I Wish the King | Another Life For Michael Jackson

1966

"No one touches the guitar while I'm gone." Daddy's rules are hard to forget, and catchy like a good song.

"Tito's got the guitar." Marlon is smiling wide. We burst into the bunk room. Jackie and Jermaine are kneeling like altar boys. Tito must've taken that guitar before, because he already knows how to play the lick from "Green Onions". My three oldest brothers take turns passing the guitar and playing what they know. They're one-upping each other, strumming harder and harder.

Then Tito breaks a string. We try every way to fix it, but it's no dice. We put the guitar back in daddy's closet and wait in terror.

Like most dads in Gary, Indiana, our dad works at a steel mill. When he gets home that night, he trudges into the kitchen and fixes himself a snack, smashing some nuts on the counter. The four of us sit like pigeons on the couch, wide-eyed and rigid. Jackie stands tall beside us, like a telephone pole. Daddy walks in.

"Hey boys."

None of us reply. He shrugs and goes to his room.

"Let's go!" "Where!?"

Daddy comes in with his broken-stringed guitar.

"Which one of you did this?"

His voice is calm, which makes him extra-scary.

"I took it a few times, daddy. I played it too hard."

Tito looks resolved, ready to take the worst. Daddy stares for a while.

"Get up."

He holds out the guitar.

"Let me see what you can do."

                                          ________

At home in the basement, in the family's VW bus, on the humble stages of the Chitlin Circuit, waiting in the wings at the palatial Apollo Theater, in front of microphones at the deceptively run-down "Hitsville U.S.A.", I grew up with my family, the Jacksons.

We started with competitions, and won so often that other bands were snide with us. But we didn't have any unfair advantage. Only the merciless rehearsal and tour schedule that our father, Joe Jackson devised. We didn't have any friends outside of the family, but we weren't lonely.

After a particularly good show, we met Sam & Dave, the great soul singers. They helped us get a spot in the Amateur Contest at the Apollo. During one of our final rehearsals for that show, I suggested a small change in the choreography.

"We aren't going to change the show, Michael. There's no time for changes."

My father counted us in to the next song. After we finished, I brought it up again. "Michael!" dad shouted and pointed at me. Mom peeked in the door.

A few mornings later, it was time to travel. We would make the trip in the family's VW, like always. Mom packed our classic "breakfast of champions" - ham on rye, two hard-boiled eggs, and an apple. One man and five boys drove away, leaving Randy, Janet, Rebby and mom waving in the street.

                                  _______

We played three songs in entirety before the host ushered us off, to gracious applause. (That's a long time at the Apollo). After our set, a man and woman talked with dad, out of earshot. After they left, he marched back to us. It was really unusual, how happy he looked. "That, boys, was Bobby Taylor and Gladys Knight!"