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Brad Sundberg: Remembering a friend.



Remembering a friend

Today marks the one year anniversary of his death. Over the course of the next few days you will likely hear his music, see news about his estate or kids, perhaps hear jokes and rumors. His enormous debt has apparently been lowered from $500M to $300M with income continuing to flow, thanks to the business team controlling his estate. According to Sony Music, 31 million of his albums have sold since he died. The movie "This Is It" grossed $260 worldwide. His videos will be in heavy rotation this weekend, and his lighthearted Captain Eo will continue to draw crowds at Disneyland and Epcot Center in Walt Disney World.

People are beginning to remember that beyond all the tabloid headlines, eccentricities and accusations was a remarkably talented guy who created a soundtrack for millions of people. He was an entertainer, plain and simple, on stage and off. He was also a good client, boss, and friend.

Many of you know that I worked with him on countless projects spanning some 18 years. I have had the opportunity to meet and work with many "famous" people, but none more interesting or polarizing than this man. When people learn that I worked with him for such a long period of time, they are understandably curious. Typically, the opening line is, "So, was he as weird as he seemed?". But I can't really blame them. The media did a great job of painting him in such a way that it seemed he rode around on a monkey carrying the Elephant Man bones in a backpack wearing pajamas on his way to a Boy Scout camp.

Recently an article was published by a friend of mine in the Huffinton Post. It went into great detail about how out of line the press was during his 2005 trial. The event became a global media circus, with soundbites and sensationalism taking the place of facts. When 14 jurors found him not-guilty, the story was over and the tents were packed up.

It is not my job to convince you that he was innocent or "normal." I can only share memories of working with him in the studio and at his home, known as Neverland Valley Ranch.

When I wrote the following article shortly after his death, I received countless notes of appreciation for introducing people to the artist that I knew. I will continue to write and compile these stories, as he was a truly unique individual, and he deeply impacted my life and career path.

If you can turn down the media madness for just a few minutes, I would like to tell you about a friend of mine that died a year ago. His name is Michael Jackson.

Gone Too Soon

In 1985 I got married, got my first job in a recording studio (Westlake Audio), and met one of the kindest young men I have ever known, Michael Jackson. Quite a year. To Brad and Michaeleven attempt to sum up a nearly 20 year working relationship and friendship with Michael in one article is impossible, but let me try to give you a glimpse into the incredible world I was privileged to be a part of.

Michael was working on Captain Eo for Disneyland and Epcot Center. He was fresh off the Victory Tour, the Thriller album, his dominance of MTV, and he was back in the studio. I wish I could remember our first meeting, but it was likely just passing each other in the hallway. He was always warm, yet shy. Over time we would chat now and then, but it took time to build the trust.

Around that same time he did an often forgotten album, The ET Storybook. This was when I met Quincy Jones and Bruce Swedien. Early in 1986 the team moved into Westlake Studio D in Hollywood to record the BAD album, and welcomed me in. I worked other sessions during the day, but at night I was invited to sit in and learn. Eventually I worked my way up to technical director for the team, and the trust was solidified. It was during this time that Michael nicknamed me "Really Really Brad," a twist on the chorus, "Bad, Bad, Really Really Bad." Check the album credits, it's there.

Over the next ten years I worked with Michael doing tour prep for the BAD tour in 1988, then back in the studio for the Dangerous album in Los Angeles, followed by the HIStory album in New York. Toss in countless music videos, the HIStory tour, the Moonwalker project, Blood On The Dance Floor album, and various side projects, and I got to know him pretty well.

So who was Michael Jackson, and why did he have such a profound effect on my life? Not for a moment do I pretend to have been a close friend of his, or a confidant. Rather I worked for him and with him, and considered it an honor.

He was a consummate professional. If his vocals were scheduled for a noon downbeat, he was there at 10 am, with his vocal coach Seth, singing scales. Yes, scales. I would set up the mic, check the equipment, make coffee, and all the while he would sing scales for two hours.

He typically drove himself to the studio alone. For a while he drove a big Ford Bronco with dents and scrapes on it. He was not a great driver. More than once he called into the studio to say he would be late after being in a fender bender.

He was intensely curious about "normal life." He asked me about Christmas once, and couldn't understand how kids could wait until Christmas morning to open the gifts. You see, he was raised Jehovah's Witness, so Christmas was not celebrated in the Jackson family.

Since I was so close to this world, let me try to give you some insight. A "typical" MJ album would take between 10 and 16 months in the studio. His budget allowed for as many as 100 songs to be recorded for any given project. Some would be discarded early on, while others were fine tuned. Musicians would be brought in to add their textures and ideas, but in the center of it all was Michael. The team was remarkably small given the scope of the projects. Each project was slightly different, but typically there were less then eight of us working day to day, from the first day until the project was mastered. No entourage. No Elephant Man bones. No groupies. No drugs. Just music. And food.

During the BAD album, Fridays quickly became known as "family day." He would have his two chefs, affectionately known as the Slam Dunk Sisters, prepare a large dinner for the crew, musicians and any family members that might be around. Since I was working sometimes 80 hours a week, it was not uncommon for Deb to come have dinner with us. Michael loved these family get togethers. In later projects I would bring my girls, whom he loved and would play with. There is one moment in time in my head when Deb brought my daughter Amanda, who was just a baby at the time, into the studio for the afternoon. She set up a play mat and brought some toys, and Michael sat and played with her for a while. He looked at Deb and said, "This is her own little world, isn't it?"



Brad and MJ playing Jenga

When you work in this environment, your sense of normal begins to shift. It was not uncommon for celebrities or VIPs to stop in. One day the Secret Service searched the building for a couple hours before Nancy Reagan came for a visit. Next it was Princess Stephanie from Monaco. (She has a cameo on the song "In The Closet.") The chimps were common guests in the studio, as was a giant snake, both of which I would wind up holding during MJ's vocals. Michael loved mixing fun and work, but work always came first.

I have watched him write many songs, and the process is amazing. I asked him where they came from, and he said they were gifts from God. He could hear the entire song in his head before we could get tape on the machines. He would sometimes sing the drums, bass, percussion, keyboards, etc., and we would later bring in musicians to replace his demo tracks.

His lounge would be decorated with Disney posters and old Hollywood memorabilia. He loved innocence, and displayed gentleness, humor and patience.

