Did Michael Jackson dream of dinner and a movie?

The Michael Jackson Tapes, a book by Rabbi Shmuley Boteach, longtime friend and confident of Michael Jackson, has recently led to yet another feeding frenzy regarding the deceased popstar’s life. The book details of over 30 hours of interview recordings between Jackson and the Rabbi.

In his short time in the limelight, Boteach has become a controversial figure, with many accusing him of profiteering Jackson’s death. While I wouldn’t argue against that, I can’t help being struck by details regarding Jackson’s supposed lifelong sense of isolation and loneliness. By most accounts, none of the information is truly new; regardless, the fact that a person so famous and beloved could feel so alone is, perhaps, a profound commentary on the nature of modern fame.

In any case, the recent reminders of Jackson’s alleged alienation bring back a hazy memory of mine from several years ago, a story about Jackson that seems poignant in light of both his passing and in light of the recent media attention surrounding Boteach’s book. First a disclaimer. In all truth, my memory of the following is hazy, my recollection imprecise. Even so, the gist of the story is quite relevant to Jackson's life and death I think.

In the early-to-mid 90's (I can't remember exactly when), I had a cousin in the US Marine Corps. One summer we visited his mother and he happened to be home on leave. He had a buddy with him, a gunnery sergeant if I recall correctly. I can't remember the sergeant's name, but have only a fuzzy recollection of short-cropped (what else would he have?) dark hair and a mustache. Anyway, apparently, before this sergeant became a marine, he'd worked in the kitchens at a Disney World restaurant.

During the period surrounding Jackson's Off the Wall album, just before Thriller, Jackson appeared at Disney World for a promotional appearance or a concert or some damn thing. Maybe it was just a covert visit. In any case, apparently, the scene became a mob and at some point, to escape, Jackson inadvertently found his way into the kitchen where this sergeant-to-be happened to work.

There followed a brief exchange between superstar and sergeant-to-be that seems, even in condensed, not-fully-remembered form, quite telling. Jackson, the sergeant claimed, talked 10 minutes or so, basically saying he rarely engaged in one-on-one conversation. Even then, just before Thriller (which would catapult him into the stratosphere), he was usually surrounded by a mirage of handlers, publicists, lawyers, media, fans and so forth; he rarely found time for simple, meaningful one-on-one human interaction; only when he snuck away—always in disguise.

I've considered that story several times since hearing about Jackson's death and, especially, since all this renewed talk regarding his alienation and loneliness began; I can't help reflecting on how sad, in many ways, Jackson's life became. He was very young when this story allegedly occurred and not nearly so famous as he would become when Thriller dropped. Here was a young man, not yet 25, already so famous that he rarely experienced something most of us take for granted: simple conversation. And that was his way of life almost from birth.

The majority of entertainment's elite (I'm thinking of people like Madonna, Bruce Springsteen, Bruce Willis, Demi Moore, Ashton Kutcher, Bon Jovi, Matt Damon, Tom Hanks—and the list goes on) lived in anonymity as they clawed to the top. They were allowed to experience life as every-day-joes. They could walk into a restaurant, a bookstore, a department store or any other public place and just be. They could have dinner or go shopping without being accosted by paparazzi or autograph seekers. They could attend movies or sporting events or take their kids to school without drawing crowds. Jackson never enjoyed such anonymity. From the time he was 5 or 6 years old, as the lead singer of the Jackson 5, his star power was instantaneous and pervasive.

I recently reflected on that over dinner and quiet conversation with a friend. Jackson had access, one imagines, to anything he desired. As such, what would he dream of? Whereas everyday-joes like you or me might dream of great riches (winning the lottery or some huge inheritance) or fame, might Jackson have dreamed of quiet conversation at dinner with someone that really cared about him?

Might he have dreamed of walking into a restaurant or theater or any other public place and just being nobody for a night? Maybe. Maybe absurd though. But the Michael Jackson from that gunnery sergeant's story—the child still coming to grips with overwhelming fame—seems likely to have dreamed such things. Such fancy seem less likely for the Michael Jackson of later years—the surgically-enhanced, isolated freak of a man-child he became. By then he'd lived so long in the fish bowl of fame, he seems to have lost touch with even dreams of normalcy.

Say what you will of Jackson—talented, freakish, perverted, criminal. I would argue against none of those. Whatever the case, all of society I think, has some measure of culpability in molding the human being he became. And perhaps—in some small measure—that's the reason behind all the media coverage and hoopla surrounding both his death and Boteach’s book. Maybe that's the reason why so many have forgotten the other vital, talented individual who died that day (Fahrah Fawcett). Maybe there's a thread of simple guilt behind it all. Perhaps as we consume all this coverage, as we devour Boteach’s book, as we mourn and pity and gawk, perhaps there's just a trace of remorse lingering alongside all that sadness and disgust. Perhaps.