Diana Ross: A Biography

by J. Randy Taraborrelli

  Berry watched her from his seat with a sad but resigned smile.

  Diana continued: “But it’s not about the people who leave Motown that’s important. It’s about the people who come back. And tonight everybody came back.”

  By now Diana and Berry were looking at each other as if they were the only two people in the auditorium. Seemingly oblivious to the applause, her eyes still locked on Berry’s, Diana started to raise a clenched fist; it seemed as though she were making the black power salute, but the movement was so tentative that no one could be sure what she meant by it. Berry’s expression never changed. He raised both fists to chin level, and then his hands opened wide, his fingers splayed, as if he were freeing a small bird. He didn’t look happy, though. Not at all.

  Still, the applause grew.

  As Gil Askey cued the opening chords of “Someday We’ll Be Together,” Diana began to sing in a weak, thin voice. “Mary? And Cindy?” she asked, motioning to the sides of the stage. Cindy entered from stage right, wearing a white silk sequined gown. She beamed as she walked toward Diana while singing and flashing a winning smile. She had never looked happier or more proud to be a Supreme.

  When Diana motioned to the left of the stage with her index finger, Mary came strutting out in a red sequined gown with a slit running up the side. Glitter was sprayed into her wig. Looking tall, dark, and provocative, she smiled brightly. Her presence was absolutely electric. It was obvious to all that since the evening Diana left her and Cindy in 1970, this woman had developed a keen, confident sense of herself as a performer. Now, thirteen years later, Mary looked for all the world like the greatest of stars. The applause for her was deafening.

  Diana greeted both girls with a wide smile. “That’s Mary Wilson,” she said pointing to her. “And Cindy Birdsong.” It seemed that she was happy to be onstage with them. She took a few steps in front of them to her usual position. That’s when trouble started. What she didn’t know was that Mary and Cindy had made a secret agreement. They’d decided earlier that whenever Diana stepped forward, they would do the same; they would not take their places behind her. Three times, Diana stepped in front of them and three times they joined her by her side. At one point, Diana actually reached over and, with the palm of her hand, pressed on Mary’s shoulder as if to say, “Back up.” (Mary would later say she pushed her, but it didn’t seem that way.) From then on, everything was thrown off-kilter. Before anyone knew what was happening, it was Mary who was singing lead on “Someday We’ll Be Together” while Diana stood at her side looking lost. Realizing that this Supremes reunion was in big trouble, Suzanne dePasse sent Smokey Robinson out onto the stage to deflect attention from the troubled trio. Things calmed down—for the time being.

  Diana then began to bring the other acts onto the stage, just as she had been instructed to do for the finale: “Richard Pryor, and Billy Dee and the Temptations!” she began. Pryor walked out and kissed Diana on the lips. The Temptations. The Four Tops, and all of the others. Finally, the stage was full of exuberant Motown performers. Then, Mary, apparently caught up in the emotion of it all, suddenly called out, “Berry, come on down!” Diana grabbed Mary’s wrist and pulled the microphone from her lips. “It’s been taken care of!” she said to Mary in a scolding tone, sharply and loud enough for everyone to hear. An audible gasp came up from the audience. Mary shot her a look of disbelief and froze, stunned. In Mary’s defense, she didn’t know that Diana had been directed to bring Berry onto the stage in a very specific way. She wasn’t privy to the meeting during which Diana had been given those instructions. So, this was really just a miscommunication. “How long will it take for you to come down here, Black?” Diana finally shouted up to Berry in the balcony, seizing control of the situation.

  Berry, in a brown satin dinner jacket, rose and came down the center aisle closely followed by three bodyguards.

  Once he was up on stage, he and Diana shared a kiss and a long embrace. Then, Mary. There were hugs, kisses and handshakes from the other stars and it was clear that they genuinely did care a great deal for Berry. Had it not been for him, perhaps none of them would have even become famous. Who’s to say, really? So, what else could they do but just be mature and sensible about things, celebrate the moment at hand and push aside any feelings of dissatisfaction they may have had about the past? It turned out to be an emotional, triumphant finale to a terrific show.

