typed by MJ's_my_life
THE PLANE HOVE in to view and around me, the enormous crowd began to stir. ‘It's him!' called a voice from somewhere deep within the melee. The call was taken up by another fan. 'It's him! It's him!' The excitement was palpable, as more and more members of the crowd took up the chant, 'It's him! It's him! It's Michael! Michael! Michael!'
There were thousands of people mobbing the airport that day in Munich in 1992 as the world's greatest pop star was about to kick off only his second solo tour. And although the crowd was well behaved, there was a kind of feverish anticipation surrounding all of us, me included, as the plane carrying Michael Jackson came in to land. Michael is not only one of the greatest entertainers in the world, but also one of the most mysterious, and we were actually going to see him in person. Little did I know that I was to form a brief friendship with the man himself and get a glimpse behind the scenes of a show business legend.
Back then, though, it was June and the start of Michael's 'Dangerous' tour, a tour that was to break world records and establish him more firmly than ever before as the greatest performer of the age. It was an astonishing endeavour. The first date of the tour was in the Olympic Stadium in Munich on June 27, when Michael performed in front of a sell-out crowd of more than 72,000 people. The tour was scheduled to last a year and a half, finishing in Mexico City in November 1993 and although some of the concerts were cancelled due to Michael's illness, he performed in sixty seven concerts to approximately 3.5 million people. In the course of it he donated all profits to charity, including his ,own Heal the World charitable foundation, and his Bucharest concert was sold to HBO for $20 million. This created another world record, as did the recording: it gained the highest audience on any cable channel- 34 per cent - and won the Cable Ace Award. The staging was phenomenal; it took three days to erect and cargo planes had to fly twenty truckloads of equipment in to each country.
As for me, I was about to embark on one of the most exciting adventures of my career. I was to spend four months as one of Michael's drivers and, as his plane taxied towards the airport building, stopped and was instantly surrounded by a police escort, I could hardly contain myself. Nor could the crowd. The cries of, 'Michael! We love you!' had gathered in crescendo to a deafening roar; it felt as though the ground were shaking. That was as nothing, though, as to when the door of the plane opened and Michael stepped out dressed in his usual military garb and red mask and raised a hand to his fans; the noise the crowd made must have reverberated from every tree in the forests of Bavaria. The security just about managed to contain the ecstatic hordes, but they very nearly had mass hysteria on their hands. I have driven some of the biggest names in the business, but I've never seen anything like the public's reaction to Michael Jackson.
To begin with] didn't have anything to do with Michael personally. I was driving his security men around in the third car of the entourage, while Michael usually travelled in a customised minibus luxuriously kitted out with facilities for eating and sleeping. Right from the start, though, you could tell he was no ordinary superstar. Everywhere we went, roads and traffic were blocked off for his arrival, a police escort drove us through the cities and the crowds went
absolutely wild. We didn't have an escort for our three-strong convoy between the cities, though, which led to one potentially nasty incident.
Michael was in the van and another driver, Stan, and I were following behind in two cars. Suddenly my walkietalkie bleeped. 'Keith,' said Stan, 'what's that coming up behind us l'
I looked in my rear view mirror and at first I saw what looked like a couple of motorcycles. Then a couple of more joined them and a couple more until there were several dozen in pursuit - and it suddenly hit me with a jolt that we were being followed by a gang of forty or fifty German bikers.’I don't like this, Stan,' said in to my walkie-talkie. 'We'd better get the minibus to speed up.'
All three of us put our feet on the accelerators, but the bikers were gaining on us and it wasn't long before we were surrounded. After another minute, they'd got their bikes in between the various cars in an attempt to separate us. The situation was getting pretty frightening. Then my walkietalkie bleeped again. 'What we're going to do is this,' said Stan. 'You go as close to the curb as you can on your side and I'll do the same on the other side. Then we'll come in sharply behind Michael's bus in a V and cut him off from the bikes.' We did exactly that and it worked: the bikers were forced to slow down. They were furious, yelling curses at us, spitting and trying to get in between us all again, but tills time we didn't falter. I kept my car exactly two inches behind Michael's bus and Stan drove exactly two inches behind me until at last the bikers got tired of the chase and turned back to create havoc elsewhere. Michael was asleep at the time; he never knew what had happened.
