.

  “I want the president of the company to stand before me,” Nealon ordered.

  Pierce appeared in court, pleaded guilty for his company, and that afternoon Sonny and his investigators were in Washington, standing behind the U.S. attorney general as he delivered the news to the world. Sonny dressed for the occasion in a blue double-
breasted suit, white tailored shirt, and red tie. When the long day finally ended, Sonny shook hands, said his good-byes, and walked outside and down the front stairs to the corner, where he stood with his green, government-issue briefcase. He could have floated back to his hotel with all the adrenaline still flowing. His photo was being printed in newspapers throughout the United States and all over the world, and the attorney general along with members of Congress hailed him as a hero. Sonny sacrificed three years of his life for his country, and in the end, he believed, it was worth it.

  He stood on the corner outside the Justice Department building, looking like any other government lawyer, and he held his right hand out to hail a cab. Five minutes passed, but no cabs had stopped. So Sonny decided to move to the other end of the block. He stuck his arm out again and watched as several empty cabs drove by him. Sonny thought he was standing in the wrong place, so he moved again, this time to the middle of the block, only to see the same result.

  Confused, he walked back inside the Justice building and called his friend Peter Clarke, a Justice Department attorney who worked in the fraud section and served as the Washington liaison for Sonny during his investigation.

  “What are you doing here, I thought you left?” said Clarke.

  “I did, but I’m standing outside and can’t seem to get a cab,” said Sonny.

  Clarke laughed. “I’ll be right down,” he said.

  Minutes later, Clarke stepped out of the elevator.

  “You can’t get a cab, can you,” he said.

  “No. What’s going on?” said Sonny.

  Clarke walked Sonny to the street and stuck his arm out. Within seconds, a cab pulled up, and Clarke opened the door.

  “Here you go,” he said.

  “What just happened?” said Sonny.

  “They won’t stop for you. Look, just get in and tell him where you’re going. I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Clarke.

  Sonny got in, but the incredible high he enjoyed from a remarkable day had quickly been replaced by anger and confusion.