Diana Ross: A Biography

by J. Randy Taraborrelli

  During the Motown engagement at the Apollo, a local New York disc jockey was responsible for bringing the acts off the stage and then introducing the next attraction to the audience. The jockey wasn’t in place one night to do his job after the Supremes’ performance, therefore a comic on the show named Stu Gilliam went out to encourage the applause during the group’s bows. “So, let’s hear it for the Supremes,” he said, trying to generate enthusiasm from the staid crowd. “The Supremes, ladies and gentleman. Aren’t they wonderful?” Then Gilliam brought out the next act. The same thing happened during the next show. Again, the disc jockey didn’t show and Stu Gilliam volunteered to go out onto the stage at the end of the Supremes’ act and prompt the applause. The third time the disc jockey didn’t appear, Gilliam decided to just let the trio fend for itself, “to keep a bad habit from starting,” he explained. Diana, Mary and Florence had to walk off the stage on their own, to a mediocre response.

  Afterwards, Gilliam was summoned to the Supremes’ dressing room. Mary and Florence met him at the door with solemn expressions. Diane, seated in front of a small, cracked mirror and unstable makeup table, whirled round to face him. “So, where were you?” she demanded to know. Her eyes were big and demanding.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “I’d like to know why you weren’t there to take us off?” she asked.

  “Hey, I’m not the MC,” Gilliam reminded her. “I’m the comic. I was just doing you all a favor for those two shows.”

  “Oh, please!” Diana said, exasperated. “Comic. MC. What difference does it make? You still should have been there to take us off.”

  Gilliam became irritated. “Hey, listen here, little girl,” he told her, staring her down. “Rather than spend your time fussing with me, why don’t you go on and try to get yourself a hit record?” He then walked out the door.

  After he left, Diana turned to the other two Supremes. “Well,” she said, seeming astonished. “The nerve.”

  “Yeah,” Mary and Florence said, sharing a look. “The nerve.”

  “Why are they singing leads?”

  In January 1963, Berry Gordy made what would turn out to be a fateful decision for his company, his personal life and for the Supremes: they would become a company priority. Of course, this decision had a lot to do with his fascination with Diana Ross. Diana seemed like the total package to him. She had a unique voice that, given time and seasoning, he thought could be special. She sounded pretty good on records. She was a natural performer, eager to develop a rapport with her audience, anxious to please, at all costs—as she had proven on the Motor Town Revue. More importantly, to Berry, she also had the drive and ambition, the work ethic, to make his interest in her worthwhile. He didn’t want to waste his time on a woman who didn’t want to truly devote herself to her career. He wouldn’t have to worry about that with Diana. Also, she was tough. He admired that about her. If Diana had been a solo artist, it’s likely he would have felt the same way about her. However, she was a part of a group. Therefore, as it happened, all three girls would benefit from Berry’s enthusiasm for the one. However, that’s not to say that Diana was ever really comfortable with any attention given to her singing partners.

  The writers and producers at Motown wanted to satisfy Berry Gordy, to ingratiate themselves with him in any way possible. Not only was he a father figure to most of them, he was also the man who paid the bills. Therefore, it’s not surprising that everyone in his employ vied for his approval. If he now had a fascination with the Supremes, that was just fine with them. His fascination would become their fascination. As word got out of Berry’s new project, everyone on his staff began to clamor for the opportunity to work with his pets, the Supremes.

  One producer, Clarence Paul, brought the Supremes into the studio in February 1963 to record a country-and-western-themed album which, as it happened, would feature some of the group’s best recorded harmonies. “Gordy had said that he wanted Diane in the studio separately from the other two,” Paul recalled. “But I told him that I wouldn’t go for that because I felt I was recording a group and I wanted a group sound. Most of the album was to be recorded in the early-morning hours because the group was in a local club engagement at the time. I remember personally having to pick up Mary and Florence at four in the morning, and Diane would already be waiting there for us, wondering where we were.” (The album they recorded, The Supremes Sing Country Western and Pop, would go unreleased for two years, until March 1965.)

