Michael Jackson_ The Magic, the Madness, the Whole Story, 1958-2009 Part 1

Michael Jackson.

The Magic, the Madness, the Whole Story, 1958-2009.

by J. Randy Taraborrelli.

Prologue.

I first met Michael Jackson when we were both children. The Jackson 5 had just appeared at the Philadelphia Convention Center on Sat.u.r.day evening, 2 May 1970, their first performance subsequent to signing with Motown Records. It was a heady time for the boys; Michael was a very young eleven-year-old trying to come to terms with it all. I remember him then being happy, so full of life. Something happened along the way, though... we both grew up, but in very different ways.

When I moved to Los Angeles at the age of eighteen to begin my career as a writer, I regularly interviewed Michael for magazine features. I clearly remember the day I wrote 'Michael Jackson Turns 21.' Then, there was 'Michael Jackson Turns 25.' 'Michael Jackson Turns 30,' and so many other articles about him in celebration of milestones along the way, and those of his talented family members. As he grew older, I watched with mounting concern and confusion as Michael transformed himself from a cute little black kid to... what he is, today. As a journalist and frequent chronicler of Michael's life, I had somehow to make sense of what was happening, putting the pieces of the puzzle together to see how they fit in with the Michael I had known of yesteryear. Thanks to my many encounters with him, I am able to quote at first hand his intimate reactions to so much of what has taken place during his life and career.

In 1977, when I was at the Jackson home in Encino, California, to interview the family, Michael wandered into the room with bandages on his face; he was nineteen at the time. I remember being dismayed. I thought then that rumours his father, Joseph, was beating him might be true, and that bothered me for many years. Actually, as I later learned, he had just had the second of many plastic surgeries.

In another interview, conducted after Michael had just returned from making The Wiz The Wiz in New York in 1978, he mentioned to me that he had certain 'secrets' he didn't wish to reveal to me, adding that ' in New York in 1978, he mentioned to me that he had certain 'secrets' he didn't wish to reveal to me, adding that 'everybody has deep, dark secrets'. I never forgot his words, especially as the years went by and he became stranger, his behaviour more opaque and incomprehensible to many people. has deep, dark secrets'. I never forgot his words, especially as the years went by and he became stranger, his behaviour more opaque and incomprehensible to many people.

Why are we still so fascinated by Michael Jackson after all of this time? Is it because of his awe-inspiring talent? Of course, that's part of it. The voice is instantly recognizable, and the dance moves are his and his alone. Just as he had been influenced by trailblazers before him, such as Jackie Wilson and James Brown, he has influenced a generation of entertainers. When you watch Justin Timberlake perform, does he remind you of anyone else?

Michael is also an important touchstone for many of us, personally. Since he's been famous for more than thirty years, some of us can mark moments in our lives by certain achievements in his. Many of us are old enough to remember how impossibly adorable and prodigious he was as lead singer of The Jackson 5, and we can remember where we were at when the brothers first became famous. We may recall the first time we saw him glide across a stage or screen doing the magical 'Moonwalk'; we remember the day we first saw the 'We are the World' video, in which he led an all-star cast in the first charitable effort of its kind in the United States; we remember his amazing concert appearances and groundbreaking videos.

To say that Michael has succeeded spectacularly in his career is to state the obvious. However, as record-breaking and historical as his artistry has been, it is his private life that has kept many of us on tenterhooks.

We probably also remember the first time we saw each of his new physical 'looks', and wondered what on earth that boy was doing to his face.

Did you ever wonder if he was straight? Or gay? Or as.e.xual?

What did you think when you first heard that he had been accused of being a paedophile?

Do you remember seeing the emotional speech from Neverland, during which he spoke of the police having photographed 'my body, including my p.e.n.i.s, my b.u.t.tocks, my lower torso, thighs and any other areas they wanted'?

And what of Lisa Marie Presley and Debbie Rowe, his mysterious ex-wives? Have you ever speculated about the true nature of their relations.h.i.+ps with him?

Now, he has children and makes them wear masks in public.

