In fact, we may even come to feel guilty that we devoured all that gossip whole, that we made him the brunt of so many jokes that must have crushed his fragile soul, that sent him into hiding and probably hooked him on some form or another of pain killer.
In the end, what will remain - not in some cryogenic vault but on easily accessible CDs, downloads and DVDs - will be all the art. It'll be frozen in time, the Michael Jackson forever in his prime who captivated us first as a child singer and dancer, then later as a surprisingly deep and dramatic songwriter and music-video visionary.
While many radio stations have virtually banned him in recent years, I'd wager beacoup bucks that every broadcast outlet in the land will be playing MJ today, and hailing him again, as "The King of Pop" (a title bestowed on him by his friend Elizabeth Taylor.)
Some will start all over again with the simple, bubble-gummish joys of "ABC" and "I Want You Back" that he trilled in that piercing, squeeky-clean kid voice as the little front "man" of the Jackson Five - the family troupe that roared out of Gary, Ind., in the late 1960s.
Listen to his air of utter confidence and control, even then, or watch him spinning like a pint-sized James Brown or Jackie Wilson in clips of the J5 performing on "The Ed Sullivan Show." What was the secret to his utter air of ease and confidence at such a young age?
"Practice, practice and more practice," he'd tell me in a chat, a few years later. But little did anyone know then how severely and exactly his father, Joe, had whipped Michael and his brothers into shape, and the psychic toll it would take on his life.
