Michael Jackson memorial service as normal as can be

LOS ANGELES | Dignity, heart mark king-sized homage to a colossal entertainer

LOS ANGELES — For all the madness that engulfed Michael Jackson in life and all the craziness that has ensued since his death, perhaps the biggest surprise about his memorial service was that it was so normal — at least as normal can be when there’s a golden casket onstage and the eulogists include Brooke Shields, Magic Johnson and Queen Latifah.

Consider the words of Pastor Lucious Smith, a friend of the family: “First and foremost, this man was our brother, our son, our father and our friend. In his very beautiful and very human heart, Michael Jackson wanted nothing more than to give love to the world. May this moment of remembrance ... bring comfort and healing to those who loved our friend.”

Beautifully said. Words you might hear at a memorial service for anyone of virtually any faith.

We heard fine performances from Stevie Wonder, Mariah Carey, Lionel Richie and Jennifer Hudson, among others. Usher’s performance of “Gone Too Soon” was maybe the most memorable. We also heard touching and funny anecdotes from Kobe Bryant and Brooke Shields.

We could use a word for this service that hasn’t been invoked much in the last week and a half.

Dignified.

Dozens of of L.A. businesses, including the Holiday Inn across from the Staples Center, reported a huge boost due to the influx of fans and media. Some estimates said the city’s restaurants, hotels, etc., would enjoy a collective $4 million increase in revenues.

Meanwhile, the L.A. Times reported the official Web site of the never-to-be London tour was still selling merchandise, “much of it branded, regrettably, ‘This Is it.’ ” We also heard that many ticketholders were choosing to keep the souvenir rather than receive a refund.

On the other side of the ledger, the cash-strapped city of Los Angeles has set up a PayPal account so folks can donate money to help defray the estimated $1.5 million to $4 million cost of city services devoted to Tuesday’s madness.

Really? Is anyone REALLY going to make a personal donation for that cause?

It’s impossible to choose the most bizarre moment from the multiple, pre-memorial service circuses playing out in the Los Angeles area on Tuesday morning.

Was it the police temporarily shutting down arguably the busiest freeways in the world during rush hour so the Jackson family motorcade of Escalades and Rolls Royces could get to Forest Lawn?

It could have been the moment when a reporter in a helicopter above the Jackson family compound said the public service would be later, but “this is a private time for the Jackson family.” Right. With those insanely loud copters lurking overhead, the cameras zooming in on everything.

Maybe it was the reporter who tracked down the now 26-year-old Bubbles the chimp to a Florida zoo, so he could ask the zookeeper if Bubbles was aware Michael Jackson was gone? (The response: No. Apparently Bubbles isn’t on Twitter.)

Good thing Barack Obama isn’t doing anything interesting this week, right? Because if he wanted to make front-page news, he should be here at the center of the media universe.

Late Monday night, I was in the bar of a Los Angeles hotel when Don King walked in, waving a small Israeli flag. He also had a small American flag in his clutches.

As King settled down with a plate of buffalo wings, Al Sharpton swooped in, greeted King as “DK,” and swooped out.

Meanwhile, a woman from Tennessee was at the end of the bar, wearing a T-shirt with a gigantic picture of Jackson’s face. She did not have tickets to the memorial service. Like thousands of other people from across the country and around the world, she had bought a plane ticket and had flown to Los Angeles just to be in proximity to the farewell ceremonies.

I talked to a bar employee who was wearing one of the coveted wristbands needed to gain entry to the Staples Center. (You had to pick up the wristband on Monday at Dodger Stadium, and you had to keep it on the Tuesday service.) On his other wrist, wrapped around twice, was a dog collar.

He told me his Yorkie had just recently died. The dog was named Ben, after the Michael Jackson song from the 1972 movie about killer rats. (“Ben” was the sequel to the 1971 hit “Willard.” They just don’t make ‘em like they used to.) Tuesday would have been Ben’s birthday. Ben the dog, not Ben the movie rat. I’m assuming Ben the movie rat is long gone.

I guess you could make fun of this man with his wristband and his dog collar and his love for Michael Jackson, but he was so sweet and so sincere, and so excited about having the chance to attend the memorial, that I could do nothing but wish him a safe day today.

And so it goes. From the Staples Center to the Jackson compound, from Forest Lawn to the Michael Jackson star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, it’s ridiculous and crazy, and utterly disproportionate with any rational line of thought.

But you see all these fans who embody the cliche of a cross-section of the world — young and old, black and white and Asian and Latino, American and British and Italian and German and Japanese, and you see how much they yearn to be a small part of this, even if just means signing one of those giant condolence “cards” or taking cell phone pictures of the media. You see the video of fans watching the service on video monitors, holding hands in London, swaying together in New York City — you see all that sincerity and you can’t be 100 percent cynical about all this.

A dozen summers ago, Princess Diana died, and fans the world over were flocking to British embassies and other touchstones, leaving flowers and lighting candles and saying prayers. At the time, I said I hoped those grief-stricken fans would soon take the time to visit the graves of relatives, to say prayers for friends that were gone, to remember people in their own lives who had died.

I have that same hope today.

Debate if you will whether it was necessary for Michael’s daughter to take the stage at the very end of service, but even a heart of stone would have to feel something as the child spoke not of some pop god, not of some controversial icon, not of some great entertainer — but of her father.

We don’t know much of anything about that little girl. She has not been paraded in front of the cameras in the way so many other children of celebrities have been exploited in recent years.

It’s probably an impossible wish, but one can hope and pray that child is allowed to have something resembling a normal, happy, private life.