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

by Davis, Sammy

  “There are two factors involved in vision: depth of focus and the area of sight. Try to think of the eyes as a pair of lenses. You understand how 3-D is based on the principle of two eyes looking at an object and giving it roundness? Well, you lose that roundness, or depth of focus, with only one eye. It will never be the same as before but it will be slightly better than it is now. However, the eye compensates. Your area of sight will, in a short time, begin to expand like a wide angle lens until eventually you’ll see more with one eye than you could when you had two but closed one.”

  “Doc, I hate to sound like a starlet, but once I get the plastic eye and I take off the patch, what happens when I look to the side with my good eye? I won’t be able to make the false one look that way, too, will I? I mean it’ll just stare straight ahead?”

  “In the beginning, yes. But in time you’ll train the outer muscles to move the plastic eye and you’ll be amazed at how much movement you’ll be able to get. As I told you a few days ago, the time will come when only you will know that you do not have two natural eyes.”

  As Dr. Hull neared the door to leave, a nurse came skidding into the room and collided with him. “Oh! Excuse me, doctor!” She was looking past him to me. “It’s Frank Sinatra! He’s on his way up!”

  I could hear the excitement in the halls accelerating until it was almost a roar. Nurses were running from room to room gasping, “He’s here, in the hospital! Frank Sinatra!” They were going out of their minds, with dropping thermometers and grabbing for lipsticks….

  Frank was standing in the doorway, smiling. “Hi’ya, Charley.” He came in, flipped his hat onto a chair and looked at me, carefully. “You’re going to be all right.” He said it emphatically, like he’d just gotten the word from “upstairs.” He embraced my father and Will. The nurse was rooted to the floor, staring at him, so flustered that she didn’t think to give him a chair. He smiled at her. “H’ya, honey.” She nodded like a drunk, with the grin and the glazed eyes.

  He pulled up a chair and straddled it, arms resting against its back. “Well, what’s happening with the eye?”

  “I’ll have to wear a patch until the socket heals, then I get a new eye.” I shook a cigarette out of a pack and held up my lighter, but the flame missed the end of the cigarette. When I finally got it lit Frank smiled. “You’re full of little party tricks, Charley.”

  “Stick around. For an encore I light my nose.”

  He’d lit a cigarette, too, and was holding it cupped in the palm of his hand. “How long do the docs figure it’ll take you to straighten out?”

  “They say maybe three months, but they’re not sure.”

  “Have you still got the place in the Sunset Colonial?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been keeping it.”

  “Well, we’ve got to get you out of there. That’s for openers. You can’t live there any more. You should have a house.”

  “I tried to get one, but it’s …”

  “You’ll have a house in the hills where you can get some quiet and still not be in the Yukon.” He looked over at my father. “I’ll be in touch with you on it.” He turned back to me. “We’ll get you something small, a rental until you know exactly what you want. You should have a couple of guys living with you until you’re on your feet. Do you know when you’re leaving here?”

  “A few days, I think.”

  “Why don’t you come out to my place at the Springs and spend a couple of weeks with me? Hey, what the hell are you crying about?”

  “Frank … I can’t tell you what it means to me for you to come here … I thought maybe the magazine thing….”

  “So what else is new?”

  “But …”

  “Forget it, Charley. You don’t even have to mention it. Have you decided where you want to open?”

  “Well, that Vegas money looks awfully good, but I’ve got a funny kind of a feeling about our first date. Herman Hover can only give us five thousand and though I hate to go for the short money, well, I’ve been thinking maybe we should go back to Ciro’s where it all began for us.”

  “You’re definitely right. The important thing is to start strong, and in L.A. you’ll be home where you know you have friends around you. The Vegas money’ll still be there.” He looked across the room. Will nodded. “Meanwhile, Charley, get your health back. Rest, don’t rush.”

  “I wish it was that simple. Let’s say it takes three months. By then, all this fantastic publicity I’m getting won’t mean beans—I’ll have blown all this momentum. On the other hand, obviously I can’t come back too early, coming on like I’m stumbling around for sympathy.”

