Yesterday was a surreal day. When I heard the news that allegedly Michael Jackson was dead my first thought was it was another of his weird, fantasyland stunts. Unfortunately, it was no stunt. The King of Pop is dead.
I think there’s little doubt that the guy had some sort of fucked up childhood that stunted him emotionally and left him forever yearning for the eternal life of a kid. I’m not condoning any of his alleged inappropriate behaviors, but from all accounts it sounds like he was a magnet for vultures who preyed on him his entire life. For a boy/man who appeared to have it all, it’s as if he spent many years of his life battling pain at so many levels.
I’m choosing to remember him for his music and the mark he made with that music. His music and his moves were like no other. His songs bring back vivid memories and take me immediately back to specific places and times.
I remember learning to Moon Walk from a friend in college. He took time out to take us up to the dance studio to teach us the newest Michael move. While we all learned the move, we all knew there was only one master and that was Michael himself.
Then there was the premiere of the Thriller video. I was at University of Delaware on exchange and I can remember walking over to the campus pub, which was within view from our dorms. We ordered beers and sat their memorized by the mini movie on the big screen. I can still visualize that night today.
When people have asked me my favorite songs I cant really say, but what I do know is I can rattle off more hits than any other artist from my era.
Man in the Middle, Human Nature, Beat it, Billie Jean, Thriller, Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’, The Girl is Mine, Black and White...it’s truly amazing how many hits he had and I feel like I’m just getting started. There was something about the way he sang, the way he moved. He truly was one-of-a-kind.
Mr. T is a huge Beatles fan and we’ve had many discussions about how I just don’t get the Beatles obsession. I would say the Beatles for him are more like Michael is for me. I was never obsessed or crazed, but I loved his music and his talent. It had meaning.
My peak Michael moment came in 1984. My friend and I got a wild hair and decided we’d like to be nannies in NYC the summer before our senior year in college. So, off we went to Long Island. While we didn’t quite land the “city nanny” gigs, we were a quick train ride away.
And it was just our luck that the Victory Tour was landing at Madison Square Garden in July. The great thing about being young and a bit naive is the sense of adventure and risk that lives inside you. So, my friend Susan and I set out on our night off, which happened to coincide with a Victory Tour concert night. We carried very little – enough cash to buy tickets way above face value and train ride money home.
I grossed $90 a week, so basically I was willing to blow more than a week’s pay to see MJ and family live in concert. We began our ticket search. It didn’t take long for some offers. My friend Susan, my partner in crime stupid, told me she’d watched a news story on TV that warned scalpers were producing counterfeit tickets, so buyer beware. She said all we needed to do was lick our fingers, rub the tickets before buying and make sure the ink didn’t smear.
Before I go any further I have to remind you that while we may have been a bit naive we weren’t dumb. After all, we were almost through college. That should count for something.
History is a bit fuzzy after so many years but a guy offers us two tickets for I believe $90 a piece. Susan, the counterfeit sleuth, holds the tickets and does her lick thing as she asks the guy if they’re counterfeit. I swear we both thought we observed smearing but I think we were so overwhelmed by the opportunity to see MJ we put stupid into high gear.
Tickets in hand, off we want to Madison Square Garden. I remember how giddy we were. We were honestly experiencing an incredible natural high. I still remember the feeling of standing in line to get in and starting to worry just slightly about the “realness” of our tickets. We end up in different turnstiles. I got through flawlessly. But, I look back and my friend Susan is being escorted away.
I don’t panic yet. Although, I realize I have nothing with me. I’m not carrying a purse. Susan has a little purse with both our minimal belongings. I decide to find my seat, which I now believe is already sold to somebody who’s the rightful buyer. I find the section and the seat and decide to loiter in the area, choosing not to sit down yet.
I suppose at some point I wonder how I’m going to get home without any money. My nanny family was very kind, but not the kind I would ever have felt comfortable calling at midnight from the train station without cab money to get home. I suppose I should have began pondering the dangers lurking in NYC alone and at night, but again I still was overwhelmed by the thought of seeing MJ in concert.
Time passed, the opening of the show grew closer. I’m not sure on the timing, but just minutes before the show began my friend Susan shows up. I just knew she would. Susan is the kind of person who could convince you your hair is purple when it’s blonde, and she does it with conviction, grace, style and in this case, some very convincing tears. And even more importantly, you like her even more in the end.
We managed to avoid the ushers and park ourselves on the bottom steps of our section. Because, as suspected, our seats were taken up by those that paid less and received tickets that didn’t smear.
Our fake tickets didn’t stop us from enjoying the incredible show. Michael Jackson and family was all we expected. We came to see the King of Pop and we did. I’ll never forget that night and I’ll never forget Michael Jackson.
He leaves this earth way too soon, but he leaves us with his music that will live on forever.
