The Supremes: A Saga of Motown Dreams, Success, and Betrayal (9 page)

“Even back then,” says Williams, “running with Melvin and Rich -

ard, I’d hear about Diane Ross. It was Diane Ross this, Diane Ross that.

I’d think, Jesus, this girl must be something special.” Milt Jenkins, of course, lived by that grapevine. Thus, when he began his search for a girl singing group, the vine also led to Ross’s apartment in the projects, where he worked his rap for Ernestine. Fortunately, Fred Ross wasn’t home at the time, leaving Ernestine to hear him out. Surprisingly, she was impressed by his snazzy clothes and refined manners, as well as his notion, logically rooted, that by rehearsing and participating in a positive group endeavor, Diane would actually be safer with him than on the streets. Clean-cut Paul Williams clinched the deal by promising Ernestine that her daughter would be back home “before the street lights went on.” She and Diane signed Milton’s personal-services contract—and when Fred found out, he was perturbed, fearing aloud that this wistful musical excursion would derail Diane’s education. In the end, though, he bowed to Ernestine’s 0306815867_ribowsky:6.125 x 9.25 4/22/09 11:05 AM Page 32

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wishes—surely a red-letter day for Diane Ross, who for once had reason to think her father believed in her.

Up in Milton’s room, the three girls sang together for the first time, with historical trivia-question-to-be Betty McGlown, who, poised and confident, seemed almost a grand dame, though she did not have much of a voice. Told to “sing anything,” the foursome stood looking at one another before Flo took the lead and broke into the Ray Charles song

“Night Time Is the Right Time,” whereupon the others awkwardly followed. Ballard, by dint of having the loudest—and highest-pitched, thus

“girliest”—voice, seemed to have established herself right away, by default, as the group leader and lead vocalist—not that the other girls had any objection, agreeing that she was the best singer. Ballard took to the role easily; anytime Milton asked the still somewhat overwhelmed Wilson a question, Flo would intercede and answer for her, to Mary’s relief.

The Primes suggested they do Hank Ballard’s “The Twist,” and again Flo took the lead without dissent, with Paul Williams tutoring them on a few rudimentary steps. Then they did the Drifters’ “There Goes My Baby,” with Ross on lead at Milt’s request. Rough-hewn and squeaky though they were, with Jenkins telling Ross not to sing so nasally, their voices and personalities meshed; they were engaging, even endearing.

Milton was pleased. Later that day he made tracks for Brewster-Douglass, a route he could traverse in his sleep by now, to obtain Johnnie Mae Wilson’s marker—literally, as she could not read or write. She reluctantly signed, as had Lurlee Ballard and Ernestine Ross, and now the deal was done.

And so one of the most gender-empowering girl-groups in history was triggered by a man who had women work on their backs so that he could make a living. Ross, Wilson, and Ballard, however, were too young to know something like this—if indeed they ever realized it—

and simply went along, operating on the idealized notion that Milt Jenkins was the “most interesting” man they had ever known.

As the three girls walked back together to the projects after singing together for the first time, they were giddy. Whatever Milt Jenkins was, they were sure he was going to make them stars. And get them out of the projects.

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The summer of ’59 was the sixth hottest on record in Detroit until then, the temperatures causing tar bubbles that burst on the newly constructed Chrysler Freeway. On John R Street, Milton Jenkins switched to short sleeves, allowing his mangled arm some air in its sling. Leaving his sweltering flat, he found a rehearsal hall on 12th Street for the Primes and the Primettes, who often practiced songs and steps in adjoining rooms at the same time. Late that summer, the El Domingoes, having hooked up with Jenkins, joined the cacophony.