'How does it feel when you're alone, and you're cold inside?' Michael asked in his song 'Stranger in Moscow'. Indeed, how in the world, we wonder, did he turn out as he has?

Of course, fame twists everything. It's a strange phenomenon that no one but the famous can truly understand. However, ask yourself: if your entire life had been played out under heavy and unyielding scrutiny, made even more torturous by an abusive father, what would you be like? What if you were infantilized by an adoring public who celebrated you primarily as a talented youngster? Do you think you might, over time, be compelled to infantilize yourself? Out of frustration and desperation, might you revolt and begin to do whatever you wished without considering the logic of your decisions, the common sense of your choices, or the propriety of your behaviour?

What if you also had an inordinate amount of wealth, giving you the power to redress your deepest insecurities and desires by any means at your disposal, no matter how extreme, and with no one around daring to challenge you? Don't like the colour of your skin? Fade it away. Never had a real childhood? Say h.e.l.lo to Neverland. Want to sleep in the same bed with boys? No problem, there. Don't like how you look? Change your face. Still don't like it? Change it to another face, and another and another.

Why can't he see what's happening to himself? we ask about Michael. Why doesn't he understand? understand? How does he see himself, anyway? As the King of Pop, a trailblazing, misunderstood musical genius whose career spans an entire lifetime? Or an insecure, basically unhappy adult with enough money and power to do whatever he likes and get away with it? Perhaps only one thing is certain: if you were an unfettered combination of both, chances are you would be like... Michael Jackson. How does he see himself, anyway? As the King of Pop, a trailblazing, misunderstood musical genius whose career spans an entire lifetime? Or an insecure, basically unhappy adult with enough money and power to do whatever he likes and get away with it? Perhaps only one thing is certain: if you were an unfettered combination of both, chances are you would be like... Michael Jackson.

PART ONE.

Introduction.

The bucolic town of Los Olivos in Santa Barbara County is a little more than a hundred years old. If a visitor wants a sense of the local history, Mattei's Tavern, built in 1886, is the place to go. One of many monuments to a by-gone era, it was a stagecoach stop where guests stayed overnight during their journeys, back when the only mode of transportation was horse-drawn carriage. It also became a stop-off point for the Pacific Coast Railway narrow gauge line, constructed in the 1880s when travel by land along the coast ranged from difficult to impossible. At its zenith, it stretched over seventy-five miles from what was once called Harford Wharf on San Luis Bay, south to Los Olivos. Pa.s.sengers spent the night at Mattei's before taking the stagecoach to Santa Barbara, the next day. Today, the Carriage Museum is on this site, providing a visual history of the region. The original watering hole is now a charming eatery called Brothers Restaurant at Mattei's Tavern.

One recent day, a strange-looking man came through the Museum with a boy, a girl and an infant. He was accompanied by two women, senior citizens who tended to the youngsters, maybe nursemaids, one cradling the baby in a blanket. Also present was a male a.s.sistant who appeared to be in his early twenties. His eyes darted about, as if he was on high alert, vigilantly aware of his surroundings, of what others were doing in his presence.

The older man, wearing a deep-purple, silk surgical mask, a fedora over ink-jet black hair and over-sized sungla.s.ses, stood before one of the photographic displays. 'Prince! Paris!' he called out. 'Come here. Look at this.' The tots ran to his side. He pointed to the picture with one chalky, spindly finger at the tip of which was wrapped a band-aid and read the accompanying description, his high-pitched voice sounding instructive. In the middle of his reading, he admonished the boy to pay closer attention, insisting that 'this is important'. The group moved from one display to the next, the masked man reading each narrative, beseeching the children to listen, carefully.

After the day's lesson, the small group enjoyed a bite to eat in the restaurant. While there, they laughed among themselves, sharing private jokes, yet seeming closed off from their environment, never acknowledging the existence of anyone outside their miniature world. The masked man fed himself by lifting his disguise just a tad, rather than take it off. The locals tried to ignore the odd contingent. However, it was difficult not to stare, particularly since the children had been wearing masks, too not surgical, though... just Halloween. They took them off to eat, and then put them back on, once again hiding their faces.

