A Hotel Kicked Sammy Davis Jr. Out the Door… Dean Martin’s Response Went Down in History 

March 8th, 1963. The Golden Sands Hotel, Atlantic City. Sammy Davis Jr. walked through the marble lobby in his best suit, heading to the front desk to check into the penthouse suite he’d reserved for the weekend. The desk clerk looked up, saw Sammy, and his face immediately went cold.

 I’m sorry, but we don’t serve your kind here. Those seven words hung in the air like a slap. Sammy had heard them before, but never in front of 200 other guests in the lobby. never with such calculated cruelty. The hotel owner, William Hartwell, appeared from his office with a smirk on his face, clearly expecting Sammy to leave quietly.

 But what Hartwell didn’t know was that Dean Martin was already on his way. And when Dean Martin decided to defend his friend, he didn’t just win the battle. He destroyed his enemies so completely that they begged for mercy. What Dean did over the next 48 hours would force a racist hotel owner to his knees asking for forgiveness.

 And it would send a message throughout the entertainment industry that nobody nobody humiliated Sammy Davis Jr. and walked away unscathed. To understand the magnitude of what Dean Martin did to William Hartwell, you need to understand who these men were in March 1963. Sammy Davis Jr. was at the absolute peak of his career.

 He was pulling down $50,000 a week in Vegas, had just starred in Oceans 11 with the Rat Pack, and was one of the most recognizable entertainers in the world. When Sammy Davis Jr. walked into a room, people noticed. When he performed, audiences worshiped. When he spoke, the entertainment industry listened. Dean Martin was equally powerful, but in a different way.

 Where Sammy was the talent, Dean was the connector. He knew everyone who mattered. casino owners, booking agents, television executives, record company presidents. Dean’s power wasn’t just in his voice or his charm. It was in his ability to make one phone call and change someone’s entire career. William Hartwell, on the other hand, was a small-time hotel owner who had gotten lucky.

 He’d inherited the Golden Sands from his father and had been coasting on its reputation for years. The hotel was profitable, but not spectacular. It relied heavily on entertainment bookings to fill rooms, especially during the slow winter months. And that dependence on the entertainment industry was about to become William Hartwell’s biggest nightmare.

 Back to that moment in the lobby. Sammy stood at the front desk, his reservation confirmation in hand while the clerk repeated those devastating words. We don’t serve your kind here. The entire lobby fell silent. Conversation stopped mid-sentence. People put down their drinks and stared. 200 witnesses to a moment of pure calculated racism.

 “Excuse me,” Sammy said quietly, though he had heard perfectly. The desk clerk, emboldened by the appearance of his boss, spoke louder. “I said we don’t serve colorards here. This is a respectable establishment. That’s when William Hartwell stepped forward, that smirk still on his face. “Is there a problem here?” he asked, knowing full well what the problem was.

Yes, Sammy said, holding up his confirmation. I have a reservation for the penthouse suite paid in full. Hartwell glanced at the paper without really looking at it. I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. We don’t have any availability. The reservation was confirmed this morning. Like I said, a mistake. Hartwell’s smirk widened.

I’m sure you can find accommodations more suitable to your situation. The words hung in the air. Every person in that lobby understood exactly what was happening. Sammy Davis Jr., one of the most famous entertainers in America, was being turned away because of the color of his skin. Sammy could have made a scene.

 He could have demanded to speak to the manager, threatened legal action, called the press. Instead, he did something that surprised everyone, including William Hartwell. He smiled. “I understand,” Sammy said calmly. Thank you for clarifying your policy. And with that, Sammy Davis Jr. turned and walked out of the Golden Sands Hotel.

 The lobby erupted in whispers. Some guests were embarrassed by what they’d witnessed. Others were outraged. A few applauded quietly, thinking Hartwell had done the right thing. William Hartwell returned to his office, satisfied that he’d handled the situation perfectly. He’d maintained what he called the standards of his establishment, and he’d done it in front of an audience that would spread the word.

 The Golden Sands didn’t tolerate mixing of the races. What Hartwell didn’t know was that someone in that lobby had been taking notes, and that someone was about to make the most important phone call of Sammy Davis Jr.’s career. 20 minutes after Sammy left the Golden Sands, Dean Martin’s phone rang in his suite at the Fontaine Blow Hotel in Miami Beach. Dean, it’s Sammy.

Hey P, how’s Atlantic City treating you? That’s why I’m calling. I need to tell you what just happened. Sammy recountedthe incident at the Golden Sands. He told it calmly, factually, without emotion. But Dean could hear the hurt underneath. What’s the name of this hotel again? Dean asked. The Golden Sands.

