Devils & Blue Dresses: My Wild Ride as a Rock and Roll Legend

mystic had temporarily laid over the land of Detroit rock ‘n’ roll. It also sent a message to England that said if you are going to play in Detroit you had better bring something different from what you had planned for the rest of the country.
    Joey and I smiled at each other and thought about Florida. I think Joey was about as close to being a friend as I ever had. I really didn’t have anyone else and so I shared what I could with him. It was a little awkward because of our very different upbringings. He came from a middle-class background. He had an older brother, Dave, and his mother and father reminded me of Ozzie and Harriet, the television family that was afraid to show the world how it suffered. Joey’s father was in real estate and played the piano for relaxation. Apparently he was, at one time, a musician. They weren’t wealthy, but they never seemed to be wanting. Joey’s family lived in a very nice, neat, clean brick home with well-kept grounds, and every time I saw his mother she looked as though she was ready to go to a dinner party. Joey always dressed in nice, bright, fresh clothes and was able to easily laugh at the world.
    One time Joey and I were sitting outside a store near his house, just hanging out, when another boy from the neighborhood, very much like Joey––well dressed and good looking––walked past. I still don’t understand what started it but when he came out of the store he and Joey began to have a discussion about whether or not they should fight each other. I felt as if I had been transported to a different world. They were talking about where to fight (so as to avoid damage to their clothes), who was going to throw the first punch, how long they should fight, and I felt myself going into a state of mind I would only be able to compare at a later date to the use of LSD. Back in myneighborhood, if you hadn’t already been sucker-punched, the fight would have just about been over. But they talked a little while longer and then it started. I think Joey threw the first punch, but whoever did, the fight was over at the first sign of blood. Then they shook hands and said goodbye. That kind of stuff freaked me out.
    I liked Joey mostly because he didn’t care what was being said about me down at the Village. He was only interested in what went on between us, and that was a respect I had never gotten before. I allowed myself to dream and believe we had a friendship. A true friendship. The kind of friendship that can grow and blossom past modern aphasia, where every little raised eyebrow or quick little wink spoke volumes of understanding between the friends, thus engendering courage and calm through belief and trust in each other. One of those friendships in which you swear to die protecting each other, even though you held serious reservations. But that was not what I had with Joey. We were uncommitted pals.

Chapter 7
     
    W E WERE FORTUNATE TO HAVE M OTOWN Records in Detroit. As each new talented artist from that incredible “hit factory” blazed up the music charts, our pride in our city’s name went with it. Motown, short for motor town, as in General Motors, Ford Motors or Chrysler Motors, meant automobiles. Not only had we put the country on wheels, we were giving it the musical soundtrack to drive with as well. Those were magical days and our little group, Billy Lee and the Rivieras, was just one in hundreds of young Detroit area musicians and singers who knew that, thanks to Berry Gordy, it was now possible to have success on the world stage. Well, maybe.
    Along with subtle elements of racism comes the ability to sleep through painstaking intellectual self-analysis and then, suddenly, make itself evident to the host. With that in mind, how can we equate the hunger young, white rock ‘n’ rollers from Detroit have for symbolic representation from a successful, hit-making artist from their own race to a latent form of racism? It is difficult, but not impossible, especially when speaking of Detroit, because for years Berry Gordy wouldn’t touch white artists.
    Look at his roster. When he finally got around to signing white artists, word was that he would tie up the best of them in contracts and then sit on them to keep the artist from the marketplace. From the inception of his successful company to the first hit record from one of his white artists, a period of at least nine years passed. So whatever help whites were looking for it clearly was not, for one reason