Bizarre goings on outside Jackson trial courthouse

As the world waits for a verdict in Michael Jackson’s child sex abuse trial the atmosphere outside the courthouse swings between the calm and the surreal.

Journalists and fans from all over the world mingle outside the Santa Maria Court, California, with just one thing in common – to watch and wait.

“Hey MJ lovers, come on!” one supporter yells, leading the rest in a rousing chant.

“He’s like a blood brother to me, we are his lifeline,” said 47-year-old Maggie Defaria from San Diego. “We are his hope and strength, no-one else cares about him. Without us he would get really sick and would not be able to function.”

Jackson, as it happens, is not here to witness such scenes. He is 40 miles away at this Neverland Ranch, where he has been told he can stay until there is a verdict.

Outside Neverland a gaggle of fans has kept a nightly vigil, carefully monitoring who comes and goes, shouting support each time the singer’s black SUV glides up the driveway.

One has 11 white doves: “One for each count and one for Michael,” she says, “to be released as each innocent verdict comes in.”

Andre White, 23, has scrawled his support all over his body, which he displays with pride. “Michael’s innocent, there is not a doubt in my mind he will walk free,” he says.

A small café located directly behind the court blasts Jackson’s Thriller album out onto the street.

The café has done a roaring trade over the last four months, catering to a non-stop flow of journalists from dawn every morning.

It is selling T-shirts emblazoned with the logo: “I went to Santa Maria: Home of the Jackson trial.”

The café’s manager, Melody Bunanglhe, says: “This has been the biggest thing that has ever happened to us. It has quadrupled business and put this small town on the map. We are going to miss everyone when it’s over.”

The road outside is lined with police vehicles and barriers. A Jackson lookalike strolls past under an umbrella as a local farmer arrives, hawking his home-made luffa sponges.

Santa Maria Courtroom, a relatively small, wooden building, has been transformed into a media Mecca.

Broadcast trucks topped with huge satellites line the car park. Next to the portable toilets, a row of makeshift tents house scores of journalists, some seasoned court veterans who can’t help but compare the experience to the OJ Simpson case, others are from such far-flung places as Poland and Japan.

Perched behind rows of microphones and cameras, they are getting their faces powdered and broadcasting live to the world from before day-break.

The most prepared camera crews lounge on deckchairs, discussing who has received the most abuse from the media-hating fans.

Print media are asked to pay a daily £35 impact fee to be put towards the estimated £1.3 million cost of the trial to Santa Barbara County.

The buzz of chat and speculation grows wilder as each hour passes, the jury of eight women and four men seated together deliberating just yards away.

The fans outside the gates are alternately sombre and excitable. They line the grass verge along the roadside, proudly displaying flags and banners.

A handful has flown from Britain. Peter Scott, from London, is wrapped in the Union Jack. He has travelled back and forth three times since the trial began.

“It’s important that he sees the support,” he says. “Michael’s done so much for other people and now he’s down we have to be there for him.”

In a brief surreal moment, Jackson’s father, Joe, suddenly arrives, yelling: “Where’s my son?”

Mobbed by fans, cameramen and journalists brandishing microphones, a scuffle ensues, punches are thrown and the scene gets ugly for a few minutes before calm resumes.

According to Jackson’s spokeswoman, Raymone Bain, Joe Jackson had driven past Neverland, noticed the fleet of cars had gone and headed straight to the courtroom.

The cars, apparently, were at the car wash.

The madness continues.