I've been blessed with the good fortune to have had many wonderful friends, including three truly legendary talents: Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr. and that incomparably charming singing sensation from Steubenville, Ohio, Dean Martin.

During my 10-year partnership with Dean, he was everything to me, a caring older brother, a creative partner, a friend, a superlative performer and one of the most naturally funny people you could ever meet. Dean was even at my side in the early '50s when we put on the first sporadically produced MDA Telethon events.

Breaking up with Dean in 1956 was one of the worst things that ever happened to me, although it would eventually contribute to my growth as a director and a solo performer. At the time all I could feel was hurt and loss. I intensified my commitment to MDA's cause, which had become one of the central passions of my life.

LEGENDARY PERFORMANCES

In 1966, our annual Labor Day Telethon was launched. I'm proud that in the following years we were able through the show to bring some of Frank Sinatra's greatest performances to the American public.

Frank, who'd been a friend since Dean and I met him in the late '40s, was at the top of his form in the '70s and '80s, the seasoned and undisputed master of song interpretation, and Sinatra concert seats sold out all over the world.

Despite his schedule, whenever I called to say I needed him to appear on the Telethon, Frank would be there. "Just tell me where and when," he'd say. That's friendship. That's the manner of man he was.

It's hard to pick a favorite moment from Frank's performances on the Telethon, because it means choosing between so many classics: "I've Got You Under My Skin," in 1975; "Embraceable You" in 1976; "Chicago" in 1980; "L.A. is My Lady" in 1985; "The Lady is a Tramp" in 1987; and many more.

There's no question, though, that his powerhouse performance of "New York, New York," which he did several times for us during the '80s, never failed to bring down the house. From the instantly recognizable opening "vamp" to the bravura finish and the perfectly held final note, Frank's handling of the song was pure mastery and couldn't be improved upon.

No two performances he gave were ever quite the same, and each one was a gift. Frank Sinatra, who passed away just a few months ago, was a legend, but he was also a wonderful, caring friend, and I miss him terribly.

And then there was the very special gift Frank brought me during his appearance on the 1976 Telethon. Frank finished singing "Never Gonna Fall in Love Again," then put his hand on my shoulder and told me he'd brought along a friend who wanted to say hello.

Time seemed to stand still as I saw Dean stride out on the stage, cigarette in hand, as handsome and confident as ever. Then, as natural as anything, we were locked in an embrace, and 20 years of ill feeling and resentment seemed to melt away.

I remember praying that I would think of a line. I looked Dean in the eye and said, "So, ya working?" The audience laughed, and Dean deadpanned back at me: "Yeah, I get a few weeks at the Megum (MGM Grand)."

Actually, despite the laid-back, relaxed image he always projected, Dean had been doing a lot of work, and not just in his live performances in Las Vegas and elsewhere. Dean made a success in every medium he turned his hand to. He amassed 40 singles on the Billboard charts during his career, made 55 films including some critically acclaimed acting roles, and was a long-running success on television in two popular variety series.

On that day in 1976, I believe it took tremendous courage for Dean to make himself vulnerable by coming onto my turf, not knowing how I'd react. I'm so glad he did, and I'll always be grateful to him, and to Frank, for giving me this cherished moment.

I was able to return the favor in 1989 on Dean's 72nd birthday. At the end of the act he was performing in Las Vegas, I surprised him by coming out onstage pushing a giant birthday cake. "Here's to 72 years of joy you've given the world," I said, adding: "And why we broke up, I'll never know."

Dean was very moved that day. I'm grateful that we were able to stay on warm terms, up to and including the weeks preceding his death in 1995.

THE ULTIMATE PERFORMER

Only one man could sing, dance, act, make 'em laugh, and do it all with electrifying energy and unmatchable style. Sammy Davis Jr., sometimes called "Mr. Entertainment," was the ultimate performer.

When it came to the Telethon, Sammy was exceedingly generous, both with his talent and with his time. Year after year, I was able to rely on him to help get the show started with a couple of terrific numbers in the first hour. Then Sammy would come back later in the show to give us a lift whenever we needed it.

From my own selfish perspective, Sammy's greatest kindness to me was just his willingness to be there, to do a duet of "Friendship" with me, to help me laugh when I didn't think I could stand up for another hour.

Sammy's often remembered for his inimitable dancing, for his delightful version of "Candy Man" and his passionate renditions of "What Kind of Fool Am I?" and "I Gotta Be Me."

On Telethon '88, Sammy sang "The Music of the Night" from Broadway's "Phantom of the Opera," and his interpretation of the song was nothing less than spellbinding. Sammy really gave his all on this number, magically evoking the qualities of mystery and tragedy that are inherent in this beautiful song.

Within a year of that luminous performance, Sammy received a diagnosis of throat cancer. He made a final, flawless appearance on Telethon '89, serving as host of our New York broadcast, and then a few short months later he was gone.

The next Telethon, which I dedicated to Sammy's memory, was a hard one for me. As I introduced a video tribute showing some of my favorite moments with Sammy, it was impossible to hold back the tears.

I'd lost one of the closest friends I ever had, someone who always made me feel I was a better person just for having been in his company. And the world lost decades of performances that Sammy should have been able to give.

Sammy died in 1990. We lost Dean in 1995, and Frank passed away in 1998. The price I paid for having befriended these remarkable men was facing the pain of losing them, one by one.

But having been able to enjoy the gift of their friendship was worth it, many, many times over. And with time, the sense of loss diminishes. Gradually it's replaced by a warm remembrance of the love, companionship and good humor they shared with me and with the audiences that loved them.

MDA Senior Vice President and Executive Director Bob Ross received the following card from Frank Sinatra's widow on July 20.

Your thoughtful condolence has helped me during this difficult time. Frank was my love, my friend, and my knight in shining armor. My husband was a vital and dynamic part of my family as well as those of people throughout the world. He has left a deep void in so many lives. Through his music Frank will live forever. May God bless and hold you dear . . . and as Frank would say, sleep warm.