"Billie Jean" I was going to walk backward and forward at the same time, like walking on the moon.
One the day of the taping, Motown was running behind schedule. Late. So I went off and rehearsed by myself. By
then I had my spy hat. My brothers wanted to know what the hat was for, but I told them they'd have to wait and see.
But I did ask Nelson Hayes for a favor. "Nelson - after I do the set with my brothers and the lights go down, sneak
the hat out to me in the dark. I'll be in the corner, next to the wings, talking to the audience, but you sneak that hat
back there and put it in my hand in the dark."
So after my brothers and I finished performing, I walked over to the side of the stage and said, "You're beautiful! I'd like to say those were the good old days; those were magic moments with all my brothers, including Jermaine. But
what I really like" - and Nelson is sneaking the hat into my hand - "are the newer songs." I turned around and grabbed the hat and went into "Billie Jean," into that heavy rhythm; I could tell that people in the audience were really enjoying my performance. My brothers told me they were crowding the wings watching me with their mouths
open, and my parents and sisters were out there in the audience. But I just remember opening my eyes at the end of
the thing and seeing this sea of people standing up, applauding. And I felt so many conflicting emotions. I knew I
had done my best and felt good, so good. But at the same time I felt disappointed in myself. I had planned to do one
really long spin and to stop on my toes, suspended for a moment, but I didn't stay on my toes as long as I wanted. I
did the spin and I landed on one toe. I wanted to just stay there, just freeze there, but it didn't work quite as I'd
planned.
When I got backstage, the people back there were congratulating me. I was still disappointed about the spin. I had
been concentrating so hard and I'm such a perfectionist. At the same time I knew this was one of the happiest
moments of my life. I knew that for the first time my brothers had really gotten a chance to watch me and see what I
was doing, how I was evolving. After the performance, each of them hugged and kissed me backstage. They had
never done that before, and I felt happy for all of us. It was so wonderful when they kissed me like that. I loved it! I
mean, we hug all the time. My whole family embraces a lot, except for my father. He's the only one who doesn't.
Whenever the rest of us see each other, we embrace, but when they all kissed me that night, I felt as if I had been
blessed by them.
The performance was still gnawing at me, and I wasn't satisfied until a little boy came up to me backstage. He was
about ten years old and was wearing a tuxedo. He looked up at me with stars in his eyes, frozen where he stood, and
said, "Man, who ever taught you to dance like that?" I kind of laughed and said, "Practice, I guess." And this boy was looking at me, awestruck. I walked away, and for the first time that evening I felt really good about what I had
accomplished that night. I said to myself, I must have done really well because children are honest. When that kid
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said what he did, I really felt that I had done a good job. I was so moved by the whole experience that I went right
home and wrote down everything which had happened that night. My entry ended with my encounter with the child.
The day after the Motown 25 show, Fred Astaire called me on the telephone. He said - these are his exact words -
"You're a hell of a mover. Man, you really put them on their asses last night." That's what Fred Astaire said to me. I thanked him. Then he said, "You're an angry dancer. I'm the same way. I used to do the same thing with my cane."
I had met him once or twice in the past, but this was the first time he had ever called me. He went on to say, "I
watched the special last night; I taped it and I watched it again this morning. You're a hell of a mover."
It was the greatest compliment I had ever received in my life, and the only one I had ever wanted to believe. For Fred
Astaire to tell me that meant more to me than anything. Later my performance was nominated for an Emmy Award in
a musical category, but I lost to Leontyne Price. It didn't matter. Fred Astaire had told me things I would never forget
- that was my reward. Later he invited me to his house, and there were more compliments from him until I really
blushed. He went over my "Billie Jean" performance, step by step. The great choreographer Hermes Pan, who had
choreographed Fred's dances in the movies, came over, and I showed them how to Moonwalk and demonstrated
some other steps that really interested them.
Not long after that Gene Kelly came by my house to visit and also said he liked my dancing. It was a fantastic
experience, that show, because I felt I had been inducted into an informal fraternity of dancers, and I felt so honored
because these were the people I most admired in the world.
Right after Motown 25 my family read a lot of stuff in the press about my being "the new Sinatra" and as "exciting as Elvis" - that kind of thing. It was very nice to hear, but I knew the press could be so fickle. One week they love you, and the next week they act like you're rubbish. Later I gave the glittery black jacket I wore on Motown 25 to Sammy
Davis as a present. He said he was going to do a takeoff of me on stage, and I said, "Here, you want to wear this
when you do it?" He was so happy. I love Sammy. He's such a fine man and a real showman. One of the best. I had
been wearing a single glove for years before Thriller . I felt that one glove was cool. Wearing two gloves seemed so
ordinary, but a single glove was different and was definitely a look. But I've long believed that thinking too much
about your look is one of the biggest mistakes you can make, because an artist should let his style evolve naturally,
spontaneously. You can't think about these things; you have to feel your way into them.
I actually had been wearing the glove for a long time, but it hadn't gotten a lot of attention until all of a sudden it hit with Thriller in 1983. I was wearing it on some of the old tours back in the 1970s, and I wore one glove during the
Off the Wall tour and on the cover of the live album that came out afterward.
It's so show business that one glove. I love wearing it. Once, by coincidence, I wore a black glove to the American
Music Awards ceremony, which happened to fall on Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday. Funny how things happen
sometimes.
I admit that I love starting trends, but I never thought wearing white socks was going to catch on. Not too long ago it
was considered extremely square to wear white socks. It was cool in the 1950s, but in the Ô60s and Ô70s you
wouldn't be caught dead in white socks. It was too square to even consider - for most people.
But I never stopped wearing them. Ever. My brothers would call me a dip, but I didn't care. My brother Jermaine
would get upset and call my mother, "Mother, Michael's wearing his white socks again. Can't you do something?
Talk to him." He would complain bitterly. They'd all tell me I was a goofball. But I still wore my white socks, and
now it's cool again. Those white socks must have caught on just to spite Jermaine. I get tickled when I think about it.
After Thriller came out, it even became okay to wear your pants high around your ankles again.
My attitude is if fashion says it's forbidden, I'm going to do it.
When I'm at home, I don't like to dress up. I wear anything that's handy. I used to spend days in my pajamas. I like
flannel shirts, old sweaters and slacks, simple clothes.