Goodbye Norma Jean

Wistful Beauty


When people speak of Marilyn Monroe, they normally are speaking of the iconic, blonde sex symbol of the fifties. She was indeed beautiful and sexual, but her enduring relevance is something much more than that. A young friend once queried, "Wasn't she just that bimbo with the big boobs?" And for asking that question, he wins the big boob award. There has been a pop culture parade of blonde beauties extending all the way back to Jean Harlowe of the 1930's -- more recently including Madonna, Pamela Anderson and Heather Locklear. (I'm probably aging myself by those last few examples). :-)

No, Marilyn is none of those at all. Some of her contemporaries were Liz Taylor, Doris Day and Jayne Mansfield -- all lovely in their own right and nothing like Marilyn. Marilyn's essence was not her visage or her overall looks -- it was her innate wisdom, sadness and desire to finally belong. She was an orphaned child, born Norma Jean Simmons. Her mother was institutionalized with mental problems, and her father disappeared early on. As a child, she was bounced from house to house, never feeling loved, or “a part of”. One Christmas as a girl, she received an orange while the “birth” children received toys. The feeling of being an outsider persisted for all 36 years that she lived.

Despite her image as a dumb blonde, Marilyn was intelligent. Her life was an intellectual as well as an emotional quest. She wanted to be loved and respected – thus she wed playwright Arthur Miller and studied acting under a world famous acting coach. In her choices for directors, screenwriters and travelling companions, she exhibited sophistication and depth. Her sense of humor and wry observations belied the dumb blonde image completely. Her professional image was a product of 50’s marketing and just that of a sex symbol; her behavior away from the camera had much more depth -- she was really ahead of her time. Women were supposed to be one, not multi dimensional -- especially women as sultry and beautiful as her.

In a final summation, Marilyn received the accolades and rewards that many people would kill to achieve. She married a famous baseball player, Joe DiMaggio, and then she later married a world famous playwright. She had an active movie career and acting credits that would make many actresses envious. And still there was an inconsolable sadness in her, and a void that couldn’t be filled. Marilyn died in 1962, a good 15 years before drug and alcohol rehabilitation became cultural norms for celebrities. Her death also preceded the “women’s lib” movement by at least 4 years. Maybe had she lived, she would’ve been warmed by her own self-actualization and acceptance. She might have played against the bimbo stereotype and conquered her inner demons. A cruel, “bimbo-loving” world might not have snuffed her fragile flame after all.