Katherine Jackson called son Michael a ‘damn f----t’
By Stacy Brown
October 13, 2013 | 4:56am
After a chance meeting as a young fan, Stacy Brown became friends with Jermaine Jackson — and later the rest of the Jackson family, including Michael. He helped write some of their memoirs, traveled on their tours, and even gave them loans (never to be repaid). Here, for the first time, Stacy explain what it’s like to be friends with the strangest family in America.
Randy Jackson, the second-youngest of the storied musical dynasty, likes to call his family “the black Kennedys.”
Maybe. But they certainly weren’t as smart with their finances as the Kennedys.
Even before this month, when the family lost a $40 billion lawsuit against AEG over the death of Michael Jackson, they’ve struggled with debts. Especially when the family’s richest members, Michael and Janet, decided to cut off their seven other siblings and parents out of whim or spite.
A particularly low point came in 2003. No money was coming in, few of them had actual jobs and Janet gave but one gift to her siblings: free meal cards to Baja Fresh, a fast-food chain with which she had an endorsement deal.
I visited Rebbie, the oldest of the Jackson kids, in Vegas, to work on a book. It was Baja Fresh for breakfast, lunch and dinner. From there I drove to Hayvenhurst, the family’s estate in Encino, Calif., to meet Katherine, the matriarch, and Jermaine.
And for 2¹/₂ weeks it was . . . Baja Fresh.
Finally, for the sake of my stomach, I offered to take Katherine to Trader Joe’s. She loaded the cart with groceries, and I ended up with the bill — $700.
There was no “thank you.” The money was never repaid. Whatever courtesies are shown to them are met with the air of “You did what you ought to. We are the Jacksons!”
‘WHY NO BLACK BOYS?’
As a friend, ghostwriter and confidant of the Jackson family for nearly 25 years, people ask how I could put up with such behavior.
It wasn’t easy — but there’s something seductive about the craziness.
I first met patriarch Joseph and his sons Jermaine, Jackie and Tito in 1984. The brothers had just played the Victory Tour at Giants Stadium. I was 16 and went to the show with my girlfriend, Ameena, who was in love with Michael.
After the show, we traveled to the Helmsley Palace Hotel, and amazingly we got to speak to the Jacksons in the lobby. Ameena gushed and handed them a letter for her idol.
A couple of years later, I was visiting a friend in a hospital in Canoga Park, Calif. Randomly, I ran into Jermaine. “I know you,” he said. To my shock, he remembered that night in New York in detail.
We spoke for a long time and exchanged numbers. Two weeks later, he called me and invited me to Hayvenhurst, the seven-bedroom mansion Michael paid for. It’s full of family memorabilia, and a guesthouse is filled with dolls and stuffed animals.
I later became a journalist and, because of the friendship, I was enlisted as writer on two books — “Rebbie Jackson: The First Jackson” and “Legacy: Surviving the Best and the Worse,” the latter with Jermaine.
But for every little kindness, like Jermaine remembering me as a fan in the crowd, there was plenty of selfishness and bizarre behavior.
The Jacksons have been described as dysfunctional, but that’s an understatement. They loathe each other, particularly Michael — for whom they felt varying degrees of jealousy and disgust. The King of Pop rarely wanted anything to do with them, which only increased the psychosis.
They’re not the Kennedys, Katherine’s longtime assistant, Janice Smith, said to me once. “They are more like the Corleone family. And Michael is Michael Corleone.”
To his parents, Joseph and Katherine, however, Michael could do no wrong.
One day, after the brothers were complaining about Michael not including them in his plans, Joseph exploded: “Y’all are lazy. He did all the work, and he figured out that if he were going to do all the work, why bother with your lazy asses?”
Katherine would defend Michael constantly — to a point.
Watching a news report that showed Michael boarding an airplane with a young boy, Katherine murmured: “Why is it that he’s always got to have those little white boys around? Why doesn’t he ever have little black boys with him?”
I said, “Well, there was a time that he had little Emmanuel Lewis, who played Webster.”
“That was just for show, for the cameras,” Katherine said. “Those boys he flies around with ain’t nothing but little Jews.”
The question I desperately wanted to ask but did not was, “Well, would you rather him molest little black boys?” ...
Rest of the story, including the part about Michael's mother saying he was a faggot, at NY Post.
