THE “MS NORMAN” WHO SURVIVED DEATH
“As a model, Monroe occasionally used the name Jean Norman”
| Wikipedia |
“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring. “
My mother’s full legal name is Kathleen Jean Norman. She was born Kathleen Jean Knox but married a Norman blah blah. Just a casual observance to begin a reflection of America’s most beloved character.
Marilyn Monroe, Norma Jean. She is the woman who is undoubtedly the pop world’s most consecrated woman—an icon who captivated our dulled minds for over a decade. And rose to even higher fame after a barbiturate overdose at the age of 36 in 1962. Hollywood’s glamorous and most popular icon had a funeral attended by few. Joe followed her coffin. The image caught on film of a man who had surrendered in despair. This image famous but that which will never eclipse the fame that is the image of Marilyn Monroe.
She was and remains to be the glass doll on our shelf.
How her image and ever continual presence in the souls of her fans and even those unfamiliar with her films—those who have never seen Gentlemen Prefer Blondes or How to Marry a Millionaire—have continued to prevail, in stark indifference to her own shatterable weaknesses, is unprecedented. Her popular image continues to mock her fragility, depression, and anxiety.
That bleached image of Marilyn with her billowing halter dress waving up at her is more famous than a Kardashians’ inflated body part. That dress was likely almost as frail as her mentality. Mention “Marilyn Monroe” to the average American–hell anyone who lives in a country with a movie theater and access to Netflix–and her name will instantaneously conjure up that infamous scene. Marilyn stands flirtatiously, but nervously and teasingly, over a vent to cool herself during New York’s unairconditioned era. Unembarrassed, she pushes her white dress down but knowingly not forcefully enough. Just enough so that it barely escapes over her knees as her male companion balks in admiration–almost as if he’d seen a ghost. The scene was very scandalous at the time. Shoulders AND knees on a wide screen for all to see. Most laymen probably have never seen The Seven Year Itch. Or even know what a Seven Year Itch even means. They probably will one day.
I guess that’s what Marilyn has always been for us–a ghost. Never real. A mirage. Too perfect. A fictitious protagonist too good to ever be true or real. Someone bound for fame and love and success and failure and tragedy. A lesson for us all to learn. So she has remained a ghost for us. To remind ourselves that there is error in perfection; perfection is an illusion that we strive for but must remember is a temptress. Of course attainable if we just tried hard enough. Yet that goal is always a millimeter outside our reach. We will continue to agonize for it but that glory does not exist. That glory which we all believe Marilyn was so close to claiming.
But she never was. Anyone who knew her knew that. She was never perfection. But we will always see her as that embodiment of what could be if we simply tried. Then we’d be loved. Then we’d have power. Then we’d have fame. Then we’d be wealthy. Then we’d have it all. I guess the ghost is vanity or that itchy takeaway we must not forget: maybe we all lose in the end. But we choose the ghost. The ghost has become the heroine.
So the questions: what is it about Marilyn that fascinates us? Why does Marilyn precede a Kardashian in 2019? Something about Marilyn sticks. Like those post-war New York summers. There is something about Marilyn that makes us continue to remember either Monroe the star or Marilyn the image. It’s that ghost of the American Dream and our love of the tragic commoner who had the potential, and came so close, to making it. She enraptured our minds, defined our goals, broke our hearts, stole our souls, and delivered us back to compassion. Marilyn Monroe never died. She remains very much alive and probably will continue to live indefinitely. She surpasses a memory. Her image is a haunting ghost and an itchy reminder. Maybe a consolable reminder. Beauty will always meet the beast. Jealousy, greed, lust, drive, destitution, despair, addiction. We all share at least one aspect of Marilyn. And we are all afraid to end up just as she did.
But why Marilyn? Many other celebrities have enraptured us posthumously: Elvis, Kurt, James Dean, and even Winehouse. But Marilyn seems to beat them to the punch. One can argue that her continual presence in our minds and hearts is only comparable to Elvis Presley. But unlike Elvis, Marilyn was not fortunate enough to be a star—to live as a star—for more than two decades. Her bleached hair displayed on screens for only 12 years.
Marilyn’s career began in 1950. Before that she was, as most know, simply Norma Jean Baker. Her hair not yet platinum blonde, her mole had not made its mark on her cheek, her charm not yet celebrated, her image as a sex symbol not yet formulated, her face not quite retouched repeatedly, red lipstick absent, her breasts not yet exposed, her hair long, and her wit had not yet flirted with the public. She was just Norma Jean.