  One of the songs, “It Makes No Difference Now,” was to feature all three Supremes on consecutive lead parts—one for each girl. Mary was first; she came off bluesy and even rather jazzy in her delivery. Then Florence, who was strong and soulful, as expected. It was going well. Both girls seemed pleased. However, Diana stood between the two of them taking in the whole scene and seeming just a little unhappy about it. What was going on here? Didn’t Berry just say that she was to be the lead singer? Not exactly. He said he wanted them recorded separately, indicating that he was singling her out, not necessarily making her the lead singer. “Excuse me a second,” she said to the others. She then walked away from the microphone, out of the booth and to the control panel behind which Clarence Paul was seated. As he recalled it, the scene went like this:

  “You know, I am the lead singer,” Diana said, standing before him and looking down at him with intensity. “So my question to you is this: Why are they singing leads?”

  “Well, you know, Diane,” Clarence began, “I thought it would be kinda cool to have just one song on the album where each of you has a verse.”

  Diana let his words sink in for a moment. “Well, we’ll just see what Mr. Gordy has to say about that,” she retorted. The moment hung, awkwardly. The way she emphasized Berry’s name was as if she were trying to make it clear that she had special access to the boss, and that he wouldn’t be at all happy with Clarence Paul’s production choice. Clearly, she was trying to protect her position in the group.

  “Sure, fine. Whatever, Diane,” Clarence conceded, just wanting to get on with things.

  Diana walked away from Clarence Paul and back into the sound booth, where she joined her singing partners. Mary and Florence glared at her. She smiled back at them. “Okay, girls. Shall I do my lead now?” she asked sweetly. What she didn’t know was that both of them had heard the entire conversation between her and Clarence through the intercom system of their headphones.

  Girl trouble

  By the summer of 1963, one of the writing-producing teams at Motown was having spectacular success with a few of the other Motown girl groups. They were two brothers, Eddie and Brian Holland, and their collaborator, Lamont Dozier. It’s these three young fellows who would go on to create the music that would be considered for generations to come as the the Motown Sound. Many musicologists have theorized that the young men were totally responsible for the sound, but that’s not really true. The sound, in its many incarnations and variations, belonged to all of the creative writers and producers at Motown, but H-D-H did originate many of the original elements: a muscular rhythm section, immediately involving hook lines and choruses, clever lyrics. In retrospect, their music was so impassioned and creative that it’s very easy to forget just how young these guys were when they first started having hits at Motown: in 1963, Brian and Lamont were twenty-two and Eddie was twenty-four.

  H-D-H’s work with the Marvelettes, a rocking song called “Locking Up My Heart,” was just a harbinger of things to come for one of the other trios, Martha and the Vandellas. Indeed, each of the Supremes couldn’t help but feel a little envious when the Vandellas became instant stars thanks to a succession of songs from H-D-H in 1963: “Come and Get These Memories,” “(Love Is Like a) Heatwave” and “Quicksand.” The Vandellas, a trio headed up by Martha Reeves, was an excellent vocal group. In fact, most Motown historians agree that Reeves was one of the real, major musical talents at Motown. She also had extensive training and experience in jazz, gospel and even opera. She was inher
ently a soul singer, though; Berry wasn’t sure that she had the kind of commercial appeal to break into the pop marketplace, perform show tunes in supper clubs, appeal to white audiences, make major movies. Eventually, she did all of those things—except for the movies. It was also fairly well known at the company that Diana and Martha were not exactly fond of each other, and that really had more to do with Berry’s later decision to focus on the Supremes, and really Ross. That’s not to say that Gordy didn’t also have strong feelings about Martha’s work. “Frankly, I liked Martha’s performance in some ways better than Diana’s,” he admits, “because she had the sex appeal going for her. When she would sing “Nowhere to Run,” man, she had all the little shoulder movements. I mean, Martha had soul. And we were close, too. So, I can understand Martha’s disappointment when I focused on the Supremes.”

