Diana Ross: A Biography

by J. Randy Taraborrelli

  1965: a banner year

  By 1965, Diana Ross was not only the star of the Supremes but also the leading figurehead at Motown. She was aware, however, that her standing at Motown seemed symbolic to many executives there, and she craved genuine power, not merely the image of it. Berry Gordy once said, “Where Diana Ross goes, so goes Motown.” By now she was just as convincing with her delivery of a show tune as she was with a Motown hit.

  Indeed, 1965 was to be another banner year for the Supremes; Diana and Mary would turn twenty-one in March, and Florence twenty-two in June. The year started off on the best possible note when, on 5 January, the girls went into the studio to record one of their best records, “Stop! In the Name of Love.” This one was inspired by an argument between its composer, Lamont Dozier, and his girlfriend. Just as she was about to take a swing at him after catching him in a lie, Lamont shouted out, “Please, baby! Stop! In the name of love!” Years later, he recalled, “It was so corny and silly that we burst out laughing. Then, I said, ‘Ding, ding, ding!’ And she asked, ‘What’s that?’ And I said, ‘It’s the cash register, baby. Can’t you hear it?’ In other words, I knew in that very second that I had a hit, and it would be for the Supremes. Oh, and it also ended the fight.”

  This terrific song deposed the Beatles’ “Eight Days a Week” when it went to number one in March of 1965; in fact it was number one on Diana’s twenty-first birthday on the 26th. During 1965, the Supremes appeared on more than fifteen U.S. national television programs, promoting their H-D-H songs. They were seen tap-dancing with Sammy Davis and swapping jokes with Bob Newhart, Steve Allen, Dean Martin and Joey Bishop, all the while squeezing performances of their current hit records somewhere in the midst of all the shtick. When they recorded commercials for Coca-Cola, it was said that the Supremes were becoming just as much a part of the American tradition as Coke itself. The ultimate endorsement irony came about when they endorsed Supremes White Bread, and their smiling faces were emblazoned across the cellophane wrapping.

  As the Beatles ushered in the British musical invasion of the United States, Berry and his Motown machinery began the strategic planning of their own invasion of Europe, specifically England, France and Germany. Stevie Wonder, Martha and the Vandellas, the Miracles and the Temptations would all join the Supremes on a new version of the Motor Town Revue. As it happened, this tour was a financial disaster for Berry, with just half-filled houses everywhere the troupe performed. The reason for the weak turnout was that the Supremes were really the only act to have hit records abroad, and their songs weren’t even as popular there as in the USA.

  Dusty Springfield persuaded the BBC to do a Motown special broadcast, which she would host. Just before the taping of the program, the Temptations were in the men’s room with Berry. The guys were “paying the water bill,” as Temptations singer Otis Williams put it. Suddenly, Diana burst in. “We need choreography, quick, for ‘Stop! In the Name of Love,’” she exclaimed as everyone zipped up. After a few moments of deliberation about it, Melvin Franklin of the Temptations came up with a traffic officer hand gesture he thought might work. During the chorus, the girls would sing “Stop!” and then extend their right hands forward, palm out. Simple, yet genius. It would quickly become a group trademark, and amateurs in karaoke bars around the world have kept that little movement popular for decades.

  This was also the tour during which Diana met one of her idols, Eartha Kitt. If one watches videos of early Ross performances, it’s clear that she patterned a lot of her eye-popping, kittenish stage business after Kitt. She was crazy about her and couldn’t wait to one day meet her. “I have a surprise for you,” Berry told her after one of the shows in London. “Guess who’s in town? Eartha Kitt! And I got tickets for all the girls on the show to see her. I want you ladies to see what a real star is like, and maybe be inspired by an amazing female performer.” Diana was thrilled, as were all of the other “girls on the show,” namely, Martha Reeves and the two Vandellas and the other two Supremes. So, the six Motown starlets went to the Top Hat nightclub that evening to see Eartha Kitt’s act. Of course, it was magical; back in her day, Eartha truly was the consummate performer. After the show, Diana was the first one on her feet with a standing ovation. Then, much to everyone’s amazement, the female Motown contingent was quickly ushered backstage for a private audience with Miss Kitt. They soon found themselves in her private dressing room.

