To Be Loved

by Berry Gordy

  10

  CHANGES IN THE GROOVES

  1968–1971

  THE JACKSON 5

  When I first bought a house in California in the fall of 1968 I had no concrete plans to one day move my whole operation to the West Coast. I wasn’t looking down the road that far. Our California office was getting busier and busier and I had been spending so much time in Los Angeles with our various television projects, living there made sense.

  As a kid, I had been there twice—once in my boxing days and another time to visit my sister Anna, who had moved there. I loved the weather and how it somehow felt like the end of the earth to me. And I loved the fact that movies were made there.

  As I look back on those days I can see how unaware I was of realities of time and space. People I worked with often had to move mountains or create miracles to meet the challenges I presented. One example was when I made up my mind to move to L.A. I contacted my assistant, Dick Scott.

  It was just before Labor Day in Detroit when I told him, “By the way, Dick, I got to have Hazel, Berry and Terry in a new school on Tuesday.”

  Dick had been with me for a little more than two years. Ambitious, full of energy, he loved a challenge. “No problem,” he said hastily. “I got four days.”

  “In Los Angeles.”

  “What? That’s three thousand miles away.”

  “I know.”

  The following Tuesday, Hazel, Berry IV and Terry—ages fourteen, almost thirteen and twelve—were enrolled in school in Los Angeles and living with me and my staff at the Beverly Comstock Hotel. With the help of Warren Cowan of the international public relations firm Rogers & Cowan and his wife, actress Barbara Rush, who took a personal interest in helping to get the kids and me settled in, we felt at home right away. The kids took over the hotel, treating it like a big house. There was a pool in the back and sunshine every day and they could have room service just by picking up the telephone.

  In October, we moved into a house in the Hollywood Hills I had purchased from Tommy Smothers. A short time later, we found a house down the hill on the same street for Diana to rent. We were closer than ever in those days. And the move to California was exciting for both Diana and me.

  What stands out most dramatically about those first years on the West Coast was the launching of a new young group we had auditioned in Detroit the summer before I moved to L.A.

  In Detroit, riding up the elevator at the Motown office building on Woodward Avenue, Suzanne said, “You gotta hear these kids.”

  She told me she had first heard about them from Bobby Taylor. He and his group, the Vancouvers (which included Tommy Chong of the future Cheech & Chong), had performed on the same bill as this group of youngsters.

  “I know you’re gonna love ’em,” she said.

  “I hate kids groups, minors, chaperones, the courts, tutors…”

  “Oh, no you don’t. Not if they’re great.”

  She knew me too well.

  A few days later several of us gathered in a room on the eighth floor. I had told Dick Scott to bring along my new video camera. I had seen how efficiency could be enhanced by technology and was always trying new things. Recording this audition worked out very well because that now famous footage has been seen on television around the world.

  When I look at it today I can still remember the intensity we all felt standing there that July morning watching those five young boys from Gary, Indiana, perform. Nine-year-old Michael, eleven-year-old Marlon, fourteen-year-old Jermaine, and fifteen- and seventeen-year-old Tito and Jackie meant business. All of them moved, sang and played their instruments like winners.

  They tore into the Temptations’ “Ain’t Too Proud To Beg”—all moving together like little David Ruffins, but with a style all their own. When they sang “I Wish It Would Rain” and “Tobacco Road,” they made the songs sound like they were written just for them. They wound up with little Michael doing James Brown’s “I Got The Feelin’.” His dazzling footwork would have certainly made the Godfather proud.

  This little kid had an incredible knowingness about him that really made me take notice. He sang his songs with such feeling, inspiration and pain—like he had experienced everything he was singing about. In between songs he kept his eyes on me the whole time, as if he was studying me.

  All the right clues were there—their professionalism, their discipline, their talent. And something else that Michael had, an unknown quality that I didn’t completely understand but I knew was special. Somehow even at that first meeting he let me know of his hunger to learn, and how willing he was to work as hard as necessary to be great, to go to the top. He let me know he believed I was the person who could get him there.

  After their performance, with applause still echoing in the small room, the boys looked in my direction, anxiously waiting for the verdict.

  This was always the hard part for me. If the artist was horrible, it was hard to tell them. If they were brilliant it may have even been harder.

  If they were horrible it was good-bye, but if they were great and you wanted to work with them, as I did, these kids would be a heavy responsibility and the beginning of a complex association. Managing any artist was a big responsibility. And these were minors. What I said at this moment could affect their lives in many ways forever. I knew it was just as important for them to grow as people as it was for them to grow as stars. They, just like everyone else, would have to make it through that vicious Cycle of Success. The public would come after them. The fame. The money. The girls. I had seen it with Jackie Wilson, Marv Johnson, Smokey Robinson and the rest.

  All this was going through my mind as I walked over to them, trying not to smile too much.

  The other boys seemed nervous, but not Michael. He knew I loved them.

  “Obviously you’ve done a lot of hard work and it shows,” I said. “The only thing that can stop you from success now, is you. Keep your humility and discipline, continue to work hard, and we’ll do the rest.”

