FIGHTING RACISM BY PUNCHING DOWN:

Sammy Davis Jr. could easily be considered what some might call a quadruple-threat: singer, dancer, actor, and comedian. However, this is inaccurate or at least incomplete. Davis’s identity off-stage as a Black, Puerto Rican, Jewish, and disabled man was just as vital to his being as his identity on stage. Indeed, this assemblage of identities would become Davis’s “thing,” or his “shtick,” as Rebecca L. Davis calls it. During one mid-1960s performance, Davis joked:

It is true that I am an American Negro, and I have adopted Judaism as my faith. Everybody knows that, and all the comics make jokes about it. And I do it in self-defense. But I would also like you to know something that you’re probably not aware of: My mother is a Puerto Rican. My mother’s maiden name was Elvera Sánchez. This is true – emes. So that means I’m colored, Jewish, and Puerto Rican. When I move into a neighborhood, I wipe it out!1

This joke and its many variations became a sort of trademark of Davis’s. In a 1960 Los Angeles Times article reporting on Davis’s announcement to wed the Swedish actress May Britt, the journalist ended the piece with a nod to Davis’s joke that “as a Jewish Negro with one eye he has all the handicaps he can handle.”2

What Davis saw as self-defense, however, many saw as self-deprecation. Both Davis and his friends – namely Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and the rest of the Rat Pack – made jokes at the expense of Davis and his many identities. Although he was always in on it, Davis was frequently the butt of whatever joke was being told. The height of the Rat Pack’s stardom coincided with the burgeoning movement for African American civil rights and Black Power; once placed in this context, the dynamic of the Rat Pack’s comedy becomes extremely complex. During a time of great struggle for self-love, security, and the overall betterment of the situation of African Americans, the jokes told by Davis and the Rat Pack appear to be incredibly tone-deaf and racist. While these jokes were indeed harmful to the movement and its goals, they simultaneously promoted concepts of integration and black resilience, also reflecting the conflicted and complex opinions of their mostly White audiences. In other words, these jokes helped as much as they hurt.

To reveal the complexities of the Rat Pack’s humor during the civil rights movement, it is vital to establish context as well as different comedic approaches and what their reception entails. By analyzing jokes from Rat Pack performances that involve race as performance text and placing them in their proper context, it is suggested that the performances done by the troupe echo and support the advancements being made by the movement. This aforementioned context pertains not just to the nature of the group’s shows, but to the nature of the relationship between Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr., as well as each man’s involvement in the push for racial equality. Then, an analysis of race-based humor is required to reveal the effects of such comedy. This will first be done by looking at the legacy of comedy done by African Americans, then by looking at the evolution of comedy used at their expense. Finally, by taking a look at the audiences’ responses and opinions, the jokes’ impact and audience's attitudes can be better understood. Throughout, I will argue that despite the civil rights movement’s efforts to restrict the harmful ways in which people discussed and treated Black Americans, the members of the Rat Pack were able to simultaneously challenge and perpetuate bigotry by continuing to perform comedy that brought private ethnic humor to the public sphere.

Existing scholarship has delved into the effects of race-based humor, using many methods and yielding many results. In his article “Jokes as Performance Text: A Close Reading of Rat Pack Banter,” Dave Calvert analyzes a 1963 Las Vegas performance as text so as to provide the necessary context for a short succession of jokes told by Sinatra, Davis, and Martin. As he does so, Calvert argues that literary analysis leaves each man’s joke as a closed – and therefore racist, in Sinatra’s case – statement rather than invitations for the other men to retaliate with their own jokes. In a chapter dedicated to Sammy Davis Jr. from her book Stars for Freedom: Hollywood, Black Celebrities, and the Civil Rights Movement, Emilie Raymond argues that the controversial life led by Davis – one that was both “daring” and “deferential” – was the key to his success as a civil rights activist. Throughout the chapter, Raymond details the ways in which Davis and the Rat Pack pushed racial boundaries not just through their jarring humor, but by showcasing integration on such a prominent platform. Raúl Pérez, however, diverts from both Calvert and Raymond in his article “Racist Humor: Then and Now,” where he argues that racial humor worked not to dismantle but to affirm harmful stereotypes and therefore reinforce prejudice. Pérez critically analyzes race-based humor by looking at the history of both black and non-black comedians performing such comedy, as well as the critiques it faced during the civil rights movement. The article “Ethnic Humor Versus ‘Sense of Humor’: an American Sociocultural Dilemma” by Mahadev L. Apte articulates how American society has valued having a “sense of humor” and what this has meant for minority groups. Apte argues that minority groups challenged the idea that having a sense of humor necessitated enjoying humor made at their expense, which resulted in ethnic humor being acceptable only in private and no longer in public spheres.3

Together, these sources effectively show just how complex the jokes told by the Rat Pack truly were. Calvert’s way of analyzing performances offers the context necessary to assert that the Rat Pack’s humor pushed boundaries in a way that could advance the goals set by the civil rights movement. By looking at the jokes in relation to one another rather than as isolated statements, it becomes clear that the Rat Pack used banter to challenge one another and the stereotypes placed upon them. Raymond’s chapter further supports such an argument by insisting that the controversial nature of Davis’s life – specifically how comfortably he mixed with White colleagues and audiences – was his greatest tool in advancing the movement for civil rights.

