“Sure,” she said. “That might be fun. There are no Supremes here, though,” she added.
“Exactly,” Berry said with a grin. He disappeared for a few minutes to confer with the band, and returned to the table with a broad smile.
A few minutes later, one of the musicians said, “We have a huge surprise here. Someone you all know and love—from the Supremes, ladies and gentlemen, Miss Diana Ross.” The small place erupted in applause, with perhaps 300 people craning their necks to get a good look at her as she breezed through the club and onto the stage. As she approached the stage, she heard it—the first few notes of a particular song—one that had led to such controversy between her and Berry. She stood at the microphone and smiled knowingly toward the back of the darkened club, sure he was smiling back. “This little number is dedicated to that man sitting right back there,” she said, not mentioning his name. Then, she began to sing, “You’re nobody till somebody loves you …”
She turned to the conductor and with a small wave of her hand got him to slow the tempo, making the rendition far more bluesy and soulful than the original arrangement. She couldn’t help but have some major impact on the performance. Even if it was his choice to hear her sing, she would sing it her way.
And sing it her way she did. She put her heart and soul into the performance; the place was mesmerized by her intensity, her sincerity. Berry would always be proud to present the magic of Diana Ross, but that magic was hers exclusively. Whatever genius management Berry was known for would always be overshadowed by the truth: Diana possessed a mystical power when she performed. He had not unearthed a piece of coal and created a diamond; she was a gem in her own right, with or without him. The song ended with a crystal-clear note that she held just long enough to be heard alone, after the band had finished playing. The room fell quiet for a moment, and there was utter silence. Then the audience erupted into applause and shouts of “More.” She looked to the back of the room, and extended both arms toward Berry, her palms outstretched as if she was saying, “I’m all yours.”
Diana stepped off the stage and was greeted by the many patrons, now entranced by her. She was making her way through the crowd of new fans when a hand reached through the throng and firmly grabbed her wrist. “Let’s go,” insisted Berry, who led her outside to a waiting limousine.
Back at the hotel, this night would play out very differently from the previous evening. Berry had orchestrated the day flawlessly. He had maintained his power and dignity and she performed on cue, with the grace and artistry of a master. They made love for the first time that night, and this time Berry would be able to satisfy Diana. “We fit perfectly,” he would later recall, “like a carefully choreographed dance. Ecstasy to the tenth power. And after that,” he concluded, “it would only get better.”
Finances
It seems hard to believe, but by mid-1965, even with all of the success the Supremes had enjoyed and all of the money they had generated in record sales, they were still living in the Brewster Projects in Detroit, Michigan. They’d been so busy, there’d been no time to move out of the projects! Finally, Berry Gordy found homes for each of them on Buena Vista in Detroit; Mary and Florence were on the same side of the road (4099 and 3767 Buena Vista, respectively) and Diana across the street (at 3762). Each home cost $30,000. Though the area was far from palatial, it was well kept, clean and respectable. At first, Berry wanted the girls to pay cash for the properties, but his advisers told him that they should secure as large a mortgage as possible for the houses since they might not be content living in this middle-class, racially mixed neighborhood for long as their celebrity stature grew. They would probably be moving up and out soon, so why invest more capital into the homes than necessary?
Ralph Seltzer remembered that he took each young lady to the bank individually to cosign the mortgage papers—Motown would be paying their mortgages out of their individual Motown accounts. Mary and Florence signed quickly, no problems. However, when he brought Diana into the bank, it was a different story. The bank’s employees and customers were so excited to see the twenty-one-year-old star, they kept interrupting the meeting by asking for photographs and autographs. Ralph pulled the loan officer aside. “Listen,” he said, “Diane really wants to close this deal and she wants to understand what’s being done and concentrate on it. However, she can’t do that under these circumstances.”
