John F. Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe were the talk of the 1960’s. This was an era of rebellion, free love, and mind-bending substances. But what transpired when JFK made the scene at Woodstock that fateful summer of ’69 was something nobody could have predicted.
The Forbidden Love Affair:
As the world knows, JFK and Marilyn Monroe had a legendary love affair. But in this bizarre twist of history, their romance didn’t end with JFK’s supposed assassination in 1963. Instead, they decided to take their peace-and-love message to the heart of the counterculture movement – Woodstock. That’s where JFK’s charismatic steroid-enhanced charm coupled with Marilyn’s irresistible allure, creating a vortex of sexual charisma and way too much fun that would become the stuff of pre-Cosby legends.
JFK left his dedicated secretaries Fiddle and Faddle behind in Washington, and boarded Air Force One with Marilyn. Jackie was nine months pregnant, so she was happy to stay home. After Air Force One landed on a convenient hilltop at Woodstock, Marilyn and JFK strolled through the filthy landscape, sharing glances that could have set fire to the rain-saturated hippie hovels. Marilyn, dressed in psychedelic attire, was the embodiment of peace, love, and cosmic sensuality. JFK, with his signature charm, declared, “Ask not what your slipshod mudfest can do for you; ask what you can do for your slipshod mudfest.”
The Ultimate Hippie Party:
Woodstock was already known for its free-spirited grooving atmosphere and recreational drug use. But with JFK and Marilyn hanging loose there, things took a turn for the psychedelic extreme. LSD flowed like water, and the duo, despite being a statesman and a movie star, didn’t shy away from indulging in the trippy experience. The adoring crowd provided massive tokes from gigantic, multicolored bongs that glowed with the fading colors of the washed-out 1960’s. Everyone was digging the scene, trading skin, and getting mellow. It was a real gas.
Amidst the music, mud, and free love, JFK and Marilyn embraced the outta-sight spirit of the era, leaving the crowd in awe of their outlandish antics. They danced with the shirtless, stinking flower-crowned hippies, made and exchanged tie-dye shirts, and even crawled into a bed situated at the front of the stage. From there, they gave interviews on peace and their philosophy of existence that made perfect sense — even in everyone’s altered state of mind. They declared in one speech that there were “Fourteen Levels of Unconsciousness.”
Woodstock went ga-ga over their free love, anti-war songs and major coolness. The duo committed to give away all their wealth and walk the streets with nothing, a commitment that lasted right up until about seven o’clock when they dug the slop that regular people ate.
The Fateful Drive:
One moonlit night at Woodstock, it stopped raining for a couple of minutes. JFK had by then become tired of the knee-deep mud. Also, the social graces of the less well-off and more filthy hippies left him wanting. Driven by his impulsive nature and extreme horniness, he decided to take Marilyn out in his 1961 Lincoln Continental convertible for a drive. With the movie star snuggled by his side, the two lovebirds embarked on a surreal journey into the depths of what would become Woodstock’s public quagmire.
The crowd watched in disbelief as JFK revved up the powerful engine in the 9500-pound limousine, creating a giant muddy rooster tail that seemed an Aquarian-age feces-colored hallucination. The car lumbered out of sight. But just a few minutes later, the bulletproof Lincoln was sinking into Woodstock Lake, with JFK and Marilyn still inside. In their LSD-induced euphoria, they found this misadventure quite amusing and decided to just embrace their watery fate. Well, at least Marilyn did.
The Mysterious Disappearance:
As the car descended into the murky depths, it appeared as though the slim, well-tanned chemically-altered former President and the iconic actress had driven into a real bummer. Panic erupted among the festival-goers, and a rescue mission was launched the next day when a few people came to. But what the search party found was beyond anyone’s comprehension.
When the submerged car was finally pulled from the watery hellhole, it was empty. JFK and Marilyn had vanished into thin air, leaving behind nothing but their clothes and a trail of wild conspiracy theories. Some believed they had transcended to a higher plane of musical existence. Others murmured they had been time-traveling witches from the future. One widely-held theory was divined from lyrics played backwards from The Who’s My Generation. It postulated that the pair had actually become one with the magik spirit of Woodstock itself. Whatever did happen was a very heavy scene. “Hey man…what a bummer,” was a commonly heard refrain around the digs. The glorious sixties truly died that night.
The next morning, JFK surprisingly turned up for breakfast at a Waffle House alongside his quaint Woodstock hotel, located ten miles from the swamped car in the lake. He sat down and studied the menu. As he ordered a well-done waffle with a side of clam chowder, he asked the waitress for the “exact” time as he lasciviously eyed her decolletage. She thought this time inquiry was odd, as he was wearing a $20,000 Patek Phillipe watch, and there was a very large wall clock mounted on the restaurant wall directly behind her. She rolled her eyes, leaned across the counter with an alluring stare, slipped him her phone number, and heavily sighed, “10:35 AM. Exactly.”
