Adrian McManus, Michael’s personal maid and the only employee with access to his Neverland bedroom, recalled, ‘People were running all about the place, employees taking things off the property in boxes and crates, as if they couldn’t get the stuff out fast enough. They took sheets, pillows, bedspreads, towels and wash clothes. They took boxes of makeup and eyeliner and lipstick and creams and gels. They took stacks of magazines. They took pictures. I remember that one person who worked for Michael held up a photograph and everyone else gathered around to ask, “Who is that? Who is that?” “Is that Macaulay Culkin in his underwear? It is!” Then, they would take the picture and put it in a box with a lot of other pictures of children in their underwear. I heard them mumbling things like, “This guy is nuts, isn’t he?” as they went through his things. “How many pictures of Elizabeth Taylor does one person need?” I felt badly about the whole thing.
‘My job was to hide all of Michael’s women’s perfumes, of which he had many bottles. He only used female fragrances, no male, and I guess they thought that might look bad.
‘The next day, when the police came they looked around and one of them said, “Hmmm. Slim pickings, I see.” They knew. Of course, they knew.’
When the authorities found a large, walk-in, black safe the size of a closet, they could not contain themselves. Imagine what might be found in such a thing owned by the enigmatic, secretive Michael Jackson. The officers ordered the locksmith to figure out the combination. For hours, he worked on the safe. Finally, voilà. It was opened. It was also empty, except for one small black briefcase. ‘Open it. Open it,’ the officers exclaimed. Inside was a single slip of paper. On it was written the combination to the safe. Someone in the Jackson camp had quite a sense of humour.
Despite the earlier clean-sweep, the police did manage to seize books, videos, pictures, scrapbooks and anything else they could find that they thought might be evidentiary. A year later when I conducted a telephone interview with Michael, he told me of the search: ‘Imagine having someone going through all of your stuff while you’re a million miles away. They took all kinds of things, stupid things like videotapes of me at Disneyland, pictures of my friends, boxes and boxes of personal things. And diaries! Imagine having some stranger reading your most private thoughts, his filthy hands turning all of those private pages, thoughts about [my] Mother and the way I feel about God. It was vicious. And we still haven’t gotten back a lot of that stuff. It makes me cry when I think about it. But in all of my private stuff, there wasn’t one piece of evidence to prove I had done anything wrong.’
The authorities took photographs of the rooms at Neverland in order to be able to compare them to Jordie’s descriptions, as evidence that he had complete access. They seized Michael’s telephone and address journals and would use them to later question more than thirty children and their families. (Those interviewed included Emmanuel Lewis, Jimmy Safechuck and Jonathan Spence; all three insisted that Michael had never acted in any improper way toward them.)
On 23 August, a Los Angeles television station reported the startling news that a police raid had occurred at Neverland. Michael Jackson was suspected of committing a crime, the police confirmed. However, the officers would not be more specific. Even with the lack of details, the story became the focus of more than seventy news broadcasts and Special Bulletins in the Los Angeles area alone over the course of the next day. Within hours, the investigation was the subject of international headlines. The New York Post ran with a dreadful photo of Michael looking his worst, and the blazing headline: ‘Peter Pan or Pervert?’ One thing was clear: nothing would ever be the same for Michael Jackson.
Though the television reports about Michael did not mention the subject of child molestation, rumours about it were strong enough for the Jackson camp to decide to just come out and deny them. It fell upon Anthony Pellicano to make the statement that, indeed, Michael was being accused of sexually abusing a minor, that he was innocent of any wrong-doing. Anthony’s comments were the first the public had to confirm that it was, indeed, a matter of molestation about which Michael was being investigated. The police department then held a press conference to reveal more details. They had reason to believe, they said, that Michael had molested a thirteen-year-old boy. This was a shock. The pop star who was regularly seen in the company of youngsters, and who was known for his interest in children and in charities devoted to them, might actually be a paedophile? In a matter of hours, Los Angeles was descended upon by reporters from foreign countries doing their own independent investigations into what Michael had done, and to whom. He had always been so secretive, so strange. Now, it was assumed, the questions about him had been answered. Anyone who knew Michael feared that his career, and maybe even his life, was now ruined. ‘I thought he would kill himself,’ said one of his staff members at the time.
