You Are Not Alone: Michael, Through a Brother’s Eyes. Jermaine Jackson
The most important thing in life, she said, was to be good and be good to others: salvation is granted to those who keep the faith, do field service and live according to the scriptures. As an adult, Michael would later accept the Watchtower illustrations as ‘symbolism’, but as boys, it was still scary to wonder how Jehovah noticed the difference between us being good and, say, the mailman. What about the times Michael gave kids in the neighbourhood candy and I didn’t? Mother’s stock answer was the same: Don’t worry, He sees everything.
And then there was the proximity of Armageddon. When was it going to happen? Next week? How long have we got? An inquisitive mind like Michael’s never could stop thinking about it. I can see him now looking up to an elder to ask some earnest question, only to be patted on the head and humoured. But witnesses seemed forever braced for the end of the world. The first Armageddon was estimated to be 1914. When that didn’t happen, it was changed to 1915 … And they’re still waiting.
I distinctly remember when the Jackson family was convinced it was coming: 1963. The Russians seemed sure to bomb the US, JFK was assassinated, and then the suspected gunman, Lee Harvey Oswald, was shot – an event we watched on our black-and-white TV. Our household was sure all this was a prelude to the end of the world – and we brothers had never been so keen to get to the Kingdom Hall to honour Jehovah.
Michael always said he was raised biblically. In fact, he was the only one of the Jackson 5 to be baptised. Michael prayed, I did not. Michael learned the Bible, I did not. I didn’t appreciate that Jehovah was the ultimate Father because we were made to believe that He can disown you if you don’t behave. The threat of abandonment – of being ‘de-fellowshipped’ – was ever-present. Michael would learn all about Jehovah’s threat of banishment in later life but in his childhood, the threat of it was a whip in itself.
When the Jackson 5 took off, I would say his faith became his bedrock; something solid to hang on to, a place to which he could retreat and be regarded not as famous but as equal and normal. Witnesses never made a fuss of Michael because they were only allowed to make a fuss of Jehovah. The Kingdom Hall brought him a sense of normality that, in the outside world, dwindled year upon year. Michael was dedicated to walking the higher path. I know that he confided in God and felt He was a presence you could never fool or hide anything from. In later life, he once told me he still felt a twinge of guilt for celebrating Christmas and birthdays.
Collectively speaking, the ever-watchful Jehovah, combined with our parents’ determination to ring-fence us from the threat of gang violence, ensured that we didn’t learn how to integrate socially except with each other. Even then, there was no real sense of coming together because of the lack of family occasions such as Christmas, birthdays and Thanksgiving. In our childhood we walked the line between Joseph’s strict expectations and Jehovah’s salvation. The stage was the only place where there were no rules; it became our one area of freedom.
WE DIDN’T THINK STAGES GOT ANY bigger than the one that talk-show host David Frost offered us. One of his producers had been in the audience that night at the Apollo and he called Richard Aarons, saying he wanted us to perform on The David Frost Show from New York, to be broadcast to the whole of America. For nights afterwards, we climbed into our bunk-beds, unable to sleep through excitement. We told everyone at school that we were going to be on the TV and teachers made announcements in class.
David Frost was the Englishman with a talk-show in America: he was part of ‘the British invasion’. There were the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and David Frost – and we were on his radar.
What we didn’t know was that Joseph had been simultaneously thrown into a dilemma. We had performed again at the Regal on 17 July 1968, where we shared a bill with Bobby Taylor and the Vancouvers. Bobby was so impressed that he got on the phone to a lady who had recently moved into the Detroit apartment block where he lived. Suzanne de Passe was a 19-year-old who had just started work in town as creative assistant to Berry Gordy at Motown and we ended up auditioning for her in Bobby’s living room. As Suzanne remembers it, she rang Mr Gordy about ‘these amazing kids’, but he wasn’t impressed.
‘Kids? I don’t want more kids! I’ve got enough on with Stevie Wonder!’ To him, of course, kids were a headache, with tutors and all. Apparently, he had been the same with Diana Ross and the Supremes at first, dismissing them as ‘too young’.
Mr Gordy clearly needed persuading, and Suzanne persuaded him. This was where Joseph had his dilemma: our invitation to audition at Motown clashed with the David Frost booking. It was dream national-television exposure versus one golden opportunity. Michael and Marlon were initially devastated when Joseph chose to audition. Instead of performing to an audience of millions from New York, we found ourselves at Motown’s headquarters – Hitsville USA – performing to a handful of people, including Mr Gordy. Joseph was smart in not grasping at the instant celebrity of television: David Frost wouldn’t bring us closer to a record deal – but the audition did.
On 23 July 1968, that audition took place before a selected group of people. We couldn’t see them because they were gathered in the dark on the other side of the glass in the sound studio; we only saw a camera on a tripod, capturing our ‘screen test’, as was standard. We sang the aptly titled ‘Ain’t Too Proud To Beg’ and ‘I Wish It Would Rain’ by the Temptations, before ending with ‘Who’s Lovin’ You?’ by Smokey Robinson. The weirdest thing was the pregnant pause that greeted our final note: no one said a word.
Michael couldn’t stand it. ‘So? How was that?’ he chirped.
‘Michael!’ I said in a loud whisper, embarrassed by his rudeness.
‘That was great … very good,’ said some voice. But that was all we got. We had to wait a few years before we learned the truth of the reaction when Mr Gordy wrote about it in his Foreword to Michael’s reissued autobiography, Moonwalk, in 2009: ‘Michael sang “Who’s Lovin’ You” with the sadness and passion of a man who had been living with the blues and heartbreak his whole life … As great as Smokey sang it, Michael sang it better. I told Smokey, “Hey, man, I think he gotcha on that one!”’
Two days later, we got the call back: Motown wanted to sign us.
CHAPTER SIX
Motown University
‘THE BOSTON HOUSE’ WAS ANOTHER WORLD, with a size and opulence beyond our comprehension. We’d thought only kings and queens lived so grandly, but Mr Gordy’s mock-Tudor mansion in Detroit was something else. It was also our venue for the night, to perform at one of his annual parties. One thing was certain: there would be no midnight strip-teases or fruit thrown on stage. This was no Mr Lucky’s or amateur night at the Apollo. It wasn’t a home, either. It was a residence – and one that music had provided. Michael wandered around, ever-curious, looking up at the great ceilings, shimmering chandeliers, the grand oil portraits of Mr Gordy himself.
Outside, there was an ornamental fountain and marble Greek statues. Inside, there were butlers and white people working as household staff. Everything was so ornate, immaculate and clean. We arrived as newly-signed Motown artists, even if our signed contracts had got snagged due to some legal issues we didn’t ask about, but it was ‘nothing to worry about’ and our host didn’t seem too concerned. It was his first time showcasing us so the night was a big deal. It was the winter of 1968 and we had no idea what to expect.
The bearded, effusive Mr Gordy greeted us, his sole performers for the night, at the door with a golf club in his hand. (He had a putting green out back.) Our ‘dressing room’ was the pool house just outside the indoor swimming pool and the ‘stage’ was an area set aside at the far end of the pool, with just enough room for Johnny’s drums and Ronny’s keyboard. Guests would face us from the opposite end and down the flanks, between the Greek columns.
As men in suits and women wearing diamonds started to gather, Michael and Marlon kept running outside from the pool-house to take a peep through the windows to see who was out front. Jackie, Tito, Johnny, Ronny and I got changed and sat around, going over the performance in our heads. Suddenly Marlon darted in. ‘Smokey Robinson is here!’ He dashed