WHY RONNIE JAMES DIO DYING REMINDS ME OF SAMMY DAVIS JR.

Heavy Metal legend Ronnie James Dio died yesterday. And that reminded me of Muppet Master Jim Henson ... which reminded me of... Rat Pack legend Sammy Davis, Jr.

Why? Because they all died on May 16. For me, however, Sammy will always have a special place in my heart and will resonate the most. As a child, one of the first songs I remember hearing was Sammy's "Candy Man." Granted, the addicting tune can be somewhat annoying but let's face it, to a little kid, a song about candy was the friggin' bomb...

I had older parents and the New York radio station WNEW-AM was always on in the house. Back in the '70s and '80s, the station was best known for its "Milkman's Matinee" and their "Make Believe Ballroom" standards which included everything from Benny Goodman and Sinatra to Sammy and Nat King Cole. Great stuff. That music was in my consciousness from when I was in grade school and I don't regret it for a second.

In 1987 when Sinatra, Sammy and Dino embarked on their Rat Pack Reunion tour, I was lucky enough to have a chick who, like me, also enjoyed that era's music. We snagged tickets for Radio City Music Hall in March of '88 and in the last frikkin' row, there we were seeing them: Frank Sinatra (who I would see several more times) and Sammy Davis, Jr. Dean Martin had backed out by then and would eventually be replaced by Liza Minnelli.

I saw Sammy again, however, later that year but it wasn't in concert. In September, the same gal encouraged me to volunteer with her to work on Jerry Lewis' Muscular Dystrophy Telethon on Labor Day. I'm sure I scoffed. But then she told me: Sammy would be emceeing the New York part of the show which really shot in Secaucus, New Jersey. That's all I had to hear. I prepped my wool double-breasted blazer and I was in.

Now this is where it gets fuzzy. I don't remember much from that day. I remember being there at WWOR backstage but truth be told, I don't remember working much, if at all.

I do remember seeing Sammy, however. And man, was he little. I was in college and a little guy at that and I remember Sammy being smaller than me. I also remember my chick telling me to go up to him but I punked out. It was Sammy... What would I say to him? I mean, he was like, three feet from me. What a mistake.

I'll never forget the next day. Many of the audience members were probably taken with Sammy's gaunt appearance on the telecast and the cat, by that point, was let out of the bag. That morning, I remember seeing the front page of The New York Post that read:

Sammy Has Cancer

A blow to the gut. My hero was sick and I never said hi. Nor would I ever...

Davis died in Beverly Hills, California on May 16, 1990, of complications from throat cancer. Earlier, when he was told he could be saved by surgery, Davis replied he would rather keep his voice than have a part of his throat removed; the result of that decision seemed to cost him his life.

This is my favorite Sammy tune by far...



A few things about "Mr. Bojangles" that some may not know. For me, it has to be one of the most powerful songs with the most poignant lyrics I've ever heard. Listen and you'll see why.

The popular country folk Song was written and recorded by country music artist Jerry Jeff Walker in 1968 and covered by many varied artists including Harry Chapin, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Whitney Houston, Billy Joel, Bob Dylan, Elton John, Jim Croce and Frank Sinatra. Sammy's rendition is most poignant. He always said the song was a rough for him to perform because, in essence, he could have become Bojangles at any time.

The ditty was inspired by an encounter with a street performer in the New Orleans First Precinct jail and does not refer to the famous stage and movie dancer Bill "Bojangles" Robinson.

According to songwriter Walker, a murder on the 4th of July weekend in 1965 precipitated the arrest of all the street people in the area. In the crowded cell, a disheveled homeless old man began to talk to Walker, who had been arrested earlier for drunkenness. The man told various stories of his life, but the tone darkened after 'Mr Bojangles' recalled his dog who'd been run over. Someone then asked for something to lighten the mood, and the man obliged with a tap dance. Wow...

I've always maintained (and you can tell at around at around time 1:26), that Michael Jackson was undoubtedly inspired by Sammy's performance of this song. The hat. The fluid movements. Watch and you'll see.

So why did I love Sammy so much and even have a denim jacket with Sammy airbrushed on the back (!!)? He did it all. A child performer/hoofer; a teenage crooner; perfected his talents in the Will Mastin Trio as a young adult before going into the army (where he was confronted by strong racial prejudice); endured an awful car crash in 1954 that took his eye; became a charter member of Sinatra's Rat Pack; married white actress May Britt to the disdain of a racially-divided nation; famously supported Republican President Richard M. Nixon and endured lung cancer. What more he danced his booty off, did awesome impressions, churned out tune after swingin' tune. And sang 'em right up until the day he got sick.

