American Idol

by Richard Rushfield

  Hours later, Leesa and Denny were backstage passing along a bracelet to Katharine and to Katharine’s roommate Kellie Pickler, who it turned out, had her Bible bookmarked to her favorite passage, Jeremiah 29:11. Throughout the rest of the season, Leesa continued to visit the set and check in with Katharine. The message got through and out to the world. On an elimination night toward the end of the season, Ryan asked Katharine if she was nervous, and she replied with a cryptic, “Oh, I know God has a plan for me.”

  The season ended with Taylor Hicks’s narrow victory over Katharine and the bracelet-adorned Idols dispersed. The following year, Denny presided over Katharine’s wedding ceremony, but it seemed to Leesa that her Idol journey had come to an end. She had, as requested, found her way backstage, she had delivered the message, and the message and the bracelet had made it through Katharine on the air to tens of millions of people. Was that, she wondered, mission accomplished?

  Until one day at an Emmys’ gifting suite . . .

  A nephew of Leesa’s was in the event business in Hollywood, and each year put together a space at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, where stars would come to collect jewelry, handbags, and lotions that designers hoped they would wear or mention on the red carpet. Leesa had helped him staff the suite with young people involved with her various ministries. As Leesa supervised her charges, into the suite walked none other than Paula Abdul herself.

  “She was going through the gifting lounge,” Leesa recalls, “and I told her my story really quick. And she said, ‘Will you pray for me?’ And we did.” Leesa and some of her wards formed an impromptu little prayer circle in the hallway, asking succor for Paula.

  “And then she said, ‘I want you at every show praying for me in the audience.’ ” And so, of course, she would be.

  Thus the ministry returned to the Idol tent. On hand to visit with Paula, Leesa ended up as ordered, backstage. There she met that year’s contestants, a flock that included a strong active Christian contingent, including Virginia church administrator Chris Sligh, naval officer Phil Stacey, and eventual champion Jordin Sparks, with whom Leesa talked of Katharine McPhee. “She said, ‘Oh, I’m using Katharine’s extensions’ for her hair. And so we were talking about her a little bit. Later I wrote a letter connecting the dots of Jeremiah 29:11 and telling her that story and I put [one of the white Jeremiah bracelets] in a box. I gave it to a stagehand and they delivered it to her before the show. I’m sitting out in the audience wondering if she got it and she walks out onto the stage and she’s got it on. We just connected.”

  Sparks would wear the bracelet right through to the season’s finale.

  Leesa also introduced herself to Sligh, who, with his mop top, roly-poly physique, and sardonic wit, had been a singular presence on the Idol stage that year. She chatted with him about a mutual acquaintance they shared, a youth pastor from Orange County. “And I said, ‘You know what? How can I help you? What can I do for you?’ And he said—and it was kind of one of those Prayer of Jabez moments of just asking somebody what can I do to help you—and he said just right away, ‘I need a place for my wife to stay.’ We had a house in Sherman Oaks that we were selling and we had two empty rooms and I said, ‘You got it. What can I do?’ Then a week later I picked her up at the airport with his cousin and brought her to the house and she stayed.”

  While the Idol production is generally an impregnable fortress, built to withstand season after season of ravenous fans, stalkers, paparazzi, and tabloid reporters who besiege the set, Leesa had stumbled upon the one chink in the security fence: the families.

  Each year, when a dozen young singers enter into Idol’s protective custody, their loved ones find themselves left outside the fortress walls; not brought into the bubble, but they’re not quite at liberty on the outside either.

  In general, Idol’s guidance to the families is more or less: If you find your way to Los Angeles, we can give you four tickets. The families are left to contend with neighbors, hometown papers, TMZ reporters, and passersby who recognize them from a glimpse on the show. To make matters more confusing, while their son/daughter/husband/wife/boyfriend is going through all this, they are more or less incommunicado. With the punishing Idol schedules, free moments to phone home are rare, let alone Sunday brunches. Even worse for many families, dying to be a part of the excitement, to stand by their loved ones during these days of trial, the show provides no financial help to families to get to Hollywood. For many from Idol’s celebrated humble beginnings, the cost of a flight and hotel in Los Angeles is beyond their reach.

