Robert Randisi - Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

“Uh, on the phone a minute ago,” I asked, “the Jack you were talkin’ about, that was JFK, right?”

“Our next president,” he said, proudly, “if Frank and I have anything to say about it. Will you be voting for Jack Kennedy, Eddie?”

“I really don’t know, Peter,” I said. “The election is a long way off.”

“Indeed it is, but we’re working hard now too-oh, never mind that. You didn’t come up here to talk politics, did you?”

“Now, I didn’t,” I said. “The Sands is concerned that you be satisfied with your stay.”

“Is that why you’re here?” he asked, surprised. “To see if I’m happy with my room?”

“Not exactly,” I said. I went with a story I’d come up with just after leaving Frank. “Apparently some guests have been getting’ threats. We wondered if you’d received any.”

“What kind of threats?”

“Phone calls, letters, notes-”

“Death threats?” He looked concerned, took a good, long sip of his drink.

“Threats of bodily harm,” I said. “We haven’t really heard anything about death threats, uh, yet.”

“You know, my wife is part of the Kennedy family,” he said.

“I know that. Have you gotten any threats, Peter? Of any kind?”

“No, no,” he said, “no, none … yet. Other guests have, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, regular guests, or celebrities?”

“I’m not really sure-”

“Because if someone is threatening the regular guests, well then, I suppose I’d have nothing to worry about, but if they’re targeting famous people-this could get into the papers, couldn’t it?”

“It might,” I said. “Publicity is good for an actor, isn’t it?”

“Normally, yes.”

“Normally?”

“Well, with the election and all, Joe-uh, Jack’s father, Joseph Kennedy is running JFK’s campaign-Joe wouldn’t like any bad publicity.”

I wondered if Joe Kennedy considered mugging on stage with the Rat Pack bad publicity.

“So, you haven’t been threatened?” I needed to get a straight answer from him.

“No,” he said. “No threats.”

“All right, then.” I put my hands on my knees and pushed myself up. “I won’t bother you with this anymore.”

“If I do get threats, uh,” he said, walking me to the door, “What should I do?”

I almost told him to call me, but in the end I simply said, “Call security. They’ll take care of it immediately.”

As I left I was thinking it sounded to me like Peter Lawford wouldn’t have minded some bad publicity-or publicity of any kind, for that matter.

I hadn’t expected to see May Britt in Sammy’s room with him, but I was doubly surprised to see May’s mother was there, as well.

“Come on in, man,” Sammy said. He’d answered the door himself, wearing a white shirt and black pants. “May and her mother were leaving to do some shopping.” He pronounced her name “My.” “Honey, this is Eddie-I don’t know your last name.”

“Gianelli,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Britt. Congratulations on your upcoming wedding.

May Britt was a breathtaking beauty, with the blondest hair and clearest, smoothest skin I’d ever seen. I knew half a dozen casinos who would have hired her to be a showgirl on the spot, but she already had a career of her own as an actress. I wondered how much heartache was in the couple’s future because of the differences in their race. As for her mother, it was easy to see where she got her looks from. Mrs. Wilkins was an older, slightly faded version of her daughter.

“Thank you very much,” May said. I found her Swedish accent charming, and understood immediately why Sammy fell in love with her. “I’m very happy to meet you.”

“Come, Mama,” she said. “We must allow the men to talk.”

“I’ll see you later, baby,” Sammy said, and they shared an affectionate kiss.

When the women were gone Sammy said, “Isn’t she something?”

“She sure is,” I said. “Beautiful. You’re a lucky man.”

“Wonder what she’s doin’ with a one-eyed black Jew?” he asked. I searched his face for any sign of belligerance, but there was none.

“No, Sammy, I don’t,” I said. “I imagine she sees in you what women are supposed to see in the men they love.”

Sammy Davis Jr. laughed, slapped my arm and said, “You’re all right, man. Drink?”

“No, thanks. You go ahead.”

“Naw,” he said. “I’ve got to get ready for the show. You wanted to ask me something?”

I found Sammy different when he wasn’t around the others. He was more relaxed and comfortable with himself. When he was around Frank he seemed too eager to want to please him. I wondered why a phenomenal talent like him had to kowtow to anybody, even a Frank Sinatra. But I was also sure that there were things about Sammy’s life, and his relationship with the other members of the group I didn’t know, and would never understand.

However, I wondered if Sammy was not a member of Frank’s “Clan,” if he would have been allowed to stay in a suite at the Sands. Negroes were not allowed to stay in the casino hotels, then, not even entertainers. Jack Entratter, by giving into Frank’s demand that Sammy be given a suite, was inadvertently leading the way to change things in Vegas, when it came to segregation.

I fed Sammy the same story I’d given Peter Lawford and he just shrugged.

“Hey, man, the only threats I been getting are the usual ones. Nothing new to me.”

“Then I won’t take up anymore of your time.”

Sammy walked me to the door.

“Any chance I can get you to tell me what’s really goin’ down?”

“What do you mean?” He’d caught me off guard, but I thought I handled it well. Sammy Davis Jr. was no dummy.

“I mean you’re a real cool cat, Eddie,” he said. “Why would Jack Entratter waste your talents on an errand like this?”

“Sammy, I-”

“Forget it,” he said, quickly, waving my response away. “Forget I even asked. When Frank or Dean want me to know what’s goin’ on, I guess they’ll tell me.”

He opened the door and I felt I had to say something to him while we were alone.

“Sammy, I just want to tell you that I think you’re an incredible talent, and you seem like a nice guy.” I heard myself gushing and tried to stop, but I was impressed with the man.

“I am a nice guy, Clyde,” he said, with a smile.

“Well, I just want to say I wish you and May all the best, and I hope you won’t let what some ignorant bastards say and think-ah, what the hell. I guess I don’t know what I’m talkin’ about, really.”

“Yeah, ya do,” he said. He took my hand in his powerful grip. “You know what you’re sayin’ just fine, Eddie. Thanks.”

He released my hand and I stepped out into the hall. He closed the door gently, still smiling. I felt we connected in that moment, really connected. I thought how lucky I’d be if I could call Sammy Davis Jr. my friend.

Henry Silva and Richard Conte were not given suites in the Sands, but they were put up in good-sized guest rooms. I spoke to both of them briefly, giving the same story. Neither had received any threats. They also didn’t seem to know that Dean Martin had been threatened. They thought Frank wanted them to accompany Dean to the set for another reason-to keep him out of trouble.

“Frank says Dean’s havin’ trouble with Jeannie, and might do somethin’ foolish,” Henry Silva told me.

Nick Conte had been told the same story by Frank, but I could tell he didn’t believe it. Conte and Dean were close, coming from similar Italian backgrounds. But apparently Conte was like Sammy, willing to go along until he was told differently.