I still hadn't properly met Michael, though, and it was only because of a near disaster, for which I thought I'd be dismissed, that we actually became friendly. Michael was staying in Rome and wanted to go to Florence to look at a picture he was considering buying. There were something like 2,000 fans in front of the hotel, however, and getting him out of the hotel and on the road would be no easy matter. So his security people formulated a plan. Various cars were stationed at various exits from the hotel, while Michael's official car and police escort was round at the front. The choice of which car to take would be made at the very last minute. Suddenly my walkie-talkie bleeped. 'Keith, it's going to be your car,' said Michael's head of security. 'Get ready. We're coming to you:
I opened the car door and quite suddenly Michael Jackson was beside me. I bundled him and a friend in to the car, while the daughter of the concert promoter got in the front beside me. It took just a couple of seconds for Michael to move between the hotel and the car but in that time he was spotted, screams went up and a moment later the car was surrounded by fans.
There were two security men in front of us: they managed to clear a path between the hysterical bystanders so we could drive off. But just as we were about to move, Michael put his hand on my shoulder. 'Stop!' he cried. 'Someone's taken my friend's hat!'
I stopped, but I wasn't happy. 'It's not safe, Michael,' I said, as the security men frantically waved us on. 'In a crowd like this anything could happen:
1 made to move again. 'Don't go!' cried Michael. 'I want that hat!'
They security men were going ballistic. 'Come on!' yelled one as the crowd roared and surged around us. 'Get going! You've got to move!'
'I'll get you another hat,' said the girl in the seat beside me.
"Please, Michael, we've got to move now.'
Michael finally agreed and so, just as people were beginning to bang on to the car, we moved off. The plan had been to execute a series of right turns to bring us back to the front of the hotel, where we could link up with security, but the traffic was so solid we were forced to turn left in to a one-way street - and we were going the wrong way.
There was no way I could turn round, though, and so, horn blaring and lights flashing, I edged up past the traffic. I then made a few more left turns - and suddenly realized. I was totally lost, to say nothing of the fact that I had Michael Jackson in the back of the car and no security men to protect him. For a while] drove around, but it was no good. There was nothing for it: I was going to have to admit what was wrong. 'I'm lost: I said.
'That's okay,' said Michael in his soft voice. 'What shall we do?'
The girl sitting beside me was not taking things so calmly. 'Get back to the hotel!' she cried. 'You can't drive around Rome with Michael and no security. What if someone recognises him? It could be a calamity!'
She had a point. Michael Jackson is one of the most recognisable people on the planet and the hysteria that surrounds him is such that, even if his fans don't mean to do him any harm, there is a real danger that violence could erupt. Besides, ever since the terrible assassination, of John Lennon in New York in 1980, every star has had to be more cautious. The Beatles might have thought they were bigger than Jesus but Michael was arguably bigger than The Beatles at that point in his career. A swift decision was needed.
'Michael,' I said, 'what do you want me to do? I could head for Florence and we could look for the other cars there?'
Michael hesitated. 'I think we'd better go back to the hotel,' he said eventually and so I turned the car around and we made our way back. Michael was very calm about it, but I thought I could sense that he was getting a little tense. Eventually] found my way back, but now we had a further problem. Michael was lying on the floor of the car when we drove up to the hotel so the fans couldn't see him and mob him, but we were a good 30 feet from the hotel entrance, a path that was blocked by six rows of parked cars, and no security men in sight. 'There's nothing for it, Michael: I said. 'We're going to have to run for it. Get ready.'
The girl beside me went ahead to alert the hotel. ] went round to Michael's door and opened it. Michael leapt out. ] threw one arm around him and used the other to ward off the crowd, who nearly had an attack of hysteria when they realised he was in the car after all. We charged through them at speed, got back through the revolving doors in to the hotel, at which point a guard locked the door - and realised that Michael's friend was trapped outside. 'Let him in!' I screamed and the friend got through just before the crowds closed on the hotel.
I went straight upstairs to my hotel room to pack my bags, because I was sure I’d be sent home after that cockup. A moment later my boss came in. 'What are you doing?' he asked.
'Packing. I'm off home, aren't I!?'