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REFLECTIONS OF A PIT BOSS: SINATRA, THE SANDS AND A THOUSAND SWINGIN' NIGHTS

Back around 2000 or so, I stumbled across the web site of Ed Walters, a pit boss for the Sands in the '60s, who knew Frank Sinatra and the rest of the Rat Pack. I thought it would be great to interview him for Casino Player, the publication I wrote extensively for. Originally, late editor Adam Fine wanted to run the piece in two parts because it was too long. Sadly, he never found the room (since it was the beginning of the magazine's dwindling ad space). The story turned out pretty good and and it remains one of my favorite pieces.

If you're interested in Sinatra, Dino, Sammy, vintage Vegas, Bogart or gambling, this is a must read. In our interview, Walters dished alot and told me stories about the gang that I 've never heard before.

Like I said, it's a tad long, feel free to bookmark and peruse at your leisure.

Reflections of a Pit Boss: Sinatra, the Sands and a Thousand Swingin' Nights

Former pit boss Ed Walters remembers it was a bad night for the Sands.

The baccarat pit was down around 80 large to some European high roller.
Walters was nervous because they were on their way to losing more. Way more.

It was the early sixties. 80 thousand clams meant around $300,000 by modern standards. After alerting casino manager Carl Cohen, it was clear that there was only one thing to do.

Get Frank Sinatra.

The young pit boss didn't want to flirt with the Chairman's famous mood swings -- especially at 2 a.m. - and told Cohen, "I don't wanna call Frank. He won't listen to me."

"Look, don't be afraid of Sinatra." Cohen said. "He'll help us out." But why even call Sinatra in the first place?

If there was one thing Cohen knew, it was that the singer understood the casino business. The high roller was in town with his wife, who was a huge Sinatra fan. If they kept her there, the husband would keep playing, hopefully long enough for the house odds to kick in. Simple as that.

After placing a call to his suite, the usually-nocturnal Sinatra showed up in pretty good spirits. Walters immediately informed him that the player was hotter than a two-dollar pistol.

"Relax," Sinatra said.

"But we got a lot of cash out..."

The Sultan of Swagger took one last drag of his cigarette, looked at Walters with those ice-blue peepers, and casually said, "Stop worrying, let me handle it. Just tell the dealers to pick up the speed and let's keep the action going."

Sinatra headed to the table with that trademark gait of confidence, took a seat smack dab next to the wife, asked for two grand, and started playing. She couldn't believe it. With Sinatra at the table, no one moved.

Cohen was right.

Two hours later, the house recouped its losses -- and then some. When the game broke up, a relieved Walters watched the tuxedoed Sinatra walk past the gold ropes of the pit, smiling.

"You owe me one, Kid..." he said with a wink.

Walters just heaved a huge sigh and thought, "Man, I sure as hell do."

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MAD MEN MOMENT No. 11

Meet Sammy Davis, Jr... Pitchman extraordinaire.

Whiskey production in Japan began around 1870, but the first commercial production was in 1924 upon the opening of the country's first distillery, Yamazaki. Broadly speaking, the style of Japanese whisky is more akin to that of Scotch than Irish whiskey. and thus the spelling typically follows the Scottish convention (omitting the letter "e").

There are several companies producing the stuff in Japan with the most well known being Suntory and Nikka. Both produce blended as well as single malt whiskies.

Enjoy this fab spot of Sammy doing his thing for the Suntory hooch.



Also enjoy these other cool Sammy Davis, Jr. commercials:









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SAMMY DAVIS, JR. DIED 21 YEARS AGO TODAY

Here's some Sammy goodness for fans of who I personally thought was the 'Hardest Workin' Man in Showbiz'











Sammy Davis, Jr. pieces in Bukowski's Basement

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'THE TWO ELVISES' PART THREE

Very few people have read any fiction I've written, much less a story which happens to not be my particular favorite. In any case, a few months ago, I posted this poem. It was an ode to a teenaged Vegas elopement and the bar they visited soon after. After thinking about it, I figured it was the perfect companion piece or sequel to a short story I wrote eons ago about the same subject. If anything, the only thing I can say is that they ultimately belong together at this point. First this story, "The Two Elvises" which I'll post in three parts, and then the poem from the other day - Honeymoon at the Atomic.
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"The Two Elvises" - Part Three

So here they were, a week later, standing in the tackiest house of worship they've ever known. They were about to join the ranks of individuals who go the extra mile in romanticism. The unconventional notion of packing up everything with your loved one and eloping, is a proposition people with no courage can only dream about. Besides, if the town was able to marry big shots like Paul Newman, Jane Fonda, Sammy Davis, Jr. and Michael Jordan, two snot-nosed kids from Chicago probably wouldn't have many other options.

