The Day I Met Michael Jackson
I was sitting with a friend as she glanced at her BlackBerry, "Michael Jackson is dead," she read. Then she added, "This must be a joke from my friend." But a few seconds later her grandma sent her another text. "It must be true," she concluded.
What flashed through my mind was: "Wasn't he dead already...a long time ago?" It was a strange thought, because I had met Michael Jackson, however briefly, in the flesh. I watched as he sang to himself. I saw him be a father. I played with his kids and cooed at his newborn son. That was 7 years ago, Friday April 30th 2002.
Perhaps the reason I thought he had already died is that I remember watching him on the Ed Sullivan Show with my parents. He was cute as a button, lively with an Afro. But eventually I could no longer recognize that little boy. His ghostly white skin, hair that looks like a glossy wig, rosy lipstick on his mouth, hidden behind dark glasses and a surgical mask: he had become a stranger. I saw a picture of him lying in his oxygen tank, looking like a glass corpse. I remember a porcelain life-sized Jeff Koons sculpture of him that I saw in a museum. Don't they memorialize people that way after they die? His existence had turned into myth as he retreated into a bubble; didn't he show up to court in his pj's? He was a prince; he was an icon; he was Peter Pan; he lived in Neverland.
It all started mysteriously.
I received a phone call in the afternoon. The husky voice said, "I am representing a VIP who would like to come to the Strand." (The Strand is a bookstore that was founded 82 years ago by my grandfather and is run by my dad and me.) The voice continued, "I work for Michael Jackson. He would like to come to the store without customers around." I was directed not to tell anyone that Michael was coming. There was a contact telephone number at the New York Palace hotel, and I received updates from his representative throughout that day. It was decided he would come to the store at 10:30pm, after the Strand closes. And I kept the visit a secret, except to a few managers whom I asked to stay late with me; in turn I asked for their vow of secrecy.
By nightfall the air was swirling with electrical excitement. I piled copies of Moon Walk, Michael's memoir (edited by Jackie Onassis,) in the store for him to see. I remembered from reading it how kind his voice was as author.
And then there was Michael walking (not moon-walking) through the door of our third-floor rare books department. His skin was bleached white, he had orange rouge on his lips and his hair was straight. But he was still Michael. I had watched him grow up.
The first thing Michael said when he walked into the room was, "Are there any cameras?" I said no. I knew that ruled out my having a picture taken with him; I had brought a camera just in case. I felt his paranoia. I could hear the crowd shouting at street level "We love you, Michael!" He asked that I pull down all the shades in the oversized windows. I was later told that some fans were climbing the gates that protect the store windows.
Despite my conscientious effort to keep this event a secret on Michael's behalf, somehow news had spread. But how did they find out? Maybe because Michael and his entourage were traveling in a motorcade that included a huge white stretch limousine, a white stretch Lincoln and a black Suburban truck. I was told that they had just come from Times Square. The curious onlookers must have followed them, and word got out.
In filed his entourage: two security guards, three nurses all dressed in crisp white uniforms, and four children varying in age, some Hispanic, some African-American. There was such a sweetness to Michael in how he interacted with them. They seemed like nice, polite, appreciative kids; I wondered if he took them under his wing because they'd had a hard life.
Then there were his beautiful children; they looked like magical Disney characters. They seemed as doll-like as their names: Paris and Prince Michael I. Both were dressed in matching royal blue velvet. Paris, who was 4 years old, was wearing a tiara with diamonds, like a real princess. Prince Michael, 5 years old, had straight blond hair cut in a page-boy; Paris had flowing brown hair and big blue eyes. Their skin was pure white...they looked Scandinavian. The effect was adorable: I wanted to keep them, to take them home.
I knew he covered them with shawls when cameras were around, and he did so when he later continued his shopping downstairs. Draped in cloth, his children walked around looking like Cousin It from the Addams family. The kids seemed well adjusted. We gave them a wind-up doll of a tan dog in a red bow tie and a suit, and they played on the wooden floor. Prince Michael brought over an oversized book on collectable toys, barely able to carry it. He said in the cutest little voice; "Dad, can I have this" Michael lovingly smiled and asked if he was going to read it. He replied, "Yes."
One nurse was holding an adorable newly born baby with dark hair. I hadn't heard that Michael had three children nor was it public knowledge at the time. I wondered if Michael had a new baby, or could the child be borrowed? Months later, I found out that he was Prince Michael II.
