Dad in one of his most unusual roles—in Alice in Wonderland, 1985. Natalie Gregory played Alice. He was game for anything!
With Sonia Braga in the 1988 movie Moon Over Parador
Dad was on the upswing despite the cancer ravaging his body. My father taped his sixtieth anniversary tribute before a live audience at the Shrine Auditorium in Hollywood, without me beside him. Dad’s lifelong friends paid tribute and celebrated his sixty years in show business. This heartfelt special in his honor aired in April 1990. The show won an Emmy and was my father’s last major public appearance.
The tribute included video clips of Pop in show business all the way back to his childhood in vaudeville. Live tributes were performed by celebrity entertainers like Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Bill Cosby, Clint Eastwood, George Bush, Ella Fitzgerald, Eddie Murphy, Quincy Jones, Liza Minnelli, Bob Hope, Shirley MacLaine, Goldie Hawn, Whitney Houston, Jesse Jackson, Michael Jackson, and so many more.
There was one particular moment when Gregory Hines finished a tap dancing number, jumped off the stage, and kissed my father’s shoes, that was very touching. Michael Jackson took the stage with a song he composed just for Pop, “You Were There.” It was a song about how my father broke down the walls of racism and opened the door for him and other young artists of color. The utmost respect for my father enthroned Michael’s face. The lyrics were so powerful; the song sung so deep from within Michael’s heart and soul, it made my father tear up in the audience. Pop and Michael were always close. Michael called him Mr. D and used to come by the house, go to the library, and borrow tapes of Pop’s shows. He told Pop in Monte Carlo in 1988, “Y’know, I stole some moves from you, the attitudes.”
My father and Gregory Hines in a publicity shot for Tap, 1989
This tribute could not have come at a more perfect time to lift my father’s spirits. By this time, Pop knew he didn’t have much time left, and to see his closest friends honor his long career was exactly what he needed to close the final chapter of his life.
I was planning to go visit Pop after my baby checkup on April 19, 1990. My son’s due date was April 10, so he was already nine days late. I went for my appointment and Dr. Karalla said, “Don’t go home.” He checked me into Tarzana Regional Medical Center where he would induce labor. My husband, Guy, was by my side the whole time. My mother came before I was given a C-section.
My son, Sam, was born the next day, on April 20, 1990. Not only had God blessed me with a beautiful son, but Pop fought the doctor’s odds, and my revelation had indeed come true. Pop was still alive to meet his only blood grandson, named in his honor.
As we waited for the guard to open the gate to my father’s home, reporters literally laid on my car, snapping pictures of my husband, myself, and our newborn. We ignored the press, and pulled into Pop’s driveway. We grabbed the baby seat with our newborn in it and headed into Pop’s house.
We entered from the side entrance since Altovise had been locked out of his 3,400-square-foot master wing. Pop never talked to her. He would just hand her money from time to time.
We went into my father’s office, where the crew was gathered: Shirley, David Steinberg (Pop’s publicist turned producer), security guards, and Lessie Lee running the house. Little Sammy was naturally the center of attention, and everyone circled around him and spoke of how beautiful he was.
Pop was prepared that we were coming, so he was out of bed, trachea tube in, medication flowing through his IV, sitting on a huge, cozy chair in his bedroom as we walked in.
I had never seen my father’s face so happy as I said, “Hi, Dad” and showed him baby Sammy, half bent over in pain from my C-section. He was elated with tears of happiness, the wonder of it all, that look of “Wow, this is my grandchild.” I got so lucky; I had a boy, named him Sammy, and I had him in time for Pop to meet him.
After Sammy’s birth, Pop slipped in and out of responsiveness; cancer, bit by bit, robbed him of his life. I remember one day when I was visiting, Pop was lucid enough to say to me, “Trace, I’m scared.” I looked at him with watery eyes and said, “Me, too, Pop.”
The next time, my husband and I were visiting, the nurse was changing Pop’s sheets. My husband held Pop like a baby, softly kissing his forehead. From that moment on, my father was our hero. In his deteriorating state, he was a distinguished man, the finest I had ever seen. He rendered himself even more worthy of our regard. Guy gently put Dad down on the bed, into fresh linens, carefully, very carefully as just a gentle rub on his skin was painful. Time passed and his condition grew worse. From some vegetative state of half memory, Pop could still feel pain, and would wince if he was touched. There was no coming back from this. By the next visit, Pop couldn’t speak at all. From his eyes, you could tell he wasn’t all together there anymore. Was he in a coma? I don’t know.