thecoolguys@hotmail.com Chapter Two
Dancing Machine
We were jubilant when we learned we had passed the Motown
audition. I remember Berry Gordy sitting us all down and saying
that we were going to make history together. "I'm gonna make
you the biggest thing in the world," he said, "and
you're gonna be written about in history books." He really
said that to us. We were leaning forward, listening to him, and
saying, "Okay! Okay!" I'll never forget that. We were
all over at his house, and it was like a fairy tale come true
listening to this powerful, talented man tell us we were going to
be very big. "Your first record will be a number one, your
second record will be a number one, and so will your third
record. Three number one records in a row. You'll hit the charts
just as Diana Ross and the Supremes did." This was almost
unheard of in those days, but he was right; we turned around and
did just that. Three in a row.
So Diana didn't find us first, but I don't think we'll ever be
able to repay Diana properly for all she did for us in those
days. When we finally moved to Southern California, we actually
lived with Diana and stayed with her for more than a year on a
part-time basis. Some of us lived with Berry Gordy and some of us
with Diana, and then we would switch. She was so wonderful,
mothering us and making us feel right at home. She really helped
take care of us for at least a year and a half while my parents
closed up the Gary house and looked for a house we could all live
in here in California. It was great for us because Berry and
Diana lived on the same street in Beverly Hills. We could walk up
to Berry's house and then go back to Diana's. Most of the time
I'd spend the day at Diana's and the night at Berry's. This was
an important period in my life because Diana loved art and
encouraged me to appreciate it too. She took the time to educate
me about it. We'd go out almost every day, just the two of us,
and buy pencils and paint. When we weren't drawing or painting,
we'd go to museums. She introduced me to the works of the great
artists like Michelangelo and Degas and that was the start of my
lifelong interest in art. She really taught me a great deal. It
was so new to me and exciting. It was really different from what
I was used to doing, which was living and breathing music,
rehearsing day in and day out. You wouldn't think a big star like
Diana would take the time to teach a kid to paint, to give him an
education in art, but she did and I loved her for it. I still do.
I'm crazy about her. She was my mother, my lover, and my sister
all combined in one amazing person.
Those were truly wild days for me and my brothers. When we flew
to California from Chicago, it was like being in another country,
another world. To come from our part of Indiana, which is so
urban and often bleak, and to land in Southern California was
like having the world transformed into a wonderful dream. I was
uncontrollable back then. I was all over the place - Disneyland,
Sunset Strip, the beach. My brothers loved it too, and we got
into everything, like kids who had just visited a candy store for
the first time. We were awestruck by California; trees had
oranges and leaves on them in the middle of winter. There were
palm trees and beautiful sunsets, and the weather was so warm.
Every day was special. I would be doing something that was fun
and wouldn't want it to end, but then I'd realize there was
something else to do later that was going to be just as enjoyable
and that I could look forward to just as much. Those were heady
days.
One of the best parts of being there was meeting all the big
Motown stars who had emigrated to California along with Berry
Gordy after he moved from Detroit. I remember when I first shook
Smokey Robinson's hand. It was like shaking hands with a king. My
eyes lit up with stars, I remember telling my mother that his
hand felt as if it was layered with soft pillows. You don't think
about the little impressions people walk away with when you're a
star yourself, but the fans do. At least, I know I did. I mean, I
walked around saying, "His hand is so soft ." When I
think about it now, it sounds silly, but it made a big impression
on me. I had shaken Smokey Robinson's hand. There are so many
artists and musicians and writers I admire. When I was young, the
people I watched were the real showmen - James Brown, Sammy
Davis, Jr., Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly. A great showman touches
everybody; that's the real test of greatness and these men have
it. Like Michelangelo's work, it touches you, I don't care who
you are. I am always excited when I get a chance to meet someone
whose work has affected me in some way. Maybe I've read a book
that has touched me deeply or made me think about things that I
haven't focused on before. A certain song or style of singing can
excite me or move me and become a favorite that I'll never tire
of hearing. A picture or a painting can reveal a universe. In the
same vein, an actor's performance or a collective performance can
transform me.
In those days Motown had never recorded a kids' group. In fact
the only child singer they had ever produced was Stevie Wonder.
