To end a marriage in New York, the usual grounds are adultery or "cruel and inhuman treatment." Hillary Clinton, who stood by her man from Gennifer to Monica, is finally taking steps to dump him politically for spousal abuse.
"Clinton’s Camp Seeks Gentler Role for Ex-President" is the headline of a New York Times story today that reports "Democrats inside and outside the Clinton campaign on Sunday debated and in some cases bemoaned the degree to which former President Bill Clinton’s criticism of Senator Barack Obama last week had inflicted lasting damage on his wife’s presidential candidacy."
On the editorial page, Clinton-hater William Kristol is clucking that "putting her in the White House brings a hyperactive Bill back in with her. Who needs it?"
Like any other abused wife, Mrs. Clinton tried to minimize the damage on "Face the Nation" yesterday, saying "the spouses of all three of us have, you know, been passionate and vigorous defenders of each of us and, you know, maybe got a little carried away," attributing her husband's behavior to "sleep deprivation" on the campaign trail.
It may be too late to try to "keep the big dog on the porch," as they say in Arkansas, but unless Hillary Clinton takes firm steps to divorce him politically, they can stop worrying about what to call Bill Clinton when she gets to the White House.
Showing posts with label divorce. Show all posts
Showing posts with label divorce. Show all posts
Monday, January 28, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
A Wedding Anniversary
One of those "This Day in History" items recalls that Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio were married on January 14, 1954 and brings back a flood of memories.
I met DiMaggio soon after their divorce the next year, when Marilyn came to New York and Joe, still in love with her as he would always be, confided how happy he was that she was getting away from "that Hollywood crowd."
Five years after Marilyn’s death, the story I wanted as a magazine editor was Joe’s. He had arranged her funeral, kept it private and was still sending flowers to her grave three times a week but had not said a word about her.
He invited me to his New York suite at cocktail time and poured a drink. There were half a dozen men there, and it became clear he wanted me to sit at the edge of his circle, listening to locker—room banter, while he eyed me once in a while, freshened my drink and made up his mind about talking to me.
He was a matador surrounded by his entourage. Two men in business suits came in for a Polaroid picture. With DiMaggio’s arms draped over them, years fell from their middle-aged faces. They were boys in the embrace of their boyhood hero. It recalled Gay Talese’s Esquire piece about Joe’s honeymoon with Marilyn. She went to Korea to entertain American troops. He stayed in Japan, and when she came back, Marilyn told him about her reception by 100,000 servicemen: “Joe, you never heard such cheering.” “Yes, I have,” he said.
The evening ground on, the friends chattered, Joe said little. Finally I asked, “Could we talk?“ “Tomorrow morning,” he said. “Come up about ten.”
When I arrived, he was packing his bags. I talked as he kept putting shirts, socks and underwear into a suitcase. He never looked up.
I told him I didn’t want to intrude, but it was my job to ask if he would ever say anything about Marilyn. If he did, he could trust me to make sure it came out right.
He was still staring into the suitcase, but I could see his eyes clouding. His jaw muscles tightened. For a long minute, he was silent.
“I could never talk about her,” he finally said in a choked voice. “Never.”
He never did.
I met DiMaggio soon after their divorce the next year, when Marilyn came to New York and Joe, still in love with her as he would always be, confided how happy he was that she was getting away from "that Hollywood crowd."
Five years after Marilyn’s death, the story I wanted as a magazine editor was Joe’s. He had arranged her funeral, kept it private and was still sending flowers to her grave three times a week but had not said a word about her.
He invited me to his New York suite at cocktail time and poured a drink. There were half a dozen men there, and it became clear he wanted me to sit at the edge of his circle, listening to locker—room banter, while he eyed me once in a while, freshened my drink and made up his mind about talking to me.
He was a matador surrounded by his entourage. Two men in business suits came in for a Polaroid picture. With DiMaggio’s arms draped over them, years fell from their middle-aged faces. They were boys in the embrace of their boyhood hero. It recalled Gay Talese’s Esquire piece about Joe’s honeymoon with Marilyn. She went to Korea to entertain American troops. He stayed in Japan, and when she came back, Marilyn told him about her reception by 100,000 servicemen: “Joe, you never heard such cheering.” “Yes, I have,” he said.
The evening ground on, the friends chattered, Joe said little. Finally I asked, “Could we talk?“ “Tomorrow morning,” he said. “Come up about ten.”
When I arrived, he was packing his bags. I talked as he kept putting shirts, socks and underwear into a suitcase. He never looked up.
I told him I didn’t want to intrude, but it was my job to ask if he would ever say anything about Marilyn. If he did, he could trust me to make sure it came out right.
He was still staring into the suitcase, but I could see his eyes clouding. His jaw muscles tightened. For a long minute, he was silent.
“I could never talk about her,” he finally said in a choked voice. “Never.”
He never did.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Semi-Private Lives
The Hulk Hogans may be getting divorced, a devastating development in the life of a family that has been fascinating VH1 viewers for more than two years on a reality series in some other America than the one I inhabit.
But their public pain recalls another family, the Louds, whose disintegration was seen in the early 1970s in a series, "An American Family," a landmark in breaking down what's private and what's public in our society.
The similarities are eerie. Hogan, the celebrity wrestler-musician, apparently learned of the divorce yesterday from a reporter in Florida, where his family lives. "My wife has been in California for about three weeks," he responded. "Holy smokes. Wow, you just knocked the bottom out of me."
In the earlier series, Linda Loud told her husband of 20 years to move out of the house on camera, a scene 10 million viewers would watch later that week.
