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Pepsi Commercial and Burn Accident
Date confirmed on ticket (Image 001)
Bob Giraldi, director, (MTV commercial premiere special)
[Michael] was in my dressing room, getting ready with some of the brothers to go on to do one of the scenes.
“Come on, Michael. Let’s go, we’re late.”
And he was all dressed up in this wonderful outfit, the same outfit he wore on the wonderful Motown special.
“Wait a minute, I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right with you”.
And he went into my bathroom, closed the door...
...(SCREAM)
Our hearts fell, we thought maybe some groupie had stowed away in the bathroom. We ran to the bathroom, opened it up... what he did was drop the glove in the toilet. And we all ran around crazy looking for a hangar, and it was Michael who looked at us (shrugging), and then he picked up the glove himself. We cleaned it off, and the glove went on to be famous.
Michael Jackson, “Moonwalk” autobiography (1988)
The reason for the fire was stupidity, pure and simple. We were shooting at night and I was supposed to come down a staircase with magnesium flash bombs going off on either side of me and just behind me. It seemed so simple. I was to walk down the stairs and these bombs would blow up behind me. We did several takes that were wonderfully timed. The lightning effects from the bombs were great. Only later did I find out that these bombs were only two feet away from either side of my head, which was a total disregard of the safety regulations. I was supposed to stand in the middle of a magnesium explosion, two feet on either side.
Then Bob Giraldi, the director, came to me and said, “Michael, you’re going down too early. We want to see you up there, up on the stairs. When the lights come on, we want to reveal that you’re there, so wait.”
So I waited, the bombs went off on either side of my head, and the sparks set my hair on fire. I was dancing down this ramp and turning around, spinning, not knowing I was on fire. Suddenly I felt my hands reflexively going to my head in an attempt to smother the flames. I fell down and just tried to shake the flames out. Jermaine turned around and saw me on the ground, just after the explosions had gone off, and he thought I had been shot by someone in the crowd—because we were shooting in front of a big audience. That’s what it looked like to him.
Miko Brando, who works for me, was the first person to reach me. After that, it was chaos. It was crazy. No film could properly capture the drama of what went on that night. The crowd was screaming. Someone shouted, “Get some ice!” There were frantic running sounds. People were yelling, “Oh no!” The emergency truck came up and before they put me in I saw the Pepsi executives huddled together in a corner, looking terrified. I remember the medical people putting me on a cot and the guys from Pepsi were so scared they couldn’t even bring themselves to check on me.
Meanwhile, I was kind of detached, despite the terrible pain. I was watching all the drama unfold. Later they told me I was in shock, but I remember enjoying the ride to the hospital because I never thought I’d ride in an ambulance with the sirens wailing. It was one of those things I had always wanted to do when I was growing up. When we got there, they told me there were news crews outside, so I asked for my glove. There’s a famous shot of me waving from the stretcher with my glove on.
Later one of the doctors told me that it was a miracle I was alive. One of the firemen had mentioned that in most cases your clothes catch on fire, in which case your whole face can be disfigured or you can die. That’s it. I had third-degree burns on the back of my head that almost went through to my skull, so I had a lot of problems with it, but I was very lucky.
I still remember how scared those Pepsi executives looked the night of the fire. They thought that my getting burned would leave a bad taste in the mouth of every kid in America who drank Pepsi. They knew I could have sued them and I could have, but I was real nice about it. Real nice. They gave me $1,500,000 which I immediately donated to the Michael Jackson Burn Center. I wanted to do something because I was so moved by the other burn patients I met while I was in the hospital.
Jermaine Jackson, “You Are Not Alone” (2011)
The second [commercial] was at L.A.’s Shrine Auditorium, where we performed “a concert” in front of screaming fans holding Pepsi cups. On this second shoot, with our favorite music video director Bob Giraldi, the planned sequence was for the brothers to play Michael in as he made a grand entrance, standing atop a lit stairway as an explosion of magnesium flash bombs showered him with sparks.
We’d already done five takes when Bob wanted Michael to wait a few seconds longer at the top of the stairs so that he could be captured in silhouette. So we did it again. Take six. I was on the bass, right of stage, facing the audience.
“And . . . action!” someone shouted. The audience stood and started screaming. Cue the familiar “Billie Jean” beat. Then the popping sound of flash-bombs. I knew Michael was now skipping down the steps. I turned sideways and that was when all hell broke loose. I glimpsed flames in Michael’s hair, but he was oblivious. He kept dancing. Then he spun so fast that he doused the flames, resulting in a halo of smoke, but the damage was already done. Five people raced from the wings and crowded him to the floor. Everything happened so quickly that my brain didn’t compute at first what I had just seen. I was convinced my brother had been shot, because the panic reminded me of the President Reagan assassination attempt in 1981, the way everyone pounced on him. I dropped my bass and raced over as Michael was getting to his feet. Dazed. Blowing out his cheeks. I saw him patting the top of his head. I saw a bald patch covering his crown, his hair scorched away. One of the flash bombs had rained sparks that had ignited the flammable hairspray we all used. Later, when watching the footage, it was clear that a flame was shooting out of his head as he skipped down the steps. Within five seconds, his entire hair was engulfed. Going up like a haystack.