So Motown was determined that if they were going to promote kids,
they'd promote the kind of kids who were good at more than just
singing and dancing. They wanted people to like us because of who
we were, not just because of our records. They wanted us to set
an example by sticking to our schoolwork and being friendly to
our fans, reporters, and everyone who came in contact with us.
This wasn't hard for us because our mother had raised us to be
polite and considerate. It was second nature. Our only problem
with schoolwork was that once we became well known, we couldn't
go to school because people would come into our classrooms
through the windows, looking for an autograph or a picture. I was
trying to keep up with my classes and not to be the cause of
disruptions, but it finally became impossible and we were given
tutors to teach us at home.
During this period a lady named Suzanne de Passe was having a
great effect on our lives. She worked for Motown, and it was she
who trained us religiously once we moved to L.A. She also became
a manager for the Jackson 5. We lived with her occasionally, ate
with her, and even played with her. We were a rowdy,
high-spirited bunch, and she was young herself and full of fun.
She really contributed a lot toward the shaping of the Jackson 5,
and I'll never be able to thank her enough for all she did.
I remember Suzanne showing us these charcoal sketches of the five
of us. In each sketch we had a different hairstyle. In another
set of color drawings we were all pictured in different clothes
that could be switched around like Colorforms. After we all
decided on the hairstyles, they took us to a barber so he could
make us match up with our pictures. Then, after she showed us the
clothes, we went down to a wardrobe department where they gave us
outfits to try on. They'd see us in one set of clothes, decide
the clothes weren't right, and we'd all go back to the Colorforms
to "try on" some more.
We had classes in manners and grammar. They gave us a list of
questions, and they said they were the kinds of questions that we
could expect people to ask us. We were always being asked about
our interests and our hometown and how we liked singing together.
Fans and reporters alike wanted to know how old we each were when
we started performing. It was hard to have your life turn into
public property, even if you appreciated that people were
interested in you because of your music.
The Motown people tested us on the answers to questions we hadn't
heard from anyone yet. They tested us on grammar. And table
manners. When we were ready, they brought us in for the last
alterations on our sleeves and the trimming of our new Afros.
After all that there was a new song to learn called "I Want
You Back." The song had a story behind it that we found out
about little by little. It was written by someone from Chicago
named Freddie Perren. He had been Jerry Butler's pianist when we
opened for Jerry in a Chicago nightclub. He had felt sorry for
these little kids the club owner had hired, figuring the club
couldn't afford to get anyone else. His opinion changed
dramatically when he saw us perform.
As it turned out, "I Want You Back" was originally
called "I Want To Be Free" and was written for Gladys
Knight. Freddie had even thought that Berry might go over
Gladys's head and give the song to the Supremes. Instead, he
mentioned to Jerry that he'd just signed this group of kids from
Gary, Indiana. Freddie put two and two together, realized it was
us, and decided to trust fate.
When we were learning the Steeltown songs back in Gary, Tito and
Jermaine had to pay special attention because they were
responsible for playing on those records. When they heard the
demo for "I Want You Back," they listened to the guitar
and bass parts, but Dad explained that Motown didn't expect them
to play on our records; the rhythm track would be taken care of
before we put our vocals down. But he reminded them that this
would put more pressure on them to keep up their practice
independently, because we'd have to duplicate those songs in
front of our fans. In the meantime, all of us had lyrics and cues
to learn.
The guys looking after us in the singing department were Freddie
Perren and Bobby Taylor and Deke Richards, who, along with Hal
Davis and another Motown guy named "Fonce" Mizell, were
part of the team that wrote and produced our first singles.
Together these guys were called "The Corporation." We
went over to Richard's apartment to rehearse, and he was
impressed that we had prepared so well. He didn't have to do much
tinkering with the vocal arrangement he'd worked out, and he
thought that while we were still hot, we should go right to the
studio and cut our parts. The following afternoon we went to the
studio. We were all so happy with what we got that we took our
rough mix over to Berry Gordy. It was still midafternoon when we
arrived at his studio. We figured that once Berry heard it, we'd
be home in time for supper.
