BoOTyLiCioUs said:

Okay.

Graycap23 said:

question:why do black people get so offended when a black person has plastic surgery? if they are not happy with the way they look and want to change it with plastic surgery then that's their business. I agree that whites are the ethicity that struggle with confidence in their looks the most. I've seen so many racist blacks say about white women who are curveous that it must be surgically enhanced but if they see Melissa Ford then it must be real (obvious that she's had some work done) because she's a black woman? Women of every ethicity come in all different shapes and sizes. Not all black people have big lips etc. so by saying michael wanted to be a white woman becuase he has a small disfirgued nose with a straight lace front is saying that we all look like that? Not all of us have small noses, there are whites with broad and big noses. some of us with straight, curly and wavy hair. So to say that is insulting and in a way, racist.

Here is a seemingly odd clip where you could apply parallels to MJ.

dag said:

could be the multiple plastic surguries on the nose. the space between the nose and lips became bigger as his nose got smaller. probably a reason why lips look different.

Hey those of you that have a Twiiter account go here

http://www.thisisitpoll.com/

To Vote for Your Top 5 Favorite Songs for 'This Is It'

Top 5 favorite Michael Jackson songs from the movie
Offical Setlist

Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'
Speechless
Bad
Smooth Criminal
Don't Stop 'til You Get Enough
Jam
They Don't Care About Us
History
Human Nature
The Way You Make Me Feel
I'll Be There
I Want You Back
The Love You Save
Shake Your Body (Down To The Ground)
I Just Can't Stop Loving You
Thriller
Threatened
Who Is It
Beat It
Black Or White
Earth Song
Billie Jean
Man in the Mirror
This Is It

oops double post.
[Edited 9/29/09 13:22pm]

I discovered some things people say about MJ:

"The staff at the Lanesborough had been ordered to burn the banners and gifts following the group’s departure. That’s quite normal for bands. Michael Jackson, however has surprised us. He brings a cab with him just for the banners and gifts! But Michael is so distressed at the way people had pushed through the barriers on Monday morning. A little girl was crushed at the door. That’s the only thing that upsets him, when you guys push through the barriers."

Source: security guard, 2001 (concerning other bands he worked with)




"Michael is different, but not in anyway strange. He is different in the way, every human being should be different. Michael is a generous, honest, and sensitive human being, filled with amazing insight and the capacity for love. If this is weird, I want to go live on another planet. I love him too."

Source: Karen Faye (Michael’s Makeup-artist for more than 20 years), 2003

"He is the best man I ever met. He is always warm, soft, open-hearted and worries about everyone — as good as you can be. And that 24 hours a day! You wouldn’t believe that this is possible.
I am not a fan of him. I don’t even have one of his CDs at home. I do this job for 20 years now, but never in my life I met someone like him… I love him. I would do everything for him. To me he’s… a saint."

Source: personal comment of a bodyguard to an FttF-team-member, 2000

"[…] The day before, a jury cleared Michael Jackson and another absurd celebrity trial collapsed. We ‘celebrities’ live in Reality Shows these days. I was pleased Michael was cleared. My only experience of his dealings with children is that he has unselfishly helped every cause, and individual child, I have sent his way. In one case he hired a circus for the Down’s Syndrome children of a special school of the daughter of a friend of mine, and showed up to happily, and — yes — in childlike enthusiasm — watch the show with them.

This little girl believed she was Michael’s future wife, and he so kindly allowed her to sit next to him, as his future bride.

His feathers may be badly burned, and he may be damaged in other ways too, but he is something of an angel. […]"



Pete Townshend (The Who), june, 22th 2005

"We support our friend Michael Jackson. We believe that the recent documentary, ‘Living with Michael Jackson’ was a malicious, targeted character assassination that inaccurately portrays Michael as someone who would hurt children and also as someone who is a neglectful parent.

Nothing could be further from the truth! We have known Michael on a personal level for over five years and in that time, he has shown himself to us as a loving, caring father, and a wonderful, kindhearted, sensitive human being. Michael could never hurt a child and on the contrary, has lovingly cared for the health and welfare of many children regardless of race, creed or color.

On a more personal note, Michael has visited us in our home with his son Prince and was an attentive, responsible and caring parent. Prince was not wearing a mask; he was a well-dressed, well-mannered and happy child and obviously adored his father.

Michael Jackson is the greatest pop artist that has ever lived and has influenced and helped generations of artists and musical entrepreneurs to be successful in their careers. He will always be the King of Pop as Elvis will always be the King of Rock -n- Roll.

Martin Bashir, as the creator of this piece has been able to twist and manipulate, in a negative way, what was seen by the public. Our hope is that all of Michael’s worldwide friends and fans, in and out of the musical community, will come together to support him at this painful time. We stand by Michael Jackson as his friends and artistic collaborators."

Rodney Jerkins, Feburar 2003


I remember seeing Michael crying because he had seen a poor girl. He told me that, if he could, he would have given that girl all the money in the world. Michael is such a pure and innocent person.

Elizabeth Taylor





"What makes Michael more unique may be the fact that all of his accomplishments, his rewards, have not altered his sensitivity and concern for the welfare of others, or his intense caring and love for his familiy and friends, and especially all the children of the word over. He is filled with deep emotions that create an unearthly, special, innocent, childlike, wise man that is Michael Jackson. He is so giving of himself that, at times, he leaves very little to protect that beautiful inner core that is the essence of him. […] Michael is highly intelligent, shrewd, intuitive, understanding, sympathetic, and generous to almost a fault of himself. He is honesty personified - painfully honest — and vulnerable to the point of pain."

Elizabeth Taylor

"For what I witnessed with Michael was an extraordinary human being, utterly misunderstood and misrepresented, with a limitless compassion for children. The scene was simply astonishing. Neverland is Disneyland meets the San Diego Zoo, gates open wide to a steady stream of children. Some youngsters were fighting off cancer, others were bussed in from inner city schools to enjoy a day of rapture, and all were rendered speechless by the personal attention that Michael gives to each and every child. One 10-year-old child, ashamed to take off his hat and reveal his chemo-ravaged bald head, finally removed the covering after Michael spent a day building up his confidence.

Rabbi Shmuley Boteach

Wacko? No, he's a good father
Thanksgiving is the biggest day of the year for American families. In every home in the United States, dinner is turkey with all the trimmings and pumpkin pie. It was at such a typical dinner that I spent Thanksgiving two years ago - but with a rather atypical American family. For the guest's at my friends home in New Jersey were Michael Jackson and his five year old boy, Prince Michael The First, and three year old girl, Paris.

