In this sense, the literary figure that Michael came to resemble was J. R. R. Tolkien’s Gollum, who is destroyed by the “ring of power,” or what Gollum calls his “Precious.” As Tolkien so brilliantly portrays in his Lord of the Rings trilogy, the ring of power eventually brings out the very worst qualities of its owner.
Gollum, who started life as a decent hobbit, slowly becomes ravaged by the effects of the ring until he is only a grotesque and sinister caricature of his former, wholesome self. In our time, celebrity is that “ring of power.” Like the ring itself, fame is shiny and glitzy, precious to behold, and makes ordinary people powerful beyond their wildest dreams. Even someone unknown, like “Joe the Plumber,” can try on the ring, become famous for fifteen minutes, and suddenly become the subject of presidential debates, be enveloped by photographers, and bring traffic to a halt by simply walking down the street.
Fame is our modern “Precious,” a circular aura that we don to temporarily render us not invisible but invincible. Fame is power. Obscurity is death. We treat life today like the proverbial tree in the forest that falls with no one to hear it. Did it really fall? If you lived your life and no one has heard of you, did you even exist?
But just like the ring, celebrity has a dark and sinister side. While millions crave it, very few have survived its ruinous effects. Like smallpox, fame usually comes in bursts and by the time it passes it leaves hideous scars. Sometimes those scars are the scars of divorce and loneliness. In our conversations, you heard Michael himself talking about how fame nearly always destroys the lives of childhood stars, many of whom never even make it to their adult years. At other times, he rightly notes, fame leaves the scars of deep isolation and unhappiness, which in turn lead to the scars of substance abuse and addiction—anything to dull the pain. Other times, celebrity leaves the scar of damaged children. Most tragically, celebrity often causes the scar of early death.
There is often a tragic correlation between superstardom and early death, as in the cases of Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley, James Dean, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, John Belushi—and now Michael Jackson. And yet, for all the tragedy and disaster it causes, like the ring in Tolkien’s tale, still we pursue it. Even as it consumes us, chews us up, and spits us out, we worship steadfastly at its altar.
Michael Jackson tragically became the Gollum of the modern age, a desiccated and disfigured incubus. Like Gollum, Michael’s voice sounded odd to those who heard it. Like Gollum, Michael evoked the image of a healthy past and a tragic present. Like Gollum, Michael held tenaciously onto his ring, his “Precious,” his fame, even as he so eloquently articulated its toxic effects. Strangely oblivious to how it disfigured him, he refused to forsake it.
He was not only proud but obsessed with being the world’s best-known entertainer. In many of our conversations, he compared himself to Elvis Presley—“my former father-in-law”—indelicately bragging that he had garnered more number-one hit records than Elvis. Michael seemed oblivious, however, to the other ramifications of the comparison: that he, like Elvis, was slowly mangled by celebrity. Tragically, like Gollum, Michael was oblivious to how the “ring” was killing him. Yes, Michael may have had Deprivan, Demerol, and Oxycodone, but fame was always his drug of choice.
No matter how dedicated Michael was to changing the course of his life during the years of our close relationship, the corrosive nature of his celebrity was always evident. I saw what it did to him, and I saw what it did to the people around him—often bringing out the absolute worst in them.
And here I am not just talking about ordinary people who went berserk around Michael. I am talking about celebrities who become just as sycophantic as the others. I remember once Michael inviting me to his hotel suite in New York to meet Justin Timberlake and talk to him about how he might assist us in promoting parents spending time with children. Justin had just flown in from Las Vegas, where the night before he had hosted the American Music Awards. He did not tell Michael that he was bringing his girlfriend at the time, Britney Spears. So when he came into Michael’s suite, he sheepishly said that Britney was waiting in the room with the security guards, afraid of entering without Michael’s permission. Michael told him to bring her in. And here I was, face to face with a woman I sadly have come to disrespect for her irresponsible role in oversexualizing young teens. I spoke with each of them briefly, told them something of the public lectures Michael and I were conducting, and then promptly departed. When I got home, my young daughters asked me what it was like to meet Britney Spears. I responded, “Ordinary. She is absolutely ordinary. There was nothing special about her.” Indeed, Britney seemed pretty intimidated by Michael, and Michael was a bit intimidated as well. Which just goes to show that even stars are star-struck.
