Michael Jackson_ The Magic, the Madness, the Whole Story, 1958-2009 Part 42

Michael Jackson_ The Magic, the Madness, the Whole Story, 1958-2009 Part 42

To Michael, a deal was a deal, no matter what and as far as he was concerned Debbie had signed away her parental rights in 2001 and had also received a sizable payment from him: millions, in fact. He definitely had a stubborn way about him, which I always presumed he got from his father, Joseph. A person can never reason with Joseph Jackson when he has his mind made up about something, and Michael was exactly the same way. Also, once someone had been cut out of Michael's life, that person was except for a few occasions never thought of again by Michael. So Debbie was out of the picture, we all knew it and now she was being called by the prosecution. Everyone suspected her testimony was going to be very damaging. Certainly the prosecution thought as much, based on their pre-interviews with her, or they wouldn't have called her.

When Debbie was sworn in, Michael stared at her with an icy expression. Then it was just one bombsh.e.l.l after another with Debbie, as always seemed to be the case.

First of all, she admitted that she and Jackson never shared a home together that she never moved into Neverland. It looked as if she was going to testify that her marriage and relationship to Jackson was just a sham. But then, as often happened at that trial, things turned on a dime. Suddenly and much to everyone's surprise, especially the prosecutors' Debbie began to veer from the story she was expected to tell. First of all, the DA promised the jury Debbie would testify that all of the compliments she made about Michael in the 'reb.u.t.tal video' had been scripted. She said just the opposite: 'Mr. Jackson knows no one could tell me what to say.' However, she did admit that the reason she took part in the video was that she thought she would be 'reintroduced to them [her children] and to be reacquainted with their dad.' When asked why, she got choked up, looked at Michael and said, 'Because he's my friend.' Then, when asked if she was able to see her children after making the video, she quietly answered that she had tried to do so for nine months until finally giving up.

Debbie also began to insist that Michael was a great father, that he would never harm a child and that she believed with all her heart that he was innocent of everything he was being accused of during these proceedings. Of course, she had to admit, she hadn't actually seen him or talked to him for, well, she couldn't even remember how long, it had been that many years. Still, she said she thought of him as a friend, 'if he'd just talk to me.' It was sad. She was incredibly likeable, full of spit-and-vinegar (at one point she claimed one of Jackson's advisers was 'full of s.h.i.t' and then turned to the judge and apologized). When she learned while on the witness stand that the DA had taped conversations with her without her knowledge, she looked aghast and said, 'You did? You did? You did? d.a.m.n you guys!' d.a.m.n you guys!'

If anything, Debbie Rowe did Michael Jackson quite a big service that day. If she had testified against him, as his ex-wife and mother of his two children, there seemed no way he would ever be found not guilty. After the trial, I interviewed prosecutor Ron Zonen for Court TV and he told me that, indeed, Debbie 'was probably the biggest surprise of the entire trial. We didn't see that one coming, did we?'




After Debbie Rowe's testimony, we all thought, Well, she's sure going to get to see her kids, now. Unfortunately, even though she probably helped keep Michael out of jail, according to most accounts she would see her children only one time after that trial.

When Michael was in self-imposed exile in Bahrain after the trial, he sent Prince Michael and Paris back to the States for a supervised visit with their mother at a Beverly Hills hotel. It was the first time Debbie had seen them in three years. The tots were told that Debbie was a family friend, not their mother. Certainly that had to have been very painful for her. But that was it. If she ever saw the children again, no one seems to know about it.

Following Debbie's initial 2003 application for custody, and Michael's acquittal in 2005, the two of them reportedly came to an agreement for her to give up all parental rights in exchange for about $6 million, staggered in a ten-year deal. She received a lump sum of about $900,000 late in 2006 and then her first installment of about $600,000 on 1 September 2007. The question is: Did she receive the other payments? It's likely that she didn't, since Michael wasn't exactly paying his bills in the last few years of his life. If not, that could influence Debbie's decision as to whether or not she wants to now claim the children as her own after the death of their father.

As is now well known, Debbie would be notably left out of Michael's will. Keep in mind, though, that it was drawn up in 2003, a couple of years before the trial. Apparently, though, he didn't update it after the trial was over.

An Odd Defence.

The prosecution rested on 4 May 2005 after forty-five days. The defence began presenting its case the next day.

Ironically, some of us felt that the defence's witnesses were even more damaging than the prosecution's! For instance, the first witnesses were Wade Robson and Brett Barnes, two young men called by Michael's attorney, Tom Mesereau, to testify that as youngsters they had both slept in the same bed as Michael. My stomach twisted into knots as they told their stories. The point was that in Michael Jackson's world, it was okay to sleep with little kids it didn't mean you were having s.e.x with them, it just meant you were having fun, sleep-overs. Never mind the inappropriate nature of the whole thing or the fact that most reasonable people would find it appalling and, at the very least, suspicious.

On the second day of testimony, Joy Robson, Wade's mother, testified about walking her ten-year-old son across the street from the hotel in which they were staying to a condo in which Michael was staying and dropping him off there to spend the night with Jackson. And, as far as she was concerned, it was all innocent. Why? Because she knew Michael loved children. 'Michael Jackson is a very special person,' she said. 'Unless you know him, it's hard to understand him. He's not the boy next door.' I was more than a little perplexed. I couldn't imagine that the jury would think this kind of thing made sense. But still, Joy seemed like a reasonable person, so maybe it did. In Michael's world, what made sense and what seemed like lunacy often converged into a reality that was not easy to describe.

At one point, Joy Robson recalled tension and jealousy among the boys who were sleeping with Jackson, including actor Macaulay Culkin and his brother Kieran. There was also jealousy among the families: Robson said she told June Chandler that 'there was tremendous emotional impact on the children when Michael moved on to another boy'. Moreover, she said she thought that June was 'a gold digger' who wanted to be 'mistress of Neverland'.

Marie Lisbeth Barnes testified that her son, Brett, spent dozens of nights in bed with Michael, even accompanying the pop star on concert tours to South America and Europe. During the tours, Brett Barnes and Michael would share one hotel room, while the rest of the Barnes family stayed in another, the mother said. 'You just feel when you can trust someone and not trust someone, and I have complete trust in him,' Barnes explained. Was I the only one who thought this did not speak well of Jackson? I didn't think so. Looking around the room, I saw a lot of confused faces. Then, when Brett's sister Karlee said that Michael slept with her brother for a total of '365 days' over a two-year period when Brett was ten or eleven years old, I threw my hands in the air and decided that this defence made no sense to me at all.

