To Be Loved

by Berry Gordy

  Long before black was “beautiful” I began to call Diana that as an affectionate nickname. She started calling me Black as well. A word can mean anything you want it to mean. And in Diana’s and my case, Black meant pride, love and affection.

  “…why don’t we stay a couple days after the others leave?”

  When she said that I was rocketed off my feet. April in Paris. Alone? Phenomenal!

  “Sounds great, Black,” I said nonchalantly.

  It was two days before the scheduled flight back to Detroit and I kept panicking that she was going to get an emergency phone call or something forcing her home. Those two days seemed like two years. But finally, in front of our hotel when Mother, Pop and the kids, the last of the group, were leaving, I was in such an excited daze that it was hard to concentrate on our good-byes.

  So there we were on a beautiful April evening in Paris. We strolled back into the hotel and waited side by side for the elevator to take us up to her suite.

  I took her hand and we entered a magnificent room decorated in rich golden colors. With the curtains and windows opened wide, we could hear, see and smell Paris coming alive at night. We held sparkling crystal glasses of champagne high in the air. We toasted success; we toasted the moonlight shining in our window, the tall stone monuments of important French heroes that stood just outside the hotel. We toasted everything.

  I was shy, giddy, but happy. So happy. Happy because on her face was a smile that could have lit up the world—the most peaceful, joyous, beautiful smile I could have imagined.

  After some drinks, talk, things got quiet. The awkward stage.

  What do I do now?

  She relaxed out in front of me. Laying her head back on the pillows, her eyes pulled me closer, like a magnet, bewitching me.

  Slowly we began to kiss and to touch. Tentatively at first, as pure pleasure and love and desire blended into one. For what seemed like an hour we caressed, my excitement mounting with every minute. Now that I saw her desire, too, that the hopes of all these months were finally going to be fulfilled, I began to remove her clothes tenderly, but with a pace that quickened until I was ripping off my own. Within seconds one of my greatest desires would be fulfilled. This is it!!!

  But what if she doesn’t like it? What if I can’t perform? Oh shit!

  Everything stopped working.

  The more I tried the less able I became. I never felt more panicked, more embarrassed, more useless. I rolled over, plopping my face down into the pillows with thoughts of smothering myself.

  Here I was—this “big man” who could make other people’s dreams come true but when it came to my own, I’d knocked myself out in the first round.

  “I think it would be better if we just stayed friends,” she said softly.

  “No, no,” I screamed to myself. That was the last thing I wanted to hear. I said nothing.

  She took me in her arms, hugging me softly. I had to get out of there.

  I went back to my room, feeling as dejected as I could ever remember.

  All I could think of was that I only had one more day.

  The next day everything was cool. Just good friends wanting to have a good time, Diana and I jetted over to some island on a speedboat.

  As we plunged through the breaking waves I must have shot a thousand pictures of her with my little Leicaflex 35mm camera.

  I was constantly trying to preserve every subtle shade of Diana’s moods. She had long developed a love-hate relationship for that Leicaflex—and me using it. When I later directed Mahogany, ideas for Anthony Perkins’s role of the crazed photographer and the failed sex scene were enhanced by my experiences with Diana.

  That evening I took her to some clubs in Paris where I arranged for her to sit in with different musicians. I loved to see the electrifying effect it had on people when they recognized she was Diana Ross of the Supremes.

  That night, she serenaded me in club after club as I was sipping wine. We were having great fun. Feeling a little tipsy I knew it was time to go back to the hotel and try again.

  From the minute I closed the door behind us, I knew my mind would not get in the way this time. I think the wine helped keep it in check, allowing what took place next to unfold like a great piece of soaring music. We fit perfectly, like a carefully choreographed dance. Ecstasy to the tenth power! And after that night it only got better.

  But as strong as our romantic involvement became we vowed not to let it or anything else take the focus off her career and my vision.