The game of celebrity one-upmanship is one that can never be won, as Farrah Fawcett found out. She had the tragic misfortune not only to die young from cancer, but on the same day as Michael Jackson. A huge star when I was a boy, she was consigned to oblivion because a supernova exploded on the day of her death. Most celebrities nurse even worse insecurities than us mortals. Britney, since that meeting four years ago, has degenerated sharply, having largely erased the line that separates the female recording industry from soft porn.
Another case in point was the star-studded Angel Ball, organized by Denise Rich. As mentioned in Part 1, Denise’s daughter, Gabrielle, whom I knew at Oxford when she was a student, died of leukemia, and the biannual ball raises money to help fight the disease. Denise asked me to attend and to bring Michael along.
I also invited my friend Elie Wiesel, the Holocaust survivor and Nobel laureate, together with his wife, Marion, to be the guests of honor at our table. When we entered the reception, the room was filled to the rafters with bona fide celebrities, including the guest of honor, Denise’s friend President Clinton. But Michael outshined them all. There was a rush from all over the room as people hurried to meet him. His security force could not hold the people back.
Elie Wiesel, one of the most respected men in the world and a recipient of the world’s most prestigious award, was literally shoved and pushed by Hollywood’s elite as they eagerly raced toward Michael. It was embarrassing and humiliating. Women as well-known as Cindy Crawford were lining up to get their picture taken with Michael. I was trying to keep people from stepping on the Wiesels.
A prominent banker who was sitting next to me at the dinner, and who watched the world’s most famous Holocaust survivor being nearly trampled to get to the singer, turned to me and said, “It makes you lose hope for the human race, doesn’t it?” (The only ray of hope that evening was when Lance Bass of ’N Sync walked over to one of our retinue. We were all convinced that he too was requesting the opportunity to meet Michael Jackson, but he said to her, “Do you think I can meet Elie Wiesel? That has always been a dream of mine.” A classy guy.)
False Idol
Many chart the beginning of the fall of Michael Jackson to the 1993 molestation accusations. I disagree. Yes, Michael settled those allegations, leading many to believe that he was guilty. Still, he survived them and even began to successfully rebuild his career. Aside from the toxicity of childhood exposure that robbed him of a normal life, in his adult life I find a different starting point that marked his accelerated decline. It took place when Sony launched his HIStory album in 1995. Accompanying the release were huge statues of Michael placed in cities all over the world, as well as a music video depicting Michael as a gargantuan idol, complete with thousands of soldier-worshippers at his beck and call. I was living in Oxford in 1995 and can well remember the large statue of Michael that was dragged down the Thames in London.
I watched this video with Michael at his Neverland Valley Ranch theater for the first time in August 2000. Michael, sitting about three feet away from me, was nostalgically reliving his earlier success. But seeing a mortal man depicted as an enormous object of worship nearly made me fall off my chair. I can still remember the intense discomfort I felt. Her
e was a man who had been a devout Jehovah’s Witness, with an innate, deep-seated spirituality, setting himself up as a god! Even after Thriller came out, Michael continued “witnessing” for his church every Sunday, going from door-to-door selling Watchtower and Awake magazines.
How could a man with such a deep attachment to God suddenly make himself into a deity? Once he set himself up as an idol to be adored, it was but a short step for Michael to create his own rules and live by his own set of laws. The erosion of Michael Jackson from a man of decency and humility to a man who had disfigured his face, given his two sons the same name—Prince I and Prince II (who became known as “Blanket”)—and dangled his baby from a balcony in the belief that he need answer to no higher authority, dates from that period.
