All the strife was harder on John than on me. I at least had friends from church and the choir or my sisters that I could talk to, but John had few if any real friends. He had been Mr. Mom in our house for so many years that he was closer to our kids than to anyone else. But now Gary was in his senior year at DePaul in Chicago, and Michael had left for Hutchinson Community College in Kansas. Nippy was still living at home, but she was busy with school, modeling, and singing. So John didn’t really have anyone to talk to.
I’d always been proud that we were raising our kids in a loving, Christian home, but now that stability was gone. John and I fought like crazy, and Nippy, as the only child left at home, was really suffering for it. She had grown up in a house filled with laughter, so all this fighting and arguing was something new. She absolutely hated to see us going at each other—it really affected her, and some of her behavior started to change.
Even though Nippy was singing with stars like Aretha, Luther, and her cousin Dionne, and her picture was on the covers of fashion magazines, she started trying to convince people she was just an ordinary girl from the neighborhood. Trying to be like the other girls in East Orange, she started bragging about being from the projects, or “the bricks”—a habit that drove me crazy, especially since John and I had fought so hard to give our kids a solid middle-class upbringing.
Now, there’s nothing wrong with being from the “bricks.” A lot of wonderful people, including lawyers and doctors and everything else, come out of the projects. But I just didn’t like that Nippy was lying about where she’d come from. I guess she got it from the summer John and I had spent with Elvis in Vegas—we had left her and Michael with our dear friend Phyllis who lived in Baxter Terrace, one of Newark’s rougher neighborhoods. The kids were there for five weeks, so I guess in Nippy’s mind that gave her some street cred, or something.
But oh, it made me mad to hear her say that. “What bricks?” I’d snap. “You ain’t never lived in no damn projects! You ain’t from no bricks. You’re gonna get a brick upside your head.”
I guess she was doing it to try to fit in, to find some kind of comfort outside a home that was now full of strife. Nippy started having a really hard time—her grades dropped, and she starting pulling away from John and me. She loved us, but she didn’t want to be at home anymore because she couldn’t take the fighting. Later on, she told an interviewer that she started “partying” during this time. I had no idea about Nippy’s “partying” or anything else. But sometime during all of this, all three of my children fell prey to the lure of drugs and alcohol.
Gary was an all-American basketball player at DePaul, but he’d started to hang out with the wrong people and do a whole lot of crap he shouldn’t have been doing. I even had to go check up on him in Chicago—Nippy was the one who told me he needed me up there. Gary really struggled with drugs, and ultimately they cut short a promising athletic career. He was drafted by the Denver Nuggets, but he played only one season in the NBA before drugs started affecting his performance. Gary could have been a big-time star, but instead he got cut—and later, he would end up in rehab. I know, because I’m the one who put him there.
I learned later that Michael had started doing drugs, too. Even though he wasn’t living at home anymore, I believe he might have been the hardest hit by the problems John and I were having, as he was always the family’s biggest cheerleader. Michael always loved those early days on Dodd Street, when John would grill burgers in the backyard and he and Nippy would spend happy days splashing in the pool with their friends. Nearly everything Michael did—from trying to run with his older brother to looking out for Nippy—was centered on family. He loved both John and me, and when he saw us fighting, there was just no way that he could take sides. He felt stuck in the middle, and torn.
Even now, looking back on this time with everything I’ve learned about Nippy, her struggles with drugs, and the signs of those struggles, I still have no idea if she started using drugs back then or not. And the truth is, back then I didn’t really want to know about it. I grew up in a time when young people would drink liquor if they wanted to get high—I don’t think I ever knew anyone who did drugs when I was growing up. It was just something completely foreign to me, and I couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to do it, as it just seemed to mess people up so much, to destroy their health and ruin their looks. I was too vain to want to do that, and I never could figure what people thought was so great about them.
John would sometimes say to me, “You need to learn more about this.” So I tried to pay attention, to look for clues in our kids. I thought I was being a good parent, but I just didn’t know the signs, what to look for. Instead, I just kept up my involvement in the church, prayed a lot, and tried to do the right thing. That turned out not to be enough, as all three of my children struggled with this demon that I just didn’t understand.
It was around this time that Nippy met Robyn Crawford. I had told Nippy that she needed to get something to do—some kind of work in addition to modeling. So she got a job at a playground near our house, and she met Robyn the very first day.
I had a bad feeling about that child from the first time I saw her. There was something about the way she carried herself, a kind of arrogance, that I didn’t like. Though she was a pretty girl, in my opinion Robyn wasn’t as bright as Nippy. She also seemed abrasive and unapologetic about that. While Nippy would usually bend over backward to get along with people—sometimes to a fault—Robyn had a strong, assertive personality and said exactly what she thought. As I would later learn, she was also gay, although that had nothing to do with why I didn’t like her. I had my issues with her from the start, as I felt like Robyn could influence Nippy, and being the mother that I am, I didn’t want her to lead my daughter to places that I didn’t think were good for her.