This driving work ethic also had to escape from time to time. There were many days we would show up at the studio, only to find he had flown to Europe or Japan for a few days, and neglected to tell us. This sometimes meant an unscheduled few days off for us, which was awesome.

There were however memories that he would sometimes share about the endless travel and work schedule when he was just a boy. I remember him telling me about grown women throwing themselves at him when he was just 9 or 10 years old. One story I will never forget was him telling of flying with his dad and brothers through a lightening storm at night. The plane was being tossed around, lightening was flashing, and he started crying in fear. His dad ignored him, embarrassed. A flight attendant sat with until the plane cleared the storm. Hearing him tell that story, with tears in his eyes, gave a glimpse into his life.

There are few people I have worked so closely with for so long than Michael Jackson. There were many months when I spent more time with him than I did my own wife. Somewhere around 1991 he asked me to visit a ranch he had purchased, and design a sound system for a carousel. The next thing I knew I was at Neverland Valley Ranch, in Santa Ynez, CA. There was construction everywhere, and the amusement park was in the early stages of installation. Over the next few years Michael asked me to build system after system, putting music on the bumper cars, in the petting zoo, on two trains, all around the amusement park, the boat lake, the train stations, and eventually inside the house, and inside his bedroom and bathroom. Deb loves to tell of the times Michael would call at 2 in the morning (his sleep schedule was never normal) to talk to me about a new attraction he had coming to Neverland, and if I would put music on it. I still have an old answering machine tape of him thanking me for one of the systems we had built.

Michael had very little patience when it came to new rides. When the second train was ordered for the ranch, we were flown to Ohio to install the lights and music before it was trucked to California. That way, as soon as it rolled off the truck onto the track it was ready for Michael. He lived for those moments!

In it's day, Neverland Valley was one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. He loved that ranch. He could act like a kid, drive golf carts, throw water balloons and just have fun. Week after week the buses would roll in, bringing inner city kids, Make A Wish kids, friends and families. I have been there with sick kids whose dying wish was to spend a day with Michael.

As Neverland grew, I got the bug to continue building systems, and eased out of the recording studio. Soon I was working for Elizabeth Taylor, building a massive outdoor music system for her, followed by my good friend Quincy Jones.

This was the Michael I knew. Innocent, perhaps child-like at times, but not childish. A professional who worked to be the best performer in the world, yet knew how to have fun. If he was comfortable, he would laugh and joke with everyone, but if someone was there that made him uncomfortable, he would disappear.

We used to say there were two Michaels: the one we worked with, and the one who went on stage in front of 100,000 people and entertained them. There have always been singers and dancers, but Michael was in a class by himself. I have been to perhaps 12 of his concerts (my daughter Amanda was on stage with him in Paris with several other kids singing "Heal The World"), and there is really no one that comes close to his level of artistry.



Yes, there were allegations. No, I don't believe them.

Yes, he changed his color and facial shape. No, I really don't care.

I have worked with plenty of normal looking people who thrive on pain and anger. I'll take a guy who might be abnormal looking and eccentric yet shows kindness, love, generosity, patience, humor and humility any day of the week. I could write page after page of simple acts of kindness I have seen firsthand.

But the eccentricities increased.

The last time I spoke with Michael was around 2003. He wanted some additional work done at the ranch, but clearly things had changed. It was an awkward conversation between us, with me declining to do the work for what he was offering. Then he drove away in a golf cart. As I walked to my car, I knew it was the last time I would ever see him. I remember looking across the valley with the amusement park well past it's prime, the grass not as green as it once was, and Michael driving over the bridge back to his house. I was a long way from that hallway in a studio where we first met nearly 20 years before.

But I would not trade a minute of it.

Thank you Michael, for letting me be a small part of your world. You have taught me more than you will ever know. Your friendship and trust is something I will always cherish. Rest in peace my friend.

Brad.

Само едно ми е сранно как може да наричаш някого "приятел" и да твърдиш, че си е променил цвета на кожата, когато той е казал, че има заболяване. Твърде "приятелско" ми звучи.

Summer 1984 - David Smithey a fourteen year-old fan fulfills a lifelong dream. He is invited to visit Michael Jackson in his home in Encino. David, a victim of cystic fibrosis had long wished to meet Jackson. The two young people shared an afternoon watching movies in the private screening room, eating lunch and playing video games. Before leaving, he was treated by the superstar to a black sequined glove and his red leather jacket from Beat It. Seven weeks later, David Smithey died.

:-(((

Michael Jackson Slept Here
At a difficult time in his life, the King of Pop was looking for a safe haven—and wound up at our house.

On his final night in Loudoun County, Jackson hosted
a gathering at the house, where he introduced his three children
to the Walters family and posed with Taylor, 15, McClaine, 13, and their mother,
Robin. All photographs courtesy of Del Walters

This is the story of how Michael Jackson—the King of Pop and at the time one of the world’s most wanted men—hid out at my family’s house.

Among his staff, Jackson was referred to as the Principal. In our family, he was known as the Secret—one we kept for nine days five years ago. We believed then, and do now, that not revealing Jackson’s whereabouts was the right thing to do. Now that he’s gone, I can tell why and how we did it.

It was March 2004. The previous year, Jackson had appeared on TV explaining why he believed it to be normal for adults to share their beds with children, that it was the most loving thing you could do. What he saw as innocent a Los Angeles district attorney saw as criminal. Rumors were swirling that Jackson would be indicted on charges of child molestation by an LA grand jury. The King of Pop became a subject of ridicule. Gone was the cute boy who had swooned his way into the hearts of generations. He was replaced by a man-child, a suspected pedophile.

In April 2004, Jackson was to receive an award from the African Ambassadors’ Spouses Association for his humanitarian work. But few of the journalists seeking credentials for the event cared about his work in Africa—they wanted to ask him about what had happened at Jackson’s Neverland Ranch. So a routine trip to Washington became anything but routine. Jackson needed a place to stay, and those closest to him were finding that there was no acceptable room in a Washington hotel.

The real-estate agent assigned to locate lodgings for him was running out of options. Stopping for a bite to eat, she saw the April 2004 Washingtonian. It featured a “Great Places to Live” article with me, my wife, and our two children on the cover. The story talked about how we had designed a house near Leesburg with no walls and plenty of open space. The agent knew us well enough to pick up the phone and ask whether we’d consider allowing Michael Jackson and his children to stay in our home.