Right and wrong was now what Michael determined them to be. The world may find sleepovers with another person’s kids revolting. But the world be damned. Inhabiting a lower level of consciousness, they just did not understand. The Bible commands that we honor our parents. But Michael reserved the right to condemn his father publicly on many occasions, even when those condemnations served no healing purpose in their relationship.
I would tell Michael he had no right to denounce his father in front of strangers, that he was transgressing the Fifth Commandment. Indeed, the lecture I wrote for him to deliver at Oxford revolved around forgiving, rather than abhorring, his father. It was designed to reestablish the integrity of his relationship with his father. But that was Michael Jackson the innocent boy who was listening to me. Within time he would revert to Michael Jackson the icon who treated me as a well-meaning nuisance who dared question things that are way beyond his understanding.
New Faith of Celebrity
It seems bizarre, therefore, that we single out only Michael for his excesses when so many celebrities are destroying themselves and those around them, even if it is to a lesser extent. And we the public are not completely innocent. Celebrities live in a world not of their own creation but of our creation. Our worship of celebrities has gone from a pastime to a devotion, from a form of recreation to a form of veneration, from entertainment to religion.
Detached as we are from God and estranged from loftier pursuits, we have invented new gods here on earth. Where once people were awed by the heavenly stars, today they prostrate themselves before movie stars. Where once man pondered the secrets of the universe, we today seek to uncover the enigma of Marlon Brando. Is it surprising, then, that the objects of this worship begin to believe that they have a right to make up and live by their own rules, even when it becomes completely ruinous?
And we the public, the idolizers, are just as guilty as the celebrities who invite the adulation. The golden calf of Moses’ time has been replaced by the Oscar statue of our time.
The essence of the Bible can really be reduced to a single idea: God alone should be the epicenter of our lives, the heart of our existence, the soul of our actions. Brook no counterfeit substitutes.
Gone are the days when humans would bend their knees or prostrate themselves before the celestial host. No, our modern idols have moved from the stone-carved totems of the ancient world to the perfectly sculpted bodies of the Hollywood world. Rather than pray to the heavenly stars, we obsess on the lives of our movie stars. Rather than talk of the beauty of God’s creation, we talk about the magnificence of our screen creations. Rather than talk about how we can connect with God, we talk about who Jennifer Aniston is connecting with.
Many believe that it is drugs and failed relationships that spoil celebrities. But I have discovered that it is sycophantic friends and abettors who are the worst poison of all. They reinforce the idea that the celebrity can do no wrong.
Humility of Hubris
Humans are not gods, and when the public expects them to be gods, they must conceal or dismiss their humanity in an effort to not appear ordinary. It is against this backdrop that much of Michael’s bizarre behavior must be understood.
Once, when we were walking into the home of my friend, PR guru Howard Rubenstein, for a quiet meeting with members of the press, Michael emerged from his van and put on a black mask. I said, “Please put that silly thing away. It makes you look like Darth Vader.” He never wore it in my presence again. He had put it on before, not because, as people speculated, he was a freak about air quality but simply to appear more mysterious. He wanted to always keep people guessing. Indeed, he loved being a trendsetter, bragging to me that he had made it cool for people to wear white socks with the pant legs ending high—“You used to be a geek if you wore white socks and high pants, but now everyone wears them”—and one, instead of two, gloves. Little did Michael realize that even if you are a great trendsetter, but people think you are deranged, you are still the loser. But then making up his own rules was always more appealing to Michael than living by existing ones, no matter what the circumstances.
At the time of the Oxford lecture, which was made possible from my eleven years serving as rabbi at the university, he and I were championing the call for a Children’s Bill of Rights and putting children first, a movement to improve the lives of children. I made it clear to Michael that the success of his lecture would depend entirely on his ability to subordinate himself to his message. “Humble yourself and glorify your words.”