Backstage, he was lying down, remarkably calm. I think the shock stopped him freaking out. I crouched down and rubbed his arm, and all the brothers huddled around. “He’s going to be okay . . . You’re going to be okay, Michael,” I said, as much for me as for him. Thank God Mother wasn’t there. She didn’t need to see him like that. Thank God for Bill Bray, too, who carefully broke the news to her over the phone and managed to conceal our panic.
An ambulance rushed him to the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in West Hollywood and we followed in one car, still wearing our colorful costumes. The whole family headed there, because that’s what happens when something bad happens to one of us: everybody drops everything and runs to that person in need. One for all, and all for one. Michael had suffered third-degree burns to his scalp—almost down to the skull—and no one needed telling how lucky he was to be alive. He was later transferred to the Brotman Memorial Hospital in Culver City, where he sat up in bed watching videos, his head swathed in bandages. He actually admitted that he’d got a secret thrill from the ambulance ride. He’d wanted to taste that kind of excitement since he was a kid, he said. Thank God for Michael’s spirit.
Miko Brando, friend, “Larry King Live” blog (July 16, 2009) (archived)
It was January 1984. We were filming the Pepsi commercial at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles. Pepsi was sponsoring Michael's upcoming Victory Tour. Michael was coming down the stairs. I was stage left, about 25 feet away. I saw him on fire. I immediately jumped on him and shook his head to get the fire out. There was no hesitation. My first instinct was to go help my friend.
I have to admit, I didn't see the fire right when it started because my angle was blocked. He was behind the musicians, and it wasn't until he was in front of me that I realized what had happened. When I got to Michael we were pushed to the ground. Very shortly after that, a couple of EMT's arrived and asked us to give him some room. They lifted him and took him off the stage. I believe there was an ambulance on standby because we were using pyrotechnics. He was rushed to the Cedars-Sinai emergency room. He was at Cedars for a while, then transferred to the Brotman Medical Center in Culver City. Brotman eventually opened The Michael Jackson Burn Center after Michael donated his $1.5 million settlement with Pepsi to the hospital.
I went to the hospital, but not right away. My hands were burned a bit. Some EMT's checked me out, and said I was OK. As soon as I was cleared I went to Cedars. I wanted to be with my friend. I don't remember how long he was in the hospital after the incident. I went to see him several times, and each time he thanked me for being there, and for saving his life. Our friendship really took off from there.
The accident wasn't something Michael would dwell on, but he would sometimes say "thanks for being there, thanks for saving me." I would tell him I was always there for him, and he was always there for me. One day he said - and I forget the situation - but he said "thanks to you, I can do this." I knew what he meant. I also know if the roles were reversed, he would have done the same thing for me.
The last week of Michael's life, during the rehearsals for his tour, we were talking backstage. We talked about the kids, my son Shane, who's in college, and were just having a normal conversation, until he asked me if I would be close by during the pyrotechnic parts of the show. 25 years after the accident, Michael wanted me there. I didn't need to ask why. It was unspoken, but understood. Shortly after that conversation, I went to Michael's stage manager Scott Chase, and he said he'd make it happen.
Seeing the video now brings back a lot of emotions, and it's hard to really put them into words. I've seen the incident on tape before from many angles, including the one that was just released. There were about 6 or 7 cameras rolling at the time. Michael's attorneys showed it to me when they were preparing for the lawsuit. While we were watching it, they told me I was lucky I wasn't shot. I was in street clothes, and there was a lot of security around. They had no idea why I was running up to Michael Jackson during the shooting of a commercial. But I just went. I was there at a crucial part of his life. I reacted the way anyone would who saw someone they cared about in trouble.
Katherine Jackson, “My Family, The Jacksons”
I learned of an accident on the set from a friend who'd heard it on a radio bulletin.
“Well, I haven’t heard anything,” I said nervously.
I called the set immediately.
“Michael’s in the ambulance. They’re taking him to the hospital,” said the person who answered the phone.I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I asked to speak to Bill Bray, who coordinates Michael’s security.
“Don’t get alarmed it’s not that bad,” Bill said. “Michael will be all right."
Bill explained what had happened. Michael was descending a short staircase during the explosion of some magnesium flash bombs when he was showered with sparks. Unbeknownst to him, the sparks ignited his hair. Michael kept dancing down the steps until he suddenly felt a burning pain at the back of his scalp. He dropped to the floor and was attended to immediately.
I jumped in the car with LaToya and Janet and we sped over to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in West Hollywood. We arrived seconds before Michael’s ambulance.
“I’m fine,” Michael told us as he was wheeled by us into the hospital.
Two hours later, at the request of his surgeon, Dr. Stephen Hoefflin, Michael was transferred to Brotman Memorial Hospital, which has a burn wing.
