Sammy Finds Himself In A Harsh Political Spotlight
In 1960, Sammy Davis Jr., who died Wednesday at the age of 64, joined Frank Sinatra in campaigning heavily for John F. Kennedy. At first things went well, but Davis' upcoming interracial marriage to blonde movie actress May Britt quickly became a major liability for Kennedy. Part 2 of a three-part excerpt from ``Why Me?: The Sammy Davis Jr. Story,'' by Sammy Davis Jr. and Jane and Burt Boyar.
The marquee in front of the Sands was a classic:
FRANK SINATRA
DEAN MARTIN
SAMMY DAVIS JR.
PETER LAWFORD
JOEY BISHOP
A few months earlier, when we had made plans to shoot ``Ocean's Eleven'' and play the hotel simultaneously, the newspapers had been filled with stories about Eisenhower, De Gaulle and Khrushchev planning a summit conference, and Frank had joked, ``We'll have our own little summit meeting.'' One of the papers printed it, others picked it up, and it stuck.
We'd get offstage at 1:30, and booze in the lounge until it was light out. We'd been in Vegas for a week and still plane-, train-, and busloads of people were pouring into town, sleeping in lobbies, cars anywhere, hoping to get rooms.
Sen. John F. Kennedy, campaigning for the presidency, was in Vegas for a meeting with the Nevada delegates at the Convention Center. Frank had been getting the theatrical community behind Kennedy and the five of us had begun doing rallies and campaigning for him.
There was only one star dressing room at the Sands, so for the fun of it all five of us used it. As we were getting ready for a second show, Frank told us, ``JFK is going to be out front.''
We always had celebrities in the audience. That night Frank stepped back to where we had a bar on the stage and as I was pouring a drink he said, ``Smokey, you introduce the president.''
Instead of taking the glory for himself and doing a number with it - which I would have done if I'd been that close to the man - Frank gave it to me. He was still pushing me up front, still had his arm around me.
--
Later, the senator and his party came upstairs and had drinks with us. Everybody was calling him ``No. 1.'' If Frank was doing a fund-raiser for Kennedy he'd call me, ``Are you available?'' and I would go there and do it. But when I announced my marriage to actress May Britt, I became a liability to the Kennedy campaign. I began receiving hate mail:
``Dear Nigger Bastard, I see Frank Sinatra is going to be best man at your abortion. Well, it's good to know the kind of people supporting Kennedy before it's too late. (signed) An ex-Kennedy vote.'' The press also began tying my forthcoming marriage to the Kennedy campaign.
The already stale news that Frank would be my best man continued making the front pages and too often, by ``coincidence,'' right next to it were stories about Frank campaigning for Kennedy.
I, too, was devoting all spare time to campaigning, in Los Angeles, in Watts, in some 20 large cities. I went with Ethel Kennedy, or Bobby, and on some occasions with John. The Broadway and Hollywood columns were alive with jokes and political humor: ``If Kennedy's elected his problem is: Should he appoint Sammy Davis Jr. Ambassador to Israel or the Congo?'' . . . ``Public opinion experts say that when Frank Sinatra appears at pal Sammy Davis Jr.'s interracial marriage it will cost Kennedy as many votes, maybe more, as the crooner has been able to swing via his successful JFK rallies.''
Fair or not, my wedding was giving the Nixon people the opportunity to ridicule Kennedy and hurt him at the polls. I could imagine the pressure Frank must be under: eight guys telling him, ``Don't be a fool. You've worked hard for Kennedy, now do you want to louse him up?'' And it was understandable. If he stood up for me at a controversial interracial marriage only a few weeks before the election there would be votes he'd lose for Kennedy. And the innuendo and publicity so far was only a hint of what would happen after he appeared at the wedding and they had a piece of hard news to work with.
How can I call myself his friend when I'm keeping him in this kind of a bind? If he's holding out for me like this, how can I not be equally his friend and take him off the spot?
But aside from the fact that I couldn't imagine being married without him present at my wedding, at this point if Frank did not appear it would backfire. They'd make it look as if Kennedy's staff had suggested it. Maybe he'd regain the bigot vote, but he'd lose some of the liberals and a lot of the Negro vote.
