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Marilyn Monroe

Page 29

by Michelle Morgan


  On 18 November, during a last public appearance in England, the Millers attended an intellectual discussion at the Royal Court Theatre. The event was supposed to be dedicated to the state of British drama, but was quickly transformed into a war of words between authors Colin Wilson and Wolf Mankowitz. The two writers had opposing views on most subjects, leaving the other members of the discussion panel, Arthur Miller, Kenneth Tynan and Benn Levy, lost for words. Sitting on the fourth row and dressed demurely in a black suit, Mrs Miller looked tired but calm as the discussion took place on stage. Wolf Mankowitz remembered there being a great deal of excitement when Marilyn entered the building, as once again there were rumours abounding that the star was pregnant. He recalled that there was a lot of fuss in order to find her a seat, and many people were ‘running around as if she were about to have a baby on the spot’.

  Having been brought in to discuss great British drama, Mankowitz was disappointed to discover that Marilyn’s presence destroyed the point of the occasion, as the audience was far more interested in trying to see her, and Arthur Miller seemed so preoccupied that he could hardly concentrate on the discussion at all. Still, Mankowitz managed to say a few words to Marilyn at the end of the discussion, although he remembered she wasn’t too communicative – something he put down to the rumoured pregnancy.

  Colin Wilson also remembered meeting Marilyn in the backstage of the theatre, after the discussion had ended. By this time the crowds had become huge outside, so Wilson found himself helping the Millers make their escape by the back door, and recalled Marilyn grabbing his hand during the ensuing escape.

  A few days before Marilyn was due to leave England, she bid farewell to her pianist Alan, and presented him with a pen and pencil set and a card. But while Alan would forever hold his brief friendship with Marilyn in his heart, it wasn’t all a positive experience for him. ‘Working for Marilyn caused so much spite for my home life, with people asking “why him?” so my family clammed up about it. I went to see The Prince and the Showgirl but nothing else – we just didn’t talk about it; it was a non-subject.’

  On 20 November 1956, the events of the previous four months finally came to an end for Marilyn, too. She said goodbye to her staff, bid farewell to the baby fish she’d befriended in the Parkside fish tank and climbed into her car for the last time.

  She surprised everyone by arriving at the airport on time, and a scheduled press conference was held at 6.15 p.m., but contrary to the huge excitement that erupted when Marilyn arrived, her departure was treated in very unflattering terms. There were comments about her untidy hair; snide observations about the lack of autograph hunters at the airport; and absurd remarks about her intellect, with one newspaper commenting that she mentioned Charles Dickens ‘as if she read books every day’.

  Photographer Horace Ward, who snapped two pictures of Marilyn that day, recalls: ‘I remember a crowded press conference in the old tin-hut terminal with dreadful drab green curtains they had up as a backcloth, which everyone moaned about. There were hardly any fans around; it was mostly airport staff and a few police.’

  Before Marilyn climbed the steps, she told reporters how reluctant she was to leave the country, that she had enjoyed meeting the Queen, and took pleasure in attending the opening of Arthur’s play. She even tried to dampen the rumours of a rift between herself and Olivier, by stating that there had been difficulties on the set, but no more than usual.

  Olivier returned the compliment by declaring that Marilyn was a wonderful girl; he was delighted with the film, and he’d do it all over again if he had to. Whether or not this was true is another matter, since when he later travelled to New York to show the film to Jack Warner, he made it very clear that the event was to be completely private, and Marilyn herself did not receive an invitation.

  Perhaps it is best left to Marilyn to sum up her experiences of the England trip. When asked about it some years later, she exclaimed, ‘It seemed to be raining the whole time. Or maybe it was me.’

  Chapter 17

  Mrs Miller

  1957 was to be a year of new beginnings for Marilyn and Arthur. After a brief honeymoon in Jamaica, they decided to modernize a home in Roxbury, just down the road from Miller’s old house, and also leased an apartment at 444 East 57th Street, New York, where they settled down to a ‘normal’ life. In fact so ‘normal’ was their time in New York, that Marilyn later commented to columnist Elsa Maxwell that, ‘No one ever notices us, no one pays any attention to us any more. Arthur and I can walk in the streets and no one bothers us.’

