I never worked with Michael Jackson and never really cared about him or his music. But his death brought to mind an experience I did have with one of Michael's sisters.
Here's the scene. It's about 15 years ago and I am attending High Holy-Days services at a Jewish temple on East 52nd Street in Manhattan. The place is stuffed to the gills with people atoning or praying to their God. It's about as a devout scene as you can imagine in the era where most adore money and possessions more than their souls.
All at once, the entire congregation reacts almost as one like fish in a school to some late arrivals to the service. An older Jewish man walks in, shortish and schlumpy. He is following by a tall, busty black woman teetering unsteadily on too-high heels. At once a whisper runs through the temple. "It's La Toya Jackson."
I observed Rosh ha Shanah with the King of Pop's sister.