The next day, Anthony Pellicano explained to the media that Michael had been the ‘victim of an extortion attempt gone awry’, and one which his camp had been investigating for the last four months. ‘A demand for twenty million dollars was made,’ he told the Associated Press. ‘It was flatly and consistently refused. The refusals have, in our opinion, caused what has transpired in the last few days.’ He didn’t mention the fact that the Jackson camp had entered into negotiations that involved proposals and counter-proposals.
Michael’s camp hired high-powered criminal defence attorney Howard Weitzman to represent him; he read a statement prepared by his client: ‘I am confident the department will conduct a fair and thorough investigation and that its results will demonstrate that there was no wrong-doing on my part. I intend to continue with my world tour.’
On 25 August, in an effort to do more so-called ‘damage control’, the day after Michael performed his first show in Bangkok, Anthony Pellicano arranged that the media have access to two young friends of Michael’s, Brett Barnes and Wade Robson. In front of lights, cameras and microphones from news outlets around the world, Brett admitted that he and Michael had slept together on many occasions, but with no sexual overtones. ‘He kisses you like you kiss your mother,’ said the eleven-year-old. ‘It’s not unusual for him to hug, kiss and nuzzle up to you, and stuff.’
Wade, who was ten, also said he had slept in the same bed as Michael, but ‘just as a friend’. He said, ‘Michael is a very, very kind person, really nice and sweet. Sure, I slept with him on dozens of occasions but the bed was huge.’
Anthony Pellicano’s offering of Wade and Brett to the press did little to help Michael’s case: in fact, it was thought by many observers to have made things worse. Michael was actually unhappy about Anthony’s decision to put the boys forth when he heard about it in Thailand. ‘That’s not good,’ he said according to an adviser of his at the time. ‘That makes me look even worse, I think. It’s not good.’
Rarely had a show-business story taken flight like the Michael Jackson molestation scandal, with the world’s press running blazing headlines that strongly implied that Michael was guilty, even if not yet charged. When the confidential and sexually charged statements Jordie Chandler gave to the authorities about his sleepovers with Michael were released, all objectivity about how the story should be reported seemed to go right out the window. The press had a story allegedly rife with sexual content and illegal activity between the biggest pop star in the world and a thirteen-year-old. It seemed impossible for much of the media to remain objective about it. Michael certainly appeared to be guilty, at least if Jordie’s statements were to be believed.
On 26 August 1993, I appeared on CNN stating my view that we in the press might use some restraint in reporting the story. To my surprise, after the worldwide broadcast of my appearance, Michael telephoned me from Bangkok.
A day earlier, Michael had performed for an audience of 70,000. He ended his show accompanied by a stageful of young children while singing his personal anthem, ‘Heal the World’, to the appreciative crowd. He had seen the CNN report while backstage, he said, and called to thank me
for my remarks. ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked him.
‘Bad,’ he said. He sounded weak, his voice a whisper.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he answered. ‘I’m just very, very… sad. It’s such a terrible world, isn’t it? No love in the world at all.’
He promised to send a gift from Neverland to show his appreciation for my report. ‘Maybe a llama,’ he said, his spirits seeming lifted by the thought. ‘Do you have room for a llama? I’ll send you a nice, big llama!’ He chuckled, softly.
‘Tell me, how you are able to perform with all of this business going on?’ I asked.
‘Last night’s first show was good,’ he said. ‘But after every song I had to run backstage and get oxygen. It was so hot and humid, I thought I would die. Now, I’m sick. I think I’m dehydrated. I can hardly take a deep breath. I don’t know how I will ever be able to sing tonight.’
‘Have you talked to any of your family?’ I asked. ‘Did you know they are planning a press conference in support of you.’
‘Oh, great,’ Michael said, sounding unenthused about the notion. ‘That’s just… great.’