What would you have done if a friend had called out of the blue and suggested that Michael Jackson might be interested in staying at your home? We first assumed she was joking. But she was serious.

On the previous Sunday, the sermon delivered by our minister, Reverend Dr. Norman A. Tate, had been about the Good Samaritan. Reverend Tate was the first person we consulted. Should we offer Michael Jackson safe haven? That night, following a lengthy family discussion and vote, we ironed out the details and began preparing for the Jackson family’s arrival.

Michael Jackson traveled with an entourage of 14. There were two cooks, three nannies, three children, personal assistants, tutors, security men, and Jackson himself. He moves in, you move out. (We stayed at a hotel.) Those who surrounded him called him the Client or the Principal. Rarely was he referred to by name. There were stretch Hummers and Suburbans that suggested a visit by a head of state—which is what our neighbors suspected.

Before he moved in, the house had to be prepared. His entourage covered all glass windows and doors. He was to have white bed linens and towels only. His favorite scent, a mountain fragrance, was sprayed everywhere and lingered for weeks after his departure.

Then, under the cover of darkness, he arrived. His private jet flew in and out of the Leesburg airport.

That evening as he moved in, we dined at a local restaurant, courtesy of the entertainer, and wondered whether he was enjoying our house as much as we did. We wondered whether he admired the views of the Blue Ridge Mountains from the deck and whether he took a stroll and noted the seven species of birds that call our acres home. Did he play the baby grand piano? Did his children frolic in the small dance studio? Would he enjoy the pool and hot tub and five acres, or would he just hole up and hide?

The next morning brought invitations for us to attend several events, including a BET reception and the African ambassadors’ reception.

Before Jackson’s arrival at the BET affair, a who’s who of Washington’s African-Amercan elite waited patiently. There were plenty of nasty remarks; some couples talked about how they wouldn’t let their children anywhere near Jackson. Then he arrived and the stampede began. Those who had ridiculed him the most were first in line.

His assistant ushered us to the front of the receiving line. We were told Jackson wanted to meet us first to thank us for allowing him and his children to use our home. He talked about the family pictures on the walls and how comfortable the place felt.

It was all very pleasant, but you could tell there was something unsettled about him. You could tell what he coveted most: He’d grown up without a childhood, and our house is filled with the kind of childhood memories money can’t buy—baptisms, first-birthday parties, family adventures.

To keep his stay at our house secret, we arrived there in the morning in time for the school bus to pick up one of our two daughters. We were always met by one of Jackson’s bodyguards dressed in all black. I finally told him that if he wanted Jackson’s presence to remain secret, he shouldn’t meet us every morning looking like Mr. T.

Reporters were in high gear searching for Jackson. We feared a media circus in our neighborhood. Our daughters, then 13 and 15, went to school each day wondering if their world would unravel.

On day eight, we were surprised Jackson wasn’t ready to leave, as the agreement had called for. That night, he arranged for a private wine-and-cheese reception at our own house so our children could meet his. He was more than gracious. While I worked, my wife and daughters were greeted by Jackson and his three kids. They spoke of childhood and normality. His children were very talkative; he was soft-spoken but playful. My wife described him as a gentle soul who obviously loved his children and they him. He also was willing to discipline his kids. He posed for pictures and agreed to autograph many things, including CDs.

By day nine, Jackson and his children were gone.

The empty wine bottles hidden around the house hinted at a man we now know was deeply tormented. There were other signs, but my wife and I have agreed they will remain secret. We knew from his representatives that Jackson tended to live nocturnally, sleeping during the day and roaming the house at night.

A visit by guests to our house now always leads to a conversation about Jackson’s visit. His picture, taken when he was standing by our baby grand piano, sits atop a table in the living room. Almost everyone sees it and wonders what it was like to talk to him and have him live in our home.

I’m always asked why I’ve never talked about Michael Jackson’s stay at our house. I say I met Jackson three times in my life—twice face to face.

Most African-Americans of my generation were introduced to a young Michael Jackson through the radio or by a friend who had one of his records. For me it was a 45-RPM played at Sonny Mason’s barbershop in my hometown of Wheeling, West Virginia.

The second encounter was in 1984 when Jackson and his brothers kicked off their Victory Tour in Kansas City. I stood out among the other reporters covering it because I didn’t appear to care about Michael Jackson the celebrity as much as I did the revenue the tour represented in the cities it visited. That night, I received two tickets to attend the concert and a private reception at Kansas City’s Arrowhead Stadium. In a receiving line for the Jacksons following the concert, I met Michael in person for the first time.

The third time was the Washington visit.

I, too, wonder why I’ve never talked before about his stay in our home. Was it because Jackson and I were the same age or the fact that, like so many African-Americans, I liked to remember the little kid from Gary, Indiana, more than I did the man with another reputation?

Perhaps, as Reverend Tate suggested, it was just the right thing to do.

As word of Michael Jackson’s death on June 25 spread, my family mourned the man we’d met not as the King of Pop but as a person trapped inside a world that was and was not of his own creation, a man who came to us through his representatives in need of a place to stay. As I sat on our deck and looked west toward the Blue Ridge Mountains, I hoped he now was seeing what I see each and every night—a perfect sunset.

http://www.washingtonian.com/articles/people/13134.html

Michael Jackson- The Driver



Michael Jackson- The Driver (as told by his Mother Katherine)

In Photos: Michael Jackson driving with his niece

Michael usually drove himself to Kingdom Hall and his field-service
routes. He’d finally gotten his driver’s license in 1981, at the age of twenty-
three. Initially he didn’t want to learn to drive.

“I’ll just get a chauffeur when I want to go out,” he said when I began
nagging him about getting his license.

“But suppose you’re someplace and your chauffeur gets sick?” I reasoned.

Finally, he relented and took some lessons.

After he began driving, Michael decided that he enjoyed being behind the
wheel, after all. The first time he took me for a ride, he ventured up to
Mulholland Drive, a winding road in the Hollywood Hills. It was a hair-
raising experience.

“I’ve got a crook in my neck and my feet hurt,” LaToya, who was also in
the car, complained afterward. “I was putting on the brakes’ with my feet and
‘steering’ the car with my neck trying to keep it on the road. I was so scared!”