In fact, throughout the defence's case, there were stories of Michael sleeping with boys in what was maintained to be innocent behaviour. Even Macaulay Culkin was called to the witness stand on the fiftieth day to pretty much testify to the same effect. But in my opinion, the defence was at its best when pointing out inconsistencies in the Arvizos' stories and in those of the other witnesses against Michael. It was at its worst when trying to make Michael's inappropriate behaviour sound reasonable and understandable.

It wasn't all high-stakes melodrama, though. Some memories of Santa Maria actually make me laugh. For instance, I remember the day we were all in court ready for the proceedings to begin when there was a ruckus in the back of the room. It was 3 June 2005, and Tom Mesereau was on the second day of his closing arguments. All heads turned to see three attractive black women trying to make their way to the front of the courtroom all three were teased, weaved and adorned with clanging jewelry. It was orchestrated chaos; think The Supremes trying to get to the floor-show stage from the back of a crowded nightclub and you'll get the picture. It was Janet, LaToya and Rebbie making, doubtless, the best entrance of the trial dressed in matching black-and-white outfits. The three Jackson sisters marched up the center aisle in perfect unison, led by Janet as if she'd just said, 'Okay, girls... let's. .h.i.t it. One. Two. Three. Go.' They sat in the front row as Thomas Mesereau finished his closing argument. 'It only takes one lie under oath to throw this case out of court by you,' Mesereau told jurors. 'And you can't count the lies here.' When he was finished, the judge announced that Ron Zonen was about to begin the prosecution's brief reb.u.t.tal. Just then, on cue, all three Jackson sisters stood up, turned around and promptly marched right out of the courtroom.

The Verdict.

'You have the best seat in the house,' one of the Santa Barbara sheriffs told me the night before he thought the verdict was to come down, on 13 June 2005. It had taken sixty-six days to get the case to the jury -forty-five days for the prosecution and fifteen for the defence. The jury got the case on 3 June and deliberated for ten days. 'Because when Jackson is found guilty and he will will be found guilty, I a.s.sure you,' the sheriff continued, 'we're going to grab him and take him out of there so fast, your head will spin.' I wondered why. 'Because we're afraid there'll be such an uproar, his brothers will jump the bar [which separates the spectators from the judge, defendant and lawyer] and cause a riot.' I was taken aback by the imagery. I had a.s.sumed Michael would be found not guilty. The prosecution's case was weak, at least in my view. The kid Gavin Arvizo was not believable, and his mother seemed emotionally unbalanced to me as did many of the other witnesses. It's funny how the worst moments stand out in a person's mind in a trial like this one, and come back to you when you try to sort it all out. For instance, Starr Arvizo testified that Michael walked into a room completely naked and aroused and that the boys were horrified. Michael, according to Starr, said it was 'perfectly natural' and they shouldn't give his erection a second thought. But Gavin testified that Jackson walked into a room naked, saw them and tore back out again suggesting that maybe he didn't know they were in there and there was no mention at all from Gavin of Michael being aroused or of him saying it was 'natural'. A minor distinction? Maybe. But still... it made me wonder if the boys just forgot to get their story straight. In fact, so many kids' names were mentioned and so many had testified, one of the questions back from the jury to the judge during deliberations was: 'Which boy are we talking about, again?' be found guilty, I a.s.sure you,' the sheriff continued, 'we're going to grab him and take him out of there so fast, your head will spin.' I wondered why. 'Because we're afraid there'll be such an uproar, his brothers will jump the bar [which separates the spectators from the judge, defendant and lawyer] and cause a riot.' I was taken aback by the imagery. I had a.s.sumed Michael would be found not guilty. The prosecution's case was weak, at least in my view. The kid Gavin Arvizo was not believable, and his mother seemed emotionally unbalanced to me as did many of the other witnesses. It's funny how the worst moments stand out in a person's mind in a trial like this one, and come back to you when you try to sort it all out. For instance, Starr Arvizo testified that Michael walked into a room completely naked and aroused and that the boys were horrified. Michael, according to Starr, said it was 'perfectly natural' and they shouldn't give his erection a second thought. But Gavin testified that Jackson walked into a room naked, saw them and tore back out again suggesting that maybe he didn't know they were in there and there was no mention at all from Gavin of Michael being aroused or of him saying it was 'natural'. A minor distinction? Maybe. But still... it made me wonder if the boys just forgot to get their story straight. In fact, so many kids' names were mentioned and so many had testified, one of the questions back from the jury to the judge during deliberations was: 'Which boy are we talking about, again?'

But what if I was wrong? What if Michael was found guilty and sent to prison? 'He'll never survive it,' his brother Jermaine told me. 'He just never will. It will be the end for him.'

I was scheduled to be in the courtroom for the verdict on that fateful 13 June 2005, and then planned to immediately race outside and report the results for the CBS News television audience. The reporters sitting next to me in court that day who also felt Jackson was not guilty wondered how they would keep their objectivity if the verdict came in otherwise. 'I have this awful feeling that I'll break down into tears,' one female news reporter, a personal friend, told me. 'And how will that that look on TV? But it's Michael Jackson,' she reasoned. 'We have loved him since he was ten.' I nodded. In this case, with this kid and his family, I was sure that Michael was not guilty. Most of the evidence or lack of it had proved as much to me. Therefore I was truly scared for him. When I watched him walk slowly and painfully into the courtroom on the day of the verdict, he already seemed like a broken man and he hadn't even gotten news of his fate yet. Watching him, it was as if he was walking to a gas chamber. He had given up. I wasn't surprised. His dignity stripped from him, his career in a shambles, the humiliation alone would have done in most people, let alone a person as fragile and complex as Michael Jackson. look on TV? But it's Michael Jackson,' she reasoned. 'We have loved him since he was ten.' I nodded. In this case, with this kid and his family, I was sure that Michael was not guilty. Most of the evidence or lack of it had proved as much to me. Therefore I was truly scared for him. When I watched him walk slowly and painfully into the courtroom on the day of the verdict, he already seemed like a broken man and he hadn't even gotten news of his fate yet. Watching him, it was as if he was walking to a gas chamber. He had given up. I wasn't surprised. His dignity stripped from him, his career in a shambles, the humiliation alone would have done in most people, let alone a person as fragile and complex as Michael Jackson.

