It's one of those events, like 9/11 or the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., that most people will remember where they were and what they were doing when it happened. I'm referring to the tragic death of the King of Pop, Michael Jackson, a musical genius who died on June 25 at the age of 50.

When I first saw the wire reports on my office computer that day that said he'd been rushed to the hospital after going into cardiac arrest, I said a prayer and thought, "Maybe the report was exaggerated and, if not, he's young and hopefully will be fine."

But he wasn't. Driving home later, I had just hung up from talking with my mom about it, when she called me back and in a distressed-sounding voice said, "Oh Gwen, he didn't make it." I couldn't believe it as she described photos being shown on the news of the mega star who captured the hearts of fans worldwide. "Oh, they're showing the photos of him as a little boy and a teenager with a big afro," she said.

Immediately pictures flashed in my mind of all of the countless photos of the Superstar that graced covers of Ebony and Jet magazines and especially the centerfolds in Right On! that I saved and often tacked on my bedroom wall when I was growing up. I recalled a nutmeg-colored face with an angelic smile that looked so different from the surgically altered face that graces publications and television screens today.

After signing off with my mom, I called my college friend, Lowonderful, in Charlotte. Before I could say anything she said, "Can you believe it? This doesn't seem real."

I agreed and in many respects it still doesn't seem real. Michael Jackson -- the icon that as a child I watched on Soul Train, whose music I danced to into adulthood, whose flawless dance moves the world imitated and whose music dominated record charts and influenced a new generation of artists -- is dead and his easily recognizable soprano voice has been silenced.

To be sure, he had faults in his personal life, but Michael Jackson still managed to touch the hearts of fans across racial lines worldwide in a way no other entertainer has done. That was so evident in the television footage shown on numerous marathon tributes to Jackson this weekend. From Asia, Africa, Central America and around the globe, fans shouted his name.

Watching the tributes with family members, we kept saying, "Wow, I forgot he did that song, or that video ... and that song for Free Willy."

"Michael was bad," my brother-in-law Carl said. "And remember, before Michael, MTV didn't play videos of black artists. He broke ground for a lot of groups," he said referring to Jackson's platinum single, Billie Jean, from the Thriller LP, that broke a racial barrier when MTV aired it.

We watched him in that famous red leather jacket he wore in the Thriller video. The jacket everybody had to have in leather or 'pleather.' I didn't have one, but I did have the military jacket with the gold trimming that I wore with gold or black pants, a black hat and, yes, I put on the loafers and white socks. Years later, I wore that same outfit to a Halloween party in Atlanta. People said I looked like Janet, but when I held up my one white glove, another Jackson trademark, they knew a Michael Jackson look-alike was in the house.

Driving home later, I listened to a Jackson marathon on the radio. I felt saddened when I heard his poignant song, Man In the Mirror, because although Jackson brought so much joy to others through his music, he lived a troubled life. It's a shame that those in his inner circle, for whatever reason, didn't do more to help this American legend get the help he obviously needed.

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