Yes, the same Michael Jackson who, after dangling his youngest child, Prince Michael The Second, over a 60ft Berlin balcony, is now condemned as the world's worst father. In spite of Jackson's abject apology for his crazy behaviour, I am told by social workers that if the incident had happened in this country, all three children would probably have been taken into care.

And yet, on the basis of four months I spent around Michael and his two elder children before and after that Thanksgiving, I came to a controversial conclusion: Jackson isn't actually that bad a dad at all. Not only that, but Prince Michael The First and Paris are, in my experience, among the best behaved, least spoilt and most balanced of children.

During my time with the Jackson children, I got to know them quite well. I read to them, with Paris on my lap, and Prince sitting next to me. I also told off Prince for running over my foot with a toy tractor. (He responded by politely saying sorry, and repeating the apology with the prompting from his dad, who didn't think the first sounded 'sorry enough'.)

This was not the behaviour of the spoilt, dysfunctional brats I was expecting. But there were other surprises. The Jackson children of popular mythology live in isolation and are denied contact with other kids. But I have seen them play for hours with friends.

The Jackson children reputedly have all their toys destroyed at the end of the day for fear of infection. But I have seen them hugging and sucking the manky, unhygienic plastic junk that all children have.

I have trailed around a toy shop with Prince and Paris on one of Michael's private shopping binges. It took place at 7pm and was brought swiftly to an end because the children's bedtime was approaching - they were allowed just one toy each.

Jackson may be neurotic, eccentric and downright flaky, but Prince and Paris are bright, confident, affectionate and considerate. They say Grace before meals, speak in sentences rather than monosyllabic American grunts and are forbidden, like many children, from using rude language.

Prince has a solemn face, but an impish nature and a relentless curiosity. Although he is surrounded by staff eager to do his father's bidding, I found no hint of arrogance in the little boys manner.

Paris was tiny when I knew her, with a cute, pointy little face. She would always compete with Prince to be the first to jump on Dad's knee. Since Jackson is divorced from the children's mother, Debbie Rowe, they were looked after by Governess Grace. A Hispanic lady, who kept herself in the background, she was always watchful. I do not believe anything would escape her attention and, if she is still the nanny, I dread to think what grief she would have given her employer for the balcony nonsense.

The children's clothes seemed to be chosen by Michael in Prince's case, and Governess Grace in Paris's. On special occasions, Prince tends to be done up like a little Lord Fauntleyroy. Paris always seemed to be wearing dainty, lacy and slightly dated velvet dresses.

As a father of three, I could see Prince and Paris exchanged a healthy amount of argy-bargy that goes on between siblings. Over one meal, Prince spotted that Paris had smuggled her security blanket up to the table. 'Paris has a blankey, Paris has a blankey' he taunted. Michael pointed out that Prince really shouldn't laugh because he had a 'blankey,' too. The little boy look chastened and a little embarrassed at this having been revealed. Thirty seconds later, but quietly, this time, Prince started again: 'Paris has a blankey ...' Paris ignored him.

Much of Jackson's eccentricity goes back to his own father's harsh discipline. With his own children, Michael is tough but in an infinitely more considered, humane way. He is resolutely anti-smacking, and somewhere inside the hazy fog of whatever it is that obscures his sharp mind is a solid determination that his children should have the most normal upbringing possible.

He is anxious in particular, that when they all hit their teens they should avoid drugs and other distractions of a showbiz background. He insists 'no means no', but discipline must be administered without anger or yelling. When the children are naughty or unkind to one another, he favours taking things away from them and making them stand in the corner.

At home in Neverland he rations their toys. They are not allowed to refer to toys as 'mine' when they have friends over and have been taught that the only reason to have money is to share its benefits with others. Somewhat astonishingly, Michael claims to come down heavily on vanity. He tells how he caught Prince combing his hair in a mirror and saying 'I look good.' Michael corrected him by saying: 'You look OK.'

Prince and Paris are also taught to be diplomatic, but not to lie. Even white lies are wrong according to their father. He prefers to teach children to 'see things from a different dimension'.

Prince, for instance, is afraid of turbulence on aeroplanes. If you tell him he's not on a plane but a rollercoaster, Michael explains, he will know it's a lie. But if you say we're on a plane, but think of it as a rollercoaster, it becomes a matter of perspective.

Michael is also hard on himself. One day when he was recording his last album, Prince came to the studio and spilled popcorn on the floor. Michael insisted on cleaning it up himself. 'It's my son who made the mess. I'll clean it up' he told the bemused musicians as he got down on his hands and knees.

Rabbi Shmuley Boteach, a friend of Michael, and host at our Thanksgiving dinner, believes the star has a rare, instinctive empathy with children - possibly from never having grown up himself. He tells of the time his eight year old daughter got lost at Neverland. Finding her crying, his instinct was to tell her not to be silly, but Michael intervened and said: 'I know how you feel, I remember that happening to me when I was a little boy'. I saw this empathy many times. Michael talks to all children as if they were adults. He will not tolerate them interrupting an adult conversation but is unusually attuned to hearing a child's voice asking a question when most of us choose to be slightly deaf. He is terrified of dogs but has bought his children a golden retriever, thinking it was wrong for him to pass on his irrational prejudice. He also dislikes making up answers to awkward questions the children ask. He likes to go to his vast private library to research the correct answer.

So what was Michael Jackson doing in the now infamous balcony scene? What led a man obsessed to the point of paranoia with his children's safety, to endanger his baby so needlessly? I can only guess he was carrying out, in a daft way, another of his principles - that children should be taught not to be afraid of anything. He told me at dinner that night that he is in love with danger, but didn´t understand why.

It is hard to see this explanation carrying much weight with the social workers Michael may face if anything like the Berlin incident happens again. But perhaps they could take notice of a part of the speech he made about childhood and his children last year at Oxford University:

'What if they grow older and resent me, and how my choices impacted their youth? "Why weren't we given an average childhood like all the other kids?" they might ask. And at that moment I pray that my children will give me the benefit of the doubt. That they will say to themselves, "Our daddy did the best he could, given the unique circumstances he faced."

'I hope' he concluded, 'that they will always focus on the positive things, on the sacrifices I willingly made for them, and not criticise the things they had to give up, or the errors I´ve made, and will certainly continue to make in raising them. For we all have been someone's child, and we know that despite the very best of plans and efforts, mistakes will always occur. That´s just being human.'

Michael is God-like. He is so innocent, his heart is so pure. I love him.