Of course, the verdict was that Michael was found not guilty on all counts.

I sat and watched Michael listen to the 'not guilty' decisions as they were read one by one, and as the drama unfolded, it hit me like a thunderbolt: This man is on so many different kinds of drugs, I don't even think he understands he's been found not guilty!

'A lot of people are going to be surprised, and you don't need a law degree to understand this verdict,' said CNN legal a.n.a.lyst Jeffrey Toobin. 'It is an absolute and complete victory for Michael Jackson, utter humiliation and defeat for Thomas Sneddon, the district attorney who has been pursuing Michael Jackson for more than a decade, who brought a case that was not one that this jury bought at all. This one's over.'

Later in the hallway, there was chaos as the media tried to race out of the courthouse to report the news. Michael's fans went berserk with joy outside, while the media scurried about trying to find their camera and production crews. It was total pandemonium. For a moment, I found myself shoulder to shoulder with Michael. I looked at him, this guy I had known since the age of ten. I smiled at him. He forced a smile back, but his expression was vacant, his eyes empty. Having been vindicated, it should have been one of the happiest days of his life, but it was as if he wasn't even present to enjoy it. For all intents and purposes, Michael Jackson was gone.

I went on the air to give my first-person account of what had gone on in the courtroom for CBS News. For me, it was emotional; I barely got through it.

As I was making my way through the crowd to do a live shot elsewhere on the grounds, a woman came up to me, a perfect stranger who recognized me. She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me in so she could make sure I heard her over the cacophony. 'Oh, no,' she said, her eyes wide with alarm. 'What if he really is is innocent?' It was as if the thought had just hit her and that she needed to express it immediately, and I just happened to be the one standing nearby when it came to her. 'After all of innocent?' It was as if the thought had just hit her and that she needed to express it immediately, and I just happened to be the one standing nearby when it came to her. 'After all of this, this,' she said, 'what if he really is is innocent?' As I looked at the startled expression on her face, I felt a chill shoot down my spine and I thought to myself... innocent?' As I looked at the startled expression on her face, I felt a chill shoot down my spine and I thought to myself... Oh, my G.o.d! What if he really is? Oh, my G.o.d! What if he really is?

Aftermath.

Bahrain is not an easy place to visit in the summer. Desert covers most of the thirty islands that make up the country, and in August it's so hot, humid and miserable that temperatures regularly exceed 110 degrees Fahrenheit. But this remote nation does offer one attraction. It's the perfect place for a troubled man to put distance between himself and his problems. Which may explain why it was there, in the Persian Gulf, that Michael Jackson sought sanctuary after the trial.

In August of 2005, Michael turned forty-seven. He had his freedom. But, in truth, his problems were far from over. Rather than relish his new independence, Michael had sunk into a deep depression, often suffering from panic attacks and insomnia as if traumatized by the trial. He refused to speak about it. This was not the 'victory' that his friends and fans had fought for. After the verdict, the pop star all but disappeared from public view. There were no post-trial parties, no triumphant press conferences. In truth, Michael was in no fit state to celebrate. He was too ill. A couple of days after the verdict, he checked into a hospital in Santa Barbara to be treated for exhaustion and dehydration. Not long after he was released, he took off, leaving Neverland, never to return.

'He went into total seclusion,' a source close to the singer told me. 'He was depressed, anxious, unable to eat or sleep. He almost lost it all: his freedom, his family, his career. You don't just bounce back after something like that. He told me, "To this day, I wake up feeling upset and scared to death, and it takes me a half hour to remember that it's over." '

The only person Michael saw in the weeks after the trial other than his children and their nanny, Grace Rwaramba was a therapist. For the first time in his life, Jackson decided to seek counseling. It was definitely a step in the right direction. He knew he needed help, and maybe it was an indication of growth that he actually sought it instead of ignoring the signs. 'He felt totally victimized by Gavin, the rest of the scheming Arvizos, and also by the Santa Barbara district attorney, Thomas Sneddon,' one of Michael's inner circle told me. 'He had a difficult time getting past the fury he feels about the whole situation. One day he told me, "G.o.d forgive me, and don't tell Katherine I ever said this, but I hate that kid. I so hate that kid." Then I remember he looked at me for a moment and he said, "Part of me thinks, no, that's not right. You shouldn't hate. But then I think, I can't help it. I hate that kid for what he did to me. My therapist is telling me that I need to get real with myself and feel what I feel, not suppress it like I usually do. Well, how I feel is that I hate that kid. I do." '

As described to me, what Jackson had been experiencing sounded akin to post-traumatic stress syndrome. He had persistent nightmares about the trial, replaying in his head the lurid evidence against him, the many witnesses, the p.o.r.nography shown to the jury, the look of anguish on his mother's face. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, and it made him feel raw and, if at all possible, even more disconnected.

Michael didn't want to talk to anyone who reminded him of what had happened in Santa Maria, even the people who were at his side throughout the trial. His family was out, as far as he was concerned. He seemed to want nothing to do with most of them. Some of the Jacksons were talking about a reunion tour again, and this time it must have felt to Michael as if he really owed owed them the honor but, still, he wasn't going to do it. He felt pressured into becoming involved in other family matters, not to mention his collapsing financial empire, and he simply didn't want to traffic in either world. So he took off. He went to Bahrain, which was about as far away as he could get. The rejection hurt his family, deeply. Joseph desperately wanted Michael to make an appearance at a birthday party for him in Germany. Michael couldn't bring himself to do it. In the end, Joseph had to hire a Michael Jackson impersonator. them the honor but, still, he wasn't going to do it. He felt pressured into becoming involved in other family matters, not to mention his collapsing financial empire, and he simply didn't want to traffic in either world. So he took off. He went to Bahrain, which was about as far away as he could get. The rejection hurt his family, deeply. Joseph desperately wanted Michael to make an appearance at a birthday party for him in Germany. Michael couldn't bring himself to do it. In the end, Joseph had to hire a Michael Jackson impersonator.

