Michael Jackson looked different. It had been only a month since my last meeting with him but his face had been altered, his skin lighter, his nose smaller.

Compared with the handsome young man he had been, he was starting to look downright weird. “What are you doing to yourself?”

“I never liked the way I looked,” he said. “Now I do.”

“Fine, but enough’s enough.”

“When I was a kid, my brothers teased me to death. They taunted me about my bad skin and my big nose.”

“So now you have good skin and a little nose. Leave yourself alone, Michael.”

“Surgeons these days can do wonderful things. They can perform miracles. They’re like sculptors.”

“Except you’re not made of clay. You’re a nice-looking guy. You don’t want to look like a piece of sculpture.”

Michael's story was intertwined with my own as president of CBS Records. In my first year in the job, 1975, two brilliant promo men, Ron Alexenburg and Steve Popovich, were excited about the Jackson 5 who, after years of hits, were ready to leave Motown. The boys’ manager and dad, Joe Jackson, wanted big money.

The show was less than spectacular. The bright spot was 16-year-old Michael, who was lit from within. I okayed the deal. The Jackson 5 were my first signing.

A couple of years or so later, Michael came to see me. He’d grown a few inches. I saw a tall, good-looking 19-year-old with an easy smile and ingratiating manner.

“I want to do a solo album,” he said, “but my family feels we should do another Jackson record first. I want to honour my family’s wishes. But I want to write and produce the record myself.” I decided to take a chance.

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