In the late 1960s I read Norma Jean by Fred Lawrence Guiles, still widely viewed as the definitive biography of Marilyn Monroe. This turned out to be the beginning of a life-long interest in the subject, which included collecting considerable quantities of memorabilia.

In 1976 my wife’s cousin, Roger Rapp, married Merryl Krane. We were invited but could not attend the wedding, which was held in the home of Lee Strassberg, founder of Actors Studio whose second wife Anna was the sister of Merryl’s stepmother. Later I learned that wedding guests had access to the room where Strassberg kept Monroe’s possessions, which he inherited upon her death.

In a subsequent discussion in which I expressed my profound disappointment at having missed such an opportunity, Roger casually wondered aloud to Merryl what had become of “her record player.” He mentioned that Anna had given them Monroe’s phonograph to use when they lived in a previous apartment. Not recognizing its importance, they had lost track of it when they moved. Had they thrown it out? Had they given it away? As they endeavored to remember, I sat in quiet astonishment. They were discussing the very record player about which Guiles wrote on page 439 of his latter book, Legend, The Life and Death of Marilyn Monroe:

“ The police found the photograph still on, playing a stack of Frank Sinatra records. Marilyn had chosen to go out with the sound of her favorite singer – and one of her best friends – in the background.”

The record player is mentioned in most accounts of Monroe’s life, having played an integral role in her final lonely years. Roger impassively stated that if they knew where the phonograph was, they would give it to me. But that was not to be.

After what seemed like too little effort, they discontinued all attempts to recall its whereabouts. There is no record its location beyond that time they moved into their new residence. Again I was filled with a profound sense of loss from a missed opportunity and even greater astonishment for the low esteem the two caretakers evidentially held for this important piece of history. Apparently they had used the phonograph to play records!

Sometime later, when Roger Rapp was sorting through some unpacked moving boxes, he came across this phonograph knob, which he turned over to me. It is believed that it originally belonged to the record player and after becoming unattached was thrown into the box and forgotten until its subsequent discovery. If true, it has been estimated that Marilyn might have touched this knob 5,121 times.