CHAPTER 1If You Can Think It, You Can Do It
WHEN MY grandfather, the Reverend Elzae Warrick, asked me to sing at his church, the St. Luke’s AME Church in Newark, New Jersey, one Sunday morning, I was truly surprised. As I entered his pulpit, I looked up at him, wondering why he wanted me to sing. He simply said, “Sing for me the song you sing in Sunday school.” I was only six years old, and this would be the first time I would sing in front of a large congregation of people. Grandpa could see that I was a bundle of nerves and leaned down to whisper, “Remember, if you can think it, you can do it.”
He then stacked a few books beside the pulpit for me to stand on, so everybody could see me. I closed my eyes as tight as I could, said a quick prayer, and then started to sing:
Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong,
They are weak, but He is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me!
The Bible tells me so.
Midway through, I found the courage to open one eye a little bit. The people in the congregation were smiling and urging me on. They were shouting, “Sing that song,” “Take your time,” and “Amen.”
Their encouragement seemed to wash over me, and I began to feel more confident. I closed my eyes again and really started to let loose. Even I was amazed at what was coming out of my little mouth and the notes I was able to hit. The moment was truly magical.
When I finished, I opened my eyes and was amazed to see the entire congregation on their feet. I had received my first standing ovation.
I DID IT then—and after fifty years in show business, I’m still doing it now.
I was born Marie Dionne Warrick on December 12, 1940, and raised in East Orange, New Jersey, where my mommy, Lee Drinkard Warrick, my daddy, Mancel L. Warrick, my sister, Delia “Dee Dee” Warrick, and my brother, Mancel “Pookie” Warrick Jr., lived comfortably in a two-family home that we owned.
I was named Marie after my mother’s sister. My godmother, Dezbe, chose Dionne as my middle name. The only person ever to call me Marie was my gym teacher, Ms. Perry. That fact helped me to recognize her name when—what seemed like a hundred years later—she sent a note to me backstage at a performance in Florida. It was addressed to Marie. I was not only able to know that she was there, I announced her presence to the audience and told them that she calls me Marie and why. She looked exactly the same as I had remembered: she had the greatest haircut; it’s called an Italian bob, and she still wears her silver-gray hair the exact same way, short and always neat.
I was lucky to have good teachers and two wonderful parents who were brought up in God-fearing families and who raised their children in a similar fashion. I had what was considered a normal childhood at that time, in a neighborhood full of families much like mine, with a mother and father who gave us love and discipline in major proportions.
My father’s father was a minister—he was also one of the wisest men ever to walk this earth, second only to Jesus, in my mind.
Attending church was an important part of life for my mother’s side of the family as well. That part of my family was full of gospel singers. Spending the entire day in church every Sunday was not exactly what we children ever wanted to do, but that’s what happened. Our folks wouldn’t have it any other way.
My mother was a five-foot-four-inch bundle of energy, stylish, and, although soft-spoken, could put the fear of God in you with just a look. She worked at an electrical plant called Tung-Sol in Newark, New Jersey. She made filaments for lightbulbs, and I don’t think she ever missed a day of work. I believe this taught us the worth of responsibility and the importance of earning your way through life. This was especially significant given there were not many role models for women who aspired to careers and work of their own at that time. The word I most associate with my mother is class. This captures the image of her that Dee Dee and I both kept of her and followed.
Mommy expressed the importance of being a “lady” at all times in the ways we dressed, walked, spoke, and presented ourselves to the world. I sure hope that I have maintained the legacy she gave us.
My daddy stood a full foot taller than my mom did. He was six foot four, lean, and gorgeous. He worked for the railroad as a Pullman porter, one of the best jobs available to African American men in his time. His legacy for us included an entrepreneurial spirit and vocal ability as well. He had a wonderful voice. When he retired from the railroad, he decided to become a certified public accountant. He took a correspondence course that earned him certification. As a consequence, he became my personal accountant. He also had a career after retirement as a butcher, a candy store owner, and, finally, a gospel record promoter for Hob Records. He also wrote a book, The Progress of Gospel Music, published by Vantage Press in 1977, and was on the road with me for a while as my road manager. So my daddy gave me that “get up and go” spirit. I was also a real daddy’s girl.
