One sultry summer night in Chicago around 1966, I was backstage at the Broadway Strand with my dance troupe, The Foscoettes. The Strand, as it was called then, was located on Chicago’s West Side. On this night, it was transformed into a variety show space similar to the more famous Regal Theater. But most nights, it doubled as a skating rink.
As my fellow Foscoettes and I were getting ready to perform our modern dance number, I observed the other groups waiting with us in the Green Room. One that particularly caught my eye was “The Boys from Gary,” as we called them, consisting of perhaps an 8-year-old Michael Jackson and his older brothers Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, and perhaps Marlon. His brothers were older adolescents and/or teenagers, and so were jovial and eager to talk with us dancers as we practiced our stretches outfitted in our leotards and tights.
While the rest of us laughed and talked, Michael stood apart from the pack, looking down shyly at the floor. We signaled for him to join us, but he declined. Something about him reminded me of shy boys in my own family, so I pulled on my duster to cover my leotards and walked over to Michael to engage him in conversation. He looked up, his eye catching my own. In that millisecond of exchange, it was clear that we trusted each other. I sat down, and we began to speak in low tones so as not to call attention to ourselves. I could sense from his smile that he felt more comfortable interacting in this one-on-one way.
As our conversation continued, I invited him to sit on my lap, as I would have with my own younger cousins. He complied. He looked at me with his big brown eyes, and we talked about dancing, singing, and whether it was scary to go on stage. I have to admit that I don’t remember the entirety of our conversation, and it never occurred to me that I might be sheltering a kid who would grow up to be the most famous entertainer in the world, not to mention the undisputed “King of Pop.”
Soon, the announcer called our groups to perform. The Foscoettes went first, as I recall. And then the announcer called “The Boys From Gary.” We were standing just offstage, so we saw this miraculous change in Little Michael. Once they went on stage, some magic beam from above transformed that timid little boy into a whirling dervish of talent! We were all enthralled by his singing and dancing. The rapidity of the changing light in Michael’s eyes and the shift of his body to accommodate his otherworldly moves caused all of us to cheer with laughter. Having performed their numbers, they signaled to the Foscoettes to come back out on stage to dance with them. It was electric! That night left no doubt in my mind that Michael and his brothers would go far. (Although my brain couldn’t comprehend at that time just how far.)
The joy of the performances in Antoine Fuqua’s new movie, “Michael”—led by Michael’s own nephew, Jafaar Jackson, in the title role—took me back to the wonder of that evening. Over the years, as I watched Michael Jackson’s evolution, from the transformation of “the Boys from Gary” into the Jackson Five, followed by Michael’s own groundbreaking solo career, we all concluded that he is a rare talent.
Perhaps he lost his way in the years that followed; I don’t know any details. One day, we may find out. But for now, as Spike Lee noted in a recent interview, the abuse allegations against Michael would not have fit into the film’s timeline. Michael’s alleged misdeeds took place long after 1988, when the film ends, and the film acknowledges that there are many more stories left to tell. While modern-day cancel culture often aims to delegitimize the value of an artist’s work due to their personal actions, the phenomenal box office success of “Michael,” which grossed $423 million globally over its first two weekends, affirms that in some instances, the cultural impact of one’s work will long outlive the person who created it.
“Michael” reminds us of a time before the controversies and allegations, of the young man who overcame abuse administered by his own father to create some of the most enduring and beloved music of all time.
“Michael” also reminded me that, for someone not in the performing arts, I had the unbelievable fortune of being on stage dancing with another superstar, Prince, at the United Center in September of 2012. The occasion was a fundraiser hosted by Van Jones to benefit a charity. I donated to the cause and bought front row seats. At some point during the concert, Prince signaled for a few of us to come up on the stage to dance with him. Some of the dancers were on stage for only moments, but I chose to dance all around the entire stage with Prince! Why, I don’t know. I guess I was having fun. Days afterward, someone wrote to my daughter, Sonia, rather disapprovingly, “Did you see that lady prancing all around the stage with Prince?” “Yes,” Sonia replied, “That was my mother.” At this point in my life, it seems like a dream or a fairy tale. And I haven’t told my grandchildren about these instances yet. But now, perhaps I can.
There is an epilogue to my dance with Prince. At the Wedding Reception in Chicago for Mellody Hobson and George Lucas, Prince was the surprise performer! No, he didn’t invite anyone on stage that time. But as I was standing in front of the stage swaying to the music, he looked down, and I saw the beam of recognition in his eye. He pointed his guitar at me and strummed a few chords of welcome. You bet I beamed. One of the event planners, Yvonne McNair, confirmed that he recognized me. It is difficult to believe that both Michael and Prince are gone. As is Whitney, and so many others who left too soon.
Rest in peace, Michael Jackson and Prince, and thank you for demonstrating to me that one is never too old to keep dancing. I will have you both in mind the next time I hit the dance floor.
