Michael Jackson

by J. Randy Taraborrelli

  The Jacksons did many interviews with the press to discuss their new album, often emphasizing that they had been writing songs for years, but Destiny marked the first time they'd been able to dominate an album with their own compositions. They had left Motown to do just this and had good reason to feel triumphant. They certainly could not be criticized in terms of their ability to write songs; they proved themselves with Destiny. However, what was striking about the brothers at this time is how they were still unable to discuss their music with authority. Rather, the brothers – Jackie, twenty-seven; Tito, twenty-five; Marlon, twenty-one; Michael, twenty, and Randy, sixteen – were ambiguous in their comments, merely serving up heaps of platitudes about how ‘wonderful’ it was to write and produce their own music. Because of their early training at Motown to say only what they were told to say, now that The Jacksons could express themselves freely to the press, they didn't know how to do it.

  I was one of the reporters the Jacksons spoke to when they were promoting Destiny. Since I had interviewed them so many times in the past, I knew to stay clear of in-depth musical discussions. Still, my time with them that August day in 1978 was memorable, not so much as for what they said about their work as for what I observed about their relationships with one another.

  When I pulled up to the Jacksons' Encino estate with my photographer, the ominous, black wrought-iron gate was open so we were able to drive right through, into the circular driveway, upon which was parked a cache of Cadillacs, Rolls-Royces and Mercedes-Benzes. Three sentry dogs, penned up at the end of the drive, hurled themselves against the chain-link fence, their ferocious barks in stark contrast to the high-pitched cries of three large peacocks also caged, nearby.

  Looking around, I noticed the custom-made street sign, JACKSON 5 BOULEVARD, on a nearby tree trunk. I remembered the barbecue I had attended a year earlier during which Michael and Jermaine proudly nailed the sign, made for them as part of ‘Jackson 5 Day’ in Gary, to the tree. To my left was the court where I and a few other weakling reporters stood on the sidelines with Michael, Janet and LaToya while the brothers and members of the Temptations played ball. When I glanced up at the two-storey house, I noticed four people looking down at me: Michael, LaToya, Randy and Katherine had their solemn faces pressed against the glass panes, almost as if prisoners in a compound.

  Twenty-two-year-old LaToya, looking fresh and young in a white tennis outfit, answered the front door to us. When Michael approached seconds later, she excused herself, dashed out into the driveway, got into a sporty red Mercedes convertible, and sped off, the brakes screeching.

  ‘Glad you could make it,’ Michael said as we shook hands. ‘Good to see you, again.’ He was wearing a yellow Jaws T-shirt, black jeans and a safari hat, around which his Afro billowed. His feet were bare. He spoke in an odd falsetto whisper, which seemed even softer than it had the last time we talked. In exactly a week, he would turn twenty.

  Michael led us through the house towards the living room. A huge yellow and green parrot sat perched on a ledge outside the window, shucking peanuts. A red, blue and yellow cockatoo-eyed us warily through another window. It let out an ear-piercing screech as we sat down.

  ‘How come you're not getting your guests lemonade?’ Katherine asked Michael when she came into the room. Though she had a limp, she walked into the room with total self-assurance and a bearing that could only be described as regal. She was forty-nine.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ Michael murmured. He dashed off to the kitchen, giving me an opportunity to catch up with Katherine while the photographer set up his equipment.

  The living room's decor was a mixture of pale yellows, soft greens and stark white splashed with pink. It was a bit on the garish side. Katherine told me that she had designed the motif herself, an assignment for a home-decorating class. She was getting ready to redecorate their kitchen, she said. She then mentioned that Michael's favourite foods at that time were hot apple turnovers and sweet-potato pies. ‘Lately, I can't get him to eat anything. I try and try,’ she said, dismayed. ‘I keep thinking he'll eat when he gets hungry, but the boy never gets hungry. Have you noticed how skinny he is? It worries me.’

  I looked around. ‘These last few years have sure been good ones,’ I observed. ‘Maybe the best of your life?’

