Posted: Friday, 26 June 2009 10:48AM
Just Look Over Your Shoulders
Steve Corbett Reporting
Friday, June 26, 2009
Reaching out, Michael Jackson slowly extended his hand.
Weak and frail, not anything like the dancing machine he once had been, he looked in my eyes as I responded to his words.
“How are you?” he had mouthed silently as he approached me that day during his criminal trial in Santa Maria, California.
“Good,” I said quietly. “How are you?”
Michael knew me for several reasons.
I had covered his first trial in Santa Maria when a concert promoter sued him.
We had talked briefly back then.
I still show up in still photographs and video taken in 2002 when he took the stand in his own defense and put his fingers to his head to make devil horns. That photo might be one of the most famous photos of Michael ever shot. I also was by his side when he left court for the day and stooped to speak with a child in a wheelchair one day after court.
And now more than two years later I was sitting in the courtroom where the 46-year-old star was on trial for child molestation charges.
As Michael moved closer to me, he looked like he might faint.
I had remained in my seat when the court broke for a recess because I wanted to watch him closely to see how he behaved when he might have thought no one was looking.
But when it came to Michael, somebody was always looking.
As he reached for me, I wondered if his action was part of a sham of some kind to elicit sympathy.
I still don’t know the answer to that question.
All I know is that I reached back and for a few seconds Michael and I held hands.
Looking into his eyes I wondered if he truly was as lost as he seemed, without real friends and willing to reach out for anybody who might be there.
When I felt awkward enough to withdraw my hand, I felt deep sorrow for Michael.
I also felt anger at what I was convinced he had done to vulnerable children, people who loved him enough to be charmed and hurt irreparably at the same time.
And that’s the damning legacy of Michael Jackson.
Although jurors unanimously acquitted him of 14 felony counts that could have imprisoned him for many years, I believe he was guilty.
As I sat in the courtroom the day the jury reached its verdict, sitting just a row or two behind the Jackson family that included Michael’s mother, father and his famous brothers and sisters, I knew that I would forever believe in Michael’s guilt.
As we pay tribute today to the late music icon, I think back to the child who was courageous enough to take the stand, swear to tell the truth, and testify to the world about what he said Michael did to him in bed.
I listened to every witness as I sat in court each day from the beginning to the end of the five-month trial, including the tedious jury selection about which I wrote numerous columns.
Michael chose not to testify in his own behalf.
He left his army of expensive lawyers to do his talking for him, relinquishing his voice while others took center stage.
Mostly, though, I listened to the alleged victim.
But another witness convinced me even more of Michael’s guilt.
I listened to a young man who appeared in court with his new young wife to testify against Michael. His mother had worked for Michael as a housekeeper and brought her child to visit while she cleaned.
Michael loved the child and he loved Michael.
And then one day, the now young man testified, Michael hurt him.
The young man cried on the witness stand.
His young wife sat in the front row.
The young man had not filed suit against Jackson. He wanted nothing in return for what he said Michael did to him other than knowing that Michael would not touch another child in the way that Michael touched him.
The young man said he now worked in an auto parts store, and also served as a youth pastor and wanted to help children.
I believed every word that came out of his mouth.
So when I ponder the legacy that Michael left to the world, I think about the magic. But mostly I think about the madness. And I hope that everyone who loved and trusted Michael Jackson will heal and go on with their lives.
I especially hope for those who looked over their shoulders – those for whom he was there, for better or for worse.
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Corbett
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