Michael Jackson’s Dangerous Liaisons (book)

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Dangerous Liaisons book cover

Michael Jackson's Dangerous Liaisons is a book by the pedophile writer Tom O'Carroll under the pen name “Carl Toms” in which he comprehensively reviews the controversially intimate relationships of the late American singer Michael Jackson with young boys.

Published at 2010 in the United Kingdom by Troubador Publishing Ltd and distributed by Dangerous Books,[1][2] the book received pre-publication endorsements from five professors: D. J. West, emeritus professor of clinical criminology, University of Cambridge;[1] Richard Green, emeritus professor of psychiatry, UCLA;[3]William Armstrong Percy III, professor of history,University of Massachusetts;[3] Thomas K. Hubbard, professor of classics, University of Texas;[1]and James R. Kincaid, professor of English, University of Southern California.[1]


After publication, J. Michael Bailey, professor of psychology at Northwestern University, also gave high praise in a four-page review for the academic journal Archives of Sexual Behavior.[4] Describing the author as “an unapologetic pedophile”, Prof. Bailey nevertheless advised potential readers to set aside any scepticism to which that might give rise. “The book,” he wrote, “is fascinating, challenging and discomfiting. Anyone wanting to understand Michael Jackson will need to read it.” Bailey noted that the book takes “a pro-pedophilic stance” and argues “persuasively” that Jackson was “almost certainly pedophilic”.

Selected Excerpts


pp.227-9

The gentle, soft-spoken Michael emerging from adolescence was thus a real figure, not just a public relations creation. The “nice” thoughts and feelings he expressed were truly coming from within, thoughts and feelings based on maiden aunt sensibilities that steered him clear of unwanted grown-up sex. Just how “all my own work” his “nice” poetry is, for instance, can be judged by its quality. It is not just any old sentimental rubbish. It is plainly so dreadful it cannot possibly have been written for him by the talented ghost writers behind Hollywood stars’ “autobiographies”. Skilful scribes can be persuaded to do dubious things for the right money, but conning verse bad enough to ruin their reputation as writers is unlikely to be among them. Take, for instance, “When babies smile”, a fairly typical piece from the collection of poems and reflections Michael published as Dancing the Dream. The last verse runs as follows:


Kingdoms topple, lose their class
Civilisations crumble, ages pass
Turbulent tempests ravage the seas
Violent killings, despite our pleas
But dewdrops sparkle when children play
Tyrants cry, there’s nothing to slay
Fairies dance and goblins sing
All are crowned, all are king
In the garden we frolic awhile
Those are moments when babies smile.
[Endnote: Jackson (1992) p.19]


Kingdoms topple, lose their class, boy can he write a verse that’s crass! The point here is not to criticise Michael’s poetry, even though his crime against rhyme deserves a prison sentence more than anything he may have done with boys. Not that most of us are in a position to cast the first stone. Our youthful mental couplings of William McGonagall and Patience Strong have begotten millions of equally ugly little bastards of verse. The difference in Michael’s case is that he was able to publish, so his work was not left in decent obscurity. Nor did anyone apparently dare advise him he is no Byron or Wordsworth, or have the temerity to interfere editorially in any way. As detectives in search of “the real Michael”, we should be delighted to stumble across such telling evidence for the existence of this illusive entity. Could it be that all is not necessarily chimerical and mere illusion?

Illusion, though, has served Michael well. Magic is his favourite word. His “child-like” vision sees magic everywhere, in nature, the cosmos, a baby’s smile. Magic, for Michael, is a synonym for wonder and awe. Nature is the greatest magician, he says. “When a whale plunges out of the sea like a newborn mountain, you gasp in unexpected delight. But a toddler who sees his first tadpole flashing in a mud puddle feels the same thrill.” [Endnote: Ibid. p.50] Yes, we might in a charitable moment concede, he has a point here. The idea of plunging upwards arguably stretches linguistic flexibility to breaking point, but that “newborn mountain” image is not at all bad. We might think that with a little more discipline his writing could have been usefully expressive.

We might think that, but we would be wrong, because there is too much magic of the other kind in his writing, magic of the now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t kind. He denied this. He specifically says his idea of magic does not have much to do with stage tricks and illusions. [Endnote: Ibid. p.50] Nevertheless, when Michael is telling us about all the beautiful things he finds so magical, he is saying both something real about himself (now you see him) and something illusory (now you don’t). His poems, with titles like “Mother Earth”, “A child is a song”, “Innocence” and “Magical Child” are real: they are from the heart. But in another sense they are like the bland speech of a politician aiming to be all things to all men: they are motherhood and apple pie stuff, long on rhetoric, short on “the beef” – that is to say, short on anything that will reveal him, or commit him to any attitudes or opinions that could be considered remotely individual or controversial. There is nothing specific he can be held to. Ultimately his published poems and reflections, like his song lyrics, his autobiography and his rare interviews, are more notable for what they do not say than for what they do. La Toya hit the mark when she was asked what was missing from Moonwalk, Michael’s autobiography. “The beginning, the middle and the end,” she replied. [Endnote: Taraborrelli p.475 (1992 edn)]


pp.465-6

There was no suggestion the books were illegal but it was claimed that they portrayed the singer’s predilection towards young boys. Robert Sanger, defending, unsuccessfully argued that the books were irrelevant to the current case and would unfairly prejudice the jury. He said the books were kept in a locked cabinet and there was no evidence they were shown to anyone. Sanger asked the judge to look at an inscription in one of the books, apparently in Jackson’s own hand, which read:

Look at the true spirit of happiness and joy in these boys’ faces. This is the spirit of boyhood — a life that I’ve never had and will always dream of. This is the life I want for my children.