Michael picked out a young Hispanic employee to help him. He had his name, Jesus, written in black magic marker on his plastic oval Strand name tag. I would think this was the thrill of the young man's life. Michael handed the books that he wanted to buy to Jesus, who then gave it to us in a basket to be sent to the cash register to be added and packed. Occasionally, Michael had requests. He wanted books on black folk music, books by Roald Dahl (including James and the Giant Peach), and something on Versailles. I would send my troops to look for the books and hand the findings to Jesus. On a previous visit, my dad had helped him, and he picked out books on Howard Hughes, dictionaries and first edition children's books.
Of course, I'm fond of anyone that shares my love of books, and I was impressed with Michael's selection. He sang quietly to himself and focused on photography and art books for a while, climbing on a ladder when necessary. All told, he spent $6,000 in books and allowed anyone in his group to take books. Although the people in his entourage did choose some, they did not seem as excited about shopping for books.
Michael was hands off when it came to the transaction. I asked a security guard about getting paid when they were nearing the end. He handed me a cell phone, and I was given a credit card number, in a different person's name. The next day a black town car was dispersed to pick up Michael's purchases, all packed in doubled shopping bags.
Michael and his entourage piled in the cars and, despite his desire for secrecy, his paranoid nature, you could tell he loved his fans waving and yelling, and he told them that he loved them. He craved love just like the rest of us, or maybe even more so.
It was after midnight. They had been at the Strand for 2 hours. Michael's security guard told me their next stop was FAO Schwartz, which like the Strand was open just for them. I felt like jumping with excitement, and thought to myself, I want to go with them. I wanted to be a kid again. I didn't want to stay in a crammed bookstore worrying about personnel, inventory, customer complaints. I WANT TO HAVE FUN. I want to shop for toys and dance on the giant piano like Tom Hanks did in the movie Big. I want to ride in the big white limousine with Michael and the kids bopping to loud music. I want to follow Tinkerbell, be sprinkled with fairy dust, open the window, and fly through the night sky.
But 7 years later, I now have kids and I read them fairy tales. And as we all know, fairy tales can also have a dark side. Even Peter Pan said, "To die will be an awfully big adventure."
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His paranoia? I wonder if he had good reason to be paranoid? He was "ghostly white with orange rouged lips?" How critical and condemnatory we can be. How we so love to put ourselves above others.
How about: He spent $6,000,00 in my store. He was kind to me and my staff. He was kind and respectful to his staff. He was gentle and loving with his kids. He bought books and historically significant items. He was just a sweet human being.
I for one am sick of the amateur psychologi
Michael was a true Virgo -- voracious readers who can spend hours wandering around bookstores.
It sounds as though he was an intellectually curious, intelligent and self-educated person unfortunately painted by an overzealous media as a detestable freak. That really is tragic, because people who knew him say he was an incomparably kind and generous person.
What a truly wonderful memory! As someone who has moved multiple times with my library of mountains of beloved books - I love it when someone else appreciates books. I could spend hours in a bookstore. Too bad no one ever focused on these stories about Michael. Very few knew of his charitable giving, which included books to libraries as well as kindness to the sick and impoverished.
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Most of the world thought he was crazy because of what they read in the media, they judged him without mercy, with their negative thoughts and words.
Very few knew the truth: a well-educated, highly creative humanitarian with a deeply loving soul. Too bad his pain was masked instead of a true healing found for him. We are grateful for the time we had him but wish he could have led a happier life, especially at the end when his health unraveled before our eyes.
Nice comment, thanks for this.
As someone who comes from an abusive family, as an adult, every time I seem a child and parent together where the parent seems to adore the child and is great with them, it brings tears to my eyes.
When you don't have the love from a parent growing up, it affects you forever, and I always saw that sadness and longing in Michael Jackson. It's sad to me that he never had that need fullfilled and wanted it so badly.
Nice diary but what it all reminds me of is how much money money he spent and how pampered the kids were. Kids don't need all this crap - tiaras, blue velvet,etc. And neither did Michael.
All that money and such a sad ending.
As I wrote previously, Michael did not even know what it was like to call his parents "Mom" and "Dad". He never celebrated a birthday in his home, he was not allowed to attend the parties of children in his neighborhood. He did not know what it was like to trick-or-treat for Halloween and he did not know what it was like to open presents on Christmas. In the early part of their careers the Jackson 5 could be booked to perform at such holiday functions, but Joseph would not allow them to participate as guests or hosts.