  Through it all, Diana struggled to maintain control. Finally, she retreated to a platform on the orchestra level above the joyous groups of artists and musicians. As everyone joined hands and sang her song, “Reach Out and Touch (Somebody’s Hand),” she swayed back and forth above them, smiling and looking benevolent—pretty much like what she was: the Queen of Motown.

  After the show, Berry and just about everyone involved—except for Diana—attended a lavish celebratory party.

  “Did you see what she did to me?” Mary cried in the limousine on the way to the function. She was with her mother, Johnnie Mae, and two friends. “How dare she? How dare she?” She was mortified. No matter how she and Diana had felt about each other because of backstage goings-on over the years, when onstage together they never showed the public anything but Supreme smiles and top-notch professionalism. In Mary’s view, Diana had picked a fine time to clue everyone in to the fact that there was real tension between them.

  “Well, that was just Diane bein’ Diane,” Johnnie Mae said, trying to calm down her daughter. “Don’t get all worked up now, Mary. This is something that should have been worked out a long, long time ago.”

  For the next few months, the media would concentrate on the altercation between Diana and Mary. “Only Ross’s prima donna petulance prevented the event from being truly Supreme,” wrote a journalist for Us. “Ross did some elbowing to get Wilson out of the spotlight,” reported People. Still, when broadcast, on 16 May 1983, Motown 25 would become the highest-rated musical special in the history of television and, later, win an Emmy for Outstanding Variety Program. Indeed, the public was dazzled by the genuineness and warmth they saw between the artists, as well as all the performances and musical memories. Only those on the other side of the curtain knew about … the angst.

  Diana said little to nothing to the media about what had transpired during the taping of the program. However, Mary Wilson, always loquacious with the press, had quite a lot to say about it. She was spitting mad, and by the time she had finished with the media … everyone knew it. In fact, the event caused such renewed interest in her, she soon signed a new book deal to write about her life with Diana and the Supremes. While Miss Ross may not have wanted to address her past in her own book, or seen it written about in anybody else’s, that certainly wasn’t going to stop Mary from doing so from her own perspective. Judging by what happened at Motown 25, Mary’s latest project promised to be a huge public-relations disaster for Diana.

  Indeed, the animosity from so many years ago was still alive and well. It was almost as if those, like Mary, who had pent-up animosity toward Diana had seen their fondest dream realized the night of Motown 25: to see her squirm through a socially awkward occasion, feeling unwelcome, out of place—at least not the center of attention. Yet, it’s difficult to say who, if anyone, came out the victor that evening. In the end, Berry Gordy, who had the ability to present each uncomfortable moment with glaring clarity and detail on national television, chose not to do so. Instead, he had the presentation edited down to as respectful and dignified a night as possible for Miss Ross; none of the unpleasantness was seen on the broadcast. As wronged as he felt he had been at her hands, Berry’s instinct to preserve the image of his creation won out. It must have occurred to him, as he decided how to cut the final show, that it might be his last chance to mold her, his last opportunity to either let the world see an unedited, less attractive depiction of Diana or to continue the illusion that she was still queen. He made his decision and, as a result, Diana Ross remained supreme to much of the world. Berry would later say it had been
an easy choice. After all, despite the hard feelings, it was still the truth as he saw it … no illusion, at all.

  No wind, no rain can stop me …

  By the early 1980s, many of Diana Ross’s show-business peers had begun to associate themselves with charitable causes. For instance, Stevie Wonder was a strong supporter of the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Center for Social Change. Sammy Davis was known for his support of the Harlem Dowling Children’s Services, the United Negro College Fund, the NAACP and Operation Push. In 1981, when Ebony magazine asked Diana what charities she had been involved with, she had to answer, “I don’t have one. I’m not involved in any projects.” It was a weak and somewhat embarrassing response, but, unfortunately, it was true. Many people in her circle feel that when even Michael Jackson became identified in the media as a humanitarian, Diana felt spurred on to then use her own celebrity to better use than just selling records and concert tickets. By 1982, she had established the Diana Ross Foundation, which, according to her press release, was “an organization through which Miss Ross will channel her philanthropic activities.”

