You Are Not Alone_Michael, Through a Brother’s Eyes (38 page)

WHEN MICHAEL FINALLY RETURNED TO AMERICA,
stable after his stint in rehab, his health and well-being were paramount to everyone, but things didn’t look promising. First, he was in the intensity of the media spotlight. Then both District Attorneys decided to convene Grand Juries in seeking an indictment. Michael was adamant that he wanted to clear his name but it didn’t seem that he would be walking into the great Courts of Justice of California; more as if he would be sitting at the tables in Las Vegas and gambling his liberty and career. At least, that was how his camp viewed it. But here’s what most people don’t know: Michael’s
personal
choice was to take the risk and go to trial – a criminal trial with the penalty of prison, not a civil trial with the possibility of financial damages. That was how confident he was of his own
innocence. He even instructed his attorneys to file a motion to delay the civil case so the criminal trial could go ahead, putting the ‘beyond all reasonable doubt’ test before ‘the balance of probability’. That way, an acquittal would seriously have weakened Dr Chandler’s lawsuit.

But, in November 1993, a judge denied that motion because no charges had been brought. Instead he allowed a speedy trial for the civil case because no one wanted the boy’s memory to fade and a trial date was set for the following March. That decision changed everything: if the civil lawsuit went against him, how could he possibly expect a fair criminal trial? In those circumstances, it was no surprise when a decision was taken to settle the case out of court. This payment – said to have been in the region of $15 million – was not hush money and it was not about cheating justice because justice was cheating Michael. It was, if anything, about saving him from a travesty of justice. People forget that the insurers governing his personal liability were also involved in this decision. Remember, Michael’s intention was to fight this case. In the ever-changing circumstances, and amid all sorts of other legal motions, a team decision was taken to settle but that settlement stated in writing that payment was not an admission of guilt.

Another myth that needs debunking is that Michael bought the Chandlers’ silence with this money: the settlement only prohibited the Chandlers from talking to the media; it did not prevent them testifying in any future criminal proceedings, as time would prove. This settlement was the only way to end the nightmare quickly. At the time, it seemed the best choice among bad options – and Dr Chandler really wasn’t the winner because it was said that he and his wife only received about $1.5 million each from the settlement, with the rest going to the boy, Jordie – who grew up to become estranged from his parents.

In November 2009, four months after Michael’s death, Dr Chandler, then 65, was found dead in his apartment in New Jersey. He had suffered a gun-shot wound to the head and was found lying with the gun in his hand.

BY EARLY 1994, AND AFTER SPENDING
millions of dollars, convening two Grand Juries and talking to more than 150 witnesses, including all of the kids who’d spent time at Neverland, the LAPD and District Attorney Tom Sneddon conceded there was no case to answer.

Unfortunately Sneddon refused to close the case. It was, he said, ‘suspended’, leaving the door open for anyone who came forward in the future. The media wouldn’t stop its pursuit, either.

Two years later, in 1995, my partner, Margaret, received a phone call from a friendly journalist warning us that a rumour was circulating about a ‘secret’ videotape. ‘And what was this tape supposed to show?’ I asked.

‘Michael in the shower … with Jeremy,’ she said. Our son. Michael’s nephew. ‘They’re printing a story saying Michael has paid us off to keep silent.’ We could only despair, not knowing whether to weep for the truth or scream at the madness of it all.

Our attorneys immediately made the
National Enquirer
understand that if it so much as published the first sentence of that lie it would be closed down within a week. For once, it listened. Sadly, the producers of a ‘hard news’ television show called
Hard Copy
– a.k.a. Hard Copy, Soft Facts – ran a story about a videotape being found and its correspondent Diane Dimond breathlessly reported to viewers, and later to radio station KABC-AM, that the police would be re-examining the case against Michael. That same week, LAPD confirmed no such videotape existed.

It transpired that the source of this lie was none other than Victor Gutierrez, the freelance writer from Venice Beach. Michael’s legal team launched a lawsuit for defamation. A judge and jury found that the story was false and malicious, and awarded my brother $2.7 million in damages. Gutierrez filed for bankruptcy and fled to Mexico. But despite that small victory, I think I knew then, in the back of my mind, that this whole saga would never go away.

WITH THE HORROR OF 1993 BEHIND
him, a vindicated Michael moved on. He had resolved not to change his philosophy of life or
his attitudes towards children based on one experience with one family. In his mind, love never surrendered to hate. He trusted what was in his heart, and that God knew the truth. He did not allow those events to taint his love for children and he would not permit outside influences to reshape who he was. That is strength, not weakness. He would install certain safeguards: he’d never again share a bed with a child, and he wouldn’t be alone in a bedroom with one. Otherwise, Neverland would continue to operate on its foundations of trust, love and charity.