I knew I didn’t want Robyn around my daughter, and I told Nippy that. There wasn’t much I could do, though. Nippy liked Robyn, and she was past the age when I could forbid her from seeing someone. Kids have a mind of their own—when they get older, they want to experiment with all kinds of things. I know there has been a lot of speculation over the years about the friendship between Nippy and Robyn and whether it was more than that. I don’t honestly know what exactly went on between them, back when they first met or later on. Nippy never shared details of her personal life with me about things like that, but I do know that Nippy and Robyn cared a lot about each other. If I had to guess, I’d say that Nippy was drawn to Robyn’s independence, her lack of concern about what other people thought. Nippy was fearless in a lot of ways, but she never stopped worrying about what people thought of her. I think she admired Robyn’s ability to do whatever she wanted without worrying about anybody else’s opinion.
Robyn also happened to come into the picture when Nippy was feeling particularly vulnerable. She still didn’t have a lot of close friends at school, and the situation between John and me had made our home an uncomfortable place. Robyn stepped in like she was going to protect Nippy, and I suppose Nippy found that comforting.
Whatever the reason, Robyn and Nippy became very close, very quickly, and it was the beginning of a lifelong friendship. I didn’t like what I saw happening, but at that point I had so much on my mind that I couldn’t focus on Nippy and Robyn. The situation between John and me just kept getting worse, and our marriage really seemed to be coming apart.
Our family and friends tried to help us get past our differences, but nothing helped. John and I had spent so much time focused on my work, and on our children and their problems, that we’d forgotten how to deal with our own problems. We still loved each other—as we always would—but a lot of things had happened to John, and I just didn’t know how to get past his anger in a way that would bring us back together again. So we finally decided it might be best to separate, step back for a while, in hopes that we could come back together later.
Before that happened, though, John
and I had one furious argument that would end up having terrible consequences. He and I were yelling at each other, just going around and around in one of those arguments that seem to have no end. Back and forth and back and forth—we were just spitting angry words at each other, and then John shouted, “I’m just gonna walk out that door, Cissy! I am walking out that door!” But he kept on standing there as we went at it some more, and then once again, he yelled, “Cissy, I’m gonna walk right out that door!”
And then Nippy, who was watching this whole thing, startled us both by screaming, “Daddy, if you’re gonna leave, then just do it!” John and I both turned to stare at her, stunned. My beautiful baby just stood there, crying. And she said again, “Just stop arguing, and leave!”
John loved Nippy more than just about anything, and I can only imagine what that felt like for him. She didn’t want him to leave, of course, but that child just could not stand confrontation—she didn’t want to be in it, and she didn’t want to witness it. Seeing people scream, fuss, and fight, especially her mom and dad, was too much for her, so she yelled at John just to make it stop.
I don’t think he had really intended to go. He was just worked up in the heat of argument, trying to find some way to push my buttons. But when Nippy said that to him, John just said, “All right.” And soon after that, he moved out. He was furious—with both her and me—and I’m not sure he ever got over it. Later on, I believe he sometimes used it as an excuse when he treated Nippy badly. She was his adoring daughter, his princess, and in his mind, she had turned on him.
John moved to an apartment in Newark, and I stayed at Dodd Street with Nippy. I hated being separated from him, but in some ways our relationship didn’t change all that much. He still drove me in and out of New York, to my regular gigs at Sweetwaters and Mikell’s, and in fact, we were together so often that many of our friends didn’t even know we’d separated. I never talked with the kids about any of it—“What happens between me and your father is our business,” I would tell them.
Much later on, when Nippy was married with her own problems, she’d do the same with me, always avoiding discussions about what was going on between her and her husband. We just weren’t inclined to get in each other’s business that way—for better or for worse.
Photo Section 1
The Sweet Inspirations on our first trip to Europe in 1969. Left to right: me, Estelle Brown, Sylvia Shemwell, and Myrna Smith.
John Houston (left) in his army uniform during World War II. He could charm anybody, and you can see why in that smile.
Right after Nippy was born, the nurses took her all around the hospital to show her off. It was as if she belonged to the public from the start.
Even as a little girl, Nippy loved to perform. This shot of her and me dancing was taken in the late 1960s.
Nippy all dressed up, and smiling big, for her high school prom.
John and I had our differences at times, but we were always united in our love for Nippy.
Before she went solo, Nippy (seated, at right) sang backup for me in some of my club shows in New York City. I always performed with a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from my face, and early on Nippy started doing the same.
My son Michael used to joke about Nippy’s performances, telling me she should be in jail for stealing all my vocal techniques. But Nippy had a style and a talent all her own.
Nippy wasn’t the only child in our family who sang backup for me—my older son Gary often sang with us, too.
Nippy singing with me at Sweetwaters, the spot we eventually chose for the showcase that led Clive Davis to sign her.
Although Nippy had sung backup for a while, she was nervous about
going onstage alone. One night I finally decided that the only way to get her up there was to fake being sick. I convinced Nippy to perform in my place, and she never looked back.
