"The Sammy Davis Story"

There is no doubt that the single, most spectacular personality to emerge on the show business scene this year is a little guy named Sammy Davis, Jr.

Sammy sings, and he does imitations, and he dances, he plays a number of musical instruments and he acts well enough to have a Broadway producer talking about building a play around him. In addition to these many talents, he's an especially likable guy, who possesses showmanship, wit, charm and a black eyepatch. The last item is important and we'll get to it later.

The story of Sammy Davis, Jr. would make a perfect super-colossal film musical. Though the man himself is a refreshingly original performer, his life reads like the script for a typical Hollywood heart-tugger, to be played in Supercolor and CinemaScope, with Stereophonic sound, of course.

The picture begins with his birth, backstage, in a dressing room of the old Hippodrome Theatre in New York. His father, Sam Davis, Sr., and his uncle, Will Mastin, are a well-known act on the vaudeville circuits. For two whole years, little Sammy just loafs around and absorbs the show world atmosphere. But this soft life is not for him. At age two, he gets into the act, mimicking the adult performers in those little take-offs that showfolk call "impressions."

The paying customers are definitely impressed.

Perhaps the idea of a two-year-old toddler wowing the audience may bend your credulity a bit, but it's true nonetheless. And at four he auditioned for a role in an Ethel Waters movie. Nothing very remarkable about that. What's remarkable is, he got the part. And later on, when he began to show dancing ability, who offered to give him lessons?

How's this for a scene? Sam, Senior speaks: "Son, there's a man here wants to show you a few things about dancing." "Is he a dancer himself, Daddy?" "Yes, son, he's a mighty fine dancer." "What's his name?" "Robinson," says the man, "but you can call me Bill."

Montage:Robinson and Sammy. Robinson doing his famous trademarks and Sammy picking them up, bit by bit: the trigger-like turns of heel and toe, the lightning thrust of arms and legs, the rapid twist and turn of the body, the thrill-packed finale and the burst-of-glory ending.Insert Shot:A page of the New York Post.Earl Wilson's column. Sammy's photo. A phrase of Wilson's fills the screen: ". . . his feet remind one of liquid rhythm."Cut.

Here's where The Sammy Davis Story really starts moving. He's a grown man now. Along the way his nose has been flattened, so he looks like a little bantam-weight fighter. We see him performing at various night clubs around the country (let's have some railroad-track footage in here). He's singing, say,Because of You. After a few bars in his own voice, the barrel-chested tones of Vaughn Monroe roll out of him. Then, in rapid succession, we hear deft facsimiles of the Frankie Laine hysteria, the Billy Eckstine lushness, the Tony Bennett desperation, the Nat Cole gentleness, the Mel Torme fuzz. The audience applauds, but Sammy isn't finished yet. Now he's talking the lyrics in the style of a familiar actor: "Because of you, you dirty rat . . . my romance . . . my romance had its start, yes it did . . ." It's Cagney: the crowd roars. Then Sammy gives them Jimmy Stewart, Cary Grant, Lionel Barrymore, Edward G. Robinson, Jerry Lewis. . .

Someplace, we'll have to splice in shots of Sammy beating the drums, Sammy slapping a bull fiddle, Sammy pounding out boogie-woogie on a Steinway. . .

And now we're ready for the tragedy. It's November, 1954, and Sammy's been signed to record the title tune for a film called 'Six Bridges to Cross. He climbs in his car and heads for Hollywood. It's a long, lonely drive on the road at night. Maybe Sammy switches on the radio to hear a little music. He smiles, starts to sing along with it. He's feeling great – sitting on top of the world. But the camera knows better: it sees the ominous headlights approaching at high speed from the opposite direction. There's a screech of brakes, a close-up of Sammy's startled face, and the radio song does a fast segue into dissonance.

We'll need a hospital sequence: doctors talking in low voices, loved ones in tears, snatches of phrases like ". . . may not pull through. . ." and ". . . even if he does, his left eye. . ."

And now it's time to film the sensational final scene. The set is built to resemble the floor of Ciro's, a very swank Hollywood night club. The place is packed. There's a charged-air feeling of expectancy among the crowd. And what a crowd! Celebrities all – famous stars of the entertainment world! The camera dollies over them and we spot beauties like Ava Gardner, Dorothy Dandridge, Betty Hutton, Gloria DeHaven. And a few others that seem familiar . . . why, isn't that Humphrey Bogart? And Judy Garland? There's Dick Powell and June Allyson. . . Jack Benny . . . Jeff Chandler. . . Janet Leigh and Tony Curtis. . . and look (lot of middle-aged women will see this film, we've got to please everybody), there's Liberace.

The m.c. is making an announcement, but we're too far away to catch the words. The band strikes up a fanfare and a little man strides out onto the floor. Even before the spot hits him, we know it's Sammy. He's alive. His left eye is gone and across his face is a black pirate patch, but all the rest of the self-assured, socko Sammy is there.

What a moment. All those people, all those stars and celebrities – what do they do? Why, they rise to their feet and give this little guy a ten minute ovation! We can't use all of it, of course – too long – so we cut to the performance. "I'd love to gain complete control of you, and handle even the heart and soul of you . . ." Sammy pours out the liquid lyrics of Cole Porter's All of You. It's one of his fastest selling records. Now he's singing My Funny Valentine. That's in his album: it's over the hundred thousand mark. Now he's belting out a wonderful burlesque of Billy Daniel's Black Magic and Billy is in the audience, laughing and applauding with the rest. "Meanwhile, back at the ranch. . ."

Our camera leaves him here, in the spotlight where he belongs. We move up and back till the spot is just a bit of light in the center of the giant Supercolor, CinemaScope screen, and the Stereophonic sound swells to a finish.

End of movie. Intermission for purposes of popcorn and reflection.

The accident came just as Sammy was beginning to really catch on. It could have been a setback – perhaps a big one. Instead, it has helped boost him to a fame he never knew before. This little guy is a great entertainer, but it was the Sammy spunk that made a great many people notice him for the first time.

"So long now," says Sammy, adjusting his patch. "Have to go pose for a Hathaway ad."

You've got to like a guy like that.