Marilyn was often late for our photo sessions. One day I waited for her for what seemed like hours, when suddenly she appeared on the beach with a strange-looking hairdresser and an even stranger-looking makeup man; the car was filled with clothes. I knew she never traveled with an entourage, so these two had to be her faithful friends, Agnes Flanagan and Allan “Whitey” Snyder, who were constantly at Marilyn’s beck and call.
On this day, the sun had disappeared over the horizon and the sky was turning dark. She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Is there any way you can take the pictures without light?”
How could I get angry at her? There was always an excuse, and I was sure it was legitimate. I gave her a hug and said not to worry, we’d do it another day.
And to prove her sincerity, the next time we worked at the beach she gave more than her all, with never a complaint, never a break. She was determined to make it up to me. Marilyn was a real trooper. Even then the sun went down and the winds blew and it became cold, and she shivered, her skin turned red and her lips blue, she hardly whimpered or complained. Only when the day was almost over and I had just one last bit of film in the camera, she said, “This is for you,George.” Then she puckered up her lips and blew a kiss my way as I took the last picture of her ever on that beach. It was around 7:30 P.M., Friday, July 13, 1962.
[Marilyn: Her Life in Her Own Words by George Barris]