In the early 1900s, a major new rail line was built thirty miles closer to the Pacific coast. Because Los Olivos had been bypa.s.sed by it, the population of the once-thriving town dwindled. However, it has since been rediscovered, thanks to an influx of tourists in the last twenty years. Now, there is an Indian reservation and gambling casino, as well as a number of spas and New Age healing centres. Small and locally owned art galleries, antique stores, gift shops, boutiques and wineries flourish in restored western-themed buildings.

One afternoon, the masked man visited one of the art galleries. 'Now, this this one would be just perfect in the bedroom, wouldn't it?' he said to his young a.s.sistant. He held up a small oil painting of two angels floating ethereally above a sleeping child. The a.s.sistant nodded. 'Yoo-hoo,' called out the masked man. 'How much for this one?' He and the curator conferred, privately. Then the man in the disguise walked over to his a.s.sistant and whispered into his ear. 'Okay, very good,' he finally said to the store-owner. 'I'll take it.' one would be just perfect in the bedroom, wouldn't it?' he said to his young a.s.sistant. He held up a small oil painting of two angels floating ethereally above a sleeping child. The a.s.sistant nodded. 'Yoo-hoo,' called out the masked man. 'How much for this one?' He and the curator conferred, privately. Then the man in the disguise walked over to his a.s.sistant and whispered into his ear. 'Okay, very good,' he finally said to the store-owner. 'I'll take it.'

The proprietor scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to the younger man, who then extracted a wad of bills from his wallet. He counted them off to pay for the purchase.

'No, wait! That's too much,' said the masked man who had been watching, carefully. 'I thought you said it was a hundred dollars. Not a hundred and six dollars, and change.' There was a quick, urgent conference. 'What? Tax? Tax? Really? On Really? On this? this?' He made a show of thinking hard. 'Well, okay, then,' he decided. 'Thanks, anyway.' He put the painting down.

More negotiation.

'Really? Okay, good, then. A hundred dollars it is.'

The covered man regarded the painting, again. 'My G.o.d, it's so beautiful, isn't it?' he remarked, picking it up. 'The way those children are so... protected. protected. How sweet.' As he and his a.s.sistant walked out of the gallery, he turned and hollered back to the proprietor, 'I just want you to know that I think you're a wonderful person, and I wish you all the luck in the world with your store! I'll be back soon.' How sweet.' As he and his a.s.sistant walked out of the gallery, he turned and hollered back to the proprietor, 'I just want you to know that I think you're a wonderful person, and I wish you all the luck in the world with your store! I'll be back soon.'

Los Olivos is the home of about five hundred horse ranch estates, Victorian-style homes and about two dozen businesses. A thousand people, maybe less, call this remote and slumbering place home (fewer than a dozen of them, black), including one unlikely resident, the only man in town who wears a mask: Michael Joseph Jackson.

Figueroa Mountain Road winds upward through the lush and rolling Santa Ynez Valley of Los Olivos. A man sells apples under a leafy old shade tree on the side of the road; he's been doing so for years. Every day, he sits with nothing to do but sell his fruit, enjoy his day and bake in the sun. It's just that kind of place.

A half mile back from the road, behind an imposing oak gate, is 5225 Figueroa Mountain Road, a ma.s.sive Danish-style split-level farmhouse, its brick and masonry walls crisscrossed with wooden beams. This is where Michael Jackson lives.

This 2700-acre property, originally a ranch for farming dry oats and running cattle, was once known as Sycamore Ranch. It came on the market at $35 million; Michael purchased it for $17 million in May 1988. He then changed the name to Neverland Valley Ranch -Neverland, for short an homage homage to Peter Pan's Never-Never Land. The first order of business for Michael was to build his own amus.e.m.e.nt park own the acreage, including a merry-go-round, giant sliding board, railway with its own train and even a Ferris wheel. With his kind of money, he could pretty much do anything he wanted to do... and he would do it all at Neverland. to Peter Pan's Never-Never Land. The first order of business for Michael was to build his own amus.e.m.e.nt park own the acreage, including a merry-go-round, giant sliding board, railway with its own train and even a Ferris wheel. With his kind of money, he could pretty much do anything he wanted to do... and he would do it all at Neverland.