Though his humor was criticized for being self-deprecating for the sake of White comfort, Davis’s popularity among White Americans allowed him to promote the movement among his audiences and fellow performers in an undeniably effective way. As a result, Davis was one of the most successful fund-raisers for the civil rights movement, despite claims that he was doing all he could to distance himself from his race. In showing the harm of the Pack’s comedy, Pérez helpfully explains how the legacy of the utilization of comedy as a mode of domination persisted into the civil rights era. The civil rights era definitively challenged and condemned racist humor, specifically blackface minstrelsy. Therefore, the persistence of its themes within the Rat Pack’s routine – which is effectively detailed in another of Calvert’s articles, “Similar Hats on Similar Heads: Uniformity and Alienation at the Rat Pack’s Summit Conference of Cool” – suggest that while their comedy may have been used to challenge racism, it was just as effective in perpetuating it through the affirmation of stereotypes. Apte’s discussion of the changing norms of comedy – namely, the way ethnic humor was pushed into the private sphere, which Pérez attributes to the civil rights movement – shows how the Rat Pack was both progressive and stuck in traditional ways. While Pérez and Apte focus on the negative effects of continuing to perform ethnic humor publicly during the civil rights era, analyzing their arguments alongside those of other scholars reveal how the Rat Pack’s performance of such comedy may have also had a positive influence.4

On September 6, 1963, during a performance at their usual haunt, the Copa Room at the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas, Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr., and Dean Martin told a quick succession of jokes that went as follows:

Sinatra: Better keep smiling, Sam, so everybody knows where you are.

Davis: You fellers go ahead. You ain’t got many rights left.

Martin: No, but we sure got a couple of lefts.

On the surface, it appears that Sinatra has made a glaringly racist remark at the expense of Davis, who then retaliates, followed by Martin stepping in with a final quip. However, once the joke is analyzed as what Erik Exe Christoffersen calls “performance text,” the complexities and nuances of the exchange are revealed. Dave Calvert does just this and finds that Sinatra was not simply being racist, but was indeed setting Davis up for his own joke. To come to this conclusion, Calvert establishes the nature of both the Rat Pack’s shows and its members. This context is vital in understanding the ways in which the troupe’s humor was able to challenge the racism upon which it depended.5

According to Christoffersen in his book The Actor’s Way, “‘performance text’ is a series of expressive elements, which are present at the same time, just as all the expressive elements of a painting are present at the same time.” Furthermore, Christoffersen explains that one way in which performance can progress is within a “linear dimension,” where the plot – or in this case, the jokes – build and depend upon one another. With this understanding of how to look at the exchange between the three men, Calvert labels these jokes as banter, which he defines as “a form of humour in which two or more people are engaged in comic exchanges on a particular topic, which is usually contentious and outside of the polite regulations of social discourse.” The contentious topic here, of course, is race. Considering these jokes as banter is significant to how they should be understood, for as Calvert explains, statements made for the sake of banter are intended to be comedic rather than serious, and typically operate “within an established network of relationships in which the speaker anticipates that the hearers will license the joke.” This applies not only to the Rat Pack’s audience, but to Davis himself. These networks exist between the Rat Pack and the audience, who paid to attend their antics, and within the Pack itself, who are unified through their “socio-cultural identity.”6

A great majority of the Rat Pack’s shows were scripted mainly by member and comedian Joey Bishop. Although there was room for improvisation, the members typically stuck to the script; if they were to improvise, it was to be the timing of their jokes, not the content. This reinforces Calvert’s argument that Sinatra was initiating pre-established banter rather than making a remark on the dark color of Davis’ skin on a whim. Before Davis makes his rebuttal, he and the audience laugh at Sinatra’s joke; drawing on the work of Ken Willis, who uses Jennifer Hay’s model of humor support, Calvert contends that Davis’ laughter “signal[s] an appreciation and acceptance of Sinatra’s insult, diminishing himself as a person and performer” in the process. However, Calvert suggests several factors Davis could be appreciating in this moment: Sinatra’s seniority, his “elevated status,” or his comedic timing. These seem more likely than Davis endorsing bigotry from his friend, for he immediately follows it with a retaliation that earns louder and longer laughter from the audience, effectively pulling them into his corner.7

Christoffersen and Calvert’s work on performance text brings about a new way to interpret the ethnic humor of the Rat Pack during the civil rights era. For example, at the 1960 Sands [Hotel] Summit performance, Dean Martin picks up Sammy Davis. Jr and carries him to the microphone, where Martin says: “I’d like to thank the NAACP for this wonderful trophy.” After laughing along with the audience, Davis demands to be put down. As he walks back over towards Sinatra, Martin introduces Davis’ next solo performance as such:

Right now, ladies and gentile- gentlemen [audience laughs], we’re gonna have a young man come out here and do a few impressions of some great movie stars from the silver screen. I imagine you know them all, and here he is, uh, Sammy Savis Jr. doin’ a few things. I know that’s wrong but I ain’t about to correct it either. [audience laughs as Martin lowers the microphone stand] So come on up here, you little colored bloke. [Davis, Sinatra, and audience laugh]

Once Davis gets up to the microphone, he goes into his celebrity impressions, including the likes of White entertainers such as Ed Sullivan and Lionel Barrymore. In the midst of his impersonations, Martin interrupts by dramatically falling over on stage. With faux annoyance, Davis asks Martin, “When was the last time you was cut by a colored fella?” to which the audience laughs. Martin is quick to come back with, “Would that make me Jewish?” earning more raucous laughter from Davis and the audience.8

There are clearly several problematic aspects of Martin’s jokes told here, but when considering them as performance text, they appear to be less harsh. Martin is not targeting only Davis’ race in these jokes, but also his size, age, and religion. Davis’ smaller stature is exploited not just through Martin’s “little colored bloke” comment, but also by the lowering of the microphone stand and the ease with which Martin picks him up. Martin references his age when introducing him as “a young man.” When combined with Martin’s intentional mispronunciation of his name, the comment works to belittle Davis as a performer. As for religion, Martin’s purposeful slip-up of calling the crowd “gentiles” and his reference to circumcision clearly allude to Davis’ Judaism. Of course, Martin said all of this knowing Davis would demand to be put down and would do impressions of White celebrities – something quite controversial for its time. Furthermore, it can be assumed his question, “Would that make me Jewish?” was a scripted response, an engagement in banter with Davis. Finally, Davis’ laughter could be an endorsement, not of Martin’s use of stereotypes and negative language, but to his comedic delivery and timing or simply his being older than Davis.