  Eartha was sitting in front of her makeup mirror applying eyeliner when the Motor City novices walked in, all with wide-eyed expressions on their faces. Diana pushed herself ahead of the rest and stood right behind the great star. “Eartha,” she began enthusiastically, “guess what? People say that I look just like you.”

  Silence.

  Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say. Most stars don’t like to think there are others in show business who look “just like” them—especially someone like Eartha Kitt, who had spent decades perfecting a unique look and feline-like persona. She didn’t say a word in response to Diana’s comment. After a very uncomfortable minute, she finally rose, gathered her fur coat and purse and turned to face the showbiz novice. Eartha appraised Diana with her eyes, looking at her from head to toe. “Why, my dear,” she said in that purrish style of hers, “clearly, I’m not half as beautiful as you.” And then she swept right by Diana and the rest, leaving them all with their mouths wide open.

  Somebody loves you

  Privately, Berry Gordy saw Diana Ross as an exciting and sensual young woman. He had just separated from his wife Margaret, and couldn’t help but wonder about a future with Diana. She certainly was alluring with her big, soulful evening eyes and open, warm smile. When she walked into a room, she seemed to transform it—it became her domain. She handled herself like a star long before she was one, and when she finally did become famous it just served to make her regal self-assurance seem justified. Actually, the truth was that as much as Berry intimidated Diana, she did the same to him—though he would never let her know it, or see it. As he would later recall it, all he wanted was to inspire her and make sure she knew how much he cared for her. He wanted her to be impressed with him, and it made him burst with pride when she shined on stage because of something he had done, a suggestion he had made for her. She would have been surprised to know, however, that he always felt, especially in those early days, that he was close to losing her. He feared that he was just one step away from jeopardizing her confidence in him. More than anything, he wanted her to believe in him as he believed in her. However, she certainly kept him on an uneven footing in that regard because she could be headstrong and combative, as she had already proven on numerous occasions.

  The stop after London was Manchester, England. It was there that Berry added Dean Martin’s “You’re Nobody Till Somebody Loves You” to the act. It was an experiment. He planned to use the song to broaden the girls’ appeal. In fact, he wanted them to sing it, along with “Back in My Arms Again,” on the season’s finale of the popular Hullabaloo television program when they got back to the States. It was to be a blatant demonstration of their versatility. However, the song was in a jazz-swing arrangement and Diana wasn’t comfortable with it. In her view, it seemed all wrong for the Supremes. Still, she did what she was told and performed the number during the first show. It didn’t go over well. Afterwards, there was a lot of excitement backstage with everyone trying to ignore the disappointing reception to the one song—everyone, that is, but Diana. She walked over to Berry and, through gritted teeth, said, “Black, we need to talk. Alone.” (Their nickname for each other by this time was Black, and it still is today.) They went to a far corner of the backstage area. Once there, she laid into him. “Look, I don’t know what your plan is,” she told him, according to his later recollection. “But I’m not gonna just sit around and let you ruin my career.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That song,” she said, angrily. “The audience hated it. And they hated me for singing it. And I can t
ell you this much, I am not singing it again. So whatever you got planned for Hullabaloo, you need to change it. Now.”

  Berry took a deep breath; he had been down this road with her before. She was often unhappy about one thing or another. She knew that he had the power to change things, and she expected him to do it. Not only was she becoming more willful as she became popular, she also had an alarming way of turning something that really wasn’t much into a major tribulation. He was stunned, for instance, that she would be so angry about something like the choice of a song, but she was up in arms and he would just have to deal with it. There was no way, however, that he was going to allow her to control him—or the Supremes’ act. She was twenty-one. He was thirty-six. Who was in charge, anyway?