  After H-D-H gave the Vandellas a few hits, Diana told Berry that she wished the team would come up with a winning formula for the Supremes. In June of 1963, Berry had issued a Supremes song produced by Smokey Robinson with the odd title, “A Breathtaking, First Sight Soul Shaking, One Night Love Making, Next Day Heartbreaking Guy.” Though one of the girls’ better songs, and featuring Mary and Florence on the chorus, it too was not a success and Diana was now anxious for a new direction. Berry said he would take it into consideration.

  By May 1963, H-D-H were in the studio with the Supremes. The writing-producing team had come up with a couple of frenetically arranged songs, including one called “When the Lovelight Starts Shining Through His Eyes.” This song packed a wallop unlike anything else the girls had recorded up until that time. The full range of new Motown effects were at work on this one, including a driving conga beat, a bombastic horn section and even H-D-H on background vocals. Diana’s lead vocal was more assertive than it had been previously and her presentation was surprisingly strong and full. It was a solid effort and, when released in October, would turn out to be a lot more successful than anything previously issued for the group. It would actually place at number twenty-three on the pop charts—not bad at all. Finally, the Supremes seemed poised for stardom.

  Meanwhile, Diana’s competitor, Martha Reeves, and her group, the Vandellas, were already on the way to acclamation with their H-D-H compositions. Berry booked both groups on a show together with many other acts, including Marvin Gaye and the Ronettes, at the Fox Theater in Brooklyn. There are a few variations of the story that follows—Martha Reeves’s version, Mary Wilson’s, Florence Ballard’s and even Marvin Gaye’s—because it’s such a famous little Motown yarn. Putting all of the pieces together, it goes like this.

  On show night, the Supremes walked out onto the stage as the Vandellas’ opening act, looking proud and radiant in two-piece metallic black costumes. Apparently, Diana had just purchased them with money she’d begged Berry to wire to her. In the middle of the girls’ second number, a brassy version of “I Am Woman’ from Funny Girl, the girls noticed two of the Vandellas standing to their left in the wings, glaring at them. Worse, offstage right, there stood Martha, looking grim. After their final tune, the Supremes took their bows. Mary and Florence exited stage left and almost collided with the two Vandellas. Florence studied them from head to toe. “Hey,” she exclaimed, “you got our dresses on.”

  “Like hell we do. You got our dresses on,” one of them shot back.

  Florence had to grimace: “Uh-oh.”

  By this time, Diana was supposed to have exited from the opposite side of the stage the other Supremes had used. However, she stayed onstage alone, thanking the audience and stalling for time. As the small band droned on, Choker Campbell, the conductor, motioned for Ross to get off. But she was afraid to make her exit because waiting for her on that side was Martha Reeves, and she did not look happy. So Diana dashed across the entire width of the stage and made a hasty exit on the opposite side where Mary and Florence were still standing, trying to figure out how they and the two Vandellas had ended up in the exact same dresses.

  “Quick, let’s get to the dressing room!” Diana screeched as she raced down the hall. Mary and Florence followed on her heels.

  Martha sprinted across the backstage area, weaving in and out of startled stage technicians standing in her way. “I’m gonna get you, Diane Ross,” she threatened. “You just wait until I get my hands on you.” The Supremes squealed in unison as they scampered up a flight of stairs, barely out of Martha’s reach. They then dashed into their dressing room and slammed the door behind them. Once safe, Diana made a confession. Apparently, she’d found out where the Vandellas had purchased their gowns and, with the money Berry had sent her, bought three outfits that were practically the same. Of course, since the Supremes went on first, it would appear that the Vandellas had copied their gowns. So, the headlining Vandellas would have to wear old dresses for their performance. Too bad for them.

  Mary and Florence couldn’t believe that Diana would do such a thing. It was clever, really. How did she ever come up with such an idea? Did she actually sit around and plot ways to distinguish herself from others? Say what you will about her, though, she didn’t do it just for her own benefit. She was a part of the group and, in her view, when she stood out, so did the others. “But, Diane, that really takes the cake,” Mary said incredulously. “You are somethin’ else.”

