Michael Jackson
July 7th, 2009 by Larry Bellinger Posted in Current Events, News, PoliticsMichael Jackson and I were nearly the same age; both of us were to turn fifty-one this summer. I made it.
From age ten through twenty-one years old, Michael Jackson was an integral part of my life: much to my dismay for a good portion of that time.
At that tender young age, Michael seemed older than his years. His stage presence was polished, his dance moves professional and his voice stirring – think of those high notes on “Got to Be There.” All that to say Michael made my teen years miserable.
My step-dad was adamantly opposed to long hair of any kind and my older brother’s Afro drove him to distraction. Bill kept his hair long mostly because Jim couldn’t stand it. I was three years younger than Bill and I was short, fat, (at least, that was what everyone told me!), and wore thick glasses. I wasn’t secure enough, or rebellious enough to stand up and fight for my afro… a hairstyle I really didn’t want but Michael and his brothers all had big afros and if you didn’t have at least the beginnings of a ‘fro what girl in sixth grade was gonna look at you even once?
Yep, sixth grade. 1969-70. The season the Jets, Mets and Knicks won championships for New York. The year after the Jackson 5 broke out on the national scene. From then on, my adolescence would be gauged by where Michael Jackson stood in the world.
Michael became the symbol for African-American teens throughout the 1970’s and I was not one who could live up to the image. His fashions were the bell-bottomed pants, the fringed vests, the great hair, etc. I wore clothes from the Sears “Husky” collection and Robert Hall. Having to wear “Huskies” was bad enough, but my greatest dismay came when my parents purchased a “leisure suit” for my ninth grade graduation. Urrrgh.
The Jackson 5 faded a bit toward the second half of the decade and as I grew older I developed an “anti-style” to fit my more rebellious nature. Army fatigues and hospital scrubs made up the bulk of my wardrobe by the time I hit fashion conscious Hampton Institute in the fall of 1976.
As a fat kid I was always pretty self-conscious about hitting the dance floor in those days. About that time a guy named Fred Berry played a fat guy character called “Rerun” on a popular TV show. His claim to fame was his dancing ability despite his weight and girth; he danced in the “locker” style of dancing that had been popularized on “Soul Train.”
Meanwhile Michael was a “Dancin’ Machine. ” Oh baby! Groovy, baby!
In 1971 I had pins placed in both hips and as a consequence walked with a gait that resembled a duck’s. Not the “duck walk” of Chuck Berry or early ‘80s hip-hop MC’s, but a waddle that used to elicit “Quack, quack, quack” calls as I moved through the hallways of Amityville Junior High. Despite the pain and effort of walking, I joined the marching band in school and continued with band through my freshman year of college.
I thought I was determined to be “Me” all those years, but it was a front; being “outrageous” was a shield to hide my own insecurities. By the end of my college years I was no longer so self-conscious about dancing. I was very “contained” and tended to look around to see if anyone was watching, (laughing and pointing, actually) but soon realized that no one really cared. I developed the old, safe “two step” style of dancing until the greatest dance sensation EVER came to pass. Once we started “Freaking” it didn’t matter, just grab a willing babe and go!
Soon after, I came back to Michael Jackson when he released “Off the Wall.” Now this was a grown up MJ I could relate to!
My frat threw a dance and when the DJ played, “Don’t Stop ‘til You Get Enough” a friend of mine, (this really hot babe named Nicole), yelled, “I wanna dance to this, come on, Bellinger!” and literally pulled me out on the floor.
I was in a panic! This wasn’t a “two step” tempo and “The Freak” had become passé. Nicole was having a great time and I thought to myself, “Aw what the hell!” and just cut loose. Next thing I knew I was totally into it; slides, claps and spins! Unbridled joy. I just didn’t care! The DJ segued into Rick James and we just kept going. After a Brothers Johnson cut, Nicole had had enough and wanted to get a drink. Breathless and glistening with perspiration, she exclaimed, “Damn, Bellinger! I didn’t know you could dance!” Hell, I didn’t know, either!