"So what should we do, baby?" Carol asked him.

He shrugged his broad yet bony shoulders. "Doesn't matter. How 'bout the Elvis one? It'll be fun, I guess." She smiled in agreement and turned to the minister who was prepping himself for a 7:30 p.m. ceremony -- a black couple from Georgia were renewing their vows after 42 years of marriage.

"'Scuse us, father. I think we're gonna go with the Elvis wedding?"

"Splendid."

"How much extra we talkin'?" Stu asked.

"The Elvis wedding is an extra hundred."

"Are you kiddin'?" Stu said, frowning.

The minister pulled up the sides of his trousers. "Be rest assured son, that our Elvises are the best in the biz," he defended. "Jake Peters was named best rockabilly Elvis by Presley's own fan club."

"Really?" Carol asked.

"Yesiree. Three years running. He's got that one-man review show up in that hotel... Venice."

The couple conferred. Stu told her that an extra hundred could easily be used for gas or even more important, lodging for at least a couple of nights.

"But I want to," his bride-to-be insisted. "We'll remember it for the rest of our lives."

"Carol, are you thinking about where we're gonna sleep? As it is, our money is already starting to disappear."

"Only because you had to stay up all night playing blackjack."

"Hey, I won back everything I lost. So you can't count that."

Stu saw the corner of her bottom lip begin to quiver. "I thought you loved me," she said to him.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, it has nothing to do with loving you, Carol."

"After all we've been through"

Stu shut his eyes in aggravation saying, "God damn it Carol --"

The minister snapped his Bible shut and said as kindly as possible, "Excuse me son, can you watch your language? We're in The Almighty's house after all."

The boy knew he was wrong and held up his palm to the minister, embarrassed, "See what your doing, Carol, making me curse in a place of worship. And besides, when did you suddenly start liking Elvis?"

Carol ignored Stu. "We'll take the Elvis package," she told the minister, pulling out a small bundle of tens and twenties.

"What the hell is that?" Stu asked.

"I'll pay for the Elvis thing, okay?"

Stu was still dumbfounded. "Carol, where did you get that money? Did you call them? Did they wire you money?"

She stopped counting the bills. "Remember after the buffet at breakfast you had to go the bathroom?"

"Yeah..."

"I slipped off to a slot machine and won about $190. I was gonna use it to buy you a wedding present but since you're bein' such a creep, I'll pay for the Elvis. That's my present to you. Happy fucking wedding day."

Stu knew to just keep his mouth shut. He'd smooth things over later. Besides, Carol was going to feel so euphoric after the ceremony, chances are she'd forget about it.

But things got confusing again. "Which Elvis would you like?" the minister replied.

Carol wasn't really getting the gist of what he was asking. "Anyone'll do. Whoever's available."

The minister chuckled, shaking his head saying, "You don't seem to catch my meanin'. Would ya'll prefer rockabilly Elvis or jumpsuit Elvis?"

The kids looked like they were just asked to explain the square root of pi.

"Big difference you know," the minister continued. "Big difference."

Stu never really thought about Presley as two separate entities. As far as he was concerned Elvis was... well... just Elvis. He decided to fess up and asked, "What's the difference?"

"Well," the minister explained. "Rockabilly Elvis was the young Elvis. The one y'all probably seen from the clips of the Ed Sullivan Show. He was vibrant, charismatic and good lookin' too," he said glancing at Carol and pointed to a photo from one of the wedding catalogs. "You see, the is what rockabilly Elvis looked like."

Carol's eyes lit up. "Elvis was a babe, huh?" she said to Stu.

"Yeah, I guess. Too bad he became fat and bloated."

The minister gave Stu a look as if he'd committed blasphemy. It was sacreligous to refer to the King -- in the town that he helped put on the map -- as fat and bloated. "I beg your pardon, young man," the minister corrected, "the king had a little bitty problem in his twilight years." The minister took a long pause before he tried to diplomatically explain. "In the seventies, the King put on a little weight so to speak and he couldn't fit into them tight leather numbers he liked to wear."

"Those cool suits didn't fit him either, huh father?" Stu asked.

The minister agreed and sadly shook his head. "Let's just say they weren't very conducive to his..." the minister said trying to find a harmless word. "...Girth."

The minister flipped through a couple more pages in his catalog and pointed to a photo of Elvis from his last concert. In all the splendor that was The King, there he was in full Technicolor -- the gaudy white jumpsuit, the bloated puffy cheeks and the huge gut -- an inflated icon that once made millions scream.

