Deconstructing Sammy

by Matt Birkbeck

  The 1989 U.S. Tax Court decision that denied the bogus tax shelters, particularly the shelter that invested in a fraudulent coal enterprise, described Hall as one of the principal characters. Hall supposedly had been terminated as Sammy’s “business manager” in 1983, but here was Hall’s name listed as one of the four corporate officers of Transamerican Entertainment, and he was a principal in several ongoing business deals.

  During one corporate meeting in November 1987, Hall and Sammy’s accountant George Louis discussed finding a new insurance representative to replace Max Gomberg, an insurance agent from Pittsburgh. Hall also conceived a plan to produce a line of foods called “Dixie Barbecue,” which would carry Sammy’s endorsement. In addition, Hall was working on a refinancing of a shopping center purchased for Transamerican with what remained of shares from the Cannel City coal venture.

  Sonny hadn’t thought much about John Climaco and Shirley Rhodes in recent months. There was a time when he wanted to bring suit against them, but Altovise didn’t want any part of it and Sonny turned his energies to resolving the debt and moving on.

  But the minutes from the Transamerican meetings were disturbing. Why, thought Sonny, did William Hall continue to work for Sammy? According to the 1989 U.S. Tax Court decision, Hall was a hustler who created the bogus coal company and took investments knowing it was a scam. Hall remained a member of the four-person board of directors until his resignation in November 1989, which followed Sammy’s cancer diagnosis. With Hall gone, the remaining directors included Sammy, Climaco, and Shirley, and according to minutes from another meeting, the desperate condition of Sammy’s estate forced them to terminate pension and profit-sharing plans offered by Transamerican, with the assets to be distributed into Transamerican’s bank account. During another meeting, in April 1990, just weeks before Sammy’s death, the directors changed several life insurance policies totaling $1.5 million and naming as beneficiaries Tracey, Mark, and Jeff Davis.

  The policies had originally listed Transamerican Entertainment as the beneficiary, and despite promises by Climaco and Shirley that the children would be taken care of, Sammy clearly didn’t believe them. Lying on his deathbed, he called for a special board meeting and demanded the change in beneficiaries. It was the only business conducted during Sammy’s final board meeting. He died four weeks later.

  In October 1990, Climaco, Rhodes, and a newly appointed board director, Nancene Cohen, met to discuss several issues related to Sammy’s estate, including the dissolution of Transamerican Entertainment. They agreed to liquidate all corporate assets, including furniture, yet at the same time agreed to prepare a memorandum outlining “prospective projects” for justification of expenses the corporation said it would incur, including Climaco’s travel to and from Cleveland.

  They also discussed a request by Herb Sturman to return all the “gifts” made by Sammy prior to his death, which meant returning all the items that had been taken from the home. Sturman explained that given the estate’s insolvency, it was illegal to give away property considered assets by the IRS. Shirley said she’d return a single necklace but refused to return any other items in her possession. She also declined to ask others to return any items, claiming they were given as “mementoes” and she felt uncomfortable asking for them back. The “board” also agreed that they needed special accounting help for estate purposes, and Climaco insisted on using Ernst & Young in Cleveland. Retaining an accountant would also be a justified expense of the estate, and George Louis could assist.

  One final item discussed during that meeting was perhaps the most disturbing, and it had to do with an annuity promised to Sammy’s road manager and close friend Murphy Bennett. Minutes from a November 1987 meeting revealed that Sammy mandated that funds from his life insurance policies designating Transamerican as a beneficiary should be invested in an annuity to provide an income for Murphy. Climaco was authorized to prepare the documentation necessary to open the annuity whenever that time came. But following Sammy’s death, during that October 1990 meeting, Climaco claimed after the policies were cashed, Transamerican had only $1 million in its account, which was not enough to provide for the annuity. If Murphy had a problem with it, he should get an attorney and file a claim against the estate, Climaco said.