Michael's corner of the world is verdantly green as far as the eye can see. Old-fas.h.i.+oned windmills dot the landscape. There is an elegant softness to the grandeur; thousands of trees gently shade superbly manicured grounds which include a five-acre man-made, ice-blue lake with a soothing, never pummelling, five-foot waterfall and a graceful, inviting stone bridge. It is here, amidst the infinite silence of unfarmed, rolling and gentle countryside, that Michael Jackson has created his own environment, a safe haven for him from an ever-pressing, ever-difficult world.

Two thousand miles east, in the grimy industrial city of Gary, Indiana, there is a small, two-bedroom, one-bath, brick-and-aluminum-sided home on a corner lot. The property, at 2300 Jackson Street, is about a hundred feet deep and fifty feet wide. There is no garage, no landscaping and no green gra.s.s. Thick smoke plumes upward from nearby factories; it envelopes the atmosphere in a way that makes a person breathing such air feel just a little... sick. Joseph and Katherine Jackson, Michael's parents, purchased the home in 1950 for $8,500, with a $500 down-payment.

This place, primarily a black neighbourhood, is where Michael Jackson first lived as a child, with his parents and siblings Maureen, Jackie, t.i.to, Jermaine, LaToya, Marlon, Janet and Randy.

Like most parents, Joseph and Katherine wanted their children to succeed. In the early fifties the best they could do was two bedrooms and one bath for eleven people; clothes and shoes bought in secondhand stores. They hoped that when the youngsters graduated from high school, they would find steady work, perhaps in the mills... unless they could do better than that.

However, when the Jackson parents discovered that some of their kids had musical talent, their dreams expanded: the boys with the surprising musical and dance abilities would win contests, they decided, and be 'discovered'.

After their sons cut their first records, the imaginings of the parents grew more grandiose: a sprawling estate in California; servants at their beck and call; expensive luxury cars for everyone; three-piece suits, diamond rings and great power for Joseph; mink coats, jewels and a better social life for Katherine. They fantasized about flipping on their television and seeing their celebrated children perform their number-one hit songs for an appreciative world. As a result of the boys' fame, they figured, the entire family would be recognized, sought-after, asked to pose for pictures, sign autographs. They would all all be stars. What a great world it would be, for each of them. No more worries; everything taken care of, handled by their good fortune. be stars. What a great world it would be, for each of them. No more worries; everything taken care of, handled by their good fortune.

Was it too much to ask? It certainly seemed like a good idea, at the time. However, as proverbial wisdom has it, be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.

Joseph and Katherine.

Joseph Walter Jackson was born on 26 July 1929, to Samuel and Chrystal Jackson in Fountain Hill, Arkansas. He is the eldest of five children; a sister, Verna, died when she was seven. Samuel, a high school teacher, was a strict, unyielding man who raised his children with an iron fist. They were not allowed to socialize with friends outside the home. 'The Bible says that bad a.s.sociations spoil youthful habits,' Chrystal explained to them.

'Samuel Jackson loved his family, but he was distant and hard to reach,' remembered a relative. 'He rarely showed his family any affection, so he was misunderstood. People thought he had no feelings, but he did. He was sensitive but didn't know what to do with his sensitivities. Joseph would take after his father in so many ways.'

Samuel and Chrystal divorced when Joseph was a teenager. Sam moved to Oakland, taking Joseph with him, while Chrystal took Joseph's brother and sisters to East Chicago. When Samuel married a third time, Joseph decided to join his mother and siblings in Indiana. He dropped out of school in the eleventh grade and became a boxer in the Golden Gloves. Shortly thereafter, he met Katherine Esther Scruse at a neighbourhood party. She was a pretty and pet.i.te woman, and Joseph was attracted to her affable personality and warm smile.