  The intent is not as heartless as it seems. The kids have a show to put on and that requires a brutal schedule and every ounce of their concentration. Having dozens of relations hanging around the set, distracting them, tiring them out, causing them stress, putting ideas in their heads about whether they should sing more country or more R&B, doesn’t do anyone any good.

  But it leaves a lot of very confused people, looking for guidance. Into that void, for the families of the Christian faith, stepped Leesa.

  For the next three years, Leesa and Denny’s two homes (they also owned a beach house in nearby Huntington Beach) became way stations for Idol families. In season 6, the houses bustled with tension as the families of Jason Castro, Syesha Mercado, and Kristy Lee Cook all passed through. The house saw nights of tension as both Castro and Mercado competed for a diminishing number of slots at Idol’s highest ranks, their families huddled in opposite corners of the living room awaiting the news. (Syesha ultimately finished third, Castro fourth.)

  The Bellesis’ spiritual counseling skills were put to use, however, with the Mercado family. On air that season, Wanda and Oscar Mercado had referred to Oscar’s struggle with drugs, but had not gone into the depths of their difficulties. Oscar had, in fact, spent the past years at the lowest rungs of the addicted, living on the streets, estranged from his family. Their reconciliation and its accompanying sobriety came just as Syseha entered the Idol competition. Under the Bellesi roof, the reunited couple fought demons harsher than Simon Cowell as they struggled to rebuild their marriage and Oscar wrestled with sobriety, while the eyes of the world were fixed on their daughter.

  The Bellesis provided not only shelter, but plane tickets and general aid for Idol families at loose ends. Asking each as she met them simply, “What can I do for you?” she learned that many were unable to afford the flight to Los Angeles. For these, she turned to her Orange County community and was able to raise the money to fly more than a few families to be with their children during their Idol run.

  Throughout these years, Leesa saw more of Idol’s backstage life than any noncrew member ever has, certainly more than any reporter ever has. During this time, Idol producers quietly acknowledged yes, when asked if they were aware of her presence, but otherwise seemed not to want to touch her or the question with a five-thousand-foot pole. Some members of the production would acknowledge they were aware of her work, roll their eyes, and change the subject. While the show did nothing to actively encourage her, on some level there was knowledge of the hornet’s nest she represented: Idol’s most loyal audience long kept at arm’s length. If they were to give her any trouble, the show might well be looking at the nightmare of this woman, connected with some of the largest congregations in the nation, going public to say American Idol wants to ban Jesus Christ Himself from its set.

  The crew’s relations with Leesa in many ways paralleled the show’s with its Christian viewership. While the Fundamentalist audience may well be Idol’s largest demographic—drawn by its family friendly appeal and the frequent prominence of singers who learned their craft on the stages of America’s megachurches—the show goes to great pains to wink to this following without explicitly acknowledging it. Singers will vaguely reference their ecclesiastical backgrounds, but they won’t elaborate at any length. Despite the fact that so many contestants hail from deeply religious backgrounds, explicitly Christian music is practically never heard on the show, the exceptions bein
g the group performance of “Shout to the Lord” performed during season 7’s inspirational week, and sporadic covers of the Carrie Underwood hit “Jesus, Take the Wheel.” Whatever their audience may be, however, American Idol plays by the rules of Hollywood, wherein explicitly acknowledging religion, particularly of the Fundamentalist Christian variety, is the industry’s greatest taboo.

  Over the years, one can find more positive portrayals of Communist dictators, drug dealers, serial rapists, and child abusers than conservative Christians (the sleeper hit film The Blind Side was such a rare exception that it actually startled many audiences and critics). The overseers of American Idol are not immune to these prejudices and thus, throughout most of its history, Christianity has remained the crazy aunt in the attic on the Idol set: tended to, cared for, but rarely allowed to show her face at the dinner party, even if she’s the one holding the title on the family estate.