THE JACKSON FAMILY HONOURS
WENT AHEAD
in February 1994 at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. We had specifically wanted Oprah Winfrey to host the evening. As the one person who had given Michael a sympathetic television platform almost a year earlier, it seemed fitting that she should welcome him on an evening that was all about humanity. In December 1993, she joined President Bill Clinton at the White House to support a new law against child abusers, the National Child Protection Act. Now, we thought, she could line up alongside Michael, the biggest champion of children, and declare her support.

We were surprised to hear her decline, saying she didn’t think she would be a good host, but she wished us the best of luck. It was a shame – we knew how much she loved Michael – but it didn’t detract from the occasion. When he walked out on stage, the entire auditorium gave him a standing ovation that must have lasted beyond 10 minutes. It was wonderful to see him onstage looking so revitalised and healthy after all the bullshit. He was radiant and happy.

Moving into 1994, there was good reason for him to feel on top of the world because he had
finally
found his true counterpart in a woman: someone who had had a restrictive childhood, wasn’t impressed by his fame, had experienced living under a spotlight and didn’t need him for his money. Someone who absolutely understood his world and needed nothing from him but love. Lisa Marie Presley ticked all the boxes.

LOOKING BACK, LISA MARIE PRESLEY WAS
always popping up on the periphery of Michael’s life, sporadically flashing by unnoticed until their paths converged. Retracing destiny’s map today, it seems clear it was always God’s plan that they unite.

I’m not one for coincidences; I don’t think there is such a thing. And I know that Michael felt there was a strong element of ‘meant to be’ when they first met as adults in late 1992. He viewed destiny as a game of chess: we, the people, are the pieces and God was the player, moving us around the board until King takes Queen.

By the time of the big Oprah interview, Michael had already started a phone relationship with Lisa Marie, building up towards their ultimate romance – which ends the lie about a ‘publicity marriage to restore his reputation’ after the events of 1993. As a couple, they were flirting and talking, and starting to feel something long before the extortion nightmare began.

In fact, destiny’s journey began in 1974 when we were in Vegas doing the family variety show. Somewhere between those bookings, we went to nearby Tahoe for a performance at the
Sahara-Tahoe casino lounge. That sort of intimate venue seated about 1,000 people and pulled in the likes of Frank Sinatra and Charlie Rich. At some point during our down-time, Jackie must have wandered off with Michael because they found themselves in one of those wide, service-type elevators. Apparently, they were standing around, watching their feet, when the elevator stopped. The doors opened and Elvis stepped in, slicked hair and sparkling white jumpsuit with high collar, a thick towel around his neck. He looked at Jackie and Michael. ‘You’re those Jackson boys?’ he asked.

They nodded, dumbstruck. You’d think that once you’d met the likes of Smokey Robinson, Sammy Davis Junior and Jackie Wilson, nothing could faze you, but the randomness of that shared elevator ride was the biggest unexpected thrill. Not that it lasted long. Seconds later, the doors opened again and Elvis was on his way. ‘Good luck, fellas!’ he said. That was the day Michael met the future father-in-law he would never know.

I was mad to have missed out, but some years later, back in Nevada, I found myself in a hotel – I can’t remember which one – and spotted Elvis’s right-hand man, Colonel Tom Parker, amid a cloud of cigar smoke. He was a legend: the manager of all managers. Bespectacled and rotund, with his trademark red scarf around his double-chin, he was sitting at a restaurant table near the casino. I dared to venture over and say hi. Before I knew it, we were sitting down, talking all matters Elvis and the Jackson 5, as 20-year-old me pretended to puff on one of his big-ass cigars. He was fascinated by Mother and Joseph. ‘Tell me, how did they produce all that talent in just one family? That’s what I wanna know,’ he said, probably working out the commission percentages in his head and multiplying it by nine.

When he asked me to fire at him any question about Elvis – and after I had found out that ‘The King’ loved doughnuts and the blues group Muddy Waters (not to be confused with the artist) – I couldn’t resist asking the one thing that had always intrigued me: ‘Is it true that you split everything 50:50 with Mr Elvis?’

He laughed at my audacity. ‘Yeah.’ He let out another thick swirl of smoke.

