文/Del Walters
他呆在勞登縣的最後一晚，傑克遜作東讓大家齊聚一堂，他介紹了自己的3個孩子給沃爾特斯一家認識,並且和15歲的泰勒，13歲的麥克琳，還有他們的媽媽羅賓一起合了影,這些照片都是由戴爾·沃爾特斯拍的。
這是一個關於這位世界上最受矚目的流行天王邁克爾·傑克遜（Michael Jackson）怎麼在我家避世的故事。
在他的員工眼裏，傑克遜是老大。在我家裏，他是神秘人物--一位我們為之保守了5年零9天的秘密的神秘人物。我們那時候相信的和現在做的，不是在揭示他的行蹤，我可以說出原因並且講明我們曾經是怎麼做的。
那是2004年3月的時候，去年傑克遜在電視上出現並且解釋為什麼成人和小孩睡一起是人之常情，那是一件很正常，很愉快的事。但他認為很正常的事卻被洛杉磯地方檢察官認為有罪。謠言滿天飛，而傑克遜很可能被洛杉磯大陪審團定為有罪。這位流行天王變成了笑柄，這位曾經在幾代人心裏的可愛的男子形象已經消失了，他被冠上了疑似戀童癖的罪名。
在2004年4月，傑克遜本來應該獲得一個非州大使館婚姻協會授予的人道主義獎，但極少有陪審人員過問他為非州人民所做的事，他們想問的只有他到底在Neverland莊園幹過什麼？所以前往華盛頓成了例行的事情。傑克遜需要一個地方歇息一下，離他最近的任何一個華盛頓賓館都沒有他所需要的空間。
他的本地接待員為了給他找一個合適的地方而疲於奔波，她停下來吃東西的時候看現了2004年4月華盛頓雜志。它刊載著我的文章“便於居住的好地方”，我的妻子，還有封面上我的2個孩子。然後關于李斯堡附近的那間沒有墻，有足夠的開放空間的房屋設計的故事開始了。這個經紀人跟我們很熟，在電話裏問我們是否同意讓傑克遜和他的孩子們在我們家住。
如果有朋友突然拜訪並且建議邁克爾·傑克遜呆在你家裏會怎麼樣？我們開始以為她在開玩笑，但她卻是很認真的。
在上周日，我們首先向諾曼·泰特牧師進行了咨詢：我們應該為邁克爾·傑克遜提供住所嗎？那晚，隨著漫長的家庭協商和投票過程，我們終於決定迎接傑克遜一家的到來。
邁克爾·傑克遜一行十四人：兩個廚師、三個保姆、三個孩子、私人助理、教師、保安和他自己。他進來，你就得出去（我們呆在一家賓館裏），他身邊的人都把他當成客人或者老大。很少叫名字。我們的鄰居懷疑是某個國家的首腦來旅遊了。
他進來之前屋裏就得收拾好。他的工作人員關上了所有的玻璃窗和門，他只用白色床單和毛巾，屋裏到處都薰著他最愛的香味，一直到他離開。
然後，在黑暗籠罩下，他到了。私人飛機抵達後降落在李斯堡機場外面。
那晚由於他要住進來，我們在當地一家餐廳吃的飯，我們談著這位藝術家，猜測他會對我們佈置的房子滿意嗎？會對能從甲板遠眺藍嶺山脈的景色滿意嗎？他會在散步時注意到在我們農場叫的那7種鳥類嗎？他會不會彈奏那臺小鋼琴？他的孩子們在那間小小的舞蹈室玩耍嗎？他會喜歡那個水池，熱水浴缸，和那5個農場嗎？或者他只是躲起來過一夜？
第二天早上我們被邀請去參加幾個節目，包括一場BET接待會和非洲大使館的接待。
在傑克遜到達BET之前，一名華盛頓有名的非洲裔名流耐心地等著。那裏彌漫著討厭的言論，有些夫婦在談論如何才能讓孩子們遠離傑克遜。當他到達的時候，這些人開始散了，最先開始說他壞話的人走得最快。
他的助理在接待處迎接我們，我們被告知傑克遜首先想感謝的就是我們借了房子給他和孩子們住，他談論著墻上的家庭照片，這些照片讓他感覺很舒服。
一切都讓人很滿意，但你可能會說他有未解決的事。比如他最想隱藏的資訊：他沒有童年生活，我們的房子充滿著用錢也買不來的童趣——1周歲生日聚會，家庭冒險經歷紀錄。
為了讓他在我們家住得更隱秘，我們早上才按時到家裏接兩個女兒去上學，我們常常碰到穿著一身黑的傑克遜的保安，最後我們告訴他如果想要保證傑克遜先生的隱秘，他不應該每天早上都像T先生似的來迎接我們。
記者們正在全力尋找傑克遜的蹤跡，我們很害怕鄰居裏有媒體人員，我們的女兒，當時分別13歲和15歲，每天上學的時候總是猜測他們會被發現的。
第八天的時候，我們很奇怪傑克遜還沒準備離開，因為協議上面寫的是那天晚上離開，他在我們家安排了一個私人的葡萄酒和乳酪的宴會，這樣我們的孩子就可以和他的孩子們在一起。他很優雅，我在工作的時候，傑克遜跟我的妻子和女兒們打了招呼，他們談著童年和一些常見的話題，他的孩子們非常健談，傑克遜說話很溫柔但很風趣。我的妻子形容說他有著紳士的靈魂並且非常愛他的孩子們，孩子們也很愛他。他也很會管教孩子，他擺好姿勢照了相並且在很多東西，包括CD上面簽了名。
第9天，傑克遜和孩子們離開了。
那些藏在房子周圍的空酒瓶讓我們發現了一些蛛絲馬跡，我們現在覺得他當時受了很大的折磨。還有其他一些資訊，但我的妻子和我相約會保守秘密。我們從他的發言人處知道傑克遜每天白天時睡覺，晚上出來溜達。
現在到我們家的客人們總是會談到傑克遜來訪的話題，他站在我們的小鋼琴旁，坐在起居室桌子上照的照片。每個人都想知道當他住在我們家裏時跟他談了些什麼？
我經常被問及為什麼不告訴他們傑克遜在我家裏時談的話題，我說我一生中就和他碰了三次面，其中兩次是面對面的。
我們這一代的大多數非洲裔美國人認識傑克遜都是通過收音機，或者擁有他的某張唱片的朋友的介紹，對我來說，他就是一碟45轉速的在弗吉尼亞西部威靈的索尼·梅爾森理發店播放的唱片。
第二次見面是在1984年傑克遜和他的兄弟們到堪薩斯舉行勝利演唱會時，我和其他記者一起站在前列，並不是因為我很關注邁克爾.傑克遜，我關注的是他到這個城市來演出所帶來的收入。那晚，我收到2張參加演唱會的門票並且在箭頭廣場受到私人接待。我站在歡迎隊列裏為他們的到來而歡呼，這是我第一次見他的情況。
第三次就是華盛頓之旅。
我也疑惑為什麼在他來我家之前沒有和他交談過？是因為我和他同歲嗎或者跟其他非洲裔美國人一樣的原因嗎？我喜歡回憶這名來自加里市的男子的兒童時期比他成年後更多嗎？
或者，如泰特牧師所說，那是對的。
對於邁克爾·傑克遜6月25日的去世，我們一家都為他默哀，不是因為他的流行天王的身份，而是為了他在這個世界不由自主地遭受的困境，一位需要我們幫助借宿的男子。我坐在甲板上往西眺望著藍嶺山脈，希望他每天也能看見我眼前的日落美景。
Nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge mountains ,
