In 1959, twenty-nine-year-old Berry Gordy, who had already given up on his dream to be a champion boxer, borrowed eight hundred dollars from his family and started a record company. A run-down bungalow sandwiched between a funeral home and a beauty shop in a poor Detroit neighborhood served as his headquarters. The building's entrance was adorned with a large sign that improbably boasted "Hitsville U.S.A." The kitchen served as the control room, the garage became the two-track studio, the living room was reserved for bookkeeping, and sales were handled in the dining room. Soon word spread that any youngster with a streak of talent should visit the only record label that Detroit had seen in years. The company's name was Motown. Swirling around the political upheaval of the 1960s, the emergence of black entrepreneurship, the decline of some American cities, and filled with more intrigue than any soap opera writer could conjure, Motown's story is riveting.