I was still pretty green about all matters business but even I was thinking Elvis must be mad to give away
half
his earnings, but Colonel Parker was shrewd. He sat there all relaxed but commanding – like he owned the very spot where we were seated – and we spoke about how much of a partnership he’d shared with Elvis, how trust was everything in this business, and how Elvis set the bar as the hardest-working man he knew. Later, when I told the brothers about this inspirational meeting, Michael only wanted to know one thing: ‘Did you ask him if Jackie Wilson was one of his favourites?’ Now there was a question I should have asked. ‘Because it sure looks like he stole his moves!’ he joked.

We did find out one thing from Colonel Parker: Elvis’s six-year-old daughter Lisa Marie was a ‘big Jackson 5’ fan, who had already seen us perform – she’d attended a show with one of her father’s backing singers. Years later, someone said that she was brought backstage to meet us.

The next time I saw Lisa Marie was maybe 17 years later around 1990–1 in a pharmacy in the Brentwood district of LA. I wondered about going over to say hello but she looked frazzled and I hesitated. Soon afterwards, in 1992, she and Michael discovered that they had a mutual friend in the Australian artist Brett Livingstone Strong, and the man who had found my brother his secret hideaway in an airport hangar now played unintentional match-maker. He brought them together at a dinner and from that day – when she was still married to Danny Keough – an innocent friendship began, the slow-forming foundation to a very real romance.

Throughout Michael’s ordeal in 1993, Lisa Marie was one of those friends he called on for advice by phone wherever he was in the world. There were others: hotel owner Steve Wynn, talent manager Sandy Gallin and MCA Records’ David Geffen but she impressed him with her no-nonsense, straightforward, hard advice. With so many voices around him, she was a refreshing
sounding-board. She took no bullshit, and when she saw it around him, she made her feelings about certain people very clear. That kind of frankness always made my brother chuckle. There were no show-business airs and graces, and she was feminine, fine-looking and strong. I’d say the attraction was obvious.

The world didn’t see them step out together until 1994 – which is presumably why there was talk about a marriage of convenience – but she had actually joined Michael in public in May 1993 at some charity kids’ event out east as a guest of ex-American President Jimmy Carter.

Michael never missed an opportunity to meet a president! Not only had he read up on nearly every one of them, but his coffee-table in the living room at Neverland was decorated with framed photographs of him meeting Presidents Carter, Clinton and Reagan. Michael was very proud of that presidential showcase and he became particularly friendly with the Clintons. Soon the house would be filled with photographs of Lisa Marie, her two children, and Michael. It had taken 20 years since they first flashed by one another in 1974 and now Jackson was in love with Presley. The King’s daughter and the King of Pop – God doesn’t write better movie scripts than that.

IT WAS A QUIET WEDDING. SO
QUIET that we didn’t even know it was happening. The ceremony took place in the Dominican Republic in August 1994 and a decision was clearly taken not to inform either family: a ‘we-want-no-fuss’ affair. The fewer people who knew about it, the less chance there was of the press finding out. Had Mother been there, she might have reminded the officiating minister that her son’s name was not ‘Michael Joseph Jackson’, as was said in the vows, much to Michael’s amusement. Once they were declared man and wife, the over-excited groom phoned Mother from their hotel suite with his ‘big news’, but she thought it was one of his pranks. ‘You’re telling me you married Lisa Marie Presley? No, you did not,’ she said.

‘I did! I
did!
’ he said, starting to laugh.

‘I don’t believe you!’

‘You want to speak with her? She’s here with me now …’ he said, and there was, apparently, a lot of laughter in the background before Lisa Marie said hello and eventually put Michael back on.

Mother still didn’t believe it. ‘That’s not her – you’ve just got some black girl pretending to be her,’ she insisted.

By now, Michael was laughing so hard that he could hardly speak. Bless Mother, her Alabama ears had expected Elvis’s daughter to speak with her father’s drawl. As she recalls it today: ‘She sounded so unlike what I had imagined. Goes to show …’

There was probably another reason why Mother was sceptical: Michael was always ringing either her, Rebbie or Janet, disguising his voice and pretending to be someone else. His English-gent impression was apparently very convincing, and always had them fooled.

In that phone call from the Dominican Republic Mother loved hearing how excited he was to have a wife. I only witnessed rare glimpses of this marriage because they were so wrapped up in each other. My previous concerns about him being alone – surrounded by professional advisers or filling the void with random people – evaporated. Now he had someone very real, firm and big-hearted, who wasn’t afraid of the vultures around him.

I laughed at media suggestions that they were ‘faking it’ because we all knew in the family the intensity of their relationship and how they always wanted to be together. Michael’s joy couldn’t have been faked. The intimacy you see in the video for ‘You Are Not Alone’ was art imitating life; a sweet glimpse as to how easy they were with one another and how they liked to laugh. Reports that we ‘loathed’ our brother’s new wife could not have been further from the truth: she was only ever embraced and there was never one iota of doubt that she had Michael’s best interests at heart. She grew particularly close to Janet and Rebbie. When my sisters spent time with Lisa Marie and heard her speak about Michael, they always came away saying the same thing: ‘That girl is crazy about him!’

