Restoring the legacy of Sammy Davis Jr.
EAST STROUDSBURG, Pa. (AP) -September 15, 2008 Eighteen years after the legendary entertainer succumbed to
throat cancer at age 64, his estate is in tatters, burdened by debt
and infighting among family members and business associates.
Despite recording hundreds of songs, starring in dozens of movies
and TV shows, and giving countless live performances, his
posthumous earning power is dwarfed by the likes of Elvis Presley
and fellow Rat Packer Frank Sinatra.
"This is one of the most dysfunctional situations, and they
still can't get it together," says Albert "Sonny" Murray Jr.,
who should know.
Murray, a lawyer based in the Poconos, was hired by Davis's
widow to resolve his staggering $7 million IRS tax debt and restore
the legacy of one of the 20th century's greatest showmen.
His Herculean efforts, stretched out over seven years, are
chronicled in "Deconstructing Sammy: Music, Money, Madness, and
the Mob," a book by journalist and author Matt Birkbeck expected
out Sept. 16 that reveals Murray as a man of stubborn tenacity -
and Davis as one of extraordinary complexity.
Here's Davis the showbiz legend: a consummate performer who got
his start in vaudeville, a triple threat of singing, acting and
dancing, a charter member of the high-flying, hard-partying Rat
Pack.
Here's Davis the civil rights campaigner: a man who endured
horrid acts of racism while serving with the Army's first
integrated unit during World War II, and who later marched with
Martin Luther King Jr. and used his fame to try to heal racial
divisions.
And here's Davis the flawed family man: an absentee father,
abusive husband, drug-addled hedonist, and bad businessman who
surrounded himself with people who didn't always have his best
interests at heart.
"I think everyone, for the most part, thought he was nothing
more than a caricature, a guy who was always laughing, happy and
up," says Birkbeck, 49. "I was really shocked at how his life
behind the scenes was falling apart over the last 15 or 20 years."
Davis's remarkable life is certainly well-trod territory.
Nevertheless, through interviews with close friends and confidants
who had never spoken publicly before, Birkbeck digs up many
startling details. (Example: Davis confided in his bodyguard, a
former British intelligence agent, that he believed the Secret
Service had a role in the Kennedy assassination.)
But the real heart and soul of "Deconstructing Sammy" belongs
to Sonny Murray, and his quest to save not one endangered black
legacy - but two.
In 1954, Murray's parents founded a visionary Poconos resort,
the Hillside Inn, that catered to blacks at a time when blacks were
routinely denied accommodations.
The Murrays saw the Hillside as a welcoming refuge, and for a
long time, that's exactly what it was, eventually becoming the
oldest black-owned resort in the United States. By the 1990s,
however, business began to slip. And it fell to their son to keep
the Hillside afloat.
"Deconstructing Sammy" follows Murray as he struggles to save
the Hillside - and the Sammy Davis Jr. brand.
Murray, now 59, never thought much of Davis. Like many other
blacks who came of age during the tumultuous 1960s, he saw Davis as
little more than a minstrel, an Uncle Tom, a plaything of the white
establishment.
But he felt sorry for Davis's widow, Altovise Davis, who was
virtually penniless, in the grips of a life-threatening alcohol
addiction, and, as it happened, living in a private home on the
grounds of the Hillside. And the more Murray dug into Davis's life,
the more he came to appreciate his contributions to American
culture and civil rights.
"He was much more than the Stepin Fetchit that he appeared to
be," Murray said in a recent interview at the Hillside. "He went
through struggles as a black man, he went through struggles with
his own identity, he went through all of the things that we go
through as minorities. At the same time, he gave of himself as an
entertainer. And yet at the end of his life, there was nothing to
show for it."
Murray worked hard to rectify that. He struck a deal with the
IRS in 1997, and with the tax debt finally settled, offers began
pouring in. A four-CD retrospective was released in 1999 and Murray
helped secure for Davis a lifetime achievement award at the 2001
Grammys.
Yet the story continues to unfold, and both legacies face an
uncertain future.
Murray and Altovise parted ways in 2001, and the Davis estate
has once again fallen into disrepair, "mired in failure and
controversy," as Birkbeck writes. Altovise Davis has sued two
former business partners in federal court, claiming they tricked
her into signing away the rights to her husband's estate. The suit
is pending.
Murray, meanwhile, has put the Hillside up for sale.
His parents are deceased and the 33-room resort, he says, is a
dinosaur. Blacks have long been able to stay at any public
accommodation they want, and increasingly, they're choosing to stay
somewhere else. And whites may be reluctant to go to a resort whose
clientele is primarily black.
Murray hopes it is bought by a nonprofit, perhaps a shelter.
Which would be a fitting way to honor the Hillside's history.