Deconstructing Sammy

by Matt Birkbeck

  “Hey, let me ask you something. I stood out there for twenty minutes but couldn’t get a cab. My white friend is out here for seconds and you stop. Why?”

  “No one is going to take you. They think you’re going to the black neighborhoods and you’ll just jump out and not pay, or worse.”

  “I’m an assistant United States attorney,” said Sonny. “I don’t even live here.”

  The driver, who was black, looked up into the rearview mirror.

  “You know that old joke, right?” said the driver. “What do you call a black man with a doctor’s degree? A nigger.”

  Sonny walked into his hotel thoroughly discouraged and depressed. How could he represent his country in court and not even be able to hail a cab on the street, he thought. He felt the terrible sting of racism, and the more he reflected on what just happened the more he thought about the Judge and others like him, proud black men who endured similar situations throughout their lives. It’s hurtful enough when it happens once or every now and then. But over a lifetime? Sonny could only imagine how men like his father, who wanted to be judged only as men, buried years of pent-up anger deep inside their souls. But those who judged Sonny today weren’t white, they were black. How ironic was that? Sonny’s emotions and confusion over the cab ride led to another realization: the black press ignored his E. F. Hutton investigation. Despite the fact it was a black prosecutor who led a major investigation, it was nonetheless a white-collar crime involving chiefly white people.

  The hate and ill-feeling was toxic, and Sonny wanted to purge it, regurgitate it, and never feel this way again. But the memory always resurfaced whenever a car pulled up to the Hillside, full of white people, stopped, heads leaned in for a look, and then the car drove away.

  The Judge dismissed it with the wave of a hand.

  “I wouldn’t pay any mind” was his usual reply.

  But the Judge’s response wasn’t sincere. And for Sonny, therein lay the paradox. The Judge and Mama were of a different generation, one that fought for equality. But when they gained that equality, at least by law, it wasn’t embraced as a tool to assimilate into the white society, or, as the Judge called it, “the man.”

  The Judge could step over whatever obstacle or barrier “the man” presented, to achieve his goals. But once he achieved his goals, the Judge maintained the Hillside as a predominantly black business. The Judge may have commented on the lack of white visitors, but he knew that’s what his black guests wanted. And Sonny knew that on the rare occasion when a white couple or family would actually stay at the Hillside, they would often endure looks, whispers, and sometimes insults from black guests unhappy with the white intrusion, whose message was clear: This is our place, and you don’t belong here.

  Despite the downturn in business, the Judge still wanted to keep the Hillside black, and knowing Sonny’s intentions, the Judge paid a visit to Robert Uguccioni, the executive director of the Pocono Mountains Vacation Bureau. It was an awkward conversation. The Judge had come to see Uguccioni many times before, often complaining of discrimination, whether it be his inability to get milk deliveries or garbage pickups. Even recently, in the late 1980s, it was difficult for the Judge to find a bank that would lend him new construction money. But now, it was the Judge who was seeking advice on how to keep certain people away from the Hillside.

  “My guests like the idea that we cater to black people,” he said.

  “You really can’t do that,” said Uguccioni.

  “I know,” said the Judge. “But I can’t lose my core business.”

  The solution came in the form of a simple advertisement, a print ad welcoming potential guests to the Hillside, which featured a photo of Mama at the top. The subtle placement told all that the Hillside was black-owned, and it no doubt would keep potential white visitors to a minimum.

  The ad was actually Sonny’s idea, to placate his parents, but it distressed him. He continued to believe that the Hillside should reach out to all people. This was, after all, a business, and one that was not prospering with its regular clientele. Sure, the rooms were filled every weekend, but usually at discounted rates. A large youth group from Paterson, New Jersey, for instance, paid only $9,000 for a weekend that typically cost $22,000. They pleaded poverty and the Judge bought it, which he always did whenever a group said it couldn’t afford the usual rate. Even at the discounted price, the group complained about the rooms and the amenities at the Hillside, citing marks on the walls and a couple of dirty carpets. When one woman pointed out a large hole in a wall in her room, the Judge simply scoffed.