Katherine was born on 4 May 1930, and christened Kattie B. Scruse, after an aunt on her father's side. (She was called Kate or Katie as a child, and those closest to her today still call her that.) Kattie was born to Prince Albert Screws and Martha Upshaw in Barbour County, a few miles from Russell County, Alabama, a rural farming area that had been home to her family for generations. Her parents had been married for a year. They would have another child, Hattie, in 1931.

Prince Scruse worked for the Seminole Railroad and also as a tenant cotton farmer, as did Katherine's grandfather and great-grandfather, Kendall Brown. Brown, who sang every Sunday in a Russell County church and was renowned for his voice, had once been a slave for an Alabama family named Scruse, whose name he eventually adopted as his own.

'People told me that when the church windows were opened, you could hear my great-grandfather's voice ringing out all over the valley,' Katherine would recall. 'It would just ring out over everybody else's. And when I heard this, I said to myself, "Well, maybe it is in the blood."'

At the age of eighteen months, Katherine was stricken with polio, at the time often called infantile paralysis because it struck so many children. There was no vaccine in those days, and many children like Joseph's sister Verna either died from it or were severely crippled.

In 1934, Prince Scruse moved his family to East Chicago, Indiana, in search of a steady job. He was employed in the steel mills before finding work as a Pullman porter with the Illinois Central Railroad. In less than a year, Prince and Martha divorced; Martha remained in East Chicago with her young daughters.

Because of her polio, Katherine became a shy, introverted child who was often taunted by her schoolmates. She was always in and out of hospitals. Unable to graduate from high school, she would take equivalency courses as an adult and get her diploma in that way. Until she was sixteen, she wore a brace, or used crutches. Today, she walks with a limp.

Her positive childhood memories have always been about music. She and her sister, Hattie, grew up listening to country-western radio programmes and admiring such stars as Hank Williams and Ernest Tubbs. They were members of the high school orchestra, the church junior band and the school choir. Katherine, who also sang in the local Baptist church, dreamed of a career in show business, first as an actress and then as a vocalist.

When she met Joseph, Katherine fell for him, immediately. Though he had married someone else, it lasted only about a year. After his divorce, Katherine began dating Joseph, and the couple soon became engaged. She was under his spell, gripped by his charisma, seduced by his charm, his looks, his power. He was a commanding man who took control, and she sensed she would always feel safe with him. She found herself enjoying his stories, laughing at his jokes. His eyes were large, set wide apart and a colour of hazel she had never before seen, almost emerald. Whenever she looked into them, as she would tell it, she knew she was being swept away, and it was what she wanted for herself. Or, as she put it, 'I fell crazy in love.'

They were opposites in many ways. She was soft. Joseph was hard. She was reasonable. Joseph was explosive. She was romantic. Joseph was pragmatic. However, the chemistry was there for them.

Both were musical: he was a bluesman who played guitar; she was a country-western fan who played clarinet and piano. When they were courting, the two would snuggle up together on cold winter nights and sing Christmas carols. Sometimes they would harmonize, and the blend was a good one, thanks to Katherine's beautiful soprano voice. Michael Jackson feels he inherited his singing ability from his mother. He has recalled that in his earliest memory of Katherine, she is holding him in her arms and singing songs such as 'You Are My Suns.h.i.+ne' and 'Cotton Fields'.

Joseph, twenty, and Katherine, nineteen, were married by a justice of the peace on 5 November 1949, in Crown Point, Indiana, after a six-month engagement.

Katherine has said that she was so affected by her parents' divorce, and the fact that she was raised in a broken home, she promised herself once she found a husband, she would stay married to him, no matter what circ.u.mstances may come their way. It didn't seem that she had much to worry about with Joseph, though. He treated her respectfully and showed her every consideration. She enjoyed his company; he made her laugh like no one ever had in the past. Importantly, there was a tremendous s.e.xual bonding between them. Joseph was a pa.s.sionate man; Katherine, less so a woman. However, they were in love; they were compatible and they made it work.