But it was one in the morning when I finally slumped in the back
seat of Richard's car, bobbing and steadying my head all the way
home to fight off sleep. Gordy hadn't liked the song we did. We
went over every part again, and when we did, Gordy figured out
what changes he had to make in the arrangement. He was trying new
things with us, like a school chorus master who has everyone
singing their part as if they're singing alone, even if you can't
hear him or her distinctly for the crowd. After he was through
rehearsing us as a group, and he had reworked the music, he took
me aside, one on one, to explain my part. He told me exactly what
he wanted and how he wanted me to help him get it. Then he
explained everything to Freddie Perren, who was going to record
it. Berry was brilliant in this area. Right after the single was
released, we went in to cut an album. We were particularly
impressed with the "I Want You Back" session then
because that one song took more time (and tape) than all the
other songs on the record combined. That's the way Motown did
things in those days because Berry insisted on perfection and
attention to detail. I'll never forget his persistence. This was
his genius. Then and later, I observed every moment of the
sessions where Berry was present and never forgot what I learned.
To this day I use the same principles. Berry was my teacher and a
great one. He could identify the little elements that would make
a song great rather than just good. It was like magic, as if
Berry was sprinkling pixie dust over everything.
For me and my brothers, recording for Motown was an exciting
experience. Our team of writers shaped our music by being with us
as we recorded it over and over, molding and sculpting a song
until it was just perfect. We would cut a track over and over for
weeks until we got it just as they wanted it. And I could see
while they were doing it that it was getting better and better.
They would change words, arrangements, rhythms, everything. Berry
gave them the freedom to work this way because of his own
perfectionist nature. I guess if they hadn't been doing it, he
would have. Berry had such a knack. He'd just walk into the room
where we were working and tell me what to do and he'd be right.
It was amazing.
When "I Want You Back" was released in November 1969,
it sold two million copies in six weeks and went to number one.
Our next single, "ABC," came out in March 1970 and sold
two million records in three weeks. I still like the part where I
say, "Siddown, girl! I think I loove you! No, get up, girl,
show me what you can do! " When our third single, "The
Love You Save," went to number one in June of 1970, Berry's
promise came true.
When our next single, "I'll Be There," was also a big
hit in the fall of that year, we realized we might even surpass
Berry's expectations and be able to pay him back for all the
effort he had made for us.
My brothers and I - our whole family - were very proud. We had
created a new sound for a new decade. It was the first time in
recording history that a bunch of kids had made so many hit
records. The Jackson 5 had never had much competition from kids
our own age. In the amateur days there was a kids' group called
the Five Stairsteps that we used to see. They were good, but they
didn't seem to have the strong family unit that we did, and sadly
they broke up. After "ABC" hit the charts in such a big
way, we started seeing other groups that record companies were
grooming to ride the bandwagon we had built. I enjoyed all these
groups: the Partridge Family, the Osmonds, the DeFranco Family.
The Osmonds were already around, but they were doing a much
different style of music, like barbershop harmony and crooning.
As soon as we hit, they and the other groups got into soul real
fast. We didn't mind. Competition, as we know, was healthy. Our
own relatives thought "One Bad Apple" was us. I
remember being so little that they had a special apple crate for
me to stand on with my name on it so I could reach the
microphone. Microphones didn't go down far enough for kids my
age. So many of my childhood years went by that way, with me
standing on that apple box singing my heart out while other kids
were outside playing.
As I said before, in those early days "The Corporation"
at Motown produced and shaped all our music. I remember lots of
times when I felt the song should be sung one way and the
producers felt it should be sung another way. But for a long time
I was very obedient and wouldn't say anything about it. Finally
it reached a point where I got fed up with being told exactly how
to sing. This was in 1972 when I was fourteen years old, around
the time of the song "Lookin' Through the Windows."
They wanted me to sing a certain way, and I knew they were wrong.
No matter what age you are, if you have it and you know it, then
people should listen to you. I was furious with our producers and
very upset. So I called Berry Gordy and complained. I said that
they had always told me how to sing, and I had agreed all this
time, but now they were getting too . . . mechanical.
So he came into the studio and told them to let me do what I
wanted to do. I think he told them to let me be more free or
something. And after that, I started adding a lot of vocal twists
that they really ended up loving. I'd do a lot of ad-libbing,
like twisting words or adding some edge to them.
When Berry was in the studio with us, he would always add
something that was right. He'd go from studio to studio, checking
on different aspects of people's work, often adding elements that
made the records better. Walt Disney used to do the same thing:
he'd go check on his various artists and say, "Well, this
character should be more outgoing." I always knew when Berry
was enjoying something I was doing in the studio, because he has
this habit of rolling his tongue in his cheek when he's pleased
by something. If things were really going well, he'd punch the
air like the ex-professional boxer he is.