It was white-knuckle time for me, too. Michael drove fast. He also had the
same habit that I have: driving right up to the car in front and stopping on a
dime.

After that, Michael started going out by himself.

“You shouldn’t go out alone,” I told him. “Get Bill Bray to go with you.”

But Michael wouldn’t hear of it. “I’m tired of having security with me
every time I go someplace.”


When he began driving, Michael told me that he would never go on
freeways; he thought they were too dangerous. So I was shocked one day
when Michael suddenly drove us onto a freeway ramp.

“Wait a minute, Michael, what are you doing?”

“I can drive the freeways now!” he said, laughing. He had changed his
mind about freeways when he saw just how long it took him to get around Los
Angeles without using them.

Michael’s first car was a Mercedes. Then he bought a black Rolls-Royce,
which he later painted blue.

It was in the Rolls that he was stopped one day -- not for fans outside the
gate, but by a Van Nuys policeman.

“This looks like a stolen car,” the officer said. He didn’t recognise
Michael, who wasn’t wearing a disguise that day.

Michael explained politely that he did, indeed, own the car. But the officer
went ahead and ran a check on the car, and found that Michael had a ticket
outstanding.

The next thing Michael knew, he was sitting in the Van Nuys jail.

Bill Bray bailed him out. I didn’t even know what had happened until he
came home.

“You should have asked the officer what a stolen car looks like,” I said
after he related his adventure. Perhaps the cop had felt that a young black man
didn’t belong behind the wheel of a Rolls.

But Michael was not only put out by the experience, he professed to be
happy.

“I got to see how it felt to be in jail!” he exclaimed.

Source: Katherine Jackson's "My Family"

http://twitpic.com/494sby

Michael & Me

It's definitely the worst picture of me ever taken, but how could I not post it? Can't a blogger try to ride a media frenzy? I would have posted it sooner, but it took me a while to find.

In 1998, I had a short chat with Michael Jackson, and the proof is above. We were both at a small amfAR benefit in LA to honor Dr. Arnold Klein, Jackson's dermatologist.
I had never heard about Klein until this night, but apparently amfAR was founded in his LA home, and his website claims he's raised "over $300 million for HIV research and care."

But this isn't about Klein -- it's about Michael and me. He came with his wife at the time, Debbie Rowe, but for an awkward moment, I saw him standing alone during the cocktail reception. So I walked up and introduced myself. I thanked him for his AIDS charity work, and told him I was amfAR's token HIV positive board member. He was painfully shy. I asked him what he was up to these days, and to be honest, I don't really remember his reply -- something about a casino project I think.

A few seconds later, the amfAR photographer asked for our shot, and my best buddy Michael put his arm around me, with his un-white-gloved hand on my shoulder, and smiled.


Addendum: I just Googled "michael jackson casino," and it turns out my memory was pretty good -- he was planning to open one.

Photo of a Girl

In April of 2009, you might have seen Michael coming out of a building with a photo of a girl in his hand. It was on fan message boards for a while…and the question of who the girl is came up a lot. Well that girl was me and at the time I found it VERY embarrassing…but of course now I cherish it. People on the internet came up with different things like “It’s his girlfriend”, “It’s Blanket’s mother” and one gossip site even said it was a photo of the new face he wanted after surgery.
Just to give a little background, followers often gave photos of themselves to Michael. We gave Michael a lot of photos of us all posing together, alone, with him, etc. The more Michael saw you, the more he remembered who you were and your name and things you told him about yourself. I remember one of his bodyguards telling me, “Always include a photo with your letters. He likes photos and he remembers you that way.” I always carried stationary, pens, markers, stickers, gifts and photos in my trunk to always be prepared with something to give to him.
On this particular day I had emptied my stuff out for some reason and only had a few developed photos inside my car. I just really wanted to always give him something so I quickly wrote a note on the back of one of the photos and gave it to him when we saw him inside. We said our hello’s and parted different ways so I didn’t see him exit out the building.
After that he went shopping to a few stores including Off the Wall on Melrose and the Ed Hardy store. I don’t remember if it was during the drive to the Ed Hardy store or when I was done and going home but I got a call.
“Oh my God! There are photos of Michael holding your photo!”
I quickly went online to try and find it and sure enough it was all over the internet already. I got red in the face and was so embarrassed…and I got made fun of for it by my friends for MONTHS. But of course, now it is something I treasure. <3 So there it is, there is no real “story” behind the photo. Fans have fantasized some really weird theories about the incident. LOL I wanted to tell Michael about the photos and how funny it looked but I never got the chance to because I started seeing him less and less…I’m sure at some point I wrote about it in my letters but it wasn’t ever discussed. And I’m okay with it being that way…

The Day I Met Michael



Finally, we arrived near the hotel. We knew we were getting close because we could hear hundreds of fans screaming all around. They were gathering under the canopy of the hotel. I began trembling like a leaf, especially when I looked up and saw beside his window an enormous tarpaulin, affixed with the MJ mark on it.
Suddenly, everyone started screaming louder and the crowd flocked together. “Michael! Michael!” Yeah, it was him! He was leaving to go to Letenska Park for rehearsal. We couldn’t see him; we were behind too many others. This is when I had my first hysterical breakdown and cried. We all went to the Park; his voice resounded everywhere. We could hear him clearly as he rehearsed, and each time the wind blew stronger and moved those tarpaulins that divided us, we could even see him. He was stunning!

That night I couldn’t close my eyes for the thought of the next morning, when we would have to leave in the early dawn to get the best places to stand at the hotel. We were the first to arrive that morning, September 6th. We put my drawing within the barriers just in front of the main entrance, so when Michael would come out he would surely see it just in front of him.

The long wait began. Meanwhile, several fans began to arrive increasing the crowd in an amazing way. They were coming from every part of the world. Many of them came up to me to compliment me on my drawing. Michael’s photographer approached me and started taking pictures of it, very satisfied. A little bit later, Michael’s cameraman was there too, and videotaped the canvas for what seemed to be a very long time. He congratulated me on a great job as well.

I was certainly very flattered by that, but I wanted Michael. I wanted to see his eyes looking down on my canvas, and then hope that our glances would cross into one another’s. I had dreamed it for so many years. Finally, into the later part of the morning, the hotel door opened. Everybody started screaming “Michael! Michael!” I was paralyzed. I couldn’t believe it; he was just a few meters from me. He was gorgeous!

