Yes I Can: The Story of Sammy Davis, Jr.

by Davis, Sammy

“Almost the same layouts. Right down the hall.”

  I inspected the suite while Charley started unpacking. “Pretty nice, huh, baby?”

  He didn’t look around. “I’ll let you know when I see where they put me.”

  Oh God, I hadn’t thought about that. “Well, look, you let me know, and if it’s not okay you’ll stay in here with me.” He just kept unpacking. I could imagine how he felt. “Let me help you, baby, and we’ll get it done faster.”

  Morty was rehearsing the band. I sat in the back of the room listening, and checked John out on the lights.

  When Morty gave the guys a break I called him aside. “Baby, I’ll open with ‘Birth of the Blues.’ ”

  “You’re joking! What’ll you go off on?”

  “We’ll use ‘Fascinating Rhythm.’ Look, we throw away all the rules here. The plotting of a show for a Vegas audience is different than anywhere else. For openers, the hotels are all but giving away the best shows that money can buy, so the average cat who comes in to see us has been in town for a few days and he’s already seen maybe six or eight of the biggest names in the business. This same guy may never see a live show from one end of the year to the next when he’s home but after a few days here he’s Charley-Make-Me-Laugh. Now, above and beyond that, plus the normal nightclub distractions, if I don’t hook that guy right from the start and hang on to him I’m dead, because he’ll be watching me but he’ll start wondering if when he leaves maybe he should try ten the hard way. So, it’s like when we make records: we do or die in the first eight bars.” He whistled softly. “And on top of that, where in a normal club if I start off a little slow I can always stay on until eventually I get ‘em and they leave saying, ‘Hey, isn’t it nice the way he does those long shows,’ in Vegas the headliner has exactly fifty-two minutes, including bows. They’re in the gambling business here and everything’s timed down to the split second: there’s no dancing after the shows and your check is collected before the show breaks. Those doors lead into the casino and they want the people to walk through them on time! There are just so many minutes in each day and the hotel anticipates a certain amount of gambling revenue for each one of them. I can’t steal any of that time to make sure I come off smelling like a rose. They pay me to bring customers to the tables, not to keep them away. So, watch me extra carefully for the cues, baby, ‘cause once I’m out there it’s fight-for-your-life time.”

  As we stood in the wings listening to them shouting for more my father cocked his head and sighed, “I hope the word don’t spread that we’re bad for the heart.” The three of us walked arm in arm back to the dressing rooms. “You gonna take a look around the casino, Poppa? Maybe take yourself a few bows?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. I’ll see.”

  I put on a black mohair suit, a gray and black striped tie, my platinum watch, folded a handkerchief into my breast pocket and took a last look in the mirror. I took out the handkerchief and went downstairs.

  I stood outside the casino, afraid. A security guard passed me. “Anything I can do for you, Sammy?” I shook my head. A few people coming out spotted me. “Great show, Sammy … Wonderful!”

  I lit another cigarette. I took two drags, stamped it out, pushed the door open and walked in.

  The deputy sheriff standing just inside said, “Hi’ya, Sammy.”

  I smiled back and kept walking. I was right in the middle of all the sounds I’d heard before and they took form even wilder and more feverish than I’d imagined them. People were playing blackjack and roulette and shooting craps with a deadly serious hilarity, dropping coins into hundreds of one-armed bandits which lined every wall and the sound was like we were inside a huge, tin piggy bank and somebody was shaking all the money around.

  There was an empty seat at one of the blackjack tables. The faces around the table seemed pleasant enough, but how would they react to me sitting down to gamble with them?

  I broke a hundred dollar bill at the cashier’s window. The seat was still open. I went over to one of the machines and dropped a silver dollar in the slot. If I win, I go to the table. I pulled the handle and watched the spinning figures slow to a halt … cherries … cherries … orange. There was a sharp click and silver dollars poured out.

  The dealer was in the middle of a hand as I put my money on the table and pulled up the chair. Someone said something about me but I couldn’t catch what it was. I kept my eyes on the green cloth. People were gathering around. I looked up. They were smiling.