The minister shook his head in a weird kind of despair, "It's a damn shame," he said as if just hearing about his death on that dreadfully hot August afternoon. "Yep, it's a damn shame what them drugs'll do to you." He tried to lighten up and turned to the kids, "So which will it be?"


The married couple walked out of the chapel. Carol held onto Stu's hand like a vice grip to the point where he had to fake checking his watch to have her let go. Stu noticed his wife was beaming. Happy at the world. Happy that she was finally someone's wife. Stu's wife. Not quite knowing how to feel yet, Stu smiled back and stayed quiet. In his young life, if he figured out anything, it was that when you don't know what to say, you don't say anything.

Noticing a hot dog stand on the corner, Stu asked Carol if she was hungry."

"I was hoping that our first meal as husband and wife would be a little more special," she said.

"Hon, If I don't get something in my stomach, I'm gonna faint. Besides, I had so many butterflies in there, I think it might be good to eat a little something."

"Oh, all right," she said kissing him.

There was a small line ahead of them at the stand. A family of three, seeing the city, sightseeing; a casino worker, probably a dealer; and a woman with a small duffel bag. She was absolutely stunning. Stu put on his sunglasses to get a better peek without getting snagged by the misses. He took her in at least from the back -- dark brown hair, caramel complexion, and a rear end that favored a small basketball. If there was a 'Best Ass in Vegas' competition, Stu thought she'd win, hands down.

"Do you know what you want?" Carol asked him.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "A hot dog."

"I know that, Stu. I mean what are you getting on it?"

It was useless. Stu took off his sunglasses and turned to Carol. "Uh, I don't know, Carol. Why?"

Carol shrugged her shoulders, "No reason. 'Scuse me for asking. Forget it."

Stu knew it was wrong to snap at her, especially since they tied the knot just 15 minutes ago. He kissed her on her cheek and playfully bit her earlobe. It was his way of apologizing. She knew it and put her arm around him. Her way of saying, "It's okay, but don't let it happen again."

The happy couple stood there waiting, arm-in-arm, as everyone ordered their dogs. Stu watched the pretty woman in front of him order two franks with relish and quickly remembered how much he despised relish. He watched her stroll over to a nearby bench and eat the foot longs. Man, it was a pretty erotic sight. A vision that he tried hard not to frustrate him. After all, he was a newlywed and there was definite sex in his immediate future. If he played his cards right, he and Carol would be in the sack by dusk.

"What do you want on your hot dog?" Carol asked, sounding peeved.

"Why?"

"'Cause the guy's waiting for your order?"

Stu turned to the vendor. "Do you have chili?"

"No chili" the man answered in an unrecognizable accent. "Just bean."

"That's fine."

Stu paid the peddler and he and Carol walked over to a bench parallel to the one the girl was on. The sunglasses came on again. "Man, this sun is bright, huh?" he said to Carol. "Where's your sunglasses?"

"Left them in the car."

"What did you do that for?" Stu asked, chomping into the dog.

"It was cloudy before, remember?"

"Oh yeah," he answered.

Carol looked as if something was bothering her, but Stu didn't notice. It wasn't until he heard her sniffing that he knew something was wrong.

"Honey, are you okay?"

Carol didn't answer.

"What's wrong?" he asked again, sitting closer to her and altogether forgetting about the sexy stranger across from them.

"Did we make a mistake today?" she asked him, blowing her nose with one of Stu's napkins.

"Why are you saying that?" Stu wanted to comfort her and let her know that everything was going to be okay. He rubbed the back of her neck and he felt her loosen up a bit. "I love you, Carol." he said. "I plan to be married only once in my life, so you're stuck with me whether you like it or not."

"Look at us," she said to him. "Where we gonna wind up? Where are we gonna go?"

He scarfed down what was left of his hot dog and sprinted to a newspaper vending machine. As he trotted back to Carol, Stu held the paper up like a paperboy and said, "What's next? We find jobs -- that's what's next."

"Really?" Carol didn't know how to respond. The thought of settling in Vegas was never really propositioned. At least not seriously.

Stu went on. "We get jobs, get a cheap place and..."

"And what?" Carol asked, somewhat excited at his burst of enthusiasm.

"And... I try to look up my dad. Last I heard he was out here making a living."

"He's still here?"

Stu shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows? We'll see."

"What's he do?"

"I heard he was a pit boss in one of the casinos but got fired."

"What's he do now?" Carol asked.

"My mom said he's a professional card sharp or something."

"He gambles for a living?"

"Who knows if he's even still in town. He could be pumping gas in Alaska for all I know. Who knows if he'd even want to see me." Stu switched gears. "The important thing is that we plant some seeds to grow roots of our own. Me and you. Know what I'm saying?