That same evening, Michael was scheduled to give his second concert in Bangkok. However, the show was cancelled, the first to be cancelled over the next few months with excuses that would range from dehydration to migraine headaches to dental work.
Shortly thereafter, the Jackson family held their press conference to ‘take this opportunity, when our family has come together in unity and harmony, to convey our love and unfailing support for Michael.’ In front of camera crews from around the world, the family members said that it was their ‘unequivocal belief that Michael has been made a victim of a cruel and obvious attempt to take advantage of his fame and success. We know, as does the whole world, that he has dedicated his life to providing happiness for young people everywhere. We are confident that his dignity and humanity will prevail.’
Also at the press conference, the family confirmed that they would soon leave the country to be at Michael’s side.
In truth, Joseph could not have been more bereft about what was going on with his son. They had their differences, obviously. However, it was almost more than he could bear to see the televised news broadcasts relating to the scandal. In his view, Michael’s success reflected upon him in a good and positive way. He felt that all Michael had achieved as a superstar was inextricably tied to what he had been in his son’s life. He was proud of Michael. The last thing he wanted to do was see Michael’s world laid to waste, yet there was nothing he could do about it, other than to be supportive. The problem, of course, was that Michael didn’t want Joseph’s support. Their history had been so volatile for so long, Michael had a strong, negative reaction to Joseph.
As for Katherine, Michael didn’t want her involved in his life at this difficult time, either. He felt that she could be manipulated by the family to convince him to do the one thing he didn’t want to do: another reunion show with the brothers.
Michael had always been the son Katherine was the proudest of, her favourite from the time he was a little tyke. However, lately she had been disapproving of him because she couldn’t condone his private life. She simply didn’t understand it, and with good reason: he wouldn’t explain it. All she knew was that he was… different. Unlike his siblings, he had never been in a serious, romantic relationship. She was worried about him. She would also support him, regardless of his quirks and eccentricities, and be the first to speak in his defence. In truth, though, she didn’t really know Michael. She only knew the parts of himself he felt free to reveal to her, certainly not unusual in many complex, mother-son relationships.
Before the scandal broke, the family told him of plans they had for an upcoming Jackson Family television special revolving around an achievement award that would be given to certain celebrities. Again, it was Jermaine’s concept. Michael was clear; he wanted no misunderstanding about it: he wanted just limited participation in the special; the best they could expect of him was that he might give out an award and sit in the audience. In a manner so typical of Jackson family business, there was a great deal of back-and-forth about Michael’s participation and, at one point, he wanted to back out, altogether. Now, with the family coming forth with their support at this difficult time in his life, he felt as if he was being backed into a corner where the programme was concerned. How could he disappoint them after they’d been so publicly loyal?
Enter: Lisa Marie Presley
Lisa Marie Presley, daughter of rock and roll trailblazer Elvis Presley, had known Michael Jackson since 1974; the two met in Las Vegas during one of the Jackson family’s engagements at the MGM Grand. Lisa was six, Michael, sixteen. Elvis brought her to see the show because she was a big fan of the group’s. ‘I always liked him,’ Lisa Marie, who prefers to be called Lisa, recalled. ‘Michael fascinated me with his talent. I loved watching him dance. He wanted to know me better, but I always thought he was sort of freakish. I didn’t really want to know him any better than I already did.’
Born on 1 February 1968 to Elvis and Priscilla Presley, Lisa Marie was destined for controversy just by virtue of her illustrious lineage. She had a privileged childhood. Her father lavished her with gifts, including jewels and a fur coat – for a five-year-old! Or, as her mother once put it, ‘She had everything a child shouldn’t have and couldn’t appreciate.’ She was spoiled or, as she bluntly recalled it, ‘When I was a kid, forget it! I was a fucking little tyrant.’
She would also say of her childhood, ‘There is not one bad memory about any of it, I have to admit. There was always a lot of energy around him [Elvis] and all over the house [at Graceland] when he was around. He was very mischievous.’