  The first philanthropic activity tied to the new foundation would be a free concert in Central Park, produced by Diana’s new production company, Anaid (which, of course, is Diana spelled backwards). It was something she truly believed in, something she thought would be good for the community, and she spent about a year pulling it all together. Paramount would coproduce and the event would be broadcast on the Showtime network, which would also pony up some costs. The way the deal was structured, 7.5 percent of the revenue from the sale of promotional items such as T-shirts and posters, and from the show’s cable broadcast and satellite worldwide telecast, would be used to reconstruct a children’s park in New York. It would be named after Diana and located on West 81st Street and Central Park West. By the summer of 1983, some of the details had been worked out and Diana found herself standing by New York Mayor Koch’s side at a press conference. “It’s for the children,” she said of her endeavors. “It’s my dream.”

  Without getting into too much detail about it, the deal was not really a good one, nor was it even finalized, by the time the concert was to take place. There were many problems with the way the business behind this endeavor was structured, and really it seemed no way to build a park. As is generally the case with charity concerts, the expenses of the lavishly produced show had to be covered first—and only one show, incidentally. Diana felt she had time to work things out, though. “After all, I don’t have to build the park the day after the concert,” she reasoned.

  The concert took place at 6 p.m. on 21 July 1983 on the Great Lawn, a thirteen-acre expanse near the center of Central Park. By 11 a.m. there were already 4,000 people present, many with blankets, picnic baskets and radios to help while away the time. Besides the “Diana Ross” souvenirs, vendors were busy hawking food, beer and marijuana. The crowd grew throughout the day and eventually was estimated to be between 350,000 and 400,000—an absolutely stunning turnout for Diana.

  For her opening number, Diana appeared in the midst of a troupe of African-garbed dancers wearing what can only be described as a multicolored straw tent—which she soon discarded to reveal that she was clad in an orange, form-fitting bodysuit. Soon, that outfit was augmented with a sheer orange cape, which blew dramatically in the rising wind. What happened next has been well documented.

  Diana sang for about twenty-five minutes on the open stage until the arrival of the first raindrops. Within a matter of minutes, the weather got worse and soon had whipped up such a wild storm that the downpour knocked out electricity to nearly 40,000 homes. It was surprising, upsetting and oddly thrilling. Far from being daunted by the storm’s fury, Diana seemed to regard it as one more challenge. “It took me a lifetime to get here,” she told the now-drenched but cheering crowd, “and I’m not going anywhere.” With her hair slicked back, makeup dripping and costume clinging to her body, Ross in the rain was an unforgettable sight. Just as awe-inspiring was the sight of her audience, so transfixed and riveted that it all too gladly endured the elements for its star. Even the fans ankle-deep in mud booed and hissed as park officials pleaded with Diana to stop the show.

  Though determined, there wasn’t much she could do to keep the show going. “Ain’t no mountain high enough / Nothing can keep me, keep me from you!” she belted out, absolutely drenched. Then she remained on stage to oversee the evacuation of the area. Indeed, media reaction was swift and favorable. Diana stayed up late into the night watching TV news reports showing her singing in the storm and the audience loving her. What could easily have been a disaster turned into one of the most memorable highlights of her career. It had rained on her parade, and she had emerged soaking wet but totally triumphant—and she’d done it all without Berry Gordy Jr.

  The next morning, Friday, she ate her breakfast surrounded by local and national newspapers. She’d made the front pages in all of them, including a page-one picture in the New York Times with the headline: “A Singer, a Throng in Central Park, a Deluge.” The New York Times quoted city commissioner of parks and recreation Henry Stern as calling her “magnificent in calming the crowd and gradually emptying the Great Lawn.” Suddenly, Diana was receiving more publicity than she had generated in many years. The focus of all this attention was not her philanthropic endeavor or any children’s park but rather Diana herself, and her magnificence in the face of what had amounted to an almost impossible situation. Diana was victorious. If only she had stopped while she was ahead, while her public had such a positive impression of her.