He wore black trousers, a red shirt and a black jacket. At one point he looked down at the drawing. He even stopped to do his thumbs-up as if to say, “Okay!" He took a few steps forward to say hello to the crowd, and then he came back to sit in the car. He must have gone to the wrong vehicle because he got out and went to another car. (There were 2 of the same looking cars parked in a row.) Wayne, his bodyguard, called Teddy Lakis (star promoter) and pointed to the drawing. He came over to us and said, “Michael likes this drawing very much, he‘d like to have it.” Since I had lost my tongue to speak, my friends answered, “Oh, yes! This was drawn just for him, but she would love to have the pleasure of giving it to him personally.” He went back to Michael to report what he was told, and then returned to us and said, “Okay, Mr. Jackson is going to visit the President, but when he comes back he said you’re invited to go up in his room.” After those words, I couldn’t understand anything more. I laughed, I cried, I trembled, I stammered; I was totally out of my mind!

He hadn’t much make-up on and he was gorgeous! His hair was tied in a strange way; a sort of loose ponytail. He wore the same red shirt of that morning, but had on different trousers. I was trembling so badly and praying, ‘God please, I don’t want to cry and look foolish, so please give me the strength to control myself and stand on my own two feet.’

I went on staring at him; I did not want to miss anything. Suddenly, Wayne motioned to me to open the tube and I made a fool of myself once again. Since it was huge and very heavy, I made it crash into the chandelier with a terrible clatter. Luckily it didn’t break, and I only managed to say in a whisper, “Oh, sorry.” It was in that moment that his eye caught mine, and he smiled with the sweetest expression.

As the bodyguards rolled out the canvas, Michael stood up from the chair with an, “Oooohhh!” as if to say, “At last!” He began to observe it with the enthusiasm of a child. He was very sweet because I was very nervous, and he tried to make me feel at ease by commenting on it aloud and smiling, “Oh my God, it’s wonderful!” Then, without turning away from the picture, he came closer to look at it and he started shouting, “Oooohhh, Topo Gigìo!” dwelling on the final i of the name. Everyone was laughing at his childlike behavior but me. I was paralyzed.

His eyes lit up like those of a child in front of his favorite toy. Apart from Wayne and Yanik, there were some kids in his room and a woman whom I think was their mother: She had always been with Michael since his arrival in Prague, but I did not know who she was.

When Michael saw Topo Gigio with the Italian flag in his hand, he asked me, “Are you Italian?” I answered, “Yes”. The woman immediately began to speak to me in Italian and said, “Oh, how nice, I’m Italian too. Where are you from?” When I answered, “I’m from Naples,” Michael smiled at me and said, “Oh, I love Naples.”

He kept on analyzing the picture; concentrating on every single detail and saying, “Oh boy, it’s wonderful, wonderful!” Luckily the woman helped me by acting as an interpreter. Michael asked me, “Why did you choose to portray us under a tree?” I answered, “I don’t know, it has been a sort if inspiration. I saw it in my mind before painting.” He said, “Oh, sure. You had a vision! That tree means a lot to me.”
Then the woman smiled and said to me, “Wow, he said he will bring it home and put it in his room.” I couldn’t believe it and I just said, “Thank you.” He said, “No, thank you! You gave me such a beautiful present. It is full of love.” He went on saying, “Thank you, I love you.”

Wayne, who was holding up the canvas together with the woman, told Yanik to take a picture. Unfortunately, at that moment Michael put on his mask. I believe he did so because he had almost no make-up on. I could clearly see some spots of vitiligo on his face, in particular between his cheek and the right ear. Then he gave me his hand, and invited me to stand close to him for the photo.

I don’t know how I managed to stand on my feet, especially when I felt his hand holding my hip. I wore an openwork t-shirt, and I could feel his fingers touching my skin; he smelt of vanilla perfume. It was the hardest time of my life. My heart was beating so hard that I’m sure he could hear it too. In the meantime, Yanik was fighting with the camera and couldn’t get the picture. Michael said something, but I couldn’t understand. He told Yanik something like he was the only one who could be a true bodyguard, and then he teased him by saying, “Hello, Yanik, you know that if you don’t push the button you can’t take the picture, don’t you?” Everybody started laughing. I was still feeling Michael’s hand on my hip and I felt very dizzy. It seemed like the whole room was moving around me. I took a deep breath and smiled while Yanik finally took the picture. Michael exclaimed, “We did it!”

That was the most beautiful moment in my life; his beautiful eyes were staring at mine. He understood that I was much too excited and so he asked me, “Are you ok?” with such an incredible sweetness. That was the real moment that I did let myself go. I threw my arms around him sobbing, “Oh, Michael.” He hugged me too; he held me so tightly and I broke down and cried. That was the one thing I never wanted to do in front of him, crying just like every common fan, but I accumulated too much tension so I could not hold it back. Michael, with all his sweetness, kept on caressing my head and my back. If I could have, I would have stopped the time and stayed in his arms and felt his warmth, heard his voice and smelled his perfume into eternity.

I couldn’t believe it. I dreamt of that moment since I was a child. I have imagined that scene a million times, and now I really was there in those arms. God, he smelled so good, and how tight he was holding me! I shall never be able to describe what I felt at that moment. Never!

Since I couldn’t stop crying, I told him, “I’m sorry,” and he said to me, smiling with such an indescribable kindness, “Oh-oh! It’s all right.” He stared at me with that particular glance that only he has and asked me again, “Are you ok?” It was incredible! Just a few moments earlier he looked like a child to me, and now only a few minutes later he took the stature of a father figure. I told him, “I’m fine, thank you.” Then he smiled and asked me with some curiosity what I had in my bag.

I actually didn’t realize that I had been holding my bag since I entered the room, but I was so excited I didn’t think to put it down anywhere. Inside of it I had my children’s photos, and a letter that I wrote for him in which I had opened my heart; writing all that Michael meant to me, and giving him all my support for all that he had to endure. He put down the bag on the table and began to leaf through the photos. I told him, “These are my children.” He replied, “Oh, congratulations, you already are a mother. But they’re such beautiful kids!” I said, “This is Vichi, he’s 3, and he has imitated you since he was only one.” He smiled, saying that Vichi was really a beautiful baby boy.

