'Aloha' Means Hello and Goodbye
I believe that it’s become a law now that if you write…anything…you must comment on Michael Jackson. Sorry, that’s just the way it is. Coup in South America? Yawn. Civil unrest in the streets of Iran? Whatever. American Governor going AWOL in Argentine with his “Soul Mate” in the most public Mid-Life-Crisis Meltdown in history? Well, that one’s pretty damn good, but…hello…’King of Pop’ over here.
Unfortunately, my life is fairly bereft of MJ episodes. I remember someone brought a little Black and White T.V. to elementary school the day he was on “The Dating Game”. I remember when “Thriller” came out , I was working at a record store (look it up, kids), and we sold about 75 copies of that album every day. I remember my friend Gary Phillips was on a single that went to Number 2 in the whole U.S.A. but couldn’t quite get past Michael for the top spot.
Good little tales, to be sure, but as big ‘celebrity as culture’ deaths go, I still defer to Elvis Presley. It’s not that I was a big Elvis fan; I was 17 when he died, and my frame of reference was that he was the old fat guy in the polyester jump suits who had made all those cheesy movies. Harsh, but like I said, I was 17 in 1977; I wasn’t supposed to like Elvis. I was not his demographic.
Elvis died on August 16th. I know this date, because I remember it printed on the KISS ticket I had. They were playing at the Cow Palace or some barn that night, but I wasn’t there. I had to give up my ticket because August 16th was the day our family vacation to Hawaii started. Okay…I know; “Oh poor guy, has to go to Hawaii. Let me call you a Waaa-mbulance”, but here again; 17. I learned of Elvis’ death because the first thing I did in my hotel room; shared with my two little sisters, of course, was try to tune in some good music on the radio, and that’s when they announced his passing.
Normally, that would have been just another “big deal” teenage moment, but sometimes life deals you some amazing cards on the river, and suddenly what looked like a crummy hand turns to golden memories. See, Elvis really liked Hawaii. He made movies here, and he hung out here. He even had a favorite hotel, where he’d always stay, and he knew the staff, and was always in a great mood whenever he was there.
Guess where my family had dinner reservations for that evening? For the big “Fire Show”? That’s where they run around and light torches and play drums and hula dance for the mainlanders who are drinking out of cocoanuts and pineapples. All of this was made so much more enjoyable by the fact that the hostess and all the waitresses in the restaurant were bravely soldiering on with tears streaming down their cheeks as they seated you, and took your drink orders. “What’s the special tonight?”
I don’t have any real, memories of the “show” itself, beyond some running and fire juggling, but the pre-requisite “Moment of Silence” is still family lore to this day.
Wait; if I don’t set this up right, it could seem like we’re terrible people, and we’re not. You have to put yourself in the scene; we ended up here by some bizarre twist of fate. My parents thought it would be a hokey but fun evening, and now we’re surrounded by crying women, men in grass skirts, and a room full of people in white-belt-and-shoe ensembles and not many other kids. My sisters and I had a good ‘giggle undercurrent’ going by then, with my Mom admonishing us to stop, but not because she was embarrassed, but because she didn’t want to start laughing herself. So when the men in grass skirts bowed their heads, holding flaming torches aloft, and the solemn voice over came over the P.A., and said…said…well, look; I know speech impediments aren’t really things to be made fun of. And I’m pretty sure this was an impediment and not an accent. Not that accents should be laughed at either, it’s just that…to this day, if the family is sitting around together, one sure-fire way to get a laugh is to say “Bang the Big dwum…”. It made us all laugh out loud then, and it makes us all laugh now. Except now it’s not pissing off a room full of grieving people.
Ultimately, as the years went by I decided that Elvis was okay, and that anyone who touched as many people’s lives as he did for so long had to be given some points for cool. He was so famous for so long that eventually he became famous for being famous, once the creative output dwindled. Sure, his final years seemed weird and drug addled, his appearance frightening to his friends and fans alike, but ultimately he made his choices. I don’t buy into the whole “fame killed him” junk. After his death there was a period where family and so-called “insiders” battled for their own little pieces of the legacy, whether to tarnish it or try to shine it to a too-bright finish. Eventually memories get replaced with The Icon, and then, “Icon Inc”.
