Yes I Can: The Story of Sammy Davis, Jr. (7 page)

My father whistled down a cab and we headed for the Army recruiting office in Times Square. The cab fare was unimportant. Money had no meaning any more. For the first time in my life and probably my father’s, something was more important than show business. We were gripped by patriotism and there was nothing else to do but join the Army. I loved my country not so much for anything in particular it had given me, but for the most fundamental reason: it was mine. And maybe I took extra pride in it because being an American was the only big-time thing I had going for me.

“What about Massey, Dad? You think he’ll join up, too?”

My father roared hilariously, “Will? Hell, he was too old for World War
One
.”

I sat back in the cab totally involved in being “the young man about to leave his loved ones,” and the ride to Times Square was a montage of movie scenes: I was marching with thousands of men singing “You’re A Grand Old Flag.” Pat O’Brien was my Captain and Spencer Tracy was the chaplain in our outfit. Between 125th and 42nd streets I won my wings in the Army Air Force, and I saw myself zooming off on dangerous missions, bombing enemy ships and dog-fighting with Zeros. As we stood outside the recruiting office at the end of a long line, I pictured myself coming home on leave to show Mama my Army Air Force uniform with the peaked cap, the glamorous one that everyone knew was worn only by flyers because it had soft edges for ear phones to be worn over it….

The Master Sergeant said, “You’re too young. Come back in two years.” He told my father, “Overage. Sorry. Next man….”

We were playing the Fortune Club in Reno when I was ordered to report to the Presidio of Monterey, the Induction Center for the San Francisco area. I showed the notice to my father. He sat down on the bed and didn’t even try to smile. “Well, Poppa, I guess this is it.” Will was shaking his head, as though unable to believe it was really happening. “We’re splitting up the act.”

All in all it had been sixteen happy years of sometime-eating but always thinking and working together as a unit. Now we were breaking with a way of life we loved. Certainly show business had not chosen us or held out its arms and lavishly rewarded our love, but even the hard times had been good times, at least in retrospect, and there was never a moment when one of us regretted that we chose to stick it out.

The rent didn’t get paid but Will and my father spent $150 on a gold wrist watch for me, with a stop-watch built into it, a chronograph, the kind the Air Force was using. I’d been dying to own one for a year and they must have borrowed the money to buy it. Will said, “We always had the name of the best-dressed colored act in show business. Can’t let ‘em think different about us in the Army.”

At six o’clock Saturday morning the three of us were standing outside the induction center making our awkwardly manly goodbyes. My father said, “Now, Poppa, you’re goin’ in a boy but you’ll come out a man. You’ll meet all kinds of people but just do your job like you’re supposed to and nobody can bother you. That’s all I got to say ‘cept I know you’ll do good and we’ll be waitin’ for you when you come back.”

A whistle sounded. Will said, “Okay, Mose Gastin, you’re on. Just treat it like show business. Give ‘em the best you got”

It was like I had two fathers. I hugged and kissed Will and turned to my dad. I grabbed him with all my strength and kissed him goodbye. “So long, Poppa. I’m proud of my boy.” He tried to smile. “Don’t forget about when the other guy’s dealin’ the cards. Ain’t no one can fool you if you’re watchin’. I taught you all the tricks….”

I grinned and gave him a shot in the arm. Reluctant to go, yet for the lack of knowing what else to say that might keep me there a few more minutes, I checked the time on my wrist watch which I’d polished almost every hour in the last few days. The dial was a blur. I kept telling myself I’m a man going into the army and I’m going to
fly a plane. I’d looked forward to this day but now it struck me how much I didn’t want to leave my father and Will, that it was going to be the first night in my life I hadn’t been with either them or Mama.

“Hey, Poppa? Betcha I c’n make y’laugh.”

There was his old poker-face, dead serious, not moving a muscle, with two big tears rolling down his cheeks. The whistle blew again, impatiently. I walked away from them, forcing myself not to look back.

A PFC was sitting on the steps of a barracks, sewing an emblem onto a shirt. I walked over to him. “Excuse me, buddy. I’m a little lost. Can you tell me where 202 is?”

He jerked his head, indicating around the corner. “Two buildings down. And I’m not your buddy, you black bastard!” He turned back to his sewing.

The corporal standing outside 202 checked my name against a list on a clipboard. “Yeah—well, you better wait over there awhile ‘til we figure out what to do with you.”