Then I showed him Tania’s photos, and I said to him that she’s Autistic. He said, “Oh no, I’m sorry! I do know Autism. They live in a world all on their own.” “Sure," I replied, "and you are part of her world too. Since she was a newborn baby, she always listened to your music when she breaks down and cries. She needs to listen to your songs to calm her. She does not play any kind of game, so most of the time she usually spends her hours watching your videos. When we were at the hospital, we had to take the video player and all of your VHS tapes with us to make her stay quiet.” He became serious, slowly taking a careful look at Tania’s pictures, visibly touched.

He said nothing at first, and then spoke. “She’s beautiful. Her glance; her smile is wonderful. Can I take her pics?” “Certainly you can," I replied. “How old is she?” He asked. “She’s five,” I said. “Can she speak?” “No, Michael. Unfortunately I never heard the sound of her voice.” He said, “No! My God! She‘s so beautiful! Is there something I could do for her? Do you need my help? How can I help you?” I simply thanked him. I could have asked him to let Tania meet him because he often gave hospitality to many disabled children in Neverland, but I did not have the courage to ask. I’m still regretting this decision. I’m sure that Tania would have been so happy there. She loves to see him singing and dancing.

Michael took my hand, and looking into my eyes he said, “Don’t ever lose your faith or your hope, and don’t stop fighting for her. Never! Don’t give up!” We embraced each other once again, and just as I was crying I said, “Thank you Michael, I love you!” and he answered, “I love you too; I love you more.” It was such an intense moment; so special that I have real a difficulty telling it. I fear that it may go away somehow.

I always knew that he was a sensitive, kind of person, but at that moment he was sensitive only for me. He was really touched, and he made me feel all his support and all his love. What a wonderful man; so humble and special! (Here, I start crying again) Then he took my letter, and I said, “Michael, please, it’s so important to me that you’ll read my letter.” And he said, “I’ll do it tonight, I promise.”

Unfortunately, it came my time to say goodbye. Wayne was already waiting for me close to the door. I said to that woman, “Please, I have something more to tell him.” I would have told him that I felt so sorry for him; for everything he had to go through because of the charges and the wickedness he suffered. I wanted to say these things to him even if I had already written everything in my letter. I was only able to say, “How are you?” But I’m quite sure he knew what I was referring to. In fact, we looked into each other’s eyes and I felt really in tune with him. He thanked me and he told me he was fine, also thanking us for the gestures of love that he received from us in which he gained more and more strength. I told him, “Please, take care of you, and don’t forget you’ll always have our support; we will always be with you.” “Ooh, thank you, I love you so much. God bless you,” he said. We said goodbye, and while I was walking to the door I reminded him to read my letter once again. He brought his hand to his lips and kissed the index and the middle finger, and then he placed them to his heart saying, “I swear it.”

I almost crossed the threshold, when I realized that I had forgotten to take the paper bag which had some gifts in it that my friends gave me to give to Michael. I turned back with confidence, took the bag and said, “Oh, I forgot to give Michael these things” Red faced, I went back over to Michael. He looked at me smiling. I threw this enormous bag of gifts into his hands, and instead of telling him that those were my friends’ gifts for him, I said: “These are my friends.” God, how embarrassing. Everyone there was laughing. Michael made fun of me, looking into the bag with his eyes open wide. We all were laughing; it was really a nice moment and Michael was so cute. He asked me to help him hold the bag while he took the items from inside. I don’t know how I contained myself because from that moment on, I can’t recall anything. I don’t remember how we said goodbye. I don’t remember who brought me downstairs. I don’t even remember if the girls who came up with me had left already or if they came down with me. I only know that I found myself sitting and crying on the sidewalk.

Separating myself from him was one of the most difficult moments of my life.

Thirteen years have gone by, and I still have not remembered what happened; my mind completely removed the moments after I left. He dedicated so much of his time to me making me feel loved….me, a perfect stranger! He was really a gift of God!

Thank you Michael, you are really an angel….. You will always live in my heart. I love you!

Stefania Capasso

Невероятно силен разказ, който истински просълзява.

И мен ме просъзли! Това е изживяна мечта!

Michael Jackson in Italy

Precisely he arrived to Solda, near Merano in Alto Adige.

Solda
Michael Jackson arrived to the Ortles, for two days. He was really him: the great singer. He was not a double. He came with his agents and his body-guards for relaxing a little bit and because he was going to clinch some deals.

On account of this event Solda will enter into the history and it will obtain a lot of free publicity. Everything happened thanks to the brilliance of Paul Hanny that should do all sort of things for Solda. This time he didn't belive that would have recived a prize so wonderful.

Michael Jackson arrived to the Ortles Friday in the afternoon. He arrived by a Mercedes that had impenetrable glasses. Behind there was another car with his body-guards, his managing director Kathleen A. Kelly and the other manager Myung-Ho Lee. The singer had been picked up at the airport of Innsbruck where he had landed by his private jet after a flight from London. The big artist had to face a problem: he felt a big pain at the right ankle plastered for a long time. The staff of Michael had called Solda's doctor, she had prescribed him some pills and the pain vanished.

Michael went to bed at 8 p.m. for a brief rest, then he got up and he dined with his managers and his body-guards. Michael ate speck, cheese of Stelvio malga and he drank mineral water only. From Merano came the "La Zag" group that played some songs for half an hour and they were really excited. Solda inhabitants gave to the great artist a bank note of ten "Sulden Tschosch" (this banknote has printed for enjoyment).

He also recived a decorated stone that had been taken from Ortles. He appreciated a little bunch of edelweisses: Michael didn't know those flowers. Jackson went to bed early and his staff went to dance at the Solda "Apres Club".

Saturday morning Michael had to clinch some deals, then he was ready to go to Innsbruck's airport. Suddenly he decided of staying at Solda and he said: "I want to see the village, here is pleasing". The staff phoned to Innsbruck and the take-off was cancelled. The great artist began reading, he was always alone. He met some persons for deals then at 6 p.m. he decided to go for a walk around Solda. He got up on his car and he wished to see typical places. He was fascinated by the mountains, by cableway which goes up to Milano Hut and by artificial icy wall built at village. Nobody noticed his presence. Michael seemed to be happy because he was able to isolate himself.


