The Secret Life Of Marilyn Monroe Part 4

After her failed attempt to regain custody of Jackie and Berniece, Gladys returned to the Cohen household. The Cohens' three-year-old daughter whom Gladys had been helping to raise for the last year was named... Norma Jeane. It would be with this this little girl that Gladys would finally achieve what had been expected of her with her own children. Each and every day of the year she was with her, Gladys made it her priority to see to it that the tot was nourished, entertained-loved. However, after Gladys's return from Flat Lick without her own children, things began to shift. In the simplest terms, her mind had begun to fail her. She was just twenty-three. little girl that Gladys would finally achieve what had been expected of her with her own children. Each and every day of the year she was with her, Gladys made it her priority to see to it that the tot was nourished, entertained-loved. However, after Gladys's return from Flat Lick without her own children, things began to shift. In the simplest terms, her mind had begun to fail her. She was just twenty-three.

When Gladys's problem became apparent to the Cohens, they were alarmed, and with good reason. Here's the story, as pa.s.sed down in the Cohen family: One evening after a dinner date, Mr. and Mrs. Cohen found their child alone in the nursery. She was hysterical and the sheets were soiled, suggesting that she'd been left unattended for quite some time. When they finally found Gladys, she was crouched on the floor behind a grand piano, her knees pulled in to her chest. Her eyes were closed as she spoke quietly to herself. She was visibly upset, tears streaming down her cheeks. After a moment, she looked at Mrs. Cohen and said, "Are they gone?"

"Is who gone, Gladys?" replied the missus.

"The men."

Gladys then explained that she had seen a group of men sneaking about the house for the previous few days, but she didn't want to worry her employers.

At first the couple were deeply concerned for their own safety. However, as Gladys continued to describe her experiences, they began to have a new concern: their nanny's sanity.

Gladys told of odd happenings that were beyond reason. She said she went to retrieve something from a cabinet under the kitchen counter and found there was a man lying inside it. Another man had walked into an upstairs bathroom, she said, and when she finally got the nerve to follow him in there, he was nowhere to be found.

The Cohens had a problem on their hands-a problem that needed to be dealt with quickly.

Gladys Baker lasted a few more days-though never alone with the child-before her employers made her termination official. At that time Gladys was weaving in and out of lucidity, appearing at one moment to be just fine, and the next claiming that she heard a voice. Indeed, there were many voices-but the voices were never really there.

Gladys's dismissal was a civilized procedure, with the Cohens claiming they no longer needed a nanny.

But what about little Norma Jeane? The child had been the only constant for Gladys while she was in Kentucky during this very difficult time, and she couldn't bear the thought of leaving her. For a time, as she later told Rose Anne Cooper, she considered taking Norma Jeane back to Los Angeles with her to start a new life. However, she couldn't bring herself to do it. She had experienced the misery of losing her own children and said she couldn't inflict that kind of pain on Margaret Cohen.

After packing her things the night before she was to depart the household, Gladys recalled that she sat in her room alone. Her minimal belongings now stuffed into a tattered satchel, she crept down the dark hallway and quietly let herself into the nursery. She sat on Norma Jeane's bed and stroked the child's hair. She then kissed her on the forehead before tucking her back in. After gathering the rest of her things in the dark of night, Gladys Baker then disappeared from the Cohen family's life.

Jim's Ultimatum.

But we only have two rooms here," Jim told Norma Jeane when he was told that Gladys would be staying with them. "Where are we going to put her?"

"Um..."

Jim took a quick look around the house. Something didn't seem quite right. There were no flowers in the vase on the table, and he knew Norma Jeane loved keeping them there to add color to the small surroundings. There were no magazines on the coffee table, and he knew she liked their guests to have something to thumb through while she fetched coffee for them. In fact, the place looked as if no one was really living there. As he scanned the room, his eye caught a framed photograph of Norma Jeane on the wall, one that he recognized as having been taken by Andre de Dienes. Of course, this did not make him happy. When he walked over to a closet to hang up his coat, he opened the door to a surprise. There, hanging on a rod, were just a couple of dresses. On the floor, a few pairs of shoes. Obviously, Norma Jeane and Gladys were not living in that house. "What is going on here?" he asked, now very upset.

With Gladys sitting on the bed observing everything, Jim felt that he couldn't express himself openly, so he and Norma Jeane stepped outside to talk. She explained that she and Gladys had actually been living at Aunt Ana's. She'd had a series of modeling jobs and couldn't leave Gladys alone, and so therefore it was more sensible for them to be living with Ana. "I just didn't think you'd understand, Jimmie," she concluded. Then she started crying, buckling under the pressure of the moment. Jim had had enough. In fact, he did not not understand. She had specifically told him she was going to move back into their own home. understand. She had specifically told him she was going to move back into their own home.

"That's it," he told her. "That's it, Norma Jeane. You have to choose. Me or your career. Your marriage or your career." And there it was: the ultimatum she had hoped would not be forthcoming, the one he was probably a fool to issue. She didn't say a word. She just stared at him as he walked away.

Final Confrontation.