He agreed. But as we walked into the debating chamber of the venerable Oxford Union, a place where Albert Einstein, the Queen of England, and several American presidents had lectured before him, Michael told me to go in first with the president of the Oxford Union, who should announce him, after which he would arrive as he always does in his concerts, with fanfare and screams.
I told him this was no concert, that he had been invited to one of the most prestigious lecture chambers in the world, that the two-hundred-year-old tradition was for every guest to be escorted by the president into the chamber, and that he would be no exception. But he was adamant. He could not be anything but the star. He could occupy no place but center stage. So we went along with the preposterous arrangement and it immediately cheapened him. And while his lecture was not just a popular but even a critical success, he emerged the loser that night. In the battle of the warring sides of himself, he was destined to lose to the corrupting forces of fame.
After my two years of friendship with Michael, I became extremely disillusioned with celebrity culture in general and what it had done to Michael and the people in his vicinity in particular. It is what led directly to the publication of my 2003 book, The Private Adam: Becoming a Hero in a Selfish Age, which serves as a strong critique and repudiation of the celebrity culture, arguing for everyday, unsung acts of heroism that would never make it into a newspaper. I dismissed the false heroes who were leading our culture off the precipice. My attraction to Michael was largely based on my feeling that he was a different kind of celebrity. More humble, more sensitive, more human. And truth be told, there was that side of him. But very little of that human Michael remained at the end. All that was left was the decaying superstar, the side of him that got away with reckless and irresponsible behavior.
Fear for the Future
When Michael and I were friends, I never feared that he would one day molest a child. The thought of his being a child molester was foreign to me, and even now I find it painful to accept that Michael could sexually abuse a child. No, my fear was of a completely different nature: that Michael would not live to see his fiftieth birthday. That the dark abyss over which he had led his life would finally consume him and he would be lost.
I shudder to think that perhaps there was something that someone could have done to save him. But, barring being found guilty in 2005 and being sent to a penitentiary where all his privileges, including access to phony doctors with their truckload of painkillers, would have been taken away, there seemed to be no hope. In this sense, ironic as it may sound, being found innocent was yet another tragedy in Michael’s life.
When he was arrested I thought it might provide the jolt that would save him from implosi
on. But it was not to be. Michael could never truly hit bottom. Even when he had run through his money, his friends, and his family, he was able to borrow against his future earnings and even his future chance at a comeback to avoid the cold reality that would push him in a new direction.
Losses
In the close friendship we once shared, where I endeavored to reverse the downward spiral, I would often tell him that without an authentic connection to God he would never survive life as a celebrity. But celebrities rarely listen to mortals. And they do not need God, since they are gods themselves. They allow all their relationships to atrophy as they become more and more isolated.
His relationship with his father was the first major relationship he lost. From an early age Michael began to perceive Joseph Jackson—and Michael always called him Joseph rather than Daddy, which his father insisted on—as a harsh manager rather than a tender parent. Next to go was his close relationship with his brothers. Jealousy between Michael and his brothers, egged on by their wives, according to Michael, ensured that The Jackson 5 could not survive as a unit. This also, according to Michael, made him highly suspicious of marriage, thereby ensuring that a grounded wife would not be present to help him through life.
Then he lost his relationship with the Jehovah’s Witnesses Church, a key ingredient in keeping him humble and stable. So devoted a son was Michael to his Church that he even placed their required disclaimer at the beginning of his memorable “Thriller” music video, announcing that the video did not represent an endorsement of the occult. A few years later, however, he had repudiated the Church and they had repudiated him. By this time, aside from a loving but distant relationship with this mother, nothing was left. Like a kite at the mercy of the winds, Michael Jackson was completely untethered. And although he would later have two, and then three, children, they could not (nor was it their role to) connect Michael to the people, pursuits, and beliefs that could provide the safe harbor and positive influence all of us need.
The Michael Jackson Tapes Page 28