“I look back at those days and I say,
damn
, how’s that for history?” remarked Otis Williams. “There in one room you had what was gonna be the Supremes and in another the Temptations. You’d take a break and go to the water fountain and you’d hear Diana Ross and Eddie Kendricks from opposite ends of the floor. It was like a duet, ’cause you’d hear their voices together, which wouldn’t happen on record for another ten years, when we and the Supremes did ‘I’m Gonna Make You Love Me.’ Too bad someone didn’t make some tapes from those rehearsals. Imagine what them suckers would be worth today.” True to their word, Jenkins or Paul Williams dutifully drove Ross, Wilson, and Ballard back home to the projects before sunset, sometimes as often as four days a week. Milton also had one of his girlfriends chaperone them to their early gigs at talent shows around town. She would also take the girls shopping, at Milton’s expense, leading them to believe they’d be outfitted in glittery gowns. Instead, because he wanted to keep them firmly in a teenage niche, they came out looking like a 33

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pep squad, in virginal white blouses—sometimes with a big “P” across each one’s chest—and pleated skirts; chic heels were eschewed for sneakers and bobby sox. This was an obvious influence of Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers, and while all the Primettes hated the look, Wilson, Ballard, and McGlown at least grinned and bore it in early promotion photographs. But Ross, who considered herself knowing in matters of fashion and style, is seen in those pictures looking genuinely pained.

Ross was still not sure enough of herself to do anything but defer to Ballard as the group’s leader. Flo did nothing to dispel the notion, though she had less interest in the fashion issues than in her booming lead vocals. Itching to get before audiences, she nudged Jenkins to book them all throughout the summer. “Mr. Milton,” she’d tell him, “we’re ready.” He agreed, and while it’s not known what their first gig was, Wilson thought it was in a union hall. Milton, though, didn’t settle for the talent show–lodge–church social circuit, intermingling those venues with bookings at the hard-core clubs, which took the Primettes despite the fact they were legally underage.

That was a common practice in those days; many teenage groups—

male and female—regularly appeared in the clubs, with a wink-and-nod by the cops and city politicians likely paid off to look the other way.

Sometimes they couldn’t. For example, although the Primettes played gigs at the Roostertail and the Twenty Grand Club without incident, another gig at the Gold Coast turned ugly when a brawl erupted in the audience, sending chairs and drinks flying. With the club’s liquor license at peril, the owner politely advised Jenkins it would be best if the Primettes didn’t return.

Such exposure to the grimier side of life made the girls feel older, wiser, worldly. Indeed, Wilson spoke of audience rumbles not as scary but as “added entertainment,” though Jenkins judiciously omitted reporting them to the girls’ parents in his review of each show. Still fairly saccharine in sound and style, the group was quickly maturing under these trials by fire. Interestingly, though Milton’s plan had been to pair the Primettes on stage with the Primes, it seems that never happened, as Jenkins found the girls more in demand than the guys.

In time, they’d forego the cheerleader garb for that of sophisticated ladies, their clothing chosen now by the precocious Ross. They’d be quite a sight, radical for an era when teen girl acts—and there weren’t many of them—could have gone from the stage to the prom. The Primettes’ sense of style—dictated by Ross as the imagined ingénue—

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had them covered in orange and yellow waist-cinching gowns flared at the knee and dyed-orange peau de soie pumps (actually cheap heels bought in the bargain basement of Hudson’s department store).

Also unusual was the fact that they had their own guitar player.

That came about when the group, hanging out at Jenkins’s hotel, saw a teenager milling about the crowd, a guitar case slung over his back. The kid, Marvin Tarplin, was understandably accommodating when the four pretty girls showered him with attention and asked if he’d be their ac-companist. Jenkins had no objections, as it would add another male presence who could travel with them, leaving him more time to travel with the Primes. And Tarplin not only juiced up the act with some cool acoustic riffs, he did the arranging and taught the girls the harmonies on new songs. No longer did they need to wait on the Primes to do that.

Jenkins’s most important contribution was to have Diane sing some of the leads, usually when a softer, more vulnerable vocal was called for.

On those, she’d pour it on thick, trying to be a torch singer like Billie Holiday—but often coming across more like Moms Mabley, her eyes bulging and her jaws grinding as she mugged for the crowd, sometimes causing people to snicker at her. Wilson describes the early Ross vocal intonation as “a whiny little sound”; sometimes, she and Flo would look at each other while Diane was singing and have to fight hard to keep from giggling themselves.