In his discussion on the ability of comedians to continue to perform ethnic humor during the civil rights era, Raúl Pérez claims that “[i]n order for an audience to ‘accept’ offensive racial jokes…there needs to be a perceived ‘incongruity’ between the performer as a ‘person’ and the jokes being told.” This incongruity could not be more present for a performer than it was for Frank Sinatra. Indeed, Calvert notes that Sinatra biographers are often “baffled” at the racist jokes he would make during shows. During the 1940s, Sinatra had established himself as a staunch liberal and often used his platform to campaign for Democrats and tolerance. Both of Sinatra’s parents were Italian immigrants, and as a result, Sinatra had to endure anti-Italian prejudice and bigotry as he grew up. This experience is what he cited as his drive for promoting tolerance and involving himself in race politics. In 1945, Sinatra published a series of articles decrying bigotry. In these articles, Karen McNally writes, Sinatra “compared American discrimination to the evils of the Nazi regime,” “recalled the taunts of ‘little Dago’ he suffered as a child, while friends were labelled ‘Kikes’ or ‘[N–]s,’” and “went on to remind readers that ‘all men are created equal,’ that ‘everybody in the United States is a foreigner,’ and encouraged them to ‘stamp out prejudices that are separating one group of United States citizens from another.’” Another prominent form of activism for Sinatra was to speak to children and students about the importance of racial and religious tolerance. As the “foremost interpreter to American youth of the need for fair play for all races and religions,” Sinatra was awarded the Thomas Jefferson prize “for the advancement of democracy” and the American Unity Award on behalf of the Common Council for American Unity in 1946 and 1947, respectively.9

Possibly the most impactful work Sinatra participated in was the 1945 short film The House I Live In. The titular song was written by Lewis Allan, the writer behind the anti-lynching song “Strange Fruit,” sung by Billie Holiday, and the film emphasized tolerance based on religion and ethnicity. Some, such as film historian Thomas Cripps, complain that since the film focused on “the relatively safe ground of religious bigotry rather than the emerging national issue of racism,” it “missed its mark,” but McNally refutes this. Many films aiming to combat racism, such as the 1944 The March of Time, were not permitted to be released in the South. To make sure the film could be released and to its intended audience, The House I Live In had to focus on religion, for it was a much more acceptable topic following the Second World War. McNally goes on to argue that “Sinatra’s reference to blood in The House I Live In suggests a more direct targeting of the issue of race.” Here, McNally is referring to Sinatra telling the gaggle of young bullies that “God created everybody. He didn’t create one people better than another. Your blood’s the same as mine; mine’s the same as his,” referring to the Jewish boy they had been harassing. McNally asserts that this direct reference to blood “challenges racism at its core” by not-so-subtly contesting Southerners’ emphasis on bloodlines.10

Sinatra’s activism continued into the civil rights era, where he advocated for racial equality. This era of Sinatra’s activism is best shown by his friendship with Sammy Davis Jr. The dynamic between the two men was clearly unequal, as Calvert points out, mainly due to Sinatra’s greater fame and older age. Being a decade younger than Sinatra, perpetually casted Davis as “the kid” to Sinatra’s “Sinatra.” In his autobiography Why Me?, Davis recalls an argument he had with his then-wife, May Britt. She had complained that the treatment and jokes Davis had to endure from Sinatra were cruel and unfair. “Darling,” Davis had responded, “Frank and I go way back, to when he was ‘Sinatra’ and I was ‘the kid.’ Even though we’ve become best friends, and I’m a star, too, that relationship will never change…I’ll always be ‘the kid’ to Frank and he’ll always be ‘Sinatra’ to me.” To him, this was simply the nature of their relationship and a manifestation of Davis’ long-felt adoration for the older man. It seems the warm feeling was mutual, for Davis recounted finding a framed picture of him and Sinatra at the Villa Capri, in which Davis claims: “the shot of my face caught the love and admiration I always felt for him.” The print of the photo, which had been sent to him from Sinatra, was signed: “The same goes for me, Sam. Francis.” The sentiment, use of Davis’ name, and signing of Sinatra’s birth name alone show the intimate and mutual love between the two friends.11

Beyond simply being Davis’ friend, Sinatra often stood up for Davis in the entertainment and political world. When dealing with venues and hotels and the like, Sinatra was always adamant that his black colleagues – whether it be Davis, band members, or anyone else in his cohort – be treated with “equal treatment and hospitality” as himself and other White performers. Most interesting, though, is the dynamic of Sinatra and Davis’ relationship during the presidential campaign of John F. Kennedy. Sinatra was a major advocate for the Democrat and got many of his friends in the entertainment industry to campaign for Kennedy as well; some refer to the Rat Pack as the “Jack Pack” during this era due to Sinatra’s passionate involvement with the campaign. Despite Davis’ work to promote Kennedy for president, the campaign took issue with his engagement to Britt, seeing their impending interracial marriage as having the potential to diminish Kennedy’s chances at victory. Davis made the difficult decision to postpone the wedding until after the election, to the simultaneous despair and relief of Sinatra. “You don’t have to do that,” Sinatra had told him over the phone. “I’ll be there whenever it is. You know that, don’t you?...I’d never ask you to do a thing like this. Not your wedding. I’d never ask that.” As Davis persisted that his decision was his and final, fellow Rat Pack member Peter Lawford took the phone to tell Davis that Sinatra couldn’t talk anymore; “[i]f he got that choked up now, if he could break down in the middle of a phone call,” Davis wrote, “then the pressure must have been greater than I’d imagined.” When Davis and Britt did marry, Sinatra, Martin, and Lawford – who was married to Kennedy’s sister Patricia – attended, with Sinatra as Davis’ best man. This was incredibly touching to Davis, who wrote:

