The Supremes: A Saga of Motown Dreams, Success, and Betrayal by Mark Ribowsky Page A

needed parental permission to get a spot on the show, seemingly a formality for a harmless gig in an All-American, apple-pie environment a far cry from the smoke-filled nightclubs. At least that’s what Johnnie Mae Wilson and Lurleee Ballard believed when they quickly signed the forms. Fred Ross was not so easily persuaded. When Diane presented him with the papers, he took the opportunity to make a stand, explaining calmly that the year-long singing excursion had gone far enough, and that any further indulgence for Diane would ruin her education. It was a rather strange case to be making, with Diane having just graduated tenth grade with honors. But Fred 0306815867_ribowsky:6.125 x 9.25 4/22/09 11:05 AM Page 42
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    THE SUPREMES
    could see long-term implications in his daughter’s obsession with performing. Unless he drew a line here, he knew, she’d never get a college education. Her entire demeanor, the way her eyes burned hot when she spoke of being a star, said it all. He didn’t begrudge her, or her talent—
    but from where he sat, enough was enough.
    The argument, which Ernestine was helpless to mediate, broke the fragile detente between Fred and Diane, inevitably recharging the psychological friction caused by his distance and her angst about feeling like the second-best daughter.
    “What do I have to do to please you?” she screamed at him melo-dramatically according to one account, though this is another subplot absent from her memoirs.
    The stalemate went on for several days, during which Mary and Flo kept begging Fred to reconsider. When he held his ground, Diane nearly imploded, in her frustration returning to an old habit of biting her fingernails to the nub. At her wit’s end, she whispered to Mary and Flo that she might do something she’d never done before—defy Fred, by sneaking to the festival. One way or another, Diane wouldn’t miss this big chance. “Nothing was going to stop her from going,” Wilson would recall.
    But Fred again blinked, saying later that he caved only because he was fed up with all of the “moaning and groaning” about it every day around the house. In truth, he almost always gave in to his children, especially, as Florence once remarked, if Diane “turned on the tears.” If she played the drama queen with her father, it was for a purpose, and all too obvious. Watching her get her way about the show, Mary and Flo were naturally relieved, but a little embarrassed for him. Fred, Flo would recall, was hardly the unfeeling “daddy dearest” Diane sometimes made him out to be, and in fact a “softie.” Indeed, both she and Mary envied her. As Flo noted, “At least she had a father.” Fred’s capitulation is, in historical terms, a major event in the story of the Supremes. Because the Detroit/Windsor show was the first stage they mounted that really mattered—not that the show itself was anything special, with its day-long procession of acts that careened from singers to belly dancers to ventriloquists (one of whom achieved a measure of fame as a ’60s television curio, Willie Tyler and his dummy Lester, who happened to be a classmate of Wilson and Ballard at Northeastern High). In this chaotic dog-and-pony show, the Primettes got most of the buzz.
    Standing in yellow chiffon dresses on another scorching day before an audience of 500 people scarfing down hot dogs and cotton candy, they proved that Milton Jenkins’s intuition had been correct.

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    They weren’t the best vocal group in the world, perhaps not even in the contest, but their voices and phrasing were tight and exuberant, swathed by Marvin Tarplin’s amplified guitar licks. Their moves were yet a bit stiff and knock-kneed, but with the core trio having caught up with Betty McGlown in feminine curves, they were undeniably sexy.
    Wilson would recall that when they did “Night Time Is the Right Time” during their standard