Apparently, Michael knew the royal family in Bahrain, and so he hunkered down with them. Of course, later on the Prince would sue Michael for breach of contract, saying they had a deal to make records and Michael reneged.

So what else was new?

It was Michael's lack of personal responsibility that made me want to have nothing to do with him after the trial. I was able to get past the molestation accusations in my reporting of him. After all, I believed him to be not guilty in the Arvizo mess pretty much from the very beginning. However, I simply couldn't reconcile his total disregard for other people in his life. In my mind, he owed his family something for their loyalty. Perhaps they had pressured him into partic.i.p.ating in ventures in which he wasn't interested in the past, but this time I felt he had an obligation to at least try to work with them again. After all, their support must have meant something something to him during the trial. There were Jacksons there every single day. Beyond that, I couldn't understand his lack of loyalty to all of the people who kept Neverland afloat in his absence during the trial. As soon as the trial was over, practically everyone was let go without severance pay. Dozens of caretakers, maids and other functionaries people with children at home who had given their all to Michael were just dismissed by him, seemingly without a second thought. Then there was the onslaught of lawsuits by former attorneys and business a.s.sociates, one after another after the trial. Of course, Jackson had been anything but the consummate businessman for at least the previous ten years, but now things were out of control. Did he ever pay anyone with whom he made a deal? Did he ever sign a contract he didn't break? It was so obvious to me that he was not a man of his word and, to be frank as his biographer and someone who had known him for so long it just p.i.s.sed me off. 'I'm a man of honor,' he once told me. It was when I had made a joke about his marriage to Lisa Marie Presley on the TV show to him during the trial. There were Jacksons there every single day. Beyond that, I couldn't understand his lack of loyalty to all of the people who kept Neverland afloat in his absence during the trial. As soon as the trial was over, practically everyone was let go without severance pay. Dozens of caretakers, maids and other functionaries people with children at home who had given their all to Michael were just dismissed by him, seemingly without a second thought. Then there was the onslaught of lawsuits by former attorneys and business a.s.sociates, one after another after the trial. Of course, Jackson had been anything but the consummate businessman for at least the previous ten years, but now things were out of control. Did he ever pay anyone with whom he made a deal? Did he ever sign a contract he didn't break? It was so obvious to me that he was not a man of his word and, to be frank as his biographer and someone who had known him for so long it just p.i.s.sed me off. 'I'm a man of honor,' he once told me. It was when I had made a joke about his marriage to Lisa Marie Presley on the TV show Good Morning America Good Morning America, and he called to chastise me. 'If you believe anything about me, believe that.' Indeed, looking back on it now, I guess I felt let down by Michael Jackson. So for years after the trial, I didn't want to write about him. 'But you have to be more objective,' one editor told me. 'Yeah, well,' I responded. 'When he starts paying his bills, maybe then I'll start writing about him again.'

In my view, Michael Jackson had a golden opportunity to reclaim his career after the trial. I couldn't understand why he wanted to blow it on such an epic scale. He kept promising records that never came out, dates that never materialized. He seemed to not have a place to live: He and his children would live with friends in one city and then migrate to another as if they were homeless. I didn't want to know anything about any of it, it all seemed so disappointing and useless to me.

Looking back on it now, I wish I'd had more sympathy for a man so clearly in pain. He never got over the trial; that trauma was still eating away at him. I understand that now. How could he care about anyone else when he was just trying to get through the day himself? 'Anyone who thinks he is just going to bounce back after such public humiliation doesn't know Michael Jackson,' his former manager Frank Dileo had told me on that June day when he was acquitted. 'This is devastating. For a guy like Michael, this is life-ruining, I'm afraid.'

Indeed, after Santa Maria, little mattered to Michael except for, perhaps, the only thing that should have mattered: his children. His career was in a shambles and his finances in ruin, but it was of no consequence as far as he was concerned. He had the love of his three children, the two Prince Michaels and Paris, and as long as that was the case, he figured he'd be fine. Ironically, considering his nomadic existence, those who know him best like to think that those postSanta Maria years were among his best in the sense that he had truly re-prioritized his life. No longer did he care if he was Number One or not, and that had certainly been a goal of his for most of his time on this planet. He no longer had the kind of fire in his belly a person needs to do what Michael Jackson had already done with his life and career. For those who wanted to see him back on top, his lack of pa.s.sion for his career was difficult to accept. But maybe he had given all he had to give. Maybe, after so many decades in the spotlight, it was finally time for us to just leave him alone.

Turning Fifty.

A middle-aged man wearing pajamas is being pushed in a wheelchair down a busy sidewalk by an a.s.sistant. He is gaunt and frail-looking. His skin seems to be peeling. His fingernails are a sickening shade of yellow or is it brown? A surgical mask covers the bottom half of his face, large sungla.s.ses shield the top. He is wearing a red Marines baseball cap. Meanwhile, three children walk ahead of him, a girl with two boys. They seem happy all three adorable in colorful clothing. They wear large caps but, apparently, not in a deliberate attempt to shield their faces. 'Slow down,' the man commands in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. However, they ignore him as they quickly cross the street. Once on the other side of the street and in front of a book store, they wait for the man in the wheelchair. When he is finally rolled their way, one of the children dutifully holds the door as the man is wheeled into the store. 'Thank you,' he says weakly. Then, just as the three children are about to enter the establishment, a wide-eyed stranger approaches the smallest of them. 'Was that... ?' she begins to ask. The boy is about to answer when a large man comes between him and the woman. 'No. That was not, not,' says the man as he takes the boy by the hand and rushes him into the store. But then the young boy turns to his inquisitor, smiles broadly and mouths just two words: Michael Jackson. Michael Jackson.

The scene I've just described was typical of what went on in Michael's life almost every day while he lived in Las Vegas, Nevada, in 2008. For the most part, he spent his time wandering about the city with a gaggle of bodyguards and his three precocious children: Prince Michael I (eleven), Paris (ten) and Prince Michael II (six). He was almost always in a wheelchair, wearing a bizarre outfit and appearing to be at death's door. Meanwhile, his record-breaking career seemed to be a thing of the past. By all accounts, he was still not motivated to do anything. He had no real plans for the future. He was deeply in debt. As he reached his fiftieth birthday on 29 August, one question sprung to mind: How in the world did it come to this for a kid from Gary who once had it all?