  Sonny was angered, especially given that Transamerican received nearly $4 million in life insurance proceeds. Murphy Bennett, who had been with Sammy since the 1950s, had not only been denied his promised $1 million life insurance payout, but he had also lost his pension. Sonny had never met Murphy Bennett, but he took the blow to Murphy personally. Since taking on the task of representing Altovise in 1994, Sonny had remained single-minded in his quest to settle the IRS debt and restore Sammy’s estate. But along the way he also came to realize, as a former federal prosecutor, that some of the business surrounding Sammy’s life was suspect, and the more he learned the worse it seemed. He also knew that Altovise’s innocent-spouse claims were, in layman’s terms, accurate. No doubt she spent like a demon during her marriage, but the mismanagement of Sammy’s business during his life and after his death was not something Altovise could have been involved with.

  Sonny continued to rummage through the paperwork and found another surprise, an unsigned Proof of Subscribing Witness form that had been sent to David Steinberg in August 1990.

  Steinberg became one of Sammy’s closest friends after arriving in California from Wisconsin in the late 1960s. He served as one of Sammy’s publicists during the 1970s and later became a powerful entertainment manager who counted Robin Williams and Billy Crystal among his clients. During Sammy’s final weeks, Steinberg visited every morning, bagels in hand, and he and Sammy watched Golden Girls together.

  Steinberg’s signature was one of three that appeared on Sammy’s will, the same will dated March 12, 1990, that Sammy’s security chief Brian Dellow alleged had been fraudulent. Aside from similar allegations by others, including Tracey Davis, Sonny couldn’t find any tangible evidence that the will had in fact been tampered with, until now. The Proof of Subscribing Witness form, which was in Sonny’s files, was unsigned by Steinberg. The signature portion was blank. How then, thought Sonny, was Sammy’s will probated without Steinberg’s acknowledgment that he did, in fact, sign the will? And if Steinberg refused to sign the form, then Sammy’s will, Sonny believed, may have been tampered with.

  But there was nothing Sonny could do now with the will, so after finishing his review of the paperwork, he focused on his upcoming meeting with author Burt Boyar.

  Burt had recently returned to Los Angeles, following the death of his wife, Jane, in March 1997, after a forty-plus-year marriage. The couple left the United States in 1970 and lived in Marbella, Spain, where they remained inseparable. The Boyars cowrote Yes I Can and Why Me? with Sammy and considered themselves his official biographers. They owned half of each book and, with Jane gone, Burt’s cooperation was required for any deals that were dependent on either book. Since producers were interested in a film on Sammy’s glory years during the 1950s and 1960s, it made sense to attach the bestseller Yes I Can to the project.

  After Sonny negotiated a deal with Tracey to split Sammy’s 50 percent between Altovise and all the children, Sonny exchanged several letters with Burt, which centered around the Quincy musical. Sonny also inquired about Burt’s interest in cowriting a book with Altovise. Burt agreed, but insisted on terms similar to those he had with Sammy, which included an equal share of the copyright, a fifty-fifty split of all income, and author’s credits done in equal size. Burt also demanded creative control and made it clear in several letters to Sonny that he would only be a party to “maintaining or enhancing Sammy’s and Alto’s images.” Burt said he had over 150 hours of taped conversations with Sammy recorded while researching Why Me? in the mid-1980s and he knew Sammy’s deepest secrets. Burt said in one letter that Sammy told him how he plucked a “wholesome” girl who grew up in a fine family that protected her into adulthood. Quoting from the tapes, Burt wrote that Sa
mmy told him:

  “Then I married her and brought her into a world she’d never seen. I put her in David O. Selznick’s mansion in Beverly Hills, gave her a Rolls-Royce with her name on the license plate, and I made that name famous by constantly mentioning her and featuring her on network television.”

  Burt said that Sammy described how Altovise fit perfectly in his Beverly Hills social life, how the Jack Bennys found her charming and refreshing, how Lucille Ball virtually adopted her, and how she became the head of the film world’s chic charity SHARE.

  But Sammy also shared the deeper secrets about his marriage.

  “Then I showed her the darker side of life. The drugs and the partying. I destroyed her. I could enjoy all that and walk away from it. But Alto could not. I did that to her.”

