I’m in Los Angeles for a couple of days. This morning I ran through the UCLA campus and down into Westwood. Running is how I explore a city.
Between ordinary buildings, I found Westwood Village Memorial Park Cemetery. I went in.
Marilyn Monroe is buried here. No monument. No mausoleum. A small plaque on a wall.
Marilyn Monroe. 1926–1962.
Her fame had no equal. The space around her grave was modest. That contrast stopped me.
Norma Jeane Mortenson had an unstable childhood: foster homes, an orphanage, a mother who could not care for her. Hollywood built Marilyn. Platinum hair. Red lips. The breathy voice. The ultimate 1950s bombshell.
What interests me is what came next. She outgrew the image. She read widely. She studied at the Actors Studio. She surrounded herself with writers, photographers and artists. She married Arthur Miller. Her wardrobe changed too: black turtlenecks, capri trousers, cashmere, flats, less make-up. Less manufactured. More herself.
She wanted to be taken seriously. She wanted to find Norma Jeane underneath.
Sixty-four years on, people still come.
This morning, someone had left two roses and a tiny bottle of Chanel N°5. A small reference to one of the most famous stories associated with her.
I stayed there for a while.
Standing there made me think about mortality.
We spend so much of our lives accumulating things. Possessions. Money. Recognition. Titles. Status. Achievements.
Marilyn had more fame than most people could ever imagine. Her face is still recognised around the world more than six decades after her death.
And yet there she was.
A small plaque on a wall.
We come into this world with nothing. We leave with nothing.
But perhaps that’s not quite true.
We leave something behind.
Not the things we owned, but the people we touched. The memories we created. The ideas we shared. The things we built. The way we made others feel.
Marilyn left something behind. That’s why, sixty-four years later, strangers still walk into a small cemetery in Westwood and stop in front of her name.
Maybe that’s a better measure of a life.
Not what we accumulate while we’re here.
But what remains because we were here.
Then I carried on running to attend the first meeting of the day.
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