With all [Sinatra’s] independence, still he knows where it comes from, and how quickly a career can go down the drain on the whim of the public. For him to state, “This is my friend and in your ear if you don't like it,” means putting in jeopardy everything he’d worked for, lost and regained, and must fight to hold on to. It was not a minor thing for Frank to be my best man, nor for Peter and Pat, the President’s sister and brother-in-law, to be in the wedding party.12

Nevertheless, Davis’ interracial marriage was still controversial enough to get him uninvited from Kennedy’s inauguration. However, Emilie Raymond argues that Davis’ controversial behavior is exactly what enabled him “to become the movement’s chief celebrity fund-raiser.” Largely due to the friendships he had with White men and the White women he slept with, Davis was often accused of trying too hard to assimilate into White Hollywood. Some adamantly criticized his conversion to Judaism in the mid-1950s as an attempt to distance himself from his blackness. Davis refuted this by pointing to the way he identified with the shared history of both black and Jewish people overcoming oppression, but many maintained their belief that you could only be one or the other, black or Jewish. “The reasons he gave all add up to nothing,” one reader of the black-run magazine Ebony wrote. “I think what he is really trying to do is get away from being a Negro.” In her article discussing Davis’ journey with Judaism, Rebecca L. Davis suggests that the “resurgence of ‘white’ ethnic pride denigrated the contemporary status of African Americans,” leading to the divisive nature between the two groups as Jewish people began to be considered White. Furthermore, when Davis made his many television appearances, he challenged “racial boundaries” while behaving in a way that would be comfortable for White audiences, leaving him open to criticism for pandering to his oppressors. However, similarly to the way The House I Live In had to avoid decrying racism directly, Davis and other African American entertainers had to be conscious of how they behaved on television, for television had no tolerance for “militant Afro-American reformers.” If they wanted to be on television at all, black performers had to be acceptable to their White audiences and employers.13

Perhaps ironically, it seems that Davis’s assimilation into White Hollywood is what allowed him to bring significant funds to the civil rights movement. In the late 1950s, Davis began performing for the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), promoting Life Memberships to his colleagues and, at one point, earning the association nearly $4,000 in 1958 by performing for seven nights in a row at no cost. Around the same time, Davis raised upwards of $128,000 for the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) by attending house parties and headlining events. Eventually, Davis also worked with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC). During the 1960s, as the civil rights movement truly began to reach its height, the Rat Pack was possibly the most famous cohort in America. “[T]he American public was well acquainted with the Rat Pack, and it swooned in its approval of the group,” Raymond writes. “Sinatra was the biggest star in America, and the Rat Pack was on its way to becoming Hollywood’s most powerful syndicate of talent.” With the combination of the troupe’s fame and its members’ political beliefs, “the Rat Pack pioneered a new type of celebrity activism for the civil rights movement by performing in high-profile benefit shows to interracial audiences,” such as the pro-bono musical gala put on by the Urban League in August of 1960. Davis, Sinatra, and Lawford performed at this gala, the profit of which exceeded that of Davis’ NAACP performance, which Raymond argues not only “demonstrated the popularity of the Rat Pack but showed that the time was ripe for movement organizers to build an interracial coalition.” The SCLC, which was struggling to become “a real political player” with sway among “Northern and white Americans,” took notice of celebrities’ fund-raising power. As a result, King reached out to Davis, explaining that “$100,000 would pay our debts and give us some breathing room.” Calling on his friends, Davis got Sinatra, Martin, Lawford, and Bishop – the quintessential Rat Pack – to perform the tribute to Martin Luther King. The funds of the concert, according to the Los Angeles Times, would “be used to further new integration movements in the South.” The cost of tickets ranged from $7.50 and $100, and the concert earned the SCLC $53,000, leaving them $22,000 after the cost of expenses – 12% of their annual budget. Overall, the sum of Davis’ contributions to civil rights in the 1960s from both fund-raising and personal donations is estimated to be about $750,000, nearly $7 million in 2021.14

Despite his extensive contributions to civil rights organizations, Davis was constantly denounced for not only allowing himself to be the butt of the joke, but for often making himself so. When considering the history of African American humor, however, it appears that Davis’ self-deprecation was a form of protest in itself. As Gordon explains in his article on the rhetoric of African American humor, the use of self-deprecation goes back to the time of American slavery. Slave humor, which “often included self-deprecation,” was a way for slaves to turn their tragedy into comedy, to bring their reality into the absurd, and to ridicule their White masters covertly. “[H]umor functioned as a safety valve,” Gordon explains, “as it facilitated a venting of anger and aggression while providing the community with a sense of solidarity.” Such humor persisted beyond slavery, as black Americans of the 1920s and ‘30s continued using these comedic traditions “to celebrate their folk culture” and to “protest against racism.” Gordon insists that humor, even of a self-deprecatory nature, “continues to be a relatively safe way to do violence to the oppressor in return for injustice” and challenges White supremacy while promoting black freedom. It can be assumed, based on this history and the context of the censorship within Hollywood of the 1950s and ‘60s, that Davis’ brand of self-deprecation was his own way of pursuing equality.15