  I pushed a silver dollar forward and played my first hand. I won. I let the two dollars ride—and won again. I pulled back my winnings and kept playing for two dollars. A woman at the end of the table smiled. “I loved your show.” The dealer glared at her. “Would you like another card?” She giggled nervously and looked back at her hand. I lit a cigarette and he slid an ash tray toward me. He jerked his head toward the nightclub. “I hope you’re as lucky in here as you are in there.” The man next to me said, “That’s not luck. That’s talent.” A cocktail waitress came by. “Would you like a drink, Mr. Davis?” “I’d love a coke, thank you.”

  I began to feel some of my audience drifting away. I handed the dealer a hundred dollar bill. “I’ll take some of those five-dollar chips, baby.” Without counting them I pushed a stack of blue chips forward. Someone said, “Yeah. Go, Sammy. Break the bank.” I won. I let it all ride. A woman yelled, “Arnold, come over here. Sammy Davis is playing. Hurry, Arnold.” The dealer was all but handing me the chips in a shovel. He looked at the mountain of them spilling over the whole table in front of me. “You want twenty-five-dollar chips for these, Sammy?” “No thanks, baby. These are doing fine for me.” The crowd was three deep around the table now. I pushed the whole pile forward. “Shoot the works.”

  “Oh my God, Arnold, will you look what he’s doing?” “It’s peanuts to him. Do you know what he makes a week?”

  The dealer flipped the cards around the table as casually as if he were dealing to silver dollars. The crowd was silent. The ace of diamonds slid face up in front of me. I opened my down card. The jack of hearts. There was a roar behind me as if I’d just gone off on “Birth of the Blues.” Arnold’s wife was going out of her mind and people were pounding me on the back as the dealer stacked hundred-dollar-chips against my bet and then added half again, the bonus for blackjack.

  I wasn’t going to top that moment. I pulled the mass of chips toward me and dropped a handful of them into the dealer’s shirt pocket. “Thanks, Sammy.” A woman moaned. “You’re not stopping, are you?” I smiled. “It’s a definite quit while I’m ahead.” As the crowd opened up for me I heard, “Hurry. Sit there, Arnold. It’s a lucky seat.”

  I walked through the casino, both hands holding the bundle of chips against my chest … “Hey, Sammy, y’want some help gettin’ rid of those?” … “How much you sock ‘em for, kid?” … “The rich get richer, don’t they?” … A deputy rushed ahead of me to help me with the door.

  Outside, alone, I had to fight an urge to throw the chips in the air like confetti. It was such a joke. Such a big, fat joke.

  On my way to breakfast, I passed a couple of the chorus kids sunbathing around the pool. I did bits with them for a few minutes, had some coffee, wandered over to the casino and sat at the bar drinking a coke and watching the action. A middle-aged guy with a swinging-looking blonde raised his glass and smiled. “You’re the greatest, Sammy.”

  The bartender said to me, quietly, “Now there’s a guy who lives. Hits town every Friday like clockwork. But with a different wife every week.”

  The manager sat down on the stool next to me. “Sammy, I hope you won’t mind, but, I’d consider it a favor if you’d try not to spend too much time around the pool.”

  I looked him in the eye, waiting for “It’s not that we mind but you know how people are….” A woman was screaming “Jackpot! Jackpot!”

  He said, “You saw what happened in the casino when you played last night. There were shooters playing ten times as big
as you were, but nobody paid any attention to them. Whenever a star sits down at a table he draws a crowd. And it’s fine, no harm there. But if you hang around the pool during the day you’ll attract crowds there, too, and frankly we’d just as soon not have you pull them away from the tables. Naturally, if you feel like a swim, fine, but we’ll appreciate it if you’ll keep it down to a minimum.”

  The pulse in my forehead began slowing down to normal again. I smiled. “I don’t know how to swim anyway. Besides, I’ve already got my tan.”

  I walked around, found a blackjack table that looked good and ran $500 into a twenty-five-dollar chip. I dropped it into the dealer’s shirt pocket and stood up. “Thanks, Sammy. Tough luck.”

  “I’ll get even tonight, baby.”

  He smiled and continued shuffling the cards.