  The new apartment was located just yards from her old home at Sutton Place, and Marilyn began redecorating: painting almost every room white; taking out the wall between the living and dining rooms; hanging a portrait of Abraham Lincoln on the wall; and making sure her childhood piano had pride of place.

  She threw herself into the role of housewife: ‘I get up every morning and fix his breakfast. It’s a wonderful thing to know you’re looking after somebody. There’s this wonderful cookbook I’m reading called ‘The Joy of Cooking’. I read it every day. Oh, I’m learning!’

  The result of all this was that her husband gained eighteen pounds during the first six months of their marriage, leading his doctor to request he cut down on his intake of fatty foods. When asked why he had gained so much, Miller declared, ‘Her cooking and general contentment.’

  ‘I’m mad about this man,’ Marilyn told reporters in 1957. ‘I never felt before that I had roots; that I had a home life. Fine discovery to make at my age! Arthur has caused me to change. Playwrights are interested in everything about life, and all people. Since I’ve been married to Art, life’s a lot bigger for me.’

  As well as playing housewife, Marilyn also spent time writing poetry, riding her bicycle along the East River, playing tennis and pottering around the household department at Bloomingdale’s. ‘I have no sales resistance when it comes to anything for the house – especially when there’s a sale,’ she later said. ‘I’ll go absolutely berserk buying furniture, garden implements, seed for birds and clothes for Arthur.’ She also enjoyed seeking out his favourite foods, and was excited one day in Bloomingdale’s when she overheard two old ladies discussing the merits of a sausage shop they had once frequented on Third Avenue. Rushing from the store, she jumped in a taxi and headed to the shop, only to find that it had been demolished and replaced with a parking lot. Disappointed she returned home empty-handed.

  But there were also more serious issues to attend to, such as continuing her acting classes with the Strasbergs; getting to know her secretary, May Reis; and taking therapy sessions with a new psychiatrist. Marianne Kris had been born in Vienna fifty-seven years earlier, and had lost her husband on 27 February 1957, just weeks before Marilyn’s first therapy session. Anna Freud had recommended her to Marilyn, but the relationship would be a volatile one, with devastating consequences just a few years later.

  Despite continuing to pose for Milton Greene’s still-camera, the gaps began to widen in their relationship and Marilyn decided she wanted him out of Marilyn Monroe Productions. The last straw came when she decided she disliked the idea of Greene being credited as executive producer of The Prince and the Showgirl. She held an emergency meeting with the directors of the company, then on 11 April she released a statement which said she was never informed that Milton had elected himself to the position of executive producer of The Prince and the Showgirl. She went on to say that the company was formed to make better pictures and improve her work, but instead she had had to defend her aims and interests against the demands of Greene himself.

  Quite unnecessarily, Greene had lost his job, but he refused to believe that Marilyn could have had anything to do with his departure, blaming Miller instead for her change of attitude. When they sat down to discuss the matter, Greene surprised everyone by only asking for the return of his original investment of $100,000, and when the contract was finally dissolved, he was devastated.

  Speaking about a fai
led business relationship a little later, Marilyn said: ‘I went along with it as far as I could, but you get to a point where – well enough is enough! At that moment I couldn’t believe it was happening, but for the first time in my life I really yelled my head off!’ She had not been specific but everyone knew to what she was referring.

  While all this was going on, rumours abounded that Marilyn was expecting Miller’s child, with both newspapers and magazines providing ‘exclusive’ details. On 22 March, after it had been rumoured that Marilyn turned down a part in the MGM film, The Brothers Karamazov, because she was pregnant, she released a statement: ‘I have nothing to say at this time. I am sure that everyone will agree that some things are private matters.’

  Two months later, President of Twentieth Century Fox, Spyros Skouras, flew to New York to try and convince Miller to name communist sympathizers during his forthcoming court appearance. He was unsuccessful, and just days later the Millers travelled to Washington, DC, in order to fight the contempt of Congress charge, staying at the home of Arthur’s friend and lawyer, Joe Rauh, and his wife Olie. While Miller and Joe went to court, Marilyn’s days were simple and quiet: she would read; ride a bicycle; and occasionally iron Arthur’s shirts; but mainly she would potter around and wait for Arthur to come home.