  A second concert was quickly scheduled for late that Friday afternoon. For its broadcast—and when one considers that Showtime decided to air another show, it becomes even more clear just how much attention the first one got—Diana added a montage of morning-after newspaper accolades about the rained-out event. Then she made her entrance to the strains of “I’m Coming Out.” However, as she “came out,” she actually stumbled on her way to the stage—which, as it would transpire, was portentous for what would happen during the rest of the show. Her voice was strong but almost everything else about the performance was weak. She seemed a bit overwhelmed, losing her place, forgetting her lyrics. True, the pressure was on and this was being broadcast live around the world, but this was a discombobulated Diana Ross that the world wasn’t used to seeing.

  Sensing the restlessness of the unruly crowd, Diana began to urge them to calm down. She held her hand to her chin, palm out, and started blowing air to her audience. “Can you feel me? Can you feel me?” she called out. It was a gesture that seemed so oddly egocentric, most people didn’t know what to make of it. “I have a dream come true,” she kept repeating. “I want you to listen to me.” She seemed edgy, her manner petulant and somewhat condescending. “This may be the most important moment of my life,” she insisted. “When I do a quiet song, it’s important that you can hear me.” Oddly, she performed “We Are a Family,” a song from Dreamgirls, the show she had earlier decried, proving that she is nothing if not unpredictable. After a few more numbers, she decided to inject the thoughts and meditations of Kahlil Gibran into the show, for which she was armed with a large book of readings from The Prophet. It was probably here that Berry Gordy, most likely watching at home, began shouting at his TV set, “What in the world are you doing?”

  “And he spoke to us of love,” Diana read in a high, piercing voice. “Know the secrets of your heart. Think not that you can direct the course of love.” The wind whipped her hair into her face and riffled the pages of her book and floated her words right over the heads of confused audience members who wanted to hear “Upside Down.” It was clear that she felt a responsibility to do something important with the worldwide exposure she had been afforded a second time; deliver some sort of worthwhile message as well as sing her hit songs. She, no doubt, longed to do something that would matter, make a difference. It’s just that she didn’t pull it off. It had been a bad idea and it would be edited out of all futu
re broadcasts. As the show droned on, it just got worse. “We have a few minutes left,” she finally called out. “What do you want to hear? I don’t have to disappear. I don’t want to leave. You’re wonderful. I love you,” she cried out. “I love you.”

  Finally—and mercifully—it was over. After the terrible Motown 25 appearance, this kind of messy presentation was precisely what Diana Ross did not need her public to witness.

  Suffice it to say, after the expenses of the two concerts were tallied, there was no money left to build any kind of children’s park. She may have been able to build a sandbox, but that would have been about the extent of it. Although Diana was not paid for her performances, everyone else had to be compensated: musicians, dancers, backing singers, costumers, carpenters, sound and lighting technicians, and so forth. All told, the production costs of the two Central Park shows totalled $1.8 million. Even after the underwriting from Paramount and Showtime and all of the money made from concessions—those that hadn’t been destroyed by the storm, anyway—there wasn’t $250,000 left for the playground, and that was not a lot of money even by 1980s standards. The shows ended up costing the city of New York $650,000 just for police and cleanup services. She was even criticized by New York City’s Mayor Koch in People magazine. He said that he hoped Diana would recognize her “legal and moral responsibility,” adding, “I don’t believe it. My guts tell me there should be a profit.” Koch further said he was angry that the full accounting of the events he had insisted upon seeing from Diana and Paramount took four months to prepare and was incomplete. Though it listed all of Diana’s expenses, it didn’t itemize any of the money earned by the shows.

  Diana was stunned by the mayor’s accusations, not being used to having her integrity questioned. All she could do, though, was to explain that there had been no money generated by the shows and hope people would just believe her. In fact, she said that she had shelled out almost $300,000 of her own on expenses no one even knew about—probably referring to production costs. Still, she was roundly criticized. “Of course it’s a rip-off,” parks commissioner Henry Stern said to the New York Times. “These documents subject New York taxpayers to Hollywood economics. It’s no way to treat the city.”