At the evening Paul Hanny persuated Michael to dine in a typical restaurant. Hanny guaranteed him the privacy and Jackson agreed. He ate at "Hartmann's Weinstube" and he was served at table by Mrs. Johanna and her daughters. He ate "spaghetti" with fish and mussels and he appreciated them very much. Restaurant's guests didn't move when the artist got up for going to the bathroom. Somebody recognized him but nobody disturbed him.

Michael webt to bed at 9 p.m. Sunday morning Michael stayed at home, because he had to meet someone probably for getting deals. He ate quickly and then he left for Innsbruck. Paul Hanny remember with a great emotion that Michael had asked him to drive the car and he was very happy to do it. The body-guards and his managers followed Jackson' car along all journey. At Innsbruck airport Hanny arrived at the Jackson's personal plane ramp surrounded by some agents. Michael came down his car and embraced Hanny for a long time. He left him a special dedication too with his autograph. Paul Hanny was very touched.


Pills from Doctor for Ankle Pain
Doctor Raffaella Ortler Stocker said: "I didn't wait this kind of patient". Friday evening the doctor, that has her ambulatory at the village, recived a call for a medical examination that she didn't forsee. She said:" I knew that there was a famous guest but I didn't think that was Michael Jackson, a singer that I love very much. It had been a very quick examination: the artist had a break at the ankle and it was plastered. He felt much pain, probably caused by the stress and the tiredness for the jet lag and for his journey from Innsbruck to Solda by car. I prescribed him some pills for calming his pain. I exchanged a few words with him, using a little bit of English that I learnt at school. He was a normal patient for me, but honestly I have to say that I was excited because in front of me there was a great artist that behaved me very kindly".

Why at Solda?
How is it possible that an artist so famous had chosen this village situated to the Ortles for a short holiday? Everything started from a request that an entrepreneur asked to Paul Hanny, Solda's promoter, for having a house in a typical Tyrolese style built. The entrepreneur, that was Solda guest for long time, entrusted everything to Hanny who called Venosta artisans, so carried out the building in a short time. The entrepreneur, that invested a lot of money for this "Bauernhaus", was enthusiastic for his new house. He thanked a lot Paul Hanny and he promised him "a big favour for getting Solda known better".


The German entrepreneur in that period was making perfect a lot of agreements with Jackson's staff: he thought of defining them at Solda. So the entrepreneur had phoned to some people for defining all details concerning at the short stay that was at "Bauernhaus" last wekkend. The great Michael so arrived to the Ortles: Paul Hanny was delighted!

Private concert for Michael Jackson...

March 9th, 2001
We had been called to Solda (a well known tourist place for skiing and climbing in South-Tyrol, Northern Italy) to play at dinner for some important people. For whom, we weren’t said. Can you imagine our heartbeat rising up when we learned that is was the King of Pop, Michael Jackson himself we had to play for??? (He was there on occasion of a business-meeting with promoters or so). Our music appealed to him so much, that he stopped eating and began to swing on his chair. At the end of the evening he shook hands (!) with us and said: "Nice music."

Goodbye Michael!

...and for his bodyguards!

Sources:
The Daily Newspaper "Alto Adige" of 13.3.2001 ~ http://www.solda2000.com/jacksonen.htm
http://www.lazag.it/newsengl.htm

...на днешния ден..
July 26, 1991

Michael pays a visit to the Youth Sports & Art Foundation in Los Angeles. This Foundation supports families of gang members, and helps dealing with drug-abuse. Michael talks to the kids and presents them with a wide-screen TV set and a financial gift.

Миличкото, то телевизора е по- голям от него.
Благодаря, smile

Your Friends and Mine


In 1987, country singer, Kenny Rogers released a book of a collection of photographs he had taken of some of his famous friends, titled “Your Friends and Mine”. Rogers recounts the story of the idea behind the book’s creation and publishing. In one of the photos, Jackson poses with Bubbles the chimpanzee in his arms, the entertainer being dressed casually, in worn jeans and a simple shirt. Rogers’ several other photos of Jackson feature another black-and-white shot of him sitting on the floor and holding a fedora up to his face.

Below, is the book’s introductory excerpt about how Rogers met the entertainer, and his pleasant impression of the star he would call a “friend”:

“The first person I shot for the book was Michael Jackson. In 1986, I hosted the Grammy Awards telecast in Los Angeles. That night, my son Christopher met Michael backstage. Christopher had always loved Michael. He would even dress like him at home […] As it happened, Marianne, [Roger’s wife] sent me some flowers with a little plastic Grammy attached. Unbeknownst to me or anyone else, Christopher took the plastic Grammy, walked into Michael Jackson’s press conference, and handed it to him. The next day, Michael called to tell Christopher how much he appreciated it. He also invited him out to his house to see his animals, so Marianne and Christopher went out to Encino. Michael knew I was a photographer, he mentioned that he’d like it if I took a picture of him and Christopher together. I called Michael th next day to set up an appointment, and he agreed to come down to my studio. I told Michael during our first session that I was thinking about doing a book of portraits and calling it Your Friends And Mine. I had heard about his chimpanzee, Bubbles, and we did a shot with the chimp. Later on, Michael and I did another session alone, at his request. That was the start. Michael Jackson’s agreeing to be part of the book was, in fact, the jumping off point for the whole project. Michael Jackson is unique, both as an individual and as a performer. Yet, while I’d been around him many times, I never honestly felt I knew him until we spent a day together in the photography studio. As I explained earlier, Michael had invited Christopher, my youngest son, to his home to see his zoo. They had such a good time that Michael, who heard I was a photographer, suggested I take a picture of him and Christopher in my studio. I told him of my ideas for this book and asked him to bring his chimp, Bubbles. There were maybe twenty-five people in the studio that day, and the chimp was the center of attention. That meant the focus was off Michael, and I think the relative anonymity gave him a chance to relax. And Bubbles was so human it was almost frightening. He would take Christopher by the hand, walk over to the refrigerator, open it, take out a banana, and hand it to him. Christopher was amazed – we all were. The session was the first time I’d had the chance to be one on one with Michael. It means a lot to me to be able to say that not only do I love his music, but I also like him very much as a person and consider him a friend.”