Michael, it turned out, had suffered second- and third- degree burns on a palm-sized area of his scalp. His doctor felt that Michael was quite fortunate that his injuries weren’t more extensive. They surely would have been if the sparks had also ignited his costume, the physician said. Dr. Hoefflin began treating Michael with antibiotics and analgesics.
Michael was in emotional as well as physical pain. He didn’t feel that the accident would have happened if proper safety precautions had been taken. The two nearest flash bombs, he learned, had exploded only two feet away on either side of him.
And yet, even in his agitated state, Michael owned up to the fact that he’d gotten a secret thrill riding in an ambulance for the first time, its sirens blaring. It was something he’d wanted to do, he said, since he was a little boy.
Michael’s accident was all over the late-night news. That night and throughout the next day, hundreds of fans showed up in the hospital lobby with flowers, stuffed animals, and other gifts. The hospital switchboard was flooded with inquiring phone calls.
At Michael’s request, Bill Bray brought over a VCR and Michael spent much of the next morning and afternoon watching his favorite videotapes.
Not for a moment did he talk of pulling out of the tour because of his injury. In fact, that evening Michael announced that he was ready to go home.
His doctor pleaded with him to stay in the hospital a few more days, to rest up. But Michael hated the idea of security people having to guard his room, so he insisted that he be allowed to leave.
Randy Taborelli, biographer
It had been a long day. All of the brothers except Michael had arrived at nine in the morning. Tito acted as his brother's stand-in, taking Michael's place for the purpose of camera angles and other technical positioning. Michael, the star of the show, would not arrive for hours.
By about six p.m., the group performed their number for the sixth time that day – this time so that Bob Giraldi could make technical adjustments. Finally, tape began rolling at 6:30. As he had done during each rehearsal, Michael began to descend from a podium by going down a staircase amid brilliant illumination. His brothers were lined up on the stage, playing. A smoke bomb and pyrotechnics exploded, as planned, momentarily blocking Michael from view.
First a pose; that unmistakable silhouette.
Then, a magnesium flash bomb, which went off with a loud bang two feet from Michael's head.
As Michael headed down the stairs, the smoke became thick. Something wasn't right. He began to dance. He did a turn. And another, and another. After spinning three times, he popped up on his toes. He was hot – literally. When he turned, their was an audible gasp from the audience. The explosion had set his hair ablaze. He would later remember feeling the heat, but said he thought it was generated by hot stage lights. He continued to perform, but not for long.
When he felt the burning pain, Michael pulled his jacket over his head and fell to the stage floor. ‘Tito! Tito!’ he yelled.
Bob Giraldi would recall, ‘The film would later show that while his hair was burning, he was trying to get his jacket off. Maybe he thought it too was on fire. He did two quick spins, though, and put out the fire by his own force.’
The first to respond was Miko Brando, Marlon's twenty-two-year-old son and one of Michael's security staff. ‘I ran out, hugged him, tackled him, and ran my hands through his hair,’ reported Brando, who burned his fingers in the process.
For a few disturbing moments, no one seemed to know what had occurred, or how to respond to it. There was chaos and pandemonium. Jermaine would later say he thought Michael had been shot. The crew rushed on to the stage, threw him down, and covered his head with a blanket to put out the fire. After a handful of ice was applied and a T-shirt borrowed to make a cold compress, Michael was taken off the stage.
When Michael was taken away, and did not return to the stage, it was difficult for the authorities to keep the crowd calm and orderly. Screams filled the auditorium. Since no one in charge could give an accurate report, audience members began to develop their own theories. Most believed that it had been an assassination attempt on Michael.
In order to avoid fans and news media, the authorities hoped to transport Michael through an exit from the back of the theatre. However, Michael insisted on exiting where the crowds and photographers could see him. He said that he wanted to be able to to show the assembled crowd that he was all right. In truth, though, he also knew a moment when he saw one coming; no one could ask for better public relations. ‘No, leave the glove on,’ he told the ambulance attendants as he was being prepared for the stretcher. ‘The media is here.’ No matter the pain, shock, or hysteria, the showman prevailed.
The videotape of Michael being loaded into the ambulance became the lead story on all news broadcasts that evening. There he was, strapped in a stretcher, covered up to his nose, his bandaged and taped head resting on a pillow, one sequined-gloved hand protruding weakly from blankets. Michael lifted his hand with what appeared to be his very last bit of strength… and waved to the cameras. ‘If E.T. hadn't come to Elliot, he would have come to Michael's house,’ Steven Spielberg had earlier said of Michael. Now, Michael was E.T., an odd little creature, hurt by grown-ups who had been playing with fire, being carted away to who-knows-where, by who-knows-whom, and for who-knows-what purpose.
As he was being wheeled out, as he would later tell it, he noticed several Pepsi executives huddled together with anxious expressions. They must have realized that the accident could become the catalyst for one of the biggest lawsuits in show-business history: Michael Jackson could own Pepsi by the time the smoke cleared.
The next day, photos of Michael as E.T. were on the front pages of newspapers all over the world. Michael would call it ‘that famous shot of me’.