Jim Dougherty was in service in Shanghai at the end of May 1946 when he received the "Dear John" letter. He later said it had come directly from Norma Jeane personally, but actually it was much more impersonal than that: It was written by her lawyer, C. Norma Cornwall, who informed him that she had filed for divorce in Las Vegas. As it happened, Norma Jeane had made up her mind that she wanted the marriage to be ended. She wasn't sure how to proceed, but she knew of one woman who was always able to think of a solution to any problem: "Aunt" Grace. Of course, Grace had encouraged Norma Jeane into a marriage of convenience, and her plan had worked in that Norma Jeane was spared the misery of another orphanage. Now she was twenty and ready to be free. Grace knew that the quickest way to obtain a divorce was to file in Las Vegas and then live there for the six months it would take for residency to be established and the paperwork to be filed. Conveniently, Grace had an aunt there. So Norma Jeane was off to Las Vegas in early May to begin the process.

The first thing Jim Dougherty did when he got the letter announcing Norma Jeane's intention was to cut off the stipend that wives of military men received at that time from the government. He was angry. In his view, Norma Jeane had gotten what she wanted and now she was done with him. Certainly he knew what she had gotten out of the deal; he just wasn't sure how he had benefited from it. In his view, he could have been single for the last few years and enjoying the benefits of being a bachelor in the military. One thing was certain: He wasn't going to make it easy for his wife to get out of the marriage. He was determined not to sign the papers until he was able to meet with her. He later admitted that he secretly felt he could change her mind if they had s.e.x. Many years later he still wouldn't admit that the marriage wasn't perfect. In fact, he began to insist that the reason Norma Jeane filed for divorce was because she was trying to get a movie contract at MGM and was told they'd never sign her if she was married. Why? Because she might get pregnant and the studio's investment would then be lost. Of course, this wasn't the case at all. He also said that Norma Jeane later proposed that she "just be my girlfriend" and not his wife in order to placate the studio. Again, not true. In fact, there was never a deal on the table with MGM. Yes, movie studio honchos at the time preferred their new actresses to be single, but this had nothing to do with Norma Jeane's decision. She was unhappy with him and wanted out of the marriage.

When he returned to the States in June, Jim planned to drive to Las Vegas to meet with Norma Jeane. Much to his surprise, though, she was not in Nevada. She was in Los Angeles at Aunt Ana's, where she'd been staying. When she answered the door of her apartment in Ana's duplex, the first thing Jim noticed was Gladys sitting on the bed in the one large room. She looked nervous, as if she thought there might be some sort of confrontation. Norma Jeane apologized for not being able to talk to him at that moment and asked if they could meet at another time. Jim left wondering why she hadn't apologized for wanting to divorce him. "I was losing most of my determination to hang onto her," he recalled. "She was no longer the anxious-to-please young woman I married. She was calculating, something she had never been before. She made sure that Gladys would be living there when I made my last appearance-that her mother would have my place in the only bed in that apartment. What she would do with Gladys-a woman who was only capable of looking on pa.s.sively and putting her trust in G.o.d-I couldn't guess."

Jim and Norma Jeane met several times over the next few days to try to sort out their problems. At one point, Jim went directly to Ana to appeal to her. He hoped she would talk some "sense" into Norma Jeane. However, he was surprised to learn that she fully supported Norma Jeane's goals. She had always been Norma Jeane's great ally. He said later that Ana seemed "awestruck by the very notion that Norma Jeane might be a movie star." More likely, she was just very enthusiastic about Norma Jeane following her dream. Jim's appeal to Ana, though, does demonstrate how desperate he was to find a way to save his marriage-but for what reason? "He truly did not want to sign the divorce papers," says his friend Martin Evans, "but it had gone beyond love. It was now a matter of ego.

"He brought Norma Jeane to my house because he said he wanted a quiet place to talk to her. His mother was always around, or Aunt Ana or Gladys. So I said yes. When they showed up, I could see that she was miserable and didn't want to talk about it anymore. She had on a floral-print dress, I remember, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. To me, she looked beautiful. Jim kept saying, 'Look at her, Martin. She hasn't slept in days she's so upset.' Didn't seem that way to me, though. They sat in my living room and I was ready to leave when Jim said, 'No, stay. Maybe you can help me talk some sense into her.' I felt very awkward about it, but stayed."

Once the three were seated, Norma Jeane said, "I think you two are going to gang up on me now. And I don't like it one bit, Jimmie."

"We're not doing that, Norma Jeane," he said, according to Martin Evans's memory. "We just want you to know that acting is a tough business. You don't have the strength for it. I don't know who you have been talking to at that modeling agency, but they're filling your head with stupid ideas, Norma Jeane. This isn't for you."

Norma Jeane let his words sink in for a moment. Then, before she could respond, Jimmie verbally attacked her. He was angry, he said, because he felt she had used him to stay out of the orphanage and was now finished with him. She then asked him how many times she would have to thank him before they could just go on with their lives. He said she was unstable and, worse, that she had a lot in common with Gladys-suggesting, of course, that they were both mentally ill. With that, Jim stormed out the door leaving Norma Jeane with his friend, Martin. "She sat down and just started crying," Martin Evans recalled. He said he watched her for a bit, noting how beautiful she was, even in tears.

Finally, she turned to him. "Take me away from here," Norma Jeane said, standing tall. "Take me away from this place, and take me away from this time."

Norma Jeane Signs with 20th Century-Fox.

She'd heard it from so many photographers, she had to wonder if it was possibly true: "You are made for the movies, Norma Jeane." Indeed, every man who ever took her picture seemed to want to encourage her into the film industry. It wasn't so far-fetched a notion, actually. After all, she was stunning in photographs, her unique essence easily captured by the camera lens. The thought of how her look might translate onto the big screen was a tantalizing one. Still, it was a daunting proposition, especially since she had virtually no acting experience-not even in school plays, where so many professional actresses are able to at least claim some minor experience.

