Sammy Davis Jr.

by Tracey Davis

  “Pop, you know, in Lake Tahoe, we were the only black kids at our school for quite some time. But it was a different time. We actually made lifelong friends there,” I said.

  “Remember how I would tease you—’how’s life in Shangri-La’?” Pop joked.

  “Life was good in Shangri-La, Pop. We missed you, though.” I smiled.

  “Do you remember when I worked a show at Harrah’s with Bill Cosby? Before the show, Bill asked me to do some impersonations. He wanted to throw this joke on the stage: ‘Sam, you were wonderful, don’t you do any people that’s alive?” Pop laughed.

  “That’s when I realized most of the great actors I impersonated were in heaven. From then on, I cut down on my impersonations in a major way; I just can’t impersonate the young entertainers of your generation—Michael Jackson, maybe, but that’s it,” Pop explained.

  “All I recall is that you were always working. Mom said during the marriage, you were so busy she started to pick up painting. Benay Venuta gave her fine art lessons at home, did you know that?” I said.

  “Yes. Your mother was and is a fine abstract painter. As for me, even when I wasn’t working, I was attending award shows, making appearances. The year we divorced, in 1968, I remember I won the Spingarn Medal from the NAACP for my efforts against racism. There was always something,” Pop replied.

  Dad won an Emmy Award for his TV special The Swinging World of Sammy Davis, Jr., 1966

  My dad’s performance of “Rhythm of Life” was a show-stopper in Sweet Charity, 1969.

  There was always something for Pop. Simply helping out his fellow black performers was a top priority. Claude Trenier, of the Trenier Brothers song-and-dance ensemble said, “Sammy was doing things to help the black cause. But because he wasn’t ‘Right on’ and what’s called the ‘fists in the air’ and all that stuff, they thought he wasn’t into it. But he was into it deep. He was black and he knew he was black, so he tried to help other blacks. He said to our group, ‘You want to go to Carnegie Hall with me?’ I said, ‘Sure!’ We went and played in Carnegie Hall. How many acts dying to get into Carnegie Hall? And he took us in there with him.” That was my father. A giver.

  “But why marry Altovise two years after divorcing Mom?” I said, getting us back on track.

  On the set of Sweet Charity with screenwriter Peter Stone

  Taking pictures was one of Pop’s favorite hobbies.

  Pop, Harry Belafonte, Sidney Poitier, and Quincy Jones in Las Vegas, 1970

  “I feel a little guilty about Altovise. Although I was clean at the time, we entertained many guests who were not on the straight and narrow. She was surrounded by alcohol and drugs. She just fell into it. I felt responsible, you know?” Pop said.

  “I’ll never forget when you told us kids you were going to marry Altovise. My brothers and I came to visit you here, sat down at the dining room table. We saw this strange woman at the table. We looked at each other wondering—who is this lady? Out of nowhere, you introduced us and announced that you were going to marry this total stranger!”

  “I didn’t handle it well. I’m sorry. I’ll never forget your face, Trace; you wouldn’t eat!” Pop said.

  “When we got home that night we asked Mom why she didn’t tell us Pop was getting married? Poor Mom didn’t even know about it. She was livid!” I exclaimed.

  “It was wrong. Your Mom got so upset. And Lord, when she was mad she would slip into her heavy Swedish accent and mispronounce everything—kind of comical her decoding process. She kept saying to me, ‘You have kids at dining table and have them walk into some kind of trappings?’ Good Lord. I apologized, but I don’t think she ever forgave me,” Pop explained.

  On May 11, 1970, Reverend Jesse Jackson married my father and Altovise Gore in a Philadelphia courthouse. Altovise Gore was a former dancer in Golden Boy. They adopted a son, Manny, in 1989 and remained married until Dad’s death in 1990. Her drinking got so heavy, when Pop got sick with throat cancer, he locked her out of his master wing of the house.

  “When I married Altovise in May of 1970, my schedule was insane. In addition to nightclub acts and television appearances, my manager, Sy Marsh, decided my records were not selling well enough on Frank’s Reprise label. Although I had a #1 hit on the Easy Listening Singles chart with ‘I’ve Gotta Be Me’ in 1969—Sy thought it was time to pull in a more hip, younger audience. We signed with Berry Gordy at Motown one month before the wedding,” Pop explained.

