The Supremes—Florence Ballard, Mary Wilson, and Diana Ross—opening at the Copacabana in New York City, 1965. Courtesy of Motown Museum.
It Happened in Hitsville
After half a century, and several shelves of books about the revolutionary music label, Motown’s story is still obscured by rumors and misconceptions. Founder Berry Gordy Jr. joins a groundbreaking chorus—Smokey Robinson, Martha Reeves, Lionel Richie, Stevie Wonder, Suzanne de Passe, and other legends—to give an oral history of the Detroit hitmaking machine, the cultural and racial breakthroughs it inspired, and life at “Hitsville,” as well as a true account of Gordy’s relationship with Diana Ross and the rise of the Supremes.
by Lisa Robinson December 2008
When I was 11 years old I was taking black newspapers into white neighborhoods to sell them, because I liked those newspapers, so I thought other people would like them, too. The first week I sold a lot of papers because I was cute. I took my brother the next week and didn’t sell any. One black kid was cute. Two—a threat to the neighborhood. —Berry Gordy, July 9, 2008.
Callin’ out around the world, are you ready for a brand new beat? —“Dancing in the Street,” Martha & the Vandellas.
Motown shaped the culture and did all the things that made the 1960s what they were. So if you don’t understand Motown and the influence it had on a generation of black and white young people, then you can’t understand the United States, you can’t understand America. —Julian Bond, N.A.A.C.P. chairman of the board.
Detroit, Michigan: the two-story building at 2648 West Grand Boulevard looks like an ordinary suburban house—except for the bright-blue hitsville u.s.a. sign above the front porch. The first floor of this national landmark includes a reception area, a room filled with reel-to-reel tape machines and boxes of master tapes, old vending machines filled with candy and cigarettes, a glass-windowed control room, and a recording studio. Studio A, as it is known and preserved in this Motown Historical Museum, was, at the beginning of the 1960s, the room where the Supremes, the Temptations, Smokey Robinson & the Miracles, Marvin Gaye, Mary Wells, the Four Tops, Martha & the Vandellas, and Stevie Wonder, among others, recorded the hundreds of hits—“Reach Out I’ll Be There,” “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg,” “Heat Wave,” “Nowhere to Run,” “Uptight,” “Bernadette,” “The Tears of a Clown,” “The Tracks of My Tears,” “Shop Around,” “Stop! In the Name of Love,” “My Girl,” “The Way You Do the Things You Do”—that changed the musical and racial essence of America.
More than 50 books have been written about Motown, its artists, and founder Berry Gordy Jr., including his 1994 autobiography (To Be Loved), in which he attempted to “set the record straight.” And, still, rumors and misconceptions about Motown and Gordy’s story persist. For 50 years now, Gordy, who started the company in 1958 with an $800 loan from his family, has vigorously guarded the Motown legacy—living a private, some might say reclusive life on his enormous Bel Air estate (formerly owned by Red Skelton). A happy, loquacious man who surrounds himself with friends and family—eight children, two ex-wives (his first wife is deceased), 13 grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren—Gordy remained mostly silent even when he and some of his artists were angered by the Hollywood movie Dreamgirls. (Gordy states that DreamWorks co-founder David Geffen is “a friend of mine for 40 years and a man of his word,” and Gordy “was satisfied when DreamWorks took out a full-page ad in the trades” apologizing for any implication that Dreamgirls was about Motown, and stating that the true Motown story has yet to be told.) But, according to Motown veterans and those who worked behind the scenes for the label (who still call Berry Gordy “The Chairman” or Mr. Gordy), including Gordy himself, the reality of Motown from 1958 to the end of the 1960s is different from the myth. And, as someone said to Berry Gordy, if the lion does not tell his story, the hunters will.
Born in 1929, Berry Gordy Jr. has been described as brilliant, charismatic, genius, mentor, gambler, philosopher, gangster, ladies’ man, and father figure. At the age of five, Berry, the seventh of eight children, took classical piano lessons from his uncle. As a teenager and then a young man, he worked in his father’s plastering business, sold cookware, served in the Korean War, worked at the Lincoln Mercury assembly plant, and opened and closed an unsuccessful jazz record store. He tried to sell his songs (his very first song, “You Are You,” was written for, and sent blindly to, “Doris Day, Hollywood,” who years later told Berry she never received it) and, eventually, he wrote hits for Barrett Strong (“Money”) and Jackie Wilson (“Lonely Teardrops”).