"I don't even know if I can act," she told her Aunt Ana when the two of them discussed the possibility. "Honey, you have been acting your entire life," Ana, who was always very intuitive, told her. "You know what I mean, don't you?" It was true. She had spent her whole life trying to fit in, trying to be better-hoping to be someone who would be accepted. "You can do whatever you set your mind to," Ana had repeatedly told her. "You know, the initials for Christian Science-C.S.-also mean something else." Norma Jeane had to laugh. She had heard this from Ana a thousand times. "Common sense," she said, finishing the woman's thought. "That's right," Ana told her, "and my common sense tells me that if you want to act, you'll act."

Inspired by Ana and the enthusiastic approval of so many others she'd talked to about it during the early months of 1946, Norma Jeane Mortensen began to envision a future for herself in Hollywood. Years later, she would say, "I used to think as I looked out on the Hollywood night, 'There must be thousands of girls sitting alone like me dreaming of becoming a movie star. But I'm not going to worry about them. I'm dreaming the hardest.' "

Prior to Norma Jeane's final decision to divorce Jim, her modeling agent, the very efficient Emmeline Snively, had already begun to look into the possibility of film opportunities for her client. One thing led to another and soon Norma Jeane had an appointment to meet with Ben Lyon, who worked as a recruiter for new talent and director of casting at 20th Century-Fox Studios. Of course, Norma Jeane was extremely nervous, but she managed to screw up the courage to meet with the movie executive on July 17, 1946. He gave her a few pages of the script to Winged Victory Winged Victory, a 1944 film based on a successful Moss Hart Broadway play. Norma Jeane managed to get through the reading. Not much is known about it, but she must have been fairly good because Lyon arranged for her to have a film test.

Two days later, Norma Jeane found herself on the 20th Century-Fox lot, on the set of a new Betty Grable movie called Mother Wore Tights Mother Wore Tights, where she would make her screen test. In 1946, Fox boasted an impressive list of actresses and actors already under contract. A short list of these luminaries on the lot at that time would include Henry Fonda, Gene Tierney, Tyrone Power, Betty Grable, Anne Baxter, Rex Harrison, Maureen O'Hara, and Vivian Blaine.

Cinematographer Leon Shamroy would film Norma Jeane's silent screen test. After being fitted into a floor-length crinoline gown, she was told to stand on a set in front of a camera and execute a few simple moves: saunter back and forth, sit on a stool, walk toward a window on the stage set. While she stood before a movie camera for the first time, as nervous and embarra.s.sed as she was, Norma Jeane was suddenly transformed into a woman completely at ease, enormously self-a.s.sured, and, more important, radiant in her unrestrained beauty. "I thought, this girl will be another Harlow," Leon Shamroy once recalled of the test. "Her natural beauty plus her inferiority complex gave her a look of mystery. I got a cold chill. This girl had something I hadn't seen since silent pictures. She had a kind of fantastic beauty like Gloria Swanson, and she got s.e.x on a piece of film like Jean Harlow. Every frame of the test radiated s.e.x. She didn't need a sound track, she was creating effects visually. She was showing us she could sell emotions in pictures." It became clear that the studio was interested in her when they asked her to do another screen test, this time in Technicolor. It was just a matter of paperwork before she would sign a deal.

Darryl Zanuck, head honcho at Fox, was not quite as effusive as everyone else who saw Norma Jeane's test, though. (Interestingly, this man would never never be a fan of hers-even when she was making a fortune for his company.) However, at the beginning, he decided she had enough potential to be signed to a contract-seventy-five dollars a week for six months with an option for the studio to renew at that point for another six, but at double the salary. She would be paid this amount whether she worked or not. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and Norma Jeane was thrilled. be a fan of hers-even when she was making a fortune for his company.) However, at the beginning, he decided she had enough potential to be signed to a contract-seventy-five dollars a week for six months with an option for the studio to renew at that point for another six, but at double the salary. She would be paid this amount whether she worked or not. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and Norma Jeane was thrilled.

Of course, no one was happier about this sudden turn of events in Norma Jeane's life than her "Aunt" Grace, always Norma Jeane's protector and encourager. She wasn't a star yet, but she'd come far in a short time. At this time, she was just twenty-a year too young to sign a legal contract in California. Therefore, it seemed only fitting that the woman who would cosign the contract with her, on August 24, 1946, would be-Grace G.o.ddard.

Just before the contract with 20th Century-Fox was finalized, Norma Jeane Dougherty was called into Ben Lyon's office. There was a problem: her name. Lyon explained that, in his opinion, her last name was too difficult to p.r.o.nounce. "People are going to wonder if it's doe-herty doe-herty, or do-gerty do-gerty... or, I don't know," he said, "but it has to be changed. It's too much like a child's," he told her. "We need something that will offset your vulnerability but will have some cla.s.s to it." How did she feel about that? Norma Jeane didn't really know how to respond. She knew she was divorcing Jim anyway, so she certainly saw no reason to stay wedded to his last name. She agreed. Eventually, she and Lyon settled on Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn after 1920s Broadway actress Marilyn Miller, an actress he said Norma Jeane reminded him of, and also someone he had dated; and Monroe after her mother's family name.

Norma Jeane wasn't sure about the proposed name. However, Lyon was so enthusiastic, she couldn't disagree. "Well," she finally concluded with an amused glint in her eyes, "I guess I'm Marilyn Monroe." * *

PART THREE.

