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- Video Essay: Jackson Fans Leave Messages
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Jenice Armstrong: A reporter mourns the loss of her idol - in private
THANK GOD I don't work in the middle of the newsroom anymore and that I have a private office.
I was in there yesterday afternoon, with my back turned to the glass so my colleagues wouldn't see the tears streaming down my face. You're never, ever supposed to cry at work - least of all over a celebrity you've never even met.
And you're especially not supposed to care about a man accused of the vile things tarnishing Michael Jackson's reputation.
But most of us idolize someone. For a lot of men, it's a sports figure such as the late Tennessee Titan Steve McNair or maybe Babe Ruth. For me, though, it was Michael Jackson. No other entertainer ever came close. I was a huge fan. I loved him for his music but also for what he symbolized - a poor kid from a large family who through talent and hard work made it to the top and managed to stay there.
When I saw his five brothers serving as pallbearers, carrying that shiny gold coffin, I couldn't stay composed. The casket was so small. Too tiny to contain the greatest entertainer of all time. Heck, the Jacuzzi bathtub in his master suite at Neverland was certainly bigger.
I hadn't expected to be so deeply moved by the sight of that shiny box or by the finality of what it signified. I'd already shed more tears than I care to disclose for Jackson's tortured life. I'd thought I'd made peace with the idea that perhaps Jackson was in a better place now, a place where he wouldn't continue to be wracked by his demons.
As always happens even when people you are close to die, numbness sets in after the first shock of death. Life begins to go back to normal. Eventually you turn away from your loss. Despite all the updates and Jackson specials on TV, I'd moved on, focusing on deadlines, other national headlines and my own family concerns.
But there was no way I would have not watched Michael's memorial service. If I didn't have a job that allowed me to watch it, I would have taken the day off.
But since I have a small TV in my office, I was able to bid Michael goodbye mostly in peace.
I half-expected that the service would be another Jackson-style circus, perhaps orchestrated by Joe Jackson himself. You know what I mean - a sequined, over-the-top theatrical production, maybe with LaToya Jackson front and center wearing something outrageous (like the wide-brimmed hat she did wear.) What we got, instead, was church.
For the most part, Michael's memorial service was dignified. Moving. I could have done without Usher's removing his sunglasses after his song, Marlon Jackson's rambling speech or the painful moment when daughter Paris-Michael Katherine Jackson took her turn at the microphone.
My favorite part was when the Rev. Al Sharpton told Jackson's three kids: "There was nothing strange about your daddy. But it's strange what your daddy had to deal with." Paris rose to her feet at that. I know people will be debating the veracity of that particular statement for years to come, but it won't change anything. The harsh reality is that Michael's time on earth is over.
We're left with his music and the memories. As Anita Bennett, a makeup artist who once was secretary of the Jackson 5's fan club in Philly, said with a sigh, "It is what it is. I love him though. I still love him." *