At this time the summer of 2008 Michael had a deal pending to do a series of shows in Las Vegas. However, he still didn't seem to want to work. In his defence, the standards of excellence he set for himself so many years before were so high, they were practically impossible for him to meet. He put it best to me more than ten years ago. 'When I go onstage, people expect a lot. They want the dancing, they want the spins, and all. They want the whole package. But that's a lot of work. I don't know how much longer I can do it. I don't know when it'll just not be possible.'

It's true that Jackson couldn't go on tour doing anything less than what he did many years ago, his impact on our culture was so great. However, at fifty, he had arthritic-like trouble with his knees, his ankles... even the joints in his fingers. 'This is why he uses the wheelchair,' said a source at the time. 'He's breaking down in so many ways. It's hard to imagine him on stage. In fact, it's hard for him him to imagine it. And if he can't see it, no one else ever will... to imagine it. And if he can't see it, no one else ever will...

'But what's lacking these days is probably the most important part of any entertainer his self-confidence,' continued the same source. 'It's what gave him his drive, his creative spirit and voice. But it seems to be gone.'

Also, it seemed that Michael believed the ma.s.ses of fans who once flocked to his concerts wouldn't be there for him in 2008. He feared his followers had been turned against him by the trial. For instance, at a meeting with a promoter in Las Vegas, he expressed amazement by the success of the re-release of Thriller Thriller. 'I'm really shocked,' he said. 'I can't believe people actually bought it. I heard it sold more than three million copies. Can you believe it?'

'It was the first time I had ever known him to be surprised by something doing well,' said an intimate at that meeting. 'He was usually surprised by things that did not go well. Plus, Thriller Thriller has already sold more than 100 million copies, so another three doesn't seem like much. That he thinks it is suggests that his expectations are pretty low.' has already sold more than 100 million copies, so another three doesn't seem like much. That he thinks it is suggests that his expectations are pretty low.'

To commemorate the occasion of his fiftieth birthday, a CD called King of Pop King of Pop was released worldwide. British fans compiled the track listing on certain media websites. Basically, it was eighteen of the best Jackson songs as selected by the public. Also, he was the guest vocalist on a song called 'Hold My Hand', by a recording artist called Akon. He sounded terrific on it, suggesting that the voice was still there if he was at all interested in using it. But, alas, touring still seemed out of the question. Nothing would have been more embarra.s.sing to him than announcing a tour and then having it suffer weak ticket sales. was released worldwide. British fans compiled the track listing on certain media websites. Basically, it was eighteen of the best Jackson songs as selected by the public. Also, he was the guest vocalist on a song called 'Hold My Hand', by a recording artist called Akon. He sounded terrific on it, suggesting that the voice was still there if he was at all interested in using it. But, alas, touring still seemed out of the question. Nothing would have been more embarra.s.sing to him than announcing a tour and then having it suffer weak ticket sales.

Another former a.s.sociate of Jackson's saw him in August 2008 at the Treasure Island Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas where he and his children saw a performance of Mystery Mystery by Cirque du Soleil. 'I had heard that he'd recently purchased a home outside of Poughkeepsie, New York, for a million dollars,' said that source. 'It's in the suburbs, in an upper-middle-cla.s.s neighborhood. Seemed strange to me, but... that's Michael. However, when I asked him about it, he said, "I think someone in my organization bought that for me. I don't know... Sounds nice, though. I'll bet the kids would love it." He truly did not know the details. by Cirque du Soleil. 'I had heard that he'd recently purchased a home outside of Poughkeepsie, New York, for a million dollars,' said that source. 'It's in the suburbs, in an upper-middle-cla.s.s neighborhood. Seemed strange to me, but... that's Michael. However, when I asked him about it, he said, "I think someone in my organization bought that for me. I don't know... Sounds nice, though. I'll bet the kids would love it." He truly did not know the details.

'I asked about Neverland and if he was happy that it'd been saved. [Jackson's abandoned hideaway had been scheduled for foreclosure because he was in default on the $25 million loan. But an investment group called Colony Capital LLC purchased the loan at the last minute and saved it.] "Neverland? Why, I don't know anything at all about Neverland," Michael told me. "That's someone else's problem now, I think. But I'm not sure... "

'Then I asked him if he had any plans,' continued the source. ' "For what?" he said. "For the future. Recordings? Tours?" By this time, I could see that he was agitated by my questions. "Look, my plan is to see every magic show in Las Vegas," he finally said. "That's my plan." Then he turned and walked away.'

'He seems very sad and alone,' another source told me in the summer of 2008. 'It's as if all of those years of success really mean nothing. It was just all fast living and bad personal decisions and hard, hard work. He's got the Beatles catalog and that's worth a lot, but it's all on paper money put aside for his kids. If he liquidates it, he'd probably spend it all, so it's good that it's tied up in loans and other fiscal problems.

'Thank goodness for his kids, though,' continued the source. 'They give him hope.'

From all accounts, Michael was at his best when parenting his children, Prince Michael I, Paris and Prince Michael II, also known as Blanket. All three are very stunning, with high cheekbones and deep-set features. Michael saw a lot of his youthful self in his children, especially in Prince Michael I. All three have musical ability and a sense of style, but he always thought Prince Michael I would be the next star in the family.

For a man so youth-obsessed, so intent on fashioning himself as a child long after he was an adult, many people in his life feared that 29 August would perhaps be a day of reckoning for Michael Jackson. He was middle-aged past it, really and there was no turning back now.

'He spends a lot of time looking in the mirror,' revealed one of his a.s.sociates at the time. 'I think he has certain regrets like the plastic surgery. "I don't know what I was thinking back then," he recently said. "Everyone makes mistakes when they're young, I guess. But I still look okay, don't I? I mean, for forty?" I said, "Mike, you're gonna be fifty." He gave me an impish smile and said, "It all went by so fast, didn't it? I wish I could do it all over again, I really do." '

Michael made no plans to celebrate his fiftieth, other than in a small, private way with his children. And this time there was no big interview with me to commemorate the occasion. As it happened, turning fifty was not a big deal to Michael anyway. 'He was sort of fine with it,' one of his brothers told me. 'I don't know... in a sense I was hoping for more of a reaction, I guess. Even despair. At least that's a real reaction, you know? It's like that G.o.dd.a.m.n trial deadened him inside. I want to say, "Mike, wake up! It's pa.s.sing you by. Get with it, bro. Live your life before it's too late." '

Gone Too Soon.