Ethnic humor overall has a complicated history, especially when performed by White entertainers. The mechanisms of blackface minstrelsy, for example, are specific and intentional, and can be found in the dynamics of Rat Pack performances; Calvert notes that the three core members of the group – Sinatra, Martin, and Davis – each had performed blackface at some point in their careers. Vaudeville, which was significantly influenced by blackface minstrelsy, is defined as an “often exuberant, irreverent, sensual style of music, drama, and comedy,” with the vaudevillians often coming “from immigrant, ethnic, or working-class background[s].” As such, the Rat Pack shows included and operated within the mechanisms of blackface minstrelsy and vaudevillian performance. The main way in which this is shown is how the members of the Rat Pack assume the roles of “interlocutor” and “endmen,” specifically when the “endmen” ridicule the superior “interlocutor.” Calvert references the historic Lord of Misrule and similar festivals in which “those in superior positions willingly take on the role of servants,” as demanded by the traditions of blackface minstrelsy. For the Rat Pack, this occurs when the inferior “endmen,” Martin and Davis, ridicule their superior interlocutor, Sinatra. It is Sinatra’s visible and audible appreciation of jokes told at his own expense that renders jokes a safe and acceptable way for Davis to mock his White companion.16

The continued use of the format of blackface minstrelsy, even though the members of the Rat Pack may not be in actual blackface, shows how the humor used in their routines was harmful to ethnic minorities. It is no surprise that the practice of blackface minstrelsy racialized and dehumanized African Americans, but at a more pervasive level, blackface minstrelsy and its brand of ethnic humor became ingrained in the American sense of humor. According to Apte, having a sense of humor is considered “a core value in American society” and “a virtuous personality trait.” Self-deprecation has often functioned as an indicator of a sense of humor, which would explain why Davis’ humor was often directed at himself and why, as Pérez states, blackface “was readily consumed by Black audiences,” albeit in an “ironic and subversive” sense. Nevertheless, the ways in which blackface and ethnic humor altogether were used to belittle and deny humanity for African Americans were deemed unacceptable by black activists and civil rights groups.17

The 1950s brought about a massive change in American values, namely in the ways in which ethnic minorities identified themselves and wanted to have themselves represented. As Apte explains, the emphasis on assimilation gave way to an emphasis on “cultural pluralism,” where “[c]ultural differences among the various ethnic groups are accepted as long as they do not threaten national unity.” Growing out of cultural pluralism came a new-found positive sense of self among ethnic groups, leading them to “become sensitive to their public image, especially the negative stereotypes that perpetuated and on which much ethnic humor is based.” Indeed, Pérez insists that ethnic humor’s dependence on stereotypes and the assumed inferiority of ethnic minorities makes it “a mechanism for reproducing notions and ideologies of racial inferiority and superiority” and “reinforcing racial inequality and racist ideologies.” As such, the cultural shift of American values and the self-advocation of black Americans during the civil rights era pushed ethnic humor from the public to the private sphere.18

Making ethnic humor unacceptable in the public domain affected the use of such comedy in three substantial ways. Firstly, it negated the belief that minority groups must laugh at negative depictions of themselves in order to have a sense of humor, rendering self-deprecation unnecessary and unwanted. Secondly, it made the setting in which the comedy is taking place more significant. As Apte explains, “if ethnic humor is initiated in a small group interaction where the listener’s ethnic group is the target,” this is more acceptable, for “the listener may choose to ignore it or to affirm his or her identity and to protest, thereby either embarrassing the teller of the joke or putting that person on the defensive.” Thirdly, it required comedians to either preface their jokes with an assurance that they are not to be taken seriously or that they tell them ambiguously enough that it would be difficult to undoubtedly accuse them of racism. Apte observes that people are more likely to assume prejudice in the public domain, “especially if [the joke-teller] happens to be a well-known personality.” While this shift effectively dissuaded many performers from engaging in ethnic humor, the use of ambiguity and other rhetorical tools enabled others to work around it and continue to publicly perform race-based comedy.19

There are three main theories as to the purpose and effects of humor that are incredibly important for the continued use of ethnic comedy: relief theory, incongruity theory, and superiority theory. Sociologists Aaryn L. Green and Annulla Linders helpfully define each one in the context of ethnic humor. Relief theory pertains to the catharsis provided by humor and laughter. During the civil rights era, humor could work to assuage White guilt and provide respite from oppression for minorities. Incongruity theory depends on “the element of surprise” to shock audiences into laughter. For ethnic humor, this could be done by making a racist joke that one would not expect to hear in a public setting. Since this also plays on stressed tensions, the laughter resulting from incongruity is very similar to that of relief. When these intentions are carried out by humor, Green and Linders suggest that “laughter in essence is a release of nervous energy for both dominant and marginal groups and hence could be potentially helpful in facilitating racial dialogue.” The third theory, however, plays on tensions in a way that may be less helpful. Humor that works within superiority theory is always “at the expense of an out- group, [and] serves to create or reinforce a sense of superiority among those in the in-group.” The in-group, or the people not being made fun of, laugh at what Green and Linders call “offensive behavior,” effectively “fram[ing] laughter as a social corrective.” As a result, the in- group is unified by a “sense of superiority” and “a feeling of dominance,” harkening to the laughter earned by minstrelsy and vaudevilles. Another important aspect of performing ethnic humor, as suggested by Pérez, is self-deprecation. This differs from the self-deprecatory humor examined by Gordon, for Pérez is discussing how comedians would ridicule themselves and their group in order to justify their ridicule of groups of which they are not members. In his examination of comedian and Rat Pack friend Don Rickles, Pérez argues that the use of self- deprecation and the diversification of his targets, in tandem with the aforementioned theories, is what allowed Rickles to become an “equal opportunity offender” and make race-based jokes in the face of the civil rights movement. By making fun of Judaism, Rickles “signals to the audience that [he] is willing to target his own group and that he does not view his own ethnic group as exempt from ridicule.” Once this is established, Rickles goes on to mock every group one can think of: African Americans, Mexicans, the Irish, Italians, Christians, the LGBT+ community, and so on and so forth. “[B]y ‘insulting everyone,’” Pérez writes, quoting Apte, “Rickles is ostensibly insulting ‘no one.’”20