Michael was taken to the emergency room at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, where he was treated with an antiseptic cream and bandages. He was offered a painkiller, but because of his disdain for narcotics, he turned it down. Soon, though, he realized he needed it and accepted one. Then, accompanied by Joseph and Katherine, Bill Bray, his brother, Randy, and his doctor, Steve Hoefflin, Michael was transported to Brotman Memorial Hospital in Culver City.
I attempted to get an interview with Katherine and Joseph as they rushed into the hospital, arm in arm. ‘How do you feel about this?’ he asked.
Katherine kept walking, but Joseph stopped. He glared at me. ‘That's my son in there,’ he said, clearly upset. ‘How do you think I feel? How does any father feel when his son is hurt?’
‘You and Michael have had your differences, though,’ I observed.
Joseph studied me for a moment. ‘Hey, man, do you have any kids?’
I shook my head no.
‘Then you can't understand how I feel. Whatever happens, a father will always be a father. His son will always be his son. All right?’
Michael spent Friday evening in room 3307, resting. In a short time, though, he was bored and asked for a videotape player. Because no one on the staff had the key to the cabinet where the hospital's video equipment was kept, someone broke the padlock to get Michael a machine and an assortment of tapes. He chose the science-fiction film Close Encounters of the Third Kind – directed by his friend, Steven Spielberg – and watched it until he fell asleep at one a.m. after taking a sleeping pill.
Outside his room, Katherine, Joseph and Bill Bray prepared to go home. They looked relieved. It had been a tense, exhausting experience. Joseph noticed a group of Pepsi executives standing together, still looking upset. As he walked by them he asked, ‘Why the long faces? Jeez. The burn's only the size of a half-dollar.’
Michael had been fortunate; his face and body escaped injury in the accident. He suffered a palm-sized patch of second- and third-degree burns on the back of his head. Only a small spot – smaller than a half-dollar, actually, more like a quarter – received a third-degree burn. Doctors said most of his hair would grow back. Ironically, Michael had visited burns patients at the same hospital on New Year's Day. He had been particularly affected by one patient, twenty-three-year-old mechanic Keith Perry, who had suffered third-degree burns on 95 per cent of his body. Michael had had photos taken of himself holding the patient's hand, with his sequined glove on. When asked why he was wearing the glove, Michael responded, ‘This way, I am never offstage.’ The photos were quickly distributed to the media.
By Saturday, according to nursing supervisor Patricia Lavales, ‘Michael was singing in the shower.’ He spent the morning watching American Bandstand and Soul Train on television when he wasn't talking on the telephone. Diana Ross called, as did Liza Minnelli. Michael was released later that day. According to Lavales, before he left the hospital, Michael, wearing turquoise hospital scrubs over his street clothes and a black fedora covering his wound, went from room to room saying goodbye, taking photographs and signing autographs for the other burns patients.
After being released from the hospital, Michael checked into the Sheraton Universal for a night in order to be away from his family. John Branca met him there.
‘Mike, I think God is trying to tell you something about this commercial,’ John told him. ‘We should never have done it.’
‘I know, Branca.’
‘You know what? You've got Don King to thank for this,’ John added.
‘Look, don't remind me,’ Michael said. He was clearly disgusted.
That evening, Michael, Steve Hoefflin – who had performed Michael's rhinoplasty surgery and is chief of plastic surgery at Brotman – and others in the Jackson entourage, including John Branca, watched a videotape of the accident to determine just what had happened. (As soon as the accident occurred, John's partner, Gary Stiffelman, seized the tapes from the cameramen. Pepsi didn't have any footage, at all. Michael had it.)
After Michael saw the tape, he became enraged. ‘I could have been killed,’ he said. ‘Did you see what they did to me? Did you see that? Man, I can't believe it.’
Though the others tried to calm him down, it was useless.
‘Show it again,’ Michael ordered.
Someone popped the tape back into the VCR, and everyone watched again.
‘That's it,’ Michael said. ‘I want the tape released to the public. I want the public to see it. I'm gonna ruin Pepsi. After my fans see this tape, Pepsi will be history.’
‘But, Mike – ’ one of his associates began.
‘No. I'm serious,’ Michael said, cutting him off. ‘Release the tape. I want it on the news right away. I want everyone to see what happened to me, and I want it released on Monday. Pepsi's gonna be sorry.’
‘You can't do it, Mike.’
‘You wanna bet? I sure can,’ Michael insisted. ‘And I'm going to.’
By Sunday, word of Michael's decision got back to Roger Enrico, president of Pepsi-Cola. John Branca showed him the tape. ‘Did the press reports say his hair was on fire?’ Roger later recalled. ‘To me, it looked like his whole head. Like a human torch. No way can anyone see this footage. It's grotesque.’
Roger knew he had to change Michael's mind or no Michael Jackson fan on the planet would ever again drink Pepsi after they saw ‘what Pepsi did to him’.
‘With more anxiety than I've ever felt in my life,’ Enrico telephoned Joseph Jackson to ask what should be done about this problem.
‘What problem?’ Jackson asked.
‘Michael wants to release the film with his hair on fire.’