  Leesa continued to find her way to the innermost sanctums of the world’s biggest television show year after year as the producers turned a blind eye.

  It was only in season 8, however, that the ministry reached its apex, as for the first time, Christianity edged out onto the stage in a very public way. That year’s group saw no less than five Fundamentalist worship leaders make it to the top twelve, as well as the rise of a contestant whose story was interwoven with his religious background and became central to his appeal.

  Many Idol contestants had hailed from church-singing backgrounds before, but none embodied that world as did season 8’s smiling, barrel-chested, famously bespectacled Danny Gokey, for whom the religious message was at the core of not just his identity, but his rationale for appearing on the show.

  Four weeks before season 8’s auditions, when he was twenty-eight years old, Gokey’s wife, Sophia, died during surgery for congenital heart disease. Gokey himself had not been raised in a particularly religious household but had become deeply committed to Christianity through the influence of Sophia, who brought Danny into Faith Builders, the Beloit, Wisconsin, megachurch to which she and her family belonged. Danny’s involvement with the church grew as he became more active both as a worship leader and a participant in the church’s musical program. The Faith Builders’ musical style—upbeat rock with a country edge described by the church as “Contemporary Christian”—became Gokey’s style, matching easily with his perennially cheery, ebullient nature.

  It was to Faith Builders that Gokey turned after Sophia’s passing, where in prayers and grief he decided that the greatest way to honor her life would be to go through with his plans to audition for Sophia’s favorite show, to use his time on the show to carry a message that sadness and pain can be overcome with the help of faith.

  Gokey lined up with the thousands in Kansas City, Missouri, and in short order, the grieving spouse found himself whisked away from the cocoon of church and family into the center of the Idol whirlwind, which was where Leesa found him. Shortly after watching Gokey’s story in the audition episodes, Leesa reached out through the Christian network and got in touch with his pastor and then his family. She spoke on the phone to his mother, who asked for help getting Danny’s friend and co-auditionee Jamar Rogers back home to Milwaukee after his Idol stint ended. Soon after, Leesa received a call from Gokey’s sister-in-law, Demati, checking in. “We had a great time, a fellowship on the phone.”

  Before long, the extended Gokey family—brothers, sisters, in-laws, cousins—were trooping through the Bellesis’ homestead. Feeling that there was something important going on in Danny’s journey, the Bellesis donated some of the Kingdom Assignment ministry’s money to flying out the many family members—“the season nearly bankrupted us”—while also acting as a conduit between the Gokeys and friends in the Christian community who wanted to support their cause. “A lot of people were very interested in their family and helping Danny. We got some donations and stuff. It was a woman who had lost her daughter. Friend of ours. And she donated for the family’s flights.”

  Of Danny’s struggle during this time, she says, “He really was going through a lot. It hadn’t been that long since Sophia’s death. None of them had a whole lot of time to grieve. So that was really hard.”

  The Christian themes continued to play a huge role in Gokey’s on-screen journey, as he overtly framed his Idol stint in religious terms, making reference to his struggles and the ability to overcome, choosing songs heavy on the uplift. Offscreen, in the rare free time afforded Idol contestants, Gokey immersed himself further in spiritual work, sneaking away with his fellow top twelve worship leader Michael Sarver to visit and volunteer at L.A.’s Dream Center, a massive homeless shelter outside of downtown Los Angeles.

  While Gokey’s journey was perhaps the most public outing for Fundamentalist Christianity the show had seen, it was also the most public appearance of Leesa Bellesi and the American Idol ministry. On a trip to a taping with the Gokey family, Leesa found herself interviewed on the Idol spin-off show American Idol Extra and seated in the front row with his brother-in-law the night Danny was eliminated in third place. Audience shots labeled “Danny’s Family” focused on Leesa in the foreground, and many assumed her to be his mother or close relative.