"Оксфорд стрийт е една от главните улици на Лондон и там винаги има много хора.
Така че, когато Майкъл се отправи към магазина и излезе от колата, там вече имаше няколко стотин фенове и продължаваше да се събира тълпа от лондончани и туристи. Изведнъж Майкъл видя някой сред хората, който беше нисък на ръст и в опасна ситуация,защото можеше да бъде смазан от тълпата. Майкъл внезапно вдигна ръце и извика така, че замрази не само тези, които стояха наоколо, но цялата Oxford Street. Той извика "STOP! STOP! ТHERE IS A CHILD!!!"
Очевидци разказват, че е било невероятна гледка да се види как всички са замръзнали, като че ли им е било наредено да го направят предварително, сякаш участват в заснемането на кадър и режисьорът е казал на актьорите да спрат и да обърнат глави на една страна.
Майкъл започна да си проправя път из тълпата и щом стигна до мястото видя, че там няма дете и тихо се поправи: "Oh...an old lady... /"О .... Една възрастна дама ..."/
Беше забавно. Майкъл стоеше до дамата и, като че ли я предпазваше от тълпата с ръцете си и й помогна да стигне до неговата кола. След това я закара до дома й.
На следващия ден в Daily Mirror имаше снимка как Майкъл придружава старата жена до колата, с надпис: "Певецът Майкъл Джексън помага на пенсионер в капан сред тълпа от негови фенове."

This poem I wrote for Michael back in 2004, when he was going through a very difficult time. I sent it a day or two later, a messenger came to my door to give me a bag of gifts. I was about to sign the shipping, when he said that there was more. He returned with a large metal object that seemed to be chirping. I thought, how nice, someone’s sent one of those mechanical birds, but when I uncapped the cloth that covered it, I realized that there were no mechanical birds, but 2 beautiful white doves or pigeons and they were very much alive.

Together with the birds was a lovely and hertfelt note thanking me for the poem and telling me that he had been touched by it. Also, there was a book about exotic birds and bird food for an entire year.

I took the box with birds to the yard and named them “Billie Jean” and “Bad”

One night an animal that roamed the house attacked “Bad”, and I thought that being so close, soon Billie Jean would die with a broken heart. As a tribute to his indomitable spirit, “Billie Jean” continues chirping 5 years later. Keep on singing, sweet bird.

Sadly, Michael never had the opportunity to sit with me to put music to the poem, and I’ve kept it in my files. I hope it can sent an inspirational message to the world..something that Michael always tried to do with his music, his charity, and his life. My friend Michael is gone too soon, but his light will never fade.

Rest eay, dear soul. “Buzzie Wuzzie” (this is what Michael always called me)

Remembrance
by Buz Kohan

Big storm blowing
Danger growing
Wind coming up from
Every side
Air is filled with
Flying objects
No relief
No place to hide

Fury follows
Shaking, breaking
Taking charge
Complete control
Whirling, swirling
All around me
Trying to
Destroy my soul

All so senseless
I’m defenseless
Caught in a frenzy
Wipped and tossed
Pushed and shoved and
When all is chaos
All is lost

More harsh raids
Resistance fades
I am alone, wind-
Blown and beat
Wind, you win
I must give in now
In disgrace, I
Face defeat

The, from way off
In the distance
There comes a tiny
Shaft of light
Growing brighter
Growing lighter
Shinning through me
Endless night

From a tiny
Ray of sunshine
There comes a brilliant
Amber glow
Touching all that
COmes before it
As I watch it
Grow and grow

With the sunlight
Comes the voices
All getting louder
More intense
Speaking to me
Pain and anguish
Let the healing
Now commence

Let the truth
Emerge before us
Let all the lies be
Drowned in shame
Le the storm
At last disperse to
Clear the air
Clear my name

You, my friends you
All sustain me
There to defend when
I’m attacked
You restore my
Faith and courage
When mirror
Has been cracked

You surround me
With your passion
Guiding my steps when
I’m unsure
Through your love I’m
Wrapped in sunlight
Once agin I
Feel secure

For your faith, I
Make this promise
I shall fail your
Trust, I swear
No disaster
Can destroy me
Long as I know
How much you care
Long as I know
Your love is There!

MJ with Marielle Tourelle

TVN24 reached out to Marielle,who as a young girl greeted the singer at the Warsaw airport. “When I was with him I felt that this is my friend.He was a normal person with a beautiful soul.”

“Everyone waited for his arrival,among the people was such positive energy,great enthusiasm and a great adrenaline.All were excited,smiling.Older women are crying,kids going wild – they behaved very differently than usual,” says Marielle.Jackson landed in Poland 20 September 1996 and gave a concert at the Warsaw Bemowo that 120,000 people watched.

At this concert,Marielle,daughter of the Polish-French marriage,appeared on the scene.The girl accompanied the singer throughout the whole visit in Poland.

Their friendship didn’t stop there,Mariella was also at his concert in Paris. “I danced with him at a concert in front of 100 thousand people.Always a group of children entered the stage for the song “Heal the World”.Because he believed that children can improve the world.Well,the rest of the kids went,but I took the whole song.Then I felt a part of this mission.It’s one of my most beautiful memories.”

As a child,Marielle met with the singer several times. “It’s always been a great experience.Thanks to him my childhood was very colorful,he inspired me to look at the world differently.Always treated me like an adult,not talking in childish language,and always made sure I felt very important,” she says.

Marielle and her family lived in the same hotel with Jackson in the Paris suburb of Paris and Disneyland.According to her,despite the huge popularity of Jackson,he did not look down on people. “He was a normal man with a great sense of humor.He had a very soft voice – it was amazing that he was a delicate person,compared with what was on the scene.Very well guarded,to have time only for themselves,to be able to recover,” she recalls.

Marielle knew it from the private side. “When I was with him I felt that this is my friend.Once,I wanted to go with him to the museum.I suggested it to him,and he answered me: “how much I would give to be able to do it,but it’s impossible.I’d have to go with lots of bodyguards “- she adds.

According to her,Jackson was not only a “great hero”,but “person with a very beautiful soul.” “He wanted to inspire people,help them,make them happy.He looked at everything artistically and idealistic.They said it was naive,but I think he really believed that if you want you can change the world.He wrote all the lyrics to those songs and they show how he was.He was singing “Heal the World”, “No matter whether you’re white or black”.

Marielle does not believe in rumors about the singer,and believes the media destroyed Jackson. “He was not a pedophile.It’s a silly rumor.He did not change his color,just had a skin disease.I hope now everyone understands that these things were not true,” she concludes.

Marielle today lives in London,studying at the London School of Economics.