Diana Ross: A Biography

by J. Randy Taraborrelli

  Joe Schaffner remembered what happened next:

  When we got to New Orleans, Berry told me to put Florence on the next plane back to Detroit. He was sending Marlene [Barrow] down to replace her. Diana and Mary were going to do the first show alone, and Marlene would be with them for the rest of the tour.

  I put Flo’s coat on for her, grabbed her suitcases. Before we left, she went right up to Diana and smiled in her face, as if to say, “You didn’t get to me, lady. I was leaving, anyway.” On the way to the airport she cried. I said, “Don’t cry, Flo, it’ll be okay.” But I knew it wouldn’t be …

  At the end of March, Berry posed the important and, maybe, career-changing question to Diana: “What do you think we should do about Florence?”

  Diana didn’t hesitate. “Well, she’s got to go, Berry,” she answered. “She’s ruining everything. We have to find someone else.”

  Diana was definitely not sentimental when it came to the Supremes. To her, it was a job, not a sisterhood. In her view, she had worked to the point of exhaustion to get the group to the top of the best-selling charts and into the best nightclubs. She wasn’t about to let anyone ruin things for her, and that included Florence Ballard. This was not to say that she didn’t appreciate what Mary and Florence had done for the Supremes. It just didn’t have a lot to do with her, at least as she saw it.

  Berry’s view wasn’t as clear cut. He understood the importance of the three personalities in the Supremes. On record, he didn’t think Mary and Florence mattered as much since most of the music was built, in his view, around Diana’s voice. The stage and television shows were a different matter, however. The public had grown to love Mary and Florence. Both had distinct personalities and he was too smart to think they could be so easily replaced. Still, he knew he had to try because Florence had now become a huge corporate liability as well as a major personal problem in his and everyone else’s life. “She was very controlling,” he would later say. “She controlled us all, really, with her moods and with how we were going to handle her on any given day.”

  Later in the week, he called Diana and Mary to a meeting at his home in Detroit. “I think we have to replace Florence,” Berry said, according to Mary’s memory. He was trying to make it appear to be a group decision, even though his mind was made up and he and Diana had already discussed it. Bringing Mary into the decision at this stage was really just a formality, a courtesy. However, Berry found that he had an unexpected ally in his strategy when Mary actually agreed that Florence had to go. As much as she liked Florence and wanted to help her, she wasn’t so naïve that she, too, couldn’t also see the writing on the wall: indeed, whatever her personal reasons, Florence was ruining it for everyone.

  “Mary and I sat down and had a talk,” Diana explained later.

  And we decided that if Florence leaves the group, we’d either try to find another girl to sing with us—and maybe the public wouldn’t accept her, and if they didn’t, then what? Mary said, “Well, maybe I’ll just get married.” So, I thought if this did come about, perhaps I’d go out as a single. This was the first time I’d ever mentioned going out as a single or even thought about it. It just sort of came up in that conversation because we were trying to figure out what we were going to do. We had built everything to that point and we didn’t want to lose it. All of a sudden an idea struck me. Since the situation had arisen and we had a couple of months to replace Florence, if indeed we did get a new girl …

  When it became clear that a replacement for Florence might become necessary, Berry thought of a Motown artist named Barbara Randolph. She had a moderately successful record at the company, a rocking song called “I Got a Feeling.” She recalled, “The Supremes were working in Atlantic City and I was working in Wildwood, New Jersey, and Berry invited me to the group’s show so I could then go backstage and talk to Diana. I had already met her in San Juan. She was a little … chilly.”

  Who knows why but, apparently, Diana wasn’t much of a fan of Barbara’s. After the Supremes show, Berry took Barbara backstage. He knocked on the dressing-room door.

  “Who is it?” came the voice. It was Diana’s.

  “It’s me, Berry,” he said cheerily, “and I have Barbara Randolph with me. I thought we could talk.”

  There was a long pause. Then, at the top of her lungs: “I already told you, I do not want to talk to her!”

  Berry looked at Barbara sheepishly. “So … uh … would you like to stay for the second show?” She did. And that was the last Barbara Randolph ever heard about joining the Supremes.

