For Dr G Yunupingu: ‘Rest in peace, Rainbow Child’, by Michael Gunner - 2017

19 September 2017, Darwin, Australia

 “I was born and blind and I don’t know why. God knows why, because he love me so”.

Thank you Jessica, Manuel and the Y boys for your beautiful and moving rendition.

God did know why, though we, as flawed and finite mortals, can ourselves only guess and wonder.

Perhaps it was so a little boy from Elcho Island discovered his first pleasures not in the prodigious light and colour of that place, but in the sounds of sticks on tin cans in the sand – small cans, big cans, sharp sounds, deep sounds, rearranged and rearranged again.

Perhaps it was so that little boy expanded his curious mind not in what could be absorbed through the eyes, but in the infinite mathematics of music – the contours, the shapes, the peaks, valleys and trails of a 12-key piano accordion, guitar, and church hymns.

Perhaps it was so he felt the weight of song and language so keenly that, when combined with those other gifts bestowed by God, he would as a man make others as far away as Los Angeles, London and New York feel that weight, too.

That this humble Yolngu man from Elcho Island, could one day show the world its humanity through the passion, love and poetry of his people.

That through music, the world would come to hear, and even sing along with, the most ancient, living languages on earth.

That through music, he would remind us that while we are all unique in our colours, shapes and histories, we are all fundamentally the same.

Black or white, our skin goose-bumps at his melodies Brown or blue, our eyes close to absorb his voice.

He would soothe and sleep crying infants of all cultures.

His music is instantly of the Territory, its people and its languages, but it resonates far beyond our borders - and will forever more - because it is the music of humanity.

It is something deeper, something nourishing, something shared. In a 2008 interview, Dr Yunupingu said:

“When I hear that non-Aboriginal people start crying when they hear my music I am pleased to hear it, as it means we are all sharing the same experience and that there is not so much difference between us - black and white.”

Dr Yunupingu never sought fame, nor audiences with the Queen or Barack Obama.

He never sought ARIAs, NIMAs, Deadly Awards, A.I.R Awards, Limelight Awards, Northern Territory Indigenous Music Awards, APRA Awards or Helpmann Awards.

He remained a humble man. He remained a traditional Yolngu man. But the audiences and accolades found him because God had a plan. “I was born and blind and I don’t know why. God knows why, because he love me so”.

It is one of the honours of my life that I can stand here today to give thanks on behalf of Territorians to the man and his creator.

I give thanks on behalf of all the people of the world who, like me, weren’t fortunate enough to know him intimately - his warm personality or sense of humour - but who came to know him through music.

Today, as we remember and say thanks for Dr Yunupingu, I stand on the lands of the Larrakia. There are ancient and still-powerful connections to all Northern Territory lands.

People lived, loved, raised families, sang and danced here for a thousand generations before our own and will do for a thousand more.

Dr Yunupingu’s music speaks of the Yolngu connection to land and family. His connection to land and family.

Through his song, and in the most modern of ways - playlists, Spotify, MP3s, CDs - we live, know and share an ancient cultural legacy.

Through his song, we live, know and share love. We are richer for it. The world is richer for it.

I say thank you.

I say Yakurr djil’ngi yothu djarimi. Rest in Peace, Rainbow Child.

For Whitney Houston: 'So what becomes of OUR broken hearts?', by Kevin Costner - 2012

18 February 2012, New Hope Baptists Church, Newark, New jersey, USA

This feels right. I'd like to thank Cissy and Dionne for the honor of being here, for everybody in the church treating my wife and I so gracefully. I'll say some stories, maybe some of them you know, maybe some of them you don't. I wrote them down because I didn't want to - I didn't want to miss anything.

A song 'I Will Always Love You' almost wasn't. It wasn't supposed to be in the movie. The first choice was going to be 'What Becomes of a Broken Heart,' but it had been out the year before in another movie and we felt it wouldn't have the impact, and so we couldn't use it.

So what becomes of OUR broken hearts? Whitney returns home today to the place where it all began, and I urge us all, inside and outside, across the nation and around the world to dry our tears, suspend our sorrow - and perhaps our anger - just long enough, just long enough to remember the sweet miracle of Whitney.