  There was a new complication, though, in Berry’s dynamic with Diana. By the time they got to Manchester, he had become emotionally invested in her, or as he would later put it, “madly in love, and I think she knew it.” Would he be able to separate his professional feelings about her career from his personal fascination with her? It was a question he would have to ask himself countless more times over the passing of the years. “There were probably, what, 500 people in that theater tonight?” he asked her, trying to reason with her. “When you sing that song on Hullabaloo, we’re talking forty million people. It’s going to change everything.”

  “Well, I’m not doing it,” she said adamantly. “It’s terrible—the arrangement, the whole thing. It’s not us, Berry. For the second show, I am not singing that goddamn song! I have an audience to please,” she concluded.

  “Oh yeah? Well, you have me to please, too,” Berry said, laying it on the line for her. “So make your choice, Black. Please them? Or please me. It’s up to you.” Then he walked away from her. She clenched her fists and threw her head back in exasperation.

  As the Supremes walked onto the stage for the second show, Berry sat in the audience wondering who Diana would choose—him or them? When it came time in the act for “You’re Nobody Till Somebody Loves You” the girls did not sing it. They skipped right over it and went to the next song. Berry would recall that his heart sank. He couldn’t believe that Diana would do that to him, totally ignore his feelings about the number—and after all he had done for her. He sat through the rest of the show feeling terrible about the ultimatum and wishing he had never given it to her. He had forced a power struggle, and she had become the winner. But then, just as they were about to finish the act, Diana made a quick yet graceful dash to the conductor, Gil Askey. She whispered in his ear and returned to her place, center stage.

  The opening chords to the number in question were heard and led to a rendition of the song Diana hated, performed with all the gusto she could muster. Berry would later say that he couldn’t believe his ears. It almost made him cry. Afterwards, he found her backstage. “My God, I can’t believe you did that, Black,” he told her. “I mean, I’m just … wow.” He was speechless. “Well,” she said with a smile, “I still hate it. But, I did it for you.” Diana was not one to often make sacrifices, and that night she had shown Berry that he mattered. Her stubborn nature was an important part of who she was—but with that simple act of yielding to his wishes, against her own better judgment, she had made it clear. She cared for him deeply.

  The balance of power

  The next day was when the Motown troupe would go to Paris, France. They had just two days there, and then it would be back to Detroit. However, Diana was overwhelmed by the beauty of the city, and her growing feelings for Berry may have intensified her wonderment. On a stroll down the Champs-Elysées, she told him, “I have an idea. Let’s stay here a couple of days after the others leave.”

  “Sure,” Berry said. “Sounds good.” He tried to act nonchalant but, as he would later recall, inside he was bursting with excitement. He couldn’t believe that she wanted to be with him in Paris, alone, and, as he would put it, “It felt right. It felt like a dream come true, actually. I mean, she was beautiful, she was funny, she was … well, look, she was Diana Ross. I mean, what man would not want to be with Diana Ross?”

  For her part, Diana had never met anyone like Berry. He was almost twice her age, but that didn’t matter to her. He was a father figure, and she recognized as much even back then. He gave her the unequivocal support and admiration that she’d never been able to elicit from Fred Ross. He was critical of her at times, like Fred had always been, but he was also her biggest champion. He may not have known it, but the fact that a powerful man like Berry had chosen to spend time with her, little Diane Ross from the Brewster Projects, was beyond flattering to her, and she couldn’t help but beam at the notion of it. He was funny, too; he made her laugh. She loved his drive and ambition, which mirrored her own. Beyond all of that, he wanted to make her a star—and that, of course, made Berry seem like some sort of a messiah.

  Berry spent the next two days worried that something would happen, a telephone call perhaps from some family member or from Motown that would ruin his and Diana’s plans and force them to return with everyone else. It didn’t happen. Soon, they were saying good-bye to the other artists and road crew. The moment had finally arrived—for the first time as romantic partners, Berry and Diana were alone together. No rehearsals to rush to, no press engagements, no shows. This would be their time to explore who they were as a couple. Before that day, neither of them truly knew the other.