We lived at 46 Sterling Street in a large two-family house. We rented the first floor of our house to the Stewards, who were much like an extended part of our family. Frank and Henrine were parents like mine, who lovingly raised George, Frank Jr., Gwendolyn, and Bobby. We did practically everything together: went to the same schools, shared birthday celebrations and arguments. Gwen and I took piano lessons together every Wednesday after school from Mrs. Giggetts, the organist at my grandfather’s church, and we became quite good. Gwen and I even performed at piano recitals that made Mrs. Giggetts, our parents, and our neighbors proud. Gwen was older than I was; however, she was my best friend.
After my brother, Pookie, was born, we moved right next door, to 44 Sterling. Our new home was a bit larger, with five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a living room, a dining room, and a bigger kitchen. Dee Dee and I had our own bedrooms, so we had privacy—as if we needed it. The only other differences were that we now had a large porch area and a large lawn in front of the house. We also had a German shepherd named Sonny Boy. Our lives there were full of happy, fun-filled times.
Because I could hit a baseball, catch a football, play basketball, shoot marbles, and play street hockey as well as most of the boys on Sterling Street, I was considered a tomboy, but I was also very prissy. I loved wearing frilly dresses, jumping rope, having my hair curled, and playing with makeup like any other little girl. I had the best of both worlds rolled into one little body.
Our neighborhood resembled the United Nations. Every race, color, creed, and religion lived on our block. Every parent knew one another, and the friendships I made then are still a very important part of my life. We walked to school together and had sleepovers at each other’s homes. We played all kinds of games, including jacks and double Dutch jump rope. Some were games of skill and others were educational, such as Scrabble, spelling bees, and our version of what is now known as Jeopardy! We all went to a park called “the Oval,” where baseball, tennis, track meets, and other sporting events were held and taught by caring adults.
One of the most important things our family did was to sit down together for dinner. We had wonderful conversations at the dinner table about a variety of topics, including show business.
As I look back, I had a wonderful family life that got even better when my aunt Cissy came to live with us after my grandfather (my mother’s father) passed. Though Cissy, whose real first name is Emily, is my mother’s younger sister, she is only seven years older than I am. So while she was technically our aunt, she became like our big sister and lived with us until she got married. Aunt Cissy would later give birth to a little girl who would become one of the great voices of our time, my cousin Whitney Houston.
My mom and her sisters, Cissy, Marie (“Rebie”), and Annie, and her brothers, Nick and Larry, all had great voices and at the time performed as the Drinkard Jubilairs. They would later become the Drinkard Singers. They held rehearsals in our living room, and since they could be heard up and down Sterling Street, the entire neighborhood got to share these wonderful times—and their singing.
The Drinkard Singers were a fabulous family gospel group, and Mommy was one of its founding members. They made quite a name for themselves and were part of the cavalcade of gospel groups that regularly toured the country. My maternal grandfather, Nitch Drinkard, was one of the keys to the group’s success. He considered gospel singing a ministry and the Drinkard Singers a way to spread the message of Jesus Christ to the masses.
They had begun singing down in Savannah, Georgia, where they lived in the late 1930s. The family, like so many other African Americans, eventually moved north. Cissy joined them when she was just a young thing, probably around five or six years old. Mommy became the group’s manager, in addition to her work at Tung-Sol. Every now and then, I would sing with them.
In 1951 they were one of the first groups to accompany the great Mahalia Jackson at a groundbreaking concert at Carnegie Hall, and in 1957 they, along with Mahalia and a few other gospel groups, including Clara Ward and the Ward Singers, performed at George Wein’s Newport Jazz Festival. That was the first time the festival featured gospel music. The performance was recorded and became a live album, The Drinkard Singers and the Back Home Choir at Newport. The Drinkard Singers...