  ‘Not really,’ she answered. ‘The best years were back in Gary,’ she said, her eyes now reflective. ‘We had one bedroom for the boys and they all slept together in triple bunk beds. Before going to sleep, I'd sing folk songs to them. I'd always wanted to be a country star,’ she said, ‘but who'd ever heard of a black country star, back then?’

  Katherine rose and walked to a small, antique writing desk in a corner. She opened a drawer and pulled out a photograph. ‘We were so happy, then,’ she said, showing me the dog-eared picture. It was of the entire family in Gary, posing in front of the house on Jackson Street. ‘I'd give up all that we have now for just one of those days back in Gary when it simpler. When we first came to California, I don't know how many times I said, “I wish things were the way they used to be in Gary.” But things have never been the same,’ she added, fingering the picture. ‘It's all changed now.’

  Michael came back into the room with two glasses of lemonade. After handing one to me and the other to the photographer, he sat in a chair in a lotus position. Katherine excused herself.

  During our two-hour interview, Michael shared his thoughts on a wide range of subjects. ‘I don't know much about politics,’ he admitted at one point. ‘Someone told me recently that Gerald Ford was President.’ He chuckled; he was in good spirits, not at all the shy, reclusive superstar he would become in a few years. I laughed with him, thinking we were sharing a joke, but we weren't. He was serious. ‘I remember when he was Vice-President,’ Michael continued thoughtfully. ‘That I remember. But, President?’ He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. ‘That I missed.’

  Surprised by his uninformed nature, I asked, ‘How do you keep up with current events? Do you read newspapers? Watch TV?’

  ‘I watch cartoons,’ he told me, his eyes lighting up. ‘I love cartoons. I love Disney. The Magic Kingdom. Disneyland. It's such a magical place. Walt Disney was a dreamer, like me. And he made his dreams come true, like me. I hope.’

  ‘What about current events?’

  Michael looked at me blankly. ‘Current events?’

  ‘Do you read the newspaper?’ I asked.

  He shook his head. ‘See, I like show business. I listen to music all the time. I watch old movies. Fred Astaire movies. Gene Kelly, I love. And Sammy [Davis]. I can watch these guys all day, twenty-four hours a day. That's what I love the most.’

  We talked about old movies for a while, and about his involvement in The Wiz. I then asked what he saw as his biggest professional challenge.

  ‘To live up to what Joseph expects of me.’

  ‘Living up to what your father expects of you is a professional challenge?’ I asked.

  Michael mulled over my question. ‘Yes,’ he decided. ‘A professional challenge.’

  ‘What about the personal challenges?’

  ‘My professional challenges and personal challenges are the same thing,’ he said uneasily. ‘I just want to entertain. See, when I was in the second grade, the teacher asked me what I wished for. I asked for a mansion, peace in the world, and to be able to entertain… Can we talk about something else?’

  ‘Do you have any friends that you can really confide in?’

  Michael squirmed. ‘No, not really. I'm pretty lonely.’

  ‘How about Tatum?’ I wondered.

  Michael considered the question. ‘She's nice,’ he said. ‘She was happy for me when I got the part in The Wiz. She and Ryan were on my side, helping me with my lines. Tatum understands me. She's gonna teach me to drive a car. She introduces me to people, famous, famous people.’

  ‘Any other friends?’

  ‘Well, I do have one friend,’ he said. ‘A very dear, close friend that I can tell my deepest
, darkest secrets to because I know she won't tell anyone else. Her name is…’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘Miss Diana Ross.’

  ‘You have deep, dark secrets, Michael?’

  He laughed. ‘Everybody has deep, dark secrets.’

  At this point, Michael was joined by Jackie, Tito, Marlon and Randy. We talked about the group's success at Motown and about the fanatical hysteria generated by their fame.

  ‘Once at a record store in San Francisco, over a thousand kids showed up,’ Michael said in a hushed tone. ‘They pushed forward and broke a window. A big piece of glass fell on top of this girl. And the girl's throat was slit.’ Michael swiftly ran his index finger across his neck.

  ‘Michael, don't do that. That's gross,’ Randy, said.

