Sammy Davis Jr(38)
“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.