After graduation I went home to Amityville and the clubs of NYC. Throughout the ‘80s I loved hitting places such as Kamikaze (where I got free drinks from the bar tender because I could out “snap” him – everyone called him Bruno, we now know him as Bruce Willis), 4D and the Tunnel.
But for those three years between 1979 and 1982 I declared a truce with Michael Jackson. He had opened the door he had figuratively locked, (in my head) in 1969. I was my own guy, no longer defined by any dictates of fashion or style set by Michael Jackson.
However, after “Thriller” something began to change. I admit I loved the album, didn’t buy it, but I dug it. In those days I was only spending money on Miles Davis, Earth Wind and Fire, Steely Dan, Coltrane, Return to Forever and such. But something about Michael was bothering me.
It wasn’t the hair; brothers were getting Jeri Curls left and right. Didn’t bother me, but it wasn’t for me – guys with hair like that reminded me of the those who got their hair “processed” back in the day. That didn’t bother me, either… except when they wore the bandanas with the knot in the front. To me, that was a “thug” look.
Sorry, didn’t dig the thugs then, didn’t dig the thugs in hip-hop and don’t like the thug image now.
What bothered me about Michael was his face. I remember a line from an O. Henry short story about how a man’s nose didn’t change from a “roman to a pug” even after twenty years. Michael’s face had definitely changed, but his nose changed from the cute little button nose of 1969 to a sleeker, longer, and thinner version. What the hell, who cares? Besides, maybe he did it for his singing.
Or maybe it was make-up for the video? He sure looked a lot different in “Thriller” than he did for “Billie Jean.” By the way, his dancing in “Billie Jean” was freaking fantastic! I watched the “Motown 25” special and was amazed not so much by the “moonwalk” but by the audience’s reaction to it. The performance that moved me the most that night was Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On?”
Throughout the ‘80s, Michael dominated the airwaves and the charts… and his face continued to evolve. By the time we were thirty years old, Michael’s nose had become impossibly thin and his skin tone had noticeably lightened. I remember scoffing at a friend of mine, (a HUGE fan of Jackson’s) about Michael’s icon status, “This guy has been held up as the standard and here he is rejecting himself!” To which she replied, “You just jealous of Michael!”
All of the oddities; Bubbles, Emanuel Lewis as a best friend, rumors about sleeping in a hyperbaric chamber, trying to buy the Elephant Man remains, etc., all just served to fuel his celebrity. The fact that his music was still breathtaking was only a minor detail. His “Leave Me Alone” track addressed many of these issues but that song always sounded a hollow tone for me. If you want to be left alone, take your money and go chill. However, Michael’s friendship with Ryan White was inspiring, even if Michael had begun to resemble Diana Ross.
By the early ‘90s I had my own kids and they clamored for the “Dangerous” album. I can’t count the number of times they screamed, “It doesn’t matter if you’re black or white!” at the top of their lungs from the back seat of my car. But boy! Were they disappointed that “Will You Be There” was only featured at the very end of “Free Willy” as the credits rolled.
It was around this time I had an opportunity to capitalize on Jackson’s fame, and I took it, unreservedly.
In January 1993, we had moved to Washington, DC and a friend and business associate of my wife’s cousin approached me and asked if I would enter a business venture with him. Joseph Jackson would be coming to D.C. to promote his new soft drink, “JoeCola” and the guy wanted to know if I would join with him in a business venture surrounding the product. I really tried not laugh out loud and failed. He then told me it wasn’t about investing any money… he had a friend, a Russian, who wanted to sell the soda in the former Soviet Union where Michael Jackson had achieved godlike status. Surely, they reasoned, Michael Jackson’s fans would be eager to buy Michael Jackson’s father’s soda.
