MMIICCHHAAEELL JJAACCKKSSOONN IINNTTEERRVVIIEEWWSS Table of Contents Randy J. Taraborrelli Interview 1978 Rolling Stone Interview 17 February, 1983 Ebony Magazine Interview December, 1984 Ebony Magazine Interview May, 1992 Oprah Winfrey Interview 1993 Ebony Magazine Interview October, 1994 Diane Sawyer Interview June 14, 1995 (Hollywood, USA) Simulchat Interview Thursday, 17 August 1995 VH1 Interview 10 November, 1996 Molly Meldrum Interview Tuesday, 19 November 1996 Arabic Interview 1996 OK Magazine Interview April 4 & 11, 1997 Barbara Walters Interview September 12, 1997 (televised on ABC) Life Magazine Interview 1997 'Wetten, Dass...?' March 20, 1999 (Saarlandhalle Saarbrücken, Germany) The Mirror Interview Tuesday, 13 April 1999 TV Guide Interview December 4, 1999 Pharrell Williams: Music's Hottest Hitmaker Talks to the Thriller (August, 2000) Online Audio Chat Interview 26 October, 2001 USA Today Interview 1 November, 2001 TV Guide Interview 2001 Steve Harvey Radio Show Interview March 08, 2002 VIBE Magazine Interview March, 2002 Gold Magazine Interview 2002 Rick Dees Interview Wednesday, 10 September 2003 Ed Bradley Interview 28 December, 2003 Brett Ratner Interview Sunday, 01 February 2004 Jesse Jackson Radio Show Interview 2005 Geraldo Rivera Interview 5 February, 2005 Billy Bush Interview 15 October, 2006 Interview by Randy J. Taraborrelli (1978) When John Whyman, the photographer, and I [Taraborrelli] pulled up to the ominous black wrought-iron gate at 4641 Hayvenhurst, the Jacksons' estate, it stood open, but Whyman pressed the buzzer on the squawk box anyway. We had heard about the vicious guard dogs and did not want to take any chances. An electronic camera, conspicuously mounted on a fifteen-foot-high pole, seemed to zoom in for closer inspection. Our images, we later learned, were being projected on a closed-circuit television screen in the Jackson kitchen. "You may come in," said a disembodied male voice. We pulled into the circular driveway, a cache of Cadillacs, Rolls Royces, Mercedes- Benzes, Datsun 240Zs, and a Pantara. Three angry sentry dogs, penned up at the end of the drive, hurled themselves against the chain link fence. Their ferocious barks were in contrast to the raucous cries of three large peacocks-one pure white-caged nearby. The sound from the peacocks was something akin to a baby's wail and a cat's howl. We decided to wait in the car. Looking around, I noticed a custom-made street sign, Jackson 5 Boulevard, nailed to a nearby tree trunk. To the left stood a basketball court. I glanced up at the two-story house and noticed four expressionless faces staring down at us from as many windows. Michael, LaToya, Randy, and their mother, Katherine, had their countenances pressed against the panes as if they were prisoners in a compound. It seemed that nobody would rescue us, so we took our chances, got out of the car, and approached the front door. I rang the doorbell. Twenty-two-year-old LaToya, in a white tennis outfit, answered. When Michael approached seconds later, she excused herself, walked out into the driveway, got into a sporty red Mercedes convertible, and sped off. "Glad you could make it," Michael said as we shook hands. He was wearing a yellow Jaws T-shirt, black jeans, and a safari hat, around which his afro seemed to billow. His feet were bare and, to me, he looked painfully thin. He spoke in an odd, falsetto whisper, which seemed even softer than it had the last time we had talked. In exactly a week, he would turn twenty. Michael led us through the house toward the living room. A huge yellow and green parrot sat perched on a ledge outside the window, shucking peanuts. A red, blue, and yellow cockatoo eyed us warily through another window. It let out an ear piercing screech as we sat down. I suddenly felt like I was at a zoo. "How come you're not getting your guests lemonade?" Katherine asked her son when she came into the room. I could not help noticing that Michael's mother walked with a slight limp, the result of a bout with polio she had as a child. At some times the handicap was more pronounced than at others. "Oh, sorry," Michael murmured. He dashed off to the kitchen, giving me an opportunity to talk alone with his forty-nine-year-old- mother while the photographer set up his equipment. The house, which they had lived in since 1971, was a combination pale yellow, soft green, and white, a reflection of Katherine's warm personality. She was gregarious, friendly, and she had a benevolent glow about her. She told me she had