  “First of all you’ve got no choice. You wait until you’re ready! Secondly, don’t worry about the momentum. They’ll wait for you. The day you go back to work you’ll be as hot as you are today.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  He raised an eyebrow and half-smiled. “You want to talk about comebacks?”

  He stood up and picked up his hat. “I’ll see you at the Springs.” He walked over to the bed and put his hand on my shoulder. “Relax. You’re going to be bigger than ever, Charley. Bigger than ever.”

  Flash bulbs were popping all over the room and a guy with a newsreel camera was walking in close to the bed. I turned slightly so he’d get a good shot of the patch, and gave him a Charley Brave smile.

  “Hey, is that the morning’s mail, Sammy?” He was pointing to the three tables of letters in the corner of the room. “I hope you at least got some money in all those letters.”

  “Have you read ‘em all?”

  “Hey, fellas, I’ve only got one eye, remember?” It got a laugh.

  “Sammy, is it true that Jeff Chandler offered you his eye?”

  “Yes. Jeff offered a cornea for transplantation, and I understand that I’ve had nine other offers since then.”

  “Why do you think Chandler offered to give you his eye?”

  “He’s my friend, and that’s just the kind of a man he is.”

  “Sammy, tell us your side of the story on you and Ava Gardner.” He winked. “I mean, confidentially.”

  Everybody laughed. “There’s nothing to tell. It’s totally false. The guy who wrote it should win a prize for fiction. Like ten years in jail!”

  “You mean there’s nothing to it?”

  “Baby, will you please take another look at this kisser of mine? Now you know I ain’t about to get that lucky!”

  “Isn’t Frank Sinatra a friend of yours? How’d he feel about it? I mean with her being his ex-wife?”

  “He came to visit me yesterday.”

  “Did he mention the story?”

  “No. I brought it up but he wouldn’t even discuss it.”

  “Isn’t that kinda strange?”

  “No. To discuss it would be like saying there was a possibility it was true and that would conflict with his belief that if you have a friend then he’s your friend and you believe in him and that’s it. If he’d thought about me to the contrary he just wouldn’t have shown.”

  “Have you heard that because of what happened to you the Cadillac people are redesigning their steering wheel? They’re inverting the thing that sticks up in the center.”

  “Sammy, now that you’ve had almost a week to think about it what’s your feeling about what happened to you? Have you wondered, ‘Why me?’ ”

  “Baby, all I can say is that God must have had his arms around me. He really did or I would have been killed. I understand there was an identical accident in Oregon just two days ago and everybody in both cars was killed instantly. So if there’s any ‘why me’ it can only be why did He let me live?”

  “How do you think it’ll affect your career?”

  “That’s entirely up to the public. If they still want me I’ll be there.” I pointed to the letters. “It’s gonna take me a long time to answer them all. In the meantime, you guys could do me a big favor if you’d mention how grateful I am for the fantastic support they’ve gi
ven me.”

  “Y’mean the mail gave you something to lean on?”

  “Baby, I can’t begin to describe what it’s like to have total strangers take the trouble to send little prayers and to tell you they’re rooting for you. I’m having all those letters bound in books ‘cause I don’t ever want to be without them. Anytime I feel unlucky I’ll just take them out and read how wrong I am.”

  “Sammy, are you trying to tell us you feel lucky?”

  “I hate to do the great movie cliché where the guy says, ‘I lost an eye, my face is scarred, my career is shot to hell but I’m lucky to be alive.’ I know it’s awfully cornball but I really mean it. This may sound ridiculous, but I’m beginning to think that as awful as it was maybe it was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, if you’ll pardon the expression, it opened my eyes.”

  They were writing down every word. I was swinging.