You know something? I didn’t care if folks wanted his father’s soda product or not. I was basically looking to get some, “Money for Nothing.” The problem was the official distributors of JoeCola wanted anyone who did business with the company to pony up $75,000.00 to buy a local distributorship. The hell with that! I didn’t even like the stuff, considering it was basically Shasta Cola in a very generic container; but money is money and I agreed to join the effort and then led negotiations.
Our position was this, “We don’t want to sell JoeCola, we want to help YOU sell JoeCola. We have access to a market you really, really want and we are ready, willing and able to help you get that access.”
We met with several local distributors who had formed a coalition specifically for this potential deal. After hours of negotiation we tentatively agreed that they would sell their product to our exporter client for $5 per case. My friend, and now business partner, protested throughout the negotiations that the distributors were trying to gouge our “client.” Of course they were and why not? Who knew how long this product would be on the shelves and these knuckleheads had to try and recoup the $75K they were dumb enough to have invested in the first place. I told my pal, “Let the Russian reject the offer but from what I have gathered from his plan, he’ll probably sell this stuff for $5 a can!” Sure enough, the Russian liked the deal.
He worked for an export company and his side business was exporting consumer stuff from the USA and jacking up the price on the merchandise once it got to Mother Russia. Knock off products and seconds, (even used blue jeans picked up in bulk from Goodwill!), ended up on ships heading east. Since his company operated the ships, the extra cargo he moved cost him nothing. After the purchase price and transportation costs to Port of Baltimore, everything else was pure profit.
We went to contract and everything was set. JoeCola would sell the soda to our client and we would get a percentage of each unit sold. We would also get a percentage of each unit sold in Russia. We were going to get paid for essentially saying, “Joe, meet Ivan!”
Joe Jackson came to town to do publicity for his product and posed with kids for photos at La Perla restaurant in Adams Morgan. My children were among the youngster posing for publicity stills with the Jackson patriarch and they weren’t impressed by Mr. Jackson or his soda.
The first order was set for the summer of that year and everything seemed solid… for a few weeks.
In February 1993 Michael appeared on the Oprah Winfrey special from Neverland Ranch and answered many questions concerning his quirky peculiarities. He then said in response to Oprah’s query concerning his self-identity, “I’m a proud black American… I’m proud of my race!” He also patted his right hand on his chest for emphasis.
My stomach fell as if I were on the first big drop of the Cyclone Roller Coaster at Coney Island’s Astroland. My wife, Francel, asked me what was wrong and I replied I had just seen the JoeCola deal fall to pieces. She didn’t understand what I was talking about and I told her that Michael, despite the fact that he now looked a like a deeply tanned white woman had just identified himself as a Proud Black man… so to speak.
Fran said, “So?”
“So,” I shot back, “as long as Michael was a supremely talented but lovable freak, all his, shall we say, peccadilloes? could be overlooked.” Now, I fretted, as a “Proud Black” all the crazy shit he does is going get true scrutiny. I feared that any dismissed hanger-on or fired “Yes Man” who ever had the temerity to say, “That might not be a good idea, Michael” was going to come out of the woodwork with law suits soon to follow.
The rest is history. Michael was accused of sexually abusing a child. His ranch was searched and Michael was strip- searched and photographed. A description of his genitalia, (leaked by law enforcement), while not a complete match to the description provided by his accuser, was close enough to indicate there was fire behind the smoke. In his Oprah interview Michael had alluded to his father, Joe, being a child-abuser. Now Michael was accused of the same, but worse.
Michael paid a huge sum of money to the accuser’s family and the case was settled out of court.
The damage to his reputation was heavy; even the folks in Russia didn’t want Michael Jackson’s father’s soda anymore. Goodbye deal!
Over the last 16 years the world watched the slow decline of Michael Jackson. The insinuations of insolvency, the continued allegations of child abuse, the 2005 trial/circus, a “Law and Order” episode with parents pimping their kids to a celebrity, etc.