Never forgetting that Cissy and Bobbi Kristina are sitting among us. Your mother and I had a lot in common. I know many at this moment are thinking, 'Really? She's a girl, you're a boy. You're white. She's black. We heard you like to sing, but our sister could really sing.'

So what am I talking about? Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston, they don't have anything in common at all. Well, you'd be wrong about that. We both grew up in the Baptist church. [applause]

It wasn't as big as this. My grandmother played the piano, and she led the choir, and her two daughters, my mom and my aunt both sang in it. The rest of my family, uncles, aunts and cousins, sat every Sunday out front and watched. My earliest memories are tied to that old church in Paramount. I remember seeing a gold shovel going into the ground and people praying about it and thinking, 'Wow, something big was going to go here,' and I watched my father and the rest of the men build it from the ground up. I was probably 4 years old and seemed to be always in the way. I wanted to help. I wanted to be in on the action. One of the men snapped down a red line where the choir would be standing one day and said, 'Have at it,' as many nails as you want all in this line.

I always took great comfort in watching my mom and aunt sing, knowing that they would never fall through that floor where I had worked!

The church was the center of our social life and Whitney and I would laugh, knowing it was also the place where we could really get into big trouble, especially when you were allowed to sit with your friends and not your parents in the big church. I remember more than once being pulled from the pew for whispering and passing notes. I don't believe my feet ever hit the floor as my father hauled me outside in front of everyone. I believed even the preacher prayed for me.

Whitney's favorite story of mine was me sneaking into the church kitchen after communion. I liked the little glasses of grape juice that were left over. I liked how they felt in my hand. I couldn't have been over 6 at the time, but I would lean against the table and one by one I would knock them back. Having some near conversation with someone my father would find me and ask me what I was doing. I told him I was a cowboy and I was drinking whiskey. I don't think my feet touched the floor that day, either! [applause]

It was easy for us to laugh. The church was what we knew. It was our private bond. I can see her in my own mind running around here as a skinny little girl knowing everyone, everyone's business, knowing every inch of this place. I can also see her in trouble, too. Trying to use that beautiful smile, trying to talk her way out of it, and Cissy and not having any of it.

Mostly the days of church were good ones for us and we both remembered how our parents tried to explain God and the plan He had for our lives, and we agreed that there was this feeling, this promise that if somehow we listened carefully, God's voice would somehow come to us. I told Whitney that I always worried God was going to ask me to be a preacher. I wasn't sure how much fun ours had. Whitney told me she wasn't worried at all. She wasn't going to wait for a whisper. She was going to be like her cousin Dionne and her beautiful mother Cissy.

There is no doubt that she has joined their ranks and as the debate heats up this century and it surely will, about the greatest singer of the last century, as the lists are drawn, it they will have little meaning to me if her name is not on it. [applause]

But as sure I am in Whitney's place in musical history, from the first time she took center stage here as a teenager, flushed with the excitement that she had exceeded everyone's expectations and awesome promise of what was to come. It's still needing to hear from her mother about how she was received. Was she good enough? Could I have done better? Did they really like me? Or are they just being polite because they were scared of you, Cissy? These are the private questions that Whitney would always have that would always follow her.

At the height of her fame as a singer I asked her to be my co-star in a movie called 'The Bodyguard.' I thought she was the perfect choice, but the red flags came out immediately. 'Maybe I should think this over a bit.' I was reminded that this would be her first acting role. 'We could also think about another singer,' was a suggestion. Maybe somebody white. Nobody ever said it out loud, but it was a fair question, it was. There would be a lot riding on this - maybe a more experienced person was the way to go. It was clear, I needed to think about this.

I told everyone that I had taken notice that Whitney was black. The only problem was, I thought she was perfect for what we were trying to do. There was a bit of a relief in the room when we found out that Whitney was going to be on tour and she wouldn't be available for our movie. The anxiety came right back when I said we should postpone and wait a year. [applause]

That was a lot for the studio to accept, and to their credit, they did, but not without a screen test. Whitney would have to earn it. That was the first time I saw the doubt. The doubt creep into her that she would not be handed the part. She would have to be great. The day the test came and I went into her trailer after the hair and makeup people were done, Whitney was scared. Arguably, the biggest pop star in the world wasn't sure if she was good enough.