  Michael ignored his youngest brother and continued with his story. ‘She just got slit. And I remember there was blood everywhere. Oh God, so much blood. And she grabbed her throat and was bleeding and everyone just ignored her. Why? Because I was there and they wanted to grab at me and get my autograph.’ Michael sighed. ‘I wonder whatever happened to that girl.’

  ‘Probably dead,’ Tito muttered, deadpan.

  Fans were as much a curse as a blessing. ‘We got these three guard dogs. One is named Heavy, one is Black Girl, and the other one don't got no name,’ Michael said. ‘We have to have them,’ he insisted. ‘Once, a lady jumped over the gate and into the house and sat down in the den. We came home, and she looked at us and what did she say?’ He turned to Marlon for help. ‘What'd that lady say?’

  ‘She said, “I'm here 'cause God sent me,”’ Marlon recalled.

  ‘God sent her,’ Michael repeated.

  Jackie laughed. ‘Yeah, God sent her to sit in The Jackson 5's den and wait for them to get home so she can get their autograph, and maybe her picture with them, too. She was on a divine mission.’

  ‘And then once, a whole family managed to get into the estate somehow, and they toured the house,’ Michael continued. ‘Lookin' at all our stuff. Findin' all our most private things. And Janet was here all by herself. It was scary. And sometimes, fans ask weird questions. They don't think you're real. Once a fan asked me the most embarrassing question and in front of everyone. She said, “Do you go to the bathroom?” I was so embarrassed.’

  In the middle of the interview, good-natured ribbing among the brothers turned nasty when someone brought up the subject of nicknames.

  ‘Mike has a nickname,’ Jackie mentioned, his eyes teasing. ‘It's a good one.’

  Michael's smiling face turned serious. ‘Don't, Jackie,’ he warned. He looked away.

  ‘We call him – ’

  ‘Please, you guys!’ Michael pleaded.

  ‘Big Nose,’ Jackie finished.

  The brothers laughed among themselves. Michael shifted in his chair.

  ‘Yeah, Big Nose,’ Marlon repeated, grinning. He reached over and punched Michael on his arm, playfully. ‘What's happenin', Big Nose?’ Michael threw Marlon a scathing look. His mouth parted, but no words came out. He would say little more as long as his brothers were present.

  After the interview, we walked outside to take photographs in the warm California sunlight. Joseph, a hulking six-footer with a mole on his face, a pencil-thin moustache, and a diamond pinky ring the size of a marble, approached me. ‘You see, I have a philosophy about raising children,’ he said, engaging me. ‘My father was strict. He was a schoolteacher, and he treated me like I was one of his students, not like I was his son. I never got any special treatment. I'm glad that happened. I got a strict raising when I was young, and I've been able to accomplish a lot because of that. And my kids have gotten a strict raising, and look at what they've accomplished. I think children should fear their parents. It's good when they fear you. It's good for them, and it's good for the parents too. I did my best with those boys,’ he said, pointing to them as they posed for pictures.

  ‘Have they ever disappointed you?’ I asked.

  A sober expression crossed his face. ‘Lots of times,’ he answered. ‘Jermaine's with Berry at Motown, instead of with us. He chose Berry over me. Do you know how that makes me feel? It hurts right here.’ Joseph thumped the left side of his chest with his fist. ‘I've been disappointed other times too,’ he continued. ‘But I don't think I have ever once let my boys down. If I did, too bad for them. You do the best you can do, raising kids,’ he said, smiling. ‘It helped that they had something to look forward to. They always had entertainment, and me to rehearse them. And they also play character-building sports like football and baseball.

  ‘Jackie could have been a baseball player if he wanted to, in the majors with the Chicago White Sox. They're all good at sports, except for Michael who never picked up a bat in his whole life.’ Joseph smiled. It was an unexpected moment of gentleness from him. ‘Wouldn't know what to do with a baseball bat, I think. We tease him about it, but he doesn't like it. Michael has always been sensitive,’ he observed.

  ‘One thing about Michael, though,’ Joseph added, ‘is that ever since he was four, he wanted to be an entertainer. And he always wanted to be number one. That's why sports upset him, because his brothers can whip him and outdo him at sports and he can't be number one at it. But in music, Michael knows he's number one.