  “Uh, Mr. Gordy,” Jermaine said, after a glance to his brothers, “does that mean you’re gonna sign us?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, it does.”

  The boys broke into cheers.

  I wanted everybody in the company as enthusiastic as I was about the Jackson 5. I arranged a get-together to introduce the group to the Motown family at an old mansion on Boston Boulevard that I had bought and renovated. (We later called it the Gordy Manor.)

  Three stories high, with frescoed ceilings and marble floors, it had an authentic English pub and an underground tunnel connecting the main house to the pool house, where there was an indoor Olympic-size swimming pool and a bowling alley. It was so grand, I didn’t feel comfortable living there, but it was great for entertaining. Whether it was the formal charity balls my family hosted for the Loucye Gordy Wakefield Scholarship Fund that benefited inner-city students, or this very casual party for the Jackson 5, it worked well.

  Except for the people who had been at the audition, no one was prepared for what they were about to see. As I watched them for the second time, performing in the pool house alongside the swimming pool, I could appreciate them even more, with their energetic, fast-paced routines.

  Everyone started coming over to the bar where I was standing.

  Abner, head of ITMI, pointed to some young girls, one of whom was my own daughter Hazel. “They love them and little girls all over the country will, too.”

  My brother George: “Little? The little girls’ll have trouble getting out of the way of the big ones.”

  Barney Ales joked: “Gee whiz, Berry, you think we can sell ’em!”

  While Barney was laughing at his own comment, Junius Griffin, publicity director and the pioneer of our Community Relations Department, boasted confidently: “There’s nothing out there like them. They’re wholesome, clean, cute and black. I can’t wait to put together their press kit.”

  The head of our Public Relations Division, Mike Roshkind, hurried over, pulling me a
side. “I’m about as creative as a doorknob,” he said, “and even I can tell you they’re gonna be big.”

  Suzanne de Passe just gave me an “I told you so” smile.

  While I was thrilled with everyone’s predictions of success, I knew nothing was going to really happen unless we got hit records on the group.

  Within the next few days artist and management contracts were signed and we were ready to go. Then Ralph Seltzer got a call from an attorney in New York. The Jackson 5 already had a manager. This was distressing news. Their father, Joe Jackson, had said they were totally free and clear. I told Ralph we had made a deal in good faith and any deviation from our agreement was unacceptable.

  After that I got a call from a guy who said his name was Richard Arons. “I’m Joe’s partner,” he told me. He said he didn’t want to hold the boys up from doing well at Motown, but he had a prior deal with Joe and wanted me to intervene.

  I told him that was between him and Joe and we would have to hold off until they got it straight.

  It took them several months to resolve whatever it was but in March of 1969 the boys were free, we finalized our deal with them and I moved them out to California.

  They were so energetic in Los Angeles they practiced all day and all night. After being kicked out of a number of places we leased for them and because they were spending so much time at my house anyway, I decided to move them in with me. They also spent a lot of time down the street at Diana’s.

  In some ways, the three-ring circus that took over my home that summer in the Hollywood Hills reminded me of the old days at Hitsville. Music vibrating throughout the house, writing sessions on the floor of the living room, pep talks in the kitchen while eating, rehearsals through the midnight hours, impromptu baseball games at the nearby park, swimming, shooting pool, basketball. Camaraderie, creativity and, of course, competition.

  Even before the Jackson 5 got to California I was very clear on the musical direction I wanted them to take. Michael reminded me of a young Frankie Lymon, the lead singer of the late fifties group, Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers. And when I thought of their big hit, “Why Do Fools Fall In Love,” I knew that was the kind of feeling I wanted in any song we would write for Michael and his brothers.

  For days I walked around the house humming a bright, happy little tune with Michael in mind—“Oh baby, da da da dee da…”—trying to come up with a great melody that could translate into a hit record.

  As with “Love Child,” I decided to put together a creative commando team to write and produce it. I called in ex-Clan member Deke Richards, who brought in two new young writing talents, Freddie Perren and Fonce Mizell. Once again I was trying to have an anonymous, unified team where nobody’s personal names or egos could get in the way. Deke suggested I call this group the Corporation. The Corporation it was. This group in my opinion would become the biggest single factor in the Jackson 5’s success.

  It almost always starts with the song. And in this case it was no different. I had the Corporation listen to my melody—“Oh baby da da da dee da…” Then Deke got together with the other guys and came up with the greatest little track. Perfect. As we came up with lyrics for the song, we used the J-5 as our demo singers, recording their voices right onto the master track. So by the time the demo was done, we practically had a finished record.

  Within a short while “I Want You Back” was ready to be released. But before that we had to move forward with a strategic plan to launch the group. Knowing how great their act was, all we had to do now was to give them an image, dress them up and show them off properly.

  I went to Diana and asked her if she would present them. She loved the idea. Everything was in place. Their very first album would be Diana Ross Presents the Jackson 5. Having her name associated with a group of unknowns really helped announce their arrival on the scene. When people started saying Diana had discovered the group—that didn’t hurt, either. It was ironic that she was later accused of stealing credit for the Jackson 5 discovery when in reality she had done me and them a great favor.