  FOR LOUCYE

  After the Supremes performed “You’re Nobody ’Til Somebody Loves You” on Hullabaloo things changed. The big TV shows wanted them to do at least one standard. They were reaching audiences they’d never reached before. Then came another big break—that special club booking that had been eluding us for so long—the Copa.

  Nearing the summer of ’65—when club business was slow—General Artists Corporation, the New York talent agency that was booking the Supremes, convinced the Copa’s powerful owner, Jules Podell, to give the girls a shot.

  That was just about all that he was willing to give. Knowing what a major launching pad his club was, Jules made us pay for everything. Nobody got breaks at the Copa. No discounts on food or drinks; you paid full price no matter who you were—manager, husband, musician or star.

  On top of that we had to sign what many considered a “slave contract” for three years. We would appear for two- or three-week periods, seven days a week, two shows a night for less than $3,000 a week. The second year (if he wanted us back) it would go to $10,000, and the third $15,000. His option.

  But I was always willing to lose money if it meant building stars.

  Never before had we planned such a costly show. I amassed all our forces. Everybody in the company got behind this event. The Artist Development crew—Gil Askey, Harvey Fuqua, Cholly Atkins, Maxine Powell, Maurice King, Gwen, Anna and others—worked around the clock handling staging, choreography, costumes, patter and musical arrangements. I oversaw it all. Esther and Taylor Cox and everybody else at ITMI, Al Abrams in Publicity, Loucye and Barney Ales used all their contacts to make sure that the top press, distributors, DJs and all the other record industry people would be in attendance.

  Following the example of Broadway producers who took their plays to smaller out-of-town theaters to try them out, we set up camp in Wildwood, New Jersey, where we could break the show in at a local club called the Rip-Tide.

  Rehearsing by day, performing at night, we created, shaped, improved and enhanced every possible detail of the show. We were ready. As July 29 approached, we prepared to make the move from Wildwood to the biggest opening of our lives—the Copacabana in New York City.

  Suddenly I received a phone call that my sister Loucye was seriously ill in the hospital and I would have to fly back to Detroit.

  At the hospital, my family told me that she had had a cerebral hemorrhage and needed surgery. When I went in to see her she said she wanted me to be the one to make her medical decisions.

  As soon as Loucye put me in charge I got a funny feeling. Of course I was so proud that she thought enough of me, and enough of my decision-making ability and all the respect that goes with that, to put me in charge of her life. But I was a realist. I hadn’t been there when she had taken ill. Everyone else had worked hard to coordinate with the doctor and all the other people to get her to the hospital, to make all the prior arrangements. They had a plan and a program. Why she put me in charge of all that, having no prior facts of what had gone before, I wasn’t sure. The discussion that followed with the family soon showed me why.

  The family was happy I had come in and not unhappy that she had decided to put me in charge. They loved Loucye as much as I did. They knew it was a critical situation. They knew I was good at making decisions in a crisis. So they were happy to let me run the show. But when I said I wanted a second opinion, that was a problem. She had great faith in her doctor and he had come up with a specialist to operat
e. It was too late, they said, for me to bring in a brand-new outsider, plus I was told her doctor would be insulted. He was doing all he could and he had gone out of his way to bring in a top specialist.

  The pressure was on. I considered everything everybody said. But still I wanted a second opinion. I knew it was the right thing to do in something as serious as this. The doctor agreed and arranged for another specialist to come in and consult. One day before the scheduled operation the new specialist was called out of town on an emergency. So I was told. I was torn. I thought about canceling the operation. I was assured by her doctor that everything would be fine. His specialist was one of the best in the business and to postpone it at this time would cause a much more serious threat. I gave my permission to go ahead.

  In the waiting room I couldn’t get out of my mind how much I owed Loucye. How she had taken me into her home during the early days. How she had sacrificed to help me make Motown a success. How much she trusted me.

  Loucye had been such an important person in helping us get through the years of struggle. She had to witness the fruits of her labor. She had to come with us to that next stage. She had to.