Like the Hogans, the Louds were not the people next door, living a life of luxury in Santa Barbara, California that was several American Dreams away from "The Waltons" and even "The Brady Brunch" of late twentieth-century TV. The Hogans occupy a 20,000-square-foot Florida estate with more than 30 pets.
Both series featured flamboyant teenagers--Lance Loud, who dyed his hair silver and his clothes purple, and in this century, Brooke Hogan, who signed a $1.3 million contract as a singer when she turned 18, and Nick, a professional car racer briefly jailed for underage drinking and reckless driving
Back then, the Louds were denounced as exhibitionists and praised for pioneering a new openness in an electronic society. Today, when celebrity lives are routinely played out in public, the Hogans are not that unusual.
American fame has come a long way in those three decades, but some killjoys may wonder if it was worth the trip.
But their public pain recalls another family, the Louds, whose disintegration was seen in the early 1970s in a series, "An American Family," a landmark in breaking down what's private and what's public in our society.
The similarities are eerie. Hogan, the celebrity wrestler-musician, apparently learned of the divorce yesterday from a reporter in Florida, where his family lives. "My wife has been in California for about three weeks," he responded. "Holy smokes. Wow, you just knocked the bottom out of me."
In the earlier series, Linda Loud told her husband of 20 years to move out of the house on camera, a scene 10 million viewers would watch later that week.
Like the Hogans, the Louds were not the people next door, living a life of luxury in Santa Barbara, California that was several American Dreams away from "The Waltons" and even "The Brady Brunch" of late twentieth-century TV. The Hogans occupy a 20,000-square-foot Florida estate with more than 30 pets.
Both series featured flamboyant teenagers--Lance Loud, who dyed his hair silver and his clothes purple, and in this century, Brooke Hogan, who signed a $1.3 million contract as a singer when she turned 18, and Nick, a professional car racer briefly jailed for underage drinking and reckless driving
Back then, the Louds were denounced as exhibitionists and praised for pioneering a new openness in an electronic society. Today, when celebrity lives are routinely played out in public, the Hogans are not that unusual.
American fame has come a long way in those three decades, but some killjoys may wonder if it was worth the trip.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Two Cheers for the Plan B Lifestyle
The surging sales of the morning-after pill evoke mixed feelings. While the new contraceptive certainly gives women (and men) more freedom of choice, its popularity raises qualms about how far we’ve gone toward becoming a Plan B society.
Marry the wrong person? No-fault divorce. Stuff your face for years? Try diet pills and, if they don’t work, surgery. Run up too many bills? Go bankrupt.
In a society that believes in second chances, it’s hard to argue against the right to correct mistakes, but whatever happened to pay as you go, look before you leap or plain old think twice?
More to the point, there is still no totally free lunch. Uproot your children’s lives, tamper with your body chemistry, lose your credit rating, the “delete” button won’t solve everything.
At the risk of sounding like an old scold, one thing more: Get into the wrong war and try to find a Plan B pill for that.
Maybe we should be taking a longer, harder look at the Plan A’s in our lives.
Marry the wrong person? No-fault divorce. Stuff your face for years? Try diet pills and, if they don’t work, surgery. Run up too many bills? Go bankrupt.
In a society that believes in second chances, it’s hard to argue against the right to correct mistakes, but whatever happened to pay as you go, look before you leap or plain old think twice?
More to the point, there is still no totally free lunch. Uproot your children’s lives, tamper with your body chemistry, lose your credit rating, the “delete” button won’t solve everything.
At the risk of sounding like an old scold, one thing more: Get into the wrong war and try to find a Plan B pill for that.
Maybe we should be taking a longer, harder look at the Plan A’s in our lives.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Immigrants
This week, while politicians argue over amnesty and border fences, an immigrant couple in Chicago is providing a reminder of why America used to be called the Land of Opportunity.
A divorce court judge ordered Michael and Maya Polsky, who came here from the Soviet Union in 1976 with $500, to share equally their family assets of $350 million. In those three decades the Polskys, in addition to paying taxes on their accumulating fortune, had donated $7 million to the University of Chicago to start a school for entrepreneurs.
That sounds like a contribution to American society that social conservatives might applaud, despite the fact that the Polskys are offending their family values with a divorce.
In 1989, my wife, who is a divorce lawyer and mediator, and I wrote a book titled, “Getting Your Share,” for wives who were being declared equal partners by new divorce laws but were not being treated that way by courts.
Mrs. Polsky, who was a full-time homemaker during her marriage, is setting some kind of record as an exception to that rule.
Meanwhile Mr. Polsky, who made his mark with power companies and now deals in alternative energy, will be appealing the decision to avoid seeing half his fortune Gone with the Wind.
A divorce court judge ordered Michael and Maya Polsky, who came here from the Soviet Union in 1976 with $500, to share equally their family assets of $350 million. In those three decades the Polskys, in addition to paying taxes on their accumulating fortune, had donated $7 million to the University of Chicago to start a school for entrepreneurs.
That sounds like a contribution to American society that social conservatives might applaud, despite the fact that the Polskys are offending their family values with a divorce.
In 1989, my wife, who is a divorce lawyer and mediator, and I wrote a book titled, “Getting Your Share,” for wives who were being declared equal partners by new divorce laws but were not being treated that way by courts.
Mrs. Polsky, who was a full-time homemaker during her marriage, is setting some kind of record as an exception to that rule.
Meanwhile Mr. Polsky, who made his mark with power companies and now deals in alternative energy, will be appealing the decision to avoid seeing half his fortune Gone with the Wind.
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