The newlyweds settled in Gary, Indiana. Their first child, Maureen, nicknamed Rebbie (p.r.o.nounced Reebie), was born on 29 May 1950. The rest of the brood followed in quick succession. On 4 May 1951, Katherine's twenty-first birthday, she gave birth to Sigmund Esco, nicknamed Jackie. Two years later, on 15 October 1953, Tariano Adaryl was born; he was called t.i.to. Jermaine LaJuane followed on 11 December 1954; LaToya Yvonne on 29 May 1956; Marlon David on 12 March 1957 (one of a set of premature twins; the other, Brandon, died within twenty-four hours of birth); Michael Joseph on 29 August 1958 ('with a funny-looking head, big brown eyes, and long hands,' said his mother); Steven Randall on 29 October 1961, and then Janet Dameta on 16 May 1966.

Early Days.

Talk about cramped quarters... once upon a G.o.d-forsaken time, all eleven members of the Jackson family lived at 2300 Jackson Street. 'You could take five steps from the front door and you'd be out the back,' Michael said of the house. 'It was really no bigger than a garage.'

Katherine and Joseph shared one bedroom with a double bed. The boys slept in the only other bedroom in a triple bunk bed; t.i.to and Jermaine sharing a bed on top, Marlon and Michael in the middle, and Jackie alone on the bottom. The three girls slept on a convertible sofa in the living room; when Randy, was born, he slept on a second couch. In the bitter-cold winter months, the family would huddle together in the kitchen in front of the open oven.

'We all had ch.o.r.es,' Jermaine remembered. 'There was always something to do scrubbing the floors, was.h.i.+ng the windows, doing whatever gardening there was to do,' he said with a smile. 't.i.to did the dishes after dinner. I'd dry them. The four oldest did the ironing Rebbie, Jackie, t.i.to, and me and we weren't allowed out of the house until we finished. My parents believed in work values. We learned early the rewards of feeling good about work.'

Joseph worked a four o'clock-to-midnight s.h.i.+ft as a crane operator at Inland Steel in East Chicago. In Michael's earliest memory of his father, he is coming home from work with a big bag of glazed doughnuts for everyone. 'The work was hard but steady, and for that I couldn't complain,' Joseph said. There was never enough money, though; Joseph seldom made more than sixty-five dollars a week, even though he often put in extra hours as a welder. The family learned to live with it. Katherine made the children's clothes herself, or shopped at a Salvation Army store. They ate simple foods: bacon and eggs for breakfast; egg-and-bologna sandwiches and sometimes tomato soup for lunch; fish and rice for dinner. Katherine enjoyed baking peach cobblers and apple pies for dessert.

There are few school pictures of the Jackson children today, because they could not afford to purchase them after posing for them. For the first five years that they lived on Jackson Street, the family had no telephone. When Jermaine contracted nephritis, a kidney disease, at the age of four and had to be hospitalized for three weeks, it hit Katherine and Joseph hard, financially, as well as emotionally.

Whenever Joseph was laid off, he found work harvesting potatoes, and during these periods the family would fill up on potatoes, boiled, fried or baked.

'I was dissatisfied,' Joseph Jackson remembered. 'Something inside of me told me there was more to life than this. What I really wanted more than anything was to find a way into the music business.' He, his brother Luther and three other men formed The Falcons, a rhythm and blues band that provided extra income for all of their families by performing in small clubs and bars. Joseph's three oldest sons Jackie, t.i.to and Jermaine were fascinated with their father's music and would sit in on rehearsals at home. (Michael has no recollection of The Falcons.) In the end, The Falcons was not commercially successful; when they disbanded, Joseph stashed his guitar in the bedroom closet. That string instrument was his one vestige of a dream deferred, and he didn't want any of the children to get their hands on it. Michael referred to the closet as 'a sacred place'. Occasionally Katherine would take the guitar down from the shelf and play it for the children. They would all gather around in the living room and sing together, country songs like 'Wabash Cannonball' and 'The Great Speckled Bird'.