該文刊登于《華盛頓人》雜志2009年8月號
Michael Jackson Slept Here http://www.washingtonian.com/articles/people/13134.html At a difficult time in his life, the King of Pop was looking for a safe haven—and wound up at our house.
By Del Walters July 22, 2009
On his final night in Loudoun County , Jackson hosted a gathering at the house, where he introduced his three children to the Walters family and posed with Taylor, 15, McClaine, 13, and their mother, Robin. All photographs courtesy of Del Walters
This is the story of how Michael Jackson—the King of Pop and at the time one of the world’s most wanted men—hid out at my family’s house.
Among his staff, Jackson was referred to as the Principal. In our family, he was known as the Secret—one we kept for nine days five years ago. We believed then, and do now, that not revealing Jackson ’s whereabouts was the right thing to do. Now that he’s gone, I can tell why and how we did it.
It was March 2004. The previous year, Jackson had appeared on TV explaining why he believed it to be normal for adults to share their beds with children, that it was the most loving thing you could do. What he saw as innocent a Los Angeles district attorney saw as criminal. Rumors were swirling that Jackson would be indicted on charges of child molestation by an LA grand jury. The King of Pop became a subject of ridicule. Gone was the cute boy who had swooned his way into the hearts of generations. He was replaced by a man-child, a suspected pedophile.
In April 2004, Jackson was to receive an award from the African Ambassadors’ Spouses Association for his humanitarian work. But few of the journalists seeking credentials for the event cared about his work in Africa—they wanted to ask him about what had happened at Jackson ’s Neverland Ranch. So a routine trip to Washington became anything but routine. Jackson needed a place to stay, and those closest to him were finding that there was no acceptable room in a Washington hotel.
The real-estate agent assigned to locate lodgings for him was running out of options. Stopping for a bite to eat, she saw the April 2004 Washingtonian. It featured a “Great Places to Live” article with me, my wife, and our two children on the cover. The story talked about how we had designed a house near Leesburg with no walls and plenty of open space. The agent knew us well enough to pick up the phone and ask whether we’d consider allowing Michael Jackson and his children to stay in our home.
What would you have done if a friend had called out of the blue and suggested that Michael Jackson might be interested in staying at your home? We first assumed she was joking. But she was serious.
