Looking back on it now, in some ways I’m more relieved than sad. I’ve accepted it. Part of me honestly believes that he didn’t die. He left. I’m leaving this place. I’m leaving this shit, this life. I’m out. Because it was never going to be right for him. Never. Not in this world. He was never going to have the life that you and I have, to just get up and go, be free. Michael Jackson was going to have vultures swarming him; he was going to need security following him, watching his every move, for the rest of his life. Who wants to live like that? There was no peace for him here. That’s what I say to myself. Now, he’ll rest.
That’s how I started to feel in the months after it happened, but it took me a while to get there. Right after he died, there was about a week before the memorial at the Staples Center. I was in touch with a woman from AEG, because they were handling the arrangements. I told her that I needed tickets for me and Javon. Then, maybe two days before the ceremony, we were getting ready to head out and I got a call. I answered, and there was this woman crying on the other end of the phone. She said, “Bill, it’s Joanna.”
Joanna? I didn’t know any Joanna. I said, “Who?”
She said, “Bill, it’s me. Joanna. It’s Friend.”
Oh. Friend. From Virginia. I said, “Hey, how you doing?”
She just kept crying. She said, “Bill, I must see Michael. I must say good-bye to him. Can you please help me, Bill?”
She started begging me to help get her into the memorial. She didn’t call it that, though. She had that thick Eastern European accent, and her English was just okay. She didn’t know the word for memorial. She kept calling it a “show.” She said, “Bill, I must go to show.” But there was no way for her to get in. Mr. Jackson had kept her a secret from everyone. There was no one else for her to contact. Nobody knew who she was. She just kept saying, “Bill, please! You must get me in!” I didn’t know what I could do. I told her I’d call her back. Then I called Javon and told him what was up.
Javon: I didn’t want to go. By that point, I was so frustrated. I’d been seeing all of these articles in the newspapers and all the shows on TV. Everything was Michael Jackson, Michael Jackson, Michael Jackson. It was to the point where Dancing with the Stars would be on and they’d ask the contestants, “How do you feel about Michael Jackson passing?”
I was fine with the people who just said, “Well, he was a great entertainer and we’ll never forget his music.” That didn’t bother me. But I couldn’t stand all the celebrities coming out of the woodwork, trying to act like they were his best friends, like they were talking to him on a daily basis. People would say stuff like, “Yeah, I was chilling with Michael about a year ago . . .” And I’d just stare at the TV like, No, you weren’t. I was with him the whole time, and you weren’t there.
I knew this funeral was going to be fake. I didn’t want to be around the fakeness. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my composure. I told Bill, “If I go, I’ll hurt somebody. For real.” I wanted to pay my respects and have my one-on-one time with Mr. Jackson, but I knew it wasn’t going to be like that. I was already apprehensive about it when Bill called about Friend. So I said, “Bill, you go and represent us and give my ticket to her. She should be there.”
Bill said, “Are you sure?”
I said, “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Bill: Part of me didn’t want to go, either, for the same reasons, but I was more torn about it than Javon. I felt like it was important to attend. I called Friend back and kept in touch with her and arranged to meet her in L.A. She wasn’t even in the States when she called; she made it over from Europe in less than a day.
The morning of the memorial, I headed over to the SLS Hotel in Beverly Hills, where they were distributing the tickets. I went and stood in line, got the tickets and went back out front to wait for Friend. I saw a bunch of people who’d won tickets on the radio—they were doing radio giveaways. You could win a spot at Michael Jackson’s memorial. That really bothered me. Eventually I heard this voice yell “Bill!” from behind me. I turned around, and it was Friend. She was still crying, looked like she hadn’t stopped crying for the past ten days. She came over to me. I gave her a big hug, gave her the ticket. Then I didn’t see her again until we were both inside.
Outside the Staples Center, it was crazy. Police everywhere. Blocks and blocks cordoned off. I parked in a garage, must have been about ten blocks away, and I walked. His fans were lining the streets behind the police barricades, holding up signs and flowers. People were dressed like him, with the mirrored sunglasses and the fedora. Just thousands of people.