Jonathan Margolis: The Mail on Sunday, December 8th, 2002

Jewish Telegraph- rabbi Shmuley Boteach (TO ANYONE WHO SAYS HE TRASHES MICHAEL)

September 22, 2000 - In my second year as rabbi at Oxford, a chassidic couple came to stay with my family for the festival of Succot. Following dinner with several students, a young woman looked quizzically at the couple’s 10 children surrounding their mother. “Are all these yours?” she asked. The mother assured her yes, to which the student responded: “Don’t you think that that’s a bit much?” The mother’s eyes reddened, and she excused herself. I followed her into the kitchen and apologised for my students’ remarks. “That’s ok,” she said. “I get it all the time. But my Rebbe told me never to be embarrassed for having many children.”

I was reminded of this story last week when my family and I spent a week on Michael Jackson’s Neverland Ranch in California. I know that everyone hates a name-dropper, but bear with me just this once. For what I witnessed in those six days with Michael was an extraordinary human being, utterly misunderstood and misrepresented, with a limitless compassion for children.

The scene was simply astonishing. Neverland is Disneyland meets the San Diego Zoo, gates open wide to a steady stream of children. Some youngsters were fighting off cancer, others were bussed in from inner city schools to enjoy a day of rapture, and all were rendered speechless by the personal attention that Michael gives to each and every child.
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One 10-year-old child, ashamed to take off his hat and reveal his chemo-ravaged bald head, finally removed the covering after Michael spent a day building up his confidence.
“Compassion” is a broad term that encompasses both sympathy and empathy. Of the two, empathy requires deeper involvement, for it entails actually feeling someone else’s pain. From the moment I met Michael in New York last year, I knew he had a greater capacity for empathy than almost any other person I had encountered. We spoke of deer hunting — a common sport in the United Kingdom. Michael’s eyes teared slightly and he probed me with his questioning gaze: “I don’t understand how someone could shoot something that helpless?” Later, he spoke of the many parents in our world who miss suppertime with their children. His voice cracked with emotion as I tried desperately to hide my guilty expression. When his young son Prince came into the room. Michael spoke to him as he would a young adult, answering Prince’s questions with great patience. Clearly the little boy with the golden hair was the unequalled delight of his father’s life. A lesson from Michael: We should all grow up on the outside, but for ever retain the child at our centre. As we grow older, the pain of the world around us forces us increasingly to close off our hearts. Were not Adam and Eve, the uncorrupted progenitors of the human race, depicted as children, naked and innocent, in the Garden of Eden? It is for this reason that when I am around Michael what I most feel is freedom, liberated of pretension and rigidity. I remember first experiencing this when Michael took us as his guests to see Toy Story 2 at a local cinema. At first, I was there for my children. But Michael was behind me laughing loudly at the screen, and slowly I let go. Within a few minutes, I too was laughing and enjoying the film. It then struck me that even as an adult I did not need to see people getting shot, dismembered limbs exploding in the air, or erotically naked bodies, in order to be entertained. As a writer on relationships, I am often asked by women, “What should I most look for in a spouse?” I tell them to watch his interaction with children. A man who loves a child’s innocence, is himself innocent. A man who loves a child’s playfulness is himself playful. And a man who has patience for children, is a patient man. There is a human quality more essential than food or water that we need to give to our children — dignity. It is an invisible gift more enigmatic than sustenance or tangible care. But I believe that God has given Michael a special pair of glasses. He sees the robes of dignity, and drapes our children’s shoulders in these royal garments of admiration and respect. As he said to me, “Every child should be treated like a movie star, getting lots of attention.” My eight-year-old daughter got lost in the halls of Neverland’s video room and started to cry, Michael ran over to her and said: “Oh, I know how you feel. I remember that happening to me when I was a little boy.” I contrasted this with what my natural response would have been — to dismiss her fear and encourage her to “toughen up”. I recall an old Jewish, mystical tradition that says that not all humans were expelled from the Garden of Eden, together with Adam and Eve. There are still some individuals who frolic in Paradise and beckon us all to re-enter. Could it be that Michael moonwalked back into Eden? Perhaps. This is certain. Because of Michael I have planted a few more flowers in the garden of my own heart. Watching him with his children has made me a better father, seeing him interact at his ranch with cancer patients has made me a more compassionate human being, and witnessing his humility has made me realise that if he can be approachable, then I have no excuse for aloofness. Some will criticise me for these words, as a defender of Michael’s eccentricity (even though my Oxford years taught me that all great geniuses are eccentric). But last week we celebrated Michael’s 42nd birthday with him at the ranch, and I asked myself, what do you give a man who has everything? The only thing I could come up with was to head out into the world and correct a grave injustice. It is high time someone spoke of the extraordinary works of kindness that are so central to Michael’s life.Michael deflects praise or compliments, almost telling you that in some way he feels unworthy of the praise. Perhaps the pain of mean spirited attacks has left its scars on him. Perhaps he is confused as to why some people presumed his guilt even though the cornerstone of our justice system is that all men are innocent until proven otherwise, and Michael has never even been charged with any wrongdoing. Or perhaps, it is just his natural discomfort at becoming the centre of attention, when he would much rather that we all gave every ounce of attention we can muster to the needy children who surround us. Michael is very pure, naive and amazingly innocent.

This article was published by rabbi Shmuley Boteach in 2000.
[Edited 9/29/09 13:38pm]

A Dangerous-tour driver talks about his time with Michael


THE PLANE HOVE in to view and around me, the enormous crowd began to stir. ‘It's him!' called a voice from somewhere deep within the melee. The call was taken up by another fan. 'It's him! It's him!' The excitement was palpable, as more and more members of the crowd took up the chant, 'It's him! It's him! It's Michael! Michael! Michael!'
There were thousands of people mobbing the airport that day in Munich in 1992 as the world's greatest pop star was about to kick off only his second solo tour. And although the crowd was well behaved, there was a kind of feverish anticipation surrounding all of us, me included, as the plane carrying Michael Jackson came in to land. Michael is not only one of the greatest entertainers in the world, but also one of the most mysterious, and we were actually going to see him in person. Little did I know that I was to form a brief friendship with the man himself and get a glimpse behind the scenes of a show business legend.

Back then, though, it was June and the start of Michael's 'Dangerous' tour, a tour that was to break world records and establish him more firmly than ever before as the greatest performer of the age. It was an astonishing endeavour. The first date of the tour was in the Olympic Stadium in Munich on June 27, when Michael performed in front of a sell-out crowd of more than 72,000 people. The tour was scheduled to last a year and a half, finishing in Mexico City in November 1993 and although some of the concerts were cancelled due to Michael's illness, he performed in sixty seven concerts to approximately 3.5 million people. In the course of it he donated all profits to charity, including his ,own Heal the World charitable foundation, and his Bucharest concert was sold to HBO for $20 million. This created another world record, as did the recording: it gained the highest audience on any cable channel- 34 per cent - and won the Cable Ace Award. The staging was phenomenal; it took three days to erect and cargo planes had to fly twenty truckloads of equipment in to each country.

