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edge to it, a cool intelligence and sophisticated take on grown-up romance. I missed the sophistication but I could feel the salty sensual attitude emanating from these stellar sisters. It was Dakota Staton’s singing ’bout “The Late, Late Show,” Dinah Washington making her existential observation of “What a Diff’rence a Day Makes,” and Gloria Lynne’s bittersweet anthem of irony, “I Wish You Love.”
    Every generation, of course, must find its own musical truths, and ours came largely out of that group of ’60s artists who profoundly shaped the way we moved through childhood. We were blessed that Mrs. Reed, the mother of one of our neighborhood friends, was a music lover who ran to the store to buy the freshest Motown hits. Not only was Mrs. Reed a deep lover of soul music, but she also believed in sharing the love. She loved when Cliff and I came and danced to the music. I was only nine, for example, when The Contours tore it up with “Do You Love Me.” Something about the song’s spirit made me crazy. Something about the groove got me to dancing like a half-pint Jackie Wilson, busting moves that amazed guys twice my age.
    By then Cliff was moving into his teen years and dating a bevy of beautiful sisters. When Cliff would go to those garage parties, he let me tag along. He recently reminded me of those days.
    “You couldn’t grow up the way we did and not be aware of style,” said Cliff. “You couldn’t ignore what it meant to be cool. Cool, of course, had to do with how you spoke, how you walked, and how you talked. But cool essentially had to do with how you handled your space. That concept became clear to me as a boy, and it became clear to you, Corn, at a very early age. Man, you were always ahead of the curve. Those garage parties were your first showcase. That’s when we’d shut the doors, screw in a red light bulb, and crank the phonograph loud as it could go. It looked like a teenage version of that Ernie Barnes painting for Marvin Gaye’s I Want You .
    “We’d throw on The Contours, whose spoken intro had us tingling with anticipation:
    You broke my heart ’cause I couldn’t dance,
    You didn’t even want me around.
    And now I’m back, to let you know I can really shake ’em down
    “When the groove dropped, you’d grab a girl four or five years older than you and go to town. You’d show her all your moves. No one had hip action like you, Corn. Remember this line?
    I can mash potato
    I can do the twist
    Now tell me, baby
    Do you like it like this?
    “That was the line that got you spinning like a top. You were the star attraction. You were the show, bro. The best parts were when we threw on the slow jams—like The Dells’ ‘Oh, What a Night!’ Smokey Robinson and the Miracles’ ‘You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me’ or Brenda Holloway’s ‘Every Little Bit Hurts.’ That’s when one of those older sisters—one of them stacked brickhouses—would ask you for a dance. You wouldn’t hesitate, Corn. You’d just knock it out, grinding up on her like nobody’s business. Everyone would be busting up. My partner would come up to me and say, ‘Your brother know how to handle that?’ I’d say, ‘Right now he’s just going with nature.’ You always loved those bow-legged gals. The cats would say, ‘You haven’t lived till you’ve seen Corn grind on a bow-legged honey.’”
    Quiet as it’s kept, as a kid I actually made a little money winning dance contests here and there.
    M Y SEXUAL AWAKENING CAME EARLY , and it was beautiful. Those first instances of intimacy were especially sweet. I realized that, beyond the physical pleasure, the girl/boy bond was a glimpse into a poetry not unlike the songs of Curtis Mayfield, another towering figure from my childhood who continues to inform my soul to this very day. It was Curtis’s magical song called “Gypsy Woman” that became the underscore for another major moment in my pre-teen years. That moment, in opposition to the