A Short Rabbit Hole

 

I've avoided those haunting eyes for 50 years now and ever since learning about the horror those eyes faced the last moments of her life in January of 1947. For some reason, those eyes - their depths - screamed to me an ache deep within her, one I knew. The sadness has always been overwhelming. 

Then -this week- happened. I was continuing my research on those paths that I have been walking in trying to understand, absorb and bring balance to all those others victims whose stories have touched my soul through family and professional endeavors - It's extremely hard to explain all of this so be patient with me. 

Today we're focusing on Elizabeth Short as she's going to return us back to my last posts discussing our twisted efforts at a greater good in post WWII America. How those operations and projects by those to whom we entrust our collective citizenship control us in unseen ways- and how those visions and efforts were shrouded in layers of unhealed trauma of their own. 

Elizabeth is one of many tragic souls whose lifeless body was dumped to be forgotten. 

She's been in the news quite a bit, or at least has been chatter on social media sites as a discovery was made in the Zodiac Killings, identifying a killer after finally solving the code.  Alex Baber, a self taught and propelled crime investigator cracked it - and I believe him. Baber is the co-founder of Cold Case Consultants of America. Baber argues the code points identifying the name of "Marvin Merrill," which was a known alias of someone who was looked at and known to Elizabeth, "Marvin Margolis." 

Before I dig into Margolis on here, I want to say I feel history has maligned Elizabeth, as it often does with women, especially those without a pot to piss in nor some great impossible feat they somehow accomplished - a vast majority get thrown into the Scarlett pile. 

In 1930 she as a young girl still under 10 years old not only watched her parents lose everything to the Great Depression, but she also had to grieve the death of her father, he vanished. She watched her mother be the sole breadwinner raising her and her four sisters. Elizabeth also carried an extra burden as she had to deal with chronic illness since childhood- severe asthma that caused her to have to seperate from that family base and spend time over the winters in Florida staying with relatives. But, when all was said and done ,Elizabeth as a sophomore in high school had to dropout because of her health issues. After dropping out she took jobs in Florida to help out the family, mainly in the service industry. So, yes, too sick for school, but able to be shipped off to Florida and work. That brought tears to my eyes, most likely the tears she herself was unable to shed anymore because survival doesn't always allow for that - 

Depression, war years building and busting open and there she was a young girl grieving the death of her father, working in Florida because of her poor health and all while she should have been excited about proms, football games, and boys. She never had a chance. 

Try to remember that this was in a time when women were forced to take the brunt of responsibilities stateside even though they made far less than any man would for the same jobs. Many lived without knowing how their next meal would happen, now imagine a young girl navigating that. -and also remember while not intentional, all the time, those with chronic health conditions also carry the blame in families for being costly and not productive enough. They learn to expect less, feel they deserve less - especially back then. A date meant a meal. These women were also exploited and used up as they tried to survive and live. 

So now that I've set the foundation I feel she deserves - we move forward to California, keep in mind Hollywood was not the poison that took her life, it was the stage upon which predators recognized vulnerability.

In 1942 a letter arrived - Daddy was not dead. He staged his disappearance and vanished across state lines but now he wanted to touch base. I can only imagine for a young woman like her, 18yrs old at the time, a magical fairy tale was coming true - the parent she thought was dead, reached out, all the grieving and the only ifs could stop. 

She headed to California - to warm weather and a father who greeted her with a cold and drunk heart. 

Shattered. 

A beautiful young woman tossed around when she could barely breathe - everyone telling her how striking she was, her face, those eyes, but never saw her - the person - the soul. 

She didn't stay at her father's long before she had to fend for herself, even though not to disappoint her mother and grandmother back East, she wrote fantastic reviews of her time in the of reaching to the Stars. Maybe she didn't want to hear how yet again, she failed - or was a burden in some way, shape or form. 

Think hard about it all - what would you have done in her shoes? 

Who would you become? 

She, well,  she became the Black Dahlia -- 

Next post I will concentrate on the men around her, the life she fought to build, and the violence that turned her into legend