1958 2009.

On the afternoon of 25 June 2009, I was tooling along in my convertible on the 101 North freeway from Burbank back to my home in Encino into which I'd just moved two months earlier. The top was down, the California sun was blazing and, as always, my music was blasting loud. On this afternoon it was 'I Wanna Be Where You Are', by Michael, a great little song he recorded for Motown in 1971. I remember thinking that it sounded particularly vibrant and exciting on that afternoon. What an astounding performance from a thirteen-year-old kid. I remembered the day it was released. At the time, I wondered if he would ever leave the Jackson 5. No, I had decided; they were just too close. 'Corner of the Sky' was next on my CD's line-up. By the time that one was issued in 1973, The Jackson 5's career at Motown was in a steady nosedive, but who cared about such things back then? Certainly not me. Each brother had a chance to sing on 'Corner of the Sky', and for any fan of the group, that was all the proof needed to suggest that Michael wasn't being singled out. I smiled at this memory of my youthful naivete. As I drove along, it truly felt as if I was having a nostalgic Jackson 5 moment like no other. 'I want my life to be something more than long,' Michael sang as I pulled into my driveway.

As soon as I got home, the news. .h.i.t that Michael had been taken to the hospital suffering from cardiac arrest. I was suspicious. He'd been rehearsing for a series of fifty concerts to take place from July to March 2010 in London his great comeback, or so it was hoped. It was a lot to take on, and anyone who knew Michael knew that when he was in preparation for these kinds of endeavors he was p.r.o.ne to severe panic attacks. I recalled what happened when he was supposed to do just one show at the Beacon Theater in New York a number of years ago. He had a panic attack that resembled a heart attack, and it was not only about the performance at hand a single show! but also about his failing marriage to Lisa Marie Presley. He ended up in the hospital. His handler, Bob Jones, told the media it was some sort of rare rib infection. When I asked Bob about it years later, he confessed, 'We thought it was a heart attack. It wasn't. He simply lost it because of the circ.u.mstances of his life at that time. The boy was totally messed up, that's all I can tell you.' I figured this latest scare was more of the same.

I wish it had been.

The news that Michael Joseph Jackson had died after being rushed to the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center hit most people with the kind of defining-moment impact of President John F Kennedy's death, or that of his son, John-John, or Princess Diana... John Lennon. People will always remember what they were doing when they learned of Michael's pa.s.sing. I immediately went to work reporting the story for CBS News.

The news cycle was fast moving and difficult to reconcile, especially when it became clear that, probably, Michael's cardiac arrest was the result of a drug overdose. Numerous vials of the dangerous anesthesia Diprivan (propofol) were found in his rented Holmby Hills estate shortly after a nurse named Cherilyn Lee went on the record as saying that Jackson had asked her to seek it out for him. It is taken intravenously and should never be administered outside a hospital. Many doctors went on the record saying that while they have heard of the drug being abused by health care professionals, who have ready access to it, they had not heard of it being used as a sleep aid medication. 'Propofol induces coma, it does not induce sleep,' Dr Zeev Kain, the chair of the anesthesiology department at the University of California Irvine, said. 'I can put you in a coma for as many days as you want. And, in fact, in intensive care units who have patients who are on a ventilator, that's one of the drugs they use.' Dr Rakesh Marwah, of the anesthesiology department at the Stanford University School of Medicine, added that the drug can definitely lead to cardiac arrest without proper monitoring. 'Propofol slows down the heart rate and slows down the respiratory rate and slows down the vital functions of the body,' he explained. Not enough carbon dioxide exits the body; not enough oxygen enters. And the situation can cause the heart to abruptly stop. '[It is] as dangerous as it comes,' Kain said. 'You will die if you will give yourself, or if somebody will give you, propofol and you're not in the proper medical hands.'

'I want it to hit my vein and I want to be asleep,' Michael had told his nurse of the drug he so wanted, which she refused to find for him. 'I don't even want to wait a second for it to get into my system. I want to be knocked out, asleep.'

It made sense, even if it was chilling. Michael probably would have paid a million dollars for a good night's sleep. He'd suffered from insomnia for many years, but that was the least of his problems. He also had lupus, the chronic autoimmune disease that plagued him for years. Of course, he had vitiligo, even if there was some dispute as to whether it was genetic or a form brought on as a consequence of skin bleaching agents he'd used over the years. There were other physical ailments as well having to do with his back, his knees and other problems a.s.sociated with a dancer's body as it ages. Also, much of the plastic surgery he'd had over the years began to affect him as he aged. He was deeply ashamed of the way he looked as a result of the plastic surgery much of which he regretted and the ravages of lupus, so he would therefore dress in strange outfits to hide his body, with standard-issue surgical masks and hats and sungla.s.ses. The stranger he looked, the more attention he attracted; and the more attention he generated, the greater his unhappiness. It was a vicious cycle, and not one with which he was unfamiliar. On top of everything else, he suffered from severe bouts of depression. It's no wonder he was given so many different kinds of prescriptions.

The big question, of course, is whether or not Michael was addicted. For anyone privy to his real world, this question merely stated the obvious: Of course he was, and everyone knew it. 'If he could get his hands on some Demerol, you can be sure he'd do it,' said one person close to him. 'I can't count the number of times people close to him tried interventions. There was no reaching him, though. You can't help a person who doesn't want it.' Sources close to Jackson told CNN's Dr Sanjay Gupta that the singer actually traveled with an anesthesiologist who would 'take him down' at night and 'bring him back up' during a world tour in the mid-90s.