Then, Diana had an idea. “Look, just let me buy this goddamn house,” she told the loan officer, “and after I close the deal I promise that I will take a half-hour to chat with everyone and sign autographs.” The loan officer agreed and insisted that everyone retreat and leave the bank’s famous customer to her business. The meeting was thorough; Diana was meticulous in her questioning.
“She proved to me that she was no dummy,” recalled Ralph Seltzer. “She wanted to know about mortgage insurance policies, interest rates, fixed mortgages, everything. It took an hour to close the deal. Later she told Berry that she thought the meeting was just fantastic. After it was over, she spent equal time signing autographs for the employees and customers, as she had promised.”
While Florence purchased one home, Mary bought two on the street, one for herself and the other for her mother and family. In the end, Diana didn’t spend much time in hers; mostly she was with Berry in his home. Ernestine Ross lived in the house with some of her other children, while Fred stayed elsewhere back in the projects. “The upstairs was for me, but I traveled so much I didn’t really use it,” Diana recalled of her first home. “When my brothers, who had been away at college, came home for vacation, I gave it to them for a bachelor apartment. They were going through a longhair, slightly rebellious stage—nothing serious, but it made my mother unhappy, and it was better if the boys had their own place.”
By this time, Berry was controlling just about every aspect of the Supremes’ finances; none of the girls ever even saw a tax return. When they needed something, Berry would buy it for them. On holidays and birthdays, he purchased minks, chinchillas and sables for them as gifts. Sometimes he charged these presents against their royalty accounts, sometimes he didn’t. In one of her many future lawsuits against Berry and Motown (this one filed in Los Angeles in September 1977) Mary Wilson alleged that in 1965 the Supremes were on a salary of “two to three hundred dollars a week.” She maintained that, at this time, they were not permitted to purchase personal property, including automobiles, without Berry’s consent. She charged that his signature was needed before any withdrawals could be authorized from the girls’ personal savings accounts, and that this was still necessary as late as 1974!*
Back in 1965, Berry told the Supremes that he had invested heavily for them in TWA and railroad stock. Though Mary and Florence would complain over the years of not having any money left from these early days, the Supremes were anything but frugal with their earnings. For instance Mary says that she paid $20,000 for a 4.5-carat heart-shaped diamond ring. Even if she was exaggerating for the sake of publicity and doubled the amount she really paid for the ring, it was still probably not a sensible thing to do considering the money she was earning. To put that purchase into context, remember that the Supremes were making only about $2,500 a week—a lot of money in those days—in the biggest clubs they played, and not only did that have to be split three ways (and put into an account for them, from which they would be paid an allowance), it also had to cover all of Motown’s expenses—over which the girls had no control. Along the way, Diana, Mary and Florence picked up furs, pieces of art and expensive furnishings. They would fly off to New York just to shop; a chauffeured limousine would take them from one expensive Park Avenue store to the next. Obviously, it was a wonderful way of life, but it never occurred to any of them to save their money.
As predicted, Diana wouldn’t be happy for long in her new neighborhood. After a particularly good performance at the Michigan State Fair, she and Berry offered a limousine ride home to Ralph Seltzer, who was, incidentally, white. Knowing Diana
was in the automobile, fans swarmed all over the car, pounding on the windows and peering in to see her. When they were finally able to pull out of the crowded fairground, the chauffeur drove his passengers through inner-city Detroit before finally arriving at the exclusive, white, upper-class suburb in which the attorney resided. Diana may have been the toast of the inner city, but what would it take before she would be allowed to reside in this neighborhood? With wide-eyed wonder she surveyed the surroundings, all the while commenting on its opulence. Turning to Ralph, she finally asked, “Gee, do you think one day they’ll allow Negroes to live in this kind of area? I mean, I would love to live in this kind of place one day.”
“You will,” Ralph told her. “Just wait.”
“Oh, yeah,” Berry agreed. “No doubt about it.”
As she looked out from the limousine, her nose practically pressed up against its window, the two men smiled and nodded at one another, knowingly.