  I added: “I remember reading about the Motown gig, Pop. Sy said, ‘the world’s number one record producer, who’s black, has signed the world’s greatest entertainer, who’s also black.’”

  “Two black cats made in heaven—I wish.”

  Gordy told Sy he didn’t think Pop had the Motown sound. They got out of the deal, left Motown. He did a studio album with MGM, and in June 1972, “The Candy Man” became his signature song. For three weeks it placed #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 list.

  “Pop, how did you ever find time for your hobbies, like your photo work or watching daytime soaps?” I asked my dad.

  “There’s a lot of sit-around-and-wait time in Hollywood, you know. I always loved to take photos of the family, of friends. Jerry Lewis gave me my first important camera, my first 35 millimeter, during the Ciro’s period—early ’50s. He hooked me. Later on I would use a medium format camera. The nice thing about being an avid photographer is that nobody interrupts a man taking a picture to ask, ‘What’s that nigger doin’ here?’” Pop explained.

  Joey Heatherton, Frank Sinatra, my father, and Edie Adams on a ’60s TV special.

  Pop’s photo work was compiled in a book by Burt Boyar published in 2007, titled, Photo by Sammy Davis, Jr. In the book are rare photos of Robert Kennedy, Jackie Kennedy, and Martin Luther King. Intimate shots of close friends like Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Marilyn Monroe, Jerry Lewis, Nat King Cole, and even James Dean are in the book. There are pictures of his father dancing with Will Mastin and beautiful snapshots of the family, my white mom and her three black kids bouncing about. It is a lovely photographic representation of Pop’s life and his favorite off-stage-and-screen hobby.

  Pop sure had style! Here he is performing in London in January 1973.

  My dad, an elder statesman of the entertainment industry, in the early ’80s

  CHAPTER 5

  ELDER STATESMAN

  My father looked gaunt, tired. “Want me to help you to bed, Pop? Maybe you can catch a General Hospital rerun,” I said.

  “I loved being on that show,” Pop whispered. He was falling fast asleep—until Altovise’s dogs came flying out of the house, jumped all over him, and got tangled in his medical tubes.

  Pop was livid, “I’m a superstar, you f’in dogs! See, Trace, no one pays me any attention!” We both laughed. “Don’t make me laugh, Trace Face!” I called the strong and loving Lessie Lee to help me with the dogs and to take Pop in.

  “Pop, remember when you won that Daytime Emmy Award for One Life to Live? [In which he had a recurring role.],” I said as we climbed my father and his IV up to his bedroom.

  “I was nominated, never won, that was 1980. But I loved that show, too. Also nominated but never won for The Cosby Show in 1987,” Pop said as we tucked him into bed and turned on the television.

  Dad, Princess Grace, and Cary Grant in 1971

  My father loved game shows, too. He appeared on Family Feud in 1979 on ABC. He made a cameo on Card Sharks in 1981 on NBC. He and Altovise also appeared as panelists on Tattletales in the 1970s.

  Dad, Liza, and Frank doing promo for their “comeback” concert, 1989

  Performing with two of his favorite people, Frank Sinatra and Liza Minnelli, in 1989

  In the 1980s, Pop performed in the Cannonball Run movies and continued his stage and film work. But after his hip surgery in the late 1980s, my father started to slow down. He was last seen onstage with Uncle Frank and Liza Minnelli in The Ultimate Event. In 1989, my father made his final film, Tap, which was a tribute
to the legends of the tap dancing era.

  I sat with my father as he fell asleep with the television on full blast. I watched him sleep and thought about all the wonderful trips we had gone on together after his divorce from my mother. Monaco, in the south of France, was the most memorable.

  Monaco was the most beautiful place my husband and I had ever seen. Pop’s rules were simple: “You and Guy get here, and I will take care of everything else.” We happily agreed.

  Upon arrival we were whisked to Monte Carlo through a tiny winding road of countryside that unfolded into one word: stunning. In the Principality of Monaco, the houses were small yet grand, the Côte d’Azur spectacular and, of course, the Palace. It didn’t seem quite real. Someone lives there? Holy cow!

