The death and life of a Dream Girl; new Diana Ross biography retells the tragic story of fallen Supreme Florence Ballard - extract from "Call Her Miss Ross"

Ebony, Feb, 1990 by J. Randy Taraborelli

The Death and Life of a Dream Girl

AS a limousine slowly inched its way toward [Detroit's] New Bethel Baptist Church, police officers cleared away people who were peering into its tinted windows and blocking its path.

"Who's in it?" someone asked. "Is it her?"

When the car stopped in front of the church, a tuxedoed chauffeur jumped out. The crowd surged foward. A back door opened. Two more men in black suits got out. Finally, one of them opened the remaining door, and a long, black-stockinged, high-heeled leg peeked out, toes pointed demurely.

"It is her!"

She looked very small, almost frail, in a black coat trimmed with sable at the collar and cuffs, a matching knit cloche-style hat, and gold hoop earrings. Her face was expertly made up, contoured, blushed and highlighted. Heavy-lashed eyes were properly mournful. She was immediately the center of attention, though she seemed to be oblivious to it all. Flanked by four stone-faced bodyguards, she bowed her head as she walked through the charged crowd.

People started booing as Diana and her entourage made their way through the huge crowd.

Mary Wilson and her mother Johnnie Mae stood in the long, slow-moving line of people waiting to be seated. Ernestine Ross, Diana's mother, also stood in that line, watching sadly, quietly, with a pained expression on her face. It was obvious to her that her daughter was not welcome at Florence Ballard's funeral.

"FLO, she's the quiet one," Diana had said when she introduced The Supremes during their nightclub act. But she had it all wrong. Maybe it was wishful thinking because in life, Florence Ballard had never been one to keep quiet about much.

In the '60s, Florence Ballard, Mary Wilson and Diana Ross--The Supremes--quickly became the most successful American vocal group of their day. Rising from the Brewster Projects of Detroit to the most prestigious nightclubs and concert halls in the world, they had, by 1965, racked up an enviable string of unforgettable hit records. The leading proponents of Detroit's home-bred music called The Motown Sound, their only logical peers in the pop world were The Beatles and Elvis Presley.

From the start, Diana Ross had that rare star quality, stage presence and unique singing voice that immediately set her apart from the other two. But along with her talent and ambition there was a certain amount of ruthlessness. She was famous and her fans adored her, but she was not popular among her Motown peers, many of whom thought that Berry Gordy helped her rise at their expense. By 1967, she had become the star of the act, much to Mary and Florence's dismay. They thought that the group was what mattered, but Diana was never group-oriented. She knew early on that The Supremes were but a stepping-stone on her way to the top.

"You know, you told me you wouldn't try to stand in Diane's way if she wanted to go out on her own," Berry told Florence one afternoon at the airport in Vancouver, Canada, in 1966. (Though "Diana" is the name on Diana Ross' birth certificate, most of her friends and associates from the early days called her--and still do call her [perhaps not to her face]--"Diane", which is what her parents intended that she be named.)

"Yeah, that's what I said," Florence once remembered having told him. "If she wants to be on her own, then that's okay with me. But I ain't leaving the group."

"She wants out," Berry said, ignoring her last statement. "But you're making it tough on her. She told me you're making her feel guilty about it."

Years later, Florence recalled, "That's when I started getting pi---d off. I said, 'Look, Berry, she's grown. If she wants to walk all over people to get to the top, then that's her business. I'm not gonna make her feel no better by agreeing with it.'

"'You're a millionaire,' he told me. 'You can leave the group any time.' But I told him I ain't leaving."

With that, Berry and Florence became locked in the same quarrels about her excessive drinking and weight gain, all of which ended with Florence--tears in her eyes and her voice shaking--threatening Berry once more. "You'll be sorry you messed with me, Berry Gordy," she screamed loud enough for everyone in the terminal to hear. "I know a lot about you, more than you think. And don't you forget it."

Actually, Mary Wilson was "the quiet one," not Florence Ballard. Mary, content to be a Supreme at whatever cost, watched and waited to see what would happen next. But Florence shouted and made threats, claiming to have embarrassing information on Berry Gordy's business practices. She quickly became a threat to Gordy's peace of mind, to the continued success of the group and, maybe even more importantly, to Diana's future career.

On stage, as off, Flo was irrepressible--and audiences loved her for it. During the act, when Diana said, "Thin is in," Flo sassed back, "But honey, fat is where it's at." When Diana sang, "Gold won't bring you happiness," during their rendition of "You're Nobody Till Somebody Loves You," Flo would interrupt with, "Give me that gold and I'll do my own shoppin'." Flo was a crowd pleaser and Diana and Berry couldn't very well ignore that. Though they weren't very fond of her ad-libs, they tolerated them just to keep her "quiet."