La Toya: Growing Up in the Jackson Family

CHAPTER TWO: A NEW LIFE IN CALIFORNIA (Part II)

With his promise of three consecutive Number One singles, Berry Gordy underestimated my brothers' appeal, as the group notched four in a row: "I Want You Back," "ABC," "The Love You Save," and its first ballad, "I'll Be There," then Motown's best-selling single to date. In just ten months, they'd sold a staggering six million records.

In the wake of Michael's stunning solo accomplishments since, I feel that many people have forgotten what a phenomenon the Jackson 5-Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, Marlon, and Michael-were. Life magazine hailed them as "a black teen breakthrough," and Look headlined its profile, "The Hottest New Group in the Record World Has to Be in Bed by Ten O'Clock." (True!) Because some of their songs had juvenile themes and Michael was so young, critics initially labeled them "bubblegum soul." But had Michael been older, with a deeper voice, he'd have been hailed as one of the most soulful singers of the time, and the J5, in turn, as rivaling the Temptations, the Four Tops, and other soul greats.

Within weeks of the release of "I Want You Back," my brothers emerged as the first black teen (and preteen) idols since Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers in the mid-1950s. They practically became the raison d'être for several recently founded black-music fan magazines. Each month for several years, page after page-sometimes over half an issue-was devoted to articles on the guys' personal likes and dislikes, color pinups, their astrological charts, and helpful advice for the predominantly female readers, along the lines of "How to Act When You Meet the Jackson 5."

Like the Beatles, each Jackson was stamped with a distinct personality: Jackie, handsome and athletic; Tito, serious and quiet, an accomplished musician; Jermaine, the group's sex symbol; Marlon, the adorable younger brother; and Michael, the charismatic prodigy. Countless sacks bulging with fan letters, school pictures, and stuffed animals flooded Motown's offices. Our home phone rang constantly from morning to night. It was, as they said, Jacksonmania.

Their youthful rise to stardom made great copy and was the subject of articles in every major national magazine. Because the brothers were family, the media regarded all the Jacksons as part of the act. Reporters and photographers invaded our home all the time, trying to unlock the "secret" to the Jacksons' success. In an era of widespread drug use, promiscuity, and teenage rebellion, America wanted to know how Mr. and Mrs. Jackson raised such a wholesome bunch of kids. Not a single article of this time failed to mention my brothers' politeness, clean-cut living, and devotion to family. Our mother was portrayed as kind and gentle, a saint. And in every one, our father emerged as a benevolent mastermind, "exert[ing] a steadying hand," one scribe wrote, "in the exhilarating flush of the boys' new popularity." A steadying hand indeed.

Most of what was written then was essentially true, if glossed up. Though unadorned the Jacksons' story was the old-fashioned American Dream saga, Motown concocted a rags-to-riches fable about my family. Consequently, the public came to believe we'd grown up in a crime-infested ghetto (or worse). Since our parents had worked so hard to give us the best life they could then, Mother often complained, "Why do they say we lived in a ghetto, when we didn't?" But the label's publicists believed that stressing our humble origins would inspire other minority kids.

The brothers were even given and rehearsed answers to reporters' predictable inquiries. From the beginning, publicity chief Bob Jones warned journalists, "No questions about religion or politics." Not that my family had anything to hide, except the reality of an abusive household. And looking at the ten of us posing together happily in our lavish new home, who would have believed that?

Like Jackie, Tito, and Michael, I was naturally shy. In the harsh reflected glare of my brothers' fame I grew even more withdrawn. Making friends at my new school in California was suddenly complicated. I didn't want any special attention or treatment because I was their sister; I never have. And I hated to think that someone might pretend to be my friend just to meet the Jackson 5. So for quite a while I never told anyone I was one of those Jacksons. This wasn't easy, since Michael, Marlon, and I attended the same school. I remember other girls in my class squealing with excitement whenever they passed one of my brothers in the hall.