Deaths of Michael Jackson, Elvis Presley were huge stories
By Lewis Diuguid, Kansas City Star Editorial Page columnist
My 22-year-old daughter, Leslie, sent me a text message from Omaha, calling Michael Jackson’s death on June 25 the story of the century worldwide.
I pooh-poohed her at the time. The closest thing to it for me was the death of Elvis Presley on Aug. 16, 1977.
Like Leslie now, I was 22 when Presley died, fresh out of college and just starting my career. Other parallels between now and then are eerie.
Elvis was only 42; Jackson, 50.
Investigations into Jackson’s death could show similar links to drugs, which were behind Presley’s untimely demise.
Presley died at Graceland, his home in Memphis. Jackson died at his rented home in Holmby Hills in Los Angeles.
Like Presley, Jackson’s death stylishly moon walked past stories about the faltering economy, the deaths of U.S. soldiers in wars, job losses, rising gasoline prices, Kansas City School District problems and President Barack Obama’s travels to Russia, seeking deep cuts in nuclear arsenals. Jackson was all that most people talked about.
In the library of The Kansas City Star, I reviewed microfilm of newspapers from 1977. Stories that were drowned out then by Presley’s passing were similar to those that Jackson’s death overshadowed.
They included efforts to find U.S. servicemen listed as missing in action in Southeast Asia, work by the Carter administration to end nuclear proliferation with the Soviets, parents wrangling with the Kansas City School District and people criticizing energy bills in Congress for not doing enough to end U.S. dependence on foreign oil.
Business stories told of the stock market hitting a 19-month low and worries over interest rates, inflation and economic slowdowns.
Jackson and Presley wore crowns because of their phenomenal contributions to music.
Elvis was the King of Rock; Jackson was the King of Pop. The music, movies and what the men did to bridge American’s racial divides also can’t be overlooked. Jackson, like Presley, was a crossover artist. Presley picked up the style, rhythm, voice and moves of black musicians and sold that to white audiences in the 1950s and 1960s.
Jackson was one of Motown’s leading stars making black people, music and culture as sweet and as satisfying as Kool-Aid even during America’s hottest, sweatiest and most difficult days in the ’60s and ’70s. Jackson lifted his crossover music, videos and dance to a high art form in the years that followed.
It’s no wonder that basketball great Magic Johnson credited Jackson at the memorial service last week with his own rise to superstar status.
Before Jackson, outstanding black athletes were routinely passed over by corporations looking for pitchmen for their products. White players were favored. But Jackson’s stardom made black people and culture marketable like never before.
“I want to thank Michael for opening up so many doors for African Americans,” Johnson said at the Staples Center. “He allowed Kobe (Bryant) and me to have our jerseys in people’s homes across the globe because he was already there and he opened all those doors.”
If Jackson’s death is the story of the century worldwide, then the future may hold annual parades here in Jackson’s honor just as there have been for Presley. The number of touring Jackson impersonators here and at nightspots worldwide also may grow just like those who make a living playing Presley.
People love Presley’s hits, including, “Don’t be Cruel,” “Love Me Tender,” “Jailhouse Rock,” “In the Ghetto,” “Teddy Bear” and “Suspicious Minds.” Headlines after Presley’s death told of his albums’ being sold out at record stores worldwide.
Jackson’s death sparked a similar demand.
Jackson’s music, including “ABC,” “I’ll Be There” and “I Want You Back” defined the coming of age of baby boomers like me. His continuing artistry with “Thriller,” “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’,” “Heal the World” and “Man in the Mirror” defined my daughters’ generation.
The contributions of each man will benefit America and the world long after his death. My texting daughter is right.
Lewis W. Diuguid is a member of The Star’s Editorial Board. To reach him, call (816) 234-4723 or send e-mail to