Marilyn

Marilyn Trying to Understand Gladys.

By the summer of 1946, Marilyn's half sister, Berniece Baker Miracle, could wait no longer-she had to meet her mother, Gladys Baker. She had no memory of her at all. She had been just a little girl when Gladys left her in Kentucky all of those years ago. Now that Gladys was out of the hospital, Berniece felt the time had come for a mother-daughter reunion. Marilyn wasn't so sure about it. Gladys had been living with her and Aunt Ana since her release, so Marilyn knew that she really was not well. She seemed totally incapable of expressing love or even warmth, let alone maternal feelings. She was also quite defensive and argumentative. Marilyn didn't want to take the chance that Gladys would say or do something that would hurt Berniece's feelings. "The image in your mind of our mother is much better than the reality of her," she told Berniece. "Maybe you should just leave it be." She didn't want her half sister to be disappointed. However, there was no stopping Berniece. She wanted to see her mother and intended to stay at Aunt Ana's for an extended three-month visit. She would be bringing her small daughter, Mona Rae, along with her. Her husband would stay behind since he would not be able to leave his job for such a long time.

When the day came for Berniece and Mona Rae to arrive from Michigan, Marilyn drove Ana, Grace, and Gladys to the Burbank airport to greet them. The women waited anxiously on the tarmac for the plane to land, antic.i.p.ating the sight of their relatives. There must have also been a certain amount of apprehension from Marilyn, Ana, and Grace as to how Gladys might react when she saw her long-lost daughter. As soon as Berniece and Mona Rae appeared at the top of the jet plane's metal stairs, Marilyn ran toward them. By the time they were at the bottom of the stairs, Marilyn was embracing them both. When she introduced the two of them to Aunt Ana, the three embraced. Then, of course, Grace hugged Berniece and her daughter. "And this is Mother, Berniece," Marilyn finally said. Turning to Gladys, she said, "And Mother, this this is Berniece." Berniece would later say she first noticed Gladys's gray hair, which was cut at this time in short curls. She also noted that Gladys stood rigid, her arms downward, and exhibited no emotion. Berniece was completely overwhelmed anyway, and hugged her mother. In response, Gladys placed her arms tentatively around Berniece's waist for a moment and patted her back. The moment hung awkwardly. Of Gladys's meeting with her daughter, Grace G.o.ddard would later write to a cousin, "It looked to me like she was thinking to herself, why is everyone here sharing something and feeling something that I'm not sharing... and I'm not feeling." is Berniece." Berniece would later say she first noticed Gladys's gray hair, which was cut at this time in short curls. She also noted that Gladys stood rigid, her arms downward, and exhibited no emotion. Berniece was completely overwhelmed anyway, and hugged her mother. In response, Gladys placed her arms tentatively around Berniece's waist for a moment and patted her back. The moment hung awkwardly. Of Gladys's meeting with her daughter, Grace G.o.ddard would later write to a cousin, "It looked to me like she was thinking to herself, why is everyone here sharing something and feeling something that I'm not sharing... and I'm not feeling."

Once they were back at Ana's, it was decided that Marilyn would sleep upstairs with Ana while Berniece and Mona Rae would sleep in the downstairs apartment with Gladys. That meant that Berniece and Gladys would be sleeping in the same bed, while Mona Rae slept on a small roll-away cot in the corner. In retrospect, it's easy to see how these arrangements would have been difficult for Gladys. However, it was Marilyn's idea. "She set it up that way specifically because she hoped her mother would bond with Berniece, on some level," one relative explained. "She wanted nothing more than for her mother to feel feel something. She kept waiting for some kind of emotional process to take place in Gladys-and the heartbreaking truth was that it simply was not going to happen." something. She kept waiting for some kind of emotional process to take place in Gladys-and the heartbreaking truth was that it simply was not going to happen."

As the days turned into weeks, Berniece became distressed by how often Gladys was critical of Marilyn's new career. She recalled one incident during which Marilyn was practicing the enunciation of certain words in front of a mirror. "Oh, that's just ridiculous," Gladys told her daughter. "You should be doing something worthwhile with your life. Not this." Marilyn tried to explain that she had to improve the elocution of certain words for her acting cla.s.ses at the studio, but Gladys just didn't want to hear it.

After witnessing that particular scene, Berniece cornered her mother. "You should be more encouraging to Norma Jeane," she told her. "She's trying so hard to make a go of it, and you're being so difficult." In response, Gladys said something under her breath. Berniece decided to just leave her alone.

Shortly after, Norma Jeane got a scare when she got a call from her agent, Emmeline Snively, telling her, "I just wanted you to know that your mother was here." As it happened, Gladys had woken up that morning, put on her nurse's uniform, called a cab, and was taken to the Amba.s.sador Hotel where Snively's company, the Blue Book Agency, was located. She marched into Snively's office and told her that she was very unhappy about her daughter's career and wanted her to convince Norma Jeane not to continue with it. Snively was a little surprised, but she handled it well. She said that it was a matter between a mother and daughter, not an agent and client, and that Gladys should take it up with Norma Jeane. Gladys left, but not before telling Snively, "It's very wrong for you to allow young girls to come in here and ruin their lives with picture-taking." When Snively later explained all of this to Norma Jeane, the young lady was, of course, embarra.s.sed and upset. Gladys had asked her who was helping her with her career and Norma Jeane had mentioned Snively, but she couldn't believe that Gladys had had the presence of mind to track her down and then talk to her. That evening, she and Gladys had a contentious exchange about it, ending with Norma Jeane telling her mother to "never interfere with my career again." Gladys said, "Fine, if that's the way you want it. Do what you want to do. See if I care." She then went to her room and slammed the door so loud it echoed throughout the household. "Why is she so angry all the time?" Berniece wondered.