'Are you joking?' asked my boss. 'You got him back in to the hotel safely all on your own; it usually takes up to nine security men. Michael is very relieved to be back and he's talking in a very complimentary way about you.'
And so it was that I began a brief friendship with one of the nicest men I have ever known.
The more I got to know him, the more I realised that although Michael Jackson is a brilliant performer, artist and businessman, it's completely true what people say about him: he lost his childhood and he's never been able to make up for that. Despite his business acumen, there's a strange sort of vulnerability about him, which almost makes you want to hug him and tell him to look after himself - and I say that not as a sentimental man. Michael loves toys and toy shops - wherever we went, allover Europe, if we saw a Toys R Us in any given city, we knew that's where we'd end up later.
While we were m London, Michael paid a Visit to Hamley’s, the famous toy shop on Regent Street, as well as to the Disney shop on the same street. Each shop blacked out its windows so that Michael could look around in private. He spent thousands of pounds on toys; he particularly loves magic sets and he also bought some remote-controlled cars, which he drove up and down the halls in The Dorchester. When we left the shops the whole of the trunk and the back of the car were filled with toys - and apart from a few special ones that he took on with him, they all ended up at children's hospitals, as they did in every city we visited.
Wherever Michael stayed, pinball machines and computer games would be installed in his suite before his arrival. On one occasion he saw a merry-go-round that he liked in a city in Germany, bought it and had it shipped back to his Neverland estate in California. He also had a friend with him on the tour, and having seen the friendship at close hand, I can vouch for the fact that never at any moment was there one tiny signal of impropriety about it.
Everyone knew Michael's friend was with him and everyone accepted it unquestioningly. Our only reservation was that Michael was leaving himself open to innuendo and indeed, that is exactly what happened the following year when it was alleged that he had had improper relationships with young teenagers. It is often forgotten that not one shred of evidence has ever been produced to substantiate those claims.
Having known the man, I didn't believe the allegations then and I don't believe them now. For a start, Michael is such a genuinely nice man that I simply do not believe him capable of the actions of which he's been accused. Secondly, when I was working for him during the 'Dangerous' tour, his attitude towards his friend struck me as simply that of a big brother. He may be a musical genius, but Michael Jackson sometimes has the mentality of a child himself and that is why he loves to play with children. The fact that now that he's got two children of his own - Prince Michael Jackson Jnr and Paris Michael Katherine Jackson - must be the greatest thing in the world for him, because now he can indulge in his love of children's games with his very own offspring.
But despite his enormously likeable and gentle personality, everyone around Michael is frightened of him because of who he is. Michael is aware of this, but doesn't quite know what to do about it. Problems would be reported back to him via Bill Bray his head of security, who has been with him for thirty years, because people just do not dare tell Michael when something has not gone according to plan. It would seem the more famous you are, the more people are scared of you. I can see why they say it's lonely at the top. Bill is one of the few people who isn't scared of Michael and whenever he told him of another case of someone hiding something from him. Michael would say in bewilderment, 'But why doesn't he come and see me himself?' For some reason, though, despite the fact that I was so excited to meet him, I wasn't frightened of him. I treated him normally, which is perhaps why we got on so well.
For a start, he was fascinated by my cockney accent and started trying to mimic it. 'Hello mate, how are you?' he'd say when he got in to the car. 'Hello Michael, how are you?' I'd reply in an attempt at mimicking his own voice -low and very soft - which he would think was great fun.
'Oi, mate!' he'd say. 'Yes Michael?'
'Tell me about cockney rhyming slang.'
So I did. Michael became terribly interested in it for some reason, and got me to start teaching it to him. 'What's the cockney rhyming slang for stairs?' he'd ask.
'Apples and pairs.'
'What's the cockney rhyming slang for suit?' 'Whistle and flute.'
'What's the cockney rhyming slang for cash?' 'Bangers and mash.'
'Oi, mate! That's wild!'
And so it would go on, for hours. Eventually I bought Michael a book about the subject, which he absolutely loved. , 'That's great Keith, thank you so much,' he said when I handed it over. He'd sit in the car going through it for hours, giggling when he came across something he particularly liked. One day, he turned to me and announced: 'I'm sitting in a La-Di-Dah!'
'Come again, Michael?'
'La-Di-Dah,' he pronounced triumphantly, before revealing: 'It's a car!' |
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