The Rat Pack also readily employed these strategies, but their banter format made them unique from comedy like Rickles’. An example of self-deprecation is a bit done by Sinatra during a show in which he ridiculed the unabashed self-promotion of Italian-American businesses by hitting a drum that read “Eat at Puccini’s” as he made his way across the stage.

Martin would make fun of himself throughout shows with his drunkenness and physical comedy, Lawford would poke fun at his English background, and Bishop would target his own Judaism, joking that he belonged to“the Matzia.” By making fun of themselves, the White members of the Rat Pack afforded themselves the ability to ridicule Davis, the only person of color in the group. Due to the format of their shows, being both prewritten and involving multiple performers, the Rat Pack’s jokes at Davis’ expense were made with his retaliation in mind. At a 1963 Sands Hotel performance, during his solo of “Did You Ever See a Dream Walking?” Martin changed the lyrics and sang: “Did you ever see a Jew-jitsu?” In faux anger, Davis reappeared onstage and demanded Martin “be fair,” because how would Martin like it if Davis “sang about WASP- sicles?” As Martin goes on the defense, imploring Davis to “hold it,” Davis stands his ground, exclaiming, “I’m not gonna hold it, Whitey!” Sinatra, who had been trying to resolve the dispute, burst out into laughter. It is clear that while the Rat Pack utilized the same tactics as Rickles in order to ridicule the solitary black member of their unit, they were not immune to the same treatment and Davis was not defenseless.21

Other than making them laugh, the humor employed by the Rat Pack at their performances significantly affected their audience. As several scholars have pointed out, the majority of the Rat Pack’s audiences were White Americans. As Raymond explains, the more costly tickets of the Tribute to Martin Luther King were successful in bringing in an “upper-middle-class, white audience,” making the concert a “primarily a white-oriented affair.” The majority of audiences at the Rat Pack’s regular performances were also White. In his autobiography, Davis considers why so few black people attended his shows:

In my mind’s eye I saw my dinner-show audience: there had been no black faces out there. Black people did not come to see me in Las Vegas because if black people didn’t arrive at the hotel with the special safe-conduct of “Sammy's guest,” they didn't get in. And who wanted that?

Who wanted to be “allowed in” and then sit there at my ringside table, the only black people in the room, trying to enjoy the show, feeling the stares against the back of your neck? That was fun?

Despite the upholding of segregation at the venues in which the Pack performed, it was still impactful for them to perform comedy the way they did in front of those who could attend. In his discussion of how the audience could laugh at, and therefore support, both Sinatra’s racist “Better keep smiling, Sam” and Davis’ retaliation, Calvert suggests that the audience’s ability to sincerely support these two seemingly “contradictory positions” is unsurprising, seeing as the civil rights era marked a time in which the cultural, political, and social “consciousness of racial questions” was in almost constant flux. These shifting and conflicting opinions are difficult to track down, but a series of Gallup Polls taken in the 1960s can offer an idea of how Americans viewed the civil rights movement. In May of 1961, when asked if they were supportive of different methods utilized by the movement – i.e., Freedom Rides and sit-ins – 61% said they disapproved, and 57% said they hurt the chances of Southern integration. However, in April of 1963, a resounding 71% of those polled said they felt Martin Luther King Jr. was “moving at the right speed,” and only 8% said King was “moving too fast.” A similar trend continued in October of 1964, 73% of people said that activists “should stop demonstrations,” while 94% felt positively about King’s “job…in the fight for Negro rights” only half a year later. Based on these polls, most Americans in the 1960s were not in favor of the movement, but were in support of Dr. King, which seem to be irreconcilable opinions. It makes sense, then, why White audiences may laugh at racist jokes and then support the resulting rebuttals, especially from a man like Davis, with whom they were comfortable.22

Those most likely to have such opinions were White moderates, who were often the key catalysts or obstacles to social movements. Even Dr. King knew this, writing in his “Letter From Birmingham Jail” that “the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice.”23 Political scientist Joseph Mello agrees with King, arguing that White moderates have historically been the ones to define “the scope and pace of change that a society will embrace.” Most Southern Whites were actually quite moderate and wound up becoming “reluctant radicals” who supported the end of Jim Crow; this, however, was done out of a desire for order rather than equality. Indeed, many White Southerners persistently believed in racial inequality and worried that integration would harm everyone. They not only felt that “African Americans were happy living in their own communities, and that they did not desire to integrate with whites,” but feared that “new rights for African Americans would come at the expense of their own.” Davis plays on the latter fear exactly at a 1965 St. Louis show. When Davis asked if he may start off the song “The Birth of the Blues,” Martin acquiesced, but not without joking: “Oh, I don’t want to fight with all of your troops.” After laughing along with the audience, Davis retorts: “Well I tell you, if we ever get in the lead, you two cats are first,” referring to his White co-performers, Martin and Sinatra. White Northerners were less worried about desegregation simply because they did not have to think about it as often; unlike Southerners, their world was almost entirely separate from that of the African Americans in their region. It seems, then, that the ethnic humor performed by the Rat Pack not only challenged the fears of White Southerners, but also introduced Northerners to the looming possibility of integration.24