With his group disbanded, Joseph didn't know what to do with himself. Now working the swing s.h.i.+ft at Inland Steel and the day s.h.i.+ft at American Foundries, all he knew was that he wanted much more for himself and his family. It was the early sixties and 'everybody we knew was in a singing group', Jackie recalled. 'That was the thing to do, go join a group. There were gangs, and there were singing groups. I wanted to be in a singing group, but we weren't allowed to hang out with the other kids. So we started singing together 'round the house. Our TV broke down and Mother started having us sing together. And then what happened was that our father would go to work, and we would sneak into his bedroom and get that guitar down.'

'And I would play it,' t.i.to continued. 'It would be me, Jackie and Jermaine, and we'd sing, learn new songs, and I would play. Our mother came in one day and we all froze, like "Uh-oh, we're busted," but she didn't say anything. She just let us play.'

'I didn't want to stop it because I saw a lot of talent there,' Katherine would explain later.

This went on for a few months until one day t.i.to broke a string on the guitar. 'I knew I was in trouble,' t.i.to recalled. 'We were all all in trouble. Our father was strict and we were scared of him. So I put the guitar back in the closet and hoped he wouldn't figure out what had happened. But he did, and he in trouble. Our father was strict and we were scared of him. So I put the guitar back in the closet and hoped he wouldn't figure out what had happened. But he did, and he whooped whooped me. Even though my mother lied and said she had given me permission to play the guitar, he tore me up.' When t.i.to tells the story, his words tumble out and he gets tongue-tied. So many years later, one can still sense his anxiety about it. 'She just didn't want to see me get whipped,' he said, sadly. 'Not again. me. Even though my mother lied and said she had given me permission to play the guitar, he tore me up.' When t.i.to tells the story, his words tumble out and he gets tongue-tied. So many years later, one can still sense his anxiety about it. 'She just didn't want to see me get whipped,' he said, sadly. 'Not again.

'Afterwards, when Joseph cooled off, he came into the room. I was still crying on the bed. I said, "You know, I can play that thing. I really can." He looked at me and said, "Okay, lemme see what you can do, smart guy." So I played it. And Jermaine and Jackie sang a little. Joseph was amazed. He had no idea, because this was the big secret we had been keeping from him because we were so scared of him.'

Joseph later said that when his sons revealed their talent to him, he felt a surge of excitement about it. 'I decided I would leave the music to my sons,' he told me, many years later. 'I had a dream for them,' he said. 'I envisioned these kids making audiences happy by sharing their talent, talent that they'd maybe inherited from me.' He seemed touched by his own words as he looked back on the past. 'I just wanted them to make something of themselves. That's all I wanted,' he added.

Joseph went off to work the next day and, that night, returned home holding something behind his back. He called out to t.i.to and handed him the package. It was a red electric guitar. 'Now, let's rehea.r.s.e, boys,' Joseph said with a wide smile. He gathered his three sons together Jackie, nine, t.i.to, seven, and Jermaine, six and they practised. 'We'd never been so close,' t.i.to would recall. 'It was as if we had finally found something in common. Marlon and Mike, they would sit in the corner and watch. Our mother would give us some tips. I noticed our mother and father were happy. We were all happy. We had found something special.'

In the sixties, Gary was a tough, urban city, and the Jacksons' neighbourhood was sometimes a dangerous place for youngsters. Katherine and Joseph lived in constant fear that one of their children would be hurt in the streets. 'We were always protected by our parents,' Jackie recalled. 'We were never really allowed to have fun in the streets like other kids. We had a strict curfew. The only time we could actually play with people our own age was in school. We liked the social aspect of school.'

Katherine Jackson, a strong force in the lives of her children, pa.s.sed on to them a deep and abiding respect for certain religious convictions. She had been a Baptist and then a Lutheran but turned from both faiths for the same reason: she discovered that the ministers were having extramarital affairs. When Michael was five years old Katherine became a Jehovah's Witness, converted by a door-to-door worker. She was baptized in 1963 in the swimming pool at Roosevelt High in Gary. From then on, she asked that the rest of the family get dressed in their best clothes every Sunday and walk with her to Kingdom Hall, their place of wors.h.i.+p. Joseph, who had been raised a Lutheran, accompanied his wife a couple of times to placate her, but stopped going when the children were still young because, as Marlon put it, 'it was so boring.' As time went on, Michael, LaToya, and Rebbie would become the most devout about their religion.

