Read Online Remember the Time: Protecting Michael Jackson in His Final Days by Tanner Colby, Bill Whitfield, Javon Beard - Free Book Online
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give me the exact whereabouts of Michael Jackson and his kids at a specific time next week, and the money’s yours. Call me tomorrow if you want to know more.”
Then he shoved a business card in my hand and walked off. I didn’t say anything to Mr. Jackson. I took the card to Bill and he ran a check on the guy, found out he was a paparazzi. We figured if we just did nothing and ignored it, the problem would pass. So that’s what we did. Then about a week later, we were driving in the car, the classical music was on real loud, and Mr. Jackson said, “Javon, can you turn down the radio for a moment? I have a question for you.”
I turned the music down. “Yes, Mr. Jackson?”
“Did you get an unusual offer from someone last week?”
I froze. Oh, shit . At that moment I knew exactly what had happened: he’d sent the photographer, to test me.
“Yes, sir,” I said. I turned around to look him in the eye, and I explained how the whole thing had gone down.
He said, “I’m proud of you, Javon.” It was like he was real happy that I’d passed the test, that he’d found somebody he could trust. “If you had even called that man’s number, I would have fired you. But you did the right thing. The only mistake you made was you didn’t tell me that it happened.”
“Yes, sir, I know, and I am sorry about that, but I didn’t want to worry you.”
Bill spoke up and said, “It’s my fault, sir. Javon told me about this, and once I found out it was just about a photograph and nota real threat, I was the one that made the decision not to worry you with it.”
Mr. Jackson said, “Thank you, but you always have to tell me everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
Before that, I think he had sort of been on the fence about me. Everything went through Feldman to Bill to me, so I didn’t interact with him that much. Once he put me through that test, that’s really when he started to feel that he could trust me more.
Bill: Him testing Javon like that showed us just how little trust he had in people in general. Prior to working for Mr. Jackson, my main job had always been handling external threats—stalkers, the paparazzi. That type of stuff I knew how to deal with. But what Mr. Jackson was really paranoid about, the thing he felt he needed most from us, was protection from the people who were already in his life. He wanted us there so he could hide his movements from his own lawyers and managers. He wanted us there to be a buffer between him and his own family.
We knew he and the family were distant. You could tell that much just from reading about them. But we were also given instructions by his managers and the lawyers that made us feel the problems in the family were much worse than your typical, run-of-the-mill dysfunction. Pretty early on, we learned that if Mr. Jackson’s family tried to reach out to him and come to the house, we were not supposed to let him know. Raymone said, “Any time his family comes around, call me. Call the management company.” Both Feldman and Raymone gave us those directions.
No one in his family was allowed past the front gate without advance notice, with the exception of Mrs. Jackson, his mother. If she showed up, we’d open up the gate and she’d go right on into the house. She could come unannounced. Everyone else needed an appointment, and that was a very delicate situation to handle.
5
In the shifting racial landscape of the 1960s, the success of Motown Records was driven not just by the talent of its artists, but also by the marketing genius of its owner and founder, Berry Gordy. Gordy took black singers and performers and polished their public images to perfection, making them “safe” and appealing to white audiences, who flocked to record stores and bought the label’s records by the millions. The Jacksons, a tight-knit, church-going, blue-collar family, were prime candidates for one of Gordy’s signature makeovers—living proof of the success that awaited hard-working
Then he shoved a business card in my hand and walked off. I didn’t say anything to Mr. Jackson. I took the card to Bill and he ran a check on the guy, found out he was a paparazzi. We figured if we just did nothing and ignored it, the problem would pass. So that’s what we did. Then about a week later, we were driving in the car, the classical music was on real loud, and Mr. Jackson said, “Javon, can you turn down the radio for a moment? I have a question for you.”
I turned the music down. “Yes, Mr. Jackson?”
“Did you get an unusual offer from someone last week?”
I froze. Oh, shit . At that moment I knew exactly what had happened: he’d sent the photographer, to test me.
“Yes, sir,” I said. I turned around to look him in the eye, and I explained how the whole thing had gone down.
He said, “I’m proud of you, Javon.” It was like he was real happy that I’d passed the test, that he’d found somebody he could trust. “If you had even called that man’s number, I would have fired you. But you did the right thing. The only mistake you made was you didn’t tell me that it happened.”
“Yes, sir, I know, and I am sorry about that, but I didn’t want to worry you.”
Bill spoke up and said, “It’s my fault, sir. Javon told me about this, and once I found out it was just about a photograph and nota real threat, I was the one that made the decision not to worry you with it.”
Mr. Jackson said, “Thank you, but you always have to tell me everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
Before that, I think he had sort of been on the fence about me. Everything went through Feldman to Bill to me, so I didn’t interact with him that much. Once he put me through that test, that’s really when he started to feel that he could trust me more.
Bill: Him testing Javon like that showed us just how little trust he had in people in general. Prior to working for Mr. Jackson, my main job had always been handling external threats—stalkers, the paparazzi. That type of stuff I knew how to deal with. But what Mr. Jackson was really paranoid about, the thing he felt he needed most from us, was protection from the people who were already in his life. He wanted us there so he could hide his movements from his own lawyers and managers. He wanted us there to be a buffer between him and his own family.
We knew he and the family were distant. You could tell that much just from reading about them. But we were also given instructions by his managers and the lawyers that made us feel the problems in the family were much worse than your typical, run-of-the-mill dysfunction. Pretty early on, we learned that if Mr. Jackson’s family tried to reach out to him and come to the house, we were not supposed to let him know. Raymone said, “Any time his family comes around, call me. Call the management company.” Both Feldman and Raymone gave us those directions.
No one in his family was allowed past the front gate without advance notice, with the exception of Mrs. Jackson, his mother. If she showed up, we’d open up the gate and she’d go right on into the house. She could come unannounced. Everyone else needed an appointment, and that was a very delicate situation to handle.
5
In the shifting racial landscape of the 1960s, the success of Motown Records was driven not just by the talent of its artists, but also by the marketing genius of its owner and founder, Berry Gordy. Gordy took black singers and performers and polished their public images to perfection, making them “safe” and appealing to white audiences, who flocked to record stores and bought the label’s records by the millions. The Jacksons, a tight-knit, church-going, blue-collar family, were prime candidates for one of Gordy’s signature makeovers—living proof of the success that awaited hard-working
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