  “You’ve got nowhere else to stay, do you? You’re black,” he said.

  To the Judge, the Hillside was flawed, but at least it was something you could call your own.

  The Paterson, New Jersey, group, claiming the facilities were poor, deducted several thousand from their already discounted rate. The Judge accepted the payment while Sonny seethed. This is not, Sonny said, how we should do business, especially when he was withdrawing large sums from his own bank account to cover the Hillside’s growing losses.

  It was not the way to survive.

  His business battles with the Judge aside, Sonny was pleased with Altovise’s continuing improvement. The intense and rigorous schedule full of daily meetings and evaluations appeared to be helping. During one visit, Sonny and Calvin found Altovise in such good spirits she decided to put her feelings on paper in the form of a poem, “How Is the Blue Sky Treating You Today?”

  Along with Altovise’s physical condition—she gained weight—her overall improvement brought the promise that, perhaps, she would be discharged in the near future. Yet Altovise suffered an emotional setback in June 1995, when her father died. Her relationship with Joe Gore had always been strained, particularly after her learning years earlier that he had secretly raised another family. But losing a parent, no matter how difficult the relationship, was a jolt.

  Sonny was also patiently awaiting a response from the IRS to his settlement offer. Three months had passed without a word from Daryl Frerking, but that was not unexpected. Sonny knew the IRS would do a thorough job investigating Altovise’s finances. In the meantime, Sonny needed to find the money to pay the IRS once they agreed to a deal. Altovise had already created enough ill will from her borrowing spree after Sammy died, which kept her from asking friends like Michael Jackson, Bill Cosby, and Liza Minnelli for more money. Others, including Dionne Warwick and Gladys Knight, had already given smaller amounts, but nothing close to what she needed to pay the IRS.

  But one friend did remain, and Altovise told Sonny to contact Yves Piaget.

  Piaget and his family owned the famous, century-old Piaget Watch company. Sammy loved their watches and he owned a huge collection that was sold during the Butterfield & Butterfield auction. Piaget would help, Altovise said, so Sonny wrote a letter of introduction along with a request for a loan. Sonny explained that he was retained by Altovise in April 1994 to handle her legal and business affairs. Along with her serious health challenges, she endured tremendous financial strains since her husband’s death, losing two homes and all of her personal property to the IRS. Sonny said that for the past ten months Altovise had been a resident of Alina Lodge, a long-term treatment facility for alcohol dependence. He also said that her father recently died, leaving her with no income. But during the past year, Sonny said, Altovise had fought back and was making a courageous comeback and preparing for her discharge. He negotiated a settlement with the IRS that, if accepted, would return Sammy’s name and likeness to Altovise, who would then be free to exploit those rights as the surviving spouse and residuary beneficiary of the estate of Sammy Davis Jr.

  Sonny said he was seeking $500,000 to cover the IRS tax debt along with the state of California obligation, and payment of all outstanding medical, legal, and accounting bills. The money would also provide rent and living expenses once Altovise was discharged from Alina Lodge, payment to her mother for repayment of a home equity loan, reimbursem
ent of monies loaned by Calvin Douglas, and the hiring of a publicist and book author. Once the IRS agreement was approved and the levy released, Sammy Davis Jr. would be back in business and Sonny said he was developing ideas, including a film and a book. Sonny sent the letter off in July 1995. Piaget responded two weeks later, calling Sonny personally at the Hillside and offering $250,000. But Piaget said he didn’t want it treated as a loan.

  “Consider it a gift,” he said. “But on one condition. That you find a way to bring this family together.”

  Piaget considered himself one of Sammy’s closest friends and it pained him to see Sammy’s family—Altovise and his children Tracey, Mark, and Jeff—at odds with each other.

  “Make them whole,” Piaget said.

