First came the black umbrella, popped open and poised high in the air. Next came the cheers, knowing and anticipating. And then came Michael Jackson, smiling and peace-sign flashing.
And so with practiced precision, the most famous man on the planet arrived for the start of the most anticipated celebrity trial of the year.
Monday's official business at Department SM2 of the Santa Maria, California, courthouse--jury selection--was more routine, with about 175 of 300 people advancing to the questionnaire phase in Jackson's child-molestation trial.
Gone was the seeming mob scene of last year's arraignment. Absent were the Jackson 5.
The Jackson One arrived 35 minutes early for his scheduled 9:30 a.m. court date. He dressed down, or as down as Michael Jackson can--white shirt, white vest, white pants, sunglasses. No fedora, no glove, no stripes, no medals, no armband (although it later made an appearance on a jacket), no Janet, no LaToya, no Tito.(Superior Court Judge Rodney Melville had requested that Jackson limit the number of Jacksons in the courtroom, at least for the first few days of the proceedings.) The umbrella, held by an assistant, was his lone affectation. Even his mode of transportation--a black GMC Yukon XL--was understated for a defendant who'd once arrived by stretch SUV, and then danced atop it.
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"I think it's taken him some time to realize this is not about [being a showman]," Jackson biographer J. Randy Taraborrelli said on the courthouse grounds on the eve of the trial opener. "[That] this is very serious charge, and the court here in Santa Maria deserves a certain amount of respect, and it's supposed to be a dignified process. I think he gets that now."
It was a serious-sounding Jackson who issued a video statement Sunday, signed off on by the gag-order-favoring Melville, deriding leaked grand-jury testimony as "ugly" and "malicious," and reminding that "I deserve a fair trial like every other American citizen."
Per the buzz from fans in the penned-off area near the court entrance, the 46-year-old Jackson looked "good" and "confident" on Monday morning.
Such fans are hardly impartial. But they're not inexpert, either. For if Jackson has grown accustomed to courthouse rituals, so have the faithful.
In the chill of the bright blue morning, they numbered about 200--tops. (By comparison, court officials said they credentialed 1,200 journalists--a true army fortified by rented-out rooftops, temporary scaffolding, about 20 TV trucks, and one, lone hovering helicopter.)
As the hardest of the hardcore, they know the umbrella means Jackson's appearance is imminent. They know defense attorney Thomas Mesereau Jr. is on their side (and worthy of being greeted with cheers surpassed only by those for their hero). They know to mass at the center of the courthouse fence to get a better view of the goings-on (and to give the TV cameras a better shot). And, above all, they know reporters are suckers for gimmicks--signs, costumes, black fedoras, etc.
"We all construct images that are likely to sell," said Andy Wood, who teaches communications at San Jose State University. "There are people [at the courthouse] selling T-shirts or selling key chains...You see some people with flags of other countries around them to get the international angle. And as long as we don't take each other too seriously, it's a lot of fun."
Wood knows first hand of the fun. Bright and early Monday morning, he was on Miller Street outside the Santa Maria courthouse. Holding a sign. Wearing a black fedora.
"There's a little irony involved, and it's a little absurd," said Wood, making his second Jackson court appearance. "But the main thing is I support my daughter. She loves Michael Jackson. I love her, so why not have some fun?"
True to his soundbite and attendance record, Wood's sign read: "My daughter dragged me out here--again." The image sold. Before 8 a.m., the professor said he'd done about 20 interviews.
Marta Wozniak guessed she'd been interrogated the same number of times. Her hook: She's a Jackson fan from Poland, hence her sign, "Poland Is Here 4U MJ."
Wozniak, 29, and looking no worse from her recent transatlantic flight (not her first to Santa Maria since the case arrived here last year), said she brought the poster so that: (1) Jackson would know the European nation was representing; and (2) that reporters would take notice, ask her questions and give her a chance to defend her idol.
She absolutely did not bring the sign to get on camera or in the newspaper or on the Web. "It's not for me," the soft-spoken Wokniak said.
Although as quiet as Wozniak, Jackson dress-alike Sean Vezina, another repeat courthouse visitor, was very much looking for attention--albeit from a specific target audience.
"I want my parents to see me on TV at some point. I want Michael to see me on TV," the 24-year-old Hollywood man said, his look (fedora, lone glove, long strand of hair, sunglasses) described as circa Dangerous.
Michél Martin would not call her gimmick a gimmick. The 38-year-old fan--and courthouse regular (natch)--would call it fate.
"My first name and his middle name [Joseph] have the same number of letters. His middle name and my last name have the same number of letters. His first name equals the same number in my middle name [Janette]. My middle name equals the same number in his last name. Our first and middle name equals 13. My first name and middle name equals 13. His middle name and his last name equals 13. My middle name and his last name equals 13," Martin explained--and because the explanation needed an explanation, or at least a visual aid, she charted out the connections on a poster.
Martin's dedication to Jackson was sincere as Future Man's dedication to, well, Future Man.
"I'm here to support www.futureman.com," he--that would be, Future Man--said.
Future Man would not divulge his true name, or his true age, unless 1,000 is the new 30. He also was vague on what Future Man does, although it sounds as if it involves TV, and possibly CDs and DVDs.
What Future Man was clear on was how to draw a crowd. (That, and he was from Australia.) Nothing quite stood out amid a dozen Jackson impersonators like a masked man in a bright, shiny superhero costume. He had the photographers scurrying, which is exactly what happened the last time he stopped by for a Jackson court appearance. (Yes, even Future Man has a Jackson past.)
"I think people are expecting a circus," Future Man said. "I say let's give it."
By late afternoon, the fan ranks had thinned considerably. Another reporter had even coerced Future Man to give up his secret identity. (He's Adam Wade, 32, from Sydney.)
Inside the courthouse, prospective jurors were being advised that Jackson's trial on 10 counts of molestation, conspiracy and plying a child with wine could take up to six months. ("Jesus, that's too long," one soon-to-be dismissed woman groaned, per a debriefing by Reuters court reporter Dan Whitcomb.)
Another 300 members of the jury pool were to be processed Tuesday, and another 150 on Wednesday. A total of 12 jurors are being sought.
Shortly after 4 p.m., Monday, the first day of the first multi-media judicial event of 2005 ended. Mesereau emerged from the court's campus--again, to cheers. (Jackson fandom's Public Enemy No. 1, Santa Barbara County District Attorney Tom Sneddon, was not in court Monday.)
A few minutes later, Jackson emerged--his second exit of the day, including the time he stepped out for the lunch break. (Per a court official, he dined at a house serving as his camp's Santa Maria base.)
Despite the advancing shadows, an aide dutifully shaded Jackson with the black umbrella. The remaining fans yelled. Jackson waved. He got into the SUV. The SUV drove away.
Next day, it all starts up again--10 a.m. The new routine.