I was at the Infantry’s Basic Training Center at Fort Francis E. Warren in Cheyenne, Wyoming.

I sat on the steps where he’d pointed. Other guys were showing up and he checked them off his list and told them, “Go inside and take the first bunk you see.” I looked away for a moment and heard him saying, “Sit over there with Davis.”

A tall, powerfully built guy dropped his gear alongside mine. “My name’s Edward Robbins.” We shook hands and he sat down next to me. One by one, men were arriving and being sent inside. They kept on coming but no one else was told to wait with us. Then, finally, there was no point in hoping against the obvious. It was clear that we were the only ones being held outside while all the white guys were going right in.

The corporal went inside. We were sitting in front of a screen door so even though he lowered his voice I could hear every word he was saying. “… look, we got a problem. Those niggers out there are assigned to this company. I’m gonna stick ‘em down there. You two guys move your gear so I can give ‘em those last two bunks.”

Another voice said, “Hey, that’s right nexta me. I ain’t sleepin’ near no dinge.”

“Look, soldier, let’s get something straight right off. I’m in charge of this barracks and …”

“I ain’t arguin’ you’re in charge. I’m only sayin’ I didn’t join no nigger army.”

Embarrassed in front of each other, Edward and I looked straight ahead.

“… what about the can? Y’mean we gotta use the same toilets as them?”

“That’s right, soldier. They use the same latrine we all use. Now look, we got no goddamned choice. They used t’keep ‘em all together, but now for some goddamned reason they sent ‘em here and we just gotta put up with ‘em….”

It was impossible to believe they were talking about me.

“Yeah, but I still ain’t sleepin’ nexta no nigger.”

“What the hell’s the army need ‘em for? They’ll steal ya blind while ya sleep and there ain’t one of ‘em has any guts. They’re all yeller bellies …”

“Awright, knock it off. I don’t want ‘em any more than you do but we’re stuck with ‘em. That’s orders.”

They weren’t even trying to keep their voices down any more.

There was the sound of iron beds sliding across the wooden floor. The corporal beckoned from the doorway. “Okay, c’mon in and I’ll assign you your bunks. Let’s go,” he snapped, “on the double.” We picked up our gear and followed him through the door. I felt like a disease he was bringing in.

There were rows of cots on both sides with an aisle down the
center. The guys were standing in groups. They’d stopped talking. I looked straight ahead. I could feel them staring as we followed the corporal down the aisle. He pointed to the last two cots on one side. “These are yours. Now, we don’t want no trouble with you. Keep your noses clean, do as you’re told, and we’ll get along.” He walked away.

I looked around the barracks. The bed nearest to ours was empty. All the cots were about two feet apart from each other except ours, which were separated from the rest by about six feet—like we were on an island.

A few of the men sort of smiled and half-waved hello. Some wouldn’t look over at us. The nearest, a tall, husky guy who must have been a laborer or an athlete, kept his back turned.

A sergeant came in and from the center of the barracks announced, “I’m Sergeant Williams. I’m in charge of this company and I …” His glance fell on the space between the beds. He turned to the corporal. “What the hell is that?”

The corporal quietly explained how he’d handled things. Sergeant Williams listened, then spoke sharply: “There is only one way we do things here and that’s the Army way! There will be exactly three feet of space, to the inch, between every bed in this barracks. You have sixty seconds to replace the beds as you found them.
Move
!”

He came over to me. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“Sammy Davis, Jr.”

“Of all the men in this barracks did you arrive first or tenth or last or what?”

“About in the middle.”

“Did you choose this bunk?”

“Well, no, I was told …”

He looked around. By this time the barracks had been re-arranged. “All right, Davis. Move your gear one bunk over.” He turned to Edward. “You do the same.”

He addressed us all. “No man here is better than the next man unless he’s got the rank to prove it.”

I sat on the end of my bunk, the shock gone, immense anger growing within me until my legs were shaking and it was impossible for me to keep them still. I couldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing how they’d gotten to me. I saw one of the other guys polishing his boots. That was a good idea. The boots were a brand new, almost yellow leather and we’d been told to darken them with
polish. I took off my watch and laid it carefully on the bed. I opened my shoe shine kit, took out the polish and brush, and began rubbing the polish into the leather, doing the same spot over and over, concentrating on it, working so hard that I could blank out everything else from my mind. Suddenly another pair of boots landed at my feet. “Here, boy, you can do mine, too.”