 The owner is William Hartwell. And you’re sure this is how it went down? 200 people saw it, Dean. He didn’t even try to be subtle about it. Dean was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice had changed. The casual, easygoing tone was gone, replaced by something cold and calculating. Sammy, I want you to check into the Clarage tonight.

 On me. Order room service, see a show, have a good time. Dean, you don’t have to. And Sammy, don’t talk to any reporters about this. Not yet. Why not? because I want to handle this my way first. After he hung up, Dean Martin sat in his suite for exactly five minutes thinking. Then he started making phone calls.

 The first call was to Mo Ditz, who owned several casinos in Las Vegas and had significant influence in Atlantic City. Mo, it’s Dean. I need a favor. Sure, Dean. What do you need? Tell me what you know about the Golden Sands Hotel in Atlantic City. Owner named William Hartwell. Small operation, not much to speak of.

 They booked some entertainment, but nothing major. Why? Because today, William Hartwell made it clear that he doesn’t want black customers in his hotel. Specifically, he humiliated Sammy Davis Jr. in front of a lobby full of people. There was a pause. He did what? You heard me. So, here’s what I need.

 I need you to make some calls. I need every entertainment booking agent in the Northeast to know that the Golden Sands is off limits. Any agent who books an act there will never book an act in any casino you have influence with. Dean, you’re talking about ending this guy’s business. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. The second call was to Sam Gianana, a man whose power extended far beyond the entertainment industry.

 Sam, it’s Dean Martin. I need you to do something for me. What kind of something? I need you to make sure that no major act, and I mean no major act, will perform at the Golden Sands Hotel in Atlantic City ever. What did they do? Dean explained the situation. When he finished, Sam was quiet for a moment. Consider it done.

The third call was to Morris Levy, who owned several record companies and had connections throughout the music industry. Morris Dean Martin, I need every artist you represent to understand that the Golden Sands Hotel in Atlantic City is persona non grata. Anyone who performs there loses their recording contract. That’s pretty harsh, Dean.

 Not harsh enough. If you’re enjoying these untold stories of how the entertainment industry fought back against injustice, hit that subscribe button and turn on notifications. We’re uncovering the moments when celebrities use their power to stand up for what’s right. Don’t miss the incredible ending of this story.

 Over the next 6 hours, Dean made 17 more calls to television executives to radio station owners to nightclub operators in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles to booking agents who handled everything from jazz musicians to comedians to dancers. The message was always the same. William Hartwell and the Golden Sands Hotel had declared war on Sammy Davis Jr.

 and Dean Martin was declaring war back. By midnight, word had spread through the entire entertainment industry. The Golden Sands was radioactive. No agent would book acts there. No performer would take a gig there. No promoter would associate with them. But Dean wasn’t finished. The next morning, Dean made his final call to Walter Winchell, the most powerful gossip columnist in America.

Walter Dean Martin, I’ve got a story for you. I’m listening. Yesterday, the Golden Sands Hotel in Atlantic City refused service to Sammy Davis Jr. in front of 200 witnesses. The owner, William Hartwell, personally humiliated one of America’s biggest stars because of his race. That’s a hell of a story, Dean.

 You got witnesses? 200 of them. Plus, I’ve got confirmation that this is hotel policy, not just one incident. When do you want this to run? Tomorrow. Front page. You got it. Meanwhile, William Hartwell was having the worst day of his business career, and he didn’t even know why. It started at 9:00 a.m. when his entertainment director came to his office visibly shaken. Mr. Hartwell, we have a problem.

Jerry Veil’s agent just called. They’re canceling next weekend’s show. What? Why? They said Jerry’s not available, but I called around and Jerry’s not booked anywhere else that weekend. So, call someone else. That’s the problem, sir. I’ve called 12 agents this morning. Nobody has any acts available.

 Not for next weekend, not for next month, not ever. By noon, Hartwell had heard from six different performers cancelling upcoming shows. By 2 p.m., his weekend headliner had pulled out, citing scheduling conflicts. By 400 p.m., even the lounge singer had cancelled. “What the hell is going on?” Hartwell demanded of his entertainment director. “I don’tknow, sir.

 It’s like everyone in the business got the same memo at the same time.” That evening, William Hartwell got his answer when Walter Winshell’s column hit the news stands. Hotel owners racist humiliation of Sammy Davis Jr. Sparks entertainment industry boycott. The column described in detail what had happened in the Golden Sands lobby.