She didn't think she looked right. There were a thousand things to her that seemed wrong. I held her hand and told her that she looked beautiful. I told her that I would be with her every step of the way, that everyone there wanted her to succeed, but I could still feel the doubt. I wanted to tell her that the game was rigged. That I didn't care how the test went, that she could fall down and start speaking in tongues, that somehow I would find a way to explain it as an extraordinary acting choice. [applause] and we could expect more to follow, and gee, weren't we lucky to have her? That wouldn't have been fair. It wouldn't have been fair to Lawrence Kasden who had written the screenplay 15 years earlier. It wouldn't have been fair to my brothers at Warner Brothers and it wasn't the right signal to send to Whitney.

She took it all in and asked me if she could have a few minutes by herself and would meet me on the set. I was sure she was praying. After about 20 minutes later she came out. We hadn't said four lines when we had to stop. The lights were turned off, and I walked Whitney off the set and back to her room. She wanted to know what was wrong, and I needed to know what she'd done during those 20 minutes. She said, "Nothing," in only the way she could, 'Nothing.' So I turned her around so that she could see herself in the mirror and she gasped. All of the makeup on Whitney's face was running. It was streaking down her face and she was devastated. She didn't feel like the makeup we put on her was enough so she'd wiped it off and put on the makeup that she was used to wearing in her music videos. It was much thicker and the hot lights had melted it! She asked if anyone had seen - if anyone had saw, I said I didn't think so. It happened so quick.

She seemed so small and sad at that moment, and I asked her why she did it? She said, 'I just wanted to look my best.' It's a tree we can all hang from. Unexplainable burden that comes with fame, call it doubt, call it fear. I've had mine, and I know the famous in the room have had theirs. I asked her to trust me and she said she would. A half-hour later, she went back in to do her screen test and the studio fell in love with her. The Whitney I knew, despite her success and worldwide fame, still wondered am I good enough? Am I pretty enough? Will they like me? It was the burden that made her great, and the part that caused her to stumble in the end.

Whitney, if you could hear me now, I would tell you, you weren't just good enough, you were great. You sang the whole damn song without a band. You made the picture what it was. A lot of leading men could have played my part. A lot of guys - a lot of guys could have filled that role, but you, Whitney, I truly believe were the only one that could have played Rachel Mirren at that time. [applause]

You weren't just pretty, you were as beautiful as a woman could be. People didn't just like you, Whitney. They loved you. I was your pretend bodyguard once not so long ago, and now you're gone, too soon, leaving us with memories - memories of a little girl that stepped bravely in front of this church, in front of the ones that loved you first. In front of the ones that loved you best and loved you the longest. The bolder you stepped into the white-hot light of the world stage, and what you did is the rarest of achievements.

You set the bar so high that professional singers, your own colleagues, they don't want to sing that little country song. What would be the point? Now, the only ones who sings your songs are young girls like you, who are dreaming of being you some day. And so to you, Bobbi Kristina and to all those young girls who are dreaming that dream, that maybe thinking, are they good enough? I think Whitney would tell you, 'Guard your bodies, guard the precious miracle of your own life, and then sing your hearts out,' knowing that there's a lady in heaven who is making God himself wonder how he created something so perfect.

So off you go, Whitney, off you go. Escorted by an army of angels to your heavenly father, and when you sing before him, don't worry . . . you'll be good enough.

For Ruby Carter: 'To call Ruby Carter larger than life would be to give life too much credit', by Jane Clifton - 2015

19 December 2014, The Memo, St Kilda, Melbourne, Australia

In Melbourne, Glasgow born singer Ruby Carter was known as the 'Godmother of Jazz'. Another great singer, Jane Clifton, was celebrant at her colourful, traffic-stopping funeral. There is no video or audio of the speech.

This is a sad day. Usually I would say that we are here to celebrate a life – and there will be a celebration of Ruby’s life here today – but it is a sad day.

Because it has come as such a shock. Ruby’s passing was so sudden. It’s almost impossible for us to imagine our lives without her presence in it. The streets outside are resounding with the silence of her absence. It’s eerie. It feels wrong.

We knew she was ill.

