By Staff
Pity poor Farrah Fawcett of "Charlie's Angels" for dying at 62 June 25 hours before the incomparable Michael Jackson succumbed at 50.
Her cancer demise was expected.
His heart stopping was not.
Her poster hung on our dorm wall, those tantalizing teased tresses subliminally spelling S-E-X.
Timing is everything. This 51-year-old was heartened to hear broadcasters describe him as "young."
Remember what are now the good old days when ruthless cable channels split the screen between the State of the Union and O.J.?
Sorry, Congress, that wouldn't happen anymore.
Kitty Pilgrim, Lou Dobbs' CNN sidekick, at least acknowledged the blatant onesideness of it all before returning to the Jackumentary already in progress that the Rev. Al Sharpton was narrating outside the Apollo.
CNN would see nothing wrong with Jackson christening himself the "King of Pop" because they spend more time proclaiming themselves the best political team on TV than they do actually covering politics.
What will they do at People, which loves to exploit deaths of celebrities they wouldn't put on the cover in life? Two covers? An inset Fawcett photo? Timing is everything.
Maybe a third photo of Ed McMahon mouthing a cartoon balloon, "Here's Jacko!" With his boisterous voice stilled, pitchman Billy Mays, also 50, will be but an onlooker at the celebrity death watch.
Michael by supper time traveled an arc that made the JFK assassination outpouring look subdued, which is ironic considering he hadn't been relevant for 25 years. He peaked in 1984.
Yet announcers asked guests where they were when they heard?
Like the commentators speculating incessantly, I don't know what the autopsy will find besides prescription drugs, but I wouldn't be surprised if we start finding cause of death as drowning by information overload.
The main problem with relentless, unblinking, live coverage gulped from a fire hydrant torrent of raw information is a lot more water shoots up your nose than quenches your thirst and it makes your side cramp.
Since he was a year younger than me, came out of nearby Gary, Ind., which we drove through regularly to see my grandma in Hammond, and defined entertainment in the 1980s, particularly with "Thriller," I always pulled for him, despite my resentment of him commercializing and mortgaging the Beatles catalog, But his status as a bizarre curiosity – an adorable black boy who through the years slowly evolved into a frail white woman – overshadowed his unparalled showmanship.
One commentator said the word "relevant" so many times in his soundbite it was like he was being paid per repetition. And maybe he was.
All manner of former Jackson publicists and attorneys came out of the woodwork so every channel could squeeze this story of its last drop of juice.
The sycophants who surrounded him were always the Achilles heel for the man-child who, like Brad Pitt's Benjamin Button, aged backwards. He was so grown-up when he propelled the Jackson Five, then went looking for the childhood he never had. In his midlife he walled himself off in Neverland like Peter Pan, had kids he dangled and draped in disguises, married Elvis Presley's daughter Lisa Marie and saw no problem sharing his bed with children.
Lisa Marie blogged that her ex-husband knew 14 years ago that he would die like Elvis, who was 42.
After his 2005 child molestation acquittal, he fled overseas, where, presumably, he would live out his days in exile.
Had global adulation banished Peter Pan to purgatory?
Then word went out that Michael would mount a comeback in London.
Maybe his kids would finally see what the big deal was.
There's a whole generation whose lasting image is tottering into court, not the gloved one's amazing moonwalk at the Apollo.
"This is it," he announced, the "final curtain," promising to see his fans in July.
With longevity doing duty as reflection, CNN's venerable Larry King had some of the most interesting insights because he actually witnessed the entire sweep of Jackson's career, starting with a radio interview in Miami in 1970.
Michael Jackson was a legendary entertainer – a long time ago.
It struck me listening to Ryan Seacrest and Giuliana Rancic on E that they're younger enough that Michael was the soundtrack to their Wonder years.
That somewhat explains the media spasm – the people running these channels grew up with Michael, much as our generation raised on the Beatles reacted when a fan cut down John Lennon as he signed autographs outside his home.
They were really into it, even the glib Seacrest, sort of quarreling about whether it was fair to compare the media circus with the orgy of coverage surrounding the passing of Anna Nicole Smith, since her talent pales in any comparison to his.
I've never heard "Thriller" the album all the way through except for the seven hits it spawned.
I used to love all the Jackson Five bubblegum – when was the last time you heard radio play those? Well, over the weekend I heard "Rockin' Robin." Residuals will be rolling in again.
Timing was everything to Jackson's ascension to a loftier plateau, which Madonna also occupied, and maybe U2. They were the video vanguard coming up when MTV put pictures in our jukebox.
Michael especially pioneered music videos, treating each like a feature film. "Thriller" clocked in at 14 minutes and was directed by John Landis of "Animal House" fame.
Ronald Reagan had Michael to the White House. Michael and Paul McCartney formed the video vaudeville act "Mac and Jack" for "Say Say Say."
He was instrumental in "We are the World," which inspired Live Aid.
Nobody was made more for this new medium than Michael with his dazzling dance moves and his zany style which made high waters and white socks cool – epaulets, anyone?
He made arresting videos, such as the much-imitated zombie dancers and that "West Side Story"-style gang rumble in his red leather jacket to "Beat It." A scorching Eddie Van Halen guitar solo didn't hurt.
The late Michael Jackson is hotter than he's been in decades.
The eulogies will burnish the many positives of his life.
Death as a career move. If he's got some new music in the can, the next Jimi Hendrix. So sad. But if he could watch, he would certainly like what he's seeing.