  “[Another] girl had come backstage on one of our dates and she said that everybody had been telling her that she looked like Florence,” Diana later recalled. “That was Cindy Birdsong. The idea began to take serious hold.”

  Indeed, Diana had liked Cindy ever since she first met her when the Supremes shared a bill with the group in which she performed, Patti Labelle and the Bluebelles, at the Uptown Theater in Philadelphia.

  “In those days there was a lot of rivalry among girl singing groups,” Cindy Birdsong remembered.

  So it wasn’t a good idea to socialize with the competition. I liked the Supremes, though. To me, they seemed as if they really had nice personalities under all of the sequins and glitter. I loved the way they did their make-up. In my group, we hardly wore any—just a little eye pencil and lipstick. One night between shows I decided to sneak over to their dressing room and meet them. When I knocked on their door, Diana answered. Mary and Florence were aloof; I supposed it was because they thought I was spying on them. But, Diane was open and warm. So, I asked her for makeup tips.

  Diana pushed Cindy down into a chair and eagerly began to divulge makeup secrets to her. She opened her cosmetic kit and proudly lifted out a tray of false eyelashes—dozens of them, each pair in its own plastic case. After choosing the right ones, she carefully applied the heavy lashes and then thick liner to Cindy’s almond-shaped eyes. Cindy stared unbelieving into the dressing-room mirror as her image was transformed. Pink lipstick and soft blush were added as finishing touches. Then, a wig of soft curls. “Well, just look at you, Miss Cindy Birdsong!” Diana said happily as she took in her handiwork. “Look at how gorgeous you are! Do you like it?”

  “Do I like it? I love it!” Cindy enthused. “But I’m afraid my girls are gonna hate it!” She thanked Diana profusely, and left.

  “You know what?” Florence offered as Cindy headed down the hall to her group’s dressing room. “That girl is gonna be dead in about two minutes.”

  The three Supremes stood in the hallway and watched a nervous Cindy walk into the Bluebelles’ dressing room. All three gave her a thumbs-up. Two minutes later, the door opened and someone threw a wig out with all the force of a football headed toward a goalpost. It came sailing down the middle of the hallway. “I got it,” Diana said as she caught it in midair.

  “See,” Florence laughed. “What did I tell you?”

  Now, just about a year later, it seemed that Diana had more plans for Cindy. Motown tracked her down. “They called her and had her come to Detroit,” Diana remembers. “Not to talk about being in the group. Just to talk. She didn’t know what she was coming for. Then, we finally told her that the reason was that we might need a stand-in for Florence. It was with that in mind that she was brought in, to kind of help us out until we got straight.”

  “When I got the whole story, I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it,” Cindy remembered. “I had grown to like Florence over the recent years. I just thought maybe it was a nasty kind of business and wondered if I should be involved in it.”

  After Berry, Diana and Mary met with Cindy in Detroit, they asked her to sing as an audition. She stood in the middle of the room and sang “You Keep Me Hanging On” without accompanying music, and like there was no tomorrow. It was good. They figured she would work. “I was starting to get swept away with the excitement by that time,” she would admit. Diana, Mary and Berry all agreed not to mention to Florence that they now h
ad a permanent replacement for her in the act.

  Florence is fired

  April 23, 1967. Berry called a group meeting at his home in Detroit. Everyone knew what it was about, even though he didn’t explain. It was that obvious.

  Florence brought her mother, Lurlee, for emotional support. Lurlee had always seemed rather eccentric, with brown hair that was almost waist-length. She’d never before openly involved herself in Florence’s career. The last time she had had anything to do with Supremes business was the day the group signed their first Motown contracts; because they were minors, their mothers had to be present. With the exception of Diana’s mother, Ernestine, who was well educated, the mothers were not that helpful in terms of offering advice and guidance on business matters. Lurlee didn’t understand what her daughter was getting herself into with the Motown contract. Mary’s mom, Johnnie Mae, could neither read nor write. Yet she cosigned the contract.