  I stopped at a dice table and watched a comic I knew from the coast. “How y’doing, baby?”

  He made a wry face. “Great. I got here in an $8000 Cadillac and I’m leaving in an $80,000 bus!”

  I grinned at the old joke, did one back at him, and wandered around a while longer doing all the Vegas clichés. As I walked toward the steam room I knew I should be concerned over losing $500 in ten minutes, but I just couldn’t feel it.

  I was dressing after the second show when one of the boy dancers came into the dressing room. “No party tonight?”

  “Sorry, baby. Gotta run into L.A. I’m doing the sound track for Six Bridges to Cross.”

  He looked at my rack of clothes and stroked the sleeve of a gray silk. “Crazy-looking threads.”

  I lifted the suit off the rack and handed it to him. “Wear it in good health.”

  “Hey, Jesus, no—I didn’t mean—”

  “No big deal, baby. I’d like you to have it.”

  I heard him down the hall. “You won’t believe what Sammy Davis just did. I was standing in his dressing room looking at this suit …”

  I felt like Frank had always looked—like a star to my fingertips.

  As I stepped out of the dressing room, someone grabbed my arm. “Whattya say, chicky?”

  “Jess, you nut. When’d you get in?”

  “Ten minutes ago. How’s it going?” He walked outside with me.

  “We’re doing all the business in town and it’s been the ball of all time.”

  “What’ve you been doing?”

  “I do what everybody else does.” I stopped at the sound of my own words, gripped by the understanding of their meaning. I snapped myself out of it. “Listen, here’s the skam. I’m driving to L.A. to do the sound track for Six Bridges, I’ll be back tomorrow, sixish, we’ll grab some steam, then it’s a little din-din, and you can catch the show.” I tapped him on the arm. “Meanwhile, grab a chick, have some booze, sign my name, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I took the long way around to my room, through the casino, just for the sheer joy of walking through it. The deputy sheriff standing just inside the door gave me a big “Hi’ya, Sammy.” I waved back and kept moving through all the action. Some guys at a dice table made room for me. “Come on in, Sammy. We’ve got a hot shooter.”

  “Thanks. Can’t tonight. Gotta run into L.A. Catch y’tomorrow.”

  I browsed through my clothes. Something sporty … gray flannel slacks and a cashmere jacket, and maybe a plain black silk shirt. Perfect. Not “Hollywood,” just casual. Very “cinema.”

  I took out a pair of levis and a sweater to wear in the car and called Room Service for a hamburger.

  I’d just finished showering when there was a knock on the door. One of the chorus chicks was standing there, smiling.

  “Hey, this hotel has crazy room service.” She laughed. I told her, “Darling, I sent Charley around to say there’d be no party tonight. I have to go into L.A.”

  “I know.” She stepped in. “But he said you weren’t leaving ‘til three. I thought maybe you’d like some company while you were getting dressed.” I watched her disappear into the bedroom. The doors weren’t only opening, they were swinging!

  Charley was waiting in the car. I climbed into the back seat and stretched out. The big neon sign in front of the hotel was flashing my name on and off and I lay there enjoying a delicious drowsiness. As we turned off the Strip and onto the highway I said, “Keep it under fifty, baby. Let’s break this car in so smooth that she’ll sing ballads.” I felt around my chest for my mezuzah. I sat up. Maybe the chain had opened. I reached inside my shirt, around my waist, but it wasn’t there. I distinctly remembered taking it off to shower, but I couldn’t recall putting it back on again. It must have slipped off the dresser, and with the chick there and in the hurry of leaving, I hadn’t noticed. I was tempted to turn around and go back for it, but we’d been traveling at least twenty minutes and it would mean losing an hour.

  I lay back watching the stars through the window. There were three particularly bright ones in a row, like magnificent diamond studs on a black velvet vest. The desert air was sweet and clear and it seemed a shame that all that beauty had always been there to be enjoyed but when I’d most needed this kind of contentment I’d never had the peace of mind to be able to find it; somehow, it had never looked the same through the windows of a bus. I closed my eyes. The rolling of the car increased my drowsiness, and I let myself sink deeper and more comfortably into it.