  Sonny said he would. The money was half what he requested, but more than enough to pay the OIC, some of his bills, and provide for Altovise’s transition to outpatient care. The remaining money would have to come from the sale of assets. But there weren’t any, or so Sonny thought. When he asked Altovise what else might be out there, she recalled giving Sammy’s extensive film collection to his good friend Jack Haley Jr. For years Sammy and Altovise hosted a “movie night” at their Beverly Hills home, showing first-run films delivered by the studios, in many cases before they were even released to the public. Dramas, Westerns, musicals, comedies, porno, Sammy showed it all. His gatherings were often catered, celebrity-filled events and a must place to be on Saturday nights.

  Altovise said Haley had the film collection.

  “How do I reach Haley?” said Sonny.

  “Through Sammy’s son Mark,” said Altovise.

  Mark Davis was Sammy’s oldest son, adopted by Sammy and May in 1964. Another son, Jeff, was adopted in 1965. Altovise told Sonny and Calvin that both sons were Sammy’s natural children borne by other, unknown women, probably dancers he had affairs with during his marriage to May. No one inside the family really talked about it, especially Sammy’s children, though everyone could see the clear resemblance between the boys and their father, she said. Their true parentage wasn’t important to Sonny, since the boys were legally adopted and considered Sammy’s sons. But gaining the film collection was important enough for Sonny to send a demand letter to Haley, and then fly to Hollywood for a dinner with Mark, who worked as a producer for Haley’s production company. Haley produced Ripley’s Believe It or Not, a popular television program hosted by veteran film actor Jack Palance. Mark landed with Haley as an associate producer after spending several years working with his father in the late 1970s and early 1980s as a member of his stage and light crew. On Ripley’s, Mark’s chief duties were keeping tabs on Palance, who had a mischievous way and penchant for getting into trouble. During a taping in China, Palance was tossed out of the country after relieving himself on the Great Wall. Thankfully, taping had been completed.

  Sonny’s meeting with Mark would also help facilitate Yves Piaget’s request to help resolve festering, long-standing issues between Sammy’s children and Altovise, and give Sonny another firsthand view of Sammy Davis Jr. through the eyes of a son who, unlike his other siblings, actually spent some time with his father. When Sonny arrived at the restaurant, it didn’t take him long to find Mark, who was sitting in a booth. The facial resemblance to Sammy was uncanny. But unlike the smallish Sammy, whose own mother thought he was ugly, Mark was tall, thin, and handsome. He was also much quieter and softer than his sister Tracey, exhibiting an inner sweetness that drew immediate empathy from Sonny, who knew from Altovise of Mark’s failed marriages and continuing battle with drugs, which cost him the $500,000 he received from his father’s insurance policy. He had also been left out of the Quincy Jones project, since Tracey claimed that she, and she alone, owned her father’s rights to Yes I Can.

  “That’s how it was with the old man, he just ignored me,” said Mark.

  “Well, I wouldn’t call half a million being ignored,” said Sonny.

  “Really?” said Mark. “Try this one.”

  Mark told Sonny how he flew to Las Vegas to visit his father but was forced to wait three hours outside Sammy’s hotel room while Sammy entertained other guests.

  “He was too busy to see me, so I just said ‘fuck it’ and left. He was never around anyway, so it didn’t matter,” said Mark.

  The pain clearly ran deep, and Mark punctuated the conversation with even more poignant tales of an absent father.

  “You know I called him once when he was in Europe, and it took him six months to return the call?” said Mark. “We weren’t his real family. The people on the road with him were his family.”

  Mark spoke for an hour about Sammy’s failings as a father, and the uncaring manner in which he simply disregarded his children, especially his sons. Aside from infrequent visits and phone calls, there were impersonal, thoughtless gifts.

  “He sent me a poster once, some shit with his signature. It wasn’t even, ‘Mark, I love you.’ Just a signed picture. It was kind of stupid. I was like, ‘What am I going to do with this thing?’” said Mark. “You know what was even worse? The old man didn’t even sign it. Murphy did. I just threw it in a closet.”

