La Toya: Growing Up in the Jackson Family

CHAPTER ONE: ON JACKSON STREET (Part III)

What began as a hobby quickly turned into work. Each day after school the guys rehearsed rigorously, first under Mother's direction, then, after dinner, with Joseph. My father demanded absolute perfection, rarely praising, constantly criticizing, and often hitting. Long before the guys became a national sensation as the Jackson 5, their calling card was precise choreography inspired by their idols, Jackie Wilson and James Brown. I can still see my father standing in the living room, whip in hand. If someone missed a dance step, crack! Sometimes after Joseph had attacked one of the guys, leaving him gasping for breath and doubled over in pain, Mother cried, "It's not worth it, Joe! Just forget it. The boys don't have to be singers."

But Joseph never answered. Even with school the next morning, he rehearsed the quintet to exhaustion. For up to eight hours straight, the same notes, the same words, the same moves, repeated until everyone memorized them. Step, dip, and spin. Step, dip, and spin. Step, dip, and spin...

Because eight-year-old Marlon had a hard time learning the choreography, he suffered many beatings. Joseph hadn't wanted him in the group at first, but Mother insisted, even though she would concede privately, "He doesn't know his left foot from his right." Marlon refused to quit, though, and practiced constantly. Today of course, he's a brilliant dancer.

For no reason I could understand, our father singled out his first-born son for the most punishment. I used to ask Mother why Joseph treated Jackie so badly. All she'd say was, "I don't know... he just never liked him." As if that made it all right. One of the most talented Jacksons, my brother won many dance competitions as a child. As a young man, he had a warm smile and intelligent brown eyes that made women sigh. I truly believe that Jackie had the same potential as Michael to become a star in his own right. But endless psychological and physical battering wore him down.

As if my brothers didn't suffer enough at their father's hands, he forced them to don boxing gloves and fight one another while he watched. "Okay, Jackie," he'd sneer, "let's see what you and Tito can do." The two selected halfheartedly punched each other right there in the living room, just to get it over with, while Joseph egged them on.

Another of his pastimes was frightening us. For as long as I can remember, he got the biggest kick out of lurking around our windows at night and tapping on the glass, or pretending to break in. When one of us tiptoed to the window to investigate, my father, wearing a gruesome latex mask, leaped up and growled like a beast. We screamed in terror, and Joseph laughed. It wasn't done playfully or as part of a game. Why a grown man would deliberately scare his children out of their wits is beyond me.

Even worse was being startled awake by a hideous monster hovering just inches above our faces. While we shrieked, Joseph ripped off his mask and fell out laughing, as if this was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. It got to where every night I pulled the covers tightly over my head and gently rocked myself until drifting off. Even now, that is the only way I can get to sleep.

In those days, our father was clearly the boss. Mother almost never intervened, but shook her head and lamented, "That Joseph, he's so crazy." You could see in her eyes that she pitied us for fearing our father so. But it would be years before I understood how unusual her attitude was. What makes Mother's resigned acceptance of Joseph's brutality more confusing is that she grew up in a loving home. Certainly she knew her husband was wrong.

For whatever reason, she never stopped him and rarely voiced any strong disagreement. Instead, she tried to make up for his meanness by bending the household rules in his absence. With Joseph at work, she sometimes let us out to play-provided we got back before he returned home and no one breathed a word about the infraction. I usually stayed inside with her and Rebbie, playing with my doctor's kit or Barbie doll, or being a little helper. Just before Joseph was due, Mother dispatched me to find my brothers. I'd run down the street, calling, "Tito! Jermaine! Jackie! Mike! Marlon! Come home!" I couldn't stand the thought of any of them getting the switch.