yourself, but the fans do. At least, I know I did. I mean, I walked around saying, "His hand is so soft ." When I think about it now, it sounds silly, but it made a big impression on me. I had shaken Smokey Robinson's hand. There are so
many artists and musicians and writers I admire. When I was young, the people I watched were the real showmen -
James Brown, Sammy Davis, Jr., Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly. A great showman touches everybody; that's the real test
of greatness and these men have it. Like Michelangelo's work, it touches you, I don't care who you are. I am always
excited when I get a chance to meet someone whose work has affected me in some way. Maybe I've read a book that
has touched me deeply or made me think about things that I haven't focused on before. A certain song or style of
singing can excite me or move me and become a favorite that I'll never tire of hearing. A picture or a painting can
reveal a universe. In the same vein, an actor's performance or a collective performance can transform me.
In those days Motown had never recorded a kids' group. In fact the only child singer they had ever produced was
Stevie Wonder. So Motown was determined that if they were going to promote kids, they'd promote the kind of kids
who were good at more than just singing and dancing. They wanted people to like us because of who we were, not
just because of our records. They wanted us to set an example by sticking to our schoolwork and being friendly to
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our fans, reporters, and everyone who came in contact with us. This wasn't hard for us because our mother had raised
us to be polite and considerate. It was second nature. Our only problem with schoolwork was that once we became
well known, we couldn't go to school because people would come into our classrooms through the windows, looking
for an autograph or a picture. I was trying to keep up with my classes and not to be the cause of disruptions, but it
finally became impossible and we were given tutors to teach us at home.
During this period a lady named Suzanne de Passe was having a great effect on our lives. She worked for Motown,
and it was she who trained us religiously once we moved to L.A. She also became a manager for the Jackson 5. We
lived with her occasionally, ate with her, and even played with her. We were a rowdy, high-spirited bunch, and she
was young herself and full of fun. She really contributed a lot toward the shaping of the Jackson 5, and I'll never be
able to thank her enough for all she did.
I remember Suzanne showing us these charcoal sketches of the five of us. In each sketch we had a different hairstyle.
In another set of color drawings we were all pictured in different clothes that could be switched around like Colorforms. After we all decided on the hairstyles, they took us to a barber so he could make us match up with our
pictures. Then, after she showed us the clothes, we went down to a wardrobe department where they gave us outfits
to try on. They'd see us in one set of clothes, decide the clothes weren't right, and we'd all go back to the Colorforms
to "try on" some more.
We had classes in manners and grammar. They gave us a list of questions, and they said they were the kinds of
questions that we could expect people to ask us. We were always being asked about our interests and our hometown
and how we liked singing together. Fans and reporters alike wanted to know how old we each were when we started
performing. It was hard to have your life turn into public property, even if you appreciated that people were interested in you because of your music.
The Motown people tested us on the answers to questions we hadn't heard from anyone yet. They tested us on
grammar. And table manners. When we were ready, they brought us in for the last alterations on our sleeves and the
trimming of our new Afros.
After all that there was a new song to learn called "I Want You Back." The song had a story behind it that we found out about little by little. It was written by someone from Chicago named Freddie Perren. He had been Jerry Butler's
pianist when we opened for Jerry in a Chicago nightclub. He had felt sorry for these little kids the club owner had
hired, figuring the club couldn't afford to get anyone else. His opinion changed dramatically when he saw us
perform.
As it turned out, "I Want You Back" was originally called "I Want To Be Free" and was written for Gladys Knight.
Freddie had even thought that Berry might go over Gladys's head and give the song to the Supremes. Instead, he
mentioned to Jerry that he'd just signed this group of kids from Gary, Indiana. Freddie put two and two together,
realized it was us, and decided to trust fate.
When we were learning the Steeltown songs back in Gary, Tito and Jermaine had to pay special attention because
they were responsible for playing on those records. When they heard the demo for "I Want You Back," they listened to the guitar and bass parts, but Dad explained that Motown didn't expect them to play on our records; the rhythm
track would be taken care of before we put our vocals down. But he reminded them that this would put more pressure
on them to keep up their practice independently, because we'd have to duplicate those songs in front of our fans. In
the meantime, all of us had lyrics and cues to learn.
The guys looking after us in the singing department were Freddie Perren and Bobby Taylor and Deke Richards, who,
along with Hal Davis and another Motown guy named "Fonce" Mizell, were part of the team that wrote and
produced our first singles. Together these guys were called "The Corporation." We went over to Richard's apartment to rehearse, and he was impressed that we had prepared so well. He didn't have to do much tinkering with the vocal
arrangement he'd worked out, and he thought that while we were still hot, we should go right to the studio and cut
our parts. The following afternoon we went to the studio. We were all so happy with what we got that we took our
rough mix over to Berry Gordy. It was still midafternoon when we arrived at his studio. We figured that once Berry
heard it, we'd be home in time for supper.
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But it was one in the morning when I finally slumped in the back seat of Richard's car, bobbing and steadying my
head all the way home to fight off sleep. Gordy hadn't liked the song we did. We went over every part again, and
when we did, Gordy figured out what changes he had to make in the arrangement. He was trying new things with us,
like a school chorus master who has everyone singing their part as if they're singing alone, even if you can't hear him
or her distinctly for the crowd. After he was through rehearsing us as a group, and he had reworked the music, he
took me aside, one on one, to explain my part. He told me exactly what he wanted and how he wanted me to help
him get it. Then he explained everything to Freddie Perren, who was going to record it. Berry was brilliant in this
area. Right after the single was released, we went in to cut an album. We were particularly impressed with the "I
Want You Back" session then because that one song took more time (and tape) than all the other songs on the record
combined. That's the way Motown did things in those days because Berry insisted on perfection and attention to
detail. I'll never forget his persistence. This was his genius. Then and later, I observed every moment of the sessions
where Berry was present and never forgot what I learned. To this day I use the same principles. Berry was my
teacher and a great one. He could identify the little elements that would make a song great rather than just good. It
was like magic, as if Berry was sprinkling pixie dust over everything.
For me and my brothers, recording for Motown was an exciting experience. Our team of writers shaped our music by