  By the time the trial was over, Miller had been found guilty on two counts of contempt and immediately launched an appeal. Federal Judge Charles F. McLaughlin withheld sentencing, but reporters were quick to declare that he could face up to a year in prison and a $1,000 fine for each count. Marilyn faced reporters wearing gloves to hide her unmanicured nails, and told them she was, ‘pretty confident that in the end my husband will win this case.’ She refused to comment on the persistent rumour that she was pregnant, and instead left Washington with Miller, bound for their 57th Street, New York apartment.

  In early June, Marilyn welcomed several reporters into her home, including Herbert Kamm and Hal Boyle, who both interviewed her on the subject of The Prince and the Showgirl and her life in New York. Marilyn instructed them that there were three subjects off-limits: religion, politics and pregnancy, but opened up about other aspects of her life. ‘The thing I’m scared of most is myself,’ she said, ‘But I do feel I’ve grown both as an actress and a person, and I hope I’ll keep growing.’

  On 13 June Marilyn and Arthur attended the premiere of The Prince and the Showgirl at Radio City Music Hall, then shortly after left for a summer vacation to the town of Amagansett on Long Island. ‘We have a little house, right on the ocean,’ Marilyn described. ‘It’s just big enough for us and the children.’

  The arrival of Marilyn, Arthur Miller and their basset hound, Hugo, sent the town’s people into a frenzy: three teenagers who met the Millers at the local gas station asked for autographs, although twelve-year-old Dicky Gosman made the couple laugh when he declared that he preferred Jayne Mansfield; Bob O’Brien, the delivery boy from Toppings grocery store, had his photograph taken with her; while Roger Mattei, owner of the Corsican restaurant, phoned numerous New York eateries to enquire after Marilyn’s favourite food.

  Most townspeople were pleased to admire from a distance, but two enterprising youngsters, Stephanie Baloghy, and her cousin Maureen McArdle, had bigger plans, which they took pleasure in reminiscing about together, almost fifty years later.

  Stephanie: ‘We set off on an adventure to see Miss Monroe. We waited outside the house for some signs of life and, finally, Marilyn appeared. My recollection of her at that moment was of a beam of sunshine. She was so gorgeous, that she looked illuminated. She looked so fresh and delicate. Her whole being just said “star”.’

  Maureen: ‘We jumped out from behind the hedges and asked for her autograph. She said she would have to check with her husband. She then said something to Arthur Miller and very sweetly told us that her husband said she could not do this or everyone would be at their house trying to get an autograph.’

  Stephanie: ‘I know we asked – pleaded – for her autograph; told her we had walked so very far; but to no avail. I do recall her saying in that breathy voice of hers that we were “so sweet”. I do remember the long walk back – empty handed – but elated. Considering that we had barged in on her I think Miss Monroe was exceedingly kind to us!’

  Eventually, Marilyn and Arthur settled into a normal and happy existence in their summer home: in the morning they would both take a walk with Hugo, then Marilyn would often run errands in town, visiting Toppings to do her shopping, and occasionally talking to the locals. In the afternoon, Arthur would sit in the garden and write, while his wife would water the plants or tend to the flowers: ‘I planted some seeds that grew, and to my amazement I had flowers,’ she later said.

  For the first time in her adult life, Marilyn was able to lead a quiet existence away from career problems and business affairs, and she relished the simplicity of it all. She occasionally went horse-riding, wrote poetry and even took delight in trying her hand at watercolour paintings, some of which she gave to the Strasbergs. Sometimes Miller’s children would visit with his parents, or the Rostens would drop by; while at other times they’d spend hours at the beach, walking, holding hands and paddling in the surf. It was during one of these excursions that Marilyn discovered some fish washed up on the shore, and refusing to let them die, scooped each one up and popped it back into the sea.

  The time in Amagansett was joyful for Marilyn; taking things easy, enjoying her privacy and most of all relishing a secret – she was expecting a baby. Although the couple were ecstatic, they decided not to make an announcement right away, but two old ladies apparently noticed ‘a look’ about her whilst she was doing chores in the Post Office and even went so far as to congratulate her. Marilyn, obviously embarrassed, mumbled something before making a hasty retreat, but her reaction was enough to confirm their thoughts and the rumour spread around town within days.