Once I got inside and got to my seat, I could tell right away that this thing was going to be exactly what we thought it was going to be. This wasn’t going to be a real, genuine thing. It was going to be Hollywood, a place to be seen, a who’s who. I looked around and saw all of these celebrities. People were talking, laughing, socializing. Even the Kardashians were there. Really? Javon would have lost his mind if he’d seen that.
There were about 1,500 people in the section I was in, and I only saw about forty, fifty people who were actually, genuinely, in mourning. I saw the girl with the red car who used to always park outside the Monte Cristo house. She was there. When I saw her, I said to myself, that’s who should be in here. They should take all these fake-ass people and put them out in the streets, open up the doors, and let his fans in. They’re the ones who deserve to be here for this. His fans were the only ones who never deserted him. Whenever the fans said, “We love you, Michael,” he’d always say, “I love you more.” And he meant it. They meant more to him than he did to them. He cared for them so deeply that in some ways they constituted the only sustained, committed relationship in his life—his only real love affair.
Once the program started, I really didn’t pay too much attention to what was going on onstage. I was more lost in my own thoughts. I felt like the people up there were all saying good-bye to a different person than I was. All the artists that were performing—Usher, Mariah Carey, John Mayer—I didn’t pay them no mind. I really didn’t. Friend was right. This wasn’t a memorial. It was a show. That’s exactly what it was.
At the end, they brought the Jackson family onstage. Some of the brothers said a few words, and then someone said, “Paris wants to say something.” When I heard that? I went straight for my coat pocket and pulled out my sunglasses and put them on. I knew I was going to water up the minute she started to speak. She stepped up and they brought the microphone down for her. She started talking and when she said, “Daddy was the best father you could ever imagine,” I just lost it. I completely lost it. I didn’t even hear the rest of what she was saying. It was too painful. It was words I didn’t want to hear.
Then she started to cry, and the moment she did that, I realized I’d never seen her cry before. I’d only ever seen that little girl cheerful and smiling and laughing. Prince and Blanket too. Prince cried when he had to leave his dog in New Jersey, but that was the only time. Other than that, I’d never seen those children crying or hurt or upset. They were just the happiest kids. They loved their daddy and loved each other. They were the happiest family, always.
After Paris spoke, Marlon Jackson came up to thank everyone for coming. He and the other brothers went over to the coffin to carry it offstage. “Man in the Mirror” started playing, and people were shouting, “We love you, Michael!” Looking at all that going on, there was one memory that kept running through my mind, a conversation I’d had with Grace back at the Monte Cristo house when I first started working there. She and I were in the garage. I was putting together some of the security equipment, and Grace was at the little workstation she’d set up. Mr. Jackson had told her to try and get in touch with somebody. She was getting frustrated and she said, “The boss wants me to get in touch with this person, and I keep leaving messages, but nobody’s calling me back. It’s like he forgets sometimes that some people don’t want anything to do with him after all this mess.”
I said, “What
mess? What are you talking about?”
“The trial,” she said. “Since the trial, a lot of people just don’t call back anymore.”
She was giving me the heads up, filling me in on how things worked, like she often did. She started telling me about the days right after the trial was over. “After he was acquitted,” she said, “we had a party at Neverland for him to celebrate, and nobody came.”
“Nobody?”
“A few people,” she said, “but not many.”
She said they’d put together a guest list of all these friends and people Mr. Jackson had worked with over the years. They invited close to three hundred people. Maybe fifty showed up. And a lot of the people who did come were people that worked for him. People that worked the grounds at Neverland. People from his lawyer’s office. People who were paid to be there. Everyone else called and said they couldn’t make it or they had other things planned. “And he knew,” Grace said. “He knew why they didn’t come. People called him and told him that they loved him and that they were praying for him, but very few people would go public and say that they believed him. A lot of people act like his friends but they’re not really his friends. If he’s not making them money, they’re not really around.”