‘Why would he want to do a thing like that?’ Joseph asked, perplexed.
Roger didn't know the answer to that question. He could only assume that Michael wanted revenge. He told Joseph that if Michael allowed the film to be released, people would always associate him with the burn accident, the way, he said, the public equates the Zapruder assassination tape with President John F. Kennedy.
Joseph didn't know what to say. ‘Try telling Michael what to do these days,’ he said. ‘There's no way. He does what he wants to do. All I can say to you,’ he concluded, ‘is lotsa' luck.’
The tape would be released early the next week, Michael finally decided. He was bent on revenge. It would have been distributed sooner, except that his associates were unable to locate a lab that could process the film on a Sunday at such short notice.
First, to whet everyone's appetite, a blurred photograph of Michael descending the stairs with his hair on fire – it looked in the photo as if he had a halo – was distributed by the Associated Press. It made the front pages of practically every daily newspaper.
After that photo was released, John Branca felt that Michael had had ample time to cool off, and he tried to talk Michael out of releasing the tape.
‘It's morbid, Mike,’ John told him in a meeting with associates. ‘Don't do this to your fans. And besides that, I think we should just settle with Pepsi and get on with our lives. Why infuriate everybody, Mike?’
‘Why not?’ Michael wanted to know.
‘C'mon, Mike. You're bigger than this,’ John said.
Michael cracked a smile. ‘I'm being dumb, huh?’ he asked, sheepishly. He'd recognized his own petulant behaviour. ‘You're right,’ he told his lawyer. ‘Let's just end this thing, but I want them to pay, Branca. I mean it. They should pay big time for this.’
Though Michael was only paid $700,000 to do the Pepsi commercial, the publicity he would receive because of the accident would prove invaluable. It triggered an outpouring of public sympathy from around the world. The hospital where he was first taken for treatment was even forced to add six volunteers to answer telephone calls from fans and well-wishers. At Brotman, thousands of calls, letters, and cards were received.
Even Ronald Reagan got in on the act with a fan letter to Michael dated 1 February 1984: ‘I was pleased to learn that you were not seriously hurt in your recent accident. I know from experience that these things can happen on the set – no matter how much caution is exercised…’
‘What really pissed Mike off,’ recalled Steve Howell, ‘was when attorneys for Bob Giraldi [producer of the video] tried to put the blame for the burn on the hair grease Mike used. They said that this product was responsible for his hair catching fire. He thought Giraldi was his friend and wondered why he would do such a thing. The stuff he uses on his hair is, he told me, like everything else he uses on his body, one hundred percent natural, no chemicals.’
When Michael got home to the Encino compound, one of the first things he did was call Steve Howell: ‘Can you come up here and set up the video equipment in my room so I can watch the Three Stooges?’
That afternoon, Michael took a spin around the property in his electric car, a close copy of the vehicle from Mr Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyland. From the street, outside the gate, his fans – who were always there – could see him whizzing up and down the driveway like a little boy so happy that his mother had finally let him out to play. After he put away his expensive toy, Michael playfully tossed the gown he wore in the hospital over the gate to the fans.
To this day, Michael experiences some pain in his scalp where he was burned. ‘They knew I could have sued them,’ Michael wrote of Pepsi in his book Moonwalk, though most people felt that it was probably the production company, not Pepsi, that was responsible. ‘But I was real nice about it.’
Well, he wasn't that nice. At Michael's request, John Branca pressured Pepsi-Cola into a monetary settlement. He wanted $1.5 million. The company argued that the sum was way too high. They would pay, but the accident wasn't even their fault; they blamed the production company. ‘How about a half mil?’ one of the soft drink's lawyers suggested. Finally, under threat of a lawsuit, Pepsi-Cola paid Michael $1.5 million.
Michael Jackson accepted the money, then donated it to the Michael Jackson Burn Center, which had been established in his honour at Brotman after the accident.
“People” magazine (February 13, 1984) (archived) (archived scan of article)
Michael Jackson had been shot. That was the first reaction of those nearby when he grabbed the back of his head and screamed. It was not a bullet wound that made him scream, though it was almost as bad: Jackson’s head was on fire.
This live thriller unfolded last week before thousands of stunned fans at Los Angeles’ Shrine Auditorium, where Michael, 25, and his musical brothers were filming a Pepsi commercial. It happened during one of the last scenes after four hectic days of shooting under the direction of video wizard Bob Giraldi. Giraldi had ordered another take of the flashy gala opening sequence. Amid brilliant illumination, Michael appeared at the top of a stairway and began his dazzling dancing descent to the floor, where the remaining Jacksons were lined up.
About halfway down, he felt something hot but figured it was just the klieg lights. Pyrotechnical special effects were flashing around him as he pirouetted to a fizzy version of Billie Jean. Suddenly there was a jolt of pain and he cried out. The first to respond was Miko Brando, 22, Marlon’s son and a Jackson security aide. “I tore out, hugged him, tackled him and ran my hands through his hair,” reports Brando, who burned his own fingers in the process. Within seconds the fire was extinguished and Michael was surrounded by a crowd of bodyguards, Jacksons and technicians. A quick-thinking fan grabbed a handful of ice, borrowed a T-shirt to make a cold compress and applied it to the wound. A few minutes later paramedics arrived and whisked Michael away to the emergency room at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center.
