Sammy Davis Jr(43)

Liza Minnelli was one of the few friends on Pop’s “OKAY Guest List” that he would allow to see him in his current condition. My father and Liza had been close pals for years. The day she came to the house, she knew it was a final good-bye, that this was the last time she would see my father alive.

Liza had covered a show in Lake Tahoe for my father when he first got the sore throat that was later diagnosed as cancer. It was August of 1989. Little did I suspect that this would signal the beginning of the end of my father’s life. “I got a little tickle, Trace, not doing the show tonight. Wanna come up to the suite?” Pop said over the phone. I was on my way. Pop and I had reconnected, and become true pals at my bachelorette party in Vegas. My bachelorette party was filled with champagne, jokes, laughs, and lots of stories with my friend Julie Clark, the McGuire sisters, Pop, and Frank Sinatra. It could not have been more perfect. I treasure those moments every day.

I went to my father’s suite at Harrah’s in Lake Tahoe with my friend Diane. I asked Dad what was wrong. He said, “Just a sore throat, no biggie.” My father couldn’t do the show that night. So of course, who comes in early to cover? Good ole Liza. What a kind, gracious soul. She did the show in a sweater and jeans—her luggage hadn’t arrived yet.

By the time Liza was done, the entire audience was in her hand. They had come to see Dad, a line wrapping around the casino, but Liza had taken them over. The result was pure magic. I thought, That is why Liza is a star. Forget that she was the child of Hollywood royalty. A talent and personality all her own made her a star. At the end of the show, Liza announced that Dad was truly sorry for missing the performance. Liza was a class act all the way. She and my father were a bona fide force of professional habit, captivating audiences with a mere glance all over the world—and best buddies to boot.

I went home late that night to Mom’s house in Tahoe. Something was bugging me; I didn’t know what, but something was bothering me. I tried to shrug it off, but it lingered in the distance, I just couldn’t shake it. Pop said he was going to be fine. He had never lied to me, so why didn’t I believe him?

I knew something was off but found solace in knowing that he was going to get a checkup, just to make sure. He was a singer and a smoker. He had sore throats before. Trace, I said to myself, stop. Just stop. But it stuck with me, the frailty of his condition. I felt uneasy.

I was right to worry, I would later learn. There was a node, a little something. Not a big deal. “May have a little surgery,” Pop said on the phone. It came slamming into reality. I have to get to Pop. I have to look at him, face to face. I would know then. I got in my car and drove to him. There he was. Alone, not unusual, I thought, but then it hit me. No cigarettes, no ash tray, no nothing.