Nippy and me across the street from New Hope Baptist Church in Newark, my spiritual home and the place where we would one day hold her funeral.
Nippy and me with Merv Griffin during the taping of her first television performance, on The Merv Griffin Show in 1983. She was just nineteen.
Nippy signed with Clive Davis because we all trusted him, and from the beginning he rewarded our faith. Clive really is, and always has been, the “Music Man.” Left to right: Merv Griffin, Clive Davis, and Nippy.
Nippy surrounded by Omega Psi Phi alumni brothers, all volunteering at a Christmas party for homeless children sponsored by the Whitney Houston Foundation for Children.
Whenever Nippy was on the road touring, I always tried to come meet her. Word would get out that “Big Cuda”—as in “barracuda”—was coming.
Gary, Nippy, and me at our house on Dodd Street in East Orange. When the kids were younger, we loved to have people over for barbecues and swimming.
After Nippy became a star, she joined me in the U.S. Virgin Islands for a concert. She came to sing backup, but I asked her to take the lead on “Lead Me, Guide Me”—and she brought the place down.
I was as proud as a mother could be when my baby girl became a star.
And I was even more proud that Nippy gave her all onstage, for her fans, night after night. No matter how she was feeling.
Before her debut album hit it big, Nippy opened for Jeffrey Osborne, pictured here with his daughter, on his tour in 1985.
There were times when I couldn’t believe that the beautiful girl who sang so well was really my daughter.
When I met Winnie Mandela in 1988, I felt like I was meeting a kindred spirit. I could tell right away that she was a woman who wouldn’t take mess from anyone.
Nippy with the royal family of Swaziland, following her concerts in South Africa in 1994.
Talking Nippy through the pain as she gives birth to Bobbi Kristina in 1993.
From the start, having Krissi changed Nippy. It was clear that caring for a child was something she was meant to do.
After Krissi was born, Nippy always joked, “Nobody ever comes to see me anymore! It’s always, ‘Where’s Krissi? Is Krissi up?’”
Nippy, her nephew Gary, me, and Krissi on a family vacation.
Nippy thought about walking away from the music business after Krissi was born. A part of her just wanted to have a normal family life, but that never seemed to be possible.
(Photo courtesy of Laurie Badami)
I’m trying to get Krissi to look at the camera, but she’s as stubborn as the rest of us.
Nippy always loved kids. Here she is with some of my grandchildren. Left to right: Krissi, Michael’s daughter Blaire, Gary’s son Jonathan, Nippy, Michael’s son “Little Gary,” and Gary’s daughter Aja.
With Gary and Pat’s daughter, Raya Houston.
Part Two
CHAPTER 8
Enter Clive Davis
Not long after John moved out of our house on Dodd Street, Nippy also decided to move out. I was just heartsick—my husband was gone, and now the last of my children, my beloved baby girl, was leaving, too. I tried to talk her out of it—tried to make her feel bad, even. She’d been hinting at it for a bit, but I didn’t really believe it until I heard her say the words. We argued about it, and I had some harsh words for her, but she was stubborn. Nippy had graduated from high school in 1981, the same year she appeared on the cover of Seventeen, and she wanted to be all grown up. Moving out was a way she felt she could do that. It didn’t help that, with both John and her brothers gone, home didn’t feel like home for her any longer.
What made Nippy’s move particularly hard for me was her decision to room with Robyn Crawford in an apartment in Woodbridge, New Jersey. She knew how I felt about Robyn, but she was determined to live with her anyway. It wasn’t that there was serious tension between Robyn and me—we just didn’t see eye to eye. Still, we tried to be respectful of each other and of our places in Nippy’s life, and we figured out how to
give each other the necessary space. We had our love for Nippy in common, and though we rarely agreed, we were at least able to keep things from being too uncomfortable when we were all together.
Nippy and I did talk on the phone occasionally, and we’d see each other either in Newark or at gigs in Manhattan, but I never once visited Nippy in Woodbridge, even though I missed her terribly. She kept me at arm’s length with regard to her personal life, and I could feel her pulling away, trying to establish her own space.
Years later, she told me how much she missed me during that time. “I used to pick up the phone, dial your number, and then hang up,” she told me. I loved her and she loved me, but we didn’t know how to reach across the divide that sometimes develops when children grow up, feel the need to be independent, disagree with their parents, and want to do what they want to do. It was a divide that had only been increased by John’s and my separation.
While we started to spend less time together, the one thing that didn’t stop was Nippy and her music, which was good because all of Nippy’s learning, rehearsing, and performing was about to pay off. Despite being separated, John and I continued to work together on Nippy’s career, and we hired a management agency, Tara Productions, to guide her as she prepared to step out on her own. She was still working with me at gigs in Manhattan clubs, singing backup and occasionally stepping up to do a solo number herself. For a while, I thought she should go to college, but her talent was not to be denied—Nippy was ready to sing, ready to start a music career. Now we just had to decide how to take that next step.
Remembering Whitney: My Story of Love, Loss, and the Night the Music Stopped Page 9