It's true that Michael was used to getting what he wanted in his life, and if it was a certain drug to ease his emotional or physical pain he expected to be able to get his hands on it, no questions asked. However, he was not a man who just wanted to get high for kicks. He wasn't scoring his drugs from some roadie behind a tour bus. He was getting them from licensed doctors who were answering his cries for help. Should some of those doctors have known better than to just give Michael what he wanted rather than find some better way to treat him? Obviously. But one put it best to me when he said, 'When you were sitting there in the room with him, and he's crying and he's in pain and he hasn't slept in a week... and he begs and begs you for help, you had to help. You had had to. People on the outside find it easy to judge and point fingers. You have to be there to understand his level of physical and emotional pain.' It's telling that the drug he most seemed to crave was a kind of anesthesia. He wanted to be numb, not only to his pain, but to the world. It was as if he'd had enough and he wanted out. to. People on the outside find it easy to judge and point fingers. You have to be there to understand his level of physical and emotional pain.' It's telling that the drug he most seemed to crave was a kind of anesthesia. He wanted to be numb, not only to his pain, but to the world. It was as if he'd had enough and he wanted out.

Michael's finances were always the subject of great interest, and the most common question at his death was: How broke was he? There's no simple answer to that query, and anyone on the outside of Michael's circle who tries to a.s.semble bits and pieces of financial information in order to get a clear understanding of what's going on is a person who doesn't know what he's talking about. I spent many hours with Michael's brilliant attorney John Branca, who structured Michael's finances. (Michael was best man at John's wedding in 1987, that's how close they were.) As much as I know about his wealth, I still don't fully understand the details and, when reporting the story, have never tried to act as if I do. I know this much, though: As long as there was a million dollars somewhere that Michael could get his hands on even if some of it was hidden in a pillow case by his kids' nanny, Grace he was fine. (And, yes, apparently that would happen!) Gone was the shrewd businessman of the 1980s who stayed on top of every one of his bank accounts and demanded full disclosure of detail from Branca who worked for Michael from 1980 until 2006 and then returned shortly before his death.

Though Branca came back to a messy quagmire of debt and a.s.set leverage that would probably baffle even the most expert financier, Michael was, for the most part, not that concerned about any of it. Again, the molestation trial in Santa Maria can be pointed to as the primary reason Michael lost interest in his wealth. Nothing much mattered to him after the trial. He told people close to him that the reason he had signed on to do the London concerts was not because of the hundreds of millions of dollars that could be generated. It was, as he put it: 'Because my kids are old enough to appreciate what I do, and I'm young enough to still do it. I don't care if people don't show up,' he said, maybe a little disingenuously. Of course, the tickets sold out unbelievably quickly the public still wanted Michael, that much was clear.

Judging from the way he performed on the brief clip of 'They Don't Care About Us,' released after his death by AEG Live, the concert's promoters, Michael was in fine form. He seemed to really want to make a point with this show that he was back and still The King, and he looked, at least from this particular clip, as if he could have pulled it off. Amazingly, despite his lack of self-confidence and his broken down body, the man still had what it took and he looked d.a.m.n good. That said, it would be foolhardy to think that the coming dates would have gone off without a hitch. After all, nothing in Michael's life and career in recent times was ever easy. There were probably plenty of canceled concerts on the horizon due to 'illness', 'exhaustion', 'dehydration' and all of the other common maladies of performers under duress. Still, the shows he would have gotten through would have been memorable. For any diehard fan, it seemed Michael Jackson was really ready to deliver. Moreover, the fact that he had brought back the great duo of the 1980s who helped mastermind his biggest successes his former lawyer John Branca, and former manager Frank DiLeo suggested that maybe he had his eye on the future, and maybe, just maybe, he actually cared about it.

The last time I saw Michael Jackson face to face was on verdict day in Santa Maria when I congratulated him on his victory but he seemed to not understand what was happening. The haunted look in his eyes that day disturbed me for many months after the trial. I spoke to him on the phone only twice in the intervening four years, both very brief conversations for magazine stories about career plans that didn't materialize. When I sent him a copy of my Elizabeth Taylor biography, he called to tell me he enjoyed it. He sounded good, but how could anyone know for sure? Ten minutes after he hung up, I received another telephone call, this one from one of his flacks. 'Don't you dare use Michael's compliment as an endors.e.m.e.nt of your book,' I was told. How annoying. 'Please,' I told the caller, 'I've been around a long time. I know better. Give me a break.' The handler sighed into the phone. 'We've all been around a long time,' she said, now seeming exhausted. 'Maybe too long, huh?' I agreed. 'Yeah... maybe a little.'

I was at CBS News getting ready to tape a segment about Michael's family when the will was filed. As I stood among my colleagues and pored over the contents, the mention of Diana Ross caught my eye. It was his wish that she not Debbie Rowe care for his children in the event that Katherine not be able to do so. It seemed absolutely appropriate to me.

Michael lived with Diana for a short time when he first moved to Los Angeles at the age of eleven. He idolised her and she doted upon him, even though she had a busy life and was about to leave The Supremes for a solo career. Then she went on to have five children of her own, not one of whom has ever been in any kind of public scandal. She and Michael hadn't been close recently, but that's only because Michael wasn't close to many people in the last four years of his life. What a tribute to their enduring friendship that he would trust her with what meant the most to him his children. 'You are going to be a great, great star,' she'd once told him over breakfast when he was eleven, according to what he once told me. Then, with maternal purpose, she added, 'Now eat your cereal.'

It was as if Michael considered Diana's prediction to be a mandate because, certainly, there was never a bigger star than Michael Jackson. Whether it was the beautiful melodies of his music, the harmony as it poured out of his voice, or the staccato-like dance moves that reached a penultimate crescendo with his gravity defying moonwalk, Michael Jackson had a unique ability to inspire, to give hope to, to unite. Where others have tried and often in vain to use their talents and skills in a way that honors G.o.d and the inherent goodness of his nature, Michael Jackson was able to unite millions of people, regardless of race, creed, religion, age, gender, s.e.xuality or nationality, behind messages of service and sacrifice, peace and love, hope and change and the freedom of expression. Whether through songs like 'Heal the World', 'We Are the World' or 'Man in the Mirror', he brought the plight of the world's suffering to the attention of all as only he could. In many respects he gave a voice to the voiceless, a face to the faceless and hope to the hopeless. If a little African-American boy from Gary, Indiana, could make it to the 2,600-acre Neverland Valley Ranch in Santa Barbara, California, then maybe it was possible for anyone to make it. With hard work and determination, maybe we could all reach for our dreams. Michael Jackson certainly did just that, didn't he?