  We arrived at the Hôtel de Paris. I had stayed in some ritzy hotels but this one took the cake. The awe-inspiring lobby with crystal chandeliers and marble colonnades spoke of majestic sovereignty.

  Cannonball Run II: Burt Reynolds, Dean Martin, Shirley MacLaine, Dad, and Frank Sinatra

  Our room overlooked the plaza with a panoramic view of the Casino de Monte-Carlo. The Casino was designed by Charles Garnier, the architect of the Paris Opera House with beautiful frescoes and stained-glass windows. The Casino de Monte-Carlo was a far cry from the “anything goes” Las Vegas casinos. We would sit on the balcony and watch people come and go night after night, dressed to the nines.

  Dad’s suite at the Hôtel de Paris, oh my gosh! It overlooked the entire French Riviera and the Prince’s palace. Breathtaking. We sat out on the balcony for hours chatting away amidst the royal spirit, glitz, and glamour that was Monaco.

  Dad would throw out his infamous joke, “Do you know why I stay in this beautiful hotel?” “No, Pop,” I would reply. “Because I can,” Pop would say on key. We fell out laughing each and every time. But there was power behind his laugh. Never far from my father’s mind was the fact that there was a time when he couldn’t stay in beautiful hotels. Not just because of money, but because of the color of his skin. I think Pop always threw out his joke as a way of giving thanks to God.

  Dad and Bruce Forsyth got together for an hour-long television special in 1980. Forsyth later said, “The best TV show I ever did was with Sammy Davis, Jr. I played for him when he sang, he played for me when I sang, and when people come to visit now and I show them the tape, it still stands up as a good show.”

  I thought this was one of Pop’s funniest TV appearances—on The Jeffersons (with Isabel Sanford) in 1984.

  Dad performed in Monaco and brought down the house. We were invited to the palace for dinner after the show. Wow, you cannot overdress for a dinner at the palace. It was about two in the morning, I think. Tiny tealight candles lit the path we strolled down. We dined outside, French Riviera style with Prince Rainier, Princess Caroline, Lynn Wyatt, a socialite from Texas, and other notable guests.

  I sat next to Princess Caroline. I still struggle to describe my awe. I say it to this day—she was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen—her skin, her eyes, just striking. When I saw Princess Caroline, I thought, there are women and there are ladies. She was a lady in the true definition of the word.

  Princess Caroline spoke perfect French and English, and who knows how many other languages. She was so composed at the table, such a fine hostess, made each guest feel special, like she had known us for years. Princess Caroline had a way of involving her guests in conversation that was beyond skilled; it was a true talent.

  She asked me, “You and your husband have been together a long time. Are you thinking of children?” I stammered. How do you reply to a princess? Umm, oh don’t say umm, I thought. She sensed me lost in her charming spell, and gracefully broke in, “There is never a perfect time for children—just have them, treasure them.” All I could think of was, okay, Princess, yes Princess, so I nodded politely.

  Another memorable trip I took with my father and my husband was to the White House in 1987. My father was the recipient of a Kennedy Center Honor. At the ceremony he would be honored by his closest friends, including Lucille Ball, who had come to the house over the years for my father’s home-cooked gourmet meals.

  Dad had slept at the White House previously, as a guest under former President Nixon. Pop has been credited by the Nixon administration for what is now a tradition, the POW dinner. In 1987, he headed back to the White House, as a guest of President Ronald Reagan and Vice President George H. W. Bush. The Kennedy Center Honors would be a three-day extravaganza. My father could not have been more proud.

  We arrived in Washington aboard Bill Cosby’s Gulf Stream jet, the Camille, named after his wife. Mr. Cosby had loaned his jet to Dad for the occasion, staffed with a private chef. From Van Nuys, California, we flew to St. Louis, where my father had to perform, then on to D.C. We flew by the beautiful arch. When I told Pop I didn’t see it too well, he had the pilot circle again. Pretty cool.

  In D.C., my father gave us our own limo. He wanted a driver to take us wherever we wanted to tour for the duration of the stay. The driver took my husband and me to the Ritz-Carlton hotel, where Kennedy Center honorees and other guests were gathered. You could not walk anywhere in the Ritz without bumping into someone famous—it was surreal. Soon it was time for the main event.