As for me, I was about to embark on one of the most exciting adventures of my career. I was to spend four months as one of Michael's drivers and, as his plane taxied towards the airport building, stopped and was instantly surrounded by a police escort, I could hardly contain myself. Nor could the crowd. The cries of, 'Michael! We love you!' had gathered in crescendo to a deafening roar; it felt as though the ground were shaking. That was as nothing, though, as to when the door of the plane opened and Michael stepped out dressed in his usual military garb and red mask and raised a hand to his fans; the noise the crowd made must have reverberated from every tree in the forests of Bavaria. The security just about managed to contain the ecstatic hordes, but they very nearly had mass hysteria on their hands. I have driven some of the biggest names in the business, but I've never seen anything like the public's reaction to Michael Jackson.
To begin with] didn't have anything to do with Michael personally. I was driving his security men around in the third car of the entourage, while Michael usually travelled in a customised minibus luxuriously kitted out with facilities for eating and sleeping. Right from the start, though, you could tell he was no ordinary superstar. Everywhere we went, roads and traffic were blocked off for his arrival, a police escort drove us through the cities and the crowds went
absolutely wild. We didn't have an escort for our three-strong convoy between the cities, though, which led to one potentially nasty incident.
Michael was in the van and another driver, Stan, and I were following behind in two cars. Suddenly my walkietalkie bleeped. 'Keith,' said Stan, 'what's that coming up behind us l'
I looked in my rear view mirror and at first I saw what looked like a couple of motorcycles. Then a couple of more joined them and a couple more until there were several dozen in pursuit - and it suddenly hit me with a jolt that we were being followed by a gang of forty or fifty German bikers.’I don't like this, Stan,' said in to my walkie-talkie. 'We'd better get the minibus to speed up.'
All three of us put our feet on the accelerators, but the bikers were gaining on us and it wasn't long before we were surrounded. After another minute, they'd got their bikes in between the various cars in an attempt to separate us. The situation was getting pretty frightening. Then my walkietalkie bleeped again. 'What we're going to do is this,' said Stan. 'You go as close to the curb as you can on your side and I'll do the same on the other side. Then we'll come in sharply behind Michael's bus in a V and cut him off from the bikes.' We did exactly that and it worked: the bikers were forced to slow down. They were furious, yelling curses at us, spitting and trying to get in between us all again, but tills time we didn't falter. I kept my car exactly two inches behind Michael's bus and Stan drove exactly two inches behind me until at last the bikers got tired of the chase and turned back to create havoc elsewhere. Michael was asleep at the time; he never knew what had happened.
I still hadn't properly met Michael, though, and it was only because of a near disaster, for which I thought I'd be dismissed, that we actually became friendly. Michael was staying in Rome and wanted to go to Florence to look at a picture he was considering buying. There were something like 2,000 fans in front of the hotel, however, and getting him out of the hotel and on the road would be no easy matter. So his security people formulated a plan. Various cars were stationed at various exits from the hotel, while Michael's official car and police escort was round at the front. The choice of which car to take would be made at the very last minute. Suddenly my walkie-talkie bleeped. 'Keith, it's going to be your car,' said Michael's head of security. 'Get ready. We're coming to you:
I opened the car door and quite suddenly Michael Jackson was beside me. I bundled him and a friend in to the car, while the daughter of the concert promoter got in the front beside me. It took just a couple of seconds for Michael to move between the hotel and the car but in that time he was spotted, screams went up and a moment later the car was surrounded by fans.
There were two security men in front of us: they managed to clear a path between the hysterical bystanders so we could drive off. But just as we were about to move, Michael put his hand on my shoulder. 'Stop!' he cried. 'Someone's taken my friend's hat!'
I stopped, but I wasn't happy. 'It's not safe, Michael,' I said, as the security men frantically waved us on. 'In a crowd like this anything could happen:
1 made to move again. 'Don't go!' cried Michael. 'I want that hat!'
They security men were going ballistic. 'Come on!' yelled one as the crowd roared and surged around us. 'Get going! You've got to move!'
'I'll get you another hat,' said the girl in the seat beside me.
"Please, Michael, we've got to move now.'
Michael finally agreed and so, just as people were beginning to bang on to the car, we moved off. The plan had been to execute a series of right turns to bring us back to the front of the hotel, where we could link up with security, but the traffic was so solid we were forced to turn left in to a one-way street - and we were going the wrong way.
There was no way I could turn round, though, and so, horn blaring and lights flashing, I edged up past the traffic. I then made a few more left turns - and suddenly realized. I was totally lost, to say nothing of the fact that I had Michael Jackson in the back of the car and no security men to protect him. For a while] drove around, but it was no good. There was nothing for it: I was going to have to admit what was wrong. 'I'm lost: I said.
'That's okay,' said Michael in his soft voice. 'What shall we do?'
The girl sitting beside me was not taking things so calmly. 'Get back to the hotel!' she cried. 'You can't drive around Rome with Michael and no security. What if someone recognises him? It could be a calamity!'
She had a point. Michael Jackson is one of the most recognisable people on the planet and the hysteria that surrounds him is such that, even if his fans don't mean to do him any harm, there is a real danger that violence could erupt. Besides, ever since the terrible assassination, of John Lennon in New York in 1980, every star has had to be more cautious. The Beatles might have thought they were bigger than Jesus but Michael was arguably bigger than The Beatles at that point in his career. A swift decision was needed.
'Michael,' I said, 'what do you want me to do? I could head for Florence and we could look for the other cars there?'
Michael hesitated. 'I think we'd better go back to the hotel,' he said eventually and so I turned the car around and we made our way back. Michael was very calm about it, but I thought I could sense that he was getting a little tense. Eventually] found my way back, but now we had a further problem. Michael was lying on the floor of the car when we drove up to the hotel so the fans couldn't see him and mob him, but we were a good 30 feet from the hotel entrance, a path that was blocked by six rows of parked cars, and no security men in sight. 'There's nothing for it, Michael: I said. 'We're going to have to run for it. Get ready.'
The girl beside me went ahead to alert the hotel. ] went round to Michael's door and opened it. Michael leapt out. ] threw one arm around him and used the other to ward off the crowd, who nearly had an attack of hysteria when they realised he was in the car after all. We charged through them at speed, got back through the revolving doors in to the hotel, at which point a guard locked the door - and realised that Michael's friend was trapped outside. 'Let him in!' I screamed and the friend got through just before the crowds closed on the hotel.
I went straight upstairs to my hotel room to pack my bags, because I was sure I’d be sent home after that cockup. A moment later my boss came in. 'What are you doing?' he asked.
'Packing. I'm off home, aren't I!?'

