I also learned that there could be a slightly vicious side to the business of making a movie. Often when I was in front
of the camera, trying to do a serious scene, one of the other characters would start making faces at me, trying to crack
me up. I had always been drilled in serious professionalism and preparedness and therefore I thought it was a pretty
mean thing to do. This actor would know that I had important lines to say that day, yet he would make these really
crazy faces to distract me. I felt it was more than inconsiderate and unfair.
Much later Marlon Brando would tell me that people used to do that to him all the time.
The problems on the set were really few and far between and it was great working with Diana so closely. She's such a
beautiful, talented woman. Doing this movie together was very special for me. I love her very much. I have always
loved her very much.
The whole Wiz period was a time of stress and anxiety, even though I was enjoying myself. I remember July 4 of that
year very well, because I was on the beach at my brother Jermaine's house, about half a block away along the
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waterfront. I was messing around in the surf, and all of a sudden I couldn't breathe. No air. Nothing. I asked myself
what's wrong? I tried not to panic, but I ran back to the house to find Jermaine, who took me to the hospital. It was
wild. A blood vessel had burst in my lung. It has never reoccurred, although I used to feel little pinches and jerks in
there that were probably my imagination. I later learned that this condition was related to pleurisy. It was suggested
by my doctor that I try to take things a little slower, but my schedule would not permit it. Hard work continued to be
the name of the game.
As much as I liked the old Wizard of Oz , this new script, which differed from the Broadway production in scope
rather than spirit, asked more questions than the original movie and answered them too. The atmosphere of the old
movie was that of a magic kingdom sort of fairy tale. Our movie, on the other hand, had sets based on realities that
kids could identify with, like schoolyards, subway stations, and the real neighborhood that our Dorothy came from. I
still enjoy seeing The Wiz and reliving the experience. I am especially fond of the scene where Diana asks, "What
am I afraid of? Don't know what I'm made of . . ." because I've felt that way many times, even during the good
moments of my life. She sings about overcoming fear and walking straight and tall. She knows and the audience
knows that no threat of danger can hold her back.
My character had plenty to say and to learn. I was propped up on my pole with a bunch of crows laughing at me,
while I sang "You Can't Win." The song was about humiliation and helplessness - something that so many people
have felt at one time or another - and the feeling that there are people out there who don't actively hold you back as
much as they work quietly on your insecurities so that you hold yourself back. The script was clever and showed me
pulling bits of information and quotations out of my straw while not really knowing how to use them. My straw
contained all the answers, but I didn't know the questions.
The great difference between the two Wizard movies was that all the answers are given to Dorothy by the Good
Witch and by her friends in Oz in the original, while in our version Dorothy comes to her own conclusions. Her
loyalty to her three friends and her courage in fighting Elvina in that amazing sweatshop scene make Dorothy a
memorable character. Diana's singing and dancing and acting have stayed with me ever since. She was a perfect
Dorothy. After the evil witch had been defeated, the sheer joy of our dancing took over. To dance with Diana in that
movie was like an abridged version of my own story - my knock-kneed walk and "bigfoot" spin were me in my early
days; our tabletop dance in the sweatshop scene was where we were right then. Everything was onward and upward.
When I told my brothers and father I had gotten this part, they thought it might be too much for me, but the opposite
was true. The Wiz gave me new inspiration and strength. The question became what to do with those things. How
could I best harness them?
As I was asking myself what I wanted to do next, another man and I were traveling parallel paths that would
converge on the set of The Wiz . We were in Brooklyn rehearsing one day, and we were reading our parts out loud to
one another. I had thought that learning lines would be the most difficult thing I'd ever do, but I was pleasantly
surprised. Everyone had been kind, assuring me that it was easier that I thought. And it was.
We were doing the crows' scene that day. The other guys wouldn't even have their heads visible in this scene because
they'd be in crow costumes. They seemed to know their parts backward and forward. I'd studied mine too, but I
hadn't said them aloud more than once or twice.
The directions called for me to pull a piece of paper from my straw and read it. It was a quote. The author's name,
Socrates, was printed at the end. I had read Socrates, but I had never pronounced his name, so I said, "Soh-crates,"
because that's the way I had always assumed it was pronounced. There was a moment's silence before I heard
someone whisper, "Soh-ruh-teeze." I looked over at this man I vaguely recognized. He was not one of the actors, but he seemed to belong there. I remember thinking he looked very self-confident and had a friendly face.
I smiled, a little embarrassed at having mispronounced the name, and thanked him for his help. His face was
naggingly familiar, and I was suddenly sure that I had met him before. He confirmed my suspicions by extending his
hand.
"Quincy Jones. I'm doing the score."
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Chapter Four
Me And Q
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I had actually first met Quincy Jones in Los Angeles when I was about twelve years old. Quincy later told me that at
the time Sammy Davis, Jr., had said to him, "This kid is gonna be the next biggest thing since sliced bread."
Something like that, anyway, and Quincy said, "Oh yeah?" I was little at the time, but I vaguely remembered Sammy Davis introducing me to Q.
Our friendship really began to blossom on the set of The Wiz , and it developed into a father-and-son relationship.
After The Wiz I called him and said, "Look, I'm going to do an album - do you think you could recommend some
producers?"
I wasn't hinting. My question was a naive but honest one. We talked about music for a while, and, after coming up
with some names and some half-hearted hemming and hawing, he said, "Why don't you let me do it?"
I really hadn't thought of it. It sounded to him as if I was hinting, but I wasn't. I just didn't think he would be that
interested in my music. So I stammered something like, "Oh sure, great idea. I never thought about that."
Quincy still kids me about it.
Anyway, we immediately began to plan the album that became Off the Wall .
My brothers and I decided to form our own production company, and we began thinking about names to call it.
You don't find many articles about peacocks in the newspaper, but around this time I found the only one that
mattered. I had always thought peacocks were beautiful and had admired one that Berry Gordy had at one of his
homes. So when I read the article, which had an accompanying picture of a peacock, and revealed a great deal about
the bird's characteristics, I was excited. I thought I might have found the image we were looking for. It was an in-
depth piece, a little dry in places, but interesting. The writer said that the peacock's full plumage would explode only