Photos, underwear seized in Jackson case

Published in the Asbury Park Press 3/07/04

By MICHAEL RILEY
STAFF WRITER

Domenic Santana, former owner of the legendary Stone Pony in Asbury Park, has seen them all in show business, that business which there is no business like: the up-and-comers, the down-and-outers, the next big thing, last year's news, the has-beens and never-weres.

And no matter where you look on the Big Rock Candy Mountain that is stardom, you'll find raging egomaniacs at every step along the trail.

"I've seen local talent actually making it, and then they blew it with lifestyle and ego," Santana said. "They become lonely souls, shunned and without anybody to turn to."

On the other hand, he also has seen frustrated narcissists, the one-time headliners who find themselves booked into smaller and smaller venues, where the roar of the crowd becomes more like a murmur. They can be tough to deal with.

"These are the guys who think that they should still be on the top of the hill," he said. "But those days are over, and they can't deal with it."

Santana is a large and engaging man, somewhat of a local celebrity himself. Eating lunch at an Asbury Park deli, he can barely take a bite out of his cheeseburger without somebody coming up to chat or shake his hand. He had to take a quick lunch because he was involved somehow with Bruce Springsteen's charity shows at Convention Hall in early December.

There was, however, enough time for the Asbury Park impresario to wax eloquent about the role of Narcissus, the mythical guy who fell in love with his own reflection, in the music biz.

"I could tell you stories . . .," he said, the operative word being could. He doesn't want to dish too much: "I don't want to get into trouble."

But since the cat is already out of the bag when it comes to Russell Crowe's bad-boy image, both on movie sets and as front man for his band, 30 Odd Foot of Grunts, Santana is willing to allow that Crowe is "very high-maintenance."

"He demanded special teas, brands of soda not available in New Jersey, and an attitude of, 'Well, the show can't go on without it.' That right there is where egotism comes in."

An entourage for the ego

Santana maintains that when it comes to detecting massive egos, you need to look no further than the riders artists place in their contracts.

"It gets ludicrous," Santana said. "It gets to the point where you have to say, 'No, we're not putting a carton of cigarettes in your dressing room, we're not getting the special napkins.' You have to say, 'Look -- what do you really need? What is absolutely necessary?' "

Of course, what egotists really need, what is absolutely essential to feeling like the greatest thing since sliced bread, is other people telling them how wonderful they are. And not just when they are on stage, but all the time.

Enter the entourage.

"I call them 'yessums,' " Santana said. "Some stars find that they need to cocoon themselves with people who will reflect back to them their own ideas and sense. They come surrounded with personal trainers, 'spiritual advisers' and 'dietitians.' 'Dietitians?' They're glorified food tasters is what they are. All these people are there to establish a comfort level for the star. And what's in it for them is that they get to share the spotlight, because what they really want is to be the star themselves."

Santana has his own theories about the origins of egotism in the world of big-time celebrity. He likes to say that those who have gone through the gutter, who have been raised in the school of hard knocks, have a better chance of remaining grateful and humble in the face of fame and fortune than those who were born with a silver spoon in their mouths. But even there the odds are not good, Santana said. "Show business is an entitlement monster," is the way he puts it.

In other words, he said, all that money, all that attention, and people begin to believe that it is their due, that they are somehow better than the average person.

It has ever been thus, according to Santana.

"When I was 16, I was a busboy at the Stork Club in New York City. All the big stars were there -- Frank Sinatra, Sophia Loren -- and we were told that we could never look the stars in the eye," Santana said.

But at rock bottom, Santana maintains, it is the audience who helps give birth to the show-biz show-offs.

"Society demands so much from celebrities," he said. "Society glorifies them and yet makes excuses for the worst sort of behavior. The sheer pressure of that makes it tough for an art-ist, even one who wants to be treated like a normal person. Some stars need to create dra-matic scenes in their lives just to keep that special feeling go-ing."

Springsteen's humility

As far as Santana is concerned, there's no simple cure for the voracious egotism endemic to the divas and prima donnas of the footlights.

"Sometimes," he said, "one of them will have a rude awaken-ing, take a good look in the mirror, and come to realize that the way to be great is to always try to be better than what you are, to push yourself, to excel."

It doesn't happen very often.

Which is why Santana seems genuinely surprised to meet a megastar who is a truly nice guy.

"I don't know how Springsteen does it," Santana said, "without turning cold and heartless. Peo-ple can be so annoying, want-ing his time, wanting to touch him, demanding his space. But he is the humblest guy I ever met. Bruce gives more time and money to charity than any-body knows about. He's one of those angels you often don't see."

When Santana was nearly fin-ished with his lunch, his cell phone rang.

He took the call, said, "Yeah, OK" a couple of times and hung up.

Santana had to leave. There was something of a Convention Hall pre-sound-check emergen-cy.

"I have to go," he said. "Clarence Clemons needs a coat rack. There is no coat rack in his dressing room, and he doesn't want to put his coat down on a chair."

Santana shook his head, chuck-led, and headed out the deli door.

ASBURY PARK, March 3, 2004 -- A huge collection of memorabilia formerly belonging to Michael Jackson and his family was loaded into shipping containers today and is headed off to Europe after spending a year and a half in an Asbury Park warehouse.

The collection -- including stage costumes, photographs, documents and props -- is the largest accumulation of Jackson memorabilia in the world, according to city businessman Henry V. Vaccaro Sr. An unidentified buyer paid an undisclosed amount for the collection. Vaccaro said the purchaser will display the items in Europe and Japan.

Vaccaro, of Interlaken, acquired the collection after the Jackson family defaulted on payments owed to him. A company formed by the Jacksons agreed to buy Vaccaro's Kramer Guitar Co. a dozen years ago. Vaccaro obtained possession of the items after years of legal wrangling and the payment of a storage and shipping bill owed by the Jacksons to a California warehouse.

The Jackson family tried but failed to stop the takeover of the items, which were seized by federal marshals after Vaccaro's HVV Corp. obtained a $1.8 million judgment against Jackson Communications Inc. in 1996. The Jackson firm paid only $200,000 of the $1.5 million purchase price, according to Vaccaro. Vaccaro and his son Henry Jr. later founded Vaccaro Guitars Inc., a guitar manufacturer based in Asbury Park.

The Jackson collection had been stored since 2002 in 6,000 square feet of warehouse space at the guitar factory on Second Avenue before it was moved yesterday. Vaccaro said dozens of potential buyers viewed the items before a deal was made with the European buyer.