  14

  Why do they always say hospital sheets are cool and crisp? They were hot and sticky. And I didn’t have to ask “Where am I?” I sensed it or smelled it or remembered it. The room was very dark, I turned my head from one side to the other but there wasn’t a crack of light—a bulb, the moon—nothing! It was too dark just to be night. I must have been near an open window because I felt a gust of air pass over me, hot and thick like it never is at night. I heard cars moving outside. Slowly. A lot of them. I could hear a radio soap opera playing, people talking in a daytime tone and walking carelessly down the corridor. There definitely was daylight around me. I just couldn’t see it.

  I grabbed for my legs but my arms wouldn’t move. My hands could feel iron bars on both sides of me and if I had hands then I had to have arms. I kicked my legs and heard them swishing against the bedsheets. I banged my feet together so hard that they hurt. Thank God I had feet. There was terrible pressure around my head. I stretched my neck toward my hands to feel what was wrong.

  “Don’t touch your bandages, Mr. Davis. Everything is all right.”

  It was a woman’s voice. I fell back against the pillow. Oh, God. I can’t see, I can’t move, and everything-is-all-right-Mr. Davis. “Are you a nurse? Am I blind?”

  “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “But I can’t see! Am I blind?”

  “You have bandages over your eyes. You were in a bad automobile accident.”

  “Please! I know that. Just tell me yes or no. Am I blind?”

  “No. You’re not blind.”

  Naturally she’d say that. They wouldn’t let a nurse break it to me. Not like this, not the second I wake up.

  “If you promise not to pull at your bandages I can take the straps off your arms now.”

  “Thank you.” I felt my legs. They were okay. There was a small bandage on the palm of my right hand. I put my hands to my face, slowly, so she wouldn’t think I was pulling at the bandages. I started touching them at the top of my head but I couldn’t feel my skin until I got to my mouth. I was wrapped up like a mummy.

  I turned my head toward the sound of footsteps coming into the room. “Good morning, Mr. Davis. I’m Doctor Hull. How are you feeling?”

  I nodded, waiting. He wasn’t saying anything and I was suddenly afraid he would. “Look doc, I know this sounds like a B-movie, but, where am I?”

  “This is the Community Hospital at San Bernardino. You were operated on last night.”

  “You operated on me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Doctor, please—will I be able to dance? Am I … blind?”

  “You’re not blind.
You’re going to see. You’ll be able to dance and sing and do everything you ever did. But I removed your left eye.”

  I distinctly heard the words, but the tone—it was like “Shall we have lunch?” Nobody could be so casual as to say, “Ho hum, I took out your eye.”

  “Mr. Davis, losing an eye isn’t as tragic as it seems when you first hear it.”

  He really had said it.

  “Try not to touch the bandages.”

  I dropped my hands. I felt like an idiot. Here a man tells me he took out my eye and I’m checking to see if he’s kidding.

  “You’re handling it very bravely.”

  “Doc, you’d better tell me some more about it ‘cause I’m about to be the scaredest brave man you ever saw.”

  “We’ll discuss it in detail when you’re rested, but for the moment what it amounts to is that you struck your left eye against the pointed cone in the center of your steering wheel. When you were brought here yesterday morning …”

  Yesterday? If a whole night went by, then what happened in Vegas? Who did the show?

  “… the doctors on duty felt that although the eye was severely damaged there was still a possibility of saving it, so they called me because I specialize in this sort of operation. When I examined you I agreed that it might be saved. However, from the amount of damage done, the best you’d ever have had in that eye would be ten per cent vision. Although that would seem to justify saving it, we’ve learned that the damaged eye pulls, or leans, so heavily on the good one that eventually the healthy eye is weakened and the patient suffers what we call ‘sympathetic blindness.’ As a result, in a few years you might have had almost no sight at all and for that reason I recommended the removal …”

  The bed was turning and I grabbed for the bars … I don’t have to hold on, I can’t fall off. The bed isn’t really moving. I took deep breaths, trying to fight the nausea.

  “With one perfectly healthy eye you’ll have excellent vision. As for appearance, you’ll have an artificial eye and eventually no one but you will know the difference.”