The accident occurred just after 6 p.m. and early bulletins on the local news reported that Jackson had been “severely burned and was in serious condition.” In fact, thanks to the emergency ice treatment, he was alert enough to tell the ambulance attendants that he wanted to keep his trademark jeweled glove on when he was wheeled into the hospital. The medical staff checked his vital signs and inspected the wound. The fire had scorched a palm-sized second-degree burn on his crown which surrounded a third-degree burn about the size of the hole in a 45-rpm record. An antiseptic cream (silver sulfadiazine) was applied, and Jackson was offered a painkiller, which he at first refused because of his disdain for narcotics. He later accepted an analgesic.
Word of the accident quickly reached Dr. Steven Hoefflin, Jackson’s personal physician and plastic surgeon, who rushed to Cedars-Sinai. “It was quite a shock for Michael, and when I got there he was in a daze,” reports Hoefflin. “After I examined him and told him he would be fine, he felt a lot better.” Hoefflin, who once cosmetically reshaped Jackson’s nose, decided to move his famous patient across town for treatment at the Burn Center of the Brotman Medical Center in Culver City. Accompanied by his parents, his brother Randy, two bodyguards and Hoefflin, Michael arrived at about 8:15 p.m. Once settled in room 3307, he became the patient of nurse Kathy McGrath, 29, who recalls that “he was still pretty shaken up and cold, so we put about five blankets on him.”
Soon fans began congregating at the hospital and crowding into the emergency room waiting area. Switch-boards were flooded with calls and six staff volunteers handled the jammed phone lines. Security throughout the hospital was beefed up and a guard placed at every entrance to the burn unit. “Practically everybody who works in the hospital found some excuse to visit the floor,” says Burn Center supervisor Pat Lavalas.
Michael, meanwhile, was making a fast recovery. Within a few hours he was asking for a videotape player. Because staffers did not have the key to the cabinet where the hospital video equipment was kept, they broke the padlock to get the machine and found an assortment of about 10 tapes for Jackson. He selected Close Encounters of the Third Kind, directed by his friend Steven Spielberg, and stayed awake watching it until 1 a.m. Then, after being given a sleeping pill, he had a restful night.
Michael awoke to a breakfast of fruit and juice and a tidal wave of messages from friends and fans. Diana Ross called. So did Liza Minnelli. Jackson’s favorite among the hundreds of telegrams was one from a girl that said, “I heard you were hot, Michael, but this is ridiculous.”
By the time Hoefflin arrived the next day, Jackson had watched American Bandstand on TV and, according to one nurse, “was bebopping in bed while the doctors examined him.”
Instead of a typical hospital gown, he had adorned himself in a turquoise scrub outfit. The nurses also fashioned a head bandage that could be camouflaged with a macramé hat. “You’re going to start a new wave here in 1984—the net look,” nurse Jan Virgil told Michael. “He laughed and said he wanted to look French.”
Jackson had been to the Burn Center previously, visiting patients there on two occasions. Only last month, in fact, Jackson called on Keith Perry, a 23-year-old mechanic who had suffered third-degree burns on 95 percent of his body. Perry had just undergone his 14th operation when Michael arrived and was placed in an adjoining room. Another severely burned patient with whom he had been in frequent contact was 41-year-old seamstress Bessie Henderson. “Bessie had gone through many operations and was very depressed,” reports Hoefflin, who is also her plastic surgeon. “When Michael started calling she turned around and now she is doing a lot better.”
Some of the patients were unaware they had a celebrity in their midst until Michael, wearing white socks and a single white sequined glove, made his rounds, visiting Keith, Bessie and the other six patients in the burn unit. One of the patients could not believe that he had actually been visited by Michael Jackson, so the singer returned to prove that it wasn’t just a dream. Another patient wanted to know why Jackson wore the glove. “This way,” he explained, “I am never offstage.” With the consent of his doctor, Michael decided after less than a day to check out of the hospital and continue treatment as an outpatient.
Michael Leshnov, photographer, personal website (archived)
The main shoot took place at the Shrine Auditorium; One full day rehearsal, and one day, morning rehearsal followed by shooting with a full audience.
I began the second day shooting on stage from 7:00 a.m. until 8:00 p.m. On the third day, after the rehearsal, I was astonished that I was invited into Michael's dressing room prior to the actual audience shoot. From what I was told, Michael was pleased with my unobtrusive demeanor while photographing the rehearsal, something that he was disturbed with in the past with other still photographers. Naturally, I was thrilled and a little nervous, hoping I could live up to my reputation with him and work while staying out of his way in the small dressing room.
I photographed him at the make-up mirror as he was checking over his final on stage outfit, speaking with his brother, while the director and makeup artist discussed their final arrangements. Michael never gave me a thought as I worked, which was a relief. I did not want to break his trust or interfere with his meditation. I could tell he was deep in thought on making sure his performance was perfect.