I looked up. It was the guy who had the bed next to me, and he’d already turned away. I grabbed for the boots, to throw them at his head—but I didn’t want to make trouble, not on my first day in camp. I put them down beside his bed.

He looked at me, surprised. “Hey, boy, don’t get me wrong, I expected t’give you a tip. Maybe two-bits for a good job.”

“I’m no bootblack. And I’m no boy, either.”

“Whoa now, don’t get so uppity, boy. Hell, if you don’t wanta make the money it’s okay by me.” He shrugged and walked over to Edward. “Here y’are, boy. You can do ‘em.”

“Yes, suh! Glad t’do ‘em, suh.”

“Well, that’s more like it. Glad somebody around here knows his place. And you don’t have to call me sir. Just call me Mr. Jennings. Y’see in the army you only call the officers ‘sir.’ ”

“Yes, suh, Mr. Jennings and my name is Edward. Anything you needs….”

I wanted to vomit. I was alone in that barracks.

Jennings was talking to a couple of the other guys. “This may work out okay. One of ‘em’s not a half-bad nigger.” He came by Edward’s bunk with three more pairs of boots. Edward’s face fell for a second but he brightened up right away. “Yes, suh, you just leave ‘em here and I’ll take care of ‘em.”

“You oughta thank me for settin’ up this nice little business for you.”

“I
do
thank you.” He smiled broadly. “Oh, yes suh. I thanks you kindly.”

Edward was avoiding my eyes. Eventually he looked up and moved his head just the slightest bit. For a split second he opened up to me and I saw the humiliation he was enduring because his fear of trouble was stronger than his need for dignity. I hoped he’d look up again so I could let him know I was sorry I’d judged him and forced him to let me look inside him and see the pain and weakness that was his right to hide.

Perhaps this was how he had to live, but I wasn’t going to take it
from anybody. I wasn’t going to let anybody goad me into fights and get myself in trouble, either. I was going to mind my own business and have a clean record.

Jennings flopped onto his bunk. He sat up, reached over and took my watch off my bed. “Say, this ain’t a half-bad watch.” He looked at me suspiciously.

“Put it back.”

“Hold on, now. My, but you’re an uppity one.” He stood up. “Hey, Philips … catch!” He tossed the watch across the barracks. I ran to get it back but just as I reached Philips he lobbed it over my head to another guy who threw it back to Jennings. I ran after it, knowing how ridiculous I looked getting there just as Jennings threw it over my head again, that I shouldn’t chase after it, that I was only encouraging them, but I was afraid they’d drop it and I couldn’t stop myself.

“Attenshun!!!”
Every head in the barracks snapped toward the doorway. Sergeant Williams walked straight to Jennings. “What’ve you got there?”

Jennings opened his hand and showed him my watch.

“Whose is it?”

Jennings shrugged.

“It’s mine.”

Sergeant Williams brought it to me. Jennings grinned, “Hell, Sarge, we were just kiddin’ around. I was only showing the watch to the guys.”

“You’re a wise guy, Jennings. In the army we respect another man’s property. You just drew K.P. for a week.” He left the barracks.

Jennings looked at me with more hatred than I had ever seen on a man’s face. “You just wait. I’ll fix you for this, black boy.”

Hours after lights-out I lay awake trying to understand. How many white people had felt like this about me? I couldn’t remember any. Not one. Had I just been too stupid to see it? I thought of the people we’d known—agents, managers, the acts we’d worked with—these people had all been friends. I know they were. There were so many things I had to remember: the dressing rooms—had we been stuck at the end of corridors off by ourselves? Or with the other colored acts? That was ridiculous. Dressing rooms were always assigned according to our spot on the bill. And the places we stayed? They
were
almost always colored hotels and rooming
houses, but I’d never thought of them like that. They were just
our
rooming houses. But, did we
have
to go to them? Didn’t we just go to them because they knew us and because they were the cheapest? Or wasn’t that the reason? Sure there were people who hadn’t liked us, but it had always been “Don’t pay attention, Poppa, he’s just jealous ‘cause we got a better act.” Or, “They don’t like us ‘cause we’re in show business.” And I’d never questioned it. In the last few years I’d known there was prejudice and hate in the world. I remembered several times Will telling me, “Someday you’ll understand.” But I didn’t understand and I couldn’t believe I ever would.