When that trial was over, Mr. Jackson really wanted to believe that his life would be like it was before. He thought the world would see he was innocent, that he’d been wrongly accused, and then everyone would come back to him and love him again. But that didn’t happen. It broke his heart. We keep having all these trials and depositions, people going around and pointing fingers and asking questions, everybody suing everybody, all this bickering over who or what killed Michael Jackson. To me it’s perfectly obvious what killed Michael Jackson.
As I sat there in that arena, looking at all the people packed into the seats around me, I couldn’t get that conversation with Grace out of my head. I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts, to have my own moment to grieve. But I couldn’t. Because all I felt was anger. That overtook everything else. I sat there with all these people getting up onstage and talking about what a great friend Michael was and how much he meant to them, and the only thing I could think was: Where were they? Where were they when days went by and the phone didn’t ring? When he couldn’t sleep at night and had no one in the world to talk to? Or when it was Paris’s birthday and no one showed up to watch her open presents, except the nanny and a couple of security guards? Where were they when he was getting turned out of hotels and his kids were living out of suitcases and we didn’t even have money to put gas in the vehicles? Where were these people then?
Where were all these people when he needed them?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Bill: No one walks alone on the journey of life. Many people joined me, walked beside me, and helped me along the way by continuously urging me to write this book. Apart from the efforts of Javon and myself, the success of this project depended largely on the encouragement and support of many others. I would like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to the people who helped me see it through.
First and foremost, I want to praise and thank God for gracing me with the blessing of protecting one of his angels, Michael Joseph Jackson.
I want to thank my family for their support and encouragement: my mom, Mary; my brothers, Calvin and Richard; my sisters, Carol, Lisa, and Stephanie; and my daughter, Aleiya, whom I love more than life itself, especially for all her understanding in spite of the hours my journey with Michael Jackson took me away from her.
I want to thank the abundance of friends that have supported me during this journey, all those who talked things over, read, wrote, offered comments, and gave me their honest opinions. Though there are too many to mention everyone by name, I want to especially thank Angela Jimenez for her friendship, support, and being a true fan.
I want to thank Craig Pyette and Amanda Murray and their teams at Random House Canada and Weinstein Books, respectively, for believing in our story and making it possible for us to share it with the world.
I want to thank Peter McGuigan and his staff at Foundry Media for believing in this project and Tanner Colby for taking the time to research, write, and piece our story together.
I want to thank the true and dedicated fans of Michael Jackson. Without them this book would not have been necessary. It’s for them that we wrote this book, to share a side of Michael Jackson that they deserve to know. I hope it will give closure to those that need it and bring belief to those who lacked it.
Last but not least: I thank Mr. Michael Jackson for trusting and believing in me. As I protected him in life, I will continue to protect his honor in death.
Javon: Thank you, Lord, for never giving up on me, for never turning me away from receiving your mercy. You know me better than I know myself and knew that I was destined for greatness. I hope that your light will always shine through me.
Mom, thanks for being the rock and a great example of what a woman should be. Without you, there is no me.
Dad, thanks for always teaching me “Family First.”
To Taneka, Tiffany, and Tasha, I’m blessed for having such strong sisters that lead by example and are never afraid to tell me what I need to hear instead of what I want to hear.
To my little brother Josh, I’m proud of the man you’ve become, never a follower, always a leader.
To my oldest baby, Patrice, I am honored to be your dad. You are such a beautiful queen. The sky is the limit for you. Continue to keep God as your rock. Dad is always here for you.
To my son, “Lil Javon,” from the day you were born, I knew you are destined to be someone great. I hope I make you as proud as you make me. I couldn’t ask for a better Junior.
To my little princess daughter Honesty, You are my corazón. Thanks for always keeping a smile on daddy’s face.
To Gran-mommy, I love you much. I’m so blessed for you to witness the book come out. I strive to always make you proud.
To Granny, thanks for always giving me tough love. I needed it. I love you.