For Flo, there was nothing even faintly amusing about the decision to give any of her leads to Ross. Nor did she hide her contempt from Ross. Years later she recalled, unapologetically, that during the Primettes’

run she told Diane right out, “You ain’t a lead singer.” Ross might actually have agreed at the beginning, but she took Ballard’s disses personally, and as a challenge. Reflexively, she would spring back with, “Well, what makes you think
you
are? Just ’cause everybody says so?” Flo would laugh at the irrationality of that statement, but she ended those debates with a firm, and convincing, threat. “Stop messing with me,” she’d say, making the point by standing toe to toe with the shorter Diane and intimidating her.

Ross, typically, would back off, but she did not surrender. On the contrary, she wanted badly to spite Flo by going around her, always a safer and more effective way to get back at somebody. That meant sidling up to Jenkins to coquettishly thank him for believing in her. As with most men, teenage or older, he felt there was something about Ross that made her thoughts and opinions—especially those about herself—

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a lead, the competition may well have made her work harder and get better as well.

Says Otis Williams:

I remember watching them do Ray Charles’s “Night and Day.” Diane had the lead and she was okay. But when it came time for Flo to come in with the Margie Hendricks part—the
da-haaaaay—
she just made the place melt. People would stand up and get all crazy. They’d be shouting, “Sing that song, girl!” Flo could really upset the house, and she knew she could steal a song from Diane like that.

With Flo, singing was a righteous thing. It wasn’t that way for Diane. For her, it was more of a way of accomplishing things, to get attention. See, she knew what she had to do to sound commercial, whereas Flo would just sing and blow the doors off. That was why she never could accept Diane’s emer-gence. ’Cause she didn’t understand it. That it’s more than who can sing better.

Ross, of course, seeing her ambition fed even with a still shrill and adenoidal voice, understood perfectly. Clearly, she knew where she was going to.

That the Primettes considered money an afterthought was fortunate, since their income that summer was nil, Milton Jenkins having advised them that he’d had to requisition whatever was due them to cover unnamed expenses. More problematic for the group, in any case, were the exigencies of life, real life. In the fall, school interrupted the showbiz fantasia and all of their parents—having gnashed
their
teeth all summer about the late nights and their underage daughters spending time in nightclubs—were adamant that the singing was not going to interfere with school.

Ross, Wilson, and Ballard began high school that fall, choosing which one they wanted to attend. Making no compact to remain yoked for the sake of the group, they began in different schools, Wilson at Commerce, Ballard at Northeastern, Ross at Cass Technical. For Diane, this was a coup, aided by Fred Ross’s status as a Cass alumnae, and a proud one, as it was similar to a prep school. Wilson would describe Cass as “elite” and “a snob school,” and that given the choice to go 0306815867_ribowsky:6.125 x 9.25 4/22/09 11:05 AM Page 37

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there herself she had declined. Diane’s enrollment reinforced the notion around the projects that the Ross family looked down their noses at those not similarly disposed. But if Diane was up where she belonged, she was brought down when she petitioned for membership in a Cass sorority, only to be rejected because she was from the projects.

Ross did make an effort to keep the Primettes’ sorority going, mainly by dropping by Wilson’s apartment and acting out a sisterly ritual designing more outfits for the group, or just going to the movies.

Absent from these excursions was Florence, though Mary had grown very close to her and switched from Commerce to Northeastern that freshman term—in part, to be near Ballard. If Ross had in mind drawing closer with Wilson to exercise leverage over Ballard, Mary may have been hip to the game. In a sense, as would become even more apparent in the future, Mary was—perhaps subconsciously at first—positioning herself as the cipher, the neutral buffer between the polar ends of Ross and Ballard to keep them from splintering.

Part of that objective, as well, was the influence of Betty McGlown, who because she was 17 could pull rank, and when she did it was usually to defuse a rant from Ross before it got out of hand. When Betty got in her face, Ross fell silent, a relief to everybody. McGlown, though, wanted no real role in the group. She had none of the ambition of the three core Primettes and did little but waft along as a favor to Williams, craving no glory. Even though she was egged on by Jenkins and even by the girls to sing an occasional lead, she had no stomach for it. And now, entering her sophomore year of high school on the west side of town, she had almost no contact with the other three.