Michael Jackson Taught Me the Power of Humility in 1983

I was seventeen years of age when I enlisted in the United States Navy. For someone itching to throw off the shackles of a small-town, the armed service was the fastest way out. See the World! Not that there was anything wrong with life in my hometown. It was clean and quiet and, for a kid who loved spending time outside fishing and hiking and exploring, it was an ideal environment. But I was seventeen—seventeen!—and there wasn’t enough space in the lopsided polygon of Oakham, Massachusetts to hold me and my ambitions.

During those seventeen years I’d gotten outside of my rural confines a few times. Not counting regular trips to Worcester for church and shopping, I’d taken a couple field trips to Boston and visited family in Pennsylvania. I vaguely recall one trip to Washington, DC where I’m told I was disappointed that Smokey the Bear was not at the national zoo. We vacationed nearly every summer at my grandparents’ house in Nova Scotia and one year we even drove to Alberta, Canada in a Ford Econoline.

Those experiences aside, what I knew of the world came to me through (pre-cable) television, the Worcester Evening Gazette, and radio. I loved radio and mostly listened to two stations. Talk broadcast legend Larry Glick entertained me at night on WBZ, and during the day I listened to rock and roll on WAAF. My cultural exposure existed in a happy, isolated, and narrow band.

That band widened considerably when I arrived at boot camp in San Diego in October of 1983. Suddenly I found myself in a barracks full of kids from every corner and cultural background of the country, as well as a number of recruits from the Philippines. Our focus on acquiring military bearing, working as a unit, and becoming sailors ready for the fleet occupied most of our long days. One afternoon late in our training a number of us were outside scrubbing our Dixie cups and shooting the breeze when a fellow recruit named Wilcher started raving about Michael Jackson and what a talent he was.

“Michael Jackson?” I shouted, incredulous. “What are you talking about?”

Wilcher turned toward me, agape, and stated that Michael Jackson was one of the biggest recording stars in the world, but I was having none of it.

“Man, Michael Jackson hasn’t done anything since Alpha Bits.”

It was a confident and biting riposte and it had its intended effect of silencing Wilcher, who shook his head and went on scrubbing his cover like the rest of us. But his silence wasn’t that of someone who’d been put in their place. Instead, Wilcher wisely realized there was no use disagreeing with me. I was adamant in my ignorance and as Mark Twain once said, “Never argue with a fool. Onlookers may not be able to tell the difference.”

I would not remain ignorant for long, however. A few weeks later, after finishing basic training and moving on to intelligence school (yes, intelligence school) in Denver, Colorado, I was introduced to the wonders of cable television and MTV, and nightclubs. It immediately became evident that Michael Jackson was more than just a big star, but was an omnipresent cultural phenomenon.

At some point after America’s bicentennial celebration Michael Jackson had gone from being the voice of a Motown brother act to become the biggest thing in music. Jackson’s 1979 release, Off the Wall, was a multiplatinum hit that sold more than 20 million copies worldwide. And in 1982, Thriller would become an even bigger smash, selling more than 60 million copies. I had no idea that either album even existed.

That experience has stuck with me all these years later, and any time I catch myself feeling a little too cocksure in my opinion, that memory is a good reminder that humility is almost always the right choice. If I have a strong belief in an approach to a project I’m working on for a client, there might still be a key piece of information I’m lacking that will make all the difference. And even if I am right, it’s better to help others find their way to the answer than to be smug and act like a pompous ass.

No one likes working with a smug, pompous ass.

The prevailing impulse to deliver a hot take may be fine for sports talk radio, but it does no good when crafting a strong, cogent argument. Creativity and a sharp wit are important to writing content that is both interesting and informative, but these should never be mistaken for caustic sarcasm. And yes, context matters. If we get caught up in our own narrow band of experience, we deny ourselves an opportunity to broaden our perspective, expand our reach, and produce good writing that engages an audience.

I flatter myself by wondering if Wilcher ever thinks back to 1983 and laughs, as I do, at the rube who was blissfully ignorant of the biggest thing in pop music at the time. If I ever have the chance, I’d like to thank him for his restraint, and for his role in my learning an important lesson in humility. If our paths ever cross again, I’ll buy him a drink; or at least pour him a bowl of Alpha Bits.