Now that Lisa Marie had arrived in Michael’s life, I stopped throwing out my lines of communication. For me, it was only ever about ‘Is Michael okay?’

Once I knew he was okay, I was, too.

IF MICHAEL WAS INTENT ON ONE
thing, it was securing his future. From very early on in his career, he vowed not to become ‘just another black artist who ended up with nothing.’ Of course, he first said that at a time when he had no idea how phenomenally successful he was going to become, but he had told Mother he wanted to make business decisions that meant ‘our family will never have to worry about money any more.’

With him now married and looking to start his own family, financial security was paramount. No matter how many miles he put between himself and Gary, Indiana, and no matter how enormous his success, nothing removed the memory of our parents’ struggle. It never leaves you; it never stops pushing you.

Perhaps now, people will better understand why Michael landed, and so ruthlessly pursued, what everyone referred to ‘as the biggest deal in music publishing history’. He had followed Paul McCartney’s advice, given in 1983, that the real security was in the ownership of copyright to songs. One year later, in 1984, Michael spent $47.5 million on the richly historic ATV Music Publishing catalogue comprising about 4,000 songs, including ‘Tutti Frutti’ by Little Richard (which, I’m sure, made Joseph happy). But the big fish was the Beatles’ hits, and every song they had written between 1964 and 1971. What made this deal ironically controversial was that Paul McCartney had tried to buy back the copyright he’d sold in the 1960s. He reportedly wanted to go halves in a $20 million bid with John Lennon’s widow, Yoko Ono. Nothing came of it and his interest fell away, so he didn’t take it very well when he learned about Michael’s deal. A lot of injured pride found its public voice, but Yoko Ono said it was ‘a blessing’ that such a prestigious catalogue was in the hands of someone like Michael. As ever, I guess it depends on which side of the fence you sit. Michael followed the
rules of the game, came in with the highest bid, and if Paul McCartney had wanted full ownership that badly, he’d have put his money where his mouth was. But he didn’t: he lost. That’s business. Like so many people, I think he underestimated who Michael was. If there was any advice I could have given to anyone who thought they had my brother’s measure it would have been this: don’t be fooled by the big-kid act, the gentle voice or the headlines. He was a shrewd businessman with a futuristic vision. Now when you placed his ATV library alongside his own MIJAC catalogue (which includes all his music as well as some Ray Charles and Sly and the Family Stone), he was suddenly sitting on the biggest-paying prize in the music industry. With the help of attorney John Branca, he had out-manoeuvred Hollywood to guarantee his future.

Nine years later John Branca would take this coup to the next level. Michael’s own label, Sony, had said it wanted to buy half of the ATV catalogue, but it was not for sale. Sony wanted to do business, Michael wouldn’t budge. The record label presumably had to think again. The deal that was eventually struck appeared to give Michael an even firmer grip on the music industry, because Sony agreed a partnership in which each side would share half their catalogues, creating a merger of interests within Sony-ATV Music Publishing valued at around $1 billion. Michael, with 50 per cent of Sony’s publishing, as well as 50 per cent of ATV, had now become a significant stake-holder in his own label.

Even more impressive was the clause that stipulated Michael could not be subject to an aggressive buy-out. As he himself explained it, his part ownership was cemented forever and ‘there was no way Sony or anyone else could do anything corporate to take it away from me.’

On paper, it looked like a marriage made in heaven.

I DIDN’T KNOW THERE WAS FRICTION
in Michael’s marriage until crisis phone-calls were going back and forth between Lisa Marie and Mother, Janet and Rebbie. I wasn’t privy to those
heart-to-hearts but it was obvious that the intensity of the romance at the start was mirrored in its falling apart.

The compromise needed in a marriage was, I think, a more difficult shift for Michael to make than he’d imagined. I’d honestly thought this one was going to last because they seemed suited, but when there was a problem, one of them needed to bend first and neither partner knew how to do that. Michael struggled with the demands of married life, and I think Lisa Marie struggled with his isolating creative process. I’m guessing now, but when you think how she had grown up, with a father who was always away, always performing, always in the studio, the last thing she needed was an absent husband. She couldn’t understand why he had to be gone all the time, and he couldn’t understand why she had a problem with him being in the studio, sometimes sleeping there. So, when Lisa Marie questioned his decisions, he thought, wrongly, that she wanted to tie him down.