To Uncle Kev, you have always been a second dad. You showed me that nothing is handed to you in this world, you have to go get it yourself.
To Kiera, I am blessed to have you as my friend and mother of my son. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you.
To Mayra, you’re such a great example to our daughter of what a lady should be. Keep up the good work. I love you.
To Cousin Jeff, this book would not have been possible without you having faith in me. Much respect, King!
To Cousin Tay, I’m proud of the dad and man you have become. Thanks for having your big cuzzo’s back through the good and bad.
To Peter McGuigan and the staff at Foundry Media, thanks for shopping our project around and believing in us and not forcing us to compromise our integrity.
To Tanner Colby, thanks for listening to us and bringing our vision to life.
Thanks to all my family and friends for your love and support: Auntie Carol, Uncle Ed, Aunt Gwen, JJ, Desi, Krystal, Darren, Cousin Trina, Dimawi, Lil E, Virgil, Cousin Jason, Sonic, Tafari, Susie, Angela, Marlon, Buck, Sed, Ron, Pastor Carey, Trineka, Calvin, Jamori, Delaney, Seabraum, Jason. Rest in peace Sonny, Auntie Paula, the Gibson Family, Melody, Danthony. I wish I could list you all. . . .
And last but not least, Aisha, my best friend in the world. You stood by me at my lowest point and never treated me different. You have a friend for life. I love you always.
INDEX
Adams, Jeff, 7, 8–9, 10, 11, 17, 18, 19, 22, 25, 26–29, 66–67
AEG Live. See Anschutz Entertainment Group
Africa, 243
Air and Space Museum (DC), 170
Akon (musician), 116, 239, 240–41
Alexandria (VA), 166, 167
All Storage (Las Vegas), 157
Allgood Entertainment, 274, 284, 285–86
Allocco, Patrick, 274, 275, 285
American Idol (TV), 115
Anschutz Entertainment Group, 2
, 149, 267, 273, 274, 275, 283, 286, 289, 290, 303
Anschutz, Philip, 267, 275
Apollo Theater (Harlem), 24, 296–97
Arvizo family, 85, 86
Arvizo, Gavin, 85
Associated Press, 47
AT&T, 144, 293
ATV music catalog, 69, 183, 253, 273
Australia, 111
Babyface, 112, 116
Bach, Catherine, 190
Bad (album), 45, 69
“Bad” (song), 182
Bahrain, 15, 16, 94, 112, 184, 226, 276
Bain, Raymone, 3, 37, 41, 42–43, 49, 52, 70, 71–73, 74, 77–78, 88, 91, 92, 112, 117, 122, 144, 147–48, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153–54, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 161–62, 170, 175, 184, 186–91, 192–93, 203, 205, 206, 207, 208, 213–15, 216, 220, 227, 228, 234, 236–37, 238, 254, 256, 258, 263, 264, 267, 277, 278, 280, 291, 292, 295
Bank of America, 183
Barclays (bank), 253
Barnes & Noble, 120, 122
Barnum, P.T., 83
Barrack, Tom, 266–67, 268, 273, 275, 283
Barrie, J.M., 30
Barry, Marion, 70, 148
Beach Boys, 68
Beard, Javon, 22, 25–29, 33–42, 48–52, 57–66, 86, 88, 94–110, 113–47, 151–59, 161–77, 185–202, 206–22, 227, 243–49, 256–61, 268–70, 277–79, 288–92, 302–4
Beatles, 45, 69, 128, 270 (See also ATV music catalog)
Bellagio (Las Vegas), 26, 27, 119, 127, 128
Bergman, Ingrid, 121
Best Buy, 91, 255, 280, 299
Beverly Hills, 83, 230, 234
Beverly Hilton (L.A.), 230
Billboard (magazine), 44, 297
“Billie Jean” (song), 54, 218
bin Hamad bin Isa Al Khalifa, Sheikh Abdullah, 16, 112, 184, 226, 274–75
Remember the Time: Protecting Michael Jackson in His Final Days Page 30