  August 11, 1969. The first significant event was scheduled to take place at the Daisy in Beverly Hills. That’s where we met Bob Jones, Rogers & Cowan’s first black executive and the publicist assigned to our account. Later, Bob came to work at Motown as our publicity director. He and Junius Griffin were a potent team, Junius with the black community and Bob with celebrities and the press. That night at the Daisy, together with Warren Cowan and Paul Bloch of the firm, he did an incredible job of getting industry people out.

  Most of Hollywood was there to see Diana present “her kids,” who did a short performance that quickly turned that clubful of stars and press into fans. “I have never seen anything like ’em!” was the most repeated comment that night.

  August 16, 1969. Five days later. The Jackson 5 opened for Diana Ross and the Supremes at the Forum in Los Angeles. We could see then that the bigger the audience, the more sensational they became.

  October 7, 1969. Less than two months later we released “I Want You Back.” Our sales, marketing and promotion people moved into action.

  October 18, 1969. Eleven days later. The boys made their TV debut on The Hollywood Palace, hosted that night by Diana Ross and the Supremes and Sammy Davis, Jr.

  November 1969. The following month. We moved mother Katherine and the younger children, La Toya, Randy and Janet, to California to join the boys and Joe. The family was reunited in a house we leased for them on Queens Road in Hollywood.

  December 14, 1969. A month later. “I Want You Back” was on its way to #1.

  Now it was time for the world to meet the Jackson 5. We booked them on The Ed Sullivan Show. I sent Suzanne with the boys to New York to supervise the engagement. After nearly two years as my creative assistant I was sure she could handle it. It was always my concern when doing a live TV show that the song sound as much like the record as possible, so I sent producer Deke Richards along to help Suzanne.

  Because of the three-hour tape delay, I had not yet seen it when Suzanne called me in California from New York.

  “The show was great! They were a smash! You should have seen the look on Ed’s face when they finished!” She could barely wait, she said, to hear my reaction.

  “Great, I can’t wait to see it.”

  “I’ll call you back in three hours,” she said.

  Finally, glued to the TV set, a wide smile plastered itself over my face as I watched Ed announce them to sixty million people. Suzanne had dressed them in brightly colored outfits—bell-bottoms, hats on their short Afros, fringed vests, little platform boots—cute as can be. Terrific. But then, just as swiftly, my smile vanished as a feeling of nausea came over me. The tempo was off. I was devastated.

  The minute it was over the phone rang. Suzanne asked happily, “Well, how did you like it, boss?”

  “That tempo…” I said, sounding like a man who had been poisoned. “How did you let them do the tempo like that?”

  “The tempo—what are you talking about?”

  “It was too slow, too slow.”

  “Oh,” she said somewhat defensively. “Well, that was Deke. He’s a producer on the record, that’s what he was here for, wasn’t it?”

  I don’t remember specifically what I said next or how I said it but it was probably something to the effect that she was in charge, she was familiar with the record, so it had to be her fault.

  “Why didn’t Deke take the fucking record,” I screamed, “play it and get the tempo off it and count the band off from that? I mean, it wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure something out like that.”

  Suzanne was crying at this point.

  Being a perfectionist has its downside. In retrospect I may have been too hard on her, but she was in charge and that was the only way I knew.

  The day after the Sullivan show all hell broke loose in the press. The Jackson 5 were proclaimed the new media darlings. The show was heralded as a phenomenon by everybody. The only person w
ho probably noticed the slight tempo change was me. In fact, I couldn’t imagine that the reception could have been any better, even if the tempo had been perfect.

  Eventually, Suzanne understood my obsession with perfection. Eventually, she forgave me. I think.

  January 31, 1970. “I Want You Back” was #1.

  But long before that happened, I called a meeting of the Corporation. “One record’s not going to do it,” I told them. “The second record’s as important as the first—maybe even more so,” I said. “We’ve got to solidify the group, get back to work and get them back into the studio. Come up with a concept that’s young and in the vein of the first song. And keep it simple.” Deke understood perfectly what I wanted.

  Shelly Berger’s hands were full. In addition to managing the Temptations and Diana Ross and the Supremes, he was now managing the Jackson 5. Different venues were starting to show some interest in them and Shelly was getting offers in the range of $2,000 a night.

  “Beege,” he said one day in my office, “it looks like we’ve got a number one record. How many do you think you can get—back to back?”

  “With this group, about five,” I said.

  “Well, all I need is three. If you can assure me of that then I can work my plan.”

  “You got it,” I said with an attitude.

  Shelly sent telegrams to the major promoters and arenas saying, “The Jackson 5 are available for $25,000 a night.” The only responses he got were a few “Jackson whos” and laughter. As Shelly explained to their booking agents at William Morris, his plan was to take advantage of the fact that Motown could turn down offers that other managers, who lived on the commissions alone from their acts, could not.