In the early part of this decade there was a “tribute” to Michael at Madison Square Garden in New York. That concert should have put the Jackson family back on the map; for the show, (where some of his brothers groused onstage about another band using their hit “A-B-C” for the bottom of the hit “OPP” and Whitney Houston looked like a singing skeleton), was actually very well done and probably would have been very successful had it not taken place in New York City on September 10, 2001.
Timing, as they say, is everything.
A couple of years ago, amid the news of Jackson’s most recent fiscal difficulties, I said to friends, “The boy should do a show in Vegas; it would be the hottest show in town and probably the toughest ticket to get for years to come.” Then came word of a fifty-date engagement in London… a full-blown Michael Jackson arena extravaganza! “Never happen,” I thought, “this guy is my age and this isn’t gonna be him on stage with a stool and a glass of water!”
People think of Michael Jackson as a fantastic entertainer, yet I always saw him as a superior athlete. The stresses of dancing, especially at the very high level of a Michael Jackson has to put enormous stresses on a body.
Heck, having NEVER performed at any level even remotely comparable to a Michael Jackson or a Michael Jordan, I am a walking mass of arthritis. I’m fortunate enough to have become inured to a certain level of pain having suffered through constant pain in my left hip from September 1971 until the joint was replaced in November 1998. No need for bigger and better pain-killers for me!
To reach this age and still think he could perform at the level at which he was accustomed over an extended period of time was fantasyland… but then again, where else had Michael Jackson resided for the majority of his life?
When the word first broke of Michael being rushed to a hospital in an unresponsive state, I said a prayer. I prayed he would recover and dial his life back a bit. “Get well, Michael,” I thought, but knew better. When word broke on TMZ of his passing, I was saddened but not surprised.
When we were young, Michael was old beyond his years and as we got older he tried to be forever young. In between he went from being a role model in how a young black man should look to the victim of plastic surgeons who should have been ethical enough to say, “No, Mr. Jackson, you have to stop!”
Who am I to judge? I tried my best to capitalize on his fame, too. So I understand the parents who let their children hang out with the mega-star. However, I wouldn’t have left my kids alone with that guy for a second! What I cannot find within myself is an explanation for his rationale to manufacture and raise white children as his own. That aspect of him, I just don’t get. Is that a racist assumption for me to make? I don’t know. Maybe it was his way of forming a totally new family devoid of any blood ties to his own. Again, I don’t know and I don’t get it.
I do get the drug abuse, though.
I have also had to deal with a family member who has battled addiction to prescription drugs and that person didn’t have anywhere near the power and influence Michael Jackson had. I know how hard it was to help that person who only knew they wanted relief from their pain… physical and psychological. It has been one of the most daunting tasks I have ever undertaken and for the most part, I have failed miserably. I can imagine the hurt and self-recrimination many of his family members must feel… except for Joe “Let me announce the launch of my new record label before I pretend to grieve for my dead money machine - I mean son” Jackson.
Bastard.
Michael, you had it all and I fear you never really enjoyed it. The things that happen to us in childhood are very hard to overcome and those who say, “It never affected me!” are usually the ones who are the most screwed up and also the ones that screw up their own kids. I don’t think Michael ever had what most of us would consider a “normal” childhood, but as I told my kids when they complained during their upbringing, “I’m helping you get opportunities to be successful in life. If you’re still pissed when you’re grown, you should have the wherewithal to afford good therapy!” Michael, I wish you had spent more money on therapy and less on plastic surgery, but I can’t blame you for your choices.
Michael Jackson was a tremendously talented, superiorly gifted and extraordinarily complicated man and now he has gone to the land of legends.
For a long time he truly was the King of Pop… but time passes and so do pop stars.
Michael Jackson is dead.
Long Live the King of Pop.
4 Responses to “Michael Jackson”
By Regina on Jul 7, 2009
Thank you, Larry, for such an amazing blog. Ahhh…sixth grade. I remember how much everyone loved Michael Jackson then. And he was OUR age, which seemed really cool. I didn’t completely remain a fan throughout his career, though. Off and on, more of a fair weather fan, I suppose. I always felt kind of sorry for Michael. I wasn’t surprised by his death. I knew he would die young, but I thought it would be suicide.
