Michael Jackson: Death of a Man; Immortality of a Legend.

From "The Best of..." Files

 

(This was originally written June 28, 2009.  Michael Jackson was a huge part of my growing up.  When he died, I felt like a part of my childhood and innocence died too.  I know it sounds weird, but I can't change how I felt.  I wrote this 3 days after his death.)

It was grade 9 and as I was leaving one of the classrooms at Sheldon Williams Collegiate, I first heard Michael Jackson’s “Beat It”. 

 

“I can’t believe they are playing Michael Jackson,” one of my friends said derogatorily.

“This is Michael Jackson? The same one from the Jackson 5?  This isn’t bad,” I replied.

“Not bad?!  Disco died!” I was curtly told. 

 

Well, when Thriller hit the charts and Michael Jackson’s videos hit the airwaves, the derogatory comments became very superlative.  Michael Jackson was emerging into who would soon to be referred to as the “Prince of Pop.”

 

Yes, like every girl thereafter, I was totally “in love” with MJ.  (Keep in mind, I was 14 and “in love” had a different meaning.)  I was going to marry him one day … along with Simon Le Bon and some other hunks of the day.  But you know, in my heart, there was something different about Michael.  He was hot - but did not seem conceited.  His falsetto would get my hormones raging and to watch a video was like being entranced by a wizard.  Hypnotic.  Almost Spiritual in a weird way.

Well, that was my experience of Michael while he was on top, when everyone loved him.  Then, the rumors came.  The tabloids attracted everyday folks to these stories and convinced people to believe it.  After all “a source close to the singer” and “his good friend” said blah blah blah… Gee  it must be true.  After all, these sources and good friends wouldn't lie about him for money - would they? 
No, his friends wouldn’t.

 

People turned against Michael like running from the plague.  After all, the man had the “elephant man’s bones”.  He dated his chimpanzee, Bubbles.  He’s trying to have plastic surgery to look like Diana Ross, Liz Taylor, or yes, even Bubbles.  To heck with his music…

wait…

His music? 

 

Music?     The “truth” of the tabloids seemed to erase the music and the fact that he was a gifted musician who the world “loved” years and months before.  Who could forget how they felt when we watched him crawl into bed with that chick in Billie Jean. He wasn't considered to be a freak then. And how quickly they forgot that it used to be cool to have "Thriller" playing at the dance clubs.  But now that he’s supposedly sleeping in a hypodermic chamber, people seem to have forgotten about how they felt during these moments. 

So I ask again:  The music? 

 

When people would laugh at him in the supermarkets, I defended him. 

"That is just tabloid crap.  Nobody knows it to be true.  And I still like his music!” I would say. 

“You are so dumb and naive,” I was told.  “Can’t you read? It’s right there in black and white.” 

 And yet, I still liked his music. 

I liked his music because he was a great musician and a great artist.  There was something special about him that defined him differently than other artists.  This is why he was stalked by the paparazzi.  Why didn’t they go after Simon Le Bon or Paul McCartney (circa 1984 - not 1964) like they did with Michael?  Because Michael sold.  Stories of Michael brought in bigger dollars because he had more "fans?" who would buy the story.

 

To make a long story much shorter, the people who loved him the most, his fans, were the ones who created the misery for him.  They turned their back on the music and started following “the man” they thought he was.  The fans who loved him became the people that hated him.  They needed more tabloid trash like the junkie needs a fix and they lapped it all up.  These fans helped build Michael to the top of the music world.  They created the legend.  They crowned him the “King of Pop”.  And they, the fans, destroyed his life in doing so forcing him into the life as a recluse. 

 

I can tell you almost every detail of Michael Jackson’s life.  I know all his family’s names, his birthday, religious beliefs and conversions.  I have every one of his albums and know the words to most of the songs.  I know how many awards he’s won and who he took to the American Music Awards.  That by no means indicates that I know the man named Michael Jackson.  I know the artist.  I know the legend. I know the music.  I know the words.

 

Few people know the man, the human being.  And it is this person who is truly loved.  His loved ones don’t scream at the sight of him or reach their arms out for a touch of his jacket.  His loved ones held him when he cried, laughed at jokes with him and shared their family moments with him.  Those who love MJ, know what he looks like without make up.  They have probably seen him with a cold holding a box of Kleenex and asking for a hot bowl of soup and whining about being sick all day (like a normal man).  These are the people that loved him.

 

To the Michael I knew, to Michael Jackson, the legend and the artist, to Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, and to Michael Jackson who I have no idea whether you had the elephant man’s bones or not and I don’t care because I enjoy your music, to this Michael Jackson, my last words to you are:  I totally love you with all my heart as you were a part of my life … I love your music, I love how you’ve changed the world of dance and video and I love the way you make me feel watching “Smooth Criminal” or “Ghost”.  Yes, I love your music, your talent and the character you portrayed in my life and I will love that forever because you will never ever die.  You are immortal and will live on until the last record plays.

 

And to the Michael that I did not know, to Michael the man, the human being, somebody’s son, somebody’s brother, the father, the cousin, the uncle and friend that very few people knew, you will be missed in their hearts forever. 

Thank you for the music. 

God Bless you. 

Rest in Peace.

Good bye.