Post by NatureCriminal7896 on Aug 5, 2021 13:52:51 GMT
Time and time again, I was faced with the unpleasant situation. In this case, Michael's family wanted to talk to him and he didn't want to be disturbed. I had to treat them with respect and I couldn't just send them away.
How many times have I told them that he was bathing or still asleep; eventually, they knew it wasn't true...
The day of reckoning had come, Joseph Jackson, Michael's father, came to me at the Four Seasons and said:
"I need to talk to Michael. NOW!''
Michael had already instructed me that he didn't want to be disturbed under any circumstances, but there was Michael Jackson's father, nothing less.
So I picked up the phone and called Michael's suite. I acted like there was an imaginary person on the line, "I need to talk to Mr. Jackson. His father is here... "
Michael replied as I expected:
"Don't let him in!"
I just stood there looking like an idiot. "Joe, " I turned to stare at him with a disappointed look,
"That's not going to happen. He's still asleep.''
But Joe wouldn't give up, "Wake him up," he insisted. I couldn't do anything, and I said,
"That won't be possible."
No one was allowed to enter Michael's suite, not even his father. Michael would never have opened the door. Michael and I had a special beat combined beforehand, the only signal Michael would answer.
Of course, it was my job to be there for Michael and act on his wishes. On the other hand, here was his father, who had asked emphatically to be able to speak to his son. I had to negotiate and find a diplomatic solution. Since Joe wouldn't give up, I went to Michael and talked to his conscience.
"Michael, it's your father who's waiting in my room —I can't just tell him to leave..."
Michael seemed a little nervous, but softened the tone.
"But Dieter, you have to stand by me"
"Michael, I'm sure your father will want to talk to you about something very personal. A conversation between a father and son. This is going to be a little uncomfortable and embarrassing for me. You can call me if you need to. "
Without losing his rhythm, Michael said, "No, Dieter, stay!"
I did what Michael demanded.
Joe came in and immediately went straight to the point.
"Michael, you know what? I have an idea. Daphne Barak, she wants to talk to you for five minutes.''
Ahh, I thought, Daphne Barak, a celebrity journalist, who took every opportunity possible to get interviews. Daphne Barak wasn't just anyone. To this day his interviews are known, with Bill Clinton, Charlton Heston, Mother Teresa and Nelson Mandela.
Michael immediately replied, "No, I'm not going to do that."
Joe replied in a rigid tone of a father. "But I want you to do it."
and... it was a struggle.
Finally, Michael caved:
"Okay, let's go. But only for five minutes.''
Joe got what he wanted.
When he left, Michael reflected and told me he didn't want to do the interview. It was evident that Joe would receive a payment for marking the interview and, once Michael's father was getting older he was trying to do good.
"... Come on, I do this interview but you have to stay with me. You have to stay close to me. I don't mean too much; otherwise, you interrupt the interview."
"We're going to manage,"I assured him.
The night before the interview, we meticulously planned the meeting.
Michael always said that if he gave an interview, he wanted it to be "something exceptional." Michael was not available for most interview requests; he was like a ghost. And when he gave an interview, even experienced press professionals would be surprised.
On the day of the interview, scheduled for noon at the Four Seasons, I received a call from New York.
It was the journalist, Daphne Barak, reporting that she was on a plane bound for Los Angeles and that she wanted to make sure everything was ready. I told her that everything was ready for us and that she could come.
Just before noon, Joe Jackson and Daphne Barak arrived at the hotel lobby. I went down to the lobby and waited for Michael to come down.
Instead, Michael calls me on his cell phone:
"Please come up now!"
I went up to his suite, where I found him on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He was holding his children's hands.
"Take Prince, take Prince!"
"Michael, what are you doing?" Asked.
"We have to go!" he answered.
I was surprised and wondered if he had completely forgotten the interview.
"Michael, Daphne is already here waiting for you in the lobby."
"That's why we have to leave." Your answer made me laugh.
I tried to explain to him that leaving wasn't going to work, but he said again:
"No, Dieter, come on, come on, get Prince...!"
With Paris on his arm, driven by panic, Michael moved so fast and agile that I had trouble accompanying him. My suite was on the left side of the hotel corridor, Michael's suite, from which we were running away, was on the right side, a short walk from the emergency exit and the staircase that no one used.
The ladder was used in case of fire, and we would flee as if the place were on fire. We couldn't take the elevator because Daphne and Joe could see us.
Michael was able to move the whole world—just a snap of his fingers in a stadium so that 120,000 people would be mesmerized by him. But it was enough for a woman, Daphne Barak, to make him run away.
