Introduction
Dean Martin hadn’t visited anyone on their deathbed in years, but when he walked into Sammy Davis Jr. dot quote s hospital room, the words he spoke made Sammy cry tears of joy in his final moments. It was May 14th, 1990, and Sammy Davis Jr. was dying. The throat cancer that had been eating away at his voice box for months was finally winning the battle. In his private room at Cedar Sinai Medical Center, Sammy lay connected to machines.
his once powerful voice reduced to a whisper, his legendary energy fading with each labored breath. For weeks, a steady stream of Hollywood’s biggest names had come to pay their respects. Frank Sinatra had been there almost daily, sitting by Sams bed, holding his hand, and telling him stories about their glory days. Elizabeth Taylor had sent flowers. Liza Minnelli had sung softly to him. The entertainment world was saying goodbye to one of its most beloved performers. But there was one person Sammy desperately wanted to see.
One friend whose absence was breaking his heart almost as much as the cancer was destroying his body. Dean Martin hadn’t come. And as the days passed, it seemed increasingly unlikely that he ever would. Dean had always been different from the rest of the Rat Pack when it came to emotional situations. While Frank was passionate and dramatic, and Sammy was openly affectionate, Dean kept his feelings locked away. He hated hospitals, avoided funerals, and had a policy of not saying goodbye when he knew it would be the last time.
Dean doesn’t do death beds. Frank had told Sammy’s wife, Alivise, when she asked if Dean might visit, it’s not that he doesn’t care. It’s just that’s not who Dean is, but Sammy had been hoping for over 30 years. Dean Martin had been like a brother to him. They had shared stages, hotel rooms, laughter, and dreams. They had been through the golden age of Las Vegas together when the Rat Pack ruled the entertainment world and every night felt like a celebration.
Sammy remembered the early days when he wasn’t always welcome in the same hotels where Dean and Frank stayed. Dean had quietly made sure that contracts included clauses requiring equal treatment for all members of the group. Dean never made a big show of it, never gave speeches about civil rights, but his actions spoke louder than words. Dean’s got your back, Frank used to say. He just doesn’t talk about it. Now, as Sammy lay dying, he found himself thinking about all the moments he and Dean had shared.
The late night conversations in Vegas hotel suites, the practical jokes they’d played on each other, the way Dean would catch his eye during a performance, and they’d both start laughing for no reason anyone else could understand. But Dean hadn’t come to see him. And with each day that passed, Sammy felt more certain that he would never see his friend again. On the morning of May 14th, Sammy was having one of his worst days. The pain medication made him drift in and out of consciousness, and when he was awake, breathing was a struggle.
Altivise sat beside his bed, reading to him from letters sent by fans around the world. “Here’s one from a little girl in Ohio,” Alivi said softly. She says, “You taught her that she could be anything she wanted to be.” Sammy managed a weak smile. Even in his final days, knowing that his life had meant something to others gave him comfort. At around 2 p.m., there was a soft knock on the hospital room door. Altoise looked up, expecting to see a nurse, or perhaps another visitor coming to pay respects.
Instead, Dean Martin walked quietly into the room. Dean looked older than Sammy remembered, more fragile somehow. It had been 3 years since Dean Paul’s death, and the tragedy had aged Dean dramatically. His famous swagger was gone, replaced by a careful, almost hesitant way of moving. Alivise gasped softly. She hadn’t expected this, especially not at this late stage. Dean approached the bed slowly, his eyes taking in Samms condition. For a moment, neither man spoke. Then Samms eyes opened and focused on his friend’s face.
Dino, Sammy whispered, his voice barely audible. “Hey, Smokey,” Dean replied, using the nickname he’d given Sammy decades earlier. “You look terrible.” Despite everything, Sammy started to laugh, which immediately turned into a coughing fit, but his eyes were bright with joy for the first time in weeks. Dean pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. For several minutes, they just looked at each other. 30 years of friendship passing between them in silence. I wasn’t sure you’d come, Sammy finally managed to say.
Dean’s expression softened. I wasn’t sure I would either. I’m not good at this stuff, Sam. You know that you’re here now, Sammy said. That’s what matters. Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something that made Samms eyes fill with tears. It was a photograph from 1960 showing the five members of the Rat Pack on stage at the Copa Room in Las Vegas. They were all young, handsome, and full of life, arms around each other, laughing at some longforgotten joke.
“I found this in my desk,” Dean said, holding the photo where Sammy could see it. “I’ve been carrying it around for weeks, trying to work up the courage to come here.” Sammy stared at the photograph, remembering that night. It had been during the filming of Oceans 11, and they had just finished a show that had gone particularly well. “Everything seemed possible back then. They were conquering the world, one show at a time. We were something, weren’t we,” Sammy whispered.