  After long, agonizing hours the doctor came in to address the family. He told us the operation was a success—but the patient died. Just like that.

  I sat alone for a long time thinking about what that meant. It meant that the doctor, reputation intact, would go on to other patients, living his own life with a clear conscience. I would, however, go on living mine without Loucye—and with guilt, all because I had not followed my own instincts.

  “Everything always happens for the best,” people said, trying to console me.

  Bullshit! Everything doesn’t always happen for the best; but you should make the best out of everything that happens. I had to make this count for something. I would never put myself in the position to feel this kind of guilt again. Maybe sadness, disappointment or even anger—but never guilt. I would never again let anybody talk me out of what I felt was right.

  Loucye’s funeral was held the same day as the opening at the Copa. After the burial service most of my family flew to New York for the show. We dedicated the performance, and later an album, to the loving memory of Loucye Gordy Wakefield.

  That night when I got to the Copa, I spent a few minutes sitting by myself.

  It’s so strange how life can hand you some of your saddest and most triumphant moments at the same time. I thought about “Somewhere,” which the Supremes would be doing in the show, and I felt my sister was somewhere close by and could hear me when I said silently, “Thank you, Loucye, thank you.”

  9

  THE EXPLOSION

  1965–1968

  HITS IS OUR BUSINESS

  Very few things in life are as exciting as an opening night. You never know what to expect. Everything that can go wrong usually does. It’s the first look everyone has at the show, including the reviewers, who can make or break you.

  Our opening at New York’s Copacabana was a madhouse. I was running all over the place trying to make sure everything was perfect.

  Normally the fire marshal would have shut down a place that packed, but this legendary room was owned by Jules Podell, a cigar-smoking, gravel-voiced, no-nonsense wheeler-dealer, whose reputation hinted at underworld ties. Even Jules was not prepared for this: a black Rock ’n’ Roll group he’d hardly heard of, selling out his joint—off season!

  That night he took charge, shouting orders to his staff, sending in new tables, trying to cram in enough chairs to make room for all his friends and regular customers.

  I saw our people, who thought they had front tables, now pushed two or three rows back as Jules added more tables ringside. Barney was getting crazy because some of the people important to us—distributors, DJs and press, were being shuffled around. But Jules Podell was one person Barney could not mess with.

  Gil Askey took his place in front of the band and raised his baton. It was show time. With a downward thrust of his arms the overture began. An orchestrated medley of the Supremes’ Rock ’n’ Roll hits arranged in a unique classical style sent an already excited crowd into a frenzy.

  I stayed in the back of the room so I could see and hear everything better—the girls, the lighting, the sound and the overall crowd reaction.

  So much was riding on what was about to happen. If the Supremes flopped they could set our music back ten years. If they did well, it could open doors for other Motown acts.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice echoed through the room, “Jules Podell proudly presents the Supremes.” The lights came on and there they were—my babies, playing the Copa.

  Fast, crisp finger snaps and an upright bass started pumping through the room. It was our opening number. Gil had done a Jazz arrangement on a Cole Porter song I had heard sung by Diahann Carroll and really liked. That walking bass fiddle and the Supremes’ finger snaps set a dramatic, uptempo feel for about five seconds, then Diana’s voice rang out, laying right into that fast-paced groove: “From this moment on—you for me, dear, only two for tea, dear. From this moment on…

  Diana was cooking. Starting the next verse, it reached an even higher peak when the girls added their trio power in unison. Gil brought the band in with sharp staccato licks in all the right places. After that they went into “Put On A Happy Face.” Another surprise. This was Broadway.

  I looked over and saw Jules sitting with Sammy Davis, Jr., and Ed Sullivan, smiling from ear to ear, probably thinking he had really gotten me on this deal. And maybe he had, but what he didn’t know was I would have done this one for no money at all.