'Are you joking?' asked my boss. 'You got him back in to the hotel safely all on your own; it usually takes up to nine security men. Michael is very relieved to be back and he's talking in a very complimentary way about you.'
And so it was that I began a brief friendship with one of the nicest men I have ever known.
The more I got to know him, the more I realised that although Michael Jackson is a brilliant performer, artist and businessman, it's completely true what people say about him: he lost his childhood and he's never been able to make up for that. Despite his business acumen, there's a strange sort of vulnerability about him, which almost makes you want to hug him and tell him to look after himself - and I say that not as a sentimental man. Michael loves toys and toy shops - wherever we went, allover Europe, if we saw a Toys R Us in any given city, we knew that's where we'd end up later.
While we were m London, Michael paid a Visit to Hamley’s, the famous toy shop on Regent Street, as well as to the Disney shop on the same street. Each shop blacked out its windows so that Michael could look around in private. He spent thousands of pounds on toys; he particularly loves magic sets and he also bought some remote-controlled cars, which he drove up and down the halls in The Dorchester. When we left the shops the whole of the trunk and the back of the car were filled with toys - and apart from a few special ones that he took on with him, they all ended up at children's hospitals, as they did in every city we visited.
Wherever Michael stayed, pinball machines and computer games would be installed in his suite before his arrival. On one occasion he saw a merry-go-round that he liked in a city in Germany, bought it and had it shipped back to his Neverland estate in California. He also had a friend with him on the tour, and having seen the friendship at close hand, I can vouch for the fact that never at any moment was there one tiny signal of impropriety about it.
Everyone knew Michael's friend was with him and everyone accepted it unquestioningly. Our only reservation was that Michael was leaving himself open to innuendo and indeed, that is exactly what happened the following year when it was alleged that he had had improper relationships with young teenagers. It is often forgotten that not one shred of evidence has ever been produced to substantiate those claims.
Having known the man, I didn't believe the allegations then and I don't believe them now. For a start, Michael is such a genuinely nice man that I simply do not believe him capable of the actions of which he's been accused. Secondly, when I was working for him during the 'Dangerous' tour, his attitude towards his friend struck me as simply that of a big brother. He may be a musical genius, but Michael Jackson sometimes has the mentality of a child himself and that is why he loves to play with children. The fact that now that he's got two children of his own - Prince Michael Jackson Jnr and Paris Michael Katherine Jackson - must be the greatest thing in the world for him, because now he can indulge in his love of children's games with his very own offspring.
But despite his enormously likeable and gentle personality, everyone around Michael is frightened of him because of who he is. Michael is aware of this, but doesn't quite know what to do about it. Problems would be reported back to him via Bill Bray his head of security, who has been with him for thirty years, because people just do not dare tell Michael when something has not gone according to plan. It would seem the more famous you are, the more people are scared of you. I can see why they say it's lonely at the top. Bill is one of the few people who isn't scared of Michael and whenever he told him of another case of someone hiding something from him. Michael would say in bewilderment, 'But why doesn't he come and see me himself?' For some reason, though, despite the fact that I was so excited to meet him, I wasn't frightened of him. I treated him normally, which is perhaps why we got on so well.
For a start, he was fascinated by my cockney accent and started trying to mimic it. 'Hello mate, how are you?' he'd say when he got in to the car. 'Hello Michael, how are you?' I'd reply in an attempt at mimicking his own voice -low and very soft - which he would think was great fun.
'Oi, mate!' he'd say. 'Yes Michael?'
'Tell me about cockney rhyming slang.'
So I did. Michael became terribly interested in it for some reason, and got me to start teaching it to him. 'What's the cockney rhyming slang for stairs?' he'd ask.
'Apples and pairs.'
'What's the cockney rhyming slang for suit?' 'Whistle and flute.'
'What's the cockney rhyming slang for cash?' 'Bangers and mash.'
'Oi, mate! That's wild!'
And so it would go on, for hours. Eventually I bought Michael a book about the subject, which he absolutely loved. , 'That's great Keith, thank you so much,' he said when I handed it over. He'd sit in the car going through it for hours, giggling when he came across something he particularly liked. One day, he turned to me and announced: 'I'm sitting in a La-Di-Dah!'
'Come again, Michael?'
'La-Di-Dah,' he pronounced triumphantly, before revealing: 'It's a car!

MICHAEL WAS VERY interested in the cities we visited. When we were actually in situ he tended to stay in his room because he couldn't go anywhere without being mobbed, but when we entered a place for the first time or drove around it on the way to a show, he'd be very intrigued by these countries, which were so different from his own. For some reason, he was particularly taken with Copenhagen. 'Would you like to live here, Keith?' he asked.
'I don't know Michael, I've hardly seen it.'

He mused for a while. Then he announced: 'I want to go to Tivoli Park.'
And so, after he'd done his concerts, we arranged for him to visit Tivoli Park, Copenhagen's foremost amusement park, on the last day of his stay. The visit was to be on a Sunday and the arrangements were very hush-hush because we didn't want to attract the usual hordes that surround Michael wherever he goes. We planned to smuggle him in at a side entrance and spend an afternoon there. Michael was extremely excited by the whole thing.

His excitement turned to shock and then disappointment when we got there, though, because the side gate through which he was to slip in opened to reveal banks of photographers, cheerleaders and a band. His first inclination was to turn back and it took us a good fifteen minutes to persuade him to go in after all, but once there he began to enjoy himself. 1 drove him from one ride to the next - he couldn't walk between them because he'd be mobbed - and his reactions were like those of an excited child. 'Wow, that was fantastic!' he'd say on re-entering the car. '1 loved that!' He enjoyed the ride on which you were whirled round in buckets so much that he insisted on going on it twice and asked me to come on it with him, too.

'I can't Michael, I've got to watch the car,' I'd tell him. "Aw, Keith, you're no fun!'
As ever, though, it took no time at all for word to get around that Michael Jackson was in the park and crowds soon began to gather. Michael reluctantly decided after an hour that he'd have to leave rather than spending the whole afternoon there as planned, so instead we got a local driver to take us to the city's military and souvenir shops. Michael loved those. He spent about two hours in one of them, buying up more of the bright uniforms he so loves to wear.
It was Michael's birthday during the tour and we held a birthday party for him in the grounds of his hotel in Frankfurt. We had a barbecue and people relaxed on the sunny lawn as we serenaded him with 'Happy Birthday'. Michael didn't come to the barbecue himself, because every time he was in public, he'd be besieged by fans, but someone took a birthday cake up to his room instead. 'That's really nice,' said Michael, and he came out on to his balcony and shared the cake with members of the adoring public.