She’d been battling illness, been in and out of cancer, for a year or so now. Long hard years of debilitating treatment that saw her in and out of hospital, but still managing to crack hardy, still managing to do gigs, still managing to belt out the odd song or three.

This recent round with brain cancer did seem very serious indeed and she’d started to ask me about doing her funeral.

Never an easy conversation to have.

So, a couple of weeks ago I managed to steer her away from the harsh reality of the topic by saying,

‘You know what we should do, Ruby? We should hold a living wake – where we can all get to say what we’d say at your funeral, only you’d get to hear it all.’

She loved that idea.

‘But,’ said Jex, ‘you won’t be allowed to speak. You’d just have to sit there and listen.’

Not so keen on that idea. (Shitpot, Jex!)

But we swung into action, started organising it anyway.

Bernard Galbally managed to book the Espy for Feb 3rd next year, so, that we could do one last, magnificent Ruby Tuesday in honour of her long residency.

I felt absolutely confident she would hang in for the gig.

And, who knows, maybe we could keep that booking and hold a tribute for Ruby….

Even when I went to visit her on the day before she died and saw for myself how things weren’t going so well – she was really having a hard time – I somehow thought that this was a crisis she would pull through.

Such was the size of her spirit, her indomitable presence.

To say she was larger than life is to give life too much credit.

Ruby Carter was unique.

She was born in Glasgow, and I’m not going to say what year she was born in or she might just jump out of that coffin and give me a Glasgow kiss.

Ruby Carter was, is and always will be 45.

Ruby was the daughter of Robina, known as Ruby, and Peter Waterson. They divorced and Ruby’s Mum went on to marry Sandy, when Ruby was 8 years-old. And it was Sandy who was really Ruby’s main father throughout her life.

Sister of Bobby, Alex, Johnny and Joe – we are recording this for the family back in Glasgow, so, best wishes to all of you back there.

Big sister to Geraldine – who is here today.

Auntie to Aisha and Kirsty,

Great-aunt to all the little ones –

Tijana, Gabriella, Molly and James

Mother to Jerry …many of us here today were at her side at Jerry’s funeral in 1995 when he sadly passed away. She took that loss hard - but there was joy to be found as Granny to Jerry’s daughter, Jacqueline – Ruby’s grand-daughter – who is also here today. As is Jerry’s partner, Caroline.

The family grew up in the area of Glasgow known as the Gorbles where they breed ‘em tough. Geraldine told me they were familiar with tinned spaghetti but she’d never seen real spaghetti until she the age of 5 when she saw Ruby, then aged 16, clock someone over the head with a packet of the stuff. The guy had put his hand where it should not to have been and he paid the price.

Ruby attended St John’s Catholic school and later St Margaret’s Catholic School.

She left school at 15 and worked in cafés and in the family fish ‘n chip shop, where she was given the responsibility of closing for the night.

And when she did - she’d shut the doors, turn up the volume on the jukebox, and she and her friends would jive the night away.

Back in those days folks all over the UK would spend their seaside holidays at Butlins Holiday Camps.

Sports, swimming, beauty parades, bingo and live music were part of a great variety of activities on offer and the Camps employed huge numbers of staff.

Ruby’s Dad worked at Butlins on the Ayreshire Coast and managed to get Ruby a job there, too, as a supervisor.

When the singer with the live big band fell ill it was Ruby who stepped up to the mic, effortlessly singing standards with the band like she’d been doing it all her life.

She sang at clubs around Glasgow including The Locarno Ballroom and The Stuart Hotel.

She travelled back and forth to London, appearing as a support act to Tom Jones, Shirley Bassey among others.

Geraldine remembers being one of only two audience members when Ruby did a first gig at the Lorne Hotel at the top end of Sauchiehall Street in downtown Glasgow. The audience built slowly over the next few weeks until a month later you couldn’t get in the door – the place was packed.

She married Nicky Carter in 1957 and Jerry was born in 1958. But times were hard, the marriage didn’t last, and Jerry grew up at home with Ruby’s family.

In 1972 Geraldine came out to Australia with husband Alex who was here to play soccer. They were going to head back home in a couple of years but the weather and the lifestyle out here won them both over – and Geraldine’s lived here ever since.

Ruby came out to visit, nursing a broken heart – courtesy of ‘Big Robert’.