  The first afternoon without the other artists would be a wonderful day for the two of them—but Diana would get an added level of satisfaction. She made every decision about their activities that day, leading Berry from one location to the next, setting his itinerary, for once. They had an idyllic day, but it couldn’t have been lost on Berry that Diana had chosen to take charge—and he let it happen.

  That night, after a lavish meal in a restaurant Diana had selected, one of the best in Paris, the two went back to her suite. Finally, the timing seemed right to consummate their relationship. Berry was by far the most commanding man she’d ever known, and now he was to be hers. His attraction to her was just as strong; he would later admit he had never wanted a woman more than he wanted her—“Within seconds, one of my greatest desires would be fulfilled.”

  Upon entering the suite Diana was forceful, removing Berry’s jacket while they kissed. He willingly joined in, unzipping her dress. Quickly the two were in a flurry of sexual energy, ripping off each other’s clothes. Once they were in bed together, however, the power differential Diana had created that day may have taken its toll. Berry couldn’t perform.

  As he put it, “Everything stopped working.” A rising panic truly took hold of him. Here he was, the president of Motown, a man who was viewed as one of the most powerful in show business, in bed with one of the music industry’s biggest new stars—a woman he had discovered, his inspiration, his muse—and he couldn’t have sex with her. For him, it was a moment that was as much a cliché as it was devastating. They lay side by side, their heads on the pillows, not saying a word for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, she broke the silence with her words. “It’s okay, Black,” she said, her voice a murmur. “It doesn’t matter.” He didn’t say anything. “It happens to a lot of men, Berry,” she said, unintentionally making things worse. “But,” she continued, “maybe we should just be friends.” It was a crushing moment for Berry. His first attempts at intimacy with this woman to whom he felt so drawn, and he failed to perform.

  “I gotta go,” he announced.

  “But, Black …”

  “No, Diane,” he said firmly as he got dressed. “I just got to get out of here.”

  She lay in bed, alone. Diana must have then tried to put it all together. How could the day have gone so perfectly, yet ended in such a disappointing manner? Or, was it disappointing at all? This complex union was at its core, after all, a power play. Each hungered for omnipotence, and neither would ever completely have it. At least not over each other. A moment in which a man was traditionally expected to dominate a woman had passed w
ithout that happening. In Diana’s mind, the world was divided into two groups, winners and losers. If she looked back at that evening, knowing that this man had left defeated and broken, how could she help but feel oddly victorious? That evening, she had expected sex and, strangely enough, she had gained power. Indeed, Berry had, at the very least, illustrated his fallibility to her.

  Ecstasy to the tenth power

  The next morning, Berry awoke and called Diana’s room. She had put a privacy block on her phone, but Gordy was able to talk the hotel operator into putting his call through. He insisted Diana join him for breakfast. While no mention was made of Berry’s problem the previous evening, it was clear that he had decided to take charge that day and show Diana Paris his way, and a good time on his terms. Berry rented a speedboat and took Diana to a private island. Later, they went shopping. Diana bought her mother a simple pearl necklace she knew she would love. For her father, silk handkerchiefs which she would have embroidered with his initials, FR. That night, Diana and Berry enjoyed a romantic dinner in a restaurant Gordy had chosen and then he took her to a number of different nightclubs. He had called beforehand, and special arrangements were made at each one—a special table, a private booth, a personal welcome from the owner. Each stop along the way Berry was proving himself to be the Mr. Gordy who had made the Supremes with Diana Ross world famous. That day, and that night, he was in charge. There was a lot of wine, dancing, kissing. In one dimly lit bistro, a small band played for the patrons. As Diana and Berry slipped into the room to sit in the back, all eyes were on them. The others in the club probably didn’t know who he was, but they certainly knew her. Still, they were polite. They allowed the famous singer and her consort to be alone at a table with only a flickering light and two glasses of wine between them. Then Berry asked, “Why don’t you sing, Black? These guys would go nuts if you sang with them,” he said. She smiled, knowing it was true.