  Burt thought a book with Altovise could be important, perhaps even on par with Betty Ford announcing she had a mastectomy. But Burt said he would not go into any detail he believed would injure Sammy’s image in the eyes of the American public. Sonny thought that was disingenuous and not in the best interests of Altovise. What if, he thought, Altovise wanted to write in detail about her sexual exploits with Sammy and others? Would Burt write an honest account as given by Altovise, or would he defer to protecting Sammy’s image?

  Sonny was unsure, and he put the book aside, and turned his attention to the Quincy Jones Broadway musical.

  Since the release of Yes I Can in 1965, Burt said, he and Sammy had experienced much frustration in turning the book into any type of production, film or otherwise, with nothing to show but thirty-two years of talk. Yes I Can was originally optioned by Warner Bros. in 1967 but that deal fizzled after the studio was sold. Motown made an offer in 1988 before Sammy died, seeking to steal the rights forever for $250,000, and that came only with a $50,000 advance. The remaining balance would only be paid if the movie went into production during the following twelve months, after which they could produce the movie without paying another single cent.

  Burt said he agreed to the Quincy Jones deal in the belief that he and Tracey owned the rights, and when Quincy’s first option expired, Tracey became frustrated and wanted to take the book and “test the waters” with other producers. Burt said he had no choice but to go along with Tracey, and when she couldn’t cement another deal Quincy was still interested and entered into another series of options. But here they were, near the latter half of 1997, and still no production. And with Sonny pressing Altovise’s rights to the book, the project had come to a halt.

  Sonny explained he contacted Tracey and negotiated a deal, and with Tracey’s cooperation in hand, Sonny decided to meet face-to-face with Burt at his Wilshire Boulevard penthouse in October 1997.

  “I’m glad you’re here to clear things up,” said Burt.

  The penthouse was filled with life-size photos of Sammy and other celebrities and it immediately reminded Sonny of Jack Haley’s home—that same celebration of a bygone era. While others would have been enthralled by the photos, Sonny found them depressing.

  Burt was a former newspaper columnist during the 1950s, who later carved out a career writing two books, twenty-three years apart, with Jane and Sammy. Sonny read them both and, intimately familiar with Sammy’s life and troubles, he thought they were interesting but somewhat disingenuous, particularly Why Me?, which glossed over Sammy’s financial affairs and left the impression that, just a year before he would die, Sammy had finally achieved financial stability. Burt and Jane had been gone for sixteen years and only knew upon their return to the United States what Sammy told them during their interviews in 1986. The Boyars loved Sammy and lived with him at the Summit Drive home and the superstar suites provided to Sammy at casinos in Las Vegas and Lake Tahoe during the three months they spent interviewing for the book. The Boyars enjoyed the attention, especially at Harrah’s, where the star attractions were treated better than anywhere. If you asked for red wine you got Lafite Rothschild, or if you asked for champagne it was Dom Pérignon or Cristal. The Boyars interviewed Sammy after performances or mid-afternoon, after Sammy woke up. But Sonny could sense that Burt’s close connection to Sammy left him leery of others in Sammy’s life, including Altovise and Sammy’s children. Burt believed Altovise was a damaged drunk whom Sammy said on tape he never loved and wanted to divorce. The children, particularly Tracey, were a mess, Burt said.

  With little good to say about Sammy’s family, Burt gushed in his praise of Sammy, describing him over and over again as “sensational.”

  But as Burt talked, Sonny developed a decidedly negative opinion of the author. Sonny thought Burt was arrogant and unctuous, a sycophant whose life’s work hinged on Sammy’s celebrity. It was only a first impression, and as Sonny eyed Burt’s penthouse and studied the many photos of Burt’s late wife, Jane, Sonny thought, perhaps, that Burt’s cold indifference was nothing more than a reaction to the tremendous grief of losing a life partner. Sonny admired Burt’s love for his wife, and the length of their relationship. They had no children, yet remained devoted to each other until Jane’s passing. By the end of the conversation, Sonny realized he and Burt had little in common other than they both wanted to get a deal made—any deal. Burt agreed to work with Sonny, Altovise, and Tracey together on the Quincy Jones–planned Broadway play. Burt also suggested that Sonny and Altovise meet with Quincy to allay any fears on his part. The books were key assets to Sammy’s estate, and despite Sonny’s initial impression of Burt Boyar, he thanked Burt for his time.