  “Can’t be late,” Dad always said, “it’s bad form.” Driving up to the White House, we were nervous. The protocol alone scared us, not to mention the security and receiving line. There was a cocktail party for Dad and other Kennedy Center honorees in the East Room, including the great Bette Davis, who was so beautiful. My husband and I were the only ones that weren’t famous. The pristine food spread was incredible. The president and first lady greeted each honoree privately, in a separate room.

  Dad returned to the cocktail party after the private greeting. He was having a great time when he noticed a group of black guys that were peering out of the kitchen. Next thing I know, Dad was gone. Later, we found him in the kitchen, with his bow tie loosened, hanging out with all the folks who had made the evening possible. What else would you expect from Sammy Davis, Jr.? It was a touching moment, but nothing out of the ordinary. It was just Pop.

  The evening of the Kennedy Center Honors, my father was beaming. The room was electric. It was not lost on me that it was the “Kennedy” Center: named after the Kennedys, who hurt my father so deeply when he was not invited to the JFK inauguration celebration—after all his hard work performing for the campaign. Ironic, I thought.

  One day, we were invited to the State Department for a seated dinner with George Pratt Shultz, former US Secretary of State under Reagan. We rode in separate limos from the Ritz-Carlton, and pulled up to what I would call Fort Knox security. Once cleared by security, we entered a huge but somehow intimate ballroom with Kennedy Center honorees and other invited guests.

  Over dinner, George Shultz spoke about football, the history of the room, and told funny stories about other dinners that put the table guests at ease.

  After the State Department dinner, we returned to the Ritz-Carlton. We had drinks at a big table with honorees and guests—everyone laughing and kicking off their shoes, talking about our three-day extravaganza. We went around the room, each of us saying what we were thankful for. No one wanted the evening to end. We returned home on Bill Cosby’s Camille. Washington, D.C., was sure a once-in-a-lifetime trip.

  Back to the reality of sitting by Pop, reminiscing about our travels in my head, as he rested. I told him something like, “I love you, Pop, you are an icon. Your star shines bright on the Hollywood Walk of Fame!”

  “Thanks, Trace Face. Just don’t let me die here.” Pop was referring to his legacy, and keeping it alive. His heavy eyelids closed for the night and I headed home.

  Once in my own room, melancholy set in motion. I kept hearing my father’s voice, “Just don’t let me die here.” I closed the blinds to shut out the moonlight and surrendered myself to a state of darkness. Despite my resistance, reality was mounting, and I knew the end was
near.

  Out of nowhere, I found myself in my Nissan 240SX upside down in an embankment off Tierra Rejada Road, near Thousand Oaks, California. I woke up to someone banging on my window pane. I felt water on my face. Was it raining? Where was I? No, it was not raining; it was blood on my face and I was stuck upside down in my car, pregnant. Don’t let me die, I thought. Don’t let my baby die. Bad enough that Pop was dying.

  I was driving home from a CSUN Alumni basketball game, listening to “Tears for Fears” on a cassette player, when a big old car on a two-lane road between Simi Valley and Moorpark came smack into my lane. It hit me head on, and I rolled into an embankment, flipping upside down. I was pulled out of the car. It had automatic shoulder restraint seat belts. Luckily, I had forgotten the manual lap belt around my belly, which saved my unborn child’s life.

  A sheriff’s deputy radioed in that “we have a fatality.” Paramedics came to the scene. The deputy asked, “Who else was in the car with you?” I replied, “No one. Call my dad.” The police asked, “What’s his name?” I said, “Sammy Davis, Jr.” There was a moment of disbelief, and I said, “Yeah, that’s him.” I gave up the number. My father was panicked, naturally. I could only imagine Pop hearing the news with flashes of his own nearly fatal car accident that took his eye.

  They told my father that they were taking me to Los Robles Hospital and Medical Center. Mom was in Lake Tahoe at the time. Someone phoned her as well. A stranger called my husband, Guy. By the time Guy arrived, there were fire trucks and police cars everywhere. He pushed through the crowd shouting, “That’s my wife! That’s my wife! She’s pregnant!”