The only time Gladys seemed to really become invested in anything was when Ana would take all of the women in the household to Christian Science services on Sunday. Gladys's intense interest in Christian Science had not wavered since her release from the sanitarium. The subject of mind over matter fascinated her; it was as if she knew she could not manage her life and wanted to do whatever she could to seize back some control over it. At the same time, Ana and Marilyn would stay up into the early morning hours reading from Mary Baker Eddy's Science and Health Science and Health, the most important Christian Science book. Marilyn had been interested in the belief system before her marriage to Jim Dougherty, and when the marriage collapsed she turned back to it. One person who would later know Gladys at a home in which she spent some time in the 1970s has an interesting theory about Marilyn's devotion to Christian Science: "She had always been a student of human interaction, if you think about it: how people reacted to her if she was one way, how they would be drawn to her if she was another way. What did she have to do to make people love her? She had made a study of all this. I think it was because she always knew her mother's mind was not right. And I think she knew that she may very well have a predisposition for the same kinds of mental problems, too, because her grandmother and her mother both experienced similar fates. So the whole concept that there was a way of understanding the human brain and changing your life by changing your mind appealed to her. It was as if she was hoping to get in on the ground floor of something big, as if she was saying, 'If I study this now and know all about this by the time I'm at the age when Mother started to flip out, maybe I'll be able to control it better than she did.' I think she always feared she had a ticking time bomb inside her."

Interestingly, at this same time-the summer of 1946-Gladys sent a series of letters to Margaret Cohen in Kentucky, the woman whose child, Norma Jeane, she raised for one year in 1922. That child was now twenty-seven years old. Gladys wrote that she wanted to see the girl because, as she put it in one of the letters, "my own daughters do not understand me, nor are they willing to try." The Cohen family found Gladys's letters disturbing. First of all, they couldn't imagine how she had tracked them down. They'd moved to a different town since she worked for them so many years earlier. Secondly, they received five letters in just one week, all rambling missives about wanting to see Norma Jeane. Then they were dismayed by all of the Christian Science literature Gladys included in her correspondence. In one of these letters, she mentioned Marilyn's career. "I am sorry to say that my own Norma Jean [sic] has decided on the moving picture business as a career. I am very much opposed to this. However, whenever I mention it to her, she raises her hand in my face and tells me that she doesn't want to hear about it and that it is none of her mother's business. I would love to have a child who values my opinion but that is not what I have in Norma Jean." The Cohen family decided against responding to any of Gladys's letters.

It wasn't all angst in the household during Berniece's long stay at Aunt Ana's. There were some good times. For instance, Marilyn couldn't wait to show her half sister the screen test she made for Fox. She arranged for her to have a private screening of it at the studio. There were other light moments as well. Sometimes the entire family would go out to dinner together. On weekends, Marilyn would drive them around Los Angeles on sightseeing excursions to Grauman's Chinese Theatre, the Farmer's Market, the homes of certain celebrities (maps sold by youngsters on street corners were usually accurate in pinpointing these addresses, much to the chagrin of the stars), and other West Coast locales she thought they'd be interested in, including the beach. There are actually quite a few photographs of the women at Santa Monica beach. Marilyn and Berniece would chatter incessantly during these day trips; they got along famously. Meanwhile, Ana and Grace would try to engage Gladys in conversation. Sometimes, they were successful, but usually Gladys stayed in her sh.e.l.l. "Why can't she just have a good time? I just don't get it," Marilyn is said to have wondered.

While living in the inst.i.tution, Gladys Baker had become used to each day having structure. There were certain times for eating meals, engaging in outdoor activities, reading, and then going to sleep. She had been living with those circ.u.mstances for so many years that when she left and moved in with Ana and Marilyn, she still wanted that kind of structure in her life. She wanted to know that every day was to be the same. It made her feel safe, secure. However, Berniece's arrival totally upset any routine she had been trying to establish at Ana's. For three months, she never knew from one moment to the next where she was going or what she would be doing once she got there. Still, Marilyn wanted to at least come up with activities that her mother would enjoy, and also some that might elicit some emotional response from her.

One day, she asked Grace to take them all to the home that Gladys's father, Otis Elmore Monroe (who had died by hanging himself), had built by hand. But even this potentially nostaligic excursion failed to reach Gladys; she had no reaction to seeing the old homestead.

Marilyn then asked Grace to take them all to the house in Hollywood that Gladys had bought so many years ago. It was here that Gladys had lived for a short time with Marilyn and the Atkinsons. Surely she would have some reaction to this place. It was also here that she had had the psychotic episode, and from here that she was taken to the mental hospital. The women sat in their car on the street in front of the house for a long time, telling stories of the furniture that had once been in there-the piano that Marilyn so loved and that Gladys promised she would one day play well, the flowers always in the living room, the sunny kitchen. Nothing. Gladys felt nothing.

Getting Through to Gladys?

On September 13, 1946, a few months after that ghastly confrontation with Jim Dougherty, Norma Jeane and the woman with whom she said she was living-a sixty-nine-year-old widow named Minnie Wilette-appeared in front of a judge in Reno, Nevada.

