the cuffs of my corduroys wet. I looked back at Randy, knowing that he wanted to do the things I did. He stepped
back to get a running start, but I realized that it was a pretty big puddle, too big for him to cross without getting wet, so, being a big brother first and a dance teacher second, I caught him before he landed short and got wet.
Across the street the neighborhood kids were buying candy, and even some of the kids who were giving me a hard
time at school asked when we were going to Motown. I told them and bought candy for them and Randy, too, with
my allowance. I didn't want Randy to feel bad about my going away.
As we approached the house I heard Marlon yell, "Someone shut that door!" The side of out VW minibus was wide
open, and I shuddered, thinking about how cold it was going to be on the long ride up to Detroit. Marlon had beat us
home and was already helping Jackie load the bus with our stuff. Jackie and Tito got home in plenty of time for once:
They were supposed to have basketball practice, but the winter in Indiana had been nothing but slush and we were
anxious to get a good start. Jackie was on the high school basketball team that year, and Dad liked to say that the
next time we went to play in Indianapolis would be when Roosevelt went to the state championships. The Jackson 5
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would play between the evening and morning games, and Jackie would sink the winning shot for the title. Dad liked
to tease us, but you never knew what might happen with the Jacksons. He wanted us to be good at many things, not
just music. I think maybe he got that drive from his father, who taught school. I know my teachers were never as
hard on us as he was, and they were getting paid to be tough and demanding.
Mom came to the door and gave us the thermos and the sandwiches she had packed. I remember her telling me not to
rip the dress shirt she had packed for me after sewing it up the night before. Randy and I helped put some things in
the bus and then went back into the kitchen, where Rebbie was keeping one eye on Dad's supper and the other on
little Janet, who was in the high chair.
Rebbie's life was never easy as the oldest. We knew that as soon as the Motown audition was over, we'd find out if
we had to move or not. If we did, she was going to move South with her fiancee. She always ran things when Mom
was at night school finishing the high school diploma she was denied because of her illness. I couldn't believe it
when Mom told us she was going to get her diploma. I remember worrying that she'd have to go to school with kids
Jackie's or Tito's age and that they'd laugh at her. I remember how she laughed when I told her this and how she
patiently explained that she'd be with other grown-ups. It was interesting having a mother who did homework like
the rest of us.
Loading up the bus was easier than usual. Normally Ronnie and Johnny would have come to back us up, but
Motown's own musicians would be playing being us, so we were going alone. Jermaine was in our room finishing
some of his assignments when I walked in. I knew he wanted to get them out of the way. He told me that we ought to
take off for Motown by ourselves and leave Dad, since Jackie had taken driver's ed and was in possession of a set of
keys. We both laughed, but deep down I couldn't imagine going without Dad. Even on the occasions when Mom led
out after-school rehearsals because Dad hadn't come home from his shift on time, it was still like having him there
because she acted as his eyes and ears. She always knew what had been good the night before and what had gotten
sloppy today. Dad would pick it up from there at night. It seemed to me that they almost gave each other signals or
something - Dad could always tell if we had been playing like we were supposed to by some invisible indication
from Mom.
There was no long good-bye at the door when we left for Motown. Mom was used to our being away for days, and
during school vacations. LaToya pouted a little because she wanted to go. She had only seen us in Chicago, and we
had never been able to stay long enough in places like Boston of Phoenix to bring her back anything. I think our lives
must have seemed pretty glamorous to her because she had to stay home and go to school. Rebbie had her hands full
trying to put Janet to sleep, but she called good-bye and waved. I gave Randy a last pat on the head and we were off.
Dad and Jackie went over the map as we drove away, mostly out of habit, because we had been to Detroit before, of
course. We passed Mr. Keith's recording studio downtown by City Hall as we made our way through town. We had
done some demos at Mr. Keith's that Dad sent to Motown after the Steeltown record. The sun was going down when
we hit the highway. Marlon announced that if we heard one of our records on WVON, it was going to bring us luck.
We all nodded. Dad asked us if we remembered what WVON stood for as he nudged Jackie to keep quiet. I kept
looking out the window, thinking about the possibilities that lay ahead, but Jermaine jumped in. "Voice of the
Negro," he said. Soon we were calling roll all over the dial. "WGN - World's Greatest Newspaper." The Chicago Tribune owned it.) "WLS - World's Largest Store." (Sears) "WCFL . . ." We stopped, stumped. "Chicago Federation of Labor," Dad said, motioning for the thermos. We turned onto I-94, and the Gary station faded into a Kalamazoo
station. We began flipping around, looking for Beatle music on CKLW from Windsor, Ontario, Canada.
I had always been a Monopoly fan at home, and there was something about driving to Motown that was a little like
that game. In Monopoly you go around the board buying things and making decisions; the "chitlin' circuit" of
theaters where we played and won contests was kind of like a Monopoly board full of possibilities and pitfalls. After
all the stops along the way, we finally landed at the Apollo Theater in Harlem, which was definitely Park Place for
young performers like us. Now we were on our way up Boardwalk, heading for Motown. Would we win the game or
slide past Go with a long board separating us from our goal for another round?
There was something changing in me, and I could feel it, even shivering in the minibus. For years we'd make the
drive over to Chicago wondering if we were good enough to ever get out of Gary, and we were. Then we took the
drive to New York, certain that we'd fall off the edge of the earth if we weren't good enough to make it there. Even
those nights in Philadelphia and Washington didn't reassure me enough to keep me from wondering if there wasn't
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someone or some group we didn't know about in New York who could beat us. When we tore it down at the Apollo,
we finally felt that nothing could stand in our way. We were going to Motown, and nothing there was going to
surprise us either. We were going to surprise them, just like we always did.
Dad pulled the typewritten directions out of the glove compartment and we pulled off the highway, passing the
Woodward Avenue exit. There weren't many people on the streets because it was a school night for everybody else.
Dad was a little nervous about whether our accommodations would be okay, which surprised me until I realized the
Motown people had picked the hotel. We weren't used to having things done for us. We liked to be our own bosses.
Dad had always been our booking agent, travel agent, and manager. When he wasn't taking care of the arrangements,
Mom was. So it was no wonder that even Motown managed to make Dad feel suspicious that he should have made
the reservations, that he should have handled everything.
We stayed at the Gotham Hotel. The reservations had been made and everything was in order. There was a TV in our
room, but all the stations had signed off, and with the audition at ten o'clock, we weren't going to get to stay up any