Ocean’s Eleven starring George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon and other current actors. But back in the 1960s the original version of Ocean’s Eleven debuted and it starred a group of actors that would become known as the legendary “Rat Pack” – Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Joey Bishop, Peter Lawford and Sammy Davis, Jr. I spent a week in Las Vegas in mid-1960, and among my plans was a trip to the set of the film since a friend of mine was working on it. Scenes were being shot at the Sands Hotel.  I had noticed earlier in the week that bustling activity was taking place behind the hotel.  Film lighting being what it is, the area gave the illusion of looking like early morning or just before sunset, even if it was actually late at night. When I visited the set, Sammy Davis, Jr. was filming a scene calling for him to drive a truck, as I recall.  Sammy’s career was in high gear, following the famed auto accident much earlier that caused him to lose an eye.  I waited and watched the scene with interest and when the take was completed, my friend introduced me to Sammy and told him I was a psychic.  He said, “Hey, the psychic world’s always intrigued me.  Have you got anything to say to me?” I gave him a message or two and he listened attentively. We chatted a bit and then he was called back to the set.  Even though our meeting was brief, he made an impression on me. I found him to be a bundle of energy and curiosity. I returned to my home in San Francisco and later that year when Ocean’s Eleven filming had been completed I read in the newspaper that Sammy would be performing at the Geary Theater. His career was certainly in full swing, yet I’d never seen him perform live.  I made arrangements to see the show one evening.  I was amazed by his boundless enthusiasm onstage and told him so backstage afterwards. “Thanks,” he smiled.  “How about telling me something else.  Got any more psychic messages?” he asked.  I happily gave him other messages from the spirit world. Time passed and once again I read that Sammy would be in town to entertain, this time at the posh Fairmont Hotel.  The engagement coincided with my mom Kaye’s birthday so I arranged a pre-show dinner party in the hotel’s Venetian Room. Shortly before showtime, I excused myself from the table and went to the lobby, where I picked up the house phone and asked for Sammy Davis, Jr.  I didn’t really expect him to answer since performers do not usually take calls before showtime.  But surprisingly, he came on the line.  I asked if he remembered me and he said, “Sure I do, Kenny.  How are you?”  I said, “Fine, Sammy, and I wonder if you’d do me a great favor?” “Sure, man,” he answered, “if I can.  You’ve done favors for me by giving me messages.” I explained about the dinner party and asked if he’d sing “Happy Birthday” to Kaye during the show.  “I’d be delighted to sing it to your mother!” he happily agreed.  “And let’s talk in the dressing room later, too.” I returned to the Venetian Room and moments later Sammy’s show began.  He cleared his throat a couple of times while talking between numbers and about halfway through the show he said, “You’ll have to forgive me tonight, ladies and gentlemen.  I have a very bad throat.”  I silently began sending healing energy his way. “I’d like to do a special request right now,” he continued.  “There’s a young man in the audience who’s given me messages from – wild as it seems – the other world.  His name is Kenny Kingston and his mom Kaye is here celebrating a birthday with us.  So for you, Kenny, and you, Kaye” – and he sang “Happy Birthday” to my mom. Our time together backstage was brief, as usual.  I always felt a “rush” – a sense of needing to hurry – around Sammy.  It could have been his tremendous energy.  Each of the three times we’d met at that point, it sounded something like, “Hi ‘ya, man, how ‘ya doin’, man? What have ya got for me?  Good to talk to you” and then following the spirit messages and very brief small talk, this whirlwind of a man passed by and went on to a new face and new conversation. It would be nearly thirty years before I would see Sammy again.  For some reason our paths had never crossed again in the meantime, though we shared a dear friend in common. Singer/songwriter/actor Anthony Newley was a longtime friend of mine.  He wrote several songs that were made famous by Sammy, including “What Kind of Fool am I?” “Who Can I Turn To?” and “The Candy Man.”  In fact, Tony used to joke that even though he wrote the songs and performed them during concerts around the world, it took Sammy’s rendition of them to really make the songs memorable. At any rate, my last memory of Sammy was quite eerie.  It occurred December 1, 1989. I’d accepted an invitation to attend an exhibit of artwork by actor Jack Palance at a gallery in Beverly Hills.  I asked a doctor friend and his wife to accompany me and they said in return they would take me to dinner following the exhibit. December 1 would also have been my mom’s birthday (she passed in 1984) and I’d been asking the spirit world for an omen that everything was well with Mom and that she was happy on the other side.  Of course I psychically already knew this but wanted to receive some type of omen anyway, as confirmation.  “If only there could be some extra sign to remind me of her today,” I thought. After the exhibit, my friends and I drove to the very popular La Dolce Vita restaurant.  When we entered, the maitre d’ said, “They’re preparing your table, if you’ll please wait just a moment.” I looked across the room while waiting and saw a man staring at me.  It was comedian Richard Pryor, with whom I’d done the Flip Wilson Show years before.  Recognizing each other, we met halfway in the room and embraced, exchanging “hellos” and “how are you’s.” Just then the maitre d’ came to show us to our table and Richard returned to his table.  Following him with her eyes, my friend’s wife said, “That’s Sammy Davis, Jr. at Richard’s table!”  There were several others seated at the table, as well. “Sammy Davis, Jr. – that’s especially meaningful tonight”, I thought, but the reason escaped me at the moment.  I thought perhaps I would walk over later through the celebrity-studded room to say “hello” to Sammy, who had been through a bout with throat cancer but was supposedly doing better at the time. My friends and I ordered our meal and I soon heard a familiar-sounding though raspy voice. It was coming from Richard’s table and when I looked up I saw Sammy Davis, Jr. leading the group in singing “Happy Birthday” to Richard.  My mind immediately leapt back to the Fairmont Hotel all those years before.  I looked at my watch – 10:30 p.m.  This was almost exactly the time he’d sung “Happy Birthday” to my mom thirty years before.  I recalled Sammy’s chilling comment back then, “Please excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I have a very bad throat” and realized that in that Beverly Hills restaurant he was once again battling a throat problem – much more serious this time, in the form of cancer. “Thank you, Kaye!” I silently said to my mom in spirit.  I realized this was her omen – her way of reminiscing with me about that long-ago evening we spent in San Francisco. I rose and walked to Sammy’s table following the singing, and much talking and congratulating for birthday boy Richard was going on.  I introduced myself to Altovise, Sammy’s wife, who had seen me standing nearby and smiled.  “Oh yes, Kenny,” she said.  “I’ve seen you many times on television.  You’re the spirit message man!” I told her not to disturb Sammy, who looked very frail this close up.  He hadn’t seen me and I didn’t want to interrupt the deep conversation he seemed to be having with Richard and another person at the table. Not wanting to disrupt the private party, I said, “Altovise, please just tell Sammy hello and remind him that he sang Happy Birthday to my mom many years ago tonight.”  I explained about his performance at the Fairmont Hotel.  “Thank him for helping me receive an omen tonight that she’s happy in Heaven,” I concluded. “Oh, how sweet,” she said.  “I’ll remind him, Kenny.”  “Can’t you stay a bit?” she encouraged.  But I told her my party’s meal had just been served and I needed to return to the table. I didn’t see Sammy again after that night, but I carry the memory of this last, special night we shared in Beverly Hills.  The Sammy I last saw was not the fireball of health and energy I’d first met, but he commanded attention till the end, and he’d once again brought the room to a hush, even thirty years to the date and exact time later, with a simple rendition of “Happy Birthday.” ]]>