Jimmy Ruffin’s “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted”: A Soul Cry for Love’s Lost Survivors – A Song About the Lingering Pain and Search for Hope After Heartbreak
When Jimmy Ruffin released “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted” in June 1966, it soared to No. 7 on the Billboard Hot 100 and No. 6 on the R&B chart, a soulful triumph from his debut album Jimmy Ruffin Sings Top Ten, which peaked at No. 102 on the Billboard 200. Certified Gold with over a million copies sold, it marked a breakout for the Mississippi-born singer, elder brother to The Temptations’ David Ruffin. For those of us who were there—twisting the dial on a bedroom radio or dropping a dime in a diner jukebox—“What Becomes of the Brokenhearted” wasn’t just a hit; it was a balm for the bruised, a song that older hearts can still hear whispering through the years, pulling us back to a time when Motown was king, and love’s fallout felt like a question only the music could answer.
The road to this classic winds through Motown’s bustling corridors, where Jimmy, a factory worker turned singer, found his moment. Written in ’65 by William Weatherspoon, Paul Riser, and James Dean—a trio of Detroit dreamers—it was first meant for The Spinners, but Ruffin, fresh off choir duty and a stint replacing David in The Temptations, begged for it after overhearing a demo at Hitsville USA. Picture him in that studio: 27, lean and earnest, his voice a velvet ache as The Funk Brothers laid down a groove—strings swelling like a storm, horns punctuating the plea—under Weatherspoon and Riser’s careful hands. Recorded as Berry Gordy pushed Motown’s polish, it hit the airwaves when the Summer of Love was a whisper away, a year after Jimmy turned down a Temptations gig to go solo, its lush despair cutting through the British Invasion’s clamor. Released with a B-side of “Baby I’ve Got It”, it became his signature, a cry that outshone even David’s spotlight.
At its tender, wounded core, “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted” is a man’s search for meaning in love’s wreckage, a soul left “searching everywhere just to find someone to care.” “As I walk this land of broken dreams,” Jimmy sings, his voice a soft tremor, “I have visions of many things, but happiness is just an illusion”—it’s the sting of “love that’s lost” and “tears that fall,” a question echoing in the dark: “What becomes of the brokenhearted who had love that’s now departed?” It’s not rage—it’s reflection, a quiet plea for “a new love” to mend what’s shattered. For those of us who lived those days, it’s the mid-’60s in a fragile frame—the hum of a Motown beat through a screen door, the glow of a streetlight on a summer stoop, the way Jimmy felt like he’d walked our lonely nights with us. It’s a memory of youth’s tender scars—when you’d lean on a car hood, staring at the stars, when heartbreak was a shadow you couldn’t shake, and this song was its echo.
More than a single, “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted” was Jimmy Ruffin’s immortal mark, a peak before quieter years—“I’ve Passed This Way Before” followed at No. 17—and a soul staple in The Big Chill and Fried Green Tomatoes. It flickered in covers by Joan Osborne and lingered in Northern Soul clubs, but Jimmy’s original, with its orchestral sweep, held the truest ache. For us who’ve grayed since then, it’s a bridge to a world of sharkskin suits and soda fountains—when you’d save a quarter for a record shop run, when his Soul Train turn lit up the screen, when music was a hand to hold through love’s long fade. Slip that old 45 onto the player, let it hum, and you’re back—the rustle of a breeze through open windows, the clink of a glass on a Formica counter, the way “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted” felt like a question we all asked, a song that still searches the soul with every note.