(CNN) -- Tito Joseph "TJ" Jackson, who on Wednesday was named temporary guardian of Michael Jackson's three children, was inspired by his famous uncle to form a singing group with his brothers. TJ had been placed in charge of the children when the kids' grandmother, Katherine, left home on July 15 and will watch the children while the legal proceedings play out in a California court. TJ Jackson, 34, is the son of Tito Jackson and the late Delores Martes Jackson. TJ and his older brothers, Taj and Taryll, form the R&B group 3T. Jackson is married with three children, a boy and two girls. Judge suspends Katherine Jackson as guardian of Michael Jackson's children A 1995 article in People described the brothers' childhood as normal despite their famous father, uncle and aunts. Taj Jackson told the magazine: "My mom made sure that we had a real childhood, with birthday parties, baseball, family outings, all that stuff." They were close to their Uncle Michael. "He's like a third parent to us," Taj told People in 1995. Eventually the brothers went along on one of his tours and decided to form a singing group and were recording their first album in 1994 at the time of their mother's death. Initially it was believed Delores Martes Jackson, who had divorced from Tito Jackson in 1993, drowned in a swimming pool, but the case was reopened, and her sons in 1995 filed a wrongful-death lawsuit against a man they accused of killing her. Three years later, Donald Bohana was convicted of second-degree murder and sentenced to 15 years to life in prison, according to People magazine. 
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Answer: Who's like a third parent?

One look at Fred Rooney, and you just know he's the good guy. A trace of childish innocence in his face gives the lanky Bethlehem lawyer a Jimmy Stewart-like quality of quiet trust. In black jeans and button-down shirt, he's a kind of folk hero in the south Bethlehem melting pot where he's crafted a law practice catering to working-class families - mostly Latino - in the shadow of the hulkish remnants of Bethlehem Steel. A two-hour drive away, at City University of New York Law School in Queens, Rooney spends several days a week helping upstart lawyers develop storefront practices that, like his, provide legal representation to folks who can't afford a $250-an-hour legal counselor. Kristin Booth Glen, the law school's dean, took one look at Rooney and knew he was the right person to head the innovative Community Legal Resources Network. ''Fred's so low-key, he's Midwestern in effect,'' says Glen, a former New York Supreme Court judge. ''He captivates people, he inspires loyalty.'' For bringing legal representation to the poor and a host of other social causes, including finding medical care for seriously ill children in Latin America, the Moravian College Alumni Association has chosen Rooney for its prestigious Haupert Humanitarian Award. The award, given to only a select few alumni, will be presented at 7:30 tonight at a reception on Moravian's Priscilla Payne Hurd campus. Moravian, where he was an undergraduate in the early 1970s, inspired Rooney's deep sense of social justice. The son of a Bethlehem Steel executive in New York, he came to the Bethlehem campus from an affluent upbringing on Long Island. The young Rooney might have set his sights on Washington, D.C., like his uncle, former U.S. Rep. Fred Rooney of Bethlehem. After all, politics run in the Rooney family. His brother, state Rep. T.J. Rooney of Bethlehem, is a power in the state Legislature and the Democratic Party. But on a trip to Colombia when he was a junior at Moravian, the child of privilege saw human suffering, malnutrition and poverty the likes of which he had never imagined. ''I couldn't understand why we live this way and they live that way,'' Rooney recalled. ''It's been the guiding light of my life ever since.'' After graduating in CUNY Law School's first class in 1986, he took a job with Lehigh Valley Legal Services. 
What question would one ask from this paragraph?
Answer: Kristin Booth Glen is the dean of which law school?

Still untaken are several steps that required goodwill from local bar associations and others who had opposed the combination. "[I am] not a fan of Neal's," admitted John Peck, a former board member of the San Gabriel-Pomona Valley program and a Pasadena Bar Association board member. Peck says bad feelings still linger among Ailies of the old program who feel left out. "They really screwed us. We had a good program," Peck said. An observer familiar with the reconfiguration debate who requested anonymity wondered why Dudovitz had not spent more time mending fences. "He ought to be bending over backwards for reconciliation, but if you want to do impact work and people in the San Gabriel Valley want direct services, you have to accommodate that or change your approach," the observer said. "Neal would never consider doing that." More than a year after he officially incorporated the San Gabriel-Pomona Valley, Dudovitz had not placed a local resident on the board of Neighborhood Legal Services or made the rounds of the private legal community to recruit the volunteer lawyers. "Our emphasis has been on having our potential clients know about us and deliver services to them," Dudovitz said. "We have done that spectacularly." He did not hire any of the old program's nine lawyers and has yet to permanently place any of his 18 new hires in the San Gabriel-Pomona Valley. The lack of a legal aid presence in Pomona prompted the bar association and court officials to start their own once-monthly family law clinic. After learning of the effort, Dudovitz sent personnel to staff the clinic for three hours per week and is helping to write a grant application to fund a self-help kiosk for Pomona patterned on the center he pioneered in Van Nuys. The help, although late, has earned Dudovitz some appreciation. "There has been a transition and [the clinic] has helped to fill some void," said Deni Butler, administrator for the Eastern District Superior Court. "But we are working together quite nicely contrary to what the other side issue is." Scott Wheeler, president of the Eastern Bar Association of Los Angeles and an ally of the old program, said he mobilized his 200 members to staff the clinic after watching the ranks of unserved poor grow over the past year. 
What question would one ask from this paragraph?
Answer:
An observer stated: "He ought to be bending over backwards for reconciliation." Who is the observer referring to?