My three favorite songs from those days are "Never Can Say
Goodbye," "I'll Be There," and "ABC."
I'll never forget the first time I heard "ABC." I
thought it was so good. I remember feeling this eagerness to sing
that song, to get in the studio and really make it work for us.
We were still rehearsing daily and working hard - some things
didn't change - but we were grateful to be where we were. There
were so many people pulling for us, and we were so determined
ourselves that it seemed anything could happen.
Once "I Want You Back" came out, everyone at Motown
prepared us for success. Diana loved it and presented us at a
big-name Hollywood discotheque, where she had us playing in a
comfortable party atmosphere like at Berry's. Following directly
on the heels of Diana's event came an invitation to play at the
"Miss Black America" telecast. Being on the show would
enable us to give people a preview of our record and our show.
After we got the invitation, my brothers and I remembered our
disappointment at not getting to go to New York to do our first
TV show because Motown had called. Now we were going to do our
first TV show and we were with Motown. Life was very good. Diana,
of course, put the cherry on top. She was going to host "The
Hollywood Palace," and big Saturday night show; it would be
her last appearance with the Supremes and the first major
exposure for us. This meant a lot to Motown, because by then they
had decided that our new album would be called "Diana Ross
Presents the Jackson 5." Never before had a superstar like
Diana passed the torch to a bunch of kids. Motown, Diana, and
five kids from Gary, Indiana, were all pretty excited. By then
"I Want You Back" had come out, and Berry was proven
right again; all the stations that played Sly and the Beatles
were playing us, too.
As I mentioned earlier, we didn't work as hard on the album as we
did on the single, but we had fun trying out all sorts of songs -
from "Who's Lovin' You," the old Miracles' song we were
doing in the talent show days, to "Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah."
We did songs on that album that appealed to a wide audience -
kids, teenagers, and grownups - and we all felt that was a reason
for its big success. We knew that "The Hollywood
Palace" had a live audience, a sophisticated Hollywood
crowd, and we were concerned; but we had them from the first
note. There was an orchestra in the pit, so that was the first
time I heard all of "I Want You Back" performed live
because I wasn't there when they recorded the strings for the
album. Doing that show made us feel like kings, the way winning
the citywide show in Gary had.
Selecting the right songs for us to do was going to be a real
challenge now that we weren't depending on other people's hits to
win crowd. The Corporation guys and Hal Davis were put to work
writing songs especially for us, as well as producing them. Berry
didn't want to have to bail us all out again. So even after our
first singles hit number one on the charts, we were busy with the
follow-ups.
"I Want You Back" could have been sung by a grownup,
but "ABC" and "The Love You Save" were
written for our young voices, with parts for Jermaine as well as
me - another bow to the Sly sound, which rotated singers around
the stage. The Corporation had also written those songs with
dance routines in mind: the steps our fans did at parties as well
as those we did on stage. The verses were tongue-twisting, and
that's why they were split up between Jermaine and me.
Neither of those records could have happened without "I Want
You Back." We were adding and subtracting ideas in the
arrangements from that one mother lode of a song, but the public
seemed to want everything we were doing. We later made two more
records in the vein, "Mama's Pearl" and "Sugar
Daddy," which reminded me of my own schoolyard days:
"While I'm giving you the candy, he's getting all your
love!" We added one new wrinkle when Jermaine and I sang
harmony together, which always got an enthusiastic response when
we did it from the same mike on stage.
The pros have told us that no group had a better start than we
did. Ever. "I'll Be There" was our real breakthrough
song; it was the one that said, "We're here to stay."
It was number one for five weeks, which is very unusual. That's a
long time for a song and the song was one of my favorites of all
the songs we've ever done. How I loved the words: "You and I
must make a pact, we must bring salvation back . . ." Willie
Hutch and Berry Gordy didn't seem like people who'd write like
that. They were always kidding around with us when we weren't in
the studio. But that song grabbed me from the moment I heard the
demo. I didn't even know what a harpsichord was until that
record's opening notes were played for us. The song was produced
thanks to the genius of Hal Davis, assisted by Suzy Ikeda, my
other half who stood next to me song after song, making sure I
put the right emotion and feeling and heart into the composition.
