I am so saddened to learn recently of the loss of my friend Michael. Like many of those who have posted here, I knew Michael as a warm, caring, intelligent, funny person of many talents, and also a few mysteries, perhaps some of which were merely concealed by his modesty and self-effacing manner, and his tendency to draw you out and make you feel as if he were honored to be in your company, when in truth that feeling should have always been the opposite.
I want to share a few memories of a guy I came to know well, beginning about 10 or 12 years ago, thanks to the sport – a game some might call it – of ping pong. Michael and I were long time players, and first met at a local club near my house in Los Angeles. Since it was a short walk for me, I went there a lot, sparring with whoever else would show up, and one night there was Michael. For whatever reason, after we played the first time he decided that we needed to become partners, and to set times to get together at least twice a week. I could see why this was a good idea for Michael, who lived quite a distance from the club up in the hills, but was initially surprised and a bit puzzled that he so much wanted to make this specific arrangement with me, as we’d barely met. But Michael had good instincts, and it turned out that we were a very good match for each other, in ways that included but also went well beyond the game.
Still it started with the game. We were about even in terms of skill, but more importantly, we shared a temperament – that is, we were at once friendly, and ferocious, competitors. Ping pong, if you get serious about it, can quickly become, as Michael liked to call it, ‘a blood sport.’ And we were that serious. For awhile we even shared a private instructor, a former women’s world champion from Korea who we held in awe. We entered tournaments, where fortunately we never had to play each other, but where Michael once copped a second prize trophy in his ranking group by beating a precocious 9 year old who fell apart crying at the end. Michael felt bad about that part, but hey, he admitted, he did want the trophy. We had a good laugh: A blood sport indeed.
Often when you play sports, you feel like you get a window into the person you are sporting with, even if you don’t know more than their name. Character is revealed through play, and sometimes the revelation isn’t pretty. But Michael’s character was impeccable. He played with intensity and joy. He was fun. When he won a match he felt great, and it made you feel good for him. When he lost he was gracious and generous with praise. I’d like to believe I came close to matching his standard, and if so it was because that’s how he set the bar.
Besides, as it turned out, the games weren’t really the point. When we’d take a break between sets, we’d sit and talk – a lot. That’s when I began to learn of Michael’s remarkable life, his wide range of experience, and his voracious interest in all manner of stuff. I had been a music journalist for decades, and so was startled to discover at a certain point months into our relationship, that he was in fact Michael James Jackson! I knew of his work with Kiss of course, but also learned about his connection with less celebrated artists that I admired. Then Michael began telling me inside stories of his time in the industry, entertaining and surreal tales that I won’t spoil for anyone in the event that the memoir he was working on in his later years ultimately sees the light of day.
Suffice it to say that the music biz was pretty wild in the 70s, and Michael was in it. At one point he was kind enough to show me some chapters he was writing to get my feedback, and I remember telling him that the only thing really missing for me was that I wanted to learn more of who he was, and how he came to be that guy. Yeah, he rubbed shoulders {and more..] with some famous figures, but none of the folks he wrote about were quite as fascinating to me as he was. Or at least as fascinating as the way his mind could frame those experiences.
To hear Michael tell it, his entry into becoming a producer was just some kooky accident that he ran with. He knew he did good work, but he was not one to boast about specific accomplishments [like the Kiss drum sound, say]. In fact, when he was first invited to go on the Kiss kruise, he received the news with a mix of bewilderment and terror. He honestly couldn’t fathom that Kiss fans might care about anything he had to say. More than once he proposed that I should go on the cruise in his place and impersonate him on the panels, since he’d never given interviews before and was certain no one knew what he looked like anyway [I think Paul Stanley might have noticed!] Finally he decided to go, in his telling, for Cathey’s sake, so that they could have a good time together. Of course by his return he was in a state closer to ecstasy. He’d been love-bombed by Kiss fans throughout. The whole thing made him very happy.
Well like I say, for years we played together each week, often more than once. Michael had a side project going – he always seemed to have side projects – with the director of the ping pong club, to make high end tables or some such, and as a consequence, he didn’t have to pay club fees. Since by this time I pretty much only played with Michael, I stopped paying mine too, and got grandfathered in apparently. The next step was that Michael got the club owner to let us play there on weekends when it was closed to the public. So now we really had our own private club. Those were the best times. We’d play a set or three to the point of exhaustion, then sit and talk about everything under the sun, and finally rouse ourselves to play another. As it happened, we were both long term subscribers to the New Yorker magazine – an oddity that seemed to tickle him no end - and often found that we’d been reading the same esoteric articles at the same time, which then became jumping off points for personal, political, and philosophical ruminations – and where even our darkest thoughts ended with some laughter.
Over time, though, Michael became more physically frail, as he had a heart condition which required constant monitoring. Of course he refused to let that get in the way of playing, for goodness sake. (in our early years together we once played on the same day he’d gotten a colonoscopy). He wore his health concerns with such grace that I think I was lulled into believing he was more durable than he was.
Then Covid happened, and our little slice of heaven went to hell. Fortunately by then, Michael had moved to Oxnard to be with Cathey, and there he got to spend time with her grandchildren, who he clearly adored. We kept in touch off and on, mostly by planning how we’d get together either here or there once the plague abated. {in one of his droll texts, he told me he was envisioning writing a story about a man who moved back to Los Angeles just to play ping pong.] When 2022 rolled around, we vowed that playing together would be our new year’s resolution. Months went by, and so did life I thought. It really didn’t dawn on me, to my shame and regret, that his compromised condition might pose a serious danger to that dream.
Now my friend is gone. Michael, please rest easy. I love you. I miss you. I won’t forget you.
-Mark
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