Enough, already, with the odes to Michael Jackson. Enough talk of his
unparalleled artistic legacy, his transformative effect on American culture,
his awe-inspiring megastar status. Jackson was a talented, popular performer.
He was also a deeply troubled man better known in recent decades for pedophilia
allegations and addictions to plastic surgery and painkillers than for his
professional accomplishments.

It is unsurprising that Jackson, a lifelong publicity magnet, would command the
international spotlight in the wake of his untimely death. Yet even by the
exaggerated standards of show business and today's 24/7 cable news culture — in
which a story's importance is inversely proportionate to the amount of media
attention it gets — Jackson's posthumous farewell tour has lasted
excruciatingly long.

Since the 50-year-old singer died two weeks ago, mainstream media outlets have
inundated us daily with looped footage of his music videos, ponderous
reminiscences about his historical importance and solemn coverage of even the
most maudlin and bizarre aspects of his public memorials.

Those suffering from Jackson Fatigue Syndrome may have hoped that the
wall-to-wall coverage of Tuesday's star-studded tribute to the singer in Los
Angeles would mark the end of the media fawning. But Jackson mania shows few
signs of abating, perhaps for the same reasons that the pop star was such a
pitiable figure in real life. Jackson was the attention-addicted Peter Pan of
American pop culture, a man-child mega-celebrity who refused to grow up. And
while refusing to grow up may make you miserable in your private life, it pays
big dividends in media exposure — even after death.

Consider the case of Princess Diana, whose death in 1997 was followed a few
days later by the death of Mother Teresa of Calcutta. Diana's passing prompted
a months-long orgy of mawkish and histrionic media coverage centering on the
accomplishments of a woman best known for her romantic troubles and fashion
prowess. The passing of Mother Teresa, by contrast, drew only a fraction of
that media attention.

While reporters gushed over Diana's shy smile and habit of hugging AIDS
patients during photo ops — a gracious gesture, no doubt — the far more
significant humanitarian contributions of Mother Teresa got lost in the media
mix. Sure, Mother Teresa was a Nobel Peace Prize winner who spent decades
nursing lepers in the slums of Calcutta, founded a worldwide community of
missionaries dedicated to serving the poorest of the poor and used every public
platform she could to promote peace and respect for all human life. This "saint
of the gutters" was the gold to Diana's glitter. But when it comes to winning
the world's attention — or, at least, the lion's share of media eulogies in the
wake of one's death — glitter trumps gold.

The good news is that gold eventually gets its due. Millions of fans still
fondly remember the "People's Princess" and snatch up kiss-and-tell books about
Diana's many tumultuous affairs. But the more we learn about the inner lives of
celebrities like Diana and Jackson, the less most of us want to imitate them.
Thrashed about by the winds of fame and still clinging to the whims of youth,
these tragic figures and their reputations rarely age as well as grown-ups like
Mother Teresa — those less flashy, more substantial souls whose profound impact
on the world often takes decades to fully reveal itself.

When the media circus surrounding Jackson's death finally comes to a close,
maybe we will notice another grown-up or two whose quiet passing we have
overlooked in recent days, while we were fixating on a fantasy hero whose
legacy likely will prove as fleeting as fame itself.

Colleen Carroll Campbell is an author, television and radio host and St.
Louis-based fellow at the Ethics and Public Policy Center. Her website is
www.colleen-campbell.com.