By the time we went back to Germany - to Hamburg Michael and I were getting on better than ever. By this time I, like the rest of the crew, had acquired my own mini fan club - three girls: an Italian, a German and a Spaniard. The Italian was called Claudia, the German was Greta and the Spaniard was Anna. In Hamburg, we'd sometimes take a boat out together for an hour, when I wasn't ensconced in 'the hotel.

Back at the hotel, I was still taking liberties that other people just wouldn't dare risk. One day I went for a swim but found two of Michael's security men guarding the door to the pool. I realised Michael was in there and turned to go, but the men waved me in.
I went in. Michael's friend and his family were swimming in the pool, while Michael walked round the edge, wearing a pair of earphones. He lifted a hand in acknowledgement of my presence, after which, on his next, circuit of the pool, I pretended I was going to push him in. At first Michael looked a little shocked, but after a moment he found it absolutely hilarious. He was in stitches. He continued his walk, but kept looking at me and making pushing movements. I should think that I was the first person to behave like that with Michael Jackson for very many years.

I must admit, I also played a few jokes. Michael had four adjoining rooms on the first floor of the hotel and I had the fifth (not adjoining.) The fans always discovered which suite Michael was staying in and would wait outside, hoping for a glimpse of him. Occasionally Michael would pull the curtains back and look out, which would prompt a roar of acknowledgement from the crowd. So I bought a pair of white gloves, one of Michael's trademark items of clothing at the time, and I would occasionally twitch my own curtain back, standing well away from the window so that only my hands could be seen. The fans didn't know that the last room wasn't Michael's, and so I too got my own roar of acknowledgement - even if it was actually meant for someone else.

The 'Dangerous' tour occasionally lived up to its name, particularly in Romania. Michael flew in to Bucharest, but three of us were required to drive the three main cars across country to meet him there. We were told to make sure the cars were full of bags of crisps, bottles of water, Coke and so on, because whenever a car stopped, it would be immediately surrounded by the locals. This turned out to be absolutely true. At one point I stopped at a garage (which turned out to have no petrol) and people appeared literally out of nowhere. They were swarming round the car and only went away after I'd thrown packets of peanuts out of the window. The same thing happened when I stopped at a railway junction - 1'd had to stop as there were no gates, no lights and no indication as to whether a train was coming or not.

The next problem was petrol: there wasn't any. The other two drivers and I found every garage we stopped at was empty and the three of us somehow coasted in to Bucharest running on empty. There we found that petrol stations attracted the most enormous queues in which you had to wait, literally, for hours. It is common practice in Bucharest to hire someone for the day to queue for you, which means that you could go off and do a full day's work and come back to find that your car, hopefully, is ready.

Because we were with Michael, the police escorted us to the front of the queue, which didn't go down too well with the locals, and a little girl came to fill my car up. She looked so sweet that I handed her a signed picture of Michael. Her little face completely lit up as she looked at the picture: it was as if 1'd given her a bag full of gold. After a moment, she handed it back. 'No, no,' I said, 'it's for you.' She looked at me quite wonderingly and carefully stashed the picture away.
Michael was staying at Snagov Lake Palace, the summer residence of President Nicolae Ceausescu before he was killed in 1989. Ceausescu might have fallen but a state of lawlessness remained: there were two buildings in the palace compound and we were told to drive between them rather than walk between them. We were also told not to go in to the grounds after dark. The place was overrun with armed guards - actually teenage boys waving machine guns - and there was a real fear that one might suddenly get trigger happy.
It was a strange set-up. The next day I asked the head of security where I could wash my car: 'Come with me,' he answered. He took me to a compound filled with scruffy young men who, I realised after a moment, were army convicts. They cleaned the car for me, but in the course of doing so, I had to open the boot for them. It was filled with water, Pepsi, crisps, peanuts ... The look on their faces was one of absolute amazement to see such abundance inside the car and I felt so sorry for them that I didn't try to stop them when a few cans and packets rapidly vanished.

Michael's enormous humanity was most obviously on display when he made a $1 million donation to a Romanian orphanage called Orphanage Number One. The plight of Romanian orphans, many of whom had either been abandoned or were HIV positive, had been in the news a great deal recently. Michael had been extremely distressed when he had seen pictures of the suffering, and so he decided to make a donation as a way to help.

The day before his visit, I went to see the orphanage and was met on the steps by Richard Young, a well-known paparazzo. A six-year-old boy had latched on to him and was carrying his bags around, while around us, workmen were whitewashing the walls in readiness for Michael's visit. 'Come on, I'll show you around,' Richard said to me.
'I'm not too sure I can take it,' I told him.
'We won't go to the bad bits,' Richard assured me and so we went in. It was very distressing. In a room with thirty or forty cots, the first thing you noticed was the absolute silence. Even when you spoke directly to the babies and tried to amuse them, they would merely stare at you with blank eyes. I couldn't take it after a short time and was forced to leave.

The next day it was time for Michael's visit. The palace was about a thirty-minute journey outside Bucharest, but we had no trouble to begin with: we' bad twenty or thirty police motorbikes escorting us and at least ten cars. All the junctions had been blocked off in readiness. We roared in to the city to cheering crowds with a highly excited Michael in the back, but as we got close to the orphanage the crowds were so great that the car was forced to slow down to a snail's pace. A couple of the policemen were then knocked off their bikes; they promptly whirled round and started beating the crowd with truncheons.
'Why ate they doing that?' asked Michael, unable to believe his eyes.
They need to clear the road,' I replied.
'But there's no need to do that,' he insisted. He was by now angry and upset and if there had been any way of him getting out of the car and putting a stop to the violence, I am absolutely sure he would have done. We later learned that the crowd was about 40,000 strong.

Once inside the orphanage Michael spent a couple of hours looking around and although very moved by the suffering he saw there, he was very pleased that he was able to make the donation. He later told me that he hadn't realised what an enormous gesture this would seem to the Romanian people, who; I believe, talk about it to this day.
And then, of course, there were the concerts. Capacity was supposed to be 60,000 but there must have been twice as many people as that present. Michael put on his usual brilliant show, but what stood out for me was the backstage catering arrangements. All the food was kept in cages - and standing over it was an armed guard.

On our final day, something very special happened.
Michael's people arranged for several hundred soldiers and policemen to gather in a park inside the town. Then Michael arrived. The troops, some on horseback, started marching with Michael at their head: after a minute Michael broke in to a run as the troops marched on, completely straight faced. And so for the next couple of hours Michael walked, talked, ran and danced around the marching troops in one of the most enjoyable sessions I have ever seen on a tour. The day was made for me when he danced past where I was standing and gave me a little wave.