JFK then rose and gave a short political speech to the rest of the hungover crowd. He declared that he had been exhausted by the twenty-minute Air Force One trip to Woodstock. He stated he had arrived at his small-town hotel room at 5 PM the previous day, had not said a word about the lousy decor, slept soundly until 10 AM the next morning, never left his room, and never indulged in any illegal substances at any time. He noted in closing that Nixon had no class, and asked for the people’s support as he threw his hat into the ring for the next presidential election. Then he grandly threw down a five-percent tip, staggered wildly out of the restaurant, and was lifted bodily into the front car of his motorcade by the secret service.
The Scandal and Cover-Up:
In the aftermath of this surreal event, the government found itself in a precarious position. The disappearance and mysterious reappearance of a former president and a still-missing beloved actress at a counterculture festival was an image nightmare. So, they did what any government would do in such a situation — they covered it up.
When asked by reporters about the accident, JFK claimed that his date with Marilyn was due to end at 10 PM. He stated he wanted to get her home on time, and was piloting the Continental directly to the Woodstock front gate to do just that. That’s when he accidentally took a wrong turn that led him past the free kitchen provided by the Hog Farm’s fuzz. Unfortunately, this unplanned route also took him over a sharply angled bridge that crossed Woodstock Lake. This was a place known to everyone but JFK as the local Lover’s Lane. The overloaded JFK was unable to brake fast enough, and the overloaded convertible skidded off the right side of the wooden bridge into the ice-cold waters.
A hearing was scheduled. It was a quiet affair, conducted by his old Harvard buddies and close family members in the living room of his mansion out on Cape Cod. JFK showed up wearing a neck brace, in a ridiculously transparent attempt to garner sympathy for his cause. He claimed that he had tried to retrieve Marilyn from the deep, but had been deterred by the freezing water as he heroically dove in to save her. He stated that his mind went blank from the strain of his daring rescue. He had no idea how he wound up back at the Woodstock hotel at 5PM, five hours earlier than the time he was accused of crashing into the lake. He didn’t appreciate the questions, having never had to answer any questions before, and repeatedly demanded, “What’s your bag, man?”
So, there was no surprise as to the outcome. JFK was found not guilty of Marilyn’s disappearance, and feted as a hero by the powerful Massachusetts press. Of course, the overriding thrust of the hearing was to find out if he had actually gotten any or not. While the public was never informed of the exact facts, they all knew the truth.
The voters realized that JFK was just a regular guy, but a regular guy who was vastly richer and much more worthy than themselves. He had an awful lot of bread, but he was born into it. Who could blame him for that? The fact that he was a superstar horndog appealed to the imaginative spirit of all the Yankee proles who had elected him. Who didn’t want to picture themselves boinking gorgeous young secretaries and movie stars every time they dropped their pants? All the men wished they could spend just one day in Camelot. All the women mourned over their missed chances to apply for White House secretarial and shower-room attendant positions.
The official narrative claimed Marilyn had decided to retire from public life and live in seclusion. The CIA came up with footage of her living a quiet, hippie life in a remote cabin in the woods. Of course, it was all smoke and mirrors, but it was enough to quell the public’s curiosity. They had other things on their minds. Let’s face it — JFK’s tan was something else.
JFK’s Disqualification:
Some people did not believe the story of the missing Marilyn, and JFK soon fell out of favor as a presidential candidate. One must consider the cruel, twisted logic of politics and public perception. Like the way it’s perceived when you happen to have a naked, drugged-out movie star sink into a muddy lake in your armored limousine in the middle of the night. This can toy with your life of easy privilege. You might think, “I don’t deserve this. This doesn’t happen to rich guys like me.” Usually, you are exactly right. Were JFK’s easy dalliances and complete lack of morals just part of the ongoing curse on the Kennedy family?
But it’s hard to just pop back into the White House without facing some soul-searching in the minds of the public. Of course, the voters soon leaned toward a more suitable candidate — one who hadn’t been caught yet. One who was not very smart, not nearly as rich, who stayed home at night, was known as a simple, missionary-position fellow, and who only lusted after women in his heart.
So, the man who had served as the 35th President of the United States was forever disqualified from reentering the political arena. Instead, he lived out his days in wealthy obscurity. He occasionally made surprise appearances at smaller music festivals geared toward the idle rich. When he was urged to take the stage, he played the auto-harp while singing Blowin’ In The Wind. A large gaggle of groupies still followed him everywhere.
In conclusion, the Woodstock shenanigans of JFK and Marilyn Monroe are tales that defy the boundaries of reality. It was a chemical journey through an alternate history. It reminds us that even the most iconic figures of our time could succumb to the surreal spirit of Woodstock.