  ‘And speakin' of Michael, Marlon told me about what happened. You're not gonna write that part about Michael's nickname, are you?’ he asked. ‘That boy is so sensitive about his nose,’ Joseph added. ‘Do you see anything wrong with his nose? That's all he ever talks about, his damn nose. He threatened to have it fixed, but what can he do with it? I told him I'd break his face if he ever had it fixed.’ Joseph's green eyes twinkled. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘You don't fix something that isn't broken,’ he added. ‘He's got a great nose. It looks like mine.’

  Afterwards, Michael returned to the living room for some final thoughts about his life and career. As the photographer and I watched, he crossed his left leg over his right knee and began absent-mindedly picking at his toenails. ‘When I'm not onstage, I'm not the same. I'm different,’ he observed. ‘I'm addicted to the stage. When I can't get on to a stage for a long time, I have fits and get crazy. I start crying, and I act weird and freaked out. No kiddin', I do. I start dancin' 'round the house.’

  He began to talk rapidly. ‘It's like a part of me is missin' and I gotta get it back, 'cause if I don't, I won't be complete. So I gotta dance and I gotta sing, you know? I have this craving. Onstage is the only place I'm comfortable. I'm not comfortable around…’ he paused, searching for the right word, ‘normal people. But when I get out onstage, I open up and I have no problems.’ He seemed flustered, unnerved. ‘Whatever is happening in my life doesn't matter. I'm up there and cuttin' loose and I say to myself, ‘This is it. This is home. This is exactly where I'm supposed to be, where God meant for me to be.’ I am unlimited when I'm onstage. I'm number one. But when I'm off the stage,’ he shrugged his shoulders, ‘I'm not really…’ Again, he paused, trying to find the right word. ‘Happy.’

  Earlier in the day, I had conducted an interview with Sidney Lumet, director of The Wiz. ‘Michael Jackson is the most gifted entertainer to come down the pike since James Dean,’ Lumet told me. ‘He's a brilliant actor and dancer, probably one of the rarest entertainers I have ever worked with.’

  I shared Sidney's observation with Michael. He seemed embarrassed for a moment. Then, he asked, ‘Who's James Dean?’

  Later, he began talking about his role as the Scarecrow in The Wiz. ‘What I like about my character,’ he observed, ‘is his confusion. He knows that he has problems, I guess you could call them. But he doesn't know why he has them or how he got that way. And he understands that he sees things differently from the way everyone else does, but he can't put his finger on why. He's not like other people. No one understands him. So he goes through his whole life with this, uh…’ he paused, ‘confusion.’

  Michael looked off into the distance, now seeming lost in his thought proce
ss. ‘Everybody thinks he's very special, but, really, he's very sad. He's so, so sad. Do you understand?’ He fixed his thoughtful gaze on me and asked, again. ‘Do you understand his sadness?’

  The Wiz is a Flop

  When The Wiz was released in October 1978, it became a critical failure and a box-office disappointment. The finished film was an overblown spectacle, one that most people who were involved with would just as soon take off their résumés. Even the commercial release of ‘Ease On Down the Road’, teaming Michael with Diana Ross – a coupling that seemed destined for the Top Ten, in theory – didn't even crack the Top Forty. Berry Gordy, who had nothing to do with the actual production of the film and didn't believe Diana should have been cast in it, has never discussed The Wiz, publicly.

  ‘It was a big dream that got away,’ said producer Rob Cohen, in retrospect. ‘A brilliant idea gone wrong. The knowledge that two years of my life, twenty-three million dollars of Universal's money, thousands of man hours of labour, and all of the hopes and dreams of everyone involved went into a movie that didn't stand a chance makes me sick.’

  Despite its failure, the making of The Wiz marked a personal victory for Michael Jackson. Identifying himself with the role of the Scarecrow gave him the opportunity to look within and discover a new sense of strength and self-confidence. ‘Working in the movie showed me what makes kings of the world and what makes giants,’ he said. ‘It showed me how I can believe in myself in a way I never could before.’ He also expanded his professional horizons and, in the process, won the respect of fellow workers, and even some critics who had panned the movie.