With audiences made up of such White Americans, the mechanisms of ethnic humor had helpful and harmful effects. As Green and Linders argue, humor was an effective way to incite racial dialogue by playing with social tensions. Furthermore, they present three ways in which comedy impacts “racial relations and understandings” among audiences: “(1) It can encourage reflection and investigation of existing racial systems or experiences…(2) it can promote social resistance or strengthen collective identities…and (3) it can serve to reinforce existing sociocultural norms and stereotypes, and normalize and validate racialized social experiences.” This reinforcement and validation of stereotypes is exactly what Pérez takes issue with in regards to ethnic humor. As Douglas Gilbert states in his book American Vaudeville, Its Life and Times, “jokes based on…stereotypes become even funnier when we think that the stereotypes are being broken in the jokes, but we later discover that the stereotypes aren’t being broken at all.” Indeed, Pérez insists that it is the “prior reliance on racist meaning” that enables the reactivation and re-articulation of negative and harmful racial stereotypes and beliefs. During a 1963 show, when Davis placed his hand on Martin’s shoulder, Martin erupted into a panic, exclaiming: “Hey, hey, hey, hey! I’ll sing with ya, I’ll dance with ya, I’ll go to parties with ya, I’ll play on the lawn with ya, but don’t touch me!” While this is done in jest, this joke has the ability to validate such sentiments genuinely felt by many White Americans during the time. However, the banter format of the Pack’s jokes is what allows them to challenge their own bigotry in a much more substantial way. After Martin’s panic, he assured that he was kidding, to which Davis threatened: “You’d better be kidding or you’d see some troops on this stage.” In another example, Sinatra and Martin teamed up at the 1965 St. Louis show to correct Davis’ opening note to “The Birth of the Blues,” with Sinatra physically holding Davis’ face in order to “properly” shape his mouth while Martin waved Davis’ arm about as if Davis was a puppet. This sort of humor utilizes the superiority theory, where Sinatra and Martin use comedy to ridicule Davis’ singing and correct his behavior. It does not, however, end there, for Davis will not let his friends get away with treating him so. “You may be my leader,” Davis threatened Sinatra, “but I’m gonna punch you right in your mouth.” Sinatra and the audience erupted into laughter. The linear dimension of the Rat Pack performances complicates their jokes by reinforcing stereotypes and prejudiced beliefs, only to challenge them immediately after.25

Possibly most impactful, however, is the fact that this private form of humor was performed on such a public platform. This did, as previously established, validate and possibly reanimate racism among their audiences, but the Rat Pack’s public performances of ethnic humor indicate the truly private nature of their friendship. As Apte explains, “individuals can tell ethnic jokes in small group interactions among family members, or friends and acquaintances where the speaker is certain that other participants share his attitudes toward various ethnic groups and the negative stereotypes.” The Rat Pack members do indeed share attitudes towards ethnic groups, for they all in some way advocated for civil rights and unceasingly supported Davis as a friend and colleague. Most significant, however, is the fact that acceptable ethnic humor is done privately among friends and family; following this logic, the Rat Pack displayed their private relationship as true friends on a public stage with their comedy. “The color of Davis’s skin made the apparent closeness of the Rat Pack revolutionary,” Raymond writes. “Although black and white entertainers had certainly performed together onstage before the Sands performances took place, never before in America had they interacted with one another so intimately and informally.” Their tight-knit, integrated group “so willingly joked about racial matters in front of audiences primarily consisting of white patrons” in a way that was unprecedented. The way in which the Pack bantered and joked showed audiences, not just that integration was possible, but that it was something to be embraced and celebrated.26

It goes without saying that making racist comments, even in jest, is a harmful act that black Americans must still battle against in the modern era. Often overlooked however, were the ways in which such humor helped navigate the tumultuous time of the civil rights era. Off stage, the members of the Rat Pack, namely Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr., were staunch advocates for racial tolerance and equality. On stage, it may appear to be just the opposite, but when considering the rhetoric and format of the troupe’s jokes, it can be argued that the ethnic humor engaged by the Rat Pack challenged bigotry as much as it perpetuated it. By displaying their genuine friendship to an audience of mostly moderate White Americans, the Rat Pack embodied not only the probability but the possibilities of integration. They showed that people of different races and religions could come together and experience authentic joy and laughter. Such sentiments continued to be displayed by the Rat Pack long after the height of the civil rights movement. In 1975, Sammy Davis Jr. was named man of the hour for an installment of Dean Martin’s Celebrity Roast, wherein Davis laughed for an hour as his friends and colleagues – including Dean Martin, Joey Bishop, and Don Rickles – ridiculed him for his height, religion, race, and so on. At the end of the show, Davis’ closing statement perfectly captured his attitude towards the jokes made at his expense throughout the years:

One of the great joys of being forty-five years in this business, is to have people who love you make fun of you. That is one of the great joys. Because the day they don’t make fun of you, that means they don’t give a damn about you. [applause] I thank you. [Davis raises his hand and makes a fist] That’s it. Thank you very much.27

The audience and dais erupted into cheers and applause.