After we left the makeup room, Michael made his way to the stage. I accompanied him and his crew onstage and positioned myself behind the stairs he was to come down with music and fireworks behind him as he descended the stage. I was a little hesitant to stand too close to the steps since the fireworks were so close to both me and Michael. As the music began and Michael began his decent down the stairs, I could see that the sparks from the fireworks were much larger than anyone expected, and then I heard a large commotion and a lot of screaming. Through the smoke of the fireworks I could see crew members rushing the stage with Michael on the floor.
The rest is history, and I cannot speak as to who is at fault, but this moment changed history.
Eyewitness Roger Collins' said: "Two canisters went off and Michael's head caught fire. At first, he didn't realize and kept on walking down some stairs.
"Everyone was screaming at him, but he didn't take any notice. Then he put up the collar of his jacket and suddenly fell to the floor with flames shooting several feet in the air from his head."
"Rock & Soul" magazine (Winter 1984)
The scene then shifted to the Shrine Auditorium, where the second ad featured a Jacksons' concert--from dressing room to center stage--complete with 3,000 screaming fans in the audience.
Overall, more than 175 crew people, countless Pepsi-Cola and BBDO staffers, and 812 paid extras worked on the ads.
"Making spots like these requires patience and endurance", said Pottasch. "The camaraderie on the set was great, it had to be. And I think the results speak for themselves."
...One only has to observe the brothers (Michael included) when they are together to witness the bond that exists between them. A perfect example occurred during the shooting of the now-infamous Pepsi commercial.
...During the proverbial "just one more take", open displays of affection were expressed by all six. It wasn't show time, either. Instead, The Jacksons were relating to each other in a natural way between scenes. Michael could be seen with his arm cocked on Marlon's shoulder as the director explained exactly what he wanted. Or Randy would whisper something humorous in Michael's ear, causing wide grins to spread across both faces. Touching, laughing, and exchanging a knowing glance was commonplace; it let outsiders (those without the last name Jackson) know that there was a special kind of communication happening.
Sure, each Jackson had his own trailer/dressing room…
"Rock & Soul" magazine (Winter 1984)
More than 300 Jacksons fans sat on the edge of their seats at the Shrine Auditorium near downtown Los Angeles, not so patiently waiting to participate in a Pepsi Cola commercial starring the legendary Jacksons. It was the last day of a three-day shooting schedule and this was the grand finale--the concert scene. The general public had been invited thanks to a local radio station promotional giveaway, but the front rows were filled with paid extras, some of which had been around from the previous days' shoot.
Having been asked to cover the commercial for "Rock & Soul". I had been on location for the three days. It had been fun and exciting, but I was anxious for the day to end. In fact, I wasn't planning to stay for the entire shoot. Everything had been delayed a little due to what one technician claimed was a generator problem. I had been covering things like this long enough to know this shooting could go long into the night. Originally set for a starting time of five p.m., the clock was now edging toward six o'clock.
I was getting a little bored in the wings, so I decided to watch the first performance from the audience. Since I had an all-access security pass, I was free to come and go as I pleased. I found an empty seat by the door that led directly backstage, and before I knew it, the first shoot was about to begin.
The director of the commercial, Bob Giraldi (whose credits include Michael‘s video "Beat It" among other impressive credentials), instructed the crowd to act wild and crazy as soon as The Jacksons hit the stage. His speech was unnecessary. Pandemonium would surely break out as soon as the music was heard, and that‘s exactly what happened.
To the strains of Billie Jean, with new lyrics endorsing Pepsi, Jackie, Jermaine, Tito, Marlon, and Randy, along with the extras pretending to he the backup band, ran onto the stage. A few moments later, Michael appeared at the tap of a riser, center stage. As he made his way down the steps, fireworks exploded. It was very dramatic to say the least, but in less than a minute the scene was over, and the stage was being set for Take Two in what most people backstage suspected would be a 10-take shoot.
Personally, I wasn't too thrilled to see the fireworks. Several smoke machines around the auditorium were already giving the place the special effect desired for the camera. The pyrotechnics added more smoke to the already thick air.
As the second shoot began, I decided to stand against the wall for a better look. As before, The Jacksons and the backup band ran on stage, and moments later, Michael appeared in the same spot center stage. He took approximately four steps down to the same position he appeared to be in before, and the pyrotechnics exploded right on cue. But something was wrong. Michael started shaking his head back and forth. The colored stage lighting confused matters. No one could really see what was happening. The lighting made him appear like a silhouette, and there appeared to be water falling from his hair as he twisted and turned. He started to take his jacket off. Eyewitnesses still wondered what was going on as security guards and the other Jacksons rushed to Michael's rescue.
I immediately turned and went backstage. As I entered the darkened wings, I quickly searched for Michael. In my mind, I half expected to see him walk from the stage to the backstage area. Instead, moments later, I saw him being carried.