In mid 1984, I worked as a production assistant on a Latoya Jackson pilot for an music show (which didn’t go any further). A six foot tall flower arrangement - from Michael - was delivered to her dressing room. When taping was completed, it had to be delivered to her home - I and another PA drove to the Jackson compound, made it through the guards at the gate, rang the front door bell, delivered the flowers just inside the door and left. As we drove away, I told my friend Andre that I thought it must be awful to live that way. And that was before Neverland, before marriages, kids, etc. It could only have gotten worse.
Thanks for letting me share.
By Charlene on Jul 7, 2009
I enjoyed what you had to say about MJ, and you brought back memories. MJ had a tremendous affect upon all of us who grew up in the late 60’s and early ’70’s. However, I can imagine how tough his early life must have been during that time.
I spent the late ’70’s and early 80’s in LaLa land, hanging backstage on the Good Times set with cast members, and meeting celeb’s like Sammy Davis, Jr., Richard Pryor (who was so high I’m sure he did not know where he was), and getting my picture taken while sitting on the lap of The Greatest (and watching him stuff phone numbers in his pocket while his wife stood nearby). It was breathtaking fun, but … I was acutely aware that it was not a lifestyle I wanted to live on a daily basis.
I cannot help but think that having lived in that almost constant state of being “on” had to take its toll on MJ. He never had a normal life. It seems that although he was the consummate entertainer while on stage, he became a shy, quiet, child like individual off stage. A gentle soul that was old before he ever had a chance to be young. I always believed MJ was a great example of someone with a case of arrested development. When MJ said he saw no problem with inviting children into his bed, it was clear to me that he just didn’t get it. Sleepovers maybe great fun at age 9, but in our society with its Puritan roots, that is not so cool when you are 40 trying to experience being 9.
MJ’s social ineptness was apparent in his interview with Mr. Bashir (? spelling). MJ’s responses appeared naive, and he was way over his head in deep waters with a very skilled shark. Larry, his interview with Oprah may have dashed your hopes for a great business deal, but at least you knew it when it happened, and understood why. MJ’s interview with Mr. B was a disaster and it was clear that he was oblivious to the fact that he was being led (sometimes not very gently) like a lamb to slaughter. I’d bet $$$ MJ was shocked and deeply wounded by the reaction to that interview.
MJ said his father beat him when they messed up in rehearsal. He also said that his father teased him about his nose. Perhaps Pops thought that negative criticism would inspire his children for excellence, but look at the consequences! Larry, we know first hand how devastating that kind of criticism, even if it is meant for good, can do to a child. MJ said he would never hit his own children.
Perhaps his father’s cruel treatment sparked a self hatred that is reflected in MJ’s surgeries and his choices for the mothers (and fathers ?) of his children. But, for all his eccentricity, by all reports he has raised very intelligent, fairly well adjusted children. I wish his children well and hope MJ now has the peace it appears he never had in life.
Moreover … if it is shown that MJ died because of prescription pain meds, I hope it will finally put a spot light on a big problem in this country. As you know, Larry, a person does not have to be a celebrity to have a prescription med problem … it only makes it easier to get.
Don’t beat yourself up for your inability to help your loved one, the system is against your winning. The doctors are legal pushers, the pharmaceutical companies are the suppliers, and the insurance companies provide the seed money for the drug transactions. People believe it is okay to take these meds because they are legal.