In her suit for divorce, which was uncontested by Jim (and he could have fought it, actually, since Norma Jeane clearly had not spent the required six months in Las Vegas), she had said that he'd inflicted "extreme mental cruelty that has impaired [my] health." Now, at the hearing, her attorney asked a few questions. Did she intend to make Nevada her home and permanent place of residence? Yes, Norma Jeane answered. Had that been her intention since she arrived there in May? Yes. Was it her plan to stay in Nevada for an indefinite period of time? Yes. Then, when asked to outline the way Dougherty had mistreated her, Norma Jeane responded by saying, "Well, in the first place, my husband didn't support me and he objected to my working, criticized me for it and he also had a bad temper and would fly into rages and he left me on three different occasions and criticized me and embarra.s.sed me in front of my friends and he didn't try to make a home for me." She said that his actions "upset me and made me nervous." She maintained that she didn't see the situation as ever improving and that there was no chance for reconciliation. The judge granted the divorce. The whole matter took about five minutes, and then Marilyn hopped on a plane back to Los Angeles.

By the time Marilyn got back to Aunt Ana's home, anyone could see that she was blissful. "She showed up at Aunt Ana's, feeling terrific," Berniece recalled. "As soon as she saw me, she threw her arms around me. 'I'm a free woman again,' Marilyn said, laughing. 'I feel like celebrating!' "

Marilyn then moved through the house and finally found Gladys, who was in a terrible mood, very angry for no apparent reason. Though she had tried to reach her mother countless times in the past and failed, this time Marilyn sensed she might be able to connect with her. Maybe it was because her spirits were soaring as a result of her new freedom and fledgling career that she believed she could get through to Gladys. Mother and daughter spent much of the afternoon and into the early evening preparing for their night on the town. As all the ladies of the house bore witness to Gladys's seeming comeback, there was a feeling in the air that salvation from her never-ending misery might finally be possible. Every time Marilyn had seen any kind of slight improvement like this in her mother, she hoped it would last. She'd always held on to the belief that Gladys could remain in a healthy mental place, if she was "managed" properly-that is, if those around her acted a certain way, exuded a particular energy. She had tried so many different tactics in the past, but with little success. However, on this night, it was as if she had dug deep within and found a character that Gladys responded to-an upbeat personality that seemed to ignite a flame of life in her mother.

That night, as the family walked into the Pacific Seas dining room in downtown Los Angeles, Marilyn continued with the persona she had created earlier in the afternoon-a mixture of confidence and naivete... a dignified charm... a carefree exuberance. She was a little flirty... funny. Gladys seemed to enjoy watching her in action. Seated at the table that night were Gladys and Ana; Grace and her sister, Eunice; and Marilyn and her half sister, Berniece. Berniece's daughter, Mona Rae, was also in attendance, and has shared both hers and her mother's recollections of that evening.

Beverly Kramer's father, Marvin, managed the Pacific Seas dining room in Los Angeles. He was a good friend of Grace's husband, Doc. As it happened, Beverly worked at the restaurant as a waitress; she was about eighteen. "Grace brought the family into the restaurant a lot," Beverly recalled. "I have seen pictures of that night, so I remember it well."

"Celebrate we did," Berniece recounted. "That night, we all enjoyed a nice celebration."

Marilyn lifted a gla.s.s. "Let's have a toast! To the future, everyone," she said.

"Oh, yes, to the future," Grace agreed.

"To the future," everyone chimed in.

Smiling warmly at Gladys, Marilyn repeated, "To the future, Mother." It was then that Gladys raised her own gla.s.s in the direction of her daughter. And there it was. It was just a flash. But there was no mistaking it. Gladys smiled.

"I know that everyone was always concerned about Gladys," said Beverly Kramer, "and that anytime they brought her into the restaurant, she seemed unhappy. This night, I remember she was upbeat. She was smiling. She seemed to be getting along with everyone, especially with Norma Jeane."

During the evening, a Polynesian-style band played island music, with a group of girls singing, surrounding a single microphone. At one point, the girls fanned out into the sea of tables to find volunteers to join them onstage for a hula dance. "I remember that before she could even be chosen, Marilyn popped out of her chair and stood front and center, waiting for the rest of the gang to be gathered," recalled Beverly Kramer. "It was a mostly comic ritual, with the patrons giving a halfhearted effort and the dining room applauding their attempts. Marilyn, however, was familiar with the song the band was playing, 'Blue Hawaii' from the Bing Crosby film Waikiki Wedding Waikiki Wedding, and she began to sing it." Kramer remembers that Marilyn did so with such conviction that the moment became awkward for some of the others onstage. Most of the women drifted away and back to their seats. "Gladys seemed to love it, though," Kramer remembered. "I just remember her smiling. She had such a nice smile."

Just days after it seemed that Marilyn had made some headway in connecting with her mother, Gladys made a stunning announcement. Over breakfast, she looked at Marilyn with very sad eyes and said, "You know, you can't keep me here forever, Norma Jeane." It was a confusing statement. Marilyn didn't know how to react. Gladys then went to her room and started to pack her things. When Marilyn followed her, Gladys told her that she had made up her mind and that she was going to return to her Aunt Dora's in Oregon. "Won't you please stay here with me, Mother?" Marilyn said, begging her. Though she told her that she would be worried about her and didn't want her to go, Gladys was adamant. There was no talking her out of it. Marilyn asked if she would wait at least one day. Gladys agreed.