“Class will turn the heads of kings and queens”
Although the Beatles-led British invasion dominated the American music scene, parents of middle-class American youth did not share their children’s enthusiasm for the new sound. Many felt threatened by what it represented, especially when the more defiant, sloppier-looking groups like the Rolling Stones and the Animals started invading American shores. The Supremes remained a pleasant alternative and were one of the three American groups able to thwart the British invasion (the others being the Four Seasons and the Beach Boys).
Berry Gordy Jr. was determined that the Supremes’ popularity continue, but not just with the youth generation. Looking to the girls’ futures, he had the foresight to assemble a catalog of albums that would appeal to adults. He hoped to encourage record sales from another generation. Therefore, the group would record a number of special project albums: the previously mentioned country collection, Sing Country, Western and Pop; an album of their renditions of certain British hits, A Bit of Liverpool; a compilation of songs popularized by recently deceased R&B crooner Sam Cooke, We Remember Sam Cooke; a holiday album, Merry Christmas; and a collection of standards, There’s a Place for Us, which went unreleased … for thirty-nine years! No hit singles were ever culled from these albums; that was really not their purpose. Rather, they were part of Berry’s master plan to see the Supremes perceived as more than just another rock and roll group, to guarantee that they would cross racial, cultural and age barriers.
At this same time, the spring of 1965, Berry had just finished negotiating with the owners of New York’s popular Copacabana nightclub to have the Supremes headline there. The Copa, as it was called, was a haven for popular white vocalists like Frank Sinatra, Bobby Darin, Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gormé, and a small, elite group of blacks—Sammy Davis Jr., Billy Eckstine and Sam Cooke among them. Since some teenage white stars, such as Bobby Rydell and Paul Anka, had also been successful there, it wasn’t a complete stretch for Berry to try his luck with the Supremes in this venue. If his plan was successful, many of the other Motown artists would then have similar opportunities for success in places like the Copa … or, at least that was the plan.
The Copa had been in business for twenty-five years, since November 1940. Its owner, Jules Podell, was known to be involved with mobsters; the place was totally wrapped up in the underworld and everyone knew it. Berry had always been careful not to become too indebted to that particular element. He didn’t want any trouble. All he wanted was for his acts to play the Copa, not for the mob to end up owning him as a result. “There’s more to this ball game than black clubs and the chitlin circuits,” he told Mickey Stevenson of Motown’s artists and repertoire (A&R) department, “and Diana Ross is going to take us there.” So, in April 1965, the important booking at the Copacabana was secured: the Supremes would headline in August. But first there was work to do.
The Supremes already had a kind of sophistication seldom found in rhythm and blues or rock and roll acts in the 1960s. In fact, they had an innate sense of style and panache that also eluded many of the other female artists at Motown, who were earthy and soulful rather than sophisticated and worldly. They had actually come to Motown with a certain sense of themselves. “I can’t give him [Berry] any credit for the sophisticated elegance that we embodied,” Diana would later say.
That’s who we already were. Berry Gordy did not have to “create” young ladies from ghetto teens, like some inner-city Eliza Doolittles. We were already ladies who had been brought up right. These qualities were already ours, instilled in us by our upbringing and our families. It was what he already saw in us that Berry helped us develop, these natural qualities that he began to nurture and pull together.
What Diana is referring to is Berry’s decision to enroll the girls in something he called “artist development” classes. Berry had decided that a little extra polishing couldn’t hurt the girls. Therefore, in March 1965, he recruited a staff of professionals whose job it would be to train the Supremes in the art of showmanship. He even purchased the building next to Hitsville specifically to utilize as a studio in which to hold these sessions. If these classes were successful for the Supremes, he decided, then all the other Motown stars would be automatically enrolled.
Diana was thrilled with Berry’s idea and couldn’t wait to begin her work. She remembered how helpful her Hudson modeling classes and the cosmetology classes Smokey Robinson had paid for her to take had been, and was eager for more advanced training.