  Florence and her mother took their places in the den on a gold velvet couch. Mary sat next to them on a bar stool. Besides a few pleasantries, there was really no conversation. After about twenty minutes, tall double doors opened and Berry and Diana made their entrance together, followed by one of Berry’s bodyguards, Nate McAlpern. Diana took a seat next to the white grand piano while Berry walked to the center of the room. “I think I have good news for you girls,” Berry began. Mary and Florence perked up. It hadn’t occurred to them that good news might actually be imparted during this meeting. “Starting at the end of the year, the group will be known as the Supremes with Diana Ross.”

  Silence.

  Finally, Florence was the one who spoke up. “That’s good news?” she asked.

  Diana shot her a hurt look. For just a second it was as if she wished Florence was happy to see she was finally being recognized for all she had done as the group’s lead singer. Of course, that would have been asking a lot, especially in this moment.

  Ignoring the tension, Berry went on to explain that with Diana’s name added to the billing, the group would be able to command a larger concert fee, “because it’ll be two separate entities, two star attractions,” he said, his voice rising with excitement.

  Mary has remembered that Diana said nothing. Rather, she listened with apparent great interest, as if it was the first time she had heard about this decision.

  “Now, about Blondie,” Berry said. With all eyes turned to her, Florence sank deeper into gold velvet. Berry started pacing. This was hard for him, even considering all that had happened. He reprised the points of contention, counting the grievances on the fingers of one hand: Florence drank too much and looked sloppy on stage because of her weight; she missed shows; “and what happened in New Orleans can never happen again.” She was clearly unhappy being a part of the group. So, he concluded, “it’s time for Florence to leave the Supremes. Plain and simple. It’s time.”

  More silence.

  Finally, Lurlee spoke. “But, Berry, I really think Mary wants Florence in the group. Don’t you, Mary?”

  All eyes turned to Mary. She squirmed in her seat. She looked at Florence, hoping that her friend would give her some sign that she wanted to remain a part of the group. Florence, instead, looked away. In that moment, Mary knew what Flo’s feelings were.

  “Look, Mrs. Ballard,” Mary began, tentatively, “Flo doesn’t want to be in the group anymore. Yes, I want her in the group but what can I do? She no longer wants us.”

  Again, Diana didn’t say a word.

  “Well, Mary, if that’s the way you want it …” Lurlee said sadly. Florence sat slumped beside her, looking defeated. “Suddenly, I didn’t feel like just one of the Supremes,” Mary would later recall. “I felt like the only Supreme.”

  Finally, Berry went over to Florence, took her arm and helped her out of her seat. He helped her with her coat.

  “Are you going to be all right?” he asked. She nodded listlessly. Then, she turned to leave, walking past Diana and Mary without looking at them.

  When Florence opened the French doors of the den and walked out into the living room, she discovered a startled Cindy Birdsong sitting there. As it happened, Cindy had been met at the airport by a Motown staff member and driven directly to Berry’s home. She was told to wait in the living room. She knew a meeting was taking place in the den, but she had no idea who was behind those doors.

  “Oh my goodness. Flo!” Cindy said, flustered. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

  Florence, in tears, just rushed right past her.

  As Nate McAlpern said goodbye to the Ballards at the front door, Diana and Mary came into the living room. Diana looked at Cindy and smiled; she hugged her warmly. Mary, ignoring them both, pulled open the gold curtains and watched silently as Florence and her mother walked out onto the driveway, their heads bowed. The two women stopped in front of Florence’s Cadillac and embraced, holding each other tightly and sobbing.

  After a few moments, both got into the car and drove away.

  “I’ll bet Diane just loves that marquee …”

  If anyone thought it was over with Florence Ballard after that difficult meeting at Berry Gordy’s home in Detroit, they would have been wrong. Typical of show business contracts, Cindy Birdsong couldn’t get out of hers with her singing group in time to join the Supremes for some important concert, television and recording dates. She managed to get in one night at the Hollywood Bowl before Diana and Mary had to ask Florence to continue with the group for a while longer. Florence, after a few hours of deliberation, agreed to the performance. She told relatives that she had hoped to drop as much weight as she could before the appearance, and stop drinking as well. She wanted to come back as the slim attractive Supreme the world once knew her to be.

