Dec. 3: The degrees of fame

 When I was 12, I decided that there were four levels of fame. You could be famous, really famous, really really famous, or Michael Jackson famous. 

An example of a famous person might be Father Flannagan, who was the parish priest at St. Gerard's and was pretty much well known around Haysboro, which was the Calgary community where my family lived. Other people who might be famous were Calgary Mayor Ralph Klein or Calgary Flames captain Lanny McDonald, who were both well-known in their insular communities but might be treated as strangers should they venture outwards. Same thing for Spencer W Kimble, who used to be the prophet for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

An example of a really famous person might be a television star or a lesser known politician. Martin Short, Jean Chretien, David Copperfield, the two bearded guys from ZZ Top, Stephen King, Bozo the Clown, David Lee Roth, Fred Dryer (who was on Hunter) and Charles Schulz all qualify as really famous people. 

Really really famous people were world leaders (or dictators) or elite athletes or Oscar winning movie stars or rock stars or people who are really really cool. Prince, Madonna, Donald Trump, Ronald McDonald, Steven Warburton, Wayne Gretzky, Muhammed Ali, and Brad Pitt all qualify as really really famous.

But Michael Jackson famous? That's a whole new ball game, friend.

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I was probably 10 or so when I learned about the existence of Michael Jackson. His videos for Thriller and Billy Jean and Beat It were all over MTV and its Canadian incarnation, MuchMusic. I thought they were cool but no cooler than videos by the likes of Duran Duran or Quiet Riot or Twisted Sister. Actually, I thought Twisted Sister's videos were way cooler than anything Michael Jackson ever did, but I was in the minority there.

When Thriller came out, Michael Jackson became famous in a way that no one - with the possible exceptions of Elvis and the Beatles - has ever been famous before. In an era before social media when news could rocket around the world in a split second, Michael Jackson could somehow attract large crowds to stalk him whenever he visited a city. I remember watching a newscast about some city where Michael Jackson was doing a concert. The newscast showed hundreds of crying shrieking people on the street outside the hotel where he was staying. They were telling the newscasters how much they loved Michael Jackson and how they had taken the day off work or school or whatever hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Then the camera cut to a window of one of the hotel rooms. A hand appeared, waved to the crowd, and disappeared. The crowd went wild. "HE WAVED AT ME!!!" one hysterical woman shrieked, tears streaking down her face. "HE WAVED AT ME!!!!"

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I wonder, sometimes, about what it was that Michael Jackson had that catapulted him above his peers. To be sure, he was an amazing singer, an amazing dancer, and an amazing showman. But there were other musicians of that era who could hold a candle to him. Prince, for example, while not as strong a singer, also played his instruments and pretty much wrote all of his songs. But Prince also had a powerful sexual component to everything he did; Michael Jackson did not. If I had to leave my girlfriend alone with either Prince or Michael Jackson, I'd choose the latter. Prince probably would have encouraged her to visit his boudoir. Michael, on the other hand, would have cried with her and been vulnerable with her.

And maybe that's why Michael Jackson was so famous. He was so obviously vulnerable and yet, paradoxically, untouchable. So many of his fans must have believed that an hour-long visit with them could have healed Michael Jackson of whatever it was that ailed him. But that wouldn't happen, couldn't happen. He was just too famous. His life was so unlike anything anyone lived that he couldn't expect anyone to empathize with him at all.

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I used to want to be famous the same way Michael Jackson was. I no longer want that. I couldn't deal with the scrutiny, having my every move broadcast by the media and having everything I do scrutinized by the world. I wouldn't enjoy seeing my face, or the faces of my family, plastered across the tabloids, accusing me of outlandish things by taking an innocent comment, blowing it wildly out of context, and turning me into something I'm not.

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I buy the narrative. I believe that Michael Jackson's childhood was largely stolen from him. I believe that the time he should have spent farting around with his friends was, instead, spent in marathon rehearsal sessions and touring the country. Worldwide fame, for the most part, was nothing he originally aspired to. It was thrust upon him. He accepted it and became an entertainment icon, but likely spent his entire adult life longing for a barely remembered time when the world treated him as an anonymous. The guy probably didn't get to have a a normal conversation with a stranger since he was a teenager.

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Michael Jackson offended me once.

It was during his famous 1993 televised interview with Oprah, when he unveiled the trailer for his new HISTORY project. The trailer adopted a military dictatorship motif, where Michael marched with an army of uniformed soldiers. Along the sides of the route, hysterical fans shrieked his name. Several of them fainted at the mere prospect of being in his presence.

The trailer ended in a Tiananmen Square type of courtyard, where a giant statue of Michael Jackson was unveiled. The crowd went wild, applauding the way they might have at the end of the Second World War.

I didn't like it. To me, there is a line between self-promotion and full blown narcissism. That trailer reminded me of the story of Herod as recorded in the 12th chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, the one where he is struck down by the angel of the Lord after glorifying himself and not giving proper glory to God.

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Michael Jackson is dead now.

If, during his life, I found myself in the same room with him, I would have endeavoured to talk with him like an ordinary person, not like a superstar. How I would have fared in that department, I do not know. 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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