  When the room had cleared, I noticed Will standing in front of the window, and I was suddenly aware that he’d been there through the entire press conference. I had a mental picture of him looking at the reporters … but nobody had asked him anything. Okay, they were mostly interested in the accident, but we’d talked about the act and they hadn’t noticed him. Nor had I. He’d just been there in the corner, the forgotten man. Now he was looking out the window, his face expressionless and still except for a single muscle moving in his cheek. He didn’t know I was watching him and what I saw in that unguarded moment was completely unlike the man I’d known all my life. I’d seen many sides of him—serenity, stubbornness, his own kind of quiet arrogance, kindness, wisdom, all the facets—but never before had he appeared to be lost, almost helpless. Even during our worst days, when we’d Been locked out and hungry he’d been in control. I couldn’t stop watching him and for a moment I was afraid he’d catch me intruding on his privacy, but I turned away a second before he looked up and smiled. “I’m going downstairs for some coffee, Sammy. I’ll be back soon.”

  I nodded and watched him leave. Will isn’t the type that goes for coffee. He has it with his meals and he doesn’t have anything in between. He was going to take care of something he didn’t want me to know about, probably paying the bill. He did those things quietly, never making a big thing out of it to remind me I should have saved my money. If he wanted to do that he’d come right out and say, “You should have saved your money.” He’d never try to make me feel beholden to him. I could appreciate the quiet, sure, way he’d taken care of everything all week. I remembered a lot of things I’d often forgotten. Despite our arguments and problems, Will had always been there when I needed him, in the way that he could be there. And I’d needed him a lot.

  What could be going on in his mind? Isn’t he happy that maybe we’re about to move into the real big time? Had I been wrong? Did he fear the same things I did? Even so, that couldn’t bother him this much. He’s been on a seesaw for fifty years. He must be in his sixties and at least fifty of them have been spent hoofing in every broken-down toilet from one coast to the other. I remembered him telling me Bill Robinson made $3500 a week, as if it were all the money in the world. Now, at an age when logically an act should decline, Will’s moving into a bigger big time than he could ever have imagined. So, why isn’t he happy? Maybe it doesn’t mean as much to him as it does to me and my father. He doesn’t spend his money. He doesn’t care about big hotel suites or a new car. What is the big time to him? His pleasure has always come from the business itself and from being respected in it. I think if he had his choice of a million dollars a year working in a store, or room and board in show business, he wouldn’t give it a minute’s thought, he’d put on his shoes and start dancing.

  He’d been completely thrown by the new Vegas offer. He’d thought there was a mistake in the telegram and he was insulted that they were offering us only twenty-five hundred. He’d checked with Western Union and then with the Morris office before he’d been able to believe it was really twenty-five thousand.

  Had I hurt his pride with that horrible scene the other day? Has he begun to feel insecure now that I’m carrying him? Does he think I could possibly forget all the years he carried me? Is he wondering if some day I’ll say, “From now on I’m doing a single,” and he’ll be back in the three-a-day again? Except there is no three-a-day any more.

  How can he possibly enjoy his new position in the business if he’s worrying that any day I might squeeze him out? And he has every reason to fear it. We have no contract, no blood ties, there’d be no way he could stop me, nor would he try. He’d keep his dignity and say good-bye. But it would kill him.

  The injustice of it was overwhelming. To work your whole life for something and finally get it, but with a string attached, a string that could yank it away from you at any time—he’d earned far better than that.

  He came back, smiled hello and walked over to the window.

  “Massey?” He turned around. “Massey, I’ve been thinking. We’re moving into a new phase of our careers, you know, the offers we’ve been getting …” His shoulders tensed, almost as though he were thinking, “Here it comes.” That wasn’t what I’d wanted. I hadn’t meant to scare him. I’d intended to make a nice little speech but now I had to rush it. “We should have a contract, Massey. You, me, and Dad. We’ll split everything three ways, like always, and you’re the manager like always with the same billing and everything, but we should have it in writing.”

  He spoke slowly. “We don’t need a contract.”

  “Massey, it should be in writing.”

  He didn’t answer right away. “Are you sure that’s what you want, Sammy?”

  “That’s what I want.”