It was a serious song, but we threw in a fun part when I sang
"Just look over your shoulder, honey!" Without the
honey, that's right out of the Four Tops' great song "Reach
Out, I'll Be There." So we were feeling more and more like a
part of Motown's history as well as its future.
Originally the plan was for me to sing all the bouncy stuff and
Jermaine to do the ballads. But though Jermaine's voice at
seventeen was more mature, ballads were more my love, if not
really my style - yet. That was our fourth straight number one as
a group, and a lot of people liked Jermaine's song "I Found
That Girl," the B-side of "The Love You Save,"
just as much as the hits.
We worked those songs into one big medley, with plenty of room
for dancing, and we went back to that medley when we performed on
all kinds of TV shows. For instance, we played on "The Ed
Sullivan Show" three different times. Motown always told us
what to say in interviews back then, but Mr. Sullivan was one of
the people who drew us out and made us feel comfortable. Looking
back, I wouldn't say Motown was putting us in any kind of
straitjacket or turning us into robots, even though I wouldn't
have done it that way myself; and if I had children, I wouldn't
tell them what to say. The Motown people were doing something
with us that hadn't been done before, and who was to say what was
the right way to handle that sort of stuff?
Reporters would ask us all kinds of questions, and the Motown
people would be standing by to help us out or monitor the
questions if need be. We wouldn't have dreamed of trying anything
that would embarrass them. I guess they were worried about the
possibility of our sounding militant the way people were often
doing in those days. Maybe they were worried after they gave us
those Afros that they had created little Frankensteins. Once a
reporter asked a Black Power question and the Motown person told
him we didn't think about that stuff because we were a
"commercial product." It sounded weird, but we winked
and gave the power salute when we left, which seemed to thrill
the guy.
We even had a reunion with don Cornelius on his "Soul
Train" show. He had been a local disc jockey during our
Chicago days, so we all knew one another from that time. We
enjoyed watching his show and picked up ideas from those dancers
who were from our part of the country.
The crazy days of the big Jackson 5 tours began right after the
successes we had with our records. It started with a big arena
tour in the fall of 1970; we played huge halls like Madison
Square Garden and the Los Angeles Forum. When "Never Can Say
Goodbye" was a big hit in 1971, we played forty-five cities
that summer, followed by fifty more cities later that year.
I recall most of that time as a period of extreme closeness with
my brothers. We have always been a very loyal and affectionate
group. We clowned around, goofed off a lot together, and played
outrageous pranks on each other and the people who worked with
us. We never got too rowdy - no TV's sailed out of our hotel
windows, but a lot of water was spilled on various heads. We were
mostly trying to conquer the boredom we felt from being so long
on the road. When you're bored on tour, you tend to do anything
to cheer yourself up. Here we were, cramped up in these hotel
rooms, unable to go anywhere because of the mobs of screaming
girls outside, and we wanted to have some fun. I wish we could
have captured some of the stuff we did on film, especially some
of the wild pranks. We'd all wait until our security manager,
Bill Bray, was asleep. Then we'd stage insane fast-walk races in
the hallways, pillow fights, tag-team wrestling matches, shaving
cream wars, you name it. We were nuts. We'd drop balloons and
paper bags full of water off hotel balconies and watch them
explode. Then we'd die laughing. We threw stuff at each other and
spent hours on the phone making fake calls and ordering immense
room service meals that were delivered to the rooms of strangers.
Anyone who walked into one of our bedrooms had a ninety percent
chance of being drenched by a bucket of water propped over the
doors.
When we'd arrive in a new city, we'd try to do all the
sightseeing we could. We traveled with a wonderful tutor, Rose
Fine, who taught us a great deal and made sure we did our
lessons. It was Rose who instilled in me a love of books and
literature that sustains me today. I read everything I could get
my hands on. New cities meant new places to shop. We loved to
shop, especially in bookstores and department stores, but as our
fame spread our fans transformed casual shopping trips into
hand-to-hand combat. Being mobbed by near hysterical girls was
one of the most terrifying experiences for me in those days. I
mean, it was rough . We'd decide to run into some department
store to see what they had, and the fans would find out we were
there and would demolish the place, just tear it up. Counters
would get knocked over, glass would break, the cash registers
would be toppled. All we had wanted to do was look at some
clothes! When those mob scenes broke out, all the craziness and
adulation and notoriety became more than we could handle. If you
haven't witnessed a scene like that, you can't imagine what it's
like. Those girls were serious . They still are. They don't
realize they might hurt you because they're acting out of love.