She backed and forthed between here and Glasgow before also making the permanent move in December 1973.

But despite all her experience she didn’t start singing here straightaway when she first arrived. Her head wasn’t in the right place and she didn’t really know any of the local musicians.

She worked at the Chevron and the Fawkner Park Hotels, until little by little, she did get to know people – musicians gravitate towards each other like bees to honey and Ruby never had any difficulty making friends, starting conversations -- and, luckily for all of us, she did begin to sing again.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

I didn’t really know anything about Ruby’s family or her early life -

and I’m grateful to Geraldine and her family for filling me in on the details - she seems to have sprung, fully formed, into my life as a singer of great note, maybe 30 years ago.

I am part of her other family.

This great bunch of people here today who knew her and loved her.

The city of St Kilda where she lived and worked for the past 4 decades. Where she was a familiar and greatly loved local identity. Even before the arrival of the lethal mobility scooter she was a familiar sight on her bicycle.

Always with a kind word or a ‘hello son’ ‘hello hen’ or a quick tongue lashing for all and sundry.

Some people weren’t even aware that she was a singer, they just knew she was special. She ate at the finest restaurants on the block – Cicciolina’s, Lau’s Kitchen and, of course, Claypots – and they were so generous to her with their food and their love because they recognised a good soul.

Then there were her sons, her Number One Sons.

The title of Number One Son was a hotly contested honour and not bestowed lightly. You had to earn it. By – fixing a computer or tuning a TV, driving her to the shops or hospital, or simply playing your instrument like a god.

On a technicality the Number One Son in perpetuity was awarded to Jex Saareladt. But Barney McAll is in fierce litigation over this claim. As is John McAll and don’t even start Stephen Hadley or Paul Williamson or Julien Wilson. Not to mention Bobbie Valentine, wee Dougie de Vries, Ben Robertson, Nick Haywood, Sam Lemann and….the list of 20 or so goes on.

But I believe there is a special category for Russell Smith.

I feel for the Number One Sons, no one will replace Ruby in their lives.

And then there are the girls – all of us jazz girls, living in fear of the Godmother of Jazz, living in hope of her praise.

Rebecca and Nichaud, Shelley, Tanya-Lee, Kate, Margie-Lou, Julie --

How lucky we were, girls, to have Ruby in our lives to show us that you don’t stop singing. Age may weary us and fashion shift but while there’s breath and the sniff of a gig, you just get up and do it.

She was the supreme performer, the supreme entertainer.

When Ruby stepped up to the mic – and in recent years that would be a struggle – people would stop in their tracks.

Who was this strange looking, incomprehensible woman in the red leather coat, beanie and headphones telling us all to ‘have a bit of shoosh!’?

But bemused smiles would disappear when she began to sing and they realised they were in the presence of something, someone, special – that rare creature – a real singer.

Music was her life. She lived and breathed music.

Musicians loved to play with her – and she adored them. It was true sympatico. Although she did have her moods….

Ruby would be the first to admit she was no angel.

I’ve spoken to a few people in the past week who are devastated to learn of her passing because they were in the middle of a fight with her.

Who wasn’t? We’ve all had our run-ins with Ruby. I didn’t speak to her for a whole year – over some stupid, pointless thing. But it never lasted forever. They were just flash fires.

She was bigger than that.

Ruby Carter was a passionate, opinionated, tender, crabby, adorable, infuriating, talented, loving woman – who never forgot your birthday, or your kids’ birthdays, or to call you on Hogmanay or to yell out praise for your solo.

I can’t believe she’s gone, but she will not be forgotten.

This is the video of the jazz parade send off to Ruby's hearse in Acland street after the ceremony.

For Sonny Bono: 'He could see above the tallest people', Cher - 1998

9 January 1998, Palm Springs, CA, USA

Please excuse my papers, but I've been writing this stupid eulogy for the last 48 hours. And, of course, I know that this would make Sonny really happy. It's like Den said: "He got the last laugh on you."

So because I've had to write some of it down doesn't mean that I'm unprepared. It just means that I'm over prepared in that this is probably the most important thing I've ever done in my life. Don't pay any attention [weeping].

