Sammy Davis, Jr. - Biography
Sammy Davis Jr. was, above all else, a show stopper. An entertainer. A superb vocalist, world-class, old-school tap dancer, an accomplished comedian and impressionist of uncanny accuracy, and a convincing dramatic actor. Davis, like his friends Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, rose to the very pinnacle of show business, except that Davis had to contend with both violent racists and the sanctioned national atmosphere of bigotry and segregation every step along the often punishing way. At if that wasn't enough of a burden, he was also very nearly killed in an automobile accident, just as he was attaining national stardom. Through it all, Davis' mixture of sage philosophical insight, indomitable will and unyielding sense of humor faithfully sustained him, and it also enabled him to conquer bitter adversity and, to a small degree, enlighten many in his vast audience on the sheer stupidity of racial prejudice. It was a hell of a tall order for the minuscule Davis, but he pulled it off with class and high style.
Born Samuel George Davis, Jr on December 8, 1925 in Harlem, New York, show business was his destiny. His father Sammy Davis, Sr. was the featured dance soloist in the Will Mastin's Holiday in Dixieland troupe, a popular act that was already an established mainstay on the vaudeville and chitlin circuits, and his mother, Elvera Sanchez, was the head chorine. While Davis Jr. spent the first two and a half years of his life at home in Harlem with his grandmother, after his parents split, Senior won custody and immediately took Junior out on the road. Not exactly 'born in a trunk,' but near enough, Davis was raised in hotel rooms and theater dressing rooms and, at the age of three, he received his first pay, winning ten dollars for his rendition of, "I'll be Glad When You're Dead You Rascal You," during an amateur talent segment at Philadelphia's Standard Theater. It did not take long before the kid joined the act and found himself center stage, dancing in a new edition of Mastin's revue, Struttin' Hannah to Savanna. By Davis' own count, by the time he was four, he had already traveled to,and performed in, fifty cities in ten different states .
Mastin's troupe always played on bills loaded with other acts, singers, comics, tumblers, and shake dancers (the entire spectrum of Twentieth century American entertainment) and the boy spent most of his time in the wings observing and learning from them all. It was a crash course that he readily absorbed and filtered through his own prism of raw talent, wowing not only the audience but also his father, and the rest of the close knit tribe of fellow troupers and, of course, 'Uncle' Will Mastin. An unconventional upbringing yes, but not one that lacked in genuine affection, and his childhood was anything but unhappy. The kid was so good that by age seven, he landed the title role in the Vitaphone-Warner short fantasy, Rufus Jones for President, opposite Ethel Waters. He followed that with a role in the Lita Grey vehicle, Season's Greetings. Pretty impressive stuff, but ironically it was these same talking pictures that were putting the chokehold on vaudeville and Mastin was shortly compelled to disband his troupe, taking only the cream of the crop, Davis' Sr. and Jr., with him. Billed as "Will Mastin's Gang featuring Little Sammy," the trio made a decent living, frequently working their "flash dance" act (a high octane, semi-acrobatic dance presentation) as a featured attraction on a talking picture bill, which was then standard movie theater practice. Uncle Will and Davis Sr. also had their hands full as they tried, and for the most part succeeded, in protecting the kid from the harsh realities of life in America's ugly, racially divided society.
As the boy grew, he began to perfect his new shtick, dead-on impressions of movie and singing stars that the crowds ate up. After they were booked alongside legendary tap dance icon, Bill "Bojangles" Robinson, Davis was awestruck, but not too much to preclude his approaching Robinson for advice and to demonstrate his own dance routine. Bojangles gave him the thumbs up, and a crucial upgrade to the kid's own repertoire. The Mastin trio broke up shortly after Davis Jr.'s eighteenth birthday after he received a draft notice from Uncle Sam. Assigned to Special Services, Davis got an unwelcome crash course in the bigotry his partners had so long shielded him from--at one point he was roughed up, white-washed and forced to tap dance for some jeering soldiers--but he got through his service in typical flashy Davis style, usually winning over even the most vociferous haters in any audience he faced. Following his discharge, the trio started up again, but it was tough going for an old school hoofer act, until they landed a decent gig at the new Frontier in Las Vegas. There, Davis Jr. pulled a fast one and performed his impressions of white stars to an all white audience for the first time. They ate it up. His fortune seemed to change when, singing at a black club in Los Angeles with a live remote broadcast hook-up, Capitol Records executive Dave Dexter heard the show and in short order arranged a recording contract for the multi-talented performer. While Davis cut some twenty songs there, everything from novelty disks showcasing his impressions to some faux R&B sides on which, billed as Charlie Greene, he sang in the distinctive styles of Charles Brown and Big Joe Turner. None of these clicked with the public, and Capitol released him in 1950 (the songs were eventually reissued on the fascinating Sammy Davis Jr. Collectors Edition, 1990 Capitol).