“We were everything,” Dean replied firmly. “The best there ever was.” Altivise, sensing this was a private moment, quietly stepped out of the room to give the two old friends some time alone. Dean leaned closer to Samms bed. Sam, I need to tell you something. I need to say some things I should have said years ago. Sammy nodded, though the effort seemed to exhaust him. I was never good with words like Frank was. Dean began. I couldn’t make speeches or tell people how I felt.
But you, you were more than a friend to me. You were the heart of everything we did. Dean’s voice began to crack with emotion, something Sammy had rarely heard in all their years together. When we first started performing together, I watched how you handled all the the problems, the places that wouldn’t let you stay. The people who said horrible things. You never let it make you bitter. You never let it change who you were. You taught me what real class looked like.
Tears were streaming down Samms face now. These were words he had waited his entire life to hear from Dean. You remember that night in Miami? Dean continued. When they tried to make you use the service entrance, I wanted to fight the whole hotel. But you just smiled and said, “Let’s show them how it’s done.” Dino, let’s be so good they can’t ignore us. Sammy remembered it had been 1961, and even though the Rat Pack was at the height of their fame, some venues still tried to impose discriminatory rules.
Sammy had always chosen to fight with talent rather than fists. You were right, Dean said. You were always right. And I was proud to stand next to you on every stage we ever shared. Dean paused, struggling with his emotions. This was the most vulnerable Sammy had ever seen him. I know I wasn’t always there when you needed support. I know I could have spoken up more, done more. I was a coward sometimes, Sam, but I want you to know that every night we performed together was an honor for me.
Sammy reached out with what little strength he had and grabbed Dean’s hand. You were there when it mattered. Dino, you always had my back. Dean squeezed Samms hand gently. There’s something else I need to tell you. Something I’ve never told anyone. Sammy waited, his eyes fixed on Dean’s face. You saved my life once, Dean said quietly. Not literally, but you saved who I was as a person. It was 1963 after the Kennedy thing when everything got complicated with Frank and the politics.
I was ready to quit, to walk away from all of it. I felt like we weren’t a group anymore, like the magic was gone. Dean paused, remembering that difficult time when the Rat Pack’s association with the Kennedy administration had created tensions and divisions. I called you that night. Remember? I was drunk and feeling sorry for myself and I said I was done with show business. You came over to my house at 3:00 in the morning and you sat with me until the sun came up.
Sammy did remember Dean had been going through one of his darkest periods, questioning everything about his career and his friendships. You told me that the music mattered more than the politics. You said that what we did on stage was pure and that nothing could take that away from us. You reminded me that we weren’t just entertainers. We were friends and that was worth fighting for. Dean’s voice was barely a whisper now. You saved our friendship that night, Sam.
You saved me. The two men sat in silence for a moment, both crying now, both finally expressing emotions they had carried for decades. I have to ask you for one more favor, Dean said. His voice stronger again. Anything, Dino. When you get where you’re going, keep an eye out for Dean Paul. He’s probably lost up there, and he could use a friend. Sammy smiled through his tears. I’ll find him, Dino. I’ll take care of him. Dean leaned down and kissed Samms forehead, something he had never done before in all their years of friendship.
I love you, Smokey. I should have said it before, but I’m saying it now. You were the best friend a guy could have. I love you, too, Dino. Thank you for coming. Thank you for everything. Dean stayed for another hour, sharing memories and holding Samms hand. When he finally got up to leave, both men knew it was goodbye forever. “Hey, Sam,” Dean said from the doorway. “Next time I see you, you better be ready to sing. I’ve got some new material I want to try out.” Sammy laughed one last time.
“I’ll be ready, partner. Save me the good songs.” Sammy Davis Jr. died 2 days later on May 16th, 1990. Those close to him said that after Dean’s visit, something had changed. The fear was gone, replaced by peace. He had received the blessing he needed from the friend whose opinion mattered most. Dean Martin attended Samms funeral, one of the few times in his later years that he appeared at such an event. He didn’t speak at the service, but he was there honoring his friend one final time.
Years later, when people asked Dean about that final conversation with Sammy, he would simply say, “We said what needed to be said.” The photograph Dean had brought to the hospital, the one showing the five Rat Pack members in their prime was found on Samms nightstand after he died. On the back in Dean’s handwriting were the words for Smokey, the best there ever was, “Love, Dino.” That photograph now sits in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, a testament to a friendship that lasted beyond life itself and proved that sometimes the most important words are the ones we almost never say.