They mean well, but I can testify that it hurts be mobbed. You
feel as if you're going to suffocate or be dismembered. There are
a thousand hands grabbing at you. One girl is twisting your wrist
this way while another girl is pulling your watch off. They grab
your hair and pull it hard, and it hurts like fire. You fall
against things and the scrapes are horrible. I still wear the
scars, and I can remember in which city I got each of them. Early
on, I learned how to run through crowds of thrashing girls
outside of theaters, hotels, and airports. It's important to
remember to shield your eyes with your hands because girls can
forget they have nails during such emotional confrontations. I
know the fans mean well and I love them for their enthusiasm and
support, but crowd scenes are scary.
The wildest mob scene I ever witnessed happened the first time we
went to England. We were in the air over the Atlantic when the
pilot announced that he had just been told there were ten
thousand kids waiting for us at Heathrow Airport. We couldn't
believe it. We were excited, but if we could have turned around
and flown home, we might have. We knew this was going to be
something, but since there wasn't enough fuel to go back, we flew
on. When we landed, we could see that the fans had literally
taken over the whole airport. It was wild to be mobbed like that.
My brothers and I felt fortunate to make it out of the airport
alive that day.
I wouldn't trade my memories of those days with my brothers for
anything. I often wish I could relive those days. We were like
the seven dwarfs: each of us was different, each had his own
personality. Jackie was the athlete and the worrier. Tito was the
strong, compassionate father figure. He was totally into cars and
loved putting them together and tearing them apart. Jermaine was
the one I was closest to when we were growing up. He was funny
and easygoing, and was constantly fooling around. It was Jermaine
who put all those buckets of cold water on the doors of our hotel
rooms. Marlon was and is one of the most determined people I've
ever met. He, too, was a real joker and prankster. He used to be
the one who'd always get in trouble in the early days because
he'd be out of step or miss a note, but that was far from true
later.
The diversity of my brothers' personalities and the closeness we
felt were what kept me going during those grueling days of
constant touring. Everybody helped everybody. Jackie and Tito
would keep us from going too far with our pranks. They'd seem to
have us under control, and then Jermaine and Marlon would shout,
"Let's go crazy!!"
I really miss all that. In the early days we were together all
the time. We'd go to amusement parks or ride horses or watch
movies. We did everything together. As soon as someone said,
"I'm going swimming," we'd all yell, "Me
too!"
The separation from my brothers started much later, when they
began to get married. An understandable change occurred as each
of them became closest to his wife and they became a family unit
unto themselves. A part of me wanted us to stay as we were -
brothers who were also best friends - but change is inevitable
and always good in one sense or another. We still love each
other's company. We still have a great time when we're together.
But the various paths our lives have taken won't allow us the
freedom to enjoy one another's company as much as we did.
In those days, touring with the Jackson 5, I always shared a room
with Jermaine. He and I were close, both onstage and off, and
shared a lot of the same interests. Since Jermaine was also the
brother most intrigued by the girls who wanted to get at him, he
and I would get into mischief on the road.
I think our father decided early on that he had to keep a more
watchful eye on us than on our other brothers. He would usually
take the room next to ours, which meant he could come in to check
on us anytime through the connecting doors. I really despised
this arrangement, not only because he could monitor our
misbehavior, but also because he used to do the meanest things to
us. Jermaine and I would be sleeping, exhausted after a show, and
my father would bring a bunch of girls into the room; we'd wake
up and they'd be standing there, looking at us, giggling.
Because show business and my career were my life, the biggest
personal struggle I had to face during those teenage years did
not involve the recording studios or my stage performance. In
those days, the biggest struggle was right there in my mirror. To
a great degree, my identity as a person was tied to my identity
as a person was tied to my identity as a celebrity.
My appearance began to really change when I was about fourteen. I
grew quite a bit in height. People who didn't know me would come
into a room expecting to be introduced to cute little Michael
Jackson and they'd walk right past me. I would say, "I'm
Michael," and they would look doubtful. Michael was a cute
little kid: I was a gangly adolescent heading toward five feet
ten inches. I was not the person they expected or even wanted to
see. Adolescence is hard enough, but imagine having your own
natural insecurities about the changes your body is undergoing
heightened by the negative reactions of others. They seemed so
surprised that I could change, that my body was undergoing the
same natural change everyone's does.