Davis, S. (1960) “I’ve Gotta Be Me.”
Rebecca L. Davis, “‘These Are a Swinging Bunch of People’: Sammy Davis, Jr., Religious Conversion, and the Color of Jewish Ethnicity,” American Jewish History 100, 1 (Jan 2016): 28; “Sammy Davis Plans to Wed may Britt,” Los Angeles Times (Los Angeles, CA), Jun 07, 1960.
Dave Calvert, “Jokes as Performance Text: A Close Reading of Rat Pack Banter,” Comedy Studies 7, no. 1 (April 2016); Emilie Raymond, “Sammy Davis, Jr.: DARING, DEFERENTIAL, AND ‘MONEY,’” in Stars for Freedom: Hollywood, Black Celebrities, and the Civil Rights Movement (University of Washington Press, 2015); Raúl Pérez, “Racist Humor: Then and Now,” Sociology Compass 10, no. 10 (October 2016); Mahadev L. Apte, “Ethnic Humor Versus ‘Sense of Humor’: an American Sociocultural Dilemma,” The American Behavioral Scientist 30, no. 3 (Jan, 1987).
Dave Calvert, “Jokes as Performance”; Raymond, “Sammy Davis, Jr.” in Stars for Freedom; Pérez, “Racist Humor”; Dave Calvert, “Similar Hats On Similar Heads: Uniformity and Alienation at the Rat Pack’s Summit Conference of Cool,” Popular Music 34, no. 1 (January 2015), Apte, “Ethnic Humor.
Dave Calvert, “Jokes as Performance,” 38.
Ibid, 39-40.
Ibid., 44, 45; Ken Willis, “Merry Hell: Humour Competence and Social Incompetence,” in Beyond a Joke: The Limits of Humour (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 127-128.
Soapbxprod, “Frank Sinatra Sammy Davis Dean Martin at the 1960 Sands Summit 2nd Night 2,” YouTube video, [3:15-7:08], Oct 19, 2011.
Raúl Pérez, “The Hurtline and the Colorline,” 53; Calvert, “Jokes as Performance,” 42; McNally, “‘Sinatra, Commie Playboy,’” 43-45; “Frank Sinatra Given Award for Tolerance,” Los Angeles Times (Los Angeles, CA), Feb. 17, 1947; “Sinatra Gets Unity Award,” Los Angeles Times (Los Angeles, CA), Nov. 18, 1945.
Karen McNally, “‘Sinatra, Commie Playboy,’” 45-47.
Dave Calvert, “Jokes as Performance,” 44; Sammy Davis Jr., Jane Boyar, and Burt Boyar, Why Me? (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1989), 89-90, 171-172.
Dave Calvert, “Similar Hats,” 12; Davis Jr. and Boyar, Why Me? 68-69, 73; Scott Vernon, “Sinatra to be Best Man for Sammy Davis,” Los Angeles Times (Los Angeles, CA), Sep 21, 1960.
Rebecca L. Davis, “‘These Are a Swinging Bunch of People,’” 27, 41; Raymond, “Sammy Davis, Jr.” in Stars for Freedom, 41, 44, 45, 47.
Emilie Raymond, “Sammy Davis, Jr.” in Stars for Freedom, 55-57, 64-67, 72, 74; Henrietta Leith, “Hollywood Stars Fete Martin Luther King,” Los Angeles Times (Los Angeles, CA), Jan. 18, 1961; “Tribute to Dr. King: Show at Carnegie Hall Jan. 27 to Aid Southern Group,” New York Times (New York, NY), Jan. 6, 1961; Rhonda Jones, “King of New York: Northern Patronage and Support for Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, 1957-1963,” Afro-Americans in New York Life and History 38, no. 2 (August 2014): 92.
Dexter B. Gordon, “Humor in African American Discourse: Speaking of Oppression,” Journal of Black Studies 29, no. 2 (November 1998): 256-259, 273.
Dave Calvert, “Similar Hats,” 4, 8, 10.
Raúl Pérez, “Racist Humor,” 930-931; Apte, “Ethnic Humor,” 28, 30.
Raúl Pérez, “Racist Humor,” 929; Apte, “Ethnic Humor,” 32-33.
Apte, “Ethnic Humor,” 34, 36.
Aaryn L. Green and Annulla Linders, “The Impact of Comedy on Racial and Ethnic Discourse,” Sociological Inquiry 86, no. 2 (May 2016): 243-244; Pérez, “The Hurtline and the Colorline,” 56-59.
Emilie Raymond, “Sammy Davis, Jr.” in Stars for Freedom, 60; Calvert, “Similar Hats,” 17.
Emilie Raymond, “Sammy Davis, Jr.” in Stars for Freedom, 68, 73; Davis Jr. and Boyar, Why Me? 86; Calvert, “Jokes as Performance,” 45; “Public Opinion Polls on Civil Rights Movement, 1961-1969,” Civil Rights Movement Archive, March 17, 2016.
King, Martin Luther. Letter from Birmingham City Jail. Philadelphia: [American Fields Service Committee], 1963.
Joseph Mello, “Reluctant Radicals: How Moderates Shape Movements for Social Change,” Law & Social Inquiry 41, no. 3 (Summer 2016): 1-4; DivineTaer, “The Rat Pack - Birth of the Blues Live. Full Comedic Act and Song,” YouTube video, [1:43-1:58], Mar 6, 2015.
Green and Linders, ““The Impact of Comedy,” 245; Pérez, “The Hurtline and the Colorline,” 68-69; Calvert, “Similar Hats,” 17; DivineTaeo, “The Rat Pack,” [2:33-2:57
Apte, “Ethnic Humor,” 37; Raymond, “Sammy Davis, Jr.” in Stars for Freedom, 59.
DB, “The Dean Martin Celebrity Roast Man of the Hour Sammy Davis Jr , April 24, 1975,” YouTube video, [49:17-49:43], Feb 15, 2021.