  1957 was a year of very few public appearances: Marilyn had attended the premiere of Baby Doll early in the year, kicked out the first football during a soccer match on 12 May and attended the premiere of The Prince and the Showgirl, but apart from that she had laid low. Even the doormen in New York commented that for the most part, the only time they ever saw the Millers was when they walked their dog, Hugo. However, another appearance was scheduled on 2 July, when Marilyn was to meet Laurence S. Rockefeller in New York for an inauguration ceremony at the construction site of the Time-Life Building.

  Scheduled to appear at 11 a.m., Marilyn failed to show up until 1.20 p.m., by which time Rockefeller had had enough. ‘I’ve never waited that long for anyone,’ he was heard to mutter, as he stormed from the site. When she finally appeared wearing a pink and white dress, Marilyn blamed her lateness on her anniversary celebration the night before: ‘Oh was I sick,’ she complained. ‘We celebrated with champagne, but instead of it going to my head it went to my stomach.’

  During this short trip, Marilyn was given a tour of the New York Times, where author Carl Schlesinger worked at the time as a Linotype machine operator in the composing room: ‘When tourists came through our department the foreman had designated me as the official “explainer” as to how the complicated but fascinating Linotype typesetting machine worked. I gave Marilyn the “gold-plated” demonstration of the machine, ending in my giving her a warm Linotype bar of type, freshly cast with her name on the surface. Marilyn seemed interested so I explained and at the end of my demonstration she thanked me and leaned over me (I was seated and she was standing), and kissed me on top of my balding head. Several of my co-workers, who had been watching “the show”, broke out into applause. I didn’t wash my head for a week!’

  When Marilyn moved on to another department, Schlesinger started to regret not being able to give Marilyn something other than a simple cast of her name. A few days later he went to a coin store and bought an uncirculated 1926 penny, which he cast into the side of another lead bar bearing her name, then sent it off to her. ‘Months passed and I forgot all about
the incident, then one day the Times mailroom sent a letter addressed to me from Miss Monroe. She apologized for the long delay in answering my note and gift, and thanked me for thinking of her.’

  After the success of the short New York trip, Marilyn returned to Amagansett to enjoy the rest of the summer and rest. Unfortunately, her joy at being pregnant was short-lived, when on the morning of 1 August 1957, she collapsed in the garden whilst tending to her plants. Miller was in the house at the time and an ambulance was called.

  Amagansett local Edward Damiecki was with the ambulance crew when they arrived at the Miller home, and afterwards he told his brother John that when they tried to put Marilyn on the stretcher, she spat in the driver’s face. This act was one of anguish and despair; having been bombarded with stories of ‘women’s problems’ by her foster family for many years, Marilyn was acutely aware that something was very wrong.

  By the time the Millers and her doctor arrived at the hospital, Marilyn was covered from head to toe in a blanket, and in great pain. The townspeople of Amagansett gathered in the grocery store, and it was not long before they heard the news they dreaded: Marilyn had lost the baby.

  It had been discovered that the foetus was growing in the fallopian tube, rather than the uterus, and in order to save the life of the mother, it was removed by an emergency operation. Marilyn’s doctor, Hilliard Dubrow, announced that she had been five or six weeks pregnant but it was too early to detect if the lost baby was a boy or girl. He could see no further difficulties should she decide to try again.

  In the hospital, Marilyn was devastated and in great pain, after needing a blood transfusion during the operation. On 2 August Miller released a statement that read in part, ‘Marilyn wants as many [children] as she can get. I feel the same way,’ and then on 10 August she finally left the hospital, walking slowly and wearing the same pink dress she had worn during her appearance at the Time-Life Building. It was a distressing experience; footage is gut-wrenching to watch, and shows Marilyn in full make-up, smiling and making comments such as ‘I’m feeling wonderful’ to waiting reporters. When asked what her future plans were, she answered, ‘I definitely still plan to have a large family. I’m going to rest, rest and more rest.’ God only knows how quickly the smile fell from her face as the ambulance door finally closed.

 

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