One of the first to be recruited was trumpeter and arranger Gil Askey, who had come to Motown to do some work on Billy Eckstine’s show. He was now given the important job of designing the nightclub act for the Copacabana. He remembered the novel way he presented his concept to Berry. “I decided to act it out,” says Askey.
As Berry watched, Gil went into his routine: “First the three of them come out singing Cole Porter’s ‘From This Moment On.’ He sang a chorus, and danced around the room.
“Then they’ll do ‘I Am Woman’ from Funny Girl.” He sang four bars.
“And after that, I’ll write a bit that will introduce a couple of their hit records. We’ll rearrange them to sound like show tunes. Then, something like ‘Make Someone Happy’ from [the Broadway show] Do, Re, Mi would be great.”
Berry smiled broadly, nodding his head and encouraging Gil to continue.
“See, we gotta keep the action moving—not a moment for these white folks to get bored. They’ll sing ‘Somewhere’ from West Side Story.” He sang the chorus. “And maybe we’ll throw in another. Then, [Antonio Carlos] Jobim’s ‘The Girl from Ipanema,’ and then …”
“Enough. Enough,” Berry exclaimed, with a laugh. “Jesus Christ, Gil! I’m sold.”
Brought aboard to coach the girls for this new show was Cholly Atkins, who would be responsible for their stylized choreography. Atkins had worked with stars such as Ethel Waters and Lena Horne over the years. Along with tap-dance partner Honi Coles, he had been part of a top Broadway song-and-dance act, Coles and Atkins. He and Coles had actually played the Copa, so he knew the venue. Atkins was in Bermuda, working with Gladys Knight and the Pips, when he got the call to come to Detroit. “It’s important to remember that these kids were from ghetto-like environments and had never even imagined anything like tap-dancing with hats and canes,” he recalled.
With Diane, I had a lot of cramming to do because Berry wanted her to be ready [for the Copa] and he wanted no excuses.
There was plenty of dancing, but plenty of complaining too, mostly from Florence. She hated the choreography and felt it was unnatural. There was also an order—and it came from Berry—to keep Diane off to the right side as much as possible, separated from the other two. I didn’t ask questions about it. I just did what I was told. To me, it was obvious what he was planning—which was to single her out as the star.
Also involved in this strategy was Maurice King, who had conducted shows at the Flame Show Bar for years. He was recruited to help Gil Askey rearrange the Supremes’ hit records into big-ba
nd, Broadway-style compositions. He also worked with Diana on “stage patter,” which had to do with her monologues to the audience before and after the songs. “Diane and I spent hours practicing her elocution on little speeches,” he said. “I worked with her on how to appear to be improvising when actually every single word was scripted. She wasn’t very articulate, actually, so she had to do a lot of memorizing.”
Also important to the program was Maxine Powell, a professional model who, since 1951, had operated the Maxine Powell Finishing and Modeling School in Detroit. Berry’s sister Gwen had attended the school, making Maxine a friend of the family. A distinguished black woman who always presented herself in a formal way, she began practically every sentence by saying something like, “To be a proper young lady, one must always …” She would be largely responsible for much of the Supremes’ offstage poise and onstage presence. Constantly, she reminded them that they were being trained to play “everywhere from Buckingham Palace to the White House.” She recalls, “I explained to them that the first thing we were going to work on was class. Class will turn the heads of kings and queens.” (“In our minds, we thought, oh, this woman is crazy,” Mary Wilson laughs.)
“They were a little snooty-acting,” says Maxine. “Especially Diana. They were taught how to handle an audience, and Diane, specifically, was taught not to soul, as they used to call it. In other words, I taught her not to bend in all directions and act as if she was going to swallow the microphone while making ugly faces. I told her that in a first-class place like the Copa, no one’s going to pay good money to watch someone do that. I also wanted her to get rid of her eye-popping routine, and she did.”
Diana Ross: A Biography Page 15