Michael Jackson Died Yesterday of Cardiac Arrest At Age 50

When I first heard of Michael Jackson's death yesterday, I was shocked. Then I turned on the news and was sickened.

An icon died -- was robbed -- yesterday. Someone who perhaps did as much or more to bridge the cultural and racial divides that exist in our country and around our world than anyone else I can recall. In some ways, he was the prologue to Barack Obama.

I don't want to idealize or idolize the man, but I really don't want to hear another newscaster talk about charges on which he was found not guilty; I don't want to hear about the "evidence" of prior bad acts that were introduced at the trial at which he was found not guilty; I don't want to hear about nuisance value settlements, addictions to painkillers, or suspicions of child abuse -- either those that he may have endured or those that he may have inflicted. The key word here is "may".

Can we not take an example from the people gathered around UCLA yesterday and just shut up? Like, for one second? Of course not. As I type the paparrazzi are waiting for the autopsy results which I'm sure I will not be able to avoid hearing about when I get home for the evening.

Michael Jackson was not a perfect man. But the way he executed his work was nothing short of perfect, and people that possess that degree of talent are all too often screwed up. So what? He wasn't O.J. Simpson. He wasn't even Tonya Harding. There is no need to indulge ourselves yet one more time with all of this judging that we find so compelling. It was long before I heard of Barack Obama that I heard Michael Jackson stating that, "you're free to be my brother; it don't matter if you're black or white." It was an exquisitely funked up version of "It's a Small World After All".