Carol didn't say anything. She was weighing what Stu was saying.

"Please don't ever doubt what we did here ever again, okay?" Stu said watching Carol getting the napkin out of her pocket and blowing her nose. This time, tears of happiness were flowing down her chin and she whispered, "I love you. You're so right, baby."

"Don't worry about a thing," Stu said, hugging his wife and noticing the sexy stranger get up from the bench and walk across the street into the Sugar and Spice Lounge. A banner attached to the building advertised an all-day go-go rama with over fifty girls. Stu thought she must have been one of the fifty.

He wanted to see her on that stage, wrapped around a pole. He couldn't help it. One thought ran through his mind repeatedly.

"How can I get her phone number?"

THE END

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UNDISCOVERED 'RAT PACK' PHOTOS RELEASED

Sinatra and gang take a stroll through the kitchen towards the stage at Miami's Eden Roc resort.

If you're a Rat Pack fan then this is a gift from above. I'm a sucker for candid photos and whenever I see a new picture of Sinatra and the gang that I've never seen, it feels like Christmas morning.

On the 50th anniversary of the original Rat Pack flick "Ocean's 11," Life.com has put together a stupendous gallery of never-before-seen pics of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Joey Bishop and Peter Lawford.

LIFE's photographers trailed the various members of the Pack through the early sixties. And of those thousands of shots taken, many have never been published — until now.

For the full gallery at LIFE.com click HERE.

Frank savors his vices backstage at the Sands Hotel and Casino.

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THE VERSATILE BLOGGER AWARD

Well, it must be awards season in the Blogosphere. In the past couple of weeks, we were fortunate enough to receive The Fabulous Flash Award twice.

Yesterday, the talented Michael Brown has awarded Bukowski's Basement with the Versatile Blogger Award.

You can find his eclectic stories and observations by him and many talented contributors HERE.

As a recipient, I'm supposed to let you know 10 things about myself. Last week, I shared 10 so I may be at a loss but hmmmmm, let's see...

1. In high school (at an all boys school), I lettered in the newspaper and almost put it on my letterman sweater. Geeky. I know...

2. I've never read "The Catcher in the Rye" and don't really want to.

3. While the dream gig would be to work as a writer in TV or film, I'm most inspired by music.

4. On that note, some of the best concerts I've been to include Sinatra (a hunka times), Sammy Davis. Jr., Michael Jackson, Brian Setzer and Marc Anthony. The lamest? Jack Wagner. There was a method to that madness, I assure you.

5. I had Sly Stallone posters framed on each one of my walls growing up -- even on the closet door. To this day, I will watch any Rocky film anytime it's on -- even with commercials. Lord help me if there's a marathon.

6. Speaking of marathons, I live for Rod Serling's "Twilight Zone" marathon every New Year's on the SiFi Channel.

7. On my first car date, I locked the keys in my car and had to call my dad to rescue us. For the record, it was an October evening out to see a little flick called "Dirty Dancing."

8. I snuck (or is that sneaked) into the Playboy Hotel and Casino in Atlantic City when I was 17. Um... I was asked to leave.

9. Andrew Dice Clay (at right) made mince-meat outta me one night on stage in '89. When I interviewed him years later, I didn't remind him. A few years after THAT, he almost got me again, this time in Vegas -- thank God the guy next to me was wearing khakis.

10. I've never eaten an actual orange. I hate pulp and won't drink juice with even the slightest hint of pulp. I get most of my nutrients in pill form.

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OK, now for the fun part... I'm supposed to bestow this on 10 other bloggers but ... since I don't want this award to spread like the Black Death in medieval Europe, I'll slow down it's growth and only give it to five worthy recipients.

1. Conversations from Land's Edge - Hosted by Alan W. Davidson, one day you're reading flash fiction, another you're reading his eclectic film reviews and another he's in a red fez. Like being at your best bud's house...

2. Bella Vista - Themed after writer Pamila Payne's fictitious (and dreary) motel -- The Bella Vista -- explore this wonderful noirish landscape of dames, crooks and (anti-) heroes that spend time there. Settle in cuz these tales are second-to-none.

3. Omitted.

4. I've quickly become a fan of Tomara Armstrong's This, That... The Other Thing. While it's mostly flash, she brings it with her tight and crisp pieces. Nothing better than snappy flash and that's primarily what you'll find here.

5. With blog titles like "Open a Vein" and "Time Bombs and Kisses," Kat Del Rio's eclectic joint Crooked Tales is a mish-mash of noir, macabre, smut and sweetness in a tasty jambalaya of poetry and flash. Eclectic and truly original.

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