Gary's Graceland: The Jackson House One Year Later

True story: the Jacksons lived on Jackson Street.

(That’s Andrew Jackson.)

Even when Michael Jackson was alive, I always figured I would make a pilgrimage to Gary’s Graceland. Living on the south side of Chicago, Gary is only 40 minutes away. The day Michael died, I had a passing interest in going, but I didn’t give it another thought until last Friday, the one-year anniversary of his death.

I didn’t make it to Jackson’s childhood home until 9pm that night. There wasn’t any signage that I could see, directing us to his house. Gary neighborhoods are also very poorly lit. We parked on the next block in utter darkness. Some voices from the nearest stoop wished us a good evening.

Walking toward the house along 23rd Avenue, there was a crush of cars pacing slowly toward the house, which is on the corner of 23rd and Jackson. The road wasn’t closed, although there was a police presence with some marked and unmarked cars. No one was directing traffic around the 2 food stands (holla at Big Daddy’s Barbeque); a wide, empty, temporary stage; and, of course, crowds of people.

 

While I was struck by how relatively small Graceland is, I was also struck by how decent-looking the Jackson home is. It wasn’t as cramped and oppressive-looking as I had imagined it would be with 9 children and an abuser who loved his belt. It was an almost-perfect square with a spacious yard around it. Clearly there were cosmetic improvements, such as a well-manicured lawn, a security gate, and white window shields. Unlike last year, the public could not place flowers, etc. directly on the front steps.

The piece-de-resistance was a 7-foot memorial stone (think 2001: A Space Odyssey), with etchings on both sides. Katherine Jackson had unveiled it earlier that day. It stands on the corner of the yard, surrounded by lovely plants and a stone border. Strangely enough, there was a confluence of butterflies poised on the plants. (Freeeeaky.)

For some reason, I was fixated on the iron gate’s buzzer. Is anyone home? Would Katherine answer the door? We joked with a lady about seeing if anyone would answer. This lady proceeded to press the button! (I wonder how many times it was pushed that day.) At first it didn’t make any noise. Of course, there was no answer. Then, a minute later when I had forgotten about it, the buzzer’s speaker made robotic-like tones. Danger, Will Robinson!

(Behind the gate door, there was a table with 3 folding chairs. Go figure.)

The crowd was pretty diverse. Well, diverse for a Gary street off the beaten path. A couple of guys started talking to my cohorts about witnessing the Jackson 5’s career in Gary. I got the impression they had been there all day, sharing stories. This guy remembers them winning all the local talent shows, that guy remembers them performing at his sister’s prom. They both wore, um, decorative MJ t-shirts. The last words they spoke to us were, “I’ve been here all my life. Gary isn’t that bad!”

Finally, there were signs of life coming from the house! A man and a pre-teen girl came out the side-door. They didn't look very Jackson-ish. I mean, they didn't have that Jackson look shared by all the siblings. I couldn’t tell what they were doing. Eventually, the man made his way across the backyard to a couple of fans at the back gate. My friend claims he saw the dude accepting cash from the well-wishers. I can’t confirm or deny! They certainly didn’t gain access past the gate while I was there.

As we were leaving the premises, and Big Daddy was packing up his bbq grills, I noticed the surrounding houses. Across 23rd Avenue, I could see a line of equally-uncomplicated houses, most of which had residents hanging out on the porches watching the spectacle. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to clean up the ASTOUNDING amount of trash that had accumulated on their street. Surprisingly, there was no MJ music blaring, not even from the passing cars. We rectified that situation as we drove away.