Ralphís Manuscript - Page 22

Published Manuscript

We are entertaining the idea of publishing a first edition of Ralph's manuscript in book form.  This would be a hard bound limited print first edition with the complete manuscript (around 100 pages) and pictures.  At this time we are trying to gauge interest.  If you think you would be interested in a copy of this book, should we publish it,  Draft pages will be posted here so you can get an idea of what it contains.


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Posted - October 5, 2005

"Iím going to see a friend of mine, June Ericson, whoís doing a special show this afternoon. She does a lot of Harold Arlen, used to live with a fantastic musician, Peter Matz. Would you like to go?" We went, and the audience was about half filled. June was terrific and "Youíre right, sheís great. Should we leave?" Just then, the comedian came on stage and started his act. He was devastatingly funny, and she eased into her seat, laughing more than Iíd heard her in a long time. He seemed to gravitate his attention towards us, although the whole audience seemed to be great fans of his. Finally, at the conclusion, he started to bow off, when someone took him a piece of paper. He looked at it, paled and as though engulfed with emotion, stuttered, "Oh, Iím sorry. The greatest lady I the whole world is in the audience today - I canít bear it." And walked off-stage. His name was Lenny Bruce.

Back in LA, to finish the picture at Paramount Pictures, Marilyn and Arthur took one of the bungalows at Beverly Hills Hotel. Paula had a suite, and I a room in the hotel itself. Marilyn continued the routine which was part of her way of life. Rudy would meet her at the back entrance of the bungalow. There were usually some reporter or photographer waiting around, and unless it was for some special occasion, she wanted to prevent that. So, Arthur would leave after breakfast. Paula would meet her to go over the lines. Everyone seemed relieved to be back in town, and not have those horrendous hour trips through the desert to get to location. She had an appointment with Dr. Greensen the first day, and they discussed the problem of the sleeping pills. He and a medical doctor, I didnít get the name, tried her with Chloral Hydrate. Her comment was "something invented during World War I, for Christís sake. It might have finned Mickey, but sure doesnít do anything for me."

So, it was decided that until she got back to NY, and during the pressures of the next weeks, she would try the Chloral Hydrate at the evening massage, then if she woke, during the night, she would call me, and I would drop by the desk, pick up the pills Dr. Greenson would have had left off, and take with me for the midnight massage. Many nights I would wander through the paths weaving around the bungalows, at odd times of the night and morning. At one certain point each time, I was sure that I heard music; but there was no light, no sign of human beings. Then, about three oíclock, returning from her, a voice spoke out from the darkness, "You keep the god-damnedest hours." I jumped. The lush vegetation and the feeling of the whole place always reminded me of that in Burma during the war, and I often remembered the night I was dropped off in Japanese territory in a lonely airfield, fresh from Washington, scared out of my mind. I focused on the origin of the voice and became aware of a dark silhouette of a man sitting on the porch of a bungalow, with the dim light of a playing radio. He was a guard for the occupants of that particular bungalow and we shot the breeze for a few minutes. From then on, I welcomed the music and we said a low hello to each other. When I told Marilyn about the exchange, "Oh, thatís the Howard Hughes bungalow, and Jean Peters and the baby have around the clock guard. I want to call her. We knew each other quite well in the early days. Even worked together. I like her. I like him, too. Heís a strange cookie, but always was nice to me."

 

Manuscript property of the estate of Ralph L. Roberts. Do not copy without permission.