PRESIDENTS’ DAY

FOR THE KING OF POP

On May 14, 1984, Michael Jackson visited the White House to accept an “appreciation plaque” from President Ronald Reagan and his Secretary of Transportation, Elizabeth Dole. The honor was a token of gratitude to the King of Pop for donating his “Beat It” for the administration’s Just Say No and drunk driving campaign advertisements. 

Five months earlier, the pop star had suffered burns during a pyrotechnic Pepsi video shoot. Afterward he began taking painkillers which escalated into narcotic abuse. The soft drink giant paid $1.4 million for the accident. Though formerly a teetotaler and strict Jehovah’s Witness, the “Beat It” star began to fill his Pepsi cans with what he called “Jesus Juice.” 

“Isn’t this a Thriller!” declared President Reagan on the South Lawn that bright spring afternoon, beaming at the King of Pop and the 2,000 guests, reminding all of the unprecedented eight Grammies the album had recently garnered. “Michael is proof of what a person can accomplish through a lifestyle free of alcohol or drug abuse,” he continued. 

Indeed, the former actor had prospered from his own sobriety, indulging only in a sip for state occasions or for the Eucharist on Sundays at the First Presbyterian.

Like his father-in-law, Elvis, whom President Nixon had decorated fourteen years before, Michael donned his Sunday best that afternoon. In stunning contrast to Reagan’s own staid navy blue suit and the First Lady’s gold-buttoned Adolfo ensemble, the King of Pop sported a sequined cobalt blue military parade doublet with gold sash and epaulets, accessorized by his signature white rhinestone glove. 

The White House ceremony went smoothly until it moved indoors to the Diplomatic Reception Room. After a glance inside, Michael suddenly fled to the Presidential Library bathroom, his handlers hurrying after him in confusion. When the star did not emerge for several moments, they began to knock urgently on the locked door begging him to return to the festivities. 

“Not till you clear all of those adults out!” came a cry. 

A full seventy-five grown-ups – the president’s cabinet, plus other statesmen and dignitaries – were anxiously waiting to meet the King of Pop in the Diplomatic Room. He had apparently been promised their children, not them.

“Done!” cried his retainers. So they hurried back, cleared the reception area and mustered some official kids – Chief of Staff, James Baker’s, little six-year-old, Mary, the first. 

Michael’s own chief of staff, Norman Winter, hustled back to the bathroom door. “OK, you can come out now, Mike,” he called. 

“Are you sure?” demanded his employer. Michael had been prone to panic attacks for some time, and had begun Beating It with downers and Jesus Juice.

The King of Pop emerged warily and allowed himself to be shouldered back to the reception area. To his relief, the room was now empty except for a handful of saucer-eyed children and the Transportation head herself who prevailed on him to sign her copy of Thriller.

Then the King, the kids, and Ms. Dole proceeded to the Roosevelt Room to rendezvous with the First Couple.  

While Michael played with the children here, Nancy Reagan took a bodyguard aside and inquired about his boss’s surgery. She said she could see that he’d had his nose done, but was wondering if he’d had eye and cheekbone work too. The aide smiled sphinx-like. 

“It’s all so peculiar, really,” mused the Just Say No First Lady. “A boy who looks just like a girl.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” sighed the King’s man.