By now I was old enough to sneak in and watch if I promised not to tell. One day Mom finally caught them, and we
were all worried. She scolded the boys, but said she wouldn't tell Dad as long as we were careful. She knew that
guitar was keeping them from running with a bad crowd and maybe getting beat up, so she wasn't about to take away
anything that kept them within arm's reach.
Of course, something had to give sooner or later, and one day a string broke. My brothers panicked. There wasn't
time to get it repaired before Dad came home, and besides, none if us knew how to go about getting it fixed. My
brothers never figured out what to do, so they put the guitar back in the closet and hoped fervently that my father
would think it broke by itself. Of course, Dad didn't buy that, and he was furious. My sisters told me to stay out of it
and keep a low profile. I heard Tito crying after Dad found out and I went to investigate, of course. Tito was on his
bed crying when Dad came back and motioned for him to get up. Tito was scared, but my father just stood there,
holding his favorite guitar. He gave Tito a hard, penetrating look and said, "Let me see what you can do."
My brother pulled himself together and started to play a few runs he had taught himself. When my father saw how
well Tito could play, he knew he'd obviously been practicing and he realized that Tito and the rest of us didn't treat
his favorite guitar as if it were a toy. It became clear to him that what had happened had been only an accident. At
this point my mother stepped in and voiced her enthusiasm for our musical ability. She told him that we boys had
talent and he should listen to us. She kept pushing for us, so one day he began to listen and he liked what he heard.
Tito, Jackie, and Jermaine started rehearsing together in earnest. A couple of years later, when I was about five, Mom
pointed out to my father that I was a good singer and could play the bongos. I became a member of the group.
About then my father decided that what was happening in his family was serious. Gradually he began spending less
time with the Falcons and more with us. We'd just woodshed together and he'd give us some tips and teach us
techniques on the guitar. Marlon and I weren't old enough to play, but we'd watch when my father rehearsed the older
boys and we were learning when we watched. The ban on using Dad's guitar still held when he wasn't around, but
my brothers loved using it when they could. The house on Jackson Street was bursting with music. Dad and Mom
had paid for music lessons for Rebbie and Jackie when they were little kids, so they had a good background. The rest
of us had music class and band in the Gary schools, but no amount of practice was enough to harness all that energy.
The Falcons were still earning money, however infrequent their gigs, and that extra money was important to us. It
was enough to keep food on the table for a growing family but not enough to give us things that weren't necessary.
Mom was working part-time at Sears, Dad was still working the mill job, and no one was going hungry, but I think,
looking back, that things must have seemed one big dead end.
One day Dad was late coming home and Mom began to get worried. By the time he arrived, she was ready to give
him a piece of her mind, something we boys didn't mind witnessing once in a while just to see if he could take it like
he dished it out, but when he poked his head through the door, he had a mischievous look on his face and he was
hiding something behind his back. We were all shocked when he produced a gleaming red guitar, slightly smaller
than the one in the closet. We were all hoping this meant we'd get the old one. But Dad said the new guitar was
Tito's. We gathered around to admire it, while Dad told Tito he had to share it with anyone who would practice . We
were not to take it to school to show it off. This was a serious present and that day was a momentous occasion for the
Jackson family.
5
Mom was happy for us, but she also knew her husband. She was more aware than we of the big ambitions and plans
he had for us. He'd begun talking to her at night after we kids were asleep. He had dreams and those dreams didn't
stop with one guitar. Pretty soon we were dealing with equipment, not just gifts. Jermaine got a bass and an amp.
There were shakers for Jackie. Our bedroom and living room began to look like a music store. Sometimes I'd hear
Mom and Dad fight when the subject of money was brought up, because all those instruments and accessories meant
having to go without a little something we needed each week. Dad was persuasive, though, and he didn't miss a trick.
We even had microphones in the house. They seemed like a real luxury at the time, especially to a woman who was
trying to stretch a very small budget, but I've come to realize that having those microphones in our house wasn't just
an attempt to keep up with the Joneses or anyone else in amateur night competitions. They were there to help us
prepare. I saw people at talent shows, who probably sounded great at home, clam up the moment they got in front of
a microphone. Others started screaming their songs like they wanted to prove they didn't need the mikes. They didn't
have the advantage that we did - an advantage that only experience can give you. I think it probably made some
people jealous because they could tell our expertise with the mikes gave us an edge. If that was true, we made so
many sacrifices - in free time, schoolwork, and friends - that no one had the right to be jealous. We were becoming
very good, but we were working like people twice our age.
While I was watching my older brothers, including Marlon on the bongo drums, Dad got a couple of young guys
named Johnny Jackson and Randy Rancifer to play trap drums and organ. Motown would later claim they were our
cousins, but that was just an embellishment from the P.R. people, who wanted to make us seem like one big family.
We had become a real band! I was like a sponge, watching everyone, and trying to learn everything I could. I was
totally absorbed when my brothers were rehearsing or playing at charity events or shopping centers. I was most
fascinated when watching Jermaine because he was the singer at the time and he was a big brother to me - Marlon
was too close to me in age for that. It was Jermaine who would walk me to kindergarten and whose clothes would be
handed down to me. When he did something, I tried to imitate him. When I was successful at it, my brothers and Dad
would laugh, but when I began singing, they listened. I was singing in a baby voice then and just imitating sounds. I
was so young I didn't know what many of the words meant, but the more I sang, the better I got.
I always knew how to dance. I would watch Marlon's moves because Jermaine had the big bass to carry, but also
because I could keep up with Marlon, who was only a year older then me. Soon I was doing most of the singing at
home and preparing to join my brothers in public. Through our rehearsals, we were all becoming aware of our
particular strengths and weaknesses as members of the group and the shift in responsibilities was happening naturally.
Our family's house in Gary was tiny, only three rooms really, but at the time it seemed much larger to me. When
you're that young, the whole world seems so huge that a little room can seem four times its size. When we went back
to Gary years later, we were all surprised at how tiny that house was. I had remembered it as being large, but you
could take five steps from the front door and you'd be out the back. It was really no bigger then a garage, but when
we lived there it seemed fine to us kids. You see things from such a different perspective when you're young. Our