Might the deaths of Marilyn
Monroe and John Kennedy have been
mysteriously connected? I doubt we will
ever know the truth.
I fell in love when I was six years old. The love of my life was (and still is) not a neighborhood girl, not a classmate… It was Marilyn Monroe, yes the Marilyn Monroe. For all my life since then I have been truly faithful to her in my heart and in my dreams. I have been collecting every kind of memorabilia with her image I could afford. My collection includes hundreds of objects and it keeps growing.
That Sunday I was really lucky: I had bought two good quality pins with Marilyn’s face on them at the local flea market. Happy with my hunting trip, I went to my old Ford car. I parked it on a side street in hope it would be easier to get out from there. But it was a mistake, my car was blocked. I had to wait for the crowd to dissipate.
Disappointed I turned to the lake shore promenade looking for a bench to sit and relax at. It was a nice spring day, the sun was shining and there was no wind. Luckily there were just a few people at the lake shore. I found an empty bench and sprawled there.
Almost immediately a strange man sat next to me. I thought I saw his face in the crowd before. Was he following me? He looked like a homeless person: grey, long, dirty hair; chapped lips, bruised face, red cracked dirty hands. He emitted a strong body smell.
- Collecting pins, are you? - He said, his breath revealing poor dental hygiene and a habit of having alcohol for breakfast.
- I drop by sometimes. - I said, getting up, ready to leave.
- I’ve been watching you. You’re after Marilyn Monroe memorabilia. In love with her, aren’t you?
Something in the way he said that, a twinkle in his eyes made me sink back to the bench.
- Wait a sec here, mister. Don’t run away from a dirty old bum. I have a story to tell you. I have something to show you as well. A Monroe pin - a totally unique peace, one of a kind. It’s covered in blood, though, lots of blood...
I had an urge to run away again. The man looked crazy. As if reading my mind, he put his hand on my shoulder forcing me to stay.
If you spend ten minutes of you precious time and listen to me, mister, I will give you that pin. Absolutely free. Just listen to my story.
- Ok, but, please, make it short. I am kind of busy.
- Do you know how Marilyn Monroe died?
- She overdosed, or was poisoned.
- She was murdered! John Kennedy’s brother Robert strangled
her with a pillow, and then they made the public believe it was an overdose. That’s for sure – I’ve been told by those who knew the truth. It happened because of the pins, - the man searched his pockets. Finally he reached his inner pocket, unclasped it and took out a pin, his hands shaking. It was an old discoloured pin with an erotic scene – two naked bodies intertwined. The faces of John Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe were clearly recognizable. There was a sign under the picture: “Happy Birthday, Mr. President!”
I was shocked! The guy chuckled and put the pin back into his pocket.
- Jack keeps his word. The pin is yours if you hear me out. I’ve been watching you for a long while. You are here every Sunday. Buying souvenirs, magnets. You weren’t here last week though”.
- No.
- I was afraid I would never see you again and decided to tell you everything if you show up again. Well…that’s a long story. I lived in Los Angeles, in Brenwood, just started to work. The company was called Five Xs. It happened at the end of July 1962. A lovely damsel came to us. We recognized her immediately – it was Marilyn Monroe. She ordered five thousand pins like this one, - he tapped his pocket.
- I showed her around the company, she was merry, laughed all the time, but before leaving looked at me sadly and said: "I might be killed”. I felt very bad. When her order was ready, I secretly put one of the pins into my pocket. In three days after I saw a newspaper and couldn’t believe my eyes: it said she was dead, overdosed or poisoned. All her pins we had produced disappeared from our storage the following night.
I said:
- They had an affair – Marilyn and John Kennedy. At the celebration his forty-fifth birthday at the Madison Square Garden II,I she sang “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” in an intimate voice. She was dressed in a see-through dress with no underwear. After that incident, J. Kennedy stopped their affair. Marilyn would call the White house many times, but was refused to be connected to the President.