--
There was only one way to take the pressure off everyone concerned. Postpone the wedding. I knew he was at the Springs with Peter (Lawford).
``Hi ya, Charley, what's new?''
``Frank, we're going to have to put the wedding off a couple of weeks. You wouldn't believe the problems a poor soul has trying to get married: There's a hitch getting the Escoffier Room for the reception, the rabbi can't make it 'cause he's already booked for a bar mitzvah. Anyway, I don't know when it'll be but I'll give you plenty of notice.''
``You're lying, Charley.''
I hesitated, but it was pointless. ``Look, it's best that we postpone till after the election.''
There was silence at the other end of the line. Then: ``You don't have to do that.''
``I want to. All the talk. . . .''
``Screw the talk.''
``I know, but it's better this way.''
When, finally, he spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper. ``I'll be there whenever it is. You know that, don't you?''
``I know that, Frank.''
``I'd never ask you to do a thing like this. Not your wedding. I'd never ask that.''
``That's why it's up to me to be saying it.''
``You're a better man than I am, Charley. I don't know if I could do this for you, or for anyone. . . .''
``You've been doing it, haven't you?''
I heard him put down the phone and then Peter was on the line. There were no jokes. None of the usual insults we do with each other. He said, ``Frank can't talk anymore.'' If he got that choked up now, if he could break down in the middle of a phone call, then the pressure must have been greater than I'd imagined.
``Charley?''
``Yes, Peter?''
``Charley, I . . . it's beautiful of you.''
I stared at May's picture on my night table. What could I say to her? ``We're postponing our marriage because it's so repulsive to some people that they won't want to vote for Kennedy.'' How does a man explain this to the one person above all others from whom he wants respect and admiration?
I knew by her silence that she was hurt and saddened. ``Darling, it boils down to this: during a period of over 20 years Frank has been aces high, aces up - everything a guy could be to me. Now he needs something from me, so there can be no evaluating, no hesitating, no limit. It's got to be to the end of the earth and back for him if he needs it.''
``I understand,'' she said, ``and I agree with you. There was nothing else to do.''
--
The mail brought our invitation to John F. Kennedy's inauguration, in a large flat envelope with a piece of cardboard to keep it from bending. I showed it to May. ``How's this for a sense of history? For knowing that everyone who receives one of these is going to want to frame it.''
Looking at my name on the invitation, I thought, It really can happen in America. Despite all the obstacles, still in 1960 an uneducated kid from Harlem could work hard and be invited to the White House. I felt May watching me and I was embarrassed to be so proud of receiving the invitation. I copped out, ``These are not exactly being sent out to every cat on the corner.''
She squeaked out, ``I'm very impressed. . . .'' Tears were streaming down her face, which had a huge sunshine smile on it.
We both sat there in a happy funk.
Three days before the inauguration I was in my hotel room when Murphy woke me at 11 in the morning. ``Sammy, President Kennedy's secretary is calling.. . .''
It was Evelyn Lincoln, JFK's personal secretary, whom I knew from the campaign, ``Mr. Davis, . . . Sammy . . . the president has asked me to tell you that he does not want you to be present at his inauguration. There is a situation into which he is being forced and to fight it would be counterproductive to the goals he's set. He very much hopes you will understand. . . .''
I felt a torrent of words bubbling up in my throat: ``No, don't ask me to understand. Don't do this. Don't humiliate me. Don't cut me in half in front of my wife. In front of all the people I've told about it, my family, my friends, my audiences. My God, my wife called her parents in Sweden! If John can do this to me, then tell him I hate him. Please!! I have goals, too. I campaigned, I earned better. . . .''
But I didn't say any of that. I said. ``I understand. Thank you for calling.''
And I did understand, that hatred got noticed and had to be neutralized, whereas love could be put on hold. I understood that in politics a thousand votes were exactly one thousand times more valuable than one friend.
(From the book ``Why Me?: The Sammy Davis Jr. Story,'' by Sammy Davis Jr. and Jane and Burt Boyar. Copyright, 1989, by Sammy Davis Jr. and Boyar Investments Ltd. Reprinted by permission of the publisher, Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Distributed by Los Angeles Times Syndicate.)
Tomorrow: The price of boozing.