The next day, Marilyn went to a store and bought a present for her mother. She put it in a box and wrapped it gaily. That night, she presented it to her. Gladys opened the box and pulled from it a crisp white nurse's uniform. "I thought you'd like this, Mother," Marilyn said, tears in her eyes. Gladys held up the uniform and inspected it. "Are you sure this is my size?" she asked skeptically. Marilyn said that she was certain it would fit her. Gladys smiled and put it back into the box. "Then, it will do nicely," she said.

The next day, Marilyn and Berniece took their mother to the bus station, bought her a ticket to Oregon, and tearfully sent her on her way. Berniece was sure they would see her again, but Marilyn wasn't.

Two weeks later, Marilyn called Aunt Dora in Oregon to speak to her mother. Maybe what Dora had to say wasn't so surprising but, still, it was a shock. Gladys had never shown up.

Wayne Bolender's Fatherly Advice.

Marilyn Monroe didn't know what to make of her recent time with her mother, Gladys Baker. She didn't know if she had made any difference in her life at all. She just hoped the time they'd spent together had done Gladys some good. However, as she would later say, she knew that Gladys wouldn't miss her or Berniece in the least, and that was a reality that penetrated her heart like a steel blade. Interestingly, she turned to her ex-husband, James Dougherty, for comfort during this time-at least in correspondence. Martin Evans, Dougherty's friend, recalled, "Jim told me he received a very impa.s.sioned letter from Norma Jeane saying that she had recently spent a lot of time with her mother and that it hadn't been easy. He said that she wrote that the woman was very mentally ill and that she had vanished without a trace. She wanted to know if it were possible for the police to begin a search for her... what steps they should take to have the West Coast combed in order to find her. Jim wrote back and told her that he would be happy to discuss it with her in person. He said it was too complicated to get into in a return letter. However, as far as I know, that discussion never took place."

Complicating matters at this time for Marilyn was that, during a recent gynecologist's exam, certain problems were discovered that might make having children difficult. She hadn't been able to make up her mind about whether or not she wanted a child. On some days she thought she shouldn't. What if she couldn't take care of the baby and it ended up as she had-in an orphanage? On other days she felt that she would be an excellent mother and that she would be able to do for the child what her own mother had not been able to do for her: love and nurture the baby and give him or her a good life. But then there were days when a different thought would haunt her: What if her child were to end up like her grandmother and mother? In fact, there had been times recently when she began to doubt her own sanity. Was it a good idea to bring a baby into the world under such troubling circ.u.mstances? She wasn't sure what to think about it. Therefore, she decided to go back to the place where she really felt genuine love as a young girl-to the Bolenders'-and ask for some guidance. As an excuse for her visit, she said that she needed to ask her foster brother, Lester, if he would help move some furniture that she still had at Jim Dougherty's house. She drove out to Hawthorne by herself. When she got there, Ida was not home. Wayne answered the door and let her in, and she met one of his nieces, also visiting. Her foster sister Nancy Jeffrey quoted a letter that niece wrote regarding Marilyn's visit: "I came to see Wayne one day and Norma Jeane came in. She had asked Lester to help her move after her separation from her first husband. She had a very deep conversation with Uncle Wayne, some things that were bothering her. Her deepest thought that day was having a child and whether it would turn out like her mother. She needed to, I guess, have Uncle Wayne's blessing. He was the only stable man in her life, as far as I know."

After Marilyn explained her worry, Wayne was very clear in his advice. "You are nothing like your mother or your grandmother," he told her, according to a later recollection. "I knew Della and I know Gladys and I can tell you that you are nothing like them."

Marilyn could only hope that what her "Daddy" had told her was the truth.

Shortly after her divorce, Marilyn moved out of Aunt Ana's and into her own apartment in Hollywood. In that respect, the rest of 1946 and the whole of 1947 had moments of both frustration and exhilaration. First, the studio prepared her biography, to be sent out to the media. It said that she was an orphan who'd been discovered by a 20th Century-Fox executive while she was babysitting his child-cla.s.sic movie studio malarkey. There would be other untrue press tidbits, as well-years of them, actually. It was, according to Berniece Miracle, Grace G.o.ddard's idea to say that Marilyn's parents were both dead. What she wanted to avoid-and Marilyn certainly agreed with her about it-was the possibility of any reporter tracking down Gladys. This tactic worked... for a while, anyway.

Giving Up Her Soul.

Despite the speed at which the actress was signed to a deal, there were no movies in the offing for the newly named Marilyn Monroe. In February 1947, Fox renewed her contract for another six months, though she hadn't done anything other than pose for photographers in bathing suits and negligees for press layouts.

