The Enduring Legacy of Sammy Davis Jr.: A Century of Brilliance and Complexity
A prodigious talent who debuted on television at age five, Sammy Davis Jr. became more than a performer; he was a cultural touchstone, a figure whose life and career reflected the tumultuous racial and social landscape of 20th-century America. Born a century ago this year, Davis navigated a world of entertainment, politics, and identity with a captivating blend of artistry and controversy, leaving an indelible mark on generations.
As a child, the author felt an immediate kinship with Davis, stating, “When I was a kid, I was Sammy Davis Jr. before I was anyone else.” This connection began with a local television appearance in Philadelphia on KYW-TV, where a five-year-old Davis, a tap dancer, inadvertently caused a stir. The parents of other young performers complained that his afro obscured their children on screen – a moment that, in a strange way, cemented Davis’s presence in the author’s consciousness.
Davis flourished during the 1970s, a period he embodied as the tail end of the golden age of variety shows. He was ubiquitous on television, delivering iconic performances of songs like “The Candy Man” and “Mr. Bojangles.” The author recalls specific memories of Davis performing alongside Carol Burnett and Flip Wilson, showcasing his versatility as an entertainer. Beyond singing and dancing, Davis was a prolific actor, appearing in popular sitcoms like All in the Family – famously sharing a kiss with Archie Bunker – and Chico and the Man, where he covered José Feliciano’s theme song. He also took on dramatic roles in Charlie’s Angels and even ventured into the world of soap operas, playing the con artist Chip Warren on One Life to Live and a recovering alcoholic father, Eddie Phillips, on General Hospital. His presence permeated American culture, even extending to advertising, with “The Candy Man” being used in M&M’s commercials.
Davis imparted profound life lessons, beginning with an early understanding of mortality. The author recounts a childhood conversation with his mother sparked by the lyric in “Mr. Bojangles” about a dog’s death. “There’s a lyric where he says that ‘his dog up and died,’ and I was unclear on the concept,” the author remembers. This prompted a discussion about loss and grief, a lesson that resonated deeply even at a young age.
Another crucial lesson centered on the complexities of consequences, both intended and unintended. Davis’s political life was marked by controversy, beginning with his disinvitation from John F. Kennedy’s inaugural ball after marrying the Swedish actress May Britt. According to a memoir by their daughter, Tracey Davis, the couple’s interracial marriage was the primary reason for the snub. Later, Richard Nixon sought Davis’s counsel on issues of race and poverty, ultimately securing his endorsement in the 1972 presidential election. This decision drew sharp criticism, even from within the Black community. “Every Black person has an uncle who is hard-core about racial justice, and mine was equally hard-core in his disapproval of Sammy’s choice,” the author notes. Julian Bond, a Georgia state legislator at the time, deemed the endorsement “unbelievable,” and many withdrew their support.
Despite the backlash, Davis remained steadfast, publicly addressing the controversy at a 1973 fundraising concert for Jesse Jackson’s Operation PUSH, featuring artists like Marvin Gaye, Bill Withers, and the Jackson 5. He acknowledged the disappointment of his critics but refused to apologize, instead offering an accounting of his choices. This culminated in a powerful rendition of “I’ve Gotta Be Me,” a defiant anthem of self-acceptance. Notably, Davis’s final presidential vote, cast in 1988, was for Jesse Jackson.
Davis’s life was a constant negotiation between his internal identity and his public persona. He began performing in vaudeville with his father at the age of three and never stopped, captivating audiences on stage, television, in nightclubs, and in film. He mastered a diverse repertoire, from covers like Jimmy Durante’s “Inka Dinka Doo” to standards from the Great American Songbook, including Johnny Mercer’s “Something’s Gotta Give” and “That Old Black Magic.” He embraced the demands of show business, understanding that “Sammy, day in and day out, had to be on.”
The author reflects on the historical weight Davis carried, navigating a world rife with racial prejudice and societal expectations. He was aware of Davis’s personal relationships, including an affair with Kim Novak, and the societal disapproval surrounding interracial romance. His third wife, Altovise, a dancer and activist, also gained recognition through appearances on game shows like Tattletales and an Afro-Sheen commercial. Davis’s spiritual journey was equally complex, encompassing a Christian upbringing, a conversion to Judaism, and even an honorary title within the Church of Satan.
The question of Davis’s legacy remains open to interpretation. Was he a positive force for change, a symbol of integration, or a token exploited by the entertainment industry? The author suggests that Davis’s survival, and even his success, required him to prioritize his celebrity and performance, leaving limited space for deeper self-reflection. Later interviews with Larry King and Arsenio Hall offered glimpses behind the facade, but even then, Davis remained guarded. He belonged to a generation of Black entertainers – including Redd Foxx and Scatman Crothers – who bridged the gap between the earlier eras of vaudeville and the burgeoning world of television.
The advent of YouTube provided a new avenue for appreciating Davis’s talent. Videos of his early performances revealed his electrifying stage presence and mastery of his craft. The author observed a distinct difference between these concentrated performances and his appearances on variety shows, recognizing the profound influence Davis had on subsequent generations of performers, particularly Michael Jackson. “I had heard that a teenage Michael had come to Sammy for pointers, but I didn’t fully appreciate the history behind that,” the author admits.
The discovery of Davis’s 1965 autobiography, Yes I Can, co-written with Jane and Burt Boyar, offered further insight into his life and struggles. In the book, Davis candidly addressed the frustrations of navigating racial identity and religious discrimination. He described the pain of being caught between two worlds, facing suspicion from both Black and white communities. “You don’t know how frustrating it is to believe something sincerely and deeply in your heart and have to joke about it to be able to make it acceptable,” Davis wrote. The memoir was, for him, an attempt to “cleanse, in part, my emotional soul.”
The author concludes with a personal anecdote: a fleeting backstage encounter with Davis at Jerry Lewis’s Labor Day telethon in 1988. Davis appeared older than his early 60s, foreshadowing his diagnosis of throat cancer the following year and the subsequent loss of his voice. He passed away on May 16, 1990, the same day Ice Cube released his debut album, AmeriKKKa’s Most Wanted, a poignant juxtaposition of two artists representing different facets of American culture. Davis’s enduring impact is underscored by Ice Cube’s later acknowledgment of the importance of singing and dancing in the entertainment industry, citing Davis alongside Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley.
Davis stood at the center of a changing America, adapting and evolving with the times. He embodied the spirit of his signature song: “I’ve gotta be me.”
This article was adapted from Questlove’s foreword for the reissue of Sammy Davis Jr.’s autobiography Yes I Can. It appears in the December 2025 print edition with the headline “The One and Only Sammy.” When you buy a book using a link on this page, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.