On the previous Sunday, the sermon delivered by our minister, Reverend Dr. Norman A. Tate, had been about the Good Samaritan. Reverend Tate was the first person we consulted. Should we offer Michael Jackson safe haven? That night, following a lengthy family discussion and vote, we ironed out the details and began preparing for the Jackson family’s arrival.
Michael Jackson traveled with an entourage of 14. There were two cooks, three nannies, three children, personal assistants, tutors, security men, and Jackson himself. He moves in, you move out. (We stayed at a hotel.) Those who surrounded him called him the Client or the Principal. Rarely was he referred to by name. There were stretch Hummers and Suburbans that suggested a visit by a head of state—which is what our neighbors suspected.
Before he moved in, the house had to be prepared. His entourage covered all glass windows and doors. He was to have white bed linens and towels only. His favorite scent, a mountain fragrance, was sprayed everywhere and lingered for weeks after his departure.
Then, under the cover of darkness, he arrived. His private jet flew in and out of the Leesburg airport.
That evening as he moved in, we dined at a local restaurant, courtesy of the entertainer, and wondered whether he was enjoying our house as much as we did. We wondered whether he admired the views of the Blue Ridge Mountains from the deck and whether he took a stroll and noted the seven species of birds that call our acres home. Did he play the baby grand piano? Did his children frolic in the small dance studio? Would he enjoy the pool and hot tub and five acres, or would he just hole up and hide?
The next morning brought invitations for us to attend several events, including a BET reception and the African ambassadors’ reception.
Before Jackson ’s arrival at the BET affair, a who’s who of Washington ’s African-Amercan elite waited patiently. There were plenty of nasty remarks; some couples talked about how they wouldn’t let their children anywhere near Jackson . Then he arrived and the stampede began. Those who had ridiculed him the most were first in line.
His assistant ushered us to the front of the receiving line. We were told Jackson wanted to meet us first to thank us for allowing him and his children to use our home. He talked about the family pictures on the walls and how comfortable the place felt.
It was all very pleasant, but you could tell there was something unsettled about him. You could tell what he coveted most: He’d grown up without a childhood, and our house is filled with the kind of childhood memories money can’t buy—baptisms, first-birthday parties, family adventures.
To keep his stay at our house secret, we arrived there in the morning in time for the school bus to pick up one of our two daughters. We were always met by one of Jackson ’s bodyguards dressed in all black. I finally told him that if he wanted Jackson ’s presence to remain secret, he shouldn’t meet us every morning looking like Mr. T.
Reporters were in high gear searching for Jackson . We feared a media circus in our neighborhood. Our daughters, then 13 and 15, went to school each day wondering if their world would unravel.
On day eight, we were surprised Jackson wasn’t ready to leave, as the agreement had called for. That night, he arranged for a private wine-and-cheese reception at our own house so our children could meet his. He was more than gracious. While I worked, my wife and daughters were greeted by Jackson and his three kids. They spoke of childhood and normality. His children were very talkative; he was soft-spoken but playful. My wife described him as a gentle soul who obviously loved his children and they him. He also was willing to discipline his kids. He posed for pictures and agreed to autograph many things, including CDs.
By day nine, Jackson and his children were gone.
The empty wine bottles hidden around the house hinted at a man we now know was deeply tormented. There were other signs, but my wife and I have agreed they will remain secret. We knew from his representatives that Jackson tended to live nocturnally, sleeping during the day and roaming the house at night.
A visit by guests to our house now always leads to a conversation about Jackson ’s visit. His picture, taken when he was standing by our baby grand piano, sits atop a table in the living room. Almost everyone sees it and wonders what it was like to talk to him and have him live in our home.
I’m always asked why I’ve never talked about Michael Jackson’s stay at our house. I say I met Jackson three times in my life—twice face to face.
Most African-Americans of my generation were introduced to a young Michael Jackson through the radio or by a friend who had one of his records. For me it was a 45-RPM played at Sonny Mason’s barbershop in my hometown of Wheeling , West Virginia .
The second encounter was in 1984 when Jackson and his brothers kicked off their Victory Tour in Kansas City . I stood out among the other reporters covering it because I didn’t appear to care about Michael Jackson the celebrity as much as I did the revenue the tour represented in the cities it visited. That night, I received two tickets to attend the concert and a private reception at Kansas City ’s Arrowhead Stadium. In a receiving line for the Jacksons following the concert, I met Michael in person for the first time.
The third time was the Washington visit.
I, too, wonder why I’ve never talked before about his stay in our home. Was it because Jackson and I were the same age or the fact that, like so many African-Americans, I liked to remember the little kid from Gary, Indiana, more than I did the man with another reputation?
Perhaps, as Reverend Tate suggested, it was just the right thing to do.
As word of Michael Jackson’s death on June 25 spread, my family mourned the man we’d met not as the King of Pop but as a person trapped inside a world that was and was not of his own creation, a man who came to us through his representatives in need of a place to stay. As I sat on our deck and looked west toward the Blue Ridge Mountains , I hoped he now was seeing what I see each and every night—a perfect sunset.
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