Frank Cascio - My Friend Michael: An Ordinary Friendship with an Extraordinary Man

MICHAEL

AN ORDINARY FRIENDSHIP
WITH AN EXTRAORDINARY MAN

FRANK CASCIO

with Hilary Liftin

O NE COLD DAY, IN THE AUTUMN OF MY FIFTH year, I sat in my familys living room playing with a diecast toy limousine. I was obsessed with that limo, the way four-year-olds tend to be with favorite toys, and when my father told me I would be going to work with him that day in order to meet a friend of his, my first concern was that I be allowed to keep that car clutched tightly in my little fist. I had never heard of Michael Jackson, so when my father told me the name of the person we were to meet, I didnt really care. I was just happy to get out of the house and proud to accompany my father to work. As long as I had my toy limo in tow.

Of course I had no idea at the time how important that meeting would prove to bethat it was a turning point in my life. Still, for some reason I remember the day clearly, right down to what I was wearing: dark blue pants, a blue sweater, a bow tie, and mini brown dress shoes with little holes in the front. I know, not exactly typical duds for a four-year-oldat least within the past hundred years. I was always dressed immaculatelymy father was from Italy, the fashion capital of the world. I had short, straight hair. A neat, stylish, limo-loving kid.

At the time, my father was working at the Helmsley Palace in Manhattan. The Palace was an exclusive five-star hotel with an elite clientele. My father was the general manager of the towers and the suitesthe luxurious quarters catering to the hotels VIPs. To me, the hotel was always a magical place. Maybe it was the vibrant energy of the people passing through, each with a unique and grand purpose. Back then I couldnt begin to fathom everything that was going on, but I could sense the excitement pulsing through the air. To this day I still remember the smell of that lobby and the surge of excitement that it brought me. I love hotels.

My father and I went up an elevator and walked toward a guest room, in front of which we were greeted by a guy I would later know as Bill Bray, who at the time was Michael Jacksons manager and head of security. Bill Bray was a father figure of sorts to Michael. He had worked with him since his Motown days and would stay with him as a trusted adviser for many years.

Bill was an African American man with a beard who stood about six foot two, and when we showed up that day, he was wearing a fedora-type hat. He had multiple rolls of skin at the back of his neck, and a country way about him. In the coming years I would often see Michael walk behind him, imitating his laid-back swagger. Bill greeted my father warmly. It seemed to me that he and my father were already friends.

Bill led us into the hotel room. It was pristine, as if nobody were staying there. In fact, given what I now know about Michaels habits, its clear that the suite was not, in fact, the one he was using: he had gotten this room specifically for this meeting because he didnt know us well enough to invite us to his suite. Though Michael often reached out to others, he always created layers of protection between himself and the people he met.

Michael rose from a chair to greet us. He didnt look exceptional to me. At four, the only real distinctions I drew between people were whether they were grown-ups, big kids, or kids like me.

Hey, Joker, Bill said. We have Dominic and his son here to see you. Later I would understand that Bill called Michael Joker for the obvious reason that Michael was always playing jokes on people. Michael gave me a big smile, took off his sunglasses, and shook my hand. He was, at twenty-seven years old, a world-renowned entertainer, and his most recent album, Thriller, was the best-selling album of all timea record it still holds as of this writing.

Once we were settled in, Bill Bray exited, and my father, Michael, and I were left in that rather empty room, just talking.

You have such a wonderful father, Michael told me. He would repeat this many times in the years ahead, and I know that it was because of the special impression that my father had made on him that he wanted to meet the rest of his family. People are always immediately comfortable around my father. His honesty and sincerity radiate from his core.

Then Michael and I started talking about cartoons. I told him I loved Popeye, and I had the dubious honor of introducing him to the Garbage Pail Kidsmy brother and I collected the trading cards. Michael knew how to talk with kidshe was genuinely interested in my small worldand I must have liked him because I remember driving my toy limo over his head, his shoulders, and down on his arms. He took the car from me and made it fly over my head like an airplane, making airplane sounds.

What do you want to be when you grow up? Michael asked.

I want to be like Donald Trump, I said, but with more money.

My father laughed. Can you believe it? he said.

Donald Trump doesnt have that much money, Michael said.

Then my father asked to take a picture of me and Michael. I climbed into his lap and curved my arm around his chin. I smiled, and we took a picture.

So that was the first time I met Michael. Years later, he would show that picture off to people, saying, Can you believe thats Frank? The relaxed casualness of the imageour smiles, a lock of dark hair escaping down the middle of Michaels foreheadforetold the momentousness the occasion would assume for me in retrospect.

We spent about an hour with Michael that day, and as we left he told us he would call us the next time he was in New York, and that he would love to see us again.

On the car ride back to New Jersey, my father glanced at me in the backseat and said, You have no idea who you just met.

THAT FIRST MEETING BETWEEN MICHAEL AND ME HAD taken place because of Michaels appreciation for my father: whenever he stayed at the Palace hotel, my father always took care of him. That was my dads job at the Palace, and he was good at it. He made sure that when Michael came, his favorite suite was available for him. If Michael wanted a dance floor in his room, my father made sure it was installed. When Gregory Peck was staying at the hotel and Michael wanted to meet him, my father made it happen. He oversaw security for Michaels comings and goings from the hotel. He was attentive to even the smallest requests, like special food. He went out of his way to make sure Michael got everything he needed or wanted.

Michael knew that my father was handling this stuff, and eventually he told Bill Bray that he wanted to get to know Dominic. Bill Bray arranged for them to spend some time together. As they got to know each other better, my father found Michael extremely warm, gracious, and humble. At the same time Im sure my father made Michael feel at home in a way that demonstrated he wasnt drawn to Michael because of his celebrity status. He wasnt starstruck. People have always been drawn to my father because of his sincerity. His whole manner reflects the fact that he sees people as people. He listens without judgment and helps without wanting anything for himself.

That kind of treatment was rare in Michaels world, and he started looking at my father as a friend. He didnt ask for the regular list of amenities that celebrity guests requested. He wanted to talk to my father. To get to know him as a person. My father didnt seek out such intimacy with the VIPs who stayed at the hotel. It was Michael who initiated the friendship, and certainly my father was flattered, though not unduly so. The friendship grew and flourished into what would become a lifetime of camaraderie, loyalty, and trust.