  Although Florence did manage to drop a few pounds by the first rehearsal, it was not enough to make her silhouette match Diana’s or Mary’s. However, it was a sign that she was taking steps to better herself. It was clear to many during that period that she had also decreased her alcohol intake as well.

  On 9 May 1967, the Supremes, Florence included, went into the studio to record “Reflections,” another terrific H-D-H composition. (When released in July, it would soar to number two on the charts.) Then, also in May, Florence was asked to perform on The Ed Sullivan Show, followed by another big engagement at the Copacabana in New York during which they would appear on the popular TV show What’s My Line?

  With the pending Copa engagement, Florence began to feel that her own celebrity was again being cemented, that her place as a Supreme was becoming more secure. However, a conversation with Berry Gordy soon changed that. “You need to know that Cindy’s coming on tour with us,” he told her, according to one witness. “Not to perform … but she’ll be there … just in case.”

  Florence was hurt. She had been doing her best to pull herself together, trying to be as pleasant as possible under stressful circumstances, but Berry was making one thing clear: he had little faith that her recent transformation would last long.

  During the Copa shows, Cindy watched Florence from the audience, taking copious notes. Her presence was a real blow to Florence. Between shows, she started drinking again and began to slip into her disconnected, angry persona.

  On 12 June Florence recorded another hit with the group, “In and Out of Love.” As it would happen, this would be the last time she would ever step into the studio and record as a Supreme—an ironic send-off considering how many times she’d been “in and out of” the group. Another irony is that her efforts in the studio were in vain because, the next day, Motown completely covered her vocals with those of the Andantes. (“In and Out of Love” was not only the last time the original three Supremes actually recorded together, but it would also be the last H-D-H Top 10 for the group.)

  After that recording session, there were a few more dates before the group finally made it to the West Coast. In Los Angeles they appeared at the Coconut Grove and also on The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson. Finally, they ended up in Las
Vegas for another engagement at the Flamingo Hotel.

  Sin City—Vegas—was a tough place for Florence. A town where hotels often served free screwdrivers with breakfast was an easy place for anyone with a drinking problem to spiral quickly. The Supremes were booked there from 28 June to 19 July. The marquee announcing their appearance read, “The Supremes with Diana Ross.” It was the first time the world was presented with the new moniker—and the first time the Supremes themselves saw it.

  The afternoon of their opening was difficult for Florence, who showed up at the dress rehearsal with an apparent hangover and an ax to grind. Backstage, she had a run-in with Berry. Members of the Supremes’ entourage and some of their musicians tried to act busy, but couldn’t help but overhear what was going on between the Motown chief and his disgruntled singer. “So, I see you’ve finished the job,” Florence told him. “I’ll bet Diane just loves that marquee, doesn’t she?”

  “Now, Blondie, don’t you start with me,” Berry said. Because it was a Las Vegas opening night, he had a lot on his mind. He probably hoped to put off the inevitable confrontation with Florence about star billing until the next engagement, but that wasn’t to be.

  “Don’t you Blondie me,” Florence said, her voice rising.

  With that, Berry just turned and walked away. Then, the doorway to Diana’s dressing room swung open. “Excuse me!” she shouted, her eyes blazing. “Some people are trying to rest around here.” And with that, she slammed the door shut.

  After a moment of silent seething, Florence headed to her own dressing room. She and Mary were now sharing one, and Diana was by herself in another. Berry had decided to separate them, which obviously did little to promote group morale.

  “I remember lying down in the dressing room in Las Vegas and praying,” Florence told this writer in 1973.

  I looked up at the ceiling, and I asked, “God, what’s happening here? What are you doing to me, here?” I felt scared and unhappy. Then, there was a knock on my door. It was Mary. “Come on, girl, let’s go to the rehearsal and get through it, and then we’ll go and have fun. Just you and me. No Diane. No Berry. We’ll go gambling.” So, I went. But, I couldn’t understand how she could be acting like it was okay when it wasn’t okay. It was almost like Mary wanted to just be blind to it because she couldn’t handle that we were breaking up. The rehearsals for the Flamingo were the worst. It was so tense.