decorated the house herself as an assignment for a home-decorating class. She mentioned that Michael's favorite foods were hot apple turnovers and sweet potato pies. "Only now I can't get him to eat anything. I try and try," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I keep thinking he'll eat when he gets hungry, but the boy never gets hungry. Have you noticed how skinny he is? It worries me." I looked around at the opulent furnishings. "These last few years have certainly been good ones," I said to Katherine. "Maybe the best of your life?" "Not really," she answered thoughtfully. "The best years were back when Michael was about three and I used to sing folk songs with him. You see, I'd always wanted to be a country star, but who'd ever heard of a black country star back then? Those restrictions, again. Anyway, we had one bedroom for the boys and they all slept together in triple bunk beds. Before going to sleep, we'd all sing. We were all so happy then. I'd switch my life now and give up all that we have now for just one of those days back in Gary when it was so much simpler. When we first came to California, I don't know how many times I said, "I wish things were the way they used to be in Gary." But things have never been the same," she added sadly. "It's all changed now." Michael came back into the room juggling two glasses of lemonade. He handed one to me and the other to the photographer and then sat in a chair, lotus position. Katherine excused herself. During our two-hour interview, Michael shared his thoughts on a wide range of topics. "I don't know much about politics," Michael admitted. "Nothing, I guess. Someone told me recently that Gerald Ford was president." He laughed a silvery peal, as he did often; he was in good spirits this afternoon, not at all the shy, reclusive superstar he would become in a few years. I laughed with him because I was certain we were sharing a joke, but we weren't. He was serious. "I remember when he was vice-president," Michael continued thoughtfully. "That I remember. But president?" He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "That I missed." In just a few years, Michael would become an avid reader and exchange ideas about politics with Jane Fonda. But at the time, Michael was quite naive about current events. Astounded at the extreme isolation of this twenty-year-old's world, I began to probe deeper. "How do you keep up with current events? Do you read newspapers? Watch TV?" "I watch cartoons," he told me. "I love cartoons." His eyes lit up. "I love Disney so much. The Magic Kingdom. Disneyland. It's such a magical place. Walt Disney was a dreamer, like me. And he made his dreams come true, like me. I hope." "What about current events?" Michael looked at me blankly, "Current events?" "Do you read the paper?" I repeated. He shook his head no. "See, I like show business. I listen to music all the time. I watch old movies. Fred Astair movies. Gene Kelly, I love. And Sammy [Davis]. I can watch those guys all day, twenty-four hours a day. That's what I love the most. Show business, you know?" We talked about old movies for a while, and about his involvement in The Wiz, the film he had just finished shooting in which he plays the Scarecrow. I asked what he saw as his biggest professional challenge. "To live up to what Joseph expects of me." "Joseph? Who's Joseph?" I wondered. "My father, Joseph." "You call your father by his first name?" I asked. "Uh-huh." "And living up to what he expects of you is a professional challenge?" Michael mulled over my question. "Yes. A professional challenge." "What about the personal challenges?" "My professional challenges and personal challenges are the same thing," he said uneasily. "I just want to entertain. See, when I was in the second grade, the teacher asked me what I wished for. I asked for a mansion, for peace in the world, and to be able to entertain...Can we talk about something else?" "Do you have any friends that you can really confide in?" Michael squirmed. "No, not really. I guess I'm pretty lonely." "How about Tatum O'Neal?" I wondered. Michael shrugged his shoulders. "She's nice. She was really happy for me when I got the part in the Wiz. She and Ryan were on my side, helping me with my lines, and I owe them a lot. Tatum understands me, I guess. She's gonna teach me how to drive a car. She introduces me to people, famous, famous people. But my real dates, they're the girls who stand outside the gate out there. I go out and sign autographs for them when I can.