  He walked to the side of the bed and I saw the look of gratitude and relief from the tremendous fear that good man had been carrying. It flashed across his face and he turned away for a second. But now he was looking straight at me. He put out his hand and the touch of it, the feel of his strength, carried me back through all the years we’d been together.

  I turned my pillow for the tenth time. When its cool freshness had become warm and soggy I sat up in the dark room and lit a cigarette. Would we really be bigger than ever, or would we go down the drain? I listened to the sounds of the hospital, the sure, everything’s-going-to-be-all-right sounds, the anesthesia for reality. Hospitals are so safe. You’re exposed to no one but well-wishers, friends who come loaded with pocketsful of optimism, doctors and nurses who speak in carefully worded encouragements, and who can stop the pain of almost anything but the future. It had been so easy to decide I’ll perform like always, so pleasant to daydream that we’d be bigger than ever, that I’d be better than ever, so easy to be a hit while I was safely in bed where all problems hung suspended and harmless and where success could be enjoyed just by planning it. I’d been so sure I could go out and just walk onto the stage and dance my head off, I’d already heard the applause. Now I was afraid to sleep, dreading the passing of every hour that was bringing me closer to the moment when I’d have to step outside and do it.

  Dr. Hull came by early in the morning to say good-bye. “I want you to drive the car yourself at least part of the way to Los Angeles. You’ll be afraid, particularly when you can’t judge distance as well as you used to. But you can drive safely if you’re careful, and you must conquer the fear. In all things. The driving is only symbolic. You must walk out of here a whole man.”

  I dressed slowly and tried the patch over my eye at different angles. Arthur walked with me while I said good-bye to all the other patients I’d gotten to know. I did bits with the nurses, like, “Anytime you wanta be in pictures, baby …” That kind of humor. They laughed, but they knew I was scared. Maybe it happens to everyone who walks away from death.

  There was no way to stall any more. I walked downstairs and out the front door. My father and Will were sitting in the back seat of a new Cadillac convertible, a duplicate of the one I’d smashed up.

 
; I sat in the driver’s seat. The upraised knob in the center of the steering wheel looked so harmless. I tapped it with my finger. “Well, here we go, folks. Double or nothing.” Nobody laughed.

  I turned the key in the ignition. My hand trembled as I put the car in gear. I looked at the car parked ahead of us. It seemed to be about fifty feet away, but I couldn’t be sure. I took my foot off the brake and the car started moving forward.

  15

  “CAN SAMMY RUN AGAIN?” Alongside the story was a two-column picture of me wearing the patch. “Sammy Davis, Jr. is scheduled to begin a four week engagement at Ciro’s in mid-March. The announcement by Herman Hover causes one to speculate as to whether the Sammy Davis, Jr. who’ll open at Ciro’s can possibly bear any resemblance to the dazzling figure of perpetual motion whose career only two months ago loomed as one of the brightest in show business….”

  The rehearsal room was empty except for some chairs, a long mirror across one wall and an upright piano with a record player on top of it. I didn’t want Morty or anybody around so I’d brought some records. I wasn’t too worried about the singing or the impressions. My balance and sense of depth had become pretty good for normal things but dancing was going to be something else. I put “Fascinating Rhythm” on the machine and lowered the needle onto the record.

  It was as if I’d never danced before. My legs shook, I had almost no wind at all, every turn brought a knife-stab to my eye, the tempo seemed faster than it had ever been and I was fighting to keep up with it. I kicked myself in the leg and tripped. I saw myself in the mirror, sitting on the floor, one hand protecting my eye, gasping for breath, my shirt wet and clinging to me. I pictured myself falling like that in a club. I’d have landed on somebody’s table. I can’t come back like, “Gee, isn’t it great how hard he’s trying.” That’s death. When I come back there can be no “He’s almost as good as he ever was.” I’ve got to be better!

  The needle was scratching on the label of the record. I got up, picked out a slower record and started dancing again. My eye burned and throbbed but I didn’t dare stop.