  “We looked good, didn’t we?” Diana said in her defense. “The way I see it, if we don’t have any hits the least we can do is look good.”

  Florence started to shake with laughter. “Girrrrl,” she said, dragging out the word, “Martha is gonna kill you!”

  For the next twenty minutes, the Supremes changed their clothes in a leisurely manner while commiserating about Diana’s probable fate at the hands of an irate Martha. Meanwhile, Reeves and company finished their star turn in their not-so-great dresses. “Looky here,” Diana said finally. “I can handle Martha Reeves. If she messes with me, she’ll be the sorry one.”

  As if on cue, a loud pounding on the locked dressing-room door startled all three of them. “Open up!” the voice on the other side demanded. With that, Diana picked up the telephone and began dialing frantically.

  “Should we open it?” Mary said.

  “Hell, yeah, we should,” said Florence, relishing the moment.

  Mary opened the door. Then she and Florence took three steps backwards.

  Martha remembered what happened next. “Quite simply, I told Miss Diane Ross that I felt like scratching her eyes out for what she had done to us,” Reeves recalled, laughing at the memory. “And she said to me, ‘But, Martha, here. The phone.’” She shoved the receiver at me, and I put it to my ear.”

  There was a patient voice on the other end of the connection. Berry. “Now, Martha Rose, you know that Diane didn’t mean you no harm.” (Martha hated it when Berry used her first and middle name, so that just made her even more angry.)

  “But, Mr. Gordy, she—”

  “Now, you leave Diane alone, Martha,” he continued. “She promises that the Supremes won’t wear those dresses again while ya’ll are at the Fox. She is truly sorry. She just made a mistake, is all. When you get back I’ll buy your group three brand-new dresses. Okay?” His singsong tone was that of a tolerant father trying to calm an obstreperous child. “Yes, Mr. Gordy,” Martha said obediently. (“I was mad, hurt and frustrated,” Martha recalled years later.)

  After Martha hung up the telephone, she looked around the room, but Diana was long gone. “Now, where’d she go?” she demanded to know. Mary and Florence shared a secret look and then shrugged their shoulders. “Oh, I’ll find her,” Martha said. “And you know I will.”

  As soon as Martha stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her, the two Supremes collapsed with gales of laughter. “You know what I wonder about Diane?” Florence asked, shaking her head in dismay.

  “What?” Mary asked.

  “I wonder how long it’s gonna be before she gets her ass kicked?”

  Part Two

  SUPREME SUCCESS />
  Twists of fate

  As 1964 began, the Supremes continued to work in the Motown recording studios with an array of writers and producers who used all sorts of sounds and techniques to distinguish them. Though they had been at Motown for three years, the group still had no real identity, especially with each of them singing lead. After listening to all of their music—most of which the public would never hear—Berry Gordy Jr. made an executive decision. On that day the group was in the recording studio when he walked in, greeted them warmly and said, “Girls, from now on I think Diane should do all the leads.” He waited for some comment, but there was not one forthcoming. Diana, who was sitting in a corner, gazed up at Berry with big, round eyes, like those in a Walter Keane painting. Mary and Florence looked at each other quizzically but didn’t say a word. It had been coming for a long time and Diana had been doing most of the leads anyway. However, for some reason Berry now decided to make it official: Diana was the sole lead singer. All three girls must have known that they had reached a turning point, but no one could have fully recognized at that time what the decision would mean and where it might take them. “See, I know you all can sing lead, but she’s the one with the most commercial sound,” Berry continued, pointing to Diana. It was as if he thought his decision needed more explanation. “Okay?” he asked. They all nodded their heads. “Okay. Just wanted you to know.” He then walked out of the studio. He probably never dreamed it would be so easy. The girls went back to their work without discussing the bombshell, but it had to be on their minds.