Rush Limbough proclaimed that all drug addicts were criminals who belonged in jail. I guess he did not realize that although his drug of choice, oxycontin, was legal, he was an addict too! In fact, the dirty little secret is that in the US more people die due to prescription pain meds than people die from cocaine and heroin combined! Prescription pain meds ARE legalized heroin. The doctors don’t tell their patients that, and they fail to inform their patients that the withdrawal symptoms from pain meds is like withdrawal from heroin, with the potential for relapse just as great. And while they may tell their patients that they can develop a tolerance (a euphemism for addiction) to the meds, they don’t make it clear that an increasing amount of the meds will be needed to address the pain. That is how a person, with a relatively minor problem, can have pain at a 7-9 on a scale of 1-10 for years and never improve. Indeed, they tend to get worse. But, the reality is that the pain meds talk to you just like Richard Pryor’s pipe talked to him. The addicted person believes that their pain is horrible, when in reality they are not in nearly as much pain as they think, it is the pain meds. And the doctors, drug companies, and insurance companies continue to get rich.
Hopefully, MJ’s death will give people, fans and detractors alike, a wake up call to the legal pain med epidemic in this country. If so, it will be one more gift from MJ.
By disney on Jul 9, 2009
I followed the link from ‘The Root’ and ended up here. That was a great read. Well, I was born in the mid-80s so some of your material is a bit lost on me although I have managed to catch up some thanks to youtube.
Sometimes I think people might overestimate the power of abusive parents. Its quite possible that humans are much stronger than we give ourselves credit for. I think at some point, even at a very young age, we become responsible for our own choices and it might be those choices that haunt and bother us more than the choices made on our behalves. Let me offer myself as an example.
My father was perhaps multiple Joe Jacksons packed into one [albeit lean] being. When I watch interviews of MJ talking about his dad, I have to smile at the eeriness of the similarities. The slave owner mentality of the fathers, their comfort in turning their 10 year olds into bread winners, the similarity of the tactics used (I could have chocked on a drink when I saw MJ talking about how his father used to say to his brothers “Look at Michael, do it like Michael” for that was also a favorite tactic of my dad. Individuals with a corporate mentality for getting results by encouraging comparisons and rivalry). I came from a family of 7 girls and 1 boy so at least the four younger girls in my family never got beaten but the older ones, especially my brother, sure got the crap kicked out of them. But we all sure got yelled at; you get yelled at if you slept past 7 (’sleeping 24/7′), you get yelled at if you couldn’t carry boxes above a certain weight (’weakling’), you get yelled at if you make a death wish and broke something (’HIDIKYHGDFIJ!!!!!!’) — that in a place where dropping is part of the business, you got yelled at if you were found with your homework (’your eduction…’ trail off. usually means ‘ain’t gonna do me a damn good’). When I was about 10, my older sister and I came up with a strategy for escape. It was a simple plan. I would do the studying, she would cover for me by doing my share of the workload and we expected to be liberated by the time high school started. To make the long story short, we made it. But we both gave up our childhoods in the process.
To get back to MJ, I think MJ’s ascent to the top was probably his way of keeping his father away from him rather than a result of his father driving him towards it. He could have been average and perhaps lived as normal a life as his brothers. Instead he chose to work hard and gave up his childhood because a child’s wisdom, no matter how wise the child, can never grasp the importance of a normal childhood. You can be wise enough to know that hard work would liberate you from your oppressor or keep him out of your way (your immediate priorities) but you won’t know you will miss your childhood once it passes.
But, despite what people typically believe, I don’t think you end up holding grudge or blaming the parent for the way they were or for how you turn out. If you were a wise child, which I think MJ was, all you would want to do is deal with it yourself and make up for what you missed. I don’t think MJ needed therapy. I think he needed people, even those who loved him, to let him be whoever he wanted to be. Everybody expected MJ to live his life in lockstep with them. It didn’t matter to people that he was getting a paycheck when others were still in KG (notice he never begrudged anyone their childhoods although he should have been telling ppl ‘if you are old enough to eat, you are old enough to work, weirdos).
Anyways, I would like to believe he had many happy and fulfilling years on this earth. I hope his only unhappy times came when he had to explain himself to others.
By Hospice Ventura on Jan 15, 2010
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