Ice taken from a nearby ice chest was applied to the back of Michael's head. By then, we all figured out Michael had been burned by the fireworks. A crew member that I knew grabbed my arm and whispered, "It's not as bad as it looks: he'll be alright." I believed him. I knew Michael's face had not been burned and I knew the injury was to the back of the head. I also knew that no one would know for sure to what degree the burns were until he was taken to a hospital.
Someone was yelling to clear the area and another man was yelling something else. People act strange in a crisis, but I knew what Michael needed until the paramedics arrived--some privacy. His brothers and his bodyguards were around him and he didn't need a lot of people staring down at him.
The smoke from the smoke machines had been giving me a headache for two days and I needed an aspirin. Fresh air would help. I pushed the door marked "exit" and saw five or six security guards along with crew members forming a passageway to the street and keeping the onlookers back. It dawned on me that they were going to bring Michael out this way. It didn't make sense to me, because there was a more secure entrance in back of the auditorium where the cars were parked, but nothing seemed to be making sense at that moment.
The ambulance arrived after what seemed like an eternity, waited a few minutes, and then drove to the rear of the building. The fans followed, pushing and shoving each other in an effort to see Michael. I quickly ducked back inside the building. I didn't want to see Michael. I just wanted to know for sure that he was okay. I didn’t want to see him again until he was alright.
I found one lone folding chair and sat down. Other people were sort of leaning against the wall or walking aimlessly. Few spoke, and if they did, it was in hushed tones.
I'm not sure how much time went by until I decided that I could probably get to my car and leave. I went to the wings and looked for a friend of mine who was working as a technician. I found him and he told me that he was sure Michael was alright, that apparently the pyrotechnics had set his hair on fire and that Michael was on his way to Cedars Hospital. My friend walked me to my car in the back lot and I noticed Randy Jackson climbing into his jeep.
"See Randy?", the technician asked. "If Michael's life was in danger, Randy would have left long before now."
I knew he was right and his logic made the long drive home a lot easier. Nevertheless, I couldn't forget the shocking image of Michael twisting and turning, probably in excruciating pain.
I entered my home to the sounds of the telephone ringing off the hook. It was my parents. They had heard there was a fire backstage at the Shrine and they knew I was there. Naturally, they were worried. I told them not to listen to any rumors, but I knew the rumor factory was already working overtime--and I was right. Not only did I receive a dozen phone calls that night with the most outlandish stories about what people thought happened, I found I couldn't even escape them the next day.
Everywhere I went that Saturday, people were talking about Michael Jackson. The market, the shopping center, even the cleaners--everyone was talking. Most of the stories were completely far fetched, but I realized something very important that Saturday in January. People really care about Michael Jackson. He had reached out and touched them with his music and they were genuinely concerned about his well being.
I silently said a prayer for Michael and apparently God answered mine and everybody else's. Michael is just fine.
“Right On” magazine (June 1984)
The Jacksons shot two commercials for Pepsi. One was a concert piece, showing the guys in the dressing rooms and on stage. The group is singing a song that sounds a lot like “Billie Jean”, but the lyrics have taken on a Pepsi flavor. Michael gave them his hit single as the soundtrack for both commercials. The lyrics were changed by Mr. Jackson and the people at Pepsi’s ad agency.
“Right On! Focus” magazine (1984)
...One of Michael's ubiquitous bodyguards, Miko Brando (the son of Marlon), explains, "Everyone was stunned, but Michael moved quickly. We did our best, and he always felt he was all right. The doctors say he recovered remarkably fast."
An anonymous associate says, "Michael was very upset, because his hair is important to him and it will take time to be the way it was. Besides, he was hoping to start a top-secret movie project that most of us don't know about, specifically."
“BBC News” (January 27, 1984) (archived)
Michael Jackson has received hospital treatment for serious burns to his head after his hair caught light during a freak filming accident.
The 25-year-old entertainer was singing his hit "Billie Jean" for a Pepsi Cola commercial in Los Angeles when the special effects went wrong.
Three thousand fans saw a firework display erupt behind the superstar, showering him in sparks and setting light to his hair.
Some studio audience members said he was so calm, they thought the incident was part of the act.
The singer is reported to have covered his burning hair with his jacket as his brothers and stage hands rushed to help.
One member of the audience, Virginia Watson, witnessed the accident.
"He was wonderful. He reassured people even as he was being taken away on a stretcher", she said.
Michael Jackson was taken to hospital where he was treated for second degree burns.
Plastic surgeon Steven Hoeffin said Jackson, who was voted America's entertainer of the year, could need surgery to his head.
"He is in discomfort", said the doctor. "It will take a few weeks to determine the hair loss."
“Sun” magazine (1984), From Chris Cadman’s “Michael Jackson the Maestro” (article summary/quotes)
While he was recovering in hospital Michael met another burns victim Keith Perry. He had been in a car accident and was at death’s door when he arrived at the hospital.
“There’s no doubt that Michael’s actions helped Keith pull through,” said hospital spokesperson Judy Davis.
“Keith was literally at death’s door and seemed to have little hope. But just having Michael at his bedside and knowing that someone of his stature was interested gave him the boost he needed.”