later anyway. Dad put us right to bed, locked the door, and went out. Jermaine and I were too tired to even talk.
We were all up on time the next morning; Dad saw to that. But, in truth, we were just as excited as he was and
hopped out of bed when we called us. The audition was unusual for us because we hadn't played in many places
where they expected us to be professional. We knew it was going to be difficult to judge whether we were doing
well. We were used to audience response whether we were competing or just performing at a club, but Dad had told
us the longer we stayed, the more they wanted to hear.
We climbed into the VW, after cereal and milk at the coffee shop. I noticed they offered grits on the menu, so I knew
there were a lot of Southern people who stayed there. We had never been to the South then and wanted to visit
Mom's part of the country someday. We wanted to have a sense of our roots and those of other black people,
especially after what had happened to Dr. King. I remember so well the day he died. Everyone was torn up. We didn't
rehearse that night. I went to Kingdom Hall with Mom and some of the others. People were crying like they had lost
a member of their own family. Even the men who were usually pretty unemotional were unable to control their grief.
I was too young to grasp the full tragedy of the situation, but when I look back on that day now, it makes me want to
cry - for Dr. King, for his family, and for all of us.
Jermaine was the first to spot the studio, which was known as Hitsville, U.S.A. It looked kind of run-down, which
was not what I'd expected. We wondered who we might see, who might be there making a record that day. Dad had
coached us to let him do all the talking. Our job was to perform like we'd never performed before. And that was
asking a lot, because we always put everything into each performance, but we knew what he meant.
There were a lot of people waiting inside, but Dad said the password and a man in a shirt and tie came out to meet us.
He knew each of our names, which astounded us. He asked us to leave our coats there and follow him. The other
people just stared through us like we were ghosts. I wondered who they were and what their stories were. Had they
traveled far? Had they been here day after day hoping to get in without an appointment?
When we entered the studio, one of the Motown guys was adjusting a movie camera. There was an area set up with
instruments and microphones. Dad disappeared into one of the sound booths to talk to someone. I tried to pretend
that I was at the Fox Theater, on the rising stage, and this was just business as usual. I decided, looking around, that
if I ever built my own studio, I'd get a mike like the one they had at the Apollo, which rose out of the floor. I nearly
fell on my face once running down those basement steps while trying to find out where it went when it slowly
disappeared beneath the stage floor.
The last song we sang was "Who's Lovin' You." When it ended, no one applauded or said a word. I couldn't stand not knowing, so I blurted, "How was that?" Jermaine shushed me. The older guys who were backing us up were laughing
about something. I looked at them out of the corner of my eye. "Jackson Jive, huh?" one of them called out with a big grin on his face. I was confused, I think my brothers were too.
The man who had led us back said, "Thanks for coming up." We looked at Dad's face for some indication, but he
didn't seem pleased or disappointed. It was still daylight out when we left. We took I-94 back to Gary, subdued,
knowing there was homework to do for class tomorrow, wondering if that was all there was to that.
14
Chapter Two
Dancing Machine
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We were jubilant when we learned we had passed the Motown audition. I remember Berry Gordy sitting us all down
and saying that we were going to make history together. "I'm gonna make you the biggest thing in the world," he
said, "and you're gonna be written about in history books." He really said that to us. We were leaning forward,
listening to him, and saying, "Okay! Okay!" I'll never forget that. We were all over at his house, and it was like a fairy tale come true listening to this powerful, talented man tell us we were going to be very big. "Your first record will be a number one, your second record will be a number one, and so will your third record. Three number one
records in a row. You'll hit the charts just as Diana Ross and the Supremes did." This was almost unheard of in those days, but he was right; we turned around and did just that. Three in a row.
So Diana didn't find us first, but I don't think we'll ever be able to repay Diana properly for all she did for us in those days. When we finally moved to Southern California, we actually lived with Diana and stayed with her for more than
a year on a part-time basis. Some of us lived with Berry Gordy and some of us with Diana, and then we would
switch. She was so wonderful, mothering us and making us feel right at home. She really helped take care of us for at
least a year and a half while my parents closed up the Gary house and looked for a house we could all live in here in
California. It was great for us because Berry and Diana lived on the same street in Beverly Hills. We could walk up
to Berry's house and then go back to Diana's. Most of the time I'd spend the day at Diana's and the night at Berry's.
This was an important period in my life because Diana loved art and encouraged me to appreciate it too. She took the
time to educate me about it. We'd go out almost every day, just the two of us, and buy pencils and paint. When we
weren't drawing or painting, we'd go to museums. She introduced me to the works of the great artists like Michelangelo and Degas and that was the start of my lifelong interest in art. She really taught me a great deal. It was
so new to me and exciting. It was really different from what I was used to doing, which was living and breathing
music, rehearsing day in and day out. You wouldn't think a big star like Diana would take the time to teach a kid to
paint, to give him an education in art, but she did and I loved her for it. I still do. I'm crazy about her. She was my
mother, my lover, and my sister all combined in one amazing person.
Those were truly wild days for me and my brothers. When we flew to California from Chicago, it was like being in
another country, another world. To come from our part of Indiana, which is so urban and often bleak, and to land in
Southern California was like having the world transformed into a wonderful dream. I was uncontrollable back then. I
was all over the place - Disneyland, Sunset Strip, the beach. My brothers loved it too, and we got into everything,
like kids who had just visited a candy store for the first time. We were awestruck by California; trees had oranges and
leaves on them in the middle of winter. There were palm trees and beautiful sunsets, and the weather was so warm.
Every day was special. I would be doing something that was fun and wouldn't want it to end, but then I'd realize
there was something else to do later that was going to be just as enjoyable and that I could look forward to just as
much. Those were heady days.
One of the best parts of being there was meeting all the big Motown stars who had emigrated to California along
with Berry Gordy after he moved from Detroit. I remember when I first shook Smokey Robinson's hand. It was like
shaking hands with a king. My eyes lit up with stars, I remember telling my mother that his hand felt as if it was
layered with soft pillows. You don't think about the little impressions people walk away with when you're a star