Michael Jackson…to bastardize Sharon Waxman..

To bastardize Sharon Waxman’s July 7th column…

In death, Michael Jackson is suddenly some kind of a hero. A humanitarian. A philanthropist. And a civil rights leader?
“Like our father Martin,” said Martin Luther King III before a live television audience of millions around the world at the memorial. “He was indeed a shining light.”
What a difference a sudden death can make.
While still alive, Michael Jackson was widely considered a weirdo. A presumed child molester. A pills-and-plastic surgery addict. And for more than a decade, he’d been relentlessly mocked by the tabloids. He was Wacko Jacko.
He certainly seemed like something other than the guy on Off the Wall & Thriller album covers.
Now that he’s gone, he’s become someone who was “persecuted,” as Bernice King said. “An American legend,” said Rep. Sheila Jackson Lee. But could someone please remind me why Queen Latifah spoke, when, in fact, she never met Michael Jackson. I was a available. I was in a Vicodin haze, but I would’ve said something nice, something from the heart.

“Maybe now,” said his brother Marlon, “they will leave you alone.” Nope. The news media is just going to visit all the places you’ve lived and talk about what various pieces of furniture went where, and what pieces the police confiscated in 2005.

We all know that it is impolite to speak ill of the dead. But this past weeks metamorphosis of Michael Jackson was nothing short of dumbfounding.

The ceremony at Staples Center was an historic moment. It may have come the closest to a worldwide communal event, outside that of a pope or royalty memorial, as we have ever seen. Especially when every news outlet was covering or showing the event.

It was an unprecedented cross between a Hollywood production and a somber memorial. It was watched by fans in every language, all over the world. But one has to wonder why none of this was done in private, or why none of the Jackson family has stepped forward to pay for such an event and leave the tab for the bankrupt City of Los Angeles to pick up. I suppose we’ll see soon enough who those that attended were there to profit, and who was there to mourn. And of course they had one-billion viewers…they weren’t reporting on anything else. Apparently, there was nothing else going on in the world.

Pop stars sang. A preacher spoke. The gospel choir harmonized. The Jackson brothers, who we’re all familiar with since their childhood, were dressed in dark suits, yellow ties and sequined gloves on their right hands.

Jackson’s three children, sat between Jackson’s parents Katherine and ‘Father of the Year’ Joe, still pushing his new record label to every microphone pushed in his face, looking very somber.

Watching the ceremony was a two-hour trek through much of American pop culture of the past 20 years, and by past 20 years I mean the 60’s through the 80’s…through his days as a 10-year-old crooner when his family said he was 6, to his teenaged years being “romantically” linked to by Brooke Shields, to his elevation to his self proclaimed “king of pop” status.

Even the media seemed to be feeling regretful, or forgetful, of spoken about him so poorly in the past.

The ever-so-respectful tones of Katie Couric and Brian Williams, as they anchored their primetime, commercial-free coverage on Tuesday, were in stark contrast to the mocking tones that usually accompany the words “Michael Jackson” when spoken from the anchor’s seat. And given the times, the circumstances, rightly so.

I admit it, for the past decade, I scratched my head and made comments to all the weirdness that was Michael Jackson when he was alive. You have to admit, he did give us all plenty of material to work from.

Now in death, I hope that we can all learn a lesson of what may happen when we put a child in a creative bubble, sequester him from the outside world under the pretexts that he’s a “genius” and allow him certain eccentricities so long as he’s making truck loads of money.

There’s no doubt the man was talented, and he brought endless amounts of pleasure to his listening audience, let alone memories, but he gave every indication, every sign, that he wanted to be a part of society, not apart from it. Too bad those that were closest him, those that called him brother, or son, appeared to be only to look upon him as a cash-cow.

Rest in peace, Mr. Jackson.