word. I overran her opinion.
‘Black people were used to struggling and making ends meet. This was nothing new for me or any of us. I came up struggling,
so my kids knew how to economize. They had no choice. We made a penny stretch by eating foods like chitterlings and collard
greens. I used to tell them we were eating soul food in order to be able to play soul. We were trying to move upward, trying
to get ahead. I wasn't going to let anything stop us.’
In the end, he and Katherine always got past the fights. After the shouting, Joseph would lean in and kiss her lightly on
the lips. He could be surprisingly gentle. She later said she would tremble whenever he took a romantic approach; he could
always reason with her in that way. ‘Joseph convinced me that the boys were worth it,’ she recalled. ‘No one ever believed
in his sons more than my husband believed in those boys. He used to tell me, “I'd spend my last dime on those boys if that's
what it took”.’
Soon Joseph was driving his children to Chicago to compete in talent contests there. Chicago was a city bustling with sensational
sixties' soul music and teeming with talent like Curtis Mayfield, The Impressions, Jerry Butler and Major Lance. Joseph may
not have been a showman, but he certainly knew about performing. He taught his boys everything he knew – by experience, observation
and instinct – about how to handle and win over an audience. ‘It's incredible how he could have been so right about things.
He was the best teacher we ever had,’ Michael would say.
‘He wouldn't make it fun, though,’ Michael said. ‘“You're doing it wrong; you gotta do it like
this
,” he'd say. Then he would hit me. He made it hard for me. He would say, “Do it like Michael,” and make me the example. I
hated that.
‘I didn't want to be the example, I didn't want to be singled out. My brothers would look at me with resentment because they
couldn't do it like me. It was awful that Joseph did that to me. But he was brilliant, too. He told me how to work the stage
and work the mike and make gestures and everything. I was always torn. On one hand he was this horrible man, then on the other
he was this amazing manager.’
When the group played its first paying performance at a Gary nightclub called Mr Lucky's, they made roughly seven dollars
for the engagement. The boys then began playing in other clubs and the patrons would throw coins and bills on to the stage.
‘My pockets would just be bustin' with money,’ Michael once told me. ‘My pants couldn't even stay up. Then I would go and
buy candy, loads and loads of candy for me and for everyone.’
Many neighbourhood boys would accompany the Jacksons as musicians from time to time, and by 1966, Johnny Porter Jackson (no
relation) was added to the group as a permanent drummer. Johnny's family was friendly with the Jacksons, who, in time, would
consider Johnny a ‘cousin’. Ronny Rancifer, a keyboardist, was also added to the band. The boys played clubs in Gary and as
far away as Chicago; Michael was eight years old and singing lead. Tito was on guitar, Jermaine on bass guitar; Jackie played
shakers and Johnny Jackson was on drums. Marlon sang harmony and danced, though he wasn't a very good dancer. (He worked at
it, though, and was so persistent at wanting to be good at it he, eventually, would rival Michael!)
The Jacksons would pull up in their Volkswagen bus to 2300 Jackson Street at five in the morning on Monday, after an exhausting
weekend of performing. Joseph would kiss Katherine on the nose upon their arrival, giving her a boyish grin. ‘How ya' doing,
Katie?’ he would ask. For Katherine, there was nothing better than the expression on her husband's face when everything had
gone well for the boys on the road. It was one of sheer joy. Each of her sons would embrace her. Then, they would all sleep
for a couple of hours while Katherine unpacked their