In Photos: Michael ...Jackson driving with his niece
Michael usually drove himself to Kingdom Hall and his field-service
routes. He’d finally gotten his driver’s license in 1981, at the age of twenty-
three. Initially he didn’t want to learn to drive.
“I’ll just get a chauffeur when I want to go out,” he said when I began
nagging him about getting his license.
“But suppose you’re someplace and your chauffeur gets sick?” I reasoned.
Finally, he relented and took some lessons.
After he began driving, Michael decided that he enjoyed being behind the
wheel, after all. The first time he took me for a ride, he ventured up to
Mulholland Drive, a winding road in the Hollywood Hills. It was a hair-
raising experience.
“I’ve got a crook in my neck and my feet hurt,” LaToya, who was also in
the car, complained afterward. “I was putting on the brakes’ with my feet and
‘steering’ the car with my neck trying to keep it on the road. I was so scared!”
It was white-knuckle time for me, too. Michael drove fast. He also had the
same habit that I have: driving right up to the car in front and stopping on a
dime.
After that, Michael started going out by himself.
“You shouldn’t go out alone,” I told him. “Get Bill Bray to go with you.”
But Michael wouldn’t hear of it. “I’m tired of having security with me
every time I go someplace.”
When he began driving, Michael told me that he would never go on
freeways; he thought they were too dangerous. So I was shocked one day
when Michael suddenly drove us onto a freeway ramp.
“Wait a minute, Michael, what are you doing?”
“I can drive the freeways now!” he said, laughing. He had changed his
mind about freeways when he saw just how long it took him to get around Los
Angeles without using them.
Michael’s first car was a Mercedes. Then he bought a black Rolls-Royce,
which he later painted blue.
It was in the Rolls that he was stopped one day -- not for fans outside the
gate, but by a Van Nuys policeman.
“This looks like a stolen car,” the officer said. He didn’t recognise
Michael, who wasn’t wearing a disguise that day.
Michael explained politely that he did, indeed, own the car. But the officer
went ahead and ran a check on the car, and found that Michael had a ticket
outstanding.
The next thing Michael knew, he was sitting in the Van Nuys jail.
Bill Bray bailed him out. I didn’t even know what had happened until he
came home.
“You should have asked the officer what a stolen car looks like,” I said
after he related his adventure. Perhaps the cop had felt that a young black man
didn’t belong behind the wheel of a Rolls.
But Michael was not only put out by the experience, he professed to be
happy.
“I got to see how it felt to be in jail!” he exclaimed.
source: Katherine Jackson's "My Family"See More
By: MJJOnlineVEVO
<br />Who is the black lady with the blonde hair that be with MJ? I've seen her with him quite a few times.
<br /><br />Raymone Bain?<br />She was his lawyer or publicist ..something like that for a while... i emailed her once with a letter to send to michael.. she said shes forwarded it to him... then i found out she wasnt working for him anymore... wonder if he got it <!-- s:roll: -->:roll:<!-- s:roll: --> <br /><br />L.O.V.E
The pics with the snake.....I hate snakes but Mike likes to have a snake around ...actually he's looking at the snake with L.O.V.E. AMAZING <!-- s:shock: -->:shock:<!-- s:shock: -->
lolol/ I love the story about him driving. He is so cute ) I'm so sad that I can't see the other pictures though...they won't show up on my computer :'(
Comments
My sweet beautiful angel, miss u so much...
I didn't know MJ knew him!! Do you know how they know each other? <!-- s:shock: -->:shock:<!-- s:shock: --> <!-- s:? -->:?<!-- s:? -->
Thanks for these amazing beautiful pics!!!!!
How do I open these?? If I click on them they don't open...
By their father, Julio Iglesias.
Michael usually drove himself to Kingdom Hall and his field-service
routes. He’d finally gotten his driver’s license in 1981, at the age of twenty-
three. Initially he didn’t want to learn to drive.
“I’ll just get a chauffeur when I want to go out,” he said when I began
nagging him about getting his license.
“But suppose you’re someplace and your chauffeur gets sick?” I reasoned.
Finally, he relented and took some lessons.
After he began driving, Michael decided that he enjoyed being behind the
wheel, after all. The first time he took me for a ride, he ventured up to
Mulholland Drive, a winding road in the Hollywood Hills. It was a hair-
raising experience.
“I’ve got a crook in my neck and my feet hurt,” LaToya, who was also in
the car, complained afterward. “I was putting on the brakes’ with my feet and
‘steering’ the car with my neck trying to keep it on the road. I was so scared!”
It was white-knuckle time for me, too. Michael drove fast. He also had the
same habit that I have: driving right up to the car in front and stopping on a
dime.
After that, Michael started going out by himself.
“You shouldn’t go out alone,” I told him. “Get Bill Bray to go with you.”
But Michael wouldn’t hear of it. “I’m tired of having security with me
every time I go someplace.”
When he began driving, Michael told me that he would never go on
freeways; he thought they were too dangerous. So I was shocked one day
when Michael suddenly drove us onto a freeway ramp.
“Wait a minute, Michael, what are you doing?”
“I can drive the freeways now!” he said, laughing. He had changed his
mind about freeways when he saw just how long it took him to get around Los
Angeles without using them.
Michael’s first car was a Mercedes. Then he bought a black Rolls-Royce,
which he later painted blue.
It was in the Rolls that he was stopped one day -- not for fans outside the
gate, but by a Van Nuys policeman.
“This looks like a stolen car,” the officer said. He didn’t recognise
Michael, who wasn’t wearing a disguise that day.
Michael explained politely that he did, indeed, own the car. But the officer
went ahead and ran a check on the car, and found that Michael had a ticket
outstanding.
The next thing Michael knew, he was sitting in the Van Nuys jail.
Bill Bray bailed him out. I didn’t even know what had happened until he
came home.
“You should have asked the officer what a stolen car looks like,” I said
after he related his adventure. Perhaps the cop had felt that a young black man
didn’t belong behind the wheel of a Rolls.
But Michael was not only put out by the experience, he professed to be
happy.
“I got to see how it felt to be in jail!” he exclaimed.
source: Katherine Jackson's "My Family"See More
By: MJJOnlineVEVO
Thanks for posting that ^ <!-- s:) -->:)<!-- s:) -->
Love'em
Thanks for sharing....... <!-- smj_bad/ -->mj_bad/<!-- smj_bad/ -->
oh mygosh not this picture again. I seriously don't think it's Michael. look at his eyesss ! akdfhajskfhksdjfhkjs
Oh wow... I doubt Michael would take pictures like a teenage girl. If it is him, he has the same phone as me. <!-- s:D -->:D<!-- s:D --> heehee.
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Ooops, posted twice!
The pics with the snake.....I hate snakes but Mike likes to have a snake around ...actually he's looking at the snake with L.O.V.E. AMAZING <!-- s:shock: -->:shock:<!-- s:shock: -->