"She should have been made of iron or steel, but was only made of flesh and blood."
I saw that quote about Marilyn Monroe somewhere. I don’t remember where.
I typed it into my phone without noting who said it.
I wish I could remember who the author was so I could tip my hat to whoever was clever enough to share what might be the best insight into Marilyn I’ve read.
I have had a soft spot in my heart for Marilyn Monroe ever since I first recall her walking into my consciousness. I began to focus on her the first time I saw Misfits.
She had died by the time I saw the film.
I didn’t know she was dead when I opened up to her in the darkness of the theater.
I was younger than now and full of film buffery!
To see a film written by Arthur Miller, directed by John Houston and staring Marilyn Monroe, Clark Gable, Montgomery Clift, Thelma Ritter, Kevin McCarthy and Eli Wallach was too much to pass up.
I remember going to the Vogue Theater, on Sacramento Street, in San Francisco to see it one wintery afternoon.
None of my friends wanted to go with me, as they thought it was going to be some lame cowboy movie.
To say I fell in love would not be quite accurate. It was more and less than that as I stared up at the screen.
I felt like I knew her.
I knew I wanted to be with her.
I felt like I wanted to tell her she was okay and everything would be just fine.
I felt sad!
Back then I didn’t pay enough attention to my first reactions to understand what was wandering through me.
To know what I might know now was waiting for me years in the future.
I felt betrayed that she was dead.
I had just discovered her and she was gone before I could catch a breath.
I spent a lot of my spare time watching all her films and reading everything I could about her.
I felt like I had lost a friend.
I never shared any of this with anyone.
I knew what my guy friends would say and I didn’t want to hear those kinds of remarks about her.
I thought if I said anything about my feelings to any lady friends they would think I was a typical knuckle dragging lustful dolt hot for Marilyn Monroe.
I knew better.
Time went by with Marilyn exiting to the back room in my mind.
Last week I fought my resistance to inviting her back into my minds eye and went to see, “My Week with Marilyn.”
I wish I were Colin Clark!
I wanted him, me, to go to the mat for her and drag her away from the hell that was waiting for her just down the road.
I know her story and knew he wouldn’t do that and save the day for me and everyone else that had opened up to that vulnerability that flashed through the mask she wore.
If I remember a line in the film correctly, Colin says to her, “Why don’t you just quit being Marilyn Monroe?”
They were in a limo taking off for some get away time.
My mind was flooded when he asked the question.
I’ll have to see the film again to see if she replied-
I don’t think she did.
For the last few days I’ve been trying to find that just right photo of her.
The one I see when I think of her.
I haven’t been able to find the one I’m looking for even after way too much time looking online, in bookstores and at the library.
I’ll settle for the one of her in the “Mexican Sweater.” It shows her as I think of her.
Lonely, scared, immensely sad, injured, abandoned, aware of her appeal, slightly hopeful, incredible beautiful, soft as the wind of butterflies, and incredibly tired.
Tired of being the object of desire to so many who would use her and move on with barely a glimpse back at the carnage they piled on-
My 13-year-old grandson has a photo of Marilyn on his wall.
I am not sure he knows why he does, but I’m willing to surmise he sees what I did way back when-
That makes me feel good-