  The ill will and resentment Mark still harbored five years after Sammy’s death spewed throughout the dinner, and Mark ended the meal with a story of how he had been banished from Sammy’s road crew following a squabble with his father over the affections of one of his dancers. She was a beauty and immediately caught Sammy’s eye during a lengthy engagement in Las Vegas. But the dancer was attracted to Mark and she successfully resisted Sammy’s efforts to bed her. Sammy learned weeks later that she and Mark began a secret affair, and in a fit of rage he exiled Mark to a dingy hotel on the other side of town. They didn’t talk for eight months.

  “The old man had this saying, ‘That’s the sheriff’s meat.’ He’d pick out the women he wanted and left the rest to his crew,” said Mark. “I mean, I didn’t even know what I was doing there working for him. He relied on another guy, Dino Meminger, to do things for him. He loved Dino. They used to call Dino his road son. Go figure. All that time he had his real son with him.”

  Mark sat slumped in his chair, picking at his food, the scars from his failed relationship with his father all too visible. And there was nothing Sonny could do to help heal the raw, open wounds.

  “You know, I never really had anything against Alto,” said Mark. “One time she just pushed me into a closet in front of the old man and started kissing me. I was kind of freaked out. And I had no idea what was going on with that kid Manny. She and Dad just said one day that they adopted him. We were all like, ‘what the fuck?’ I know Alto wanted kids and Dad didn’t. I mean, look at us, right? He wasn’t exactly father-of-the-year material. In the end she was just looking out for herself. I mean, nobody else was.”

  “Do you think you could reconcile with her?” said Sonny.

  “I can. Jeff would. I don’t know about Tracey,” said Mark. “Do you really think you can settle this thing, you know, clear it up with the government?”

  “I’m working on it,” said Sonny. “But I need to tell the IRS what’s still out there, and that includes your dad’s film collection.”

  Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper with a phone number.

  “That’s Jack’s number. You know I work for him so I told him you’d be calling. He knows what you want and he wasn’t happy about it. Just to let you know, I gave him the film collection. Alto wanted to get it out of the house before the IRS took it. I thought it was a smart idea at the time.”

  They finished their dinner, said their good-byes, and Mark disappeared into the night. Mark’s willingness to help Altovise brought Sonny some relief, yet the dinner also left him uneasy. There were deep fissures within the fabric of Sammy’s clan and, given their painful past together, they would be difficult to resolve. The following morning he called Jack Haley’s home and told a woman who picked up the phone he would visit to claim the film collection. When Sonny arrived, he
was led through the garage, where he saw Beta videotapes and film reels stacked in boxes. It was Sammy’s collection, and it appeared that Haley was ready to let it go.

  Sonny was led inside the modest home to the living room, which was filled with memorabilia from Haley’s past, and that of his famous father, Jack Haley Sr. Photos of his father as the Tin Man, and of other celebrity friends from the 1930s through 1980s, filled the room and the house. Among them were pictures of Haley and Liza Minnelli, who had married in 1974 but divorced in 1979, and Sammy and Altovise. The home was a museum of old celebrity photos, some collecting dust, and a feeling of sadness overwhelmed Sonny. Life, at least in this house, was about the past. There were no trinkets highlighting current success, or any visual evidence of future dreams.

  Haley finally walked inside. He was older, in his sixties, and Sonny could see the facial resemblance to his famous father. But Haley’s eyes spoke of a man who clearly liked to have a drink or two or three, and he entered the room with a glass in his hand.

  “Can I get you something?” said Haley.

  “No, thank you,” said Sonny.

  The two men sat down and Haley told Sonny of his love for Sammy, the generosity of his late friend, and the many good times and good laughs they shared. Sonny saw the photo of Haley’s wedding to Liza Minnelli. He had a full head of red hair and beard to match, and he stood smiling and holding on to Liza, who wore a yellow pants suit and held a small bouquet. Standing next to Haley was Sammy, and off to the other side, third in line from Liza, was Altovise, who wore a tan dress and white bonnet. Haley was personable but argued his case for keeping the film collection, claiming it was what Sammy wanted. But Sonny remained firm.

  “No, it was what Altovise wanted in order to hide them from the IRS,” Sonny said. “So you either give them back to Altovise, or else I call the IRS, which then brings you into this matter personally. This is part of our settlement.”