She had posed nude for a calendar to earn cash–something that would come back to haunt and yet, in the end, officiate her as royalty. Playboy thought so. Some claim she sold her body as a prostitute some nights. Some claim she had as many as 9 abortions. Some claim she lived in 11 foster homes before heading to Hollywood. It seems that as the years go by the claims swell in size and her image as a destitute and abandoned child who became America’s most celebrated sex symbol exaggerates. It’s almost unnoticeable if you don’t stop to examine her allure in 1950 and her stardom in 2019.
Maybe we want the damsel—Norma Jean. The woman who became the sultry and sexy Marilyn. She seduced our president and even—some say—swam nude in the presidential pool at the White House as Jackie cared for their children inside. Marilyn had an indescribable and intangible charm. Her allure was a magnet and a deathtrap. She was loved and is loved by not only practically every male from America to South Korea but also every female who wanted—or wants–to emulate the siren that was and is Marilyn Monroe. She epitomized our idea of the American Dream: if she could make it maybe we could too.
It is a strange reaction: to be completely in awe of one person in both life and death. In life, women secretly desired to be her but openly despised her. In life, every man wanted to be inside her or at least next to her. In death, women imitate her. In death, men pity her.
As most know, she “only wore Chanel Number Five to bed.” When she was asked what she slept in, that was her response. But it was how she responded that made every reporter in the room blush. Stupidly but shyly they chuckled, bewitched almost–she was smart–at her reply. She knew she had them. Because when asked this somewhat inappropriate question, she quickly, wittingly, and coyly responded that she only wore perfume to bed. It was stated as if it was obvious. “Why I sleep nude of course!” It was the subtle insinuation and her ensuing kittish laughter that aroused—in more ways than one—everyone in the room. She had created the character she wanted to become.
What most people don’t know about Marilyn is that she was smart–very smart. She replied to questions or comments, from reporters or acquaintances in public conversation, with wit and that unsurpassable charm. She emanated a girlish vulnerability while dressed in garments that perfectly enveloped her curves. Her personality—this contrived helplessness—contrasted with her physicality. People wanted to go to bed with Marilyn but they also wanted to care for and protect her. She was a fragile, charismatic woman who went from rags to riches, who was every man’s dream, the epitome of what a woman should aim to be, which today is decided by Instagram. Her fame has continued to resonate throughout the decades.
But what people did not realize was this vulnerability was very much real. Marilyn was not a character or image or protagonist or antagonist. This was not an Arthur Miller play or Hollywood blockbuster. This was Norma.
Her death rattles us. It continues to unsettle us. We still refuse to accept that she left us. Conspiracy theories continue to circle around and now that we have the internet, people have a new arena in which to argue about which is the likeliest. It was JFK. No, no, it was his brother Robert. You both have it wrong. It wasn’t one or the other it was the entire Kennedy family! She knew too much! You imbeciles, she simply committed suicide; she tried before and was hospitalized and she tried since but had always been rescued. This time she simply didn’t dial the rotary in time. Honey, you have it wrong. She didn’t want help. She was so distraught because Robert had dumped her!
No, I must disagree, it was accidental. She was prescribed two sedatives and after taking one pill her short term memory was so impaired that she forgot she had taken one. So, her anxiety told her to take another. Then another. Then another. She couldn’t bare the pain. And don’t we love that story?
This is the most likely explanation. Marilyn was prescribed two very powerful sedatives by one psychiatrist; one who was brought in front of the medical board 20 years after her death. I will expand on this, how it was Marilyn’s anxiety who got her. How she used the alias Ms. Norman to send telegrams to Joe. And how someone named Lee provided her with the annoying acting coach that probably only exacerbated her anxiety.
So we continue to keep her as a glass doll on our shelves. Her story surpasses her humanity.
But she wasn’t glass nor a doll nor a character nor a protagonist nor an antagonist. She was Norma or Jean or Marilyn. Whatever name–she was not ours to keep. This should be our lesson. We are mesmerized by tragedy once it has passed but avoid it in the present–when it stares us in the face or when we could try at least to prevent it.
The article that will follow this post will focus on the medical incongruities, mistakes, and malpractice that ignored the dying light of America’s star, disintegrated her humanity, and forever placed her in America’s dark sky. She was delivered back to the darkness. We all want to be or be with Marilyn.
Marilyn was the Shakespearean tragedy. A reminder that despite it all, with pain, the peasant returns to his past. That story is what we love the most: despite beauty and fame, the downfall will come and we all end the same.
That should not be our mesmerizing tale. A glass doll that shatters should not be our fixation. A tragedy should not be our obsession.
Pulling the Plug on American Medicine 