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

fortunate, but the truth became, as it had so many years before when I watched money change hands to get my first record played, too hard to swallow.

     
    American International would give me the role but only if their music publishing arm, Liberty Records, could own the soundtrack with my performances. Naturally, Bob Crewe refused to give up his music rights, even if it meant stopping my acting career, and I became disenchanted and bitter. I told him it would only be this “one time,” but he would not let go for a moment. It was money he desperately needed, and it was also his false pride.
    With the failure of the
What Now My Love
album, Bob’s desperate release of old Detroit Wheels tapes, the fruitless year and a half pursuit of a movie career, the endless stream of female sex partners, the neglect of my wife and daughter and the never ending live performances, a deep pall descended upon my spirit. There were still opportunities available, it’s just that there were too many omens in the air and I was tired. Very tired.
    Mr. Crewe now finally allowed me, because he was clueless, to begin producing a band called The Illusion. We produced one single together and I allowed them to open some of my shows. Mr. Crewe also decided to let me produce the A side of my next single. It was released on Dynavoice and called “Ring Your Bell.” He and Paramount made no effort to promote it, and the only radio station I know of that played it was the same station I had started my career on, WJLB in Detroit. And, that airplay was only through the efforts of my friend, disc jockey Frantic Ernie Durham.
    It was clear that Mr. Crewe had tired of me, yet he would not let me go, so I again ran to Sarah. Sarah hired an attorney for me with her own money and we began trying to remove myself from my contract. Once Mr. Crewe got wind of it, though, everything changed overnight.
    Every access to my own money was frozen by his attorney. Even though I had no manager at that point, management commissions were still being deducted and stowed away somewhere. The fifty percent deposits that were being held by Premier Talent were no longer available to me, so I had to keep my little dream afloat on the road with the remaining fifty percent I picked up the day the show played. And the bookings were beginning to wind down. There was still time to do something, but it was hard to focus on business when I was forbidden to talk to anyone while litigation was pending. The final punishment came when I was no longer allowed access to the triplex.
    I was headlining a show at the Paramount in New York City and opening for me were The Who, Eric Clapton with Cream, and Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, among others. In the public’s eye I was at the top of my game. I performed my usual magic, leaping into the audience, getting my clothes ripped off, and exciting little girls, but when I sat backstage in the shadows and watched the other performers I began to realize that my time as a headliner was nearing an end. It was okay that the situation was sad and confusing, but what made it unbearable was the fact that I had to continue on while the collapse took place around me.
    Out of the choices I was presented––for I had no control during litigation and Mr. Crewe’s powers remained in place while I was in legal limbo––I decided to sign a management contract with Robert Fitzpatrick. Mr. Fitzpatrick had a huge roster of artists, every one of which he promised his personal attention and direction. It was a far cry from the one-on-one attention and management I had come to know with AlanStroh, and I felt neglected. I had to make appointments to talk to Mr. Fitzpatrick. This only served to add to the estrangement I felt all around me.
    Mr. Fitzpatrick was associated with Robert Stigwood, manager for Cream, Eric Clapton, and the Bee Gees. Susan and I flew to England for a meeting with the two of them and arranged to hold the meeting at dear Lionel Bart’s house. Susan was deliberately left out of the meeting, where Mr. Fitzpatrick and Mr. Stigwood assured me that I still had a promising future. But, both went out of their way to persuade me that I should divorce Susan, which would allow me the proper disposition for my continued career pursuits. I think if I had believed I was gay I might have taken their advice, but my reaction after the meeting was to take Susan to an upstairs bedroom where we conceived our son, Joel Matthew. I didn’t mention the