Michael's intention for Neverland Ranch was for it to serve as a private amusement park where it was always Halloween, Christmas, and a Birthday party in perpetuity. Had he not indulged his children, he would have felt that he was too much like his own father -- note that Michael's children address him by the title "Daddy" and not by his first name as he had been raised to do.
Note also that many of Michael's close friends from Elizabeth Taylor to Brooke Shields to Liza Minelli to Macaulay Culkin to Emmanuel Lewis had all been child stars. The lesson of his youth was that a parent should not be dependent upon their children for a living, children should be a parent's reason for living -- PERIOD.
aww .. I disagree (with the first part) - kids do need blue velvet, tiaras and books. What they don't need are cell phones, xbox and facebook.
but yes ... sad ending, agreed
Yes! From what I have read here and elsewhere, he was a very loving parent. The part where his son asked, "Dad, can I have this (book)?" and he lovingly said "Yes," was terribly sweet and poignant.
Excellent point. I started my son's library when he was in the womb and have always stressed the importance of reading.
Who would begrudge a child books?
In the end as an adult Michael Jackson had enough money to re-live the childhood he felt he had missed as he wished and with children either his own or other peoples kids. Not too many kids who have been deprived have had the chance to re-do childhood and even now in the economy as it is too many kids will go without food and play during their childhoods. Many survive the loss of their childhood and go on to be better parents to make their kids childhood the best they can make it.Others use it as the excuse to drink and do drugs and many of them die young just like Michael. No one has the childhood they wish they had had except for a few so unfortunately the children Michael had made for himself will suffer his loss for his desire to be free of the pain he never tried to really fix from within. The plastic surgeries and multiple millions to fill the void finally worked with the last medications given.
Interesting, but strangely written.
How does the author know the children seem "well-adjusted" when she also remarks they remind her of the offspring in the Adams Family, and were walking around with their faces covered, as Jackson ordered them to? Odd description of "well-adjusted" children!
Michael Jackson was terrified of being abducted during his own childhood and it is evidenced in the way he obscured his children. If the general public is not sure what his kids look like, not even their ethnicity, it makes it that much harder for potential kidnappers.
I would wager that's why she used the word "seem". I thought it was a good firsthand account of a whirlwind experience.
I thank you ever so much for sharing.
Michael Jackson lives in my heart forever.
Thank you for sharing . . . especially as a book lover, store owner (Beverly Hills Tea Shop) and fan of MJ. I've had some unique experiences with celebrities in my store - Annie Lennox, Better Midler and even MJ's ex-wife, Lisa Marie Presley.
Great article, now excuse me while I vomit.
Thank you for sharing...
Have joyful day.
Great story-- thank you!
Thank you for this article. It reveals both the beauty and the sadness of Michael Jackson's world in such a graceful manner.
Thank you for sharing this story. Any book lover who has been there knows the wonderment of spending hours shopping in the Strand. Though it was hard to tell from all his face-shifting, it's clear he was human just like the rest of us.
I'm also a fan of the Strand Bookstore--have been for forty years, ever since my uncle took me there to shop when I was a teenager. That was an amazing story about Michael Jackson--amazing and very much a microcosm of the kind of world he lived in. Even in New York, where the locals are pretty blase about celebrities, Jackson couldn't possibly live anything close to a normal life. And that's why, despite his great talent, Michael Jackson was one of the saddest people who ever lived.
They were showing that 1992 Jackson Family miniseries the other day on VH1 and it was a recurring theme throughout the narrative that the entire Jackson 5 felt deprived of childhood experiences due to their upbringing as Jehovah's Witnesses. Since they are taught the only real "Father" is Jehovah, they call their parents by their first names (although Katie later allows Michael to call her "Mother"). They do not celebrate holidays or birthdays.
At the very end after the 1984 Pepsi Fire, when Michael was still living in the family's Encino mansion in a bedroom overcrowded with his original antique mannequin collection, he comes down to the living room to talk with Katie and whines about how he feels devoid of childhood memories.
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I remember seeing this show back when it first aired before Michael had his own kids and really before the general public was aware of what his new estate at Neverland Ranch looked like and it occured to me that after about 1975 or so (about the time he slipped Motown's leash) Michael lived his life as if every day was Halloween, Christmas, and his Birthday all at the same time.
It's nice to be reminded that all the money in the world can't replace the simple joys that anonymity affords.
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