Michael was extremely generous to everyone on the tour, and there were over one hundred of us. In Munich there's a large theme park called Europa Park and Michael booked it one evening for the whole party. He and his friend came along too; the theme was Western style, with a saloon bar and ranches, and they went on all the rides along with the rest of us. Characters from Disneyland wandered amongst us, talking to us and making a fuss of Michael.
Michael always made sure everyone was very well looked after. Although he didn't eat when he was there, dinner was laid out for all of the rest of us. He would sometimes mingle with us in other places, as well, as long as he was sure he wouldn't be mobbed. In Germany we once stayed in a large house rather than a hotel, which was memorable because it "featured a miniature bowling alley. Because we were the only people staying there, Michael felt able to come down to the bar and say hello to everyone, although unlike the rest of us, he didn't partake of the famous and delicious German beer.

Michael was far more tolerant of our normal human frailties than most people would have been. In Scotland, he stayed in a house, while we stayed in a hotel about a mile, away - a hotel that proved to be totally inadequate. We asked if we could move to another hotel and Michael agreed. While the move was taking place, we were asked to the house in which Michael was staying, where food and drink were laid out for us, along with playing cards and other entertainments. The drink flowed rapidly, with the result that when a call came from Michael's room at about 10 p.m. saying that he wanted one of us to go out and collect some Kentucky Fried Chicken, not one of us was in a fit state to do so. 'Look at you lot: said an aide. 'You're his drivers and none of you are capable of driving.' Michael took the whole episode in very good heart, though, and sanctioned a mini cab to go out for his late-night snack.

Before the start of every concert, Michael would have an audience with the local children. He was very friendly to them: he'd answer questions, sign autographs and pose for photographs with his young fans. The children absolutely loved it - they were as excited as anyone else about meeting Michael Jackson. When we returned to London, my children - Michael, five, and four-year-old Sheryl - were invited to the meeting and were wildly excited at the prospect.

In the event, the concert was cancelled because Michael had a sore throat, with the result that his audience with the children was cancelled, too. My children were bitterly disappointed but understood that these things do happen. Another member of the crew, however, found out that my kids had been desperate to meet him and were dreadfully upset to have missed out. I didn't know that Michael knew anything about it until he came up to me one day with two signed pictures of himself. 'I know this doesn't compensate for the meeting being cancelled, but at least it's something,' he said, as he handed them over. I looked at the photographs and on them he'd written 'To Michael, love Michael Jackson; and 'To Sheryl, love Michael Jackson.' I was particularly touched by this, as Michael usually just puts 'Michael Jackson' on his photographs - and only very rarely a personal message.

When he was travelling longer distances, Michael would usually go by plane or on the Orient Express, depending which one he felt like taking, while the rest of us would drive our cars to each new destination. This happened towards the end of my leg of the tour when Michael was performing in Istanbul when sadly I was never able to say goodbye.

Michael was going to be flying in to the city, while I drove a Mercedes behind his customised minibus through Turkey, and it was while I was on my way to the country's capital that I had the first indication that Turkey wasn't going to be like the other countries we'd driven through. A car came up behind me and carved up both me and the minibus, so I chased him down the road to show he couldn't get away with that kind of behaviour. Suddenly the car stopped and a man jumped out: I did likewise to have a word with him. Just as suddenly, the man pulled a gun on me. I got back in to the van and it was the last time I gave chase to any car in Turkey.

Once we got to Istanbul we all met up with Michael and settled down in to the hotel, where we lived in our usual luxury: food set out for -us at all times, beautiful rooms and so on. However, Michael wasn't at all well and after much deliberation, it was decided he shouldn't do the show, but return to London to recuperate instead. I drove him to the airport and had some trouble with the police en route: one car tried to force me off the road, assuming, no doubt, that it would be a great coup to cause trouble for Michael Jackson, while others were cutting me up. It was a nasty experience: my windscreen was smashed and it was with some relief that I got Michael to the plane. Michael never says very much on these occasions, but he was plainly relieved to be leaving ..

Initially the concerts were merely postponed until Michael felt better and it wasn't common knowledge that he'd actually left the country. After a couple of days, though, it became apparent that Michael still wasn't better and the concerts were to be cancelled all together. This presented us with a problem. Turkey is a beautiful country but, as I had already discovered, life is rougher there than it is in Western Europe. I wasn't the only one to make this discovery and so there was concern about how the promoters would react when they discovered that Michael had gone and wasn't coming back.

Ultimately and, I believe, wisely, we decided that discretion was the better part of valour and that it would be best for us all to leave before the official announcement was made. Michael's party started trickling out of the hotel in dribs and drabs and we ferried people in relays to the airport. After that was done, we had to get ourselves and the cars out of the country and so we ended up racing through Turkey in three blacked-out Mercedes. It was lucky they were good cars, because the police tried to stop us on a number of occasions, and in each case we got away simply by outspeeding them.

We were still nervous even after crossing the border in to Greece but by the time we made it back to Western Europe our nerves were gone and life returned to normal. Shortly after that I was reunited with my family and the four and a half months I spent on the road with Michael seemed like just a dream.
In the course of those months, Michael did forty-one concerts and I saw every single one of them. The openings were the most amazing stagecraft I have ever seen - and I've seen just about everyone. There would be a dramatic burst of music, which would build up in intensity along with flashbacks of Michael throughout the years. Then the lights would go down, the music would become increasingly frenzied and the stage would suddenly explode in fireworks as Michael himself exploded out of the floor from a 'toaster', something that made headlines all over the world. The crowd would go absolutely wild. Michael would stand absolutely still for as much as a minute - and it takes an inordinate amount of charisma to be able to stand on stage alone holding a crowd of thousands - then he would suddenly turn and hold his pose for another minute as the crowds erupted again. At the end of the concerts, he would leave wearing a jet pack - another world first.

And so that was my time with Michael Jackson: a musical genius, a truly kind and nice man and, for a very short time, a friend. I'm so glad for him that he has children of his own now and I wish him nothing but happiness in the future. And as for his music and his performances, I can only quote what someone else said in a very different context - baby, you're the best.