In the 1950s, Detroit was jumping. Berry listened to Oscar Peterson and Charlie Parker and hung out in nightclubs like the 20 Grand and the Flame Show Bar, where his sister Gwen had the photo concession and he once met Billie Holiday. He was a somewhat successful featherweight boxer, and never forgot the joy in his neighborhood when Joe Louis beat Max Schmeling for the heavyweight championship of the world. “He was black like me,” says Gordy. “I saw the faces of my mother and father and the people in the street, and later I thought, What can I do in my life to make people that happy?” He chose music over boxing (“Both got girls,” he says) and ultimately would start Motown with the help of family members and Smokey Robinson, a young singer-songwriter he met by chance at an audition and who would help put the label on the national map with the No. 1 R&B hit “Shop Around.” For three decades, Motown was, at first, the only major, then the most important, black-owned music company in a business dominated by white-owned record and distribution companies, and, with more than 100 Top 10 hits in its 1960s heyday, it would revolutionize American popular music.
Berry Gordy felt that the differences in people were way less powerful than their similarities. “When I started in music,” he says, “it was for the cops and robbers, the rich and poor, the black and white, the Jews and the Gentiles. When I went to the white radio stations to get records played, they would laugh at me. They thought I was trying to bring black music to white people, to ‘cross over,’ and I said, ‘Wait a minute—it’s not really black music. It’s music by black stars.’ I refused to be categorized. They called my music all kinds of stuff: rhythm and blues, soul.… And I said, ‘Look, my music is pop. Pop means popular. If you sell a million records, you’re popular.’” The slogan of Motown became “the sound of young America,” but, for Gordy, the sound was “rats, roaches, soul, guts, and love.”
The genius of Berry Gordy was that he perceived a vacuum in the musical culture of the nation and he was able to convince young brothers and sisters like me in the black side of town that this was my music, and at the same time convince white brothers and sisters on the other side of town who were listening to the Beach Boys that Motown was also their music. —Dr. Cornel West, Princeton University.
Berry Gordy: I’ve been protecting the [Motown] legacy for 50 years. This music is the soundtrack of people’s lives, and for people all around the world who love this music, who had kids with this music, who were part of making this music, it is my responsibility to not let these people down. I would never let Marvin Gaye’s memory down. But I knew something would come along—like Dreamgirls—which was the result of so many other stories, and people making up stories, that would try and change the history. And after a while, the truth was so obscure. I decided now that it’s the 50th anniversary it’s time to tell the truth and then put it to bed.
Smokey Robinson, lead singer of the Miracles, producer, songwriter, original vice president of Motown: I protested Dreamgirls to the hilt. They’re not going to talk about Berry like that. They’re not going to downplay Motown. They’re not going to take our legacy and make it something negative [for] kids who didn’t grow up with Motown. To make people think this is Motown and make Berry a gangster, no, they’re not going to get away with that shit.
Martha Reeves, lead singer of Martha & the Vandellas (“Heat Wave,” “Nowhere to Run,” “Dancing in the Street”), currently a member of the Detroit City Council: I thought Dreamgirls was a good story, but it had nothing to do with Motown. Motown was more of a nightmare in that we played horrible places on the chitlin circuit, not that dreamland they show in that movie. We played some places that had horse stables in the back with straw on the floor, places where you had to put fire in the wastebasket to keep warm. At the Apollo Theater, when it was raggedy and dingy and dark, before it was renovated, we were in there cooking hot dogs on the lightbulbs. We would eat popcorn and sardines, and drink a lot of water to try to feel full.
Berry Gordy: When Dreamgirls was on Broadway, I didn’t know about it or care much about it—I never saw it. I think the main person they were attacking on that was Diana [Ross], but when they came out with the film, a whole lot of stuff was changed. It was all based on Motown and based on me. I was the central character; it was all untrue. There were no redeeming factors for [the person based on me]—how can you relate that to somebody who has built all these superstars?
(Part 1 of 5 finished)