This is probably going to happen from time to time. And I also know that he is some place loving this.... Also, I have to wear the glasses that I made so much fun of him. I called him Mr. Magoo. I said, "You know, you've got to get some better glasses. You know, I don't care if you're Republican or not, you've got to look cooler than this." So now I have to wear the glasses that I make fun of him for saying. There are a couple of things -- I want to tell some stories -- but there are a couple of things I really want to get perfect for him. So I have to read....

Some people were under the misconception that Son was a short man, but he was heads and tails taller than anyone else. He could see above the tallest people. He had a vision of the future and just how he was going to build it. And his enthusiasm was so great that he just swept everybody along with him. Not that we knew where he was going, but we just wanted to be there. He was also successful at anything he ever tried. Not the first time he tried maybe, but he just -- he kept going. If he was really -- But if he really wanted something, he kept going until he achieved it....Once he told me that, when he was a teenager, he got his nose broken six times because he used to get into fights with guys that were much bigger than him. And he said that they would just be beating the crap out of him and would just be keep going back and going back and going back. I said, "Well, why?" And he said, "Because eventually I would just wear them down." And if you know him, we all got worn down.

Some people thought that Son wasn't very bright, but he was smart enough to take an introverted 16-year-old girl and a scrappy little Italian guy with a bad voice and turn them into the most successful and beloved couple of this generation. And some people thought that Son wasn't to be taken seriously because he allowed himself to be the butt of the jokes on the Sonny and Cher show. What people don't realize is that he created Sonny and Cher. And -- And he knew what was right for us, you know? He just always knew the right thing. And he wanted to make people laugh so much that he had the confidence to be the butt of the joke because he created the joke.

When I was 16 years old, I met Sonny -- Salvatore Philip Bono. And the first time I ever saw him, he walked in this room. And I had never seen anything like him before in my life. Because he was Sonny way before we were Sonny and Cher. He had this thing about him. He walked into this room, and I swear to God I saw him and like everybody else in the room was just washed away in this soft kind of focus filter -- kind of like when Maria saw Tony at the dance. And -- And I looked at him, and he had like this weird hair-do between Caesar and Napoleon. As a matter of fact, one of the first things that he ever told me was that he was a descendant of Napoleon, and that his father had shortened the name of Bonaparte to Bono when they came to this country. But that he didn't want to make too big of a deal out of this. Now you have to realize, at this time, he was talking to a girl who thought that Mount Rushmore was a natural phenomenon. So we were definitely a marriage made in heaven....

I lied to him about how old I was. I've told this story, but somehow it always keeps coming back. I told him that I was 18, and of course I wasn't. I was the most bizarre 16-year-old that you probably would come across. I had all kinds of phobias and all kinds of insecurities and all kinds of energies that just couldn't be harnessed. Except Son saw something. And I didn't have a place to stay and he said, "You know, you can come and live with me because I have twin beds and really I don't find you attractive." I didn't really know how to take it, but I was really glad to have a place to stay.

And when people would call or come over and say, "Who's that girl?" "Oh, that's just Cher." We spent this whole time together and I was just Cher. I was this kid and he kind of took care of me. I told my mom I was living with a stewardess. And every time that my mom would call, I always said, "Mom, call me before you come over." Every time my mom would call, I'd grab all of Sonny's clothes and run down the street and throw all his clothes into my girlfriend's living room window. And I lost most of his clothes that year. One time he came into the house and he had his jockey shorts in his hand and he said, "Cher, you've just got to stop doing this. I found these on the street."

So nothing happened with us romantically until my mom made me move out. When I was packing my things, we both just looked at each other and we started crying and I didn't even know why. And then I just realized once I was there that I just missed him so much -- I was so used to him being a part of my life. And I also had to tell him at that time that I wasn't 18. That I was 17, but I was about to turn 18. And when we were crying -- he actually cried too -- I said, "Well, I'm not 17 about to turn 18. I'm 16 about to turn 17, but I can't go through the rest of my life without you. So if my mother threatens to put you in jail, could you just do it anyway." So my mother kept threatening him all that year. But then I turned 18 and everything was all right.

