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The Greatest Picture I Never Took
by George Duncan

 

It was early 1961. A college buddy and I, both of us just back from our post-college military hitches – he Marines, me Army – were sharing an apartment on New York’s upper west side. We were also both refugees from our families in nearby Bergen County at the New Jersey end of the George Washington Bridge. In fact, Jack’s aunt still lived there, and worked on the Manhattan side of the bridge at The Harkness Pavilion, a very upscale private clinic nestled in the maze of buildings that comprise Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. On this day, Jack decided he wanted to visit his aunt and say hello, which he hadn’t done since his return from the Marines.

As we approached the hospital and found a place to park, we noticed a scrum of people, most with cameras, pushing and shoving for position opposite the main entrance. At first we were mystified as to what such a group might be doing here. Then it hit me. Marilyn Monroe had been “missing” for about three weeks, and I suddenly realized she had probably been holed up in the Harkness and was now about to emerge.

Jack reached into the glove box, extracted a camera and handed it to me, “in case you can get a shot of anything interesting,” he said as he disappeared into the building. Now, I’m an absolute spastic around anything technical and this camera was a pricey new German job with a dozen bells and whistles, the likes of which I’d never seen before. Nevertheless, I grabbed the camera and headed for the scrum.

It quickly became evident that there was no room for me on the small bleacher steps the hospital had set up for the press. All these guys were BIG and already were knocking each other left and right in order to set up their shots. Not a place my 5’ 3” frame needed to be. So I wandered a little farther down the driveway – one of these elegant curving things leading to and from the entrance – and stood there, at the edge of the curb.

Soon a stretch limo appeared and turned slowly into the driveway. The scrum started to vibrate. The limo stopped at the entrance. The chauffer got out, walked around the car and stood by the rear door. At that moment, the day that till then had been moderately overcast turned brightly sunny. Had the sun finally broken through the clouds? I looked up. No. It was Marilyn, her ultra blond tresses beaming light and warmth from the doorway and – I kid you not – it was as though the clouds had parted and the sun found a favorite spot directly above the Harkness.

The scrum was now going nuts. Yelling, shoving, snapping. In response, La Monroe, smiling and waving sweetly to the scrum, posed her way slowly across the sidewalk to the car where she slowly sank out of sight as the door thunked shut. I looked at the camera in my hands. Maybe, I thought, I could get a shot through the car window as she passed. I fiddled with the camera.

It was locked.

The limo had begun to move towards me, easing down the driveway. Frantically, I pushed and pulled every gizmo on that camera. Nothing. The limo slid silently by, its darkened windows hiding its precious cargo. Then, as I stood elevated above the car on the edge of the curb, the limo turned a few degrees left with the curve of the driveway and I found myself standing directly behind it, and if I just leaned forward a bit, no more than two feet from the vehicle’s undarkened rear window.

Suddenly, perfectly framed in the window, there appeared before me the glowing, full face image of Marilyn Monroe wearing a stunning world class smile with a wave she held for seconds. Totally awestruck, I returned the smile and for one silent moment in eternity, there were just the two of us in all the world; me and Marilyn. But the camera remained impotently silent in my trembling hands. Then, with a growl from the engine and a puff of exhaust, she was gone.

Next day, the New York tabloids were wall to wall with pictures of Marilyn Monroe leaving Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, as the captions erroneously reported, with various shots of the actress coming out the door, waving and entering the limo. But trust me, none came even close to the greatest picture I never took.