Michael felt pressured. He didn't want to do the interview.
We went down the stairs faster and faster and the steps were endless. Imagine, exit the penthouse, passing through the ground floor and going to the basement to the hotel's operations center. With Prince in one arm, I called our driver and told him to get there as soon as possible.
He was supposed to go to the back entrance of the hotel — it was an emergency!
In the car, we get our breath back, laughing at the whole situation.
I asked Michael:
"What do you think we should do now?" He thought about it.
"Call Evvy. She's going to book a hotel. Let's go to the Mirage"
"What do you want to do at the Mirage? We still have a reservation at the Four Seasons.'
What the secretary didn't understand was that we weren't there anymore. So she booked us an entire floor at the Mirage Hotel. When we arrived, we had to go through the back entrance.
Meanwhile, my phone kept ringing.
It was Daphne Barak calling from the Four Seasons, leaving messages of rebuke. His calls were interrupted only by calls and messages of rebuke from Michael's father.
Well, at least the interview was canceled.
Michael's bodyguards were still at the Four Seasons, so Daphne and Joe assumed we were still in the suite. It was clear that the impasse could not last forever. To get them on the wrong track, I answered one of Joe's phone calls and told him we were going back to Los Angeles.
He and Daphne got in a car and left for Los Angeles.
You have no idea what these journalists do for an interview...
Arriving in Los Angeles, they learned that we were not in LA, turned around and ran back to Las Vegas.
To calm the whole situation, I said:
"Michael, they're going to find us anyway..."
Joe called again and I answered:
"Dieter, don't hang up."
"Okay, Joe, I'll talk to you, but don't yell at me."
Joe surprised me:
"No, Dieter, you know what? Tell my son I love him. I know what he's like."
Relieved, I said, "I'll tell him that..."
Once again, Joe repeated:
"Tell him I love him. I'm not mad at him.''
"Thank you Joe. OK... "
I suspected relieved.
There was no interview.
I was able to assure Michael that everything was fine and that his father wasn't angry. If Michael had only stood firm in the first place, the whole situation could have been avoided.
But Michael hated confrontations, especially with his father.
— Excerpt from Michael Jackson: The Real Story: An Intimate Look Into Michael Jackson's Visionary Business and Human Side, by Dieter Wiesner, Michael Jackson's 10-year manager.
How many times have I told them that he was bathing or still asleep; eventually, they knew it wasn't true...
The day of reckoning had come, Joseph Jackson, Michael's father, came to me at the Four Seasons and said:
"I need to talk to Michael. NOW!''
Michael had already instructed me that he didn't want to be disturbed under any circumstances, but there was Michael Jackson's father, nothing less.
So I picked up the phone and called Michael's suite. I acted like there was an imaginary person on the line, "I need to talk to Mr. Jackson. His father is here... "
Michael replied as I expected:
"Don't let him in!"
I just stood there looking like an idiot. "Joe, " I turned to stare at him with a disappointed look,
"That's not going to happen. He's still asleep.''
But Joe wouldn't give up, "Wake him up," he insisted. I couldn't do anything, and I said,
"That won't be possible."
No one was allowed to enter Michael's suite, not even his father. Michael would never have opened the door. Michael and I had a special beat combined beforehand, the only signal Michael would answer.
Of course, it was my job to be there for Michael and act on his wishes. On the other hand, here was his father, who had asked emphatically to be able to speak to his son. I had to negotiate and find a diplomatic solution. Since Joe wouldn't give up, I went to Michael and talked to his conscience.
"Michael, it's your father who's waiting in my room —I can't just tell him to leave..."
Michael seemed a little nervous, but softened the tone.
"But Dieter, you have to stand by me"
"Michael, I'm sure your father will want to talk to you about something very personal. A conversation between a father and son. This is going to be a little uncomfortable and embarrassing for me. You can call me if you need to. "
Without losing his rhythm, Michael said, "No, Dieter, stay!"
I did what Michael demanded.
Joe came in and immediately went straight to the point.
"Michael, you know what? I have an idea. Daphne Barak, she wants to talk to you for five minutes.''
Ahh, I thought, Daphne Barak, a celebrity journalist, who took every opportunity possible to get interviews. Daphne Barak wasn't just anyone. To this day his interviews are known, with Bill Clinton, Charlton Heston, Mother Teresa and Nelson Mandela.
Michael immediately replied, "No, I'm not going to do that."