I want to close...but I wanted to tell Mary and Chesare and Chianna how proud I am of what he made himself after we were separated and his accomplishments. And I know that a person just doesn't decide to become a Congressman in the middle of their life and then be one. But it's so typical of Sonny to do something so crazy like that. And also it puts my mind at peace to know that in the end of his days that he had such a wonderful family life. And I know how much he loved Mary and Chesare and Chianna. And I know how much they loved him. And also I know how much he loved his friends. He was the greatest friend. And if you'd seen our house for the last five days -- Mary's house for the last five days -- we can't get rid of everybody. Everybody's just there, you know. And it's the way he would have wanted it. He would have been in the middle cooking -- not eating, just tasting. And making everybody else eat.

So the last thing I want to say is, when I was young, there was this section in the Reader's Digest. And it was called "The Most Unforgettable Character I've Ever Met." And for me that person is Sonny Bono. And no matter how long I live or who I meet in my life, that person will always be "Son" for me.

Thank you.   

For Michael Jackson: 'Wasn’t nothing strange about your Daddy. It was strange what your Daddy had to deal with', Rev Al Sharpton - 2009

7 July 2009, Staples Center, Los Angeles, California, USA

All over the world today, people are gathered in love vigils to celebrate the life of a man that taught the world how to love.

People may be wondering why there’s such an emotional outburst. But you would have to understand the journey of Michael to understand what he meant to all of us. For these that sit here as the Jackson family -- a mother and father with nine children that rose from a working class family in Gary, Indiana -- they had nothing but a dream. No one believed in those days that these kind of dreams could come true. But they kept on believing and Michael never let the world turn him around from his dreams.

I first met Michael around 1970 -- Black Expo, Chicago, Illinois -- Reverend Jesse Jackson, who stood by this family till now, and from that day as a cute kid to this moment, he never gave up dreaming. It was that dream that changed culture all over the world. When Michael started, it was a different world. But because Michael kept going, because he didn’t accept limitations, because he refused to let people decide his boundaries, he opened up the whole world.

In the music world, he put on one glove, pulled his pants up and broke down the color curtain where now our videos are shown and magazines put us on the cover. It was Michael Jackson that brought Blacks and Whites and Asians and Latinos together. It was Michael Jackson that made us sing, "We are the World" and feed the hungry long before Live Aid.

Because Michael Jackson kept going, he created a comfort level where people that felt they were separate became interconnected with his music. And it was that comfort level that kids from Japan and Ghana and France and Iowa and Pennsylvania got comfortable enough with each other till later it wasn’t strange to us to watch Oprah on television. It wasn’t strange to watch Tiger Woods golf. Those young kids grew up from being teenage, comfortable fans of Michael to being 40 years old and being comfortable to vote for a person of color to be the President of the United States of America.

Michael did that. Michael made us love each other. Michael taught us to stand with each other. There are those that like to dig around mess. But millions around the world -- we’re going to uphold his message. It’s not about mess. It’s about his love message. As you climb up steep mountains, sometime[s] you scar your knee. Sometime[s] you break your skin. But don’t focus on the scars; focus on the journey. Michael beat ‘em. Michael rose to the top. He out-sang his cynics. He out-danced his doubters. He out-performed the pessimists. Every time he got knocked down, he got back up. Every time you counted him out, he came back in. Michael never stopped Michael never stopped. Michael never stopped.

I want to [s]ay to Mrs. Jackson and Joe Jackson, his sisters and brothers: We thank you for giving us someone that taught us love, someone that taught us hope. We want to thank you because we know it was your dream too.

We know that your heart is broken. I know you have some comfort from the letter from the President of the United States and Nelson Mandela. But this was your child. This was your brother. This was your cousin. Nothing will fill your hearts’ loss. But I hope the love that people are showing will make you know he didn’t live in vain. And I want his three children to know: Wasn’t nothing strange about your Daddy. It was strange what your Daddy had to deal with. But he dealt with it --

He dealt with it anyway.

He dealt with it for us.

So some came today, Mrs. Jackson, to say goodbye to Michael.

I came to say, thank you.

Thank you -- because you never stopped.

Thank you -- because you never gave up.

Thank you -- 'cause you never gave out.

Thank you -- 'cause you tore down our divisions.

Thank you -- because you eradicated barriers.

Thank you 'cause you gave us hope.

Thank you Michael. Thank you Michael. Thank you Michael.