The Man in the Mirror.

I cannot imagine a world without Michael Jackson in it.

For the past forty years we have all been witness to Michael's heroic rise and tragic fall. We cheered as he made history with record after record, alb.u.m after alb.u.m. We watched in awe as he broke barriers and made impossibilities become realities. We appreciated his iconic sense of style one sequined white glove, white socks, black leather shoes, red leather jackets, and a black fedora and longed to do the moonwalk with perfect precision. We watched in shock as he transformed his image time and time again. We felt outrage at the allegations of child molestation, not knowing who or what to believe. And we watched in sadness as the world's longest-running reality show reached its tragic and somewhat surreal conclusion on 25 June 2009.

After his death, I went back to Neverland to conduct a tour of the estate as part of my coverage of Michael's death for CBS News. The first time I set foot on the property was before Michael had even purchased it. As it happened, in the spring of 1983 Michael's publicist, Bob Jones, invited a few select members of the press to the Santa Ynez Valley to watch as Michael and Paul McCartney made the video for 'Say, Say, Say'. Something happened we never did find out what and Michael didn't show up for the taping. So Paul invited the contingent of reporters to the home he was renting during the production Sycamore Valley Ranch, which, of course, became Neverland. Once we got to the ranch, we in the press corp never even saw Paul again. However, he made sure we were well fed and then sent us on our way. I wasn't invited into the house but from the s.p.a.cious grounds acre after bucolic acre I knew it was a special place. When I found out six years later that Michael had purchased the home, I thought he was certainly moving up in the world.

Standing in the empty main house after his death, I remembered the four or five occasions all press events to announce certain charities in which Michael was involved I was invited to the estate during the seventeen years Michael lived there: 1988 through 2005, certainly many of the most pivotal and, also, confounding years of his life. The house and surrounding grounds were always filled with laughter and music, even if at times it seemed a somewhat eerie and unreal place. In the past, I had only been permitted access to the living and dining rooms and, once, as I recall it, into the kitchen. I believe I was in the library once with Michael's attorney John Branca as well. But now, on this strange day, I had free reign to explore the entire estate. There's something very sad about an abandoned home, and Michael's was no exception. Seeing it empty was a strange experience. Even Michael had never seen it that way; he purchased it furnished and then added his own many many of his own pieces. He would have been astounded to see the place so completely empty. How lucky Michael was to live here, I thought. To have come from such meager beginnings in Gary, Indiana and I'd also been to that small clapboard house, incidentally to this sumptuous estate was, without a doubt, a journey like no other. I remember him pointing out the barbecue area outside the kitchen and telling me, 'You can take all of Hayvenhurst' the estate he and his family bought in the early 1970s and which he remodeled in the 1980s after buying out his father 'and fit it right there in that little corner. How about that!' of his own pieces. He would have been astounded to see the place so completely empty. How lucky Michael was to live here, I thought. To have come from such meager beginnings in Gary, Indiana and I'd also been to that small clapboard house, incidentally to this sumptuous estate was, without a doubt, a journey like no other. I remember him pointing out the barbecue area outside the kitchen and telling me, 'You can take all of Hayvenhurst' the estate he and his family bought in the early 1970s and which he remodeled in the 1980s after buying out his father 'and fit it right there in that little corner. How about that!'

But what must it have been like, I wondered, for Michael to walk the bricked halls of the main house in the middle of the night, fearing that he might spend almost twenty years of his life in a jail cell? That had to have been the flip side of living at Neverland in his final years there. How did he ever survive the fear, the anguish? And then I thought, My G.o.d! If he had gone to prison, maybe he would still be alive! But, then again, what kind of life would that have been for Michael Jackson? No, I decided, he would rather be dead than be in prison. No doubt about that, I'm afraid.

As I walked into Michael's bedroom, it was as if his spirit still remained. I looked at the fireplace and imagined it lit with a warm glow. I thought about the painting of The Last Supper that had once been placed over his bed, with Michael in Christ's place. I thought it was the most ridiculous and maybe even blasphemous piece of art I'd ever heard of when I learned that he'd bought it for this room. But suddenly, standing there, it seemed to make sense to me. Crucified by the circ.u.mstances of his life, it was as if poor Michael Jackson had no chance at all.

I thought about him alone at night in that very room, trying in vain to sleep. Rising, pacing the halls, going back to bed... surrounded by bottles of pills and who knows what else... taking anything to escape the insomnia, the anxiety. The never-ending tape loop of his thoughts. I walked into his bathroom and over to his sink. I looked at the tile on the counter each one seemed to be a royal crest from a different European family. There I stood, gazing at the very mirror into which Michael had stared day after day, while probably wondering the same questions that many of us have asked ourselves at one time or another in our lives: Why do I look this way? Why do I feel this way? What can I do now to make that one crucial change that will help me, if not to truly love myself, at least to achieve some peace of mind? And I looked into my own eyes. I studied the reflection of a man in the mirror who had spent so many years of his own life trying to comprehend another person's journey, looking for threadbare clues that might answer the simple question: Why? As I did, I began to realize that, as is always the case with our most legendary celebrities and icons, while their gifts, talent and dynamism are often unparalleled, they are at the very core no different, no more or less unique, extraordinary and difficult to understand than anyone else. I began to feel at one with the sheer humanity of Michael Jackson, and all its complexity, fallibility and grace. I never thought such a thing possible about somebody at once so magical and yet so mystifying to the point of madness. Our lives had been so different. But, finally, I think I understood the truth about Michael a truth that, in the end, is far easier to understand than the man who personified it on the greatest stage of all for a generation. Like most of us, he was a man who did the best he could with the cards he'd been dealt, sometimes with magnificent results, sometimes with tragic failure; the results of which were magnified a thousand times over because of his astounding success, and the vulnerable young age at which he achieved it. Indeed, staring at my own reflection in Michael Jackson's mirror, I began to feel such empathy for him, such pity for him...and such great love for him as well. But more than anything, I felt immeasurable sorrow for him and for what his life should have been like could have been like in only...

Ill.u.s.tration