Had that religion been any but the Jehovah's Witnesses, Michael Jackson would probably have evolved in a completely different way. So removed are Jehovah's Witnesses from mainstream Protestantism, they were sometimes considered a cult, especially in the fifties and sixties. No matter where they live, no Jehovah's Witness will salute a flag (they believe it is idolatrous to do so) or serve in any armed forces (each Witness is considered an ordained minister and, therefore, exempt). They don't celebrate Christmas or Easter or birthdays. They usually will not contribute money to any group outside their own church because they consider preaching the gospel the most worthwhile, charitable deed. Jehovah's Witnesses periodically make news because they refuse to receive blood transfusions for themselves or their children, no matter how gravely ill the patient may be.

In the strictest sense of the teachings, Jehovah's Witnesses considered themselves the sheep; everybody else is a goat. When the great battle of Armageddon is fought it was expected in 1972 and then in 1975 all the goats will be destroyed at once and the sheep will be spared. The sheep will then be resurrected to a life on earth as subjects of the Kingdom of G.o.d. They will be ruled by Christ and a select group of 144,000 Witnesses who will reside in heaven by Christ's side. At the end of a thousand years, Satan will come forth to tempt those on earth. Those who succ.u.mb to his wiles will be immediately destroyed. The rest will live, idyllically. Of course, as with those who adhere to religious beliefs, some Witnesses are more adamant about those teachings than others.

Estimates are that 20 to 30 per cent of its members are black. Witnesses are judged solely by their good deeds their witnessing, or door-to-door proselytizing and not on new cars, large homes, expensive clothes and other status symbols. Because of her devotion to the Jehovah's Witnesses, Katherine was mostly satisfied with what she had in Gary, Indiana. She enjoyed her life, and had little issue with it other than her concern that the city didn't offer much promise for her children's future, other than work in factories for the boys and domestic life for the girls. Would that be so bad? Yes, Joseph would tell her, absolutely, yes. Sometimes, she agreed. Sometimes, she wasn't so sure what to think about any of it.

Every day, for at least three hours, the boys would rehea.r.s.e, whether they wanted to do so or not, with Joseph's only thought being to get his family out of Gary.

'When I found out that my kids were interested in becoming entertainers, I really went to work with them,' Joseph Jackson would tell Time. Time. 'When the other kids would be out on the street playing games, my boys were in the house working, trying to learn how to be something in life, 'When the other kids would be out on the street playing games, my boys were in the house working, trying to learn how to be something in life, do do something with their lives.' something with their lives.'

Though the Jacksons' music may have brought them closer together as a family unit, it also served to further alienate them from everyone else in the neighbourhood. 'Already, people thought we were strange because of our religion,' Jackie would remember. 'Now they were sure of it. They'd say, "Yeah, look at those Jacksons. They think they're something special." Everyone else used to hang out on the corners and sing with their groups. But we weren't allowed to. We had to practise at home. So the other kids thought we thought we were too good to sing with on the corner.'

Rehearsals were still held twice a day, before school and after, even though their peers in the neighbourhood thought the Jacksons were wasting their time. As they practised, voices from outside would taunt them through open windows, 'You ain't nothing, nothing,' you Jacksons!' Rocks would be hurled into the living room. It didn't matter to the Jacksons; they ignored the taunts and focused on their practice sessions.

By 1962, five-year-old Marlon had joined the group, playing bongos and singing, mostly off-key. (Marlon couldn't sing or dance, but he was allowed in the group anyway because Katherine would not have it any other way.) One day when the boys were practising while Joseph was at work, Katherine watched as Michael, who was four years old, began imitating Jermaine as he sang a James Brown song. When Michael sang, his voice was so strong and pure, Katherine was surprised. As soon as Joseph got home, she met him at the door with some good news: 'I think we have another lead singer.'

Joseph Hits Michael.