Tito Jackson, brother of the late Michael Jackson and co-founder of the Jackson 5, has died. He was 70 years old.
His family made the stunning announcement Sunday.
“It’s with heavy hearts that we announce that our beloved father, Rock & Roll Hall of Famer Tito Jackson is no longer with us,” Tito’s sons TJ, Taj and Taryll said in a statement on Instagram. “We are shocked, saddened and heartbroken.”
While an official cause of death has yet to be determined, Steve Manning, former Jackson family manager, told Entertainment Tonight, he believed the pop icon died of a heart attack while driving from New Mexico to Oklahoma on Sunday.
Tito, born Toriano Adaryll “Tito” Jackson in October 1953 and the third of 10 children, was the least-heard member of the Jackson 5 as he was a backup singer and played guitar for the group, while his brothers Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, Marlon, and Michael were more prominently featured.
During their time as the Jackson 5, the family produced several No. 1 hits in the 1970s including “ABC,” “I Want You Back,” and “I’ll Be There.” They were inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 1997.
Tito was last seen in Munich, Germany, on September 9, prior to a scheduled performance with his brothers Jackie and Marlon Jackson. The trio have two more performances left on their 2024 tour, however it’s unclear how The Jacksons will handle the upcoming shows.
“Some of you may know him as Tito Jackson from the legendary Jackson 5, some may know him as ‘Coach Tito’ or some know him as ‘Poppa T.’ Nevertheless, he will be missed tremendously. It will forever be ‘Tito Time’ for us. Please remember to do what our father always preached and that is ‘Love One Another.’ We love you Pops,” his sons wrote on their own music group’s Instagram page.
It is devastating to hear the news about Tito Jackson. May he rest in peace, and may his family find comfort in knowing that so many people are thinking of them during this extremely difficult time.
I Allowed a Homeless Woman to Stay in My Garage—One Day I Walked in Unannounced and Was Shocked by What I Saw
I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
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