In the 1960s, the New York Times raved, “Sammy Davis Jr.'s electrifying stage presence and mesmerizing tap-dancing left audiences spellbound, a true master of his craft.”
Entertainment Weekly declared in the 1970s, “His soulful voice and dynamic charisma lit up the stage, captivating audiences with each performance.”
In the 1980s, Variety praised his performances as a dazzling display of talent and showmanship, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts of all who witnessed them.”
Sammy Davis Jr. was a celebrated performer whose greatness spanned decades. I had the privilege of spending time with him.
I worked on West 57th Street in Manhattan for decades and often ran into celebrities as I walked down the wide boulevard. One night, I encountered the great baritone singer Lou Rawls. I had interviewed Lou for the New York Post a few years earlier and stopped him to say hello. Rawls, who had risen to fame behind such hit songs as “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine,” seemed startled, not recognizing me initially. But, after a brief reminder, a warm smile crossed his face. “I liked your article,” he said, and I smiled with a sigh.
Another night, as I was heading home, a black limousine pulled to the curb in front of me, and out popped a legend, Sammy Davis Jr. Sammy recognized me straight away and gave me a warm embrace. I had spent several days with Sammy producing a profile of him for CBS Sunday Morning, and Sammy spent the next few moments extolling how much he appreciated the job I had done. His high praise meant the world to me.
Memories of my first encounter with Sammy are scattered like fall leaves in the wind. Yet the overall experience left a lasting impression.
It was the early 1980s. Sammy Davis Jr. was an aging showbiz legend whose star still shone brightly on the stages of Caesar’s Palace, where he headlined multiple shows a night.
Assigned by CBS Sunday Morning to produce a profile of this iconic entertainer and former member of the Rat Pack, I approached the task with a mix of excitement and reservation. While I admired his immense talent, I couldn't overlook some of his controversial political choices and notorious penchant for hugs.
One particular moment that caused a stir within the Black community was Davis's embrace of President Richard Nixon in 1972. At a time when the majority of African Americans held anti-Nixon sentiments, this photo op with the President sparked dismay. Despite this, Sammy remained a towering figure in show business, his talent undiminished by political controversies.
During an interview I produced a couple of years earlier, Quincy Jones, the renowned music producer, offered a profound insight into Sammy Davis Jr.'s place in entertainment history. He likened Davis's talent to that of Michael Jackson, emphasizing the enduring impact and significance of his contributions to the world of entertainment.
Born Dec. 8, 1925, Sammy Davis Jr. began his career as a child performer, joining his father, Sammy Davis Sr.'s vaudeville act. Sammy Jr. gained recognition as a talented tap dancer. In the 1940s and 1950s, Sammy toured extensively with the Will Mastin Trio, showcasing his singing, dancing, and comedic talents. Though roles in Hollywood were limited, Davis appeared in several films and television shows, including notable roles in "Rufus Jones for President" (1933), a musical comedy he starred in at 7 years old, "Sweet and Low" (1947), and "Porgy and Bess" (1959), among others. He also made appearances on popular TV programs such as "The Ed Sullivan Show" and "The Frank Sinatra Show," further solidifying his status as a versatile entertainer.
His breakout role in the 1964 film “Robin and the 7 Hoods” marked a significant milestone in Sammy's career. This film gave him a high-profile role alongside Hollywood heavyweights such as Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Bing Crosby. It allowed Sammy to showcase his singing, dancing, and comedic abilities on a grand scale, helping to elevate his status in the entertainment industry.
Sammy’s close friendship with Sinatra, Martin, Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop gained worldwide tabloid notoriety as the Rat Pack.
As I said, memories of my encounter with Sammy Davis Jr. are scattered, but a few stand out:
Sammy’s electrifying Caesar’s Palace performance — highlighted by his signature performance of “I Gotta Be Me” — had me jumping out of my seat.
Being screamed at by Sammy’s valet for using the toilet in Sammy’s Caesar’s Palace dressing room after the show, before Sammy got a chance to use it. Nobody, apparently, could take a dump before Sammy did.
After the show, my jaw dropped at the sight of the legendary Diana Ross pulling down her shimmering dress as she entered Sammy’s palatial dressing room on the arm of Motown mogul Berry Gordy.
The next day, I recall high-tailing it through the desert to catch up to Sammy’s speeding limousine as we departed for Los Angeles. Only to lose them under the hot desert sun and pull to a stop on the side of the road to get our bearing for a few minutes before being ordered back in our vehicle by a command from a hovering police helicopter.
Another memory: A burly, uniformed security guard holding a threatening German Shepherd by the leash at the gate of Sammy’s palatial Beverly Hills estate.
Finally, a sparkling ruby red slipper was on the coffee table in Sammy’s expansive living room, overflowing with knickknacks. Sammy assured me that the slipper was the actual shoe Judy Garland wore in the 1933 movie version of The Wizard of Oz. His assertion of its authenticity was confirmed later in the day with the arrival of his friend, Lorna Luft, Judy’s daughter.
From his dazzling dance moves to his soulful singing voice, Davis captivated audiences of all backgrounds during his career, breaking down barriers and defying expectations.
Despite facing prejudice and discrimination throughout his career, Davis never wavered in his pursuit of excellence. He blazed trails as one of the first African American entertainers to achieve mainstream success in a predominantly white industry, paving the way for future generations of Black artists.
Sammy Davis Jr. died on May 16, 1990, from cancer.
Listen to: “I Gotta Be Me.”
I vividly remember his many appearances on a number of TV shows, including the splendid jousts with Archie Bunker.
Love love this article. I can hear Sammy singing that song in my head right now. Thanks for these stories. A reminder of the struggles that entertainers had to endure to just exist back then. Keep the memories coming. We should never forget Sammy's cintribution to the arts and his life story.