By the time she made her first film, The Shocking Miss Pilgrim The Shocking Miss Pilgrim (1947), she was almost twenty-one years old and more beautiful than ever with her cobalt blue eyes and head of hair so silky smooth and golden blonde. There was not much of Marilyn in (1947), she was almost twenty-one years old and more beautiful than ever with her cobalt blue eyes and head of hair so silky smooth and golden blonde. There was not much of Marilyn in Miss Pilgrim Miss Pilgrim, just a quick (and uncredited) shot of her as a telephone operator; most fans haven't been able to spot her in this film. She would be (barely) seen again in 1947's Dangerous Years. Dangerous Years. ("For heaven's sake, don't blink," she wrote to Berniece, "or you'll miss me!") ("For heaven's sake, don't blink," she wrote to Berniece, "or you'll miss me!") There would be four more films (these would be released in 1948), if you count You Were Meant for Me You Were Meant for Me, a Jeanne CrainDan Dailey musical, one that some sources maintain is part of Monroe's filmography. Marilyn can also be spotted in Scudda-Hoo! Scudda-Hay!- Scudda-Hoo! Scudda-Hay!-a Technicolor bit of nonsense set in the Hoosier state in which June Haver vies for the affections of Lon McCallister with a pair of prize-winning mules, while a ten-year-old Natalie Wood, as Haver's bratty kid sister, just adds to the overall foolishness. It's been published many times over the years-and even Marilyn had said it and, for that matter, even Fox had claimed it!-that her one little scene was cut from the film. Not true. It's there. Just two words, but both present and accounted for. (She's also seen in a distant shot with her back to the camera, on a rowboat.) "She was a scared rabbit," said Diana Herbert, whose father, F. Hugh Herbert, wrote the screenplay. "On the sly, I snuck her into a screening room where my father was viewing for editing, and Marilyn got to see herself in the bit part before it was trimmed. She'd had one line and whispered to me, 'Do I sound that awful?' My father, using the old adage, told me Marilyn photographed like a million dollars. He told me she was going to be a big star."

That same year, 1947, Fox exchanged bucolic Indiana for the Wyoming countryside and a pair of mules for a wild white stallion in Green Gra.s.s of Wyoming Green Gra.s.s of Wyoming, with Marilyn again uncredited as an extra at a square dance. Then, in August 1947, the studio decided not to renew her contract. Her agent Harry Lipton once recalled, "When I told her that Fox had not taken up the option, her immediate reaction was that the world had crashed around her. But typical of Marilyn, she shook her head, set her jaw and said, 'Well, I guess it really doesn't matter-it's a case of supply and demand.' She understood the film business already, and she was just a novice. She knew that the studio signed many contract players and the ones who struck gold overnight stayed while those who struggled usually ended up being cut. Still, the show had to go on."

Meanwhile, there were a couple of strange incidents in Marilyn's life in 1947 that may have pointed toward some of the emotional trouble she would experience later in her life. One is told by Diana Herbert. The same age as Marilyn, Herbert got to know her while Scudda-Hoo! Scudda-Hay! Scudda-Hoo! Scudda-Hay! was being filmed and remained friendly with her. She recalled that when the film was completed, she hosted a pool party at her family's mansion in Bel Air attended by her friends from UCLA. Marilyn said she would love to attend. She said that on that day, she and her new friend, actress Sh.e.l.ley Winters, had a cla.s.s at the Actors' Laboratory-a workshop for actors, directors, and writers, mostly from New York. Afterward, she would go to the party. was being filmed and remained friendly with her. She recalled that when the film was completed, she hosted a pool party at her family's mansion in Bel Air attended by her friends from UCLA. Marilyn said she would love to attend. She said that on that day, she and her new friend, actress Sh.e.l.ley Winters, had a cla.s.s at the Actors' Laboratory-a workshop for actors, directors, and writers, mostly from New York. Afterward, she would go to the party.

On the appointed day, Marilyn arrived very late. "She came quietly with her beach bag," recalls Diana Herbert. "I got out of the pool to direct her to the dressing room. A lot of time pa.s.sed... and no Marilyn. So I became concerned and went and knocked on the door. 'Marilyn?' I called out. 'Are you okay?' And she said, 'Yeah,' in a voice that was barely audible. 'I'll be right out, I just have to change.' So I went back in the pool. An hour went by, and no Marilyn. So, again, I went back to the dressing room and knocked on the door. 'I'll be right out,' she said. By this time, everyone was getting out of the pool, drying off, and going home. More time pa.s.sed. I again went to the dressing room and knocked on the door. But... she was gone. She never even came out of the dressing room-except to leave." Over the years, there would be numerous incidents like this in Marilyn's life.

At the end of the year, she would very briefly engage the services of new "managers," Lucille Ryman and John Carroll. However, they weren't exactly managers. Carroll was a film actor with connections, and Lucille was director of the talent department at MGM-with connections. It's unclear as to what the terms of the arrangement were-either she was paying them to represent her (unlikely, since she didn't have much money), or they were taking a percentage of her work (also unlikely, since she didn't have any). It doesn't make any difference, really, because they came and went from her life quickly, but not before bearing witness to some unusual moments.

Lucille, Carroll's wife, has insisted that Marilyn told her and her husband that she was working as a prost.i.tute at this time, having quick s.e.x with men in cars in order to get money for food. "She told us without pride or shame that she made a deal-she did what she did and her customers then bought her breakfast or lunch." Lucille also said that Marilyn told her she'd been robbed in the small apartment in which she was living and that she was afraid to stay there. Things were so bad, Marilyn told her, she'd have to just continue working the streets. Moreover, she told her that she was raped at nine and had s.e.x every day at the age of eleven. "It was her way of getting us to take her in, and it worked." They offered to allow Marilyn to live in an apartment they owned.

Marilyn was known to fabricate stories to gain sympathy. One of the problems in sorting through the Marilyn Monroe history is determining what is true and what may be the product of her overworked imagination. In short, as people in her life would begin to understand with the pa.s.sing of time, one could not ever take everything Marilyn said at face value. At any rate, she did end up living in better conditions by the largesse of this couple. Then, one night in November 1947, something strange occurred. The Carrolls got a frantic telephone call from Marilyn.

"There's a kid peeping in on me," Marilyn said, her voice vibrating with urgency.

"What are you talking about?" Lucille said.

"I'm being watched."