The next decade would be a transformative one for Davis. His solo star steadily ascended and he gained serious traction in Las Vegas, graduating to headliner status at the Frontier Hotel. One of the frontier's backers, Herman Hover, also owned the famed Los Angeles nightclub Ciro's, and in 1951, Hover "broke the color barrier," when he booked Davis there, making him the first black headliner ever to work on the Sunset Strip. After his introduction at Ciro's, Davis came into his own, famously confronting another racial taboo by romancing the actress Kim Novak and also becoming acquainted, during this period, with Frank Sinatra, a singer whom had no small influence on Davis' own vocal style. Despite being seriously injured on a 1954 smash-up on a drive from Vegas to Hollywood (resulting in the loss of his left eye), Davis continued working and in 1955 signed a recording contract with Decca Records, who shortly issued his debut album Starring Sammy Davis Jr. He made his Broadway debut in the musical Mr. Wonderful the following year--a career milestone for any entertainer--and despite (or, perhaps because of) being a black man with a glass eye who had, with encouragement from Jewish comic Eddie Cantor, just converted to Judaism and dated white women, Sammy Davis Jr. became one of the hottest draws in the nation.
He pumped out some fine albums: Sammy Swings (1957 Decca), Mood to be Wooed (1958 Decca) and the electrifying, Sammy Davis Jr. at Town Hall (1959 Decca). He made his big screen debut in 1959's Anna Lucasta, followed shortly by Porgy & Bess, playing (who else?) Sportin' Life. '59 was also the year of Sinatra's Rat Pack's memorable assault on American propriety, a bawdy, boozy campaign carried out nightly on the stage of the Sands' Copa Room in Las Vegas, with fellow guerillas Sinatra, Dean Martin and Joey Bishop. How they managed it all after rigorous daily shooting schedules for Ocean's Eleven remains a modern marvel of show biz (doubtless the process involved a degree of pharmacopoeia), but his association with the Rat Pack cemented Davis as a bona fide superstar.
He signed to Sinatra’s Reprise label in 1960 and with discs like Wham of Sam (1961 Reprise), Davis demonstrated that his skills as jazz vocalist were on par with his famous boss. He could sell a ballad or a rhythm number with the same conviction, putting them across in a manner distinctly his own. His What Kind Of Fool Am I . . .and Other Showstoppers (1962 Reprise) was a great success and the title track single became a radio and jukebox staple. His take on the classic Mel Torme concept set California Suite (1964 Reprise) was an impressive, artful act of pop re-definition. Perhaps of all Davis’ achievements (and there are many--he was awarded Tonys, Emmys, Grammys, NAACP awards and was a 1987 Kennedy Center Honoree), it seems that his value as a singer remains the most under-appreciated. His interpretations were loaded with crafty nuance and atmosphere and an adventurous manner of phrasing, which were heightened by unusual pauses and flashes of rubato, all of it undeniably swinging.
Davis roared through the 1960’s, with more movies, more albums, and more Broadway shows, in addition to much after-hours carousing, many cocktails, and a million cigarettes. His romance with the Scandinavian beauty Mai Britt raised more than a few eyebrows (even Frank told him to cool it--Davis did not and a frosty falling out ensued), but Davis invariably charmed his way out of any such hassle. The early 1970's gave him two more high-profile pop hits, the Bill Robinson homage "Mr. Bojangles" and, from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, "The Candyman," two songs that remain ineradicably linked to Davis decades after his passing. When Davis moved from Reprise to MGM, he began cutting some funkier sides (dig his wild version of "Theme from Shaft") and showcased his new brand of with-it hep with the theme song for Robert Blake's television detective series, Baretta ("Don't do the crime, if you can't do the time").
Although Davis pretty much abandoned recording by the late 70's, he maintained a steady schedule of live appearances through the 1980's, headlining his own dates on a regular circuit that took him from the Hollywood Bowl to London's Palladium. He often opened for Sinatra and anyone who witnessed the pairing would have to admit that Frank really had guts--Davis was one hell of a tough act to follow. When it was announced in 1989 that he suffered from throat cancer, the world held it's breath, hoping for a miracle. He looked excruciatingly frail, but refused surgery because he was afraid it would damage his vocal tone. After he died, on May 13, 1990, Davis was responsible for another amazing first--every exterior light on every casino on the Las Vegas strip was extinguished, an unprecedented tribute to a one of a kind showman.