The passing of Michael Jackson will be exactly the same. Well, except for the personal comedic value.
Unfortunately, my life is fairly bereft of MJ episodes. I remember someone brought a little Black and White T.V. to elementary school the day he was on “The Dating Game”. I remember when “Thriller” came out , I was working at a record store (look it up, kids), and we sold about 75 copies of that album every day. I remember my friend Gary Phillips was on a single that went to Number 2 in the whole U.S.A. but couldn’t quite get past Michael for the top spot.
Good little tales, to be sure, but as big ‘celebrity as culture’ deaths go, I still defer to Elvis Presley. It’s not that I was a big Elvis fan; I was 17 when he died, and my frame of reference was that he was the old fat guy in the polyester jump suits who had made all those cheesy movies. Harsh, but like I said, I was 17 in 1977; I wasn’t supposed to like Elvis. I was not his demographic.
Elvis died on August 16th. I know this date, because I remember it printed on the KISS ticket I had. They were playing at the Cow Palace or some barn that night, but I wasn’t there. I had to give up my ticket because August 16th was the day our family vacation to Hawaii started. Okay…I know; “Oh poor guy, has to go to Hawaii. Let me call you a Waaa-mbulance”, but here again; 17. I learned of Elvis’ death because the first thing I did in my hotel room; shared with my two little sisters, of course, was try to tune in some good music on the radio, and that’s when they announced his passing.
Normally, that would have been just another “big deal” teenage moment, but sometimes life deals you some amazing cards on the river, and suddenly what looked like a crummy hand turns to golden memories. See, Elvis really liked Hawaii. He made movies here, and he hung out here. He even had a favorite hotel, where he’d always stay, and he knew the staff, and was always in a great mood whenever he was there.
Guess where my family had dinner reservations for that evening? For the big “Fire Show”? That’s where they run around and light torches and play drums and hula dance for the mainlanders who are drinking out of cocoanuts and pineapples. All of this was made so much more enjoyable by the fact that the hostess and all the waitresses in the restaurant were bravely soldiering on with tears streaming down their cheeks as they seated you, and took your drink orders. “What’s the special tonight?”
I don’t have any real, memories of the “show” itself, beyond some running and fire juggling, but the pre-requisite “Moment of Silence” is still family lore to this day.
Wait; if I don’t set this up right, it could seem like we’re terrible people, and we’re not. You have to put yourself in the scene; we ended up here by some bizarre twist of fate. My parents thought it would be a hokey but fun evening, and now we’re surrounded by crying women, men in grass skirts, and a room full of people in white-belt-and-shoe ensembles and not many other kids. My sisters and I had a good ‘giggle undercurrent’ going by then, with my Mom admonishing us to stop, but not because she was embarrassed, but because she didn’t want to start laughing herself. So when the men in grass skirts bowed their heads, holding flaming torches aloft, and the solemn voice over came over the P.A., and said…said…well, look; I know speech impediments aren’t really things to be made fun of. And I’m pretty sure this was an impediment and not an accent. Not that accents should be laughed at either, it’s just that…to this day, if the family is sitting around together, one sure-fire way to get a laugh is to say “Bang the Big dwum…”. It made us all laugh out loud then, and it makes us all laugh now. Except now it’s not pissing off a room full of grieving people.
Ultimately, as the years went by I decided that Elvis was okay, and that anyone who touched as many people’s lives as he did for so long had to be given some points for cool. He was so famous for so long that eventually he became famous for being famous, once the creative output dwindled. Sure, his final years seemed weird and drug addled, his appearance frightening to his friends and fans alike, but ultimately he made his choices. I don’t buy into the whole “fame killed him” junk. After his death there was a period where family and so-called “insiders” battled for their own little pieces of the legacy, whether to tarnish it or try to shine it to a too-bright finish. Eventually memories get replaced with The Icon, and then, “Icon Inc”.
The passing of Michael Jackson will be exactly the same. Well, except for the personal comedic value.
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