She would sit outside his bedroom at Graceland for hours, just waiting for him to awaken. Then, she would cuddle in his lap and, for no apparent reason, say things like: ‘Daddy, please don’t die.’ She sensed that his time on earth would be brief. ‘I was aware of the drug use,’ she would later admit. ‘I sensed it, knew it. His temper was bad at times. He didn’t seem happy. I saw him taking pills, like cocktails of pills. But I think he tried to hide it from me as best he could. Still, I knew. I felt sort of helpless. It hurt. It still hurts. He was such a good man, so decent.’
Lisa was nine when her father died in 1977. Horribly, she was present when his body was found on a bathroom floor, and watched as people attempted to revive him. ‘What’s wrong with my daddy?’ she tearfully demanded to know. At the funeral, she seemed in complete shock as she walked about Graceland in a daze, saying to relatives, ‘You know, I just can’t believe that Elvis Presley is dead.’
In October 1988, Lisa married musician Danny Keough, already pregnant with their first child. Danielle Riley was born the following year, and Benjamin Storm in 1993. The relationship would last six years.
In February of 1993, Lisa and Michael were brought together again at a private dinner in the Los Angeles home of artist Brett Livingston-Stone, a mutual friend. At this time, Lisa had recorded four songs produced by her husband. She felt she had a lot to say about her unusual life as daughter of an icon, and was looking for a way to say it through her lyrics and music. ‘I had a voice,’ she once told me, in retrospect, ‘but I didn’t have the experience. Things always got too wild when people found out that Elvis’s daughter wanted to sing. It became a matter of deals and money, money, money: I lost my fire for it. I lost the urge to create. I was scared, I guess, so I pulled back.’
‘She had no confidence in herself as a vocalist,’ said Brett Livingston-Stone. ‘She was afraid of being compared to Elvis, afraid of rejection. When I suggested that Michael could help her, she said, ‘He’s a superstar. Do you really think he’d help me?’ After dinner at my house, Lisa played tapes of some of her music, and Michael was blown away. He told her, “You have real talent… a fine voice. You could be a star. Let me see what I can do for you.”’
As she sat with him and listened to s
tories about his life in the business, she found herself falling under his spell. According to Brett Livingston-Stone, when Michael was about to leave, he offered Lisa a penetrating look and, in a conspiratorial voice, said, ‘You and me, we could get into a lot of trouble. Think about that, girl.’
In days to come, Michael and Lisa forged a surprising friendship, speaking on the telephone nearly every day. They realized that they shared the same kinds of backgrounds, both had been sheltered and protected from the real world, both felt they had missed out on their childhoods, both were mistrustful of outsiders after having spent most of their lives feeling exploited by outsiders. They had problems with the media. She was raised in Graceland. He lived in Neverland. On some strange level that only they understood, as Lisa recalled it, they seemed to be soul mates. ‘The difference between them was that Lisa was working on herself, trying to come to terms with her celebrity,’ said Brett Livingston-Stone. ‘She didn’t see herself as a victim. Michael did. I think she wanted to help him view himself in a different way.’
He truly was misunderstood, he told her. ‘I know you think I’m gay,’ he said. ‘But I’m not. I get tired of people thinking I am gay. But, oh well, fuck them. I know you have heard a lot of things about me, in fact,’ he continued, ‘but most of it isn’t true. And the stuff that is true, you shouldn’t hold against me.’ He winked at her.
‘Hey, I’m a married woman,’ Lisa said. ‘And you’re coming on to me.’
‘Yes, but are you happy?’ Michael asked.
‘No.’
‘See?’ Michael remarked. ‘I knew that. You look like a woman who needs to let go and have some fun. You look like a woman who needs to hook up with me.’
Lisa was unable to disguise her surprise at his candour and his… normality. She recalled staring at him thinking, Who is this man? She was right to be perplexed; he sure wasn’t acting like the Michael Jackson others had known over the years. It was as if he had taken macho lessons from Joseph! Unbeknownst to Lisa, many people along the way had tried to put together the puzzle pieces of Michael’s mercurial psychology, often flattering themselves into thinking they and they alone understood him better than others. It usually ended badly for them; they would learn that Michael is truly the only one who understands Michael.
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