It was tough. Everyone had called me cute for a long time, but
along with all the other changes, my skin broke out in a terrible
case of acne. I looked in the mirror one morning and it was like,
"OH NO!" I seemed to have a pimple for every oil gland.
And the more I was bothered by it, the worse it got. I didn't
realize it then, but my diet of greasy processed food didn't help
either.
I became subconsciously scarred by this experience with my skin.
I got very shy and became embarrassed to meet people because my
complexion was so bad. It really seemed that the more I looked in
the mirror, the worse the pimples got. My appearance began to
depress me. So I know that a case of acne can have a devastating
effect on a person. The effect on me was so bad that it messed up
my whole personality. I couldn't look at people when I talked to
them. I'd look down, or away. I felt I didn't have anything to be
proud of and I didn't even want to go out. I didn't do anything.
My brother Marlon would be covered with pimples and he wouldn't
care but I didn't want to see anybody and I didn't want anyone to
see my skin in that shape. It makes you wonder about what makes
us the way we are, that two brothers could be so different.
I still had our hits records to be proud of, and once I hit the
stage, I didn't think about anything else. All that worry was
gone.
But once I came offstage, there was that mirror to face again.
Eventually, things changed. I started feeling differently about
my condition. I've learned to change how I think and learned to
feel better about myself. Most importantly, I changed my diet.
That was the key.
In the fall of 1971 I cut my first solo record, "Got to Be
There." It was wonderful working on that record and it
became one of my favorites. It was Berry Gordy's idea that I
should do a solo recording, and so I became one of the first
people in a Motown group to really step out. Berry also said he
thought I should record my own album. Years later, when I did, I
realized he was right.
There was a small conflict during that era that was typical of
the struggles I went through as a young singer. When you're young
and have ideas, people often think you're just being childish and
silly. We were on tour in 1972, the year "Got To Be
There" became a big hit. One night I said to our record
manager, "Before I sing that song, let me go offstage and
grab that little hat I wore for the picture on the album cover.
If the audience sees me wearing that hat, they'll go crazy."
He thought it was the most ridiculous idea he had ever heard. I
was not allowed to do it because I was young, and they all
thought it was a dumb idea. Not long after that incident, Donny
Osmond began wearing a very similar hat all over the country and
people loved it. I felt good about my instincts; I had thought it
would work. I had seen Marvin Gaye wear a hat when he sang
"Let's Get It On," and people went bananas. They knew
what was coming when Marvin put that hat on. It added excitement
and communicated something to the audience that allowed them to
become more involved with the show.
I was already a devoted fan of film and animation by the time
"The Jackson Five" Saturday morning cartoon show
started appearing over network television in 1971. Diana Ross had
enhanced my appreciation of animation when she taught me to draw,
but being a cartoon character pushed me over the brink into a
full-time love of the movies and the kind of animated motion
pictures pioneered by Walt Disney. I have such admiration for Mr.
Disney and what he accomplished with the help of so many talented
artists. When I think about the joy he and his company have
brought to millions of children - and adults - the world over, I
am in awe.
I loved being a cartoon. It was so much fun to get up on Saturday
mornings to watch cartoons and look forward to seeing ourselves
on the screen. It was like a fantasy come true for all of us.
My first real involvement with films came when I sang the title
song for the movie Ben in 1972.
Ben meant a lot to me. Nothing had ever excited me as much as
going to the studio to put my voice on film. I had a great time.
Later, when the movie came out, I'd go to the theater and wait
until the end when the credits would flash on, and it would say,
"'Ben' sung by Michael Jackson." I was really impressed
by that. I loved the song and loved the story. Actually, the
story was a lot like E.T. It was about a boy who befriended a
rat. People didn't understand the boy's love for this little
creature. He was dying of some disease and his only true friend
was Ben, the leader of the rats in the city where they lived. A
lot of people thought the movie was a bit odd, but I was not one
of them. The song went to number one and is still a favorite of
mine. I have always loved animals and I enjoy reading about them
and seeing movies in which they're featured.
Chapter three