I met a couple of other members of the family over the years and to be honest, they aren't a patch on Michael. The first was Latoya, his younger sister, whom I met off Concorde with her then husband and manager, Jack Gordon. Of course, I recognised Latoya immediately and even if I hadn't, it would have been obvious she was a star. Latoya absolutely loves the attention she gets and was playing the crowds for all she was worth: fluttering her eyelashes, wiggling around, putting on and taking off sunglasses and generally acting the star. Jack was struggling behind her with the suitcases so I went over to him: 'Mr Gordon,' I said, 'let me help.'
It immediately turned out that I had made a mistake in Jack Gordon's book in talking to him without holding up a name board, as is the usual practice. He looked at me in a wary manner. 'Have we met before?' he said in a tone that could easily have served as an ice pick.
'No sir, we haven't. But since you're standing right behind a member of the Jackson family, whom I recognised as I have seen approximately 18,243 pictures of her in the newspapers and I knew she was married to her manager and that that manager was called Jack Gordon, it's a fairly obvious assumption that you would be he. And I was correct, was I not? You are that Jack Gordon? And you are accompanying Latoya Jackson, who has an even more famous brother called Michael with whom I recently spent a few months and who has more courtesy in his little fingernail than you have just shown? Now I will drive you in to London, as I am being paid to do. And might I add that your wife is wearing far too much make-up.'
Actually, I said nothing of the sort. I just picked up their bags and got on with it. But I certainly thought it.

I also met Germaine (LOL) Jackson - extremely briefly - when I was called to meet him and his family at the Conrad Hotel in Chelsea. Germaine came across as a decent man, and polite with it. He and his family had just been eating and offered me a sandwich, which I gratefully accepted as you can go for hours and sometimes even days without eating in this job.

The family then went to their rooms to change, while I want to wait outside. And so I waited. And waited. And waited ... Finally, over two hours later, a minion appeared. 'Sorry about this,' he said, 'but they've decided not to go out after all.'
'Couldn't someone have told me?’
'They, er, forgot you were here,' said the minion and went back inside. Oh well, I thought, thanks for the sandwich ...

new pictures from nancy malniks myspace page




is that grace with blanket? i can't tell






awwww look at chris tucker in the corner

mynameisnotsusan said:

awwwww, !!!!!

mynameisnotsusan said:

not trying to be mean but marlon had a HUGE head its bigger than ali's

BoOTyLiCioUs said:

people don't realize michael always had thinner lips than the average black person. it's the stereotype, they think since he is black he automatically has big lips. sure his lips are bigger than most white people's but they still weren't as big as most black people. they were in the middle. he had full lips not big lips.

ViintageJunkiie said:

what do you mean case closed. just cause it can be done doesnt mean it was. if anything michael probably had his lips made bigger, not thinner. if you look his lips were actually bigger after the surgeries than before.

Copycat said:

That's the Michael I choose to remember, the handsome, talented brotha before he freaked out.

In 2008, Raymone Bay said that Michael always talked about African american culture with his kids. He was proud of being black. He gave lessons to his kids on african american culture.

I don't think he didn't want to be black as some are saying. He mentioned in one interview, back in the early 80's, that black women were his favourites. Besides, he was the blackest man on Earth; his people would tell him to stop saying that he slept with children, but he insisted in saying he slept with children and was proud of it. Brotha was black.
[Edited 9/29/09 14:50pm]
[Edited 9/29/09 14:51pm]

DesireeNevermind said:

I read some details of Joe's physical abuse and the only thing I can say is that Joe is A MONSTER. HE TORTURED HIS CHILDREN. He did thing to his children that Hitler himself wouldn't do. I read some things I wish I had never read: the things the monster did to his children were pure torture.
And that's not to mention the emotional TORTURE. THAT MAN IS THE DEVIL.

MOL said:

Then why hire white folks to have your kids?

uPtoWnNY said:

I think Michael wanted children sooo badly and was soo desperate that he didn't care about their colour. Dr. Klein, who implied that he was the father of the kids, helped MJ. Mj trusted the first person to make an offer without caring about the skin colour. We all know, MJ was very displicent, he could never care less about things that were going on in his life and he was so soo obsessed with having children that he didn't turn any offer down. Debbie Rowe, who offered to have his babies, has an lasting and strong friendship with Arnold Klein. Therefore, she probably told MJ that she already had "a plan" to have kids. Rowe, who had a crush on Michael, wanted to marry him but had to "make a deal" first (in order to persuade him to marry her fat ass). Having kids without bugging Michael was the deal, obviously.

Blanket's mother is black or mullata.
[Edited 9/29/09 15:06pm]
[Edited 9/29/09 15:07pm]

cdcgold said:

No shade, but im over it. People are gonna believe what they want, just like they believe Michael when he said he only had 2 surgeries on his nose when we all know it was more than that. I'm not here to bash Michael. He was and is the King Of Pop and quite possibly the greatest entertainer of all time and also my biggest inspiration. Professional doctors studied Michaels face and even said that he's has more than 2 nose jobs and a cleft added in his chin.

My intentions are never to try and belittle Michael as a person, I just point out the things that we all know, but just afraid to admit. We all know Michael had issues with his face, but just because I mention a facial surgery doesnt make me any less of a fan.

Debbie Rowe probably said: "I can have your children."
Michael: How? (sex was not on MJ's dictionary with LMP being the exception)
Debbie: I have everything planned already. A friend of mine donates sperm...
Michael: Who? We have to trust this person.
Debbie: Arnold Klein. He is rich already so he won't sell stories to tabloids talking about the kids.
Michael: Make sure you take care of that matter as quickly as possible.

That's a conversation that probably took place and that ilustrates the fact that Michael was obsessed with having kids and, therefore, not caring about anything else. He just wanted kids, no matter what and he accepted the first offer without thinking twice due to being blind with obsession. Another thing is: Michael is the "I don't give a damn" type of person. He was probably too naive or too out of reality to even wonder about the fact that his kid's skin colour would affect his image. He just wanted kids, he loved kids. He didn't think having a white, blue, red or black kid woiuld make a difference. He just wanted a kid to give him love.

I remeber reading that Michael thought that, if it wasn't for his kids, he would "die alone and abandoned".
[Edited 9/29/09 15:18pm]

MOL said:

Ditto!

Vintage Junkie: I agree with you. Michael was severily teased by his brothers and dad. According to what I've read, and to the thing MJ said himself, they would insult Michael's looks. They would insult his face with the most mean-spirited adjectives you can think of. That traumatized him. He also had a really low self-esteem and thought he was ugly. Oprah said that Michael didn't want her to see photos of him when he was a kid, because he, according to what MJ told her, was "too ugly". He couldn't even look at himslef in the mirror. Michael lived his life thinking he was the ugliest person in the world, due to papa Joe and Bros. THat's the reason behind the surgeries. If he only knew how beautiful he used to be. In my point of view, he waas really hot until '96. Then...humm...he started...
[Edited 9/29/09 15:26pm]

I remember reading, on Jackson Fam values, that Joe used to tell Michael that he wasn't his son because he was too ugly.

BoOTyLiCioUs said:

Study the culture of black Americans and you'll get your answer.

I'm so over the "let's blame Joe for Michael's shattered self-image and everything else we can think of " game.
[Edited 9/29/09 15:45pm]