Joe replied in a rigid tone of a father. "But I want you to do it."
and... it was a struggle.
Finally, Michael caved:
"Okay, let's go. But only for five minutes.''
Joe got what he wanted.
When he left, Michael reflected and told me he didn't want to do the interview. It was evident that Joe would receive a payment for marking the interview and, once Michael's father was getting older he was trying to do good.
"... Come on, I do this interview but you have to stay with me. You have to stay close to me. I don't mean too much; otherwise, you interrupt the interview."
"We're going to manage,"I assured him.
The night before the interview, we meticulously planned the meeting.
Michael always said that if he gave an interview, he wanted it to be "something exceptional." Michael was not available for most interview requests; he was like a ghost. And when he gave an interview, even experienced press professionals would be surprised.
On the day of the interview, scheduled for noon at the Four Seasons, I received a call from New York.
It was the journalist, Daphne Barak, reporting that she was on a plane bound for Los Angeles and that she wanted to make sure everything was ready. I told her that everything was ready for us and that she could come.
Just before noon, Joe Jackson and Daphne Barak arrived at the hotel lobby. I went down to the lobby and waited for Michael to come down.
Instead, Michael calls me on his cell phone:
"Please come up now!"
I went up to his suite, where I found him on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He was holding his children's hands.
"Take Prince, take Prince!"
"Michael, what are you doing?" Asked.
"We have to go!" he answered.
I was surprised and wondered if he had completely forgotten the interview.
"Michael, Daphne is already here waiting for you in the lobby."
"That's why we have to leave." Your answer made me laugh.
I tried to explain to him that leaving wasn't going to work, but he said again:
"No, Dieter, come on, come on, get Prince...!"
With Paris on his arm, driven by panic, Michael moved so fast and agile that I had trouble accompanying him. My suite was on the left side of the hotel corridor, Michael's suite, from which we were running away, was on the right side, a short walk from the emergency exit and the staircase that no one used.
The ladder was used in case of fire, and we would flee as if the place were on fire. We couldn't take the elevator because Daphne and Joe could see us.
Michael was able to move the whole world—just a snap of his fingers in a stadium so that 120,000 people would be mesmerized by him. But it was enough for a woman, Daphne Barak, to make him run away.
Michael felt pressured. He didn't want to do the interview.
We went down the stairs faster and faster and the steps were endless. Imagine, exit the penthouse, passing through the ground floor and going to the basement to the hotel's operations center. With Prince in one arm, I called our driver and told him to get there as soon as possible.
He was supposed to go to the back entrance of the hotel — it was an emergency!
In the car, we get our breath back, laughing at the whole situation.
I asked Michael:
"What do you think we should do now?" He thought about it.
"Call Evvy. She's going to book a hotel. Let's go to the Mirage"
"What do you want to do at the Mirage? We still have a reservation at the Four Seasons.'
What the secretary didn't understand was that we weren't there anymore. So she booked us an entire floor at the Mirage Hotel. When we arrived, we had to go through the back entrance.
Meanwhile, my phone kept ringing.
It was Daphne Barak calling from the Four Seasons, leaving messages of rebuke. His calls were interrupted only by calls and messages of rebuke from Michael's father.
Well, at least the interview was canceled.
Michael's bodyguards were still at the Four Seasons, so Daphne and Joe assumed we were still in the suite. It was clear that the impasse could not last forever. To get them on the wrong track, I answered one of Joe's phone calls and told him we were going back to Los Angeles.
He and Daphne got in a car and left for Los Angeles.
You have no idea what these journalists do for an interview...
Arriving in Los Angeles, they learned that we were not in LA, turned around and ran back to Las Vegas.
To calm the whole situation, I said:
"Michael, they're going to find us anyway..."
Joe called again and I answered:
"Dieter, don't hang up."
"Okay, Joe, I'll talk to you, but don't yell at me."
Joe surprised me:
"No, Dieter, you know what? Tell my son I love him. I know what he's like."
Relieved, I said, "I'll tell him that..."
Once again, Joe repeated:
"Tell him I love him. I'm not mad at him.''
"Thank you Joe. OK... "
I suspected relieved.
There was no interview.
I was able to assure Michael that everything was fine and that his father wasn't angry. If Michael had only stood firm in the first place, the whole situation could have been avoided.
But Michael hated confrontations, especially with his father.
— Excerpt from Michael Jackson: The Real Story: An Intimate Look Into Michael Jackson's Visionary Business and Human Side, by Dieter Wiesner, Michael Jackson's 10-year manager.