  They ended the song with their arms stretched high to thunderous applause and a standing ovation. Without losing a beat they moved quickly into the intro to their third number. Again in powerful unison: “Now here’s a little song that you made popular, and we hope you like it now.” Diana jumped in with that most familiar sound that so many people identify only with the Supremes. “Ooo-oo-ooo, Baby Love, My Baby Love…” Pandemonium broke out and this was just the beginning of the show. I couldn’t wait to see the audience’s reaction to what was coming later.

  After the girls did two more of their hits, “Come See About Me” and “Stop! In The Name Of Love,” they broke into “Rock-A-Bye Your Baby With A Dixie Melody,” twirling straw hats and canes and dancing up a storm.

  Awesome entertainers that night, the Supremes did everything from a comedic “Queen of the House,” written to the tune of Roger Miller’s “King Of The Road,” to a moving rendition of “Somewhere” from West Side Story.

  We ended the show with the song that had made it all possible, “You’re Nobody ’Til Somebody Loves You.”

  As I stood there filled with pride, I was watching what the reviewers would later say was one of the most dramatic openings the Copa had ever seen.

  My eyes fell upon my family. Seeing their proud faces I felt a strong bond between us, of victory, sadness and love.

  Shortly after the Copa the most exclusive clubs in the country started booking the Supremes. The Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas signed them a year in advance—sight unseen!

  When I look back at these years from 1965 to 1968 it seems we could do no wrong. The stream of hits was endless. The whole world was fast becoming aware of our overall success—our artists, our songs, our sound. I was being called the star maker, the magic man.

  During that time, at Hitsville, a battle for another kind of supremacy continued. For our first five years the strongest thread in our musical tapestry had been sewn by Smokey with his clever, poetic lines pushing the Miracles, Mary Wells and the Tempts to the top. Now the texture was being dominated by the Holland-Dozier-Holland hooky, simple—yet deep, driving, melodic overtures. But the competition to stay on top was no small matter for HDH. When they gave Marvin another hit with “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)” Smokey answered with “My Girl” on the Temptations, their first #1 record. HDH then hit again on Martha and the
Vandellas with “Nowhere To Run.” Smokey came back with one of the sexiest records of his career, “Ooo Baby Baby,” on the Miracles.

  There was no stopping HDH, whose #1 “I Hear A Symphony” on the Supremes became one of my favorites of that era. HDH seemed to hit as easily on newer artists like the Isley Brothers’ “This Old Heart Of Mine (Is Weak For You),” Shorty Long’s “Function At The Junction” and the Elgins’ “Heaven Must Have Sent You.”

  HDH benefited from my policy that, if two records under consideration were equally strong, the release would be given to the producer who had the last hit. In addition to the monster hits on the Supremes, in the next couple years they would give the Four Tops five smashes: “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch),” “It’s The Same Old Song,” “Reach Out I’ll Be There,” “Standing In The Shadows Of Love” and “Bernadette.” I loved them all but for me “Bernadette” would epitomize the Holland-Dozier-Holland genius for capturing a listener’s ear and not letting it go. It also helped fuel my belief that Levi Stubbs of the Four Tops could interpret and deliver the meaning of a song better than anybody. He made Bernadette live. I wanted to meet her myself.

  What was equally remarkable was that though Smokey was on the road most of the time he continued to compete, often writing or producing with fellow Miracles Ronnie White, Pete Moore and Bobby Rogers, as well as longtime friend, Marv Tarplin, the group’s guitar player. These different collaborators produced hits on the Miracles like “Going To A Go-Go,” “The Tracks Of My Tears,” “I Second That Emotion” and “More Love,” and on other artists like the Marvelettes with “Don’t Mess With Bill” and Marvin Gaye with “I’ll Be Doggone” and “Ain’t That Peculiar.”

  “Tracks Of My Tears” brought out something about Marv Tarplin and Smokey working together that always touched a dramatic chord with me. It became my favorite song of theirs. I began calling it a masterpiece.