 It named William Hartwell specifically. It quoted several unnamed industry sources, saying that the Golden Sands had become untouchable in entertainment circles. But the column also included something that made Hartwell’s blood run cold. A quote from Dean Martin himself. When someone humiliates my friend because of his race, they humiliate all of us.

 The entertainment industry has a long memory and we take care of our own. The next morning, Hartwell’s phone started ringing. The first call was from his bank asking about the status of several upcoming payments. The second was from his insurance company, suggesting they review their relationship.

 The third was from his biggest corporate client, cancelling a convention booking. By the end of the week, the Golden Sands had lost 60% of its bookings for the next 6 months. But Dean Martin still wasn’t finished. He called Sammy. How are you holding up, Pi? I’m fine, Dean. I saw Winshell’s column. Thank you. Don’t thank me yet. We’re just getting started.

 What do you mean? I mean, we’re going to make sure this never happens to you or anyone else again. Dean’s next move was brilliant in its simplicity. He organized what he called the Atlantic City Freedom Concert, a massive show featuring himself, Sammy, Frank Sinatra, Joey Bishop, and Peter Lofford.

 The proceeds would go to the NAACP. But here’s the genius part. They booked it for the same weekend that the Golden Sands had been planning their biggest event of the season. The Freedom Concert was held at the convention hall, just six blocks from the Golden Sands. Every major entertainer in the country either performed or attended.

 The media coverage was enormous and the implicit message was clear. This is what happens when you stand on the right side of history. Meanwhile, the Golden Sands sat empty. Not a single guest, not a single performer, not a single event. By the end of March, William Hartwell was facing bankruptcy. His hotel was hemorrhaging money.

 His reputation was destroyed. His staff was quitting. His investors were demanding answers he didn’t have. That’s when he made the phone call that would complete his humiliation. He tracked down Sammy Davis Jr.’s manager and begged for a meeting. I need to speak with Mr. Davis. Please, I need to apologize. Mr.

 Davis doesn’t take meetings with people who humiliate him in public. Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll make it right. After some back and forth, Sammy agreed to see him. Not out of forgiveness, but out of curiosity. The meeting took place in Samm<unk>s dressing room at the Latin Casino in Philadelphia, where Sammy was performing to soldout crowds.

 William Hartwell arrived looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His expensive suit was wrinkled. His eyes were red. His hands were shaking. When Sammy entered the room, Hartwell did something that shocked everyone present. He dropped to his knees. Mr. Davis, I’m begging you. Please forgive me. I made a terrible mistake. I was wrong. I was ignorant.

 I was cruel. Please, I’m begging you to call off your friends. My hotel is dying. My family is suffering. I’ll do anything to make this right. Sammy looked down at this broken man and felt something he didn’t expect. Pity. Mr. Hartwell, stand up. Not until you forgive me. Not until you make this stop. Mr.

 Hartwell, I can’t make this stop. You did this to yourself. Please, I’ll change the hotel’s policy. I’ll welcome black guests. I’ll make a public apology. I’ll donate money to civil rights organizations, whatever you want. Sammy was quiet for a long moment. Mr. Hartwell, what you did to me wasn’t just about me.

 It was about every black person who’s ever been told they don’t belong somewhere. What Dean did to you wasn’t just about revenge. It was about sending a message. What message? That actions have consequences. That the old ways are ending. That treating people with dignity isn’t optional anymore. It’s required. So, you won’t forgive me.

I forgive you, Mr. Hartwell, but forgiving you doesn’t undo the consequences of your choices. William Hartwell left that meeting a broken man. He’d gotten the forgiveness he’d begged for, but it was too late to save his business. The Golden Sands Hotel closed its doors 3 months later. William Hartwell declared bankruptcy and moved to Florida, where he managed a small motel for the rest of his career.

But the story didn’t end there because what Dean Martin had orchestrated became legend in the entertainment industry. It became a cautionary tale told in boardrooms and booking offices across the country. The message was simple. If you humiliate our people, we willdestroy you completely. And for the rest of the 1960s, incidents like what happened to Sammy became increasingly rare.

 Not because people’s hearts had changed overnight, but because they’d learned that racism was bad for business. Years later, when reporters asked Dean Martin about the Golden Sands incident, he would smile that easy smile and say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just a singer.” But everyone in the entertainment industry knew the truth.

 Dean Martin had proven that loyalty wasn’t just about standing by your friends when it was convenient. It was about destroying anyone who hurt them, no matter what it