Even the woman detective who had discovered the books on the raid did nothing to dispel this image when she described the books to the jury, saying the boys were depicted playing, swimming and jumping – “generally having a good time” as a Los Angeles Times report put it. The other book had been inscribed “To Michael. From your fan Rhonda. XXXOOO.” When the judge looked at this in the absence of the jury it inspired some light-hearted courtroom banter.

Judge: I know what I mean when I put “XXXOOO”. Sanger: “And I have noted Your Honour has never put that on any of your rulings in this case.” (Laughter) Judge: “I can’t top that”.

There were to be many such humorous moments throughout the trial. I have no wish to be po-faced and critical about that, far from it, but I do find it interesting, and sad, that the court showed itself utterly unaware of the incongruity of the moment. Here we see “XXXOOO”, or “love and kisses”, as the subject of levity, a joke. Yet the entire, months-long proceedings of the court in this case were all about love and kisses being a matter of the utmost gravity, no laughing matter at all. The judge appeared to be saying love and kisses are fine, they have a positive part to play in his own personal life. So why not in the defendant’s? Sitting there, silently, shut out of the joke, Michael must have felt very lonely as this jolly badinage beset his ears.


Endnote: “Judge Bars Journalist’s Testimony in Jackson Trial, but Allows Jurors to See ‘Boy’ Books”, Steve Chawkins, Los Angeles Times, 30 April 2005


pp.542-3

POSTSCRIPT

This book began with Michael’s tragic sudden death. As it goes to press, comes news of another dramatic exit: it is reported that Jordie Chandler’s father has taken a gun to his head and killed himself. Compared to the endless coverage of Michael’s passing, often emotively told and speculative in content, the accounts of Evan Chandler’s departure seem starkly terse and matter-of-fact: he is gone, and that’s that.

Evan will not be widely mourned, nor his life deeply scrutinised by millions. But it should not go unnoticed that his later years, passed in failing health and largely, it seems, in bitter isolation, were just as tragic as anything that happened to Michael, perhaps more so. Remember Evan’s prediction, as the crisis loomed over his son’s friendship with Michael?

“The facts,” he said, “are so overwhelming that everyone will be destroyed...”

Evan was a talented screenwriter, a man of imagination. Sadly ironic, then – or poetic justice – that his prophetic vision of apocalypse evidently overlooked his own destruction. And it was all so preventable, so unnecessary. Without Evan there would have been no crisis: he was on the warpath; he was in control; he was writing the script. He could have just hit the delete key on a storyline that was never going to have a happy ending.


R.I.P. Michael

R.I.P. Evan


From tragedy to farce. In the same month as Evan’s suicide, Michael’s dermatologist Dr Arnold Klein gave a long, rambling interview to entertainment news website TMZ, in which he seemed eager to mouth off at breakneck speed on many aspects of Michael’s life, and all too willing to blame other people for his client’s problems while exonerating himself.

Sensationally, we learned that Michael was not a paedophile but a pee-ophile. Asked about the detailed description Jordie Chandler had given to the police of the marks on Michael’s genitals, Klein claimed the boy had seen the star’s privates when Michael had been peeing into a cup – something he habitually did in public, according to Klein, including in front of children!

So that settles it then. Guess I have wasted my time writing this book, now that Jordie’s evidence has been blown apart. Ho hum.

On the other hand, we were not told why all this public peeing had never been “leaked” to the media over the years, bearing in mind both its intrinsic Wacko Jacko interest and the huge evidential implications. Nor did we hear how Michael would have revealed his buttocks when peeing into a cup: are we to understand that he pulled his trousers and underpants right down for these “performances”? Evidently Klein had forgotten that Jordie’s account included “brown patches on his ass, on his left glut”. And perhaps Michael peed upwards, in an arc, so that his penis would be raised, enabling Jordie to see the mark that would otherwise have been hidden underneath it. In that case, catching the pee in the cup without spilling it on the carpet would have been a spectacle to match the moonwalk.

Perhaps the most telling aspect of Klein’s whole spiel was that the dermatologist made no attempt to deny the accuracy of the boy’s description.


Endnote: “Father who accused Michael Jackson of molesting his son Jordan Chandler commits suicide”, David Gardner, Daily Mail, 18 November 2009

Endnote: Report: “Michael Jackson – The Urination Explanation”, www.tmz.com, 4 November 2009; video interview with TMZ’s Harvey Levin: http://www.tmz.com/videos?autoplay=true&mediaKey=3e1cfd94-ae5f-48c0-8d5b-c372fc8c0d52

References


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