-Right. I believe Marilyn’s feelings were hurt and she ordered those pins as a “nice” present for his birthday, past or coming. You see, I was head over heels in love with her. I took her death hard. I totally lost my mind and could think of nothing but revenge. Moreover, since people around me said it was no overdose at all, and that the Kennedy brothers got rid of her, so she couldn’t compromise the election campaign of the older one.
- Later my uncle Richard, who worked at the White House in the information department, told me that in a month, the President would visit Dallas with his election campaign. My uncle would be accompanying him (of which he was very proud). A day or two before that, I saw an ad in a Dallas newspaper: a man was selling a Mannlicher-Carcano carbine and a revolver. Lee Harvey Oswald - that was his name. The price was reasonable. I took it as a sign, justifying my intention. I called that man, Oswald and we made a deal.
- In a couple of hours I sent him the check and told him I would come later to take the guns. I began the preparations. I joined a hunters club to practice my shooting with that carbine model. I practiced every day. I became so good, I could shoot a fly. I always kept the pin with me. It warmed my heart… In the morning of the President’s arrival I was driving to Dallas, thinking how to find out his route around the city. When I drove into Dallas, I was relieved – people were on the streets, waiting for him, and clearly outlined the President’s route.
- I was about to call Oswald when I learned that the President would drive right near the book depository, where Oswald worked. It was another sign! I asked him to meet me at his work place and show me how to reload the carbine. I pretended I knew nothing about guns. The idea behind my request was to have as many Oswald’s fresh fingerprints on the gun as possible. He did what I asked for, showed how to use the carbine and the revolver and put them into their respective covers. I didn’t touch the things, just watched him. I didn’t touch the guns, explaining that I was afraid of all sorts of arms – I was buying a present for my brother. I had gloves with me, hidden in my pocket.
- I went upstairs to the attic, just above the depository. I set up the gun with my hands in gloves. I lunched with sandwiches and had a can of beer. Soon the crowd came into motion - people waved banners and shouted. Soon I could see the procession. I got into the position just in time and killed the president with three shots. I dropped the carbine, got down, and went to the Main Street with the revolver in my pocket. I had no belt, so my trousers were slipping down. I thought to get rid of the revolver, when a policeman saw me. He was coming straight at me, so I stopped, waited for him to get closer, and sent five bullets right into his belly. I dropped the revolver, caught a train and rushed home.
- At first I was afraid. I thought they would find me. But Oswald got charged. I even felt jealous for his “fame”. I still don’t understand why they thought the man would fire from the school book depository attic, the very place he worked and could be easily found. There were so many attics along the way. And then, why would he leave a carbine with his fingerprints? And the most interesting – they arrested him in a movie theatre at the exact time when I shot that policeman.
The old man smiled and scratched his unkempt
beard. Then he asked me:
- What are you planning to do with this pin? Will you keep it to yourself, like I did. No! You will exhibit it or sell at an auction – it costs a lot! Journalists would start “digging” Marilyn’s grave again. For me - she is a saint!
- I will never do that! – I replied with an ardour – Never in my life! I will keep it for myself. Nobody will ever see it!
- You are in love with her too, aren’t you?
I nodded.
- I can see that…. But I don’t trust you! I don’t trust anybody!!! – The old man’s body was shaking, his eyes lit up with a flame of madness.
He took the pin out of his pocket and threw it far into the water. The mad man pulled handcuffs out a pocket of his dirty worn out coat and locked them on his wrists.
- Had you taken the left road to the lake, we would be sitting over there, - he pointed to the other shore of the lake, clanging his handcuffs.
Then he asked:
- Do you know how deep the lake is here? - He answered his own question - Six to ten feet at that shore. And over one hundred and eighty over here. He sighed and added:
- Another sign. The last one.
The old man muttered something, shook his head, jumped from the bench and hobbled off to the lake. He raised his handcuffed hands above his head and dove into the water.