  “I felt like it was the truest form of the ministry that year. Because there was such a huge need. Financially it was just breaking everybody’s backs to be able to get out here. And it was such a big family. And Sophia was just a big part of this. And then you had Sophia’s Heart foundation starting up. I just think it was kind of in its truest form, and in his heart for the Lord. Totally,” Leesa says, referring to the music education charity Gokey started in his wife’s memory immediately after leaving Idol.

  In the aftermath of that year, the Bellesis, reeling from the experience and its costs, are scaling back, spending time with their newly born granddaughter. Pending God’s call, Leesa mostly sat out season 9, and was planning to downsize the annual show put on by her Kingdom Assignment ministry, the Well Done Awards, which in the past had featured many from her Idol flock as guest performers.

  “I think the ministry’s needed,” she says. “I really do. Something that’s called American Idol. I mean, it’s so interesting because Denny just did a message on the second commandment, ‘There will be no other gods, no other idols before you.’ The word idol—it’s a word that displeases God. So it’s very interesting that it’s something like this—that God is using. And God’s using it because it’s giving a lot of these Christian kids a platform to really tell their story and to live out their purpose. Their God-given purpose. It’s been an idea that the Lord’s allowed me to be a part of but I can’t—I’d love to see it go on with other people. It will be interesting to see what happens this year and I don’t know. And that’s okay.”

  Chapter 18

  TWEAK HOUSE

  If Paula Abdul were listening for signs from the gods, the message sent at the opening of American Idol’s eighth season could not have been more ominous. It came in the form of a corpse. Of a former Idol hopeful. In Paula’s driveway.

  A woman who had stalked Abdul for years, and whose obsession had been depicted, even mocked, on the show, had made her final statement on the subject, taking her own life in her car directly in front of Abdul’s home.

  The fact that this happened just as Abdul was actively looking for signs about her Idol future would be enough to unhinge the steeliest of nerves. Paula did not have the steeliest of nerves.

  As she showed up for the first days of shooting on season 8, Paula looked ahead to the crucial turning point of her career: the season when she would stand up for herself and demand decent treatment (and payment) from the show that had resuscitated her moribund pop career and put her back on the cultural map. So serious was she about demanding the respect she felt was her due that she told all around her she was prepared to do the unthinkable and walk away from American Idol.

  And now this.

  It was November 12, and as the Idol crew was filming Hollywood Week at the Kodak
Theatre, word trickled in that something terrible had just happened at Paula’s house. When the woman’s identity became known, for Abdul, it was as though the sum of all her fears was playing out before her eyes.

  For a few seasons now, many commentators had rebelled against the audition episodes. As high as their ratings were, the crew often acknowledged that this segment of the show represented Idol’s not-so-pleasant side—the open mocking, not just of the untalented, but of many who seem at least borderline emotionally disabled. In season 6, the outcry had grown a bit too loud, especially after it was revealed that one young man who had been a victim of Cowell’s mockery was actually a former Special Olympics competitor. For their part, the Special Olympics said they were all for Cowell’s assault, that it proved their ranks were capable of being treated like anyone else. Nonetheless, in season 7, the show had dialed back the meanness factor, the judges even seeming to soften their barbs.

  Considering that Idol takes some of America’s most unstable people, raises them up to believe that their deluded dreams are about to come true, and then smashes those dreams in the most brutal possible way before an audience of tens of millions, it was incredible that no explosion had ever occurred.

  But even among this cast of the marginally stable, the woman who lay dead in front of Paula Abdul’s house represented a whole other category.

  Two years earlier, Paula Goodspeed had appeared in the Austin, Texas, audition episode. Her “quirk,” as portrayed in her intro video package, was that she was obsessed with Paula Abdul—extremely obsessed. She had spent her childhood drawing pictures of the singer-turned-judge. She dressed like her, even changed her name to Paula. According to Abdul, she had been aware of Goodspeed before the auditions, aware enough to be alarmed by her fanatical devotion, and when she learned she was slated to appear before the judges, she claims, she begged the producers not to let her. (The producers would later dispute this account.)