  Once outside, Sonny stood on Wilshire Boulevard, thinking about the pitiable history of trying to turn Yes I Can into a feature film. Three decades of failure, and Sonny saw that as karma. There was so much damage related to Sammy Davis Jr., and perhaps it just wasn’t in the stars for a movie or a Broadway play. But Sonny went ahead anyway and scheduled another meeting with Quincy Jones. He arrived at Quincy’s home with Altovise, and they spoke for three hours about old times with Sammy, his vision for a musical, and the rights issues, which Sonny said had been resolved. Sonny gave his verbal support to the project, but while awaiting the paperwork that would bring Altovise into the deal, Sonny received a treatment for another play based on Sammy’s life, which promised the participation of the Nederlander family, the preeminent Broadway producers. When Burt got wind of the other deal, he sent a letter to Sonny questioning his ethics and demanding proof that he did, in fact, reach an amicable resolution with Tracey Davis. He also reminded Sonny that Quincy provided the best hope for getting the play to Broadway.

  Thankfully, the issues arising from producing a musical didn’t overshadow the completion of a record deal with producer Ron Weisner. Weisner, who managed Michael Jackson during his Thriller years, had pitched Sonny on a Sammy CD box set and, following a meeting, the two men shook hands on a deal. Unlike the musical with its ongoing problems, the Weisner project moved quickly and immediately drew interest from Rhino Records, which offered $445,000 for all of Sammy’s recordings plus royalties. The deal was a good one and would pay off the remaining money owed to the IRS. It would also pay off a portion of Sonny’s growing legal bill, which now topped $500,000. Sonny told Weisner he’d put together a complete listing of Sammy’s recorded music, believing the Rhino box set would be the first major step toward revitalizing Sammy’s posthumous career.

  In December 1997, thirteen-year-old Shelby Starner signed a six-album record contract worth over $5 million.

  The deal included $350,000 for the first album, and up to $650,000 for the second album, both guaranteed. Warner Bros. held an option for the remaining four records. The contract was signed in Los Angeles with Sonny, Shelby, and her parents present, along with David Altschul, who compared Shelby to other teen queens, including another newcomer, named Britney Spears. Shelby, said Altschul, was the future of Warner Bros. Records. Because of Shelby’s age, the contract had to be approved by the Monroe County court, and President Judge Ronald Vican expressed several concerns, particularly the value of the contract, and he sought guarantees that th
e money would remain in trust for Shelby and that she had proper representation. Vican had known Sonny for over twenty years, and despite other concerns about her age, he gave his approval.

  Sonny was ecstatic. He found Shelby, produced her two demos, introduced her work to Warner Bros., and was now her attorney and, he believed, soon to be her manager. Not only was she signed to Warner Bros. Records but Liz Rosenberg, a powerhouse publicist who counted Madonna among her clients, was enlisted to work with Shelby. But within just a few short weeks of signing the deal and gaining court approval, Sonny received an e-mail from Shelby’s parents, terminating his representation and association. The parents, Ray and Kathy, were divorced but both said they believed they knew what was best for their daughter and they wanted to guide her career. Sonny was confused, hurt, and angry. He called David Altschul at Warner Bros., who was furious. But there was little Altschul could do to convince the parents to change their opinion that Sonny outlived his usefulness. Sonny eventually received a settlement check for his two years of work nurturing and guiding and producing Shelby. He considered filing a lawsuit but didn’t. He believed Shelby would be a bona fide star and didn’t want anything, even his own misfortune, to stand in her way. He wanted to say good-bye to his young protégée, but the parents wouldn’t allow it, so he let it go. He had new issues to deal with. One involved Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and the Rat Pack, and the other Sammy’s family.