Quincy Jones, autobio Q, p. 243 1979

Michael was like a member of my family, a surrogate son. He spent many hours with my daughter, Kidada who was a precocious child of eight at the time. They adored each other and totally communicated despite the age difference (he was twenty then). Her mother once found a phone bill showing Kidada made ninety-one long-distance calls to Michael in a single month. She played the telephone like Herbie Hancock plays the keyboards

Michael came over to a party one day wearing his little Kangol hat and parked his new Rolls about three blocks down the street from my place. Him being from Gary, Indiana, and me being from Chicago, I knew what was on his mind when he went out my exit gate at 2 am and picked up a brick from the edge of my bushes. I said, Smelly, this ain’t Gary or Chicago. This is the safest street in LA.” That is so country, I’d tell him kiddingly, and he’d tee-hee (p. 242).]